In the months that followed the peace conference, the isle of Khedes fell to the Heacharids, and Elepetra was teetering on the edge of conquest. It was a time for madness. Spending two years at war had eroded my sanity to the point that madness was the only soil in which my plans would bloom. Madness might have been the seed of my plan, but revenge was its water and sunlight.

Reports of Lysethe the Heaven's Fire on Khedes sparked my attention. It was not Theophilia Bardane, the envoy that truly raised my ire, but Lysethe had strayed often into my thoughts. The Heacharid witchthrall was the author of the worst wound I ever suffered. At the time, the scar was still a raw disk of pale white flesh on the right side of my abdomen, just above the bones of my pelvis. It has since faded, the skin taking a tone like that around, it but it can still be seen. Its contours make it somewhat resemble an eye. Appropriate, as it showed me my mortality.

I wanted revenge on her for this wound. Zhahllaia, in her great wisdom, had this to say of revenge: "It is an empty purse. Count it. Eat it? Go hungry. Seek it and go mad." She was right of course, but I had not yet heard this advice, and I was already mad. Perhaps Theophilia would have been preferable, but even I had not fallen so far that I would slay a woman expecting my own child. Lysethe would have to do.

I approached General Thaodora, the commander of Melisis and told her of my idea. "I will go ashore in darkness with only my hetairoi. The Heacharids will not detect so small a party. We will ambush a garrison, and I will make them mine. Then I will attack another, and another. And when I have a host, I will march upon Herantis itself." Herantis was the name of the only city upon the isle of Khedes. If we took Herantis, then Khedes would once again be under Axichan rule.

Thaodora watched me, her eyes keen. "We cannot afford to throw you away on suicide," she said finally.

"General, you misunderstand. I will go with your blessing or no."

She sighed. "Then you will go with my blessing. And you will go with a guide. One who can help you slip past the Heacharid defenses, and choose an underbelly soft enough to strike. Promise me, wizard, you will wait until I provide you this guide."

"Very well. My ships will not stray far from Melisis."

"Good. My adjutant, the Lochagos Eineira, will contact you when I have procured this guide and you may commence your mission."

That I could make this promise was in itself an ill omen. The Heacharid noose had closed, leaving only three islands truly free. I could hunt enemy ships and never lose sight of the capital. Dark times indeed.

True to her word, Thaodora got a message to me barely a week later. As I sailed into the harbor at Kleogara, I found a shape upon the docks, waiting by a sloop of shallow silhouette. She was an amazon warrior, tall and more slender than most, her body muscled like a dancer rather than a soldier. Her skin was a deep bronze, her hair a fiery copper. Her golden eyes watched me as I approached. Her face was fine-boned, with high cheekbones and a pointed chin.

"Lochagos Eineira?" I ventured.

She gave me a curt bow. "Belromanazar the wizard, as though you could be anyone else."

"I am to understand you have my guide?"

"More than that." She nodded to the sloop by her side. "This The Shrike, a scout vessel. One that can move about undetected."

"I will take my ships."

"With respect, you will not. The Heacharids know those vessels and fear them. If they prowl the waters off Khedes, they will be seen. No, you take The Shrike here."

"As you wish," I grumbled. "Where is my guide?"

She gestured to the deck of the ship. "She awaits you on board."

I turned, and any annoyance vanished. The tiny shape of Alia of Freeport emerged from belowdecks and hopped up onto the gunwale, lightly clutching the rigging. I called her name, running up the gangway. She leapt into my arms, wrapping her arms and legs about me in a tight embrace. "Bel, you're a sight for aching eyes."

"I've missed you," I said, kissing her softly.

"Don't get me started here. We'll have a couple days on the water for loveplay," she murmured, running her hands through my hair.

My hetairoi boarded, looking at the diminutive rogue with amusement. Alia was easy to underestimate. She was tiny, both short and slender. She was however deceptively strong, a her body a tightly packed coil of lithe muscle. She boasted control over herself that most could only dream of. Her hair was fiery red, and rolled into long plaits, gathered into a single tail. Her eyes were bright green and large on her elfin face. Her former adventurer's costume of green cloth and brown leather had been added to and altered, incorporating a bracer of Heacharid design and a pauldron of Axichan, both stained a deep night-gray. She wore two magical blades on her hips, Fire and Ice, and she was a terror with them.

Contrasting that with my hetairoi, both were nearly of my height, and muscled like warriors. Their bronze skin was tattooed with turquoise patterns between every joint that, when in movement, looked like marching soldiers. Their hair, Kallea's brown and Einoë's bronze, was cut close to the scalp, with only slightly longer locks on the crowns of their heads. They wore the armored breastplates, kilts, greaves, bracers, pauldrons, and helmets of amazon warriors. Each carried a spear and shield, Einoë also wearing a shortsword on her hip, Kallea a folded net. They were sworn to my defense and I have never felt so looked after.

"This is one of your companions," Einoë said. "I remember her from the Symposium on Paiari."

"Alia of Freeport," she said, holding a hand out. Each amazon clasped her wrist in turn.

"I was told we had found a guide you would trust!" Eineira called from the dock. "May Xenethestra watch over you!"

The crew ably got us underway, keeping to the narrow straits between minute islands on the way to Khedes. Though central in the archipelago, Khedes was itself the smallest of the main islands, and important mainly for its port. Its fall had effectively cut off Elepetra, making that island's fall inevitable. All it would take is the success of my plan, and I believe why Thaodora was willing to gamble.

"What are you doing here?" I asked Alia.

"Since our arrival, my job has been to slip into Heacharid-controlled areas and...hasten the local commander's meeting with his goddess. It's quite effective." She broke into a grin. "They've taken to calling me the Crimson Ghost."

"The Heacharids do love their nicknames."

"You don't need to tell me, Dreadstorm."

I felt my face growing hot. "Yes, well. I wasn't consulted."

Alia explained the plan to myself and the hetairoi. We would be sailing close to the eastern side of the island, where innumerable small coves made accessing the interior easier than anywhere else. While we could get close, the final distance would have to be swum. Thus, the hetairoi would have to leave behind the bulk of their armor, as well as their spears and shields.

"The first garrison we find, our tent brother will win us new arms," Kallea said mildly.

"In the meantime, we will make do with sword and net," Einoë added.

Alia was correct in her assessment of the time we would have. The Shrike was small enough that we were obliged to share a cabin, something that none of us minded terribly. Alia was always enthusiastic about exploring a new woman, and for my hetairoi, the combination of Alia's strength and size prompted them into ever more unlikely positions. Alia was tireless as well, exhausting the three of us and still wanting more.

