The Duchess of Lust Ch. 05 (Finale)

"So how will this work?" Isabella asked, her eyes narrowing as Ketrik knelt and opened a satchel, revealing an array of small stones, bundles of mushrooms, little vials, and an array of bird skulls. "I've heard that northern rites can be...unusual."

"Indeed," Ketrik said with a grim nod. "But this one will not require any great sacrifice or ordeal. Well..." He sighed. "It will be an ordeal, at least spiritually, for those who wish to gaze into the portents." He gestured at the components, and then at a pile of wood that Thandor's knights had gathered. "I will light a fire and use these components and a small sacrifice of my own blood to enchant the flames. I will then prepare a potion. Those who wish to glimpse the portents will drink the potion and place their hand into the fire."

Thandor's eyes narrowed.

"You would have me burn my own hand off for a fleeting glimpse of the future?"

"No, my lord. The flames will not harm you. The magic reveals and protects in equal measure. I can demonstrate first."

"As will I," said Sarya, stepping forward. "I am a bit curious about the future as well."

"It is not simply 'the future,'" Ketrik explained as he began to grind up several of the mushrooms within a large clay bowl. "The fires will show several possible paths. The most intense vision will be the most likely one. But nothing you witness is a certainty, because even gazing upon the potential paths canalter those paths."

Thandor's ire faded and he stepped down to examine the mushrooms.

"Bloodcap, snowdance, whitecrown...these are poisonous."

"Yes, but prepared in the right dosage and with the right rituals, they will not harm your bodies. They will, however, wound your mind. It is only through such wounds that the possible futures can be glimpsed. A breach must be created in your soul, to let the light of the omens through."

Isabella swallowed.

"You make it sound...dangerous. Is this even worth the risk?"

"That is a decision you must make for yourselves. The visions can be...intense. Some may be fleeting shadows or echoes of a half-remembered dream. Others may be as vivid and intense as a real experience or a recent memory. Minds and souls may become briefly lost in the throes of such power."

"And how can we be certain these glimpses will be of any use?" Lucan asked. "We'll want portents of the battles to come, not a glimpse of something banal from a few decades away."

"The magic answers the desires of the soul. That doesn't mean you cancontrol what you see, though. But given that all of us here are concerned over the fate of Fellhaven, I imagine the glimpses will be centered around the current conflict."

After mashing up the mushrooms, he opened a vial and dripped it into the bowl, forming a thick, dark sludge. With those components prepared, he lit the fire; within minutes a small bonfire was raging, casting an orange glow over the concerned, curious faces of the nobles.

Ketrik prepared another concoction, mashing together several mushrooms and smearing the mixture over one of the bird skulls. After slicing a shallow wound in the back of his hand, he dripped his blood onto the skull and tossed it into the flame.

Gasps rose from the onlookers as the fire pulsed with emerald light. The warmth of the fire faded, turning to an icy breeze that forced Sarya to tug her cloak around herself.

"I shall demonstrate first," Ketrik said, collecting the other clay bowl and lifting it to his lips.

After taking a gulp of the alchemical brew, Ketrik leaned his head back and stared up at the stars.

"No prayers, chants, or incantations?" Isabella asked.

"There are special words, yes, but those are for show." Ketrik raised an eyebrow. "If you wish, I can employ them."

"No need. This is unnerving enough as it is."

The shaman took a few shaky steps towards the fire, then knelt. He shoved his hand into the flames; Sarya winced and Isabella gasped, but the bright green fire left his skin and clothing untouched. The cold wind intensified and a fierce gust sent Sarya back a step.

Ketrik trembled for a few moments, letting out a sound between a growl and a sob. After one last fierce tremor he slumped backwards and Lucan darted forward, steadying the shaman before he hit the ground.

Before Sarya could rush forward, Ketrik shook his head, wiped a bit of drool from his mouth, and rose with Lucan's help.

"What did you see?" Lucan asked.

"Best not to say for now," Ketrik said, his eyes as distant and grim as Sarya had ever seen. "Glimpses of my portents may impact your own perception."

He thanked Lucan for aiding him and patted him on the shoulder as he righted himself.

"Your turn, Duke Lucan?"

"No. Better for at least one of us to remain untouched by these visions for now."

