Under A Velvet Cloak (7 page)

“I understand.”

“Sometimes silence is necessary, and the only way to be sure of it is with the dagger’s point. You will learn to handle that aspect too.”

Kerena stared at the woman, horrified. “I don’t think I can do that.”

“Not now. But in time you will.”

Her first assignment was to seduce a young knight of the king’s court, and to learn where a particular cache of silver was hidden. Kerena suspected that the Fey already knew the answer, but was using this as a test case to see how apt Kerena was in this kind of interrogation. Well, she would try her best; she wanted to learn what the Fey could teach her.

The Fey took her to the edge of town just before the knight was due to pass, and faded out. That was a nice trick of illusion; Kerena made a mental note to learn it when she could. Meanwhile she disposed herself in peasant clothing and waited.

The knight was in plain clothes, anonymous, as he was coming into town for a session at the brothel. He was barely 21 and seemed more like fifteen. Kerena had to remind herself that she was only fourteen, though she felt far older in experience. Morely, the brothel, and Hirsh had done that for her.

She stepped out to block his horse. “Kind sir,” she called. “Are you going my way?”

He reined in the animal, contemplating her. Kerena’s hair was silken long, her face was innocent, and her shift was snug at the waist, accenting her bosom and hips. “That depends.”

“I live on market street, near the center of town.” That was near the brothel district; he surely was well familiar with the area. “I am a poor maiden afoot, and it is a long walk I would be most grateful for a ride.”

He decided it was a chance worth taking. After all, if she didn’t work out, he still would be close to where he was going anyway. “Come on up.” He reached a hand down.

She took his hand, and lifted a leg to join her foot to his in the stirrup. In the process, of course, she flashed her bare leg well toward the juncture. The knight’s pupils dilated.

It was a bit of a scramble getting up before him, during which her shift got pulled around to show rather too much flesh, and her breasts scraped across his arm. Finally she was there, her bottom pressed against his crotch, and one of his arms around her body just below her breasts. It was not an elegant mounting, but it had familiarized him with all the aspects of her body that might have interested him. Exposive dishabille was a special art.

She engaged him in dialogue, properly impressed by his every remark. By the time they reached the brothel district, he had lost interest in them. They went on to her house, which was at the edge of the Fey’s premises, and turned out to be rather nicer inside than it appeared from the outside.

There was no need for him to make known the nature of his interest. They fell on the bed together, their clothing wedged out of the way in the key regions. He was on her and in her before (it seemed) either of them realized.

Then she let him lie there, while she got up and poured him a cup of strong mead. He glugged it appreciatively, not thinking to inquire how it was that a peasant girl possessed such potent brew. Soon he was pleasantly tipsy.

“You must be a really important person,” she said enthusiastically. “You have such an authoritative way about you, as well as being handsome and awesomely virile.” The approach was transparently obvious, but probably all that was required in this case.

Perhaps in a more sober state he would have realized the shallowness of the flattery. As it was, he became expansive. He confided that he did have key duties in the king’s court.

“Oh, you must know all the wonderful secrets,” she said, removing her shift as she paced before him. He watched, his interest stirring again. She made sure that her moderate breasts bounced with each step.

By the time she joined him, nude, for the second round of sex, he had told her about the cache of silver, and where it was hidden. She plied him with more mead, and gave him such an experience that it was unlikely that he would remember anything of his evening except that wild business on the bed. That was important: that he not realize what he had blabbed. The Fey did not like to leave her handprints on her mischief.

The Fey was pleased. “You have the touch,” she said. “However, some men are resistive to straight seduction, and must be captured subtly.”

“Subtly? In my experience, they are all eager for young bodies.”

“Not all. Some prefer other men; they are difficult to seduce by flaunting female attributes. Some are interested, but wish to be the initiators; for them, maidenly diffidence is best. Some are old and slow, but
do
not wish to be reminded. Some are dangerously smart. It is important to ascertain their types before committing. And, on occasion, it is necessary to seduce a woman.”

“A woman!” Kerena was amazed. The Fey had been making excellent sense up to that point.