As with Velena and Xeiliope, something had changed in Alia. She was more single-minded in her pursuit of pleasure. She had always been playful and inquisitive, but now there was more focus on bliss, a hardness to her loveplay, that was different. Still, I would treasure every time I lay with Alia, and this was no exception.

The Shrike bobbed in the tides off the coast of Khedes. The night was moonless, the only light coming from the stars, with barely the dimmest edge of the celestial river shedding a light purple glow over the sea. We were ready to swim, each of us nude, a watertight pack containing our clothing and the bare minimum of supplies on our backs.

We bid goodbye to the captain and dove over the side, swimming to the shore. What I wouldn't have given for Thalalei in that moment. Her kiss granting me the ability to breathe water, her touch bearing me through the brine with preternatural speed, and her body giving me a lovely companion. Instead, I was forced to make my way through the surf, swallowing too much of the salt water, and only making it to shore bedraggled and enervated. Oddrin, the little beggar, alighted on me only when I was out of the water.

"Tired from your flight, were you?" I said to him. The night eft could only purr in response.

We rested on the beach, the chilly night air drying our skin, before getting dressed and moving inland. Other histories have documented the step-by-step of the incursion. The first garrison, slaughtered with lightning and storm, the advance over the interior, the building of my force of stormwights. Both the sequence of events as depicted in The Fourfold Chronicle as well as that in The Lament of Axichis are broadly correct. I should say that Phanio Maior, who penned The Fourfold Chronicle somewhat exaggerates Alia's valor. Yes, she was brave. Yes, she was instrumental in the victory. She did not slay the Heacharid General in single combat.

It might seem strange that I choose to correct the historical record in this regard. My affection for Alia of Freeport is obvious. I think of my companions in the Mythseekers, it is Alia who came closest to blossoming from lover to love. Yet she was mortal, and it is in accuracy that our mortality is preserved. In this way, I show not only my love for her but my deep respect.

Alia guided us along secret trails, she helped us draw close to Heacharid encampments, and when she could, she ruthlessly cut throats, sowing chaos in the enemy ranks. She was their Crimson Ghost, their figure of nightmare.

What is important for this tale is that by the time my sortie marched on Herantis, the only major city on Khedes, the Heacharids knew we were coming. We had remained undetected for a long while, though booming thunder and the tread of a legion of stormwights will be detected eventually no matter how careful one is.

One of the quirks of Axichan cities is that they do not feature land-facing walls, for what enemy would ever attack that way? All that stood there were the temporary fortifications of the Heacharids. Far from nothing, but not the equal of good city walls. My stormwights surged over the defenses, putting their former comrades to the sword. I finished the survivors off with lightning, the corpses rising to join the inexorable march of the dead.

I strode in their midst, carrying the sword of a Heacharid Alia had butchered like a pig. My hetairoi were on either side, carrying Hearcharid spears and shields. Alia ran ahead, through the dark, hunting Heacharids like animals.

The bay was chaos, filled Heacharid ships trying to bring reinforcements to shore while others tried to flee the city. They never managed to mass for any kind of defense, and every group we overran only swelled our numbers. The whisper of Diotenah that still twined around my power was exultant. I could picture her lissome form, erotic and terrifying, writhing in glee with each new stormwight.

The Heacharid defenses, such that they were, surrounded the old lighthouse by the mouth of the bay. This appeared to be where the forces of the city was attempting to make a stand. At the top, I saw my quarry. Lysethe the Heaven's Fire stood upon the roof where the pyre would be blazing on a foggy night. The clouds of the day parted, shafts of burning sunlight washing over her and spearing into the ranks of the undead. A cohort of Heacharids had formed a protective cordon about the entrance, locking shields and leveling spears. We slaughtered them without mercy, and then we were fighting our way up the staircase that spiraled around the inner wall.

Above I saw a familiar face. Cerularius Phrantzes, the paladin who had been my opposite number at the conference, was at the top of the stairs. He swung a sword blazing with holy fire, each swipe sending another stormwight to its eternal rest. Our eyes met, and for a moment we were back on Elepetra, glaring at one another across the negotiating table while the diplomats spiraled in what amounted to nothing. Recognition passed between us. This was always where we were supposed to meet.

My stormwights fell from the staircase like rain. The center of the tower was piled high with dead men in Heacharid armor, stilled by a blade blazing with the light of their goddess. Cerularius descended the steps, felling a walking corpse with each swing. Ahead of me were my hetairoi, Einoë first, then Kallea.

Einoë's knuckles went white beneath the turquoise tattoos as she gripped her stolen Heacharid spear. "Looks like this one thinks to harm our tent brother," she said through gritted teeth.

"He will have to come through us," intoned Kallea.

I hurled lightning at the paladin, but the bolt twisted, catching the sword, playing over the flaming metal, crawling over his enameled plate, and dissipating harmlessly into the stone at his feet. His goddess would protect him from me.

With the final stormwight removed between Cerularius and Einoë, the battle was joined. Her spear was swiftly broken, cut in two and cast onto the pile of corpses. She drew her shortsword, defending the paladin's swipes. Perhaps he would have defeated her in a duel. No, there is no perhaps. Cerularius was Einoë's superior in combat, a remarkable statement if ever there was one. But she was not alone. She was never alone.

Kallea used her spear expertly to attack over her tent sister's shoulder. But it was the net that spelled the paladin's doom. She entangled his ankles, and he fell to his knees. This was enough of an opening for Einoë to jam the shorsword in the gap of his armor behind his head, between helm and breastplate. He uttered a choked cry and was still.

"Another blade for your collection, wizard?" Einoë said, stepping over the body.

I reached for the weapon, now cold, the metal bleeding only a few wisps of smoke. I gripped the handle, and agony bolted through my hand. With a howl, I dropped the weapon to the stone.

"I don't think Xomera likes you," observed Kallea.

I cradled the hand, throbbing with fresh pain. "Perhaps if I send more of her children to their rewards she will amend her position."

"He talks like an amazon," said Einoë, her grin feral.

We charged up the last of the steps, bursting out of the trapdoor onto the roof. The top of the lighthouse was a central area for a bonfire, then a walkway all around. This is where Lysethe the Heaven's Fire stood, directing her magic out over Herantis.

Once again, I was struck by her terrible beauty. Perhaps, in another context, she would be merely alluring, but here, she was death incarnate. The scar in my abdomen throbbed with the memory of agony. I wanted my revenge. I wanted her. I had planned to slay her, but now, a more dangerous plan unfolded before me. I can only say that the war had driven me mad.

