by Aaron Crash
The half-elven woman wore a thick coat with a fur collar, meant more for the Winterhome on the Frozen Sea than the Sorrow Coast. Undoubtedly, it would keep her warm—her body might already be sweaty and fragrant. Was that perfume coming from Haylee?
“And what is it you want?” Della flicked the ashes away. This damn stick was going too fast. That was always the case. She never smoked the kharo she had; she always wanted the next one. Then the next.
Haylee moved near, reaching for the rolled kharo. Della gave it to her.
The half-elf put it to her lips and sucked. She blew out the smoke and returned the stick to the Princept. “I wanted to meet you. I wanted to see Old Ironbound. I didn’t have the money to make the trip myself. You paying for my travel expenses was very generous.”
The Princept felt the heat of the woman’s body. Yes, she did smell perfume through the smoke. “The Alumni Consortium demands we get the best professors on Thera. That is an expensive proposition.” She studied the half-elf’s face. “I understand wanting to experience the Majestrial for yourself. But me? We don’t know each other.”
“You don’t know me,” Haylee agreed. “But I know you.”
“You mean those words, what you said, on the night of the New Year Festival.” Della figured it was better to get to the heart of the conversation.
“You’re half-elven,” Haylee whispered. “Your ears were altered. You can pass as human, though your age has given you away. Yet, you don’t offer up an explanation. I’ve heard rumors of you, what you are, part angel, or part demon, or some abomination from Ethra. The spawn of the five demons.”
“Five demons of Ethra, seven devils in hell—it seems the abyss prefers odd numbers.” Della passed the kharo to the new professor. And so it went, back and forth.
“There are so few half-elves,” Haylee said. “Why hide it?”
“Why did you look so deeply into my past? The Consortium knows my heritage; they didn’t question the shape of my fucking ears, and I do a fine job here though I’m a mixed blood, which has fallen out of favor. Once, during the Age of Union, the mixing of blood was encouraged and celebrated.”
“And obviously there are some of your staff who have Gruul blood in them. That woman who runs the kitchen, Francy Ballspferd, for example.” Haylee smiled. She was young, self-assured, and playing a game Della didn’t understand, which was an unacceptable situation.
Della wasn’t smiling. “How do you know about the Silent Scream?” She phrased the question just so because she would never admit to anything, ever, when it came to that forbidden sect of the Bloody Dawn Guild.
“The league of assassins that doesn’t exist?” Haylee shrugged. “If one spends any time in the Swamp Coast queendoms, you learn that there are a surprisingly large number of people who will do terrible things for money. I’ve met murderers who charged more for a kiss than they did to cut someone’s throat.”
“You and Linnylynn did research there,” Della said softly.
“And we learned about a half-elven assassin. I was intrigued. Someone like me who had taken such a path? A little digging, a little Flow magic, and some luck, and I came across your name. To think you rose as high as you did with so much blood on your hands. Is it hard to sleep at night, Della? The screams aren’t silent, are they?” Haylee’s voice was even, as if they were talking about the weather.
“Obviously I have trouble sleeping. I’m out here, aren’t I?” The smoldering kharo burned into Della’s fingers. She dropped it, wishing for another immediately.
This was a day she’d hoped would never come. Every human she’d ever known or worked with during her time in the Silent Scream was dead. No other Ohlyrran would sully their hands, and Morbuskor were too self-absorbed. The Gruul had their assassins, but they didn’t have too many of them since there wasn’t much honor in garroting a stranger in the dark.
Della only had two real options. She could roll over like a whipped dog and expose her belly. Or she could show this bitch her fangs.
The Princept struck. In seconds, she had Haylee’s dark scarlet hair in her fist. She bent the new professor back over the edge of the stone wall. She was so close to her she could see Haylee’s pupils contract. When she talked, her spittle flecked Haylee’s cheek. “So you’ve met me. So you’ve come to the Majestrial. If you blackmail me, I will sneak into your cell, I will cut your fucking throat and blame it on demons. It seems hell isn’t as locked as we thought.”
