Treason
Page 7
Tavia stared for a long space, another one of those terrible moments when time froze. Finally she said, "You... aren't my maid any more, Elunet." And a slow, wicked smile spread across her face.
Elunet got to her feet, and kissed her.
Tavia kissed back hungrily, her lips soft and full and her tongue flicking against Elunet's own lips with maddening sensuality. One hand pressed hard into Elunet's back and slid down to grasp her bottom. Elunet gasped and slid her own hands around to Tavia's buttons. Her hands were shaking, her breath was shaking, as she fumbled with buttons again and again and couldn't get them undone fast enough, and at the same time Tavia was undoing her buttons too, and then she was pulling down bodice and sleeves and Tavia was pulling off hers and they were tangled in wool and linen and had to separate for a frustrating moment to free each other of their dresses. Tavia was as delicious as ever in her corset, generous breasts high and round with a deep valley between and broad hips curving out from her cinched waist. Elunet yanked out the bow, tore at the laces until they were gone, as Tavia undid Elunet's own bodice. Free of constraining garments, they tumbled toward the pallet, Elunet already feeling at the full ripe richness of Tavia's breasts free beneath her shift, burning. Elunet was on top and Tavia pulled her shift up over her head, and then they rolled and Tavia was on top and Elunet pulled her shift off, and then they rolled again.
Sweet Harvest Goddess, Tavia was beautiful naked, with her golden curls spilling over her bare shoulders and her face and chest flushed clear down to her rosy nipples, gasping and panting. They writhed, Elunet's olive skin against Tavia's fair skin, Elunet's slim body firm with muscle against Tavia's voluptuous glory. Elunet's hand found Tavia's thigh, and Tavia gasped; slid up, and Tavia moaned. Elunet kissed in a long damp trail all the way down until lips and tongue and hand all met and moved together and Elunet felt an echo of Tavia's shuddering ecstasy.
Tavia lay back trembling, recovering, and then her hands slid down, the perfect size to fit Elunet's small breasts, and one slid down over her taut belly to her thighs and where they met, and Elunet whimpered with need. Tavia's lips were hot on her earlobe and then her neck and then her breast and then she felt Tavia say something between her legs and she didn't know or care what because her warm breath there felt so good. And then Elunet's world was building tightness and unbearable pleasure and intense, astonishing release.
Lamplight cast flickering shadows on the wall as they lay spent and cooling on the pallet. Elunet lay with her head on Tavia's shoulder, playing with a curly tendril of her hair. It looped around her fingers like a golden ring.
"What do you think the future will be like?" Tavia murmured.
"Better than the past, I hope. I was saving for the future, but I never really decided exactly what I was saving for." Elunet smiled. "I suppose this is as good as anything."
"I never really liked to think about the future," Tavia said. "After I started at the Collegium, at least. Before that, I spent my whole life hoping Father would let me go. Now, I've spent the last few years with a terrible dread in the back of my mind—graduation."
Elunet chuckled, and closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of Tavia—rose and almond and woman—and feeling her bare warm skin and the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. But eventually the past intruded on Elunet's mind, and she contemplated it for a time, and then spoke.
"For years I seldom thought about the future, or about—about the larger implications of what I was doing. Oh, I knew about city politics, but I didn't really connect what I did to how the information I gathered might be used." Elunet shivered, and Tavia's arms encircled her. "I hope it hasn't gotten anyone else hurt."
Tavia was quiet for a time. "I don't know what my magic will mean. It'll take me a long time to work up to long-distance transport—probably years, if I get it to work that way at all. And if it does... I remember one of our ships carrying a cargo of spices sank when I was a little girl. Father was very upset about how much money we lost, but all my brother and I could think of were the sailors that drowned in the ocean." She turned her head toward the small open window in the middle of the wall. "Everything we do, every change, can have repercussions that we don't expect. We need to think about them before we act—but we can't stop acting out of fear of what our actions will lead to. Because the only way to do that is to stop living."
"I think this change will lead to good things," Elunet said. "I'll find work, and you'll study magic, and we'll live in Telar and think about what's going to happen when you're Lady Mellas some other time." She paused. "If you want me to keep living here."
"I think it's best if we keep an eye on each other. And not many people would dare to harm us in a whole Collegium full of mages." Tavia laid her left hand gently on Elunet's breast—not stroking, just cradling it. No urgency, just tenderness. "And I... I'd like you to be with me. And we can do that here."
Elunet's eyes went wide. "Openly?"
"More or less. I know a lot of mages who... who are women who like women. Or men who like men. Or people who like both men and women." Tavia sighed. "It's a different world, here."
"I've always liked exploring new places," Elunet said.
"Oh, have you?" Tavia's tone turned Elunet's remark into innuendo she hadn't intended.
"Yes. I have." Elunet smiled and kissed Tavia again, without lies, without masks, without betrayal.
FIN
About the Author
Althea Claire Duffy is the pen name of a 30-something librarian from a one-stoplight town in western Massachusetts. She spent her childhood dreaming of being a writer, acquired an impractical degree in a fit of youthful naivete, worked too many different jobs, and moved to Boston for grad school in her mid-twenties. After some floundering and a lot of getting lost, she fell in love with her adopted city and never left. For years, she wrote little and finished less, but an early midlife crisis of sorts pushed her back into writing—and, for the first time since age fourteen, pursuing publication.
She's an introvert, an eclectic reader, a computer and tabletop roleplaying gamer and occasional game master, an amateur mezzo-soprano, a fan of classical and international/world music, and a metalhead. A soft, fuzzy center is hidden beneath her cynical, prickly exterior, sort of like an artichoke. She likes art museums, eccentric vegetables, and snarking Z-grade movies.
Website: http://www.altheaclaireduffy.com
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Twitter: @AltheaCDuffy