#lee hadan

[officialleehadan]

Rescuing Allies

Hello darlings! Today's story was brought to you by Stella! Darling thank you so much for all your support!

Prompt: Pride of Place

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Tilsie knew what she looked like.

She as a short, chubby cook, with hair that was fluffing out of her flour-dusted braid. Her shoes were sensible, and her dress was simple, with only a little embroidery around the hems to mark her position as the pastry cook of the whole castle. Her arms were thick with muscle, and her face was closer to round than it was to fine-featured.

When one was the chosen lover of the most beautiful woman in the world, such comparisons were inevitable, and while Atteila had made her opinion on Tilly’s body very clear, others were not so kind. Tilly knew she was a pretty woman, but she was the kind of pretty that married the miller down the road and put out a dozen children, not the kind that fell in love with a princess and spirited her and a prince out of a castle.

Now, however, it seemed that there was no time to indulge her own insecurities. Atteila and Hanver were counting on her. She couldn’t let them down.

So Tilly hastily pulled her hair free of her braid, shook as much of the flour out as she could, and shook out her skirts. There were some benefits to being clearly of the peasant stock. No one would mistake Tilly for a royal. She never thought she would be grateful for that.

The stables weren’t deserted. A pair of ragged men were rolling dice on a barrel, lazily guarding a handful of soldiers who sat in a line, bound and bruised from what had clearly been an attack they could not withstand. Tilly made eye contact with the nearest, a man named Nezza, who sometimes came to the kitchens when he had a free moment. Tilly slipped him the pastries that weren’t nice enough to serve the nobles, and in return, he went with her maids down to meet food deliveries for the kitchens.

His eyes went wide, but Tilly put a finger to her lips and eyed the two men, who hadn’t noticed her yet.

She wasn’t a fighter, but for Atteila, she would fight anyway.

Serving girls were never a threat. She didn’t walk like a soldier, or wear armor that would clank along as she walked. Skirts weren’t terribly convenient, but they were quiet.

The stove that warmed the stables was close to hand. The stove itself was cold, which was normal for summer, but there was always a small stack of firewood beside it. She took up a hefty branch, took to long steps out of hiding, and brought the branch down on the head of the nearest man. He dropped, unconscious in moments, and his friend staggered back, his eyes wide. He grabbed for his sword, but Tilly, armed and strong with terror, bashed him too. He tried to block, but bakers had strong arms, and he was off balance.

“Remind me never to annoy you, Miss Tilly,” Nezza said when she dropped her branch to untie him. “How did you get here? What are you doing here?”

“No time, are there more of them in the stables?” Tilly asked hurriedly and moved to the next soldier as soon as Nezza’s hands were free. He got to work on his feet and was soon raiding the two fallen men for their weapons. “How many came in the gates?”

“Close to fifty. A proper fighting force,” Nezza said grimly. He moved to the door and froze. “Get down; There’s someone in the bushes!”

“I know!” Tilly said and yanked him back inside before she hesitated. “You’re loyal, right? To His Majesty and the princess?”

Nezza narrowed his eyes at her but nodded slowly. Tilly waited another moment until the rest of the soldiers nodded too.

“Right,” she said, and whistled, three short notes that carried further than anyone expected. Perfect for catching the attention of a maid in a noisy kitchen. Or for calling two royals out of hiding. “I brought some friends from the kitchens.”

“Princess Atteila,” Nezza whispered, and knelt when Atteila and Hanver ducked into the stable. Atteila reached for Tilly’s hand and pulled her close when Tilly took it. “We feared you lost. How…?”

“We were in the kitchens when the attack came,” Atteila explained and pulled him to his feet with her free hand. Hanver joined the soldiers in getting everyone untied. “Tilly took us out through the scullery and into the gardens before we could be captured. Is there word of my father, the king?”

“None, your highness,” Nezza said, clearly uncomfortable but the highest-ranking soldier in the room. Two of his fellows dragged the men Tilly had knocked out into one of the stalls and tied them tightly. “We were taken before we could raise the alarm. Please accept our humblest apologies for our failure.”

“I would not expect any ten men to hold against fifty,” Atteila told him kindly, and squeezed Tilly’s hand. “We must retake the castle or escape, but I know nothing of war. Is the castle lost?”

“We outnumber the ragged lot a dozen to one if we can get to the barracks,” Hanver suggested, the only one of them who had actually been to war, and who had, despite his father’s opinion, a decent head for tactics. He shrugged one shoulder when Nezza looked at him questioningly. “The castle has a large number of soldiers assigned here on rotation. They must have been blocked into their barracks or they would have already taken the castle back. So where are the barracks?”

Her part done, Tilly wrapped her arms around Atteila and held on tight.

Perhaps it wasn’t so bad to be the one who faded into the background. Now, they might just have a chance to fight back.

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Pride of Place :

Strawberry Roses

Orange Bubbles (Subscriber Only!)

Wine Shower

In Hot Water (Subscriber Only!)

Under Orange Blossoms

A Little Bitter

Folding Puff

Cookie Cutter Friends

Out the Back

Rescuing Allies (New!)

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MASTERLIST

[strinak]

Author Statistics

For 10 authors, I read their works into the double digits: Alessandra Hazard (x11) Kiki Clark (x12) Kati Wilde (x13) Shelly Laurenston (x15) AJ Sherwood (x16) Onley James (x20) KL Noone (x24) Charity Parkerson (x31) Megan Derr (x40) Mary Calmes (x44)

For 24 authors, I read at least 3 and at most 9 works: Andrea K Host (x4), Anne Bishop (x4), Brigham Vaughn (x3), Bruce Sentar (x3), Deacon Frost (x3), Eric Ugland (x7), Gail Carriger (x1)/GL Carriger (x3), Ilona Andrews (x5), Jennifer Cody (x4), Jordan Castillo Price (x3), Louisa Masters (x6), Lucy Lennox (x5), Lyn Gala (x3), Mell Eight (x3), Michelle Diener (x4), Naomi Novik (x3), R Cooper (x5), RJ Moray (x2)/Robin Moray (x1), Sam Burns (x5), Shirtaloon (x7), Stella Starling (x4), TJ Land (x9), Vasily Mahanenko (x3), and Wen Spencer (x5).

For 25 authors, I read exactly 2 works: Alex Gilbert, Alice Winters, Amanda Meuwissen, Amy Crook, Andy Gallo, Bettie Sharpe, Claire Cullen, David North, Eli Easton, Eryn Ivers, Isabel Murray, Jessie Mihalik, KM Neuhold, LC Mawson, Luke Chmilenko, Macronomicon, Ofelia Grand, Robin Roseau, Ryan Rimmel ,Sam Burns & WM Fawkes (with Sam Burns), Shannon West, Skylar Jaye, Tara Lain, TS Snow, and Victoria Helen Stone.

For 87 authors, I read only a single work: A Catherine Noon & Rachel Wilder, AC Wiggen, Allie Brosh, Amanda Milo, Andrea Speed, Anyta Sunday (with Andy Gallo), April Jade, Arden Powell, August, Brea Alepou & Wren Snow, Brooke Matthews, Bryce O’Connor (with Luke Chmilenko), Cale Plamann, Casualfarmer, Catelyn Winona, Chace Verity, CJ Carella, CM Blackwood, Courtney Milan, Daniel Rose, Danny M Lavery, Darktechnomancer, Dassy Bernhard, Delaney Rain, Delmire Hart, Devon Vesper, DI Freed, DM Rhodes, Eden Finley & Saxon James, EJ Russell, Elliott Kay, EM Lindsey (with Kiki Clark), Hayden Hall, HJ Tolson, Jenny Lawson, Jesse Q Sutanto, JK Jeffrey, KA Merikan, Kaleb England, Kaydence Snow, Kou Delika, Lee Hadan, Liz Talley, May Archer (with Lucy Lennox), Macy Blake, Margaret Atwood, Marie Cardno & Kalikoi, Michele Notaro, Michelle Frost, Michelle Kathleen Hodgson, Natasha Hunter, Nazri Noor, Philip R Johnson & Justin C Louis, Raleigh Ruebins, Ravensdagger, Regine Abel, Riley Hart, RJ Scott, Robert Bevan, Ryn Bretcher, Sam Starbuck, Samantha Cayto, Sariah Wilson, Sasha L Miller, Scott Browder, SE Harmon, Sean Oswald, Sebastian Hansen, Seth Richter, Sienna Sway, Sierra Riley, SJ Himes, Stephanie Burgis, Stephen L Hadley, Stuart Grosse, Suki Fleet, Sunny Hart, SunriseCV, Tansy Rayner Roberts, Tanya Chris, Toby Wise, Tom Watts, Toni McGee Causey, Travis Baldtree, Xander Boyce, Yamila Abraham, and Zile Elliven.

[leximpwrites]

For anyone who is interested, I'm currently working on a fanfic of @officialleehadan 's amazing Sunborn series, and posting it on AO3. If anyone would like to read it, here is the link for the first chapter.

A summary:

Alek and Essylla have been pursuing the few Infernal Lords that escaped the botched invasion of Felterra for almost 1200 years now, and have finally cornered the last one, but as ever with things that involve my two lunatics, it's not all smooth going.

Please, feel free to let me know what you think! And give all the love to Lee Hadan! She deserves it.

