Bella’s back is its own sort of wall. You got your wish, Dany. She followed. Now it’s your turn to follow her down the shining streets like a little lost puppy, chewing on what she said, trying to make it make sense.
“I’m sorry,” she said. To Beljani, next to her, moving at the same pace. (Slower than Dany usually goes. The Princess’s feet aren’t quite certain about what they’re doing.) “I just… I didn’t see you around. Much. There’s a lot I didn’t know, and not just about…”
She stares at the blue-black hair. The gentle sway. The furious prowl.
“…I couldn’t keep any of the assassin schools straight. Not their names, not what they could, can do, because I thought I didn’t know any. Mynx was just Mynx. Bella…”
An ear twitches. Maybe she’s listening. Maybe not. Could she, so far away?
“It’s like they’re two different people who are the same person. Bella, my best friend. Bella, the assassin who chased me down. And if she doesn’t know who I am, I guess it’s mutual, because— does she think I like Beautiful? I thought she, because of what happened, and Beautiful thought she liked me, which is ridiculous, because… because she hates me. Or hated me. Or doesn’t know if she hates me. If she doesn’t like Beautiful that way then why does she keep running away? Why does she keep pushing me—“
Dany stops. She walks in silence. Beljani stares at her extremely loudly. Somewhere, an Alcedi calls down a corridor, high and clear.
“Do you think she is ever going to forgive me?” Her voice is very small. Childish, even. “I keep trying. And no matter how I try, it hurts her worse, and— I thought she’d want to stay with Beautiful. Because she has feelings for her. But she thinks I’m the one, and, I don’t, I just…”
Beljani, awkwardly, offers Dany an embroidered lace kerchief (disposable). Dany wipes her eyes aggressively. Bella doesn’t turn around. But she slows down. Just a little bit.
The Maid seizes your wrist, her eyes smoldering. “You are not pathetic,” she squeaks. “You did this to me. That means you are worthy of defeating.” She leans in, closer. Her breath is warm, human. “When I come into my power again, then I will make you pathetic. Or… cute. Is that what you will be, in my cells beneath the wrack-sea? Cute? Will you be cute when there is no one to look at you but the dark?”
Her forehead makes contact with yours. Her eyes are large and dark. Her fingers rest against your vein, feeling your pulse flutter beneath it.
“Your punishment will be legend in all the annals of Hell,” she promises, lips so close to yours. “And all will know my glory, having overcome you, demonbinder, wanton, revolutionary. And you will wear your weakness so, so well. Cutie.”
Kalaya!
“Why should I?” Dima’s eyes are red-rimmed from crying, her robe loose and disheveled. It’s almost artful, but she doesn’t have the self-possession of someone who knows that she is making herself so beautifully miserable that she belongs on a tapestry. “I am the worst of knights— false, inconstant, a traitor to… love…”
She cradles her instrument like a beloved pet and begins inelegant bawling. Machi makes a dismissive noise and rolls her eyes, doubtless considering this an example of lowlander hysterics.
“I have betrayed both my love,” she manages to force out, “and the object of my lusts! Why should I even be alive? I will— I should dive into her waters— and in death, atone—“
One of her squires, a burly young woman with heavy hips, sits down next to her and wraps her arms protectively around the knight. Dima strains against the arms for a moment, and then crumples back into them. She stares forlornly at the river, as if forgetting your presence.
“I do not deserve either of them— my river or the daughter of the Dominion,” she concludes.
Han!
“What caused your feud?” Lotus’s eyes are wide and very innocent. “Sisters are always getting into those. Is it because she’s jealous of how pretty you are? Or did you steal something from her chambers? Or, no!” Something shifts just a little bit behind her eyes, and she looks back down the road, grip tightening on your arm. “Did you steal her girlfriend?? Han! You did, didn’t you??”
This is an innocent question provoked by Lotus’s innocence, and the fact that she probably knows all those gods better than ordinary people, and it is not a cunning and clever and sneaky way to get you talking about if you maybe have a girlfriend or like kissing girls? Haha that would be so silly, wouldn’t it? Answer the question. Do it now.
“I bet she was prettier than me,” she adds, Extremely Casually. “That’s why you had to ssss-woo her out from your sister’s arms! It happens all the time, so don’t even bother lying about it, I’ll know it really did happen!”
Piripiri! Giriel!
“You’ll laugh,” Crane says, nursing the tea. She has a deathgrip on the cup, as if it is the tether that holds her to life. Every other moment, it disappears under her veil for another sip, and— oh, thank you for refilling it, how kind of you. “But I have been chasing— following that fox all night!”
