The Courtesan - Part One, by Nikki Blood
XXX
Erotica
For
those who like or need more substance with their hot and naughty, I present to
you the serial story of a slave no more.
Alana
is a house slave in the Crimson Palace, when she and nine others are chosen for
the life a courtesan, a court whore, to serve the Loran Temple and the goals
set for her and her kind for over a hundred-thousand years.
A
disturbing yet sensual adventure deep into the heart of the Blood Empire, and
those concerned with the Skull Throne.
Novel
and Cover Illustration Copyright © 2016 Nikki Blood. All rights reserved.
This
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product
of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead
is entirely coincidental. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book
via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the author is
illegal. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions. Your support of
the author’s rights is appreciated.
The
Courtesan - Part One
Chapter
One
“Life
is continuation,” Mistress Cali said, “yet life never assures a means of
survival. Life is not fair, always a struggle of some sort, and if you were
ever told otherwise . . .”
With
those words my life as a house slave within the Crimson Palace was over, and my
education as a court whore began. Only, there was more to my training than I
could imagine. What I didn’t know then, Mistress Cali was interested in
exceptional intelligence, as well as exceptional talent.
“Wealth
and skill aid survival,” she continued, “but we, the female of the species,
supply continuity. We do that in two ways.”
Mistress
Cali then paused, allowing us, her ten female students, time to consider the
intent behind her words. Then she asked Willow what was meant by her statement.
Willow
was uncertain, I could see it in her eyes, but she had to say something.
“You
are speaking about our possible children, Mistress.”
“Is
that your full answer?” Mistress Cali returned.
“Yes,
Mistress.”
“Your
answer is only half correct. Does anybody know, or think they grasp the full
essence of my statement?”
Silence
met her inquisitive gaze. A moment or three that wore at her patience.
“Do
you understand what was said, Alana?”
“Our
male children,” I replied, “the skills and knowledge we pass on, permitting
them to prosper, Mistress.”
“Good
enough,” she said. “The male children you tomorrow beget might sit at a Noble’s
table, even if you will not. One of these male children may even sit on the
Skull Throne itself, with the Blood Emperor soon to be fathering heirs.
Consider that you are less concubines, and more the chains that hold this
empire together. Your intelligence is paramount, and I will settle on nothing
less than your best in all endeavors.”
Palace
slaves were not permitted to breed, so we had never entertained such
interesting concepts.
“If
you succeed here,” Mistress Cali continued, “you will become courtesans. The
true heart and soul of the empire. That is the training you will receive,
beginning this very day. If you cannot master the basics, you will either
rejoin the household staff without your tongue, or take your place alongside
those who work the mines. After a certain point you fail the training, you will
be put to death.”
With
those words Mistress Cali stressed the seriousness of this venture, and we
stood ready to pay our full attention.
“Now
a choice needs to be made that is yours alone to make,” she added. “Leave now,
and you may attend to your routine duties without consequences, or, you may
stay. Know this: That after this one choice is made, there will be no turning
back, with only me and my judgment to keep you with tongue in mouth, or alive.”
With
that said she turned her back to us.
This
moment was our only opportunity to survive with certainty. To rejoin the
household, forever slaves. Nothing more, nothing less.
We
girls looked at each other, examining the implications as we perceived them,
but knew none would exit. Courtesans, as we understood them, earn their
freedom, and enjoy superior status within the empire.
To
stay wouldn’t be without considerable risk, and for my freedom, my only chance
to become more than a slave, I was willing to take that risk.
As
to why the palace laundry was a silent, foreboding place, and the men and women
who worked there hesitant to meet our eyes, her statement answered those
unasked questions.
Mistress
Cali once again faced us, but her face did not betray her thoughts. She looked
each of us in the eye, perhaps assessing our resolve.
“Men
marry,” Mistress Cali said after several long moments, “and to be married is to
have a faithful wife, one who attends to the needs of her house. A wife is also
expected to attend her husband’s needs without question, but that is rarely
true. Men can sometimes demand too much of a wife, and are quick to anger when
denied. Men also grow bored with just one female in their lives, but can rarely
govern two. There are rules for such things, and we are the keepers of those
rules. We council harmony.”
Men’s
eyes wandered, and they strayed like cats through back alleys. Men also enjoyed
themselves as much as they enjoyed their women, releasing their seed
indiscriminately, in whatever direction they happened to be pointing. As palace
slaves we were not permitted to notice such things. See them, certainly, but
not acknowledge them.
The
ladies of the court were no better, for we knew of a few Noble’s wives who
enjoyed the palace eunuchs whenever discretion allowed, knowing the palace
eunuchs ingested large quantities of Saffara tea in order to perform as a man
should, and satisfy.
It
was dangerous for those wives to have another man’s child. If discovered to
have birthed such, both mother and child would unceremoniously be put to death.
Hence the usefulness of eunuchs, and Saffara tea.
“As
far as the male of the species is concerned,” Mistress Cali said, “girls are
considered suitable as wives when they begin menstruation. However, not all
girls are emotionally ready to become wives. It is their interest in sex and
children that ultimately determines marriageability. Whether they want to see a
hard cock when being seduced, hold one firmly, stroke it, kiss it, or suck said
cock and swallow the man’s seed, as expected by most men, but not by all. They
must have an interest in caring for children as a mother should. These are the
determining factors. Only girls who are emotionally ready, marry.”
Courtesans,
I knew, were involved with these decisions, because their blessings were
eagerly sought by Noble and peasant alike. Yet, I was now sure courtesans were
more than just involved.
“Some
men wish to see the seed of their possible progeny spread about a pretty face,
kneaded into breasts, or dripping off the female’s holes. These deviations will
be discussed, but not today.”
Her
words were blunt. She studied us in surprise and asked, “Is this shocking news
to you? Men are allowed all manner of perversions. If a potential wife is
ready, we guide them in the erotic arts, see that they are skilled in the
temperamental ways of a husband, house, and bed. We do this for the good of the
empire.”
We
all knew within the Farvahl culture, dominant throughout the Blood Empire,
primarily with the Nobles, marriages were arranged. Power gained, not shared. A
game of thrones in the truest sense of the words.
Within
the peasantry, marriages could be arranged based on one’s standing, or possible
business advantages. Keeping the wealth, livestock, and land within one’s
family was always preferable. An unspoken rule: wealth precedes beauty in the
selection of wives.
The
parents determine who will wed, yet others determined when. Dowries given might
include jewels, slaves, or livestock. Only between adults of little standing is
it permissible to marry for the sake of love.
Girls
considered unusually ugly and un-marriageable, would, most likely, be made to
become sterile, then sold into prostitution. It is even permissible to attend a
father’s perverse needs, or the sexual needs of any unmarried brothers still
within the house. Those options being acceptable alternatives to death.
Those
women who choose to serve the household they were born into eventually become
spinsters, no better than slaves. Some are asked to leave their homes, and end
their lives as beggars. Soon after asking for coin or food they are put to death
by their families as a stain on the community. An honorable death in the eyes
of all.
None
of those options would shame a family, if they had more than one daughter.
I
knew there were many unspoken truths society must abide by, be them Noble,
peasant, or slave. Now these truths were being spoken aloud to us for the first
time. We would sometimes be asked a question on the subject we had just
learned, and to answer incorrectly might end our training.
“A
toad on a hot rock hops less than you, Nalla,” Mistress Cali then said. “Do you
need a break?”
“Yes,
Mistress,” Nalla returned. “I need to pee.”
“Then
this is to your first real lesson in the art of a courtesan. Step forward and
remove your robe.”
