Maestro Read Free Page B

nerve in one she seduced, teasing with softness even as her fingers closed around the moaning victim’s throat.
    “Haste,” Yvonnel said suddenly, and more emphatically, breaking Minolin Fey out of her near stupor.
    “You . . . You know the arcane arts?” Minolin Fey stammered. The young woman laughed at her. “I am one with the Spider Queen, who sought to make the Weave her own. Or have you forgotten?” “N-no,” Minolin Fey stuttered, rather inanely, and trying to decipher the statement. Yvonnel claimed to be one with the Spider Queen? How high were her ambitions after all?
    “You are often overwhelmed,” Yvonnel said with a nasty little laugh.
    “No matter, your most important duties are behind you now.” She felt her expression turn curious.
    “I am born, and clearly weaned,” Yvonnel explained. “I have no need to suckle at your breast, nor any such desire. Not for nourishment, at least.” The way she finished that thought had the high priestess’s knees trembling. Despite the awfulness of the thought she knew that she could not begin to deny Yvonnel of anything she wanted. It took all of Minolin Fey’s willpower not to throw herself prostrate on the floor at that moment, begging Yvonnel to take her, or kill her, or do whatever she so desired. In that moment of terror, not just of Yvonnel but of her own weakness in the face of this mighty being, Minolin Fey truly appreciated the girl’s claim that she was one with the Spider Queen.
    She was—that was clear now. This was not a child standing in front of her, not even one infused with the memories of Yvonnel the Eternal.
    No, this was something much more.
    With a deceptively childlike laugh, Yvonnel went through a series of movements and chanted softly. A slight glow came over her, and her hair, already thick and halfway down her back, grew a bit longer and curled at the bottom.
    “I am two full decades of age now,” she said. “Do you think any young warriors would find me attractive?”
    Minolin Fey wanted to answer that any living creature would fall before her, that any drow in Menzoberranzan—in all the world—would not resist her for more than a heartbeat.
    “Twenty-five, I think,” Yvonnel remarked, and Minolin Fey looked at her with puzzlement.
    “Twenty-five years,” the girl clarified. “I seek an age that will afford me the respect I need, but also an age of perfect beauty and sensuality.” “Is there any age where you would not be such, either way?” Minolin Fey heard herself saying.
    Yvonnel’s grin let the high priestess know in no uncertain terms that she was caught within the web of this one’s charms.
    “You will do well when I am matron mother,” Yvonnel said. “I am . . .” Minolin Fey felt as if she had just been granted a great reprieve. “I am your mother,” she stammered, nodding eagerly. “My pride . . .”
    The girl waved her hand, and though she was across the room, the magical slap hit Minolin Fey so hard it sent her stumbling to the side. “No more,” Yvonnel said. “That duty is behind you and forgotten.
    You will survive and thrive, or you will fail, on your loyalty and service moving forward. I would think nothing of destroying you.” Minolin Fey cast her gaze down, staring at the floor as she tried to find some way out of this.
    And then she felt a soft touch on her chin—and such a touch! A thousand fires of pleasure erupting within her as Yvonnel so easily lifted up her face to stare her in the eye. Minolin Fey feared that she would go blind, being so near such beauty.
    “But you have an advantage, Priestess,” the girl said. “I know that I can trust you. Show me that I can respect your service, too, and you will find a wonderful life in House Baenre. One of pleasure and luxury.” Minolin Fey braced herself, expecting another slap, another brutal reminder of how quickly that could be taken away.
    It didn’t come. Instead, Yvonnel gently brushed the tips of her fingers down the side of