I turn away, agreeing that the dust and grit are unusually heavy in this place.
A last wind sweeps the mist into a vague form. A man. I know his height and the vague shape of him, though he’s more mortal than lich. Eyes formed by small black vortexes dart wildly and fall on me.
Esmanth.
The word blows over me on a hot gust, but my guts are cold. How does he know? What the fuck does it mean?
Ewanach compresses. Hands reach up from the ground and hold his spirit hostage. The ravens of Helheim materialize from darkness, snap him in their beaks and drag him screaming across the landscape toward the dead harbor.
I watch him disappear on the horizon and turn to find Etain watching, too.
“I hope the wine and the women are bitter,” she whispers to the horizon.
Finna flows out of the tower. “Everyone alright? It was close there for a minute?”
“The mirror wouldn’t budge,” agrees Etain.
“What did you do?”
Finna flicks me with a dollop of her slime. “Improvised.”
The droplet lubricates my fingertips like the best blade oil. “Got it.”
Etain smirks at me. “I was wrong. You’re maybe not the most capable of brute strength or prowess, but I underestimated your cleverness and determination. And that of your allies.” She smiles at Finna.
Her skin seems lighter, and I realize with a glance out over the Boneyards that the horizon has begun to glow. Gold and marmalade ribbons band behind the treetops. “The sun is coming up.”
Etain nods. “I’d like to see it, if you don’t mind. One last time.”
I look to Finna, who nods and slips into the portal, which has opened beside the observatory's arch.
Etain stands at the edge of the staircase, facing east, eyes closed.
The air has taken on the dewy chill of morning. As the sun rises, spilling golden light over the land, trees fuzz with new buds and roots weave over the Boneyards. They crunch the headstones silently, like fingers, and in the few seconds it takes for sun to break, and dazzle, and rise enough to reveal the landscape again, a forest fills the basin for as far as I can see.
Etain fades. I can see daylight through her, and a hint of the horizon. She glows.
“Etain?”
It passes. She’s corporeal again. She turns to me with a serene smile. “Not yet. There’s more to do; not yet.”
“If you want to go…” I don’t know what I’d do, but I won’t keep her against her will.
She shakes her head. “Folkvangr is for loudmouth soldiers and Valhalla is for drunks. There’s glory yet to be had in this world...” She rakes me with her eyes and they blaze, “among other pleasures.”
She takes my hand and leads me into the observatory. The archway is a pass-through; stairs lead up to my right, but ahead is a small walled garden. It blooms, and on the breeze, I smell the same white flower musk as Etain’s skin.
Down one side runs an arcade, the columns of each arch twined with thick green vines and shy new blossoms. We stop beneath, at an alcove where a scroll-ended sofa sits positioned to give a view of the pastel riot beyond.
“Ewanach wanted these to be rooms of State, all. Our marital bed was a stage behind red velvet curtains, everything opulent and lacquered like a brothel. This…” She fondles the sofa, closes her eyes and breathes deep. “This was for me. And if I’d ever taken a lover…” Her gaze falls to me like a pointing finger.
I circle the couch slowly, looking her over. I’ve taken lovers where my only consideration was how much coin, and being the son of a king that was a small struggle unless my income was nearly spent. Etain has put so much care and thought into her secret fantasy; for the first time in ages I feel real nerves. I shrug from my pack.
She wraps arms over her bare midriff, hiding. Her eyes dim to pale amber. “I was beautiful once, allegedly. A man once sailed all the way from Jelgin to paint me. I’m sorry that you’re seeing me now, like this.”
“I don’t think you know–” I tug her arms away and hold them wide when she fights me. “You’ve been too long with a man who finds himself the prettiest.”
Her laugh is musical. Her arms relax. “I suppose the benefit to bedding me is that, depending on the angle, you might lay with one of five or six different people.”
“Hm-mm.” I tap her temple. “This is Etain. I learned in my first ten minutes here that there’s no escaping that.”
“You’re disgustingly charming for a mortal.”
