There exists a fascination with the women that share my life. Hardly a surprise, considering they are some of the most sublime creatures that have existed upon this or any other plane. This volume is partly intended as a window into their psyches and a chronicle of the unique love I share with each.

Some historians make too much of dividing my mates, placing them into distinct boxes: wives and concubines. It should be known here and now that I make no such distinction. The difference lies only in whether there existed a formal ceremony, recognized by church or kingdom, uniting our lives. I will sometimes use the term" wife" and "concubine" interchangeably. Do not attach too much significance to my use of one or the other.

I have already told the story of how I met my first concubine, my wazira, my Zhahllaia. Now I shall tell the story of the second to attach herself to me, and the founding of my household, which had thus far existed only within the djinn's fertile mind.

After quitting Tann, the Mythseekers journeyed to the free city of Castellandria, on Chassudor's southern coast. The greatest free city in upon the continent, if not the whole world, located upon the Castelpont, the strait between the Turquoise Sea and the Azure Ocean. Trade flows through Castellandria, making available to her inhabitants every luxury and curiosity imaginable. It would be paradise on Thür were it not for the decadent rule of the Doge and his Kallisites, but utopia exists only in dreams.

Each of my party had different reasons for wishing to come to this place. Velena wanted to be at the nexus of all news. Alia wished to find membership in a proper thieves' guild. Xeiliope wished to train with the Kallisites and see how well a daughter of Axichis could stand against the masked warriors of the Castelpont.

For me, the reason was the famed Grand Library.

The city itself is fascinating. Some historians claim that it is the longest continuously populated city in Chassudor. Some will even say it is the site of the original landing of the Myrric peoples on the continent from Aucor. I believe one of the reasons Velena was so intent on journeying there was the idea of finding a tomb or forgotten section of the city to explore. If any city could hold such a place, it would be this one. Castellandria was built in layers, with hives of old city, tunnels, sewers beneath. It was, for the most part, a city of stone, save perhaps for the shanties clustered at the very edge of the innermost of Hallian's Walls and a few of the bridges that spanned the most recent settlements in the waters.

It is also the biggest city on Chassudor, covering both cliffsides on either side of the Castelpont, and spreading inland from there. The sea gnawed at the edges and pieces of the city periodically tumbled into the waves. This created what was known as the Sunken Quarter, ruins that peeked above the water only at the lowest tides. Rumors abounded of chambers with air still within. Velena never found a conclusive lead to any, so make of that what you will.

Other pieces of the city, once on dry land, were now on the islands dotting the strait, or even built on stone and wooden columns over the water, accessible by a series of bridges, some stone, some wood, and some rope.

The Grand Library was one of these, a collection of stone spheres off the southern coast of the west side of the strait in the Turquoise Sea. Half of the globes were above water, the other half below, powerful magics maintained by a united group of wizards kept the water and sea life out. I suspected my colleague and friend Phylyta Sullac was one of these, as her homeland of Mairault was not too distant from the city.

We entered through the west gates along the old Copper Road. The land approaches were guarded by the famed Hallian Walls, a series of nested defenses rendering the city impregnable. Castellandria remained a free city despite every great power on the continent and a few others besides desperate to lay claim to its incomparable riches.

The quarter of the city by the western walls was a warren of buildings, a maze at multiple levels. The people here were poor, each one living on top of a hundred other families. It was an instant riot of sensation, from happy sounds of children playing, to street merchants hawking wares, to people gossiping. The scent was thunderous, a stink of people cut through with the fragrant smells of charring meat on outdoor grills. Though my horizons had long since been expanded from the provincialism of Burley Shoal, Castellandria was overwhelming for the first week.

We made our way through the bustle of the city until we found an inn overlooking the Castelpont itself. The inn was made of the white stone quarried locally that formed the bulk of the structures in the city. The sight of the Castelpont was humbling, the merchant vessels of hundreds of kingdoms traveling through the strait. On either side, they were watched over from high ground by a veritable legion of catapults and ballistae ready to rain down fury on any ship that broke the peace.

Thanks to the Doge's laws, I was forced to rent my own room while my companions were free to share one. We ate in the inn's kitchen and I retired early, exhausted from the week's travel. As alluring as the idea of loveplay with my companions was, I did not believe I had the vigor to acquit myself. Before sleep, I retrieved Zhahllaia's lamp from my pack and summoned her forth. The smoke billowed from the spout and I found myself smiling, my heart beating faster as I was about to be with my love.

Zhahllaia the Enlightened stepped from the smoke. I have used many superlatives to describe her incomparable beauty but the word I always return to is exquisite. She was petite and slender, with breasts like teardrops, her olive skin glistening with metallic undertones. Her hair was nearly black and hung to the small of her back. She wore ornate bracers on her wrists and ankles, bronze inlaid with turquoise. A golden ring haloed her navel, delicate golden chains wrapped about her body in an alluring web. She was otherwise nude.

"Well met, my barbarian," she said with an affectionate twinkle in her gold-flecked eyes.

"Come here, my wazira."

She kissed me, her lips like soft breath over the nape of my neck. "Where are we?"

"Castellandria."

"I have heard of this place."

"If anyplace has the knowledge to aid you, it would be the Grand Library here."

"There were places in Kharsoom," she said. "Or Tabiyya. The civilized lands."

"Those are quite far, I'm afraid. And Kharsoom has fallen to decadence."

"Then this will do," she said in her sweetly imperious way. She gave me a stern look. "I forbid you from using all of your time in my service. You will expand your powers as well."

"I suppose I can accept that."

"Good. Now you called me forth and this place is private enough..."

I chuckled. "Of course, my love. I would not tease you."

The Grand Library was incredible. I made my way from the inn down to the wharf by way of the famous staircases that crisscrossed the cliffs. They stop off at various levels, moving into the various communities clinging to the slopes and those within the rocks themselves. At the bottom, I found the ferry that went to the Library, an elegant vessel whose bow was sculpted into the face of a snarling sea serpent. Rowers worked the deck below while the passengers stood on the top deck or rested on sculpted benches.

As I neared, the sheer enormity of the Grand Library began to take hold. On the cliffs high above, it appeared modest. As the ferry approached and it eclipsed the horizon like an island, I was awed. The ferry deposited us upon a dock that led into the central chamber. Although it appeared to be a hemisphere of sculpted marble, I knew that it was a full sphere, extending below the waves.

The dock led into a small antechamber overlooking a central hall. A librarian sat behind a desk, clad in the deep burgundy robes of their order. She had Castellandrian coloring, with black hair, olive skin, and deep blue eyes. Her curly hair was bound up in the prevailing style, with ringlets escaping from the central bun. Two Kallisite Guards stood on either side of her desk, their expressionless masks staring straight ahead.

We all signed her ledger and she welcomed us into the library. I saw the signature of my dear friend Lyta Sullac. She had been here a month before. I resolved to see her in person soon, and I would include this chance encounter in my next letter to her.

Inside, staircases led down to a great hall. This looked more like an entry hall to me, and I would learn later that this was in fact the case. When the island where the library was originally built was still above the waves, this had been where visitors entered. Then the island crumbled away, a victim of overzealous mining of the copper beneath. The antechamber where I had entered was a solution constructed when the reality of the library changed.

