Vassal

by Sterling D'Este

  Her wings were gone.

  There was nothing behind her shoulders, but the wolf’s pelt draped there.

  Experimentally, the halfbreed stretched the muscles she would use to control her wings, inching them out towards the sides of the narrow streets. At first, nothing seemed to happen. No one turned around, demanding to know who had brushed them; she felt nothing at all. And then, with a hard knock against an invisible joint, Delyth’s wing sent a jug of milk crashing off its owner’s stand, spilling pure white into the muddy streets. The priestess flinched, but no one turned to demand that she make amends. They could not tell that she was any different from the other travelers passing through.

  She tugged her wings tight against her back a little sheepishly, to keep from knocking into anything again. It was an odd sort of relief to find that her wings were still there, especially after a lifetime’s worth of difficulty caused by them.

  In her youth, Delyth had often imagined a life without wings, without the stares and insults of those around her. Now though, it just felt strange. Like some part of her, strange and inconvenient though it might be, was suddenly missing.

  Delyth shook her head to bring herself back to the present as Etienne peeled off towards a bustling market to barter for supplies. The Aur’draig clan was laid out similarly to the Mynnyd Gwyllt, a settlement farther to the north and east that she had visited as a teenager. They both had an impressive hall at their center, the chief’s home and gathering place combined, and a large central market. Barracks, smithies, bakeries, tailors, and cobblers had shops ringing outward with the tannery on the outskirts of the settlement. The Aur’draig boasted a tavern and brothel as well, two buildings she did not recall seeing in the Mynydd Gwyllt. Perhaps this settlement’s location closer to the port cities of Aberdwyr and Morpentre meant that there was a greater demand for that sort of thing. There was certainly a greater variety of people. Mixed in with the typical, stocky mountain people, there were the dark-skinned, strong-bodied people of Esha’s lands and the warm, slant-eyed people of the islands. There were even a few whom Delyth could not place—tattooed men and women in colorful garb and intricately braided hair.

  She was so consumed with the sights around them, she hardly noticed where they were headed until Enyo stopped before the rowdiest gambling den Delyth had ever seen. Over the top of Alphonse’s head, she stared down every man that so much as looked their way, a silent, foreboding warning. She may be weaker than a Goddess, but she certainly wasn’t about to lose a fight to any of these ruffians. As a rule, they were armed in the typical manner of mountain people. Axes, swords, a few clubs. She saw none among them that posed any real threat, but few stood out: one or two red-bearded fellows with greatswords, and a slimmer, blond man playing dice. She thought at first he was unarmed, but the distinct outlines of knives were visible beneath his clothes.

  Enyo was practically preening, fussing with Alphonse’s long tawny hair, it’s waving locks wilder than usual from the unexpected rain washing it had received. And with no veil to tame it, her hair had golden hues, like her eyes in the firelight. The Goddess took a deep breath, glowing as though this was not some hole reeking of spilled ale and sweaty bodies and dried blood, but some sweetly perfumed sanctuary.

  Delyth tried not to breathe in the stench at all, her chest hardly rising with light, shallow breaths.

  Enyo’s head swiveled as she followed the form of a scantily clad server who winked at her in appreciation, his wide smile flashing between dark hair and dangling earrings. There were too many interested faces for his to keep her occupied for long, though, and Delyth glared at them all.

  “Ba’oto, who looks to be the best playmate?” the Goddess asked, smirking. Ember eyes flickered from patron to patron until finally landing on a slender man. Delyth had remarked him earlier; lithe and sly-faced and quite obviously enjoying a game of dice. “Him. Does he not inspire deplorable things?”

  Enyo didn’t wait for a response but strode through the throng of players towards the dicing man.

  ⚄

  Tristan was winning. As usual.

  He had always had a knack for reading the faces of his opponents, and in recent years it had become an art form. It never hurt to lose once in a while, just to keep opponents coming to the table, but just now, he was enjoying the rewards of his cleverness.

