The Vestal's Steward

by Ailx Nichols

  He grabbed her hips and pulled her closer. Desire coursed through his veins and through his muscles. He could feel it in his bones. They ached for her. All his being yearned for her. He wanted every bit, every curve and crevice, every taste, every caress, every inch of her silken skin.

  Suddenly, he knew what he’d do first. Something transgressive. An act the vestals wouldn’t approve of. An act he’d never done or even considered doing before. Not with the women he’d known prior to Unie. Not with Unie, either, obviously. Not even with Haysi… until now.

  He dropped to his knees in front of her and pressed his lips to her belly.

  Slowly, deliberately, he kissed his way down to her mound, before giving her cleft a tentative lick. Lifting his gaze, he watched comprehension light up her face. Another flick of his tongue, harder this time. Her eyelids drooped, her cheeks reddened, and a soft moan escaped her lips as they parted.

  He’d never seen anything more beautiful in his whole life.

  Spreading her folds with his fingers, he pressed his face between them. She gasped. He gave her a few long, slow licks, drawing in the head-turning scent of her arousal. Panting, she put her hands on his head and pressed, as if trying to hold him there. As if she feared he’d stop too quickly and draw away.

  Not in a million years! He was just getting started.

  Shifting beneath her to get better access, he dragged his tongue up and down, dipping in, tasting, teasing, circling her glistening bud.

  “Iyatt, please,” she moaned.

  He tongued her pearl listening to her reactions. Soon, he discovered that a certain amount of pressure and a certain rhythm drove her wild. He did more of that.

  As he kissed, suckled and licked her, she encouraged him with little sounds. Putting her left hand on his shoulder for balance, she held herself open for him with her right hand.

  Iyatt removed his.

  She whimpered another “please.” It looked like she wanted him to use his freed hand for something else. He had a pretty good idea for what. But he enjoyed teasing her.

  With both his hands now free, he caressed her slim ankles and shapely calves. Taking his sweet time, he moved up to the back of her knees and to her strong, lithe thighs—a dancer’s thighs—before reaching her delightful backside. He cupped her there. His mouth never leaving her sex, he squeezed and fondled her firm cheeks, adding a new source of pleasure for both of them. And a new challenge to his heightened senses.

  When he slid a finger into her tight heat, her whimpers coalesced into a long, ragged groan of pleasure.

  He relished every sound she made, every sight, every taste, every scent of her arousal, every moment of her hot, wet, magnificent womanhood.

  His control slipping, Iyatt burned to take her, to be in her. Aware that he wouldn’t be able to last much longer, he repeated the pattern of his tongue stroking her bud and his fingers sliding in and out. He did it again and again, accelerating, pressing harder and pushing deeper.

  She called his name, and then a long, guttural cry erupted from the depth of her lungs.

  He held her hips while her body shook with the spasms of her release.

  As soon as they ebbed, he rose and picked her up. Turning around, he set her on the bed. She scooted to the headboard, spreading her thighs. It took him mere seconds to tear his clothes off and climb onto the bed, wedging himself between her legs.

  Their gazes locked and he positioned himself at her entrance.

  He took her mouth, sliding his tongue between her soft lips at the same time as he pushed his straining member into her slick core. She was so wet, so ready for him that he was able to penetrate her fully in that first exquisite thrust.

  A long, aching sigh rocked her.

  Gripping his shoulders, she tilted her hips up, pushed her thighs higher and crossed her ankles at his lower back, giving him a little more, taking him as deep as was physically possible. And then she tightened her inner muscles around him and squeezed.

  Sweet. Mother. Of all.

  Letting go of her lips, he lifted himself over her on outstretched arms and began to pound. He drew in air and let it out in short, loud breaths. His thrusts were sharp, precise, powerful. His head swam. Blinded and deafened by the blood pounding in his head, all he knew was this push and pull between them, this sweet joining with the woman he loved.

  In that moment, there was nothing else to the world.

  The pleasure grew intense. He withdrew, plunged back in. Repeated.

