Here ends the saga of the Wandering Bladesinger.
Destiny
Sigrid admired the meteor shower from the bronzy glow of the terrace that opened up, fluid and oval, from the great crystal paned windows of Yssinel's library. The larger moon, Sehanine, hovered, huge and silvery, in its full glory, while her younger sister, Faenya, was at more than three quarters, a strip of her luminescent surface still blotted out by the bluish darkness of the night sky. Stars abounded, mingling freely with the falling points of light. The Aasimar sat back on a gold-satin couch, absentmindedly stroking the elegant, streamlined form of the pommel of Aravae's sword. Their blades lay sheathed on the low, circular table where a ceramic pot of spicy tea gave off fragrant steam, flanked by glazed cups. Further out, in the horizon that stretched mysteriously beyond Imej, shrouded by icebound peaks and endless coniferous forests, something beckoned. Wanderlust - a desire for the unknown filled Sigrid. A desire to leave the madness that formed each passing day in Imej. She could not live her life fighting Tahllea, or running from the haughty Baldesinger's stratagems. Sigrid had fled the Order of the Radiant Path because Isobel, her commander, had given her the freedom to find her own destiny. Now that she had discovered Imej, seen the endless glories of the world called Queluria, there was no going back. Still, staying in Imej was little better than languishing at the Order. Either way, she was subjugated to the power of a force she could neither understand nor control.
Aravae sensed her friend's anxiety. She hugged her knees by Sigrid's side, contemplating the endless expanse of city lights and glowing spheres of magical energy that gradually gave way to a vast, dark forest. She, too, longed to leave. It would be all the better with Sigrid by her side.
The balcony was cool, but a little warmth filtered through the opened library window, emanating from the brilliant pillar of stylised crystal, in the shape of a roaring flame, that rose from a tall, slender copper censer by Yssinel's desk. A soft light flooded over bookshelves and the intricate, woven tapestries depicting Elven myths of yore. A sea of hardwood, red and gold - all the luxury that surrounded Sigrid was a gilded trap. Being Yssinel's Kithela was nothing but an opulent prison. As long as Sigrid stayed, she was convinced she would remain a pawn in Yssinel's games, batted back and forth between her mistress and Tahllea like a doll.
Sigrid reached for her mug of warm, spiced tea and took a comforting sip. Her long, dark blue nightshirt was pleasantly cosy, but there was nothing quite like hot, cinnamon tea with a generous addition of Wood Elven honey to warm one's belly on such a night.
"How big do you imagine this world is?" Sigrid mused. Aravae hugged herself closer and let her silvery gaze wander across the boundless horizon.
"The first time I ever left Imej was with you." Aravae murmured. Sigrid's presence reassured her just the way Tahllea had done so many years ago, back when her idol was still the gallant heroine of her dreams.
"But surely you must have read about different lands, different forests, or cities to the North or to the South..."
"Why?" Aravae teased gently. "Do you not read?"
"Not if I can help it." The last thing Sigrid enjoyed was dry, monotonous study. Her sword spoke to her in so many ways that words could never express them all.
"Lady Tahllea once told me of Eltheless - Dzelha's native city. There snow falls all year round and the palaces and towers are made of ice and crystals. Star Elves are a stern people - severe but beautiful. There was a time in which I was quite infatuated with Dzelha..."
Sigrid chuckled. "You're joking, right?"
"No...the first time I saw her - I envied her like nothing else. Every word perfect, every step measured, with her shimmering breastplate and crystal sabre...then, in time, the illusion fades. She was a girl, frightened and insecure just like me. It's just that her people cannot show it. Overt emotion is unbecoming - especially for a Star Elven woman."
"I was thinking about the South."
"What of it?"
"There is an Ocean, or so I'm told, twenty days by caravan or three days by airship south of Imej. A little further south of Brook-under-Sunshine begins the territory of the Grey Elven city of Aenthulir, which floats in the air, supported by a huge cloud of magical force, then the forest gives way to plains and fiefs of the High Elven knights who swear fealty to the Queen of the Seven Southern Stars. There the land is fertile and there aren't only Quessir amongst the city-dwelling races, but halflings and Aasimar and genasi as well. A little to the East and further South, where the rivers that cut the plains into green swales drain into the sea, there is an Aquatic Elf city, half on the beach and half on the reef, made of living coral..."
"So you do read." Aravae smiled and gave Sigrid's bottom a playful caress.
"Sometimes, but only when I'm pressed," Sigrid turned over onto her belly and leaned her head on the divan's armrest. "You know...my pretty little Aravae, Min made my back quite sore today in practice..."
"Nice try, but not a chance." Aravae interrupted smugly. "Anyway, Mjrina is supposed to be your masseuse."
"She's busy with Yssinel again."
"Really? And how long does Yssinel's bedtime routine last?"
"Sometimes hours..." Sigrid groaned impatiently. "Once every ten days, she asks for a full body realignment."
"Hmm?"
"Apparently, she needs a druid to do it. Yssinel is obsessed with keeping her body in harmony, so that Mjrina has to summon up spirits and prepare special potions to keep Yssinel's energy flowing."
"I suppose it is understandable enough." Aravae said pensively. "An Enchantress needs to be in perfect synchronism with body."
"All Elves seem to be," Sigrid said, a little enviously, "an Elven woman knows the moment she is with child..."
"Correct, and a little later, she also knows the child's gender...but, Sigrid, you are like us, in a way, surely you feel more at ease with your body and mind since you came to live amongst us."
"A little..." Sigrid conceded - her biorhythm had definitely been stifled from living among humans, "now I feel that Min has awakened me. It's as if everything were clearer and better defined, even if I don't see it - I instinctively know it's there."
"After your duel with Tahllea...do you want to leave?" Aravae said tentatively. She had put off broaching the subject of departing from Imej until she was certain Sigrid was ready to discuss it rationally. "What of your vows to your Order?"
Sigrid shook her head. "When I was sent to Imej, I resolved that I would only return home as a heroine. Now, it appears, I still have much to do before I can live up to that ambition. The Order of the Radiant Path will welcome me back as a sister who has passed into legend - or not at all."
"So South it is..." Aravae pondered the stars.
"Would you come with me?"
"Of course, you foolish, foolish girl..." Aravae said tenderly, pouncing on Sigrid to lay a soft trail of butterfly kisses on the Aasimar's soft, indigo hair.
"Thanks..."
"And I think Iniila, Dzelha and Erieanal would come, too. Together, we would be more than capable of travelling throughout even the most forbidding lands of Queluria..."
"Nice to hear that you're so enthusiastic."
"I need to leave." Aravae said with grim determination. She huddled close to Sigrid and wrapped her arms around the Aasimar's waist. Before their eyes, the meteor shower gathered pace and, all of a sudden, it was as if the night sky gad been lit up by a silent procession of streaks of brilliant light. They were like droplets from the band of milky cosmic matter that arched, like a nighttime rainbow, across the heavens. "Tahllea rescued me from being yet another humble pastry cook. She gave me a new name, a new life, a new purpose. But now it is time for the student to bid her mistress farewell."
