INTREPID PAWNS, CHAPTER 13
“And that was my collection of goblin maids! Aren’t they a delight?”
Okino nodded numbly. Ytheri had shown him perhaps a dozen doors at this point—goblin maids, teddy bear sprites, lust sprites, a cupid, batgirls who seemed to hear every whimper he made as Ytheri teased him—described their powers and talents to him, tormented him with knowledge of each and every creature he laid his eyes on. It was hot in the menagerie hallway—muggy, with a perpetual dusky glow that seemed to constantly encourage his eyelids to droop down lower.
The sorceress seemed to notice his exhaustion. “Aw.” She patted his cheek and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Are we getting sleepy, Okino? Should I take you back to the fleece sprite cell?” She leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Maybe Delecta?”
“N-No!” He pulled away, breathing heavily of her sweet scent. He knew he should play along, at least somewhat—knew how powerful this sorceress was, knew his mind only remained free because she preferred to toy with him through her servants instead of directly, because of how easy it would be to melt him in her hand once again—but he couldn’t. He couldn’t even pretend. He stared at her, fear warring with desire.
Gods, despite everything he knew about the sorceress who had taken him from his mission, he couldn’t help but admire her beauty: her flowing hair, as black as night; her brilliant, swirling many-colored eyes; that sleek cyan dress an electric contrast against the rich twilight sepia of her complexion.
Ytheri tutted, putting a finger to her beestung moss-green lips, and Okino realized he was staring. He flushed and looked back to her eyes. “Oh, Okino. Aren’t you glad I can show you so many fun things? Aren’t you glad you don’t have to go around chasing wasps anymore?”
He bit his lip. “That was my mission,” he said, his voice sounding disturbingly meek, feeble. He had to remind himself that she hadn’t used any mind control on him yet—unless merciless edging counted—as he added, louder, “My team needs me.”
Ytheri giggled and just shook her head slightly. Her smile was fond. Patronizing. Almost pitying.
“Why do you…” Okino felt his anger bubbling within him, and he clenched the fist not held daintily in her hand. “Why do you do all this?”
Ytheri blinked. “All of what, dear?”
“This!” He gestured weakly around them. “What do you gain? What is the… what is the point?”
“Why did the company send you on a suicide mission?”
“I volunteered—”
“Oh, who can volunteer in Enterprise?” Ytheri rolled her eyes. “And yes, before you try and argue, this is a suicide mission. Your party is almost certainly already in the Hive, drowning in mead. And you would not have been able to save them.”
Okino glared. “I had a plan.”
“I’m sure you did. They have plans, too. The Thriae, I mean.” Ytheri released his hand, to his surprise, and strolled down the hallway. Okino hesitated, then followed after. “And your employers, the shareholders of Enterprise. Not very good plans. Nobody ever has good plans.” She turned back to him, frowning. “But why is Enterprise, to begin with? And why is it in trouble? Why do the Thriae fight you? Why venture to wage an unwinnable war against an enemy that is better than you in almost every way?”
Okino wasn’t sure who the last question referred to. He followed silently, biting his tongue.
Ytheri slowed slowly, appearing to consider it. She chewed her upper lip. “It’s difficult being an archmage, you know.”
I weep, Okino carefully did not say.
“There are, perhaps…” She tilted her head slightly. “Five or six mortal mages of equivalent power, you see, on this continent. Lady Mistress. One or two of the Abbesses, I suppose. Mr. Carrots, obviously, and probably the Tulip King. Maybe a diplomat on the Western Plains or two. Very lonely, mm?” She flashed him a mischievous grin. “There might be more. But I’d be surprised if there were more than seven.”
Okino only recognized a few of those names. He idly wondered why she didn’t mention the Skittergoblin Queen, or anyone in Nyaska, or, hell, the asshole running the Kingdom of the Chosen. Weren’t they archmages?
“It’s not natural.” She stopped walking abruptly and blinked at Okino, her eyes wide. “That kind of power can only be maintained through use. A rich man is only rich as long as he spends, employs, exploits. Otherwise he’s just… a man who isn’t starving.”
“What’s wrong with not starving?”
“I can think of no more hideous fate.” Ytheri’s eyes narrowed. “You have to be hungry. Hunger drives you forward. Wanting things makes you something, and being full makes you nothing. Nothing but another commoner living off the land like no one owns it.”
Her voice was bitter, sibilant, and anger crackled from her voice—more full of magic than at any point she’d been toying with him, Okino realized, and he found himself taking a step back.
That seemed to surprise her. She blinked again, and when she spoke her voice had dropped back to her normal casual tone. “You see, Enterprise mines because if they every stopped mining, people might realize nobody really needs silver that badly—and certainly doesn’t need Enterprise to mine for them. The Kingdom of the Chosen conquers because otherwise it would collapse in on itself. What they do to Llorieva…” She shook her head. “They always needed an enemy. Someone they could be stronger than. The rich need the poor, and the predator needs the prey. It’s natural.”
