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Droaam, The Great Crag
Eyre 23, 998 YK
A week ago, Thorn would have opened the door of their chambers onto empty air, then had to awkwardly look down to see the kobold. Now, though, she could tell where the reverberation had started in the door, and could even notice the faint baked-earth scent that distinguished the kobolds native to the Crag from the faintly brimstone-scented immigrants who had come when the Daughters of Sora Kell had arrived. She was still getting used to this, and while she started off looking them in the eye, she still had to blink a few times to make her magnified senses stop shouting at her.
“Ms. Tam,” said the messenger. “The Queen of the Granite Throne would like to speak with you regarding the events of the recent, ah … nan’monik karshojaithyas? ...”
Thorn touched Steel in the pocket of her dress, saying “Nan’monik karshojaithyas?” aloud even as the kobold finished with “… ‘lunar unpleasantness’?”
An inoffensive translation from the Draconic , suitable for touchy mammals. The literal translation would be “moonskin fuckshit”. And her messenger uses the formalist title, yet she identifies you personally? This doesn’t bode well.
Beren blustered from inside, “Ms. Tam’s helping me figure out how we write and tell Boranel that the actual Harryn Stormblade’s alive and well in our age because of that Queen!” The messenger and Thorn both stared at Beren as his brain caught up to his mouth; Thorn caught herself mimicking their side-eyed head-tilt. “Er. Please. Queen Sheshka, to whom the nation of Breland is overwhelmingly grateful, is entirely welcome to speak with my aide.”
“I shouldn’t be long,” said Thorn brightly.
The maze of tunnels seemed less dizzying every time; Thorn was learning to pick out subtle differences in the twists and turns that made the route distinguishable, and she figured out early on that they were heading to the banquet hall again. A growl from her stomach reminded her that she’d left lunch entirely too long.
Sheshka was finishing her own late lunch as the kobold led Thorn to her, and Thorn couldn’t help staring at her mouth, for four reasons: she obviously couldn’t look her in the eyes, Sheshka was taller than Thorn and ate standing up, her tusks seemed so out of place on her reptilian form, and she was still getting used to people who swallowed rats raw and whole.
“Nyrielle!” Thorn didn’t need Steel to tell her that that was a maneuver, and it was followed by another one: Sheshka turned her face towards her, eyes shut tight, and looked at her through the glittering eyes of her snakes. “I wanted to thank you, again, for everything you’ve done.”
“And I you,” said Thorn; it was true, but it was also a pleasantry she was using while she figured out what in Dolurrh Sheshka was saying.
“Are you hungry? I’m not sure I can advise mammals on the buffet, but I can do my best.”
“You’re the expert on Droaamite cuisine, if not on mammalian tastes.”
Sheshka dropped her voice, and muttered, “I needed to fill you in on the stories that have been shaking out on the Droaamite side.”
“Ah, context.” Thorn offered a brief prayer that House Ghallanda would set up shop here soon – both to provide something more recognizable than the alien attempts at charcuterie and to bring in their nice sound-dampening tables. It didn’t smell at all bad, though; Thorn had been finding meat and sharp tastes far more appetizing since her senses had started growing. “You’re aware that the Brelish – along with the Thranes and Zil, among others – think Harryn was the hero, released at the right time to put down the hidden threat?”
“And Droaam thinks I’m a hero, protecting the Daughters from fiendish treachery.”
“It sounds like both our countries get to believe what they want.”
“Yes, well … I had to explain away why you were there, and, sss …” Sheshka hesitated, her snakes bunching in. “I had to imply that you were a very ambitious diplomat and I was strengthening Droaam’s relationship with Breland.”
Thorn died a thousand deaths while outwardly enthusing over the presence of fresh Zil oranges.
“I apologize, of course, but the stone already yielded that image …”
Thorn focused on the curiosity of the stonemason’s metaphor.
“And I would certainly rather speak about your, sss … positive qualities than engage with the whole complicated mess of ‘you kill my pet, come in to hold a knife to my throat, and end up saving my life and country’.”
“Hneuh?”
Sheshka sat down with Thorn and urged Thorn to actually eat some of her lunch instead of staring dumbfounded. “How much Draconic do you know?”
