by A. S. Etaski
I swallowed as I felt a tremor; I wanted to tighten up. I took a breath and responded forthrightly. “The fighter had a simple understanding of the challenge and no understanding of my signals. I could tell him whatever I wanted, and he had no idea what to do except hump me. It even felt good because that’s what I wanted. Yes, it was a base rut unplanned, but I chose to enjoy it.”
“Indeed.” She removed her finger, and I tried not to sigh audibly. “What about the wizard? He was not so easily lead. What of his final act? I know he caused deliberate pain. You were silent.”
I’d been about to say that he had given me the perfect justification to kill him later.
No, no. Wizards take time to train. They’re expensive to keep and use costly things.
A competent officer in the army might still bring down a powerful female’s wrath, and she could kill him, so the fighter had relatively little protection. Yet a wizard’s execution was not taken as lightly.
A Sorceress like her would not appreciate casual threats of killing one.
“Sirana?”
I gave it more thought and realized that I knew why I had allowed the wizard to have his revenge on me for taking the control from him twice in one encounter.
“He couldn’t kill me, and if he had conceded after losing the challenge, it would have ended him with the grudge against me. I let him indulge because now he will fear me coming after him. It will make the finding of a faceless wizard easier if he is nervous.”
“Oh? And what will you do if you find him, Sirana?”
“I know I cannot kill him, Elder. It is the Word of the Valsharess whether he lives or dies. But I will find him without magic, and I will return the favor. We can continue this game beyond this eve on my terms.” I grinned at the floor. “That will be fun.”
The eldest Sister listened without interrupting then let the silence stretch, having taken her hand away and circling around me until she stood in front. I could see her excellent, red leather boots, making no sound unless she willed it, her red leather leggings and the tip of her sword sheath. I could not see, however, the blood red sash I knew to be at her waist.
Finally, she spoke, but not to me. “Qivni. Clean her.”
My collector gasped softly and balked, sounding shocked and a little disbelieving. “Elder D’Shea?”
“I said clean her. She is coming with us.”
Qivni stiffly walked over to where I still held my position and kneeled behind me. I felt a very soft tongue start lapping hesitantly at the folds of my sex and I truly felt bewildered as to my reaction. Strictly as a sensation, it was soothing after the rough sex. My emotions, on the other hand, sent me trembling and shrinking away from her in disgust. I struggled to keep images of Jilrina and Kaltra out of my head lest I scream from pure hatred.
“No,” I growled, biting down on the slip.
Shit.
The invisible marks were still there, and somehow still fresh.
There was no surprise in Elder D’Shea’s voice when she gave her next command, and there was little reason there would be. Instead of disappointment, however, she sounded calculating.
“Qivni, stop. Gaelan, take her place.”
My collector stood up and gratefully left her post at my backside, and the youngest Red Sister glided forward and knelt without protest. Gaelan began by tenderly licking my anus, collecting the oozing semen onto her tongue and swallowing it. She also hummed as if in pleasure, though I wasn’t sure because memories of my eldest sister still crowded my thoughts. I wanted to spin around and push her away from me, jump on her and strike her with my closed fist repeatedly.
I stiffened and trembled instead; I wasn’t ready to die for attacking a Red Sister.
“Sirana.”
Elder D’Shea sounded as though she had just discovered a soft spot in an otherwise firm fruit. “Tell me who is in your mind right now.”
I hesitated.
“Now!”
“My eldest sister, Jilrina,” I said through clenched teeth.
Gaelan licked and sucked between my legs. The slurping sounds were distracting, and my internal armor which I had built so painstakingly was crumbling fast.
“Why?”
It was the enormity of the question that made me hesitate this time. How to even explain it? Didn’t she know already? Hadn’t I already confessed it fifteen turns ago as the First Daughter’s body had lay stiff in the barn?
I risked a glance upward, realized how my head pounded from the blood pooling and looked back down. “Because I hate her.”
“She’s dead.” Her leather creaked. “Is she not?”
