“Oh, Jone. You don’t have to thank me,” the pretty, exotic woman said. “At least, not like that.” Her tongue traced its way along her teeth, then her lips, then along Jone’s trembling lips. The golden-haired woman shivered again, unfamiliar tingles racing each other down her spine and along her body. Nervous, she leaned away without thinking, and one hand slipped on a tuft of slick grass.
Down she went, thumping her head and back on the tough mainland earth. “Ow.”
“Clumsy Jone,” Esmeralda purred the words, voice low and smoky. She threw a leg over her prone companion and came to rest on her stomach, then bent low, a lithe display of flexibility as she arched her back and rolled her stomach. “You make me wonder if you’re even interested.” Her armored corset pressed against Jone’s breasts. Her tongue traced ever so lightly at Jone’s lips, then her jaw. Her breath whispered warmly in Jone’s ear. “So if you are…”
Esmeralda rolled off of Jone in an acrobatic display, rolling onto her shoulders and throwing herself to her feet in a crouch. “...I’ll be in the tent.” And with that, the firey beauty sauntered into the black-sided tent without a backward glance, unfastening the latches of her corset as she went.
Jone lay on the ground, breathless, head spinning.
“Well, I know where I’m going,” Bellamy said, closing her book with a snap. “Perhaps I’ll see you there.” The Lady’s eyes were simmering smoke, hot liquid steel, eyes that left no doubt as to her intentions. She tapped a small, oscillating device into the ground, as she often did before retiring for the night, and slipped inside as well.
“Please, for the love of all that is holy or unholy, go inside that thrice-damned tent.”
Jone blushed like she was trying to light a beacon in the dark. But there was no one to see. It was just her and the voice in her head.
She was interested. Anything else was a lie.
She was also nervous. Had she ever done this before? She didn’t know.
But it couldn’t hurt anything, could it?
“Go now, or forever regret it,” the voice said in its honeyed, sing-song tone. “You know you want to.”
Low, husky laughter emanated from the tent.
Jone set her jaw.
She mustered her courage.
She went inside the thrice-damned tent.
6
Unfair
Bare forms pressed eagerly against each other in the dark. It took a while for Jone’s eyes to adapt enough to see who was who, but she didn’t have to see to know. Bellamy was soft and smooth, a lover’s caress in the night, a noblewoman courting her affections. Esmeralda was wild and free, passionate and insistent.
And more than a little dominant.
It was, of course, all new to Jone.
Her breath shuddered in and out as she looked down at them, one pale silhouette and one dark one with glittering eyes. Jone’s breath came to a standstill at the sight of the two of them, side by side, each at one of her large breasts.
They worked in tandem, running lips and tongues over her sensitive skin. Jone shuddered helplessly as two hands ran along her inner thighs, then up between them, running along even more sensitive, wet flesh.
The two girls coaxed a series of groans from Jone’s lips, but she didn’t hear them, the moments lost in ecstasy. They touched at her with skillful, familiar hands, raising her high with pleasure, only to let her fall enough to catch her breath—breath she spent again in moaning only seconds later.
She didn’t even realize right away when their mouths left her breasts; it took Jone’s overwhelmed, unfamiliar mind long moments to catch up to the here and now.
Finally, she thought to look down, breath moving quicker and quicker as the Lady Bellamy’s soft, ruby lips kissed their way down Jone’s hard, toned, scarred stomach. Hopeful anticipation spiked as Bellamy slowly slid lower and lower, tasting the curves of her skin.
Meanwhile, Esmeralda went higher and higher, her tongue probing the hollows of Jone’s throat, running wetly along the throbbing vein. She reached Jone’s ear and ran her soft tongue hard along the edges, then behind it, pausing only long enough to breathe warm, hungry breath into her ear. She ran her lips along Jone’s jaw, nipping at the flesh with her teeth, slipping her tongue along parched lips, but evading Jone’s clumsy attempts to kiss her in return.
Jone lost her breath in a sudden gasp as Samantha lowered her head between the younger girl’s legs, her tongue probing gently, insistently, deeper and deeper, then flicking out and tracing lightly across her before sliding firmly downward once more. The process repeated again and again, but was never quite the same twice.
