Continues from “The Wandering Bladesinger”

“…[I]n those times when legends walked the lands under the Sky and between the Oceans, there were many noblewomen of great standing who sought the finest warriors to attend to them in person. Under the auspices of the Blessed Sehanine, Mistress of the Moonbow, the first Kithela were chosen from the most promising female Bladesingers. A Kithela was to be the completion of her mistress: skilled in the sword, bow and dagger she was to be an Archmage’s or a High Priestess’ shield and weapon, her salvation and her vengeance. The very finest became legendary heroines, whose deeds were sung by bards throughout the ages – women who fought and loved with equal artistry. Epic tales were spun of their battles against Dragons and Fiends, epic romances were written about their fervid passions for fair maidens and mysterious sorceresses…”

- The Chronicle of Khanan, Book 9, Volume 21

Mother Ocean

Imej's Night Market came into full swing the moment the motes of faerie fire that lined the city's long, winding alleyways came to life, illuminating the cool, pale stone and darkened waterways with a warm, golden glow. As Grey Elves preferred to take their distance from the vulgar hustle and bustle of Wood Elves, High Elves and assorted travellers who came from the forests, valleys and even the seaside to trade their wares, the Market dominated the lower quarters of the city, far from its most majestic towers. Yet it had a life all of its own. Seemingly infinite stalls ringed the long boulevard and its many squares and fountains. Fine fabrics and multichrome silks hung over wooden palisades where merchants, mages, traders, courtesans and serving-boys all converged in a great, musically chattering mass.

Sigrid walked through the thronging crowd in wonder, Aravae by her side. They had begun spending most of their free time in the afternoon together, wandering the streets of Imej or the surrounding forests. That evening, blue-skinned Aquatic Elves had come with their offerings of coral, pearls and seashells, so that a gently salty, marine aroma filled the air. The more she explored Imej, the more Sigrid felt secure with her newfound status as Yssinel's Kithela. Instead of the jeers and cruel jokes of the Order, she found only admiring gazes as she sauntered down the avenue clad in a gold-embroidered white silk tunic and matching doeskin breeches. Conspiratorial groups of young girls would stare at her when they thought she was not looking and giggle suggestively, before blushing a bright red and smiling shyly the moment Sigrid turned to meet their gaze.

"Yssinel's mother has finally decided to grant me the honour of an audience." Sigrid said with affected formality. She had been in Yssinel's employ for almost a month and all she had seen of the lady of the house were two flawless, sapphire-blue almond eyes hidden behind an enamelled fan.

"Lucky you," Aravae replied dryly. She nibbled pensively on her hot, fried honeycomb wrapped in snow-white waybread.

"One of those moods, huh?" Sigrid said, lovingly stroking the Grey Elven girl's sun-blonde hair. "What did Tahllea do to you in training this time?"

"Why does it always have to be Lady Tahllea?" Aravae retorted, pausing by the roadside near a stall shrouded in a saffron-coloured canopy. "Every afternoon you take a brief glance at my life and hope to understand all of it in just a few hours?"

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong or are you just going to snap at me all day like a Sabre Viper?" Aravae had a decidedly un-Elven way of alienating all those around her with a cold, dismissive demeanour. In time Sigrid had understood that this was a defence mechanism against emotions she was too frightened to deal with.

"Sorry." the Grey Elven girl replied, lowering her eyes in embarrassment. "I...I must confess that I'm a little jealous. I know it's a vice and that it's wicked to envy you since you've always been so good and understanding to me, but sometimes I think you have it so easy."

"I only wish that were the case." Sigrid said ruefully. "Look..." she paused as she mulled over spilling her secret to Aravae. But even if she had lied, what good would come from confessing her true origins? She would only hurt Aravae and, especially, Mjrina. "What I meant was that I've always had to struggle to find my place in this world. It's never easy for a half-breed anywhere, so this is why I'm so grateful that I can be here in Imej with a wonderful mistress, a beautiful lover and you. I'm lucky, but I've had to work and suffer for it, too."

"Tahllea and I made love today." Aravae whispered, almost inaudibly. "After practice, she undressed me in the duelling hall. She wrapped her arms around me as if I was a doll and I was surrounded by the perfume of her skin, the smell of steel and leather. Then we consummated our passion...or at least I consummated hers. I know of nothing more beautiful than my Mistress' Blossom of Hanali, so I eagerly dipped my mouth against it until I could taste nothing but her nectar. When she had taken her pleasure, she told me to get on my hands and knees..." Aravae paused, blushing fiercely, and gathered up the courage to continue. "I did, but she just stared at me...and it seemed like an eternity. Then she told me to leave."

"What? That little bitch..." Sigrid cried indignantly, only to be silenced by Aravae's hand.

"No, no, hush." Aravae interrupted, her voice full of pained sadness. "There is much on my Mistress' mind. She was distracted during our fencing drills and I think she hoped that some intimacy with me would take her mind off weightier matters. I would do anything to make her feel better, but I think that she suspects Lady Yssinel is plotting something without her knowledge. My Mistress loves me, she would never treat me cruelly without a reason..."

"Do you even hear yourself speak?" Sigrid hissed. "You're not a whore or a toy and you don't deserve Tahllea treating you that way. I thought Elven society was all about freedom and following your heart."

"Sigrid..." Aravae said softly. "I could leave Tahllea's duelling hall tomorrow and there would be no law to hold me there in her service. But our ways, like you said yourself, encourage you to follow your heart and the reasons of the heart are much more difficult to imagine than the laws of other worlds."

"I only wish Tahllea knew how lucky she is to have you." Sigrid muttered darkly. "But for tonight, let's not worry about her. Say...would you like to come to dinner tonight? Mjrina's cooking some authentic Wood Elf dishes from the fawn you caught the other day. I think it's only right that you come too." Sigrid had gone out hunting with Aravae in a patch of forest rich with game. There, the Grey Elf had won a small victory over Sigrid in showing off her superior archery skills by striking down a lovely fawn at over two hundred paces.

"That sounds marvellous." Aravae nodded with a wan smile. Sigrid's enthusiasm had a tendency of making her forget her troubles. "Are you sure Mjrina won't mind me coming in unannounced?"

"She'd be delighted to see you." Sigrid reassured. "That and we would finally get some meat. I love Grey Elven cooking, but I don't understand why you don't have a nice roast or stew from time to time. The forests were absolutely full of life when we went hunting."

"We prefer not to eat meat outside of certain festivals. It's well...considered..." Aravae struggled to find a suitable euphemism.

"I know, barbaric," Sigrid sighed. "That's the trouble with this city, everything is so...sweet." With that, the aasimar lunged, catching Aravae unprepared as she bit off a generous mouthful of her honeycomb and waybread.

"Why you impudent girl!" Aravae said, affecting a reprimand. "Such unladylike behaviour in public."

"They don’t seem to mind." Sigrid replied smugly, nudging Aravae in the direction of two admiring Star Elf girls with glacier-white skin and long, deep blue hair arranged in tightly-woven braids. They were clad in long, silk dress which mirrored the pattern of falling snowflakes. Their features were sharply beautiful, and so similar they could well have been twins.

"By now, my Mistress would have seduced both of them...caressing their hair, telling them that they must have grown out of frozen tears the Blessed Sehanine shed while contemplating something truly beautiful..." Aravae said dreamily.

"Is that the best way to get a Star Elf girl under the covers?" Sigrid insinuated with a suggestive grin.

"Yes," Aravae answered, quite seriously. "They're very vain."

The Star Elf maidens smiled the moment they detected Sigrid's curiosity. Emboldened, they crossed the crowded boulevard to approach Sigrid and Aravae. Their movements were effortlessly graceful, like a cold, Northern wind floating on an icy plain. Their dresses shimmered with each movement in the light, revealing tantalising hints of milky-white skin between the exquisitely woven ice-crystal patterns. "Laikhelaeei, ii tyma uyysaetha." they said in unison with a demure bow. Their eyes were silvery were like polished platinum, their lips and eyes framed with violet dye.

"Ah...sorry," Sigrid replied, a little perplexed - she could just about make out some of the words, but the Star Elves spoke too quickly for any meaning to register, "I...I mean, we don't speak..."

"Apologies, Milady Bladesinger," one of the Star Elves interrupted with a disarmingly seductive glance. "We thought you were a Star Elf yourself."

"And," the second continued, as if on cue, "most fortunate to be in the presence of such a gallant Grey Elven lady. I am Jylzaela and this is my sister, Dzelha." They spoke with an odd, fluid accent, like a meltwater stream flowing through ice.

"I'm Sigrid and this is Aravae. We're honoured to meet such flawless crystals from the icebound North." the aasimar replied as the two swordswomen took it in turn to kiss the Star Elves' coyly outstretched hands. Their skin was cool and scented with heather essence.

"Oh," Dzelha said, clearly deeply flattered. "We were just thinking of having a nice meal at the Fallen Star under Darkness restaurant. Perhaps you would grant us the pleasure of your company. It would, after all, be improper for two fair blademistresses to spend the night without two dutiful maidens to attend to them."

"Forgive us," Aravae said firmly. "But we already have an appointment."

"Certainly, we understand," Jylzaela said, a little disappointed. "The Blessed Pole Star Queen has not favoured us this evening. A great shame, might I add, for I see that you must be Lady Tahllea's apprentice." Aravae always dressed in her sky-blue cloak and tunic, embroidered with the unmistakable symbol of Tahllea's duelling hall in stylised cursive script.

"Yes, Milady, and most observant of you." Aravae replied proudly. "Lady Tahllea considers me her finest pupil."

"It could not be otherwise." Dzelha said, running her adoring gaze over Aravae's lithely athletic frame. "Your training must be the finest in the Dragonspire Mountains. Lady Tahllea is both a perfectionist and a...disciplinarian."

"I see her reputation has reached the far North." Sigrid noted.

"Indeed it has." Jylzaela said with a slightly lascivious smile. "Lady Tahllea came to Eltheless, our native city where the glimmering Fey Lights illuminate each night, for a duelling tournament. My sister, incorrigible slattern that she is, had the ill-advised idea to show Lady Tahllea insolence. I fear it took your mistress all night to teach us both that good girls only speak when spoken to..."

"When I see her tomorrow, I'll be certain to convey my warmest regards. Now with your permission, I bid you good night." Aravae snapped. She took Sigrid by the hand and thrust her deeper into the Night Market while the Star Elves looked on, somewhat unnerved by Aravae's sudden display of irritation.

"Is their kind always that forward?" Sigrid inquired as she hurried through the crowds, following Aravae's lead. She had always seen Elven courtship as a slow, understated process, but Dzelha and Jylzaela had been brazen even by human standards.

"No." Aravae replied tersely. "Their etiquette is very formal, almost ritualised. When they travel to other lands, though, they treat it as an excuse to behave in ways they would never even dream of in their homeland." Privately, Aravae was fuming at the nerve of two Star Elven strumpets who dared discuss their intimacy with Tahllea in front of one of her disciples.

"You don't like hearing about Tahllea and other women, do you?" Sigrid said, as delicately as possible. Now that the sisters were out of sight, Aravae slowed her pace. A refreshing scent of sea-spray filled the air as they approached an elegant, marble fountain crowned by a life-size sculpture of two naiads dancing on the singing water. Aquatic Elves had set up their stalls all around the fountain, so that the entire square was covered in billowing, azure silks and woven kelp, creating the impression of being underwater.

"I hate it." Aravae answered under her breath. "Before Lady Yssinel, I could almost dream that one day - just like in a fairy-tale, Lady Tahllea would take pity on her poor, but hardworking disciple and tell her..." Aravae paused, closed her eyes and tried to dispel the lump of emotion in her throat. "Tell her that she, too, had always dreamed of a life together. She was the only fantasy I allowed myself, but now, with Lady Yssinel, I am nothing but a casual lover, no better than those two Star Elves."

They walked in silence once around the square and then Aravae suddenly took her leave to fetch something to drink. Sigrid asked for some fresh water and Aravae nodded glumly and made her way through the crowd towards the nearest tavern. If she was to defeat Tahllea in a duel, Sigrid thought, it would also be for Aravae's sake. With thoughts of glory in her mind, she casually sauntered into a dimly lit stall opposite the fountain. Billowing silks enveloped her in an ocean of blue studded with shimmering, polished pearls. Carpets of woven kelp had been placed on the bare cobblestones and the air was humid, warm and redolent of sea-salt.

Once Sigrid parted the final curtain, she found herself amidst a small treasure trove. A finely carved wooden counter was ringed by wave-polished stones, each bearing a rich assortment of exquisitely carved coral jewellery, mother-of-pearl bracelets, and large, fantastically shaped sea-shells enchanted to emit the soothing rhythm of the tide on command. Yet, more gorgeous still was the shopkeeper. An Aquatic Elf: her skin was azure, like a lagoon under the sun, with long, free flowing green hair and almond eyes as deep a blue as the ocean depths framed by long, dark lashes. The moment she saw Sigrid, she smiled, her indigo lips curled in silent invitation.

Sigrid stole a quick glance at the succinct, tightly-wrapped gold and turquoise sarong the Aquatic Elf wore around her strangely voluptuous, yet muscular frame. She had a swimmer's body, yet her breasts and hips bore a rich femininity that reminded Sigrid of Mjrina. Perhaps the forest and the beach were not distant after all. "Well met, Mistress," the strange elf said, extending her hands in greeting. Her voice was quiet, her accent clipped and strangely alluring. "My name is Neraisa, the custodian of this humble emporium. How may I be of service?" Her eyes trailed curiously over Sigrid. The aasimar was certainly an unusual customer in a Grey Elven city.

"There are some lovely things here," Sigrid said, reverently running her fingertips over a fine necklace of polished, black seashells. "But I'm just waiting for a friend."

"I understand," Neraisa said. She padded soundlessly towards Sigrid and raised the necklace to the light. "Perhaps your friend would like an inexpensive, yet tasteful gift such as this. There is no finer symbol of devotion. Where I come from, the hjrrik shells represent loyalty - they cling to underwater rocks for hundreds of years, weathering the tide and the storms."

Sigrid looked at the necklace and thought of Mjrina. It would look wonderful hanging against that smooth, warm, woodland tan skin, falling just enough to grace the delectable cleavage between her rounded breasts. She felt a surge of emotion in her chest - she wanted to see Mjrina smile and rush to embrace her with those exquisite shells around her neck. "It is pretty." Sigrid admitted, mentally counting out the little spending money Yssinel had given her. "Uhm...how much would it be?"

Neraisa nodded her head shyly. Sigrid was pleasingly straight to the point, most Grey Elven women simply bought items without ever discussing money. "Most of my customers prefer coral and pearls, but I try to encourage sea-shells, their beauty is so much more subtle. I think that one and a half Azaleas would be a fair price."

That was reasonable enough, but the sensually exotic Neraisa had caught Sigrid's attention. "Did you find the shells yourself?" the aasimar inquired, trying to see past the endless, deep blue of Neraisa's gaze.

"Yes, Mistress, and thank you for asking." the Aquatic Elf said, her eyes lighting up at the prospect of discussing her work. "My home is to the far South. It is warm and sunny all year round and we have built our city on the beach, from great shoals of petrified coral. We have no streets, but canals, so I have never been far from the open sea. I know you must appreciate such things, because I see that you are a good swimmer. Shasela, the Ocean Mother, must hold you in high esteem."

"That's a keen observation." Sigrid said with assured self-confidence. "How can you tell?"

Neraisa gave a soft laugh and set down the necklace. She trailed her fingers down Sigrid's bicep, tracing the contours of the aasimar's arm. "You are light, but strong, it isn't difficult to see you gliding through the water. Your body is made for melding with the waves." Neraisa's voice trailed off as her fingers dipped to press against Sigrid's thigh. "Even through your breeches, I can see you have strong legs, so I can imagine the current flowing over your belly, between your thighs, only to be mastered by your strength."

