“I’ll want you holding hands throughout,” said Lily, “since that seems to help your connection. Are you comfortable in those seats?”
They were, and Lily explained to them what they needed to do, took Patient in and out of the trance a couple of times to familiarise him with the experience, and then began chanting the spell to take them both into Hope’s memories together.
“Now,” she said, when they had reported a deep trance state, “Hope, focus on the curse and let it take you back to its origins. Talk to us as you do so, so that Patient can go with you.”
Hope felt for the curse in the centre of her body and imagined a rope tugging at her, pulling her into memory, into her personal history.
“I’m travelling back,” she said. “I’m growing younger. Smaller. Oh. I’m a little girl, back in the islands.” Her surroundings came into focus. She was in her parents’ cottage, and the furniture loomed around her, much larger than the last time she had been there, as an adult. “I’m scared.”
“I’m with you, love,” said Patient. “I’ll look after you.”
“Is there anyone else with you?” asked Lily.
“My mother. She’s scolding me. She caught me holding hands with my friend, a little boy. Cheerful Sawyer.”
“How old are you?” said Lily.
“I haven’t started to learn magic yet. Six or seven.”
“What’s your mother saying?”
“Boys are bad and dirty and they’ll hurt you. You shouldn’t hold hands with them, it leads to bad things. You can’t trust them, you should stay away from them. I don’t know why a boy would want you anyway, you ugly little girl, you’re bad-tempered and a whiner. He doesn’t want to be your friend, he just wants to get things from you that you shouldn’t give him.” As she spoke, Hope’s voice took on her mother’s sharp, pinched intonation.
“Stop,” said Patient, in a calm, deep voice, his “I am in charge here” voice that he’d no doubt learned as a village warden. “Mistress Verity, that’s no way to speak to your daughter.”
“What business is it of yours?” said Hope, in her mother’s voice.
“It’s my business because I love her. When I hear words like that from your mouth, it seems like you don’t love her, and it’s the people who love us who get to say who we are.”
“Who is she, then?”
“She’s beautiful and clever and good-hearted. She’s afraid in life, yes, and sometimes she gets angry and impatient. That’s all right. That’s just the reaction of a moment. Underneath, she’s someone who deserves happiness and love. I don’t know why you can’t give them to her, but you have no right to prevent someone else from doing so.”
“I’m her mother.”
“No, you aren’t. You might have given birth to her, but you give up your right to mother her when you tear her down inside and tell her not to be happy, not to be loved. She can be happy and loved if she wants to, even if you’re not. It’s not up to you.”
In Hope’s vision, her mother, towering over her, took a step backwards and turned her face aside, as if ashamed.
“As for not trusting boys, you’re right,” Patient continued. “There are bad boys, bad men, who will take from Hope and not give. But there are good men, too.”
“He’s one,” said Hope, in her own voice. “He’s a good man, Mother, and you can’t say otherwise. He can hold my hand if he likes.” She squeezed his fingers.
“I’ll always hold your hand, Hope,” said Patient. “Until we’re old together. I’ll always protect you, and I won’t hurt you.”
She squeezed his hand again. “My mother’s left,” she said. “She didn’t have anything else she could say.”
“Good,” said Lily. “Very good. You’ve done excellently, both of you. All right, now I’m going to bring you back to your present selves, here in my office in the year 547.” She began to chant again, and Hope felt her body return to adult stature as she left the islands and came back into the chair in the room in Illene. She opened her eyes and shared a glance with Patient, who smiled encouragement to her.
“I think we’ve made great progress,” said Lily. She rose, and so did they, in the sleepy way of people who have been in deep trance.
“Oh, before we go,” Hope said, “can I get another copy of your book? For a friend.”
“Certainly,” said Lily. “Is your friend in a relationship?”
“She hopes to be soon. And she’s rather… uninstructed.”
“That’s what the book is for,” said Lily. “I hope it helps her.”
Back at the flat, they snuggled on the floor cushions while their simple dinner finished cooking.
“I love you,” said Hope, after a lingering kiss.
“I love you too.”
“I’m glad you spoke up about the bath thing, if it was going to be a problem for you.”
“Well,” he said. “Last week was… intense. Not just… I mean, in more ways than one.”
“I know. I trust you, you know?”
“I do know that.”
“Do you trust me?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Let’s just have a quiet evening, shall we?”
They washed the dishes together, chatting about neutral topics. At last, wiping her hands on a dishtowel, Hope caught his eye.
“What I’d like,” she said, “is to go to bed early so we can cuddle and talk.”
“Sounds good,” he said. “Talk about…?”
“What we need to talk about.”
He nodded. They changed in separate rooms, and climbed into bed facing each other. Hope’s bruise had healed completely, and she could lie on either side now. She snuggled up to his chest and looked up into his eyes.
“You want to start?” she said.
“All right. First of all, I don’t blame you for any of this, and I don’t have a solution.”
She made an I-understand noise, since she was too close to him to be able to nod.
