Prologue ... 1 ... 2 ... 3 ... 4 ... 5 ... 6 ... 7 ... 8 ... 9 ... 10 ... 11 ... 12 ... 13 ... 14 ... 15 ... 16 ... 17 ... 18 ... 19 ... 20 ... 21 ... 22 ... 23 ... 24 ... 25 ... 26 ... 27... 28... 29... 30 ... Epilouge ... Glossary

Chapter 7: CC, Eclipse, and Squirrel 

The High Summer sun bakes the streets and buildings of Cliffs Reach, making the air shimmer and the people sweat. In the smothering heat, Esmeree and her fellow fishers sit on a narrow ledge overlooking the Doge’s Promenade, reclining in the spare shade provided by the eaves of a 3-storey tenement. Such a bird’s-eye vantage will provide them with superior viewing of today’s spectacle.

The whole city is adorned for the celebration, the crowds buzz with excitement. The streets below are strewn with rushes, wild mint, and freshly mown grasses. Dangling from the eaves of every building are hangings and tapestries of leafy-patterned silk and samite. Already, hundreds of the Cliffs Reach laity are gathered along the Promenade, jostling each other for better breathing air and spectating position. Others crowd overlooking windows and nearby rooftops, sweating it out in the heat.

Esmeree and her friends smile at each other with smug self-satisfaction. Streetwise savvy and copious free time have provided them with a premium spot for the festivities. Besides, Eclipse has a certain "in" with the owner of the tenement, so he lets them sit outside his windows.

In this heat, the fishers keep their movements to a minimum, lounging on the ledge like hot, sexy cats. Squirrel is jittery–pacing their narrow space with confident agility–occasionally performing death-defying handstands or otheracrobatic feats for the entertainment of the crowds below. CC samples from her jug of moonshine with clockwork regularity (and she never offers to share!), and Eclipse keeps shifting his seat with some discomfort (the landlord’s payment today must have been especially arduous, poor Eclipse). "Better him than me," Esmeree’s voice whispers, but there is little risk of that. The landlord’s tastes are well known, especially by Eclipse.

Well-wishers, laity, and family members, distinct in their off-white Medianist robes, press against the linked phalanx of soldiers lining the Promenade. Muskets slung, the soldiers create a barrier with their linked ceremonial polearms. Some devotees, caught up in the fervor of the moment, already have begun calling out names of past family members and speaking in tongues. Nearly everyone carries bags of fruit, breads, and small gifts in preparation of the procession.

Esmeree and her friends do too. It’s how they plan to use them that makes the difference.

Those like Esmeree are sportsmen, lurking on the fringes, waiting for the opportunity to score a hit or two on the parade and then escape capture. The dangers of punishment are severe, but one well-placed score would provide bragging rights for months to come.

It is still a long time before the fun can begin. Esmeree lays on her back, comfortable like the others at this height, one long leg dangling in open air. She tries to remain completely still, willing the heat in her body to soak into the masonry of the building beneath her. She stares up at the eaves overhead and the growing halo of the sun as it slowly reaches its apex. There’s nothing really to see down below yet.

Squirrel squints down at the crowd, her jaw working silently, possibly contemplating dropping a phlegmy sample on the head of someone below. She sighs suddenly with disgust, "Lookit that, Easy. They’ve got them in the backs of the crowds now."

Lazily, Esmeree peeks her head over the ledge she’s laying on and surveys the crowds below. Here and there, she spots the polished helmets of city militia. They will make escape a bit more difficult for the sports in the crowd. They’re getting smarter. She shrugs and grunts, unimpressed, rolling back and closing her eyes.

Squirrel spits, and Esmeree smiles when she hears the curses rise up from the street.

In the summer heat, time passes slowly, and Esmeree dozes.

Suddenly, CC is hitting her leg, "Hey, wake up yä dumb bitch! They’re comin’!"

Esmeree sits up quickly, blinking sight back into her eyes, and collects her "donations". The crowds below have grown, and the noise is an undulating roar. She surveys the length of the Promenade in both directions, as far as she can see. People line the street from the Citadel all the way down to the Heap and back. "Mol!" she wonders, "Just about the whole fuckin’ city is out today!"

Towards the Citadel, the wedding procession is slowly winding its way through the city. Wrapped in clothes of purest white, the new brides and grooms ride in wagons pulled by red and yellow-clad Medianist clerics. The brides are perhaps 13 or 14 years old, only a couple years older than Esmeree and her friends. White and yellow flowers are braided into their hair, and golden cords wrap their breasts and pelvises with virginal modesty. The grooms are much older, perhaps in their 20s, wearing traditional white costumes of the Palpi court and small iron crowns.

Esmeree feels a guilty rush of happiness. She can’t help but enjoy these celebrations. Wedding Day is always important to Myrdd, and Esmeree is certain that he is watching from somewhere in the crowd (probably down closer to the Heap, where the procession will likely distribute most of the food).

