At Night the Moon Can Guide Me

If Kai had come to any determination about Aya, he gave no sign that night. After his exit, Aya sat at the window for a while, scrying the irregular shapes of thawing snow, before eventually drawing the curtains and going to bed. She half-expected to hear the doorknob turn sometime in the hours before dawn, when reticence is forgotten and baser urges prevail, but it did not. That would come later, when Cynthia came in to dust and woke Aya with a shriek that was immediately returned. Cynthia nearly sprinted from the room, frantically calling “Seigneur? Seigneur!?” It occurred to Aya- much later, once she got her heartbeat under control again- that a question which had not even come to her mind previously had been answered.

After a proper introduction to Cynthia (who, Aya found, was a very sweet young woman who with her sister had served in the keep for several years and was most certainly not in the habit of screaming at guests, she claimed in a profuse, nearly ceaseless apology,) Aya probed.

“She didn’t know you were bringing anyone home?”

“No.”

“You didn’t plan to buy a slave, did you?”

“No. I didn’t.”

“You spent thirteen thousand crowns on a woman without a plan?”

“Yes.”

She looked at him, mouth agape. “Why?”

His mouth twisted for a moment, as though considering it himself for the first time. One halting attempt at a response terminated, and then a shrug: “I wanted you.”

Attempts to clarify his expectations of her over the next few days didn’t encounter resistance so much as befuddlement. Kai seemed perplexed when she asked what her duties were, as though he’d never considered it; when asked if she was allowed to walk the grounds, he wondered aloud, “Why wouldn’t you?” He didn’t seem to be evading her questions; he was failing to understand them entirely, and when he wasn’t doing that, he was out in the city engaged in some sort of knightly duties that he grumbled about loudly but never meaningfully explained. It came to a head the third day after she arrived. Once Sarah scuttled away after breakfast was cleaned up, Kai grabbed his cloak and stalked off to his desk, fingers dancing across scrolls and letters and other missives. “I’ll be out.”

“Where this time?” She asked, standing from the table, approaching him as though a better look at him might yield some clue he refused to provide of his own accord.

“In town. Have some paperwork to take care of.” He frowned, digging around for some missing document.

Despite his distraction, she drifted into his field of view, leaning on the desk. “Would you like to be more specific with your… guest?” That word- “guest”- was how he had explained her to Cynthia and Sarah, who accepted the description with studied politeness and obvious skepticism. Accordingly, that’s how she was treated: as a guest, with politeness and skepticism. She had spoken to the maids on a few occasions, and heard them whispering amongst themselves a few others, and while they were gracious and pleasant hosts, they seemed as confused by Aya’s presence here as she was of her own.

He finally met her gaze. “Do you really want to hear about court business?”

She stared at him, amazed. “Yes! I would like to hear about anything, Kai! What am I supposed to do, hmm? Lay around? Ornament your furniture?”

“You can do whatever you like. I haven’t stopped you, have I?”

“No. You’ve barely spoken to me. Why are you avoiding me? Am I not as exciting as you thought?”

He sighed. “I haven’t been avoiding you, I-” He stopped for a moment, considering the paperwork under his hands. “Here.” From a drawer he pulled a map of the Empire de Luçon and spread it out loosely across the scrolls littering his desk. “How much do you know about the Imperial knights?

 She shook her head. “Almost nothing.”

“That’s fine,” he said, gesturing around the map. “There’s sixty of us, spread out across the Empire. Twelve per province, scattered throughout. We’re here, of course,” he said, pointing to Leil la Mar, stretching down much of the east coast of the continent, longer than it was wide. “Four of us are here in the capital. The other eight are spread out through the south of the province. Often moving around on court business.” He ran his fingers across the small pile of scrolls. “In a few months, Duke Albrecht will be celebrating his eighty-fifth birthday. It is my responsibility to handle the correspondence with the Imperial knights in order to plan attendance.”

“The knights from Leil la Mar, you mean?”

He looked at her balefully. “No.”

She stifled a laugh, reddening as she looked at his impassive, resentful face. “I’m sorry. Sixty? All sixty?”

“All sixty. Almost none from outside the province will attend, but documenting their invitation and subsequent response is…” He finished through gritted teeth. “Essential to the wellbeing of the Empire. Or so I’ve been told.”

A giggle leaked out. “Is this what you do? Are you the knight who plans parties?”

He glowered. “In this case, apparently so.”

“I’m sorry. That sounds terrible.” Her voice was sympathetic but still not entirely unamused. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “No…” He looked at her apologetically. “Well, your part will come. You’ll need to attend the function with me. For the bare minimum amount of time socially acceptable before we make our escape. We’ll need to get you a gown sometime soon.”

She was taken aback. “Me? What? Why would you need me there?”

“Because I have been repeatedly told that attending without a companion is embarrassing the court. Don’t ask me why. Every time I think I’ve learned the etiquette I’m informed of yet another grand humiliation I’ve apparently subjected my superiors to. I’d like one less reason for them to dislike me.”

“How many do they have now?”

“Plenty.”

“And this-” she pointed at her collar- “is better than going alone?”

“I am convinced at this point that bringing a horse would be better than going alone and I’ve run out of old friends who would suffer for my sake.”

She closed her eyes for a moment and huffed out a breath. “Fine. I’ll help you. But you need to help me.” She fixed her gaze back on Kai. “You bought me. I’m here. I can’t sit around here all day, away from everything.” She frowned. “I didn’t spend forty years in a pretty dress waiting for you. I worked, I had friends, I took care of my sisters, I…” She trailed off.

“The forge?”

She nodded. She’d told her story- an abridged version, at least- over dinner the night before in response to one of Kai’s halting, tentative attempts at conversation. She had appreciated the effort even if the execution left something to be desired. “It was in the blood for… maybe ten generations. Since the north, anyway, or so they told me.”

“Long time.”

“I swung the hammer from the moment I was old enough to hold it without falling over. I’ve always worked. We’re not like you, you know. We live where we work. The forge was my home.”

“What did you make?”

