by L. K. Rigel
“Why don’t you stay in the past if it was so much better for you?” Mal couldn’t see much activity on the Golden Wasp. Edmund must already be in the compound.
“It doesn’t work that way. Oh, we can look. But we can’t do anything out of time, past or future. Not smell a flower or kiss a beautiful creature. Time keeps things from happening all at once; action can only happen now. No, I mean now.”
As usual, she laughed at her own joke.
“That’s what one of my teachers says: Time keeps everything from happening all at once, and space keeps everything from happening in the same spot.”
“Jordana was always a real crack-up.” Asherah kept looking at the water, or the past, or whatever. What was the point of calling Mal up here?
“Father Jesse says the Empani want to love and serve Samael.”
“The hybrid again. Well, he should know.”
“Hybrid.”
“Obviously. He is half Empani himself. Why wouldn’t he know what they want?”
“Obviously?”
“I forget sometimes how limited you all are. The Empani hate human beings. They blame you for their bondage. Rich, since Samael is the one who bound them to you. He’s so taken with his human creatures, he’s blind to his own nature. He refuses to see me, his emanated mate.”
Half Empani. Did Ninny know? Did all the Samaelii know about the Empani?
“The Samaelii know nothing, just the way Samael likes it. Do you know they’ve banned candles from their ceremonies? Idiots. Candlelight is a direct line. Prayer gets so jumbled up with all those words. Very few human beings can make a prayer worth listening to.”
The mermaids smirked.
“You, for instance. You know your shortcomings. You light a nice beeswax candle and don’t torture me with pleas and mumbo-jumbo. Flame, fire, that’s what I like. That’s transmogrification! Tell your friends.”
She stretched out over the boulder and supported her head with one hand. So cute, though she was probably going for voluptuous. The mermaid on the underside scrambled to keep from being scrunched. “Now the hybrid is good. That man can pray. Poor thing. Samael never listens to him. I do, though.” She chuckled as if she enjoyed the irony.
Asherah seemed in such a receptive mood, Mal asked a question that had been on her mind for years. “Why are the Pteryi the way they are? Why do their eyes go bad?”
“I can’t control everything!” The mermaids looked at Mal reproachfully. How could you ask something so stupid? “I set things in motion, change a course, strike a flint and spark an inspiration. Lay down a command. Smite the occasional miscreant. That Durga is coming close to losing my favor forever. And Celia, dosing a chalice with hormones. But I don’t control the universe, I only play in it.”
“Celia contaminated Claire?” Great gods. “Why?”
“To keep her precious Edmund away. Celia’s meant Edmund for you from the beginning.”
This was overwhelming. Where did the day go? It would be dark before Mal could get back to the compound. “Asherah, what do you want of me?”
“I just wanted to see you on your big day. Wish you luck with your lover. Perhaps give you a present.” The mermaids’ tails twitched. The less scrunched one shook her hair again with a downright dirty grin that sent a chill through Mal’s heart.
“Asherah, do I really care for Edmund, or are you making me want him for your own reasons?”
“Care for? Such an insipid phrase. You know, we all thought it was hilarious when Zeus made Aphrodite marry Hephaestus, but he couldn’t make them love each other.”
How was that any different than Asherah trying to force Samael’s love?
“I heard that.” Asherah jumped off the boulder and moved closer. “But I’m in a good mood today, so I won’t smite you. Close your eyes.”
Like last time, the world went woozy.
Soul Ceremony
“Great gods, Mal, you’re gorgeous!” Nin spilled some champagne but recovered before dropping the flute.
“Oh, my dear.” Harriet erupted in joyous tears.
If there was a smidgeon of disbelief, a teeny tiny scintilla of doubt that these Asherah experiences were authentic, then lack of faith was no more. Mal had closed her eyes on the mountain and opened them in the yin antechamber.
And nothing but divine intervention could explain how she was dressed.
Start with the fingernails. Gold, red, orange – blue? Hard to know what color, but her fingernails, and toenails too, glowed and changed color like flames. Her hair was loose, freshly washed, and fell about her shoulders and arms with an aphrodisiacal fragrance between ylang-ylang and musk.
