Lands of the Vay Ch. 05

Author's note: Thanks to Liter Knight for her careful editing!

Chapter 5

Ciara Cam'Teren opened her eyes at the sound of her maid's footsteps. Hamenel had served Ciara for almost her entire life and Ciara knew her stride as well as her own mother's. Her maid entered her bedroom carrying a tray that smelled absolutely delicious.

"Breakfast," said Hamenel. In the exact same tone she said it every day.

Ciara stretched and twisted her neck, relieving some of the stiffness, and winced. Her mouth was dry, her stomach was hollow, and a headache was already a looming threat. Yesterday had been hard and a night's sleep wasn't enough for her to recover fully. She didn't have anything particularly taxing on her schedule for today so hopefully she'd be able to take it easy.

Hamenel put the tray down in front of her. Toast, eggs over easy, ham, and orange juice. Ciara began devouring the food with single minded determination. Breakfast was delicious as usual. Ciara's cook, Gladil, was flighty but she knew her craft well. Taking her maid and her cook along with her to her new household was one of her few requirements to agree to her parents' absurd scheme to see her bound. Ciara wasn't sure she'd be able to survive without them.

Ciara took a too-big bite of ham and had to chew hard to get it down. Eventually she was able to swallow.

"Any messages?" asked Ciara. She had slept in a little to help her recover, so she would have missed any morning mail.

Hamenel nodded.

"There was a runner with the sunrise. A leg injury. Over on Ballnar."

"That's not too far from my first patient," said Ciara, "Could you send a runner and tell them I'll be there in the early afternoon?"

Hamenel nodded. Then she hesitated.

"There was a letter for your savay. Your new house sister arrives in a week."

Ciara swallowed a bite of toast too quickly and almost choked. She could feel the half chewed bread crawling down her throat but she refused to cough. She swallowed painfully.

"Does she?"

"Yes. We need to be prepared for her binding ceremony. Did you have a preference for what dress to wear?"

Ciara took a swallow of orange juice to delay and answer. The juice hit the unchewed piece of toast and expanded it. It made her choke a little more. Her stomach gave a lurch and she suppressed a wince.

"I won't be attending," she finally said.

"Very good, Vayné," said Hamenel. She turned to go to the dresser.

Ciara winced at the cool disapproval in her maid's voice.

"I would just ruin things for them. I'd be in the way," said Ciara. She hated that she sounded like she was pleading.

Hamenel stopped halfway to the dresser and turned.

"I don't like seeing you isolate yourself. You had good friends among your sept sisters that you had to leave behind. You need to forge new relationships in your new home."

"I know. I just don't see how that's possible when He's so angry with me. They'll talk about me behind my back."

"He's not angry with you. And the current situation with your savay doesn't have to influence your relationship with your new house sister. Vay are very good at compartmentalizing. The vay's house and the savay's house are distinct social environments."

Ciara smiled, She knew Hamenel had treated her family like an observational study while she was growing up. When she talked about the Vay it sounded like she was quoting passages out of a book she was reading. Or writing.

"I know that. I know I just... I don't feel like I need any more right now. I have my craft and I've made some acquaintances in the city. I am content."

Hamenel just looked at her.

"I am!"

Hamenel raised one eyebrow.

Ciara sighed and her shoulders slumped.

"How about the peach silk dress?" she asked.

"Very good."

"We'll need to add..." Ciara rubbed her face "... We'll have to have the Mordha sept symbols to it."

"I've already sent it out."

Ciara looked at her maid sharply and caught the hint of a satisfied half smile as she turned to pull out Ciara's clothes for the day.

Ciara finished eating and felt much better, the food going a long way towards restoring her energy. The orange juice seemed to banish her headache all on its own. She was convinced orange juice had some sort of magical healing property. When she was done Hamenel helped her dress for the day. She liked to dress practically but well enough to impress her patients' vay. Today she was in her dark brown slacks, tan jacket, and an off white blouse with marigolds embroidered along the collar. After she was dressed Hamenel had her sit so her maid could braid her blueberry hair.

"Brun is downstairs waiting for you," said Hamenel as her fingers worked their way through the braid.

Ciara nodded. She was still getting used to the idea of being escorted around the city by a thraka. She had rarely interacted with her father's thraka and they had always made her uncomfortable. The only time she had spoken to her savay since she had arrived a month ago was when He had confronted her and insisted she take one of the house thraka as an escort. For the first week she had taken the more standard pair of orcs as an escort and there had been a small incident with the savay that controlled the neighborhood of one of her patients. It had only been a rude proposition, nothing Ciara hadn't encountered before, and once she had made clear who she was the savay apologized profusely. But she had made the mistake of telling Hamenel and she had told Him and He had insisted she take a thraka with her when she was seeing patients from then on. He had come to her lab in the evening and she could tell he had dressed up, he was in a black shirt and brown slacks and his curly black hair was artfully tousled. He looked so good it made her want to scream. He had been very polite, and his concern was very genuine. He had been so nice and so handsome it made talking to Him painful. She had refused at first, she didn't want to have a thraka following her around everywhere, but when she had refused He had threatened to escort her instead. The prospect of having him follow her around, observing her craft, was so horrifying she had given in immediately. Now the house's two thraka took turns escorting her around the city to see her clients. The first week had been horribly awkward for all of them, Lum especially seemed terrified of her, but eventually they all became more comfortable and Ciara began to enjoy their company. She wasn't sure how the thraka felt about her, she found thraka hard to read, but she got the feeling Brug found her amusing.

"And... is He still here?"

Ciara heard Hamenel sigh behind her but her fingers didn't falter in making her braid.

"No, He left with Lum about thirty minutes ago."

Ciara sighed with relief. When He was still at home when she left for the day she would open the door to her bedroom a crack and peek out. When she was confident enough He wasn't in the hall she would quickly make her way down the stairs, not quite running but close. The echo of her footsteps was always painfully loud, making a clean getaway impossible. Sometimes Ciara felt like a prisoner in her own home. It was an absurd thought; her every need was attended to and she could come and go as she pleased, but every time she left her house it felt like an escape.

But today she didn't have to worry, today she could open the door to her room and down the stairs like a normal Vay. She didn't have to worry about seeing Him.

Ciara reached the side entrance and found Brug waiting with four orcs and her satchel. Two of the orcs were Ronan's and two were ones she had brought with her to her new house. She hadn't whelped them herself, they were actually Hamenel's. Orcs tended to look more alike than other Vay, they all had the same tiny noses, big fanged mouths, squinty eyes, but there were still subtle differences between them. Ronan's orcs were a little shorter with broader shoulders, while Hamenel's had lighter green skin and longer arms. One of Hamenel's orcs shuffled forward eagerly as she walked up and gave a happy yip in greeting. She absently brushed a hand across its bald head and it shuddered with joy.

The thraka gave her a friendly nod and knuckled her forehead in a greeting.

"Boss."

Ciara smiled slightly at the moniker. Brug had called her Vayné the first week until Ciara told her that was too formal. When Brug started calling her boss she had pointed out his savay was her boss, not Ciara, and Brug had replied that Ciara was her boss for the day. Ciara hadn't spent much time with thraka before and they made her uncomfortable, just as they did to most vay. But Brug carried herself with reserve and dignity and she had quickly won Ciara over.

"Hey Brug, how are you today?"

"I'm good, boss. Hamenel gave me the route, looking forward to a nice walk."

Ciara gave a half smile. She was starting to suspect Brug had a subtle sense of humor. Ciara's first appointment was in a perfectly nice part of the city, but her second was in a rougher neighborhood. She admitted to herself Hamenel and her savay had been right, she had been a lot less stressed when the thraka had begun escorting her around the city.

"Do we have everything?" She asked.

"Uh huh, Gladil packed us lunch. You good with me grabbing the orcs some shrooms at one of the public pits?"

Ciara nodded. Lum was still reserved around her and still called her Vayné, but she enjoyed the casual way that Brug spoke to her.

Without another word they headed out the servant's entrance and into the city

...

Ronan stood in the practice field. It was originally a cow pasture but his father had claimed it and set it aside for sorcery practice for the savay of the city. It had once been green and vibrant, full of buzzing insects and singing birds. Now the field was scarred and broken, furrows torn into the dirt and burnt patches of bare earth where the unleashed sorcery of the savay had ravaged the landscape. His father had the ground repaired every few months by earth- and lifesingers to prevent it from becoming a lifeless patch of dirt.

His father had orcs move boulders and rocks into the field and scattered them randomly. Ronan stood about fifty feet away from one of them, a massive misshapen boulder that must have taken a dozen orcs to move. He started to sing, letting the song build in his chest. It was vibrating and kicking faintly, eager to be let loose. When the song's fury reached the size he wanted, he shouted. As the shout left him it became fire, a ball of bright angry flame. It arced toward the boulder with a high pitched whistle and detonated on impact, wreathing the boulder and the earth around it in flame. The fires died out quickly, everything flammable around the boulder was long burned away. When the fires cleared a two foot chunk of the boulder was missing. Ronan closed his mouth and kept singing, building the song back up, a dim fire fed by the fuel of his body. When the song was ready he glared at the boulder, feeding the anger and frustration of the past month into the song, and shouted again. The time the fireball splintered into a dozen shards, each taking a fist size chunk out of the boulder. Anger still humming in his blood, he shouted again. This shout rose high into the air, arced, and came down directly in the boulder. The next one did the same but shattered in midair, raining fire over an area around the boulder.

Suddenly Ronan collapsed, a wave of weakness enveloping his body. He ended up on his hands and knees, barely able to keep from falling flat on his face.

"You okay, chief?" asked Lum.

He looked up at the thraka, sun hurting his eyes. He tried to raise his head and sank back from a wave of dizziness.

"'M fine," he mumbled.

"Here, chief," said Lum, holding a canteen out to him.

Ronan finally managed to sit up, took the canteen, and drank. The water was tepid and tasted like metal but it felt like the coolest freshest mountain spring to his parched lips. When he lowered the canteen Lum was holding some jerky out to him, a quick burst of energy. Ronan took it and tore into it like a starving wolf, desperate to restore himself. His jaw quickly ached from chewing the tough, dense dried beef. He washed it down with more of the leathery water. After he got it all down, he finally started to feel Vay again, so he sat up.

"Thanks, Lum."

"Sure thing, chief. Maybe enough for now, eh?"

Ronan looked over at the boulder, there were still scattered fires around it and it had cracked in half. The broken surface was scarred and pockmarked.

"Yeah, I guess so."

Lum held out a hand and helped him to his feet and they started back towards town. It was a good distance, almost an hour's walk, so Ronan had plenty of time to play over how miserable his life was right now. It had been a month since the binding ceremony and he and Ciara had managed to avoid each other almost the entire time. Ronan would have thought this was impossible but the master bedroom had a second door that led to an office and a set of stairs that went to the servants quarters. For the last month, Ronan's routine had been to get up early, take the back stairs, sneak out the servants entrance, and take his frustrations out in the innocent boulders in the practice fields. Tearing apart boulders seemed to help his mood and his battle sorcery was improving steadily. By the time he got back, She was always gone and he had the house for the day. He'd often go into the city himself or take a nap and read. In the evenings She either hid in her lab or had dinner in her room and went to bed.