“No I’m not.” I grip the clasp on her breast piece and tug. The whole thing shudders; pauldrons, leather, chains, and strikes the floor. “I’m not charming or decent or even very smart. But I’m lucky. Women who don’t need me and would never, rightly, give me a nod beyond this temple, are my allies.”
“I never would have guessed it seductive, but a man grateful to share my bed has a definite appeal.” She burns the laces from my chest armor with a blazing finger. “But self-deprecation doesn’t suit you.”
“No?” I’m stuck on her searing off my clothes and how her flame doesn’t burn, just kisses over my skin.
Her breasts invite my hands, but I resist. Her green tint is lush, not sickly, and I’m dying to feel the supple, damp teardrops of her tits in my palm, but I want to take my time, admire and savor her.
“You’re exceptional,” Etain murmurs, moving closer. “I can only imagine how exceptional.”
I bury fingers in her hair and drag her lips to mine. It’s been a long time since I kissed a woman, really kissed her, with the intention of doing nothing else, at least for a few minutes. It’s been a thousand years for Etain; I feel the expectations even if she doesn’t.
Her lips are as soft and pillowy as they look. Wet with our spit, they slip against mine and our mouths seat perfectly, like they’re ahead of our bodies. She tastes like the sweet-tart residue of arcane sugar and spring water, something clean and natural that flows from deep in the earth. I plunge my tongue between her lips. She slumps, and moans. Her breasts press my bare chest and cling to my skin, nipples teasing mine.
“I’m afraid of frightening you,” she breathes against my mouth, fingers brushing my flank.
I’ve been cut apart by Helreginn and mounted by an artaois; I don’t think that’s a possibility, but I can’t say this. Instead I kiss her again, the corner of her mouth, her jaw, the soft dimple between her ear and neck. “You’re welcome to try.”
Etain shoves me onto the couch. She takes her time with my leathers and hers, eyes like sun while she holds my gaze, smile bent with mischief.
“I want you to know,” I murmur while she tugs down my boots, “That in my world, laying with you is a crime punishable by death, and I would still take the chance.”
A faint pink stain colors her cheeks. She rests hands on her lean hips and looks me over. I do likewise.
Her stitches are so small and tight that they look like tattoos. The thin arrow of hair between her thighs is a copper penny, pointing to the delicate cleft of her lips.
A small a part of me feels the forbidden nature of all this, and wonders what else lays hidden inside me, when the idea of taking an undead girl turns me half hard.
Etain gasps, runs her hands down my stomach. She tugs my cock, cups my balls and rolls them. She bites her lip, eyes dancing. “This! Feel this!” She cups them tighter, rakes them with short nails, making me shiver. “It’s been so long,” she purrs, stroking, massaging, touching everything she can get her hands on.
“You are so, so good for my ego,” I manage, writhing under her touch.
Etain shimmies along my body. Her pussy brushes a line up me, warm and wet. She stops at my chest and bites her lip. “Do the men of your realm…?” She circles her hips, questioning.
Her perfect little pussy, light green under the red hair of her thatch, is so close. “This man of my realm damn well does.” I grab her hips, pull her over my face, and stab her clit with my tongue. She tastes like sex, and herbs, a heady fragra
nce with a floral undernote. She collapses, and her weight rests on my face. Incense and her musk fill my nose, my mouth. I run my tongue in a line between her lips, and then drag slowly along her clit.
The noise that comes from her is something like pleasure mixed with panic. “Wait, wait…” she pants, lifting from me. “Oh, it’s too much. It’s been so long. Good, just…”
“I’m sorry–“
“Don’t.” Her eyes close, like she’s working up her courage. “Don’t apologize. Just…gently.”
She lowers slowly, her fingers raking into my hair. When she’s close enough I try again, my tongue the barest brush along delicate green folds.
Her moan crests on a shriek. She wriggles away. “Gods you’re good. Too good…”
This has never in my life been a problem. When I was young and green no girl let my mouth near her. If you’re clumsy it’s a no and if you’re skilled it’s a yes, yes, yes. I’m as amused as I am frustrated. My cock throbs and my mouth craves her. “Tell me.”
