Lovers and Beloveds

by MeiLin Miranda

  The cage sprang open, and she stepped away. The bird paused, then hopped onto the threshold and took flight before his captors could change their minds. He flew low over the flowers, gathering speed quickly, until he flitted over the meadow beyond and into the King's Woods. They gazed after him long after he'd disappeared, as if they might actually see the flash of brown wings in among the leaves.

  "Thank you," she said, her voice soft and tinged with the loving sound it had once held for him.

  Warin bowed. "I am gratified." He offered his arm. "May I--would you care to walk the gardens before we go in? This is such a cool breeze for the warmth of the day."

  The next day, Edmerka put off her widow's coif. For two weeks, as the sun began to slant lower and Fall's Beginning drew closer, they walked together in the gardens every day, Warin offering his arm and nothing more. She came to dinner in a gown made of the violet silk he'd given her. Another day, she appeared in the gardens with her braids tied in the ribbons she'd hidden in her purse. One night, he came to his bedchamber to discover she'd sent an elaborately embroidered favor for him to wear at the Farr's Day tourney: her initials, a pair of rabbits arched above the letters, the work begun when her name was Emmae and she didn't know her initials. His heart swelled with hope.

  Every night, each lay in their separate beds, remembering their lovemaking in the cottage. He felt her soft hair slipping through his fingers, the curve of her hip, her moans; she, his beard brushing her neck, his weight holding her down on the bed as he entered her. But in the daylight, she kept her reserve, and he remained patient.

  Two days before Farr's Day. Hendas of Holset was making pointed remarks to the Dowager now, and several Leutan lords gave up their wooing and were preparing to return to Leute: time to raise their armies. The day was warm and pleasant, and Warin took Edmerka out into the gardens for what he feared might be the last time. He'd made it clear that he waited only for word from her, but she had done nothing more than walk with him. Though they usually spoke in general pleasantries, today they spoke of past times, even the time in the cottage. There was a wistfulness in Edmerka's voice that struck both dread and hope into the King's heart; on the one hand, she might finally be reconciling past love with present, but on the other, she might be taking her leave, though with a certain sadness.

  As for Edmerka, she had made up her mind.

  An arbor hitherto unseen on their walks appeared, covered in honeysuckle still bearing its fragrant trumpets of red and pink even so late in summer. Beneath it stood a secluded bench. She drew him down to sit with her.

  "I decide what to do today," she said. "My lords have made it clear they are done with waiting. In fact, I may have waited too long." Warin kept his silence, tense and afraid to look at her. "Don't you want to know my decision?" she said impatiently.

  "Lady, you will tell me in your time." He sighed. "Let me speak plainly, though I've tried to let my actions speak for me. I love you. I will always love you. And I ask nothing of you, not even your decision, though I want nothing more than for you to stay beside me the rest of our lives. If you have something to tell me, tell me. If not, then..."

  She reached up to touch his cheek, freed from some internal bond, and said, "I choose you, Warin." She closed her eyes and raised her lips for a kiss that never came, and she opened her eyes in hurt confusion.

  Warin gazed down into her face, desire and amusement on his own. "You're a grown woman who makes her own decisions," he said. "If you want a kiss, take one."

  Emmae smiled, fierce and happy, and slipped her arms around his neck, though he kept his at his sides, passive; she crushed his mouth against hers. The kiss ended as quickly as it began, sudden and passionate, leaving them both panting. "If you want me, you must ask me, no matter how much I might want you. Ask me. Show me. What do you want?" said Warin desperately.

  "I want you." She half-crouched on the bench, pressing herself against him.

  "Then take me," he murmured, his low voice shivering its way from her ear to her center. His lips were soft and unresisting when she kissed him this time. She opened his mouth with her tongue, to a groan deep in his throat. Emmae crawled into his lap; she whimpered at the tightening of his arms around her, a trap she could escape whenever she chose. His head fell back so that she might kiss his neck, his desire plain against her thigh.