Sarya detected the faintest waver in Lucan's voice and she certainly did not begrudge him for his fear; if she hadn't wanted to reassure Thandor, she might have avoided the ritual entirely.

After a deep breath, she stepped up to Ketrik, who handed her the clay cup. She took a careful sip of the sludge-like potion and fought back the urge to gag at the taste of the foul, bitter substance. Numbness took hold of her limbs. Unseen icy fingers grasped her neck and she shivered, taking a few slow, limping steps towards the fire.

"A hand in the fire, my lady," Ketrik said.

"I'm here," Lucan said, resting a hand on her shoulder.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and emptied her mind, hoping that doing so would allow the most important omens to shine through the 'wounds' created in her soul by the ritual.

Her hand darted into the fire as of its own volition.

The green fire erupted, sending shards of radiance into her eyes.

When the brightness faded, she was not on a moonlit hill on the outskirts of a ducal manor. Instead, she found herself within a large, log cabin. Furs, hides, weapons, and the skulls of beasts adorned the walls.

She rested upon a bed covered in fur blankets.

Gods, the vision was intense indeed. The only thing informing her that it wasn'treal was a faint hum that reverberated through her and the bed.

Digging her fingers into her palm, she felt a burst of genuine pain, then rose from the bed, only to realize that she was nude. Startled, she snatched up one of the fur blankets and wrapped it around herself before moving to the door.

Opening the door revealed a beautiful valley covered with massive trees. Snowcapped mountains loomed in the distance, down which ran several glittering blue rivers that converged to form a large lake at the center of the valley. Dotting the riverbanks and lakeshore were hundreds of wooden structures akin to the one she stood in.

Before her stretched a massive camp: hundreds upon hundreds of hide tents, roaring bonfires, and a vast sea of fur-clad, tattooed northern warriors. A host very much like the one besieging Fellhaven.

A single man emerged from the press of figures: tall, imposing, pale-skinned, with piercing blue eyes, night-black hair, and a massive greatsword slung over his back.

King Ulrik.

Her foe. The would-be bane of Fellhaven.

And in this vision...something else entirely.

The northern king smiled as he approached, letting out a low, rumbling laugh.

"After the night we had, I expected you to rest a bit longer. Not that I am complaining, my love. The sight of you warms me more than the rising sun."

Her eyes widened at that. His 'love?' Was this some twisted potential future where Fellhaven had surrendered and she'd been taken as his prize?

Despite her shock, words tumbled from her mouth that were not of her choosing. Those were nother words, but rather the words of this version of Sarya from a possible future.

"It's always so cold in our bed when you wake before I do," she said softly, reaching out for him.

His massive, scarred hand gently took hold of hers.

"I am sorry, but you know how the shamans and witches are. Dawn is second-holiest time of day, so they always like to cast their spells and read their portents with the rising of the sun. You'll adjust, in time."

Still smiling, he took her by the hand and guided her back inside the cabin.

"Of course, I won't object at all if my beautiful prize simply wishes to lounge about all morning." His rough fingers brushed the side of her neck. "Rest ensures you are well-rested and strong. The better to endure my...hunger."

A shiver went through her: was that the vision, or was that her own true lust taking over?

Gods, how she hated the fact that she still wanted him. Though he wished to sack her beloved city, she could not deny the almost hypnotic gaze, the fierce strength of his body, the biting wit, the brutal power of those hips...

She very nearly salivated and wondered if she was drooling back in the real world as well.

Within the vision, she laughed and twirled out of his grasp, allowing the fur blanket to slip a bit lower, exposing more of her shoulder.

"How long until we march?" she asked.

"You've asked that question nearly every day for the past month, Sarya."

"My people yearn for freedom from Thandor's yoke, my king. I would be a poor duchess if I did not constantly think about their plight."

Gods...was this one possible future? Thandor seizing Jadewall for himself and Sarya turning to Ulrik for aid?

"I am still waiting for the chieftain of the Dancing Crow tribe to answer my summons. Once he pledges his blood and iron to our cause, we will have more than enough to sweep Thandor from Jadewall..." His smile widened, turned wolfish and hungry. "And then to push further."

Further...what did he mean by that?

Before she could pry further into the visions, shadows wriggled at the edges of her eyes. Darkness splashed around her, and then she was upon her back, staring at the moonlit sky.

Lucan and Ketrik knelt beside her, each gently holding one of her hands.

