Devil and Candlemaker
"Everyone knows about heroes, adventurers, nobles; people that matter. No one remembers the name of those shunned, or their descendants. Especially when their crimes were severe enough to sell them to Melromarc's enemies. Don't worry, though. Master has only one directive for me: serve the Shield Hero, kill any that wish him harm." F/F romance, slavery, dark themes.
All warnings placed in chapter 1 are in place for the duration of the story. I won't bog this down by placing anything more than chapter-specific warnings here.
Second Arc—Everything is a game, you need only decipher the rules
Chapter Twenty-Four—Every Lyght, a shadow
8-8
Monthly rent: twenty silvers.
Current purse: eighty silvers.
Food stores: sufficient.
Current level: three. HP is fifteen, MP thirty-two, and SP forty-four.
It's not nearly ideal, but it's enough to train far more efficiently. The world can miss us for a few days.
I mutter the words for Shadow Hand, the little tendrils tapping on the low table before me. Crayn does much the same, trying to catch my tendrils with his. It's good practice, so I make it as difficult as possible for him, keeping them just out of his reach.
Stellar, Deela, and Hope mutter the words for healing spells, practicing on Stellar's handmaid, whose name I can never seem to remember—Irlad, Arled? The two sisters, have similar-sounding names, I can barely keep them separate in my mind. One is Irlad, the other Arled.
We all train just now; our filolials, stamping about their in their stalls, our hounds skulking about the stables and scaring the stable hands. Tallow swoops up and down the street, spying every little thing he can, with a flock hot on his tail feathers—Ginad and Tayrend are more than happy with their new eyes. I'm not sure I like the little dragon-looking things, but their brightly coloured scales and pleasant demeanours quell all forms of dissent, even mine.
My spell ends just as the popup comes from the spell mastery level up, and the dark type spell affinity level up—MP is depleted. I fish out my fan.
Air Strike Fan Shield. My faithful shield fades into existence beside me. I wiggle it up and down, cursing that it won't move once again. In time, but I know it can and will.
I let the translucent green fade, and cast it again.
"Change form." Crayn's filet knife turns into a fishing pole? Not a very useful thing in a land-locked nation. Still, interesting to know he's been experimenting with all I've told him.
"Hey, no fair!" Stellar grumbles and pouts, before an idea strikes her. She runs into the armoury and comes back out a moment later, holding Bry's staff—her overpowered one, from Stellar's perspective. From my baby's more than obvious pouting, I'm guessing it isn't working out quite the way she hopes, but undeterred, she rushes back into the armoury, and comes back out with only a wand—a beginner's wand, barely the length of her forearm, with an impressive gemmed wand's base.
"Ha!" Crayn gives her a gloating smirk. "I made mine bigger."
"I made mine small enough to carry around, so there."
There's just something about siblings. Always getting on each other's nerves. Either way.
Air Strike Fan Shield.
8-8
Share Vision.
Tallow circles overhead, spying everyone down below. Q'ten Loan Humans with tans, all of them as near as I can tell. It's possible they hide their Demi-Human traits under their puffy coats, though it's doubtful.
Me: "Talk to the sisters. I want to know where the Demi-Humans are kept."
Crayn and Stellar assure me they'll report back once they know something, in their own words, as I end the spell. Wind whistles passed as I ride low in Chandelier's saddle. Tallow swoops down, keeping beside me and cawing to challenge us to keep up. Chandelier kicks into overdrive and darts ahead, though Tallow keeps up just fine—if having to flap his wings now.
The streets are thankfully empty as Ginad and Archer rush passed us, cackling like maniacs as a flock of those mini-dragon things struggle to keep up. All of us, save Hope, are out stretching our legs just now. Even our hounds chase us, their tongues lolling out the side of their two heads as they scramble to keep up—they're loving it too much to complain, though. And Wick, he's ever at my side, running at full tilt.
But Stellar and Crayn? They're the lightest of us, so their mounts dart passed Chandelier and I like we're standing still.
