Nay? Had he actually told her nay?

To. Her. Face.

An honest thief, Ysenda mused.

A courageous one as well. No sensible man would intentionally go up against an offended female’s ire, especially when 'twould have been so easy for him to charm her. Why, he might have called her bedazzling. Or some such outrageous nonsense. If only for the sake of expediency. In her present susceptible state, she might even have believed him. Or at least wished to believe him. Needed to believe him. Instead he left himself open to her vitriol.

Why? Why would he tolerate her scalding ridicule when a dose of charm would have saved his ears from burning?

He drew a finger down her nose, an unobjectionable nose, though mayhap a bit too narrow and long. "Nay, you are not comely. Comely is too mundane for you. I suspected your looks would be unusual, and they are, but they are handsome as well."

"Handsome is the jurisdiction of men. Are you calling me masculine?" Picking an argument was safer than allowing his high-flown words to affect her. He affected her aplenty as 'twas.

"I am saying that you have a patrician sort of refined elegance. Have you nobility in your blood?"

"My mother was a peasant. Fair of complexion and beauteous to behold. Everyone said so. My father was a freed serf. I take after him. In my olive coloring. In my black hair. In the knife sharpness of my bones."

"Your humble background is of no import here. I am a good judge of these things, and I know what appeals to males when I see it. Garbed with seduction in mind, you will captivate my gender. When you strut across the stage, the men in the audience will not be able to keep their eyes off you. This bodes well for me."

Ah! His charming compliment had a selfish motivation. This, she understood.

Finished with her face, he moved on to her hands, lifting one and then the other.

He touched the bracelet encircling her wrist. "What is this?"

"Just something I found", she lied. "I never take it off." Reverently she touched the hidden metal clasp on the dented and scarred face of the pendant. "I wear it encircling my wrist, the heavy chain wrapped thrice so as not to lose it." She looked at him pointedly. "Or chance some eunuch thief snatching it from my neck. 'Tis a worthless ornament, with little value, but I would be heartsick if some outlaw robbed me of it."

"May you always keep it safe."

The bracelet forgotten, he touched her neck then, using the linen cloth once more. "Your throat reminds me of sun-kissed marble," he said on a hush. "A long regal column, stately to behold."

"Go on with you now," she scoffed.

She kept telling herself that he might have been talking to a sodding stately marble column as well. That he might have been talking about a sodding column too. That none of this was personal.

Save her reaction.

When he washed the linen over her breasts, the tips went from soft to hard. Simple friction?

If only 'twere so.

"These are nicely shaped," he said dispassionately.

"Too small by far," she gasped and shut her legs tight, needing desperately to rub her thighs together.

"But your graceful posture makes more of what you have, and a better diet will fill them out."

He tortured her with the cloth and tormented her with his words, and his touch remained so tender she could have wept.

His thick finger circled her nipples. "And these uptilted crests are tantalizing."

Her lips parted, a tiny panted breath escaped, and she knew she had fallen under his wizard’s spell. After having not eaten in days, her too-small breasts felt fuller already. His remarks, his expert fondling caused them to swell.

Sod him, sod him, sodding sod him. Knowing he played with her, still she could not fight her reaction to his games.

The cloth moved next to her concave belly, massaging, kneading...sinking to her pubic curls. Before the anarchy, a sense of modesty had never plagued her. Naked or garbed, 'twas all the same to her. She knew herself to be a strong woman with a strong woman’s body. Where was the shame in a God-given gift? But everyone was starving these days, and hunger had left her emaciated. Again the urge to cross her arms defensively over her exposed breasts and loins surged irresistibly within her. But not owing to vanity. She’d had no conceit about her appearance when she had some meat on her frame, and she had less now. And besides, he had already seen all there was to see.

Save that most revealing part of her. The part that went drip-drip-drip.

She was moist there between her thighs, and not from the rainwater. Lonely as she was, weak as she was, tired as she was, still his touch excited her, excited her as no man had ever excited her before. Irrespective of the paints and powders and lumpy body and cloying charm, he answered the call of her loins.

