Storm of Pleasure

by Eve Bradley

  “True enough,” she smiled. “Humans are chaotic beings. Maybe even stupid...from your perspective?” she blinked slowly, baiting him, hoping that he would bite.

  “Stupid. Or unwilling to learn,” he shrugged. “But we do not care for the foolishness of others. We can only take care of ourselves. And why wouldn’t we? We’re one of the ancients. We could die out, and not a trace of us would be left.”

  “It’s a pity humans don’t have eternal life to see and experience things and then keep living with the knowledge. All the while this gold mine of information is being held like a hostage.”

  Sarth frowned.

  “We protect what Greguene asked us to protect. Aisha had strict orders. We’re breaking these orders for you, because, as Greguene desired it when a Peaceking came to us, we would give him, or her, these accounts. We aren’t mean spirited, daughter of Celosia. Stifle your flames.”

  Sarth’s eyes flashed with brightness as his intensity grew. She let out a critical exhale.

  “It seems that the Djinn could care less about humanity. Given that Aisha firmly holds that you’ll not help us, even when your own beings are being taken and stripped of their souls, used only for their basest of qualities. Possession. Killing. Burning the world so that there is nothing left. Mark my words, they’ll come for you. And then it will be too late.”

  Sarth growled angrily.

  “So what would you have us do?” he came to stand just before her.

  He was extremely tall and towered over her. His shadow gave her goosebumps, and she felt the inconstancy of his soul, the strange way it was formed and entangled with little glistens and drops of magic. It was a different scent than humans. Maru, for instance, had a very solid, earthy quality. Her soul reflected knowledge, stone-hard stubbornness- a smaller manifestation. Sarth’s was like some robust creature born and crafted expertly, without flaw or mutation in any cell. His masculine figure was one that artists would like to reproduce. She couldn’t help but lose her breath under his scrutiny.

  But Valryn’s voice came back to her. Don’t bow to any man. She wouldn’t let any being make her feel inadequate. She could be as powerful as him or any Djinn. If only she could break the block Vulzon had placed upon her.

  “You should send one of your men or women with me. As a political move. They could protect the people while I’m trying to dissolve Vulzon’s curse. I need something. Some way to fight back against them.”

  Catryn crossed her arms and parted her lips. She saw the way Sarth’s mouth twisted. The way his jaw tensed when his eyes traveled across her mouth and neck. She knew by this that Djinn had the same sexual urges. Could she use this to her advantage?

  “You must do this on your own, as the Peacekings before you have,” he smiled, eyes lit with a different sort of amusement. It was smeared together, the amusement and lust. In so many ways, she recognized a youthful man in him. She’d experienced them before. Boys coming to prove themselves as men. Young men excited and nervous. He had this same soft nervousness alongside reinforced confidence. His body looked all man, that was certain.

  “If you gave me one Djinn with full magic...one who could be connected to a human, the power would be infinite. Aisha herself spoke of the Djinn’s magic being full when conjoined to a human.”

  “That’s unimportant. A union hasn’t been made in thousands of years,” he told her stiffly.

  “You mean...since Aisha and Greguene were joined?” Catryn smiled innocently.

  They had to have been. It was simple. Why else would Aisha be so fervently possessive of his things? Why work so closely alongside him? The way she spoke of him...it was covert and there was no doubt in Catryn’s mind that the Djinn were keeping something from her. This was it, surely.

  “Did you read...?” he began.

  “No. But I think you underestimate me. I am more human than anything else, at this point. But I am no foolish girl. I know when I’m being lied to. Probably from the years of training I’ve had...nevertheless, I think it would make sense. The Djinn have always been on the side of peace.”

  Sarth chuckled huskily and nearly reached out to touch her. But her brave expression deterred him, and his hand dropped.

  “When I was younger, I heard stories about you,” he began. “The Djinn keep up on human history and record it as it occurs. Probably much like the professors in your university. Those with psychic abilities spoke of you. They spoke of your beauty and power. I had this image of you in my head I couldn’t wish away. And now, you’re even worse than I imagined.”

