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 9: Drake the Darkblood 

Esmeree moans and stretches across the soft linen draped on the floor. Slowly, Drake slides back up her body, kissing her belly, her breast, and finally her mouth. She tastes her blood on those lips.

While she’s never been able to arouse him enough so he may enter her like a man, their lovemaking has always been entertaining, and as always, her ember responds violently to his trained technique. His favorite seems to be oral pleasure followed by a blood feast on the artery just inside her thigh. It doesn’t matter to her. Sex with Drake is the best–though it always leaves her feeling weak and lightheaded–sensations she relishes while being held by such a powerful man. She feels tiny when he embraces her like this.

One arm supports his weight while the other caresses her face, her hair, and her throat. "Happy?" His normally pale eyes are now dark. They always are after he lies with her.

She raises her leg, enjoying the way he feels against the inside of her thigh. "Mmmn…" she sighs, still a little lightheaded, "Yes."

"Good."

She touches the smooth side of his face. He never seems to need a shave. "Your eyes…"

He blinks. "What?"

"They’re dark. They always are after you drink of me." Drake suddenly looks uncomfortable. She leans forward slightly, "It’s not a bad thing, Drake. I like it." She cocks her head to one side, "Am I the only one you partake from?"

"No, Esmeree."

"Who else then?"

He licks his lips, and she sees glimpses of his teeth. "Mostly those who will not be missed. Travelers, Rraakks, fry."

"But you kill them."

"Yes."

"And not me?"

He smiles, "Not yet at least. Your ember provides me with something… special. Something rare and pleasing to me." His eyebrows rise at her pleased expression. "The idea pleases you? You would have me do otherwise?"

"I like it. I would have you do your will with me, Drake."

He shakes his head and sighs. "This relationship can come to no good end."

"This relationship pleases us. Need there be a better end?" She stares into that now familiar face. She is certain the Lady knows she lies with him–it has been 4 years since that first time on Wedding Day–and yet she has never said a word.

Drake frowns at her expression. "What are you thinking?"

Esmeree shrugs. "I’m just wondering about you and the Lady."

"Oh," Drake leans away slightly, and his voice becomes guarded. "What is it you’re wondering?"

"I don’t understand." She shakes her head, "I guess I don’t understand anything."

He smiles, "So much! Alright, ask away, and we shall see if we can’t cut through the haze."

Esmeree sighs. What is it she wants to know? "How is it that you are together? Why did Andelliza need you to get rid of Tata Hair Thumb?"

Drake flinches slightly, "Well, I suppose I had to ask, didn’t I?" He sighs deeply, "It is a difficult subject, Esmeree, the hows and whys of our meeting. I must beg your leave, and hold off on answering that question." He touches her lips with his hand before she can object, "I will tell you that she aided me long ago, when I needed her most. And for that, I am… eternally bound to her?" He rolls the words around in his mouth, as though testing their taste. "We have a trust, and I shall be loyal to her."

Her fingers follow the lines of deep scars across his arms. His eyes follow her hands. "These scars," he says, "represent the blood spilt to seal that bond."

She looks at them closer. "How did you get them?"

He smiles and shakes his head. "Maybe another time."

She groans, frustrated. "And Tata?"

Drake nods, "The Lady chose this city, this place very carefully. As you can see, it serves her purpose very well. She thrives here, but she knew it could not all be hers instantly. She may not seem it, but the Lady is very patient. She chose Hair Thumb–barely more than a bagaudas street thug then–moved him into this place, and slowly began to build the guild. She needed his crude sort of charisma to draw in the first fishers and sticks."

"She needed?"

Drake smiles, "Can you imagine the Lady wandering the streets? Trying to raise up the guild from the gutter mud?" Esmeree shakes her head, and Drake nods, "But Hair Thumb could. For that, he served his purpose perfectly."

"But then, why you? Why did she bring you into this?"

"She most certainly doesn’t need me, Esmeree. She is very powerful and could easily control the sticks of the Mill by herself, but the image of a Lady’s bodyguard–her champion–is one she fancies." He chuckles, "It is old-fashioned, I know–it has become my lot in life to serve as her figurehead warlord–but the symbolism is powerful, even among the dregs in this guild. The Ehrech knight or the Brack cing. Everyone respects and fears him."

"Are you lovers, Drake?" she asks quietly.

"Yes, Esmeree, we are. More precisely," he adds, "We are companions. As for the sex," he shrugs, "Well, she uses me to aid her in her more complex spells."

"I once heard her called the Loathly Lady. What does that mean?"

Drake looks surprised. "Really? Who told you this? Was he a Söderkarl?"

Esmeree shakes her head, "A Brack bagaudas named Catræth."

"Ah, the man you killed in the inn." Esmeree looks away, unwilling to agree. "That is an old name–from the time we first met–back when she lived in the south."

"The south? Is that were she is from?" Drake hesitates and looks away. After a long pause, she asks, "Where are you from, Drake?"

"Where do you think?"

She presses her hands against his chest, and he allows himself to be rolled over. Straddling his chest, she runs her fingers through his black hair and touches the side of his face. Her fingers trace the orbit of his eye and then run down his throat to his shoulders and breast. "With your dark hair and dark skin… especially around your eyes… I’d say you were Mynyddi…" Drake looks surprised. "But," she continues, examining him closely, "Your body and your face look Söderkarl."

