We spent the next day walking through the woods, trading stories. Iason, it turned out, came from a long line of monster-hunters. His father had, in the chaotic lands east of the Black Sea, acquired a sword “made of a terrible black metal, far harder and sharper than bronze, that fell from the sky in a blazing, dying star.” I recognized it as iron, of course, but I wasn’t about to say anything—if anyone back home learned I’d revealed the secret of iron to a barbarian, I’d spend the suddenly very short rest of my life regretting it.

Anyway, on his deathbed, Iason’s father had willed his armor to Iason, and the sword to Iason’s older sister, Iola. Iason had now been searching for her for three years.

While we walked, he showed me the sword, and I whistled, impressed. Real starbolt iron, strong and sharp and dark, and more importantly with a near-bottomless capacity to absorb magic. The result was a weapon with no special powers of its own, but able to disrupt any spell it came across. It was something special, all right.

For my own part, I told Iason about my escapades at the Academy. You have seriously never seen a party until you’ve seen mages party! Especially when they’re the young elite, trained enough to know better and too drunk to care.

Late in the afternoon, we emerged from the woods. A ridge rose ahead of us. Behind it, according to Iason, was a swamp that extended along the length of the main river in these parts, all the way down to the sea. On top of it was a looming, brooding circle of brown stone: Castle Brinksmoor.

“What’s your plan?” asked Iason.

“Simple,” I said. “I’m going to walk up and knock on the door, tell them I’m a sorceress from Lemuria and ask to see Lord Brinksmoor. I’ll use my feminine wiles to persuade him to let me see the library, and if one of the books is in there, I’ll take it and blast my way out. Meanwhile, you can ask around about your sister.”

“That is,” he said simply, “quite possibly the worst plan I have ever heard.”

“What’s wrong with it?” I demanded.

“Well,” he said, clearly picking his words carefully, “local standards are, uh… well, you’re a little…”

“What?” I said irritably, already suspicious of where he was headed.

He gestured vaguely at his chest. “I’m not sure your, um, ‘feminine wiles’ are quite up to the task.”

So I kneed him in the groin. I think it was a reasonable response. Plus, I’m very, very good at it. Leather breeches or no, he fell to the ground with a groan.

“I think that they are perfectly sized for someone of my petite build!” I told him. “And I’m sure I can persuade Lord Brinksmoor of the same, if he has even an iota of taste. And if not, I’ll just blast my way into the library.” I stormed up the path toward the castle.

Halfway there, I glanced back to see Iason hobbling along behind me, clearly keeping his distance. Bastard. And after I’d been thinking all those nice warm thoughts about his muscle-y chest, too, he had to go and say something mean about mine.

There were three guards at the front gate, with spears. “Halt!” said one. “State your name and business.”

“The Lady Lemma Kyrie baSontara of Lemuria, here to discuss matters of arcane import with Lord Brinksmoor.” I glanced back at Iason. “And my retainer.”

One of the guards ran back into the castle, and a few minutes later, we were ushered into the courtyard. It was typical Islander crud—bad stonework, a severe shortage of decorative plants, and no fountains to speak of. Just an open space with a well where some warriors could hold off a siege for a while. At the far end was the main hall, a long, low wooden building. At least it had windows.

“Interesting,” said Iason, coming up next to me. “The guards were all women.”

“So?” I said.

“Woman warriors are almost unheard of here in Kyrno. They show up occasionally in Breizht, and more often in Thumbria, but they’re still much rarer in the Tin Islands than Lemuria.”

“Huh,” I said. “I guess that is a little unusual.”

Two more spearwomen stood at the doors to the hall, and opened them for us. We stepped into an antechamber, where Lord Brinksmoor and two servants stood. The two girls were both young and, by local standards, fairly pretty. They were also, by local standards, unusually short and thin—I noted that, as it might help my feminine wiles strategy. They wore matching black frilly dresses with white lace trim, with short puffy sleeves, low necklines, and short skirts. They were utterly impractical outfits, clearly meant to play up their physical assets rather than be useful to do work in. Both girls were also clearly utterly besotted with Brinksmoor.

Brinksmoor was thirtyish, balding, tall and chubby, with an oversized nose. He was wearing a lot of purple and ruffles, and a long black cape. He looked like an actor parodying a nobleman, and it was very obvious he had one of the magic books, because he was dripping with glamours.

Quick magic lesson time! There are three main kinds of magic that affect people’s minds. (Not including curses, which are a whole ‘nother thing entirely.) I’ve already mention geas, which can control people’s actions. Magically binding contracts and oaths are a kind of geas, and you can also cast one on a person with some of their blood, although it makes it easier if you get their permission, like a certain bastard Archmagus tricked me into doing. Then there are illusions, which mess with people’s perceptions. They can make you see things or hear things, that kind of thing.

The subtlest, most difficult and dangerous kind of mental magic are glamours. Glamours alter emotion and interpretation. You can either cast a glamour on a person to change how they feel about something— say, to make them hungry, or horny, or lonely—or on an object or person to change how everyone reacts to that thing. For example, you can cast an illusion on an ugly old man to make him look buff and healthy, or you can cast a glamour on him to make people attracted to him. People looking at him will see an ugly old man who is still somehow really sexy. You haven’t changed what they see, but you can change how they feel about it. Got it? Good.

Anyway, Brinksmoor was dripping with glamours to make him seem attractive, charming, trustworthy, and likeable. Of course, one of the many enchantments woven into my gear was an anti-glamour spell of my own devising. It allowed me to see his glamours, which alone was enough to make them nearly harmless, and simultaneously upped my resistance to mental effects. I could also see the glamours wrapping around the two servant girls. I won’t go into too much detail about what he did to them, but suffice it to say I was surprised they were merely besotted, as opposed to, I don’t know, falling to their knees and begging for him to take them. Yeah, he had them that badly ensorcelled. What a sicko!

I glanced over at Iason. He was eyeing Brinksmoor suspiciously. That confirmed the suspicion I’d formed from the lack of male staff: Brinksmoor was using gender-specific glamours. That probably meant the boSuntel book, but I’d need to see his library to be sure.

Brinksmoor spread his arms. “Welcome, Lady Lemma, to my humble abode. It is no doubt far less than you are used to in your ancient and mighty realm, but what is here is yours.”

“Thank you, Lord Brinksmoor,” I said, giving the slimeball my flirtiest smile. No point in letting him know his glamours weren’t working, especially not if I was going to play the feminine wiles card.

“Now, I understand you are here to discuss the arcane arts? I have studied them all my life, as did my father before me,” he said. “While my library is nothing compared to the legendary halls of learning in mighty Lemuria, it is nonetheless my pride and joy. Perhaps you would care to see it?”

Oh, this was just too easy.

“But first,” he said, “I am sure you and your retainer are tired. Perhaps you would like to refresh yourselves, and then join me for the evening meal?” He snapped his fingers. “Mira! Brea! Show our guests to their baths.”

Baths? Did he say baths? I was starting to worry nobody in these stupid islands had ever heard of baths! They certainly smelled like they hadn’t. The girls led us down a hallway to a branch, and then one went left and the other straight.

“I’m not sure we should split up,” Iason said.

“Well, I’m not taking a bath with you in the room and I’m sure as hell not passing up the chance at a bath, so I don’t see that we have any choice.” I shooed him down the hall after one of the girls and turned to follow the other. “We’ll meet up later. See if you can find out anything about your sister.”

I practically skipped down the hall with glee. I was going to get clean! The girl—Mira, or Brea, I wasn’t sure—led me to a small room with a mosaic-tile floor, with a large copper tub, a large basin of cold water, a roaring fire over which was a large pot of boiling water, and, glory of glories, a gooey mass of soft, squishy, but very real soap!

Brea, or Mira, poured a little cold water into the tub, then boiling water on top of that, until the mixture reached a nice steamy-hot level without being scalding. She clearly had a lot of practice in drawing baths, because she got the temperature absolutely perfect. She stood by while I stripped quickly out of my travel-stained clothes, silently gathering them up and folding them before placing them on a nearby shelf. As I settled into the tub with a sigh of absolute pleasure, she stepped out of the room, closing the door.

