“Again you presume, Baroness. There are those who suspect your good intentions, and you have done little to discourage those suspicions.”
“Oh, please!” Amandice dismissed, haughtily. “I’ve done nothing but cooperate with you. And my intentions are pristine . . . even if they don’t seem like it, from your narrow perspective.
“Look, little mageling, I appreciate your interest in my enterprise – I really do. Believe it or not, I have a tremendous amount of admiration for you and the work you do,” she praised. “But I have to insist that you leave me to my business, and you attend to what is properly yours.”
She delivered the line casually, though with enough force to demonstrate her resolve.
But there was something else . . . a wave of magic that was subtle and indefinable emanated from her as she spoke. Pentandra could feel it trying to undermine her own thoughts and feelings and replace them with a kind of blind complacency.
It wasn’t as direct an effect as a spell, but there was an undeniable attempt at arcane manipulation going on. Before she had acquired Everkeen she might have succumbed to it. But somehow, even from its magical pocket, the baculus anchored her mind even as her emotions invited her to surrender.
“Finding out what your business is, and how it affects Vorone and the Duchy, is precisely what my business is,” Pentandra stated, flatly. “I’ve had enough of this dance, Excellency. I think we should skip right to the fun.”
With that she finally summoned Everkeen to her hand. The baculus seemed almost eager to manifest in her palm, and the smooth, cool surface gave her a feeling of strength as she faced the baroness.
But after that, all hell broke loose.
“Oh, my!” Amandice said, her eyes growing wider as the baculus appeared. As soon Everkeen’s spellwork commenced, at Pentandra’s mental direction, some force appeared around the baroness and began to resist the artifact’s probe.
The occasion was quite a surprise to the baroness, but she did not display any of the normal human reactions to strong magic being performed in her presence. True, she knew Pentandra’s profession, but rarely had anyone not in the profession witnessed the kind of flamboyant spellwork Pentandra was capable of now.
Pentandra held Everkeen in both hands as the woman in front of her transformed. Nothing happened that would have startled the non-magical observers, but to Pentandra, when Everkeen began its thaumaturgical survey, Lady Pleasure’s aspect changed dramatically.
She was no mere woman – nor a mere mage, Everkeen reported after the briefest of surveys. She had no irionite, nor any of the standard protection spells most Imperial magi walked around with as commonly as their hose and shoes.
But she was neither mortal nor mundane. There was a tremendous power in her that Everkeen had never encountered before – a situation that sent the paraclete into a frenzy of surprise and fascination.
Before she could exercise control over it, Everkeen began saturating the air around the baroness with even more probing spells. The information from each assay flew back into Pentandra’s mind in a dizzying flurry.
Lady Pleasure was not pleased at the unexpected intrusion. Each spell that tickled the edge of her perceptions was met with a counter force, a type of magic that, while familiar, Pentandra couldn’t recall seeing before. Each tendril of arcane inquiry was batted back after only the briefest of forays. It was as if there were two or three magi standing behind her, adeptly countering every prying spell Everkeen cast. They did not counter-attack, but they kept the inquiries at bay.
The feedback from Everkeen was just as interesting, in an academic sort of way. It was the most responsive the baculus had ever been in her short acquaintance with it. Everkeen was feeling, now, not just reacting and complying to her will. It emanated the feelings of surprise, delight, and determination, the first time such human emotions had originated from the artifact. Everkeen was confused. Everkeen was intrigued. Everkeen was delighted.
Pentandra honestly didn’t know which to react to – the idea that she faced an unknown Power in a seedy brothel in Vorone, or that her magic rod was behaving like a puppy encountering a badger for the first time. Either perspective put Pentandra in the role of horrified observer, a position she was unused to.
Of course, to everyone else in the room who was not observing through magesight, it appeared that Pentandra had made a magic stick appear, and then shake it in frustration while Lady Pleasure smiled at her, amused. Thaumaturgical assays just didn’t provide the gratifying light show and sound effects that warmagic did.
