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Silent Song

Mar20

To Friendly Anon’s commissioned prompt and @Inventrix’s request, the second half of a continuation of Porter Needs a Girlfriend (LJ), after Siren Song (LJ).

Porter fell.

He’d been pretty sure he was going to, but knowing you were going to and suddenly falling were different things.

He flailed, kicking his legs and shouting. The floor seemed a long way down. Why were the levels so far apart in this school? What if he broke something…

He landed while he was still worrying, both feet hitting the floor by some freak chance, and stumbled backwards until he fell into something.

He was… on a soft carpet, surrounded by bookshelves. In the Library, then? He slapped both hands over his mouth. He’d been shouting in the Library! He was going to catch hell for sure!

What was worse… he’d fallen into the Library. In the middle of the Library. If someone didn’t find him, he was going to end up late for dinner. Late for Timora’s mystery dinner date with hopefully-a-Ninth-Cohort.

And, really, to be pragmatic, he could be trapped in here forever, or until he found a door or a Door that got him out. Priorities.

A sign appeared in front of his nose. Please remember to remain quiet in the Library. The font was frilly, and the little sign was bordered with little purple flowers.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I just…”

The sign vanished, and another appeared. Please refrain from lewd activity in the Library.

“Wait, what?” he asked in a hurried hiss. “I…” He was leaning against something, wasn’t he? He twisted to look behind him. “…Oh. Sorry.” The statue in whose embrace he’d been cuddled looked as embarrassed as Porter felt. “You should get her some clothes. Look, um,” the signs were from the Librarian, right? “Um… sa’Librarian?” That might work… please? “I didn’t mean to drop in like this, but I’m a little lost…”

A third sign appeared. Please refrain from becoming lost in the Library.

“I’m trying, I really am, but there was this Siren, so I dove overboard, and overboard happened to be here…” He flailed. “I open Doors, you see. But this place doesn’t come with a decent floor plan.”

The next sign that appeared was hand-written, still florid but without the decorations. “You open… Doors. Show me. This way.” And then a sign with an arrow.

“I, uh…” His dinner was getting further and further away. “Yes… ma’am? Sa’Librarian. What do you want me to show you?” He wandered in the direction of the arrow, avoiding the eyes of the statue. “Hunh. History. I’ve never found this section before.”

A sign appeared: a flower-wreathed stop sign. Porter stopped obediently, hoping that, somehow, this would lead to dinner. Somehow.

He was standing in front of a section of blank wall, about the size of a doorway, something he’d never before seen in the Library. The arrow appeared again, pointing at the wall.

“You want me to open this? All right, I can do that. I hope,” he added in a mutter. “But do you know what’s on the other side?”

The arrow simply pointed again and, sighing, Porter opened a Door and stepped through.

Next: Iridium Hole, LJ

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/303624.html. You can comment here or there.

Graduation Plans

Mar19

For Friendly Anon’s prompt.

Addergoole has a landing page here.

This story comes after Love and Hospitality (LJ)

Followed by Good Bones

“It’s like my whole life is here. In boxes.” Nydia stared at the luggage rack full of things, as Luke loaded them into the back of the school SUV, next to Wren’s stack of boxes.

“I know the feeling.” The older girl patted her arm. “I’ve got everything all set up; we’ll be okay. Lady Maureen helped me find us a nice apartment, so that’s waiting for us. I bought beds but nothing else; we can pick that all out together… or find someone to pick it out for us.” She winked at Nydia cheerfully.

Nydia, for her part, was even more overwhelmed by her friend. “You got that all taken care of?”

“I had time on my hands, and my Mentor and yours to help,” Wren assured her. “Remember, we want to be planners!”

“I know, but… wow, Wren.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty to do, too.” She held up a thick sheaf of paper. “I have contacts from Lady Maureen and DJ for us to get in touch with, storefronts for us to look at, and three houses for us to consider. Aaand….” She held up a second set of papers. “Doms to interview.”