I luxuriated in the tub for ages, interrupted only once, briefly, when Mira or Brea stepped in to drop off a fluffy white towel and a robe. Otherwise, I just soaked, letting the hot water sweep away all the nasty strain of travel and exile. Finally, as the water started to cool, and worried I was going to get all prune-y, I grabbed the soap and started scrubbing myself down. It was glorious—I scrubbed myself clean from head to toe and even washed my hair. Six months of accumulated grime. How did the savages stand it? I really needed to work out a spell for creating hot baths and soap on the road. Why hadn’t they taught that at the Academy?

Finally clean, I rubbed myself dry and then pulled on the deliciously soft, clean cotton robe and wrapped the towel around my head. I was feeling a little dizzy, probably from the steam, but very relaxed and happy.

The girl stepped back in, and I said, “Hi, Mira or Brea,” then giggled. I’m not normally given to giggling, but that was the state of bliss I was in. “Which are you?” I asked.

“I am Mira, m’Lady,” she said, with a little dip, like a mini-curtsey. “His Lordship requests that you do him the honor of wearing this dress to dinner,” she said.

“Oooh,” I answered. The dress she held out was a killer, absolutely gorgeous. I knew the moment I laid eyes on it I had to have it. It was made of some shimmery, sheer fabric, and vibrantly, beautifully green. I took it from Mira and began pulling it on. It had a high neck, and fit perfectly, clinging to and emphasizing my smallish, but high and round, breasts and slim waist, then flaring at the hips into a floaty skirt that fell nearly to the floor. It was perfect, accentuating my assets without being slutty.

Mira held up a small mirror—which must have cost Lord Brinksmoor a fortune—and I studied myself in it, doing a little spin to feel the skirt flare. I don’t wear skirts normally, but this dress just felt so comfortable and sexy I found it impossible to care. I sat happily while Mira combed out my hair and then pinned it up in a sophisticated twist. I looked awesome, more like the pampered daughter of a Council mage than a scholarship kid.

When Mira was done, she put a pair of slippers on my feet and then curtseyed. “Shall I take you to see His Lordship, m’Lady?” she asked.

I nodded, trying to suppress a shit-eating grin. I was so hot in this outfit, I was going to have Brinksmoor eating out of my hand. That book was as good as mine! And hell, after seeing me in this, maybe Iason would like to take a turn eating out something else. I giggled at my own thoughts, and then followed Mira down the hall.

“Dinner will be ready shortly,” she said. “His Lordship will entertain you in his study until then.” She opened the door, then stood by as I walked into the room. A thick rug covered the floor, and tapestries depicting what I assumed were great battles in the Brinksmoor family history covered the walls. A roaring fire made the temperature in the room just a little too warm, but gave a nice orange glow to everything. There was a writing desk at the far end of the room, a pair of high-backed chairs, and a long, low couch. Brinksmoor was sitting on the couch, holding a goblet of wine.

Brinksmoor stood and put his wine aside as I entered. Taking my hand, he bowed low and kissed it. “Truly, you are a stunning vision, Lady Lemma.”

I felt heat rising to my cheeks. “You look quite dashing yourself, my Lord Brinksmoor.”

“Thank you, my lady,” he said, guiding me to sit on the couch. He was still holding my hand, I vaguely noticed. I decided I was okay with that.

“Were the bathing accommodations adequate?” he asked. He really did look dashing in an open-necked white ruffled shirt and black breeches.

Wait, dashing? Since when did I think fat, balding men could be dashing? I mean, yes, his weight was evidence that he had wealth and power enough to never go hungry in a nation where that was a real problem, and they say receding hairlines are evidence of virility—I cut my own thoughts off. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. Was I that horny, that this guy was looking good? I mean, yeah, the dress was sexy as hell, and the bath left me feeling really good… wait, he’d said something, hadn’t he?

“My lady?” he asked, stroking my hand with his fingertips.

I wished he wouldn’t do that. There was something important I had to focus on, and it was very stuffy and warm in the study. Hard to think. “Huh?” I said, demonstrating my razor-sharp mental acuity. Gods, a few months without screwing, one hot bath, and a nice dress? I couldn’t believe that was all it took to get me going. But I couldn’t deny it: it was all I could do to keep from melting into his arms.

Ick! Focus on his nose. His big, ugly nose. It looks like a beak. Long and hard and thick… I wonder what else of his is long and hard and thick, that I could get inside me… I shook my head.

“Something’s wrong…” I said. It came out strange, slow and treacly and heavy-sounding.

“Shh…” he said soothingly, still stroking my hand with one of his, while his other hand caressed my cheek. I closed my eyes, feeling a need for him storm through me, much like the need to own the dress had earlier.

The dress! My eyes snapped back open and I stared at him. The anti-glamour wards woven into my clothes! I’d stripped them off happily to take a bath, and I wasn’t wearing them now. All those spells to make him seem attractive and charming were affecting me. But now that I knew they were there, I could resist.

He was still stroking my cheek. “What’s wrong, my darling?” he asked.

I felt a little bubble of happiness as he called me that, my inner teenager squealing, He likes me! He likes me! But that was just the glamour talking. I could fight it down. “Not… going to work,” I said. “I can resist the glamours on you.”

He smiled confidently. “But what about the ones on you?” he asked. “The spells of relaxation in the towel and robe. The dress beglamoured to make it look beautiful, and make its wearer feel aroused.”

Shit, my horniness was coming from the dress? Should have seen that. Damn clever of him, to hit me with two sets of passive glamours at once, so I’d have to divide my attention. Now that I knew it was there, I could see it, threads of magic twisting from the dress into my mind. “I can beat you,” I told him.

“Can you?” he asked, running his hand up my arm. I shivered. “I am very good at this. I am fast, and clever, and have an incredible gift for glamours.”

He was right. These were incredibly well-made spells, and he’d tricked me right into them. Beating him was a lot harder than I wanted to admit—and that was the magic again, making me feel like he was so smart and talented. But wasn’t he? I mean, sure, lots of people at the Academy could do magic like this, it wasn’t that advanced, but he was out here, all alone, learning it himself from one book. Who knew what somebody with that kind of natural talent could do with more knowledge? He was so clever and good at magic, and that made him even sexier. “You’re casting them now,” I said. I closed my eyes and concentrated, trying to find the exact spells he was using and intercept them. But while I focused on that, the glamours making me want him were free to do their work. I was getting really turned on, and the fingertips softly caressing my jaw and neck were not helping.

“Look at me, my love,” Lord Brinksmoor whispered, and I opened my eyes to see his face close to mine. He took my face in his hands, and his thumbs caressed my temples as his gray eyes bored into mine.

“Gods,” I whispered, and licked my lips. He was unbelievably hot, the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen. I wanted to rip our clothes off and fuck him, right then, right there, mission and magic be damned.

“You can’t beat me,” he said. “You can’t resist my spells. You don’t want to. You want to submit, to surrender.”

I did. He was glorious and powerful, so far above me, so amazing and wonderful. I wanted to kneel at his feet and worship him. That was a glamour, working its way through me, getting stronger by the moment as he layered it. He was casting the same spells as he’d wrapped those servant girls in. “No…” I said feebly, not sure I meant it.

“You desire me desperately, don’t you?” He brushed one of his thumbs across my lips, and I groaned.

“Yes…” I admitted.

“Don’t fight it. You want me to take you. To make you mine. Let go, and you will know the bliss of belonging to me.”

I closed my eyes again. I wanted that. I wanted him to fuck me, to use me. I wanted to be his—no!

“No,” he said, “look at me. In your heart, you have already given yourself to me. You know you cannot resist my magic.”

I could resist it. I could still fight this off, and break free. But if I did, I wouldn’t get to fuck him, would I? I wouldn’t get to feel the surrender he was promising. I looked at him. He was like a god. Why would I want to fight this? “Yes…” I said again, and then I closed my eyes as he kissed me.

I knew he was a lousy kisser. If anybody else had kissed me like that, it would have left me cold. But this was Lord Brinksmoor! The kiss made my toes curl. The touch of his tongue to mine practically made me cum! I was dripping wet, flushed, and a little dizzy when he broke the kiss.