Sigrid lay wordlessly and listened to Aravae breathe. The reason the Grey Elven woman was so affectionate that evening was clear enough. Distancing herself from Tahllea meant taking a great leap into the unknown. Sigrid would, inevitably, fill Tahllea's place. Aravae needed someone to be by her side - to soothe her vulnerability. First it was Iniila, then Tahllea and now, perhaps, Sigrid. "It's cold here," Sigrid whispered, carefully skirting the subject of Tahllea, "I want to see the warm water lap around the sandy shore. I want to lie under the sun and watch the surf bathe my feet."
"So...you would have me believe this has nothing to do with that Aquatic Elf shopkeeper who sold you Mjrina's pendant?" Aravae insinuated slyly, playfully nipping at Sigrid's pointed ear.
"Ah...right...that, you saw me?" Sigrid was glad that her back was to Aravae. Her porcelain-pale skin had flushed a rather deep shade of pink.
"Even if I had not seen you, I would have known. You love water - one look at an Aquatic Elf maiden's sea-blue skin and swimmer's build and there would be very little to stop you..."
"I suppose it's all in line with those stories they tell about Bladesingers, right...?"
Aravae laughed gently. "Those are romances, Sigrid...stories for dreamers."
"Speaking of stories, Aulatha said something about my destiny and that made me wonder..."
"Aulatha is a wise warrior and has travelled widely. To the South, you already know, there are more like you, Aasimar, I mean - but Iniila was struck the first time she saw you."
"Why?" Sigrid cocked her head to one side. All of a sudden her curiosity was piqued. In her mind, she knew that this had something to do with the vision she had seen in the wine-cup.
"It is not a good memory for Wood Elves, but she said that the first time she laid eyes on you, she immediately thought of Utharminalir of Dejir."
"She was an Aasimar warlord, right?" Something stirred in Sigrid's mind.
"Yes, during the Wars of the Celestial Tears, she allied with the Pretender-Empress in a bid to unify the River Plains under a single, High Elven realm. Utharminalir became one of the Pretender-Empress' finest generals and, perhaps, one of the greatest military commanders in the last hundred centuries. In the later stages of the Wars, she became infamous for her destruction of the ancient Wood Elven grove called the Mother's Cradle and her alliance with Tyxyllethir the Death-Faerie, proxy of the Queen of Air and Darkness, and herself a general of the wicked fae who gathered under the Pretender-Empress' banner."
Sigrid's mind flashed - A camp; burning, lambent violet flames, a starless night overhead -
Aravae continued. "Tyxyllethir and Utharminalir became lovers..."
Sigrid tensed and saw the darkness swallow up her vision and give her new sight. - In the night, a warrior strode: severe, noble, her black-lacquered and amethyst breastplate streaked with dark blood, her violet-mithril longsword unsheathed and red-stained by her side. The two death-pale, midnight-haired guards to the regal tent, shaped like a black lotus, knelt, averted their gaze, and swept the billowing fabric open for their mistress. Inside, a dew-slick valley of dark blooms and humming, maddening breezes stretched out. A woman lay waiting on a bed of dead rose petals - her visage as beautiful as it was cruel. She wore dark, ethereal armour: black and ominous blue - a breastplate shaped like spined vines wrapped around a blasphemous flower. She was a cold beauty: her features were fae, elegant, sharp, her eyes red like burning rubies, her high, swept cheekbones adorned with tendrils of black calligraphy, her softly curled lips painted bruise-blue. Short, coal-black hair, spiny and grimly wonderful rose from her head, like a decaying rose-bush. The warrior approached and loosened her armour. The woman smiled and allowed her love to fall upon her. Kisses - wet and bittersweet like forbidden nectar.
"Sigrid..." Aravae called in the distance
The warrior looked down at the burning vortex of her lover's eyes and for a moment, she saw her reflection. Sigrid saw herself - older, her face adorned with sinuous, violet and deep blue war-paint, her short, indigo hair matted with sweat and blood of fallen Wood Elven rangers. Sigrid and the warrior, in the vast gulfs of time, space and existence, had been and still were one.
"Sigrid!" Aravae shook the Aasimar violently.
"I saw her again..." Sigrid mouthed each word as if still in a trance. "The same woman who looked back at me when I stared into the goblet Mjrina gave me in that dream..."
"Who?" Aravae's voice trembled. For an instant, Sigrid appeared to have stepped sideways into another world.
"Utharminalir, I think. She looked just like me."
"That was exactly what Iniila said."
"So why did the Wood Elves of the village not fear me?"
"The first time Iniila saw you, it was by night." Aravae explained, a little fearfully. Could it be that Aulatha had detected something in Sigrid's bloodline?
"What happened to them? Utharminalir and Tyxyllethir, I mean."
"According to the histories Tahllea made me read, Utharminalir was slain by Tarefiaantheska, the Fire Warden at the Battle for the Shuthisj Bridge..."
Sigrid felt the darkness once more - Water, singing water. Pain, burning pain. The warrior fell into the sea of dandelions, her cruel Violet Mithril sword planted into the ground in front of her. Her vanquisher stood above her, panting. Coppery skin, bronze breastplate shaped like a starburst - metallic, golden hair, eyes like molten brass, a fiery scimitar in each hand. She too was bleeding heavily - a steaming gash, streaming burgundy blood and violet fumes cut her from breast to hips. The warrior clutched her breast and saw the lifeblood stream from her. For an instant, there was no pain - and then the fiery warrior readied the finishing blow...
"...and Tyxyllethir, maddened with grief and thirst for vengeance, threw herself fearlessly into the fray and was struck down by the arrow of a nameless archer."
"Would you take me for a madwoman if I told you I just saw the event you described?" Sigrid breathed fearfully.
"No, we believe that powerful souls - souls too great for a single lifetime, are born again to live, love and suffer until the end of time."
"Am I to become another Utharminalir?"
"Only if you so wish." Aravae said reassuringly. Her heart throbbed in her chest. Fear and fascination filled her in equal measure. "No destiny is ever repeated twice."
"That's good to hear..." Sigrid breathed, though her mind was occupied with distant thoughts. "Anyway, you see pretty well informed. My Aravae isn't just a great blademistress, but a scholar, too."
The sun-blonde Grey Elf nuzzled Sigrid's ear, flicking her tongue out just a fraction for a quick, playful lick. Sigrid gave a satisfied sigh. "Not a scholar, but Tahllea drilled us in military history - the legends of Imej and all the stories of the great Bladesingers of the past. I know this narrative well because Ilmaeria, the Founding Mistress of House Ahlirian, the mighty warrior after whom I was named by Tahllea, fought in the Battle of the Shuthisj Bridge, just as she would later become a great commander in the closing stages of the Wars. In exchange for her services, Ilmaeria was granted treasures by the then Sorceress-Regent of Imej...Ilmaeria, you must know, was originally a Houseless commoner, just like me or you."
