Unapologetic Gortash Redeemer

“It can’t possibly be Karlach….” He mused. “The Tiefling wouldn’t be bothered by your ashen scent…. The druid, then? Is that why you put on that dress?”

Repressing a chuckle, Ellith shook their head, both hands resting on their hips. “Hunting for gossips, are we? Unless… Wait, are you jealous, Astarion?”

“I… What?! No!” He shook his head vehemently, as if trying to chase a fly away. “Jealous? Me? Wouldn’t that be ridiculous?”

“That’s almost cute, you know.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Astarion gave them a look that only he could display: Disgust and arrogance mingling into the snobbiest wince. It was getting harder for Ellith to keep their laughter in. He hissed and turned away without any further ado.

“See you in the morning, Astarion.” The bard scoffed, and they knew from the way he flinched that he hadn’t expected them to bid their goodnight so early in the evening. But they had no more time to waste on teasing the vampire spawn. They reached their tent, only to brush and tame their curls. There were still clutters of dry blood stuck in their mane, but they could tell that it wouldn’t bother the Drow. Especially after the slaughter of those Duergar. That man was no stranger to cruelty, torture and blood clots.

The bard hummed softly, a familiar heat now pulsing in their belly. It wasn’t just about the Drow. The thrill of the battle was still floating in their mind, almost as intoxicating as their plans for the rest of the night.

The Ecstasy of Murder, some called it. And Ellith could hardly deny it, although it wasn’t just the act of killing itself. The smell of blood, the viscera bursting from the open wounds, the putrid smell of their victims pissing themselves as they drew their last breath. Each killing was like an explosion of sensations, a farandole of burning delights coursing through their whole body.

At first, Ellith had thought it was the tadpole feeding on their cruelty, fuelled by the rancid aroma of decay.

But no, it couldn’t be it.

The others experienced no such rapture. And it wasn’t boiling in their brain, like it done with the Zaith'isk or Omeluum’s potion. It was their guts burning with the sweet euphoria of their slaughtering.

It should worry them, shouldn't it?

But the only thing that was worth their concern was those headaches and fits of nausea. Especially when they happened during a fight. And of course, the amnesia, although they had accepted it by now.

Halsin had said he would try to help them with it, but every attempt had failed so far. The only thing which had helped -not with the headaches but with the memory loss - was the noblestalk. But they had kept it to themselves, unwilling to reveal the gory memories to their companions. Unwilling to admit that drowning the butler in the bladder of a living victim had made them wet.

One last look in their hand-mirror. Ellith adjusted their makeup, but otherwise, they liked what they could see. And that outfit which they’d found among the ruins of the forge, was perfectly underlining their timid curves. Small tits up, broad shoulders revealed, fleshy hips swaying and soft rolls showing. And an easy access to their thighs and…more.

They could have kissed themself.

Their companions’ voices were echoing outside: Gale had prepared a healthy stew again, which Ellith hadn’t touched (they had picked up a few hearts on the Duergar’s corpses), and apparently, Karlach and Wyll were honouring it happily. And so was Scratch, according to his joyous barks.

Ellith’s new favourite dagger was waiting for them on their bedroll, but they couldn’t take it with them tonight, much to their regret. Their outfit was too revealing to hide it, and the Drow wouldn’t let them close with a dagger at their side. Although Ellith had never lived among the Drows, they knew about their cultural… traditions in terms of treason. Especially when males were involved. Nere, they supposed, would expect any female-like individual to stab him in the back, True Soul or not.

The mark left by the goblin priestess on their hand was no longer painful, sadly, but they knew it gave them an advantage in this situation. They did not try to hide it.

Reaching for a satchel, they picked up a long needle which they had found in Walskin’s Rest. They couldn’t tell why that little pointy thing felt familiar in their hand. In the course of the few days, they had carefully sharpened it to make it lethal, but had never had the opportunity to use it yet. It was the size of an index finger, thin and pointy. They slipped it into their stocking.

“El’! Get out of here and come sit with us.” Karlach’s voice barked behind the flap of their tent. “You should try this stew, Gale had made a miracle with those shrooms!”

Following their friend’s voice, Ellith stepped out, only to gently push away the spoon Karlach was offering them. “The owlbear cub needs it more than I do.”

"Don’t worry, Durge. Clawy already had his share.”

And indeed, the cub was still chewing on what seemed to be a large mushroom, delighted by the spongy texture. “Then keep it for breakfast; they said it’s better cold.”