Every day Ronan tried to work up the courage to talk to Ciara, and every day he failed. Her obvious fear of him combined with the incredible shame he felt about being unable to perform on the night of their binding left a tangle of emotions he was unable to deal with. So he simply avoided the problem and kept smashing boulders instead.

Ronan walked down the stone path to his fathers fortress city, passing a squad of his orcs instructed by a makervay repairing the road. As he walked by, waving to the vay as he passed, he wondered how long he could keep this up.

Ronan reached the edge of the city and walked through the large double gate guarded by four of his father's thraka and twenty orcs. They all saluted as he passed but he was in a sour mood and barely acknowledged them. He walked through the wide boulevard past the gate. Despite being the main street for the city, traffic was sparse. The city still felt empty, it had been more populated when it was held by Men but it was gradually filling up over the few years it had been his father's seat. It had started as a fortress but gradually grown into a trade city. The buildings were made almost entirely of the same grayish stone as the great fortress at the city's center, giving it a severe appearance. The city had become more colorful after the Vay had moved in. His people loved murals and were gradually decorating the plain gray stone of the buildings they occupied.

Ronan didn't need to venture far into the city to get home. The outer houses were merchants' manors and the smaller houses of tradesmen while the inner district was the more spartan houses of the original garrison. His house was one of the nicer houses on the edge of town so he made it home quickly, without seeing anyone.

Ronan used the front door because he was sure Ciara was gone by now. As he walked into the front hall Hamenel was waiting for him. She was fulfilling the duties of head housevay for their small home until Deidre arrived. The older woman never acknowledged the silent tension between the Sa'vay and Vayné of the house. She had kept their relationship coolly professional, which Ronan appreciated.

Ciara had been accompanied by Hamenel and a cook named Gladil. Ronan had been grateful to have both of them under his roof. They had kept the house functional for the last month. However, Gladil had made things awkward by propositioning him multiple times. She had made it very clear she had whelped before and was eager to do so again. Normally he would have been happy to take her up on the offer but he didn't want to offend Ciara any further by laying with her servant before they had laid together themselves. If this was a normal household both Ciara and her servant would be carrying litters by now, but this was as far from a normal household as it was possible to be. Ronan shook off that train of thought and addressed Hamanel.

"Can I have a bath and some food prepared, please?"

"Of course, Sa'vay," said Hamenel. He did get the impression she liked that he always said please when making requests.

She hesitated before speaking, "There was a letter for you, from the E'Allain."

He looked up sharply. She left for a moment and returned with the letter. He had written Deidre regularly in the past month. His letters took three or four days to get to her and then the reply took the same to get back so they hadn't had time to send too many, but her letters were like water in the waste to him with the tension of his new household.

Hamenel held the letter up. He grabbed it a little too fast, tore it open, and started reading immediately

My Sa'vay,

I hope this letter finds you well. I know you are in a difficult position right now. Your household is not the safe haven it's supposed to be. I hope I can offer you some measure of happiness with the news that I am ready to join it. I have made my final preparations and bracing myself for my final goodbyes. It's a more difficult parting than I expected. I am eager to return to the comforts of civilization but my family and my sept sisters are dear to my heart. I'm consoling myself with the certainty that you, me, Ciara, and any other vay that are lucky enough to be bound to you will build an equally beautiful household together.

The whelps are growing well and they are also a comfort in these hectic times. I'm eager to be reunited with you so that you can aid me in growing our litter. Preferably as often as possible.

Ronan had to put the letter down. The memory of laying with Deidre, the vision of her naked body, the way she felt in his arms, overwhelmed him and desire swept through him. He had put a litter in a women in the city a few weeks ago, a chance encounter that still made him laugh, and he had lain with a few women at the Sa'vay's club, but it was a far cry from what he was expecting as a savay with a beautiful vay freshly bound to him. Having Ciara be so near but never being able to touch her was a source of constant frustration and he was feeling very pent up. He was frustrated enough that even a single sentence from Deidre was enough to set him on fire with lust.

He heard Hamenel gasp as he started giving off Allure. He looked up and saw Hamenel was trying to maintain her poise, but he could see her stiff nipples and flushed face. The signs of her arousal made him consider Hamenel in a way he never had before. She was an older woman and probably only had a few more fertile years left, but she was still very attractive. She must have been a real beauty when she was younger. Idly, he wondered how big the green patch on her belly was.

But then he shook himself and pushed those thoughts away. He knew Ciara was very close to her maid. If he was worried about laying with her cook, laying with Hamenel would be a far greater insult. He cleared his throat and got his Allure under control. He almost apologized to Hamenel but then decided not to. Dealing with their Sa'vay's Allure was an expected part of a woman's duties. He went back to Deidre's letter.

My plan is to arrive on the 17th. With the recent attacks by the humans my father is not comfortable leaving Declan to watch our lands alone, so he has asked your father to send another savay to patrol our lands while my parents accompany me to the city. Declan is furious, of course. He's been defensive and short tempered ever since your patrol. I can only hope his confidence returns with time.

I know the last month has been hard, it seems you were right, your father extracted a high price from you in return for our binding, but don't despair. I have weathered many conflicts in the vay house and such conflicts always pass with time. I'm sure your conflicts with Ciara are a misunderstanding that we can work through together. I'm so excited to meet my new house sister and I dream every night of being in your arms again.

Deidre

Ronan lowered the letter and rubbed his face, thinking very quickly. Deidre being here in a week was a bright light on the horizon, but it also made him nervous. Deidre seemed confident she could heal their troubled household, but Ronan wasn't so sure. He was worried Deidre might shatter the tenuous peace between him and Ciara.

And Deidre's letter reminded him of the patrol and the promise he had made to a very pretty copper haired girl he had spent the night with.

"It's a letter from Deidre," he said to Hamenel.

"Very good, my Sa'vay."

"She'll be here in a week."

"That's wonderful news."

Ronan gave Hamenel a careful glance but her face was absolutely stoic.

"One of my father's bound savay will be heading out to the E'Allain's lands to guard them while Darragh is here. I may accompany him so I can escort Deidre back here."

He caught the subtlest tightening of Hamanel's jaw but she responded smoothly.

"Yes, my Sa'vay."

Ronan hesitated but then gathered his courage.

"Hamenel, how long have you been Vayné Ciara's maid?"

Hamenel blinked, momentarily thrown, but she recovered quickly, "Since she came of age."

"Ah I see. So you haven't known her that long then."

"Before that I served as her governess since she was eight."

Now it was Ronan's turn to blink.

"So you've served her all her life."

"Yes, my Sa'vay."

"I'm sure you know I don't find the current situation between me and Vayné Ciara ideal."

"I may have noticed, my Sa'vay," said Hamenel, there was the barest hint of dryness in her voice.

Ronan snorted in amusement.

"I'm sure things will change when Vayné Deidre joins our household. In her letter the Vayné seems confident it will be for the better, but I... it would bring me peace of mind if we could heal our breach before she arrives. I'd rather my new Vayné join a happy household."

"That is my sincerest wish as well, my Sa'vay."

"As her lifelong companion. I was wondering if you had any advice for me, something I could do to... to try and heal our breach."

Hamenel just looked at him for a long moment, Ronan could tell she was thinking rapidly.

"You understand my lifelong service to a Vayné Ciara comes with a deep loyalty, and I would loathe to betray her trust in me."

"Of course. Whatever you are comfortable with."

"I would say... if you had the opportunity to observe her craft, it might give you the understanding to... reach an accommodation."

"Are you saying her hostility is due to her focus on her craft?" asked Ronan, anger seeping into his voice.

"No! No that isn't what I mean," said Hamenel urgently.

Ronan understood her anxiety. Striabach, vay who had no craft and supported themselves by whelping were viewed with contempt, but vay that bound themselves to a savay and then refused to whelp were equally maligned. They were seen as arrogant, selfish, and obsessive. There was a word for it in Pellic, Cailleach, hag, harridan, witch.

"It's... please Sa'vay. You asked for my advice and that's all I can give without betraying her trust. If you were to observe her craft with an open mind I think it would be of great help."

"But how could I do that? I already offered to escort her around the city and she refused... vehemently."

"I don't know, my Sa'vay. I'm sorry."

Ronan pushed down his frustration.

"Have that bath ready. I'll be going out on some errands after."

"Yes my Sa'vay," said Hamenel. Her frustration a mirror of his own.

...

Ciara walked through the streets of the city with Brug and her orcs in tow. She could have taken a rickshaw but she enjoyed walking and was still getting a feel for her new home. Cathar Brean was a strange city. It had started as just a fortress to hold the pass, the city had grown up around it over decades. When the Vay had taken the city many of its human inhabitants had already fled and the Vay had given all the men that remained to the Khazad, leaving the population a fraction of its former size. Now Balor Mordha ruled his city with a light hand. He was content to maintain absolute control over the fortress and the river docks and let the rest of the city fend for itself, leaving whole neighborhoods abandoned and slowly decaying. Although the city was a shell of its former self, it was slowly coming back to life. Every day more Vay moved into the city, claiming and restoring the abandoned houses.

Ciara was a city vay at heart. She had grown up on her father's estate just outside Aontrim, the trade city on the shores of the Sea of Joy in the Brightlands, and Ciara had spent as much time on its winding streets as possible. There were no cities in the Vay homelands and in many ways her people were still trying to understand how to live in them. Ciara loved the energy of city life, the excitement and growth as the Vay created a whole new way of living. The thing Ciara loved most about the city was all the vay. In the country, savay ruled, extracting their tribute of food and orcs in return for protection from some other savay. Vay were isolated on farmsteads, only seeing their friends and neighbors once or twice a week for social calls and at market. But the cities were for the vay. Vay could congregate wherever they pleased, with any vay they pleased. They could collaborate on craft, make art and music, or just drink tea and gossip.

Ciara made her way through the city streets. The city was still so underpopulated there wasn't much foot traffic, but she passed the occasional vay out on an errand. Each vay had two or three orcs and a woman in tow, carrying packages or ready to perform small tasks for their vay. At one point a cart trundled by pulled by a team of six harnessed orcs, heavily laden with building supplies. A solidly built middle aged woman was in the driver's seat, directing the orcs with simple verbal commands.

Ciara had spent a lot of time walking the city for the first two weeks after she moved, meeting with neighborhood leaders to inform them of her services and to get a sense of the city, so she could already navigate the streets easily. She cut through an entirely abandoned neighborhood, cobbled streets already coming apart and the three story houses with broken, burned out windows. Brug kept giving her disapproving looks as they walked and she tightened up her escort protectively around her. There were rumors of Men still squatting in the ruins, waiting to pounce on unsuspecting vay, but if there were any Ciara had never seen one.

Using the shortcut through the abandoned neighborhood got her to her first appointment right on time. It was at a three story townhouse made of the greyish white stone most of the city was built from. The architecture of the city was one of the things Ciara disliked about it compared to where she grew up. She found the plain, brutalist buildings boring and austere. But the vay were already starting to breathe a little life into their new home. Her patient's house had a small mural painted on one wall, a redwood tree with an icon of the Brightmother underneath its branches. Many of the houses had small murals painted on their walls, some with the twisting, thorny spirals or icons of the Brightmother of traditional vay art and others had more modern landscapes, portraits and fantastic scenes.