Pentandra tried to will Everkeen to slow down, but the paraclete was too intrigued to listen. Like a puppy pulling on the leash, it ignored her desires and redoubled its efforts to pierce Lady Pleasure’s veil of protection. Another flurry of spells crossed the room to determine what the creature was.
Petrified, Pentandra watched an even greater response appear as they were cast. The room filled with arcane power, to the levels that were dangerous for casual observers. Desperately she tried to reign in Everkeen’s probing, but the rod refused to heed her firmest commands.
Lady Pleasure’s will proved stronger, and her power proved greater. With a brief expression of frustration she frowned, and yelled.
“ENOUGH!” she bellowed, and emitted a wave of thaumaturgical energy that left Everkeen in an arcane torpor. Pentandra felt many of her protection spells fail as well. Whomever she was – whatever she was – Lady Pleasure was far stronger and more adept than Pentandra, even with her powerful artifact.
Pentandra was too stunned to react. And too frightened. She had never experienced this kind of power before, not since her encounter with Sheruel, himself. The reminder was not helpful to her situation.
Unbidden, part of her mind reached out to an unexpected place: Well, Mother, what would YOU do in this situation?
Lady Pleasure took a deep breath and took control of the situation. “What a wonderful toy! That has to be Minalan’s work – it has his fingerprints all over it. Am I wrong?” she asked, as she descended the stairs and approached Pentandra. “The craftsmanship has some Karshak elements, but that spellwork is pure Spellmonger – tell me I’m wrong!” she said, eagerly.
This was not Dowager Baroness Amandice, anymore, Pentandra realized. Whatever else she was, this was Lady Pleasure, now, and there was no mistaking that. The predatory look in her eye, the confidence, the delight . . . whatever had taken possession of the body of the baroness had done so completely.
“You . . . know Minalan?” Pentandra gasped. The closer Lady Pleasure came to her, the more powerless she felt. The presence of the woman was like a field of lethargy, and despite her training and her remaining protections Pentandra felt overwhelmed. She could not move.
“We’ve met,” she affirmed in a tone that implied . . . everything, while revealing nothing. “A handsome man. Powerful, for a man. And terribly clever,” she admitted, her eyes flicking toward Everkeen admiringly. “That’s something I’ve not encountered before . . . and believe me, I get around!”
“Yes,” Pentandra said, firmly. “I can imagine. It was a gift from the Spellmonger. A wedding gift,” she added.
“Yes, unfortunately,” Lady Pleasure sighed. “But magnificent nonetheless. And quite a challenge,” she admitted. “But I’ve handled bigger sticks than that.”
“And a gracious plenitude of them, I have no doubt,” Pentandra said, her eyes narrowing. “But that merely begs the question, Excellency, what are you?” she demanded, accusingly.
“Why, a public-spirited matron doing her best to lend her talents and resources to the betterment of her town, my dear, just as I said,” Lady Pleasure purred, as she slowly circled Pentandra. Everkeen might be frightened into quiescence, but that was not the only resource Pentandra had at her disposal.
“By creating an army of whores?” Pentandra asked, one eyebrow raised as defiantly as she held her paralyzed baculus.
“If I was a baron, and not a baroness, perhaps I’d bring His
Grace an army of warriors, but I am not,” she said, simply. “The refugees outside our gates were a resource that no one else was marshalling in this dark hour. I took the initiative to do so. I have adopted over a hundred girls from desperate situations on the edge of ruin. I have fed them, clothed them, bathed them, and most importantly I’ve taught them.”
“Taught them how to have sex for money?” Pentandra asked, still not moving.
“Most had already learned that simple trick,” Lady Pleasure admitted. “I taught them how to gain the most out of the transaction. Those who had begun the journey did so for protection, desperation, comfort, and coin. I taught them by working together they compound their power and increase their gain.”
“So they’re high priced whores,” Pentandra said, casually.
“Pentandra!” Lady Pleasure clucked disapprovingly in a matronly tone. “So judgmental! Has marriage turned you into a hypocrite?”
“Don’t act as if you know me, ‘Lady Pleasure’ – you presume too much!”
