37b Nendra

Nendra spent thirty minutes choosing her outfit, trying to decide the correct angle to attack from. The sleeveless dress that only went to her upper thigh would emphasize her power, of course, but that seemed like a poor approach. Informants and new slaves were receptive to such tactics, as were potential allies, but not hostile prisoners. She decided to go with one of her favorites instead: a veil and robes, and a quick trip to her stylist to give her hair a simple braid. Far, far beneath her own station, but not unexpected for a long term high value prisoner.

She remembered the field of divination the girl had been radiating, so when she huddled in the corner of the cell she deliberately suppressed her magic sight. It was like shutting her eyes; it ran counter to her instincts to walk around in such a state, but she risked giving away far too much.

Once she was ready, she retreated to the holding cell in her room. She sat in the corner, waiting with a scroll of cure light wounds. At the appointed time, the guards carried the sorceress’s body in. Nendra examined her again. Her face was dreadfully swollen from the beating, unfortunately, so Nendra couldn’t be sure if she would make an acceptable gift for her husband. At least she still lived.

Emrys had been indelicate in his attempted egress, killing one of the assassins. They only had two prisoners to work with now, and the man was a gibbering wreck due to Nendra’s own indelicacy. Men were always so distraught to have their strength turned upon allies; if he weren’t crying, he’d be straining against his bonds and raging. Hardly amenable to Nendra’s work in any case.

The slow-acting healing magic that had been placed upon the girl just before she was dropped off allowed her to wake soon enough, with Nendra helping to adjust her body into a more comfortable position. She was a slip of a girl, but even so, Nendra had some difficulty lifting her into one of the two beds.

The cell was a small, sparsely furnished apartment similar to those given to newly adopted members of the house. It would disorient the girl, who would expect to have been clapped in irons. Nendra watched closely, and saw her breathing shift when she woke. A few seconds later, the sorceress jolted awake with a yelp. The metal cuff around her wrist sparked with evocation, creating an extremely painful shock.

“Don’t try it.” Nendra said in a companionable tone. “They don’t want their prisoners using magic unsupervised. It’ll do that any time it senses you using magic. I’m Min’ra, by the way. I suppose we will be living together for a time.”

She held up her own wrist, showing an identical cuff. Unlike the one on the prisoner, this one was unenchanted. The item was not half so advanced as Nendra made it out to be; no, her father was simply watching through a hole in the wall and using a paired figurine to trigger the cuff whenever he saw spellcasting. He really was such a dear.

“Min’ra,” Nendra held out one hand. “And you are?”

“Jan’Nai,” the sorceress answered absently.

Perhaps a lie, but it will do. A peasant name, eh?

The woman tried several more tricks, none of which lasted long enough to bear any visible fruit. Nendra had supplied the spell embedded in the cuff herself, and she knew how impossible it was for most to maintain focus when their nerves were directly stimulated. As expected, the girl was in a frightful panic. Nendra simply had to endure the irrational stage. Tiresome, but she needed to wait until the girl stopped randomly spasming.

Stubborn girl. I hate interrogating the ones with arcane sight. It makes everything go so slowly.

Delaying her strike was so much easier than suppressing it entirely. Once the girl stopped attempting to detect magic or whatever it was she was doing, Nendra used her subtlest magic. With the very gentlest of magical fingers, she massaged certain precise parts of the brain.

At her prompting, the brain began to react as it did when one laid quietly in their lover’s arms. The effect was slow, subtle, and she had developed it in an attempt to create something more lasting than Charm Person.

“So, if we are to share a room, why are you here?” Nendra asked. “They brought me in to help manufacture items for the Matron Mother.”

As she spoke, she sat down on “her” bed and smothered the stress response in her subject. She had allowed the brain to function as normal for just long enough to avoid suspicion. Jan’nai sighed and took a seat on the one chair in the room. As she began speaking, her brain reacted similarly to if she had consumed a delicious meal while hungry.

“I tried to kill the Daughter’s Shadow.” She said, tongue properly loosened. “It didn’t go well.”

“Oh my!” Nendra said, feigning shock. “All alone?”