"Thanks." Sigrid whispered. She felt a surge of desire in her loins. Her sex tightened at the thought of Neraisa's hands moving just a few inches higher. "I suppose I've always liked the water. It's like returning to something peaceful and ancient, like being in the womb again."

"Such poetry..." Neraisa whispered huskily. "I have a proposal. Say you exchange a kiss for the necklace - I would think that a very good bargain indeed."

"Sure." Sigrid breathed before she could think twice about it. Neraisa was entrancing as she stepped forward, her delicate, bare feet moving silently over the moist, kelp carpets. Each movement, each subtle little sway of her hips under the tight sarong was powerfully sensual. Then came the first contact, Neraisa's soft, but firm body pressed against Sigrid's and the aasimar, as if caught in a spell, could do nothing but meet the Aquatic Elf girl's lips. Sigrid's blood began to hammer in her veins: only Mjrina had offered her a kiss so soft, rich and yielding. Tender lips parted and Neraisa's tongue, wet and curious, met Sigrid's, leading the aasimar in a passionate dance. Then something welled in Neraisa, a soaring, burning desire in the pit of her belly. Kissing Sigrid was like tasting a new, heady and powerful femininity. There was no turning back now.

Neraisa's kiss became hungry. Her lips devoured Sigrid's mouth as she clasped the aasimar's left hand and brought it under her sarong. Sigrid shuddered as she felt the expanse of silky-soft, slightly damp skin of the Aquatic Elf's inner thigh. Sigrid abruptly broke the kiss, her breath harsh and ragged as she contemplated the yearning lust in Neraisa's eyes. "We...we didn't agree on this..." Sigrid protested weakly.

"Hush!" Neraisa said fiercely, seizing Sigrid's hand with remarkable strength and tugging it further underneath her sarong. "Feel!" Sigrid tensed for a moment, and then complied, brushing her fingertips ever so gently over the smooth, plump mound of Neraisa's sex. The girl was sodden.

"You're...ah, wet." Sigrid said, feeling very stupid, her pale skin flushed with desire.

"This is for you, Mistress." Neraisa sighed, flicking her tongue over Sigrid's lips. "This is all for you."

Sigrid pressed her fingers deeper into Neraisa's slick, velvety nether lips. The Aquatic Elf maiden groaned and kissed Sigrid once more, seeking to quench her passion against the aasimar's tongue. Then, very slowly, Sigrid withdrew her hand from Neraisa's sex. Long, gooey strands of blue-tinted, milky nectar hung between her fingers. "Goddess..." Sigrid whispered, there was no reason left in her lust-addled mind. She gingerly licked the thick fluid from her fingers, much to Neraisa's delight. The Aquatic Elf’s nectar was dense and salty-sweet, like the flavour of a buttery, tropical nut.

Her heart pounding between her temples, Sigrid seized Neraisa and thrust her, hard, against the wall at the back of the shop. Neraisa whimpered in desire, only to be suffocated by the aasimar's lips. Urgent, dextrous hands peeled the Aquatic Elf's sarong off, revealing full, heavy breasts, each capped by a deliciously stiff, dark blue nipple. Sigrid roughly pulled back Neraisa's soft, green hair, and ran her tongue over the girl's delicately pointed ear, drawing a soft gasp from her lover's indigo lips.

Neraisa wrapped her legs around Sigrid's waist and hoisted herself back against the wall. Liquid fire stirred in her belly as Sigrid's kisses flowed from her ear down to the sensitive skin of her throat. Sigrid pressed the palm of her hand against Neraisa's lust-swollen pussy and thrust two fingers in, hard and deep. Neraisa bit her lip to suppress a gasp. Her skin was flushed a light violet, her veins pulsed with the heat of her lust. The prospect of some haughty Grey Elven woman catching her being fucked by Sigrid sent an electric spark of raw desire down her spine. Sigrid was too far gone to care. She fanned her fingers out to spread Neraisa's slick canal and introduced two more. Neraisa's velvety pussy yielded, spreading itself, hot and wet, around Sigrid's hand.

The aasimar wrapped her lips around the hard, rubbery peak of Neraisa's nipple and bit down gently. Then came the hard, winding thrust of her fingers in the Aquatic Elf's nectar-drenched canal. Neraisa mewled in ecstatic pleasure, her claves clamping around Sigrid's waist. Sigrid began to thrust in a slow, deliberate rhythm, pressing the pads of her fingers against the sensitive inner walls of her lover's sex, while her thumb flicked provocatively over the pearl-hard bud of Neraisa's clit.

They flowed into each other, two currents meeting in an ocean of passion. Sigrid smelled salt and sea air: the mineral perfume of Neraisa's hair, the moist softness of her kisses, the marine aroma of her pussy spilling forth, the scent of sweat beading in the warm valley between her breasts. Each thrust made Neraisa's hips buck, her thighs stiffen in tension and desire. Adorable, high-pitched little cries escaped from the Elven girl's lips with each relentless movement of Sigrid's hand. Then the tension building with each maddening thrust into Neraisa's sex was loosed. The Aquatic Elf maiden gave a ragged cry as she felt the first wave of her climax sweep across her. Her sex clamped down on Sigrid's invading fingers. The aasimar continued thrusting her hand back and forth, mastering the waves of her lover's climax, nestling her head between the Elven girl's breasts to hear her frantic heartbeat.

"Thank you..." Neraisa said huskily, stroking Sigrid's hair. The aasimar's fingers were still inside her. "It was such a long and lonely journey to Imej. You are a strong woman, I am certain you will ride the currents of Fate as well as you would ride the currents of our Ocean."

Sigrid kissed Neraisa's lips once more and set the Aquatic Elf down. She languidly fell to her knees, her lips grazing over her lover's taut belly. Neraisa drew a sharp breath and parted her thighs. With loving curiosity, Sigrid spread the dark-blue nether lips of Neraisa's pussy and pressed her lips against the soft, velvety petals. Neraisa moaned, her thighs tensing as she clutched Sigrid's indigo hair, drawing the aasimar closer. Sigrid needed no invitation. She was lost, licking ecstatically at that silky, yielding flesh, wet with rich nectar that made her feel like she was lying on a sun-drenched beach with the juice of an exotic nut pouring down her throat.

Hidden behind the billowing blue curtains at the stall's entrance, Aravae watched the scene with rapt attention. In that moment, she knew that Sigrid had the same dangerously seductive spark as Tahllea and that the impending duel between the two would change much more than just reputations.

***

Iniila

When Aravae and Sigrid finally returned to Yssinel's tower, Mjrina was already waiting for them with a simple but generous dinner of venison stew, boiled lily roots and freshly baked bread. The orderly kitchen with its fragrant internal herb garden and long rows of immaculate utensils had been livened up with forest flowers and the great wooden table at its very centre set out with the evening's meal. Aravae stirred uneasily by Sigrid's side, feeling very awkward, but Mjrina's radiant smile was more than enough to swiftly put her at ease.

"Welcome back, I thought you might bring a friend, so I made more than enough for three." Mjrina said, greeting Sigrid and Aravae in turn with a kiss. "It's nice to finally have you for a meal, Ilmaeria. I see you come so often with Tahllea, but we never have time to talk."

"Aravae...call me Aravae." the Grey Elf replied softly. The moment she breathed in Mjrina's scent, she felt herself transported back to the kitchen her mother had worked in. Aravae's sight blurred for an instant and, in that moment, she saw her mother, standing sternly before her. 'They are lovely people, my daughter, but I always wanted something...better for you.' she heard her mother say as the dim sunlight filtered through the windows and onto a pile of fresh pastry dough, shimmering with crystallised rose petals. 'You are still a girl, my dear, be intimate with her if you wish, but do not confuse desire with love.'

"Is something wrong, Aravae?" Mjrina inquired, her verdant-green eyes filled with concern.

"She's had a hard day." Sigrid interrupted. There was no need to bore Mjrina with what she assumed were issues with Tahllea. "But I'm sure your cooking will pick her up. I'm starving..."

"Give it to her." Aravae said quietly, her eyes riveted on Mjrina.

"What, now?" Sigrid protested. She had originally intended to give Mjrina the necklace in a more appropriate location, where the Wood Elf maiden would have the opportunity to immediately show her gratitude.

"Please." Aravae said. She felt a wrenching desire to see Mjrina happy.

"All right." Sigrid relented. "Mjrina," she began, drawing a deep breath to overcome the embarrassment of presenting the necklace in front of Aravae, "we were at the Night Market and I finally found something beautiful enough for you." The aasimar reached for her coin pouch and proudly withdrew the magnificent chain of flawless sea-shells. It was then that Sigrid noticed that, under the flickering lamplight of the kitchen, the shells were opalescent, almost as if they were gems.

Mjrina melted. She leapt into Sigrid's arms and buried her face in the aasimar's breast. "Blessed Forest Mother, Sigrid, thank you," she whispered, nuzzling her lover's neck. Not only did she feel safe with Sigrid's arms around her, she felt positively loved. "Thank you, but I'm a simple girl, you don't have to buy me jewellery. When I'm with you, I don't envy a single noblewoman in Imej."

"I just thought it would look wonderful on you. Now come, let's try it on." Sigrid said and Mjrina swiftly turned around to allow the aasimar to slip the necklace on.

"How do I look?" Mjrina asked excitedly, feeling the cool, smooth surface of each sea-shell between her fingers.

"Perfect." Aravae said, her voice thick with emotion. It was moments like those that Aravae prayed that Sigrid knew how lucky she was. Seeing Mjrina so delighted and clearly in love was almost enough to expiate that painful memory still languishing in the Grey Elf's soul.

Mjrina blushed and lowered her gaze to admire the effect of the opal-coloured shells on her tan skin. Wood Elven jewellery was normally made of amber or moonstones, but Mjrina could almost feel the ebb and flow of the tide emanating from the necklace. "Glad you like it." Sigrid said, planting a quick kiss on Mjrina's soft hair.

"I adore it." Mjrina purred with that playfully innocently sensuality that quickened Sigrid's blood. It was then that the aasimar realised that the Wood Elf maiden was leaning back against her, the firm globes of her bottom soft and enticing under the thin fabric of her loose, green gown. Sigrid was seized by the sudden desire to roughly hike up Mjrina's gown, thrust the girl against the kitchen counter and fuck her with her hand until creamy nectar dripped down the Wood Elf's sensually rounded thighs. "But now," Mjrina said, interrupting Sigrid's reverie, "we should eat. Cold stew makes for bad digestion."

Supper was excellent. Mjrina's stew was heartier and richer than anything Sigrid had tasted in Imej, but by the human standards of cooking at the Order, it was still somewhat insubstantial. Aravae, though, was happy to eat with light, friendly conversation in the air, even as she picked at her food. Meat did not agree with her and she remembered it being served up by her mother as a sort of bitter medicine to take when she bled more than usual during her cycle. Sigrid, though, ate ravenously and worked her way through three bowls of stew before reclining back in her seat as if she were the mistress of all that she surveyed. In the quiet kitchen, under lambent, red lamplight, it almost felt like being with family.

After eating, they retired to Sigrid's room where Sigrid and Aravae shared a second bottle of feywine and Mjrina curled up on the bed and looked on, well pleased at being surrounded by so much chattering energy. "Come, Aravae," the Wood Elf called, "you've been tense all evening. Sit down."

"You're not trying to seduce Aravae, now, are you?" Sigrid said sardonically, a little tipsy from the freely-flowing wine. She sat perched on the windowsill, hugging her knees.

"Sigrid!" Mjrina pouted. "There's nothing wrong with being hospitable."

"I was joking." Sigrid groaned. Mjrina had a tendency to take everything a little too literally.

"It must be the human sense of humour." Aravae quipped as the gratefully sat down on the soft, crisp sheets by Mjrina's side. "They see animal lust in everything. It must have been so...oppressive for you growing up amongst them." In the Grey Elf's mind, slender, fae-like Sigrid would almost certainly have been the target of violent desires amongst humans.

"Actually," Sigrid noted wryly "I get a lot more attention here than I did on my homeworld. That and any human would be ill-advised to tangle with me, unless they wish to stain my blade with their lifeblood." The aasimar sprang to her feet with feline grace, pleased at the adoration in Mjrina's eyes. Mjrina adored Sigrid's bravado as a blademistress - it made her feel as though she were a lady and not a mere servant for a few, wonderful moments.

"Lady Tahllea teaches us that anger and bloodlust should not drive a sword, but only the most noble and artistic of thoughts." Aravae remarked, sighing in pleasure as she felt Mjrina unlace the front of her tunic to reveal her shoulders. The Wood Elf's touch was magnificent - a firm, warm pressure that immediately set Aravae's mind at ease. Mjrina sought out the knots of tension in Aravae's taut muscles and began to loosen them with smooth, relaxing strokes.

"All the best art is inspired by anger." Sigrid retorted amiably, sauntering over to the door. "I'm going down to the kitchen, I could really do with some cold water." The feywine had cloyed her mouth with a powerful, honey-sweet aftertaste and left her body flushed with alcohol.

Sigrid exited the chamber with one thought on her mind: Mjrina was hers. The very idea of the Wood Elf maiden's fingers on Aravae's bare skin made her feel a pang of jealousy. If there was one beautiful flower to grow out of the black earth of her punishment, it was sweet, sensual Mjrina. There would be no compromise, Sigrid concluded as she stalked down the carpeted corridors of Yssinel's tower. If she left Imej, Mjrina would come with her. Every time the handmaiden so much as smiled or laughed, Sigrid felt her heart ache with longing.

The moment Sigrid descended into the tea parlour, she knew Tahllea was provoking her again. Yssinel's daringly transparent, forest-green gown - made in deliberate imitation of the Wood Elven style which was suddenly in fashion amongst wealthy Grey Elves - had been left on the circular, rosewood table at the centre of the room. Surrounded by blooming, pink irises it looked like a field of grass set amidst flowers. It was then that Sigrid realised that Tahllea, too, loved possessively. A most un-Elven thing, perhaps, but the Bladesinger was eager to ensure that Sigrid knew who the true mistress of the house was.

Moving furtively through the deserted chamber, with its intricate platinum table settings and fluted candlesticks, Sigrid sidled up against the door that led to Yssinel's private study. Pressing her her ear against the silver-inlaid wood, Sigrid heard frantic, high-pitched gasps. She slipped the door ajar with the lightest of touches and peered inside. The studio which Yssinel normally used for painting and calligraphy was in a state of disarray. The desk had been swept clean of its jumble of papers and brushes and Yssinel lay sprawled out upon it, gloriously naked, her legs obscenely spread. Tahllea was on top of her, the lithe, athletic muscles in her back and thighs tensing rhythmically as she thrust against her lover. The Bladesinger's breaths were softer and more laboured as she devoured Yssinel's lips. They made love frantically, pussy pressed against pussy in a lusty nether kiss, building ecstatic friction with each thrust.

Sigrid felt her sex pulse with guilty desire. Tahllea was, admittedly, gorgeous. Her body was hard, her bottom taut, yet so undeniably female. But she made love so gracefully - like combat, something that in Sigrid's mind could be harsh and animal, coupling became an art in Tahllea's hands. Yssinel's mounting cries became wails of pleasure. Her nails dug into Tahllea's bottom, drawing the Bladesinger in closer. Tahllea allowed herself to climax a few moments later, her breath ragged as she bit down gently on Yssinel's berry-pink nipple – the Enchantress’ pale skin was flushed with need. Tahllea’s lust, however, was not sated. She rose to her knees on the desk and roughly pulled Yssinel up by her hair. Tahllea whispered a passionate suggestion and ran her tongue lasciviously over Yssinel's ear. The Enchantress gasped and nodded with wanton enthusiasm. Her breathing was frantic with desire.

