The Conjured and the exiles

The preparations for Noshirnos were as much an enjoyable part of festivities as the night itself. The Kitchens normally the busiest place in the plaice on a day to day basis now were working at full capacity, it was an orchestra of organised chaos. Daen and Veione popping their heads around the door looking for some cold meet cuts were swiftly shooed out by highly stressed, red-faced cooks desperately trying to get everything ready for the upcoming feasts. Maids and footmen worked tirelessly, dusting, scrubbing, mopping, wiping, and polishing every surface of the plaice. Beds were made up, the covers thrown off furniture in unused rooms, and generally everything was cleaned within an inch of its life in preparation for the guests. Garlands were placed over all the doors and arch ways; boughs of holly, hawthorn strewn with bright ribbons, mistletoe, heather and other evergreens. Normal candles were replaced with ones scented with incense. All this was done to the ever present singing of festive tunes or ditties, as well as the gossip which prevailed, old, new, and projected.

‘He said that he would be going to the ball with her.’

‘I heard that Lady Morth has let herself go.’

‘Oh I hope he notices me! I brought a new dress and everything. If he dances with that Orana again I will simply die!’

‘I will take her for a tern about the room, and hopefully I will get to take her for a turn outside as well if you know what I mean?’

‘Last year he was a complete mess, he ended woke up the next morning naked in the kennels, covered in blue paint, clutching an uprooted sage bush. I would have given a weeks wage to see what he had been up to!’

Daen listened and laughed to herself, Veione chided her once or twice for eaves dropping, but not before he to would listen and laugh. He even said that he was slightly disappointed that there was no gossip about him, and he would have to try harder this year surprising everyone. The young woman expressed her doubts, there was probably nothing that Veione could do now that would shock or even surprise anyone in Bala. And it was not Veione but Captain Kef Tann’s wife Avis who surprised Daen a few days before Noshirnos by turning up at breakfast with a large bundle, and a conspiratorial wink. ‘Something a bit special for the dance.’


During her many rides with Avis who had begun accompanying her on her morning rides would explain about the various traditions of the Marchadians. As a native of Bala, born and bread there was little that she did not know of its customs or history. Avis made sure that when they rode out that they had a bountiful supply of candied fruit to give to the children, who in turn would serenade them with a song about ladies, upon white horses. Daen found it charming. Even Thuharu seemed content to pause in her tracks to let the smaller children pet her pink velvety muzzle. The horse would nuzzled them for treats; she was particularly entranced by the smallest of children who toddled up to her calling out with glee, ‘horsie!’

Bala itself shared in the mirth; there were decorations everywhere that hands could reach. The city’s children wrapped up in furs, woollen leggings, colourful knitted hats and mittens played seasonal games, sung songs, and ate roasted chestnuts. One of the games they played was a hunt, where one of the adults dressed in antlers laid the ‘sent,’ a trail of colourful paper, painted beads, dried flowers, and sweeties; the children (hounds) followed the sent through the town even the plaice. As they did follow antlered man, they howled and called. When they found the stag-man he would give them more sweeties and other trinkets.

Avis was a small busty woman, with a still tiny waist despite her age and having two children. Her blond hair was the colour of flax. She had a warm canny face, with large blue eyes and fine arched brows made her look presently curious the whole time. At first Daen thought that Avis was just friendly out of a sense of pity. But she soon realised that the middle aged woman simply enjoyed her company. And truthfully it was nice to have another female to talk to, a friendly female who had nothing to do with work. Another woman to laugh about the follies of men, the kind of mildly bawdy jokes that the priestesses would not deign to join in with, but earthy Avis loved.

Daen was left wondering what was in the package all through the meal. But once breakfast was over Avis, the plaice seamstress soon relieved the young woman of her anticipation. When she revelled a beautiful gown, made of finest Sidana silk dyed a dusky rose colour, its sleeves and neckline were decorated with small fresh water pearls.

‘Pink?’ Daen asked with a critical smile despite her delight.

‘Yes, pink, white, or pale blue are the most suitable colours for debutantes.’ Avis answered holding the dress up to Daen.

‘Debutante, I’m not that young Avis?!’

‘No?’ The captain’s wife smiled, holding the fabric up to contrast it against Daen’s long mahogany hair. ‘Well in any case it’s a flattering color for you. It flatters your hair and skin tone perfectly.’

‘I agree.’ A rich voice said behind her. Daen turned to her lord who stood appraising the gown. He turned to the seamstress. ‘A fine piece of work Mrs Tann, as ever.’

‘Oh no, a trifle my lord.’ Avis protested with mock humility.

‘You had this made for me?’ Daen asked curiously.

