Author's Note:
I originally wrote this for Darknest, and quite a few people enjoyed it. I learned a lot in the process of writing it, so its certainly not perfect, but I think you can see the improvement from the beginning to the end. Anyway its certainly no masterpiece but it is a bit of fun. I hope you enjoy it, and please leave me a comment!
Chapter 1
"Za! ...Zahira!" The yell rang out – the chestnut-haired beauty Nerezza came padding swiftly after her to press into Zahira's hand some gold and a note. She pressed a kiss against her cheek too. Her fragrance was warm and flowery.
Zahira walked on her bare feet, her toes curling slightly with each step as she moved over the hard, cold stones. Finally she reached the Sunfury spire. She nodded and smiled to the guards that lined the entrance, and greeted a few by name. They stared after her as she passed.
Every day during her precious morning hours Zahira would travel to the Undercity. Being first among her peers, she was allowed to move somewhat more freely during her spare time – as long as she didn't stray to unguarded areas. Pulling her hood up, she shielded her face and eyes before using the translocation orb. The general public was not fit to look upon her.
She quickly reached her goal and purchased wine and sugared fruit from the confectioner, who knew her by sight. Visiting the general merchant, she picked up some items she'd ordered, and Nerezza's package as well, taking a swift peek at the contents. Chocolates... typical.
Her errands complete, Zahira stepped out into the cool morning air. She always ate here in the mornings. It was the only time she could be alone in peace, with no curious passersby. 'Everyone in their right mind, she thought to herself, is asleep at this hour. She sat carefully in her usual place, an old stone bench overgrown with vines and weeds.
Unwrapping her breakfast she began to thoughtfully chew. Her food was held gracefully in one hand, while she opened her other bundle. Her new writing set fairly gleamed before her. Absently, she picked out one of the enchanted implements – they had cost her more than a months' wage – and tore a scrap of parchment. She tested with a few small scribbles, then wrote in her elegant letters:
Greetings!
First in Thalassian, then underneath in orcish.
Satisfied with the performance of the new tools she packed them away. Pushing the last bite of fruit into her mouth she tucked the scrap of parchment between two loose stones in the bench next to her. Her long red skirt swung gently from side to side as she padded softly back to the city. She was back home in barely more than a minute - walking down from the spire, looking furtively around to check if anyone was watching, before shifting into a run.
Nerezza was sitting cross-legged on cushions in the front room waiting for her, and gave her another kiss in return for the errand. "Mistress wants to see you," Nerezza said with a wry smile. "I think you have work today."
Zahira nodded her thanks and turned, sweeping past three other elven women who played cards together, giggling and chatting amongst themselves. She swept her hood back as she moved, revealing her dark curls and bright green eyes. She shrugged out of her cloak as she climbed the stairs and made her way to the Mistress' rooms.
"Lord Tholanis has requested your presence," the Mistress told her without preamble. "He entertains Magisters this eve."
"Yes, Mistress," Zahira answered, her voice low and soft. "I shall prepare." Curtsying low she spun and left the room.
The joy of the morning was gone. Zahira slowly stepped down the carpeted hall, snapping her fingers at a servant girl as she passed. The girl rushed off for a moment, bringing back with her a young male. Zahira tossed them her cloak, and they followed her at a respectable distance.
The bath had already been prepared for her. She shooed the servants away and they stood at the back of the room while Zahira soaped and rinsed herself. Sinking indulgently under the surface of the water she shook out her long hair, letting it plaster wetly to her back as she rose.
When she had bathed to her satisfaction the young male rushed forward to cover her, and led her to a couch where she lay on her stomach. The servants proceeded to massage Zahira rubbing fragrant oils into every part of her skin. They painted her toe and fingernails. Then they combed out her hair to let it dry, bringing her wine to sip and sweet bread to eat. Then they left her.
