It's Not About Control (closed to Dissinger)

Dofir had been peaceful under the watch of a waxing moon. Malagaste Ouss’ervsth enjoyed the quiet. The jail cells in the room sat empty, steel barred doors left flung open to invite their next guest. Light danced in the single window across from the cells, the movement of patrons in the streets between the building and the street lanterns casting shadows to dance on the stone walls. The braziers in the room were only half lit, and beneath one the Drow sat at his desk with a book open in his lap.

The wood was stained here and there with ink, marred with scratches. Once it had been covered in parchment but now they were arranged in neat stacks. There were many nights like this in the sleepy station, where the Drow found himself alone with his thoughts and time. The crackling of the torches in their holdings was his companion, and here and there they were visited by the shuffling of pages. He’d stopped to rub at his lilac eyes, ringed with dark circles, for a moment when a hiss and whoosh let him know that one of the torches had gone out. He placed the book on the table.

L'Elge d'Lloth

Crossing the room, he removed the torch and inspected it. The wrappings had yet to be burned through, but that wasn’t uncommon. The torch was positioned by the high window, where the breeze was known to sneak in, a thief in the night to steal warmth and light. He worked quickly to change the dressings and reset the torch with a neighbor, fitting it into the iron brazier once more. The mundane task was second nature now, and within minutes he’d turned back to his desk, eager to get back to the book he’d left behind.

However, the battered tome, bound in a deep amethyst with silver lettering upon the spine, was no longer resting on the desktop. It was in the hands of a stranger who reclined back with scuffed and stained boots resting on top of the desk. The stranger was thumbing through the pages, a bored expression in grey eyes before he snapped his gaze up at Malagaste though the fringes of brown hair that fell over his forehead. He smiled, but it felt no more like a smile than the expression on a snake. The Drow noticed that one of the stranger’s cheeks was scarred, and it didn’t dimple the way the other side did with the gesture.

The Drow slowly let his hand move, his fingers brushing against the grip of the revolver holstered at his side. Silver brows narrowed, his mouth sneering. He’d never met this man, but he could take a guess or two who it might be.

“Seth Dahlios, the Vasvrae.” He said, nodding his head in greeting, gesturing at the open steel doors of the cells. “If you’ve come to turn yourself in, you have the pick of your accommodations.”

“Bloodsmith? That's a new one, I like it, has a nice ring to it. Not as impressive as the Lyesmith, but has a charm all its own,” Seth responded. Malagaste to his credit didn't flinch at the candid nature of the conversation and instead let the Lavinian Demon continue, “I'm more here because well, I thought I'd be rid of this shithole and I'm still here. Frankly it has to do with our mutual acquaintance.”

“Sariya Surulinath,” The drow officer put forth. Seth seemed to frown for a moment as his mind fired into overdrive before his face lit up;

“Oh, right, yes her. I'm here because you obviously can't protect her, and she needs to learn to care for herself.”

“Why would I need to protect the rivvil?” Malagaste shot back.

“Oh, so you guys aren't...” Seth gestured with his hand as Malagaste took his turn frowning before he shook his head.

“No, we are not.”

“Well that makes this very easy. You're a distraction, a bad one at that. I can't have that if I'm teaching the girl how to kill.”

“Kill? Now you're admitting to training her to commit murder?”

“Self defense, teaching her to cripple is useless against some of Ettermire and don't you dare lie to my face and tell me otherwise. We both know the kinds of assholes that frequent the back alleys.”

Malagaste seemed to tense while Seth remained still. His hand never leaving the holstered revolver as he frowned, “I should just end this farce here and now-”

“It has one bullet.”

“What?”

Seth carefully lifted a gauntlet clad hand and let it opne letting the soft clinking of bullets falling onto the desk resound through the room as he carefully sat up and pushed back the chair. He then continued, “I'm here to make a deal with you Malagaste. See, she's kinda fond of you and I'm not. But that creates a problem because you have the reach of the law so firmly up your ass your name might as well be Mitt.”

“Meanwhile you are so chaotic and rebellious one would wonder how you go anywhere without cutting somebody or yourself,” Malagaste fired back, the tension going one step closer to a true fight, “I think it would be polite to inform you my backup will show up soon, and then you're in trouble.”

“Usstan zhahus plu'dakus a l'Valsharess' Kyorl. Natha drada nesst orn hass'l naubol ulu uns'aa, fridj jalbyr k'jiar d'vlos...”

He raised an eyebrow before he asked, “Who taught you to speak my tongue? Its rough, but practical, almost militaristic in tenor.”

“Ghuantyrr'stra Do'afin,” He replied with a shrug. “Also, our relationship really needs to build more trust, your backup isn't due for ten minutes. Long enough to gut you and be long gone.”

“How do you-”

“Do the words 'World Class Thief' mean nothing to you? Did you think I just up and decided to meet with you one day for tea and crackers? First off, I hate tea, and secondly I'm kinda picky when it comes to the crackers I enjoy. Now, to the point. I promise not to kill anyone who doesn't have the ability to kill me, you included. In return I need you to keep the heat off me until I finish training our friend to fight. It won't be easy and there may be incidents because she has magic she hasn't even conceived of in her. Now, do we have a deal? Or do I need to make like a thief and leave?”

“How do you plan on doing that? I highly doubt you can train her in magic at all,” Malagaste snarled at the Thief Extraordinaire.

“Listen, Mal, and I'm going to just call you Mal because really I don't care enough to give you your full name. You can argue this with me, or we can agree and your death count over the next few weeks drops to manageable levels. Otherwise well, I'm not saying I'm going out looking for fights, but its far easier to kill than disable,” Seth quipped while stretching forward a hand as he looked at the one on the gun, his own lightly fingering the end of a blades hilt on his.

Malagaste narrowed his eyes as he looked upon the thief before he carefully reached forward with the hand that was going for the gun and shook it. He then muttered, “It's for her, otherwise I'd have you in chains.”

Seth smiled that predatory grin before he leaned forward and whispered, “You can try.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Skie said, jerking her elbow from the hex mage’s hands. He’d been inspecting the gash along her right shoulder, stitched somewhat skillfully by her own hand and healing in a thick, ugly scab. She’d been walking back home on the market, stopping here and there to admire the glow of torchlight floating among the clouds as airships moved in the night when she’d been held up by some joker with a hood and an inflated sense of power. “Just this damn shoulder doesn’t want to reach the way it should. I still sent him packing, and got home fine. I can take care of myself. You don’t need to fret.”

Her lips pursed and she bristled at the look he gave her. She hated when he was patronizing, and his attitude had been locked and loaded from the moment he’d stepped through her door. Something must have happened recently that amused him, she thought. After all, it was when Seth Dahlios was in a good mood that he played with her like a cat cornering a canary. There was never a taste of such playfulness when his temper was fouled.

