<strong>Nellens Daga</strong><br/><br/>Tepin Arisu's glance followed the magistrate's; the Tengese woman in their crosshairs stiffened.<em>Those Who Serve the Radiance</em>– that was the Tengese title for those who dealt personally with their Dragon-Blooded overlords, though in truth, at least in recent years, this service had become a punishment dealt to the outcast of Tengese society, as well as those of shameful birth, rather than the honored station their title implied they had once been. The beautiful courtesan – and if she served here she was most definitely a courtesan – assumed a polite, impassive expression, waiting for one of them to beckon her.<br/><br/>“I wonder, Magistrate,” the officer said, producing a cigar from her vambrace. “Given how rarely the Dragons bless your House – how did you come to be wandering this far about from home? Shouldn't you be tied up in a bedroom, somewhere near the Imperial City, surrounded by eager, naked cousins?” She held it up; the tip ignited, as if the object had preferred self-immolation to defiance.<br/><br/>“Or were the cousins terribly ugly?” The smoke wreathed her face, her laughing eyes like glittering jade. The cigar was oddly – and pleasantly – scented; mere tobacco, it seemed, could not satisfy a Princess of the Earth; this was something else, some obscure specimen plucked from among the thousand thousand plants Sextes Jylis had birthed here in An-Teng. “Did you flee into Her Imperial Majesty's arms to avoid them?”<br/><br/><br/><strong>Crimson Dove</strong><br/><br/>Ledaal Sulir's slight, fleeting smile grew into a full one – briefly, it must be said, and then it disappeared – but he was a perfectly handsome man when he smiled, it must be said, and it was a shame he did so rarely.<br/><br/>“No, she was not so – blessed – nor, I think, would my path in life had been the same if she had,” the sorceror said, cupping Dove's chin. His warm fingers trailed along her skin, then he turned away, moving back to his canvas, his paints, his satchel. His high-collared shirt – Legion standard issue – fell among them, discarded, offering Dove her first look at him half-dressed, and it seemed greatly unfair that a man blessed with the gifts of the Dragons should also be gifted with such a finely sculpted body.<br/><br/>“I know you are a dancer without peer,” Sulir said. “I'm told you're no less skilled with an instrument – any instrument.”<br/>The soft coils of the whip seemed to gleam in the dimming light as they unfurled; Dove's insight into his character proved piercingly accurate – the obsessive who, having built up the object of his passion, now set about destroying her.<br/><br/>“Sadly I've heard no such thing about your acting ability.” His voice took on a soft, self-satisfied purr as he rounded back on her, expecting to see fear and shock on her face as the many tails of the whip cracking through the air. “Don't try to be brave – it'll be over quicker if you cry sooner.”