Nydia squirmed. “Wreeeeen, in front of Luuuke,” she whispered.

“Not in front of Luke,” the PE teacher agreed, as he came around the SUV. “Except that I’ve met most of those young men already, and those I haven’t, your Mentors have.”

“What?” Nydia squeaked. “You…”

Luke smiled gently at her. “You two were very good students. I want to be sure you’re safe out in the world, too.” He patted her shoulder. “I can’t be there to watch over you every minute, out there. This is the best I can do.”

“…Oh.” Nydia looked at the boxes in the back of the car, and at the piled lists Wren was holding, and then back at Luke. The future felt a little bit safer. “Thank you.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/302633.html. You can comment here or there.

Siren Song

Mar16

To Friendly Anon’s commissioned prompt and @Inventrix’s request, the first half of a continuation of Porter Needs a Girlfriend (LJ).

Other than 4500 words on Addergoole-proper, this is all I’ve written in days. It feels weird. O_O Yeah. I’ve been THAT sick.

It wasn’t that Porter minded his friends’ “help” in getting him a girlfriend. After all, he knew that he’d need to get a girlfriend, or at least someone cooperative in baby-making, sometime in his four years at Addergoole. Possibly twice, even.

It was just that they – although he suspected Timora, from the amused, wicked looks she was giving him – kept picking such imposing girls, girls that didn’t seem to smile much, girls that, in some cases, didn’t really seem to even like guys.

He was pretty sure that Timora was trying to mess with his head, he just didn’t know why.

He was also hopeful, because it looked like these dinner dates were working their way down through the Cohorts, which meant, if he was going to have a “surprise” date tonight, it would probably be a Ninth Cohort. And, aside from Timora, none of the Ninth Cohorts he’d met were really at all scary.

“Hey, Kitty, Kitty.” Too late, Porter looked up, realizing that, lost in thought and hurrying to get home for the theoretical Ninth Cohort Dinner Date, he hadn’t been paying attention.

Lots of people called him Kitty. Only one person did it in that unctuous tone of voice, like she was grooming his name.

“Tess.” And because she and her crewmate were never far apart, “Lucian.”

“Hey, Kitty.” Lucian leaned against the wall behind Porter. “Have you had a chance to think about our invitation?”

“Your…” He looked between the two of them, Tess’s green eyes boring into him, Lucian’s close-winged pose deceptively closed, making him look harmless. “Oh,” he smiled, and choked out a little laugh. “I thought that was a joke. I mean, I already have a crew…” And even if Sylvia runs everything, I trust her.

“Ah, but we could really use your power, pretty kitty.”

“So you want me for my doors, not my drawers.” In a way, he was relieved. Tess was a very frightening woman when she wanted something, and Lucian was little better.

Like that laugh. He chuckled throatily behind Porter. “We wouldn’t mind both, would we, Tess?”

Eep. Feeling like he was being eaten with their eyes, he cast around for the quickest Door surface. There was under his feet – but that could have unpleasant consequences. You never knew how far away the floor would be, for one, and it was hard to close the door after yourself.

“Mmm. There’s not much I’d mind with him,” Tess agreed. A quick glance told porter that the scales running down both sides of her neck were shifting color, from “safe” white-and-green to deep red. Her voice was taking on that funny tone to it, like she had a reverb going, and Porter knew what that meant.

“No,thank you.” Sailors of legend had dived over the sides of ships to get to sirens. Porter dived through the floor to escape this one.

He pulled the door upwards, grabbed the handle that was created when he did that, and swung down onto the third floor by the handle, yanking the door shut with his weight.

And then, of course, the doorknob vanished.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/300341.html. You can comment here or there.

Detente

Mar11

For Rix_Scaedu‘s commissioned continuation of Damn List (LJ).

Addergoole has a landing page here.

I should really get around to figuring out what Ahouva’s Changes are.

Basalt sat down under the shade of an apple tree, at the edge of a beautiful little orchard, and patted the ground next to him. “So, that list. Let’s talk about it, okay?”

