The Sword and the Slave
Page 8
"If you don't feel comfortable about this,” Adon began.
"I need my sleep.” She forced a smile. “I'm sorry. I'm being ridiculous."
"You're operating on practically no sleep in the last two days. Or is it three?” He frowned, and he was purely a healer now.
"I can't remember, my head is so full of fuzz."
"Close your eyes. Do you think anything could happen with Nona so close?"
"If she doesn't know you're in here—"
"Does anything happen here without Nona's knowledge?” He grinned, mischief sparkling in his eyes. “If I know her, she's standing outside that door, holding one of her huge cooking knives, ready to flay me alive if I move one finger's width in the wrong direction."
The image, even though it could very well be true, made L'istra laugh. She closed her eyes, feeling the tension flow out of her body like a bung had been removed from a cask, letting all the sour wine gush out.
"That's better,” Adon murmured, and slowly, softly rubbed little circles in her skin with his fingertips. He started at her temples and gradually worked his way around her head. L'istra fought the groans that were partially exhausted relief and partly sensual pleasure. Why, she wondered as the drowsy waves flowed over her, had she resisted every time Nona or Uncle Hialatus suggested she obtain a slave to give massages?
Because, that persistent voice responded, you can't stand the thought of anyone touching you. Not so bad, is it?
L'istra agreed and didn't feel the least bit of chagrin. She relaxed enough to acknowledge that it might be different if someone besides Adon touched her. Then, before she could react to that bit of startling truth, she fell asleep.
* * * *
Nona waited when Adon left L'istra's room, more than an hour later. She didn't hold the knife he had mentioned, but Adon knew she had her ear pressed against the door from the moment he stepped inside. He thought it rather ridiculous to carry out the charade of pretending to sneak into L'istra's room, but the tiny deception seemed to help her relax just that little bit.
"Well?” She cocked one eyebrow at him.
"It went exactly as you planned.” He spread his hands, waiting.
Nona chuckled and stepped back, letting a thick pallet of blankets fall down in front of the door. She had been holding them up against the wall while she waited. “Are you sure you'll be comfortable here?” she asked as Adon tugged the blankets straight and knelt on the pallet.
"More comfortable than I would be in my room, straining my ears for the first sound from her room.” Adon grinned, thinking of the exploits of friends who had slept under a girl's window to impress her. The purpose was for the girl to know her suitor had endured discomfort to be near her. In L'istra's case, the less she knew of his and Nona's concern, the better.
"You're a good boy,” Nona murmured, and leaned down to kiss his forehead. “Keep watch over her dreams ... and maybe all our dreams will come true, eh?"
When the elderly woman had toddled off to her room, Adon stretched out on the pallet and turned his head so the one oil lamp left burning in the courtyard wouldn't keep him awake.
Dreams? Was he allowed to dream, here in exile? He knew he had been blessed with far better circumstances than many peace hostages. His collar threatened his blood and air, every time he touched L'istra in the course of his duties. The magic might effectively deny him all pleasure and hunger, but it didn't stop him imagining and wanting and dreaming. Too bad the collar couldn't muffle the ache that came from dreams denied.
* * * *
Adon's friends among L'istra's elite troops kept track of Eber to protect Adon from any mischief he might make. When several remarked on Eber's sudden interest in diplomacy, spending time with of the lower-ranked members of the Gohl delegation, Adon worried. Eber only cared about politics and ambassadors when they had something to offer. After four days of seeing Prince Amaran in action, Adon thought the Gohl prince had far better taste and common sense than to encourage a friendship with Eber.
"Maybe Amaran doesn't know what his underlings are doing,” Hialatus said, when Adon came to him with his suspicions.
Then a healer apprentice reported to Hialatus that Eber came to him asking for potions to make him sleepy. Not to actually sleep, but to let him relax and still move around. He specifically asked what drugs to avoid that would put him under the power of others, or cloud his memories. On Hialatus’ orders, the apprentice gave him names of obscure potions that only existed in legends or that required ingredients from such distant lands, only the richest could obtain them.
