Nevia closed her eyes, forcing her thoughts from Melenius’s glories, and calculated. Had Ginovae still been with her, she would have known this already. “I am with child.”
“What?” Melenius pulled her away to look at her.
“You had me at my most fertile time,” said Nevia. She took his face in her hands. “For two weeks at my father’s villa you fucked me morning, noon, and night. My womb swam with your seed constantly. Of course I am with child.”
Melenius turned his hand to kiss her palm. The joy that flowed from his elements was tinged with an emotion Nevia felt through the bond.
“Why are you relieved?” she asked.
“Because you never fucked Belamal. If you had, there would be no way of knowing whether this child were mine or his.”
Nevia sat up straight. “Veirakai’s syphilitic dick! I am an utter fool.”
Melenius shook his head. “I will not hear anyone call my wife a fool.”
Nevia kissed his lips. “But I am. I could not understand why my father would have given me to you, only to rip me from you and foist me upon Belamal. But it is clear as the summer sun. He wanted me to conceive a child with you, a Lorin, and then be wedded to a ‘proper’ Skenje nobleman so quickly that there could be no possibility of determining whose child it was. This child would be brought up as Belamal’s, but would be a Lorin. Two Lorin mating – it is a rare thing. Surely our child will be a Lorin as well.”
“And any differences in appearance could be explained away as the outer expressions of a Lorin.” Melenius’s rising fury shot his elements with fire.
“My father,” said Nevia, “is a genius. Utterly without conscience, just like any Akar, but a genius.”
“His plan’s only flaw was not realizing that my little snowflake would be true to me.” Melenius pressed his lips to her throat.
“Yes.” Nevia understood. “Actually, it did not matter to him if I ended up loving you. He would not care if we were lovers in Nirrion until the day we died—”
“No death for us.” Melenius pressed her to him.
“He does not know that.” Nevia looked up at Melenius’s eyes. “He would not even care if Belamal never returned from the war, and we married before all the city. He wants our Lorin child to be accounted Skenje born, to be of a house higher-ranked than yours. That is all. But the difficulty with his plan is that I never fucked Belamal. Not once.”
“If you had, I don’t know what I would have done.” Melenius’s roused jealousy flowed into Nevia, and she laughed.
“You thought I had, and yet we reconciled. You would doubtless have killed him after.”
“True enough. So where do we go from here?”
“You spoke of Faror once.” Nevia leaned her head against his chest. “We could go there.”
“They would not betray us to Nirrion, at least.” Melenius’s elements burned with pride. “They would consider it an insult to Nirrion that I, a Faror by blood, would have carried off the foremost noble maid of Nirrion.”
“Have you any property there?” asked Nevia.
“No, but we have some time before you will show, some time before anyone could carry word to Belamal. I will sell off my Nirrion property, and we will go to Faror with enough coin to purchase a sufficient estate. We will not be able to keep slaves, though. At least, I will not. Faror law does not permit Faror to own slaves. As a Skenje, you would be exempt and could own them.”
“I am glad you shan’t be able to have slaves. Otherwise, I would have had to insist that any slave you’d ever fucked be sold.”
“Alaxton’s blood-soaked beard!” Melenius pulled Nevia on top of him. “You are quite the jealous one.”
Nevia smiled. “But I want to take the chair.”
“Of course.” Melenius kissed her. “But is it all right? I mean now that you are with child?”
“I have been with child since our honeymoon. You have not hurt our son yet.”
“Son?” Melenius laid his hand on her belly. “Do you know?”
“Of course not.” Nevia put her hands over his. “Would you prefer a daughter?”
Melenius shook his head. “A son, a Lorin son born of the highest Faror and Skenje blood – he would be a King and a dictator, able to set his foot on the neck of Nirrion and sit on the empty throne of the Faror Kings. But a daughter, a daughter like to Nevia Akara Firin, she would be so fair that her beauty would be sought with gold, her favor bought with blood. Kingdoms would rise and fall for her sake, and her displeasure would bring nations to destruction.” He laughed. “I think a son would be easier.”
