Mistress of Death

by Jeya Jenson

  He forgot about his pain when a quick chop to his wounded arm took the heavy weapon right out of his hand. A determined man with a knife was an uninviting prospect to face, especially when use of that weapon as natural as breathing.

  Ardan reacted instinctively, grabbing the man’s knife hand more by good luck than skill. Both tumbled heavily to the ground, fighting for possession of the dagger. Ardan tried twisting the man’s wrist, but it seemed to be overlaid with steel cording. Damn, he was strong! He could feel his hold begin to falter as the man’s wrist began to slip from his grasp. Lose that hand now and a slice of that blade could come down across his jugular. He could not run. He had to kill the guard here and now, before more were alerted. Spurred on by the thought that things were going terribly awry, he steeled his nerve and prepared to renew his savage efforts.

  Free now, the Jansi advanced. His face, at first unreadable, broke into a smile that lacked any humor. He was not amused that Ardan was not going to succumb easily.

  The guard swung the blade again, almost in a taunting manner.

  Ardan reacted by throwing himself forward in a suicidal lunge. Then, at the final moment, he dropped down on his left knee as the dagger whizzed above his head. Arcing up, his right shoulder hit the man’s thighs. He straightened in a convulsive jerk, lifting his assailant clean off his feet before body slamming him down onto his back. An out-rush of air escaped the man’s lips, but he barely had a moment to draw more oxygen into his lungs before Ardan grabbed his hand, reversed the angle of the dagger and neatly plunged it into his bowels. In a blindingly quick reverse, he ripped the long blade upward, carving open the man’s stomach the way one would gut a fish. The guard died with a soft sound, his body shuddering briefly, then going still.

  Ardan climbed quickly to his feet, wiping sweat from his eyes, trying to steady his uneven breath.

  “May the Dragon embrace you,” he muttered.

  Chapter Five

  With Mikah at her heels, Dria passed into an enclosed court. Walking under the threshold of the sacred area where no man was allowed to set foot, she felt as if her heart were squeezing inward, threatening to suffocate her. Her nerves were tightly strung, almost to the point of breaking. Once it had seemed that this day would not arrive fast enough. Now, she wasn’t sure that she was ready to take her place. The idea flashed through her mind that she should bolt, run until she found a small dark corner to hide in. Only Mikah’s hand on her arm steadied her resolve. Of course, she could not run away. To do so would bring a great dishonor on her head and that of her family.

  It’s just nerves, she thought. Soon it will be over and I…She placed a hand over the flat plane of her stomach…will no longer be a virgin, but a woman who will bear a child.

  This thought led to another. She wondered which priest had been chosen to service her passage into full womanhood. Although she had never had a man, she understood the mechanics of sexual interplay. She’d been taken through the ceremony several times, knowing how he would mount the altar, spread her legs open and thrust his cock deep inside her. The thought of his hard organ entering her caused a curious sensation in her belly. The muscles inside her vagina rippled and honey-like warmth began to spread between her thighs. Her body tensed. It would be painful, brutal, degrading; before the eyes of others witnessing the ceremony. Still, she could not stay her body’s responses.

  Once there was a time when she would not have been going through this ceremony alone, giving her body to a man unknown to her. As a child, she’d been paired with her future sexual initiator.

  Dria’s brow wrinkled. She barely recalled the boy who was negotiated for her. It was so long since she’d even thought of him that she did not even remember much about how he’d looked or talked or acted. It had been fourteen years since he’d vanished.

  Taran.

  As a young acolyte, Taran of Amarak was destined to join the rarefied ranks of the nine priest-savants who served as Xavier’s council, overseeing the wealth and commerce of the legion. These men were accorded the position and respect of the highest order, second only to the Archpriest himself. Without a word, Taran had inexplicably disappeared, his name forever struck from all written record and never to be spoken aloud. It was as though he had never existed. Whispers in darkened corners said that the young acolyte had committed the blackest of blasphemies, attempting to take a stand against Xavier, against his own blood through ritual and power. It was an act of betrayal that would follow him from life to life, all the way through the circles of the netherworld itself. His parents were to suffer, too. His human mother was crucified on Xavier’s wall and his father was cast down to the rank of a lower class acolyte with only the lesser privileges accorded to him. Prudently, he ended his life shortly thereafter, unable to live with the dishonor his son had visited upon his head. He would have been more an object of scorn had he accepted life as an underling. Self-immolation in the name of Ouroborous had at least preserved the tattered remains of his dignity.

