The Goddess of the Underworld: The Chronicles of Arianthem VIII

by Samantha Sabian

  She did not. Instead, she made a simple observation.

  “I did not realize the gods ate food.”

  Hel smiled. “The gods have all the appetites of mortals. Where do you think you got them?”

  This conversation was already veering into uncomfortable territory for Raine. “But you do not require food to survive?”

  “No.” Hel’s eyes lingered on the lips of her captive. “I have all of your appetites, none of your needs.”

  This silenced Raine. Apparently any conversation with the Goddess was going to be dangerous.

  “Eat.”

  Feray again watched the Arlanian for any sign of defiance. It was unheard of for any to sit in the presence of the Queen, let alone dine with her at her table. Feray was not certain the Arlanian understood the honor that had been bestowed upon her, or that she even cared. The handmaiden released her breath when the woman acquiesced, choosing a bright red berry and biting into it experimentally.

  Raine was surprised at the juicy flavor of the fruit. It was difficult to describe, both sweet and tart with traces of spice. She perused the table in front of her and chose another which was just as delightful. She pondered the strange, purple berry, wondering what kind of tree or bush it had come from. And, absorbed in her reflection on the food, she was oblivious to the attention she was attracting.

  The handmaidens were enamored with this creature. She was physically imposing, lithely muscular, deadly agile. And yet when she sat at the table, it was as if she turned into another person. She moved gracefully, almost delicately, with a sensual grace. Every tilt of her head, every brush of her hair, every pensive bite of her lip, every unconscious gesture was imbued with a mesmerizing sensuality that somehow also conveyed a sense of innocence. They watched greedily as she bit into the berry, unable to look away from that mouth even though their scrutiny could bring them death.

  Feray was not immune to the Arlanian’s charm, either, but possessed a poise that had kept her alive in the Queen’s service longer than any. She was aware of the scrutiny of the handmaidens, and the only thing that was saving them right now was the fact that the Goddess was so absorbed in the Arlanian herself that she had not noticed. Her eyes continued to linger on those lips in a manner that told Feray it was time for them to leave. She gestured impatiently to the ogling women, who broke themselves from their spell and hurriedly exited.

  The abrupt departure of the handmaidens made Raine uneasy and her eyes flicked back to the Goddess, which was a mistake for Hel’s marked observation only increased her unease and brought a flicker of purple to her eyes. She set the remains of the berry down and stared at the table in front of her.

  “You should eat,” Hel said.

  Raine knew that she should not disobey her, but pushed away from the table anyway. “I’m not hungry.”

  Feray looked to her Mistress, fearful what this act of defiance would bring. But the Goddess was only amused. She had seen the flash of violet in Raine’s eyes, seen the flush of crimson in her cheeks, understood completely the agitation that had flustered the Arlanian and sent her fleeing across the room. It was all the more entertaining because there was nowhere she could go. Raine had turned her back on the Goddess which sent her toward the bed, a most dangerous direction she realized once halfway there. An awkward stutter step communicated that realization and made Hel nearly laugh out loud. Raine moved towards a balcony as the closest means of escape.

  But it was not a means of escape. Raine stared out over a vast, subterranean hall, its walls disappearing into the darkness above. Below her, an enormous staircase led up to a ghastly and magnificent throne. The hall itself was populated by a curious mixture of beings: demons, demi-gods, sprites and other supernatural creatures that Raine could not identify. And intermixed with these beings were spirit-like figures that flickered in and out, moving amongst the crowds and sometimes right through them.

  “This is my court.”

  The low voice in her ear made Raine start. The Goddess was standing right behind her, looking over her shoulder, so close that the breath on the back of her neck made her skin tingle.

  “It is where I sit in judgment.”

  “And is this where you will judge me?”

  The bitter question was out of her mouth before she could stop herself, and Raine knew that it was a mistake.

  “Judge you?” Hel said, turning her chin so that Raine was forced to look up at her. “No, you will not be judged. Your fate has already been decided.”

