9.0

"Geoffrey told me the best place to celebrate is a bar called the Sword & Skull!" Anthony announced.

"Let's just go to the Cauldron in Lyr, silly. You know Zyrdicia is eager to get out of here," Portia responded.

Anthony shook his head stubbornly. "We always celebrate in the place we're leaving...unless she's blown it up. Besides, I want to see how they party in an ass-backwards world like this."

"You are such a tourist!" the red-headed woman mocked. "Fine. I'll talk her into it. You owe me, though, Anthony."

"Bullshit. You want another night here more than anyone so that you can see your latest boytoy one more time."

"I think I'll bring Cai along. He needs to get out of that damned castle. But what makes you think I'm going to stop seeing him just because she's done here?"

Anthony's eyes widened. "Damn. It lasted more than two weeks and you haven't lost interest yet. Isn't that a record for you, Miss Do-'Em-and-Dump-'Em?" he asked cattily.

9.1

Zyrdicia arrived at the tavern fashionably late. Anthony and Charles already had a large group in hysterics with their impressions of various personalities in Castle Blackpool. Geoffrey and Cai laughed nervously, glancing in turns toward the entrance in fear of the arrival of the chief source of mockery.

She watched the antics for a few minutes unseen.

"OK, I just want to know one thing!" Anthony blurted out. "What the fuck is the grizzly old Wizard hiding under that hat?"

"Bad hair day, every day!" Charles giggled. "Then again, maybe he's embarrassed that he's bald. I see that a lot in ugly, old middle-aged men. I guarantee the swirling robes are hiding a pot belly, too."

"Don't even go there! You'd think with all that magic he could make himself look less ridiculous. What the hell is the point of being super-powerful if you look like a toad? Powerful people should always look beautiful."

Zyrdicia stepped out of the shadows. "At the mention of beauty and power, I feel summoned," she smiled.

Charles and Anthony bounded over to her to kiss each of her cheeks in greeting. They had seen each other only a short time ago, but theatrical public greetings were de rigor in the circles in which they traveled. It was a deeply ingrained habit.

"So...where's Prince Charming?" Charles asked playfully.

Zyrdicia shrugged, feigning disinterest.

"Does Prince Blackpool even know that she's leaving tonight?" Cai asked Portia in a whisper, clearly concerned that vital information might need to be relayed.

Portia nodded. "She sent a message to him that he could find her here for a few more hours. I don't think she actually talked to him to say goodbye. But if he wants to come see her he can; she left a gate open in Tronin leading here. That's why there are so many of your troops here, I think."

"Leaving that gate open was a bit irresponsible, wasn't it?"

"You aren't at work," Portia reminded the handsome seneschal, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck. Portia, rather petite in stature, was almost a foot shorter than her beau. She was used to being around tall people-- Zyrdicia, Magnus, Kaz. Even Anthony. Charles was the only person in their circle who was not a giant next to her.

Cai extricated himself from her grasp, bending to kiss her lightly on the forehead. "If large groups of our soldiers are moving without orders between here and Tronin, I have to worry about it. Consider it a matter of self-preservation. Let me see what's going on, then I'll be right back." He did not wait for her to respond. The knight was already whispering something in Geoffrey's ear. The young prince's jovial smile faded as he listened to the seneschal. His expression became quite serious. The two men walked out of the tavern purposefully, looking every bit like the powerful representatives of the Crown that they were.

A group of torture troopers related the tale of the now-legendary Battle of Mora Valley to Anthony in the back of the tavern. He responded by telling a half-dozen stories of even more frightening carnage he had allegedly seen Zyrdicia involved in. The drunken soldiers punctuated various acts in the tales with cries of "Hail Landeshexa! Hail Karteia!"

Zyrdicia watched them quietly from the bar, nursing an unidentifiable, potent concoction. "Would Anthony entertain them as effectively if he actually told the truth when he shared stories?" she wondered.

"Of course not," Portia grinned.

"Look at them. I could turn the entire army against the prince with a few words. The whole country would worship me," Zyrdicia mused idly.

The bartender set a small pile of coins on the counter between them, change for the kolnas Portia had used to pay for the drinks. Zyrdicia stared at them for a moment, fixated upon a few tiny, lightweight pieces of money. She picked three of them up examining each carefully. Only a particular denomination of coin interested her. It cast a dull, bluish reflection in the light. She wrapped the three little coins in her hand, ignoring the rest.

