Outside, in the car again, Sigrun commented, leaning her head back against the seat, “Your parents are good people. And your mother has a kind heart.”
Adam nodded, and gave her a side-long look in the mirror. “What?” Sigrun asked.
“So . . . I’m the same age as your sister, hmm?”
“. . . yes? I thought you already knew that.”
“Well, confirmation never hurts. Do I get any other hints tonight?”
“No.”
“Damnation.”
After two weeks in Jerusalem’s enervating heat, Sigrun was relieved to climb back on a plane to return to Rome. She wasn’t entirely sure if, back in a familiar environment, Adam would change his behavior towards her, so it was another relief when, he invited her out for dinner once more, once they were both off-shift. And this time, when she invited him back to her apartment, it was with her heart beating in her throat as if she were about to fight an opponent who outmatched her overpoweringly. But this was Adam, and he was, first and foremost, her friend. Her partner. One of the people she really did trust most in the world. And, technically, she could probably kill him if she needed to, except that she really didn’t want to damage him. So it was perfectly absurd to be . . . nervous. Call a fig a fig, Sigrun Caetia. You’re scared. You’re scared because this matters, and you’re . . . vulnerable.
So Sigrun let Adam into her chilly apartment, turned on the light by the door, and went to go turn up the thermostat for him, so that the steam from the building’s thermal plant, in the basement, would ease into the radiator by the window and warm the room . . . only to find her hand caught as she tried to slip past him, and Adam pulled her back up against him, and, with a quick look into her eyes for permission, kissed her, reaching back with one hand to lock the door behind them. “I thought,” Adam told her, smiling a little as he raised his head, “that I should get that part out of the way. You look . . .” his dark eyes were a little amused, and a little tentative, “a little nervous, Sig. Don’t you trust me?”
“Of course I do,” Sigrun returned, immediately, and leaned up slightly to wrap her arms around his neck, feeling the faint scratch of his light woolen cloak, and offered him a return kiss. She didn’t really know what to do or to say, so she just let him guide the way. Tangled her fingers in his hair, surprisingly soft under her wondering fingertips. Felt the scratch of incipient beard against her lips and cheeks. Heard him groan a little and felt the vibration of the sound under her sternum as he pushed her, gently, up against the nearby wall in the entryway. Felt one hand tangle in her hair, as the other ran up and down the length of her spine.
“Don’t . . . don’t have to rush.” The words were a whisper against her ear. “We can go slowly, Sig. Really don’t want to mess this up.” He pulled back, and in the faintly yellow light from the overhead bulb, his face was very serious. Very intent. “What do you want, Sig?”
She closed her eyes, and swallowed. “To be normal,” she told him. “To be human, with you.”
“Normal’s boring and over-rated.” He ran the backs of his fingers over her cheek, and down her throat. “But human . . . I’ve got nothing but that. I can do that.”
“And I can pretend.” Sigrun’s throat was tight, as if they were saying a lot more than the words actually meant.
“No pretending. We’ll meet halfway. I promise.”
They made it to the hallway, and somewhere in the tangle of arms and increasingly urgent kisses, Sigrun managed to direct them, a little hazily, through the living area and to her bedroom, not stopping at the couch, as it seemed as if Adam wanted to do. He’s trying not to pressure me, she thought, dimly. But waiting, she felt, would make things worse, not better. Rip the bandage off. Probably best not to say that to him directly. He might take it amiss.
It wasn’t as if Sigrun were entirely ignorant of the mechanics. She’d grown up in a world where Rome ruled. There were explicit images of . . . configurations . . . in every public bathhouse. There were explicitly erotic scenes on most far-viewer channels. A couple of literally-minded emperors, during the Early and Latter Decadent Periods, had decreed that if it happened in the script, it had to happen on the stage, so live sex on stage had been common, and the tragedies of Sophocles and Aeschylus, by popular demand amongst the actors, had been retired from many theater’s repertoires. No one wanted to die on stage for the demands of realism. So while Sigrun was definitely aware of the mechanics, she had never actually applied them.
