Drowning at Dusk Ch. 05

Still awash in the afterglow of that first orgasm, the second one was not far along. I cried out again, my toes curling anew, my head thrashing back and forth. Dazyar let out a soft cry of his own; his hips shuddered but he didn't quite give in.

Impressive.

Xelari's free hand brushed over my cheek, then moved behind me to grip Dazyar's blindfold.

"When I remove this," she said, her voice still cold and commanding. "You will meet my eyes, and come for me. Is that understood?"

"Yes," he sputtered, his hips shaking beneath me.

Her cruel command, the weakness of his voice, the ache in my core, and the touch of those skilled fingers all conspired to draw forth my third climax of the evening. Short and sharp, it left me breathless and limp in Dazyar's arms. Despite his own trembling and groaning, his hands tightened their grip on my hips to keep me from slumping over completely.

Xelari tugged the blindfold away.

His shaft pulsed, and I gasped, my jaw dropping as the burst of his climax combined with the other sensations to send me spiraling towards yet another peak. As he spilled deep within me, Xelari clamped her lips against mine, the fierce kiss silencing my scream.

Dazyar moaned out Xelari's name. Another woman might have felt jealous at the sound of a man moaning out another woman's name in such a situation.

But I loved it. Reveled it. Rejoiced in the control that Xelari had over us both.

We were both her toys, her playthings.

The thought came close to teasing forth yet another climax. Dazyar rocked up against me a few more times, his cock twitching and pulsing. Excess seed ran from between my legs, spilling onto the floor beneath us.

Chuckling, Xelari ran her fingers over the mess. Rather than bring it to her lips for a taste, she instead smeared it over my neck, then leaned in to lick me clean. Dazyar and I both moaned.

"What about you?" I muttered to Xelari, still too spent to think about shoving myself off of Dazyar just yet.

"Oh, don't you worry about me," she said, licking her lips.

"We aren't going to let her get away with such nonsense, are we?" Dazyar asked, reaching between our legs to pull himself from me.

Xelari's laughter shifted to a squeak of shock as both the bard and I grabbed her, tugging her onto the bed between us. A brief, playful struggle ensued: Xelari kicked and flailed against him, while I grabbed her by the wrists and pinned her hands to the bed. Once we'd fully restrained her, Dazyar gripped her thighs, parting them and exposing her sex.

Giggling and panting, she struggled until Dazyar's lips found her cunt. Her eyes fluttered, and stared up into mine while Dazyar worked.

"You know we watched you," I murmured, my free hand reaching down to brush through Dazyar's braids while he tended to Xelari's needs. "When you were with Tenalia, the morning we met."

He chuckled against her, but didn't lift up to reply.

As Xelari's pants grew more rapid and her moans grew louder, I sensed that she was approaching her peak. I pushed against Dazyar's shoulder, forcing him away mere moments before she could climax. Growling with rage, she struggled against the firm grasp of my hands, and I ordered Dazyar to trade places with me.

The two of us alternated for some time, licking and fingering between her legs, driving herright up towards the edge before relenting and switching with the other. Dazyar and I shared a hungry kiss with each swap, both of us groaning at the taste of Xelari on each other's lips.

Xelari grew more and more desperate, offering pleading moans and desperate commands in her native tongue.

"Any idea what she said?" I asked, laughing at a particular long and nasty-sounding string of words.

"My command of the language isn't good enough," he said, lifting his glistening lips from her sex to grin up at me. "But it was something about flaying us alive if we didn't relent."

Xelari growled, as if affirming that translation.

With that, I leaned down to trap her left nipple between my lips, suckling and licking as firmly as I had between her legs. Dazyar returned to his wicked work as well. Judging from the glare in her eyes and the tension in her arms, Xelari surely expected us to torment her further.

I was in a merciful mood, though, and when I saw her stomach tense and heard the distinctive flutter in her breathing, I reached down and clutched the back of Dazyar's head, keeping him down between her legs so he couldn't break away to tease her.

Xelari mewled out something else in her native tongue, the words softer and gentler than her usual growls. Her eyes flashed open, affixed with mine, and her hips rocked up and down off the bed, drawing forth grunts of effort from Dazyar as he attempted to stay in place between her legs. At last the mewls culminated in a cry that would doubtless be heard down in the tavern below.

