Work Text:
It was the solstice. The fifth since she moved into this quaint, bright plot of land, between a bog, a tallfellow community and a hill dwarf settlement. The ground here was constantly soggy, green, fresh and soft.
The solstice was prime time for the ritual she performed in secret to renew the wards on her lands.
If the mortals saw her do it, they would brand her as a witch. They would be right, of course. But they turned a blind eye to her presence as long as she was useful, such as keeping the bog beasts at bay. When you knew how to cook them, they tasted as rich as a sweet-filled babe.
She smacked her lips together, distantly remembering how her teeth rent apart pink, chubby flesh. With the meat melting off the bones, and savoury fat dribbling down her chin.
And the tears, and pain, and fear.
That sobered her up.
She resumed her ritual, digging in the putrid mud. Her fingers became knobbly and clawed as the glamour faded under the full moon as she plunged in deeper and deeper until she felt the smooth surface of what she was looking for. A deer skull she had buried a month ago until the maggots picked it clean.
It dripped warm clumps of dirt as she donned it on her head. She tied two braids to it, while the rest of her hair frazzled around her as she called forth the forces of earth and death.
She wanted this done quickly; she had grown to hate her magicks. It made things easy, efficient. To the detriment of self and others. Sometimes she reached for the power even before she realised a choice was possible.
She constantly fought the temptation. And when she failed, she was plagued with nausea, for she remembered the deeds she had committed to obtain it.
‘This is all Astra’s fault,’ Griselda thought as a mantra.
This thirst for power had been her sister’s. Griselda had been content with the forces of nature and directing their flow with her birth mana. But Astrabella had wanted more; she wanted to be beyond nature.
And Griselda, the younger one, followed Astrabella’s whims. Each grab of knowledge stripped away her compassion like the enamel of her teeth until it withered to blackened stubs.
Astra told her she could have whatever she wanted, if only she committed a bit more of her soul to their endeavour.
Centuries ago, they had made blood sacrifices for a Pact of Power. Then burnt the whole village for more. All perished in the flames - except the children. Their fates had been to become chattel and bribes to elder witches for apprenticeship.
Each foul act they committed strengthened them while their bodies and humanity alike rotted. A vicious cycle of power, atrocities, and a craving for more.
And they had been hungry.
Their rise to power was swift.
They carved out a seat in Tenebriar, the shadowed realm where the Covens gathered to rule over the wicked of the world. It took less than two centuries whilst most witches needed a millennium for an invitation.
One day, Griselda realised she wanted none more than what she already had before they went down this path of madness. A small cottage surrounded by green, eating foods she’d grown herself. Bask under a lazy summer sun, feet dipping in a cool brook. Evening of dancing and music and merrymaking.
But it was too late. The sun burnt her now. Folks recoiled at her approach - instinctively knowing the inherent evil living in her for it showed outwards.
Still, she left Tenebriar and her sister. She settled here in a sun-drenched land, where her closest neighbours were placid cows. Changing her spellcraft paradigm had been an arduous journey. One she is still travelling on.
The path of Green doesn’t have the same strength as the weaves of necrotic, but at least she felt a modicum of ease in her husked-out heart. However, for tonight’s ritual, she had to dip back into the old ways.
Which allowed Astra a chance to send her a jolly nightmare to thank her for her abandonment.
However, this time… there was silence. No japes of jackals. No strikes of balefire. No shadows of rotting flesh.
It was as if…
Griselda opened her eyes.
It was bound to happen, seeing how Astra accumulated enemies like teacups.
A heavy sigh left Griselda.
Now, all of Astra’s unfinished business became her problem to inherit. They were bound in blood - by magick and birth. She needed to see to them before they festered and killed her too.
Tenebriar welcomed her like clammy clothing after a trek in quagmire. The towering spires that rose in the dark gave her a sickening wave of nostalgia. The uneven cobblestones, built out of bones and despair, clicked under her determined heel. Their manor was the biggest one in the distance, its towers looming above the other covens’ houses.
Fog rolled around her ankles to greet her before slipping off to inform the return of the prodigal crone.
Immediately, scarlet eyes appeared on the walls, assessing any weakness she showed beyond her limping gait, but she ignored them as one should.
She already missed the land with the harsh sun that burned her skin. At least the sun’s pain wasn’t of malevolent intent.
At the edge of the domain that was now hers, the thorns parted as Griselda approached. Lamps of balefire lit up as she advanced to the rosewood doors.
Which stood unmoving before her.