“What do you need? All the pretty things, of course. The nobles want their fancy swords to wear at balls and never use. Armor. All those streetlamps in Marika- not from my shop, but my village.” She shrugged. “Silly, but fun to make. But I liked making simple things, too. Things for the village. Buckets, tools, horseshoes. Something you make and you see used to make something else. The things you make live and breathe out there in the world.”

And she was smiling.

Kai looked at her for a moment, then took her by the hand. “Come. Let’s meet Roger.”

~

Roger had, in a sense, been inherited with Direwind Keep. Unlike Cynthia and Sarah who had been taken on shortly after Kai arrived, Roger had been on the grounds already- maybe since the beginning of time. Roger had attributed his longevity to a regular regimen of pipe tobacco and evening constitutionals (themselves also featuring his endless puffing.) He was more gnarl than man. Kai had ventured a few times to ask him his exact age, to which Roger always responded with some absurd analogy: that he was older than fire, that he was Kai’s long-lost great-great-grandfather, that he had fought in the Night Wars. Impossible, surely, but sometimes he wondered if this grotesque stump of a creature harbored some secret power gathered through rituals of smoke and spite.

His official title was “groundskeeper,” though there were barely grounds to keep. He was at this point something more akin to a garden hermit moonlighting as a part-time handyman. He tended to the horses, mostly (a vast stable of two of the world’s most underwhelming nags,) looked after the property (which had, Kai admitted, never burned down under his careful oversight,) and largely kept to himself. When he first took possession of the keep, Kai had felt it appropriate to make overtures to Roger- inviting him to have dinner with him in the keep, visiting his shack, consulting him on questions regarding repairs he already knew the answers to- but over time they had settled into a largely companionable silence. He checked in on the old man a couple times a week if he hadn’t seen him puttering around, Roger usually responding mockingly. “You’re not rid of me yet, m’lord!” He would cackle through his plume of smoke. Kai wouldn’t die for the man, but he’d probably kill for him.

As the pair approached the old man’s shack- Aya preferred, generously, to think of it as a cottage, or even a tiny village with its cluster of outbuildings- they could hear a collection of loudly grumbled, wheezing curses and complaints coming from the stables next to Roger’s home. “Perfect, he’s not out carousing Marika today,” Kai said. Roger stumped out of the stables, pipe between his teeth, catching Kai’s eye and bellowing his favorite greeting: “Whaddayawan?!”

Aya was tall- tall enough to look down at most- but she was still a little shocked at just how gnomelike and hunched Roger was, the crown of his head barely reaching her sternum, and he gazed up at her with a curmudgeonly suspicion. “Roger, this is my friend, Aya. She’ll be staying with us for the time being,” Kai said. When she extended her hand to him, his eyes flickered down to it, back to her face, and finally to Kai. “Yeah? And what do I need some big elf girl around for?” Aya’s eyes narrowed at him and his narrowed back. Finally, a worthy adversary.

“Aya worked the fire in her village for years, and I knew that you were planning to reshoe Butterbean sometime this week. I figured she might be able to help. She said repeatedly that she could work steel better than any ‘human pig’- her words, of course, not mine- and was eager to prove it. I’m off to Marika- Butterbean thanks you both for your service.”

As Kai strolled off, Aya’s eyes followed him, her face aghast, before slowly, dreadfully turning back to Roger. His gaze was cold, teeth working at the stem of his pipe, smoke periodically drilling out from his nostrils like a contemptuous dragon. “What does some knife-ear girl know about the forge, hmm?”

Her voice bristled and hissed. “I’m not a girl, moguz.”

“A babe! Barely off her mother’s tit!” He worked the pipe across his mouth so he could spit from the side it once occupied. “Wet behind the ears! Some child spends a decade or two at the anvil and thinks she’s a master!” He craned his neck back absurdly to stare her in the eyes. “You think you can walk up to me with your magic and your fancy ears and reshoe Butterbean? THE Butterbean? The champion, Butterbean?”

“The champion?” She echoed. “What has she won?”

“My affection! Which is more than you have!” He removed his pipe only to gesture to the workshop next to the stable, its tiny forge glowing with an equally tiny flame. “Well? C’mon, girl! You were so confident with m’lord! Think you can handle some horseshoes without burning the shop down?”

She could, it turned out- another four perfect horseshoes of the hundreds, maybe even thousands she had made over the course of her life. Roger seemed resentful at the perfection of the fit as he reshoed the chestnut mare. And then it was on to nails- just to test her. And then somehow those nails were clenched between her lips as she climbed up to the roof- Roger insisted that a real master of the forge knew how to use the tools she made, and for a girl like her to not know the pleasure of patching a leaky roof was a travesty, sure to leave her skills perpetually incomplete. And then it was on to the moonshine that Roger had squirreled away, produced in his own crude but effective still- it was necessary, Roger said, for Aya to know what a real drink tasted like, insisting on the inadequacy of “pathetic knife-ear liquors.” By the time Kai returned to the keep, he could hear their tipsy giggles- Aya’s light and musical, Roger’s hoarse and wheezing- as she taught him Elven swear words, laughing every time he claimed to have invented one.

It was the first time since she had arrived that she had felt a part of the goings-on of the household, rather than someone merely occupying an uncomfortable place in an unfamiliar home. Roger had helpfully discovered a range of tasks for her to assist with- to impart a small fraction of his lifetime of wisdom and skill, he claimed- and she pounced on them with an enthusiasm that surprised even herself. She never thought replacing a door hinge would become a highlight of her day, but in comparison to the stultifying sense of decay she had felt since the seizure of her forge, it was like sudden rain after a merciless drought. Sometimes, Kai would come and watch with amusement as the two traded barbs while Aya worked, tong-hand awkward in Roger’s too-large glove. And with that new involvement came a sudden easing of tension. Kai’s constant trips to Marika slowed, his business under control- or, perhaps, his need to escape the watchful, anxious eye of Aya had receded. Slowly, he spoke to her more, smiled more often, and gradually a picture of the strange knight emerged in her mind.