Portia watched her, perplexed. "What is so interesting about those?"

"Nothing." Zyrdicia's frown, however, warned Portia that it was more of a something than a nothing. "What do you know about these coins?"

"They're only traded in the North. Kolnas are broken into a hundred copper delphs, but the northern citizens are so poor that they had to mint coins breaking the delphs down even further. Those are popularly called 'slugs'. Each is something like a quarter-delph."

"And the metal?"

"I've never seen it coined before. I asked about it too, since it's so light. It's name is 'surt.' It's next to worthless because it's so soft. Supposedly it's softer even than lead but light like tin. It's so soft that they can't even mint an image onto the slugs. If you press hard enough on them, you can bend them."

"Surt. Like the ancient fire giant. Hmm," Zyrdicia muttered to herself. "It's mined here, then?"

Portia nodded. "Cai was ranting a few nights ago about the mines being more hassle than they're worth. The baron who used to run them was apparently incompetent. Cai wants to convince Blackpool to shut the mines down."

Zyrdicia's eyes were far away. She pursed her lips, thinking. Portia's involvement with Blackpool's servant continued to produce a valuable stream of information. She closed her hand and the coins vanished into extra-dimensional space. Portia did not pursue the matter. Whatever Zyrdicia's interest in it was would become apparent when Zyrdicia was ready.

"Are you OK with leaving?" Portia asked, changing the subject.

Zyrdicia nodded, "Of course. I'm looking forward to getting back to civilization."

Portia looked at her thoughtfully. "He won't let you leave without saying goodbye. He'll come."

"I couldn't care less." Zyrdicia walked away from the conversation, distracted by a pair of men engaged in some sort of contest of strength.

"Landeshexa, please give me a blessing for the next round of Arm Death!" begged a huge, ox of a man in a Northern uniform. He pointed to his left arm proudly. It bore a tattooed image of the waved-bladed dagger she wore around her neck. Such tattoos had become an emblem of pride for the battle's veterans.

"And you are?" she asked, smiling warmly.

"I'm Grendor. I fought at Mora Valley. I dedicate myself to your glory! Strength to the faithful!"

Zyrdicia wanted to laugh. Her adulation in this place had already progressed even further than she had hoped. She waved her hand and produced a meaningless streak of light, touching him with it. His eyes widened. He bowed reverently before her. Idiot.

"If the Snow Orchid is with him, he can't lose!" a wiry little man standing nearby proclaimed. He began collecting bets on the match at a frenzied pace.

Snow Orchid. That was a new one. The thought of being portrayed here as a delicate flower amused her.

The sport appeared to be some local variation of arm wrestling. They had altered the playing surface to accommodate a large, venomous reptilian beast below it. When the loser's arm touched the table, the creature's head emerged from below to bite the defeated man, killing him instantly.

"Talk about a testosterone fix!" Charles muttered, emerging from behind Zyrdicia.

"Amazingly primitive," she muttered. "But entertaining."

Grendor won every match. He appeared unbeatable. The crowd hailed her "blessing" as the key to his success.

Portia walked over from the bar, nudging Zyrdicia softly. "Look who just walked in." Zyrdicia did not have to look. The fact that the entire room suddenly stood at attention told her all that she needed to know.

Dirk Blackpool surveyed the room from the entrance with an imperious, disdainful air. He hated crowds. He detested such vulgar establishments. He was outraged that she had forced him to come here. He had no intention of permitting her departure while he still had need of her unique destructive talents to conquer the rest of Camarand. The Battle of Mora Valley would only be a prelude to a thorough rout of the southern defenses. He cursed his brother and Portia under his breath. But for their ill-timed interruption, none of this would be necessary. Using seduction to manipulate and control her would now require considerably more effort.

When his eyes settled on Zyrdicia, she was laughing with Portia and Charles at some secret joke. He swept across the room regally, his purple and silver cape billowing behind him. Cai and Geoffrey reentered the tavern again a moment later.

"Hi," Dirk greeted, taking her leather-clad hand to kiss it. He looked menacingly around the room at the scores of eyes staring at him as he spoke to her.

"They're afraid to have fun now that you're here," she whispered. She smiled playfully before continuing in a much louder tone, "Surely you are pleased to celebrate your victory with your troops. In fact, the next round of drinks is on the Karteian Crown!" Her final sentence elicited a cheer from everyone present.

The tension in the room was broken. People resumed their conversations and mirth. "Hail Landeshexa! Hail Karteia!"

