Princesses of the Ironbound Boxset: Books 1 - 3 (Barbarian Outcast, Barbarian Assassin, Barbarian Alchemist)

by Aaron Crash

  “By the seven devils of hell!” Roger cursed.

  Odd the Smirk did what he was best at. He laughed in a series of weaselly snarls.

  “We expect a very good year for you all, from our incoming imprudens to our dominists who will soon enough leave to—” The Princept stopped talking abruptly. Her eyes went to Ymir, who was three feet off the back bench. The other professors on the raised dais were also surprised.

  Gharam snapped and pointed, directing his guards standing in the back to intervene. They’d better hurry.

  Ymir stretched himself out, which was a mistake. His feet went over his head. He flung out his arms. If he didn’t stop, he’d be walking on the ceiling.

  Every head turned to see what had silenced the Princept.

  Toriah leapt up and grabbed his hand. With a grunt, she pulled him down. Both she and the clansman fell over the backrest of the bench and onto the hard stone floor.

  The Princept cleared her throat and continued. A few of Gharam’s orcs came forward from the back. These were the guards he’d seen on his first day, though they were in far less armor. Instead of spears, they had short curved swords at their sides.

  One bent. “Is everything in order?” she asked in a gruff voice. Her humorless red eyes matched her red hair, swirled into tight braids over her green ears.

  “Yes,” Toriah answered. “All is fine here. Just helping my friend. I seem to have cast a spell without realizing it.” The dwarf girl had a quick wit. The orcs retreated to the back of the hall.

  The Princept talked about the various accomplishments of alumni and what she expected from the incoming class.

  Ymir sat with the dwarf on the floor. He rubbed his face. “Well, Toriah, this is embarrassing.” He kept his voice low.

  She patted his leg. “It’s Tori. I gave you food, you gave me a seat, and then I probably just saved your life. So you owe me.” She leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the check, more like an understanding mother trying to lift his spirits than a lover trying to lift something else.

  “Shut the hell up,” Odd the Smirk hissed in front of them.

  Tori returned to her seat. Ymir stood, gripping the lip on the back of the bench in case he found himself floating again.

  The Princept finished her speech by directing all the scholars to report to the fields of their respective colleges.

  Tori shouldered her satchel and came around. She punched him in the arm. “That was interesting. Were you messing around with a spell or what?”

  He shook his head. “It’s why I’m here. I can’t control this fucking magic.”

  “You’ll learn?” She laughed at what should’ve been a statement and not a question. She threw him a cute little wave and scooted out the door, heading for the Moons Field.

  The punch and the salute had him a bit baffled. She was treating him like a battle brother. Regardless, having a friend in the kitchen wasn’t a bad thing.

  The viscount and Odd the Smirk shuffled out of the pew. All walked by him without saying a word.

  Ymir had wanted them to say something, but they were silent. Perhaps they thought that ignoring him might sting. It didn’t. They were ridiculous in their robes, and in their perfume.

  He collected his satchel.

  The orc librarian tromped by him loaded down with books. From her red robes, he knew she was on her way to Sunfire. She gave him a scowl and kept right on walking.

  It seemed he wasn’t very popular. That would either change, or it wouldn’t. Complaining or pining wouldn’t help him in any case.

  He was curious if he’d missed anything important in the Princept’s speech. He could figure that out on the Flow Field.

  Still, he felt his loneliness keenly for a moment as he watched friends walk with friends. Then Lillee sauntered up, humming one of her songs. She hooked her arm in his.

  He’d trade a thousand Odd the Smirks for just one Lillee Nehenna.

  Chapter Thirteen

  JENNYBELLE JOSEN KNEW exactly how the events of the first day would unfold. She had friends, sisters, and handmaidens who were sophists, judicians, and dominists at the Majestrial. Many returned for post-domini work, especially the elves, since they lived so long.

  She ticked off the events in her mental checklist: the Princept’s welcome speech, the colleges gathering at their respective fields, and then a brief tour for the imprudens across the campus, which she didn’t need at all. Then there was an introduction to the Knowing mirrors, the sand parchment, and other things the incoming scholars needed to know.

