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Mickytroisd — New Generation
Published: 2013-02-13 18:34:41 +0000 UTC; Views: 16593; Favourites: 307; Downloads: 1106
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Render : DS4.5Post work : CS4
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Comments: 142
Thank you very much
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You're most welcomed!!
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She looks tested, but undaunted. Excellent work. Fantastic.
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Thank you very much
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Question. In general, would you be willing to sell a fantastic picture like this to someone who wishes to use it in a self-published book cover? If so, what would one expect to pay for this? (I probably just showed my ignorance by asking all this questions, like a baseball fan asking a player "how much for that ball you hit out of the park last night autographed by you?")
If you don't wish to put this on the forums, please PM me.
Thanks!
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It's free 
I would like just be warned when published. And refer to me would also be very nice
And thanks for your comments
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Wait...what?? Are you sure? Your awesome art can be used on book covers for free? Of course, I would love to give you credit, but that seems too good to be true.
What about commissions? If I were to describe a cover, what would you ask to make it happen?
For example, I love this picture:
Woman Warrior
I wish I knew who did it. It would be an awesome cover for my book.
Also, this model here is how I envision my protagonist:
Shadyia
That is Anna Veremchuk. She is a perfect mix of strength and beauty.
Thank you for replying.
A.T.Schlesinger
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No, it's true. It's just a hobby
For commissions, it's free too. But I'm not a modeler. I purchase 3D items (characters, outfits, environments, ...), I put them in a 3D studio, I set up the pose, the cam, the light, .... and click
I have different armor (like your first link), but for Anna, I need to do some research
I need a little time but I'll try to do something and I will send you the result by PM.
Have a nice day
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Thank you for getting back to me so fast.
I have to ask (and please excuse my ignorance) but would using anything you do on the cover of a self-published book violate any copy protections? I would hate to use your work on a cover and then have some men in suits come knocking on my door.
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I'm not aware of that, sorry
I think if I give you the picture and you say it's mine, it should be enough, but I'm not sure.
It may simply be that I will you write a message that you have the right to use the image for free.
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Thank you again for replying.
I'll research this copy write issue on my end. I can also poke the forums.
I love your work. And this project I am working on has the potential to go world-wide. At least I hope so. I can give you some details or send you a few chapters, if you like. (It's a heroic fantasy with a strong female protagonist.)
In the mean time I'll continue to enjoy what you posted so far.
A.T.Schlesinger
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Sorry for the delay... and yes of course, I'm very interested
And tanks for your kind words
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OK, here are the first 3 chapters. I see no way to send you a file and this format is terrible, but you'll get an idea if you can suffer through it. I've written 31 chapters, with a plan for 50.
If you have an email where I can send you a better WORD format, please let me know.
Thanks!
=============================================
For centuries Anderholm flourished at the crossroads of Kingdoms, its gates open and its citizens at play in webs of wealth and scandal. Two magicians will unwittingly bring about its ruin, one seeking an ancient treasure, the other longing to bring back an age of magic.
Between them stands Shadyia, a pawn in their game who becomes the key to their ambitions. For men, she is an insatiable seductress. For women, an envied rival. For one, a loyal friend. Passionate and cunning, she is Shadyia, a Sister of The Silver Rose. A whore with pride.
Shadyia
by
A. Thomas Schlesinger
Madam Amrita climbed the stairwell of the east tower, the scrape of her burgundy dress and the click of her of steps resounding up the narrow passage. She paused and considered removing her shoes. Don’t be foolish, she thought. He cannot possibly hear you.
Reaching a trap door at the top, she pushed against the wind as quietly as tarred iron and aged timber allowed. Keeping low, the Madam crept the place where Sybaris maintained her vigil, a single wooden clip holding back her auburn hair and an emerald-green dress kept tight against her waist by a belt of black silk. Amrita marveled at the illusion; the dress looked suitable for a dance in Summer Hall or light lunch in the garden, but she knew Sybaris hid numerous offences within, namely a pocket filled with blinding dust, a vial of toxin nestled in her bosom and a foot-long stiletto sheathed on her lower leg. The Madam turned her eyes to a crossbow and quiver of iron-tipped bolts leaning against the low wall, and dearly hoped Sybaris would have no cause to use them. Kneeling beside her Mistress of Guardians, Amrita peered between slender arrow slits, searching for the man who had caused such a stir in her palace. She spotted him relaxing against a tree at the edge of Kingsleaf, his gaze neither leaving the Dawn Gate nor his fist the hilt of a curved dagger.
A Guardian Sister on patrol noticed him first. From her lips word of the mysterious caller spread until every courtesan in The Silver Rose had peeked through a shutter or parted a laced curtain in his direction. Amrita had at first no cause for concern. Guests to the palace, after all, were not uncommon; she welcomed them openly, eager to ignite their passions and lighten their purses. Be at ease, the Madam told her Sisters. He’s likely a new customer who lacks courage to ring the bell. Her indifference turned to concern as the morning passed and he neither approached nor withdrew. A mere guest rarely loitered so long outside the walls, especially when he came armed.
“What have you learned?” Amrita asked, the wind thrashing her face with her own grey-streaked hair.
Sybaris tilted her nose in the man’s direction. “He makes no attempt to hide himself. I think he wishes us to see him. Notice his right forearm?”
Sybaris’s grey eyes were sharper than her own; it took Amrita a moment to identify the tattoo. “Wolfguard,” she said, rubbing the bridge of her nose.
“Aye.”
“Dunstan?”
Sybaris nodded.
That ended all her hopes for a peaceful day. It marked him in the service of Dunstan Mienhard. Known publicly as the beloved uncle of the king, nothing gave Lord Dunstan more pleasure than ruining the lives of those who caused him offense. Except ending those same lives in a duel of sharp steel.
Amrita remained a moment to study the wolfguard. His hair hung straight and fair, his gaze stern and his physique showed years of hard training. She half-expected him to serenade beneath a window in her palace, then toss up a rope so that his dearest love could slide down onto his waiting white horse. But this was no bard’s tale for swooning imbibers in front of a hearth at the Inn of the Fallen Stars. Lord Dunstan was infamous for treating his personal guard like hunting dogs. What quarry was this one sniffing for? And worse, how far behind was his master?