"Are you going to let them get away with that?" Chandelier shivers at my words, excitement overflowing as Wick and Tallow duck into the pouches meant for them. My Chandelier pulls out all the stops, putting everything into headway to catch up.
My people.
These are my people, who put their lives on the line without knowing if their plan would work, if my agreement with the god of light would pan out.
We pass poorly Deela and her workfowl on our every lap; she seems to barely make any traction. At least everyone's getting their pent up energy out of their system.
8-8
We pull into the Guild Stables, all our mounts properly knackered after sprinting for eight hours straight.
Pair by pair, we dismount and de-saddle our fowls, getting them ready for a proper wash down so they can roost for the night. I just dip my brush into diluted vinegar when I hear it. A snapped straw of hay where no one should be. The stream of Awareness level ups from my people show they heard it just as clearly. Yet, none act just yet.
Our hounds filter into the stables, surrounding the 'not there' intruder so casually you'd think this perfectly natural. And they wait—each having at least one head pointing in the direction of their target. The stable door creaks shut, Ginad and Grin lean against it.
That means Tayrend is playing with shadow spells again. I brush my Chandelier, paying the frigid water little mind, idly wondering how this will play out. Clearly, whoever this person is, they misunderstand what they've stumbled into.
"Curious," I say out of the blue. "Another Adventurer thinking to test us? Or a fool unaware of the dangers?"
"I mean you no harm." The air in the centre of our hounds blurs. A silverette carrying an oversized pair of scissors fades into view.
Brush dips into bucket, and I continue pampering my Chandelier. Her happy kwees fill the stables—the only sound save the hounds licking themselves.
"My name is—"
"Have you seen fowls like these before?" I ask.
The silverette shakes her head, no. If she's put out by my interuption, she hides it well.
"They're called filolials. Magnificent creatures." Brush dips into bucket again, and I continue scrubbing Chandelier. "Omnivores. They would quite happily devour every trace of your existence, leaving nothing but an echo of your screams to mark your passing."
The intruder swallows hard, fear in her silver eyes. She isn't from around here, and her milky complexion isn't the only indicator of it; she wears a strange garb of violet and plum purple, with a white cape.
"I will ask questions. You will answer. Do you understand?"
Swift, jerky nods.
"Verbally."
"Yes." Quick, almost too quick. She's starting to understand, then.
"Good. Why are you here?"
"I'm-S'yne-Lokk Sewing-Set-Hero came-looking-for-Hunting-Hero-to-train-together."
Brush dips into cold bucket again. The girl looks to be little more than a child—fifteen, at most. Thighs are completely exposed, from knee to waist. Oversized buttons. Obvious stitches visible. Sewing Set Hero, huh.
"I'm-not-lying-I-wouldn't-dare-lie-to-you pleasedon'tletthemeatme."
Brush splashes into bucket. I fish out a treat and toss it up, Chandelier snatches it out of the air before it even reaches the top of the arc.
"Where are you from?"
"Nohm Ang." This…S'yne Lokk…she sweats profusely just now, her face deathly pale. "It's," she clears her throat, "to the southeast."
Where the dragon rampages. Yes, this makes sense now. I scan her, finding her at level one. But that camouflage spell isn't something newbies know about, let alone learn.
"Sewing Kit Hero. Were you summoned here?"
"Uh uh." She shakes her head, no. "Born and raised in Nohm Ang. King held a tournament. I won and the Vassal Scissors chose me." She both misunderstands my question and answers it sufficiently. Genius level stupidity—not the sharpest knife out there.
"Why'd you leave?"
"Didn't have a choice." Her arms wrap around her middle, tears welling up. Grief blinds her to the dangers. "Please, Hunting Hero. Please. If I don't grow strong they'd have…"
Died for nothing. I nod, understanding her lack of care a little better.
"Were you invited to this city? Or did you come on your own?" My gaze flickers to my men, and the stall doors open with a creak.
"The king. He. He heard of Choros's summoning. Dunno if he sent word, but…"
If that king's intelligence network knows of the summoning, other kingdoms know. And the next agent might not coming looking for a training buddy.