She let herself look at him as he pulled his clothing off. Enjoyed the play of muscles in his frame. He was solidly-built, but not over-muscled; he didn’t spend all day at the gymnasium building empty muscles with weights; his waist continued in an almost straight line from his chest, while the abdomen, itself, was perfectly flat; his arms weren’t merely strong in the biceps, but his forearms and wrists were, as well. She’d already discovered that even though she was almost his height, and a tall, strong woman, her fingertips didn’t touch each other when she tried to wrap them around his wrists. It was a little thing that pleased her, obscurely, to know. “Ah . . . I think you might be forgetting something?” Sigrun asked, pointing down. “As I understand the process, the pants will need to be removed, too.”
“Later. Right now, you’re acting like all the progress we made in the hallway was lost.” Adam looked down at her bed. “You really do have a twin-sized mattress, don’t you?”
Sigrun blinked. She’d never really expected anyone else to see the inside of her bed chamber, and she’d had this bed frame since she’d first become an ælagol. It was thus . . . seventeen years old, if she had to put a number to it. “Is that a problem?”
___________________
“No, no.” Adam put his head down on Sigrun’s shoulder, and reminded himself to be patient. The mere fact that she had a twin bed, hardly more than a barrack’s bunk, told him she didn’t expect many visitors in here. Slowly. Patiently. Kisses, nips, little bites. Anything that would make her gasp. Moan. Relax. And when he felt her muscles ease, turn to water in his hands again, Adam leaned her back against the sheets, and got to work on her clothing. He wanted to make sure she wanted this, and every hesitance gave him pause. He wasn’t entirely sure why she seemed nervous. She was an undisclosed number of years his senior, but her reactions suggested to him bad prior experiences. Possibly even abuse, though considering how strong she was, it would have had to have been when she was a child . . . No. She’d have told me. Had to have been a really bad relationship. So . . . patience.
Unlacing her bodice. She hadn’t bothered with her undershirt tonight, and he was just as glad as her breasts were now available to his hands and lips. She was hypersensitive to touch, flinching a little at any sensation at the tips, so he withdrew, and contented himself, for the moment, with the rest of her. Kissed his way down to her belly, teased her with beard scratch along her waist and flanks, making her laugh. “Didn’t know you were ticklish,” he told her. “Going to have to file that away for future reference.”
Getting her jeans open, unlacing them—she liked the style that laced at the sides, too, letting the wearer control the waist and hip size, completely—Adam had, for the first time, the feeling that this was really going to happen. The feeling of reality, of being in the moment, and that this wasn’t some sort of particularly vivid erotic dream. He grinned up at her, and gave her his mouth . . . something he’d learned to do from a Gallic woman whose name no longer mattered. Felt her hands tangle in his hair. Felt her feet brace against his shoulders, as if to shove him away . . . and then she relaxed. Gave in. Surrendered. And he thought there were probably emperors who couldn’t possibly be more pleased with the conquest of a nation, than he was to have this woman actually surrender to anything. But most especially, to him. The rune-marks on her skin glowed, and began to outshine the dim light of her bedside lamp, and glowed all the more fervently, the higher he brought her, the more he wrought her, with lips and fingers and tongue. And then she arched and held there, bla
zing like a star, and Adam grinned to himself, and kissed the inside of her thigh. Absolutely no way you can fake it, is there? He noted, distantly, that rain was falling, drumming against the window and the roof overhead, a steady, gentle sound, as if the clouds were intent on cleansing the whole world.
He let her relax for a moment, and then slid a finger home, testing his welcome, and bit the inside of her thigh, feeling, again, the spasm of reaction in her muscles. As if she hadn’t quite expected something. “You ready?” he asked, quietly.
“As I’m going to be, I think.” Her voice was a little higher pitched than usual. “That was . . . really nice . . . just so you know.” Her tone was dazed.
Adam grinned, pure male satisfaction, and moved on top of her, kissing her lips again, eagerly. Feeding there. “Mmm. You’re . . . .you’re not on birth-control, are you?”