She was in the midst of a spell, and I knew the feeling, exulting with the power, riding it because it was no longer truly in your control, but beautiful and terrible for it. I would have created a storm, with flashing iron-gray clouds and lightning stalking over the earth. She brought down sunlight from the heavens, its kiss turning rock into liquid and sand into glass. Where it passed, stormwights turned to hissing vapor. I saw with horror that she had managed to thin my horde significantly, and were I not on the tower, she perhaps would already have triumphed.

She was lovely, a vision of power and beauty. She wore the uniform of the witchthrall, red enameled plate armor to her mid-bicep and mid-thigh, a red loincloth and another cloth about her breasts, and finally her true marks of her slavery: the iron collar and crown. She was shapely, though I noted that the deprivations of war had come to her as well. Her ribs rippled beneath her flesh and her muscles were lanky and taut. Her skin was snowy white, her long, straight hair the same color.

For a wizard, the most uncanny thing about her was the lack of a familiar. No small creature fluttered about her shoulders or crouched at her feet. She should not have a link to magic and yet she did. A mighty link, for she was perhaps the most powerful spellweaver I had yet encountered.

The wound she had burned into me gave another twinge, the queasy tendrils of fear reaching out from it. She had bested me before. I knew that if I succumbed, that would be it. I could never face her, and the next time, retreat would be easier. This confrontation was what I had needed. This was the place I would heal.

I do not know what I would have done without my hetairoi. Einoë and Kallea spurred me to action, surging past me to attack. Lysethe turned in time, but they broke her concentration enough that I was able to bring my magic to bear. And just like that, the fear bled from me. And with it, the magic. A storm rumbled overhead, choking the shafts of sunlight she used to burn.

The four of us battled upon the lighthouse. This time I had the upper hand and she had nowhere to run. Our battle ended with a shaft of lightning pinning her in place, the energy crackling over her skin. She fell, unconscious, threads of smoke rising from her snowy flesh.

Einoë stepped up, ready to cut the witchthrall's throat. "Hold!" I called.

"What? Did you want the honors?" She deftly flipped the shortswrod in her hand, offering me the handle.

It is hard to describe what I felt when I looked upon the unconscious witchthrall. Pity was one feeling, desire another. An ineffable need to be merciful, to find something that wasn't awful in this war. I knew that I could not kill her because she was me. Had I been born in the Heacharid Empire, I too would have worn their collar and crown, would have been their dog of war. The initial urge that had struck me returned, and its grip was iron.

"Belromanazar?" asked Kallea. "What would you have us do?"

Without further hesitation, I knelt, hefting Lysethe onto my shoulders. The witchthrall was light. "She is a prisoner. My prisoner."

Einoë shot her tent sister a grin. "You see? He is an amazon."

Kallea looked out over Herantis. A ship had landed, spilling reinforcements into the city. The stormwights, thinned by Lysethe's magic, were easy prey. "We need to go."

"A ship," I said.

I called to my remaining stormwights, to cover our retreat. I carried Lysethe on my shoulders. Einoë and Kallea forged ahead. We emerged from the lighthouse and made our way down to the docks. We seized one of the ships in the harbor, the last of the stormwights crewing it. Alia revealed herself then, appearing as if from nowhere. Blood streaked her features. None of it was hers. We struck out for open water, confused Heacharid ships unable to mass and prevent our escape.

I brought Lysethe belowdecks, and took her armor and crown from her limp body, and then I clapped her in irons. Chains went from her neck, to her wrists, to her ankles, manacles enclosing each. I could not remove her iron collar, and so it stayed. Lysethe stirred then, her eyes fluttering, then opening. They were red and at that time contained only hatred. Oddrin glared back at her from his perch upon my shoulder, hissing at the witchthrall.

"Why do I live?" she croaked in accented Akleona.

"Because I wished it," I said.

She looked about at the hold. The chains bolted to the walls and floors betrayed this place as having hauled slaves. "You would make of me your plaything," she stated. "Very well. I will bear this suffering and be purified."

I knew she was a fanatic, but hearing it from her own lips made me truly understand who I would be dealing with. "Who am I?"

"You are the Dreadstorm. The amazons' necromancer."

"And who are you?"

"I am Lysethe the Heaven's Fire, witchthrall of the Heacharium."

"You and I have met before."

"On the field of battle. I was sent to kill you."

"And you failed."

"You could not slay me either."

I smiled. "Only because I did not wish to. If you believe nothing else, believe that you continue to live only thanks to my wishes."

"I will escape," she said. "You will have to loosen my bonds at some point, and I will call my magic."

"That would be foolish," I said. "In a duel, I am your better."

"I bested you before."

"When I was exhausted, yes. This time you will be the fighting fatigue. Besides, we will not fight a duel, will we? No. My hetairoi look for any excuse to kill you. Attack me and they will have it."

"Amazons do not frighten me."

"They are not the ones you should fear."

Melting from the shadows behind her, a blade appeared at her neck, hissing with frost. Alia leaned forward, her lips tickling Lysethe's ear. "You should fear me."

Lysethe leaned back. Her pulse beat against the snowy flesh of her throat. "I fear not death."

"You are in the presence of a necromancer," I lied. "Death is only the beginning."

Fear sparked in her eyes. I relished it. I saw in Lysethe a vessel, not only of the cruelty of the Heacharids, but of my own vengeance. I resolved then to break and remake her in my own image. I would make of her a concubine.

We sailed hard north, several ships in pursuit. They needed to rest. A crew of stormwights did not. We lost the Heacharids in the night and made for Melisis. Once again, the sight of undead Heacharids crawling with lightning convinced the amazons of my identity and we were allowed into port. This ship would join my fleet under the new name Storm's Price.

Lochagos Eineira met us at the port, a grin over her face. "Your little raid might not have returned the island to us, but you have the Heacharids running in circles. Their advance has entirely stalled."

"Do something with it," I said.

"We plan to." Her eyes flickered to Lysethe, bound in chains, being escorted by my stormwights. "Taken a prize I see."

"Is that a problem?"

"A prize is customary for a triumph. See she does not escape, hmm?"

I inclined my head, and the General's adjutant let me go. I turned Storm's Price over to Kucyone, the admiral of my small fleet, and she pledged to get the vessel crewed. Then, with Alia in tow, I went to my quarters on Melisis, a fisherman's cottage on the eastern side of the city, where the buildings grew widely spaced before petering out into rocky coastline.