Wedding Day is important to anyone in the Seven Kingdoms who wants to get married. According to Myrdd, while the Seven Kingdoms still recognize the traditional Palpi mercantile unions–and a couple Palpi city-states (like Cliffs Reach) recognize Brackish and other foreign wedding ceremonies–only the marriages joined on Wedding Day are recognized by the Medianist church. Such a sacrament is a big deal to devout Medianists (or anyone else interested in currying the favor of the church). Beyond that, Wedding Day is one of the most important holidays on the Medianist calendar. It is held on the holiest day of High Summer, the Summer Equinox.

Myrdd has encouraged her to have a Medianist wedding, but as she spends more and more time with Andelliza, she becomes less and less interested. Men have their uses, and you don’t need to marry them to get what you want.

As the procession works its way through the city, people in the crowd begin throwing their benefactions to the newlyweds and screaming family trees at the tops of their lungs. It is their hope the newly wedded couples will choose a name they hear from the crowds for their children. The marriage parties do their best to catch the gifts that are thrown, piling the offerings of food and money at their feet in the wagons. When they reach the poorer sections of the city (like the Heap), they will pass their gifts back to the needy and infirm, including additional gifts of shoes, medicine, and items donated by the bride’s family.

Myrdd has always tried to impart to Esmeree the singular beauty of this act of sacrifice and charity under the eyes of God–the act of sacrifice expresses that spark of divinity within each person–and as a homeless old man, he’s always nearby to collect his share of the charity.

Esmeree and her friends sit and watch the procession approach with heightening excitement. Esmeree passes her donations from hand to hand: small aballo fruits, rotten and filled with juice, guaranteed to burst messily on contact. The city guard always seem to frown on urchins hurling rotten produce at the exquisite parade participants–and every year, they up their efforts to prevent or apprehend violators–but those pure white gowns and chaste countenances are always too inviting to resist.

The slowness of the parade creates restless impatience among Esmeree and her friends. Eclipse squeals and points as a couple brown objects fly up from the crowd, the first from this block. The throw is errant and passes over the procession, landing on people on the other side. It’s hard for Esmeree to tell, but from their reaction, it must be horse or cattle buachar. The guards descend on the source of the throw but come up empty-handed.

Now that they’re closer, they can see the faces of the people in the wagons. Squirrel scrutinizes the procession as it approaches. "This is their weddin’ day, right Easy?"

"Yäh."

CC grunts, "Well, they don’t look tä happy, uh?"

CC is right. As the wagons get closer, Esmeree can make out the expressions of the newlyweds. The girls look pale, almost terrified, their hands clenched in their laps, flinching from the incoming gifts. The grooms seem almost obsessively preoccupied with catching the missiles, like it is some kind of contest. With all the couples, there is an oppressive underlying tension. It seems hardly a very joyous day for these people.

Esmeree smiles. She knows why. "That’s because they’re virgins."

Her friends turn to her, jaws dropped. "Really?" squeaks Squirrel. Her hand covers her mouth, but her eyes shine.

"Yäh, the devout ones, anyway. The girls certainly. The donios, well, a little indiscretion here or there hardly counts towards losing your innocence."

CC grunts. "If I was tä lose it fer the first time again, I’d be a little more excited."

Esmeree smiles, savoring the payoff. "Well, they’re alsä goin’ tä get circumcised."

The silence from her friends almost drowns out the roar of the crowd. "Yer shittin’ me," murmurs CC. She looks a bit put out by what Esmeree is saying.

Esmeree shrugs, "First thing that happens after they get back from this procession. It’s part of their covenant with God… or somethin’ like that."

"What, both of them?" Squirrel almost screams.

Esmeree nods slowly, soaking in the horror.

"Fuckin’ cualls," CC mutters angrily.

"Horny as a Medianist on Wedding Day. The sayin’ makes a lot more sense now. Mol!" Eclipse flinches, awestruck, "Don’t think I could go through with that."

They watch the brides and grooms passing below with newfound respect. Squirrel leans out over the crowd and waves until she catches the eye of a girl in the procession. Grinning madly, she uses a knife to graphically pantomime the events to come. The happy bride shudders and turns a little paler.

"Should prove tä be an interestin’ weddin’ night, uh?" mutters CC.

"Children conceived on the wedding night are supposed tä be especially blessed," Esmeree observes brightly.

CC’s eyes narrow nastily. "Yäh, ‘cause they’re sä fuckin’ rare!" she snaps, "Rare as a wordly fisher, uh?"

Eclipse and Squirrel nervously laugh at CC’s joke, but Esmeree fails to heed the warning. "That’s where the wizards and kings are supposed tä come from," she says. "Somethin’ about the how the two virgins are closest tä God during their very first time together, right after they get everythin’ cut off. And when they fuck, even though it hurts like hell, God blesses them for their sacrifice–"

When CC lunges at her, Esmeree realizes too late she’s said too much. With anger in her eyes, CC nearly shoves her off the ledge.

