No Demons But Us

  No Demons But Us

  Sister Seekers Book 1

  by

  A.S. Etaski

  Published by Corpus Nexus Press

  www.redsister.net

  www.patreon.com/etaski_fiction

  Copyright © 2018, A.S. Etaski

  Cover Design by Eris Adderly

  Formatting by Guido Henkel

  This book is a work of fiction and intended for adults only. Sexual activities represented in this work are between adults and are fantasies only. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as the author advocating any non-consensual activity.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Dedicated to my husband and companion, who did not know on our wedding day he had married one of his favorite authors. Dedicated to every fan who wanted more, and to my patrons who have directly supported this new world.

  CHAPTER 1

  I can speak.

  I trembled, hidden in a small, dark pocket of the stables, as a nameless, hard sickness broke at last and seeped out of me. I felt my throat loosen as the curse unraveled; tears leaked from my eyes. I opened my mouth with full intent to accuse her. Nausea did not rise in my stomach. No headache threatened to split my head apart.

  I could tell someone.

  “Your own doing,” I whispered to no one. “You deserved to die.”

  The body lay in the barn next to the stables, but I hadn’t lingered there after it remained unmoving long enough. I pictured it now in that awkward sprawl at the foot of the ladder, the neck in an unnatural twist. The chest would never swell with breath. I would never hear her voice next to my ear, would never feel her hot breath on my skin. I would never taste her again.

  Forcibly silenced half my lifetime ago, I could speak of it if I wished. I could accuse her.

  But she’s dead now. The First Daughter is dead.

  Speaking wasn’t the wisest thing to do. Not yet.

  Someone would find my elder sister’s body soon, and I wanted to live past the next wake cycle, and far beyond. If I could.

  “Sirana. Where is she?”

  My other sister blocked my way. Kaltra Thalluenduv, the Second Daughter of our House, stood with me in the hall leading from the kitchen to the space for lower guests. This wasn’t unusual; I often tested my sisters’ desires to locate me, creeping around the places we Nobles weren’t supposed to dirty ourselves. I glared up at Kaltra in silence, also nothing unusual.

  “Where is Jilrina?” she asked again.

  “Haven’t seen her,” I said, attempting to slip by her.

  My sister wasn’t quick, and I knew I could slip loose if she grabbed me. My eye level was at her shoulder, however, and she weighed more. She used her larger size to pin me against the wall in the tight hallway. The halls of our own quarters would have been too wide for her to achieve that.

  “Get off me!” I shouted, my protest louder than it had ever been. If this surprised her, she didn’t show it. I wagered she didn’t understand the significance.

  “Is she out back?” Kaltra asked.

  “I don’t know!”

  I struck her thigh with my fist, even expecting that retaliatory slap to my sensitive, pointed ear. Kaltra always hit hard, and my head thumped against the wall this time. I groaned, and I sank down to the floor as if suddenly giving up fighting. I tried crawling past her. She blocked me with her legs.

  “Get up! You’re going to help me find her. It’s time for more practice.”

  “Fuck Braqth’s Tits I will!” I snarled, and her eyes widened in horror.

  “How dare you?”

  Kaltra looked around us as if the Spider Queen Herself would be there, ready to judge my blasphemous mouth and doom us both to the Pit. I scoffed, straightened up, and took a step back. Subtle footfalls and shifting shadows behind us meant several servants were aware of the conflict and making certain to stay out of it. I could turn around and run toward them, but I already knew how petulant my older sister could be if a poor, fool servant weren’t fast enough to get out of my way. It had never helped me in the end.

  “Speak the prayer, Sirana,” Kaltra said. “Show humility.”

  Defiant, I pursed my lips. For courage in the face of her fury, I called back my loathing of Jilrina and the sweet memory of our eldest sister’s body in the barn, of the life-heat fading from my Dark Sight.

