She could get used to this kind of life.

Muslin kiss was not as lavish as the Vasir-dar’s nurture palace she lived in before she was sold off, but it had its lovable peculiarities that kept her entertained. A bust of a young woman gazing into the distance placed in the main hall was her favorite. The features carved into the marble portrayed universal beauty which was uncannily similar to Erleia’s visage. Furthermore, the paint applied to the bust matched her complexion, hair color and coal-dark eyes, creating an eerie sense of her visit to Muslin Kiss being foretold. Only her ears and a blemish on the left cheek dispelled the aura of artistic, divine farsight and destiny. No matter what one might believe on the subject, she delighted in starting her day by fixing up her hair to resemble the hairstyle of the bust and laying down on the divan close to it. As she read elven books which Ervel procured leveraging his friendship with Ricimer, she’d cast a look that emulated perfectly the features of the bust. It was her way to seek worship and many conversations filled with praise and admiring grins started because of that morning ritual. She usually wouldn’t understand much and mostly politely smiled, but the glee in the eyes of her interlocutors fed her ego and potentially opened opportunities. She also became friends with the majordomo of the establishment, a lean, impeccably dressed man in his best years who was known across Jarat and farther as the Noble in the Night, Durman Farquat. He particularly liked her and considered her a sort of a lucky charm although she hasn’t spent more than ten days at Muslin kiss thus far.

- Heavenly delights for the little Aaebor darling! – enunciated musically Durman in elven as he placed a plateful of sugary treats on a small table by her side. This sentence made them friends on her first morning at Muslin Kiss. Both Atef and Ervel were nowhere to be found so she spent her morning teaching Durman how to properly pronounce and stress each word. She loved how he looked at her, mesmerized and ready to gobble up whatever she had to say. In return she picked up a few new phrases in kaliqwar, the Empire’s common tongue, and as a reward kept receiving her favorite, sweets.

This morning’s conversation with an elderly lascivious merchant who leered at her bored her, so presently she was basking in the suns at Muslin Kiss’ large rooftop terrace. This was her second most favored peculiarity that the inn had to offer; not because of the terrace itself, but because of the view. The people below looked sufficiently small to be insignificant or of no consequence if they would accidently spot her observation, but the colors of the fabric were like brush strokes on a canvas fit for a giant. She would go up there to admire, to see the beauty of the delicate danse the buyers and the sellers played. Fabric would fly out on the stall or the ground mixing with other already displayed into forms that interlocked, crossed, interweaved, or tangled just to be then made even more complex by the plethora of the fabrics’ unique patterns. As Erleia onlooked at the stalls and the commotion around them, she saw raw and unbridled beauty which waxed and waned capturing the pure essence of gorgeousness in minute, fleeting moments. As if a living being, a sort of festival gone into overdrive, a world wonder, the show would never cease to amaze. And it was all there for her, a silent admirer who values what she is seeing more than anyone in Jarat or the Empire. It was jealously hers, a secretive temple of beauty that only she was aware of and frequented to worship. Its magnetic, hypnotizing flow was second only to being part of it in the afternoons. After Ervel would return from his daily chores they would mingle with the various patrons of the traders in the street on a long stroll before dinner. He bought her a nice turquoise dress, floral and thin, with lace over her hips and chest. Dressed like this and in freshly polished Raya’s boots only her ears could have been the giveaway and reason for nobles’ passing scoffs fueled with disdain towards elves. However she didn’t care. The whirlwind of colors, scents, melodic languages and music made her feel ecstatic.

- Again admiring the view? – asked the approaching figure, smiling handsomely as always.

- View! And you! – she said as she whirled from her musing to meet Ervel. For him she was striving to learn kaliqwar as quickly as possible.

- Ah darling don’t be so generous, you’re making me blush – he replied grabbing her in his arms and landing a soft kiss.

He was a great kisser. She liked that the most about him, and his generosity. Actually instead of generous just now, he used maielos, the elven word for generous. That was the first thing she taught him as he likewise considered her generous. Though his praise was for her generosity in bed. She observed he enjoyed being praised and delighted in her moans and screams of passion, so she aptly kept both in their emerging routine. He deserved it. Stable, mannered, and gentlemanly, he made her feel safe. And judging by the intensity with which their relationship was growing and how lavishly they enjoyed and feasted at Muslin Kiss, Jarat was going to be their city for a long while before the adventure takes them somewhere new. She was certain Ervel was of renown and that some of it would grace her as well as time goes on.

