And I'm back again!
Thanks as always to my beta readers, and to anyone who's stuck with me this long (and through all the delays!)
Also, apologies in advance for the lack of Val in this chapter, we will remedy that in c16, I promise ;)
The troop transport rushes through the twisted corridors of the webway at a dizzying speed, tilting and jerking with its movements. But not a single one of the kabalites that pack the interior is sitting down, much less strapped in. Most seem to be making a contest of remaining upright with as little assistance as possible.
Jian feels no such need to prove herself and sits in one of the seats built into the side of the passenger compartment, mentally preparing herself for the battle ahead. For the first time since that day, she is outside the safety of the Ashen Rose's pocket dimension without Valthiel at her side. It feels odd. But he's with a team of his own, striking into the heart of the Kabal of the Dying Wish while the bulk of their forces are away on a raid.
She, meanwhile, is joining the group that will ambush the raid team itself, a move meant to serve as both a way to weaken their rivals further and a distraction to keep them from returning to reenforce their fellow kabalites. It's odd, Jian ponders. The more she grows to appreciate Valthiel's company, the less of it she gets. But that is a problem to solve when this mission is over.
The leader of the team, Lord Vrash, stands near her, arm wrapped around one of the support poles. It's hard not to think of him as "Bealfor" these days, Jian reflects. She sees far more of Ayslinn than she does of him, and the former Scorpion refers to her husband exclusively by his first name. Jian suspects that to do such a thing herself would result in instant death. With his helmet on, his expression is unreadable.
Ayslinn stands next to him, holding onto the same support. Her blonde hair has been tied into a tight topknot and she wears a set of heavy armor in a design that echoes Lord Vrash's but is not, Jian thinks, the traditional armor of an incubus. She carries her weapon, a long pole tipped with a short, poisoned blade.
"Nervous?" The older woman asks, apparently noticing Jian's scrutiny.
"I'll live," Jian replies. She is a bit uncomfortable with the unfamiliar setting and the fact that she will be killing her fellow aeldari this time and she longs to hear word to ensure that Valthiel is alright, but most of her energy is anticipation. She's ready to hunt again.
"Of course you will. I haven't taught you that poorly." Ayslinn shifts her weight. "The forward team will have established a webway portal by the time we arrive, where we should find the Dying Wish completely engaged with their raid. The t'au gunline should be more than capable of keeping them occupied while we attack from behind and ensure that both forces are wiped out. Any questions?"
"Is there anyone that we specifically want captured instead of killed?"
"A valid question – " Ayslinn begins.
"No it isn't, it's – "
"Hush, dear. Do not interrupt, it's rude." Ayslinn's voice is polite, but with an edge that forces Jian to hide her shock as the older woman turns to her husband. Even more surprising is that he acknowledges her with a slight nod and remains silent.
Returning her attention to Jian, Ayslinn continues speaking. "As I was saying, it is a valid question, and while we normally try to capture as many slaves as possible, today our objective is slightly different. We want to eliminate our foes as quickly and with as few resources expended as possible, to leave us free to disengage and return to Commorragh as reinforcements for Lord Aire's forces if we are needed. And unlike Lord Urkdreth, he isn't foolish enough to underestimate the power of the t'au. Our goal is simply to keep the Dying Wish pinned down so that they can do our work for us."
"So we aren't attacking them directly?"
Lord Vrash attempts to butt in again, but once again, Ayslinn stops him with a hand on his chest. "Don't worry, there will be plenty of bloodshed. But targeted. Focus on vehicles and communications equipment, any commanders that you can find. The t'au will mop up the kabalite footsoldiers."
"Understood." Jian pulls her helmet on and finds herself grinning. "This will be fun." It will be a challenge, a chance to show off her skills and ability to remain focused even in the rush of battle.
After a moment's pause, Lord Vrash sighs. "Yes, it will be."
"See, I knew you had it in you, dear." Ayslinn smiles and he wraps an affectionate arm around her shoulders.
Jian can only stare in astonishment. Is it the same man under the armor as the Lord Vrash she knows? While his behavior is a far cry from Valthiel's constant shows of intimacy, nothing Jian has seen from him before has indicated to her that there might be even a hint of softness there. Could it be that Ayslinn is right, and they genuinely love each other behind closed doors?
She has no time to contemplate further, though. The transport careens to a halt, sending several of the kabalites flying into bulkheads. A large circle appears on the wall on the opposite end of the transport, swirling with dark energy that quickly resolves into an image of a rocky valley, baren of vegetation or buildings, under a cloudless pink sky. The ridge opposite them is dotted with what Jian assumes must be the t'au. She knows of the strange race by name, but this is her first time getting a glimpse of them in person.
They are roughly the same shape as an aeldari, but shorter and stockier, more akin to mon'keigh. Apart from that, their features are obscured by armor: smooth and sleek, but artless, as though it were designed to make each wearer identical as quickly and easily as possible. Their movements are slow and graceless as well, but it seems to matter little, as they avoid closing the gap to their drukhari foes, preferring to hide behind the rocks and pepper the invaders with fire from some kind of energy weapon that leaves a tang of ozone in the air.
