“Shouldn’t you be in the warm comfort of the Capital?” asked Charis, noticing a familiar satisfied face approaching the Main Room of the Inn, to break his fast.
The subject of her quip took a step back and slapped a palm against his forehead.
“Charis the Young! Rumour hasn’t yet informed me of your return only your mission.”
“Well, be seated and join me there is a reward due you. I haven’t forgotten.”
Keos, gulped, her clear blue eyes capturing him once again. He pulled out a chair and dropped onto it. Appraising her fully.
“Your skin colour is not face paint is it?”
“Face paint?”
“Sorry, popular in the Capital, an alternative since only Nobles can proclaim themselves with hair colour. Fair and White skin another sign although you won’t be drowned if you falsely wear it.”
Charis leant forward, her arms folded on the table, claiming the table between them her eyes holding his. “Interesting, what else can you tell me?”
Keos’ eyes turned to mischief, laugh lines fanning from each, questioning Charis’ confidence. His warm tenor voice resonating and filling the room announcing his demand.
“What is my reward, after all my services aren’t free.”
“Well another kiss would be overpayment,” Charis smirked, leaning back, arms folded on her chest, freeing her eyes from his. “So how about your meal?”
“All I can eat?” A quiet confirmation.
“Certainly, why not, I am sure your information is of worth.” A quiet tease.
Keos bowed his head and both waited in silence until their orders taken. As the barmaid retreated to the kitchen Keos spoke.
“The Duke, jealous of the Duchess has proclaimed a Swords of the Duke and held a tourney to choose his chosen, all sons of nobles,” awaiting her reaction, fruitless.
“You knew, didn’t you?” Keos shook his head.
“The Merchants of Bridgeward appeased the River Lord and have petitioned the Duke to strike South and establish another village, they hope to grow into a town in the years to come.”
“The River Lord?”
“A mystical creature said to inhabit and control all passage cross the Great South River. There is an ancient stone bridge across the river, no one attempting to cross has ever returned.”
“So, they have placated him?”
Keos shrugged. “We will know after Death Season.”
Their meal arrived to momentarily break further discussion.
“You will be interested to know the Lord of the Northern Watch will complete his penance after Death Season and is being sent to Bridgeward to oversee the Duke’s interests.”
In between mouthfuls of their meal the Bard informed Charis of Noble births, deaths and marriages and if Ismene accompanied her she could probably deduce some importance.
“In summary Charis the Young, their marriages are being manipulated, the outcome of which, still years away.”
“I consider your meal paid for Master Bard.” Charis needed to confront a challenge of her own.
“Would I be able to claim my debt from you?”
“Are you sure of your heart, your voice wavers slightly Master Bard?” Charis scrapping her chair back as she rose from the table, sauntering around to his side. As if on cue flute music fills the Main Room of the Inn. Soft, gentle with an allure, its temper affecting Charis, calming and relaxing. Receptive. The warm smile and shallow dimples on the Bard’s face a welcome and in invitation.
Charis’ clouded mind pushed through to reason, he planned this, how did he predict I would be here? Charis glimpsed the source of the music, a young lad, a master flutist, he needed to be, to impart the emotion into the tune filling the room with passion and connection.
“Music is my blood Charis the Young, so I prepared to receive your payment.”
Charis waved at him to face her and he keenly swivelled in his chair to comply. Floating on the musical euphoria she lounged lavishly across his lap, leaning back until held by his arm, her face near to his, the warmth of his breath upon her cheek. Charis prepared for the kiss, meaningless, a payment and nothing more, why did her cheeks warm?
The tune supporting a mood for romance and lovers, attracting spectators to the Inn, couples present embracing and those still searching for love locking eyes on their potential partner.
Her lips locked upon his, Charis needed to deliver the agreed payment and she needed to complete the transaction now before the music naturally stirred deeper inclinations. He didn’t reach behind her head; she therefore dictated the duration of the kiss. Charis wanted to demonstrated control, instead a murmur encouraged her to linger, to outlast him and win the contest gnawing at her, she couldn’t afford to. The sun-bathed items revealed their influence and fired within her, drawing her to embrace him, to couple and create life – now, urgent need, desperate want.
She leapt from his lap, bolting from the Inn, her cheeks rosy and warm and unknown to others her loins ached to receive his seed, to procreate. The haunting flute melody in harmony with her primaeval urge to create life. The sun-bathed items within urging her to return. No laughter followed her from the Inn, instead a gentle hush and release of breath.
When Charis halted, her first thought, did she pay for their meal. What a stupid thought! Should she return to make sure? She couldn’t, her emotions in turmoil, the flute, how? She joined the traffic heading to the Old Gate and amongst the townsfolk, she hid, trusting them to escort her home, her mind fighting for control. Her items simmered and writhed inside her and she needed to quell them, not entirely the flute then.