“I could … understand it, I have the magic, but I’m afraid I couldn’t get the context.” Thorn was happy to focus on the minutiae.
“In the Cazhaak dialect, our saying roughly translates to … ‘the skin did this, the snake did that’. You might say ‘don’t judge a book by its cover’. I explain this so that I can say, ‘the Thorn-skin killed Szaj, the Nyrielle-snake saved Sheshka’.” Sheshka was still looking through her snakes, eyes shut tight, and Thorn realized that Sheshka trusted her, that while the display was clearly for any onlookers’ benefit, it was also for Thorn’s.
Thorn had had the pride trained out of her at the Citadel. She was perfectly happy to be remembered as an easily-charmed young diplomat embroiled in something messy with the Queen of Stone. What a King’s Dark Lantern wasn’t equipped to deal with was honesty. Apparently it took the possible rise of one of Khyber’s children to actually get her in a situation where that was necessary, and Thorn didn’t like what that said about her, or her reaction to the war.
Sheshka continued: “I cannot deny that you destroyed something dear to me, and I cannot deny that the interests of your country were in danger as much as mine, but you love your people as I love mine, and together, we saved them both. Let it not be said that the Queen of Stone is ungrateful, or that she cannot appreciate devotion!”
“Did the showmanship come with the supernal control of stone, or did the power come to you because of it?” said Thorn’s mouth, now prone to Beren’s vice.
Sheshka’s snakes stretched toward her, then pulled back. “I would prefer to keep my estimation of you.”
Thorn closed her eyes. Apparently she didn’t react well to thanks, either; her training had impressed upon her that she couldn’t expect it, and she never got more than a few words from her handlers. The Thorn-part of her, the Dark Lantern part, couldn’t hear Sheshka’s thanks as anything more than a sign that she’d fucked up enough to be identified. She exhaled. “My apologies. I was … being stupid.”
“And I too hopeful.” Sheshka was quiet. “My, ah, intimations were simply a convenient and believable story, but I had hoped, at least, that I might be able to call the woman who saved my life a friend.”
Thorn looked down. “I’m not sure if I’ve had friends since I was a cadet.” The part of her that thought like Steel shouted, Where did that come from?! You just said that! Are you just going to put down all your defenses because you’ve been compromised?!
Sheshka started back, snakes hissing loudly. “How awful ! I’d thought that was only in the pulps. The delusions you Easterners perpetuate! Even on a personal level, you truly weigh the danger of making enemies greater than the reward of trying to make friends? No wonder Droaam has had such trouble with you.”
Thorn wasn’t sure why she answered the way she did; her best guess was shame, as someone she still saw to some extent as a monster had just proved herself to be a far better person than she. “Sheshka, my … my work takes me all across Khorvaire, and I’ll be heading back to Breland soon. But … whenever I’m in the Great Crag – or really in Cazhaak Draal – I think I’d like to have a friend.”
Sheshka hugged her, startling Thorn. Her scales – she could feel each one, like a tiny pebble – were smooth but not as hard as Thorn had expected, and while her snakes were viperlike, Sheshka’s archer’s arms gave her the grip of a boa constrictor. Thorn briefly squeezed Sheshka back right before Sheshka broke the hug. Her hand slid to Steel. “I should start brushing up on Draconic, I think.”
Steel understood that it was meant as a question to him. A hug means she’s experiencing emotions better expressed through touch and what the fuck have you done, you could jeo –
Sheshka brushed a snake against Thorn’s forehead and hissed a little. “See, that’s what I saw in you.” Sheshka’s eyes were closed, but they crinkled up. “I see a smiiiiiiiile …”
Thorn let herself laugh, a tiny bit. A thought struck her. “If I’m to be honest, though, had my mission been to strengthen diplomatic ties between Breland and Cazhaak Draal, a dalliance would have been one of my top strategies.” Sheshka’s snakes hissed furiously, in a position that Thorn had started to learn was positive – and given Sheshka’s humanoid body language, Thorn was pretty sure it was the medusa equivalent of a stock noblewoman’s “OHOHOHOHO!”
“Given that you’ve seen how I sleep, I think I know a little too much about you now.”
