Surfacing Ch. 02

He just hadn't ever imagined it to be Auslan. He'd never even known the two knew each other, hadn't been told until Shyntre finally allowed the young Sister to lay him in his own quarters at the Tower.

There was a time when he would have loved to see her fall pregnant just to suffer inside the Sanctuary. He had thought she would deserve it and he would have laughed long and loud. Both at her, and at D'Shea.

It was different now. Her odd growth of respect for him over the last year had bloomed the more they'd clashed. She'd proven a desire to protect the Consort, to keep some secrets despite her having the power to cause Shyntre a lot of grief. She had her own personal potential, and there was the unshakable fact that he had looked forward to their sparring of wits in the Tower library, to the rough and passionate mountings in between her thighs, while in between lessons...

With her he'd gotten away with seeing to his own desires first because she let him; nothing seemed too much for her not to laugh off and return on him as soon as she took back the upper hand. They'd even started cursing each other in the Surface Common tongue. It was all a game to her, but not one she used to dismiss him, as he was accustomed. He was often in her thoughts, he knew it; it was the game she lived for, and he had proven an interesting...and worthy... opponent for her.

In the end, he'd answered the call to help preserve her life. More, he had had the ability to do so...unlike probably any other Auslan could have called, except perhaps his mother, the Elder Sister.

The hatred he'd had for Sirana at the beginning, solely on account that D'Shea had stated that she wanted her as a daughter more than him as a son, had fallen to the side as he found himself instead hoping the young Red Sister might yet live to reach a much higher rank.

In solitary confinement, hearing from this particular Consort—who had a way of knowing some things—that Sirana could have caught as easily from Shyntre as from Auslan... He had shuddered involuntarily. It sent far too many pleasurable scenes performing in his head. If the queen wanted to breed him now like some caged boar, then yes, please, let him breed with Sirana first. He could feel pride in any child of hers that she conceived by him.

Yet now she had gone away, sent like some expendable foot soldier, while he was placed in this lavish room to await service rather than study.

Damn the Valsharess and her schemes in Lolth's name...damn Her.

What he had left now was an inevitably strengthening bond with the Consort, the most direct attention and interference from his mother at exactly the time when he had stopped wanting it, and the slim possibility that his preferred Red Sister would return from her mission to the Surface... coupled with the inconvenience of wanting that same Sister who was no longer here.

This only made for greater danger for him the longer he remained in the Palace. Rausery would be back in a couple of months, maybe she could help him. Maybe she could help Auslan. What would they do with him anyway, now that the Bred Consorts had been all but destroyed?

What had Auslan meant by saying, "if we may be moving toward the Sun somehow"?

Shyntre rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the stiffness and tension as he sat on the soft bedding of his Palace suite. He recalled the panicked, sensory attack from earlier and had to wonder again where that had come from? From him and his own memories? Or from...his name-bond? Was the Consort alright, or had the Red Sisters finally gotten to him?

Shyntre swallowed a surge of nausea at the thought, but he ultimately put his face in his hands, closing his eyes and willing his mind to be silent for once. He couldn't do anything to help Auslan this eve. The too-beautiful male was on his own for now.

...yet as much as he had endured it over his life, the wizard still hated feeling so helpless.

"What troubles you so, young mage? Do you miss your fellows?"

Shyntre started badly, barely identifying the gold-and-purple robes of She standing at the entrance to his chambers. Either his door had opened and closed again, yet he was so inwardly focused that he failed to notice...or the Valsharess had simply bypassed the crude, material portal. He was horrified with either possibility.

He stood up quickly then fell to one knee, lowering his head and touching the fingers of one hand to the polished floor. He was currently without the strength to withstand Her gaze on his feet, without the balance to bow with grace, so he did not even try.

He let Her see the remainder of his fright as he shored up his mental defenses with a thrice-repeated rhyme. He would have wished for some warning, would have wished to be better rested or mentally stronger.

Nonetheless the long-practiced technique eased his thoughts and troubles and sharpened his focus to a surer edge. Memories of Auslan and Sirana disappeared and Shyntre brought himself to live in "the now," only in the moment of danger. It was a skill he could grudgingly attribute to the Red Sisters, and especially to Rausery, the Drow who'd acted more his sponsor and matron than any other cared to.