Nalla
did so, letting the fabric fall around her ankles, and stood uncomfortably nude
in front of us all.
“You
will now sit on the very edge of this chair,” Mistress Cali said, “lean back,
and spread you knees wide apart.”
Mistress
said this so matter-of-fact that Nalla, with little hesitation, did just as she
was told, but had to close her eyes to our shocked but curious stares.
“Knees
wider,” Mistress Cali said, “Now use two fingers, the forefinger on each hand,
and open your slit as wide as possible, and pee for us all. Class will not
resume until you have done so.”
Chapter
Two
To
see Nalla naked, exposed, vulnerable, her reddish-pink pussy open for all in
the room to scrutinize, was a lesson we would not soon forget.
Modesty,
you see, is practiced among the palace slaves. We, the palace workforce, always
challenged with our personal survival, insist on appropriate behavior at all
times, no matter the circumstances. Infractions meant possible death, or
certain death in the mines. Only a choice few were ever given a second chance.
Such
overtly lewd behavior by the lords or ladies of the court was to be ignored, no
exceptions, while exiting whatever chamber we found ourselves attending as
quickly as possible. As long as we slaves were discreet, the palace proclaimed
we were not to be touched. To disobey meant sanctions of title, or land.
It
was not improbable to find the palace lords or a visiting governor or wise man
in a compromising situation, or position.
We
house slaves always worked in pairs to insure our safety, knowing the palace
wine strong.
Seeing
how shamed Nalla was, her knees wide, her cunt held open, asked to perform an
act considered best done in one’s own company, I felt embarrassed for her, but
did not want to look away.
Nalla’s
asshole twitched, and then the delicate flesh around her piss hole and fuck
hole bulged slightly as she finally let loose her pungent stream.
I
felt myself becoming moist and itchy, and needed Nalla to open her eyes. To see
me watching, and want to seek the nasty part of my soul, shining out of my
lustful eyes.
Slave
or not, I was coming into my own, like all girls must. I could feel a new lust
stirring within my secretive heart.
Nalla
finished, stood, and slowly robed, yet we would all have a turn before the day
ended, with Mistress Cali evaluating each performance.
When
my turn came, I bravely disrobed despite the dewy nature of my inflamed sex. My
juice slowly dripped down the length of my inner thighs.
I
positioned myself on the chair, spread my knees wide, opened my slickened slit,
and searched for a set of eyes, the eyes I most wanted to see. Nasty eyes,
seeking eyes, eyes that needed to watch.
I
saw those eyes in the head of Mistress Cali, and let loose with my piss,
draining my bladder without any start-and-start-again hesitation.
I
stood, slid my robe on, and her now
eyes and manner betrayed nothing as I reclaimed my place.
The
verbal lessons then continued. I found it hard to concentrate with my hard
little clit, needing to be rubbed and rolled between my eager fingers.
“Wealth
is the seat of royal power,” Mistress Cali said, “and power is the floor that
seat rests on. Power is a willingness to kill unhindered by remorse for safety
or gain. Wealth is the primary goal of every Noble, yet those pursuits are
rarely balanced with life’s more pleasant endeavors. Courtesans counsel that
balance. We should all seek a balance between what we want, need, and acquire.
The royal houses take what they want regardless, and they seem to need more
than they can use. We try to calm their overt hostility, but to stay their
greed is futile. It is said between Nobles that one’s character holds the
strength to accomplish much in this world. I will determine what strength you
students hold.”
Were
we strong enough? Would the days ahead temper us, like a blacksmith tempers
steel into swords? Only time would tell.
We
slowly learned the mind-set behind the throne, but, as Mistress Cali cautioned
us, “We slaves must have a different set of scruples in order to prosper.
Courage and self-control allow us serenity, and a long life. In other
words, we use our intelligence to survive.”
On
and on she went with her lecture, a pendulum of us and them, compelling the
differences to take root within our minds, asking her many questions to ensure
those roots grew deep.
When
she had finished we were released for the day, and for our evening meal. A meal
we were to partake in strict silence. Punishment would be inflicted to those
who broke Mistress Cali’s command.
House
slaves, of course, eat separately from the rest of the staff, only we now had a
small dining room for us ten alone, guarded by two eunuchs. Today’s menu
consisted of fried noodles, with mixed vegetables sautéed in a sweet and sour
sauce. Elaine liked to mix the two together before she dined, and so did I.
I
was but a child when our small farm was overran, my father killed in front of
us all, the rest of my family herded onto the slaver’s carts.
We
were fed just enough, did not thirst, and as the days and nights on the road
passed, my mother could only comfort us with soft-spoken words, gentle touches,
or the occasional song.
Mother
liked to sing.
The
slave pens of Carvhal were massive, fear-filled pits of despair. We were
separated according to our supposed usefulness. My mother and two brothers were
gone, never to be a part of me again, and likely died in the mines or foundries
of the Blood Empire.
I
was found to be an exceptionally lovely child of strong yet lean limb, so was
made a house slave. A girl young enough to properly train.
I
had been sold many times before I became a member of the palace staff. I was,
after all, an unblemished and un-spoilt child of pleasant sight and sound. I
learned quickly, and remembered what I was taught. I was taught to be obedient.
Because
I learned well, I commanded a high price from each new owner, and from each new
owner a new skill-set was learned.
I
remember the day I was sold to the palace. The outer staff tended the gardens
and grounds, but I was made part of the inner staff. I was chosen to care for
those who ruled the Blood Empire. A proud day for me.
House
slaves are taught many things. We were taught numbers by empire scholars, the
written and spoken languages of the empire itself, and the art of the trade.
We
knew that house slaves were the mortar of the Crimson Palace, and we were above
the merchants of the city. In some ways it was like being free. For that we
were always grateful.
Above
the house slaves were the priests of the Loran Temple, with their many seers,
and those healers whose arts were passed down from The-Before-Time.
Above
the priests, seers and healers, were courtesans. A courtesan of the Loran
Temple was to be the pinnacle of our success. We were now novices in training.
The
wise men, or sorcerers of the empire, were a secretive lot, and rarely mixed
with others.
We
were the keepers of Royals and Nobles, attending to their educational and
entertainment needs. We would share our blessings among the men, women, and
children of the empire, and the other educators of the palace in their
scholarly pursuits.
To
be a courtesan of the Loran Temple is to be adept in the arts of love, dance,
and so many other things as I did not know, yet would now have a chance to
learn.
Men
as well as women were considered courtesans, though men were not labeled as
such, and both sexes trained in song, dance, musical instruments too, if they
had the talent to do more than mimic. True composers among us were rare.
Perhaps I had the heart and ear for music?
The
end of this training day saw me thinking about the requirements for the morrow.
We were to dance naked for her next evaluation.
It
was later that night when I had a gentle knock at my door, though I was afraid
to answer it. When the door opened to Mistress Cali, I didn’t know if I should
feel more afraid, or less.
“You
need not fear this visit,” she said. “Tomorrow all of you will dance for me
without robes. Contemplate that later this night. Now, I want to ask what you
felt this day. Not about the lectures I gave or questions asked, but what you
were thinking about, your first real lesson of a courtesan.”
When
we disrobed and pissed for all to see. I said truthfully, “I wanted to watch
and be watched, Mistress.”
“Bluntly
put. An answer I expected of you, Alana. You have the soul of a diplomat.
However, I saw a sadness come over you at one point, during your evening meal.
Please share this sadness with me?”
She
had been watching?
I
had no choice but to continue my honesty with Mistress Cali, even if that
honesty meant my death.
“I
was thinking about my journey to the slave pens,” I said, “and the small child
I once was. I found guidance in the houses I was sold into, and am grateful to
be here, attending the palace’s needs.”