“Women have secrets too. Some are amenable to the gentle suasion of a lovely woman, rather than the crude directness of a rough man. You must be ready to relate to anyone.”

“I don’t think I could-relate-to a woman.”

“Then learn. Try to seduce me.”

“I couldn’t!” She was appalled.

“Then learn,” the Fey repeated evenly. “I will seduce you. Thereafter you will know.”

And as Kerena stood bemused, the Fey became fascinating. She engaged her in pleasant dialogue, flattering her, then slowly embraced her and kissed her. Her manner was so exquisitely smooth and enticing that it seemed in order. Before she knew it, they were naked on the bed, stroking each other’s breasts and buttocks. The kisses became passionate, first on the mouth, then the breasts, and finally the cleft.

Only when Kerena found herself gloriously climaxing did she appreciate what had happened. She had been completely seduced-and the Fey had used no magic, not even illusion. Everything was technique. There were indeed ways in which sex was better with another woman than with a man.

“Now what did I do?” the Fey asked.

The question reminded Kerena of Morely’s efforts to acquaint her with reality rather than impression. That caused her to focus. “You seduced me. We did not make love; you made me be fulfilled. You were not.”

The Fey nodded. “I practice sex for business reasons, rather than for pleasure. But if I wanted pleasure, I would take a virile man. The rest is art.”

“And I did not realize it until it was done,” Kerena said, awed in retrospect. “Now I understand.”

The Fey smiled, pleased in much the way Morely would have been by an apt pupil. “But if my taste happened to be in women, you would be the type I preferred. You have a marvelously fresh young body and face. Hone your skills; you should be good with women when that time comes.”

“I will try to be,” Kerena agreed.

There were other men, and she crafted her skills, managing the marks precisely. She almost invariably gleaned the information desired, and seldom did the men realize what they had revealed. Sometimes the object was not to gain information, but to gain influence. She cast her spell on key men, so that they would act as the Fey desired, resulting in modifications of court procedure that benefited her. It seemed that the Fey never approached her brother directly; in fact he was unaware of her presence at the capital town. She preferred subtlety, and was remarkably successful in accomplishing her designs. Kerena wasn’t certain what those designs were; they seemed obscure. But the Fey definitely had an agenda of some sort.

Kerena mused on what that agenda might be. Power? Perhaps, in part. More likely power was but a means to some other inscrutable end. The Fey was said to be half faerie, and once to have seduced her brother the king and conceived a quarter faerie son by him. There were other stories. Kerena knew she could ask, but she doubted that was wise, and in any event she had more than enough other questions to tackle day by day. Such as her quest to find Morely.

“First you must master your cloak,” the Fey said. “That will require time. It is a marvelous device, exceptional magic.”

“It is Morely’s cloak, not mine. I merely hold it until I can return it to him.”

The Fey turned a disturbingly intense gaze on her. “Perhaps. Nevertheless, it is the key to your quest. Only when you master it will you be able to locate him.”

“You will teach me?”

“It will require several questions and much practice to unriddle it. Meanwhile, of course, you will continue to serve me.”

“If the cloak is so valuable, and you understand it so well, I am surprised you do not simply take it from me for yourself.”

The Fey made the Morely type of smile. “You are learning to phrase questions correctly. I would of course take it from you if I could. But it is crafted to resist the faerie element that is the source of my power. It is bound to you; the man surely loves you. Were I to seize it, it would crumble into dirt and be useless. If I am to have use of it, I must do so through you. You will be more useful using its powers, until you learn the last of them; then you will go your own way and I will not be able to stop you. So my hold on you is limited. But we can do each other some good in the interim.”

Kerena knew the woman spoke literally: she had no love for Kerena or anyone else, but did have use for her. If the cloak helped her be more useful, the Fey would encourage its use. But the cloak would eventually free her from the Fey. So the Fey would be careful about the lessons, and not give the last one until she had to. Meanwhile, they were indeed doing each other some
good:
the Fey was gaining much information and influence, and Kerena was learning what she needed. It was a worthwhile association. They understood each other.