"That was unnecessary," he fumed quietly.

"Someone has to salvage your popularity. Now they're happy."

"I'm appalled that you didn't personally notify me of your plans to depart."

"Technically, I did--during our last argument."

"Come. Let's go talk elsewhere, away from this rabble." Their eyes met.

She shook her head stubbornly. A trace of irritation touched his face. "What interest could you possibly have in staying in such an establishment?"

"I promised Charles and Anthony I'd stay a little while. They get a kick out of studying the merry-making customs of various worlds."

"How do you tolerate them?"

"They adore me. They would do anything to see me smile. How many of your servants can you say that about?"

"None, thankfully."

"Do you have any friends among your advisors?" she asked.

"I don't need friends," the prince snapped defensively. "I need only obedience and loyalty."

"How do you stand the loneliness?" she wondered softly. The question's genuineness caught him off guard. He was unsure how to respond to the innocent candor in her eyes.

His face reflected his disconcerted state. No one ever dared to broach such a subject with him in jest, much less with perfect seriousness. He said nothing. When he met her curious gaze, he felt the strange connection to her that he had noticed when they first met. It was as though she could conjure more familiarity within a single glance than most women could in a lifelong relationship.

A roar of noise interrupted the conversation as the next round of Arm Death commenced. The little bookie's shrill voice rose above it, "There's still time! Favored by the Snow Orchid! Ten to one odds now!"

Dirk glanced at Zyrdicia in amusement, "Snow Orchid."

"They just started with that one tonight. I don't get it."

"It's a rare purple orchid that flowers about the time the first snow falls..." Another roar of the crowd drowned out his explanation as Grendor won another match.

"Grendor's fortune is like that of the North!" a drunken soldier exclaimed loudly. "Now that the Snow Orchid blooms, victory is ours!" His proclamation met with a round of cheers.

"Who dares to challenge the unbeatable Grendor, favored by the Landeshexa?" the wirey man collecting bets called out.

"Do you ever participate in this sport?" Zyrdicia asked Dirk slyly.

"Of course not. It's beneath me," he answered contemptuously.

"Surely you aren't afraid?" she mocked.

"Don't be ridiculous. Such peasant sport is a disgrace."

"I think you are afraid," she goaded, barely constraining her laugher. "Pity. It would have been amusing to watch you kill someone."

He glared at her for an instant. "And what will I get in return for amusing you so?"

"You obviously have something in mind or you wouldn't have asked."

"An opportunity to continue where we left off in my tent. We were rather rudely interrupted."

"Forget it. Think of something else."

"Surely you aren't afraid?" he asked, mimicking her tone from a moment ago.

Now it was her turn to glare. He had turned the otherwise-innocuous game in his favor quite smoothly. She either had to admit fear, or give into his demand. Within the context of the game, he had cornered her. She was shocked by how easily he had flipped the situation around. No one else could have done it so effortlessly. She answered defiantly, "Afraid of you? That's absurd."

"Shall I interpret that as your agreement to my terms?"

She continued to glare at him. His demand did, in fact, scare her. Her ego and her vanity prevented her from revealing that fact. He was toying with her now, and she found it profoundly irritating, particularly since it was completely within the scope of the game. Her game. "Interpret it however you wish," she answered resentfully.

When Grendor saw his opponent, he immediately asked to forfeit the match. He was horrified. He was a patriotic, devoted soldier. The house rules forbade victory by default, as a half-dozen helpful voices immediately pointed out. The prince was eager to get the episode behind him. The event lasted only a few seconds. He forced Grendor's arm down with such force that it snapped the neck of the reptilian creature attempting to bite the defeated man. A deafening cheer filled the room. Grendor's eyes widened in shock when he realized he was still alive. "Praise the Landeshexa!" he whispered. He fell to his knees before the prince. "Thank you, my lord!"

Dirk ignored him. He left the table and turned to Zyrdicia. "I believe we have some unfinished business to attend to now."

"Here?!"

"Of course not here! Come." He took her arm and guided her through the crowd to the door. In front of the tavern, a large mass of soldiers milled about. It was too crowded inside for anyone else to enter. Zyrdicia noticed that a group of officers now guarded the magical gate leading back to Tronin. Soldiers no longer passed through it at will in search of a celebration.

Dirk led her away from the throng, down an avenue through Grogan's darkened streets. It seemed most of the town's residents were either at the celebration outside the Sword & Skull or locked away in their houses. The moonless summer night was clear and still. Innumerable stars fragmented the sky's inky blackness with dim points of light.

