by Scottie Kaye
Lassyne dropped her sharp eyes to the girl as the block to her magic faded. "Have you ever had a penis inside your vagina?"
It was a coarse question, overly specific, but it had to be. A penis could go in all sorts of places, and it wouldn't be considered real sex.
Zaina was wide-eyed with panic now. Lassyne watched her eyes dart, each movement more rapid than the last. It could take up to five seconds, if someone had enough fortitude.
"Y-y-yes," she stammered.
Lassyne tossed her hand aside. "Well, there you have it," she said. She raised an eyebrow at Jorr. "Please don't tell me there's a line of these girls? I have things to do, you know."
He was still smiling at her in that half-cocked way, as if someone were pulling down on one side of his mouth. She didn't like the dark, Jaen-like cast to his eyes. Looking at them made her notice how quiet the room was. She looked around at all the faces.
Dead silence.
She blinked a few times, and was about to ask what all the fuss was about when the blond woman, Hellen, lunged at her.
"You fucking bitch!" she shouted as they both went down. Lassyne was too stunned to feel the pain as first her tailbone, then her shoulders, then the back of her head struck the wood floor, before the woman hauled up on her hemline and shook her.
Then it was over. An arm snaked around Hellen's neck and a knife prodded into her chin. Jorr's face appeared next to hers.
"Now, now, Helle. Don't be mean to initiates."
Lassyne pulled her knees close, expecting Hellen to say something, to snap at Jorr—but she didn't. She just kept projecting murderous rage out of her storm-tossed blue eyes, all of it focused on Lassyne.
Beside her, Zaina was crying, her fists curling into the ruffles of her ridiculous dress. She was still, so still, like a sculpture in ice. Tears melted out of her tight-closed eyes.
"You'd best go," Orra said, putting her hand on Lassyne's shoulder, her hazel eyes watching Zaina, looking sad. Lassyne almost asked why everyone was so damned upset—this place was practically a brothel, after all; it wasn't Olfact, so who cared if this girl wasn’t a virgin?—but she just shrugged. More mystery than she needn't bother with, so long as she got to see Loren.
"Well, Orra," Jorr said, still holding Hellen tight, though his face was nothing if not casual. "I guess we can see now the limitations of your testing."
Orra shrugged. "I've caught a few of them," she said, "but no, my magic isn't precise. Not like a truth mage, at least." She glanced at Lassyne, and her eyes went suddenly cold. "But we'll be more accurate now. Lucky us."
Lassyne had had about enough of this, so she took her leave, shoving past the weeping non-virgin. Should have used your mouth, she almost said. No one really cares if you just use your mouth.
But the silly girl was already crying like her life was over, so Lassyne let it be as she strode into the hallway. Pausing only for a moment, she headed for the spiral stairwell she'd seen earlier. The library was supposed to be down there somewhere—she thought she remembered Orra saying something about it.
She was about halfway to the staircase when the door opened and closed behind her, and she looked back to see Kail jogging after her.
"Damn," he said, looking a little bewildered, "did someone bathe you in ice as a child, or were you just born that cold?"
Lassyne gritted her teeth and stepped down onto the stairwell. "If I can stay a virgin for twenty years," she said, "than an eighteen-year-old spy ought to be able to handle it."
"Yeah, but—I mean—" he began, but words seemed to fail him as she rushed down the stairs, practically swinging around the newel post, putting distance between them. "Hey," he called out, "let me come with you. You don't have a guard yet, and you just pissed off Hellen Silent. She's the baddest bitch here."
On the landing, Lassyne stopped dead and turned. "I don't need your help," she snapped.
His blue eyes widened and his foot slipped on the last stair as he tried not to run into her. He had to fumble to keep from tumbling backward.