It was then that Tahllea, quite suddenly, whipped around. She knew she was being watched. Instinctively, Sigrid slipped out of the doorway and made a mad dash for the kitchen. Running frantically down the stairs, she approached the familiar, suffused lights of the pantry. Inside, she swiftly found a porcelain jug full of ice water and poured herself a cup. She knew Tahllea had seen her and desperately hoped that the Bladesinger had decided against pursuing the matter further.

That was a vain hope. The moment Sigrid reached for the pitcher to pour herself a second cup of water, Tahllea drifted into the pantry, with an especially smug expression on her lips. She wore nothing but a filmy blue dressing gown, casually tied off at the waist, which did much to accentuate the outrageously pert mounds of her breasts. Her raspberry-red nipples were still stiff with arousal, tenting the fabric, which was slick in places with sweat.

"I thought you were busy." Sigrid snarled, taking an angry sip of her water.

Tahllea shrugged and moved to the wine rack by Sigrid's side. From the vast selection of fine vintages, all stored in elaborate, carved crystal bottles, she selected a flask of Intheja berry liqueur. "I take it you enjoy watching. How human of you." Tahllea said haughtily. She moved on to the spice rack and retrieved a small, earthenware jug full of cinnamon oil.

"You forget that you're talking to the descendant of an angelic being. You're a High Elf in a Grey Elven city and you should know better than to mock a fellow traveller." Sigrid insinuated, hoping that she had found a sore spot with which to torment Tahllea.

"This is my home, girl." Tahllea said softly, but dangerously. She drew nearer to Sigrid, powerfully graceful as a hunting cat. "Yssinel is my lover and Mjrina is my servant. It is by Fortune's favour that the lady of this house has taken a liking to you, but remember your place."

"Mjrina loves me." Sigrid snapped. Tahllea had a cold, predatory expression in her golden eyes, but the aasimar was not one to be intimidated.

"Really?" Tahllea purred. She set the liqueur bottle and oil on the kitchen table and drew menacingly close to Sigrid. "Then I'm curious to know, does she prefer to spread for you right away, or play the coy maiden? Does she mewl when you tickle the inside of her thigh when you slide your hand under her dress," Tahllea's voice dropped to a soft, menacing whisper, "does she make that lovely, whimpering sound when her sex contracts around your wrist?"

"Fuck you." Sigrid said, biting her lip. Her hands balled up into fists. If only she had her sword. "I swear by the Vigilant Maiden that when our duel comes, I'll have you begging for mercy." Fierce anger burned in the aasimar's violet eyes. Tahllea just grinned slyly.

"My dear child," the Bladesinger whispered, drawing her lips close to Sigrid's, "a blademistress relies on her intuition. Mine tells me that you're not quite the gallant lady-knight you make yourself out to be. You may fool the citizens of Imej because, I must admit, you do make for a very cute little heroine, but I have travelled and seen much, girl. I am the she-wolf and you are the little fox who was far too insolent for her own good."

For an instant, Sigrid focused on Tahllea's short, raven-black curls and her golden eyes. Yes, there was definitely something hungry and dangerous hidden beneath her calm, collected exterior. "One day, Aravae will realise what a vicious harpy you are and then, she too will be on my side."

"Ilmaeria?" Tahllea snorted. "If I told her to leap into the Abyss, she would obey without a second thought. But you, child, are a little like her. You are a spirited girl, with excellent raw talent." The Bladesinger drew her lips closer to Sigrid's, her gaze seared into the aasimar's. "Now that I think of it, you're also a pretty little thing. Maybe I could be the one to tame you. With one condition, though, you must remember that both in the duelling hall and the bedchamber, I'm the woman and you are the girl..."

"I'm flattered." Sigrid replied dryly. There was no use denying it, Tahllea's beauty was magnetic, so that her heartbeat quickened ever so slightly at the sensation of the Bladesinger's breasts pressing against her tunic. Tahllea's fiercely handsome, aristocratic face made her arrogance seem praiseworthy. "But a lady-knight never compromises her honour or her dignity, least of all to pompous womanisers like you."

"Hmm...a sharp tongue. At least you speak your mind, unlike my darling Yssinel who weaves words like an insidious spiderweb. I like you, child, I really do. It's a shame that we have to squabble like this." Tahllea said. Sigrid was forced to admit that she sounded sincere.

"Really? And what do you propose?" Sigrid challenged.

"How about a nice, leisurely dinner as my guest tomorrow? You can unwind, tell me about yourself and then we could spend a little...intimate time together. We can start with a simple sisterly cuddle if you want - I can be very affectionate to those who please me. But, truth be told, it would be a pity to stop there. I was looking to find a girl such as you - one of truly intriguing eroticism." Tahllea pressed her lips against Sigrid’s mouth. The kiss was far from sisterly. Tahllea's lips parted, soft and ripe, and her tongue flicked inquisitively against Sigrid's, just to gauge the aasimar's reaction.

Sigrid faltered for a moment, caught between the sheer horror of what Tahllea was proposing and her own guilty desire. Tahllea's mouth was vigorous and skilled, still tinged with the sweet, feminine musk of Yssinel's sex. Something snapped in Sigrid: she was no toy, least of all Tahllea's. She withdrew abruptly from the Bladesinger's kiss and pushed her away. "I'd rather bed a succubus. Everyone in this city seems to be in love with you, but I have no intention of becoming your plaything."

"Very well then." Tahllea said calmly. She gathered up her bottles and kissed Sigrid again, this time chastely. "It was a pleasure meeting you, child. I fear I must return to Yssinel now - it would be most rude of me to have my fair Enchantress wait, but the offer will remain open. Even if our duel resolves in my favour, I could still use a blademistress of your skill in my duelling hall. We'll treat it as a friendly encounter. In the meanwhile, I might just enjoy Mjrina's company a few more times..."

"Get out!" Sigrid growled, her fists clenching reflexively. Tahllea gave a contemptuous, musical laugh and departed. The aasimar waited a few moments to finish her cup of water and ease her frayed nerves. She had come very close to striking out Tahllea, something the Bladesinger would no doubt have wanted to portray Sigrid as contaminated by human barbarism. She had to behave like an elf and maintain decorum if she was going to mount a credible challenge to Tahllea.

Once she was certain that her nemesis had disappeared up the stairs, Sigrid made her way back up to her room. As she passed through the tea parlour, she heard Yssinel's sharp yelps of delighted agony. Tahllea was doubtless working through frustrations of her own. Back in her room, Sigrid found the scene she had been dreading. Aravae lay curled up in Mjrina's lap, fast asleep, her head buried against the comforting warmth of the Wood Elf's firm belly. Mjrina cradled her, almost as if she were a child, humming softly as she ran her fingers through the apprentice's bright, golden tresses.

"She fell asleep, poor thing." Mjrina whispered, almost apologetically. "Lady Tahllea must have driven her hard in practice today."

Sigrid felt her shoulders slump. She had wanted to see Aravae on her way and then make love to Mjrina until the Wood Elf maiden begged her to stop. "I...had other plans in mind." Sigrid said ruefully. She swiftly changed into her nightgown and angrily threw her tunic and breeches onto the plush armchair beside the ornate, pinewood writing desk.

"I know, my love." Mjrina replied patiently. "But I think she just needs a little affection now and then. We all do and, since Lady Tahllea is so stern, I'm happy that she has friends here, too."

"Where do you expect me to sleep then?"

"Why don't you take my place?" Mjrina offered. "I'll go down to my room. Just make sure she's warm and under the covers and I promise I'll make it up to you...how about I bring you breakfast tomorrow morning," she continued with a coy smile, as if it were the most innocent thing in the world, "wearing only my new seashell necklace?"

"That sounds fine..." Sigrid said, her heart rising into her throat. She desperately hoped that Aravae would have left by then.

So it was that Sigrid found herself lying awake in bed, staring at the ceiling frescoed to resemble the cloud patterns atop a glacier. Aravae lay sleeping soundly by her side, an arm draped around Sigrid's waist. The dull light of the reddish heating sphere cast a phantasmal glow over the chamber. Outside, the stars shone vividly, only to be outdone by the great full moon and her smaller, crescent sister. Sigrid could only think of Tahllea and Mjrina and the strange web of intrigue that was forming around her. Her thoughts were interrupted by Aravae drawing closer, still locked in a distant dream, and clutching Sigrid tightly, her face buried in the aasimar's shoulder.

"Iniila." Aravae murmured, her voice plaintive and desperate.

***

Mothers

Lady Elinathanal of House Ceilanith was both the finest manuscript illuminators in Imej and one of the city's most infamous aesthetes. She had amassed a considerable fortune by illustrating the tomes and grimoires of many renowned sorceresses. Talent, however, is nothing without connections, so Elinathanal had shared as many beds as she had illuminated manuscripts. Although not a sorceress herself, she knew the mage's mind well enough to be demure and submissive when negotiating a commission with a stern Transmuter, but suave and assertive when dealing with a fair Enchantress. As a consequence, Yssinel, her only and beloved daughter, had grown up calling her alone 'mother'. The others were too ephemeral to warrant such a deep attachment. In the end, what Yssinel had grown to fear most as a child was walking into her mother's room to greet her each morning, only to find a different woman by her side, followed by the prompt and dreaded introduction: 'Yssinel, my treasure, this is...'

Now that her daughter was a fully-fledged Enchantress and her reputation as an artist well established, Elinathanal had withdrawn to a life of mysterious artistry. She no longer went to sorceresses, but they came to her. Audiences were granted only sporadically and were always a grand, enigmatic affair. So it was that on a quiet, cold evening, with Sehanine, the great moon, full in the sky and Faenya, her younger sister, crescent, that Elinathanal's drawing room was prepared to receive Sigrid.

The walls of the room had been engraved with runes written in Elinathanal's own calligraphy. Wrenchingly beautiful lines of cursive emitted a dull, blue light, while floating islands of eldritch energy simulated starlight in the dimly lit chamber. The Lady of the house reclined on a great, gold-upholstered couch, clad in an ethereal robe whose colours were arranged in tissue-thin layers of gold, silver, bronze and copper. She was every bit as exquisitely beautiful as her daughter, though her features were more mature, bearing the unspoken wisdom of full womanhood. Elves aged well and Elinathanal's gown daringly hung over the taut curves of her breasts and hips. Her skin was white and flawless, her blue eyes and gold and silver hair strikingly similar to her daughter's. By Elinathanal's side were her handmaiden, a fine-featured High Elf woman with long, raven-black hair, and her newest artistic companion, a copper-haired Illusionist who always introduced herself as a poetess. Privately, Elinathanal thought that what the girl lacked in literary talent, she made up for in wantonness in the bedchamber.

Near the window that overlooked the majestic sweep of the Dragonspire mountains, an intricately carved crystal harp was being plucked by a silver-haired priestess of Hanali. The musician hunched close over the instrument, feeling its subtle vibrations as she accompanied its melodious humming with a mournful song. As with all priestesses of the Elven goddess of love and fertility, she was barefoot and bare-legged and wore only a provocatively succinct pink shift, tight around her unusually ample, heavy breasts and loose and filmy around her waist. Even by Elinathanal's notoriously difficult standards, the girl was painfully pretty, in an innocent, disarming sort of way, with soft features and enchanting golden eyes.

"Do you have any preferences for my next piece, Mistress?" the harpist inquired softly with a shy smile.

"My daughter, as always, is late." Elinathanal noted calmly. Her voice was measured perfection. "I believe she takes pleasure in making me wait, though I am above such pettiness. Play something more joyous, my dear girl, you are a fine musician and I am happy to entrust myself to your art."

The harpist nodded and began to strum the opening chords of an ancient ode to the Forest Mother. A tinkling of silver chimes heralded Yssinel's arrival. The gold-inlaid pinewood doors to the drawing-room swung open and Yssinel stepped in with Sigrid and Mjrina by her side. "Finally, you honour me with your presence, beloved daughter." Elinathanal said, sitting up in her divan.

Yssinel approached her mother and planted a soft kiss on her lips in greeting. "Esteemed mother." she said with lightly mocking formality. "I would like to introduce Sigrid, my Kithela, who has shown herself to be a valiant and exceptional blademistress. She defeated Tahllea's finest disciple, Ilmaeria, in but a few moments. I am certain she will be an adornment on this household."

"My daughter, your taste is as always impeccable." Elinathanal said airily, carefully scrutinising Sigrid, before raising a dove-white hand in invitation. "Come greet me, child."

Sigrid complied, spellbound. The entire chamber had a dreamlike quality, as if she had passed from Yssinel's tower into another world, populated by spirits. She crossed the chamber and knelt by Elinathanal's side to kiss the Elven woman's hand. Even the air surrounding Elinathanal was enchanted, for it emitted an otherworldly perfume. Mjrina stood by the entrance, her eyes respectfully lowered. She privately feared Elinathanal - there was something ambiguous and slightly menacing about her.

"What a lovely girl," Elinathanal mused, gently tracing the outlines of Sigrid's ear. "I am glad that you have been chosen by my daughter. It has been a while since an aasimar has graced this home. All the auguries say that celestial blood brings good fortune."

"Thank you, Milady." Sigrid said, breathless with wonder. She felt like she could lose herself for an eternity in Elinathanal's hypnotic eyes.

"I understand, Sigrid, that you have taken Mjrina as a lover." Elinathanal said, her tone almost maternal.

"Yes, Milady."

"Mjrina is such a devoted, sensuous bedmate. Since I, too, have had the privilege of her company, allow me to tell you what I told Yssinel the day she shed her child-name and became a woman: all love is struggle. My dear Sigrid, laws are steady and can control the mind, but the heart is another matter entirely. Grey Elves have few, if any laws, but know this: love devours everything, for better and for worse. It brings great good and great wickedness, so forget all the fairy-tales you heard as a child, all the legends you read about in illustrated epics, love is a daily battle. Never take it for granted." Yssinel winced slightly at her mother's lecture. Elinathanal's cynicism was against Grey Elven sensibilities, but the Enchantress had never doubted a word her mother had said on the topic of romance.

"I...I shall bear that in mind, Milady." Sigrid whispered. She was seized with the urge to sink into the older woman's embrace, to be cradled like a child seeking comfort from her mother.

"Good girl." Elinathanal purred. She leaned forward to plant a soft kiss on Sigrid's cheek. "So watch your step lest Tahllea become too jealous. A good blademistress always remembers that the best way to defeat two enemies at once is to play them off against one another" she whispered into the aasimar's ear.

"Now," Elinathanal continued, addressing the whole chamber. "I officially welcome Sigrid into our House. She will be entered into the records of our family as its first Kithela since the Sunflood War. I can only hope that she will defend us in more peaceful times than those. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some professional matters to attend to." With that, Elinathanal gracefully eased herself off the couch and helped a dazed Sigrid to her feet. She kissed the aasimar once more, this time on the lips, and turned to depart, her entourage following behind her in a haze of billowing, filmy silks and shimmering gems. Elinathanal's passage was heralded by an enchanted trail of motes of light, leading her higher still in the tower like a luminous stairway.

Sigrid stood motionless, her eyes riveted at the doors through which Elinathanal had disappeared. Her lips still burned with the memory of that enigmatic kiss, so loving yet so commanding. A rich perfume, like that of blooming flowers, laden with nectar, floated in the air. The shimmering globes of enchanted light that revolved around the chamber's ceiling grew brighter, banishing the mysterious demi-shadow with a warm, reassuring glow.

"She has granted you her favour, Sigrid. A rare honour, since Mother has always had such...discriminating tastes." Yssinel remarked. With a simple magick, she adjusted her ivory-white and silver Enchantress' dress. The cascading veils of fine silken fabric which intertwined to constitute the dress aligned to allow her to sit on the vacated divan with the utmost dignity. Then the silks unfurled once more, falling around Yssinel's slender frame like the petals of a wilting lily.

"Your mother is incredible." Sigrid whispered, still staring at the fine mist of shimmering light which drifted through the chamber.