The entryway opened into the library's central chamber. Burgundy-robed librarians busied themselves behind a circular desk while still more moved among the shelves on a thousand different soundless errands.

The shelves took my breath away. Taller than many buildings and filled with tomes of unimaginable lore, I felt as though I was in the beating heart of all knowledge. The air smelled of a queer combination of paper and the sea, a pleasant alchemy I have grown to crave. Walkways and avenues crisscrossed the domed room, allowing access to the upper shelves. Other pathways led into the smaller chambers, more globular structures connected to this central sphere.

Open windows looked both above and below the waves. Sea life encrusted the latter, some climbing along the magical barriers that kept the water out. I was in a place of wonder. I stopped at the desk and before long one of the librarians approached me. The librarians of the Grand Library hailed from all over the world. The only thing they had in common was that they were all women and presumably all had an abiding love of books and the knowledge contained within.

I could see little of the librarian with whom I spoke, as her robes hid her form. Her face was mousy, her complexion fair. A small pair of golden spectacles at upon the bridge of her nose, a rare sight in most places in the world, but relatively common here. Her hair was her most striking feature. At her scalp, it was copper, fading to orange, and then finally yellow at the tips. She had it done in a Castellandrian style, piled atop her head with strands dangling about her face.

"Beg pardon, Monia," I said, using the Castellandrian honorific for a member of her order, "can you direct me to planar matters?"

"This way," she said, never looking up. She answered me in accented Rhandic and I momentarily cursed myself for not speaking to her in the local tongue, though my command of it was poor. I followed as she shuffled into the labyrinth of shelves. It was easy to get lost in the Grand Library. I suspect the librarians arranged it that way intentionally, that their order might be required for its administration. I still could not articulate why the tomes I sought were the alcove she led me to, but I was grateful for her guidance. I thanked her and she returned to her desk.

A single window looked out into the waters of the Castelpont. Here the Turquoise Sea merged with the Azure Ocean, producing a blue-green shade not seen anywhere else. I would soon learn there were many such places in the library, little out-of-the-way niches stuffed with books on some upper level or smaller chamber. I might as well have been alone. That sensation, of having the Grand Library to oneself is at once empowering and humbling, and I look upon my memories of that place with fondness.

I spent the next two weeks at the library, waking before dawn to take the first ferry of the day, and staying until after dark. I spoke to the same librarian every day, and she directed me where I needed to be. I learned relatively swiftly that there was an infinite amount of knowledge that I would never gain and likely never would. The desire to attempt to was its own compulsion.

I was in the midst of one such day of research when I heard a mousy voice behind me speaking in the precise accent of the educated Castellladrian. "Beg pardon?"

I turned to find my librarian. For the first time, she was looking at my face and I was able to see her eyes behind the golden frames of her spectacles I saw her eyes. I found them to be a shockingly lovely shade of indigo. "Yes? Oh, hello."

She looked away, back to the floor, as though my gaze were hot and she couldn't bear to touch it for long. "There is a tome that might interest you. It is in a different section."

I searched her face. I caught a scent, at the edge of perception, of a secret on a woman's breath, but ignored it. Magic abounded in the Grand Library, and paying too much attention to any one source could drive one to madness. "How do you know what I am looking for?" I asked.

She shrugged, still staring at the floor. I found myself wanting another look at her eyes. She was no great beauty, but between her eyes and hair, I found some allure. That, and this possible knowledge of my goals was undeniably interesting.

"You have asked for works on the process of bridging dimensions, of otherworldly entities, and curse theory," she said.

"I have. I am a wizard."

"Would you come with me? I will show you."

"Lead the way," I said. I followed her along the winding aisles. Sometimes, we would go into the central room, where the shelves towered above, before turning off into one of the smaller chambers that could almost be a library somewhere else in the world.

She paused in another niche, removing a thick tome with a green leather cover embossed with a complex and disturbing design. "Evocations," she explained. "Vagovel's Regret."

"This is a chronicle, is it not?"

"Of a wizard, yes. There exists information within that I believe you will find interesting."

"Thank you," I said.

She gestured to a desk. Light came from a bulb of water hanging from an iron stand, a glowing fish within. I sat, opening my book. The librarian retreated silently. I found inside those vellum pages, a clearer articulation of what I had been looking for these past weeks. Vagovel was a madman, but his goals and mine were not dissimilar. The book was framed by not only his methods, but his ultimate regret. The last quarter was written by his apprentice, for old Vagovel was in no condition to write much of anything after the sylphs were done with him.

I lost myself in those pages, secrets unlocking new pathways in my mind. This was closer to what I wanted than anything. IT was not until the end of the day, when I closed the book that I made a realization: the librarian had not guessed. She had known.

Ice shot through my limbs. I knew very little of her order, and perhaps I was overly concerned that Zhahllaia could be taken away from me. I returned the book to its shelf and searched for the librarian. I found her reshelving books in the main chamber.

"How did you know?" I asked, my voice low, my eyes hunting for signs of deceit.

"Know what, my lord?"

"Know what I seek."

Her eyes darted around and then met mine. I saw fire in them. Breathlessly, she whispered, "You are attempting to bring an entity of the ethereal to the material!"

"How could you possibly know that?"

"As I said, your reading selections." She looked about. "What is the creature? Is it here?"

"In a manner of speaking. But those texts...you would need specialized knowledge. There are wizards who could not piece together what I was after."

She pushed the spectacles up her nose. "It was simple logic. May I meet this creature? I am no adventurer. I have never met a being of the ethereal. I have only read of them."

"If I say yes, will you assist me?"

She gave me a quizzical look. "You are attempting to expand the breadth of extant knowledge. I would assist you regardless."

I stared at her in enchanted confusion. My stomach rescued me by uttering an indelicate grumble. "I have not eaten since this morning," I said apologetically.

"There is a place nearby that I go sometimes."

"Show me, and after I eat something, I can introduce you to the...to the creature." My lips quirked at the thought of Zhahllaia's reaction to being called that. "I am Belromanazar."

"Sarakiel."

"It is my pleasure."

She followed me from the library and we took the ferry to the east side of the Castelpont, where she led me to a place by the wharf. It was a Kharsoomian establishment where a massive red-skinned bear of a man cooked traditional fare from his ancient people. Everything was charred, densely spiced, at first overwhelming, but filled with subtle notes of flavor. Much like this city, though Kharsoom had never expanded this far north. She ordered for the two of us, pharchyl on rice, with cooked tomatoes that burst at the lightest touch of the fork, soaking the meal in succulent juice. As I ate, I passed morsels to Oddrin, who nibbled the spicy fare without complaint from his perch on my shoulder.

"You are an adventurer," she said as we settled into the delicious meal.

"I am. The Mythseekers."

"Is that the name of the group?"

I laughed. "Yes."

"What is funny?" she asked.

"Merely my arrogance. I said the name like you would know us."

"Oh," she said, smiling as she moved her food about. "I'm sorry. I offend."

"You absolutely do not. I need the reminders."

"I have never left Castellandria," she said.

"If there was one place you would never have to leave, it's this one." The Kharsoomian spices overpowered my senses, bringing water to my eyes. "Tell me about it."

"I was born here...I believe. I was given to the Order of Librarians as a baby. My mother...I think of her as my mother...she speaks with the dead now."

"I am sorry to hear that."