"I'm all right," she said, shivering a bit at the memories of the frigid northern air and Ulrik's touch.

That version of Ulrik was a different man: someone who had perhaps retreated from Fellhaven and became an eventual ally, and not someone who still hungered to see her home burnt to the ground. A slim possibility, nothing more.

And yet...if Thandor did betray her and if Ulrik still maintained his end of the truce, the fierce northern king would have made a damned fine ally.

With help from the shaman and the duke she rose to her feet. Lucan took her by the arm and led her away from the fire, a deep frown on his face.

The softest touch from the duke erased the fleeting tension from that memory and returned her focus to the present.

"How long was I out?" she asked.

"Only a few moments." He sighed. "Long enough to terrify the wits out of me, though. You trembled even worse than Ketrik did."

As Thandor stepped forward to take his opportunity at staring into the future, Ketrik frowned and raised a hand.

"Hold on. I'll need to refine the mixture. Now that the magic has weakened after those first two visions, I can adjust the tonic. It will be safer for you, my lord."

Thandor nodded and crouched down to watch Ketrik work. After a minute of preparation, Ketrik offered the thick slurry to the duke, who slurped it down, then laughed.

"I may suggest a few seeds and herbs to add to enhance the flavor, Ketrik," Thandor joked. "If one is to gaze into the future, it would help to do so with a better taste on one's tongue."

Ketrik's lips twitched into something like a smile and guided the duke over to the fire. Two Jadewall knights approached, ready to catch their duke if he fell. Isabella wrung her hands, her eyes widening as the duke stepped up to the unnatural flames.

After a few deep breaths, Thandor reached out and shoved his hand into the emerald inferno. His body trembled and he went limp, though his knights caught him before he fell. The muscles of his neck tensed and he threw his head back, staring up at the sky as his eyes went wide.

"Gods, no," he croaked.

Gasping, his head snapped forward and nearly fell to his knees despite the firm hands of his knights.

Thandor retched, spewing up bile and vomit into the flames, which continued to crackle unabated.

"Thandor!" Isabella squeaked, rushing forward to her husband.

One of the Jadewall knights whirled to glare at Ketrik.

"What did you do?"

"It's fine," Thandor rasped, his body heaving with heavy breaths and soft sobs. "The sickness was not of his doing. It was a result of what I saw."

He brushed away from his knights and sank to his knees.

"Darling, talk to me," Isabella said, pulling a kerchief from a satchel and wiping at his lips. "What did you see?"

"I saw you, my love." He smiled and closed his eyes. "Beautiful and radiant and happy. With two beautiful babies. Twins, I think." The smile faded, his lips trembling. "And then...all of it turned to ash. Fire, smoke, blood, fury. The palace. The gardens. The countryside. You. The children. Everything given to the flame. Northerners wandering through the smoke like wolves after their prey."

A tear gleamed in Thandor's eye. Isabella sobbed and threw her arms all the more tightly around him.

Sarya took a deep breath but remained silent, knowing that no reassurances could assuage the horror of the possible future the duke had witnessed.

She glanced from the duke and caught Ketrik staring down at Thandor with a somber gaze. After a moment, he winced, looked away, and set to the task of putting out the bonfire.

"Such a fate awaits us all," Lucan said. "If we don't stand together, if we allow political squabbles to delay unity in the face of such a threat."

Thandor said nothing to the other duke and instead turned to murmur something to his wife, who nodded and let out a soft sob.

"Ketrik," Lucan said slowly. "What did you witness in the flames?"

"The same thing I have seen for months. Victory for Ulrik. Countless cities and castles reduced to rubble and ash. And then a sundering. A shattering of the north as we turn upon each other, fighting over the spoils. We break the south and then we break ourselves."

"And Duchess Sarya?" Isabella asked, looking up from her husband.

Gods, how to even answer that question? She bought herself some time by shivering and taking a deep breath.

"I was a captive. A prisoner of the north."

Lucan scowled and gently squeezed her wrist, but did not press her further.

"I will need time to reflect on what I have seen," said Thandor. "We will convene in the morning."

As he rose with the aid of his wife, he cocked his head at Ketrik.

"How do you do it? How can you stare into the fires so often, and still remain sane?"

"Who says I can, my lord? Who says I can?"

