Tales of the Ice Harpy from Glacia

Saetan Daemon SaDiablo, Warlord Prince of Dhemlan, High Priest of the Hourglass, and High Lord of Hell, was having a good day. Mrs. Beale had made his favorite lunch today, he had a new book from Halaway, a Winsol gift from Sylvia, and there had been no cringing tutors or fretting merchants come to beg audience about something one of the boyos, or--worse yet--one of the coven had done. It was a good day to be Saetan.

It was about to get precipitously worse.

*High Lord?* Beale's psychic thread sounded oddly...odd. Saetan couldn't quite place his tone. *You have a...guest.*

*Who?* Most of his attention was still on the book, it was true. *Send them in.*

*...She's on her way already, Prince,* Beale sent. It was impossible to wince over a psychic thread and yet Saetan had the distinct impression that he did. But he didn't get a chance to probe further before there was a sharp rap on the door and Karla slipped in.

"Prince SaDiablo," she said, coming a few steps into his study. She then gave a precise curtsy, Queen to ranking Warlord Prince. Saetan said nothing for a moment, regarding her. There were many reasons Karla might choose to use his titles; they hadn't spoken much since the disaster in Agio and she could still be harboring ill-feelings towards him. But her curtsy, now, that told him much. Karla was adhering to Protocol.

Which meant that he wasn't dealing with his adopted niece, or even his daughter's best friend. He was dealing with the incipient Territory Queen of Glacia.

He could be forgiven his slight trepidation, right? Especially if he didn't tell anyone about it?

"Lady," Saetan murmured, rising from his chair and bowing back to her. "What brings you to my study?"

Karla tilted her chin up the slightest bit, even as her psychic scent swirled with apprehension, and said, "I thought it best to inform you that I will be having my Virgin Night in three days' time."

Hell's fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful.

[Continued in comments. NFI, NFB, Karla will be back in plenty of time for NYE festivities. Conversation has veered into discussion of sexual abuse. Trigger warning in effect.]

[Continued from here]

After Lucivar finished recounting the numbers arrayed against them, he pushed himself to his feet, calling in his war blade and his bladed Eyrien sticks. "I'll be outside," he growled. "Too much fear in here."

It grated against his nerves, scraped against his precarious self-control. The fact that he had wings like their attackers only made things worse--much of the landen fear in the building was directed at him.

"I've been letting a few in at a time," he continued, "opening holes in the shield to let them through. Killing ten or twenty in the face of thousands doesn't do much, but--" He shrugged. ( What else was there to do? )

[Same alphabet soup goes here. Warning for violence. Again, still mostly 'inspired by' events in Chapter 13 of Heir to the Shadows. Part two of two; for master post list, please go here.]

*There.* Prince Smoke eased out of the underbrush to greet Morton as soon as he stepped out of the Coach *That is the set of huts that the Lady and the others went to.* He whined a little in his throat. *There is a a bad-meat feeling there. But it comes and goes, like scent on a changing wind.*

After hearing from Beale that Prince Smoke had accompanied Lucivar and Jaenelle to Askavi, Morton had contacted the kindred wolf as soon as he'd landed the Coach in Askavi and his attempt to contact either Lucivar or Jaenelle had been fruitless. His relief at finding out that his wayward cousin had been following Jaenelle turned to concern when Smoke told him that the three humans had gone into a village and hadn't returned. It was the same village that Lady Tara's spell had pointed to; that much was certain. But knowing where Karla was didn't explain why they were there. Or why they couldn't come out.

That concern turned to decided unease as he stepped forward to examine the cozy-looking little village, a mile or so in the distance. A landen village, he thought, since he wasn't getting a hint of any Blood psychic scents in there. Which was damned odd, considering Smoke had tracked Karla and the others to this village and was certain they hadn't left. And now that Smoke mentioned it, Morton did notice a faint hint of corruption, like something flickering out of the corner of his eye. No sooner had he noticed it, it was gone again.

"Smoke, head back to Dhemlan and alert the High Lord," Morton said, still studying the sleepy village of Agio. Had he just felt the Ebon-Gray...? No, nothing. "Tell him to contact Khary and Aaron, too, and pass on everything you just told me. I don't like whatever's down there, and Karla, Jaenelle, and Lucivar are right in the middle of it."

With a quick Rrruff! and a small lick at Morton's hand, Smoke trotted back towards the Coach and vanished onto the White Wind. Even hopping onto the Purple Dusk back to Dhemlan and then having Aaron and the others ride the Green Wind from Glacia to Askavi, they were still looking at more than a handful of hours before help would arrive.

No use waiting, then. "Let's go," he said, turning to face the others. "Let's see what kind of trouble my cousin's landed herself in now."