"Governing a House seems like more trouble than it's worth." Sigrid noted - the amount of daily administration Elinathanal, Yssinel's mother, had to take care of was truly daunting. "Still...I do see myself as the mistress of my own duelling hall..."
"Ah, but wait!" Aravae pounced. "There is more to the story, for Tarefiaantheska, vanquisher of Utharminalir, was also Ilmaeria's lover..."
"Impossible!" Sigrid gasped.
"That was what Iniila said when I first told her," Aravae continued, "but Fate is the Mistress of enigmas."
In that instant, Sigrid realised that Isobel had sent her to Imej not as a random event - a simple dimple in the fabric of destiny. No, she was in Imej because, all those centuries ago, on a mighty bridge under which a thundering torrent flowed, two destinies crossed and set in motion a chain of events that led to the present.
"But what happened to Tarefiaantheska?"
"She was a fire genasi - born of Elves who had absorbed the Elemental influence of the Plane of Fire. Most agree that she had ifrit blood. Her love for Ilmaeria lasted for the duration of the war, but, in its closing days, she perished at the hands of Phyrythraxynnoth, the Harbinger of Lamentations - a mighty Green Dragon who, apparently, still lives, though it is dormant, as dragons are for centuries between their rampages."
"How...was she...the fire genasi?" Sigrid asked tentatively. She felt a connection to that woman who had died thousands of years ago - a link burned into her soul.
Aravae chuckled and trailed her deft hand over the pale expanse of Sigrid's long, slim thigh. She pulled the hem of the Aasimar's nightshirt higher, teasing her way up to the curve of her friend's taut bottom. "If you go into the library of House Ahlirian, you will find the love poems Ilmaeria wrote to her - she compared devouring the slick, swollen petals of Tarefiaantheska's Blossom of Hanali with drinking hot, spicy wine..." Aravae trailed off and began to lick Sigrid's sensitive, pointed ear in earnest, her fingers toying with the soft, moist flesh between the Aasimar's sex and bottom.
"Aravae..." Sigrid began. She immediately thought of Mjrina.
"Hush..." Aravae cupped the plump, silky mound of Sigrid's sex. Sigrid felt her heartbeat quicken, stirred by Aravae's wet licking. Something soft and smooth pressed against Sigrid. Aravae had hiked up the Aasimar's nightshirt and was pressing herself, hot and already wet, against the hard, athletic curve of the indigo-haired girl's bottom.
"Aravae...what has gotten into you?" Sigrid protested weakly. Her lips were silenced by Aravae's - moist and soft like ripe fruit.
"I want you...I truly wanted you the moment I saw the beauty of your style, the ambition in your eyes...please, Sigrid..." Aravae whispered breathlessly. Her pussy, a sweet, ripe peach, was spread and juicing against Sigrid's bottom. Hot, slick trails, redolent of flowers tinged with an elegant, feminine musk, gathered against the Aasimar's moonlight-white skin.
"Please what?" Sigrid replied, feeling very foolish and confused.
"Let me love you." With swift, elegant motions, Aravae unbuttoned Sigrid's nightshirt and slipped the garment off. With a smile, that Grey Elven Bladesinger cast the garment off the balcony's ledge and watched it float down onto the street below.
"You don't seem to be giving me a choice..." Sigrid's richly pink nipples pebbled in the cold night air. Her breasts were compact, beautifully pert little mounds; softly rounded so that they invited Aravae's caress. Then Aravae was upon her, their kiss renewed. Her lips parted and the Grey Elven girl's tongue danced with hers. Sigrid surrendered and bunched Aravae's nightgown under the Elven maiden's breasts, exposing the gorgeous curve of her thighs, her bottom, the curve of her back.
"I have something to confess, Sigrid..." Aravae said huskily between kisses.
"What?"
"I have not shared Tahllea's bed since we returned to Imej..."
"Goddess, Aravae..."
"She no longer inflames me," Aravae hissed passionately, grinding her sopping pussy against Sigrid's thigh. A richly female, flowery smell began to waft in the air. Sigrid parted her legs and let Aravae position herself against her sex. They began to couple, thigh against pussy - thrusting a gentle crescendo. "But you - you make me sticky with desire, my flower pulses with fresh nectar..."
"Aravae..."
Aravae pressed her lips close to Sigrid's ear, cooing gently. She cupped the Aasimar's breasts, teasing engorged, pliant nipples between her fingers. Then, in a low, breathy sigh - spoken quietly for the words were new to Aravae's lips, she murmured, "I want you to fuck me."
"Huh?" Sigrid was flushed with desire, but Aravae's sudden suggestion was truly stunning.
"I," Aravae said, enunciating each word with wanton relish, "want to writhe on the couch all night long with your hand in my pussy."
"Hmm..." Sigrid hummed, finally resolving to play along, "We might just have to wash your mouth out..."
Aravae smiled devilishly and dipped two fingers between the velvety, swollen folds of Sigrid's pussy. Thick, creamy nectar hung in a strand between her middle and forefinger, glistening obscenely in the moonlight. "Well," Aravae purred and licked Sigrid's lips, "looks like that can be arranged."
***
Wingmate
"This one is discriminating, no?" Erieanal mused and checked the rich porphyry pigment she had applied to her lips earlier that afternoon for the umpteenth time. She stood, a little tense, before a tall, oval silver mirror of eldritch energy that Dzelha had conjured up for her.
"Please stop fretting, my love, Star Elves are not quite as rigid as you may have heard." Dzelha reassured. She brushed her fingers over Erieanal's cheek and planted an affectionate kiss on the Avariel's honey-blonde hair. Dzelha peered over Erieanal's shoulder and stared at her lover's reflection. The Avariel maiden was simply entrancing: her features sharp, almost aquiline, with gorgeous amber eyes framed by soft, golden lashes.
"Your Warden, your keeper - would she accept an Avariel with no House as your wingmate?" Erieanal's clipped, staccato intonation revealed a hint of trepidation. She would never have admitted it so early on in their relationship, but she had fallen for Dzelha the moment she had laid eyes on that cool, understated Star Elven smile.
"Of course. Aulatha only wants my happiness. She was my tutor, my fencing instructor and an older sister to Jylzaela and me. I think she has come to trust my judgement." Dzelha sounded confident, but in her heart, she was unsure. So she dispelled the mirror and turned to face the quiet lapping of the lake against the shimmering shoreline of multichrome pebbles. Quite appropriately, they had decided to meet Aulatha by the Northern Garden of Imej. There, amidst winding alleyways lined with alpine flowers, thin ornamental conifers grew, shrouded in icy crystals, as if they were in the frozen tundra that surrounded Dzelha's home city of Eltheless. The lake was vast as it spread out before them, with a few white cranes calling and skimming the dark blue surface of the water with majestic grace. Two elegant, sternly pruned miniature pine trees towered behind them, branches heavy with freshly fallen snow. Save for the subtle rustling of the wind, all was silent and Imej's dreaming spires extended in the distance, beyond the icy depths of the lake.