Her anxiety simmering behind a composed mask, Amrita returned to her duties, solving dilemmas and issuing directives as they cropped up. Inform Minister Fredrick that Maggie is on sabbatical for a ten day (a lie) but he may have Agata, if he wishes and Janell would be best suited as a birthday gift for Lord Blanchard’s son. But the wolfguard never strayed far from her thoughts. Why would Dunstan Mienhard send his man to watch her palace? In the fourteen years since she created The Silver Rose, none of the Prime Houses—with one exception—had voiced serious opposition to The Madam or her Sisters. Most enjoyed her services on a regular basis, rejoiced in the revenue gained from her heavily-taxed business, or both. Marcus Flordias of House Flordias contended her ownership of The Silver Rose, often referring to her as Castellan Amrita. But he was little more than a fly buzzing around the king’s ear.
At supper she overheard the young, red-haired Sister Deresi suggest they bring the wolfguard a basket of cheese, bread and wine. Laughter bounced about the dining hall until Mistress Makayla reminded them of the eleven men Lord Dunstan had killed in duels. Just last month, Dunstan had accepted a challenge from a retired Knight-General, a veteran of numerous campaigns and grandfather of fifteen. The stodgy General had little choice but to demand a duel when Lord Dunstan insulted his actions at the Battle of Leon-Luis. Duels of this nature were a common form of entrainment for the Gentry and seldom to the death, so quite a crowd had gathered to bear witness. They watched as Dunstan cut the elderly Knight-General in four places before finishing him with a piercing stab to the throat. Cowards deserve no quarter! Dunstan had said. None of the General’s family had stepped forward to avenge their sire.
As the sun faded into the West, Sybaris rushed into White Hall and quietly informed the Madam that Lord Dunstan approached by horse. Amrita commanded the Sisters to Reception Etiquette and bid Sybaris and Makayla to follow. She strode up the grand stairs to the ballroom and watched Lord Dunstan dismount and approach the bell from behind purple drapes. He wore a long riding coat of tanned leather and a large-brimmed hat flourishing a black feather. His slender, ruby-hilted sword of black erebros steel hung eagerly off his hip. The wolfguard with the curved dagger appeared at his lord’s side as another wolfguard—a mirror image of the first save for a broadsword strapped across his back—joined them, leading two horses. Amrita turned a questioning frown on Sybaris, who shrugged apologetically for not having noticed the other man. With a tilt of her chin, the Madam dismissed the issue; he must have been hiding deeper in the forest, watching the Nightfall Gate or the stables.
“What are they saying?” Amrita asked as the men gathered.
Sybaris concentrated on the man with the curved dagger, the only lips she could see. “He said She's in there.”
A cold hand gripped Amrita's spine as Lord Dunstan pulled hard on the bell. She watched Guardian Sisters, dressed in white tunics and armed with slender batons, hurry down the marble steps and open the gate. The men strode past them, marched up the broad steps and into her palace.
Makayla stepped back from the window and paced, muttering misgivings and gripping the sides of her black dress as Sybaris hiked up her emerald gown and loosened the stiletto sheathed on her lower leg. Amrita gave them a smile of forced confidence and, gathering her nerve, returned to White Hall. She delayed her entry long enough to remind her guests whose house this was, but not so long as to provoke ire, and commanded the Guardians to open the doors. Chin elevated, shoulders back, one hand placed upon the other at waist-level—a pose which offered neither superiority nor submission—she entered her audience with Sybaris and Makayla a few steps behind. Lord Dunstan waited at her throne-like chair at the center of the vaulted chamber, coldly scrutinizing the black marble statue of the goddess Luun which rose protectively over the dais. In accordance to custom, Amrita stepped to the fountain and washed her hands. She glanced about, confirming that her Courtesans had taken to their assigned places. Dressed in short gowns with faces partly hidden under low hoods, they wore thin belts of copper, silver or gold to distinguish their rank and training.
As Amrita dried her hands with a towel and moved towards her guest, Lord Dunstan’s eyes turned toward her and immediately darted to Sybaris. The Madam resisted a smile when he shifted his jeweled erebros long sword within reach.
Amrita pinched her dress and dipped low. From the corner of her eye she saw Sybaris and Makayla do the same. “Lord Dunstan, you honor my house.”
Dunstan puffed his cheeks behind a blond mustache. “That's hardly a compliment,” he said, removing his leather riding cloak and tossing it over the hand of the statue which held the silver rose. Waiting at the exit, his wolfguard crossed their arms and grinned at their Master’s arrogance.
Disguising her offense behind decades of courtesy, Amrita asked, “How may I be of service?”
“Service?” Dunstan snapped, facing her. “Ah, but you don't service House Mienhard, do you?”
“As a matter of policy, yes, my lord.”
“Merchant captains. Knight Commanders. Bankers. House Lauren. House Ramis. Those wretches of House Querry. For them you ply your trade, but the King’s House is not good enough for your whores?”
“I assure you, my lord, no offense is meant by this. Sisters are often made with child by their acts. With any other we are free to terminate the seed, but with the House that holds the throne, this...solution...is inappropriate.”
Dunstan stepped close enough for Amrita to smell the vintage on his breath. “I am offended you think me fool enough to accept that excuse,” he said, emphasizing offended. “But it is of no matter. This policy ends tonight. I require one of your girls, the favorite of Querry's third son, William. She goes by the name Shadyia. Bring her to my guard at once.”
Amrita saw the next few seconds with chilling clarity. At least Dunstan was not the type to adorn his fingers in sharp jewels set in heavy gold. She would, however, need to keep Sybaris in check.
“I am sorry, my lord,” Amrita said, bracing herself, “but Shadyia is away from The Silver Rose until the morrow.”
Her right cheek exploded and the room spun. Hands caught her. As the arched ceiling came back into focus, she found herself on the floor in Sybaris's arms, the taste of blood in her mouth and her face aflame, but tolerable.
Dunstan stood over her and rubbed his knuckles in the palm of his hand. “Do not lie to me, whore! I know she is here! Bring her to me at once!”
Gripping Sybaris's arm, Amrita cried, “She is not, sire! I swear it!” She offered an exaggerated yelp when Dunstan kicked her hip with a steel-tipped boot and reached for his sword.
“My Lord, I am here!”
All attention turned toward the voice. Amrita silently cursed as the dark-haired Shadyia swept the hood off her sapphire gown and stepped to the center of the room. At his nod, Dunstan's men rushed forward and seized her arms, their eyes following her curves.
“Mercy, Lord,” Amrita begged, “she is just a girl!”
“The way William bragged, she’s no girl,” Dunstan said, one corner of his mouth forming a carnivorous sneer. “In fact, I believe he is quite taken with her. But after my men are finished, he will not find her so attractive. Let this stand as a warning! My horse is not to be defeated, at The Diamond, nor anyplace else!”