[dragonfireonthehorizon]

Today is the day! #Riptide is finally available for immediate purchase!

[officialleehadan]

Fallen Down the Stairs

Once Cursed

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Sorsha always did her best to stay away from Maeve, but there was only so much she could do when the former queen came looking for her. She couldn’t fight, of course. A serving girl didn’t dare strike a princess, even one who seemed to be in disgrace with her father. Sorsha used to be a princess herself, but now she was bound by the same rules that bound all the staff.

So she couldn’t fight, and even if she dared to, Maeve had more than enough magic to rip her apart on a whim. Maybe Prince Naevelon would chide her for it, but there wouldn’t be more than that. A serving girl was replaceable, and it wasn’t like he knew who she was. She couldn’t tell him, either. Maeve was in trouble for the way she conquered them, not for doing it at all, and Sorsha was the last heir of the throne.

In a way, Maeve’s continued amusement at her torment was all that was protecting Sorsha from a swift death. As long as she was fun to hurt, she was more valuable alive than dead.

All the same, when Maeve was looking for someone to hurt, it was safer for everyone if she found Sorsha. Better she be hurt than the kind people who had protected her as best they could. Sorsha would do whatever she had to do to keep them safe.

It was already a bad pain day for Sorsha, and she wasn’t fast on foot regardless, but Maeve liked the fun of chasing her. That too, was familiar, so Sorsha led her out into the gardens where nobody could hear her scream. She might not have much pride left, but she didn’t have to make anyone else see what happened to her when Maeve was feeling vindictive.

By the time Maeve got through with her, Sorsha was barely able to stand, and was seriously considering simply sleeping in the gardens. It was a warm evening, and it wouldn’t be the first time she slept off the worst of the pain under the watchful eye of the orchard trees. Sometimes one of the castle cats would find her and stay with her. There were worse ways to spend a bad night.

But no. If she didn’t make it back to the room she shared with Niala, her friend would worry.

Slowly, painfully, Sorsha began making her way back to the castle. Every muscle ached. Maeve was a master of causing as much as pain as possible while spending the least effort, but she also liked to see Sorsha wearing bruises. Before Dharin was dead, he would make a game of catching her the next day and prodding them, just to see Sorsha fight back tears.

If she could find out where he was buried, she might have to go spit on his grave some dark night.

“What in the world?”

The voice was the very last one Sorsha wanted to hear. If she could have run, she would have. As it was, she flinched hard enough to catch a nearby trellis with her shoulder. Pain flared through her and she nearly collapsed under it. Prince Naevelon was standing there, in the shadow of a sprawling apple tree. Sorsha fought her way upright, and then into a curtsy that was carefully practiced to look like the ones all the serving girls gave. He stared at her and she wished she was just a little bit more whole. A little more able to make excuses and escape.

The bruise darkening her cheek would be hard to explain.

“I beg your pardon, Your Highness,” she whispered through her raw throat, and blessed Niala for helping to dye her hair red a few days ago. If she was lucky, he wouldn’t recognize her. “I did not mean to disturb you. If you will excuse me, I will-“

“What happened?” he demanded, suddenly too close. Sorsha tried to flinch away again, but her aching body was having none of it. She swayed and managed to steady herself on the trellis before she fell. He caught her chin in a firm grip and turned her face to see the bruise on her cheek. “Who did this to you? I gave strict orders that the staff was not to be bothered.”

“I fell down the stairs,” Sorsha lied and prayed he wouldn’t hear it in her voice. She couldn’t tell him it was Maeve. He might yell at Maeve for defying his orders, but Maeve would happily kill her for revealing the truth. “Please excuse me, Your Highness. I’m not fit to be seen.”

“You’re covered in blood,” he noted furiously and released her chin with a hard light in his eyes. “Tell me the truth. Who harmed you?”

“I fell down the stairs,” Sorsha repeated desperately and wavered on her feet, supported only by the trellis under her hands. “It was dark, and the stairs in the back garden are slick. I shouldn’t have been back there this late but…” she scrambled for something he might believe. “Downstairs is hot this time of year. I just wanted some air, Your Highness.”

He looked her over, clearly disbelieving, and finally heaved a sigh. “It figures. I find the damned serving girl I’ve been looking for, and someone’s beaten her to a pulp. Come on, girl. If you won’t name names, you can at least accept some help getting back to the kitchens.”

It was a mercy that Sorsha hadn’t expected, but his hands were careful when he eased her away from the trellis and helped her walk slowly towards the kitchen door. Every step was agony. She was reasonably sure that she had a at least one broken rib, and maybe two. Maeve liked that. It made breathing harder than it already was. Still, the journey was much faster with help. Sorsha murmured a thankful blessing on the prince who was helping her, and heard him huff something like a disbelieving laugh in return.

“You’re going to lie if I ask your name, aren’t you?” he asked after a while, when they cleared the orchards and entered the kitchen gardens. “You won’t tell me who’s defying my orders. You won’t tell me your name. I expect by tomorrow, your hair won’t even be red anymore, will it?”

“Probably not,” Sorsha whispered and pulled him to a stop. “I’m- I’m sorry. I need a moment, Highness. You don’t- you don’t have to stay. I can make it.”

“I should carry you up to the royal wing and lock you in,” he muttered, but helped her sit and knelt in front of her to regard her closely. “But I’m reasonably sure you’d be gone before I could come back with a healer. Just for my own information, are you a ghost?”

“I don’t think so, Highness,” Sorsha told him wryly, but kept her eyes down, as was appropriate for a serving girl before a prince. “If so, it’s recent.”

“I’ll assume you’re not,” he decided and muttered something profoundly rude under his breath before he stood to pace. He didn’t strike her as a man who liked to be still for long. “Look at me, damn you. You saved my life against my sister’s pet killer. I owe you some protection, if nothing else.”

“You kept him from killing me in the same moment. There is no debt owed.” It was too formal for a serving girl. Sorsha cursed herself for a fool when he focused on her suddenly. She would have bolted if she could. It probably wouldn’t do any good. She was slow on her best day, and he was a warrior in fighting trim. “Please, Highness. I’m just a one of the maids. We all hated him.”

“Do you all know enough about swordplay to identify a weak guard, or an overextended back-swing?”

Sorsha didn’t answer, but they both knew that was an answer itself. Naevelon sighed and offered her his hands. After a moment’s hesitation, she took them and let him help her back to her feet.

“Come on,” he said, apparently resigned to her stubbornness, at least for now. “I’ll see you back to the safety of your own bed. Is the cook going to poison me if I tell him to give you light duty until you’re healed?”

“Master Tassaros would never ruin good food with poison,” Sorsha said with a small, painful laugh. “This isn’t the first time I’ve fallen down the stairs. Downstairs takes care of its own.”

“So I’ve learned. Now lean on me. The servant’s quarters aren’t far past the kitchen,” he said and steadied her as they made their way down the garden path to the warmly-lit kitchen door and the safety that waited within. “Do me a favor and don’t vanish again until my healer sees to you. It will be easier to dodge me if you aren’t purple from brow to chin.”

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Once Cursed

Dance of Blades

Into the Underbrush (Subscriber Only!)

Behind the Walls

Changing Names (Subscriber Only!)

Fallen Down the Stairs (New!)

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MASTERLIST

[officialleehadan]

Using Words

Knights of the Round

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Generally speaking, Lancelot did not expect Guinevere to manhandle him.

Arthur, sure. Arthur was taller than him, and stronger too, or he was, last time they sparred hand-to-hand, which was admittedly some centuries in the past. There was no reason to assume his king was any less capable now. He had seen the hard muscle Arthur hid beneath his favorite jacket, and wouldn’t be underestimating his king any time soon.

Guinevere, however, had always been a metaphorical force of nature. These days, she just happened to also be a physical force of nature.

“Did I know you could pick me up?” he asked Guinevere’s admittedly-perfect backside from his position over her shoulder. “I feel like I’m supposed to be the one carrying you around.”

“I didn’t think you would stick around to talk things out if I asked nicely,” she said cheerfully, barely even slowed under his weight, even though he weighed a solid sixteen stone or so. Clearly her own training in her chosen sport left her strong enough to do as she pleased. It had some very intriguing possibilities, provided he didn’t get set on fire in a minute.  “You already got to have your emotional reckoning with Arthur. It’s my turn.”

“Ominous. May I walk?”

“Are you gong to run if I put you down?”

Lancelot considered lying to her, considered the debt he still owed her for the whole catastrophe that was Camelot, and sighed. “On my honor, I will not depart the conversation without your permission, excepting only for an emergency, or Arthur’s command.”

Guinevere paused, and then unceremoniously dropped him in the grass. Lancelot landed well, despite being dropped like a sack of flour, and looked up to see Arthur sitting back against a tree only a few steps away. He was laughing. Guinevere was visibly pleased with herself.

“When I suggested you go talk to him, I didn’t actually mean for you to bag him like a prize buck,” Arthur said through chuckles. Lancelot propped himself up but didn’t attempt to stand. Guinevere watched him closely, but finally relented enough to sit beside Arthur. “Are you alright?”