Sigrun blinked up at him. “I . . . no. Damnit. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry. I brought something.” He fumbled in the pocket of his shirt, for a moment, and came up with a condom. Slipped it on, catching Sigrun’s wide-eyed stare out of the corner of his eye. He wasn’t sure if he should be complimented, or if he should laugh. “I’m not quite Priapus.”
“Thank the gods, no.”
Lips and tongues and getting her, once more, to relax under him. Cradling her head in his hands as he edged himself into place. And then, knowing how wet she was, and how open she should be, Adam slid himself in. One smooth thrust . . . and felt her entire body spasm under his, and a low, choked cry of pain. His head snapped up, but he was very sure he hadn’t rammed into bone or anything else like that; he’d have felt it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s all right. It’s supposed to happen, right?”
Adam pushed himself up on his elbows, as suddenly, all of her behavior clicked into place in his mind. “Sig . . . why didn’t you tell me?” He was torn between a desire to curse, and a sensation of awe, joy, and a little trepidation. To have this much trust extended to him? To be her first? I really better make this good. “I’d have been gentler.”
“I . . . didn’t know how to tell you.” Sigrun bit her lower lip.
“How can you possibly be a virgin? Was every man in the Legion blind and castrated while you were serving?” Adam bit the side of her neck lightly, and added, “Don’t answer that. I’ll be gentle. And I’ll make sure it’s better, all right?”
Slowly now. Had to be. The distraction had definitely detracted from his own general excitement. They worked together. Built the fires back up again. And then took each other back over the edge again.
A little while later, listening to the rain fall outside, Adam stroked a hand down Sigrun’s flank, and thought, I am possibly the luckiest son of a bitch alive today. “Sig?”
“Hmm?”
“I have to ask . . . .”
“It just never came up, all right?” Her tone was a little defensive.
Adam hid a smile; he was lying behind her, one arm draped around her, and kissed her shoulder now, for good measure. “Not what I was going to ask.”
“Oh.” Sigrun flushed, and he realized, all over again, that when she got really embarrassed, the rune-marks glimmered faintly. As if in response to a threat. “Then what?”
“Is that going to grow back, too?” Another light little bite. “I don’t like the thought of hurting you every time I want to do this.”
“Battle-wounds heal. That is not a battle-wound.” Her tone was prim.
“Any number of poets will tell you that love is a battlefield.” His tone was solemn. “And, you know, battle-maiden . . . .”
She twisted around slightly, giving him a mock-glare. “Any number of valkyrie have had lovers. Most of them rode to battle together. Had children together. Some of them even threw themselves into their lovers’ pyres, rather than live without them.” Sigrun raised her eyebrows, and gave him a defiant look. “The term is a name, not a requirement.” She nodded. “As to the rest . . . .are you suggesting that we should perform experiments? See if it has, indeed, already grown back?”
Adam grinned. “Oh, definitely. I am a great enthusiast for natural philosophy, as you know. And an experiment needs to be shown to have replicable results. So we’ll have to perform it over . . . and over . . . and over . . .” Each over was punctuated with a kiss, which finally made her break down laughing. Adam leaned back. “You’re blushing again.” He found a rune-mark. “One. Two. Three. Four.” His finger traced down her throat, and he started kissing each one, instead, voice muffled as he continued, “Five. Six. If I count them all, are they like tree rings? Will that tell me your age?”
“Certainly, if you divide by a completely arbitrary number. I have more scars than years.”
“Oh, good to know. That limits the total possible.”
“Does it matter to you, that you should know?” Her tone was apprehensive.
Adam considered it. “No. You are who you are. And the years don’t really matter. So long as we’re not talking centuries, which, given that your father is alive . . . is unlikely.”
He turned her over, and realized she was deliberately channeling energy. Letting him count and target each rune-mark. There was a fretwork of lace-like knot-work down the center of her chest, along the sternum, and he realized, as he was kissing along it, that this was, undoubtedly, where they’d cut her open to use the rib spreaders. The thought made his stomach twist, but he pushed it aside. And here, just beside the heart . . . . “This one’s different.”
Sigrun looked down, and squinted. “Inguz,” she identified it.
They’d been working through each other’s languages for only two weeks now. He recognized it in general, but . . . . “Why is it different from all the rest?”
