Luther's Pride Part 40

Criella proved to be a strict taskmaster when it came to training. Luther spent hours drilling his arcana, not to activate any spells of his wives, but to cast his own, embracing their souls in a random selection. Criella determined which wife he was to attempt to bond with by rolling a die. With each wife designated as a number, on the four-sided cylinder. 

They started with Luther meditating in the garden as he cast his spell. Criella timed him with her pocket watch, smacking the back of his head with her tail every time he failed to beat his previous record. He did well enough with Jo, Helena, and Rhosyn, able to switch between the three of them as they drilled the spell. Hours passed as he pulled the time it took from minutes to seconds. 

Eira, however, presented a challenge. Her tumultuous spirit didn’t allow much chance to bond with her without pain. He earned several smacks from Criella’s tail until he grabbed hold of it and squeezed, making her grimace at him.  

“Give me a second,” He said. “I need to try something unconventional.” 

“This entire exercise is unconventional,” Criella said, ripping her tail from his hand by force. She rubbed the spot he’d grabbed, though he hadn’t injured her in the slightest. It swept behind her as she circled him, watching his face as he closed his eyes and concentrated. 

Eira’s unpredictable, shifting spirit was a result of her anxieties, fears, and current emotional turmoil. But a thought occurred to him as they underwent the exercise. The presence of the spirits was static and unchanging. They were connected to him and always in the same location within that imagined dreamscape. The forms their spirits took changed, and touching his spirit to theirs affected him. He had to feel what they felt, emotionally, to join with them.

He couldn’t do that with Eira because her feelings changed so rapidly. But what if he could reverse the process and corral her spirit to match his? Could he use his spirit to soothe and calm Eira’s? 

Luther closed his eyes, concentrating as he worked his spell. He tried a few times, wincing in pain more than once as his spirit failed to match hers. The dissonance jarred him every time, and he wondered if she felt his presence despite being so far away. 

He discarded the changing pattern and settled himself, focusing on the sense of inner peace and calm that lay deep within him. He sat cross-legged in the garden that his father planted. His mother’s favorite flowers surrounded him, filling the air with their fragrance. Criella stood nearby, encouraging him with her glare. She was tough on him, but it came from a place of love. Surrogate sibling love, perhaps, but still love. She believed the difference between his death and survival depended on her being tough on him. 

He took a deep breath, in, then out, pacing each to take five seconds at a time. His meditation worked, and he focused on his spirit, spreading himself thin. He covered her spirit with his, containing it, hugging it, and he hoped that the embrace would calm her. It took time, but eventually her storm slowed into a circling cloud much like her sisters. He shifted again and was able to join his spirit with hers. 

“It worked,” Luther declared, opening his eyes to meet Criella’s glare.

“Good,” Criella said. “But you’d be dead a thousand times over by now if this were a fight.” 

“If this were a fight, I’d be able to communicate with Eira here, and I wouldn’t have to do this the long way,” Luther said, annoyed. 

Criella shrugged. “Fine. Now do it again, faster.” 

Luther sighed. Criella wasn’t the cruelest teacher he’d encountered, but she was one of the most impatient. He supposed it made sense; there were only so many days remaining before the law protecting him from Branan’s challenge lapsed. Eira and Rhosyn had two more days to mourn their parents, and Branan would be at their door to issue a challenge for everything Luther held dear. 

It was more than the books, the house, and the land. It was the connection to his father. That’s what had driven him to go along with Criella’s insane plan for him to marry. 

Whatever their reasons, Helena, Jo, Eira, and Rhosyn had joined their lots with his, and he had every intention of doing right by them. Everyone needed to survive what was coming, which meant learning how to battle his foes with as much skill in magic as he had charm at dinner. 

Criella continued drilling him, timing him with her pocket watch as its chain dangled from her vest pocket. She rewarded him with a smile every time he surpassed a previous record, and punished him with a smack of her tail for every failure. 

Eventually, he plateaued, and when it became clear to both of them that he wasn’t going to get any quicker at it today, they started practicing the spell outside of the meditation pose. 

Criella vanished and returned with two practice swords. The heavy oak blade made Luther smile. He couldn’t help but remember dueling Criella with sticks, branches, discarded tinder, and much smaller wooden toy weapons during their childhood. 

Seven or eight years old, dueling atop a fallen tree bridging two sides of a creek as though it were a bridge over a stone river. The fate of the world depended on the outcome of their battle, and Criella rarely let him win. He’d improved his skills since then, but with her arcana, he had no doubt she was a skilled duelist.

