The Sorcerer's Concubine (The Telepath and the Sorcerer Book 1)

by Jaclyn Dolamore

  “The sight of you is worth waiting for,” he said.

  She used to wonder, sometimes, if men ever got a Fanarlem girl home and changed his mind when he saw the reality of her artificial form. Her body seemed a shameful thing, the charade of a real woman, and what beauty she had did not feel like her own but rather something that was placed upon her. She grew up knowing that the man who bought her might want to change her. He might decide she needed larger breasts or the exotic touch of red hair—more expensive features that would always be added after purchase.

  It was so different now, far from the House, seeing herself in Grau’s eyes. To him, she was a work of craftsmanship. She couldn’t take credit for that, but it made her wonder if the person who made her thought of his work the way Grau thought of his magic.

  Whatever the case, this body was hers now. She could settle into this skin because he obviously didn’t want to change it.

  He continued to pull the undergarment down, tossing it aside, leaving her naked except for the stockings.

  He lay down beside her, putting his arms around her, gathering her close, skin to skin. His warmth seemed to slowly melt into her, and as always it felt like something she remembered, being warm from within.

  He nudged her hair away from her neck, placing kisses there that barely brushed her skin. She felt her body relax, her legs parting, her back melting into the pillows, like a flower opening to the spring. He ran his hands along her thighs, pausing when he found the little buttons sewn to the back of her legs that were hidden beneath the ribbons. He unbuttoned them, and loosened the ribbons, and slowly peeled the silk away from her skin, as he kept kissing her neck and chest and finally, her breasts.

  She had always expected, when the moment came, to feel like a slave submitting to her duty, so it was surprising how much this seemed the opposite. His soft kisses made her feel like something so treasured that it was she who had his heart—she who could hurt him. He ran a hand over her breast, her stomach, her thigh, and she looked at him through her long lashes, making no move to touch him in return, although he was also beautiful, with his lean, strong body, his olive skin, his light brown eyes slightly slanted and mysterious. The pulse of life within him that stirred her soul as if she hadn’t really lived until she felt the beat of his heart.

  “Velsa…” He suddenly gathered her up in his arms, holding her against him and under him, not quite placing his full weight upon her. His erection pressed against her and he let out a shuddering breath into her ear.

  “Go slowly,” she whispered.

  He climbed out of bed, cold air rushing in behind him. She propped herself up on one elbow, watching him rummage in his bag. He took out the small bottle of oil that Dalarsha must have given him.

  “Let’s try this…” He poured a little onto his fingers. “Letting it warm up a bit…”

  He slid his fingers inside her, swirling the warm oil to coat the surface of her passage, and an unexpected tremble of pleasure made her gasp.

  “Oh—oh dear,” she said. “This feeling…”

  “Does it hurt?” His movements stopped.

  “No…,” she groaned.

  “Have you never pleasured yourself?”

  “No…no. I didn’t even have those parts until my final body, and they told us that if we touched them, they’d strip our hands off. We’re supposed to be pure until the day we’re acquired…”

  “Well, that doesn’t help anything. I don’t approve.” His two fingers now slowly stroked along the top side of her passage, and his thumb reached up to stroke the little fold between her mounds, so his fingers seemed to pinch her in a vise of pleasure. Ripples of sensation fluttered through her.

  “Although maybe there is something to it,” he said, “because you look so deliciously surprised…”

  Her back arched. She stared at the ceiling, clawing the sheet. Her legs were utterly limp but her toes curled. Her entire body seemed to be narrowing to a pinpoint and was the heat inside her only her imagination?

  “Grau…”

  He sped up the motion of his thumb. She felt like there was a bird beating its wings inside her, begging to be set free. She gasped for breath, feeling like she needed to draw in air for the first time in her life.

  He drew his hand away.

  “No, no, please don’t stop,” she begged.

  “Let me be inside you when you release, bellora…”

  ‘Bellora’ was a word that unmarried men in the land called eligible women of their class, but for married men, this term of endearment was only for their wives. She wondered which way he meant it, but either way, no Fanarlem girl was called ‘bellora’.

  She could hardly bear the moments it took him to remove his pants and resettle beside her. He drew the blanket over them, sheltering them against the cold room. He pressed her shoulders against the wall beside the bed, pinning her in a nest of warmth.

  He gazed at her, drawing out the moment, to her exquisite torture. His hands grazed her thighs and stomach, coming just short of touching her between the legs again.

  “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” he asked impishly.

  “Grau, please.”

  He wrapped his hands around her buttocks and slowly pierced her. She dug her fingernails into his back.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “A little, but…”

  “That is a tight little space,” he said. “Of course, I’m sure they have this all planned out at the House of Perfumed Ribbons. It certainly wouldn’t be good for business if any man had to order a smaller part. If it keeps hurting, we could maybe…customize you a little better.”

  “You talk too much,” she said, her body still hungry for what his hand had promised.

  “Yes, madam.”

  He thrust deeper, still gripping her bottom, and then slowly drew out—almost all the way—then slowly slid his way back in. He filled her completely, and she almost felt like he could tear her up, but the pain seemed to ebb after a few strokes. She grabbed his hair, maybe a little too hard, as if some part of her wanted to cause him pain too. He drew in a sharp breath but didn’t fight her.

  “Oh, Velsa…I’m so glad you’re mine…” He kissed her fully now, his tongue in her willing mouth. She tasted mint—it had seasoned their salad at dinner. His weight pressed upon her fully, her rib cage creaking with protest, but she was made of strong enough stuff for this, and she didn’t have to breathe. She liked the feeling of him crushing her, his hips rocking deep into her—she felt like she was becoming a part of him. His fingers entwined with hers. He held her hands against the mattress.

