Handmaiden's Fury (8 page)

Sire Mattias had been very specific
when he gave me the street and number. Though somewhat distant, I must not take
a fare-carriage all of the way to the villa he had rented. Our safety rested on
our secrecy. None must know of our meeting place.

There we would prepare.

He had selected a villa isolated
along the distant northern wall. If we made ready at the House of Pleasure,
then stocks would show that he requisitioned the reagents for our ritual and
other Handmaidens would certainly hear my cries as he wove our workings. None
must know of our preparations.

I had never seen the villa before
this day. When I did, I’ll admit that I was pleased.

It was beautiful. It was artistic and
old, with climbing vines and scarab roses all along the whitewashed wall. The
roof of midnight-black shingles had several small chimneys peeking up. Stained
windows faced the garden, great multicolored things that caught the light and
sent it dancing. The pathways through the garden were bordered with low, stone
walls, and each garden section was unique, filled with dizzying fragrance and
bursts of wild color.

Though Sire Mattias obviously
selected this villa to meet his stringent requirements, part of my secret heart
could not help but feel proud that my Sire had gone to such extravagance. Yes,
I knew that it wasn’t about me—my Sire would never show me that kind of special
favor—but I found it difficult to look at the stately house and not feel giddy.
Like a secret retreat, we rendezvoused in such a lovely place.

Still three stories of ivy-covered
stone seemed extravagant for our purposes, better suited to families who had
traveled to our port city. Oftentimes, a well-to-do merchant might sail from
Caed or the Empire and needed to stay for a hand of days while setting up his
operations. In that instance, a villa such as this one was perfect for his
needs.

Beyond the gate, I noted a pond with
shallow stone steps leading toward the house while several flowerbeds of
vibrant, dancing blossoms surrounded a water fountain. Next to the water, a
small patio boasted a freestanding hearth, surrounded by pillars of squared-off
stone. They supported thick wooden beams that formed a rough roof.

After taking a moment to make certain
that no one followed, I went to the gate, unlocked, as I knew it would be. I
turned the wrought iron handle and slipped inside, with one last furtive glance
at the street outside.

Whoever owned the house obviously had
masterful gardeners in their employ. The garden hosted a cascade of
winterbloom, orris, and more varieties of rose than I had ever seen in one
place. The color ran riot, and the scent was heavy. I could almost taste the
sweetness on the wind.

I drifted through the garden,
stopping at a singing fountain here, a graceful statue of a dancer there. In
this wonderful place, high hedges and stone walls cleverly hid secrets around
every bend. Walking toward the house, every turn brought a new smile to my
face, and I longed for the time to explore the grounds more thoroughly.

But I was here with purpose.

I stepped up the stone stairwell
toward the house, my mind already casting ahead to my evening. Hours of rituals,
I was certain. Just the fact that Sire Mattias chose the ignis vitae meant
that—

Brys opened the door.

I stood, stunned. No one was to know
of this place. What was he doing here?

“Come in, Handmaiden.” His baritone
resonated pleasantly. “We have to attend to many preparations.”

I stepped into the foyer, still
shocked. “Brys, why are you—?”

“Sire Mattias said you did not know.”
The slender man shrugged. “Needing extensive preparations completed in a very
short time, he trusted my discretion.”

I gave Brys a long look. “But if the
Headmaiden questions you—?”

He offered a reassuring smile. “Sire
Mattias assures me that if the Headmaiden has reason to question, she will have
questioned the two of you first. Our task is to see to it that she questions no
one.”

I knew Brys wouldn’t lie to the
Headmaiden. We just needed to make certain he wouldn’t have to choose where his
loyalties lay.

“Is Sire Mattias here yet?”

“He is. I am to prepare you for him,
as he wants to begin as soon as possible.”

I couldn’t help but smile as well.

I wanted the same thing. I wanted it more than
anything.

Brys escorted me up a long winding
stairwell, with a lantern held in front of him. The golden light danced across
rich tapestries and cunningly wrought stone.