Thorn would have stuck out her tongue if she didn’t know that medusas saw that as curiosity, not impishness. “I’m honest about this , at least!”
Sheshka brushed a snake against Thorn’s forehead again. “It’s not unappreciated.”
“Oh, is it now?”
“You realize you’re only helping my story along,” said Sheshka. Thorn was really coming to like Sheshka’s hissing laugh.
“I could offer more help, if you need it.” That bit was pure, pre-Citadel Nyrielle Tam.
Sheshka hissed with all her snakes again. “We’ll see!”
Fuck, I’ve missed this , thought Thorn. Sovereigns grant that this peace lasts, so I can start catching up.
Sheshka walked Thorn back to her room; Sheshka’s comments about “the pulps” proved indicative of a broad appreciation for Brelish adventure magazines, and Sheshka cursed that her distance from the publisher meant her plot votes for Five Leagues Below never came in on time. They bade each other slightly saccharine goodbyes, and Thorn hummed her way back to her makeshift desk with her best “can’t hide smitten very well” expression. Beren opened his mouth, dumbfounded and probably trying to reject the message Thorn was sending, then closed it.
They got back to work.
Dinner last night had been makeshift, hurried, and private for everyone, still healing from the lycanthropic fuckshit. Tonight, though, the banquet hall was formal as ever, and saw a repeated storm of toasts – to Sheshka, Harryn, and the Daughters, but also to individual guards who’d proved themselves valiantly in the conflict. It was not a Galifaran protocol, but the Darguuls and Valenar joined in with the Droaamites, and some of the Five Nations folk joined in. Beren spoke movingly about how he hoped Toli would be remembered as a good man afflicted by a force beyond his control, and of all people Zaeurl spoke up in support (definitely a play to reassert that the event had been engineered, and that it had nothing to do with normal lycanthropy).
A ball had been scheduled for that night; Thorn’s analysis was that it was a way for the Daughters to assess who socialized with whom, and also to show off that they could participate on a “civilized” level. The floor was cleared with impressive speed and poise, and the decorations had been hung earlier with enough care and skill that it seemed impossible that the Great Crag had seen such horror. Goblins pounded drums with fast, precise rhythms, a world away from urban goblin jazz; a kobold carefully tied strings between a minotaur’s horns and set up playing them like a lyre. A pack of gnolls set the atmosphere for the first dance, howls coiling around each other in a classical but sweet counterpoint.
There appeared to be no set dance, so the Zils and Breys set up their space on the dance-floor with an elaborate, couple-changing dance full of passing and tangling that roped in several members of House Tharashk. Thorn had to surreptitiously ask Steel what the protocol was for dancing with a partner of a much smaller species, but got out of it feeling competent – and very, very tired. Her heightened senses were making her overwhelmed, and she developed a newfound appreciation for the endurance of some autistic friends she’d had when she was younger.
Thorn sat out the next dance, then joined in a stompy, simple Droaamite circle dance that resembled the troika. She eventually got settled with the noise, and realized that she was actually having fun . People were relieved to be alive, “civilized” folk were slowly breaking up their clannishness and dancing with Droaamites, and the atmosphere was infectious (somewhat literally, when the harpies joined in and wove magic into the music). She learned that the Valenar couldn’t dance without blades in their hands, that gargoyles were strong enough to pull flightless partners into the air, and Sora Maenya, bizarrely and unsettlingly, dominated the Cyran tago.
And then a hissing voice spoke to her near the punch. “Nyrielle! May I have the next dance?”
Thorn nearly looked Sheshka directly in the eyes – but they were in public, and Sheshka had an image to maintain, and Thorn looked at the snakes to the left of her face, ignoring the flashing fire in her peripheral vision. “May I finish my drink?”
“That’s why I asked while the dancing is still going on!”
“You’re good at this,” Thorn muttered.
“Why, thank you, friend!” Sheshka hissed back quietly. She took Thorn’s hand, and the flashing fire disappeared, and Thorn made an unfavorable comparison between herself and a child with a new toy: now that she’d remembered she was allowed to trust people, and have friends, she was determined to exercise that ability possibly a little too much.
Thorn swallowed the last of her punch, and said, “Sheshka, I would love this dance.”