‘Well if you are to accompany me to the dance I you will have to be arrayed as befitting.’ Lord Darcia said with gravity. He knew Daen to well, she still did not accept charity, and she was still uncomfortable receiving gifts, sometimes it was just easier to force things upon her. Last time he had presented her with a generous purse of money for trinkets any other thing she might fancy it had ended in an argument. The young woman after living independently having been cast off by her family now found it intolerable to be behooven to anyone. When she declined his patronage yet again, hurt at her refusal, he rather hotly informed her that hundreds of women would kill for such a living as he would offer to her for nothing more than her company. Daen the proud little creature that she was wanted to slap him, but she managed to check herself clenching her itching palm hard. She had bitingly retorted that he was odious for thinking such a thing, she was not some woman to be brought like a courtesan, that she was not amongst that multitude of females and she would care for him to remember that! The dark haired woman had then left in something that was precariously close to a flounce. Darcia had apologized stiffly afterwards, she apologized as well like a child who had fought with a sibling it was a little reluctant. From then on he was a little more sensitive to her sensibilities.

But he wouldn’t have to push to hard this time. It would have been useless for Daen to pretend that she was too high minded to enjoy the possession of such a beautiful and elegant gown. From the conversation Daen had soaked in about the upcoming festivities gathered that there were more events than just the ball. It was a few days of festivities where the Marchadian’s nobility showed themselves off at their finest. Daen had begun to wonder whether her two gowns really would be enough. In the plaice there had been grate talk amongst the women folk of various ladies gowns, good ones, bad ones, scandalous ones. Daen had laughed when Avis had informed her that many of the ladies thought of little else but what they would ware. Daen was not quiet so preoccupied, but she was still a woman, and she wanted to look at her best.

‘I am to accompany you to the ball?’ Daen asked checking that she had heard her lord correctly.

‘Of course, who else would I take?’

‘But I’m not your..’ Daen spluttered.

‘Not my what? Darcia answered with some amusement. Daen’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and the noble took pity on her catching her hand to ring it to his lips. ‘You are my consort and sybilla, it’s a place of honor amongst my people. Like a priestess but not. ’

‘So what do I have to do?’

‘Oh nothing much, enjoy yourself mostly. Talk to guests...’ Her lord smiled handsomely. ‘Most of my nobles are not too dull. But you’re charming so I have no fear on that account, so don’t look so troubled little one. ‘

‘My lord, I’m not sure whether I am suitable as your consort, you’re a grate noble and I’m after all just an exiled and penniless girl.’ Daen explained as she worried her bottom lip nervously.

‘Daen I will not hear such nonsense from you!’ Darcia said sternly almost angrily, still in possession of her hand which he gave a firm squeeze for good measure. ‘Not so long ago you to belonged to a clan of no little importance, not that it is relevant. As I am the best judge of who will be a suitable companion for me. I have chosen you and I will have no other, if you refuse I will make you come one way or the other. ’

‘Yes my lord.’ Daen sighed. Sometimes he was impossible to argue with. And she did not fancy been thrown ove his knee and spanked again. She didn’t put it past her dark lord to do that to her in pubic if she was so unwise as to flout him so disrespectfully. Darcia’s mouth remained firm, but Daen could see in his eyes that he was pleased with her acquiescence. It was the same look he gave his new gray horse when it had managed a particularly difficult jump. His mastery over her both annoyed and exited the young woman in equal measure. Daen tugged her hand free of his gloved grasp.

Avis piped up. ‘Well dear just think you will have such a good time at the ball with our lord Darcia as your partner, and a lovely new gown, all the women will be green with envy!’

Daen smiled in answer, and Darcia looking at the dress carefuly then spoke up. ‘You will need a mask.’

‘A mask? But I am not a noble?’

‘As my consort you will pass as one. It’s expected.’ The dark lord seemed to think for a moment before turning on his heal and called over his shoulder. ‘Follow me.’

Darcia lead her towards his own chambers, but where his apartments were reached by the large mahogany door to the right he opened the door on the left. The layout of the room was a mirror for Darcia’s own chambers, but where his were masculine and functional this apartment was obviously furnished for a female. It had graceful almost whimsical white and pale gold plaster moulding. The walls were painted duck egg blue, the floor was covered in pale red and gold woven carpet, but all the furniture was still under covers.

‘Who’s room’s are these?’ Daen asked as Darcia guided her to the dressing room. Daen was astonished to find that all the panels of wood that made up the cupboards were covered in delicate and lovely silk.

‘They are the duchesses’ apartments; the last person to use them was my mother.’ Darcia answered as he opened one of the wardrobe doors. He indicated with a glance to what appeared to be another cupboard door save its handle was larger. ‘That leads through to my bed chamber.’ Daen came to stand by the noble as he knelt down and went through a box that he had retrieved from the cupboard. Carefully he removed the layers of fabric that hid the box’s contents. The green eyes woman peeked over his black clad shoulder and saw that the box was full of masks. Darcia pulled out an ornate gold mask, decorated with glittering red rubies. ‘My fathers.’ He explained.