“I want you…” I gasped, no longer able to think about anything else. I reached for his belt, and he took my hand in his.

“Not yet,” he said. “I will take you when you are completely mine.”

“Please,” I begged, “I can’t wait!”

He leaned forward. “Not until the spell is complete,” he whispered in my ear, then kissed the corner where my jawline met my throat. I wrapped my arms around him, feeling the threads of magic that contained my submission and desire wrapping tighter around me. Part of me was still screaming at me to stop, to fight, but the sooner I silenced it, the sooner he’d fuck me.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” he asked, pushing up my long skirt to stroke my thigh. “Say that you want me to take you!”

“Yes, please!” I begged. His hand on my leg had me dripping. His other hand was behind my back, fumbling for the series of concealed hooks that held the dress on. His lips were on my throat, and my hands dug into his shoulders, clutching desperately. I was terrified he was going to leave me like this, empty and desperate. I needed him in me, and I didn’t care what I would have to do get him.

I felt a breeze on my back, and realized he’d undone my dress. He peeled it down to my waist, exposing my torso, then pulled me in for another searing kiss while he undid my hair. As it cascaded down my back, my nipples stood up like tiny pebbles, and a flush ran from my collarbone down to my breasts. I moaned incoherently as he ran a hand up along my flat belly, toward my breasts. Then he ran a thumb over my nipple, and it was like a line of lightning connected it to my dripping pussy.

“You need me,” he whispered.

I nodded, eyes tightly shut. I couldn’t speak.

“What will you give me in return?” he asked, squeezing and stroking my breasts. I didn’t normally like having them played with so roughly, but right now it was wonderful, pleasure and desire rising so high it hurt.

“Huh?” I moaned, then gasped and panted as he pinched my left nipple, rolling it between thumb and forefinger.

“What will you do for me?” he asked again. “What will you do to get me to take you now?”

“Anything you want…” I whispered, grabbing his head and pulling it to me for a deep kiss. I was completely overwhelmed. I knew there was something I was supposed to be doing, but I didn’t care. I wanted him, and nothing else mattered or was worth paying attention to.

“You’ll always do anything I want, won’t you?” he asked, trailing kisses down my throat.

“Yes, always,” I agreed. And it was true. Of course I would. “I’d do anything for you. I love you!” Love? Yes, love, of course. I loved him. I’d only met him, but I knew I loved him. His lips reached my nipple, his tongue curling around it. He sucked, once, sharply, and I screamed.

“In fact, I own you, don’t I?” he said.

Owned? Nobody owned me! I was a free person. Wasn’t I? But I would do anything he wanted, I knew that. Doing whatever he wanted made me happy. He was so clever, and so good at glamours. He really was so much better than me. It would feel so good to belong to him. It felt so submissive and sexy. He teased my nipple with his tongue and lips, while kneading my other breast. My breathing was ragged and my brain dissolving and running out between my thighs. If this was how he used his property, I was going to enjoy it. “I’m yours!” I agreed.

Grasping the waist of my dress, he pulled it off the rest of the way and let it pool on the floor. He caressed my thighs and hips, then grasped my soaking panties and pulled them to the ground. I trembled as he stroked my legs, pushing them gently apart, then licked at my left knee. Sighing, I lay back, clutching his head in my hands, urging it upward, writhing and moaning as he kissed and licked his way up my thigh. I’d never felt so incredible in my life. So incredibly turned on and sensual, my whole body primed for orgasm and my whole mind focused on HIM.

“My Lemma. My servant. My slave.”

Slave? But—oh gods he reached the top!—I’m not a—his tongue!—I needed to—my clit!—“YES!” I shrieked, my orgasm exploding me, shattering the last tiny shreds of annoying resistance so that he could finally take me, make me his slave as I now knew— felt, to the core of my being—I was born to be.

“Master…” I moaned softly, as he quickly stripped off his shirt and breeches. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he came down between my legs, thrusting his powerful cock into his slave’s unworthy cunt. He felt so big and hard, and I was so tight and slick and wet. It was the best feeling I could have ever imagined, and I moaned.

“Say it!” He gasped as he pounded me.

“Master,” I panted, in time with his thrusts. “I’m yours! I’m your slave. I’ll do anything you want, forever. Use me. Abuse me. I’m your plaything, Your toy, Your—ahhhh!—slave, uh, your fucktoy, ohhh…” I wrapped my legs around his waist, my ankles locked behind his back, trying to drive him deeper and harder. I was getting close to cumming again, still muttering feverishly. “Slave, slut, fuck, oh fuck, yours, Master, cunt, toy, fuck me, gods fuck me, fuck your little slave, your little fucktoy, oh my Master fuck me, fuck me, FUCK ME!!!” I screamed as his hot cum filled my tight little pussy, and I came again, on and on for what seemed like hours, clutching at my Master and screaming in unbelievable pleasure.

I lay in a stupor on the couch for a while. I’m not sure how long it was, but the next thing I remember is Master standing beside the couch, telling me to get up. I shakily sat up, feeling more incredibly wonderful and relaxed than I ever had in my life.

I blinked up at him. “The clothes you came here in,” he said. “Do they contain anti-glamour charms?”

“Yes, Master,” I said, looking down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t understand how wonderful being your slave would be.”

“No matter,” he said magnanimously. Master is so wonderfully forgiving. “If you put those clothes on again, would they disrupt the glamours binding you to me?”

I shook my head. “They would help me see and understand your spells, and help any efforts I made to resist them, but I’d have to make the effort. I would never do anything like that!”

He smiled. “Good girl,” he said. I beamed. Earning Master’s praise was nearly as good as being fucked by him! “Mira will teach you the proper duties of being my slave. You will obey her as you would me. In the meantime, go clean yourself then put on your traveling clothes and return here. Quickly! Before dinner, we must discuss how to rid ourselves of your companion.”

Who? Oh, he meant Iason. “Of course, Master,” I said. “I’ll do anything you want.”

“I know you will,” he answered, and laughed. “But first…” he grabbed my hair and pulled my face to his crotch. “Clean me off, slave,” he said.

As I took Master’s cock in my mouth, tasting myself on him, I felt nothing but total happiness. I was his slave, and at that moment, that was all I wanted to be.

I’d worry later about the geas that was going to make me betray him.

After dinner, Mira and Brea showed us to our rooms. As soon as they left, I went to see Iason.

“Hey,” I said as he answered the door. “I found some stuff out about your sister.”

“Really?” he said. “Nobody would talk to me!”

“That’s because you went around interrogating them. I pretended to be a gossipy little airhead from a distant land, and got some great story-swapping going.”

Iason turned a chair around and sat on it backwards. I plopped myself down on his bed. “Like what?” he asked.

Oh, sure. Like I would give up my hard-earned info that easily. “Well, rumor has it that Mira, who’s Brinksmoor’s favorite ‘serving girl,’ if you know what I mean, is actually not as into guys as the boss might think.” I paused, as if in thought. “And some guard chick named Flavia said that one of the kitchen girls’ cousin is having an affair with the son of the Duke of Lesser Kirning, and—”

“What about my sister?” Iason demanded.

“Oh? You don’t want to hear any of the other scads of oh-so-interesting gossip about people I have never heard of and who therefore don’t matter?”

“Lemma.” He was not amused.

I gave one of my most dramatic sighs. “Fine, fine. I could hardly expect you to appreciate my comic genius after you so coldly undervalued my incredible beauty earlier.” I grinned at him, and he sighed.

“All right, you’re hilarious and a total hottie,” he said. “Now will you tell me about my sister?”

“Of course, handsome! She worked here just like you said. At the end of the three days, Brinksmoor offered her a long-term contract, but she said she had other business in Breizht. She was last seen heading east along the dry side of Brinksmoor Ridge.” I winked. “See how easy that was?”

He shook his head. “I’ll set out tomorrow for Breizht. What about you? Any luck with your books?”

I shook my head. “I’m sure he’s got one, but none of the girls knew anything about it. I’m going to stay here and keep digging.”

“Uh-huh,” he said. “You must think I’m an idiot.”

Well, not an idiot exactly. Just an ordinary guy, better looking and more decent than most. Which, compared to the extraordinary people like me and, even more so, Master, well… “What do you mean?”