Fingers snap and hounds perk up, all eyes and ears on me. I try to ignore the sole Beasttaming level up, not entirely successfully.
"Identify." All hounds move in, sniffing S'yne Lokk, licking at her hands and face and ears. The silverette panics, at first, but soon can't help but laugh as rough tongues lap at her exposed skin. No, not fifteen. Younger, much younger, but appears mature? What kind of life has she led?
8-8
X-X NEW VISITOR IN STRONGHOLD! X-X
Allow S'yne Lokk to Quick Travel?
X-X
I select no, obviously.
"Nohm Ang knows of the Hunting Hero's summoning." My people gather to the low table, though Grin and Tayrend sit to either side of Lokk—to keep a keen eye on her. "That means other kingdoms know. That means training schedules are now on overdrive."
Stellar and Crayn nod, understanding that specifically means them.
"Sorry, mama. Can you arrange more slaves?" Crayn is already thinking of these things? "I'll need a proper team under my command." Well, he has shown he cares for them right.
That means we'll need more space, a proper Stronghold with training area, at least a few fall-back locations, making it to Silver quickly, and procuring local monsters for scouting. A range of things I wasn't ready to worry about yet. I had hoped to keep our heads down for longer, but this just isn't feasible.
We'll need one here in Ulaan, to uphold our deal with the king and act as a smokescreen for any searching for us. We'll need one out in the wilds, to mask our numbers and keep our training as secret as possible. We'll need a mine, though that comes with the issue of bargaining with the king—it's unlikely he'll want competition for such resources, unless we find one on our own. And then there's the whole mess of the royal courts I've been avoiding, and all the key players that will play nice until they have a dagger prepared for my back.
No, I'm not taking the court on with the stakes this high. Not until I have…how did Amaki put it…an ace up my sleeve?
"Here's what we're doing. I'll be XP Farming. Ginad. I want you taking day trips out into the wilds. Scout about, find what can be found. Quick Travel back here at sundown."
Ginad nods.
"Grin and Tayrend. You'll be scouting the city. Find out everything you can."
Grin smirks, amused with his duties. But Tayrend's eyes light with a fire to show he's got something specific in mind. Good. They know their skills best. A collective of fluttering from our humble balcony hints our little dragons take flight, already seeing to orders given.
"Bry, Hope, Deela. I want this place as secure as is feasible. You know what that means." The three nod.
"Archer, you'll be joining Zaan, Lyraynna and myself."
"Mistress?" Bry gives me a meaningful look. "Should I…?"
"You know your skills best. Ensure I have all information I'll need." I get nothing but nods.
8-8
Chandelier pounces on the sewer rat, Devouring it as Archer looses arrows in quick succession. XP trickles in, filling the greater party a little at a time.
X-X Job Update! X-X
Kill 20 sewer rats: 25/20
X-X
The rat nest around me teems with rodents as long as I am tall, writhing in their death throes. Chandelier plucks up the remnants of her meal, having only gorged on the, in her opinion, best parts. The pelt disappears into the green void of fan's gem, soon joined by another, and another. All our fowls work together, Devouring what they desire, offering what they don't to my fans.
The alcove is quickly reduced to smooth stone, all the twigs and bones and scraps of metal and cloth are dislodged and vanish into the green void. Even the arrows Archer loosed, all of it is added to Inventory.
With this job satisfactorily concluded, I tug Chandelier's reins and we vacate the alcove, heading north for the spiders. Rat's Map flickers into my vision, showing another swath of sewers is now investigated. Curious, I blink at the arrow facing up. The city above quickly fills in. Not just the illusion painted before me, but the already expansive map continually fills more—more details, more street names, more points of interest are highlighted.
I stare at the loop in the corner, zooming out on the map and getting a much wider view. Ginad tracks west-northwest, away from the trouble we expect. I blink at the moving blue dot amidst the green, and the illusion loads his view of rolling hills and grass-covered steppes. He travels at a quick clip, yet he takes his time marking any points of interest he spots, if forgoing properly investigating.
