Lovers and Beloveds

by MeiLin Miranda

  "Hm," muttered Harsin. "I know better." He blew out a breath. "What do we know about the Embodiments already?"

  "We know they're originally from Belleth. They showed up here nearly nine years ago at a Mother's House under the auspices of your counselor." Winmer put the smallest emphasis on the final word. "Are they possibly his bastards, sir? I've always suspected it."

  Harsin gave an uncharacteristically high snicker. "Getting information out of him is harder than simply ordering him to do something--he can always find a way out of doing something or telling me something--but one thing I know for certain: Teacher has no children of any kind and never will. Very well. Send your agents out. Dig, Winmer. Find out who their parents were. The Obbys are young for their positions, and Allis is far, far too good at what she does to have come by it all in less than three years. Now, send word for the Queen. And have them get rid of this," he added, kicking at the hearthscreen. Winmer bowed and retreated to his office.

  As Harsin sipped his brandy, the memory of a delightful evening with Allis arose in his mind, complete with an image of her plump breasts bouncing as she sat astride him. Luscious girl, truly remarkable in every way; the visit to the newly installed Embodiment had been a high point of even his extensive erotic life. When his temper cooled, he might pay another visit to her.

  He frowned at the Gods making love on his hearthscreen. His son seemed to be of a romantic temperament. Could that knowledge alone turn Temmin away--that his father had Allis first, and could have her again if he wished? Perhaps. Once he'd extricated his son from this mess, he would be sure to send Allis a gift, and present the Gods with a mollifying sum. Where was Ansella? Her rooms were right next door. Damned woman could never be found when he wanted her.

  Ansella did not wish to be found. She sat in the pear orchard beneath a tree; her head rested against a knee covered in dark green linen, smooth beneath her cheek. Pear blossoms scented the air, and bees murmured among them. It would be a good year for pears, she thought drowsily. She closed her heavy eyes.

  "Annie, don't go to sleep," whispered her lover.

  "If you keep playing with my hair, I will." The hand stroking her golden locks stopped, and she sighed in disappointment. It had been so pleasant, dozing in the orchard's dappled sunlight. Lovemaking always made her sleepy afterwards. "Don't stop," she said aloud.

  "I won't, if you tell me how goes your foolish son's pursuit of Allis Obby," answered Ibbit.

  Ansella hummed as Ibbit resumed her soft touch. "It's proceeding well, actually. Harsin told me to discourage him, but I couldn't do that, darling, you know I couldn't."

  Ibbit pursed her lips, and said, "I asked you to discourage him as well--perhaps the first time your husband and I have agreed on anything. Could you not do it for me?"

  "I wouldn't go against you for the world," said Ansella. She captured the Sister's hand and kissed her fingers. "But I would go against the Gods even less. I must say I was surprised you thought I should." Ibbit yanked her hand away; Ansella sat up in mild alarm, and searched her lover's face. "Are you angry with me? Please, don't be angry, Ibbit."

  "But I am angry," said Ibbit. She fell back against the tree trunk, and petals snowed down. "I'm very angry!" At Ansella's stricken face, she said, "Sweetheart, how can you let your only son fall into error like this? Yes, he is a man, and yes, there's nothing to be done for him--"

  "He's a good boy--man--he's the best of all of them!" cried Ansella. "I know Venna doesn't approve of men--"

  "She hates them," said Ibbit.

  "But how could I hate Temmin!"

  "I don't ask you to hate him, darling, I ask you to guide his feet on the better path, and that path leads away from the Lovers' Temple--away from women in general. Much better to send him to Farr. Oh, now there, my girl, don't cry. Don't worry about it now," Ibbit murmured.

  Ibbit's strong arms encircled her, healer's hands working at her nape until she loosened again, and opened completely. Before Ibbit came to the Sister's Temple at Reggiston, Ansella had no one to carry her; she was her children's strength, rigid, impervious, closed to everyone but them, and completely alone as a woman. Now, the world moved through Ibbit into her, relaxing every inch of her, disconnecting her joints, turning her thoughts soft and malleable. She still considered herself her children's only strength, but now she had a love--a reliable love--to sustain her.