Jian follows Ayslinn and Lord Vrash toward the portal and plunges through, drawing her knives as she does so. Small, rounded rocks fly when her feet hit the ground, forming a loose footing that she can tell will make maneuvering difficult. Some of the Dying Wish troopers have already noticed their presence, but before moving forward, she takes an instant to finish coating her weapons in the paralytic and incapacitating toxins that she has learned to make with Lynx.
Ayslinn places a hand on her shoulder, drawing her attention. "Bealfor and his men will take on the Talos engines," she says, gesturing toward the trio of floating biomechanical devices that hover among the rest of the army, reenforcing the Dying Wish forces with heavy gunfire. "Our job is to deal with the Wracks guarding them. Are you feeling up to the task?"
"If I'm not, I will be by the time we get there." Her thoughts race, but she's grateful at least to not be facing another Talos. The details of the last time she fought one, on the craftworld ship, are lost to her, buried under a flood of combat reflexes and strategy that filled her mind both then and now, but the emotional resonance is clearly negative.
"Enough talk." Lord Vrash's words cut through her moment of reverie. He raises his klaive and charges toward the Dying Wish warriors. His men and Ayslinn fall in behind him and Jian sprints after them, scanning for any signs that their approach has been noticed.
But whether due to the overconfidence and poor training of the Kabal of the Dying Wish, or the speed of their assault and the difficulty of noticing anything in the cluttered landscape, no one turns to meet them as they approach. The incubi break over the nearest Talos like a wave, cutting off its tail and arms with direct, powerful strokes before moving their focus to the creature's body.
With a pang, Jian wonders how much different that final trip to the bridge of her mother's ship would have been if she had joined a shrine of Striking Scorpions or Fire Dragons instead. The kind of Aspect warriors meant to take on heavy weaponry like this. But before that thought has time to permeate or to remind her what went wrong the last time, she's in motion again, hurling herself at the nearest wrack.
Ayslinn glides in behind her, darting behind the creature – similar in overall look, if not in exact form, to the ones that Jian saw at the haemonculus coven – to cut across the wires and tubes that lace the creature's back.
She had no idea that such creatures were capable of speech. She would have thought that the haemonculi would prefer wordless servants, silently doing their bidding. But as the brilliantly-colored liquids splatter across the wrack's back and the wires spark, it screams wordlessly, loud enough to be heard over the din of escalating battle. It lurches forward, bladed arms whirling and slashing wildly.
Ducking below the assault, Jian closes the distance to impede its ability to swing at her while she presses a follow-up attack. Not caring where she hits, she winds up getting a first blow near its armpit. It reels to the side, howling, but Jian gives it no time to regroup. Her knives strike its sinewed flesh over and over again until its stomach is in ruins and it lurches forward, too weakened by the acids and poisons and Jian's blows to keep going.
Ayslinn shouts from nearby and Jian turns to see her polishing off a second wrack, practically whooping with delight. It's such a change from both the normally dignified woman wielding the glaive and from what Jian has come to expect from Striking Scorpions that she stops dead in her tracks.
But only for a moment. The urgency of the actions surrounding her and the ambient bloodlust pull her back into the maelstrom. She repeats her dance with the next wrack, turning it, too, into a lifeless pile of flesh and metal. Blood spatters her face, hot and sharp-smelling and she wipes at it as she looks around for the next target.
A high-pitched whine behind her turns to an oncoming roar as reaverbikes blow past her, dropping chemical bombs that erupt with purple flame across the battlefield and cut the Dying Wish forces in half. A trio of kabalite riflemen appear momentarily transfixed by the sight of the fires and Jian races toward the nearest. Before he has time to recover his poise, she stabs him. To his credit, he tries to fight back, raising his rifle in a vain attempt to fend her off, but it's too late. She's already drawing him into a tight embrace, holding him pinned while she slides a knife into the weak point between his armor and helmet. He collapses, paralyzed, but Jian doesn't let him hit the ground.
A pair of shots flies past her. Keeping the man she just incapacitated in front of her as a shield, she advances on his fellow kabalites. They raise their guns to fire and she shoves her first victim into them, distracting them long enough to fall on them. She can feel the pain, the fear, as she plunges her knives into the first woman's eye sockets, killing her instantly before rounding on the other, who falls just as quickly.
Their deaths are mere ripples in the currents of emotion that surround her, but Jian finds herself able to focus on them, the strangely potent and not altogether unpleasant feeling of energy crackling over her as their souls dissipate.
Ayslinn, Lord Vrash, and his incubi warriors have gotten a few dozen meters ahead of her, angling for what Jian thinks is a sybarite commander of the Dying Wish forces. Jian sprints after them, catching up just in time to get pulled into another melee.
How long the battle goes on, she isn't sure. She kills, and kills, and kills, until her finely enameled armor is covered in gore and her body filled with the life drawn from those she's ended. Only a few scenes stand out from the whirlwind.
Lord Vrash and his men charging at the main body of their enemies, working as though they were one creature.
Ayslinn vaulting from her husband's back into a nest of kabalite troopers and emerging covered in the blood of a dozen strangers.
Tackling a scourge from the air and riding it down to the ground, stabbing at its wings and legs until it lies helpless on the gravel. The thrill of her superiority buoys her, reminding her that she is the victor and the winged woman the loser, she is strong and powerful and she never has to be weak again. The cry of pain as the hollowed-out bones snap is a call to victory.
A woman racing toward a flyer at the top of the far ridge, dressed in elaborate armor that marks her as a commander and surrounded by sslyths. A commander trying to escape.
