by Holly Bargo
The image of a sort of wild-eyed mad scientist wearing wizard’s robes such as might have been designed for a Hollywood movie popped into her mind. “You conducted experiments?”
“I did.”
“On what?”
“A multitude of things. I collected tomes and learned scholars and rare objects. I studied and experimented to fill the emptiness. It sufficed then, but no longer.”
“But you haven’t given up your studying?”
“No. I remain curious about the true nature of things and enjoy understanding their secrets.”
“So, basically, you are a scientist.”
“No, because I know magic is real. A true scientist considers magic a term for something we simply don’t understand. I understand the science behind your world’s radio broadcast, although you’ll find no such thing here and most folk would consider it magic. But I also access and manipulate a force beyond mere energy with nothing more than my will: that is magic.”
“It sounds as though anyone could perform magical feats if only they understood how to access and manipulate that force.”
“Theoretically, that’s possible,” he agreed, his tone mild. “Not so much in practice. Power such as you and I possess arises from the soul and is sparked by divinity.”
“You’re saying that we’re essentially gods.”
“To humans, aye, we would be if we so desired it.”
“And have you?”
“Desired godhood? I? No. Others have succumbed to the lure of worship. Most of your world’s pagan gods and goddesses are fae who succumbed to the lure of human adoration. I do not need to be worshipped.”
Only loved, she thought, which made him essentially no different than anyone else. Another disturbing though came to her. “What about God?”
“God as in Yahweh or Allah?”
“Yes. God. Is He real?”
“I have seen no concrete evidence that convinces me your God is real; however, neither will I dismiss the possibility. After all, according to the modern humans of your world, I am neither possible nor real.”
“Do you see your role here as that of a god?”
“Not at all. I am Uberon, king of the Quoliálfur, formerly king of the Unseelie Court, one of the three most ancient of my kind and whose lineage has been lost to time. I know who I am and that identity does not concern itself with occupation as some sort of benevolent overseer of my world.”
“Just your kingdom.”
He nodded to acknowledge the point. “Aye. But I do not watch over my subjects’ lives and evaluate their every action. I leave them free to live as they see fit, provided they do not violate my laws or infringe upon the freedom of others.”
“That’s rather enlightened of you.”
“I’m a hip, modern sort of king,” came the bland reply.
Once again, Uberon’s dry humor made her laugh. When she finished chuckling, she noticed they’d arrived at the wharf. How did we get here so quickly? She looked at Uberon, who said nothing. She thought that, perhaps, he did not see her glance of bewilderment, then dismissed that thought. Uberon noticed everything. Corinne told herself that answers would be forthcoming; she just had to exercise patience.
Her palfrey followed his destrier onto the heavy wooden planks. Sailors and stevedores paused in their tasks to watch the newcomers with suspicious eyes. Uberon dismounted and, not looking at his mate, said in a low tone, “Remain mounted. Should it be necessary, your horse will convey you to safety.”
“Do you expect danger?” she asked, also keeping her voice quiet.
“Always.”
“Ooookay.”
“What do ye want, milord?” a sailor inquired as he approached, his accent as rough as his appearance. His pale eyes lingered with greedy calculation upon the red-haired female accompanying the black-haired, Unseelie male.
“Please summon Master Merogis. Tell him Lord Nochnaya and his mate are here.”
Ignoring the female’s surprised expression, the sailor raised his eyebrows at the word summon. However, he shrugged and replied, “He’ll be informed. Is he expecting you?”
“I doubt it.”
“Then he’ll not appreciate being summoned like some lackey.”
Uberon looked down his nose at the insolent sailor and his upper lip curled in a sneer. “Appreciate it or not, he’ll come. Now do as I bid you.”
“We’re free men here, Lord Nochnaya.”
Uberon said nothing. He simply leveled his icy silver glare at the man who averted his eyes first. The sailor muttered imprecations under his breath about the undeserved haughtiness of snooty fae lords and departed to carry out that same fae lord’s bidding. Let Master Merogis deal with him, he growled to himself, the heavily accented words reaching Uberon’s keen ears.
