by Amy Raby
“Did you ever find your missing sister?”
“Oh, yes,” said Marius. “I see her once in a while, but she lives far away.”
Now that Isolda had heard Marius’s story, she better understood his duality: his humble nature and preference for peasant clothes and simple foods, paired with exceptional wealth and the influence of a powerful benefactor. He was an intriguing man, but his life story made it all too clear that he could never marry her. If Marius’s family had been upset when his mother had married a Kjallan commoner, Isolda could only imagine the pyrotechnics that would ensue if Marius married a Sardossian refugee.
However, that was nothing she hadn’t assumed already. “This benefactor you’ve spoken of—he must be part of your mother’s family.”
“He’s my cousin,” said Marius. “The one who found us.”
“I take it he would not approve of my being with you.”
“It’s none of his business.”
As involved as this cousin was in Marius’s life—going to all that trouble to find his missing family members—she had a feeling he would make it his business, especially if her relationship with Marius became serious. She’d have to make sure it didn’t become serious. In freewheeling cities like Riat, it was acceptable, even expected, for single men and women to have affairs before marriage. If her relationship with Marius was nothing more than a casual affair, the cousin should have no reason for concern.
Marius took her hand and clasped her fingers. His touch, innocent as it was, tingled against her flesh. “I should have told you about my family a long time ago. I’m sure you must have wondered about my clothes and the fact that I prefer parsnip soup to broiled swan.”
“I did mistake you for a servant at first, when I saw you in your tunic and breeches,” said Isolda. “That was four years ago, when I woke up in your guest room. But within minutes I’d learned otherwise. After that I didn’t think twice about what you wore or what you ate, other than to be curious about your habits—but only because you fascinated me, and I wanted to know everything about you.”
“I’ve always felt comfortable around you, and I think it’s because I never felt judged,” said Marius. “I sensed that you wanted to know me as I was rather than wanting me to be someone different.”
“Why would anyone want you to be different?”
He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Lots of reasons.”
His family must have expectations of him that he was unable or unwilling to fulfill. It was natural enough, now that she thought about it. The wealthy side of his family would have possessed one set of scruples and ideals, and the poor side of his family another set, and he’d been raised with the latter. “I understand that your family situation is complicated. And I sympathize with not being able to meet someone’s expectations, because that was my life story in Sardos. But...I tell you this honestly, Marius. I have never known a better man than you, and it would never occur to me to judge you based on something as silly as what you eat or what you wear.”
Marius wrapped an arm around her and hugged her. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Will you tell me more about what you just mentioned—your experiences in Sardos?”
She swallowed. “The story’s involved, like yours, but not nearly so happy. Are you certain you want to hear it?”
“Absolutely certain.”
“My father was an apothecary,” she began.
“Ah,” said Marius. “I thought that might be the case when I first met you.”
“I’m the third of three sisters, and I’m...well, I’m the plain one.”
“Never say that about yourself, because it’s not true.” He kissed her on the lips.
Isolda flushed. She was starting to believe that Marius genuinely found her attractive despite her lack of traditional beauty. He had his choice of women, and he’d chosen her. He was not like Jauld, buying a wife he wasn’t attracted to because he couldn’t afford a prettier one. Marius was with her because he wanted her, not because he had no better alternatives.
She continued her story. “My parents believed I would never marry, so they prepared me to act as my father’s assistant in the apothecary shop. He taught me the names of the herbs, how to measure them, how to dry and store them, how to haggle with suppliers for good prices.”
“Now I understand why you’re so good at running the surgery,” said Marius.
“But then someone arrived with a marriage offer,” she said. “A shopkeeper named Jauld, who’d seen me in the apothecary. We married, and I had a look at the general store he owned. The building was in disrepair, and sales were poor, but the location was promising. I cleaned it up and found better suppliers—”
“Like what you did for me,” said Marius.
“Not at all,” said Isolda. “Before I turned up at your door, you already ran a clean, high-quality surgery. You had a problem with patients not paying. But in the case of Jauld’s store, I replaced almost everything. I built it practically from the ground up, and through my efforts, we became wealthy. Not like your family, perhaps, but comfortable enough for some luxuries.”
Marius’s hand stroked her forearm. “I hope he was grateful.”
Isolda sighed. “He was not. His friends mocked him for having a plain wife, and I think my success with the store didn’t mean much to him, for all that he enjoyed the extra money. I didn’t know it when I married him, and it wouldn’t have mattered since I didn’t have a choice, but Jauld was a shallow sort of man. He wanted nothing in the world but for his friends to envy him. And they did! His friends envied him because he had a wife and they didn’t. That was why they abused me—they wanted to take him down a notch. Jauld was such a fool that he took their mockery to heart.”
“The simpleton,” growled Marius.
“Our marriage had always been fragile—I tried to love him, but it was hard. His friends’ insults embarrassed Jauld and destroyed what little connection we had. First he stopped being kind. Then he used the money I’d earned him to buy a second wife.”
Marius’s hand froze. “He what?”