Ciara climbed the three steps to the house's front door and knocked politely, a moment later an elderly vay opened the door, she blinked at Ciara in surprise. Ciara was used to that reaction by now. Her blue skin was a rare sight among the Vay and even though it gave her a lot of advantages, it came with a lot of subtle signs of surprise or envy that Ciara hated.

"Vayné Ciara?" asked the vay.

"Yes. I believe I have an appointment with one of your household's women?"

"Yes! Of course! I am Vayné Aoibhinn. Please come in."

"Thank you. May my thraka enter? Do you have somewhere for her to wait?"

"Oh," said Aoibhinn, looking at Brug uncertainly. Many city vay rarely interacted with thraka, so the large Vay could make them uncomfortable. Country vay were more likely to bear a thraka to help with farm work.

"I suppose she could... wait in the kitchen? Would that be alright? She could have a mug of tea. Do they like tea?"

Ciara smiled, "Brug does."

"Wonderful. Have her come in and Doliel can make her a mug."

Aoibhinn stepped back and Ciara and her escort walked inside. Brug gave her a wink as she came in the house behind Ciara, letting her know she wasn't too upset by the Vayné's rudeness. Aoibhinn led them to the kitchen and instructed her cook to provide snacks for Brug and her orcs. Then had Ciara follow her upstairs. The townhouse was well appointed but a little rundown. The wood floors were worn and chipped and the paint on the walls was faded. Ciara got the sense it was because the Vayné of the house didn't really care about appearances, rather than lack of wealth. Vayné Aoibhinn's household and appearance made it very obvious she was a well-off vay who had retired from a lucrative craft. The city was attracting a lot of retirees, with its cheap and abundant houses and servants.

"Astor's just upstairs," said Aoibhinn as they climbed the stairs, "I'm so glad you were referred to me and you were able to come promptly. Astor's such a dear girl and I've been terribly worried about her."

"You said in your message she's pregnant and you're worried something is wrong with the litter?"

Astor nodded, "She quickened a week ago and she hasn't seemed right ever since. She's been anxious and withdrawn. I've never seen anything quite like it."

"Is this her first litter?"

"Yes. I can't really understand how it took so long for her to catch a savay's eye, she's a beautiful girl. Have you seen this kind of malady before? I know humans can suffer from some very strange conditions. A few months back Doliel started coughing and wouldn't stop. It lasted a whole week! I had her go to a human healer and she came back with some herbs. She seemed convinced they would help but I hardly noticed. I wish you had been here then. You really specialize in humans?"

Ciara listened to Vayné Aoibhinn's prattling with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. Even though she had been practicing this craft for a few years it still shocked her how little Vay knew about the humans that served them.

"Yes. As you said, they suffer from strange conditions. It makes treating them a lot more interesting than Vay."

"Oh, I could see that! I admire your pursuit of a challenging craft. And it's so fortunate you're here now. If anything happened to Astor, I would be heartbroken."

"Yes, I've helped a few women with their first litters and I've seen reactions like this a few times. I can't promise a cure. It can be a difficult condition to treat but I'll make every effort."

Aoibhinn stopped at a door in the upstairs hallway. Then she turned to Ciara and took her hands.

"Bless you Vayné Ciara, may the Brightmother forgive you. You're doing Her work."

Ciara smiled at the compliment, "Thank you, Astor is in there?"

"Yes."

"Could we have some privacy?"

"Oh I... I thought I'd be there. I'd like to see your craft."

"Women are shy about their first litters. Things will go more smoothly if I see her alone."

"I... alright. If you think it's best."

"Thank you Vayné," said Ciara, her voice carrying a subtle hint of dismissal she had learned at her mother's knee.

Ciara waited while Vayné Aoibhinn shuffled down the hall. The older vay glanced back once and gave Ciara a worried look, but then turned and went down the stairs. When she was completely out of sight, Ciara turned and knocked on the door. There was a short pause.

"Come in."

Ciara opened the door and walked into a bedroom. Ciara got the feeling it was a guest bedroom, it had that impersonal feel to it. The woman, Astor, was sitting on the bed. She was a tall, pale girl with straight brown hair. Ciara agreed with Vayné Aoibhinn that she was very pretty. Her large brown eyes reflected her uncertainty at the strange blue skinned Vay at the door.

"You are... baby wife?" asked the women in heavily accented Pellic.

"Yes, I am the midwife, if you'll have me," said Ciara in Senyaran. "You may call me Ciara. May I come in?"

"Oh! Oh, your Senyaran is good."

"Thank you. I had a very good teacher."

"You truly did. I'm sorry, yes, please come in," said Astor. She was clearly relieved she'd be able to communicate clearly with Ciara.

Ciara walked into the bedroom and went to a chair in the corner, she pulled it towards the bed so she could sit a comfortable distance from the young woman.

"So this is your first litter?" She asked.

Astor nodded.

"Have you had children before this?"

Astor nodded and smiled, "I have two girls. Five and three. They're downstairs right now. Doliel's watching them."

Ciara wondered if Brug was entertaining the girls. She had discovered children absolutely loved Thraka. Ciara smiled briefly at the thought.

"That's wonderful. Did you have any difficulties in your previous pregnancies?"

"Yes, Camden, my first, she was a breach birth. It was a very close thing. Do... do you know what that is? Does that happen to vay?"

Ciara suppressed a shudder. She had read every human medical book she could get her hands on and they were universally horrifying. The sections on childbirth were some of the worst. There were so many ways a human pregnancy could go wrong, and humans seemed so ill equipped to deal with the consequences. Ciara didn't know what angered her more, that humans had been designed with such deliberate cruelty by the Allfather or that humans were so accepting of the torments that He had inflicted on them.

"No, vay don't have breach births, but I've read about them. Would you mind if I check on the litter, to make sure they're healthy?"

Astors hand went to her belly, "Check on them?"

Ciara nodded, "I'm skilled in healing magic. It's why I chose this craft. Don't worry. It's perfectly safe and you won't feel a thing."

Astor hesitated, then nodded. Ciara took the women's hands and began to sing the Song of Life. As she sang the chords the song filled her with a warm glow, like waking up from a good night's rest, like the satisfaction of a full stomach after a good meal. Singing the Song of Life always filled Ciara with joy. It was a reminder of the Brightmother's blessing, that their goddess still smiled down upon her, even if that affection was frayed and dim.

Ciara shifted the tone of the song, singing stanzas that made her feel the joy of discovery, of warm shelter, fresh water and a safe place to rest after a day of hard travel into the unknown. As the song shifted she sent it into Astor's body and the vision of it filled her. Astor was outlined in cool silvery light, her bones and organs and the very flow of the life in her was revealed by the song. Ciara shifted the tune into a familiar refrain, focusing in on Astor's womb. Nestled in the shimmering silver pouch were four tiny golden sparks, barely the size of a finger. Through the song, Ciara could feel the coiled potential, the life that was manifesting. Ciara checked for any dissonance, feeling for a sense of discord in the flow of life around the whelps or anything wrong with the shape of them, but they looked and felt perfectly healthy.

Ciara hummed for another few moments, checking Astor's health. The silver light of her essence was strong and bright. It was clear she was eating well and she and the whelps were getting everything they needed. Ciara wasn't surprised but it was a relief to know for sure.

Ciara let the Lifesong fade, the warmth leaching out of her. She opened her eyes to see Astor looking at her anxiously.

"Everything seems fine, you have four healthy whelps."

"Four! That's so many."

"It is large for a first litter. Most first litters are two or three whelps. It may be because you've had human children before. Of course, more than one always seems like a lot to a human. You shouldn't worry though. Dropping a litter is much, much easier than giving birth to a human baby. Whelps are smaller and you'll have me helping you. Vay magic is very effective at assisting in birth and you'll experience no pain."

"What?"

Ciara nodded, this was a very familiar conversation for her.

"Are you familiar with what the Allfather's Canon says about labor?" asked Ciara, then she launched into the familiar quote. "'And the Allfather decreed 'Because you sought to create that which is forbidden, from now on the act of creation will be agony. Man will desire you above all things, but that desire will bring you only suffering.''"

Astor nodded, clearly shocked that a Vay would be familiar with the Canon.

"The Brightmother never leveled that curse on the Vay. Instead she blessed us with health and made creating new life a joy. Women bearing litters apparently share in that blessing. Having a litter doesn't hurt at all. In fact... it can feel nice. Very nice if a vay helps with her magic."

Astor's cheeks were scarlet, "Oh my goodness."

Ciara nodded. "I know that sounds strange but I want you to know you don't need to be afraid. I know women always view the birth of a child with a mix of joy and fear, because for a human creating life is never free of pain and risk. But there is no risk to having a litter."

Astor nodded mutely, still in shock.

"In any case, your litter is growing well and you are the picture of health. I can tell you're eating well because the whelps are growing fast. Litters are more flexible than a human pregnancy. The more you eat, the faster they grow."

Astor stared at her silently. She looked very uncomfortable.

"And how have you been feeling since your quickening? I know Vayné Aoibhinn is worried but have you had any cause for concern?"

Astor looked down, her pale skin still flushed pink.

"Astor, I've helped a lot of women through their first litters," said Ciara, "I know it can be a very strange experience, very different from a human pregnancy. And a lot of vay interpret the confusion women have with this new experience as... as an illness."

Astor looked up.

"Can I ask you something, Vayné?"

"You may call me Ciara. And yes, anything. What is said in this room, stays in this room. My craft binds me to secrecy."

Astor nodded, took a breath, and gathered herself.

"I loved my husband very much. I miss him every day."

Ciara nodded, bracing herself. She had this conversation a few times before as well and it was always difficult.

"We met when we were young, at church," continued Astor. "He made me very happy. I was... satisfied and... I... I would notice other men but I was never tempted. I was faithful. Even now that he's gone, I've stayed faithful. But it's been hard. I have these... desires..."

"Every woman and vay does. There's nothing wrong with that."

"I know. I know but I've never been tempted to... act on them before. But he was so handsome and it's been so, so long. I know my husband is gone. I haven't broken our vows, but... I still feel like I betrayed him."

"I'm so sorry. Did you know the savay?"

Astor shook her head, "No, no we met by chance," she laughed weakly, "it was like something out of a story. He rescued me from a dog."

"A dog?"

"Yes. There have been more wild dogs around lately. I think this one was sick."

Ciara felt a thread of worry. She had heard rumors packs of wild dogs had formed in the city's abandoned districts but this was the first she had heard of them attacking anyone.

"It came at me, foaming and growling. I was so frightened I was paralyzed. But then he was by my side and he just looked at it and... and struck it down. It was awful to see but I was glad it was quick."

"That does sound like something out of a story."

She nodded, "He offered to walk me home and I was so shaken I agreed immediately. He was perfectly respectful on the way home. I saw him looking at me but that was all it was. And... I was looking back. He was very handsome. I didn't think anything would come of it but when we got home... Vayné Aoibhinn was delighted to see him. I couldn't understand everything she was saying but she was treating him like a gentleman caller. I think she was the one that suggested he... take me upstairs. As I said I had... had thoughts on the way home but when he took my hand everything changed. They weren't just idle thoughts anymore. All I could think about was... how much I wanted him. He told me I was beautiful and he kissed me and I just..."

Astor trailed off and looked down, she took a moment to calm herself before continuing.

