by Aaron Crash
“I like to look at the girls.” Ymir smirked. He was half serious. It was engrained in him to listen to those who had wisdom he lacked. And where magic was concerned, there was much he lacked. “I wasn’t wearing the ring in the shower.”
“Perhaps there is more than one person at Old Ironbound who wants you dead,” the Princept said softly.
Ice shivered down Ymir’s neck, across his shoulders, and down his spine. He didn’t show it. That felt right. He was taking a chance coming to the Princept, Della the soothsayer, and she might see more than he wanted. The xocalati business wasn’t that important, but the Veil Tear Ring was. As were the accompanying words, Akkir Akkor. So far, he hadn’t had much luck finding their meaning. It had only been a week, though.
“And you thought your life would be boring here with the books and fat-bottomed scholars.” Della smiled, more sad than sneering. She still held his hand. “No, Old Ironbound has always been a provocative place. It’s why I chose to return, to teach, to lead. To unravel this school’s secrets, my own, the world’s. This was one of the Vempor Aegel Akkridor’s strongholds. He didn’t live here, though, but in the Imperial Palace. This room was for his counselors and magicians. Above, in what is now the Illuminates Spire, was where he held private meetings. There is so much history here.”
“And yet you are wistful, Della.” He squeezed her hand. “No, I’ll call you Princept. Why not? You are melancholy. Why?”
She raised her eyebrows. “If you live centuries, you gather secrets and skeletons. Live long enough? Those secrets can return to poison you. Those skeletons can crawl out of their graves and bring knives for the homecoming.” She gripped his hand harder. “You caught me in a mood, clansman. Let’s return to your problem. Our problem, really. I can’t have you murdered. I just endured an investigation to keep you here.”
“Thank you for that.” He meant the words. He didn’t ask how she could’ve lived centuries when she looked human. Still, their hands were clasped and starting to sweat.
She didn’t shake his fingers away. “You are welcome. You’ll have to do great things in your life. If you don’t, then my worries will have been for nothing. How tragic would that be?” She laughed sharply.
This was a side of the Princept Ymir hadn’t expected. Her raw emotions, barely concealed, were genuine. Her mask of cool superiority had slipped and was nearly lying on the floor.
“Hush now.” She took his other hand. Eyes closed, she whispered, “Jelu jelarum.”
The ring on her left hand blazed, and that bright light, a wash of flickering orange flames, raced up both their arms and circled their heads.
“By the Axman’s mighty thews,” Ymir cursed. Seeing fire envelope the woman after nearly being burned to death did set a man on edge.
Della gripped both of his hands harder, harder, harder, until he had to grab her back. He gritted his teeth.
She was breathing hard, her chest rising and falling, sweat dotting her forehead. “No. It’s dark. There is blood. No. Not yet. This spring. Third Exam. That’s when. The week of the Third Exam. It has you around the throat. It is squeezing the life from you, and your face is turning blue. Later, Jennybelle Josen lies on stone stairs, pale, lifeless.” She shoved him back.
His hands throbbed from where she’d gripped them with a supernatural strength.
She staggered, turned around, and then reached out to grip the table. Her wineglass fell. The sword clattered to the marble floor. She stood there, shaking, her back to him. If she hadn’t found the wood, she’d have fallen. As it was, she couldn’t stop trembling.
Unexpected words poured from her mouth. “I curse you. I curse you forever. Let the sleeper wake from the dream.”
Ymir laughed at the fear and ice mixed in the pit of his belly. “Not that demon, Della. I killed the Lonely Man. I need to know about the one I met tonight on the AngelTeeth Islands.”
“You fucking bastard,” she hissed. “To come to my school after being touched by that thing. And then your fucking ring. And you had better damn well call me Princept, or I’ll splash your blood across this room. Aegel Akkridor murdered some of his advisors here. Perhaps the stones long for more blood.”