  Jenny had already mastered all that. She went to the late-morning introduction class, though, to get a sense of the other imprudens boys. There weren’t many among the twenty-five incoming Flow scholars.

  They sat in the desks in front of Issa Leel, the Flow’s Studia Dux. The elven professor had on a beautiful layered dress under her college robes.

  Jenny sat in the back with Nelly and a couple other Swamp Coast girls. A young, plain-faced woman from the Scatter Islands sat in front of them. Her face wasn’t much, but she had lots of dark kinky hair scooped up in a gray headband on her head.

  Across the way was Ymir in his leather shirt. In front of him was his elf girlfriend. Or maybe they were just friends? Not hardly, not when Lillee Nehenna wore the mark of the Sullied on her left temple. Jenny knew all about that. Yet Lillee still wore the essess, her forearm cuff. Why? Jenny didn’t know. The Ohlyrra had many issues when it came to sex.

  She absently wove a strand of hair around her finger while she glanced around the classroom.

  At the front, Professor Leel read off a list of names so they would all know each other. The elven teacher then lifted her Knowing mirror. “This will give you important information on events at the school. You will need to look at it often to keep abreast of information.”

  Odd Corry, the Farmington whelp, sniggered at the mere mention of breasts. The viscount scowled at his friend. Those two had befriended someone Jenny knew, knew and hated. Darisbeau Cujan, of Cujantown—the queendom east of where Jenny grew up. His long brown hair hung in his face, half covering eyes as black as swamp water at midnight. The Cujans and the Josens had hated each other for centuries, a long feud, often bloody, that threatened to disrupt the entire Swamp Coast.

  The Cujans had killed Jenny’s father and sister, though they would never admit it. And they hadn’t even done it with swords, no, but poison. Cowardly fuckers.

  Jenny would have to send a sand letter home to get more information. She’d kept track of who was coming and going at the school. Why hadn’t she heard about the Cujan kid attending?

  And then she realized she’d met him before. She’d been with her sisters at a winter solstice festival, and they’d come across the Cujans, mostly women but a few black-eyed boys as well. They’d exchanged insults, except for Daris, who had come close to stare at Jenny’s boobs, lick his lips, and smile like a watertooth terror, more teeth than scales.

  Constables separated the groups before there could be violence. Each family was escorted to opposite ends of the festival. She’d been young and stupid, and she’d asked about the Cujan kid, somewhat drawn to him by the taboo nature of such an illicit affair. And here she was, seeing Darisbeau Cujan again.

  A dwarf and an orc were the only other males among the Flow imprudens. The dwarf had a rocky face and black hair and, of course, the beard and the boots. He sat as far away from the orc warrior as he could. There was no love lost between the Gruul and the Morbuskor, though their feuding was nothing compared to the Josens and the Cujans.

  But then, many of the races were troubled by the Gruul. A rogue chieftain, Gulnash, had been gathering soldiers to his cause. He wanted to conquer the orc city-states spread across the Blood Steppes. There had been some skirmishes in the Holy Theranus Republic north of the Swamp Coast. Auntie Jia had even sent some soldiers to the aid of the humans living in the forests north of her home.

  Jenny stopped twirling her hair to cast a secret glance at the
barbarian. She’d gotten good at looking at him when he wasn’t aware. Damn her to hell, but he was so handsome—there was no way that the slutty elf wasn’t in his bed every night. She’d done a little spying and knew their cells were right next to each other. She could only imagine how savage he’d be when caught up in his lust.

  Ymir was quite the specimen. Without a doubt, he was an accomplished warrior since he’d passed the Open Exam without using magic. If he was only just handsome and strong, that would’ve been enough to want to capture him. In some ways, his intelligence made him absolutely her best prospect. In others, it made her life far more complicated.

  She wasn’t sure what to make of him floating off his seat; most likely it had been a prank from one of the Farmington boys. The clansman would be the target of such insipid cruelty. He was alone. He was a foreigner. Such ugly ducklings were targets.

