Brodea stared down below towards the Water Pens. She could see the wizard leaning against the posts of his cell, one foot in the mire, while he was talking to the skewer named Mactonal on the other side. Her gut clenched excitedly at the thought of what was to come in a mere three days.
“You are absolutely sure, Eigron?” she asked again, just desiring to hear the words.
“Yes, First Councilor. The Elder of Vines has transferred custody of Julietta to the council in the event that it will indeed get the Blood Wizard to relinquish his knowledge of the tome. She will be yours on the evening before the council convening, but not a moment before.”
Brodea let out a relieved sigh of victory. Finally! Finally, the druids were coming around to her way of thinking. This Julietta was a dui Nuchada, and Ashyn would confirm that. Over a decade of sitting on their laurels and now the council would see that she was correct all along. Better still, she would use the woman to get the boy wizard to translate the tome, of that she had no doubt.
Ashyn tried to sacrifice himself to stop Avrimae’s pain. There was no way he would endure the same to his sister.
“And what about my hunter?” Eigron said. “Mehris is dead, surely you are not going to try and say it was the elk’s fault?”
“Surely not,” Brodea said turning away from her view of the Water Pens to look at the druid. “I tipped my hat early. To save you before you too would have fallen victim to the killer, or have you forgotten?” she asked, her dark eyes flashing with menace.
Eigron lowered his head, “Of course not, First Councilor. I am grateful of course.”
“And Avrimae is… lost, because of it, remember that.” She added just as darkly. “If that skewer is pregnant…”
“We will find her,” Eigron pressed.
“And you will have your killer,” she said simply, and then added, “Before he kills you, preferably.”
Eigron glowered at this, and it made Brodea smile even more. “Eigron, dear, you have delivered as you said you would. When have I not done the same?”
She turned back around and watched the large bull thing lumber to the water opposite of Ashyn. It was curious how much time they spent near the brackish refuse.
Still she could see that Ashyn was paying the monster no mind, and instead continued talking to the other human as if the beast weren’t even there. The boy was enduring and brave, she would give him that. But in a few days’ time, he would be broken.
“If there is nothing else, please send the Voïre up; she’s been waiting patiently to see me,” she added without looking back at the druid.
She heard Eigron exit, pleased with the outcome. He was worried, and that was good. He had pushed his authority, painted himself as more important than he was, and was quickly brought back to heel with the deaths of his two accomplices. Once she delivered the killer, he would be hers forever. The need for his elimination had passed. The stampede had ultimately helped her, and she used it. Now only if she could zero in on the hunter that was attacking all of her pawns…
The beautiful melodic voice of the Voïre dui Ceremeia chimed from by the stairs, “You wanted to see me?”
Brodea turned, smiling, averting her eyes only slightly so that she was staring at the Voïre’s chin. “Yes. Please.” She extended her hand to the center of the chamber, where a small pedestal stood holding the traditional basin of water and next to it the tome.
The Voïre walked beside her, her verdant green dress swishing along the polished floor towards the basin. As they approached, she watched as the Voïre looked into the water and saw the image of Ashyn and the bull creature.
“Watching them from here even though you can just look down and see them?” the Voïre asked.
“I find it good to have a wider perspective on the situation. This particular angle has been very enlightening,” Brodea replied with a smile.
“As to?”
Brodea reached down and gently caressed the surface of the water where Ashyn was sitting. “This Mactonal means a lot to the boy. Almost as much as Avrimae did.” Brodea looked up to study the Voïre’s reaction to the past tense usage of Avrimae. The Voïre’s mercury eyes studied the dui Nuchada impassively.
“So you seek to influence the dui Nuchada next using Mactonal?”
“Perhaps. I seek to invoke the next stage.”
The Voïre looked up at her First Councilor, and Brodea stared down to the tome, but not quickly enough. She felt the electricity of the Voïre’s magic course through her, tingling her entire body. It never got any easier dealing with the Voïre.
Brodea’s fingers reached out and caressed the leather jacket that covered the powerful pages beneath. “Before the convening in a few days’ time, I want you to read this.”
Brodea could see the Voïre was clearly confused, even without looking in her swirling eyes. “But, if the druids cannot read it, how can I hope to? I know not the meaning of this language, let alone Trade Tongue that you speak to the humans with.”
Brodea noticed that last part came out a little bitter. “You are a Voïre; you will never have to use such a barbaric language as that of the skewers.”
“And yet you trained Whísper…”
Brodea scoffed, “She is a branch commander, and was vanguard to my campaign against wizards. Of course she needed to recognize the foul tongue. You are the purest hym. You should not be soiled with their perversities.”