Ahouva sat down where he indicated, smoothing her skirt under her. A little dirt would come out in the wash, and she didn’t want to make him any unhappier. “Okay?” She wished she could just burn it. She wished he’d never ordered her to write the stupid thing.

“Let’s start with that last one.”

She winced, and pulled her knees to her chest. “I’m sorry! It’s…” It wasn’t fair, forcing her to be honest like that. She could do so much better if he let her keep things to herself.

“It’s fear. It’s a natural emotion, but it’s not exactly a fun one. And I can’t blame you for not liking it.” He took her notebook from her and looked at that last item again. “‘I don’t like being scared of my Keeper.’ I wouldn’t, either, Ahouva.”

She peeked up at him. He didn’t look angry. Yet. “I can’t imagine you scared of anything.”

“I was scared when I was Kept. I wasn’t scared of Brydan, but I was scared of not having any control over anything. I get angry when I’m scared, though.”

She nodded, gulping a little bit. “I just get worried.” That was almost true, at least. She could remember, Before, getting angry about it. But that was another world.

“I don’t blame you. So…. how can I help you not be scared?”

“You could order me not to?” she offered in a tiny voice. The don’t-feel-this-way orders were the worst. But it would stop the problem, right?

“No, honey.” He was frowning, but it was gentle somehow. “I mean, why do I frighten you?”

“Oh.” She quailed, but the truth bubbled out. “Because you’re scary!” When he didn’t yell at her or even frown, she hurried on. “You’re big and you’re stronger than anyone I know and I have no idea what you’re going to do or when this kid-gloves thing is going to be over and Basalt, I don’t know what you want!”

As soon as it had been said, she regretted it, slapping both hands over her mouth and flinching back. But he, he was smiling.

“Okay, that’s fair. I’m kind of big and rock-headed, I know that. Hunh. If I promise that I will tell you if you are doing something wrong, and give you a chance to fix it, before grumbling, will that help?”

She moved her hands away from her mouth, peeking at him. “You’d do that?”

“Honey, if it will help you relax, I’d promise a lot more than that.” He patted her shoulder. “I don’t like making you scared either.”

She relaxed a little, feeling as if she’d managed another hurdle. “Okay. Okay… yes? Yes, please?”

“I promise,” he smiled. “I’ll tell you and give you a chance to fix it if you’re doing something wrong, before I get angry with you. Okay?”

She blinked at him, feeling as if a giant weight was lifted off of her chest. “No secret mistakes? No tests?”

“None. I’m not bright enough for that.” He offered her an arm and, relieved, she cuddled into it, pressing against him, thinking her new master might be a lot brighter than he thought he was.

She relaxed, there, snuggled against his warmth for a bit, thinking maybe he’d stop there. And for the nicest five minutes she’d had in weeks, maybe months, he did. And then…

“So, the rest of the list.”

“Um?” She peeked up at him. “I’m fine.”

“I know you don’t like talking about it. Can you tell me why?”

“Because you don’t like it,” she answered quietly. “You’re always frowning.”

“Oh.” He frowned, and then, catching himself, made a gruesome grimace, and then another, before settling on something like a smile. Catching sight of her expression – she couldn’t tell whether to laugh or be terrified – the smile turned real. “That’s the face I make when I’m thinking, Ahouva, that’s all. And you make me think, a lot.” He pressed a finger to her lips. “That’s a good thing.”

She nodded, blushing. “So…” she offered, as he moved his finger away, “you aren’t angry when you do that”?

“No,” he shook his head. “No, not at all. I’m trying to figure out how to get to a place where we’re both happy.”

“Oh.” She blinked at him. “You could tell me what you want. That would make me happy.”

He laughed. “I want you to be my girlfriend, Ahouva. I don’t want you to just do what I want all the time.”

“Then let me go.” She slapped her hands over her mouth, but it was too late, the words were already out. And he… She peeked over her hands. He was smiling. Grinning.