"Where are we going?" Zyrdicia wondered.

"You'll see in a moment," he answered, taking her hand as they walked. The sound of leather squeaking against leather filled the silence as their gloves met. Had anyone passed them in the street, they would have made a rather imposing impression in the darkness. A convergence of lethal power replaced the sweetness that might otherwise have characterized such a walk at night.

"You never finished telling me the story of the Snow Orchid," she said, breaking the stillness.

"It's related to Saxarba, the Landeshexa."

"The Landeshexa is Saxarba?!"

"Yes, Landeshexa is the common name the peasants use for an ancient fire goddess. According to the legend, she carved the North out of the ice after the last Great War and brought civilization to the primitive tribes who once dwelt here. She supposedly anointed the first Blackpool king ages ago."

"So your legitimacy as sovereign ultimately rests in a divine right bestowed by this goddess, who is allegedly me," Zyrdicia laughed. "I like this story. And the connection to the Snow Orchid?"

"When she returned to the earth, she scattered her blood across the snow. Where her blood fell, the orchids grew. The flower was to be a reminder of her presence, of her eventual return."

"Why did she go away?"

"No one knows. It doesn't matter. It's a foolish story told by foolish peasants. She never existed."

"Yes, she did. Still does, in fact."

He looked at her as though she were being quite ridiculous. "Only in the form of a lovely imposter."

"I'm serious! But 'she' is usually a 'he'. Saxarba is Abraxas, which is Zyr. I found a statue of her below your South Tower. I confirmed my suspicion with a demonology expert in Lyr. Your country's goddess is merely a manifestation Zyr took on at some point."

"Your paranoia about the demons' conspiracies has gotten the better of you, my dear." He gave her a meaningful sidelong glance. "It's quite understandable given the way they torment you."

"If I weren't leaving tonight, I would prove it to you. But as it is, I'll just have to let you wallow in your metaphysical ignorance," she countered. She knew she was right.

"But you aren't leaving tonight."

"Yes, I am."

"We haven't even begun to negotiate regarding your continued service to me."

"I thought you didn't negotiate."

"Rarely."

"I'm not available as a mercenary. No one can afford what I'm worth. I've tried it, and it simply doesn't work. It's just a bad idea. There's nothing more annoying than a possessive warlord."

"Except a possessive demon, perhaps?"

"Good point. So there is only one thing more annoying."

"Something unpleasant must have happened," he noted with interest.

"An ambitious sea king once purchased a few acts of destruction from me. He was so thrilled with the result that he decided that I must have been sent by the gods to fulfill his every dream. He made a very public display of his stupidity, arriving with a huge armada in Lyr to declare his love and offer me both his heart and his kingdom before half of the city's population." She wrinkled her nose in distaste and made clear she found the episode utterly repugnant.

"So what did you do?"

"I accepted, naturally."

"His marriage proposal?" he asked evenly.

Zyrdicia pulled her hand out of his grasp and pushed him away playfully, looking quite offended, "As if! Of course not."

"Well, what then?" he smiled, recapturing her hand.

"I took his heart and his kingdom. He did offer, after all. I cut out his heart in front of his officers and fed it to a mongrel dog in the city square. Then I destroyed his kingdom and slaughtered its inhabitants using his own navy."

"How romantic," he whispered, bemused, lifting her hand to his lips to kiss it again.

They passed through Grogan into a little wood just beyond the town gate. He led her down a well-worn path through it. The dense canopy of trees opened into a clearing containing a circle of monolithic stones surrounding a great, sacrificial slab. The ruin had obviously served as a place of worship in a distant era. The enormous stones looked black and ghostly in the dim starlight.

"It's beautiful," Zyrdicia murmured, transfixed by the structure's sense of dark mystery.

"I knew the location would please you."

Zyrdicia pulled away her hand, distracted by the energy of the place. She entered the circle without hesitation. The enormity of the scale of the stones dwarfed her as she entered. She sensed Zyr's energy all around them.

Dirk followed her into the circle, scanning the shadows. He caught both her hands. Their eyes met. As they gazed at each other, her instinct was to teleport away. He had already won the game through his maneuver at the tavern. Games were sacred to her. She felt obligated to finish this one, despite the unexpected outcome. She was curious as to what his kiss would feel like. She had never permitted any mortal such a privilege.

