by Sarah Hawke
I braced myself as we drew close enough that I could make out the dozen or so legionnaires standing guard outside the walls, but my stomach didn’t twist into knots until I spotted the red-armored Inquisitor standing directly in front of the main gate. His presence shouldn’t have been surprising, of course; the Covenant monitored the use of all magic in Imperial territory, and when highly valuable Aether-infused weapons and armor were involved, they paid extra attention. If anything, I should have been shocked that there wasn’t an entire army of Inquisitors waiting for us.
Once we reached the main gate Larric signaled for the other men to wait by the horses, and he tugged on my leash and led me towards the front steps. Taking a deep breath, I ran through some of the mental exercises I’d learned to help calm my nerves, and they mostly worked. Not that it seemed to matter; the Inquisitor barely even acknowledged my presence. His eyes remained fastened upon my companion the entire time we approached.
“Honor to the Triad; glory to the Empire,” Larric greeted once we drew close. “I approach on behalf of His Excellency, Grand Duke Kristoff of Glorinfel. I have come to meet with First Artificer Tacitus Verne—
“Prelate Agarius has received and accepted your visitation request,” the Inquisitor interrupted. “Though he why was willing to admit an aeynshok remains a mystery.”
Larric smiled. It was thin and cold, like a sheen of ice had spread across his face. “Perhaps that is why His Grace is a prelate and you are not.”
The two men glared at each other, and were it not for the leash holding me in place I might have retreated a few steps. In the elven tongue, aeynshok had been used to denote the coupling of a human and an elf, but in modern parlance it had become a denigrating slur roughly analogous to calling someone an “elf lover.” I had heard it used many times in the Imperial Court between nobles attempting to disparage one another, but why anyone would use it in reference to Larric was a complete mystery. He despised my kind to his core.
Did it have something to do with why he had left the Inquisitors in the first place? Or had been banished instead? It was impossible to know, but by the way the two men were scowling at each other it was obvious that Larric’s concerns about coming here had been perfectly justified. Would the guards turn us away outright? And why had Master Kristoff sent him knowing the problems it would cause?
“You may enter,” the Inquisitor murmured after few more seconds. He nudged a lever behind him, and with a screech of grinding metal the gate slowly slid open. Larric nodded once more before tugging on my leash and dragging me along behind him. The moment I set foot inside the tower all the anxiety fluttering in my stomach vanished…and was replaced by a wave of pure awe.
The entry foyer was as large as the Grand Vestibule in the Imperial Palace, possibly larger, and the decorations were every bit as impressive. Wall-spanning tapestries, ancient sculptures, enough enchanted baubles that the air practically thrummed with Aetheric energy—the tower looked more like a museum than one of the largest production facilities in the Empire. I was also immediately stricken by the lack of people. Two hulking sentinel golems stood vigil in either corner, but otherwise the only living thing in the entire foyer was the surprisingly well-dressed servant rushing over to greet us.
“Welcome to the Infintium,” the man said with an abbreviated bow. He was a human and not a slave, which presumably meant he was one of the Artificers…but he certainly didn’t match up with my preconceptions. Based on the mental images I’d stolen from the minds of the various Sanctum nobles, I had expected the Artificers to be greasy, soot-stained drudges who reeked of ash and sulfur. But this man was dressed well enough to attend the Winter Gala. “First Artificer Verne has asked me to see you to his chambers.”
“Thank you,” Larric replied. If he was at all surprised by the greeter’s appearance, his face didn’t show it. “Lead on.”
We traveled up the winding staircase along the opposite wall, and a half a dozen floors and innumerable twists later we reached what I assumed was the top of the tower. The area was only slightly narrower than the foyer below, but it was divided into various smaller sections surrounding a larger, more open conference-style chamber. Standing inside was a middle-aged man, probably in his early forties, dressed in a blue and silver robe that was every bit as ostentatious as the outfits favored by high-ranking Covenant priests. But Tacitus Verne wasn’t a priest; he and the other Artificers were glorified slaves, at least according to the Sanctum elite. Were their perceptions really that far off base? Or had the Artificers won far more in their recent negotiations than anyone had let on?