"Amazing," he whispers, "You are correct, of course. My father was from Mynydd, and my mother south of Frostthing." Esmeree beams with pride. He inclines his head to one side, "Have you ever thought of tracking down your own past?"

Esmeree is stunned. Learn her own past when what little she knows of it is ruinous? Her hand wanders to her ember, which still trembles from her orgasms. She looks at Drake’s precious face and realizes that almost all she has loved has been taken from her. "No." She looks away, "I have no interest in that."

Drake watches her thoughtfully for a long time, "I think, perhaps, you do."

"Shut up."

"Esmeree, it may be something important for you to–"

"Does iron hurt Darkbloods like it does the Fée?" she asks viciously, evilly. She looks back down on him, her eyes full of anger. Her fingernails explore his chest, sinking themselves into his skin. If they pain him, he gives no sign.

"No, Esmeree. No more than it does people."

"Why?"

"We belong to the wrong tribe. The Fée have their vulnerabilities, the Darkbloods have theirs."

"Tribe?"

Drake shrugs, "Something like that. I know very little about it. The Tribe of Man, the Tribe of the Fée, the Tribe of Night. There are others, I suppose. I don’t know what they mean or what they represent. I’m sorry."

She shoves viciously against him and leaps to her feet, "Then you’re useless!" She sways precariously as she tries to stand. Drake had drained her more than she expected.

"Careful, Esmeree," Drake says as he sits up, "You’re still weak."

"No!" She turns on him and points, "You’re weak! A weak slave serving a pale mistress!"

Her legs buckle, and as Drake leaps up to catch her, her eyesight fades to black.

"Here now, Esmeree, drink this."

As she struggles to open her eyes, she feels a cold metal cup press against her lips. Water fills her mouth, and she swallows as much as she can. It is flavored with the juice of berries. What remains runs down her throat and breasts.

"Perhaps," Drake’s tone is ironic as he dabs at the spill with a cloth, "Should we refrain from cutting through that haze of yours any further?"

Esmeree’s lip trembles, and she begins to blubber like a little girl. "I fear, Drake!" His strong arms fold around her. "So much has been taken! There is so little left to me! What I have is so precious!"

"What is it you fear?" he asks. His voice is comforting, without anger or resentment.

She looks up at him. "I fear losing my friends, what few I have. I fear losing Andelliza; she once told me her Burning Time nears!" She hesitates for a long time. When she speaks, her voice is small, "I fear losing you."

"Esmeree," he says, smoothing her hair, "To your friends, I cannot speak. They chose their own destinies, and you must respect that. CC is reckless with the enemies she makes. Squirrel is reckless with the stunts she pulls. They will follow their own paths. You can choose to follow as their friend, but then you must be prepared if they meet a bad end. For what it’s worth, I think what you’re trying to do for them is admirable. A word of warning, however: The courts of Palpin and EroBernd can be no less dangerous to a sellâria than the streets of Cliffs Reach for a stick."

"But, Drake," she murmurs.

"As for me," he smiles, "I have lived a long time, and I see no reason for that to change just because I’ve met you."

"An optimist," she quips, her tears drying.

"Ugh!" His face screws up into a grimace, "Such a foul word!" She laughs.

"Drake," she says quietly, "I fear the Lady will hate me."

"Because you lay with me?"

She nods, "And because I am a poor apprentice. She tries to teach me, but I cannot learn! I fear she will surrender soon."

Drake smiles and shakes his head, "Esmeree, so long as you stay in the Black Embers, I guarantee she will not break with you. The Lady has surrendered only once, and that was a long time ago. You represent an object of great value to her. You are more important to her than you know."

"But I am a dismal student!"

"So says you. Does the Lady or Myrdd say such things?"

"But Drake," she hisses, "I misuse the Lady’s teachings."

"What–"

"I’ve been feeding my ember’s animus," she says quickly, "though she tells me it’s wrong. I don’t want to kill it!"

"Why should you want to kill it?"

"The Lady says–"

"Ah. You must understand something, Esmeree. Just as you are learning, so is the Lady. Listen to her wisdom, trust her instinct, but do not rely on it. She is trying to teach what she doesn’t fully understand. You see, Andelliza does not know sorcery. She has no ember!"

Esmeree is stunned in silence, and she mulls over the implications of this revelation. Finally, she says, "I had discovered a spell, one that would reveal the ember within a sorcerer." She looks at Drake, "I use it sometimes to pick out customers–I like sex with sorcerers–it’s more fun with them somehow, and they pay better." She shrugs, "But the spell never worked on Andelliza. I guess I know why now."

"Yes, you do," he says thoughtfully.

"But if she has no ember, then what–"

He waves the question away. "There are many kinds of magic, Esmeree. Only the strongest, like sorcery, can survive undiminished in these lands. Suffice it to say, the Lady is more powerful than she appears."

He raises the cup to her lips again, and she drinks hungrily. "Now, enough of these tears. And enough of lifting the haze of your ignorance. Let’s talk of other things now?" She nods eagerly as she wipes her mouth, and he pours a fresh cup. "Tell me, then, how goes your plans to be sellâria?"

© John Lawson 2001