“Well, the Wizard hasn’t set me on fire yet, so better than expected,” Lancelot told him sardonically, and leaned back on his hands. “Alright, might as well get it out. I’m sorry, Guen. Not for loving you. Never for that, but for… everything that happened because of it.”

“You regret it?” Guen asked, oddly careful, when she had given him the impression of a human battering ram most of the time up to now. “The affair, or the consequences?”

“Mostly the lies that led to the consequences, if we’re being honest,” he said with a heartfelt sigh. He was too old to have strong emotions about the fall of Camelot anymore. It had happened, and it was terrible, and it was his fault, but it was done and there was no undoing it. There was a time when he would have said it was the worst thing to ever happen to the world, but he had lived through two world wars since then. Compared to that, even given the personal nature of it, the fall of Camelot was relatively minor. “That it cost so many people so much. That it cost your lives. That was the worst part, after everything.”

He would never forget seeing them both dead. Arthur on the field of battle, surrounded by a mountain of soldiers who died to bring don the legendary king. In the end, none of them had. It was Mordred who fired the arrow that found Arthur’s heart.

Guinevere outlived him, but only by a few hours as she drank poison to keep Mordred from taking her alive. Lancelot got there just in time for one last kiss before she was gone.

The crushing grief of their loss would have killed him if he hadn’t already been immortal. As it was, he went on a rampage of revenge that left Mordred scrambling and all of his fellow Knights shaken by his brutality.

Seeing them alive now was like breathing for the first time in centuries.

Getting bodily dragged over to them was more surprising, but Arthur had always been determined, and he was significantly stronger than Lancelot. He used his own body-weight to simply haul Lancelot over until his back was propped against Arthur’s chest. Guinevere, never willing to let an opportunity pass by, immediately climbed into Lancelot’s lap, straddling his hips. Arthur waited until she was settled and rested his chin on Lancelot’s shoulder..

Very much captured, Lancelot could only wait to see what they wanted of him, baffled, but admittedly pleased by their new position.

“Just to be clear, completely, utterly, and transparently clear,” Arthur said in his ear, one arm wrapped tight around Lancelot’s ribs and his free hand comfortable on Guinevere’s hip. “We, having discussed it, would like you to join our relationship, preferably as a permanent member. No sneaking. No lies. All three of us together.”

“I think I might be dead,” Lancelot replied, a little dumb, since he had Guinevere in his lap, and because Arthur’s hand was creeping up his shirt lazily. “Or maybe dreaming? This can’t be- OW!”

Arthur laughed behind him having given him a firm pinch right in the ribs. Lancelot managed not to throw Guinevere off him, but it was a close thing, and Arthur had to grab them both to steady her.

“You’re not dreaming, Guen told him and traced her callused fingers over his cheek. He stared up at her wonderingly as her red hair fell down around them, “You’re not dead. We want you. We’ve wanted you since before we died, and we want you more now that we’re alive again.”

“And were able to have a few conversations about what we want, and who we want it with,” Arthur agreed. Lancelot was still somewhat incapable of words, so he only nodded, mouth dry and heart humming. “The answer to both of those is you, by the way, if you’re interested.”

“The Wizard is going to light me on fire,” Lancelot said through the haze of wonder that was clouding his mind. “Yes, gods, demons, anyone who watches out for idiots and fools, yes. I want you both so much it hurts.”

“Good,” Arthur whispered in his ear as Guinevere bent to kiss Lancelot as if they were still the young lovers they once were, long ago. “I hope you’re ready, my Knight, because we intend to find out just how much you’ve learned in the last few centuries. I hope you can keep up.”

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Knights of the Round:

Sword and Beast (Subscribers Only!)

Cousins in Arms (Subscribers Only!)

Do Not Microwave

Four Knights and a Beast

The Lion of Lyonesse

Stone Table

Wizard Games

Lake Ghosts (Subscribers Only!)

Pub Welcome

Luck du Lac

Musical Knights (Subscribers Only!)

Three Good Punches

Oath Renewed

Dust or Gold

Using Words (New!)

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MASTERLIST

[officialleehadan]

Escort Equipped

To Build an Empire

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Cuira allowed her maids to tease her in a way she might otherwise have shut down, simply because she was in such a good mood. As it was, the word spread quickly among her maids exactly how Bess had found her, and who she had been with at the time.

“I’ll never know how you do it,” Maritza complained cheerfully as she finished with Cuira’s hair and began threading glittering pins into it. “We’re all of us trained to watch you, keep you safe, and otherwise make sure nobody is getting close enough to do you harm, and yet, somehow, that hulking husband of yours managed to get into your rooms without any of us knowing about it.”

“He is your emperor, Maritza,” Cuira chided her gently, because while teasing was acceptable, even welcome, disrespect to her husband was not to be permitted. She liked Maritza, but Cuira knew perfectly well who was paying her maids, and that it wasn’t her. Until she was certain of their loyalty, her trust would have to remain her own. “And he was trained in infiltration before he was an emperor. Do you think those skills simply disappeared when he was given a throne?”

Maritza paused, chastened by the firm, although kind correction of her behavior. Cuira patted her hand reassuringly. She wasn’t angry, but there was decorum required, and as one of Cuira’s maids, her behavior did reflect on the throne.

“How long has he been coming to your rooms?” Whiloh asked more softly and helped Cuira up, towards her gown for the day. Dominik would almost certainly be wearing his armor to lunch with her father, and she intended to match him. Rather than wear red twice in two days, she opted for almost-black navy blue, decorated with crystal stars, stitched into perfect constellations. It took three maids to get her into it. One to steady her, one to hoist the dress up, and a third to lace it tight. “None of us have seen a bit of him, but lately you’ve seemed… close.”

“You need only know that he is not a stranger to me,” Cuira said, knowing that it would do more to frazzle her maids, and any spies they reported to, than anything else she had to say on the matter. “But do please feel free to come up with whatever colorful exaggerations you feel my father will believe. I encourage your creativity, provided that it retains the facts of who you found in my bed, and what we were doing when you found us there.”

It was something of a risk, but it also wasn’t a secret who they reported to. They could prove their loyalty to her by allowing her father to chase his tail in any direction that they chose.

Dressed, bejeweled, and ready for war, Cuira gave herself a once-over and caught Bess’s eye. “Please check on Hindera this morning. I have not seen her since she came aboard, and I promised she would want for nothing.”

“Yes Empress,” Bess said, still smiling to herself. “Would you like me to attend her?”

“If her own maids are not treating her with appropriate respect, yes, but tell me first.”

“Yes, Empress.”

Maids settled, Cuira nodded to Whiloh and Maritza to follow her, and checked the small comm that hid neatly away in a pocked amid her skirts. Dominik had sent her a message, requesting her presence by the siegebreaker wing of the ship, where he was to introduce her to the siegebreaker who would be assigned to her side. It would be a protection and assistance in one, for it would take a strong assault indeed to go through even a single one of Dominik’s enhanced soldiers, but she also needed those same enhanced senses to pick out the loyal among the court.

It was very difficult to find good help when everyone she spoke to lied as easily as breathing.

“We have a stop to make before we go to the meeting rooms,” she said when they were on one of the many transports that hummed through the base. This one was hers, of course, but there were many aboard the immense space-base. It wasn’t far to the siegebreaker’s wing. She had wondered about that before, about her nearness to what she thought was simply the bulk of their military. Now she suspected it was because Dominik’s rooms were still among them. “My imperial husband has promised an escort of one of his elite, which should make my meetings with the household go more smoothly.”

“And if he doesn't, you can have them shoot whoever is annoying you,” Maritza said slyly. Cuira didn’t laugh, but it was a near thing. “Where are we to meet His Imperial Majesty?”

Cuira sent a message to Dominik and got a reply that came so quickly he must have been waiting for it. “The training rooms.”

Cuira had never been to the training rooms. It wasn’t even close to appropriate after all, but she was beginning to realize that she didn’t particularly care what was appropriate. She had sacrificed far too much to propriety, and refused to let it steal away her happiness now that she was just beginning to find it. Still, it wasn’t like the ship didn’t know who she was, and Dominik’s siegebreakers would certainly know her, on sight if nothing else, but they very probably knew her by scent as well.

That was harder for her to understand, and made her a little uncomfortable, but there was nothing for it. They couldn’t turn off their senses, and she didn’t blame them for it.

She did ask Dominik if her perfume was bothersome, but he assured her that it wasn’t. The way he smiled faintly when he said it suggested he had more to say on the matter, but he kept whatever it was to himself.

The scene inside the training rooms of the siegebreakers was one of controlled chaos wrapped in careful order. There were other soldiers among them. Those who were brave or foolish enough to train with soldiers many times their own strength and speed. All the same, it was clear that the siegebreakers welcomed those soldiers in and taught them. Better, it let the regular soldiers practice techniques that would kill or maim a weaker opponent.

Cuira new almost nothing of military affairs. She couldn’t even throw a punch, and despite having a rough idea of how to stab someone, it being fairly self-evident, she didn’t have more than that.

Still, the first sight of her husband, battling against three of his own soldiers, left her mouth dry.

He was shirtless, muscles on display as he fought back. The three soldiers in the ring with him, two men and a woman, pushed him hard. None of them had weapons, but bruises bloomed under their hands whenever someone landed a blow. Those bruises barely had time to show purple before they were gone again, washed away by the nanites that made them what they were.