Wild horses traverse the plains in herds so large they seem a sea of heads and flapping manes. Birds of prey circle overhead, even in the distance they appear large—perhaps my size or larger. They'll prove useful, though I dare not identify them just now.
Scans filter in, Bestiary fills. Steppe Eagles, level fifteens. Horses are level tens, so apt to be their prey. None dare getting too close to Ginad and his hounds, despite the level difference. Curious—easier for us, to be sure, but curious.
Vision blurs, fading back to the dreary dark of the sewers.
X-X
Skill Mastery Level Up: Party Master—Level 9
X-X
Job Mastery Level Up: General—Level 5
X-X
With everything going on, it's unsurprising those get so much training. Hmm. I close in on level nine. Perhaps it's time to start looking into jobs to take me out of the city for a spell? Or should I wait? No, checking the jobs available for higher ranked adventurers would make the most sense, to see what I miss out on?
8-8
Shadowy tendrils tighten, shattering sword-arm's bones and crushing throats. The sixth alcove we've found, each time the pattern is the same—one man with four or more women of varying ages.
Rope disappears in a green burst of light, unlocking a range of new recipes, a new skill in the Fan Hero Menu, and a brand new menu with knots, already populating itself with what I've used. Sewer urchins, some pasty white Humans, others Demi-Humans, all struggle against the binds as they awaken—they instantly regret it with the constrictor knots tightening.
X-X Job Update! X-X
Kill/enslave sewer urchins: 18/5
X-X
Curious. I've not enslaved any, and I only remember killing fourteen foolish enough to attack on sight. The snapping of bone echoes through the alcove. Ah, they didn't stop struggling.
"If any of you prefer death, keep going. It only hurts for a spell." The remaining urchins settle down quickly. Apparently they've come to the conclusion that their binds are absolute just now.
The new corpses, rope and all, are wrapped with shadowy tendrils and quickly disappear into Fan's green void, eliciting shrieks of terror from the now thoroughly freaked out soon-to-be slaves—at least, from those who've not experienced it yet.
Archer and Zaan mount up, tugging the train of urchins along behind them. They look to me expectantly. Agreed. We've accomplished what we can.
8-8
"Could I perhaps bother you for a splash of ink?"
The clerks share a look, nonplussed. Sechen holds out the bottle and pouts a bit of slave ink onto, and into, fan's gem. The green light has them both staring slack-jawed.
X-X NEW FAN UNLOCKED! X-X
Slave User's Fan
X-X
While slave acquisitions filter in, I focus on the Slave User's Fan information, wondering what Naofumi got me into.
Accelerate slave growth. Accelerate slave monster growth. Modify Body? I can actually modify their biology? And not just for monsters, from the look of it, either. Hmm. That could become problematic, if I'm not careful.
I lay the three notices on the countertop, getting unnerved twitches from the clerk I'm unfamiliar with. She blinks, sweating a little as she confirms the jobs—the update blinks into my vision and fades as Ms Clerk's now trembling hands fish out the coins to pay me.
I walk over to the notice board. Hmm. Most Copper jobs are right here in Ulaan, even up to Three Star Copper. Criminal organizations, the purging thereof, make up the bulk of the higher-end jobs. Those will prove useful, and they'll no doubt come with the benefit of Strongholds.
Jobs outside the city only start at One Star Silver. If that's the case, they'll involve villages—and pay no less than fifteen gold apiece.
X-X ADVENTURER RANK UPDATE! X-X
You meet all requirements for Graduation Exam: Report to Guildmaster
X-X
Turning back to the counter, Sechen offers me a jingling pouch and two books. Checking the pouch, it contains nearly eight hundred silvers. A good day.
"As thanks for your diligence. Please." Sechen motions for me to follow her. "The Guildmaster would like a word."
I look to Zaan, who orders my still-bound slaves to follow him.