~

Quickly, Cynthia and Sarah warmed to her, letting her in on gossip about people from the city who she knew nothing about but was happy to comment on. They even let her help cook- something she had asked about early on in her stay, but was politely denied with explanations that it would be dreadfully inappropriate for a guest to be involved. This was, of course, a lie- with her newfound position as Roger’s right-hand elf, the girls’ formality evaporated along with the pretense of her stay. Their distance belied a powerful curiosity and an equally powerful ability to ignore any and all social boundaries with their new friend. A few days into her time as Roger’s assistant, they cornered her in the kitchen.

“How much did he pay for you? I bet you were expensive.”

“What was the auction like?”

“Do elves really live in trees?”

“It’s caves, stupid, they’re from up north!”

“But Aya’s not from up north!”

“And she doesn’t live in a tree!”

“She doesn’t live in a cave, either!”

Many of Aya’s conversations with the pair- if you could call them that- consisted of the twins peppering her with questions ranging from banal to shocking, periodically breaking off from their interrogation to argue about the questions themselves. Cynthia, the older of the two by nineteen minutes and thus the wiser and more mature of the pair (as she constantly reminded Sarah and Aya,) turned back to her. “Did you know Kai before he- well, you know?”

She shook her head. “No. I never knew him. I don’t know him very well now.”

Sarah was chopping herbs for dinner, her voice blending with the rhythmic click of the knife. “Were you expensive? I bet you were expensive.”

“I- I don’t know how much-”

“Is this something elves do a lot? I don’t know very much about it. Slaves, I mean. How did you end up there?” Cynthia liked to interrupt.

Aya frowned. “I don’t know if alamdar do it any more than-”

Sarah popped her head around the side of Cynthia. “Do you like him?”

“Sarah!” Cynthia admonished before turning back to Aya. “Well? Do you?”

“I think he’s… very nice?”

“Not like that!” Sarah whined. “You know how I mean! Like that. Oh! Have you- well, have you-”

“The two of you?” Cynthia added helpfully.

Aya blanched. “I’m going for a walk.” The kitchen, mercifully, contained the back door of the keep, which she briskly slipped out of to a chorus of protests behind her. Briefly, she braced herself against the door, closing her eyes, repeatedly reminding herself how kind the girls really were. And loud.

While the keep had begun to feel familiar, the landscape still did not, its sharp stones and strange dips and rises across the hillsides resisting memorization against the endless, rolling grasslands and shale. The openness of the country unnerved her a little, so unlike the densely forested and expressly flat country of eastern Besch Foret. Even Marika felt more comfortable, its tight streets and tall buildings serving much the same function as the thickly knotted oaks and elms of home. This place, though, provided no such cover, and whenever outside, a little too far from the keep, she felt anxious and exposed, as though Direwind’s aura of stubborn sturdiness and reliability extended no further than a hundred paces from its walls. This country, it seemed, had been generated out of material more protean and less definite than the world around it.

She wandered aimlessly around the side of the keep, considering visiting Roger, when a strange scraping noise further afield drew her attention, repetitive and metallic. The strange rasp increased in volume as she moved toward it, spare and rhythmic, like some sort of primitive machine. After a few moments of trailing the noise, she found herself at one of the short, steep drops, finding Kai at the bottom. He was posed in front of a dummy he had erected on a stake, a stumpy, armored torso and helmeted head. Another grinding, scraping shhhk- the sound, apparently, was Kai springing forward from a low stance, dagger in hand, stepping three paces forward and driving it into the thin slit between helmet and breastplate. He changed the angle, repeating the motion, more to the dummy’s side this time, with another high whine of steel against steel emerging.

“Do you have much cause for that while doing paperwork?” She called to him, approaching and taking a seat at the top of the tiny shale cliff overlooking him.

He glanced at her, then drove into the dummy again, this time nearly behind it- shhhk. “Not as much as I’d like.”

“I thought knights fought with swords.”

“We do.” Another thrust, this time right into the dummy’s hypothetical spine. “But a knife has done me more good over the years. The sword creates the opening. The dagger does the work.” He tugged at the fabric of his high-collared shirt, sweat beading his face. “Was never much for a longsword anyway. When I was drafted I was too scrawny to do much with one. They handed me the baselard, told me I’d grow into the real thing. I didn’t.”

She frowned. “Too scrawny? How old were you?”

“Fifteen.”

He picked up the dagger and sheathed it and took the handful of high, digging steps to half-climb the small shale cliff, sitting down next to her before fully reclining onto the grass. He turned his head to look at her. A small, sharp canine worried her lip, her hands a tight ball in her lap.

“Were you frightened?”

“No. I was too stupid to be frightened. Just another Besch Foret farm boy fed to the north. I probably would have joined willingly when I came of age the next year. But they needed bodies then. Weren’t asking many questions. They mostly just pointed and you went with them.”

Her ears perked up. “You are from Besch Foret also? Were you-”

“No, not near you. Much farther inland. A nowhere place called Oniontown.”

“What was there?”

“Onions, mostly.”

“And you farmed…”

“Mmhmm. And cabbages. No livestock. Not enough money for that. And not enough hands. I was the only child my mother brought to term. Just the three of us in the onion fields. You can imagine the battlefield sounded like an improvement.”

“And your family? Where are they now?”

“Gone. While I was on campaign.”

Slowly, her hands untangled and one found his in the grass. “I’m sorry.”

He felt her warmth and held her hand and thought of his mother at the stove and the evening where he saw his father drunk and sobbing in the marsh. “It’s fine. A long time ago. By the time I was told, it had already been two years. Couldn’t afford the men and the time to take messages that far north. The grieving had been done without me.” And the dirt floor and the endless draft of cold and the water carried from the thin trickle they called a stream two miles from the shack. Three times per day. The voluminous clouds of flies over the fields in the summer, breath hissed through teeth to prevent their entry.

“Did you ever go back?”

He laughed. “No. I’ve never been back. And I don’t plan to go.” He looked at her and her expression was sad and lonely in a way he would not or could not allow inside him, and he sat up, gesturing grandly at the strange plains before them. “But maybe I should stick to my roots. What do you think? Onions, as far as the eye can see.”

She laughed softly, a hairline fracture in her voice. “Perfect. That’s how you can make your money back. Put me to work in the fields.”

“Day and night! They need more tending than you’d think. Of course, grading the land would cost, who knows, twenty thousand? But we’re building a business here. Perhaps we can plant around the stones?”

