The Price of Power Chapter 4 - Evil Flows Downhill

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"Vashara's soul hasn't fully passed to the Valorous Halls," Adeliah said, her voice like silk sliding over sharpened steel as she moved between bookcases, pulling books out and looking at them before sliding them back in. "For a short time—a week, perhaps two at most—her soul will linger in the Netherworld, caught between worlds."

Milaena's fingers tightened imperceptibly around her priestess's medallion. As a servant of Saphyria, she was… uncomfortable in this discussion. The journey of souls was supposed to be kept sacred, and it was not something to be interfered with lightly. A part of her wanted to object, but she couldn't bring herself to voice the protest building in her throat. Not when her eyes caught the desperate hope in Daerreth's face. Not when she had to face the fact that she had failed her friend… that she had let Vashara die.

"So we can really resurrect her?" Daerreth leaned forward, his flame-red hair casting eerie shadows across his obsidian skin. His knuckles whitened as they gripped the edge of Adeliah's carved table, tiny sparks dancing between his fingers where emotion threatened to manifest as fire. “Save her?”

"Resurrect isn’t quite right," Adeliah corrected, her tone measured as if explaining a simple arithmetical concept to a child. "Technically, she isn’t dead.”

The merchant snapped her fingers and stepped to the next shelf with fluid grace, sorting through the stacked leather-bound tomes rapidly. “People don’t die when their heart beats their last. All that happens is that their body was no longer capable of keeping her soul inside of it. When that happens, the soul slips into the Netherworld.” The wooden floorboards creaked beneath her steps, the only sound beyond the heavy breathing of those gathered in the cramped space. She selected a particularly ancient volume, its spine cracked with age and use, binding reinforced with what appeared to be strips of iron.

“It is only when the gods call that soul home, pulling them to their new resting place, that they truly die, and no force I know of can bring them back. So your actual problem then is how healing magic works.” She opened the book on the table, sending dust motes swirling in the lamplight. Milaena caught the distinctive scent of ancient paper, alchemical preservatives, and something else—something that reminded her of burned wood.

Daerreth looked expectantly over at Milaena, the question burning in his eyes. She could almost feel the heat of his desperation pressing in on her, and reluctantly, the half-elf priestess nodded in agreement. “Healing magic works by drawing on the soul to fix the body,” she said softly, her voice tinged with reluctance. “If the soul is too weak, healing magic isn’t possible… it can’t give enough power to heal the wound.”

“So you are caught in between two problems,” Adeliah continued unfazed, her fingers flipping through the tome at a relentless pace. “The body is too damaged to contain your friend’s soul any longer, but you can’t heal her body without that soul being there. You can’t solve one problem without the other, which is why, functionally, it doesn’t matter if someone isn’t dead until their soul leaves the Nethe...”

“But you said it was possible,” Daerreth interrupted, his voice a low growl, eyes fixed on the merchant. His fists tightened as he spoke, the strain evident in every taut muscle.

Adeliah didn’t even look up. “For most people, it isn’t… and even for those rare few who might have a chance, it rarely is. But that is only because they lack the resources.” Her amber eyes flicked up towards Daerreth, meeting his with a piercing gaze. “A resource like… phoenix ashes, for example.”

The priestess found herself taking an involuntary step back, even as Daerreth leaned closer. “What?”

"Here," Adeliah said, pointing to an illustration spread across two yellowed pages. Daerreth leaned in to look, and soon enough Milaena’s curiosity overcame her caution. She leaned closer, her priestess's medallion swinging forward, the crystal at its center momentarily catching the light and refracting it across the illustration. The image showed a magnificent firebird wreathed in flames on one page, feathers rendered in faded red and gold ink that somehow still seemed to shimmer with internal light. On the facing page, the same entity appeared in human form—a being of ethereal beauty with eyes that seemed to burn even from the parchment.

"A Phoenix spirit," Adeliah explained, her fingertip tracing the outline of the burning figure. "They are ancient beyond measure, with dominion over death and rebirth. Their ashes can confer a fraction of that power… healing the body with the phoenix’s soul, rather than the dying woman’s.”

“How does that help?” Daerreth asked.

“Because,” Milaena said softly. “If the body is healed enough to keep her soul in the world, it will call it back once more. She can be restored.”

Adeliah nodded. “Phoenixes are ancient, but they’re also exceedingly rare. Thankfully, I just so happen to have this tome,” she said, patting the book, “that can tell us where to find them."

"And you would help us do that… why?" Milaena asked, unable to keep suspicion from lacing her words. In her experience, those who trafficked in death's mysteries seldom did so from benevolence.

From the corner of her vision, Milaena felt the weight of Acalia's stare. The warrior woman sat in the darkest corner of the wagon, her body still bearing the marks of her captivity—fading bruises coloring her pale blue skin in sickly yellows and greens.

Adeliah's gaze lifted from the tome, her smile tightening almost imperceptibly. "Because I will help you, and in return I need your help with something. In order to continue my mission of imprisoning cursed artifacts, I have need of a hero or two.” Adeliah sighed and leaned back in her chair, shadows falling across her face in a way that made her features momentarily unreadable. "I didn’t always travel like this. For several years I made my home in Westcreek. That is, until Lord Governor Harrick banished me last spring for being unable to pay his extortionate taxes. He impounded several cases of my artifacts as payment for what I owed—including one I'll need if I'm to help you access the Netherworld."