"Look," he said, getting a hold of himself, "I don't think you understand—"
"Do you think I'm a moron?" she asked him, throwing back her shoulders. "Because I know exactly what this is. You're going to come along and pretend to be chivalrous, to smile a lot and put on a show and try to make me think I need you, when all you're really thinking about is what you want, hmm? Oh, and I wonder what that is?" She cocked her head and tapped her chin. "Hmm. Let me think. Sex, maybe? A quick romp between the sheets? Or do you just want to see me on my knees in front of you while you shove my head up and down your twig?"
He held up his hands, palm-out. "Hey, hey—"
"Or is it my Sen? Do you need me to work my magic for you? Sniff out a traitor, ask a lover if she's faithful?" Lassyne scoffed. "Get over yourself. And leave me alone."
She was about to spin on her heel and leave, but then the bastard smiled at her. It made her want to punch him in the groin, one good downward thrust, fist-to-nuts, nice and personal. Were there rules against that? She should have listened closer.
Instead she drew breath, letting the rise of her breasts calm her. She looked around the landing, which stretched out into a hallway on either side, with a large set of double doors between them. A plaque beside the doors read Rose Library. Growling under her breath, she stormed toward it and shoved her way through, making sure it shut tight with a clunk. Kail's maddening smile seemed to follow her into the room, but the man himself stayed wisely away.
Hands on her hips now, Lassyne leaned back a little to look up the nearest shelf. The stacks here were twice her height, with rolling ladders clinging to them for dear life. The library was a marvel of intricate darkwood wall paneling and black reflective tile, with night-sky molding along the ceiling and chandeliers with concentric crystal panes, which looked like the petals of massive white roses. Nothing so grand as her own family's personal library, of course—but beautiful all the same. And even better, there was no household scribe on site, ready to tell her what she was—and was not—allowed to read.
With a satisfied shrug, she made for the nearest shelf and scanned the titles. To her surprise, none of the books mentioned sex. Null Mines of Audit: Theories on Output and History of the Black Orchid Consortium and Most Famous Tinker Mages by Trade were among the first titles she found.
A section on economics, then. She frowned. Why would a glorified whorehouse need an economy section? To help the spies figure out what to charge? She moved on, but only grew more mystified as she discovered sections on geography, politics, reigning family histories, even philosophy. And none of the books—none of them—looked new. All of them had been read, the spines cracked from at least a half-dozen uses apiece. Even wilder were the tables along the wall behind the stacks, about six on both sides of the room. All of them were occupied by Thorns, many of them with pages splayed out around them. They wore sleeves of purple and pink, mostly—a high rank, if she remembered correctly—but she saw a few other colors among them.
She paused at the end of the first stack, glancing back toward the center of the room, where rows of low tables seemed to drift in the open sea of black flooring. Fewer women congregated there, probably because it made them feel exposed under all that bright roselight—but still, the women were there, and it didn't look like they were reading gossip pamphlets.
This is... a real place of learning, she realized. And all of these people are women....
Feeling a little lightheaded, Lassyne continued to waft between shelves, her eyes glazing over all the information at her fingertips. She wondered if any of it had been doctored—but no. Who would go through this many books and change them? What would they even want to remove?
Finally, she found the section she was looking for—one where the titles made reference to sex. Collections of positions, essays by former Thorns, treatises comparing gender equality among various nations, and a whole pile of books on something called "transsexuality." She waded through seve
ral dozen fascinating titles before she found a promising essay: The Psychology of Dominance, bound in a tied sheaf of pages.
Lassyne smiled to herself for the first time since Polimo. Now this ought to be a good read.
Sixteen
Flipping the pages open, Lassyne wandered back toward one of the reading nooks as another woman vacated it. She slid onto the luxury bench beneath the table, its candle casting a keen light on her prize.
Among those unfamiliar with the nuances of sexual submission and dominance, the most common question asked is, "Why?" To the uninitiated, it often seems impossible that anyone—man or woman—might want to be dominated. Or that, if they do, it is a sign of a weak or indecisive mind.
Lassyne felt a clandestine shiver at the words. She bit down on a fingernail to hide her own smile. She couldn't believe she was reading something like this!