“No grading. Just plant them across the cliffs. Like a smelly vineyard.”

“Ah, yes, we terrace the onions. I knew I bought you for a reason.” He smiled at her, for the first time since the auction as warmly as he did there. “Gaze upon my lands, Aya. I was born a farmer. Maybe, if I’m lucky, I can die as one, too.”

~

It was only once the carriage halted in Marika that it occurred to Aya that it had been ten days since she had left the city. The hypnotic landscape around the keep had a way of making time feel nearly motionless, the slowly dissolving snow- now mere traces of white across the grasslands- the only marker of the passage of time. When Aya asked Kai if she might accompany him into the city while he tended to court business, he agreed more readily than she had anticipated, as though the opportunity had been available from the start. This time, though, Kai had already planned to bring her along; while he had some inscrutable bureaucratic matter to deal with (this time so boring and obscure she waved him off halfway through his explanation,) there was also the matter of a gown.

“Wouldn’t my auction dress work?”

“Wait, you still have that?”

Aya grinned at him impishly, their boots clicking nearly in time with each other against the cobblestones. “Roland never told me to give it back. He said nothing when I changed after the auction. As far as I’m concerned, it was a gift.”

He barked out a laugh, impressed. “Well, as lovely as you looked in it, it might be a bit much for a court function. Maybe something a little less…”

“Whorish?”

“Your word, not mine.”

“It’s the right word. It’s whorish. That’s why it worked on you.” She smiled teasingly at him. Her current dress- a light, floral shirt dress in gentle celebration of the quickly warming spring- was perfectly demure, but swished playfully around her legs, and she had caught Kai glancing a few times already.

He huffed out a breath in protest. “It’s not whorish. It’s…” He thought for a moment. “I can’t think of the right word. But it was charming regardless.”

Rounding a corner, Aya gasped at an explosion of color. Seamstress Row, as the street was known, was a riot of stalls and larger shops, glass windows alight with finished garments and bolts of bright fabric from Vilienne. Local styles- the drab grey and black cloaks and leather vests of Leil la Mar were overcome by the outrageous Viliennese silks and sumptuous furs from Brume d’Collane. Some enterprising elves had even struck gold with fashion in the style of their own colorful, patterned dance dresses, billowing robes, and ornately crafted hairpins. Scattered amongst these were vendors with smaller stalls: jewelry, ladies’ handbags, hats with flowers and songbird feathers imported from the south. Aya felt a soft tug at her wrist- Kai asking her to follow as she’d stopped dead in the middle of the street. She allowed herself to be led through the tight corridors of stalls and bodies, her eyes drawn impulsively to one trinket before falling victim to another.

Kai’s grip on her was gentle but insistent, and he didn’t look back as he weaved through the crowds, slipping one way or another past jostling shoulders and swinging bags. Aya felt comparatively graceless, mumbling apologies for stepped-on toes and errant elbows as he pulled her toward a nearly invisible gap between two jewelry stalls. A few stone steps led upward to one of the proper shops on the street, the painted sign reading Vanas et Fereaux with an illustration of a preening cat wearing a crown. Kai pressed the door in, bells jangling in alert, and as Aya gawked at the mannequins around her, a voice arose from the back of the shop. “Welcome in! How may I- Captain!”

“I don’t work for a living anymore, Emma. It’s just Kai.” A small, sprightly blonde dashed out of the back room and hugged him around the middle affectionately. He returned it, ruffling her hair briefly before looking to Aya.  “Aya, this is Emma. She’s an old friend. Emma, this is Aya. She’s a new friend.” Emma broke off from Kai to look up at Aya, her hand shooting forward. Despite the elaborate displays around her, Emma was dressed in breeches and a simple linen shirt, more like a dockworker than a seamstress. Aya shook her hand in greeting, Emma beaming up at her before looking at Kai. “Am I working with your lady today?” She stepped back, looking her up and down, mumbling to herself. “Oh my, we’re gonna need a lot of fabric…”

“Unless you want to come to a court function with me again, yes. I need your help.”

Emma nearly retched at the suggestion. “No, absolutely not- after the solstice ball? After that one idiot-”

“Frederick.”

“Whoever he was- after he spilled rum all over me? All over the dress I made-”

“It was lovely and I’m very sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize! He does! Do you know how long it took to make the snowflakes-” She paused and looked at Aya. “I’m sorry, I’m sure you’ll have a great time, I just-”

“You don’t have to lie to her. She knows the score.”

“I hate them,” Emma hissed.

Aya giggled at the small woman’s ferocity, looking around the shop. Emma traded in elaborate, almost costume-like designs, most destined for court appearances. A display of bejeweled masquerade masks in various glimmering colors caught her eye; near them, a long, shimmering, nearly liquid silver dress’s skirt pooled delicately around the feet of its mannequin. Aya reached out, her fingertips nearly brushing the fabric before stalling in the air. “These are all very beautiful,” she said. “You make all these yourself?”

Emma walked over. “You can touch it. It’s not made of glass. It just looks like it. And yes. Everything on display is mine.” The hint of arrogance in her voice was deserved.

Aya brushed the skirt of the silver dress and marveled at the gossamer-thin softness that danced against the lamplight, but strangely, a kind of soft undulation, as though the passage of light across its surface moved a little slower than it should. “You like that?” Emma asked. “You don’t want to know how much the enchantment cost. But I think the result was worth it.”

“It was,” Aya replied, transfixed. “Could I… wear something like this?”

“Like that? No. Not today, anyway. That took months to put together. Custom work for a count’s slave. But I think we can find something very beautiful for you.” Emma looked back at Kai. “Assuming that’s what you want?”

“It’s the duke’s birthday.”

“Ah, another one. You’ll see three other designs of mine there. Probably more by the time it comes around.”

“Then you’ll know what to do. Keep it in line with what you’ve been doing. She won’t need much help to make an impression.” Aya smiled. “I’ve got some work to take care of. Should be back in the afternoon. Can you take care of her?” Kai asked.

“Get out of here, Captain. She’s in good hands.”

