In the mirror, the woman staring back was getting tears in her eyes. Clarissa wiped a finger across her lower lids. She feared to ruin the paint the woman had put on her face when her hair was being curled.
“Nathan, I don’t know what to say. You have done magic. You have made a plain woman into something . . .”
“Beautiful,” he finished.
“But why?”
His face screwed up with an odd expression. “Are you daft? I couldn’t very well have you looking plain.” He swept a hand down, indicating himself. “No one would believe a man as dashing as myself would be seen with a woman any less stunning.”
Clarissa grinned. He didn’t look so old to her as he had seemed when she had first met him. He really did look dashing. Dashing, and distinguished.
“Thank you, Nathan, for having faith in me, in more ways than one.”
“It’s not faith: it’s vision for what others are too blind to see. Now they do.”
She glanced to the curtain where the dressmaker had disappeared. “But this is all so very expensive. This dress alone would cost me near to a year’s wages. And all the other things: the lodging; the coaches; the hats; the shoes; the women who did my hair and face. It all costs so much. You are spending money like a prince on holiday. How can you possibly afford it?”
The sly smile oozed back onto his face. “I’m good at . . . making money. I could never spend all I can make. Don’t be concerned about it: it means little to me.”
“Oh.” She glanced back at the mirror. “Of course.”
He cleared his throat. “What I mean is that you are more important than petty matters of gold. People are more important than such considerations. If it was my last copper, I would have spent it with no less enthusiasm, or greater worry.”
When the dressmaker finally returned with a selection of stunning dresses, Nathan chose a number for her to try on. Clarissa went into the dressing room with each, and with the aid of the dressmaker’s woman, tried on each. Clarissa didn’t think she would have been able to lace, tie, and button any of them by herself.
Nathan smiled at each dress she came out in, and told the dressmaker he would buy it. By the end of the next hour, Nathan had selected a half dozen dresses, and had passed a handful of gold to the dressmaker. In all her life, she had never imagined a place of such wealth that dresses were already made. It was another measure of how much her life had changed with Nathan; only the very rich, or royalty, would buy dresses this way.
“I will make the necessary alterations, my lord, and have the dresses delivered to the Briar House.” He darted a look at Clarissa. “Perhaps my lord would wish me to leave several of them loose-fitting, to accommodate madam, when she grows with our emperor’s child?”
Nathan waved a hand dismissively. “No, no. I enjoy having her look her best. I will have a seamstress let them out when necessary, or simply purchase others to fit her then.”
It suddenly embarrassed Clarissa to realize that this dressmaker thought that she was concubine not only to the emperor but to Nathan. The ring through her lip, gold though it was, still meant she was nothing more than a slave. A slave would mean little to the emperor, with child or not, gold ring or not.
Nathan boldly told people that he was Emperor Jagang’s plenipotentiary, which kept them furiously bowing and scraping. Clarissa was merely property, shared with the emperor’s trusted agent.
The dressmaker’s sidelong glance finally struck home. She was a whore in his eyes. Maybe a whore in a fine dress, and maybe not a whore by choice, but a whore nonetheless. A whore who was enjoying herself, being dressed in fine clothes and kept by an important man at the finest inn in the city.
The fact that Nathan didn’t think the same thing was all that kept her from running from the dress shop in humiliation.
Clarissa reproached herself. This was the pretense Nathan had crafted for them, to keep them safe. It kept the soldiers they encountered at every turn from hauling her away to a tent. Deprecating glances were a small thing indeed for her to bear in return for all that Nathan had done for her, and for the respect he always showed her. It was what Nathan thought that mattered.
Besides, she was used to disapproving looks—looks of sympathy at best, scorn at worst. People had never looked upon her with favor. Let these people think what they would. She knew she was doing something worthwhile, for a man of worth. Clarissa lifted her chin as she strutted to the door.