"Aulatha - she is a warrior, correct?" Erieanal inquired. She stretched her wide, snowy-white wings, luxuriating in the cool, late afternoon sunlight. The sinuous protective ward that Dzelha had painted on the white feathers that morning glimmered.
"Indeed and an excellent one, too. She taught Lady Tahllea the art of Star Elven Bladesong, so that if Lady Tahllea's style is unique in Imej, much of the credit belongs to Aulatha."
Dzelha adjusted the borders of Erieanal's formal blue and silver tunic. It was fine, classically Avariel garment, cut off at the elbows and knees with a plunging hem at the back to make room for Erieanal's wings. Silvery calligraphy wound around its hem, while the neckline was judiciously measured - modest, but tailored to drape just enough to draw attention to the fine muscle of Erieanal's shoulder and the roundness of her breasts. A firm, symmetrical breast suggested lean, strong pectoral muscles, a feature the Avariel found particularly erotic, since it was associated with strength in flight.
"If she is so broad-minded, why are you being so fastidious?" Erieanal tensed her wings with latent irritation.
Dzelha sighed: Avariel had a tendency to be a little melodramatic. "Form and proper conduct are very important to us," she explained patiently. "To the Star Elves, everything has a meaning and, as in nature, all elements of life need to be in harmony and bear the appropriate ritual significance." There was no easy way to describe it, but Star Elves ritualised every aspect of their society in order to ensure harmony which was crucial to their civilisation's survival in the icebound landscapes of the North.
"You are making me nervous." Erieanal warned, stretching her wings for emphasis.
"Hush..." Dzelha whispered and wrapped her arms around Erieanal's waist. She feathered the Avariel maiden's elegant, pointed ear with teasing little kisses, her breath warm and moist. "Be patient and tonight I shall show you the best part of my strict, Star Elven upbringing."
Erieanal smiled and suppressed a soft chuckle. Dzelha was as good as her word: the only way to describe the Star Elf maiden's tongue was sublime. Erieanal had never thought she would betray her pleasure so wantonly, but the previous evening, she had cried out until her throat was raw and dry while Dzelha had looked up intermittently from between her thighs, an impudent smirk on her nectar-streaked lips. She clasped Dzelha's hands and felt the weight of the world taken from her shoulders. Dzelha was a frustrating and beautiful contradiction. Her lean, athletically muscular physique and cold, elfin beauty masked an almost playful intimate side which never failed to make Erieanal feel adored and at the centre of each one of Dzelha's thoughts. So she closed her eyes and let herself relish the simple pleasure of Dzelha's strong, but loving embrace around her. "Hmm..." Erieanal purred, "how strict is strict?"
"Well...let me think," Dzelha replied, her violet-painted lips close to Erieanal's ear, "when I was a child, if I did not sit or kneel down properly, I was sent to bed without dinner, if I used the wrong form of address or made a mistake in my speech, I was made to write the sentence out five hundred times or, if my lapse was in the presence of a guest, one thousand times. If I did not braid my hair faultlessly, I had to kneel on frozen pebbles until I bled, if Jylzaela and I failed to keep our room tidy enough for Aulatha, we were made to sleep outside on the snow..."
"I suppose I must offer a bunch of fresh-picked flowers to the Blessed Faenya for having been born an Avariel."
"Do not be so quick to come to your conclusions," Dzelha said. "My mother and Aulatha disciplined me because there is no other way to succeed in Star Elven society. Women are privileged by our people, for only women can become priestesses of the Pole Star Queen and thus take on the mantle of rulership - but, precisely for this reason, much more is expected of us."
"I see, so that must really be why I love you - you're perfect." Erieanal turned to steal a quick kiss from Dzelha's soft lips.
"Must be," Dzelha shot back amiably. The moment they got back home, she was going to ravish Erieanal. It was becoming an addiction. Each time they had a moment of intimacy together, their affectionate caresses would turn into frantic lovemaking.
The first phase of falling in love - Dzelha thought wryly to herself. There was something new, forbidden and exciting about their relationship. They had even made love with urgent need in the Library of Arcana - Dzelha hoisted up on a bookshelf, her legs obscenely spread, her tunic hiked up around her waist while Erieanal lapped at her clit, two fingers winding gently into her pulsing channel.
"I curiously wonder whether you're wearing that dress just to impress Aulatha...it's hardly a blademistress' apparel." Erieanal noted.
Dzelha grinned a little bashfully. It was, indeed, incongruous: Dzelha's taut physique was that of a fencer, but she was now clad in a long, formal gown that simulated the pattern of snow falling on a blue sky. Azure silk was crisscrossed with intricate strands of white gossamer fabric, embroidered to resemble a falling snow crystal. The dress was streamlined, with the fabric falling off Dzelha's slender body in a tight, almost starched fashion. Oddly feminine for a warrior, but flattering, too, so that its precise, formalistic lines drew attention to the taut hardness of Dzelha's belly and bottom and the subtle curve of her small, pert breasts.
"My mother would definitely call me back to Eltheless if she found out her daughter was wearing breeches."
Dzelha grimaced. She shuddered at the thought of the immensely complex, baroque gowns - so vast and coldly studded with pearls and diamonds that they had to be supported by magic - her mother, a powerful priestess of the Pole Star Queen, always wore. Dzelha's earliest memories of her were of being surrounded by endless, fluttering diaphanous fabrics and high, iron-hard collars.
"How strangely bizarre." Erieanal remarked. She knew dress was a matter of culture: both male and female Avariel almost exclusively wore tunics, but surely what a woman wore was a matter for her own personal taste to decide.
"Not at all," Dzelha corrected. "Only commoners wear breeches. It was bad enough that I decided to become a Spellsword - a blademistress - rather than a priestess or a sorceress. Now, it is expected of me to be a warrior on the fencing court and a lady in the drawing room. As far as my people are concerned, I am neither a warrior nor a noblewoman, but I temporarily assume each role as the situation dictates."
"I understand," Erieanal said, "I do however feel obliged to exact one promise from you."
"Oh, and what would that be?"
"When we settle down, it won't be in a Star Elven city." Avariel valued their freedom more than their lives and it occurred to her that if she was going to live amongst Dzelha's family, she might as well cut her wings off.
"That would be...negotiable..."
Dzelha cupped Erieanal's chin and kissed her. Violet and porphyry mingled and Erieanal eagerly parted her lips for Dzelha's infuriatingly swift tongue to start a wet, sensual dance.
"Do you think we have time?" Erieanal murmured, her voice thick with passion. She took a swift breath and captured Dzelha's lips once more. This time the kiss was softer, more languid and less urgent. She felt a dull throbbing between her thighs as her sex tightened in anticipation.
"Patience, my little dove," Dzelha hissed, even if she yearned for the hot, tartly floral cream of Erieanal's pussy under her tongue, "and I shall happily reward you when there will be no-one to interrupt us." Violet painted fingernails caressed the smooth skin of Erieanal's throat.