Zahira sang quietly to herself, practicing a new song, as she waited for the dresser. Eventually she arrived – a perpetually rushed, doe-eyed young elf. She assisted Zahira in choosing her outfit and tightly lacing the bodice.
The same routine she went through almost every day.
Every child of the Blood Thistle had her talent, and it was for these that their patrons chose. Zahira was somewhat unique in that she had two extraordinary abilities – her singing voice, and one other, less public quality. It was for this reason that she was the most oft-demanded, and highest earner among her peers.
Contrary to the belief of some, they were not common prostitutes – their fees were for entertainment of the non carnal variety. It was left to the individual woman to choose, and should the agreed-upon contract be broken in any way, the patron would never be welcomed again, often finding themselves shunned by many factions of Silvermoon society. This was obviously extremely bad for one's reputation.
Choose though they often did – some for extra money, and some for pleasure alone. Zahira was different yet again, with her particular qualities.
Tonight as always, she wore her long hair down, spilling in smoky waves over her shoulders. She carried, pinned low on her bodice, two long ebony hair pins. Her gown was in red and gold – tonight she would be entertaining city officials, and they enjoyed seeing on her the traditional colors of the Sin'dorei. She carried nothing else with her, but tucked within her bodice was her tiny packet of blood-thistle, the namesake of her house and often given out to guests. Such things often came in handy.
An ornately dressed servant greeted her at the door of the Magister's estat, and Zahira pushed back her hood carefully, taking off her cloak and handing it to him. She lightly laid her hand on his forearm and he led her to a banquet room, around which were seated six male Sin'dorei and two female.
"Magister Tholanis," the servant indicated the elf sitting at the head of the table. "Mistress Delryna, Lord Seth and Lord Nelan, Blood Knight Adepts. Magisters Malkis and Selestina. Lord Garrett and Lord Telethryn." He bowed graciously and turned to leave the room.
Zahira smiled around the room as the guests all appraised her, her crimson-painted lips turning coyly up at the corners. Finally Tholanis stood to indicate the seat beside him – reserved for Zahira. He was an imposing Sin'dorei in his heavy robes and dark hair, his strong, clean-shaven face handsome if stern. He gave an impression of age, though he looked outwardly as young as any of the seated elves.
Zahira padded on her bare feet to accept the proffered chair, pausing so that the Magister could kiss her hand. His lips were cool and his breath tickled the back of her fingers. "I am most pleased you thought to invite me," she said, sinking carefully into the chair, rearranging her skirts.
"Certainly, my dear." Tholanis smiled, his white teeth shining. "I have been trying to find opportunity to meet you as a matter of face, since I hear so many of my colleagues speak of the Blood Thistle – and yourself, of course."
She smiled softly again, lowering her eyes modestly as she moved to take the wine bottle from the table before them. Carefully she poured the Magister's wine, and then one for herself.
The evening progressed typically, the guests falling into discussion of politics and economics, which Zahira found dreadfully dull. She busied herself by unobtrusively pouring wine when she saw a glass empty, and calling for servants when the food or drink went dry.
Finally many of the guests had turned to their own private conversations, and the Magister turned to Zahira. He had consumed more than his fair share of wine, and she smelled it on his breath, not unpleasantly, as he leaned closer to speak with her. "My dear," he drawled, "I hope we haven't bored you with our conversation this evening.
"Not at all Sir," Zahira lied, and he chuckled. Whether he saw through her or not, she was unsure.
"Please, call me Aran." He spoke, giving her his first name. Many powerful citizens of Silvermoon chose to go by surname only, so the gesture was intended to be one of goodwill.
Zahira smiled genuinely. "To be honest... Aran... I am not one for politics." She took a dainty sip of wine, staring into his green eyes over the rim of her glass.
"Understandable, my dear. Sometimes, I admit, I bore myself."
He was pleasant enough, as they conversed. As the night wore on, the guests gradually said their goodbyes, leaving in pairs or alone. Aran Tholanis shared one more drink with Zahira, and they laughingly crossed arms to feed each other.