"Ah, fuck yä!" CC sneers, "Yä thinks yä knows sä much! Yer just full of buachar!"

Grabbing Esmeree’s arm, she makes like she’s going to hit her, but as Esmeree ducks, CC reaches in through a tear in her smock and grabs a ripening breast.

Esmeree cringes with pain, and CC hisses as she twists, "Yä just wish yä were down there in those fancy clothes with a fancy man! All godly and pure and shit! But yer in the streets with us. Yer a fisher, and a thief, and a connus whore! Sä stop puttin’ on airs like yä knows more stuff than everyone else!"

With another shove, CC turns away from Esmeree, laughing without humor. Plopping herself back down, she drinks deeply from her jug.

"Fer the sake of Kahedin, CC, don’t go rraakk with her," Eclipse mutters ruefully.

"FUCK yä!" CC snaps, and Eclipse falls silent.

Eclipse and Squirrel seem embarrassed for Esmeree and don’t meet her eyes. As she rubs feeling back into her abused breast, she knows the mood is spoiled, and it’s all her fault. Everyone concentrates on their tasks of ruining the newlyweds’ day below, but now they’re only pretending to have fun. Squirrel and CC share murmured criticisms on the beauty of the brides, the handsomness of the grooms, but there is no spirit in it.

Right now, on this ledge, Esmeree feels very, very alone. She looks down at the parade, and her head fills with bright little facts and lores. The origins of Wedding Day. How the crowns are forged. How exactly the grooms and brides are supposed to couple with their privates still raw and bloody. She knows it is this knowledge that drives the wedge between her and her friends, and right now, that division feels like a canyon.

She wishes there was someone else she could talk to, someone she could rely upon like Myrdd, but someone she could trust with her secret like Andelliza. But Myrdd is too old, too lifeless, and Andelliza is too cold. She glances at her friends. Is there no one else?

CC throws a berry, a deft side-arm shot that hits a maidenly young bride just above her right eye. The girl’s hand shoots up to her temple, staining her hand, sleeve, and shoulder with vermilion juice. Her groom doesn’t notice when she starts to cry, and for his inattentiveness, Esmeree hits him in the chest with a fetid plum. The air is thick with offerings, and the source of their donations goes unnoticed by the soldiery.

Esmeree has no interest in the sport, and she lobs her goods as quickly as she can, without any attention to where they land. When her reserves are finally empty, she sits back and watches the others. Her spare hand migrates from her aching breast up to her ember, and she begins to rub absentmindedly. It is a habit she’s always done–it eases her mind much like masterbation eases her body–she just needs to take care that she doesn’t accidently cast any magic.

Today, it seems, is fated to be a bad day. Her eyes close, she looses track of the feelings her ember is sending her. Before she realizes it, she feels the tingling sensation as it wakes–magic builds–and she begins to summon. She gasps quietly. Like a boulder rolling downhill, her ember is nearly impossible to stop once the summoning begins. She does not yet have that kind of control. Once awakened, it cannot be stopped. The spell must be cast.

Uncontrolled, such spells tend to be dramatic. An explosion of color. Levitation. Illusions. Just about anything. Such overt magic here, in front of her friends, the church, and the whole fucking city, would be disastrous. If not fatal.

She knows she lacks the skill and focus to restrain it. There is only one thing she can do. Carefully, she projects the power away from her as Andelliza taught. Let the spell occur, just nowhere near her. This time, she decides to let it disperse like a fog, to drain and settle over the heads of the people in the street.

Once the power has been released, she sighs with relief and relaxes against the wall of the tenement, wondering what will happen next. It can be different every time, but magic like this always seems to be affected by her mood, so it always proves interesting. The heat and haze makes her feel lazy, and as she slips closer towards sleep, the roar of the crowd turns dull and fuzzy, losing all meaning to her ears. Her eyes blur, and she stares at the people below without seeing them. The people lose their shape, and all she sees is a rolling carpet of color. She can feel her magic settling over it, filling in the gaps, coating everything, eventually soaking in and mingling. Soon the magic, the movement, the people, and the noise have become one indistinct thing to her. Eddies of magic spin and flow through her senses. In some places, it is thicker than others, just as in others the people are tighter packed or the noise is louder.

Suddenly, a bright spark ignites in the crowd, shining through the magic like the first star on a foggy night. Then another, and another. In total, four points of white light shine through the unified mass before her, a small constellation of magic that distorts and jostles with the movements of the crowd.

When she sees a similar star shining in her own chest, she snaps to attention. Almost instantly, the spell is broken. Her eyes clear, and the sounds of the street roar back into her ears. The fog and the stars are gone, and all that is left is the rolling mass of people throwing shit at the people in wagons.