If so, they might not be as eager to jump at Master Kristoff’s offer of gold and amnesty. And that meant my task was going to be much more complicated…
“At long last, the prodigal champion returns,” Verne said with a throaty voice that didn’t fit his outfit in the slightest. He had the pale skin of a man who’d hardly ever seen daylight, and I felt a subtle tingle in the Aether when he drew closer—not unlike the ripples I felt when I stood next to a powerful enchanted item. Years of working here in the Infintium must have quite literally rubbed off on him. “I suppose we should be grateful that you’re willing to grace us with your presence again.”
“Yes, you should be,” Larric replied as he slowly turned around, his expression unreadable. “But I’ve never known you to be reasonable before, and I don’t know why you’d start now.”
For a long, heated moment, the two men exchanged spiteful glares…but then finally Verne’s mouth cracked into a wry smirk and he slapped Larric on the arm. “It’s good to see you again, old friend,” the artificer said. “When I heard Duke Kristoff was sending an emissary, I assumed it would be some useless sycophant from the Court.”
“But then you did you a little digging around, and you learned he’d be sending me instead.”
Verne’s grin widened. “Something like that. When I first heard you were working for one of the Grand Dukes I couldn’t believe it. After the Covenant threw you to the wolves I half-assumed you’d board the next ship to Torsia.”
“The thought did cross my mind,” Larric admitted, and the left corner of mouth might have even curled into a genuine smile for a whole half a second. “But the Empire still has many enemies, and my best chance to fight them is still right here.”
“Ever the patriot,” Verne murmured. “Other men would have grown bitter after what they did to you. Some might have even joined the other side.” He shook his head. “But not you.”
“Speaking of joining the other side, I’ve heard a number of interesting rumors about what’s been happening here over the past few months.” Larric glanced back over the railing to the forge. “Not a single Inquisitor or priest in sight.”
“The prelates and I have come to an…understanding. We can head up to the dining hall and I’ll tell you all about it.” His eyes finally flicked over to me, and another grin tugged at his lips. “So this must be the avenari your employer has been whoring out to half the nobles in Sanctum these past few weeks.”
“Only to his friends and close allies.”
“Who just so happen to have something he wants, of course.”
Larric shrugged. “Politics are politics. You know that as well as anyone.”
“Naturally,” Verne murmured as he brought his hand to my chin. I was so used to the routine now that it was practically automatic; I lowered my eyes as a sign of submission and waited patiently as he inspected me like I was a prime cut of roast. “I assume he sent her here expecting that my men and I are desperate for attention, and he hoped that the mere sight of a noble’s pet cunt would make us more agreeable.”
“He thought you might appreciate a gift, especially considering how over-worked and under-compensated your people are,” Larric replied calmly. “But he isn’t asking for much, and he’s willing to pay quite handsomely.”
The artificer grunted as he traced his fingers across my bare belly. “I’m sure he is. With how badly things are going in
Glorinfel right now, I imagine he needs all the allies he can get. But he might be surprised at how different things are here than they used to be. We’re not quite as desperate as the Court likes to think.” Verne squeezed my buttocks and smiled again. “Still, she’s pretty enough. I assume she’s well trained?”
“Of course.”
Verne’s grin widened. “You know this first hand, I take it?”
Larric returned the smile, though it was faint and clearly forced. “I trust Master Kristoff’s judgment.”
“I knew it. Men like him always think they’re too good to share their toys. A pity.” He slapped my ass and grunted. “Well, I’m sure some of my boys would be interested. But in the meantime, follow me. I can catch you up on exactly where we stand…and show you a bit of local hospitality.”
