"Um. Let me see." He started pacing again. "When they killed me, it must have broken the binding spell. So now I can say it."
"Say what?"
He stopped pacing and faced her. "The binding spell was put on me by your sister Scilla at the Guardhouse, when she brought me here from the Veil. This was all her idea. To kidnap you. I’m to take you to see her."
Lelet stared at him for a moment. Tears were building behind her eyes. "You’re mad. Oh no, you’re a lunatic after all." She punched her fist against her palm. "Dammit! Why are all the pretty ones crazy?"
"You know perfectly well I am not a lunatic. Please don’t do that." She took a hitching breath. "There have been times you’ve asked me things and I couldn’t tell you."
"Yes," she said, "and I thought you were just being difficult and evasive." But she did recall the times he looked as if he was struggling to speak. Could this be true? "What in the world is a binding spell, and what does it have to do with my sister?"
He was silent for a long moment. They leaned against the cart. She was sorry she’d ruined his joyous mood, and hoped he had an answer that she could believe.
Finally he said, "I have a great deal to tell you, and you aren't going to like any of it."
***
"Tell me again. From the beginning," she said. Before he could try and figure out exactly where the beginning was, she continued. "Are you one hundred percent sure we're talking about Scilla? Because she isn't anything at all like you're telling me."
"I am sure. And she's very angry at you. I think she feels as if you've neglected her. And she thinks you're spoiled. And selfish. And, um, loose?"
"Oh, come on!" She glared up at him. "I think I know my own sister better than you. And I'm trying to imagine her somehow dragging another person through this Door you keep talking about, and basically making them her servant. She's barely more than a little girl, it’s not possible."
"It's not 'another person' and it’s not 'them', it was me." She looked away. "Why do you think I took you from that alley? Did you think it was my own idea?"
"No, it was Rane's. We talked about this. You said he was the one that got you to do this." Hadn’t he? She struggled to recall. It seemed a long time ago, that night.
"No," he said. "No, you talked about it, you decided it was his doing, and I couldn't say anything at all. There's more, I'm afraid." He looked at the ground, his face grim. "Scilla made me go to your house."
"Well, obviously, that's where you threw me in this stupid cart." She looked at him, willing it not to get any worse.
"Before that. A long time before that. She had me create trouble between you and your brother."
She turned even paler. "You were in my house?" She took a step back. He said nothing, and didn’t look as if he ever wanted to speak again. "It was you, wasn't it? The mirror. My things. Oh..." She put one hand over her mouth and thought for a moment. Then she looked down at her wrist, the one he’d burned, the one she’d broken. "My horse? Please, please, Moth, tell me you didn't."
"No, I didn't have anything to do with that. I was there, though. If your groom hadn't shown up, I would have carried you home myself. I'm sorry, but that really was Rane."
"At least he didn't get sent away for something you did." She pulled at her hair and walked back and forth. "Do you know, I was starting to think we had ghosts? So many strange things, and Rane swore it wasn't him, and I knew it wasn't me..." She stopped pacing and said, "The orchids. Of course." She shook her head and smiled, although she was the farthest thing from happy. "You have a way with them. Moth orchids, I really should have known."
"Why do you say that? Why did you call them that?"
"This is just one big learning experience for you, isn't it?" She sighed. "That's the name of the flowers in the glass house—moth orchids. You didn't know that, did you? Okay, well. Let's see. You read a book, came from Eriis to visit, and on the way my sister—who apparently now is a big time sorceress, put a spell on you and forced you to steal my stuff and break our things. And in your spare time you cultivate flowers. And then she made you kidnap me and bring me to see her at the Guardhouse. Why?"
"I'm not sure. She's said some things which make me think she is in contact with someone from my home. That's the other half of the story."
She snorted a laugh. "There's more?"
"I left home in a hurry. Because. Because I... It's not important." He turned away. "I just left. Forget it."
"I knew it, it wasn’t that stupid book." She took his arm. "Tell me, Moth. How can it be worse than what's happened over the last few days? You died. What happened to you back there? Why did you really leave home? I know it wasn't because of some old book."
He shook her hand off. "Rushta, Lelet, leave it. Please, I don't want to talk about this." He tried to walk away but she followed him. "You know everything important. You are filled in, isn’t that what humans call it?"
"Rushta, I know what that means by now. What was so bad?" She had to nearly run to catch up and get in front of him. She put her hands on his chest, "Would you stop walking away from me?"
He looked down at her hands, then back up at her. "You are a perfect person, you won’t understand this."
Her heart twisted and she dropped her hands. "Try me, Moth. Please, make me understand."
"You were right and you didn't even know it. You were making a joke, and that's what my life is—a joke." He laughed bitterly. "I only had half a life, I was only half of everyone else, even though I was twice as big."
"You were different. You were special. Why?"
"Because I am half human. You see? Even you could tell there was something wrong with me. My father was a human person. I don't even know his name. That's why my mother can't stand to look at me. Oh, and a cripple, let's not forget that. And a drunk. I'm a famous drunk. The only reason I'm not drunk right now is because I finished the whiskey four days ago. So that's your prince, Lelet. A drunk, a cripple and a scorping shame."