8-8
The upstairs sitting room is as spacious as Castle Town's, only this is just that—a waiting room. The cream seating is leathery and comfortable, situated around ivory tables with carved dragon motifs into the legs and a single golden vase with the same design in the centre, holding a single lily in full bloom. The carpet is a lush green, thick, and soft enough to sink into with each step. Paintings of tribal art lines the walls, with heavy curtains strung open to allow sunlight in. It's sterile, professional. Meant to show a clear distance between those who approach and the one they mean to see.
There's a dark hardwood desk with a clearly armed woman perched behind it, stroking her bright green mini dragon.
"One Star Copper, Candlemaker. Guildmaster will see you now." The secretary motions to the door.
I stand and walk. The door is of the same strange stone, it recedes into the wall without issue. The office is, if anything, even more extravagant. As I slide the door closed behind me, the scent of incense hits me—lotus incense, to be specific. The richly lacquered wooden desk smells of rose oil. Curtains behind the silver-haired woman appear silk, thick, and luscious, a deep red and tied back with silken braided ropes. The walls, a soft pastel yellow, are dotted with ink wash paintings, like I've seen in Q'ten Lo, with a single Melromarcan styled self-portrait painting easily taller than myself, hung over a roaring fireplace.
Golden featherless quills are lined up just to the left of the Guildmaster, with a single stack of those flimsy parchments to her right. There isn't a single detail half a hair's breadth out of place.
"One Star Copper Adventurer Candlemaker, reporting." I bow Q'ten Loan style, presenting myself as professionally as one such as this woman would demand.
Guildmaster motions to the empty armchair opposite her. I take a seat, almost sinking into the comfortable chair.
"I am Guildmaster Korneva Borisovna." Her features are lighter than the average Ulaanian denizen, almost a pasty white, with striking brown eyes and sharp features. Silver hair is tightly braided and spun into a bun, held in place with two needles long as my forearm. "You are the Fan Hero known only as Candlemaker. Ambitious, efficient. You are here for your graduation exam. It is this."
Guildmaster Borisovna's hand blurs from sheer speed, and a parchment appears in hand which she folds lengthways and offers to me.
"All targets will be killed or enslaved. The building is yours to claim or sell. All loot, save what is detailed, is free to claim. You have twenty-four hours to complete to my satisfaction."
I accept the paper right-handed with left hand on my right elbow, unsure if she appreciates as much just now.
"Dismissed."
I stand, bow, and move.
"You will curtsey."
I turn on a dime, barely halfway to the door, curtsey slow and graceful and proper, while tilting my head to show due respect.
"Better, comrade. Don't let fools rob your heritage." Guildmaster Borisovna takes one of her featherless quills and offers, what I assume is, a report her full attention.
Things just got interesting.
8-8
The building is depreciated, the neighbourhood filthy. Demi-Humans and Beastmen and pale-skinned Humans, all traipse about in ratty clothing. With the city so large, I'd not have found the slums without being directed here.
My people and I walk along the filthy cobblestone streets, through what almost seems a different age, different world. Crayn looks particularly disgusted, seeing most of the Demi-Humans we can't find anywhere else roaming about in little better than rags. If I read him and Stellar right, they're already planning things.
Crayn's handmaid is our wagon driver just now, so we should be able to handle clean-up quickly.
Yet, even in this run down sector, the building is an adorable three-storey stone home. Looks to be an old upper-middleclass merchant's home, with servant's entrance on ground floor and wide S-curved stone stairs leading up to a roofed balcony on the first floor. Looks to be plenty of space there, and on the storey above, with perhaps a cramped attic above it.
Looks to have decent garden space in the back, walled off. With the front having a proper stable and room where I can have two proper guardhouses built with a retaining wall for added security—not the castle walls I'm used to, but close enough if handled right.
Mini dragons work their way into broken windows on every floor, already scouting every little facet of our soon-to-be Stronghold. Gangsters patrol every hallway with those strange barrelled clubs slung over their shoulders. I'm unsure what magic those things possess, but they won't be given a chance to show me—not if I have my way.
Tayrend: "Headcount gives me twenty souls, and change. Most armed with those strange clubs, on the ground floor they have batons and quarterstaffs."