“You’re being a mother hen.” She said, crossing her arms and leaning back on the railing of her balcony. The breeze was gentle, and below them there were children playing along the bank of the river as the sun flared gold and garnet, painting the sky and the rocky shore on its way to the horizon. The scene before them was the reason she was so hesitant to move away from here, even though she knew she was being watched. She had figured the subject of her address was why the thief had come calling, though he’d been distracted by her wounded arm.

“If you are hurt, I need to know so I don’t kill you if I try and push you and force a change,” he growled, irritation seeping through the blithe callousness he’d been goading her with. She softened, and sighed.

“It’s just a cut on my arm, promise,” she said, then laughed and wagged a finger at her. “But what do you mean, force a change? Are you a fairy godmother, come to craft me into a good girl?”

“You have magic in you,” he answered, ignoring her teasing. “The spontaneous kind. It’s more ordered than my kind, but the principle is the same. If I put you under enough stress it will push back to protect you. Selfish bastard magic is, doesn’t like leaving where it is.” She couldn’t help but shiver, a chill moving down her spine. She’d seen Seth work, been at his mercy once and then watched as he tore apart a room of demons. She wasn’t sure she wanted him to work at putting stress on her. Didn’t she have enough turmoil without anyone’s effort?

“Why not leave well enough alone?” she sighed. “What’s in it for you?”

“You’re more dangerous to everyone around you when you have no concept of your gift. Technically you could kill someone because you have no clue how it works.” He leveled his gaze at her, his look hard enough to make her fidget uncomfortably. “I remind you, if it weren’t for the fact you had no clue what you were doing I’d be dead. You won’t always get lucky and be able to undo what you did.”

Unfair, she thought. She’d never meant to harvest Seth’s soul with a kiss in the first place. She’d never asked or sought to be born with her father’s curse. Truth be told, their first encounter only fueled her hesitation now. She was happy to be his friend, to have coffee and bitch about the weather. She was fine with being a lover, having him help her leave her sheets in a mess and bid away physical longing. The idea of allowing him to craft her into an apprentice was terrifying. He kept her at arm’s length, and she did the same. Their time involved things in common that didn’t scratch far under the surface, and that seemed safer. If she fell in love with him, she’d kill him.

She didn’t understand back when they’d battled before that her demonic heritage kept the Starslayer curse on a hair-trigger, the way a succubus worked was rooted in love. Now that side of her had been burned away, and she could live as a human, but the stars still moved in the sky and the first dots of the morning star and the rising moon on the sunset horizon were a reminder to her that getting close to Seth would be more dangerous for him than simply an avenue for heartbreak. She wasn’t sure if she was okay with spending that sort of time in the Lavinian’s presence.

“You make a good point,” she ceded, rubbing at her eyes as she realized he’d been waiting for her answer while she thought. “Alright. Start pushing, then. I’m hard to kill.”

Gauntlet clad fist lashed out quickly, hitting Skie in her face. An arm rose to immediately check for bleeding, and the reaction was to use her wounded arm. Immediately, she hissed in pain, before the hand grabbed the arm, and twisted eliciting a cry of pain to issue from her mouth. With careful maneuvering she was on the ground, forced to a knee, for Seth to do with as he pleased. He looked impassively down at her his eyes burning with a bit of anger. Her hair formed a curtain about her face while the sound of metal upon metal could be heard.

“I don't need your permission. Its not like you could stop me anyways. As it stands you're only setting us back a few weeks,” Seth replied firmly. His grip never slacked on the arm, even as Skie winced at the treatment. She struggled only to see the knife stop and tap against the wound causing her to cry out in pain. Seth remained still as the knife began to twirl again. The indigo orbs glared up at him as he shrugged casually. “Please princess, this isn't like the monks. I'm not here to treat you nice and play stupid games hoping you'll learn the lessons. You will or you wont, and I won't be held responsible for the consequences.”

She remained silent, even as the necklace about Seth's neck fell out of his shirt. He frowned looking at the small piece of bone that hung from the leather cord and the way it hovered over Skie. His eyes narrowed before he finally let her go in a vulgar stream of drow expletives.

“Are you fucking insane? You've been holding it all in? No wonder whenever it shows itself it's violent displays of power. You keep the damn thing in so when it does leak out, its the strong stuff!” Seth finally managed. He shook his head before he let her go with a grunt of frustration. He slapped a ahnd on the railing of the balcony before he shook his head, “It's obvious you have no clue what you can do. You haven't even tried touching that power. Do you even know how to manifest it? Do you even have a clue about it?”

He leaned against the railing and looked at her before he said, “Probably not, which means I have to break into a few places. Thaynes be damned you don't make this easy...”

She didn’t know what she expected, but it certainly wasn’t a fist to the face right there and then. When the pain went from blinding, dizzying, to an explosion of unwanted sensation, she longed to hate him. She hated his callousness, the way he called her a princess, and the weird sense of smug satisfaction it felt like he got from keeping her ranked and filed. She couldn’t quite summon hate, though, for the hardhearted thief. He was her best friend, even if he was a strong argument for her need to pick better friends.

The leash that kept her anger at bay was warm and compassionate. If it were tangible, it would smell like worn leather and country air. Now she knew that Seth could sense it too, the mental cage that kept her from lashing out. What did he honestly expect? She’d struck him before, and nearly ended him. His strength had more than doubled, spiraling endlessly past anything she could ever imagine, and he was absolutely not the same mage that she first faced. Still, there was the nagging worry that she would do something that couldn’t be undone. Why couldn’t he understand that? Isn’t that what he himself said?

Skie stood before she would dare speak to him. Like hell she’d acknowledge a word he said while she was on her knees. Grasping the iron railing and staring down at the foam that splashed and rippled on the surface of the river below, she was vaguely aware of the heated stare at her face. More weapon than man, she’d heard someone say about him. Damn if she hadn’t slipped and let the pointy end slice her palm.

“I don’t want to use it against you,” she said quietly. Before he could argue, she shook her head and held up a hand to stay his words. “Besides, I don’t even know what it would do to you. I think it works best against demons, and you’re not that kind of demon. Like the Beauty. They don’t have souls, and I.. did something. I don’t even know what I did, but I know that you’re not like them. You have a soul. I should know, I can’t stand to eat saltwater candy anymore.”

She didn’t dare smile. A tight, angry feeling had been spreading across the top of her nose and across a cheekbone. She’d bruise, she knew for sure. She’d have to avoid Malagaste, who’d fret and she surely did not want to see a Drow in distress. That left her with Seth. She wanted to tell him that if she was so difficult, he could just take a hike, but she wasn’t ungrateful for his help and Thayne help her that she wanted him around even if he was a sanctimonious ass.

“So where do we start? You’re not doing this alone. I earn my keep.”

“All the more reason to train you in it. You have no clue what it does, and you have no clue how to control it. Keeping it boxed in is worse than trying and doing something horrible, because at least you can figure out what is going on. If you don't respect the power in you, you wont be able to stop it when it wants to rear its ugly head. Be it give a Demon a soul, or siphon the soul from a man trying to be a demon.” He pointedly made note of the two cases he saw her use it. Pointing out just the kinds o stuff she had been doing. He turned to look across the city as he sighed and leaned against he Balcony's railings ignoring his compatriot for a brief moment.