Okino nodded carefully as Ytheri turned and continued walking. He followed at a healthy distance. He wasn’t delusional enough to think she would forget about him if he didn’t tag along, and refusing to follow might lead her to lose interest in conversation—the first conversation he’d had in this place that hadn’t revolved around him submitting to pleasure.
Even if listening to an evil sorceress explain her philosophy was its own kind of torment.
“And what about the Thriae?” he asked, noticing Ytheri had gone silent, staring at the final door at the end of the hall. Oh, so the hall had an end. Okino wondered if this might need to a different area. The door certainly looked identical to all the cell doors from here, but it was dark, gloomy and intimate in the menagerie hallway. Who could tell the difference between one door and the next?
“Yellowjackets are horrible creatures. I accidentally dug up a nest when I was young.” Ytheri’s eyelids fluttered, and Okino could almost see the memories slipping past her. “The Thriae are worse. Every needle’s poke earns a knife in return. They’re horribly scared, you see, that if they didn’t avenge themselves on every grievance, they would be seen as weak, be consumed by other Hives—or people like your Enterprise’s owners.” She shook her head. “Wasps are afraid of you. They need you to be more afraid of them, so you forget how small they are.”
Her words echoed against the wooden walls.
“So you’re saying you’re afraid.” Okino couldn’t keep the words in. “You’re saying you do it to keep other enemies away.”
“Oh, no.” Ytheri giggled. Some warmth seemed to return to her cheeks as she turned to face him. “Archmages almost never confront one another. Nobody wins in a mage duel, silly Okino. I’m just saying that power is relative—that is, it has to be wielded on others, or it isn’t power at all. Enterprise just becomes a bunch of dusty papers in some cabinet in some office in Nyaska. All the debt, all the deeds… gone. Poof!” She snapped her fingers. “And worse, the people who currently own your little city become people again. And that terrifies them, I’d imagine.”
She laughed, waving an arm dramatically. “If I ever stopped taking captives, Okino, stopped playing with toys—if I ever stopped using my powers, you know, I might realize I had no real use for them. And then I’d realize I didn’t want them. And then I might have to be a person again, a normal person, with shame and guilt and all that ugliness. No power, only responsibility.”
“But you… you are a person.” Okino couldn’t project much energy into his voice, and it came out puzzled, confused, rather than frustrated. “And you know that. You’re still a person, even with power. Power doesn’t… it doesn’t make you less of of one.” He bit his lip.
Her eyes glimmered, and Okino’s stomach turned at the unnatural rainbow of streaking stars reflected in each. Beautiful, irresistible, but also nothing he could ever hope to recognize. “I think it does. I think being a person means being part of something bigger, and being powerful means being the bigger thing. A hundred people can make up a village, but I am a city. So how can I be a person?”
There was a long silence.
Then she giggled again. “Also, I worked a spell a long time ago to put all my humanity inside a little potted string bean plant in my cellar, so I feel fantastic.”
“… what.”
Ytheri beamed. “It makes it so much easier…” she purred, “… to do this!”
The door to their left at the end of the hallway abruptly vanished. Truly, actually vanished, Okino realized, as a wave of warm, sweet-smelling air struck him.
Ytheri put a hand on his bare chest, cooing her amusement, and shoved him backward.
And Okino plunged into blinding light.
At long last, the knights of the city had found the Hive. This, unfortunately, would doubtless prove to be the easy part.
Approaching wasn’t difficult, but that didn’t mean Trys’s heart didn’t beat like a hammer against her chest with every snapping twig, every rustle that could be a Thriae warrior about to begin that irresistible hum of her wings.
She felt like a beetle, scurrying around the rocky wastes that surrounded the mountain. Mew’s druidic magic had covered their cloaks in moss and lichen, meaning that as long as they had their hoods up and kept their backs bent as they ran for cover, they would generally blend in with the terrain.
In theory. But Trys still felt horribly exposed as they ran from rock to rock. Wasps liked beetles. They laid their eggs in beetles.
They came to a stop behind a jagged outcropping. Brist was the last to make it to cover, and Yathi and Ia tugged him to safety as the mage panted for breath.
“That’s close enough,” Trys said, peeking up from between two crags to regard the Hive entrance. “And I know that I am repeating myself, Yathi, but just to—”
“Yes,” Yathi said, rolling her eyes, “I am positive that this is the right spot.”
“Mm.” Mew nodded, eyelids fluttering slightly. “Can’t you smell it, goldie?” The catgirl breathed in deep, and her expression turned dizzy, dazed in pleasure. “They came right through here.”
Trys ignored Mew for the time being, focused on the entrance. When Trys had been taken in by Thriae years ago, had her body transformed, her mind forever addicted to their insidious mead, they hadn’t been able to bring her all the way to the Hive. But she’d known what it would be like on the inside—endless twisting halls of gold, sticky walls like hardened syrup, a smell like heaven.
She hadn’t really envisioned it looking like the entrance to a dusty old mineshaft. The sign stood right next to the entrance still, as plain as when Brist had used his crystal magic to view it from afar.
MOUNTAIN MINE
She could also see faded letters at the bottom, and from their uniformity, knew well what the finer print had once read. A statement of ownership, and a company motto.