The house was a standard Axichan structure, with a wide central room open on the seaward and landward sides, with columns at regular intervals. At either side were chambers that were closed off, places to get warm when the sea air grew too cold. A few couches were scattered around a wide brazier, the perfect place to sleep in the mild Axichan climate.

I led Lysethe into the central chamber. My hetairoi held her as I prepared a prison. Hardly easy, but I could take my time and had all the material I needed. I drew my blood, mingled with the glowing blue ichor of my familiar, and mixed it with the rust I'd collected in the belly of the slave ship. With this paint, I drew the binding circle on the floor, spoke the words of power, focused my will upon it.

Clouds coalesced over the shape, lightning stabbing each of its points. It hummed with power, already reaching for its prisoner. The storm desired her. "Put her within," I said. "Remove her chains."

Einoë and Kallea lifted Lysethe over the edge and deposited her with the circle. They removed the manacles from her wrist, neck, and ankles, then stepped outside the circle. I spoke a single iron word, and lightning struck all five points of the circle at once, the energy crawling over her. It grabbed the areas rendered red by her bonds. She gasped as the lighting pulled her arms and legs apart, wrapping about her throat, lifting her off the floor, pinioning her in place. The storm crackled and boomed, held by my circle. Overhead, stormclouds writhed, their lightning held in a strange sort of near stasis.

"Now you are mine," I said.

Einoë and Kallea's eyes shone with glee. Alia smirked. "Missing your djinn?" she said.

"Every day," I said. The thought of Zhahllaia was a blade in my side. I longed to be with her more than anything I could desire. "Now, I'm hungry. Kallea? Would you see to food?"

"Good idea. Don't do anything to her until I return?" she asked, and left before I promised.

"I did not think you were one for a warwife," Einoë remarked. She noted my frown. "An old tradition, from when we would raid the mainland. A warrior would take a woman back to the islands and teach her the true extent of pleasure. I assumed that was what you wished."

"I didn't know that was a tradition. And I don't know what I wish."

Alia stuck out her tongue. "Yes you do." She turned to Einoë. "My wizard loves one thing more than any other. Women."

Einoë chuckled. "Yes, he is easily distractable in that regard."

"I'll show you how distractable I am," I said, sweeping Alia up in my arms and pressing her to my lips.

She wrapped her arms and legs about me. "Glad you still take hints," she murmured.

Einoë leaned back, watching as I took Alia on one of the couches. Lysethe, bound in crackling lightning, did her best not to stare, but she could not resist. When Kallea returned with a sack filled with bread and figs, she laughed, joining her tent sister on another couch. Soon the two of them were occupied in their own game while I lay with my sweet Alia. As I pounded into Alia from behind, I kept glancing at Lysethe. My eyes caught hers, and she couldn't look away. Our eyes were locked, even as I spilled my seed into waiting womb of my friend. Lysethe shivered, only then closing her eyes, caught somewhere between despair and desire.

Keeping a prisoner is not easy, especially one as dangerous as Lysethe the Heaven's Fire. I realized this as I started to contemplate logistics in the cold light of morning. Alia slunk out sometime in the night, leaving a flower on my pillow. I missed her already, but her absence gave me clarity. Einoë and Kallea slept nearby, their sculpted bodies still intertwined. I rose from the couch, nude, and made my way to Lysethe. She was awake, the storm still binding her. Her eyes were rheumy with exhaustion, but she mustered hatred as she looked upon me.

"You have two choices. The first is that I will take you to the privies by the rocks. The second is a bucket," I said.

She was silent, her eyes hard. "Privies."

"A wise choice. Try to escape and I will hurt you."

I pulled her from the circle, and the spell clung to her like spidersilk, binding her wrists together, and forcing her to take small, mincing steps. The collar constricted when she spoke, ruining the concentration she would need to truly summon her magic. We made our way along the rocky path out the privies, a collection of wooden rooms out over a deep part of the shore perpetually washed by the tides.

"I will need help," she said.

"You're right. Apologies." I pulled the loincloth from her and cast it into the sea. I revealed a small, pouting sex, delicately furred with a halo of silver hair.

"Beast," she said.

I took the cloth from about her breasts, and that joined the other. Now nude, she shivered in the morning sea air. Her breasts were nicely shaped, modestly-sized, high on her chest, and capped with pale nipples with only the lightest kiss of pink. "For balance," I said. "Now go."

She wobbled out onto the wooden walkway leading to the structures, picked one and disappeared inside. I waited for her. And waited. And waited.

I had expected she would try something. It wouldn't be sport if she did not. Oddrin uttered a low hiss, and I calmed him with a pat. I flipped my wrist, focusing my will and drawing the spell out of its doze. A distant rumble greeted me, and the hairs on the backs of my arms stood at attention. Then I marched out onto the wooden pathway.

"Lysethe," I said, leaning to the door, and before I could get her entire name of out my mouth, she burst forth with a battlecry, her hands up as though to strangle me. I released the word that had been mustering behind my lips and the spell did the rest. Lightning snaked over her body from the places it bound her. Talons of lambent blue sank into her. She collapsed on the planks, twitching helplessly, threads of smoke rising from her. I stepped over her and into the privy, relieved myself, and picked her up.

"That will be a kind as I will ever be," I said to her limp body draped over my shoulders. Oddrin swam through the air next to us, and I would swear the little demon was pleased. I returned her to the circle, hefting her from my shoulders easily and depositing her within the spell. The lightning spread her limbs once again, lifting her from the floor, and I gave her another jolt out of spite. She shook in pain, but would not cry out. I suspected that she had already suffered as much pain as anyone had. This would not be the way to break her.

My hetairoi were beginning to rise, watching with interest. "Look at him, parading about in front of her," Einoë teased.

"He believes that none who see him thus can resist," confided Kallea.

"You two certainly couldn't," I said. They rose from the couch, stretching their bodies languidly, their tattoos rippling over sculpted forms.

"Libertines," snarled Lysethe. "The tales are true. Your culture is sick. You spend all your time despoiling the flesh."

Einoë kissed her tent sister, then met the Heacharid's eyes. "Tent brother? Have you told her how we despoiled their diplomat?"

"Lies."

"It's true," Kallea said. "We took her first, prepared her for our tent brother. You should have heard her wails of ecstasy. She begged our wizard for a taste of his spear."

"Our guest is hungry," I said, going to the food. Talk of Theophilia disturbed me. She had used me so effortlessly, and yet I still found myself wanting her. A mad part of me considered abducting her from the Heacharids and spiriting her to Castellandria. Holding her would certainly be far easier than the witchthrall. She would serve me in all things, far away from her goddess and people.

