Most of the problems presented to her were simple enough to solve. A specially formulated lotion for dry hands or feet; a potion concocted of ingredients from the kitchen for a woman’s newly discovered wrinkles; an oil or a treatment for the hair. Her mother’s teachings all came back to her as she solved one problem after another.
Though she had found no solution for the poor woman with the warts. That concern was beyond her capabilities.
The two ladies who entered the tavern on this particularly warm and lovely afternoon did not look at all like Morgana’s usual clientele. Their gowns were made of much finer fabrics than she had seen thus far, and they were also cut shockingly low. Morgana was certain she had never seen breasts displayed in such a blatant and voluptuous way. One woman’s bosom seemed to be about to spill over the top of her gown; the other’s looked more likely to burst forth in an explosion of flesh that would very likely take out someone’s eye, if they happened to be standing too close. Their hairstyles were lavishly complicated, and they both wore too much rouge and a heavy application of dark eyeliner.
Morgana could not help but notice that the women had a different sort of effect on Jahn’s friends than had the other women who’d visited. Iann paled considerably, and the others put their heads together and whispered in what appeared to be excitement and concern. It was probably the profusion of breasts that excited them. Men were quite sensitive in that regard.
“This is ridiculous,” the fair-haired woman with spillage whispered loudly.
“We have to do something!” the dark-haired woman who looked burstable responded. “He wants to marry us off!” She looked at Morgana with narrowed, suspicious eyes. “Are you Ana Devlyn?” she asked.
“I am,” Morgana responded. “And you are?”
“Anrid,” the darker woman said crisply, not bothering with a last name.
“I’m Melusina,” the pouting blonde added.
“I’ve heard you can work wonders with beauty creams and hair tonics and such.” Anrid lifted her chin, almost as if daring Morgana to agree that she might need such things as beauty creams and tonics.
“I know a bit about such matters,” Morgana answered. “Is there anything in particular you are concerned about?” She knew what she would do to these two unfortunately clad women if given a free hand, but she couldn’t be sure what they wanted, and she did not wish to insult them. Bad taste aside, they obviously came from a well-to-do family. Those fabrics were quite expensive, and their shoes were remarkable. Were the jewels there real? Bejeweled shoes were not the norm, not in the world in which a sentinel’s wife lived. Someone wanted to marry them off. A father, perhaps? A beleaguered brother?
“Make us irresistible again,” Melusina said.
“To whom do you wish to be irresistible?” Morgana asked.
Both women looked at her as if she were daft. Finally Anrid said, “You have not been in Arthes long, I take it.”
“A few weeks,” Morgana admitted.
“Well, Melusina and I are the emperor’s favorites.”
“His favorite . . .” Morgana began.
“His favorite companions,” Melusina supplied delicately, and then she stuck out her lower lip. “At least we were, until he decided to take a bride. Now he’s determined to be proper even though he’s not yet married. He does not call for us anymore. As far as we can tell, he’s saving himself for his wedding night, as if he were a simpering virgin.”
Morgana didn’t argue that she saw nothing wrong with that. In fact, her estimation of the emperor rose a bit—and at the same time it plummeted. These crude, painted women were his favorites?
Anrid added, “He has even suggested to one of his advisers that we marry and move out of the palace. Can you imagine?”
“How can he resist these?” Melusina wailed, grabbing her breasts and hefting them in her hands as if they were melons at the market. “How can he wish to give them away to another man?” She shook her large breasts with each heated word, as if for emphasis.
Morgana was very glad that she didn’t have to worry about the emperor’s loose women and whether or not they remained in the palace after he chose a bride. He wouldn’t be the first emperor to keep a wife as well as women intended solely for pleasure. She was so relieved that she did not have to concern herself with such unpleasant matters! Refusing to participate in his ridiculous contest was the best decision she’d ever made—for many reasons. “I have found marriage not to be so terrible,” Morgana said with absolute honesty.
“You have not had the privilege of living in the palace as one of the emperor’s favorite playthings,” Anrid said hotly, “so your situation can hardly be compared to ours.” She sighed. “We were adored, and now he wants to cast us off. He will likely choose old men for us to marry—old, doddering, wealthy men who will squeeze our boobs too hard and never be able to play all night and into the morning, as the emperor used to do.”
Morgana looked at the women’s faces, trying to see beyond the unnatural color and the profusion of breasts. “You could choose your own husbands, I imagine,” she said. Both women were very attractive. Some might even call them beautiful, but dressed and made up as they were, it was difficult to tell. Not all men would be pleased to take the emperor’s castoffs, but there were those who might find it an honor.
“We would rather woo the emperor back into our beds,” Melusina said.
Morgana did not care if the emperor kept lovers or not. It was wrong, but he was not her emperor, after all. “Are you willing to allow me to make considerable changes to your appearance?”
“Yes,” both women said in unison.
“Will you trust me?”
“We’ll try anything,” Anrid said desperately.
Morgana nodded, and the women stepped forward.
