by C. E. Murphy
But the walls that Robert had placed in her mind had softened. Where there had been a hard-won pinhole of access to her witchbreed power, there was now a pool, serene and calm at the heart of her. There was more yet to be gained, but she no longer struggled every night simply to cup her hands together and call witchlight to them. Even now she felt the impulse to curl her fingers and light the tiny glow, curtained by her palm. It was a small thing, but each new lesson gave her ideas as to how she might increase her gift and her strength.
Behind it all, though, was the talent she had been stayed by need from sharing with Javier, and which she kept close to her heart now for the joy of secrets. The little things she had learned paled by the depths to which she could now read emotion. Fear and lust, delight and anger were all writ in the air around the men and women she encountered. Contentedness and ambition, hope and despair, so heavy around them that Belinda wondered how she had never seen it before. The difficulty was no longer in delving for those secret emotions, but rather in fending them away. It took no more than a thought to know if a man desired her, and what kind of needs he had in bed. No more than a wish to know, to discover if the neighbor’s wife feared her husband discovering he was being cuckolded. It lent Belinda glorious confidence, and she resented her father’s decision to lock that gift away behind a barrier in her mind. Only a little: she could not afford resentment or anger to any great degree—the stillness wrapped around her and tightened on her bones when she pursued rebellious thoughts. They ill-suited her; at the core of her, beneath newfound power and even beneath her precious, long-nurtured stillness, Belinda knew herself to believe, without reservation, in her duty to a mother who could never acknowledge her. She let herself wonder, very briefly, what she might feel now from Lorraine, with this burgeoning power at her disposal.
It would not, she was certain, be the guilt and discomfort that made Nina squirm in the doorway. “He complimented you,” Belinda guessed with a faint smile. “Did he impose himself upon you, Nina?”
Surprise replaced guilt, washing off the girl as her eyes jerked from the floor to meet Belinda’s. “No, my lady. Only—” She swallowed and flinched through the chest, making her breasts twitch with the motion.
“Only told you that you have lovely breasts, and lovely eyes.” Horrified embarrassment swept over her, Nina’s ears burning red. Belinda smiled and touched the girl’s bodice as she passed by. “He was right.”
Nina’s confusion and startled desire followed her down the stairs.
“There is snow in the air.” Marius walked with his hand at the small of Belinda’s back, a touch that was barely there. It made her aware, as she rarely was, of the tiny dagger she wore there, nestled beneath layers of clothing. Not for the first time she let herself smile at the ridiculous placement of the thing; trapped against her skin it did no good whatsoever for defense, and more than once she’d had to palm it away into the fallen folds of her gown when a man undressed her. It didn’t matter. The knife was sentimental, a reminder of who she was and a reminder of the stillness, not a weapon. She turned the smile up at Marius, curiosity in her eyes.
“Does it snow this far south, my lord?”
“Beatrice,” Marius said with mild exasperation. “How many times must I ask you to call me Marius?”
“At least once more.” Belinda smiled again, letting her gaze drift from the boy at her side. It was harder among intimates of a higher class, she was discovering, to follow her own rule of never calling a man by his name. Formality drenched every move to such a degree that the calling of names became far more important than it was as a serving girl. She found herself unable to forget Marius or Javier’s names, unable to not learn them, as she’d been able to not learn…Viktor, she reminded herself. Poor Viktor.
Asselin was easier; she saw him less, and his gaze on her was frank and lustful and open, like most men’s. Over the weeks he’d given no sign of recognizing her as the strumpet from the tavern. Without that concern threatening their play, it was clear he understood the game between men and women in a fashion that Marius did not, and Javier disdained. Asselin called her Lady Irvine, openly mocking the formality, and she called him Lord Asselin with all the sly wit and sexual rejoinder that he sought.
Eliza was different. Belinda’s own law didn’t stand in the face of women. Women only rarely had power and most of that came through the men they wed or whored themselves to; it was rare indeed that Belinda was sent after a woman. There was no need to misremember Eliza’s name, or call her by a formal one.