  And yet, in her class, he really was her best option to fulfill her familial duty. Darisbeau Cujan should be strapped to a log and left for the swamp ants. As for the Farmington men? Odd Corry had paid his way into the Majestrial, so he had money but wasn’t royalty. He was probably the son of some successful farmer or rancher. The money might be nice. However, his smirk made him a terrible candidate—that, and he was a thin, weaselly thing. The viscount was bigger, though poor, but still tolerable—merely tolerable wouldn’t do. As for the dwarf and the orc in her class? Neither would be interested in finding a home in the Swamp Coast. They could change that with a Lover’s Knot spell if only either one of them were even a little good-looking. The dwarf was hairy and foul. The orc was as unsightly—protruding tusks, spitty lips, and white eyes. He was simply too unattractive.

  No, the barbarian, however difficult, should be her focus. If she did capture him, he’d be off-limits to her. The thought hurt. And, oh, she’d had so many thoughts about him.

  Jenny lived in a Flow suite, above the Sea Stair Market, and only steps away from the Flow College’s tower. She had commanding views of the ocean, and she’d spent every night watching the sun and moons set in the Weeping Sea. It was her own space, as it should be, since she was a Josentown princess, the daughter of Queen Lissabelle Josen. Not the Firstborn, and not the third, but the second, which meant she shouldered all the responsibility of her people. Auntie Jia had made it clear—Jenny’s life was not her own.

  When Jenny’s lust grew keen, and her own fingers wouldn’t do, she’d get Nellybelle Tucker in her bed at night. Nelly’s touch and tongue were familiar and not particularly exciting. So Jenny would fantasize about Ymir between her legs, licking her, though she wasn’t sure cunnilingus was practiced by the clans. Some men didn’t fancy it. Jenny loved to receive it but was more unsure about giving it. For example, she’d never gone down on Nelly or any of the other Swamp Coast women. She’d had a friend who’d been delicious and wanton, but that was a while ago.

  In her fantasies, Ymir drank her in, growling all the while, and gripping her thighs while he did his work. Then his hands would find her big breasts, spilling across her chest. He’d pull on her nipples, tightening her wide areolas into nubs. She liked her nipples played with. She’d simulate his actions, gripping her breasts while Nelly brought her to the edge and over it.

  After Jenny came, she liked something inside her, and while she had to make do with Nelly’s fingers, she wanted Ymir’s thick uht splitting her open and driving her to the heights of ecstasy.

  He could come inside her since she wasn’t drinking the sanctum sap tea. His essence would make her feel so complete, so full. Of his love? Probably not. She didn’t need his love. His lust would do nicely.

  She’d suck him hard again. And so it would go, over and over, every promise to Auntie Jia broken in the wonderful scenes she and the barbarian would create together.

  In her dreams, Jenny could shatter her vows. In her real life, she wasn’t about to jeopardize herself, her friends, or her family.

  Thinking about Ymir, and her fantasies, had soaked her underwear. Bringing her thighs together, she felt the illicit squish. She’d be summoning Nelly to service her that night. Nelly could bring her glass phallus, and that might help a bit.

  If only Jenny hadn’t felt the barbarian’s bulge through his leather pants. It had been so big. To feel his sex filling her might be worth her ruin.

  She had regretted teasing him about it. It had been a jab, a stupid quip, and she’d thought he’d laugh it off. Instead, he’d lashed out. What he’d said hurt her, deeply. He had magic, without a doubt. How else could he have known about her father and sister? Had he really lost a sister as well? Or was that a lie?

  She didn’t know. She’d run from him. She’d fumed. She’d sworn to herself that she’d find another candidate. Not in the Flow imprudens, she wouldn’t. The other colleges might have better prospects, though that was doubtful.

  A clansman with a dusza? To win him would be the ultimate prize.

  She stifled a sigh. She’d have to repair their friendship, even if it made her look weak. May the seven devils take me to hell but I hate my life, she thought.

  Her attention returned to the classroom. Professor Leel had finished talking about the Knowing mirror and started on the next part of her instruction.

  The elven professor held up a sheet of paper. “As you know, paper is very expensive. The Knowing Guild has perfected a way for us to ration how much we use. Get out your pen and inkwells and write down the Four Ages.”

  “Tell us, clansman, what are the Four Ages?” Darisbeau Cujan asked.

