Chapter 3

This chapter is likely to bewilder those who have read the other, more official chronicles of my life. My first experience with the elves is many leagues and years from the eventual enmity between myself and their people. Yet, though none involved had eyes to see it, the seeds for that vendetta were sown here. I certainly had no prescience for any strife, as I held a foolish fascination with elves so common with the young.

Since Rhadoviel mentioned we would be visiting Iarveiros, I had been buzzing with excitement. The enclave of elves on Chassudor, Iarveiros was a subject of wonder for any raised on the continent. Though it was well into its decline then, I had no eyes to see it. The old man did not say when we would go, and I did not ask. I simply waited until he, with typical puckish cruelty, woke me when it was still dark to tell me we'd be leaving at sunrise. I dutifully gathered my things and prepared to go. Out of pride, I took Spire, which was what I named my stout ironwood staff. I set my last and most precious possession on the table: the lamp of Zhahllaia.

"Zhahllaia the Enlightened," I said into the stillness of the room.

The smoke billowed forth and Zhahllaia stepped from the cloud. The effect was still incredible and yet my routine had made it somewhat mundane. Still, her lovely form clad only in the minute golden chains, was enough to rob me of breath. She cocked her head, regarding the full pack next to my bed. "You are traveling."

"To Iarveiros," I said. "Have you ever been to any of the elven nations?"

"There was no love lost between the elves and Qammuz," she said.

"I was going to ask if you wanted to accompany me," I said, cheeks warming. "If you choose to stay, I can leave you free of your lamp. You would have the run of Thunderhead while Rhadoviel and I were gone."

"I want to go," she said quickly, lifting herself up on the balls of her feet. "Being confined to the lamp has lost its power to trouble me, Master Wizard."

I ran the back of my hand down her cheek, relishing the shimmer that trilled from my fingertips up my arm and down my spine. She leaned into the touch, smiling at me, her gold-flecked eyes bright. "I'm pleased you feel that way. Being without you would feel wrong. Please return to your lamp for now."

She faded into the smoke, returning to the lamp. I wrapped it in a robe and secured it safely in my pack. Since Zhahllaia was going, I packed the Alishum board and pieces I had assembled under the djinn's exacting supervision. The board was painstakingly drawn on a scroll, the one I carried was the sixth such effort and the first to be judged worthy. The pieces I had hand sculpted, one side from coral, the other from driftwood. These went into a box I found forgotten in one of Thunderhead's many subterranean storerooms.

I shouldered my pack and met Rhadoviel on the muddy road that terminated at our doorstep. He rode his swaybacked nag, his familiar Ephlin sullenly staring from a water-filled bottle secured to the saddle. I was left leading Hob, our mule, my familiar on my shoulder. Not far was a low hill topped with a henge made of horse-sized blocks of coral.

Rhadoviel was already casting his spell as we climbed the well-worn path. By the time we reached the coral pillars, the air within was shimmering with a riot of colors just outside my conscious vision. I perceived the magic in all five of my senses: the halo of light wreathing Rhadoviel's restless hands, the scent of lightning in the air, the sound of distant singing on the wind, the feel of cold inside hot, the taste of flowers. These told me not just that magic was being performed, but that it was a traveling spell.

We stepped into the ring of standing stones, and the world subtly changed. All I could see took on a flat aspect, like props on a stage, but all I could not see gave the impression of being too real, with too many angles, too many sides. I would look at a tree and be certain that just behind it was a shape that I could not name or even understand. It was seeing without seeing, a knowledge of paradox.

It was, in short, magic.

With each step, the scenery changed, as though we'd traveled a league down the road, until at the end of the day, we stepped back into the mundane from the Hinterlands and through another henge, this one fashioned of stones of granite.

We made camp by the side of the road at the base of a mountain range. Judging by the exposed stone on those peaks, the granite of these standing stones was local. Rhadoviel used his power to create a tent out of nothing, and when he opened the flap, it revealed a vast room littered with sumptuous pillows and furs. I was made to sleep on the cold ground, as under Rhadoviel's logic I would never learn this power unless I experienced the discomfort of being without it. I woke up chilled to the bone and a nest of aches. We stepped through the center of the standing stones once again to make our way through the Hinterlands.

For five days we traveled like this, each day worse than the last, with aches and boredom my most constant companions. I wished I could have taken Zhahllaia from her lamp, but she could not go undetected here. I was stuck with no conversation but the old man's rants.

On the sixth day, we didn't step back into the henge we exited the previous evening. Instead, we walked along the path as mundane travelers. The forest stretched across the eastern horizon as far as I could see in either direction.

At the terminus of the path, the elven city of Iarveiros emerged from the ancient wood like a jewel at the center of a diadem, its trees shining in the sunlight.

Every step towards the city unveiled details. The trunks of the trees forming this jewel were silver, the boughs gold, and they stood among, but apart from the other trees with their red-brown bark and green needles. Graceful staircases spiraled up the sparkling trunks to walkways and structures built into the canopy. Shapes moved about up there, tall and slender and shining like slivers of spun silver. To my eyes, this was a place for gods.

That, of course, was precisely the impression the elves wished to impart.

"Close your flycatcher, boy. You look like a damn fool," the old man growled.

Two young men stood at the base of a nearby tree's staircase. At the time, I assumed them to be elves. Their ears came to delicate points, their hair was ash blond, and their complexions carried a subtle lavender tint. They were clad in glittering mail and were armed with bows and swords of incredible craftsmanship and beauty. I would learn later that these were actually half-elves, the product of unions between human and elf.