Erieanal nodded and allowed Dzelha to step back to a more respectable distance. Simply looking at Dzelha made Erieanal's heart ache with affection, just as her blood burned with need each time she touched the Star Elf maiden's incomparably pale skin, or felt the silkiness of her long, intricately wound sapphire-blue braids in her hands. Then, it was as if Dzelha had put on her mask again. Cold, enigmatic with an almost forbidding beauty - cold like the violet cosmetic dye she applied in long, curled brush-strokes over her eyes. Yet underneath that mask lay a fiery passion. Each time they made love, Dzelha's pearl-white skin flushed an endearing shade of light violet and the most adorable, mewling little moans issued forth from those impassive lips. Star Elves, Erieanal concluded, lived double lives.
In the distance, bootsteps approached, soft and muted against the icy patina of snow that shimmered in the sunlight. A gentle breeze rustled the ornamental conifers behind Dzelha and Erieanal. Suddenly, the air felt a little colder, the snow began to shimmer just a touch brighter. It was as if the land itself celebrated the arrival of one to which it was profoundly bound. Erieanal cocked her head to one side and saw Aulatha walking down the path, approaching with regular, almost metronomic steps. The polar nymph was clad in a formal white shirt with triangular, silver buttons, a platinum-grey neckerchief wound around its collar and fixed with a stark, steel-coloured broach. In contrast, her breeches were coal-black and her dark brown boots were decorated with a thin line of perfectly oval opals. Aulatha imposed herself on the landscape. Her silvery gaze was stern, her angular features imbued with a dangerous beauty, like that of a forbidding, ice-capped mountain. As always, she was armed, her crystal scimitar and punching dagger by her side. Dzelha hastened to greet her Warden and Aulatha, much to Erieanal's surprise, smiled and caressed the Star Elf maiden's cheek. Erieanal approached, her observant eyes noting Dzelha suddenly submissive and demure posture. The Star Elf maiden stood with her hands clasped in front of her, gaze respectfully lowered to the ground, as if she were waiting for Aulatha's permission to speak or look up.
"I - I am Erieanal, Bladesinger of the School of - " the Avariel began, a little hesitantly. Aulatha was certainly intimidating. Tall for an elf, her stark, androgynous build reminded Erieanal of mythical depictions of the steely-eyed lady warriors of the Unseelie Courts - cruel fae who took great delight in corrupting virtuous Avariel maidens. Aulatha was certainly no evil faerie, but Erieanal was most relieved that the northern nymph was a friend of Dzelha's rather than a lone huntress on the prowl.
Aulatha tilted her head in silent recognition and then swept forward in a graceful, perfectly poised bow. "I am Aulatha, Warden of House Tarsellis and servant of its Revered Matron. I am honoured to meet my Ward's companion." Her tone was formal, her speech almost archaic. "Dzelha has invited me here so that I may inform her revered mother of her chosen lover."
Erieanal scrutinised Aulatha with the attentive gaze of a hunting falcon. "I hope it is no inconvenient trouble that I am not a Star Elf or that I have no illustrious name to offer Dzelha."
"You have no House, Lady Erieanal?" Aulatha said quietly. Her gaze was steely and utterly emotionless.
"My mother was a fresco-painter." Erieanal answered. Despite her fierce pride, she could not help feeling a little inadequate. Doubtless, Aulatha was thinking that Dzelha deserved better. If only, Erieanal thought, the nymph could know the sensation of her heart leaping in her breast each time Dzelha drew near.
"And you are a blademistress, Lady Erieanal?"
Dzelha felt the urge to speak out, but knew better than to do so without Aulatha's permission.
"My family was butchered by Hellkites," Erieanal said tersely, "I vowed I would never be a victim like them - when the Blessed Sehanine decides that my time has come, I wish for it to be with my sword in hand, rather than cowering in fear."
"Strong words," Aulatha noted. Her silver hair was the same colour as the snow that hung heavy on the branches of the garden. "May I have the privilege of seeing your blade? I also favour the scimitar, so please indulge my curiosity."
Wordlessly, Erieanal reached for the pommel of her scimitar and drew it from its plain, beige scabbard. A trail of shimmering sparks flew into the air, followed by an undulating, glowing halo of celestial light. The blade of the sword was a deep iron-grey, but flecked with innumerable veins of iridescent metal. She turned the weapon, pommel forward, and handed it to Aulatha. The nymph gripped the scimitar and drew it forth into the freezing air, carving out an exploratory cross-attack. Metal whistled through a sparse rain of snowflakes, followed by a trail of starry motes of eldritch light. Aulatha allowed herself a thin smile. The scimitar's balance was excellent - a little lighter than what she preferred, but many Star Elven techniques emphasised striking power, whereas Avariel blademistresses had the opportunity to use high leaps and diving attack to augment the strength of their blows. Satisfied, Aulatha returned Erieanal's blade.
"I see you are favourably impressed." Erieanal said, a little smugly. "My weapon was forged from the remains of a dead star. Dzelha is witness to its magnificence..."
"Hey, I won!" Dzelha protested before she could stop herself.
Aulatha whipped around with a withering gaze of reprimand. Dzelha counted herself lucky that she was too old for Aulatha to slap her. "Forgive my Ward's impudence," Aulatha said coolly, "I have been remiss in training her. That, however, is no longer my duty. I see you are a worthy Bladesinger and that your charms have rightly captured Dzelha's heart. As far as I am concerned, I could not have wished a better lover for her."
"Thank you, Lady Aulatha..." Erieanal said gratefully. Even if Aulatha's tone remained measured, she had been deeply moved by the genuine affection she had detected in Erieanal. Nymphs instinctively knew the pulse of nature - the secret heart that beat in the souls of living things.
"Allow me to finish." Aulatha interrupted. "You must make sure Dzelha behaves as a daughter of House Tarsellis should - she is not an easy woman to love. She is fickle and often slovenly," here Dzelha bit her lip - quite simply, Aulatha was never going to stop treating her like a child, "I trust you are ready to meet this challenge."
"On my honour, I am." Erieanal said reverently.
"Good, so I expect to see you both within two seasons in Eltheless for the blessings of my Mistress and of the Pole Star Queen." Aulatha concluded. Then, addressing Dzelha, she finally gave her ward permission to speak, "Do you have anything to add, child?"
"Yes," Dzelha replied with a broad smile, "you could not have made us happier." Dzelha knew her mother held Aulatha's counsel in the highest esteem. To have the nymph's seal of approval meant that the difficult part of convincing her family of Erieanal's suitability was effectively over.
"You have chosen well, Dzelha," Aulatha said - her breath did not mist in the frigid mountain air, "you are a strong woman and, in time, you will live up to your promise. But you must remember discipline - recall that fencing lesson, when the sky was overcast and thunder stirred in the glacial peaks in the distance..."
