A War in Crimson Embers

by Alex Marshall

  “She won’t speak to me at all anymore,” said Nemi. “I suppose she feels I betrayed her by lending my chains to her incarceration, but when she would not take an oath of peace she left me little choice.”

  “Those were yours?” said Purna, shifting around to let her leg rub ever so softly against Nemi’s. Nice. “Now what’s a friendly witch like you need with a bunch of manacles and locks, hmmm?”

  “Souvenirs from my past life as an escape artist,” said Nemi, putting a long-fingered hand on Purna’s knee, and stealing her breath in the process … only to use Purna as a boost to get to her unsteady feet. In the time since they had started the lesson most of Nemi’s strength seemed to have fled her. She leaned forward, scanning the shelves that filled the other side of the vardo. The back that had been straight and tall when they had first sat down now had a slight but definite twist in it, and her rich auburn hair had lost its luster, looking brown and drab as dead ivy hanging against the trellised lace of her dress. Even with the mild hunch she acquired at this time of night, Nemi of the Bitter Sighs was still taller than her Ugrakari guest, and never lost that juicy rump that had so distracted Purna the night they had first met. It distracted her again now, jutting out as it did within biting distance of Purna’s face. As always when she noticed the witch’s evening decline or morning restoration following the ingestion of one of her special eggs, Purna burned to ask her just how the deuce she had come by such a curse—she imagined Hoartrap was to blame, because of course he was, but what a song that must be!

  “Sure is cozy in here,” said Purna, surreptitiously running her hand over the warm impression Nemi had left in the bedding beside her. It gave her a thrill as cheap as any Maroto would have taken, but then ever since she’d met him her luck with the ladies had been as bad as his—guilt by association, perhaps, or maybe his lack of game was actually contagious. Nemi was still leaning forward, looking for something amid the rows of boxes and jars and books on the opposite wall of the vardo, that bottom so close and yet so impossibly far … “This bed must be plenty comfy to stretch out on, after a long day riding up top.”

  “It is,” said Nemi, and after a moment’s pause, added, “You are welcome to make use of it tonight, if you so wish.”

  “Ah,” said Purna, her mouth going dry as her palms went damp. Don’t get carried away, she told herself. For all Nemi’s creepy trappings and monstrous familiars and serious-business attitude, she was clearly still a shy nerd who wasn’t nearly as world-wise as she wanted everyone to think. Purna was good and committed to the chase, no doubt about that, but she knew it couldn’t be this easy. “Like a sleepover, then, just us girls? Count me in.”

  “No, not like a sleepover,” said Nemi in a tone that sounded almost annoyed, looking back over her shoulder at Purna. “Unless your sleepovers usually involve fornication.”

  “The, uh, the best ones do?” said Purna, the fluttering in her chest back and bad as it had ever been. Was this really happening?

  “Then why don’t you put your hand under my dress already?” said Nemi, giving her perfect butt a little wag. This was really happening! “We have an early start tomorrow and the night has gotten on enough without you getting on me.”

  Purna’s heart melted, the heat pouring down to her loins, and she reached out toward heaven on earth. She pinched the hem of Nemi’s dress in fingers that didn’t seem nearly so tired anymore, lifting it up so her other hand could take the witch up on her offer, when a dark and terrible thought occurred to her. “Nemi, I hope … I hope you don’t feel like you owe me this, ’cause I saved you from Hoartrap? If so, let’s just call it off right now, I wouldn’t feel right about—”

  “First, never mention that hated name in my vardo again,” said Nemi, standing as straight as she was able with her crooked back and turning around to face Purna, the edge of her dress tugged out from between the girl’s fingers. Looking down her sharp nose at her anxious guest, she said, “Second, the Pasha Diggelby saved both of us, after you prevented me from avenging myself on a terror more wicked than any devil in the First Dark. So no, I do not feel I owe you my tongue or fingers or any other part of my body … but if you wished to trade them for a spell I think you would enjoy the exchange.”

  “See, that’s the sort of riddle I can get behind,” said Purna, grinning at Nemi as her hands went to the hips of the tall girl standing in front of her. As she started hitching up the sides of the dress, she added, “Tongue-twisters are my specialty.”