  She slid a hand beneath his tunic, brushing his hard, furred belly, and freed him into her grasp. He whispered something that might have been a prayer, or perhaps her name--her true name--against her skin. "Warin, my name is Emmae, I am Emmae, I am your Emmae." She kissed him again. The taste and smell of his skin mingled with the honeysuckle, and she bit at his neck as she stroked him. "Help me with my skirts," she said.

  He bunched them around her waist, and she slipped her legs around him, straddling his lap. Warin put his hands under her naked bottom; she guided him inside her; she sank down his entire length. His dark eyes widened, showing their clear whites before he closed them briefly. "I dreamed of this," he said. "Every night I dreamed I was inside you--I cannot stay still..."

  "Then move."

  He pushed up into her. She met him each time, impaling herself over and over, wetter than ever the enchantment made her. Warin gripped her bottom tight, helping her rise and fall, and she felt her climax begin. It was nothing as it had been under the spell. She filled with some strange power entirely her own--as if she were swallowing his every thrust and cry and turning it into something golden inside her that built and built until she locked her legs around him. The melting gold overwhelmed her, and she threw her head back and screamed for joy. She pulsed around him; he pulled her down hard onto him, shaking as he came. His head fell against her breasts as he gasped and moaned, and she clasped him closer, crooning in Leutish as they shuddered together.

  When she regained enough breath to move, Emmae untangled herself enough to gaze down into his face. It was open, unguarded, no longer cautious and reserved. She smiled, and kissed him again. "Marry me," she said.

  "As soon as my legs can hold me up," he answered promptly. She laughed, but he continued, "I'm serious. As soon as we return to the Keep, I will call for the Little Father and we will tie the marriage cord today."

  "You were so sure that you had one braided?" she teased.

  "I've had it braided in some hope this last spoke, though I thought perhaps I'd burn it tonight. But I'd rather see it knotted round your wrist. Do you agree, my lady?"

  "Very much, my lord," she said. She kissed him again, then slipped from his lap and stood up. She brushed ineffectually at her rumpled skirts. "We look and smell of sex. Everyone will know what we've been about."

  "Do you care?" he said, fastening up his hose.

  She considered. "No."

  "Then let's be married!" cried Warin. He caught up her hand, and they ran through the gardens, into the courtyard, scattering ducks and chickens before them as they hurried into the Keep and a new life.

  * * * * *

  Temmin came from the book laughing for the first time: a delirious happiness, a yearning sated. The lovemaking's intensity left him out of breath, aroused but somehow satisfied. "They were happy," said Temmin. "They married happily! Were they always happy? Please tell me they were."

  "Emmae gave King Warin twelve children, the last of whom became a Supplicant of the Lovers' Temple and eventually Most High Beloved--Finnia. The King and Queen were devoted to one another all their lives. Warin never took a mistress, rather to the astonishment of his subjects and his own sons."

  "Is it that uncommon in a king?"

  "He is the only Tremontine king inclined toward women who did not take mistresses."

  Temmin's mood deflated, brought abruptly down to the present. "I suppose I should get on with it, then," he grumbled.

  "Far be it from me to discourage you from a natural inclination--if that is yours," said Teacher, "but the past does not predict the future. You do not have to walk directly in the footprints of your ancestors."
r />   "I find that advice astonishing coming from someone who's always going on about prophecy."

  "Prophecy is unrelated to the past."

  Temmin frowned. "Is prophecy always right, though? What about mine?"

  "In my experience, prophecy is always right. What is wrong is how prophecies are interpreted. I hesitate to interpret yours, and wonder whether interpretations to date are correct."

  "I wonder if an Heir will ever fulfill the prophecy and become a Supplicant," said Temmin, tracing the worn gilt lettering on the book's cover. "I mean, I wanted to be one, but...maybe it's not even a prophecy. Warin's prophecy didn't come true."

  "It most certainly did."

  "He didn't kill his father."

  "Hildin was the crowned king," Teacher said patiently. "The prophecy was not at fault. Rather, it was the interpretation. Warin's fate found him however much he tried to escape it, and it was not the fate he had always expected. Then, too, remember Hildin's own prophecy: 'As a rabbit, so a man.' Nerr will get the Heir, some day." Teacher paused. "Do you still wish to fulfill that prophecy yourself--to become a Supplicant?"