Hearty laughter made Dunstan turn his head, scowling at the interruption. Shadyia had collapsed in his men’s arms, her head lolling forward. Dunstan chuckled with his guards, but Amrita furrowed her brow, not understanding what Shadyia hoped to accomplish. True, no man enjoyed battering an unconscious girl, but how long could her raven-haired Sister hope to continue the act before they roused her with slaps and cruelty? The wolfguard with the curved dagger released her arm and moved to face Shadyia, forcing the other to take her weight. Gathering a fistful of black hair, he jerked her head upright, but his grin melted when met with the blue fire of Shadyia's open eyes. Confused, he didn’t notice her free hand slide his curved blade from its sheath, nor the savage cut she dealt below his ear until his own spray reddened her face. It all happened so fast, Amrita’s mind could only acknowledge it as fact. Grasping the spurting artery, the wolfguard gave Shadyia room to reverse the dagger and plunge it backward into the belly of the man who still held her. Shrieking, the guard released her arm and snatched at his broadsword. Shadyia spun on her heel, pulling free the dagger and slashing just below his chin in one smooth circle. In truth, it was beautifully done; four seconds, three cuts, and two of Dunstan's finest were down, thrashing in their own blood.
“You bitch!” Lord Dunstan roared as his blade hissed from its scabbard in a swift, practiced draw.
Sisters pulled back their hoods and stood with mouths agape as Shadyia tossed aside the bloodied dagger and slid free the dying wolfguard's half-drawn broadsword. She swung the blade high in two hands and faced Dunstan.
“Yes, come to me, whore!” the Lord seethed though clenched teeth, slashing the air. “I have killed eleven men in duels!”
Shadyia shrugged one shoulder. “I've killed two, today,” she said.
Laughter turned to gasps as their blades met. Dunstan leapt back and thrust forward, but Shadyia knocked the assault aside and repeated the move so perfectly, he nearly died from his own trademark. Slash and slice of sharp steel echoed off walls and pillars as Shadyia parried Dunstan's every assault and thrice forced him to retreat. Amrita could hardly believe what she was seeing. She knew Shadyia had once received instruction from a client who enjoyed the fantasy of a woman warrior, but never imagined her gold-belted Sister could handle a blade so well. Sweat beading his brow, the confidence on Dunstan's face shifted to frustration as his onslaughts were effortlessly slapped aside and his feints ignored. By the gods, Amrita realized, she’s toying with him. Like a cat with a mouse by its tail, she could take him at any moment.
Leaning forward, Sybaris whispered into Amrita’s ear, “Shall I offer assistance, Madam?”
Amrita glanced at her Mistress of Guardians and back at the duel. “To which one?”
With a savage howl, Dunstan lunged with a thrust intended to skewer Shadyia's heart. In the same exchange, she parried his attack, spiraled her blade downward and stabbed deep into his thigh. The lord bellowed and dropped to one knee, his sword clanging to the floor. Shadyia pulled free the glistening tip of her broadsword and drew it back.
“Shadyia, NO!” Madam Amrita cried, too late.
The tip struck left of center. Lord Dunstan looked down at the spreading stain on his white shirt and up at the whore who had killed him. He blinked twice and tried to gasp a final breath. Shadyia waited until the life drained from his eyes, and pushed him off the sword with the tip of her sandaled foot.
For a dozen heartbeats only the cheerful rush of the fountain filled the audience, shattered as the sword in Shadyia's hand clattered to the floor. Striding to the shallow pool’s edge, she washed the foreign blood off her face and arms. She had not suffered a single scratch.
Breaking the stillness, Mistress Makayla said, “We are finished. Ruined.”
Amrita came to her feet and dabbed at the cut on her lips with one sleeve. “Sister Deresi, have the carriage—Sister Deresi!”
“Yes, Madam,” Deresi said, pulling a wide-eyed gaze from Shadyia.
“Have the carriage brought round front. Sister Alerendia, go to the arms room and bring back three crossbows and two dozen bolts. Sister Thoria, go with her. The rest of you, strip the bodies. I'll need volunteers to dress in their clothing and ride into Kingsleaf until you reach Waytower Clearing. You will meet with the carriage there.”
With a parting smile to Shadyia, Deresi hurried towards the exit.
“We'll need more blood,” Sybaris said.
Amrita took in a quick breath and let it out. “The horses will provide that. Go! All of you.”
Under Sybaris's supervision, Shadyia stripped Dunstan and dressed in his trousers, boots, bloody shirt, cloak and gloves. She strapped his sword to her waist and pulled the cloak's hood over her head. Caprasia and Agata played his guards, and the three of them mounted the lord's horses and rode into the forest. A few minutes later, the doors to The Vestibule opened and the Sisters loaded three rolled carpets into a closed carriage. Pulled by two horses, this left for Waytower Clearing by a different route than the one taken by the impostors. Madam Amrita stood between the doors and watched them depart. This will work, she thought. Bandits were particularly vicious this season and no one will doubt that a man with Lord Dunstan's arrogance would ride through a dark forest. With a little luck, the crescent moon and gathering shadows should aid in fooling any that might have been watching The Silver Rose.
* * * * * * * *
Trees closed overhead until the packed road nearly vanished in the darkness. Shadyia glanced back at Sisters Caprasia and Agata. Saying nothing, they looked away. Yesterday they had laughed with her, bathed with her, and dined with her. Now they refused to make eye contact with her. She directed her gaze forward and took a deep breath of the cool night air.
The wait for the carriage at Waytower Clearing was long, Shadyia hearing only the wind in the leaves, the hoot of an owl and the grunt from the horses. The tower that gave the clearing its name had long been abandoned but glowed in the moonlight like a lone tooth in a witch's grin. Madam Amrita had chosen the spot well; this road through Kingsleaf was one route Lord Dunstan might have taken back to his estate. The memory of Dunstan made Shadyia spit into the dirt. He had sent his thugs to rape and beat her because his horse was bested at the Diamond by one owned by William Querry. Did it ever occur to him to breed finer thoroughbreds or hire better riders? Of course not.
Was it even possible to rape a whore? For a few heartbeats, shame clouded Shadyia's thoughts, replaced by the pleasant memory of William, so young and handsome and eager to please. He had been her Coin a dozen times in the last three months and every time was the same. Dinner, followed by a story about his beloved horses, followed by a night of passion. She easily left him feeling like one of the great swains sung by Bards at the Inn of Fallen Stars, where poets and writers and dreamers gathered to entertain the people of Anderholm.