  Hel leaned down and captured her mouth in a kiss, and Raine felt the familiar despair. Her inability to resist, her uncontrolled response, her apparent unwillingness to fight, borne of the Arlanian passivity that took hold when the beautiful people understood they were in a hopeless situation. Had Hel taken her violently or by force, she might have been able to resist, but she had no defense against Hel’s gentle, indomitable seduction.

  And the Goddess knew it. Her soft but firm touch was not from kindness, but from an ultimate cruelty. The fact that it brought her enormous physical pleasure was just an added benefit. Her kiss went deeper, and she turned the Arlanian by the shoulders, then pressed her backward against the wall. She trapped her hands against the stone and buried her tongue in that yielding mouth. A tortured noise came from Raine, and then she began to return the kiss. Hel was lost to the sensation, for there was nothing like the kiss of an Arlanian, especially this one. The tongue was so soft, so delightfully cool. She pulled back, pleased with the torment in those violet eyes.

  “Let me show you your fate.”

  And then Raine was standing next to the bed, facing it, and the Goddess was behind her, hands around her waist. Hel kissed the back of her neck as she slowly pulled the loose shirt over her head. She nibbled on her ear and the breath was maddening to Raine, as were the hands that came around her front to caress her breasts. The hands dipped down, and then the pants were gone, dropped to the floor. Hel made her own robes disappear and pressed against that magnificent back, her nipples hardening as soon as they brushed that wonderful skin. To press against an Arlanian, skin-to-skin, was an extraordinary sensation that was indescribable.

  And Hel had dreamed of this moment, when she would dominate this hybrid creature of myth. She guided the Arlanian face-down onto the bed, still kissing and biting her neck, rubbing up against the muscled buttocks and marveling at how good they felt between her legs. She could probably climax through that action alone, but she wanted far more than that. She ran her hands over that glorious back, unmarred by the defect of those blue and gold scars. It was a work of art, perfectly proportioned, supple and firm, with ideal musculature and structure.

  Hel leaned back and the ebony phallus appeared in her hand, an object she gazed at with some entertainment. It had been a gift from Sjöfn, although truthfully, there was little love lost between her and the Goddess of Love. Sjöfn had given it to her years before, and the item possessed two unique blessings. First, it would take on the size and shape most appropriate for the one on the receiving end, so pain and dissatisfaction became unlikely. Second, it intensified the pleasure of the one on the giving end, based upon the amount of pleasure the receiver was experiencing.

  It was an unsubtle criticism from Sjöfn, and Hel thought it a stupid gift. She cared nothing for the well-being of whatever vessel she chose to violate, so size had been irrelevant to her. And normally she cared little for their pleasure as well. Although the feedback potential of the device was intriguing, none felt pleasure as intensely as she, so their contributions to her orgasm were minimal. She intended to throw the “blessed phallus” away, as she had so sarcastically named it, but all of that had changed when she had seen the Arlanian for the first time through the eyes of the Membrane. To use it on such a beautiful creature, one who could not help but feel the most intense pleasure, now that would be glorious.

  Raine braced herself for whatever was about t
o happen, for she felt Hel’s hands on her hips, positioning her on the edge of the bed, the strength of the Goddess such that she moved her into place without effort. And the penetration came, the pleasure so intense with a single stroke that it nearly caused her to black out. She could not muffle the groan that escaped her lips.

  And the Goddess had to stop, taking several quick breaths to regain control. The feeling of gliding into that slender Arlanian, of sliding into that superb wetness, with a stroke between those legs so smooth and firm and perfect, was beyond ecstasy. Hel had no words to describe what she was feeling, only that it was god-like in its intensity. She paused, gathered herself, then delivered another firm stroke that caused her beautiful captive to muffle another tortured noise.

