SaDiablo Hall, Dhemlan, Kaeleer, Thursday Evening (Fandom Time)
For the past five days, Karla had been fussed over, nagged at, and generally henpecked. And she was heartily getting tired of it. Her first day back, she and Jaenelle had just gotten back from a brief flying lesson when Morton had come barreling at her, demanding that she go lay down and rest. Followed by Chaosti who'd been shouting that she needed something to eat. And then he and Sceron had nearly gotten into a fist fight over who was going to go and fetch her something from Mrs. Beale.
That would have been funny, since usually the fights were over who could avoid entering Mrs. Beale's domain and bothering her, but Morton, that thick-pated idiot, had flung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carried her to her room. All of her hitting and kicking and complaining hadn't deterred him in the least.
Clearly, she needed to start sparring more during Fight Club. That had been both embarrassing and ridiculous.
Intellectually, Karla understood the boyo's reactions. She was one of the coven, one of theirs. And there was no way she could mask how vulnerable her psychic scent was or how much weight she had lost. The boyos, on the cusp of manhood, couldn't help their protective instincts, especially the Warlord Princes, for whom egregious overprotection was a bleeding way of life, and Morton who had already pledged his service to her. Though Prince Smoke, the wolf, padding into her bedroom to make sure she wasn't overdoing it (by reading!!) really had been too damn much.
The only thing keeping her sane was the clandestine meetings with Jaenelle, when she learned how to fly. Clandestine, because whenever one of the boyos caught her doing anything more strenuous than playing cradle with the coven, they threw a collective fit. Which made her yell. Which made them sad and pouty. Which meant she had to let them fuss more so they wouldn't be so Darkness-damned pathetic.
Males. She was getting sick of the lot. They made her take naps. Why couldn't it be one of the other girls' moon-times, so they'd go fuss over her for awhile?
"Karla." Oh joy. Morton. "I came up to say goodnight and to see if there was anything you needed before you went to bed." Karla gritted her teeth and did not point out that there was still bloody daylight streaming in through her window. It didn't do any good anyway. He just put on his stupid smug expression and repeated the mantra "Males protect and serve," until she was ready to punch him. In the balls.
Which Uncle Saetan had expressly forbade after the first time she'd threatened to do so. The bastard.
"No, Morton, I'm fine," she said with a hint of impatience. "All ready for bed and everything."
"You sure?" he prodded. "Did you eat today?"
Karla just glared. "Of course I ate today. Uncle Saetan checked on me to make sure I'd eaten a good breakfast. Khary brought me a midmorning snack. I ate lunch with the coven, as supervised by Aaron. Sure I was starving, Chaosti made sure Holt brought me a midafternoon snack. Then he and Elan both inquired what I ate for dinner. And Beale should be here shortly with a cup of hot cocoa and a plate of biscuits before I get fully tucked in." She could admit to herself that the strict regimen of eating that the boyos had adopted had made sure she'd gained back all the weight she had lost--still not much change in the breast department, sadly; Kalush she was not--but she wasn't going to admit that out loud. The only thing worse than a mopey male was a male who was overly pleased with himself.
This was all in retaliation for the years of pranks. Karla just knew it.
There came a knock at her door. "That would be Beale and the snacks," she sighed. Morton bit back a grin and opened the door. However, Karla was only half-right. The cocoa and cookies were there, but carried by Jaenelle, wearing a big puffy robe and fuzzy slippers.
"Greetings, Morton," she said, bringing in the tray. "I wanted to talk to my Sister for a few minutes before she went off to bed. Do you mind?"
Karla couldn't help but roll her eyes at the way Morton puffed up a bit when Jaenelle asked. She certainly had no reason to--she outranked him in every way a person could--but she was acknowledging his claim on Karla. She might as well have handed him the First Escort's ring and contract right then and there. "Of course," he replied, grinning. "Just don't stay too long, okay? Karla needs her rest."
"I won't," Jaenelle promised. "And as soon as we're done, Karla will go straight to sleep."
"Don't mind me," Karla said waspishly. "I'm just right here, being talked about in the third person."
