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-Six—Mother, Seductress, Crone

8-8

"I'm warning you! Don't!"

My eye twitches, lips twitch up into an awkward frown. I've only just gotten home, just sat down to breakfast with my people, with my babies. Scenes from that place still lodged in my mind, looping over and over and over.

And now. Shouting?

Malar's shouting specifically. That means he knows I don't wish to be bothered. That means some ignorant pissant decided my time is worthless beside his.

Smile widens into a grin. Dark joy dances in my eyes.

It's been so long since I've fucked with infantile kings.

"DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?!" The shouting comes from my upper front door.

"You could be a god for all I care. Another step and you forfeit your life."

I stand so swiftly my chair flies out from under me. Shadow's tendril lashes out and catches it before it breaks. One measured step at a time, I saunter to my door, grab the knob, and twist.

An angered face, redder than a ripe tomato, stares me dead in the eyes with two speartips pressed to his throat. The circlet he bears is adorned with more gems than I can correctly name, his bright yellow cape clasped around his shoulders with golden links so thick each would dwarf my manor's worth tenfold. And the rings? How arrogant toddlers love their rings with gems thick as my thumb.

Oh, but it's the honour guards keeping a few paces behind him. Maxed out plate armours thick enough to survive a dragon's onslaught and not flinch. Swords with gemmed pommels at their sides, with sleek golden spears in their main hand. Helmets feathered to show they are the absolute elites. Yet, just now, all they can do is stare as their liege trembles with fear, rage, and petulance.

"Call off your slaves! NOW!"

I step forward and ram my fist right into his nose, sending him tumbling into the host honour guards, bowling them over even as they try to save him.

"If my children are in anyway upset and I deduce you or yours caused it…?"

"HOW D—uck."

Shadowy tendrils wrap around the fool's neck turning his bright red face purple as he claws at his own flesh to relieve the pressure. One of the honour guards bares steel, having lost his spear in the chaos, and finds his sword-tip pressed against his king's throat instead.

"It would be wiser to leave." Such simple words, spoken in a hushed monotone. But Tayrend suddenly appearing between the honour guards, holding the offending sword-hand firm to keep the tip against some random king's tender flesh, has the seasoned warriors ready to piss themselves just the same.

"I warned you, I really did." Malar shakes his head, brow hidden behind his hand. A worn sigh, he rights himself and bows low to me. "Lady Candlemaker. Please accept Emperor Ang's apologies. He is overtired from his long journey."

"Of course." I curtsey, smiling too warm, too welcoming. "Water under the bridge," I lie through my teeth. "Come, Malar. You simply must join us for breakfast. I insist."

Malar, for his part, audibly sniffs. Whether he smells the coffee or just makes a showing of his standing with me and mine, I can neither say nor be bothered to care at present. "With an offer like that, who am I to refuse?"

8-8

My riding boots drum on the carpets as I make my way to the war room. Malar keeps insisting I take the day to rest, to recover—to cool the off after that cave and the ass that dared storm into my fucking home to demand things of me.

But no. I soldier on and slam the double doors open, entering the relatively tiny room with overlarge table dominating it. The overhead sconce burns bright, filling the room with an almost ominous glow as these supposed world leaders huddle around a map to discuss this or that. Not that anything is being discussed as I enter with Malar, of course. No, they are far more interested in my approach, in the utter lack of shits given as I glare at the same thrice-damned king—emperor, whatever—as he not so subtly baulks at seeing me and tries to hide his bruised face and shattered nose behind a decorative fan.

"Great Khan. A…messenger informed me that my presence has been requested?"

"Indeed it has." King Choros reins in his amusement enough that only his eyes laugh. "Though I sent Malar to assure you I will settle the matter in your stead. I'm sure he said as much?"

"I assure you, Great Khan, my irritation is in spite of his efforts, not caused by it." My shadow tendrils shunt the world leaders apart and I craft a cushioned throne—white wood, cyan leather, and my House crest in maroon on the arm rests and back—sliding it right in between them as I plop into it and loudly drag it closer to the table. "Now. Let's get the introductions out of the way. You may call me Candlemaker and I was summoned to this world. Forgive me if I can't be bothered to care about your kingdoms, your peoples, or whatever protocol you think I ought kowtow to."