She waited a tick, and the gargoyle that served as a door knocker opened its bleary eyes to gaze down on her. It extended its tongue out, awaiting a taste.
“Urg,” she said in annoyance and extended her hand to the stony mouth. It snapped into her flesh, while she held her grimace at bay as her ichor dripped. It was gluttonous, taking a higher toll than needed, and would have continued if she hadn’t suckered her life force back. If it wasn’t a hassle to replace, she would have left the construct shattered. But the thing was a powerful ward, protecting the domain against surreptitious spies.
Finally, the door opened, recognising her to be the rightful inheritor.
Once squarely inside, she sent a focus to snap the door shut, blasting any scrying spells.
She exhaled, letting her exhaustion and grief take hold of her. She despised her sister and what she had made them become. Yet, she still craved her company and approval. And unless she called her soul from the Nine Hells, she would no longer be enthralled by her.
The vestibule was grand, bigger from the inside, as was common in these liminal spaces. Astrabella had an ostentatious taste in decoration. All was lacquered in ebony and crimson, with orichalcum flames lighting, showing her baubles and trophies on each surface to a suffocating degree.
‘And now, everything belongs to me’, Griselda thought as her belly flopped at the idea. How many items were cursed? How long will she need to stay in Tenebriar to fix all of her sister’s messes?
Astra was sentimental, mused Griselda bitterly. Her chambers had remained undisturbed; from the dust, the hex-spiders, and her ferns.
They hadn’t even been tampered with.
Astra must have believed that her little sister would return after her folly in the path of Green. Her long-distance torments were messages of love.
Griselda plucked the dead leaves and gingerly reached out to the roots to see if a parcel of life still lay. Sadly, the plants had all dried up. She could transfer some life from the spiders, but that was the easy way to fix things.
She pattered around in her rags and shook her hair until minuscule seeds dislodged from it.
The old would feed the new, as was the cycle. She crushed the dead leaves and mixed the soil, humming in the mana to help. The room echoed her song as she worked.
Even after she stopped, she could still hear the echo.
She frowned and stretched her senses. It wasn’t her song, but a low moan that floated between the walls.
Of course, she thought blithely. She should have checked the kitchen to see how many children were in the pantry.
On her way there, the moans were loudest when she stood in-front of the master bedroom.
Astra’s.
She lifted a hand to knock, but stopped before her knuckles hit. She stifled the old habit; this room was hers now.
Griselda stood straight, her back cracking as she did, and she opened the double doors in one swing.
She stopped dead in her tracks.
She did not expect to find the most beautiful of creatures upon the bed in blissful agony. Black tendrils of magicks were running up and down its body, preying on sensitive skin, leaving only the ability to beg and moan.
“Mistress, mistress, you’ve returned, I’ve been so good, I’ve not touch myself in your absence,” it said. Although its face was androgynous with pretty red lips, below the neck, it looked male.
On his forehead were small, sharp horns. His skin had a dusty reddish tone, and this wasn't due to his aroused state.
His hair was long and black. It was in disarray from his topknot from the sweat, cascading around him, with rivulets stuck to his face.
The chest was chiseled beyond the master craftsmanship of marble, devoid of blemish or hair except a dark trail…
Oh.
Very male indeed.
Griselda’s eyes were drawn downward, her lips tightened in surprise as her gaze lingered. She shook herself out of her state and pulled down a low-hanging sheet from the four-poster bed onto the glistening body.
A summoned familiar; Griselda concluded. An incubus from the Abyss. Astra always had an appetite for beautiful stress-relievers.
He hissed at the friction, crying for more. “Please, please Mistress, it’s been so long. Touch me-”
“I am not your mistress,” she hissed.
“P-please-”
“Silence!”
He bit his lips, yet moans still escaped. He rolled his hips, fighting and wanting more from the tendrils. She inhaled sharply, pushing away his temptation. She looked on the bedposts, on the floor, under the carpets, on the ceiling, all while avoiding looking at the figure and his tent.
His moans were distracting.
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Tell me where is your summoning glyph?”
The creature, through a keen, answered. “I’ve… I’ve no glyph, Mistress.”
She clicked her tongue. “Phylactery, then. Rune. Sigil! Your bloody contract, where is it? I will dismiss you upon finding it. We’ll both have peace then!”
“I…,” the creature got interrupted as a wave of pleasure hit him, offering no release once more.
“Tell me!” Her voice boomed. She had laden it with a command of might, and it cut through his haze.