“Yet you want me to look at this,” the Voïre replied pointing to the book beneath Brodea’s fingers.
“Call it a hunch.”
“Hunch?”
“You are a beautiful creature of constant and glorious connection to Creative magic. The druids virtually worship your commands. The council even listens to your words, when the Spirits take notice of you. I have a feeling, that even if you read these words, regardless of meaning, they will stay in your head. You just might not know what to do with them.”
“And how would that help? How does that help the cause?” the Voïre asked skepticism clearly in her voice.
“Well, if anything happens to this tome, at least we know its contents will be safe in your head, right?”
“Even could I understand such a thing, I could not memorize such a tome in a few days. It would take winters of recital. Reading over and over, being queried constantly,” the Voïre admitted.
Brodea smiled again, “Just humor me, my dear.”
The Voïre reached down with her smooth, unadorned skin and touched the ancient manuscript. Brodea watched her intently. Finally, the Voïre dui Ceremeia picked it up. “If it is your will First Councilor, I shall endeavor not to disappoint you.”
Brodea reached out and touched the side of the Voïre’s face gently. “You are special. You are the Voïre dui Ceremeia, the perfection of the Ferhym people. I trust you, implicitly.” Brodea dropped her hand and turned from the young elf. “Now go. I’m sure you have much to do, and I know you have a lot of reading before you.”
The Voïre nodded and began to take the stairs, when she stopped and turned to face the First Councilor.
Brodea looked up, curious.
“I’m glad you found somebody, Brodea.”
Brodea sculpted a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “Oh?”
The Voïre nodded. “Feydras’ Anula is alight with whispers, about how Eigron has been staying with you these last few days. He seems a pleasant hym.” With that, the Voïre turned and descended the stairs, not waiting for a reply from Brodea.
Brodea scowled. Though it came as no surprise to her in the least. She knew this would happen the moment she decided to protect him. Ideally, she shouldn’t care. But she did.
She needed to get it off her mind. Brodea decided that she needed Vooken.
~ ~ ~
A short while later Brodea lay naked, spooned in Vooken’s arms against the hardwood of the council chamber floor. Their bodies were still slick with sweat from their lusting, but Brodea found herself contented to just lie there in his arms with his chest against her back as they looked out into the night. The stars up above glowed brightly, casting everything in a tranquil pale blue hue.
Brodea knew she should be out, searching for the hunter that was going to try to end Eigron’s life, but she was enjoying, just for this moment, being with Vooken and feeling like a female, not the First Councilor. To have her only responsibility be in pleasing her companion, and in his pleasing her.
As they lay there, she became aware of him tracing the lines of her Windsong crest against her abdomen. The raised flesh of her permanently fused woad was sensitive under the lightly brushing strokes of his calloused fingertips.
He whispered, and Brodea could hear an almost solemn pitch to his voice, “It can never change.”
“Not while I still draw breath,” she agreed. “That is the nature of the Spirit’s test when the poison was painted upon my flesh.”
She felt his fingers slide across her stomach, over her breasts, and against her long, slender copper neck, until they were slow massaging the cartilage of her pointed ears. Slightly somberly, he responded, “Yes. I know.”
Brodea lifted her head and looked away from the stars and into his deep brown eyes. “Do you wish differently?” She asked, suddenly nervous.
“No,” Vooken said a little too quickly.
“Then what is it?”
“I make no claim to your body Brodea, I never have,” he said quietly, while running his fingers through her raven hair. “And yet I cannot help but feel disquiet at the time you have been spending in the company of another.”
Brodea arched an eyebrow. “I have spent time with no other.”
Now it was Vooken’s turn to look at her in a questioning manner. “You need not cover up anything Brodea; we have lived many centuries around one and other. I know that Eigron has been staying in your home for the last several days, and verily he has not often left your side.”
Brodea burst into laughter, which only seemed to aggravate Vooken more. “Not you too! The Voïre commented this just early this evening!”
“It still is what it is,” Vooken replied.
“Are you jealous?” she said indignantly.
Vooken visibly stiffened in front of her. Clearly it was no laughing matter to him. Brodea turned fully around so that they were face to face. Gently she stroked his cheek with the back of her hand. He reached up and pulled it away. “I do not need coddling, Brodea. I want an answer. If you want to spend time with another, that is your choice, and I will honor it. But I am long past the age and patience for infidelities. I will always support you as my friend and as the First Councilor; you need never fear this. In that we will always be unified. But when it comes to this, I will not share you.”