"Yes, that was a fascinating light display, but predictable enough since her latest sensual indulgence is an Illusionist." Yssinel said amiably. She was far too tactful to allow her resentment to filter through.

"I never thought I would see such wonders." Sigrid said, turning to face Mjrina. Elinathanal was precisely as she had envisioned the ethereally beautiful fae-queens of legend.

"In time, you will grow accustomed to it." said Yssinel indifferently. "Mjrina, why don't you bring Sigrid to the garden for some refreshments? I would have some time for myself, if you don't mind."

"No, not at all." Sigrid nodded. She thought that if she spent much more time in that chamber of dreams, surrounded by sublime, otherworldly singing she might become permanently entranced, as if under a siren's spell. Mjrina ushered her out and closed the doors behind her.

Upon hearing the door shut, Yssinel drew a soft sigh of relief. It was time for the next part of her plan to unfold. "That will do for today, child." she called, motioning for the harpist to end her performance. "You have a divine voice. I must thank the temple of Hanali for sending such a distinguished musician."

The priestess smiled demurely. "You're too kind, Mistress. I am but a novice, but I try to take up all the performing opportunities I can."

"Please, dear, call me Yssinel." the Enchantress said graciously. "Come, sit by my side. Would you like some cold birch tea?"

"Oh, that would be lovely!" Her throat felt parched after the long performance. She quickly too her place by Yssinel's side, shyly drawing her admiring gaze over the Enchantress' form. Upon closer inspection, Yssinel's dress was virtually transparent, so that the rosehip-pink peaks of her nipples and the plump mound of her sex were just visible under the filmy fabric of her dress. "I'm Senythina." The girl had an infectious smile and the most gorgeous, moonlight-silver eyelashes Yssinel had ever seen.

"Your reputation precedes you." Yssinel said effusively. She reached for the finely-carved tripod table by the divan and poured some iced, light brown tisane from a silver jug into a wide, green glazed cup and handed the fragrant drink to Senythina. "You must be Elhanna's bonded lover. I read about your engagement in the monthly gazette some time ago." Elhanna was a coldly striking, intellectual woman of Yssinel's age and the Enchantress remembered that they had shared some classes when they both attended Imej's civic school. Then, Elhanna had gone off to the Academy of Divination and, upon her return to Imej, taken up a job as a private tutor for the children of wealthy families. By virtue of her mother's substantial fortune, Yssinel had so far avoided the inconvenience of having to take up a profession.

"Yes," Senythina enthused, taking a long, refreshing sip of her birch tea, "I was so happy. Elhanna treats me like a queen."

"My blessings on both of you." Yssinel said, invoking the formal Grey Elven congratulation. The Enchantress knew exactly what had happened. The brilliant, commanding Elhanna had taken a younger lover - a girl barely old enough to decide whether to commit to a lifelong relationship. Doubtless so that she, a recent Academy graduate, could easily inspire awe and obedience in one who had yet to finish her general schooling.

"Thank you." Senythina said, before adding, as discreetly as possible, "I hope you enjoyed the music."

"Outstanding in every regard, my dear. Never have I seen such a glorious melody come from such a beautiful harpist." That was not entirely empty flattery.

Senythina blushed and swiftly drained her cup of tea. "High praise indeed from an esteemed Enchantress. I hope to serve you again in future."

"That should be no problem. I was thinking of promising you a weekly performance here at my tower." Predictably, Senythina’s face lit up the moment Yssinel mentioned a permanent position.

"Really? May Hanali favour you! That is most kind." the harpist shivered with excitement. Yssinel took the occasion to run her expert eye over the priestess. She had never seen such huge, heavy breasts on a Grey Elf, yet they flowed harmonically into her lightly curved belly and gorgeously flared hips. Senythina's dress was tulip-pink with satin fabric around her breasts which gave way to a gauzier material, embroidered with an abstract floral pattern, that reached down to the top of her thighs. There could only be one explanation.

"I see your Goddess' blessing has visited you. Motherhood always makes a woman more radiant. May I inquire as to your child's name?" Yssinel found herself hoping that Senythina turned out to be a more responsible mother than Elinathanal.

"Sehynneth. She was born on the fourth day of the Festival of Corellon's Triumph." the priestess said proudly.

"My dear child," Yssinel said, her voice heavy with concern, "should you be out so soon after giving birth? I would be happy to give you a few months of leave."

"My High Priestess says the same thing." Senythina replied, without a hint of resentment. "But Elhanna says children are very expensive to bring up these days. We both want to do our best for our daughter."

Yssinel nodded sympathetically. "Naturally. Come, make yourself at home." the Enchantress invited, easing Senythina into a reclining position on the divan. The priestess complied, gratefully submitting to Yssinel's soothing caresses on her calves and thighs. Delicate, dextrous fingers trailed lower to Senythina's ankle and over the elegant arch of her foot. "Hmm...this is a lovely ring." Yssinel purred, grazing against the platinum band, exquisitely inlaid with calligraphy made of ruby, on the priestess' big toe. It was traditional for priestesses of Hanali to wear a wide selection of toe rings and anklets, though such a fine item was rare on a novice.

"Oh, I know, Elhanna gave it to me to celebrate our daughter's conception. I told her it was too extravagant, but she said that when she saw it, she just had to buy it for me." Senythina said dreamily.

"Let me see what it says." Yssinel said, her voice low and soothing. Very gently, she raised Senythina's foot to examine the calligraphy. "To my beloved Whole." the Enchantress breathed, grazing her thumb down the sole of Senythina's foot and planting a light kiss on her toes. "You don't mind, do you?"

"No..." the harpist replied. Her blood quickened slightly at the touch of Yssinel's lips.

The Enchantress smiled and tenderly engulfed Senythina's toe with her lips. She tasted the floral perfume of jasmine mingled with a soft, metallic tang from the ring. Senythina sighed and closed her eyes. Her sex tightened and she instinctively parted her thighs a little, her back arching as Yssinel began to suckle gently. "Yssinel..." the harpist hissed, her mind pulsing with ecstasy. She revelled in the sensation of the hot, wet teasing of Yssinel's tongue on her foot. Elhanna had never made her feel so sensual.

"You are such a lovely, lovely woman." Yssinel whispered, kissing Senythina's ring before rising soundlessly to her feet. In an instant, she was kneeling behind the priestess, running her fingers gently down the sensitive, pale skin of Senythina's throat. "I would be pleased to have you as this House's musician." Senythina gasped at the sensation of Yssinel's tongue, warm and wet, licking long, agonising trails down the sensitive surface of her pointed ears. Her silver hair fell like a meteor shower over the pristine upholstery of the divan. Yssinel could hear the priestess' breath quicken with each lick. Senythina's pink lips were parted, her eyes screwed shut as she curled her toes against soft fabric of the divan in anticipation.

Then the Enchantress made her move. Her fingers drifted lower, breezing over the hollow of Senythina's throat and floating under the pink satin of her dress. The harpist's breasts were turgid, heavy and tight as a drum. Such glorious femininity, Yssinel thought, as she traced the contours of those marvellous globes, until she finally reached the stiff, rubbery peaks of Senythina's nipples. Yssinel paused to press a soft kiss against the very tip of Senythina's ear. Then, very gently, she pressed the girl's nipple between her fingers. Senythina took a sharp, ragged breath. Her heart hammered frantically in her chest.

Yssinel gave the nipple a firm, but loving tug. Warm, creamy fluid slipped out, coating her fingers. The Enchantress felt her sex pulse with need, vulnerable and swollen under her dress. "Is Elhanna nursing too?" Yssinel inquired, her breath hot against her lover's ear.

"Yes," Senythina nodded energetically. "She insisted. Elhanna is such a good mother...ah!" The harpist bit her lip as Yssinel gently nipped the tip of her ear. As if she were unwrapping a present, the Enchantress pulled down Senythina's gown until it pooled around her waist. Senythina's breasts were glorious: full and heavy with the glow of motherhood and capped by delectable, dark pink nipples, already stiff as arrowheads. A streak of pearl-white milk ran down the pale skin of Yssinel's fingers and the bounteous curve of Senythina's breast.

"I would love to spend this evening in your company, if you would do me that honour." Yssinel said huskily, gently tracing the soft curve of Senythina's belly and gathering those heavy, fertile breasts in her hands. They were like firm melons - taut with fluid.

"It would be my pleasure to give myself to you." the harpist replied, parting her thighs and tilting her head to meet Yssinel's lips. Senythina may have been young, but as a priestess of Hanali, she was far from inexperienced. Her lips were soft and welcoming, her tongue alive with the languid dance of passion. Yssinel sank into Senythina's kiss, twining her tongue with its playmate. She cupped the harpist's breasts and began tugging rhythmically at her nipples. Beads of warm, fragrant milk began to form on the turgid nipples, trickling down in thin rivulets.

"It would be a shame for all this to go to waste." Yssinel said, her sapphire-blue eyes radiant with passion. Senythina smiled lasciviously and turned around to straddle the Enchantress' waist, her breasts hanging temptingly, like ripe fruit ready to be plucked. Yssinel slipped her hands under Senythina's gown and clasped the harpist's soft, curved bottom, drawing her closer. With a gentle laugh, Senythina leaned forward and gasped in delight when she felt Yssinel wrap her lips around a turgid nipple. A stream of sweet, creamy milk flowed into Yssinel's waiting mouth. There was something unique and deeply feminine in that flavour, that unctuous richness that filled Yssinel's mouth. Senythina cooed with pleasure, running her fingers through the gold and silver strands of the Enchantress' hair. It felt so satisfying to feed Yssinel, both sensually and physically.

Yssinel suckled hungrily, her lips and teeth exerting soft pressure, drawing little pearls of warm milk from Senythina's taut, rubbery nipples. The Enchantress reached under Senythina's dress to find the fat, juicing mound of her sex. Senythina was slippery with arousal. Yssinel pressed her palm against her lover's sex, drawing a low, satisfied sigh. Hot fluid and silky flesh greeted her fingers as she parted the inner petals of the priestess' sex. She was still yielding and welcoming from her recent childbirth. Yssinel slipped three fingers inside her without resistance. The younger girl's pussy was like a snug, velvety glove, sodden with nectar and so deliciously receptive.

Senythina whimpered and writhed in Yssinel's lap. Her pale skin was flushed, her loins burned with pulsing desire. The Enchantress' touch was irresistible; three fingers were buried in her sex while Yssinel's thumb flicked playfully against the tiny, engorged bud of her clit. Senythina felt her desire and her maternal instinct converge. She wanted all of her milk to flow into Yssinel's mouth, just as she desperately craved the Enchantress' hand deep in her sex. Yssinel did not disappoint. The Enchantress drank passionately as she added a fourth finger into her lover's moist sex. Senythina's petals parted gracefully - motherhood made her sex feel so fertile, loose and welcoming. That awakened a primal need in Yssinel's lust-fogged mind, so the Enchantress flicked her lover's clit once more, before adding her thumb into the slick canal of Senythina's sex.

The young priestess bit her lip and relaxed her sex as she had been taught at the temple of Hanali. Yssinel's hand slipped in, slowly but steadily, winding against the sensitive inner walls of her channel. Senythina gasped and arched her back, drawing a disappointed sigh from Yssinel as she felt the priestess' fertile nipple slip from her mouth. With a sharp twist, Yssinel thrust her hand into Senythina, until she could feel the inner petals of the priestess' sex tighten around her wrist. Instinctively, she sought out that sweet spot - Hanali's Heart - deep inside the sodden channel of Senythina's pussy.

Wordlessly, Senythina thrust her hips against Yssinel's hand. Her loins felt liquid with desire. She grasped the side of the divan and offered her breasts up once more. Yssinel seized upon the priestess' other nipple and began to suckle, eager to flood her mouth with the sweet, dense pearls of Senythina's milk. Her fingers thrust hard against the inner walls of the priestess' channel. Senythina gave a low, husky moan, her toes curling violently into the upholstery of the divan. Then, Yssinel conjured a spark of electricity to manifest around her fingers and thrust, hard, against that most sensitive spot in Senythina's sex. The priestess groaned hoarsely and thrust herself against the invading hand. Her belly seethed with electrifying pleasure as she surrendered herself to a violent, spasmodic climax. Yssinel felt Senythina's sex contract deliciously around her hand. The younger girl's moans filled the chamber, the tide of her orgasm sweeping over her like a wave of ecstatic relief.

Yssinel withdrew her hand from the silky refuge of Senythina's channel. Her fingers were coated in thick, pearly liquid, like the nectar that hung in long, tempting strands from the blooming petals of the harpist's sex. Yssinel pressed her nectar-soaked hand against Senythina's lips and the priestess eagerly began lapping off the thick, creamy residue of her passion. Then they kissed once more, Yssinel's mouth still sweet with milk that mingled under the magical dance of their tongues with the flowery, slightly saline juice of Senythina's pussy.

With a casual sweep of her hand, Yssinel bade her dress to slip off. The strands of gossamer fabric stirred and unravelled, floating through the air like clouds before settling, neatly folded, on the table by the side of the divan. Senythina sighed in wonder, for Yssinel was finally naked before her. The Enchantress caressed the magnificent curve of Senythina's bottom, her hands flowing upwards until she reached the harpist's moist, swollen breasts. She began to tug on her lover's nipples once more, coaxing out fertile droplets that trickled out onto her breasts and flowed down her flat stomach to the plump, inflamed mound of her sex.

Senythina reluctantly withdrew her lips from Yssinel's and trailed her tongue down the Enchantress' throat. She followed the streams of milk, her kisses wet and passionate as they trailed around Yssinel's small, firm breasts, before enveloping the two stiff berries of the Enchantress' nipples. Yssinel gasped and surrendered herself to Senythina's expert mouth. The girl drifted lower, licking down the flat expanse of the Enchantress' belly, happily lapping up her own milk. Yssinel parted her thighs and raised her hips, spreading the sweet, pink peach of her sex for Senythina's hungry mouth.

The priestess gently parted the inner petals of Yssinel's sodden pussy and inhaled the scent of flowers, sex and musk. She began to lick passionately at the nectar-slick folds, the taste of Yssinel's passion mingling deliciously with the stray droplets of milk that had flowed into the Enchantress’ sex. Senythina flicked her tongue upwards, gently teasing the hard little pearl of the Yssinel's clit. Yssinel groaned her hips bucking with pleasure. The fire in her sex began to radiate outwards. She burned for Senythina's tongue, that insolent, expert licking that trilled against her clit.

There was something about Yssinel that made Senythina feel more wanton than usual, so she grazed her teeth ever so gently against Yssinel's clit, eliciting a strangled cry from the Enchantress' flawless lips. Senythina hooked her hand under Yssinel's bottom and pressed her thumb, slick with juice, inquisitively against the rosebud of the Enchantress' anus.

"No...please, not there, not today." Yssinel begged, her voice cloyed with passion. She was still a little sore from Tahllea's vigorous lovemaking the previous evening.

Senythina soothingly caressed Yssinel's bottom and concentrated on licking the Enchantress' glistening clit. Yssinel felt her passion burst forth, shooting up her spine like an electric spasm. Her thighs tensed, her belly pulled taut as she arched her back, wantonly presenting her sodden pussy to Senythina's tongue. She came with sharp, high-pitched gasps, still clasping Senythina's long, silver hair in her fingers, holding the priestess' teasing mouth close to her convulsing sex

"My, my," Yssinel sighed, her breasts rising and falling rapidly with each laboured breath. "I thought the Academy of Enchantment was sensuous, but the Temple of Hanali must be a cavern of delights."

"Eroticism is our art and our worship, Yssinel. I'm glad you enjoyed it." Senythina said modestly, slipping into Yssinel's embrace. She leaned her head against the Enchantress' shoulder, the fragrance of feminine musk, milk and sweat mingled with the perfume of jasmine that filled the chamber.