Milaena's instincts prickled with warning. "What exactly are you asking us to do?" she pressed, her voice steady despite the churning suspicion in her stomach.

"His elimination," Adeliah stated simply, as if discussing the removal of an unsightly piece of furniture. "Or really, just get them back… but I doubt you’ll be able to while that tyrant lives. The man deserves death for his cruelties anyway. I've witnessed firsthand how he treats the freemen and slaves of his town. Removing him would be a service to Westcreek."

Milaena opened her mouth to protest that they wouldn’t do it. That they weren’t assassins. She had barely even begun to draw breath when Daerreth cut her off. "I'll do it," the fire Genasi said immediately, his voice cracking with raw emotion. He spoke before anyone else could respond, the words bursting from him like flames. "Whatever it takes."

Milaena watched him carefully, noting the feverish gleam in his ember-like eyes, the almost imperceptible tremor in his hands. This wasn't reasoned judgment—this was grief's desperation, pushing him toward any path that promised reunion with Vashara. Even so, he couldn’t really mean this, could he?

Seconds passed, and no one said anything. None of the others in the wagon disagreed with him. Milaena saw the subtle exchange of glances between Rashon and Acalia. The massive goliath shifted his weight, making the wagon's floor creak in protest, but said nothing. His silence was telling. To her chagrin, Milaena realized she wasn’t in any hurry to speak either. Valdis, close beside the priestess, reached for her hand beneath the table and squeezed. The young mage's face remained impassive, but Milaena could feel her apprehension in the slight tremor of her hand. Her lover's touch was a tiny comfort, but it was a comfort.

The merchant looked back and forth between the group for a few seconds. Then she gave a small smile. "Excellent," Adeliah said, closing the ancient tome with a gentle reverence that seemed at odds with the assassination she'd just proposed. "Governor Harrick keeps his ill-gotten wealth in a vault beneath the keep, hiding it from the freeman and the tax collectors both. He keeps the key on his person from what I understand… that will let you in. Once I have my artifact returned, I can help you complete the resurrection ritual."

"What's this artifact that will help us?" Rashon finally spoke, his deep voice like stones grinding together. "How do we know it's not something that should stay locked away?"

Adeliah snorted. “It is something that should stay locked away,” she said firmly. “Everything in my collection should. This is no different.” Adeliah grimaced. “It’s called a Mirror of Worlds… one of the original prototypes made by Iron Lady Ashen when she was designing her Grand Mirror.” Milaena couldn’t stop herself from gasping, and she wasn’t the only one… this was made by one of the four Iron Overlords themselves? It was a weapon made by the very monsters she and her companions sought to raise a rebellion against? "A Mirror of Worlds can create pathways between realms.”

“It can get us to the Netherworld? To Vashara?” Daerreth asked, hunger in his voice.

“It can get you to the Netherworld,” Adeliah agreed. “It could even get you to Vashara… but you wouldn’t be able to bring her back. No, we’re going to be using it for something else.”

"And how do you suggest we approach this task?" Acalia asked, speaking for the first time. Her voice carried the rasp of someone who had screamed herself hoarse not long ago. “Getting to Harrick, that is?”

As the others began discussing details of infiltration and attack, Milaena's mind raced with implications and possibilities. Daerreth was being reckless—she was sure of that. His grief was pushing him toward actions he might not have considered otherwise. She'd seen this before in her years as a priestess: the way loss could drive people to extremes, making them willing to trade anything—dignity, morality, even their souls—for one more moment with those they'd lost.

She needed to stay close to him, she resolved. Daerreth was nodding eagerly to whatever Acalia and Rashon were discussing, but Milaena couldn’t focus on the conversation… it didn’t matter. Her eyes were only for the fire Genasi. His body language had completely changed—where before he'd been slumped with despair, now he practically vibrated with purpose. It was the purpose itself that worried her, he was impulsive at the best of times. If she left him alone, he’d do something impulsive and foolish. Something Vashara would never have wanted from him.

Milaena wanted to object, to remind them all that as servants of light, they shouldn't be plotting assassinations. She felt confident that Vashara herself would tell them to find another way. But… but would Vashara have told them to find another way if it was Daerreth who had been left behind? Or Milaena? What would Milaena think if Valdis was the one the men had done… that… to? Once again, the words died in her throat as her eyes caught the small wooden pendant Daerreth clutched in his left hand: a token Vashara had carved for him, now stained with what could only be her blood.

Some wounds ran too deep for reassurance, or platitudes about another way. Some grief could not be reasoned with. Perhaps the best she could do was ensure Daerreth didn't lose himself completely in darkness while pursuing this mission.

They were fighting a rebellion, after all. Perhaps Lord Governor Harrick did need to die.

"We go to Westcreek," Milaena said finally, her voice carrying the weight of reluctant acceptance. People looked to the priestess, and she abruptly realized it had been some time since she had spoke. "We go… but we go together.” She looked towards Daerreth. “And we remember who we are."

Daerreth didn't meet her eyes, his gaze fixed on some distant point only he could see. The flames of the oil lamps reflected in his pupils, making them dance with fire. She wasn't certain he'd heard her—or if he had, whether her words held any meaning for him now.

