Handmaiden's Fury

by JM Guillen

  I had never seen the villa before this day. When I did, I’ll admit that I was pleased.

  It was beautiful. It was artistic and old, with climbing vines and scarab roses all along the whitewashed wall. The roof of midnight-black shingles had several small chimneys peeking up. Stained windows faced the garden, great multicolored things that caught the light and sent it dancing. The pathways through the garden were bordered with low, stone walls, and each garden section was unique, filled with dizzying fragrance and bursts of wild color.

  Though Sire Mattias obviously selected this villa to meet his stringent requirements, part of my secret heart could not help but feel proud that my Sire had gone to such extravagance. Yes, I knew that it wasn’t about me—my Sire would never show me that kind of special favor—but I found it difficult to look at the stately house and not feel giddy. Like a secret retreat, we rendezvoused in such a lovely place.

  Still three stories of ivy-covered stone seemed extravagant for our purposes, better suited to families who had traveled to our port city. Oftentimes, a well-to-do merchant might sail from Caed or the Empire and needed to stay for a hand of days while setting up his operations. In that instance, a villa such as this one was perfect for his needs.

  Beyond the gate, I noted a pond with shallow stone steps leading toward the house while several flowerbeds of vibrant, dancing blossoms surrounded a water fountain. Next to the water, a small patio boasted a freestanding hearth, surrounded by pillars of squared-off stone. They supported thick wooden beams that formed a rough roof.

  After taking a moment to make certain that no one followed, I went to the gate, unlocked, as I knew it would be. I turned the wrought iron handle and slipped inside, with one last furtive glance at the street outside.

  Whoever owned the house obviously had masterful gardeners in their employ. The garden hosted a cascade of winterbloom, orris, and more varieties of rose than I had ever seen in one place. The color ran riot, and the scent was heavy. I could almost taste the sweetness on the wind.

  I drifted through the garden, stopping at a singing fountain here, a graceful statue of a dancer there. In this wonderful place, high hedges and stone walls cleverly hid secrets around every bend. Walking toward the house, every turn brought a new smile to my face, and I longed for the time to explore the grounds more thoroughly.

  But I was here with purpose.

  I stepped up the stone stairwell toward the house, my mind already casting ahead to my evening. Hours of rituals, I was certain. Just the fact that Sire Mattias chose the ignis vitae meant that—

  Brys opened the door.

  I stood, stunned. No one was to know of this place. What was he doing here?

  “Come in, Handmaiden.” His baritone resonated pleasantly. “We have to attend to many preparations.”

  I stepped into the foyer, still shocked. “Brys, why are you—?”

  “Sire Mattias said you did not know.” The slender man shrugged. “Needing extensive preparations completed in a very short time, he trusted my discretion.”

  I gave Brys a long look. “But if the Headmaiden questions you—?”

  He offered a reassuring smile. “Sire Mattias assures me that if the Headmaiden has reason to question, she will have questioned the two of you first. Our task is to see to it that she questions no one.”

  I knew Brys wouldn’t lie to the Headmaiden. We just needed to make certain he wouldn’t have to choose where his loyalties lay.

  “Is Sire Mattias here yet?”

  “He is. I am to prepare you for him, as he wants to begin as soon as possible.”

  I couldn’t help but smile as well.

  I wanted the same thing. I wanted it more than anything.

  13

  Brys escorted me up a long winding stairwell, with a lantern held in front of him. The golden light danced across rich tapestries and cunningly wrought stone.

  “I haven’t seen the entire villa.” He stopped for a moment to appreciate a painting of Robynn the Unsullied. “I can’t imagine what the Sire paid for the use of this place.”

  “Probably less than you believe. A wide net of people owe him favors beyond those indebted to the temple. He uses his contacts well.”

  Brys led me up the stairwell and into a large hallway. He paused at the second door, fumbling at the latch for a moment before opening it. He held the door for me.

  “After you, Handmaiden.”

  I stepped inside.