A door has suddenly opened for her to jump through. Her shoulders straighten as she takes the dive to safety and decency.
“I will, of course, spend much time meditating upon the goddess’s message about the land over which she holds dominion. One sleepless night is hardly anything when compared to enlightenment. Spiritual consciousness is the most valuable attainment any being may pursue, and if I achieve understanding of what the Sapphire Mother meant to communicate to me last night, I would consider that a greater gift than even the blood of the dragons.”
She takes a longer sip after that, perhaps weighing if she was too bold, or if she should double down.
“Which I say, of course, because we have our very own example of a dragon’s daughter without any spiritual attainment, who is much the worse for it. I would rather be myself right now, muddy and sleepless, than to be a raging brute like the Vermilion Beast of Lanterns. I wish someone would teach her a lesson sooner rather than later!”
Sagacious Crane radiates self-satisfaction as she closes her eyes. Just for a moment. She’s not falling asleep. She’s got tea, after all.
“Of course, that thug isn’t the worst thing to haunt our fair kingdoms— there is a much more dangerous spirit on the move, a trickster who falsely claims to be sent by heaven, having stolen the name Zhaojun. I have been spreading this warning everywhere I can, as is my humble duty. Beware her traps and schemes! She is an ill star who seeks to spread lies and misfortune! Why, I shouldn’t, but if you insist— thank you, you’re too kind.”
“Keep looking.” Jade has a hand on Dolly’s hair. So gentle. She needs you to keep looking, Dolly. Keep staring. Your eyes are your goddess’s cameras, her ability to create a 3D model of this little Huitla, to be able to still see her when you looks away. So keep looking.
What was that if not a challenge? She feinted, preened, dragged her claws while feigning to groom, unlaunched— unleashed a deliberate, calculated attack. Even before that flick of the tail across their faces, it was all meant to send a message. And it wasn’t a message for Dolly.
”…well!” Dolly adjusts her hair, still staring after that girl, barely needing the command. She had something! On the tip of her tongue! She’s seen that girl before, somewhere, but then she had a tail in her face and she’s lost it. Mira of the Gods-Smiting Whip. A pilot. Oh, right. She’s wearing the mesh. It’s just that she wasn’t so much looking at the suit as what the suit promised underneath. Streaking stars!
A pilot, wearing the mesh. What a presumptuous title for a mecha. Look at her taking her seat, pretending not to look at them. The challenge isn’t for here. It’s for the arena. This is theater. She thinks she can play the game like Jade can. That’ll be her mistake. Hubris! Proud little thing!
”I think we should probably— I should— don’t you think?” She glances over at Angela, who is huffing and glaring and imperiously tossing her braids, and at Ksharta, who glances over at her and agrees with a nod, because—
Because she’s made it so that ignoring her is impossible. Because trying to call her back gives her the opportunity to refuse to heed. Because disrespect needs to be addressed, or Angela and Ksharta might doubt the will that holds them both by the scruff. Because there’s only room in the nest for one dragon.
But on the off chance that this is some sort of trick, from a trickster, from someone who can make their face dance while their eyes are like melting ice…
”Ksharta, stay here. Jade thinks it might be… it might be a hide-the-shell game. Don’t let anyone take our Angela, okay?” She possessively nuzzles her cheek against Angela and snuffles. Hers. Stars. When their shoulders rubbed together last night. When she got to listen to Angela and heard the deep moans under the theatrical fussing. Hers. Is that wrong to want, Jade?
Well, she’ll let— they’ll let Angela go, after. And hopefully Angela will want revenge. And maybe this won’t be their only chance to play. But right now, she’s Dolly’s, just as much as she’s Jade’s and Ksharta’s. Her trophy. Her— her beloved Terenian. Is that allowed? Her nostrils flare a moment, her teeth peeking out from under her lip, before Jade tugs at her leash.
“Come along, Dolly.” Jade leads her beloved off the bench with a tug, marching her across the room like a victorious lodge mistress. “Chin up. Confident stride. She’s not worth worrying about. You belong to a goddess, one she can’t smite.”
Where was she from? Not university, it’s more recent than that. Not pit crew. Not from dinner. The look on her face was softer…
Dolly manages an excellent strut, as if she’s too important to pay much attention to anything else in the hall. The little trickster is watching them, and she doesn’t blink. She is small. Mortal. Another trophy. She’ll be begging forgiveness soon enough, once her mecha is overthrown, once her confidence is peeled away. She’ll be wishing she was Dolly, collared, leashed.