For her part, Criella took herself far too seriously. She never let up on Luther for a moment as he cast his spell over and over again. They dueled for half an hour before Criella tired enough to relent and allow Luther a break. He found casting the spell easier now, but the momentary bonds he formed with his wives took his focus, making him lose track of Criella’s sword more than once. She’d bruised his arms and ribs in their sport. 

Shifting his spirit was more difficult when fighting, but that was the point of practice. It wasn’t the speed they were aiming to improve as they drilled, but the ability to complete the spell despite distractions. Movement, exertion, pain, and even the thrill of temporary victory over Criella had caused him to drop the spell mid-cast several times before he developed an endurance for it. 

One of the servants brought them canteens of water, which they guzzled in short order. Half of the contents splashed on Luther’s clothes rather than entering his stomach, but even that was a relief to the sweat clinging to his shirt. 

They shared a peaceful, silent moment after quenching their thirst, catching their breath as they faced each other without speaking. Then, a look of fear overtook Luther’s face as a voice bellowed his name. 

“LUTHER!” A shout from the front courtyard sent him running out of the garden. Criella disappeared, teleporting there ahead of him. 

He ran out from between the hedges to find Criella ahead of him, lowering her practice sword. Jo and Helena stood by the carriage while Emily descended the step.

“What is it?” He asked, still holding his wooden practice sword as if he were going to fight an army. “What’s wrong?” 

Jo flung a rock at him from the ground. The swift motion and the pain of the strike to his chest caught him by surprise. It wasn’t hard enough to cause him harm, but it stung. 

“Ow!” 

“Have you been enjoying yourself? Tormenting Helena and I like that?” She asked, storming toward him. 

“Tormenting?” Luther asked, and then his eyes went wide as he realized what she was talking about. The flush across her face wasn’t from tossing the rock. The sweat on Helena’s body glistened, and she glared at Luther, panting as if she’d run here instead of riding in the carriage. 

Jo stormed forward, and Luther expected a slap or a punch, but instead of either, she leaped. She hooked her legs over his waist and her arms around his neck, kissing him, grinding against him, and the heat of her furnace between her legs made him hard even as his mind registered what was happening. 

“Oh my,” Emily said, averting her gaze. 

Criella stared, confused. 

Helena huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and waiting for her turn as Jo clung to Luther, making him drop his practice sword and embrace her. 

“What was he doing?” Criella asked Helena, confused. 

“That’s what we want to know,” Helena said, narrowing her eyes at Criella. Her gaze dropped to their matching swords, and realization dawned. “You’ve been sparring?” 

“Training,” Criella said, her eyes flicking to Emily, who blocked her face with her hand and looked pointedly at a blade of grass a few paces to Luther and Jo’s left as Jo started moving her hips. 

Helena snorted. “So he’s been doing nothing but trying to make connections the entire time we were running errands?” 

Criella nodded. 

“Well then, that’s what’s happening,” Helena said, pointing toward Jo and Luther. 

Criella’s tail hooked into a question mark behind her. “I feel as though I’m still missing something,” she said. “What are you talking about? Why would Jo attack him for that? Does it hurt you when he connects or something?” She glanced at Emily again, then at Helena. 

“It doesn’t hurt. It, uh, kind of does the opposite,” Helena said, the only one of the current married trio able to discuss it since Luther and Jo had been liplocked for a while. “Jo’s been a little pent up, and then Luther keeps reaching out and teasing us for a few seconds at a time, and well, she was either going to kill him or fuck him as soon as we get home, and I’m next in line.” 

“The two of them were very, uh, passionate, in the carriage,” Emily said, blushing so fiercely red that her face threatened to cook her hand. 

Helena gave Criella a wink, but Criella stared at her slack-jawed. She threw her hands up in the air, tossing her practice sword into the nearby bushes. “Why is that a side effect?!” She cried to no one in particular. “Gods above?” 

Helena shrugged. “We didn’t mind it when we discovered it, but, yeah, it’s weird. Maybe it’s because he thinks about us sexually? We are newlyweds, so there’s bound to be a sexual connection. Or maybe it’s part of the magic of the union. I don’t know, I’m not the expert in his arcana, or magic in general, but every time he reaches out, it’s like a caress from inside our bodies, and woof, does it really get you going.” 

Criella covered her ears, doing her best impression of someone willing themselves to unhear something deeply disturbing. Whether it was Helena’s words or Jo’s current moans was anyone’s guess. 

Emily was just about to excuse herself when another carriage arrived at the gates, followed by a man on horseback. 

Jo and Luther stopped kissing to see who it was, and Luther recognized the carriage as the one Eira and Rhosyn had taken. The man following them, however, was Raoul Feothe, one of Branan’s husbands. His dark, handsome features brightened in a smile as he waved to them. 

