by Sarah Hawke
Taking in a calming breath, I reached out to the Aether. Its familiar, all-encompassing warmth coursed through me, and I delicately channeled the bulk of its power into my mouth and lips. I leaned forward as if to kiss the head of Arland’s cock, and I could see his hips quivering in anticipation of my touch. I paused and allowed him to feel the heat of my breath for a moment before finally flicking my eyes up to meet his.
I could taste his yearning and desire as if they were a part of his flesh. Like Master, Duke Arland was a man accustomed to getting what we wanted, and even though I was nothing but a slave—even though I wore an obedience collar around my neck and cuffs around my wrists—right now I had all the power in the Empire. And I savored every moment of it.
After making him wait a few more agonizing moments, I finally ran my tongue across the tip. He trembled in delight, and I released the smallest spark of Aether from my lips as I curled them around his cock. It coursed through him like a spark of electricity, and I braced myself in case he lost control and climaxed…
But Arland was obviously both disciplined and practiced; he groaned and clutched tightly at my hair, but he didn’t spend. The rumors about his appetites and depravity must have been true after all.
“Are you still certain you don’t wish to take her?” Master asked with obvious amusement. “There’s a table right over there…”
I doubted that Arland even heard him. He moaned in excitement as I swallowed him whole, and once he was thoroughly distracted I decided that now was the perfect opportunity to start my real mission. Channeling the Aether again, I reached out and slowly pushed into his mind.
At first, his surface thoughts and emotions nearly overwhelmed me; I had only ever practiced this kind of telepathy on Master, and his “mental paths” had become familiar enough that I could navigate them without much difficulty. But a new mind was like a new river complete with new twists, new currents, and new rocky shores. It took me almost a whole minute to get my bearings, and I jolted Arland with another burst of Aetheric energy just when I sensed his interest beginning to wane.
“She’s quite ravenous,” he breathed. “Where did you send her for training?”
Master Kristoff smiled again. “I didn’t need to send her anywhere. She’s a quick study and eager to please—a rare combination, in my experience.”
“Then you should definitely breed her,” Arland managed. “Just…not quite yet.”
His cock swelled in my throat as he held me in tight, and once I felt his mind flutter off in ecstasy again I took the opportunity to slip past his surface thoughts and delve into the very core of his memories. This time I was better prepared that the first; I kept my focus even as the torrent of images and words and knowledge poured over me. I was actually tempted to rummage around and see what I could find—Master would certainly welcome any dark secrets I might be able to uncover—but I knew I wouldn’t have enough time to find everything tonight. Fortunately, now that I was inside it was a trivial task to make sure I got another chance.
Slowly, methodically, I implanted a subtle suggestion in the back of his thoughts: later, before he returned to his estate for the night, he would ask Master if he and his wife could borrow me for an entire evening sometime this week. His mind accepted the request readily— greedily, even—and I couldn’t help but wonder how easy it would be for me to manipulate him further. I should have broken contact and accepted the easy victory for the triumph it was, and a part of my mind was screaming at me to do just that. But another part—an emboldened, confident part I hadn’t even know existed before this moment—begged me to put my budding skills to the test despite the risks.
And so I did. Prying even further into his consciousness, I suggested he become more aggressive…and just seconds later I felt both of his hands grip firmly onto my hair. He thrust into my throat as deeply and fervently as if he’d just bent me over the railing, and soon it was all I could do to hold myself steady as he ravaged my mouth. I could have stopped him anytime, of course. I knew that now, just like I knew that once I had slipped past his defenses, I could make him do almost anything…but I didn’t want to. I was enjoying it too much. Both the feeling of his manhood sliding across my lips as well as the knowledge that even while he believed he was dominating me—even while I was on my knees with his cock battering the back of my throat—I was in control. I was the puppeteer, and he was the marionette. And the thought sent a shiver of bliss cascading through me until my toes curled inside my shoes.
“Merciful Triad!” he exclaimed as he continued his relentless assault, and I could feel the eyes of half the room fastening upon us. His pulse quickened, his cock throbbed, and I slipped out of his mind as gently as I could as he rapidly approached climax. “Here it comes, girl. You’d best not spill a drop!”
I didn’t. The warm flood flowed swiftly and easily down my throat, and after a few final spasms his cock fell silent. He held me in place as his knees threatened to buckle, and once he eventually regained his strength and withdrew I hungrily cleaned him off with my tongue.
“As I said,” Master whispered, his eyes glittering with approval, “she’s one of the best investments I’ve made in years.”
“Magnificent,” Arland breathed. “And I see you’ve even taught her to clean her toys once she’s done with them.”
He ran his hand gently through my hair as I finished, and when I leaned back on my haunches and saw him smiling down at me, I knew I had him.
“My wife would love to play with her,” the duke said after a moment. “It’s almost too bad she won’t be in Sanctum for a few more days. She stopped in Riverboro to meet with one of her family’s old merchant contacts.”
Master smiled. “That almost sounds like an excuse to miss the gala.”
Arland grunted as he brushed the back of his hand across my cheek. “You know how much she hates playing the token foreigner in the court. And it’s worse when half the nobles in the Empire are here.”