“T-the desk…,” he sent a glance to the left, where stood Astrabella’s escritoire. It was made of fey wood, watered with blood, shaped to its form instead of crafted. The drawers were of regular bone, dyed black by fire and time.
Each unlocked as she pulled on the ruby knobs. Trinkets and soul coins fell on the ground as she tossed the wrong items over her shoulders.
Then, she spotted a scroll, too large to be in the drawer. It had been haphazardly shoved, with each side blunted to fit. But the crimson lace around it was too important for her to ignore.
Once destroyed, the familiar would materialise back to his home. And Griselda would find solitude again.
She sent magical pulses; black inkbolts flowed through her fingers into the tellurian vellum.
As she sent more effort, the familiar cried out.
“Oh hush! It’ll be but a moment then you’ll roam free from whence you came.”
The contract rebelled. Her energy dispelled. Of course Astra had placed a protection on it. Luckily, Griselda could outmanoeuvre it.
With the long claw from her pinky, Griselda slashed her palm. Her blood was voraciously drunk by the scroll. As with the gargoyle, everything that was Astrabella’s became hers.
Now she could destroy it.
A glance into the foyer and a baleful fire lit. It bathed the room in green.
A quick toss and this would be over.
“Please, please, don’t,” begged the familiar.
“You’ll be fine. You’ll just return to your home plane,” she said.
“No, please— don’t!” A wave of pleasure or pain spasmed through him. Griselda rolled her eyes at the dramatics. It must be his first time being summoned.
Still, his desperation caused her to hesitate.
She unfurled the contract. Knowing Astra… it might have been wiser to have done so before.
Marriage contract
On this day, the parties have set forth on this path, and their lives shall ere so be entwined in matrimony. This Agreement be founded between Astrabella Graeme of the Shadowgrail Coven and Ilundrest, cambion of the Second Ring of the Abyss.
Marriage? Astra had married?! Griselda gritted her teeth. Then relaxed her jaw. She would have refused the invitation anyway.
It was then she noticed how Astrabella’s blood signature faded.
And Griselda’s blood seeped in, heading towards the signature line. Her eyes popped open.
“No, no, no, no,” Griselda muttered, but the letters reformed into her name. Her legs weakened beneath her. But a desperate, muffled moan rose from the bed, cutting through the ringing in her ears. Her attention shifted from the contract to the incubus.
She sent a furious glare at him.
“Please, please,” he begged.
“Just-! Take care of yourself,” she ordered. Immediately, the familiar- her now husband- reached downward.
With a click of her heels, she dashed out of the room. The doors thundered shut in her wake. Though she could still hear the crescendo of his moans as she fled.
“Mistress?”
Griselda shoulders tensed when she felt his approach from behind her as she weeded the garden.
“Do not call me that,” Griselda said. She carried the tension as he tiptoed nearer.
Since their first meeting and subsequent accidental marriage, he had kept his distance in the following days. She always knew where he was in the domain and avoided him if they were to cross paths. He did the same for they both went in opposite directions.
“My Lady?”
“No.”
There was a lengthy pause. “My love-?”
“Absolutely not!” She clambered to her feet, a glare sent to the interrupter. It faltered as she looked him over. He was tidied up and dressed. Most of his hair tied in a topknot, with loose strands tumbling down in a specific, perfect way. His garments were airy, of red and white silk, open from chest to navel to expose his flawless skin. On his feet were delicate slippers made of the same material, minutiously embroidered with flowers and vines.
“Then how should I address you?” He asked. This tone held utmost deference, though she was sure she had seen a smoulder of annoyance in his amber eyes.
She thought of saying by her name. Yet hesitated. Did she want him to hold this power over her? What if he whispered it so softly in her ear? She shuddered, imagining his warmth breath-
She clenched her fist until her nails dug enough into her dry flesh to burn.
By the Nine Hells, how was this familiar so beautiful. It was unnerving how well he could distract her.
‘No, not a familiar. A cambion’, reminded Griselda to herself. Those were the words on the marriage certificate. ‘Ilundrest.’
If only he had been a simple demon. Those were purely spiritual manifestations of mortal desires given physical form. If he’d been what she originally thought, she could have destroyed him with no qualms. His pain would have been temporary as he reformed.
However, cambions were half-mortal. They were the impossible union of demons and mortals. And as such, his death was death to him, and not a return to his plane of existence. Trust Astrabella to have gone the extra mile to prey on a souled being.
Griselda cleared her throat and looked down towards the weeds.“What do you want?”