  And though it was no fault of her own, Dria herself was left to suffer the minor disgrace of losing her betrothed. It was rare for a woman to endure the coming ceremony unmated—rare, but not unknown. At least she had not been stripped of her rank and cast out!

  Walking past other women lounging and talking, she hardly noticed that they were immodestly stripped. Nor did she blink at the way the women touched and caressed each other, some making outright love before the very eyes of others. Since no man was allowed to commingle with them before their betrothal, sexual activity was encouraged among the girls to teach them how to enjoy their bodies and someday pleasure their husbands.

  Two women greeted her at the entrance. Barefoot, they were dressed in scant clothing, brief bindings of material around their breasts and waists. Twins, they were very fair with long blond hair, soft doe-brown eyes and full red lips. Called Jai and Mai, both were lithe with full breasts and hips. Faces smiling with joy, they moved with the careless grace of young female lionesses. Bowing their heads, they simultaneously made a gesture over their hearts, the circle and two quick taps. Each wore the circle of Ouroborous etched into their left breast.

  “My lady Dria,” Mai said. “It is an honor to serve you this day of your awakening.”

  Dria smiled in relief, feeling the butterflies in her stomach settle a little. To undertake the rite of conception, she must allow herself to be bathed by the hands of other virgin women. She’d chosen the twins to help usher her into her complete womanhood. The two women were Teiytt, females chosen from the second caste of worshippers for their physical perfection, beauty and some special talent that made them worthy to serve as handmaidens to the male acolytes who ministered to the inner circle of the High Priest. Those girls were taken young, as early as seven, before they began to reach puberty. They were trained for a single purpose: to bear the children of the priests. As a group, the girls were raised exclusively within a closed circle. Extensively educated and prepared for their roles to submit body, mind, emotion and spirit. At the end of their initial training, each female was given to the man she was chosen for.

  Because she was herself the daughter of a first ranked priestess, Dria was above these women in level and position and her training had been far different from theirs. Ruling over her own territories, she would someday go among her people and choose the girls who would serve. Though she would presently have no choice as to the priest who would father her first sacrificial child, she would later be free to choose her own lovers from the order of the Yn-teiytt, the male equivalent of the Teiytt. That was if she reached her full majority within the cult.

  Jai slipped her hand confidently into Dria’s. “Come this way, my lady,” she said pertly, “so that we may prepare you.”

  She went compliantly with the girls, thinking secretly that she wished she were a man, for the twins were the prettiest creatures she’d ever seen. On more than one occasion she’d allowed them to come to her chambers and serve her sexual needs, enjoying the light caresses
of their hands. The sisters were most skillful in sexual play. Just thinking of their touch, she could feel her excitement building, remembering how Jai would suckle and tease her breasts with her tongue or how Mai would nibble at her clit as she pushed her fingers deep up into her slit.

  The bath chamber that female initiates used to cleanse themselves was a large oval of clear shimmering water, a buoyant and effulgent cerulean pool beneath a low arched ceiling of bone-white alabaster and floored with blue veined white marble. The thick and pungent smoke of spicy sandalwood incense eddied over the water. The light from dozens of mounted candles flickered like a thousand eyes upon its calm surface, creating a false sense of twilight and the impression that one had stepped into a glorious heaven. The soft music of flutes and other stringed instruments drifted in the air, proficiently played by young slave girls of the lowest caste.

  Guided to the pool, Dria could see the water was crystalline, clean and pure. She gazed into it, searching its depths. Acting as a mirror, the pool reflected back her image. Forehead high, eyes evenly spaced, straight nose, full lips. Her eyes were a strange hue, one that would not be found in a mere human; green flecked with gold. Her skin was a pale, milky white.

