"Don't be so scared of mages," were his parting words to her, and Ruby didn't suspect a hidden meaning until the Third Trial started.
5
The Mage Hall
"The King once again asks for your service," said the Steward, when they met him in front of a large, windowless edifice on the Palace grounds. "We are introducing you, step by step, to the people most valuable to this Kingdom. The King is generous to those who serve him well, and the gift of your service is the greatest that he can offer."
Ruby only recognized one woman from the Second Trial. Aspirants progressed when they were ready, not according to a set schedule. Every night, new aspirants arrived in the Pavilion with their first bead. Every day, some of the aspirants left—by choice, or because they had not been invited to continue. One of the aspirants who'd gone with Ruby to the Guild Hall had received a proposal of marriage in an alcove. She had left to arrange her own wedding.
Aspirants didn't have to taste the King's cock to change their lives at the Tournament. Everyone knew that.
Ruby was learning to judge how far an aspirant had progressed in the Tournament not by counting her beads, but by looking at her. The aspirants waiting with Ruby to begin their Third Trial had smooth, dewy skin and bright, shining hair. Their fingertips and toenails gleamed with lacquer. They had transformed from citizens into aspirants. Glossy and fresh, luxurious and desirable.
Ruby had never felt so healthy or looked so good. And she couldn't give the good doctor, or his excellent cock, all the credit. Fine food and leisure, ample sport and deep rest had changed her. Even the air of the Pavilion seemed to taste better.
"Today you will meet our mages," said the Steward.
Ruby's heart sank.
"No," said one of the girls. "No. I don't need a third bead."
"Then go, and take the King's gratitude with you." The Steward gestured a waiting servant forward. "You have honored us with your participation in the Tournament."
The servant led the aspirant away.
"The mages will not gather in honor of your arrival," warned the Steward. "Our mages are not always friendly with one another. You may enter the Mage Hall and wander where you will."
"Be cautious," he advised. "Though we place no impediment on your movements, I would not myself have the temerity to open a closed door and interrupt a mage's work."
"Empty cunt," whispered one of the girls.
The Steward pinned the speaker with his steady, compassionate gaze. "Do not proceed if you cannot do so with a generous spirit," he said. "The only reward for your success, if you finish today's service, is a more difficult challenge."
Another girl, a sloe-eyed beauty with skin the color of copper, asked, "When do we meet the King?"
"A Queen does not want," replied the Steward. "A Queen gives."
"The Queen has to service all the mages…forever?" asked a curvaceous blonde.
"The Queen serves her country and her King in whatever way she sees fit," said the Steward. "I'm going to open the doors to the Mage Hall. Those who wish to undertake this service may enter. Those who have questions may linger a moment and speak to me privately. It is my honor to be of help."
Ruby went inside. She'd worry about winning a third bead, and leave the others to ask about a Queen's duties.
Bright magelight lit the windowless foyer in a warm, even glow but not the corridors that stretched in either direction. Dozens of doors pierced the stone walls along the corridors, all closed, and looking at them made Ruby shiver.
Don't be so scared of mages, the doctor had said, but Ruby was terrified. They were not all like him.
She turned left, because the girl next to her had turned right, and started walking. The air cooled. Every door looked the same, and Ruby didn't dare knock.
The hallway ended at a stairwell that, like the corridor, stretched both up and down. Ruby looked behind her, looked at the stairwell, and decided to climb to the next floor up. Maybe she'd find something—a great room, a dining hall. A place where people gathered, and she could find some purpose in her presence here.
But the next floor up was the same as the first, an endless row of closed doors.
She turned on her heel to climb again, when the shrieking of iron hinges filled the corridor and one of the massive wooden doors scraped open.
Ruby paused and waited.
A pleasant-faced woman looked out. She wore a shapeless, high-necked gown that covered everything but her hands and her head, but but both of those seemed normal enough. She wore her pale brown hair in a bun at her nape. Only the spectacles perched on her nose seemed out of place. Did mages really need spectacles?
"Aspirant?"
Ruby nodded.
"Care to give me a hand?"
"I would be glad to," said Ruby.
A bit of light caught on the woman's spectacles and flared like a spark. "Just the magelight," she said, stepping aside so Ruby could enter. "Why don't you come in?"
The mage's workshop was cluttered and dusty, every level surface a jumble of arcane instruments. Ruby couldn't make anything of the mess, but the window unnerved her terribly. Blue skies and bright light poured into the the workshop, but Ruby had seen the exterior of the Mage Hall. It had no windows.
"Just sit there," said the mage, pointing to a cushioned armchair.
Ruby sat. The chair was worn and comfortable, just like something she'd find in her family's home.
"When did you last have sex?" asked the mage, clearing a bit of countertop by stacking the objects in front of her on top of the adjacent piles.
"What?"
"It's just a question. If you don't want to answer, I'll find someone else."
"That's all right, I don't mind," Ruby said quickly. "Last night."
"Before or after midnight?"
"After." She'd taken Lily to bed with her, and they'd stayed up late.
"Really? That's excellent." The mage rummaged around until she'd found a small, empty vial, which she filled with a clear fluid. She chanted over it in a language that Ruby had never heard before.