The mood shifted immediately, and Jo shuffled away from Luther, fixing her clothes as Luther sorted his. Nothing short of his iron will made him presentable to guests. He dropped the practice sword as he plastered a fake smile onto his face. 

Eira and Rhosyn’s carriage rolled to a stop, and they descended, holding onto the side of the carriage to steady their steps. Both appeared to have undergone the same physical exertion as Helena, which gave the Le Fey union and Criella the appearance of having sprinted, while Emily remained cool and calm, albeit flustered. 

Raoul rode to a stop and nodded his greeting to the group, tracking their faces with his eyes until he landed on Emily. “Miss Burville?” He asked. 

It took Luther a moment to realize he wasn’t asking what she was doing there, or for her specifically, but he was verifying her name, ensuring she hadn’t married Luther since she arrived. 

Emily frowned, reaching the same conclusion. “Yes, oh brother-in-law of mine, what is it?” 

Raoul dismounted, though no one asked him to. He approached Emily, but stopped two paces away as he plucked a white envelope with a wax seal from his interior jacket pocket. 

“I’ve come to deliver a letter on behalf of your brother, and to conduct one more matter of business before retiring,” Raoul said, flourishing the envelope from his jacket. “He wishes you to return home, and you can rest assured that the offer to join the Feothe Union is still very much open to you.” 

Emily took the letter, but did not thank him, an insulting reflection of her thoughts regarding his suggestion, which no one missed. “And the other matter?” 

“Is for Miss Criella.” Raoul turned his attention to the red-skinned woman standing to the side. “What a happy accident that I should find you here! Are you joining the Le Fey Union?” 

“Why?” Criella asked. “Are you going to invite me to yours?” She straightened her jacket and her posture as she stepped forward. 

“Just checking if I’d have any news to share on my return, but my business with you is something else.” 

“Yes, Mister Feothe?” Criella asked. 

“I’ve come to issue a formal challenge on behalf of my spouses,” Raoul answered, tossing her a glove. “To call you to answer for your swindling crimes against us in the matter of our duel with the Verdell clan.” 

The others gasped, and Luther reached for his sword, only to find his swordbelt missing from his outfit. He’d dressed for business, not training, but training had taken over his entire day.

Criella’s tail swished in annoyance as Raoul held her gaze, knowing the full ramifications of what he’d just done. 

“You may accept, contest, or forfeit, but you will answer for your theft,” Raoul said. 

“Interesting choice of words,” Luther said, narrowing his eyes. “But no one in my union or in my employ is a thief. Pity you can’t say the same, or have you come to bargain for the journals you stole?” 

Raoul ignored Luther, keeping his eyes on Criella. “How do you answer, Asmodean?” 

“Her name is Criella,” Luther said, his blood boiling. 

Jo’s hand on his forearm surprised him, but cooled his temper only slightly. A snowball could only cool a bubbling cauldron so much. 

“I stole nothing from you,” Criella protested. “And you have nothing to gain by challenging me. I hold no title, own no property, and if you seek to try me for any crime, you are welcome to present the matter to the local lord.” 

Luther straightened, pulling his shoulders back. 

“We’re aware that you have seduced and bewitched Lord Le Fey,” Raoul said. “We can escalate the matter to the Count, or you can prove your might in the field.” 

“Absolutely not,” Luther said, shaking his head. “Any trial should prove her innocence, no matter who judges the matter if they proceed according to the law.” 

Raoul grinned. “The Count is a wise and excellent choice.” 

Criella’s tail swished, and she shared a look with Luther that communicated everything it needed to tell him. The count did not care for demihumans in his lands. Putting her fate in his hands and asking for his mercy would earn her a slower death than a bolt of Branan’s lightning. 

Criella exhaled through her grinding teeth.

“Once someone issues a challenge, you must answer,” Raoul said. “As is the law.”  

“I know the law, you piece of shit,” Criella said as she swished her tail behind her. 

“Forfeit,” Luther said. “Keep your life, lose your belongings. You may live as a guest here without fear.” 

“Until this house belongs to someone else,” Raoul corrected him. “And she’d never work as a lawyer again. Exile is the only appropriate reward for cowardice or weakness.”  

Luther stepped forward, but Raoul held his ground, smiling like a bastard who knew he was safe from any physical reprisal. He’d issued a challenge on what he considered a matter of justice. Luther could try to intercede, but it’d only make things worse. 

Raoul’s smile turned smug. He kept that smile on his face until the moment Luther’s fist connected with his teeth.