“Atta girl,” he laughed. “That’s my Ahouva back. C’mon, let it out.”

Let it out was a very vague order, so, since he was smiling, and since he’d promised to warn her before punishing her, she poked him in the chest. “If you want me to act like myself, you can’t order it. Ordering is all about being a good pet. Being an obedient Kept. Ordering me to think about myself is counter-productive and it’s confusing.”

He looked startled, but he didn’t tell her to stop, so she didn’t.

“If you want me to be myself, Basalt, stop worrying about being a good Owner and just be a good person around me. You want to date your Kept… date me. Or something. Talk to me like a person and not a project. I’m not a broken window.” She wrinkled her nose, as her brain caught up with her mouth. “Or just Keep me,” she added, flinching a little bit, “but not like… ordering me to be honest. It sucks.”

He blinked. “Brydan…” He shook his head. “Right. That was different. And you… all right, Ahouva. I’ll try. May I kiss you?”

That seemed like a nice start. “Can I stop letting it out?” she countered, feeling more like herself than she had in a long time.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/298440.html. You can comment here or there.

Family Vintage, a story of Fae Apoc for the Giraffe Call @anke

Mar8

For [personal profile] anke‘s prompt. Faerie Apocalypse has a landing page here here (and on LJ).

After On the River

The current owner of the house Gannon had built was a handsome man, except his family resemblance to Gannon, with a lovely wife and two teenaged children. He was, as most of Gannon’s descendants were, willing to open up his house – borrowed house, he called it, which was kind – to his ancestor.

And, unlike many of his ancestors – they’d known better, Gannon thought with wry amusement – this one, Steve, was willing to open his liquor cabinet and his wine cellar, too, once the kids were sent upstairs.

He pulled out a case of wine so old, the crate itself was fading and the flag only had thirteen stars. “Do you remember this?”

Gannon squinted at it. “Damn, damn, just barely, but I do. I brought that back to… to my granddaughter. Bramble. I wonder where she is now.”

“Me, too,” Steve admitted. “Grandma Bramble stopped by once, when I was about eight. She’s less regular than you are, I’m told.” He pulled out a bottle. “Three left. Seems an occasion to open one.”

“It must be weird,” Gannon commented, as Steve’s wife Phen opened the bottle with an expert twist, “being haunted by your ancestors still living.”

“I always figured it was the curse of being Ellehemaei?” Steve shrugged. He held out three glasses in two hands for his wife to pour, a comfortable, easy partnership clear in their movements. “I mean, isn’t it?”

Gannon shrugged, staring at the old crate of wine. “There was a whole box there, when I dragged that back here.” He didn’t want to think about the family that had kicked him out, so long ago that the land they sent him to barely had a name.

“Yeah.” Steve grinned. “It’s pretty awesome stuff, so it’s been, I’m told, special-occasion wine. Really special occasion. So we don’t break it out often.”

He sniffed the wine. It smelled as good as he remembered, and better. The vintner, he remembered the vintner, half grapevine herself. He wondered if he had any kids with her.

He sipped again. “I’ve visited before.” They’d never opened out the old stuff before… although it had been Steve’s father, or his great-grandfather, before.

But Steve was just grinning. “Never in time to witness the birth of a grandchild.”

Gannon sputtered, and then, staring at them, drank the wine. It really was a good vintage, after all.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/296597.html. You can comment here or there.

On the Adriatic, a story of Fae Apoc Apoc for the February Giraffe Call (@Rix_Scaedu)

Mar6

For Rix_Scaedu‘s prompt.

Fae Apoc has a landing page here

“Well.”

January and Hugo stared off the bow of their boat at the sea in front of them. The Adriatic was churning wildly, the waves shaking their little craft. And, in the center of the sea, a hole seemed to be ripping open. When Hugo had called Jan up to the bow, the hole had been a half a meter wide. Now, it was three meters in diameter and growing. Worse, something… something was peeking through.