Pulling away, Dazyar laughed and wiped at his lips.

"Care to translate that last bit for me?" I asked the bard, assuming that Xelari was too exhausted and spent to really hear me.

"Gratitude," the dusk elf managed to rasp out. "That's what it meant."

"That's selling it a bit short," said Dazyar. "It's the type of gratitude one gives to the gods. A sacred means of thanks."

"Interesting," I said, finally releasing her wrists so I could run my hands through her air, and I leaned down to give her neck a gentle lick.

"Silence," she grumbled. "I will not forget this impudence from either of you. When the time is right, you will both pay."

"Oh no," I said in a mockingly fearful tone. "We're going topay. How dreadful, howterrifying!"

I laughed, bit her lower lip, then rolled away to get a drink of water.

By the time I'd returned to bed, Xelari had already curled up beneath the thin sheets, her eyes fluttering with exhaustion.

"A bit too spent for another round myself," Dazyar said. "But are you up drink back down in the tavern?"

The energy still sparkling through me from the Moondance would likely keep me up for some time, so I nodded, collected my clothes, and headed back downstairs with Dazyar. A small crowd had gathered to watch two meadow elves play an unusual string instrument carved from the branch of a tree. They both shared the same instrument, neither of them singing, instead working in perfect concert to pluck at the glowing strings, creating an ethereal and uncanny song that was wholly unfit for a night out drinking.

"Assuming all of this goes well, and we deal with Patrigan or Heroth or whoever is behind all this, and we get away clean: what's next?" Dazyar asked once we'd settled into a cozy corner booth.

"I haven't the slightest idea. Maybe another contract for Xelari. Another relic hunt."

"A contract. You would risk life and limb for her, simply for the sake of silver?"

"She and the Deathless have very deep pockets."

"We both know there's more to it than that."

I gave him a slight glare.

"I came down with you for a drink, a friendly chat, and maybe for a chance to rest up for another romp while Xelari rests. Not to be poked at and prodded." I redirected my glare towards my drink. "Why does it matter to you, anyway? I assume you'd be off on your own bardic antics once we've dealt with this and saved the city from whatever necromantic conspiracy we've stumbled into."

"Call it friendly curiosity."

"I'll call it 'being damned fucking nosy,'" I grumbled playfully, and downed a third of my drink. "And you don't hear me pestering you about your lovers. Tenalia, or that other bard who tried to kill you..."

"A pestering for a pestering, if you like."

"Fine." I took another long sip. "Me first: are you the stereotypical bard? Bouncing from lover to lover, leaving broken hearts in your wake?"

"I sleep around, if that's what you mean. But I think you could have guessed that already. As for broken hearts: I try to avoid it. I seek out lovers who are seeking the same thing as me: just a bit of fun. Usually it's easy to tell early on if someone wants something more serious, and I've proven adept at extricating myself from entanglements before they can develop into something more."

He leaned back in his chair and glanced at the staircase that led up to our rented rooms.

"And now to return to my pestering: you like her, don't you?"

"I figured that was obvious from the way we just fucked her, Dazyar."

"I don't just mean sexually. There's something more there, isn't there?"

"As I told you back at the mill, it's complicated." Another long sip. "And I don't know what I feel. The connection we have is something I haven't quite found with anyone else. Not exactly a cozy, positive, warm sort of romance. I'm a toy and a weapon and yet when I see the warmth in her eyes, I feel like so much more. And..." I shuddered. "I like being her weapon, though. A weapon that's well-honed and cared for. Not one to be discarded or neglected." I shook my head. "But it isn't just that, though. I'm not just some slave to her whims or to the pleasure she can inflict."

"So you will stay with her once this current crisis is resolved? And not just for the silver?"

"No doubt about it," I said with a soft, exhausted smile. "I'd like to see where this storm takes me."

"A storm sounds like an apt metaphor." He tapped the side of his cup. "And the seed of a good song, I think. Something about the winds, the thunder, the lightning, the chaos left in a storm's wake, and the majestic beauty of it all."

Rolling my eyes, I let out a sound that was half-groan, half-laugh.

"You'll write a song about us? Really?"

"Why not? Wouldn't be the first lover I've written about."

"Did you write one about Tenalia?"

"Not yet, but I've a few ideas bouncing around in my head for one."