Then again, friendship had not blossomed between them, though they were not quite enemies. Eliza had too much respect for her friend—and Belinda wondered for the dozenth time, lover? The answer was there for the taking if Belinda chose to read either of them deeply enough, but the curiosity was more thrilling than the answering. Eliza would not declare open warfare on a woman Javier chose to invite into his circle of friends, or his bed, until he tired of her. Belinda admired Eliza’s loyalty, recognizing it for the bitter draughts of unrequited love. That was a cup of poison Belinda had no desire to ever drink of, and it left her with a trace of sympathy for Eliza’s position. She refused to be drawn into cat fights with the other woman, frustrating Eliza and amusing Asselin.
“You are not with me.”
“What?” Belinda cursed herself, turning her gaze back to Marius, who watched her eyes older than his years, not so much sad as weary. “Forgive me, my lord. I was lost in thought.”
“Thoughts of Javier.” It was half a question. Marius lifted his hand to brush his fingers across Belinda’s cheek. Her eyebrows drew down, then lifted.
“Eliza, my lord.”
Surprise and a trace of hope graced Marius’s expression. “Eliza?”
“She doesn’t like me.”
Marius smiled and looked away. “Eliza doesn’t like anyone who lands in Jav’s bed.”
“I do not believe you’re supposed to know that, my lord.”
Marius looked back, eyebrows elevated. “That Eliza doesn’t like anyone who’s in Javier’s bed, or that you’re there, my lady Beatrice?”
“The latter.” A faint smile curved Belinda’s mouth. “The former seems eminently obvious.”
“The difficulty,” Marius said, turning his gaze away again, “with being friends with Jav is that women do not dare tell him no, even when they might otherwise wish to.” He glanced at her again, folding his arms across his chest. “Spare me the insistence that you are bound to me heart and soul and that you only spread your legs for him because you have no other choice. Jav’s hard to resist.”
“Then why did you introduce me to him?” Belinda put her hand on Marius’s forearm. “Women are not so different from men, my lord. We, too, are drawn to power. Why introduce me to him?”
“Because he is my friend.” Marius withdrew a step, making Belinda’s fingers slide away from his arm.
Another voice came out of the distance, not so far away that their conversation might have gone unheard: “And because we’re all damned in our lovers by knowing him. No way to go forward or back without his permission, so we must introduce our paramours whether we will or won’t.” Asselin stalked up to them, shoulders hunched against cold more threatened than felt in the air. “Marius, may I borrow your fine lady for a little while? My sister’s giving another damned recital and my mother expects me to bring a comely woman of marriageable age.”
“You couldn’t find one of your own?” Marius sighed with resignation. “Beatrice, his sister has a voice like a harpy. Your ears may never forgive me if I let you go.”
“But she’s got the body of an angel, Marius. Turn up alone yourself and my mother might see past the merchant street to consider you a prospect. No offense to our lady Irvine, but a Comtesse is a rank worth aspiring to.”
“I’ll come,” Marius said sourly, “if only to be certain Beatrice isn’t being mistreated by the lout I call friend. Shall we all go together?”
Asselin’s gaze, appraisi
ng, raked over Marius, then Belinda. “Irvine will do,” he said after a moment, “but Mother would never let you past the front door in those clothes, Marius. Meet us there. I’ll save you enough wine to stop the sound of my sister’s voice from scratching out your ears. Beatrice, if you’d do me a few moments’ honour?” He extended his arm, heightening Belinda’s awareness that Marius had stepped away from her, abandoning her to stand on her own. A flash of unkind playfulness prompted her to take Asselin’s elbow, her gaze direct on Marius.
“If no one else will offer me an arm and warmth against the cold, I suppose I’m forced to your side, my lord Asselin.” She transferred a look of mocking adoration to the stocky man, watching a flush creep up Marius’s cheek before he sketched a short bow.
“My lady. Forgive me. It seems I am inappropriately attired to be seen in the company of nobility. I’ll join you again shortly.” He turned on his heel, clipping across brown grass at a brisk pace. Belinda pursed her lips, looking to Asselin.
