Page 4 of Wings of Frost and Fury (Merciless Dragons #4)
SIXTEEN YEARS
SINCE HER EXILE
“Sorceress! I need a spell.” The young man’s voice is brash, borderline arrogant.
“Of course you do.” I know I sound weary, even impatient. I can’t help it.
I’ve only lived near the coastal town of Devil’s Kiss for a couple of weeks.
The other two times I came to the market, I was cloaked, but this afternoon it was simply too hot.
I didn’t feel like draping myself in fabric or going through the hassle of a disguise spell.
I just wanted some creamy cheese and fresh bread to go with my evening wine.
I was hoping I could purchase the items quickly and quietly, then escape to my little cottage before anyone realized my identity .
I almost succeeded, but I happened to notice some very fine earrings at a vendor’s stall. I simply had to pause and inspect them. I do love a well-designed earring—the larger the better.
Apparently I’m not allowed to shop in peace. Ten seconds after I stopped at the stall, a neighboring vendor recognized me, and the excited whispers began.
I pretended not to notice, hoping those around me would be courteous enough to realize that I’m not here to perform magic for anyone.
I’m simply here to exist.
Unfortunately, the selfishness of humans is an irresistible compulsion. And of course it’s a man who has the audacity to approach me first.
He’s handsome enough, in a cocky, swaggering sort of way.
His clothing betrays his family’s wealth.
He wears a delicate, almost gauzy white shirt that glistens in the hot sun, along with loose silk pants and a thin gold belt.
He has lived in this coastal town all his life, and he knows how to dress to stay cool despite the blazing sun, how to select garments that catch the breeze rushing off the ocean.
“Sorceress, I wish to speak with you.” The young man moves into my space, uncomfortably close, and when I step back, he steps forward, maintaining the same distance between us.
“It’s a rather confidential matter,” he says in a low tone.
I sigh. “Let me guess—it’s your dick. What’s the issue? Function? Form? Size?”
His eyes widen. “How did you know? Can you read minds? Can you… can you see it?” His hand moves down to cover his crotch and he lowers his voice still more. “It’s quite small. Miniscule, in fact. Someone of my rank and station needs a cock that’s appropriately sized.”
“Of course. Everyone knows that rich men must be well-endowed in all areas. ”
“Yes! You understand. Can you help me? I’ll pay you well.”
“And what will you do with your new cock?”
He gives me a slow grin, looking me up and down with appreciation. “Don’t worry, beautiful. You can be the first to try it out.”
“I can’t wait,” I say dryly.
“I promise I won’t be selfish with it,” he continues. “I’ll share it with all the women of the region. It’s for their benefit, really. Think of the pleasure I’ll be able to impart.”
“Have you ever made a woman come before?” I raise my voice slightly on this question, and the gathered market-goers draw a little nearer, their interest heightened.
The young man glances around, then gives a forced laugh. “Well… I lack the necessary equipment.”
“You have a tongue, don’t you? And fingers?”
“Yes—”
“Then you have all the equipment you need. Using your cock size as an excuse for your failure to please women is pathetic and lazy. Does a large cock enhance pleasure? Sometimes. Is it the sole instrument needed to bring a woman to orgasm? Certainly not. In fact, the cock itself is perhaps the least important tool for achieving female pleasure.”
A couple of the onlookers cover their children’s ears and stare reproachfully at me.
“If such things were discussed more openly, we’d have a happier world.” I step back from the young man, hand a few coins to the vendor, and take a pair of the earrings I was admiring.
As I begin to walk away, the young man exclaims, “You’re denying my request?” in a tone of complete disbelief. As if he has never been denied anything in his life .
I halt and stride back to him. “You want a new cock? You shall have one by the time you wake up tomorrow morning.” I brush his hair back from his face, then yank out two strands.
“Ow!” he exclaims, shrinking back. He looks startled by the pain, as if he hasn’t experienced much of that in his life, either.
Entitlement. Laziness. Selfishness. And the inability to endure any suffering, no matter how small. Those are things I despise in a man. In anyone, really.
I am going to enjoy teaching this fellow a lesson.
“These are necessary for the spell,” I inform him, holding up the hairs I pulled.