Thorn couldn’t really find a good analogue for Sheshka’s dance; it was fluid and mechanical, like a high-tier guardian construct, and had a lot of arm-raising and twirling. The dance was close and gave Sheshka a lot of opportunities to whisper the next step to Thorn, and the harpy singers made the dance seem to drag on forever (somewhat literally; while they weren’t singing their siren songs, their voices still contained magic).
Self-consciousness built in Thorn despite herself. “Everyone’s staring at us,” she whispered. She could feel people’s gazes on her skin.
“No, it’s the song. Everyone feels like they’re in the center of the room with this one.”
“Oh.”
“Would it matter if they were staring?”
“Maybe?” Thorn’s voice fell. “The music is … taking a lot out of me.” She hadn’t realized it until she said it. Dealing with intense sounds with her heightened senses was a lot like spellcasting – she liked it and could do it well, but she only had a limited amount of mental energy.
“I think the song’s almost done.”
“I think my dancing for the night is about done.”
“Ssss…” Sheshka was noncommittal. “There’s a dip here; you dip me or I dip you?”
“As your heart moves you.”
The song hit a final crescendo, and Sheshka dropped Thorn almost to the ground. A few bystanders whooped and applauded over the music, and Thorn couldn’t help but smile. Sheshka brushed two snakes against her forehead, then pulled her back to her feet. The two spun around one last time for the brief decrescendo of the last chorus, and they landed back on their feet, right hands clasped, facing each other.
And then Thorn learned what a medusa’s giggle sounded like, and couldn’t help bursting out with laughter herself.
She recovered, and focused on breathing for a second. “IIIIIIII should probably go home.”
“Should I walk with you?”
“To preserve our cover story?”
“To yammer more about Five Leagues Below with you!”
Thorn grinned. “That sounds nice.”
Thorn let Beren know she was bowing out early, and left with Sheshka before making him dwell on anything too much. Away from the clamor of the ball, she walked slowly, and Sheshka walked with her, and there was cool stone and quiet chatting and a good friend, and everything was right with the world.
The two stood in the doorway of the Brelish quarters, and Thorn was in an excessively grateful mood and operating on unseen pilot. She couldn’t help asking, “You want a cup of tal? Beren’s got a fancy elemental kettle.”
“Is this the stimulant or the relaxant kind?”
Thorn walked inside and rummaged through their luggage. “Beren can’t work without blackroot, but … yes! Grenn, Host rest him, had some nice sleepy tal.”
“I’ll take the sleepy tal, please?” Sheshka swished inside and sat down on a cushion.
It was interesting to watch how Sheshka’s whole body relaxed when she took hold of the steaming bowl a few minutes later. Thorn remembered how Sheshka’s sleeping sand had been heated. “Are you … cold-blooded?”
“Not wholly. We say the Shadow must have modeled our shapes after orcs, and given us their hot blood with it, but we get cold very fast. This is … nice.” Sheshka leaned against the wall.
Thorn sipped her own tal and closed her eyes, and did her best to close her perception when that didn’t work to shut out her knowledge of the shape of the room. She could still feel a low vibration in the wall, and hear a gentle rasp as Sheshka leaned over onto her.
Sheshka sat bolt upright when she felt Thorn tense. “I’m – apologies – I forgot – mammals – my culture is very … free with touch.”
Thorn sipped her tal again and slowly shook her head, tension ebbing. “No, it’s … it’s nice.”
Sheshka leaned back over onto her. “You stay warm.”
“I run hot. I can never sleep in the summer.”
“Well, this reptile appreciates it.”
“I appreciate this reptile.” Thorn could hear Sheshka smile, and her snakes started to brush repeatedly against Thorn’s forehead.
They drank tal, and shifted slightly, and tried to get comfortable on furniture that wasn’t really made for either of them, and Thorn was sad when she had to get up and wash the dishes, even for the brief time it took her to use Beren’s little Ghallanda-made magic dishcloth. She sat back down, and took her turn to lean heavily on Sheshka, and in shifting to get comfortable again, she ended up laying a leg over Sheshka’s. Thorn didn’t care enough to move, and Sheshka slithered into a position where she had an arm over Thorn’s shoulders.
