Chương 43: Vol 1. The Merchant's Claw

Lady Ceryne Caelrune flopped onto the other side of the bed, the mattress below them groaning in protest beneath her weight. Her chest rose and fell in great, uneven heaves. Her tongue lolled out. Droplets of saliva dripped and made little damp patches in the sparse grey fur along her neck and bosom. From the way she was sitting, one of her gold rings pressed painfully into the webbing between her digits, and when she freed the offending finger, it left a groove in her furred digit.

Her coat lay crumpled across the back of the chair that sat empty next to a hardwood desk, its gold-threaded collar hanging perilously close to the floor. A single jewelled shoe sat on the desk, while the other had somehow ended up near the door. The rest of her clothing had been scattered about. She stared up at the lines of the wood-boarded ceiling overhead, a lingering haze of heat swirling across her vision.

For several moments, neither woman spoke; they lay there in silence, with only the sounds of their breathing, the creak of the bedframe settling beneath them, and the faint rustle of the curtains stirring in the nighttime breath. This time, Ceryne Caelrune had decided she was getting rather tired of doing her acts in the uncomfortable and horrid rooms provided at the bordellos. So gross. So… ugh, poor. This place was not much better. It was an inn not too far from the city centre. Quite nice.

Nothing baroque, that was for sure, but it was passable enough, which, for Ceryne's ludicrously expensive tastes, meant something. Still, she had ordered that the original bedding be removed, the floor scrubbed three separate times, and every cheap candle replaced with the high-quality beeswax tapers from her carriage. And yet, somehow, the room still seemed to reek of its previous occupants.

She had stopped near the main street and, against her servants' pleas, gone into an alley, walking without a care until she found a girl whose appearance satisfied her. Then she had brought the girl into her carriage and taken her to the inn. Ceryne sat on the edge of the bed. She reached towards the nightstand, but her paw missed the pipe on the first attempt due to the relative darkness of the room. Posthaste, she snapped her head backwards.

"Do not say anything, or I will have your head rolling upon the ground outside." The woman beside her snickered, one paw over her muzzle.

"I did not say a word, my lady. These lips are sealed." Ceryne snarled. She hated how handsome this call girl was: tall, with an earthy fur pattern and a long, luscious mane, sinewy but not overly bulky, most of her muscles clearly those of someone who had formerly been a day labourer. There were pale calluses along the pads of her paws and old nicks along the furless parts of her forearms—small, completely unremarkable scars left by a hard day's work.

Her shoulders had softened considerably since those days, but some of her old strength remained in her frame. Looking away, Ceryne seized the pipe, stuffed its bowl with tobacco, and struck a flint against steel until a spark emerged. Sadly, it died in her tremulous paws. The second spark caught in the centre of the tobacco, setting it ablaze. She drew deeply, filling her throat and lungs with the harsh smoke. Her brain seemed to melt, all unpleasant feelings fading as the smoke burned her insides.

She tilted her head towards the ceiling and exhaled.

"Fuck," she muttered.

"My lady," the woman said.

"May I ask you something?" Ceryne snapped her head back and bared her fangs.

"What is it?"

"I will say, I have had some pretty high-up clients, but never royalty. Is there any reason you chose to sleep with me specifically?"

"No," Ceryne said.

"You simply were the closest person." She took another long drag from her pipe.

"Don't go around thinking you're special."

"Well, I am, aren't I?" She moved closer to Ceryne, a sly smile across her face and her arms pressing her breasts together.

"I got to sleep with THE Lady Ceryne—the ruler of this place and, should luck be on her side, the winner of the Coniton."

"That is none of your business." Ceryne got up and walked over to the window, looking out at the night sky.

"Keep talking like that, and I will have you thrown out this window." The woman, to Ceryne's displeasure, chuckled.

"You are just like the stories say, and so much more." Ceryne turned around and leaned against the open window, her pipe hanging lazily out of one side of her muzzle, its embers illuminating the points of her fangs.

"What stories?"

"Oh, my lady, do you not think your subjects talk? You royals, you are like… well, like gods: known of, worshipped sometimes, but never seen, and so legends develop. And they have always said you are a frightening woman who can make a room go quiet with her intense ire. That you are a woman of extreme profligacy, and yet your wealth always seems endless." Ceryne scoffed.

"I'm nothing like a god."

"Do tell," the woman said sultrily. Ceryne said nothing for a moment, continuing to bare her fangs in annoyance. Eventually, she said, "Gods are spineless wrecks; I am not that."