Under the gold mask was beautiful delicate silver mask, it seemed to be made of the finest silver netting so it was almost as see through as a veil, dark navy silk backed it, and small pearls, diamonds, and sapphires were studded through the netting, twinkling like stars in the night. ‘My mothers.’

‘It’s lovely.’ Daen said looking at it closely. ‘The mask you ware is so plain in comparison with these.’

Darcia continuing to root through the box replied, ‘It’s a day to day mask, I have more ornate ones for special occasions, hold my fathers and you will see why I don’t ware one like that the whole time.’

Daen did so. ‘It’s heavy.’ Interested now the girl joined her lord in his search helping move cloth out of the way, their thighs pressed close together, and every so often Darcia’s arm would brush against the ferm curve of her breast, unconsciously sending his heart rate souring. He swallowed hard as he fought the rising urge to push her down to the floor, and ravish her there and then. He had grown used to her close presence, but sometimes his desire caught him off guard. He may have been gratified if he had known that Daen on glancing up at him was sorely tempted to kiss away the slight frown he wore. Darcia finally found what he was looking for a half mask made of rose coloured silk, with mother of pearl decorating it like scales on a fish over the eyes and along the cheeks, he held it up for the girl to inspect.

‘My mother had it made for a nautical themed ball. In any case the colour should near enough match your dress.’

Daen thanked him and spotted another mask lying under some fabric that the noble had discarded. One half of the mask was black the other white. It looked somewhat tragic, forlorn, as if sadness clung to it. ‘Who’s was this?’ she asked.

Darcia looked over and frowned faintly. ‘It was mine.’ He placed emphasis on the ‘was.’

Daen held it up with both hands, looking at its mournful face and then his. It was small, so he must have been a child when he wore it she decided. ‘Why is it split in to two colours?’

Darcia lent back on his heals and looked up at the ceiling, he sighed heavily. Then in a deadly serious tone said, ‘It’s because I am a bastard.’

‘But you’re a Duke?’ Daen replied, who couldn’t have been more astonished if he had turned around and told her he was a changeling. She had been tempted to make light of his words, saying that she knew that already, but his stern mask was back in place and by the seriousness in his voice warned her not to.

‘Lordship dose ot exclude bastards.’ He replied simply not looking at the woman. ‘My mother and father never married. So when I was a boy I had to ware a split mask when I spent time in the imperial court to show that I was a bast...’ He checked himself. ‘That I was not legitimate.’

‘How come your mother and father never married?’ Daen asked, the mask still in her hand, the dark side of it a shadow and a mystery like lord Darcia himself.

‘I don’t want to speak about it here.’ He answered after a moment. He took the mask form her hands, and placed it back in the dark corner of the box where he had found it, and then placed the box back in the far corner of the cupboard and shut the door safely behind it. Daen then followed the tall dark noble through the hallways; he walked at a brisk pace, as if he was escaping from something. She worried that he was not going to tell her anything when he paused at the library, opening the door for her to go in. The library was a good place for storytelling. Darcia took a seat in one of the soft reading chairs, and Daen took up her favourite position on the floor her legs crossed and eyes egger. It was a moment before he started as he gathered his thoughts, trying to decide just what to tell the young woman in front of him.

‘My mother and father were never married because...’ He paused, ‘The official story is that I was an accident, an accident caused by a reckless love.’ His eyes glared in to the fire that burned in the small hearth across from them, a sign that Timor had not long vacated the room. ‘That’s not the whole story. My father loved my mother, and my mother my father. My mother was sister to the emperor. So for her to run off with a member of the Arcanum without the councils or the emperor’s agreement was more than just scandalous, it was a political disaster. Particularly as her dowry was huge, and any son that she might bare stood a good chance at a clame to the throne. In imperial lord children born to the female line are favoured over the male line as you can be certain who someone’s mother is but never their father. At one point they had said that my father had abducted my mother but nothing could be done as my mother refused to leave my father. Two years later the emperor and his mother raised an army; officially the army was to help with a border skirmish, but in autumn that was very unlikely. In any case my mother and I returned with them. My mother agreed that they had never been married, and that I was illegitimate. And so I was raised at court until my mother went insane, as a child I didn’t understand what was going on at least not until I was older. Then I was raised by my godmother Umra.’

‘That old witch!’ Daen exclaimed. ‘I expect that was horrible.’

