by A. S. Etaski
Not a good idea.
Most of my Sisters had teased me at one point or another about my first challenge against the Sathoet, about him giving up his name to me. All of them had so much as said that it would be stupid to be purposefully in the same room with Kerse and his Mother, and now I had seen one reason why. Should I tell Jaunda about the glance, or should I keep another secret? What would she even do about it?
Jaunda tapped my shoulder and signed, *What are you waiting for?*
I hurried to don my belt and correct my uniform for the ninth time that cycle.
*Nothing,* I signed back. *Good show.*
Elder D’Shea was in the process of dressing up her uniform when we were bid to enter. She had set out a few pieces which would enhance the beauty of it, transforming it from the practical into the formal. She was heading out soon, likely to the Palace and something to do with the Valsharess. While she was calm, the thought raised the hairs on the back of my neck.
“Report,” she ordered after the door closed on its own.
“We found them, Elder,” said Jaunda. “Removed from the common space, and they’d been there a while before we saw them.”
The Sorceress nodded once, her face set in a frown as she considered the pieces of her rank. She spoke without looking at us. “What did you witness, Lead?”
“Priestess Wilsira breaking another young Noble. Toeing the line, as usual. Sirana saw the details.”
“Oh?” My sponsor glanced over her shoulder at me with a small smile, fitting a bracer just right. “Thank you, Jaunda. I believe Elder Rausery was looking for additional hands for a border excursion. Present yourself and yours, see if she has need of your team.”
Jaunda smirked and nodded. “Yes, Elder.”
“But first find Gaelan and send her to me.”
“Yes, Elder.” Jaunda made a respectful bow to D’Shea, winked at me, and strode out, all power and confidence as she went to fulfill her Elder’s commands.
“How goes the training, Sirana?”
I blinked away from the door just closed. The Sorceress gestured me forward, making it clear she wanted me to assist in putting on her decorations. I had to split my focus between noting her hand signals on how to dress her and answering her question.
“I’ve improved my endurance and patience, Elder,” I answered, “to keep up as your Lead and Lunents run me through courses. I’ve laid eyes on political figures before, but this was the first of personal connection to me.”
“You’ve met Wilsira before?”
I frowned; I wagered she knew I hadn’t. “No, Elder. Kerse, the Sathoet. He was with her. You and Lead Qivni warned me about his Mother after how I chose to handle him during my trials.”
She merely smiled, waiting as I floundered the pick up the next piece. I chose a blue-ribbon brooch.
“That piece goes on after this one.” She swapped it with another small bracket of pure silver. “Now give me your report, Sirana. All of it.”
I slowly attached the bracket before accepting the ribbon bar, working to get it level on her chest. “Lead showed me many of the tunnels and spy-slits we use through the Palace and Sanctuary.”
“Showed them again.”
“Yes, Elder. This time we were in them long enough I have a rough map in my head.”
“Excellent. Continue.”
“I looked in some of the spy-slits, but without touching the glyphs I only sensed impressions of residents doing mundane tasks, and Lead wasn’t for loitering much. She found the small meeting room as if she’d been looking for it, or something like it. I know it was on purpose. She put me on the glyphs to witness, and I recognized the Sathoet.”
Elder D’Shea nodded without acknowledging this, lining up the next three bits for me and indicating their order and placement. “Go over the entire scene once. I want objective detail first. Your impressions may be invited after.”
I described it once all the way through first without “impressions,” also trying to minimize how often Jaunda distracted me.
“Interesting,” my Elder said without much reaction. “What are your thoughts on this?”
“Anything specific, Elder?”
“Just talk, Sirana.”
“Curgia didn’t pander to Braqth enough, in the Priestess’ view,” I commented. “Or she had early on, and Wilsira wore her down enough, so the Noble revealed a weak mask.”
The Sorceress nodded once. We finished decorating her uniform, and she was now doing her own hair to make sure it was perfect. As she lifted her tresses up, we could meet eyes in the mirror.