Grin: "Slaves are kept in cellar. Frozen half to death. Best loot's in attic. Crates with most guards."
Hmm. This is a stealth type job.
Share Vision reveals the gangsters all notice our mini dragons, but they mostly ignore them, muttering about pests as they're shooed by waved hands and sticks.
Hmm. It's not cramped, not when compared to our current apartment. Kitchen on the ground floor, along with tiny rooms for servants' quarters and some storage. Cellar is indeed stacked with cages filled with Demi-Human and Beastmen slaves shivering from the cold.
Well. Anyone that would treat Demi-Humans like that can't be a decent person. A decent person wouldn't even store their livestock in those conditions.
Me: "Silent takedowns. Lethal force advised. Keep women alive if convenient. Grin and Zaan work top-down, Tayrend bottom-up. Go."
My men fade into the shadows. Almost instantly, the first bodies drop—dead or unconscious, who's to say. No XP, though.
8-8
All gangsters, alive and bound, are lined up before me. The sitting room is a complete wreck—cobwebs everywhere, mummified mice corpses all over the place, tapestries hung from the walls are falling apart; this place hasn't had a lady living in it in far too long.
Zaan keeps bringing me new things to feed to my fans. The gangsters don't seem to like how everything from mice to old vases to pieces of chairs and shattered window pieces keep disappearing into the green void.
"I'll keep this brief. Serve me or I feed your warm corpse to my weapon."
"How's about you untie me and," my finger snaps, "I fuck your—"
For some odd reason, steel piercing the speaker's skull silences him where my snapping hadn't. Zaan lifts his spear with the twitching corpse still attached, high enough that I can nudge both feet together and let the now ex-gangsters watch in abject horror as their Chief—or whatever they'd call him—disappears into Fan's gem, as promised.
At the neckline, Zaan jerks his spear back, dropping the last of the corpse in for me. I cast the cleaning spell, so my Zaan won't have to.
"I'll serve you!" One of the gangsters flings himself onto the filthy ground, face first. "I swear! I'll never give you no trouble! Take the slave brand and all!" The others are more than happy to follow the example set. Much better.
Even at a glance, Crayn and Stellar are clearly sorting the tactic away for future reference. It is quite effective, after all.
X-X NEW STRONGHOLD ACQUIRED! X-X
New Menu Unlocked: Strongholds
Define Type of Stronghold
X-X
I check the list, finding only three options: Home Base, Military Base, and Production Facility. More will unlock in time, I'm sure. I assign this one as Home Base, making a mental note to check all information on my options—a Home Base is always a good start.
Stronghold menu pops up without prompting, showing it's a four bedroom manor—yearly taxes come up to thirty silvers, almost criminally cheap? I'm unsure how to feel about it, but I'll count this as a blessing just now.
X-X
Skill Mastery Level Up: Strongholds—Level 2
New Stronghold Types Unlocked
New Job Unlocked: Property Baron
New Menu Unlocked: Property Manager
New Menu Unlocked: Tasked Positions
X-X
Thought as much. I check, finding Shops and Rentals (monthly) open up. Shops will come in handy, once things settle a smidge, but there's little more assured than monthly rent. So many options to make some coin, but I'll need to check the legality and taxation of all of it.
Hmm. But if this is all unlocked with Home Base? What will Military Base and Production Facility unlock? This may well get interesting.
8-8
My new acquisitions are marched into the Guild Hall. I announce my graduation job is complete and ask for my new slaves to be branded. The Clerks share a look, eyes wider than usual. Perhaps it's the time it took, perhaps it's how panicked the Humans are or how calm the Demi-Humans and Beastmen are; I'm uncertain and don't care enough to ask.
"The Guildmaster is expecting you." The saucer is pulled out once again, and a few drops of my blood are poured into it with the slave ink. "You know the way."
I cast the healing spell, closing the wound as I turn to Crayn and Stellar. "Split the new acquisitions evenly between the three of us. I'll handle payment on my return."
"You can count on us, mama." Stellar beams, hugging me just for the hell of it.
