by T.M. Nielsen
***
“What’s this one called?” Kyrin asked, holding out a bottle. She was sitting in the window as the night put cool air into the warm room. Trox was stirring a pot that was bubbling over the fire. It was well past midnight but neither was ready to stop.
“That’s laurel.”
“It’s good if you eat rotten food.”
Trox frowned. “Why would you eat rotten food?”
“Because that’s all you have to eat. You choke it down and then chew on some laurel.”
“I’ll remember that,” he said, and wrote something down in a book.
“Hand tired yet?” she asked, swinging her feet.
“Yes, very.”
“This one takes a while.”
“I don’t see how useful it can be to turn wine into water.”
“That’s because you’ve never been without it.”
“True”
“Don’t stir too fast or it could explode.”
He looked over at her as she sat in the window, and he again noticed how beautiful she was. He wondered if she had any idea of her looks. “Might I ask you a question?”
“Sure”
“Do you love Alric?”
“I don’t know.”
“I think you do,” Trox told her.
“Love is useless. It can’t save you or help you when you’re lost. It can’t feed you or give you water.”
“You’re wrong. It can save you.”
“How?”
“You’d be amazed what love can get you out of. Hope does a lot.”
“Love doesn’t give hope though.”
“It does too.”
“When were you in love?” Kyrin asked him.
“It is my turn for questions. So, you do love him, I’m sure of it. Marriage is the natural progression.”
“There’s nothing natural about it.”
“Why not?”
“Humans weren’t made to be a possession.”
“So marrying Alric would make you his possession?”
“Yes, to be used, abused, passed around, and eventually either killed or sold when he’s tired of me.”
Trox smiled. “I have never heard of a husband that would allow another to have his wife.”
Kyrin reached to her side and grabbed the mug sitting there. She drank it and then put it down. “That stuff’s pretty good. What is it?”
“It’s an ale I make.”
“Is there more?”
“Sure, help yourself.”
Kyrin got up and poured herself another mug before sitting down in the window.
“Just don’t fall out.” Trox laughed when she sat down and almost spilled her ale.
“I won’t. It’s cooler over here,” she said.
“Okay, so, when you get married, you become the possession of the husband.”
“Right, no more decisions, no more thoughts or opinions. You do what he says and nothing else.”
“Do you think Alric would do that?”
“I know he would.” Kyrin took another long drink.
“Alric isn’t that controlling, especially to someone he loves.”
“Do you have any of the fluid from when a baby is born?”
Trox looked at her. “Do what?”
“You know… the squishy stuff that comes out with the baby.”
“No, I don’t have that on me at the moment.”
“You can bring back the dead with that potion.”
He looked up. “Really?”
“Well, sort of. They become kind of a walking corpse. If you’re fighting alone though, it can come in handy.”
“I would imagine. So these vile acts you speak of after marriage.”
“Yes?”
“What are they?” he asked, trying to hide the amusement from his voice.
“I don’t really know.”
“How do you even know there is such an act?”
“I’ve heard new brides talking about it. I guess it’s horrible.”
“I see.”
“Then when the husband gets tired of his wife, he forces a baby into her as a punishment.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“Around,” she said, taking another drink.
“I see, and how does he do that exactly?”
“I’m not sure about that either.”
Trox stopped stirring for a moment. “How is it, you’ve traveled across the universe but don’t know?”
“Well, it’s not something people speak about. It’s done in secret when the husband is mad and the wife is helpless.”
“What if I promise you that Alric won’t control you? He isn’t like that and will treat his wife as an equal.”
She shrugged. “At first, I’m sure. It’s when they tire of the wife that they make her have a baby and after that, who wants her?”
“You have the most eschewed views of things I’ve ever heard of,” Trox told her.
“I’ve seen it though.”
“Tell me something personal. Do you like when Alric kisses you?” Trox asked.
“He holds my hands.”
Trox laughed. “Yes, I know.”
“I do though,” she said, watching the pot boil. “It makes me feel all flittery.”
“What’s flittery?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t you think that if Alric did decide to control you, that you could simply use magic and escape?” Trox asked.
“Hey, that’s true.”
“I cannot imagine a man controlling you.”
“Why’s that?”
“You’re too strong and independent. You’ve been alone your entire life and rely on no one. Any man would be hard-pressed to oppress you.”
She smiled. “That’s so nice of you to say.”
He chuckled as he watched the caldron.
“Even if you aren’t controlled, you’re still a possession to be sold at will. Not to mention, the baby thing.”
“Here, most women want a baby.”
“Which is odd.”
“No, it’s odd not to want one. Women are nurturers.”
“Not all of us.”
“True, I don’t see you as a nurturer.”
“Is that potion blue yet?”
Trox looked over. “No, it’s still more indigo.”
“So you tell me how babies are put into the wife.”
“No”
“Why not?”
“It’s just private.”
Just when Alric stepped into the room, the potion Trox was stirring exploded, sending smoke up into the room. Kyrin fell back laughing, almost falling out of the open window, and Trox began to cough and wave the smoke away from him.
Alric frowned and looked at them. “What’s going on? It’s nearly 4am.”
“I told you not to stir too fast,” Kyrin said, righting herself.
“My hand was tired,” Trox said indignantly.
“Don’t make me ask again,” Alric said, frowning.
Trox smiled. “Kyrin knows how to make potions.”
“You do?” Alric raised his eyebrows.
“Yes, of course,” she replied.
“What did you make?”
“We made a healing potion.”
“It’s 4am and that’s all you’ve managed?”
“Well, we were working on another, but Trox blew it up,” Kyrin explained.
“It’s late. Let’s go to bed.”
She nodded and got down out of the window, then swayed slightly.
“Are you drunk?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Yes, she is,” Trox told him. “My ale loosens lips.”
“Shhh,” Kyrin said, putting her hand over Trox’s mouth.
Alric studied him and made a mental note to ask him about that later. He then took Kyrin’s arm and led her up to the bedroom to sleep.
When she laid down on the floor, he laid beside her and smiled.
&nbs
p; “What?” she asked, looking over at him.
“Did you have a nice time with Trox?”
“I did actually.”
“And did you jump out of the library window?”
Kyrin nodded. “Yes, I did. I saw a portal key.”
“So you tried to run.”
She nodded and then yawned.
Alric leaned over her and took her wrists in his hands before pressing his lips to hers. She tasted like alcohol but seemed to relax under his touch. He was pleased when she responded, and her kiss became more passionate to match his.
His hands ached to caress her skin and feel her toned body beneath his fingers, but he couldn’t risk her casting on him, and he liked how it frustrated her when he held her hands. Her body seemed to fit perfectly against his as he moved on top of her, and his kiss grew stronger.
She inhaled softly as his kiss traveled down her neck and then up to her ear as he whispered, “Marry me.”
“Alric,” she sighed.
“Marry me,” he said again, kissed her softly, and then looked into her eyes.
She hesitated and then nodded slightly.
Alric smiled. “Thank you.”
“If you do it though, I’ll turn you into a troll.”
“Do what?” he asked, watching her. Her eyes slowly slid shut, so he crawled off of her and went to bed.