They bowed to Rhadoviel as the old man slid from his saddle, retrieving Ephlin and his pack. Two more half-elves, dressed in tunics and breeches that looked casual next to everything else, but were still finer than any garment I had ever seen, stepped into the dappled light. I marveled at their stealth, accomplished without the appearance of trying.

Rhadoviel handed the reins of his horse to the new arrivals. "Go on, boy," he said to me. "They'll tend to Hob." I obeyed, giving the reins to the porters, who led our animals out into the cool dark of the woods. I wouldn't see either animal until we left a week later and both were in better health and appearance than they had ever been.

The guards stepped aside, allowing us to mount the staircase and ascend the massive tree. I ran my hand over the bark. It wasn't merely silver-colored, but some wood and metal alloy, smooth as silver, but with the give of wood. Magic, used so casually as to overawe, is the elvish way. It certainly worked on me, the rube who thought of the old tower of Thunderhead as grand, or the fishing village of Burley Shoal as populous.

When we were three-quarters of the way up, we had a commanding view of the gentle slope leading up into this forest. Other shapes approached from the west, always traveling in twos, some with pack animals or horses, some without.

"More wizards?" I asked.

"You didn't think this was only us, hmm?"

"Of course not."

"Need I remind you not to lie to me, boy?"

"Apologies, Master."

"Don't you worry, boy. You're in for the night of your life." He cackled to himself.

"How many wizards? All of those in Rhandonia?"

"Not merely Rhandonia, but all the wizards in Chassudor, I expect. I remember my first symposium. You'll thank me later, you will."

The stairs opened onto a twilight-lit terrace, shielded from the sky by the highest boughs of the tree. Golden bulbs hung at irregular intervals, spilling a gentle glow over the area. The railing at the edge was intricately scalloped, shaped by a master craftsman.

The elves awaited us, and now I could see the difference between these and the ones below. Every one of them was taller than I, their bodies graceful and slender. At the time I compared their proportions to elegant creatures, to birds and cats, to trees and moonbeams. Later, I would think of their long-limbed bodies as those of spiders. Their ears were tall, the points almost stretching to the crowns of their heads. Their hair was platinum blond, long and straight without a single tangle. Their haughty features were subtly inhuman as well, their eyes large, noses and mouths delicate. Their skin was pale, with strong lavender undertones, especially in places my own flesh would show red.

They were dressed in flowing gowns and robes, the fabric glittering with metallic undertones. All wore jewelry, intricate rings and narrow crowns set with precious stones. I immediately felt like a barbarian from an unimportant backwoods. Which, to be fair, I was. I fought not to wither under their ageless gaze. I thought I detected a hint of amusement, but that could be my mind creating insult where none existed.

More half-elves, these in servant garb, waited unobtrusively at the edges of this terrace.

The elf in the center, wearing a crown that made me think of the boughs of a tree, spoke. "Welcome, Rhadoviel of Thunderhead."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." The old man bowed, and that might have been the most incredible sight thus far.

"Welcome, Belromanazar of Thunderhead."

I bowed like Rhadoviel had, then made it a little deeper. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

The king, for that's who he was, the King of Iarveiros, gestured and servants appeared at our elbows. "You must be exhausted from your travels. Please, retire to your rooms and refresh yourselves. When you are rejuvenated, you may join us at the reception."

We bowed and thanked the king again, and followed the servant away from the terrace, along more walkways spanning the treetops. Elven buildings were sculpted from the living trees, natural and artificial all at once. I was dazzled, seduced by the grandeur of this place.

The servant led us to one of these buildings, gesturing to an open archway that served in lieu of a door. Rhadoviel didn't acknowledge the servant, but I thanked her. She blinked in surprise and scurried off without a word. I followed the old man inside and once again, my breath was stolen from me.

The vaulted ceiling towered overhead, with multiple terraced levels extending from the walls in tiers. The lowest was a pool of clear water, the others were furnished with couches and chairs of incredible quality, bookcases filled with volumes, and tiny trees decorated with chimes of precious stones and metals. Archways opened off the main room. Rhadoviel pointed to one on the upper level. "That's your room boy. Take your time. You'll want to clean up. Thoroughly."

He wasn't wrong. After nearly a week of travel and sleeping on the cold ground, I was an odorous fright. Attending a reception of those elegant creatures looking like this would be a humiliation I'd never recover from.

My room featured a pool like the one in the central room, filled with warm, sweet-smelling water. Oddrin unfolded himself, basking by the water but not going in. I opened up my pack, retrieving Zhahllaia's lamp and setting it next to the pool. I called her forth while I undressed. She emerged from her smoke as I lowered myself into the water. Instantly, the aches in my muscles dissipated and fatigue vanished from my sinews.

"Where is this place?" she asked, looking about in wonder. Zhahllaia was always petite, but against the high walls of the elven room, she was beauty in miniature. My eyes fell to her shapely rear, where the chains caressed her bronze flesh with every tentative step.

"Laerothia. Westernmost city of Iarveiros." I tried to sound authoritative as I repeated the morsels of knowledge that Rhadoviel dropped.

"Perhaps some of what the Qammuzi said about the elves was not entirely correct," she said, spinning gracefully on the ball of a foot, and returning to me. She sat, dangling her legs in the pool. I watched the delayed reaction of the water, fleeing from something that was and yet was not there. The riddle of her intangibility continued to vex me.

"How were you? In the lamp, I mean."

"Oh, it was a trifle. After a thousand years, you need not worry." She paused, a sly smile lighting her face. "But I do not mind that you do."

"I am to attend some kind of reception," I said. "Wizards from all over Chassudor, their apprentices as well."

"For what purpose?"

"I don't know. The way Rhadoviel talks, it's like there's a joke I'm missing. Still, I feel as though there is some official business as well. Elves and wizards seem to want to remain aware of one another."