What mattered to him was the promise of resurrection, the chance to undo his failure. Everything else—even his own soul—was secondary.

But not if Milaena could help it.

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Westcreek wasn’t too far, but with them only having two weeks at best to get to Vashara before she vanished forever the group needed to hurry. That meant they needed to break taboo and walk during False Dawn. According to Daerreth it wasn’t horribly uncommon for merchant wagons to use the light of the second moon to travel by once they were out of the line of sight of more suspicious folk, but it still made Milaena uncomfortable… like Valoran’s eye was staring down at them and judging them for the less-than-honorable path they were walking. It didn’t help that each mile they strode brought them closer to a murder. Milaena's legs ached from the endless walking, but her physical discomfort paled compared to the knot of dread tightening in her chest whenever she watched Daerreth stride ahead of their small company. His back rigid with purpose, shoulders set in a line as unyielding as iron, there was something deeply alarming about his focus. As though grief had hollowed him out and filled the empty space with single-minded obsession.

The weather shifted from oppressive summer heat to sudden, drenching downpours like the heavens themselves were unsettled by their purpose. They made camp beneath ancient trees, huddling around meager fires that struggled against the damp. Each night while the others spoke in quiet tones or tended to their equipment, Daerreth sat apart from the group. The flicker of campfire light caught the edge of his daggers as he sharpened them with meticulous precision. For hours, the rhythmic scrape of whetstone against steel provided counterpoint to their hushed conversations. His eyes reflected the flames unnaturally, glowing like embers in his obsidian face. Not once did he join their discussions or seek out company. He ate little, spoke less, and seemed to exist solely for the purpose that drove them to Westcreek.

At least one thing was going well - Acalia grew stronger with each passing day. With Milaena’s magic and her own strong soul, her body mended quickly… though there was nothing Milaena could do to wipe away the memory of her rape and torture that remained etched in her golden eyes.

On the third evening, just as True Dark was approaching and Silverlight was fading, they crested a densely wooded hill, the trees finally gave way to reveal their destination in the valley below. Westcreek's walls rose like a gray scar against the lush landscape, smoke from countless chimneys smudging the darkening sky. The town sprawled beyond its original boundaries, newer structures packed tightly outside the walls proper, evidence of rapid, unchecked growth. Rivers of humanity moved through the streets in the distance—and from what Milaena knew of this town, most of those probably bore the unmistakable collars of slaves.

Daerreth stood at the vanguard, silhouetted against the sunset, his posture rigid with determination. The sight of the town seemed to crystallize something within him. His hands twitched toward his weapons, eager despite the distance still separating them from their target.

Valdis stepped up next to Milaena, her voluptuous form a stark contrast to the half-elf’s leaner build. The young human woman's robes did little to hide the generous swell of her breasts that strained against the fabric with each anxious breath she took. The young mage's presence provided momentary comfort, the familiar scent of her hair temporarily grounding Milaena amidst her growing anxiety. Valdis slipped her hand into Milaena's, their fingers intertwining with practiced ease. The two of them watched for a second as Daerreth began descending the hill without waiting for the others, his stride purposeful and unwavering.

Then she sighed and followed him, Adeliah’s horse-pulled wagon slowly chasing them down towards the walls of Westcreek.

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Westcreek wasn’t a huge city, but it was far more developed—if not more prosperous—than it had been the last time Milaena and Valdis had passed through here. Excesses of trade moved through the town and meant that inns were plentiful. This one offered little in the way of luxury, but after days on the road, even its simple furnishings were a blessed relief. The inn room was modest but clean, with a single window that overlooked Westcreek's marketplace where slaves and freemen alike hurried about their business. Milaena secured the door behind them with meticulous care, testing the lock twice before finally allowing her shoulders to drop with relief. For the first time in more than a week, they had found something approaching true privacy. Weariness settled into her bones like an old friend, but the sight of Valdis dropping her travel pack on the wooden floor with a heavy thud caused her ample breasts to bounce noticeably beneath her travel-worn robe. Even exhausted, her curves remained a sight that never failed to quicken Milaena's pulse, sparking something warm inside the half-elf’s chest.

"By the Twin Moons, we must already have that mirror, because I feel like I've been dragged through the Netherworld and back," Valdis sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. "I need a bath before I can even think about our next move."

Milaena nodded in agreement, her own body aching with the strain of days spent on the road. The hard ground had left knots in her muscles that even her elven resilience couldn't fully withstand.

"I arranged for water to be brought up," she said, gesturing to the wooden tub in the corner that the inn’s servants had brought on her request. A momentary frown crossed her face… they hadn’t been servants. They had been slaves. The distinction mattered, especially here in Westcreek where Lord Governor Harrick's iron rule had crushed any semblance of freedom. There were surprisingly few freemen in Westcreek as far as she had seen. "It'll need to be heated first, though."

Valdis smiled. "Cold isn't a problem." She approached the tub, rolling up her sleeves to reveal the delicate runes tattooed along her forearms. With practiced motions, she traced a sigil in the air above the water, her fingers leaving faint traces of red light in their wake.

Milaena watched, transfixed as always by the elegant precision of Valdis's spellwork. For all her self-doubt, the young mage had a natural affinity for elemental magic that surpassed many with decades more experience. The sigil hung in the air for a moment, pulsing with inner fire before dissolving into the water below. Steam began to rise immediately as Valdis sent Aetheric fire flowing through the water, the surface rippling with unseen currents of magical energy.