"Thank you. I do not know where I would be without Cettina's kindness. She treated me as her very own, never once..." she faltered, and I took it for emotion overcoming her. "She was good to me and she gave me a vocation. More than any foundling could ask. And now I spend my days in the presence of knowledge."

When she smiled, I saw her beauty. It was the sun rising. "I know what you mean."

Her eyes flashed. "Histories! I have them all. The stories of the people of Thür at my fingertips. The rise and fall of Qammuz. The wars of Vexacion. The Night Kingdom. All await me."

She kept speaking, growing more animated as the meal continued. The more excited she became, the more her hands spoke with her, like restless birds. Her enthusiasm and obvious intelligence were alluring, and I suspected she did not show this side to many. Finally, we finished, and I escorted her to my inn. We had to take a night ferry across the Castelpont, readily available in this great restless beast of a city.

I escorted her to my room--not against the Doge's laws, and if you wish me to explain the reasoning of zealots, you'll find yourself waiting a long while--and I retrieved Zhahllaia's lamp. Oddrin left my shoulder, perching on the windowsill, watching with his glow.

The smell I'd detected before returned. The slight aroma of magic, now away from the Grand Library, was striking. I looked at Sarakiel. Could she be the source? She seemed so guileless, the idea that she was hiding something was ridiculous. I pushed the thought away for now.

"A djinn!" she exclaimed her indigo eyes alight. "Incredible. How did you find such a treasure?"

"My first adventure. She is without her powers."

"And you are seeking to free her from bondage."

"Precisely."

"May I meet her?"

I nodded to the lamp. "You may summon her if you like."

Sarakiel picked up the lamp and adjusted her spectacles. "Is this Qammuzi? Of course it is."

"They call their language Abbih," I said.

"The civilized tongue," said with an ironic lilt. "Hubris comes for us all, does it not?"

I had to laugh. "The scales of the universe, as it were."

She squinted at the inscription in the tarnished brass. "Powerful...sultan. This lamp is the...dungeon... of...oh, this name. Zhahllaia the Learned One? Call her forth...and she obeys."

"There you have it." The differences in our translations came down to word choice. Her ability to read Abbih without assistance was impressive on its own. As much as I used the language, I was perhaps the only material being who actually used it on a regular basis. "She prefers Zhahllaia the Enlightened."

"Zhahllaia the Enlightened? Please come forth," she said in halting Abbih. Her accent was bad, but she could hardly be blamed for that. To her, it was a dead language.

Smoke billowed from the lamp and Sarakiel let out a surprised yelp. She set it down on the bedside table and stepped back, her hands up. Zhahllaia stepped out of the smoke, her smile falling from her face as she regarded the librarian. She cocked her head quizzically, first at Sarakiel and then at me.

"I bring you helpful greetings from Castellandria," Sarakiel said in her clumsy Abbih, bowing. "I am Sarakiel, Initiate Librarian."

"Thank you," Zhahllaia said in her accented Rhandic. "Master wizard, is there a reason I am meeting this librarian?"

"She deduced my purpose and asked to meet you."

"Deduced your purpose?"

I nodded. "Her mind is sharper than any blade."

Sarakiel blushed. "You speak Rhandic?"

"I speak every language," Zhahllaia said. "Belromanazar grew up with this barbaric tongue so we use it when he does not indulge me with the honeyed music of Abbih."

"What of Eomet?" Sarakiel asked, switching to the dense language of Castellandria.

"But of course," Zhahllaia responded, and then said something too quickly for me to follow.

Sarakiel glanced at me. Then she spoke in the language of Old Qammuz. "You are right, Zhahllaia. Would you grant the pleasure of Abbih for my practice?"

"The pleasure would be mine," Zhahllaia said. She turned to me. "I like this one."

"I thought you might," I said.

"Tell me, Sarakiel, has my wizard been looking for spells in addition to his research?"

"No. He has been focused upon your curse."

Zhahllaia glared at me. "Tomorrow, you will find him something. He must needs expand his power."

"You care not for your bondage?"

"Of course, but I will not be concubine to a wizard of modest skill."

"Concubine?" Sarakiel blushed again. "How is such a thing...no, I am sorry, that is rude."

"Belromanazar is creative," Zhahllaia said. "Or perhaps merely an eager student. Now you will tell me about yourself and I will correct your pronunciation. You do me honor with your attempt to speak Abbih, but your accent is atrocious."

Sarakiel put her hand over her mouth, her eyes going wide. "If I caused offense--"

"You did not," Zhahllaia said easily. "We will merely need to work on it. One day you will speak Abbih like a shah."

We talked deep into the night. Sarakiel could not get enough of Zhahllaia's stories of Old Qammuz. I told a few of my adventuring. Sarakiel said she had nothing to tell, but soon she was telling us of the various corners of the great city, known only to locals.

Eventually, the librarian dozed off and I carried her to the bed. She stirred once, murmuring softly. I unrolled my bedroll and found enough comfort on the stone floor. I kissed the djinn softly and returned her to her lamp and slept.

I woke with the dawn. I had not much sleep and it had been on the floor, but my limbs were strong. Zhahllaia's lamp was quiet on the bedside table. Sarakiel, curled on her side, stirred. She opened her eyes, blinking them rapidly, then turned to me. "Belro...I am at your inn?"

"It is dawn."

"No! I'm late. I need to get to the library."

"We'll go together," I said. This time I took Zhahllaia's lamp. We raced across the city, only pausing at the ferry's dock because it had not yet returned from its first voyage. I bought her tea and pastry from an outdoor stall that was only just opening.

That day, after Sarakiel found a spot for us that was out of the way, she brought books according to Zhahllaia's specifications. A tome of magic for me, and a book of recent history for Zhahllaia, of which I turned the pages. The djinn stayed with me as I started the process of learning a new trick. Out of the corner of my eye, I could watch the djinn's bare hip, slender and shapely, her flesh with that tiny metallic undertone that made her so subtly otherworldly.

"I like her," Zhahllaia murmured.

"As do I."

"I can tell. You may lay with her, but she will not do as a concubine."

"What?"

"She is too plain," Zhahllaia said without looking up. "You must have great beauties. If she wished to be your archivist, I would allow that."

"I am shocked that you would reduce her value to her appearance."

"I have not. It is the way of things."

"Status is not always determined as you believe."

"It is," she said. "I understand the levers of power because I have watched them be pulled by the rulers of the greatest kingdom the world has ever known."

I sighed, momentarily annoyed with her snobbery. A thought returned. "I believe she uses magic. I sense something about her, though I know not what."

"Now that is interesting. Were she a spellweaver, like your dragonblood, I could perhaps amend my opinion. We should learn more of this magic, especially if she is poised to be a more intimate companion."

"We are getting ahead of ourselves anyway," I said. "I do not know if she'd even be interested."

"She is," Zhahllaia said.

"How can you be so certain?"

"I see the way she looks at you."

"I see the way she looks at you."

Zhahllaia gave me an indulgent smile. "She is merely fascinated by a being of the ethereal, and I cannot blame her."

"It is more than that," I said. "She appreciates your beauty as I do."

"Hmm," Zhahllaia muttered to herself, then returned to the book. I did my best not to be distracted by the nude perfection next to me, but there were times when my attention should have been on words and was instead on the curve of her ankle or delicate jingle of the minute golden chains over her hips.