“You always were bold,” Brodea said with a small smile. “I respect that most about you.”
He returned dispassionately, “Then you are making the counter choice, I take it?”
Brodea wasn’t sure how to respond. She knew she should tell him everything. He was right after all. They began this road together many winters back, after he lost his best friend, and she her husband, to the foul pestilence that was the wizard. He was always by her side, her staunchest supporter. That flag never wavered, that alliance never questionable.
And yet, she knew how much he would object to what she was doing now. She was hunting a Ferhym. Their kind. And though she could justify it to herself that this Ferhym was a skewer, she wasn’t sure any other could truly understand. Understand what the cause meant to her above all else. Not even Vooken.
She looked at him sadly. She didn’t want this part of their friendship to end. Brodea desperately needed this closeness from someone, and she surely didn’t want it from Eigron. Though the young elf was helpful in all things, there were things he had done that he could never cleanse himself of. And even while she wasn’t above doing what was completely necessary for the cause, his actions burned at her.
She knew Vooken was the only one she could turn to when she needed to feel like less of the First Councilor, and more of just herself. And yet, she felt the cause demanded that she remain silent in her actions. If she let Vooken know about this errant killer, about the threat to Eigron, he wouldn’t be able to contain it. He would send out hunters to find this killer and bring him to the Council. There would be uproar. Worse there would be an investigation as to why such a hunter turned. The council may even learn about the rape of Avrimae.
Though she was only a skewer, it was an unprecedented act of cruelty. They believed in the balance of nature, not the torture of the misguided. How would the council handle the rape, or worse, the knowledge that the now missing Avrimae may very well be carrying the aberrant spawn of such an action? That outcome itself was worse in the Council’s eyes then the action that caused it. And all of this done on her order, more or less.
No, she couldn’t tell Vooken. As much as she craved the way his eyes drank her in, in a way that saw her as a woman, not as First Councilor. As much as she enjoyed the touch of his body to hers, and the closeness and companionship she felt from that connection, she couldn’t let him in on this. Not yet. Not until she had it under control. But she didn’t need give him the guise that she was interested in Eigron either.
“I bear no intimacy with the Genrus Eigron,” Brodea breathed at last while wrapping her arms around Vooken. “But I will not lie to you. He is staying with me.”
“Why?” He both asked, and desperately searched with his dark eyes. “Why do you dare keep a male hym at length in your dwelling, if not for intimate companionship?”
“Because he is my deepest connection to the druids,” she confirmed. “Though the Elder of Vines works diligently for the council in trying to decipher the tome, and to identify weapons that will help us against the wizards, they keep much from us as well.”
“We are not wielders of the gifts of nature like they are,” Vooken defended.
“True. But we’ve had need for Julietta for weeks, no, months, and they have denied her to us. To the Council of Elm, to the First Councilor!” She felt her heartbeat quicken as her own words incited her to truths that Eigron had told her that even she was unaware of.
“Because of her ability to not be burned.” Again Vooken tried to remain neutral.
Brodea shook her head. “She was never theirs, and when we had need of the skewer to help maintain balance, they kept her. It was so they could hold a modicum of power over us. Over the councilors.”
Vooken leaned away from her, protesting, “Never. The druids believe in the Council; they need the Council just as we need them. Our nature is symbiotic. We cannot survive without the other.”
“That is true, Vooken, but that does not mean that they do not keep secrets from us. The Blood Wizard arrived with more than just his bow. He had many relics upon his person and in his travel pack. We have been given no updates on any of these things.”
“Perhaps they are useless. They told us of the staff brought in.”
Angrily, she replied, “Only because of Jenhiro. And only because he saw its use. He was not privy to the artifacts in the wizard’s bag. They knew that we would laud the hunter as a hero. He brought us the Blood Wizard after all.”
Something about her own words bothered her, like there was something obvious in the statement but she was missing it. Then Vooken sat up, and she caught glistening chest reflected in the moonlight. It cast deep shadows against his firm muscular frame that helped accentuate his familial markings. It was no wonder he came from Moonspear, the night light radiated well off his body. She blinked away the distraction of his flesh as the councilor spoke.
“What did Eigron say was in the bag?”
Brodea scooted herself up next to him and shook her head in frustration. Their talk was becoming conspiratorial now. “A pair of gloves. Ringed he says. Other than, that he doesn’t know any more. The elder would not permit him near it; he is only a Genrus after all. He was only allowed access to the staff from the bull, and of course the bow of the wizard because of Eigron’s firsthand knowledge of the weapon.”
