It was much later, although time has suffered the same chaotic randomness that the castle and all sorceries have suffered, that we finally came to my quarters. I had expected them to be empty, but what we saw within was a shock beyond all my experience.
Mother, you are one of the three great beauties of the Realm, rivaled only by my aunt Florimel (when she cares to take the time and has the desire to do so) and Corwin’s daughter Selena (if your tastes run to dreamy and passive women), and I have inherited such from you, combined with a certain fey charm inherited from my father that many of my suitors have found irresistible. I have seen beauties of all types in my travels and in your Court. Yet never have I seen one such as the woman I saw before me, sitting meekly on the bed.
That she was close kin to us, albeit from a different Realm, was obvious, from her cascade of coppery red hair that spilled over her shoulders that seemed to shine with its own light, as did her brilliant green eyes. Petite, curvaceous and voluptuous, she had ruby red lips and flawless alabaster skin that seemed to glow against the black satin nightgown she wore. Even I, who vastly prefer male companionship, was stirred to erotic thoughts at the sight of her, thoughts of stroking her shining hair, caressing her pale skin, kissing her ruby lips.
Yet her striking eyes were empty, her lovely face blank. She said nothing, did nothing when we entered her/my/our room. Even thought nothing, for I could not perceive even the slightest whisper of thoughts from her. One would have thought her to be a statue, save for the sight of her voluptuous breasts slowing rising and falling with each slow breath. That she was not entranced was obvious to my knowledge, for even one who is deeply entranced cannot be as still as she. I sat down on the bed next to her, and yet she still did not move. I touched her forehead, seeking the chakra there, and plunged into her mind.
What I discovered shocked me to the core of my being and shattered my world forever. I had thought that I had the most difficult life possible: always trying to be your perfect daughter, allowing for and cooperating with your madness, giving you just enough glimpses of such future potential as to keep you from meddling too much in my present life, sinking further and further into my own madness in response. Of course you knew that I was already planning insurrection against you: that made the anticipation of the results all the sweeter, didn’t it? You even gave me your tacit permission to continue, that night when I revealed my true power by enchanting the Ambassador of Cayce and all of his retinue in payment of his insult of me and commanding them to perform such vile acts as to make them commit ritual suicide the following morning: after such a display of power, you turned to me and shocked me beyond belief when you embraced me and said “I love you.”
But this woman, Erato by name, whom I now call sister not-of-blood, was truly the daughter of Fiona of the Realm of Jet, who treated her not as a toy to be savored and treasured, but simply a tool. A daughter stripped of her will and mind before birth, manipulated in the womb to become the vision of erotic passion that she is today. All that was left of her mind was a series of programmed responses: pleasure, passion, seduction, blackmail and assassination. She was well trained and well experienced in all, and quite competent, too: her own mother took pleasure from some of her more pleasant responses, herself.
There was a hidden element, too, one that would have surprised any who lay with her or sampled her pleasures. As wept upon Erato’s unmoving shoulder, I felt a vague echo in my thoughts. A vague echo of my own thoughts, which were coming from Erato. Somehow she had pierced my shields so subtly and so easily that she was reading my mind without my knowledge and passing that information back to the one who held dominion over her. Furthermore, as I had done earlier in piercing the wards about your rooms, I was so similar to her mother that my mind replaced her dead mother’s in domination over her.
I know not how long I wept on to her shoulder: time has gone awry here, and what may be an hour for one is a day for another. I only stopped when Gérard returned with food, as Erato lacked even the thought to eat unless directed to.
Personal Links