"Well? What has my lord to say?"
Freetrick quailed. And then realized that here was a situation for which he was actually prepared. Prepared, hell! Minus the spiders, he had
dreamed
about this. For once in his life he would have the upper hand in when talking to a hot girl.
"Ashwing," he said, "I think you're really nice, but I'm just not interested in that kind of relationship right now." Ashwing's mouth pursed and her brows drew together. Spiders boiled, but Freetrick brought his eyes to her face, with force of will kept them there, and struck a blow for men everywhere. "I think we could make great friends!"
"Hmm… great friends indeed." Ashwing brushed her hand through hair the color of dried blood. The spiders jiggled. "A better friend, I trust, than those who already surround you." And before Freetrick could react, "My lord, I apologize we could not meet sooner, but I was in the second carriage."
"Honestly Ashwing," said Bloodbyrn. "Do you think that you can stand before me and say such things?"
Ashwing did not break eye contact with Freetrick. "I am not standing before
you
, my dear, but the Ultimate Fiend."
"Modulate your sentiments or face my lord's displeasure." She kicked him. "My lord?"
"Wait a second," said Freetrick, brain activated by the pain in his side, "what second carriage?"
"I left Clouds-Gather as soon as I received intelligence as to my lord's whereabouts," said Ashwing, "but I was not in time to collect you from your…fascinating former home. A school where word-magicians learn to write new spells. And where one may meet fellow students from across west coast. I believe my lord taught Love-wielder dances to a Betweener, a Virgin Soil refugee,
and
a Love-wielder princess. Fascinating." Ashwing pursed her black-painted lips at Bloodbyrn. "I have heard that…your current company does not appreciate my lord's exotic origins at all. A shame." She looked back at him, and Freetrick sighed involuntarily. "I look forward to learning…a great deal from you about your home nation, my lord."
"How do you…" Freetrick shook his head, "know all this stuff about me?"
"'Stuff,'" said Ashwing. "What a charming turn of phrase you have, my lord. You must teach me more of your western dialect."
"You've been spying on me, haven't you?"
"From every shadow."
"Oh…good?" Freetrick swallowed.
"You believe you have no allies, my lord," she said, "that you must depend on the aid of these Leeches. You do not." Ashwing spread her hands to indicate Bloodbyrn and DeMacabre. The tidal pull on Freetrick's eyes increased. "You are now crowned despot of Skrea and this imposter would have no recourse if you were to bind yourself to me." She stopped and looked at him. "Hmmm…how would my lord say 'bind your body to mine' in Rationalist?"
"B…buh?" Freetrick stammered.
Ashwing continued to smile, but now there was a hint of tooth behind the promise of her lips. "Here. Now." She took another step closer and now with Freetrick's throne on its raised platform she was nearly between his knees. "Before witnesses."
Freetrick clamped his legs together. Truth help him. How could he get rid of her? Istain's voice: just be yourself.
"Wait a second." Freetrick said.
"I shall not wait a single second, my lord." The topheavy Skrean aristocrat advanced on him, the light of purpose in her eyes.
"Oh by all my blood,
enough
."
Light flashed, intense and bright and slightly pinkish. In the sudden illumination, Freetrick saw Ashwing's expression of steamy seduction turn into annoyance and squint. She stumbled backward, arm coming up to cover her face.
"Really," Freetrick turned in his chair to see Bloodbyrn wiping dried blood from her glowing athame. "That was a touch overdone, dear Ashwing."
"Bloodbyrn!" Freetrick sat up straight, trying to look monogamous. "What are you…uh…"
His fiancée's expression told him, more eloquently than even Bloodbyrn's vocabulary could express, that he, Freetrick, was an idiot. Then her eyes slid back to the Skrean noblewoman, who was snarling and sublimating black necromantic haze.
"Points for audacity, dear," Bloodbyrn said to her rival. "Nothing for style, or for forethought, but I am impressed that you would dare try to seduce my betrothed so openly." Her voice curdled with sweetness. "And by the way, father, thank you for your timely intervention."
"I saw no need to interfere," called the jolly voice of DeMacabre from below. "What use is the prize won without effort, daughter? What use a demonstration interrupted? Besides, I find that, in the right sort of mood, I quite enjoy the company of the Ingnoble Lady Ashwing. And how is your father, my dear?"
Lady Ashwing was apparently uninterested in social niceties. The shadows that limed her body deepened, the air snapped with malign chill "
Yes, I dare, Bloodbyrn."
Her black aura pulsed, pushing out insubstantial black tentacles that climbed over the skulls on Freetrick's right side. "
I dare, for I am Ashwing, daughter of
Blogrog
! My rank is higher than yours, Lady Bloodbyrn, and the terror I inspire is far in excess
!"
Bloodbyrn sounded bored. "I would not base my self-evaluation on
this
fellow's reactions, dear. He scares easily."
There was a pause, then a rustle as Bloodbyrn's bottom slid sideways across the armrest, and Freetrick put out his hands just in time to catch her as she dropped sideways into his lap.
"Ah. Far more comfortable." Bloodbyrn said, as she settled over him like a particularly pointy cat. "And as for yourself, dear Ashwing," she said, "your persona as a whole is a rather over-specialized, in my opinion. Mind-sapping cleavage is all very well," she stretched, and Freetrick's eyes wrenched themselves downward, "but then what have you to back it up? Spiders?" she rose up in Freetrick's lap and stage-whispered to him, "I am afraid that spiders have been out of date for rather a long time."
There was a noise like an exploding teakettle from the black mist in front of Freetrick. Rising with terrible slowness and inexorability from the pits of nightmare, Ashwing emerged, her dark hair blazing up to mingle with the necromancer's mist.