Dominik was giving a good showing of himself, to Cuira’s inexperienced eyes. She thought they were trying to take him ‘alive’, which made sense, all things considered. Dominik was an emperor now, and while many would try to kill him, more still could wish to capture him for their own purposes. She was glad to see him training for that possibility.

She might not be able to protect him, but at least he was more than able to protect himself.

Cuira saw the moment he noticed her. He paused just for a moment, gave her a roguish wink, and kicked one of the other siegebreakers hard enough to send him flying out of the ring. The woman dove at him, but although her strength was likely close to his, she was still much smaller. He caught her, and bodily threw her at his third opponent. Before any of them could recover, he ran for the corner of the ring, where another man was waiting, and tagged his hand.

“Match!” the fifth man yelled, and the other three pulled themselves to their feet, grinning and groaning playfully. Dominik paused to talk with them, and clapped one of the men on the shoulder. The woman punched him in the ribs, but it looked playful even to Cuira’s eyes. The woman then whirled and pounced on the third man for a frankly obscene kiss,. He caught her easily, and staggered for a nearby door, to the hoots and whistles of everyone who saw them.

Dominik only shook his head and climbed out of the ring to join her. He snagged a loose shirt off one of the nearby benches, but, much to her delight, did not put it on.

“You got here faster than expected, or I would have met you at the door,” he said, just a little breathless, and with his friend, the fifth man in his match, at his heels. Cuira thought about giving him the very-appropriate curtsey she should offer her emperor, and stood on her toes for a kiss instead. He made a small, surprised noise but leaned down to meet her with a pleased hum. Whistles echoed from around them. “What was that for?”

“I thought it was simply the way your siegebreakers end a successful match,” Cuira said impishly and startled a laugh out of him. “But if it was inappropriate…”

“Just unexpected,” he told her a shade too quickly, and slung his shirt over one shoulder before taking her hand. With the other, he beckoned his friend, who wore a very amused grin, forward. He was a tall man, taller even than Dominik, although not as heavily-muscled, and boasted close-cut blonde hair, and blue eyes. Like Dominik, he sported the metallic ring of nanites around the iris of his eyes, although they barely showed against the blue. “Cuira, this is Jyn Deurians, my closest friend, and second in command of the siegebreakers. I asked if he would mind working with you and he agreed to help with whatever you need.”

“Nice to meet you, Empress,” Jyn said, polite, although still resoundingly, charmingly, incorrect. He gave her something like a bow and Cuira resolved to arrange etiquette lessons for any of the siegebreakers who agreed to them. She thought their blunt honesty was delightful, but there were many courts where it would be a liability. “I hear you have a problem with people lying to you. I’ll be able to sniff them out for you. Plus, I’m pretty good at killing things.”

“You really should have had a siegebreaker escort before now,” Dominik said apologetically, but Cuira waved it off. “Jyn’s one of our best, and I trust him completely.”

“High praise, my husband,” Cuira said and smiled up at Jyn. “I would be glad for the escort, and I do need help with the household. The perils of running an empire. Everyone wants to know what we’re thinking before we think it.”

“Sounds stressful.”

“Depends on their motivations and how annoyed I can make them on the way.”

Jyn stared at her, and then burst out laughing and clapped Dominik on the shoulder. “It figures you married the only noble girl around with as much sass as you. Go shower. I’ll watch out for your empress.”

“You’re an ass,” Dominik muttered to him, but kissed Cuira again, to the titters and giggles of her maids, and Jyn’s snickers. “I promise he knows how to be appropriate when he feels like it.”

“I never doubted it,” Cuira promised, and cast her eyes on Jyn, adopting a strict expression that he could almost certainly see right through. “Commander, I will need you garbed appropriately. I assume you have something resembling my dear husband’s armor?���

“I- yeah?” Jyn said, apparently startled out of his laughter. “I have a dress uniform too, somewhere.”

“I would rather you look somewhat terrifying. Fear, I have discovered, makes people more inclined towards honesty,” Cuira said, and leaned into her husband’s shoulder, still just a little resentful that they had been interrupted this morning. Hopefully it wouldn’t take much to talk Dominik into another visit to her chambers, this time with rather more intent involved. “Now if you do not mind, Commander. I have a meeting in fifteen minutes. Shall you meet us there, or can you be ready in time?”

“Give me five and I'll be ready,” Jyn said cheerfully and clapped Dominik on the shoulder. “Come on, Dom. Kiss your Empress and wrap it up. You need a shower before you go yell at the generals.”

“Fine, fine,” Dominik sighed, but he did kiss Cuira one more time, lingering and sweeter than she would have expected before she got to know him. When they parted, he brushed his thumb over her lips and Cuira gave him a very wicked smile that made his heart speed under her hand. “Minx. Go on, I’ll see you for lunch with your father in a few hours. Perhaps by the time I get there, I’ll feel less like shooting him.”

“If you decide to do it anyway, warn me first. This is a complicated dress,” Cuira teased him brightly and gestured at her dress. On a whim, he lifted their joined hands and encouraged her to spin for him, which she did gladly. “Blood would ruin it, and that would be a shame.”

“Perish the thought,” he agreed, and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. “Now go on, or you’ll be late. Jyn, keep her safe. I don’t trust Steil not to try something stupid while my back is turned.”

+++

To Build an Empire:

Garden Dome (Subscriber Only!)

Claxon Call

First Name Basis

Arrangement of Nobles (Subscriber Only!)

Of Adamant

Cross an Ocean (Subscriber Only!)

The Second Challenge (Subscriber Only!)

Snacks and Snipers

Torn Silk and Blood

Hostage Explained

New Understandings (Subscriber Only!)

Dinner Door

Enter Together (Subscriber Only!)

Changing Loyalties (Subscriber Only!)

Shots Across the Plate (Subscriber Only!)

Wine and Words (Subscriber Only!)

Waking Discovery

Escort Equipped (New!)

+++

MASTERLIST

[officialleehadan]

A Little Fun

And Demon Makes Three

+++

“I’ve been reading about demon Contracts,” Emily said, halfway through packing up her kitchen as they got ready to move. Andrea was safe under the watchful gaze of a pair of hellhounds so that Emily could focus on packing. Ithpraz was sitting at the kitchen island looking mostly human for the day. He offered to help her pack and she might take him up on it, but not for a while. “We don’t have one of those.”

“That’s because we don’t have a formal arrangement,” Ithpraz said, casually peeling an orange with his long, golden claws. They and his horns were the only parts of him that looked demonic at the moment, although his skin was also somewhat more true metal golden than humans tended to sport. He tilted his head to regard her. “I don’t suppose we have properly discussed that. An oversight on my part.”

“Should I be worried?”

A Little Fun

+++

And Demon Makes Three:

Puppies and Play

Whistle for Hell

Find the Best

A Little Fun (Subscriber Only!) (New!)

+++

MASTERLIST

[officialleehadan]

If It Bites You

Hello darlings! Today's story was brought to you by Bradford! Darling, thank you so much for all your support! It means the world to me!

Prompt: The Monster of the Isle with: "Hey I think I might be toxic. Also where should I put this very dead snake?"

+++

“So uh, I have a question.”

It’s Craig. I didn’t expect him to survive this long, but he’s been surprisingly careful about not touching things, and very sensibly doesn’t try to save people who are already dead from their own choices. These days, we’re pretty much down to just the smart members of our group, and deaths are a lot less common. Craig has survived long enough for it not to be an accident.

Then again, he’s also holding a dead snake, so the jury’s still kind of out.

“What does it mean when something bites you and it dies?” he asks and gestures with the snake still in his hand, looking a little bit lost. “I didn’t bite it, so it’s not venomous, right?”

“Toxic,” Saffina supplies from her workstation and eyes the dead snake. “If you bite it and it dies, you’re venomous. If it bites you and it dies, you’re toxic.”

“If you bite each other and nobody dies it’s kinky,” Círce calls with a grin that would be promising on anyone else and mostly just serves to bare her fangs. She hasn’t let the scientists look at her teeth yet, but I’m betting that she is packing some serious venom. “So, dead snake?”

“Uh, yeah,” Craig says and looks around aimlessly. “So uh. Where do I put it?”

“Did it die before or after you touched it?” Saffina asks, and pulls on gloves before she comes over to examine the snake. “And you’re sure it’s really dead?”

“Broke its neck even after I was pretty sure it was dead. Didn’t want to take chances.”

“Good choice. In the box.”

Craig obligingly drops the snake into the box Saffina offers. Her claws can go right through her thin gloves, but they’ll protect her hands from any potential contact poisons. When the new specimen is contained, he edges in my direction a little bit nervous, and seeking the same reassurance I tend to give my Pack.

“So… changes,” he says tentatively. Now that I’m listening, there’s a weird little chitter under his voice. I wonder what other traits he’s gotten that he either didn’t notice or didn’t mention. “I’m… I think I’m toxic now. I didn’t even see it before it bit me and wrapped around my arm. Started to squeeze before it went limp all at once.”

“If it wrapped around you and started to squeeze it was a constrictor,” Saffina says, and looks into the box again. “That makes sense. It’s too heavy-bodied for a viper. Just in case, stay close. We don’t have any antivenoms, but if you start having venom effects, we’ll do what we can for you.”

