Barbarian Assassin (Princesses of the Ironbound Book 2)

by Aaron Crash

  Ziziva didn’t giggle. She stared up at him, a certain wisdom on her face. “Twenty-five sad summers? You look so sad.”

  He shrugged. “I won’t be sad for long. I’d like to buy a bit of your xocalati. I think it will be the perfect gift for some of my friends.”

  The fairy snapped her fingers and cast another Moons spell. “Caelum caelarum! I have just the thing for you and your friends.”

  What she had for him made him both smile and sigh. It was perfect, but it brought back memories of a time when he was a prince with a bright future and a past full of victories.

  Chapter Two

  YMIR KEPT THE COLORFUL package under his cloak as he trudged the rest of the way up the stairs. His boots went from brown to black. One tavern was open, and he considered stopping for a beer.

  No, Jenny would have beer for him in her apartment at the top of the cliffs. He reached the Flow courtyard and took a moment to admire the Flow Tower and the Librarium Citadel in front of him. Special lights wreathed both buildings, giving them a cheery flicker. The blurring rain, however cold, made them especially pretty—buttery warm sparkles in the cold evening light. Away from the ocean, it was warmer, but not by much.

  He saw a familiar figure through a window. Even from a distance, her square jaw and long white hair were visible—as was her green skin. Gatha shouldn’t have to be working on the eve before a holiday, and yet she was, shelving books on the Coruscation Shelves. For a second, her face was visible in the crackle of lightning that swept across the books, keeping their iron bindings free of rust.

  She must’ve sensed him because she went to the window to look down on him.

  He lifted a hand. A friendly wave.

  She didn’t wave back. Turning, she continued to push a trolley past other windows.

  Ymir laughed. “I do enjoy her scorn. Winning her wouldn’t be half as amusing.” He was satisfied with the two women in his life. However, he could see the appeal of trying to seduce the she-orc. It would require both his cunning and his combat skills, or so he’d heard. Orcs only respected strength in battle, even in the bedroom. He had thumbed through some biology books to confirm that her oheesy didn’t have tusks. No, her only tusks were hidden away in her jaws. She could snap them out in a moment—he’d seen her do it.

  Ymir took a moment to make sure no spies saw him. At this stage, Ymir and Jennybelle were still in hiding. The Swamp Coast women had chosen Ymir to marry the Firstborn princess of Josentown, Arribelle Josen. That wasn’t going to happen, not after Jenny had slept with him.

  He didn’t see anyone looking, and so he walked under the covered corridor to the swamp woman’s suite. He keyed through the door and closed it behind him. He hung both his cloak and his robes on hooks in the entryway. The familiar room made him smile. To his left was the bathroom, a tiled paradise of comfort. To his right, the bedroom, done in blacks and scarlets, and equally comfortable. Before him was the main room, where a fire burned, and the setting sun marked the western sky, reddening the dark clouds. The scent of the mulled wine, cooking in a pot over the fire, sweetened the air.

  More lights were strung on the walls here and around a sanctum tree, a little sapling in a colorful pot. That too was filled with lights, illuminated by Moons magic, since it was a soft silver light and not the bright flicker of the Sunfire candles.

  A huge sanctum tree filled the Chapel of the Tree over on the Moons campus. It was part of the main religion on Thera, where women drank the sap of the sanctum tree to get pregnant. Without the tea, they were barren. Even with it, the chances of having a boy were low as a result of the Withering.

  Jenny sat at her desk, behind the sofa where he’d first seen her naked. She turned in her chair to smile. “Well, now, there he is.” A black shawl, embroidered with red roses, covered her lacy black dress. Black hair, blue eyes—Jennybelle Josen was curvy, luscious, and far shorter than both he and Lillee.

  “Where is our Sullied elf?” Ymir asked.

  Jenny rolled her eyes then peppered her annoyance with a sigh. “Where do you think? In her room, either writing, drawing, or singing. Of course Lillee wanted to be alone before all of the togetherness of Solstice Day. That girl. I’m just glad I ain’t her.”

  “Why’s that?” Ymir kept the package behind him. So far, Jenny hadn’t noticed.