Every word has the other leaders sneering just a tad more, no matter how they hide it. Oh? King Ang's face goes bright red once again, his eyes widen with the same petulant anger that landed him in hot water no more than an hour ago.

"Something to contribute, Ang?"

The man's hands tremble with emotions that defy categorization. Yet he schools himself well enough in front of the other leaders to simply lean back in his throne and slam his decorative fan onto the map table.

"As Cardinal Hero, my sole directive is to repel the Waves of Catastrophe, or Waves of Calamity, or Great Calamity, or whatever term you choose to describe the event with. This dragon, no matter how great a threat, is not under my jurisdiction. I, therefore, have no reason to fight it save personal preference. Is that assessment accurate and correct, Ang?"

"It is not." The Faubreyan-looking man with a severe look glares at me, as if to cow me just now. Reminds me of Guildmaster, to be honest, but with that almost militant coat that has eight oversized buttons on the front like he's a soldier in his own army—with plenty of medals of honour he no doubt gave himself. "Your duty is to safeguard the world."

"Oh? Very well. Then I shall have to dedicate all my time and resources to combating poverty, thereby saving the underprivileged of the world. Is that not the duty you ascribe to me just now, mister…?"

"Tsar." King number two glares daggers at me. "I am Tsar Nicolas Ilyich, Emperor of the Great Western Expanse, Grand Duke of—"

My right hand rises, a single shadowy tendril spills out and circles the western edge of the continent splayed out before me. It's easily half of the landmass, to be sure. "Grand Duke of…?" I motion with my left hand for him to continue. "Come now, speak up."

X-X

New Quick Travel Locations Unlocked: Peace Palace, Winter Palace, Summer Palace, Tsar's Weekend Retreat.

X-X

Unsurprisingly, he doesn't continue. It takes me a moment to realise every location just unlocked are in the Western Expanse—interesting.

"Thus far. I have been shown respect by a Great Khan," my tendril moves to the centre of the map, encircling the kingdom of Ulaan and unlocking six Quick Travel Locations—why the kingdom and the city bear the same name, I'm unsure, "affronted by an emperor," the tendril moves south-east, encircling the four kingdoms on the coast, which just so happens to have a dragon-shaped piece set upon it, unlocking fourteen Quick Travel Locations, "and had my intelligence called into question by a Tsar." I encircle the Western Expanse once again, curiously netting another three—all of which are located in 'Newtown'. "Is an open declaration of war the next gambit, perchance? I assure you, I'm willing to entertain as much."

"The Hunting Hero is but one woman." A Q'ten Loan-like woman, with golden beads draped from her box-like hat with up-sweep at the front to obscure her face, fixes me with a piercing stare. "Is it wise to come on so strong in current company?"

"If a Cardinal Hero is but one person, why would any nation entrust so flawed a being with so grand a task?" I steeple my fingers, holding their attentions hostage just now as they try to wiggle me into a lower standing. They are blessed to not have been born into a world with Mirellia Q Melromarc—the woman would have these amateurs for breakfast. Hell, Siltvelt would make an appetizer of them.

King Choros just sits there, his amusement building with each exchange. I'm unsure if it's because he knows how to negotiate with me, or if it's because he's already in my good graces while the others continue their pointless prattling.

"Whatever you think this is, allow me to dispel it as concisely as is possible. I am Fan Hero. And before the insinuations pour in. No, Great Kahn did not mean to summon me. That was by my bidding, and mine alone."

All eyes turn to King Choros, who can only smile and shake his head.

"Now. Ang. You've sent the Sewing Kit Hero to antagonize me prior to today's idiocy. I lay two options before you. One, you surrender her to me outright. That is to say, she becomes mine and answers to me alone. Two, I watch your empire burn. You have until sundown to decide."

Ang's face morphs from outrage to desperation and back again over and over, all from behind a veneer of collectiveness.