The moon peeked through the clouds, offering its feeble light to the city of darkness about them. He spied huddled groups moving through alleyways, some trying to avoid fights, some looking for fights. It was a city of violence, had been for a long time, since the Valsharess' death. It allowed people like Seth greater freedom, as the city guard were more on edge than usual, more stretched thin, more willing to let things go rather than continue to work on their seventh day, hoping tomorrow they'd be told to not come in.

He ignored her, letting the comments seep in, hoping she'd realize what he was telling her before he finally spoke, “The Black Library. If Devon danSabriel had any dealings with the Valsharess, she'd have kept a clean record of those dealings in there. It's most likely in the restricted section, though from what I hear its more active now. The current King is trying hard to figure out what his dear old mother was up to before he killed her. Sloppy job if you ask me, considering he lost the Kyorl and several key officials in the coup.”

He thought he spied her mouth opening before he continued, “If we know who handled the proceedings, and know who worked with him in the field we can figure out how he used his magic. If we have that knowledge its a simple matter of putting the right stresses on you to get you used to channeling and controlling its flow. We aren't going to get much, as magic loves shaking things up, but it might give us a clue as to what you're capable of.”

Finally he turned to her, “We're going to need your buddy to help us. He might be able to pull a guard rotation for us, and speed us up a few days. Hate to say it but your little pet Drow might be quite useful for once. In the meantime rest your arm, throw a bit of meat on the bruise and work on some of that Nito charm I hear your mother was so famous for. You may not have pheromones to drug him, but I'm sure you have a few tricks in the arsenal.”

He knew that last order would rankle her, especially so soon after mocking her for being royalty. Realistically he was done talking about the situation, it was only going to go in one huge circle. Instead he wanted to be out there, infiltrating the black library, finding information on this and moving on.

Her features had twisted, just slightly. The crinkle of her nose forced it into a more pointed shape, her teeth bared. Despite the burning away of demonic artifacts from her banishment, her teeth still had the just-barely-inhuman sharpness to them. Now they accented her feral anger, the heat rising to her cheeks, and the icy darkness that tinged her eyes. The demoness may have been cleansed, but the ghosts of what was still cast their shadows.

“Be careful what you wish for, vith jindurn.” She hissed, despite knowing that he probably didn’t care at all. The Demon was a bannerman for houses that she’d never seen burn. It was usually the best part about him. She’d rather be her own champion, and with her curse she launched herself from the railing and made the few steps to the door of the flat. The wind was teasing at them when she turned, shoving her hair from her face so that she could give him a dispassionate last glance, her anger still on display.

“If you bite as well as you bark, we might get this done quickly.” He chuckled, waving off her insult.

“I’m off to Dofir, I’ll return with or without a Drow. Best behavior when you meet him. I’m not in the mood to mop up a bloodbath. Lock my door behind you. I hope it hits you in the ass on your way out.” It was hard not to growl at him, keeping her voice level. It was harder still to keep from reaching out and throwing him over the edge of the balcony to the rocky street below, as if she could.

She slipped into the apartment, the balcony door slamming behind her. She didn’t dare turn to look through the pane of glass to see Seth’s face. The satisfied grin was already hovering in her mind’s eye, and it only fueled her anger. She grabbed her sword from by the door, and the pack that always held just enough gold for renting a quick horse for a few days. A mechanical whir from the hazy sunlight glowing from the bedroom around the corner caught her attention and she clicked her tongue.

“Suru’nisha. Tiu’xa.” She called. The clockwork crows she’d bought at auction came soaring in on the tinkling flutter of their dark wings. They were tiny representations of true corvids, and each took a perch on a shoulder. The intelligence shining in their onyx eyes was simply an illusion, a reflection of her own control, but they made traveling alone a little less boring. Remembering how Seth reacted to the cut on her arm, she was sure that having the extra defense would be in her best interests.

---

“So tell me,” she said later that evening as she slid onto the desk Malagaste had been working at, careful not to let her thigh slip over the paper he’d been writing, his neat bold script showing as tight control as his actions ever had. “Do you often get books from the restricted section?”

Malagaste let his violet eyes flick to where she’d nodded at the stack of tomes sitting at the edge of his desk. There were a couple whose pages were dog-eared, but most of them were fitted with ribbon and paper bookmarks. The difference between a library book and a personal book, Skie thought, though she’d never guessed the Drow to be one to crease the pages of his personal copies. Perhaps he were more interesting than he let on.

“Why do you ask?” he questioned casually, going back to the report before him. He paused at each line, letting the feathered tip of his quill brush across her thigh before he began to write. Skie smiled, leaning forward so that she could lower her voice. This time there were other guards moving around the room, one sweeping an empty cell, the other refilling casks of water.

“I’m going on a library trip with a friend, and I need to get in there to find something.”

She watched as he held his breath and leaned back in his chair. The quill was left on the dark oak desk, his hands crossed in front of his immaculately pressed uniform. “The friend I know of?” he asked. She knew well his opinion of Seth, though they hadn’t met. She nodded, ever so slightly. Malagaste sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his eyes as if a headache were coming on.

“Don’t be a dalhar,” she teased and shoved his shoulder playfully. “It’s for me, not him. I just need information, I’m not going to take anything. About my dad.”

“Why would anything..” the Drow started, but Skie interrupted.

“There must be something. It might not be what I’m looking for, but he did battle with Thoracis Rakarth, Alerar’s favored son, right? There’s going to be at least a passing mention.”

Malagaste stared at her for a long moment. She held his eyes, making sure to smile innocently. He didn’t have to know why she wanted to know more about Devon, though she wasn’t sure he’d be so opposed to what she needed to accomplish. He had, after all, only barely saved her from the jaws of a drake not that long ago, the skin along her ribs still tinted with the ugly bruise she’d walked away from the encounter with.

“Alright, I can help,” he said, shaking his head. His sheared silver hair fell over his forehead and she grinned truly this time as she reached out and brushed them back to the side. “But,” he added grabbing her wrist and staring hard, his brows furrowing. “I insist on being there as well. Besides, if you need as much time as I believe you do, you will need my authority.”

“So it’s a date?” she cooed happily, sliding off the desk when he sighed and rolled his eyes, her smile still locked on her face. Maybe Seth hadn’t been quite so wrong.

“Nothing in this one either,” The words echoed through the small room as another book was heavily dropped upon a pile. A gauntlet clad hand grabbed the next tome roughly as a black hand slapped upon the top of it. Stormy grey matched with violet hues while the two looked at each other. Finally he spoke, “Can I help you?”