Tugging roughly on my leash, he escorted us up a nearby walkway and into a completely different section of the tower. Where the forge was a smoldering, soot-stained pit, this area had clearly been designed for personal chambers, luxury suites, and conference halls—probably for the priesthood. But I didn’t see a single priest or Inquisitor the entire time we wound through the neatly-kept corridors. We barely saw anyone at all aside from a handful of other similarly-dressed men I assumed were other artificers. They looked upon our group as a whole with obvious suspicion; they looked upon me with equally-obvious lust.
Eventually we arrived in a spacious chamber with a long, polished wooden table at the center. A few well-kept floral arrangements adorned the walls, and it was only then I realized that none of the rooms I’d seen so far had any windows. This place really was a dungeon, and the plants seemed like a recent addition.
“As you can see, things have changed here of late,” Verne commented as he gestured towards one of the chairs at the table. Larric nodded politely and took a seat. “We finally have some breathing room, and we’ve managed to loosen the Covenant’s leash.”
“Removed it, more like,” Larric said. “You only have one Inquisitor guarding the entire manufactory?”
“Two, actually. They rotate shifts.” The man’s omnipresent grin became incredibly lop-sided as he paced around to the other side of the table and dragged me with him. “Prelate Agarius also sends in a few priests to check on us once or twice a week, but they rarely stay for more than a few hours.”
Larric glanced back and forth across the mostly-empty chamber. “It’s hard to believe, is all. Compared to the way things used to be…”
“You mean where we worked as glorified slaves under the watchful eye of overbearing young zealots like yourself?” Verne said with a haughty scoff. “Those days are long gone, my friend. I almost want to head into Sanctum and personally thank Emperor Lucian for starting this war.”
He stopped in front of his chair and turned to face me, then casually started unfastening the front of my dress. I remained as still as I could and tried to ignore the liquor on his breath. It was only midafternoon, but he smelled like he’d already downed a half a dozen pints.
“You would be in the minority there,” Larric said gravely. “Thus far the vaeyn are crushing everything that stands in their path. And there’s no guarantee they’ll stop with Glorinfel.”
“I assume this is the part where you ask me for something,” Verne said. “Weapons, I’m guessing? Armor for Kristoff’s growing mercenary army?”
“Both, but not for our men here. We want you to send as many supplies as you can spare north to help reinforce Mavarinth. Duke Kristoff isn’t convinced that the Legion can hold the city if the vaeyn decide to strike.”
“I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t trust the Legion to fend off an army of old women at this point. But if all he wants are supplies, why not put in a standard requisition?”
“Because by the time anything actually gets to Mavarinth, it will be too late,” Larric said. “Your people understand the terrors of bureaucracy better than anyone.”
“True enough,” Verne admitted as he unfastened the last strap and peeled opened the front of my dress. “The Covenant often lacks proper motivation. But then again, so do we.”
He cupped my breasts in his hands, and the moment his skin touched mine was tempted to reach into his mind. He was only half paying attention to me, after all, and he glanced back over his shoulder to Larric enough that I would have probably had sufficient time to channel the spell without him noticing. But unlike the vast majority of nobles I’d served over the past month, Verne was a channeler himself…and he would be far more likely to recognize a spell when he saw it. I was going to have to wait.
“Decent tits,” he commented with a rough squeeze. “Though you can’t imagine what I’d pay to see a nice pair of human tits attached to one of these little bodies.”
“You seem to have enough freedom now I’m sure you could make arrangements with one of the brothels in the city,” Larric told him.
“Oh, we have. They send over a dozen girls at the end of every week. They’re fun enough, but there’s really nothing quite like a fresh elf cunt now and then.”
“Then consider her an advance on your payment,” Larric suggested. “I’m sure your men would—”
“You misunderstand,” Verne interrupted as he spun around. “We don’t need Kristoff’s charity. We don’t need anyone’s charity anymore.”
He flicked his palm, and a tiny spark of blue-white Aetheric energy leapt from his fingertips and rattled against the small bell hanging near the doorway. I heard a shuffling sound from the hall, and a few moments later another faeyn woman appeared around the corner.
“We already have our own avenari, you see,” Verne said with a smirk. “And Prelate Agarius promised he’d send us another soon—hopefully younger and maybe even still ripe.”