“Heeeeeeeeat,” she hissed, and Thorn giggled. Sheshka let out a long, low, exhalation, and idly clacked her brass claws against the wall.
“Can I … sst,” Sheshka mumbled.
“Can you what?”
“No, it’s … no.”
“Is there something wrong?”
“If I asked you what I wanted, you’d probably say yes, and I’d feel bad because we wouldn’t have the same context for it.”
“Do you want to give me the context?”
Sheshka hissed. “My … my hair is made of sense organs, where yours is just … fur. So if I … touched your hair, you wouldn’t … get what I would get from it. Culturally or physically.”
Thorn focused on Sheshka’s face. Sheshka didn’t have lips, or external ears, or much of a nose; this was going to be a difficult comparison. “Is your hair as sensitive as your hands?”
“M… more. Not quite as sensitive as my tongue, but …”
“It’d be like a kiss?”
Sheshka squirmed, but Thorn noticed she squirmed her free leg over Thorn’s. “We … medusas don’t kiss the way you do, but … from what I understand, yes. Maybe less … emotional? Again. We’re pretty free with touch.”
“Wait, didn’t you kiss statue-Harryn?”
“That was just about my spit. Can’t eat prey you’ve petrified without a way to break it down, can you?”
“Sheshka, I don’t mind if you touch my hair.”
Sheshka breathed in a little. “Oh, don’t say these things so soon after saving my life!”
“Sheshka, I really like you. And …” Thorn had to use parts of her brain that she hadn’t used in a while, parts of her brain that dealt with actually acting on emotional attachment. “I don’t … know what you want this to be, and I know we’re not … going to spend a lot of time together, but …” Thorn took a breath. “I don’t want you to feel like I want meaningless fun, but I also need to be realistic.”
Sheshka shook her head. “We don’t sleep through the whole winter, but we do slow down and need warmth, and we have to do that in close proximity. I can give out feelings seasonally, or when travel permits. If you can …”
“I don’t think I’ve given out my feelings for a while, but …” Thorn got quiet, and Sheshka squeezed her slightly. “You’re here, and I’m here, right now, and that’s nice.”
“It’s really nice.” Sheshka moved her hand towards Thorn’s hair, then stopped. “Perhaps we shouldn’t do this right in the middle of your whole delegation’s quarters?”
“UUUUGH,” Thorn said, but she didn’t mind. She gathered herself up, and moved into the closet-with-a-cot they’d graced with the name of “bedroom”, and Sheshka followed, holding her hand.
Sheshka was stroking Thorn’s hair, fascinated. “I’ll never stop being amazed at how soft fur is.”
Thorn was nuzzling Sheshka’s neck. “Can I touch your hair?”
“Please.” Thorn played with a snake, scratching its chin and enjoying the little flicking sensation of its tongue. The snake was hissing happily, which meant Sheshka was happy, which meant Thorn was happy.
They lay there, facing each other, and Thorn wondered how Sheshka could keep her eyes closed so long.
“Ssss… we do … have the, ah, the form of kissing that involves tongues, if I can …”
“Please.”
Sheshka’s tongue was long and insistent, forked tip curling around Thorn’s, and Sheshka’s tusks caught at Thorn’s lips on the very edge of sharpness. Thorn pulled away to breathe, and said, “Okay, you’ve got an unfair advantage.”
Sheshka giggled. “Oh, I know.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”
“Oh?” Sheshka did have heavy scales where eyebrows would be, and they wiggled.
Thorn flushed. “Shut up!”
“Shut me up yourself.”
“Just see if I don’t!” Thorn closed her eyes and kissed her again, and tasted something sharp and earthy and how do I know I taste innate magic, ask Steel later. Sheshka, playing with Thorn’s hair, gripped the back of Thorn’s head to push her into the kiss, making Thorn whimper.
Sheshka came away and gasped. “Your ears wiggle!”
“That’s a happy sign!”
“The only elves I’ve ever spoken to for any great length of time are werewolves and I’ve mostly had my head eyes closed when you’re happy! I didn’t realize that was a thing for all of Aeren’s children!” Sheshka pressed her flat hint of a nose against Thorn’s. “It’s cute!”