The dressmaker bowed again as they stepped out into the dark street to the waiting carriage. “Thank you, Lord Rahl. Thank you for allowing me to serve the emperor in my small way. The dresses will be delivered before morning, you have my word.”
Nathan waved an offhanded dismissal to the man.
In the dim dining room of the elegant Briar House, Clarissa sat across a small table from Nathan. She now noticed the surreptitious glances she got from the staff.
She sat up straighter and put her shoulders back, defying them to have a good look at her bosom. She reasoned that in the murky candlelight, and under all the face paint, they wouldn’t be able to see her face reddening.
The wine warmed her, and the roasted duck finally sated her gnawing hunger. People kept bringing food—fowl and pork and beef, along with gravies and sauces and a variety of side dishes. She nibbled at a few, not wanting to appear a glutton, and afterward she was satisfied.
Nathan ate with zeal, but didn’t overeat. He enjoyed the different dishes, wanting to try them all. The staff hovered around him, slicing meat, pouring sauces, and moving plates and platters around as if he were helpless. He encouraged them, asking for things, sending others away, and in general made himself appear an important man in their midst.
She guessed that he was. He was the emperor’s plenipotentiary: a man not to be crossed. No one wanted Lord Rahl to be anything but most pleased. If his pleasure required seeing to Clarissa’s desires, they did that, too.
Clarissa was relieved when they were finally shown to their rooms, and Nathan had at last closed the door. She sagged, at last unburdened of the responsibility of acting a fine lady, or a fine whore; she wasn’t exactly sure how to play the part. She did know that she was glad to be away from the eyes that played over her.
Nathan strode around the two rooms, inspecting the painted walls with gold molding applied to form huge, sweeping panels with reverse-curved corners. Rich carpets in deep colors covered nearly every inch of floor. Everywhere there were couches and chairs. One room had several tables, one for taking meals there, another, with a slant top, for writing. The writing table held neatly arranged sheets of paper, silver pens, and gold-topped ink bottles with various colors of ink.
In the other room was the bed. Clarissa had never seen a bed like it. Four elaborately turned posts held up a canopy of lace and rich red fabric with gold designs splashed boldly over it. The bed cover matched. It was a huge bed. She had trouble imagining why such an expanse of bed was needed.
“Well,” Nathan said as he strolled back into the room with the bed, “I guess it will have to do.”
Clarissa giggled. “Nathan, a king would be delighted to sleep in such a room.”
Nathan’s expression contorted in a casual manner. “Perhaps, but I am more than a king. I am a prophet.”
Her smile faded as her mood turned earnest. “Yes, you really are more than a king.”
Nathan went around the room blowing out most of the dozen lamps. He left the one beside the bed, and the one on the dressing stand.
He half-turned, and gestured to the other room. “I’ll sleep on a couch in there. You may have the bed.”
“I’ll take the couch. I wouldn’t be comfortable in such a bed. I’m a simple woman, not accustomed to such grand things. You are. You should have the bed.”
Nathan cupped her cheek. “Get used to them. Take the bed. It would be uncomfortable for me, knowing such a lovely lady was sleeping on a couch. I’m a man of the world, and such things don’t faze me.” He bowed grandly from the
doorway. “Sleep well, my dear.” He paused with the door half closed. “Clarissa, I apologize for the looks you had to endure, and for what people might have thought of you, because of my story.”
He truly was a gentleman.
“No apology is necessary. It was rather fun pretending, as if I were in a play on a stage.”
He laughed with that sparkle in his blue eyes as he flung his cape around himself. “It was fun, wasn’t it, having those people think we were other than we were?”
“Thank you for everything, Nathan. You made me feel pretty, today.”
“You are pretty.”
She smiled. “That was just the clothes.”
“Beauty comes from within.” He winked. “Sleep well, Clarissa. I’ve left a protective shield on the door so no one can enter. Be at ease here; you will be safe.”
He closed the door gently.