I nodded. “Yes, Elder.”
“Wrong. Perhaps her body is. Your hatred gives her life to you. What did she do to you to earn that immortality?”
“I-I confessed before I came to Court, Elder. I answered your questions.”
“And yet there is something more.”
I both gasped and flinched when Gaelan stiffened her tongue and pushed it into my netherhole, licking me on the inside, too. Oh, Goddess, it felt good and yet I didn’t want her to continue. I felt sick to my stomach at what she was doing.
“Jilrina,” Elder D’Shea said again. “First Daughter of House Thalluen. What did she want most?”
I attempted to get my stream of thought back as Gaelan’s hands rested on my hips. “She wanted to be a Priestess of the Spider Queen. She practiced since before I was born.”
“Interesting. Practiced? Let me guess, she needed an altar, and you became it.”
“As soon as I was placed under her care, yes.” My head throbbed worse. “Kaltra was already broken by then and played her ‘apprentice’.”
“And your Matron did not stop it?”
I swallowed. “Jilrina was never caught, and I couldn’t speak of it. You know this, Elder, she gave me a magical draft, a compulsion against accusing her.”
Elder D’Shea approached me again. I couldn’t see her eyes, only her boots. “Where did she get her inspiration?”
These were the questions she had never asked back in my room at my Mother’s manor, even as I had been expecting them at the time. The Sorceress was asking now, while I was naked, sticky, exhausted, and with a Red Sister’s tongue up my ass.
It seemed appropriate for the Sisterhood’s reputation.
“She got her inspiration from the public sacrifices. Younger Priestesses she befriended or slept with to pump them for details. Any book she could find.”
“Did anything unusual occur during any of her ‘rituals’?”
I shook my head, felt Gaelan close her lips over my pleasure nub and gently start sucking and flicking her tongue. The unexpected spasm of pleasure that resulted surprised me; hers wasn’t entirely unlike the wizard’s technique.
“Ah…! Um, not that I-I noticed, Elder Sorceress.”
Elder D’Shea ceased questioning me then. She merely watched me, watched Gaelan working me. Qivni stood somewhat behind her, the stance of her legs antsy to me. As the chamber grew quiet except for the sounds of the youngest Red Sister eating me, I found myself drawn inside my head, alone with my resurfacing memories.
I’d been penetrated with an object the first time without being able to defend myself. I didn’t understand what my sister was trying to do. I’d bled, and my sister nearly panicked, afraid of being found out by the Matron. I’d been healed though, and I’d long since swallowed the draft which silenced me.
Jilrina taught me to pleasure her with my mouth and tongue, convinced that her climax produced her most robust magical flow; all the rituals ended with it unless I could escape. When she brought in Kaltra, I could never get away. As the living part of the altar, I was always naked.
Jilrina had the new idea that if the Priestess and the Living Altar peaked at the same time, the power released would be incredible. It took a long time and many tries before that happened, with Kaltra’s head between my legs and Jilrina squatting over m
e. The details of the “rituals” always varied, became more or less harsh or trying, depending entirely on her mood and her “inspiration.”
But the ending was always the same.
Nothing ever happened. No attention from Braqth whatsoever. My sister was just a foolish wannabe who could never be sated.
Gaelan hummed against my sex again, and I groaned at the vibrations. I had taken so many male lovers since coming to Court, but never a female one. Even at the ritual orgy—a real one—I had only had sex with males. It was considered unusual. For me, the images of the new experiences helped push out the memories of the old ones.
It was much harder now.
“Is Gaelan doing a good job, Sirana?” the Elder asked. “Is she pleasing you?”
I nodded, quivering a little. It was a slow rise because I was fighting it and I didn’t think I could—or wanted to—ever climax from a female tongue again. But I wasn’t lying to Elder D’Shea, either; Gaelan’s lavish attention on my sex made my heart pound harder, caused my breath to shake.
Yet I still felt distressed.
As D’Shea gave me another moment to ponder, I finally heard that underlying thread of steel which had been in her tone.