  Pinned down, Haysi moved with him, writhing, surging into his every push, encouraging his onslaught with little words and noises. With her whole body.

  His pleasure spiraled higher and higher. So did hers. Tensing, she pressed into him. Iyatt felt her channel convulsing around him. He felt himself throb and tighten and jerk inside her, his own climax close.

  And then it exploded, bright and fierce. Throwing his head back, he groaned low, and shuddered in time with her last spasms.

  When the rapture subsided, he found himself reluctant to pull out.

  She clamped the walls of her channel around him. “Stay.”

  He rolled onto his side, taking her with him and propping himself up on an elbow, before kissing her softly.

  “I love you, Haysi,” he said. “Whether you marry me or not, whether you continue to perform in the brothel or not, I want you to know I’m yours, body and soul. You own me. Nothing—barring death—will ever take that away.”

  “Iyatt,” she began.

  He covered her mouth with his hand. “Before you say anything that would commit you, I have a confession to make.”

  “All right…”

  “During our second reading with Unie, I asked her to seize your body.”

  “I know,” she said.

  His jaw dropped. “You do?”

  She nodded.

  “Since when?”

  “Since before Norbal.”

  “And you never said anything?” He stared at her, incredulous. “You made love to me. Weren’t you disgusted? Weren’t you appalled?”

  She shook her head.

  “Do you—” The red-hot shame from earlier made his voice crack. “Do you realize that if Unie agreed to my plan, your soul would’ve been driven from your own body? You’d be stuck somewhere—likely in Middleworld—for all eternity.”

  “Unie and I talked about it,” Haysi said. “She made me promise I’d forgive you.”

  “And you did, just like that?”

  “You weren’t thinking clearly. People lose their mind and do crazy things for love.” Haysi smiled. “Besides, Unie told me you knew her well enough to expect her to say no to your scheme.”

  Looks like Unie knew me just as well as I knew her.

  “She told me that if you’d had the slightest doubt she might agree”—Haysi stared him in the eye—“you’d never have asked her to do it.”

  He held her gaze. “Maybe. But the truth is you’d never know for sure. You weren’t in my head, and neither was Unie.”

  Haysi didn’t argue with that, didn’t insist that she was certain he’d never really meant her harm.

  With every passing instant, Iyatt grew increasingly anxious. Why hadn’t he dropped the subject after she told him she knew about his dishonorable scheme? Or after she said she’d forgiven him? Why did he need to keep discussing it, to make her admit she’d never be sure?

  Because it’s the truth—that’s why. Because she could never be sure.

  He needed her to internalize that as a given, as something that would always be there between them.

  Iyatt hung his head, despair seizing his soul, when Haysi touched his hand with the tips of her fingers.

  He looked up into her eyes.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I wasn’t in your head, so I’ll never know for sure.”

  Iyatt braced himself for the worst.

  She took his hand with both hers. “Thing is, I always trust my gut over my head. And my gut tells me I can trust you.”


  A hefty burden fell off his chest, making room for air. For hope.

  “What you did for me yesterday,” she said, “proves that my gut was right.”

  He smoothed his hand over her cheek and stroked.

  “May I say the committing thing now?” she asked, a smile crinkling her face.

  Unable to stifle a grin, he nodded.

  “I’m yours, Samurai,” she said. “All yours, only yours.” She pressed her cheek into his palm. “I love you.”

  Epilogue

  “Please, Iyatt, let me take a look!” Haysi begged. “Just one quick peek before we go.”

  “Later, love. We’ll be late.”

  “It won’t take more than a minute.”

  “Look at the time.” He pointed to the clock on the bedroom wall and drew his brows together to signal he was getting cross.

  Except, she knew he was bluffing. She knew it would take more, mountains more, for her to tick him off.

  The sweetest thing? He knew that she knew it.

  “Just one glance, I promise!” She gave him puppy dog eyes. “Do I look like a woman who’d tell a lie on a day like this?”

  “Do I look like a man who’d arrive late to his own wedding?” he retorted.