Ymir stood tall, arms across his chest. “We’re beyond recriminations now. I’m here. I don’t want to leave, not yet. I just learned about the five Categoria Magica. I’ve used the Flow armatus, but let’s be honest, I’m just starting. I can’t go home, not yet. Maybe—”
She cut him off. “Maybe if you master all four of the Studiae Magica, all five of the Categoria Magica, you’ll return to the north as a conquering hero. Yet you worry, don’t you? You worry every spell you cast makes you more of a stranger, and that the Black Wolf Clan would rather destroy themselves than let you lead them.”
Those few sentences cut his heart to ribbons. She was right. He kept his voice even. “Instead of seeing the present, you saw the past. This does not help me.”
“You’re wrong. I saw the future. There won’t be another attack, not until the Third Exam. We both have time. You, to stay alive. And me, to find out who has murder in their heart. You have your enemies,” she said.
“I’d like access to the Scrollery to find them,” Ymir said. “There are cantrips there, Flow and Moon, that might help me.”
Della laughed like his request physically hurt her. “No. The last thing I will do is give you more reading material. There is a reason why the Scrollery is limited to only upperclassmen and those with special dispensation.” She turned and wiped the sweat off her forehead, not daintily, but like a warrior on a battlefield. “On second thought, give me a list of the scrolls, and I will consider it. If I detect the reek of an artifact, or forbidden magic, I will cut you off from the Librarium completely. At least in your normal classes, everything is very controlled and orderly.”
Ymir grinned. “Oh, Mother, you never let me have any fun.” Inside, he felt like the ice cooling his spine had melted and his insides were drowning in it. “What did your Flow vision tell you, Princept? What did you see of the Lonely Man?”
She swallowed hard. “Darkness. A gathering gloom. Trouble. Danger. Death. And murder. You will kill again this year.” Her voice caught. She clenched her jaws and had to take a breath. “Your poor Jenny is drowning in her nightmares. You can help with that. Everyone knows, already, about you and her. Nellybelle Tucker has been told to do nothing. Auntie Jia is considering coming here. That, however, is none of my concern because I’m smart enough not to get involved in Swamp Coast squabbling. Old Ironbound has no opinion.”
“Thank the Axman’s steady hands,” Ymir uttered. “I’m glad this old woman knows. I can stop sneaking around. And I won’t have to sleep half drowned in the Weeping Sea.”
Della’s breath had returned to normal. She was a tad pale, and still sweaty. He had a vision of her, in bed, laying under him. Then it was gone.
“Princept,” he said in a rough voice. Pausing, he started again. “Princept. Is my dusza from the demon I killed? I’m cursed, I know it, but am I the sleeper? And have I woken from the dream?”
“Yes. That.” The woman bent and picked up her sword. She tapped a piece of broken glass out of her way, and then carefully padded up to him. “I saw your Lonely Man. You are lucky to be alive. He wasn’t a simple demon. He was far more...something out of a book, or a story, too wretched to be real.”
Ymir saw that holding the sword made her feel better. He could understand that.
“We both knew your time here wouldn’t be easy,” she said. “Ymir, if I thought your soul had been poisoned by the Lonely Man, I would cut you down now. No, I believe you are good, intelligent, strong, and destined for great things. I don’t believe you were ever asleep and dreaming in this life. Men like you don’t need dreams. You walk like kings through the world.” She said that, but she raised her sword. “Women like me preserve the order, and if you think to conquer what I think should be free, we will fight. I don’t want that. For I don’t want to kill you.”
Ymir touched her sword and purposefully cut his finger on the edge. “You wouldn’t kill me. I’d be forced to kill you, but I don’t want to fight. However, if I conquer a land, I will not be asking for your permission.” He wiped any trace of blood from her blade then sucked the wound closed. It was bad luck to give witches your blood. Funny, though she kept threatening him, he found himself trusting the Princept more and more—trusting in her strength as well as her guidance.
“So we’ll both keep our eyes and ears open,” he said. “We have some time before the Third Exam. Before then, I’ll know more magic, and hopefully, I will have the cantrips I want from the Scrollery. With your permission, of course.”
She nodded. She reversed her hold on her sword, again, with such grace and skill, and rested the tip on the floor. “I am not saying the Midnight Guild exists. However, if you find out any information on it, you will let me know. I, too, will keep you informed. We shall talk again.”
“We shall.”