"Get up there, then," I said, gesturing towards the stage. "Perform one of your little shanties about a past lover, and if it's good enough I'll assent to you writing one about me."

Beaming, he downed his drink, darted back upstairs to recover his instrument, then wandered over to Sergayl. Once the meadow elves had wrapped up their last eerie song with that tree-instrument, Dazyar took to the stage. Cheers erupted from the small crowd, with Sergayl and those meadow elves joining in. One of the patrons ran to the door, shouting out into the street that Dazyar was about to perform.

A tide of two dozen or so other revelers rushed in, crowding the bar and the dancing floor just in front of the stage.

"My friends," Dazyar called out, giving a bow and a twirl of his hands. "Thank you for the kind welcome. I know Sergayl's Songhouse usually caters to up-and-comers, but given that I got my start here on this very stage, he's granted me this boon, as an homage to old times. To Sergayl!" He shouted, and the patrons raised their glasses. The portly old barkeep beamed. His smile brightened further as the new customers bought another round of ale once they'd downed their first drinks after that toast.

"This song is an older one of mine, about a woman who stole my heart and broke it."

A dozen or so members of the audience cheered; I wagered they were such big fans of Dazyar that they knew exactly which song he was going to perform.

He activated the runes on the fiddle, and when he played the first note, it echoed long after it should have ended. After a few moments of gently sliding the bow along the strings, the magical echoes collided to create a beautiful, jaunty little melody that had me tapping my feet before he even started to sing.

The song told a simple tale over the course of its verses and chorus: a young wandering bard who stumbled into a star-crossed romance with the sister of his first mentor. Each verse described a different amorous encounter: a kiss beneath the moons, wild lovemaking beneath a bridge during a storm, and a fierce, tearful argument beneath the light of the dawning sun.

It was the exact sort of tune that might have brought a tear to my eye when I'd been a younger, less cynical woman. Instead I merely smiled, hummed along to a few of the catchier parts of the chorus, and raised my voice high in thunderous applause along with the others once it was finished.

Dazyar bowed and prepared to leave the stage, only to be greeted by a torrent of cheers and pleas for another song. After a gracious laugh and a warm smile, the bard obliged, immediately leaping into a silly, rowdy song about a pig who became a brave knight.

By the time he got to the second verse, a young man who'd performed earlier in the evening approached, and sheepishly asked me to join him out on the dance floor. Finding his bashful request to be too damned adorable to refuse, I laughed, downed my drink, and took his hand. Together we twirled and spun to the ridiculous tune, but the rowdiness of the crowd and the jubilant dancing eventually tore me from my dancing partner, and I found myself near the front of the stage.

Once there, I was too surrounded by drunken dancers to easily extricate myself when Dazyar moved onto the next song, an eastern drinking ditty about a foolish drunk who challenged the god of wine to a drinking contest.

It was only after the boisterous refrain of that song that the other dancers rushed to the bar to get more drinks, giving me a chance to escape.

Dazyar, though, was a prisoner of the crowd, chained to the delight that roared from the audience. I gave him a wave and a wink, and wandered towards the staircase.

When I returned to our rented room, Xelari was slumbering just as I'd left her. My mind lurched back to the night we met, when I'd slipped into her tent and nearly killed her. I crossed the room just as silently as I had that evening.

For a brief, ugly moment I pondered how different things would have been had I not fallen for her illusion and if my knife had found its mark. If I'd escaped the Wildwood and returned to Arkostead, I'd have been a rich woman. I'd have known nothing of the Deathless and their struggle. I'd have drifted and wandered for a while after earning that small fortune, but before long I'd have found myself cutting throats for coin once again.

Her eyes fluttered open. She stared up at me, a soft smile spreading across her face.

"Reminiscing about the night we met?"

"How'd you guess?"

"Because the ward-rune I placed on the door woke me up, but I feigned staying asleep."

I glanced over my shoulder at the glowing symbol at the bottom of the door; I hadn't noticed it during my approach.

Unsure of how to reply to that, I sat down on the bed beside her and kicked off my boots. Xelari's hand rose, running along the back of my neck before reaching up to gently toy with my hair.

"Dazyar wants to write a song about us. Based on something I said."

Why in the Voids had I blurted that out, of all things?