The woman waited patiently, her eyes lowered. She was older than me, though of course it was difficult to tell with our kind compared to humans. Her long, blonde hair was pinned into a tight ponytail, and she wore the same style dress as most Covenant-owned slaves I’d seen in Sanctum. The bottom was a floor-length skirt, but the top was a halter cut just below her breasts. The design wasn’t intended to be erotic; it was instead meant to show off the intricate tattoo encircling her navel. The “mark of sterility,” the priests called it, and it was meant warned potential buyers that the Covenant had magically sterilizing her. Given the value of faeyn children on the auction block, it significantly diminished her long-term value.
I also noticed that her wrists and ankles were completely unshackled, but even more curious was the fact she didn’t appear to be wearing an obedience collar. It probably shouldn’t have been so surprising. She was surrounded by channelers all day, after all, and they probably had plenty of other means of ensuring her obedience.
“Impressive,” Larric said, though to my ears it didn’t sound even remotely sincere. Perhaps I was simply biased by knowing how much he reviled elves. “Still, I doubt her training compares to the personal avenari of a Grand Duke.”
Verne grunted. “Go and fetch us some wine and fruit from the kitchen,” he ordered.
The faeyn woman nodded. “Yes, master.”
She vanished back around the corner, and Verne callously shoved me away and pointed to the nearby wall. I obediently shuffled over and waited as he finally sat down in his chair. “Either way, the point is we’re going to need a more than another whore to risk crossing the Covenant and the Legion. A lot more.”
Larric glanced about the wide chamber. “It seems to me like you’ve crossed the Covenant plenty and come out ahead.”
“For the moment, but I don’t see the point in taking foolish risks to help in a war that frankly doesn’t concern us.”
“It will once the vaeyn push through the Wreath and threaten Veshar,” Larric warned. “And that day might not be as far off as you think.”
“We’re willing to risk it,” Verne replied coolly. “And as I said, right now this war is good for business. You might even say that helping out Mavarinth is against our best interests. If the gr
ay-skins attack it and fail, the Legion might actually manage to push them back into Sulinor. And once that happens…” He made a sweeping gesture with his hands. “Well, you can bet these walls will suddenly be filled by zealots in robes again.”
The slave woman returned with a bottle of wine in one hand and a tray of fruit in the other. She set them down on the table before pouring both men a glass. Verne swigged his down immediately, a boorish behavior that probably would have made any self-respecting noble faint. Larric simply stared at the glass, his eyes glimmering in thought.
He wasn’t a negotiator—that much was obvious. In my time spent amidst the Court, I’d witnessed plenty of skill and folly in the diplomatic arena, and unfortunately right now Larric’s behavior was leaning much more towards the latter. He was usually quite good at controlling his body language, but here he was completely out of his element…and the cracks were showing. He was a warrior, plain and simple, and I yet again wondered what in the name of the Triad Master Kristoff had been thinking in sending a warrior to do an ambassador’s job.
Worse, Artificer Verne didn’t seem particularly interested in me. And if I didn’t get another chance to touch him, I wouldn’t be able to delve into his mind and help the process along…
“This war must end,” Larric said after a moment, “but perhaps there’s another solution for you and your people. Once we’ve retaken Stormcrest, Duke Kristoff is willing to offer the Artificers amnesty.”
Verne cocked a curious eyebrow as his slave set out some of the fruit on his plate. “Amnesty? From the Covenant?”
“From the working conditions of the Infintium,” Larric clarified. “The manufactory outside of Stormcrest has always been understaffed, and you and your people would be welcome there. He would be willing to compensate you generously for your work in helping to rebuild the border defenses.”
“I’m sure he would, assuming he ever gets his city back,” the artificer murmured. “But we both know that’s hardly a foregone conclusion. And more to the point, there’s no way he could possibly guarantee us protection from the priesthood if we attempted to up and leave. Not even a Grand Duke has that kind of power—and certainly not one in Kristoff’s current position.”