The half-elf’s breath came quick. Her smell changed, not from fear, but from excitement, and the Moons professor didn’t wilt. Instead, she seemed on the verge of coming. “This is what I wanted, Della. I wanted you. On me. In me. Kissing me.” One of Haylee’s hands found hers, gripping it hard before caressing it. The skin-on-skin contact felt surprisingly good.
Della shoved the woman back. “No, cutting your throat would be hard to explain. Poison would be better. Bloodcross mushrooms.”
“Or you and I become friends,” Haylee said quietly. “I don’t want to blackmail you. I don’t need this job. I’d be happier at Wootash, honestly. There is far less pressure there, less power, less money. Which is fine. I had to take this adventure, though. I had to come and see you. I’ve dreamed of this moment. Your father is Ohlyrran. Your mother, may she find peace in the leaves of the Tree, was Homme.”
“Long dead.” Della put her fists on her hips. Her mouth tasted terrible. Wine would help with that, and enough wine would put her to sleep. She should’ve done that. “How did you know I would be out here?”
“Flow magic,” Haylee said. “Tonight, there is a restlessness in the world, and yes, there are demons about in Old Ironbound. The world is changing.”
Della’s heart skipped a beat. Siteev Ckins had talked of the world changing. Was there another agent of the Midnight Guild about?
The half-elf professor continued. “Please, Della, I mishandled this. I can leave. There ain’t a chance in hell I’ll get the Studia Dux job anyway.”
“No,” Della said. She was studying this woman now, this pretty, pretty woman. The Princept massaged her right hand where Haylee had grabbed her. That touch had been electric. Della’s libido, always alert inside of her, had taken notice. But she wasn’t a horny schoolgirl, no matter how much she rubbed herself at night.
Sleeping with colleagues was a mistake under the best circumstances, and sleeping with a potential hire? That could get Della removed from her position. No amount of sweet oheesy was worth that.
Yet, this Haylee Heenn had more courage than most. Or was that a daring self-destruction? Both could be fascinating.
The two women, both half-elven, one with pointed ears, and one without, stood, a few feet apart, eyeing one another. They were breathing hard. There was a tension in the air. It was as if the entire world had stopped to see what would happen next.
The Princept smiled. She had the power. “You spent too much time among those witches in the south. You used the word ‘ain’t.’”
“I did,” Haylee agreed. “I have to admire Linnylynn. She’s lost most of her accent. I seemed to have gained some.”
“You grew up in Panseloca. It’s near the Swamp Coast.”
“But oh-so Theran, and oh-so Ohlyrran. Like me. You understand that. You understand being torn apart inside, not belonging. Even rich, I know you felt it. This is the Age of Isolation.”
Haylee would be a good teacher. She had a definite charisma, a nice voice, a strong voice. It wasn’t surprising that when looking for Moons professors, Hayleesia Heenn had risen to the top.
“Did your mother wear the essess?” Della asked.
Haylee shook her head. “My father is the elf in the equation. He rebelled, and as you know, for men not to wear the essess is shocking. They have to be the rock upon which society is built. He chose poverty and lust. What about you, Della? Did your mother wear the essess? Did you?”
That question hung in the air until it died away.
The Princept wasn’t about to volunteer an
y information about herself. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do with this thorn she’d found in her thumb. Murder would remove the thorn. That might prove tricky, and besides, Della didn’t want to add another scream to the silence of the night. Sending Haylee away would also be problematic.
Della would have to be careful. Haylee was very smart. That made her very dangerous. Was she another agent of the Midnight Guild? That seemed unlikely but not out of the question. Had she sent the demon to kill Ymir? Again, unlikely. Demon summoning was a lost art. However, the witches in Josentown, Cujantown, and Williminaville might’ve shown Haylee a thing or two.
The Princept knew there was one way to play this, and that was to walk right onto the stage and act the part until a good solution presented itself. Being an assassin, running a university, both required a fair bit of acting.
Della walked up to Haylee and put out her right hand. There was a smudge above her thumb—probably ash from her smoke.
The half-elf took it.
“You want to kiss me?” Della asked.
Haylee nodded, eyes wide, lips trembling.
Della closed the difference. Their bodies melted together. Even through Haylee’s clothes, Della felt her breasts. Both of their tits pressed together. Both of their hands fell to touch each other’s hips. Haylee smelled of her perfume and the last of the kharo smoke.