As Kai left, Emma turned back to Aya, squaring her up in her vision, hands sweeping in small, cutting gestures across her silhouette. She stalked around the woman, examining her from every angle, Aya feeling suddenly self-conscious under the burning, if friendly, gaze. Emma scuttled to a rack of dresses toward the back of the store, near her office, fingers dancing between bright plumes of silk and satin before diving deep between two deep blue gowns to seize something triumphantly: “Got it!”

Emma turned back to Aya with the dress in hand and Aya could feel her throat swell and her hands bolt to cover her heart. “We’ll need to let it out a little, of course, but I think this will certainly impress,” Emma said. Aya nodded furiously and silently.

Emma beamed. “You like it?” Aya nodded vehemently again.

“What about shoes? I think you need the right shoes for something like this.”

Aya’s voice was barely a squeak. “I like shoes.”

~

Despite Emma’s claims that there wasn’t enough time for much more than basic alterations, the sheer speed of her work claimed otherwise. Aya gave up on tracking Emma’s intent as she let out seams and made thin cuts into the flowering, seemingly endless layers of red, reshaping it around the taller woman’s body. She needed a stepstool to adjust Aya’s neckline (“Unless you’d prefer I climb you,” she teased,) and Aya giggled as Emma tried to convince her to reveal more and more: “Come on, girl, if I had what you do, I’d want to show it off!”

Aya developed a quick fondness for the small woman despite her lingering fear of the poke of a needle that never seemed to come. “You knew Kai in the army?”

“Yep!” She replied through a mouthful of pins. “He was my commander for two years in Aureaux. We stayed in touch after my term ended and I came back to Marika.” She pinned two layers of flowing skirt together, looking up at Aya. “He did well by me. Made me a lancer. Said I was too small to fight without a horse under me,” she grinned.

“Were you with him in Sumyr?”

“Oh, no, that was years before we met, and I never went that far north. Thank God. By the time he led my company, he was already knighted.”

“What happened there? In Sumyr. No one has really told me.”

Emma furrowed her brow, surprised. “Really? I was sure an elf would know.” She busied her fingers again. “Sumyr was a little village far to the north. Far past Aureaux. This is back when the war was hotter, maybe… fifteen years ago? Around there. Anyway, Sumyr was overrun by ziyan- or maybe Kai’s company was there already and it was more of a siege- I don’t know every detail. Kai didn’t talk about it much. It was only him and a few others that made it out. But after that, we rallied, started pushing the ziyan further back- I can’t say it was because of Sumyr, exactly, but it feels right to say.” She grinned up at Aya. “Your owner is a war hero. Not bad, right?”

“Oh. I didn’t realize he was-”

“Famous? Important? Well, he’ll deny it all if you ask him. He never enjoyed the attention. I was his lady-at-arms for the last six months of my time and he never mentioned it once.”

“Lady-at-arms?”

“Oh, something like an assistant. I took care of his arms and armor, accompanied him at campaign meetings, that sort of thing. We shared a tent for a long while but he never told me any war stories.”

Aya looked down at the woman questioningly. “Oh. I didn’t know.” She was suddenly unsure of what to do with her hands. “Did you ever…” She left it open to interpretation. Emma’s hands stilled for a moment, then continued, her face now possessed by a gentle blush.

“...Would you be upset if I said yes? For a little while. It gets cold up north.” She looked up almost apologetically. “There’s nothing like that going on anymore. We’re just old friends. I don’t mean to-”

Aya waved her hands a bit more intensely than intended. “Oh no, it’s fine, we’re not-”

“I don’t want you to think that-”

“No, no, it’s perfectly fine, I’m not- it’s okay. I understand,” she said with a smile and a laugh at the absurdity of the notion that she would be even slightly upset by the revelation, that there would be any part of her pinpricked by the barest touch of jealousy, which there was none of because its presence would be so absolutely ludicrous for Emma or anyone else to even begin to imagine that the whole train of thought was silly and implausible, really, so she could stop thinking about it right now and there was no need to turn it over in her head repeatedly whatsoever.

Emma smiled shyly up at her. “Thank you. He’s a good man. Of all the homes you could have ended up in, his is a good one. He’s been treating you well?”

“Yes, he’s been very kind.”

“That sounds like the man I know.” She pulled her needle free on a final stitch, clipped the loose thread, and stood up, looking at her from head to toe, gently turning Aya to look in the mirror. “What do you think?” Aya could only blush before she heard the jangle of the bell at the door. Emma peeked her head out of the curtain. “Perfect timing, but no looking! It’s bad luck!”

“Bad luck?” Aya heard Kai’s voice trickle in from outside the private dressing room. “I don’t get to see what I’m paying for?”

“What the court’s paying for, you mean?” Kai protested momentarily but Emma interrupted. “Kai, every other dress I’ve sold for this party has been invoiced to the state. Don’t pay for these fucking things. They don’t deserve your money.”

Kai eventually acquiesced, filling out the billing information as Aya changed back into her own dress, the red gown safely stowed in a leather handbag which Emma- very kindly, Aya reminded herself- had given to her for free. As they moved to leave, Kai and Emma chatted at the doorway for a moment, exchanging promises to have lunch together sometime soon, concluding with Kai placing a kiss on Emma’s cheek- presented, Aya would say, like a cat seeking a stroking hand, which is certainly nothing unusual, and Kai was perfectly polite, and she did not feel any simmering resentment at all.

Returning to the carriage, Aya took her seat across from Kai without a huff. He smiled at her. “I assume everything went well? Did Emma take care of you?”

“Yes, she was very kind. And the dress is beautiful.”

“She’s a sweet woman. I’m very fond of her. I’m glad it all went well.” For no reason at all, Aya’s hands tightened into fists in her lap. “Oh, I almost forgot. Here. A gift. Just something I saw on the Row.” He handed a small, soft paper package to her, which she accepted, drawing the string before tearing through the paper- she’d never been one to neatly unwrap presents. Digging in, her hands found two soft but sturdy black leather gloves. Finely made, but practical- for work, not decoration.

“I don’t like you using Roger’s glove at the forge. I know you know what you’re doing, but I’d rather you be safe. Less chance of dropping anything on your foot this way.” He smiled at her hopefully. “I had to guess, but I think they should fit better.”