Jian races after the woman, Ayslinn on her heels. The distance closes slowly – sslyths are faster than they appear from their clumsy, snakelike bodies – but soon Jian can make out the woman's features. A succubus, clad in the armor of a wytch cult that Jian doesn't recognize, smiles wickedly back at her as she tosses a handful of grenades behind her. They spread into a cone as they fly through the air, flashing in the dim light.
With a shout of warning, Jian dives backwards, shoving Ayslinn out of harm's way. They land on the ground in a heap. The grenades detonate in unison, a thunderclap that sprays a million tiny needles in every direction, but only a few make it far enough to reach them and most bounce harmlessly off their armor.
Pulling herself back to her feet, Jian looks up to see a spear hurtling in her direction, again launched from the succubus' hand. No time to dodge, she'll have to –
And then it falls to the ground, the shaft struck in two by Lord Vrash's klaive. Saving her life again. He steps toward his wife and offers her a hand up as he turns his helmeted head toward Jian. She can feel the scowl through the darkmetal faceplate.
Yet again, she returns to the rush and the blur and the manic dance.
When the world slows enough for her to make sense of it, she finds herself drenched in blood, with bits of flayed skin clinging to her armor and the guts of a sslyth she killed coating her boots. Screams in a dozen keys fill the air. One of her knives is buried in the skull of a wytch who dared to challenge her, sending the woman to the ground convulsing in pain.
The noise that jarred her to awareness comes into focus and Jian looks up to see the succubus she was chasing climbing into a flyer and take off at a breakneck pace, weaving expertly between the t'au's ion blasts.
She curses under her breath. She was too slow, unable to fight through the Dying Wish troops fast enough to stop the woman from leaving.
At least the battle seems to be going well otherwise. The Kabal of the Ashen Rose has overwhelmed their foes and the t'au have taken advantage of the break in the attack to regroup, offering them a temporary reprieve before they have to deal with them as well.
Jian pulls a pair of cuffs off her belt and snaps them around the wytch's wrists, immobilizing her for the kabalites to pick up later. She'd better at least make a show of capturing some slaves for the kabal. A high, mechanical whine races over her head as she does. She looks up.
A hellion turns back toward her for an attack, his long pink hair whipping around his face with the change in momentum. Their eyes meet for an instant before he charges toward her, guns blazing.
She runs to meet him, dodging and zig-zagging to avoid his shots before pushing off the back of one of the incubi as he approaches. Her landing rocks the skimmer and he struggles to keep it from diving into the ground or one of his Dying Wish allies. Jian wraps her arms around him to keep her balance, burying her knives into his hip and shoulder.
Unable to maintain his tenuous control, the hellion lurches to the side, crashing to the ground and bringing Jian with him. His body takes most of the impact from the crash, but still she can feel a wrench of pain as her ankle twists under her. That's nothing, though. What matters is that she's here, alert and active, while her prey lies under her, twitching from the shock of his fall and the damage she's inflicted. It's intoxicating.
Before he has time to recover, she finishes disabling him with quick, clinical strikes to other major joints. He can thank Lynx for giving her that knowledge. Leaving her with a helpless drukhari boy, no older than herself, staring up at her in wide-eyed horror. His eyes race from side to side and his face strains as he tries to move, to strike at her, but realizes that he can't. He is completely in the power of the girl sitting on top of him, in her power.
She can do anything she wants.
Want overwhelms Jian, the desperate need to do something, anything to keep this high going longer. To feel truly free and in control, like nothing in the universe can stop her, not even She Who Thirsts.
"Let me go…" the hellion whimpers. "Please, I'll do anything."
"Anything?" The urge is so strong she can barely speak, but she still has no idea what it is that she desires.
"Yes! Anything, I promise!" He swallows and looks up at her, fear and hope mixing.
Her emotions crash over her, leaving her room in the desperate pause after the wave to identify what she feels.
Arousal.
The idea of having someone utterly at her mercy tightens and coils in her crotch and stirs in her chest, an almost painful reminder of the heart pounding in her chest and the press of her nipples against her armor. She could make him suffer, carve him away bit by bit and harvest every flicker of his life to replenish what has been stolen from her, and it will feel as wonderful as her best nights with Reena or Valthiel.
"Kiss me," she breathes.
"What?"
And in the terror and confusion that war in his face, Jian finds an anchor. She can't do this. Can't become that, open that door. "Kiss me, and I will set you free," she repeats, face heating as guilt begins to pour in.
The hellion obeys slowly, raising his head toward her for a kiss. His lips tremble against her own as she kisses him. It's a good kiss, full and deep and electrified by his fear and wonder. Again, the temptation.
Before she can fall prey to the siren song, she shoves her dagger into his skull, just behind the ear. He twitches and falls limp in her arms.
Jian looks up, at the battle that has raged around her while she sat fixated by her victim. It had been nearly over when she stopped paying attention, and it is truly over now. The Kabal of the Ashen Rose is collecting their prisoners and preparing to retreat before the t'au decide to return. They are not the drukhari's purpose today.
She stands hesitantly, exhausted and uncertain now that the rush has faded. She can see Lord Vrash and the other incubi standing in a cluster, supervising the loading of the prisoners. Ayslinn waits alone nearby and Jian walks toward her with shaky steps.