"The dangers of living so close," Zhahllaia agreed. "Shall we have a game while you bathe? Or were you hoping to lie with your concubine?"

I hadn't thought of the latter, but now in the presence of her loveliness, I could think of nothing else. "The second, I think."

She smiled. "I fear you will have to defeat me first. Get the Alishum board and play as though you have been starved for my touch."

Grumbling, I fetched the board and set it up between us. She was as implacable as always, though I made her work for her inevitable victory. At the end, my forces decimated, she gave a playful sigh. "Unfortunate, Master Wizard. A week without my love and you will have to persevere at least one more night."

"You're cruel," I said, lifting myself from the water, my lips brushing over hers. The shiver passed through our touch to run delicious fingers over my spine. I dropped back into the water.

"I am. I think distractions will harm your ability to make a good impression. An elven ally could be formidable and I want you at your best. When you return, perhaps we will lie together."

I bathed and shaved, and then I did so again. My hygiene at Thunderhead had never been much of a concern, and in truth I did not know how clean I was supposed to be.

"You're finished," Zhahllaia said. "If you keep scrubbing, you're going to take a layer of skin."

"Thank you," I said, heat rising to my cheeks. I pulled myself from the pool and caught

Zhahllaia's gaze following me. "What?"

"Perhaps I spoke too hastily about loveplay."

I chuckled. "Later. I need to be my best, remember?"

I pulled on my best robe, fixing it in place. Oddrin fluttered to me and settled on my shoulder. I had no jewelry then, no treasures to display. I would be more impressive on my second visit, but that was years off. I kissed Zhahllaia once again and returned her to the lamp, once again hiding it amongst my things, then went out.

The old man floated naked in the pool in the common room. Ephlin, his familiar, floated nearby, his three tentacles splayed and single baleful eye shut. "Master?" I ventured, averting my eyes.

"Take your damn time, you fool," Rhadoviel said without opening his eyes.

"When does the reception start?"

"Reckon it's started. Go when you like. The wise man would take advantage of the baths here. Really soak. Get the knots from your muscles."

"I would like to meet the elves."

"Then go! Leave me here." He opened one eye. "Should an elven lady inquire about my whereabouts, you can send her here."

"I'll do that, Master."

"Good lad. Now get on with you and give me some damn peace."

I stepped out of the dwelling and realized that I wasn't certain where to go. I wasn't even certain I could find the terrace I'd initially arrived on. I was standing there, wondering if I could brave Rhadoviel's ire by asking for directions, when a half-elf appeared at my shoulder, looking expectantly at me.

"Can you take me to the reception?"

The half-elf gave a short bow and beckoned me to follow, leading me not to the first terrace, but another, grander one, set high in the boughs of one of their shimmering trees. This faced deeper into the forest, looking out onto a quiet lake bordered by tall conifers.

Branches were covered in crawling vines braided with glowing jewels, casting gentle light over the terrace. Half-elves circulated with silver trays of golden wine in delicately-fluted goblets. More half-elves played harps and flutes, their music like butterflies in the air. Elves gathered in twos and threes, watching the new arrivals with interest. I wasn't the first apprentice present. Three others were there first, each speaking with a single elf. I noted with some surprise that every elf was barefoot. I learned later that these elves only covered their feet when they traveled from their treetop city.

"This is incredible, isn't it?" said a bubbly voice next to me.

I turned to find a beautiful young woman of about my age. Waves of black hair fell around her shoulders as she offered a wide smile. Her bright green eyes twinkled against honey-colored skin. She was short, with heavy breasts and hips, a roundness to her that extended to her face. Surrounded by elves, I was struck by how human she looked. The moon cat on her shoulder sized Oddrin up.

"I've never seen anything like it."

"Phylyta Sullac," she said. "Apprentice to Aphiane Dulaev."

I introduced myself and bowed. "I've never heard an accent like yours."

"I come from Mairault." I'd heard of it, an island off the southern coast of Chassudor. "I've never heard of Thunderhead either."

"I don't think I would have heard of it if I wasn't from there."

She laughed. "We are both far from home, aren't we?"

"My master tells me nothing. Do you know what we're doing here?"

"My mistress was coy. She said I would enjoy myself, but..." she shrugged. "There are many beautiful things to look at."

I loved her accent. Every word was a meal. I was about to speak when over her shoulder I saw an elven man approaching. He towered over both of us, but especially Phylyta. "I think we have a visitor," I murmured.

She turned as the elf arrived. He gave the two of us a nod, but focused on Phylyta. "You are Phylyta Sullac, are you not?"

She curtsied. "I am, my lord."

"I would speak with you." He looked to me. "If you would excuse us?"

As I was leaving, Phylyta caught my eyes and widened hers. I had to grin. If I didn't know better, I thought the elf lord was flirting. I could hardly blame him as I was in the process of moving that direction myself.

I accepted a goblet from one of the half-elves and made my way to the railing, watching the tiny lights of insects flitting over the velvet surface. The air was cool on my skin but far from unpleasant.

"Lake Aelwyn," said a musical voice behind me, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. "I learned to swim in its shallows."

"I can't imagine an elf learning..." I said, and the sentence died on my lips as I first beheld a woman whose name even those who know of me only in broad strokes would surely recognize. She watched me with her wide violet eyes, her platinum hair hanging to her waist. She was over a head taller than I, her rose gold gown clinging to her shapely form. Her breasts were small, her hips subtle, her legs impossibly long. She smelled faintly of lavender. I was instantly besotted with her.

"Learning to swim?" she prompted.

"Learning much of anything."

She chuckled, hiding her mouth with her hand. "Elves must learn many things. We merely have more time to do so than others. Even one as young as I."