"I wanted to ask you if he used magic on me. He used magic to strike down that poor dog. Did he use his sorcery to... to steal my will?"

Ciara shook her head, "No, no it isn't sorcery it's... we call it Allure, or the Scent. It's something in a savay's sweat and saliva. When they're aroused they can... spread their arousal to vay, or women. As far as we can tell it's not magic. Some animals can do the same thing. But even if it isn't magic, it makes a savay hard to turn down."

"So he did force me to... to desire him," said Astor.

Ciara was quiet for a long moment.

"I can't answer that because we honestly don't know. It's a question vay struggle with as well. It is possible to resist a savay's Allure, and Allure doesn't make a savay seem attractive. If you thought your hero was handsome that's just how you felt, but that would have made it harder to resist his advances."

Ciara thought about the very handsome savay waiting at home for her and for the thousandth time wished he was as ugly as his father. It would have made things so much easier. Ciara pushed the thought away and continued.

"Publicly, vay insist a savay can tempt and seduce but never control, but privately.... We're a lot more uncertain than we'd ever admit. How can you ever really know where the line is between temptation and... and dominance?"

"I think I understand," said Astor.

Ciara considered how far along the whelps were. They had grown fast even for a woman eating well.

"Has your hero... visited you since you quickened?"

Astor's cheeks turned red again and she looked down.

"Two days after. He knew somehow."

"Women usually quicken one to two weeks after laying with a savay."

"Oh, I see. And Vayné Aoibhinn was so happy to see him. She gave me the afternoon off and watched my children while he took me to my room and we..." Astor closed her eyes.

Ciara took the woman's hand and Astor looked back up.

"Increased desire is an effect of whelping, the same as increased appetite."

"It is?"

Ciara nodded, "Laying with a savay actually helps feed a litter, so your body makes you crave it as much as food."

"God. Allfather forgive me. I don't know what to do. I've been so lonely. So lonely and... frustrated. But now I feel like..." she looked down at herself. "... I feel so guilty."

Ciara gathered her thoughts. They had come to the point in the conversation where it was time for her to offer comfort and advice. This was never a part of her craft she was comfortable with.

"I can't tell you what to do, because I don't think there's a right answer. I can only try to help you make your own decision. I'm not sure how much about my people you've come to understand. You've lived among us a few years but it's easy to get caught up in the day to day and not really think about the people around you. My people... we don't have the same attitudes towards romance and relationships that you do. I know that humans mate for life, like birds, and that a marriage is considered a lifelong commitment. But for the Vay it is very different. There are five or seven vay for every savay, so we all know we're not going to have a savay to ourselves. A vay can bind herself to a savay but it isn't the same as a marriage. Some Vay remain bound for life, but just as often Vay unbind after five or ten years, after they've had a child together. There is a word for love in our language, but it's used very rarely. It's more the equivalent of a human saying they have a soulmate. Many bound Vay go their whole lives without saying they love each other.

I'm telling you this because I want you to understand that for a vay, laying with a new savay after your savay, or husband, is gone is a perfectly normal thing to do. A vay wouldn't see your previous binding, or your marriage, as relevant. We're a pragmatic people that have dealt with a lot of loss. To us, what's gone is gone, and there's no use dwelling on the past."

"Maybe I am being foolish," said Astor.

"No, no that's not what I'm trying to say. I'm just trying to explain that no one around you will judge you for laying with a savay. It's why Aoibhinn is encouraging you. To her, your litter is like... a well deserved vacation. But I had a somewhat unusual childhood and I've read a lot of your romances. I loved Beren and Luthien."

"That's my favorite," said Astor.

"It's mine as well. I find the idea of a love so strong that it lasts beyond death inspiring. A love so strong that... that the memory of it is sustaining, and brings more happiness than a passing dalliance and the pleasure of whelping... I think that's a beautiful idea. So I understand your conflict."

"Thank you."

"I can't tell you what to choose. It's up to you to decide whether you want to move on. I will say back in the Brightlands, women who have made their peace with whelping are content. Our gods blessed us by making sex and pregnancy easy and enjoyable and women that whelp share in that blessing. And there's much to be said for everyday pleasures."

Astor laughed.

"But if you want to hold onto the memory of your husband, let it sustain you," continued Ciara. "I can't undo what's been done but I can speak to Vayné Aoibhinn and help her understand. She seems to genuinely care about you and if I explain how you feel with the authority of my craft, I think I can convince her to keep your gentleman caller away. And if you don't want to whelp again I can help you talk to Aoibhinn about that as well."

Ciara let go of Astor's hand and backed away, giving her time to think. Astor looked down for a good long moment, and Ciara could sense her inner struggle.

Finally the woman looked up.

"You really don't think less of me for... for letting him have his way with me?"

"Does it really matter what I think?"

"I think it does. You're a vay that has read Beren and Luthien. I don't know anyone else who... who can understand both worlds."

Ciara hesitated. She didn't want to answer, she didn't want that kind of responsibility. But her craft was to help this woman in any way she needed.

"I think... Life is hard and pleasure is fleeting. In my craft I see a lot of pain. I see how quickly and unexpectedly life can end. I find your love for your husband inspiring, but... the world offers us plenty of suffering without creating it for ourselves."

Astor looked distant for a minute, then nodded.

"I think you're right. I think... I think it's time for me to move on. I think that's what my husband would have wanted. Maybe not in this exact way..." Astor gave a small smile "... but he would have wanted me to... to enjoy life. And I would have wished the same for him, if I was looking from beyond the shores."

Ciara smiled encouragement, keeping her doubts to herself. She always encouraged women to enjoy bearing their litters and the attentions of savay, but she always doubted whether that was good advice. No matter how much human literature she read, she was still Vay, and her advice always came from that perspective. All she wanted to do was spare her patients needless suffering, but she was never sure in the end she understood what she was asking them to give up.

But Ciara pushed her doubts away.

"Alright," said Ciara, "If there's nothing else. I'll be back in a few weeks to check on the litter's progress. If you have any more trouble, whether it's physical or with Vayné Aoibhinn or your savay, please send a runner and I'll be here for you."

"Alright, thank you Vayné. For everything."

...

Ronan walked up the stairs to the Zigilnad clan bank, the main Khazâd bank in the city. He had been meaning to come here for the last few weeks and had kept putting it off, but Deidre's letter had reminded him things were moving forward in his household, and that he still had a promise to keep. His problems at home had distracted him from his obligations and he had resolved to make things right.

Ronan took in the bank as he climbed the stairs. It was a large building made of the same grey stone as the rest of the city, but was built in the style of the Khazad. The lines were thick, square and brutal, with large double doors at least fifteen feet high and a foot thick. Everything about the building conveyed strength, durability, and permanence. The building's history backed up that appearance. It was the only building in the city that had the same owners before and after the Vay took the city. When the city had belonged to the humans they had climbed these steps to deposit their earnings and borrow money from the Khazad. When Ronan's father had laid siege to the city the Khazad had closed the vast doors of the bank and waited. When the siege was over the doors had reopened and the Vay had brought their human prisoners to these doors to collect their bounty. The Khazad had assessed each human brought before them for what they owed and sent them in chains to Mount Dûm, capital of the Khazad, to work off their debts.

Now Ronan walked through the thick stone doors. Just inside there was a greeting hall decorated in the style of a Vay's front hall, the stone was paneled in redwood and decorated with traditional Vay art from the oases, spiraling patterns and nature scenes.

As Ronan entered the greeting hall a woman approached him. She was middle aged and dressed in a plain gray dress. She had runes tattooed on her forehead that announced how much she owed the bank but Ronan couldn't read them. Rumor had it the Khazad kept men in the lower levels of the bank as servants but they weren't allowed aboveground, lest they offend the savay with their presence.

"Welcome, Sa'vay," said the woman. "How may the Zigilnad assist you today?"

"I am Ronan Balor Mordha, and I'm here to open an account."

If his name meant anything to the hostess she didn't show it.

"Do you have an appointment?" she asked.

"Do I need an appointment?" asked Ronan. He decided the hostess ignoring his family name was a subtle attempt at intimidation. They knew very well who he was. The woman paused at his curt response.

"Of course not, Sa'vay Ronan. If you will follow me I can bring you to one of our senior agents."

Ronan nodded and followed the woman through a set of normal sized stone doors and into the halls of the Khazad.

Past the greeting room all sunlight disappeared. There were no windows in the bank. The Khazad found sunlight painful to their eyes and wore special filtering goggles when they went outside during the day. The vast space was lit by lamps of smokeless flame, made with a craft the Khazad didn't share with outsiders. However, the lamps were dim and they didn't light the vast space very well. Vay could see in the dark as well as the Khazad but he knew humans would find it difficult to see in the dim halls. But even Ronan couldn't see to the ceiling, huge columns were spaced evenly through the buildings, but they were lost in the vast gloom overhead.

If the hostess had any trouble seeing in the dimly lit cavern he couldn't tell. As she led Ronan between the vast columns they passed other Vay being led by hostesses and human servants on errands for the bank. Ronan saw only one Khazad. He was just over four feet tall but almost as wide. He was bald with skin the color of slate and reflected a faint sheen from the smokeless lamps. The Khazad was dressed in plain greys like the hostess and his beard was only a few inches long, so he was clearly young and lower status, which was probably why he was moving quickly in some errand.

After a minute of walking they reached another heavy stone door that led to a small waiting room. The room furnished was in the same gloomy, blunt stone style as the main building. Even the furniture was made of stone, except for one very comfortable looking wooden chair with a thick, well worn cushion. On the opposite wall from the door they had come through was a closed door, no doubt leading to the agent's office.

"If you'll wait just a moment, I'll tell my master you're here," said the hostess.

Ronan nodded and didn't bother to sit in the chair as the hostess slipped through the second door. If he had to wait long enough that he became uncomfortable he'd leave and come back tomorrow. His father had told him it was important to project strength when dealing with the Khazad and he took that lesson to heart.

But after just a minute the door opened and the hostess led him inside.

The office was what the Khazad considered well appointed. The smooth stone walls were gilded in square repeating patterns in silver and gold. Gold and silver statues of Khazad figures mining and crafting were displayed on pedestals throughout the room. The statues were blunt and abstract, with thick limbs and shallow features, but were actually moving, going through the repetitive motions of their crafts. There were human paintings on the walls similar to his father's collection, but they had all been defaced. Khazad figures in the same blocky, abstract style as the sculptures were painted over the more realistic human figures of original painting. Some of the paintings had pieces cut out and rough paper with Khazad glyphs had been glued into the holes. The overall effect was very off-putting. Ronan knew the Khazad valued art and craft as highly as the Vay, but their tastes were so alien that neither Vay nor Man ever enjoyed their work. The Khazad knew this, and rather than incorporate other races' styles, they enjoyed acquiring pieces of art of other races and defacing them.

The Khazad sitting at the desk was an impressive figure. Clearly a senior member of the bank. His skin was bluish grey and his beard was black like onyx, with many medallions and rings woven into it. His shirt was rich red silk from the Vay oases. Clothing and food were the only goods Khazad were comfortable simply buying from other races, and the silk trade with the Khazad had been one of the ways the Vay had supported themselves when they first came to these lands.