"Perfect," Valdis murmured, testing the temperature with her fingertips. She straightened and turned to face Milaena, her hands moving to the clasps of her travel robe. There was hesitation in her movements, a momentary shyness that never failed to endear her to Milaena. The priestess didn't look away. Instead, she leaned against the wall, making no effort to hide her appreciation as the fabric fell away from Valdis's shoulders.

Inch by inch, Valdis unveiled her pale skin – first the elegant curve of her neck, slender and graceful like a swan's, begging for teeth to mark it. Then the delicate slope of her shoulders emerged, shoulders Milaena longed to pin against the mattress. Valdis's raven-black hair cascaded down her back in silky waves that Milaena ached to grip in her fist, to pull until Valdis gasped and submitted. When the robe slipped lower, the woman's tits—her glorious, heavy mounds—spilled free with an obscene jiggle that made Milaena's pulse race with need. They hung magnificently, disproportionately massive on her otherwise slight frame. Their weight made the firm, youthful things sag just a touch in the most mouth-watering way, like ripe fruit heavy on the branch. Each perfect tit was crowned with rose-pink nipples that pebbled instantly in the cool air, hardening into tight little nubs that begged to be sucked and licked until Valdis would scream.

Milaena's eyes darkened with raw hunger as she devoured every inch. Valdis stood nearly a head shorter than her elven lover, making those luscious tits seem even more abundant. They swayed with hypnotic motion, the flesh quivering with each breath, their substantial weight making Valdis's delicate frame seem even more fragile... someone that the more athletic priestess could just bodily pin to the bed and do with what she pleased. The areolas puckered like they were begging for Milaena's hot, wet mouth to suck them raw.

The robe slipped further, revealing the tender inward curve of Valdis's waist before flaring out to breeding hips that Milaena's hands itched to grip and bruise. Her ass was a perfect heart shape, each cheek a smooth, plump mound of flesh that trembled with every movement, begging to be spread, and spanked. Despite the human woman's shorter lifespan compared to Milaena, her youthful body remained a temple of carnal possibility—She was soft in all the right places, her skin waiting to be marked. Milaena wanted lick, bite, and taste every inch of her until every part of her could feel phantom touches.

"Your eyes are burning holes through me," Valdis teased, though the blush that spread across her cheeks and down her neck betrayed her discomfort, the rosy flush continuing down to the swell of her breasts. She stood before Milaena now, completely naked, her pussy a delicate, pink-lipped shadow between her thighs that Milaena could already imagine dripping with need, soaking the bedsheets beneath them as she made Valdis scream her name over and over.

Despite her weariness, Milaena felt desire bloom hot and immediate in her core, her pussy clenching with need as she imagined those magnificent tits bouncing as Valdis rode her face, or how they'd feel pressed against her own smaller breasts. In all her centuries, Milaena had never beheld such perfection—a woman crafted for pleasure, for worship, for fucking until neither of them could walk. Valdis wasn't just beautiful; she was a sexual revelation that made Milaena's mouth water and her clit throb with an almost painful intensity. She knew of Valdis's complicated relationship with her body. The young mage had spent most of her life in scholarly pursuits, uncomfortable with the attention her voluptuous figure drew from others. Even now, after months as lovers, Valdis still fought the urge to cover her body when Milaena looked at her with undisguised hunger.

But even so, Milaena wanted her with devastating need.

"Can you blame me?" Milaena asked, her voice dropping to a husky whisper that seemed to caress the air between them. Her fingers worked at the fastenings of her own priestly robes, undoing them with deliberate slowness that transformed the simple act into an erotic ritual. The fabric parted like water, revealing the treasure beneath inch by tantalizing inch.

The two women were a study in contrasts. Where the mage was soft, Milaena's elven body was a masterpiece of lean, corded muscle that rippled beneath skin like polished alabaster. Both were dedicated to their magic, but their practice was very different… Milaena had spent half a century training in one of Saphyria’s temple, and had been taught how to fight. The years of practice had sculpted her abdomen into a taut plain of subtle definition. She had nothing like Acalia’s muscles, or Rashons, but the athleticism of her body had not faded and any slight movement caused shadows to dance across the subtle valleys between the bumps of her belly muscles. Her smaller breasts defied gravity with perfect, upturned swells, each capped with dusky rose nipples that pebbled and hardened under her lover's hungry gaze. They were exquisitely proportioned to her athletic frame—tight, perky mounds that fit perfectly in a cupped palm, the areolae puckering with arousal, begging to be sucked and teased until she whimpered. A fine sheen of perspiration made her flesh glisten in the dim light, highlighting the elegant musculature of her shoulders and the graceful column of her throat where her pulse visibly quickened.

When she was fully undressed, Milaena closed the distance between them, her hands coming up to cup Valdis's breasts. "These perfect things," she murmured appreciatively, feeling their weight in her palms. "How do you carry them around all day?"

Valdis made an uncomfortable sound, shy about her breasts, but the sound caught in her throat as Milaena's thumbs brushed over her sensitive nipples. "They're... they're more trouble than they're worth," she managed to say, even as her body responded to Milaena's touch.