Isolda’s throat went thick, and her eyes swam. At least one person other than herself was shocked by what Jauld had done. “Her name was Chari. She was younger and...and prettier—”
“He was a sapskull, Isolda, to be fooled by his friends’ ploys and, even more so, to fail to see your beauty.” Marius sighed. “I hope you will not think me crass and provincial for saying this, but I don’t believe in multiple marriages.”
“Nor do all Sardossians,” said Isolda. “Multiple marriage is not every family’s experience in my country. My father took only one wife. My experience with Jauld was my first in a two-wife household, and it was not a happy one. Perhaps Jauld imagined that Chari and I would be friends, but that didn’t happen. We might, perhaps, have reached an uneasy harmony if Jauld had treated us equally, but he favored Chari and allowed her to harass Rory and me. He ousted me from his bed and slept exclusively with her, while allotting me the role of household servant.”
Marius snorted. “No wonder you do not miss him. If he were not already dead, I would wring that simpleton’s neck.”
“Before Chari, the home I shared with Jauld had been a refuge from the pressures of the shop, a place where Rory and I could relax and be ourselves. But after Chari joined, there was no safe place for me anywhere. The two of us were locked into a grueling competition for Jauld’s affections, one I had no chance of winning. I didn’t even really like Jauld, and I don’t think Chari did either. Can you imagine? We were fighting over a man neither of us wanted.”
“Well, if he was all you had—”
“In all honesty, I’d have preferred nobody,” said Isolda. “But we had to compete for him. In Sardos, there can be only one heir within a family. The heir gets everything, and the other children get nothing. Boys who are not their father’s chosen heirs are called makari—in the Kjallan langua
ge, strays. Strays must make their own way in the world with no help from their parents. Usually they join the army or work as laborers. Most of them receive no education and never earn enough money to purchase a license to marry. They are dead ends, the throwaway children of Sardos. Rory was the eldest, and I wanted him to be the heir. But Chari had a son, too.”
“He chose Chari’s son over Rory?”
“He did. That’s why I had to leave.”
“Of course,” said Marius. “When Jauld died, Chari’s son must have inherited the store and all your assets, wiping out everything you’d worked for. Or were they killed in the war, too?”
“No, they still live,” said Isolda, hating that she was omitting the most relevant detail, that Jauld was still alive too.
“So you left. I’m glad we had this talk,” said Marius. “I see now why you’ve been so reluctant to talk about your time in Sardos. It sounds like it was a terrible time for you, and I won’t bring it up again unless you desire it.”
She nodded, wondering if she could tell him the rest of the story. He’d been understanding so far. Should she confess the truth about Jauld? That she had stolen from him and Chari in order to come here?
“I’m sorry to say that what happened to you isn’t unknown even here in Riat,” added Marius. “I’ve seen it happen many times. Our laws do not permit a man to take a second wife, so what men like Jauld do here is divorce the old wife so they can marry the new. I told you I don’t believe in multiple marriages. But in Kjall we have divorce instead, which is nearly as contemptible.”
Isolda felt a sudden chill. “You are opposed to divorce?”
“When you make a promise to love somebody, I think you should keep it,” said Marius. “In Osler, where I grew up, men never abandoned their wives. I have a low opinion of a husband who discards his wife the way he would a lame horse. My parents have been married for over thirty years.”
“So have mine,” Isolda said in a small voice. She, on the other hand, had abandoned her husband and, just today, finally divorced him. Would he have a low opinion of her if he knew?
Never mind. He didn’t need to know. She was unmarried and not committing adultery, and any affair she had with Marius would be short-lived.
Marius took her face in his hands, angled her lips toward him, and kissed her. A shiver ran through her, and her body went soft. She liked letting him hold her, move her, position her where he wanted. Do things to me, she thought, not knowing exactly what she wanted him to do, just something.
“I have another confession to make,” said Marius. “I’m not terribly experienced in the bedroom. It’s not that I have no experience at all; it’s just that the affairs I’ve had previously didn’t last.”
Affairs. Multiple. Isolda’s stomach clenched.
“I imagine you’re curious, so I’ll just tell you,” said Marius. “I courted a few women at the university while I was learning to be a Healer, and they were all pleasant at first, but when they discovered some of my less sophisticated habits, they either lost interest or tried to change me. These were fashionable women seeking a fashionable lover, and I didn’t suit. Eventually I got tired of trying to be what they wanted. It hurt that they didn’t actually like me; they only liked the idea of what I could be. I became bitter and stopped courting entirely.”
Isolda shook her head. She couldn’t imagine why any woman who had the opportunity to be with Marius would turn it down. Thank the gods these other women had failed to appreciate his “unfashionable” self, or else she might not be here in his bedroom right now. “I imagine you think I’m more experienced than you because I was once married, but I’m not sure that’s the case. All I had was the same experience over and over again.”
“A good one?”
“Not particularly.”
“I know a few things,” said Marius. “But mostly from the Potter’s Daughter books.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Perhaps you don’t have them in Sardos. They’re a series of...well, erotic novels.” His cheeks colored. “No one knows who writes them. There’s First Life of the Potter’s Daughter, then Second Life of the Potter’s Daughter, and so on.”
