Vassal by Sterling D'Este (ebook reader computer TXT) 📕

the scholar had quickly lost his appetite for her heavy-handed acting. Even after Enyo had abandoned the fire, she had loudly proclaimed the excellencies of her cooking and prodded Etienne to do the same.

Now though, with Enyo still refusing to reemerge, they had both fallen silent.

Etienne ate slowly so as to keep his hands and mouth busy. He did not particularly want to speak to Delyth, not after Enyo’s latest scene. Still, he was filled with questions.

How in every hell was sex worse than drinking blood? It baffled him that the warrior had been willing to do one but not the other. Not that he particularly wanted to have sex with her either.

Still, it didn’t make sense.

Finally, Etienne looked up to where Delyth sat, determinedly not looking at him. He had to know. Enyo might command them again.

“Why,” he started finally, “was this the thing you wouldn’t do?” The implication was clear. She had proven she was willing to go to extreme lengths. “I mean, I understand not touching Alphonse. She isn’t in control of her body. But if— if you and I… to get Alphonse back…”

Etienne trailed away at the end. Delyth still wasn’t looking at him. Gods, she could do a stellar impersonation of the statues ringing Moxous.

The warrior started to open her mouth to respond, then closed it again, and Etienne found himself wondering if he’d actually get a real answer.

But no.

She looked him dead in the eye and said, “I suppose we all have our limits.” Then she spread her wings and surged into the air.

Left with nothing but the crackle of flames for company, Etienne’s thoughts leaped from guilt to anger.

Who was Delyth to act so morally superior? He was just trying to protect Alphonse, even if it meant indulging Enyo’s baser desires. Besides, flying away was no reasonable means of dealing with any sort of conflict. Was she so poor at expressing herself that she could only resort to leaving?

Flying away while Enyo held Alphonse in thrall wasn’t helpful either. Enyo could do anything. Try to make him do anything.

She was a Goddess, after all.

Not that Delyth could do much against her either. Except, perhaps, piss Enyo off more by blatantly refusing her commands. She was just as helpless as he. Maybe more so.

Because Etienne had magic. More powerful than simple guard runes.

A slow smile spread across his face. He would show Enyo and Delyth alike that he was perfectly capable of finding a means to protect Alphonse. He would just need a way to containthe Goddess. Nothing even terribly difficult…

Eagerly, Etienne reached for his bags and began to arrange the necessary ingredients. Iron shavings, perhaps. And clay. He etched them into the dirt at his feet, sweating in concentration. The incantation for her confinement would take some thought…

Perhaps Enyo grew bored pouting in her tent, or the sounds of Etienne preparing his spell intrigued her, but the Goddess finally made an appearance just as Etienne was putting the finishing touches to his containment spell.

The ingredients were common enough, elemental runes made of spilled sand.

Enyo’s gaze flickered over the runes and the crushed herbs, and her lips drew back in a distasteful pucker. “You are making a mess for nothing, mage. These spells are weak. Too complicated to succeed. That was always the downfall of Ingolan magic. Needlessly convoluted and annoyingly frail.” Her voice was chiding as Enyo reached to brush away a line of sand. Just one swipe of her hand and the entire ritual would be ruined. “Not like blood, which can’t so easily be erased. Blood remembers.”

Etienne curled his lip in distaste for her savage magic. The masters of magic thought little of the use of blood in the Wildlands. It was vulgar. Unrefined.

He could do so much more with just a few simple ingredients, runes, and words. It did take some time to prepare, of course.

But the effects were so much greater.

Etienne didn’t bother to answer her, instead standing to his full height and turning an icy stare towards the Goddess residing within his best friend’s body. He raised an arm in her direction and then said four sharp, foul-tasting words in one of the old languages.

At first, nothing seemed to happen, but Etienne had felt the rush of magic, the surge of power. He smiled in triumph.

❂

Enyo smirked at the stupid little mage when she felt a sharp tug in her belly. Frowning, she looked down, but nothing was there. “Ha! Your pathetic—” She gasped as the tug turned into a yank, and Enyo stumbled back a few feet. Something was squeezing her tight, yanking her back towards the tent. “You!” She lunged towards Etienne only to find herself unable to do so, tripping over her own feet as the same pulling source yanked her back to the tent.

It appeared the humans of Ingola had gotten more adept at magic, more refined. Whatever spell he had cast was surely forcing her back towards the tent and confinement, and the Goddess couldn’t think of a single way to stop it from happening.

Not in this feeble body.

She had underestimated the mage, feeling the compulsion to return to the tent change into something painful and burning. She had to comply. Enyo clenched her fists, nails into the meat of her palms. Not again. She would not be controlled. Never again.

A sharp pain laced through her mind. “You reeking piece of filth!” She spat out the insults, closing her eyes against the onslaught of daggers in her skull.

Still, she fought against the unstoppable force, gritting her teeth and digging in her heels. Her progress slowed but did not cease. His spell would shove her back into the canvas tent and safely away from him.

“I’ll rip out your throat! I’ll bathe in your blood and wear your entrails as a crown. How dare you place your foul wretched—” And the tent flaps closed before her, blocking the mage from view.

✶

If she tried to rip out his throat, Etienne would just bind her again. He’d