“Well, I’m sure we can come to an arrangement once she’s in town. Just let me know.”
“I will,” the duke promised. He stared down longingly at me for a few more moments before finally turning away. “I’ll catch up with you later. I need to speak with the leader of the Mason’s Guild before she’s too drunk to sign a contract.”
“But just drunk enough to give you a good deal,” Master replied with a thin smile.
“Naturally.” Arland squeezed at my cheeks. “I’ll see you again soon, my dear.”
Master waited until the other man had vanished into the crowd before ordering me back to my feet. “Like I said before, you have nothing to worry about. None of these fools have a hope in the void of resisting you.”
I smiled, and for a moment his eyes warmed enough that I thought he might actually lean down and kiss me …but of course I should have known better. He would never do such a thing in public, and certainly not while standing here among the Empire’s elite. Instead he glanced away and tugged at my leash.
“Come, General Torelius is downstairs,” he said. “I’d like to speak with him before the Emperor arrives, if possible.”
I nodded and lowered my eyes. “Of course, Master. Anything you wish.”
Chapter Three
In theory, the Imperial Legion was run by a cabal of six High Generals, each of whom commanded an army of legionnaires and a vast retinue of supporting officers. The arrangement was roughly analogous to how the Grand Dukes ruled over a province and the scores of barons and lesser lords beneath them. Both the generals and dukes were given considerable autonomy to manage their own affairs, but in times of crisis the Emperor had the authority to take direct control of both the duchies and the Legion as he saw fit.
In practice, of course, things were never that simple. Just as the Grand Dukes were not all equal in power and influence, there was a great disparity between the various High Generals. The head of the First Army had always commanded more respect than his peers, largely because he represented the cent
ral province of Veshar and was thusly responsible for the protection of Sanctum itself. Today that honor was held by a man named Antoine Torelius, and though Master had been complaining about the man for months, I had never met him or even seen his likeness in a painting. Until today.
Following our meeting with Duke Arland, Master and I made our way across the palace and down into one of the vast conference chambers on the main level. Legion officers were interspersed with lords and barons everywhere, from the lowest-ranking centurions all the way to the legates who commanded the armies on the field. For the first few minutes I wondered if I would even be able to pick out Torelius once I saw him, but then Master steered us towards one of the corners and I realized the general’s identity couldn’t have been more obvious.
Tall and wide with a well-trimmed beard and puffy cheeks, Torelius looked like a man who had never wanted for anything, and I couldn’t decide if his splendorous white coat and gleaming golden sash were supposed to be fashionable or simply garish beyond reason. His own avenari stood behind him, shackled at both her hands and feet, but I didn’t recognize either of the men he was speaking with. The first was lanky and young, probably in his early twenties, but as for the second…
I might not have known who he was, but his crimson armor and inscribed tabard left no doubts as to what he was. A dark chill rippled down my spine, and Master gripped sternly at my hand when he felt my muscles tense. I couldn’t afford to panic and draw attention to myself here, not in front of a Covenant Inquisitor.
“Ah, Duke Kristoff,” Torelius said with an awkward smile as we approached. Judging from all three men’s aggressive postures, we had interrupted a rather intense verbal spat between them. And judging from the flush of the general’s cheeks, I suspected he had been on the losing end. “It’s good to see you again, old friend. I know you’ve wanted to speak with me for a few weeks, but my schedule has been unrelenting.”
“One of the many burdens of fighting a losing war,” the young man muttered as he sipped at his drink. I caught myself just before my mouth dropped open. For anyone to dare mock a High General straight to his face…
“Don’t mistake a few minor setbacks for defeat, Lord Bolvir,” Master said with a carefully-practiced grin. It was so convincing I almost believed it myself. “I’m sure the Legion has everything well in hand, as always.”
Bolvir turned, eyebrow cocked. I belatedly recognized the name: he was Grand Duchess Farrow’s oldest son and the heir to the vitally-important province of Abenwreath. The “Wreath feeds the Empire,” the old saying went, and Duchess Farrow was probably the most influential of any of the Grand Dukes.
“A curious position for someone who has lost nearly all of his lands due to Legion incompetence,” Bolvir said. “Or have you abandoned hope for the people of Glorinfel already?”
“Not at all,” Master replied calmly. “I simply have faith in our fine soldiers and the gods that watch over them. Surely the Triad will not allow a band of heretics to destroy their devoted servants.”
“Well spoken, Your Excellency,” the Inquisitor said. Somehow I managed not to jump despite his deep, gravelly voice. “It’s a pity that not all of your comrades seem to share your confidence.”
“This has nothing to do with faith, Jodai,” Bolvir spat. “It is simply a cold, hard fact. We weren’t ready for another war, not so soon after that disastrous skirmish with the Numenese two seasons ago. Everyone recognized that, even Lucian’s father. But evidently he died before he could teach his son to temper his bloodlust.”
“As I have tried to explain to you before, my lord,” Torelius said with strained patience, “with the Third Army moving in to bolster our forces at Balagarde, the Vaeyn will be surrounded. They will be forced to fall back.”