"I am guessing that, if you are sleeping with me, you aren't much of a follower of Seroth?"

"Seroth can eat my cunt!" Ceryne said without hesitation.

"Well," the woman said with a little shake of her shoulders, "that was quite fun to do."

"You are pushing it!" Ceryne said through gritted teeth.

"Sorry… but I do agree with you."

"And why would I care if you agree with me?"

"Well, perhaps, my lady, you may like someone to vent to." Ceryne stared daggers at the woman, who was now lying cheekily on her side.

"I have multiple guards outside who will not—""I know, I know," the woman said, "but I think you might find my opinion rather interesting."

"Fine," Ceryne said, taking a drag from her pipe. She bit the stem so hard that the wood creaked beneath her teeth.

"If you can impress me, then I will consider not killing you here and now."

"How about you go first, my lady? You are above me."

"Again, you test my patience—which, let me tell you, went down the drainage pipe quite a while ago—but fine." She took another drag, then thought for a moment.

"The church. Fuck, the church… I gained much, much wealth from them, more than you, your children, or your great-great-great-great-great-grandchildren will ever see, but they are overly moralistic—righteous in that moralism.

"They preach all this stuff about helping the less fortunate—the poor, your sister, your neighbour—but what have they ever done for me? Nothing, I tell you." Ceryne pressed her claws into the windowsill and began to scrape away at the delicate wood. She had not clipped her claws since they had left, and they were beginning to grow sharp again. Her merchant paw was gone. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

"Noo… they… and…" Her chest heaved up and down as her claw sank further and further into the windowsill until the whole thing snapped under the pressure.

"I had to suck up to them! Me! The head of the great House Caelrune! Do you, you fucking peasant, know how humiliating that is? More humiliating than you could ever imagine. But I played along because, despite what they may say, they possess such hubris and such extravagant wealth, yet act as if they do not."

"And how does that make you feel?" Ceryne swished her tail.

"What do you think? There is one important thing in this life, and that is wealth. You cannot raise a cub without wealth, pursue hobbies without wealth, SURVIVE without wealth. The accumulation of wealth is the greatest thing a person can pursue, and these people praise their gods—the Great Mother and Seroth, who preached against the accumulation of wealth… What a pathetic excuse for a person! He did not know what he was talking about, and… and…" Ceryne was running out of breath.

"I agree." Ceryne looked up. The tobacco went crackcrackcrackcrack softly within her forgotten pipe. Beneath them, drunken patrons were bursting into fits of laughter, but within that room, everything had become still. The woman had a bit of a twinkle in her eye: a glimmer of weariness, intelligence, and pride—a look far too familiar for comfort.

"The priestesses call money corrupting," she said.

"Then they charge us to marry, to bury our dead, and to bless our cubs, and then demand that we ask forgiveness for being unable to afford any of it. It is ludicrous." She writhed her way over to the edge of the bed, then sat upright with her legs crossed. Ceryne felt her heart suddenly quiver at the woman's stoic posture.

"Indeed, wealth is the greatest thing in this life. My lady, are you familiar with the Corveth family?"

"Yes?" Ceryne said.

"My lady, do you care to know what my name is?" Ceryne's ears perked.

"Talus Corveth." Ceryne stared for a moment, then scoffed.

"No, you cannot possibly be part of the Corveth family. They are wealthy, esteemed merchants who operate across all the realms. You are a—""A prostitute?" Talus interjected.

"Is sex not just another type of business deal?" Ceryne was about to say something but closed her mouth. She thought of all the times she had faked pleasure with her husband and how she had done it purely to maintain the false appearance of a moral woman.

"If you will indulge me, my lady," Talus said, clasping her paws in her nude lap, "I would like to tell you a story. I was born into the Corveth family. As you may or may not know, we are an extraordinarily religious family and have had deep connections to the church for hundreds of years. I was a good cub: I went to my tutoring sessions, attended parish service every fifthday, asked Seroth for guidance when I felt I needed it, and thanked the Great Mother for the gifts bestowed upon us.

I was trained in the ways of my parents, kept myself groomed, and made sure I always had a merchant's paw. Oh, how perfect life was.

"Then, one day, my parents caught me going down on a local peasant girl. They snarled in disgust and tossed me aside like I was trash. That was a little before my fifteenth birthday. I spent a few years doing odd, labour-intensive jobs before I discovered my true skill—one more valuable than negotiating ever was." She stuck out her tongue and playfully licked the air.