Though right now, she is to enjoy this kiss and be a cute, playful companion. With time she will see what her new position in this society would enable her to do. She still hung in the kiss, intensifying it, making it more passionate whilst wondering whether Ervel would let her crafty hands learn tailoring? She’d become an apprentice, master the artisanal secrets and then enrich the local offering with a crossover of elven and human styles. Ideas swarmed as her lips were tightly bound to Ervel’s and she enjoyed the fantasies. Neither of them was willing to let go, to show that they are the one less passionate. A clang from downstairs signaling the serving of afternoon fruits and honey gave both the excuse:

- I could stand and kiss you here all day but we should go on our walk and return in time for dinner – he said pulling her arm and she understood instantly.

Atef would come to her mind only once per day, in the morning while passing the room he used to be in. The very first day Ervel told her what Atef did and she felt a mixture of relief and anger. He poetically explained how “the boy” went on his own, determined to forge a path of untold success. This meant Atef effectively decided for her whether she should be around him or not. Although she was not burdened with such a choice anymore, she still hated that he hasn’t said a word before doing it. It was ill mannered, quite frankly despicable given the spark that she felt he had for her.

- Saershal nakhva – the wisdom briefly sparked in her mind as the door to Atef’s former room stayed behind them.

On the street she took charge as usual and led Ervel straight into the trading mass. Her eyes examined if anything was new since yesterday, which fabric was sold in large quantity and which was not. It was a little exercise of hers, a challenge of wit and a means to understand what was popular among the humans. What caused that special kind of itch that relieved bountiful amounts of coin from purse. Roaming around with Ervel in tow, she abruptly stopped in front of a stall she noticed yesterday but couldn’t get to inspect from the crowd. Amazed, her fingers curiously ran the length of an especially rich, gold-threaded fabric made out of the crystallized tears that giant turtles living on the northern isles secreted after overeating a particular type of shellfish. It was brought to Jarat at great expense and a cane landing on her fingers taught her that. An angry look from Ervel, a few sentences exchanged and they were on their way without the satisfaction of an apology. Ervel kissed her hand to make the pain go away though in Erleia’s mind it seemed cowardly that he didn’t do more. Not fight, but at least turn the insolent merchant’s face green with a particularly wit-bending insult. The stinging feeling was immediately forgotten as they reached and walked past the two giants fountain, also known as the Breeze of Life; which was a colloquialism because no one stuck to the name on the plaque that the artist intended: “Sogem and Uriel, the Magnificent and Omnipotent Titans who Exhaled the Holy Breath of Life which Their Heralds, Awsa and Elper Brought to the World.” The whole Creation story was retold through that name which Ervel intensely disliked as the wonder of storytelling was reduced to a handful of words. Past the fountain on a crossroad, instead of taking the route Atef took the morning he pursued the light, Erleia sought to head towards Gorki as she already grew tired of the square with the Town Hall and the Trader Guild.

- You sure you wouldn’t rather enjoy the sunset view from the hill above House of the Affairs? – Ervel asked with his sugary voice that could persuade her to do anything. And it would persuade her every time, though in a more secluded setting where sweet kisses reign supreme.

- No. Here, better – she responded childishly like she did the two previous days and Ervel succumbed with a smile.

Gorki would always make almost anyone smile. It was an assembly point, a sort of a lair for all matter of fool and entertainer, making it the reason why many who were not even interested in world’s best fabrics visited Jarat. Gorki was the extension of the city’s military district which sprawled in the large area around Sentinel’s rest. In the shadow of the giant tower many barracks, stables, armories, workshops and officers’ quarters leaned on the walls leaving a large patch of land empty. Primarily it was meant for soldiers to practice formations and combat or perform muster, however the relative peace since the Tricolors War pushed the use oftentimes towards merrymaking. The only reason why Atef wasn’t taken here before sent to fight the raiders in the depths of Heresborg was because Untar has dispatched their own delegation to Jarat to supposedly discuss further trading cooperation. Zarum Fierdolst, the local Burgermeister saw through the treachery but the politics of current times demanded that they are received rather than drawn and quartered in the middle of Gorki before being sent back home in pieces. At the edge of the large space, inns were aplenty serving as watering holes for the soldiers, visitors and traders. Everyone’s coin was welcomed and many a scoundrel would meet in these places to share the spoils of a coin purse poached from a belt of unsuspecting market dweller. The authorities tolerated this aspect of the economy to some degree, and the thieves knew who can and who cannot be a target.