  "You're not supposed to talk to me about it."

  "I am not supposed to advise you on it. This is not advice. Do you?"

  "I don't see how I can. Everyone thinks I've lost my virginity to Arta."

  "The Gods know differently."

  "I can't just walk into the Temple and say, 'Whatever you've heard, it's not true.'"

  "The Gods always know the truth. One does not have to convince anyone of anything."

  Temmin sat up straighter. His father thought he was no longer eligible. The nobles thought so, too. The only ones who knew different were himself, and Teacher. Arta and Fen, and Ellika, they might assume it, but they didn't know for certain. "I can do it now, can't I? No one can stop me, because they think they already have." He turned a shining face to Teacher. "No one can stop me!"

  Jenks came home from Reggiston the next day, grumbling about some stupid captain taking a severe dislike to his nephew, "but I gave him a severe disliking. He was dished, oh yes, sir, he was dished within an inch of his life." Temmin wondered how a former corporal could "dish" a captain with no repercussions, but said nothing. Nor did he say anything about the resolution of his difficulties. The less said, the better; if he followed through on the plans rapidly forming in his head, he wanted Jenks to have nothing to do with it. As for Arta and Fen, all the gruff valet would say was, "I saw them when I visited my sister on the Estate. I told you to leave the maids alone, but left out the footmen. Ah well, at least he's spirited. And she has a sweet way about her. Just...try not to hurt them, sir."

  "Nothing is further from my mind," said Temmin.

  That Ammaday, the 40th of Spring's Beginning, was the day the twins had originally set for Temmin to make up his mind; instead, he was to visit the Temple for the day, perhaps the night. Harsin knew, but paid no heed; the night before, he smiled indulgently at his son across the breakfast and dinner tables, and the son smiled indulgently back. "I do wonder why you sent your...friends to Whithorse, Tem," said the King over after-dinner port one night. "Rather hard to see them, that far away. You can only go up to Reggiston once every other spoke, at most."

  Temmin made a show of bashful thoughtfulness. "It was a kindness. It bothered them to be here in the Keep, or even in the City. And I want my privacy. I'm sure you understand, sir."

  "Oh, very much so," grinned Harsin. "I know the last few weeks have been difficult for you, son. I wish to make it up to you. I will tell Teacher to take you to your lovers. You can go to them whenever you wish, as often as you wish."

  "Take me to my lovers. Why, thank you...Papa," said Temmin, hiding a smile of his own.

  The war of the wardrobe began. In the end, Temmin and Jenks reached a compromise: correct but comfortable clothes, not too formal, in exchange for the finest new small clothes the favored royal tailor could make on short notice. "If you're going to sit around in your underthings..." mumbled Jenks, letting the thought go unfinished.

  On the day, Brother Mardus and his men escorted the Heir through the city and down the Promenade, handing him off to the Temple's Own at the top of the pink marble stairs. In their midst stood the ridiculously handsome Senik. To his surprise, the postulant kissed Temmin full on the lips. "That's how we say 'hello' here. It's also how we say 'goodbye,' 'thank you,' 'you're welcome'..." Senik waved an encompassing hand. "This way."

  Up the broad, grand stairs on Nerr's side of the Great Hall, and into the reception room, where the Most Highs and the Embodiments waited for him. "I must say that we were pleased to receive your letter, young Temmin," said High Lover Gan once greetings and tea had been passed around.

  "What did you do to Litta?" he said without preamble.

  "The young, so blunt," sighed the High Lover, drowsily patting Issak's thigh.

  "We are here to speak of you, dear heart," said High Beloved Malla. "The Holy Ones tell us that you left before your last visit even began, in some distress."

  "I should say so," answered Temmin. "Litta cornered me and threatened to blackmail the twins if I didn't call off my candidacy."

  "Litta is no longer a concern. We will leave him behind," said Issak firmly. "What concerns us now is why you're back. Are you reconsidering Supplicancy, or is this a state visit?"

  "I am reconsidering. In fact, I'd like to formally submit my name, and ask if we might keep it among us. I don't want anyone else to know."