In the evenings, I escorted Sarakiel her home, a building on the east side of the Castelpont where unmarried members of her order resided. It was a forbidding structure of white stone, crowned by a statue of a woman in flowing robes reaching for the sun. We took meals together most nights. In the mornings I brought her tea and pastry.

It was in the beginning of my fourth week of research when a call echoed out through the Grand Library. "Bel!"

I poked my head from the alcove where I had been studying, in the uppermost part of the central chamber. Far below I saw Alia of Freeport, her long red plaits a splash of color against the gray stone. Alia was quite small, sometimes even taken for a halfling, but her voice could be enormous. Librarians bustled to her to hush her. She ignored them, spotting me. "Bel! I'll come to you!"

I shook my head, chuckling. The little rogue was silent when she wished it. She did not wish it. She found me easily--what was a labyrinth for me was as nothing to the best treasure hunter on Chassudor--and threw herself into my arms. She wrapped her legs about me and planted a kiss on my mouth. "I have missed you!"

I laughed, then quietly, "Alia, this is a library."

"Yes, I know."

"You need to be quiet."

"Oh! That would explain why everyone seems to hate me here." She hopped down from me, regarding me with sparkling emerald eyes. "You look good enough to eat. Do you want to go somewhere?"

"I am in the middle of working."

"These books will still be here when you get back. Come on now, I'm ready to jump on a fencepost." Her freckled cheeks were flushed, and I will admit that of all the Mythseekers, I found Alia the most irresistible.

"We wouldn't want that," I decided.

She grabbed my hand, and not for the first time I was reminded at how incredibly strong she was. Small wonder as she could support her entire body weight with her fingers.

"Belromanazar?" Sarakiel came around the corner and stopped in surprise.

"Yes, I am sorry. The loud person is my companion Alia, and she has promised to keep her voice down."

Alia put a finger to her lips. "Promise," she whispered.

"Alia, this is my friend Sarakiel. She's been most helpful."

Alia looked from Sarakiel to the djinn. "And she knows about Zhahllaia." She turned to Sarakiel. "He must really like you, because he knew me for years before telling me about her."

"She deduced Zhahllaia's existence," I said.

"She is a scholar," Zhahllaia said mildly.

"Impressive!" Alia exclaimed, then winced and whispered, "Sorry."

Sarakiel stifled a laugh. "Can I assist you in finding a book?"

"No, I am trying to abscond with our wizard for lunch."

"Oh, yes. You should go," Sarakiel said. She widened her eyes slightly as she looked at me, as though to say get this loud person from the library.

I rose, chuckling. "All right, we'll go. Zhahllaia?"

"I would like to stay. If Sarakiel will turn pages for me."

"Of course!" Sarakiel fairly leapt into my seat.

I handed Sarakiel the lamp. Even at that point, I had to fight the urge to jealously keep it. Zhahllaia wanted to stay. I had to respect that.

"I will keep her safe," said the librarian. "None will ever know."

"Thank you," I said. I kissed Zhahllaia, and she returned to her reading and allowed Alia to lead me from the library.

"You're shaking," Alia said.

"I've never been without her lamp."

"She will be fine. Now come on. I wasn't joking."

We ate food from outdoor stalls, fairly running back to the inn. Within seconds of getting through my door, Alia was pulling her clothes off. Soon, we were in the same pose she used to greet me, she with her strong legs wrapped around my midsection, her arms looped over the back of my neck, but this time we were nude. She impaled herself on my staff, her sighs becoming moans as she used a combination of her small size and impressive strength and body control to ride me. She loved, climbing me like the wall of a forgotten tomb.

I must admit that I enjoyed it a great deal myself. As much as she had needed me, I had needed her. Needed to reforge and reaffirm a connection that had faded into the background in this amazing city. Watching her on me, the taut muscles of her flat belly bunching and loosening as she slid up and down on me, a sheen of sweat over her modest breasts, her small nipples hard, the long red plaits of her hair tossing, was breathtaking. Her sex was as strong as the rest of her, milking me as she pushed herself up and down. I gripped the muscular hemispheres of her buttocks, driving myself into her with increasing desperation as the two of us sought our bliss.

Later, we lay on the bed. We had not used it for loveplay, but it would do for recovery. Her head was pillowed in the crook of my shoulder, her finger tracing patterns among the hair of my chest. I toyed with the long red plaits of her hair, bound into their long tail, watching the muscles of her shoulders lazily bunch beneath their coating of freckles.

"Yes, that was exactly what I wanted," she said finally.

"It's yours for the asking."

"I know. It's just that...I don't know. Xeiliope has been training...and she is besotted with a young Kallisite maiden, so she has been absent. Velena is lost in her explorations. You are in your books. We have been separate from one another. It was a relief at first, but now..."

"You are sharing a room with the others, are you not? I assumed the three of you would be enjoying one another."

"The first few nights, and...don't be offended, but there are times when it is nice when it is solely us."

"I'm not offended."

"And you have your Zhahllaia." I thought I detected a hint of jealousy in her voice, but let it go. "After those first few nights, we turned to our own interests, and we are not present with each other even when we are in the same room. That...you and me...we were nowhere but with each other."

I lifted her chin to look into her emerald eyes, kissing her lips softly. "Alia, I consider myself fortunate every time we are together. I would never be anywhere else."

She squeezed me. "Come. Let us return you to your djinn. And I won't wait so long to have you again." She leaned over, kissing my staff. I immediately stirred. "I love that I can do that to you."

Alia left me at the ferry to the library, and when I found Sarakiel and Zhahllaia, the remnants of the tension bled from me, that sick thought that perhaps I had foolishly trusted a viper. This taught me that I could trust her, and another barrier between us fell away.

They were precisely where I left them. Sarakiel sat at a table, a book in front of her. Zhahllaia stood next to her, reading a book of her own. She would periodically murmur, and Sarakiel would turn the page without ceremony. The two of them were like old friends. I took in the sweetness of the tableau, and of course spent some time on the curve of Zhahllaia's bare backside, before I made my presence known.

"I've returned," I said, kissing Zhahllaia and touching Sarakiel's shoulder.

They smiled at me. "You took your time," said the djinn.

"I did. Perhaps I can get a little reading done before dinner."

Several days later, I was escorting Sarakiel to her cloister after dinner. We were in an unfamiliar neighborhood, and the scent of fermenting fish was heavy in the air as we climbed the stairs to the top of the cliffside. A shanty hung in the shadow of some of the rocks, and I knew the stench of the garum preparations would accumulate there in a nauseating miasma.

Sarakiel noted where I was looking. "Darktown," she said. "The city's darklings live there."

"Oh? I didn't know there would be enough of them for a whole neighborhood."

"The world gathers here. Castellandria has a neighborhood for everyone. Darklings are no different."

"No, they aren't."

"They are under the laws of the Doge. Allowed to exist, but only barely. And a crime against a darkling is ignored, if not outright blamed on them."

"I am sorry for that."

"You've known darklings?"

I shook my head. "I know only that they're people."

"Whose ancestors lay with demons."

"That would be something to take up with their ancestors." I gathered my thoughts. "Most civilized lands despise ghouls. Call them cannibals and necromancers. I owe my life to a ghoul, and I found her tribe to be caring, honorable people. Good people. Darklings deserve no less consideration."

"Many adventurers consider darklings little more than targets."