Nevia stared. She had thought she knew everything there was to know about her husband, but he had surprised her. His poetry aroused in her both love and desire; she pressed her mouth to his.
“I will not be able to do without you while we are still in Nirrion,” said Melenius when she released his lips. “I will need to see you daily.”
“Surely you do not think I can do without you? My elements are stretched too thin when I am apart from my husband.” Nevia reached down to lift the edge of Melenius’s tunic. “But we can meet. There are bawdy houses, and there I can fuck my lawful husband. Perhaps you can even be invited to cena at my house. We can find ways to meet over the next few weeks. And then we can be gone, gone from Nirrion forever.”
Melenius’s only response was to rip yet another of her gowns to shreds.
Chapter Sixteen
Judal the Younger, in his blood-red toga symbolizing his allegiance to the Order of Alaxton, stood on the floor of the Senate and looked up to where Melenius sat.
“Hear now the words of Nevius Akar Judal the Younger,” a senate slave called out. The senators’ conversations quieted.
Nevius raised his right hand in the solemn fashion of one addressing the senators of Nirrion. “I am returned from Vieta, and it is ravaged no more, thanks to the work of my glorious sister and Senator Firin.”
Applause erupted around the room, and all eyes turned to Melenius. He felt hands slapping him on the back, and those who sat around him congratulated him. The white, toothy grins of old men greeted him on every side.
“I wish you had seen the fear Belamal drove before him,” Nevius said, “how he broke the enemy lines, crushed them, and sent the cowards fleeing into the southern provinces. Alaxton fought beside my brother – and I am proud to call him family – but though Belamal’s victory was complete, and he pursued the retreating enemy, he left behind a desolate land. The Kindor had murdered the populace, sacrificed our own citizens to the dark god, and used their rituals to kill all life in the soil. So would it still be a cursed and forsaken land were it not for...” He nodded toward Melenius.
Heads nodded and teeth flashed in wide smiles.
“This is why I propose a parade for my sister and Lord Firin,” Nevius said.
The nods ceased; the smiles vanished.
Silence rushed into Melenius’s ears more loudly than any praise had rung. Had he known Nevius planned to bring this before the Senate, he would have stopped him. He wanted no parade; he sought neither attention nor approval from the city. But what about Nevia? Melenius wanted the republic to acknowledge how his wife had saved Vieta.
Senator Tegin stood and raised his hand to speak. “Surely you do not mean to suggest that we give them a triumph?”
Groans, whispers, and dismissive waves answered this rhetorical question.
“Not at all,” Nevius said. “After all, a triumph would be reserved only for Belamal.”
“If he returns victorious,” Tegin said.
“He will. You did not see him fight. Nothing will sate his battle lust save the blood of the last Kindor babe. Nothing will quench his flames until he sees Kelnapontum burn to the ground. Yes, I can with confidence call him Belamal Triumphant, for I know all the gods of Nirrion fight with him. His cause is just and honorable. How can he fail?”
“We all respect Lord Firin,” Tegin said, turning back to look at him. Melenius knew better. “B
ut this parade you speak of is quite impossible.”
“Without the healing of the land,” Nevius said, “Vieta would have been forever dead. The people of Vieta revere them for what they did. Every farmer owes them his life. Will you tell the people of Nirrion that only those who shed blood are worthy of honor? What about those who heal, those who make it possible to fight? Will you tell the city that my sister, Nevia Akara Belamal, should have no thanks from the Senate for her part in this?”
Nevia Akara Belamal. Melenius hated her false family name every time he heard it.
Tegin sat down. He may have been an unscrupulous man willing to betray a friend, but he was not foolish enough to speak openly against someone so beloved as Nevia. She was the dutiful, patriotic wife to a wildly popular general. Tegin’s objection had no bite.
“And once I see my sister properly honored,” Nevius said, “I will go south to join Belamal. The god of battles is with him; it is only appropriate that I, an Akar, be at his side.”