  "Indeed?" said the High Lover, the sleepy look leaving his face.

  "But do you still qualify?" said Allis. "We have heard things."

  Temmin wanted very much to see if perhaps his shoes were untied, but kept his head up. "Gossip. I qualify. Those whose names have been linked to mine will be in some danger until after I take my vows if it becomes known that we didn't--we didn't..."

  "Be very sure, Temmin," Aliis said. "If you've already lost your innocence, when the Gods come down that day--"

  "They'll kill you," finished Issak. "Nothing and no one could help you. Not even Teacher."

  "I swear," he said. "I swear on whatever God you want--I swear on my own soul, on my mother's soul."

  The two elderly high priests and the young Embodiments considered silently among themselves for a long moment. "Very well," said Allis. "We accept your chase. You will take your first vows on Neya's Day Eve. You have a week to prepare. Will you stay today?"

  "And tonight?" added Issak quietly.

  This time, Temmin dipped his head. "Yes."

  "Then go down to the Supplicants Chamber and change your clothes for Temple garb," said Issak. "We four have business to discuss."

  Temmin walked down the broad staircase to the Great Hall alone, and stood uncertain in the light crowd of Ammaday worshippers, many radiating what Teacher had called disappointment, though Temmin would have called it outright anger. He fidgeted at the feet of the entwined statues of the Lovers, and finally walked between their legs and through the door of the Supplicants Chamber.

  "Close the door, please," called a rich, lazy voice. "It lets in a draft." He did as he was told, and came further into the dim, rose-silk-covered room. Anda was shedding her last stocking, her simple Temple clothing draped on the couch. She let down her mouse-colored hair, each lock falling thick and wavy to her full hips before she unpinned the next. She smiled. "I'll be with you in a moment."

  "I'm not here for you," he thought. All this time, and he'd now seen Anda naked twice and neither Allis nor Issak once. Nevertheless...

  "The way you stare," she tsked, ambling toward him. Her large breasts bounced and jostled with every strangely graceful step, and to Temmin's irritation, the low twitch began again. She was plain, she was fat, she was not Allis, she was everything he didn't want, she was kissing him senseless, her hands loosening his cravat. "Hello," she said when she ended the kiss. "Get undressed. I'll get your Temple garb, shall I." She walked, hips lolling, toward a set of shelves lined with neat piles of folded c
lothes and a great many towels.

  As she sorted through the piles humming to herself, Temmin absently tugged at his cravat. Naked, Anda had a look of abundance, he grudgingly thought. Swelling breasts, rounded arms, a soft belly, full hips, lush thighs. "Fertile" came to mind; her body reminded him of the rolling hills of oats near home, of wheels of cheese, of bowls of ripe fruit, of jugs of cream, of honey, and nuts, wine, and good, thick bread. Not plain, or fat. Edible.

  "You're still dressed, for shame," she said. "Didn't they tell you to change?" She was much closer to him than he'd realized. He'd managed to shed his coat and untie his cravat as he'd stared at her, but nothing more. "Oh, all right, if you're that eager for my attention." She slid the Tremontine red cravat from his collar, and removed his waistcoat.

  "I'm not eager for your attention," he quavered as she undid his shirt studs and slipped them into his trouser pocket; her fingers grazed his erection, and he jumped.

  "Really," she chuckled, slipping his braces down his shoulders, followed by his shirt. "Off goes the vest," she ordered, and he stripped it off without thinking twice. She unbuttoned his trousers, delicately avoiding touching him this time, and let them puddle at his feet. "Off with the pants and shoes and stockings," she said, moving to recline on one of the low, wide couches that seemed to be the only seating the Temple possessed. "Everything over on the pegs."

  He hung his clothes slowly, contemplating a dash toward the pile of linen garb beside the Supplicant and a second dash toward the bathroom. He was not in the habit of displaying his erection; doing so now was to let Anda win, though what the contest was, he couldn't say.

  "Turn around, Temmin," ordered Anda. "I've seen it before, and by the time you're through, you'll have seen a few, too. In fact, come to think on it, I've already seen you come."