Unimpressed by Ellith distanced stance, Karlach beckoned them to follow her near the campfire, where a few bottles of wine had been opened by Barcus.

“We’re celebrating!” Wyll smiled, mimicking a chef’s kiss. “The way you dealt with that foul Drow was perfect, convincing him to free the gnomes.”

Barcus bowed diligently and handed them a glass. Ellith took the bottle instead and swallowed half of it. “Don’t you get used to it, Little blade – I am no hero.”

Karlach and Wyll exchanged a silent look that spoke volume, but Ellith pretended not to notice it.

“First you helped the Tieflings, now you save a handful of gnomes.. I say you should get used to it, bard.” Shadowheart snorted as she joined the group.

“Don’t make me laugh, Sharran. I did it for purely selfish reasons. It’s all calculated.”

“Oh, I see.” Shadowheart purred teasingly as she stood right in front of Ellith. “And pray tell us, what are those reasons, exactly?”

“You need not know.” Ellith answered sternly, not flinching an inch under Shadowheart’ inquisitive gaze. “As for you, Barcus, I hope you won’t make me regret it.”

The gnome gave them a nervous look, Karlach gave them a scolding look, Wyll gave them a nefarious look.

They ignored all of them.

The Cleric took the glass of wine Barcus was still holding. She too was ignoring the disapproving gazes of the company. “So, El… what’s your plan with that Nere? Shall we follow the Myconids’ instruction and bring them his head, or are you siding with that True Soul?”

The bard looked into the cleric’s eyes for a few long seconds, silent, but unreadable.

“I’ll do it my way.”

“Which means?” Gale stepped in, crooking his head to the side and squinting suspiciously.

Ellith took another sip of wine, before walking straight to the wizard. “You don’t want to know, dear.” They purred, shoving the half empty bottle into his hand.

They winked, and threw a quick glance toward Astarion’s tent. He was pouting, they thought. And they were probably right.

“You smell nice.” Shadowheart noticed. And as she said so, all the other companions started to sniff.

“Wait, isn’t that… Astarion’s perfume?” Wyll asked, his voice obviously amused.

“And how would you know, boy?”

“Hey! It’s my duty to keep an eye on such creatures, and my nose too.”

“Sure…” Ellith smirked, clearly unconvinced, but relieved to be able to avoid answering. Tonight wasn’t about Astarion.

No other night should be about Astarion.

The bard shrugged. “Have a good night you all. I’m going for a walk.”

“A walk?” Shadowheart repeated. “Wearing this? In an abandoned forge?”

Ellith shrugged again. “I like feeling hot, especially in a forge, dear.”

And with that, Ellith stepped away, caring not from the inquisitive look their friends were throwing at them. Pushing the heavy doors that secluded their camp, they walked into the heat of the ancient forge.

-***-

“Shouldn’t you be on your way to deliver my message to Moonrise, True Soul?”

“Shouldn’t you be cleaning that mess and follow that trail to the temple, as the general’s orders commanded?”

Nere was lounging on a few cushions, drinking an old vintage. There was no Duergar in sight.

“Hm. You have some guts for a new recruit of the Absolute.” He smirked, and there was something utterly dangerous in the way he was scrutinising the bard. “I can appreciate that trait, if it’s well-targeted.”

“And I would appreciate a drink, if that’s all the same to you.” Ellith smirked back, stepping closer and watching him expectantly.

The Drow snapped his fingers but stopped mid-motion. “Ah, yes… no more slave to serve me.”

“They’ll be more useful out of this tomb.”

Without waiting for Nere’s invitation, the bard picked up a glass and poured themself some wine. The Drow’s eyes followed their every movement.

Ellith scanned the man, tall for a Drow: He was clean now, dirt and ashes gone from his dark skin, and he had discarded his cultist robe and cloak to replace it with a loose shirt. His stance was that of authority and pride, and there was, in the way he held his chin high, an undeniable desire to prove himself in control of the place.

Something called in the bard’s guts, the urge to break him, to step on his pride and rob him of his so-called authority. They wanted him whimpering and powerless under their thumb… between their thighs.

Had they already done such a thing before, breaking a man of authority and relishing in his pathetic moans?

Why does it felt like that was their favourite thing to do to such men, those who thought themselves above them.

A delicious shiver of anticipation ran up their spine.

“Where is Sergeant Thrinn?” Ellith asked, scanning the surroundings. “I haven’t met her on my way here.”

“Hm?” Nere arched an eyebrow. “Two other Duergar corpses were found by the elevator. Poisoned. I suppose one of those ridiculous gnomes is behind it. Thrinn is taking care of it.”

