“—so the ch-ch-challenger ch-charge-charged, a champion under his own banner. His lance—is that really how you spell champion?” Manny asked, interrupting herself to show the passage to Vincent.

“It is,” he said after briefly glancing at the page. “Continue.”

Manny nodded. “His lance was true, s-striking at his foe a-gain and again, swatted aside time and again until his foe could resist no more, and he was smote. Dead was Daray, his s-s-spirit un-n-n-m-made by a better warrior. The challenger… g-g-grinned, his tired bones and way-wuh… weary spirit re-newed by… by…” Manny blinked, and again paused her reading to look at Vincent. “Is this really what happened? He just… agreed to a fight, and then died?”

The book Vincent had tasked her to read was about Daray, the Lord of Battle. And… well, it just didn’t make a damned lick of sense to her. Gods letting themselves be suckered into being killed in a so-called fair fight? That was so dumb of the war god, if it were true. And they never mentioned that this happened at the monastery, either, so she really, really doubted it.

Vincent only shrugged. “Would you rather read a different book, Little Elf?”

That seemed like it would be futile. They’d been at this for hours already, practicing by means of Manny reading to him until her throat was raw, and her head was spinning. She didn’t hate it—gods no, she doubted she could ever hate reading—but… she was very, very exhausted. “I think I’d like to take a break,” she eventually said.

Vincent straightened, taking the book from Manny and briefly leaving her to stare into her own naked lap before she had the presence of mind to follow the book with her gaze. He was going back, leafing to the front of the book one page at a time, counting how much she’d read. “Almost fifty pages today,” he eventually summarized, then looked up at her and smiled. “Excellent progress, I’d say.”

Manny smiled too, feeling his approval and pride for her swell, letting her feel them through their bond. “You can take a break if you’d like,” he continued, and Manny’s smile grew even wider before he raised a cautioning finger. “Don’t celebrate so soon. You won’t like what I’m about to say.”

“Oh?” Manny cautiously asked. If her Master said she wouldn’t like something, he was probably right; so her mind began to cook up all manner of horrid little tasks he might have for her.

“I’ve asked Alara to help with your education,” he began. And already, Manny’s heart sank as Vincent was yet again proven to be right. “Table manners, etiquette, and the like. With the eclipse on the horizon, I’ve a lot of friends in the city. I don’t have the time to teach you that myself before I introduce you to—”

“I’m going to get to meet your friends?!” Manny excitedly asked. For the briefest moment she was elated to be so important to Vincent. That feeling quickly subsided, however—she’d interrupted Vincent in her excitement, and the weight of how deeply he loathed that smothered it.

Instinctively, she slipped from the sofa, quickly dropping to her knees and making herself small before him. She remained quiet at first, waiting until she could feel only the cinders left over from his brief flare of displeasure to quietly say, “I’m sorry I interrupted you, Master,” to him.

“You’re forgiven,” he told her, his que to her that she could rise. She didn’t do so however, instead opting to stay on her knees. A few moments passed until he seemed to notice, and a surge of approval reminded her of why she’d done that. She loved to kneel. “As I was saying. I don’t have time to teach you myself, so I’ve paid Alara to do it.”

“What will she teach me?” Manny asked, once she was sure Vincent had finished speaking.

“Table manners and etiquette, as I said. Some administrative duties, too—and I believe she mentioned make-up,” Vincent said. “And before you ask, she’s more than capable of teaching you. She’s the one who trained Ebra to my bite, after all.”

“Ebra needed to be trained?” Manny asked. From what she’d seen of the curly-haired woman, she seemed more than content to be fed on.

“Oh, they all do,” Vincent said with a nod. He reached out towards her, tilting her head back to run a nail along the arteries in her throat, eliciting a gasp from her as he spoke. “You’ve got quite an advantage as my thrall”—it’s not like there are many disadvantages to being your thrall—”that they do not. You feel the joy of feeding secondhand, a thrall sooner begs to be bitten than it needs to be coerced into allowing it. But others? Others need training to sit still. They need to be made to understand their duty.”

Manny swallowed. She could imagine it, having to discipline someone who’d never known Vincent’s touch before. It sounded… kind of fun.

“And you know her,” Vincent continued, as the finger tracing her arteries evolved into a hand around her slender throat, applying just enough pressure to pull her closer, but not so much to be painful or frightening. Manny could sense that dominant thrill flare up in him, urging her to be a meek and docile counterpart. “She does so love that purple make-up, and you’d better believe she knows etiquette. If she can train my stock to sit still when they’ve got my fangs in their arteries, I’m sure she’ll make swift work of teaching you finery.”

Manny nodded. All of this talk about biting made her painfully aware he’d still not fed on her again. Every time she’d mentioned it, he’d danced around the issue, had said he had too much for her to do. And that was true—to an extent. She’d been plenty busy these last weeks. But she still ached, yearned to be useful to him. She wanted to be the one to sate his needs, not just be there when his rotating cast of feeding stock showed up every few days.

Perhaps these lessons would let her do that, eventually.

“Run along, now,” Vincent ordered. “She knows to expect you.”