“Thanks Saff. So boss… uh. What now?”

“Guess you’re Pack now,” I say with a shrug and catch Zack’s eye. He’s much better at keeping everyone in order. My job is just to kind of be the person people lay on when they freak out. Saffina took a nap on my shoulder after the acid claws revelation and Marishka purred and petted her hair. It was nice. “So your job is gonna change. Once we know what all has changed for you, we’ll move you to a job that works best with your new abilities.”

“I’m stronger too,” Craig says uncomfortably. “But I didn’t know about the poison part.”

“Sit down. I’ll test your fluids and get you some answers,” Saffina says reassuringly. She switches gloves now that the snake is dead and goes for the communal took kits for swabs. Craig is still bleeding from where the snake bit him, so she tests that too, before drawing a little blood, and swabbing the inside of his cheek. “We have baseline tests for everyone here, so I should be able to compare what you were to what you are now.”

“No cuddles until after we know you’re not dangerous to touch,” Siggi says, completely unbothered by so much physical contact, although some of the more American soldiers are a little bit weird about it. I’m glad that Zack just doesn’t care, and Siggi isn’t American. Círceisn’t as touchy as Marishka who is delighted to drape herself on anyone who holds still long enough. “How did you get bitten by a snake, anyway?”

“You know when people say ‘if it was a snake, it would have bit me’? Craig asks with a rueful smile, although he holds absolutely still as Saffina takes a small skin sample from his hand. It doesn’t bleed. Saffina is careful. “It was a snake. It bit me.”

“You didn’t grab it?”

“Thought it was a stick across a pack I was trying to move.”

He was lucky. So incredibly lucky, both that it was a constrictor, and that he happened to be toxic himself. Anyone else in our group would have struggled and many of them would have died. My Pack would probably be alright, but that’s something different. They all have alternative options for getting out of a bad situation.

“I’m glad you’re not dead,” I tell him and pat his shoulder, careful only to touch his body armor, just in case the rest of him is toxic too. “Don’t worry. Saffina will figure out what’s going on with you, and when she does, we’ll get you settled into the pack.”

+++

The Monster of the Isle:

Isle of Monsters

Return to the Isle of Monsters

Monsterpedia   (Subscriber Only!)

Doom in the Distance (Subscriber Only!)

Eight Down

In the Trees (Subscriber Only!)

Specimen Hunting

First Changes (Subscriber Only!)

Croczilla

Flying Vampire Frogs (Subscriber Only!)

Unsettling

In the Food

On-The-Go Snacking (Subscriber Only!)

Drum Doom (Subscriber Only!)

Below Beasts

Monster Versus Monster (Subscriber Only!)

Fight or Flight (Subscriber Only!)

Pack to Defend (Subscriber Only!)

Adjusting Time (Subscriber Only!)

Acid Claws

Smell What's Coming (Subscriber Only!)

If It Bites You (New!)

+++

MASTERLIST

[officialleehadan]

Smell What's Coming

The Monster of the Isle

+++

Carson isn’t happy about the changes in our group.

It’s not like it was a surprise of course. Everyone on this trip knew that they would be seeing changes because of the Isle’s unique symbiote. All the same, now that we’re starting to see those changes in people outside me and my pack, people are getting nervous. I suspect it’s one of those things that most of them figured would happen to other people, not to them.

Círce takes over keeping poor Saffina calm. She’s got some sort of science background, and all of Team Science is happy to talk about what they’re studying here on Hell Island. It doesn’t take long for Saffina to get all wrapped up in telling Círce about her work.

That leaves the rest of my pack on guard duty, and leaves me to go talk to Carson.

Smell What's Coming

+++

The Monster of the Isle:

Isle of Monsters

Return to the Isle of Monsters

Monsterpedia   (Subscriber Only!)

Doom in the Distance (Subscriber Only!)

Eight Down

In the Trees (Subscriber Only!)

Specimen Hunting

First Changes (Subscriber Only!)

Croczilla

Flying Vampire Frogs (Subscriber Only!)

Unsettling

In the Food

On-The-Go Snacking (Subscriber Only!)

Drum Doom (Subscriber Only!)

Below Beasts

Monster Versus Monster (Subscriber Only!)

Fight or Flight (Subscriber Only!)

Pack to Defend (Subscriber Only!)

Adjusting Time (Subscriber Only!)

Acid Claws

Smell What's Coming (Subscriber Only!)

If It Bites You (New!)

+++

MASTERLIST

[officialleehadan]

Glass Rescue

City on a Cliff

+++

Meira couldn’t swim.

There was never any reason for her to learn, living in the desert as she did. Oh, she could paddle a little bit, thanks to the cool baths of her city, and she had been wading in the river once or twice, always with capable guards who could swim there to make sure she didn’t get into trouble.

The shock of the ice-filled, black water of this northern river was something completely different.

The cold forced the breath from her lungs even as her head met the hard ice. The river was not iced over yet, and never froze completely thanks to ice-breaker barges that went up and down it daily. Still, there was more than enough to make the landing bruisingly hard.

Glass Rescue

+++

City on a Cliff:

Glass Shadow

Glass Heart 

Glass Fire  (Subscriber Only!)

Glass Light

Glass Wishes (Subscriber Only!)

Glass Bubbles

Glass Moon (Subscriber Only!)

Glass Question (Subscriber Only!)

Glass Water

Glass Cascade

Glass Welcome

Glass Whispers

Glass Temper

Glass Ice

Glass Rescue (Subscriber Only!) (New!)

+++

MASTERLIST

[officialleehadan]

Tested Flame

Stone Kisses

+++

In the end, Tallinvar insisted on buffering Alivir when they finished building out his scrying matrix. It was as clean as possible, and reasonably simple, which Alivir hoped meant it wouldn’t be too complicated to use properly.

Of course there was the question of whether or not his mind could handle the strain of watching more than one person at once, and whether he could direct any of those visions in the direction he wanted. Having Tallinvar ‘riding along’ silently, hot blue flames that curled in on themselves cautiously so as not to burn him. From here, he could see the way Tallinvar’s power flickered and danced anxiously despite his own masterful control of his magic.

(Ready?) he thought carefully at Tallinvar. Neither of the had a meaningful talent for mid-magics, but with Tallinvar in his mind, many things were possible. (It’s going to be confusing, and overwhelming.)

(I know,)  Tallinvar replied the same way. His flames were neatly anchored in his own body, which was in turn anchored downward, magic spreading through the stones beneath him like roots. He was their protection and the assurance that would keep Alivir from getting pulled in too deep. Dainea watched them closely, but she had no magic of her own. Even if she had, Alivir would be reluctant to allow her into these visions. They were not likely to be pleasant. (I’m ready. Go ahead.)

With one more steadying breath, he poured the pitcher of crystal clear, clean water into the bowl over his mirror matrix and looked down.

The visions came at him between one moment and the next.

Slavers hollered boasts and threats as they pushed their wares, a dozen cowering slaves, through a distant market. The scent of spices was heavy in the air, but so was the stench of fear. Buyers passed through the shaking crowd, examining them closely. None of them saw the clever young boy with light hands picking the locks on the slaves’ ankle-chains. With on yank, they were free and sprinting towards safety while their masters shouted after them.

The warlord stared across a table at Eikh, who was unmoved, but visibly displeased. Even through the vision there as a sense of weight to the air as the elderly mastermage spread his power through the room, ready to make his point if the need arose. The warlord slammed his hand flat on the table. “You will surrender the boy to me. His blood is claimed by right of discovery!”

Alivir’s father worked in his shop. Molten glass, orange with heat and liquid as warm honey, dripped from his blow-pipe, and were spun artfully back into the gather. As soon as he put lips to the pipe, the molten glass bloomed outward into a perfect, transparent bubble, covered in perfectly-spaced twists of white cane glass that spiraled around the bubble. Two of his apprentices stood by, until he nodded and they darted back so he could press the orange-glowing bubble into an ornate mold.

The warlord’s chief mage skulked through the halls. He knew that the students of Eikh were somewhere, but he was not sure where. His lordly master had commanded him to find the boy, Tallinvar, and drag him from the school. On the way, he heard rumors of a seer, more powerful than any the world had known, and of the beautiful woman who had presented herself so sweetly in the courtyard. Perhaps when the warlord was done with her, she would be the reward he might claim for his success.

(Alivir.)

A great storm ripped through the capital city far to the east. The weather-mages had been warning the king for weeks, but now there was a great tower of twisting wind, cutting a path across the flatlands. Red with the dry soil laid bare by too many centuries of farming, it was too powerful to turn. Too powerful to stop. Too powerful even to weaken. It would kill thousands when it hit the city.

(Alivir?)

The monster was not pleased. The little seer was learning faster than it expected. He was beginning to look with his true eyes. It would have to be careful indeed, and feast on the unknowing offerings of the school until he once again became lazy. Until his companions grew tired of his endless, bleak warnings. Soon enough , they would hand him to it themselves, simply to be rid of the dark bird that gave them no gifts.

(Alivir!)

Blue fire cut through the visions, smooth and clean as glass, and tightly-controlled. Alivir yanked his mind out of the visions, grasping for the scant control that was not, might never be, enough to keep him from madness. Tallinvar felt like worry now, but he held his position, the strong anchor that allowed Alivir to pull himself out, and enough to let him try again.