The traffic corralled her past the House, and she needed to backtrack. Approaching the House, she spied a Sister she could question as a plan formed and she needed information.
Charis climbed upon the wagon and assisted the waggoneers to unload, surprising Ismene, her face lighting up the moment she noticed. She needed to toil, to exercise her muscles while her brain recovered, and her emotions steadied.
---
The wagon rolled off revealing Charis perched on the loading dock recovering her breath. Her frenzied toil surprising Ismene and alleviating Charis’ procreation inclination from her loins.
“You well Mistress?”
Charis caught Ismene’s eyes in her own before responding. Ismene lowered herself, snuggling, ensuring no light could shine between their bodies. Charis reacted by wrapping her arm around Ismene’s shoulders and drawing her in tight. Ismene stopped breathing.
“What do you know about flute music or any music?” asked Charis.
Ismene exhaled.
“Agape, when my maid,” Ismene cast her eyes down, “needed to entertain me with her flute playing, Mistress.”
Charis jumped to her feet, offering a hand for Ismene to grasp, which she clasped eagerly. They stepped through the loading bay doors, Ismene silently closing them behind her and her Mistress.
Charis’ fingers ran through Ismene’s long Golden-Brown hair while she faced the bay doors. Ismene pressing her body up against the doors, her arms high, her palms flat in surrender.
A hoarse voice whispers. “Punish me Mistress.” Ismene desperately wishing to sample the passion exuding from her Mistress.
The carnal fog and desire clear within Charis, her fingers poised upon Ismene’s delicate fair shoulders.
“Mistress?”
Charis realising her position, her dominance, noticing Ismene’s nakedness, a robe of sorts, not a Seer’s Robe, lay crumpled about Ismene’s feet her goose fleshed buttocks plain to see. When did Ismene drop her robe?
“I apologise Mistress, you wish your entrance to be secretive and my screams of pleasure … would draw attention.” Ismene swivelling around, stepping forward in one smooth movement to ensure Charis’ hands fell upon her breasts.
Charis fought within, the urge to pleasure, she would be quick she tries to convince herself. No, she needs to prepare her plan before her Sisters discover her. Ismene’s lips brushing hers, her tongue licking at Charis’ lips and then passionately Ismene’s lips crash into Charis’. Charis reacts by grasping Ismene’s hair in one hand and tugging playfully, her other hand firmly grasping Ismene’s breast, finger knuckles surrounding and twisting the firm nipple.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
Ismene didn’t understand when her Mistress released her and opened her eyes to confirm. Her Mistress remained with her, although face in her hands, on her haunches, sobbing. Ismene lowered herself to the floor and dragged Charis’ head to her naked lap and when comfortable stroked her Mistress’ raven black hair away from her face.
The Provedore of the Daughters of the Duchess knew her Mistress would speak when ready and allowed the moments to pass in shadowy quiet.
“I apologise Ismene for my weakness, I requested your assistance for a purpose, and I have been overcome by a passion and don’t intend to start anything I can’t finish …”
“We serve at your command Mistress and I am content. If you require sleep, I could recall our inventory for you?” Ismene’s lips parted in a wide smile as Charis’ eyes searched for Ismene’s face.
“No, I need you to bring Agape and her flute here. Also confirm who of the Assassin Seers are still in the House and where, and finally the Seer who partnered with the Assassin Seer a couple of days ago.”
“I will send Agape to you under a ruse to check some stock, while I confirm the answers to your questions.” Ismene gently lifted her Mistress’ head, Charis swivelling upright, still on her buttocks to lean against a nearby barrel.
Ismene tip toed towards the Store Door, stopped, smiled and pivoted, racing back to pick up her robe and flinging it about her, tying off two of the toggles stitched opposite each other for that purpose.
Light from the Kitchen spread into the Storage Room, although Charis found enough shadow to conceal her presence. Then Ismene rushed through the door, not closing it behind her.
Shortly after, the Storage Room doorway darkened.
Agape groused, “I am her servant no longer, why ask me? She will be correct! She always is for Judge’s sake!”
Charis inwardly smiled. “You are not her servant but being a Daughter, we are a team and we help each other.”
Agape jumped, luckily too short to hit her head on the door frame.
“Step forward and close the door quietly,” Charis whispered.
“Yes Mistress.” The Storage Room returned to shadow, a single lantern, wick low the single source of light.
“I am told you can play the flute and if true, what tunes and melodies can you play?”
Agape frowned. “So, I am not here to stocktake …”
Charis smiled and shook her head. Charis’ plan required music, the Bard’s demonstration enlightening, setting a mood, drawing out emotions until needing to act upon them. She shivered, recalling her recent pent up desire …
“Bringing my flute makes sense now Mistress, do you wish me to play for you?”