Milaena guided Valdis toward the steaming tub. The water didn't carry any of the scents baths had carried in the temple, no lavender or chamomile to soothe their aching muscles. Such luxuries were not to be found here in Westcreek, where even the simplest comforts came at a steep price.

Valdis stepped in first, sighing with pleasure as the hot water enveloped her legs, then her hips, and finally her torso as she sank down. Milaena followed, positioning herself behind Valdis in the large tub. Water sloshed over the sides as they settled, but neither woman paid it any mind.

Milaena reached for the soft cloth hanging over the tub's edge and began to gently wash the road dust from Valdis's shoulders and back, her touch both practical and intimate. For several minutes, they existed in comfortable silence, the tension of the past days slowly unwinding from their bodies.

"Are you certain about this plan?" Valdis asked finally, her voice quiet beneath the gentle splashing of water. "Killing Harrick, I mean."

Milaena's hands paused momentarily before resuming their careful ministrations. The question had been weighing on her mind for days now, but it had only intensified since they'd arrived in Westcreek after she'd seen firsthand the brutality of Harrick's rule. "No," she admitted, the admission feeling like a weight lifted from her chest. "But Daerreth will proceed with or without us. And I..." she swallowed hard, "I failed to save Vashara."

Valdis turned slightly, enough to look at Milaena over her shoulder. "You can't blame yourself for that," she said firmly. "You couldn't have saved her. None of us could."

Milaena didn't argue, but inwardly, she disagreed. Her hands continued their gentle washing, but her mind was far away, replaying those terrible moments when they'd found Vashara, too late to save her. She remembered the blood – so much blood – pooling beneath Vashara's slender body. She was the healer. The priestess. The one who had sworn oaths to protect. Who else could she blame if the woman bled to death right in front of her?

Valdis seemed to sense her lover's inner turmoil. She leaned back into Milaena's touch, her head resting against the priestess's shoulder. "We’re going to bring her back," she whispered.

The tension of the past days hung between them, electric and demanding release. “Maybe,” Milaena whispered as Valdis turned her head further. “I just hope we’re doing the right thing, disturbing the dead like this. Becoming assassins.” Then Milaena met her halfway.

Their lips met in a kiss that started gentle but quickly deepened. Milaena felt the familiar surge of desire, heightened by days of danger and uncertainty. Her hands slid from Valdis's back around to her front, cupping the undersides of her breasts. "Your breasts look so heavy," she murmured against Valdis's lips, feeling their weight in her palms. "Do they ache from all that bouncing on the road?"

Valdis nodded, a blush spreading down her neck to her chest as Milaena's thumbs circled her nipples. "They've been sensitive for days," she admitted.

"Let me take care of them," Milaena whispered, her voice dropping into the commanding tone that she knew made Valdis shiver with anticipation.

Water sloshed in the tub as Milaena positioned herself more firmly behind Valdis, her own smaller breasts pressed against the mage's back. Her hands kneaded and squeezed Valdis's larger ones, alternating between gentle massage and firmer pressure that made Valdis gasp.

"Look how responsive they are," Milaena growled, pinching both nipples hard enough to make Valdis cry out. The sound sent a jolt of arousal straight to Milaena's core. "Spread your legs for me." When Valdis obeyed, parting her thighs beneath the water, Milaena slid her own thigh between them, giving the mage something to grind against while she continued her merciless assault on her breasts. One hand gripped and squeezed while the other twisted and pinched sensitive nipples, drawing increasingly desperate sounds from Valdis's throat.

"Please, Milaena—" Valdis gasped, but the priestess kissed her again, silencing her plea.

"Such a pretty, desperate thing," Milaena whispered against her ear, before biting down on the lobe. Her right hand slid down through the water, between Valdis's legs, finding her pussy hotter than the bath they sat in. She slid two fingers inside with deliberate slowness, but intentionally avoided her clit, causing Valdis to whimper with frustration. "You're soaking wet," Milaena observed, slowly pumping her fingers in and out. "And it has nothing to do with the bath."

Valdis tried to shift her hips, seeking more direct stimulation, but Milaena used her other hand to pinch one nipple sharply, the brief pain making Valdis freeze. "Not yet," she admonished, curling her fingers to stroke against that sensitive spot inside that made Valdis tremble. "You don't get to come until I say so."

Milaena built Valdis up slowly, watching the flush spread across her lover's skin, feeling the tension build in her body as her breathing grew more ragged. Just as Valdis approached the edge, Milaena withdrew her fingers completely, leaving the mage whimpering with need. "Milaena, please," Valdis begged, her voice breaking. “For Saphyria’s sake-”

"Patience," Milaena replied, resuming her attention to Valdis's breasts, which were now flushed and sensitive from her earlier ministrations. She kneaded them roughly, knowing the dual sensation of pleasure and pain would keep Valdis hovering just below the peak of pleasure.

When she slid her fingers back inside, Valdis clenched around them immediately, so close to release that Milaena had to be careful. She brought her to the edge a second time before cruelly withdrawing again, and Valdis slumped back against Milaena, her body tense and trembling from being denied release twice in succession. Valdis couldn't suppress the desperate whimper that escaped her throat. Her breasts ached pleasantly from the priestess's rough handling, nipples standing erect and hypersensitive to every subtle movement of the cooling bathwater.