I continued, “Kerse seemed to expect being included in the ‘negotiation.’ He watched his Mother, became erect almost on command. Like he was trained. I was not surprised that Wilsira used him to humiliate the Noble by rutting her, but the Priestess’ confidence that Curgia would catch seemed misplaced.” I thought about Jaunda’s comment, of Curgia being in Wilsira’s pocket. “Maybe it was only the merchant’s belief it would happen that Wilsira will use to torment her for a while.”
“Oh? Why do you think so, Sirana?”
I shrugged. “I’ve never seen or heard of any female bearing a baby sired by a Sathoet. Most Nobles I knew assumed they are sterile.”
“The Priestesses’ half-breed sons are not sterile,” Elder D’Shea said soberly. “But they are not allowed to breed. It’s the Priestesses who are sterile, from birthing those very sons.”
I blinked in shock. “But…the Royal Consorts. They’re Priestess sons, too, aren’t they?”
D’Shea smiled unpleasantly. “They are, yes. And quite fertile, allowed to breed by order of the Valsharess. As a Red Sister, Sirana, you’ll not make this known.”
I nodded. “Yes, Elder. But how do the Priestesses have Consorts? Is it before they have the Sathoet?”
“Another time, perhaps, after you’ve witnessed more.” The Sorceress had her hair pulled off her neck in an elegant sweep. “For now, focus on what you saw this cycle.”
I thought over this yet again. “I think I understand Lead saying Wilsira was ‘toeing the line.’”
“She always does because she can. Curgia won’t bear that creature, but she will be tortured with it for a while. Her will tested for usefulness. We’ll watch House Itlaun, as it’s not clear to me why Wilsira wants the Second Daughter, but it’s not the first time Wilsira seeks to make another bargain in exchange for aborting something the Queen has forbidden anyway.”
I pondered this as well. “Wilsira commented Kerse was part of her, that his gift of offspring was more powerful than the Consorts, who are just ‘stupid, pretty toys.’ She prefers her demonblood son to any breeder.”
D’Shea chuckled. “Yes. That is telling. In some ways, she’s right. The Consorts are beautiful and make beautiful children. Most have the magical strength to offer a lineage, but they aren’t trained to use it themselves. They are not taught to read or to cast. They are show-studs rented out to the pious bidder. Their ability to carry a conversation of any interest varies remarkably, but most Matrons don’t care.”
Indeed, my Mother hadn’t.
While Elder D’Shea wrapped a black sash around her waist, my thoughts wandered to the Consort I’d attacked. He had been pretty and delicate, performed no casting, yet he had not seemed vapid to me.
Those eyes.
Sometimes I still dreamed about him. Writhing under me, equally desperate to contain his release as I was to bring it out. And he had tasted of strong magic.
I dared to ask. “Did you ever learn why that one Consort was alone and unprotected where I could find him, Elder?”
D’Shea turned around, stepping to retrieve her cloak from the wall hook. “That is not your concern, Sirana. Your thoughts should be on Wilsira and her son. They may become dangerous to you.”
So, she spoke it plainly at last. Very well.
“What have you seen of a Sathoet’s abilities, Elder?” I asked instead. “Can the
y be trained to detect other presences the way a mage can?”
My superior stared straight at my eyes then, held them, and when I didn’t move but waited, she slowly smiled. “What have you seen, Sirana?”
“I don’t know, Elder.”
“Unacceptable. What do you think you’ve seen?”
I was quiet for a moment. “How powerful are those glyphs at the spy-slits?”
“Very,” she answered, never blinking. “You know it’s impossible for your hands to slip by accident once activated, and no Davrin has natural senses strong enough to detect what we don’t want them to detect.”
“Who made the glyphs?” I countered. “How do we know that there isn’t some weakness? The Sisterhood doesn’t use as much magic as the P—”
D’Shea slapped me, and the echo faded as we stayed still for a few moments. When she didn’t admonish me further, her expression strangely peaceful, I took it that she didn’t forbid me to think along those lines. She was warning me about grappling the wrong topics out loud, and too soon. It was not the first time she had done this. In her own way, she trained me as much as Jaunda.