“I haven’t seen the entire villa.” He
stopped for a moment to appreciate a painting of Robynn the Unsullied. “I can’t
imagine what the Sire paid for the use of this place.”

“Probably less than you believe. A
wide net of people owe him favors beyond those indebted to the temple. He uses
his contacts well.”

Brys led me up the stairwell and into
a large hallway. He paused at the second door, fumbling at the latch for a
moment before opening it. He held the door for me.

“After you, Handmaiden.”

I stepped inside.               

Brys had prepared the room well. Soft
candlelight flickered in every corner, casting dancing shadows around the
heavy, ornate furniture. Rich red and gold carpets covered the stone tiles
underfoot and curtains, velvets over sheers, hung over the windows. Incense burned,
filling the room with a misty haze of musk and myrrh and sandalwood. I felt
wrapped in the scent, bathed in it, sanctified.

Perfect.

“Sire Mattias has indicated that I am
to prepare you, Handmaiden. I will wait outside until you are ready.”

“Not required, Brys.” I stepped to
the bed and shrugged off my cloak before removing my sable boots. “There aren’t
any secrets between us.”

Brys stood waiting while I shed my
clothing.

When done, I knelt on the floor and
took deep, even breaths.

He nodded and opened Gryn’s box.
After a moment’s tally, Brys pulled out the civet musk and began to rub the oil
into my shoulders.

The comforting smell intoxicated.
Civet, one of the more commonly used oils among the Handmaidens, sang to me of
ten thousand memories of pain, pleasure, and submission. It was home.

Brys’ strong fingers seemed to touch
the center of me, and my heart smiled in welcome.

As he continued to work the oil into
my back and shoulders, my breath grew steady and calm. My mind grew still. My
heart opened to the secret whisperings of Rydia.

I let Her voice infuse my being. Heat
spread through my body, and my muscles relaxed. My breathing slowed and
deepened, and the warm musk of the civet suffused my being.

Time seemed to meander. All that
existed was the strength in my bodyservant’s hands, the smell of the musk, and
soft candles.

“Forward, Handmaiden. I need to
prepare your sigils.” Brys’s voice fell as softly as leaves in autumn.

“Thank you, Brys.”

Stretching, I leaned forward, putting
my forehead to the floor. I stretched my arms out in front of me, leaving my
backside exposed in the air.

Supplication was the Handmaiden’s
first pose, a vulnerable position that allowed placement of most of the sigils
on my back.

I mused as Brys made his
preparations. I had taken my bodyservant’s control and professionalism for
granted, I realized. I couldn’t trust Rand while in this position, with my body
so completely exposed. Brys, however, had been loyal to Rydia his entire life.

I felt the tingly wash of the aqua
atramentum as he sponged the mixture into my back. It bit with chill and
carried the slight tang of wood alcohol.

“Still now,” Brys’ voice soothed.

I braced myself. I knew what came
next.

I heard Brys dip the razor-sharp,
metallic quill into the ignis vitae. Metal clinked against glass, and then he
pressed the tiny, v-shaped blade to my skin.

I whimpered as it bit into me, then
the ignis vitae began to burn in the wound.

“Easy, Handmaiden.” He drew the sharp
quill straight.

I felt it groove a slender line of
burning flame into my skin.

Every few inches, he dabbed at the
blood, a blessed reprieve. Then I hissed as he cut again.

The sigils of my Lady left no
permanent mar; the magic that charged them protected me from any scarring.
Still, every preparation required me to face the tiny quill’s bite.

Learning to etch all the sigils
required years of training, but Brys had mastered the intricate designs. He
soothed me and hushed me, even as he sliced fresh grooves into my skin.

Through years of training, my mind
soon turned from this unique pain to what came next. I still felt the pain, but
I imagined my Sire’s intense eyes. As the scribing grew more and more detailed,
my emotional associations overcame the bite. I anticipated my cries as we
sacrificed our pleasure to Rydia and called upon Her Blessings.

“That’s
Quariin
, Handmaiden.”
He dabbed at the design with the aqua atramentum, and I hissed at the sting.
“We still have
Doch, Ouigiin,
and
K’sai.
”

“Yes.” My voice created only a tiny
mewling sound. “Please.”