“You’re cute.” Thorn ran her hand down the broad, glossy scales of Sheshka’s chest.
A slow ripple traveled along Sheshka’s body. “Oh, do that again.” Thorn did so, and Sheshka started to run her claws more firmly along Thorn’s head, and the insistent pressure of the brass made a number of parts of Thorn turn to jelly.
“That was – a cute noise –” Sheshka said, a smile in her voice.
“'d I make a noise?” Thorn mumbled.
Sheshka hissed happily, and a few snakes wrapped around Thorn’s head. Thorn pulled Sheshka tighter, feeling along her back, aware, somehow, of every strong muscle, and Sheshka’s hisses became lower and slower.
Thorn reached for the words. “Do you want me to – to you know, go lower?”
Sheshka made a grunt and disentangled herself a little ways. “That’s … not how it works.”
Thorn shook her head into listening. “How so?”
“Go higher. The … wait. Stop.” Sheshka sat up, and Thorn reluctantly sat up with her.
“What’s wrong?”
“Do you have a … the … I don’t know how you make it in Breland, but …” Sheshka wiggled her fingers. “Magic to … stay clean?”
“Oh! A barrier charm?”
“That!”
Thorn reluctantly rolled off the cot and dug through her toiletry kit. “... Got ’em! Sorry I forgot.”
“It’s fine. You make them from … paper?”
“Yeah. We just … tear it in half and the magic activates.”
“Ah! We make them as an oil.” Sheshka tore it with Thorn; the sigils flared, the charm crumbled to dust, and Sheshka pulled Thorn back down.
“You said go higher?”
“Put … put your hand where the snakes meet the scales at the base of my skull.”
Thorn pulled her hand up slowly, and when she ran her hand over Sheshka’s neck she could feel her muscles tense, then relax, long and drawn out. She felt experimentally at where the snakes attached, and felt … little fluttering rings around the bases of Sheshka’s snakes, softer than the scales around them, and Sheshka tipped her head back and groaned. “Thooooorn…”
Thorn pulled her hand back. “Am I doing it wrong?”
“No,” said Sheshka, and reached out to place Thorn’s hand back on her neck. “That’s. Ah. That’s a good noise. More fingernails but please.”
“What would this be for me?”
“That’s … getting the …” Sheshka giggled. “Oh, that’s fun in your language.”
“Hm?”
“Getting snakes off of my head is … that’s getting me off.”
“They come off?” And then the bit of her brain that was twelve couldn’t help from thinking “hehe, cum” and Thorn had to pull herself off to laugh. She couldn’t explain the joke through her laughter, but Sheshka started laughing too, and Thorn smiled and leaned her head against Sheshka’s chest.
“To answer your question, yes.” Sheshka put Thorn’s hand back again. “Shadow knows why we’re made like this, but at least it’s not messy.”
Thorn toyed gingerly with the bases of the snakes, encouraged by Sheshka’s little noises to go harder. Sheshka’s hands wandered over Thorn, playing with her ears and her neck and her sides, the scales warm and rough and lovely.
Thorn tried to line up the words to ask Sheshka to go further, and realized as she did so that if medusas weren’t mammals, and sex had to do with the bases of their heads, it made sense that Sheshka wouldn’t think to touch her breasts or look for that one very sensitive spot on her inner thigh. “Sheshka – could you please –” she guided Sheshka’s hands – “here – and here –” Sheshka obliged, squeezing gently, and Thorn felt the heat and the rasping and Sheshka’s muscles moving in her hands and her own nerves and it hurt, in the way that the music at the ball hurt but so much worse, and she thrashed and rolled away from Sheshka and whimpered.
“Sesseni, sesseni, what’s wrong?!” Sheshka cried. She reached out to Thorn, then stopped. “Tell me how I can make it better.”
“I don’t knowwww. You’re good and it feels good but I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, it’s too muuuuuuuuch…”
Sheshka made a face Thorn didn’t quite know how to interpret. “I … might be able to help with that.”
Thorn’s worries vanished, replaced by confusion. “Hneuh?”
“I could petrify. Ah. Parts of you.” If she was reading Sheshka right, Thorn thought she was bashful.
Thorn’s eyes widened. “You can do that?”