Ruby bit her lips. She wanted, very badly, to run.
The mage finished her chanting and light flared around the vial. When it faded, the clear fluid inside had turned a pale gold, the color of sugar syrup.
"Would you hold this?" The mage held out the vial.
Gingerly, Ruby took it.
"I appreciate your help," said the mage, sitting down opposite Ruby. She picked up a bit of knitting from a small sidetable and shook it loose. "Now, I'm just going to sit here and mind my own business while you hold that jar underneath your cunt and masturbate until your juices drip down into it."
"While I…."
"You heard me." The mage flicked her needles. "And let me tell you, right now there's a girl who's wandered right into Ren's clutches and wishing she could win her third bead so cheap."
Ruby had donned a light shift before she left the Pavilion that morning, and she hadn't taken it off before entering the Mage Hall. She wondered, as she rucked the fine linen skirt up around her waist, if that would be the criteria by which the aspirants passed or failed this Trial. A true Queen would not cling to false comforts.
The mage's needles clacked in a soothing rhythm. She seemed to be making a stocking. What sort of Palace mage knit her own stockings?
Ruby parted the folds of her cunt, seeking out her clit. She was dry as a bone, of course. She needed to get herself into the mood. Think of something more arousing than knitting. Her gaze bounced off of the mage's weathered grimoires, the bizarre instruments that littered her counter, the impossible window.
Flick flick flick went her finger, but her nerves would not sing and her cunt would not moisten.
"Do you need some help?" asked the mage, peering up over the rim of her spectacles. "I can assist."
"Oh. No. I'm fine," said Ruby.
"I don't have all day," said the mage.
"I'll try to hurry." Ruby worked her clit, trying to bring it
to life. She felt terrible.
The mage's needles began clicking again.
The workshop was a little bit like Ruby's home, and a little bit like her worst nightmare. She associated knitting with her grandmother, who had, in fact, made wonderfully fine stockings. Ruby still had a pair that she kept wrapped in paper, in a cedar box. She'd never wear them, now that her grandmother had passed.
Oh, holy fuck. She'd never get herself off like this. But she'd once—there. That was the memory. She'd once sat down at table with her family and made herself come while they all ate supper. She'd rocked back and forth on a slender dildo until she was close, then ducked her hand under the tablecloth to finish herself off.
That had been after the proclamation of peace with Odesh, but before the reality of it. More than a year ago. The King and his army remained far away, but an air of celebration had reached the capital. Some toasted the safe return of soldiers, others spent the coin they'd set aside for heavy war taxes, and Ruby had stuck a dildo up her cunt.
She'd been born in a no-bead household. She would not die in one.
"Are you sure you wouldn't rather marry?" her mother had asked, after the Tournament was announced. Married women could not enter the Tournament, because they could not win. "Plenty of girls your age have gotten married since the war began. There's no shame in it."
Ruby had been terrified. So frightened that her only rebellion had been secret, hidden from view. She'd clenched that dildo inside of her while walking to the table, and she'd humped it steadily. She'd made herself come in front of people guaranteed to find her actions abhorrent, and she'd gotten away with it.
Nobody had noticed.
"The jar," said the mage sharply. "That fluid is too precious to waste on my armchair."
Ruby held the jar underneath her cunt and met the mage's eyes squarely. She breathed deeply, open and vulnerable, the orgasm welling up inside of her.
The mage's lips parted. She dropped her knitting.
"I'm coming," said Ruby, closing her eyes and letting her head fall back. She drew out the climax, teasing herself to a second and third peak, to give the mage as much fluid as possible.
The mage snatched up the jar before Ruby could drop it.
"Look," said the mage. "See what you've done."
Ruby looked. The fluid inside the jar had deepened to a rosy pink, the color of her labia.
The mage handed her a clean cloth. "Wipe yourself. I'll keep the rag, too. All arousal can make powerful magic, but the arousal of a recently bedded aspirant is the most powerful of all. You've truly done me a service today."
"I didn't realize that." Ruby cleaned herself, then returned the cloth to the mage. "Would you like me to lick your pussy before I go?"
"Not today. If I don't get to work quickly, the magic in this rag will spoil." The mage opened the thick, iron-bound door. "The jar I'll save for something important, but this?" She dangled the soiled rag. "I can have fun with it."
"I'm glad," said Ruby.
"You be careful," said the mage. "And may you win many beads."
Ruby waited for the massive door to shut before she turned and started back down the corridor. She'd return to the staircase and keep exploring. Maybe she could find something to eat. Amazing, that she could think about eating inside the Mage Hall. The doctor had been right. She didn't have to be scared.
It took her a while—too long—to realize that she should have arrived at the staircase, and hadn't. That no corridor, even in the Mage Hall, could go on and on forever, as this one seemed to be doing.
How long had she been walking for?
She thought about turning around and retracing her steps, but she'd lived in Morrow all her life. This was magic, and she'd stay trapped until the mage who'd caught her decided to let her go.
Ruby sat down on the bare flagstone floor to wait.
The corridor melted away and she found herself sitting in a spring meadow opposite a young man of surpassing beauty. He had broad shoulders and slim hips, the elegant musculature of a swimmer, and skin the color of dried blood.