Is she doing a good job? Is she pleasing you?
I realized the questions were also a warning. Elder D’Shea had given me the easy challenges first, yet this was another. To refuse to climax under such attentive and generous aftercare as I received would be an insult to Gaelan, which was an insult to the Red Sisters. I needed to let go; D’Shea must want that from me. A simple choice now: orgasm or insult them. Regardless of my distaste for the memories of my sisters.
Curse it.
I swiveled my hips a little, helping Gaelan find the right spots with her mouth. I allowed myself to moan more, encouraging her and focusing on the softness of her lips and tongue on my raw and used flesh, on the intense sensations as she closed her mouth over my nub to gently suck me again. The pressure in my head built as I stood bent over and something like a coiled spring was forming in my lower abdomen.
At last.
“Harder,” I gasped. “Please, press harder.”
Gaelan flattened her tongue on my most sensitive point and pressed as hard as she could, moving it just a little bit back and forth. I cried in relief as the spring uncoiled inside me and my body flushed with heat and pleasure. My vision blurred with red for a moment and my head suddenly hurt quite a lot. My knees buckled, and I fell forward, landing on all fours though still within the diamond. Gaelan followed me down and thrust two fingers inside my sex, causing an aftershock to sweep through me, and I shrieked. My pelvic muscles grasped at her fingers as I rode the wave down, barely braced on my forearms.
Afterward, I stayed where I was, gasping and dizzy enough to fall over if I lost focus. Without being bid, Gaelan got up and moved around in front. She kneeled and took my chin to raise my head, leaning down and letting her lips hover just above mine. I could smell my own scent, see my lubricant glistening around her mouth.
I didn’t dare hesitate this time. I kissed her, tasted myself, licked around her mouth to clean her as she’d cleaned me. A slight smile touched Gaelan’s young face as she stood up and joined Qivni a few paces away.
Elder D’Shea made a sound of satisfaction, offering me a nod. “Stand up, Sirana, and come with us. You’ve shown promise. Now we’ll see if your demons can be exorcised. Red Sisters have no demons except each other.”
Her words echoed over and over in my head as we walked toward the candles. I understood why I was here. I was being considered for recruitment into the Sisterhood.
The Red Sisters. Braqth, help me.
A thrill passed through me, I knew what it was. Goddess, the power I could attain was more than I could ever hope for being born a mere Third Daughter of my House, even had I not been barren. If I entered the Sisterhood, I need not fear any Noble, not even a Matron, and I could laugh whenever I wanted.
Simultaneously, I was terrified. I was not the best fighter at Court. I had never worked as one of the Guard—City, House, or Palace—nor had I experience as a mercenary or assassin. This did not appear to matter, as the first tests were…what? To me, they tested the basest self-knowledge and willpower, and it wasn’t only the elite Swordsvrin they were looking for.
The Sisterhood looks for something else first.
I had never heard even one rumor that a recruit’s trials might start with mating a Sathoet, or that angry, Davrin males were turned loose to rape and dominate her as they liked.
Not one whisper.
That really only meant one thing: the ones who failed the trials never lived to tell about them. I hadn’t known it, but the moment I had walked off the balcony with Qivni, I would not have had the choice to leave or refuse.
It is all or nothing.
To live, I must become a Red Sister. To become a Red Sister, Jilrina and Kaltra had no room in my head anymore.
Red Sisters have no demons except each other.
Elder D’Shea walked up to the same section of candles where Kerse had flung his desperate glance for direction during our tussle. She stood before them for a few instants, then drew in one breath and blew out at least thirty-five of them. These were magical candles; no smoke or soot arose as the curtain of light withdrew, and slowly my eyes adjusted to make out the additional room beyond the line of standing candles.
I could see no less than thirty figures, all female, all wearing the same uniform. The ages ranged the gamut of able-bodied Davrin, and all of them wore different expressions: of stone, of eagerness, of deceit, of hatred, envy, jeer, disdain, calculation, and contempt. My eyes wanted to stop on the short-haired warrior standing in front.