”You left before you could get an answer, Mira,” Dolly says, unprompted. Jade stands next to her, playing with the leash, running it between her fingers. “Do you often do that?” Oh, what a good girl. “Don’t let her answer. Tell her she’s yet to earn my interest.” ”You haven’t earned her— oh, Szerpaws! That’s where!” “Dolly!” ”Sorry, it’s just, it took me a minute!” “Dolly!!” ”I, just a minute, I just want you to know that you looked just lovely, that presentation was the climax of the night, and— mmf!”
“Dolly.” Jade waits a moment to let it sink in, a moment for Dolly to stand and fidget in front of those disrespectful eyes. “I don’t— it’s nice that she was Mayze Szerpaws?” Shake, shake, “nnmph.” “Was connected with Mayze Szerpaws, then. But that’s not what we’re here to talk about.”
In front of the model. She can’t keep eye contact. The embarrassment is flooding into her legs, her toes. Jade’s hand over her mouth, just because she was silly and excited and the model’s watching her, judging her, trying to— would she be clever enough to catch on? Like, like Angela? She seems as smart as Angela. Not as— she’s curvy, cloud-colored, pretty, invitingly soft to look at, but Angela’s, she’s got that, you know, she’s…
The hand lifts, and then as she opens her mouth to keep going, Jade smacks her rear. Punishment and encouragement and, and Jade knows how she’s feeling, how much like Angela, how much like everyone must be staring, even if she knows it’s just her and Mira. “AAII, I, you haven’t earned her attention yet, Mira.” “Of the Gods-Smiting Whip.” ”Of the Gods-Smiting Whip. You think you’re… very clever?” “Yes. Look at her. She thinks she’s so clever.” ”But flouncing— flouncing? Flouncing in here and showing your tail off isn’t impressive. Not like your modeling wasn’t impressive.” Her eyes flicker to Jade for a moment, who doesn’t seem interested in punishing her for squeaking that out. No, she’s focused on Mira.
Do you want to catch her, too, Jade? You’d need more than one Ksharta to help with that. Or is this about your pride? About seeing your Dolly get smacked in the face with a tail?
“…you can offer her homage or you can test the strength of your Whip against her, if you want to talk to her. Though if you’d just asked me in the first place, she probably would have listened. You didn’t really need to do the tail thing if you actually wanted to talk, which means…” “Oh, you figured it out, didn’t you?”
That she’s looking for a fight, if she’s not running some sort of misdirection. And Jade’s ready and eager for either. Just look at her! Angela’s a delight, but this kitten? She needs a firm hand on her mecha’s scruff.
“And will you return?” The Vizier is studying you carefully. She thinks little of you; thinks you a barbarian toy. She thinks that you would run off, foolishly, from the lap of luxury. Because you, little delight, do not understand your place in the grand order of existence.
But beneath that, she is very interested in what you are offering her: a way to control the Sultan elegantly, passively. A dream come true. All you have to do is assure her that you really can make it happen.
Soot!
You have a choice to make, Soot. Do you run? You can. It’s probably a good choice. Safer than trying to rally a group of barbarians.
But if you wanted to try? Rosethal has been a bad sport. And you just made her look like a fool. What will it be, Soot? Push your luck further? Or run while the getting is good?
Silsila Om!
Hai Lin is, for a moment, speechless. Perhaps because you have forced the air right out of her lungs; perhaps because your presence, o Host, is intoxicating.
Around the two of you, guards tense, but they know better than to interfere in a duel like this. It would be a disgrace for their commander, one her reputation might never recover from.
“Where was this,” she finally manages to force out, looking you defiantly in the face. “When I told you to accompany Birsi?”
Her words are searing, for all that they’re whispered. You failed her, Silsila. For all of your strength, for all of your hotness, you cannot fight your way to her heart unless you make things right.
Or, rather, you cannot do so without shaming her. Hai Lin is no stranger to having her heart betray her. You can feel it, fluttering under your skins. Push harder.
[Mark a Condition under the shame of Hai Lin.]
Birsi!
“It is wrong.”
The words slam into place. She is watching you carefully, her eyes like embers beneath her lids. If you make a wrong move, she will be on you, for all that she seems to be at rest.
“She has brought you here, rather than to see justice be done. She hides in her palace while her people starve. I am not threatened, little Fire Wheel. I know that I will live to see that palace on that hill opened up and then, if your priestesses are right, the Almighty will install someone who is better for this city. Let us all hope they do, no?”