"Do you know why the King sends you to the Mage Hall?" asked the young man.
"No," answered Ruby.
"Because he has no choice," he answered. "The mages have power, so they get what they want."
Ruby nodded. She believed him. The Third Trial was not like the others.
"The mages harvest you, like a farmer milks his cows."
"I am glad to be of use," said Ruby. "Why should I be proud?"
"You could be of use to me," said the young man. "I need you very badly."
"Take what you need," said Ruby. "Use me as you wish."
"I will," said the young man. He was calm, even cool. "Get on your hands and knees."
He mounted her when she obeyed, and his cock was…not right. It was hard as metal and rough as gravel. She'd have wondered if it was a cock at all, if it weren't for the perfect fit of his hips against her ass, the smooth skin of his chest on her back as he covered her. He had a man's shape, and a creature's cock.
"You're hurting me," said Ruby.
The young man snarled and pumped in and out of her, each thrust a wound. Blood trickled down her thighs to soak the spring grass.
"You'll kill me," said Ruby.
The young man smacked her cunt with his dried-blood hand. Magic flared and Ruby came instantly. The orgasm was so sudden and fierce it smothered the pain of the young man's penetration, even as he grabbed hold of her hips and slammed into her.
His cum burned like acid and mingled with her blood.
Ruby did not turn to look when he withdrew. She didn't want to see the weapon he had battered her with. She did not want it to be the last thing she remembered. She lay down in the grass, silky against her cheek, and bled.
"Leave me here," said Ruby. "Let me die in peace."
"Why would I move you?" asked the young man. "Your blood is for the grass. It will fertilize my seed."
Ruby shut her eyes and began to drift. She felt peaceful now, sleepy, and that was good.
6
The King's Gratitude
She woke in the doctor's tent.
He was not alone. Another man stood with him, identical in bearing, but taller and more muscular. A soldier, Ruby thought.
"I failed the Trial," Ruby said, panicked. "I didn't complete it. I failed."
"No, Ruby." The doctor knelt in front of her. The stranger followed behind and stood at the doctor's back. "You were injured, and needed care. You passed the Trial. Of course you passed."
The doctor and the stranger exchanged a look.
"The King has come to visit you," said the doctor. "Will you greet him?"
"The King?" Ruby repeated.
The doctor slipped away. The stranger took hold of a stool, then sat where the doctor had knelt. He looked comfortable, at ease. Ruby wondered how many times he'd sat down at a soldier's deathbed during the war, perfecting his bedside manner, and shuddered.
"I'm sorry to meet you under such terrible circumstances," said the King. "But I wanted to apologize in person. All aspirants come under my protection the moment they enter the Tents. It is my responsibility to keep you safe, and I failed. If there is anything it is in my power to give you, any restitution I can offer—"
"My cunt," wailed Ruby, remembering the young man. Tears flooded her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. "My cunt is ruined."
What could the King give her? She'd die without her cunt.
"Is this a show?" asked the King, pitching his voice low.
"You know what I think," said the doctor, close by. "I won't tell you again."
"You should explain," said the King.
"Go wait by the door," said the doctor impatiently. He took her hand in his own strong and capable one and gentled his tone. "Ruby, listen to me. Nothing is ruined. You will make a full recovery."
Ruby tried to reach between her legs. "I don't believe you," she said. The handsome young man had ripped her apart.
&
nbsp; "Not yet." The doctor grabbed her wrist. "You nearly died. It took all of my skill and all of my magic to make you whole again. Give your body time to heal."
Her tears slowed. "Do you swear? That I am whole, and I will recover?"
"I swear it," said the doctor.
Ruby sighed back into the bed.
"Should I call one of the other mages?" asked the King. "Pia has offered to help."
"She's fine. Heavily sedated, that's all," said the doctor, his robe rustling as he stood. "What will happen to Zov?"
"Nothing," said the King. "He didn't break the treaty. He's allowed to take what is given freely."
"And how was she to know that he didn't belong in the Mage Hall?"
"Some people will do anything for a crown," said the King. "Or even a bead."
"He took her by trickery," insisted the doctor. "He abused our most sacred tradition. And if he can get away with it once…."
"What do you suggest I do?" demanded the King. "Make a list of demands? You know I can't."
"If you don't lay hands on her before this Tournament is over," said the doctor, his voice low and angry, "I will leave Morrow, and sell my skills to the highest bidder."
"Should your threat make me eager?" replied the King. "Already for this woman you have betrayed my trust and squandered your magic. Now you jeopardize your position at court. She sounds like a poison, not a prize."
"The cures to many diseases begin as poisons," said the doctor. "And vice versa."
"Peace, brother," said the King. "I can take her off your hands, if that's what you want."
"I'm thinking of you," said the doctor. "And of Morrow."
"And I am thinking of my cock, and how much she will love it," said the King. "She'll never want yours again."
The rustling of the tent flap marked the King's exit.
"Doctor?"
He returned to her side. "I didn't think you were awake."
"I will never deny you."
"I know," he said, stroking her hair. "I know."
7
The Tournament Page 4