Ilundrest soft lips closed, dropping the name-game entirely, and articulated his need. “I know you have ordered me to take care of myself-”
Griselda snorted.
“And I have. As most that I can. I have understood you wish my presence scarce. However…”
She bore into him as he hesitated. “However, what?”
He stepped back, hunching in as he braced for her hit that never came. The following words tumbled out should she decide to strike him. “There is no food, and I can’t leave.”
She quirked an eyebrow at him as he bowed respectfully, hands balled tightly.
“Then go,” she waved far.
Ilundrest looked beyond the iron fence where households of other covens held dominion. Where the spying fog and deadly thorns of Tenebriar lay in wait. “Please accept my apology, mistr-, my la- wife-of-mine. I shouldn’t leave. For my own safety.”
Griselda gave a long-suffering sigh. She didn’t require sustenance as often as mortals, and what she ate would not be suitable for this delicate creature. She wondered what Astra fed him.
“Very well. I can probably find some... intestine at the market,” Griselda said. Market was a generous term for where the other witches sold surplus reagents. She could pay with some of Astra’s cursed object collection. Two birds, one stone. Until she catalogued all her possessions and deeds, she deemed it important to stay here to avoid nasty surprises when debts came calling.
Ilundrest’s fake smile faltered at her offer. “Ah… Such delicacies might be loss on my palate.”
“Hu-huh. Well, there’s not much else that could feed you. Unless you can digest nightshade or leeches?” She asked. She was almost curious if he could. He was part-demon too, after all.
“Well… No,” he pursed his lips. He considered her. And his safety.
Hunger emboldened him.
He stepped in closer, standing to his full height, instead of his submissive hunch. He stood taller than her, and softly drifted his fingers across her arm.“However, I am able to feed on something that you may offer…”
He was so pretty.
Cambions’ fiendish lineages were more often than not of succubi. Emotions are their sustenance, with lust being easy to harvest when one is built as he was.
His touch didn’t burn her, yet she recoiled as if it did.
She knew how it felt to be prey.
She pushed harder than she wanted, and more forcefully than he could handle.
He crumpled to the ground, gathering his breath. His forehead touched the dead grass in askance for pardon.
Her claws were ready to strike, but she held back.
“Please forgive me mistress, please forgive my transgression,” he said. He crawled forward to her, kissing her feet. As he begged, he still tried to interest her, as a tear streaked down his pretty face. “I’m... so hungry. Please, please…”
She felt disgusted at his pitiful stay, but it was the urge to claw out his throat that made bile rise into her mouth.
Killing him would be easy. She could leave Tenebriar quicker if she had no ward to care for.
But… the senseless murder would stray her from the path of Green. She no longer wanted to be the monster Astra turned her into.
She could claim him. Hold his hunger as a bargaining chit to have him submit to her whims. Astra must have trained her husband well.
No.
She wouldn’t allow herself to be seduced by the dark ways. Astra was gone - she couldn’t keep that excuse anymore.
“Follow.”
Griselda led them to the master bedroom, and Ilundrest was hot on her heels.
She went to Astra’s escritoire. There must be something that could be of use. Afterall, Astra died a few months ago according to her investigation. Yet this cambion toy had sustenance during her absence.
Was that the purpose of the magick tendrils that had played with Ilundrest?
She sat and looked through what she had left alone.
Ilundrest stood amorously close behind her, his long fingers resting on her neck. She shivered. Without noticing, her eyes drifted closed, and she leaned back before she snapped.
“Settle down!” She barked.
He heard only the last part. He sank to his knees.
“Of course, if this is what you prefer,” he said. He kept a perfect posture, motionless. Until his hands drifted up her dress, pulling it higher so he could nuzzle up her legs.
“Stop that,” she clicked her heels together and pushed his face away. “Stay still!”
He’d been docile, submissive before, but she saw a desperate flash of anger. His fangs poked out as he spoke. “But mistress, I hunger. Please, just a taste, just a touch.”
“No, that’s not what were doing,” she said.
“Then what are we doing?” he asked. “I’m ready for anything you desire.”
“Do the tendrils feed you?”
Ilundrest shifted on his knees, his hands tightening on his clothing. “Technically.”
He was holding his words. She waited, but Ilundrest looked downward.
“Speak truly,” she said.
“…Yes.”
“Then I’ll summon them. And you’ll have your fill.”
Pride flowed in her for a moment. She’d resisted the easy path.
Yet, Ilundrest trembled. His breathing grew heavy.