Manny nodded, quietly adding “yes, Master,” as she rose to her feet with as much grace as she could muster. Slipping out of the little library, she made for the guest rooms. Since their excursion, the priestess-of-a-god-unknown had stayed at the manor. Manny hadn’t seen her often in that time; having been far too busy cooking, reading, or otherwise spending time with her Master. But she’d seen her occasionally, at the meals prepared by Sean and his staff, mostly.

It had been an awkward week, with those around. Vincent hadn’t wavered in his resolution to keep her undressed until the custom-made clothes arrived, and… well, it had resulted in a lot of embarrassment, at first. Only at first, however. After a few days, she’d just about gotten over it. Vincent himself went about naked relatively frequently—when going to or from the baths, mostly—and none of them batted an eye at that, either.

When she got to Alara’s room, she knocked on the door, and waited two heartbeats, and opened it. She regretted it almost immediately.

The sight that greeted her inside of the room was Alara, very naked, with the equally naked elven guard she’d ensnared the prior week bound to her bed, actively penetrating her. “You… You know, Sunset,” Alara began, out of breath as she glanced back at her. “It’s considered polite to wait until one is invited in, after knocking.”

“Should I—”

“Do… whatever you want,” Alara said with a shrug. “As long as you don’t wander off and make me chase you.” Manny couldn’t help but notice she wasn’t even slowing down with the elven guard, continuing to roll her hips as she spoke.

“Well, Vincent sent me to you,” Manny said after a moment, making a point of looking away.

She heard a little giggle from Alara when she did that. “Oh, you’re still… still squeamish about this, after a week of letting everyone see what Ishara blessed you with?”

Manny rolled her eyes, and sighed. “Do you need me for something, or not?”

“Oh, I certainly do,” Alara said in a suggestive tone—or maybe Manny was just imagining one because of what the woman was doing while she said it. “Etiquette. I… I’m teaching you which fork is which.”

Manny looked up, giving the woman a skeptical look. “And this somehow helps with that?” She asked, gesturing at the priestess, and her lover—victim?—bound underneath her.

“Personal project, Sunset,” Alara said with a dismissive sigh, then looked away from Manny as she sped up her movements. “Teaching him… how to suit my needs.”

“How interesting,” Manny said as she turned around, and waited for the whole ordeal to finish. It took a fair bit longer than she’d hoped, the sounds of another couple’s intimacy quickly getting quite grating. Despite herself, Manny listened to Alara’s sighs turn to moans, then briefly to grunts, and back to sighs. She could only imagine how much more fun that would be with Vincent around to color her perceptions of the sounds.

She startled slightly when she suddenly felt Alara—sweaty and flushed—press against her back. “I’ll just use the bathroom, then we can get to it,” she said then walked past Manny, heading towards the kitchen and the water closet.

Manny trailed behind her, following her into the comparatively brighter lamp-lit corridors of the manor. For the first time, she got a good look at Alara’s nude form. She was rather athletic, as it turned out. “Aren’t you getting dressed?”

“How about this?” Alara began, glancing back at her. “I hereby promise I’ll wear the exact appropriate amount of clothes when spending quality time with a pretty, naked thrall.”

“You’re not getting dressed, are you?” Manny asked, sufferingly.

Alara grinned at her as she reached the water closet. “Not a chance,” she said, then pulled the door closed. Manny only sighed and wandered on, deciding she’d rather wait for the woman in the kitchen.

The kitchen—as it turned out—was not empty. Sean was in there, an apron over his usual double-breasted suit, eyes red as he diced some onions. He briefly glanced up at Manny, then smiled as he continued. “Madam,” he simply said, by way of greeting.

“Dinner?” Manny asked.

Sean nodded. “Dame Adelheart—that’s a neighboring landed knight, if you don’t know—slaughtered a prize sheep, and sent some of the mutton to Lord Borohon as a gift.”

“Rich people don’t even have to pay for their food,” Manny said under her breath.

“Excuse me?” Sean asked.

Manny shook her head. “Nevermind. What are you making?”

“The mutton is very fatty, so I believed a bolognese might be nice. A little unorthodox, perhaps, but—”

“I don’t know what bolognese is, Sean,” Manny interrupted.

“Ah,” Sean said, with a soft smile, then pointed at his ingredients. “Onions, celery, carrots. Sautéed with ground mutton and white wine, then I’ll add some sauce made of dried tomatoes, and allow it to simmer for many hours.”

“Sounds tasty,” Manny decided. Though, she couldn’t help but notice that making a dish like this struck her as the kind of thing Vincent would usually do himself. The very first thing they’d done together was make those delicious turnovers, and since then cooking had been a regular activity for them.

“It does sound delicious,” Alara’s voice agreed. Manny looked up, and she saw the still-naked priestess reaching into one of the cabinets above the eternally-running faucet, producing a cup she filled with water and gulped down several times in rapid succession. “Sean, love,” she said, glancing at the young man. “Would you set Manny’s seat at the dinner table?” Manny followed Alara’s gaze to Sean, who looked unhappy she was giving him orders. “Lord Borohon has asked me to teach the pretty elf some table manners.”

The elaboration melted the forming scowl from his face, replaced with a softer smile. “Very well,” he said, abandoning his half-cut vegetable as he started to gather plates, knives, spoons, forks, and glasses. All of them were different, taken from different drawers and cupboards. “Yesterday’s soup should still be good, and I can fetch some bread and butter, too.”