"I would never forget." Dzelha replied. The memory was seared into her mind. It had been a bitingly cold night, but Aulatha had forced Dzelha to repeat an exhausting fencing drill until it had been perfected. Dzelha had been little more than a girl - tired, angry, with the dull, viscerally painful throb of her cycle tearing through her insides. Aulatha had never allowed her to take elixirs to soothe her agony. So, with the well-channelled fury of a Star Elf matriarch, Dzelha had taken her crystal sabre and lashed out with sublime deadliness. For an instant, Aulatha had to scramble to deflect the blow, before Dzelha had collapsed, her muscles burning, her tears freezing on her cheeks, her slip uncomfortably wet with warm, sticky blood.
"To me, you became a woman that day. Now, as I see you here with Lady Erieanal, I could not be more proud of you."
Dzelha felt a knot of emotion tighten in her throat. She seized Aulatha in a fierce embrace, nestling her head in the reassuring strength of the polar nymph's shoulder. Much to her surprise, she felt Aulatha's firm caress on her braids and a soft kiss on her cheek. Aulatha had rarely shown her such overt affection and never in public. "You taught me so much," Dzelha murmured, now infinitely grateful for the lessons she had been forced to endure, "I promise I will make you prouder still..."
"Do not be sentimental," Aulatha chided gently.
"I'm not," Dzelha sniffed. "You've always been a an elder sister to Jylzaela and me, there is nothing sentimental about showing my affection."
Aulatha sighed. Maybe Dzelha was never going to turn out to be the faultlessly detached matron her mother was, but she would always be her Dzelha. As a nymph, Aulatha had been summoned from the frozen earth of House Tarsellis' garden - a spirit of the land made flesh to serve the House's matron as a Warden for her two daughters. Dzelha and Jylzaela, with all their infuriating little defects, had thus become her family.
"Be strong, remember your vocation as a Spellsword and do Erieanal honour." Aulatha ordered curtly.
"Is that all?"
"That is all you need to know. A good teacher knows when her work is complete."
***
The Nymph and the Bladesinger
Tahllea stretched, taut and feline, on her armchair and decided to retire for the night. She shut the satin-bound tome of tawdry, but mildly entertaining Grey Elven erotica she had borrowed from Yssinel's library. It had been amusing enough, but, by the time the Grey Elven Sorceress, who was the protagonist of the novel, had "wantonly submitted" to yet another wildly handsome Sylvan Elf huntress for the twelfth time, her interest had begun to wane. Out of the great, panoramic window that occupied an entire wall of Tahllea's chamber, the distant lights of Imej glimmered, heralded by the spinning orbs of magical energy that orbited around the various towers of the city's noble Houses. Tahllea looked out and lost herself in an endless tapestry of stars and fluted towers. Quiet footsteps approached and Tahllea heard the door of her vast bedchamber close. She crossed her legs and privately revelled in the sensation of her succinct, blue satin dressing gown pooling between her thighs. She preferred to sleep naked, unlike Yssinel's almost obsessive bedtime routine of perfumed oil-rubs, face-creams, hair-brushing and multi-layered nightgowns. Thankfully, Yssinel was no longer an issue.
"Are you coming to bed, Tahllea?" Sigrid called demurely.
"Yes, of course..." Tahllea replied, a little distracted. She rose and the marble flooring was cool against her bare feet. Sigrid leaned coquettishly against a tall post that supported the huge, ornate bed's canopy. She was lovely in her violet gossamer night-shirt. It matched her eyes and her hair, whilst bringing out the moonlight-white clarity of her skin.
"Forgive me, but you seem a little anxious." Sigrid noted. She brushed back her short, indigo hair with a casual flick of her hand. The lean muscle of her bicep rolled under her smooth skin. Sigrid, Tahllea had discovered, was very talented with her hands.
"No, it is I who should apologise." Tahllea corrected magnanimously. "You are always quite adept at relieving me of my...worries." It had taken a while to break Sigrid's willfulness, but the Aasimar had quickly learned her place and become a most excellent and obedient Bladesinger who, with Ilmaeria, had contributed immensely towards making Tahllea's duelling hall one of the finest in Queluria's northern hemisphere.
"I am always glad to be of service." Sigrid said with a subtle, suggestive smile. With a flawless dexterity, she loosened the straps of her nightshirt and let it pool at her feet. Tahllea felt her sex pulse with need. Sigrid's lean, elfin body was revealed in all its glory. Small, but perfectly formed, pert breasts, each with a delicious raspberry-pink nipple, already hard and begging to be suckled. Then, lower still, beneath the flat, muscular expanse of her belly, was the plump little mound of her sex. Tahllea grinned wolfishly and padded closer. They kissed, Tahllea's mouth hard and wet against Sigrid's. The Aasimar followed her mistress' dance like an obedient student, parting her soft pink lips for Tahllea's glorious tongue.
"My lovely Sigrid..." Tahllea purred. She loosened the silken belt of her dressing gown and allowed the offending garment to slip off her shoulders. Sigrid wrapped her arms around her mistress' waist, trailing her hands down the hard, athletic curve of Tahllea's bottom.
"You are too kind, as ever, my love..." Sigrid replied breathlessly as Tahllea devoured the hollow of her throat with long, hungry licks.
"And you too beautiful..."
"Tahllea!" Aulatha called from behind the locked door and Tahllea almost shattered the crystal goblet of sweet, violet wine she cradled in her hand. The Bladesinger bit her lip and slumped back into her armchair. Her room was deserted, silent. The wretched nymph had interrupted one of her favourite Sigrid fantasies - the happily bonded couple scene.
"I thought you were practicing your bladecraft in the garden." Tahllea said dryly. She drained her goblet and set it down on the round cherry-wood credenza by her armchair.
"Your tone is...insolent."
Tahllea sighed and rose, almost reluctantly, to her feet. She padded over to the door and mentally bade the lock to unlatch. Aulatha stood before her, imperious and commanding as always. The polar nymph wore only a pair of long, loose blue silk pants that hung low on her prominent hipbones. Tahllea could not help but steal a quick glance at the tiny, ripe plums of Aulatha's breasts and the taut, dragon-turtle shell pattern of muscle on the nymph's belly, seemingly etched from marble. "If your question is whether you are disturbing me," Tahllea said sardonically, "the answer is yes."
Aulatha shrugged and stepped into Tahllea's bedchamber. Not even the High Elven Bladesinger dared block the nymph's path. She knew from hard experience how much power lay in Aulatha's wiry musculature. "Really?" Aulatha said coolly, her voice measured, almost emotionless. She made her way to Tahllea's desk and gave an almost inaudible chuckle as she read the title of the crimson-satin bound book. "Travelogue of a Sorceress in the Lands of the Sylvan Elves?" She turned to face Tahllea, a smug half-smirk on her lips.
"It's Yssinel's."
"Oh? Well it hardly struck me as your sort of entertainment."
"It isn't. Or rather, I cannot find anything especially fascinating in it. Just a pampered sorceress who finds herself amongst chiselled, battle-scarred Sylvan Elves. Dreary adolescent fantasies, if I may say so." Tahllea made a conscious effort to sound less than defensive.
"We all have our romantic fascinations." Aulatha remarked.
"Yes, indeed..."