Morton frowned at her, before coming over and giving her a brief, brotherly kiss on the top of her head. "Eat," he said. "And don't forget to brush your teeth."
It was his cheeky grin that nearly got him beaned by a tray. It was his reflexes and his finely-honed knowledge of her temper that had him scooting out the door before she could actually throw it.
Of course, Morton out of her room and convinced she was going to sleep was exactly what she wanted. "Finally!" Karla said, calling in her black spidersilk body-stocking. "I thought he'd never leave."
Jaenelle politely turned her back while Karla struggled into it. The stupid material would give that weird fashion teacher a lesson in 'clingy.' "Papa said you could get up tomorrow," she announced. "You've gained enough weight and don't feel so fragile anymore. It's time to put the boyos back on their leashes."
"Thank the Darkness," Karla groaned. "One more day and I'd run screaming into the Twisted Kingdom. There!" The bodysuit was on. "Can we go yet? I'm about to climb the walls!"
Jaenelle grinned and turned around, shedding the robe to reveal that she was also wearing a spidersilk body-stocking. "Let's go," she said, holding out her hand to Karla. They easily passed through the walls of Karla's chamber and ran on air until they could catch a Sapphire Wind. A brief trip on the Winds brought them to Askavi, where a pair of wings unfurled from the backs of the suits. A deep glimmering Sapphire for Karla and iridescent Black for Jaenelle. There, standing at the ready was Prothvar, a young Eyrien warrior who had been demon-dead for almost fifty-thousand years and Jaenelle's adopted 'cousin.'
"Ready for your flying lesson, little witch?" he asked Karla in a deep, rumbling bass. "It's time to stop flitting like a butterfly and start soaring like an eagle." He unfurled his own wings, the big, bat-like appendages that set the Eyriens apart from the other long-lived races.
"Yes," Karla said instantly, hugging herself in anticipation. "Let's go."
***
After leaving Karla's room, Morton headed down for the High Lord's study. "Jaenelle just came in," he reported after receiving leave to enter. "She and Karla should be off any moment now."
"Excellent," Saetan said mildly, setting aside his book. "Sit down, young Warlord. You look like you have a question."
Relieved, Morton did as instructed. "Thank you, sir. I did. I do. I'm not sure I understand all the secrecy." Here, Morton was no longer a Blood male protecting his Queen. He was a sixteen year old male trying to understand his willful, often infuriating cousin. "Why is it so important that they sneak out and do something I'd let her do anyway?"
At that question, Saetan chuckled. "Oh, boyo," he said fondly. "You really have a lot to learn before Karla makes the Offering."
"Yeah," Morton muttered. "Like how not to throttle her every time she speaks."
"I wish you the best of luck with that," Saetan said sincerely. "Boyo, one does not inform a female that she has permission to do something, especially if that female is also a Queen. Not if one wants to keep his manhood and other tender bits intact." Saetan called in a glass of yarbarah, sipping it slowly while he tried to think of the best way to explain things to Morton. "We protect and serve, boyo, not order and demand, regardless of how often those things appear to be the same thing. Karla needs this bit of defiance. She is learning to rule just as you are learning to serve. That means that the both of you must find and define those boundaries."
"Flying is teaching her some of the give and take she needs to learn to rule her Court. Without this bit of rebellion, she would simply seethe and struggle against everything you propose. Because of it, she is more willing to compromise with you, willing to work with you so you can keep her safe. She is able to concede to you without feeling as if she is giving it all up. Imagine Karla dealing with this amount of fussing without some kind of outlet," Saetan offered wryly.
Morton did and shuddered. "Karla's not going to be an easy Queen to serve," Saetan continued, voice soft. "You'll have a time of it. But you need to learn to compromise and work with her, or she'll never learn the same for you."
"That...makes a surprising amount of sense," Morton said after a moment of thought.
That earned him another wry look and laugh. "Boyo, when you've been dealing with temperamental witches as long as I have, you learn a few things."
"Like how to handle them?"
"Like how to pick your battles so your Queen always knows you have her back and are on her side. You'll never be able to 'handle' a witch like Karla. But if you both work together, you'll never have to, either."