But now she knows that somewhere in that crowd are four people with embers like hers. Her spell made them shine like stars to her eyes. Scanning the faces, she is unable to make out who were the sorcerers, but it doesn’t really matter. Now she knows a spell to detect sorcerers!

She laughs out-loud, delighted. What a wonderful new trick!

"What the fuck are yä laughin’ at?" CC is peering at her, considering whether or not to hit her again.

Squirrel shakes her head solemnly. "She gets that strange look sometimes."

CC makes a face, "Well if she’s tryin’ tä get off, she ought tä learn her pearl’s a bit lower than that."

Esmeree laughs with the others and shrugs. "Been chewin’ too much bay, I guess." They laugh again, and Esmeree relaxes. Fine, let them think she’s oversexed or drugged.

She looks down at her fingers and sees them stained with fruit juice. Her pauper’s smock is also stained from her rubbing (though a bit difficult to see through the existing stains). She knows Myrdd will see the stains. She knows no matter what lies she tells, he will know what she’s been doing this afternoon. He’ll be angry–he always does get angry when he hears about her Mill exploits–he may even refuse to teach her for a couple days. But that’s OK. Maybe he won’t notice the stains. Maybe Andelliza will be pleased with her new trick.

Esmeree wonders, being that she’s such a powerful witch, how big is Andelliza’s ember?

Eclipse hurls one last lump of hardened horse manure, hitting a soldier in the helmet. "I’m bored with this," he sighs, "Can we go?"

Squirrel nods and wipes her hands on her thighs, "Yäh, I’m out too. Let’s head down tä the Heap and see if we can get somethin’ good tä eat." The bridal parties usually save their best gifts for the Heap, and the lepers there are usually pretty easy to knock over.

One at a time, they leap to their feet and navigate the narrow ledge to the tenement’s window.

Hours later, Esmeree stands on the roof of the Mill and performs her prayers to the setting sun. The foundries stain the sky with black coal smoke, and the sun turns variegated shades of red and orange as it settles through the layers. Partially obscured as it is, she can stare directly into the blazing circle, and she understands how people say it is a window into God’s Fire Hell. She imagines she sees vistas of burning rock and lakes of fire as the window pans over them.

It’s been a busy day. A lot has happened since the Wedding Day parade. Just as she feared, Myrdd knew she had vandalized the procession. As punishment, he has refused to teach her until she accompanies him to Ascension Square and performs 14 repentances to Kahedin. She is in no hurry, however. Time enough for penance tomorrow, or the next day. Or the next. She needs a break from her lessons anyway.

What has surprised her was Andelliza’s reaction to her new spell. The Lady was less than impressed. In fact, she almost seemed angry. But what Esmeree finds stranger still, is that it didn’t work when she cast it. It’s not like she didn’t see Andelliza’s stone; she didn’t see anything at all! The spell simply failed. Nothing happened.

It’s not the end of the world, she knows. New spells rarely work right the first couple times she casts them. It’s all a matter of practice. She’ll cast it more and more, she’ll get better at it, and then she’ll show the Lady!

The day wasn’t a total loss, however. The fishers’ forays into the Heap proved fruitful. Esmeree’s stomach is full of the food she and her friends gathered or stole, and she even collected a few copper Guilders, wrestled from the leper or other beggars.

Esmeree smiles as a cool breeze tossles her hair. As night approaches, the air has finally begun to cool, and a brisk wind gusts in from the Skudd. She soaks in the mild warmth rising from the stone of the Mill beneath her hands and from the last rays of the sun.

She is aware that someone has joined her on the roof.

"Hey, Easy," Squirrel calls from behind her. Esmeree quickly raises her hand, and the other girl falls silent.

Quickly, Esmeree finishes her evening prayer to God, and then together, the girls watch as the sun settles beneath the smog and eventually below the Skudd’s horizon.

Finally, Esmeree turns to face her friend. Squirrel’s pale skin and white-blonde hair are awash like blood in the waning light. Her eyes sparkle with pent-up excitement. "I sold most of the stuff we got," she says quickly, "and got almost 100 coppers fer it all! We won’t have tä work too much more fer almost a week!"

Esmeree smiles, "Except fer maybe some of the simple stuff."

Squirrel shrugs and nods and shows her the coins. They are varying in size, nationality, and denomination, and they represent a veritable treasure trove for the girls. A welcome break from pleasing the sailors and mercenaries of Cliffs Reach, raiding merchants and rival gangs, or running bay leaves for Drake.

Guiltily, Esmeree fingers her own stash of coins hidden in her pockets, but she says nothing.

"And we can always put Eclipse tä work!" Squirrel addes naughtily. They giggle, and Squirrel unconsciously covers her mouth with her hand. Her teeth have never bothered Esmeree, but combine them with her uncanny flexiblity and climbing skills, and Squirrel’s street name was predetermined. It’s too bad that she’s so embarrassed by them.