Property of the Nyaskan Silver Enterprise Initiative. Trespassers will be put to the sword, else put to work.
“No happier neighbor than him whose land
Is deeded and parceled by company command.”
“This used to belong to the city,” she muttered in disbelief. “The Thriae couldn’t have struck first, though. That’s not their way.”
“Thriae don’t have a way,” Yathi said shortly. “They just want things.”
“But they don’t strike first, Yathi.” Trys turned back, scowling. “I know how Thriae work.”
Ia cocked her head. “It kinda looks like they didn’t strike first. I mean, it’s a bit before my time, but, like, look at that place. The mine wasn’t in use.”
“Ia’s right,” Brist said, scratching his head. “That mine didn’t belong to anyone.”
“That’s not how property works, Brist.” Yathi rolled her eyes. Trys could tell something about the conversation was prickling her the wrong way. “Enterprise bought it, they own it. You don’t have to use something to own it. Not in Nyaskan law.”
“Ooh, someone should have told the Thriae that,” Mew chirped, and giggled. “Maybe we can just go and clear it up to them right now!”
Brist and Ia exchanged puzzled looks. Yathi folded her arms.
Trys took a deep breath. She smelled it too, now. Distant. Distant and sweet. “Yathi, all we’re saying is, it was not really the property of Enterprise when the Thriae took it. At least, not by common laws. That matters.”
“Does it?” Yathi sniffed. “Are we on their side now?”
“Of course not.” Trys took another deep breath, centering her temper. “I’m just saying that fey do not know obscure Nyaskan property doctrine.” She could tell that this was some sort of bitter pill for Yathi, and chose her words carefully. “It means that Enterprise probably tried to evict the Thriae somehow, which… legal or no, clearly ended badly. Two sides are seeing this very differently.”
“Right!” Mew beamed. Her tail danced behind her. “So I’ll just go in and explain the legal gray area, and the Thriae will bring out their barristers…”
“Quiet, Mew,” Trys snapped, as one of the bubbles of anger popped before she could ease it out.
Mew blinked. Her tail went still. Trys bit her lip.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I only mean… I know we are not going to make a legal case to them. But our goal here is to deescalate. I think we all agree that nobody is in a position to evict the Thriae form anywhere, yes?”
Everyone nodded. Mew looked assuaged by the apology, and her tail was twitching again. Yathi shrugged, her expression pouty and petulant—but not disagreeing.
Trys pressed on. “So the plan is the same, but this gives us more information on how it all started. Nyaskan Silver probably didn’t realize how… difficult it would be to force the Thriae out. Knowing how it started might help us end it.” She clasped her hands together. “Morrowii, I need you to dampen our senses of smell. Even yours.”
“Got it!” Mew’s eyes shone with excitement as she looked around, considering, then reached out for Brist. “C’mere, cutie, you first.”
“I… okay?” Brist bit his lip as Mew reached forward, gently running her fingers over the nape of his neck, pulling him close. Her ears flicked as magic started to flow. She whispered something into Brist’s ear, and he mumbled something back.
Trys tried to ignore the display as she reached into her bag and pulled out two of her balls of yarn. “Ia, take one of these. I’ll hold onto the other. We’re probably the strongest-willed in our party.”
Ia giggled and accepted it. Brist shivered and did not object. Unlike Trys and Yathi, he wasn’t addicted to the mead at all—but he was currently squirming in the grasp of a catgirl who was doing nothing but rubbing his shoulders and nuzzling him lightly, so he didn’t seem to have it in him to argue.
“We’ll tie these off at the entrance, and Mew will conceal them as best she can. We use them to find our way out.” Trys bit her lip. “We can’t protect against the buzzing except to try to keep our heads as best we can. Remember, you see a Thriae, take her down quickly—but subdue. Don’t kill.”
Everyone nodded. Killing a fey was generally considered extremely risky—fey rarely responded in kind, but it was a kind of escalation that just wasn’t done. Especially when you were dealing with Thriae.
“First thing, we get a captive. Bind her wings. She takes us to the Royal Bedroom.” Trys shifted in place, trying to project as much confidence as she could as she met everyone’s uncertain gaze. “We bring her down and give her crown to the weakest, dumbest Thriae we can find.”
“Ooh, a dummy queen!” Mew licked her lips as she skipped over to Ia and took her by the hand. Surprisingly, the mind control-immune knight seemed to flinch at that. Mew whispered in her ear, and Ia whispered something back, eyes wide. Mew grinned, glancing back at Trys from the corner of her eyes. “She won’t last long.”
“No. But they’ll… they’ll be busy with her.” Trys swallowed, watching Mew stroke Ia’s neck delicately. Ia seemed to be a bit ticklish. “And whatever new Queen emerges will have new priorities. We won’t be the immediate enemy anymore.”
Then Mew turned to her, grinning ear to ear.
Before Trys could even react, the catgirl had somehow pulled her close, and was now nuzzling her just as she’d nuzzled Brist and Ia. It took Trys a moment to remember, as she shivered, that Mew was just working the magic on her as well.