“As the Queen of Stone, yes. It’s easier to reverse, too. Stone eyes and stone skin might … might help?”
Thorn took a minute, moving back into Sheshka’s arms but staying still and silent, and thinking. “I’d … I think I’d like that.”
Sheshka brushed her snakes across Thorn’s forehead. “Of course.” Sheshka briefly explained the limitations of her abilities – for all her power, she couldn’t make stone flexible – but they worked out a position that would let as much of Thorn be stone as was comfortable while still letting them get each other off.
“Are you ready, sesseni?” Sheshka lay atop Thorn, propped up so that Thorn could focus on her face.
Thorn breathed in. “I’m ready.”
Sheshka brushed a great many of her snakes across Thorn’s forehead, and took a breath herself, and opened her eyes, filling Thorn’s world.
Sheshka’s eyes were purple and deep orange and the color of the sun and they flickered like flames and Thorn could feel her body stiffening in supernatural fear and the eyes, the eyes, the eyes, burning into her brain, spitting sparks like a lightning rail, and there was buzzing and her mind was getting hard –
And then there was nothing. The world was perfectly dark. Thorn could still feel the shape of the room, the shape and heat and smell of Sheshka, the little sounds everywhere … but her sight was gone. She brushed a hand to her face and felt a domino-mask of stone covering – no, composing – her eyes. She could feel the hard ridges of her lashes, the immaculate details of her eyelids, and then it smoothed out into living flesh. The rock couldn’t feel anything when she touched it; a vague heaviness tugged at the front of her brain, but her eyes were nothing but stone. Her arms were free, but she felt smooth granite over her upper torso. Her lower torso was flesh, but the stone didn’t feel heavy atop it, and while she could wiggle a bit from side to side, she felt an absence of feeling in her lower back, holding her up. Her legs were nowhere; she could shift them a little bit at her hips, but she felt nothing, and when she ran a hand across them, they were frozen in place.
Thorn’s face was mostly whole, and she kissed Sheshka, and when a shiver started to run down her back, it stopped and vanished into the stone. She exhaled – her chest couldn’t rise and fall, but she could breathe easily. Sheshka’s snakes nuzzled along her hairline, and then Sheshka moved down, and she could only feel the snakes where it wasn’t too much, and Thorn made another happy noise.
Sheshka’s breath was as hot as a mammal’s, and Thorn sighed at the sensation. Surely the stone was going to melt back into flesh with that heat that spread throughout her body and seized on the parts of her that could still tingle? Her body wanted to writhe, but her torso was too heavy to move, her legs were frozen, and the sensation of pulling against the constraints of her own form made Thorn’s lower body thrash harder.
Sheshka let out another hiss-chuckle. “What did you expect, sesseni? I’m the Queen of Stone; you can’t wriggle out of this.”
Thorn moaned, and felt her face grow hot. Sheshka laughed again, and moved back up towards Thorn’s face. She leaned in as if for a kiss, but when Thorn tried to follow it, Sheshka pulled away. Thorn tried again, and again, and Sheshka wouldn’t let her close, and she pouted.
“Do you need something, sesseni?”
“I’m trying to kiss you!”
“I know, sesseni; I just like to hear you say it.” Sheshka kissed her, and Thorn could almost taste her smugness, and she was getting even more turned on. Thorn whimpered.
“You’re cute.” Sheshka pressed her nose, with just a touch of brass, and if it hadn’t been stopped at her granite torso, the sensation would’ve made Thorn spasm. As it was, she could just let it flow through her. She sighed, more at peace.
“Oh, would you look at that?” Sheshka had pulled back, and was running a hand over Thorn’s stomach. “You’re dripping…” Thorn hadn’t even noticed, and Sheshka pointing it out made her flush. Sheshka spread her fingers, rubbing against Thorn’s labia and inner thighs at the same time, and through the tingles that ran through her lower body, she could feel how Sheshka’s middle fingers met with less resistance, and she could feel each scale, and the rising sensation vanished into the stone weight at the front of her brain, and she could appreciate it and it felt so good …
Sheshka kept playing with her hand, watching Thorn whimper and struggle as much as her stone restraints allowed. Her fingers slowly spread Thorn apart, and she was pressing against Thorn’s clit, and Thorn gasped for breath. “Oh, you like that, hmmm, sesseni?”