Brodea wasn’t lying to Vooken about any of this. It was known to her the moment Eigron had begun reporting directly to her in place of the Elder of Vines. They were hiding something, and while she was not happy about it, she let it go. Just that knowledge was enough to exploit them when need be. She was going to use it to get Julietta if they had taken much longer, so now she could use it another day. Still, it hadn’t been a burden of knowledge that weighed on her. Not like everything else happening lately. Still it gave her something to give to Vooken to hold him over.
“I don’t like these words Brodea. Do you think the druids have found a weapon that could be used and they are hiding it?”
“That is one of the reasons I keep Eigron close. He is trying to find out. And I need to know at all times, regardless of the hour.” And that was her lie. That was the one mistruth she gave him in the litany of truths she laid before him. It was absolutely not why he was there.
Vooken stared at her for a moment, as if processing this information and trying to decipher if she was lying. To Brodea’s own knowledge, she had never lied to him, and so Vooken had no reason to believe what she was saying wasn’t true.
But this was a big step. Though it may be a small lie, female elves only let the males into their homes for extended periods for two reasons: they were visiting family, or they had begun to mate. There was no other reason to keep a male for more than a single evening unless they were in coitus. Breeding their species was difficult for the Ferhym, and so it was widely accepted that they do it copiously in spurts, generally for the few weeks that their bodies were the most fertile.
Brodea knew the implication of what it looked like was happening between Eigron and herself. She knew that the moment she decided to secure him in her own home. Word would spread. She was willing to accept that rumor, as long as it kept him alive for the week. She knew the hunter wouldn’t be brazen enough to strike at the First Councilor’s home.
Vooken still visibly bristled at the notion of Eigron staying with her. Brodea and Vooken had never practiced the act in an effort to mate, and so they had never stayed with each other more than one night at a time. Since it was their tradition that the male came to the female, he had only ever come to her abode. She never stayed the night in his.
She knew now it looked like she was trying to conceive another child with Eigron, and that is how it would be perceived by the masses. It was widely known that Vooken was close to Brodea. This act, though not for the reasons that either he, or everyone else thought, was a direct slight to his manhood and honor. She was asking him to be okay with that, and yet insuring him that it was not a slight.
“When do you foresee the time that Eigron is no longer needed to stay with you?” he finally asked.
Brodea shrugged. “Soon, I hope.” And it was an honest answer. The quicker she could catch their rogue, the quicker Eigron, and the constant reminder of what he did, would be out of her home.
Vooken stood up, his naked frame casting her in shadow. “Then until that time, this must end,” Vooken said with finality.
Though Brodea knew those words were coming, it still felt like a blow to her chest. She lost a part of Vooken with this, and they both knew it.
“I still stand by you Brodea. But we cannot do this until things return as they were.”
Brodea nodded in agreement. She was a strong female hym. She always had been. In the times of her being a hunter, while she was raising her children, and even while she was married to Ambit, she remained firm and stoic, never displaying weakness. Even now her face was impassive at Vooken’s declaration. She said quietly, “I understand.”
While she was strong, and fierce, and even independent in a way, she was also female. It wasn’t that she had some sort of ravenous sexual appetite. It was that she still craved closeness. She still had the need to feel soft, beautiful, and desired. She found that solace with Vooken, and it worked. Until now. And that made her feel weak.
Vooken collected his loincloth and dressed quickly. Brodea stayed sitting on the floor, looking out into Feydras’ Anula.
Before he left, her now ex-lover stopped behind her. She felt him hovering there. Was he waiting for her to stop him? Was he waiting for her to promise to eject Eigron at first light, cut a piece of her hair away and braid it for him, marking herself to him for eternity? Or was there something he wanted to say?
She wanted to do many of these things. Plead to him not to do this. To change his mind and not take insult to his manhood by Eigron. In her own mind she thought about debasing herself before him. Let him do things to her that would be below her stature. To let him stay standing while she instead pleased him with only her mouth, something that was considered extremely wasteful and criminal to her very culture.
She thought about not being strong, but being soft, and weak. Being vulnerable. She thought these thoughts, but she knew she was none of them. No tears flooded her midnight eyes. She would not grovel; she would not beg. She would let him walk, and either he would come back when Eigron was gone, or he wouldn’t.
Finally, in silence, Vooken walked away from her, as she knew he would, and Brodea looked on to her city without uttering a single word to him, not wasting a single breath.
Brodea was strong. The Spirits demanded it be so.