As Mew’s fingertips brushed playfully over her cheek, and a pleasant tingling started to spread through Trys’s body, she heard Mew purr in her ear, “So which sense do I heighten, honeycow? Taste? Sight? Touch?”
Her fingers brushed across Trys’s lips.
Trys felt her face going bright red as she realized everyone else was watching her as Mew worked her magic.
Trys swallowed, desperately trying to contain a whimper, as her nipples tingled and the honey began to trickle.
As they were preparing to enter the mine, Ia made sure to cuddle up close to Brist. “Hey, Brist,” she murmured, concealing a grin, “help me tie myself up.”
She swung her hips slightly, just enough that her ass bumped his lap. Brist’s eyes widened, and he nervously, clumsily took the length of yarn. Ia twirled and hummed playfully as he wound it around her waist loosely. The other end was being tied to a scrubby bush, and covered in moss and lichen by Mew to conceal its bright green hue from detection.
Clearly trying not to too blatantly ogle her ass, Brist stammered, “G-Good thing you brought your knitting supplies, Trys.”
“Mm.” Trys nodded slightly, not looking over at him. She’d clearly had Mew heighten her sight, because she was having to shade her eyes in the bright afternoon light. No doubt she’d be glad to get inside the comforting darkness of the mine—or the dusky sunset glow of the Hive.
Ia giggled, completing her twirl as the yarn was tied, and got up on her tiptoes to be level with Brist. She leaned in. “Thanks, boy,” she cooed.
She didn’t kiss him. Now was not the time. But from the suddenly glassy look in Brist’s eyes as he meekly nodded, she knew he was well and truly under her control. She could hear his quivering breath clearer than ever, thanks to Mew. Of course, Ia hadn’t really needed to have her sense of smell suppressed, thanks to her immunity, but there was no harm in getting a better set of ears.
That thought made her bubble and fizz inside with glee. Mistress had taken such good care of her, to make sure she would take such good care of him. Soon he’d be a good boy, just like she was a good girl. Good pets for their kitty owner.
She pulled back, enjoying his clear disappointment, and flashed Yathi a grin. “You getting hyped, Yathers?”
Yathi swallowed. She was looking up at the entranceway, and Ia could see the fear in her eyes. Poor thing. Ia tilted her head, admiring the scout’s supple, delectable frame. She felt a little guilty about ogling Yathi, knowing how Yathi felt about that sort of attention… but gods, she was sexy.
The Thriae would positively melt her down and drink her up. It was up to Ia to keep her safe.
After all, she thought, suppressing a squeal of excitement, Mistress wanted as many pretty pets as possible. And Yathi was the jewel.
The contradictions in her head—her fondness for Brist and the others, her loyalty to the city, her dislike of the Thriae—none of it really mattered. None of it interacted. Her pure adoration for Mistress was the canvas across which all else was painted. Ia would be a good girl, and a good teammate. And she would bring as many of them back as soon as possible. As soon as Trys’s guard was down, or maybe as soon as they’d beaten the Thriae. It didn’t matter, really. Ia would know when the time came.
“Alright,” Trys said, straightening as the yarn was fully concealed, “it’s time to go. We shouldn’t tarry around the entrance too long. Ia, you’d better go first.”
“You got it!” Ia bobbed her head and sprang inside, her bare feet padding soundlessly against the dusty stone.
And the others followed.
The walls didn’t stay gray stone for long.
Yathi chewed her inner cheek, her breaths coming in shallow. Tingles ran up and down her body as she crept forward, following after Ia. Normally, Yathi would be the one to scout ahead, but Ia was the one with the immunity.
And Yathi was the one every single Thriae would make a beeline for.
She tried to suppress a leap in her heart as they started to see the first signs that this mountain was no longer just a mine. Stalactites visibly dripping with watered-down honey. A faint golden light in the distance.
And worst of all, the hum.
Ia was the first to call attention to it. Yathi had enhanced her touch as well as sight, and had Mew dampen her sense of taste as well, but even without Ia’s newly-enhanced hearing, it wasn’t long before that horrible hum sent vibrations through her whole body. She could feel it in the stone.
The endless, droning buzzing of a Thriae Hive. Not as severe as the deliberate mind-melting buzz of a Thriae’s wings up close, but no less petrifying for someone struggling with a Stage One addiction to honey.
This was the Hive. The center of it all. There were, no doubt, scores—hundreds, even—of Thriae in this mountain. An endless swarm of beautiful, sweet blonde bimbos only too eager to bear Yathi to the ground and turn her into a bubbly bimbo just like them.
But not just like them. Not even just like the wretched, brainless honey sprites who no doubt numbered in the hundreds or thousands here, the mortals and fey who had been corrupted into little more than giggling, horny, honey-drenched sluts for the Thriae’s every whim.
Because Yathi was different. And they would never let her go if they caught her again.
And, she thought, swallowing as she noticed the walls starting to shift from gray stone to a golden sheen, she would never let them.
“Is it wax?” she heard Brist whisper.
“No.” Trys shook her head. “It’s honey. Crystallized like amber. If you lick it, it will be as sweet and dangerous as anything in here.”