The Khazad began to speak in Khazdul, the guttural language of the Khazad. As with Senyaran, Ronan had tried to learn Khazdul but had failed to gain even the faintest understanding of the language. He only knew a few scattered words. But the woman who had seen him in was apparently also a translator. She stood behind the Khazad and provided a smooth, running translation.

"Greetings Sa'vay Ronan. I am Uz Óin, senior account manager. I understand you are here to open an account?"

"That's correct."

"Wonderful, I look forward to doing business with you. We have a number of account packages I'd be happy to go over with you."

"Packages?"

Uz nodded, "Our accounts have a number of different features with variation in the interest rate and the degree of liquidity. But there are different capital requirements..."

"Master Uz..."

"It's Master Óin. Uz means 'master' in Khazdul."

"Of, right," Ronan felt his face heat. He had known that but forgotten, "If I may be blunt. I'm not a savay of business and right now my means are modest. I've come into a bit of wealth, won by my own hand, and I wish to place it with you for safekeeping. I would like a simple account for small transactions for the time being. When I come into more wealth, and we both know I will, I will bind a tradevay. She can come on my behalf and engage in more complicated business with you."

Ronan hated talking like this, leaning on his father, boasting about future wealth, but he knew you had to put up a bold front when speaking to the Khazad. But Óin nodded agreeably. Ronan was sure normally boasts of future wealth wouldn't hold much weight with the banker but they both knew who his father was.

"Very good. Straight and to the point. I can appreciate that. Do you think you will be able to maintain an account balance of ten Cannath or equivalent scale?"

"Of course," said Ronan, failing to hide his confusion. Surely most savay with their own households had much more than that.

"Then I will suggest the Zigilnad Advantage account. As long as you maintain a balance above ten Cannath you can avoid maintenance fees and it will give you full access to our banking network. Wherever there is a Khazad bank, you will have access to your money."

"Excellent, that sounds perfect."

What followed was a long tedious set of paperwork. Ronan intended to find a tradevay once he had gained the wealth his father had promised him, but the endless deluge of forms and signatures made him want to look for one sooner. Maybe his current wealth would be enough to keep her occupied.

Eventually, the deluge of paper ended. Ronan looked up from the desk, stretching his stiff neck, to find Master Óin was smiling at him placidly.

"Now that we've completed the formalities..." the Khazad trailed off. His eyes were a deep black with no whites but when he became excited sparkles appeared in their depths, like tiny stars.

Ronan reached into the large pocket on the leg of his pants and produced a leather coin bag. It contained the coin and scale he had received from selling the few pieces of ranger equipment he hadn't given to Darragh. It had only been two crossbows and two sets of mail, enough for a pair of thraka guards, but his father had given him a good price for them. The coin bag was relatively light because he had asked his father's tradevay for large denominations.

Óin took the bag and spilled it onto the table. Three gold Mirian and two red scales from a tyrant beast clattered musically as they scattered onto the hard stone surface. Óin picked up the valuable coins and scales and let them fall through his fingers, clattering onto the desk again, while he closed his eyes and shuddered. Ronan looked away. He knew Khazad viewed wealth with an almost religious awe but there was something obscene in the way Óin touched the money. Then, Óin cleared his throat and when Ronan looked back he was placing the money in a steel box, closing the lid with a snap.

"Thank you very much for trusting us with your money. A Khazad isn't considered an adult until he sells his first craftwork and opens an account of his own, so congratulations on becoming a savay in the eyes of the Khazad."

Ronan suppressed his irritation and smiled, he could tell Óin was trying to pay him a genuine compliment, in his own way.

Óin slid a thick envelope towards him.

"Here is your account information and medallion," he said "The medallion is linked to you and your account. You or your representative will require it to make deposits and transactions and it can hold up to ten castars of credit you can use for transactions."

Ronan nodded, "Thank you. I had an additional request."

"Oh?"

"It is a small matter, of a personal nature."

Óin leaned forward.

"It is my understanding you are honor bound to secrecy with your clients? Is that correct?" asked Ronan.

"Absolutely. If I were to divulge anything discussed here with someone outside the clan I would be stripped of my position and exiled from my clan."

Ronan nodded. It wasn't perfect but it would have to do.

"I promised a favor to a woman I laid with recently. Her brothers and father fought at the Dawnpass. I promised her I would discover their fate. Is that something your bank could help me with?"

Óin leaned back, "I see. An interesting request. Not one I've encountered before, I have to say."

"That seems odd. Surely many of the women in the city would have the same question."

Óin chuckled quietly, "I'm sure. But they would require an account with a positive balance to make such an inquiry, and any woman that opened an account here would have their debt added to their account."

Ronan's eyes left Óin and glanced at his translator. The woman's translation had been so seamless he had forgotten she was there. He realized he had even started thinking Óin had the woman's voice. But now he met her eyes and saw deep pain staring back at him. He wondered if the woman had a husband or son taken by the Khazad, toiling away in the vast fields that surrounded their mountain, or in the endless mines beneath its surface. If she did, there was no way for her to discover their fate. Her own debts were etched into her forehead for all to see.

"I see," was all Ronan said.

"But it will be a simple matter for you. Do you have the Men's names?"

Ronan nodded and pulled out a piece of paper that had the names of Cesta's family written down. He slid it across the table to Óin. He took the paper, glanced at it briefly, then pushed it to the side.

"We'll have an answer to you by the end of the day tomorrow," said the Khazad. "We can have a runner sent to your address with the information if you'd like."

"Very good."

"There will be a modest fee. Four Tharni if their debts were assessed by us. If we don't find them in our records we could enquire from the other clan banks for one Canath or the equivalent scales."

Ronan ground his teeth. Everything the Khazad did required a modest fee, and their definition of modest was very broad.

"Very well," he said, failing to keep the irritation out of his voice.

"Excellent," said Óin. "Do you have any interest in buying these Men's labor contracts?"

Ronan blinked, "I hadn't thought about it. Is that allowed?"

"Of course. I only ask because I wanted to know if I should include the name of the labor clan their debts were sold to. You'll need that if you want to find their current whereabouts and inquire about purchase."

"I see. I'm curious, in your experience, how much would their debts be, approximately?"

Óin furrowed his brow, "I don't like approximating debt, but... they were with the Amon Tered regiment?"

Ronan nodded.

Óin ran a hand down his beard, "Assuming they didn't have any outstanding personal debts the standard debt assessed against a citizen of Amon Tered captured in the battle of the Dawnpass was... fifteen silver kibil. That's about twenty Castars."

Ronan was surprised but then decided he shouldn't be. Twenty Castars was a good amount of money, but not a vast amount. It was a little less than the price of a good horse. He had just deposited about fifty castars in the bank. It was strange to think for the price of two of the horses Cesta raised, she could afford to free her family.

"Sa'vay Ronan? Is everything alright?"

Ronan blinked, focusing back on Master Óin.

"I'm sorry I was just surprised. I've never really thought about how much your indentured humans owed you. But it makes sense. The bounty on a human is four castars, about a fifth of their debt."

"Exactly, yes. That's added to their debt as well, of course. Late fees, collection fees."

"Of course. But to the original question, yes. If it doesn't cost extra I'd like any information on who they were sold to."

"Who their debt was sold to," said Master Óin, his voice suddenly brittle. "The Khazad do not take slaves. We collect debts."

"Of course," said Ronan, "I apologize. I misspoke."

Óin's smile was back instantly, "Very good. We should have the results of the enquiry by tomorrow evening."

"Thank you. I should be going. Thank you for your time," said Ronan.

Ronan stood, and Óin stood as well. The Khazad reached out a hand and Ronan took it. Óin's hand was cold and his skin felt unpleasantly smooth, like polished marble.

"It's a pleasure doing business with you. We consider our customers to be part of our clan, so welcome to Clan Zignil."

...

Ciara was walking towards her next appointment, in a townhouse only a few blocks away. She turned a corner and Brug suddenly made a loud clicking noise and her orc escort tightened up around her. Two orcs ran up to walk in front of her and two drew closer behind, with Brug close at her side. They were entering a rougher neighborhood. The signs were subtle, but there was more trash piled in the alleys, the orcs sent out on errands had the restlessness of poor training, and women moved quickly and kept their heads down.

Ciara didn't have any trouble though. With four orcs and a very intimidating thraka at her side, any bold savay left her alone. The only moment of tension was when they passed scout thraka sitting on a stoop that was very obviously looking them over for the local savay, but whatever she reported back led the savay to steer clear of them.

After a few more blocks she arrived at her next appointment. It was another house made of the same greyish stone as the rest of the city, but it had none of the decoration of her first stop. Two of the windows were broken and had been covered in rough cloth, but the front yard was well tended and had a small, beautiful garden with both vegetables and flowers. Whoever lived here was doing the best they could with what they had.

Ciara knocked on the door and waited patiently. After a few minutes the door opened and a tired looking middle aged woman was in front of her. She blinked in surprise at Ciara.

"Can I help you?"

"Hello, I am Vayné Ciara, I received a runner about a leg injury that needs treatment?"

The woman's eyes widened, "You're here. Thank the gods. Please, please come in."

The woman turned without another word and started walking quickly up the stairs just past the door. Ciara hesitated a moment and then scrambled to follow. She heard Brug and the orcs shuffling into the house behind her and the front door closed. Ciara turned to ask Brug for her bag but the thraka was already holding it out to her. As Ciara took it, Brug gave her a nod, letting her know she'd be there if Ciara needed her. The orcs were already sitting down on the floor, looking for bugs and mice to eat. Ciara started up the stairs.

On the second floor a few orc pups were waiting at the top of the stairs. They squeaked in alarm as the woman almost ran them over. She walked quickly down the hall, coming to a stop in front of a closed door.

"Please," said the woman, "anything you can do, please."

The woman opened the door and the stink of sweat wafted out. The bedroom was dim. It was one of the ones with broken windows and the tarp cut off most of the light. It was fairly spacious but sparsely furnished. Just a dresser with mismatched drawers, a worn looking bed with a small nightstand, and a simple stool. There was a woman in the bed. She looked like she was in her mid thirties and was strong, thick armed and broad shouldered. A solid woman used to hard work. She looked at Ciara, eyes full of pain, and Ciara could tell she wasn't completely lucid. It seemed like she was using some form of painkiller bought from a human healer. Ciara walked into the room and sat on the stool next to the bed.

"Ma'am, can you hear me?"

She blinked at Ciara.

"My name is Ciara, I'm here to help you. Can you tell me what happened?"

"Hurt m'leg. Went bad," said the woman.

Ciara went up to her and knelt by the bed, she put a hand on her forehead and felt a thrill of fear. The woman was burning with fever. She pulled the blankets away from her and looked at her legs. Even in the dim light she could tell the bandage on the woman's upper thigh was dirty, and there were yellow stains from pus.

"When did this happen?"

"Coupla' days."

"Alright, what's your..." Ciara stopped herself and turned to the other woman.

"What's her name?"

"Landi. She's my sister in law. Or was. Or still is."

Ciara turned back to the injured woman.

"Landi I need to remove your bandage and treat you but it will hurt. It... it will hurt a great deal. Is it alright if I put you to sleep?"

Landi nodded, then she closed her eyes and looked away. She murmured and a tear slid down her cheek.

"What was that?" Asked Ciara, she leaned forward close to the woman.

"'M gonna lose my leg," she whispered.