The Princept reveled in the feeling of this woman—a body, a real person—in her arms. Then the kiss, gentle, exploring, soft, and slightly wet.
Della had a lover who didn’t like wet kisses. She’d thought they were disgusting. They hadn’t been lovers long.
The Princept wanted kisses and sex to be juicy, smelly, and dirty. And it wasn’t long until Della had a fistful of Haylee’s pretty dark hair. She pulled the half-elf’s head back, controlling the kiss. Della pulled up the woman’s dress and pushed her pannee to the side. Her fingers found Haylee’s bare slit, her hair shaved down to stubble. She could be a willing playmate. She might be worth a little risk.
Haylee was trembling so much that her legs nearly gave way. Della stroked her sex and sucked on her tongue. Before the half-elf was given satisfaction, the Princept stepped back. Haylee’s face gleamed in the Sunfire torchlight, from her chin to her nose.
“I’ll consider you carefully, Professor Heenn,” Della said in a firm voice. “I trust you’ll keep your mouth shut about my past. That is, if you want to get to know me better.”
Haylee blinked, her hand at her mouth. “Yes, Della, I promise. I’m not here to blackmail you. I’m here for you. I couldn’t be too eager. That’s why I cancelled the meetings. And I knew the information I had was leverage so you’d take me seriously.” Doubt filled the woman’s voice. “I was afraid that you would...that this wouldn’t happen. We wouldn’t happen. I need you to trust me.”
Della laughed. “Oh, I’m not sure I’ll ever trust you, Haylee. I am wondering how much I’m willing to risk by playing with you until June.” She sucked the woman’s juices off her fingers and walked back into the Librarium Citadel.
The Princept had kept cool, but now, away from Haylee, she let herself tremble from her lust. Her heart pounded. Her pannee were soaked. She needed to get to her room, and soon, or she’d wind up rubbing herself right in the middle of the Librarium. Haylee’s taste was in her mouth, the scent on her lips, and that sweet face in her mind.
She didn’t make it back to her room. She floated to the third floor of the Coruscation Shelves, found a dark alcove away from the lightning, and sat down on a chair. She pulled her underwear to the side, spread her legs, and smelled her own arousal. That first orgasm didn’t take long. She was sent over the edge, into a violent bliss that felt worth any sort of sacrifice. This was what she wanted. This was what she needed.
The coming felt so good that one round wasn’t enough. She rubbed herself again, shuddering again, and that one relaxed her enough to get her wits back together.
Haylee couldn’t be trusted. And Della was a fool if she let that viper into her bed. Yet, the Princept wanted to be foolish. She knew, deep down, the half-elf was a lot like her, if not exactly the same. To find such a soulmate, such a sister, might be worth anything, even Della’s beloved work as the ruler of Old Ironbound.
Della still needed to sleep, and wine wouldn’t be a good idea this late at night. She’d feel it the next morning. She had a small kitchen in her room, but what she really wanted was a warm glass of milk.
Warm milk had been Unger’s cure for insomnia. Unger was her contact in the Silent Scream. He’d been a strange man. He said he wasn’t Homme, Ohlyrran, nor Gruul. What was he? Della wasn’t sure, but his dusza had been powerful. She recalled his burned, blackened face, the red and yellow irises, and that sweet smell that never fit him. He haunted her. He had to be dead. She hoped he was.
The Princept floated down to the citadel floor and onto the diamond-shaped seal of the school all done in a colorful mosaic of tiles—red and yellow for Sunfire, blue and white for Moons, brown and green for the Form, and gray and black for the Flow.
She walked into the feasting hall. Pots clanged in the kitchen. Haylee was right. There was a restlessness to the night.
She hissed in surprise, then cast a Sunfire prolium spell, creating a curved sword made of flames. A simple “ignis ignarum,” and the blade was in her fist, lighting up the hall.
She hurried forward. “Caelum caelarum.” She floated up and over the counter and then burst through the swinging doors and into the kitchen.