“That would be very useful, I believe.”

A few minutes later, the three of them were in the large dining room, and Manny was watching Sean set a particularly lavish table—for one. The seat to the left of the head of the table, with the bare wood briefly covered by a tablecloth that was far too small for the entire piece of furniture, and then a place mat on top of that.

“The key to setting a table is the basic knowledge that the largest—main—plate is the centerpiece. It is as a planet, orbited by smaller moons on all sides.”

“Are moons smaller than planets?” Manny asked.

Sean raised an eyebrow. “I see your… enthralling wiles have distracted Lord Borohon from his fascination with astronomy.”

Manny briefly thought she’d imagined the shift in intonation, that it hadn’t been a joke at all, until Alara snickered. “That was bad, Sean,” she chided.

“Oh, I know,” he said, then returned his attention to the task at hand. “Moons are smaller than planets, yes. Regardless”—he cleared his throat—“ the main service plate is set at the bottom. It is our planet, if you will. It’s orbited by ever smaller cutlery on the sides, and plates on top.”

The man paused, laying out one of the forks to the left of the plate, and a serrated steak knife on the right. “Our main course will be served on this plate, and we eat it with the dinner knife and fork.”

“Okay…” Manny said, uncertainly. “And… what’s with the other crap?”

“The other crap goes with the other dishes, madam. The main course is only that. It has a lot of preamble to it,” Sean explained, then placed a slightly smaller plate on top of the large one, then a smaller fork and blunter knife outside of the ones already there. “Salad plate, fork, and knife. Raw vegetables come before the main course, and are served separately. We eat those with separate cutlery, of course.”

“Of course,” Manny said, looking at the cart Sean had loaded up and was unloading in front of her with dread. This would take a while.

“Soup bowl,” he simply said, then placed something that blurred the line between a bowl and a plate on top of the salad plate, and a single spoon to the right of the salad knife. Manny smiled. She could see why it was useful to have a separate bowl and spoon, but that salad malarkey seemed like a lot of effort for no real reason. To Manny’s surprise, Sean next put a little plate on the table, directly above the two forks, and then covered that in a little knife, too. “Bread plate and butter knife.”

“Oh, you’re kidding,” Manny said. “Why in the hells would you need to give me a whole knife for that?”

“So it can be cleared away after the soup course is finished,” Sean easily said. “If guests used one of the other knives to butter their bread, they would have a buttery knife on hand for however many courses were left before they used it again. It would make a mess.”

“Can’t they be trusted not to get everything dirty for a few minutes?”

Alara cut in at this point, clearing her throat. “Sunset, Sean is showing you a table setting for a five-course meal. It takes well over an hour from the soup being served to the main course being cleared. Not a few minutes.”

“Point taken,” Manny said, just as Sean put four glasses above the knives and spoons, arranged in a square.

“Water glass, red wine, spirits, and white wine,” he said, pointing at the one closest to the plates, then moving clockwise. “These remain on the table throughout the meal, with wine and spirits being poured to match the courses, and water poured at will.”

“Makes sense, don’t want rowdy drunks before you get to the main cour—” Manny stopped herself. “Oh, that’s what that saying means! Because getting to the main course might take a while!”

Sean grinned, nodding as he continued. Next, he placed a rolled up napkin to the left of the forks, then added a little fork, and then a spoon above the plates, facing opposite directions. “Dessert,” he explained.

“There’s no dessert plate,” Manny noticed.

“Excellent observation,” Sean said. “Lord Borohon often has a hand in preparing dinner, so he rather likes serving the courses himself. Dessert is usually my responsibility, however, and is arranged on a plate in the kitchen.”

Lastly, the young butler placed a tea cup on a saucer above the dessert spoon and fork, and two spice shakers, and a little bottle alongside it. “The tea cup accompanies dessert, and the spices are salt, pepper, and mustard,” he said, then briefly glanced at Alara. “And at the risk of stepping on the rest of the lesson, I’ll briefly remind you that while in general a guest may spice their food as they see fit, Lord Borohon does a lot of the cooking himself, and he takes great pride in it. If we see anyone take it upon themselves to tamper with his seasoning in this room, we are to treat them with disdain.”

Manny smiled. That did sound like something Vincent would do, and she fondly made a note not to add any salt to her food around him—especially if she knew he’d made it.

“Thank you for your help,” Alara told Sean, and the young butler bowed slightly, then turned to leave, presumably off to slice the rest of the vegetables. He left the cart, though, laden with a soup tureen, a basket with some bread in it, and a tray of butter. She reached over, carefully putting the bread basket and butter on the table, then ladled the soup into the bowl. Finally, she picked up a carafe of water and one of red wine, then filled their respective glasses.

Once she was done, she pulled out the seat to Manny’s right, sat down, and propped her head up on the table, closely watching. “Eat,” she ordered.

“What, are you just going to sit there and watch me eat a whole fancy meal?”

Alara scoffed. “Gods, no. I’d rather wander into a fey forest shouting my True Name over and over again than do that. Just soup. We’ll skip the other courses.”

“Alright,” Manny said, hesitantly, glancing at the intimidating table setting. The only person watching was Alara—a woman who could ostensibly be trusted—and still she was intimidated. Soup didn’t seem like it would be too difficult, though. With just a single spoon to worry about. She reached out to pick up the spoon, and—

A firm kick to her shin from Alara stopped her. “Wrong,” the godless priestess hissed.