Feeling a warm glow from the wine, Clarissa ambled about the room, inspecting all the fine things. She ran her fingers over the inlaid silver on the small tables beside the bed. She touched the cut glass on the lamps. She ran her hand over the finely woven bed covers when she turned them down.
Standing in front of the dressing table, she looked at herself in the mirror as she unlaced the bodice of her dress. She almost hated to take off the dress and be just herself again, although she wouldn’t be unhappy about being free of the bone stays that confined her.
With the laces loose, she was at last able to take a full breath. She slipped the top of the dress off her shoulders. The things still pressing from underneath held the dress up over her bosom. She sat on the edge of the bed as she tried to reach the buttons up the back. Some of them were too high. Sagging in frustration, she settled on removing her new shoes, made of supple, napped leather. She rolled off her stockings and wiggled her toes, glad to have them free.
Clarissa thought about home. She remembered her cozy bed, little as it was. She missed home, not because she was so happy there, but simply because it was home, and all she knew. As fancy as this place was, it felt cold to her. Cold and frightening. She was someplace she didn’t know, and she could never go home again.
Suddenly Clarissa was very lonely. With Nathan, she felt the comfort of his confidence. He always knew where he was going, what to do, and what to say. He never seemed to have any doubts. Clarissa was full of them, now that she was alone in the bedroom.
It was odd, but she missed Nathan more than home, and he was right in the next room. Nathan was almost her home, now.
The carpet felt good under her bare feet as she went to the door. Gently, she rapped against the white panel in the center of the gold molding. She waited a moment, and then knocked again. “Nathan?” she called softly.
She knocked and called his name once more. When still no answer came, she cracked the door open and peeked in. Only a single candle cut the still gloom.
Nathan was in one of his trances again. He was sitting in a chair, staring blankly at nothing. Clarissa stood at the door for a time, watching his steady breathing.
She had been frightened the first time she found him stiff and unblinking, but he had assured her that it was something he had done nearly his whole life. He hadn’t gotten angry, that first time, when she shook him, thinking there was something wrong.
Nathan never got angry with her. He always treated her with respect and kindness—two things she had always longed for, but had never gotten from her own people, and here was a stranger who gave them without effort.
Clarissa called his name again.
Nathan blinked and looked up at her. “Is everything all right?” he asked.
“Yes. I hope I’m not disturbing you in your reflection?”
Nathan waved away her concern. “No, no.”
“Well, I was wondering, could you help me . . . undo my dress? I can’t reach the buttons in the back and I seem to be stuck in it. I didn’t want to lie down in it and ruin it.”
Nathan followed her back into the bedroom. She had blown out the lamp on the dressing table so that she wouldn’t be embarrassed. Only the one beside the bed allowed him to see what he was doing.
With both hands, Clarissa held her hair up out of the way as his strong fingers worked their way down the buttons. It felt good to have him near.
“Nathan?” she whispered when he had reached the last of them at her waist. He made a questioning sound in response. She feared he would ask what the thumping sound was, and she would have to tell him that it was her heart.
Clarissa turned, having to hold the dress over her breasts, now that it was undone. “Nathan,” she said, as she gathered her courage and looked up into his beautiful eyes, “Nathan, I’m lonely.”
His brow drew together as he gently laid one of his big hands on her bare shoulder. “No need, my dear. I’m right in the next room.”
“I know. But I mean that I’m lonely in a bigger way than that. I mean. I’m lonely for the way you . . . I don’t know how to say it. When I’m alone, I start thinking about what I will have to do to help those people you talked about, and all kinds of fearful things come into my head, and before I know it, I’m sweating in a terror.”
“It’s often more worrisome to ponder something than it is to actually do it. Just don’t think about it. Try to enjoy the big bed, and the fine room, if you can. Who knows, one day we may have to sleep in a ditch.”
She nodded. She had to look away from his eyes, lest she lose her courage. “Nathan, I know I’m a plain woman, but you make me feel special. No man ever made me feel pretty, feel . . . desirable.”