“Vasvrae, don't be so harsh on the books. Others have need of them,” The words were heavily measured and crisp. The tradespeak flawless to leave no chance for misinterpretation. The Black Library stretched on all sides about them. Rows upon rows of bookshelves each filled with book after book of information dating back to the founding of the Dark Elf empire. The group was nestled in a corner far from others as the argument between the two that had been boiling steadily since they met began.

Seth response was also measured in its approach, “Shlu'ta Usstan elendar xor ph'dos aluin ulu ur'esstu a uns'aa mzild?” Malagaste frowned at him his frame stiffening at the blatant accusation. Seth then switched to trade speak, “I may not know enough of the tongue to avoid looking like an idiot for long, but that's still a far cry better than you Malagaste.”

The anger between the men began to simmer before he spoke firmly, “What do you mean?”

“You're useless. Even here helping us in this you are marginally better than the alternative. You act useless, think yourself as anything but useless, and in doing so somehow become even more so,” Seth began. He then held up a single digit and began, “First, you let a sex demon enclave infiltrate Ettermire. Furthermore said sex demon cult ended up killing and replacing people in a hospital. I wonder how many people died from sub par care because the guy was figuring out what to put in those healing poultices? Then, these people kidnapped a person who was your friend, right under your nose. Way to go there buddy. I figure you at least had a handle on things closer to you but you proved too incompetent for even that. Finally, you let a group of thieves into your city, one of which is world renowned, received a medal for protecting this shit hole from a danger, and was visually recognizable. This same internationally recognizable figure then went on a murder spree including, but not limited to, kidnapping a member of said sex demon enclave and washing an entire warehouse in demon blood.”

Each point was heralded by holding up another finger until three fingers stood up proudly on the gauntlet clad hand. He then glowered at Malagaste before he spoke firmly, “So if you're quite done being useless. I want your help and I want you to try to be useful for five goddamn minutes of your already worthless life. Can you do that for me? Or should I get another guard who might have enough brain cells to comprise a thought?”

“Knock it off!” she hissed, swatting at Seth’s fingers. “As if he has anything to do with Ettermire,” she grumbled, closing the book she’d been reading and giving the men a dispassionate glare. “I expected better of you two than having to babysit.”

“Uss tangi l'Vasvrae orn arap'ha. L'cressin d'l'liad orn atsar ukt rei.” Malagaste snarled quietly, “Besides, I can read the books that you cannot, in all your stolen wisdom.”

Skie watched, her mouth twisted with annoyance, as Malagaste sniffed and carefully slid his book back into the shelf, scanning the other titles with his amber eyes. She enjoyed his demeanor when they were alone, when he was with his own friends, but with Seth? Thayne, he looked like a child. And Seth…. She glanced quickly at the thief before she turned her attention to the next tome. Well Seth was a creature all his own, infinitely unpredictable and yet every move made perfect sense.

Above them, her ravens kept watch. The matte black of their steel feathers were camouflaged where they sat above the shelves, shadowed from the light of fettered candles that hung low to the tables. Now and again the click of their claws on the wood would sound, and in the quiet after the men had stopped their fuming, standing tensely while they read, the clicks came just faster than the clock that echoed quietly from the main room of the library.

“Tiu’xa,” she breathed, half alerting the men to the raven’s warning, half cursing. Almost too late the guard’s footsteps were scuffing the floor, certainly more quiet than she’d expected. Curse the Drow for their stealth she thought. Before she could extinguish their candles, Malagaste stepped forward.

In his fist, a light shone. It was a deep plum, and turned his black skin into the reflection of galaxies. Skie’d been among Ettermire enough to forget how beautiful the elves could be, when they wanted to. Suddenly, they were all plunged into darkness. Even their candles were a void. Skie could see nothing. Where before the men had stood, she saw only the shelf with empty spaces where they had pulled books. She looked down and was surprised to see the floor. Her form was concealed even to herself.

Had he made them all incorporeal? She nearly dropped the book, invisible in her hand, when she felt a rough hand jerk her forward. She saw nothing, but felt a body against hers, a hot breath at her neck. Teeth scraped against her skin, and for a second shock wouldn’t let her feel anything. The flood of heat to her cheeks and chest came suddenly, and she caught her breath as lips trailed to her collar. Fingers gripped at her hips, pulling her closer for just a moment and then spinning her around towards the shelf.

The guard was passing by and it took all her will not to reach out and let her hands slam against the thick wood planks of the shelving. She bit her lower lip, some spectral fist jerking her hair back while another reached around her stomach. Their fingers were just under the waistband of her trousers, and the guard swept his lantern towards them. Skie stared, her gaze fixed at the shelf as the light reflected off books inscribed with Drow. They didn’t cast shadows, she thought, before the sudden absence of touch on her skin, of pressure pulling her head back, distracted her. The guard moved his light around and moved on, his face nothing more than bored sleepiness.

After a moment, the enchantment melted away. Skie whipped around, staring down the two men with her. They had equal measures of mischief on their faces, but Malagaste may have been gloating over his spell, his proof of usefulness to Seth, and there wasn’t a day that went by that Seth Dahlios didn’t look smug. As she realized they were both standing where they’d been when the invisibility spell was cast, her rage only gathered. The heartbeat pounding in her throat was now a cacophony in her chest.

“Well that was a neat trick,” the Lavinian said lazily as he crossed his arms and raised a brow.

Malagaste bowed his head, his grin predatory. “It certainly helps when shutting down thieves with too high of a regard for their own skills.”

“Stop,” Skie found herself saying, her voice a low growl, husky with gravel. The two paused and stared at her. Her blush deepened, her cheeks flaming scarlet. Her hair was a mess, wisps fallen from where she’d bound it back with cord. She knew they both were perceptive enough to catch the tremor in her knees, the mark on her neck.

Above them, a raven watched but wasn’t giving any hints.

A few pointed stares were exchanged at the two of them as a hand heavily rested on a book and it was opened. The Demon stared at the pages before he impatiently flipped the book shut and looked up at the ceiling for strength. His eyes drifted shut before he let out a low string of curses and finally spoke in a louder tone, “For now I find this power gained, is more unto a curse...”

“What is that Vas'vrae?” Malagaste's quizzical tone interrupted the silence as Seth finally leaned forward his hands on the table.

“I've been looking at this wrong. I mean, I should have known better after the anecdote about Thoracis becoming a pincushion, but I was too busy laughing at the sheer pride that got him killed there. The point is, Devon Dan Sabriel is a very pragmatic man. If he had known how to use his magic, he would have used it. We'd have all these stories of Devon ripping souls out or bending demons to his will for fear of becoming mortal. What do you call magic that you can't control, and don't even know how to use?”

“A curse,” Skie replied, “Like the infamous Starslayer curse.”

Malagaste looked at him before he frowned, “Alright, what does that have to do with our endeavors. He still might have used it in a-”

“It only presented in his lovers who often died at his touch. Her mother was immune by sheer fact she was a Moontae and had no soul to begin with. She'd fuck everyone to death given half a chance.” He ignored the dirty glare he got from Skie before he went on, “Point is, we have no clue what she is capable of because anyone who knew what to do with this is dead...”