Honor demands her punishment. It will blow your cover, you are almost certainly going to lose, and you cannot carry back word of revolutionaries here, but… do you follow your oath, Birsi? Even if it means your doom?
The Maid stomps around the sled so that she can make an attempt at grabbing you by the chin. And here, you have two options: you can stop her, and indeed, move her arms however you like, or you can let her think that she is succeeding as you slip Zhaojun’s mask from her belt. It’s your choice; you, little Fengye, have all the power here. Isn’t that exhilarating?
“I am not cute,” the Maid squeaks, and stamps her foot, which almost sends her toppling over again. “Nothing we made in this world is cute! It is an aberrant mind-sickness you monkeys are vulnerable to— to see weakness as endearing, and worth protecting! That is all cuteness is! It is that which makes you look at weakness and not crush it!”
(Imagine how she would look, under Zhaojun’s pitiless gaze, being “cute” to avoid being crushed. Does that make you feel pity for Hell?)
Han!
Lotus rolled on the wet grass, and is deliriously giggling. That’s good. She’s not hurt and you made her laugh. “Woo!” That was so exciting. You are receiving a good grade in looking after priestesses and making them feel excited.
You would absolutely lose that grade if you let her know how badly you landed on your shoulder. How, when you let her go, it wasn’t so she could tumble safely through the grass and end up staring into the churning clouds, but because your hand stopped being able to hold her. She’d feel guilty for laughing. You’d make her feel bad.
So you get up with a signature Han grunt and hide the pain. She wiggles her way up, sparkling like a star that found its way under the clouds, her eyes shining. You’ll feel better later, probably. No need to crush her spirit. You’re her bodyguard. It’s your job, if you think about it.
Time to get moving.
Giriel! Piripiri!
The Golden Banneret hares off, suddenly, after a yelping little brown blur. It has brought you in front of an inn, its lanterns shining invitingly in the bright grey light of morning.
On the stoop, beneath its awning, sits an exhausted, bedraggled woman in a mud-soaked, once-blue dress. She is flitting in and out of sleep sitting up. One hand gropes blindly on the ground next to her for the little brown fox that is being chased by the Banneret.
Her hair is familiar. Glossy (under the mud), sleek (presumably, when not frizzing), and the very same color as that of a certain diminutive dragon. Pull it back into a ponytail, stop paying attention to it, and you’d have something close to Han’s hair.
“Mother blesssu,” she says, half-asleep, making an approximation of a holy gesture with her other hand without opening her eyes. She’s likely been awake and active all night long.
Perhaps the Banneret brought you two here for a reason. Perhaps she’s just overexcited about chasing a fox. Do you call her back and bid her to keep going, or do you accept that she has brought you to a place that it is meant for you to be?
Kalaya!
You hear the playing of the Crocodile as you finally emerge from the wild wood, and the silver voice that entwines between the plucking of its strings. It is a voice that drips with longing, with loss, hanging from its high notes like glass beads.
Oh blow, oh blow, oh blow winds blow
It does not take your company long to find the source: sitting beneath a willow tree is Dima, the Dolphin Knight, in a robe the color of a seeding dandelion. Her rose-pink hair is unbound, tumbling carelessly down her shoulders. Around her, a few squires lie, listening.
And the wind has blown my pledge away
Petony makes a dismissive noise in the back of her throat, but her words seem to be stuck there, disdain warring with pity. Behind you, Machi lets out an inquisitive chirp. You can approach easily, if you please; her squires might try to bar your way, but only half-heartedly, and Dima herself will pay you no mind until you are on top of her, perhaps literally.
And she was true, and I was false, oh blow, oh blow, oh blow winds blow…
“Why? Why?” The tip of Dolly’s tail curls as she performs for Jade (who sits perched on top of Angela’s pole, smug as can be) — and, in a more immediate extent, for the onlookers crowding around the entrance to the feast hall, curious and intrigued Hybrasilians (and more than a couple of Terenians, and even a Zaldarian). “Because she is our sacred quarry! This is none other than—“
Angela tries to interrupt, furiously, awkwardly glaring up at the crowd. But Dolly can tell that there’s something more there, some of the same excitement she would feel in Angela’s position, and, besides, Jade is right behind her, watching her, purring regally.
“Angela Victoria Miera Antonius herself, who dared to challenge my patron goddess, Smokeless Jade Fires, who rides in the idol of her own self! Angela was very rude, yes she was, ai, ai! She thought herself very clever, coming here to hunt us — but here she is, witness to my goddess’s power, suffering her proper punishment! And that is why you should let us in with her please.”
