Read Online Court Wizard (Spellmonger Series: Book 8) by Terry Mancour - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Terry Mancour
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Wilderlands, perhaps it is the first, but here in Vorone we must do our best to create a world worth living in. And one worth fighting for.”
“Why us?” one fleshy girl with long dark hair and big brown eyes asked. Her name was Lega, Ishi knew.
“Because, my dear Lega, you are the smartest . . . fairest . . . most promising wildflowers I’ve found so far, growing in the wilderness. And from you I shall make a beautiful garden of culture and civilization grow, here in Vorone,” she answered, sweetly.
“Baron won’t like that,” grunted Lega, around a mouthful of bread.
“The Baron won’t be in charge for much longer, if I understand correctly,” Ishi replied evenly. “Nor will you all truly be ready until he is cold and dead in his grave. But when that time comes, each of you will be well-prepared, as will this hall.”
“Prepared how, Mum?” asked a winsome girl with delicate features and child-like eyes. Aubrum, she was.
“Why, Aubrum, you will be instructed. Instructed in how to bathe. How to dress. How to speak, how to walk, how to stand, how to sit, how to eat, sleep, shit, piss, fuck, suck, and dance a pavane. Each of you will learn the intricacies of your own femininity, and discover how to take that supposedly frail framework and turn it into the most deadly and dangerous weapon known to man or god. You will become my Maidens of the wood, and allure every man in the city. While inspiring envy and jealousy in every woman.”
The girls looked around at each other’s scraggly visages in amused disbelief. They certainly did not see themselves that way.
Ishi smiled, and indulged them in a moment of her pure grace. For a bare instant, each woman in the hall saw the rest not as they were, but as their most beautiful and dazzling ideals of feminine beauty.
“That, my blossoms, is what we aspire to,” she said, without further explanation. “It will be up to each of you to see how close to that ideal you can come. But each of you should know the attainable possibility, before being asked to trust me blindly.”
There was a pause, and then a gasp and a titter of voices from behind Ishi as she mounted the stairs to her private chambers.
“Mum?” came a call from the hall below. “Mum, what shall we call you?”
Ishi considered. She could maintain the identity of the Baroness, of course, but this occasion called for a masking pseudonym. She had contrived one.
“Call me Lady Pleasure,” she decided. “Soon all of Vorone shall know me by that name.”
The lessons were relentless.
The food was good, if simple, at first, prepared by Goody Candrice, and each girl was given a clean blanket or quilt, and a warm, dry place to curl up at night. They were broken up into groups by age. They were each assigned simple chores – wood, water, cooking, or laundry.
While the conditions in the House of Flowers (as Lady Pleasure now styled the Flower Bed) were far, far more pleasant than those the girls had enjoyed in camp in winter, there was very little time to enjoy them. From morning to night, Lady Pleasure and her staff conducted lessons. The first day was devoted entirely to walking properly, less like a farm girl and more like a lady of town, secure in her sophisticated femininity. The next day was devoted to caring for the face, and basic clothing. The day after that was dedicated to speaking properly, and conversing politely.
They were not all agreeable with the lessons, at first. But the girls who raised a fuss had a brief, if intense, conference with Lady Pleasure, and afterwards were amongst the most devoted of her strange family.
By the end of the first week the girls were rising at dawn, as quiet as nuns, preparing breakfast, washing, and gathering for lessons – increasingly interesting lessons – in everything from flirtation to dancing. At noon they would enjoy a light luncheon of bread, soup, and riverfish, practicing
“Why us?” one fleshy girl with long dark hair and big brown eyes asked. Her name was Lega, Ishi knew.
“Because, my dear Lega, you are the smartest . . . fairest . . . most promising wildflowers I’ve found so far, growing in the wilderness. And from you I shall make a beautiful garden of culture and civilization grow, here in Vorone,” she answered, sweetly.
“Baron won’t like that,” grunted Lega, around a mouthful of bread.
“The Baron won’t be in charge for much longer, if I understand correctly,” Ishi replied evenly. “Nor will you all truly be ready until he is cold and dead in his grave. But when that time comes, each of you will be well-prepared, as will this hall.”
“Prepared how, Mum?” asked a winsome girl with delicate features and child-like eyes. Aubrum, she was.
“Why, Aubrum, you will be instructed. Instructed in how to bathe. How to dress. How to speak, how to walk, how to stand, how to sit, how to eat, sleep, shit, piss, fuck, suck, and dance a pavane. Each of you will learn the intricacies of your own femininity, and discover how to take that supposedly frail framework and turn it into the most deadly and dangerous weapon known to man or god. You will become my Maidens of the wood, and allure every man in the city. While inspiring envy and jealousy in every woman.”
The girls looked around at each other’s scraggly visages in amused disbelief. They certainly did not see themselves that way.
Ishi smiled, and indulged them in a moment of her pure grace. For a bare instant, each woman in the hall saw the rest not as they were, but as their most beautiful and dazzling ideals of feminine beauty.
“That, my blossoms, is what we aspire to,” she said, without further explanation. “It will be up to each of you to see how close to that ideal you can come. But each of you should know the attainable possibility, before being asked to trust me blindly.”
There was a pause, and then a gasp and a titter of voices from behind Ishi as she mounted the stairs to her private chambers.
“Mum?” came a call from the hall below. “Mum, what shall we call you?”
Ishi considered. She could maintain the identity of the Baroness, of course, but this occasion called for a masking pseudonym. She had contrived one.
“Call me Lady Pleasure,” she decided. “Soon all of Vorone shall know me by that name.”
The lessons were relentless.
The food was good, if simple, at first, prepared by Goody Candrice, and each girl was given a clean blanket or quilt, and a warm, dry place to curl up at night. They were broken up into groups by age. They were each assigned simple chores – wood, water, cooking, or laundry.
While the conditions in the House of Flowers (as Lady Pleasure now styled the Flower Bed) were far, far more pleasant than those the girls had enjoyed in camp in winter, there was very little time to enjoy them. From morning to night, Lady Pleasure and her staff conducted lessons. The first day was devoted entirely to walking properly, less like a farm girl and more like a lady of town, secure in her sophisticated femininity. The next day was devoted to caring for the face, and basic clothing. The day after that was dedicated to speaking properly, and conversing politely.
They were not all agreeable with the lessons, at first. But the girls who raised a fuss had a brief, if intense, conference with Lady Pleasure, and afterwards were amongst the most devoted of her strange family.
By the end of the first week the girls were rising at dawn, as quiet as nuns, preparing breakfast, washing, and gathering for lessons – increasingly interesting lessons – in everything from flirtation to dancing. At noon they would enjoy a light luncheon of bread, soup, and riverfish, practicing
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