“I should get the others.” His sister slipped back into the cabin, her tail swishing unhappily. He didn’t blame her. They had been doing so well out here with their little operation, and this… whatever this was, this was going to interfere.

By the time Jan got back with Lyslotta and Abigail, the hole was about five meters wide, had stopped growing, and was causing some difficulty to the… thing… trying to get through, since that looked to be just a tad wider than the hole.

“Is that a dragon?” Abigail whispered.

“I don’t know,” Hugo had to admit. “I mean, it looks like the front end of a Chinese dragon, but I didn’t know Chinese… Dragons… existed.” He tried to make “Dragon” sound different than “dragon,” but from the giggle that came from behind him, he was pretty sure he failed.

“I don’t think it knows we’re here, yet,” Lysa added. “Are we, you know… leaving?”

“Slowly,” he agreed, shifting the sails and beginning to tack away from the monster. “Backing away slowly.”

“Hugo…” Jan was pointing, so he looked; to their starboard, another portal was opening up.

“Well,” he sighed, “there goes the end of our days of wine and roses in the Adriatic.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/293561.html. You can comment here or there.

Ciara: Wolf in the Hand

Mar6

After Wolf in the Circle (LJ).

Ciara was floating, for a moment, dreaming of a pasture full of bulls, angry bulls, stomping their feet and grumbling.

She came to in a rush of disorientation, to find Luke leaning over her, his wings spread wide like a canopy, sheltering her from view. “There you are,” he murmured. “Clever girl. I got you stabilized, but you need to go to the doctor’s.”

She nodded, startled at how much energy that seemed to take. “Amadeus…?”

“He’s standing right here, holding your purse.” Luke looked worried. “Ciara…”

“I know. Tigers and tails.” She nodded. “Muzzle him before I let go of the tail.”

“Good girl. I’m going to pick you up now.” He did so, gently, and she could see, then, the remaining crowd, hovering around looking – disappointed? Surprised? Some, at least, looked happy – and Amadeus, definitely looking murderous.

“Amadeus. There’s a notebook in my purse. Get it out. The items on the first page, that begin with ‘do not harm or attempt to harm Ciara,’ are your standing, long-term, permanent orders. Read them, obey them. The second page, beginning ‘go to your room and pack your belongings,’ are your orders for today. Read them, obey them. You may keep the notebook, but I want my purse back now.”

Looking absolutely poleaxed, he did as she ordered, handing her the purse and reading the notebook with an increasingly unhappy expression.

“The order to not touch anyone or anything is void now,” she added, and then let herself go limp in Luke’s arms. She’d expected him to hurt her. She’d needed him angry enough to lose control, and she’d know that would likely involve some damage. But she hadn’t expected it to hurt quite this much.

“Done?” Luke’s voice was pitched for her ears alone. She nodded, and he carried her across the hall to the Doctor’s office.

As he set her on the exam table, the normally dour PE teacher smiled at her. “You planned the whole thing, didn’t you?”

She shrugged, just a little – even that hurt. “I just like making lists.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/293303.html. You can comment here or there.

A New Flower

Mar6

For Friendly Anon’s prompt.

Fae Apoc has a landing page here.

This comes after Hey you Kids get off my lawn! and Leaving Town.

Tros had a feeling she wasn’t the sort of girl you brought roses and wine for, and besides, there wasn’t any place around here to buy wine, or roses.

So he settled for helping Nila with everything he could, scouting ahead, scrounging for food, making sure when he brought down game, he gutted it out of her daughter’s line of sight.

It was puppy love, he knew. His Mentor had, more than once, accused him of that, scolding him for the attention it took from more serious matters.

But his Mentor was not here, and, it seemed to Tros, Nila was pretty much the most serious matter there was right now. She’d promised to heal him and keep him fed in return for his service; therefore, his service was the most important thing in his life for the ten days he’d pledged her.