Lost in her thoughts, Shadyia did not hear the carriage approach until it was almost upon them. Caprasia and Agata dismounted and were stripping off the guard's clothing as Shadyia leapt from her horse. The Sisters dragged three long bundles out of the carriage, and had them unrolled by the time she stood shivering in her thin house gown, now stained with blood from the shirt. Working quickly, Sisters dressed the bodies in their original clothing, and tied them upright on nervous horses. Crossbows and several bolts were passed to Shadyia, Caprasia and Agata. Grounding the stirrup, Shadyia loaded an iron-tipped bolt, used both hands to lock the string, and rested the tiller against her shoulder. As her Sisters tied the horses to prevent escape, Shadyia took aim at the stallion she had ridden into Kingsleaf and clenched her teeth.
“Aim at the neck just below the jaw,” Mistress Sybaris said quietly.
The three sisters loosed at Sybaris's command. The horses reared and cried out in agony. Misty-eyed, Shadyia loaded and released again and again until her horse stopped thrashing. The last three bolts, these into Dunstan who lay mouth slacked and eyes glazed on his slain horse, proved far easier. That done, the ropes were removed and Sybaris added the finishing touch by soaking a cloth in horse blood and dripping it profusely where the bolts had struck. The bodies were then stripped of rings, purses, boots, weapons, even the gold filling in Dunstan's teeth. With one last search to ensure nothing could be traced back to The Silver Rose, Shadyia helped her Sisters roll up the carpets and load them into the carriage.
As the others entered the open doors or sat on top, Sybaris turned to Shadyia and held up her hand. “Sister, you will stay and see that the tracks are covered.”
Shadyia turned her eyes down. “Yes, Mistress.”
“Do you know how to do this?”
For an instant her anger surged, but she quickly pushed it down. “Yes, Mistress. I will find heavy branches and drag them over the tracks.”
None of her Sisters looked back as the carriage pulled away. Breath frosting, Shadyia stood in her short house gown and sandals, and looked for a suitable branch.
* * * * * * * * *
Luun shone so bright She took the stars from the sky when Shadyia staggered barefoot back to The Silver Rose. She had lost her slippers somewhere in the forest. With the last of her strength, she scaled the vine-covered wall and used a servant's door to enter the Vestibule. Limping from cuts and bruises earned from her tramp through the woods, Shadyia made for the stair that led up to her apartment. She was not sure she had the strength to climb the steps, but swore that she would make it to her bed, even if she had to crawl. She would not give Makayla and Sybaris the satisfaction of finding her collapsed on the floor in the morning.
The fountain was quiet as she limped her way across the freezing marble floor. She looked at the place where Dunstan knelt with that incredulous look on his face, and wished there was some evidence of what had happened. A single drop of dry blood. A scratch in the marble. Anything.
A flurry of movement whipped her head around just before she was caught in a sudden embrace.
“Oh, thank Luun you are safe!” Deresi cried, her words muffled in Shadyia's hair. “I was so worried!”
Shadyia returned the hug with as much strength as her numb muscles would allow. “I am well. I am well.”
Still holding tight, Deresi said, “I cannot believe they just left you out there. What was Sybaris thinking? You could have been raped, killed, even worse!”
“Worse?” Shadyia laughed.
Deresi's own laugh turned into a sob.
“I am well, Sister. Shhhhh.”
Clicks against the marble made them hastily part. There was only one in The Silver Rose who wore sharp heels like that. Shadyia looked down at Deresi's silver belt and stepped in front of her.
“Mistress Sybaris was thinking that Sister Shadyia needed to learn a lesson,” Makayla said as she emerged from the dark between the pillars, hands on hips making the long sleeves of her dress look like the wings of a bat. “And from the looks of her, I would say she learned it rather well.”
Shadyia kept her jaw tight. “It was a good lesson, Mistress. And I thank her for it.”
Makayla locked eyes with Shadyia, trying to force her to look away. Shadyia pressed her knees together and concentrated on the mole on Makayla's cheek.
At last, the Mistress dropped her hands to her sides. “Rest, Sister Shadyia. You will present yourself to The Madam after First Meal,” she said, tilting her head to the side. “But before you retire to your comforts, take a moment to look at all The Silver Rose has given you. Take a good, long look. It will be the last you see of it.”
Makayla spun and clicked away, long black hair on a black dress merging with the shadows. Shadyia released the breath she was holding and turned towards the long climb to her apartment, but was stopped by a gentle hand on her shoulder. Deresi took her by the arm and led her along the wall to wide steps that descended to the baths. Shadyia's muscles protested at the thought; without servants to stroke the fires, the baths would be cold and the water freezing.
“Sister, I—”
Deresi placed her finger on her lips. With a mischievous glint in her green eyes, she lead Shadyia down the circling steps to a heavy door and pulled it open. Shadyia expected darkness and cold air, but was greeted by soft light and scented steam. Sister Caprasia stood next to a shallow pool filled with foaming water. Dozens of lit candles lined the floor around pillars and the pool's edge, accentuating her honey-blond hair. Shadyia barely felt Deresi loosen her blood-stained robe and slip it off her shoulders, followed by her undergarments. Facing Shadyia, the red-headed Sister took her hands and walked her backwards into the pool. Shadyia moved her lips, trying to find words, but none came. Caprasia filled a decanter of warm water and luxuriously upended it over Shadyia's head while Deresi worked an amofous blossom to a rich lather. Her Sisters then caressed off layers of dirt and sweat until their hair hung in wet strings and their gowns clung to their skin. After Caprasia doused her once more, Deresi led her out of the water to a high marble bench covered with a white cloth. As Shadyia sat, Deresi lifted up her foot and poured a small vial of golden oil over her cuts and bruises. Shadyia gasped and tried to pull her foot free, but Deresi held firm. Sisters were issued one vial of Jilqu every six moons, each containing twenty drops of oil, each drop worth a laymen’s yearly wage. Shame filled Shadyia's heart, not for what her Sisters had sacrificed this night, but for what she had endangered by her rash acts. Mist formed over her eyes and became streaks of tears.
While Deresi lifted her other foot and rubbed Jilqu into her wounds, Caprasia stepped in front of her and whispered, “Stop that.” She then kissed her lips and cheeks, instantly drying her tears and returning her mind back to the relaxed place where it had been. Inviting her to lie on her stomach, Caprasia worked a deep massage of pure magic on Shadyia's shoulders, lower back and neck.
Men would pay a fortune for this, Shadyia thought, and probably twice that to watch it. But they would see something that was not there. Her Sister's caresses were designed to relax, not arouse. To comfort, not excite. The massage complete, they slipped a clean robe over her shoulders and soft sandals on her feet. Deresi then led her up the steps to the apartments while Caprasia remained to remove all evidence of their midnight venture, least they earn the wrath of a Mistress.