I make my way through the pub, wondering once again why they would call it that when it's clearly a tavern, and up the stairs to the back, up to the third floor and into the waiting room. I announce my arrival to the secretary and that I'm expected, taking my seat without waiting for confirmation.
It'll take some doing, but I think we can make the manor liveable before sundown. With all those new recipes unlocked, I should be able to craft new furniture, windows, and doors. The lock recipe I unlocked should help as well, though the low-levelled locks-and-keys annoy me—nothing a few stationed guards can't counter.
The cellar would make for a decent pantry, given how cold it is down there; after we clean it out, of course. The four bedrooms would be ideal for Luna, Crayn, Stellar and myself. And the servants' quarters on the ground floor should allow for a general pool of servants for the manor, freeing my people up so they may focus on training. I'm unsure what to do with the other empty rooms though, perhaps a library and an office—we'll come up with something.
Slaves are added fairly quickly, I pay the staccato of popups little mind.
"Adventurer Candlemaker. Guildmaster will see you now."
I stand and make my way into the office, nodding to the secretary en route.
"Guildmaster Borisovna." I curtsey to the woman before closing the door behind me. I walk over to the chair, standing before her. "The Job is complete. I control the Stronghold and the gangsters are being enslaved as we speak."
"Good." Guildmaster Borisovna motions to the chair; I sit and make myself comfortable. "Efficiency is important. Do not forget to build a strong foundation to support you once you retire from Adventuring." She slides a Two Star Copper Pendant across her desk, marked 'Candlemaker', and holds out a knife for me.
I press my pointer against knife's tip, and palm my new pendant, letting it absorb my blood before healing the wound. My old pendant is lain on the desk for her.
"As a Two Star Copper, you may take more of these jobs. They don't pay, but come with the option of new slaves and Strongholds. Don't discount how valuable that is. Dismissed."
8-8
The latest of my new furniture pops into existence before me, a cyan leather armchair with white wooden frame and maroon detailing. My new manservants grab it from two sides and carefully lift it over to the coffee table by the roaring fireplace, to join the others. Handmaids carefully stack our tomes and grimoires and books on the bookshelf, dusting everything as they go to the rhythm of the staccato my new carpenters hammer for them as our new windows are installed.
It's a fixer-upper, to be sure; I'm up to the challenge.
Zaan's barked orders fill our new manor as he stations a guard where he pleases. One at the top and bottom of every staircase, two by every entrance, and another handful patrol the balcony and garden and front of our manor.
With the more important aspects handled, I slump into an armchair and heave a worn sigh. It's not been a taxing day, yet I'm exhausted.
Deela sits sideways in my lap; one arm snaked around me, the other offering me a wooden flagon of steaming coffee to warm me. Not the rustic flagons I know, though. This one is of white gilded hardwood, engraved with my Candlemaker crest in cyan, with maroon detailing. The joys of crafting these things myself.
One gentle sip at a time, the buzz of caffeine fills me. With each new window properly installed, the fire has less cold to chase—between that and the piping hot drink, warmth finally seeps into me.
"Mama?" Stellar stands before me, nervously biting her lip and shifting her weight from one leg to the other. I nod to show she has my attention. "I was hoping…that I could…maybe, possibly…let my handmaids sleep in with me?"
My head jerks back, eyes narrowed. "Where did you think they were going to sleep?"
Stellar beams, shaking her head. "Thank you, mama." She comes and presses a cold, clammy kiss to my brow.
"You're half frozen! Sit by the fire and warm up."
Stellar giggles, her lips blue even as she rushes and plops onto the pelt by the fireplace to warm up. Three girls about her age, all Demis, sit with her, wearing matching dresses to hers, and the four of them cuddle by the fire. One of the maids brings the four of them something to drink, warning them to warm up first before they partake.
Wagging tails hint at contentment as they take their flagons.
Luna is busy napping in Hope's arms, the pair of them in the armchair beside me, bundled up in every blanket I produced—courtesy of Archer's insistence, no doubt. Both of them snore, even with all the construction.