  She let her head fall back on Ibbit's shoulder, and closed her eyes as Ibbit gripped her chin and kissed her, urging her mouth open and capturing her tongue between sharp, sharp teeth. A thrilling fear always split Ansella open from the top of her head to her core when Ibbit bit her; the priestess had broken skin before.

  It wasn't always teeth. Sometimes Ibbit would hold her by the neck, as if the bigger woman were assessing the best way to break it. Knowing Ibbit could hurt her, and chose not to, made Ansella weak with desire.

  Ibbit let go of her tongue, and pressed her down into the grass. "Don't worry now. Let me take care of you. It's all I've ever wanted, to teach you, to bring you and your daughters to the Sister's true path, and to take care of you, my sweet, beautiful girl, my Ansella. Don't move. Be still, now."

  Ansella lay still as Ibbit pinned her to the ground and opened her bodice, still as the sharp teeth left little strawberry marks along the skin at the top of her corset, still as Ibbit's hands and head pushed her skirts up, as the sharp teeth pulled at her lips, and then as they worked at her clit, Ibbit's tongue circling all around everywhere the sharp teeth had been, erasing their traces only to have them mark her again, and again. She stayed still, until she couldn't stay still any longer.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Temmin set out on his early morning ride the next day with thoughts of Allis. He saw the multitudes of green in her eyes everywhere: pale, tender new leaves; ferns lacy and bright; the deep moss blanketing the tree trunks. Nothing held him back now but his father, who could only disapprove, not stop him. He said the nobility would be angry. Why would that matter? Who could stand against the royal family? And why should he care about what his father feared? The King didn't care about anything other than molding his son into a copy of himself.

  He rode through the King's Woods, already knowing it by rote and absorbed in his thoughts, when he noticed a movement up ahead, not far from where he'd found Arta crying. Had she returned, or was it a deer hiding in the underbrush? As he drew nearer, the figure moved toward him, not away from him; it was no deer, but a man.

  Temmin pulled up. It might be a Guard--or an assassin. His father had said no one could enter the King's Woods from the far side, and an assassin coming from the direction of the Keep was unlikely. An assassin coming directly at him in plain sight was even less likely. A Traveler, perhaps? The Traveler Prince in the History had red hair, but nowhere near as alarming as this man's.

  "Hangin back? Fuckin coward!" the man called, wobbling closer. "Aye, you'd better be careful, you bastard!"

  He recognized both the voice and the hair; they belonged to the young footman, Arta's sweetheart, the one who dangled after Ellika. "Wallek?" Temmin called uncertainly. "That's your name, isn't it?"

  "Get down from that horse and I'll make you remember my name, you asshole!" cried the footman.

  "What's amiss?"

  "What's amiss? My girl's amiss! My life's amiss!" Fen waved a small white cloth at Temmin like a little flag. Jebby took a snorting step back, and turned his side toward the intruder. "Get down offa that horse an fight like a man, you beardless shit!" He advanced, weaving as he went. "I'm gonna show you why I'm the bare knuckles champ of Templestone!"

  “Bare knuckles--are you serious?” said Temmin, thinking of his training with various fighting masters. Champion or no, Temmin was sure he could beat the footman if he had to.

  Jebby was a calm horse by nature, but he sensed his rider's tension, and took great exception to the stranger waving a cloth. The big chestnut pinned his ears back and swished his tail, but the stranger paid no attention, and neither did the c
onfused and preoccupied Temmin. When the stranger came too close, Jebby struck out to the side with his closest hind leg, just grazing the man's thigh. The young footman went down.

  Temmin wheeled Jebby around, moved off a short way and dismounted. "Stay put!" he told the unrepentant horse as he wrapped the reins around a branch. He ran back to where Fen lay gasping. "How badly are you hurt?" he said, crouching down. "It's my fault--I should've noticed his mood and moved him away, but don't you know better than to come up on a horse like that?"

  "Don' matter," Fen muttered. "Jus stand there an I'll pound you into paste from down 'ere!"

  A strong odor of spirits met Temmin's nose. "You're drunker than Farr! Here, let me look at your leg--all right, then, if you won't show me, then let me at least check for a broken bone," he said. "I've seen a horse kick kill a man, you should be more careful--be calm around horses."

  "Calm, he says. How can I be calm when you stole my girl!" Fen tried to sit up, and went right back down, sweating and pale.