Comfortably justified in his obsession, he spent his evening watch carving tokens from deer antler: a bunny for Susan, a small saber for Allan, and, for Nila…

That took more thought, and more time. Not wine and roses, certainly. He was unsure if, despite her two children, the girl had ever been romanced. She didn’t seem to look at him as a man, other than in that “another warrior to guard the camp” sort of way. If it hadn’t been for the kids, he would have guessed lesbian, or, like his former crewmate, just-not-interested.

The kids meant he might have a chance. So her carved her a flower, following the patterns of her ears and her markings, a Nila-flower from the remains of his kill.

Looking at it in the dim moonlight, he had to smile. That, that seemed like the perfect gift for this fucked-up new world of theirs.

Note: The views expressed by the narrator are his and his alone and are not necessarily endorsed by the writer

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/292620.html. You can comment here or there.

Trusting in History, a finale of Fae Apoc for the Jan. Giraffe Call (@inventrix)

Mar4

After
Scrounging for History (LJ)
Digging through History (LJ)
Delving in History (LJ)
Bringing Home History (LJ)
Singing down History (LJ)
Learning of History (LJ
Getting over History (LJ)
Making New History (LJ)
Part 7.5 of 7.5

Fae Apoc has a landing page here on DW and here on LJ

The Nightwalker led them through the ruins of the city, her tail swishing, her whole body leaned forward. “There’s a few,” she told them, “places that never got touched, places that are almost whole, even now. There’s a few that look whole, that are traps. And there’s gardens, still growing. My gardens, now.” She ducked, almost a bow, almost an apology. “Our gardens?”

“You called us correctly,” Dor replied. He was still angry, still distrusting her. Karida couldn’t blame her. “We are scroungers. We don’t plant gardens.”

“Then whose gardens will they be? If we go… you could stay here, you three and the girl, and teach me. You could stay here, and I could feed you. Show you everything I know of this place.”

She turned to look at them, a hungry look on her face, a smile that told Karida that something was seriously wrong. “And if the land betrays you, then, I have not betrayed nor hurt you, have I?”

That was all the warning they had. Karida felt the place the road below their feet would collapse as the witch said that, felt it and threw Amalie out of danger, into Dor so they both fell clear, even as under her the ground collapsed dropping her into a sinkhole, dropping her down, down, down. She twisted, trying to find up from down, trying to land on her feet, and caught her head on something hard and metal.

She lost consciousness still falling, and never felt the impact.

~fin~

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/291164.html. You can comment here or there.

Paying the Rent

Mar3

For [personal profile] rix_scaedu‘s commissioned prompt for more of the Baram-and-his-house-elves story.

Baram and his family appear in:
Monster (LJ)
Memories (LJ)
One Sharp Mother (LJ)
The Life you Make (LJ)
Safe (LJ) and
Cost of Living (LJ)

Addergoole has a landing page here and on LJ

“We’re taking a road trip,” Jaelie told her nervous Kept. “Pack enough clothes for a three-day stay, and then shower and clean yourself up. Trim anything that needs trimming, and make sure you’re well-scrubbed.”

He blanched, and nodded. She grabbed his arm, and clarified, “Clean, that’s all, don’t scrub yourself raw, Wish. I just want you to smell nice.”

“Yes, Mistress.” He didn’t look any less nervous, either heading into the shower or when he returned, half an hour later, so clean he nearly sparkled. It made Jaelie smile in exasperation at him.

“I know you’re not a virgin,” she teased him.

He flushed in return. “Of course not. But there’s a difference between… ah… my life before and serving you, and there’s a much wider difference between that and being hired out.”

She patted his shoulder. “Your job isn’t to please them, it’s just to get them pregnant. We – well, I – get paid by the baby, not by the orgasm.”

That only made him flush deeper. “And what if I don’t? I haven’t had children in… well, that I know about, several centuries.”

“Then we’ll come up with something else. Or test-tube it. Magic can solve almost anything, don’tchaknow?”

He nodded, relaxing a little, and picked up his bag. “Yes, Mistress. This – this woman, she directed the school you all attended?”