Gold sandals laced up to her knees. She wore her bracelet and the choker of gold and freshwater pearls from Harriet.
Her dress! What fabric was this, if it wasn’t spun for the gods? It seemed alive with the same fiery colors as her fingernails. Her right arm and shoulder were bare, showcasing her roses. The body clung to her curves and fell loose to her mid calf.
As if Asherah had drawn light and fire and joy and desire from the well of her being and weaved the mix into the fabric for everyone to see. She was exposed. She was liberated.
“Magnificent, my dear.” Harriet sniffed. “You’re like a firebird.”
Claire raised her glass with wistful admiration. “If I didn’t know better, I would swear it was all true.” The chime rang three times. “Go get him, princess.”
Edmund was in the chamber, sitting on a bench chair beside a table loaded with bread and cheese, blood oranges of course, and – sweet Harriet – blackberries, to this day Mal’s favorite treat. The pneumatic locks whirred and clicked and slipped into place with a heavy, efficient shunk-shunk.
Her heart raced with fear, as if her body remembered another time she was locked into this room. She closed her eyes and made herself breathe.
“Mallory.” Edmund’s deep voice calmed her. “You look amazing.”
She opened her eyes and caught her breath. “So do you.”
He wore high tan boots embossed with black honeybees, and his pants were fawn linen. His white satin shirt was embroidered with gold honeybees, open at the neck, offering a tantalizing glimpse of his chest.
He came to her and unclasped her choker. “I remember this.” He nibbled at her neck and ran his fingers lightly over the skin of her exposed shoulder and arm while she unbuttoned his shirt then slipped it off his shoulders. She leaned into his strength and luxuriated in the feeling of being quiet in his arms, safe from gods and hybrids and special species and Garricks.
She raised her lips to his. He kissed her, scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed, then took off the rest of his clothes. Great gods, firebird was right! She was about to burst into flame. He sat on the bed, facing her, and leaned back on an elbow, lifted her dress over her knees, unlaced her sandals and tossed them aside. He kissed her feet, and it tickled.
“That’s an interesting color.” He examined her toenails and then her fingernails.
She stopped his talking with a finger to his lips, nudged him onto his back and reached between his thighs. “Lie still.” She took all the time in the world to taste every bit of him, to press against him, to smell the wonderful male smell of him, and finally to slip over him and bring him inside.
She still had her dress on, but nothing else. The fabric felt slick and magical; it moved like a cloud of ink in water as she grabbed onto his arms and ground her hips against him. He sat up and kissed her neck, thrusting deeper, deeper, and they were one being, soul-to-soul.
But no more than that. He fell back on the bed and she collapsed on his chest, too terrified to speak. It had been grand, but there was no lifting of any veil.
She got up and put together a plate of fruit and cheese, stalling for time. Edmund said nothing. He waited, no doubt, for her to say something about the soul. What could she say?
She brought him the fruit then went to the dressing area and slipped out of the dress. As she took
her robe from the closet, she caught her reflection in the mirror.
“Great Asherah!”
A tattoo. A tattoo covered her left shoulder that shouldn’t be there.
It was the firebird of her vision quest, as she’d drawn in trance, though this one was incomparable in artistry and color. Asherah! What did you do? Next to this, the dress and the nail polish and the sandals were mere parlor tricks.
“What in the name of the gods?” She hadn’t noticed Edmund standing beside her. “The symbol of the Imperial family – this is your totem?”
“No. No, no, no.” It felt like a crack in the world was opening up to swallow her. She ran away from him, then turned and ran toward the yin door. No. She forgot her clothes. She ran back for the robe, and headed for the door again.
He caught her as she fled past, like a snare catching a rabbit, and sat down on the bench. He pulled her onto his lap and rocked her until she stopped shaking. He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. He looked furious, and hurt. “Is this some scheme you and Garrick concocted?”
“Garrick? I didn’t know it was there.”