Then Eber asked what drugs would make a virgin wild for a man, so she would force herself on him. Such a potion only existed in legend, but the fact that Eber would ask for such a thing, when he could not perform, made the healer suspicious. He sent Eber on fruitless searches through the markets for ingredients that only existed in the imagination. Several soldiers good at disguise and stealth were sent to watch the prince's every step. When he visited the section of the city referred to as the Dregs, as such filthy danger spots were called in every large city, Hialatus knew about it. When Eber found a deposed priest of a fallen demi-god, who made a nominal living as a creator of potions to ‘suit every need,’ Hialatus knew immediately.
The Emperor was told and commanded Adon never to leave L'istra alone—but not to tell her what they suspected. The plan was to catch Eber and the Gohlians in the act. Adon kept silent only because L'istra was miserable already. That same evening, L'istra glumly reported she had been commanded to have him as her attendant at every public function.
"Some old fool has the idea that I need to impress Amaran,” she said.
"Has he stated clearly that he intends to marry you?"
"Everyone assumes that is his reason for coming to Parses.” She sighed and shoved her Draktan piece across the inlaid board, nearly toppling two of Adon's pieces.
"He's trying to win your friendship and trust, and then convince you that you could love him,” he offered.
"Not when he wears his brother's face,” she muttered, then flushed darkly and leaped up from the cushion where she perched to pace along the side of the lily pond. “What justice is there, when I am a prisoner here while he is free to come and go and explore my city?"
"If you see it as a battle,” Adon began.
"A siege."
"Then what do you do to break a siege and set the prisoners free?"
L'istra slowly turned to stare at him and stopped, one foot up in the air, while her mouth fell open and her eyes got wide. She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms and stared at him, then through him.
"A frontal attack. Come out of a hidden doorway and hit his forces when they least expect it.” She smiled, lips pressed tightly together. “My friend, you were wasted as a healer. You should have been a soldier."
"That is how I choose to heal, Princess. Attacking the disease or the wound, instead of merely treating the effects of the illness or mopping up the blood as it spills out.” Adon studied his Draktan piece, pretending unconcern while his insides knotted. “What do you intend to do?"
"Let him think that I have no heart to be won. No.” Her eyes glinted with fire and mischief. “Let him think there is one who has caught my attention and he has no hope of distracting me.” She strolled back to the table and settled down next to him, on the edge of Adon's pillow instead of her own. “This is a great favor I ask, but you are the only one I trust."
Adon wondered if she could hear his heart triple its pace and hammer so hard against his breastbone, it threatened to bruise. “What, Princess?"
"Kiss me?” She shook her head and pressed her fingertips against his lips when he began to respond. “No, I know it must be painful for you, to ask such a thing when you can feel nothing. It is cruel of me. But ... you have touched my dreams? You know my fears,” she hurried on, when Adon could only nod. “I will not ask it of you anywhere or any time except where others may see."
"For a slave to kiss you—"
"Only once, and then you will have dozens of courtiers and nobles screaming for my head for such presumption.” Adon wondered why his heart sped up at the thought of kissing L'istra, even if it was only on demand, for a specific purpose. Didn't the collar muffle all such reactions?
He had spent three nights at L'istra's bedside, kneeling on the floor, his arms wrapped around her, holding her to drive away the nightmares. She clutched at him and rested her head against his chest. Anyone who burst in on them would say that they shared a bed. He knew his life was endangered already.
"Not if they see that I commanded the kiss.” L'istra shook her head. Her face was pale, but two spots of color flared in her cheeks. “They will pity you. There are some who say that I am not a woman at all, where it matters. What do I know of feminine skills?"
Adon wondered where Nona was during all this. He couldn't hear her puttering in the cooking alcove, creating treats to tempt L'istra's faltering appetite. He hoped Nona would approve of what he was about to do.