"How old are you?"

"But a century," she said. I would learn later that was the reason she was present, that she had recently celebrated her hundredth year. According to the traditions of her people, she was an adult. "I am Tarasynora."

"It's my honor. Do I call you 'my lady'?"

"It is my understanding that my title most closely corresponds to Duchess."

I searched my memories of Zhahllaia's etiquette tutorials. "Your Grace?"

"You may address me as Tarasynora. What do I call you?"

"Belromanazar. Of Thunderhead."

"That would make you Rhadoviel's apprentice, yes? How is he?"

"Cranky."

She giggled again. "He knew my aunt well. I believe she will be looking for him."

"He told me to tell any who were that he's in our quarters."

"I think I shall let my aunt find that for herself. How do you like the wine?"

I had forgotten I was holding the goblet. I sipped. "It tastes like raindrops on a grape."

"You have a way with words," she said, touching my hand. Then, realizing what she'd done, retracted it quickly and sipped her wine.

"What does a duchess do here?"

"My family's estate is at the northern edge of the Laeroth Forest, but a noble of my standing is expected to appear at court. My marriage is already arranged, uniting our duchy with another on our eastern borders. When it is done, we will have the single largest estate in Iarveiros."

"You are getting married," I said, trying to keep my tone neutral, but my disappointment was obvious. I had been entertaining some thoughts about Tarasynora, and now she was out of my reach. I glanced about for Phylyta, but she was engrossed in conversation with the elf lord.

"Is something the matter?"

"Oh, nothing important."

"I should hope not," she said, touching my arm again. This time, she kept her hand there. "I would be insulted."

We continued to talk and she kept finding excuses to touch me. I couldn't quite square that with her casual revelation that she was due to be married soon. Not long into the evening, I watched an apprentice, who had arrived after me, leave the party on the arm of an elf woman. Phylyta left with her elf lord not too long after. One by one, the apprentices departed, each on the arm of an elf noble. I was beginning to bemoan my luck, stuck with the one elf present who was engaged.

"Come now, Belromanazar, something troubles you."

"That apprentice there is leaving with one of your people."

She glanced over. "That is my cousin Ilsevel. Poor thing. Her wizard isn't very much to look at, is he? I don't imagine he will last beyond tonight. Certainly not beyond her wedding."

"She is engaged?"

"Of course. Everyone here is engaged."

"But they look to be...perhaps I'm being presumptuous..."

She blushed a deep lilac. "No, you are understanding the situation correctly."

"There is something I am missing."

Her violet eyes went to her wine, the color high in her angular cheeks. "You are witnessing a tradition among my people. We are expected to be skilled...sexually, I mean...to please our spouses. Yet love between elves is...special. We are expected to be pure on our wedding day. A paradox. This tradition is our solution, where we take a lover from among the wizards, the only beings as long-lived as we."

My heart skipped a beat. "And...you picked me?"

She nodded, the color in her cheeks climbing to nearly violet. "We are enchanted beforehand. A simple spell. The one who attracts our attention is the one we are expected to lie with. To be our first." As her words sank into my mind, Rhadoviel's leering made much more sense.

I touched her hand. "Tara," I said, for the first time using the nickname that would be cherished over our years together, "do you want this?"

She nodded, her eyes vulnerable. "I do, but I find myself...nervous. Do you have experience? In matters of the carnal?"

"Some," I said.

"I think I would like more wine," she said, draining her goblet. She stood up straighter. "And then we will go to my chambers. If that is acceptable to you."

"More than acceptable."

She nodded, adorably resolute, a half-elf refilling her goblet from a jug. We finished our wine swiftly, each of us pretending that we weren't rushing, our conversation suddenly stilted.

As we left the reception, she trembled like a delicate leaf in a soft breeze. She took my hand and we made our way along the graceful walkways. We followed the edge of the city, on our right, the splendor of Laerothia, to our left, the soft night and dancing lights over the lake. Our fingers intertwined, her skin cool against mine.

"My family's home in Laerothia," she said, as we crossed a bridge leading out to a copse of the silver trees. The peaks were sculpted into a manse of staggering beauty. Half-elven guards let us pass without comment, and servants made way for us. She took me around the northern side of the living structures. Here, an archway led into a meticulously designed garden, filled with the delicate and exotic plants of the elves.

"My garden," she said by way of explanation. "My favorite place in this city. I can lose days reading in the shade of that tree." A tree, its elegant branches shading a small bench, sat in an inviting cul-de-sac.

"It's lovely," I said. "I'd like to see it in the daylight." Tiny creatures whirred through the dark, going upon their nocturnal errands in this paradise.

The border between the garden and the house was gradual. First it was furniture and even bookshelves appearing among the plants and stones. Then sections of floor, a couch by a pond. Then plants growing from the wood of the apartment itself. Tiers rose from here, and at the top, a bed clad in diaphanous sheets placed next to a window, the glass a crystalline depiction of a bird in flight. Oddrin flitted away, chasing the night creatures while the air grew thick between Tarasynora and me.

She led me up, tier by tier, her long strides eager, until we reached the bed. She took my hands in hers. Her sweet trembling melted me. The scent of lavender bloomed in the air between us. In places, her gown clung to her so closely, she appeared nude. In other places, it collected and wrinkled, hiding just enough of her nakedness to inflame my desire.

"I have been instructed...books and the like...how this is--"

I cut her off, stepping to her and bringing her face to mine. Her kiss was hesitant. I opened her mouth with my tongue. She grunted softly in surprise, such an earthy sound from this elegant creature. The lust inside me made its first bloom into love.

"I want to see you," I murmured.