  My calm returned, and I reigned back on my protests and held my ground. This had never changed anything before, but now there wasn’t a would-be-Priestess, sitting with legs spread, in front of whom Kaltra could force me to kneel.

  The outcome now was anybody’s guess.

  “She did it!” Kaltra screeched. “Sirana pushed her!”

  “I did not push her!” I barked back. I shook with rage and fear the same as she, but for different reasons. “We found her like that! You could see as I did that she fell!”

  “Lying slit! You found her before I found you, I know it! You treacherous, traitor cu—!”

  “Kaltra,” our Mother commanded. “Hold your tongue.”

  “Why?” the Second Daughter flung at the Matron. “You know the truth, Mother. Sirana has always threatened at Jilrina’s back! She’s a proven Sister Killer! I hope the Red Sisters flay the skin from her entire body for what she’s done!”

  “Enough.”

  Matron Thalluen held us both in her office. The door was locked, and a Ward set against the sound carrying into the hall, even though by now the entire plantation knew what had happened.

  I was glad that Kaltra had spoiled so much of the barn when we found Jilrina. I relished how she had landed on her knees and shook our sister’s unresponsive corpse, calling her name, before pulling the body up into a wailing embrace. It had taken the Head of the Guard and several Guardsvrin to pull Kaltra away at our Mother’s command, to keep some semblance of order until Matron Thalluen could decide what to do.

  Within a mark of the candle, Mother had sent a magic missive to the Palace.

  I hadn’t expected her to invite anyone from off the plantation for at least a cycle or two. Barely two candle marks had passed since Kaltra found Jilrina’s body, and it scared me now how swift was the Sisterhood’s response. First, to hear they were coming, and then to watch them arrive from out of the darkness of the Great Cavern, their red uniforms the first thing I could make out as they approached the lights of our manor.

  Now I worried that I underestimated how much anyone besides Kaltra might care about Jilrina’s death. Even Mother had been at serious odds with her own First Daughter since my earliest memories.

  She deserved to die. Don’t panic, or it will show as a confession.

  The Guardsvrin of House Thalluen had been confined to the barracks, the servants to their quarters, and our Matron was tasked to keep her two surviving Daughters “secure” and within her sight. Matron Thalluen herself had been commanded to give all search and study over to the Red Sisters.

  That my Matron bowed so readily, agreeing to be ignorant of anything the Sisterhood may be doing on her plantation, only reinforced my miscalculation of their power. There had always been the reputation, the gossip and stories meant to scare the young and gullible into fearing shadows. Until now, nothing had happened on this plantation to warrant their direct attention, and I had never set foot outside of our borders.

  While Kaltra yelled at me, my Mother and I waited for the Red Sisters to finish in the barn and come to us. They did after only another mark, and then Kaltra and I were separated from our Mother. Each of us was taken to our own bedroom while the
Matron Thalluen remained in her office.

  I wondered whether all three of us would step out again. I wondered; if one or more of us did not, who would it be? If any female family was taken yet I survived, what would I feel then? I could not decide while I stood in familiar surroundings with a wholly unfamiliar type of female in the room with me.

  “Hmph,” she grunted, probably as a laugh, as she looked over my room and gestured for me to sit down.

  I obeyed, and I dared not let my thoughts stray from the Red Sister’s stance, from every motion or expression she made as she casually handled my belongings. I didn’t know her skills or her magic—be it mage-born or magical tools in her possession—so it was best to keep my mind on the present.

  This Red Sister was a warrior, visibly powerful in form and reflex. She wore a leather uniform, protective, flexible, quiet, and flattering her shape. Her hair was cut short enough to hide any hint of white beneath a slim, open-face helm fitted just for her. A fine quality cloak with a hood hung from her shoulders, and her boots reached just above her knees; not a buckle glinted in the light to warn others of her movement. Her gloves hid the dark skin of her hands but not the apparent strength and competence I could read in them.