"Only one way to find out,” he whispered, and lifted a hand to gently cup L'istra's cheek. Her eyes widened and her breath hitched, but she didn't move away. She stared at him, eyes getting wider as he leaned closer, until there was only a thumb's width between their lips. “Close your eyes, Princess."
"You see?” She flinched, twisting her head out of his gentle hold, and the blush spread from hairline to collar. “Totally useless."
"No, you just need some practice.” Adon waited until she thought this over, her expression cleared, she nodded, and leaned closer to him again. When she closed her eyes, he cupped her face between his hands and gently brushed his lips over hers.
He could appreciate the softness and warmth and smoothness of her lips, without the geyser of fire in his loins. L'istra smelled of spice and the lemons Nona used to wash her hair, the honey mead they had been drinking as they played Draktan, and a warmth that could only be her. Clean and pure and young. Adon pressed a little more firmly against her mouth and her lips parted slightly. He turned his head a fraction to the right, changing the angle of the kiss, and her breath gushed out in a sigh that contained just a hint of a purr.
He knew in that moment, he was lost. How could he enjoy such sensations, the scent and taste and warmth of her, when he had been gelded by the collar? Adon drew back when the greedy little boy inside him shouted for more. This was something more than lust, and wisdom said to study and consider what was happening to him before he went any further.
"That's nice,” L'istra whispered as her eyes fluttered slowly open. She blushed again. “I mean, more than nice. Much more than nice."
"You flatter me.” He grinned and made the obsequious, fluttering gesture the Hiskarlit priest had used. As he wanted, L'istra laughed. “Do you think you can persuade others that you want my kisses?"
"Easily...” She swallowed hard and looked away, licking her lips twice. She took a deep breath and turned back to face him. “Since it will be the truth."
"You need to kiss me as well, Princess. Just do what I do. Follow your ... inclinations."
"But what about you? Do you find it distasteful?"
"Far from it. There is more to kissing than satisfying lust.” Adon cupped her cheek again, and L'istra leaned closer, eagerly parting her lips and closing her eyes. “I'm a lucky man,” he whispered as he brushed his lips over hers again.
"How?” she asked with a tiny moan at the back of her voice.
"Lucky to have learned this so young."
They practiced kissing until Nona bustled out of the cooking alcove with a platter of salty cheese and honeyed fruit. Several times as they finished their game of Draktan and complained about the tour of Parses scheduled for the next day, Adon caught L'istra watching him. More accurately, she stared at his mouth, and her eyes had a distant light. He hoped that was hunger that had awakened in her, just from those few kisses they shared. The collar didn't kill everything associated with lust. The hunger for a woman's desire was as strong as ever.
* * * *
"Healer.” L'istra beckoned with a tip of her head. Adon didn't check to make sure Prince Amaran watched them. The prince watched L'istra like a man who contemplated bypassing the spiced roast boar to gorge on the rare sweet course made of ice, fruit and potent winter wine.
Adon knew L'istra's talent for timing was impeccable in games of strategy or war, but she had little experience with games of flirtation. Or in this case, destroying a man's interest in her. He couldn't find it in himself to warn her that showing a marked preference for one man could simply increase a man's determination to win her. It might change Amaran's interest from simple lust and admiration for her beauty and strength, to a form of competition. A prince, even of a vassal state, was a far better man than a hostage slave.
"Princess?” He bowed to L'istra and followed her horse into a shadowy area just beyond the main gate. Her hand shook slightly as she reached out and rested it on his shoulder. “Don't fall,” he warned under his breath as she leaned out of the saddle.
She laughed, smothering the sound as their lips met. Adon liked kissing L'istra when she laughed. He liked the vibrations, the curve of her mouth. It was still a thing of wonder to him, to realize what pleasure there was in kissing a beautiful, sweet-smelling, rich-tasting woman, when his manhood didn't demand his attention.
"Princess L'istra?” The clopping of hooves and the chime of silver bells announced Prince Amaran's intrusion into the momentary escape from duty.