  The strokes continued, slowly, one after the other, with a pause in between, each gliding into the center of Raine’s being, each touching her exactly where she needed to be touched with the perfect amount of pressure. At first the strokes were measured, methodical, as if the Goddess were teaching her a lesson, showing her the control she exerted over her, holding her hips still with her hands. But then the strokes grew faster, deeper, as if Hel had made her point and was now giving way to the storm of pleasure that was enveloping them both. Raine clutched the silken sheets, stuffing them into her mouth to keep from crying out. Hel leaned forward to bury the phallus deeper and to taste the salt on that beautiful back. She was no longer in any control and was riding a wave that might very well destroy her. The thrusts came faster and deeper and her hips ground into the slender mortal beneath her, wanting only to push her over the edge and then go with her.

  And finally, Raine released, every muscle in her body tightening while endless spasms shook her inside. Hel also released, her orgasm shaking her to her core. She was so deep inside this gorgeous creature she felt as if they were one. She could feel the pulsations inside the body beneath her, and they matched her own. She collapsed on the exhausted Arlanian, who was already drifting into unconsciousness. Despite her own exhaustion, the feel of her full breasts on that strong back was delightful. She toyed with the damp hair at the nape of Raine’s neck as she made the phallus disappear, then whispered in her ear.

  “Now that is your fate, for all eternity.”

  Raine did not respond, and the Goddess rolled over, pulling the prone figure from her position half off the bed, a feat she accomplished with one hand. She rolled Raine over onto her side, then embraced her from behind, pressing her full length against that skin that was still so impossibly cool. She pulled the sheet over them both, fully sated and content, her arm around Raine’s waist and her leg over her thigh. She began to drift off to sleep, sleep something she did not need, but right now, seemed highly desirable.

  Feray watched her Mistress from the alcove. She had never, ever, seen Hel in the throes of passion in such a way, and she was quite certain the entire court had heard her cry “yes, yes” over and over again. Feray had also been quite certain the Arlanian would not survive the encounter, but the mortal was astonishingly resilient.

  And this, Feray thought, examining Hel’s intimate and possessive position with the mortal, this was entirely new. Hel had deigned to dine with but a few over Feray’s very long period of service, but the handmaiden had never known her to sleep with anyone.

  Chapter 4

  The First General of the Ha’kan watched her First Ranger train on the archery range with a skill and concentration that was unsurpassed. Skye had always trained with focus and determination, but now she trained like one possessed. Those who had struggled to keep pace with her before now did not have a chance.

  It had been four weeks since the Ceremony of Assumption, four weeks since they had fought a battle with the Hyr’rok’kin, thinking their triumph against the much larger force was a great victory, until one even larger arrived. It had been four weeks since Skye, back-to-back, lost two of the great loves of her life. Her great-grandfather, Isleif, the powerful but aged wizard had passed away in the Deep Woods, and Raine, Skye’s beloved idol had been taken from Arianthem by the Goddess of the Underworld herself. And no one knew what had become of Talan, Raine’s dragon lover.

  Senta watched as Skye fired arrow after arrow at random targets, never missing. They all suffered, mourning the loss of Talan and Raine. The initial impulse had been to ride across the Empty Land, through the Veil, then on to the Gates of the Underworld itself, but the elven seer Y’arren had dissuaded them from such rash action. Despite their desperation, they listened to her, not simply because she was one of the oldest and wisest creatures in all of Arianthem, but also because she was Raine’s godmother. No one mourned Raine’s capture more than Y’arren, so if she urged caution, they obeyed.

  There were things that had to be done, techniques that had to be learned, skills that had to be perfected. Skye was now working with Y’arren directly to learn to control the magic that flowed through her. The elven matriarch had come to the Ha’kan capital and taken up temporary residence to facilitate Skye’s training. The Queen of the Ha’kan welcomed her and offered her housing in her personal forum, but Y’arren asked instead if she might stay in the royal gardens. Queen Halla fretted at such low accommodations, but Y’arren settled in a corner of the orchard in a simple tent, surrounded by a few servants and her favored apprentice, Elyara, completely content.