**

Upon returning to their shared chambers in the manor's guest house, Lucan slowly shut the door and gave her a long, appraising stare.

"You lied, didn't you? About what you saw?"

"Was I that obvious?"

"To me, at least. Not to them, I don't think."

Sighing, she kicked off her boots and sat down on the edge of the bed, watching as Lucan unstrapped his sword-belt and cloak.

"I was not a captive. I think I was an...ally. It was unclear. In one possible future, it seems that Thandor somehow annexed Jadewall, though Ulrik and his army survived. It seems that in my desperation, I went north and sought Ulrik's aid."

"And judging by that faint flush to your cheeks, you received more than just his 'aid.'"

"Yes. From the looks of it I was his lover. Perhaps even a concubine of sorts," she said with a slight shiver. "But it was just one possible path. One we have likely avoided, given the impact that the visions seemed to have had on Thandor."

"If it did indeed come to that, allying with Ulrik would be a smart move. A desperate, reckless move, but a wise one all the same given the lack of other allies." Lucan chuckled as he removed his boots. "A bit hard to imagine you as some northern concubine, though. Too willful. And I don't think outfits of furs and hides suits you at all."

The joke brought forth a much-needed laugh and she took him by the hand as he joined her on the bed. Together they slumped back against the fine sheets, simply relaxing in one another's presence for a time.

"You still could have undertaken the ritual, you know," Sarya said. "Others could have kept watch on the proceedings."

"I worry enough about the future as it is, Sarya. I don't need portents and visions to make it worse."

She relaxed, her eyes closing, her breath steadying. Thoughts of Ulrik and that figment of a possible future soon faded, replaced by the warmth of Lucan's presence.

**

A little after dawn they convened within the council chambers in the heart of the ducal manor. Thandor and Isabella sat at the head of a massive green stone table, covered with maps of Jadewall, Fellhaven, and other surrounding duchies. Piles of documents rested beneath Thandor's hand and he stared grimly down at the maps as the others filed in to join him.

"More reports from my scouts and spies," he said, tapping the pile of papers. "They've spotted the northerners digging outside Fellhaven."

"No doubt trying to undermine the walls," Lucan said with a low growl. "To collapse the fortifications and create breaches for the assault."

"But the truce..." Isabella said.

"The truce prevented an assault, not the preparations for one," Sarya said with a sigh. "Thus I fear that as soon as the truce expires, they'll breach the walls and storm the city."

"No," Ketrik said firmly. "They won't. Because we'll make it there in time; Ulrik will be too worried about fighting us off to concern himself with breaching the city."

Sarya took a slow, deep breath and looked to Thandor.

"Have you reached a decision, my lord?"

His fingers flicked one of the documents.

"I face a great dilemma. Ulrik's horde numbers thirty thousand. Your current coalition far less. Even accounting for Fellhaven's garrison, you would be outmatched without my help. You could march forth without my aid and face a glorious and noble defeat. Fellhaven will burn and yet still he would have enough warriors to scourge Jadewall, if that vision I saw could be trusted."

Ketrik, who had entered along with Lucan and Sarya, averted his gaze. He had yet to speak at all since the ritual the night before and had been as withdrawn and sullen as Sarya had ever seen him. Considering his sorcery seemed to be swaying Thandor, the shaman should have beenrejoicing. Frowning, Sarya reminded herself to pull the man aside when they had a few spare minutes.

"Thus to preserve Jadewall, I must act. And yet to act without reward or concession would make me look weak and foolish in the eyes of my barons and the other dukes."

Sarya braced herself for the worst. If that ambitious fool still demanded annexation after all he'd witnessed...

"The control of the river trade has been a source of dispute ever since the duchies' borders were established," Thandor continued. "I can understand your reluctance to agree to full annexation given the circumstances but I think we can reach a compromise. Historically, our two duchies have split the proceeds from taxes on the river trade, in varying amounts. But no longer. If you wish for Jadewall's help, you must sign away all revenue from trade along the river upon our borders. For a term of a century, at which time our descendants can renegotiate."

Some of her predecessors might have declared war after receiving such an insulting demand. At any other time, she'd have sneered or laughed at the suggestion, because that trade revenue generated a sizable portion of Fellhaven's treasury. But it was a small price to pay for salvation and far easier to accept than annexation. Of course, Thandor might demand more in the future and could one day press for annexation once again.