“The
overseer looked at you when you tugged his jerkin. Something stopped him that
day from swatting you like a pesky bug, and I called him over to ask him what
stayed his hand. Do you remember that?”
I
did! I remembered walking up to him, and tugging his leather vest. I remember
he stared at me for a time before he was called to speak to the occupant of a
small enclosed carriage.
“I
see that you do,” Mistress Cali said. “He told me your eyes stayed his hand.
The intelligence behind them. He said you had possibility. A rare thing for any
slave master to say. How fortunate I was there that day. I sent you to be
trained in the duties of a house slave, and you learned well. Your first owner
said you had intelligence, and a willingness to use that intelligence. I saw to
it you learned from each new owner what the palace needed. Here you are. Does
that surprise you?”
“It
does, Mistress,” I said. “Thank you for seeing me here. May I not disappoint.”
“You
will only disappoint me if you fail to answer my next question correctly. Tell
me what you think I want from you, given this training?”
“I
see a courtesan a significant influence over the empire, to be truthful, yet
that influence is covert.”
“On
the morrow, then. Dance well, Alana.”
Chapter
Three
It
seemed I survived this first visit by Mistress Cali by using my wits to answer
what I saw as a hidden truth in her teachings. I would count my blessing
at a later date. I had a dance to think about.
House
slaves were quartered above the combat training grounds in single rooms, and we
were allowed one window. On those rare days where I had only myself to worry
about, I observed many a lesson in combat. Long sword, short sword and shield,
and several forms of unarmed combat.
Knowing
I would be sentenced to immediate death if caught, I spent many a night
emulating what I had seen in the dirt below.
My
thought now was to turn what I had seen into a dance of sorts, for what little
I have seen of the dancing of courtesans reminded me of the training on the
ground beneath my small window. Common sense stopped me from mimicking a weapon
in hand, or killing thrusts.
I
sometimes thought that the men below were like the animals I saw around me, for
sometimes the men mimicked their movements. That gave me an idea I would
explore to its fullest.
I
also reasoned I should move in ways that would allow my audience to see my sex,
if only briefly.
Though
a woman, my cunt resembled that of a young girl’s; full outer lips with the
barest hint of down above my slit. My inner labia small. I felt I could use
that fact to my advantage.
Slowly
but freely I began to move my arms and legs, allowing the casual observer to
see my holes as I worked my body in small circles, thrusting my hips,
crouching, or lifting a leg.
First
an improvised warrior’s stance, allowing my pretend audience a clear view of
both holes, with my hands giving flight to the falcon on a hunt. The bird high
in the air, circling as I circled the floor, then downward, keeping his wings
tucked next to his body, only to spread them as he snatched his prey, rising
triumphant. These movements I practiced several times, perfecting them, giving
them a name.
Warrior-bird
hunts.
Next
was an exaggerated unarmed movement, only to become a feline on the prowl, ass
high in the air, ready to pounce in play.
Some
of my improvised movements seemed too awkward, but those I considered tolerably
graceful, I named. That way I could and would recall them when it became my
turn to dance.
I
practiced them for some time before I felt compelled to stop for the night, and
my bed beckoned.
I
finally fell asleep with one hand gently fondling my soaked slit, the other
softly tugging at my nipples, going over the movements of my dance in my mind,
knowing my holes would be masterfully viewed by all.
The
next day the dancing was coarse at best, embarrassing at its worst. Strange,
even laughable, though our giggles were frowned upon. Mistress Cali saved me
for last, though at the time I hadn’t a clue or a care. I was simply enjoying
the day for what it was.
When
it was my turn, I summoned the names for the movements I had choreographed the
night before, and danced as if none were watching.
Slowly,
carefully, mouse kicks at cat.
Cat
wheels to the side and traps mouse.
Mouse
escapes, and cat saunters off dejected.
Each
movement allowed me to give my audience carefully timed access to my butt hole,
my pussy hole, or both.
After
the falcon’s flight, prey in talon, I stopped my movements to a stunned room.
All eyes remained on me, some of those watching with mouths open.
I
took my place with the rest of the students, and waited.
“A
courtesan,” Mistress Cali began, “is the keeper of ancient traditions, most
older than the empire we serve. We are devoted to the gods and goddesses of
wisdom and preservation. We provide a wisdom passed down through the ages,
giving the empire its bones. Yes, we provide pleasure, but there is so much
more to life than pleasure.”
Mistress
Cali saw that our attention needed to be recaptured, so asked a question. “What
did you think of Alana’s dance, Kari?”
“I
found it beautiful, Mistress.”
“As
did I. I also found purposeful meaning in her movements. Alana wanted you to
see her, and each movement she made was designed to enhance the view of her
sex. Well thought, Alana. For the rest of you, to give with that view, and to
take from them their gaze, is to master the many dances you will later learn.
You see, each of our dances has meaning, and serves a seductive purpose.”
The
lectures continued until we were released for the midday meal, which would be
the last one served by the kitchen staff. Again this meal was in silence,
remembering the palace laundry was a quiet, yet busy place.
Quiet
was not our normal state of being, for the house slaves of the Blood Empire
have always been allowed our gossip. We know many a secret about those we
serve. Information traded between slaves for a reason. That knowledge is what
helped us house slaves stay alive.
As
we ate, we thought it wise to pay this last meal particular attention, though I
continued to be stared at in awe.
After
the midday meal we returned, shed our robes, and again were lectured to and
asked questions of.
“Think
about the wealth of the Blood Empire,” Mistress Cali said, now preferring her
lectures to touch on the finer points. “Overt wealth means little when it can
be murdered away from you. Hidden wealth means little if you spend your life a
miser.”
I
had been surrounded by wealth of all types, yet had considered myself wealthy
with health, and that I had my life. I never considered gold, jewels, or the
fine trappings they provided.
“Gold
means nothing when dead,” Mistress said. “The dead need not a thing, not even
their names. In death we are all equals. The true wealth of the empire is the
knowledge passed down from scholar to student, mother to daughter, father to
son.
“Our
wealth is also knowledge, yet those we entertain or council may give us
trinkets of gold or jewels. We never flaunt our personal wealth in public
venues, yet are expected to adorn ourselves for our more private performances.
We might wear what we were given, only with those who gave to us a particular
trinket, and do that to show our proper appreciation.”
Wealth
was not always material. Mistress Cali hinted that the greater wealth of the
empire was in favors traded. How the art of the trade was really put to use.
“Now
think of a song,” Mistress Cali said. “On the morrow your voices will be
tested. Dress, and leave. In the morning you will be hungry, as no meal will be
served this night, and you will learn to cook.”
As
we were about to depart, one of the eunuchs pulled Tisane to one side. We said
nothing, but feared for her, and rightly so.
I
entered my quarters that night hungry, and in a dark mood. Tisane hadn’t the
skill to dance. That much was obvious. She had fallen several times, and moved
about stiffly. Altogether without grace. I had the feeling the palace laundry
was about to gain another silent maiden.
Still,
I had a song to think about, and how I should sing it. The song I chose was one
my mother would sing to me when I was young, and I decided to sing it softly,
as I was sung to by her, riding in the slaver’s carts.
I
again saw the faces of those who listened as my mother sang, and how, on some,
tears fell freely.
I
realized then my mother (along with the others) knew she would die soon, worked
like a draft animal in the mines, while my brothers would find themselves in
the empire’s foundries.
She
sang to me about a flower, how it felt as it grew, and when that flower
bloomed, it was lovely, and sweetly scented. That flower brought joy to all who
saw it.