“No, I was part of a team.” She said, her eyes haunted. “Do you know what happened to my companions?”

“Not precisely.” Nendra lied, “If it helps, High Matron Dovnu likes to use prisoners as collateral. Did they have any connections?”

It was a fairly transparent probe, but Jan’Nai was in no state to recognize it as such. She was already beginning to see Nendra as a friend. She didn’t even know she was a puppet upon the end of a string, like the girls at the book club. Her shoulders slumped in despair, hugging herself as Nendra stimulated the part of her brain responsible for fear.

“No.” She whispered, breathing shallowly. “We were trying to get into House N’Quinn, but there’s no way they would admit we were acting on orders now. Ma’ra was going to join one of the high family’s harems, and Do’ran was going to be a shadow.”

So she’d be used to pump out more half breeds for a second or third boy, and he’d be given to some mayfly deemed valuable enough to keep happy. Only proper males like my brothers are allowed to serve as shadows for full drow members. I wonder if it’s lonely for him there, knowing that even his mistress may need to be eliminated eventually? Or perhaps he enjoys the idea of crushing those other men that get to sow their wild oats.

Nendra always found the way House N’Quinn let their sons breed a half dozen half elves, mostly bastards of the other houses, infuriating. Yes, they were halfbreeds, but they were also women. Where was their pride? Some even pretended to be happy in such a state of submission, as if they were men! The children were even worse, knowing that they could never rise but mostly still loyal.

I suppose I will need the practice suppressing my distaste if I’m to keep Emrys happy. Besides, they’ll be serving me, not him. They’ll keep him happy doing the things I can not, so long as he doesn’t get too attached to any of them.

“Oh my!” She said aloud, “What about you?”

“As a sorceress, I was going to be adopted as a full branch member.” She said, a note of pride creeping in. “I only have one non-drow great grandparent, after all.”

I imagine you would have been disappointed, mongrel, whatever title they promised. Perhaps you’ll thank me later, my little puppet.

“A surface elf, I imagine.” Nendra said, feigning admiration. “I could hardly tell. That might save your friends, Jan’nai. A nearly full blooded sorceress has a lot to offer House D’Lann. I’ll be done with my own indenture soon, and then I’ll be adopted as a full member.”

“Really?” The woman asked, mouth agape. “You think I have a chance?”

“That may depend on one thing.” Nendra said thoughtfully. “Why the Daughter’s Shadow? He’s not very politically active. Does someone in N’Quin have a grudge for some reason?”

“He was seen flying across the top of the cavern.” Jan’nai said with a rueful smile. “They wanted to pick the stalk before it fruited. Nobody wants another Carys, especially not in an ambitious house like D’Lann.”

Damnation, Emrys.

Nendra continued to chat with the mongrel girl. Soon, the sorceress was as comfortable with her as an old friend. More importantly, she was a trusted source of information on the workings of House D’Lann. She even loaned the girl one of the extra linen robes and veils that she kept in this room for exactly this sort of interrogation. Comfortable, but plausible.

“They’re likely drafting a contract for you right now.” She explained, “the first one will be especially harsh. They can’t compel you to sign, so they will generally offer you better terms each time.”

“How do I know when it’s wise to sign?” Jan’nai asked, “I’ve heard they are unbreakable. Aren’t they written in Infernal? I can’t read Infernal!”

“Well luckily, I can.” Nendra said conspiratorially. “You can request someone to serve as your counselor, and the contract is void if they refuse a willing volunteer.”

“You’d do that?” She asked, “Won’t they punish you?”

“Not terribly.” Nendra said, “It’s worth the trouble if I want to start our relationship on the proper footing. It would be nice to have a friend. Just be sure that you stick to the terms of the contract, or your soul will be forfeit to the Hells. I’d feel dreadful if that happened to you.”

At Nendra’s signal, two of the orcs filed into the room and escorted Jan’nai to another chamber where Xenobia played the role of masked Infernal priestess. The first contract, which Jan’nai dutifully called Nendra in to read, was essentially a form letter. Join and serve with slavish devotion so as to not be tortured to ****. Only a complete dullard would agree to such a deal, but it made for a good delaying tactic. Four more were written up over the next few hours, all of which left out key things that Jan’nai had confided were extremely important to her.