My pain was my Sire’s pleasure. I was
a tool in his hand.

The scribing continued.

Even with Brys’ mastery, inscribing
me took almost two hours.

As the sigils wove their way across
my back, my mind and heart and more gave themselves to memories of my Sire and
fantasies of Rydia’s Blessings that lay ahead.

By the time Brys finished, I panted
with need, my hips writhing. If this had any effect upon him, I knew nothing of
it.

“I need to make certain that the
bleeding stops, Handmaiden.” Brys dabbed at my skin again. “Sire Mattias wants
you in the steam baths below the villa. Without caution, the warmth will
encourage your bleeding.”

I scarcely noticed his dabbing. My
mind had hazed into the strange, meditative state that came so easily with my
pain.

“Thank you, Brys.” A lazy smile
spread across my face. “You always take good care of me.”

“It is the Lady’s will, Handmaiden.”
He helped me to my feet. I almost stumbled, but he caught me.

“Thank you, Brys.” In my dazed mind,
I struggled to convey my true gratitude. “Thank you for food every morning and
bathing every evening and working on my hair… Thank you for ten-thousand tiny
things,” I babbled.

He nodded.

I wondered if he truly knew or merely
humored me.

He patted my hand. “Come then. Sire
Mattias should not wait.”

I followed along, a newborn, pure and open and free.

As I had mentioned, Stormhaven owed
much of its temperate climate to the hot springs.

Of course, the city used these
springs in a number of ways, including the steam baths installed every few blocks.
Most of the larger manses and villas, such as this one, had private bathing
rooms in the lower areas of the house.

Still clumsy from my preparations, I
stumbled as Brys led me down the stairwell. Ever careful, he held me close,
making certain that I wouldn’t fall down the cold, dark stairs in my pain-drunk
state.

“Careful, Handmaiden.” He fumbled for
a key to the ebonwood door. “Let me get you relaxed into the bath, and then
I’ll inform the Sire that you are prepared for him.”

“Thank you, Brys.” I leaned on him,
perhaps a trifle closer than I should have. For the first time I wondered if he
found his task difficult, constantly tending to the bodies of Handmaidens yet
receiving little physical comfort in return.

He opened the door and led me into
the dim room.

A live hot spring bubbled up from
somewhere deep below the house. The walls of the room glistened, slightly damp,
but the air had a clean, salty tang to it. Cunningly carved stone steps led
into the fragrant, steaming water.

Brys set his lamp on the floor, then
helped me to the pool.

“The bath shouldn’t sting your
sigils, Handmaiden. If they do, we need to tend to them.”

Gasping at the heat as I stepped into
the water, my sigils became my last concern. The sensation both shocked and
soothed. I took another step, deeper in, and placed my hand to the side of the
pool.

Slowly, I lowered myself in and sat
in one of the seats carved into the stone side. The water was rich, heavenly.
It soaked into my skin and unknotted my hidden cares.

“Your sigils?”

“No pain. You are an artist, Brys.”                            

He nodded. “I live to serve.” He
turned and quietly closed the door.

Alone, I languidly sank into the warm
water. My eyes closed.

I drifted, body and mind, in darkness
and warmth.

I awaited my Sire.

Then I simply felt him. His presence
created a darkness, a weight in the room. My heart pounded before I knew why.
When I opened my eyes, he stood before me, naked.

Every time I saw him, I had to fight
to catch my breath.

He was glorious.

In his hand, he held the bottle of
ignis
vitae
. It cast slivers of deep, glowing red and flickering orange shimmers
across his well-toned body.

“Hello, Keiri.”

His baritone sent delicious shivers
along my skin. My breath caught just a touch at the use of my name. Sire
Mattias always called me Handmaiden as a show of both respect and
professionalism.

“Hello, Sire Mattias.” I shifted,
unable to hold his piercing gaze of silver and cloud.

He reached forward and dribbled
shining traces of the vitae into the water. It spread, diffused, and glowed softly.
Even though the springs were quite warm, I felt a burst of heat when the light
touched my skin.