  The gambling house was in its usual, festive state of drunken cacophony when the blond gambler reached forward to rake the pile of coins in the center of the table into his waiting purse. The scowling faces around him were just icing on the cake. “Thanks, boys!” he said in a jovial tone. “Your donations are greatly appreciated.”

  “Come on, Tristan,” one of his companions said. “Give us a chance to win our money back.”

  He might have considered it too, but just then, two of the most interesting people Tristan had ever seen in this lackluster settlement walked into the gambling den.

  In the lead was a slim, beautiful girl clothed in a demure dress, though it did not match her face. She stared openly back at the men sizing her up, the attention only seeming to feed her pride. Behind her walked one of the fiercest women he had ever seen, scowling and armed with the sword Tristan had been looking for.

  He grinned devilishly.

  “Not today, lads,” the rogue told the men around him. “I’m afraid I’ve got other business to occupy my time, but your drinks are on me for the afternoon.”

  The closest man rumbled agreeably and punched Tristan in the arm. “Don’t pay for too many drinks, son. I’ll have those winnings off you tomorrow night!”

  The blond rogue laughed good-naturedly and extricated himself from the group. Thankfully, he didn’t have to look for the women at all. They were coming right to him.

  Tristan grinned crookedly down into the smiling face of the slight woman, her eyes flashing gold beneath her lashes. She held out her dainty hand, clearly assuming a kiss, or perhaps a bow.

  “Hello.” It wasn’t much of an introduction, but the rogue found that he didn’t mind. He bent low at the waist, taking her hand in an exaggerated fashion.

  “My lady,” he purred. “Just who might you be? And you should introduce me to your companion too, of course. I wouldn’t want anyone to be left out.”

  “She is boring, albeit good to look at. I am Enyo.” The girl was glowing, her hand left in his and her eyes roving his form. “I … know you, don’t I?”

  Tristan cocked an eyebrow at the girl, ignoring the sudden flip of his stomach. “Enyo, Enyo…” he muttered as if considering where he had heard the name before. “Now I think I’d remember it if I’d met a girl with the name of a Goddess.”

  He led her over to a table tucked in the corner, his hand completely swallowing hers. He hadn’t known quite what to expect, but he certainly hadn’t thought she would be so… so delicate.

  Tristan slipped into one side and gestured to the other for the ladies, only to have Enyo gracefully slide into his lap.

  The other one certainly didn’t like that. Every line of her angled face went cold as Brig’ian stone.

  “Well, you’re a forward lass, aren’t you?” Tristan laughed, signaling for drinks from one of the scantily clad servers. He sat back as they brought it, one hand around a mug and the other comfortably resting on Enyo’s waist.

  “Now I may not have ever met an Enyo,” he said companionably, “but I have been looking for one. You wouldn’t be headed for Thlonandras, would you?”

  ❂

  Enyo was peering into the cup and wrinkling her delicate nose when the sound of her beloved temple caught her ear. She turned her head back to stare into the man’s eyes and smiled broadly. “How is it that such a tricky man knows where it is I wish to go? Are you going to take me there, handsome Mandi?” she purred, one hand coming to rest on his chest, feeling the heart beating there. Pumping blood. Thick, slick blood.

  Her fingers contracted ever so slightly.

  Could this human body manage to pluck his heart out? />
  How long had it been since she felt flesh squelching between her teeth? The threads tearing as she bit through it? How long had it been since she had the invigorating infusion of raw magic shoved through her veins, the type that could only come from sacrifice and tribute?

  Too long.

  Her mouth was actually watering, her focus snagging on his throat. This body was so weak, ill-suited to all her glory. She needed power. She needed more magic to sustain herself. She needed him.

  The man’s grin broadened even as Enyo’s gaze locked onto his neck. “My master has sent me to do just that,” he said cheerfully. “I was to find Enyo and aid her and her companions on just such a quest.”

  Enyo paused at those words, surprised enough to stop contemplating his beating heart for a moment.

  “And who, Mandi, is your master?” Even more surprisingly, Enyo glanced at Delyth, brows arching. Was this man yet another disciple of the faith? She smirked at Delyth’s icy expression and let her hand start to drift lower, across the man’s belly… down, down, down.

