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

the touch and let out a small breath that nearly was a laugh. “What a relief,” she murmured into thesacreddarkness. “I thought I was the only one who wanted to be friends, that I was making it up in my mind. I didn’t know if perhaps you were only nice to me because you are priestess, and I am the vassal…”

Slowly Alphonse held out her hand, palm up, and laid it flat on the earthen floor between them. A gesture of friendship.

Delyth took in a deep, shaky breath and let her fingers slowly trace down the length of Alphonse’s arm.

“No, Alphonse. You are much more than the vassal to me.”

Delyth closed her eyes and placed her calloused palm atop the girl’s waiting hand so that their fingers loosely laced together, and quickly, Alphonse tightened her grip as if this were some binding ritual and now they would be friends till the end of time. Her sweet, hopeful smile was obvious even in the dim light of the tent.

It had almost seemed that Alphonse had fallen asleep when she whispered into the darkness. “I like how you look.” And with that final compliment, Alphonse did finally drift off to sleep.

Holding Delyth’s hand.

Chapter X

Fifth Moon, Waning Crescent: Thloegr

Delyth woke slowly. The patter of gentle rain on the roof was a lullaby, the warmth of the tent lulling and peaceful. A pleasant dream lay just on the edges of her memory. The tasks of the day were calling, but still, she yawned and blinked awake languidly.

Only to find, instead of the soft smile and bleary eyes of a well-rested Alphonse to greet her, Enyo’s predatory gaze. Her expression was decidedly unimpressed.

“Did you know this body is pure? Untouched? Unsullied? I doubt it’s ever had the hands of another on it. It shivers at the least seductive of touches. She doesn’t even know what pleasure is.” Enyo, sitting cross-legged in Alphonse’s sensible nightgown, leaned forward, glaring at Delyth as if this were her fault.

The halfbreed threw an arm over her face and sighed. “Thanks, Enyo,” she muttered sarcastically into the bare skin of her arm. “I wanted to know that.”

It was the personal sort of insight that two close friends might share, but it felt wrong in the extreme for Enyo to blurt out such intimate knowledge of Alphonse without her consent. Likely, the healer didn’t even know that Enyo was sharing her secrets, though somehow Delyth felt that even if Alphonse were aware of it, she would pretend not to be.

And so Delyth would pretend as well. Later, when Alphonse came back.

Until then, she had to endure the idea that someone’s touches made Alphonse shiver.

❂

“I was locked away in darkness and silence for three hundred years, and now I am stuck in this inferior, prude body?!” Enyo slammed her balled fists into her knees, making Alphonse jerk in pain.

Still, she held the leash tight. Alphonse would not intercede. Not this time. Not this time. 

Snarling, she darted to her feet. They were bare as she dashed to Etienne’s tent.

There the idiot mage lay, snoring and drooling. It was inconceivable that he had locked her away with his pathetic Ingolan magic, and yet he had—for the last time. Enyo bent and grabbed the boy by the front of his shirt, hauling him to his feet and then tossing him bodily from his tent. He landed with a satisfying slap in the mud.  

Prowling closer, she watched as Etienne reached for his pendant, a little trinket to keep him safe. His hoard of magic locked away like some pet. Some slave. Waiting for his bidding.

“No,” she growled, snatching the leather cord about his neck and ripping it. With a grunt of effort, Enyo threw the Ingolan charm into the woods. He’d never find it again. Not without the help of his herbs and chalk and smoke.  Ember eyes darted back to his tent, and Enyo ducked inside. In his pack, where all the ridiculous ingredients the mage needed to produce magic. To contain her.

Yanking them out Enyo, hurried out of the tent and to the slumbering coals of the fire. The warrior and the mage boy were still reeling in confusion and dismay. Humans. With one final look at the boy who had stepped out of bounds, Enyo viciously tore open his packets of herbs and dumped them onto the sizzling coals. With a thought, she coaxed them back into life. Smoke rose up, and she added his chalk and feathers and anything else those superstitious Ingolans thought necessary to conduct magic. Wet and smoldering, Enyo smiled victoriously. Etienne would not get in her way again.

Turning back to the pair, Enyo planted her fists on her hips.

“Worship me,” she commanded, unaware and uncaring of the frigid rain drenching her tawny unbound locks and face. She turned to Delyth as well. “Sacrifice something in my name. Now.”

✶

Etienne was sitting in the mud, his boots and belt off, his shirt untucked and half unbuttoned. One hand was pressed to his chest, palm flat against the mark there, just visible between his fingers. Enyo stood in between him and a newly-woken Delyth, who, he remarked, had at least managed to leave her tent standing up.

And there, in the fire, smoking and damp with rain, were his supplies. Everything he needed to cast magic. Even his amulet, with its store of power, was gone.

All because he had tested the Goddess once.

He wasn’t sure if he was angrier with her outburst or at himself for giving away the ability to contain her so easily. He could have used it to keep Allee safe. Or to do what needed to be done at the temple.

He’d just have to acquire more supplies… discreetly. If it was even possible in this wilderness.

“All we have are travel rations,” Etienne growled. “Go break some small creature’s neck, why don’t you?”

“Why don’t we start with yours?” Enyo’s grin was skull-wide, but Etienne couldn’t bring himself to rise from the mud. He was