Amethystra Pt. 03

3

Reina Hearthstone carried a heavy wooden crate from the cellars of House Torvirr, the scent of fresh vegetables and herbs filling her nostrils as she took step after step. She was thankful for the architect of this particular cellar, for the stairs were wide, deep, and easy to navigate while laden with such a load! Though she was strong and tenacious, Reina enjoyed comforts whenever she could. When burdened by thick, hearty vegetables for the bustling kitchens of House Torvirr, that meant she was deeply concerned with the little things that improved her quality of life in such situations.

"Over there, Reina," a comely older woman said. She was tall. Too tall, by Reina's standards, though that did little to diminish the woman's grace and beauty. As a stoneblood—a slang term used for half-dwarves in the Free Marches—Reina barely crested four feet tall. When the head chef and stewardess of House Torvirr stood over her, she was over two feet taller than the young half-dwarf.

"Aye, Madam Silvi," Reina said, lugging the crate to a shelf next to the Aesir woman. The blonde-haired woman looked down on Reina's short shock of red hair, wild from constantly rubbing her hair back in consternation.

"Take a break."

"Break? No break. I'll get it all up before I take my break," Reina said, swiveling away on her heel, her stiff boots worn slick on the stones of House Torvirr's kitchens. A strong hand grabbed her shoulder.

"I insist," the tall woman said, smiling down at her. She placed her own knife down, a pepper half sliced on her cutting block, and walked across the kitchen to a glass case with magically chilled air blowing inside. She opened the door and the rush of cold air blew until she closed it again, which she did after she withdrew a clay jug from the top shelf. Two clay mugs in hand, she sat at a preparation table in the center of the kitchen, and Reina took a seat opposite the woman. "It's going to be a long day," Madam Silvi said, pouring them both a drink of bubbly juice. Reina took a sip and delighted in the taste of sparkling wine mixing with the juice.

"Thank ya," the stoneblood said, draining the cup swiftly. Madam Silvi took another sip. "Back to it!"

"No," the Aesir woman said, tapping the table. "Even dwarves take breaks, time to time. You need to rest. You've been at work since before dawn."

Reina was certainly stricken by the strong, even voice of her boss, who was staring over the rim of her glass with glittering gray eyes, sipping her breakfast wine.

"How are you liking Amethystra?" Silvi asked.

"Well enough, Madam Silvi," she replied, nodding. "Good people, good work."

"Just Silvi, please," the Aesir said. "At least, when it's just the two of us. And the rest of my staff isn't around."

Reina smiled and nodded, looking at her mug. She wasn't quite sure what to do with herself.

"'Good people and good work' is all you have to say for the most beautiful city in the Free Marches?" Silvi asked.

"Can't speak to that bit," Reina said, shrugging, "but aye. I've been welcomed warmly, treated fairly, and paid well."

"I hope you don't think that is the sum total of what this city has to offer," Silvi said, taking another sip. "There is much to experience here for a young lady such as yourself."

"Such as myself?" she asked quickly, almost defensively.

"Young, beautiful, unique," Silvi said, smiling as she set her mug down. "Not to mention a hard worker, sturdy, and easy to get along with."

"I...thankee," Reina said, blushing intensely. She wasn't sure where this was coming from, but she was glad the head chef of House Torvirr was praising her, at least. Perhaps she had a future in the culinary arts, she mused.

"You've been here for a week and have seen little, I'm sure," Silvi said. "I should like to show you around."

"I live across town," Reina said tentatively. "I see a lot walking to and fro. None of it bad, mind. Just...a lot."

Silvi leaned forward. Reina couldn't resist the impulse to gaze into the woman's generous cleavage as Silvi pressed her forearms into the food preparation table. She looked up in time to see Silvi's knowing smirk, her pursed, plush lips, and the way her gray eyes gave Reina their own once-over.

Reina felt herself start to emotionally implode. Her shoulders hunched, her head fell low, and her eyes glued themselves to the dull gray table. She resisted the impulse to cross her arms over her chest. Where Silvi was tall, elegant, statuesque, and a variety of other endearing adjectives, Reina felt small and awkward in comparison. She was stout like a dwarf, though taller thanks to her human father, and leaned, genetically, toward her dwarven ancestry with her bust, her wide hips, thick thighs, and strong physique.

She likened Silvi to an elven greatsword, while Reina was more like the hammer—or anvil, even—used to forge the graceful, powerful weapon.