Kerena normally slept alone when not using her sexuality for business purposes. One night she discovered a dark figure in her room. Had someone sneaked in? “Who are you?”

The figure did not speak He extended his shadowy hand and touched hers. She was both amazed and thrilled: that touch had more sheer masculine presence than she had felt from anyone in the past.

She didn’t speak again. She joined the figure in her bed and they made phenomenal love. Whoever he was, he was the best sexual partner ever. He made her float like a flower on a pool, sail like a leaf in the wind, and quake with the intensity of her pleasure. It was as though they had known and loved each other forever.

Flushed, panting, feeling like an innocent girl, she lay in his embrace after the first session, marveling at the event. “Have we met before?” she asked.

He merely stroked her hand. Even now, that touch sent a thrill through her body. She was a thoroughly experienced woman, yet compared to him she felt amateur.

They made love again, and again, and each episode radiated pleasure though her being. Then he departed, leaving her to sleep and dream of endless rapture.

In the morning she pondered her experience of the night. She had no idea who her visitor had been, but she longed for his return. She did not speak of this to anyone else, somehow knowing that this was a secret she had to keep, lest she lose any continuation.

Alas, her nocturnal lover did not return. Apparently she had been a mere stop on the way to wherever he was going. Her loin ached for lack of his presence. Almost, she was tempted to ask the Fey about him. Almost. It might be some mischief the Fey had wrought, in which case a question would play into her design. But if the Fey did not know of the man, that was surely significant in another manner. How could anyone enter her premises, and she not know?

Jolie had misgivings about this. The identity of the man was a mystery to her too, and she did not like a mystery of this nature. Yet the lines had not blurred, so it had to be a legitimate part of the girl’s existence.

Between assignments Kerena visited Molly. The brothel was close to the Fey’s castle, so this was convenient. The girl was a pleasant contrast to the mature cynicism of the Fey. Kerena said nothing of her missions, of course, only that she was now being kept by another client.

The cloak’s first revealed property was invisibility. This had to be invoked by a special spoken spell, after she related to the cloak itself. “These things are fairly standard,” the Fey explained. “You must get close to the cloak, wrapping it about you naked. You must court it.”

“Must what?”

“Court it. Profess your love for it. It will respond if it knows you care.”

“But it’s just a piece of material.”

“Hardly that. It is enchanted material, imbued by a sorcerer I would like to meet; he clearly knows his magic. Disrespect it at your peril.”

Kerena saw her point. “I do respect it; I first made love upon it.”

“That’s a good start. Remind it of that. Then when you have its attention, solicit its power by drawing an analogy and forming a triple rhyme with it. Once you invoke it that way, you must always use that specific form; it will not respond to any other, or to any other person.”

“An analogy,” Kerena repeated, not getting it.

The Fey frowned. “I thought you were a bright girl.”

And the lines of reality started to fuzz.

Jolie moved back a minute.
Invisible like the air. Make me glare like the air, with my fair hair. Something like that, only less clumsy.

“An analogy,” Kerena said. “Now I understand.” The lines clarified.

Kerena went to her room and tried it. She stripped naked, wrapped the cloak around her, and whispered “Cloak of night, I love you. Make me part of you.” She kissed it.

The cloak writhed, clasping her. It was responding! It had never done that before. But of course she had never tried to invoke its magic, not realizing its nature.

“Cloak, hear my prayer,” she whispered. “Make us fair, like the air.”

Something changed. For a moment she wasn’t sure what, then realized. that she couldn’t see her legs. She couldn’t see any part of her body, or the cloak. That was weird.

She walked to the mirror and looked. There was nothing. She was invisible.

She opened the door and walked out around the house. It was actually fairly small; the appearance of the great castle was merely to impress visitors, such as herself, the first time. The Fey didn’t bother to generate the illusion at other times, as it required magical energy she didn’t care to waste. She went to see the cook, who wasn’t aware of her, and the coachman. He was working on a wagon wheel, and suddenly stepped across the room for a nail. And collided with Kerena.