The door warden (whose fur is dark and lovely) makes an indecisive noise in their throat. “And what does she have to say about all this?”
“Well?” Dolly half-turns and cups Angela’s cheek with her glove. “Am I telling the truth, Angela?” Jade runs several hands up and down Angela’s front, right where she found the Terenian most receptive. “Don’t keep my priestess waiting,” Jade purrs, then tugs at one of Angela Victoria Miera Antonius’s ears with her teeth.
And the squirming, mumbling, glareful girl on the pole nods her head, which sees her given a reward scritch on the back of her head from a cooing Dolly, who is herself starting to blush, very aware of the fact that everyone’s watching her as much as they’re watching Angela.
”Good girl,” Jade says, and darts in like a snake to kiss Dolly on the lips. Dolly’s fluster intensifies, but it might take a clever eye to discern how she reacts. A clever eye armed with stories about a goddess who claims to be very immanent in an unusual way, say.
It was a concert, actually. Not FAEWYL-D; the world doesn’t line up so exactly. d’Aulnoy in December, actually. They’d bonded over their hands.
There’s a distinct difference, at the end of the day, between someone who chose to upgrade her body because it was the next step in her career (and, to be honest, a bit of youthful from the moment I understood the weakness of my flesh, as it goes) and someone who had to have full limb replacement done as a kid. Euna didn’t let that worry her, though, as far as 3V could tell. And Euna was really good at showing her how to exercise her hands (but not in a sexual way, get your minds out of the gutter).
She swings by the gym to exercise every so often, and to chill with Euna, who is most definitely one of her fav peoples on all of Aevum. Tomorrow. She’ll roll by tomorrow. Ask, out of professional curiosity. This is a thought she can afford to explore at her own pace, after all.
Girlfriend!
“There are many distinct evolutionary branches of Draculas.” 3V is so incredibly serious. Ignore the smile. “The flying heads evolved in tropical jungles out of a need to conserve energy. Smaller body means less risk of passing out bloodlessly and not waking up before dawn. Did you know that not all Draculas are even animals? Watermelon Draculas. Pumpkin Draculas. Sadly, no one ever seems to use the rich vein of Pumpkin Dracula imagery around Halloween. It’s all superheroes.”
Oh no. Oh no what is this. Is this a Scions of Zalmaxis starter kit she is sliding out of a display. Is this a bunch of Dacians with sickles led by Blood God Draculas, who also have giant snakes which might be dragonish if you look at them right. Why, so it is.
What is the use of having a girlfriend if not to encourage her to make an occasional Enrichment Purchase? Besides, funds acquired this way can be earmarked for dates later. But mostly?
3V just really likes it when people nerd out over mythology and miniatures games.
Dany stands up. She brushes herself down, tugs on her shirt. Her heart is hollow; her stomach is plummeting through the decks of the Plousios until it comes to rest in the swirling colors of her uncle’s waves.
Bella is standing so stiff. You could use her to build a bulwark, a pillar, a wall. Part of the ship, constantly staring out, never looking back at anyone. At Dany.
You fucked up, princess.
There’s so many things you could say. You could try to explain. Tell her that you don’t hate her. That she confuses you. That you are terrified of how you keep hurting her. That you wanted to tear the galaxy apart when you thought she was dead. How sorry you are for kissing her without permission. How you can’t drag her through the fucking grey forever of the Lethe, which scares you so fucking much, thoughts drifting away until your head’s empty, and then, impossibly, your limbs and body drifting away until it’s only your head bobbing on the waves, like Orpheus still singing, when you imagine it, when you feel the scream of it building up inside of you. How you want to keep her safe. How sorry you are about the closet. How sorry you are for locking her in the dark. How sorry you are that you can’t turn back around and go home.
You reach out to her back. Your fingers rebel and curl back again against your palm. Your tongue is cleft to the top of your mouth. Why is something cleft when it’s together and when it’s separated? Why are you cleft?
Beljani is watching. You glance over at her. Your eyes sting hot. Why is that worse? Why is it worse when she’s watching, and not saying anything, and it hurts, it hurts that someone has to see this. Someone else. Someone here to judge you. Someone who knows how you’ve failed.
What about you, Bella? Do you care about me or do you hate me? The thought digs its claws into you, too. Is it just old servitor chains in your head that stop you from tearing me open? You chased me so far, you didn’t kill me, you broke open out of those awful bones and I held you and we stopped Sagakhan and you ran away after I thought you were dead, I thought you died, I’ve had to live with that more than once, and it tears me up, my heart, my liver, my veins, my brain, my bones—
That’s what you think.