“So you're saying-”

“This was a fucking waste of time, yes. Lets hit a pub and call it a night. I'm already feeling a sneeze fit coming on and I doubt you can hide that,” Seth clarified as he grabbed his satchel. A hand brushed brown hair from his eyes while he shook his head and roughly put his hat on his head. He looked upon the two of them staring at him dumbfoundedly before he muttered something under his breath, “Yes, leave the books here. Look around you, its a fucking library and the forbidden section at that. Cleaning up our mess is more suspicious and takes more time than letting the ink blotters do the job in the morning.”

The pub was almost as ill-lit as the library had been. A fire crackled in the hearth and above the main table in the hall, candles hung in iron fittings. It was a dwarven place, and the chairs and tables were heavy and low, much like most of the denizens. The three of them stuck out in their dark corner, literally, towering over the top of the table with mugs the size of their heads before them. Skie had hardly drunk from hers, instead leaving the thick dark stout while she drew spirals in the foam that had sloshed onto the oak tabletop before her.

“You’re quiet. Fallkipus?” Malagaste asked, twisting in his seat. He’d been unable to get quite comfortable since they sat down, though it may have been less about the chair and more about the myriad of eyes watching him carefully from all around the room. Skie shook her head.

“No, not really. I expected as much, honestly. There has never been much information on my father, aside from his great deeds and the rumors of the curse.” She wished she could remember more of the time she’d met him as a child. When she and Avery were young, younger than they should have been to sneak out alone, they’d gone to Radasanth. Instantly drawn to the Citadel, they’d made a room of giant toys. When Devon had come into the room, by chance, their playthings turned against them and in the end, he’d saved their lives and left them with a small gift. What could have been, she thought to herself, if only any of them had known who the others were.

Bitter words Avery had spewed in the past came flooding in. What measure of father had he been without ever being there? Still, Skie held on to the memory, now that she’d found out. It was funny, she couldn’t remember him ever using magic in the Citadel that day. He’d saved them with his sword, and with quick thinking. They weren’t looking in the right place.

"I wonder," Malagaste said, his eyes drifting over the patrons of the bar, "how your mother survived your father. If it is as it is said, and his lovers perished...."

Skie sighed and pushed her mug away. The bitter brew wasn't fulfilling tonight, and as the dwarves around them were starting to pay their tabs and head out, she found that was all she wanted as well. The night's disappointment was looming large over her, a personal cloud that needed to be cleared with sleep. "Well, he didn't love her. My mother was some measure of unlovable," The words were delivered with a laugh, and lightly but after they were said, Skie stood. "I think I'm heading off to bed, guys. I'll see you later."

When the door was closed and the men alone, the dark elf glanced at Seth. "I don't believe that. There must be something else, and the maternal blood is the key. What do you know about her mother?"

"Well, she was a demon," the Lavinian said. "You know how hard it is to win the affection of one. And to seek it... people call me crazy. I find that sort of thing the height of idiocy."

"No..." Malagaste laughed. "Raiaera's favorite human hero and a demon? Never in the seven hells would i have believed a Purifier to lay with Haidian evil."

"You say evil as if it were an absolute. Tell me, am I evil, Mal?" Seth grinned as he pulled his mug to his lips. The elf wasn't sure if it were a smile of merriment or malice, but either way it wasn't benevolent. Nothing about the Lavinian was, and his answer came to him quickly.

"Oh of that there is no doubt." Each word was spoken as if he were driving nails with them. "Do you really not see the depths of your own darkness? Besides, what demon have you ever met that was kindly?"

Seth's hand flew out, slamming something on the table. It cracked on the wood, and when his fist moved to the side, a familiar brand caught Malagaste's eye. The seal of Alerar, the shape, it was too obvious. The Medal of Trestoria. The drow's mouth drew downward in a grimace.

"The Valsharess felt diffeerently," Seth said. "Evil is never an absolute. You cannot put it in a box, for if you do you will find it overflows the boundaries. To many in this world Alerar iis an evil, a decadent people without morals. Attacking Raiaera immediately after Xem'Zund was defeated?" He clicked his tongue with disappointment, grey eyes dancing with amusement as the elf bristled.

After a moment, Malagaste rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "Even so, the story doesn't make sense. That girl doesn't have a wicked bone in her body. Does that," he waved vaguely toward the door, where Skie had left, "look half demon to you?"

"You assume there was choice in the matter. There wasn't when I fought her. Take it from me, you can overcome base instinct, but you have to know what's going on first."

"A fight?" Malagaste couldn't hide the pleasure on his face. "Do you antagonize all your friends, Vasvrae?"

"Years ago, I was younger, more foolish. In the Citadel. It ended in a tryst, despite the fact I wanted to murder her..."

The pleasure leeched from the dark face, eyes narrowing. "I see... tricky little thing. So we have a girl with a cursed father, a demon mother, who kisses demons and gives them mortality and can apparently turn the Blood Architect from rage to lust despite how many countless victims have been more unlucky...." For a moment they sat in silence before Malagaste spoke again. "Yes, the key must be the mother's blood. I had suspected lust when I heard what happened in the warehouse and the rumors of her father, but demonic magic? I suppose I should be more cautious when pushing her like I did tonight."

"You weren't as subtle about it," Seth snorted. "Next time try not to knock things askew so I can at least pretend you aren't oozing with rampant weasel lust," he offered as he cracked his knuckles. "Blood only goes so far. It gives us the broad strokes, but lightning struck once and it's more to look at the differences rather than the similarity. Let's look deeper than emotions. Her mother didn't have a soul, kinda hard to manipulate what's not there. There's also the question of bloodlines," his voice trailed off before he sighed. "With demonic blood it could have supercharged the magic in her bloodline. She could be stronger than dear old dad."

"If that were true," Malagaste laughed, "Then you would be dead, instead of just an ill-chosen lover."

"If only it were that simple," Seth said, picking up his mug to drain the rest.

"I would believe it if you said you were soulless."

"You also believe that I am evil despite saving a life just last week and countless others. There's the Medal issue but let's let that one rest. Point is, you've narrowed your view. Broaden it, especially where magic is concerned. Even when I met magic's living embodiment, I couldn't help but feel it was only using things I understood so I could fathom what I was encountering. We have no clue. Training her to use it could be lethal to us, or quite successful."

"I wonder," Malagaste said quietly, "Do you truly see your end at hr hands when she has control?"

"My end is my own. I know where my story ends, and this is just another chapter," Seth said levelly. The dark elf ran his hands through his hair, taking a deep breath.

"It would be best," he said, "If you wrote yourself out of her book." With that, he stood and left the Lavinian in the pub. He had plans, after all, and they needed to be laid before the Vasvrae dug in any further.