  Jenny made a face. “She is complicated. I mean, I guess I would be too if I could turn my lust off. She just gets so artsy and dreamy, you know? Like part of her isn’t around even when the rest of her is. Unless we’re in bed; then she’s there all right. Ain’t no doubt about it.”

  Jenny’s accent made him smile. “In the Black Wolf Clan, there were people like her, those who need time alone. I myself have grown to enjoy my solitude. You, however, could be around people all the time.”

  “It’s how I grew up.” Jenny leaned back in her creaking chair. “There was always a ton of us girls, all playing and running and scheming.”

  “Like Nellybelle?”

  Jenny nodded. “Like Nelly. We’d get into scraps sometimes. I’d get tired of her talking shit and punch her in the nose. Then we’d make up, only then I’d talk shit about her, and around it went, part love, part hate, and all drama.” She sighed. “Speaking of which, I’m just finishing up a letter to my aunt. It’s saying I got close to you, and that you’d be perfect for my sister.”

  “And all of it is elkshit.” Ymir moved over to the stove, built into the fireplace. He shifted the package to keep it out of sight. Then he poured some of the wine into a heavy ceramic cup, with a handle, so it wouldn’t burn him.

  “So much elkshit,” Jenny agreed. “Once we come out, once I sever ties to the family, we’ll need all of our crows in the same closet. What’s that package, Ymir? You buying me gifts ’cause you love me so much?”

  “Crows in the closet?” He furrowed his brow. “We say get your elk in a gang.”

  “Of course you do,” she said. “I think your people might have an unhealthy preoccupation with elk.”

  “We should. The gangs keep us alive.” He frowned. “Before we reveal ourselves to Nellybelle, we should master some kind of magic so we can detect assassins and kill them before they kill us.”

  Jenny wrinkled her nose. “And this from the barbarian who hates fucking magic? You have changed.”

  He nodded. “I have. Fate forced my hand. The Axman’s path for me is uncertain, certainly, and yet I can see the benefits of such power. In this case, if we can detect the evil, we can destroy it.”

  “I’ll have to consider the magic available to us.” Jenny smirked. “Now, about that package you think you can hide from me?”

  He brought it out with a flourish. “And here it is.”

  “What’s in it?” Jenny asked.

  Ymir quirked an eyebrow. “If I would’ve wanted you to see it, I wouldn’t have had the grandmother in the new shop wrap it so well.” Then he did to her what she’d done to him—changed topics with a question. “What do you know about fairies?”

  “And what do grandmothers have to do with fairies?” she asked.

  “My question exactly. I talked with Ziziva—”

  Jenny cut him off. “Oh, her? She is a nightmare. I think she’s a sophist in Form. Brodor hates her. She flirts with all the boys. I guess I can understand that since fairies are all women. How they procreate is anyone’s guess. They do love to kiss each other—I’ll tell you that right now. I’ve seen a couple going at it in the Librarium. Your friend Gatha had to separate them.”

  “Gatha is not my friend,” Ymir said.

  Jenny huffed out a laugh. “No, and she’s not mine either. Yes, you two have your will-they-or-won’t-they business. I’ve seen Josentown alley cats with more subtlety than you two.”

  Pidgin wasn’t Ymir’s first language, and neither was Homme, so he had to pause to consider what an alley cat might be. “So, fairies are all women. Ziziva is a flirt, and a dirty one at that. But I find it strange we don’t know how they procreate. There must
be a book on fairies in the Librarium.”

  The swamp woman drifted over and took the box from him. “There are books. There have been studies. You won’t find much you can count on, though, because the fairies take your memories after you sleep with them. That is a fact. They deny it and act all innocent, but don’t be fooled. Fairies have a way of finding themselves in positions of power, especially in the Undergem Guild.”

  The Undergem Guild was for the merchant class. They dealt with trade issues and managed the banks on Thera.

  “Undergems,” Ymir mused. “Now we’re talking dwarves. It’s the Morbuskor who first found the undergems, more precious than platinum.” He thought of Toriah Welldeep, his friend who worked in the feasting hall. She’d kept her distance now that Ymir had Lillee, the pair obviously in love. He’d read up on the Morbuskor, and they were a monogamous people. Ymir thought that was a pity since Tori was so friendly, bubbly, and attractive. He’d given her freckled valley of cleavage a great deal of thought since they first met.