Your eyes are angry hot. The Auspex won’t let you look away, though. It never does. It tells you how Bella shifts, how she shakes, how she digs her claws—
And you move.
Dany moves.
She catches Bella’s hand.
Pries her fingers open.
The slick fingers.
“Don’t,” Dany sobs.
That’s all she can say.
Don’t hurt yourself.
Please.
Not because of me. Not because of Mynx. Not because of anybody.
Don’t don’t don’t don’t please don’t.
Another order.
Is that all you know how to do, Dany?
“Please.”
You’re holding her hand. Isn’t this what you wanted? Your heart throbs with the terror, the tension, the scream of fucking up and the need for her to stop hurting herself. But what if it’s you, Redana? What if being around you (fake, pretender, nothing) is what hurts her? What if she needs to be free with Beautiful, who can use that mind of hers in ways that Dany can’t and never could—
Beautiful.
“Beautiful.”
She can find anybody.
“She, she can find anybody. All we have to do is tell her. All—“
We?
“…I’m going to ask her to help,” Dany says, awkwardly pulling her fingers free. There’s still blood on them. “You… I’d like it if you came. You know her better than I do. I just.”
Stop talking.
Redana clenches her (hot. wet.) fingers into a fist and does the most awkward stupid little bow, like she’s in the presence of royalty, and then she turns on her heel and starts walking before she can explode and she’s not going to turn around, because that would be ruining the whole point that Bella can choose, and Beljani is watching, and how would that look, seeing if she’s going to chase after like a, like a pet, and—
Dany looks back anyway, because she’s not strong enough, and she can’t bear not knowing. She has to see. Just like Orpheus. Her face is pathetically hopeful. Vulnerable.
The sound of water is everywhere: rising, falling, rushing through rivulets, choking on moss. The work of Demeter has not been kind to the marvelous channels that nurture the gardens of the halls of the Plousios. Green sprouts defiantly between the tiles, clings to the walls, hangs from the arms of statues. Above, lamps like captured stars hang in inverted pyramids, and all is an endless day.
The triangles and Ceronian gift are both gone. Not thrown away; folded and hidden in her marvelous closet, so neat, so dainty, while Bella hung around outside. She’s back in practical, form-fitting leathers, straps, tool-and-swordbelt, a kerchief for a splash of color. Her hair is pulled back, and it does nothing to hide her face as she looks at and doesn’t really see her surroundings. Clues. She’s supposed to be looking for clues.
“Thanks,” she says, and then coughs, awkwardly. Bella is a towering, brooding silence of contempt. And why wouldn’t she be? After how useless she was, how ridiculous. “Was that— the sort of thing you trained for? Saving me?” Because, right, Bella’s an Assassin, too. All that time just pretending to be a maid.
Could Assassins and Princesses kiss? Not that there would be kisses. But if Beautiful wasn’t in the picture, would that, because Assassins have power, and— no, she’s still hampered by that law inside of her, the one that tells her to panic when Dany’s not around. If anything, the most she could do if things went bad was to put Dany on a leash and. and. mmf. Bad Dany. No thinkies.
No, keep thinkies. There’s something important. Something that’s not clicking. You almost had it.
“All this time, I thought it was just Mynx looking out after me. Protecting me from the Admiralty. Why would I need more than one bodyguard? But you’re really strong. How did you have time to train when you also had to hang out with me and clean and—“
There’s the thought. Grab it. Don’t let it go. Let it out as a gasp, instead.
“Oh, Bella. I wasn’t thinking! If I go across… Iskarot told me that you have to stay with me or it’ll be bad for you.” Worse than bad. Don’t think about Bella tearing at herself. Don’t. “We can fix that. We still have time. There’s people on board who could help take that away, so you don’t have to keep following me. Then you can do what you want.” Who you want. The face of Beautiful springs to mind unbidden. “So don’t worry. Okay?”
And you can stay down here in the underworld, with your lover, until Dany finds a way to help everyone up and out of the pit. Until she does what her mother hoped she’d never do.
Because that part of the story is wrong, isn’t it? Nero-Hermes wouldn’t have sent her to the Lethe. She never meant for Redana to be here. It all fits together. Redana was supposed to be the one who stayed behind, if Mommy needed to carry the message herself. And she’s come too far to turn around and go back, especially because what if running away makes Mommy think she’s not and never will be ready to look after all of humanity?