"Did yä sell Eclipse’s too?"

Squirrel shrugs as she hoards the coins away again. "Sure! Think we should give him his share?"

Esmeree refrains from commenting, and the girls laugh again at the obvious answer: Eclipse can take care of himself. It’s his dumb mistake to give them all his stuff in the first place! They might decide to share if he’s really nice to them, but they’ll really take him to task before they give in.

Of course, CC kept all her gifts to herself, and what she does with them is her business. They wouldn’t dare ask her to share.

Esmeree waits until Squirrel stops laughing before she whispers, "I got somethin’ too…"

Squirrel steps closer and drops her voice, "What is it?"

Esmeree reaches into the deep pocket of her pauper’s smock (carefully avoiding the coins she finds there) and extracts a folded piece of dirty linen. Squirrel’s eyes widen as she unfolds it to reveal several dried leaves. Shaped very much like the bay herb, their effects are so very much different. She gasps quietly as she touches the fragile treasures. "Mol! Oh, yer sä bad," she exhales.

There are just enough bay leaves for the two of them to partake, a guilty extravagance they could rarely enjoy. "Happy Wedding Day," Esmeree whispers.

"Where did yä get them?" Squirrel can barely contain her excitement.

Esmeree shrugs. "That’s my secret." The dealer will turn rraakk with her when he finds out she stole them–if he finds out–but she’ll deal with that when it happens… if it happens.

She divides the dried leaves between the two of them, and staring into each other’s eyes, they slip the drug into their mouths. Under their tongues, it quickly dissolves into tar, and Esmeree moans as the pleasing tingling begins in her throat, fingers, and toes. Squirrel giggles with pleasure, and clasping hands, they steal a quick kiss. Esmeree enjoys Squirrel’s warm tongue, tangy from the bay.

"C’mon," Esmeree sighs with newfound energy, "Let’s see if Eclipse is busy."

Laughing, the two girls run to the ladder and make their way into the Mill. Giggling and swaying through the darkened rooms below, they try to avoid other members of the Black Embers. Euphoria blurs her eyesight, and Esmeree falls, spilling her hidden cache of Guilders on the floor.

Esmeree and Squirrel are lost in hysterics as they scramble to collect the money, both of them forgetting that it was hidden on Esmeree’s person and not Squirrel’s. Once all the coins appear to be found, they huddle together, trying to master their laughter. Awkwardly, they struggle back to their feet.

A voice interrupts their fun, "It is good to see so much pleasure in these halls… I hope this frivolity is not at the expense of Lady Andelliza’s needs?"

The voice both chills and thrills Esmeree’s blood, spoiling part of her high. Her ember trembles. Her eyes rise up from the crotch of the tailored linen trousers, to the chiseled muscles swathed in a black silk shirt, to the pale shadowed eyes and visage of Drake, Andelliza’s terrible (beautiful) consort. His hair and clothing is tousled, as if he just awoke. They have stopped just outside his chambers, and now he stands in its doorway.

"Oh, Kahedin save us," Esmeree whispers and makes a Medianist holy sign with her hand. Squirrel grips her arm tightly, digging her nails into the skin.

"Kahedin? An interesting choice…" His low voice thrills her, sending lightning bolts to her sexiest parts. He inclines his head as he examines her. "Why?"

"Kahedin," she stammers, bowing her head, "Kahedin the Pure, third prophet of God… protector of the innocent."

Drake’s laughter is rich and honest. "Innocent? In this case, perhaps. Pure? Not at all." He turns back into his rooms and leaves the door to close behind him. "You girls enjoy yourselves."

Squirrel exhales slowly and sags, "Oh, God. That was close! By the Ice."

"By the Fire," Esmeree answers.

Esmeree hesitates and then steps towards the chamber door. The bay’s influence pulses through her blood, making her ember burn, as she reaches out and gently stops it from closing. She pauses and thinks for a long time.

"Are yä cuall? What are yä doin’?" Squirrel hisses.

Esmeree glances over her shoulder and smiles, "Go on and find Eclipse. I’m goin’ in."

"But that’s Drake’s room!"

"I know. Go on."

Squirrel’s eyes widen, her mouth gapes as she comprehends. For once, she forgets to hide her teeth. "Yer crazy!"

Esmeree quietly pushes the door open and slips inside. Her ember summons a charm for Squirrel, nestling it within the girl’s breast. "Wish me luck," she whispers, blowing a kiss as she closes the door.