She
was giving me hope with that song, and I only now understood what her hope for
me was. I vowed I would not squander her last remaining hope.
The
morning began like all the others, but for one difference. This day, one of the
palace cooks came into our small dining hall, and began teaching how to cook
elaborate meals on a small grill called a ’Bachi, used by Nobles and courtesans
in intimate situations.
“Food
should be pleasing to look at,” the cook said. “Food should smell tempting.
Food should also taste wonderful. This is what you will learn from me. Pay
attention. I will make regular progress reports to Mistress Cali.”
The
grills were to be assembled, and there was a proper way to light them, and a
proper way to use them. And so this phase of our training began, and would last
until we were masters.
We
had in front of us a pile of raw ingredients for this meal only. We were also
told that cooking a tasty meal was only one of the ’Bachi’s functions, and that
Mistress Cali would complete the second half of this training, after we had
mastered the cooking aspects.
I
took that as, first we must learn to cook the food and have it remain edible,
and then we would learn to do so in an alluring fashion, and serve it in an
enticing manner.
We
assembled our ’Bachies, and that was not as difficult as I first thought, for
there were only four pieces. The base, the fuel pot, and the two cooking
surfaces.
Ingredients
were then explained, and we were shown how to prepare them. The lighting of the
’Bachi was next, after a short blessing to the goddess Tani’tua. Some of us
were familiar with flint and steel, striking one against the other to produce a
spark, lighting the fuel the ’Bachi contained.
Since
we were the cooks, we were to see to the ’Bachi’s maintenance, keeping it in
perfect working condition, ready to use at a moment’s notice.
We
cooked our meals as shown, we ate, we cleaned the ’Bachi and refueled it. Then
to class to sing.
Chapter
Four
“The
virtues of a courtesan are many,” Mistress Cali said. “Each skill mastered by
all, practiced by all, is perfected by only a distinguished few. Song, dance,
music, art. Mandalas of prayer or good fortune. We craft all our props, and all
our clothes. We scent ourselves with our own creations, bejewel ourselves with
our own creations, or sometimes with a favored bauble given us. We cook, and
make and serve wonderful concoctions. We scribe for our charges at times, spew
imaginative tales when asked, provide wise council, and so much more. Sing for
me, Tiral.”
Tiral
did, and the sounds were pleasant enough, the words pleasing, but I saw no real
intent behind her song. Nothing befitting what we were learning. It wasn’t
enough to do the things required of us, one had to do them and mean them. The
intent had to be present.
Naked,
each of us stood to sing, and once again I was last. I think I now understood
why, but would have to wait to be proven right. Now was to give them all a show
they wouldn’t soon forget.
I
gently lowered myself down into a crouch, and gave voice to a simple flower,
shaping it with my hands and emotions as if I was my mother, singing to her
young daughter. Singing and shaping a flower I couldn’t then see. I was singing
to the me I once was.
I
wanted them, my fellow students, to feel how I felt, listening to those simple
words of hope, embodied within its lovely petals and sweet scent.
As
my song ended, I realized there were tears on my cheeks, and on the cheeks of
the others. I stood again, faced the class, and then took my place alongside
the other girls.
“Our
eyes convey emotion,” Mistress Cali said. “Our movements display intent. Our
voices have meaning. Alana, you did very well, but you will never again sing
that song for others, or aloud to yourself. Not a question asked. You will
simply do as I say. The rest of you will think about the performance, and
forget that the song had been sung or forfeit your lives.”
“Yes,
Mistress Cali,” we said in unison, surprised, and also frightened.
“You
should all think about Alana’s recent performances,” Mistress then said, “and
how much of herself, her heart and soul, she put into them. But, there is
another side to that coin. What we share here in this room is only for our eyes
and ears.”
Given
that courtesans were a secretive lot, we nodded our understanding.
“As
a courtesan,” Mistress Cali continued, “everything we do or say has meaning.
Everything. It is here you will learn a level of self-control unparalleled
throughout the realm. Each movement or word in the company of others, in the
course of our duties, is appraised. We take the measure of any action, or
reaction. We understand and manipulate cause and effect. We magnify or diminish
emotion, adding significance to those emotions, in order for us to define those
emotions and control them. As a courtesan you will learn only to display what
you want others to see and comprehend.”
She
looked each one of us in the eye, and we nodded our understanding.
This,
in truth, was the first real lesson I was to take to heart as a courtesan in
training. I was to be in control of myself at all times. Never was I to falter.
This
was nothing new to me, not really, being a house slave in the Crimson Palace.
The rules of the palace were many. The rules governing how we went about our
duties unspoken, yet followed. Now it seems I was to regard that as child’s
play. For us as adults, we twist the rules to our favor.
Now
I was sure. A courtesan was to be a superior being; above all in the Crimson
Palace and beyond; above even the emperor.
The
evening meal was a repeat of the midday meal, and that of the morning meal.
Strips of meat, simply spiced, never overcooked or undercooked, served with
butter-sautéed mushrooms and onions, accompanied by a yeast-flour flat bread
also cooked on the ’Bachi. We would repeat this meal until we conquered that
one simple dish to the satisfaction of the master chef.
Each
night alone in my room I would dance, always naked, always aware of my breasts,
my cunt, and my asshole. Who in the audience was favored with the sight of me,
and what emotions that peek might spawn.
With
my songs I had to think about the passion I wanted to convey, and the response
I sought, but for this practice I sang only the songs of the empire.
I
continued to practice the combat training I had learned on my own, killing
without regret imaginary enemies. Enemies I might have, if I was not careful.
Each
night in my bed I would finger my asshole, my pussy hole, working over my clit
and nipples. The more I played with myself, the more I wanted to be played
with.
One
finger up my butt became two, and it hurt at first, until I learned to gently
push against my fingers, and maintain that slight pressure, opening myself up.
I was, after all, a court whore. A courtesan in training. I would have to be
able to perform in a bed, and not just the stage a few floor tiles would make.
I
could feel the tickling itch develop that would make my pussy drip with
sweet-scented juice. When it became too much for me, I would cram two or three
fingers into my pussy hole, and rub my lips and clit with the heal of my hand.
Spent,
smelly, dirty, I would sleep each night content within the knowledge I would be
a desired courtesan.
Each
morning I would be clean myself from top to bottom, inside and out, and gently
scent myself as any proper house slave or courtesan in training should. Each
morning I would dress in a clean robe, and take my soiled clothes and bedding
down to the silent maidens that inhabited the laundry.
I
again saw Tisane, scrubbing sheets with tub and board, and even though she knew
I was there, she would never turn to acknowledge me. I left, nodding to the
other slaves who were doing like me, attending their daily needs.
In
the dining room that morning I noticed two more sisters had vanished from our
ranks, only this time I knew for certain the laundry hadn’t gained these silent
maidens. I could only conclude them dead, or soon to be dead. Muted slaves,
compelled to work the mines or foundries, and silently I grieved for them.
I
noticed the remaining sisters were keenly aware of our numbers, and that they,
much like me, had doubled their efforts. Breakfast was yet another plate of
spiced meat and flat bread.
Each
morning in class our day began with us dropping our robes, and we would display
our sex for a brief yet thorough visual inspection by one or more of the
eunuchs. Sometimes they would smell us, and those who did not pass this
inspection were sent out to properly clean and scent themselves. Only rarely
did this happen twice to a sister, and never with me. For whatever abuse I
heaped upon myself, none here would know. My secret to keep.
The
other sisters learned quickly to emulate my performances, what emotion and intent
I put into them. Their dances began to take on a provocative glimmer, their
songs lovely, filled with actual emotion. I still hadn’t the sense that they
were aware of themselves as I was aware of myself, yet given time that might
change.