She nodded, feeling her head wobble with the weight, and Sheshka cupped Thorn’s face. “Look at you, so needy … Frozen in place, just waiting for me to do something about it …”
Thorn was exposed and vulnerable and the whole world was touching her – but somehow it wasn’t as bad as it was when she hadn’t asked for it. “Please …”
“Hmmm …” Sheshka pressed a finger to her lipless mouth and feigned indecision. “I think I can help you out, if you help me out.”
“Do you want – do you want me to touch your snakes now?”
“That sounds absolutely lovely, sesseni.” Sheshka slithered further down on the cot, and guided Thorn’s hands to her scalp.
Having something to do with her hands helped Thorn deal with the shocks of Sheshka’s questing tongue. She sifted through the snakes, and found that there were only about half a dozen with the softer rings around them, near the base. When she moved her hands through the whole mass, though, they wriggled cutely, and Sheshka would butt her head into Thorn’s hips.
Thorn ground against Sheshka’s face, and Sheshka’s forked tongue flicked out and caught against her clit, and Thorn quivered, back too petrified to arch. She moved one hand to the base of Sheshka’s head, and began scratching at the rings of soft scales, letting her fingers move from snake to snake, and Sheshka’s hissing grew louder and louder.
Thorn pulled Sheshka closer to her, and Sheshka’s tusks scraped against her, and the pressure pinned her to reality. Sheshka’s tongue rippled inside her, deeper than anyone who wasn’t a changeling had ever gone, and Thorn’s breathing was growing faster. Her fingertips pressed more tightly at the base of one particular snake, and Sheshka let out a muffled noise that put Thorn in mind of the alligators roaring at the Royal Menagerie in Wroat.
Sheshka’s tongue grew more and more frenzied as Thorn pressed more and more insistently, and Thorn’s breath caught as the forked tip flickered swiftly inside her. The belly of the snake in her hand moved across it, and Sheshka’s whole body swayed from side to side as she came. Thorn pulled Sheshka into her, and her wriggling was the cutest thing, and Thorn was feeling in control of herself even while half her body was stone and the other half was hypersensitive skin, and a tusk rubbed against her clit and the shock of orgasm made her scream, and if it echoed throughout the entirety of the Great Crag, she didn’t care.
Sheshka pulled out and laid on Thorn for several minutes, who leaned back into the solid support of her stone spine.
“KSAZH!” Sheshka yelled suddenly, sitting bolt upright.
“Is – is something wrong?” Thorn asked.
“No, no, just – the snake nearly slithered under the door. Hold on.” Sheshka slid off the bed and grabbed the snake, arrow-swift; she picked it up and fitted its tail back into the place it had left, shivering a little. “Theeere we go.”
“You can … put it back?”
“If we’re not trying to make an egg, yes.”
“Wait, how do you make an egg?” Thorn tried to wrap her head around what snakes detaching from your skull had to do with making a child.
“Whoever … wants to contribute to the hatchling drops snakes, and then they bite each other and fuse together into an egg.”
“Huh!”
“The nice part for us is just dropping the snakes, though.”
“Glad I could help.” Thorn grinned.
“You’re a very good help.” Sheshka brushed a snake along her forehead. “If it’s not too much, could I feel some more of that soft skin again?”
Thorn took a few deep breaths. “Yeah. My … my hips are a little sore.”
“I’ll say they are.” The two women giggled.
Sheshka kissed Thorn, and Thorn’s vision filled with golden light – and the world was back in color, and Sheshka glimmered beautifully. Thorn’s legs were pins and needles for a minute, but Sheshka massaged a little life back into them.
“How was that?” Sheshka asked.
“Hm. I think I’ll have to gather more intelligence about the subject, but my preliminary analysis is ‘very good’.”
Sheshka flicked Thorn’s nose. “You’re silly.”
Thorn wrapped her arms around Sheshka and pulled her down into a cuddle. “Thank you.”
“Thank you.”
“If you need to go soon, I understand.”
Sheshka snuggled tighter. “I have a perfectly warm mammal right here.”