"She is lovely to behold," Einoë said, walking around the circle, and inspecting the witchthrall with an experienced eye. Lysethe squirmed, as though trying to cover up, but the storm held her fast.

"Thank you for ridding her of that little bit of fabric, tent brother," Kallea said, joining her tent sister in the slow orbit.

I poured a cup of water from the pitcher, and took the heel of a loaf of bread and a few figs, bringing them to Lysethe. "You are hungry."

"No," she said, her eyes flicking from me to the predatory circling of the amazons.

"Don't be foolish. You're going to need your strength."

"For when you rape me?"

I laughed. "That holds no allure for me. When we do lie together, it will because you beg for it."

"I will never beg."

"I suppose we will have to see. Open your mouth." She stared daggers, but obeyed. I fed her by hand. "Satisfy my curiosity. It is my understanding that every witchthrall is from some vassal state of the empire."

"That is correct," she said, swallowing a scrap of bread. I gave her another sip of water.

"Do you know your homeland?"

"I was born in Arcanoir, but I have no homeland."

"How can that be?"

"I am a witchthrall. I exist outside of Xomera's light. I have no home. It is in this life that I absolve my sins and find peace in paradise."

"That is sad."

"Spoken like a heathen."

"I am from Rhandonia. Do you know it?"

"A petty kingdom of barbarians."

"So you do know it. I could not tell you where in Rhandonia exactly. I never knew my parents. I believe it is the same for you."

"You seek to forge a connection between us. You are a barbarian. There can be no connection between one such as you, who serves the dark and one such as me, servant of the light."

I smiled. "We should begin."

My hetairoi stopped their pacing and stood back, their eyes alight.

"Torture?" she sneered. "It will be nothing compared to what I suffered in the Red Citadel."

"I suspected as much. You can suffer pain the likes of which I would find unimaginable. Yet I think there is one thing you have never learned to take. We are going to find your limits elsewhere."

Her eyes widened. Perhaps she understood the edges of my game. She could not know its depth. Even I was uncertain it would work. It was an errant thought, musing about my love Allegeth who first taught me such things, and the several liaisons in which I'd used the power. It would be a great experiment, a revenge of breathtaking completeness.

I closed my fist, the lightning running up her limbs and down from her neck, encasing her in a skintight cage. Over her, thunderheads gathered, pregnant with lightning. Gray tentacles of cloud reached down, enfolding her lightning-wreathed body in the caress of gray. I watched her snowy skin pimple with gooseflesh as the clammy edges of the storm fondled her. They ran up her delicately arched feet, her slender ankles, to her long legs. Down her shapely wrists, over her pale arms, to her graceful shoulders. Across her throat, down to her clavicles, over the pulse pounding against her neck.

She squirmed against it. Now, I knew the touch would be like that of a djinn, the secret caress of breath over the nape of the neck, a faint electricity over the limbs. The edge of sensation, a need to writhe against it, but she was held fast, so the feelings would collect in her spine, in her belly, in her sex. She could not shy from the tickling probing, and so had to face it.

"When I am finished," I said, "you will no longer be a witchthrall of the Heacharid Empire. You will be a witchthrall of the Dreadstorm. Of Belromanazar of Thunderhead. I will be your lord and master, and you will be my obedient slave."

"I have been washed in the purifying flames of Xomera," she gasped. "You will have no power over me."

"Good. Hold fast to your defiance. Breaking it will be so much better." In a flash, I saw Theophilia in the same position, and my staff began to rise.

She sucked in breath as the clouds made their way over her form. I moved slowly, as I wanted this to last. I was building a mountain of sensation, and that needed solid foundations. I would create in her a need for more, even as her conscious mind rebelled the delicious sensations I brought.

I found little places on her that she liked to be touched. The backs of her knees made her shiver. The curve of her ankle made her eyes move back in her head. A light touch over her spine softened her. My exploration unearthed these secret places with insatiable curiosity. Her body was heaving, her snowy skin now sheathed in bright perspiration.

The touch was on the edge of erotic, in a voluptuous place between overt and covert seduction. In the midst of it all, I caught flashes of confusion in her eyes. That confirmed my suspicions. She had never been touched in this way, never explored with the tenderness of one who wished to be hers. Not magically, though that too was true, but with any form of tenderness, any concern of her joy.

The serpents of cloud slithered over her more insistently, seeking her center, but never reaching it. They ran around the swell of her breasts, over the cleft of her buttocks, over the plane of her belly. I watched with glee as she would suck in a breath as the energy grew close, then a deflation as it moved away, followed by a shiver as its wake continued to stir her.

I do not know how long I played this game, but my hetairoi watched with interest, occasionally going about some mundane errand to return later and see how Lysethe had progressed. I was only dimly aware of them, and Lysethe was blind to all. She could only focus on the ravenous sensation that I brought to her.

The first time the cloud snaked over her nipple, I sent the boom of thunder through it. She shivered, trying to throw her head back, but the collar of lightning stopped her movement. Her mouth opened, and she shuddered. She had found her bliss in just a single touch. It was evident in so many ways. My spell carried the electric scent of a storm, and now I found the pungent scent of her arousal. It carried a spiky aroma, as though it had not been exposed to the air in some time. I saw it in the dew collecting on her snowy fleece.

I became more insistent, ranging closer to her sensation. I always retreated swiftly, and her body was left to try to chase, but I had her pinioned, the lightning pulling her arms wide, her legs spread, her neck in place. She could not move far, only writhe and mewl. This was my escalation. I would seek that crescendo, but I would take my time.

I returned her breasts more often, always alternating with a touch along her feet or the backs of her knees, or up her back. Her nipples hardened, wreathed in lightning, the shade like powdered rose. The noises she made had grown louder, her whimpers both pathetic and forceful at turns. She moved against the storm.

She was held, off the floor, and an observer might have concluded she was being ravished by an octopus made of storm. They would not have been wrong, but this creature was mine. It was, in a real sense, me. The distillation of my will, the avatar of my desire.

For I could feel her through this. The caress of the cloud was my fingertips. The lightning at her nipples was my lips. The brush over her sex was my staff.

The storm ranged now down the cleft of her buttocks, swirling about her rosebud. It moved between her legs, running along her sex. Her moan was powerful now, her hips trying to rock against the cloud, but it was already gone. The insides of her thighs were shiny now, droplets of her nectar running from her lips, falling like spring rain onto the flagstones of the floor.