"Dzelha told me about your rather clumsy courtship of Sigrid." the nymph interrupted.
Tahllea reflexively clenched her fist, as if she were gripping a phantom pommel. "Sigrid..." Tahllea murmured bitterly. "Please, Aulatha, sit down. Apologies if I have been a little brusque lately, but I have been vexed."
"Still, that was no way to greet an old friend." Aulatha noted, settling onto the vast bed - cool, crisp sheets crinkled under her bottom, so hard and streamlined it put most men to shame. Tahllea knew the polar nymph well enough to realise that she was, ever so subtly, being playful.
"I'm unhappy, Aulatha." Tahllea said quietly. She stood leaning on a fluted copper post that upheld the canopy of her bed, staring out at the cityscape before her.
"That much I had gathered."
"What if I told you that I am in love with Sigrid?"
"Perhaps you could have told Sigrid, rather than trying to force yourself on her...your stay on Toril corrupted you with this human vice of wanton violence." Aulatha noted. She always regretted being harsh in her judgements, but that was her role and she did it out of love for Tahllea. Mincing one's words was for weaklings.
"Easy for you to say," Tahllea snorted. "How many Star Elf girls wake up bruised and aching from your bed?"
"Countless." Aulatha retorted. "But they are there by their own choice and I have never harmed any of my lovers, nor brutalised them with pointless displays of sadism."
"Dzelha is quite the tale-teller, isn't she?" the Bladesinger sneered. She paced over to the credenza and poured herself another glass of wine from a pine-cone shaped jasper bottle. The smoky aroma of dried berries wafted through the chamber. Tahllea drank and watched Aulatha's steely gaze observe her every movement.
"Sigrid is a foolish, impudent girl who needs neither Aravae nor Mjrina, but a woman to teach her some manners - still, it is certainly not your place to declare yourself such a woman against Sigrid's will."
"Ilmaeria!" Tahllea growled sullenly. "The little slattern's name is Ilmaeria. I really don't see why it has become fashionable all of a sudden to use that ridiculous child-name of hers."
"I believe she prefers to be called Aravae."
"Nonsense!" Tahllea thundered. "Ilmaeria was the name of this House's founding Mother, the sword I bear was her personal weapon..."
"Tahllea," Aulatha interjected and, by force of habit, the Bladesinger fell silent, "Aravae is no longer a girl. You were right to be hard on her when she was young, but now I understand she is a fine blademistress in her own right. To finally treat her as an equal should be the proudest day of your life."
"I am proud of her, she knows that."
"Good, then it is time for you to tell her that she must make her way in the world." Aulatha betrayed just a hint of bittersweet contemplation. She too had sometimes wanted for Dzelha to remain her mischievous, impertinent but wonderful younger self. Seeing her with Erieanal, so obviously in love with and ready to look forward made her feel just a touch nostalgic.
"But...she is mine..." Tahllea protested.
"A woman is only her own soul's possession." Aulatha retorted sternly. "You and Aravae will both suffer if you insist on keeping her as your doll, the toy you can abuse and cuddle as you see fit."
"I...I shall consider what you have said." Tahllea peered angrily at the gold-veined marble floor. Aulatha was right, as usual. But one thing was non-negotiable: she would have Sigrid.
"Come here." Aulatha invited and, as if mesmerised, Tahllea complied. She knelt at the bedside at Aulatha's feet and wrapped her arms around the cool, familiar skin of the icy nymph's waist. In the hardness of Aulatha's chest, softened only by the sweet firmness of her elegant little breasts, Tahllea pressed her ear close to the nymph's dull, rhythmic heartbeat.
"You smell of Mjrina..." Tahllea purred, pressing a gentle kiss on Aulatha's breast.
"That hardly surprises me." the nymph answered, her caress powerful but reassuring on Tahllea's short, midnight-black curls. "She made a pine-resin cleansing tincture for me."
"Delicious strumpet, isn't she," Tahllea continued, pleased to detect Aulatha's heart beat just a little faster. "But not quite as delicious as me, right?"
"I see you are as haughty as always," Aulatha breathed. Tahllea's lips were hot against the silky skin of her breast and they left behind just a tiny hint of moisture.
"Which reminds me...do you recall the first thing you said to me when you caught me observing your Spellsword technique in House Tarsellis' garden all those years ago?" the High Elven woman's kiss left a wet trail on Aulatha's pristine skin, drawing ever closer to the stiff berry of the nymph's light pink nipple.
"Your gaze is haughty, girl, and your eyes burn with ambition - there are many things I could teach you."
"Oh and you did...a season spent in Eltheless and you gave me no respite, neither in on the training court nor in the bedchamber." Tahllea's lips wrapped around Aulatha's rubbery nipple, so pale it looked like the bud of a pale, alpine rose. The nymph was irresistible, especially after hours spent fantasising about Sigrid's hard, lean body and her insolent mouth put to good use between Tahllea's thighs. By the time Aulatha had interrupted her, Tahllea had been creamy with desire, the inside of her thighs wonderfully sticky. Her sex, though, had raged on all afternoon, hungry and unfulfilled.
Aulatha trailed her hands around Tahllea's neck and loosened the Bladesinger's dressing gown. Tahllea rose and cast the garment aside. She stood naked before Aulatha's icy gaze. It had been too long and now Tahllea found all that rash, adolescent passion from so many years go flood back into her. Aulatha knew, she knew it from the flush that had spread on Tahllea's cheeks, the way the Bladesinger's breath quickened and the spreading scent of vaguely floral musk. They stared at each other, like two warriors facing one another down. Aulatha wrapped her arms around Tahllea, almost tenderly, drawing her close. They kissed, fleetingly at first, for Tahllea teased, circling her tongue coyly around Aulatha's lips. Aulatha clasped the High Elven woman's face and pressed her lips, sweet and demanding, against Tahllea, forcing her to accept the kiss. A dance - an eager embrace as Tahllea's tongue was patiently mastered by Aulatha.
Tahllea slipped her hands over the granite-hard expanse of Aulatha's belly, feeling taut muscle give way to the sweet silk of her pants. She loosened the waistband and they streamed down around Aulatha's feet. Tahllea now gripped Aulatha's bare bottom, her fingers trailing in between those alabaster globes, nearing the pulsing warmth of the nymph's sex. Aulatha parted her thighs and gripped Tahllea's curled, raven-black hair, drawing her close. The smell of tart, mountain berries and the residual, leathery smell of Aulatha's breeches filled Tahllea's nostrils. It was a familiar perfume. Before her, a spread feast: neat, petal-like nether lips dewy with translucent nectar. Aulatha's clit - a pretty little flowerbud, now angrily hard and free from its little hood, poked from between the silken folds. Aulatha smiled conspiratorially and cupped Tahllea's chin.
"Lick, girl." she ordered.
"I am not your girl anymore." Tahllea sneered.
Aulatha's belly tensed - a rippling mosaic of hard muscle. "For tonight, you will be."