Ellith repressed a chuckle. The Drow didn’t need to suspect who had actually poisoned those drunkards.

“Good for her.” The bard nodded.

“I’ve heard you retrieved her boots, half-blood.”

His scornful label barely hit the bard, and with a smile, they sat down next to him, waiting not for an invitation.

The Drow gauged them but said nothing. His eyes lingered on their naked legs, as expected.

“I had no use for dirty boots… and they were too small for me anyway”.

The careless statement reached its target: Nere chuckled, and peeked at the bard’s feet, tucked in high stockings.

“And just so you know, Nere, I’m not taking mine off.” They smirked, rubbing their knees together in the most lascivious way.

Nere wetted his lips, probably thinking that the bard wouldn’t notice it. But Ellith was an experienced observer, and they never missed a clue in one’s behavior.

It felt like they’d done this all their life.

It only encouraged them. “Tell me, Nere… you’ve been stuck in this old forge for a quite a long time, haven’t you? You must have felt… lonely, as the only worthy soul around.”

The Drow chuckled knowingly, clearly acknowledging what Ellith was point at.

Perfect.

“It’s been quite a challenge, indeed.” He nodded, still gauging the bard’s form. “But I can sacrifice my own needs for the Absolute, and so should you, True Soul.”

“…So that the Absolute eventually rewards you by acceding your every needs.”

“Aaah…” He smirked, squinting his eyes. “You are smart… for a half-blood.”

Again, Ellith braced themselves. It’s not like they really cared about their blood, or origins. For all they could remember, their home had always been Baldur’s Gate, and the strict hierarchy of Menzoberranzan was of little matter to them. But if Nere wanted to play that game, they could indulge.

“And you happen to be rather useful.. for a male.”

It was almost imperceptible, but Ellith didn’t miss it, the way he pinched his lips as the barb reached him.

And then they felt it; Nere’s mind, trying to pry their own sick brain through their tadpoles, clawing at their mental shield to get through the cracks. Too bad for him, the bard had always been particularly good at mind games, and in the course of the past weeks, they had learned to control their little wriggling friend, and with the assistance of Omeluum’s potion, strengthen it.

Nere’s mind ploughed into the defensive mental walls, spurned by Ellith’s tadpole. There was no way in.

He scoffed and took a sip, hiding his wince into the cup.

In the meanwhile, Ellith started to hum a song. Not just a song. That song, the one they could use in battle to better numb their opponents’ minds. But this time, they didn’t mean to numb the Drow, and they rearranged the tonality to make it more… arousing. They sang softly, pretending to do it carelessly as they dusted a few ashes from their dress.

At first, the Drow didn’t seem to notice the melody, too focused on his drink. But before long, Ellith could notice how his shoulders were relaxing, and as he put down his cup, his features were not as tense as before. His smirk had turned into a soft smile.

It suited him.

Yes, he was attractive, that Ellith couldn’t deny. But they also knew they were taking a risk. If any of the faithful Duergar had a mind to come back, their plan would fail, and fighting all of them on their own was a risky move.

On the other hand, they had no doubt about their own charms, and they knew Nere was very close to fall from them.

Had they already fucked a Drow before? They couldn’t tell, and didn’t want to dig into the abyss of their lost memories. Not now. They needed to focus.

“Lovely voice.” The Drow murmured, his eyes finding their way to the bard’s face, clearly unaware of the effect of that voice on his mind.

“Would you like to hear more?”

Another ogling gaze, followed by an appreciative hum. “Would you indulge?”

“I would, Nere. But only if you work for it…” Ellith purred, sliding closer, just enough for their knees to brush against his extended leg. “I’m confident a powerful True Soul like you could make me sing beautifully…”

Their voice trailed off, living room for his imagination to flourish.

It was almost too easy.

They watch him swallow, they felt him shiver, and followed his eyes as they fell on their cleavage.

“I suppose I deserve a break after the whole cave-in accident.”

“We both do…”

Lunging forward, Ellith could smell the scent of the Duergar’s blood on his skin, mingling with the remaining dust and ashes. The Drow made no move either to reject them or welcome them, but the lustful spark in his eyes was more than enough. Ellith straddled his lap.

He was hard, but calm. His hands remained still at his sides, as if waiting for the bard’s next move before taking any initiative. Smart boy.

It would be fun.

Ellith's thighs tightened around Nere’s legs, ever so imperceptibly. Just enough to ensure their grip around their prey. A powerful prey, that they could feel through the fabric covering his thighs. Strong muscles tensing beneath their apparently frail body.