"I would have words with any who did." We arrived at her building and I paused there. Words that I had been turning over in my mind came to my lips. "Sarakiel...my interest in you is not entirely friendly."

She froze. "What?"

"I wish to see you romantically."

Her eyebrows went up. "I thought Zhahllaia, or Aria..."

"We are together, yes. If that troubles you, we can forget I said anything. I value our friendship, and if that is where this ends, I will count myself lucky."

"No," she said hastily. "I am...interested. Yes."

I took her hands in mine. She was trembling. "I would like to kiss you."

"No," she said, snatching her hands back and stepping away.

"Now I'm confused."

"I will explain everything. Tomorrow night. At your inn." She ran into the building and I was left on the street, wondering if I had somehow destroyed everything we had built.

I told Zhahllaia what happened when I returned to my room. She sighed and said, "I was too hasty earlier when I said she could not be your concubine. I believe she would be a worthy companion."

"I will talk with her, but she might want privacy."

"I understand. Leave me in the lamp tomorrow, love. At least until evening."

Sarakiel did not speak to me the following day except to thank me for her tea and pastry. I did my research for the day but in truth I had trouble concentrating. I found myself frightened that I had somehow lost Sarakiel.

As I prepared to leave, she joined me, looking at the floor. "Are you well?" I asked.

She nodded. "Let us move quickly. This might not take long."

The trip on the ferry and up the staircases were silent. She would be easy to forget she was there at all, but I could not. Her proximity was all the more tantalizing for the loss that quivered at the edge. Her body was tensed, and seemed ready to shatter.

I let her into my room. She walked to the corner, glancing at the windows. Finally, she looked at me with her incredible indigo eyes, magnified behind her spectacles. "I am not as you see me," she said.

"What are you saying?"

"I have something to show you. I believe...I believe you will not try to hurt me, but if what you see offends you, I will leave. I will never speak to you or of you if you wish it."

"Sarakiel, what is it?"

She looked at me again, her eyes growing determined. She undid the pins in her hair, shaking out the three colors of it. It fell well past her shoulders. She then retrieved a necklace from beneath her robes. A tiny bag on a leather thong. The scent of magic bloomed in the room. This was the whisper I had been sensing, the one so subtle it was easy to miss even when it was right in front of me. She took a deep breath and removed it.

Her appearance shimmered. Her hair remained constant. Everything else was changed. Her eyes were indigo, but the whites now glowed a yellow-orange like a lantern. Her skin was a pale blue, stripes along her, almost like a tiger, in a shade of blue so dark as to be nearly black. Smaller stripes clustered in patterns on her face and the backs of her hands. Horns of black sprouted from her forehead, curving back of her skull, then rose to points. When her lips parted, she revealed fangs.

Even her features had subtly changed. Her eyes were bigger, her chin smaller, her lips fuller. Her figure was still an enigma, hidden beneath her burgundy robes. I saw her now as a great beauty, albeit an inhuman one.

"You are a darkling," I said.

She nodded. "Abandoned by a darkling mother. I was lucky that Cettina, the woman who found me, had no hatred for my people. But she also knew that I could never be a librarian. Never be much of anything. So she created my disguise."

"And you reveal yourself to me."

"Because you wanted me. It would be lying to have you and not tell you."

"You have done this before."

She nodded. "Once. He rejected me. Called me abomination. What would you do?"

I went to her. Now I smelled her scent, like sweet incense and candlewax. "I would do whatever you would consent to. A kiss. More."

"You don't think me hideous?"

I laughed. "Hideous? About as far from hideous as I could imagine."

"What would Zhahllaia say?"

"We can ask her. Would you like her to know?"

One of her fangs worried her lip, a gesture I would become familiar with and never find anything less than adorable. "Yes."

I summoned Zhahllaia and as she stepped from the smoke, she first frowned, then recognition dawned on her. "Sarakiel?"

"Yes."

"A darkling! I should have guessed."

"You don't think me an abomination?"

"By all the shahs, no. In Qammuz, darklings were citizens. Valued. Why, one of your people served Sehat XII as Grand General during my tenure as advisor. I see before me a worthy sister."

Sarakiel blushed, a fetching expression on her complexion, like the ocean at night. "What do we do now?"

"I am hungry," I said. "I will fetch us something from the kitchen and the three of us will make an evening of it."

I fetched food from an Esmian restaurant nearby that I had grown fond of, and brought it back to the room. I laughed when I found that Sarakiel had retrieved my Alishum board and now the two of them were having a game at the table.

"Do not expect to win," I said. "She's been playing for centuries."

"I still do not know the rules!" Sarakiel said, laughing.

I laid out the food and we ate. Zhahllaia and I had a game, and she won though I made her work for it. The wine was a local vintage with a cinnamon taste I enjoyed. Outside a storm brewed, the occasional claw of lightning raking the sooty clouds. The room had become our world, cozy and warm against the storm outside.

"Am I to understand you have never lain with a man?" Zhahllaia asked when we were late into the night.

"Nor a woman," Sarakiel said, blushing.

"A kiss then?"

"No. It was too much of a risk. I could not let them feel my teeth."

"That is a tragedy," I said.

A mischievous twinkle entered Zhahllaia's gold-flecked eyes. "Would you deny a djinn a wish?"

"No," Sarakiel said promptly.

"Good. I wish you to kiss my wizard."

I raised an eyebrow. "Is this--"

"I will do it," Sarakiel said.

I scooted my chair back from the table and tapped my lap. "Come here."

She was nervous, but she obeyed. She carefully settled down and I felt something heavy move beneath her robes. "My tail," she explained.

"You've a tail," I said.

She nodded. "Is that--"

I cupped her chin, taking her bottom lip into my mouth, running my tongue along it, before deepening the kiss. She was clumsy, but she eagerly returned the passion. I held her waist, the first time I was able to feel her curves beneath the burgundy robes that held her. Her mouth was redolent with wine.

She parted, resting her forehead against mine. I felt the base of her horns, just below her hairline. She breathed heavily. "That is a kiss."

"It only gets better," I said, tracing her lips with my finger.

"Cold!" she said, looking at the digit.

"This ring," I said, showing her the Ring of Diotenah, the skeletal serpent that wrapped about the base of the index finger of my left hand. "It makes my finger cold."

"Is that all it--"

"Talking about a ring," Zhahllaia said, shaking her head.

Sarakiel jumped, turning to the djinn. "I forgot you were here. Forgive me."

"No," Zhahllaia said. "I think you should be alone with our wizard tonight. I will join you, but not tonight. Tonight is for the two of you."

Sarakiel nodded. "Thank you."

"Return me," the djinn prompted.

"Zhahllaia the Enlightened, please return to your lamp." Zhahllaia blew us a kiss, vanishing into smoke.

Sarakiel looked to me, her eyes alight. I could feel her heart pounding, so close were we. "What does she think we are to do?"

"As much as you like," I said.

"More kissing?"

"Yes. Other things as well."

"I am...I am unsure of what to ask for."

"I've an idea. You may stop me any time you wish with merely a word."

"What word?"

I chuckled. "Stop. Or no."

"Oh," a nervous laugh bubbled from her. "Of course. I don't know why I thought there was a magic word."

"I am going to kiss you again."