‘Sometimes.’ His lips lifted in a slight smile, ‘ Don’t pity me though, it was not so bad, and she taught me allot of valuable lessons in life. Since then I have been in worse situations. I was not there for to long when I turned twelve I went to live with my father, back here. He was a stark man, fair, but hard. I don’t think he ever forgave my mother for leaving him with no explanation.’

‘But it seems that she left to protect your father, and you!’

‘Perhaps.’ Darcia shrugged.

‘In any case it was a long time ago now, and my father’s dead, the old emperors dead. But that in a nut shell is why I was expected to ware a half mask, the white to show I was nobility of the highest rank, the black to show I was illegitimate, royal yet not royal.’

‘It must have been hard growing up like that.’

‘For the most part I was ignored. The way a family would ignore a crazy relative, creating a hole in conversation where they are not allowed to be mentioned. There were few who would tease a royal child to their face at least.’

Daen could not imagine Darcia allowing anyone to bully him even as a child. But she knew what it was like to be spoken about in whispers, the soft hiss, hiss of voices as you left a room; to be forever wondering why they hated you so when they were so pleasant to your face. ‘I’m not sure I want to go to the ball now.’

‘Don’t worry you at least have no place set in this world as of yet. I was always fighting against my place, a very marked one.’ Darcia said trying to keep the old bitterness out of his words. He wondered why he had told the girl all of that; it was not as if it was a secret. More that he simply didn’t talk about it, what good came from reviving old spectres; he had after all changed a grate deal since he was a boy. There was something about her steady green eyed consideration that invited confidence. But he still could not tell her the true reason for his mother’s madness, emotionally weekend by leaving her father she had given in, she had given to the voices which plagued her mind and in the end drove her mad. He couldn’t tell Daen that, not when a similar fate might await her. They remained in silence for a while, before he announced that he had to leve and get on with some work. Without thinking about it he bent and kissed the corner of her mouth, leaving her staring after him with a secret smile hovering at the corner of her lips.


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Leoff sighed, this new stable was even more crowded then the last. Right now he was doing his best to arrange the horses. The whole situation was not helped by the spoilt little lordling making impossible demands for the stabling of his desterier. A mean tempered brute, which the young noble man could hardly hold. The heavy set battle charger was hardly a suitable mount for the rough and wooded terrain of the Marchadian’s, but young lord Edouard always had to know best and so when everyone else rode on coursers, he would have his war horse. Battle trained it had already attacked four other horses. Leoff’s make shift solution to the problem was to put a crabby little mare next to him, who’s bite and kick were the most accurate and vicious he had ever seen.

Walking down the lines he winced listening to a high pitched squeal, and the drum of hoofs on the broad chest. ‘Well that ought to teach him.’ Leoff whistled between his teeth. Leoff made his way to the make shift weapons court. Captain Nedar had instructed his men to practice in full view as much as possible, not to intimidate, but to impress. With this in mind Leoff and Vas had been set to teaching other men a few gladiator tricks, moves that though in actual battle would be rather frivolous, but looked the part, and could if done right make you look like a much more skilled warrior than you actually were.

It was fairly unnecessary though, as the soldiers were all fairly skilled in their own rights, they were all for the most part just the kind of men you would want by your side when facing an army, disciplined, no nonsense, loyal, top blokes all round. But there were a few men he couldn’t quite trust, the men under captain Nadar directly. He couldn’t put his finger upon it. He didn’t even tell Vas about this niggling feeling, as it was probably nothing, whenever he talked to Nadar’s men they were amiable enough, normal for all intensive purposes, yet he couldn’t rid himself of his ill feeling. There was something about them, a fanatical loyalty that disconcerted him. He was safe enough, he was on their side, but instinct told him that they would do anything that their captain ordered with no questions asked. But he saw something more dangerous in them. Vas the eternal optimist could not see it; perhaps it was because Leoff recognised it in himself, the ability to kill, to kill without remorse or pity. But those men had crossed over a line in to a place Leoff feared.

As an officer Leoff was expected to join the host at his table. Fortnatly Leoff was naturally fairly neat and his clothing was in relatively good order so he wasn’t going to embarrass himself or his company. And his father had drilled good manners in to his son, so the young man had no worries on that account. Honestly Leoff would have preferred by far to share a simple meal with his men, joined in the bawdry talk, and listed to Vas playing his lute over a hearty pint of ale. Instead he was sat at a table, where the conversation was polite, artifical, and stilted, the food was over spiced, and Leoff had never been a fan of wine.