The motion passed, and Melenius found himself surrounded by his peers, who commenced congratulating him for his accomplishments. Though many of the senators nearby asked him for a firsthand account of the battle, Melenius declined to oblige them. He wanted to catch Nevius before he left the Senate hall.
“Wait a minute, Judal,” Melenius said, overtaking him in a side corridor. “Why did you make such a demand?”
Nevius snapped shut the tablet he had been reading. He handed it to a senate slave and banished him. “To honor your deeds and the deeds of my sister, of course.”
“But it is highly irregular. Parades are reserved for weddings of the nobility or men who achieve military victory. You know this; I know this. Every man in that chamber knows this. So, why?”
Nevius grinned, and the gleam in his eye was just like his father’s. “Where there is glory to be had, we Akar are entitled to the lion’s share of it.”
“Your father.” Melenius understood.
“My father is a loyal servant of the republic, nothing more.”
Melenius’s airs thundered with uproarious laughter, but he knew Nevius could detect none of his diversion. Servant? He had not known any Akar with a sense of humor. Judal was no one’s servant; if anything, the republic served him. Doubtless, Nevius would participate in the parade as well, since he had restored the temple of Alaxton in Vieta. He would use this public event to make a scene of his leaving. The people would cheer Belamal and the Akar clan together with one voice.
“Clever,” Melenius said. “Give my regards to the Chief Priest.” He turned on his heel and walked away.
Judal and his son might annoy Melenius on a daily basis, but at least this parade would give him a chance to see Nevia out in the open. And she would be dressed in her finest clothes, made even lovelier by the most skilled cosmetic slaves.
As Melenius strode out into the sunshine bathing the steps of the Senate building, his exasperation turned to pleasure. Who could be vexed about anything when dwelling on Nevia’s beauty?
****
The preparations for the parade were a bore, so Melenius let his steward handle everything. All he cared about was seeing Nevia shine on her day of honor. Belamal’s house was not too far from his own, both of them standing on the Nerivi hill just north of the Forum. A chariot bearing Melenius would leave his house, and another one bearing Nevia would leave Belamal’s. Their trains would meet where their streets intersected, at the Segan, the city’s first stone bridge to cross the Clearlow River. From there, it would be a short ride up the Eladivi hill to the Forum. Melenius was impatient for the festivities to begin.
A chariot led by black horses and decorated with elaborate floral arrangements pulled up, and its driver stood aside to let Melenius board. Flanked by lictors, they pulled out of the courtyard and into the empty street. Melenius looked from his left to his right, then behind him, then ahead as far as he could see. No one. Not only were there no well-wishers or cheering crowd, even the people who should normally be about their business were absent. Conspicuously absent.
The trundling of the chariot’s wheels over the uneven stones of the wide street could not drown out the sound of distant cheering. The street sloped around to the left at a steady decline, and the Clearlow and the southern side of the city lay before Melenius. He saw the crowds lining the streets, from Belamal’s house all the way to the Forum. From his position, the Eladivi was a mosaic, a multi-colored collection of miniature people. They loved Nevia, but no one seemed to care if Melenius came along or not.
Judal. It had to be Judal’s work. He had a mean streak wider than a temple harlot’s cunt.
Just the sight of Nevia expelled any thought of her father from Melenius’s mind. Her chariot was pulled by horses as white as Nevia’s hair. Nevia was dressed in a silver gown with burgundy brocade – Faror colors. Melenius did not miss the fact that she did not wear the scarlet and grey of the Kelar clan. He wanted to kiss her right there.
Their chariots pulled up side by side, and Nevia’s driver was maneuvering to take the lead. Nevia laid a hand on his shoulder. Melenius could not hear above the din of the adoring crowd, but Nevia’s short conversation with her driver had the effect of making him pull back and wait for Melenius. The two chariots proceeded down the wide avenue and across the Segan at the same pace, neither one going ahead of the other. Nevia clearly did not consider herself above Melenius, though she was Akar.