“A
story,” Mistress Cali said. “That is what you will hear from me this day. This
is the only time you will ever hear it. I suggest you pay attention.”
We
stood in rapt attention, for this was an unexpected if not welcomed departure
from our daily lectures. Only, we didn’t expect to be released from any
possible questioning after the story concluded, knowing our answers
consequential.
“Before
this world,” she began, “there was another. We are the second confirmed
intelligence to rise up from the ashes of death. The first world was amazing
and complex. Instant travel the world over, instant communication the world
over, and instant gratification. Cities that could cover this inner kingdom,
with millions of people in them. Yet, for all their marvels, this world and all
in it were obliterated by greed, by war, and by stupidity. They destroyed
almost all life to ever exist, everywhere, and what little survived that age of
darkness, became us.
“We
are not without our flaws. At first, like all animals should, we lived in
harmony with nature, but once again greed crept into our hearts and souls, and
where greed reins, so does war follow. The stupidity of our species is to
repeat the mistakes of the past, not learning from them.
“One
man from before, in one book, he told the story of what was before, and
what would happen to his world, and what was to come after the age of darkness.
He knew this darkness would last several thousand years, and his children would
always be there, so he gave them, his children, a task.
“With
this narrative told, if you fail the training, you will be put to immediate
death, for this is the story of us.”
Her
story was something we had never heard before, to be sure, and her
matter-of-fact threat told us her story was real.
“Primary
to this story is the greed that had filled his world, and greed’s affects on
the burgeoning populace. Just as it was then, he discovered those that have,
always want more, and those that have nothing will kill to obtain something,
anything, if it is their survival at stake. He called this unfortunate truth
the sorrowful side of the human condition.
“We,
us, here, now, we know this world is round, that this world circles our sun,
and the moon in the sky circles us. We know this world has many lands across
the mighty oceans around us, and that this man saw the world for what it was.
He knew his world, and as widely traveled as he was, the truths he recorded
were few. Now you know a hidden truth, information yet to be discovered or
confirmed. We are the only people who know these things for certain, and we
will always keep these secrets to ourselves. We will kill ourselves before we
reveal these truths.
“With
so many peoples choking the lands of this entire globe, he knew that this world
would die, was dying, but also that this world would be reborn. That a new
breed of people, shaped by their new and strange environment, would inhabit
this new world.
“There
were few voices of reason in the old world, but he also knew one man, working
alone and in secret, could make a difference. His planet, being suffocated by
this never-ending greed and the shameless stupidity it caused, gave rise to his
silent hope. And so, he wrote a book. One book. One book passed down through
the ages, through the dark times, through to our times, one book carefully
studied by us. We are his children. We are courtesans.
“This
one man ensured his progeny would survive, and of the women in this family,
only the intelligent would keep the ideas within his book alive. Passed down
from mother to daughter were the edicts of the courtesan. For we are the
secret guardians of this world.
“For
one-hundred-thousand, three-hundred-two years now, the words of this one book
survived intact, carefully read and copied when needed by those who came after,
not altering even one letter. Not adding to, or subtracting from any page. Not
one word changed since it was first penned, and left in the care of his only
granddaughter.”
Mistress
Cali’s story went on for some time. How this one man decided to entrust the
women in this world to come with its safekeeping, and use the weaknesses
inherent in all men as their tools.
I
learned our world, once any population reached a certain number, was subject to
war. Laws could only govern those who were willing to live or die by those same
said laws, but the elite, without exception, they always felt themselves above
the law, and that was where greed entered the heart.
Cause,
and effect. An endless circle that had but one chance to be forever broken, and
we were that chance.
That
night, after our nightly meal, I sat in my room to digest all Mistress Cali
said, for she hadn’t asked a question of us.
If
I survived this training, I was to become a weapon. One fit to save the world,
and all those who lived in it.
That
night my dreams were full of dancing and death, and I was not ready for the
morning.
Chapter
Five
I
cooked my morning meal, and was finally given a passing grade. I would learn a
new dish at the midday meal, and would have that to eat three times a day until
I perfected the dish.
I
was learning to measure ingredients and spice by sight and touch, and enjoy a
meal that was as delicious as any we ever had before in our lives. The trick,
as I understood it, was to make the process look effortless.
A
new courtesan was introduced to us that day, an older mother by the name of
Mistress Serrin, and she was to teach us proper dancing techniques. She wore a
costume that fit her form, while we continued each day nude.
“Rain
falls from the sky,” Mistress Serrin said, “it gathers and forms streams, and
streams form rivers, and rivers form oceans. Such is the world as we know it.
From water comes all life to inhabit this world. That is the name of, and the
dance you shall learn today. Waters of Life. Though little can be gained
from its name, we know this circle of life is to be maintained at all costs.
Even if it costs us our lives. Certainly it will cost the lives of others. When
we dance our dances, we remind ourselves that we are nothing more than humble
guardians of a small planet once called Earth.”
She
then danced for us, and as the rain fell, her legs would stay close together,
her steps small, and this made her breasts jiggle, and her backside wiggle.
“These
movements,” Mistress Cali lectured, “have proven to entice even the most
feminine of males. The idea is to be the rain as it falls. See it in her
movements. A gentle, nourishing shower.”
We
were sitting in a circle, as was expected at any formal gathering of Nobles. I
could see how she watched each of us, and would give each of us a front or back
view, her dancing in small circles. I’m sure this was done intentionally, and
then Mistress Cali confirmed it.
“She
has now studied each of you, and has given each of you what you desire most to
see. Her first pass around the floor she studied where you were looking. If you
looked at her breasts, her eyes or hands, or her pussy. If you looked at her
eyes or hands on the first pass, then on the second pass she showed you her
rear. If you looked at her breasts, she made sure you got a better look on the
second pass. The same with her cunt. Her legs opened a little wider on the
second pass, and you caught a glimpse of her full slit.”
“Now
the rain becomes a stream,” Mistress Serrin said.
This
time she danced our circle faster. I could not help but to keep my eyes on her.
She moved so gracefully, and she exposed more of her cunt, and more of her ass,
and more of her breasts. Looking at the other sisters I noticed their undivided
attention on her movements, and their breathing had intensified.
“Now
the stream becomes the uncertain river,” Mistress Cali said. “Calm one moment,
a raging torrent the next.”
Now,
for each one of us, her movements took on a measured yet fevered quality.
Several sisters had to lean backward as she passed, a frenzy of movement, or a
calm step or two, as she was reading the wants of each sister, and then her
passionate movements stopped. It seems the river had reached the ocean, and
like with my first dance, she was sure to show each sister what was desired. A
good long look as she slowly moved around the room.
Mistress
Serrin took her leave, and we were questioned about the dancing. Some of the
sisters had noticed what I had noticed, and I found a thrill that they had
started down the road of intelligent thought.
They
saw how Mistress Serrin, in her first pass, had studied us, read our desires,
and endeavored to seduce us on each subsequent pass as she became the rain, the
stream, the river, and the ocean.
“Each
dance is different,” Mistress Cali said, “depending on the courtesan performing
it. Each audience is different, and one must seduce all members. That is a
necessity. Each seduction is our path into the lives of the Nobles, their
families, and how each of us gains knowledge of the inner workings of the
empire. It is that information that allows us to achieve our goals. Think about
my words as you begin another discipline.”
Many
of us were taught to mend clothing, but our stitches lacked true finesse. The
afternoon was spent learning anew how to sew.