She steadied herself, the trembling in her hands increasing. She touched the shoulder of her gown and it fell away, splitting along an invisible seam and pooling on the floor. My eyes went from her elegantly curved feet, to her delicate ankles, up her slender calves to her sleek thighs. Where her legs met, I found her glory. Her sex was as hairless as the rest of her body, lacy innerfolds peeking from her modest slit, blushing a fetching shade of lavender.

I tore my gaze from it, telling myself I would return soon. I came to her flat abdomen, her wasp-thin waist, then to her modest breasts, capped with lilac-colored nipples, small and hard like pebbles. I followed my path up her sternum to the bowl between her clavicles, to her swanlike neck, and finally her face. I saw trepidation there, but in her eyes, darker now, I saw smoky desire.

"Now you," she said.

My undressing lacked the ethereality of her performance. I had to remove my clothing piece by piece, revealing my body in stages. Finally, I stood before her completely nude, my staff jutting obscenely from between my legs, pulsing with my pounding heartbeat.

She stared in wonder. "It is one thing to jest with friends. Quite another to be confronted with reality."

"You still want this?" I asked.

She nodded. "Yes. You will make this...good?"

"As good as I can."

"I have read that many like to begin--"

I cut her off with another kiss, my attentions falling to her neck almost immediately. I was fascinated by its grace, finding her pulse and running my tongue lightly along its path. My hardness touched her thigh, her arms enfolding me. I walked her backward until her legs hit the bed. Another push and she fell on it with a scandalized giggle.

I crawled over her, my staff poised. She kissed me again, her lips hungry, her tongue now confident. She tasted of the wine, of the rain-kissed grapes. I returned to her neck, then to her breasts. They were lovely, softer than Mira's, smaller than Zhahllaia's. I covered them with my mouth, and she greeted these explorations with happy moans. Her skin was cool, like a breeze off a lake in the dead of night.

I still wanted more. Her torso was so long, I could have stayed forever in its scented landscape. I brushed my lips down her, past her taut navel, then continued my descent. Now the scent of lavender enfolded me in a delicious mist. I found myself between her spread legs, her sex before me.

I remembered Mira's lessons. Explore me, she had said. Make me need you at my core. It was all my willpower not to take Tara with my tongue then and there, but she did not yet need me. I broke off, kissing the iliac points of her pelvis. I ran my teeth over her inner thighs, never getting to the center of her. Her long fingers ran through my hair as her hips raised up off the bed. The lavender bloomed stronger.

I ran my tongue up her slit, spreading her open. Her exquisite taste, like flowers kissed with dew, caressed my palate. She was like an orchid, her petals subtle shades of purple. I ran my tongue along the edges of them, searching for her moans, then dipped inside her, the flavor driving me mad. Only when she was crying out, undulating into me, did I find her button, sucking her hard. She cried out, her back arching like a drawn bow, and then, a wash of her nectar, redolent with lavender, spilled over my chin and the bed below.

I climbed up her while the tiny quakes still rocked through her body. "Oh, Tara," I murmured as I slid into her.

"Bel!" she cried, her mouth desperately reaching for mine once more.

There was something dainty about the way her body held mine. Not gripping, as Mira's had done, but with the feel of a silken glove. Her eyes held my gaze and I saw elven steel for the first time. She rolled her hips now, asserting control after succumbing to ecstasy. My body was so full of beauty, I thought it would spill out of every part of me.

She nodded to herself, a gesture so minute I think she didn't know she did it, and using the preternatural grace of her people, rolled us both over. Now I was on my back, her straddling me, her hips insistent. I thrust up into her and she cried out with each stroke, sometimes my name, sometimes a word in Elvish. I reached down to where we joined, to her smooth lavender flesh, finding the apex of her, brushing her pearl with my thumb.

She began to shudder, then said something in Elvish, a full sentence. I didn't understand, but I heard her stutter, her words slurring together. Her eyes were filmy with pleasure. She lifted herself off of me. My staff gleamed with her juices in the diffuse light.

"Want to...something...read about." She got up on all fours, a lewd position all the more alluring for what a fine lady she was.

I got to my knees, mesmerized by her beauty. She steeled herself as I gripped her hips. I placed myself at her entry, poised to take her. I impaled her with a single, sure stroke, and she uttered a broken cry. Now the frenzy took over. My thrusts were fast, hard, trying to keep up with our singing blood. She cried my name, her blonde hair tossing over her lavender back. I took her to the hilt, then out and in, each stroke building the glory inside. This was her true garden, the bliss and beauty inside of her.

I found myself breaking and she followed, the two of us shuddering helplessly against one another. I was buried within her, and I thought that I would never stop filling her. We fell onto the bed, me wrapping my arms about her, kissing the flesh between her shoulder blades. I didn't want to leave her, wanted to stay inside for as long as I could.

For a time, only our breath sounded in the night. She finally broke the silence. "That was better than the books," she gasped, and then she giggled.

"I think you're ready for your wedding night."

She disengaged, turning around, a serious look in her violet eyes. "Oh no, Bel. I am still a novice. We will need to practice, you and I. Intensive work to render me a proper bride. Or have you reached the limits of your endurance?"

I kissed her mouth, and her tongue was the aggressor now. "A moment, Tara."

"Tara," she said dreamily. "Your name for me." The kiss was harder now, and she smiled into my mouth. "I feel you growing, Bel."

"You'll feel more in a moment," I promised, climbing on top of her.

***

We barely slept that night, and when morning came, I found I couldn't. I was too besotted with my Tara, too exhausted, too full of beauty. She, in what I would learn to be typical elven fashion, had fallen asleep easily when we were both spent. The diaphanous covers had snaked over her of their own accord, cradling her perfect form as she slumbered prettily.