“What?!” Manny demanded. I didn’t even—”

“The napkin goes first,” Alara said. “Put it in your lap before you touch your cutlery.”

Manny blinked. Had she really deserved to be kicked for that? Regardless, she picked up the napkin, cautiously slipping off the silver napkin ring keeping it tidy before she unfolded it and put it in her lap. “Like that?” She asked.

Alara smiled softly, and nodded. “Next, butter your bread,” she softly said. Manny reached into the basket of bread, and put it on the designated plate—she still thought that was stupid—then picked up her little butter kn—

Another kick to the shin made her drop it. “The butter tray has its own knife. Use that to move some to your plate, first.”

“What?! Why?” Manny demanded.

“You’ll get crumbs in the butter if you use your own knife for that.”

Begrudgingly, Manny could see the logic in that. Butter with debris in it was par-for-the-course in her life—especially at the orphanage as a child—but it wasn’t very appetizing. Not that she’d been able to afford butter in the last few months before Vincent came into her life. Cautiously, she scooped some of it onto the big knife it had been served with, then scraped it off with the lip of her bread plate before putting it back. Then she picked up the piece of bread, and buttered it.

“If the bread isn’t so finely cut, it’s polite to break off pieces and butter them separately,” Alara noted, and Manny just knew she’d forget about that. Then she moved the bread towards the bowl of soup, and she cautiously looked at the priestess. Alara smiled at her. “You’re wise to check before you do that. You don’t dip your bread into the soup—ever.”

“But I like—”

“I’m sure you do,” Alara said. “I’m sure you have a preferred way to scarf down most food as quickly and messily as possible. But at a table like this, you don’t do that.”

“Fine,” grumbled Manny, before she ate the bread, and picked up her spoon to start eating the soup. That went fine at first, with no kicks or chastisement interrupting her. The soup was nice, the same very sweet tomato soup they’d eaten the night before—back when she was allowed to just dunk her bread into it like a normal person.

“How’s your master feeling?” Alara suddenly asked.

“Huh?” Asked Manny after she swallowed the soup on her spoon. She focused on that bond they shared—slightly less pervasive when he wasn’t in the room with her—and felt a soft excitement from him. He was happy, likely studying some book. “He’s fine. Excited about something.”

“Hmmm, that won’t do,” Alara said, shifting her chair closer. Manny reached for another piece of bread, and was halfway through buttering it when Alara suddenly reached into her lap, and began to touch her.

Fury surged in Manny. “WHAT IN ALL THE HELLS ARE YOU DOING?!” She demanded of the priestess, who only smirked.

“Your master might be in another room, feeding on someone, while you’re expected to entertain,” Alara explained, as she started to rub between Manny’s legs. “He might be seethingly angry, filled with pure hate, but hiding it from his guests. And you’ll have to keep your composure, carrying on as if it weren’t so.”

“I can assure you I’m feeling plenty of seething anger,” Manny growled at the priestess.

“Outstanding,” Alara said. “Have some wine.”

Manny glanced at the serrated steak knife, instinctively looking for a way to defend herself here, actively suppressing the urge to ball her fist and drive it into this bitch’s face. But… Vincent would hate that. He’d… She couldn’t. She was supposed to learn, and Ishara above, that’s what she would do, even if her body was starting to react to Alara’s fingers exploring her.

Cautiously, she reached for the glass of wine, but instead winced as Alara suddenly pinched her thigh, digging in her short nails enough to hurt more than the kicks had. “Wipe your mouth, first,” Alara said. “Always wipe your mouth before you pick up your glass.”

Manny swallowed and nodded, lifting the napkin from her lap, and briefly glancing down to see Alara’s hand underneath it as she wiped her mouth.

“Now put it back, take a sip, and finish your soup,” Alara ordered. Manny obeyed, taking the slightest drink of wine before she put the glass back, and picked her spoon back up. It was shaking slightly as Alara’s fingers began to coax more and more—unexpectedly good—reactions from her body. “Take your time, of course, I can really draw this out, if that’s what it takes. I’ll even finish the job, if you manage to do it without spilling a drop.”

Manny was of two minds about that, part of her insisting she should make sure she didn’t spill anything, while another urged her to pour the hot soup in Alara’s lap and run off to find Vincent. She couldn’t bring herself to mess up on purpose, though. She knew this wouldn’t be happening if it wasn’t what Vincent wanted. This was his will—his expectation—of her, and she would carry that will out.

She delicately finished her soup spoonful by spoonful, even as her breathing quickened, and her heart’s beating became louder in her ears and kept speeding up. She… She didn’t even like women, and Vincent wasn’t here to like them for her. Why was she enjoying this?

When she finished the last drop, and cautiously put her spoon back down in the bowl, it was all but impossible to ignore Alara purring “good girl,” into her ear, breathy and laced with desire. The hand between Manny’s legs didn’t move away, didn’t either stop to let her settle down, or speed up and finish the job. It only continued to tease and drive her wild, as with her other hand, Alara picked the soup plate and spoon up, and put them on the cart again.