No. This is just the way it has to be. For everyone, for humanity, for the servitors, for Hades, Dany’s going to have to cross the Lethe and take the message to—
To Persephone. Who else could it be for? And then she’ll get her wish, and she’ll break open that door and let everyone out, and she’ll set them all free— Bella and Beautiful, Beljani and Epistia, Vasilia and Dolce, Alexa and Lacedo, and even Nero. Everybody will be free, and they’ll have another chance to fix everything.
And that’s a dream so big that she doesn’t have room to worry about what will happen to her, either during or after the quest.
”Smokeless Jade Fires says to drink. It’s no fun if you pass out.”
A bit of water trickles down Angela’s front as Dolly lifts the glass to her (full, dark, lovely) lips and tilts it. Drink or be humiliated; Jade loves her wicked choices. Over in the corner of the room, Ksharta adjusts the climate control, changing it away from its default of cool and temperate. Tonight, they are on the belt of Hybrasil: hot, clinging, still.
This is the first reprieve she has granted Angela Victoria Miera Antonius all night. First, the defeated alien was marched triumphantly to Keoni’s, with Dolly’s tail stroking her face the whole way. How Dolly’s heart raced whenever they passed someone! How she steeled herself whenever they stared!
And how Angela Victoria Miera Antonius grunted and struggled and flushed!
But they stuck to the Hybrasilian side of town, which meant that Dolly’s trappings of a sacred hunt were recognized, and besides, the denizens of Akar II had seen for themselves the footage of her complete and total victory over the Barn Owl (what a ridiculous name!), which meant that no matter how she yelled, making her ridiculous and lovely noises, Angela Victoria Miera Antonius was simply stared at, and worse, smiled knowingly at.
What other outcome could there have been?
By the time she was seated between a nuzzling, overly familiar Ksharta and Dolly over dinner, perhaps Angela Victoria Miera Antonius was beginning to understand her role as Jade’s trophy. Or perhaps she thought that the entirety of Hybrasil was in on the scheme to humiliate her.
”See? Of course Smokeless Jade Fires was right. There was room for a paw sock, too.”
Dolly keeps one hand clamped over Angela’s mouth as the strong, hot-cheeked woman thrashes and grunts, breathing hard through her nose. Ksharta’s tail is bushing; she doesn’t bother putting her trousers back on, but tugs self-consciously at the hem of her top, her feet now mismatched. “Good girl,” Dolly breathes, trying not to melt into a puddle, lifting the flower-patterned gag. She swaps them out, hand and band, with Jade guiding her hands, pulling the cloth firmly in place.
“You’re welcome,” she adds, her voice rising into a flustered squeak on the last syllable. “Our Lady hopes you enjoy her gifts. Our gi, gi, giftsss~”
Angela Victoria Miera Antonius is marched on her knees to the glove laid out on the floor, until she is resting them on the memory circuits directly. Dolly sinks to her knees and gestures for Ksharta to do the same. Poor Ksharta. She did enjoy dinner, but the doubt is nagging at her, the idea that Jade didn’t do anything about being insulted. Your patience will be rewarded, kitten.
Jade whispers into both their ears. That’s all. And Ksharta and Dolly both reach over, then pause, uncertain, staring at each other across Angela Victoria Miera Antonius. A whisper encourages them, tells them she didn’t say to stop—
And together, the two little darlings tear Angela’s top open, and the walls collapse.
Like flimsy cardboard, carelessly knocked over; they dissolve into swirls of smoke, just like the floor. Dolly bites down on a startled squeak; Ksharta doesn’t.
The dark stone walls of Jade’s temple loom over them, lit by guttering torches. In front of them, the idol sits enthroned, flanked by lesser idols in the guardian stance. At her feet lie golden offerings and jade totems, enough to buy an entire colony. There is no glove under their knees, only a stone bar that they are all shackled to, shackled together.
Jade steps out in front of them. Which is to say, she presents her smaller form in front of them, dressed as a victorious hunt-queen, decked in trophies. She is also the idols. She is also the many-handed, many-tailed shadow looming behind them. She takes a moment to consider them: Ksharta Talonna, wide-eyed, slack-jawed, gobsmacked by what she’s gotten herself into. Angela Victoria Miera Antonius, puff-cheeked, exposed, looking around and trying to convince herself that this is just a simulation. And Dolly, her Dolly, her eyes shining with hope.
It is impossible for Jade to feel nervous about her performance. She is a goddess. She is invincible, inexorable, all-powerful. She lingers, looking into Dolly’s eyes, feeling the weight of her expectations, because she chooses to. If it were otherwise, everything would fall apart. So it is not. She is in control, and Dolly will love this.