I dressed and, carrying my boots, made my way out onto the early morning streets of Laerothia. I more or less remembered the way back and a walk would help clear my mind. Tara was more intoxicating than the wine.

I was halfway to my dwelling when, coming up the street, I saw Phylyta, hair mussed, dress in disarray, and she too was carrying her boots. We both stopped in the middle of the walkway and burst out laughing. Oddrin and Phylyta's moon cat regarded one another with collegial suspicion.

"Good evening?" she asked.

"Good as yours, I'd wager."

She smiled, and we fell into step next to each other. "I was not prepared for that."

"Nor I."

On our walk home, our conversation turned to pet projects. Lyta, as she liked to be called, was interested in far-seeing. I explained that I was trying to make the intangible tangible. We each were able to provide a new perspective to the other and she had more than one good idea that sparked my imagination. We came to the place where our paths separated and I asked if I could correspond with her.

She smiled. Lyta had the loveliest one of those, wide and open and friendly. "I would love that. Good to have a real colleague."

We embraced and parted, each to our own quarters, our memories sparkling with the previous night. I walked into the place I shared with the old man and found him in the common room, speaking with one of the half-elves. They were standing close and for a moment I thought Rhadoviel was preying on a servant. As soon as I entered, they straightened up, moving away from one another.

"Good," the old man said, finishing whatever conversation they had been having. "Now you run along. You tell Gweiyr I'll be seeing her tonight." The half-elf scurried out without looking at me. I frowned and nearly asked the old man what that was about but he spoke first. "Had yourself a good night, did you?" He waggled his eyebrows and leered at me.

"I did."

"Good! Always a good night for a soon-to-be-full-fledged wizard. You want my advice?" I didn't, but that never stopped him. "Don't settle with the one you bedded last night. Sample a different one each night, then pick your favorite at the close of the week. Understand?"

I couldn't imagine finding a connection like I had with Tara, but I nodded. "Yes, Master."

"Now go clean that elf sex-stink off you. Smell like you're pickled in lavender. I'm going for a walk. If you're hungry, call for a servant."

Rhadoviel left, and reflecting that I was hungry, I opened my mouth, finding a half-elf already beside me. "Could you get me some breakfast?" I asked. The half-elf gave a bow and left.

I went into my room, stripped out of my clothes, and lowered myself into the bath. The half-elf soon returned with a plate of meat, cheese, fruit, and sweet bread and a goblet of fragrant water, setting both beside the pool, then retreated. I ate while I soaked, dwelling on my wonderful night.

When I was finished, I retrieved the lamp and brought out Zhahllaia, who insisted on hearing the whole story. I told it lying in bed, and at some point, sleep enfolded me and I rested.

***

I awoke with the smell of lavender in my nose and the cool caress of air on my check. I opened my eyes, finding Tara sitting on the bed, her hand on my cheek. She was dressed in another one of her metallic gowns, this one gold, her platinum hair secured in a variety of braids, ornamented with rings and jeweled combs. "You were not with me when I awakened."

"I couldn't sleep. I didn't want to disturb you."

She brushed a kiss over my mouth. "I wish you would have stayed."

Suddenly, I remembered I had never put Zhahllaia back. I sat bolt upright and looked about, but I didn't see her.

"Bel?" Tara asked. "Is something wrong?"

"No. Just a moment of confusion."

"Get dressed in your finery."

"Why?"

"Tonight, there is a symposium." Her eyes turned melancholy. "You will want to look your best." I threw the thin covers aside and her gaze lingered on my nude body, but she stood and walked from the room without another touch.

I got dressed and Zhahllaia emerged from behind a screen. "That was your elf?" she whispered. "She is beautiful."

"She is," I whispered back. "Please, return to your lamp."

She bowed, stepping back into the suddenly billowing smoke and vanishing. I finished dressing, once again hid the lamp, and joined Tara in the common room. She offered a wan smile and held her hand to me. I took it, and the two of us walked outside. The old man was returning, and he looked the two of us up and down and snorted in amusement.

Tara was silent as she led me to the same terrace as the previous gathering. This time when we arrived, elves and humans were in pairs. I saw Lyta with her elf lord and she gave me a smile and a raise of her glass. The air was different, crackling with an energy I couldn't quite name.

A lovely elf, though one that couldn't compare to Tara, approached with a nervous young man on her arm, a serpent-owl on his shoulder. "Tarasynora, you rascal. I heard your cries from across the way! I trust this handsome thing was the author of such ecstasy?"

"Yes, he is lovely," Tara said, her voice glum. "Belromanazar of Thunderhead, this is my cousin Rosaniya. She would be considered...a countess?"

"My lady," I said. My eyes went to the young man at her side, but he was staring at Tara with open lust. Rage boiled inside me, but I forced a pleasant smile.

Rosaniya dropped the other man's hand and took mine. "Perhaps you would like to come to my estate?"

"Where is the wizard who lay with Tarasynora?" asked another elf, joining the group.

"You're too late," Rosaniya said. "He's mine."

I almost protested, wondering where Tara had gone, when she burst into the scrum. "No, I'm sorry, no. You cannot. Belromanazar is my leilatha."

The elves went silent, staring at Tara with stunned eyes. Tara blushed a deep lilac, but stared back at them, the elvish steel in her eyes. "I suppose there is an excellent reason for that," Rosaniya said. "You are deeply honored Belromanazar. Cousin, I trust you will be enjoying your leilatha. And, from the look on his face, explain to him what you have just committed to."

"Yes. Well, if you would all excuse us." Tara grabbed my arm and hustled me away from the group. They watched us only for a moment, and then went back to inspecting the human partners. When we were out on the walkway, Tara was still bright purple. "Forgive me, Bel. The thought of giving you to one of them tore my heart from my chest."