  Catryn’s brows furrowed. She was irritated at his proclamation. He made no sense.

  “Worse?” she scoffed.

  “Yes. You’d undo even someone like me. An all-powerful being,” he rolled his eyes in a boyish way. “Worse because you are everything that I thought you’d be, and more.”

  Maru cleared her throat and stumbled over towards them.

  “Well, Sarth. I’m sorry to say that you won’t be joining us. You’d see much of Catryn if you came with. I mean...much. I’ve seen her naked loads of times. I mean, I don’t think anything of it. But the men, ha ha. You know how men are,” Maru awkwardly sputtered out her words.

  Catryn sighed, embarrassed for Maru’s drunken tongue.

  “She is half-goddess,” Maru whispered behind her hand. “Don’t know why you’re too surprised.”

  “I’m not,” he shifted, completely sober. “Still, it doesn’t change that the Djinn will only serve the Djinn. Please have all of Greguene’s things. Read them all, if you can. Aisha would want you to do so.”

  Back at the hut that Cat and Maru had been given for sleeping quarters, Maru set about crafting a tea for sleep that could also cure a hangover. It was a familiar scent, delicious and flowery. Having Maru there to aid any ache or pain she had, alongside anxiety or any other ailment, was very much a perk.

  Catryn tore open a flask of Voca and sucked it down. She wanted haziness. Gloom. Nothingness in her mind. She laid back on the mat that had been supplied. The crackle of flames lulled her as she slipped into a stupor. She hated everyone for being unwilling to help. He hated her limitations. Blistering anger tore at her insides. She also loathed that she was attracted to Sarth and his stupid blue skin and hair. And she couldn’t even think of Maru. The conversation they’d had at the gathering made her shake.

  “Catryn, sit up,” Maru spoke sternly as she came to her. “What are you doing? Why are you drinking...”

  Catryn sat upright, the drink a wildfire in her veins, and slapped the cup out of her hand.

  “At least Sarth could tell me that he wants me. And he doesn’t even know me. You are unwilling. For what? A way of life you no longer have to conform to?”

  Maru exhaled heat and went to gather the cup. She filled it again and brought it back, the sway of her hips intoxicating. She was a lovely mixture of bullheaded, strong, semi-masculine personality and a woman’s lithe athletic body. It didn’t matter what she looked like, because Catryn cared for who she was. She killed a king for killing her husband. She was loyal. She’d healed Cat many times, giving her gentle yet firm care. She was stalwart, stringent, and devoted. It made Cat feel safe.

  “Don’t speak like this now,” Maru told her softly. “We’ll figure everything out. Tomorrow you can speak to Aisha.”

  “What, are you too good for me?” Catryn sneered.

  Maru shook her head.

  “I’m afraid,” she said carefully.

  “Of what?” Catryn demanded, the drink setting her into a frenzy.

  “Of everything, Peacequeen,” she uttered, nearly lost in the obvious want to be silent.

  “What a lovely way to live your life,” Cat scoffed.

  Maru sighed, attempting patience.

  “You’ve got to stop being so...” she struggled for words. “Being so...”

  Catryn chuckled, completely out of her mind with drink. She arched back and then let herself drop flat onto the floor again, her hair swirled across
the dirt ground.

  “I see you’re the only one allowed to be stubborn?”

  She could tell that Maru was battling her inner demons. Her features were twisted with sadness and passion. Catryn couldn’t stop her hand from reaching up and cupping her round cheek. Maru leaned into her touch, her eyes closing as if this small connection soothed her. It only caused the aching loneliness in Catryn to intensify.

  “You can’t have everything, Peacequeen,” Maru told her.

  She laid there silently, her world spinning. She nearly went sober when Maru leaned over her and kissed her. Her lips were plush and pillowed, and the sensation of their connection shocked her system. Catryn jerked and nearly smacked her head on the table. Questions grew like flowers, popping up all around her. But none of them mattered, because now she was focused. Zoned in on the one woman who’d captured her with her stubbornness and heart.