She slipped her hand inside one and it was perfect. She held her hand up and his smile broadened and she felt a droplet of something new ripple warmly through her belly, stretching out, running down into her fingers and toes. The tension inspired by Emma- which did not exist, of course- was not-replaced by something stronger and hungrier. She turned the other glove over in her hand- soft and supple but strong, just as she would have chosen- before removing the first and placing them gently into the bag at her side. She looked at him and saw his pride at choosing correctly and she straightened her posture, crossing her legs, allowing the hem of her dress to ride up. “They’re very lovely. Perfect for my work. Thank you.” Her returning smile was warm and something else. “And yes, Emma was very sweet. But I disagree with her. I think you should get to see what you bought.”

He arched his brow slightly. “Do you, now?”

She switched her legs, revealing a long expanse of thigh. “Of course. You made a major purchase. It’s only fair.”

He laughed softly. “Well, as she said, I didn’t really buy it.”

She looked at him, still smiling, but with a new flame in her hooded eyes. “Well, perhaps not the dress.”

~

Aya was struck with a sense of deja vu as they returned to the keep, the sun having sunk below the horizon with an overcast night sky, the clouds rendering the moon’s light filmy and soft across the grounds. Again, a dim light from the fire in the windows; again, the sense of isolation. But this time, not so lonely as private; the stone of the old fort seeming sturdy and inviting, not quite as impassive and cold as her first impression. The living room, too, felt more intimate and cozy than before, its dark hued furniture and clutter of books sumptuous and decadent. For the first time, it felt like her own territory in which to prowl.

“Wait for me,” she said, making her way to the staircase as Kai shrugged off his cloak wordlessly. He had also felt the sense of steps being retraced, and he allowed those steps to carry him, pouring another two glasses of the d’Collanian brandy from the first night, bringing them to the table by the couch, and then shrugging and bringing the bottle as well. He settled onto the couch- as much as he could settle, anyway, forcing his back to the cushions as though it would force him to relax- and sipped his brandy. A violation of the reenactment of Aya’s first night without the toast, but he could be forgiven. He needed the drink more. The soft sound of feet padding upstairs inspired another, longer sip followed by a hasty refill, his glass set next to Aya’s- perfectly neutral and untouched, of course.

Aya paused around the upstairs corner, leaning momentarily against the wall, collecting herself. She had stared into the mirror for a long moment after changing, searching her reflection’s eyes for some sort of confirmation, as though it could provide her some answer she could not locate on her own. She placed her hair in a high ponytail, the delicate ends of strands tickling her exposed back. She could find nothing to dispute about her appearance, certainly, but a seed of doubt remained in her belly- one that she still struggled to suppress even then, standing and waiting for some ideal moment to make her entrance. She closed her eyes. “{He is yours,}” she whispered to herself, inhaled until her lungs felt like they would burst, and rounded the corner, allowing herself to be seen at the top of the stairs.

Kai’s gaze meeting her own, it seemed, was the assurance she had sought all along.

Aya took the steps slowly, letting the firelight gleam against the shine of her gown and the luster of her skin, stepping with just a bit more force than necessary, exaggerating the bounce of her curves which Kai was watching without reserve, she noticed, pleased. She walked with newfound confidence under his watchful eye until reaching him at the couch. “Hi,” she said, smiling, with a tiny half-wave.

“Hi,” he replied, chuckling softly as he mirrored the gesture. “You look lovely. I thought you’d be wearing your new dress, though.”

“I considered it,” she replied, bending over deeply to grab her glass from the table, bringing it against her chest between her hands after a sip. “But you didn’t have much time to see me in this one before.” She turned slowly in a circle for him, letting the firelight dance across the emerald auction gown, her hair aflame with rich shades of ruby and garnet. “Do you like it as much as the first time?”

“I do,” he replied, taking a sip without his eyes leaving her, his throat suddenly dry.

“Good,” she said, lowering herself next to him on the couch, leaning against the armrest, her legs drawn up onto the cushions, the long slit in her skirt exposing her leg from foot to hip. “Now you can look at your purchase properly.” She stretched herself out languidly, an arm resting across the back of the couch, the other over the armrest, her chest rising and falling softly under his eyes. “Are you still satisfied?”

He let his gaze wander across her body openly: up her long leg, across her full, luscious breasts, barely contained in green silk, settling briefly on her lips, and then capturing her eyes again. “Very. I don’t regret a single crown.”

She smiled. “Good. I want you to be satisfied.” She took her glass from the table again, sipping her brandy, indulging in the hot streak it burned down her throat and into her belly. She stretched her nude leg out, her toes brushing against his thigh. “You were such a gentleman. So concerned with keeping me warm.” She looked impishly at him. “So shy.”

“Not shy. Patient.” Kai let his hand trail across her leg, finding her calf and squeezing.

“Patient. Of course,” she replied skeptically. “And how much more patient are you planning to be, Seigneur?” Her voice took on a pitiable, sing-songy quality. “With your poor little alamdar girl in her little whore dress.” She ran a hand up her neck, fingertips tracing the line of ribbon. “In her little collar.” She drew her arms back to her body, sitting up, suddenly closer. “And so lonely and cold and frightened in the moguz city.” She leaned in closer, her breasts full and pale against the neckline of her dress, her skirt barely concealing her as her legs spread wider. “Don’t make me beg,” she whispered, her hand sliding up his chest, taking hold of his collar.

“I won’t,” he said, and bridged the remaining distance between them. His lips met hers and Aya groaned into him, hand fisting his shirt, pulling her against him with undisguised need. Her free hand sank into his hair as his own found the back of her neck, each tugging desperately at the other, tongues slipping into mouths and teeth nipping at lips. When they broke away, they leaned against each other, foreheads touching, panting, Aya’s blush reaching down from her face to lick at the top of her breasts. “You,” she said in a hiss. “Me,” he replied, and his mouth found hers again.