"We're not done yet," Milaena whispered, biting Valdis's earlobe hard enough to send a fresh jolt of arousal through her. She withdrew her fingers from between Valdis's legs and brought them to her own mouth, making a show of licking the mage's juices from them. "The water's getting cold. Time to move to where I can taste every inch of you properly."

She stood first, water cascading down her lithe form as she stepped out of the tub. Droplets traced paths down her slender limbs, highlighting the elegant musculature beneath her elven skin. Grabbing a towel, she dried herself hastily before holding out a hand to help Valdis up.

The mage took it gratefully, her legs unsteady, still quivering from being brought so close to release without satisfaction. As she rose from the water, her fuller figure was displayed in stark contrast to Milaena's more athletic frame – generous curves where the priestess had angles, softness where Milaena was taut.

Milaena didn't bother to dry Valdis thoroughly, only running the towel quickly over her to catch the worst of the drips. Her hair still damp, skin still flushed and glistening, Valdis looked utterly desirable. The priestess's eyes darkened as she took in the sight, her gaze lingering on the droplets that clung to Valdis's nipples before darting it to lick one up with her tongue and making the mage tremble. "Stand here," Milaena ordered, positioning Valdis before the window where the sun, just entering Brightmarch, cast golden light across her naked body. The priestess pulled the curtains partially open, leaving a gap wide enough that anyone looking up from the street might catch a glimpse of the nude figure shining in the light between them.

Valdis's eyes widened in alarm. "Milaena, people could see—"

"Hold the curtain just like this," Milaena instructed, ignoring the protest as she guided Valdis's hands to the fabric, positioning them to keep the gap just a little bit open. "If you let go, I stop touching you."

Her voice left no room for argument, and the flush that spread down Valdis's chest told Milaena that despite her protests, the idea excited her at least as much as it embarrassed her. The thought of being seen – exposed and vulnerable while in the throes of pleasure – sent an unmistakable shiver through the mage's body.

"That's it," Milaena purred approvingly, running her hands down Valdis's sides as she moved behind her. "Keep your hands exactly where they are."

From the window, they had a clear view of Westcreek's marketplace below. The late afternoon brought a steady stream of activity – merchants closing up their stalls, slaves carrying burdens for their masters, Imperial guards patrolling with practiced intimidation. None of them looked up, but the mere possibility that they might was enough to make Valdis's heart race.

Milaena knelt behind her, spreading her ass cheeks to expose her soaking pussy to the cool air. From this position, she could see how swollen and wet Valdis was, her folds glistening with arousal. The sight made Milaena's own sex throb with anticipation, but she would wait. This moment was about breaking through Valdis's carefully constructed walls, pushing her beyond comfort into pure sensation.

"Look how wet you are from just the thought of being seen," Milaena taunted, leaning forward to lick a long stripe from Valdis's clit to her asshole. The mage shuddered, biting her lip to stifle a moan that threatened to escape. "So shy, but so easy to tease, aren’t you?” Valdis didn't answer, couldn't answer, as Milaena's tongue circled her entrance before plunging inside. Her fingers gripped the curtains tighter, knuckles turning white with the effort not to make noise or let go. Below, the streets continued their late afternoon bustle, everyday people going about their business, completely unaware of the lewd display occurring just above their heads.

A group of merchants haggled over prices at a stall directly below their window, their voices carrying up to the room. Another had twelve slaves carrying his merchandise through the crowd, yelling at them occasionally to hurry them along. These town guards operated similar to true Imperial soldiers and patrolled in pairs, and their armor glinted in the sunlight as they surveyed the crowd for any sign of dissent.

All this Valdis observed through a haze of pleasure as Milaena's tongue worked between her thighs, alternating between broad, flat strokes along her slit and focused attention on her clit. Never giving her quite enough stimulation to come, but keeping her balanced on the knife's edge of pleasure.

"I wonder what they would think," Milaena murmured against Valdis's wet flesh, "if they knew what was happening right above them." The words sent a fresh wave of arousal through Valdis, her pussy clenching around nothing right in front of the priestess’s eyes. She was so sensitive now that even the slightest touch to her clit made her wobble as her thighs trembled with the effort to remain standing.

"Milaena, please," she gasped, barely audible over the sounds from the street below.

"Please what?" the priestess asked innocently, rising slightly to nip at the soft flesh of Valdis's ass. "Tell me what you want, loud enough that I can hear you."

Valdis swallowed hard, torn between her desperate need for release and her fear of being overheard. "Please... make me cum," she whispered, unable to bring herself to speak any louder.

Milaena chuckled, the sound vibrating against Valdis's sensitive flesh. "Not good enough," she said, withdrawing slightly. "I want to hear you beg properly."

Just then, a group of travelers paused directly below their window, one of them pointing up toward the inn. Valdis froze, certain they had been discovered. The mage immediately tried to close the curtains, her face burning with shame and arousal, but Milaena was faster. She rose to her feet, pressing her body against Valdis's back while her fingers found the mage's entrance. She grabbed Valdis's free wrist with one of her hands and forced it back to the curtains, keeping them open as her other hand worked between the mage's thighs. "Don't you dare close them," Milaena hissed, adding a third finger to stretch Valdis further.