He feared that the Valsharess meant to challenge Rausery's place in his mind, and that eventually he would be forced to do the unthinkable...to reject or refuse Her...somehow. The Elder Red Sister's earned place to him was the base test against which he might judge how well he was protecting his secrets.

"Valsharess," he whispered. "You come at last. I thought I had displeased you to be so long unvisited in the Palace."

Her soft chuckle almost felt like a hand stroking his cheek. He hated that, did not know how She did it.

"You are nervous," She said.

"Yes, my queen."

"Phaelous was always patient."

"Am I to emulate him to please you, High One? I shall."

She paused briefly, and he heard Her step forward on finely-wrapped feet, her queen's skirt brushing so lightly along the sleek ground.

"No. You are not."

Shyntre murmured an acknowledgement by way of Her Title again but otherwise waited.

"You have much of your dam in you, even favoring your sire so closely in appearance," the queen commented, Her rich voice sounding farther away as She continued. "Often it is our own offspring best able to challenge or replace us."

The mage first took that as another remark on how it was such a pity that he hadn't been born female... How often Wilsira and other Sanctuary Priestesses had said it, how often it had been observed or implied by the Red Sisters, even Rausery and Sirana as they learned of his strengths? Those at the Tower hadn't focused on his gender quite so much though he could not escape the physical comparison to Phaelous and his upbringing in the Sanctuary. He felt heat enter his ears and had to focus on his breathing again to remain calm.

"Rise up, Shyntre. You may look at Us."

Slowly he did so, though he dreaded it. The wizard fought lightheadedness that he attributed to Her oppressive aura as he unfolded his bowing form and straightened his back, tentatively lifting his chin. If he looked straight ahead, his eyes landed on the hollow of Her throat, and he had to tilt his head up to follow the elegant, long neck up to Her classical features.

He saw a softened jaw and chin despite its strong set, complimented by equally strong cheekbones, and very full lips beneath a straight nose framed with wider, perfect crescent nostrils. His gaze slid to a sloping forehead and perfect blonde brows arched over wide-set and slanted, piercing eyes... Those tawny eyes still frightened him, no matter that he was one of the few favored males. She always seemed to be trying to reach inside him, to co-opt his will and simply keep it like a bauble to roll around in Her palm.

He saw by way of comparison only the way the last three generations' features had changed to have higher foreheads, more pointed chins and a more angular facial bones, and how their ears were a little thinner and a little shorter than the gracious flare and rise of the queen's.

It struck him that the only young Drow he'd seen who looked more like the Valsharess's brand of beauty was Jael, the fiery and impatient novice Red Sister with an obvious infatuation for Sirana. She was from one of the lowest Houses, their line being without the benefit of a Consort for the past eight or ten centuries. Or more. He hadn't been able to check facts beyond what Wilsira had taught him long ago about the Noble Houses, but he had seen the likeness the longer he'd stared at the young one across the study table. It certainly wasn't exact...but it did draw a note.

But only a note. Shyntre still had no thoughts why the Valsharess would encourage the faster trait selections with the Bred Consorts, and why she might want the faces of all Her children to begin to look so different from Her own.

"You are so beautiful, my queen," he said quietly before lowering his eyes to the hollow of her throat again, the bands of purple and gold waving in candlelight at the edge of his vision.

She sounded lightly amused. "We are beyond simple compliments. Tell Us instead what you have thought of Elder D'Shea's acknowledgment of you in Our audience chamber? She now claims you as her son. She may want more contact. You understand now that she was beneath a compulsion she was motivated to break."

Shyntre noticed how tacky his tongue seemed in his mouth. "I have thought...that it explains much, my queen."

She waited. "And?"

And. And...what?

The queen said, "Once you said you would help Wilsira against her. You seemed to change your mind, as I believe the Priestess turned you against her herself once you met Elder Rausery. Once you said you would spy for Rausery, were you ever able to get near your mother, though you could not. You wanted her to fall then. She came out above where many would have faltered. How do you see it now?"

"As an opportunity, Valsharess," he answered softly.

"Indeed?" He could not tell if She was pleased or intrigued or merely curious. "What kind?"