Crayn, on the other hand, is busy teaching his boys a new fighting stance—each wielding a sailor's short sword, though Crayn himself uses his weapon in knife form to show the moves. Even his handmaid stands among them, her face lit with a glowing smile as she swings her blade with an awkwardness she'll iron out in time.
With the last drop of coffee drunk, Deela plucks my flagon from my grip and offers it to one of the maids to deal with. My now empty hand is robbed of me and slipped up her mage robe's hem, hugged between her thighs.
"Mistress needs to warm up," Deela whispers, her hot breath kissing my ear and cheek and neck. I pull out my hand, offering it to her. She cocks an eyebrow.
"Take my glove off?"
With a sultry smile, Deela does just that, and my now bare right hand slips right back up robe's skirt, up between her warm thighs. She shivers, but doesn't complain.
"When you warm up, I want you inside me. Right here." Deela's thighs rub against my hand, though it's no doubt more for the pressure against her most intimate place. "Please, Mistress. I want everyone to hear how you tend to me. I want them to know I'm yours and only yours."
My lips claim hers as my steadily warming hand slides upwards to her already moist undergarment. Her thighs spread for me, her hips bucking to allow for easier access. Even as fingers slide into the side of her most private garment, she does little but deepen the kiss.
My digits slip into her moist folds, teasing her, readying her for me. A finger slips into her with almost no resistance—she's been ready for a while, by my guess. Hammering stops, all eyes are on us as Deela moans into our kiss, as she grinds onto my hand and my thumb working her magic button. I pull back, ending the kiss much to her displeasure just now.
"Do not pique." Deela looks hesitant, but nods to show she'll obey best she can. Her cheeks glow red, mouth hanging open with a mute moan still caught in her throat. My hand pulls back and a second digit slips into her, both working her canal slow and steady.
Lustful green eyes drink me in as a shuddering breath sucks into her lungs. Her lips claim mine, offering me all the lust and love welling up within her.
"I love you, Mistress." Not a single moan, noise, or lust-laden utterance is withheld. These aren't the sweet nothings I've heard tales of. With each motion of her hips, she gladly impales herself on my fingers, in plain view of our nascent House. "I love you."
I silence her with a kiss, showing her that I feel the same. She jerks away, her back arching.
"I mean it. Do not pique."
Her canal squeezes against my fingers as she tries to regain control, not that my onslaught eases in the slightest. Her thighs quake, trembling her voice as her hands clutch at any part of me, of the armchair, of anything she can reach as she tries to pull back from the chasm I diligently edge her towards.
A hot blush takes her over entirely as breath stills. Her mouth hangs open, her eyes unfocused even as she stares at me.
Her thighs clamp around my hand, shoving me deeper into her and locking me in place as a ragged breath escapes her, like a scream she tries to quiet for Luna's sake.
Deela sucks air into her, each breath louder than the last as she's continually rocked by a climax unlike any she's ever experienced, until at last she falls limp in my lap, folded over armrest, boneless. She doesn't just pique, it's epic enough to level up my Grooming and Courtesan a good six times—a bit of an exhibitionist, my Deela.
Face red, sweaty, finger-length green hair an utter matted mess. But my Deela's never looked this delicious.
My fingers withdraw from her, scrunching her face up in discomfort—no doubt sensitive down there just now. Her green eyes stare at my hand as I lick her juices from it, moaning appreciatively from her taste. Any other time she'd be embarrassed beyond words—now all she does is lay there, glowing with a beaming smile just for me.
My lover, my Deela, doesn't even have the presence of mind to notice I straighten her robe and collect her in my arms, caring only that her fingers work their way into my hair as we kiss once more, soft and sweet.
"You'll always be mine, just as I'll always be yours."
8-8
End Chapter Twenty-Four
8-8
A/N: Hmm, how will this play out, I wonder?
Well. There's S'yne Lokk to contend with, and there's so much going on. More than that, there's the essential slum she now calls home. Let's see what our enterprising Sorrow and her House Lyght will make of things.