Stepping into the water, he stood on
one of the steps into the pool. Dappled shadows danced across his sculpted
face.

My Sire ran his finger along the side
of my jaw. He caught my chin and pulled me up a step, bringing my mouth to his.

Sire Mattias’ kiss was like thunder
over the ocean.

I traced my fingers along his back,
feeling the intricate patterns of brands that had sealed his oaths during his
training. His arms wrapped around me, and he held me gently, as if I were a
precious, fragile treasure that he could not bear to release.

I moaned softly into his mouth. My
world was steam, dappled shadows, and the fire of his kiss.

His mouth wandered then, down over my
neck, nibbling at my ear. My fingers traced the lines on his back, and I
sighed.

“What would you have of me, Sire?” I
asked in a breathy whisper.

“Patience, Keiri.”

He lowered himself into the water,
his mouth trailing down my warm, wet skin. I whimpered softly. His fingers
traced across my nakedness, and I gasped. He met my eyes.

“Slow, Keiri. We have time. Let the
fire build.”

“Yes, Sire.”

I let my fingers brush along his
broad shoulders as his mouth nibbled along my neck. Hungrily, he devoured me,
and I mewled for him as his other hand dipped below the water to caress me.

Eldritch, alchemical light shone from
the water. It cast long, flickering shadows against the walls.

“Please. Sire—” I gasped at his
touch. “I need—” No words could describe how the sigils burned in my body.

He smiled indulgently. “Ever so
eager?”

For you,
I thought, almost allowing the
forbidden sentiment to slip out.

Time stopped.

The water, the steam, the surrounding
walls, everything faded away. Everything but him. Mattias. His every feature
seemed to etch itself into my mind in perfect clarity. The dark hair, beaded
with tiny drops of alchemically treated water, the wide cheekbones, the
generous curve of his bottom lip. And his eyes. Dear Goddess, his lightning
kissed eyes.

I love him.

Shirking from such blasphemy, I bit
my lip.

While holding his gaze, I sank to my
knees. The warm water lapped at my skin. I let my fingers wander until I found
him.

“Let me show you how eager I am.” I
caressed him teasingly, watching his wonder flicker across his face as I did.

He chuckled. “Keiri. You are such a
good girl.”

Keeping my eyes on his, I leaned
closer to him.

I showed him how good I could be.

He sighed with the pleasure of it.
Gently, his fingers wound their way into my hair, and I closed my eyes.

It was a moment of forgetting, of
losing myself in him. I couldn’t think anymore. Not about Orin. Not about his
assassins. My concerns about sex slaves abandoned my mind.

I even let myself stop refusing to
think about my feelings. The future and the past lost their sway, leaving me
completely present.

I was free.

For now, he was mine, and I was his.
That encompassed my entire world.

And mine was a glorious world.

Sire Mattias’ fingers curled into my
hair, and he squeezed. It helped keep me locked in the moment. My movements
sped and my hips made a slight rolling motion. Sire Mattias groaned and held me
tightly. Then he took me with the fury of a thunderstorm.

I loved it.

The sigils on my back soon began to
glow with the faintest touch of heat. I allowed my arms to twine around him,
and my mind drifted.

Nothing in the world compared to
servicing my Sire. My worries and concerns dropped away. I surrendered all fear
and pride as I completely lost myself in the whispering sough of his pleasure
and the dark murmurs of his desire.

I needed this.

I had trained for this.

This was what the Lady demanded. A
Handmaiden was gifted to service.

A Handmaiden is
—

Sire Mattias thrust fiercely.
My eyes teared up, and I knew my
throat would be sore. Still, however, I felt the sigils coming alive on my
back, hungrily feeding upon my desire. As I pleased him, I relaxed into who I
really was.

I am the bearer of the Lady’s fire.
Of love, of flame, of passion
—

The unwelcome thought burst through
my meditation on Rydia.

I love him.

I acknowledged the truth in my heart.

I love him.

I tried to think, to reason, but
there was only room in me for one thing.

I love him.

I must never tell him.