Here
the fabrics were of the delicate sort. Another courtesan, Mistress Senna,
almost as old as Mistress Cali, would slowly circle the room, guiding each of
us as we learned how to sew with tiny silver needles the most delicate of
fabrics, with small but strong stitches.
The
colors of the fabric were different for each sister, based on her complexion
and the color of her eyes. The color of her hair played into it, too, but was
not a major factor. Clothes were worn against the skin.
I’ll
admit to feeling overwhelmed at times, as well as under-slept. Mistress Cali
visited me a second time that very night, announcing herself with a soft knock,
only this time that knock was answered.
I
bowed slightly as she entered, as I would bow when holding a door open for any
of the palace Nobles.
“I
now see fear on your face as you comprehend my lectures, Alana.”
“I
do not mean to embody fear, Mistress. I simply don’t know if I can attain your
desired level of perfection.”
“Rarely
will I wear my emotions on my sleeve, and when you do see any, ask yourself
what is real.”
“I
don’t understand.”
“I
believe you do, but you have yet to master your own emotions. I see lust in
your eyes, weariness in your days, and a love of dance. All I ask from you is
that you listen, think, and learn. With time and practice, you will do well.”
“Yes,
Mistress Cali, I will try harder.”
“Alana,
you move carefully, slowly until comfortable, and you learn your lessons well.
I see no reason to fear.”
“There
are now seven of us. I fear for the fourth.”
“As
do I, because this night will only leave six sisters to teach. You must know by
now I never make selections thoughtlessly. The knowledge I pass on is too
important to this world, and to this empire, and I’ll do what I must to protect
both. Remember, I voiced this risk, and then offered all a choice. Stay, or
leave. None chose to leave.”
“Mistress
. . .”
“I
know the difficulties you face. Have I not faced them also?”
Each
lecture had another layer of meaning, and that layer dictated my real duty as a
courtesan.
“You
have, Mistress Cali. I will endeavor to serve our cause well.”
“I
know you will, Alana. I simply wanted to calm your fear. The other girls now
look to you for guidance, yet only a few will rise to serve the Loran Temple as
a courtesan. I’m sorry to tell you this, but truth, with us, is to be faced at
all times. The truth serves us well.”
I
only knew my truth, and now I knew another’s truth. Or, thought I knew. Time
would tell.
“On
the morrow,” Mistress Cali said, “I will ask you to pose for the sisters. To be
aware, seductive, even child-like in some ways. Think hard. Those seeking eyes,
you have seen them before, many times in your life. What were these eyes
staring at? A child at play? A slave not aware of her body as she went about
her work? Sexual desire leads their eyes to seek satisfaction, and you will
have a chance to provide that. Good night, Alana.”
With
that said, Mistress Cali left me to my thoughts.
I
remembered seeking eyes my whole life. It seemed like eyes would latch on to my
ass whenever I would bend over, or lean over while sitting. Whenever I would
find myself on my back, or whenever I spread my legs for whatever reason, it
felt like the eyes of many around me desired to see inside my cunt. Up my
asshole. Now I was asked to encourage this, and lead the others in proper
technique.
That
night, like so many now behind me, I danced my many dances, practiced the ones
we all had learned, and fought my own private war with weapons I did not
possess. I also thought about what Mistress Cali said, and started to picture
each pose in my mind.
The
innocence of a child, this is what I deemed paramount in each pose portrayed.
Their innocence in work, play, at rest. Not yet aware of themselves and their
affect on others around them.
I
went to sleep that night, and slept well. Without fear. I would do as asked,
and I would try to do well.
The
morning I noted Janice gone. We would all mourn in silence, and retrieved our
cooking implements.
Another
meal down, my ’Bachi clean and stored, I waited for this day to begin, seated
in the instruction hall.
“There
are many positions for having sexual intercourse,” Mistress Cali said, entering
the room, “and that will be taught another day. Today, like a child unashamed
and unaware, you will crawl, sit, think about, and emulate the innocence of your
youth. Today . . . you will pose.”
I
had spent the night thinking about the needs of this day, and what I should
provide the others in way of instruction. Mistress Cali would expect me to
emulate what I could remember of those lecherous eyes, and encourage that
hunger.
“Pose
for me, Alana,” Mistress Cali said.
As
an infant we learned to expose ourselves unashamed. To lay on our backs and
bring our knees to the outsides of our shoulders while we are cleaned. So that
is what I did.
I
brought my knees to either side of my chest, and watched my cunt rise high in
the air. I could feel my asshole enjoying the same freedom as my slit. Both
were there to be seen.
An
infant then learns to roll over onto their stomach, so that was what I did
next. I then spread my legs, and raised my ass up, knowing that one hole would
remain hidden, yet my slit would be easily seen.
I
brought one knee around as if to start a crawl, and enjoyed how exposed my cunt
was, and now my asshole was visible.
“Men’s
secret desires are betrayed by their eyes,” Mistress Cali said. “A child in
their innocence does not realize the affect their movements have on those
around them. Each of you have seen these poses and more in the children you may
have cared for, but as you think about each pose, think also about the desires
you might have seen from the eyes of those around you. How their eyes betrayed
their thoughts. Learn the silent language of those eyes.”
I
began to crawl. I did so slowly, taking my time, and stopped and dropped down
as if to examine an insect, ass high. This action exposed both holes, and I
could hear my sisters breathing quite loudly. I stood, and then squatted, as a
child would at play.
“Men’s
emotions are given to us without words by their eyes,” Mistress Cali said. “You
can see their thoughts as clearly as the sun in the sky on a cloudless day, and
you will learn to use this skill as we progress.”
I
sat, my legs crossed. I then drew my knees to my chest, and added space between
my feet, keeping my knees together.
As
I moved from pose to pose, I was aware of what could be seen by each sister,
what the Mistress could see, and what the eunuchs could see.
With
each pose I studied the eyes of the room, and many emotions, thoughts, and
desires were evident from my sisters, but nothing could be read from Mistress
Cali’s eyes, or the from the eyes of the eunuchs.
So
be it.
In
arching the spine up, like the tortoise’s shell, my cunt and asshole remained
hidden. By pushing the spine down, toward the floor, my ass would rise high in
the air, and both holes could be fully explored by their seeking eyes.
I
then pushed myself back into a sitting position, still with my spine arched as
if toward the floor, feet apart. When I felt my cunt touch the cold stone I
stopped, and enjoyed the delicious chill against my inflamed flesh.
I
moved my cunt around on the stone, teensy, tiny, tight little circles, working
my clit until I came. Not my first orgasm, and certainly not my last, but the
first time I let myself masturbate (using the stone floor of all things) in
front of another.
As
an older child we would learn to walk, and then run, and then we would play. I
laid on my back, brought my knees up, but my feet hadn’t left the stones. I
then pushed my back and ass up, hands and feet on the floor, spreading my knees
apart, and stirred my slit in the air. I wanted them to see me wet and
inflamed.
I
had nothing left to show them, and had done my best. I then sat with my legs
crossed, letting myself cool down, and still nothing was said.
Nobody
that day had joined me on the floor to demonstrate poses of their own. We sewed
until it was time to eat our evening meal.
Chapter
Six
“I
will ask you all to think about what you saw yesterday,” Mistress Cali said.
“Think about all you have seen in the past, growing up a female, and the eyes
you noticed. Think hard. Mistress Senna has joined us again, and will answer
questions on sewing only. Begin.”
I
did not mind that I was being used to teach the others, for I could see a
sister or two struggling. We were being taught so much in such a short time. I
wondered if I was the only sister to see the implications behind Mistress
Cali’s lectures. I could feel the odd eye as I rummaged through the fabric
given me, and began to sew tiny yet strong stitches.