“What did you see Kerse do, Sirana?” she asked with an unspoken promise. There would be consequences worse than a stinging cheek if I deflected the question again.
“He was the last to leave the room,” I said, my chin down. “He stopped and smiled behind him at the empty space. He seemed to look straight at me. I don’t know for sure that he knew I was there.”
“Given what I’ve told you, why do you think he would?”
My chin was still down. “I had whispered the release word and removed one hand from the glyphs before he exited the door.”
“Mistake,” she said. “Don’t repeat it. Always wait until they have all left.” A pause. “Right hand or left removed?”
“Left.”
She frowned. “You’re sure. And the other was still in place.”
I nodded. “Yes, Elder.”
“Had you moved your feet?”
“No.”
“And where was Jaunda?”
“Five steps to my right, facing the wall.”
She was quiet before she stepped past me to check her room before we left, as was her habit. I resigned myself not to be privy to her thoughts; I so often wasn’t anyway. My cheek still stung, and I decided I wouldn’t have another.
Elder D’Shea paused in front of me. She was awe-inspiring in her dress uniform; the balance of red and black meant she would match a backing of Sisters, but the blue and gold accents made her stand out as one of our leaders. This was not something to do on a mission or in battle, but it was something to do at Court and the Palace.
“He couldn’t have heard or smelled you,” D’Shea said now, and I was stunned that she’d given me that. “The only glyph you deactivated was to enhance your own senses. All other wards were still in place. Unless you slipped your other hand without realizing?”
She raised an eyebrow as I shook my head, eye contact not wavering. “My hand did not move, Elder. I remember the grit beneath all five fingers and the magic in my palm.”
Slowly she nodded; she looked to believe me.
“This isn’t an ability you know of the Sathoet?” I asked cautiously.
My superior half-smiled. “Each one has a different sire. Only their mothers know what they might expect from their heritage as they grow, but the Valsharess, the Prime, and I keep them in check. Meanwhile, we watch, learn, and catalog. It is disturbing that he might be able to sense through powerful wards. We’ll work on determining that for sure. He is one of the oldest Sathoet sons.”
My white brows lifted with interest. “How old, Elder?”
“Nearly five hundred.”
Sobering. I wasn’t yet one hundred. I had also never seen a full-blooded Davrin male who was that old. Only females. Maybe it was easier to understand why the Priestess preferred his company to the young, pretty Consorts if the two had been together that long. And I’d teased that ancient son; I’d fucked him the same as I had my previous conquests. No wonder Qivni rolled her eyes.
“Would Wilsira know if he developed this strength?” I asked.
“Of course,” D’Shea answered. “That’s what is disturbing. She dotes on him more than most Priestesses do, and he is loyal to her. She controls him, and she has been using every aspect of him to her advantage for the past three centuries.”
“And yet he told me his name,” I commented.
She gave me a sharp look. “Nothing to be smug about, Sirana. Coaxing a Sathoet to stray from his Priestess is dangerous. Do not think one coupling somehow gives you real sway over a creature conditioned to do what she tells him.”
“But I did just that,” I countered. “If his conditioning were absolute, I would never have gotten his name. He would have broken my body and done as his mother said.”
My Elder’s face hardened. “Meaning what exactly?”
“He has more free will than she knows. She’s underestimating him. He could even be hiding that new ability from her. He waited until she’d left the room to look behind him like that, she never saw it.”
D’Shea’s mouth twitched. “Perhaps that was accidental. He knows what benefits him.”
“Are you underestimating his intelligence, Elder?”
“Are you overestimating it?” she shot back. “I’ve been watching him and his kind for my whole life. Perhaps his conditioning isn’t ironclad, perhaps he can be clever now and then, but he is still not capable of intricate, lasting plots, Sirana. Sathoet appetites are immediate, and they are easily distracted by opportunity. If Kerse can sense beyond the glyphs and if Wilsira doesn’t know now, then assume she will in the near-future. Distraction followed by renewed loyalty to his Mother is one thing the Sathoet sons all have in common, and it has never changed.”