  Cute as Nemi was, she looked even cuter when she rolled her eyes and groaned. “We had better put something in your mouth, before you improve the mood any further.”

  “Fuck yes we should,” breathed Purna as she raised the hem of the dress to Nemi’s knees, and then over the tops of her thigh-high stockings to reveal the witch’s soft brown skin.

  “That rough language is exactly the sort of mood improvement I refer to,” said Nemi, lightly slapping the backs of Purna’s hands to get her to release the dress and then shuffling to the rear of the vardo. “If your mouth is that filthy, what am I supposed to make of the rest of you?”

  “My mouth is what now?” said Purna, initially wondering if her long, slobbery tongue had grossed out the witch, but that didn’t make much sense; she’d also said—“Oh shit, you mean cursing? But everyone curses.”

  “Not so,” said Nemi, opening a drawer underneath the cockatrice’s alcove. She pulled out one of the black-and-gold eggs she usually only ate in the mornings, when she looked even rougher than she did in the evenings. “I find it juvenile, and am not interested in making love to adolescents.”

  Purna almost laughed out loud at making love, but then that was better than fornication. Whatever, to each their own, and Purna would gladly forgo talking dirty if it meant she could get dirty—though how dirty anyone who wouldn’t even cuss was willing to get remained to be seen. Maybe because Nemi was a witch Purna had assumed once she finally loosened up she’d be as freaky as the friskiest debauched noble, but that was just an ugly stereotype, wasn’t it? Besides, with Nemi being fine and primed—and hard-up as Purna was—they could have the most vanilla sport imaginable using the stodgiest barber’s vocabulary and still have the time of theirs lives.

  “Some of the things I like are weird,” said Nemi, limping back in front of Purna. She licked her pierced lips, big, pretty eyes made even bigger and prettier through the lenses of her pince-nez. “Not bad, I hope. Just weird. So if I suggest something … it’s just a suggestion.”

  “Girl, I can be as weird as you want, and then some,” said Purna, wondering if this uptight witch’s definition of weird involved cunnilingus or drifted into such mysterious, uncharted waters as tribadism or earlobe-nibbling. Why, they might even include butt stuff—Purna would try not to faint.

  “That … that gets me excited,” said Nemi, biting her lip ring in an incredibly sexy fashion. Eat your heart out, world, for the first time in far, far too long, Purna was about to dine on something even finer! “Open your mouth for me.”

  Oooh, a subtle tinge of bossiness there, even better! Purna obliged, thrilled that at long last she was in the company of someone who would appreciate the oral mutation Prince had gifted her with when Digs’s devil had saved her skin … and that she’d be able to put it to the best use imaginable. She stuck out her transformed tongue as far as it would go, which was far indeed, and put a nice curl in it to show off, gazing up at Nemi with as winsome an expression as she could muster.

  “Good girl,” said Nemi, and there went another heatburst between Purna’s legs. “Now don’t swallow this, no matter what.”

  “Um …” Purna put her tongue away. “Is that safe?”

  “Yes, absolutely,” said Nemi, the egg she’d been holding out toward Purna now clutched to her chest as her cheeks flushed. “But is it too weird? It’s too weird. Forgive me, I’ll just—”

  “Nah, go for it—I trust you,” said Purna, sticking her tongue back out, cocking her head back, and bracing hers
elf for something new and probably really, really gross. Maroto had warned her that best practice was keeping yourself properly sexed up, lest you get so desperate that any attention at all seemed better than none. She had airily dismissed his counsel at the time, saying there was no danger of a girl with her charms ever finding herself in such a sorry state. And now … well, at least her mentor wasn’t here to see her get egg on her face. Much as he’d probably like to watch, the old wolf.