  ༄

  Delyth could not remember the last time she felt so on-edge. The gambling den was too loud, too crowded. Every person that passed by could be a threat. A few of them even looked like they wanted to be. She checked the exits, checked them again. Would she be able to draw Calamity quickly enough to stop any attackers? Would her knife be faster? Perhaps the best option would be to use the space around her. There were bar stools and bottles enough for brawling.

  It was a messy way to fight, but she had height on most every man here, not to mention the benefit of truly excellent training.

  One of the men sitting near the door stood, and Delyth shifted in her seat, torn between the people around them and, worse, the man Enyo had lasciviously attached herself to. He allowed her to sit on his lap, his hand on her— Alphonse’s body. He let her trace her hands down his chest, her eyes maliciously turned towards Delyth.

  The priestess was tensed to spring from her seat when the man surprised her by stopping Enyo. He lifted the same hand that Delyth had fallen asleep holding the night before to nibble at the fingertips.

  Gods, she wanted to kill him.

  But he’d stopped Enyo from going further.

  “Let’s just say that he’s an old friend of yours,” the man told Enyo, his smile loose and easy beneath blue eyes.

  Was he being purposefully vague? Delyth ground her teeth in frustration. How in any fucking hell was it possible that he actually knew who Enyo was or where they were heading? How had he known where to find them?

  And why did it have to be in this thrice-cursed cesspit?

  ⚄

  “That’s believable. I had many friends,” Enyo purred, eyes on the man’s mouth. She leaned closer, inhaling as if he were some intoxicating aroma. “And if I allow you to join us, Mandi, what will you give in return? What value do you hold?”

  Tristan’s smile turned into a playful frown, his brows pulled together in overt melancholy. “What, you mean my pretty face isn’t enough to satisfy you?”

  He laughed, the sound hearty and warm. Enyo was more exciting than he had imagined, the press of her warm body and the mix of lust and command in her tone equally alluring. How important was it, really, that he impress her companion as well?

  The warrior woman was tense and blank-faced, her stare unnervingly fixated on him. Tristan turned his eyes back to the Goddess. He didn’t think he’d take a chance on indulging Enyo. From the looks of things, it might make the warrior difficult.

  “I’m not so bad in a fight, though your protector here looks like more than a match for me.”

  “She’s as sweet-natured as a doe, I assure you. You just have to know the right leverage…” Enyo flicked his nose playfully and then settled more comfortably into his lap, clearly planning on staying for a good while.

  “Teach me how to play the game you were cheating at,” she commanded, wriggling her rump against him experimentally. He smiled down at her before pulling his face into a scandalized countenance and pressed a scarred hand to his chest.

  “Cheating? Not I.”He pulled a small cup from a pocket, rattling with wooden dice, wrapping his arms around Enyo so that he could reach the table while keeping her snuggly on his lap. “The game is called Liar’s Dice, and for us to play now, you’d need your own set, but I can still teach you the rules. Besides, we’d need more people than you and your friend here to make it interesting.”

  The warrior’s expression did not change at this new development, so the rogue casually ignored her. “Anyway, to start, each player rolls the dice in their cup and peeks beneath to get an idea of what they’ve rolled. Then the fun bit starts.

  “Someone makes the first bet: maybe you think there’ll be four sixes or three twos across the table. The people around you either raise the bet or make their own. Then, everyone reveals their dice and those who’ve won their bets get to keep all their dice, and those who have lost their bet, leave one out for the next round.”

  Tristan shook the cup, miming rolling the dice and then looking beneath. “Eventually, it gets down to two fellas, each of which have but one dice left. And of course, there can be money bet on individual rolls, who will lose their dice first, who will be left at the end, and on who takes the jackpot.”

  He sat back, leaving his cup of dice on the table. “Easy as cake, and I’m not too bad if I say so myself.”

  ༄

  Enyo picked up the cup, giving it a shake so that the wooden dice jangled about. It drew Delyth’s gaze despite the dullness of the subject matter. What did she care about the games of layabouts and thieves?