Unless, Shadyia wondered as Deresi placed her in bed and pulled heavy blankets up to her chin, someone commanded them to do this. It would be just Madam Amrita's style to teach a lesson with pleasure, to make her fully appreciate what she risked by killing those men. That thought followed her down into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Chapter 2
Shadyia woke to see Deresi sitting on her bed.
“You slept through First Bells,” she said, her hair a fiery waterfall in the morning sun.
“Did I?” Shadyia groaned and rose to her elbows. “I did not even hear them.”
Deresi touched Shadyia’s cheek and sifted her hair through gentle fingers, the caress of unpainted nails tingling Shadyia's scalp.
“I brought you some breakfast,” Deresi said, her red lips smiling, freckles vibrant on her pale skin.
Shadyia fell back into her pillows. “You are far too kind to me.”
Leaning forward, Deresi traced a finger along Shadyia’s jaw and down her neck. The tingle in Shadyia’s scalp became a chill which rushed along her spine and settled between her thighs.
“I cannot believe what you did yesterday,” the red-haired girl said, wetting her lips. “Where did you ever learn to fight like that?”
Resting one hand on her forehead, Shadyia summoned memories from her sluggish mind. “Two summers past I had a Coin who was a Knight-Lieutenant in the Redguard. He had me two, three times a week for over a year. It excited him to dress me in armor and fight him in mock duels. I learned much of balance and stance from him. He was a great teacher.” It was a half-truth that she had told herself so often, the words were comfortable in her mouth.
“Was?” Deresi said, her fingers sliding under Shadyia's blankets.
Shadyia glanced down at Deresi's hand and back up to her enchanting green eyes. “Mmmm, yes. He was slain last autumn escorting a caravan. A Blackhand ambush.”
“Forgive me. I didn’t wish to bring up a bad memory.”
Shadyia shrugged one shoulder. “No worries.” She did not resist when Deresi's fingers moved lower and slipped beneath her undergarments.
“Forgive me,” Deresi said again.
Closing her eyes and slightly arching her back, Shadyia whispered, “There is—oh!—nothing to forgive, Sister.”
Deresi’s head disappeared under the blanket. With the first touch of her tongue, Shadyia was instantly awake.
* * * *
The door to the steps down to White Hall was locked so Shadyia took the servant's stair through the kitchens. By habit, she glanced quickly into Welcome Hall to see if there were any Coins and saw one man speaking with two Host Sisters. His attire suggested he was there to make arrangements for his master. Chatter ahead drew Shadyia onward. She strode down a corridor striped with sunlight to find most of the Sisters gathered at the fountains in the east vestibule, their hair perfect and jewelry sparkling, ready to service a visitor. The room fell silent as Shadyia entered in her short jade green dress and gold belt. They watched her for a moment, and then resumed their gossip.
Deresi smiled and motioned Shadyia to where she stood with Caprasia and Janell.
“Did you rest well, Sister?” Caprasia asked, her impassive expression failing to smother the glint in her eyes.
Shadyia matched the look and answered, “Very well, Sister. Thank you for asking.”
The exchange was not lost on Janell. “Alright now, what were you two doing last night?”
“Nothing,” Shadyia, Caprasia, and Deresi answered in unison.
Janell turned on Deresi behind her. “You as well? Why was I not invited?”
“You shall be next time,” Caprasia said, laying a hand on her shoulder. “I promise.”
Janell crossed her arms and sat on the fountain's edge, looking for all the world like an offended school girl. Shadyia could not tell if her friend was feigning or not, so relief lightened her spirits when Janell joined in with their giggles.
Caprasia's smile vanished as a hush fell over the room. Shadyia turned and saw four Sisters approach, led by Thoria, one of Mistress Sybaris’s Guardian Sisters.
The tall, blond-haired Sister regarded Shadyia for a moment, her pale lips tight. “Have any of you considered what is happening at the royal palace as we speak?”
Shadyia held her gaze while her friends looked away.
“By now,” Thoria continued, speaking to the whole room, “the bodies have been found in the forest and brought to the attention of the King. He will have summoned Magistrate Alberich and commanded a full investigation into the death of his beloved uncle.”
“Sister,” Caprasia said, “we are not to speak of this. Sybaris—”
“By not going to the authorities immediately, we are all guilty of treason!” Thoria said, hissing the last word like a striking serpent.
Alerendia, a young copper-belt standing to Thoria's right, spoke up. “Have you forgotten what happened at The Diamond? And that was just for laming a horse!”
Shadyia had not forgotten. Last Spring five of The Diamond's whores, led by Madam White, were accused of interfering with the Finals by cutting the tendons of Lord Dunstan's Prime Mare. They were publicly whipped until their dresses were bloody, and banished outside the gates of Anderholm.
“This is The Silver Rose, Ali,” Caprasia said. “We're not some—”
“You think that matters!” Thoria spat. “Dunstan's family surely knew he came here last night. Alberich will send constables who will ask many questions. The grounds from here to Waytower will be searched. If they find any evidence—“
“I trust that Sybaris has considered all this,” Shadyia said.
“Oh, you trust her now, but you didn't trust her last night. So Dunstan's men would have beaten you! That is why we have Jilqu oil. A few months from now, Sybaris would have them scragged in their sleep with none the wiser!”
Shadyia took a step towards Thoria, her hands becoming fists. “Patience is not one of my virtues, Sister.”
Girls rushed to pull the two apart as “Enough!” boomed over the East Vestibule, stopping everyone in their tracks.
The doors to White Hall were open and Makayla stood between them. “Shadyia, present yourself to the Madam. The rest, if you have no Coins, see to your chores!”
Sisters dispersed as Shadyia walked past the Mistress, not daring to make eye contact. She heard the door close soundly behind her. Madam Amrita sat on her raised chair with Mistress Sybaris standing to her left. Makayla took her position on the right. Above them the statue of Luun stood with arms wide. In one hand it held a silver rose, the other a jagged black dagger. Shadyia slipped out of her sandals, unfastened her gold belt and dropped it on the floor. Her dress followed. Naked, she approached the edge of the dais and presented herself to the Madam with hands behind her back and one knee slightly bent.
Amrita impassively watched her for several heartbeats. Finally she spoke. “Sister Shadyia, what is the First Tenet of the Courtesan?”
“Silver before pleasure,” Shadyia answered without delay.
“And the Second?”
“Illusion is our Bread and Butter.”
Amrita pressed the ends of her fingers together. “And the third?”
