Lord of the Fading Lands
Page 89
"You find my failure amusing, umagi?”
"No!" she gasped, groaning as he twisted her flesh. "Never."
"Whom do you serve, Jiarine?”
She gasped again and offered up her mouth, her throat, those lush, lovely br**sts. "You, master. Only you.”
His head ducked. He took a nipple in his mouth and bit down. She moaned, her hand clenching tight in his hair, a shudder rippling through her. The hot, sweet smell of surrender burst from her in a heady rush, sweeping across his heightened senses. He traced his fingers over the creamy skin of her left breast. Trails of carefully masked magic followed behind. Six shadowy Marks grew visible on her flesh, six small points of darkness forming a circle over her heart. Six Mage Marks that ensured his absolute power over her.
"I own you, my sweet umagi. Let me hear you say it.”
"You own me, my lord, body and soul. I live only to serve you." Savage triumph roared through him at the completeness of her willing, even eager, surrender. He spun her around roughly and flipped up her skirts. Beneath them, she wore the pleasure girl's undergarments he'd given her months ago, slippery red satin, slit from crotch to anus for his convenience. Plump, shaved flesh pouted through the edges of the fabric, and the scent of musk wafted up in rich waves. His c**k jumped in response.
"Then find a way to break her for me, pet. You've had a year, and still she resists. You must do better." He grabbed her hair and pulled her head back, forcing her back to arch. The motion shoved her bare br**sts against the chamber's fabric- covered walls. Her ni**les, already tight, became diamond- hard points as the textured fabric rubbed against them.
She was sobbing, hips squirming. "I will, master. I promise.”
"Good. You won't like the consequences if you fail me.”
He kneed her thighs apart, and drove into her in one brutal thrust. There was no time for niceties—not that he'd ever been a tender lover, and not that Jiarine had ever minded. Her body slammed against the wall from the force of his penetration. She gave a soft, choked cry, then a raspy, muttered plea for more as her hot, wet flesh clasped tightly around him. Sweet, succulent Jiarine. Such a pleasure in so many ways. So willing to take whatever he had to offer, no matter how brutally he offered it. Obligingly, his hips drew back, then rammed forward again.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Great Sun had just risen when Sian vel Sendaris and Torel vel Carlian, the two Fey warriors dispatched by Belliard vel Jelani to seek information about the Feyreisa's origins, arrived in the small northern city of Norban. They'd made good time, traveling light and moving fast, resting one bell for every three they ran and shaving seventy miles off the journey by running cross-country from Vrest to Hartslea before picking up the North Road for the remaining distance. They had actually arrived the night before and waited just outside the village, watching until the shadows of night retreated and the residents began to stir.
Sian and Torel entered by the main road, meeting scores of surprised and suspicious stares with stone-faced calm, and began to systematically work their way through the city. From home to home, shop to shop, they searched for answers to the mystery of the Feyreisa's past. They did not ask about a red- haired infant abandoned in the forests two dozen years before. Instead, they inquired after Pars Grolin, a journeyman smith with bright red hair to whom the Fey owed a debt of gratitude. He might, Sian told the people he questioned, have been traveling with his small daughter.
It was the truth, though it had been stretched a bit. Fey honor prevented warriors from telling outright lies, but tairen craftiness allowed them to dance on the blade's edge of truth when necessary. There really had been a red-haired journeyman smith named Pars Grolin, and he really had traveled through Norban. About seven hundred years earlier. Sian and Torel simply avoided mentioning specific time- frames. And—who knew?—maybe Pars really had brought his daughter with him on one of his travels.
Though it pained them to do so, Sian and Torel attempted to shake hands with each individual they met, using skin-to-skin contact to probe the minds of Norban's citizens and follow any memories aroused by the mention of bright red hair and small girls. Many of the Celierians refused to touch the Fey, either from fear or distrust, and Sian and Torel resorted to probing the minds of those doubters with careful weaves of Spirit.
The warriors' progress through the town was slow, and they did not go unnoticed.
Ellie spent a much quieter morning than the one she'd suffered through the previous thy. She woke to find the top of her nightstand draped with a diamond necklace fit for a queen, the stones large and of obvious quality, the chains so delicate she could break them without effort. The message of the gift, she surmised, ran something along the lines of "wear the trappings of a queen if you must, but know you can shed them any time you choose.”
To the consternation of Lauriana and all the tradesfolk, Rain arrived very early and made himself both visible and threatening as he stood at her side, arms crossed over his chest, fingers touching the scarlet hilt of his deadly Fey'cha. When any of the tradesfolk became the least bit pushy or rude, he would fix glowing eyes upon the offender and growl deep in his throat. Three seamstresses had to be carried out after they fainted in fright. And even though Ellysetta chided them for their wickedness, the Fey warriors laughed silently among themselves and cast bets on how long it would be before the next young lady keeled over and how many would swoon before lunchtime.
The morning passed quickly, and soon Lillis and Lorelle returned from their studies and clamored for their promised afternoon in the park. At least five dozen children were waiting when the four of them arrived. Ellie recognized barely half of the waiting youngsters; the rest were children she had never met, a mix ranging from the well-dressed offspring of merchants and simple-gentry to ragged street urchins and every social stratum in between. Each child clutched a Stones pouch and sported a wide-eyed, hopeful look as the Fey king entered the park.