"No," said Ciara. She took the woman's hand and squeezed, "No, you will not lose your leg. I swear it to the goddess."

Landi's eyes cleared a little and she gave Ciara a sharp look. Then nodded.

Ciara put her fingers to Landi's temple and sang the Song of Life. This time it was a lullaby. It sounded like chicks nestled in a warm nest and the chirping of night crickets and the dreams of a bear sleeping away the winter. She sang it low and soft and in a few moments Landi was asleep, a sleep so deep it was beyond pain or care or worry.

Ciara turned to the other woman.

"And what is your name?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't think. It's... its Thoss. Please, you have to..."

"I'm going to need more light, Thoss."

"A-alright."

Thoss went to the window to pull down the tarp while Ciara pulled a pair of scissors out of her medical bag and started cutting away the bandage. Cutting away the top layers revealed ever more stained bandages.

Thoss finished pulling down the tarps and the room was suddenly lit by clear noon sunlight, a breeze from outside wafted through the room, clearing away the scent of sweat and sickness. Thoss walked back to her.

"Alright," said Ciara, "I want you to go get some water boiling. We'll need to clean the wound before I can treat it."

Thoss nodded and ran downstairs. While Thoss was boiling water, Ciara cut through the remaining layers of bandages. When she cut through the last part she fought a gag as a cloud of rot wafted up. The wound was a deep gash in Landi's thigh about half a hand wide and a hand long. The flesh exposed by the wound was an angry red and it glistened with puss. The surrounding flesh was puffy and red as well. Worst of all, an angry red line following one of her major blood vessels traced its way up and down her leg.

Ciara took in the wound for another moment, sighed to herself and began to sing the Song of Life once more. She used the song to delve into Landi's body, and it was as bad as she feared. The silvery light of her essence was stained red and angry, inflammation and rot spreading from her leg. She focused in on the wound and saw the main source of the problem. There was still a splinter in her thigh, nestled deep in the flesh. To the sight the Lifesong granted it was a spike of pure black, a lifeless thing nestled in the middle of living flesh. It was at least an inch and a half long. The inflammation had spread from it like poison, waves of angry red creeping from the intrusion in her body. Ciara reached into her bag and pulled out a large pair of tweezers.

At the moment there was a gasp behind her. Ciara turned to see Landi standing behind her, staring at the terrible wound in her sister's leg.

Ciara stood and walked to her, blocking the view.

"Will she be alright?" asked Thoss.

"The wound has festered," said Ciara. "It's very serious but I should be able to treat it."

Thoss closed her eyes, "Thank you."

"Do you know how this happened?"

"At the woodworks. We work for Vayné Eithne. A board slipped the saw table and scraped her leg."

"Why didn't you treat it sooner?" asked Ciara. It wasn't really important right now, but Ciara was so angry the wound had been left to get this bad she let the question slip out.

"She did! I swear. Vayné Eithne gave Landi the day off when she got hurt. She said she went to Mama Lyg and when I got home she said she was fine. She had wrapped it herself and I thought Mama Lyg had seen to it. I didn't... I didn't know," Thoss hesitated, "we don't have a lot of money," she said. It sounded like both an explanation and a warning,

Ciara sighed to herself. It seemed this Mama Lyg had given Landi something for the pain and ignored the real problem. She didn't know if it was because the human healer hadn't known what she was doing or if Landi couldn't afford real treatment, but the details didn't really matter.

Ciara knew from reading human history and medical texts that women had traditionally been healers in human society, but as humans learned to use their magic to heal and healing became more lucrative, men had driven women from the craft. Then, when the Vay conquered the Brightlands they had sent all the healers into peonage with the other men. The few women healers that remained did their best, but Ciara had found they were very unreliable.

"Vayné Eithne should cover your medical care," said Ciara, failing to keep the anger out of her voice.

"It's never come up before but that... doesn't seem like something she would do."

Ciara ground her teeth but took her anger and pushed it away for later. She turned back and sat, taking up her tweezers, and began to sing the Song of Life once more. Guided by the song, she slowly inched the tweezers into the wound and grasped the splinter. There was a squelch as she pulled it out and a fresh splurt of blood soaked Landi's thigh. Ciara heard Thoss gag behind her but she didn't let the sound or the smell touch her. When she was treating wounds like this she shut part of her mind off, separated what she was doing from what she felt. She would deal with it in her dreams.

When the splinter was out Ciara dropped it to the ground, set aside her tweezers, and reached for a bandage to press against the wound, using pressure to stop the flow of blood. She turned to Thoss.

"Do you have the water?" she asked.

"Yes, yes it's here."

Thoss left for a moment and came back with a fine porcelain bowl that was nicer than anything she had seen in the house so far and placed it on the nightstand. Ciara grabbed a cotton cloth from her medical bag and dipped it in, the water had cooled just enough to be usable so she wetted the cloth, rubbed in soap from a bar in her bag, and began to clean the wound gently but firmly. When she had cleaned out the wound she pulled a bottle full of honey and minced garlic from her bag and spread the mixture over the wound. When she was done she had Thoss lift her unconscious sister's leg while Ciara wrapped it in a fresh bandage.

Ciara considered the unconscious woman. It was possible simply cleaning the wound treatment would be enough to defeat the infection, but Ciara's instincts, honed over years of tending humans, told her the infection had sunk too deep and required the Song to be defeated. But she'd had a difficult case the day before as well, a lung infection that required a powerful song to soothe. If she used the song again today she would not be recovered tomorrow, and if she had another difficult case she might not be able to treat it without risking herself.

But if she didn't use the song Landi would wake up in pain, it would take her days to heal. She would either have to skip work for a week, which sounded like it risked the anger of her vay mistress, or she would work through the pain and injure herself further. Ciara ground her teeth and turned back to Landi.

"I'm going to use my magic to speed up her recovery."

Thoss' eyes were wide and she unconsciously made the sign of the Allfather.

"Thank you Vaynè."

Ciara turned back to Landi, placed her hands gently on the fresh bandage, and began to sing once more. She wove the song into the wound, permeating the blighted, rotten flesh. She sang of renewal and joy, hope for a better day, and the simple desire every animal had to survive.

Healing a wound like this would be trivially easy if it was a Vay. When she healed a Vay it always felt like the Vay was singing with her, a duet of strength and restoration. But it was much, much more difficult to heal a human. She could feel the wound fighting her, as if it had a song of its own. One of rage and boundless hunger. Wounds like this always felt alive to Ciara, like she was fighting a vicious predator or swarm of wasps. It was as if disease and rot had a life of their own but it was a form of life the Song couldn't touch. Treating humans always made Ciara feel like she was fighting an enemy in the dark.

But even though she couldn't attack the rot directly, she could give Landi the weapons to fight it herself. Men had their own ability to heal and fight disease, it was just far inferior to the Vay's. Ciara had found the easiest way to treat humans was to strengthen that natural ability. As Ciara sang the red began to recede as she soothed the inflammation, strengthened and supported Landi's worn down body, conveyed upon her the strength and life that was a gift to the Vay by the Brightmother.

She sang for a good five minutes, a constantly repeating refrain of strength and hope, as her hidden enemy screeched in fury. She felt weariness growing within her as she fed the song with her own life. The weakness felt distant, it was hard to gauge how much the Songs took from you as you were singing them, but Ciara had become adept at telling when she had hit her limits. When she reached the limit of what she could safely give she wound down the song with a closing refrain. As the song faded away, exhaustion overcame her like a wave and she sagged on her little stool, fighting the urge to lay her head down on the bed and fall asleep.

"Are you alright Vayné?"

Ciara jerked and looked around. Thoss was standing in the doorway.

"I'm alright. That was very..." Ciara fought a wave of dizziness "... very taxing."

Ciara turned and put her hand to Landi's forehead. The woman's fever was down and her color was much better. She took a moment to savor this latest victory, then stood to face Thoss.

"But your sister's wound is much better. I'll have to return in the next few days to check on her progress but she should recover..."

Suddenly a wave of dizziness overtook Ciara. She tried to catch herself on the side table but missed and her legs gave out. The world lurched to the side as she landed in a heap.

"Vayné! Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine. I just..."

Ciara tried to reassure the woman she was alright but her mouth felt like it was full of sawdust and she couldn't finish. She put a hand on her head as her headache came back full force. She heard footsteps as Thoss ran down the hall. She tried to call after her, to stand, but everything felt impossible. Some time passed and then she heard a voice.

"You, alright boss?" asked Brug.

She looked up and blinked.

"'M fine, just... had a moment."

"Uh huh," said the thraka. Then she turned away, "Is there another bed?"

"Down the hall," said Thoss.

Brug knelt by her and hesitated. Then Ciara felt Brug's arms go around her. Even in her half conscious state, Ciara fought her shock. Thraka hated touching vay. They avoided it at any cost.

"You don't need to..."

"Please, boss," said Brug, there was strain in her voice that Ciara had never heard before. It silenced her and she let herself be carried. A moment later she was lowered into a soft bed with sheets that hadn't been washed in a while.

Ciara sat up immediately, propping herself against the headboard. She was afraid if she laid down she'd pass out, and she still had one more patient today.

"I'm fine, really, I just need a minute."

"Sure boss," said Brug, then she held something out to Ciara, a brown food bar.

"What's this?"

"Emergency rations. Savay eat them when they've been shouting and they're worn out."

Ciara took the food bar hesitantly. It was unpleasantly sticky.

"What is it?"

"Dried pit mushrooms covered in honey," said Brug.

Ciara almost dropped it.

"I'm not eating that."

"It doesn't taste great but nothing beats it for getting you back on your feet after too much singing."

"It's alright. I have my lunch."

"Sure thing. You're the boss," said Brug. She held her hand out to take back the mushrooms. "I have to say I'm a little surprised. He eats them all the time."

Ciara looked at Brug's face sharply, but the thraka looked impassive. Ciara very deliberately got out of bed, eyes on Brug the whole time. Her knee dipped for just a moment when she stood but then she was fine. She stood back straight and smoothed down her blouse and pants. Thoss came into the bedroom and gave her a worried look

"I'm fine, really. Now..." Ciara deliberately turned away from Brug and to Thoss, who had been watching anxiously from the doorway to the bedroom.

"... where is Vayné Eithne?" asked Ciara.

Thoss jumped, "What?"

"I need to speak with her."

"She's... she should be at the woodworks down the street. But I don't think..."

Ciara pushed past the frazzled woman and started down the stairs. Now that her weakness had passed her fury had bubbled to the surface again. She left the house and started marching down the street, Brug and the orcs jogging to keep up. Her foot came down on a pothole and she stumbled, her hands going to her knees. She was up again in an instant, but she admitted to herself she probably wasn't in the state to have a confrontation. She turned to Brug, who took a step back when she saw the look on her boss's face.

"Give me the goddamn mushrooms."

Brug pulled the bar out of his pocket and handed it to her wordlessly. Ciara grabbed it and took a bite before she could change her mind. It was as vile as she expected. The mushrooms were bitter and tasted like bile. It was tolerable as she was chewing, the honey was effective at hiding the taste, but it left an aftertaste in her mouth like stomach acid.

Brug handed her a small bottle.

"What's that, orc vomit?"

Brug made a deep, throaty chuckle. "It's cider. Not hard. The sugar should help."