“Please, I swear I’m good at what I do. You’ll reach the heavens with the pleasure my tongue can provide-”
“Stop it. I don’t want any games!” It would be easy to slit his throat. To get her silence through violence. Deep inside, her blackened heart pulsed to feel the warm blood dripping through her fingers.
“If that is my only choice… Then I prefer starvation.”
“You jest,” she eyed him. He was playing her to capture some of her strength. Or being the perfect distraction to strike her down.
“No, I’d prefer death. Please be more merciful than the pangs of hunger.” Any fight he had, left. The small light, faded. This desperation couldn’t be an act.
“What does the tendrils do to you?” She softened her tone. “Speak.”
Ilundrest searched. “It feeds my own need. It’s foul. Eating one’s own …” He let his voice and shoulders drop.
Griselda sighed. That would make sense for Astra’s spell. An intrinsic part of it - utility and torture. Her usual haunts.
Her eyes closed and forced the thoughts away as if they were a migraine. She slumped against the backrest.
“…I only need a touch,” Ilundrest said, his voice small. Expecting a strike, his body tensed.
“A touch?”
She lifted her hand, and he flinched. Slower than when she tries to move a butterfly, she placed it on his head.
He melted as he rested his head on her knees; his breathing softened.
He gave her doe eyes as she ran her fingers through his hair. It was as silky as a river. He shuddered with relief.
The urge for bloodshed that consumed her earlier, and the hunger that drove him, were both hushed. They stayed in a muted bubble where neither dared to speak nor move.
As the hour passed, Griselda understood Ilundrest was feeding off her. Lust was easy to gather, but he could feed on else. She had a mountain of wrath bubbling under her throat.
It calmed her as if she had downed a mug of milk-poppy tea, and the feeling was mutual. His eyes were half-closed as he enjoyed her touch, strange as it might be. It reminded her of the time when one of her neighbour’s cow came by her hutch. It did not fear her, and allowed her to brush its furry ears as she picked off the ticks.
Could this be enough?
She came back from the market, her steps lighter than they’d been since she arrived. She had made the acquaintance of a few sisters amenable to negotiate with her. If it goes well, she could return to her bog sooner than hoped.
Ilundrest was in the hall. Waiting.
His hands were steepled together.
“Has your journey been productive?” He inquired.
“Yes.”
“Are you tired? Do you need tea? Or perhaps I may interest some other activity to unwind?”
She gave him a side-eye. “No, I’m fine. Just… Go do as you please.”
She shrugged off her coat, but he was at her side, helping her get it off, which hindered. His fingers grazed her arm and neck.
“Please allow me!”
“No, it’s fine. Go away!” She batted his hands aside. He stepped back, but stayed close enough that she considered it hovering. “You’re a bother! What do you want?”
“I simply want to be at your service.”
“Truly? Or are you trying to get a meal?” She rubbed where he had touched. It still tingled warmly.
“I…,” he grew to understand she needed honesty. “It’s been three days.”
“So?”
Ilundrest smothered down the annoyance in his voice. “I need to eat everyday.”
After thick reflection, it made sense he’d have the same need as mortals.
“Next time - ask,” she said. She climbed the stairs. “Well - what are you waiting for? Let’s go.”
Ilundrest had knocked on Astrabella’s door as Griselda counted the coin collection. There was a fortune of poor souls.
Astra was lazy when it came to note-keeping, so she doubted the numbers in the ledger. It was tedious to double over all her work. When they were together, Griselda had done all these tasks. She had been putting off this task for a month now.
“What is it?” she asked when he sauntered inside.
He gave her a smile. He didn’t try for seduction or innocence anymore. Smarmy, she decided.
“I’m hungry,” he declared. And sat at her feet.
“Can’t you see I’m working,” she said. Yet her hand found its way into his hair already.
“You should trust the ledger. I kept the tally.”
A smile tugged at her lips. She closed the book. “Did you now? What else did you help her with?”
Ilundrest grinned as he recounted all his work as Griselda stroked him.
“Where are your wings?” She asked.
“Hm…?” Ilundrest lifted his head slightly from her lap. His eyes were glazed over, but he soon regained his senses. He looked embarrassed to have been so cute.
Griselda grimaced, realizing she had spoken out loud. She had been musing, and her intention wasn’t to break their moment of peace. She couldn’t lose face. “Your wings. Cambions have them, right?”
“Your sister found them unsightly,” Ilundrest said. He loosened his robe, letting the back drop. Little nubs were on the shoulder blade. Amidst the myriad of scars that crisscrossed his back.