"Ilyich. If you think having the largest army of those assembled means anything to me, you're predisposed to worse than a faux pas. Mind the law of reciprocity." I fix him with an annoyed side-glance, before schooling my features and turning to Great Khan. "Is there something I can do for your House this day?"

"There is." King Choros nods and chuckles for food measure. "We were just discussing a plausible plan of attack with the Great Dragon in mind. Perhaps your expertise could be useful."

"Perhaps." I scratch the back of my thumb. "Are the stats and whereabouts of this dragon known?"

"Indeed they are." King Choros flicks a finger my way and the stats load in my Status Menu.

Level eighty-seven. Seventy-eight-thousand HP, double that in MP and SP each. Physical Defence is just shy of eight-thousand—Amour Piercing skills will be a must—with Magical Defence almost double that. Speed is eighteen-thousand, it'd be a blur to most if not all standing armies. Winged, of course—likely meaning it's faster whilst airborne. Grounding it would be the better option, but that seems a miracle outside of a cave. Breath weapon is poison, has turned at least one forest to slurry.

"I see."

The map shows the dragon is currently en route to Ang's capital city, already having ravaged Nohm Ang, where the slurry of a forest is clearly marked on the map, among a great deal more forests and lush wilds that remain untouched—that means this dragon has lived peaceably for quite some centuries. It's technically on a direct route for Ulaan, but that just isn't how dragons work—not from the tales I've heard. They only bother with the 'ants' when th…

"You look at this wrong. Find out why it's suddenly angered and the problem solves itself."

"I will nev…uh." Ang trails off a moment too late and flicks his fan open, trying to hide how he sweats just now. Uh huh. He coughs into his hand, behind the fan. "Need some time, to investigate the matter."

The man beside me looks at Ang like he's an utter moron—which he clearly is.

"Great Khan. I will attune to your Dragon Hourglass this day. I would ask that all nations send a single emissary to my abode to Quick Travel with myself and my party that I might attune to their Hourglasses as well." I stand, kick up my chair, flick out my fans and, while curtseying, let it disappear into the green void before their very eyes. "I bid you adieu."

As I motion to the crowd of world leaders, my shadow tendrils engulf the map, unlocking a string of Quick Travel Locations in every country shown. Righting myself, and grinning at how I rearrange everything in Three Angs, I turn and walk.

"Lady Candlemaker." Right toward a bowing S'yne Lokk, apparently. The silverette drops to her hands and knees, and crawls over the carpet towards me. Her hands hug my boot-clad feet as she prostrates herself. "Please, mercy. Not for Emperor Ang, but for the sake of my people. Mercy, I beg of you."

"I don't do mercy." The simple truth stuns the room into an oppressive silence, save for the nervous shifting of this world's leaders as they catch a glimpse of just what they attempt to control.

"I'll come with you. Willingly. I'll serve you and your Clan for life, offer my descendants to your service. Anything you desire, Lady Candlemaker. Just, please…please, save my people."

Shadows pool at my feet, tendrils engulf S'yne Lokk and drag her in. There's barely time for her to scream before she seemingly dissolves from this plane.

"Emperor Ang. Your penance is thus observed." I walk away without a care in the world.

8-8

Crayn and his party enter the manor via the first floor balcony, all smiles. He dismisses his people, ordering them to wash up and get some rest.

"The jobs are complete." My baby, my little man, he comes to me and offers a zippered leather pouch. I beckon for Stellar and S'yne to come as well, as I unzip the pouch and lay the eight medium silver coins on the coffee table before me.

I feed the now empty pouch to my fan and craft ten pouches, each marked according to the purse they represent.

"I want this done fairly. So each job you take, you may keep sixty percent of your wages." I trade two medium silvers for twenty smalls, and set a total of forty-eight silvers into Crayn's purse. "The rest is to be split between the House's Treasury and the Guards' Purse." The two purses I refer to each get sixteen. "Fair?"

I get nothing but nods.

