I was the changeling, I thought, dazed, as his words began to make sense. A siren changeling. My voice had magic. A different sort of magic to the sharp, bitter metallic tang of the mages. I possessed the sort of magic that lured ogres to sleep when lullabies were sung, and mages to spill their seed when I cried out in pleasure.
“A f-king virgin siren,” he continued with amusement. “A very unusual commodity. Virginity is a misogynistic concept of course, but when it comes to spell components, the repressed sexuality does give a bit of a power kick that cannot be denied. Monks or other aesthetics’ hair is excellent. Years of repression there. Alright, let us get dressed. I have a book to read.” He released me and rose, reaching for a drying cloth as he stepped out of the water. He pass