She saw his lips part. Their lips met softly for an instant before their tongues touched tentatively. The warmth of the kiss astonished her. It was nothing like the brutal chill she knew. The kiss lasted but a few seconds. In those seconds, however, all of the past attraction and tension between them ignited anew. Their lips still lingered very close together as they stared into each other's eyes. The brief physical connection had hinted at an electricity to the attraction that begged to be released.

There was an inexplicable expression of strength in the kiss, a deadly power enamored with itself and bending that vanity into a reflexive fascination. She was the only woman Dirk had ever kissed without having to stoop to reach her, a fact which seemed emblematic of the nature of their connection. The expression of affection between them seemed to require no contortion of self, no denial of the darkness within.

"You are not departing tonight," he whispered before kissing her again. A sudden wave of passion eradicated any lingering hesitation. Their tongues probed with an eagerness bordering on desperation.

"I can't stay," she responded when he finally relented. "You have assured that now."

"Of course you can. You can't deny what's between us," he whispered seductively.

"A few stolen kisses are the extent of this. Surely you aren't expecting a torrid summer romance?" she teased.

"The thought did cross my mind."

"There are no happy endings for people like us. We are the ones who ruin other people's happy endings."

His lips curled as he regarded her. "And imagine how many such endings we could bring about together for the people of Camarand if you stay awhile longer."

There was no question that they could cause an inordinate amount of terror together. They already had. She moved her lips to his and let them linger, barely touching, as she looked into his eyes. She could sense his desire. Her movement only served to inflame him more. His arms tightened around her, lifting her slightly in order to turn her body so that her back rested against the black stone of the monolith and then kissed her fervently. Feeling her pressed between his body and the wall, Dirk had a strange feeling of deja vu as he remembered his first dream of her.

"Open your eyes!" she implored telepathically as they kissed.

"No one kisses with their eyes open."

"Trust me!" She had observed mortals' habit of closing their eyes during their most passionate moments for years, and was frankly baffled by it. She couldn't fathom why they routinely closed off the windows to their souls in such moments. To her it invoked a psychic isolation that seemed unnatural and wrong.

She was relieved that Dirk humored her. She stared into his eyes as they kissed. Her psyche nudged his mind ever so gently, caressing it. She quite literally echoed the motion of their lips and tongues with her mind. The mental sensuality of the gesture dissipated his initial discomfort at feeling her presence in his thoughts. She tugged his consciousness delicately, pulling it to the surface of the dark labyrinth of her own mind, letting it glimpse the twisting passages and shadowed corners inside it. The reciprocity of the psychic link endowed the kiss with a profound sense of intimacy, an intimacy he had never known.

"Transport us back to my chambers in Castle Blackpool," he whispered. "Give me one night to convince you that you cannot leave."

"You can't."

His lips curled slightly in a combination of surprise and amusement. "After such a challenge, I'm eager to prove you wrong."

"I won't go there with you," she breathed, touching her lips to his neck. "You've already had more of me than any mortal man ever has. This is goodbye."

He turned her chin and gazed intently at her, searching for something in her eyes. "When will I see you again?"

"Probably never." She thought about the strange coins. "But I have no gift of prophecy. Don't make it more difficult to leave than it already is."

"I'm afraid I intend to frustrate your departure in any way I can." His arms slid around her slim frame and swept her off her feet in a fluid motion. He carried her to the massive stone slab in the center of the ancient structure and set her down.

His lips explored her graceful neck and bare shoulders. She gasped in delight as their bodies pressed together. Gloved fingers hungrily explored leather-clad curves in an eruption of uninhibited lust. As she sensed his arousal, she found his desire wondrous. She relished it. Physical attraction born of mutual yearning was the antithesis of all previous experience in her world. Sephiroth were incapable of it. This most banal of mortal urges filled her with incalculable exhilaration. His physical hunger thrilled her.

She did not stiffen at his touch. She only wanted more of it. His kisses became harder and more demanding. Copulating a mortal on an ancient Zyrian sacrificial altar would be the most perfect defiance of Azriok she could imagine. She had no idea what would happen if she were to violate the Edict. She had never tried. In all likelihood Dirk would die before the act could be completed. Maybe they both would. Her forbidden hunger became a dull ache, magnified by each touch of his lips, by each caress. As the heat of their passion escalated, she could stand it no more.

She fled. She magically transported herself back to her house among the clouds.

Dirk found his arms suddenly empty. The night's stillness seemed to mock him, echoing the sudden void left by her unexpected disappearance.