"And what was it that you said?"

"I likened us to a storm. He liked that metaphor."

"So do I."

Neither of us spoke. The comfortable silence stretched on, with her fingers idly toying with my hair, and my fingers running in gentle little circles over her shoulder.

"A storm can terrify. And it can also provide," she murmured. "All the rain keeps crops growing. Keeps the rivers flowing. Drives animals to seek new grazing lands, creates shifts in rivers and streams, and over time the erosion from the storms can grind down mountains."

"Storms can kill, too. They can swamp farms, sink ships, destroy bridges."

She pondered my words for a time, then cocked her head as if she'd heard something.

"Does a storm destroy itself?" she asked. The question seemed more directed at herself than to me.

The question lingered. Her nails scratched gently against the back of my neck, and she tugged me down beside her. Lust flared, and I expected her to reach for my breasts or between my legs, but instead she wrapped an arm around my waist and nuzzled against the back of my neck.

Within moments she was asleep again.

I tensed, finding the position to be unfamiliar, if not entirely unwelcome. We'd fallen asleep in the same bed or blanket before, of course, but she'd never ended up quite like this.

It felt nothing like a storm at all.

***

Three days later, our little adventurous trio stood in the shadow of Arkostead's greatest and grandest theater. The massive marble structure cast long shadows over the crowded cobblestone streets. Fiery runes covered the exterior walls, each one displaying a different draconic sigil that was vital to the plot of theTwice-Dead Dragon.

Dazyar's lips curled at the sight of the spectacle, and cast a disapproving glance over the long lines of well-dressed guests waiting to enter.

"Fools, one and all. For the prices of these tickets, they could see a dozen shows at smaller theaters that would be far more entertaining, far more thrilling, far moreinspiring."

"Voids below, Dazyar," I grumbled under my breath. "Give it a rest. And once you receive your payout from helping us, maybe you can use it to finance a grand show of your own, give these people a performance more to your own tastes."

"Few would come to see it. They'd rather pay a fortune to see this drivel."

Despite his constant whining about the nature of the event we'd have to infiltrate, Dazyar and his connections had proven incredibly useful in getting us access. The bard himself was to serve as an understudy for the theater orchestra, and would replace one of the violinists if one of them got sick, injured, or failed to meet the high standards of the conductor in the pre-show rehearsals. Of course, he'd grumbled and cursed at the faint prospect of having to actuallyparticipate in what he saw as an art-less spectacle.

Xelari and I had received far less glamorous positions. The dusk elf, as the sultrier of the pair of us, had ended up with a job as a servant, to whisk drinks and snacks to the private boxes and viewing balconies of the elite customers. I just hoped she'd be able to restrain her rage if someone decided to grope her. With a bit more muscle and more prowess in cracking skulls, I had managed to get a position as a guard for the lower-tiers of the theater, to protect the bar staff from particularly unruly patrons.

Dazyar hadn't gone into detail as to exactly how he'd gotten us those jobs for the evening, but I was certain it had involved a fair amount of bribery, flattery, and promises of favors to the theater staff and bards.

Of course, neither Xelari or I planned to actually stay in our assumed roles for very long. We would make our move against Patrigan before the first act had even concluded, and then we'd scurry off into the night, abandoning our newfound theatrical careers.

We lingered beneath the glow of an enchanted streetlight, watching keenly as carriages stopped in front of the theater to drop off the particularly elite passengers who were allowed in through the private entrances.

One such wagon, adorned with the flags of the city council, rolled to a halt. Out stepped two armed guards, though neither wore the cloaks of the city watch. Judging by their armor and weapons, they were private mercenaries, not watchmen or Arkostead knights. Behind them came a young woman carrying a bundle of scrolls and leather satchels. She was dressed in a prim and proper gray dress that seemed more suited to a funeral than a grand theater, and she wore large, finely-made spectacles. Upon her collar was a pin that marked her as a member of the steward's staff.

Behind her came Patrigan Kossil himself: a thin, wrinkled man wearing a dour doublet, a short cloak, and simple trousers. The only adornment was a simple silver amulet with a symbol identical to the one on the young woman's pin. His hair was stringy and balding, though his wrinkled face had an impressively bushy moustache.

"There's our man," I muttered. "A bit worried about those guards, though. If they're with him in the box..."