He thinks I am going to laugh at him, or set him on fire, or walk away, she thought. She reached for his hand and traced a scar that ran the length of his thumb. "I figured. Everything you've told me about your home and your friends and how hard it was for you, it was pretty obvious something was different about you. But different doesn't have to mean worse, I think. And you're no joke to me. Far from it. Different and special, well, that's true enough." She paused. "Have you always known? About your father?"
He shook his head. "I found out literally just before I left home. I ran because my human blood has a value far beyond that of my own life. My friend—the smart one—saved me by sending me here. I can't go back until he tells me that it’s safe."
"How long has it been since you've heard from him?"
He sighed. "It's been more than 3 months, and I haven't heard anything at all. Not one word. And I don't know how long it’s been back home, time runs differently and I can't work it out. But the Mages—the ones who want me—if they are somehow working with your sister, I need to stay far away from there. I don't know what part she intends you to play in all this. Honestly, I don't know what she's got in mind at all." He moved a bit closer to her. "I know you must be very angry with me. But I hope you believe I would never intentionally hurt you. And now, it just feels so good to have this... rope... it felt like, untied from my mind."
"And you really couldn't tell me any of this? Until now?"
"There's only one way to break most spells, if you are without power yourself. It’s usually a more permanent solution, though."
She chewed on her ragged fingernail. "You want me to think none of this is your fault. I think there are things you still aren't telling me." The way he looked at the ground and not at her told her she was correct. But she knew she’d find out eventually. And after what he’d confessed, how bad could it be? She had a feeling it had to do with the lady he’d left in the other world. She decided to let it go—for now. "But losing a pair of earrings or a hairbrush is nothing comp
ared to what you've been through. I may be the selfish, spoiled monster my sister says I am, but I've never made anyone a slave. I still can't believe she did that to you. And when someone threatened my life, you were there. You came for me." She moved a little closer. "Are you really a prince?"
"Oh yes. In fact, not a prince, but the. Just me."
"Prince Moth," she smiled.
"Not exactly. But let’s stay with it, if you don’t mind. I like the way it sounds when you say it. But when it comes time for me to take the High Seat, I don't know what will happen."
"Because of the human thing?" she asked. "Or the drinking thing?"
"Because of a lot of things. I wasn't... I haven't been exactly leadership material. I spent most of my life trying to disappear. Still working on that one." He paused and looked down at her and she wondered what he saw; a dirty face, stupid hair, a perfect person. "In fact, I can only think of one thing in my whole life that I've wanted, that I got on my own without someone else whispering behind the scenes or working behind my back."
She smiled. "What did you want?"
He smiled back at her. He was free. "Don't you know?" And when he pulled her close and kissed her, this time there was no one to interrupt them.
It got quite warm.
Chapter 66
Gwenyth peered through her fine white lace at the chapel. Everyone was there, all waiting, looking back through the doors. She could still feel his touch like a burning brand against her breast. Would he bring her so close to her heart’s true desire only to leave her here alone? The smell of the flowers was overwhelming, and she felt faint.
-The Claiming of the Duke, pg 218 (fragment)
Malloy Dos Capeheart, Little Gorda Press (out of print)
Mistra
100 years after the War of the Door, Mistran calendar
20 years later, Eriisai calendar
Road through the Great Forest
Eventually she laid her hand on his sleeve, and nodded towards back of the cart at her neatly folded blanket.
"Take that," she said. Then she looked again at the scrubby forest floor. "Better take both of them."
She led him through the trees towards the river, because she knew he liked the sound of the water and the sparkle of the light. Perhaps it would help to settle him, because she thought she could see nerves running alongside his anticipation. She felt he tended towards jumpiness.
Then she thought of his hands wreathed with smoke as he stepped out of the flames. He hadn't seemed nervous then.
She found a spot that was less rocky and grassier and had him lay the blankets down. He was watching her carefully and waiting for her cues. She nodded and he sat. She hiked her dress up around her knees and curled up in his lap. It was like sitting on the hearth of the fireplace in the front room back home, but warm and inviting, not dangerously hot as he’d been earlier.
"I have to tell you something," she said. "I lied to you. No, don't look like that. It's not like that. Listen. You remember how I told you that you were utterly average?"
"When it was raining. That wasn't true?"
"Not in the least bit." She took him by the shoulders as he tried to twist his face away from her. "I said you were perfectly ordinary looking, no one would look at you twice, that you might as well be invisible. That's a lie." She put her hand on his chest. Her hand was far larger and less delicate than the shadowy print underneath it. "You're beautiful. I can't stop looking at you. And you deserve to know. And if you weren't so fine to look at on the outside, it wouldn't matter at all because you're just as lovely on the inside. Every bit of you is beautiful. And this? Right now? This is where I have wanted to be since I met you, and I realized you weren't going to...."
"Cut off your toes?"
She raised a brow. "I was going to say since I understood that I was safe with you. Which was practically the whole time. You're not very menacing." And she thought again of the smell of cooked meat, and tried to put it aside.
"And how do I know you're not lying now?" he asked. But he was half-smiling and had his arms looped around her waist. She slid her hands under his shirt.