She nodded, and I brought her lips to mine. She clutched my shoulders as our mouths united. She uttered little happy noises in her throat as my tongue moved against her, exploring. She was soft and pliant, her lips sweet. We stayed there for a long time before I began to caress.

I ran my hand up her thigh. She shivered, the little moans she uttered between kisses a bit louder. I felt something moving about beneath her robe--her tail, I realized, lashing back and forth. I wondered what that would be like, my curiosity spurring me along.

I reached down, to the hem of her robe. She wore soft boots, perfect for moving soundlessly through the library. They stopped just above her ankle. I slipped them off, one after another. Her feet were small and dainty and I noted that instead of a nail at the end of her blue toes, I saw only a hole. A glance at her fingertips revealed the same.

She shied from me. "My feet are strange."

I picked her up and she gave a yelp. I kissed her again, harder. "Your feet are lovely. Let me show you how lovely."

I laid her on the bed, half expecting her to tell me to stop. She watched me, one fang worrying her lower lip. I caressed her soles, working my thumbs into the arches. Curved claws of the same black hue as her horns emerged from each toe. I hesitated only a moment before kissing them delicately, then the pad of her toe, one by one. I found her ankles, fluttered my lips along the curve of them.

I pushed her robes up to the middle of her calves. Her tail twitched back and forth, the end now visible. The tip ended in a diamond-shaped protrusion, before narrowing and then thickening back to the base. It was the single most inhuman part of her anatomy. Meeting her eyes, I took her tail in hand and kissed the end. She shivered, sucking in a sharp breath. I ran my tongue down one side, and then the other. The way it twitched, it did not seem as though she had full control of it.

"Your tail is lovely," I murmured, my lips brushing the end with every word.

She watched me with bright eyes. I could see in them, her belief in my worship of her. I wanted her to feel like she was the loveliest creature in existence.

I pushed the robes up over her knees, revealing her shapely thighs. Her stripes ran along the outsides of her limbs, thickening in the middle and coming to a point in the front and back. I brushed my lips over each, my tongue following. She sighed, a nervous chuckle bubbling from her. She shifted, her thighs parting a few scant inches.

"Are you wearing anything beneath these robes?"

She nodded. "A shift."

"I am going to take them off."

She nodded, setting her spectacles aside. She was trembling as I carefully divested the robes from her, revealing the undyed linen shift beneath. It went down to the middle of her thigh. I had the first look at her figure, her round hips, full buttocks, and heavy breasts. Her smell was stronger now, the incense and candlewax. I ran my hands up her thighs to the hem of her shift. Her tail flicked back and forth, beckoning me.

I moved up her body to kiss her lips once again. "I'm going to take my robes off."

"What are you wearing beneath?"

"A loincloth."

She hesitated, then nodded. I slipped off the robes. Her gaze crawled over my body. Lean muscle, a gift from my adventuring, covered my body. I knelt between her ankles while I continued moving up and down her legs, spending more and more time at the hem of her shift. She was moving now, her scent growing stronger the more I lingered close to her sex. Every time I neared her, she sucked in breath. Every time I retreated, a soft sigh.

I moved over her, my face inches above her sex, inhaling deeply of the sultry scent, then I was up to her neck, atop her, teasing her flesh. She moaned happily as I returned to her mouth. Her kisses were hungrier now, and when she took me in her arms, it was with a confident strength.

"I am going to take off your shift."

Another nod. I was momentarily transfixed by her single fang dimpling her pillowy lip.

I eased the shift up over her hips. First, I found her sex, a hairless slit glistening with her juices, then up over her smooth belly, and then her breasts, tipped with puffy dark blue nipples. Her stripes cupped her breasts and hugged her hips and sides. Her figure was an hourglass, enhanced by the way her stripes followed the contours of her body.

I beheld her for a time, and I felt myself straining against the loincloth. "Sarakiel, you are gorgeous. Perfection."

"Take me," she murmured.

When I could restrain myself no longer. I caressed her breasts, reveling in the way her nipples hardened over my touch. She arched her back with a soft cry. I replaced that with my mouth, licking, sucking, nibbling. I found myself intrigued with the way the stripes first cupped the undersides of her breasts, then others ran along them, as though pointing at her nipples. I obeyed, caressing the gooseflesh of her areolae with my tongue.

I found my way down her belly as she undulated beneath me. Her mind was lost to sensation. I thought of my own first time with Mira. She had brought me through it in stages. She had been more teacher, showing me how to properly love her, and by extension, any woman. I would teach Sarakiel the techniques to please me, but for now I wanted only to give her this experience. I would appreciate her body the way none had. The way she had not.

I kissed her belly, then lower, lower. I found the silky triangle of flesh between her legs, a slight swell where a human woman would have fleece. I looked up at her. She opened her eyes, brow furrowed, her hips rising and falling. "I am going to give you the knight's kiss," I promised.

"Yes," she murmured, though I think she would have said yes to anything in that moment.

I brushed my lips at the apex of her slit, sucking in the scent of incense and candlewax that billowed from her sex. I kissed first one lip, then the other. Then, lightly, I ran my tongue down her sweet opening, from top to bottom, where it grew warm and wet.

I parted her, finding her innerfolds to be as wet and delicious as I hoped. I alternated, dipping my tongue inside her, then came my fingers, beckoning her along. She squealed as I truly began to explore her. She spread her legs, gripping the bedclothes, black claws extending from the holes in her fingertips to slice into them. I judged my attentions on the proper path, and I chased her moans, pursued every spasm of her hands, hunted for the writhing of her hips.

When her writhing reached a fever, I found her pearl, sliding my fingers inside her. I was ready to stroke, but the quakes over her told the tale. She shook, sobbing her pleasure. I moved up her body to hold her through the last of her shocks.

She blinked, her indigo eyes finding mine. "That was wonderful."

"Would you like more?"

"Yes." I slipped the loincloth off. Her eyes widened as my staff came into view. "That is to fit inside me?"

I kissed her lip. "It will fit, but I will go slowly."

I turned my attention to her neck. She giggled, first shying from and then leaning into my touch. I gently spread her legs, guiding my staff to the gates of her sex. I took myself in hand, running the engorged tip along her petals, bringing her back along the path. She hadn't strayed far and was already shivering. I kept her eyes on mine. Her fang worried her lip.

I entered her with aching slowness. Her eyes and mouth widened, a moan issuing from her lips. She arched her back, her claws sliding from her fingertips to sink into my shoulders with delirious burning pain. I whispered her name, keeping her in my eyes as I steadily filled her. When I had hit her limit, she was bucking ever so slightly, her body tuned to my pulse.

"Oh," she said over and over again, sharply sucking in a breath with each one. I started to rock against her, slowly at first, bare movement deep inside. She managed a nod, encouraging me. As I moved against her, she alternated a sigh with a small squeal. Now I began to truly take her. The bliss was building in my belly and I longed to find it. This was enough for her, and she began to slide her hips up and down, clumsily matching my pace. She was inexpert, but I didn't need skill. Her face alone, the amazed pleasure, was enough.

I gripped her hips, rolling her up so that she could take me to the hilt. She began to shake, her eyes never leaving mine. I boiled over in sudden bliss, filling her once more. She gasped as the first threads unspooled inside her. She cried out my name as the quakes consumed her body. I stayed poised against her, my sex pulsing, hers gently gripping. I caught my breath, and our eyes met again, and she broke into a tired smile.