"What was that word?"

"It is tradition, you see. The enchantment gives us a partner the first night. On the second, we...we trade. Or we are supposed to. I planned to, but the more I thought of it, the sicker I felt. The only way to avoid the tradition without loss of face is finding our leilatha."

"Which is?"

The words tumbled from her lips, her violet eyes darting, only lingering upon me in the space between heartbeats. "In our lives, an elf is expected to have several intimates. Our spouse, who is elven. Oftentimes we have a friend of the same gender. And then there is our leilatha. Our leilatha is...I suppose the vulgar term would be our non-elven mate? Most often human, but there have been dwarves, gnomes, even orcish leilathas." She left out the most crucial bit of information and this omission would be the wedge that drove us apart. But for now, we were in the bloom of new love, where madness takes on a glorious hue.

"You are asking me to be yours."

She swallowed, her teeth worrying her lip. "Yes."

"What does this mean for me?" My heart thundered in my chest. Love would have made me agree to anything to be with her again.

"When we are together, we are together. You will be allowed, even expected, to take other lovers in your life. If one should be an elf, I would ask only that you be discreet."

Now I swallowed, glancing back to the reception, a sick feeling in my belly. "You are certain you don't want to...try anyone else?"

She shook her head emphatically. "We spent our evening together and I feel comfortable with you. Safe. You..." the purple deepened again, and her voice dropped. "...humbled me. My body cries out for you. The ritual was perfect, more than intended, leading me to my leilatha on the very first night." She paused, a desperate hope in her eyes, her hands clasped. " Belromanazar, say you are mine."

To be so nakedly beloved is more intoxicating than all the wine in Mairault. I thought certainly she could hear my heart the way it hammered in my chest. I took her hands, lacing her fingers with mine and made the vow I wanted to make more than I had ever wanted anything. "I am yours, Tara."

She kissed me, tears like crystal dropping from her violet eyes. "Bel, you have made me so happy." She gripped my hands with the strength of relief. "Now, come back to the reception. I wish to show you off, drink more wine, and watch the trading."

We did just that, reveling in the sexually-charged air of the night. I watched Lyta go off with a different elf lord. She threw me a grin and a wink and I had to chuckle. I briefly wondered if I had made the wrong decision, but I saw none of the other elves as lovely as Tara. And most importantly she felt right. I touched her arm and she leaned into me. The longer we stayed, the more she trembled. Her touches lingered, she whispered to me more. When the reception was still half-full, she murmured to me, "I can wait no longer."

"Then we should away."

We moved swiftly through the streets of Laerothia, arriving at her garden. She drew me to the edge of her pool, the gown falling from her statuesque form, the glow of her garden shining on her skin. She stepped into the water, giving me a fetching gaze.

I dropped a piece of clothing one at a time and followed her into the pool. We stood in the shallows. She dropped to her knees before me, my staff poised at her face. She ran her fingers over the fleece between my legs. "I could not believe what I saw last night. The hair!"

"Do you like it?"

"It is of you," she said, as though this settled everything. "I was thinking of something. Last night, when you used your mouth on me..."

"The knight's kiss. I was taught it is a necessary part of lovemaking."

"I would like to give you a knight's kiss then."

"You would do that?"

"It is a necessary part of lovemaking," she said. She returned to inspecting me, cocking her head this way and that. "How does one begin?"

Since the old man had mentioned it in his ranting, the Eroticum Kharsoomium had been a source of fascination for both Zhahllaia and myself and we had incorporated some of the things we saw into our loveplay. I was inspired here now, to actually feel what the Eroticum promised. "Take me in your mouth," I said. "Use your tongue. You will know when you--" I broke off my words in a hiss as Tara placed her mouth gently around the head of my staff.

She broke off with a smile. "I believe I can recognize when I have made you happy, Bel." She gave me an experimental lick. Her eyes had lightened to lavender while the blush turned her lilac. "The taste is so..." She shivered. Then, purposefully, she opened her small mouth again and took me inside. Her lips were stretched wide, darkening with the strain of accepting me. She was inexpert, but my frame of reference was limited and the sight of this highborn lady, a member of an ethereal race, industriously working my staff with her sweet mouth meant I did not need complicated maneuvering.

She dipped below the water once, then surfaced again. Her hair was silvery, beads like jewels clung to her eyelashes. She took me in her mouth again. Her tongue was cool, like a breeze, washing over my shaft. Then she started to suck.

I grunted in surprise, gripping the lip of the pool. The strand of my bliss nearly escaped then and there. She broke off me, a line of her saliva linking the head of my staff to her noble lips. She smiled at me. "You liked that."

I nodded. "Very much."

"Then I shall continue."

She took me in again. She could not fit me all inside, making it only halfway down my staff, but that was more than enough. Her mouth was drawing me out, the coolness of it refreshing even as my desperation increased with each bob of her head. The beauty was overwhelming. The bliss caught me suddenly, wrapping me in the wonder of the moment. I felt my seed spilling from me in hot spurts, each one drawing glory from my spine down to the stem of my staff. Tara swallowed every last sticky strand.

"The knight's kiss for my leilatha," she said dreamily, moving away into the water, only her face and breasts above the silken water.

I lowered myself into the pool, the water warm and sweet. "You were wonderful."

She swam to me, easing herself into my lap and wrapping an arm about my shoulder. Her breasts, covered in crystalline droplets of water, were hypnotic. I watched her nipples, covered in lilac gooseflesh. I expected to hear moans and cries from the treetops, but only the soft susurrus of the night drifted through the perfumed air. We might as well have been the only two people in the forest.