[NFI, NFB, OOC is love. Certain parts of the text adapted from Shadows of the Queen (Karla's list of food) and "The Khaldharon Run," (the bodysuit and wings) an unpublished chapter from Heir to the Shadows. Both written by Anne Bishop.]
That would have been funny, since usually the fights were over who could avoid entering Mrs. Beale's domain and bothering her, but Morton, that thick-pated idiot, had flung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carried her to her room. All of her hitting and kicking and complaining hadn't deterred him in the least.
Clearly, she needed to start sparring more during Fight Club. That had been both embarrassing and ridiculous.
Intellectually, Karla understood the boyo's reactions. She was one of the coven, one of theirs. And there was no way she could mask how vulnerable her psychic scent was or how much weight she had lost. The boyos, on the cusp of manhood, couldn't help their protective instincts, especially the Warlord Princes, for whom egregious overprotection was a bleeding way of life, and Morton who had already pledged his service to her. Though Prince Smoke, the wolf, padding into her bedroom to make sure she wasn't overdoing it (by reading!!) really had been too damn much.
The only thing keeping her sane was the clandestine meetings with Jaenelle, when she learned how to fly. Clandestine, because whenever one of the boyos caught her doing anything more strenuous than playing cradle with the coven, they threw a collective fit. Which made her yell. Which made them sad and pouty. Which meant she had to let them fuss more so they wouldn't be so Darkness-damned pathetic.
Males. She was getting sick of the lot. They made her take naps. Why couldn't it be one of the other girls' moon-times, so they'd go fuss over her for awhile?
"Karla." Oh joy. Morton. "I came up to say goodnight and to see if there was anything you needed before you went to bed." Karla gritted her teeth and did not point out that there was still bloody daylight streaming in through her window. It didn't do any good anyway. He just put on his stupid smug expression and repeated the mantra "Males protect and serve," until she was ready to punch him. In the balls.
Which Uncle Saetan had expressly forbade after the first time she'd threatened to do so. The bastard.
"No, Morton, I'm fine," she said with a hint of impatience. "All ready for bed and everything."
"You sure?" he prodded. "Did you eat today?"
Karla just glared. "Of course I ate today. Uncle Saetan checked on me to make sure I'd eaten a good breakfast. Khary brought me a midmorning snack. I ate lunch with the coven, as supervised by Aaron. Sure I was starving, Chaosti made sure Holt brought me a midafternoon snack. Then he and Elan both inquired what I ate for dinner. And Beale should be here shortly with a cup of hot cocoa and a plate of biscuits before I get fully tucked in." She could admit to herself that the strict regimen of eating that the boyos had adopted had made sure she'd gained back all the weight she had lost--still not much change in the breast department, sadly; Kalush she was not--but she wasn't going to admit that out loud. The only thing worse than a mopey male was a male who was overly pleased with himself.
This was all in retaliation for the years of pranks. Karla just knew it.
There came a knock at her door. "That would be Beale and the snacks," she sighed. Morton bit back a grin and opened the door. However, Karla was only half-right. The cocoa and cookies were there, but carried by Jaenelle, wearing a big puffy robe and fuzzy slippers.
"Greetings, Morton," she said, bringing in the tray. "I wanted to talk to my Sister for a few minutes before she went off to bed. Do you mind?"
Karla couldn't help but roll her eyes at the way Morton puffed up a bit when Jaenelle asked. She certainly had no reason to--she outranked him in every way a person could--but she was acknowledging his claim on Karla. She might as well have handed him the First Escort's ring and contract right then and there. "Of course," he replied, grinning. "Just don't stay too long, okay? Karla needs her rest."
"I won't," Jaenelle promised. "And as soon as we're done, Karla will go straight to sleep."
"Don't mind me," Karla said waspishly. "I'm just right here, being talked about in the third person."
Morton frowned at her, before coming over and giving her a brief, brotherly kiss on the top of her head. "Eat," he said. "And don't forget to brush your teeth."
It was his cheeky grin that nearly got him beaned by a tray. It was his reflexes and his finely-honed knowledge of her temper that had him scooting out the door before she could actually throw it.