Ceryne's gaze moved over her again, analysing the broad shoulders, the labourer's calluses, the practised smile, and the complete absence of fear before royalty. It certainly gave the impression of disowned merchant blood. Now that Ceryne knew what to look for, the remnants of wealth were all over the girl. Talus's speech was too measured for an alley crawler. Her posture, even naked upon the rented bed, remained courtly, as though it came from sheer instinct.

The claws of her right paw had been filed shorter than those of her left—a lingering remnant of a merchant's paw she still tried to maintain but had begun to neglect. Still…

"And how do I know anything you just said is true?" Talus got up and retrieved a little brass pendant from beneath the discarded pile of her clothing, then tossed it over to Ceryne. Ceryne examined it. While the Corveth sigil had been worn smooth with age, it was still recognisable. Unless Talus was a highly skilled thief who had stolen from one of the wealthiest non-noble families in the world, she was indeed a disowned woman of high birth.

Ceryne took one last drag from her pipe before the tobacco completely went out.

"They expect us to marry those horrible things they call men," Ceryne said unexpectedly, even to herself.

"And… to… to stick those disgusting, feral…"

"And you do it to maintain appearances," Talus said.

"Yes!" Ceryne shouted. Armour shifted outside the door. Ceryne snapped, "Remain outside!" With that, the movement stopped, and the room became so quiet that one could hear a pin drop. Ceryne turned back to Talus, who was looking down at her thighs.

"I tried," Talus admitted.

"I was in an arranged marriage before they discovered my treacherous secret, and every time I tried kissing that man…"

"It felt like kissing animal faeces."

"Precisely, my lady. I would go so far as to say it tasted as though I had placed my mouth upon a horse's anus and taken in its waste while pretending I was grateful." Ceryne looked away, but only slightly. She had spent most of her thirty-four years surrounded by flatterers, petitioners, debtors, and merchants who were all smiles, flicking ears, and happy tails while imagining how much of her fortune they might seize for themselves. She had never felt a single thing for any of them.

Nor had she ever felt anything for her kin—not for her daughters, nor even her mother and father. Yet this woman had described the taste of her late husband's mouth so perfectly that, for once in her life, Ceryne did not feel alone in her disgust. There was a connection there, if only for a time. Then Ceryne got an idea. Ceryne sat down next to her, grabbed her by the cheek, and pulled her close. She moved one hand down Talus's thigh.

"Fuck them," Ceryne snarled.

"Indeed," Talus said between their exchanges of saliva.

"You were a woman of wealth—of extraordinary wealth."

"Yes," Talus said. Ceryne did not even scold her for failing to use the proper formality.

"And they cast you out? Took away your wealth?"

"Yes."

"You deserve to be a woman of wealth again." Ceryne did not know why she was doing this, but in her cold heart, she felt a little ember spark to life. As she caressed Talus, Ceryne guided her over to the window. Outside, beyond the tiled rooftops, a great church's twin spires rose black against the full moon.

"Do you wish to get back at them?"

"What do you mean, my lady?" Ceryne grabbed Talus's chin and turned it from side to side.

"I do not know what it is, but for some reason, I have taken a liking to you, and I wish for you to accompany me and my daughters to the Coniton."

"I…" Talus did not know what to say.

"That would be an absolute honour, my lady." Ceryne looked out at the church. While it was not politically important, the church was religiously significant and highly revered by House Seran. Ceryne moved her muzzle closer to Talus's ear and whispered something. As she spoke, Talus's tail went rigid, and her teasing expression slowly vanished from her visage. Talus's mind filled with colourful imagery—a mishmash of brilliant flames and bodies vanishing beneath them.

She could have sworn she heard church bells tolling outside. It was as though the parish were unknowingly counting down each of the hours before its inevitable violation.

"That is… extreme, my lady."

"Are you willing to do it?" Ceryne asked.

"Yes, my lady."

"Good," Ceryne said with a smile.

"But are you not concerned for your safety?"

"I have guards for a reason," Ceryne said simply.

"And remember, this is only the first step. Together, we can create a new order in which women such as ourselves need not hide as if we are diseased, and in which no woman of good blood is ever again condemned to live like a peasant merely because she offended the sensibilities of some priestess."

"That would be wonderful, my lady. Actually, let us head to the brothel not too far from here. Several of my co-workers were cast out of wealthy families for similar reasons. And some of them"—she turned her head to and fro, as though someone might be listening—"some of them served in the Queen's Guard." Ceryne felt a wave of excitement wash over her. She accidentally dug her claws into Talus's forearms.

"This is going to be a wonderful night."