“And coordinated our births and, in a matter of speaking, the births of all of our children. Yes. She seems thrilled to have your blood to add to the mix.”

“And this is the school that taught you how to give orders to your Kept?”

“Yes, it is,” she confirmed.

“It seems like an interesting place, to have produced three women as tough and as sharp as you and your, ah, sister-wives?”

She barked out a laugh. “Sister-wives, that’s a new one!

“I hope you don’t mind?”

“No, but you might not want to try that on the others.” She led him out to her car and tossed their bags in the trunk. “Addergoole is… yes, a very interesting place. A crucible of sorts.”

“And the children that this Regine wants me to father, they would be attending this school? And raised by… well, by their mothers, I would assume?”

“If one of the mothers doesn’t want the kid – that happens sometimes – then I might ask for custody. We could handle another kid around the place, and mine are old enough to not need constant attention anymore.”

He studied her in surprise as they got in the car. “You’d raise my child?”

“You’re mine, aren’t you? That means taking care of you where you come from too, doesn’t it?”

“Well, yes, in a manner of speaking…” He shook his head. “So I’m to father children for this school. For her breeding program.”

“You sound unhappy about that.” She started the car anyway, and headed out onto the highway. The roads were still mostly clear; after Wish’s people’s first attack had been so clearly rebuffed, many of the monsters had chosen to go elsewhere.

“It’s an interesting thought, to be used as a stud horse, as an aeosthena. I suppose it hammers home how far down I’ve fallen.”

“Careful with that,” she warned him. “Your sense of superiority is going to get you in trouble.”

“Apologies, Mistress.” He shoulders slumped, and he slouched in his seat, looking disconsolate. Jaelie let him sulk for a while, while she drove, and thought about feeding more children into Regine’s grinder.

After a long while, she reached over and set a hand on Wish’s thigh. “We raise our kids good,” she told him, “tough. They won’t be in the position we were, Aly and Viatrix and I, when we went there.”

“And the children I father?” he asked quietly. “They Belong to their mother, of course. But I’ve never fathered a child before, without the mother Belonging to me.”

“Aaah.” She patted his thigh. It didn’t seem kind or useful to point out that that was what he got for trying to kill her family, so she didn’t. “I’m sure you’ll father some very tough children, Wish.”

“Thank you.” He smiled uncomfortably back at her, and then tensed unhappily as they reached the wards around Addergoole. “What the…”

She braced herself. She’d been through this before. “Sit, sit. Don’t move. Close your eyes, it helps.”

He keened deep in the back of his throat, struggling against the order as she drove them, white-knuckled, through the thick defensive wards. She’d never seen it hit anyone this hard, and wondered if it was his returned-gods-ness, his purebloodedness, or his age. “It’s okay,” she croaked. “Wish, it’s okay, I’ve got you. Almost, almost… there.” She relaxed, and felt him do so as well, as they passed the wards. “You can move now.”

“That…” he panted. “That was horrible.”

“And we’re expected. It’s pretty effective, I’ve been told, at keeping out intruders.”

“I can imagine!” He shook his head. “Well, at the very least the school is well-protected.”

“Yeah.” She fell quiet again as she drove the last half a mile. “Wish… can you do this without, without your partners knowing that it’s under duress?”

That got her a crooked, dry smile. “Are you telling me that nobody has ever ordered you to act like you’re happy?”

She winced. “Nobody’s ever whored me out,” she countered, getting a matching wince from him.

“All things considered, I’d rather this than being sold, and rather either than being dead.” He patted her thigh gently. “Mistress, this is not horrible. I’m worried, yes, but, ah, much as I hate to admit it, I’m mostly worried that I’ll let you down somehow.” He winced again, harder this time. “And there you see how far I’ve fallen.”

It didn’t seem fair to scold him for that, so she didn’t. She smiled, instead, and squeezed his hand. “You’re going to to do just fine, Wish. I know you are.” She looked over the Village, trying not to tense up at old memories. “I have faith in you.”

Next: http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/710878.html (Paying, Forward)

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