Hettie did not ask questions with her mouth when Cinder called her in ten or so minutes later. She did it all with the raise of her eyebrows, the wrinkle of her nose and the visible gulp when she saw Cinder’s still saturated arm.
“Do you remember me when I passed through the first time? I was a lot less… devilish?” Cinder asked in her sweetest, most polite tone.
A mute nod.
“I have a bit of a condition, and it has flare-ups from time to time. Nothing to worry about,” Cinder said.
“When Nana has a flare up, she stays in the outhouse for a long time.” Hettie stared at the red fur.
“This is a little different. Could you please fetch some more towels? The fur retains a lot of water.” Cinder did not add that she didn’t dare use her tongue to dry it, for fear of getting lost in the sensation. “Ten gold pieces if leave here tomorrow without anyone making a fuss about this.”
The girl blinked at the mention of that amount of money and nodded.
“Right back.” She said before backing out of the room and returning swiftly with a pile of cloth napkins. With her jaw set, she set about drying the limb. At first frightened, timidly patting the fur, but she gained confidence quickly, vigorously rubbing the fur and feeling it with her fingers.
“Its soft. And it smells nice. Not sulphery at all, really.” Hettie commented as she finished. Cinder turned to her to thank her and stopped when she noticed Hettie’s heavy flush and the unfocused look to her eyes.
“I think that's dry enough.” Cinder pulled her arm from Hettie’s grip. The maid looked down at her empty hand for a moment before giving herself a little shake.
“Right. Yeah. I mean, mi’lady.” Hettie said, wiping her hands on her skirt.
Three bangs at the door made them both jump.
“Are you done fornicating?” Barnaby asked through the thin wooden planks.
“I’m not fornicating!” Cinder protested. “We’re almost done, though.”
“Good! I have secured us a dining invitation at the local church of Harvestia, at the table of the beautiful, uh, I mean honorable, Mother Lorn. Perhaps she is in amenable to being filled with K’arl’s justice and leaving Harvestia behind. We should leave posthaste.”
Church? Wasn’t that where Illiana said the magic was? Cinder wasn’t what Illiana meant about Hearthold being better and worse. She did believe in keeping her options open, though.
“Give me one minute.” Cinder called back and walked over to her borrowed cloak. She had put her dress on before Hettie’s arrival, and the fabric around her shoulder was fairly saturated. Nothing she could do about that. She took the cloak from its hook and put it on so it draped over the right side of her body, covering her monstrous arm. If she tucked her arm behind her back, maybe people would assume she wore some type of shoulder paldron under there or something. Maybe? Still, barring Illiana reappearing with the offer of an illusion spell, this was the best she had.
Hettie nodded distractedly when Cinder turned around and gestured at the cloak.
Cinder sighed, the girl was no help. Wishing once again for a mirror, she picked up her pack, tried to minimize the bulk of her arm and headed out.
As soon as the door closed, Hettie sank down onto the bed and bit her lip. She reached back to rub at her neck where a small droplet of white had fallen from the gob on the ceiling that neither of them had noticed. After kneading it into her skin, she grabbed one of the damp napkins, pressed it to her nose and took a deep inhalation.
“Mi’lady,” She moaned, “You smell so wonderful. I want… I want…”
She clawed at her skirt, pulling it upwards. “Mmmrowl…”
****
“You are Cinder then? So pleased to meet you.” Mother Lorn said such sweetness that Cinder couldn’t tell if it was sincere or not. The nun offered her hand.
Cinder stared down at the short, trimmed, finger nails each painted the gold yellow of wheat in warm sunshine, and pressed her huge hand harder against the back of her thighs. Torn between offering her left hand or an excuse, the hand fell away before she reached a decision.
“Shaking hands not your custom? No worries. We don’t see many devil born out here except a few travelers like yourself. So long as you don’t go trampling any crops, we can leave the torches and pitchforks in storage. Ha ha!” Mother Lorn grinned as if that threat had actually been a joke. She turned to Barnaby, who had laughed as well.
“Now pray tell me what happened to your second companion? Were they slain in the Archmagus’ Tomb?” She asked.
Cinder’s tail flicked in surprise. Barnaby’d told this woman where’d they’d gone? Or had she already known of it?
“Oh no. Unfortunately, Illiana contracted a most hideous curse that has disfigured her greatly. She is meeting us outside the village before we continue on to Hearthold. There we are hoping the priests of Karn may fill her with his justice and cure her malady.” Barnaby said.
“Poor dear! I do wish I could help. While I can cure the pox and counter evil laid on the land, curses laid on individuals are a might tricky. Were she a cow, it would be a different story, but you’re probably better off seeing the crimson-crossed priests of M’ichele. Curses are generally their domain.” Mother Lorn’s sweet smile never wavered.
“K’arl is-”
“Anyway, that's enough chatter standing here.” Mother Lorn cut Barnaby off we a clap of her hands. “Let us retire to our humble church and chatter much further over some lovely wine.”