"Here," she heard, looking up from her embarrassment to see Silvi pouring her another mug. She rose and replaced the chilled breakfast wine into its case, drained her mug, and tossed the vessel into the wash basin. She turned her back to the stoneblood, taking up her knife and attacking her vegetables with renewed gusto. Reina drained her refilled mug and went back to the stairs down.

"I'm sorry," she heard, and the words stopped her from descending. She looked over her shoulder to see Silvi looking over her shoulder at her. "I meant no offense."

"I take none," Reina said. "The opposite."

Silvi smiled, and Reina took the first three steps down. "Reina," she said, and the stoneblood stopped, turning back again. "Tonight will be an adventure for you. Stay close to me after dinner is served. I'll need your help, I'm sure, and you'll need mine."

It was a confusing command, but Reina nodded any way. Whatever had just transpired between them, Reina was simply glad to have the older woman's approval.

The rear courtyard of House Torvirr was a forest of statuary, trees large and small, and all manner of other greenery, both native and imported. Below the courtyard was an underground mirror, with flora that Luriia had grown up with as a child in distant, frigid Chambressir. The city of dark elves had been as much frozen glacier as it was subterranean caverns, all connected by beautifully sculpted tunnels.

The underground courtyard, dubbed the Dark Terrace, had been inspired by those caverns and tunnels of her youth.

Luriia Torvirr had gathered her closest friends here before the small revel she was hosting. It had been many nights since she had enjoyed their company after traveling abroad with her husband, and all lasciviousness aside, she missed their friendships.

Her sister had been the first to arrive. Myrynda Torvirr had come to the south—decades after Luriia left their homeland—in search of her eldest sister. The youngest Torvirr daughter, Myrynda had not followed the family tradition of seduction, intrigue, and high breeding. Indeed, as more and more of their homeland had turned to ways of manipulation, duplicity, and underhandedness, Myrynda found herself wholly uninterested in remaining. Myrynda was smaller, slighter than Luriia, but no less lovely.

Cyra and Iliari joined them shortly after the younger Torvirr, who was busying herself with polishing the shadow-black blade of her saber. Cyra, the powerful dragon-blooded warrior, was all smiles when she saw Luriia, and she immediately left her wife to embrace the dark elf. Iliari joined them shortly. The differences in the two women were profound: Cyra was half again as wide as her elven wife, and probably half again her weight, as well. Both had golden hair, though Cyra's appeared to be woven from the precious metal while Iliari's was light and wispy, not to mention long enough to reach the middle of her back! The elf wore her hair down for the occasion, letting it flow freely, while Cyra's hair was cut short, chin length, and swept back behind her horns, which curled in the same direction.

All three of her ladies were dressed splendidly. Both Myrynda and Cyra dressed for function, with fine pants and deep-necked blouses, while Iliari elected to wear a simple black gown with a severely slashed hem that rose from ankle to hip. Luriia's enchanted robe, a gift from Syrune herself, took whatever form the dark elf desired, and for the night's revel, she chose to wear it as a long tunic, hanging from simple straps over her shoulders that swooped down to her navel, covering her bosoms just so while revealing her navel and the three diamond studs that crested it—one for each of her children. The tunic reached the middle of her thighs, and a pair of knee-height slippers wrapped all the way up her calves in spiraling straps, each one glinting with rubies.

"Two more," Luriia said as they greeted each other, taking turns admiring one another. Save for Cyra and Iliari, who naturally lived together, none of the women had seen each other in quite some time, particularly Myrynda, who, as a divine champion in her own right, was busy about the work of Rivest, God of Secrets.

"And here we are," came another voice. Lirafey Torvirr, a former rival of Luriia's in Chambressir and adopted sister of House Torvirr, smiled and embraced Syrune's Champion, kissing her softly and touching foreheads.

"Shandra," Luriia said, moving to their final companion. "I am sorry to hear of Alluva's passing."

Shandra smiled sadly. "She is not wholly gone," she said. "And while you may call me Shandra, my true name, as well as my true nature, have changed remarkably."

Luriia gave her a quizzical expression.

She shed her clothing, baring her naked body—and the sheath of draconic scales—to her friends.

"Gods above," Myrynda said, eyes wide. "What happened to you?"

"Alluvamethystra and I, through intense magical ritual and study, altered the nature of my innate magical soul. There are those who are born with magic within rather than studying and toiling for decades to master the arcane. Some of those, such as I, are born with a draconic soul. I was never aware of that, but Alluva discerned it immediately. After we established Amethystra, she immediately began the long process of altering me, infusing me with her own life essence. And so Shandramethystra was born. No more a dark elf, but a purple dragon."