“I saw the way you were looking at Brinksmoor all through dinner, whenever you thought I couldn’t see.”

Oh no. Oh ye gods below, no! He knows!

Iason crossed his arms and looked down at me sternly. “You’re planning on trying that ridiculous ‘feminine wiles’ plan, aren’t you?”

Okay, so yes, an idiot, then. “Hey, go with what you’ve got, right?”

“I don’t want to get kicked in the crotch again—”

“Good man.”

“—so I’ll just keep my mouth shut on this one.”

“Very good man. Good night, Iason.”

“Night, Lemma.”

I walked out of his room and headed down the hall to my own, relieved and slightly guilty. Iason didn’t really deserve to be lied to, but before dinner Master had told me what to say. As long as I focused on that, I could stay happy. Anyway, I didn’t lie to him about anything major. The only real lie was that there hadn’t been any gossiping with the girls, just Master telling me where Iola had gone. And it really was hard-earned! Getting that much of Master’s cock in my mouth was far from easy, let me tell you.

I walked into my room to find Mira waiting for me. “Close the door behind you and strip,” she commanded without preamble.

Master had said to obey her like I would him, so I did. As I did, she sat on my bed and stretched languorously. I had to admit, if you liked big-boobed, long-legged blondes, she looked pretty good. The short skirt and low neckline of her skimpy little uniform showed off her assets, and, like I said, she was a lot shorter and skinner than most of her compatriots. She was maybe two or three inches taller than my five even, and with her big boobs and broad hips, her solid but not fat waist fit perfectly to give her a nice curve, without being a ridiculous, overstated hourglass. Her blonde hair was curly and shoulder-length, and her eyes were big and blue in a freckled face.

Once I was naked, she ordered me to kneel. “My job,” she said, “is to turn you into a worthy slave of my Master. Tonight, you will learn what it means to serve another. Do you understand?”

“Got it,” I said. I had the feeling I was in for a long night.

Mira lectured and ranted at me for hours. Turns out I didn’t do anything like Master preferred. I spent the whole night practicing looking up from under my eyelashes, curtseying, and sucking on a cucumber, while Mira yelled at me about what I was doing wrong. By an hour in I was about ready to kill her; by morning, I had decided death was too good for her, and was plotting ways to redefine her every waking moment into infinite pain.

Finally, I was allowed to clean up and put my clothes back on to go to breakfast, and then see Iason off. I arrived at the table to see that Master wasn’t there, much to my disappointment, and Iason was. I chatted with him lightly while Brea served us what passed for nobleman-quality food in Kyrno: yesterday’s coarse bread, fried in egg and butter; thin, slightly sour milk; and honey. Nowhere near my usual standards, and certainly not good enough for Master! Something would have to be done.

I returned to my room, since I didn’t have any assignments or anything, stretched out on the bed and conked out. I was awoken a couple of hours later by the door slamming open. “What are you doing?” demanded Mira.

“Smrgl,” I said, getting up from the bed and shielding my eyes from the light. “Grashl foob,” I explained.

“Wake up, slut!” she snapped. “You’re Master’s slave—if you can prove you deserve it—not his guest! Why aren’t you in the slave quarters?”

“I didn’t know—” I started to say.

“Shut up! Get to the slave quarters, now!”

I hurried out of the room, my cheeks burning. Obeying Master was natural and good, but being pushed around by this bitch? I had half a mind to fireball her into next month, or at least give her a good slap, but Master wouldn’t be happy about that. I had to put up with her at least long enough to learn how to be a good slave. But that didn’t mean I didn’t have to make it easy for her.

“Well?” Mira said as I just stood in the hallway. “Get going!”

“You haven’t told me where they are,” I said innocently.

Mira glared at me. “Fine. Follow me.”

We came to a large room lined with bunks. An open wardrobe stood in the corner, holding a couple of dozen dresses like all the servants wore, in various sizes. “Change into a French maid uniform,” Mira ordered, pointing at the wardrobe. “Master said you are to be trained as a house-slave.”

House-slave? Me, cook and clean and all that crap? No way! I mean, if that was what Master wanted… No. He must not have realized what a powerful sorceress I am. Once I saw him again, I could just explain, and he would let me serve as a soldier. Or, even better, I could teach him magic. As I changed into the uniform (to this day, I have no idea what a “French” is; I can only assume it’s barbarian for “uncomfortable and impossible to do any work in”), my mind wandered into fantasies of teaching Master, spending hours every day with him. He would be so pleased with everything I could show him! That, and the constant presence of my natural charms, would make me his favorite slave in no time. We’d spend our days practicing magic and our nights in bliss—

“Leave your panties off,” ordered Mira. “They will not be required.”

Right. Before I could even get to see Master again, first I’d have to deal with the bitch. And she wasn’t about to make it any easier than I was: I spent the day cleaning, polishing, dusting, and cooking, and none of it was satisfactory to Mira. “Master deserves better!” was her constant refrain.

“Yeah?” I finally snapped after four hours of this. Clearly, it was time to delicately broach the matter of the quality of our repasts. “Master deserves better than that crap you Kyrnans call food, too!”

“You little bitch! How dare you waltz in here and question my menu planning? I am Master’s first and favorite slave! Before I was a slave, I was Lady Brinksmoor! Apologize, foreign slut!”

“I’ll apologize when I say something that warrants it, barbarian bitch!” Ooh, bonus points to me for alliterative insults.

“Master commanded you to obey me! Now get on your knees and apologize, or I will tell Master what an undeserving slut he has accidentally enslaved!”

What. A. Total. Bitch! She’d do it, too. I could see it in her eyes—she was afraid of me, just like that asshole Archmage boKorell. And if I wasn’t obedient enough, Master wouldn’t let me be his slave anymore! That thought filled me with fear. Not to mention that I would lose any opportunity to search for the book. With both geas and glamour working against it, my pride didn’t stand a chance. Fists and teeth clenched tightly, I knelt in front of Mira and growled, “Sorry.”

She smirked. “Again. Like you mean it, this time.”

I sighed and forced myself to relax. “I’m very sorry I insulted you, Mira.”

“Good,” she said, and flipped her skirt up to reveal her slit and the little patch of yellow hair above. “Now eat me out, foreign slut.”

“What!?” I gasped.

“Now!”

“But I don’t go for women!” I protested.

“I do.” Mira was practically purring. “More to the point, Master goes for women who do. Now shut up and get your face in there.”

Well, if Master liked it… I sighed and leaned in. I’d never done this before, but I knew what I liked, so maybe I’d do okay. The better a job I did, the sooner she’d let me stop, right?

“Oh shit!” yelped Mira. “You’re a little liar, foreign slut. You’ve done this before!”

“Nah,” I said, slightly muffled. “That’s just my naturally superior tongue at work.”

“Shut up and keep going!” Mira snapped. She didn’t say much else, unless there’s a barbarian language of moans and gasps I don’t know. Certainly possible, I suppose.

After I made her cum, Mira sent me off to have dinner with the rest of the slaves. The food was even worse than what we’d had as Master’s guests—just bread and cheese and water. Lemurian rats ate better than that!

I was just about finished when Mira walked in. Later I found out she never ate with the other house-slaves—as Master’s favorite, she served him meals and then ate the leftovers. “Well, everyone,” she announced to the room, “meet the foreign slut! She doesn’t like girls, she told me!”

About half the house-slaves tittered, many of them looking at me scornfully. A couple of the ones that didn’t laugh gave me pitying glances, but most just looked away. I knew, from Mira’s tone and their reaction, that I was in trouble.

“Put this blindfold on,” said Mira, handing it to me. “Make sure you can’t see.”

I did as she commanded, as I had to. She ordered Brea to strip me. She must have gestured or something, because as soon as I was naked, I felt several pairs of hands and a couple of tongues on my body, stroking and teasing.

Ew ew EW! Look, there’s nothing wrong with some girl-on-girl if you’re into that sort of thing. One of my roommates at the Academy was, and she was one of the nicest people you could ever hope to meet. But I’m not into it! I like boys. Tall, muscular ones with big hands and big cocks. And of course Master, too.