"I will need you each for an hour each morning, before you go out to take jobs. One-on-one training. In which order you come is personal preference. Which jobs you take is personal preference. But, just as with Crayn," I nod to Zaan, thanking him for minding my baby while he worked, "I will have one of my party accompany to keep you safe, until I can trust blindly that you will handle yourself well in my absence."

Stellar breathes a sigh of relief. "Do…I have to take Guild Jobs?"

"No." I shake my head to accentuate the word. "You may focus your attention on the shop you mean to open. Provided you focus on your spell work, that is."

"Unn." Stellar beams, pleased with the arrangement.

"Mama?" Crayn tilts his head to one side. "What Class Up are you aiming for?"

"I…" That's a good question. With my inability to train up any weapon save my fans, Assassin is no longer an option. Hmm. I can still go for Shadow, but that feels awkward, somehow. I don't even really know if these are options in this world. "I've not yet decided."

"Mama, I…" Stellar surges to her feet, yet is slow to come to me, as if afraid of something.

I smile, offering her all the love in me as I beckon. My baby comes, plops into my lap, her pink eyes darting to and fro, searching for something.

"What if I…"

"It's alright, Stellar." My hands cup her cheeks, to prevent her from turning away. Her eyes try just the same. "Baby. Really. Whatever you have to say will not upset me."

"What…" Tears well up. Whatever this thing is, she struggles as mightily as I had with that dragon. I pull her into my arms, rest her head on my shoulder as I gently scratch her scalp to soothe her best I can. "If I don't want to fight…?"

"Then I don't want you to."

Little hands clutch at me, holding on tight as sobs wrack her.

"Oh oh oh. There there, baby. It's alright. If you don't want to fight, I'll do everything in my power to keep you out of it. Okay?"

Stellar nods, holding on all the more desperate and sobbing. "But…what about…?"

"Mama will handle it." I kiss her crown, holding her as tight as she holds me.

Stellar sighs, tension easing at last.

"Besides. I could use a capable mage around here."

Shoulders and chest quake against me, breathy chuckles soon follow. Stellar pulls back, smiling despite the tearstained, puffy cheeks.

"You wouldn't know one I can trust, would you?" I wipe away her tears, glad none replace them.

"Unn."

8-8

Boots clap a down the old stone flooring, this corridor in Ulaan's palace cellar seems most ancient, compared to all the niceties of the upper floors.

Malar leads the way, quite agreeable just now for some odd reason. He's usually quite affable if you catch him off guard, but he just seems overly amused with something—no matter my prodding, he won't reveal a thing.

S'yne Lokk trails a few steps behind me, still wearing that outfit I can't make heads or tails of, but the aloof, almost fuck my life, look in her eyes is quite off-putting. Not my problem, she agreed to this.

We enter the sanctum, the Dragon Hourglass dominating the subterranean chamber. It's well-lit, with those odd sconces I just don't trust offering an ominous dim glow just now. Still, like it or don't, this is needed.

I call up my Status Menu, my stats drawing my attention just now. Level thirteen. Pitiful compared to what it was, and my stats even more so. Sigh. Little to be done, other than training.

A bright flash of light beams from the Hourglass's eyes to Lokk's oversized scissors, attuning her to it. All she does is sigh, mute but noticeable. If a dormant Hourglass affects her this way, what will a proper Wave do with her delicate nature?

My fans slip out from my sleeves, I raise them both, offering myself to be attuned. Another flash of light, from the still eyes perched to either side of the multi-chambered hourglass to fan's green gems.

X-X DRAGON HOURGLASS UPDATE! X-X

You are attuned to Ulaan's Dragon Hourglass. You will be notified when the countdown starts.

X-X

Ah, the wording is what affected her. Well, it's at least honest, and clearly isn't immediate. More to the point of dealing with this now.

I load the list of Class Ups available, selecting each to peruse all options. Bodyguard isn't my thing. Admiral is not my forte. Assassin requires more weapons than I can rightly train, sadly. Shadow certainly is an option, but it flashes red in the list as I select it to view requirements—Noble Birth, disqualified. There's that, yes, but I wasn't keen on it just the same. Inquisitive is disallowed for the same reason? Arch mage would be useful, but I'm not the type.