It was his cue to leave. He walked to the top of the steps.
She called to him, “How are you enjoying your poetry class?”
He laughed and didn’t answer. Fuck her. It had been a strange visit to the Princept’s Chambers, and it had given him a lot to consider.
Chapter Fifteen
LILLEE NEHENNA SAT in the feasting hall, drawing, on a Sunday afternoon. She thought of her sketches of the Ironcoats, Linnylynn Albatross, and Hayleesia Heenn. Her Flow magic had shown them even before they arrived at Old Ironbound. The elf girl wished she could draw other aspects of the future, like the assassin who was trying to kill them.
Ymir had read some books on summoning, and they said the summoner had to be relatively close to the monster conjured. That meant the assassin was most likely at their university. They could be in StormCry, but Ymir didn’t think so.
It had been two weeks since the attack, and the elf girl was torn. Part of her couldn’t stop thinking about the violence on StormLight Island—it had terrified her. What if Ymir and Jennybelle had been killed? And yet, another part of her was relieved. Ymir told her that the Princept said they would be safe, or relatively so, until the Third Exam. That helped her relax her grip on her troubled mind.
And her thoughts had been so dark. Seeing Ymir wrestling that darkness. Seeing Jenny stab it. The fight easily could’ve gone a different way. Either one of her Homme friends wouldn’t have lived even their few decades. Such lives, cut short, seemed too unjust for her to bear.
The days passed, and her fears slowly faded. They weren’t afraid of Josentown assassins, not yet, thanks to what the Princept had told Ymir. The clansman had gone over every detail of the conversation with his princesses.
Both Lillee and Ymir had moved into Jennybelle’s apartment. The nights were full of sex, and the days with classes, studying, and, for Lillee, art, in her sea cell, or in the feasting hall, or at their table on the second floor. She drew pictures of Damnation Sue, Salt Love, and Sambal. She sketched the demon, what she remembered of it, and sometimes, she felt it was gone from the world. At other times, it was like she could smell it in the halls of the Moons Tower, or walking through the Librarium Citadel.
No, it was gone. Ymir and Jenny had killed it.
That made her feel better. Also, there was the xocalati business to focus her mind on. Toriah Welldeep had joined them one night in Jennybelle’s apartment, and Ymir told them that the xoca nibs needed to be ground, then pressed into oil and powder. Tori’s face had widened into the most beautiful, glorious smile Lillee had ever seen.
She was a Morbuskor and any excuse to engineer something was welcome.
Now, that night, the second Sunday in February, they were going to go in and cook their xocalati in the kitchens of the feasting hall, after midnight, when the colleges were sleeping.
Spending more time with the dwab had Lillee taking off her essess more and more. Sometimes she’d think about Tori while sketching, and she’d smile. Tori was so quick to laugh, so excited to be with them and to be working on this project. Lillee had never spent time with any Morbuskor, and from what she’d heard, they were difficult and dour. So far, Tori was far more sweet than salty.
Yet, Lillee sometimes saw Tori standing by herself, eyes cast down. There was a sadness to her.
Lillee tried to capture that melancholy when she drew pictures of Tori. But her pencil would only show Tori smiling, her freckles across her nose, her nice lips split to show fine teeth. There were happy dimples in those chubby cheeks.
Drawing Tori meant Lillee thought about her a lot. With her essess on, she felt a chaste love for the wide little woman. With her cuff off? Those feelings turned sexual in an instant.
Most elves could forget about sex and focus on their art. Lillee couldn’t forget. She had strong memories of her fucking herself, licking her juices off her fingers, pulling on her nipples, even fingering her asshole. She remembered all of it, and she wanted that loss of control. She wanted to feel that pleasure, of rubbing her big, straining ohi until an orgasm made her whimper.
That was why she had wanted to be Locked when she lived with her family. And yet, being Locked had been terrible. She recalled long nights where she couldn’t sleep, and she couldn’t take off her essess. She could only lay there, lost in memories that felt gray since that vibrant part of her was shut off.