The tendrils swirled closer, one moving away only to give way to another. Soon they were withing over her center. Her moans grew louder, her mouth gaping open. She moved as far as she could, but the restraints held her fast.

I was all around her now. The edges of her magic, burning like the sun, at the core of her. As long as she was bound, so too was it. All the power, no way to focus it. Now, it was the last thing on her mind.

I smiled as I watched her desperately ty to grind herself against the retreating clouds. Her mewls were filled with desperate frustration. Her brow was furrowed, her eyes tightly shut. Her bliss was built inside her, ready to burst through the dam.

It was time. The clouds gathered outside her sex, the lightning brushing over every part of her. Lightning spidered inside her, she cried out in relief, in bliss. There was something broken about the sound, as though she had ever made it before. The energy traced the interior of her sex, igniting her pleasure. Now I was inside her too, my magic, my power. I found hers, pulsing redly, like a sunrise. I connected the storm to her sun, and she cried out again.

Now she was thrashing against her bonds. The lightning wreathed her, running up her limbs with every movement of her. The tendril disappeared inside her, the cloud-octopus finding a home for its tentacle. A flash ran up the cloud, into her, and she moaned. Then, the rumble of thunder followed, and she cried out.

She was still in the throes of her bliss. It had started early, and kept rolling as long as I properly stoked it. That was my challenge. To break her, this would need to be shattering.

Her muscles stood out against her taut flesh. She heaved and cried out. A second tentacle wormed into her rosebud, and another wave shook her. Lightning worked at her nipples, ran over her feet, chased thunder up her spine. The main tentacle, the one penetrating her sex, was my primary focus. I was curious what I could do with it. I had used magic many times in my loveplay, but this was the first time I had a partner utterly at my mercy.

It widened, extended. I touched the back of her, the gateway to her womb. Lightning ran over, and in. Up through her belly, running up her spine to her brain. Her cries were thunderous, needy. The tendril in the other side thickened, the energy from that joining the first. She shook helplessly, her skin feverish. She could not make words. Her voice was nothing more than a howl.

And I kept at her. The bliss crashed through her over and over again. It was sensation too powerful for her, too powerful for anyone to handle. She was learning that torture did not have to be pain. It could merely be too much. It could be utterly overpowering, capable of breaking a person.

She was such a sight. This beautiful woman with snowy white hair and skin, wantonly ravaged by a storm. In this moment, she was the bride of the sky itself, taken for its will and brought to her pleasure.

I kept moving for hours. I took her again and again. I held her at the height of ecstasy for hours. The bliss destroyed her, exhausted every muscle in her body, burning through every nerve. When I finally judged her finished, she fell to the floor in my circle, her body completely limp, her breath ragged. Her skin was livid with sweat. She could do nothing but fight to breathe. She did not even need the restraints, so spent was she.

"Incredible," said Einoë.

I looked about. The sun was low in the sky. I had been at my game for most of the day. My belly growled with hunger. My staff was fully erect, shiny with the first of my juices.

"Why have you never done this for us?" Kallea asked.

"I have been a poor tent brother." I glanced at my arousal. "Would one or both of you care to assist me?"

"Let him suffer, sister," Einoë snitted. "Look at how he could have been playing with us."

"You're cruel," Kallea said. "Besides, after watching that, I wish to swallow a spear."

Kallea sank to her knees in front me, taking my length in her loving mouth. I did not need very much before I exploded.

Lysethe rested until the following morning. While I was feeding her, she watched me warily, a flame of fearful desire behind her eyes. When she had finished her modest breakfast, I smiled at her.

"It is time to begin."

"What? Begin?"

"You thought yesterday was the limit? No, this will happen every day. I will find every limit in your body and I will push you past them. You know what will stop me."

"You cannot break me, Dreadstorm." She no longer sounded as certain.

"We shall see."

She awoke a week into her torture, looking haggard and wan. In her eyes now the fear and desire were joined by shame. She wanted what I would give her, and hated the parts of her that craved her torment. That was good, but I sensed it would take more to truly break her. She needed moments of kindness, for that was another thing she could not truly fathom.

As I fed her, the trepidation in her eyes grew. She ate small bites, making the meal take as long as she could manage. I had already decided what I would do that day, and this merely cemented that desire.

"It's time to begin," she said after swallowing the final morsel.

"No," I said. "Not today."

Hope flared in her eyes. "Not today?"

"Not today. If you are strong enough, we will walk along the beach."

It was the first time in a week I had gotten dressed, donning my elven robes. Lysethe could not yet be dressed. She needed that marking so as to understand her place. But, still bound in the chains of my spell, I wrapped her in a cloak of red. She huddled in the cloth, and leaned heavily on me. That was good. I wanted her to see me as her only true salvation, and so I held her, bore her weight. Oddrin shifted away from her, hissing softly. He didn't like her, or perhaps he had resolved to be wary for us both.

We walked out of the little house, down the pathway over the rocky beach, watching the waves. Oddrin leapt off my shoulders, slithering through the air. He was enjoying the currents. There were times I thought of him as my joy, that part of me the war could not touch. Appropriate considering what would soon become of us both.

"Your familiar is strange," Lysethe said finally.

"You have never seen a night eft?"

She shook her head. "I know little of flora and fauna. I was trained as a warrior."

"Night efts are creatures found in the mountainous forests of Chassudor. What of your familiar?"

"I don't know," she said. "When we are taken to the Red Citadel, our familiars are taken from us and placed in the Solitarium at the center of the Citadel."

I thought of the way I was attuned not only to Oddrin's emotional state but the motivation behind it. If he was locked way in prison, I would constantly be immersed in a simmering broth of fear, of resentment, of hatred. Lysethe made more sense to me.

"I am sorry," I said. It was all I could think to say.

"They will slay those familiars of any witchthrall who deserts. I do not know when, but I am certain they will slay mine before long, whatever it is."

"You are a prisoner, not a deserter."

"I have deserted my duty by allowing myself to be captured. I was bested by a barbarian, one who will never know Xomera's light. I should be punished."

"You should be punished," I agreed, "but not for that and not by them. From the moment I took you, the only one who can punish you will be me, and it will be for my ends. As for your familiar...perhaps we will discuss a solution once you have accepted me. In the meantime, what do you think of this place?"

She shivered, a ghost of what she would feel at my mercy. "It is beautiful. I can see why Xomera promised it to us."

"You are not as far along as I had hoped. Don't worry. We will return to your lessons tomorrow."

"What are you trying to teach me, barbarian?"