  Brys had prepared the room well. Soft candlelight flickered in every corner, casting dancing shadows around the heavy, ornate furniture. Rich red and gold carpets covered the stone tiles underfoot and curtains, velvets over sheers, hung over the windows. Incense burned, filling the room with a misty haze of musk and myrrh and sandalwood. I felt wrapped in the scent, bathed in it, sanctified.

  Perfect.

  “Sire Mattias has indicated that I am to prepare you, Handmaiden. I will wait outside until you are ready.”

  “Not required, Brys.” I stepped to the bed and shrugged off my cloak before removing my sable boots. “There aren’t any secrets between us.”

  Brys stood waiting while I shed my clothing.

  When done, I knelt on the floor and took deep, even breaths.

  He nodded and opened Gryn’s box. After a moment’s tally, Brys pulled out the civet musk and began to rub the oil into my shoulders.

  The comforting smell intoxicated. Civet, one of the more commonly used oils among the Handmaidens, sang to me of ten thousand memories of pain, pleasure, and submission. It was home.

  Brys’ strong fingers seemed to touch the center of me, and my heart smiled in welcome.

  As he continued to work the oil into my back and shoulders, my breath grew steady and calm. My mind grew still. My heart opened to the secret whisperings of Rydia.

  I let Her voice infuse my being. Heat spread through my body, and my muscles relaxed. My breathing slowed and deepened, and the warm musk of the civet suffused my being.

  Time seemed to meander. All that existed was the strength in my bodyservant’s hands, the smell of the musk, and soft candles.

  “Forward, Handmaiden. I need to prepare your sigils.” Brys’s voice fell as softly as leaves in autumn.

  “Thank you, Brys.”

  Stretching, I leaned forward, putting my forehead to the floor. I stretched my arms out in front of me, leaving my backside exposed in the air.

  Supplication was the Handmaiden’s first pose, a vulnerable position that allowed placement of most of the sigils on my back.

  I mused as Brys made his preparations. I had taken my bodyservant’s control and professionalism for granted, I realized. I couldn’t trust Rand while in this position, with my body so completely exposed. Brys, however, had been loyal to Rydia his entire life.

  I felt the tingly wash of the aqua atramentum as he sponged the mixture into my back. It bit with chill and carried the slight tang of wood alcohol.

  “Still now,” Brys’ voice soothed.

  I braced myself. I knew what came next.

  I heard Brys dip the razor-sharp, metallic quill into the ignis vitae. Metal clinked against glass, and then he pressed the tiny, v-shaped blade to my skin.

  I whimpered as it bit into me, then the ignis vitae began to burn in the wound.

  “Easy, Handmaiden.” He drew the sharp quill straight.

  I felt it groove a slender line of burning flame into my skin.

  Every few inches, he dabbed at the blood, a blessed reprieve. Then I hissed as he cut again.

  The sigils of my Lady left no permanent mar; the magic that charged them protected me from any scarring. Still, every preparation required me to face the tiny quill’s bite.

  Learning to etch all the sigils required years of training, but Brys had mastered the intricate designs. He soothed me and hushed me, even as he sliced fresh grooves into my skin.

  Through years of training, my mind soon turned from this unique pain to what came next. I still felt the pain, but I imagi
ned my Sire’s intense eyes. As the scribing grew more and more detailed, my emotional associations overcame the bite. I anticipated my cries as we sacrificed our pleasure to Rydia and called upon Her Blessings.

  “That’s Quariin, Handmaiden.” He dabbed at the design with the aqua atramentum, and I hissed at the sting. “We still have Doch, Ouigiin, and K’sai.”

  “Yes.” My voice created only a tiny mewling sound. “Please.”

  My pain was my Sire’s pleasure. I was a tool in his hand.

  The scribing continued.

  Even with Brys’ mastery, inscribing me took almost two hours.

  As the sigils wove their way across my back, my mind and heart and more gave themselves to memories of my Sire and fantasies of Rydia’s Blessings that lay ahead.

  By the time Brys finished, I panted with need, my hips writhing. If this had any effect upon him, I knew nothing of it.