This was before she’d found Jayla Jereenn and the Cult of Chaos and Desire. She’d been living at home, in her father’s palace in Greenhome. There were rooms at the tops of the trees, and rooms built in the middle of the great Nineenee River, with the water beautifully channeled through elegant white stone walls. Lillee lived with her mothers and her sisters—there were no boys, and that disappointed her father greatly. The Ohlyrran Council would choose the next king, and another family would take over. It might be a Nehenna princess if they married a man who wanted to rule. Even if that didn’t happen, once King Cebor Nehenna passed, his wives and offspring would always have power, money, and status. And given their long lives, and how peaceful the world was, Cebor would be king for another six hundred years.
Locked, Lillee tried to focus on the epic she was working on about a crippled girl who would rule the world. She had a thousand pages of text, a hundred sketches of the characters, and a full dozen songs, written for specific scenes. There was always another page to write. Always another picture to draw. And she wanted fifty songs to accompany the project. She called it The Crippled Cicada.
Locked, Lillee tried to help her mothers with the new babies, who wouldn’t be babies for long. To think, elves were children for the same amount of time as humans, and yet, they’d live hundreds of more years. Babies were special to the Ohlyrra because such precious time would pass in the blink of an eye.
Locked, Lillee tried to be like her sisters, who worked on their art, who went on long journeys through the Ohlyrran Forest to the Green Water Sea to the east. Who cooked, and laughed, and camped, and reveled in life and not lust. Lust, they could easily forget about, and would only consider once it was time for children. Her sisters were happy in their celibacy.
Not Lillee. Never Lillee. She felt her mind being torn to pieces.
When Jayla Jereenn was marked as Sullied, when rumors surfaced of the Cult of Chaos and Desire, Lillee told her mother she needed help with a passage of poetry for her epic. Everyone knew that Jayla had a gift for rhyme and meter. Lillee went to her, and it was Jayla who helped her find a magic key to unlock her essess.
And it was Jayla who kissed her, who touched her, who stroked her oheesy and suckled on her nipples. Jayla introduced Lillee to the Cult, to all the women, to the few men, and Lillee, a princess of Greenhome, let the forbidden desires consume her.
It was only a matter of time before the Cult was infiltrated. A woman, Hydee Lennay, turned them in.
The warriors came on April 15. Lillee would never forget the date. They’d gone to the rocky hills outside of Greenhome, to a rocky top where ruins lay, old stone from the Akk
ridor Empire, which had stretched from ocean to ocean by the time Aegel was through.
There, they lit fires, and drank wine, and howled at the three moons in the sky. Even among the Cult of Chaos and Desire, Lillee was wilder than most. Only Jayla could keep up with her, and they did everything together, using the men, casting them aside, and looking for another hard uht to fuck them in whatever hole was closest. There wasn’t a word for “orgy” in Ohlyrran. They used the Gruul word “ttoog” for their delights. A ttoog was a pile of bodies, gleaming with sweat, and their cries of pleasure.
The soldiers knew where they were because Hydee Lennay had told them. Sometimes, Lillee blamed the bonfires in the ruins, sometimes she blamed herself, but, no, it was Hydee Lennay, a righteous woman. Yet, how righteous could she have been? Without her essess on, she’d been as devilish as the rest of them. Hydee liked to come on her knees, with a woman behind her cruelly twisting her nipples and viciously finger-fucking her aching wet sex.
Everyone was arrested. The next night, in the big Temple of the Tree at the center of Greenhome, the perverts were taken for the rituals.
Thousands watched as Lillee Nehenna was marked with the “S,” sola, Sullied. She was disgraced. Her family was disgraced. And her father could hardly look at her.
That pain was awful. Worse was watching Jayla Jereenn being marked with the “K” for kenarra.
Jayla, standing up at the alter with the other Sullied, had given Lillee one last look. The silver-haired woman mouthed the words, “I love you. Never forget.” And then who she was, her vibrant sexual being, was ripped away from her as the priestess cast the magic to ink her temple and castrate her soul.
Jayla was left a shadow of a person. In a very real sense, Jayla Jereenn was killed in that temple, which should’ve been celebrating life.
Hydee Lennay—arms crossed to show her cuff—looked on, nodding in approval.