“Oh.” He reaches for the leather purse at his belt and takes out a handful of coins. “Here. The first part of the payment. I’ll give you more if the new cock is satisfactory. You can come to my house for your money. It’s the big one with the pink bricks, up on the bluff.”
“I don’t think I’ll need to visit,” I tell him demurely. “You’ll come to me.”
“Ah, I see.” He smirks again, then licks his lips. “I look forward to our next meeting.”
It’s all I can do not to let my disdain show on my face. I turn away and head out of the market, ignoring the tentative calls of a few villagers who are probably also interested in my magical services.
At the edge of town, I drop most of the coins the young man gave me into a beggar’s bowl and continue along the path, past the first bank of dunes, to my cottage near the cove.
It’s not the first home I’ve had since I was banished from court and exiled from my father’s house. I’ve lived in many cities, towns, and villages. I even tried living on a farm once, but it didn’t suit me. A vineyard might be more my style.
No matter where I choose to live, my father always seems to know that I’ve moved.
He tracks me magically somehow, and though I dislike the invasion of my privacy, I tolerate it because he sends me a stipend each quarter—enough to cover some of my living expenses.
It’s his way of apologizing for my exile.
When I need more money, I craft batches of tonics and sell them to local herbalists under an assumed name, Enwen of Bain. I even disguise myself using a gray wig and a temporary aging spell, so no one can connect sweet old Enwen with the disgraced daughter of the Supreme Sorcerer.
The tonics I make have mild magical properties. I’m most skilled at concocting sedatives, contraceptives, pain relievers, fever reducers, energy enhancers, or curatives for infection. They aid with health and recovery, but they do not heal. Healing wounds and illnesses outright is beyond my power.
My work with tonics is a compromise with myself.
I’m using my magic to survive, but I’m not selling my services to the highest bidder.
It’s a concession I’m willing to live with, a relaxing of my ideals.
I’m no longer the na?ve girl of eighteen who thought she could perform a miracle for her best friend.
Miracles are just nightmares in disguise.
When I reach my cottage, I set down my packet of food and inspect the earrings I bought. They’re beautiful, designed in the style of the Southern Kingdoms. It makes sense that they would appeal to me strongly, I suppose. After all, my father’s ancestors hailed from the south.
I chose the town of Devil’s Kiss partly for its name and partly because of its proximity to Elekstan’s southern border.
I’ve considered venturing across that border into my ancestral lands, but there’s a vast desert to be navigated if I travel that way, and the idea of so much blistering wasteland is far from appealing. I like my comforts.
The cock spell doesn’t take long to perform, and I spend the rest of the evening packing up a few necessities in case I have to leave in a hurry tomorrow. Once I manage to get my travel trunk closed, I carry it out to the smaller of the two stables on the property .
My horse Vedra snorts in annoyance when she sees me checking the wheels of the little cart that I use for long-distance travel. She knows exactly what’s coming—another move.
“It isn’t my fault, really,” I tell her. “Trust me, this asshole asked for it. And it’s about time I made an example of someone. People are starting to forget that I’m not a person they should ask for magical help. They’ve forgotten all about the incident with the chickens.”
Vedra blows out a disgruntled breath, as if to say that she hasn’t forgotten that particular event, and she still disapproves.
“That innkeeper and his wife deserved it,” I say.
“They were both so rude to me and to others who needed shelter that night. A dose of public humiliation served them right. Turning their chickens into rats was not an easy task, but the result was really quite satisfying. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. ”
Vedra eyes me reproachfully.
“I feed you and care for you so well, yet all you do is judge me.” I give her nose an affectionate pat. “Get some rest. We may have to depart quickly tomorrow.”
I startle out of a wine-drenched sleep. It takes me a moment to reassure myself that the loud sound I’m hearing isn’t thunder; it’s someone pounding on the cottage door.
I gulp from the cup beside my bed, and with the cool flow of the water, my memory returns—the knowledge of what I did to deserve being awakened this early.
“The cock thing,” I mutter. “Of course. ”
What seemed like a wonderful idea last night appears much less wise this morning. I should have simply told the young man no and left it alone. Instead I had to go and infuriate not only him, but probably his influential parents and the rest of his family as well.