"Oh please. Do not waste your energy on intimidation, dear." Lady Bloodbyrn sighed, and fell backward against Freetrick's chest.
"Oof!" said Freetrick.
"You be quiet." Bloodbyrn slapped him across the cheek. "I am not heavy at all. Now, dear," she said to the death goddess rising over them, "unless you wish to do more than simply intimidate, that is, to engage in a contest of force, which you will lose, here among my father's allies, I suggest you remove yourself before further embarrassment accrues to your family's name." She snuggled into Freetrick's lap and reached with her hand up and around the back of his head. The movement caused her chest to move in a way that was very stressful for both Freetrick and the clasps of her outfit. "My lord, as you can see, is taken."
There was a moment of taut silence. Then, Ashwing turned her head to side and spat. Something writhed in the dust where her spittle landed. "Very well." She folded her arms over her spider-covered breasts and sank back to the floor, the veil of dark sorcery draining away from the air around her. "But do not think this is over, leech. Mark my words. You will rue the day you dared to…" Ashwing's eyes flicked to Freetrick, then, as if a light switch had been flicked, her eyes smoked with sex. She licked her lips ostentatiously, and then drew her hand up her belly and over one out-thrust breast. Spiders scampered. "Never mind that. I feel sure the twisted paths we walk will cross again." She liked her lips at him. "How would you say that in Rationalist?"
"See you soon?" Squeaked Freetrick.
"See you soon" Ashwing turned, some parts faster than others. "And a horrendous morrow to you, Dark Lady Bloodbyrn."
"And to you, Ignoble Lady Ashwing," Bloodbyrn said.
The spider-clad noblewoman swayed sultrily away down the stairs, and Bloodbyrn leaned back across Freetrick's lap and smiled up at him.
"You see, my daughter?" came DeMacabre's voice from below, "I was ever confident in your abilities. And is it not sweeter to taste the fruit of victory when one has plucked it oneself?"
"Yes father," said Bloodbyrn. "Not that Ashwing is much of a challenge. Spiders. Really."
"I am glad to see that you are enforcing a higher standard of taste, dear Bloodbyrn."
"So, my lord, your preparations for the un-wedding ceremony tomorrow. Excuse me, but I hope my lord has memorized his lines for the ceremony with some greater attention than he devoted to his coronation."
"Oh right," said Freetrick, "I'm sorry, but I haven't really made any preparations yet."
"Have you not indeed," she said, in a tone arch enough to support a coliseum.
Freetrick winced. "Look, Bloodbyrn," he said, "I hadn't meant to talk about this here but...ow!"
"I'm sorry, my lord. I must have inadvertently twisted so as to grind my lord's loins against his armor. I am afraid I have a habit of becoming destructive to things that appear not be useful for me at all."
"Truth," Freetrick said. "Bloodbyrn. I don't want to marry you!"
He felt her stiffen in his lap.
"Well, correct me if I'm wrong, but you don't seem that interested in me," Freetrick continued.
He opened his eyes. "And I don't want a wife who doesn't want me."
She sighed. "Firstly, the term is first concubine, not
wife
and second." Bloodbyrn glared down at him like a very fashionable eagle. "My lord is the Ultimate Fiend.
Make
me want you."
"I don't know if I can do that."
She snorted and looked away. "That much is clear."
"Well, I'm just saying, if you don't want this, and I don't want this..."
"
We shall continue with the plan anyway," Bloodbyrn said, "because if we do not, we shall not survive through the next 48 hours."
What? "Bloodbyrn," said Freetrick, "I don't know what you're planning, but---"
"I am planning my lord," said Bloodbyrn, "to come to your apartments tonight, where I
will
find you, as I instructed, waiting, ready for training, and
without clothing.
"
"Bravo!" The shout came from DeMacabre. "That's the witch I spawned!"
"Father!" Bloodbyrn twisted around in his lap, giving him an intimate tactile impression of her uncomfortable underwear, "I would have appreciated some slight help from your part in this matter."
"Nonsense, daughter!" came the Duke's voice, "you're doing splendidly!"
Bloodbyrn growled and swiveled her glare back around to Freetrick. "We
will
be un-wed tomorrow, my lord. Mark my words well."
"Ah daughter!" chortled DeMacabre, "So impatient. There is no need to rush matters my dear. Let our young lord enjoy the advantages of bachelorhood."
"Let me make this clear to both of you men," Bloodbyrn said, "I shall not allow my lord postpone the un-wedding again, and," she jerked her chin at the humming auditorium around them, "though he is permitted to postpone the beginning of the counsel sessions as far as I am concerned, I believe the Dark Aristocracy will resort to cannibalism if proceedings are delayed much longer."
"What?" said Freetrick, "I'm not postponing anything. When is the council session supposed to start."
Bloodbyrn showed him her gritted teeth. "When my lord commands it to do so."
"Huh? Oh." Said Freetrick. "Uh…how do I do that?"
"Does my lord mean to tell me he does not know how to begin the sessions of the Council of Villains?"
"Of course I don't know," said Freetrick, "have I done this before?"
Bloodbyrn sighed. "Father?"
There was a sucking noise from below as DeMacabre's mouth detached itself from something. "Yes, oh be-venomed fruit of my loins?"
"Be so kind to instruct my lord Feerborg on his kingly duties."
"Why, my dear, I thought I would leave that up to you," DeMacabre chortled merrily, "ah ha. I jest, of course, for I was listening,
eavesdropping
even, and I am most distinctly aware of the conundrum in which my lord finds himself embroiled."