Cinder considered objecting. They did have free meals in the inn tonight, but was very curious about what Illiana had said about the church. So she nodded accent and followed Mother Lorn out into the waning afternoon. The heat would strike at sunset? Bout four hours. It had been a long time since Cinder stepped into a church to any god. It might be the whispers of her devil blood, but the idea of doing a little… defiling with Illiana excited her.
It wasn’t that far of a walk, Church stood at the end of the village on the road towards Hearthold, marking the division between the cluster of houses and sprawling fields. The church’s steeple and the golden wheat of Harvestia stood four times the height of any other visible building. Huge oak doors painted brown, trimmed with green and gold marked the entrance for the faithful. Mother Lorn led them around the rectangular building to the back, where a well-kept farmstead huddled against the rear of the church. Where many faiths maintained hedge gardens, graveyards or rows of saintly statues, this one sported a meticulously tended vegetable garden.
“Jeese!” Lorn called out as she entered the house, “Two, maybe three more for supper.”
“As you wish, Blessed Mother. Shall I fetch the wine?” A voice called back.
“Oh, you know me so well, Jeese.” Lorn answered as she led her guest into the house.
Cinder’s skin itched as she passed the threshold. There was no sudden ignition of her hair or anything, but her blood could always tell places marked by magic. It was an ability she’d honed and was key in discovering traps before they went off. The side effect was that every church, temple or cathedral felt like a trap.
Lorn led them to the rear of the house to a banquet room that could accommodate at least 30 people. A large wooden table spanned the room, overlooked by a large carving of Harvestia herself. The jolly goddess was the only one of the empire’s pantheon depicted laughing, a wide, big bosomed woman held a cornucopia overflowing with a harvest’s bounty.
“A bit overkill tonight, but this is space for guests. Had I given Jesse a smidge more warning, she would have a setup a more cozy room for dining. Whimsy is what whimsy does, though. Have a seat.” Mother Lorn said, pulling a chair from the middle of the table for herself. After a moment of deliberation, Barnaby sat next. Cinder attempted to sit next to him but Mother Lorn directed her to sit across from her.
Cinder rolled excuses for her arm around in her head as she made the long journey around the table, the sound of her hooves echoing through the room. Were the wooden eyes of the Harvestia carving following her?
A young woman appeared, dressed in a browner, plainer version of the habit Mother Lorn wore, carrying a silver carafe of wine and three glass flutes.
“Oh Blessed Mother, you haven’t even taken their cloaks and armor!” Jesse cried as Cinder set her pack down.
Mother Lorn laughed. “Good luck separating a knight of K’arl from his armor or weapon. Pour the wine child, and go back to preparing the meal.” She turned to Barnaby, “My new friends and I have justice to talk about.”
From the sharklike expression and zeal in Mother Lorn’s eyes, Cinder realized she was about to spend a long time being ignored so long as she didn’t call attention to herself. Fine with her.
She tried to focus on their conversation, to keep her thought away from thinking about the time until the stars rose or the warmth between her legs. What would even one finger of her huge paw feel like inside her? Did the fingers have the dexterity to wrap around her cock?
****
Footsteps and muttering stirred Illiana from her slumber among the clean hay of the stable. Perceptions brought the sight of the naked wooden beams of the rafters, the rough hewn walls of the stall and the scent of straw and horses. Her loins ached with want. Reaching out to her starself, stars began to flow from her fur to create one. She paused and reversed the process, one ear flicking in annoyance. She had packed her starself up into Cinder but it must have dissipated while she napped. Another limit of the starself, she mentally noted. Too bad, that would have been a fun surprise.
“This is not the behavior of a good innkeeper, Hettie.” A voice scolded in a hushed, flustered tone before hinges squeaked. Then louder, “Anybody in here?”
Finally coming fully awake, Illiana's heart thudded in her chest. The stable was long and narrow, having ten stalls on either side of a single aisle. They were separated by narrow half walls, allowing all the horses to see each other and anyone to see all the horses from the entrance. Lying down as she was, Illiana was hidden, but there was nowhere to hide if this person checked every stall.
She sent her starself through the wall and she sprinted across the empty yard and up onto the thatched roof of the inn. Nobody would see her there but she stopped herself from glitching. Every glitch bled more humanity, and she needed that. A little bit at least. You are a wizard and a predator, she told herself. You can handle one innkeeper.
Silently, Illiana got her legs under her, and she crouched in the stall as the footsteps moved closer. She tensed to pounce, only to hear the door to the stall next to hers creak open.
“Oh thank Harv!” The voice sighed as the straw rustled from an impact and fabric was fought with. “Hmph! Yes!”
Breath panted before a far quieter sound rose.
“Mrrrrew.”
Illiana smelled the familiar blend of feminine human arousal bolstered with a feline heat but it wasn’t Cinder’s. Carefully, she rose to peer over the divider. A young woman lay on her back, desperately plunging a wooden rod with a t-shaped handle up into herself. A small tail extended from her pelvis, rosettes dappling its yellow-gold fur.
“Oh its starting already.” Illiana grinned down at the woman, who remained totally oblivious to her presence.