Naofumi: "Just ran into another world's Fan Hero. She's a bit of a bitch—you'd like her."

Me: "What?"

Naofumi: "She's stern, cocky, and skilled. Made the other Heroes look like amateurs."

Me: "They are amateurs. I'm more confused with how you encountered her?"

Naofumi: "Dunno. She one-shotted the Wave Boss and declared herself our enemy. Figured you might know more."

…

I don't have those old journals, obviously, but from what I remember? There were mentions of other Heroes, but surely he spoke of the Heroes other kingdoms summoned?

Me: "I can only guess. No mention of other worlds, save the world he was summoned from. And all mentions of 'other Heroes' are ambiguous at best. I always assumed he referred to the Spear, Bow, and Sword."

Naofumi: "She did say something weird. Like these Waves aren't a natural phenomenon?"

Me: "Yes, he came to much the same conclusion. No mention of proof or where to find answers. It might be wise to inquire in Faubrey, if you can stomach them."

Naofumi: "It can't be helped. You mind checking in your world?"

Me: "It couldn't hurt. Will keep you informed."

Hmm. Battlemage. It has some interesting options. Shielder being a familiar one, but certainly not the only.

Battlemage: Spell Sniper? Requires high strength, high intelligence, high wisdom—seventy each. At least level one-hundred mastery in chosen weapon—at least? Hmm. Disallows Heavy and Medium Armours, but I'm used to that as is. Unlocks scores of Armour Piercing and Sniping skills and spells, and…about a dozen things that only display '?', for some reason. Likely dependent on peripheral factors, like all those fighting stances Assassin unlocked.

Could be interesting, but I'm not sold just yet.

8-8

The sitting room glows with fire's light. Dim compared to sunshine, but it being well past midnight by now, that is hardly surprising. The only sounds are the cracking of charcoal, accompanied by burning peat.

For a moment, I allow myself to get sentimental. Moving from kingdom to kingdom like a thief in the night, carrying loads no person is meant to bear. Sticking to the trees all day, using whatever is burns to keep the fire going at night. Things were simpler then. You didn't have to think, were discouraged to, really. There were only orders—exacting decrees to be followed to the letter.

Now? Now a world depends on my being ready. Now my babies depend on my strength.

Wooden shot glass kisses my lips, vodka burns my throat on the way down. Tasteless, but the only booze I own just now.

What's the plan, Sorrow?

My vision filled by Rat's Map, the outline of the world I find myself in. It shifts this way and that, names and markers that mean little to me jerking right along with it.

My babies need time, time I must provide by any means necessary. The world leaders know only about me, though that Ang knows I have my children as well—why did I tell him about them?

Sigh.

It would be so easy to fall back on old habits. To taunt everyone into striking first so I can justify wiping them out. And I probably should—especially that arse Ang. But if I do, war will come as sure as sunrise. My babies deserve better than that.

Bottle tips, shot glass fills. I'm unsure of the custom is to drink vodka with these oversized thimbles. Unsure what to do.

Part of me wants to disappear into the sunset, take my babies, take my people, and just go. Like a thief in the night, as I was raised, as I left Lute and Melromarc and Siltvelt and Q'ten Lo…

Another shot knocks back and I lean deeper into my armchair, just gazing into the fire.

You're no leader. You never were. You take impossible orders and fulfil them. This dragon, this impossible beast, you would have been halfway to Nohm Ang by now, even if you barely know the way, and come up with a plan on the fly.

Like you were trained; don't think about tomorrow, just deal with what's in front of you.

But I don't want that for my babies. I don't want them to know that life. I want them to come home to a warm meal every evening. I want Stellar to meet some awkward boy in the library that she has to take care of. I want Crayn to run into some crazy thief that steals his fish and have him sneak her loaves of bread the next time she tries it. I want them to grow up warm and safe and to forget how godawful life used to be.

Bottle tips, wooden shot glass overflows, spilling into my lap. I knock it back just the same.