Charis noted Agape wearing one of the robes. Their popularity sudden and no explanation why, the look and cut similar to a Seer Robe, although different enough to not mistake one for the other.
“I can entertain with several lively tunes Mistress, although a certain ex-Noble’s father did insist, I learn an endless number of romantic and wistful tunes also, in the hopes of wooing Ismene to accept her latest arranged consort.” The resignation and exasperation in her voice plain.
“We wait.” What of the Kitchen? Her plan required one sister in particular to be present and unnoticed, perhaps preparing meals? “How many sisters in the Kitchen?”
“Only I, cleaning up, I usually go hunting with Zoe afterwards, going to my bunk to fetch my flute and returning here instead.”
“Will Zoe expect you?”
“No Mistress, Ismene told me of my new duty while Zoe prepared to leave. She will leave me a marked trail to follow when I can.”
Light streamed into the Storage Room once again upon Ismene’s return, her presence momentarily darkening the doorway until through, closing the door behind her.
“Mistress, Alexis trains with Nysa and Kyra and they train on this floor. Alcmene trained Alexis in the intimate ways of the Seers.” Her voice dropping and face reddening.
“Good, find Alcmene and ask her to prepare the middle of the day meal. Now go!” With Alcmene in the Kitchen with a reason, none would suspect her presence and therefore easily called upon when required.
Ismene sprung to obey, leaving the Storage Room door ajar.
“Agape, when I approach the Training Room, pick the right moment and begin playing the most haunting, solemn and romantic tune you can play. Can you do that?”
“But when Mistress?”
“No need to worry, you will know. Certainly, after Alcmene arrives. You ready?”
Agape nervously flicked her head forward, Charis’ smile reassuring her.
Charis pointed to a stool on the border of the Kitchen and the Training Area, which Agape grabbed as an island of protection, not sure what to expect.
Alexis’ eyes narrowed and upon confirmation her dagger arm moved as planned. She heard one behind her and the one in front, her sparring partners race to her, they would be too late, her action concealed from her Mistress by their very bodies.
“STOP!” A yell clear and definite. Nysa and Kyra halted. Alexis glanced up, one blade poised over her abdomen and the other over her thigh. How did she know? What did she know?
“By your oath to your Mistress you will stand, arms by your side, releasing your weapons to the floor!” Charis observed her Assassin Sister change stance and her sparring partners run towards her. Trying to prevent her from what? Easier to stop them and ask questions.
Alexis knew betrayal. The assassins discussed their plan, they needed to come to harm in Charis’ presence and be healed, as did Zosime. Zosime made progress, they none and the Seers abandoned them for their failure. None ever failed training, they were beaten and tortured to succeed and then trained unless eating, sleeping or attending to ablutions. Shame gnawed upon their confidence.
The failed assassin dropped to her knees her worthless arse resting upon her ankles, head bowed, the feeble glint off her daggers mocking her. Deep in her own misery, Charis’ boots within her eyeline interrupted her self-loathing.
“You would hurt yourself?”
“Mistress we have tried and decided Zosime shows us the way we …”
“Less than two weeks to recover your life’s dream, you are a harsh judge of yourself.”
“We feel nothing beyond before, we are the same.”
“You are valuable to me, Seer Skill or no Seer Skill, your oath binds you to me and I decide your actions, unless you wish release from your oath.” Charis let the last words hang in the air.
“No Mistress, we hold to our oath.”
“Stand, sheath your daggers and follow me.”
“Yes Mistress.” Alexis stepped beside Charis following her towards the Kitchen. Charis held up her hand, stopped and pivoted.
“Do you wish to become a Seer, Alexis?”
“Yes, Mistress I try and fail.” Tears pool.
“You know two Single Seers, Niobe and Helice, so you know you can succeed as they did.” Charis waited for Alexis to respond, and she did, after many heartbeats with a discreet nod.
Charis repeated the question. “So, you know you can succeed as they did?”
Alexis opened her mouth, closed it and then spoke.
“Yes Mistress.”
“Do you prefer the nakedness of men or women?”
Alexis snap her head around and stared.
“You heard your Mistress … answer!” Charis growled.
“It. Is. Taboo.” Alexis tried to drop to her knees, Charis, Alcmene and Ismene propped her up.
“Stand Sister. You are no longer a Seer in the Temple or an oath bound Assassin to a false Mother Superior. You are sworn to me.”
Alexis straightened. Alcmene embraced her, and Alexis didn’t push her off, instead leaning into her comforting embrace.
“We have tried Mistress,” sent Alcmene.
“Stop trying. Save her from her past first, her life ended when she lost her twin and ever since she has run away from her loss.”