The final contract, the one “Min’ra” suggested was the best they could hope for, was several pages long but only really existed to enforce a few points.

House D’Lann would not kill, sell, or **** the two monks, which would be easy since the girl was dead already and the male was practically catatonic. This was a big one, and she’d made many concessions to get it.

House D’Lann would accept Jan'nai as a long term servitor, with pay commensurate with her work and full leave to take on any consenting male as her shadow so long as it did not conflict with her duties. Of course, very few males would be **** enough to attach themselves to a member of another man’s harem, even if Emrys decided to declare no conflict. Nendra would need to work on her for that.

Finally, House D’Lann would own her magic. Nothing barred her from using it at her own discretion, but she must comply to any orders given in relation to it. Nendra implied that she’d be used to enchant magical items, which would have given her a very respectable wage.

Nothing about the deal Nendra had the scribes draft would be admissible in Infernal court, even if they had it ratified. Jan’nai was extremely compromised, the hastily scrawled contracts were improperly formatted, and Nendra was essentially just reading off a list of nice sounding bullet points while calling it a translation. To a sufficiently cowed layperson, however, red ink on aged parchment was almost as good as a true contract for less than a twentieth of the price.

The Devils, for all their flaws, understand that true loyalty can not be **** or manufactured. Much like true love, though I doubt they care so much about that. It can be useful to have someone dance upon your puppet strings, but they aren’t truly yours unless you can make them dance even after the strings are cut. I wonder if that’s why mother likes them?

It was quite lucky that mother hadn’t any such treachery with Emrys. The demigoddess he’d somehow enlisted was quite a bit less treacherous than Nendra. The moment that Xenobia rolled up the scroll and put it into a proper case, Nendra let out an explosive sigh of relief. Jan’nai cried out in pain, with none of the dignified stoicism Emrys had recently picked up. She fell out of her chair, writhing on the floor.

As she did, Nendra casually removed her veil and the outer layers of her disguise. She hummed happily to herself as she handed Xenobia the clothes to put away. She bent down to look in Jan’nai’s eyes and smiled. She extended her senses to touch upon the writhing woman’s brain. She saw the markers of recognition, surprise, anger, shame, betrayal… Intoxicating, really.

She supposed that revealing herself so soon was bad tactical sense, but she needed this. If she denied herself for too long, she’d lash out. Usually at Emrys. Not anymore; she just needed to have more acceptable targets. Ones that didn’t really matter.

“You’re going to help me fix my marriage, Jan’nai,” She cooed, “but first, you’re going to allow us to take your magic. We own it now, remember? You’re going to consent, because the pain you’re feeling right now is nothing next to Hell. Nod yes, pet.”

The soon to be former sorceress nodded, and Nendra let the pain stop. She massaged the brain, evoking the pattern she’d seen from Mother after a grueling but successful negotiation. Soon, so long as Jan’nai didn’t realize what was happening, Nendra wouldn’t need to **** these reactions. Mother didn’t like when she used her magic on real people, but mayflies and enemies were fine. She didn’t even need to be particularly subtle with this one, not anymore.

She’d even tried using her magic on Emrys, especially once he’d started that asinine Charm game. She used a light touch, since he would never truly love her if she **** him to do so, but the strangest thing had happened. His behavior didn’t shift at all. He’d just kept being his new infuriatingly attractive self. Arrogant in his newfound power, and somehow more honest than he’d ever been before.

Before that line of reasoning could go too far, Nendra took a centering breath. She sent for the guards to escort Jan’nai to her operation and returned to her room to properly groom herself. Reports had declared Emrys stable before she even started this process, and she wanted to look good when next she saw him.

Emrys is all right, I’ll have a new toy if she survives, and I’m sure that one of my brothers will be thrilled to have her magic. Mother will be more receptive when I press her about Vorys with a success like this. Maybe I should send High Matron N’Quinn a basket of fruit. That’s what Pepper would do, I think.