I
also thought of the story she told us. How one man could see the world to come
so well. His story was our guidebook. A tome for not repeating the mistakes of
the past. His past, maybe to be our future.
He
was saying that no man or woman could be trusted with power. Not even the Blood
Emperor himself could be trusted to wield his power for the good of the empire,
or its people. Yet, here we were, courtesans, with the power to shape empires,
or see them ground to dust. We held the power to shape worlds.
It
must have been hard for this one man to see the truth. How, in his future, he
would see a blight coming that would decimate his world. A blight created by
the hands of his own race, created by ignorance and greed, destroying almost
all life on his green Earth.
Upon
his death he knew the beginnings of this blight would take root, but by then
his granddaughter would be a young mother herself, and would have chosen the
most thoughtful of her offspring to train in the ways of the thoughtful
assassin. Train in the ways of a humble and hidden protector of the planet, and
let the roots of the courtesan grow deep.
By
the end of that day I imagined much about this one man’s legacy.
I
sat on the edge of my bed, mentally exhausted, and my fingers hurt from the
thousands of tiny stitches I had sewn.
I
answered the knock at my door unafraid, and bowed to Mistress Cali.
“It
seemed as you sewed . . . you were lost,” she said, “even to yourself.”
“One
man spent twenty years writing one book,” I said, “and yet this one book can
and will save us all?”
“Yes.
The past, his past, saw many empires rise and fall, but it was in his time that
he saw the world become one truly global civilization. Instantaneous
communication, where with a simple device one could speak to another anywhere
on the planet. Less than a day to circle our planet, meaning travel was
virtually instantaneous. Information everywhere. Millions of books on every
subject imaginable at his beck and call, and pictures that moved.
“Such
a wondrous time he had lived, but he also saw the outcome of his time, and the
greed that led to the blight he knew was coming. He saw how a few evil men and
women, those completely corrupted by power and greed, how they led the people
of this, our Earth, into the fires of what he called Hell. It took a long time
for this planet to cool enough to let life again grow on its surface.”
He
knew the truth, but at the same time seemed powerless to stop it. This is what
I didn’t understand, and said so.
“Could
a mine slave halt an empire?” Mistress asked. “He was not a mine slave, but he
held no real power. He could, however, see to it that his children’s children
held positions of power, and did so. They strode through their world with a
hidden purpose.”
“I
see so many things wrong with our world,” I said, “and wonder how, through the
efforts of those before me, things are better.”
“Those
who survived to see the sun rise on a cooling and healing planet, they worked
to give this planet back its life. Let what had survived on its own, thrive.
There used to be millions of different animal species everywhere on this
planet, in the oceans, in the skies, and what you see now counts for so little.
But that same corruption and greed did not die with the old world. As you see
all around you, it is if we humans have a hole in our hearts that cannot ever
be filled.”
For
the first time I saw in her eyes she seemed tired, worn to the bone and then
some.
“Tomorrow
is another day,” Mistress Cali said, turning toward the door. “I’m sorry to say
there will be one less sister. However, those that are left, these are the
students I will see become proper courtesans.”
Chapter
Seven
Months
had passed, our training had become more intense, and we remaining sisters more
contemplative, if not a touch competitive.
“Our
tongues give pleasure,” Mistress Cali said. “Our hands soothe. Our sex is our
gift. We pleasure men and women alike, and they surrender themselves to us, heart
and soul.” Her exaggerated emphasis on the last three of her words was
meant to imbue their importance. “This much you are sure of, and yet we are to
become weapons of silent destruction. How do we become this? By understanding
the complexities of our world. Noble Lord Shal secretly seeks to expand his
army. There is purpose here, and it is you who must figure this out. Use what
you know. Willow? Speak freely.”
“Obviously
he seeks more power,” Willow said. “There are several lesser Nobles within his
domain, but he cannot war with one without weakening himself. He seeks to war
without weakening himself.”
“Does
it matter which Noble is to fall?” Tiral asked.
“Yes,”
Mistress Cali said. “One Noble will help another in instances as this, which is
not as uncommon as it seems. Noble Lord Shal may face two or more armies, yet
he still seeks to add warriors. Why?”
“He
has the approval of others within his domain to dispose of a weaker opponent in
his game of power,” Tiral then said. “Each has been promised a share of the
spoils. This makes sense to me. Now, who is weakest within Noble Lord Shal’s
domain?”
“I
don’t think it’s a question of who is weakest,” I said. “It is more a question
of gain. There must be a lot to gain if they are to divide the spoils.”
“Each
Noble Lord has a function he fulfills to the Blood Emperor’s satisfaction,”
Mistress said. “Would not this war be noticed by the Blood Emperor, who then
might take action of his own? What then is to be gained by the removal of this
Noble?”
We
were now allowed to speak to each other, during and after our training, but
only within the confines of the training room.
Our
days had been partitioned. Today we made our morning meals, worked on our
various costumes, and learned more about poisons. Before we would be released
for our nightly meal, we would discuss the empire at large, so we could
understand its inner workings and its frequent turmoil.
Each
Noble had a function within the empire, but there was something we young
sisters didn’t yet understand. War depletes resources, brings disease,
interruption of goods and services. It was then I heard a noise from Nalla, and
when I looked, she wanted, I think, to say something on this, but she also
seemed afraid.
“Say
what you think,” I softly prodded. “We will never be punished for our efforts.
Only for our failures.”
“Correct,
Alana,” Mistress said. “Speak your mind, Nalla.”
“I
would serve Noble Lord Shal when he visited the palace,” Nalla said. “There was
no love lost between him and Noble Lord Phen. He considered Noble Lord Phen a
weak fop. Never did I hear another opinion from him in private, or when he
entertained other Noble Lords of his domain. This is his target.”
“Nalla
is correct,” Mistress Cali said. “I have researched this, have spoken with
other courtesans on this subject, and we all agree this is the situation the
empire faces. One . . . simply wants to be rid of the other. However, the
resources wasted and time spent recovering would be detrimental to the overall
well-being of the empire. How could this predicament be solved without war?”
“Kill
one or the other,” Willow volunteered. “But I don’t see what killing both would
accomplish, other than alerting others to our presence.”
The
lesser of two evils. Perhaps that is the true function of a courtesan.
“Killing
both is out of the question,” Mistress Cali said. “You are correct, Willow. One
Noble is strong, the other is weak. One has generous resources at hand, the
other scrapes by. To see the history of the situation is to see the truth. I
will tell you now that Noble Lord Shal is the one who scrapes by, so enlisting
the help of the other Nobles is wise on his part, quietly adding their soldiers
to his ranks, having no real choice but to divide the spoils, ultimately
receiving the smallest share. This is how I see the situation. What say you
now?”
“We
now see but one side,” Elaine said, “yet we should see both sides to this possible
conflict.”
Five
sisters were left. Willow, Elaine, Nalla, Tiral, and me. Each of us reaching
for our own understanding.
“I’ll
tell what I have observed about Noble Lord Phen,” Nalla began. “He does draw
the other Noble’s scorn by being too effeminate. In his most private moments
I’ve seen him fancy young boys. Yet, he has a strong wife, two daughters, and
one very young son who seems sickly. I think the boy favors the father.”
“And
of Noble Lady Phen?” Mistress Cali asked. “Opinions?”
“I’ve
seen Noble Lady Phen guide her husband on matters of state,” I said. “More than
once. I think he sought her advice, and because she was well informed on
matters within the empire, he was more apt to take her advice than not.”