“Imagine I just served salad. Pick up the right cutlery,” the priestess next ordered. Manny blinked, shaking her head in a futile effort to clear her mind as she looked at the table. There were still two sets of cutlery left, and…

She picked up the outer set of cutlery, the smaller knife and fork, whispering “these.”

Alara nodded next to her. “That’s right,” she said, then took them from her hands, and put them and the salad plate on the cart, alongside the other ‘used’ dishes. “Dinner is served. Big piece of roast pork.”

Wordlessly, Manny picked up the remaining, biggest set of cutlery, which only sped up Alara’s ministrations. “Excellent,” the priestess praised, taking this set and plate away, too. “Put the dessert fork and spoon in the right—” The cursed woman didn’t even have to finish the command before Manny picked up the little fork and spoon, moving them to where the dinner cutlery had been before. “Good girl!” Alara praised again, louder this time, then dropped her voice to a husky whisper. “I think you’ll do your master proud at his dinner.”

“Y-You think?” Manny croaked out. Gods above, she hoped so. She glanced at Alara, at that predatory smirk, seeing the priestess in a whole new light as she nodded at her.

“Oh, yes,” Alara said, plunging her fingers deeper, doing things that made Manny squirm and gasp. “I almost wish your master hadn’t chosen you as his thrall, Sunset.”

“What? Why… Woah…” Manny trailed off as her toes curled, and her nerves lit up. She lost her train of thought for a moment, distracted by an orgasm that sated all of the needs Alara had saddled her up with, and left Manny content—if surprised at herself that a woman had gotten her there.

“Why?” Alara asked, repeating the question as she picked up Manny’s napkin, and wiped her hand off with it. “Because this was fun, Magnanimity. And I would dearly have enjoyed getting to break you to my own will, rather than bending you to Vincent’s.”

And in Manny’s state, her head a mess of conflicting and confused feelings, it was all she could think that that was a compliment coming from the woman’s mouth. And she repaid it by leaning in, and eagerly kissing her.

Manny and Alara found Vincent a few minutes later, waiting for them in the foyer with an immense crate of supplies. It was a bizarre mix of items and artifacts, with odd brass instruments and fist-sized clear crystals, and Manny eyed it, curiously. Not as curiously as she eyed Vincent, however. He was clearly dressed up to go outside.

He’d donned a wide-brimmed hat, shawl, and thin gloves over his day clothes, but oddly enough, no boots. “Where are you going?” She asked him, curiously.

He answered her by pointing not at the front door, as she’d expected, but the one opposite it. The one that led into the manor’s enclosed courtyard. Being O-shaped, the building wrapped around it on all sides, and Manny vaguely recalled mention of it having some kind of canopy. But it still surprised her when Vincent strode towards the interior door, and opened it without so much as hesitating.

The courtyard, as it turned out, was rather dim. A canopy made of a giant sheet of lace hung above them, catching much of the sun’s light, shading them enough that Manny couldn’t feel its heat on her bare skin. Enough—it seemed—that Vincent’s hat and gloves kept him comfortable.

“How was your lesson, Little Elf?” He asked her, with a knowing smirk on his face. She could feel he knew how it had gone. Manny felt her face flush, and she briefly glanced at Alara, who grinned at her. They’d conspired to make it play out like that, she just knew it!

“It was… good,” Manny eventually managed. “Very educational.”

“Good,” Vincent said, as he set the box of supplies down on the wooden furniture that—alongside some beds of carefully-tended flowers—decorated the courtyard. “I’ll want you to show me everything you learned, soon enough.”

Leaving that implication to hang in the air, he beckoned them both closer as he started to take things out of the box. The large gems came first, but were soon followed by parts of what looked like an elaborate contraption to hold them, as well as a very large array of glass lenses, and a brass armature to mount it.

“Alara, I hope you can spare the time. I understand if not, but I’d hate to see you miss such a big milestone in our… project.”

“You’re still working on that?” Alara asked. “After you stopped updating me, and I found out about Florian, I’d assumed—”

“You assumed wrong,” Vincent said. “I built this whole damned house because I predicted it would have a view of the eclipse. I’m not about to squander the chance to test my theories because I’m feeling bereaved.”

Manny felt… confused. “What are you two talking about?”

“In a very roundabout way, we’re talking about astromancy,” Vincent said.

“I don’t know that word,” Manny admitted.

“It’s magic—alchemy, to be precise—derived from stellar phenomena,” Vincent explained. “Sunlight makes things grow, moonlight enhances magical abilities that might not otherwise be strong enough to shine through.”

“It does?” Manny asked, careful not to cut him off, but eager to ask the question before he moved on.

Vincent nodded. “Werewolves are the best example of it, their powers only manifest with the moon’s light at its very brightest. But almost all magic—except that of Touched priests—is affected by that same cycle.”

Manny nodded, too. Far more slowly. “And… there’s more things like that?” She guessed. “More interesting things?”

“Exactly!” Vincent agreed, a surge of pride at Manny deducing that radiating from him and putting a smile on her face. “Things like comets in the night sky, shooting stars, or one of the inner planets passing between Eitheris and the sun all influence the world in different ways. The one we’re interested in, however…” He trailed off, as if Manny were supposed to finish the sentence.

“That eclipse?” Manny guessed.