The demon let the threat slide off. He had heard the Drow run his mouth for hours yet. Still Seth didn't believe the man had what it took, for if he had, there would not have been the need for threats in the first place. He carefully sipped from his tankard, watching the retreating back of the Drow, the thief's thoughts slowly pickling in bad ale and regrets. He leaned back in his chair before he muttered lowly;

“Watch the guard, he's plotting something. He wouldn't be so smug otherwise.” The words seemed to be spoken to no one, that was, until the slim figure under a cloak nodded. Crimson tresses briefly flashed in the low candle light before they rose up. Seth looked at the figure getting up before he spoke, “Do not kill. He's necessary. At least for now.”

The figure turned to face him before he shrugged. The hood shook slowly back and forth in a motion of disbelief before exiting the tavern, leaving the Thief Extraordinaire to himself. He knew they would listen to his words and follow orders, and so that was one less worry on his mind. His eyes focused on the cup before him, his thoughts drifting as they always did when he drank alone. His eyes closed briefly before he muttered, “I'm losing it. Not even doing my own tailing. Seth Dahlios you're one sad sack of shit nowadays...”

He took a steadying breath, his eyes remaining closed as he continued to drink. He would order more drinks until he was too drunk to care. The sweet oblivion of alcohol, and the thought that he could get home safely were the only things he needed. He didn't need the guilt of abandoning those he loved, or the simmering rage at the one who had reduced him to these tactics. He needed to flood the board with pieces, pieces that would be seen as threats. Threats that would need monitoring. In the end, Skie Dan Sabriel was a means to an end, but if she was a true threat, he could stretch the Cult of Blessed Torture's resources just that much thinner. One more unnoticed action, one more mistake.

Seth didn't need to play the game flawlessly, he merely had to make the next to last mistake.

The air was chilly at night, especially in the city where the long lines of street flanked by tall stone buildings would usher the wind through, turning drafts into gales at the slightest provocation. Malagaste wore his tailored wool coat, thick enough to hide the knives strapped to his form but fit well enough to hint at them when he moved. He’d stopped by his safe house to grab them when he left the Vasvrae, and he meant what he had said. There was work to be done tonight, and he’d be damned if he let Dahlios take credit.

His boots were silent on the streets, save for a scuff here and there where he maneuvered a crumbling section of sidewalk. The house was in a poorer neighborhood, but secure enough. Not the slums, but not a family place either. An officer’s salary could hardly afford the trifecta – safety, quiet, and upkeep. In the past he’d thought about selling it, but now that he was in Ettermire more often…

As he moved from his neighborhood to the next, not bothering to peer at signage that pointed to the river, his pace quickened. Now and again he would glance back over his shoulder and frown. There was no noise but his boot heel, or the shuffle of the wind pulling at his coat. Now and again the bark of a dog or some muffled voice from a house or another street would pierce the silence. Still, he thought he could tell that there was something else.

Before he reached the bridge and the building that held Skie’s apartment, he doubled back around and cut through an alley. He was used to running through the city, in pursuit of some prey that was usually too unskilled to evade him for more than a few minutes. Once, he spilled into the street, only to find a figure melt away into shadows with a hint of a dark cloak and an errant strand of red hair.

Lips pressed together in a thin line, he stood in the street for a moment. The gas lamps flickered, pooling light in the darkness. Somehow he knew the figure wouldn’t make the same mistake again and the split second he’d gotten would be all that he would get. The hair on the back of his neck were on end. There’d been times he’d been hunting in the forests and got this feeling, as if he were merely a rabbit and some predator in the night was sizing up if he was worth the effort to eat.

When he set off again, he moved past Skie’s apartment and several streets away, where the windows of a single brick home were glowing, the lantern at the end of the stoop illuminating a sign. The smell of baking bread and a strong, bitter brew grew from merely a hint to an overwhelmingly comforting scent as he opened the door and shut it behind him. The figure, if she were still following him, never stepped close enough for him to see her as he watched the lamplight in the street from within.

An hour later, Skie opened her front door to a serious knock. Yawning, she stepped aside as Malagaste strode in, taking the mug he offered her.

“What?” she started but stopped as the elf began to draw her curtains tight, checking for gaps.

“I brought coffee. It’s a dwarven thing, keeps you awake.” He was crouched, violet eyes whisking back and forth as if they were sweeping her street, taking in every shadow, every light. Skie lifted the mug and sipped at it, clutching her robe around her. She’d been in the haze of sleep when he knocked, and the thought of being awake again was slightly soul-crushing. She knew the elf by now, though, and if she were patient he would eventually tell her what was going on.

When he did stand, she sipped again, holding her tongue at the sight of the daggers. He was swaddled in them, the belts that held them in placed draped about him like Yule garlands. For a moment, she started to smile, but when he turned around the smirk melted away.

Beatrix Dahlios watched from the outside, irritated that the curtains had been so tightly pulled. She waited, though, and watched. If she watched closely enough there were still passing shadows to be caught against the pale cloth. No candle had been lit, but the pale moon from the balcony on the other side would likely be enough for her to tell where the two were in the tiny front room. If they moved to the bedroom... well that was another story.

After what seemed like ages, she was bored and willing to go tell Seth that the two were fucking and nothing more when a strangled squeal came muffled from the small apartment. Cheap housing like this had thin walls, and while it sounded like the cry was nearly kept quiet, it would be loud enough to wake the neighbors.

It was nothing in comparison to the brilliant flash of white light that came afterwards, full of heat and the indescribable feel of wild magic.

It didn't take long. Even with a goodly amount of alcohol in the Demon's system he was mobile, pushing through the streets with a lethal surety that saw no one step in his path. While the occasional tough would step, they would back down just as quickly with a glance. It wasn't the fact he reeked of alcohol, or the fact he still moved with a steady grace, it was the raw wave of anger that emanated from him. It was an aura of hostility that seemed to shun life itself. A rock bottom no one wished to touch for fear of being drawn down to.

The door burst, there was no other way to describe it. One moment is was closed, the next fragments of wood were flying through the air. Malagaste seemed involved in whatever it was he was doing and barely had managed to turn his head before the cloud of liquor and bad intent fell upon him. Soon he found his face resting against the table as an arm twisted his until the knife that was in it was dropped. Even then the pain that coursed through the arm was troubling, and it was hard to tell if it was broken in the act, or merely torqued to the breaking point.

The eyes of the Demon were a cold dead gray, revealing no hint of life as he looked at his apprentice and spoke, a drunken slur weaving through them, “I told you this could happen. Instead you decide to tempt fate and create moments that you know your magic triggers. So tell me, what did it taste like? Did you like it or was it as sour as this man's attitude?”

Skie danSabriel seemed frustrated with the acts of her supposed mentor. Immediatly she was on the attack, “DO you even hear what you're saying? You've come sweeping in with nothing to find out what's going on, just assuming you're vith'ez right and know best!” She stalked forward an accusatory finger pressing into his shoulder, even as he held the guard down. She seemed to press the point, much like her finger in the hopes of getting through the alcohol haze, “As if you'd know something about tasting someone else, you bitter bastard!”