Griselda passed a hand over them. Ilundrest held his breath as she inspected.
She recognized by the groves of the scars how they had been hacked off. “She tore them off,” she said.
Ilundrest exhaled, almost laughing. In a manic way. “No. She made me do it.”
“What?” Her fingers tightened. Memories of Astra compelling her to obey sprang in a flurry of cascades in her mind. She forced herself to relax, trying to return to the contentment they had before she spoke.
Ilundrest pointed at the bottom drawer. He had a vacant stare. “They’re in there.”
Griselda opened said drawer, but did not find any leathery wings she could have reattached to her husband. Instead, there was only a whip.
She didn’t want to think of the implication, but Ilundrest told her. “She made me braid them.”
Griselda touched the dried blood on the tip, where the flakes stained her fingers. Ilundrest nodded to her unasked question; it was his.
“She used it when I didn’t cry well enough for her.”
“By the Nine Hells,” she muttered. Astra was always inventive in her torture. Using physical as often as the psychological. It added a bit of spice, she would say. “I can’t fix these.”
Ilundrest shrugged. But the shoulders dipped lower. Defeat over nonchalance.
In the mortal world, the sun determined night and day, when to work; when to rest. But in Tenebriar, all hours were dark. Only the bells from the center of the realm gave a sense of time. When it struck nine was when Griselda decided her husband would eat. By then he had an appetite, often staying close enough that she could smell his clean, floral soap. Or his fingers would linger on hers as he handed over a trinket to catalogue.
She’d pulled back, snarled, and told him to be mindful. To which he’d bow reverently, hiding his smirk.
When the last bell finished resonating, they would already be in the master’s room, the cambion hot on her heels. Like a hound waiting for his master’s command, he’d sit at her feet, head laid on her lap.
She could still work, reading through Astra’s diaries while Ilundrest’s hands drifted under her dress to her ankles. He fed through contact, taking bites out of her emotions. Once he told her that joy and ecstasy were sweet and filling. He could get by on anger, which was what he took from her. Though sometimes he said, he nipped at her contentment that flowed more and more each day.
“If you’d just let me,” Ilundrest said, trying to weasel higher between her legs. His hand slipped between her thighs before she snapped them shut, trapping it from reaching its goal.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” she said through gritted teeth. “Remove your hand or I’ll do it. Permanently.”
Over the weeks she’d been here, her husband realised she had more bark than bite. “I’m offering only a little bit of pleasure. Don’t be afraid.”
“I’m not.”
He wiggled his fingers, and she pressed harder. “I would state otherwise.”
She gripped his long hair tightly, pulling his head away and shooting daggers. He didn’t flinch. Instead he gave a lopsided, almost drunk smile as he let himself go limp in her grasp. He laid his head on her lap.
“You’ve no need to play this game or force yourself to like me,” she said. It sounded like a hiss. “Once I’m done with the rest, we’ll be heading to the Second Ring, and I’ll find a magistrate to annul your binding to me.”
“… But what if I don’t want that? What if I prefer to stay by your side?”
She cackled. In a way she hadn’t done in years. “I’m giving you your freedom. Take it, pet.”
He defied her glare, staring into her eyes until she felt discomfort.
“What makes you think I was free there?”
“You’ll be better there than with me.”
“Did you ever wonder why I even married your sister?”
No words came as she thought. He had been tricked, hadn’t he? “Do not tell me being married to Astrabella was better!”
“It was… On some days. Worse on others,” Ilundrest said, breaking her gaze.
“You lie.”
He stood, leaving the room, only offering a backward glance and parting words. “You’re the nicest anyone’s ever been. That’s why I want you.”
She stared, stunned. But she remembered that cambions were raised for seduction and deception. His pitifulness was only one more ploy for his own survival. She couldn’t let herself be charmed by him for his own sake. She had vowed to change and that included no longer taking advantage of the desperate.
Her way was right, even if he disagreed.
“It’s getting late,” Ilundrest stated as he found her digging in the gardens again. The ninth bell had long finished ringing. Her husband was getting peckish for sure.
She sighed; it was getting harder to resist his grin. However, since the other night, he’d been placid, not pushing for more than she offered.
“Very well,” she said, standing and following him to the room.
However, he took a left and led her to the bathing chamber. Where a bath had been drawn from the bronze basin. Vapors of heat escaped the tub, floating above it invitingly. To have warmed it steaming hot would have taken him hours to heat and maintain.