Still he endured the evening, even the way Lord Sindri’s daughter made cow eyes at him across the table. The half mask she wore obscured some of her face, and the bit on show was unremarkable, her hair was frizzy and dyed red, though it had faded to an unpleasant unnatural ginger, she was pigeon chested, gangly and awkward but all this didn’t matter, all that wouldn’t have mattered if she had been interesting to talk with. But Leoff had immediately taken her in to dislike when she had began to talk, the young woman had no conversation apart from her clothes, hair and gossip about other peoples clothes and hair. Worse her voice was nasal, and affected by a poor attempt at fashionable imperial drawl, on top of the she had a laugh like a braying donkey, else tittered like fool. Still one must never offend a lady, and he managed to hold some kind of conversation with her, even though it was about as pleasurable as a bad case of stomach ache.

Leoff had been trying to work out why they were here the whole meal. The captain had told him when issuing the brief that his company and the captain’s company would be accompanying Lord Terent to visit Lord Sindri in the Marchadians. The whole thing was suspicious, who took two full companies as an escort? Upon meeting the young nobleman Leoff’s suspicions were stilled for a while. First time that he laid eyes upon Terent he had his measure, the noble was dressed in a fine new set of armour, more fit for jousting then soldiering ,was just the kind of man to have an army accompany him just to boost his consequence. He was a grownup boy playing at soldiers, a general on a hobby horse. Vas had pointed out that he was probably just meeting friends, but when they arrived at the castle Leoff soon discovered that Lord Sindari was closer friends with Terent’s father, and Lord Sindari’s son was barely out of the nursery.

Leoff thought he had worked out Gaius’s plans, as he watched Captain Nader and his immediate second Lieutenant Dumas did their best to prevent Lord Terent Edouard undoing there good work, in recruiting support for an attack on Lord Darcia, without actually promising anything. Terent when drunk was not known for his reserve, and he was already deep in his cups. Leoff had within the space of half an hour heard all the noble’s grievances against lord Darcia, but chose to keep his own grievances to himself. The story hardly did the young noble credit, trying to rape one of Darcia’s servants, no wonder the duke had bull whipped him. The hazel eyed man was disgusted at how the red bearded lord Sindari sympathised with the young noble. He supposed that he shouldn’t have been surprised, Lady Sienna had treated him like a mere play thing, and tonight he learnt that many nobles shared similar views. Leoff’s only consolation during the evening was the knowledge (though unwittingly, and without consent) had cuckold the obnoxious noble man.

Lord Sindari was obviously very proud of his daughters. He kept watching Leoff like he was a dog who might steal meat from the table. His fears could not have been more misplaced as Leoff had no more intention of flirting with his daughter than he had of kissing a sow.

‘Portia my dear, will you sing for us my sweet?’ Lord Sindari asked his daughter.

‘Oh good gods no!’ Leoff thought, and he was not alone in this thought. Portia’s as yet un-corseted younger sister giggled in to her desert as her older sister began to sing. Or rather she murdered a song; her rendition was about as pleasant as nails on a board. But Lord Sindari looks as pleased as could be with it. Still wen she had done everyone as was polite clapped and congratulated her on her musical accomplishment. Finally the dinner over and Leoff could leve. There was something he wanted to ask his captain.

He caught up with Captain Nader on once of the spiralling stair cases. ‘Sir may I have a word?’

‘If its quick Lieutenant, has that brute if a horse lamed another?’ The captain demanded impatiently, gloves in one hand, a traval cloak slung over his shoulder.

‘No Sir not to my knowledge.’ Leoff liked his lips. ‘Sir, are we seeking to attack Lord Darcia?’

The captain looked at the young man as if he had never seen him before. He had promoted the young man for his skills, but seeing more of him he had began to discover there was much more to the young man. His master had been wise to send young Sheld to him. ‘I cannot as yet divulge such information to you.’

Leoff nodded, so it was a yes then. ‘Good.’

The captain was about to walk away, but he was interested in the young soldiers response. ‘Why are you so interested in Lord Darcia?’

‘I just don’t like him, he took something of mine.’ Leoff replied. The captain knew that was not the whole story, but he respected the young man’s natural reserve. He was a man that he knew he could put to further use; this revelation only confirmed his view.

Leoff returned to his barracks. Though that was a generous description, lean to tent against the wall was closer to the mark. The other men after the long ride here were already abed. Leoff settled himself down, hoping that the headache he had would go away. Perhaps it was because of his headache he herd the sound of muffled hoof beets. Instinct told him that this was something he was not supposed to see. Despite his size he could sneak I he needed to, right now he moved close enough to see the dark riders file quietly out of the sleeping castle and out in to the night for a detonation unknown. At the head of the group was Dumas his face grim. As they left Leoff felt a shiver go up his spine. But he knew better then to interfere; whatever they were up to he was better of knowing nothing about it.