The older woman is flushed with excitement and exertion, her hair matted with blood and a feral smile dancing on her lips. The grin widens as Jian approaches. "That was wonderful, wasn't it?"
"It was." Jian echoes the expression lamely. The experience, the energy, the glory and overwhelming sensation, it almost reminds her of an orgasm. But it's over now, leaving her tired and cold and weak with excess adrenaline. "What do we do now?"
The manic expression remains on Ayslinn's face. "We go back to the ship and see how the other prong of this attack is going. If it's still going, we join them, if not, we celebrate!" She punctuates her statement by gesturing with her glaive, which Jian notices still has bits of viscera hanging from it.
Together, the two women make their way up the slope to the waiting ship. The Kabal of the Ashen Rose doesn't seem interested in lingering and many of the warriors are ahead of them. Ayslinn licks the blood from her fingers in intense silence while Jian's mind spins.
She wanted to kill the hellion. This was nothing new. She has killed hundreds before, including aeldari. But more than that, she wanted him to suffer and to take joy in his suffering. The thought frightens her. More worrisome still, she could have done it and no one here would have cared.
No, she corrects herself. Valthiel might have cared, some. Not a great deal, as he has surely done the same and worse in his life, but she likes to think that he would notice such a change and that it would concern him. Still, it's little comfort when faced with the reality of how easy it was to reduce another to a mere reservoir of pain. Is this the first step on the Path of the Damned?
Their arrival at the transport ship brings word that Valthiel and his forces have succeeded beyond expectations, routing the Kabal of the Dying Wish in their own fortress. Lord Aire is returning triumphant and unharmed to the kabal's pocket dimension, bringing Lord Urkdreth as his captive.
Jian celebrates with the rest of the strike force on the return trip, cheering and taking some of the sharp, acidic liquor that someone hands her, but soon excuses herself to sit at one end of the ship and think. She needs to reorient, gather her wits and decide what she is going to do when the next raid arrives.
It's only when she returns to her room that she realizes her lips are still scarlet with the hellion's blood.
Jian finds herself filling with excitement as she hurries down the hallways of Valthiel's palace. Two weeks have passed since the raid on the Kabal of the Dying wish, weeks filled with activity and excitement. There have been three sorties into their former rival's territory to search for survivors and information. The time between has been filled with organization, meetings, and an atmosphere of barely-contained excitement.
And now, with the Dying Wish finally destroyed, it is time for less dire matters.
Valthiel had pulled her aside when this had first come up, concerned. He had told her that he didn't want her forced to miss the victory party, but that if she were to appear at his side, there would be expectations about her appearance and behavior. She would be his toy again, not someone who had contributed to the kabal in any way.
This had been the compromise. Jian shakes out her hair as she walks, still distracted every time a bit of it comes into her field of view. She's dyed it black for the occasion, with streaks of red facepaint obscuring her features and her collar is hidden under a spiked neckpiece. Tonight, she is Ayslinn's apprentice and nothing more.
Jian has never been to Lord Vrash and Ayslinn's quarters before, but somehow she assumed that they shared a simple suite of rooms, large ones, perhaps, but only a few of them. It seems she was wrong – they have a whole floor of Valthiel's spire to themselves, complete with training rooms, kitchens, a mini-armory, and more.
She steps off the elevator into a foyer decorated in rich greens and golds and rings the bell.
No immediate answer comes and Jian finds herself a bit nervous. She hasn't seen Ayslinn since the raid, and she doesn't know what to expect tonight. Will she attend this event with her calm, practical tutor, or with the bloodthirsty huntress she met on the battlefield?
To her surprise, it's Ayslinn herself who answers the door, dressed in a black and green robe over formfitting armor. Her boots have high platform heels and her blonde hair is piled in an elaborate version of her usual topknot, decorated with long jeweled pins. Overall, the outfit must add another full head to her already impressive height.
"You look amazing," Jian says. "I think I might have underdressed."
"Thank you. And you look just fine, do not worry about it."
Before she has time to continue, a noise comes from behind her and Ayslinn turns. "Baharmar! Fahira! Stop it!"
A pair of light gray gyrinx kittens tumble between her legs, hissing in mock anger and batting paws at each other. They come to a stop at Jian's feet and look up in surprise at the newcomer. One backs away slowly while the other begins rubbing itself around her ankles.
"Apologies," Ayslinn says, recovering her dignity instantly and stepping forward to scoop up the wayward kitten. "Bealfor was supposed to be keeping an eye on them this evening."
"They're yours?" Jian says as Ayslinn deposits the creature back in the hallway she just exited and shuts the door.
Ayslinn leans forward conspiratorially. "More his than mine – if he's in the room they won't so much as glance at me. And he won't either." She chuckles and begins to walk.
Jian remains silent, frowning as they make their way towards the grand hall that has been reserved for the festivities. The more she learns about the Vrashes' relationship, the more confused she gets.
Perhaps her discomfort is obvious, because Ayslinn stops a few moments later. "I understand that you are probably still concerned about me. Given your experiences here in Commorragh, and with my husband, that is understandable. But please, believe me when I say that I am happy. There are very few things or people in this galaxy that Bealfor is capable of caring about, but I am one of them. Your worry gains nothing for either of us." She turns and continues without another word.