  Temmin ran a gentle hand down the footman's thigh. "Nothing broken. Probably just a bad bruise. Lucky, actually. No, stay down--you must stay down! I'll have to go back to the stables for help, but let's see if we can't get you out of the path first."

  Temmin slung Fen over his shoulder and helped the young man onto his good leg as he hissed in pain; they hobbled to an improvised seat in the roots of a tree. "No matter," muttered Fen. "I'll fight you when I can stand up."

  A little flask fell out of the footman's jacket; Temmin pocketed it before Fen could catch it. "I'd rather not fight you at all," said Temmin. Fen burst into snotty tears. Temmin took the little white cloth still clutched in Fen's hand--as he'd thought, a handkerchief, but one with a familiar sigil embroidered on it. "Hang on, this is one of mine! How'd you get it?"

  "How'd Arta get it, you mean!" cried Fen. "That's what I came to find out! You fuckin bastard! Any girl in the Kingdom--Pagg's balls, you could have Neya's Embodiment! And you want my Arta!"

  Temmin sat back on his haunches. "Is that what this is about? Wallek, I don't want your Arta. I didn't lay a hand on her--well--not much of a hand--damn!" he winced. "Besides, she told me you'd broken with her!"

  "You admit pawin her, then!"

  "I admit nothing of the kind! And, d'you know, I could beat you senseless for having pretensions to my sister!"

  "Miss Ellika's the one who got Arta to tell me about you!" cried Fen. He snatched the disputed handkerchief, and noisily blew his nose. "I'd never--I didn't--she made me so mad!"

  "Ellika? She makes me mad every other day," said Temmin, sitting down next to the footman. He ran a hand through his hair. This had his sister's pawprints all over it.

  "No, no--at Arta! How could anyone ever be mad at Miss Ellika? She's like--bein around her is like bein around a fairy!" Fen stopped crying. "She's so beautiful, so sweet! Otherworldly-like!"

  "'Otherworldly-like?'" snorted Temmin. "You wouldn't say that if she were your sister."

  Fen paid no attention. "The Princess asks me to do somethin, I do it, but Arta, she doesn' understand." He looked so young sitting there wiping his nose, even to Temmin. "S'pose I can't blame 'er. We were goin to get our promise rings, and there I was, movin furniture on my day off."

  "For another girl, I might add," chided the suddenly wise Temmin.

  "That's what Arta said. Never seen her so mad! And the things she said--I didn't know she knew those words! She said I was an idiot, and who did I think I was, a junior footman danglin after a princess, and I said who did she think she was, a downstairs maid jealous of a princess, like a jenny wren jealous of a swan!"

  "I'm sure that went over well."

  "If I coulda took it back, I woulda, but she had me so mad! And then she said if she was nothing but a jenny wren, why was I her sweetheart, and I said, we can change that, y'know!" He patted his coat for his flask. "Can I have just a tad? Please?"

  "I think not," said Temmin. "What did my otherworldly-like sister do to goad you into this foolishness?"

  "She heard gossip--"

  "Gossip? She heard it from me! I told her to stop encouraging you, that she was coming between you two."

  "She never encouraged me! And you had a hand in the business yourself," glared Fen.

  Temmin screwed up his mouth. "People talk... You've probably heard I--I qualify to be a Supplicant to the Lovers' Temple." Fen nodded warily. "All right, then. How could I qualify if I'd done anything...dishonorable with Arta?"

  Fen stared blankly at the Prince. "That's true! You couldn't go there if... Any road, Her Highness talked to Arta and found out what you done--"

  "I told her! She already knew!"

  "She didn't know about the hankie! Or the kisses!"

  "One kiss! And I might add I didn't have to talk Arta into it!"

  "Are you callin my girl easy?" Fen tried and failed to get up again, and sank back in pain.

  "No, no, nothing of the sort. There, now, stay down. Finish the story."

  Fen repeated Arta's story, and how she had shown him the handkerchief as proof. "I swore I'd knock you straight into Inchar, prince or no, an she said what did it matter, she wasn' my girl any more, an I said of course you're my girl." He sighed. "Anyway, got myself a bottle for courage, cuz I'm sure to be cashiered or worse for this, and came out here to wait. They lock the Keep at eleven bells, you know. I was so mad I didn' think about bein stuck out here. Oh, Gods, they're gonna hang my head over Marketgate."