"It is late," he finally said. "Shall I arrange for an escort home, my lovely?" He leaned close, his eyes searching, and she felt his hand come to rest on her thigh, under the table.
Zahira looked into his face and saw the intense look there - his grin rather wolfish, his eyes sparkling. She was in indecision for a moment, light-headed with ale, but his hand squeezed her thigh a little more roughly, and she blinked with a slow smile.
Reaching slowly down over her body she found the hair pins, stuck tight to her bodice. Easing them out with two long fingers, she raised her arms above her head, gathering up her hair. Aran lifted his hand from her, smiling slyly now, enjoying the sight. She piled her dark curls atop her head and twisted, fastening them expertly there with the ebony pins.
Then she lowered her arms and gracefully arched her neck, twisting her head to the side slightly and revealing her secret, that which made her unique.
The Magister wasted no time touching her. He moved his chair closer, making a harsh scraping sound over the floor, and moved his body closer still. He lifted his arm, and his fingers lightly brushed the base of her ear, ever-so-slowly trailing downward and circling around. With a look of concentration and curiosity, he pressed the briefest of touches on the small bump at the base of Zahira's neck.
Her mouth fell open and she immediately began to breathe heavily. She still watched him as his look turned from curiosity to amusement, and desire darkened his eyes. His fingers still caressed her neck, until she fairly writhed in her seat. Finally, he rose, pulling her into his arms and pressing his body close. Zahira threw her own arms around him gratefully, as he pushed her roughly against the table and fumbled at her clothing. His lips found her mouth and she moaned, thrusting her tongue against his, furiously kissing him, tasting the wine on his breath.
Aran pushed and lifted her, displacing wine glasses on the table as he seated her there. He bent to kiss her neck as his hand raised her skirt, caressing his way up her leg. The heavy fabric now up around her thighs, Zahira was free to bring her legs up, encircling him gently as he insistently explored her body. Finally he turned his attention to his own clothing, swiftly undoing his belt and dropping it so that it fell to the floor with a dull sound. She could not see what he did, parting his robes somehow, but felt his erect phallus press against her hip as she pulled him close again. His head dropped momentarily to her cleavage, and one of his hands found the place on her neck again, manipulating it rather crudely.
Nonetheless Zahira cried out in pleasure as he stroked her skin – and before the cry had died on the air he was forcing himself roughly inside her. He grunted his pleasure as he began to furiously pump into her, pulling her toward him with each thrust of his hips. She grasped him tighter with her legs, gasping as he mercilessly fucked her. Her arms were around his neck again. She let her head fall back, her mouth open as she began to feel warmth spread over her, her own pleasure finally growing.
But with a hard thrust and a grunt, Aran's body tensed, and she felt him throb inside her as he released his seed. He slowed, then stopped as he lay his head against her shoulder, panting for breath. Zahira panted too – her body crying out for release. She closed her eyes, willing herself not to move, hoping he would think of her need.
She made a soft whimper as he disengaged from her, and he kissed her again, gently. "Thank you my dear," he whispered. "That was lovely." He stroked the hair out of her face, and rearranging his robes, pulled away entirely.
Zahira let her own dress fall around her legs as her feet lowered to the floor. Her chest was still heaving with harsh breaths. Aran swept out of the room, and Zahira closed her eyes. She shivered as she felt the wetness of his essence begin to slowly drip down her thigh.
She stayed right where she was until sometime later, when the servant returned with her cloak.
"I shall add the cleaning of your gown to the bill," the Mistress told her impassively, late in the evening. "And here -" she pushed across her desk a small package, wrapped in red silk. "His tribute." Zahira immediately lifted the corner of the fabric and peeked inside the small box that lay within. Jewelery. She nodded. It would sell well enough. She stood, straightening her skirt, and nodded to the older elf.
"Goodnight, Mistress." She said.