“Devlyn,” Melusina said in an offhand manner, “that is your man’s name?”
“Yes,” Morgana answered, holding her breath.
Both women shrugged their shoulders, and Anrid said, “Never heard of him.”
Morgana let out a long, relieved breath. Thank God!
THREE weeks and three days remained until the First Night of the Summer Festival when Jahn received word that Lady Verity of Mirham had died in a horrible riding accident while on her way to the palace to be considered. He could not help but be dismayed. If he had not put this ridiculous contest into motion, then Lady Verity would still be alive. On top of everything else, he now had an innocent woman’s death on his head.
Why could he not have met Morgana in some normal way? Perhaps General Hydd, who had suggested her, could’ve invited Morgana and her father to court, where she could be presented. Would their feelings have grown as rapidly in that situation as they had in the workings of a lie? Would he still have his empress? He could not know—would never know. And still he mourned Lady Verity and cursed his foolishness.
Jahn dismissed the deputy minister who delivered the bad news, and did his best to return to business. His days were caught up in endless details. A drought in the Southern Province was already causing problems with the crops there. A land dispute to the north was getting out of hand. Settlers near the mountains to the north swore the shape-shifting Caradon and Anwyn were trying to force them away from land which had always been sacred and untouched.
General Hydd wanted to send soldiers north to handle both problems. Then again, the minister of defense was always ready for a fight. Jahn preferred diplomacy, which his general had declared a waste of time.
Father Braen had insisted upon having time with the emperor on this afternoon, so that plans for the wedding ceremony could be made. Everyone had his own ideas about what, how, and who . . . and none of them asked the emperor what he wanted. Jahn didn’t think it was because they didn’t care, but rather because they felt so strongly about their own opinions. There could be no other way.
As soon as Father Braen left, Blane burst into the room.
“My Lord,” Blane said, bowing deeply and then casting a
glance back to make sure they were alone. “It seems that your wife has two new clients on this afternoon.”
Jahn grimaced. “She has new clients every afternoon, does she not?”
“Yes, but these clients are”—Blane stopped and swallowed hard—“Melusina and Anrid.”
All his other concerns faded as for one terrible moment Jahn saw his neat plan, his marriage, his life falling apart before his eyes.
RIKKA felt oddly calm as that time which she had so longed for drew closer. Gyl was gone, and days after his departure she found she was incapable of mourning the loss of what she’d once known with him. He had been a weakness, and with Kristo’s help she’d finally rid herself of him, as she’d always known she must.
Kristo shared her bed when it suited him, and she found completion in his arms to be sharp and wonderful and sensational . . . and entirely devoid of emotion. What he offered her was physical release without the complication of an emotional component; he gave her pleasure without the demands of love. He did not ask her to change who she was or what she wanted, as Gyl had done. She liked it, more than she’d thought she would. Gyl’s demands had been draining, and had become more so in the past few years as he’d attempted to change her, to make her release her anger. The anger within her was so much a part of who she had become, she not only didn’t want to let it go—she was incapable of living without it.
After that one episode in her parlor, when Gyl had watched, Kristo did not find completion himself, not one time. Instead he examined her like a hawk as she enjoyed his cold touch, he studied her responses and seemed pleased when she found release—but not pleased enough to give anything of himself in return.
She didn’t care. What he did to her felt good, it made the long days of waiting a little less long. He amused her; he distracted her; he entertained her as she waited for the right time to travel to the palace to see the end to the scheme she had planned and executed. That time was coming soon.
Cold bastard or not, Kristo was going to deliver to Rikka the revenge she had longed for since the day she’d crawled out of Level Thirteen.
When Kristo joined her in the parlor on a rainy afternoon, Rikka wondered what sort of mood he would be in today. He’d spent hours in meditation lately, trying to locate the missing bridal candidate with his formidable magical powers. She was somewhat shocked that he had not yet been able to do so. Kristo saw so many secrets in his powerful mind—he knew so much of what had been and what was yet to be. And yet, he could not find one small, insignificant girl.
Thank goodness the other one was already theirs. Rikka didn’t know why Kristo preferred Lady Morgana, and she didn’t care. Lady Danya had proven to be quite malleable. She would do well enough.
When he burst into the parlor in a near rage, she knew he had tried again to find the Ramsden girl and once again had failed. Kristo was a man unaccustomed to failure. It did not agree with him at all. Most women—men, too—would be rightly frightened of Kristo in a rage, but Rikka simply watched him and admired his masculine form and his formidable power and his hypnotic eyes. She could not ask for a better partner in her quest.
“Nothing?” she prodded.
He looked directly at her, and she could swear she felt a chill even with a distance between them. “I think she is already in Arthes.”
“You think?”
“Yes. I believe that she is there, somewhere.”
“Arthes is a large city,” Rikka said. “Your uncertain belief that she is there somewhere is not particularly helpful.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Kristo shouted.
Rikka was not afraid of him, not as others were. He would shout and perhaps break a few things, and then he would strip her naked and with his cold body he would make her scream before leaving her shaking and spent while he departed from her unfulfilled. There were worse ways to spend an afternoon.