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Daen danced about the bath room. She held her new dress against her body with one hand, and flared out the flowing skirt with the other, humming a tune to herself as she spun bare footed about the room, admiring the way the dress moved in the long mirrors. It had been a long time since she had been able to just be a girl. The new underwear had probably brought this on. Avis had waited until she had the young woman on her own to reveal the lacy, silky confections. As well as the dress Avis had made Daen a corset to go underneath, as well as matching knickers.

The blond woman urged Daen to try on her masterpiece right away. Helping her lace up the front of the corset with nimble fingers, both women giggled excitedly. And Daen pulled on her dress for a final fitting. She had to concede that Avis was a genius with a needle and thread, the gown fitted like a glove. Its lines were elegant, yet it clung to her showing off her corset improved assets. Even without make up, or with her hair undressed Daen had to admit in this dress she didn’t look half bad. And the thought pleased her.

And that was how Lord Darcia going for his own bath found her dancing around the bath’s atrium with her dress, wearing nothing but a pale mushroom, almost gold silk corset, and matching short like knickers under a half open bath robe. He lent against the door way for a moment to watch the young woman in all her glory. He would have laughed if she hadn’t looked so lovely.

Daen finally noticed her lord watching her. She came to a sudden ungraceful halt colour rose to her cheeks along with a stricken look. ‘Oh no, don’t stop.’ Darcia said coming over to her. He took the dress from her laying it on a table and before she could protest his lips captured hers. He pulled away and murmured, ‘Don’t ever stop.’

It was unfair how his kiss would leave her week and wanting. His blue eyes stared in to her own as he moved in closer once again. His heady sent rose up to her along with the water evaporating of his body. And she found her lips opening to meet his own. This time his tongue swept in to her mouth, tasting faintly of mint. Without knowing quite how he had managed to walk her back to the wall. She didn’t realise that they had been moving until her back was pressed up against something solid and cold, chilling her heated flesh.

Darcia was inflamed to see Daen so provocatively dressed. The silk corset nipped in her already hourglass waist, and lifted her breasts. The knickers style was demure, but the fact that they were made of silk and lace immediately made them sensual. The robe had come undone as he pressed her harder against the wall, but he was correct in thinking that the young woman was far from caring about that. The breathless kiss continued and Darcia’s hand ran up and down her waist, his touch felt feather light through the corset material, teasing.

His hands moved to cup her breast, needing it through the fabric until she gasped against his mouth. When she did he chuckled. ‘So responsive.’ When she opened her mouth to retort he kissed her hard, then sucked gently on her tongue, a reminder of just what he was capable of. The thought of his mouth there again made her knees buckle. ‘Steady.’ He murmured helping to hold her up. Her hand reached out to steady herself against him, lying on the junction of his neck and shoulder, his pulse raced under her hand. She clenched her hand, her nails scratching his skin slightly causing him to hum a moan slightly.

The sound made something feral rise up in her. A passion she did not understand, nor could control. Twining both arms around his neck, burying her hands in his lush ebony locks she sought his mouth again, and he willingly gave to her exactly what she wanted, and then some as he shifted to have his thigh between her legs pushing it up to rub against her core. Her eye cracked open to look at the open doorway, there was something furtive about this, like teenage lovers in secret, stealing kisses in dark corners. But all thoughts were swept away by the masterful massage of his tongue against hers.

His hand slid down her body, the lower it went the more she trembled in anticipation, her hips rocked against his leg, seeking more friction, seeking a way to end the growing need. ‘Patience my love.’ He teased her but bellied his words as he cupped his palm over her throbbing heat, rubbing gently, making her gasp at the contact. He watched as her eyes fluted closed, and her breasts flushed the colour of a rose petal. His eyes practically glowed in triumph. Although he enjoyed the feel of silk against his palm, silk that was swiftly becoming sodden with her arousal he desire to take this situation further.

His fingers slipped in to her knickers, and though he could have teased her, strung her out until she begged he decided to give way to her desire, time was of the essence in such a semi public place, but that just added to the excitement. Without preamble two strong digits found her slick opening and delved inside, seeking a soft spongy spot on her font wall with expert deftness, as his thumb caressed her practically pulsing nub.

Daen clung to him, gasping now; holding on to his solid frame was the only thing preventing her from falling to the ground. ‘It’s too much, it’s top much!’ She managed to pant out between shaking breaths.

‘No, it’s not.’ He whispered in her ear. His other hand slipped down to grasp her rear, kneading it over the silk. Sometimes his hand ran up to scratch his dull nails over her coccyx bone, taking advantage of all the nerves there. Pulling back a bit he pulled his own pants down. ‘Here, touch me to.’ He murmured, guiding her hand to his turgid flesh. She flinched away at first, but his strong fingers helped to guide her own soft hand. When her hand came in to contact with his skin he gasped. Despite the fact that she was near enough sedated by the waves of pleasure his caresses were inflicting upon her she herd his small noise of pleasure. Pleasure she was capable she realised of giving to him.