However, in my experience, this has been far from the case. Submissives often have the strongest imaginations and the greatest sense of self. They are often powerful people who turn to submissive sex for release from the pressures of everyday life, or they are men and women who are physically excited by the power they see in their partners, rather than in themselves. Many women, for example, are "turned on" by large, imposing men in power positions—and there is no more powerful position a partner can have than to be holding the end of your leash.
A leash! Lassyne licked her lips. So what she'd seen the prostitute do had been a common thing? Five gods... what had she been missing?
Furthermore, playing the submissive and making a partner feel powerful can also serve its uses. Typically, people feel empowered when they play the dominating role; thus, they might be more forthright about information they might be keeping to themselves. This sense of power can make some partners feel invincible and untouchable, which can be especially helpful when they normally think themselves to be weak. Some get a "high" off the feeling, and if they aren't accustomed to positions of power, it can be especially useful in acquiring information.
Lassyne blinked at the page, her mouth dry. Of course the pamphlet would be geared towards spying and duplicity—what else had she expected? Still, the author had a point. Especially helpful when they think themselves weak....
She sat back, noticing for the first time how restricting, how trapping this nook was. Only one way in or out, at either end of this bench. But the small panic was nothing in the face of her plan.
This domination—this submission—it would be the perfect gift. The perfect way to win Loren for good.
After all, he'd been victimized, made to feel small. And if she liked looking at a woman on her knees and in chains, what would that view do for Loren?
Resolved now, Lassyne flipped the essay over, searching for an author name. There it was, at the end—a slim, deadly signature. She squinted closer.
And then she heard sex.
The sound was instantly recognizable. She'd peered through her parents' grate one too many sickening times not to know what sex sounded like. The rhythm of short breaths, the sloppy wet noises of a man pulling full out, the slight squeak of a leather cushion as he rocked. It was happening close by, in the neighboring reading nook. Surreptitiously, she scooted to the edge of her bench and tried to peep without being seen.
She was stunned to see none other than Hellen Silent on the other side, on her hands and knees atop the bench in the deepest shadows of the nook, crowded between the back wall and the tabletop. A man crouched behind and above her, thrusting into her at an even pace, one of his hands gripping Hellen's large pale breast under her open collar while he used the other hand to keep his balance on the table. Hellen's eyes were closed, her mouth open; she was frowning a little as he jerked her back and forth; and the man was puffing out his cheeks in an unsightly way that Lassyne didn't like. She had seen men use her mother with exactly that same face—as if they placed no value on her whatsoever, and were only using her body to get themselves off.
The man slowed and pulled away, and Hellen moaned softly. "Turn around," the man rasped, and Lassyne watched, unnoticed, as Hellen faced him. With careless hands he ripped her dress open, exposing both her breasts and shoving his penis between them.
Lassyne's eyes widened, uncomprehending, as he started to ram his hips against Hellen's chest.
"Oh, yeah, oh, yeah," he said. "Your mouth, make it wet for me, Mama."
At this utterly strange order, Hellen turned her face down and parted her lips, her tongue striking out at his penis as it pushed up through her cleavage. In response, the man started to speed up, and Hellen readjusted, pressing her breasts together so that her nipples showed through between her fingers, tightening the space that his penis had to pass through. With a single unsightly noise, she then spat down into the crack—to slick up the process, no doubt.
"Mama, oh Mama, yes," the man groaned.
Lassyne had never heard of something like this. Never once.
I could have been doing that all along....
Hellen tossed her head back then, exposing her throat, and she must have felt him coming because an instant later it was over. Strings of white spattered out of him and onto her chest, neck, and chin. She sighed and took it. He stopped thrusting, staring down at her.
Dominance, Lassyne thought. More dominance....
"There's a good boy," Hellen purred, smiling dreamily up at him. "There's Mama's good little boy."
"Mmm," the man said, sinking to his knees and holding her by the hair, surveying the drying white liquid he'd left on her chest. "I am a good boy, aren't I?" he murmured.