“Milaena, I think they can… they can…”

"If they could see, they would be much, much louder," she whispered against Valdis’s ear, sliding two fingers deep into her without warning. The auburn-haired woman almost took her hands off the curtain in her desperation to cover her mouth, but at the last instant remembered and stopped herself. She cried out into her bicep instead. "They don’t know what’s going on… they just know it’s something. They can see our shadows moving. They know someone is getting fucked…”

The crude language from the usually dignified priestess sent a shock through Valdis, making her inner walls clench around Milaena's pumping fingers. The travelers below continued to stare up at their window, perhaps attracted by some small movement or sound that had caught their attention.

"You're going to cum for me now," Milaena commanded, her voice dropping into that register that brooked no disobedience. Her thumb found Valdis's clit, pressing and circling as her fingers curled inside to hit that perfect spot. "Right now, while they're watching our shadows."

Valdis shattered, her orgasm ripping through her with an intensity that stole her breath. Her inner walls clenched rhythmically around Milaena's fingers, her whole body shaking with the force of her release. A strangled cry escaped her throat despite her efforts to stay quiet, and Milaena felt a rush of satisfaction knowing that the sound might have carried to the street below. The travelers looked at each other, one of them laughing knowingly before they continued on their way. Whether they had truly seen anything or merely guessed at what was happening was impossible to know, but the possibility that they had witnessed Valdis's most intimate moment added a forbidden thrill to her pleasure.

Milaena continued her ministrations, gentler now, guiding Valdis through the aftershocks that made her legs tremble and her breath catch. Only when the mage sagged against her, utterly spent, did Milaena finally stop and allow the curtains to fall closed.

She turned Valdis to face her, brushing damp strands of hair from her flushed face. "You’re so beautiful," she murmured, pressing a tender kiss to Valdis's lips. The contrast between her dominating presence moments before and her gentleness now was stark, a reminder of the complexity of their relationship.

Valdis leaned into the kiss, her body still trembling slightly from the intensity of her orgasm. When she pulled back, there was a new determination in her eyes. "Your turn," she murmured, reaching for Milaena with intent despite her exhaustion.

Milaena captured her wrists, pinning them against the wall as she tenderly kissed Valdis again. "No," she said, eyes twinkling mischievously. "Still yours."

She guided Valdis away from the window and toward the bed, laying her down on the clean sheets with unexpected tenderness. For a moment, she simply looked at her lover, taking in the sight of her flushed skin and disheveled hair, the way her chest still rose and fell with quickened breaths.

Then, with deliberate slowness, Milaena climbed onto the bed with her. "We’re not even close to finished,” she said, trailing her fingers lightly over Valdis's still-sensitive nipples. "We have another two turns of the glass before we’re meeting with the others, and I have so many more ways I want to make you scream."

Neither left the bed again for some time.

—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-

The sky was red as Sanguis rose into the sky and the sun set, but the dying day hadn’t started to grow cooler yet. The hot air in the tavern clung to Milaena's skin like an unwelcome embrace, thick with the mingled scents of spilled ale, sweat, and too many bodies in too small a space. Their corner table offered some semblance of privacy, shadowed by low-hanging beams and positioned far from the hearth where drunken patrons gathered to swap increasingly implausible tales. She watched the entrance with measured patience, one finger tracing the rim of a mug she had no intention of drinking from, her other hand resting near the concealed dagger at her hip. Through the grimy windows she could see light rain beginning to fall, droplets catching the dim light of street lanterns like tears on glass.

Acalia sat beside her, the warrior woman's golden eyes constantly scanning the room, a predator's vigilance born from too many betrayals. She had her hood pulled low to hide her distinctive features as much as possible… though there was only so much that could be done to hide her horns. It was still more subtle than Rashon managed to be. The Goliath’s massive form seemed almost comically large for the human-sized chair he occupied. Only Valdis appeared genuinely at ease, sipping her spiced wine while projecting the air of a traveling scholar—a disguise close enough to truth to be convincing.

The door swung open, admitting a gust of rain-laden air and a hooded figure who moved with fluid grace despite the water dripping from his cloak. Daerreth made his way to their table without a glance at the other patrons, his features barely visible beneath the shadow of his hood. He slid into the last remaining seat without ceremony. "What did you learn?" he asked without preamble, his voice low and urgent, ember eyes burning with barely restrained intensity.

Acalia sighed, leaning forward to ensure her words wouldn't carry beyond their immediate circle. "This place is a kettle waiting to boil over,” she said intensely. “There are at least a hundred slaves here for every Citizen, and there are shockingly few freemen still in town." She paused, disgust evident in her expression. "I think the Governor has been taking any excuse he can find to enslave any freeman who catches his notice."

Milaena nodded, recalling what she'd observed during their brief time in the city. "This town is far larger than it was when last I passed through. It's growing rapidly... but I think the Lord Governor must be leaning hard on his people to do it." She thought of the construction she'd seen—new buildings rising while slaves labored under the watchful eyes of overseers with ready whips. "The resentment is palpable. I can’t believe he’s been getting away with it."

“He’s a citizen,” Daerreth said with a sneer. “They aren’t. The laws of this place don’t protect his people—they protect him.”