  Jenny shook the package. “What is it? And we said no Solstice gifts.”

  “Careful,” Ymir warned. “You’ll see, either later tonight or tomorrow, depending on when we see our elf. Besides, you said no gifts, but you gave both Lillee and me presents.”

  The swamp princess backed away from him. She stared at him, an impish smile on her face, as she pulled the ribbon.

  Ymir tilted his head. “No.”

  She squinted at him. “Now, why does that ‘no’ make me want to open it more than ever?” She stopped to ponder. “Hmm, a new shop opens on the Sea Stair Market, and I’ve not heard of it. Then again, most of my spies are back at home. I feel blind. Being free, though, with you, is worth the blindness.”

  Ymir pounced. He was across the room before she could yelp. In a flash, he had both the package and the princess. He kept the gift away from her in his upraised right hand.

  “You’re so fast,” Jenny breathed. “I forget how fast you are.”

  He brushed his forehead against hers, taking in her scent and feeling the soft skin of her face on his own. “We’ll wait for Lillee.”

  “Well. Since we’re waiting for her. I know something we can do.” Jenny kissed him while she slid her hand down his back to grab his ass. He wanted to do the same thing to her. But she had so many layers covering her: the shawl, the dress, her silky pannee—the elven world for underwear. He had to settle for squeezing her butt through her clothes. He loved the feel of her ass, as pillowy as her breasts pushing up against him.

  He, on the other hand, was hard, pressing himself against her. She felt it. “I bet that fairy got to you, didn’t she? Showing off her little body, and those giggles, and those Fayee charms. You’d better be careful.”

  “How so?”

  Jenny kissed him wetly. “You might sleep with her and not know it.”

  “That’s not biologically possible.” Then he had an image of Ziziva circling his erection like she’d done with the little pole on her pedestal. It certainly did make one pause. However, the fairy had said she wasn’t big enough for him yet. As if her size would change. She was a curious thing, and dangerous, clearly—she had swayed him with her charms.

  Would he have normally spent a full gold sheck on something as ridiculous as candy? No. Was it a love spell, or was it the xocalati? It had been delicious.

  Jenny stepped away from him. She dropped the shawl. She then reached back and undid a few buttons, holding her dress to her chest. It slipped, showing her cleavage, until it slipped lower, and her large areolae came into view.

  She saw where his eyes went. She teased her nipples hard.

  Ymir swallowed. Let the Axman and the other gods worry about fairies and their tricks. He’d stick with a real woman, big enough to take him, and strong enough to match his thrusts with a warm, welcoming body.

  He was curious to see what Jenny and Lillee would think of the xocalati. How long would Lillee be lost in her art? It was Solstice Eve, and they should be together.

  Chapter Three

  LILLEE NEHENNA HEARD Ymir rummaging around in his cell. His door slammed, and he sloshed through the water in the sea alley. It was raining so hard, the ocean thrashing so much, the hallway wasn’t draining.

  Lillee sat at her desk, drawing the dwarf couple that she’d seen in the Flow magic she’d cast. Both Flow and Moons sorcery had always been favorable for artists. She sketched the Morbuskor man with the braided beard, the huge squashed nose, and the rough cheeks. Then she worked on the woman, who also had a beard, and an even bigger nose, and when she laughed, she laughed with her whole body. She had a big belly and tiny little breasts, so different from Toriah Welldeep, the beardless, fire-headed dwab who worked in the feasting hall.

  “Dwab.” She said the word out loud. Boy dwarves were dwarves, but girl dwarves were dwabs. She always liked how that word felt in her mouth. She had an idea for a song about seven dwabs and a lost woodsman, like something out of the stories. She’d write the song eventually, but first, she’d work on her sketches.

  Tori wasn’t your typical Morbuskor maiden. She was so shapely and large-chested. She’d eyed Ymir like he was a dumpling in her sweet soup, until Lillee had come. Then the looks had changed from happy to fearful. Now, Tori avoided Ymir, and the dwab looked on Lillee with disgust.