Seth's eyes narrowed dangerously, seeming to shrink into mere slits in his face. He glowered at her before with a final shove, he let Malagaste go. The Drow seemed to be considering reprisal, but thought better of it, as he brushed himself off and checked for more permanent harm. Finally the Demon spoke, his voice coming out gravelly, “If you think for one second you have what it takes Skie, take that swing. I'll warn you Princess that if you do, you can not fathom the consequences.”

With that last threat he crossed his arms, and waited to see what the half-demon would do to him.

She knew he’d hit her, of that there was no question. If she let her knuckles fall on cheeks flushed with liquor, he’d retaliate. Seth didn’t take niceties with those he saw as warriors, and it was something she liked about him but found frustrating at times. Rough around the edges was only cute until it sliced your hands. Now he was tumbling in with assumptions, thrashing about in ways that would leave them both a mess in the morning.

Had he even noticed her hands were glowing, or Malagaste’s patient instruction in her ear when he’d crashed through the door? Of course not, and her ire overtook her patience as she stared him down. Her fists clenched, and without caring for the consequences, Skie pulled back for a slap.

She never got the chance to strike before the Demon had her wrist. It felt too fragile in his grip, like the hollow bones of a bird. She flew forward with his pull just as easily as a sparrow might be ripped from a branch in the talons of a hawk. Before she could get her feet back under her, she found herself slammed against the wall. How funny that in just a few moments she was in the same place she’d been, only with the men having switched places.

“Maybe you wouldn’t be struggling so much, just maybe you might have a chance to take me down if you just learned.” Seth’s voice was low and slurred, annoyance seeping into each word. From over his shoulder, Skie locked eyes with Malagaste. Leave us, she mouthed, and the elf hesitated. Before she could try and signal him to press her point, the thief that held her arm against the cool wall attacked.

He didn’t hit her like she thought he would. Instead, his body pressed against hers and before she could think through the miasma of beer that surrounded him his lips crashed into hers. He kissed her hard enough that her teeth pressed into the back of her lips and she thought she’d taste blood.

Instead, she tasted taffy. God, the world seemed so bright and then she was falling into a void, going back to the place where she had power. It had been years since she had been here, out of her body and within arm’s reach of Seth Dahlios’ very soul. This time, however, she didn’t feel herself devour it. It was there to be plucked or protected, just waiting. Was this a sign she was more powerful than when she’d been barely out of the nest and facing Seth for the first time? Or perhaps because the demonic blood in her veins had been purged?

She reached out, barely noticing that her hand was made of pure light. She didn’t bother to wonder exactly where she was. It didn’t matter anyway. Magic didn’t work like that. Instead, she cupped Seth’s soul and brought it closer, peering into it as if it were a crystal ball and she was some roadside diviner.

When she’d seen him before in the shadows of his soul, he was locked in a battle with his past. Now she saw his form, nothing more than made of wisps, kneeling against the pole of a stake he’d been chained to. Figures around him were whipping him, and while no sound existed here, nothing but the movement of light and shadow, she could feel his pain.

“Oh Seth,” she said, her words echoing in her mind as they were lost to the void, letting her eyes move from the central shades of torture and peer into the edges. There was a storm there, an oncoming night. Somewhere in the darkness, she saw herself and probed. What did Seth Dahlios truly hold for her in his heart?

She saw it. A means to an end, the same end that rushed closer with swirling thunder and a darkness far deeper than the shadows that danced in his soul now. She was a stepping stone to a conclusion he’d written for himself long ago. It took great will but she whispered a silent prayer at the soul and released it, leaning back to give it room to wander where it would.

She came out of her trance not knowing how long she’d been gone. Surely not long, the bright light she’d last seen extinguished and Seth’s kiss still pressing against her mouth. Dizzy, the once-demon returned it, noting the bare noise her mentor made. Somewhere between a growl and a strangle, he let her wrist go and wrapped his arms around her, one hand moving to the nape of her neck where he ensnared her hair while the other lifted her jaw with what seemed to be carefully calculated if slightly rushed unkindness. His mouth ducked into the lee of her neck and from over her shoulder she stared down the elf who hadn’t the sense to leave when she’d told him to.

Malagaste had a strange look in his violet eyes. It was confused and amazed. Had he been able to see her spell cast, her manipulation of the soul? Surely not, Skie thought. She’d been alone in that strange silent place. When their eyes met, Skie knew that the Drow had questions and a long list of things he was holding himself back from doing. But she hoped that after their interrupted conversation, he would have the good sense to trust her.

A moment of tension in his eyes seemed to pass, and he turned. He moved through the open, splintered door as quietly as he stalked through Alerian streets, but there were still the barest whispers of cloth moving, a footstep scraping through the debris and it seemed to be the cue the Lavinian had been waiting for. Seth relented, a grin spreading across his face. Thayne, Skie thought. That cocky son of a bitch thinks he’s won, that he shut me up and pissed off Malagaste. No, she would ensure that she had control this night. He would hold her in something more than the calculated regard she’d seen in his soul.

After all, she hadn’t been any demon. She was a succubus and while the blood was gone, the memories remained.

Hunger, Rage, Pain, he was hurting. He was in need, he was adrift in a sea of emotion and alcohol. He was drowning in it, part of him was aware of this, part of him was fighting it. That part of him was but a mere voice amongst the storm that had abolished the Lavinian Demon's rationale and logic. He had stormed into the apartment trying desperately to stop Skie from killing someone, and here he was trying to pin her to the wall and show her how much of an animal he truly was. Clothing was being shed as skin touched.

It had been years since Seth had experienced anything close to this much Lust. Part of him had expected Skie to be pumping him with the pheromones her people were known for. A powerful aphrodisiac that would lay him bare before her, plowing her as a farmer the field. He couldn't feel the burning need the desire that overrode instinct that he associated with the use of them. It wasn't like the Citadel, it was like the warehouse. This was just rabid lust, a desire to mark his territory in the most bestial manner possible.

A tear was made in a shirt, not that it mattered. It was more clothing in the way, he needed her, he wanted her. She was intoxicating, a drug that he would devour. There would be guilt, there would be the heat of betrayal. He didn't care, he was hurt, he was angry, he was lonely. He kissed her fiercely, only to find her push him away. He growled lowly looking her in the eyes as he saw it, a determined will that would not bend. He wanted that fire, he wanted to devour it.

There was a reason Skie DanSabriel was a lover of his.

The past and the present collided as he began the joust. Both wanted to dominate the dance. It was an intricate fight that saw the two of them suddenly on a bed. The last stitch of clothing on the floor as a final corpse in the crusade. He had fought this battle against few women, and each fight was relished. The bites and caresses. The urges and needs that saw the blankets shoved off the bed. This was carnal pleasure at its basest. Love was a foreign concept to the Lavinian Demon now, a dead notion. This was pure lust, he wanted to devour the purity he detected in the half demon.