“Well, as I said before—”
She reached up and put her fingers to his lips to silence him. “Nathan. I really . . .”
She looked up into his wonderful eyes. She swallowed and changed what she was going to say. “Nathan, I’m afraid you are just too dashing a man for me to resist. Will you come spend the night in this big bed with me?”
He smiled with one side of his mouth as she took her fingers away. “Dashing?”
She nodded. “Very.”
She could feel the curls springing. He rested his arms around her waist. It made her heart beat even faster. “Clarissa, you owe me nothing. I saved you from what was happening in Renwold, but you in return have promised to help me. You owe me nothing beyond that.”
“I know. It’s not—”
She wasn’t making herself clear, she knew.
She stretched up on her tiptoes, her arms circling his neck, and pressed her lips to his. His arms drew her tight. She abandoned herself in those arms, and to those lips.
He pulled back. “Clarissa, I’m old. You’re a young woman. You don’t want someone who’s as old as I.”
How long had she hurt because she thought she was too old to have someone?
How often had she felt forlorn because she was too old? And now this man, this wonderful, vibrant, handsome man, was telling her she was too young.
“Nathan, what I want is to be thrown on the bed, to have this fancy, expensive dress pulled off me, and for you to have your way with me until I hear the spirits sing.”
In the silence, Nathan stared at her. At last he reached down, put an arm behind her legs, and swept her off her feet. He carried her to the bed, but instead of throwing her onto it, as she had suggested, he set her down gently.
His weight sank into the bed as he reclined beside her. His fingers stroked her forehead. They looked into each other’s eyes. Tenderly, he kissed her.
Since her dress was all untied and unbuttoned, it easily slipped down to her waist. She ran her fingers through his long silver hair as she watched him lovingly kiss her breasts. His lips were warm against her. For some reason, she found that surprising, and marvelous. A soft moan escaped her throat at the feeling of her nipples being kissed in such a manly, passionate fashion.
Nathan may have lived longer than she, but he was not an old man in her eyes. He was dashing, daring, and thoughtful, and he made her feel beautiful. She found herself pantin
g at the sight of him without his clothes.
No man had ever touched her with such tender purpose, and the sureness of that touch further heated her passion.
His kisses trailed down the front of her, each making her gasp to catch her breath in sweet, startled desire.
When he at last took his place atop her, she totally and unashamedly succumbed to her need. She felt cradled not only in the canopy bed but in his ardent embrace. At long last, as her whole body stiffened with her cry of release, she could hear the spirits sing.
Chapter 40
Like a hawk in a dive, Kahlan silently shot ahead, and at the same time, like an eagle in an updraft, she serenely hovered in place. Light and dark, heat and cold, time and distance, had no meaning, yet they meant everything. It was a marvelous confusion of sensations, heightened by the sweet presence of the sliph each time Kahlan drew the living quicksilver into her lungs, into her soul. It was rapture.
With an abrupt explosion of perception, it ended.
Light erupted in Kahlan’s vision. Sounds of birds, breezes, and bugs hurt her ears. Trees draped with streamers of moss, rocks incrusted with lichen and snarled in roots and vines, and patches of damp, dark mist crowded in all around. The overpowering presence of it all terrified her.
Breathe, the sliph told her.
The thought horrified her. No.
The sliph’s voice seemed to sear through Kahlan’s mind. Breathe.
Kahlan didn’t want to be thrust from the serene womb of the sliph into this garish, loud world.
She remembered Richard, and with Richard, the threat to him: Shota. Kahlan expelled the sliph from her lungs. The liquid silver sloughed from her, yet she was not wet. She gasped a deep breath of the strange, sharp air. She covered her ears and shut her eyes as the sliph set her on the edge of the well.
“We are where you wished to travel,” the sliph said.
Kahlan reluctantly opened her eyes and lowered her hands. The living world seemed to slow and settle into harmony with what she expected it to be. The comforting hand of the sliph slipped from Kahlan’s waist.
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