His hand behind her neck found the tie at her nape and pulled it loose, and Aya removed her hand from his hair just long enough to sweep the straps from her shoulders, letting her breasts drop free from her dress, her hand returning to his hair to pull his mouth into hers. She waited for a moment during their kiss, then grabbed his free hand and placed it on one heavy breast, her hand squeezing around his against her, a sharp canine sinking softly into his lip. “You don’t need to be patient anymore, Seigneur,” she panted against his mouth. “You’ve spent enough time being a knight. I want the man now.” Her hand tightened viciously around his against her breast, his fingers finding her nipple and tugging a guttural sound from her throat. “That’s yours now, Seigneur,” she hissed between kisses. “I’m not here to be a decoration. I’m here to be used.”

Hands at his hair and collar, she tugged him down with her onto the couch, pushing his face down into her breasts, legs wrapping around his waist. She released his shirt to grip his hair fiercely in both hands, holding his head still barely an inch away from her swollen, rosy nipple. “Tell me what you wanted, Seigneur. Tell me what you wanted when you bought me.”

He groaned in desperation, his breath tumbling across her flesh, her drawn breath bringing his prize gently closer to his mouth but still torturously out of reach. “You. I wanted you,” he said, a shudder rocking his voice.

“Oh? You wanted me? Just to have me?” Her grip tightened further in his hair prompting a gasp of pain from the man. “Tell me what you really wanted, Seigneur. Tell me what you wanted to do to your knife-ear slut.”

“I wanted to fuck you.”

“{Good boy,}” she cooed, and pressed him gently down, his mouth greedily engulfing her nipple, sucking hard and drawing a groan from her. “{Finally, I get to see the man.}” She yelped as Kai’s teeth grazed her, his mouth releasing momentarily. “{Finally, I get to see the whore.}” His mouth fell upon her again and she let out a high-pitched whine which embarrassed her but she found impossible to halt. His Elvish- his ugly, grinding northern speech- uncoiled something inside her, and one of her hands loosed from his hair to find her other nipple and tug hard. Her hips bucked and circled against empty air as Kai’s tongue lapped softly at her, soothing the bite, and she grabbed wildly for his wrist, pushing it across her hip and under her skirt, grinding her cunt against his knuckles. “{Yes, jaciel, show me why you bought me,}” she pleaded, her body undulating under his, seeking more contact wherever she could find it.

Kai’s hand brushed across her- slick, swollen, begging- and circled her entrance only briefly before pressing two fingers into her, her hips arching ferociously into him with a sibilant hiss of animal pleasure. He lowered from her nipple, kissing and licking at her skin, down across her belly through silk before burying his face in the nest of auburn curls above her sex, fingers pumping into her, curling toward him, eliciting another guttural cry from the woman who looked down at him with vicious hunger, teeth exposed in a snarl of need. “Yes, that’s it jaciel, good boy, {treat your slave the way she needs it,}” she demanded, her speech a babble of Imperial and Elvish demands and vulgarities, her hand pulling him by his hair into her mound.

Kai’s hot breath scattered amidst the red curls as his wet fingers sank deep into Aya, pressing a kiss to her before lowering to her clit, delivering a gentle lick that drew a shiver from the woman. Taking the bud into his mouth, lashing it with his tongue, his free hand snaked under her thigh to squeeze her hip, pulling her further into him. Aya’s hands dug into his hair savagely once again, forcing him harder against her, her hips grinding against his fingers and face, greedily demanding more. “Another one, put another one in, please,” she gasped and Kai complied, his ring finger slipping in easily alongside its brothers inside her. When Aya felt the delicious stretch of the third finger, her whole body shuddered against him, her cunt squeezing hungrily around his digits, hips grinding against him. “Come here, jaciel,” she panted, sitting up, using his hair as leverage and pulling him up to her. Her lips crashed against his and she moaned desperately at her own taste on his lips, licking and biting at him before pushing him forcefully back down between her legs, spreading herself even wider for him. When his mouth found her clit again, her whole body went rigid, the first flickers of her climax building inside her, her hips rolling in circles, desperate for more friction.

Kai raised his mouth from her, eyes dark and consuming, his fingers driving viciously into her. “Tell me what you need, girl. Tell me what you wanted when I bought you.”

Aya’s eyes were wild and wide, teeth bared in a manic grin as she ground her cunt against his fingers, her whole body writhing underneath him. “I wanted you to fuck me. I wanted you to make me yours. I wanted you to collar me and use me.” Her voice snapped like a predator’s jaws after every statement, her body working its way down the couch, feverishly seeking more. “And now I want you to be a good moguz jaciel and make me cum.”

His fingers curled inside her once again and he lowered his face back to her reddened, demanding sex, his eyes a grey fire, boring into hers. “Then cum for me, knife-ear slut,” he spat as he took her clit back into his mouth, sucking hard and finally grazing gently with his teeth.

Aya’s mouth opened wide and her cry followed sluggishly behind it, high and wavering, then low and rough, her hands buried in Kai’s hair tugging viciously, her hips grinding against his face as agonizing waves of release spread from her cunt through her whole trembling body. Kai’s fingers and tongue continued through her climax, mindless and devouring, the rush of fluid across his tongue exotic and feral, like cinnamon and woodsmoke and rainfall, hunting for every last shred of pleasure that could be wrung from the woman. She ranted incoherently above him, her voice ruined, an indecipherable torrent of mixed Imperial and Elvish he couldn’t begin to parse. As her hands released their grip on his hair- slowly- he slowed in turn, fingers easing to a comfortable, soft rhythm, his mouth releasing her clit and placing kisses along her soft thighs.

Aya stretched out contentedly, her arms reaching above her head as she arched her back and she let out a delighted, musical laugh. “You… you. Kai. Jaciel. Come up here.” Gently, she tugged at his hair and he moved up her body, his kiss interrupted before it could arrive as she grabbed his hand and pulled his slick fingers to her mouth, licking between and around them, sucking at them momentarily before releasing them with a vulgar pop that drew a groan from him. She pulled him into a kiss, her tongue lazily sweeping against his, still giggling intermittently against his lips, grinding her body against his, her thigh working between his legs to press against his cock, straining desperately against his pants. She grinned wickedly up at him. “Good boy. It’s your turn now.”