"No!" she gasped, groaning as he twisted her flesh. "Never."
"Whom do you serve, Jiarine?”
She gasped again and offered up her mouth, her throat, those lush, lovely br**sts. "You, master. Only you.”
His head ducked. He took a nipple in his mouth and bit down. She moaned, her hand clenching tight in his hair, a shudder rippling through her. The hot, sweet smell of surrender burst from her in a heady rush, sweeping across his heightened senses. He traced his fingers over the creamy skin of her left breast. Trails of carefully masked magic followed behind. Six shadowy Marks grew visible on her flesh, six small points of darkness forming a circle over her heart. Six Mage Marks that ensured his absolute power over her.
"I own you, my sweet umagi. Let me hear you say it.”
"You own me, my lord, body and soul. I live only to serve you." Savage triumph roared through him at the completeness of her willing, even eager, surrender. He spun her around roughly and flipped up her skirts. Beneath them, she wore the pleasure girl's undergarments he'd given her months ago, slippery red satin, slit from crotch to anus for his convenience. Plump, shaved flesh pouted through the edges of the fabric, and the scent of musk wafted up in rich waves. His c**k jumped in response.
"Then find a way to break her for me, pet. You've had a year, and still she resists. You must do better." He grabbed her hair and pulled her head back, forcing her back to arch. The motion shoved her bare br**sts against the chamber's fabric- covered walls. Her ni**les, already tight, became diamond- hard points as the textured fabric rubbed against them.
She was sobbing, hips squirming. "I will, master. I promise.”
"Good. You won't like the consequences if you fail me.”
He kneed her thighs apart, and drove into her in one brutal thrust. There was no time for niceties—not that he'd ever been a tender lover, and not that Jiarine had ever minded. Her body slammed against the wall from the force of his penetration. She gave a soft, choked cry, then a raspy, muttered plea for more as her hot, wet flesh clasped tightly around him. Sweet, succulent Jiarine. Such a pleasure in so many ways. So willing to take whatever he had to offer, no matter how brutally he offered it. Obligingly, his hips drew back, then rammed forward again.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Great Sun had just risen when Sian vel Sendaris and Torel vel Carlian, the two Fey warriors dispatched by Belliard vel Jelani to seek information about the Feyreisa's origins, arrived in the small northern city of Norban. They'd made good time, traveling light and moving fast, resting one bell for every three they ran and shaving seventy miles off the journey by running cross-country from Vrest to Hartslea before picking up the North Road for the remaining distance. They had actually arrived the night before and waited just outside the village, watching until the shadows of night retreated and the residents began to stir.
Sian and Torel entered by the main road, meeting scores of surprised and suspicious stares with stone-faced calm, and began to systematically work their way through the city. From home to home, shop to shop, they searched for answers to the mystery of the Feyreisa's past. They did not ask about a red- haired infant abandoned in the forests two dozen years before. Instead, they inquired after Pars Grolin, a journeyman smith with bright red hair to whom the Fey owed a debt of gratitude. He might, Sian told the people he questioned, have been traveling with his small daughter.
It was the truth, though it had been stretched a bit. Fey honor prevented warriors from telling outright lies, but tairen craftiness allowed them to dance on the blade's edge of truth when necessary. There really had been a red-haired journeyman smith named Pars Grolin, and he really had traveled through Norban. About seven hundred years earlier. Sian and Torel simply avoided mentioning specific time- frames. And—who knew?—maybe Pars really had brought his daughter with him on one of his travels.
Though it pained them to do so, Sian and Torel attempted to shake hands with each individual they met, using skin-to-skin contact to probe the minds of Norban's citizens and follow any memories aroused by the mention of bright red hair and small girls. Many of the Celierians refused to touch the Fey, either from fear or distrust, and Sian and Torel resorted to probing the minds of those doubters with careful weaves of Spirit.
The warriors' progress through the town was slow, and they did not go unnoticed.
Ellie spent a much quieter morning than the one she'd suffered through the previous thy. She woke to find the top of her nightstand draped with a diamond necklace fit for a queen, the stones large and of obvious quality, the chains so delicate she could break them without effort. The message of the gift, she surmised, ran something along the lines of "wear the trappings of a queen if you must, but know you can shed them any time you choose.”
To the consternation of Lauriana and all the tradesfolk, Rain arrived very early and made himself both visible and threatening as he stood at her side, arms crossed over his chest, fingers touching the scarlet hilt of his deadly Fey'cha. When any of the tradesfolk became the least bit pushy or rude, he would fix glowing eyes upon the offender and growl deep in his throat. Three seamstresses had to be carried out after they fainted in fright. And even though Ellysetta chided them for their wickedness, the Fey warriors laughed silently among themselves and cast bets on how long it would be before the next young lady keeled over and how many would swoon before lunchtime.
The morning passed quickly, and soon Lillis and Lorelle returned from their studies and clamored for their promised afternoon in the park. At least five dozen children were waiting when the four of them arrived. Ellie recognized barely half of the waiting youngsters; the rest were children she had never met, a mix ranging from the well-dressed offspring of merchants and simple-gentry to ragged street urchins and every social stratum in between. Each child clutched a Stones pouch and sported a wide-eyed, hopeful look as the Fey king entered the park.