“Was that really necessary, my lord?”
“Oh, yes, it was. Tell me, Irvine. How long has the Reformation bitch sat on the Aulunian throne?”
Stillness wrapped around her so swiftly that a chill shot over Belinda’s body. It prickled her breasts and her spine, nestling icily in her groin, and lingered there, a cold throb of desire. She had no fear of betraying herself; she felt her head tilt, a curious smile playing at her mouth, the coldness entirely within. No hairs raised on her arms or neck and her heartbeat remained steady as her own words from a night months earlier were thrown back in her face. “Longer than my lifetime, certainly, my lord.” A moment’s hesitation before she said, “Nearly thirty years. I think there will be a Jubilee held in Alunaer soon.”
“Well done,” Asselin breathed. “Ah, well done, my lady Beatrice, but don’t bother. Marius pointed you out to me days before he introduced you. I know you, Irvine, or whatever your name is. I’ve held your tits in my hands and buried my cock in your cunt, and I’ve known it since the moment he showed me his new true love. You’ve something I want, and that’s all we’ve got to discuss.”
Beatrice’s veneer let a blush slide through, scalding Belinda’s throat and jaw before she regained control of herself. Of the too-quick heartbeat whose pace never should have changed, even with Asselin’s accusations thrown in her face. Beatrice was a dangerous part to play, wearing Belinda down, too thin and close to the surface for the stillness to entirely protect her. She could feel witchpower rising in her, soft golden light that might distract Asselin’s thoughts, might make him forget who and what he knew her as, if she could focus it enough. She had no doubt he’d recognized her, no underlying certainty that she could make him believe he was mistaken with less than the growing power she had at hand. And that, though a temptation, was too great a risk: she and Javier had been cautious in their studies, hiding them beneath the facade of an affair. The idea of flame and a stake to be bound to still edged her thoughts, and Javier’s own fears ran to a far deeper sort of Hell, a true belief in his condemnation in the eyes of God. No; she was not yet prepared to try changing a man’s thoughts through her own will.
Instead, she tightened her fingers on Asselin’s arm, letting a wash of fear at having been recognized come into her eyes and sharpen her voice. “Perhaps this isn’t the place to discuss it.”
Asselin pulled her, without remorse, toward a copse of trees that made shadows and darkness in the daylit park. “Of course it isn’t. But Marius will expect us at my mother’s in less than an hour, and anywhere private enough to suit you will require more time than I’m willing to sacrifice. This will do, Irvine.” Shadows enveloped them as he spoke, leafless branches making vicious lines against Belinda’s skin. She reached for them with the witchpower, half wondering if she could disappear before Sacha’s very eyes. They lengthened, seeming to penetrate her body, darkness as invasive and sensual as a lover.
The cold trunk of a tree pressed against her spine as Asselin pulled her around to face him, deliberately trapping her between the woods and his body. For the second time in a matter of minutes she became aware of her dagger, useless and reassuring at the small of her back. Asselin traced his thumb over the hollow of her throat, making her lift her head and swallow involuntarily.
“My lord Asselin.” Her voice was dryer than she meant it to be, but the stocky lord read it as fear and a dark interest came into his eyes. She swallowed again, letting her pulse ride high and watching his gaze dart to it. “Will you denounce me, then?”
“I’ve got more use for you than that. I knew you weren’t base-born the moment I heard you talk. No uneducated woman cares that much about the politics of another country, not even a good God-fearing one. I don’t know who you are. I don’t care who you are.”
“Then what—?” Genuine curiosity filled the question, draining tension away. The shadows deepened, writhing around her protectively, as if they could help eyes pass her by. Power caressed the darkness, encouraging it, draining out of her and leaving her feeling pale and wanton beneath the weight of Asselin’s body.
“What I want is your passion.”
Belinda laughed, startled bark of sound. “So you think to take me in a park, in broad daylight? I thought you had more reserve than that, my lord Asselin.”