Lassyne held back a snort at that one, but Hellen reacted with prestige, reaching up to touch her lover's hair. "Yes. And you'll make Mama even happier once you do what she asked."
He licked his lips. "Yeah. Yeah, Mama. I'll be good."
Hellen leaned closer to him, her lips by his ear. "If you do it fast enough, Mama might reward you again. How does that sound to you, Tommy?"
The man dropped a hand to his belt. "Sounds like I need to get going."
Taking this as her cue, Lassyne swung back out of sight, breathing hard. Her body was alive, and every detail of what she'd just seen coursed through her.
I want that. I want all of that, she thought, and her heart raced. It was so easy to imagine herself with Loren, both of them holed up in a shady part of this library. She could almost feel his penis on her chest, pushing toward her mouth as she melted him down—
Hellen's words tied a knot somewhere below Lassyne's stomach. There's Mama's good little boy....
This is fucked up, she thought. That phrase made her think of her mother, her brother. Precious little Ossyne who could do no wrong, and the mother who fawned over him ceaselessly. Jessyne Read only ever left Ossyne's side when he needed to fuck a political rival's daughter or try to murder his sister.
And yet it wasn't that simple, was it? It was like the Dominance essay said. There was an association in it. Hellen had power over that man. For all it had at first looked like he was using her, she had been the one using him.
I want that power, Lassyne thought, her body pulsing with need. And I bet Loren wants that power, too....
At that moment, a shadow passed by her bench; the man, taking his leave of Hellen. Lassyne had to force herself not to stare at him, and then she had to school her breathing to try to rein in her pulse. She wanted to masturbate, right here, right now. She would have given anything to have Loren nearby—
"You can come out now," Hellen said.
Seventeen
Lassyne froze.
Seconds passed. Lassyne gripped the essay, crinkling the pages. She didn't know what to do. She didn't know what to say.
Sorry I watched you. Sorry I liked it....
Hellen had sounded so calm, so knowing. Any moment now, she'd step around this wall and finish the conversation she'd started upstairs. Mikail's words came back to Lassyne, sudden and sharp: You just pissed off Hellen Silent. She's the baddest bitch here....
But what did that mean? Could Hellen hurt her? Was that allowed? Why didn't I pay more attention to Orra? Slowly, Lassyne turned to face out of the nook—
And then a new voice whispered, "Are you sure that he'll come?"
Hellen scoffed. "If Tom ever wants to get laid again, he'll get Loren to come. Otherwise I'll turn the whole House against him. He'd have to make do with his frigid wife."
Lassyne exhaled, blinking, her heartbeat slowing to a canter. The other voice was Zaina—Hellen's initiate. She must have been hiding somewhere nearby. Hellen had been talking to her, not to Lassyne.
Scowling to herself, Lassyne scooted out of the booth. What was she even afraid of, anyway? Bad bitch my ass—
Then she bumped the table.
In the center of the tabletop, the candlelight flickered as the crystal holder wobbled in place. Every tiny wubble wubble of the movement intensified the cold sweat on her skin.
"What the fu—hey!" Hellen's voice cried. The leather seat creaked. "I thought I told you to clear out!"
Lassyne stood up in time to see Zaina's legs swing out of the other booth. "She did leave, I saw her! It must be someone else—"
Lassyne didn't think; she broke into a run. Something was going on. She had to tell Jorr—
"Shit! It's the new girl!" Hellen cried. "HEY!" she added, her voice rising. "SOMEONE CATCH THAT COINER!"
Darting around the nearest stack, Lassyne bolted for the library door, the essay still clutched in her hands. Somewhere past the shelving, a chair scooted back.
"WATCH THE ENTRANCE!" Hellen boomed. "STOP HER!"
Lassyne ran out into the open—
And into another woman's arms.
She knew enough to be afraid, and she thrashed, but the Thorn was much more efficient even than Ossyne. The woman sidestepped, clamped an arm across Lassyne's neck, and prodded her in the cheek with a knife.
