TW/CW: Sexual content
The Lady Shadowglade sat rigidly in a high-backed chair, her delicate hands neatly folded in her lap. She sat at the long table at the base of her tower surrounded by the coordinators of the Feast of Saint Baellith. The temple priests were round faced and flushed, twins, each with a shock of white hair. They cooed and preened at each other with fat, soft fingers. With them, they brought the Oracle. She had no name and was a thin, small girl child. Her skin was translucently pale and her eyes were the color of a bleached summer sky. The girl looked drugged, her eyes glassy, her stare vacant. At the end of the Feast, she would be sacrificed to Baellith, so the drugs they gave her were likely a blessing. Lillandyr wondered idly if the temple priests had purchased said drugs from one of Kia Sin'del's pushers.
Across the table from the priests, who picked at each other like great, fat hens, were a Master of Commerce from the Merchant Quarter and a composer from the Artisan Quarter. Both men looked on her and the priests with no small measure of disgust. Oddly, this pleased Lillandyr greatly. They underestimated her. She was the Marquis of Sex and Vice and they found it distasteful. Good, she thought. Let them. Soon, she would have the city all to herself. She would sink her fangs in and drink from the throat of the bloated swine that was Belshalara. And they would never see her coming. So let them think me an over glorified Madame, she thought as her lips curled into a sly, self-satisfied grin. Let them think it while my whores sink their blades in their backs.
After these initial assessments, all attention turned to her. All of their gazes, save the poor, drugged Oracle, were on her, undressing and taking stock of her. Greedy looks. Lust. It took everything in her not to command them out of her manor. The first to speak was one of the priests. She didn't know their names as she always got them confused anyway. But he stood, his robes stiff with jewels and golden embroidery. He looked obscene.
"Lady Shadowglade, our most gracious and beautiful host," he began, jowls quivering.
His twin stood and bowed over his great, swollen gut. "It is always a rare treat to be in the company of our esteemed Marquis."
"My brother and I light a candle for the Flesh Quarter's resplendent sovereign every night." They were nearly speaking over each other. The only thing lovely about the priests were their melodic voices. It was why they'd been chosen. They sang the hymns and exaltations to Baellith. And nothing pleased the Flesh God more than beauty. Both twins looked over at the representatives of the other Quarters.
"The Oracle will see the face of the man for the symbolic sacrifice in three days, my Lady," they said at once as they sat in unison. They were back to fussing over each other. The sight was cloying and disgusting, so Lillandyr looked away. She nodded respectfully, however. It wouldn't do to have the priests insulted.
"I look forward to it," she stated mechanically. She didn't. She never enjoyed it, those ceremonial couplings. A private person, she found the public nudity and sex unpleasant at best. And that she never got to choose her lover for the night. It was hard to repress a shudder. Lillandyr frowned, feeling eyes on her. She raised her gaze and looked across the table to find the Oracle fixated on her, her weepy eyes wide and staring. She was whispering to herself, smiling in a strange, wistful way.
Lillandyr turned her focus on the Master of Commerce and the composer, anything to keep from looking at the Oracle. It was unnerving, the empty look in her blue, blue eyes. "Master Faelthir," she said, her smile honeyed. "I've walked my Quarter and I must say you've outdone yourself this year. The goods you've brought from the Tri-Corner Markets are lovely. Unique."
Master Faelthir inclined his head, pleased with her praise. She could skirt around the most blatant thoughts in his head without raising alarm of intrusion. He was a man who liked praise. He especially liked it from beautiful women. Lillandyr played him like a cheap fiddle every year. Faelthir was within his rights to charge her a hefty fee for each merchant's cart in her Quarter. But she had convinced him over and over to let go of this in favor of an alliance with her. Really, she just flirted with the idiot until he was too addled to care about his precious coin. This year would be no different. Fighting off a sneer, Lillandyr knew that he looked forward to her public sacrifice more than anyone else in the room. He liked seeing her fucked, defiled.
She arched a brow. He'd tried to bribe the temple into letting his name be called. She smirked as she ducked her head. The Oracle couldn't be corrupted. Her vision came from the heralds of Baellith themselves, but it was infinitely amusing that he'd try.