Ciara took a sip from the bottle. It was delicious. Just the slightest bit fizzy. It went a long way towards washing away the aftertaste of the mushrooms. Ciara forced her way through the dried mushroom bar, chasing it with sips of the cider. When she finished she felt better. She still had her bone deep weariness but she didn't feel like she was going to pass out.

"Thank you."

"Sure thing, boss."

Ciara's anger made her head clear and cold as she continued walking briskly down the street. The woodworks was a simple wooden building that had been built over the ruins of a demolished house. When she walked in she was surrounded by the sound of sawing and hammering. A dozen orcs were working on a variety of projects, cart wheels and fence rails, furniture and simple wooden boards. For a moment Ciara stopped to marvel at the work being done. Each orc performed a simple repetitive task that had been carefully trained into them by their vay mistress, a small step in the process of turning uncut logs into finished products. Orcs could handle small delicate tasks with surprising agility but only if they were relatively simple and didn't have too many steps. It took a skilled vay to design a process like this and train her orcs to perform it well. Whatever her other flaws, Vayné Eithne was clearly skilled at her craft.

Ciara saw there were two women overseeing the orcs and doing the more delicate work the orcs couldn't handle. It reminded Ciara why she was here and her anger returned with full force. She marched past the orcs and women, heading towards a door in the back that clearly led to an office. Her own orcs had caught her mood and one of them hissed and snarled at one of the woodworking orcs that was passing by, lips peeled back from fangs. The startled orc dropped the boards it was carrying and yelped in distress. The women were staring at her but none of them tried to stop her.

Ciara opened the office door without knocking to see a heavyset, middle aged vay sitting at a desk piled with work orders and pay stubs. She blinked in confusion.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes, I think you can. I am Vayné Ciara Moira... Mordha and I've just come from treating Landi, your bound woman."

Eithne tilted her head, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"She was injured a few days ago in an accident."

"Yes?"

"The wound festered. It went rotten. If I had come any later she could have lost her leg."

Eithne snorted, "That's ridiculous. It was just a scratch."

"It was a four inch long gash with a splinter embedded in it. Humans are not like Vay. A wound like that won't heal on its own and it can spread rot and kill them if it's not treated. You're working in a dangerous craft with a lot of bound women. You have a responsibility to see to their care."

Eithne squinted at her, "Is this a scam?"

Ciara knew she was getting angrier but she didn't feel like she was. She felt cold and distant, disconnected from her body. Her anger had always run cold.

"Are you accusing me of lying about my craft?" she asked. She couldn't believe how calm she sounded.

"You barge in here with some wild story about wounds that rot and demand I give you money to fix my women. You think I'm just going to roll over because you have blue skin and a nice accent?

Ciara took a few steps forward until she was right at the edge of the desk. She summoned the cold imperiousness her mother had taught her, back when they had thought she would be head housevay to one of the great septs.

"I want you to listen to me very carefully. If I ever have to come back here again to treat one of your women because you've neglected them. I'm going to have my savay raid you."

Eithne laughed, "Sure."

"My savay will come here and take all your women and burn your woodworks to the ground."

"And who's your savay? Balor Mordha?"

"His son."

"Right."

"I don't need to convince you. Your savay knows I'm here. I'm sure he'll figure out who I am. Ask him who I am and then ask yourself if your savay can protect you when the heir to Mordha comes for you."

"Listen you bitch..."

But Ciara turned and started walking out. She had said what she needed to and by the time she returned here the vay would know she was telling the truth, at least about who she was bound to. When she walked out into the street she looked around, the scout thraka was watching her again. Ciara gave her an angry wave.

"You went a little hard there, boss," said Brug, her tone carefully neutral.

Ciara stopped short and replayed the conversation in her head. Now that she had said her piece, her anger was fading.

"I might have lost my temper."

"Maybe," said Brug, her voice very dry.

"I don't like it when Vay mistreat women."

"That seems fair."

"It's possible I could have handled that better."

"Could be."

Ciara rubbed her temple for what was probably the fiftieth time today. This was turning out to be a bad day.

"I think it's time to go home," said Brug.

Ciara looked at her sharply.

"I still have one more appointment."

"It can wait until tomorrow," said Brug.

"No. No, I've already had to reschedule this patient and her condition needs regular treatment or it can deteriorate quickly."

"I'm sure one more day..."

"No."

Brug went quiet and gave her a steady look.

"Boss, it's my job to keep you safe. Even from yourself."

Ciara stared down her thraka. If Brug felt any discomfort trying to pressure her vay, she didn't show it. Ciara felt a surge of guilt. It wasn't fair to put a thraka in this situation. She looked away first.

"Please, Brug, it's important I see my final patient today but the treatment itself isn't that strenuous. Let's... go to the Troll Garden and I'll have my lunch and take a nap. We can send a runner to my last patient and tell her I'll be late. If I have a good meal and rest for an hour I promise you I'll be fine."

"Why not go home and go back out later?"

"If I go home Hamenel will never let me out again and... and He might be there."

Brug actually sighed, which from a thraka was a groan of pure aggravation.

"Alright boss, you're the boss. But you're taking a rickshaw."

Ciara laughed at Brug calling her the boss and then immediately making a demand of her, but she nodded agreeably.

"Thanks, Brug."

"Sure thing, boss."

There was a rickshaw station only a couple of blocks away. It used to be a hostelry when humans controlled the city, but now the stables housed specially trained orcs and storage for the rickshaws. The orcs were trained to pull the rickshaws on memorized routes around the neighborhoods of the city. Since the Troll Garden was one of the most popular stops in the city there was a route directly there. For a green scale or a few coppers Ciara got to doze lightly in a rickshaw while an orc pulled her at a surprisingly fast pace towards the Troll Garden. She paid extra for a rickshaw with wheels infused with the Song of Making by a makervay, so the ride was completely smooth, with no bumps from potholes or loose cobbles. Brug and her orcs jogged alongside the rickshaw, having no trouble keeping pace. It was about a twenty minute ride but it felt instant to Ciara because as soon as she was inside the rickshaw she leaned her head against the worn wood of the rickshaw's wall and dozed off immediately.

"Boss, we're here," said Brug.

Ciara jerked awake and blinked the dryness out of her eyes. She peeked out and saw the wide green fields and scattered trees of the Troll Garden. She quickly exited the rickshaw while Brug settled their bill, and then she and her escort made their way into the grounds.

The Troll Garden was the biggest public park in the city. It was a carefully manicured space with rolling hills and small copses of trees for privacy and scattered fields for sports. The only addition the Vay had added to the park when they took the city were the trolls. If you didn't know what they were they looked like big grey boulders of varying sizes with moss growing on them. The smallest was as big as a cart and the largest was the size of a small house. However, if you looked at them more closely you began to see the outline of a humanoid figure curled up into a fetal position.

Trolls were tremendously strong and had skin as durable as stone, but they were very aggressive and carnivorous, preferring the flesh of orcs over all other meat. They needed too much food for it to ever be practical to keep them like orcs. In the past, trolls had only been created by accident and were hunted down whenever they emerged, but a few hundred years ago the beastsingers had discovered how to sing trolls into a deep hibernation, the trollsleep, where they needed neither food nor water. Now trolls were created under careful supervision by herdvay, trained to fight, and put into hibernation until they were needed for war. Even though every sept had their own reserve of trolls in hibernation, Trollbreeding was an ugly business and it was still looked down upon by vay as disreputable. Calling a vay a troll breeder was a common insult. Unsurprisingly, Sept Mordha was known for having more trolls on call than any other sept.

Vay rarely used trolls against each other, only septs with a blood feud to the death would wake their trolls. But when the Vay had gone to war with the Men of the Brightlands all the septs had awoken their trolls at once. The trolls sleeping in this park were a big part of how the Vay had conquered the Brightlands and taken the Dawnpass. Ciara looked at the field of sleeping trolls and prayed silently to the Brightmother they would stay asleep forever. The world already had enough suffering in it.

She walked through the park, past young vay tended by their mothers or their human nannies, thraka playing an intense game of hurling, a savay and a woman embracing on a picnic blanket, and even a public theatre performance. Ciara stopped for a few minutes to watch the show. It was a classic romantic comedy, about a vay captured in a raid by an arrogant, foolish savay. Over the course of the play, the vay managed to outwit and outsmart her new savay and the other vay of his household and become head housevay herself. Ciara had always loved the show and the performers were very good. There were three artistvay in the lead roles and three women taking on the rolls of the minor characters. Ciara would have loved to stay until the end but hunger began to gnaw at her and she knew she needed to take care of herself if she wanted to make it to her last appointment, so she continued on to her favorite spot. It was a nice grassy hill that gave a good view of the park, with a small playground nearby that always had children playing. There was a troll sleeping on the hill that always provided good shade. The troll was average size, a boulder about eight feet tall and as wide around as a large cart. There was a little brass plate screwed into it with its name written on it: GROM - THE RAM.

Brug pulled a blanket out of an orc's carrying case and spread it on the ground for her. Ciara settled on the blanket with a relieved sigh. She tried to hide the fact that her legs had given out as she sat down but she wasn't sure if she was successful. She brushed off her slacks, sat up straight and tried to summon the poise of command her mother had drilled into her when she was a child. Her back trembled at the effort but she managed to maintain her posture.

Brug took her lunch basket from one of the orcs and set it down in front of her and Ciara started pulling out her lunch. Gladil had outdone herself as usual. There was a pulled pork sandwich, potato salad, roasted zucchini and squash, all spiced to perfection. Ciara tried to eat slowly to savor the food and avoid another choking incident, but with the hunger gnawing at her stomach it was hard to restrain herself.

Brug stood a few paces away, enjoying her own pork sandwich. The sound of her chewing a mirror to Ciara's. Ciara looked over to the Thraka and smiled at her obvious enjoyment of Gladil's cooking. Then she felt a surge of guilt that made her put down her sandwich.

"I'm sorry about today," she said, "I wore myself out and caused you a lot of trouble."

"S'alright, boss. It was hardly any trouble," said Brug.

Ciara wondered what qualified as trouble if her day hadn't so far. Then she heard Brug laugh quietly.

"Is something funny?" Asked Ciara.

"Oh, no boss, just a passing thought," said Brug. She still had a small smile on her face

"If you're going to have a laugh at my expense I think I have the right to know the joke."

"I was just thinking how alike you two are."

Ciara took a bite of zucchini to cover her reaction.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Most vay and savay don't apologize to a thraka. Wouldn't even occur to them. But he does it all the time, too."

"That just seems like basic politeness."

"Yeah, it's rarer than you'd think. And I've been picking him up off the ground a lot too, recently."

"What do you mean?"

"For the last few weeks he's been going to a practice field outside the city so he can work on his shouts. His dad has boulders hauled out there to practice on. He's been shouting at them over and over again until he can't stand anymore."

"That sounds incredibly foolish"

Brug raised her eyebrows.

"What I did is very different," said Ciara, holding back her anger. "I was saving a woman's life."

"I know, boss. What I mean is both of you push yourselves hard, you both need to prove yourselves, and you both use that focus to distract yourselves from things you don't want to deal with. I know why he feels that way and I'm sure you've got a good reason too."

Ciara stared at her thraka guard, shocked by her frank and disturbingly accurate read on the two Vay she served. She was starting to suspect Brug was a very smart thraka.