I was surprised my other cheek wasn’t stinging by now, as much as I’d been debating even in the privacy of her quarters.
“That boldness spoke well for you in the trials, Sirana,” she said, “but I tell you now, don’t pursue him for pride. You do not have the experience to take on Wilsira and not end up like Curgia.”
I stood, uncertain. “Was that what you wanted me to learn? To be wary and afraid of a Priestess? After handling her son. After what you said about Jilrina’s memory holding me back?”
Elder D’Shea didn’t answer that. “I have plans for you that don’t include that Priestess, Sirana. As your knowledge grows, so will your reach. I promise you that if you obey me and pay attention. Until then,” she patted my sore cheek like I was a child, “don’t be reckless and get on the wrong side of Braqth’s Chosen. Avoid her offspring where you can. He’ll forget you if he hasn’t already.”
D’Shea had longevity and experience I could not discount, and perhaps it was paranoia more than curiosity which made me think Kerse was lying in wait for something, withholding abilities his mother didn’t know he possessed. Maybe I thought this only because my own sister had underestimated me in the same way.
She hadn’t seen it coming.
He smiled at me. I am…almost certain he did.
“Yes, Elder. I will obey. And pay attention.”
Gaelan and I flanked D’Shea as we exited a back passage into a candlelit hallway. We were three distinct Sisters; the one in the dress uniform of red and black, the pure red one, and the solid black one. There in the hall, for all to see.
I wondered if I stood out as much as my superior except as the trainee rather than the commander, or did the mixture of black into the Sisterhood’s dress confuse those who knew little of our inner workings? It soothed my ego to think so as we passed cautious Nobles, Palace Guards, and servants. I wouldn’t act like a novice.
D’Shea had only said one thing to us before we left, her eyes conveying unspoken punishment if we embarrassed her. “Do not speak and do only what I tell you.”
Gaelan had let me go in front of her, and she pinc
hed my ass before we left. I had jumped but made no sound.
“Too tense, Sister,” my superior said without looking behind at us.
I shot a glare at Gaelan; she just winked in response. Her lips drew my attention as she smiled, and I recalled them pressed soft and hot on my sex. I decided to relax and let my irritation go. This young Red Sister was a defender for me. I’d never had any defenders before but knew Gaelan, Jaunda, and Elder D’Shea were real. Excessive taunting or harassment in the Cloister had lessened lately as I seemed to get over an unseen hump. Since the beginning, Jaunda’s laugh and Gaelan’s sexy smile were rewards which improved the experience of just staying alive.
They accept me. They enjoy me, I enjoy them.
Elder D’Shea’s authority and leadership were real as well, and hard-earned, and I felt like an apprentice even without any mage talent. My sullen, childish Court attitude had taken so many beatings since this began in the wilderness that I wasn’t sure what was genuine in me when I compared myself to them. I was still figuring out what they saw.
Perhaps Gaelan pinched my bottom as a reminder. Bend, don’t break. You can be that confident, you can laugh like Jaunda.
Later. Not on the way to stand before the Valsharess.
I wondered when the next potential recruit might come into our midst. Would it take a few turns, or decades? How long had Gaelan waited for me to arrive? How much did that change D’Shea’s focus? I had yet to ask my closest Sister; our Elder kept Gaelan busy, and there had been barely enough time for me to submit to a quick fuck to relieve stress, spreading my legs to her Feldeu. We had yet to trade places; I wasn’t sure if it was allowed yet, or if she wanted to.
I wanted to. I wanted to try fucking my closest Sister with that magic tool.
D’Shea paused outside a chamber, the immense, ornate double-door empty of the Palace Guard. With a motion of pure grace from the Sorceress, the door swung inward as if by an invisible hand. We entered a chamber filled to the brim with decoration and banner, the walls lit by just enough smokeless torchlight to display the vibrant purples, golds, and reds, accented by blue and black. The theme of the decorations could not be missed: webs and spiders, wands and potions, swords and daggers and arrows. Everything and everywhere that we were strong. My mouth twitched when I noted the lack of many shields.