( From his tone, Morton was assuming it was trouble of the most dangerous kind. )

[Warnings in place for explicit violence and potentially disturbing imagery. NFI, NFB, OOC=love. Text adapted from Chapter Thirteen of Heir to the Shadows. Ish. Part one of several; the full list of previous entries can be found here.]

Lucivar lay on his back in the young grass, his hands behind his head, his wings spread out to dry after the quick dip in the spring-fed pool. Jaenelle and Karla were still splashing about in the cold water, washing the sweat and dirt out of their long hair. He closed his eyes and groaned contentedly as the sun slowly warmed and loosened tight muscles.

Yesterday, they'd awakened just before dawn to find Jaenelle busily rummaging through the food pack. He'd put together a hasty meal while Karla had broken down the camp before the physical tension produced by the drugs forced Jaenelle to move.

It hadn't been the unrelenting drive of the previous days, and, as the day'd worn on, physical tension gave way to emotional storms. Anger would flood her suddenly, then turn to tears. He'd given her space as she raged and swore. Karla had held her while she cried. When the storm passed, she'd been fine for a little while, perhaps as long as twenty minutes. They'd walked at an easy pace, stopping to pick wild berries or rest near a stream. Karla'd kept them entertained with stories of her crazy school and the friends who were like no Blood males or females they'd ever met. Then the cycle would start over, each time with a little less intensity.

It had still been grueling, mind. The first outburst of emotion had hit around noon, the second, a little before three. In between them, there was still the constant movement, the difficult trek made even moreso by the unforgiving pace Jaenelle had set. The intervals had shortened as Jaenelle's body tired, but even their last stretch before making camp for the night had been an hour-long hike, most of it uphill.

Which made today's late start, with the chance to sleep in past sunrise and even bathe a bit, something akin to paradisaical. Smoke was off doing a bit of hunting; the wolf had scented a herd of elk and had gone off to explore. When he came back, Lucivar was thinking of sending him back to the Keep to tell Saetan that they were all right, that Karla was with them, and that they'd be coming home from Askavi in a few more days.

Not that he was going to say anything, but he was proud of Karla. The pace was wearing on her, but she refused to complain and did her best to keep up. She wouldn't know it, but Jaenelle was slowing down a bit for her, making sure Karla didn't get outdistanced. Lucivar was grateful for anything that made Jaenelle take it a little easier. ( Though the next time the little witch cheated him out of the last mug of coffee, he was going to dunk her into the nearest lake. )

[NFI, NFB, OOC is delicious. Warning for violence. Text adapted from Chapter Thirteen of Anne Bishop's Heir to the Shadows. All of her narrative is awesome and I never said anything to the contrary. Really. Part 5 of plot (Parts one, two, three, and four). Up early because I have a problem I AM REALLY BUSY TOMORROW, OKAY?]

Saetan looked like a man who had barely survived a battlefield.

Judging from the emotional currents flavoring the air around them, Karla was guessing that wasn't all that far from the truth. She closed the door to Jaenelle's sitting room with a near-inaudible thump and waited to be acknowledged.

"My instructions were explicit, Karla." The voice had no strength. The face looked gray and strained. "Leave now."

Karla pointed casually to the Birthright Red Jewels that Saetan wore. "You're going to have the damndest time tossing me out wearing those."

Saetan didn't call in the Black.

It was as Karla'd assumed, then. Whatever Saetan had done to get Jaenelle to the Keep in her present physical and emotional condition had drained the Black. What had happened to put Jaenelle into that condition still had yet to be explained to Karla, however. All Beale had said was that Saetan had been summoned to Little Terreille when something had happened with the Lady and had sent a message that he was bringing her to the Keep and that absolutely no one was to follow him. ( Karla had listened politely to Beale, nodded her thanks, and had caught the closest Wind to Ebon Askavi before Beale could offer to take her coat. )

[NFI, NFB, OOC=love. Text adapted from Chapter Thirteen of Heir to the Shadows. Warning for discussion of sexual assault and violence. Part 2 of plot.]

At first there was mist. A dark and heavy mist occasionally illuminated by crackles of Sapphire lightning. Through the mist, they could sometimes make out the shape of trees, twisted and heavy. The ground was soft and squelched beneath their feet.

Abruptly the mist parted and there was light. Balls of dimly-colored light—witchlights, Karla had called them—burned in crystal goblets that hung unsupported in the air. If one looked closely, they could see small hairline cracks beginning to form at the base of each chalice. Small, hardly noticeable, but with the potential to grow and shatter the crystal if left alone. Behind them was the dark, misty wood they had come through, but ahead, the forest split, showing two paths leading on to the distance. Both paths were lit by the floating chalices, though they veered into different directions no more than a few feet down either side. There was no way to tell where either path led.

And no sign of Karla.

[Establishy, NFB, NFI save for plot-slaves Team Rescue! WARNING: DARK THEMES. POTENTIALLY TRIGGERING. TRUFAX]