  Nemi muttered something under her breath, and then with a chef’s finesse she cracked the egg in one hand … directly over Purna’s open mouth. The runny cargo did exactly what she didn’t want it to, making a beeline for the back of her throat, but she straightened up and kept the warm mouthful where it belonged. It had the consistency but definitely not the taste of any egg she’d ever slurped, and if anything was more like an oyster fresh from the Golden Cauldron. It was also doing something weird to her tongue, something ticklish and fizzy, like she’d chased the egg with a sip of bubbly. Just as her heart jumped with concern Nemi kissed her, and kissed her hard. Mouths opened, and an exchange was made. Purna almost gagged; the sensation of the egg sliding over into Nemi’s mouth was bizarrely erotic, but as soon as it passed she imagined it rolling back into her mouth, and that was a definite no thank you. Fortunately Nemi pulled away, looking into Purna’s watering eyes as she swallowed. Which was also implausibly hot, now that Purna was good and riled up, and she pulled the witch down beside her on the bed-bench.

  The next kiss still tasted a bit like Nemi’s bizarre cure, but now that the egg itself was gone it wasn’t so bad, and her mouth was still pleasantly tingling. It was the first time Purna had been able to try out her new equipment, and to her extreme disappointment it didn’t go so well—Nemi’s eyes widened and she seemed in danger of choking on Purna’s tongue. But when Purna gently tried to break their kiss the witch wouldn’t let her go, sucking on the long tip in a highly provocative manner.

  As far as weird new experiences went this was leagues better than the egg business, and then Nemi’s hands were getting Purna out of the one purely decorative article of clothing she had left, a Serpentine corset. When Maroto had made a go at it during their faux tryst back in the Panteran Wastes he had futilely fiddled with the busks on the front and made a mess of the ornamental ribbons, but Nemi went straight to the laced back. She made short work of the knot Diggelby had claimed would have to be gnawed off, after he’d helped Purna into the corset with more than one cheeky word regarding her choice in attire for a friendly music lesson.

  Nemi let off slurping on Purna’s tongue as she loosened the lacing and then moved her hands back to the front. She unhooked the busk studs, eyeing Purna so steamily it was a wonder her pince-nez hadn’t fogged up. Then she parted the front of the corset with deliberate slowness, exposing Purna’s rather plain and rather stained linen chemise. Unlike her stays, Purna could have removed this last layer by herself but nevertheless appreciated Nemi’s assistance, as she did with her boots, and then her wool socks, and finally her leggings.

  “Don’t you feel a little overdressed?” Purna asked as she sprawled out as best she could on the bed that wasn’t actually all that wide, really. Nemi still had her dress and jewelry on, and eagerly agreeing it wouldn’t do to make her guest feel outclassed, she sat up on her knees and pulled the dress over her head. Sexy as she’d looked before, she was looking fresher by the moment, the russet tinge returning to her hair and the ashen hue melting away from her skin, and as she rolled over to deposit a pound or two of iron rings on a shelf at the end of the bed Purna saw that her spine was again straight and supple. Before she could roll all the way back over the Ugrakari pounced, a hand on each wonderfully fuzzy calf, and Purna kissed her way up the fine pelt that was making her drool like a wild dog. And upon reaching her lovely destination, which bawdy poets would sell short by comparing to any number of mundane flowers and geological phenomena, Purna discovered to their mutual excitement that while her monstrous tongue might be a bit much for a partner’s mouth it was just right for other regions.

  In the course of the night she made a careful survey of any and all of these provinces, double-and triple-checking as necessary, and discovering a few more piercings for good measure. And while Nemi’s tongue was strictly human both her skill and her appetites were downright devilish.

  All right, so Purna hadn’t had that much personal experience in matters carnal, but she’d had enough to know that Nemi was right: the witch was into some weird stuff. Not bad. Not bad at all. But weird. Really weird.

  It was the most fun Purna could remember. For a few blissful hours she actually forgot she was a wanted woman who had betrayed her family, had lost her friends, and was about to embark on an obscenely risky quest to save her mentor, who might not want to be saved in the first place …

  The hooded cockatrice woke them in the early hours with a hideous hissing screech. Nemi hushed it, curling back into the smaller woman’s embrace and immediately falling back asleep, but Purna lay awake in the dark wagon, remembering each and every thing she wished she could forget, big or small. Her quick crush on Nemi had let her focus on something other than her troubles, but now that she’d had the best bally scromp of her life it felt like her stupid brain was paying her back with interest.