Uberon cared nothing for the man’s opinion. He listened to make sure the man mentioned nothing regarding capture of his mate. Glancing around at the seamen and workers populating the wharf, he knew they hungered for soft female flesh with a greed that debased whatever pretenses they held to civilization. Uberon would not tolerate a single rough, dirty finger laid upon Corinne. If Merogis did not arrive soon, those sea monsters lurking beneath the waves would eat well this day.
With the black horse on one side of Corinne and Uberon on the other, Corinne thought herself well-protected. She had her own tricks, too, which she doubted those grubby sailors and stevedores suspected. Still, their predatory focus and lustful avarice made the tiny hairs at the back of her neck prickle. She doubted neither the danger around them nor Uberon’s protection, and hoped her mate could conclude their business without killing the ship’s crew.
“Why did you give the name Nochnaya?” she whispered.
“The Merogis line have always known me as such.”
“I don’t understand.”
He consented to explain. “They have done business with a wealthy fae lord among a clientele consisting of wealthy noblemen. Did they know they dealt with me, then they’d either disappear altogether and have nothing to do with my business, or they would cower in gibbering fear. I prefer to transact business with people who retain their wits in my presence.”
“Oh.” Once again, she intuited a sense of deep loneliness within him.
They waited in a tense standoff, both sides keeping watch on each other. The tropical sun beat down upon them. Corinne felt sweat trickle between her breasts and down her spine, despite the lightweight habit she wore. She mused to herself that she should have asked for a hat, something lightweight with a broad brim.
She kept glancing at Uberon, who stood within arm’s length—his arm’s length—alert and ready for danger. He looked like a sophisticated barbarian king. She wrinkled her nose at her own fanciful oxymoron.
“Lord Nochnaya!” called a man walking toward them. Or waddling. The ocean breeze caught the loose, colorful silks draped around his rotund body, and they flapped like pennants. Corinne blinked and tried to maintain her composure when she noticed that the long toes of his shoes curled up and over with golden tassels dangling from the tips. The wind tossed a matching tassel dangling from the bright green fez that somehow stayed firmly affixed to the top of the man’s head.
Uberon raised his hand in silent recognition and murmured so that only Corinne could hear, “He’s ridiculous, but very, very smart. Don’t underestimate him.”
“Lord Nochnaya,” Fidor Merogis greeted again with a broad smile plumping his heavy jowls and making raisin-like eyes nearly disappear within his broad, round face. “I did not expect you. Welcome!”
Uberon bowed, although not as deeply as Fidor Merogis did. “It’s good to see you, Master Merogis. I had not anticipated sailing north again so soon, but plans change.”
“That they do,” the merchant replied, his eyes looking over the fair female form perched atop a fine golden palfrey. “And who is this accompanying you, my lord?”
“Congratulate me, Master Merogis, for I have found my mate.”
Th
e fat man’s eyes widened with surprise and, perhaps, a smidgen of disappointment. An educated man, he knew that this fae female was forbidden to him, the males of his extended family, and the rough men who worked for him, hungry though they might be for the taste and touch of a woman’s body. “This is an auspicious occasion, Lord Nochnaya! You must allow me to host you tonight. We shall have a feast in honor of your nuptials.”
“We would be honored to enjoy your gracious hospitality and my lady would certainly enjoy some feminine company for a few hours. I hope your lady wives are in good health?”
“Aye, and my daughters are ready to be married. Fine girls they are, healthy and obedient. They’ll bear a man many sons and give him pleasure for many years. I’ve merely to find the men worthy of them who can pay the bride price.”
Corinne’s eyes narrowed and she pressed her lips together in a thin line of disapproval. She reminded herself she had not the right to criticize another culture. The reminder failed to calm her ire on those women’s behalf. Then she thought that if she were to be sequestered with this male chauvinist pig’s wives and daughters, then she might subvert their inculcation with a few pointed suggestions. She did not consider whether igniting the women’s discontent with their lot might sentence them to misery, only that they deserved to know they had value beyond their capacity to breed sons and warm a man’s bed.