She smelled some floral essence; of his own stash, she guessed. One of the few belonging he possessed.
“What is the meaning of this.” Her voice flat, as she scanned his innocent, scheming face.
“I had thought after a foray in the muck you’d appreciate getting rid of some dirt.”
“I like my dirt,” she muttered, holding her arm as flecks of earth caked off.
He quirked an eyebrow at her. It was plucked to an elegant perfection.
“You have a meeting with the Abyss Sisters at midnight. It’d be best if you were presentable. And I’ll launder your … dress in the meantime.”
Her dress was mostly rags, really. If he tried to wash it, it will unravel in threads. She wouldn’t be surprised if it was part of his plan to dress her in more lavish clothing befitting her status. The only clothes of such grandeur were Astra’s.
Her skin crawled.
“No, you don’t need to do that.”
“Ah, but what ever shall I do while you bathe?” He had that audacious smirk on his lips, and he continued before she could dismiss him. “Yes, I understand. You need me to lather you.”
“I did not say that!”
“But if you don’t allow me to assist, then when will you feed me?”
“You’ve done this on purpose, waiting until after the ninth bell, didn’t you?”
“Tut, tut, time is of the essence. This is hardly the moment for arguments.” He ushered her to undress. Against her reluctance, he held up a thick towel as a shield and turned his gaze away.
It was a show, and she wouldn’t be cowed into being modest. Besides, there was nothing appetizing about her body. The exchange for power had left her dried as a husk. Most witches used glamours to hide their monstrous selves, and she did too when she interacted with mortals. Just enough to make her look passably alive. Not to entice, seduce, and cajole a sense of security from the desperate. Not anymore.
She took off each garment, letting them drop with a wet slop of mud on the marble. Under Ilundrest’s side-eyeing her, she let herself sink into the waters. It quickly turned dark, removing the first layer.
“Well, this might take longer than intended,” Ilundrest stated dryly. “Good thing I came prepared.”
He dumped a bucket of water on her nesty hair, dampening it to her face. She might have exploded from the treatment if he hadn’t immediately soothed her anger by combing his fingers in her hair, reaching her scalp and massaging her.
She melted, as he fed. He relieved the tension and negative energy.
She smelt more than felt the floral essence he added to her hair as he conditioned it. As he let it set, he explored more of her, his hands drifting to her shoulders down to her arms. With his brushes, he scrubbed away the excess dirt under her claws and manicured them until they were back to fingernails.
“Please use a trowel next time you garden.”
“But it’s so slow that way,” she said, a grin drawing across her face. She felt light, and it wasn’t only because of the weightlessness of the bath.
“You should call me if you need help. I get lonely,” Ilundrest said as he shifted to work on the other side.
“Ha,” she cackled. “I doubt you’d survive if you get some dirt on that pretty face of yours.”
“I’ll have you know, I’m much more than a pretty face.”
“Are you?”
“Of course. I’m also a wicked tongue.” His tongue peeked out, and he gave her that look that got her hotter under the collar than the boiling water. He chuckled as he brought her hand to his lips. A kiss, then said wicked tongue gave a languid lick to the sensitive skin between the index and major.
He grinned, satisfied as he took in the lust that rolled off of her.
“Shush it,” she said as she pushed his face away. She praised the Hells that the heat hid her blush, for she didn’t want to dip her head in the murky bath water.
Ilundrest kept a silent laugh to himself as he stood up to gather the second bucket.
“Take a breath,” he said. He dropped more water to rinse her.
After, he held out an open towel. As before, he looked away for her privacy until it was wrapped around her.
“What of Astrabella’s have you decided to drape me with?” She asked. Her sister had style, often with ornaments of silver on the belts and raven wings on her shoulders.
“None.”
He offered her a bundle of clean, floral-smelling silk. Black, with green embroideries.
“This is one of yours,” she said.
“Not anymore,” he grinned. “I’ve sneaked your measurements and modified it. It should fit you like a glove.”
She pulled it on herself, as he pretended to busy himself with accessories. It was better than wearing her dead sister’s; she concluded. She squashed the rising flutter of knowing she wore what had embraced her husband intimately.
When she finished, he looked pleased. “Dazzling.”
The meeting with the Abyss Sisters went smoother than expected. Astrabella was the social one of the two; she made the plans, the contracts, and the backstabs, while Griselda was the muscle behind the ploys. Griselda assumed the Sisters would connive at her downfall. But they were eager to agree on the transaction.