Oh, Goddess, no!

Newborn thrills of emotion surged in
the center of my being. Such infatuation as I felt for my Sire was absolutely
forbidden in Rydia’s service. A Handmaiden’s passion belonged to Rydia. This
love, especially for another of Rydia’s Children, must never be discovered.

I could be
—
would be excommunicated, kicked out of the temple, banished
from the city.

No.

No, my removal from service couldn’t
be allowed.

The Stormhaven temple was my home.
Where I belonged. I answered to Rydia, and Rydia alo
—

Rydia.

Oh, Goddess.

Would she ever answer my prayers
again?

My throat locked.

Sire Mattias stopped. His eyes tried
to lock onto mine, but I dropped my gaze. He pulled me up, and I stood before
him.

“I told you, pet. We have time.” His
smile was wicked. “I have hours and hours with you. I’m not ready to finish
yet.”

I whispered, “Yes, Sire.”

I caught my breath as he pulled
tighter.
I rested my
cheek against the thick muscles of his chest.

Could I bear this? Could I betray
everything I’d ever been taught for the sake of this one man?

He kissed me again,
the sun rising from winter’s longest
night.

My heart was his. Against all
strictures and everything we believed in, my heart was his.

Then, he released me.

I stood there, my legs trembling.
I was about to lose everything.

Serene, unaware, smiling, Sire
Mattias sat on the edge of the pool. “Sit on my lap, Keiri.”

I gave a fluttering smile in return
and then settled myself on his lap. I began to angle my hips.

He stopped me.

“No, sweetling.” He kissed me once
and then nipped and nibbled his way down my neck.

I bit my lip and whimpered.

His fingers trailed along my inner
thigh.

“Mattias. Pleas—”

He silenced me with his mouth.

I made tiny mewling sounds as his
strong fingers found my pleasure.

Oh. Oh, Goddess.
Forgive me. I love this man. Your
priest. Please, do not let harm befall him on my behalf.

Heat flared up my sigils, and I threw
my head back in an astonished gasp. His teeth grazed me, and I clutched at him,
my nails digging into his skin.

He showed no mercy.

Holding me there on his lap, his
fingers brushed the center of my aching desire, as my hips silently begged for
him. I could feel him. It would be nothing for him to take me, to hold me and
slide me onto him, again and again. He could easily take me.

But he did not.

He played my pleasure like an
instrument, rising and falling and then rising again.

I gasped and pleaded. I begged.

It did not matter.

“Mattias…” My words drifted off as a
long, ragged moan escaped my lips.

He pushed deeply, and then silenced
my cries with his mouth again.

I wanted to blossom for him. For my
love.
I broke the kiss
and met his gaze, my eyes half-lidded.

“Please,” I whispered breathlessly.

He traced his fingers along the side
of my face.

“Please let me have this.”

“No, pet.” His other hand caressed my
back, sending tiny rivulets of pleasure along my skin where Brys had inscribed
my sigils. I trembled at his touch. “Keep your desire strong. Go slow. If you
blossom for me too quickly, I will have to begin with you again.” His fingers
slid between my thighs again, and I moaned, keeping my eyes on him.

“Yes, Sire.” I whimpered.

“Orin is a dangerous man, Keiri. I
need you to be strong. We must be careful with the Lady’s Blessings.”

He was right. “I understand, Sire.”
It was true, I did.
I
would have this one night. One last night with him, if the Lady would allow it.

I prayed.
Goddess. Rydia. Please.

It was all I could manage. What else
could I say? I knew what I felt was wrong, and I had no excuse. None. Nothing I
could say would make it right. I deserved everything that would crash down upon
my head now. It wouldn’t take long. Mattias would soon reach the point in our
ritual when he would infuse my sigils. When it didn’t work, when the Goddess
refused to answer due to my blasphemy, then my life would be over.

Even so, I couldn’t keep my hips from
writhing. I so wanted him. I would have one last moment with him. One last
remembrance. One last glory.

“That’s my good girl.” He adjusted
his hips, and I could feel him, just the barest bit, nuzzle against my wetness.