Still troubled, Jian is nonetheless reassured enough to put the problem from her mind and focus on the evening to come. And as they approach the hall, she finds herself unable to do anything else.
The air crackles with energy of all kinds, a colorful miasma of emotions shot through with electric sparks of psychic resonance. Music pounds and the ground thrums with the deep notes, but still it can barely be heard over the rest of the sounds – conversation and shouting, jubilation and pain and arousal.
Bodies hang from the ceiling, still wearing the damaged remnants of the Kabal of the Dying Wish's purple and grey armor. The hooks and wires fixing them in place flash with electric pulses and thin tubes deliver all manner of agony-inducing substances from the tanks above their heads. High-ranked members of the kabal, Jian knows, kept relatively intact to provide amusement for tonight. Not that their suffering will end when the party does.
On the ground, a thick crowd of drukhari swirls through the room. Although the entertainments are similar to the other party she attended with Valthiel – fighting and eating and drinking and all manner of dramatic and visually striking tortures – the atmosphere is rawer, with less sense of precision and refinement. The guests are not uncontrolled rabble, but they are not nearly as exclusive a club as her prior experience.
Perhaps this was a bad idea. Already she feels tainted, dirtied. The energies in the room revive her, but with them comes the desire to do wicked things and to have wicked things done to her. She feels both guilty and excited, like a small child sneaking out of bed to pilfer sweets.
Dotted throughout the massive complex are daises and raised platforms of various heights, although most average around shoulder-high on the revelers. As Jian follows Ayslinn into the press of bodies, she realizes that many of them are spaces for key members of Valthiel's court, giving them a semi-private space while still allowing them to participate in the gathering.
She finds her eyes drawn toward Valthiel, who sits on the highest platform of them all, dressed in his most elaborate armor under a flowing white robe. He practically radiates light and power, half-slouched on his throne with a goblet in one hand and a bored expression on his face. Lust kindles in her again and she licks her lips and shifts her weight to distract herself. Running to him would only draw attention that neither of them want right now.
Ayslinn continues to lead them through the crowd, evidently with some destination in mind. Their path brings them closer to Valthiel, who offers Jian a very slight nod as their eyes meet. She smiles slightly to let him know that she's seen him, and that she's alright, but he offers no more acknowledgement, retaining the cold, detached expression of an archon.
Pulling her eyes away, she notices Derfahn leaning against the support for a nearby platform, clearly flirting the lhamean trainee at his side. She listens to whatever he has to say, then laughs and flits away, leaving him alone. If Jian didn't know better, she would have sworn he was blushing.
It becomes clear that Ayslinn is leading them toward a platform that sports a small forest of poles, beams, and cages in twisted black metal. The two dozen or so senior members of the Ashen Rose's scourge flock perch on the bars or rest on platforms that jut off the higher portions of the structure, while inside the cages several of the Dying Wish's lhameans cower, already bearing dozens of wounds from their captors' clawed feet and fingers. The matron of the flock, a woman who Jian knows by sight, crouches at the highest point, every inch the hunter queen as she watches the masses below.
Before they can reach the scourges, however, a quartet of drukhari women approach them. Similar enough in appearance to be sisters, they all sport the layered robes and long braids of lhameans. A seductive smile plays over the lips of the shortest one as she stops in front of Jian and Ayslinn. "Lady Vrash. We are here to convey a message from Lady Miarya, who invites you and your apprentice to join her this evening." The other three lhameans stare directly at Jian.
Ayslinn frowns. "Well, I – "
The sister doesn't give her time to finish. "Come, you know this is what you want. You belong at the high table with the rest of us, regardless of if your mate is around or not." Her smile remains, but her voice takes on a venomous edge. "We do not want Mistress Miarya to think that she and her presence are unwanted, do we?"
"When you phrase it like that, how can I possibly resist your matriarch's most generous invitation. Lead the way."
Miarya and what Jian presumes are her favorite students have situated themselves on a platform very near Valthiel's, this one covered in thick rugs. Low tables dot the space with cushions, chairs, and couches of matching height for seating. Food and wine are spread across the tables and more Dying Wish prisoners hang suspended like macabre chandeliers overhead for the sisters to tease and play with.
Jian walks carefully up the stairs behind Ayslinn, conscious of the envious stares that some of the other drukhari are giving her. This is an honor, and everyone knows it.
The matriarch of the lhameans has taken center-stage among her subordinates, sprawled on a couch with a drink in one hand and the nervous system of the tall, handsome drukhari at her feet wrapped around the other. Her long fingers twist and tug at the cords, bringing groans of pain from her victim. It takes a moment before Jian realizes that Miarya's movements are deliberate, timed to produce pain in different locations and variations to form a sadistic "song" in the energy of the air around them. It's both horrifying and impressive.
As they approach, Miarya puts down her goblet and smiles at the newcomers. Gods, the woman is sex on legs, and Jian can't even figure out why she finds her so attractive. Centuries, maybe even millennia of training and practice has made it so subtle that it permeates her whole being as she motions for Jian and Ayslinn to join her on the couch.
It probably isn't a request, so Jian obeys and, after a slight hesitation, so does Ayslinn, both accepting the wine that one of the lhameans is quick to offer them.