She smiled and shrugged, as though such an announcement was somewhat trite, bending down to retrieve her silvercloth gown. Ever the opportunist, Lirafey gave her bottom a squeeze, eliciting light laughter from all of the women in the Dark Terrace and dispelling the wonder of Shandra's transformation—for now.

For a moment, Luriia considered that all six women were lovers with each other, at least in the past, and wondered if that would be a curious feeling for people not accustomed to such a lifestyle. For Syrune's Champion, invested with a fraction of the goddess's divine essence, it was simply comforting.

"Well then," Cyra said as Shandramethystra put her gown on, "am I the only woman here aware of the fact that we're all far too clothed, and far too clean?"

Her grin was lascivious, but the mirth in her voice was unmistakable. Each of them might have been ready to strip down and indulge every other of their carnal desires, but they each knew that would be an hours-long endeavor. Luriia, with her goddess-granted magic, could sense the willingness—even eagerness!—in her friends to forsake their revel and spark an orgy in the Dark Terrace.

"Matron Mother," a voice called from the dark archway. All six women turned to see Madam Silvi and her newest staff member, a stoneblood girl from the Midenvale, far southwest of Amethystra. "Drinks will be served to your guests in one hour. This is my newest apprentice, Reina Hearthstone, with your finest wine."

The short young woman seemed exceedingly nervous, but she was careful about her work as she carried a platter of mithril to the gathered women, bearing six tall glasses of pristine crystal, each half-full with a dark red wine that looked very much like blood. She said nothing as each woman took a glass, never even looking up at them even as she backed away several paces, then turned to rejoin Madam Silvi.

"My thanks, Silvi," Luriia said, smiling warmly at the Aesir woman. "Has Hammer returned?"

"Only just," Silvi said. "As well as Masters Larque and Baensek, Lord Quilin, and six honored guests."

"There were to be five, Silvi," Luriia said. "Who has arrived?"

"Sky Admiral Vyse, Commander Aika, Priestess-in-Silver Fina, the pair from the Ravinwolf Guild, and a Lidia Lovedrake, who accompanied Commander Aika."

"Gods, Lidia is here?" Cyra asked. Shandra, too, seemed taken aback.

"Does she know?" the dragon asked, looking to Cyra then Luriia. "You flew back with her?"

"I had no idea," Matron Torvirr said, shaking her head.

"Matron Mother?" Silvi asked, her expression dire. "Shall I send her away?"

"No, not at all," Luriia said. She smiled softly, sadly. "Alluvamethystra...she was Lidia's mother."

Silvi gasped, her hand going to her mouth. "Please, Silvi, whatever she asks for is hers," Luriia said. Silvi nodded, then ushered her apprentice away.

"Sad business, that," Cyra said, kicking at the ground. The glossy black slipper she wore with her coal gray pants scuffed, and she cursed silently.

"We should go see her," Shandra said to Cyra, who nodded and reached for Shandra's hand. The pair left, leaning into each other as if the burden of their sad task took the strength from their legs.

Luriia looked to her sister, then Lirafey, and then Iliari. "Let this not put burial shroud on the night," she said, smiling wide. "We have much to celebrate!"

Her gaze was pointedly on Iliari. Myrynda stepped between her elder sister and the other elf, slipping an arm around Lirafey's lower back. "Come," she said, "we have much to discuss."

Luriia and Iliari, alone, drew close to one another. Luriia took the elf's hands in her own, the fair white skin contrasting starkly with her jet-black pigment. "You know," Iliari said softly as their bodies pressed together, "it was not that long ago that I sought your death."

Luriia smirked a little. "Syrune saved you from certain doom by delivering you to me," she said.

"As you say," Iliari said quietly, her lips brushing against Luriia's. They stood the same height, down to the inch, and in many ways mirrored one another, though Luriia always felt a bit taller than the elf. Dark elves, as elves go, tended toward fuller bodies compared to their slighter cousins, though even Luriia was a touch more shapely than was average among her people. Iliari never let her forget that. "You're growing more human by the decade," she said as Luriia's breasts pressed between them. "Or your pregnant again."

"Not that. My magic would have informed me immediately," Luriia said, smirking as she kissed the elf's lips softly, then her cheek, then her ear as they slowly eased into an intimate embrace. "It feels like a lifetime ago that you, in the name of Helor, came to Argentmoon to murder me."

"A lifetime," Iliari agreed, her lips tickling at the side of Luriia's neck. Her tongue danced along the sweet-tasting flesh, arcing up to Luriia's ear, eliciting a gasp from the exquisite dark elf.