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Today, as Erleia and Ervel walked into Gorki mesmerized by its joyous aura, the stage was set for the day’s grand event. Klaven, a local loafer who was always up for a challenge if it involves money was to take up the most ridiculous so far. The feat concocted by the collective brain power of Jacob, the captain of the guard at Sentinel’s rest, Mulzim, the innkeeper at the Cheeky Chick and Radas, the merchant of folly consisted of: drinking a large jug of wine, wrestling with a bear, running three laps around Gorki and lifting a stone the size of a heftiest watermelon imaginable and carrying it to the well and back in one go. It was a feat worthy of Urqual, the legendary muscled barbarian who led the first great host that ravaged these lands eons ago.

Erleia excitedly puffed noticing that the great event was being prepared to start before Baor sinks too low and pulled Ervel to help her get a good observation spot. All the other entertainers formed a ring around the main event vying for the attention of those who couldn’t get a solid spot or were still flowing around trying to squeeze in. There were fire spitters, colorful stilt striders, dancing, alcohol guzzling bears and similar creatures, fortunetellers who were oftentimes simultaneously knife throwers or bearded women or curse removers claiming as well many other trades and talents divulged only for a pila or two more. A table nearby was thundering with the weight of Chuka’s arm which slammed anyone’s who dared to challenge him to an arm-wrestling match. A nearby fortunetelling bearded lady would exclusively sell to drunken lads a reading of their destiny and a passionate kiss; much to the entertainment of those who tricked the drunkest one to solicit her service. A rancid smelling but lovable giant of a man was selling loop cakes set on a piece of string tied around his massive torso covered with musty rags. Everything observable seemed to be in the service of celebrating life. It was indeed a parade of oddities of the most excellent kind which did not seek to disappoint even the darkest thinking and feeling. In that multitude, Ervel took charge to secure what Erleia sought. He pushed and pinched, smiled and menacingly threatened with his eyes to pick up the spot in front. In two instances stern looking massive meatheads let him through just because of something peculiarly persuasive in his wink. By the time Klaven was shouting to rile up the masses and rejoice in the glory of his recognition, Erleia and Ervel were standing behind a pair of little lordlings that Ervel persuaded to allow their presence in exchange for Erleia’s kiss on the cheek. The younger brat tricked Erleia and jerked his cheek kissing her on the mouth. She smiled and ruffled his hair with her hand for which she earned a menacing look from the boy’s bodyguard. Another heavenly smile defused the situation and everyone’s eyes turned to Klaven while the younger boy discussed with excitement his achievement of kissing a girl, and not just any girl, an Aebor girl.

- Oh you simple folk thirsty of amazement and stories to tell before bedtime! Can you see me?! Can you see your champion?! I am here to entertain you, make you wonder! I will gulp up all this wine, I will best the bear, I will run and I will heave for your disbelief! Are you ready? – shouted the challenged champion of the people, flexing his bulging muscles as the vein on his forehead sought relief from strain that seemed like it will pop it.

- Yes! – responded the crowd with a thunderclap.

- Cheer louder, Jarat cannot hear you! I want all of city to hear, all of city to flock here and see me best this challenge worthy of heroes!

- Yes!

- Go! Go! Go!

- Come on already!

- Jarat is with you!

As the mixed shouts and cheers peaked, Klaven was already pushing hard through the jug. The deep green hue of the glass hid his progress and it felt like he was stuck in the loop as he incessantly chugged, seemingly not needing to breathe at all. Suddenly he lifted the jug from his lips, turned it around to show nothing was in it and then smashed it on the ground as he roared in triumph. Erleia sighed with astonishment and worry as the bear was already coming hard from behind at the hero while he pranced around. Moments later the bear was on its hind legs and collapsing its enormous weight onto the challenger’s shoulders. Klaven’s legs buckled and he hugged the bear starting what one could only name “a drunkards’ dance.” The brown bear was playfully biting his ears and head as they wrestled and spun around like newlyweds. The crowd laughed and cheered Cora on to bring down the dumbass who dared challenge her. She was Jarat’s favorite, a mascot of the city that everyone could pat on the nose and give a pear or some other treat. After the seventh turn Cora grew bored of the ordeal and fell on her back while hugging Klaven. He choked in her fur, she licked his ear and carelessly left deep gouges in his back with her claws. He finally put his hands on her eyes and she let go, used to the game.