With that thought she took initiative and griped him from underneath, working his shaft up and down, noticing the softness of his skin, it was like velvet covered iron, only more pliant, flexible to a point. As she pumped harder growing in confidence, she felt the heat of her dark lord’s breath on her temple, its rhythm becoming more and more erratic, just as her own was.

‘Faster.’ He growled, burying his face in to her lavender scented hair. Daen complied, moving her hand over him with increasing speed, making sure she went right to the head of his swollen organ before descending too the very base. The last few weeks of tension had taken their tolls on the pair, and Darcia found himself spilling his seed in to the girl’s hand before he could stop himself. He came with a violence he only had experienced whit this young woman, a feeling that overtook him completely, blinding him, deafening him to all but her soft keening moans. To his credit his fingers did not fail in their rhythm bringing Daen to her shuddering completion only moments after he had his.

He kissed her again, his mind feverish still, yet he was not sated, not by a long way. He wanted to drag her back to the baths with him to finish what they had started. Daen was looking up at him with sparkling green eyes; eyes would happily lose his soul to. But before he could take action with his nefarious plan the echo of footsteps was herd in the hall way. Hastily Lord Darcia managed to close his pants and turn to meet the intruder.

‘My Lord, and Daen, a good evening to you.’ Came Timor’s cheerful voice, as he rounded the corner a towel under his arm. He looked from one to another. The woman’s hair was tousled, and her clothing in disarray. His lord’s fared little better. But unlike Veione Timor knew better than to ask if he was interrupting something when he knew most defiantly that he had. ‘I will go...’

‘No, no Timor.’ Daen laughed, high colour in her cheeks. ‘I was leaving anyway.’

The woman could not have left faster then if hounds of the seven hells were upon her heals. Daen’s heart was still hammering, and her legs still did not feal quite her own. Not fair in to her head long dash to get away from the embarrassing situation her legs gave in completely and she sank to the floor. On her hands was still drying her lord’s milky essence. It had been so hot, and she was fascinated how it pumped out to cover her fingers and palm rhythmic bursts. She looked at the hand that she had brought him to completion with. It was a strange sort of power that women had over men she thought.

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The burr village of Cyrch lay still and quiet nestled in the shadow of the southernmost mountain of the Marchadians, just before the they rose ever higher forming the barrier mountains, ever locked in snow and impassable even in the summer to the Meiw. The village had high earth ramparts topped with a stout log palisade like many of the burr’s. Within the village was much like any other, with small thatched stone cottages, pen and barns for animals, a mill, a grind stone, a smithy, and a tavern. Within its defences the fairly unimportant settlement had grown prosperous despite its isolation. And now despite the excitement of tomorrow’s revelry the villagers were all fast and slow asleep. The burly smith, the shepherds, the weavers, wife’s, brewers, and children all lay in the sound sleep in the early hours of the day before dawn broke and night stretched out as if it would go on forever.

Boughs of evergreen decorated every door way. Some of the children had even decorated the stable where the oxen now stood placidly chomping on hay drowsily unperturbed by the anticipation of the coming festivities. Within the nearest cottage a small girl had just dropped off to sleep, with thoughts of toffee apples, dancing, puppets, games, and the brightly embroidered skirt that her mother had been making for her were running riot in her little blond head. Her mother and father were also asleep; her little brother was asleep in the crib next to them, snugly wrapped up in sheep skin blankets.

In the coppice near to the village men waited. There faces were painted black with coal dust and grease, their leather armour too. The metal of their horses harness was wrapped in cloth, as were their hoofs muffling the jingle of metal and the clop of hoofs. Some had crossbows slung across their backs, some had axes in their hands, and many had swords. Their commander waved his hand forward and the raiding party moved off silently in to the starless, moonless night.

The palisade gate was open. The villagers did not fear attack when the snow still lay heavy on the ground. Hawthorn branches decorated the gate tower, the symbol for welcome, and celebration in the Marchadians. The men dismounted and slipped in to the unguarded village moving from house to house with efficiency and ruthlessness, silent as adders they slaughtered the sleeping villagers. Blades slit snoring thoughts before they could call for help; crossbow bolts pierced the hearts of unprepared innocents pinning their gasping bodies to their mattresses.

A dark coated collie woke at the sound of unfamiliar foot steps on the flagstones. When she did not recognise the sent she wined, her hackles rising. When the door opened she barked only to be stabbed for her futile efforts at warning her family as within seconds they lay dead or dying. As the assassins continued to cut a swathe through the rural community one of their number began to start fires, letting his torch lick oily flames up the thatch. When it did not catch easily he found jars of oil and alcohol to help matters along and soon orange flames licked up the roofs releasing dark clouds of dirty smoke up in to the air. The crackling and popping of the fire woke a few of those who had yet to be murdered in there beds. The acrid smell of the thick choking smoke that rolled over the thatch roofs stirred them from their houses, pulling on boots and cloaks hurriedly.