Instead of recoiling at the retort, the baroness – or whatever was in her guise – smirked indulgently. “My dear, I’ve known you since the first time you glimpsed the gardener topping the maid behind the laundry shed,” she whispered.
The implication behind the statement stunned Pentandra.
That had been her first exposure to sex, objectively, and the occasion proved intensely formative. It was also intensely private. She had never revealed that curious morning to anyone, ever, nor had she committed it to writing. She, alone, had witnessed it.
Either Lady Pleasure had invaded her mind at some point to plunder her most intimate memories, or . . .
The alternative was too unbelievable to contemplate, for anyone but a mage or a monk. Her exposure to theurgy was minimal, just enough to inform her thaumaturgy, and she knew little about most gods and goddesses.
Save one. She had studied the lore of Ishi for years, haunting temples of the goddess of love and beauty – and sexual pleasure – and pestering her flirtatious priestesses for the sacred secrets of femininity.
Along the way she had gathered a volume of lore on the goddess, her myths, her stories, her legends, and the particularities of her aspect of divinity. Among the sacred lore of the priestesses was the theory that Ishi witnessed all acts of love and pleasure. And not just the active ones. The lore was clear on that point. From the moment an individual recognized the existence of sex as an existential concept , Ishi had knowledge of their soul. There was no escaping that, it was said, no matter how pious a monk or nun you might become.
“I don’t know what you are, but you aren’t Baroness Amandice,” Pentandra accused. Sweat broke out on her brow as she struggled to resist the subtle arcane forces whipping around her, trying to convince her to relax, surrender, submit . . .
“I am her,” Lady Pleasure countered. “All of her . . . and so much more. Your fears are misplaced, Pentandra. I mean you and the Duke no harm. Indeed, I’m here to help!”
“You cannot fight her, Mistress!” Alurra said, for the first time since they’d entered the chamber. “She is too powerful, and now is not the time!”
“Wisdom from the young,” Lady Pleasure chuckled as she circled the mage. “And so pretty, too! Once that hair was dealt with, and you are properly dressed . . . I swear, Pentandra, if this is how poorly you treat your apprentices it's no wonder you haven’t had one before!
“I’m new,” Alurra said, flatly. “And I know who you are! Who you really are!”
“Do you, my sweet?” Lady Pleasure purred as she regarded the blind girl and the raven on her shoulder with amused contempt.
“I do,” Alurra said, firmly. “And I know nothing you say can be trusted!”
“But sweetling, we just met! How can you say such cruel things on short acquaintance? That’s just unladylike to be so bold and so rude!”
“You aren’t a lady,” Alurra said, calmly. “Nor am I. You are Ishi incarnate, goddess of love and beauty, taken the form of this poor woman for your own ends!” the blind girl accused, her brow furrowed in anger.
There. The moment her apprentice said the words, the last of Pentandra’s doubts evaporated.
She was facing Ishi. The goddess. Of sex.
That explained everything. And made her more terrified of Lady Pleasure than she had been of anyone since Shereul.
A goddess . . . here. In Vorone. The very idea seemed ludicrous, but as she considered the news she had to admit that it explained a lot.
Everkeen’s reaction to her. Her non-thaumaturgic arcane power over people. Even that damnable glamour that made her so incredibly captivating. A mere mortal mage might have been able to carry off such a display of power, technically, but it would take the overwhelming power of theurgic magic to side-step Pentandra’s thaumaturgic probes. Only when her apprentice had called it out could she allow even the possibility of such a thing into her imagination.
Lady Pleasure whirled on her heel and faced Alurra. “Well! Aren’t you a clever little witch!”
“And you’re a powerful goddess who controls the destinies of all mankind,” Alurra responded, thoughtfully. “And you know what else? You’re also kind of a cunt.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ishi Incarnate
Everything was a blur in Pentandra’s mind after she left the House of Flowers, until she found herself back in her coach, on the way back to the palace, glaring at her apprentice.
“So, you knew,” she said, accusingly, to the girl. Alurra sighed.
“Yes, I suppose I did. But I wasn’t supposed to tell you.”