She opened her mouth to release the cry of ecstasy the feeling tore from her, but Esmeralda leaned over her, pressing her own lips to Jone’s and devouring the sound. The young soldier couldn’t remember anything as intense as Bellamy between her legs, and atop her, Esmeralda swallowed every cry with her hungry mouth.
The lithe, naked woman pushed Jone firmly down, forcing her to lay back, and threw a leg over her, towering over Jone as she pressed wetly against the tight muscles of Jone’s bare midriff. Esmeralda curled her back, bending low over Jone, breasts brushing against breasts. This time when she kissed Jone, it took her breath away instead of her moans of pleasure.
Jone squeaked in sudden surprise as Esmeralda’s teeth caught her lower lip, trapping it and biting slowly down, eventually hard enough for Jone to taste blood. She didn’t taste it for long, though, as the dark-skinned goddess seized the bleeding lip between her own, sucking on it, tasting Jone’s blood herself.
Finally, Jone could take no more; her back arched powerfully, involuntarily as her ecstasy rose to a fever pitch. Atop her, Esmeralda rode out her convulsions, rubbing wetly against firm muscle as Jone bucked frantically. Between her legs, the Lady Bellamy leaned into her as if starving, tongue running along her and pressing hard, driving Jone far over the edge.
Esmeralda put a hand over Jone’s mouth as she screamed, muffling the primal sound as the blond swordswoman let it all out, then collapsed onto the padded bedding. “Shhhh,” she whispered. “Someone might hear.” She grinned.
Jone blushed heavily in the dark, before she remembered that there were armed survivors of their assault out there, somewhere. Then she blushed again anyway, for good measure.
Samantha sat up, running her long, thin, wet fingers along her lips with a sultry smile. Esmeralda blotted out the sight of the pale noblewoman’s naked body, though, as she slid further up Jone’s torso, running her hands along Jone’s large breasts. Jone twitched as the woman teased at her skin, then shifted on her knees, her dark, toned thighs sliding down to either side of Jone’s face.
Esmeralda ran her nails along Jone’s jaw, forcing a shudder that thrilled its way down her spine. Her fingers tangled in Jone’s hair, pulled Jone’s mouth tight against her. “My turn,” she purred.
- - -
Jone awoke several hours later, the first hints of dawn prodding gently at the cloudy mainland horizon. Carefully, she disentangled herself from the other girls, praying that, for once, her will would hold her clumsiness at bay. Luck was with her; Esmeralda slept like the dead—Jone felt she was familiar with the experience—and Lady Bellamy only stirred a little before wrapping her arms tightly around her lover’s waist and laying her head on her toned stomach. Jone smiled.
She slipped outside, fighting a light nervousness over stepping into the open while still naked.
It’s stupid, she told herself.
“It certainly is,” the voice agreed.
Jone dropped her clothes to the ground and sighed. Why are you still there? She demanded. Can’t I have any time to myself?
“The question is more: why do you think you want it? You’ve never known what it’s like.”
Jone frowned. Had this voice always haunted her so? Perhaps, before, she had known it better. Maybe they had understood each other, once. Maybe it was just as stuck with her as she was with it. She sighed, considering.
“La
st night was awesome, by the way. I can’t wait for that to happen again.”
Jone blushed, promptly taking back any positive feelings toward the strange voice. The puffs of wind that signified its chuckles chased her as she danced around in the cool morning air, struggling to get Adrienne’s black tights in place without overbalancing on the uneven slope.
She sat outside, thinking, absorbing the morning air and the Sisters’ warm sunlight until she heard the others stir. Much like the food, last night had eased a primal need within her—but not quenched it. And, even more disturbing, so had Nicholas de Crequey’s head in a burlap sack. She shuddered. What would it take to satisfy this ungodly hollow she had awoken cursed with? And, considering what it might want, did she even desire to try?
As much as Jone already despised the odd, empty feeling that leached away the bliss of simple pleasures with its unceasing demands, she would not quench the lives of others to sate it.
If that was truly what it wanted, it would simply have to go hungry.