I felt myself rousing again and I gently brought Tara to her feet, guiding her to the lip of the pond and bending her over. She was pliant, on display for me, the lips of her orchid blushing indigo. She shivered in the warm air. A few droplets on her skin merged, ran down the lavender surface like rain-streaked stained glass.

"What are you going to do to me?" she asked, her voice small.

"Whatever I want," I told her, kissing her between the dimples at the small of her back.

"Yes," she purred. "Do what you want with me. I am not a noble. No, I am your..." The word trailed off. At the time, I assumed she had said whore, but she had not.

I knelt in the water, passing my tongue up her slit. I craved that taste of lavender. Later, I would be sitting at a meal, in bed on the edge of sleep, and I would imagine it on my tongue and feel warm and secure. Even after Tara and I became enemies, when I craved that flavor, it would take me back to when we were in love and finding the wonder in each other's flesh.

I ran my tongue lightly up the back of her. She was spread open, her thin body easily splayed. My destination was the purple ring at the center of her. An entire section of the Eroticum was focused around the pleasures of the rosebud, as the Kharsoomian language would have it. Zhahllaia had pored over those pages and the way she translated the language, her voice catching, told me she wanted it as much as I. Here I had a willing, and more importantly material partner, and one who wanted to be humbled.

I kissed her upon the purple halo, and she let out a scandalized "Oh!" followed by a moan as I traced about the rubbery surface with my tongue. I muttered an incantation, and my tongue, now slicked with fragrant grease, slid into her easily, coating her flesh wherever I explored. She pushed back into me, moaning my name in an increasingly ragged voice. She begged something of me, but it was in Elvish, and her words were broken. I reached between her legs, finding her sodden sex, and filled her with my fingers.

She shivered sweetly in this decadent act, all of her manners and breeding forgotten in the bliss of the moment. She was pure sensation, a gift from her leilatha. The lavender scent was overwhelming now, a fog that enshrouded our lovemaking in this secret pool.

I stood, and for a moment, and she continued to writhe, as though my hands and mouth were still upon her. "Bel," she begged. "I need..." and it slipped once again into Elvish, her words alluring for how their beauty had been stretched by her need.

I placed my staff at her rosebud. She felt me, turgid and insistent, pressing against her. She cried out, her ageless brow furrowing, and braced herself on the lip of the pool. Her cry as I impaled her was high and keening, echoing through the trees. Her body went rigid. I was only buried to the head, her body stretching to contain me, at once pushing me out and begging me deeper. The shivers returned to her now, rebounding over her like ripples in the very pond in which we cavorted.

I gripped her narrow hips. She was begging me now, invoking her gods. I stuttered my spell again, sheathing my staff in more of the grease. I would need it. I pushed myself into her inch by inch. No space existed between us. I could feel her heartbeat where we joined, stuttering in excitement and need and fear. Mine joined it. This had been an impulse, an idea stoked by the decadence of far Kharsoom, but now it was an all-consuming need. This was how I must have her.

She was still, gripping the edge of the pond, her flesh pale except around the inflection point of the two of us. She never shied away from me, but was resolute. She needed this as much as I. I pushed into her, my own bliss cresting with every beat of her heart running its delicious rhythm through my entire body.

Then, a final push and I was buried to the hilt inside her. She sobbed in mingled pleasure and pain, my name on her lips as a prayer. I stayed there, relishing our connection, certain that any movement would finish me. She moved first, experimentally drawing herself away, her body still gripping mine. Now my moan was the broken one as she drew stripes of ecstasy across my soul.

I matched her rhythm. The grease moved us, our moans spurred us, our pleasure ruled us. Her head went down as she pushed back to swallow me and her body descended into helpless quakes. I gripped her hard and my senses vanished, erased in the ravenous bliss of the act. My entire body was burned on a pyre of wildflowers, an all-consuming ecstasy that was more than I could bear.

When my mind returned to me, we were cuddled against the side of the pond, she cradled in my lap. Her finger traced my lips, her violet eyes searching mine. "Oh, Bel. That was lovely."

I kissed her neck where her pulse beat, now slowing. "I have never felt anything like it."

"I especially enjoyed the...cleric's kiss," she said.

"Cleric's kiss. I like that."

She turned to face me, throwing one thigh over my hip. We were not united then as I was still recovering from our time, but I could already feel myself stirring. She put her arms around my neck to look me in the eye. "I am pleased with my choice," she said.

"As am I."

"We will make the most of this week," she promised.

"If we survive it."

She smiled, reaching between us to rouse me.

***

She was correct in her promise. The old man mocked me when I learned that I had committed to my first elf, calling me a fool and a eunuch. I didn't care. I was the leilatha of the Duchess Tarasynora, the loveliest elf in Iarveiros. When it was time to leave, she presented me with a gift: a tiny glass capsule the size of the smallest knuckle of my finger. Inside was a miniature sapling growing in a bed of moss, its silver trunk and golden boughs declaring its nature.

"A xilquinal sapling," she told me. "A great gift. It will remain alive and as you see it now until you place it in soil. Plant it when you have a proper home. It will protect you."

I believe that sapling protected me long before I finally planted it, as my first great misfortune happened when it was in the possession of another. At the time, it was merely the greatest gift a wizard's apprentice could imagine, given by a love pure and strange.

"I will think of you often," I promised her.

"Until you see me again," she said. "My leilatha."

As the old man and I made our way down the path to the first of the henges, Rhadoviel on his nag and me leading Hob, I turned to the trees. Tara watched me from the terrace. One fair hand raised and I did the same. We were connected, even away from one another. She was a vision of elegance, a far cry from how she would appear the next time I saw her, but that tale will come in its time.