But of course it didn’t matter that it was girls touching me. My body just knew it was being touched in all the best places. Fingers traced my toes and lips caressed the skin below my navel, gently, softly, and insistently. With sight gone, it was like my sense of touch was magnified and heightened. Somebody tweaked one of my nipples, and a spasm ran through me so hard I fell off my chair. But the dozen hands on my body caught me, and lowered me to the floor, where they continued exploring.

“Do you like this?” Mira whispered in my ear. She nibbled at the lobe, and I moaned. “I know you do. You say you don’t like women, but the truth is you’re a slut who’ll sleep with anything, man or woman.”

“No…” I groaned.

“Master is watching in secret, you know,” she said. “He loves to see his slaves making each other cum. The only thing he likes more is seeing us humiliated.”

Oh gods, there were two mouths on my nipples, and someone was sucking my toes, and someone else was sucking my fingers, and there were hands everywhere, and Master wanted to see me cum! All I could do was shudder and gasp, and try to forget who the hands and mouths belonged to. Pretend they were all Master.

“I’m not going to order you to say you’re a slut, foreign slut,” Mira purred. “You’d have no choice, then, and that won’t be nearly as humiliating as waiting until it’s true. But no one is going to touch your cunt until you shout, for everyone to hear, that you’re a little slut who lives to be fucked. Until then, just lie there and take it!”

“Agh…” I said. I wasn’t capable of much else. I could feel myself flushed with arousal and embarrassment and rage, half at Mira for putting me into this situation, and half at myself for not doing anything about it. I could practically hear my cunt begging to be touched, but Mira’s last sentence had been an order. Nothing was stopping me from reaching down and frigging myself into a stupor, but if I did, I’d be disobeying Mira, which in turn meant I was disobeying Master. I tried to rub my legs together, to get some relief, but slaves pulled them apart, lips and tongues running over my thighs, the backs of my knees, the soles of my feet. I twisted and writhed, going crazy from the sensations bombarding me. I had to do something. I had to! But which was more important: my pride, or obeying Master?

It was no contest. Not really.

“I’m a little slut who lives to be fucked!” I shouted, and then a finger pushed its way into me. “I’m a slut!” I shouted again, ramming myself against it as hard as I could. The finger withdrew to be replaced by three fingers curled around each other, and a mouth clamped down over my clit, sucking hard. I screamed “I’m a slut!” over and over again, sobbing in humiliation and a little pain and more pleasure than I could stand.

Fingers rammed me, tongues swirled on my clit and nipples, and hands still traced all over my body, teasing me and holding me down. Mira’s tongue was hot and wet in my ear. “Say that you’re my little foreign slut, and I’ll let you cum.”

I was much too far gone to even think about whether Mira actually had any control over when I came. I shrieked “I’m Mira’s little foreign slut!” and came, almost as hard as I had with Master.

Mira tore my blindfold off and laughed. From my vantage point, sprawled on the floor, I could see the dribble running down her leg— it looked like I wasn’t the only one who’d cum. A crowd of half a dozen laughing slave girls stood over me, and I blushed furiously, but I was too worn out to do much else. I was thoroughly broken.

“Please,” I whimpered, “did I please Master? Just tell me he’s happy, and it will be okay.”

“Master?” laughed Mira. “Master’s not here, slut! He’s in his study, of course. This was for my benefit.”

I groaned. Hot tears of humiliation and anger burned behind my eyes. But I wasn’t going to let them fall. Broken I might be, but I am never beaten!

Shakily, I got to my feet. To hide my unsteadiness, I bent and picked up my clothes. Carefully folding the dress, I turned and looked Mira right in the eye, tossing back my long hair. Without letting a trace of embarrassment show on my face, I said, “Thank you for demonstrating this method of pleasing Master, Mira. I enjoyed it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go clean up.” Then I turned and swept from the room as dramatically as a naked, slightly sticky sorceress can.

After the Dinner Incident, every slave in the fortress knew who I was. I got a lot of sullen glares and whispers behind my back as I worked, and also a lot of shy smiles. I soon figured out the pattern: the girls who talked to Mira a lot, and who she generally gave the cushiest assignments, hated me. The girls Mira was constantly putting down, the ones she had cleaning the stables and the garderobe, smiled at me but seemed afraid to talk to me.

The only person who actually talked to me for the next two days was Mira. I didn’t see Master in all that time, and I was starting to suspect that Mira was arranging my work that way on purpose, always keeping me away from whatever part of the castle Master was in.

I spent my fourth morning after being enslaved cleaning the tapestries in the northwest corridor. Brea, who was definitely one of the smiling group, was there on mopping duty.

After nearly an hour of work—Mira was careful every day to order me not to use any magic, so I had barely half a tapestry cleared of cobwebs and dust—Brea suddenly spoke. “She hates you, you know.”

“I’ve noticed,” I said. “The feeling’s mutual.”

“Tell me about it. She hates all of us, I think. Even her favorites are only her favorites because they suck up. She doesn’t actually like them.”

“Really?” I said. Useful information if I planned to get her out of the way between Master and me.

“You know she used to be Lady Brinksmoor?”

“She said as much,” I said.

“She was Master’s very first slave. The one he first tried out the book on.”

“Book?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“Oh, he learned how to do all of this from a book. He used to keep it on him, until he memorized all the magic. I was his third slave, you know. He had it when he took me.” She added the last proudly.

I made encouraging noises for her to continue.

“Mira hates all of us, because it means she doesn’t get Master to herself. But she seems to be going all-out on you. You must have really impressed Master to get her that mad at you.”

I repressed the urge to whoop with joy. Of course I’d never really doubted it; Master of course was a discerning individual, and I am beautiful, talented, and brilliant. Any dolt would be impressed; someone as clever and wise as Master couldn’t possibly miss my qualities.

Brea and I continued to talk as we cleaned. She told me about Master, and all the castle gossip, and in return I told her about the wonders of Lemuria. It felt like a pretty fair trade.

“Have you heard about Mira and the captain of the guard?”

I shook my head. “What about them?”

“Mira,” said Brea conspiratorially, “is completely, head-over-heels in lust with our resident Amazon. They say Mira even once tried to get ahold of Master’s book, to turn the captain into her slave!”

“Wow,” I said, grinning. “I bet Master wasn’t too happy about that.”

“Oh, he was furious! He found her in his study, trying to find it. He put her in the dungeons for a month, and every night fucked one of us right in front of her! It was great.” She grinned savagely in memory, and I couldn’t help but chuckle at the malicious glee in her voice. “But that’s not the best part. The best part is what happened after he let her out.”

Study? Wasn’t that the room where Master had taken me? I hadn’t seen any books in there, just papers! Still, I’d have to check it out again as soon as I could. “What happened?”

Brea grinned. “Well, Iola found out about it, right? She came right down to the slave quarters in full uniform, whipped out her sword, and told Mira right in front of everyone that she would never touch her, and if Mira ever so much as looked at her funny, she’d tear her throat out with her bare hands!”

It was like I’d been struck by lightning. (And I should know, because I have been. Twice.) I couldn’t see. I couldn’t move. I knew Brea was talking, but none of it was registering. Master had lied to me. He had told me Iola left. I told Iason about it! His sister was right here, waiting for him, and Master had used me to send him off on a wild goose chase!

It couldn’t be true. Master wouldn’t do that to me. Master was perfect. Master made me his slave, the most wonderful thing in the world! Didn’t that mean he loved me? Why would he use me, lie to me?

“Lemma?” Brea was saying. “Are you okay?”

“Huh?” I shook my head and tried a weak smile. It felt fake. “I’m fine, I was just thinking of something.” I looked at the tapestries lining the hall. Master told me I had to obey Mira. Mira said to clean the tapestries without magic. But I had to finish my work and find Master! He had an incredibly good explanation for why he used me. I just needed to hear it, and everything would be okay again.

But Mira said not to use magic. Master said to obey Mira. Nothing was as important as obeying Master. But I had to know! There had to be a way to finish quickly.

I closed my eyes. I really hoped this worked. “Master could be in his study right now,” I said.

“Yeah, I guess so,” said Brea.