- - -
“So that’s Lisboa,” Jone said, cresting the hill, some of her breath lost at the sight. Old castles, proudly flying the Queen’s red-and-gold, mingled with tall white arches, aqueducts, and impressive sculptures. They were works of architecture that Jone could marvel at though she felt she could never comprehend the effort behind their creation.
More than that, the city was simply huge. Whitewashed houses stacked neatly on top of one another, piled high and clustered tight, forming overcast alleys even during the day. Mansions sprawled outward along the shoreline, and multi-tiered docks bristled out into the crowded airways like the thousand spines of an alrupine.
From the hill, people crawled the veins and arteries of the city streets like ants, slowly spilling out onto the trade routes and footpaths leading to the great city. Meanwhile, out at the docks, airships of every size from iron-sided steam galleys to small cutters fluttered aside like a swarm of wood and metal butterflies, making room for an incoming convoy or large ship.
“It’s…amazing,” Jone breathed. Maybe she’d never seen anything like it before, or maybe she had. Either way, even if this was a unique second first glimpse of such a place, it was still awe inspiring, built on so massive a scale as to boggle her mind.
“It’s just a city, you know,” Esmeralda said, wrapping an arm around Jone’s waist and tugging at her playfully, familiarly. “A big one, yeah, but just a city full of the same stuff as any other.”
“Except that in this one,” Samantha smiled, “we get paid.”
The dark-haired woman nodded. “That is a very important distinction.” She let go of Jone and danced away, starting down the hill. “Speaking of which…” she gestured for them to follow her. Jone chuckled and smiled, starting down after her.
Lady Bellamy trailed afterward, gazing at the horizon thoughtfully. “And then we resupply, and it’s off to Arcadia, no?”
Jone nodded. Despite being…busy...for most of the nights leading up to their arrival, she’d taken one night and solidly devoted it to meditation, much to the complaint of one Esmeralda Thresh. She hadn’t made much, if any, progress with her memories, but she had managed to stop flinching or staggering every time someone mentioned Arcadia.
She didn’t know if the ongoing deception of her two increasingly close companions was remotely successful. Jone felt that Esmeralda was too quick witted, and the Lady Bellamy entirely too observant and intelligent, for her all-too-frequent issues to have gone unnoticed. And, truth be told, she halfway wanted it all to come out into the open. Lying to the two of them like this, even by omission, left a bad taste in her mouth. They deserved to know what she was.
“Except that you don’t know, either.”
Which was also a fair, and unfortunately valid, point. That was the whole reason she was headed to Arcadia after all, hoping that some sort of answers lay in wait there. She felt incredibly lucky that her two companions happened to be heading the same way, or at least didn’t mind letting the Seven Winds blow them all in the same direction for now.
“I’m pretty certain I remember the way to the Palace of Law,” Samantha commented, “but let’s swing by the docks on the way and see what our options for travel are. Would you like to leave immediately, Jone, or would you prefer take in some of the city sights first?”
“Port city, tons of Elizabethians,” Esmeralda grumbled. “Just keep that in mind.”
Jone thought it over while they walked. There was a longing to see what adventure and discovery Lisboa held, no doubt about it, but something stronger still tugged at her relentlessly. Answers first, she decided, as if that unending draw left her any real choice. “I suppose, as long as we have time for a nice dinner, I’m happy to move on as soon as we can,” she proclaimed.
“As expected.” Esmeralda burst out laughing. “Sounds good to me.”
They joined the flow of foot traffic as it packed tightly together to force its way through one of the three massive city gates. Guards, many in Elizabethian livery, peered down from the reinforced crenulations along the wall, but it was really just for show. There were far too many people pouring by for any single one of them to get picked out of the crowd.
The docks themselves were layer upon layer of metal framework built into the rocky foundation of the mainland itself, often extending as far out into the endless sky as was safe. Build out too far, and you were exposed to the wild creatures that made their homes in the clouds, or the simple danger of coming into contact with a steam curtain—which was a very easy way to end up broiled alive in an instant.
Esmeralda took her arm, pulling Jone along as she and the Lady Bellamy took turns pointing out sights and locations of the city as they circled around the long, winding dock road. It took them almost an hour to make it to the halfway point where the Main Highway of Lisboa cut the city in twain, rolling straight and purposeful down from the high city center and leading directly to the triumvirate of massive main docks.
