She was lost in the ecstasy of it all, a brilliance at the back of her closed eyelids. A diamond limning.
Wren pulled away, breathing hard. Ashe near panting as the water of the tub swelled against their skin. The little bird’s gaze went to Ashe’s left arm. “Ashe...your arm is glowing.”
Blood pulsed through Ashe’s veins, firing on all cylinders now. Her tattoos were thermal, fiery even. She needed this, wanted this more than anything. “That’s kinda what they do…”
“Your eyes, your pupils have turned completely white.”
Ashe suddenly felt ashamed, her hands moving to cover them. “I…”
The nymph pulled Ashe’s face toward hers again, kissing her passionately. Ashe forgot all about her eyes and tattoos. Gentle hands pressed against Ashe’s back. Her breasts crushed against the tender flesh of the other woman, water spilling over the lip of the tub. Their tongues caressing each other’s as tingling joy, urgent and fierce, raced through her body. Utter lust raged through her blood, boiling it in white hot pleasure. An audible crackle in her ears, she would later wonder if it was the mist or just her imagination.
She decided to go with the one where it sounded like a grand choir singing their heavenly songs.
Ashe wrapped her legs around Wren, crossing her ankles, squeezing against the other’s body. Wren’s hands gripped her thighs, shivers ran up her spine, causing her to arch. Reason left her. All that remained was the need. Her need to be Wren’s. Wren to be hers.
Wren probed the swells and valleys of Ashe’s body with her hands. Down near the dark between her legs that was suddenly irriguous.
The mist fusilladed into pure fervor; pleasure demanded. Life expected. Cue choir.
Wren moved, kissing the tender curve of her neck, sending something primal throughout Ashe’s body. Tongue trailed down her breasts, lingering just long enough around her nipples to heighten the passion burning within her as the little bird pushed Ashe against the tub’s side. Ashe grabbed the lip with both hands and drove her hips upward, her lower body surfacing the water. Wren’s arms curled around her thighs as she softly nuzzled the skin of her inner legs. Blinding flashes of bliss flared within her loins when Wren’s tongue found her sex. The rhythmic nurturing of her most private areas sparked euphoric fury.
Her fingers dug into the tub’s lip, her head lolled side-to-side as she moaned, water gushing overboard. “Shit, shit, O fuck!”
Seconds turned to years. Years to eons as Wren’s tongue prayed to the lustful deity between Ashe’s legs. Fire in her body. Water brimmed her eyes, but she ground her hips into Wren’s cadence, moving in unison like a dance. Serenity flowed inside her with every flick, every measured lap. Enveloping joy wrapped her soul at each twirl. All that she had been before this singular moment in time washed away from her, leaving only rapture, only need, only pleasure.
She opened her eyes and the world seemed brighter, clearer than ever before. A diamond view, prism clear and bright.
Life.
She felt alive, felt the world alive around her. In Wren. In the fire from the bed chamber beyond. Life on Gargantua trickled into her being. Even down in Drenth. Tingles like flowing blood in every living thing. Breathing and laughter. Histories telling her stories that weren’t hers. Life tracing the sounds of water, the growth of plants in the earth. The essence of the stars in the sky.
Everything alive. She could almost touch it. Could almost taste it.
Only Scattered Shards sprat… a Godsblood…
The mist swirled around the tub in fervent frenzy as the water began to steam. The anticipation of the end brought every ounce of completion she could have envisioned. When her ecstasy reached its climax, her voice was hoarse, her body shaking. The allotrope sheen of clarity faded, the lifeforce of all around her disappearing, leaving her empty.
“Fuck me,” she laughed, the room spinning. “Is that what that feels like? Let’s go to the bed and do it again.”
And the mist was satiated.
XXVIII
Lojen
WHEN THE HISTORY books would eventually be written about the downfall of the Fallen’s Imperium and his part to play in it, Lojen was dead certain that his terror at climbing the tether chain would be omitted. Scratched from existence, erased from all memory.
Despite the fact that every drakken worth their exoscales could climb almost anything, anywhere, under any circumstance, Lojen was petrified the entire climb. His stomach did back flips as he put one claw in front of the other, dragging his fossilized body inch-after-inch upward. He didn’t know the dance his heart was making against his ribcage, but it wasn’t a slow dance, that much was certain.
The climb felt like eons. Yard by agonizing yard. Link by link. Always upward at an unnatural angle for his rigid muscles. The tether lurched back and forth in the not-too-gentle wind, creaking upon the steel-to-steel rub.
It was quiet up thousands of feet in the air, the only sound being the chain, the wind, and the dull thrum of the engines in Gargantua’s belly and propeller blades as the giant fortress in the air came closer. That and the constant ethereal song in his earholes. A steady hum that reminded him of the Hymn of War. And it was cold, frosty even for a cold-blooded drakken—which made Lojen wish he had something warmer than his sleeveless vest.
“Hurry up, Lojen.” His sister was behind him, right on his tail. Ruane’s voice sounded like waves crashing ferociously against a cliff during a storm. While he struggled with the height and the effort, she climbed swimmingly.
The magnets in his grips clapped against the link with each move of a claw, each push of a boot. The wind picked up and the chain began to sway violently. A high-pitched squeal of metal on metal as each link jerked against another.
He had one claw raised when a torrent gust struck the chain and his stomach lurched as his entire body shifted, his other magnet came loose. He shrieked, the Hymn growing louder within him. The grip skidded down the rounded metal as the fierce wind hammered the chain, and he frantically reached with his free claw. The magnet clamped upon the steel and his thighs clasped the link for dear life, his arms wrapped as far around the steel as he could get, urging the magnets to hold strong. The wind raged all around him and tether shook like a giant beast trying to free itself of the parasites that were crawling all over it—in this case, Lojen and Ruane.
He repeated ‘Don’t let me die’ over and over and over again. As he hung on, Lojen thought he heard laughter piercing the tornado-strong winds. Zenith, Ru!
Finally, the wind slowed, the chain straightening again. The screeching of the steel links on one another died into silence. The calm sky returned with fluffy clouds and the soft glow of a setting sun.
He cursed the Arbiter for putting him through this sacrifice of self, this trial of worthiness. The Hymn sang in response.
“We’re almost there,” Ruane said with eerie delight.
He raised his head and realized they were only about fifty feet from a sewer-like opening where the chain spilled out from. His sanctuary, his safety. He only needed to climb a little bit farther and he could free himself from his nightmare.
The outer shell of Gargantua was smooth as marble, but every ten feet or so were openings in the wall for lookouts or weapon holes, but none appeared to be in use at the moment.
“Where are all the guards?” Ruane asked.
“Doesn’t feel right,” he answered truthfully.
“You know what doesn’t feel right? Your slowtail blundering about. Get moving, you loaf of burnt pumpernickel!”