The geas kicked in. I could feel it pulling at me, and it took all my will, and all my need to obey the command to clean, to keep from sprinting straight there. I needed to go, I needed to clean, and there was simply no way to obey every compulsion on me. It hurt like an ice spell to the gut, but I had to do the best I could. I gathered a knot of wind in my hand, my hair and ridiculous skirt rippling in the sudden breeze. The light streaming in the stained-glass windows dimmed. My blood sang; it had been far, far too long.

“Mistral Weft!“ I commanded, and the wind exploded through the room. As one, the tapestries lifted briefly from the walls, dust and cobwebs lifting from them in a gray cloud, and then settled back, the dirt dissolving into air. The magic ended, and my hair fell back again down my back.

“Wow,” said Brea. “They’re spotless! How did you do that?”

I grinned. “Little something I whipped up back at school. I can’t tell you how many times it came in handy during detentions. Anyway, I have something I have to go do. Later, Brea!” I started to run down the hallway, then stopped and turned back. “Oh, and thank you!”

“Uh, you’re welcome,” said Brea, looking a bit bemused.

I rushed down the halls to Master’s study, determined to confront him about lying to me. I burst through the door to find him lounging in his chair, while a tall woman with long, dark hair pointed at something on the desk. Both turned to face me, and a sword appeared in the woman’s hand faster than my eyes could follow.

“Lemma!” Master barked. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Uh, M-master,” I stammered, then fell to my knees. “I’m so sorry, Master! I don’t know what came over me. I simply had to come see you, to—”

“Ah,” He said. “Hush, my dear. Iola, you may stand down.”

Iola sheathed her sword, but continued to watch me warily. She was as tall as Iason, with his dark eyes, curly hair, and caramel skin. She was slenderer, and less obviously muscular, but she also possessed a casual grace he did not. She wore, as he did, dragonhide armor. Her own was cut to be much lighter, leaving her legs and arms bare. She was clearly built for speed and precision, next to his raw power.

I took all this in as I knelt before Master, my head down and my hair covering my face and my shame. What had I been thinking, just barging in on Master like that. Of course he had a good reason to hide Iola from me! I wanted to ask what it was, but Master had ordered silence.

“Mira has been quite hard on you, hasn’t she?” he asked.

I nodded. It was true, though I wasn’t sure why Master was asking about it now.

He shook his head. “That bitch. If I could, I’d replace her with you in a heartbeat. Either of you,” he said, nodding at Iola. “But I cannot. She is nobleborn, and until she bears me a child, I must continue trying with her. Once I have the heir I require…” He smiled. I’d have called it cruel on anyone else, but of course Master was never cruel. Mischievous, perhaps. “Once I have that, then you two may do with her as you will.”

“Thank you, Master,” said Iola.

“You feel that your talents are wasted as a house slave, don’t you?” Master asked me kindly.

I nodded. That was true.

“You came here because you feel Mira threatens your usefulness to me,” he continued.

Well, not exactly, I wanted to say. I came here because you lied to me, and I was sure you had a good reason, but I needed to know what it was. It was a failure of trust, Master, and I’m sorry! But I couldn’t. Master had ordered me silent. Also, I wasn’t completely sure it was true. How much of me stormed down to his study because I wanted to know why he lied, and how much because I thought the book might be there? Part of me wanted to just let loose with an explosion of magic, burn away everything that wasn’t the book and send it home.

“You feel you would serve better teaching me magic.”

I nodded emphatically. True true true! Magic was the greatest gift I could offer Master. I could teach him everything I knew, and he would claim the world.

Master grasped my chin and tilted my face up to look at him. He was smiling. “You’re right. You would serve me better. I made you serve Mira because I wanted to be sure of you. You have passed marvelously. If you could stand serving under Mira, simply because I ordered it, then I can trust you to serve me in all things, with total devotion, can I not?”

I nodded emphatically again. I passed Master’s test! At that moment, I would happily lick his boots for the rest of my life, as long as it meant I could serve him.

“Very well. Slave Lemma, for your devotion, you are to be rewarded by becoming my personal assistant. You shall aid me in my studies of magic, teaching me all I need to know of the arts of Lemuria. You may speak now.”

I stared at Master. “Oh, thank you,” I said, pressing my cheek against his hand. “Thank you so much, Master!”

“Of course, as my assistant, you will also be responsible at times for carrying my rewards and punishments to my slaves.”

I nodded. It was more than I could possibly have hoped for! Oh, was I going to put that uppity little Mira bitch in her place. If she thought what she had done to me was rough, wait until she had to clean a tapestry cursed with Kavitom’s Never-Ending Dust!

“Speaking of which, I do believe Iola has earned a reward for her difficult task of patrolling the eastern ridge for bandits. What do you think, Iola?”

Iola grinned wolfishly and looked me up and down. “A little smaller than I usually like, but I hear tell that she made Mira howl like a cat in heat. She’ll do.”

Oh ye Ancients, she was looking at me like some kind of piece of meat! If a guy did that, I’d flirt a little and then kick his nads up high enough that I could reach down his throat and pull them out, but how was I supposed to respond to a girl doing it?

“Lemma,” said Master, “Mira’s reports say that you claim not to like pleasuring women, but are very good at it. Is this true?”

I blushed nearly purple. “Yes, Master,” I admitted.

“Well, I think Iola would rather appreciate it if you gave her her reward.”

Iola grinned, and I felt my blush creep down my neck. Even as it did, though, I remember Mira telling me how much Master enjoyed seeing his slaves pleasure one another, and a pleasant tingle spread lower down.

Iola, for her part, was stripping rapidly, revealing a smooth, toned tummy, firm, proud medium-sized breasts with dark brown nipples, a slim waist and surprisingly broad hips for her otherwise tall, slender build.

Master laughed. “Why, I do believe she likes you, Iola!” he said, lifting my skirt and trailing a finger along the quivering lip of my cunt. He raised his damp finger for us both to see, and I groaned.

“And I know Iola likes you, Lemma,” said Master. He thrust the finger of his other hand deep into her, and she squealed. He pulled it out, wet of course, and then turned around to offer us the opposite fingers. “Taste one another, my slaves.”

We both complied instantly. As I drew his finger into my mouth and swirled my tongue around its tip, I felt a decadent wrongness at the taste of another woman and Master mingled. Master clearly enjoyed the attention; his eyes flared darkly, and he smirked.

Pulling his hand from my mouth, he wrapped it around the back of my head, curling his fingers in my hair. For a moment, I dared to hope that Master would kiss me, but instead he pulled me forward. Still on my knees, I was forced to fall forward onto my hands. Dropping gracefully into a seated position on the floor, Iola wrapped her hands in my hair as well, and pulled my face toward her pussy.

Master stood and stepped back, and I heard the rustle of his clothes as he shed them. I wanted to turn to look, but Iola was much too strong for me. Inexorably, she pulled my mouth to her dripping snatch. There was a thick patch of dark hair above it, and a detached part of me made a mental note: if Master was going to have me do this often, I needed to teach these barbarian girls how a Lemurian lady kept herself trimmed.

“Pleasure her, my slave,” Master growled, His voice thick with lust. “Do to her everything you would have done to yourself.”

For a moment I considered resisting. I was more turned on then I ever would have imagined I could be with a women. My mouth was dry, and my lips ached for the flavor of her I had tasted a moment ago. Between that and the incident in the dining hall, I was really starting to doubt whether I actually preferred boys as much as I thought I did.

Iola’s pussy lips glistened with moisture, and her strong fingers were pulling me inexorably toward her, and Master’s command resonated up and down my spine like dancing fingers. The compulsion to do as I was told was overpowering, so I surrendered. The moment my lips touched her, I groaned in pleasure from the dark explosion at the base of my spine. The incredible euphoria of obedience swept me, and the tiny rational part of me that always hung back and watched observed that Master had truly mastered the art of binding women to his will. My sex and my obedience were so tightly allied now that I could not separate them. Orders were like the caresses of a lover, and obedience was orgasm.

I was still on my knees, and my face was buried between Iola’s thighs. Her legs were thrown up over my shoulders, and the net effect was that my ass hung high in the air, waggling invitingly whenever Iola spasmed in pleasure, as she was doing quite often.