  The entirety of her uniform and cloak was dyed the color of fresh blood. This color could not be used by any Noble House in the Deepearth City of Sivaraus. Only the Red Sisters of our Queen could wear it. By design and reputation, it terrified citizens at the slightest glimpse in real light yet appeared black as the rest of the shadows whenever fire or magic glow went out.

  Even our Elven ability to see in the dark, it was said, would fail to detect the elite enforcer’s outline or the heat of her body. For now, there was a smokeless candle burning on my dresser—the only light source in the room also counting the time—and it was impossible to ignore the red filling up space which led to the exit. I couldn’t test the rumor of lightless invisibility, but I also hoped that opportunity might pass me by.

  “You don’t care what I touch,” the Red Sister murmured, lifting a hairbrush from my vanity which I thought was too heavy for its ornament. Then she exchanged it for a hand mirror I barely used.

  Glancing at me, she saw me shrug. I jumped when she slammed the hand mirror against the edge of the dresser, the candle jostling and dancing, threatening to topple over and plunge the room into darkness. The light held, barely, and I watched as expensive glass tinkled down over the chair and onto the throw rug beneath, glittering as the candle remained upright. She turned to face me, unmoving, with the broken mirror in her firm grip.

  The Davrin Elves all possessed keen hearing. If this Red Sister couldn’t hear my heartbeat before, I was confident she could now as it throbbed in my own ears. She lifted her chin and inhaled the air; whether that was only for show or whether she really could detect a change in my scent, she at least wanted me to see her do it.

  “Nervous, not angry,” she noted, walking toward me. “But not pissing your gown.”

  Her assessment was accurate enough. I could oblige her my fast heartbeat and the grey-knuckled grip on my seat, but I had firm control of my bladder. I hoped it was enough to satisfy as she stepped up to me and leaned down to meet my eyes. Belatedly I realized she hadn’t asked me to look her in the eye.

  Fuck. Well, now you’re there, Sirana, don’t look away.

  The Red Sister smirked as she studied me. I expected her to slap or hit me; it was what Jilrina would have done to feel more powerful. This older female didn’t. Instead, another deep murmur eased its way out from her mouth.

  “Blue Eyes doesn’t care about her mirror, hm?”

  It had been a while since anyone had commented on that. My eye color had become ordinary on the plantation, and I didn’t need a mirror to continually remind me when Jilrina had so often. I’d almost forgotten there was a whole city out there which hadn’t seen my eyes yet, and I didn’t know how many other Davrin might have been born with a similar color. By contrast, the Red Sister’s eyes were a natural color; a bright, coppery red, almost like magma without the glow, or maybe flakes of rust ground into powder.

  “No, Red Sister, I don’t care,” I said. “Break any piece you want.”

  She chuckled in a way that slid down my spine like a slime. “Careful what you suggest, little Noble. You’re almost the right age.”

  I smelled the threat then, a musk coming from her, and I swallowed. I knew she could do as she liked to entertain herself or torment me, and I couldn’t stop her. The helplessness which gripped me was familiar, but I knew I could face it. If this Red Sister’s tastes were like Jilrina’s, then I wouldn’t be surprised by anything she demanded. The Red Sister would leave House Thalluen at some point, unlike the First Daughter before her death. I’d either be alive when the Sister departed, or I wouldn’t be. But she would leave.

  This is a separate test from Jilrina.

  I trembled despite myself as the enforcer stared at me unblinking. After some very long moments, she straightened up and stepped away.

  We returned to waiting—that’s what we were doing, I realized—and the uniformed female looked through my room, in all corners and drawers and cubbies. I let her do it. She seemed to be gauging my every breath, but there was no possession here in which I placed value over my own self. She touched everything but me, so why should I care about anything else? These were things I used, nothing more, and they all belonged to my Mother, anyway.

  I thought I heard Kaltra cry out at one point and I straightened up, straining my ears to hear more. After that first noise, there was nothing. Silence returned but for the shift of my body in my chair and the careful placement of red boots upon the floor and its rugs. The smokeless candle burned down another two marks, and I was getting stiff, hungry, and thirsty. I neither voiced nor motioned anything about it.