  They kissed languorously until Maru slipped onto the mat beside her. They used gentle touches to explore but didn’t go further than delirious embrace.

  Catryn fell asleep in her arms.

  Margaret

  The Raspandian Castle

  Staring out the window over the panoramic scene that the castle, atop its mountain location, offered, Margaret lost herself in the mist. She waited to see peeks of the Gabrynal sea, but the wind was little, and the day was frigid. The mist hung in the air like a thick curtain. She wished she could fling herself out the window down onto the spires.

  Anything would be better than bearing the pressure that waited outside her chambers.

  The court was in an uproar, whispering about her and her illegitimacy. She knew that in Catharsa, only one of royal blood could take the claim as queen or king. Here, Lucarian had deemed that he could do anything. She wondered how long it would be before her parents and siblings heard. But now even if they came, she couldn’t leave. She was neck-deep in the mud of court, holding a title that she’d never even dreamed possible. It had brought her extreme relief, a flood of calm rushing over her, when she watched Lucarian and his thousands of black speckles receding down into the forest.

  But she couldn’t allow herself to feel relief for very long, because she knew that immediately that the Queen Mother, Dedreia, and the five sisters would be calling for her. She was surprised that Dedreia had allowed this to pass. Perhaps she knew better than to challenge her son at a time like this. But Margaret thought she had more to hide than she let on. It was she who’d called for Zothar...it was she who’d been plotting and scheming all the while Luc had been smashing Evanona and being defeated in Athos.

  Angeliva, Lorraina, Ryndal, Ansephria, and Elvensa would be perfectly scarred from witnessing their union. She felt squeamish every time she saw them, a devout sense of shame reddening her cheeks. She’d played the fool this entire time. She’d pretended that things would be well, that she could escape...but she’d been fooling herself more than Lucarian.

  She had dug her own grave. She’d tied a noose around her own neck. But what choice had she had? She spent those minutes searching flagrantly for what she could have done differently.

  “Your grace,” a servant murmured at the door. “The court is waiting for you.”

  So she drew in a breath and went.

  She wore a light blue gown, one that had been brought to her for spring. Still, she had to wear a thick cloak because the chill in the north lasted all year round. Summer was more like a true Spring. She was afraid. She’d never had to choose anything, but the decisions that awaited her she’d have to rule for herself.

  She followed her escort of guards and maids through the drafty bridges and hallways that lead to the audience hall. When they entered, she felt like a silly fool in a light blue frock when comparing herself to the rest of the darkly angelic ambiance. But she froze when she saw her seat, the queen’s seat, the seat the Lucarian told her would be hers, was filled with Dedreia. The sisters sat beside her. To the side, there was yet another chair. A lonely, simple chair that beckoned her, reminding her of her painstakingly obvious place.

  The court was silent as they watched her reaction. Hundreds of eyes waiting to see if she’d argue against the queen mother. Dedreia looked exceptionally smug, and this smugness multiplied on the faces of each beautiful sister. As if they might start laughing at her. Her hands shook, and her skin itched with cold. She lowered her gaze and went to seat herself in the chair that was set out for her. A mocking place.

  The guards bowed to her before taking their places along the back wall. The silence was so rich that she felt the crinkle of her dress echoed across the gathering. Dedreia rose and nodded for the guards to allow those in need of council into the hall in a ragged line. There were many courtiers there to offer their love and little tokens of admiration. Jewelry, clothes, different trinkets were left at her feet. One courtier even offered Margaret a beautiful set of perfumes. The rest came with ailments or quarrels, asking for justice or a way to make peace.

  Margaret sunk into herself, never looking up except for once. She met the eyes of Zothar, who stood in the crowds, staring straight at her with a burning intensity. Why was he still there? His wild black hair looked evermore unruly, and he seemed like a giant among all the thin and snooty northerners, their hooked pale faces like moons shining with affluence and judgment.

  She forced her gaze away from him. The last thing she needed was someone to slander her.