  All the scholars turned to look at Ymir. Odd Corry smirked. The viscount frowned. Daris’s black eyes twinkled in his pale face.

  Ymir smiled serenely. “The four ages in the North? We are born, we fight, we fuck, we die.”

  Before Daris could counter or Professor Leel could intervene, the barbarian continued. “But in your case, there are probably only three. Birth, life, death. That is unfortunate. However, I think you mean the four ages of Thera.”

  His elf girlfriend murmured something.

  “The Age of Union is the first one,” Ymir said. “As for the second? Would you like for me to tell you the second?”

  “That’s enough,” Professor Leel said sternly. “What we write isn’t as important as understanding the sand parchment. This process is similar to sand letters but on a limited scale.”

  Jenny knew all about sand letters. In the Imperial Palace, where the faculty lived, they had a room where sand fell in a shower from one tray to another, almost like an hourglass. The sender cast a spell, Form magic, connecting to the sand chamber of the person they wanted to send the letter to. The sender let the sand fall on the paper. On the other side, the receiver’s sand chamber had a constant flow of sand falling. Paper on a shelf above the falling sand would float down into the path of the streaming sand. And so the letter was magically transferred from one piece of paper to another. Thanks to the Knowing Guild, people could communicate across the continent.

  More whispers from Lillee Nehenna to the clansman.

  “The Age of Discord.” The barbarian’s voice boomed through the room.

  Daris snapped his fingers and pointed. “Your little friend is helping you. You don’t know, do you?”

  Odd Corry nearly choked on his giggles. “He doesn’t know. He’s an animal. He’s not even wearing shoes.”

  Ymir’s smile didn’t falter.

  Jenny saw her chance. “He does know, Darisbeau Cujan. Ymir knows far more than you ever will.”

  Daris ignored her. “You’re right, Odd. I’ve seen smarter dogs.”

  The viscount wasn’t saying a word. He looked uncomfortable.

  “Just the other day, you talked about the Age of Withering,” Jenny continued.

  “The Age of Withering,” Ymir echoed. “That’s three.”

  “And we’re in the Age of Isolation,” the woman from the Scatter Islands offered. “Though some believe we have entered a new age.”

  “Yes, the Age of Isolation makes four.” Y
mir nodded confidently.

  “Enough!” Professor Leel barked. “Jelu jelarum!” The gray-and-black ring on her right hand gleamed with a bright light. A cold wind burst through the room, icing up the windows and flinging snow into the back of the room. Parchment went fluttering off the desks. Most of the flakes settled on Daris and Ymir.

  The clansman brushed snow across his hair and sighed. “This feels like at home. Thank you, Professor.”

  She scowled. “No one will be saying another word. I will finish this lesson, and then you, Ymir, will stay behind so I can discuss the error of your ways. For one thing, you will be wearing your college colors to your classes. For another, you will not curse, not in front of me, or any of your Ohlyrran instructors.”

  “Lastly?” Ymir asked.

  Professor Leel went white. “There is no lastly. Now, silence! Jelu inanis.” The snowflakes disappeared, drying so fast they didn’t leave behind a drop of water. Her ring dimmed.

  Scholars reached down and grabbed their fallen papers. A few of the mostly female scholars threw angry glances at the men in the back. They were here for serious work, not to witness the juvenile antics of fools.

  The elven professor went on to show them how the sand parchment worked. You could fill the entire page with ink, but then simply letting sand run down the page into the tray would wipe it clean. You then tipped the tray into the vial so you could reuse the mystical dust. In that way, scholars could transpose their notes into their own grimoires, which were provided and were in their satchels.

  Jenny wasn’t going to use much of anything provided by the school. She had her own grimoire, which she’d already started filling with spells, tidbits of history, and special instructions she learned from the private tutors she’d had in Josentown.

  Jenny caught Ymir’s eyes. She tilted her head at him. She’d helped him.

  He didn’t return her look. Instead, he shook his head, grinning, self-satisfied. Like she was the most unimportant thing in the world. She’d obviously made a serious mistake in the Chapel of the Tree. It would take work to get him to trust her now. Why had she been so stupid?