Drake isn’t in the room when she turns around. It is heavy with shadows–curtains thicker than her fingers shade the windows–just enough candles burn strategically to suggest but not reveal. Esmeree realizes it’s been a long time since she’s been in here–a long time since she was summoned to decide the name for the new gang–and the Lady’s influence has improved its décor dramatically. The furnishings are the finest Esmeree’s ever seen. Plush rugs, made of something other than animal fur, swallow her bare feet and tickle the skin between her toes. Those parts of the hardwood floor not covered by rugs are smooth and glowing with polish, promising no risk of splinters. A couple large chests sit against one wall; there’s another very large cask off to one side, its heavy lid askew. There are many bookcases filled with an impressive assortment of scrolls and books. She recognizes most of the literature through her lessons with Myrdd but has never seen the works for herself. A heavy writing desk of dark wood stands in one corner. She is disappointed to find no bed, however; she admits, that might put a crimp in her plans. Where does the man sleep? In Andelliza’s room?

Nice as it is, there is not as much furniture as Esmeree would expect. If she lived like Drake and Andelliza, she’d have filled her rooms with the biggest, fanciest foreign shit she could find. Big EroBernac beds and cabinets, covered in gold with all the curly frills and the feet carved like animal paws, and those posh Ulbandi rugs and curtains that jingle when you walk through them.

There is a portal in one wall, and Esmeree assumes it leads into Andelliza’s audience room.

Esmeree is lost in her examination of the large cask, when Drake interrupts her. "You are Andelliza’s apprentice, Esmeree, yes?"

She turns and nearly jumps out of her skin to see him sitting at his desk. How he got from the doorway to the desk without her seeing him, she has no clue. She wonders if he was always there and just somehow stayed hidden from her?

She runs her finger across the lid of the chest. How is she to present herself? Educated apprentice? Sultry street whore? A mixture of both? "Yes," she answers at last, "but that’s supposed to be a secret."

"Very well, a secret it is, Esmeree."

"You can call me Easy."

He leans back into his chair, and it creaks beneath his weight. "I think I will call you Esmeree."

The shadows conceal most of his face. Only his startlingly pale eyes are visible. They almost glow in the darkness. Esmeree hesitates. She usually relies on her ability to read facial expressions to determine her safety with new men. She can’t read his. She doesn’t know if she should proceed.

The silence in the room grows, and Drake’s presence in the shadows seems to grow with it. He is obviously waiting for some kind of explanation.

Abandoning the chest, she slowly begins walking towards him. "You know, I’ve been watchin’ you for a long time."

Drake hesitates, "A ‘long time’ is relative. You were very young when you joined the Mill–a mere 6 years–so it might seem a long time to you. But it hasn’t been such a long time for me."

Esmeree kneels at his feet, looking up at the most powerful man in the Mill. Her heart pounds in her breast and throbs in her ears. Slowly, he leans forward to examine her closer, the candlelight playing across his rugged, stoic features. She sees no anger, no hint of danger in his face, but her heart beats even faster under that gaze, and she finds it hard to breathe. Placing her hands on his knees, she rocks forward, stretching her face as close to his as she can. "How long was it for you?"

Drake looks away. "Barely a second."

Esmeree takes a deep breath and swallows. The risk is hers. Andelliza’s wrath will be dealt with when it happens–if it happens. This is something she’s wanted for as long as she could remember. He is something she’s always wanted.

She leans forward, running her hands up his legs as she rises. As he leans back into his chair, a small smile plays across his face before it vanishes in darkness. She is disappointed when her hands find no hardening bulge in his crotch, but she doesn’t let it stop her from climbing onto his lap, straddling his legs with her knees. She inhales slowly with awe as she slides her hands up his chest, feeling each solid muscle, as cold and hard as a statue’s. The silk of his shirt hisses beneath her skin. He smells good, like the forest at night. She can’t see anything of his face but his eyes, but she’s not worried anymore.

"You are brave," he murmurs, not quite a question, not quite a statement.

"I know you," she whispers.

He chuckles. "You think you do. You’ve seen what I do to people who displease the Lady–you’ve seen my true form–and yet you tempt fate?"

"You punish the foolish. Is what I’m doing foolish?" She leans forward to kiss him, but is stopped when his hands close around her arms. She feels so much power in those hands–power that can crush her like an egg–but chooses not to.

"Some would say so, yes," he warns. "Like your friend. You should listen to her. You’ve heard about the things I do to fry? You know about my factories?"

"Fée tales to scare the fry," she answers. "I believe every word of them."

She bows her head, allowing her dark hair to cascade in front of her face, and looks up at him with her best bad-girl come-hither look. Drake doesn’t look impressed. He seems immune to her best tricks. She begins to wonder if this was such a good idea.

"I know what I’m doing," she insists, a bit more defensively than she wanted. "I choose to be here."

He grimaces, "You’re full of food and bay. I can smell it. You have no idea what you’re offering up to me."

"Show me." Esmeree pauses and peers deeply into those pale eyes. "What’s it like being a Darkblood?"

Drake hesitates. It was a question he didn’t anticipate. She can feel him thinking. "What’s it like being a warm blood?"

"You don’t know?" Esmeree is astonished.

She senses him smile. "I don’t remember anymore."