“The Absolute will make a good use of your audacity…”

“Forget the goddess for a moment, I’m the only one you’ll be worshipping tonight.”

Nere was about to retort but Ellith stole his breath and words with a ravenous kiss, greedy lips nibbling shamelessly, tongue sneaking into his mouth, seeking for contact… and to make his shut up. Which was quite effective. It took only a few seconds for Nere to grab their waist and pull them closer so that he could press his hardness against their crotch.

The dress was getting in the way.

Ellith broke the kiss. A few movements sufficed to get rid of the piece of fabric, and before long, their body was fully exposed, safe for their red stockings which they were determined to keep on.

Half a second later, the Drow’s lips were sucking and lapping at their hardening nipples, and Ellith cradled his skull to keep him there. His breath was getting jerky, his touch more possessive on their waist, fingers digging into their flesh as he started to rock his own hips against their exposed cunt.

“Aren’t you the eager one, now?” The bard mumbled, guts clenching through their craving. A craving for his sex, for his blood, for his head… Yearning to be filled, dripping and breathless, yearning to be the last thing he feels.

Ecstasy through death, lost in the swarm of their Urges, of their own lust.

“You… hm… such indecency…” Nere moaned through the wet kisses with which he was lavishing their breasts. “Distracting me… from my holy mission.”

Ellith cupped his chin, their grip firm and their face stern but not devoid of playfulness. “I am your mission now.”

He looked up at them, lips trembling with need, and before he could say anything else, Ellith was unfastening his trousers and pulling them down his legs. Following their initiative, the Drow took off his shirt, already sweating, already leaking precum, his whole body trembling in anticipation.

“I’ll be your diligent recruit, True Soul…” He said.

“Good boy”. The bard purred and they felt him quiver at the humiliating praise, his cock jerking ever so slightly against their thigh. “Now feast on the Half-blood, pet.”

Again, they anticipated his protest, and before he could react, Ellith pushed him down on the ground. They were half expecting him to struggle, and their hold-person spell was ready, but as he had promised, Nere was diligently obeying.

With a few expert movements, the half-Drow straddled his face, and sat down against his mouth, caring not for his breathing.

Why did this assault feel so… familiar? Their eroticism taking the better of them to not even consider the well-being or consent of their partner? they had felt no such need with Astarion, on the contrary, their nights together had always been… like a dance they were dancing together.

Was it because Nere was a stranger to them? and a pathetic bastard on top of it?

Or was it because he was a Drow, and their own blood, no matter how tainted and sick it could be, was inherently driving them to step on him?

Unless it was the tadpole, commending them to overpower this True Soul.

They couldn’t tell. And honestly they didn’t want to think about it.

It felt too good.

The miserable Drow was lapping at their folds like a starving pup, half suffocating between their pale thighs, glowing purple in the eerie lights of the place. His hands were on their ass, nails digging in their cheeks in the most adoring way, and Ellith closed their eyes to better enjoy the tingling sensation of his tongue against their flesh.

He was working well, better than Ellith would have expected. His tongue rolling smoothly around their clit before digging between their folds, teasing their hole well enough to make the bard moan softly.

Technically, he wasn't as good as Astarion but --- No, this wasn’t the time to think about the vampire spawn. Why were they even having thoughts about him while riding the Drow’s handsome face? Ridiculous.

Ellith shook their head, ran their fingers through Nere's hair, before grabbing his white strands. They were soft, thin and silky despite the steaming air. He struggled a little between their thighs.

Reluctantly, they pulled away from his hungry mouth so that he could catch his breath. “Keep on with the good work, and I’ll take care of that leaking cock of yours.” 

Nere nodded, and after a few deep breaths, he dug in again, plunging head first into their core with a muffled whimper.

“That’s it… That’s a good parzdiamo…”

The word had come out naturally, as if Ellith had always been able to speak the Drow language…; Which they had no memory of, or so they had thought. In any case, Nere moaned louder at the comment, his voice still muffled but no less desperate.

Ellith was positively dripping now, pleasure burning in their core, numbing their common sense and reason. Rocking their hips and pressing their clit against the Drow’s mouth, they no longer cared if anyone could see or hear them, and they allowed themself to moan louder. They were pretty confident their companions couldn’t hear them from camp, but the faithful Duergar were still somewhere around the forge.

And somehow, it excited them… to imagine those servants hearing their moans and whimpers. Hm. Interesting.