"Does he ever ask about me?" asked Ciara. She hated herself for asking but she couldn't stop herself.

"'Course he does."

"And what do you tell him?"

"I tell him... that you take your craft very seriously and you work very hard, and you're happy with the work you're doing."

Ciara opened her mouth to be angry but realized that she couldn't object to that.

"Anything else?"

"He asked me once if I knew why you hate him."

"I don't hate him! I..." she cut herself off, there were some things that didn't need to be said out loud, "And what did you tell him?"

"I told him when I'm with you, you're the boss, and thraka don't talk about the boss. He didn't like that one bit, so I asked him if it was okay if I answered your questions about him. He didn't like that either but he left me alone after that."

Ciara gave a small laugh, "Thank you, Brug."

"Of course, boss, you're the boss. I will have to tell him about today though."

Ciara groaned and covered her face. She felt herself blushing, "Please don't."

"I'm sorry, but it wouldn't be fair to him. If he has to go on a raid he's going to need time to prepare."

She looked up at Brug, "I was just bluffing."

Brig didn't say a word.

"You really think he would do it, if I asked?"

"I think he'd burn down half the city if it'd get you to talk to him."

Ciara covered her face again and asked herself, for the thousandth time, how she had let herself end up in this ridiculous situation.

"You know, boss..." said Brug.

Ciara looked up again.

"Thraka don't talk about the boss, but... he's a pretty good guy, for a savay. I don't know what the problem is but I think if you did talk to him, it'd probably work out."

Ciara considered it again. It was so tempting to try it and end this nightmare. But she had told another savay the truth once; a savay she had trusted, even thought she had loved. It had turned out very badly.

Ciara sighed and looked down at her half eaten sandwich.

"I wish it was that easy."

Ciara took another bite of her sandwich to dodge the need to talk any more. After a moment, she heard Brug take a bite as well. They ate quietly until they were done. Ciara felt wonderfully full, just the slightest bit of heaviness of a meal that was a little too much, but in a good way. Her exhaustion was still there though. Instead of weak muscles she felt like her head weighed a thousand pounds.

"Alright, Brug I'm going to sleep for... for about an hour. Can you wake me?"

"Sure thing, boss."

"And... you'll keep me safe?"

"Always."

Ciara nodded and started unbuttoning her shirt, she heard Brug take a sharp breath and turn around. Ciara took the shirt off, leaving her in a simple white tank top, then she took off her shoes and rolled up her pant legs. Vay were nourished by the sun just as they were by food, and she needed to absorb as much of the sun's nourishing light as possible if she was going to recover for her last appointment. When she was ready she folded her shirt neatly to use as a pillow and laid down on the blanket, she was asleep instantly.

...

Ronan walked up the stairs to Vayné Aoibhinn's house and knocked. After a moment Astor opened the door. When she saw him her eyes widened and she blushed. Looking at her big beautiful brown eyes, the pink in her cheeks, aroused him immediately. She backed away from him and he walked in, looked down, then up at him again. She leaned forward and he followed her lead. Her lips were just as soft and warm as last time. But this time her arms went around him and she pressed him close. His arms went around her waist and he took in the comforting feeling of her. He could feel the slightest bump in her belly where their whelps grew.

He broke the kiss and cupped her cheek. She leaned into his hand.

"I missed you," said Ronan. And it was true, his time with Astor was a small piece of relief and comfort in the disaster of his life right now.

"Sa'vay Ronan!" said Vayne Aoibhinn.

Astor's eyes widened in surprise and she backed away from Ronan.

"I'm so sorry, Vayné," she said.

"Please my dear, don't apologize. I'm not so old that I don't remember what it's like to carry the litter of a handsome savay." said Aoibhinn. There was a small smile on her face.

Ronan suppressed a smile of his own. Many vay past their childbearing years took an avid interest in the whelping of their daughters and sept daughters. Ronan always suspected it let them remember their own experiences whelping. It seemed Vayné Aoibhinn had extended that interest to her women servants. After a moment, Astor turned back to him. She looked conflicted.

"I'm sorry, Sa'vay Ronan. I am... I have already been free today. I have no time..."

"Nonsense," said Vayne Aoibhinn, "Cleaning can wait until later. The dust isn't going anywhere. Cordolin is down for a nap so I can keep an eye on her, and Doliel can take Camden around the corner for a pastry. She won't mind if she can have one herself."

"Vayne, I cannot ask..."

"Nonsense," repeated Aoibhinn. "You have to take care of your litter too. And you should take time to enjoy your youth. It is all too fleeting."

"Thank you, Vayné," said Ronan.

"Of course. Now get to it. I expect a strong, healthy litter out of you both."

Ronan fought a blush. Aoibhinn definitely embraced the freedom to speak frankly many older vay seemed to enjoy. The older vay turned and made her way back to the kitchen, no doubt to tell Doliel to take Astor's daughter for her walk.

Ronan was left facing Astor. Who was looking at him with a small smile on her face. Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, but he also knew the Allure he was giving off was arousing her. Ronan reached out and took her hand and led her upstairs. Since he had started visiting Astor, Aoibhinn had one of the guest rooms made up for him, ready for whenever he visited. When he led the Astor to their room, there was a bouquet of flowers on the bed. Ronan saw it and laughed. He picked it up.

"For me?"

Astor laughed and nodded.

"Thank you," said Ronan.

Astor's arms went around his neck and he had to stop himself from dropping the flowers on the floor. He threw them on the bed and his arms went around her waist. He pressed his tongue against her lips and she opened her mouth. He enjoyed the feel of her tongue against his and the moan she made into his mouth. His hands moved up and down her back then up her ass. Astor had wide hips, perfect for whelping, and he enjoyed the feel of them through her skirt.

Suddenly his clothes felt like a terrible burden. Astor must have felt the same because she backed away and they began to undress. She kept her eyes locked with his as she untied her dress. It went over her head just as his pants came off.

Astor's body made his breath catch. The signs of her litter had been subtle a few days ago but now they were all too obvious. Her belly had a gentle swell, pressing out a few inches, and the finest hint of green had appeared. Astor had nice breasts but they had grown even larger, and her nipples had grown big and dark. Astor saw his eyes roam over her body and put a hand to her belly, instinctively covering it

He reached for her in reassurance.

"You are beautiful," he said.

She smiled and her hand dropped. He approached her and ran a hand down her body, across her hard nipples and traced the contours of her belly. Astor exhaled sharply, almost like she was in pain, as the Allure in his hands sent pins and needles across her body. Ronan herded her gently towards the bed and when she reached it she sat down suddenly, looking up at him in anticipation. He dropped his boxers and she drew a sharp breath. He was very hard and Allure was pouring off of him. Astor reached for him and stroked his cock gently, drawing a sharp breath from Ronan in return.

Ronan knelt in front of her and ran a hand across her cheek. He kissed Astor again, running his tongue across her lips, as he pushed her onto her back. He pawed at her panties, the last barrier between them, and she lifted her hips and let him awkwardly pull them off.

Ronan positioned himself between Astor's legs and she spread them wide for him in invitation. Her slit was glistening with arousal and her lips looked warm and inviting and Ronan couldn't wait to accept the invitation. He slid forward between her legs until he was right at her entrance. He ran a hand down her body one more time and Astor shuddered.

Then Ronan slid forward, filling her up. He made a small quiet cry as the heat and wetness of her sex surrounded him, embracing his cock and sending a flex of tension and pleasure into his groin. Astor drew a long, deep breath as he filled her. They both reveled in the sensation of joining together.

Ronan moved forward until he was looking into Astor's wide brown eyes. He wiggled his hips a few times, settling into her, loosening her up some more. Astor gave a small cry at the sensation of his cock wiggling inside her. Then Ronan locked eyes with her and started to thrust into her with gentle, even strokes. Astor made a satisfied noise each time he thrust. She raised her knees and spread her legs wider, inviting him deeper. Soon he sped up, his cock sliding smoothly through the wet heat of her sex. Astor's arms went around him, her hands resting on his back, and her cries became louder, more desperate. The tension in Ronan's groin began to wind tighter, the friction of her walls and her slit on his cock sending shocks of pleasure through his groin and belly. He lowered himself onto her so that the swell in her belly was pressing into his stomach and her mouth was next to his ear so that Astor's ragged breathing filled his world, little gasps and cries in time to the movement of their bodies, and her breaths tickled the skin on the side of his face. His breath had become ragged from the exertion and he filled her ears with gasps of his own.

Astor's cries and the feel of her belly pressing into him wound him up tighter. His cock became a knot of tension as his climax approached, pulsing in his belly. He propped himself up once more so he could see her face and made a series of short powerful thrusts, each one striking sparks of pleasure all along his cock. He wound tighter and tighter until all at once he came. The orgasm tied him in a knot, his whole body shuddering under the waves of tight hot sensation. Ronan lowered his head slightly and grunted as he started pumping seed into Astor. Filling her womb with nourishment for their litter. A moment later Astor joined him in climax. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, mouth opening wide as she breathed in and out in long gasps as the waves of pleasure rolled through her body.

They stayed locked together in mutual pleasure for almost a minute, bodies glorying in their union, as Ronan fed their litter. His cock grew warm and wet as he filled Astor with his seed. But after too short a time his orgasm faded away. He sagged, just stopping himself from pressing down on Astor, and rolled on his side. She followed him until she was laying on her side as well, leg wrapped around him. He was still lazily pumping seed into her as they settled down together, their arms around each other and faces almost touching. Ronan stroked Astor's back gently and gave her a kiss on her forehead and she snuggled up against him. Ronan sank into the welcoming warmth of her body. The feel of a woman or vay sharing his bed had been all too rare in the past month.

"You seem happy," said Ronan.

Astor pulled away from him a little and looked uncertain for a minute.

"Yes. I am better now."

"Better?"

"Yes before... I felt bad. To be with you."

"Why?"

"I had a husband."

"Ah. And husbands are for life," he said, remembering what Cesta had told him.

Astor jumped and looked at him surprised.

"Yes. Yes, so I felt shame."

"I'm sorry," he said, and stroked her body gently, trying to comfort her with gentle touches. Ronan felt so bad for her. It must be horrible to be beholden to a man who had failed you so completely, to feel such an obligation towards someone who had not met theirs.

"But he is gone. He is gone and now I am alone. I have... I decide to take happiness," said Astor.

Idly, Ronan wondered if Astor's husband was actually dead. He thought about going back to the bank and asking after him, but decided it wasn't worth it. Astor seemed to have made her peace with her new life. She had her children and had discovered the joys of whelping. There was no need to stir up the past for her if it didn't haunt her any longer.

"That's good," he said instead, "I can make you happy."

Ronan kissed Astor again and she made a contented sound. He stroked her back gently and she tangled a hand in his hair. Ronan found he was hardening again. Normally he would need to rest longer before laying with Astor again but he had an extra big lunch and he still had a lot of pent up frustration to work through. Astor felt him hardening and made a pleased noise. Her hand snaked between them and she stroked his shaft, sending a shudder of pleasure through him.

Ronan broke the kiss and saw Astor had a contented smile on her face.

"Again?" asked Ronan.

"Mmmm, yes. Again," said Astor.

Ronan kept kissing Astor as he lined himself up. Then Astor grunted through their kiss as Ronan impaled her on his cock once more.