“I think you’d remember getting a tattoo.” His voice was gentle, but he was incredulous. There was nothing to do but tell the truth. He listened to her story about Asherah, interrupting only once. “You left the compound alone?”
“She called me. Have you ever tried to deny a god?”
“You have me there. I have never tried to deny a god. I have a hard enough time with Celia.” He popped a few blackberries into his mouth and stood up. He actually laughed. “Damini’s daughter, after all. Garrick will not be amused.”
“Garrick can’t know! I don’t want anyone to know.” She rushed to him and laid her hands flat on his bare chest to emphasize the point. “Don’t you see? I’m no princess. I’m settlement trash.”
He grabbed her left arm below the totem. “You are the last surviving member of the Imperial family. I happen to agree that it’s a dangerous fact, and one I’m not about to broadcast. But it is a fact, nonetheless. Your rightful place is at the head of the Great Chain.”
He was agitated, and he ran his hand over his face. “But even if it were the lie Garrick thinks he told, Mallory, you are so far from settlement trash – promise me you’ll never use those words again.”
“You’re right.” Edmund’s admonition rang true in her soul. She wasn’t settlement trash. She hadn’t thought of herself that way in a long time, not really. “You’re the one who made me see that for the first time, when you showed me the blue amber.”
The echo of harsh sentiment lingered, but the totem on her shoulder, and now Edmund’s plea and everything she knew about herself obliterated even the echo.
She was truly free. Free for one shining, glorious moment, until it hit her: She was free of her false past; now she had to face the truth.
Thank the gods for Edmund. Whether Asherah was manipulating her or not, she was grateful for his friendship. She leaned against his chest, and mercifully he wrapped his arms around her. He might care for her mainly for her service to Allel, but she still believed his words at the picnic, even if they were only said in the heat of passion: Not just your service.
“I thought you’d be safer in Red City,” he said. “But not now. I’m taking you home for the duration.”
Home. She went to the dressing room with a new lightness in her being and put on a pair of gi pants and found a top with a high neck and three-quarter-length sleeves. She braided her hair, and slipped her feet into a pair of workout slippers.
A strange, guttural sound came from the chamber.
She raced to Edmund on the floor, still undressed, choking. “Breathe, Edmund, breathe.” She ran to the lock and punched in the code. “Breathe!” The mechanism took forever to click and whir and shunk and unlatch.
Nin and Harriet were the only ones in the outer room. “Help me! It’s Edmund.”
In the chamber, Nin and Mal turned Edmund’s powerful frame and held his head back to open his air passageway. Harriet picked up the plate and smelled the remaining fruit, ran out of the room, and returned with her white bag, its contents spilling as she rummaged through and pulled out a vial. She dropped the bag, cracked open the vial, and held it under Edmund’s nose.
“Drink this.”
Just from the aroma, his ragged breathing evened out. He swallowed the serum and fell into unconsciousness.
“Edmund!”
“That’s supposed to happen,” Harriet said. “He’ll wake up in a half hour with a headache, but no worse. He had an incompetent murderer, thank the gods.”
Already, the color was returning to his cheeks. Oh, Asherah, if anything happens to him!
Now that the crisis had passed, Harriet looked around the mysterious chamber she had long ago expected to inhabit one day, examining the cherubs and fauns and things painted on the ceiling.
Nin kept to the matter at hand. “Who’s to say the poison was for Edmund? Maybe it wasn’t intended to kill either of you, but to end the pregnancy.”
“Mallory?” Edmund opened his eyes. He was so beautiful.
Harriet checked his pupils and his pulse. “So I was wrong. Not half an hour.” She ran an appreciative look over his gorgeous and naked physique. Mal and Nin looked at each other, pleasantly scandalized. Harriet! “You have a strong constitution, my lord.”
Edmund put his hand to his temple. “Ouch.”
“That’s better.” Harriet winked at Mal and began to collect the spilled contents of her medical bag.