“Some
men show little regard to their women,” Mistress Cali said. “Some men enjoy the
fact they can ask the opinion of their women. Noble Lady Phen is more than just
an advisor. Noble Lord Phen has trained her for the life of a warrior since she
was a little girl. He considers her his secret weapon. I consider her a
treasure and a resource. With these new facts, what is to be done?”
My
sisters, myself, none of us were willing to answer Mistress’s question. We were
weighing options.
“Consider
what was said this day,” Mistress Cali stated. “Enjoy your evening meal, and I
may speak to one or more of you before this night is over.”
Mistress
Cali left the room, and the evening meal was still an hour away.
“We
talk this out amongst ourselves,” Willow said. “Who would die if we had our
choice in this matter?”
“Noble
Lord Shal makes reckless decisions,” Tiral said. “Anyone can see the rise of
men in his ranks. He fools none and worries all. I think he should die.”
“Our
goal,” I began, “is to end this situation without war. Yes, he should die, but
not at first. Let us look at all the key players.”
“You
have something in mind, Alana?” Willow asked.
“Our
world does not favor the weak,” I returned. “Noble Lord Phen, he will always be
considered weak by all who encounter him. He is foppish, effeminate, and in any
social situation these are the traits he excels in. Lots of gossip from the
other Nobles about him, none of it good. I’m surprised it has taken this long
for another Noble to move against him.”
“Noble
Lady Phen is strong,” Nalla said. “Much like we are to become. If Noble Lord
Phen is to be killed, I see her also greeting death. His domain thrown into
turmoil. Yet if Noble Lord Shal dies, I see several strong sons rising to take
his place. I see them acting for the good of the empire, at least at first.”
“The
good of the empire,” Elaine said. “This is what we must think of. Greed and
stupidity destroyed this world once, should we let this happen a second time?
Noble Lord Phen has wise council with Noble Lady Phen by his side. Their
decisions have allowed him to prosper.”
“If
only he had a strong son,” Tiral said.
My
idea was that he could have a strong son, if one not of his blood. I said this,
and asked the other sisters to consider the implications. Noble Lord Shal had
three sons, and of those three, one might prove a suitable substitute. It would
be in the best interest of the empire to forge strong ties between the two
houses. What stronger ties than blood?
We
sisters discussed this problem for a while longer, but didn’t draw a
conclusion.
To
be continued . . .
Everything Nikki Blood - My no-spam, your
email addy will never be shared, newsletter signup form! Join me for new
releases and more. Be a part of my world.
Thank
you for reading The Courtesan Part
One, and like all authors, I’m always seeking reviews.
My
email address is mailto:one.nikkiblood@gmail.com,
and I seek followers and comments on my blog, and you can follow me on Twitter.
My
other books, written as Ripley King.
5
- Dark Fantasy - Five deliciously
dark stories.
A
man seeking revenge.
Another
aspires to rule the world.
A
Dark Warrior appears on Earth.
Just
where did that little demon dolly come from?
A
young girl prays for death, becoming more than she bargained for.
5
More - Dark Fantasy
A
man with ultimate power.
A
hit man researches his target.
What
it takes to change the world.
An
ancient being learns the absolute truth.
One
man takes his reality to the extreme.
Another
5 - Dark Fantasy
Santa's
little helper tracks a killer.
What
does it mean to be the President?
Remember
your evil gym teacher? Who was she really?
That
crazy little thing called love.
When
one killer meets another.
Again,
5 - Dark Fantasy
The
truth behind Roswell.
Humanity
stands tall.
Another
world joins the fight.
A
prime example of the darkness within.
Two
toys need their owner.
One
Last 5 - Dark Fantasy
An
old PI discovers God works in mysterious ways.
What
is the nature of a vindictive soul?
Is
the human race ready?
What
it means to get a fresh start.
Are
you willing to risk everything for immortality?
Nightstrider: The Spaces Between - Horror.
Nightstriders
have been with us since the birth of human thought. They are the rare right
hand of God on Earth. They are the top of the mortal food chain. They protect
us from evil.
Love
Dark - Dark fantasy, with
elements of romance, horror, and science fiction.
Earth
is a post-apocalyptic wasteland, Baby Sister has been kidnapped, and Pap must
master the magic of his own universe, solving the riddle of another universe's
magic.
Pap
may be the next Keeper of the Dead, but whose soul must he ultimately Keep?
Shift
Change - Horror.
Richard
Edwards grew up an orphan. He spent a couple of tours in Vietnam. He became a
die‑hard biker, and never married. Now in his late fifties, something has found him and wants him dead.
Something has found him and wants him alive.
The
truth behind faith and reality are about to collide, and the fate of the
universe is at stake.
Lonely
Hero Thing - The Chronicles of
Ian Duncan ‑ Book One - Urban fantasy.
Ian
Duncan. Millionaire. He owns a brew pub and a restaurant. He’s also Earth’s
paladin. A man with a named sword, magical powers, and a little voice in his
head only he can hear.
Beneath
the deepest roots of Des Moines, Iowa there exists a city of the dead and
damned. In this necropolis is a child yet to be born. This child’s blood, once
shed, will open the gates of Hell.
Ancient,
Evil, Hungry - The Chronicles of
Ian Duncan ‑ Book Two - Urban fantasy.
The
action never stops in this thriller second installment of The Chronicles of Ian
Duncan. Avatara. The Earth Father. An immortal soul in a mortal shell.
Old
Ones have appeared in the city, Sheena is still healing, Olympian gods and
goddesses are thrown into the mix, and the baby needs a name. That’s when Fate
appears, bringing with him Pukey the cat. His daughter’s cat. It always has
been, and always will be her cat. Is there such a thing as a cat god?
Did
Lovecraft have it right? Are we doomed?
Burnt Offerings - A collection of 20 short stories—15 previously published in
print and online, 5 original to this volume—bridged together by a larger
narrative.
"I
thought this novel would work out well if I could find the perfect vehicle to
drive my characters. Would a hospital psych ward do?"
From
Native American legend, urban detective, science fiction, to magic and love;
alongside vampires, barbarians, presidents, elves, and (walking talking) toys.
A little something for everyone.
And
Jesus Wept - Horror.
Judas
Iscariot, two-thousand-years cursed to walk among us for his betrayal of the
Christ, is about to get his second chance. He receives for the second time in
his long lonely life thirty silver coins. Thirty possibilities to save the
living universe itself.
Judas
must walk west, from New York to central Iowa, the small town of Eisais. At
each stop along his journey he gives someone a coin. Thirty conscripts in the
war to come. One coin, though, chooses its possessor. Lovely sixteen-year-old
Tamera Ditters. Profoundly autistic Tamera, a little girl with the living
universe in her head.
The Pre-dead Saga - Horror, fantasy, science fiction. Two novels as
one.
Ripley
King’s Burnt Offerings is a collection of 20 short stories,
bridged together by a larger narrative. And Jesus Wept is the stand-alone
sequel. Read together, in order, they tell a powerful story of good vs evil.
Ordinary people caught in the deadly crosshairs of extraordinary events.
One
must live, and one must die. The trick is to accomplish both, all without
lifting a finger. It’s as simple as one angel’s task, becoming one man’s
burden.
Earth
Improvement Day - Crime thriller.
Jacob
Hard is a man obsessed with one idea: Revenge over the biker gang that killed
his wife and son, leaving him for dead. Parallel him, Homicide Detective Mark
Hauer.
Two
axes to grind, and one stone to grind them on.
5
Omnibus Edition - Mixed genre.
Immortality. Paranormal private investigators.
Revenge. Then add in vampires, and so much more. The heart of darkness beats
strong here with twenty-five (25) of the best short stories from Ripley King.
No comments:
Post a Comment