The blackness was a bad sign. My senses warned me, one by one, that the party was over. A sad origin, worse growth, and now, waking up like this—I knew I had put my life at risk again. At least I knew where everyone was. I managed to get Flick to carve the necessary runes into them. None would remember anything until the moment we needed them. But they did not matter—they were a good strategy, but they were not the first or the only ones who tried to exploit my altered nature to bring me down. Only this one—this clumsy girl—I let her get here, with the knowledge she thought she had. It had to be that way to give everyone in her village a chance to flee before I had to move the pieces.
I moved invisibly while my image gave the impression of waking. That was to avoid assassins. While I was awake, or my beautiful black-feathered friend—he chose his name for the humility of its sound—saw her frightened, terrified by what her future represented. So while my image "opened" its eyes, I tested the instructions I had left carved inside them. Everything was fine, and I sent them to their villages—wherever that crazy goddess resided.
While the discomfort degenerated into fear, I contemplated her. It was obvious she belonged to the upper class—the fact that I felt Lefem's magic trying to penetrate my defenses, trying to see through this woman, confirmed her importance. What I did now had killed more than one assassin. I walked without hurry, feeling my clothes fall into place as I put them on. I spoke, but my voice was not heard nearby, only in my mirage. There, I introduced myself. I knew who she was, but I would never tell her her name—that would take her out of the fear/precaution balance I required. I told her that her men had provided me with entertainment... something like that was terrible. My altered nature—the garbage those misbegotten elves did to me—prevented me from resisting carnal pleasures. It was a curse. But I would not think about that yet. That would happen at night when Greybeard arrived.
With my armor in place, adapted by that smith and several elf tailors, it covered my body in such a way that it revealed little of me but "suggested" much. Moreover, it was light and resistant. The areas that only had cloth were not susceptible to piercing or magic damage—the enchanted cloth had so many protections it seemed I wore plates of pure silver. But that was how the Queen of the Succubi should look. Slowly, I positioned myself behind her. Finally, the image of the bed faded as the voice moved from its location to her back. She was only saying nonsense about love and pleasure, but she turned to look at me as if death and her future were the only things we had discussed in the last minutes. I ordered her to stay still. She disobeyed and fell to the ground crying, begging for her life. Was she not the strong envoy of her goddess? Disappointing. But even so, I had to continue with my project. I ordered the elves to enter. They would escort her to one of the bedrooms. I wanted her to be there when those I awaited arrived—in a few days, perhaps. Moreover, she would be a valuable source of information.
Very well. Leaning on the throne, waiting for the meager food to fulfill its function, I released part of the communication with her goddess—but it must not be obvious. They had to believe they had found a gap in my shield. Immediately, I heard the version that Lefem heard. It was not the ideas of this soldier in service—it was me she heard.
"My daughter! May the blessings of the goddess of love fall upon you. You had us very worried. The men have left the city and are heading to our settlements. Is everything all right?"
Of course, she wanted to speak. If she did so using my words, I would likely be detected. So I diverted the conversation—made her speak of the brutality and clumsiness with which they faced their task, as well as the discipline they had to undergo, that she was imprisoned as a guest but was expecting people, and that at that moment she would assume her title as ambassador of her nation.
"It is good to know. You must understand that you are not dealing with just anyone. She is the most powerful woman on the continent. All those who detest the discipline or brutality of the various magical clans seek shelter under her mantle. She could have been a priestess—now she is just a heretic, but a powerful one. I fear the virile slaves sent were not enough. We must keep the goal in sight."
Here began the confusion. The girl heard words that did not correspond to the situation she presented, so she would try to hide the missing information. No problem—I was very good at reading those empty spaces where words tried to hide the truth. I told her that the plan had problems—the need to face the ambassadors, the concern about the power I wielded—all so it would travel in my guest's emotions.
"You know as well as I that she must not ally with those dirty humans, least of all with those who are dominant men in their respective tribes. In the jewel representing your position comes a dose of aphrodisiac—a very concentrated one, special for her to lose her mind, to attack the ambassadors, to continue with the others. Whatever happens, you must give it to her. She must become pregnant, even if it does not serve us—better dead."
Panic was at its peak. Are you afraid to know? To find out that nothing of what you tell your goddess is heard, that she reveals her plans to someone who is not supposed to listen? She tried to warn her. This was where everyone failed. What good would it do me to reveal what I knew? So I told her with panic that people were coming to get her, that they were closing her connection, that she loved the priestesses and her goddess—closing that opening seconds later. Information—how precious and despised information was. I could imagine their screams of fear, the crying. I even had some elves in her chamber who would drug her so she would wake when the ambassadors arrived.
At night, I waited for Greybeard. He brought it—elaborated from many of the plants that only grew in the Dark Forest—a bitter drink, terrible in taste and purpose. It took a long time to prepare. Since we started working together, he was the first to suggest it. Thanks to this, I had been able to stay alive. But what I had to do was so terrible it turned my stomach.
First was a pain—sharp, of thousands of needles piercing and stirring my entrails. In an hour, it became emptiness. The screams I let out for that emptiness that made me believe I had no intestines—those howls frightened everyone who heard them. But for me, they were only a prelude to the worst. My womb, at midnight, had just shrunk, dried like dehydrated fruit. I removed it with great effort using my hands—incredible that it did not even occupy the size of an apple. I located the main veins and cut them with burning fingers, cauterizing them. Finally, at dawn, I held what could bring me death. Once every three months, I had to do it. Why had the elves insisted that the womb be kept in its best condition? This curse prevented succubi from losing their reproductive capacity. Since we were very hungry, we did not know it. But now that we lived better, we were one step away from death. Yet I could not die yet. With pain or without it, without a partner, my obligation was to life—to preserve it. Soon, representatives from each nation would come, but for them, I also had something in mind. Better go to sleep—my legs could barely hold me. But this was better than the first times, where I crushed my insides with magic. I did not need children—not until those misbegotten elves paid for everything they had done to us.