“Oh… fuck…” Iola gasped. “Lemma!” Her hands were still buried firmly in my hair, not so much guiding me as hanging on for dear life. What can I say? I didn’t ask to be as gifted as I am. Iola continued panting and murmuring in some breathy language, presumably the Sea People tongue. I didn’t really need to understand the language to tell what she was saying: some things translate more easily than others, and “holy shit you are an amazing pussy-licker” is among the easiest.

Pain flared at the back of my skull. Something was wrong. Really, really wrong. Wronger than a barbarian lecture on thaumaturgy.

I was getting distracted, that was the problem! Needed to focus on pussy-licking, pleasing Master. Shut up the snarky little Lemma voice in my head and the howling shriek of GET THE BOOK! both. I felt Master lift my skirt, his hands on my ass, and I moaned.

“Please…” I whimpered, my voice completely muffled by Iola’s hot, wet cunt. I needed Master’s touch, the simple joy of obedience to sweep away the confusion, the headache, the thousand voices tugging me in a million directions.

There was a hot tongue on my thighs, and hands pulling my knees apart, and everything was making sense again as Iola trembled in a mini-orgasm. Then Master was thrusting deep into my pussy, deeper than ever before, and my back arched to take him still deeper. All thought was swept away in the dark tide of burning-hot obedience. I couldn’t keep my mouth on Iola anymore, but my hot breath sweeping over her, the occasional brush of my lips against her clit, seemed to be enough. She howled with release, her legs locking tight against my shoulders, and the successful completion of Master’s task and the taste of her were more than enough to send me over the edge.

As I clenched around Master, screaming myself hoarse in pleasure, he grunted and filled me with heat. I was totally plunged into darkness, without will, without thought, annihilated completely by black joy.

When I came to, I was curled on the floor in a fetal position, my face stained with tears and Iola’s juices. “Thank you, Master,” I whispered. “I am yours forever.”

“I know,” he said nonchalantly as Iola licked him clean. “Return to the guest quarters you stayed in your first night. Tomorrow, you will begin to teach me magic.”

Back in my room, I flopped in a chair and massaged my temples. My headache was back, and killing me. Everything was wrong, everything confused. Ever since I found out Master had lied to me, and learned where the book was, I had felt myself—fragmenting, that was the only word for it. I couldn’t even be sure anymore which was the real Lemma. Was I the one with the hungry cunt, who wanted to fill herself up with her Master, over and over again, his cock filling my body and his commands my mind? Or was I the dutiful employee of the Imperial Library of Lemuria, here to recover precious, stolen books so that I could return home to glory and a great career?

I needed out of this trap. And for that, much as I hated to admit it, I needed help. Forcing my fogged, exhausted brain through the headache, I set about attempting the spell. I was going to try a difficult variant. Few wizards would care to try this gamble, fewer still while exhausted, in pain, and confused, but hey, I am few wizards.

The spell prepared, I opened my mouth and pulled a curly dark hair out from between my tooth. “Ew,” I said, but it was hard not to remember that incredible darkness crashing over me.

I concentrated. Using a hair to contact the person it came from was a simple application of the First Law of Magic: “Once together, always together.” The hair had once been part of that person, and therefore, as far as magic was concerned, was that person. What I was doing was a little harder. Iason and Iola were obviously twins, just from looking at them, which meant that once they had been together, inside their mother. If they’d been identical twins, I could have spoken to both at once with hair from just one, but fortunately one was male and the other female, which meant that I ought to be able to use Iola’s hair to contact Iason without Iola hearing.

I hoped.

The hair straightened itself out suddenly, and glittered red and gold, reflecting firelight that wasn’t there. “Iason?” I whispered.

“Mmrgl,” said the hair.

“Iason, wake up!” I snapped. “I need your help.”

“Lemma?” he said sleepily. “Where are you?”

“Brinksmoor’s castle,” I said. “I’m using magic to talk to you. Listen, I haven’t got a lot of time. It’s taking all my concentration to keep Iola from overhearing.”

“Iola is there?” he demanded.

“There’s no time!” I repeated. “I’m sorry. I really believed she was gone, but it turns out she’s been enslaved by Ma—by Lord Brinksmoor.” I hesitated, but making up a lie would simply take too long. “And so have I. It’s all gone wrong, though! His spell and the geas are interfering, and they’re tearing me apart. I’m mostly free when he’s not around, but the instant I see him I start fawning all over him just like those serving girls! I need to get the book and get out of here.”

Part of me wanted to get the book, send it back to Lemuria, and then sink into total enslavement to Master forevermore. As long as I never got any clues to the locations of other books, there’d be no interference, just a lifetime of orgasmic obedience and submissive pleasure. But Iason didn’t need to know about that.

“How far are you from the castle?”

“Close,” he said. “A couple of hours. I thought I picked up hints of Iola’s trail doubling back from the ridge to the castle.”

“You did!” I said. “She just came back tonight. Listen, I need you to attack the castle. Keep Mast—Lord Brinksmoor busy, while I get the book from his study.”

“Got it,” said Iason. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Three hours, that’s when I’m going for the study. Good luck.”

“You too.”

I broke the link, and began to prepare. I really, really ought to wear my traveling clothes with the anti-glamour charms, so that I could try to resist Master’s spells. I should go and put those on right now, instead of this dress that made me submissive and horny, more likely to give in to Master. I really, really should.

I pulled the clothes out and laid them out on the bed. Then I put them back. Then I laid them out. Then I splashed my face with cold water, and came back, and stared at them for a while. Then I jilled off for fifteen minutes or so, trying not to think about Master, but I couldn’t quite cum. I gave up and stared at the clothes some more. After that, I gave up, put them away, and played with myself while thinking about sucking Master’s cock. I came in about three minutes, and then I went to the bathroom to clean myself off. Then I came back and laid the traveling clothes back out again, and stared at them some more.

I needed to change to escape. Otherwise, I was just going to send the book home and then let Master claim me. I had to change if I wanted to go free! Wearing anything else would guarantee failure.

Only problem was, I wanted to fail.

I’d dawdled long enough. It was time to move, if I wanted to take advantage of Iason’s distraction. I set off for the study, still in my maid’s outfit. I was barely halfway there when I heard shouting. I ducked into a corner to make certain none of the guards streaming down the hall saw me. The last thing I needed was to meet Master now. Even if it was the first thing part of me wanted.

My head was started to throb again. Had to concentrate on the job at hand: get to the study, find the book. I rushed there as quickly as I could, and breathed a sigh of relief—no, I wasn’t disappointed, not at all, really—to find it dark and empty. I waved a hand, and a little globe of light appeared. There was a desk, a lamp, the couch. The desk had drawers, but a quick search of those revealed no book. Papers strewn everywhere, and a map of the local countryside on a table, but nowhere you could hide a book. Where was it?

I closed my eyes and concentrated. I hoped this worked. “I am Lemma Kyrie baSontara of the Imperial Library!” I announced in Old Lemurian. “Your librarian is come for you, book of magics!” I paused and listened. Yes! A muffled rattling sound from the bricks above the fireplace. A secret compartment!

Moving quickly to the mantle, I felt the bricks for a switch or something. I could definitely feel the book on the other side, practically boiling with magic now that I’d woken it up. Fat lot of good that did me, without the switch! Oh well, you know what they say. If at first you don’t succeed, blow something up.

Bits of brick and mortar flew past me and an enormous cloud of dust billowed up as I cast a simple spell of vibration into the bricks, shattering them completely with a word. The book leaped out of the opening into my hands, glowing and trembling.

“Hush,” I whispered, stroking its spine. “You’re safe now.” I understood finally why I needed to be made a Librarian, rather than an Enforcer, for this quest. The book recognized me instantly as someone with the right to hold it and settled down quietly in my grasp, its magic dimming away until it was almost possible to believe it was made of ordinary ink and paper.

I turned just in time to see the door fly open. “You see, Master?” Mira cried triumphantly. “It wasn’t just a dream! I really heard her and that warrior planning to steal your book!”

Oh shit. The message spell! I could contact Iason with Iola’s hair because they’d been together in their mother’s womb. But the hair had come from my mouth, which had been on different parts of Mira dozens of times over the past few days. I’d focused entirely on blocking Iola from hearing; I hadn’t thought of Mira at all!