  As she sat through countless declarations and disputes, she was nearly lulled to sleep, now unknowing as to if she could even do what Lucarian had wanted her to do at all.

  Margaret was lead to the council tower, where the meetings commenced. The queen mother was already at the head of the table.

  “How do you fair, Margaret?” Dedreia’s voice sounded worried and soothing, but Margaret tried not to reveal her irritation.

  “Wonderfully. You must be exhausted after such a long morning,” Margaret said sweetly.

  “That was nothing, darling. I’ve grown accustomed to it. I hope you don’t mind, I thought it best for all of us if I take over the ruling while Lucarian is absent. It makes the most sense. He may have wanted you to do as he’d do in his stead, but you’ve not suffered the burdens of court. I think it best you watch and learn.”

  Like a punished child in a schoolroom sitting in the corner? Margaret seethed in her mind. But she could not argue.

  “In fact, if you’re tired, dear, I can handle these affairs. There’s nothing much to be missed here,” Dedreia smiled as if she were a kind, gentle soul. But Margaret felt every touch of her voice like a spider’s legs turning her over and over into its webbed grip. She peered into the woman’s amber eyes, followed the soft lines that age had left in her. Margaret knew people well, and Dedreia was not as good at masking her intentions as she thought.

  “No, I’ll stay,” she beamed. “It intrigues me. And any excuse I have to learn more, I will take.”

  “Queens oftentimes don’t attend,” Dedreia said it as if it were a secret.

  “And queen mothers?” Margaret asked her innocently.

  Just then, the councilmen came filtering into the room. There were a few she recognized and others she couldn’t even find a name for. It was beguiling, and she didn’t feel like she was fit to sit amongst them. Her stomach was empty and now felt even sourer.

  “I was under the impression the Queen was to sit at the head of the table?” an older, gray, crippled man stated. His name was Sir Mathers if she remembered correctly.

  Dedreia paid him no mind, smiling peachily and inclining her head. It was her way of informing him that she didn’t care. This was her place still. But perhaps Margaret and, even Lucarian, had been foolish thinking that Margaret would be respected without him to promote her. She had no one else to back her. This old man was the only one who’d offered a thin comment towards her being out of place. Had Lucarian prompted his loyalty too?

  It jarred her when Zothar entered, his giant body gliding with masculine energy into one of the se
ats across from her. He didn’t look at her. Or perhaps he did. She wouldn’t know, as her eyes were stuck to the lanes of thread on her lap.

  “Well, gentleman. I am sure things may go on as they always have. With the recent changes and campaigns in progress, being what they are, I presume we focus our efforts on making Raspandar as strong as possible. I’m sure Lucarian may have mentioned the princess's marriages. But with the state of the kingdoms being what they are...I believe it to be better to keep them till the dust has settled. Raspandian royalty should not be smeared across the kingdoms like some common gray paint. They are rich, royal blue, and should be kept safe until we see how the kingdoms react to the desecration of the vault and its council.”

  Dedreia’s voice was strong and nurturing, filled with determination and yet, consistent longing for safety. The obvious love she had for her family was vigilant. Margaret wondered if she dared speak out. This was the opposite of what Lucarian had wanted. What if she failed to secure any of their marriages? Margaret’s heart began to thump loudly in her chest, and creaks of adrenaline pulsed along with it.

  “King Lucarian...” Margaret began, and immediately all eyes snapped to her. “K-King Lucarian believed that it was best for the princesses to be wed before the battles to come. His reasoning being that creating those ties would indebt other kingdoms to fight alongside Raspandar in the coming wars. He said...he said there would be a backlash. Especially from those who support the...Peacequeen.”

  There were murmurs of agreement, but Dedreia was silent, her eyes wide and pupils like daggers pointed at Margaret’s heart.

  “I have to agree with Queen Margaret of house Terrowin,” Zothar cleared his throat, his harsh Catharsan accent filling the walls like a song from nature, reminding her of the earthy foothills and great trees. “The King also told his desires to me. This is indeed what he’d wanted.”