"That my touch brings indescribable bliss. That you will long for me as you long for food and water. That I am your lord and master."

"I will not learn these lies." Her protestation was not as strong as perhaps she intended.

A second week of torture passed. I was finished feeding her on the day after her day of rest, and she broke into helpless sobs. She knelt on the floor, her shoulders heaving. Over the course of the week, I had given her more slack in her bonds, the lighting keeping her tethered to the storm far more loosely.

"Please," she said. "No more."

"You do not like our little games?"

Perhaps she could have lied to me in the beginning, but her defenses were crumbling. "No. I love them. I dream of them. Every time your magics ravage me, it is as I am born anew. And each time, I am farther from Xomera's purifying light. There will come a day when I am lost utterly. When I am nothing but your whore. And the worst part is, I will thank you for it."

She looked into my face, a flicker of hope burning in my eyes. She wanted mercy. She thought she could appeal to something in me, that would stop this, and allow her to return to a life she understood.

I smiled blandly. "I am pleased that you understand the end of our game. Now, let us begin." The lightning tightened, and she was off the ground. I saw with amusement that her thighs were already shiny with moisture.

It was a week later when Eineira came to my quarters. I was nude, as were my hetairoi and my prisoner. Clothing had become something we no longer concerned ourselves with, except on the days when we walked along the coast or up into the hills. The adjutant broke into a grin when she saw the state of us. "I suppose I know what you have been doing with your time, Belromanazar."

"What can I do for you, Lochagos?" I asked.

"When can Axichis expect your fleet upon the waves? The Heacharids are liable to notice your absence soon, and fear of your vessels is a powerful weapon."

"They are Kucyone's vessels. She is the admiral of that fleet."

"Don't play games, wizard. It is beneath you." Her eyes strayed to my staff. It twitched with the recognition. Eineira was a lovely woman and once again, I found myself filled with desire for her.

"I am not finished with this one." Lysethe knelt upon the floor, head down, hair hanging lank over her face.

"Your warwife, yes. As much as I respect your adherence to tradition..."

"She is almost broken."

"You should watch our tent brother work," Einoë said, smirking at me. I think she had detected my attraction for the adjutant and hoped to be involved in any further loveplay.

"It is quite impressive!" Kallea enthused.

Eineira chuckled. "No, that is quite all right." She looked over at where Lysethe awaited her sweet torments, apparently unaware of anything around her. "I can see the results of his handiwork. I will tell the general you will be upon the seas in a week or two. Don't make a liar of me."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Eineira left, and I turned to Lysethe.

"It is time to begin," I said, drawing her into the air with a gesture.

Another week passed. I went to her, ready to commence our games. She was a wisp of what she had been, her defiance gone. She looked up at me. Her expression had a clarity to it that I had not before seen. Her red eyes were filled with desire, and instead of fear, I saw only love. "Please," she said simply.

"Please what?"

"Take me."

"I plan to."

"Take me as you would take your wife."

My staff began to swell. I did not think she was attempting to deceive me. Not when I had witnessed her ecstasy and despair. But I was curious. "I thought you would never succumb?"

"I was wrong. Please..."

"My lord."

"Please, my lord."

I stepped to the edge of her circle. This would be a test. After all, she could still unman me with nothing but a bite. "Have you ever given the knight's kiss? Polished a spear?"

She nodded. "At the Red Citadel, it was frequently required of us."

I took her by the hand and led her from her circle. The spell crackled, the lightning retracting from her limbs and neck, retreating into the storm clouds hanging over the circle. "Kneel and show me your skills," I ordered her.

"At once, my lord."

She dropped to her knees took me in her mouth without hesitation. There was a moment of unsurety, as though dormant skills were being awakened, but it was only a moment. Impressively, she swallowed me to the hilt. I was used to a period of adjustment, a time when my partner considered my heft and how best to take me. Not so with Lysethe. I hit the back of her throat swiftly. Normally, there would be an instant of suppressing a gag, but not so here. She immediately pushed forward, her throat opening, taking me inside its tight confines. Her technique was forceful, as though she learned only the swiftest way to bring a partner to bliss. I would need to tutor her in the ways of teasing.

Yet I felt my explosion brewing. It was less the physical sensation of being inside her throat, and more of her complete supplication, the knowledge that my work had borne fruit. She was mine.

Einoë laughed. "She can take him better than you," she said to Kallea.

"I am better than you."

"A challenge, then." She eyed Lysethe. "When the Heacharid is finished, perhaps."

Lysethe never reacted to the commentary. She merely pulled back, her busy tongue washing over me, all the way to the head of my staff. Then, a lick, a suck, and she pushed herself hard again until I was in her throat, her neck bulging with the effort of taking me inside. While buried, she swallowed, her throat massaging me, milking me. I rested a hand on her silvery hair while she violently polished my spear.

The bliss came suddenly. I gasped, held on as much as I could, but it was inexorable. I felt her throat contracting over me, swallowing every drop of me. When my staff finished its bucking, she retracted, licking and sucking me, cleaning me of any errant drops. Swallowing my seed was yet another sign that my work had been successful. When I came free she looked up at me, her mouth reddened with efforts.

"Did that please you, my lord?"

"It did." I turned to my hetairoi. "Who wants her first?"

"She's mine," Einoë said. She sat on the couch where the two of them slept and spread her legs. Her sex glistened, moisture clinging to the short hairs that wreathed her lips. Her tent sister rolled onto a hip, facing Einoë, ready to watch.

"You heard my hetairos. She requires your attention." Lysethe made to stand, and I put a hand on her shoulder. "Crawl."

The witchthrall shivered, then crawled to Einoë. Without hesitation, Lysethe dipped her face between the warrior's muscular thighs. Einoë moaned, swiftly writhing against the attentions. "What she lacks in artistry," gasped the hetairos, "she makes up for with effort."

I found myself watching Lysethe's pale hindquarters. Her rosebud, an insouciant pink, winked from between snowy buttocks. Below, her sex was open, nectar drooling over her thighs. Einoë played with her nipples, her feet coming off the floor as she rocked her sex into Lysethe's face. Kallea watched with interest as her tent sister's body convulsed.

Einoë gave happy cry, then sat back, relaxed. Lysethe rocked back onto her knees, looking at me expectantly, her face shiny. I nodded to Kallea. "And her."

Lysethe crawled, and Kallea spread her legs. "No, Kallea, stand please."

"If you like," she said with amusement.

"Now turn around and bend over."