I cuddled up next to her, taking her shivering body in my arms.

"That was better than I had imagined," she said.

"Did you imagine it a lot?"

She blushed. "In the collection...we have certain books...the Eroticum Kharsoomium, The Blanket Book, Lady Faraine..."

I chuckled. "My master had the Eroticum. I cannot imagine you reading it."

"We all read it. The librarians. We pretend we do not, but we do. I thought it would be the only thing I could have."

"Is there something from it you might like to try?"

"Perhaps..." she said, her blush deepening. "Can we summon Zhahllaia? I want her to know."

The djinn stepped from the smoke after I summoned her. Her smile widened as she saw the two of us entwined in bed. "I trust your time was well spent."

"Yes!" Sarakiel said. "I feel so warm."

Zhahllaia sat down on the bed. "Wonderful."

"Next time, I would like you with us. Is that acceptable?"

"Very." Zhahllaia put a hand on Sarakiel's thigh. The darkling shivered. "What about you, Master Wizard?"

"Looking forward to next time," I said, kissing the librarian's neck.

I spent every moment I could with Sarakiel. She showed me the city, the strange, vibrant corners of the incredible metropolis. She showed me the outdoor amphitheaters where troupes performed plays deep into the night. The corners where the finest musicians I had ever heard played for copper pieces. The walls where the denizens had created incredible works of art without ceremony. I believe this is when I truly fell in love with Castellandria. For all of its faults, it is a city alive like no other.

Most nights she would come to my room and we would spend the night at our loveplay. I tutored her in the arts of pleasure, and she was an eager student. Zhahllaia joined us, watching and pleasuring herself.

After one of these nights, Sarakiel rose afterwards and began to dress. "Where are you going?" I asked.

"I need to return home. The other sisters have started to notice my frequent absences in the mornings. While it is acceptable for an unmarried librarian to spend some nights out, I am beginning to draw disapproval."

"You cannot walk these streets alone."

"I am safe."

"Let me give you something." I retrieved the jade figurine of the bird-thing I had found in the ruins of Ul Adrax from my pack and handed it to her. "Breathe into its mouth and drop it, and it will become a guardian."

"Where did you find it?"

"Ul Adrax. A treasure of that lost civilization."

"Amazing!" She took it and prepared herself to breathe.

"Not unless you need it," I warned. "It can only transform thus once every day and only for a relatively short time. It should be an effective protector if you find yourself in trouble."

"Thank you, my love," she said, embracing me.

Then she was gone. "You think I'm a fool," I said to the djinn.

"Why would I think that?" Zhahllaia asked mildly.

"For giving her the figurine."

"We love her." She stated it with such clarity it was easy to miss how profound the statement was.

"We."

The figurine bought me peace of mind, but it was not enough. Another idea had been brewing in my mind, as much because I was falling in love with the city at the same time as I was falling in love with my Sarakiel. After a month of navigating the trip to the inn, I could take it no longer and spent a few days enacting my plan.

I revealed it to Zhahllaia and Sarakiel as soon as I could. At the end of her day at the library, I took Sarakiel's hand on the way to the docks. She momentarily made for the western ferry, which would take us to my inn. I steered her to the eastern.

She frowned. "You are taking me home?"

"In a manner of speaking."

At the dock, we went up a different set of staircases than we would to get to her building. I broke off partway up the cliffs and stopped at a narrow, nondescript staircase that twisted down two landings before arriving at a small gate.

"What is this place?" she asked.

I looked about. I had checked earlier, but now, at the moment of truth, I checked again. At the landing in front of the gate, we were effectively hidden from the street. Someone would have to peer over the wall from overhead to see anything, and only the night sky was above us. I produced Zhahllaia's lamp and called her forth.

Zhahllaia stepped from her smoke and looked about at the shadowed corner in confusion. "Where am I?"

"He won't say," Sarakiel confided.

I produced a key from my pouch and opened the gate. This led out onto a modest terrace looking out from the eastern side of the Castelpont over the Turquoise Sea. Plants bloomed in pots all along the balcony. Doors and wide windows went to the inner parts of the house. The house had been there for centuries at least, the architecture graceful and classical.

"This is ours," I said. Oddrin left my shoulder to climb a small olive tree sprouting from a wide clay pot.

"Ours?" Sarakiel asked.

"Zhahllaia spoke of my household. For that, I would need a house."

"What of the Mythseekers?" Zhahllaia asked.

"Perhaps my time with them is ending," I said, giving voice to the thought that had been gnawing at my mind over the past month. I was right. I know that now. But I was wrong on the particulars. Tragically so.

"You would give up adventuring?" Sarakiel asked.

"For a time at least. We can use the Grand Library to free Zhahllaia from her curse. I can build my power there. If this house isn't to your liking, I could find another. I chose it here to watch sunsets." I took Sarakiel's hand in mine, and reached my other to Zhahllaia. "Being here with the two of you has been the most content I've ever been."

Sarakiel broke into a wide smile. She embraced me. "I love it!" Then, after a moment, she pulled her necklace off, her real appearance coming through. "I don't have to wear this here."

"You can be you. Privacy was one of my paramount concerns." I turned to Zhahllaia. "What say you, wazira?"

Her lip quirked. "The home of an important person will need a name."

"I will let the two of you come up with that." I looked from Zhahllaia's gold-flecked eyes to Sarakiel's indigo ones behind the lenses of her spectacles. "Does this mean you are both pleased?"

"Yes!" Sarakiel exclaimed.

"I am," Zhahllaia said. "I will need to decorate this place. In proper Qammuzi fashions, of course."

"We will need to," Sarakiel said. "All three of us. This is our home. No, four, with Oddrin. Five! Fidget."

"Fidget?" I asked.

She produced the figurine from the pouch at her waist. "Fidget! I like the way she fidgets about."

I shook my head. "A treasure of Ul Adrax and you named it Fidget."

"Her," Sarakiel insisted. "I named her Fidget."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Come, I will show you this place."

I took them from room to room. It came with a bit of furniture, though nothing fancy. The bare minimum to keep the place from looking uninhabited. For me, after years of life without a home, the idea of filling this place with things was daunting, even bizarre.

I went out to fetch food, and when I returned, the two of them were on the terrace, the Alishum board between them. Sarakiel had stripped to her shift, her tail lashing back and forth, reveling in her ability to live without a disguise.

We ate on our terrace, watching the lights from the boats on the water. There could only be one way to truly claim this place as our own, and it happened when the three of us, shivering with anticipation, made our way to the main bedchamber. This was on the level below the terrace, shaded from above but with expansive windows letting in the temperate air of the Castellandrian night. Oddrin stayed on his olive tree, preening in the night air, while I lit a flickering spell to shed light on the chamber.

"We will need candles," Sarakiel said, shivering as she leaned into me.

"And art," Zhahllaia said. "Tapestries. Qammuzi tapestries."

"That would require delving into more than one lost city," I said.

"Then I suppose it is a good thing that is your vocation. Now you can bring treasures home to us," she said archly.

"And books," Sarakiel said. "When you search for things, you must search for books."

"Paper does not generally do well over the ages," I said.

"Still, you must look," Sarakiel said firmly.

"I'll look. Now that I have a patron affiliated with the Grand Library, such is important." I gave her a squeeze.