With minimal effort, she read the minds of those there, carefully avoiding the Oracle. To delve into that poor girl's skull would've been a disaster. Seers were dangerous creatures. Their minds were great maelstroms of fear and madness. Lillandyr had learned long ago not to go poking around in the brains of the god-touched. Besides, the last thing she ever wanted was to be "seen" by a god. Even her own. Furtively, Lillandyr peered up through her lashes at the Oracle. Still staring. She swallowed thickly. That was what happened when a god blessed and took notice of you. It killed you.
Faelthir was puffing up from the praise. "My Lady, you are too kind. But you are correct, this year, I went above and beyond." He raised his glass, half full of crimson wine. "May our Quarters prosper from our combined efforts on the holy day of Saint Baellith."
Nodding, she raised her glass too. She said nothing but drank the bitter liquid. The wine was from Mulecio, the composer from the Artisan Quarter. It was from his family's vineyard. Mulecio had a sharp, interesting mind and Lillandyr always enjoyed probing and prodding at it. Though with greater intelligence came the ability to know when one was being read. She was careful and could only glean the surface thoughts. He was a rake thin man with a hooked nose and hawkish features. His hair was thinning and he was much older than she was. He had his slicked, straw colored hair pulled back in a loose tie and he wore grace as effortlessly as he did the silk cravat around his throat. His Adam's apple bobbed as he drank his wine.
He did not find her particularly attractive and she knew from reading his thoughts this day that he was shattered and heartbroken. His Muse, his lovely, precious Muse was gone. The temples in the Artisan Quarter were full of temple virgins. Eryss gifted these virgins with the ability to inspire and thus they were known as Muses. They were women and men chosen for their loveliness and purity. It was said to be a high crime to deflower a Muse, but this is precisely what Mulecio had done. The name was buried deep in his gray matter and she knew better than to dig for just idle gossip, but she saw the image of a pale, pale girl with hair the color of snow and eyes the color of bluebell flowers. She knew, too, that the girl was gone and the reason for the early visit to the Flesh Quarter had more to do with the missing Muse than it did her Saint's Day Festival.
"Maestro Mulecio, you honor me with your company. I look forward to your performance as always. It was very moving last year." And here she spoke the truth. Lillandyr had almost enjoyed the groping from the symbolic sacrifice last year because the music had been so moving and lovely. Through Mulecio's jumbled thoughts, she saw that it was because of the Muse. His lover. Aaah, it all made sense, she thought with a nasty little smile.
Mulecio adjusted his cravat. "Eryss is fickle, my Lady. I'm afraid I will be using an older score. Surely you understand."
She fought off another smug grin. Inspiration dry up, Mulecio? she thought with a cold sort of viciousness. These men were her enemies, even if they didn't realize it. Oh, all was quiet now, but she'd been setting things in place for a long time. She need only wait for the right moment to strike.
Lillandyr gave the Maestro a sympathetic smile. "Of course. I have every confidence that it will be just as lovely a second time." You lazy, worthless sod, she thought. How stupid to let love ruin his genius. Despite being the Marquis of a Quarter known for love and passion and sex, Lillandyr had very little use for all three of those things. She slept with a man once a year for the Saint's Day, but not for the pleasure of the act, for what it symbolized. She did it to seduce her Quarter, her city. And it worked like a charm. Every other day of the year she turned away any and every suitor. Male or female.
Once, she had believed in love. He'd been a part of the uprising in the Industrial Quarter, a commoner. She'd have gladly thrown it all away at the time. Fool she was. But he had only cared for her wealth, the things she knew about the Emperor. He'd used her. And that was fine, she thought sourly; it was to be expected. Love was just a tool and one she found far too volatile to use. Since that failed romance, she'd spurned all others and focused on her study and her climb to power instead. It was far more rewarding and far less painful.
"I hope you gentlemen find the accommodations suitable," she said as she rose from her seat. Lunch was long over and she was done playing nice. She felt a headache crawl around her eyes. Her skin felt tight and she wanted to bathe and nap. She wanted to be far from these men and their greasy thoughts and looks. "The staff will be more than happy to provide for your every need and wish."
She cast a last look at the Oracle and frowned lightly. The priests would see to her. That didn't sit well with Lillandyr, but it was tradition and she wasn't ready to start bucking that just yet. She barely heard the muttered goodbyes and good days as she ascended the velvet red stairs up to her room at the top of the spire. As she rounded a corner, already loosening the ties to her corset, she felt the whisper of breath against a shoulder, the brush of leather-clad fingers against her arms. "My Lady," came Vassiago's whisper.