But now they needed to be filled. They needed that deep chasm inside them to be stuffed and coated with semen, satiating that devouring emptiness which threatened to swallow them whole.

One hand slid down to the Drow’s throat as they pulled away from his face, only to carelessly impale themself on his cock. The cry of surprise and delight that escape Nere sounded like a treat in Ellith’s ear; a little reward for making him drool and leak for them.

With one hand still on his throat and the other on his shoulder, the bard rode him like their life was depending on it; fiercely, stubbornly, breathlessly. Nere managed to follow their passionate rhythm, his own hips swaying in synch as Ellith slid smoothly around him, flesh pulsing and dripping.   

The moans they sang were all but shy, and their voice resonated around the place, mingling with Nere’s own whimpering yelps.

“Don’t come right away, Drow.” They breathed as their flesh tightened around his cock. “I need you hard a little longer.”

A hasty nod, and Ellith felt his fingernails dug even deeper. He would surely leave a few marks on their butt-cheeks. And they couldn’t have cared less.

“I… ah… Get why the Absolute chose you… True soul.” He managed to articulate through the unrelenting waves of pleasure coursing through him. “You are….”

Ellith didn’t let him finish his sentence as they pushed their thumb in his mouth, making him suck on it as if honey were dripping from their nail. They were getting tired of his gibberish.

it would soon be time anyway. They had to be quick, before the Drow could no longer hold back his orgasm.

Still sucking on their Thumb, Nere was keeping his eyes closed, and his movements were getting more chaotic.

It was now or never. 

As Nere moaned desperately around their finger, Ellith’s free hand reached for the thin needle they had been keeping in their left stocking, and with a subtle groan they stabbed the Drow, aiming at his jugular vein.

It only took a few seconds.

His eyes widened as he choked on their thumb, but at no point Ellith stopped wriggling their hips around him.

“That’s why they call it a little death…” they purred through their own ecstasy. Just as they had expected, he came inside, just as the blade sank even deeper through his flesh.

Blood was flowing out like an eerie crimson fountain.

Ellith’s orgasm was quick but intense, fuelled by the salty smell of his blood, by its warmth, and the sound of his wheezing agony.

Breathless, they looked down at the dead Drow. Their flesh clenched one last time around his now flaccid cock. There was nothing left of him. Nothing left in him.

They sat up on their knees above the corpse. Fortunately, he hadn’t pissed himself, and only his semen was dripping down the Bard’s thighs. The last living parts of him, soon to dry and agonise on their skin.

Their whole body quivered at the thought of it. They’d have to use those mushrooms Halsin mentioned to make sure not a single drop of it could reached their cursed egg. 

The place was lost in complete silence, as if the stones themselves were scandalised by the gruesome display. It wasn’t enough to impress the Half Drow, and they had no time to waste.

They stood up, pale skin covered in blood, and picked up Nere’s blade, propped up against his tent.

Kneeling near the Drow’s lifeless body, they pressed the sharp weapon against his neck, and used it like a saw, slicing through the flesh, bones and muscles. It only seemed to awake their receding orgasm, but they repressed it, focusing on the task. Sweat was now mingling with blood, and their arm was sore from the effort, but they kept on sawing, moaning at the sound of nerves breaking.

When only a thin layer of skin tissues was keeping the head attached to the body, Ellith snatched it up carelessly, the movement fierce enough to severe the flesh.

Head in hand, long fingers clawing at his hair, they stood up and threw away the cursed blade.

One last look on the headless corpse drew a satisfied hum from their lips. He was still rather attractive live this, they thought.

They needed one last token.

_***_

The camp was calm, but not silent, and the fire was still burning bright. Ellith had no idea what time it could be, but they nonetheless expected their companions to be asleep. Much to their surprise, Karlach, Gale, Shadowheart, Halsin and Astarion were still awake, all of them gathered around the fire.

When she heard the bard’s footsteps, without seeing them, Karlach immediately reached for her axe, but Astarion, who, as usual, had recognised the sounds of the bard’s breathing, waved in her direction. “There’s no need to be so defensive, Karlach. It’s just our dear leader coming back….” He scoffed. “And they’re covered with blood, if my senses aren’t tricking me.”

And indeed, when the half-Drow appeared in the firelight, naked and tall, with iridescent sparks burning in their eyes, they looked like they’d bathed in a pool of blood and guts.

“What happened, Ellith? Are you hurt?” Halsin immediately asked, standing up to meet them… until he saw it. He stopped mid-way as his eyes fell on the severed head they were carrying.