“It means . . . completion. Endings. New beginnings. If you draw a chain of them together, they even look like the helix of DNA,” Sigrun offered, and her lashes fell over her eyes. “In this case, it means it sealed an almost mortal wound.”
Adam looked down at her, and told her, simply, “Never again.”
“Never going to promise that, Adam.” Steel-sheen eyes raised to his own told him it was true, too.
He kissed her to stop the argument before it began.
The next morning, he was rather delighted to wake up in her apartment, however stiff his back was from her tiny bed. “Next time, my place,” he told her, firmly. “My bed is much more comfortable.”
She flushed a little, and laughed. “I’ll go start some tea. I don’t think I have a single thing with which to break our fast, before work, though.”
“We’ll stop somewhere and find a pastry or two.” He kissed her forehead, and watched her slip out of bed . . . taking all the sheets with her. The fact that she was modest in front of him amused him enormously, and he couldn’t resist watching her get dressed.
However, as he was attempting to get ready for work, he noted yet another minor anomaly in her apartment. “Sig?”
“Yes?”
“How exactly am I supposed to shave when you don’t have a mirror in the bathroom?” He walked back out, barefoot, and face covered in soap, and looked around her bedroom. Sure enough, the dresser had surely once had a mirror. The glass had been replaced by cork, with which she posted notes to herself in foolscap.
Sigrun padded back into the bedroom, stepped into the bathroom, and dug around in the top drawer, finding him a small hand mirror. “Here. This should work.”
He shook his head, and before she could leave, caught her with an arm around her waist. “Sig. Tell the truth now. Remember when we met Kanmi and Tren in that taverna, and you bet me that I wouldn’t recognize you?”
“Yes?” Her eyebrows rose.
“How’d you put on the kohl and the paint?”
“I was at a public bath. There are stores there that sell cosmetics. How do you think they convince people to buy their wares? I had one of the women at the counter put the paints on my face, and bought something for her troubles.”<
br />
“I want my half-solidus back.”
Sigrun grinned up at him. “No. You lost it. You did not know me when you saw me.”
Yes. Then. But now, I do. And I think I always will.
Interlude I: Unions
1955-1960 AC
___________________
Februarius 30, 1956 AC
1955 had fleeted by, as if propelled by wings. At least three more trips to various locations to meet with Chaldean and Median envoys—always different people, so as to throw off detection. As a result, Livorus noted that he constantly felt as if he were starting the negotiations from scratch every time he met with someone new. Jerusalem was followed by Alexandria, which was followed by Tyre. At the start of 1956, the next agreed-upon meeting place was Byzantium. Eight months of negotiations had created a set of treaties—secret ones, necessarily—that would only go into effect if the Persian emperor, Tiridates X, died without naming a successor.
And in Februarius of 1956 AC, he did precisely that, and the Persian Empire collapsed into civil war. Chaldea and Media immediately declared their independence of Persia, and openly requested admission to the Roman Empire as subject nations.
One particularly ambitious Persian general, Jamshid Artaphernes, trying to preserve the boundaries of the empire for whomever succeeded . . . and perhaps with an eye on the throne for himself, which hadn’t fallen into the hands of someone outside of the Imperial line in over a thousand years . . . took steps to mobilize the Persian army and to attempt to retrieve the seceding regions. Adam and Sigrun watched far-viewer footage of Persian ornithopters moving in on the city of Rhagae, one of the major Median towns near the southern end of the Caspian Sea that had been included in the treaty with Rome. “They’re setting up for bombing runs,” Adam told Sigrun as he rubbed the back of her neck, his fingers moving lightly under her hair. “They just locked their wings into glide position . . . ah, harah. Here they come.” The footage was in color, surprisingly enough for a Roman far-viewer station. They’d undoubtedly taken the footage from a Judean source and re-formatted it for use on a ley-conveyed transmitter. Color and two dimensions translated to an orb-shaped far-viewer designed for three dimensions and black and white resulted in grainy, blurry footage. It was still hard to watch.
The Valkyrie (The Saga of Edda-Earth Book 1) Page 78