“Not for me.” A leer, sudden and good-natured, curved the blunt man’s mouth and he looked down her body, one hand still at her throat. “Well, but that’s an aside we’ll take care of in a moment. It’s Javier I want you for, Irvine. He’s not the sort to get distracted every time a woman flaps her skirts at him, and a good thing for all of us, too, else he’d be so busy fucking Eliza that no one would see him for months on end.”
“Eliza,” Belinda said, breathlessly, “wears trousers. Perhaps that’s her mistake.”
“Have you ever looked at a woman’s arse cupped in pants, Irvine? It does things to a man even skirts can’t.” He dismissed the statement with another lustful sneer, pressing his thumb into the hollow of her throat. “You’ve kept Jav’s attention for weeks. Trying to earn his trust. Trying to make your voice heard. Tell me it isn’t so. Tell me Marius wasn’t a means to an end.”
Belinda tilted her head back against the bark, swallowing again beneath the pressure Asselin kept on her throat. Desire piqued again, and with it, curiosity. “You’ve made up your mind to that already. What do you want, Asselin?”
“It’s time to move. Push him. Jav’s complacent. He believes that when the old whore finally dies, Aulun will come back to the fold without protest. That in the people’s hearts they are Ecumenics still and that blood will cease to be shed. He’s naive, and he needs a shove.”
“One you won’t give for fear of it being your neck on the block,” Belinda breathed. Asselin twisted a smile.
“That’s the beauty of it, isn’t it? What are your choices, Irvine? Refuse me and I’ll turn you in for a whore and rabble-rouser anyway. Agree, and you might get what you want.”
Belinda half-lidded her eyes, watching Asselin’s eager features a few inches from her own. “And what is it you think I want? You don’t think I’m so foolish as to reach for a throne.” She made it a statement, too offended by the idea to phrase it as a question. Asselin crowded closer, the scent of his desire caught between bodies.
“I think you want so badly for the Red Bitch to be off the Aulunian throne you’ll let a dog fuck you in the arse to get it.” He caught her wrist, sudden impulse to twist her away from him clear. Belinda went solid, refusing to move under the direction and bringing surprise to his eyes.
“You are not a dog, my lord, and you will want me to be able to walk like a woman at your sister’s recital. Does Marius know?”
A flash of acceptance lit Asselin’s eyes, then faded. “That you’re a high-minded whore? No, and I’m willing to keep it that way if you play the way I want you to.” Belinda deliberately widened her stance as he spoke, unspoken acquiescence and understanding of his demand. A hungry smirk curled the broad-should
ered lord’s mouth and he leaned closer. “That this push to make Javier move must be done? Yes. The only one of us who doesn’t think Jav should push his mother or himself is Jav. Marius is a good boy, and I want you to understand that the sweet arguments he’ll make will persuade you.”
“Or else?” The question came lightly, Belinda wetting her lips. Asselin took a breath against her skin as if he could taste her with its depth.
“Or else.”
He was, Belinda thought later, considerably more coarse than she had expected.
“Her voice,” Belinda murmured in low accusation, “was not so bad as all that.” Indeed, Asselin’s sister had sung sweetly enough at her afternoon recital to gain the approval of more than one young man’s mother. Like Asselin, she was sandy-haired, though tending more toward blond than her brother, and what were unruly curls on him were long loose ringlets on her. Belinda, left wanting from Sacha’s decidedly selfish desires, had studied the girl’s heart-shaped face and the soft, round curves of her body and wondered without remorse what the girl would look like pink-faced and flushed with need, or if she had ever known passion’s hand. The impulse to find out hadn’t faded, and Belinda had excused herself to walk in the gardens with Marius as quickly as she could. “She’d make a good match,” she added idly. “Better than me, in truth.”
Marius, dressed in a more gentrified manner than he had been earlier, touched her arm in alarm that was only partially mocked. “Do you grow tired of me already, Beatrice?”
She allowed herself one of Beatrice’s easy smiles, tucking her arm around his. “On the contrary, I expect you to tire of me.” She hesitated, then added, “Or for the situation to become unbearable.”