Of course, Morton out of her room and convinced she was going to sleep was exactly what she wanted. "Finally!" Karla said, calling in her black spidersilk body-stocking. "I thought he'd never leave."
Jaenelle politely turned her back while Karla struggled into it. The stupid material would give that weird fashion teacher a lesson in 'clingy.' "Papa said you could get up tomorrow," she announced. "You've gained enough weight and don't feel so fragile anymore. It's time to put the boyos back on their leashes."
"Thank the Darkness," Karla groaned. "One more day and I'd run screaming into the Twisted Kingdom. There!" The bodysuit was on. "Can we go yet? I'm about to climb the walls!"
Jaenelle grinned and turned around, shedding the robe to reveal that she was also wearing a spidersilk body-stocking. "Let's go," she said, holding out her hand to Karla. They easily passed through the walls of Karla's chamber and ran on air until they could catch a Sapphire Wind. A brief trip on the Winds brought them to Askavi, where a pair of wings unfurled from the backs of the suits. A deep glimmering Sapphire for Karla and iridescent Black for Jaenelle. There, standing at the ready was Prothvar, a young Eyrien warrior who had been demon-dead for almost fifty-thousand years and Jaenelle's adopted 'cousin.'
"Ready for your flying lesson, little witch?" he asked Karla in a deep, rumbling bass. "It's time to stop flitting like a butterfly and start soaring like an eagle." He unfurled his own wings, the big, bat-like appendages that set the Eyriens apart from the other long-lived races.
"Yes," Karla said instantly, hugging herself in anticipation. "Let's go."
***
After leaving Karla's room, Morton headed down for the High Lord's study. "Jaenelle just came in," he reported after receiving leave to enter. "She and Karla should be off any moment now."
"Excellent," Saetan said mildly, setting aside his book. "Sit down, young Warlord. You look like you have a question."
Relieved, Morton did as instructed. "Thank you, sir. I did. I do. I'm not sure I understand all the secrecy." Here, Morton was no longer a Blood male protecting his Queen. He was a sixteen year old male trying to understand his willful, often infuriating cousin. "Why is it so important that they sneak out and do something I'd let her do anyway?"
At that question, Saetan chuckled. "Oh, boyo," he said fondly. "You really have a lot to learn before Karla makes the Offering."
"Yeah," Morton muttered. "Like how not to throttle her every time she speaks."
"I wish you the best of luck with that," Saetan said sincerely. "Boyo, one does not inform a female that she has permission to do something, especially if that female is also a Queen. Not if one wants to keep his manhood and other tender bits intact." Saetan called in a glass of yarbarah, sipping it slowly while he tried to think of the best way to explain things to Morton. "We protect and serve, boyo, not order and demand, regardless of how often those things appear to be the same thing. Karla needs this bit of defiance. She is learning to rule just as you are learning to serve. That means that the both of you must find and define those boundaries."
"Flying is teaching her some of the give and take she needs to learn to rule her Court. Without this bit of rebellion, she would simply seethe and struggle against everything you propose. Because of it, she is more willing to compromise with you, willing to work with you so you can keep her safe. She is able to concede to you without feeling as if she is giving it all up. Imagine Karla dealing with this amount of fussing without some kind of outlet," Saetan offered wryly.
Morton did and shuddered. "Karla's not going to be an easy Queen to serve," Saetan continued, voice soft. "You'll have a time of it. But you need to learn to compromise and work with her, or she'll never learn the same for you."
"That...makes a surprising amount of sense," Morton said after a moment of thought.
That earned him another wry look and laugh. "Boyo, when you've been dealing with temperamental witches as long as I have, you learn a few things."
"Like how to handle them?"
"Like how to pick your battles so your Queen always knows you have her back and are on her side. You'll never be able to 'handle' a witch like Karla. But if you both work together, you'll never have to, either."
[NFI, NFB, OOC is love. Certain parts of the text adapted from Shadows of the Queen (Karla's list of food) and "The Khaldharon Run," (the bodysuit and wings) an unpublished chapter from Heir to the Shadows. Both written by Anne Bishop.]