(I’m alright,) he said, a little raw but determined now that he knew the device worked. It needed refinement, but it was working. That meant that his goal to watch all of the threats on them was workable. (Think you can handle another go?)

(more slowly this time, I think I see how to buffer you better,) Tallinvar said. Alivir felt more of that blue fire wrap around and through his mind. It was oddly intimate in a way he wasn’t strictly comfortable with, but that was true of most magic like this. There was no getting away from the closeness that came from sharing a mind.

A vision pulled at him, but he didn’t have time to see more than a glimpse of a young boy, in ragged clothes, being flung before a much-younger version of the mage now stalking them. Almost at the same time Alivir realized who the boy was, that he was looking at Tallinvar, his fellow student’s power lurched sideways in shock. Him, Alivir realized of the boy, who stared up at the mage, terrified and bloody. The boy was Tallinvar.

Before he could see more, he forced his eyes closed, and the vision faded like mist.

“Sorry,” he rasped aloud as their connection broke. Dainea, who had been reading as she waited for them to finish their experiment, came over with water for them both. “I wasn’t trying to see it.”

“I know,” Tallinvar said after taking a long gulp of the water. He was sheet-pale again, and his hands were shaking. He spilled some of his water down his sleeve, and Dainea simply steadied him, before she helped him drink. “I knew you might See something of me anyway. I might as well tell you the truth, before you find out for yourself. You were- are- looking for the warlord’s mage. His name is Imalthen Wishtain, and there was a time when I called him father.”

+++

Stone Kisses:

Save Me

Spell to See

Kiss to Save

Dust-Streaked (Special thanks to Brandon for the commission!)

Fall Over Fall Back

Reflective Reflection (Subscriber Only!)

Water Runes (Subscriber Only!)

Burning Papers (Subscriber Only!)

Wink out the Light

Catlike Tread

Courtyard Ruined

Down the Hole (Subscriber Only!)

In the Deep

Blinding Sight

Emerge from the Dark

Smoke-glass Lamp

Stone to Mud

Midnight Screaming

Breakfast Discussion

Tome-Scribe

Shouting Calm (Subscriber Only!)

Feared Arrival

Mirror Matrix (Subscriber Only!)

Tested Flame (New!)

+++

MASTERLIST

[officialleehadan]

Blood Debt Battle

Hello darlings! Today's story was brought to you by Kiliakit! Darling, thank you so much for your support!

Prompt: HGE – Local Librarian

+++

TW: This one is kind of bloody because well. Draco.

+++

Kos was incredibly strong and impossibly fast.

Draco was savage.

Laure had the strange sense that she shouldn’t be able to actually track them though the fight as their bodies blurred, clashed together, and blurred again with never a foot set out of place. Red lines appeared on Kos’s arm when Draco drew first blood, but only a moment later he flew backwards when Kos landed a hit to his ribs that would have killed a human.

It might well have killed a lesser vampire as well, but Draco barely landed from the blow before he was blurring forwards again with a vicious hiss. He ducked under Kos’s next swing and laded two of his own in quick succession before sliding away from the older vampire’s grasping hands again.

“Kos is stronger than he is,” Victor said lowly to Laure. He was tense, but there was something to his voice that reassured her. He was angry at the situation, but he wasn’t worried. He wasn’t afraid for Draco despite his fondness for his self-proclaimed nephew. “But Draco is faster, and knows more about fighting another vampire.”

“Is that common?” Laure wondered anxiously. Victor might not be worried, but she certainly was. “This kind of challenge fight?”

“Not among those of our age, no. The younger generations have more infighting, especially in Covens with less experienced Elders,” Teucer said. Like Victor, his eyes stayed on the fight, but he did not seem overly concerned despite the blood that spattered across the white marble floor. “It shouldn’t have happened here, either. If Kos wanted to take a run at Draco, he should have waited until the situation was less damned dire.”

“Draco has been avoiding him. No interest in the fight,” Victor explained over Laure’s head. She looked up at him and he shrugged a little. “His sire was a bastard who had it coming. Most of us figure Draco earned his revenge, even if he did make a menace of himself on the way. We avoided him until he calmed down a little, and generally agreed to let the blood-debt die where it fell.”

“But Kos didn’t? Why not?”

“I’ve always assumed he was hit in the head too many times before he was Turned, but there’s really no telling.”

The fight was swiftly turning and now Laure could truly see why nobody sensible wanted to fight Draco. Although Kos had landed a few hits on him here and there, they were minor compared to the long slashes that Kos wore. The blood on the floor was his. Laure bit her lip when he drove his claws into Draco’s side, but Draco didn’t even slow. He slashed his own claws across Kos’s face, scored deep, bloody lines on his way, and wrenched back. Kos yelled in pain, although the slashes closed quickly.

“You can’t win this,” Draco said, apparently unbothered by his own swiftly-healing injuries. Kos spat blood and snarled at him, but the truth of Draco’s words was visible even to Laure’s untrained eyes. Draco shrugged off his ruined shirt and revealed a black-scaled dragon who cradled a golden-haired mermaid in its claws, that dominated his back in incredible detail. Thick bars of Roman writing lined his arms from wrist to elbow. Names, Laure realized when he passed close enough for her to read a few in a hurried glance. There must be a hundred of them, inked in black onto his skin. “I would rather not kill you. Surrender and lay this vendetta aside and we will let it die here.”

“The only thing that will die here is you,” Kos said coldly and lunged forward. Draco cursed and tried to dodge, but not fast enough. Laure gasped when Kos slammed into Draco and took him to the ground. Victor’s hand on her shoulder tightened, although his expression never wavered when Laure glanced up at him. The two vampires rolled across the rung that she held even though she longed to intervene for her friend. “I will rip out your heart!”

“Worse than you have tried and failed,” Draco, but the laughter was gone from his voice and his eyes. Now, Laure realized, he was taking the fight seriously. Kos locked his arm around Draco’s throat from behind and tightened brutally. Vampires did not need to breathe of course, but Kos was strong enough to rip Draco’s head from his shoulders if he got the leverage. Draco clawed at him, but he held on grimly.

For the first time, Draco let his fangs slip into sight and, before Kos could stop him, he bit into the thick arm that had locked around his throat. Kos gave a yell of pain and tried to wrench away, but to do it, he had to release his hold on Draco. They scattered away from each other and Draco watched him warily. His breath, unneeded but habitual, wheezed in his crushed throat as it healed. His lips were red with blood.

“You taste like old bourbon, Uncle dearest,” he said as the last traces of his gentle, human facade slipped away, baring only the monster whose name was synonymous with their kind. The vampire other vampires feared. The greatest hunter of his own kind to ever haunt the night. “I never took more than one bite of my Sire, did you know? Only the first one, stolen when he tried that same move on me long ago. He was so weak couldn’t kill me back when I was human and weak and he had every advantage. What makes you think you can do it now?”

Kos roared his fury at the reminder of his lost friend. The one who Draco had murdered for a revenge that still pained him so much that he could barely talk about it in anything but the vaguest terms. Victor told her while Draco was out of the hotel, about the Lost Century. Ninety-nine human lives stolen by a gluttonous vampire, and one single Childe left in the ruins who would become the worst of their kind.

She hadn’t understood then. Not when all she knew of Draco was his easy laugh and outrageous heels. She had seen him fight of course, when he helped to save her from the shadows, but that was not this. It was not brutal, and bloody, and filthy with hatred. Even then, he had not been frightening.

Now she knew better.

When Draco flickered out of sight, so fast that even her goddess-blessed vision lost him, her breath caught.

When he reappeared, holding a bloody heart in his fist, her own heart stopped.

When Kos crumpled to the floor, already crumbling to dust, she understood.

“I tire of this farce,” Draco said coldly, streaked with blood as he crushed the heart in his hand and shook the dust off his fingers. He looked around the room, at the Elders of his kind. All older than him. Many who had backed Kos, before Laure ringed them in a thread of silken fire. “Now, my uncles and aunts and those who are neither. Will anyone else come to claim this blood-debt, or may it finally be allowed to die as it should have long ago?”

+++

HGE - Local Librarian:

Gift of a Rose

Curse-Bound Leather

Bloody Stress

Flip the Page  (Subscriber Only!)

Luxury Flight (Subscriber Only!)

Hotel of Memories

Ancient and Old (Subscriber Only!)

Hearth Not Home  (Subscriber Only!)

Of the Hearth

From the Earth  (Subscriber Only!)

Ring Panic  (Subscriber Only!)

Red Gems Black Stone (Subscriber Only!)

Unexpected Ally

The Words of History (Subscriber Only!)

A Bit of History

Enemies Old and Gone (Subscriber Only!)

Third Brother (Subscriber Only!)

Folding History (Subscriber Only!)

At War by Moonlight (Subscriber Only!)

Firebrand Burning (Subscriber Only!)

Sunrise Touched (Subscriber Only!)

Crafted Change (Subscriber Only!)

Coptic Code

The Opening Bell

Gossamer Fabric (Subscriber Only!)

Calls to Make

Two Librarians (Subscriber Only!)

All Elders Come

Caesar Story

Circle Challenge (New!)