Lillandyr didn't stop her stride. She threw open the double doors to her drawing room in her private quarters. Kicking off her heeled shoes, she sank down on a narrow couch and put her feet up. She waited for Vassiago to step into her room out of the darkness of the hall. There was likely trouble again, which was the last thing she needed. Surely it wasn't Sin'del. If so, she'd have him removed, consequences be damned. He'd earned enough of her ire earlier with his near refusal of her. She wouldn't have it.
Vassiago swept into the room, dressed all in crimson and gold velvets and leathers. His cloak was done in the colors of her House, but it was so garish and the contrast so harsh she wondered briefly if he were mocking her. "My Lady. A gift arrived for you."
She arched a brow and tugged the golden pins from her hair so that it fell in waves around her face. "Oh? Well... bring it then, I suppose." She shrugged. She received gifts often and it was never cause for concern.
Vassiago's mask was simple and white and covered only his eyes. Most of his handsome, finely featured face was visible. His eyes glittered like dark jewels and his smile was oddly absent. He stared at her for a very long time, long enough to make her dress feel itchy. Long enough to curl her lip into a vicious sneer. The jester bowed and jangled as he walked. He left her with her sour mood and gnawing headache to retrieve this mystery gift.
She had slipped out of her finery so that she wore only her navy blue robe when he returned. The box was velvet and a deep, dark red trimmed in gold piping. Frowning thoughtfully, Lillandyr took the box in her hands. It wasn't particularly heavy, nor was it light. Vassiago watched her with hungry eyes and a neutral expression. Scowling at the Maester of the Pleasure Houses, she sat on the couch again, box balanced on her knees. She opened it carefully and peered inside, trying not to let Vassiago's bizarre behavior get to her.
Inside the package was a bone-white music box. It was a carousel. Carefully, Lillandyr lifted it out, drawing in a soft breath. Something tingled at her fingertips. Magic. She closed her eyes as the feeling trickled up her arms like electricity. Gryphons and dragons. Unicorns. Each little figure was carved out of ivory. Ivory? She thought. Belindra.
Lillandyr frowned sourly. Why had she thought of the whore she'd sent Ashtorath to deal with? With mounting ill ease she realized, though she wasn't sure how she knew this, that the music box had been carved out of the whore's bones. Word had reached her that someone had stolen Belindra's defiled corpse.
Her fingers danced over the mechanism on the side, the little turn crank that would power the gears within that then would pluck at the tiny harp. A part of her wanted nothing to do with the music box, but curiosity and the pleasure of the gift itself won over. Lillandyr appreciated finely crafted things and it had been carved with so much detail. Very gently, she ran her fingers over the tiny creatures in the carousel. A delighted little smile curled her lips. How lovely it was.
Vassiago kept watching her, trailing around the room, brushing his hand over the curtain and then drawing it closed. "Does it play a tune?" he asked, his tone light and airy as always, though his constant smile was still absent. The room grew increasingly dark as he drew the large set of heavy velvet curtains closed over her balcony doors.
There was a turnkey and Lillandyr was certain that if she wound it, it would play lovely music. Another image of the whore Belindra flashed through her mind, but she paid it little attention now. Vassiago was lighting candles in her room and sweet smelling incense. Holding her breath, she wound the key.
Chiming, tinkling bells spilled from the delicately made carousel. She couldn't place the tune, but it was beautiful and melancholy. It was a symphony and a dirge all at once. She heard Vassiago slide in to stand behind her. "How sublime," the masked man murmured. Carefully, Lillandyr set it on the end table at her side and let the music wash over her. Color rose to her cheeks and her heart quickened. Unbidden, a soft moan parted her lips. Vassiago drew her long, curling hair away from her throat and the cool leather of his gloved fingers drew over her neck. Her eyes fluttered shut and her back arched. Her nails drew over the settee, leaving tracks in the delicate silk fabric.
"Merris." It was a soft cry in the now dark of her room. Vassiago was right there, but he may as well have been a thousand miles away. Her thoughts were consumed with images of the pale, dark-haired man. She had to have him. Taste his skin, his lips. The thought of his mouth against her throat made her tremble. She ached.