Then Master walked into the room, and my heart stopped. He was purple with rage, all of it directed at me. I wanted to sink into the floor, disappear from his sight like the utter scum I was. “I’m sorry —” I started to say, tears blurring my vision.

“Silence, slave!” he spat. I trembled where I stood. He and Mira walked around the desk toward the fireplace, surrounding me. I clutched the book to my chest and moaned in desperation.

“Give me back my book, slave. Now!” Master reached out a hand for it.

Shaking, I looked back and forth rapidly between him and Mira. My head was exploding so hard dark red spots were forming in my vision. I needed to send the book home, and I needed to obey Master and earn his forgiveness.

There was a loud crash from down the hall, and Iason burst into the room. His sword was drawn, its blade darkly stained. “You!” he roared at Master.

“No!” Mira and I screamed in unison, as he swung his black sword heavily down on Master’s skull. Something dark and swift rushed into the room, and there was a loud clang that echoed painfully through my poor abused head.

Iola stood between Iason and Master, her sword raised to parry his attack. Her blade, mere bronze, shattered at the blow, and shards embedded themselves in both siblings’ cheeks.

“If you harm a hair on my Master’s head,” Iola hissed, “I will kill you where you stand, brother or no!” She struck at him with the broken, jagged bit of blade that remained attached to her hilt.

Iason barely twisted away, and took a few steps back. “When I kill him, the spell will break and you will be free,” he said. “Both of you.”

“Never!” shouted Iola. She stabbed at him again, but it was a feint. She twisted aside, then stabbed up from under Iason’s guard. If she’d had a full-length sword, it would be buried in his neck; as it was, he barely managed to pull back.

“I belong to Master,” Iola shouted. “I love him! I won’t let you take that away from me.”

I had no idea which of them was going to win. I wasn’t sure which one I wanted to win!

“Give me the book,” Master repeated.

I shook and looked around desperately for a way out. I was being torn in two. But then, just for a moment, the two forces pulling at me stood in perfect balance. I had a moment, just one, where they cancelled out entirely, a single moment to choose: Was I the beglamoured sex-slave of Lord Brinksmoor? Or the geas-bound servant of the Imperial Library of Lemuria? I felt magic stirring in me, an attack spell rising up, fueled by the geas and my own frustration and headache. But was I attacking Brinksmoor, or Iason?

“Forget the slut, Master,” Mira said, smirking at me. “She’s not worth your time.”

There was a crack like thunder, and a shriek of surprised pain, abruptly cut off. Mira stared at me. Her mouth worked, but not a sound came out—not surprising, considering the curse I’d just hit her with prevented her from talking unless she had something nice to say. “I’m Lemma,” I told her, while everyone stared. “And you’re a bitch, but I’m a much, much bigger one.” I gestured, and a gust of wind caught Iola, flinging her into the wall hard enough to momentarily stun her. I felt bad about it, since none of this had been her fault, but I had no time for subtlety.

Iason and Brinksmoor both stared at me for a minute. Then Brinksmoor made a break for the door. Iason was faster, though. Brinksmoor was dead before he took five steps.

I stepped out of the castle and into a bright, almost pleasant morning. The usual mist had dissipated faster than usual, and the wind was blowing south, so that you hardly noticed the stench of the moor. My traveling clothes, clean and fresh and not remotely French, whatever that means, felt wonderful on me. And under my arm, without triggering the slightest compulsion to send it anywhere, was boSuntel’s Gender-Specific Glamours and Their Uses. Life was pretty good. At least, as good as it gets in a backwater mishmash of hills, swamps, and no soap like Kyrno.

I stopped. Everyone, and I mean everyone, was standing in the courtyard, waiting for me. Iola and the entire guard. Brea and the house staff. Iason. Even Mira. As I stood there, trying to figure out what was going on, all of them except Mira burst into applause.

“What’s this about?” I asked.

“Saving us, stupid!” said Brea, and laughed. “We’re free because of you!”

“Well,” I said. “Iason helped.” It’s important to be humble in these sorts of situations. “A little bit.” Just not too humble.

“What happened at the end there?” asked Iason. “I still don’t get it.”

“The spells cancelled,” I explained. “They were pulling in exactly contradictory directions, which meant I could break one of them off me by doing what the other one wanted. So I did something completely different from what either wanted, and broke both!” I grinned at Mira, who glared back but said nothing, of course. I considered telling her that her enchantment would only last a couple of months, but decided against it. Maybe she’d learn something.

“So,” I asked, “what are you all going to do?”

The girls looked at each other. “There’s not really anywhere we can go,” said Brea. “None of us are virgins, so it’ll be almost impossible to find husbands. And without them—well, there’s really only one job an unmarried woman can do in these parts.”

“So we’re laying claim to this land,” said Iola. “Since Brinksmoor had no male heirs, the land passes to Mira, and she’s going to let us stay, isn’t she?” The last had an unmistakable tone of threat, and Mira flinched away from her.

“Brinksmoor wasn’t the only predator in the world,” Iola said, “he just had the advantage of magic. There are others. We want to create a refuge, where anyone, man or woman, can be safe from people who’d abuse their power.”

“That’s a good dream,” I said, looking around the girls. “Given what you’ve survived already, I think you have a pretty good chance of making it.”

“I’m glad you think that,” said Brea. “Because we want you to lead us.”

I gaped. “Me?”

“Of course!” said Brea. “You broke free! You freed the rest of us! You have magic and knowledge we need. Who else could lead us?”

“Wow,” I said.

“Congratulations,” said Iason. He turned to his sister and held out his sword. “Here. You’ll need this in service of your new Lady.”

“Father’s sword?” asked Iola.

Iason nodded. “He wanted you to have it. You’ve always been the better fighter than me.”

Iola took the scabbard in her hands, feeling its heft. Then she pushed it back into Iason’s grasp. “No,” she said. “I tried to kill you. My own brother! I don’t deserve that blade.”

“You were bewitched,” he countered. “I forgive you for it.”

“It is not your forgiveness that matters, Iason,” Iola said softly, “but my own. Spells or not, I dishonored myself and our family. Until I have atoned for that, I cannot take father’s sword.” She paused. “Besides, they need me here, to train these guards and protect this realm, and I am far likelier to fight bandits than demons or dragons. You, in your wandering, will have more need of it. Take the sword. Fight evil wherever you find it, and make him proud. One day, perhaps, I will come for it, unless by then you have proved yourself its worthier bearer.”

Iason’s eyes were shining as he took the sword and bowed deep. “Thank you, Iola,” he said. “If you ever need anything, call for me, and I will come as swiftly as I am able.”

“I know,” she said. “And thank you. For everything.” She turned back to me. “So? Lemma, Lady of Brinksmoor Castle. What is your first command?”

“No,” I said.

“No?” All the women stared at me.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “But I have to search for the books.”

“I thought you said the geas was broken!” Iason said.

“It is,” I answered. “But that doesn’t change things. Not really. I could stay here and lead, or go home if I wanted, but then those books would be out there. You saw what just one of them did here. And that wasn’t even the worst of them. I have to find the others, and make sure they stay out of the wrong hands.”

“But,” stammered Brea, “who will lead us if you go?”

There were several cries of agreement from the former house slaves.

“I’m not really the leader type,” I said. “You need somebody who can fight to protect you, somebody with honor and pride you can trust. Fortunately, you have that somebody right here.”

“Who?” asked Iola, and I laughed.

“You, stupid!” Everybody turned to stare at Iola. Then, one by one, the guard began to clap. Slowly, the house staff followed suit, and soon everyone was cheering. Even Mira gave a polite little two-fingered clap.

Iason sidled over to me while the girls crowded around Iola, asking her opinion about everything from what to tell the villagers about the change of leadership, to what color to make her banner. “I think we should slip out quietly,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” I said. “And what’s this about ‘we?’”

“Oh, I’m coming with you,” he said. “Dad would like the idea of using his sword to take on a series of evil wizards. And besides, where would you be without my ‘little bit’ of help?”

“All right,” I said. “Just don’t get in my way, beefcake boy, and we’ll get along just fine.” I grinned at him.

Looks like I’m going to be Lemma the Librarian just a little bit longer!