Panting and wincing with pain he rose and lifted his arm triumphally into the air. He bested Cora who was still wriggling on her back waiting for a belly rub and a treat for her good work. By this time alcohol was already causing all sorts of confusion in Klaven’s mind and the next three laps were a wobbly mess that caused much lighthearted laughter among all. Klaven panted, burped and growled slowing down considerably in the last lap but eventually made it, especially after the crowd spurred him onwards with their cheers. Struggling to breathe like a wounded ox he lifted his arms in the air again seeking a torrent of praise to feed his ego enough to succeed in the last leg of the gauntlet. The ovation of the crowd was epic. Tumultuous roars of approval followed him all the way to the rock which stood thirty paces from the well. And then they turned into laughter. As he lifted the granite, his bowels loosened and his stomach felt like it had to relieve itself of pressure as well. He retched once and then vomited massively while his behind turned into a fiesta of explosive diarrhea laden farts. But he didn’t let go. With breeches smeared in shit and stone covered in vomit, he paced evenly, his iron will above any pain, weakness, or ridicule. He went around the well and with an almost leaping gait returned to the starting point. His arms were again in the air and although his success was blemished, he was inscribed in the golden book of memory in the hearts and minds of the onlookers.

- Are you entertained?! – he shouted majestically before regurgitating the wine which sought anew to expel itself from his stomach. He overcame the urge and just stood there, blind to the crowd with his arms up in the air. Servants of the organizers rushed to his aid and he was slowly taken off the field to wash up and rest.

Erleia was ecstatic, trying to remember if she ever witnessed anything similar.

- Did you enjoy as much as I did? I would go and shake his hand if it weren’t covered in spew and excrement – Ervel jokingly mused.

- Great! – she exclaimed not thinking that she would ever use that human word. After what she has been through it would have been revolting, but for this occasion it was fit.

- I am glad! – he said kissing her and taking her hand to continue the walk all around Gorki.

The younger of the lordlings waved at Erleia as she was walking away and she blew him a kiss in return admiring his slyness and wishing him a lot of success with women. The massive circle around Klaven’s proving grounds diffused in countless chaotic directions seeking the next interesting tidbit before dinner time. Flowing in that throng, Ervel found particular interest in a competition which included slapping and playing a figure moving game on a checkered board called Ygraval. The crossover was a true trial of both wit and brawn. While two mountains of men were bashing each other’s head in, Erleia puffed as she couldn’t pick up the Ygraval side of the competition and Ervel’s explanation attempts fell short as many words felt like gaping holes, wounds in her knowledge of kaliqwar. So endlessly bored, she just kept tugging Ervel’s sleeve until a more appropriate idea graced her. She leaned, whispered her carnal promise in his ear and kissed it sticking her tongue in as well for good measure. A moment later there were on their way back to Muslin Kiss intent on having their dinner in bed.

*

- Wake up sugar plum – softly crawled through her subconscious competing with the light of the Twin Suns. Her eyes were still closed and she grinned at the timbre of the cute nickname, the latest in the string of many. Slowly, she allowed the faintest rays of light to grace her eyes with the new day. And then the eyes sprung opened and she let out a faint scream. The room was crowded, suffocated by Durman, three men and a woman. They were scrutinizing her silent and menacing, like granite sculptures in a prison of immorality, a purgatory.

- Lift her up – ordered a plump short man dressed in loose silk festooned with opals across chest and sleeves. He had a slack golden chain that connected his nose and ear to which another made of silver was attached; securing a monocle from breaking if it was to dislodge from the ridge of his nose.

His eyes glistened as Durman gently extended his hand and lifted Erleia from her bed.

- Drop the sheet, I want to inspect her – said the mysterious person.

Durman happily obliged hushing Erleia whose eyes screamed murder. She started shaking her head in disbelief as his hand reached hers and opened the grip that held the sheet in place. It fell and her nakedness was for all to see. The plump was satisfied, feeling a jolt of urge that his smile hinted while the other two, henchmen of sorts, minded their own business; their eyes locked front into the distance safeguarding their impressions and ideas only for themselves. The woman was curious, comparing the elven girl’s physique to her own, trying to establish how much the womanhood across species differed and whether she-elves could offer anything that would make men’s hearts throb with irrational desire.

- He didn’t lie. Very well, you woman, get her dressed and ready, Fenrik will stay here and I will wait downstairs in my chariot. Don’t dally I am looking to leave Jarat today!

She finally understood. The latest transaction of her flesh, the most egregious, just took place. She felt like a stupid little girl who believed a trickster. It was all over. Short lived freedom meant nothing, a puff of smoke signifying that there was a spark which was not to turn into fire. It got extinguished even before she was aware of it. All was a mirage. She slumped on the bed letting tears overwhelm her.

- Why? – she asked cryingly as Durman’s female servant started going through her possessions considering what she could steal and what dress droopingly over her before sending her packing.

- Oh deary… my sweet, sweet beautiful pebble! The dance became boring, so he left. However, there is debt and between you and Rugen, Carlyle and the chariot he chose them. Sorry for what is to come, I genuinely fell in love with your charms and the patrons seem to love you. But I hope you understand that this is just good business.