  “I need to make certain that the bleeding stops, Handmaiden.” Brys dabbed at my skin again. “Sire Mattias wants you in the steam baths below the villa. Without caution, the warmth will encourage your bleeding.”

  I scarcely noticed his dabbing. My mind had hazed into the strange, meditative state that came so easily with my pain.

  “Thank you, Brys.” A lazy smile spread across my face. “You always take good care of me.”

  “It is the Lady’s will, Handmaiden.” He helped me to my feet. I almost stumbled, but he caught me.

  “Thank you, Brys.” In my dazed mind, I struggled to convey my true gratitude. “Thank you for food every morning and bathing every evening and working on my hair… Thank you for ten-thousand tiny things,” I babbled.

  He nodded.

  I wondered if he truly knew or merely humored me.

  He patted my hand. “Come then. Sire Mattias should not wait.”

  I followed along, a newborn, pure and open and free.

  14

  As I had mentioned, Stormhaven owed much of its temperate climate to the hot springs.

  Of course, the city used these springs in a number of ways, including the steam baths installed every few blocks. Most of the larger manses and villas, such as this one, had private bathing rooms in the lower areas of the house.

  Still clumsy from my preparations, I stumbled as Brys led me down the stairwell. Ever careful, he held me close, making certain that I wouldn’t fall down the cold, dark stairs in my pain-drunk state.

  “Careful, Handmaiden.” He fumbled for a key to the ebonwood door. “Let me get you relaxed into the bath, and then I’ll inform the Sire that you are prepared for him.”

  “Thank you, Brys.” I leaned on him, perhaps a trifle closer than I should have. For the first time I wondered if he found his task difficult, constantly tending to the bodies of Handmaidens yet receiving little physical comfort in return.

  He opened the door and led me into the dim room.

  A live hot spring bubbled up from somewhere deep below the house. The walls of the room glistened, slightly damp, but the air had a clean, salty tang to it. Cunningly carved stone steps led into the fragrant, steaming water.

  Brys set his lamp on the floor, then helped me to the pool.

  “The bath shouldn’t sting your sigils, Handmaiden. If they do, we need to tend to them.”

  Gasping at the heat as I stepped into the water, my sigils became my last concern. The sensation both shocked and soothed. I took another step, deeper in, and placed my hand to the side of the pool.

  Slowly, I lowered myself in and sat in one of the seats carved into the stone side. The water was rich, heavenly. It soaked into my skin and unknotted my hidden cares.

  “Your sigils?”

  “No pain. You are an artist, Brys.”

  He nodded. “I live to serve.” He turned and quietly closed the door.

  Alone, I languidly sank into the warm water. My eyes closed.

  I drifted, body and mind, in darkness and warmth.

  I awaited my Sire.

  Then I simply felt him. His presence created a darkness, a weight in the room. My heart pounded before I knew why. When I opened my eyes, he stood before me, naked.

  Every time I saw him, I had to fight to catch my breath.

  He was glorious.

  In his hand, he held the bottle of ignis vitae. It cast slivers of deep, glowing red and flickering orange shimmers across his well-toned body.

  “Hello, Keiri.”

  His baritone sent delicious shivers along my skin. My breath caught just a touch at the use of my name. Sire Mattias always called me Handmaiden as a show of both respect and professionalism.

  “Hello, Sire Mattias.” I shifted, unable to hold his piercing gaze of silver and cloud.

  He reached forward and dribbled shining traces of the vitae into the water. It spread, diffused, and glowed softly. Even though the springs were quite warm, I felt a burst of heat when the light touched my skin.

  Stepping into the water, he stood on one of the steps into the pool. Dappled shadows danced across his sculpted face.

  My Sire ran his finger along the side of my jaw. He caught my chin and pulled me up a step, bringing my mouth to his.

  Sire Mattias’ kiss was like thunder over the ocean.

  I traced my fingers along his back, feeling the intricate patterns of brands that had sealed his oaths during his training. His arms wrapped around me, and he held me gently, as if I were a precious, fragile treasure that he could not bear to release.