“Mm…” Mew nodded, slipping her arm into Yathi’s. Yathi didn’t object. She felt pathetically grateful for the contact—pathetically grateful to wonderful, beautiful Mew, who was at least warm and soft and here to take care of her. Much as she wanted to resist that, right now, she needed it. Needed someone to hold her close and stop her shivering. “Then we’d best not be licking anything in here!”
“Th-There’s a fork up ahead.” Brist pointed unnecessarily, several sunstones glimmering as they spun around his head. The crystal mage was a bit red-faced, but from what Yathi could tell, that was because he’d enhanced his sense of temperature. A weird choice. Maybe it helped with his magic or something. “It’s hard to sense the Thriae, because they… they, um…”
“’Cause fey don’t have souls, silly,” Ia said. She’d come back to walk next to Brist, a playful grin on her face. Yathi wished she’d just focus on scouting.
“Right.” Brist coughed shallowly. Even that small noise made Yathi flinch, though, which caused Mew to clutch her tighter. “But I’m pretty sure there are more down the right path. The left path feels emptier.”
“Then we go left.” Trys’s expression was resolute, fearless. Yathi could see her golden eyes glinting, though, as she looked over the golden walls of the Hive.
And she could see the way Trys was regulating her breathing, and knew their self-declared leader was falling back on those meditative tricks she hadn’t gotten to teach Yathi.
Yathi squirmed in Mew’s halfway hug and tried not to doubt herself as the band of knights—plus their druidess accomplice—made their way into the Thriae Hive at last.
Thriae doors were really remarkable constructs, Brist reflected, running a finger curiously over the smooth surface. He’d expected the double-doors that now blocked their path to be sticky, as the walls and floors were. But the amber they were constructed of—a burnt orange-gold—seemed to be perfectly fossilized, as smooth as steel.
It was pleasantly warm, too.
“What lies beyond?” Trys murmured, and he gave a start as he realized she was right behind him. “Can you see?”
Brist bit his lip and pulled his hand away, turning to face her. She was rather close. “No. These walls and doors are too much… like crystal. Crystal vision can’t cut through crystal. It’s a rule.”
Yathi stepped up, frowning, and placed a hand on the door. She blinked. “It’s vibrating.”
“Is it?” Brist turned and touched the door again, resting his palm on it. So warm. He didn’t feel any special vibrations. He looked the door over. “Maybe it’s a spell. We should be careful.”
The double doors were a beautiful, twisted design, almost a sculpture in their tortuous complexity. Twisting bars of amber entwined around each other, forming elaborate spirals and braids—all abstract, but reminiscent of a great tangled knot. A pair of knockers hung at the center. He was fairly sure they were meant to serve as doorknobs.
This was the first door they’d come to. Trys was hoping it was a dwelling, where they could capture a lone warrior or drone. On either side of the hallway they’d ventured down were little endless alcoves. Each alcove was about the size of a closet, and obscured only by thin, diaphanous curtains. The few the band had examined had been empty, and Ia was quite sure that the rest of them were, too—at least, she didn’t hear anyone.
Brist wished they’d had time to check every one.
He glanced back at Trys. “Do you know anything about this?” He gestured to the door.
Trys’s eyes darted over the design, her mouth tight. “No. I never made it into the Hive before. But isn’t everything in the Hive vibrating?”
Yathi nodded, but she seemed unsure. She took her hand away. “Brist, can’t you… I don’t know… make a hole in it, or a crack, or something?”
“I don’t think it’s locked.”
She shot him an annoyed look. “I mean so you can look through.”
“Oh.” Brist felt his face flushing. Hearing Mew giggling, and seeing Ia’s slight smile, he sorely regretted making himself more sensitive to heat. He coughed. “Right. Sure. I can do that. Just watch my back.”
He dropped to his knees and leaned against the door. The crystal mage took two deep breaths, then rested both hands on the door. He decided to put the hole right below the door handles, like a keyhole, just in case a Thriae noticed them.
He closed his eyes and focused.
The heat was distracting, but it also helped him slip into the spell. He fixated on the properties of the amber. His heart seemed to thrum in his chest as he hummed softly. His mind centered.
For a moment, he drifted, enjoying the warmth, the soft vibrations around him. He hummed, briefly not minding how hot it was around him, content to bask in the glow as the amber seemed almost to melt around him, those strange tendrils wrapping around his arms, pulling him closer, closer to that soft, sweet, comforting warmth…
He swallowed, forcing the comfort out, and cut a tiny hole in the door. He pulled back, breathing heavily as the spell faded.
A tiny little keyhole had appeared in the surprisingly thick door. He glanced back with a weary smile at his team, who seemed quite unaware of the difficulty he’d just had. “Who wants a peek?”
“You first,” Yathi said, folding her arms uncomfortably. Ia’s head was tilting to the side, a frown on her face.
Brist shrugged and pressed his eye against the hole in the door.
And instantly, the crystal mage knight knew that he had made a mistake.