"I think you know I'm not. I wanted to touch you so much I practically had to sit on my hands. So that was me lying. You're so, so..." whatever he was, she never got around to telling him because she decided to kiss him instead.
He looked at her uncomfortably. "It occurs to me that I haven't exactly gotten around to telling you how pretty I think you are. And now it seems a bit late."
She laughed. "You can tell me now." She helped him unlace her dress and it fell to her waist.
"These, for instance, are exceptionally pretty." His hands looked even bigger against her small breasts, and they were wonderfully warm on her bare skin. His lips were just as warm. "They're so delicious, they're like... baby lamb chops."
She pressed her lips together hard. Finally she cleared her throat and said, "Baby lamb chops. What a lovely thing to say."
"Because baby lamb chops are practically the nicest things there are," he added.
"Yes, I know," she agreed. "They certainly are. And now I want to see you." She kissed him slowly. "You don't mind? If I look at you?" He did not. He likes to look at me, too. He watched as she unhooked the knife from the rough leather belt around her waist and laid it well aside. She had his shirt off in a moment, and swallowed her pain at seeing those scars again, but he didn't turn his face away or try to hide from her gaze. She let her hand fall between his legs and gave a gentle squeeze—it was far more than a handful and couldn't be very comfortable pressed up inside his clothing. She brushed her lips against his chest, and across his nipples, which had either grown back or somehow otherwise repaired themselves. Either way they were tender and new, and she held back her usual inclination, which was to use her teeth. Most men liked that, a little nip, but she feared hurting him and was mindful and gentle.
He likes this, she thought, based on the soft noise he made and how he moved under her mouth, well, mostly they all do. Then she paused. She looked up again at his molten eyes, his dark-golden skin, the great length of him. She thought briefly of the others, the Billahs and the grooms and barmen, the first name no last name, sometimes not even a first name, flirtations and flings and drunken nights and dirty mornings. She knew that was over. 'They.' There is no 'they.' There's no one like him, not on this world or any other. She kissed him again, marveling at the softness of his skin, and leaned against him until he was on his back.
"Lift up," she said, and took his trousers by the waist and gave them a careful pull. "That must feel better, doesn't it?" And that was when she shrieked.
It wasn't much of a shriek, and it was muffled by her hand, but it got him bolt upright. "What!? What?" Then he saw what she was pointing at. He sank back onto his elbows.
"Please," he said. "Do not tell me you've never seen one of those before."
She was saucer eyed, and pushed her hair behind her ears as she leaned forward. "Not like that. It’s got... you've got... did that hurt?"
He reached down and gave his yala a companionable tap, after which it continued its efforts to poke him in the stomach. "It didn't feel so good the first day, but after that? Works perfectly."
It was studded all around, from the crown down the length of the shaft, with small golden beads, at least a dozen. As it increased in girth and width, the pattern they formed changed.
"Is that for me?" she asked, fervently thanking the unseen forces that guided her days.
"I would prefer to say it’s for both of us," he replied.
She put her chin in her hand. "Huh. Can I touch it?"
"Well, yes, obviously!"
At first she gave him a series of tentative pats, and poked at the beads, unsure of what exactly to do with them. But then she found some strength in her hand and he sighed with pleasure and leaned back and closed his eyes. Then she got an even better idea. He looked up to see her at work with her mouth and little pink
tongue.
She glanced up. "I had better not chip a tooth." Worth it.
"Shani, this is better than pears, even, but better stop," he pleaded. "Or I'll finish before we've even begun." He sat up and pulled her towards him, and her dress fell from her waist to the ground. He paused and looked at her curiously, holding her at arm's length.
"Huh," he said.
"What's wrong?" She had a horrible thought involving demon women and what their privates might look like. Flowers? What if they all had penises, men and women both? What if her lack of jewelry below the waist was ugly to him?
"Nothing," he said, "it’s just..." He cocked his head, looking more amused than alarmed.
She took another look at his body, and then back at her own. "You've never seen a person with hair on their body before, have you?"
"I... actually, no."
"Does it look weird? It does, it looks weird. I'm sorry." She bent to gather her dress, her face crimson, but he took her by the wrist and raised her back up.
"Don't do that," he said. "I imagine even Gwyneth probably had... whatever you call that." She laughed and nodded in agreement. "I just wasn't expecting it. Stand up. Let me see. There, it's fine. It's... I like it." He brushed her light brown curls with the back of his hand, and again, more slowly with his fingertips. "It's soft." He looked up at her, eyes bright. "What else do you have that's different? Can I look?"
Looking involved his mouth and his hands, and when she couldn't hold herself up with her hands on his shoulders any longer, he lowered her onto the blanket and continued his exploration. His long hair brushed her stomach and her thighs, and his mouth was so soft—but that wasn't it, she realized his face was just as smooth, not the slightest bit of a beard. That must be why men like this, she thought, it all feels like silk, all cool and hot together. Then he did something with his hand—was it inside her? Or outside? She couldn't tell, and she didn't care, it was enough to push her over to what he called finding her pleasure. When she could put a thought together again, she decided that was a very good name for it.
The Sand Prince Page 36