"I would be honoured if you stayed for supper, unless of course, you need to be with your daughter." Yssinel invited. The Enchantress lovingly stroked Senythina's silky hair with one hand, while the other danced aimlessly against the hot, juicy petals of the priestess' sex. She badly wanted to fuck Senythina's ripe, welcoming sex again.

"You've already eaten!" the harpist giggled, blushing at the bawdiness of her joke.

"I just realised that I have yet to offer you a present for the joyous occasion of your daughter's birth." Yssinel smiled, pretending to think. "Say...we meet tomorrow here for lunch. I imagine you have an appetite for steamed honey pudding. My Handmaiden can make an excellent and very generous portion, then we could retire to the library for your gift."

"That sounds lovely!" Senythina enthused, gently nuzzling Yssinel's ear. "But Elhanna says I shouldn't eat so many sweets." the harpist pouted.

"She need not know, my dear. You are such a good and diligent lover and mother that you fully deserve an occasional indulgence. I have only one humble request to make and I fear it is somewhat...compromising." Yssinel began, feigning insecurity.

"Anything...you can tell me anything." Senythina nodded fervently.

"Very well. I know that the priestesses of the Temple of Hanali are the custodians of all births and bonding ceremonies. This, naturally, includes adoptions. I was wondering whether you could be so kind as to consult Lady Tahllea's record of adoption which should also register her natural parents and her place of birth." said Yssinel.

"But...that information is secret." Senythina protested.

"Please understand, my sweet girl, I only ask because I am concerned about Lady Tahllea's state of mind. She has been very preoccupied lately by questions of family and identity and I only wish to put her mind at ease. Naturally, a valiant Bladesinger such as she would never make such a shameful request. I am passionate woman, Senythina, and would do anything for love, so I have no choice but to ask you." Yssinel's gaze met Senythina's. The Enchantress knew exactly how to make herself look piteously sincere.

"Oh...pleased don't weep, Yssinel," Senythina relented. "I'll do as you ask, but only this once as a favour."

"Thank you, my dear." Yssinel purred, drawing Senythina into a deep, passionate kiss. "If you ever need anything come to me. I will notify my mother tomorrow that you are to be this House's official musician."

"That's so generous of you..." Senythina whispered, drawing a deep sigh as Yssinel again latched on to her nipple to drink. The sensation of her milk flowing out of her into Yssinel's worshipful mouth was divine. More so was the feeling of the Enchantress' hand, slowly but inexorably working its way deep into her pussy once more.

***

Neither crisp, silk sheets, nor the wafting aroma of rose and lavender from a smoking brazier could induce Yssinel to sleep well that evening. Mjrina had, as usual, seen her to bed with a bath, a relaxing massage with Thejnith-nut oil, and a dutiful hair-brushing and tooth-cleaning. Before retiring, she had taken some warm camomile tea with honey and lilac-root extract, before settling under the sheets and dismissing Mjrina with a kiss. Sleep came too easily.

In her mind, Yssinel was a girl again, a wide-eyed adolescent discovering the joys and disappointments of an ever-expanding world. It was morning and light streamed through her window, flooding her gold-embroidered bed in a brilliant glow. She rose and washed her face in a basin of water perfumed with rose-petals and thought with pleasure of the upcoming day: lessons with her Aerylle, Tahllea, Ennaeli - her fascinating, temperamental and irritating best friends who, awash with the confidence of early womanhood, staunchly refused to be called by their child-names. Then, if she was lucky, there would be an outing with the fascinating Khilaena, who would soon become a priestess of Sehanine. She had been the first one to kiss Yssinel like a woman and to bring her to the starry heights of ecstasy Yssinel had only reached by exploring herself with her hand, the way her mother taught her.

In her fevered sleep, Yssinel saw her younger self slip on her brand-new short sleeved copper tunic and matching satin boots. She cringed inwardly at what was fashionable back in those days, before feeling herself drawn, from above, to follow her younger self through the familiar corridors and stairways of her tower. There, she paused in front of the great, silver-inlaid door of her mother's chamber. An ancient Grey Elven nature-poem had been engraved in silver cursive script on the hard, dark wood. Yssinel pressed her ear against the chamber and heard her mother's gasps of pleasure. She smiled - perhaps it was finally true. Perhaps her mother had found the woman she had finally decided to bond with. Doubtless, Elinathanal was making love to Innilenneth, the smiling, learned Diviner who always brought her a gift and had taken the time to teach her a few magical cantrips with soft-spoken tolerance.

Gingerly, Yssinel slipped the door ajar and saw her mother kneeling atop her lover. An ocean of gold and silver hair flooded down the slim muscles of Elinathanal's back and thighs as she thrust her burning sex against her bedmate's. Their breaths came rhythmically, soft little gasps and lascivious whimpers. Yssinel allowed herself to dream. Innilenneth had always enjoyed letting Elinathanal take the lead in their lovemaking.

"Yssinel, dear, it's very rude to barge in and stare." Yssinel heard her mother say with a certain light disapproval.

Yssinel froze. Her mother paused and turned around to face her daughter. Sweat shone on her pale skin in the early sunlight. "You ought to knock, my love. I don't mind you watching, but others might. You are a woman now and you should start behaving like one."

"Sorry, mother." Yssinel mumbled, blushing furiously. "It won't happen again."

"Good girl. A blessed daughter always obeys her mother. Now be so kind as to greet Lynthaela. She has nothing but praise for your academic skills. I was so proud when she told me you were first in the class."

Yssinel felt her heart sink, as if it were made of lead. Lynthaela was her painfully shy, but admittedly very pretty Spellcraft teacher. Where there had been hope in her breast, she only felt emptiness. Her mother had once again disappointed her dreams of a happy, complete family like Aerylle’s.

"Hello...Yssinel," she heard Lynthaela whisper awkwardly from the bed. "I look forward to...uhm, seeing you in class..."

"Mjrina!" Yssinel gasped, clawing at her bedcovers. Her confused mind managed to focus long enough to ring the enchanted silver bell on her study table. She was covered in cold sweat, her blue silk nightgown was soaked. Sitting bolt upright, she threw off the covers, panting raggedly. In an instant, she felt Mjrina's loving embrace around her. She pressed her face into the comforting warmth of the Wood Elf maiden's breasts. Mjrina always slept naked.

"Hush, Mistress." Mjrina cooed, reassuringly stroking Yssinel's hair. "Was it the nightmare again?"

"Yes..." Yssinel hissed, wrapping her arms tightly around Mjrina's waist.

"What's going on?" Sigrid called groggily from the door. Her sword was drawn and it glimmered in the suffused, blue light of early morning.

"Nothing, Sigrid, you can go back to bed." Yssinel said, snuggling closer to Mjrina's breasts to hear her heartbeat. "Unfortunately, this is one enemy from which you will never be able to defend me."

"I'll make another offering to the Forest Mother, so that she may send a Sunspider to trap your bad dreams." Mjrina whispered.

"No...this is the punishment I inflict on myself. The Forest Mother cannot save me unless I choose to save myself." the Enchantress said, placing a light kiss on Mjrina's soft breast. "Stay with me until dawn."

Mjrina turned to give Sigrid an apologetic glance and the aasimar withdrew, more convinced than ever that there was something very much amiss in Imej. Yssinel tried sleeping in Mjrina's embrace, but felt herself falling into the same, agonising memory. So she slipped a hand between Mjrina's thighs and they made love, more out of affection than passion. With the sunrise, they rose, washed and dressed, as usual, but, despite her Handmaiden's best efforts, Yssinel remained sullen and pensive. She needed to hear Senythina's report as soon as possible. Otherwise, her carefully laid plans would all go up in smoke.

***

Schoolgirls

Later that day, Yssinel slipped on her cobalt-blue and violet tutor's robe and decided that she would work through her frustrations by teaching. Since leaving the Academy, she had been engaged by a close friend who had become a teacher at Imej's prestigious School of Arcana as a teaching assistant. Although it was by no means a work-intensive position, it allowed Yssinel to balance her studies with practical activity. The School of Arcana was frequented by the children of Imej's bourgeoisie and nobility - it was generally considered the ideal starting point for access to an Academy of magic and thence into the city's high society.

So it was that on a fair mid-afternoon, Yssinel floated airily into the mighty reception hall of the School with Sigrid by her side. Yssinel, predictably, did not allow the formality of her tutor's robe to get in the way of aesthetics, so under the long, flowing garment, she wore a light violet gown fashioned from the membrane of a giant butterfly. The fabric was indulgently soft and hung naturally, like crushed silk, with a daringly plunging neckline which Yssinel ensured was emphasised by a single, brilliant sapphire worn on a platinum pendant. Sigrid, who had little taste for the richly feminine fashions of the Elves, was more than happy to cut a very dignified figure as Kithela, dressed in her usual high-necked, gold bordered white tunic. As it was a fairly warm day, Sigrid had conceded herself the indulgence of not wearing her breeches.

That turned out to be a mistake. The moment Yssinel stepped into the lecturing theatre with Sigrid by her side, she knew that the front two rows of eager students would spend most of the lesson focusing on Sigrid's lean, muscular thighs, coyly nestled between the skirt of her tunic and her high, doeskin boots. The venue, however, required concentration. The lecturing theatre was a wide, circular room with richly carpeted floors and five concentric rows of seats and desks, arranged so the whole chamber resembled the form of a lotus flower. At the very centre of the chamber, an arcane altar had been set up in the shape of a crystal sphere that hung over a shaft of light and air. This was used to focus magical energies and magnify spell effects for the entire audience to observe, as well as project relevant notes for the class to copy down.

Yssinel strode imperiously to her plush, gold-upholstered seat by the side of the floating crystal sphere and the class grew quiet. The crystalline skylight in the theatre's domed ceiling darkened on Yssinel's command, filling the chamber with a cool, blue glow. This, Elven mages had discovered, was the ideal light for sorcerous concentration - concentration that the class needed in abundance. Although Grey Elves made no formal distinction in any respect between the sexes, their society was, in fact, segregated on a number of levels. High-born women inevitably became sorceresses and priestess of Goddesses, whereas male nobles became swordsmen or entered into the service of more masculine deities. The end result was that, in Imej, females dominated the civic administration and males controlled the militia. So it was that Yssinel found herself in front of a class of petulant, spoiled adolescent girls, full of the affectations and social plotting that she had once adored and now could no longer stand.

"Quiet, ladies, quiet." Yssinel called above the murmured chattering. Compliance was slow and reluctant. "Last time, we discussed the nature of Outer Circle enchantments. Not the most exciting of things, I know, but the purpose of this Introduction to Enchantment class is precisely to give you a flavour of the discipline before you choose your academy upon graduating from this School. I believe we were discussing First Order Charm spells...what is it, Caennillith?" Yssinel snapped impatiently as a particularly impudent student with braided, azure hair motioned nonchalantly for her attention.

"Ah...Majestrix, we couldn't help but notice your Kithela. Sorry for the interruption, but we just thought she was really...amazing." The use of the term 'we', Yssinel concluded, was most appropriate. Caennillith was prodigiously manipulative and, no doubt, a youthful Council Speaker in the making. Not a word was breathed without her knowing about it.

"How rude of me." Yssinel said, smiling venomously. "This is Sigrid and she is an aasimar. As with the legendary Kithela of old, she is sworn to defend me to the death, but she is also my valued companion and trusted friend." Sigrid gave a graceful bow of acknowledgement. Personally, she was thrilled to be on the teacher's side of a classroom for once, rather than being made to kneel on dried split-peas for answering back during lessons.

"Now," Yssinel continued, "as I was saying, Charm spells are simple from a sorcerous standpoint, but require much research. Even a First Order student at the Academy of Enchantment can cast a Charm spell, but for it to succeed, intimate knowledge of a target's psychology is required. You may one day find it easy enough to Charm beasts, or even other Elves, because their thought patterns are so basic or so familiar that you can visualise them obeying you and impose that vision on reality. But how, for instance, would you Charm a human or a Green Dragon..."

"But Majestrix, Green Dragons have magic resistance!" Caennillith said snidely and her friends obediently tittered behind their embroidered fans and silken handkerchiefs.

"Very good, I see," Yssinel said, her tone dangerously soft. "We have a new Majestrix of Enchantment here. Caennillith, please come join me by the Sphere."

Caennillith rose, looking somewhat perplexed, and sauntered casually to Yssinel's side. The Enchantress immediately noted that the odious girl wore a fantastically expensive gown made entirely of platinum thread with a judicious mixture of black and white pearls worked into the fabric, so that the overall effect was like the Fey Lights of the far north, silver and milky white superimposed over long streams of blackness. "I see that you have much confidence in your artistry," Yssinel continued, planting a soft kiss on Caennillith's cheek. "So, Charm Sigrid, who certainly has no resistance to magic, into drawing her sword."

A hushed gasp of surprise echoed throughout the lecture hall. Sigrid cocked her head inquisitively to one side. Yssinel was playing a dangerous game. She had no intention of submitting to anyone's mental control, let alone to an upstart student. Yet she had grown to trust her mistress. Yssinel never did anything without a plan. So she acquiesced and silently took her position directly in front of Caennillith. For once, silence ruled the lecture theatre.

"When you're ready, my dear Caennillith." Yssinel said, reclining leisurely on her armchair to observe the showdown. Caennillith met Sigrid's gaze and concentrated. Very slowly, an image began forming in her mind. This image was not mere imagination, but empowered with a sense of reality, so that when she thought of Sigrid drawing her sword, she saw each muscle in the aasimar's body move, a pale, elegant hand clasp the silvery pommel, the shimmering blade fly out of the simple, white scabbard, the smell of steel fill the air. All those motions and thoughts were distilled into a single impulse, which Caennillith focused in her gaze. She was certain that Sigrid drew her weapon even before the event actually happened. It was so real that she actually remembered it.

"Draw your weapon." Caennillith ordered under her breath.

Sigrid stared back unblinkingly into Caennillith's haughty, silver eyes and, much to everyone's delight, drew her sword in one, dramatic stroke. The metal sang, piercing the air with a sharp, pure hum. Caennillith smiled triumphantly, only to find Sigrid pounce forward and bring the cutting edge of her blade just under her throat. In one, lightning-quick slash, Sigrid sliced open the front of Caennillith's dress. Fallen pearls clattered softly onto the carpeted floor. Caennillith fell to her knees, quickly drawing up the remains of her dress to preserve her modesty. Her face was flushed with furious humiliation. Sigrid towered over her, smirking as she sheathed her sword.

"No one insults my Mistress." Sigrid said with some satisfaction and the frantic chattering of the other students soon reached fever pitch.

Yssinel smiled knowingly and raised her hand to silence the class. This time, they fell in line immediately. "Now, ladies, shall we continue, or does someone else wish to volunteer her skills in the sorcerous arts?"

Silence and fifteen pairs of obedient, overawed eyes fixed themselves on Yssinel and Sigrid. "Just as I thought." the Enchantress crowed. It turned out to be the most quiet and uncontroversial lesson Yssinel had taught in a long time.

After the lesson, Sigrid accompanied Yssinel for a tour of the School, while two of Caennillith's most slavish friends congregated on the theatre's centre, scrupulously picking up each fallen pearl. Sigrid was struck by the quiet elegance of the place, which freely permitted flowering vegetation to filter into its narrow, tastefully decorated corridors. Light was provided by floating lamps, which flushed the wooden doors and tables of the School's halls with a rich, burnished glow.

"My thanks to you, Sigrid." Yssinel said, smiling warmly as she took her Kithela's hand. "Caennillith is the worst of the lot. I simply don't know what this generation is coming to. Yet, when I too attended this School, I did my share of shameful things. Maybe I should have been put in my place back then."

"You were like her?" Sigrid said aghast. She could not imagine the calm, refined Yssinel ever heckling a teacher.

"Not quite as...crude, but I could be quite cruel to some of my classmates. Just ask Tahllea." Yssinel said wryly. For a moment, she was a student again, strutting assuredly down the hallways, conscious of being the brightest and the most beautiful.