  It was sad. And Lillee didn’t know if she should reach out, or if she should mind her own business. It wasn’t like the Ohlyrra and Morbuskor had ever gotten along, not since the Age of Union, and even then, the dwarves had been difficult. Or had it been the elves causing the problem? The Ohlyrra could be so intolerant.

  Historians disagreed on which race hated which the most. You’d think that chronicling facts would be far less political than it was.

  That was why Lillee enjoyed the historical plays of Willmur Swordwrite more than any history she’d ever read. The stories made sense and pointed to truths larger than the facts. Were they true? No. Did they capture the truth? Yes. That mattered more to Lillee than anything—feelings had to be true. Like what she felt for Ymir and Jenny. Even then, there were problems. They had to deal with the facts of their lives. The feelings felt right. The facts felt deadly wrong.

  Sitting at her desk, with her charcoal pencils, she thought of going to Ymir. She could walk with him up the Sea Stair to Jenny’s apartment. It would be wet, rainy fun. She liked how her hair looked in the rain—normally white-gold, her platinum hair turned far darker when wet. And her green eyes, flecked with platinum, would shine so brightly in the cold. Ymir would kiss her sweetly.

  She stopped herself. She needed her time alone. Jennybelle wouldn’t let her sketch the faces that came to her, or write her poems, not when there was wine to drink, Solstice songs to sing, or love to be made. No, Jenny wanted them all to be together always.

  Lillee had to prepare for that. She loved Jenny, like she loved her dear Ymir, and yet, the humans were always in such a rush. Even when there was nothing to do, they liked to rush the sitting because of their very short lives.

  She sighed, sat back, and felt the essess on her left arm. The metal was as familiar as her teeth, as her fingernails, as her skin. Golden spirals covered her left arm from her wrist to her elbow. She fiddled with the eyeholes near the back of her hand. At one point, her father had insisted she lock her cuff closed.

  The Ohlyrra had a word for that, the Eeleeohuna, the Locked. People whispered. They pointed. They laughed. The shame had been awful. At the same time, she was free from her lust. For a while, being Locked did feel like freedom. She could work, she could do her chores, she could live her life without the constant itch to touch herself. Then? The thoughts would come, of the pleasure she felt before, of the wild times when she lost track of time, the minutes burned to ashes by the fire of her lust.

  For a people who lived a thousand years, losing track of time was a blessing.

  Being Locked had done one thing well. It had prepared her for the gossip after she’d been marked as Sullied. Better
that than being a kenarra. Those poor souls were complete outcasts, despised, pitied, because they would never feel sexual desire again. Nor could the kenarra ever have children. The rituals left them sterile, effectively castrated, and their faces were marked with a K over the S.

  The Ohlyrra only gave their lustful rebels one chance. For the first offence, you were marked with the “S” for sola, the elven word for sullied. After the second offence, the pervert was tattooed with the “K” for kenarra.

  Lillee, though, had been given more than just the two chances. She was a princess of Greenhome, after all. She’d been caught sneaking out. She’d been seen with Jayla Jereenn, who had already been marked as Sullied. Jayla pretended so well, wearing her essess like a good girl, and attending to the Temple of the Tree.

  The rumors grew out of control, and her father, King Cebor Nehenna, became a target politically. He wanted to rule for another six hundred years, and he couldn’t very well do that with a daughter who was part of the Cult of Chaos and Desire.

  Such long lives felt like a blessing when she first became conscious of death, at the age of thirteen, when she’d started puberty. During the Onla, the ritual ushering her into womanhood, she’d been given her essess. She’d been struck by the idea that she would be wearing her forearm cuff for most of the next thousand years until she died. She would only remove it when she decided to have children. To think, a thousand years wearing this piece of jewelry. Then, when she was dead, it would be given to her descendants.

  Elves and humans shared a similar beginning. But once sexually alive, the Homme had mere decades to deal with their lust. The Ohlyrra had to struggle with their base desires for centuries.

  So many differences. Too many differences. There were countless tales, poems, and plays about elves falling in love with humans.

  “Stop it, Lillee,” she warned herself. These were dark thoughts, but she’d been struggling with them for weeks now. At first, after their victory creating the Black Ice Ring, Lillee had felt so happy. She had her own Ohnessla, the elven word for family, and it felt wonderful.