“I feel great.” Ellith answered, their voice too carefree and innocently melodious for the situation. “I hope you had a lovely evening without me.”

They were all staring at them, agape and bewildered by the gory display. Ellith's eerily disturbing silhouette, naked and uncannily slender, seemed to be stepping out of a nightmare.  

Walking slowly closer to the group with an inexpressive face, they threw the head on the ground.

“Is that… Nere?” Shadowheart asked calmly, one eyebrow arched as she stared a the lifeless face.

“Impressive.” Astarion added with an approving nod. "One question though, darling: How come you smell like sex?"

Everyone held their breath, even more uncomfortable now that Astarion had pointed out the obvious musk, his eyes ogling the fluids drying on the bard's inner thighs.

Ellith shrugged. “He did suffer.” 

It didn't alleviate the tension, but no one dared say another word. Ellith was satiated, and they needed not to justify their deed.

Without any further explanation, the bard head back to their own tent. 

They should have a wash, but somehow the feeling of the drow’s blood and semen on their body felt… comforting. Like a soft layer of sin brushing against their flesh, against their oh so sensitive ecstasy.

Alive. It made them feel alive.

And as they lied down on their bedroll, caring not for their friends’ mumbles out there, Ellith realised their mistake.

Their dress.

They had left it near his corpse. The Duergar would know.

Shit.

Ellith couldn't help wondering what Thrinn would think when she'll find Nere headless... and cockless.

They giggled softly, licking their own fingers.

Another fight would be waiting for them tomorrow morning.

So be it.

It was worth it.

@archduchessgortash you asked me to tag you for this one 🖤

Celeste nodded. "As you wish. You should find an elixir of truth in my study cabinet, if that would help. If you want me to drink it, I will. And since the tadpole is no longer an option, you are welcome to read my thoughts. I will not deny you."

Gale froze mid-movement, turning to eye her with a suspicion that hurt considerably more than she had expected it to. They were both painfully aware of what had happened the last time someone had forced their way into Celeste's mind—what it had cost her, what it had taken months to rebuild afterward. What she was still rebuilding. The offer was not a small one, and he knew it, which was precisely why his suspicion stung.

Then he huffed, continued towards the cabinet, retrieved the rum, returned to take the glass from her hand, emptied it of whiskey in a single swallow, refilled it, and handed it back before dropping into his chair.

Reaching for his own tumblr, he turned the glass between his palms for a moment.

"Why would you offer an elixir of truth?"

"Because I want you to trust me." She met his gaze steadily. "I need you to know that I am telling you the truth. I have not lied to you without purpose, and not to the extent you believe I have. I omitted things, yes. Things I did not wish to involve you in—things that are, frankly, none of your business and beneath you. But I did not lie to you the way you think."

"So you admit to lying."

"Lying by omission is still considered a lie, in this household," she said, and offered a weak smile. "Yes. I did. And yes, I..." she sighed at the confession, "managed you, though I prefer a different term for it."

She drank, and the rum was slightly too warm but delightful, rich with the cherry wood finish she had chosen specifically because she knew Gale loved it. "You ordered me here to answer your questions, and answer I will. It does not mean you will enjoy my answers. But I will not lie to you tonight."

"I confess," Gale sighed, sinking further into the chair with the particular exhaustion of a man who had been holding himself very upright for a very long time, "I had expected a rather different reaction."

His eyes found hers, and the wounds she had inflicted—on him, on them, on the thing they had built together over years and arguments and shared mornings and all consuming love—were visible in them with a clarity that made her want to look away. She didn't allow herself to.

"I—" She began, and her voice faltered, and she pressed her hand briefly over her face and shivered. "I was aware that I was lying. I was aware that I was creating distance where there should have been none. I..." She shook her head, and a small, mirthless laugh escaped before she could contain it.

"It started small and escalated into some thing considerably larger than I had intended. Every day a little further, a little deeper, and I had not planned it—I had not wanted it to become what it became—but I loved the thrill of it, Gale." She looked at him directly. "Gods help me. I loved it too much."

"The power."

Celeste nodded, and the brief smirk that crossed her face was involuntary and honest and she did not try to hide it. Then she lowered her gaze to the swirling liquid in her glass.

"Yes. I know enough to open every door in this city. I can unmask three Lords, if I wish to. I can acquire whatever you want, no matter how rare or restricted or illegal. I have access to the important vaults. I was—"

"—drunk on it," Gale concluded.

Celeste looked up, genuinely surprised.