“I am sorry Mistress, we didn’t persist.”
Charis shifted Alexis’ hair aside, while her eyes flashed at Agape.
“Alcmene escort Alexis to a safe place and comfort her.”
A soothing ethereal mellow hum spread across the room as Agape’s controlled breath brought her flute to life.
“I am in a safe place Mistress,” murmured Alexis, wrapping her arm around Alcmene.
---
Astera and Thyia slowed as they appreciated the haunting welcome upon stepping through the elder’s door. Hagne eyed them both suspiciously.
“What is this music?”
Astera and Thyia recognised the pain in the sorrowful tune. Loneliness. Then Hagne’s eyes widen and she moved to grasp her daggers.
“STOP!” The yelled word captured their attention.
“By your oath to your Mistress you will stand, arms by your side, releasing your weapons to the floor!”
Hagne faltered, loosening her white-knuckle grip in surprise allowing her daggers to cascade from her hands, mouth ajar.
“You must heal us Mistress, it is the only way.”
“And must you be near death as Zosime or slightly wounded? If my healing doesn’t work, will I need to heal you from more grievous wounds? When will the cycle stop?”
“We witness Helice and Niobe every day and every time we fail, we fall further from the promise.”
Hagne approached Charis and bent to one knee, head bowed. Her fists tight, pressed hard to the floor.
“The Seers have given up, we are frustrated, I am angry and tormented and as the leader of my Three, I have failed to lead.” The words spilled out in a torrent.
Hagne raised her face, red eyes, jaw set and lips drawn back, grinding out her next words.
“We surrendered ourselves, enjoying the touch of others, yes I freely admit I too tolerated the gentle caresses from my sisters and allowed touching in certain places, chaste Seers no longer, fallen and wanton, because of a hope. The Goddess has cast us aside Mistress we will remain killers in your service no more.”
The fire and rage exhausted, Hagne seemed less, now defeated. Charis lent down and reached under the assassins’ chin as a hint to rise. Charis didn’t possess the strength to lift her, if not muscle resistance, then sheer weight of the muscle would prevent her.
Fortunately, Hagne wanted salvation or at least the possibility of forgiveness for failure. Mistress Charis far more forgiving than her previous taskmaster and so Hagne rose into Charis’ embrace.
“You are disgusted by your actions, by allowing others to touch you. You must accept them as part of you, not as a way to a means. We know your journey will be difficult, you have clung to beliefs as truths to survive your Seer loss …”
Hagne’s chest rose and coughed, Seer loss still wounded and tortured her. The flute melody sympathised and strengthened her resolve the sorrowful tune more positive.
“We have never tested of course, still we are certain the Goddess revokes her favour if a Seer lays with a man, she is silent about laying with a woman. The Goddess will listen to you again, let go of the taboos of the Temple, the Mother Superiors hold to their interpretations, we have proof in this House some of their wisdom is false. Mourn for your twin, embrace your sisters for support and comfort, you are no longer alone.”
Charis realised Hagne’s strength the longer they embraced, her muscles iron strong as her embrace closed, grasping for salvation.
“Your Seer training is not the same as a dagger, repeat the various drills until perfection. First you need to wash yourself of any guilt, you are who you wish to be, not tolerating ways and means and practicing acceptance expecting to develop Seer Skill. You need to re-centre yourself, reassess your morals and then be true to yourself and if you remain as you are you are welcome, if you develop Seer Skill you are welcome. You are not alone.” Charis understood at least one element of twin loss, loneliness, the severing of your intimate bonded partner, one which existed from birth.
“Mistress when I am touched, I panic, my mind freezes … I can’t, it is difficult.” Hagne released her distress to the tune and returned to calm, the memory washed, diluted.
“So, tell your sisters to embrace you instead, if that is all you can tolerate and provides you with relief.”
“Yes, Mistress, our embrace is soothing.”
“Talk to Niobe, she has suffered twin loss as you, lean on her. Share stories of your twin, celebrate her life, while you remember her can she truly be forgotten?”
“What of my Seer Skill?”
“It will either return or it won’t, there is no rush, there is no deadline, you will always be an oath sworn sister to me for as long as you wish to.”
“Thank you, Mistress. I need to visit Niobe to apologise for some harsh words spoken and unkind thoughts unspoken.” The flute hum in the air drawing reconciliation and forgiveness from her soul.
Charis stepped back from their embrace and using Hagne’s own Seer Robe wiped tears away from Hagne’s cheeks.
“Better,” endorsed Charis.
A quick embrace and Hagne snapped up her daggers and strode from the elder’s room.
“Wipe your eyes you two and please inform Agape she can rest from flute playing for a few bells, until before dusk I would reckon.”
“Yes Mistress.”