The first thing he noticed, of course, was the lovely, soothing warmth that reached his head as he rested it against the door. It seemed to pulsate in waves, like a radiant furnace, and he let out a soft sigh—perhaps loud enough only for Ia to hear. Oh. That felt… nice. He felt warm. Cozy. Squishy.
Then his vision adjusted to staring through the false keyhole, and he saw what lay beyond.
It didn’t look much like a bedchamber, though there were plentiful soft places to sit. They sort of reminded him of the lentil beds popular in the Northern Reach, or perhaps the decadent slime-filled ‘goo beds’ he’d heard some nobles enjoyed. They shone in the chamber’s bright light as if made from solid gold, but the way their occupants wriggled within told him that they were as soft and squishy as molten honey.
The light came from two vast pools of glowing honey. It was very, very warm in this room, like a sauna, but those pools were like communal baths, or hot springs. The honey roiled and rippled, thick as molasses. It looked so heavy and viscous, one could surely drown in that honey… if drowning were possible in Thriae mead. Brist didn’t know if it was.
But it seemed unlikely. And it seemed even more unlikely that the chamber’s current occupants would let you.
It was impossible to count the mead sprites. They dipped above and below the surface of the mead vat—most with hair as gold as sunsets, eyes as radiant as the vats themselves—moaning and groping each other, and themselves. Men and women of all shapes and sizes, most once human, now reduced to squealing, honey-addicted playthings, more fey than mortal.
There were a couple of elves, Brist noticed, swallowing. And was that woman with the brilliant green hair a catgirl? Was that whimpering boy with the curling horns a satyr?
The mead sprites were pathetic, wanton, and overwhelmingly happy. It dripped from the room like a poisonous gas. They weren’t just happy, they were orgasmic. They moaned, whimpered, begged and giggled like idiot bimbos as they licked and sucked and fucked one another, as they drank of the mead, as they came and came and came.
He watched, very glad that the others couldn’t see how bright red his cheeks were turning, as two blondes grabbed hold of the satyr, who could only cry and beg as they started tickling his cock, licking all over his body, licking up the honey they were all totally bathed in. He could only giggle, cry out, plead, come, come, come—
But Brist forced his eyes away, even as the man’s squeals of humiliating, degrading pleasure rang in his ears—and he didn’t question how he could hear them, didn’t question how easily sound seeped into him through the warm, comfortable honeydoor—because his eyes had found the real concern.
There were Thriae in here, too. Seven of them, that he counted. His mouth watered as his eyes sought out each one in turn, ogling them, admiring their gorgeous, delectable figures as they lounged back. They were practically begging to be stared at. Admired. Presenting themselves for any unknown onlooker.
Three lay in each other’s arms in one of the honeybeds. Brist watched as they clutched each other, grasped at each other, nearly as wanton and needy as the sprites down below. Their lips smacked as they kissed lips, breasts, pussies—never more than kisses, but gods, with such plump, luscious golden lips, who needed more than kisses? Each had breasts that heaved and strained against tight-fitting black leather corsets, and their short skirts did nothing to conceal their wide, generous hips, their dripping pussies, their shapely thighs covered only in delicate fishnet stockings—
Brist swallowed. His gaze traveled to the next Thriae, who was sitting beside one of the pools. She seemed to be acting almost as a lifeguard.
A very, very naughty lifeguard.
As he watched, she cooed down at the squirming, thrashing satyr, “Aw, is that nice, cutie?” Her eyes were especially big, and they glimmered with mirth as the satyr struggled to speak. He could only giggle and gasp and whine. The other sprites seemed to be noticing his anguish, and more were swimming over, like sharks seizing on a kill. His whimpers and cries rose a full octave.
The Thriae smiled slyly, kicking her feet in the vat playfully. She was wearing a two-piece swimsuit—bright blue lingerie, basically—and her long, wavy hair bounced down to her tiny waist and swayed down to her knees as she bent over. “Now, now, cutiepie,” she teased, “it’s, like, super important to say thank you! Why aren’t you being more grateful?” She brought one bare foot to rest on his forehead as he squealed and begged wordlessly, clearly barely able to breathe. “Gosh-golly, if you’re gonna be sooooo naughty…”
Brist tore his gaze away, heart thudding in his chest, as he heard the satyr get pushed under—and the splashes of the other sprites descending down after him.
He needed to look away. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but he knew he’d been looking too long. Couldn’t the others see that he was caught up? Couldn’t Ia hear his heavy breathing? Couldn’t Trys see his flushed face?
He bit his lip as his eyes settled on the fifth Thriae, and the pleasant, warm static in his head crackled and flowed, smoothing over his worries. If the others weren’t stopping him… surely he hadn’t been looking so long, right? Surely he’d only been watching for a second or two. And that meant he was fine
He was fine.
He felt fine.
The fifth Thriae was also the closest. She sat in a honeybed alone, facing the door. She was a gorgeous strawberry blonde—the iconic image of a Thriae, the classic honeyed harlot, with an especially pronounced pair of hips that rocked with every thrust as she fucked herself.