“That eclipse!” Vincent agreed. “I’ve read accounts from a long, long time ago, claiming an eclipse has unique powers. That the gods themselves can’t see what goes on in. Fables about Kukaro being delighted when a play happened during an eclipse, and not all of his power combined would let him foresee or influence the outcome.”

Manny glanced at Alara, looking for confirmation on what Vincent had just said, then mentally scolded herself. Did a few minutes of confusing fun meant she suddenly trusted her more than Vincent? I don’t even know what god you worship, she reasoned. It was very quickly followed by another, more invasive thought. I trust who my Master says I should trust.

She was snapped out of it by Vincent offering her some of the brass fittings, and pointing at the courtyard’s ground. “Help me set this up,” he ordered, and Manny obediently snapped to it.

Over the course of a few minutes, Manny took piece after piece from Vincent, slotting the fittings into each other with ease, assembling a large brass apparatus of concentric shapes, each tier adding an extra corner. There was a center, with the large lens in it, surrounded by a triangle, surrounded by a square, surrounded by a pentagon, all the way up to an eight-sided shape.

The end result was bizarre. It looked a little like how Manny imagined the First University’s plumbing would have looked if it were designed by a hyperactive spider. Each corner of each of the tiers had a fitting—a cage of brass wires and fittings that looked to be just the right size to hold those big crystals she’d seen in Vincent’s box of supplies. And indeed, a moment later, she was handed them, with the instruction to slot them in.

One by one, she did so, working counter clockwise, from the outside in. Though she ran out before she could finish the second ring, leaving more than half of the slots unfilled. She looked questioningly to Vincent, curious about why he’d not given her more, but he only smiled, and gestured that she should get up. She did so, only to be met by a surge of approval from him. “Head inside, Little Elf,” he ordered. “And only watch through the windows. You’ll go blind, otherwise.”

Uncertain about what that meant, Manny did as she was told, slipping back into the manor, and quickly darting into the dining room so she could see the courtyard through its windows, colored purple and dimmed significantly by the heavy tint that served to protect Vincent from sunlight.

She watched as Sean and the only beastkin on the manor’s staff—a rabbit-like woman named Judy—ventured out into the courtyard with ladders, and quickly took down the lace sunshade, neatly folding it away into a box they took inside. She couldn’t see Vincent, but she could feel the sting of sunlight on his skin, like a singeing sunburn in moments.

“Speur beag air a dhèanamh mòr!” She heard him say, a spell that warped the sky overhead, distorting the scant few clouds she could see in the distance, and seemingly focusing the sunlight into a small spot at the center of the courtyard, where the glass lenses compressed it down farther into a narrow strand, like a loom spinning raw wool into a string.

That strand—that beam—frightened her, somehow. She could see it, like a crack of light in an otherwise dark and dusty attic, just hanging there, fatally intense. It shot out from the array, parallel to the ground. The beam went directly into one of the crystals she’d set up moments before, then from that, on to the next. It was a web of light that looked intense enough to cut through rock, connecting the stones like strings between pins on a cork board.

“Nox,” Manny heard Vincent say next, and mercifully, the warping of the sky went away, neutering the sheer power those glass lenses were able to manipulate immensely as the courtyard dimmed again. And then she felt something. He wanted her to come back to him, back to the foyer, and she rushed there as quickly as she could. He was impatient, eager, even excited about… whatever she’d just helped him do. It was infectious.

“Fetch one of the stones, Little Elf,” he instructed her, and Manny nodded as she made for the door. The courtyard was… different. The stones underfoot were uncomfortably hot against the soles of her feet, and the flower beds had all wilted. Moving quickly to spare her feet, she picked up one of the crystals, and—had it changed color? Gods above, it had! These had been clear, the color of glass a moment before. Now they had an ever-so-faint yellow cast to them, and… And they glowed!

A smile sprouted on her face, a feeling of anticipation beyond that of Vincent nagging at the back of her mind, because she was confident he’d be happy about this. She eagerly ran back into the manor, closing the door behind her—and the gem stayed just as bright, even when she moved into the shade. Its light had the warmth of sunlight to it, and—

Manny stopped herself from running up to Vincent with it. He was standing on the far side of the foyer, expectation and curiosity writ large on his face. Would this hurt him? Burn him? She couldn’t risk that. Instead, she hesitated a few meters away from him, curiously looking down at the thing. It wasn’t as bright as sunlight, she could look straight at it, after all. But it was as bright as something in direct sunlight.

“Give it to me, Manny,” Vincent ordered. And as if with a snap, her worries faded, stamped out by his authority and her own intrusive thoughts. She scampered close, grinning like a gods-damned fool, already anticipating the rush of contented feelings of doing as she was told.

And then she dropped it. It was the most innocuous thing—just her being clumsy and tripping over her own feet—yet she could feel a pang of fright that told her the consequences would be anything but. She watched the crystal hit the floor just before she herself painfully landed, and with a mixture of interest and horror, saw it shatter.

Light so bright that it stung her eyes and warmed her skin flared out in a pulse, and she could feel it hurt Vincent. It hurt him like spilling boiling water on whatever skin of his wasn’t covered, and the sheer shock of it knocked the breath out of Manny. It was so intense that she didn’t even register the pain she surely should have felt after falling like that.