She leans forward again, and this time he doesn’t stop her. "Then let me show you." He doesn’t move a muscle as she caresses his lips with hers. "I want you."

He sighs expansively, and his hands rest on her thighs. They are cold and send exciting chills through her body. "Is fucking what you have in mind, Esmeree?"

"I do it very well."

"Is that what your friends say?" He sounds amused.

"And the Palpi," she snaps a bit defensively, "The merchants, and the Templars, and some of the priests."

Drake laughs softly, "What, not the Bracks?"

Esmeree toss her hair and tastes the skin of his ear and cheek. It is surprisingly free of sweat salt. "The Bracks like CC better. She’s tall and strong and older, and her tits are bigger. The sailors and merchants like Eclipse best, especially the ones from Ulbandus. But everyone likes Squirrel."

"Eclipse?" he laughs.

Esmeree smiles, "It’s because his customers always cover his moons."

Drake gently but firmly pushes Esmeree away again. "Esmeree. Fucking is not what I have in mind."

Esmeree frowns and is about to protest, when she feels his hands moving. They slide along her legs under her smock and cup her bare ass. In a single motion, he sweeps the garment up and off her. Now naked, she straddles his legs and watches his eyes as they survey her body, from the fresh down between her legs, up her belly, to the tiny breasts that project from her chest like darts. His eyes focus on the small lump of her ember. She moans as his hands run up her sides, cupping the ribs beneath each breast. His thumbs press gently against her ember and sensuously begin to rub.

She gasps with astonished surprise. His touch lights fires in her breasts, groin, and ember. Responding unbidden to his caress, her ember begins to summon. The sensations are unparalleled to her experience. She struggles for breath as the mixture of drug, sex, and magic floods every nerve in her body with ecstasy.

When she orgasms, she feels his lips close on her throat, and his teeth pierce her skin.

***

CC will do anything for you if you fuck her well enough–food, clothing, comfort, protection–in the afterglow of sex, she’ll offer it all up for you. Come morning, however, you’d better watch your back again. It is one of the Brackish girl’s idiosyncrasies. Esmeree finds it rather sweet; it’s one of her favorite things about her temperamental friend.

But it makes living with her a rather touchy proposition, and Esmeree and the others usually decide to make their own arrangements. Tonight, however, a hard Grey Summer storm rages outside, and so they chose to risk it. Tonight, the three of them satisfied CC’s needs and then took refuge in her hideaway in the Mill’s upper floor. CC’s cunning has delivered to her a lair in the Mill that many of the sticks would envy; her ferocity has thus far allowed her to keep it. It is the perfect place for the four of them to weather out tonight’s storm.

Blue-white lightning flashes through the windows, and Esmeree and Squirrel shudder and giggle each time the wind howls or the clouds groan with thunder. The girls lay on either side of Eclipse, their heads on his chest, listening as the storm rages across the night sky. Despite the rain, the air is still thick and hot with their lovemaking, and sweat beads on their bare skin. The boy snores softly beneath them. Their recent calisthenics have worn him out, but the girls still have some energy.

Faces close enough for their breaths to mingle, Esmeree whispers so as not to wake Eclipse or CC, "Squirrel? What do yä dream about?"

"Like when I’m sleepin’?" She plays with Eclipse, enjoying the way he grows hard and soft as boys do when they’re sleeping.

"Nage, I mean, like, when we get older."

Squirrel shrugs, rubbing her cheek against Eclipse’s smooth skin. "A stick, I suppose, though it would be nice tä someday get out of the Mill."

Esmeree’s eyes widen. "Where would yä go?" She never imagined her friend had visions beyond the Black Embers.

Squirrel smiles and rolls her eyes in a dreamy way, "Gosh, I’d love tä see the insides of the Doge’s palace or one of those posh Palpi mansions." She sighs, "Maybe even see Castle Aquilaleon in EroBernd?" She gets a sly look, "Maybe even kneel before the Superbus Tyrannus himself?"

"Really? Wow!"

Squirrel nods her head, but slowly her smile fades. "Not like I’d ever be able tä see things like that though. Na wellborn would ever pick me fer a lover, much less a wife."

Esmeree blinks in surprise. "Hey, c’mon, Squirrel. That’s not true! Even the nobles of the Palpi courts need whores. Yä think they like humpin’ those dried up donas of theirs?"

"Really?" Squirrel sighs, "Whenever I see them on New Years or the Harvest Festival, they’re always with these pretty young things."

Esmeree rolls her eyes. "Dumb as an alf in heat, girl! Those aren’t their wives! They’re whores… ‘Course," she adds quickly, "They ain’t called whores or oainjyrs or capalas. They’re called sellâria."

Squirrel’s eyes narrow with suspicion. "Don’t be afron with me, Easy! I ain’t na dumb fry. I knows na married man would be with a whore out in the open like that!"

"Not a whore! A sellâria. And it’s OK. Sort of a loophole those dirty draucuses found in Medianist doctrine."