Her breasts ached so. They felt swollen. Heavy. In need of some attention. And not from her own hand. The ends of her nipples had gone as sharp as a pair of well-hewn dirks. Would he notice the tips were no longer soft, that they had taken on a reddish hue? If he did, however would she account for the change?

She shivered. "Brr. 'Tis cold of a sudden. I will finish on my own, wizard. Leave go of me."

"Do so in your present state of fatigue and you will fall."

A reasonable argument. A persuasive one too. His logic had merit.

So what? She had landed on her knees aplenty before a man. Why not with Almaric?

"I will wash your hair for you, Elf."

"Pardon?"

"Your hair. Allow me to wash it for you."

"Why?" she asked suspiciously. "If your aim is to drive me away, washing my hair is not the way to accomplish that end. If you wish something else -- 'tis yours without a bribe."

"I made the offer because pleasuring a woman pleases me."

Charm. How she loathed his charm. But how she would delight in him washing her hair. Knotted and snarled, her hair reached her bottom and then some. Where would she summon the strength to wash the heavy mass by herself? Having someone do the chore for her was akin to paradise.

She bit her lip. "You mentioned sweet-smelling herbs..."

"Lavender and lemon balm. Rose petals too."

As an herbalist, she was familiar with the properties of plants. The ones he mentioned would cleanse the scalp and leave her hair silky and perfumed, and restore its former raven black luster. Surely clean and shining hair would make her more attractive to Lord Talon. And attracting him so she might kill him was what this campaign of hers was all about.

"First squat," the wizard said brusquely.

And so he set the terms.

Time to pay the piper. He would wash her hair, but first she would need to suck him off.

She would have preferred to kneel. Though arguing the finer points seemed a bit petty. Saying naught, she did as he ordered and went to a squat. She was reaching for his braies to free him, when he said, "Open your legs."

He was a peeper, all right. And a host of other things beyond her realm of experience. Nevertheless she spread her thighs, straightened her back, her tight breasts coming up with her erect rib cage.

He took immediate note of the tips. "Your nipples extend past impertinence into audacity."

Was that good or bad? Why would he not speak plain?

"Hands behind your back," he ordered.

Right plain talk there. She understood his meaning but questioned his wisdom. How was she to undo his braies, a maneuver that required two hands, with her arms behind her back?

She chuckled at his absurdity. "Sod, but you must like dim-witted women."

"'Tis my misfortunate to like all women too much. And cease trying to change the subject. You told me you knew how to take directives."

When it suited her. Did this suit her?

With a shrug, she placed her hands at the small of her back.

He drained a bucket of water between her parted legs and then knelt before her. What pray was this?

As her mouth flapped open, he washed the cloth over her loins, the linen delving the pubic lips. After dropping the cloth back into the bucket, he fingered her.

"No maidenhead," he pronounced.

"Gone years before. Is that information supposed to come as a surprise to me? I was there for the popping, you know. A bloody pain ’twas too. The lad was as green as grass, his ineptness bringing a scream to my lips and my fist to his left eye."

"How many men since?" he asked and rubbed the side of his large hand across her slit. Not deep. Only thoroughly. Until she squirmed.

"Enough. As many as I wished, if the truth be known, and not one cock more," she said defiantly. "Before tragedy struck, I had me a tremendous appetite." She tossed her head. "And what of it, anyway? I never once took anything for it." Not even a dram of affection.

A woman could tell a man how to caress her the way she liked best. She could tell him to spank her if she were naughty, hold her close if she were sad, fuck her as if there were no tomorrow if she needed that too, but she could not tell a man how to feel.

Love. There was no forcing the issue. She could tell a man to love her until the cows came home, and the telling would fall on deaf ears. A man either had that inside him or he did not.

Her partners had not. And that went both ways.

Knowing there had to be more to rutting than the greedy grasping and grabbing she had experienced thus far, she kept looking. Blessed Virgin, she hoped she found that more before she turned into a frustrated tart, forever on the prowl, forever coming away with naught from a fuck but stardust and moonbeams in her hands. She craved something more substantial than fantasy, something deeper than lust from coupling.

She craved love.

When would she find a man who understood her heart’s desires? Who understood her?Who loved her for herself? And whom she could understand and love in return for himself.