Luriia felt her sex flush with arousal, need, as the slimmer elf began to suckle at her ear lobe, her pale hands sliding up Luriia's flanks and wrapping around her back as the elf pushed into her. The dark elf was just as eager, hungry for Iliari's skilled affections. She reached down and squeezed the elf's pert bottom, her petite cheeks so firm and decadent in Luriia's hand.

Iliari thrust her thigh forward, between Luriia's legs, until the slim, lithe limb pressed against the dark elf's sex. Predictably, Luriia wore no undergarments, and the feel of her bare sex against her thigh was exhilarating. She flexed her thigh, the lean musculature bulging slightly against Luriia's sex. It was a subtle expression that elicited a profound response, as Luriia gasped, squeezing Iliari tight. The elf pushed Luriia backward, still suckling and licking around her ear lobe, the tip of her tongue teasing the pointed tip of Luriia's ear.

Luriia reached between them, grasping the hem of Iliari's dress. The severe angle of her hem made it easy to bare her own bare, hairless sex, and Luriia thrust her thigh between her companion's legs as Iliari pinned her against a statue of an elven male that towered over both of them. Both Iliari and Luriia were gasping, panting, grinding their glistening vulvae against each other's thigh as they held each other. Luriia had Iliari by the ass, squeezing and groping her as she gained enough of her senses back to set her tongue and teeth on the fair elf's shoulder. Meanwhile, Iliari was grasping at Luriia's breasts, full and heavy in her hands as she tickled the dark elf's ear with her tongue.

Magic crept from the tips of Luriia's fingers, binding their senses together. Iliari's eyes went wide as she gasped, moaning as the intensity of her pleasure doubled. The psychic connection between them had the same effect on Luriia and, though the dark elf was expecting it, she couldn't help but moan aloud against Iliari's petite shoulder.

"Usa sisin tlu faelf vinth," Luriia purred in her native tongue, spoken almost exclusively in Chambressir. The words were a simple adoration of Iliari's sex. The magic binding their senses had Iliari's lips moving along with the words, though she did not speak them. Instead, she replied in her own language, mirroring the sentiment.

"Ima melin cen naelf clis," she said, and Luriia's lips also moved along with the words.

Aside from the sounds of gasping, grunting, and soft moaning sounds between the two lovers, naelven and elven, they were silent, embraced and thrusting their hips with vigor against each other.

When their climaxes crested, they did so together, leaving them both shuddering and spasming in each other's arms, glistening quim dripping down their bared thighs. As the magic began to dissipate, Luriia cast another spell, silent and sensual, as Iliari rested her face against Luriia's chest, breathing deep and ragged breaths as she basked in their mutual afterglow.

The spell, meant to be one of restoration and sensual rejuvenation, failed, and Luriia's eyes shot open wide. "Gods, Iliari, why didn't you say anything?"

"What?" the elf asked lazily.

"I just wish I would have known!" Luriia pulled back slightly, looking Iliari in the face. "Congratulations are in order. I will have Silvi bake a cake immediately!"

"I'm not one to turn down anything that woman offers me, but what are you on about?"

"You and Cyra, of course!" Luriia said, disengaging physically as she waxed with joy. "The baby!"

"The what?" Iliari asked, voice raising with her confusion. "What bloody baby, Lura?"

Reverting to Luriia's heart name, a name given specifically to those to whom naelves gave their heart, gave Luriia pause. It took her a moment to ascertain that Iliari was just as surprised as Luriia, and not pleasantly so. Not in the least.

"Oh, Iliari," Luriia said. "I'm sorry."

The elf's face went from frantic to angry to placid in a breath as she processed the emotions. "No need," she said, jaw clenched. She whirled away from Luriia, storming away.

Luriia was left with mixed feelings, concerned for her friend Iliari and her wife, Cyra.

Reina had only a moment to herself, and it wasn't one she meant to miss. In the cellar below the House Torvirr kitchen, she hurriedly unbuckled the straps to her overalls and shoved them down. The short-sleeved shirt she wore didn't serve as much of a barrier to her designs, but her prodigious chest made things a little awkward.

She attributed her dwarven heritage for her ingenuity, which had inspired her to prop a particularly robust, smooth-skinned green vegetable between two heavy boxes. It would serve to alleviate the sudden and intense need that had come to a roaring flame between her thighs in the last hour. Her uncontrollable libido came and went as it pleased, like some sentient, ravenous beast.