Sarakiel pulled her shift over her head and crawled onto the bed. She had learned that I found this particularly alluring. I will admit, some was thanks to the shapeliness of her ample buttocks, while some was her tail. The base, thick around as her spine, grew right where the dividing line between the hemispheres of her hindquarters started. It narrowed, coming to its diamond point at the end. She enjoyed lashing it back and forth, as though beckoning me. She turned and knelt, hands atop her thighs, her heavy breasts inviting. I had learned, in our time together, that the base of her tail was phenomenally sensitive, and she enjoyed my touch there as prelude or counterpoint to our coupling.

Zhahllaia watched, one hand dropping between her legs, the other toying with one bronze nipple. She was already glistening. "No," I said.

"No?"

"You're going to join us tonight."

"You have a look in your eyes."

"Indeed I do," I said. My will closed, and a low rumble shook the room. Clouds gathered on the ceiling, light flashing through them. Tendrils of gray began to fall, toward Sarakiel, toward Zhahllaia, and toward me. I climbed on the bed with Sarakiel and beckoned Zhahllaia. The three of us knelt in a triangle as the clouds entwined us like stormy serpents. The flashes of lightning within gave some illumination, Sarakiel's eyes alight, her fangs bared, Zhahllaia's arched back and fetching grin.

My left hand ran up Sarakiel's thigh, my right up Zhahllaia's. I still was not used to the way Diotenah's ring gave me the single cold finger, but the darkling loved it. She shivered happily while the delicious chill of the touch of Zhahllaia ran up my spine.

The djinn reached out to caress Sarakiel's cheek with the back of her hand. "This is the beginning of our household," she said in Abbih. She slipped into the language, and I don't believe she noticed. The words, or the intent, mattered to her. "Belromanazar of Thunderhead. Zhahllaia the Enlightened. Sarakiel of Castellandria. Others will join us. There will be children. Other places. But the foundation is here, with the three of us, in this home in the great city."

Sarakiel shivered. "I am yours."

"And we are yours," I said.

A tear wobbled in the darkling's eyes. It was not strange to think that she had grown up believing she was lesser, that she had to hide. Now she was with two who loved and respected her. She was home. She told me much later when we were in a different house, but the same home, that this was what loosed the tear from her eye.

I kissed her. She was passionate that night, the import of this clear in her ardor. Then she turned and met Zhahllaia's mouth. The djinn's metallic-tinted lips brushed over the darkling's deep blue ones. Gooseflesh sprung up along her tiger-striped flesh. I joined them, Sarakiel's attentions earthy, Zhahllaia's the tickle of the wind.

The clouds ran over us. Claws of lightning hardened nipples. Thunder tickled our bodies. Though it would appear that the storm moved with a mind of its own, it was reacting to us. In our physical actions, the three of us were erasing the distinction between one and another.

I found myself on my back, Sarakiel and Zhahllaia on my staff. First, the earthy licking of the librarian's tongue, then the ethereal brush of the djinn like fingers lightly tracing patterns over my skin. Their lips met over my manhood, their tongues caressing one another as much as they washed over me.

I was in ecstasy, overwhelmed by the combination of sensation. I pulled Sarakiel up to me. She traced her tongue from my staff, up my belly and chest. I felt Zhahllaia's touch on my sex, running over me at the edge of sensation. Sarakiel sat back, easing me into her. Being inside Sarakiel was like coming home. Her body was contoured to mine, holding me in a loving embrace. She began to roll her ample hips, her wetness dripping from her, over me.

Then I felt Zhahllaia over my legs. Her presence was a tickle that did nothing to stop the incredible sensations of Sarakiel. I watched the djinn come up behind the darkling. Her bronze hands ran up Sarakiel's narrow waist, over the swell of her breasts, across her nipples. Sarakiel hissed in pleasure.

"Oh, Zhahllaia," she murmured.

The djinn's mouth went to Sarakiel's neck. I knew the caress would feel the same whether it came from her lips or hands. This was as much about providing a voluptuous sight as it was delicious sensation. Her ethereal hands circled Sarakiel's breasts, toying with nipples already hardened to pebbles. She pressed into the darkling's back. Sarakiel writhed against the teasing touch, each undulation grinding her body down over mine. She gripped me, and the shivers that Zhahllaia gave her shimmered through Sarakiel and over my staff.

My clouds ran over the both of them, wrapping them in ineffable tendrils, the energy of the storm uniting them in pleasure. I watched, transfixed, as Zhahllaia's hand fell down Sarakiel's belly to where our sexes joined. She brushed over the darkling's pearl, and she fell into her helpless shuddering over me. The shiver of her caress took me.

Zhahllaia's hand went behind Sarakiel, and I knew she was touching herself. I had seen her so many times, I could imagine her delicate finger circling her slick button, pausing and plunging into her sodden folds. Our eyes met, each of us with Sarakiel in our own ways. Zhahllaia's mouth opened, her eyes wide as the pleasure descended on her.

I felt my own boiling over and I pushed as deeply into Sarakiel. Right as I hit the limit, her sex closed at the base me, and I released my grip on my bliss. It took me, my control gone, as the pleasure flooded from me and into her. I held Sarakiel as she shuddered anew with each buck of my staff inside her. Zhahllaia moved with us, crying out once.

When my senses returned, I found myself cuddled between Zhahllaia and Sarakiel. The djinn was a cool, teasing breeze, the librarian warm and present.

In dark of that night, I knew true contentment. It would not last long.

A few days later, the three of us were in the library, studying. Alia found us in our alcove, a worried expression on her pretty face. "Bel, there you are. I looked for you in your room, and the inn said you were no longer staying there."

"Yes," I said. Then, an awkward glance at my loves, "I purchased a house. The money from Gurghann Urad. What Maireili's people gave us."

"Who? Oh, yes. The ghoul." She shook her head. "I am sorry, I have awful news."

"What is it?"

"The Heacharid Empire has invaded Axichis."

I could not know what that simple sentence would mean. I knew the words, of course. The Heacharids were far away, but they were already infamous for their bloody piety and rapacious brutality. Axichis, of course, was far more familiar to me as the homeland of Xeiliope, daughter of Xelyphe, one of my closest companions. I had never set foot on her home islands, but she had told many tales around the campfire at night. At times, it felt as another home.

"Xeiliope is returning home to fight. She's asked us to join her."

"Of course," I said without thinking.

"Bel!" protested Sarakiel.

I went to her, and though she wore her human face, I could see her true eyes. When I spoke to her, I said perhaps the most foolish thing that has ever passed my lips. "Do not be frightened, my love. The amazons of Axichis are legendary warriors. We will rout the Heacharids and send them back to Aucor with their tails between their legs."

I was still young then. I had yet to fight in a war. This would be my first, this damnable, meaningless, destructive abomination. It would break the Mythseekers. It would break me. At the time, I knew only that Axichis was across the Turquoise Sea, not terribly far from Castellandria, and they needed us.

I left Zhahllaia and Sarakiel in our new home. I gave Sarakiel the xilquinal sapling Tara had given me. "For luck," I told her. I still wonder if my misfortune was the result of that action.

As I stood on the deck of the ship, watching Castellandria grow smaller behind me, I fancied I could see my librarian and my djinn upon our terrace, waving goodbye.

It would be many years before I saw them again.