A garbled voice interrupted her pining. "You never took anything for it. Until now."

"Oh sure. Name me a ruined woman, sweet-smelling hair my downfall."

"We all have a price." As her bottom wiggled, he probed her, a shallow, one-finger penetration. "You have had had your fair share of male admirers, but do you know how to be pleased?" he asked, deepening the penetration between her split thighs.

"Aye."

"I apologize in advance for not taking you at your word, but I shall need to see for myself. Nobles are a fussy bunch. They never settle for a common stone when they can pay for a fiery gem. And not a sham fiery gem, either. The genuine article. Are you a fiery gem, Elf? Are you the genuine article?'

How he did go on. Talk, talk, talk. Most of it indecipherable. All she understood from the blather was --

"Pay!" She gawked at him. "I told you, I never took payment for it. I an't a whore." She gasped as comprehension dawned. "You would have me whore?"

"You placed yourself on the whoring path. In exchange for perfumed hair, you are allowing me to diddle you. Is that not prostitution of a sort?"

"What if I said I could not help myself, that you make my heart go pitter-patter?"

"I would say by your own admittance and my agreement that you lie exceedingly well."

She panted, "When men distort the truth, 'tis called charm, a compliment that they invariably deny. When women do the same, we are called liars, an insult we ofttimes are forced to accept. But no matter how one sees it, selling me to men makes you a whoremonger."

"So be it. Why not sell what others will pay gold coin to receive?"

"Thus far you have received naught from this engagement."

"For a supposedly experienced wench, how little you know of carnality. Some men will pay a king's ransom to see a woman in the throes of orgasm. Her nipples pointed and sharp, her mouth agape, her cunt soaked in anticipation of intercourse. Some men derive satisfaction from looking, from touching, from doing the pleasuring. If they also feel something in return, they would pay much for the privilege. An honest release, not one of pretense, would make you a precious gem, all the more valuable to the patron. But once again, by your own admission, you say you practice pretense in the bedchamber, which calls for me to see for myself."

The wizard was right. Despite all her rutting in fields of heaths and clover, she knew little of carnality. The partners with whom she had coupled were all rawboned young farmers. Their requirements were simple, their needs far from complex. They got off at a naughty word or a beckoning glance, some before ever getting inside her, the rest too soon thereafter to do her any good. Many ejaculated inside her mouth. Then she would prompt them to remember her, that she had needs too. A kick in the arse usually did the trick there. What she took away from the encounters -- besides coming -- was forgetfulness. After treating ill folk day in and day out, some of whom died of their maladies regardless of what she did, she needed a way to put aside the misery for a time. For the spate of a rut, carnality took her mind off all those losses. Even a handful of stardust and moonbeams was better than a bellyful of suffering and death.

Seduction was something she knew little about. The same held true for charm. Her previous couplings had been not been with sophisticated overlords like Lord Talon. He would expect more than splayed thighs from a partner. He would expect exotic knowledge not presently in her possession. To bring Lord Talon to justice, she would need to learn magic, all right. Man-woman magic. She would need to learn how to tempt her sister's killer into letting down his defenses with her. Otherwise she would never get close enough to send his black soul to hell.

As to whoring -- where was the difference between what she was about to do to achieve her goal and what the wizard had proposed? In both situations, she would sell herself, in both she would use the God-given gift of her carnality for mercenary ends. The only slight difference she could see was in the currency exchanged. With her sister’s killer, ’twas revenge she would receive, not coin. All well and good understanding the distinction, but could she do it? Could she turn herself into a commodity, an article of commerce traded for gain?

Aye, she could. If she acted a part. Playing a role made everything palatable. If she pretended to be someone else, someone different, no one would touch her true self then. For years she had sought out a man who could touch her, truly touch her. This was one time she did not wished to be touched by any of her partners. After discharging her sacred duty to Mitri, she would return unscathed to the healer she had once been.

"I agree to whore, wizard."

"Tell me, Elf, do you ever find your release?"

She smirked cheekily. "If the man does it right, I do. And even if he does it mostly wrong, I do. See there? How can either of us lose? So here I am. Wave your wand, wizard, and perform your magic."