A single Sunfire lantern burned. There were dirty pots around, some pans, and the lingering sweet scent of something candied cooking. A dirty machine sat on a counter, but Della hadn’t been in the kitchens enough to know if that was new.
She moved by some racks, and silently floated over the floor.
There, she saw who was in the kitchen, which was against the rules. Breakfast prep wouldn’t start for another several hours.
The dwab, the princess of the Ruby Stonehold, whirled from the pot where she stood, stirring. She was in a blue dress and a white apron, and her red hair was frizzy and out of place. The wide little woman blinked. “Princept! You scared me!”
“Ignis inanis!” The fire sword turned to smoke in Della’s grip. “Toriah, what is the meaning of this?”
Tori wrinkled her nose. “Oh, sorry, Princept, I couldn’t sleep. I tried to sleep. You know, I have the big room in those rambling apartments, Moons housing, and a whole bunch of us live there. Nice girls, though Ribrib snores. That Ribrib. Anyway, I like to look out at StormCry, though this late, there are only a few of the Sunfire streetlamps down there. That usually relaxes me. I pretend the sky is stone. You overtoppers and your sky. It’s unnerving. It really is. A whole other planet could come falling down on us.” The dwab sighed. “But really, you don’t want to hear about my insomnia. What I think you want is an explanation. Well, here it is. Are you ready?”
Della couldn’t help but smile at this cheerful little woman. And from what Della knew about Morbuskor culture, Toriah Welldeep hadn’t known much cheer in the decades she’d lived so far. She was fifty if she was a day. “Yes, Toriah, I am ready.”
“I said to myself, Tori,” she grinned. “I call myself Tori. Other people do too. It’s cute. Anyway, I said, Tori? You can either lay here all night or you can go to work and make your special pancakes for those hungry scholars. Problem with that? My pancake batter needs to set for at least four hours. Which means I had to get going. Here is where it gets funny.”
“Funnier, I imagine,” the Princept said indulgently.
Tori giggled. “Funnier. Bless my stone bits, but you’re right about that. I got hungry. I was going to make a little sweet and then do my batter. I know, eating sweets at night isn’t so good for you, but I’ve been homesick. So, that’s my story. I figured since I was kitchen staff, you wouldn’t mind. I’m not sure what Francy will think. I guess I’m in trouble.”
“Not in trouble,” Della said. “But this is probab
ly not something you should do again. Finish up and get back to bed.”
“I will, Princept, I will.” Tori started cleaning.
Della wasn’t interested in chatting more with the talkative dwab. She took a bottle of milk and left the kitchen.
On her way up to her chambers, she thought of Haylee again. Thinking of the half-elf put a fresh spark in the Princept. A little rubbing. A little milk. And she should be able to grab a few hours of sleep yet before the new week started.
Chapter Nineteen
YMIR HURRIED INTO THE feasting hall, not having slept. Tori hadn’t slept either. She’d covered for them perfectly with the Princept. Right before Della had come in, they’d moved the drying trays into the cold ovens.
After Della had gone back to bed, Lillee acted as the lookout in case she returned.
Ymir, Jenny, and Tori had worked fast, grinding and pressing the rest of the xoca nibs. Cooking, melting, enchanting, and cooling followed. They chopped up the xocalati and carried it down to his cell in egg boxes, which they returned. Ironically, Tori wasn’t going to eat any of the xocalati, not when she found out it had a more erotic element to it.
Lillee had no trouble sampling their product, but when Jenny ate some, she waved her hand over her face. For Ymir, it got him hard, and, yes, it piqued his interest in sex, but it wasn’t overwhelming. It aroused him just enough to know he was aroused.
After Tori and Lillee had run in, the dwab apologized, again and again, for being so late. Lillee had been oddly talkative, saying that she was as much to blame. The two shared the same little smile, slightly heated, slightly embarrassed, but completely secretive.
The clansman knew what had happened. Lillee kept adjusting her essess. Tori couldn’t stop grinning. He wasn’t upset, but their timing was poor. He also wondered about the dwab, about whether she enjoyed women more than men. If so, why had she flirted with him at first?
Regardless, he was forced to forgive her because she’d saved them from the Princept. They’d spent the night cleaning, packaging, and preparing the xocalati for sale.