The polar nymph's voice was one of command. Tahllea obediently sank between the older woman's thighs and began to lap hungrily. Tart, female musk coated her lips. Aulatha held her head in place, just as she had done when Tahllea had been a wide-eyed apprentice who needed to learn discipline in pleasuring her mentor. Something in Tahllea gave way. She surrendered to the trance. Aulatha allowed herself to be brought to a silent, stoic climax. Then, she eased Tahllea on the bed, belly down, on her hands and knees.
As if in a daze, Tahllea buried her face against the pillow, lifted her hips and presented her wanton pussy to Aulatha. The polar nymph mounted her, doused her aching sex with oil and entered her. Hard. Tahllea heard herself gasp in pain, but Aulatha, as always, was unyielding. That hard, warrior's hand entered her. Knuckles mastered the pliant flesh of her canal. Oil and nectar mixed. Tahllea steadied herself, rolled her hips and felt her channel contract desperately around Aulatha's wrist. Aulatha fucked her with relish. Aulatha fucked her like a girl - firm, pumping strokes so that Tahllea knew exactly who the mistress was.
The silver-haired nymph smiled to herself. All it took was a fist buried in her pussy for Tahllea to change. Now, the hard, polished exterior gave way to the mewling, plaintive little moans that stirred fire in Aulatha's belly. Tahllea, for her part, lost herself in the swirling ecstasy of their lovemaking. For one night, she could afford to be another Tahllea. So she rocked herself, small breasts swaying in rhythm with Tahllea's masterful thrusts, and stopped counting the jarring spasms of pleasure that poured from her loins.
***
When Tahllea awoke, she felt the familiar, nostalgic sensation of Aulatha's strong arms wrapped around her. It was reassuring. There was no safer place in all of Queluria. Aulatha, of course, was already awake. Tahllea stirred and gazed out into the Imej dawn. The sun crested behind the snowcapped peaks. Light reflected off mighty, millennia-old glaciers. Aulatha tenderly kissed her cheek and drew her closer. A dull, satisfied throb emanated from Tahllea's sex. It had been a long night.
"Thank you," Tahllea said, pleasantly surprised by the sensation of Aulatha's long, dextrous fingers toying with the curls of her coal-black hair. "I shall never forget how much I owe you."
"One thing you owe me is an explanation."
"Hmm?"
"Why did you curl your hair?"
"Don't you like it?"
"No."
Tahllea chuckled and playfully nudged Aulatha with a jab of her elbow. "Did you ever hear of Kitiara uth Matar?"
"Never."
"A great warrior, perhaps the greatest from a distant world called Krynn. I fell in love with her exploits...and her portrait." Tahllea turned and snuggled closer to Aulatha. The polar nymph smelled of sweat and fresh alpine flowers. Aulatha kissed Tahllea's lips and threw off the covers, trailing kisses over the smooth expanse of the Bladesinger's back. Cold, morning air greeted their naked bodies, still damp with the moisture of their lovemaking.
"What happened, Tahllea?" Aulatha inquired pensively, breathing light kisses over the small of the High Elven woman's back.
"Sorry?"
"You seem different..."
Tahllea laughed dismissively. "Oh, by Sehanine no! I am always the pretty, submissive little Tahllea you remember from many a late-night training session."
"This is no joke." Aulatha retorted, resting her cheek on Tahllea's back. That familiar mineral perfume, the distinctive scent - flowery and earthy at the same time - of the High Elven woman's arousal. The sheets were redolent of her. "You ought to be an example for Sigrid and Ilmaeria and you should certainly never conspire against them. You have a duty - as a Bladesinger and as an Elven woman - to them and this duty is far greater than all of your desires combined."
Tahllea tensed. Aulatha had struck a nerve. After all her plotting and deception aimed at simultaneously humiliating Sigrid and earning her affection, she realised how ridiculous it was to expect Aravae's devotion. Aulatha, back when Tahllea was nothing but an inexperienced novice, had been hard and unyielding. But the nymph's character had been irreproachable. Aulatha was every bit as hardworking and rigorous as she expected her students to be.
Tahllea smiled bitterly and drew a long, quiet breath. "You always treated me with dignity," she conceded at length. "Even when I was disobedient and impudent. Dzelha tells me that you were as gentle in your love and as harsh in your discipline as the best Star Elven sister she could imagine."
"Yet, I am not praiseworthy," Aulatha concluded sternly, "no one deserves praise simply for doing her duty."
"I shall take what you have said to heart." Tahllea said and stretched out, resting her face on the pillow and looking at the surging rays of sunlight pierce the lonely clouds that had gathered at the very summits of the vast mountains that ringed Imej. Aulatha resumed her trail of kisses, her tongue snaking between her lips to leave a wet path from Tahllea's sacrum to the cleft of her bottom. Tahllea inhaled sharply the moment she felt Aulatha's tongue sweep between that hot, tight valley. "Wanton as ever, dear Aulatha?" Tahllea purred and raised her hips a little to grant Aulatha better access.
"Your bottom is exquisite, strumpet," Aulatha snarled with mock menace. The scent of Tahllea's quickening arousal mingled with the dark, rich aroma of almonds and wet earth. "Perhaps the finest in Imej."
"Oh...but I know." Tahllea said smugly.
***
Decisions
Tahllea took her time to evaluate her options. If she was going to beat Sigrid, she would do it with dignity. It would be because all of Queluria would soon know Tahllea as the worthy successor of such epic blademistresses as Tyrithina - the first Queen acclaimed by all of the Grey Elven city-states - or Ilmaeria - the Mistress-Founder of House Ahlirian. What Aulatha had said, though, had rung true. Tahllea had known in that moment that she had been corrupted: warped by her travels in the senselessly barbaric worlds of humans, manipulated by Jander's petty, deceiving conspiracies. Now, it was time to reclaim her honour as a Bladesinger and settle everything on the battlefield without the hollow satisfaction of victory by intrigue and hollow words. She would not seek to destroy Sigrid's blade, nor in any way interfere with the conditions of their duel. It would be her against Sigrid - a personal duel for prestige, fame and love like those fought in ancient times between blademistresses whose lives and passions had gone down into legend.
"Lady Tahllea..." Mjrina whispered, almost inaudibly. "Would you like me to join you in your bath?"
"Oh...quite, yes...please." Tahllea said distractedly. She opened her eyes and saw steam envelope her. Hot water, perfumed with jasmine and sandalwood, swirled around her breasts. Lone petals from a multitude of richly-coloured blossoms floated in the rushing, cleansing currents. She had requested Mjrina's attentions for the afternoon because, put simply, House Ahlirian lacked a healer and handmaiden of her expertise. Now that Tahllea considered it, House Ahlirian lacked handmaidens in general, but that was largely due to her brother's preferences. As charming and submissive as his boys were, though, Tahllea was mildly put off by being bathed by a male. So, she lay in the leisurely swirling waters of her colonnaded great bath. The pool itself was long and rectangular and fed directly with mineral water from a hot spring channeled through a magical gate which led to a borderland between the Elemental Planes of Water, Fire an