Chương 24: Vol 1. Till Death Do Us Part

Lady Ceryne Caelrune was in bliss. Pipe smoke wreathed from her nostrils as she sank deeper into the soft bedding, surrounded by warm bodies and tangled limbs. She quivered as the smoke lecherously caressed and stung her throat. She bent toward the woman beside her and slowly licked the powdered nepeta from the bawd's breast, her tongue hungrily slithering around the areola.

As her pupils dilated and a wave of pleasure clouded her mind, she let out a purring noise, then sat back, scooting into the gaggle of naked women. There were at least six women in the bed with her, and she had never been happier in her life.

"It is the morn, my lady," one of them said, rubbing her muzzle against Ceryne's cheek. She grunted. She had to get going. Untangling herself from the heap of naked women, Ceryne stepped onto the cold marble. Her fur was dishevelled, her pupils were wide, and the grungy scent of tobacco smoke and the grassy smell of nepeta clung thickly to her. She slowly slipped on her trousers. Shaking her head from side to side, she slipped back into a hardened expression. Her shoulders straightened.

"Something for your troubles," she said with a sly smirk. Ceryne tossed a bunch of gold coins into the air—twenty times what any of them would make in a year. The gold coinage scattered across the sheets. The girls sprang after it at once, yowling, growling, swatting paws, and crawling over one another. Ceryne let out a chuckle as she watched the call girls scramble and cattishly brawl over the little hunks of metal; she didn't blame them. There was nothing better on this earth than money.

Tightening her jacket, she left the sleeping chamber. There was a young man behind the counter, shirtless, one elbow resting against the rugged wood. When he saw Ceryne stepping forward, he deliberately arched his back and gave her a salacious grin and a flick of his ears.

"Did you enjoy your night, my lady?" he cooed.

"Oh, shut it, plebeian," Ceryne said. She threw a bunch of coins onto the counter, and the young man scrambled to collect them.

"Keep the change." The morning air was characteristically that of spring, the cold striking her the moment she stepped outside. The little town carried the smell of wet cobblestone, horse manure, and smoke billowing from the chimneys, expelling the residue of the city's hearths. Ceryne stepped back into her carriage and barked for them to continue the caravan. They were only a couple of days away from the port; they would be at the capital in no time, with much time to spare before the Coniton. Good.

That meant more time for detours. She smiled; she never thought she would be happy to make detours. She felt her lower body pulsing at the mere thought of going again. Ceryne was jolted forward.

"Why did we stop?" she yelled. A servant girl opened the door, bowed her head, and said:"My apologies, my lady, but, um… your husband wishes for you and him to be alone at some point today."

"Tell him that when we get to the bridge, we can stop."

"Certainly, my lady," the servant said before running off. Ceryne sighed. What could he possibly want? Ceryne stepped out of the carriage and walked alongside her husband across the bridge. Once they had gotten beyond the caravan's sight, Ceryne leaned against the cobblestone with her arms crossed. Evening had fallen over the valley. The sun sank beyond the distant cliffs, shining brilliant bands of gold and blood-red across the sky.

Far, far below, the river bellowed through the gorge, its waters crashing over thick and jagged rocks and churning into white foam. Her husband leaned against the stone parapet opposite Ceryne, his expression strangely blank. Ceryne hated to admit it, but that startled her somewhat. Usually, her husband was annoyingly mirthful—possessed of a contagious cheerfulness and jocularity that Ceryne treated like a nasty cold: something to be wary of, avoid, suppress, and keep at a distance.

But right then and there, he was… a lot more like her. And that was eerie.

"So," Ceryne said flatly, "you wished for us to be alone. What would you like to discuss?" Her husband's eyes darted around. Then he said:"How long have we been married, Ceryne?"

"How old is our first daughter?" Ceryne asked.

"Seventeen."

"Then there is your answer." They both stood in silence for a while. The sound of the waves crashing filled the late-evening air. Ceryne felt a drizzle begin. This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"Ceryne, do you…" He swallowed.

"Do you like my body?" Her muzzle furrowed.

"What?"

"Does it satisfy you? Or have you grown bored with me?" Ceryne did not know what to say. She was a crafty woman; for the most part, she could make any business transaction go in her favour. But this type of thing… it was not in her skill set.

"I…" Ceryne looked toward the gorge.

"I was never particularly interested in it to begin with."

"Not even when we first married?" Ceryne looked away, baring one fang.

"I see," her husband whispered.

"Ceryne, we have been stopping a lot on this journey. More than I would ever expect of you, and in very unrefined areas. Are you… having sex with other men?" Ceryne looked away.