Nevia reached out to Melenius on her borrowed winds, and he responded to her elemental touch with the roaring fires that had dwelt in his soul ever since their bonding in Vieta. They could wordlessly express their mutual love without fear of detection. They could gaze and make lovers’ faces at each other before the entire city, and no one would know. Melenius blessed the gods for making him a Lorin, and he thanked Melara Rose-Goddess for Nevia.
The chariots passed the market and rode around the Forum, passing under the Arch of the Triumvirate to where a throng of Nirrion citizens awaited them. The people cheered and chanted “Belamal”, and this angered Melenius, for he knew they did not call out to the general but to Nevia. Nevia’s whispered words calmed his fury as quickly as it had risen.
Upon the rostrum at the west end of the Forum stood Judal the Younger, cloaked as always in his blood-red robes. At the east end, gaudy as the statue of Jehiel himself, waited Judal the Elder in ceremonial robes of glittering gold. He held an ornately-carved staff in his hands, and his acolytes and sycophants surrounded him. Just ahead, on the steps of the Senate house, all the politicians of the republic had gathered. Melenius scanned the crowd but could not find Garalach. He was not surprised that his erstwhile friend had made himself scarce.
The chariots stopped in front of the Senate. Melenius and Nevia both dismounted and ascended the steps, coming to stand before the assembled senators.
The Basur consul stepped forward and quieted the crowd with his upraised hand. “We honor Nevia Akara Belamal and Melenius Lozabet Firin for the service they have done our great republic. Vieta owes them a debt of gratitude. We all do!”
Timely cheering interrupted his short speech.
“In keeping with the aid our beloved Lorin have graciously given us, we the Senate honor them with humble gifts, and we pray the Lady and Lord are gratified.”
The clinking of finger-cymbals reached Melenius’s ears, and he turned. The crowd parted, forming a narrow path through the people. From the temple of Elendrie at the western end of the Forum came a train of barefoot priestesses, all clad in translucent white gowns.
“Temple harlots?” Melenius was near enough to Nevia that he could speak to her without trouble.
“Earth priestesses.” Nevi’s frosty eyes hardened, and Melenius turned back to find the source of her consternation.
The priestesses in front half-danced, half-walked toward the Senate steps, clinking their finger cymbals in a simple rhythm. Those who followed walked solemnly and sprinkled rich, black earth around them. The two priestesses who brought up the en
d of the procession carried armfuls of wheat sheafs bound up in black, silk cords.
The priestesses moved past Melenius, and he smelled their perfumes and incense. Their hard nipples stood out against the thin fabric of their scant attire, and the dark patch of their pubic hair was plain for all to see. They wore plain, undyed bracelets of woven straw.
“From the fathers of our republic,” said one of the priestesses, “to those whom we owe so much. The blessings of the Earth Mother be upon you now and always.”
The earth priestesses handed the bundles of wheat, one to Melenius and the other to Nevia. The crowd cheered, but Nevia’s earth rumbled beneath her.
Melenius tugged at her gown to get her attention. “What’s the matter?”
Nevia’s eyes shot to the wheat.
“A poor gift, indeed,” Melenius said, “but the Senate decided something symbolic would be more appropriate.”
“So is a gold laurel crown.”
Melenius had no response. The gold laurel crown was the traditional gift of the Senate bestowed upon notable heroes of the republic. Nevia clearly considered the wheat an insult.
“We healed the land, Nevia. This wheat exemplifies our achievement.”
Nevia’s wind cried out its negation. “No, Melenius. This is meant as nothing more than an insult to you.” She turned to the east where her father stood.
Melenius followed her gaze, but Judal stood like the statue of Jehiel himself: sternly and fatherly. He gave nothing away.
Melenius suspected what Nevia was about to do. “Do not toss that wheat on the ground. You will upset the people, but more than that – you will alert your father to your feelings for me. Make no outward sign of your annoyance that any human might read.” He sent his waters over her and cooled her rage.
“Good people of our glorious republic!” Nevius’s voice cried out above the crowd. When the cheering subsided, he continued. “Even now Belamal marches to Kelnapontum, and my Order has chosen me to be Alaxton’s presence by his side.”
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