  I moaned softly into his mouth. My world was steam, dappled shadows, and the fire of his kiss.

  His mouth wandered then, down over my neck, nibbling at my ear. My fingers traced the lines on his back, and I sighed.

  “What would you have of me, Sire?” I asked in a breathy whisper.

  “Patience, Keiri.”

  He lowered himself into the water, his mouth trailing down my warm, wet skin. I whimpered softly. His fingers traced across my nakedness, and I gasped. He met my eyes.

  “Slow, Keiri. We have time. Let the fire build.”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  I let my fingers brush along his broad shoulders as his mouth nibbled along my neck. Hungrily, he devoured me, and I mewled for him as his other hand dipped below the water to caress me.

  Eldritch, alchemical light shone from the water. It cast long, flickering shadows against the walls.

  “Please. Sire—” I gasped at his touch. “I need—” No words could describe how the sigils burned in my body.

  He smiled indulgently. “Ever so eager?”

  For you, I thought, almost allowing the forbidden sentiment to slip out.

  Time stopped.

  The water, the steam, the surrounding walls, everything faded away. Everything but him. Mattias. His every feature seemed to etch itself into my mind in perfect clarity. The dark hair, beaded with tiny drops of alchemically treated water, the wide cheekbones, the generous curve of his bottom lip. And his eyes. Dear Goddess, his lightning kissed eyes.

  I love him.

  Shirking from such blasphemy, I bit my lip.

  While holding his gaze, I sank to my knees. The warm water lapped at my skin. I let my fingers wander until I found him.

  “Let me show you how eager I am.” I caressed him teasingly, watching his wonder flicker across his face as I did.

  He chuckled. “Keiri. You are such a good girl.”

  Keeping my eyes on his, I leaned closer to him.

  I showed him how good I could be.

  He sighed with the pleasure of it. Gently, his fingers wound their way into my hair, and I closed my eyes.

  It was a moment of forgetting, of losing myself in him. I couldn’t think anymore. Not about Orin. Not about his assassins. My concerns about sex slaves abandoned my mind.

  I even let myself stop refusing to think about my feelings. The future and the past lost their sway, leaving me completely present.

  I was free.

  For now, he was mine, and I was his. That encompassed my entire world.

&n
bsp; And mine was a glorious world.

  Sire Mattias’ fingers curled into my hair, and he squeezed. It helped keep me locked in the moment. My movements sped and my hips made a slight rolling motion. Sire Mattias groaned and held me tightly. Then he took me with the fury of a thunderstorm.

  I loved it.

  The sigils on my back soon began to glow with the faintest touch of heat. I allowed my arms to twine around him, and my mind drifted.

  Nothing in the world compared to servicing my Sire. My worries and concerns dropped away. I surrendered all fear and pride as I completely lost myself in the whispering sough of his pleasure and the dark murmurs of his desire.

  I needed this.

  I had trained for this.

  This was what the Lady demanded. A Handmaiden was gifted to service.

  A Handmaiden is—

  Sire Mattias thrust fiercely. My eyes teared up, and I knew my throat would be sore. Still, however, I felt the sigils coming alive on my back, hungrily feeding upon my desire. As I pleased him, I relaxed into who I really was.

  I am the bearer of the Lady’s fire. Of love, of flame, of passion—

  The unwelcome thought burst through my meditation on Rydia.

  I love him.

  I acknowledged the truth in my heart.

  I love him.

  I tried to think, to reason, but there was only room in me for one thing.

  I love him.

  I must never tell him.

  Oh, Goddess, no!

  Newborn thrills of emotion surged in the center of my being. Such infatuation as I felt for my Sire was absolutely forbidden in Rydia’s service. A Handmaiden’s passion belonged to Rydia. This love, especially for another of Rydia’s Children, must never be discovered.

  I could be—would be excommunicated, kicked out of the temple, banished from the city.

  No.

  No, my removal from service couldn’t be allowed.

  The Stormhaven temple was my home. Where I belonged. I answered to Rydia, and Rydia alo—

  Rydia.

  Oh, Goddess.