“I don’t wonder we don’t have them in Sardos,” said Isolda. “Even if someone translated them, they’d probably be illegal.”
“I only read the first two, but I picked up a few tips.”
She smiled. Marius was adorable when he was blushing.
“The books say that different women enjoy different things.” He slipped an arm behind her back to support her and eased her backward onto the bed.
Uncertain what to do, she let him mold her like putty.
He unbelted her syrtos. “So perhaps I could try some of those things, and you could tell me what you like and what you don’t like.”
Isolda stiffened. “I don’t think I have any idea what I like.”
“So we find out.” As he drew the fabric away from her breasts, his breath hitched, and he stared.
She felt a little shy under the scrutiny, remembering the scene with Lady Fabiola. Her breasts were only of moderate size compared to that woman’s.
“Gods, Isolda, I think your former husband must have been blind.” He leaned over and kissed her.
She liked the kissing—should she tell him?—but her body felt tingly, and she wanted more. She yearned for his touch. Not wanting to speak while her mouth was occupied, she reached for his hand and guided it to her shoulder.
He stroked her bare skin, and she arched like a cat. Her favorite part of Marius’s body was his hands. Broad and callused, they were rough against her skin in a way that sensitized all her nerves, much like the stubble of his shaven face when he kissed her. She was all smoothness and curves, while he was power and rough edges.
He left her mouth and moved downward, trailing kisses along her neck.
It tickled.
“Not something you like?” he asked.
“It tickles, that’s all.”
He did it again, more firmly.
This time it didn’t tickle. Instead it felt like nothing she’d ever experienced. Her insides went molten, and a small moan escaped her lips. When his hand found her breast, she was nearly overcome.
“Reading those novels was embarrassing at the time, but I’m glad I did it,” said Marius. He ran his hands over her breasts, stroking and sometimes squeezing gently. She didn’t care for the squeezing, but when his hand traveled over her nipples, gods. He was still working his way downward, and then he put his mouth on her breast.
She shuddered.
He licked one breast while stroking the other. Each time his tongue crossed her nipple, her whole body quaked. She had never had a lover like this. When Jauld had taken her to bed, he hadn’t spoken but two words to her. He’d kissed her a bit, stroked her breasts, and did his business. It hadn’t been unpleasant, just boring.
This was something entirely different.
“What do you like?” she asked.
“You could help me out of this.” He indicated the silk robe.
She pulled the loose belt free and peeled the garment off his shoulders. His bare chest was as lovely as its outline had suggested, firm and muscled with a smattering of dark hairs. Though she felt a little shy, she wanted to touch him. As he leaned over her, his body presented itself like a canvas, inviting her exploring fingers. She stroked his sides lightly, and his skin twitched. “Not there?”
“Touch harder,” he said.
She returned to the spot with a firmer touch, stroking and rubbing.
Marius groaned. “Yes—oh, yes, like that.”
Gaining confidence, she ran her hands over the landscape of Marius’s back and shoulders. What a wonder he was, and so different from Jauld. While she’d seen Jauld’s body on many an occasion, she’d rarely touched him like this. If Jauld had been a poor lover, she had to admit that she was equally at sea when it came to lovemaking, possessing neither experience nor any form of guidance, such as the eroti
c novels that had helped Marius. Her relationship with Jauld had been too fraught and uncertain for frank discussion about sex, and they’d muddled through without much satisfaction for either of them.
Marius groaned—she must have found a good spot. She stroked him there a while longer, and when she felt braver, she moved to his chest, which felt more intimate. She ran her hand through the sparse hair, felt the outlines of his pectorals, touched his nipples. Marius had used his mouth and tongue as well as his hands. Should she do that as well? She wondered what he tasted like.
Before she could find out, Marius moved downward.
She tried to rise, but he said, “Stay there. I’m going to try something I think you’ll like.”
She lay back, trusting him. He eased her legs apart. Then he lowered his head and made a tentative lick.
“Marius.” The sensation was intensely pleasurable, like nothing she’d ever felt. But it didn’t satisfy—it left her craving more. “Do that again. Please.”
“This one is from the Potter’s Daughter.” He licked her again, and then again.
Gods. All that burning sensation, that tingling in her body—it all came down to this, to his mouth and tongue on her sex, wringing the most delicious sensations out of her. She pressed herself closer to him, thinking, stronger, harder, faster, and he wrapped his arms around her legs, imprisoning them so she had no choice but to accept the rhythm he’d chosen.
She relaxed, submitting utterly as his tongue-strokes drove her into a frenzy of pleasure and increasing need.
“Something’s happening,” she said as the sensations built within her body, a growing tension that hinted at pyrotechnics to come.
“It certainly is,” he said, and drove her on.
“I can’t—I can’t—” Her words turned into a groan as all that tension transformed into intense and delirious pleasure. Her body shuddered in time with Marius’s tongue strokes. Her core turned to jelly, and the sensation spread, melting her from her insides to her toes and fingers. She lay back, panting.