Acalia's fingers tightened around her mug, the only outward sign of the fury Milaena knew smoldered within her. "I think with the right push, we might be able to turn the resentment building here into outright rebellion, at least for a while. If the governor isn't around to suppress it... maybe more than a while."

Daerreth's lips curved into a humorless smile. "Perfect. Chaos will cover our tracks."

Rashon leaned forward, his massive frame dwarfing the wooden table. "The governor's mansion is heavily guarded, but there's an event tomorrow night—some kind of 'selection ceremony.'"

Milaena noticed how Acalia's face hardened at the words, the warrior woman's hands tightening around her mug until her knuckles whitened against her pale blue skin. "Selection ceremony?" Valdis asked, her scholarly curiosity momentarily overriding her caution.

Acalia's eyes reflected the tavern's dim light like burnished gold coins. "Most Imperial Citizens in Ferronatus have a harem of slaves. A collection of pretty and exotic treasures. The custom is less frequent in the provinces, but it appears Harrick wants to act like this is the Imperial capital. In a selection ceremony, every slave-master in the city with merchandise they think he might want to buy and add to his harem will be there to parade their wares in front of him like cattle.” Disgust dripped from each word the tiefling spat out. “Harrick and his wife will choose any that interest them, and test their suitability. Any chosen will be purchased, and the slavemaster gets the prestige of being chosen over all of his peers.”

The implication hung heavy in the air. Milaena felt her stomach turn, bile rising in her throat at the thought of what such "testing" entailed. She had seen too much of the Empire's depravity not to understand exactly what happened at such events.

"It's sport for them," Acalia continued, voice flat with controlled rage. "The noble citizens place bets on which girls will please the governor most, which will break first. It's entertainment." Her finger traced the rim of her mug, muscles in her jaw working as she fought to maintain composure. "I've seen such things before. Too many times."

Milaena didn’t say anything, but she understood. Acalia hadn’t seen such things… she had been one of those girls. The table slipped into silence for just a few heartbeats before the Fire Genasi learned forward. “That’s perfect, then,” Daerreth declared, his eyes glittering with dark purpose. "The mansion will be busy, attention divided." He leaned forward, lowering his voice further. "When exactly does this... event begin?"

"Tomorrow at the end of Gloamrest," Rashon replied. "Under the light of the red moon.”

Daerreth nodded again. “This can work. His guards will be focused on security for the visiting citizens. The slave pens will be heavily watched, as will the guests, but they won’t be looking for people trying to sneak into the mansion itself.”

"And the slaves themselves will be desperate, angry," Acalia added. "If someone were to unlock their pens during the confusion..."

For the next hour, they formulated their plan in hushed voices, pausing whenever a slave girl serving drinks approached or patrons passed too close to their secluded corner. Rashon and Acalia would create a distraction—a "slave revolt" near the main hall that would draw guards and attention. Valdis and Milaena would make sure they were able to slip away. Meanwhile, Daerreth would slip through the service entrance and make his way to the governor's private chambers, where he would wait for Harrick's eventual return There was no need to separate him from his security detail if they could count on him to eventually leave them behind himself.

"We need to consider his wife as well," Acalia pointed out. "Lady Harrick is reportedly as cruel as her husband. If she survives, she'll hunt us relentlessly."

Daerreth's expression darkened. "Then she doesn't survive. Simple."

The casual way he spoke of ending two lives sent a chill through Milaena, even as she acknowledged the necessity. These were not innocent people—just a few hours in this town had made it clear that their reputation for cruelty was well deserved, even in an empire built on suffering. Still, the ease with which Daerreth embraced murder troubled her deeply. "Valdis," Milaena said, turning to her lover, "will you be able to get Acalia and Rashon away yourself? Will you need my aid?”

Valdis looked at her for a second, then nodded slowly… though Milaena noted the flicker of concern in her gray eyes. “I can get them away.”

“Why does that matter?” Daerreth said, confusion on his face.

"Because you’re not going in alone,” Milaena said firmly. “I’m going with you.”

Daerreth frowned, flames momentarily dancing in his burning-ember eyes. "Out of the question. I work better alone."

"I wasn’t asking a question," she replied, holding his gaze steadily. "I’m telling you how it's going to be. No one goes in alone. We go in together, and we leave together. If you’re going to do this, then so am I." What she didn't say out loud was that she needed to ensure Daerreth didn't cross lines that couldn't be uncrossed. She needed to be there to witness his choices, to intervene if necessary. She had seen the hunger for vengeance consuming him, and it terrified her.

Tense silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant laughter of drunken patrons and the persistent drumming of rain against the tavern windows. Finally, Daerreth gave a curt nod, clearly displeased but unwilling to argue further.

"Fine. But keep up. Don’t slow me down."

"We move tomorrow when Sanguis starts to rise,” Acalia confirmed, draining the last of her ale. "I suggest we all buy anything else we need during False Dawn, and get as much rest as we can. It’s going to be a very long night.”

Daerreth immediately rose to leave without another word, his face once again hidden in the shadow of his hood. As she watched him leave the tavern and step out into the crimson light of the moon Milaena sent a silent prayer to Saphyria, begging for guidance through the path they now walked. Tomorrow, blood would flow in the governor's mansion. Tomorrow, they would cross a threshold from which there could be no return.

And Milaena wasn't certain any of them—least of all Daerreth—would recognize themselves on the other side.

---

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