”You are mine,” Jade says, and it comes from both her mouths, and the echo of the idol’s voice fills the room. At this pronouncement, metal clamps tightly around her neck, a familiar feeling. The enclosed bell dangling from the front is oversized, and chimes at the slightest shift of her balance— and next to her, both Ksharta and Angela start jingling and jangling in surprise.
“I would have you look more pleasing,” Jade says. How will she— the sudden heat gives her an answer. Angela bellows and Ksharta screams, more in surprise than anything, but Dolly just tenses up and lets her clothes burn up and away, and the heat is gone as soon as it arrived.
Then, a flutter of wings, and small bright-feathered birds land on her, spreading their wings, stiffening into her new clothes. Beside her, Angela is surrounded in pink-red smoke that becomes something gauzy, something you could tear with a careless claw, something that doesn’t cover her chest at all. The only part of it thick enough to hide anything is the part draped over her lower face, covering the gag in a way that makes Dolly’s ears prick up. Ksharta, like Dolly, gets the birds, but hers are fire-feathered, yellow and orange and red and blue for her headdress.
“Oh,” Ksharta squeaks, running her hands over the feathers, wide-eyed, her smile shocked in delight. “I never thought you could actually—“
Jade smiles at her, all fangs and unnaturally bright eyes. ”You are not permitted to speak.” Dolly opens her mouth expectantly, and is rewarded by Jade’s hands, from behind, stuffing her mouth, rubbing her cheeks possessively, smothering her face in tight softness. Her eyelids flutter and she lets out a well-muffled moan as her arms are pulled behind her and lashed snug. Beside her, Angela mumbles defiantly, her face-covering dimpled by the thickness of her gag beneath it, and Ksharta whimpers, almost overwhelmed.
But you’re going to take care of her, right, Jade? Please.
Jade stops to caress Ksharta Talonna’s cheek, lifting her head to look up at the goddess who is choosing to give her attention. “Good girl,” she says. The purr rumbling out of her idol is tuned to the frequencies of a nursing mother; Angela Victoria Miera Antonius will likely feel it as just a vibration, but both Ksharta Talonna and her Dolly will be flooded with pleasant endorphins. She lingers on Ksharta Talonna until the kitten starts instinctively nuzzling her face into Jade’s hand, slumping in her phantom ropes. “You are a delight, Ksharta Talonna,” she adds, and from behind, one of her mouths drags a tongue along Ksharta Talonna’s throat. “Especially like this.”
She turns, runs one talon along Angela’s hidden chin. “As for you. Yes, I was right. You’re right where you belong, Angela Victoria Miera Antonius. On your knees, silenced, exposed, and beautiful. One of the finer trophies my high priestess has won for me. But…”
Her voice drops. The echo of a knife being dragged across stone undergirds her words as she hisses. “You have insulted me. And for that, I choose to punish you, trophy of trophies. We will see who is the whore and who is the sham, pathetic little princess.”
Jade pushes Dolly sideways, and Dolly lets herself be pushed, helplessly purring as the goddess’s presence permeates her, even as her ear and part of her face come to rest against something soft, and warm, and wet. Jade snaps her fingers, and a mirror rises from the floor, showing: her, in the finery of a goddess’s bride; Ksharta, a divine concubine; and between them, exotic, alien, sweating in the temple heat, helpless to stop herself from having her chest smooshed between two purring Hybrasillians, Angela.
And behind them, stylized temple art, a hundred hands, a hundred tails, a hundred jaws, a hundred eyes. Smokeless Jade Fires in her Spirit-Quelling Aspect, deliberately unreal. Then, as a cloud, it descends on them, and they can see the hands that grope them, the jaws that loll, the dripping things that rub up against their bare backs.
Then— a minute later? five, ten minutes later? a year later?— the monster behind them solidifies into, simply, Smokeless Jade Fires, plumed and pelted like one of the Old Queens, back in the earliest days of Hybrasil.
”And now, my prizes,” Jade says, firmly grasping Dolly by a handful of hair, guiding her down until her bride, her favorite, is doubled over, rump up in the air, trembling with excitement and need, lifting her tail, looking at herself and her playmates in the mirror through the side of her face that’s not pressed against the comparatively cool stone of the temple floor, ready for her collar’s bell to echo off the walls. ”You are going to take turns.”
But Dolly gets to go first. And Dolly will get to go last. Whenever that is. Jade, after all, has plenty of time, infinite stamina, and a message to send to both Angela Victoria Miera Antonius and Ksharta Talonna.
To surrender to a goddess is to be shown glories as wonderful as she can imagine.
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