“Show you,” she whispers, and for the first time Etain seems shy.
She scoots down my body, and my cock brushes her cool damp flesh. A moan rises in her throat. Her pussy quivers as it passes along my head, leaving me wet.
Etain sits back on the divan, parting lean thighs. Her pussy is beautiful, sheened and begging to be licked clean. Her breath comes in small gasps, and her eyes are on me, watching, hesitant. She works up her courage. I sit up, close enough that my breath fans her hair.
She takes a long breath, reaches up, and… removes her head.
Instinct makes me flinch.
Etain cradles it, lowering.
No. No way.
She rests it on the divan, between her legs. “Come closer.” Her voice is husky now, more certain. Etain shudders at her own breath against her cunt.
Her body isn’t gruesome; both halves of her neck conclude in smooth green skin ringing thin tongues of the same flames that blaze in her eyes.
I obey her command, afraid to speak, to move too quickly, unable to believe what’s about to happen. It’s crazy, unthinkable, feels obscene and deviant.
And I want to watch it happen, right now.
“Like this.” She tips her head. Her tiny pink tongue darts out, breaching soft lips, and barely flicks her swollen clit.
Her whimper is deep this time, primal, of being so long denied that she’s forgotten pleasure. She flicks herself in soft strokes. Etain cradles her head, gently cups her cheeks and pulls. Pert nose-tip buries in her cleft and full lips wrap her clit. She sucks with small wet noises that drive me wild.
“Can you feel it? On both sides?”
She arches and moans her answer. I can feel the power of it through the cushion; it must tremble in her pussy, too. Etain’s cries raise. She cums, desperately fisting her own hair. She jerks her head from trembling wet lips.
I want her, want my mouth on her, but this is also the most exotic, erotic thing I’ve ever seen, and I’m not sure I want it to end.
“Like that,” she breathes.
I don’t need any more convincing.
Her smile is wicked. “On your back.”
I’m not sure what she’s up to, don’t care. I’d agree to anything. I fall against the couch, head between her legs. My cock juts high, pulsing in the garden air.
Her pussy is all I see, my entire world. I mimic her moves, flick my tongue as lightly as I can, am rewarded by gasps and little moans. She’s delicious, and so wet, her tiny bud shy and taut, but I find it over and over.
Sensation along my cock changes, sudden and wet. Her pussy muffles an unmanly yelp.
Sucking. I open my eyes, look up her body. She’s upright, sitting on my face, shoulders nowhere near my…
Oh.
Etain is still holding her head, her arms extended, and she’s using it to suck me off, warm mouth gripping like velvet.
We’re so far across every line, and it’s incredible.
Etain’s fiery hair curtains me, and her thick lips roll down my shaft. She mmm’s when my head strikes the back of her throat, the vibration igniting along my thighs. And then she pushes me deeper, into her throat, until my balls fill her mouth.
She doesn’t draw back, doesn’t need to. There’s at least one benefit to not breathing.
I lean back, tease and flick her little pussy. It sends long tremors through her, and she moans around a mouthful of my cock, driving me wild.
When she cums, she collapses forward, loses control, and her head slides hard down my shaft, tearing me over the edge. I cum, explosively, pumping hard into her mouth.
She rises, pulling her away, turns to face me.
Etain sets her head back on her neck. Stitches lace.
She licks her lips. “Doesn’t taste quite like I remember.”
“Gods damn.”
She smirks. “Sit up.” Her command is effortless; I’d obey even if I didn’t want to. I sit and brace against the sofa’s arm.
Etain gets to her knees, straddles me and twines her arms around my neck. She runs her wet silken slit along my head, up and back, painting me.
My hands run wild. Her skin is like nothing I’ve ever felt, and I caress every inch while she kneads my shoulders and teases until my cock flinches, begging silently.
When she adds weight I grip her hip. “I wanted this to last. We can take our time.”