Vincent cursed and grunted, but didn’t quite go so far as to scream, despite how bad the pain was in that moment. Manny heard him and Alara both casting healing spells—each of them giving him some measure of relief, but also exhausting him. She tried to look—tried to see what she’d done—but in the relatively dark interior of the manor, she couldn’t see past the afterimage of the crystal shattering.

“The burns aren’t too bad, my lord. Though, it’s good you covered as much skin as you did. An extra feeding to regain your strength, and you’ll be right as rain,” she heard Alara say.

She could feel his anger at her, though. It was a rueful, menacing thing; it made her feel like scum, or a villain. On instinct, she moved from the heap she’d landed in and kneeled to make herself small, and pennant. She didn’t mind the shards of crystal cutting into her palms and knees, didn’t care that she couldn’t see except in the very peripheries of her vision—she was far too busy regretting what she’d done.

I could have killed him.

The thought came unbidden, a rare instance of agreement between every part of herself. And it terrified her. What… What would she do without Vincent, without his willpower to fortify her or his emotions telling her what was right? She’d wither and go mad, surely—just like he’d said on their first day together. And she was so angry at herself. Even as the sharp spike of hate he radiated dulled into a blunt anger, she wanted him to hurt her—she wanted him to yell, and to kick, scratch, and slap her so she’d learn her lesson.

And when part of her objected—said she was wrong to want that, that she should cut herself some slack—she wanted him to help her kill it.

“Are you crying, Manny?” His rich voice asked, snapping her out of her self-loathing long enough to consider the question.

She reached up to wipe at her cheeks—and sure enough—her hand came away wet, and her eyes felt puffy. She looked up at him and nodded, trying to blink away the after image. Oddly enough, that softened his anger some more. Part of him liked that she was crying. But not a large enough part to overcome her mistake. “You’re… forgiven,” he eventually said.

Manny shook her head. She could feel she wasn’t forgiven—he was far too angry and hurt for that. He had lied to her, she realized. “No, I’m not,” she quietly objected.

“No,” he eventually admitted. “But you will be, once I’ve… had a moment. Go take a bath, and stay out of my sight until you sense I want you by my side again.”

Meekly, Manny rose from her kneeling position, and slunk off down the stairs into the basement bathroom, escorted by Sean and—oddly—Alara. She was genuinely surprised at herself when she realized she found the odd priestess’ presence comforting, rather than disturbing.

Manny laid on her bed, waiting for… anything. Taking a bath had been a good way to calm down. It had settled her nerves enough to reflect. But… reflect on what? On how gods-damned useless she was? On how she’d endangered Vincent by being careless with a crystal she didn’t understand?

She was at war with herself. Part of her craved to find Vincent—to throw herself at his mercy, until he’d vented his frustrations, and she could feel at ease again, knowing she’d been punished. Another part reminded her she had no right to prefer any one punishment over another—that surely, if she wanted him to discipline her more forcefully, it meant she simply liked the thought of him beating her.

Did she?

A knock on the manor’s front door distracted her from that line of thought. Instinctively, she started to rise from her bed, only to remember that—especially naked as she was—she was meant to let others handle that.

She laid there, staring at the kaleidoscopic colors cast onto her bedroom’s ceiling by the stained glass, and focused on Vincent. Their bond told her he was happy enough. He was excited about something, but exhausted and hungry—and he definitely did not want her to offer her own neck to him to sate that hunger.

Perhaps… Perhaps someone else could, though. She didn’t even have to talk to him, could simply ask Sean to arrange an extra visit from one of Vincent’s stock. Cautiously, she rose from her bed, and approached the door separating her bedroom from his. She pressed her ear to the carved wood, listening just in case he’d gone to bed without her noticing.

He hadn’t.

She cracked the door open and cautiously slipped inside. There was one piece of furniture in this room that mattered to her right now—his writing desk—and she would not be distracted from it.

Manny knew he kept records of his stock somewhere. He treated them almost like friends, corresponding with them occasionally between feeding sessions. And indeed, his desk was littered with opened and unopened letters. She didn’t dare open any of the sealed ones, but some of the others?

She discarded the first three out of hand—they were written in Aldressan elvish, which she very much did not understand—and then went through the remaining correspondences. To her dismay, she couldn’t read most of those, either. The handwriting was atrocious, all curly and flamboyant, rather than the simple, angular handwriting she’d developed, that so closely resembled printed books and stone engravings, or her Master’s smooth, practiced hand There were plenty of examples of the latter on the desk—half-finished letters he was writing to people, on parchment that had the crescent moon glyph of his carriage stamped at the head of the page, but none of that was useful to her, right now. The business partners the letters were clearly meant for and his stock didn’t have any overlap, as far as she knew.

In fact, the only relevant correspondence that she was able to decipher was Ebra—the first of Vincent’s stock she’d met. And that hadn’t been nearly long enough for her to regain her strength, judging by what she’d overheard Vincent tell Alara. Manny groaned in frustration, picking up the golden shackle she’d never had to wear again after Vincent last took it off, and started playing with the hinge.

“Are you reading your master’s letters, Sunset?”

Manny yelped in surprise, and turned to glare at Alara, who stood in the doorway between the two bedrooms with a grin on her face. She’d put her robes on again—and even almost looked like a real priestess—and was holding a large bundle of clothes. Manny could see even more of them laid out on her bed, behind her.