She remembered reading a book about the consequences of a country cursed by an offended witch and smiled to herself. Men received the curse—that women on the island nation would bear only sons—with joy until a second generation passed and they had no women. She wondered if she could somehow effect such a curse upon Donshae and this fat merchant’s compound. If not, perhaps Uberon could.
You are devious.
I’m furious. Will you do it?
Perhaps. I shall ask if his people would prefer that their women bear them sons instead of daughters and let them suffer the consequences of their preference.
I knew I liked you.
“Hand your mounts over to my men,” Master Merogis instructed as he led the way toward shore and his sprawling house beyond. His guests followed close behind. “They’ll take good care of the beasts. And follow me inside. The courtyard is cool and refreshing. I conduct all of my business there.”
Master Merogis waved his hand in a gesture to encompass the expansive manse. “Your bride will be glad of a cool bath, I’m sure. Women like to be refreshed before we fuck them to a hot, sweaty mess, eh?”
The merchant chuckled. Uberon did not. Merogis took no offense, because his guest had never before demonstrated a sense of humor. Lord Nochnaya paid generously in gold, which made him a client due all obsequious consideration and indulgence. It was too bad he’d never managed to interest the wealthy fae lord in one of his daughters. The familial connection could have been exploited for great profit and power. He spared no more thought nor regret mourning what had never been. There was no profit in it.
Stepping beneath a pergola shrouded by a blooming, fragrant vine dropped the temperature several degrees. Corinne breathed a sigh of relief. Uberon glanced at her and frowned with concern. She wiped her sweaty forehead with the back of a forearm and gave him a reassuring smile while looking at him garbed in leather and looking unaffected by the sweltering tropical heat. Damn him.
Shorts, tee shirt, and sandals would be a hell of a lot more comfortable than this dress in this heat and humidity.
And they would scandalize the entire city.
Could you at least see your way to allowing me short sleeves?
I’ll see what I can do.
Thanks.
They walked into the merchant’s home, thick walls holding in coolness and cleverly placed windows catching refreshing breezes. Corinne heaved another sigh of relief and appreciation. The three of them halted, with their host summoning a servant to lead her to the women’s quarters. She glanced at Uberon with no small degree of trepidation before following the servant.
“Master Merogis, it would please me greatly to have my mate join us for the evening meal,” Uberon said.
The merchant’s brow creased, then smoothed. “But, of course! You fae are much attached to your womenfolk, and I understand the imperative not to allow such fair beauty to hide from your eyes any longer than necessary.” He clapped his hands as though having come up with a grand idea. “I shall bid my own wives to join me at supper. Then your lady wife will not feel bereft of suitable company while we dine and discuss business.”
“A most elegant solution,” Uberon agreed. “Indeed, I dislike to be parted from my mate.”
“My wives will hardly be able to contain their excitement,” Merogis predicted, rubbing his hands together. His eyes roved over the tall fae with the chiseled, handsome face and physical beauty the merchant knew better than to aspire to. He made up for his lack of good looks and athleticism with a keen mind and superior business sense which had enabled him to amass the fortune necessary to purchase highborn wives of outstanding beauty. He hoped his wives would repay this social treat with a bedroom enthusiasm they normally lacked. They obeyed, but they went no further than that. Their disinterest and veiled contempt pricked at his pride.
Beneath the expansive bulge of his belly, his cock twitched even as he entertained the faint hope that his wealthy client would consent to sharing his fresh and lovely mate. Merogis had never sampled a fae female, and having one so close made his fingertips itch. He wondered if Uberon would accept an evening’s swap of his wives for a few hours with his mate. Hope died a swift and inevitable death as his mind reminded his body that fae males did not share their mates. Ever.
