Changeling: Starry Wisdom Temple
A letter from Duchess Mila Drago to her friend Lady Lianne Verdun
My Dearest Lianne,
This season's revel had an excellent turnout, though it didn't quite go as I'd planned. I missed you terribly.
If you had been here, you might have been able to stop me from making a critical error in judgement. Hopefully,
your King won't hold court at such an inconvenient time in the future. But, obligations are obligations. Everyone
understood all too well and expressed their warm regards as well as their regrets at not having the opportunity
to see you this year. Bertram was decidedly depressed and had to go find some other young thing to attempt to seduce
unsuccessfully. Will he never learn?
I had Jillian prepare the recipes you sent courtesy of your adorable chef, Dean, and they were fabulous. Such culinary
inspiration among mortals is delightful. I'm sure that the epicurean delight of Dean's glamour rivals that of his
gourmet creations. Are you still planning to share him? I thought not. Pity.
Lady Blaine allowed us to borrow the gorgeous tapestries from her hall to decorate the gallery. The color scheme
of crimson, black and gold that you suggested proved an excellent combination; I simply had to have my gown designed
to complement it. I used some of my own glamour to create a chimeric topiary to breathe a bit of life into the
setting. Mother handled the little touches as usual including all the finery. It proved to be quite a spectacle,
particularly with our guests arrayed in all their pageantry.
Lughnassadh, the ensemble of neo-Celtic musicians from Glessandra's Hold that I told you about last time, provided
our musical entertainment. Unfortunately, Lord Galen had to cancel at the last minute, also due to household obligations.
Lady Eloise rose to the occasion in his absence and performed some of her more obscure and mercurial vocals to
everyone's delight. Father, at the urging of the crowd, myself included, told some of his old standard tales. Even
though we've all heard them before, they seem to improve with each telling. Several Eshu perked up and took notice
when he told the story of his game with Duke Dray.
The evening changed with the surprise appearance of Lord Erendil. Though he hadn't accepted my last two invitations,
and he never responded to this one, he, nonetheless, thrilled us with his presence. Kiellan's talent for understatement
has reached new heights, Lord Erendil's balance of pretension, charm, elegance and wit, was dazzling. He is truly
a remarkable specimen among our kith and he harkens to the days of our glory, or least what I seem to remember
of them, in Arcadia.
Since you still haven't had the opportunity to cross paths with Lord Erendil, I will try to capture his essence
for you in words, poor substitutes for experience they may be. You will likely doubt my sincerity and accuse me
of waxing poetic, but I can find no more suitable words to describe him. Standing in his presence is like bathing
in glamour incarnate.
On first sight, one can't help but notice his piercing eyes. I've never seen any like them among any of the
Kithian. They are like liquid metal; twin pools of copper, limned with black, shot through with streaks of black
that shone darkly and silver that gleamed brightly as though reflecting the dark and light of his soul. The black
and silver in his eyes never kept the same pattern as they rose and fell into new patterns like leaves dancing
in a stream. His jet-black hair formed a dark mane that revealed hidden glints of tarnished copper beneath its
surface that sparkled in the proper light. His face was even more striking in its fae form, if that could even
possibly be, and his capricious, seductive smile had a sinister edge. I was surprised to find that the points of
his ears were not long, and instead of rising upwards, sensually swept backward with a slight upward point, completing
a perfect extension to his strong jawline.
Given what I've seen of him in his mortal seeming on television, I expected that he'd carry his sense of modern
mortal fashion into the fae. Rather, he was dressed in strange and elegant finery, the likes of which I have rarely
seen. His body was clothed in a strange, black, glistening, nori-like material that was brocaded throughout with
wisps of thin silver knotwork. The bodysuit clung to his tall, slender, yet well defined frame, and drew attention
to his many, um, attributes. Over the bodysuit, he wore a copper breastplate that was alternately tarnished or
blackened as if by fire and then brightened by a blue-green patina highlighting its intricacies. The breastplate
was tastefully decorated with seashells and carapaces of crustaceans. Its smoothness was broken by spiny ridges,
and it was edged and embellished with tentacles and articulated legs of crustaceans and arthropods. Over this he
wore a diaphanous cape like silk or crepe or cobwebs or all combined that seemed to flow from his hair. Its colors
carried the palette of his breastplate to completion as it alternately curled like mist or floated wavelike behind
him.