Village men and women shouted to each other, grabbing buckets to get water and start putting out the fires. As yet they did not realise that anything other than the fires might be wrong, as yet they did not wonder why their neighbours had not awoken to put out the blazes on their own houses. Distorted long shadows of men with swords passed across the wall of one of the houses illuminated by the orange flames but too preoccupied with the house fires the villagers did no notice.

The sandy haired mother woke her young daughter. ‘Cira, Cira, wake up.’
The young girl looked around sleepily, not truly awake, her mother bundled her up in a sheep skin and steered her across the frozen ground to the small stable where a few early lambers were kept out of the cold. The small blond girl began to sob, only just six, her rest disturbed and confused she sensed something was wrong but knew not what. Her business like mother handed Cira her baby brother and sternly told her to mind him. She had decided to put her children amongst the ewes and lambs for safety. The small shelter was the only one with a slate roof, and so even if their cottage caught fire they would be unharmed. The dryness of the winter ment that the thatch once alight would burn like summer shrub and the houses built as close as clumps of mushrooms would allow the fire to hop from roof to roof if unchecked. Cira’s mother wanted to be able to help and not have to be constantly worrying about the safety of her infants.

Cira still sobbed as her mother left her in the door way, a tatty woollen shawl warped about her shoulders, and her long plat coming lose. The little girl did not know that it would be the last time that she saw her mother alive. Her mother closed the small door, lest the sheep get out, and the draughts get in. Inside the small stone built shed it was warm, straw on the floor stopped the chill of the ground, and the body heat of the animals helped. Cira soon sank down in a corner to wait for her mothers return, her baby brother placed on her nap, somehow he was still asleep. The little girl could hear shouts, the raised voice of her father and mother in and amongst the other villagers raised voices. The smell of smoke was even permeating the shed, over the smell of sheep, hay and straw. It made her uneasy, as did the new tone in the shouts, a tone she had never in her short sheltered life heard before, but knew instinctively to be cry’s of mortal panic.

The small blond girl clutched her brother closer. Closing her eyes tight shut, if she could not see the nameless horrors that could make her father cry out in horror, then perhaps they would not see her, perhaps they did not exist and if she slipped back to sleep it would prove to be noting but a nightmare. There was the scuff of footsteps outside, not the soft, small tread of her mother coming to get her. Nor was it the rolling, ground covering step of her shepherd father. No it was persons quite unknown, ferm strides with brisk purpose. The Meiw, it had to be the Meiw, like her parents had told her, they came in the night attacking anyone stupid enough to caught outside a burr; but everyone knew they did not come until the snow melted in the passes. Yet what else could it be. The ewes disturbed first by her mother, and now hearing another’s approach got up excitedly hoping for feed blocking the girls view of the door.

A torch was thrust through the door, and dark figures stood in the door way, black faces with glaring white eyes. Cira sank down further in to the straw so that she could only peep through the milling sheep’s legs. They spoke in an unknown language that sounded horrible and twisted to her ears. She could see their boots, and the flash of a blade, a drop of blood fell to the straw.

The two men looked in the small out house, they searched for any survivors. There were to be no witnesses to the slaughter. No one was to be left alive. It didn’t look like there was any one in this small shed, just some sheep. They turned from shed, leaving the door open, and left unknowingly leaving the cowering girl who was hidden by the sheep shin blanket and her infant brother. As stealthy as they had come the raiders left like fog passing. Behind them thick plumes of smoke rose in to the sky, a sky line that was red with fire, long before dawn was ready to rise.

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a/n; Thank you for the continued support, Kynrael, and Luinil_Telcontar, its grate to know that you are still enjoying it!

Solitude, thank you for writing such a detailed review, I will try to address what questions i can without spoiling any plot twists in the future and hopefully this chapter has cleared up some of the mystery surrounding Darcia’s mother.

So on to question two, i probably didn’t make as much of this as I should have, but close to the beginning, Leoff explains that he left Nheim with his father who became an imperial mercenary after his mother’s death when he was just an infant. So he was brought up not as a Nhemian, but as an imperial. Daen and Leoff are close, but they spent a large part of their life’s apart, and Daen has already told Leoff not to follow her thinking he might actually obey her (she should have known better). As for why she did this, that’s coming up soon.

Now the big question over Vas and Leoff, I’m keeping that a deathly secret. It’s defiantly not going to be a cliché that is all I will say on the matter.