“And what if they decide to attack Abenhold instead? We have fewer soldiers than Stormcrest, and if they take the fort they could pour into the Wreath and burn half our fields before the next harvest. They could even march within spitting distance of Veshar by autumn!”
Inquisitor Jodai snorted. “And so the truth finally comes out. Our young lord suddenly fears the war once his own lands are threatened.”
“Of course I fear it!” Bolvir snarled. “That’s the whole damn point. Kristoff might be able to sit here and smile to your face, but I’m not. We want answers, General, starting with an explanation for how Vaeyn agents were able to infiltrate and destroy your prison camp at Agara just last week.”
Torelius’s face hardened, and I clutched reflexively at Master’s hand. I had never heard anyone speak to one of the High Generals so callously, not even the son of the most powerful noble in the Empire. Ostensibly, the Grand Dukes and their heirs outranked anyone in the military, but Master had warned me many times that politics were rarely so straightforward.
“Perhaps your mother should have spent more time teaching her son about the dangers of listening to rumors,” Torelius said coldly. “And of asking too many questions.”
A cold silence settled over the group, and for a moment I wondered if Bolvir might actually draw his sword and skewer the other man right then and there. I squeezed tightly at Master’s arm as the tension grew…and then someone abruptly snorted from behind me.
“An abundance of questions has rarely been the Empire’s problem,” an old, exquisitely-dressed woman said as she stepped over towards the circle. “Quite the contrary, in fact.”
Torelius’s cheeks twitched, and a second later he flashed one of the most fraudulent smiles I had ever seen. “Good evening, Your Excellency. We were starting to wonder if you would make it.”
“You were starting to hope, you mean,” Grand Duchess Kathryn Farrow corrected. “Don’t worry, the healers assure me that I’ll still be a splinter under the Emperor’s fingernail for many years to come—assuming the Vaeyn don’t torch Sanctum by the end of the year, of course.”
The general chuckled humorlessly. “It’s good to see that the brave soldiers of the Legion still have the confidence of the Grand Dukes and their families.”
“I have every confidence in their ability to stab whatever they’re told. I have less confidence in the people doing the telling.”
The awkward silence returned, and Torelius’s smile vanished completely. After a few seconds Master Kristoff simply snorted. “The celebration just wouldn’t be the same without your irreverent charm, Kathryn.”
Farrow shrugged. “My son raised an excellent point earlier, and I think all of us deserve a real answer. When the war started the Emperor promised us that we’d have troops in the heart of Sulinor by the first snowfall, and yet here we are struggling to push the bloody elves back out of Stormcrest. At some point the Legion needs to admit it swatted a beehive and wasn’t prepared to get stung.”
“War is inherently unpredictable, Your Excellency,” Torelius said. “I would think that someone who has lived through so many of them would appreciate that.”
The duchess scoffed. “Yes, I’m old and you’re fat. Apparently you really can see the obvious when it’s standing right in front of you. Who knew?” She waved a dismissive hand. “The elves weren’t threatening anyone, and yet here we are.”
“The mere presence of the heretics is a threat,” Inquisitor Jodai growled. “You would prefer we sit back and do nothing while they continue to spit in the face of the Triad?”
“I would prefer that we pick and choose our battles more carefully,” Farrow said. “The Emperor’s father understood that well, just like his father before him. The Empire has bled enough these past few decades, Jodai. I’m sure even the gods recognize that.”
The Inquisitor took a menacing step forward. “I would be careful, Your Excellency, lest His Majesty confuse your words for treason.”
She snorted. “His Majesty knows exactly how I feel, just like he knows it’s pointless to try and make me shut up about it. Now why don’t you take the general here and go scurry off somewhere, hmm? I have some business I need to discuss with Duke Kristoff. In private.”
> The two men glared at her for a moment longer before finally nodding and disappearing into the crowd. Master Kristoff waited until they were well out of earshot before turning back to the old woman.
“You walk a dangerous path, Kathryn,” he said under his breath. “Emperor Lucian lacks his father’s patience…not to mention his restraint.”
“Perhaps,” she murmured after a sip of wine. “But he’s not a fool, either. If he wants to feed his army, he can’t touch me and he knows it. The Wreath is too important.”
“I fear you underestimate his ambition. If he was willing to remove his own father as we suspect, then eliminating one of us would be a paltry task by comparison.” Master turned to face Bolvir. “Or if not that, he could always strike at us in other ways.”
“I don’t fear Lucian,” Bolvir said. “And not all of us are as eager to play supplicant as you.”
“It’s not a matter of eagerness,” Master corrected. “It’s a matter of acknowledging reality. Antagonizing the Legion and the Covenant serves no purpose. We can’t afford to go on the offensive until both Arland and Darkstone join us.”
“There is no ‘us,’ Gabriel,” Farrow corrected. “This war is a mistake. That’s all there is to it. I haven’t agreed to join you in anything.”
“Maybe not, but the only way we’ll be able to put enough pressure on Lucian to stop the fighting is by standing together.”
“Perhaps,” she murmured as she took another long, slow sip from her glass. “You do realize the Grand Dukes haven’t officially held a Quorum in decades, yes? And the Quorum hasn’t successfully called for the nullification of a sitting Emperor in well over a century.”