You're a problem solver, woman. Think. How do you accomplish this impossible…?

Rat's Map zooms in, onto Ulaan alone, shifting it this way, flicking it that.

8-8

"Is this the place?" I ask, looking up at a non-descript building. With everything tall, it doesn't stand out. No spire, no balconies to look out at the horizon. Nothing of the usual trappings.

Double-checking Rat's Map, the tag clearly marks it as my target. Sigh.

I cross the street with Crayn and Stellar, holding my Luna against my side as I pay the horse-less wagon-things little mind. I slip the four of us into the shadows to avoid them, and slip right back up before the unassuming door. I grab the handle and slide it open, entering with little reverence. The main chamber is quite large—three storeys tall with trees I don't recognize reaching for the raised ceiling.

On the uppermost floor, that I can see from here, there are large glass windows so clear I can see the empty offices inside. I don't doubt they're enchanted to appear empty, but I don't feel watched from up there—only down here. A veritable sea of mage robe wearing, wide-eyed staring, need to reel in their jaws magic wielders sporting the typical staffs and crystal balls and wands I've come to expect from their ilk.

They don't even feign disinterest, murmuring and pointing. Even the brightly coloured mini dragons with them stare openly. Sigh. And it's not as if the slate grey stone walls help to mask them, with their violet and white and brown robes, either.

Directly in front of me is the hardwood front desk, with the usual, and questionable, Clerks wearing those overly-flattering black dresses. I walk right up to them, not paying the mages' stares any mind.

"Good morning, Lady Fan Hero, and welcome to Ulaan's Royal Mages Academy. How may I assist you?" Not even pretending she doesn't know who I am. I suppose that's to be expected with mages, let alone a Mages Academy.

"Looking to enrol two students. Ages thirteen and eleven. They have some magical training, though not extensive."

"Of course." The Clerk beams, bright as the sun, and fishes out some forms and parchment scrolls. Proper parchment—I've missed it more than is logical. "They would have to take an entrance exam. This scroll has all pertinent details on how to apply for it. Tuition is four-hundred silvers per term—one term per year, to be sure. But we have a new class starting in just four weeks. It'll be a bit of a squeeze to get everything sorted, but not impossible. If that's not enough time, a new class starts each season, so nothing to worry about."

Hiking Luna up a little better, shadow tendrils flicker out of my fingers and take the scroll to unfurl it, finding it written in Kadish—Old Melromarcan, like a proper spell recipe would be. The looping lettering is unmistakable. Let's see here.

Flowery assurance this establishment is the best, bar none. Accolades that mean little to me. Famous alumni, all names I don't recognize with accomplishments that, while impressive, are nothing next to ensuring my babies are given the absolute best. Ah, the entrance exam…is reading this?

Sigh. Tendrils hand parchment to Crayn, who takes a look and bursts out laughing. Stellar nicks it off him and makes a showing of holding it upright like a proper royal messenger.

"Seriously? That's it?" I can't make any more sense of it, but it seems so?

"Would you like a tour of our establishment?" The Clerk is all smiles, obviously having expected that.

8-8

We take a seat in the great hall—not the 'lobby' on the ground floor, though just as spacious. Slate grey walls seem to be a staple here. Walls, ceilings, floor. No carpets, either—'fire hazard' being the Clerk's explanation, but I'm not sure whether I want to believe that or not.

Just like every classroom, the dorms—which my babies are most assuredly not moving into—and essentially everywhere else in this forty-storeyed behemoth of a building, there's just nothing to see here. Some minimalist décor to break up the monotony, but it's as if the decorators couldn't be bothered. Not sure how I feel about that. Still, the curriculum is expansive, the masters are all knowledgeable, and the alchemy laboratory overflowed with teaching aides to monitor every little thing the students do—there's that.

The long table we sit to shivers, the vials filled with flowers I've never seen before quake and tip over, spilling water and flora over the tablecloths. The mages around us grab their 'vases' before they spill, carrying on with their conversations like nothing strange just happened.

Mages Academy, crazy explosions are normal—noted.