Shadyia swallowed. “Our greatest enemy is Pride.”
The Madam rose and stepped down off the dais. “You stand here now because you violated the Second and Third tenet.”
Shadyia opened her mouth but closed it quickly. No question was asked, therefore she could not speak.
“Yesterday,” Amrita said, circling behind Shadyia, “when Dunstan struck me, what did you feel?”
“I wanted to kill him.”
“Why?”
“Because I love you. You've been as mother to me.”
“And...?”
Shadyia's eyes darted left and right. “He hurt you.”
The Madam took Shadyia's chin in her hand. “Look at me. Am I hurt?”
The bruise Dunstan left on her cheek had faded and the cut on her lips was nearly healed, the unmistakable effect of Jilqu oil. Shadyia shook her head.
Amrita released her chin and returned to her chair. She leaned back against its cushion and looked off in the distance. “Had you not acted as you did, what do you think would have happened?”
Shadyia pressed her lips together before answering. “They would have forced themselves on me.”
Makayla scowled and sighed harshly.
“And then?” the Madam asked.
Shadyia swallowed. “They would have beaten me. One would have held me down while the other broke my jaw and my nose and my ribs.”
“And then?”
Shadyia blinked. “If I lived, they would have left. If I died, they would have left quickly.”
“You would have lived,” Sybaris said. “That beating was meant as a message to Lord Querry's third son. Dunstan wanted William to see sorrow in your eyes, not stand over a grave.”
“True,” said the Madam, “but it doesn't answer my question. After the men left, what would have happened?”
Shadyia thought for a moment. “I would have been cared for.”
Amrita nodded. “As you were last night. And when sufficient time had passed I would have Mistress Sybaris deal with the men.”
Anger surged in Shadyia. “The guards, not Dunstan!”
Makayla gripped the back of the chair. “You dare speak when not addressed!”
Unable to stop, Shadyia looked daggers at the Mistress, “I would not allow those men to rape me!”
“Whores cannot be raped, you stupid girl!” Makayla spat.
“I am no whore!”
Madam Amrita's calm voice smothered their anger. “Then what are you?”
It was a question, and so Shadyia had to answer. “I—I’m—I—” she stammered, looking down. “I do not know.”
Amrita pressed her advantage. “Then I will answer for you. You are a whore. You don’t like that word, do you?”
“I don't mind the way you say it, Madam,” Shadyia answered, her eyes darting to Makayla.
Sybaris chuckled. “The word has but one meaning.”
Amrita nodded. “Furthermore, those men could not have raped you, if you didn’t allow it.”
Shadyia looked confused.
“You don’t agree?”
“I thought,” Shadyia said, the corners of her mouth turning up, “that's what I did.”
“No,” the Madam said, “you killed them. That is not what I meant. Rape is in the mind, not the body. I have tried to teach my Sisters that from the beginning, but with you I have failed. Illusion is our Bread and Butter. Whether you were violated or not is up to you. Whether you were humiliated or not is up to you. Do you understand?”
Shadyia shook her head.
Sybaris spoke. “You could have acted humiliated. You could have acted violated. You could have pleaded and wept, as the Madam has taught us. Yes, they would still have beaten you as they were ordered, but any injuries would have been healed by Jilqu in two weeks’ time, four at the most.”
“Your performance,” the Madam added, “would have softened their blows. Enough to satisfy their master, but not enough to cause any lasting harm. It takes a man of exceptional cruelty to beat a beautiful woman who has caused him no insult, and those men were not exceptional.”
“You are so certain?” Shadyia asked quietly.
“Yes, I am,” Amrita answered. “I have been beaten twelve times in my life, Shadyia.”
Sybaris lifted her arms and held up seven fingers. After a pause, Makayla held up five.
“And now because of your pride, the home and livelihood of forty-seven women are in jeopardy.”
“But Sybaris—”
“Is very good,” Mistress Sybaris said, “but not infallible. Have no delusions, Sister. Someone will pay for your acts. The death of a noble of the First House cannot go unpunished.”
“We are in grave danger, Shadyia,” The Madam said. “There are pious men in Anderholm who would like nothing more than to see us cast out. There are nobles who believe I have no proper claim to The Silver Rose. There are rivals who would rejoice if the competition were lessened. You have thrown these starving wolves a large piece of red meat. And you have wounded me deeply, because my teachings mean nothing to you.”
Shadyia's eyes blurred with tears. “I shall gather what little is mine,” she said softly, “and leave your home, Madam.”
Amrita raised her eyebrows. “I was not suggesting that.”
Makayla and Sybaris exchanged looks as the Madam picked up a small bell. “What you will do,” she continued, “is stand there and neither move nor speak unless directed. Do you understand?”
Shadyia nodded as the Madam rang the bell. Instantly, Guardian Sisters outside opened the North Doors. Long shadows preceded five men, one attired in a fine gray robe, the others in matching chain linked armor and wearing tabards of the Humanist Crusaders. The doors thundered shut as they strode to the dais.
* * * * * *
Deresi pushed her ear against the door to White Hall but could hear only mumbles. She heard Shadyia shout I am no whore! to something that bitch Makayla had said, but nothing else. Her eye on any crack where light shown revealed nothing as well. Frustrated, she paced back and forth until voices and footsteps chased her away.
She needed a diversion, something to take her mind off of what was happening to her friend. Deresi had no Coins until an hour past sundown, when she had to meet with The Fat Salt Merchant. She never bothered to remember his name.
She paused at the Servant's Steps leading up to her apartment and considered a mid-morning nap, but knew that was a bad idea. She would only lie in bed and worry about Shadyia. The exercise room was available. She wanted to learn to walk twenty steps on her hands. So far, she had mastered only eleven. But there would be several Sisters there and she wanted to be alone. The baths were out of the question for the same reason.
That left only her secret place.
Past the kitchens and the store rooms were steps down to the cellars. Four moons ago, Deresi had been sent there to bring up a rare vintage. As she pulled the bottle out from a rack embedded in the wall, she noticed a crack that went straight up then took a sharp turn to the right. Using a lantern, she followed the crack a few paces until it turned again for the floor, much too even to be the work of water or shifting earth. Picking up a grip stick used to retrieve bottles out of reach, Deresi punched the plaster where the bottle she had taken once rested. The stick pierced the wall easily. Focusing the lantern, Deresi could see that a passage continued beyond.
That night she had to take the bottle to a celebration held in Summer Hall, but as soon as she could, Deresi returned to the wall and painstakingly removed every dusty bottle until the rack was light enough to move. Sweaty and dirty and positive at any moment Makayla or Sybaris would be summoned by the noises she made, Deresi chipped away at the plaster until she made an opening wide enough to crawl through.