“You can take your time. I’d wager you’ve been fucked at least once in the last thousand years. I, however–”
Etain impales herself on my shaft, arches until her tits slap my chin and shudders. Her moan is long, powerful. She collapses against me, panting.
“You came?”
“Gods all, yes,” she murmurs.
So good for my ego.
“You’re so warm,” she murmurs against my ear, breathless. “Hard. I can feel your heartbeat, feel the blood flow through your cock.” Her pussy clenches, and she tenses, even though I’m not moving. “I could– Oh, oh, ohhhh…”
She comes again, melting against my chest.
“How?”
Her whisper against my throat is lazy. “You feel so good, and it’s been so long…”
I grip her waist, force her up. Her eyes are coronas, hot and flickering with tails of flame.
“Watch me,” I demand, holding her gaze, feeling deviant and reveling in it. “Watch me while I fuck you.”
Etain chuckles wickedly, drops her hips and grinds me until I cry out. “You’re disgusting,” she whispers, breath catching when I hold her fast and thrust deep. “You’re filthy. You like this…” Her ass rolls hard, working my balls. “You like what I am, and you like fucking me.”
“I do, I do…” Gods help me, I do. I take her faster. Her accusations become sensation more than a sound, a seductive, illicit narration of how deviant I am and how fucking good it feels.
I fist her hair, drag her mouth to mine and tongue-fuck her in time with our bodies, with strokes that bury me to the hilt. Small sparks erupt from her seams and drift over us.
Etain throws back her head, clutches my shoulders and rides me without mercy. We’re ungentle, rough. I’m hungry for something I’ve never had, and she’s starved for what she hasn’t had in so long.
When the first tremors of her next climax start, she grabs my face, grinds my lips to hers and cries her satisfaction into my mouth.
I cum. My hard cock spurts heat deep into her tepid body; she lashes me to her with lean arms and cums again, our bodies straining, writhing for every last drop.
“Ohh,” she melts again, cool cheek pressed above the thunder of my heartbeat. “That was worth the wait.”
“Other benefits aside?”
“Meaning?” she asks, perking up.
“You know, you gain a little power each time. And so do I–“ I thrust my fingers; nothing happens. “So do I…” No flames. Not a spark.
“It’s not a gesture, it’s a feeling: Consume.”
I flick my fingers; a small flame dan
ces at my fingertip.
Etain smirks, flips her hand and sends a column of flame that could ignite the bower.
“Well. No pressure–” I yawn, worn out by a day that feels like years, “Anyway, the more we bond, the more we benefit. Just something to keep in mind. No other reason.” I wink.
“I will keep it in mind.” She sits back, luminous eyes on mine. “There are others. Finna, and you’ve coupled with more.”
“They’ll be waiting in the garden.” I hedge, gauging her reaction.
Etain licks my bottom lip, her mouth sweet and tasting vaguely like my cock. “As curses go, this is one of the better ways to break one.”
She kisses me one last time, tongue running over mine.
I couldn’t agree more.
-The Garden-
We stand before the portal, hands twined. Etain seems truly uncertain for the first time. I squeeze her fingers, reassuring.
“It’s going to be good,” I promise. “It’s a lot like your garden here.”
We step through.
On the other side is flame and death.
We stumble onto a cobbled street, one torn by war. Bodies, common folk, shopkeepers, women and children; they lie strewn in the gutter, and blood flows thick between stones I would recognize in my sleep. The buildings next to us are destroyed, some burned, some torn by magic, others looted by pillaging soldiers.
But between the buildings, something is off. I see elements of the garden; trees slowly moving in the wind, the bust of Cocidius perched in the broken window of a shop.
But I don’t care, can’t think of anything but the sound of a crowd. One that I hear in my dreams, every single night.
Am I dreaming now?
No.
Etain’s hand grips mine. “Is this the garden?” Her eyes run wild over the chaos.
“No, no...Something is wrong. Something…” I can’t speak, fall to my knees. I’m shaking, can’t stop, and I vomit.
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