Blood Debt Battle (New!)

+++

MASTERLIST

[officialleehadan]

Battle Scars

Myth and Magic

+++

“Are you sure you’re alright to spar?”

Seften had spent most of the day being chased around the salle by Emar, and now Mithale was teaching him how best to channel magic through the spell array on his new shield. He hadn’t expected her to know so much about pairing magic and steel. Her smile was sad when she admitted that her husband, Aelsrik, used a sword and shield. He also carried a monstrous double-handed sword, and traded between them depending on the fight.

As a result, he and Mithale spent long hours tinkering with the enchantments on his weapons, and on hers as well, before she got her blue diamond staff. Together, she and Aelsrik built out the charms on their gear, until they were nearly unstoppable, even without their own skill and magic to back up their skills with their weapons.

That wasn’t the part that had Seften worried, though. He knew that Mithale was good for hours of spellcasting, and wouldn’t even begin to sweat where any other mage would have collapsed hours before. Now, though, she was just a little pale under her tan.

“I’m fine,” she said and waved him off in favor of a mug of water from one of the squires. She smiled at the boy, who looked somewhat awestruck by her, and took a long drink. “I always forget how hot it is here is all. Just wait until we go south, to the edge of the desert.”

She was dodging the question, but he wasn’t really ready to press the issue. Not when he probably didn’t look any better after a long day of training. He had learned so much from both her and Emar, but he was also exhausted. He couldn’t exactly blame Mithale for being a little pale after casting enough magic to level a small army, all so he could see how it worked.

“I’ve never been to the desert,” he accepted the change of topic without protest, and slung his shield up over his shoulder, onto his back. He was starting to get used to the weight of it on his arm. It was actually lighter than the one he had before. So was his new sword, in fact. He wasn’t sorry to have replaced either, although he had both for a long time. They were nothing special. It was better to have weapons that would hold up to what they were soon to face. “This is about as far south as I’ve ever been, in fact.”

“I thought you had traveled a fair bit.”

“I have, but I’m a mercenary… or I suppose I was,” Seften pointed out reasonably and smiled at the serving girl who offered him the next mug of water. Emar had bowed out more than an hour earlier, claiming royal business, which was reasonable. He was the high king, after all. Seften felt entirely honored that Emar insisted on training him himself as it was. “I followed caravans and wars for the most part.”

Mithale went quiet all at once and her unnerving, featureless blue eyes landed on him. She seemed to reach for words that wouldn’t quite come before she figured herself out.

“I wonder how often we were on opposite sides,” she said softly, with a strange sort of expression, like the memory of the emotion, not of fear itself, on her face. She had been in half a dozen wars, he remembered suddenly. Wars that she barely survived. Wars she sometimes won with nobody but her husband at her side. She was the hero that came to turn the tide of wars that were almost lost. “Seften, how close did I come to killing you without ever knowing it? Without ever finding you?”

The horror written across her face was enough for him to set his water aside and pull his sister, his little sister, five years younger than him and so powerful, into his arms.

“You didn’t,” he swore to her as he frantically cast his mind over the legends of her deeds and compared them to his own scant victories. “I wasn’t here for the Green Glass invasion, I was serving King Seult during the Night Storm Wars, and I was with Queen Moonsong’s forces during The Reign of Fire. Those are the only wars you’ve been in near anywhere I was. We’ve never fought against each other. I swear.”

She took a long, shuddering breath and held tight to him. She wasn’t crying, he didn’t think, but he understood why she was so shaken. It would have been easy, so easy, for him to have been on the other side of her. To have been one of twenty thousand soldiers who died under her spells as she held back an invasion, or when she and her husband summoned up the ghost of an ancient dragon and burned an entire battlefield to hard glass.

“You weren’t there,” she whispered, almost to herself. “You weren’t there. I didn’t hurt you. Did you… did you even see us during the Night Storm Wars?”

“Once,” Seften told her, and pulled her out of the salle towards the gardens. The salle wasn’t the right place for this conversation and Mithale had admitted that she loved the water gardens. “I was with a mercenary company at the time. We were backed into a castle. Surrounded. Under siege. Most of us, we pretty much figured we were done-for when the elves covered the castle in darkness.”

“Which castle?”

“Lion’s Mane. We were getting ready to make our last stand when there was this… this blinding light, and suddenly it was like a star had landed at the front gates,” Seften told the story of the one time he saw a hero up close. The time when he was saved by a miracle carried by the sister he didn’t knew he had. “You and Aelsrik hit the army like a thunderbolt, and suddenly the darkness was gone. We didn’t even know what had happened, but we knew something was different, so we charged. You know how it ended.”

Out of five thousand, six hundred soldiers made the charge, led by a pair of heroes who wielded magic and weapons unlike any he had ever seen. He felt the rush of healing as it swept over their forces and kept men alive who might have died. He saw the flares of magic as the two heroes made it through the enemy army and went for the general’s tent.

He remembered the cheer that rose from them when they saw the banners go up in flames. He had screamed himself hoarse, stunned and shaken and alive.

“You saved me,” he told Mithale, who was entranced by the story of her own deeds. “I took an arrow in the lung during that battle. Pulled it out so I could keep fighting. The wound was whistling, so I figured that was the end, you know? Then you cast your healing spell over everyone and healed it.”

“I wondered, when we met, why you had a hint of my magic on you,” she said softly, and leaned over to press her hand to his chest suddenly. He yelped as healing magic rippled through him, washing away his bruises, and even the papercut he got writing a letter that morning. She ignored his surprise and her brow furrowed. The old scar from that battle warmed slightly, and suddenly the persistent ache of it, his reminder of that terrible war, was gone. “I couldn’t figure it out, but… there. It won’t bother you anymore at least. I’m sorry I couldn’t do better of you back then. I was still new to healing.”

“You saved my life, Little Sister,” he said and nudged her side with his elbow until she smiled wanly. She was still a little pale and he was still worried, but that was a problem for later. “Thank you for fixing my lungs, but don’t forget that you saved me. You saved a lot of us that day. I figured the scar was just a part of war. It’s not my only one.”

“I’ll fix the rest-“

“That’s not the point, Mithale,” he said, surprising himself, and her, with his firm tone. She looked up at him, strange eyes wide. “I was a soldier for a long time. I have scars. So do you.” To prove his point, he poked her in the forehead and she went cross-eyed trying to see his finger. “You’re a hero. You probably have more scars than I do. I’m not the one who fought a god.”

“It was one time,” Mithale muttered defensively, but she smiled a little too. “I take your point. Come on. Full moon is tonight, and once we have Emar’s blood, we’ll be traveling onward. Might as well take advantage of the castle’s luxuries before we get back on the road.”

+++

Myth and Magic:

A Found Connection (Subscriber Only!)

Train to Spell (Subscriber Only!)

While We Walk

Night Burn

Storming Hell

Blood of a King

Terrace Legends

Fire in the Ring

Battle Scars (New!)

+++

MASTERLIST

[officialleehadan]

Too Far

Hello darlings! Today's story was brought to you by L! Darling, thank you so much for all your support! It means the world to me!

TW: This one... got pretty dark. So there's that.

Prompt: A villain pushes a hero too far.

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“Please. Please let me heal him. He’s down. You won,” Feverfew begged on his knees as he tried desperately to heal up the gushing wound under his hands. He was one of the better Powered healers around, could even heal damaged cells and some illnesses, but without time to concentrate, the villain under his hands was going to die. Feverfew didn’t care that Pyroclast was a villain. Barely even knew the man in fact, but he wouldn’t let a single person die if he could prevent it. “You can drag him to wherever you want after, just let me- let me close this up.”

Too-strong hands grabbed him and pulled him away and he yelled, a bad fighter on a good day, but willing to fight anyway. “No! He’s a villain! He’s on your side!”

“He is no friend of mine. Who do you think did this to him?” Hammerblight asked in his ear as Feverfew struggled helplessly to get back to Pyroclast. Hammerblight wasn’t like Pyroclast. Pyroclast avoided civilians, but Hammerblight, he liked to watch people suffer. “How long do you think he has, little healer? What will you do to save him?”

“Anything, please!”

“Would you leave the heroes?”

“Let me go!”

“You think you can fight me?”

“He’s dying!”

“That isn’t what I asked, Healer.”

Feverfew didn’t stand a chance against Hammerblight. The villain was one of the heaviest of heavy hitters on the villain side, and had killed a dozen heroes, all more powerful than Feverfew. Now Feverfew knew that the disappearances on the villain side had probably been his doing too. A serial killer among the villains. It was the worst nightmare of the support teams like him.

“He has less than a minute. Please,” he sobbed and struggled uselessly. He wasn’t a combat Power. He couldn’t fight. He was useless. “Please. I’ll- I’ll join you. Just let me save his life. Please!”

“Tempting,” Hammerblight mused. “A healer at my beck and call. I don’t like healing the long way, but all of you little fix-it types are with the heroes. Might be nice to have one to help out here and there.”

“Let me go, and I’ll do it! I’ll swear to you! Just let me heal him!”

Feverfew staggered when Hammerblight suddenly let him go, and he ran for Pyroclast, clumsy with haste, and his Power already brimming on his hands. He was just barely fast enough to close up the bloody spray that colored the ground bright red. He poured every ounce of his Power into closing the deep wound that pierced Pyroclast almost all the way thorough. A half-inch over and it would have been a nearly-instant death, but it would only take a few moments more if Feverfew wasn’t fast.