"Cruel? Well, I guess when you're forced to live with the same people every day for years, you're bound to make a few enemies." Naturally, Sigrid had virtually only made enemies. Jeers of 'elf-girl', 'half-breed' and 'bitch' had soon given way to viler and more hurtful insults which Sigrid considered unmentionable outside of the heat of the moment. That, of course, she could never confess to Yssinel, lest her deceit be exposed.

"If there is one thing you should know about Grey Elven society, Sigrid, is that we dislike open confrontation. I never lowered myself to insulting anyone to their face. But if a classmate displeased me, I knew exactly whom to talk to and what to whisper to make sure that she became a social outcast in a matter of days. Then, the poor girl's only choice was to come to me begging and whimpering, until I decided to forgive her – but only after serving a suitable penance." Yssinel explained dispassionately.

"But...you're past that now, right?" Sigrid inquired uneasily.

"Yes." Yssinel replied, pausing in the deserted hallway to face Sigrid. "So when I tell you that I know that you, my dear Sigrid, were a novice of the Order of the Radiant Path - doubtless an outcast or a defector - you can live in the absolute certainty that your secret is safe with me."

Sigrid's blood froze. Her mind became numb and her hand twitched instinctively around the pommel of her sword. Yssinel had known, probably from the first day, but had never said anything. In that instant, Sigrid understood that she was to be part of some dark design whose ultimate purpose was known only by Yssinel. An explosion of questions filled Sigrid's thoughts as she stood, almost motionless, waiting for Yssinel to allow her to breathe.

"Fear not, my little treasure." Yssinel said, with that same, calm smile which now seemed mocking. "You are an outstanding Kithela and a good friend. I am not a traditionalist, my dear. The fact that you were economical with the truth does not change the more important fact that you are a capable, loyal girl with a good heart. That, as far as I am concerned, suffices."

"Oh thank you!" Sigrid gasped, sinking into Yssinel's embrace. The Enchantress held her, cooing soothingly into her ear.

"There is only one request." Yssinel whispered gently.

"Anything..."

"Whatever the result of your duel with Tahllea, I want you to become her bonded lover." the Enchantress said.

"No!" Sigrid gasped, wrenching herself free from Yssinel. "Never! Not her! Anyway, she's your lover, isn't she, why in the Nine Hells would you dump her on me?"

"My dear girl," Yssinel said wearily. "Tahllea has much to offer you and I...well, I have other plans for myself. I think you two would make a wonderful couple. It would also bring you closer to Ilmaeria and give you the opportunity to start life anew here in Imej. Whatever your quarrel with the Order was, you can put it behind you. I shall take your secret with me to Arvandor...that is a solemn promise."

"I love Mjrina." Sigrid said indignantly, clenching her fists. How dare Yssinel tell her whom to love?

"That is certainly not a problem. Just say the word and she will become your Handmaiden. Of course, I will miss her, but I envision close cooperation between us in future as well...so I needn't be far from my favourite Wood Elf." Yssinel's voice had become a gloating litany, as if she already envisioned the utopian future she was carefully planning.

"I'd rather die." Sigrid growled. Her first instinct was to run home, seize Mjrina and elope with her somewhere far and safe, where they could start a new life together. That, of course, was wishful thinking.

"Oh hush, my treasure, don't be so dramatic." Yssinel chided. "But I must insist that you consider my offer very carefully indeed."

***

Honey

The late afternoon sun had assumed a reddish tinge as it filtered through the kitchen windows onto a wide basin full of almond milk in which some dried cherries had been left to soak. Mjrina busied herself in the small, but well-stocked internal herb garden underneath the kitchen's skylight. She felt at home kneeling on the moist earth, surrounded by greenery and the familiar scents of the forest floor. In truth, it not only felt comforting, it felt erotic. Just the scent of fresh mint made Mjrina's nipples pebble and become stiff and erect under the flimsy fabric of her green gown. Humming gently to herself, Mjrina parted her knees further, so that her short gown stretched over her thighs.

It was when she was alone that she felt seized by the most wanton ideas. She fantasised about bringing herself to orgasm slowly and deliberately, so that her nectar dripped down and fertilised the soil. She imagined emptying her bladder on the rich, black earth while furiously rubbing her clit at the thought of the sheer transgression of her deed. Mjrina felt her sex pulse with desire. She ignored her need for a moment and carefully plucked a few choice leaves from the lemon thyme bush and set them in her basket. A little red chicory, perhaps, she thought, since Yssinel liked her salads to have just a hint of bitterness.

It was then that Mjrina felt strong, dextrous hands wrap around her waist and the familiar smell of leather, steel and a soft, mineral perfume. "How is Imej's loveliest Wood Elf this evening?" Tahllea inquired, placing a playful kiss on Mjrina's chestnut-streaked, verdant green hair.

"Oh, Lady Tahllea..." Mjrina blushed furiously. She knew that the Bladesinger had a perfect view of her ample breasts, especially because her loose gown only seemed to draw attention to her cleavage.

"Here, I picked your favourite." Tahllea said with her usual gallant charm. "A Tinisj Iris, if I'm not mistaken." As if by magic, Tahllea produced a vibrant purple flower with long coppery streaks running through its curved petals.

"But...they only grow in the Southern Lowlands," Mjrina whispered in awe.

"A friend of mine has a plant nursery. Here, let me..." Tahllea swiftly conjured a small, silver hairpin and slipped the flower into Mjrina's forest-green tresses. "There you go, more beautiful than ever,"

Mjrina giggled to hide her embarrassment. She privately envied Yssinel. Tahllea could be temperamental, but she certainly knew how to flatter. "You're too kind, as always, Lady Tahllea." the Wood Elf maiden whispered demurely. Tahllea's strong, athletic presence behind her had done little to tame her arousal.

"Is that so..." Tahllea breathed. She cupped Mjrina's chin and tilted the girl's innocently pretty face. Like a hunting cat pouncing on her prey, the Bladesinger captured Mjrina's lush, sensual lips, drawing the Wood Elf maiden into a hungry, wet kiss. Mjrina moaned into Tahllea's mouth and eagerly surrendered to the Bladesinger's expert tongue. "Am I distracting you from your chores, my lovely Mjrina?"

"It's always a pleasure to be distracted by you." Mjrina replied. She shuddered with pleasure as Tahllea pulled up her gown to reveal her taut, curved bottom and moist nether lips to the cool evening air.

"Such a naughty, wanton handmaiden..." Tahllea sighed, running her fingers between the tight crevasse of Mjrina's bottom. "Do you think naughty handmaidens ought to be punished?"

"Oh...yes!" Mjrina groaned, melting under the firm pressure of Tahllea's expert hands.

"Good, I do too." Tahllea said with dangerous sensuality. "But maybe if you told me who Lady Yssinel has been seeing recently, we can skip the punishment and go straight to kissing and making up."

"I'd love to, Lady Tahllea, but Mistress did not authorise me to say..." Mjrina was cut off by a sharp, vicious slap on her bottom. She yelped in pain, but was held firm by Tahllea's strong arms.

"Lady Yssinel must have told you that my punishments are as painful as they are pleasurable." Tahllea said as she rained down two more hard slaps against Mjrina's firm bottom. Her woodland tan skin began to redden under the blows.

"Ah! Lady Tahllea, that hurts," Mjrina whimpered.

"Just relieve my curiosity, my dear, and I promise I'll put my hand to better use." Tahllea said, running her fingers through Mjrina's moist nether lips for emphasis. The girl's sex parted under her touch like a blooming flower.

"Oh, all right," Mjrina relented. After all, what harm could it do? "Mistress dined with a novitiate priestess from the Temple of Hanali two days ago. They met over a document, but that must have been a very private matter, because she asked me to leave."

"Good, obedient handmaidens always get their reward." Tahllea whispered, privately relieved that Mjrina had been naive enough to blurt out the truth. "You just keep picking herbs and I'll take care of the rest." Tahllea slipped three fingers into Mjrina's sodden pussy and pressed the heel of her hand against the Wood Elf's clit. Mjrina moaned and did her best to make sure her thick, fertile nectar did not drip onto the salad leaves.

***

Sigrid returned from her duties hot with frustration and humiliation. Perhaps, she thought, in time she would get used to living with yet another deception. It was not, rationally speaking, Yssinel's fault. The Enchantress had merely taken advantage of a situation Sigrid had created. That said, Sigrid looked forward to throwing herself under the covers and forgetting the day had ever happened. Upon stepping into her room, however, she realised something was not quite right.

The air was thick with a fragrant smoke that smelled faintly of resin. Sigrid breathed it in and immediately felt light-headed yet deeply aware of form and texture. All light had been extinguished, except for a few judiciously placed rose-scented candles. Sigrid shut the door behind her and turned to her bed. Mjrina lay sprawled out on the covers, wearing only the long necklace of black sea-shells Sigrid had given her. Beside her was an earthenware jug full of a viscous, amber-coloured fluid.

"You know exactly how to put me in a good mood." Sigrid breathed, swiftly tugging off her boots and unlacing her tunic. Mjrina smiled and parted her thighs. Her dark pink sex was rich and slick with arousal. Sigrid cast her tunic off and pounced on Mjrina, engulfing the Wood Elf girl's sensual lips in a deep, lusty kiss. Mjrina's body was firm, yet soft under Sigrid's touch. The aasimar's caress wandered, running up the expanse of Mjrina's thigh to the delectable curve of her bottom.

"This," Mjrina whispered between playful flicks of her tongue against Sigrid's lips, "is wild honey. The best quality - I bought it today in the market."

"What do you want me to do with it?" the aasimar inquired breathlessly. Her heart hammered in her chest. Mjrina was even more sensual in the aromatic haze that surrounded them. Her mouth dipped instinctively, leaving a long, wet trail down the Wood Elf girl's throat.

"Anything you like..." Mjrina sighed. Sigrid squeezed the wondrous globes of Mjrina's bottom, her fingers digging into the soft flesh. Mjrina took a deep, ragged breath and bit her lip as Sigrid greedily latched on to a taut, rubbery nipple and began suckling hungrily. Sigrid felt her desire mount with the erotic warmth of the Wood Elf's body pressed so close to her own. She bit down gently on Mjrina's coffee-in-milk brown nipple and gave a sharp tug, eliciting a whimpering sigh from her lover. Mjrina threw her head back, her free-flowing verdant tresses flowing through the smoky haze, while Sigrid sucked hungrily at her full, rounded breasts.

Sigrid felt her inhibitions departing one by one. She roughly forced Mjrina's thighs apart and dipped her hand in the jar of warm, sticky honey. The liquid was deeply sensual, reminiscent of Mjrina's nectar. Sigrid drew out a handful of honey and smeared it between the tight, deep valley of Mjrina's bottom. The Wood Elf maiden sighed in pleasure, her fingernails dug into Sigrid's back for support as she thrust her hips outwards, inviting Sigrid to explore deeper. The aasimar did not need to be asked. She seized another handful of viscous honey and thrust her sticky thumb against the tight rosebud of Mjrina's anus.

Mjrina smiled lasciviously and relaxed. Sigrid's thumb slipped into the hot, moist recesses of the Wood Elf's bottom without resistance. A second finger followed and then a third, much to Mjrina's squealing delight. Sigrid jerked her hand roughly out of Mjrina's rosebud and gathered more honey. This time, the penetration was swift and hard. Four fingers slipped into the winking little star of the Wood Elf's bottom, all slick with honey. Sigrid thrust the viscous fluid inside, coating the inner walls of her lover's anus. Mjrina was beyond caring about the pain throbbing in her overstretched rosebud. All she wanted was a raw, dirty climax with Sigrid's hand deep in her bottom.

Heat, smoke and the smell of Mjrina's pussy and her sweat filled Sigrid's mind. That was all she knew. She wrenched her fingers from Mjrina's bottom, leaving sticky strands of honey trailing over the Wood Elf maiden's inner thighs. Sigrid seized Mjrina by the waist and threw her against the pillows. She wanted to taste her, taste the honey that poured in a golden stream from her bottom. Mjrina gasped, her loins burning with wet passion. The lush Wood Elf thrust her face against the silken pillow, hips raised, and parted her bottom for Sigrid's lusty gaze. Her tight little rosebud pouted deliciously, slick with freely dripping honey that ran into the petals of her sex. Sigrid knelt behind her lover and thrust her lips between the glorious curves of Mjrina's bottom.

Wild, rich sweetness flooded the aasimar's mouth, mingled with the earthy muskiness of Mjrina's bottom. The taste was addictive. Sigrid thrust her tongue against the tight little star of her lover's anus, lapping up hot, musky honey. There was but one symphony in the aasimar's passion-addled mind and that was Mjrina's mewling gasps. The Wood Elf maiden had a hand between her thighs, furiously diddling her clit while Sigrid's tongue flicked hungrily between the tan orbs of her buttocks. Mjrina's rosebud tensed for a moment under Sigrid's tongue and then relaxed, releasing another thick flow of honey into the aasimar's waiting mouth. Sigrid slipped her thumbs in Mjrina’s aching rosebud and pulled the little star apart to thrust her tongue inside to drink from the earthy pool of honey in the Wood Elf’s bottom. There was no reason anymore. They were locked together, just as Mjrina had intended, like participants in a fertility festival for the Forest Mother.

"I want your pussy." Sigrid said hoarsely and Mjrina nodded and sat up to thrust her tongue between her lover's lips once more, desperate to taste the forbidden sweetness of the honey that coated the aasimar's lips.

Sigrid found herself thrust down on the bed as Mjrina placed her knees on either side of the aasimar’s shoulders and lowered her ripe, juicing pussy onto her face. Then, the Wood Elf forced Sigrid's thighs apart, splitting the plump, smooth peach of the aasimar's sex. Rosy nether lips, glistening in creamy arousal were revealed to Mjrina's adoring gaze. She mashed her sodden pussy against Sigrid's lips, writhing in delight as she felt Sigrid's tongue spring to work against her clit. Mjrina parted the inner lips of Sigrid's sex and settled between the aasimar's thighs, lapping hungrily while Sigrid licked her.

Honey continued to flow from Mjrina’s anus, loosened by the warmth of her body, so that it puddled into the inner lips of her sex, mingling with the Wood Elf's rich, musky nectar. Sigrid eagerly lapped up that mingled juice, revelling in the silky heaven of Mjrina's pussy under her lips and tongue. The aasimar's pale skin was flushed with passion and the ecstatic effects of the burning resin. Mjrina caught Sigrid's clit between her teeth and began strumming her tongue against the glistening, pearl-hard bud with her tongue. The aasimar's sex tasted of paradise - so strongly female, but with the sweet, floral delicacy of an elf. She wanted to explore further; so Mjrina thrust two fingers into Sigrid's sodden channel, drawing a low, satisfied moan from her lover.

The aasimar was tight, her sex contracting spasmodically against Mjrina's invading fingers. She was clearly not used to being penetrated. That, Mjrina thought lasciviously, would have to change. The Wood Elf maiden continued flicking her tongue against Sigrid's clit while she moved her fingers back and forth, fucking the aasimar's pussy. Sigrid came first, the tide of her pleasure flooding her loins with a wave of spasmodic satisfaction. Her cries were drowned in the slick blossom of Mjrina's sex.

Mjrina's juice burned on Sigrid's lips. The aasimar felt a surge of desire, rising like the plumes of smoke that filled the chamber. She seized the Wood Elf maiden by her waist and rolled her onto the floor. Mjrina grunted and positioned herself on her hands and knees, submissively presented her bottom and sex. Blind with need, Sigrid mounted her, grinding her sopping sex against the delicious curve of Mjrina's bottom. She dipped her hand once more into the jar of honey and thrust four fingers into Mjrina's pussy and her thumb in the prone girl's anus. Mjrina bit her lip to stop herself from crying out. The pressure in her loins built as Sigrid pressed her thumb and fingers together through the thin membrane that separated them. Gasping, thrusting her sex against Mjrina's thigh, leaving hot, wet, creamy trails, Sigrid finally brought Mjrina to climax. The Wood Elf maiden felt her channel and rosebud contract in vain around Sigrid's fingers as a wave of burning relief swept over her.