He glided into the room with such silent drama, one would have thought we were holding Court! He moved with a deliberate
grace that one sees so rarely among wilders of his age, especially given the rumors of how much he's mired in banality.
Cool, gentle winds of fragrant pine, rosemary and lavender caressed and swirled about his graceful, silent step.
He moved shark-like through the revelers, who grew silent and awestruck as he passed. Some shrank back or stood
defiant as he nodded to them while others flirted in the light of his predatory gaze.
I stood petulantly when he finally approached me, determined to exact an explanation for the audacity of his unannounced
arrival. I vainly attempted to deny the erotic effect his mere presence had on me. He lowered to one knee and bowed
deeply and respectfully. A soft ringing of wind chimes and a taste of salt and sea mist accompanied his deep, sultry
voice as he spoke. "Your Grace, I hope you will accept my humblest apologies for not responding to your invitation
formally and before this night, the eve of your revels. I am Lord Erendil of the Misthold Vale. I trust that I
have not offended you by arriving unannounced. Long have I intended to participate in one of your renowned revels
but have been otherwise detained by urgent and sensitive matters."
I was just about to give him a thorough scolding and geas him to clean the floor after the party with his tongue,
when he added, "Please understand that my silence was Oathbound. I'm here now at your disposal to see to all
that Your Grace desires." I was dumbstruck. Swimming in his gaze, all my thoughts of punishment evaporated.
It was as if I was standing at the edge of a sea cliff in the midst of a great storm. Great waves heaved and crashed
violently against the jagged rocks below as I leaned heedlessly into the gale force winds. I knew the danger, yet
I eagerly desired to dive into the depths and be consumed.
"Your Grace, can you ever forgive me?" he pleaded with a childlike innocence, taking my hand and kissing
it tenderly. Electricity shot though my body from the point where his lips met my hand, and a moan escaped me before
I could give it pause. I don't know what manner of Art he wielded, but I was willingly under his spell. I forgave
him and more. I'm ashamed to confess that I quickly neglected all my other guests to his favor.
He was not the most sociable of my guests, yet all took envious note of him, male and female alike. I found I was
jealously guarding his affections, which he heaped upon me shamelessly. Any time his glance left mine, the intensity
of my kindling passion would wane, only to return with a new fervor when his attentions returned to me. I cannot
recall our conversation, if indeed we had one. I recall only my intense desire to leave the throng, and to couple
with him as if I would not be able to breathe unless his lips were joined to me and he filled me with his life.
We quickly retired to my chambers, leaving my guests little doubt as to our intent.
Our lovemaking would have taught the satyrs the meaning of passion. I have never experienced such tenderness and
savagery. I was his vessel, his slave. I wished nothing more than for him to fill me in every manner possible.
He whispered things to me of dark secrets and treachery, of things he had done which were cruel and foul that drove
my desires heavenward. I returned his savagery in kind bringing him to climax upon climax, filling him full of
tales of my own wickedness, vengeance and treachery. I acted out dark fantasies I had never dared to dream and
blended pleasure with pain. We would collapse, spent, into each other's arms and sleep, only to be awakened by
the other driving us past one plateau to the next. I knew it couldn't last forever though I prayed that I could
make it so.
It was days before we emerged and he prepared to go his way. "Your Grace," he began, "Mila,"
I corrected. "Mila it is then. I must take your leave to attend to some pressing affairs that require my attentions.
I know not when I might return to you." My heart fell slack to think that he could leave me after such an
affair. I considered enchanting him to stay, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. If he were to take an Oath,
I would not impose it upon him. "Though it pains my heart and cools my blood, you may have my leave,"
I replied flatly, knowing that he had not requested it, but had merely stated a fact.
"Tell me, Erendil, do you ever intend to return to me?" I asked plainly.
He smiled wryly and gave me a parting kiss, setting my fires ablaze. I closed my eyes to savor the moment and swim
in the delicious sensations he stirred within me. When I opened my eyes again, he had gone, though the touch of
his lips still lingered on mine.
I am loathe to admit it, but I feel terribly empty by his absence. I know it may seem superficial, especially for
what may well have been a one-time tryst, but something profound changed in me that night. I wish you were here
to give me your words of comfort and wisdom. Perhaps, someday he will return to me. Only time will tell for certain.
But for now, my senses are filled with him when I close my eyes.
Write soon.
Yours always,
Mila
©1998 Marc Biagi
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