Her tongue lolled out as she moaned and gasped, eyelids fluttering. Her sounds were almost animalistic. Almost mindless. She was fucking herself with her right hand, as with her left, she groped her breast—totally naked, like the rest of her—and pinched her dark nipple. Honey trickled out as she bit her lip and whined, convulsing in an orgasm. Behind her, her wasp wings fluttered weakly.
Brist stared at her, breathless. He knew, if he’d still had a sense of smell, he’d be practically brainwashed by the overpowering smell of Thriae arousal. He’d be totally enrapt by her pussy, her legs spread wide to present it to him as she panted and grunted and moaned. He’d be basically drooling, just like she was, as her nipples squirted out another little stream of delicious, addictive honey.
She looked brainless. Mindless. Brist couldn’t even tell what she was looking at that had her fucking herself silly like this, but he couldn’t believe anyone could be so… so dumb. So horny. So wonderfully, sweetly, brainlessly horny.
But she made it look so easy.
Brist watched her come once. Twice. Three times. It felt so easy to watch. To sink into the sight of the brainless slut. To imagine her seeing him, and realizing she could fuck him instead of her fingers—realizing how hard he was, how happy and obedient he would be if she just cooed to him and spread her arms—or pounced on him, overwhelmed him with kisses, with her taste, her hot, tight, slick pussy—
The thought made him feel so nice. So sweet and soft and squishy. So… warm…
Finally, his gaze drifted to the sixth Thriae, and he saw someone even dumber.
This Thriae was also coming, though it wasn’t from her own attentions. She was bouncing on top of a squealing, screaming mead sprite—a man who had once been an elf, but who was now a living sex toy for this blonde bombshell.
She was curvier than the others, with a less narrow waist. Her form was, in general, softer, and she was a bit shorter. But her eyes were bright and filled with glee as she giggled. “That’s it!” she squeaked down at her captive. “Come! Come! Fill me up, stud!”
The elf cried out, overwhelmed in his adoration as he bucked helplessly upwards, trapped beneath her in the honeybed. All he could do was obey.
The shortstack—by Thriae standards, anyways—tittered, wriggling atop him. She held his shoulders down as he tried to rise. “Nuh-uh!” she cooed. Her breasts bounced wildly, barely contained and not especially well-concealed by her thin, translucent white t-shirt. Her slightly curly blonde hair bounced, too. All she wore below was a short red skirt. “Like, you’re gonna stay right there, sweetie!”
She bounced up and down. Brist watched, eyes wide, thoughts jiggling about helplessly, as her tits practically bounced free of the shirt altogether. She beamed, reached down, and hugged the helpless man to her chest—and started bathing him in kisses. “And—mwah—you’re gonna, like—mwah—be suuuuch a good—mwah—good, goooood boy!” She pulled back, gigging. “Like, okay, baby?”
Trapped in her cleavage and overwhelmed by her kisses, it was all the boytoy could do, it seemed, to whimper, squirm, and obey.
The bimbo beegirl smirked. “Like, I thought so!” she purred, and Brist shivered as that voice seemed to trickle right into his ear, as if he was the one being cuddled. He could almost feel the warm embrace… almost feel his cock throbbing as the warm, slick cunt milked it endlessly, making him so big, and so obedient—
And helplessly, obediently, he let his vision drift to the seventh Thriae.
He regretted this instantly.
This Thriae was different. Instantly, he could tell that she was the most dangerous of the lot. She lounged back confidently in her honeybed, her gorgeous hourglass figure arched backward, thrusting her massive, heaving tits out for Brist’s helpless admiration. Her long platinum-blonde hair spilled straight down her shoulders like a silver waterfall. Her heavy eyelids were a dusk gold as she smiled smugly down at her two playthings.
A man and a woman. They looked tiny next to her statuesque figure—she had to be at least six feet—and they clung to her so helplessly, they might as well have been kittens clinging to their mother.
And they were whimpering. Whining. Mewling.
As they suckled at her tits.
Brist watched in fascination, quivering, as she stroked their hair. Her touches were long, sensuous, as delicate and dainty as her long, slender fingers, the nails painted a bright blue. Unlike the rest of the Thriae, she wore a long, pretty white dress—almost a wedding gown—and was doing nothing to satisfy her whimpering toys’ need. The man’s cock was massive, hard and quivering as he faintly humped her knee. The woman’s cunt was dripping juices down her legs as she straddled the Thriae’s thigh and rubbed.
But mostly, they just sucked. Like good pets. Like good playthings. Like… like…
“Goooood babies,” the Thriae was cooing, and Brist heard them whimper in bliss, and he realized they were close, so close to coming. “Mommy’s taking good care of you, now. That’s right, baby. Drink up. Feels so goooood…”
“Brist?”
Brist swallowed, as the Thriae’s voice echoed in his ear, so close, so gentle. He felt so warm and soft and squishy. So needy. So good. He stroked faintly, humping his hand, biting his lip to hold in a moan.
“Brist?”
The new voice was closer, now. Not as close as the shortstack bimbo’s giggling and degradation, though. Not as close as the mommy Thriae’s praise and encouragement. His fingers sped in in their soft squeezes.