They’d get the mansion, the cursed items, the hoard of soul coins off of Griselda’s hands. In exchange, they’d get all of Astra’s debt and threats.
“And me…?” Ilundrest had asked in her ear as he served nightshade tea. The Abyss Sisters watched his every movement with rapture. He greeted them with purrs and pleasure. His robes were open from chest to navel, and sometimes they’d slipped off to show one of his shoulder.
Like him to her, Griselda had come to know his bark from bite. He was playing them, but the small hairs on his neck bristled at the thought of being sold. All a show he’d put on to distract them as Griselda advanced the discussion.
“Yes, what about this incubus of your?” questioned the eldest of the crones. “Astrabella told us so much about his talents…”
“Alas, I’ve grew fond of his presence. I’ve decided to keep him,” Griselda told them, and added a cackle. She saw how Ilundrest had exhaled.
When their guest left, Ilundrest thanked her. “So, keeping me?”
“Urg,” she gave him a flat look. “I guess there’s no wrong if I bring you to the mortal coil with me. I’ve been gone so long, I’ll need to sow my garden again. And someone offered to help.”
Ilundrest gave a small chuckle.
Other than Ilundrest, Griselda decided to keep the gargoyle door knocker. It was attuned to her, and it would be a lovely addition to her hutch to ward off pesky adventuring mortals. She pulled it off the door and held it under her arm as it tried to bite her. She muzzled its maw casually as Ilundrest gave her a sniggering smile.
“Ready to leave?” she asked Ilundrest.
He nodded. In the manor's backdrop, his fine robes were fitting. But once they reached the bog where her hutch was, he’d be out of place. Especially his little fancy silk slippers. She had warned him, but he had grinned, telling her she’d have to give him a bath then.
To reach Tenebriar, one had to have the coordinates of the portal in the center dais. But leaving was simple. Only the right spell with the reagent towards your destination was needed. Griselda had carried a few acorns from the grand oak where her hutch lay in its shade.
The travel was instantaneous. She realised she should have waited for nightfall. The noon sun was bearing down on them.
She shielded her eyes and draped her shawl over her head for added protection.
Ilundrest fared much better after the initial shock.
After a few blinks, his eyes adjusted. His perfect face turned to a grimace as he squinted around. “It’s.. so bright.”
He took a few steps to observe while Griselda slithered against the tree to hide in the shadows. Ilundrest looked amused as his slippers got muddied by the damp soil.
“Heh, this is… fun. I understand now why you prefer to be barefoot,” he said, sending a grin up to her. He heeled off his slippers and felt the green moss under his feet for the first time. “It’s soft.”
Tenebriar’s flora was always dry and prickly. And nothing grew in the Abyss.
He, Griselda could only describe his movement as prancing about. And elvish frolic if she ever saw one.
Maybe he wouldn’t feel out of place in the woods. Maybe he would stay with her.
Before she could swat down the hope, she heard him yelp. He had gotten out of her sight but for a moment.
She dashed around the tree, braving the roaring sun, a spell already building in her fingers to obliterate the threat.
She dispelled it a moment later when she saw the commotion.
Her husband had fallen ungracefully on his ass, startled by a gentle creature that roamed the lands.
“What.. is that beast?” he backed away on his hands as said beast let out a low bellow that came from its four stomachs and udders.
“That is a cow,” she helped him to his feet. “They roam about from the neighbours on occasion. They are quite docile.”
His warm hand still in hers, she guided it to the cow.
The cow lifted her head and accepted the pats. Nudging for more when Griselda showed how to scratch the ears.
“Fascinating.”
After a few minutes, the cow grew disinterested and wandered off.
“If you follow her, she will bring you to a tallfellow homestead,” Griselda said. She turned around, heading to her hutch. Her solitude. “They are good folks,” she continued. “and will take care of you for a smile and song. Ask them, and they’ll lead you to a city. Then you’re free to do as you please.”
Ilundrest followed the cow.
But only with his eyes.
He closed the distance and hugged Griselda as her hand touched the knob. It was a tight embrace, as he buried his face in her thick hair.
She tensed, and he interrupted her before she could tell him to remove himself. “You said I could do as I please.”
“You idiot,” she said fondly. “But I did say so. I guess you’re tired from the journey.”
“And hungry.”
“It’s noon!”
He tightened the hug. His hair tickled her nape, causing her to give an uncharacteristic laugh. She covered her mouth from the sound she made, while Ilundrest teased her. His warm breath of whispered words closing in her ear.
“Enough,” but she didn’t push him away this time.