Memories of her childhood filled her mind as she explored rooms and passages beyond the hole. Although most Sisters wore a forlorn expression when she talked about growing up in the sewers under Anderholm, and living hand to mouth with the Drift People, Deresi had fond memories of those years: dressing like a boy; stealing honey cakes from a bakery; cutting a guard's coin purse. It was good life until her body changed and men and boys looked at her differently. Soon they no longer invited her on rat hunts or dice games. They gave her things when she did not ask and became angry when she offered a thank you in return. When Herman stabbed Jake the Mouse for trying to kiss her, Deresi had fled up into the streets—right into a troop of Redguard, who promptly arrested her for the blood on her clothes. Later that week, Madam Amrita was informed of a beautiful red-haired young woman with no place to go, and purchased her freedom. She did not have to become a whore. She could have worked off her debt in the kitchens. But one look at the dresses and jewels and hairstyles and perfumes and apartments that the courtesans enjoyed melted any resistance. It made up for having to rut with sweaty men twice her age. She wore the copper belt for two years before earning her silver. In another year she hoped to wear gold.
Like Shadyia.
Deresi paused to listen if anyone was following, and then made her way through the kitchens and down to the cellars. Because of the rats, Sisters didn’t stay long in that area of the cellars. Rats never bothered Deresi; she thought they were adorable.
Lighting a lantern, she opened the elaborate cover she had built over the hole and ducked into the dark passage. Old cobwebs brushed her face as she held high a lantern, looking for the discrete marks she had made to her secret room. Her heartbeat quickened as she slipped past corridors leading into solid darkness and steps descending to who-knows-where. If only Jake the Mouse could be here! she thought. He would never leave!
The door to her secret room was closed. Deresi looked for the string of hair she placed at knee-level and found it intact. She opened the door and smiled. Jewelry on thick linen twinkled in the lantern light. She had collected seven gold rings, some with rubies and emeralds, five necklaces, one made of blue pearls from the Azure Sea, three silver snuff boxes, fifty-six gold and silver coins from various kingdoms and a pair of red gloves that felt extravagant on her hands. She doubted even Queen Mienhard owned such wealth! Of course, it was wealth in name only. Her years in the sewers had taught her that she could never actually sell any of this for Anderic coin. No fence would touch local and distinct jewelry. She could melt down the gold and silver and pry out the gems, but it would be such a pity to destroy her treasures.
Deresi picked up one of the necklaces, slipped it over her head and admired herself in a small mirror.
“Why yes, m'lord,” she said to her reflection. “I would be honored to go to the dance with you.”
She never took anything her Coins would miss, certainly nothing they wore, displayed prominently in a bed chamber or locked in an obvious chest. The things she pinched were usually stored in some out-of-the-way place, forgotten and ignored. The Fat Salt Merchant provided the necklace she now wore. It was under some handkerchiefs in one of twelve small drawers in an old chiffonier.
Returning the necklace to its place, Deresi thought of Shadyia and what she must be going through in White Hall. If Madam Amrita put her out, Deresi would leave as well. She would take her treasures and sell them in Langshire or Ginevra on the Azure Sea. She would even melt them down, if she had to. Then she and Shadyia could buy a chalet along the Adenia River and breed horses. A waterwheel would grind grain into flower to bake fresh bread. They would ride horses in the day and make love in the night. After a while, they would adopt some orphan children, two girls, one with red hair and one with black hair, and teach them to fight and ride and be free.
Deresi closed the door to her secrets, replaced the string of her hair at knee level, and made her way back to the rooms above.
Chapter Three
Only her promise to Madam Amrita kept Shadyia from fleeing as the five Humanists strode to the dais. She moved her hands to cover herself, but a furrowed brow from the Madam forced them behind her back.
While the four Crusaders waited impassively, the one in gray robes stepped forward, his eyes fixed upon her. His pupils enlarged as his left hand stroked a well-groomed goatee. For a few seconds he saw only Shadyia—then his eyes shifted to the right as if remembering the four men behind.
Locking his fingers over a black cummerbund, the gray-robed man faced Madam Amrita. “She is indecent. Dress her immediately.”
A tilt of the Madam's chin released Shadyia. She quickly pulled her sapphire dress over her head and clasped the thin gold belt.
“My compliments, Madam,” the man said, continuing. “You have found me a girl that matched my description perfectly. Is she fully trained?”
“She wears the Gold, Advisor,” Amrita replied. “I am certain she can perform any task you require.”
The man in gray turned to Shadyia and extended his hand. “Come here, child.”
Shadyia stepped to him and knelt on both knees. Taking the offered hand, she touched it to her forehead, kissed the onyx ring and looked up into his eyes.
“Very well trained,” the man whispered, lifting her to her feet. “I almost believed that.”
Shadyia saw Makayla shift uncomfortably while Sybaris matched the Crusader’s unreadable calm.
A professional smile on her lips, Madam Amrita rose from her chair. Placing her hand on the small of Shadyia's back, she gestured with the other to the man in gray. “Before you stands Demos Azari, First Advisor to the Humanist Prelate Ames Emilian.”
Shadyia lowered her eyes and bowed her head. “My lord Advisor.”
“I am not a lord,” Demos Azari said. “What is your name, child?”
“Shadyia, sir.”
“A lovely name,” he said, again clasping his fingers over his cummerbund. “I have a task for you that is of particular interest to the Prelate, but I am not yet convinced you are worthy of the challenge. I am going to ask you a question. A riddle, of sorts. You will have one chance to answer it. Are you prepared?”
Shadyia nodded.
“You are riding a horse in a terrible snow storm out in the country when you come upon three people huddled under a tree. The first, a woman, is your best friend who once saved your life. The second is a sick, old maid who will die if she is not taken to shelter. The last is the man of your dreams, a perfect prince who can offer you a life of comfort and devotion. Your horse can carry only one other person. What will you do?”
Shadyia chewed her lip. Obviously the riddle implied that choosing one person would cause her to lose the other two. If she took her best friend on the horse, the old woman would die and the prince would be offended and never speak to her again. Taking the old woman would mean her friend would marry the prince. Although a “best friend” would understand if she wanted to take the prince, such a friend would have to stand there and watch the old woman die. Not a pleasant thing to do to someone who once saved your life. The riddle, Shadyia realized, tried to force her to choose between being honorable, compassionate, or selfish. Shadyia saw through the trap.
“I would offer my horse to my best friend and bid her to take the old woman to shelter,” she said. “I would then stay with the prince and profess my love.”