To suggest such a swap, even for a single evening, would insult his wealthiest client. And the fae had some strange talents. Not that Merogis put much stock in wild, surely exaggerated tales of fae magic; but, living so close to the Quol and the weird, frightening occurrences that happened near its boundary, he did not discount that the fae lord enjoying his hospitality possessed arcane skills he did not.
No, he told himself, he would satiate his appetites on his wives and merely indulge in the pretense that the body he plowed belonged to the fae female. Life was safer that way and more likely to continue. The fae lord wore that sword at his hip with an ease that bespoke of intimate familiarity. Master Fidor Merogis knew a seasoned warrior when he saw one.
CHAPTER 15
Seven dark-eyed women and one barely adolescent girl looked up at Corinne’s arrival. Two of the women exhibited the softened jaw lines and crow’s feet of maturity. The other four looked at least a generation younger. All six women and the girl lounged like colorful water lilies on large cushions scattered like lily pads across a deep blue tiled floor, their bare feet adorned with bejeweled toe rings and ankle cuffs. One of the women snapped a command to which a flutter of drab cloth responded, alerting Corinne to the unobtrusive presence of a serving girl.
She looked at the servant fetch a tray and carafe of deep ruby liquid. The woman beckoned to Corinne with a gesture and called to her in cascading, liquid syllables. Corinne blinked, not understanding the words, but knowing what that gesture meant. The other mature woman rose gracefully from her cushion and smiled, offering a gap-toothed display testifying to a diet of too many sweets and poor dental hygiene. Her voice lisped a little as she spoke in halting words.
“’Allo. You … honored … guest.”
Corinne smiled back and murmured, “Thank you.”
The woman walked around her, eyeing her with a critical gaze. “Eat. Bathe. We … have … curtains.”
Corinne blinked and smothered a chuckle, because she found the incorrect word surprisingly apt. Thin, vibrantly colored silks drifted about the woman’s plump body like sheers ruffled by a summer breeze. The woman nodded and murmured to herself and reached out to touch the ginger locks escaping from the visitor’s complicated plait. She rubbed the thick silk between her thumb and forefinger as though surprised at the texture and lack of heat.
In h
er liquid tongue she rattled off what Corinne supposed were instructions. The mature women identified themselves as the mothers of the girls in order of descending age: Sin’halissar, Sin’clannad, Ari’valia, Ari’dongharad, and Han’al. While the three older girls looked to be in their mid to late teens, the younger two still radiated the innocence of childhood. Fidor Merogis’ statement that all of his daughters were ready to be wed churned Corinne’s stomach. The serving girl nodded and bowed and hurried off to do her mistress’ bidding. The woman took Corinne’s hand and led her to a plump cushion.
“I speak … good … no?”
“Er … yes. You speak very well,” Corinne agreed, reminding herself that she knew not a single word of the woman’s native language and was in no position to disparage another’s command of a language she herself was still learning to master. Thank goodness Uberon usually spoke to her in English rather than the common trade tongue of this world that Oriel insisted she learn. With mastery of the common trade tongue, you can make yourself understood almost anywhere on the continent.
The woman beamed with pride. “I teach … girls.”
“That’s good,” Corinne replied with obvious sincerity, since she could see that these women led very restricted, limited lives. They surely welcomed anything that broadened their education.
“Come. Eat.”
The woman gestured at the cushion and Corinne sat, although she doubted she displayed the grace of these ladies who spent their lives perfecting indolence. While the other middle-aged woman looked on, Corinne picked an unfamiliar morsel of food with her fingers and bit into it. Flavor exploded on her tongue and her eyes widened with surprise.
She supposed she ought not to be surprised. In a culture that restricted women’s lives so severely, they would master the culinary arts. As she chewed, she decided to speak to Uberon about how fae women—females—conducted their lives. Her experience in the Erlking’s castle and limited time in the Seelie Court indicated that fae females had little in the way of occupation; but, she admitted, her exposure to them had been brief. She did, however, remember seeing female guards, so at least they had that avenue of occupation.