  Mesmerized by her reflection, she remained still as the two women disrobed her, casting aside the garment. She stood naked, trying not to shiver, not from cold but from nerves. Of the three, she stood the tallest, arms leading down to delicate hands, legs long and slender. Her breasts stood pert, the tips of her nipples pebbled with excitement. A curly patch of pubic hair covered her Venus mound, revealing her to be a true blonde.

  Clasping her hands to her breasts, Dria shivered when she looked across the silky water, frightened by the symbolism. As one born and educated in the ways of Ouroborous, she understood what would soon happen to her. Still, she hung back, afraid, unable to forget the voices of the heretics that persisted speaking in her head. Fearful rebellion quivered inside her, a denial of their irreligious words that had instilled doubt. It had dug itself into the soft tissue of her brain. It had taken root like a poisonous weed and started to grow. The faceless voices gnawed the way a dog would worry a bone. She thought of her place in the fabric of the cult, of the position she was soon to assume, trying to summon the courage to step into the pool. But a strange sort of prophetic dread lingered in the back of her mind. She clenched her hands into fists at her sides, wordlessly seeking reassurance from her silent god. She was actually afraid, as if these waters would draw her into a tide pool of everlasting torment.

  Jai sensed her tension. She reached out a soothing hand, stroking her arm in a familiar manner. “Are you ready, mistress?”

  Forcing herself to unclench her teeth and smile, Dria nodded her head. “Yes. I am ready. Prepare me.” She tried to tell herself that it was selfish and wrong to doubt her god, that she had faced this testing of her own will.

  I chose this path, she reminded herself. A semblance of her confidence began to flood back and she rejoiced in her heart with newfound strength. She had not fully understood that part of her path would be a test of faith. Now she did. It is the way of my mother and her mother before her. It has never failed them, and it will not fail me now.

  With a nod, she let Jai guide her into the pool, descending the stairs that led into the pool. The water was not deep, going only to her knees. A gentle hand on her shoulder guided her to her knees, bringing the water to her waist.

  “It will be a relief to be clean,” Dria murmured as Jai washed her long hair, treating it with a rinse of pure chamomile and mint so that the blonde highlights would shine.

  Jai dunked her head under the water. “About time, too, for you smell worse than the Dragon’s breath.”

  Dria came up spluttering. “Wench. You take a liberty I should not allow.”

  Jai pretended to pout. “And what shall I do to be allowed into your good graces again?”

  Without a word, Dria reached out, running her hand over Jai’s hip.

  With a knowing smile, Jai got down on her knees and began to wash her, running her hands over Dria’s skin, washing away the grime accrued through two weeks of confinement. There was no modesty in Jai’s ministrations, her touch intimate, moving over Dria’s breasts. Dria could feel her nipples hardening with excitement. The tips were erect, a dusky rose, the full mounds swelled and sensitive. Watching the hard little points carefully as they rose and fell sharply from her agitated breathing, Jai’s head dipped and her tongue snaked out and circled the delicate bud experimentally.

  “I know what you like,” she whispered. She suckled softly at the tip again, teasing it with soft nips, then drawing on it with all the sexually charged intent in her firm body. Her hand rose, caressing Dria’s other breast.

  Dria felt a tremor in her stomach. A shiver of anticipation traveled through her, ushering in that familiar heat of desire. As the sensations of arousal spread through her, her clit began to pulse, to ache with the need to be rubbed. Her thighs were taut, the water between her legs sensuously mixing with the liquid warmth flowing from her hungry cunt. The muscles deep inside her vagina contracted, waiting for penetration.

  Kissing the hollow between Dria’s breasts, Jai listed her head, flashing a wicked grin. “Do you enjoy my touch?”

  “Yes,” Dria breathed, skin flushing, feeling suddenly too tight to fit over her bones.