He bit into the soft flesh of a breast eagerly causing a gasp to escape the poor girl, unsuspecting of the attack. It gave him the leverage to pin her to the bed before a hungry kiss was stolen from the girl. She was a fighter though, and soon she used her legs to grip his chest and roll him over. Kisses and bites scratched across his chest. He arched into the sensation for once finding the pleasure in the pain that had inundated his life. It was a sensation he had never given into, a base guilty pleasure that brought with it a heady taboo feeling. With her on top he could feel the fight would soon reach its climax, before a second climax could be truly reached.

A hand reached up and grabbed her hair, pulling and baring her throat before teeth sunk into the soft flesh of the neck. A final play in an attempt to be in control for the night. It was hard for him to keep his head together with the alcohol and emotional whirlwind that found itself raging within him. He could feel himself slowly fading as he gave into his carnal instincts, doing whatever was necessary to plow the woman who even now seemed to be recovering from his last assault.

It was somewhere between teeth that stumbled between bites and kisses that Skie realized she’d needed this. The Beauty wilted without lovers, and while she’d been stripped of her heritage, some things went beyond biology. Loneliness had taken its toll on her more than she’d cared to admit. It made the pain in Seth’s touch and bites more sweet than bitter. When his mouth found hers, she still tasted his soul. She still felt hurt that even deep down at his core, he was using her.

Now, tired of foreplay, fingers brushing over her breasts and pinching the soft flesh to elicit a moan, his use of her was more about immediate pain than any plans he had for redemption. Somehow it made things better. She’d rather be a lover taken as a salve to soothe a lonely pain than a friend allied for some future purpose, for a way to pay debts she’d had no part in owing.

The thief below her had cast aside his propriety and gripped her hips to guide her where he wanted her. They were demons now, he in name, she in birth, but both in actions.

---

Morning seeped in slowly. The sky brightened outside and illuminated her little bedroom. Skie’d woken first, less drowned in alcohol than her lover had been. At first she’d tried to slip away to the bathroom or to fix the door, unsure which was more urgent. When she moved, Seth stirred. She watched as his eyes fluttered, his brow furrowed and he pulled her against him tighter as he shifted.

Eventually she realized that he would wake up now or later, and it didn’t matter if she were the one who did it or it came more naturally. With all he drank, she was sure he wouldn’t be pleasant. As awkward as the morning-after conversation would have been without the beer, a hangover wouldn’t make it better.

When she finally decided to peel herself from his side and slip off the bed, there wasn’t much resistance other than a feeble attempt to hug her and a hitch in his breath. All habit, she mused, maybe from another lifetime when he had a peaceful night’s sleep with his wife. Their night together had been anything but peaceful. The ache between her legs and bruises splashed across her shoulders and hips told a story different than marital comfort.

When she sat at the table with a mug of strong dwarven coffee and stared at the street through the holes in her door, Skie found herself surprised that she didn’t really feel ashamed. She didn’t feel much of anything, except for a growing list of desires. She didn’t want the night to have ruined her training under the thief. She wanted to still learn from him, work with him. Certainly she still wanted to sleep with him. Mostly she wanted to get to a place where he held her as an equal in his very core, and not just a pawn that may or may not survive the chessboard.

And she wanted a new door.

Seth moved out of the bedroom, his feet sliding across the wooden floor. Each step was a soft thud, emphasizing a lack of grace and a boorish disposition. His eyes were half open not even registering much, even as a knife lazily twirled in fingers. It was the rote ritual that got him through the morning that caused him to move to the balcony of the apartment. The blade held to his throat before it was drawn across the flesh, sheering through the burgeoning hair. He diligently worked the blade with a careful grace that saw him pull skin taut while drawing steel along flesh.

Task accomplished he moved back in and sat down on a chair with a heavy thud. The knife hitting the table with a clatter that caused the Demon to flinch. He saw a mug of black liquid before him, and vaguely remembered Alerar held a drink that boasted making one more awake and alert. He grabbed the cup and sipped at it, another look of displeasure to cross his features before he heard the words; “Good morning...”

They rang in his head causing the thief to wince once more before he grumbled, “Not so loud.”

“Last night-”

“Was my fault,” Her eyes seemed to study him, drinking in the details of the man before he sighed and continued, “I let my loneliness and pain get the better of me. I pushed myself on you, and you didn't kill me for it. I suppose that's professional courtesy? Or did you learn to control your magic enough to not try and eat my soul this time?”

He could see her bristle at the question, and she seemed ready with a retort before she saw the softer look in his eyes. Gone was the look of a man seeking to avoid the world around him. Gone was the look of a man at his wit's end trying desperately to peace some semblance of his former life back together. The look in his eyes was one of interest and concern. It was the look a man gave his equal on the battlefield. A look of camaraderie underlining the concern that snaked through every word.

“I...I'm not sure. It was different last night...” She said softly. Seth nodded before he sipped the cofee some more. A pained look crossing his face at the acrid taste of the beverage. Looking upon his protege he gestured at her.

“Go on, different is good. Different means you are maturing and we may be closer to control,” He explained. Her look seemed guarded from previous gazes. He understood finally, there was an elephant in the room to address, and its name was the thayne blessed sex they had the night before. He looked at the door a soft snort of mirth escaping, “I don't think you have to worry about me going this time. I need you, and I dare say you might even need me.”

She didn't expect him to say anything to soothe her wounds. The Seth she knew was brutal and blunt, not fettered by niceties to his associates or friends. It would have been easy for her to just accept that what he was saying was the truth - hell he probably thought he meant it. But she'd seen a glimpse of him again. The soul didn't lie. It couldn't.

"So, where do we go from here?" Skie asked when they were on their second cups, now awake and relaxed enough to think to douse them with the sugar cubes Skie kept near the iron stove

"The library was a bust," Seth said. "and any other such plan will be one as well. We're going to have to experiment. So little known about your dear old dad and you are... different."

"Different is good." Skie said quietly, sipping at the coffee, echoing his words from before. Seth shrugged. Well, maybe someone whose soul she almmost ate would feel differently. At least she didn't kill him.

"I don't think sex or love or any of that shit is the key. What have the main uses of your powers had in common?"

"I mean... there was kissing both times," Skie said, looking pointedly at Seth. She'd used her pheremones as a last ditch effort to survive him in the Citadel those years ago, and found herself at the mercy of lust with her childhood friends in the warehouse when she'd turned them mortal. In both cases the magic stirred when lips were locked. It didn't seem like such a bad spell regeant to her.

"No, both times you thought you were going to die."

"So," she asked, arching a brow, "We're going to get me almost-killed a bunch until we understand what happens?"

"As hilarious as that would be," Seth snapped, crumbling even more sugar into his drink, "the Lornius company is coming to Alerar. Let's poke them."

Congratulations!

Skie and Avery receives 1650 EXP and 130 GP!

Dissinger receives 2030 EXP and 120 GP!

This thread will now be submitted to the workshop for peer review!

All rewards added!