  There was a knock at the door, and I was almost relieved at the sign of change. The red warrior let her superior inside the room with us, providing a ritualized gesture of welcome and respect after the door was secured behind her. The gesture seemed genuine, as far as I could tell; habitual, but not reluctant or ironic.

  “Sirana Thalluensareci,” the leader said, announcing me before herself. She wasn’t looking at me yet; she adjusted her gloves as if she had recently put them on.

  “Yes, Red Sister,” I said obediently.

  “I am an Elder, Third Daughter. You will address me as such.”

  “Yes, Elder Sister.”

  This one wore a uniform slightly different than the warrior; from a distance, one wouldn’t be able to tell she was the leader. Up close, I could say it had seen less activity; it was less worn in places, and something about the cut of the body harness accentuated her breasts, lifted them up instead of flattened them down, and did so without exposing any skin.

  Up close and standing beside the warrior, I could also guess she must be a mage, notably when she lifted the thin helm from her head. I saw how much thicker her hair was, bound up off her elegant neck but kept long. I didn’t doubt she could use the dagger and sword at her waist; her body was toned and powerful inside that red uniform, but her hands somehow suggested familiarity with the grace of magic more than it did fists and hand-to-hand combat.

  It was also the fundamental rule of the Queen’s City that the powerful mageborns gained more power than the best of fighters, as long as they were female. I wasn’t sure what happened to those mages born male, but that wasn’t important now. What was important was that this Elder Red Sister approached me as the warrior had, although she stared down at me without leaning over.

  Again, I met a Red Sister’s eyes—a much darker crimson than the light copper of the warrior—and I wasn’t punished for it. Immediately.

  The sorceress tilted her head this way and that as she stepped around my chair. Her eyes seemed to scan the air touching my body, my gown, and my hair rather than my physical form. After completing a circle, the Elder stood in front of me once again and reached o
ut with her gloved hand to wrap it around my throat.

  My pulse beat like the wings of a panicking moth trying to escape a spider’s web; somehow, I hadn’t expected a direct touch without so much as a question asked. My throat closed as it had whenever I had wanted to speak out against Jilrina, and it hurt. I worried that the compulsion had returned, there was no stomachache or headache or bright lights before my eyes.

  “Residual effects,” the Elder commented. “A recent dispelling. What spell, Sirana? And who lifted it?”

  I quivered like a tiny burrower beneath a hunter’s paw. I’d already looked down voluntarily. This wasn’t an interrogation I might have imagined in the lengthy time I’d waited in my chair. She never asked me what I thought happened to Jilrina, where I was when she died, who was my witness, and so on. The Elder asked directly about a magical compulsion being gone; one that my own Matron hadn’t known about.

  Yet this sorceress could see its recent passing. It was a spell that gave me undeniable motive to murder a First Daughter, and the incentive to assassinate a family member.

  A Sister Killer, as Kaltra claimed.

  I didn’t kill her. I didn’t push her.

  “S-Silence compulsion,” I whispered. “No one lifted it, Elder. The Silencer died in the barn.”

  The warrior snorted softly, standing as a bodyguard to her Elder though I was no threat.

  “How long since the compulsion was placed?” the Elder Sister asked, her gaze too intense to meet again. She could feel my every twitch and tremor running up her arm as she held me by the throat, yet she allowed me to breathe. She wanted an answer.

  “T-Thirty five turns,” I murmured.

  The warrior grunted, speaking to her Elder. “This cait can’t be more than, what, seventy-five?”

  “Seventy-nine,” the sorceress answered. “She was still a child when the spell was set.”

  Unlike the broken mirror, the Elder Sister caring enough to know my age down to the exact turn now brought on the urge to piss. I squeezed my thighs together and stared at her red forearm, swallowing against her palm again.