sound like regret. He stepped into his chambers and shut the door behind him with a click.
“How did the Council meeting go?” The voice came from the bed, shrouded in the darkness cast by the curtains blocking the sun from the room. The hearth was dark as well, the torches unlit, and he struggled to place the voice for a moment.
“Arydni?” Cyrus asked.
“Hardly,” the smooth voice returned, and he saw a shadowed figure slide from the bed, navy skin catching the sheen of the barely-there sunlight peeking in through the edges of the curtains.
“Aisling,” Cyrus said, a little more tautly than he might have under other circumstances. “I didn’t expect to see you now.”
She crept up to him, her white hair catching a thin shaft of sunlight and sparkling as Cyrus’s eyes struggled to adjust to the room’s dimness. “You should know I always show up sooner or later.” Her hands found his face, and he realized she was nude. Her hands fell down his breastplate, skin squeaking as she rubbed the dark metal.
“You’ve been absent for a few days.”
“You were being tended to by an elven priestess.” Aisling’s eyes flashed at him, he could see it even in the dark. Her hand went to his belt, loosening it until it clattered to the ground.
“Is that a hint of jealousy?” Cyrus asked.
“No,” Aisling said. “A statement of fact. You were in no condition to accept my … ministrations … while you were under hers.”
“That makes it sound a little untoward,” Cyrus said.
“I don’t assume she did anything untoward,” Aisling said, unfastening his breastplate and backplate. “That’s my job.”
Cyrus felt a curious stirring within. “Right now?”
“I’d wait, but it’s hard to find a time when you’re idle nowadays.” She unfastened his gorget and let it clink to the ground as she leaned up and into his neck. She kissed him, and then the pressure increased as she leaned in, her tongue working against his skin. He’d dispensed with the beard when he’d returned from Luukessia, and since then she’d left him with enough bruises on his neck that he pondered growing it back again. It feels good, though, I can’t deny that .
“Not in the mood?” Aisling said, taking her mouth away from his neck for just a heartbeat. “Give me a minute and you will be.”
She took his plate armor off with practiced ease, and he let her lead this dance, as he so often had of late. She took him to the bed and ministered to him there. He kept eyes tightly closed save for once, when he saw a flash of her astride him, her deep blue skin even more shadowed in the dark. Her white hair moved as she gyrated, and then he closed his eyes again, and envisioned himself somewhere else—only two doors down.
Chapter 8
“So …” Cyrus asked the assemblage before him, “how do we find a missing goddess?”
His words were followed by a rough sort of quiet punctuated by the sound of pots and pans slamming together somewhere in the distance. Cyrus sat in a wooden chair in a room behind the Great Hall, staring at a small group he’d summoned together to consider the problem at hand. Since many of them were not officers, he’d opted to hold the meeting in a different place than the Council Chambers, deciding on an unused conference room at the back of the first floor of Sanctuary. The smell of dinner filled the air, the aroma of fresh meat wafting down the hall and causing Cyrus’s stomach to rumble.
“I’m sorry,” Vaste said, “I couldn’t hear you over the sound of my belly screaming for Larana’s cooking.”
“This is quite a serious matter—and disheartening, I might add,” Odellan said, leaning forward in his chair, elbows upon his knees and face in his hands.
“It does seem bad,” J’anda said, a goblet of wine in his hand, his appearance that of a dark elven longshoreman of the sort Cyrus had seen in Reikonos. “I’m a bit unsure of why you’ve asked for my aid in this, though.”
“Or
“How did the Council meeting go?” The voice came from the bed, shrouded in the darkness cast by the curtains blocking the sun from the room. The hearth was dark as well, the torches unlit, and he struggled to place the voice for a moment.
“Arydni?” Cyrus asked.
“Hardly,” the smooth voice returned, and he saw a shadowed figure slide from the bed, navy skin catching the sheen of the barely-there sunlight peeking in through the edges of the curtains.
“Aisling,” Cyrus said, a little more tautly than he might have under other circumstances. “I didn’t expect to see you now.”
She crept up to him, her white hair catching a thin shaft of sunlight and sparkling as Cyrus’s eyes struggled to adjust to the room’s dimness. “You should know I always show up sooner or later.” Her hands found his face, and he realized she was nude. Her hands fell down his breastplate, skin squeaking as she rubbed the dark metal.
“You’ve been absent for a few days.”
“You were being tended to by an elven priestess.” Aisling’s eyes flashed at him, he could see it even in the dark. Her hand went to his belt, loosening it until it clattered to the ground.
“Is that a hint of jealousy?” Cyrus asked.
“No,” Aisling said. “A statement of fact. You were in no condition to accept my … ministrations … while you were under hers.”
“That makes it sound a little untoward,” Cyrus said.
“I don’t assume she did anything untoward,” Aisling said, unfastening his breastplate and backplate. “That’s my job.”
Cyrus felt a curious stirring within. “Right now?”
“I’d wait, but it’s hard to find a time when you’re idle nowadays.” She unfastened his gorget and let it clink to the ground as she leaned up and into his neck. She kissed him, and then the pressure increased as she leaned in, her tongue working against his skin. He’d dispensed with the beard when he’d returned from Luukessia, and since then she’d left him with enough bruises on his neck that he pondered growing it back again. It feels good, though, I can’t deny that .
“Not in the mood?” Aisling said, taking her mouth away from his neck for just a heartbeat. “Give me a minute and you will be.”
She took his plate armor off with practiced ease, and he let her lead this dance, as he so often had of late. She took him to the bed and ministered to him there. He kept eyes tightly closed save for once, when he saw a flash of her astride him, her deep blue skin even more shadowed in the dark. Her white hair moved as she gyrated, and then he closed his eyes again, and envisioned himself somewhere else—only two doors down.
Chapter 8
“So …” Cyrus asked the assemblage before him, “how do we find a missing goddess?”
His words were followed by a rough sort of quiet punctuated by the sound of pots and pans slamming together somewhere in the distance. Cyrus sat in a wooden chair in a room behind the Great Hall, staring at a small group he’d summoned together to consider the problem at hand. Since many of them were not officers, he’d opted to hold the meeting in a different place than the Council Chambers, deciding on an unused conference room at the back of the first floor of Sanctuary. The smell of dinner filled the air, the aroma of fresh meat wafting down the hall and causing Cyrus’s stomach to rumble.
“I’m sorry,” Vaste said, “I couldn’t hear you over the sound of my belly screaming for Larana’s cooking.”
“This is quite a serious matter—and disheartening, I might add,” Odellan said, leaning forward in his chair, elbows upon his knees and face in his hands.
“It does seem bad,” J’anda said, a goblet of wine in his hand, his appearance that of a dark elven longshoreman of the sort Cyrus had seen in Reikonos. “I’m a bit unsure of why you’ve asked for my aid in this, though.”
“Or
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