It’s her.
The first Red Sister I’d ever met; the one who’d kissed me in my own quarters after the ritual orgy, only after seeing me bathed and tucked in bed.
She is still alive.
She also chose not to look at me. The warrior stood at attention with her hands folded behind her back, her eyes resting somewhere across the candle chamber behind me, at enviable peace.
Don’t draw attention, then.
I pushed myself to keep scanning the front until I found the absolute oldest Red Sister—older than D’Shea by many centuries—and the next-oldest one standing to her left, a tall, calm Red Sister powerfully built, who carried herself like a General in the Valsharess’s Army. Neither she nor the ancient one was a sorceress like Elder D’Shea, I was willing to bet just looking at them. Neither held their hands the way a mage did, and both had too many subtle scars in their skin. I studied the lined and wrinkled expression of the most-aged Davrin. She merely looked contemplative. Perhaps a little bored.
“This is your offering, Varessa?” she asked Elder D’Shea, her tone confirming her disinterest.
My apparent benefactress looked at me, a smile touching her lips before looking back. “Yes, Red Sister Prime. She bends, she doesn’t break. She will prove it.”
The Red Sister Prime nodded, glancing at the tall officer beside her, who suggested the next step. “We need an altar, Prime.”
“So be it.”
The Prime turned around. The other Red Sisters parted to let her through as she headed for the granite door that appeared in the far wall only as she approached it. The second eldest followed her next, and the other Sisters stepped after them, their boots hardly making any noise.
Fear touched me for the first time. Real fear. I was still naked, disheveled, and sore. I’d seen sacrifices placed on the altar in exactly that state, and my sister had forced me to experience it over and over again. I didn’t want to do this, I didn’t want to! The mindless, animal terror overrode my better judgment. I balked, pulled against my sponsor when she took my arm.
“No demons but us, Sirana,” Varessa D’Shea hissed into my ear. “You will live or die by that truth, so accept it now. Or is my confidence in you misplaced?”
I forced m
yself to move my feet, to walk and be guided by the Sister Prime and Elder D’Shea. We were followed by every one of the Red Sisters—Qivni and Gaelan directly behind me—through the granite door and an empty, private passageway.
The walls were lit intermittently with candles, so our vision didn’t revert to Dark Sight, but this gave me no indication where we were in the Palace if we were still within the Palace. Or beneath it. If we passed any doorways or branching halls on either side, they were masked from my sight. My feet had grown cold walking barefoot upon the stone by the time the Red Sister Prime chose a wall at random and waved her hand across a Ward panel I only assumed was there.
A door opened, and she entered. We all followed her.
My vision maintained full-color thanks to smokeless torches lining the walls, though such colors as there were in this new chamber were somber at best. A high ceiling proved to be black, as black as the walls and the rough-textured stone beneath my feet. No polished, reflective surface on this floor.
Nine grey steps were leading up to a platform with a backdrop of Braqth’s Crest in colors of deep purple, red, white, and black. On the platform, there was a marbled stone pedestal of white and blue, large enough for only one body to lie on it.
Not a pedestal, a small, frightened voice sounded in my mind.
I knew it was an altar, one which had been used for rituals by the Spider Queen’s Mothers of the Web. The top of it was still stained with dark blood not easily scrubbed out by the Sanctuary’s servants and slaves.
Numbly, I placed one foot in front of the other as we walked across the basin floor to the steps, and there we stopped. By some invisible signal, four Red Sisters unknown to me stepped out from the crowd. The rest moved off to kneel on the floor inside a pearly web design inlaid within the stone, each facing the altar. They had all taken on the same expression, reverence, as they looked up at the Banner of Braqth.
Varessa D’Shea kneeled at the front closest to the altar, with the short-haired warrior on her left and Gaelan on her right, both slightly behind her. The oldest officer kneeled with Qivni on her right and behind, but with the Prime standing on the left and in front.