  What if she’d been recognized back in Black Moth or Thao from the wanted posters her aunt and uncle had apparently distributed far and wide, and even now assassins were creeping up on their sleeping camp? She hadn’t told anybody but Diggelby the truth about her past and the price on her head, thinking it pretty small tubers next to Hoartrap’s warning of monstrous hordes assaulting the Immaculate Isles and the rest of the Star next in line for the guillotine, but that was just an excuse for her cowardice, wasn’t it? While everybody else was sleeping out in the open where any cutthroat skiptracer could take them unawares, she had pranced off to enjoy a nice piece of strange behind the only locked door around without so much as warning her friends of the danger they were in. No wonder she had done a better job pretending to be a fickle fop than she had at aspiring to be a hero—being a selfish brat came naturally to Purna.

  Case in fucking point. Sullen had his murder-happy mother in chains and didn’t know what to do with her, Keun-ju had lost his whole damn arm, and according to Hoartrap the entire Cobalt Company was in immediate mortal danger, on account of an army of monsters popping out of the ocean with the sole intention of slaughtering the Star … But instead of worrying about any of that Purna was giving herself the sweats with far-fetched fantasies of bounty hunters who only cared about her. Why not worry about someone other than herself for a change? Sometimes it felt like the only habit she’d actually picked up from Maroto was his narcissism.

  Well, maybe that was a bit out of order. Maybe instead of viewing her former mentor’s tendency to blame himself for whatever problems they were experiencing as mere self-absorption, she could chalk it up to something else that had never before plagued Purna: a willingness to take personal responsibility for a bad situation. Maybe the fact that Purna didn’t sleep so easily showed a change for the better instead of the worse. Maybe she should start cutting herself the kind of slack she had always cut him.

  Where was her old friend just now? Was he safe for the moment, or in dire peril? Was he even alive? Hoartrap had confided that he’d sent Maroto ahead to do reconnaissance of Jex Toth and that they would soon join him, but for all she knew the warlock was still lying and Maroto was as lost to her as Duchess Din and Count Hassan and every other friend who had fallen along the way. If Maroto were here to give her one piece of advice, she suspected it would be to not believe a word Hoartrap said.

  Nemi smacked her lips in her sleep and wiggled backward into her partner, and feeling the witch’s warm skin against her own Purna reckoned Maroto might give her a different slice of wisdom: why lie awake worrying about a grotesque like Hoartrap when she had his comely apprentice to snooze against? Maybe tonight would prove to be nothing but a onet
ime thing, but if that was true then all the more reason to enjoy it while it lasted. If Purna must stay awake with her thoughts, better to turn them to appreciating the comforting press of Nemi’s back against her bosom, that delightful rump molded against her stomach …

  Purna sighed, but unlike Nemi’s moniker it was anything but bitter. She dearly hoped they would have many more nights like this, and not just for the carnal fireworks Nemi had ignited inside her lover. Now that Purna had finally unhitched her attention from the runaway cart of regrets and worries, her mind began to sleepily orbit around the naked girl in her arms, as it should have from the first. Nemi wasn’t just enigmatic, she was as delightful a puzzle as was ever crafted. What was her song, and would Purna one day coax it from her just as she’d lured music from the witch’s sword? From the barbs Nemi and Hoartrap had exchanged that first night and the few asides Purna had picked up afterward, she’d deduced that Nemi had faked her death to escape her apprenticeship, but beyond that the witch’s relationship to Hoartrap was as mysterious as the curse that twisted her body each night, the horned wolf that hauled her vardo, and hells, everything else about her …

  But then pity the boring sod who didn’t love a good mystery, and suffice to say for now this one had an intriguing opening. Purna smiled to herself at that, breathing in the bouquet of stale smoke and tangy sweat and bitter herbs and earthy roots in her lover’s hair. She soon drifted off again, knowing if she dreamed it couldn’t be as sweet as this waking one a witch had conjured for her in the Haunted Forest.

  CHAPTER

  12

  Everybody knows that when something sounds too good to be real it probably isn’t, but in Maroto’s extensive experience the reverse rarely held true—just because a thing seemed too fucking terrible to be real didn’t preclude that possibility. On the contrary, it was usually much worse than first anticipated … which was why it came as a bit of a shock that daily life under the diabolical thumb of the Vex Assembly wasn’t actually so bad.