“I’m not—” she started, then cut herself off. “I’m looking for a way to… make him happy.”

Alara raised an eyebrow. “You’ll make him happy by obeying him, Sunset,” she said.

Manny rose from the seat at Vincent’s writing desk, sheepishly nodding. Then, looking at Alara dressed up in those robes, with Ishara’s sigil around her neck, the question, “what kind of priestess are you?” Practically broke out of her lips.

Alara smirked, and tilted her head back into Manny’s room. “If you behave and let me get you dolled up, I’ll explain.”

Manny nodded again, still holding the golden shackle as she left Vincent’s room and closed the door behind her. She gasped slightly when she saw the clothes that had appeared on her bed, neatly folded and laid out to look at. She hadn’t been asked what her preferences were by either Vincent or the tailor, and she now saw that she didn’t need to. Sturdy trousers and jackets, fine blouses and warm sweaters, and nightgowns and dresses, all in dark, muted colors, and all arranged for her inspection.

They were beautiful. Out of everything on display here, any combination would look nice—and in no uncertain terms tell the world she was Vincent’s thrall. She was eager to try them on—and indeed had already picked up one of the sets of trousers—when Alara cleared her throat. Manny looked at her, and was reminded of the clothes Alara was holding up. Seemingly an entire outfit.

Remembering Alara’s offer, Manny stepped up to her, and took the clothes. There were leggings, a skirt, a thin, black blouse Manny was sure she could see through even in this dim light… and a corset. It was black, and firm, with a framework of bone, and bird silhouettes embroidered in a few places. It would surely be hideously uncomfortable—but it would also make her look terrific.

She eagerly wanted to put it on. In mere moments, she’d slipped into the leggings and blouse, not minding Alara’s eyes on her one bit. She briefly reflected on just how much this all must have cost—how long she and Zorah might have been able to live off of that kind of money—but put it out of her mind.

Her Master wanted her to look nice, and that alone meant this was money well spent.

The skirt came next, and as Manny put it on, she couldn’t help but snicker when she glanced in the mirror. The blouse was every bit as transparent as she’d suspected. But, when Alara began to help her into the corset, that came together to keep her—if not modest—at least decent.

“I am a real priestess, you know,” Alara promised as Manny settled her breasts into the cups of the corset, and she set about tightening the laces up her back. Manny looked at her in the mirror, curiously, but the priestess’ reflection didn’t meet her eyes. “Just obviously not of Ishara.”

“Then of who?” Manny asked.

“My god is a lot like Ishara,” Alara promised. “He too values the passions of people above all else. But… he’s wiser than she is.” The priestess pulled on the laces, putting pressure on Manny’s torso that grew ever-so-slightly more oppressive with every tug, and made Manny’s reflection more desirable at the same rate. “Ishara is… simple—childish, even—in comparison to my Lord. She values mutual affections, and marriages. Teenagers that stay together forever, that sort of romantic nonsense.”

“And your god doesn’t?” Manny asked. As she had a week prior, she could only imagine how the abbess would scold her for even talking to this woman, and listening to her… values.

“He does not,” Alara said with a nod. She stopped pulling on the laces just after it began to get uncomfortable, then began to tie a knot on her back. “He sees the reality that she and her priests do not. He sees that for every teenager that discovers they feel butterflies at the sight of their true love, there is one who learns they have… stronger cravings.”

Manny shuddered. “Like Vincent.”

Only then did Alara’s reflection meet Manny’s gaze, and she grinned as she nodded. “His hunger—his need to bend others to his will—is delectable to my Lord Darishi. As is your enthusiasm to be bent. You crave to obey, to yield, to serve, because even though you might not have known my god’s name before today, you know the truth—you know that equality is a lie.”

Manny swallowed as old lessons at the orphanage started to make themselves known anew. There were beings like what Alara described—dark reflections of the seventeen divines. “Archdevils,” she whispered.

Alara frowned at her in the mirror. “Archdevil,” she repeated, disdainfully. “A slur invented by prudes, to invalidate the divinity of that which they do not like. My Lord is no mere demon that wanders Pandemonium or Monaxia. He is divine—he is radiant. He is the whip that beats the defiant slave, and the lips that kiss them once they obey their master. He is the god of everything you adore about Vincent.”

Vincent, who even now was still displeased with her, nursing a wound she’d carelessly inflicted, days away from his next feeding. Surely… Surely she should resolve that. Perhaps… Perhaps she could find him someone new—someone fresh—to feed on. Briefly, she considered picking up something heavy—trying to whack this strange priestess over the head with it so Vincent could… But no, that wouldn’t work. If he wanted Alara for that, surely he’d have taken her already.

She… She needed someone else—someone she could be certain Vincent would like, and wasn’t a member of the manor’s staff. And then, glancing down at the golden shackle, it clicked for her. She knew exactly who to give to Vincent to atone for hurting him.

Rather than talk in reflections, Manny turned to Alara and faced her directly. “Alara,” she began. “Would you please come with me into the city today?” She asked, and watched the much shorter woman’s expression briefly flit to confusion before it settled on a wry, knowing smile. “I would like your help to find a present for my Master.”