  “So there is no skill involved at all?” Enyo asked, smirking. “And what happens to the loser, at the end? What is the price of losing this game?”

  Delyth met Enyo’s gaze while the gambler laughed behind her, the hope evident in that ember stare. Not young, sweet hope like Alphonse, but dark and old. Hope that the answer was as vicious and feral as the Goddess.

  “Isn’t it enough that he loses his money?” the man said, clearly jovial.

  He couldn’t see Enyo’s face though, her eyes.

  They had held the same look when Enyo had demanded the priestess drink Alphonse’s blood. Eager, lustful. Perhaps all of this was a game to her. A game for blood and sex and tribute, winner takes all.

  Loser dies.

  The rogue launched into what the warrior considered a tedious explanation of all the ways his silly game wasn’t just chance, but also a test of lying, of choosing bets to try and make the other players bet a certain way and lose.

  Delyth didn’t listen. She just kept her eyes on Enyo, silent and angry.

  The Goddess smiled, perverse creature. She enjoyed Delyth’s ire; it was just another part of the game.

  “I see. How could I have doubted your prowess?” Enyo crooned, turning back to the man. She was docile enough in his arms though even as Delyth watched, the Goddess pressed her teeth to his throat, a python sizing up a meal.

  And then, the look was gone. Enyo was bored again. “I will go get a real drink. Delyth, stay here with our new acquaintance. Be friends with him.”

  As quickly as she had slid into his lap, Enyo was gone again. It seemed as if her body was boneless, graceful, but also eerie in movement—like a cat.

  Or a snake.

  ❂

  Enyo didn’t quite make it to the bar top, which was bustling with action. She had gotten distracted by a very, very large man. He had a bit of a potbelly, but his shoulders were broad, and his beard was black and curling.

  He had no hair on top of his head.

  Immediately the Goddess caught him looking at her form and smiled, veering off course to greet him. She licked her lips as she peered up at him. He was a giant of a man and carried an axe—a brutal weapon, meant for smashing and butchering.

  “Show me your weapon, warrior, and I’ll show you mine,” she purred. The man growled in appreciation and reached for the wrong weapon, the one
between his legs. His friends guffawed, and as quickly as Enyo had been interested in the man, she was displeased.

  He had barely reached for her hips, clearly intending to feel their supple flesh, when Enyo’s hand snapped back, then forward. She punched him in the face, his nose snapping with a satisfying crunch. Blood spurted from it comically, and Enyo cackled, gleeful as it rained down on her face and hair.

  The giant’s friends jumped to defend their companion from the onslaught of violence, lunging to attack Enyo. She laughed and jumped away, fox-swift, making the men bash into one another and stagger back into others at the tables.

  ༄

  Although opposite in everything from coloring to demeanor, Delyth and the rogue stood as one the moment Enyo’s fist connected with the leering man’s face. The rogue glanced at her even as they both started towards the Goddess. “You grab her, I’ll clear a path,” he said.

  Finally, something they could agree on.

  The first man that stepped in Delyth’s way fell to the left hook that landed squarely against his jaw. She heard something crack but didn’t slow. Behind her, she was only dimly aware of Tristan breaking a chair over the man’s head.

  Then, the world dissolved into hits thrown and blocked. One of Delyth’s opponents was flung bodily over a card game. Another had his skull cracked into a wall.

  She wouldn’t draw Calamity, not unless she had to.

  With Alphonse so close to harm’s way, she didn’t think many would survive that bloodlust.

  Thankfully, the rogue was there instead. He dodged around a bigger fighter, letting him tire himself out until the rogue could get in and disarm him. One tap from the man’s own club, and he went out like a light.

  The rogue tossed the club to Delyth, and then she really started to make progress, knocking heads and throats until few still stood. And then, there was Enyo, laughing her ass off as she wiped at her face, licking her fingertips and dodging swerving brawling bodies with a look of triumph pasted to her features. The priestess gripped her by the arms.