The angrier he was, the more fiercely he would take her. Rikka liked fierce. “Why is she different?” She took a step toward her lover and fellow conspirator.
“I’m too close to her, I suppose,” he admitted, his voice lowered but his eyes no less brutal. “It is harder for me to see those who are near to me.” His eyes bored through her. “There was a time when I could see into you very well, but lately I see almost nothing.”
Rikka smiled. “Because you love me?”
That got a grin out of Kristo. Rikka shuddered. The man should not smile. The expression did not agree with him at all. “I love no one,” he said, “but we have shared a physical closeness that clouds my knowledge.”
“Did you once share such a closeness with Lady Morgana?” Rikka asked. “Is that why you do not see her well?”
Kristo laughed loudly. It was a sound Rikka had never heard before and would be very happy never to hear again. His laugh grated like broken glass. “No, but I did fuck her mother a time or two.” He looked Rikka in the eye. “Lady Morgana is my daughter.”
HIS time of bliss was almost over. Jahn realized that too well. If he was not very careful, it would end very badly.
When Morgana had begun helping women with their beauty concerns, he had considered it a hobby which would keep her occupied while he tended to business in the palace. The pastime was harmless enough. That supposition had changed abruptly. Learning that his former mistresses had called upon his wife that very afternoon was more than a little disturbing. He’d had to wait for word that they were gone before he could even think about returning to the tavern! He was always careful not to be seen and recognized, but this was ridiculous. Morgana’s business was no longer a harmless hobby; it was a potential disaster waiting to explode in his face.
Morgana was obviously quite pleased with herself as she welcomed him home. After seeing Melusina and Anrid in the palace staircase as he’d made his way from one home to another, Jahn understood why. In a single afternoon, in a matter of hours, she had transformed them from painted ladies to pretty girls. She had, with a few small changes and a few large ones, given the women a touch of elegance they had never before known. Their faces had been scrubbed clean, and looked younger and softer. Their hair had been arranged simply, also taking years from their appearance. Though not primly styled, their clothing was no longer shocking. How had Morgana gotten them new gowns so quickly? The woman was a marvel.
Melusina and Anrid had been quite pleased with his surprised expression, even though he had not stopped to speak to them. He could not help but wonder what, besides the concerns of beauty and fashion, the three women had talked about during their long afternoon.
When Jahn walked into the room he now called home, Morgana kissed him well, a welcoming ritual he always began to crave long before it was time for him to return to this simple, false life he had created for himself. She loved him now, when she did not know who he was. Would she love him tomorrow?
“I have news,” Jahn said, giving Morgana a wide smile. “In the morning we’re moving into the palace.”
Her bright smile faded and she paled considerably. “I don’t want to move into the palace. I like it here.”
So did he, though he could not tell her how much. Jahn placed a hand on Morgana’s cheek. “My friends have been missed at the palace, and some of them have hardly seen their families in the past few weeks because they’re so often here. I cannot continue to ask them to make that sacrifice. In the palace I can see that you are safe with a much smaller contingent of guards.”
It was tedious to leave the palace dressed as an emperor and guarded by an entourage, duck into one private place or another and change clothes, then make his way to the tavern as another sort of man, but tediousness would not make him change this routine. Keeping Morgana in the dark a bit longer—that was what motivated him.
“Do I really need . . .”
“Yes,” Jahn said sharply, not giving her a chance to finish her question. “You are precious to me, and I will not leave you unguarded.”
“Other women are not escorted about town by four
armed guards,” she argued.
“Other women are not my wife,” Jahn replied.
“During the daylight hours I see many of them out and about unaccompanied.”
“The last time you were out unaccompanied, you were frightened.”
“Needlessly so, since I didn’t know you had your friends following me. I can take care of myself.”
“There is no need, not as long as I take care of you.”
Her expression softened. “You make it so difficult to argue with you. What about my business?” she asked. “Will I be able to work here still, or will there be a place for me in the palace?”
Jahn took a deep breath. She was not going to like this change, he suspected. “For now, I have made arrangements for you to work for the palace laundress. The pay will be much better than what you’re bringing in with your little venture, and . . .”
He knew he was in trouble when her eyes went hard. “My little venture?”
“I’m not saying you can’t earn some money of your own.” For now, when she was ignorant of her true position . . . “It’s just . . .”
“My little venture?” she said again.
Obviously that was a poor choice of words on his part. “I want you to be happy,” he said. “More than once you have wondered aloud what we’ll do when we have children. You’re right; you have been right all along. We cannot raise our sons and daughters in a small room over a tavern; we cannot make a home for a family here.” He gave her a smile and tried to picture the Level Seven room he had in mind. No one used that level much anymore, as it had once been the home of witches and wizards and less-than-wholesome magic, and many palace residents were a mite suspicious. He could do with that entire level as he pleased. “There is a room there that is at least three times as large as this one, and the emperor has promised it to me.”
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