"What?" Squirrel sounds skeptical.

Esmeree sighs happily. Unlike CC, Squirrel actually seems to enjoy hearing about all the things she’s learned from Myrdd. "Just listen, OK? The laws laid down by the Prophet Pennenc say that ‘To look upon a maiden fair with lust is to soil her as if with your hands’. When the Prophet Guiot came around, he interpreted that tä mean that women should preserve their virtues by staying indoors–away from sight– sä men couldn’t get all hot and bothered by lookin’ at them. Husbands and fathers started lockin’ their women up at home, OK? Sä, this seemed a good idea at first, but then they discovered it was na fun goin’ tä parties with na women…"

Squirrel’s eyes widen with understanding, "And the only women available were the ones without virtue. Whores!"

Esmeree smiles, "Sellâria. Of course, the wives got bored sittin’ around by themselves at home. They started complainin’, sä na one really observes that law any more… not at least here in Palpin... except fer the really orthodox Medianists." She shrugs, "But the tradition of goin’ out with sellâria has stuck. It’s fun bein’ seen with a pretty girl on yer arm. Sometimes even the wives go with one."

"Do they fuck them?"

Esmeree explores Eclipse’s navel with her finger, "Who? The husbands? Of course! Some keep whole stables stocked up in Marble Town. Others even move them intä the house with the wife and kids. They got the easy life, those sellâria."

"Wow," mutters Squirrel thoughtfully.

Esmeree leans closer, "Yä know, yer just about the most mirain girl in the Mill. I know everyone wants yä. I think you could become a sellâria. A good one too."

Squirrel tries to hide her smile. Her blush is very endearing. "Really?" She rolls her eyes and sighs. "I don’t know, Easy. I see the way those wh– sellâria act around their men. They move the right way; they talk the right way. Na wellborn’s goin’ tä look at me, much less take me tä bed... or tä Aquilaleon."

"Shit, Squirrel, it isn’t that hard. I know some things. I can help yä out, teach yä what yä need tä know, what yä need tä do."

Squirrel perks up, and lightning flashes in her bright eyes. "Really? Yä’d do that fer me?"

Esmeree smiles, running a finger down Eclipse’s chest. "I’d do anythin’ fer yä, Squirrel."

Squirrel beams and slaps both hands over her mouth, but still a small squeak of joy escapes. Without warning, she scrambles over Eclipse and tackles Esmeree, rolling her onto her back. Laughing, Esmeree lets her pin her arms at the shoulders, and Squirrel gives her a long kiss. Esmeree tastes their love-making on Squirrel’s tongue. When her friend finally pulls away, they are both breathless. "Thank yä, Easy!" she gasps, "Yer sä smart! Yä knows sä many things!"

Esmeree blushes and tries to shrug her shoulders beneath Squirrel’s weight. "It’s somethin’ yä want. I’d be happy to help yä."

Squirrel tosses her hair and looks through the windows at the storm. "Just think! The two of us, caterin’ tä the Seven Kingdom’s finest!" She looks back at Esmeree. "They wouldn’t stand a chance."

Esmeree abruptly pushes Squirrel off her and sits up. "Yä want me tä be a sellâria too?" Why hadn’t she thought of that before?

"Yäh! Would yä? Oh, Easy, yä’d be a lot better at it than me. I can just hump them, and any dumb old girl can do that. But yer sä smart! We’d be rraakk together! Please say yä will!"

Esmeree hesitates, wondering if this is what Myrdd really had in mind when he swore to teach her everything he knows. But what other future could he possibly be considering? Ultimately, she decides it is. What else is there for her? "OK, I’ll do it!" she beams, "We’ll rise all the way to Castle Aquilaleon and the Superbus Tyrannus!"

Squirrel squeals again, forgetting this time to cover her mouth. Stretching backwards, she performs a graceful somersault over Eclipse’s sleeping body.

"Shhh!" Esmeree tries to calm her friend’s excitement, glancing nervously at CC. The older girl snores quietly from her pallet in the corner, exhausted from the evening’s activities and stoned on bay. Waking her would be a bad, bad idea. Squirrel covers her mouth and giggles, collapsing back on the pallets next to Eclipse. The boy groans and nearly wakes up, and both girls have to muffle their laughter again.

Squirrel leans back over Eclipse, and Esmeree meets her halfway. "This is going tä be fun," she whispers, and Esmeree answers with a kiss. They retreat, peering at each other from across the boy. Esmeree inhales his pure scent and tastes his skin with light kisses. She wonders what she’s getting herself into?

Squirrel smiles, and locking her eyes on Esmeree’s, slowly kisses and licks her way up Eclipse’s chest to his nipple. He grunts quietly in his sleep and weakly tries to brush her away. Esmeree smiles wickedly. "Hey," she hisses, "Let’s see if he can cum in his sleep?"

© John Lawson 2001