Sigrid jerked her hand out of Mjrina and dragged the Wood Elf girl up by her hair to kiss her with burning ferocity. "Again," Mjrina said huskily as she busily cleaned Sigrid's hand soaked with honey and thick nectar. "Please...again and again."

They made love like revelling nymphs until the narcotic resin finally burned out and Sigrid slumped, exhausted, her muscles aching onto the bed. Mjrina, slick with sex, sweat and honey, cuddled up to her lover's side. The bedcovers beneath them were moist and sticky. Sigrid was the first to catch enough breath to speak. "We should change the sheets..." she whispered, her small, pert breasts rising and falling with each frantic breath. Her raspberry-red nipples were turgid.

"No," Mjrina corrected. "Always sleep in the same bed you made love in. It's good for fert-...what I meant was that it's tradition. When a Wood Elf girl has her flower breached, it brings her good fortune to sleep on the bloodstained sheets."

"I'd really love to see a Wood Elf village one day. Maybe you'll take me." Sigrid said dreamily. They both needed a long, warm bath, but that could wait till morning.

"Maybe." Mjrina conceded. "Who first made your flower blossom?" It was an intimate question, to be sure, but Mjrina wanted to know everything about her new lover.

Sigrid paused, absentmindedly tousling Mjrina's hair. "I did." she said at length.

"What?" Mjrina gasped, as if Sigrid had just uttered a blasphemy.

"There was a time..." Sigrid's voice trailed off as she gathered her thoughts. "There was a time when I didn't like myself very much and so I did stupid, painful things, just so I could express my hatred for my own body."

"But...you're beautiful!" Mjrina cried. "Everyone in Imej envies you."

"The rest of my family was human - they feared and despised me." Sigrid replied curtly. "I cut my wrists once with a razor and they bound my wounds just in time. When I had my first cycle, I didn't get the same presents my stepsister did when she had hers. So I put that same razor in my sex and took my own maidenhead. I have a brilliant healer to thank that there's no scarring."

"Blessed Forest Mother!" Mjrina said, covering her mouth with her hands in shock.

"It's not my favourite story." Sigrid said with a wan smile. "But I stopped crying about it a while back. I suppose it's just stuff you outgrow." In truth, the aasimar still felt an open wound in her soul, but there was no use burdening Mjrina with it. Soon, her family would be but a distant memory. Then, hopefully, her emotional wounds would fade away just like her physical injuries.

"Well," Mjrina said soothingly, "you're safe here. No one would ever make you do something like that..."

"Mjrina," Sigrid interrupted, rolling onto her side to face her lover. "Would you run away with me?"

"Where to?" the Wood Elf maiden inquired, stunned at Sigrid's sudden question.

"Anywhere. Just the two of us under the stars, drifting from place to place. There is such a vast world to explore out there. I'd like to explore the warm seas to the South and meet Neraisa again, or to travel to the deep North where the Star Elves live."

"I love epic romances too, Sigrid, but we both have a life and friends here. You're my heroine, but a heroine never flees, she embraces her destiny, whatever that may be." Mjrina said gently.

"Do you want to share my destiny?" Sigrid breathed, almost inaudibly.

"Yes."

***

Friends

“Just do me one favour.” Min said, stalking uneasily through the narrow, immaculately tended alleyways of Imej. “You’ve got to stop introducing me as your wife.” That particular designation had rankled the tiefling. But that was to be expected from wild, sensuous Min, who had paced through the smoky, dilapidated streets of Sigil, the great Wheel-City at the nexus of the Multiverse. She carried herself with feline grace: her body was slender and athletic, like a leopard’s, but the swell of her high, firm breasts and the sensual flare of her bottom and thighs were undeniably female in a dangerous, predatory sort of way. Her tiefling heritage - for she was descended from the union of a demon and a mortal - showed in the rose-agate tint of her pale skin, and the long, straight, deep ember-red hair that flower around her face like a veil. Her visage was more striking still: her features were sharply beautiful, with high, wonderfully sculpted cheekbones and lightly slanted eyes that burned with orange fire. Her lips were eroticism itself, lush, full and sultry. Predictably she preferred functional clothing and she wore a form-fitting grey sleeveless blouse that left her lithely muscular midriff bare, with skin-tight red leather breeches and high, brown boots.

“I know, my love,” Aerylle replied amiably, feeling very much relieved that she was finally at home after so much time spent in the cosmopolitan melting pot of Sigil. “But ‘bonded lover’ sounds so pretentious in the Common tongue. If it means that much to you, I suppose you could introduce me as your wife.” Aerylle walked with the bearing and grace of a true Grey Elven lady. Indeed, a stranger couple had never been seen on the streets of Imej. Aerylle was the very image of a cultured, desirable Elven woman. She was slim to the point of being waifish, but her limbs were beautifully proportioned and elegant, her skin a pale, snowy-white. As was Grey Elven custom, she kept her honey-blonde hair long and arrayed in an intricate series of thin braids and freely-flowing tresses. Her visage bore a deeply intellectual prettiness, like a schoolteacher who is inevitably lusted after by her students. Fine-boned and charmingly elfin, Aerylle’s greatest loveliness was in the deep, turquoise-blue of her almond eyes, filled with intelligence and kindness and framed by long, golden lashes. She had worn her simple, beige librarian’s robe for the journey and, although the garment was long, plain and unflattering, glimpses of Aerylle’s small, but flawless conical breasts and the infuriatingly erotic pertness of her bottom could be seen by the attentive observer.

“Sod it.” Min growled, staring menacingly at a passing group of Elven boys who quickly shrank back in fear at her alien gaze. “Just remember that you proposed.” Min’s cynicism was a façade. She was, in truth, deeply devoted to Aerylle, who, despite being a librarian whereas Min was a rogue and a woman of the world, had managed to convince the tiefling to formally bond with her. Min never thought she would see the day. She had a reputation for being the most prolific skirt-chaser in Sigil, bar none, so much so that concerned parents in more conservative districts would scrupulously lock up their daughters whenever Min was in sight.

In the end, as if to prove the irony of the Multiverse, it was the quietly bookish and sweetly romantic Aerylle who had succeeded in making an honest woman out of Min. Never in her wildest dreams had Min dreamed that she would fall for a librarian, but Aerylle offered understanding and security – things the tiefling had sometimes privately wished for on the violent, chaotic streets of Sigil.

"Now Min, remember that politeness is essential here. Please, just try to be on your best behaviour for Mother," Aerylle said with her formal, lecturing tone Min had grown to loathe. "Then, when we are alone, I will make sure that all your frustrations are relieved." Min allowed herself a typically enigmatic smile. Aerylle had a coy, understated way of making the most wanton proposals.

"Fact is, I don't speak Elven. I don't even know what I'm supposed to tell her." Min noted. Her voice was infused with a dangerous, sensual edge, so that whenever she spoke, her rich drawl reminded Aerylle of a purring hunting cat.

"Just say that you're happy to be bonded to her daughter, honoured to be a member of her family and I shall do the translating." Aerylle replied, taking Min's hand. "Now you have to be as dignified as possible, my dear Min. Appearances here are everything."

"I'll say." the tiefling remarked, casting her eyes over the shimmering architecture and the floating spheres and prisms of magical energy that floated through Imej's skyline. "I don't suppose you've got many whores, thieves or cutthroats 'round here."

"Not where I live." Aerylle said with some satisfaction. Min had grown up an orphan, forced to rely on her wits and her dagger to survive and prosper. It was only natural, Aerylle concluded, that the tiefling be taken aback by a world where her life-story was the stuff of melodrama and legend.

The path took them to a quiet quarter in a well-to-do residential district immediately beneath the great towers of Imej's aristocracy. Min noted that the homes by the side of a slowly bubbling canal were half-towers, modest but tasteful imitations of the grander affairs closer to the city centre. She followed Aerylle down a deserted lane flanked by carefully tended flowerbeds of violets and lupins. Everything appeared to be in a spontaneously neat order, so that when weeds poked through the cracks in the masonry and the flagstones, they seemed to do so with the aesthetics of the city in mind.

"Here we are" Aerylle declared, pausing in front of an exquisitely carved rosewood door with the stylised image of a book inlaid in silver and copper decorating its surface. Aerylle pressed an elegant, poetess' hand against the door and uttered a short incantation. The locking mechanism whirred and the portal slid open, revealing a small, but well-furnished reception room. Tall, ornamental flowers sprung up from crystal and porcelain vases, surrounding artfully carved rosewood furniture. At the centre of the chamber was a great crystal harp, the symbolic heirloom of Aerylle's family, its origins lost in the mists of time.

A melodious bell rang out, announcing Aerylle's entry. Within moments, her mother came floating down the spiral stairway at the far end of the reception room. Min tensed, feeling deeply awkward. Elven formality struck her as odd and affected, yet she was eager not to be too much of an embarrassment for Aerylle. The mistress of the house turned out to be as sternly intimidating as Min had suspected. No surprise, the tiefling concluded, considering how Aerylle had turned out.

“My daughter, it is my pleasure to greet you and your chosen life-mate. I take it you are Min,” she said, scrutinising the tiefling with a slightly bemused expression. “It is my honour to welcome you into this house. I am certain that you and my daughter will find much happiness together.” Min did not understand Elven, but she could detect a definite lack of sincerity.

“Min does not speak Grey Elven, mother.” Aerylle said, dutifully sinking into her mother’s embrace. Despite the disagreements they had in the past, mostly regarding Aerylle’s unconventional life choices, there was something deeply reassuring about breathing in her mother’s familiar perfume and feeling her arms wrapped protectively around her waist.

“This comes as no surprise to me.” Aerylle’s mother chided. “Would you then be so good as to translate for me?”

“Certainly, mother.” Aerylle whispered demurely in the kind of obedient, girlish voice that made Min feel doubly grateful that she had never known her parents. “Min, my love,” Aerylle began in the Common tongue, “this is Lady Almuril, my esteemed mother.”

“Uhm…hello.” Min began. On second thought, Almuril was probably not as forbidding as the first glance had suggested. Aerylle obviously took after her, for Almuril was fine-boned and coolly beautiful, her features marked by a distinguished maturity. She wore a simple, copper coloured house dress that fell flatteringly over her taut, compact curves. Min found herself wondering whether Almuril’s breasts were perfect handfuls like Aerylle’s, or whether her nipples were the same vibrant, berry-pink.

“Curtsy!” Aerylle hissed under her breath in Common, hoping Min would get the message.

“What?” Min replied, perplexed. “So…how do you do, Miss Almuril?” the tiefling said with an enigmatic smile. Aerylle frowned. That was the same tone Min used in her well-oiled seduction routines.

“What Min would like to say, mother,” Aerylle said, forcing a broad smile, “is that she is most pleased to meet you and that only as noble a lady as yourself could have given birth to such as daughter as me.”

“My dear child,” Almuril said softly, planting a loving kiss on Aerylle’s hair. “You never were a very good liar. But never mind. I am happy that you have decided to find some direction in your life. I just have one question…”

“What would that be, mother dear?” Aerylle said in her most simpering tone.

“What exactly is she?” Almuril was a woman of experience who had spent the bulk of her adult life managing the commercial business of the bookbinding workshop owned by her bonded lover – Aerylle’s father. She was certainly not immune to Min’s charms. As far as she was concerned, the tiefling had charisma in a primitively erotic sort of way.

“What did she just ask?” Min inquired curiously. With a casual sweep of her hand, she brushed back a few strands of ruby-red hair. Almuril immediately noticed the redness of Min’s nails. No nail-paint, no matter how luxurious, could create a colour of such depth.

“Nothing, my darling Min,” Aerylle lied. “Just some small talk.”

“So?” Almuril pressed sternly. Aerylle had no defence against that tone of voice.

“Min…is a tiefling, mother.” Aerylle replied. As far as she knew, there was no specific Grey Elven term to describe Min.

“And what would that be? Is she human? Half-Elven?” Almuril was already mentally preparing for what she would have to tell her friends.

“It is a long and boring story, mother,” Aerylle said hastily. “Perhaps we could discuss it later. For now, I think we should just let Min freshen up. It has been a long journey.”

“As you wish.” Almuril conceded. Her joy at seeing her daughter again after over a year was more than enough to compensate for Min’s menacing, dangerously sensual presence in her home. “I made sure your old room was ready to receive both of you. Tonight, we should all dine together. Your father is most curious to meet Min.”

“What about Faenya?” Aerylle inquired.

“Your sister’s performance at the Academy of Illusion has so far been disappointing. I ordered her to stay another month to catch up with her studies.” That, Aerylle decided, was no great loss.

With formalities out of the way, Aerylle led Min up the spiral staircase and into a small landing, adorned by a single, giant orchid growing out of a blue stoneware vase. There, Aerylle’s room lay prepared, as custom dictated, with a large crown of white and pink flowers which had been laid on the writing desk. The window had been left open, so that the cool afternoon breeze could sweep through the fluttering silk curtains. The first thing Aerylle noticed was her new bed – now almost double the size of the old one, so that it seemed to dominate the room. A gold-embroidered blue canopy sat above it, but, aside from that, the tapestries, finely-woven carpets and judiciously chosen library of leatherbound books were all the same ones she remembered from when she had left.

“Nice place.” Min mused, sauntering in, her hips swaying temptingly with each step. “Make me wonder why you’d want to leave.” The tiefling ran her hands curiously over Aerylle’s bookshelf. She could barely read Common, let alone elegant Elven cursive, but the room was almost exactly how she had imagined it.

“Mother and I had a disagreement. I thought I already told you that story.” Aerylle said. She stepped out of her plain travelling boots and set about finding a decent pair of sandals from her cedar-wood clothes chest.

“Yeah, the Wood Elf girl.” said Min. She went up to the window and stared out onto the orderly towers and domed temples of Imej. In the distance, a great glacier dominated the horizon, reflecting sunlight like a monumental mirror. “D’you reckon you’ll see her again someday?”

“My poor Mjrina.” Aerylle whispered, trying very hard not to let her emotion get the better of her. Coming back to her room brought back so many painfully joyous memories. “Wherever she is, I pray to Sehanine every night for her to be safe and happy.”

“If you mother didn’t want you to be with a Wood Elf, what makes you think she’ll put up with the likes of me?” Min was used to being dismissed out of hand for her heritage. That said, the sneering women wrapped in silk which mocked her kind by day, inevitably became moist and pliant by night with but a kiss from Min’s sultry, blood-red lips.

“All the time I was in Sigil, I wrote to my mother. I explained my reasons for leaving and, after that first night we spent together at the Waterside Inn, I confessed my love for you. She was sceptical at first, but I wrote to her almost every day, until she realised that what you and I have is not a childish game, but a great tree that has taken root…”

“Fuck!” Min growled with mock irritation. “No weepy, girly Elven poetic screed, please!”

“Min!” Aerylle warned. “First, for the umpteenth time, there is no need for language of that sort. Second, try to be sensitive. I know you’re a loving woman inside and it is certainly not a sign of weakness to show it here.” The Grey Elven librarian finally chose a pair of azure slippers, tied around the ankle with strips of satin. She closed the clothes chest and, quite casually, began undressing.

“Wouldn’t want me to embarrass you in front of your friends, now would we?” Min taunted, pacing curiously around Aerylle’s writing desk.

“They aren’t just my friends.” Aerylle corrected. She tugged off her plain librarian’s robe and pulled down her white satin culottes so she could finally stand gloriously naked in the fresh Imej air. Then, she set about carefully folding her clothes and laying them in a wicker laundry basket. “Grey Elven families are small and since we age somewhat more slowly than other races, we often find that we have little in common with our brothers or sisters for long periods of time. So my best friends at school became my sisters. We spent more time together than we did at home.”

