by A. S. Etaski
“Ssirranna.”
“Kerse!” I grunted, my fingers sank deeper into the red grains beneath me as the Priestess Wilsira’s Sathoet rutted me. Somewhere behind him, a mature, Davrin female laughed at my predicament.
“See to my son’s needs,” she said. “Do you not feel his power? Far better than any pretty Consort. Deny me, and you deny Braqth.”
Then someone I couldn’t see gripped my hair and jerked my head up, pushing the soft glans of a penis against my lips.
“Suck me,” my invisible wizard demanded. “Arrogant Noble.”
I’m not a Noble. Not anymore. I am more. I have proven myself.
I couldn’t speak, however, as both held me as if on a spit. I had the skills to break loose, I knew that I did, but my limbs were stiff as their cocks, refusing to move or bend. Wilsira Tachnathon chuckled again though I couldn’t see her. I raised my eyes, and the Valsharess’s Gaze had disappeared from the light-pocked darkness surrounding me.
Surrounding us. My throat full of the wizard; my cunt speared like Curgia’s, just a Noble ready to be bred. Another House controlled by Priestesses.
No! I’m not of House Thalluen anymore! I’m a Red Sister. They can’t control the Sisters.
Not unless I became pregnant.
“I can tell you are no commoner, Mistress,” my Consort said, his voice immediately soothing, cooling the fire in my holes. “Please think what you are doing. There will be consequences.”
There were always consequences.
Kerse and the invisible wizard vanished. Once freed, I attempted to gain my feet. I failed the first time, stumbling, but the beautiful Consort took my arm and helped me up. I could barely look at him; he was too lovely. He watched me with concern, not unlike my Mother looking at an unconscious Sibron. Both baffled me. And somehow, I resented it.
“What injured you, Mistress?” he asked, far too gently.
I stared at his beauty. I could not give him an answer.
I woke alone, and the first thing I did was stand and check the lock and ward upon the tiny room in which I’d chosen to rest. This wasn’t Gaelan’s room, nor Jaunda’s, and Elder D’Shea hadn’t called on me to attend her in quite some time. This was the first time I slept alone. It was dark and quiet, and as I became aware of the dampness cooling between my legs, I sighed in surrender. I was at once glad no one had witnessed another fitful Reverie like that, even as I ached for a Sister’s tool to enforce discipline and focus.
What am I doing here?
I was haze-walking at Court. Nothing to do but drink, breathe incense, and fuck in between plots for revenge.
Elder Rausery’s response had been, “Why do you think that would be any different here with us?”
Perhaps she was right, yet there was Elder D’Shea’s recent riposte.
“I expect more from you.”
There were demons everywhere, within the Cloister and without. There were those I could touch and their ethereal counterparts inside my head. Demons who were dead but wished to be remembered. Of them all, only one could matter to me if I was to survive, to thrive where I now belonged. The motto alone made that clear, and I had taken it to mean I must reject all but the red uniform.
All demons had begun only as something to fear; a child could not help but be tense and wary when they were around. Through the time my demons compelled me to silence, I loathed their control of my will. It had happened once, D’Shea warned me, and it could happen again with Wilsira, or any Priestess.
For the first time, however, I felt attracted to some of these other demons, whether approved by my Elders or not. Jaunda, Gaelan, the Consort, the wizard. Even Kerse.
And I wondered.
My childhood solitude is gone, D’Shea has seen to it. Yet demons will always be here. I can’t avoid them in Sivaraus. I’ll meet them again and discover new ones. I can’t reject them or remain apart, or I miss opportunities as I did at my Mother’s House.
I scrubbed down my skin and began to equip myself.
Jaunda had said it: Red Sisters who allowed another demon to overtake her mind above the Sisterhood were killed by her own kind. This didn’t mean other demons didn’t linger in our thoughts. If I could not avoid them, what might happen if I tamed these other demons instead?
When I was dressed, equipped, and ready, I left the sparsely furnished, little closet. I had a smile on my face, and when Lead Qivni saw it and lifted one nostril, I wanted to laugh.
I did laugh.
Another cycle, another awakening. On the cusp of my second century, the Spider Queen’s Game was refreshed in the City of the Valsharess.
Acknowledgements
My heart-felt thanks goes out to my beta readers, fans, peers, and friends who had a direct impact on this first book.
Ile Depak, for being a gentleman and wanting to help, for your sharp eyes and proper grammar, and for your kind-hearted and polite correspondence.
Gerrit, for asking specific questions, for rereading so many times to listen for that internal logic and helping me prevent the small things from becoming big things.
Gazukull, for your indomitable humor, for providing that alternate headspace and visual delight, where the ridiculous is cherished and the serious takes a number.
Axelotl, for wanting to make me smile, for providing my very first fan art ever, and for somehow being able to fill in the detail of a paragraph and make the picture worth well more than a thousand words.
NecrosisBob, for being that dry wit, for putting form to your thoughts and making all biology magical, for reading everything I showed you, and making each compliment rare and earned.
Eris, for picking up what I’m putting down, for the audience commentary and terrible-wonderful puns, for the mounds of advice and generosity, and, of course, for your beautiful cover design.
About the Author
Etaski entertained herself with fantasy stories since the first day she sat on a school bus looking out the window. When hand-written letters were disappearing, she wrote no less than five pages to be worth the postage. Her early stories were written by hand, and she had a writer’s callous and three finished novels before graduating high school.
She chose to study science, archaeology, and theater, and she noticed a disparity. Frank discussion of sexuality was rare growing up, so she wrote theories and observations within a story, inviting the reader to contemplate deeper or just be entertained.
History rarely speaks on sexuality, yet biology demonstrates how it sways even basic choices. Drama reveals sexuality but may still fade to black. In the Sister Seekers, the sex is the story, and connections made within will forever change Etaski’s fantasy world without cutting away.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
Acknowledgements
About the Author