Jian sniffs at it experimentally before drinking, wary of potential poison. She's certain that Miarya doesn't like her, although she isn't sure if it's because her tattoo led to embarrassment for Miarya, or simply because she takes up too much of Valthiel's attention. The drink is a red so intense that it looks nearly magenta in the dim light and the smell is strange and not altogether pleasant. But she feels the matron's eyes on her, critical and heavy, and she realizes there is no graceful way to back out. She takes a sip.
It's delicious. No, more than that, it's the best wine she's ever had in her life, and after nearly two years in Valthiel's care, she knows what good wine tastes like. It sends warm, soft waves of sensation through her, not quite as intense as a sexual climax, but more akin to the buzz she gets after a battle, just… with pleasure instead of pain. She fights the urge to gulp the whole thing. This is Commorragh, after all, and even if the drink isn't poisoned, there is probably some kind of dark side to whatever the substance is.
Miarya smiles knowingly at her. "Delicious, is it not, child?" She twists her other hand, bringing yet another shriek from the Dying Wish lieutenant and a wave of energy, sharp at first then dropping in pitch to a low ache that remains, echoing.
"It is very nice, Matriarch, thank you." She should say something else. "I trust you are having a pleasant evening?"
"I am. But this night belongs to you." She raises her goblet in gesture towards the two craftworlders, although her eyes don't leave Jian's face. "The proud warriors who prove our excellency not just in the bedroom and in the laboratory, but on the battlefield as well. You are the ones we are celebrating tonight, I am just here to bask in the glory of your presence." She breaks the eye contact and turns to look at Ayslinn. "And that includes your husband, dear. We are truly blessed to have someone of his caliber delivering pain and fear to anyone foolish enough to question our reign. Please deliver my regards when you see him next."
A slight pink flush creeps over Ayslinn's face. "I most certainly will, my lady. I am sure he will echo me in thanking you for the honor of your gratitude."
Miarya cackles. "Ayslinn, you are too kind, but you may save your flattery. Bealfor, Arha bless him, may be many things, but a man of social graces he is not. He would scoff at my gesture and continue scowling from a dark corner, or he would take his place at our illustrious archon's left hand. No need to pretend otherwise."
Regardless of her feelings about Miarya, the woman's impression of Lord Vrash is accurate. Flushed with the wine and the heady atmosphere, Jian giggles.
The sound must catch Miarya's attention, as she turns to Jian with a twisted imitation of a motherly smile. "And you, dearest one. Pardon my manners, I'm not even sure what to call you these days. How is your training going? Neither of your tutors seem all that willing to share the details."
Even through the buzz in her head, Jian senses some kind of trap. She needs to respond carefully, but she has no idea what it is that the lhamean is playing at. "I'm sure if I was not living up to expectations, Lady Vrash would not hesitate to inform me, so I must assume I am doing well."
"Indeed, Ayslinn is a remarkably direct and honorable woman." Miarya hesitates for just a half beat too long before she continues. "A perfect match for our hirarch and champion, to be sure." She gestures for Jian to continue.
"As for the others at whose feet I learn, none have given me cause to suspect I am doing poorly."
"Yes, at least one of them has nothing but effusive praise for you." Miarya's eyes slide towards the high platform, where Valthiel watches the party, still seemingly completely detached from the revelry. Lynx stands near him, she notices, waiting quietly in an unobtrusive position a bit behind him. She holds a glass of something clear and takes periodic sips from it. "I will be watching your development with great interest for sure."
"Oh?" Anything else Jian might have been planning to say is lost as a sudden wave of feeling overwhelms her. She can feel her stomach twisting, her body growing hot and a burning, itching desire to have someone, anyone inside her.
What in the six hells of She Who Thirsts is this?
Miarya smirks. "Yes, you do not come as far as I have, through the trials that I have faced, without cultivating an eye for potential in others. And once I was informed of the right perspective to use, yours became quite evident."
The urge to release her arousal is becoming overwhelming. It takes everything Jian has not to try pleasuring herself right there. "Do tell."
"Oh, if you aren't aware of it now, I'm sure you will be soon enough. Either way, I look forward to watching the show."
Ayslinn rests her hand on Jian's shoulder in what she can only assume is meant to be a supportive gesture, but the touch is like an electric shock. She's never desired Ayslinn sexually before, not in the slightest, but now she wants to be pulled to her and kissed, to be held and possessed and ravished by her.
Her face flushes and she shakes the hand off, disturbed. "Your statement is both ominous and encouraging."
"A microcosm of life, then," Miarya laughs, then pauses, apparently for dramatic effect, before continuing. "Risk and reward in equal measure."
"Ideally, at least. Sometimes a great risk for a slim chance of reward is all there is." Jian isn't sure what she means by that, but it seems true and she's too distracted by the sudden lust to formulate a more strategic response.
Before Miarya can respond, something catches her attention and she turns to the high dais. Following her gaze, Jian sees Valthiel standing, gazing out over the room with an intense expression.
His voice booms over the crowd as he begins to speak, instantly quieting them. "Members of the Ashen Rose – warriors and lhameans, chemists and commanders and others. Tonight, we celebrate our victory over those who thought they could claim what was ours, who thought that our position as the foremost kabal keeping the traditions of Lhilitu was merely an accident, an unearned gift that they could snatch on a whim. But thanks to our cunning and ferocity, our skills and the blessings of our patron, today we show the rest of Commorragh, and the galaxy, that it is they who were merely lucky. And today, that luck has deserted them!"