“Antimei said so?” Pentandra ventured, her emotions reeling.
“That’s right,” Alurra said, simply. “She said that if you knew before you went there, it would . . . change things.”
“Damn right, it would have!” Pentandra agreed. “Maybe if I had been forewarned I wouldn’t have gone blindly stumbling into the lair of an incarnate goddess when I suspected mere sorcery.”
“That’s what Antimei feared,” Alurra said, swallowing. “But you had to meet . . . her that way. You couldn’t know ahead of time.”
“Why?” demanded Pentandra.
“I don’t know!” the girl said, biting her lip anxiously. “Antimei told me some stories, and she gave me some instructions, but I don’t really know why or how or . . . anything, really. I’m just doing what I was told to do,” she said, a little defiantly. “You had to meet her that way. Or the rest of it . . .”
“What happens with the . . . rest of it?” Pentandra asked, insistently.
“I can’t tell!” Alurra said, her tone desperate. “Please don’t ask me to! Because I won’t! I can’t! Everything will go in the chamberpot if I do, you have to trust me!”
“I’ve known you for less than a week,” Pentandra pronounced. “There are people I’ve known for years I don’t trust.”
“Then you need to make an exception, about this, at least!” insisted Alurra. “I don’t like this any more than you do – worse, ‘cause I already know some of what happens, and it isn’t all fairy tales and feasts,” she said, uneasily. “There is dark magic ahead. But a way through it, if you can just trust Antimei’s vision. And me,” she added.
“Alurra, I just came face to face . . . with a goddess,” Pentandra said, the effect of the realization just dawning on her. “A real, live goddess. And not just any goddess, but one who I am very familiar with. By reputation. And apparently she is familiar with me,” she added, more to herself than to Alurra. “Now I find out that not only does my mysterious new apprentice know this, but she has been specifically forbidden to tell me. Apparently for the amusement of the aforementioned deities.”
“She’s kinda mad at you,” Alurra ventured, after a few moments of silence became unbearable. “She is, I mean.”
“I got that impression,” Pentandra agreed, dryly. “I’m guessing you are forbidden from telling me why? Because that might be helpful, to know why one of the most powerf
ul goddesses on Callidore is angry with me.”
“I . . . I wasn’t told I couldn’t talk about that,” Alurra decided. “But it’s simple, really. She’s upset because you got married and rejected her. She could have . . . inhabited . . . you, instead of that other woman. You were her first choice,” she added.
“Me? I’m not even one of her priestesses!” Pentandra dismissed.
“That wasn’t her concern. You were the one most like her in spirit, according to Antimei.”
That made Pentandra feel sick to her stomach.
Lady Pleasure – the goddess Ishi – was absolutely beautiful and possessed a rare and decisive confidence, but she also had an overbearing, superior manner about her that put Pentandra on guard. She reminded Pentandra of every woman who thought herself worthy of being the Queen Bee in a social circle, only orders of magnitude more annoying. The idea that she was at all akin to the chaotic divinity even in spirit was not welcome, she discovered . . . despite having for years considered such praise as desirable.
“So she’s angry I wouldn’t be her vehicle towards becoming a whoremaster,” Pentandra sighed. “I suppose I owe Arborn for that, now, as well. So, you know the story well enough to know her mind . . . can you try to explain to me what her plan is?” Pentandra asked, patiently. “It’s not often that goddesses set up shop in town.”
Alurra bit her lip, clearly trying to decide how much to tell Pentandra. Finally she broke.
“She’s trying to help,” blurted the blind girl. “She really is, in her own way. Just like she said. She promised . . . she promised the Spellmonger she would,” she added in a softer voice, as if the admission cost her.
“Minalan?” Pentandra asked, sharply. “She mentioned him, as if she did know him. What does he have to do with all of this?”
“I . . . I just know that they are . . . acquainted,” she said, hesitantly. “I don’t know how. I don’t know much more than that. Only that she feels beholden to him, for something he did.”
Court Wizard (Spellmonger Series: Book 8) Page 47