  Jai’s hand slid down her belly, fingers sliding smoothly between Dria’s legs. Her fingers found the soft petals jealously guarding the tender jewel. Using only the tip of her finger, she began to caress Dria’s clit, whispering, “Let me please you once more before you are taken.” Her finger flayed the tender tip with slow, deliberate flicks,

  She could only moan, biting her lip when Jai made circles around her clit with her wet finger before slowly penetrating her tight virgin passage. She shuddered, moaning, imagining that Jai’s finger was a cock, stroking the supple inner depths of her pussy. She wondered how thick and long the organ of the priest chosen to service her would be. How would he feel inside her? Would he fill her completely, make her scream for more?

  “Careful,” she warned Jai between gritted teeth. “It must be intact.” Her lips covered Jai’s, emitting a breathy little moan as her hands clenched a handful of Jai’s soft hair so she could pull her close, inhale her clean scent. She loved the look and the feel of a woman’s body, and it embarrassed her not that she should enjoy having sex with a woman. After all, it was not only accepted in her caste, it was encouraged to prevent a young acolyte from straying. For a priestess to lose her virginity before her taking ceremony was paramount to blasphemy.

  Jai began to nibble at her lips, licking them as though they were as succulent as sun-warmed honey. “You will go to your chosen a pure woman,” she promised. Slipping in another finger, Jai began to pump into Dria’s depths slowly, her fingers penetrating to the knuckle. The fingers of her other hand gently pinched Dria’s nipple, rolling it between thumb and forefinger.

  Dria whimpered. Her hips gyrated in time to Jai’s thrusts through the shallow, narrow crease of her cunt. The feel of her lips, tongue and hands, of soft wet skin was almost more than her deprived senses could stand. She knew she couldn’t last long against the vibrations building deep in her loins, igniting every nerve in her body. An eruption of pure pleasure soon overtook her, one that left her gasping. She began to shake, hands digging into Jai’s shoulders. She cried out as the hard ripples of climax washed over her, her vagina clenching around Jai’s fingers.

  The two women remained locked together, the water lapping delicately at their skin. Body still quivering with gratification, she drew a breath into her burning lungs. Finally, Jai’s fingers slid from her pussy. She gave Dria a final quick kiss.

  “You are well pleased, mistress?”

  Words locked in her throat, unable to pass her lips, Dria nodded. How she wished she could stay forever a girl, living and laughing with her sister-women, touching them as she longed to be touched. Alas, duty called and she had
already ignored it for far too long. Reluctantly, she let Jai lead her from the pool.

  Mai came forward with a thick linen towel to pat the water from her skin. Kneeling, she began at Dria’s feet and worked her hands first over one hard calf, then the other, up her legs, between her thighs, over the soft curve of her rear, her waist, breasts and shoulders. It was an exquisite and sensual feeling to be pampered in such a luxurious way. A soft sigh escaped her parted lips. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see other lower caste servant women buzzing around like bees, bringing the things that would be required to ready her for the ceremony.

  “I can’t believe my day has come,” she sighed regretfully.

  “You are to be a priestess, lady, one of the Dragon’s chosen.” Mai took Dria’s hand and led her toward a low stone bench, indicating for her to sit.

  Another woman briefly flitted in, offering a silver cup perched on a tray. “It is our pleasure to serve,” she said with a bow.

  Dria took a sip from the cup, rolling the rich burgundy wine over her tongue before swallowing. It was just what she needed. She took a larger sip, and then another until the cup was emptied. She could not know that it had been treated with herbal hallucinogens that would enhance her senses, both physical and psychic. She did not protest when the cup was filled a second, then a third time.

  Kneeling, Mai dipped her hand into a small clay jar and began to rub scented oil into Dria’s skin. Jai circled behind her, a pick in her hand to untangle the snarls from Dria’s wet hair. “Perhaps when you are choosing your attendants, you will remember us.” She ran her hands through the heavy tresses, working one section at a time until not a tangle was to be found.

  Dria smiled agreeably, head a bit addled from the potent wine. She felt dazed, dizzied, weightless, as if she was floating in a pleasant haze. “But if I take you as my handmaidens, you will have to be eternally chaste. Do you not long for men of your own?”