“Come on,” he whispered as he worked frantically. “You never give up. I hear from all the heroes how you’re the one who gets back on his feet no matter what. Don’t give up now.”

The glint of a knife made Feverfew flinch, but he didn’t stop working as the blade trailed over his throat teasingly. Hammerblight laughed behind him. He liked knives, even though he was a Strength factor with the ability to deliver crushing blows to his enemies. Feverfew had healed his work more than once.

“What would you do,” Hammerblight whispered in his ear eve as Feverfew painstakingly coaxed Pyroclast’s heart back together. “If I were to put my knife into his heart right between your fingers? If I killed him just as you got him whole again?”

“I don’t know,” Feverfew gasped. The distraction nearly cost Pyroclast as Feverfew’s attention slipped, but he pulled himself back to his task with the mastery every doctor learned early. “Please, just let me heal him. You won. You beat him. What more do you want?”

“I can’t just like to watch him bleed out? You don’t have any imagination, do you? Pain is funny. Haven’t you ever had the urge to make them hurt, just a little more, while they’re under your hands?”

With the worst of the damage healed, Feverfew was able to turn his attention to the lesser damage. The ragged edges where the blood vessels were cut through. Pyroclast would still bleed to death if they weren’t healed, but it would be slower. Not much, but slower.

“Everyone has intrusive thoughts. Mine don’t control me,” Feverfew snapped to Hammerblight, but spared a quick smile for Pyroclast, whose eyes were open, just a little. “Hey, there you are. Hang on, okay? Don’t try to sit up yet.”

“No, don’t try to sit up,” Hammerblight said gleefully and leaned over Pyroclast, who tried, and failed, to twist away from the knife Hammerblight still held. “Don’t disturb the little healer, now. Don’t try to get away, or you’ll make me hurt you again.”

“It’s okay,” Feverfew tried to reassure Pyroclast desperately. He could feel Hammerblight’s breath on the back of his neck. The promise of a slow, painful death, or worse if he really did take Feverfew as a fair trade to let Pyroclast live. “I’ll get you whole. You know me, right?”

“Yeah,” Pyroclast whispered and closed his fingers around Feverfew’s wrist lightly. “Get out of here. Run. ‘M not worth it.”

“I’m not going to do that,” Feverfew told him as the blood finally stopped coming up between his fingers. “It- it doesn’t matter now anyway. Hold still, I need to do your lungs.”

“I don’t think so.”

Feverfew yelled when Hammerblight dragged him back again, this time with a crushing grip on his arm. Feverfew ignored the pain in favor of a desperate flare of his Power, directly into Pyroclast’s body. It was graceless, but it healed the worst of the internal damage. Pyroclast would live, as long as he got to a doctor. Now, at least, he had hours instead of minutes.

“Now we get to have some real fun,” Hammerblight said brightly, the mockery of Feverfew’s reassuring tones that he spared for anyone under his hands. Pyroclast pushed himself to his feet, covered in his own blood, but standing. Feverfew flinched again when the tip of Hammerblight’s knife caught the skin over the artery in his throat and drew a drop of blood. “Hey Hottie, you good for another round?”

“You know I’m not,” Pyroclast rasped, but he tried anyway. Fire boiled along his hands, almost a mirror of the soft green light that Feverfew wielded. “But let’s go, big man. Let the healer go. He’s no fun.”

“More than you’d think,” Hammerblight laughed. He looked between Pyroclast and Feverfew. “But I’ll tell you what? Let’s make it his choice, huh? What do you say, little healer? I’ll let one of you live. You pick who.”

“What?” Feverfew breathed, and began to fight again. Hammerblight just bashed him back against a wall hard enough to grey out his vision. Concussion, his rattled mind provided as his vision swam. Maybe a cracked skull too. Fixable, but slow to heal. Distorted judgement. Possible brain bleed. “No, you said- you said you would let me save him! You promised!”

“I didn’t promise anything,” Hammerblight  said and bared his teeth, completely unphased by Feverfew’s struggles. “I let you heal him because that just makes it better. Now I get to do it all again, but you have to pick. Do I do it to you, or do I do it to him?”

“Let him go!” Pyroclast yelled and flung a handful of fire at them, but Hammerblight shrugged it off as if it wasn’t even there. “You want to hurt someone? You take me!”

“You’re not a very good villain,’ Hammerblight told him mockingly. “Giving your life for a hero? Pathetic. Well, Healer? Who dies? It’s going to hurt. I promise that. I’m going to take one of you apart, and the other one will watch me do it. After that, well… we’ll see what happens after that.”

He was going to kill them both, Feverfew realized all at once. It wouldn’t matter who he picked. It wouldn’t matter what Feverfew said, or how Pyroclast tried to fight. Hammerblight held all the cards and had all the power. He was going to have his fun with them, and the mind games were only the first part of it. The real fun came when he stole their hope, too. When he stole their humanity.

“Let him go,” he said anyway and looked up at Hammerblight even as Pyroclast yelled protests and called up his fire again. It wouldn’t do any good. He wouldn’t take a real shot at Hammerblight with Feverfew in the way and they all knew it. “You can- you can have me. But you have to let him go first. You have to let him go for real.”

“Or what?” Hammerblight said, and snickered to himself, before he threw his fist out. The air bent around it and created a concussive wave that blasted Pyroclast back against the ruined building behind him. Pyroclast couldn’t even scream as the breath was forced out of his damaged lungs. “You don’t have any power here. You can’t stop me. You’re just a weak little flower, and I’m gonna rip off all your petals, but I’m gonna make you watch what I do to him first.”

Cold terror swept over Feverfew and stole what reason he might have had. The image of a flower burst into his mind suddenly, but it wasn’t the flower he was named for. Not the healing herb that grew nearly everywhere. Not the delicate thing that lost its petals the moment the wind blew past.

“Leave him alone,” he said suddenly, cold and strong and truly angry for maybe the first time in his life.  Pyroclast’s eyes found him, but Feverfew wasn’t looking at him anymore. He was looking at the towering, hulking villain before him who still held the knife that dripped with Pyroclast’s blood. “I’m warning you.”

“You’re warning me?” Hammerblight asked with a scathing grin and looked Feverfew up and down. Feverfew felt his cheeks heat. He wasn’t exactly the image of a hero. He was short, and a little thin, and not very strong because his Power just didn’t do much for his own body. He wasn’t in hero shape. He wasn’t impressive. “You can’t do anything to me.”

“You would be right,” Feverfew said softly, lethal as morphine. Hammerblight must have heard something in his voice, but he didn’t let go. Didn’t back away. “I’m just a healer, you know? But I’m a very good healer.”

“Don’t do this,” Pyroclast said suddenly. Feverfew glanced over at him, and was surprised to realize the villain was addressing him. “Don’t let him win.”

“Tell them I’m sorry,” Feverfew said, and looked at Hammerblight, who was still smiling. Who was still holding onto his arm, brutally tight. All at once, his grip relaxed, and Feverfew took a single step back from him. Hammerblight collapsed to his knees and curled in on himself, suddenly made small as pain wracked through him. As his gut cramped and his hands shook. His eyes dilated, and his heart pounded as his blood pressure began to climb. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his breath wheezed in his throat.  He was dead before Feverfew spoke again. “When they come looking for me, tell them I’m sorry, and tell them my name isn’t Feverfew anymore.”

“When they look for you?” Pyroclast asked and tried to get to his feet. Feverfew knelt beside him and pressed a hand to his chest. The Power came easier now, and Pyroclast collapsed under the mingled pain and relief as his injuries closed. Pyroclast tried to catch his hand, but Feverfew pulled away. “Hey now. don’t- don’t make any rash decisions. This was- this was bad, but you’re a hero. You’re one of the good ones, remember? What do you mean your name isn’t Feverfew?”

“You can tell them my name is Hemlock now,” Hemlock said, the edge between sanity and madness a shard of broken mirror in his mind, shattered apart by a villain who pushed a healer too far. “And I’m the one they’ll all fear when they realize what I’ve become.”

+++

Supers:

Card Shark

Heroic Rescue

Housekeeping Before Villainy

Jet Fuel

Rescue Me

On the Dance Floor (Subscriber Only!)

Two-sided love (Subscriber only!)

New Partners (Subscriber only!)

Once More To Die

Too Far (New!)

+++

MASTERLIST

[officialleehadan]

Crossing Enemies

Hello darlings! Today's second story was brought to you by Bradford! Darling, thank you so much for your support!

Prompt: HGE – Dragon Affairs with what was up with Director Nick and what did he do to piss of Blaec so much.

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Blaec did not mind working with the humans.

Oh, he knew they thought he and his Great Treasure were working for them, but they were stupid monkeys, and it amused him to let them think that.

It was also substantially easier to let the humans give him gold than it was to steal it from them.

Crossing Enemies

+++

HGE - Dragon Affairs

The Oldest of Friends

Sky Battle

Fire Wings and Ice Scales

Right of Possession

Tax Season

Crossing Enemies (Subscriber Only!)

Hold My Beer (New!)

+++

MASTERLIST