  Senta turned her attention to another who practiced without ceasing. A raven-haired beauty cast powerful destructive spells at targets on another part of the training field. Idonea, the most powerful mage in Arianthem, also trained with a single-minded purpose at odds with her normal wild and carefree manner. But that was understandable, given that Isleif had been her mentor, Raine, one of her closest friends, and Talan, her mother. Although she expressed little of her mourning, it was evident to all that she suffered. Y’arren was also instrumental in her training, passing on Isleif’s last instruction to his protégé since he was no longer able to do so. And Y’arren provided comfort to the dark-haired mage in a way that no one else could, her gentle wisdom a salve for Idonea’s unseen wounds.

  Chapter 5

  Feyden stood on the terrace, the very same terrace that Raine had stood on and gazed out over Arianthem, his friend the first to see the clouds gathering in the Empty Land, the clouds that foretold her doom. The pessimistic thought irritated Feyden and he shook his head violently to dispel it. Raine had survived, that much had been confirmed by the young Tavinter leader, who was able to sense the life force of his friend. And the elven matriarch Y’arren had speculated that it was not Hel’s intent to kill Raine, although she had hinted that Raine’s fate might be far worse.

  The fair-haired elf turned back into the library where Dagna and Lorifal were still hard at work. Y’arren had spoken of a plan, a plan that Isleif had passed on to her in the days before his death. The diminutive wood elf had not shared the ideas with anyone; there was too much risk that someone would betray the secret, even if by accident. Instead, Y’arren had set a series of events in motion, given everyone direction as to what they should do to prepare, then left for the land of the Ha’kan. All were grateful for her direction, for the activities she required jarred them out of their numbed state.

  He, Dagna, and Lorifal had been tasked with recreating their trip to the Underworld in as much detail as they could remember. Dagna had already memorialized the epic quest in which they had accompanied Raine to shut the Gates of the Underworld in her poem, “The Dragon’s Lover.” But that had been a lyric, heroically romantic account, whereas what was needed now was a pure recount of strategic features. How long had it taken them to cross the Empty Land? How steep was the descent down into the Veil? What was the terrain like within that netherworld and what enemies occupied it? What was the actual size of the first, great gates that guarded the red and black courtyard? How big was that courtyard? And how big were the actual Gates of the Underworld, the ones that the Queen of all Dragons, Talan’alaith’illaria, had shut befor
e?

  As he rejoined his companions, he was surprised at how much they agreed on regarding something that had happened over two decades ago. But perhaps that was not unusual, Feyden mused, since the events of the quest had been burned in all of their minds, so vivid that it might as well have happened last week.

  Chapter 6

  The subtle cues of day and night were becoming more apparent to Raine. There was no actual day and night. Raine was not certain if the Underworld was deep underground, or if it was an entirely separate realm, or both. But it felt subterranean, cave-like, and it was always dim. At times, like right now, it was a little less dim, giving the impression of day.

  Raine pushed the black silk sheets away, glancing around the room. For once it seemed she was alone, not being stalked by the Goddess or watched by that handmaiden or demon. She took the opportunity to examine her surroundings and got to her feet. There was food left out on the table, but she was not hungry. As she walked past, she ran her fingers over the throne-like couch that Hel often sat upon, the soft silken cushions atop what looked like smoothly polished lava. The slow trickle of water in the bathing area continued its soft song. Across the room, the balcony which led to Hel’s court was open, but Raine did not wish to step out there again. It was possible that Hel sat on that throne at the moment, and she did not want to catch her eye.

  There was an arch to the right of the bathing area that led into an adjacent room, one that drew Raine’s curiosity. The room was large, the ceiling higher than that in the bedroom, and the walls were not parallel, but rather slanted so that they were closer together at the far end, giving the room a sense of distorted perspective that made it feel even larger. It seemed some sort of ceremonial place, and each wall was covered with a huge curtain. The curtains felt ominous and as Raine stood before them, a chill went down her spine. She reached out to move the curtain aside, but could not even budge the heavy drape. The unexpected weight of the material and the strange disquiet it caused her gave her pause, and she stood in front of the coverings for some time. When at last she turned back into the room, Feray was looking at her. Raine was not certain if she was doing something wrong, but Feray did not say anything, so Raine walked toward her. She glanced down at the sleepwear in which she was clothed.