"Would it help matters any to put a collar on him?” she grumbled, and pushed away to sit upright in her saddle. “Highness?” She delicately licked her lips as she turned to face the prince.
Adon knew that aching, dropping sensation in his gut wasn't lust, so where did it come from? He tried not to let that question and similar speculations drag his attention. After all, he had to accompany L'istra during the entire interminable tour of the city, walking by her horse's side. L'istra had apologized about the indignity of his position before they started out that morning, and Adon had been touched. She truly did care about him as a friend.
* * * *
L'istra wandered through the rooftop garden of the palace. She heard Adon speaking on the other side of a thick hedge of flowers that filled the air with dizzying mist. Warmth flowed through her belly and she could almost taste the richness of his kisses. She wanted more of him. She had taken twenty-one kisses during the day. L'istra could have taken six dozen kisses from Adon and not had enough.
"My love?” she whispered, and laughed at the triumphant feeling that came with those words. She hadn't meant to say them, but the free, light, delighted sensation that filled her belly bore witness to the truth.
She wanted Adon as more than her friend and servant. She wanted him to teach her how to be a woman, to enjoy the pleasures held prisoner through fear all these years. Adon could teach her and protect her.
"Come to me? Kiss me?” She laughed when she heard footsteps coming from the darkness at the end of the long wall of hedge. L'istra picked up her feet and ran.
Adon appeared and she pressed herself against him. Their lips met. He bit her, hard, drawing blood. His fingers turned into claws, tearing her clothes, drawing blood from her shoulders. L'istra swallowed the scream that tried to suffocate her and pushed hard with all her strength.
Mitterand held her hard against his chest. Something scorching hot pressed against her belly, growing larger with every second. It writhed like a snake. Childhood terror and helplessness exploded in her chest. Kicking and flailing, smothered by her fear, she couldn't even cry out for help. Her enemy threw her to the ground and she landed on the hot, steaming, blood-streaked pavement of the palace gardens of Gohl. L'istra refused to look for L'innea's dead, battered body beside her.
"No. It's not real. Fight it!” Adon tore through the pavement and the sky. His hands were huge
, warm and gentle, and he scooped her up as if she were as small as a kitten.
L'istra sobbed and didn't care that it was weakness. She clung to him as Adon carried her away and the heat of Gohl became the cool moonlight and sweet scents of Parses and her garden once again.
"Sshhh. It's all right. I'm here,” Adon whispered, and kissed her forehead. Then her eyelids, then the tip of her nose. Just as her mother used to do when she was upset or frightened.
"Don't ever let go of me,” L'istra whispered. “I wish you loved me."
"What sane man could help loving you?” he said, his voice a groan caught between laughter and pain.
She raised her head from his shoulder and looked deep into his eyes. She saw something there she couldn't identify, couldn't understand. Hunger mixed with contentment, warmth, resignation, compassion.
"If I asked you to be my lover, would you?” she whispered.
"To frighten away your dreams?” Adon stroked her loosened hair out of her face and guided her head back down to his shoulder. Somehow, they were sitting down now, when a moment ago he carried her cradled in his arms like a child one-tenth her size.
"Not to frighten my dreams. To give me something sweet, to give me joy. If you're my lover, you would never leave me."
"I will always stay with you, Princess.” He kissed her forehead.
"But this is only a dream, so that promise doesn't mean anything.” L'istra caught her breath. How could she know this was a dream? Did that mean the dream had lost its power over her, if she was aware she dreamed?
She stared into Adon's eyes until he blurred, still smiling, his arms still warm around her. L'istra concentrated, willing herself out of the dream.
Adon's eyes were closed and his head tilted to one side, and she found herself sprawled across him, her head resting on his chest. She half-reclined in her bed and Adon sat against the wall, holding her, asleep. He snored, just a little. L'istra slid out of his embrace and scooted back against the wall to watch him. This was definitely real. How long had Adon held her, driving away her nightmare, protecting her? Long enough to fall asleep, obviously.