"Only to learn what I might do next, Valsharess."

"You doubt your hatred, perhaps?"

Shyntre shook his head in the negative. "I still hate her. She has earned nothing new from me. But I will wait, my queen. I chose too quickly before and each time I was only used in my ignorance. I can be more like my sire in this one trait."

He sensed Her smile and again it almost seemed She caressed his cheek with a breath. "And if We desired something specific of you regarding your mother, Shyntre?"

He shivered just slightly. "You have but to ask, my queen."

Though not looking directly at Her, he could sense Her nod. "When D'Shea next requests your presence at the cloister, We will deny her. You shall give Us a reason to grant it instead, and in her presence."

Shyntre felt a chill spread through his middle; he briefly closed his eyes. "Yes, Valsharess. Does Your Grace wish to know the reason ahead of time?"

"No."

No? He swallowed. "How will I best serve, my queen? Do I listen for something specific as well?"

"You assume We send you to spy, Shyntre?"

The chill remained even as his face grew hot. "It is a reasonable assumption, my queen."

She chuckled. "But an assumption nonetheless."

His brow creased in confusion, and that was when the ancient elf reached out to barely touch him with the tips of her fingers, smoothing out his forehead with a brush. He shuddered and struggled to suck in a breath as Her aura became thicker around them.

"You have a long arc ahead of you," She said. "So much to learn. Meanwhile, it is time that you breed. We will see which House earns the privilege first. Trust that We will not make the selection lightly, and you will show gratitude and perform your best. We have heard the comments about the fickleness of wizards, but you will not embarrass Us. Your sire never has."

Shyntre felt for a moment as if he might faint, that he might be ill. Still, he nodded. "Yes, my queen...however—"

"However?"

He swallowed and hurried to explain. "My specific... education... since Your Grace last bestowed Her... attentions..."

He could sense Her radiant smile and only felt weaker when She chuckled.

"You mean the trials. The fights? That is why you are different, young mage. And it shall be different going forward. The Nobility will catch on soon. Only imagine how they must thank you after you seed them, no matter if they are...unaccustomed to your new tastes."

Meaning that She would allow him to return their slights and arrogance with punishment that they normally feared from the Red Sisters... Not only would he be immune to repercussions doing perhaps more to other Nobles what he had done to Sirana during her trials, but he would be expected to finish inside their cunts. That imagery was intriguing and so very arousing in spite of his wariness of Her plans for him. The fact that it was both also frightened him on a deep level.

He may forget some things if he spent too long here, things he did not want to forget. It was too dangerous, he did not want to be here...

...but as always before, he could not think of a place where he would fit better down here. Even if he had the choice. He would rather have left with the others.

"As Your Grace wishes."

The Valsharess lifted Her hand and lightly traced the edge of Her robe leading to the point between Her breasts. "Show Us you are healthy, Shyntre."

Heat entered his face in a hot rush, and She could sense it as he showed Her that he understood Her command. Shyntre unknotted his sash and opened his robe, sliding it off his shoulders. He made sure the sash holding a few pouches for his spell components remained in their belt loops and placed the garment wholesale across the foot of the bed next to him. He stepped out of his chamber shoes so that he was nude except for the emerald pendant hanging from his neck.

The wizard more felt the Valsharess's disapproval than saw or heard it and slowly lifted the pendant off as well, setting it gently on his robe. He hated leaving it within Her easy reach if She wanted to take it, but trying to hide or keep it from Her would all but guarantee that She would.

The Valsharess stepped closer so She could run Her hand first across his chest, pinching one nipple before continuing down his stomach, combing his neat, white thatch. Her fingers deftly inspected his genitals, encouraging a bit of blood to gather though just as with the first time, he was too nervous and afraid to respond quickly.

He hadn't known the first time that She did not expect instant erections from him, and certainly not from just a few brushes of his member. Knowing this forgiveness of flaccidity for this second time, however, was even worse than his ignorance of before, because he knew what She *did* want.

Her hand cradled each of his buttocks, one at a time, then trailed up his spine to caress his right shoulder and upper arm before tugging the tie at the base of his neck to let his hair free. The tie dropped onto the otherwise immaculate floor. He failed to keep his heart from being heard.