“Brist!”
He moaned softly. Not as close as the brainless Thriae’s gasps and coos of wordless bliss. Not as close as the lifeguard Thriae’s teasing and scolding, telling him to be grateful. Not as close as the three lovers’ soft, sweet, wet kisses on his—
“Brist!” As the new voice came out as a hiss, a hand grabbed him by his long, curly bleached-white hair and yanked him away from the door.
Brist went careening back, and his whole world spun—as if he’d been whirled around a hundred times in a blindfold and just had the blindfold removed. He fell on his ass on the warm, smooth, sticky floor, and blinked up with wide eyes at… his team.
His team.
Oh.
Oops.
He bit his lip. “Um… not that way.”
The other knights, and deputized catgirl, looked down at him with varying expressions. Yathi looked annoyed. Mew looked delighted—especially at, he realized in embarrassment, his pronounced tent in his robes. He sat up quickly to cover that. Ia looked amused, and more than a little turned on. Trys looked worried.
His face was as bright as a coalbed as he began to rise, staggering, to his feet. He was still dizzy, and it was a struggle. “R-Right, well—”
Ia went stiff. She whirled around.
A second later, Yathi’s eyes widened. She lurched back, out of Mew’s arms. Mew blinked, her ears flicking, as if she sensed something, too.
“Hide!” Ia hissed, sprinting for the nearest alcove.
And everything happened very fast then.
The world was still spinning as Brist made it to his feet, finally hearing what Ia had heard first—footsteps, coming from inside the room, approaching the doors. He saw Yathi racing towards the same alcove as Ia, saw Trys sprinting for cover on the opposite side of the hall. Mew sprang right after Trys, mewing softly in dismay.
Brist took off, barely keeping one foot in front of the other. His head still spun with visions of submission, of obedience, of decadence, but it was rapidly clearing with the headier drug of adrenaline, of panic and fear. He ran after Yathi and Ia, only to lose his footing and fall to the ground.
“Brist!” he heard Ia cry. Too loud. Too loud.
Brist’s heart stopped as he heard a click, and realized the doors were about to open.
He performed a clumsy somersault in his robes, rose to his hands and toes, and scampered towards the nearest alcove, not caring if it was the same one Ia had gone in, just desperate for cover.
He tumbled through the hanging curtains and collapsed in a heap on the other side. His eyes squeezed shut, and he willed himself completely still as he curled up into a ball, praying that the curtain would stop billowing by the time the Triae reached it.
He heard the doors creak open, and a babble of voices reached his ears, a stream of fervent, brainless chatter.
The seven Thriae were heading out, it seemed.
And they were coming right down the hall.
Right towards his hiding place.
His cock throbbed. And before he could even think to control himself, he felt a whimper slip from his quivering lips.
And a soft, smooth, warm hand covered his mouth, smothering it.
Brist’s eyes shot open, and he turned, heart suddenly pounding like a caged rabbit’s, to stare into two pairs of brilliant golden eyes.
He was not alone in this closet—actually, he realized, a cramped, cozy sort of bedroom.
And the two blonde mead sprites who were sitting on the bed beamed up at their new roommate.
“Hi,” one whispered breathily, her luscious lips half-parted. Her hand was the one covering his mouth.
Brist blinked rapidly.
The other grinned, her bounteous breasts bouncing within their revealing white slip as she took his right hand in hers.
He gulped, his mind racing with delicious and useless thoughts—like how beautiful they were, how happy they looked, how plump and kissable their beestung lips were, how… how...
They both giggled softly.
Brist’s heart filled with dread. Their eyes were fixated on his tented robes. Almost hypnotized by it.
And gods, they smelled… so… good. Even with his senses dampened, still he could barely make out that sweet scent. So sweet, so achingly sweet and yummy and musky and mind-melting. His eyelids fluttered as he felt the second sprite slowly pulling him towards the bed, heard her cooing, “You wanna… sit down?”
“N-No,” he whimpered through the hand, head spinning at the sweetness of their scent, the lovely wispiness of their voices, the adoration in their gaze… “I… I shouldn’t…”
They shushed him between soft giggles, and he found himself complying as they guided him to sit between them. What could he do? The footsteps outside were getting closer. And closer.
Seven Thriae. Seven gorgeous, dominant, irresistible blonde fey who would take him, would drug him, humiliate him, claim him, make him a good boy...
“That’s it,” purred the first sprite with a smirk. She cuddled up next to him, her eyes still settled in his lap. And her hand was heading in the same direction. Her hands were so soft, so small and delicate, but so knowing.
“Just be nice and quiet,” whispered the second, scooting up to squeeze him, sandwiched, between them, “and we’ll be nice and quiet, too, okay?”
Brist’s thoughts were racing, but he had no idea what to do. He meekly nodded.
“You’ve just gotta do…” purred the first in his ear, as her hand started to slip up the hem of his robes…
“... exactly what we say!” they cooed as one. “Okay, honey?”
Brist stared at the curtain, bit his lip… and whimpered under his breath.
And judging by their laughter, they took this as a ‘yes’.