"Not men, anyway." Her husband stared at her. Then he laughed—a short and brittle laugh.

"Oh, yes. That makes me feel so much better, Ceryne. Not only is my wife unfaithful, but she is a cunt-eater!"

"Shut your mouth," Ceryne snarled.

"Do you know how many nights I have forced myself to touch you? To smile as I climbed on top of you? That disgusting appendage of yours? That revolting, monstrous little appendage pressing into me while I work tirelessly as I wait for it to end?" Her claws dug into the stone railing.

"Seventeen years, Vika. Seventeen years of pretending that I loved you. Then I finally find something warm—something that doesn't make my skin crawl when I look at it—and you dare condemn me for it? Fuck you, Vika." He gave another brittle laugh.

"Of course, this is somehow all my fault. Why would it not be?"

"When I married you, you were nothing but a lowly merchant's son. By the Dual-Gods, I turned you from a raggedy lower aristocrat into proper royalty. I gave you estates, jewels, books, servants—""There!" he shouted.

"That! I tell you, truly, I have been miserable for seventeen years, and the only thing you can say is how much you've bought me? Everything is money to you. Money, wealth, status, property. Seventeen years, and all I am to you is just another piece of property." Ceryne seized the front of his dress and hauled him into the air. He yelped, his paws grabbing at her wrists. Rain poured across them now.

"Listen to me, Vika," she snarled.

"That is all you are to me. I have never loved you. I do not know how to love, and I especially do not know how to do it for men. I chose you because you were young. Because you were fertile. Because you could grant me an heir. That is all. Nothing more. Nothing less.

"I tried to pretend. I tried to be a dutiful wife for appearance's sake and because admitting the truth would have made those seventeen years unbearable. But… ugh, it just was never enough." Rain streamed down Ceryne's snarled muzzle.

"I hate you, Vika. Hate. Hate. Hate!" Her claws tightened around the fabric of his dress.

"Hate does not even begin to describe it. I… fucking… despise you!" She hurled him backwards. Vika struck the parapet rump-first. His paws searched around for balance, claws scraping uselessly across the rain-slicked stone. With flattened ears and a shocked expression, he vanished behind the parapet. Ceryne froze. A scream arose from beyond the bridge. She rushed to the parapet and looked down. Vika tumbled through the rain, his flowy dress twisting around him as he flailed his arms desperately at the empty air.

For a singular moment, their eyes met. The scream ended. He struck the rocks below, his body skewered on a jagged edge, ripping a large hole in his chest before sliding lifelessly down. The hole grew larger and larger before his body ripped in half and fell into the raging river. Ceryne stared. The rain poured harder. Then a chuckle came out of her. Then another. She began to laugh maniacally. She couldn't believe it. He was… He was gone. Ceryne began pounding her fist against the parapet. He was gone.

Oh, how joyous—he was finally gone!

"Go fuck yourself, Vika!" she shouted before spitting over the edge and watching it disappear into the rain. She was free. Truly free. No more marital guilt. No more forcing herself on top of a man. She could do whatever she pleased now, and she intended to make the most of it. She returned to her carriage. One of the servants approached and bowed.

"My lady, where is your husband?" Ceryne glanced back in the direction of the bridge.

"He…" She allowed herself a faint smirk and said wryly, "He will be walking the rest of the way." The servant blinked blankly.

"Oh, and inform the driver that we will be making one more stop along the road. The city of Tutia is near here, isn't it?" The congregants screamed as the flames consumed the cathedral. They surged to and fro in a frantic mass, desperately seeking an escape as sections of the roof collapsed around them. The region's high priestess knelt before the altar and prayed for Seroth's mercy.

Through the greyish billows, she watched young cubs claw at fallen beams, hopelessly trying to free their parents from beneath the burning wreckage. Then the flames reached her, catching on her robes before she fully disappeared into the inferno, screaming. As they did so, a small piece of parchment slipped from within her vestments and twirled through the smoke before landing upon the scorched floor. Across its surface were the words: Request for the Appointment of a New High Priestess to the Maraveth Region.

Outside, Ceryne's servants watched in horror as the ancient cathedral collapsed inward. The chief cathedral of Ceryne's region—with centuries upon centuries of history and sacred tradition—was being reduced to ash. Ceryne flicked her ears and smiled with unrestrained joy. Soon, once she won the Coniton, she would do the same to the Maraveth, the Orien, and the Seran; she would reduce their cathedrals to rubble and use the ruins as places to piss after a night of extreme hedonism.

Meanwhile, from a distance, House Maraveth's mercenaries watched the cathedral crumble from horseback. It appeared they would not need to intercept the letter after all.