  She shook her head and stepped back, acknowledging defeat.

  But then, lo and behold, he undid the top buttons of his shirt and let her peel off the bandage. The skin had healed nicely, and the last traces of swelling and redness still visible two days ago, were now gone.

  “Satisfied?” he asked, looking down at his chest.

  A delicate chain was inked around Iyatt’s strong neck. It descended over his collarbones to his solar plexus. There, the tattoo transformed into an ouroboros—a snake swallowing its tail. The whole thing was very lifelike, somber, and intricate at the same time.

  Haysi tilted her head, studying her work.

  “It’s truly beautiful,” Iyatt said. “And an amazing gift.”

  “I wish I could give you your original Nine Blessings ouroboros!” She shot him a sympathetic look before winking. “But at least, there’s no risk of this one getting stolen or lost.”

  She traced the circular snake with her fingertips.

  “Haysimina Lommen,” he growled.

  “Hmm?”

  “Haysi!”

  She looked up at him. “Sorry. You’re right. We must go.”

  He grabbed her hand and pressed it to his lips. “It’s not just that I am loath to make vestals and guests wait. I’m too keen to tie the wrist cords, woman! I’m dying to call you my wife.”

  “And I’m delaying your reward.” She mockingly slapped her cheeks. “Bad, bad Haysi.”

  He grinned, amused.

  She loved that she could lighten his mood whenever she put her mind to it. The ability had come in handy during the last few weeks. With Iyatt always calm on the surface but tense inside, it had been gratifying to know she had the power to make the crease between his eyebrows go away. A joke, a kiss, a touch, and the conscientious Samurai Iyatt Martenn would fade away leaving behind just a happy young man.

  Wrinkling her nose to conceal her smug expression, she buttoned up his shirt. “Like I said, this ouroboros isn’t going anywhere. I’ll attend to it at leisure tonight.”

  When they walked out of the house, a small crowd of well-wishers, mostly neighbors, had gathered outside. They must’ve spotted the wedding carriage in the driveway. Haysi and Iyatt waved to them.

  Lippin climbed out of the driver’s seat and opened the carriage door.

  While they rode to the Orogate Temple, Haysi thought about how much had happened, and how much had changed since that momentous night at Ultek’s house.

  During the days following Ultek’s death, there’d been much to worry about. Rhori’s recovery. The women’s fates. Whether or not the investigation ordered by Judge Mahabmet would uncover any trace of Iyatt, Rhori, and Lippin’s presence in the house. Timm’s imprisonment.

  The last concern had gone away first.

  With most of the Iltaqa cops rushing to Ultek’s house on the night of the fire, a prisoner had managed to break out of the high-security cell at the police station. Voqras was livid. So was Timm, complaining to everyone who’d listen about all the additional hurdles his arrest and Voqras’s suspicions had created for his flourishing business.

  He’d have to limit his activity to Teteum for now, poor thing.

  The “snatched girls” had been far enough from Ultek’s house by the time the cops arrived there. They’d stuck together, trudging through brooks. When they came out of the woodland near Borough Three in Iltaqa, all the women went to the same house. It belonged to the parents of young Keyllie, Ultek’s last trophy before Haysi.

  Neighbors gathered outside, and the word spread within minutes.

  The other women’s families flocked to Keyllie’s house. By dawn, most of Iltaqa and a good part of Orogate had congregated in the streets of Borough Three. Among all the joy and celebration, questions floated. Anger simmered.

  Around noon, some of the women came out onto the porch, surrounded by their family members, and told their story to the crowd. Without describing the details of the horrors they’d endured, they named the eight women who had died at Ultek’s hand. They shouted to the entire world that Chief Ultek was the girl snatcher.

  The audience gasped when they learned how Yvory and her servants had burst into the basement and let them out of the cage. How they’d attacked their jailers. And how, when sweet freedom was so close, two uniformed cyborgs set the basement on fire and locked them inside.

  And then two masked men pulled them out.