He pauses as the crowd roars with cheers and applause. Miarya and her company, however, remain quiet, clapping politely but offering no more obvious sign of agreement. Jian watches curiously, before concluding that the woman is pleased, despite her reservation. Her smile is broad and her posture easy. She apparently simply feels it beneath her to engage in such demonstrations.
Her attention is quickly pulled back, however, as Valthiel continues. "I do not need to tell you how we overwhelmed the Kabal of the Dying Wish; how we waited until they had foolishly divided their forces and then struck while they were too focused on their own supposedly-assured victory – "
He continues, but Jian barely pays attention as he continues to expand on their victory and the crushing inevitability of the Dying Wish's defeat at their hands. The lust that has inflamed her is not limited to those within arm's reach. His voice is so rich and smooth, but with the menace underlying that makes her feel like prey, giving her a thrill of danger to flavor the seductive velvet tones. Gesturing flamboyantly with his words, he flips the long fall of silver hair behind his back where it ripples along with his robe in the air currents.
Although she sits transfixed for several minutes, the spell soon breaks. Valthiel stops talking and steps back with a final wave of his hand. The ground beneath his feet parts and slowly, a black sarcophagus rises from the gap, tilting until it stands vertically. The lid slides back in two parts, revealing a dark-haired drukhari man, naked and bound in black chains. Although the angle is wrong for Jian to see his face clearly, she knows it must be the former Lord Urkdreth. He collapses forward to land at Valthiel's feet, where he tries in vain to rise but is hampered by his bonds and whatever drugs he's been injected with to keep him under control.
Beckoning Lynx forward, Valthiel places a hand on her shoulder. "It is appropriate, then, as we begin to punish the man who was once an archon, that the first blow be delivered by a true servant of Lhilitu, one whose knowledge and skill played a key role in the defeat of this impostor."
He gestures to a pair of assistants, who step in to drag the prisoner roughly to his feet, securing his wrists to a pole that keeps him upright. He looks over the room with a defiant sneer on his face.
As relatively close as she is to Valthiel's platform, Jian has a good view of the proceedings. Lynx looks surprised, almost frightened by her position, but she walks toward Lord Urkdreth with back straight and chin held high. Nearly the same height, it's easy for them to lock eyes as she approaches. "You can't do it, can you?" he snarls. "You would never have gotten here without me. I made you, I own you."
Perhaps it might have worked once. The reminder of their ties, the reinforcement of how much harder her already difficult life would have been without him. But the Lynx that Jian knows would merely find his words insulting, twisted by decades of arrogance and cruelty into a mockery rather than a manipulation. Her face remains coldly detached as she pulls a pin from her hair, sending loose strands of green hair falling around her face. Even in her intense concentration, Jian can't help but noticing how well it frames her face, and how nice the color looks against her robes.
For a few heartbeats, she stares at the pin, then past it, to the face of her defeated foe. "No," she says, quietly enough that Jian more reads her words on her lips than actually hears them. "You most certainly did not. But I did make you. And I can unmake you just as easily." Flicking her wrist, she draws the point of her hairpin across his neck. A thin like of red appears, but not enough for it to have been a fatal blow.
Instantly, a change comes over Lord Urkdreth. The contemptuous expression on his face freezes, then falls away as he stiffens in his bonds. Tremors and muscle bulges race over his body and he twitches and writhes with spasms before falling limp. When he raises his head again, he seems diminished. The definition is gone from his muscles, pushing him past the normal drukhari leanness into emaciation, with ashy skin and limbs that seem a bit too long for his body. A reflection of the insignificant street rat he once was.
Lynx doesn't seem to notice or care as she readjusts her hair and walks away. Jian catches her attention and she makes her way toward Miarya's platform via the stairs that connect the two. She angles for a cushion large enough for the two of them to sit on and Jian stands to meet here there. Miarya and Ayslinn clearly note her departure, but continue trading polite barbs uninterrupted until the lhameanite matron rises to take her place in the growing throng that surrounds Lord Urkdreth – or what is left of him. It seems that each of Valthiel's top lieutenants and key heroes of the invasion have been invited to take their turns delivering cuts to his naked body.
By the time she's reached the cushion, Lynx has settled down already, leaving Jian little space to sit. She pushes her way in anyway, which proves to be a mistake. In her excited state, their closeness and the feeling of Lynx's thighs touching hers and her slim figure pressed against her side is almost unbearable. To distract from the painful arousal, she tries to focus on what she actually wanted out of this conversation. "How are you doing, Lynx?"
"I've had worse days, for sure." The smile doesn't quite reach her eyes, but she doesn't seem to want to elaborate further as she wraps an arm around Jian and begins caressing her shoulders idly.
"Are you sure?"
Lynx frowns. "Just stirs up a lot of old memories." A desperate scream from Lord Urkdreth punctuates her words.
Jian looks over in time to catch an especially wide smile from Valthiel at the carnage his subordinates are causing. Lord Urkdreth is barely recognizable by now. "You've done well for yourself, at least. Much better than him."
"I guess so." Her hand drifts down Jian's arm, massaging more urgently now.
Further discussion is halted by a triumphant shout from the crowd below them. The Ashen Rose elite have finished their initial prodding of Lord Urkdreth and retreated, leaving him fully on display as a bloody, emasculated mess with the body of a malnourished adolescent and a face missing lips and eyelids. Two scourges pluck him from his chains and raise him into the air with his face level with Valthiel's.