  "Not if I can help it," said Temmin. "Rely on me. I won't let them touch you. I'll vouch for you."

  Fen regarded him warily. "You'd do that?"

  "This was a misunderstanding--my sister goaded you into foolishness. And besides, you're the sweetheart of a friend--and Arta is nothing more than a friend. I do my best for my friends."

  He gave Temmin a sideways look, filled with grudging respect. "You're all right, Your Highness. Not princely-like a-tall."

  "I'll take it as a compliment," he answered. "You're all right, too."

  No one bought Temmin's story about Fen meeting him to spar in the woods, though no one contradicted him, least of all Jenks; he only lifted a skeptical eyebrow and said, "Why would you take a junior footman as a sparring partner, sir?"

  "We're the same height," Temmin answered. "Fen's a good man. Besides, he's Ar--Dannikson's sweetheart, and I like her."

  "Bare knuckle champ of Templestone. Hmf. Do you know how big Templestone is? I hope you haven't made a mistake, sir. You've singled out the girl, and now you've singled out her sweetheart."

  "I'm not the one meddling with the servants, Elly is!" Temmin said to himself as he stalked off to the morning room and a reckoning with his second sister.

  He had to postpone it; Ellika was still asleep. Temmin consoled himself with two smoked fish, a large slice of ham, four eggs, a bowl of porridge, the entire rack of toast and all of the marmalade, washed down with a pot of cocoa. Now and again he looked up from his meal to meet his father's hard stare, until he picked up a newspaper from the stack next to Sedra and pretended to read; his sister cocked a brow at him but said nothing.

  Political news, business news, boring boring boring. Ads. Things to buy, a whole pageful. He'd heard of advertisements but never seen them. Look, a mention of his family:

  ROBIKSON'S PATENT GROATS for more than thirty years have been held in constant and increasing public estimation as the purest farinae of the oat, and as the best and most valuable preparation for making a pure and delicate GRUEL, which forms a light and nutritious supper for the aged, is a popular recipe for colds and influenza, is of general use in the sick-chamber, and is an excellent food for infants and children.

  Prepared only by the Patentees, ROBIKSON, BELSH, and CO., Purveyors to the Royal Family, 64, Foothill Lodge Street, Newtown, Tremont City.

  They had a Royal Patent Groat Purveyor? He poked at the porridge in curiosity, and wondered what made it patent.

  The Proprietors of Robikson's Patent Groats, desirous that the p
ublic shall at all times purchase these preparations in a perfectly sweet and fresh condition, respectfully inform the public that every packet is now completely enveloped in the purest tinfoil, over which is the usual and well-known hygienic paper wrapper.

  Sold by all respectable Grocers, Druggists, and others, in town and country, in Packets of 6c. and 10c.; and Family Canisters, at 20c., 50c., and 1s. Each.

  Why would anyone go to a druggist to buy groats? Then again, he'd never had to shop for anything ever in his life, so perhaps that's just what people did. It became dead quiet; he looked up to find everyone at the table waiting expectantly. "I'm sorry?"

  "I said," his father repeated, "what are you so engrossed in?"

  Temmin thought for a long moment. "Did you know," he said, "that, apparently, we have a Royal Patent Groats Purveyor?"

  The King's stare hardened further; he turned with great deliberation to Sedra and struck up a discussion on the recent diplomatic overtures Sairland had made toward Tremont.

  Temmin hated newspapers.

  Presently, both the King and the Queen took their leave, and Temmin abandoned the pretense, folding up the paper by his plate and addressing a fresh piece of fish.

  Sedra rattled The Morning Capital and peered at her brother over its top. "Did it work?"

  "Did what work?"

  "Elly's little scheme. I see you don't have a black eye. How did the footman fare?"

  "You knew?" he sputtered. "You should have said something!"

  "Couldn't," she said. "It wouldn't have worked if you'd known. You would've changed your usual habits, Wallek would have been cashiered for truancy, and Elly would be very put out with me."

  Temmin glared as she folded the Capital and took up The Daily Voice of Tremont. "As it happens, it did, if leaving me with an injured footman once again engaged to his girl is the definition of 'worked.'"