  The story spread across the realm within hours. Masses came together in front of Iltaqa Police Station and the Government House in Orogate. Boggond’s propaganda department scrambled to produce a plausible explanation. Judge Mahabmet ordered an inquiry and forensic tests. The report was never disclosed.

  The next day, the headline in the Orogate Daily read Evil and Deceit in Our Midst.

  The article claimed that the men in cyborg uniform had been impostors, because no one from the cyborg squadron was missing. In reality, the Orogate Daily claimed, they were rogue cops involved in Chief Ultek’s criminal ring, who’d tried to cover everything up when things went south.

  And the two masked men who killed them and let the women out? Upstanding police officers who wished to remain anonymous.

  The Iltaqa Gazette hadn’t been allowed to reopen. Achlins Ghaw, still wanted by the police, stayed at the Refuge and became the editor of the rebels’ newsletter.

  Iyatt had carried on just like before.

  He’d showed up for work the next day to make sure no one would suspect him of having been on the masked commando.

  The other constant was that Haysi had kept the parlor.

  With her name cited among the snatched girls who’d exacted justice on their abuser, she became a bit of local celebrity… and the most sought-after tattoo artist in the realm.

  Her belly dancing shows at the brothel’s show hall had fared less well.

  The first one she held after the inferno night attracted crowds. That made Mother Vada rub her hands at the number of sold tickets, but also worry about the unwanted attention to her “massage” establishment. The crowd included reporters and the curious who, unlike Haysi’s regular spectators, didn’t show the same kind of respect for her boundaries.

  That night, she wrapped up much faster than usual and left the stage rattled with Maggi shielding her from eager men.

  Knowing that Iyatt didn’t relish the idea of her dancing for strangers, she quit. It had been surprisingly easy. She danced for him when she was in the mood, and he loved it, but she knew now that tattoo art was her true kagai.

  As for her ability to read spirits, she thought she’d lost it until she “heard” an elderly forester stranded in Middleworld. Haysi helped him write a letter to his grown daughter, and Iyatt slipped it into a desk drawer in the woman’s house. The
forester was able to depart to Otherworld a short time later. That gave Haysi a lot of satisfaction.

  But her biggest joy was found elsewhere.

  One day, Iyatt told her about the sin he’d committed against his father. She was furious. But, to his great surprise, not at him. She told him that the real monster in his story wasn’t the twelve-year-old who stabbed his father, but the grown man who abused his young child.

  Iyatt’s crime? It was an act of self-defense.

  His mother? A coward for not protecting him.

  Vexed, Iyatt told her she was simplifying everything, as usual, and that her take on his story was too biased. He couldn’t agree with it. Her absolving him of wrongdoing was sweet, and he appreciated it, but he wasn’t going to exonerate himself.

  He did smile a lot more often since that conversation, though.

  Her other big achievement was managing to use her moment in the spotlight to campaign about the Pox Bill. Whenever a reporter came to interview her, she’d begin by declaring she’d spent only a few hours in Ultek’s basement. Unlike the other abducted women, she didn’t have much of a story to tell. “But since you’re here, anyway,” she would add, “I have another story for you about that gratuitously cruel, heinous Pox Bill.”

  To her chagrin, some of the reporters had never even heard about it.

  “What’s the point of condemning women already unfortunate enough to contract the pox,” she’d ask them, “to a protracted death in a prison cell without any pain relief or visits?”

  They didn’t have an answer.

  “Healer vestals looked after them before, just like they look after the infected men who can’t afford the illegal level-two cure,” she’d argue. “Why forbid it? What does that say about Eia’s lawmakers and our society as a whole?”

  The reporters listened and took notes.

  To Haysi’s surprise, a couple of provincial newspapers published her plea. And then, shocking everyone in the realm, the Orogate Daily did, too.

  The following week, the Assembly of Peers revoked the bill, deeming it ill-advised.

  At work, Iyatt heard whispers that Voqras was convinced the liberation of the girls had been the work of enforcer cyborgs. The women described two masked men, but there had to have been more, given how much stronger a hive cyborg was compared to an unmodified cyborg.