“I love you and I like being close to you, but it’s difficult, too. I wish I could express how much I desire you by acting on that desire, but I can’t. I can keep control, I can get through it all, but it’s hard work. And that exercise last week… I’ve been thinking about you all the time. I mean, I think about you all the time anyway, but the imagery has changed. I think about how beautiful your body is, and how you let me see it, and how I want to, to touch every part of you and be as close to you as I can be, and I know I have to wait. It’s… distracting. I almost cut myself three times the other day, daydreaming about you while I was carving.”
Hope cuddled close and hid her face in his chest. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t apologise. It’s not your choice. Nobody is doing anything wrong here, but it’s a difficult situation anyway.”
“I know. And if it were up to me, you know I’d…”
“I think I’ll find it easier if you don’t finish that sentence. But thanks.”
They lay quiet for a while, and he listened to, and felt, her breathing and her heartbeat. Then she said into his shoulder, “Will it be more difficult if I kiss you?”
“I don’t think I care,” he said, and slid down to rest his forehead on hers. She smiled, and kissed him, slowly, starting out with light pressure and not much movement. He responded in kind.
He wasn’t even sure which of them started to heat up the kiss. It seemed to be a mutual decision at the same moment. First, they started moving more, trailing their lips over each other’s, still gently, then with more passion.
She took his upper lip between hers and sucked gently. This was the point that had triggered her curse in the mindhealer’s office, but she felt relaxed in his arms, with no sign of distress. Rather the opposite, in fact. She sucked on his lip more enthusiastically, and he returned the favour, savouring. Their hands caressed each other’s sides and backs lightly, fingers strumming and circling.
She gently licked his lip where it was trapped between hers. He tensed f
or a moment, then relaxed into it. He parted his lips, inviting her.
She took the invitation and slipped her tongue softly between his lips, something they had not previously risked. His tongue met it, and they played gently, exploring, enjoying.
Still moving slowly, even languidly, Hope sucked Patient’s tongue into her mouth. Her lips pulsed around it, more firmly. She pressed forward, harder, and their teeth ground together. Her hands were digging into his back.
He flailed, seizing her shoulders and forcibly extracting his tongue from her mouth with a wet sucking noise, pulled back and looked her in her now-open eyes. Both of them were breathing heavily. The feeling of imminent curse-triggering that he had picked up on receded.
“You could tell?” she said.
“Yes.”
She rested her forehead on his chest. “Thanks. I don’t think I could have stopped. I could feel the curse-nimbus coming, but I just didn’t care.”
“That was… intense,” he said.
“How, Patient?” she asked. “How do you do that? How do you pull back from something like that? I was completely lost in it.”
“I leave a little part of myself as an observer,” he said. “Always.”
“Always with me, or just always?”
“Just always, I think. Since the war.”
“Oh.” Tears welled up in her eyes, and she hugged him.
“Patient,” she said, “I swear to you that someday I will find a way to pull that observer in and make him forget everything else, because nothing else will matter.”
He stroked her hair.
“And I swear,” he said, “that I’ll let you.”
Next morning, he brought breakfast in as usual and they sat propped against the headboard, chatting.
“So,” he said. “What shall we do today?”
“You were going to give me a cooking lesson.”
“So I was. By the look of your cupboards, we’ll need to go grocery shopping, then.”
“How domestic.”
“Yes,” he said, smiling.
“You like that, don’t you? You want us to have a domestic life.”
“I do. I’m looking forward to the time when we wake up together every morning and have to remember whether we need to buy eggs.”
“Whereas I’m mainly looking forward to…” she began, in a honey-soaked voice.
“Don’t,” he said.
“Sorry.”
He touched her hand and got a jolt of desire.
“Is that your feeling I just picked up?” he asked.
“Do you want to move the breakfast tray out of the way and come over here, so we can find out?”
“I think that’s my answer.” He eyed her through narrowed lids. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“I am.”
“All right, but only for a little while.” His resistance turned to sawdust and blew away when she looked at him with those huge eyes.
They began, as they had the previous night, with gentle kisses. He was tense, though, nervous, and they hadn’t gone far when she pulled back and said, “What’s wrong?”
“I’m thinking about baths.”
“Oh, love, don’t worry about it. We can have separate baths if you want, if it makes you more comfortable.” He picked up her disappointment, though.
“Tell you what,” he said. “You come and talk to me while I have a bath, if you like, and I might even let you wash my back, if you’re good.”
“What kind of good?”
“Not-naughty good.”
“Ohh,” she protested. “All right. And then what?”
“And then I’ll leave you to have your bath in private.”
“You’re comfortable being naked in front of me, but not the other way round?”
“Only because you’re so stunning I don’t fully trust myself.”
“You’re so self-disciplined.”
“Yes, well, I’m not made of iron, you know.”
“Not all of you, anyway,” she said, wriggling her crotch against his to emphasise what she meant.
“Hope!”
“Sorry. Being good now.”