Aya wriggled out awkwardly from under him, half-falling to the floor, inspiring another flood of giggles before righting herself on her knees in front of him. Kai reoriented himself dazedly to face her, legs spreading automatically, Aya placing her hands on his knees, looking up at him with a new hunger, her legs splayed wide, still needy. “Tell me what you want, jaciel. Tell me what you bought me for.” Aya leaned forward, pressing her face against his cock through his pants, groaning into his thigh.

Kai shook off some of the fog, a hand running through her ruby hair affectionately. “Aya, that was- that was incredible- you don’t need to-”

“What don’t I need?” She pulled back from him, glaring up at him, hands pushing his knees further apart. “Tell me what I don’t need, Seigneur.” Her face leaned into him again, nuzzling against his thigh. “‘What a good man, a kind man,’ is what they say about you. Such a gentleman.” She pushed up further, her face pressing against his cock again, a wavering sigh coming from Kai.

“But a gentleman doesn’t buy a girl to fuck,” she growled against him, lifting her eyes again to meet his. “A gentleman doesn’t call a girl a knife-ear slut. Doesn’t beg a girl to cum on his face.” Her hands ran under her breasts and lifted, presenting herself to him. “Now, jaciel. Tell me what you want to do to your slut.”

Kai’s hand buried itself in her hair, pushing her back down, grinding his cock against her face. “I want you to suck my cock, slut.”

Aya hissed out a throaty, delighted “{Yessss}” that turned into a giggle as her hands shot from Kai’s knees to his belt, tugging it free of its loops and tossing it behind her somewhere in the dark, her hands returning to the button of his pants, her face still pressed crudely against his thickness. “You’ve been hiding all this from me, Seigneur. So rude to your guest.” Her hands worked feverishly at his clothes, the button finally slipping free, tugging them down his waist just enough to slip her hand in to pull his cock loose. “Oh, jaciel…” she cooed, “finally I get what I need. What did you want me to do again?” She asked coyly, her hand pumping his cock slowly.

“I want you to suck my cock, Aya,” he panted, hips already begging for her from her first few strokes.

“{Good boy,}” she hissed, leaning forward, giving the head of his cock a long, slow lick, driving a shudder from him, wrapping her ponytail around his fist as she took him into her mouth, drawing him deeper inch by thick inch. She pulled back off him, grinning up at him, a bridge of saliva connecting the head of his cock to her lips before driving back down, further this time, Kai’s grip on her hair seizing and pulling, working her up and down his shaft as she groaned around him. One of Aya’s hands fell from his hip and dove between her legs, working furiously at her cunt. She pulled off him and laid kisses from his base up his shaft before taking him again, even further this time, the head of his cock buried in her throat, her face pressed against him, a faint coo of satisfaction humming around him before he released her and she pulled back, coughing, still working his wet cock with her hand.

She laughed softly as she caught her breath. “Much better, Seigneur. And you didn’t want this.”

“I was a fucking fool,” he sighed, his own laugh joining hers, his hips bucking gently against her working hand. “Never let me say no again.”

“Never,” she said, still giggling around him as she swallowed him again, her hand drifting to squeeze his balls gently as she took him down her throat, head bobbing at the last few inches before she pulled back, placing a wet kiss on the head, smiling up at him. “You can’t ruin my dress, understand? {I want it down my throat.}” He let out a shuddering, desperate sigh at that, hand moving to stroke a long, flicking ear when it was intercepted by Aya’s own. He looked down questioningly at her, where she was laying kisses across his thigh. “Not yet,” she said. “I don’t know you well enough.”

“Well enough to choke on my cock but not for me to touch your ears?”

“No,” she said with a smile, her ear flicking playfully as she worked her way down, taking a heavy ball into her mouth, Kai moaning and pushing her head against him again. Her pumping hand jerked his cock against her face as she sucked, feeling his balls draw tighter against his body, feeling the needy pulse against her palm. She released him, raising her head again, looking up at him with proud, warm eyes. “Down my throat, yes?”

“Yes, fuck yes, down your throat,” he panted, pushing her back to his cock which she gleefully accepted, mouth wide, swallowing him immediately, her hands spreading his thighs, throat open and greedy. He hilted himself in her mouth, her throat swallowing around him eagerly, his release building until with a hard buck of his hips and his hand fisting her ponytail-

“Aya, fuck!” Kai buried himself in her throat, her head forced down by her hair, thick ropes of seed shot into her belly. Her throat swallowed automatically around him, devouring his cock, a choking groan of satisfaction emerging around his shaft. As he finally emptied after what felt like an eternity, he released his grip on Aya’s hair, but she didn’t come off immediately. Instead, she looked up at him with smiling eyes, ass swaying in the air behind her for a few seconds before she slowly withdrew. A drop of seed at the corner of her mouth was pushed in by her finger and swallowed with a groan. She smiled up at him. “Good? Done with being a gentleman now?”

“Fuck being a gentleman.”

She cackled as she stood up, pulling her dress up over her breasts and retying it behind her neck. “Very good. I’ve seen enough of that. The man is more fun than the gentleman.” She leaned down to him, giving him a gentle peck on the lips, the faint taste of semen still on her mouth. “Though the gentleman is very sweet as well. He got me such a wonderful gift today.” She stood back up, grabbed her glass of brandy from the table, and drained the dregs in a single pull. Setting it back down, she stretched luxuriously, arms in the air before dropping them with a clap against her thighs.

“Good night, Seigneur Kai. It was a pleasure to serve you.” As she sashayed away, hips bouncing with each languorous step, she called over her shoulder. “If you’d like to not be a gentleman again, I’m just down the hall.”

As her footsteps receded, Kai laid slumped on the couch, cock still half-hard hanging from his pants, catching his breath, he imagined that he was somehow floating into the air and sinking into the earth at once. An absolute calm washed over him, a contentedness he had not felt in many years- perhaps ever. Everything, it seemed, was in its right place.

At that thought, he patted around him on the couch, sitting up, glancing around the room. He looked down between his legs, peeked under the table and the winged chairs in front of him before catching a glimpse of his target: the shine of his belt buckle, now illuminated by the low fire it found itself resting in.

“Fuck me.”