Demos Azari arched one eyebrow. “Very good, child. That is correct.”
Madam Amrita embraced Shadyia like a daughter who had won a blue ribbon, but whispered, “Be humble,” into her ear. She then faced Demos and said, “Do you find her acceptable?”
“Can she read?”
Amrita beamed with practiced joy. “All my girls can read and write in Edish, both Common and Archaic. Shadyia can also speak Khalic and Ahemian.”
“Indeed?” Azari scoffed. Looking at Shadyia, he asked in Ahemian, “Balebia al arbia ti lukia alebua?”
Shadyia shrugged one shoulder and answered, “Al alenbu ti luko sut.”
The Madam shot her piercing warning as Demos said, “That was Old Ahemian. Where did you learn it?”
“At temple, sir,” Shadyia said, eyes down.
If Azari disbelieved her lie, he did not show it. “Are you familiar with the philosophy of Hojn So?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What of the poetry of Simon Dunne?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Which are your favorite of his poems?”
“I prefer The White Fox and A Mother's Lie.”
“What did So mean when he said Death is the beginning, Birth is the end?”
“I have no idea.”
Demos laughed. “Neither did he.” Turning to Amrita, he said, “She will do nicely. Have you informed her of the task?”
The Madam shook her head. “I thought it best to come from you, Advisor.”
“Very well,” Demos said, facing Shadyia. “In the Artisan's District you will find Featherquill Manor. Within dwell two men, a master and an apprentice. The master's name is Aaron. You will go there, offer your services to him, seduce him, and bring him under your control. This will be no easy task. Aaron is one of the most brilliant men I have ever known, but he has a great weakness for witty, intelligent women. That is your advantage. Research him well before you enter his house. He has already requested the services of The Silver Rose, but the girl who was sent did little more than sate his lust. In three weeks I will return with further instructions. Do you have any questions?”
“No, sir.”
Turning to Amrita, Demos said, “I shall take my leave of you, Madam,” and then added in a lowered voice, “May I count on your discretion?”
Amrita replaced her business smile with her most serious look. “Completely, Advisor. This conversation will never be repeated outside this room. On my life.”
Demos Azari inclined his head and then swept from the room, the four Crusaders following. Their footfalls alerted the Guardian Sisters outside, who opened the doors as they approached, and closed them once they had departed.
Amrita sat on her chair and regarded Shadyia. “If you have any questions or concerns, now is the time.”
“Which Sister has this scholar been seeing?” Shadyia asked.
“Janell.”
Shadyia blinked. “Janell? The poetry she knows is sung by children.”
Amrita displayed her hands. “At the time, Aaron of Featherquill Manor requested a young woman with blond hair, the more innocent the better. I sent Janell. I did not know Advisor Azari would have any interest in him or us.”
“What does Azari want of him?”
“I don’t know.”
Shadyia looked to Mistress Sybaris. “Am I to kill this scholar?” Given the reputation of the Humanists, that was not an outrageous question.
“I doubt it,” Sybaris said, shaking her head. “I rather think Azari will want some information from him.”
Makayla scoffed. “Then why the seduction? They could just drag him to their halls and ask him with hot irons and bone snappers.”
Amrita held up her hand. “There is more at play here than we understand. We shall try to discover the truth, but we must proceed with the utmost caution. Shadyia, you will give this matter your highest priority. You will service none of your Coins while engaged in this task.”
Shadyia hung her jaw. “Madam?”
“We shall inform William, Piotr and Leon that you have taken a leave of absence for personal reasons. The Scholar Aaron is to be given your full attention. Use all that I have taught you, Sister. In three weeks, I want you to be the first thought he has when he wakes up in the morning, and his last thought before he closes his eyes at night. Do you understand?”
Shadyia's first impulse was to argue, but Amrita's penetrating eyes chased away her objections. “I do, Madam.”
“You may return to your apartment and rest.”
Bowing her head, Shadyia touched the tips of her fingers to her lips and then displayed her hands, glancing first at the Madam and then up at the statue of Luun. Before exiting White Hall, she stepped into her slippers, bowed once again to the dais, and closed the doors. As Shadyia turned, she saw Deresi rush towards her wearing a dress smudged with soot.
“What happened? Will they put you out? Are you alright?” Deresi asked, wringing her hands.
Shadyia grasped her shoulders. “All is well,” she said, then pulled spider web from her red hair. “Where have you been?”
“Never mind that!” Deresi cried, batting her hand aside. “What happened?”
Shadyia opened her mouth to speak, but then sighed and chose other words. “It's a long story and I am not allowed to speak of it. But they will not put me out.”
“Oh, thank Luun!” Deresi said, embracing her.
Shadyia returned the affection, musing that Luun has little to do with it. Pushing the thought aside, she looked with tenderness at her friend, realizing that of all her Sisters, Deresi alone had waited. She kissed Deresi twice, teasing the red-haired girl’s lips with her tongue as she pulled back.
Deresi bit her lower lip. “What was that for?”
A mere Thank you seemed inadequate, so she just stroked her cheek. “I heard,” Shadyia said in a low voice, “that a caravan from Arjen arrived yesterday. What say you and I do a little shopping?”
A smile erupted on Deresi's face. “I’ll get my purse!”
“Yes, and change that dress,” Shadyia said, thumping her nose. “You look like you have been crawling through a cave.”
Deresi giggled and ran off. Looking down at her own dress, Shadyia saw the sweat stains under her armpits. A house gown was no outfit for shopping. She made her way back through the kitchens and up to her apartment.
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Even if my bad English prevents me to understand everything, it's very good. Congrats
I like all your descriptions of the scenes and the characters are really exciting.
I'll send you my email by PM, but it will take me a little time to read all... sorry
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Oh! I didn't know English wasn't your first (mother) language. It must be difficult for you to read my book.
Thank you for the kind words.
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Truly my pleasure
I forgot to send you my email, I do it immediately
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Hey, just a quick note to say your book cover you made for me is still #1. I am almost finished with my self-editing and will send it off to a professional editor soon. I have not forgotten what you did and how brilliantly you took time out of your life to do this for me.
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Very good news and good luke for the future
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Thank you so much
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Spectacular! What a fantastic character -- and technically perfect, too!
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Micky this is brilliant mate! One of the best Lara pictures I've seen!
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Awww... thank you so much
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She looks like she's going to take great pleasure in putting whoever the subject is.
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...whoever the subject is down.
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WOW I love the look and feel of realism in this image, your lighting and balance is perfect!
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I love the use of lighting and textures you used here. Like most of your work, really nicely done.
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