"Do you know, young wizard, that the pattern of a heartbeat can betray whether one wishes to fight or to flee?" She asked quietly, remaining behind him.

Whether that was true or not—and even the queen lied when it suited Her—Shyntre knew She wanted to make a point. She invited curiosity, and if it was not natural then it must be manufactured.

"No, Valsharess," he answered, hearing that same beat thudding in his ears along with his strained voice. "What does my pattern tell you, High One?"

"At your first submersion, you wished to flee, as expected," She answered in a deep thrum that seemed to penetrate his chest and spread heat over his already-pounding organ. "Now...We daresay the Sisterhood has made you...stronger. You wish to fight."

"I will not fight you, my queen."

"We know this. But your heart is changed nonetheless."

"Is Your Grace displeased?"

"Perhaps. We have not decided."

She continued to trace his bare skin with fingertips now, and he became aware of a pattern in Her own movements, an invisible string tugging gently but insistently at all the places inside where he tended to feel his magic gather just before he used it: forehead, throat, heart and lungs, his stomach, gut, his crotch...flooding his limbs and making his hands burn and swell for release just as his cock did right before climax. The energy building in all those centers weren't of his doing but his whole body tensed as he fought to contain it.

He felt Her brush his hair to the side, then, baring his neck. Just after his mind registered the soft touch of Her lips as She pressed them to his skin, a bright light exploded behind his eyes; it felt like a concussive blast inside his skull and he staggered. The Valsharess guided his fall to where he collapsed to the side and landed on the bed. Now She did cup his male parts again and he knew he had a full erection; the touch seemed to sizzle and he moaned loud enough for him to actually hear it over the roar of energy rushing up through his core and collecting in his head.

His heart pounded so hard, so painfully, he hoped that it simply did not fail under the stress. He could not see anything in the room; his eyes were utterly useless. He could barely scent Her, heard little else besides his heart and his lungs...but he felt far too much. He wished he could be numb. His queen said nothing more aloud; he may not have heard Her in any regard as She manipulated his energy with deft and sinister skill.

Shyntre somehow felt that he was being cradled, naked against a warm, robed chest as if he was again a babe, and he writhed and twitched as magical surges were drawn out of him, a portion of them returned, transformed, made of new colors he hadn't known existed. They were chaotic and battering, made him feel constantly while offering no relief, no release of the energy that built up.

At least, not until the queen chose to lift it from him.

Each time She did, it felt like a warm and soft mouth wrapped around his aching cock and bringing him to his peak. Sometimes sooner, sometimes drawing it out in an agonizing denial. Each time She did, he was more and more grateful to Her.

The mage might have accepted being lost in an exquisitely pleasured amnesia as the energy, the release, built once again, had he not also seen the silver threads of a spider's web being laid gently over a bloodstone. More were being added every few moments, so soft and light that he almost hadn't realized it would soon be enough to hold living prey.

It was the first clear image behind his eyes but it was enough.

His heart surged in his ears, as did the raggedness of his breath, and he gathered any energy he could, whatever remained to him. He imagined, remembered, fantasized about taking a young Noble's mouth, thrusting harder between her lips as her blue eyes stared up, unable to see him. He remembered how she'd penetrated his backside when he least expected, forcing him to come, to spill his essence across her tongue and down her throat...

*Oh goddess...goddess...!*

The delicate balance of magic shifted just enough, and he gathered it himself, gave it to Her, all he had in that moment. His gift, and his freedom. His eyes may have rolled back in his head, he may have shot his seed in truth, his breath may have stopped, or his heart, he didn't know at first. He only knew the release of incredible pressure and power, the unraveling of all tension, and the second explosion inside his head. The light.

Then the darkness.

Shyntre became aware still lying on incredibly soft bedding; he felt nothing at first. Numb or empty, he wasn't sure. He could see again, and candlelight flickered so low that the candle on his desk had to be nearly burned out by now. He could make out the silhouette still, sitting to his right at the edge of the bed. Her regal back was to him, and he glimpsed gold and purple colors. He could see Her distinctive profile as She looked toward his door to the left. One bejeweled finger tenderly rubbed Her full lower lip.