by A. S. Etaski
“Because?”
“Because they’re either helping you watch it, or they’ve got a dagger pointed at it.”
Jaunda watched my face as that sank in. She smiled. “Matron Siranet once watched my back when I needed it. Not gonna tell you how, not yet, you’re not ready. But remembering the dead isn’t easy for Davrin. If we do, there’s a reason, and it’s always personal. Remember that.”
Later in private, after Jaunda had released me, I retrieved the sapphire pendant from my hiding place in my tiny, solitary room and sat down. Holding it in both hands, I turned it with care and stroked it with my thumbs. I had studied the details frequently so I might recognize it quickly if it was ever swapped out for a fake.
It probably wasn’t necessary; I’d recognize it just from the quiet spot which formed from touching it.
I wondered which wizard had done the silverwork, Phaelous or Shyntre? The mount covered the whole back of the gem, but there was a thick, metal cradle on the left side that stretched around to come to points on the right side, just failing to meet. The fattest part of the silver had knotted designs and markings I couldn’t read, if they even said anything. The detail was very fine, the curves almost perfect. Was this done by magic or fire? Or both? How would he have had time to finish it and give it to me without magic?
I still wasn’t sure which “he” I meant when I asked myself about it.
Elder D’Shea had been holding the pendant for safekeeping when I wasn’t on an active mission where she had deemed that I might need a strong mental shield, but her annoyance had shown when she gave it back for me to keep for the long term.
“You’re the only one with any use for it,” she complained. “Plus, it drains the potency of volatile magic if you keep them in the same box! I need to dispel and recast far too many weakened vials, thanks to that!”
I opted not to tell her Phaelous had guessed that already; he said he’d never keep it in a “treasury.” I had also noticed that my Elder still had his ruby ring, though she didn’t wear it regularly, and I assumed she had not gone back to the Tower to hear further thoughts from the ancient wizard.
Maybe later, when she remembered he still had the semi-polished Dwarf stone.
For now, her instructions were to keep it out of sight and hide it when I had bedmates. It was only a matter of time before a Sister jumped me successfully and stripped me for a fuck but even if they saw it, I knew I wasn’t the only one who wore a necklace beneath her armor.
The Prime didn’t like them to be “too pretty,” of course, and this one probably was for her tastes, but it absolutely had saved my ass against Wilsira and I’d discovered that from the Prime, herself, when she had deliberately walked in on a map-making and map-reading lesson Elder Rausery was giving me.
“Good work on the recruit, Elder.”
The General tilted her head, glancing at me. “Haven’t tested her map skills yet, Prime.”
“Not that. The Conceiver.”
“Wilsira?”
A nod. “Said the lowbie faced off with a Sathoet and still held concentration to shrug off a fear probe. You know her old tricks. First-turners usually fail. She’s impressed.” The Prime’s cold eyes slid to me. “Priestess said she might be interested in requesting Sirana as a bodyguard sometime. Next time we need a favor from her.”
Rausery watched her with complete calm, while I wondered if D’Shea might throw another glass when she heard this.
“I see,” the Elder said. “Very good, Prime, thank you.”
“Keep it up.”
The Prime left then, sniggering at her own joke.
As it turned out, the Elder Sorceress did not waste any wine when I told her, but she sighed. Deeply.
“I expected it,” she said. “She’s still curious about you. From your report, I’m not certain which of you affected those three demonbloods more at the time. That’s concerning.”
I pursed my lips. “I do regret any difficulty, Elder.”
“Surviving is never a fault, Sirana.” D’Shea stared at the top of her stylus, seeming deep in memory. “You bend under pressure and speak your mind when you can, now that you have a choice. You will never fade into a wall with those eyes of yours, either, so you might as well take point more often. Jaunda and I will teach you how.”
Later still, I would lie down in Reverie with two other caits near enough to my own age, connected by the same thought-flayer battle. Like me, Jael would never “fade into a wall,” either, so I knew we’d make a good team when we needed to be loud like Kiren and Lawret. We just needed more practice together.
In contrast, Reishel seemed to blend in with my presence, like how I’d noticed Gaelan’s did to D’Shea. Even though Reishel had begun that Ornilleth battle as a Corpora, after she had fallen, she didn’t seem to remember or yearn for the lost rank. She was a novice, like us, and she was my Sister. She was one who watched my back.
“Fuzzy,” she commented now, petting Jael’s tiny short hairs at her crotch growing in once again. She smirked mischievously before rubbing them the wrong way.
“Stop that!”
My scrapper swatted at her, copper eyes firing up, and Reishel chuckled, reaching over me to tickle Jael, who yowled. My Sister taunted that bristle patch some more with reverse fingers, and next thing I knew, I had an accidental hip in the gut as they piled on top of me, wrestling.
“Hey!” I cried. “I’m not the arena, here!”
“Sounds like denial, dear Sister.”
Reishel’s breast brushed my face.
“Ha, I like how the arena lies,” Jael agreed, hooking her strong thigh around mine and pulling them open. Her hand darted between to fondle me. “Don’t you?”
“Oh, yes.” Reishel winked at me. “There is a warm spring to drink from, too. Sometimes she gushes.”
“That’s Jael.”
I was sure to point at the real youngest of the Red Sisters, and Reishel tried for a ferocious scowl. She failed miserably.
“Shut up and be fought over, Sirana.”
“Yeah!” Jael agreed and attacked.
I laughed, diving into the gratifying rough-and-tumble with them. Coveted by caits I wanted in return was a peace I’d earned, and I could enjoy it this time.
Even knowing the experience wouldn’t always be as pleasant as this.
Acknowledgements
It is a joy to work with my long-time beta team and ideamongers:
NecrosisBob, Eris Adderly, Axelotl, Gerrit, Ile Depak, Leonard, Gazukull, and, always, Dear Hubby!
A very special thanks to these supporting patrons:
Baelus, Richard Laney, Cittran, Dreya K., Dark Pulse, Mehrphy, John K., Katie Lily, Stacy & Roy Meyer, Sir Cumference, Does, Dora B., Brianna R., Simon H., Jager, Jonathan H., Josanna, Rachel C., Lexanii, John S., Nymerias Howl, Larry F., Paul M., Devodebo, Phillip G., Nigel, Kia, NotSoWeird, Jack K., Charles H., David, Matthew S., Jonathan M., Julie S., Michel C., Alienated
About the Author
Etaski has entertained herself with fantasy stories since the first day she sat on a school bus looking out the window. When hand-written letters were disappearing, she wrote no less than five pages to be worth the postage. Her early stories were written by hand, and she had a writer’s callus and three embarrassing (but complete!) novels before graduating high school.
She chose to study a broad range of topics; science, archaeology and history, as well as theater. Frank discussion of sexuality was rare growing up, so she wrote theories and observations within stories, inviting the reader either to contemplate deeper or just be entertained.
History rarely speaks on sexuality, yet biology demonstrates how it sways basic choices. Drama reveals our strongest bonds but may still fade to black. In the Sister Seekers, the sex and the story are inseparable, and connections made within will forever change the story of Miurag without cutting away.
asure Revealed