Distantly, she heard Vassiago's bemused chuckle. His hands pushed down her robe from her soft shoulders. She let him. She let him because she was imagining it was Merris, his long, bone-white fingers on her skin as he bent her over the small couch and had her. A sharp cry left her lips and she helped Vassiago, tearing her robe away.
No alarm bells rang inside her head, just Merris. The spell devoured every thought and replaced it with Merris. Her legs fell open and she dragged her nails down the insides of her thighs. Down her shoulders and then over her breasts, Vassiago's fingers sunk into the plush flesh, her taut nipples between his fingers. He squeezed and plucked until she was writhing and wet. She mewled wantonly when she felt his lips on her throat.
His mouth dragged up to her elegantly pointed ear. "Touch yourself," he commanded, his voice a velvet purr. There was some strange malice behind it, but she couldn't place it nor could she think rationally enough to find it alarming. Merris. It was Merris, not Vassiago, and that thought alone nearly drove her over the edge.
The song continued to play, tinkling and tinny as her hand skimmed down her belly to part the sodden folds of her sex. "Merris... please," she whispered in the dark. Vassiago's fingers cruelly twisted the taut nubs of her nipples and he laughed low when she whimpered and cried out as though she were one of the girls in the Pleasure Houses. The tip of her middle finger touched her clit as one of Vassiago's hands tightened in her hair, jerking her head back. Her hips rolled forward and she slid a finger inside the hot, velvet warmth of her sex. She'd never been so wet, so aroused. Every nerve ending in her body sang in absolute bliss and pleasure.
In this strange and heavy moment, she'd have given Merris anything he asked her for, her heart, her body and her kingdom, until all that remained was the blazing inferno of her desire for him. The spell was insidious and worked well with the curiosity and interest she already possessed for the strange man. Vassiago continued to grope her as the music played. Sometimes, his hand would curl around her delicate throat and he would squeeze just for a moment, but this aroused her too. Oh, if she'd been in her right mind, Vassiago would've suffered greatly for his boldness. But for now, while she was under Merris' spell, the teasing was appreciated.
She worked her fingers inside until she was shuddering and gasping. Vassiago leaned over her and his hand closed around her delicate wrist. He forcibly drew her hand from her sex and pressed her sopping fingers to her lips. The command was silent, but her mouth opened and she tasted her desire on her own digits. She suckled them, her free hand stroking over her clit.
She came as she imagined Merris making love to her. And the cry that left her was full of frustrated pleasure. It wasn't enough to just want him. She had to have him, possess him. It was such a strange, alien feeling. Lillandyr had never wanted anything so badly in all her life. She panted, writhing, fingers in her sex and in her mouth. She never noticed when Vassiago slipped out of the room. Her pulse hammered in her ears and her panting breaths drowned out the soft noise his slippered feet made when he chanced his escape.
She lay back on the couch, shivering, naked and vulnerable. Silence. The music had stopped playing and she was alone and the room was almost unbearably cold. Her eyes narrowed in the dim light of her chambers while she snatched the edges of her robe and drew them tight around her still quaking frame. Something wasn't right. While she had spared Merris a longing glance or two, she'd pushed the idea of them being lovers aside years ago. He was far too strange, too timid. She liked bold men. Rough men.
Her lips thinned and it took effort then not to think of Kia Sin'del. As tempting as that was, she no longer consorted with commoners.
Lillandyr snatched up the music box with a heated frown and turned it over in her hands. Anger replaced lust. It had been a spell. The moment she'd touched the lovely gift, she thought of Belindra again. She carefully inspected it. Bone. It had been carved out of bleached bone. Such a work would've taken years of fine, exhausting craftsmanship, but Belindra had only been dead a few days. No. This was magically created.
Merris had tried to seduce her with it.
It took every ounce of her will not to sling the gift against a wall and dash it to bits. Instead, she rose from the couch and began to dress herself. She would wear something infinitely lovely and sensual. Something scandalously low cut. A silk dress all in crimson just for Merris.
The music box, the teas, all of it was a trick. A trick to seduce her so that he could take her seat as Marquis. Now his sudden appearance in her Quarter made perfect sense. Lillandyr ignored how much it stung her, how it hurt to have her only friend manipulate her in such a way. She would show him. She would show Merris that she was no fool.