“We have to go.” Edmund was on his feet, shakily stuffing his legs into his trousers. The color had almost returned to his face. “I’m taking Mallory back to Allel with me.”
Mal went to the dressing room to get her mantle. She slipped her jewelry into its interior pocket and checked for the Asherah out of habit. The Empani cloth from her cradleboard was still there. They could use it to get out of the compound unnoticed. After the firebird totem, there was no point in hiding anything from Edmund.
But Nin and Harriet? No. She wasn’t ready to let more people in on her identity.
“For luck,” she heard Nin say, but when she came out of the dressing room, Harriet was the only one there.
“No, we’re here.” Someone wrapped a cloth around her neck. As it touched her skin, she saw Edmund at the door, and Nin was right in front of her, wearing the Lily cloth. The one she’d given Mal had a coarse texture, not at all like the bundling in her pocket.
“You keep these on hand now?”
Nin put her finger to her lips. “Maintain low tones. Marin and I have picked up a few of these in our investigations. We don’t let them out of our sight. That’s why I’m coming with you as far as the harbor; I can’t let you keep them.”
“Harriet?”
“She thinks we’ve already left. She’s going to cover for us.”
Claire entered the antechamber with Sister Marin, both of them carrying more champagne. “Still in the yin-yang?” Claire said.
Edmund, Mal, and Nin didn’t wait to hear Harriet’s answer.
Back to Allel
Gerhold grunted, unmoving. For a moment, Mal thought he meant to bar Edmund from entering the forge. “He’s with me.” Maybe Edmund should have kept the Empani cloth around his neck like Nin did.
“I know who he is.” The blade master opened the door. He closed it quickly behind them, making a sound somewhere between a grunt and a guffaw. The place was still sweltering hot, though the forge fire had died down.
Gerhold grunted again. Or was that an old man’s chuckle? “I know who a lot of people are.” He gave Mal a knowing look and tapped his nose twice. Like Palada used to do.
If Mal touched the cloth in her pocket and concentrated, she could vaguely sense Nin scuttling out of Gerhold’s way into the cavernous room, and Gerhold seemed to watch the movement. “I know what I know.” Again, he gave Mal a look and tapped his nose.
He bolted the door and led them away from the fire to the
altar on the cooler side of the room. Two rectangular boxes lay on a low table beside several burning candles. Gerhold opened one of the boxes and displayed the dagger inside, nested on forest green satin lining.
Mal gasped when she held it up to the candlelight.
The blade gleamed. The blue amber firebird came alive, its talons clutching the steel, its head erect, serene, forming the grip, and its wings spread in striking curves to form the guard.
“Magnificent,” Edmund said. “I am truly sorry that we can’t honor you properly.”
Gerhold grunted, as if Edmund meant nothing to him. She ought to find the comment insufferable, but Edmund’s “we” didn’t feel audacious. It gave her a sense of belonging.
“These are beyond beautiful. The stuff legends are made of.” She bent down to kiss Gerhold’s forehead. Was that a tear in his eye? “But where is the third dagger?”
“No worries. It’s here.” He tapped the second box. “The first is on its way, as we speak, to Garrick’s future counselor. As King Edmund was in the City, I thought you might want to present the second one yourself.”
That’s right. The blade master always delivered the daggers. It was part of the service, something most breeders didn’t want to have to deal with. But now that she knew what the firebirds represented, she had a very bad feeling what Garrick’s reaction was going to be.
“Why three?” Edmund turned Céilidh’s dagger in the light then shifted it from hand to hand, testing its balance. He nodded his approval, which Gerhold seemed to utterly disdain.
“Palada said he was told – he had a vision that he should make three hilts. I trust Palada on any subject.”
“Palada? No, these weren’t made by any Palada.” Gerhold took the dagger from the other box and showed them some bumps on the hilt. “See there? Seven pomegranate seeds. The maker’s mark of Jarlvidar.”
“The Imperial jeweler.” Edmund looked for the bumps on Céilidh’s dagger.
“You know of Jarlvidar.” Gerhold’s opinion of Edmund seemed to improve.