The abrupt, jarring blast of a clarion call cut the air, blaring horns that split apart the casual din of thousands of people in close proximity. Turning to look, Jone spied a truly massive ship, larger than any ship-of-war she’d ever seen, a true dreadnaught. Its sleek iron sides were held aloft by a grand splay of wings, currently folding for docking, as well as a huge steam engine crouching at the rear of the vessel. But those alone weren’t enough to keep its mass aloft; a gigantic, metal-plated balloon hung in the air above it, helping to counteract the weight that even the constant inter-continental gusts of steam couldn’t keep afloat. Dozens of cannons bristled from its sides like accusatory fingers, and a large black and white flag fluttered energetically above, depicting two stars, one ascending, one descending.
But none of that was what commanded Jone’s attention. Instead, it was the bow, sculpted in the image of a gleaming golden dragon in flight.
This was the ship from her nightmares.
Trumpets drowned out the sound of activity once more, clearing enough auditory space for a herald’s magnified voice to ring out, as voluminous as any trumpet, “All hail the Queen’s Hand, Conqueror of Realms, Commander of the Grand Armada, the Destroyer of Arcadia, Sir Francis Drake!”
The crowd, frozen in place for the announcement, stirred and cheered, some much louder and more eagerly than others.
Thresh and Bellamy were as silent as cold tombstones, and their eyes were even harder.
Jone’s feet moved of their own accord, carrying her swiftly toward the ship.
- - -
“That rat-haired bastard,” Esmeralda growled from her place in the press, eyes fixed on the massive, distant warship. “Why here, why now—” The dark-skinned girl blinked as Jone suddenly took off, hopping down from their collective perch on a shallow ledge and punching hastily through the crowd. “Jone? Jone!”
The raven-haired Bellamy slapped a hand firmly over her mouth. “Shut your mouth, before that name brings them down on us!” she hissed.
Esmeral
da angrily pulled the hand away. “I take it this isn’t part of your grand plan?” she snapped at the older woman.
“Stop talking and go get her before she ruins everything!”
“Easier said than done.” A quick scan of the crowd showed that it had already absorbed Jone’s small figure.
Bellamy hopped off of the ledge they’d stood on, heedless of anyone that might be in the way, and Esmeralda followed. “It’s not like we don’t know where she’s going! Come on!” It only took her a second to realize she wasn’t being followed.
“What about the bounty?” Esmeralda help up the ripe burlap sack. “We can’t leave the money, we worked for it, we need it! Besides, it’s against the Code.”
“The Dead Gods damn the Code!” Bellamy turned on heel and took one quick step back to Esmeralda, towering over the younger, shorter woman. “I made the thrice-damned Code!” Her steel eyes surged with invoker’s magic as she grasped the dark-haired woman by her corset and lifted her easily with one hand. “What about Jone? What about our plan? Don’t act like you don’t give a fat garm shit, not right now! I know you.”
Dangling three feet off of the ground, Esmeralda Thresh glanced from the looming specter of Drake’s Golden Hand, to Bellamy, to the upper part of town, her dark emerald eyes running the risks, calculating the odds.
She grinned. “I’ll get Jone. You go get the money. I’d never be able to set foot in there anyway. They’d recognize me.”
“Maybe if you hadn’t robbed it…” Bellamy’s eyes drilled into her companion’s, searching for the truth. Thresh was harder to read than she let on. “Fine. But I swear on my daughter’s name, if you maroon me here and undertake this without me, the next time you meet Black Sam Bellamy it will not be pleasant.”
Esmeralda just kept grinning, slowly reached up with both hands, and pulled the taller pirate into a quick, passionate kiss. “Time to go,” she said.
Samantha breathed out an angry breath. “And damn you, too,” she replied, dropping Thresh back to the ground. With a wink, the smaller woman threw her the Marquis’ head, then bolted off into the crowd at a dead run, a wide trail of staggered or fallen townsfolk and travelers in her wake. Bellamy turned and sprinted in the opposite direction, leaving a trail of epitaphs more fit for a ship’s captain than a proper lady.
Call of Arcadia Page 9