“So I should expect,” he said, pretend-stern.
She lowered her eyes and looked up from under her lashes. “Do you have a kiss for a good girl?”
“Oh,” he said, “all right.”
They managed to keep their kisses well back from the trigger zone, but still enjoyable, and eventually he said, “I need to get up and have that bath.”
“Good,” she said.
“You’re looking forward to it?”
“Very much. I haven’t had my fill of looking at you by a good way.”
“Nice to know.”
He was almost unembarrassed, even in his partially aroused condition, as he stripped off in front of her and climbed into the warm tub. He lathered up and began washing, as they planned a menu for the week and he composed a mental shopping list.
“All right,” he said, at last. “You can do my back now.”
“Shove forward,” she said.
“Why?”
“Easier to reach.”
He slid himself towards the taps, and turned on the hot water. The bath was starting to cool.
Distracted, and with the water running, he didn’t realise at first that she had sat on the end of the bath and put her feet in the water. Then he felt her toes against his buttocks.
“Hey,” he said.
“Just don’t look behind you,” she said, scrubbing his back with the sponge.
“Why not?”
He heard a splash behind him and felt the water rise.
“Did you just get in with me?”
“As long as you don’t look, you won’t know, will you?” she said, from behind his shoulder.
“Hope, we discussed this.”
“Hush. I’m washing your back. Relax and enjoy it.”
He did his best.
“Now shove forward a little more.”
“Why?” he asked.
“I’m going need the room to wash myself. Can you push a bit more hot water back here?”
Eyes rigidly fixed in front of him, Patient complied. There were splashing noises, and in his peripheral vision he saw first one foot, then the other, extend past his shoulder as she sponged and rinsed.
“All right,” she said eventually, “I’m going to swing myself round now and lean forward. Do you think you can turn round and wash my back if that’s all you’re going to see?”
“Yes.”
“Here’s the sponge, then. Get it good and soapy.”
There was a resonant graunching noise as she spun around, and her damp back contacted his for a moment.
“Ready,” she said, and he turned around. He had to stand up and turn, then sit down again, with his legs extending past her. His injured leg didn’t bend very well.
Even the curve of her back was beautiful. He could just see her buttocks through the soapy water. Gently, lovingly, he sponged her back, in the way he would oil a carving that he’d laboured on for days. When he finished, he said, “What now?”
“You get out, dry, and dress. With your back turned, if you like. After you’re finished, I do the same.”
He did that, and left the room. When she joined him, fully clothed, she looked at him, touched his hand, and he felt her concern turn to relief.
“I really wanted to do that,” she said. “Even if we couldn’t get any closer.”
“Thank you,” he said. “But can we discuss it first next time?”
“All right. Agreed.”
Chapter Fourteen: Rosie and Dignified
Rosie’s fitting was… an experience. The pieces were tacked together with pins, which despite everyone’s best efforts occasionally pricked her. The rose-gold trousers were a little long, but fit beautifully otherwise, and (she had to admit) made her hips look good, or as good as they ever had. The dark rose sleeveless top was… draughty. She wasn’t used to so much… air on h
er chest, and it showed the blushes. It also cupped, shaped, raised and in general emphasised her breasts to a scandalous degree.
“Are you sure…” she began.
“Yes. Put on the overshirt,” said Mistress Pintuck. The linen overshirt was designed to be open at the front (there were no fastenings for it) and stopped at the hips, covering only her back, the sides of her torso and her arms. The collar highlighted her long neck, and was just the right length for her new haircut to fall around it.
“Comfortable?” asked the seamstress.
“To move in and to wear? Yes,” said Rosie. “To go out in public? I’m not sure.”
“You’ll get used to it,” said Hope.
“Scarf,” said Mistress Pintuck, and fetched a green scarf which covered most of the exposed skin above her bosom. (She would have to get used to thinking of herself as having a bosom.)
“That’s better,” said Rosie.
“Good. Next piece.”
The pieces were mostly to the same pattern, with a few variations, so there would be four of them ready to pick up the following afternoon. Rosie checked her emotions, and decided that the bubbling feeling in her stomach meant that she was excited.
Dignified felt anxious.
He always felt a bit anxious, but now there was a specific reason: Rosie.
She had started to change. Her hair was… and she was dressing…
He had said to her today, when she leaned in close to look at something they were working on together, that difficult equation for the flight crystals, he had said, “You smell good. Roses.” And she had gone pink, a bit like the clothes she was wearing now, sort of a rose colour, and there was a rose embroidered on the shoulder part with the stem going down and curving under, under, under the chest part, so it drew attention to… Weren’t women supposed to hide those? But some of the top bits of them were showing, and the, the space in between, and it was very distracting. And then she smiled, and thanked him, and he didn’t know why.
It was all very confusing.
After she had left for the day, he sought out Bucket. Bucket, he was dimly aware, was courting Wheel’s sister, so he presumably knew how these things worked.
Hope and the Patient Man Page 15