“And these friends of yours, they’re all librarian types?” Something caught Min’s attention. A long, ornate wooden box with a floral motif and writing in Elven lay beneath the circular wreath on the desk.

“All in due time my dear. Right now, I really need a long, hot bath.” Aerylle sighed. Her mother, as usual, had anticipated her request and warm, fragrant steam was already wafting through the door that separated her bedchamber from the bathing nook.

“Say, princess, what’s in here?” Min inquired as she started to lift the box’s lid.

“Oh, no, Min…wait, let me explain!” Aerylle called, dashing over to the tiefling’s side to prevent her from opening the fateful container.

She arrived just a moment too late. “Wow, princess, you’ve got to be fucking joking!” Min gasped with a playful smile on her lips. Sure enough, lying in the box amidst a pile of letters in elegant, schoolgirl cursive, some moderately accomplished sketches of a nude Elven girl, and simple silver jewellery was an old silk and porcelain doll, shaped in the perfect likeness of a legendary Elven sorceress. The detail on the doll’s miniature Archmage’s robe was exquisite.

“That,” Aerylle sighed, curiously leaning over the desk by Min’s side, “is Lajnninel. When I was a child, I was afraid of the dark. She protected me from wraiths and shadows.” Lajnninel had been her favourite doll from a truly vast collection now stored in her home’s basement – a collection Min would, hopefully, never ask to see.

“Why did your mother leave it here?” Min asked, barely restraining her gentle laughter.

“When a woman forms a life-bond, the most important items of her previous life are set aside in a box, so that she may reflect on her past. Often it’s mainly childhood memories, things mothers like collecting and storing away.” Aerylle felt a lump of emotion in her throat. Her mother had kept all her sketches and many of the love letters Aerylle had surreptitiously thrown away because she could not bring herself to burn them.

“Who’s the girl?” Min said, running her fingers over the smooth, creamy surface of a lovingly rendered sketch.

“Yssinel. You will meet her soon.” Aerylle whispered, feeling a wave of memories flooding back into her mind.

“Hmm…one of your friends with money?” Min whispered huskily, wrapping her arms around Aerylle’s waist. She pressed her lips against Aerylle’s delicately pointed ear, her tongue snaking out for just an instant to plant a wet, playful lick on the sensitive skin.

Aerylle moaned softly, letting Min’s hands wander freely up her taut belly to cup her deliciously pert breasts. “There were four of us, as far back as we can remember. I remember the first, frightening days of school – Yssinel who was always smiling, Ennaeli who was too shy to speak a word in public and Tahllea who cried whenever she was made to wear a dress. We simply grew into each other. Yssinel may be wealthy, but she never made anyone resent it…”

“Uhm…you do know that you’re naked and that a wicked tiefling with only one thing on her mind has a craving for a cute, blonde Elf right about now?” Min said, her voice dripping with sensual menace.

“Yes…Min,” Aerylle sighed as the tiefling’s tongue began to flick rhythmically against her ear. “But I should really have a bath first…all the sweat and dust from the journey…”

“Fucking isn’t ‘bout being high-up and finicky, it’s about tasting, feeling, hearing.” Min said reverently, pinching Aerylle’s stiff, rubbery nipples between her fingers. “I want to taste you as you are. It doesn’t matter if we’re in a dark alleyway or the Queen’s throne room. When you want someone, you just let it happen.”

“Do you want me?” Aerylle whimpered, her sex pulsing with need. Min had introduced her to a world of fiery, primal lovemaking that would have been inconceivable to a Grey Elven lady, but which felt so profoundly right in Min’s hands.

“Yeah. So much it hurts.” Min spun Aerylle around and lifted her onto the desk. They did not even bother to close the door.

***

In order to celebrate Aerylle’s return, an intimate but luxurious reception had been set up in Yssinel’s winter garden. Three long couches had been arranged in a triangle around a wide, circular table where a vast selection of freshly-baked pastries, tarts and puddings showed off the mastery of the House’s cook. The garden had been swept down, so that the snowy surface was soft and fine-grained, while the ornamental bushes and verdant perennials had been expertly pruned for the occasion.

Tahllea waited impatiently, standing rigidly while Yssinel lay sprawled out on her couch, leisurely watching a few clouds pass by. In her mind, the Enchantress rehearsed the words she had been preparing for years. Then, the fateful moment came. With the tinkling of a silver bell, Aerylle came through the vine-shrouded gate of the garden, clad in her favourite sky-blue gown which consisted of two, long strips of gossamer silk, held together at the waist by an array of thin, silver chains. The dress flowed around Aerylle’s elegant form and Yssinel could not help but sigh in wonder. Aerylle was even more beautiful than the last time they had met. Tahllea, however, was far more focused on the lithe, enigmatic form of Min, who immediately stood out for the urban greyness of her dress and her insolent, roguish gait.

“Mithyla!” Yssinel called, swiftly rising to her feet to cast herself into Aerylle’s embrace. “My treasure, it’s been so long.”

“I wrote, Shannaeliia.” Aerylle replied, a little overwhelmed by the strength of the emotions that filled her at the sight of her friend. “We were not meant to be so long apart, but I tried to tell you everything in my letters…”

“Hush,” Yssinel breathed, drawing Aerylle into a soft, intimate kiss. “It is enough for us that you have returned.”

Min cocked her head curiously to one side. Aerylle had much explaining to do. Tahllea waited impatiently for Yssinel to finish her effusive greeting, before finally remarking, “I see you discovered much beauty in your travels, Mithyla, welcome home and my blessings for your union. Yssinel was always very kind in forwarding the snippets of your letters that were actually addressed to me.”

“Oh, Kyrithi!” Aerylle sighed, affecting indignation. She threw her arms around Tahllea’s neck, much to Yssinel’s private irritation. “I know you don’t like writing much, but you were always in my thoughts.”

Tahllea found herself smiling despite her worries. Aerylle’s affection was so genuine and unforced that she had no choice but to grant the pretty librarian an affectionate kiss and a subtly lascivious caress on her bottom. That was their private joke, but it had certainly not gone unnoticed. Min crossed her arms impatiently, feeling quite invisible.

Diplomatic as ever, it was Yssinel who drew her into the fold. “You must be Min.” she began in halting, melodically accented Common. “Come, my dear.”

“Nice to meet you.” the tiefling said, nodding her head in acknowledgement. She knew that Elven women kissed in greeting, but was not prepared for Yssinel’s elfin form so close to her body, her lips warm and slightly parted.

“She is gorgeous.” Yssinel enthused in Elven, turning to smile approvingly at Aerylle. “So sensual…her skin has the perfume of incense. Hmm…I wonder what her pretty little blossom tastes like…”

“Shannaeliia!” Aerylle scolded, blushing an endearing shade of pink. “That is hardly appropriate.”

“I agree.” Tahllea interjected tersely. “Stop being so childish.”

Yssinel smiled and composed herself. “Apologies, then, I was just trying to be playful. Never matter, perhaps, my dear Tahllea, you could show Min around, just so she finds her bearings while Aerylle and I catch up on a little news.”

“No, Yssinel, let her stay.” Aerylle protested. “It has been years since I last saw her.”

“But Aerylle, my love, I have a wonderful surprise for you.” Yssinel insisted, ushering the librarian over to a couch.

“As you wish.” Aerylle sighed. Yssinel had always had an unnerving, elliptical way of doing things. “Min, sorry to ask, but would you give us a moment?”

“Sure.” Min shrugged. She had no great desire to hear Yssinel and Aerylle chattering on in an infuriatingly incomprehensible language.

“Follow me, then,” Tahllea called in remarkably fluent Common. “I suppose we may as well be acquainted. I’m Tahllea”

“Min.” the tiefling replied. One quick glance over the Bladesinger was enough for Min to appraise her. Charming woman, Min thought, though she seemed to have little in common with Aerylle and Yssinel. At least, in Min’s eyes, she dressed sensibly: a high-necked light yellow shirt, skintight dark blue breeches tucked into high, elegant woodland-brown boots.

“Finally someone’s making sense in this place.” Min noted wryly, following Tahllea through the garden gate and into an open-air hallway decorated with lifelike marble statues of dancing nymphs.

“I’m told the first approach is always a little daunting.” Tahllea said. Just by hearing the rhythm of Min’s bootsteps, she could deduce that the tiefling was an extremely capable fighter.

“Where d’you learn Common?” Min inquired. Aerylle was remarkable in being able to learn languages quickly, but most Elves in Imej seemed to have little interest in learning human or other ‘barbaric’ tongues.

“I travelled. I’m a Bladesinger by profession and a blademistress can never call herself such unless she has seen what other worlds have to offer.” Tahllea explained. They had moved into Elinathanal’s private art gallery which occupied a large, circular chamber under a domed roof. Suffused light glinted from two floating spheres of eldritch energy, casting the perfect luminescence to appreciate the myriad of paintings, sculptures and works of calligraphy on display.

“Where to?” Min pressed. Following Tahllea had inevitably drawn attention to the High Elf woman’s hard, but deliciously tight bottom.

“Toril.” Tahllea replied distractedly. She was far more interested in thinking about how to get to Yssinel’s study as soon as possible to consult the Enchantress’ personal papers before they were definitively disposed of.

“Lots of clueless berks in Sigil are from there.” Min said, casting her eyes curiously over a wonderfully vivid oil painting of an iris in which each petal was exquisitely detailed. “So what’s it like? Any nice girls? Boys?”

“Girls,” Tahllea corrected firmly. “As for Toril, Evermeet is nice, but the rest of that world is a little brutish.”

“You don’t like humans?” Min inquired, the blooming iris definitely reminded her of something.

“Sometimes, for a change,” Tahllea conceded, grudgingly admiring the wiry musculature of Min’s belly and flanks as the tiefling bent over to inspect the painting further. “I must confess I have a weakness for large breasts, a vice I can’t exactly indulge very often amongst Elves.” She felt no shame in being so frank with Min. She had known from the snippets of Aerylle’s letters and from her first glance of Min that the tiefling shared many of her interests.

“What about Dark Elves?” Min said snidely.

“Don’t test my patience.” Tahllea growled. The mere mention of the drow was enough to fill most surface Elves with rage and fear.

“Why so touchy?” Min shrugged. “They’ve got really impressive tits.”

“Do you enjoy provoking me?” Tahllea said, angrily striding over to Min’s side.

“At least I got a reaction from you.” the tiefling purred. “Y’see, everything in this city makes it look like a fucking doll house. Everyone’s all perfect, clean and beautiful on the outside…makes me wonder whether there isn’t something a little more interesting under the surface.”

“I suppose I could hardly expect you to understand.” Tahllea snapped. “A demon-blooded half-breed such as yourself will never see beauty or art the way we do.”

“Art, hmm?” Min said, tapping a ruby-red fingernail against the painted iris. “This looks an awful lot like a pussy.”

“Allegory, Min, allegory.” Tahllea said.

“Huh?”

“For Grey Elves, sensuality is poetic, the flower represents an Elven woman’s sex – hence, the ‘Blossom of Hanali’ in Elven: arina eiHanali.” Tahllea explained. There was something in the burning, orange intensity of Min’s eyes that was entrancing, like the burning gaze of a panther.

“You’re having your bleed, aren’t you.” Min noted calmly with an enigmatic smile, her face hovering a few inches from Tahllea’s.

Tahllea bit her lip. “I would appreciate it if you weren’t so crude in your language, but if you must know, yes.” Yssinel had been right, Min’s red-tinted skin smelled like incense. The tiefling’s lush, red lips parted slightly and Tahllea felt a tightness beginning to form in her belly.

“Then you’re lucky.” Min breathed. “I like that.”

Tahllea stared at Min for a long, pregnant moment and then pounced to grab the tiefling’s waist. Min’s swift hands intercepted her halfway, so that they stood, locked between a struggle and an embrace. Tahllea moved first. She captured Min’s sultry, soft lips in a searing kiss and thrust her tongue into the tiefling’s mouth. Not to be outdone, Min kissed back, her hunger burning over in a ferocious duel as they struggled to kiss the lifebreath from each other’s lungs. Min’s lips were divinely sensuous and Tahllea felt a surge of desire in her loins as her sex tightened, her nipples pebbling against the silky fabric of her shirt.

When Min finally broke the kiss, breathless but delirious with lust, Tahllea backed up against cool, stone wall and fumbled with her breeches. Min knelt before her and roughly helped her pull the offending garment down. The silk padding on the inside of Tahllea’s breeches was stained a deep red. Min licked her lips and parted the Bladesinger’s thighs. A vivid red rose blossomed from under the snowy, plump mound of Tahllea’s sex. The High Elf’s slick, pink nether lips were streaked with viscous red fluid where blood had mixed with fragrant nectar. Min eased the inner lips of Tahllea’s pussy apart, drawing a sharp cry of pleasure form the Bladesinger. The aroma was delicious: hot, steely and rich with female musk.

Min began to lap hungrily, just to taste Tahllea first, her tongue trailing down the petals of the Bladesinger’s sodden sex. Hot iron flooded Min’s tongue, the taste of metal mixed with salt and the residual, flowery sweetness of Elven womanhood. Tahllea barely managed to restrain a whimper. The tiefling’s technique was flawless. Min’s licks became ever more accurate as she circled the tiny hood around the glistening pearl of Tahllea’s clit. The Bladesinger seized Min’s silky, ember-red hair and thrust herself hard against the tiefling’s face. Her belly was on fire with need, spurred on by Min’s precise little licks against her clit.

Then, quite casually, Min thrust two fingers into Tahllea’s burning channel. She felt hot liquid deep inside. Blood and nectar, Min thought, her tongue cloyed with coppery juice, the essence of life. Tahllea’s gripped Min’s hair tightly in her hands as she began to grind her sex rhythmically against the tiefling’s skilled tongue. She grunted with each thrust, heat and passion building in her loins, filling her with aching tension. Min twisted her fingers deep in Tahllea’s sex, her hand covered in musky, red streams and the Bladesinger came in barking, ragged gasps. The tiefling continued licking, eager to catch each drop of rich menstrual blood on her lips.

With a hard jerk, Tahllea pulled Min’s hair to gaze upon the tiefling’s face. It was a profusion of red: her hair, her eyelashes, her lips, the streaks of blood and nectar on her cheeks that made her look like a sensually brutal demon. Tahllea sank to her knees to kiss Min and tasted iron. The same metallic scent and flavour she revelled in each time she kissed her sword. Min smiled lasciviously and submitted to Tahllea’s passionate embrace. With her bloodstained fingers, she painted outline of the Bladesinger’s lips.

“Do I look like a war-goddess?” Tahllea growled breathlessly, the scent of steel quickened her blood. Her face was flushed and there was something primal and savage in her golden eyes.

“Yeah,” Min replied between kisses.

“Tomorrow is the festival of the Celestial Sisters. Both moons will be full and I am to duel an upstart slip of a girl. Come, watch me triumph.” Tahllea said, her voice choked with passion.

“ ‘Course, how could I refuse?” Min answered. She looked up for a moment to contemplate the domed ceiling of the gallery. It was then that the centrepiece painting caught Min’s attention. Two nude nymphs, one with autumn-red and the other with verdant green hair sat on a divan, suggestively caressing a half-clothed Elven sorceress. Upon closer inspection, the sorceress’ face was Aerylle’s.

Readers interested in the back-story between Aerylle and Mjrina can read “The Tale of Aerylle’s Lost Love” at: /files/Authors/CrimsonLotus/Tale%20of%20Aerylle's%20Lost%20Love.htm ; readers interested in the beginnings of Aerylle’s relationship with Min can read “Preludes of Sigil, Part II” at: /files/Authors/CrimsonLotus/Preludes%20of%20Sigil%20Part%20II.htm

To be continued in “Sehanine’s Moonblade”.