Valthiel motions for the kabal to be silent and, when they are, he speaks. "My friends, dear sons and daughters: you are the true descendants of the greatest empire that this universe has ever known. Others may seek to take the credit, but our ancestors are the ones who leave lesser races trembling with primal fear at the mere mention of our race."
"I may be a living descendant of gods, the embodiment of one of our Dark Muses that crafted this reality for ourselves when the material realm proved insufficient, but never doubt that each and every one of you is as much of a superior being compared to this street rabble" – here he gestures to the various Dying Wish members strung up across the room – "who dare to call themselves drukhari. So tonight, we live like gods, not squandering our days worrying about the future, but shaping reality from moment to moment."
He pauses, looking around the room and grinning with that boyish look that, in this emotional state, makes her weak at the knees. "So to hell with tomorrow, we'll craft our eternity today!"
The room rises in cheering and Jian joins them, although some small, rational part of her brain wonders how much of the excitement is from his words and how much is simply the heat of the moment and what's about to happen.
Valthiel pulls a device from his belt pouch, about the size of his fist, and shoves it into Lord Urkdreth's face. The metallic object twists and writhes, sending appendages up the drukhari's nose and down his throat. Judging by the way he jerks, it must be painful. Stepping back, Valthiel waves a mocking farewell to his defeated foe as the scourges carry him bleeding through the air.
They release their grip before long, sending him plunging toward a clear tank of transparent liquid. Kabalites jump back as Lord Urkdreth falls, sending a splash over the vicinity. A lid slides shut and he remains, trapped inside. Tiny air bubbles rise from his skin and he thrashes, but no sound escapes the chamber. The fluid begins to turn pink with blood, but clears again as the filters cycle, removing the contaminants and leaving the tank's contents on full display for all to see.
After a brief, tense moment in which the entire kabal watches him start to slowly dissolve in the acid, just strong enough to etch away at his skin without killing him too quickly, Jian feels something begin. The already tense, stirred-up feeling that the wine has created in her grows. More than just arousal, this is euphoria. The Dying Wish lieutenants twitch in time to the music and their energy washes over the crowd, filling her with a sense of power and happiness. Around her, the rest of the drukhari are just as affected as she is, descending on each other and their prisoners in a rush of sensation.
Jian springs to her feet, overcome with the desperate need to do something. Where is Valthiel? She needs him right now.
"By Lilitru, I've missed this," cries Lynx, standing as well. A laugh escapes from her, purer and happier than Jian has ever heard.
And then they're kissing, arms wrapped desperately around each other, Jian's fingers scrabbling to open the front of Lynx's dress while the other woman's teeth bite into her neck.
Why shouldn't I? Why can't I let go, just this once? Breaking the kiss, she drags Lynx forward, toward the platform where Valthiel waits.
"Wait, what are you – " Lynx's question cuts off as she hesitates and Jian slings her over her shoulder, unwilling to delay long enough to explain. She has little trouble reaching Valthiel. The rest of the kabal has found release in each other, or in continuing to torment their prisoners, and no one blocks her approach. By now she acts more on instinct as she drops to one knee in front of him, Lynx laid out like an offering.
He pauses, seemingly a bit surprised, but collects himself almost before she has time to notice. Taking another sip of his wine, he smiles bemusedly. "My, my, it seems like you have an idea, dearest one. By all means, tell me… what is it you desire?"
Lynx, too, reacts in surprise, her entire body tensing. Jian presses a hand to her chest to keep her from rising and she relaxes a bit, a grin spreading across her face.
Emotion and desire and the massive overload of every kind of sensation makes it difficult for Jian to speak clearly, but she chokes out a response. "You. Me. Her. Together. Now."
Valthiel eyes her, then his gaze drifts down toward Lynx, lingering there before he speaks. "Very well, with such an eloquent proposal, how could I refuse?" The arrogant tone of command remains, but she knows him well enough to tell that he's just as eager as she is. He settles himself back on his throne. "Begin."
Before the words have reached her, Jian is on top of Lynx, their bodies twisting together in frantic lust. Lynx tries to roll her over, to throw her to the ground and take control, but Jian is stronger, pinning her to the floor and tearing her dress open. Her fingers dig into Lynx's shoulders, eliciting a moan of pleasure.
It feels good to finally be on top.
As the Kabal of the Ashen Rose continues its celebratory orgy of lust and violence, the two women quickly lose awareness of everything except each other. Inhibitions lowered by drugs and vitality enhanced by pain, they breathlessly search each other for pleasure and comfort. Soon, the man on the throne can contain himself no longer and descends to join them, united in joyous frenzy.
This was a bit of a transitional chapter in many ways, but I kind of like it. Also, Ayslinn and Bealfor's relationship is so much fun to write.
Also, I chuckled as I wrote Derfahn getting shut down. The kid is a *disgustingly* talented assassin, but getting girls to notice him takes an entirely different skillset that he apparently has yet to develop.
What did you guys think of the look into the Vrashes' private life? And what about Jian's choices in this chapter? Do you think she's going to continue her slow journey into becoming a true drukhari? Or is she going to figure herself out and retreat from Valthiel's world again? What do you think she *should* do?
It's all planned out already, but I'm interested to hear your predictions!