She raised an eyebrow. "I think our tent brother is enjoying his power." The way the pupils in her eyes shrank, her breath came in a shivery gasp said she enjoyed it too. She bent over, her hands on the back of the couch.

"Her rosebud," I said to Lysethe. Then, remembering the nickname Tara and I had for the act, "Give her the cleric's kiss."

Lysethe understood my meaning, burying her face between Kallea's buttocks. The hetairos was soon moaning as the witchthrall slid her tongue in and out of the puckered opening. I found myself hardening again, and I encouraged it, stroking my staff still wet with Lysethe's spit.

I stepped up behind the witchthrall, easily guiding myself to her pale sex. I took her with a brutal thrust, and she squealed into Kallea's rosebud. I was not gentle, nor was I particularly concerned with bringing Lysethe bliss. She had experienced the limits of sensation and to her, no doubt, this officious fucking was restful. Still, she shivered beneath me as I slid in and out of her. Her hips felt brittle, the weeks of exhaustion and deprivation taking their toll. I brought no mercy for her. This, perhaps, her final test.

She kept her concentration, and soon Kallea cried out in bliss. Only then did the shivers overtake Lysethe. I too found my own ecstasy, gently exploding, and filling her with my seed. I guided her to her feet, still buried within her, our frothy juices running from her and down her thighs. I wrapped my arms around her abdomen and kissed her neck tenderly. She leaned to the side, sighing as my mouth found her pulse.

"You belong to me now, Heaven's Fire. Know that you are safe."

"Thank you, my lord." Her voice was small and soft, a touch of wonder in it.

Only then did we disengage, and she turned about, pressing her body to mine as though she could not bear to be apart from me, even for an instant. "Einoë, would you fetch night tea for Lysethe? She will need it," I said.

"No!" Lysethe blurted. Then, her eyes dipped apologetically. "Forgive me, my lord. What I meant was, I will bear you a child if you wish. I will bear you as many as you like!"

I brushed her cheek. "Perhaps later." I kissed her forehead. "Not in the midst of the war."

She quieted. I settled onto the couch with the witchthrall upon my lap. Einoë brought her the bitter beverage and she drank it obediently. Kallea brought us food, and I was content to feed Lysethe. Soon, the witchthrall fell asleep in my arms, and I cradled her softly, stroking her hair.

She had become mine.

But that was not the end of things. Lysethe recovered her strength. She lay with me as often as I liked, and she was eager to please my hetairoi. I gave her another session of torment, though not to exhaustion. As lovely as those days were, I was troubled. One night, I was on my back on the couch, she on her side, pressed against me. Her fingers ran over the scar on my abdomen. The flesh was still sensitive, and as she brushed it, I felt tiny needles sticking into me.

"When I think that I am the author of this, shame fills me," she murmured.

"We were enemies then."

"What if I had killed you, my lord?"

"You didn't."

"But what if?"

"You shouldn't trouble yourself with what might have been. We must think of those things we can still control."

"What do you mean, my lord?"

"If I were to return you to the Heacharids, could you find your way back to the Red Citadel without returning to the fight?"

"My lord?" She sat up, tears welling in her eyes. "You would send me away?"

I touched her cheek. "Lysethe, you are my concubine, are you not?"

She shivered at the word. "Yes."

"You serve me in all things. Your life is mine. Your death as well."

"Yes, my lord."

"You are more useful to me with your magic. I want you to return to the Red Citadel, make your way to the Solitarium, retrieve your familiar, and return to me. You are a cunning and dangerous woman, and now you act with the knowledge that there is a place where you can be safe."

She stared into my eyes. "That is madness."

"Perhaps. But what if you were to escape this place? You could bring the secrets of the amazons back to Heacharium, could you not?"

"I would not betray you."

"You could lie."

"To the confessors, to the inquisitors...they are trained to detect such things." She touched the iron collar about her throat.

"No, they are trained to call everything a lie. Give them a truth too sweet to deny and they cannot."

She shivered. "When I first found myself in your tender clutches, I dreamed of returning home. Yet every day, those memories grow more sour. Now I don't want to be away from your side."

"This is for the good of us both. When you have found your familiar, go to Castellandria. At the Grand Library, find a librarian named Sarakiel and tell her of me."

"Who is she?"

"One of my concubines. She will take you into our house until I return."

"I could fight with you here."

"I would not ask you to kill your former countrymen."

"I would do it for you, my lord."

I traced her lips with my finger. Perhaps she would. It was a test I did not want to subject her to. If she failed, then my work would have been for naught. "First your safety. Then we shall see. Promise me one thing. You will obey my concubines as you obey me."

"Of course, my lord."

"Good." I eased her onto my lap. She smiled as she felt me pressing against her, and slid back. Soon I was sheathed in her warmth. "Once more before we sleep," I sighed.

The four of us were at the docks only a little after dawn. I wore my elven robes, Ellisyr's sword on my hip and Oddrin on my shoulder. My hetairoi were armed and armored, marching behind. Lysethe wore an amazonian peasant's chiton, and a voluminous red cloak, protecting her powdery skin from the sun.

I had told Einoë and Kallea what I planned to do with Lysethe, and they thought I was mad. Einoë allowed that this was a common state for me.

My first ship, flagship of the fleet I'd built, waited at the end of the dock. Eineira was at the gangway. "I am not a liar," she said.

"Let the Heacharids beware," I said.

Her eyes went from me, over my hetairoi, to the gauzy shape in red. "Your warwife is unbound."

"She is no danger to you."

Her eyebrows went up. "Impressive."

I boarded the flagship, greeted by Kucyone. The old salt took her pipe from her mouth and gave me a gently mocking bow. "Decided to return to us, I see."

"I'd not rob you of any more prizes."

"Where will we sail?"

"Get us close to Khedes. I want to give them some reminders."

"Excellent idea."

That night, Lysethe and I lay together, knowing that this would be our last embrace for some time, though we could not know for how long. We wrung what we could of it, and then our magic took over, each propelling the other to new heights. At last, we were spent, and she slept in my arms.

When we were in sight of Khedes, she prepared for her swim. She held me tightly and though I knew part of her hoped I would say she could stay, we both knew this was better. She needed her magic. It was part of her. I kissed her, and she stripped to nothing save her iron collar, and dove into the waves. I watched her ghostly shape slip through the water and wondered if she would remain true. I had no faith in gods, but I could have faith in people. In the power of my magic to convince.

Those reading know the answer, for they are well aware of Lysethe the Heaven's Fire. She is my fist, the third of my concubines. I cherish what she has become, and whenever my scar gives me a pinch, it is love that blooms from it.