"I assure you, Lady Candlemaker, only the Platinum Class students are permitted to—"

Another shiver runs through the table, sending the already toppled vial crashing to the floor and shattering it. The Clerk is kind enough to not offer more empty words.

"Crayn, Stellar. It is you who would attend. What do you make of this?"

"IS THAT EVEN A QUESTION?! HAVE YOU SEEN THEIR LIBRARY!" Stellar has stars in her eyes, hands cupping her blushing cheeks. "Oh, mama. I could get lost in a place like that and never care to be found again. Are you sure I—"

"Under no circumstance will I agree to my babies moving into the dorms."

"Aww." Stellar deflates. Crayn chuckles, elbowing his bookworm of a sister, even as Luna scales him like a sheer cliff—how does she even do that with her tome strapped to her back? Is it lighter for the bearer than for others?

"It'd be nice to go here." Crayn runs his finger along his jawline, eyes twinkling with mischief for some reason. "Especially since my party gets in on a discount."

"Lord Crayn is only half correct." The Clerk raises a finger, as if to scold him. "Nobles are permitted to enrol their slaves, yes. And yes, their tuition is at a discount. However, that only counts for slaves bound to their House."

Crayn looks to me, grinning. "May I?"

"Depends on whom?" My eyebrow cocks.

Grin widens further. "She did say that slave curriculum is capped at three hours per school day. If we stagger their training schedules, we could…?"

Hmm. I take the book, paging through the offered slave curriculum. First Tier training focuses on filling out their repertoires of their affinity only—as opposed to the Arch Mage level training from 'true students'. Honestly, that's better than the curriculum from Lute's academy for master students.

"Please, mama." Stellar wraps her arms around my elbow, tugging every time I dare look away from the god-tier pleading in her eyes.

Sigh. We'd need a schedule that will allow for them all to attend, do their coursework, and study while not hampering their duties too much. One complaint from any of them bars them outright, of course. And I'd want Chandelier and the others to attend as well. Hmm. Bry, Deela, and Hope would benefit from full admittance as well.

"You accept slaves as master applicants?"

"If they pass the entrance exam, it won't be a problem."

That would put me back almost two gold a year. Sigh. But, it does solve a lot of long term issues. Sigh.

Stellar throws herself at me, arms snaking round my shoulders like a constrictor as she squeals and thanks me over and again.

As annoyed as I want to be with them, the warmth in my chest denies the sentiment.

8-8

Hope pushes me onto the bed, pinning me down with nothing but her lips pressed against mine. She and the others take the news well. So well, in fact, that my girls kidnap me and lock me in my bed chamber.

"Mmm!" I moan into Hope's kiss as Lyraynna's lips clamp onto my sensitive clit, sucking me into her mouth. Not that Bry's any better, tossing the last of my clothing over her shoulder as she trails wet, searing kisses down my neck, my chest.

"Mistress always takes such good care of us," Hope murmurs into my ear before sucking and nibbling on my earlobe. "So tonight, we're taking care of you. Just the way you like it."

"Hmm." Bry smiles against my other ear, making a pleased noise so I can hear it. "So what does our Mistress crave? Your men ploughing you? Or perhaps you want one of us cream-filled for you to enjoy?"

"Or maybe." Deela straddles me, pressing her milk-laden breasts to my face. "Mistress wants some?" You know what? I'm feeling adventurous tonight. Let's just do it all at least once.

I latch onto Deela's breast, her bitter milk pouring into me one gently pull at a time. My hand beckons, and Archer comes up behind his wife. Hope tenses for a moment against me, biting my neck a little hard—not entirely unpleasant just now.

My thumb grazes my wedding ring, but I drown the pang with some more breast milk and my eager lovers showering me in their love.

8-8

End Chapter Twenty-Six

8-8

A/N: Three chapters left in this arc. As I've hopefully made abundantly clear, between this chapter and the last, the next will take a...more serious tone (implying the games are over, not that it hasn't been serious before now).

I have some idea as to which Class Up Sorrow will be taking, but I'm curious what you guys think. And no, Assassin really is beyond her in this world.