  I will belong to this man forever, she thought. It was a fact, but just now it was also a comfort. She felt safe, and deeply valued. Her skin was alive with his touch, sensations rolling through her core.

  If only life could always be this simple.

  His motions quickened. She moaned. Her body hovered on the brink of explosion. She shifted the angle of her hips, trying to get to the spot that never seemed to quite be fulfilled. She drew her knees up higher, wrapping her legs around him.

  Something was happening, warmth and a pleasure that was almost pain, and yet not pain at all. She cried out, and then clamped her mouth shut because she didn’t want his family to hear—even if it would shut his father up. Waves of joy shuddered down her legs; just when she feared it might end there was another.

  As it was finally ebbing, he suddenly sped up and she cried out again. It was too much now; she was so tender. He gripped her tightly and she felt his hot seed inside her. She didn’t move at first; she wanted to feel it before the vanishing spell swallowed it up. He slowed, shuddering, gently kissing her cheek as his own climax came to an end.

  He drew out of her carefully.

  She stared at the ceiling with wonder. He was breathing hard, and almost laughed. “That was all right, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes…,” she murmured dreamily.

  He picked up one of her stockings and drew the silk back over her
leg, buttoning them back in place. Even those little stitches that held the buttons were sensitive enough to send a little shiver up her back. He tied the ribbon tight around her thigh again, and then moved to the other leg.

  By the time he had finished this, she was ready for more.

  She fell asleep in his arms, staying so close to him that a flesh and blood woman might have felt crushed. She liked it when Grau’s arms were around her, when his leg draped across hers. Her body had none of the restlessness of a flesh and blood person; she didn’t care if she could barely even move. She felt so safe pressed against him like their bodies might become one during the night. Maybe it was something her soul had missed in this life, having never been carried by a mother…although she certainly didn’t feel like Grau's child.

  A small whisking sound in the early morning hours made her stir. She opened her eyes and saw, in the wan light of dawn, a figure sweeping the floor.

  A Fanarlem servant. Servant or slave? The family always said ‘servant’, and by this Velsa supposed they might have been paid a wage, but just like her, they would have very little freedom even if they left.

  The figure wore a long brown tunic and trousers with sturdy but well-worn shoes. It had hair made of long brown yarn, worn in a braid in what seemed almost a mockery of Daramon fashions.

  Abruptly, as if it felt Velsa’s eyes upon it, the thing turned and stared at her. Its glass eyes looked as real as her own, but the rest of its features were a crude imitation. It had no eyelashes, no lips, no nostrils—just two little black stitches on her nose to suggest them.

  She couldn’t even tell if it was male or female.

  The stare in its eyes turned to a glare of hatred, the features contorting into such disgust that Velsa shut her own eyes against it. She pulled the blanket over her face. She didn’t know what to do but hide.

  Grau’s arms didn’t feel safe anymore.

  That creature was her own kind. It looked nothing like her, but that was simply chance. She could have had its life; it could have had hers.

  Maybe she should have counted her lucky stars or maybe she should have felt sympathy toward the thing, asked Grau where the servants lived and whether she might do something to brighten their days. Instead she felt only a bottomless horror. She never wanted to see the Fanarlem servant again.

  Chapter 7

  A few days later, Grau and Velsa were playing a more serious game of chatrang, but they both looked up when a messenger stopped by with a letter for Preya.

  “Senirin is having a dance,” she said. “On Saturday. She says you’re welcome to come too, Grau, before you go on patrol.”

  “Hmm.”

  Preya glanced at Velsa like, See, there he goes. “I know you don’t like dances much, but it’ll be your last chance to see your friends in town. Don’t make me go alone.”

  “I can’t leave Velsa home alone with Ma and Papa.”

  “Bring her, then!” Preya stretched onto her tip toes. She was not one for sitting still or even standing still. “It’s not beyond the bounds of etiquette. You don’t have a wife.”

  “I know, but no one else has a concubine in Marjon. It’s such a city thing. I’m not sure how people will react.”

  “Since when are you one to care how other people react?”

  “Since I have Velsa’s feelings to protect.”

  “We’ll both be there, and we’ll both protect her,” Preya said decisively. “You’ll have to face this someday, unless you intend to never come home. Better to do it now.”

  Velsa dreaded the occasion herself, but hopefully the Thanneau siblings together would provide a buffer.

  On Sunday afternoon, trying her best to ignore the anxious fluttering inside her, Velsa donned the nicer dress Grau had purchased for her. It was a knee-length frock with a sash belt and loose long sleeves, worn with wool leggings. The colors were muted and reminded her of the marshes; a dark green for the tunic, and fawn for the leggings, but the sash was a rich blue.

  “Let me do something with your hair,” Preya said, inviting Velsa to sit before her bedroom mirror. Her bedroom was messy, strewn with shirts and socks. The cage for some probably long-dead pet sat in one corner. The walls were pasted with some pictures of actresses; humid air had rippled them.

  “Are those actresses you fancy?” Velsa asked, letting just a little mischief into her tone, like she used to talk with the other girls at the House. She was quite comfortable talking to Preya by now.

  “They’re all the same one, actually. Contalla Prenzata. I saw her perform once, when Mama took me to Nisa. She can look a thousand different ways. It was actually seeing her that solidified my feelings in my own mind. It’s well known that she’s a lesbian, but she’s an actress, so it doesn’t matter. Actresses can do what they like.”

  “You have the freedom, that you could do something else.”

  Preya lifted Velsa’s hair, revealing the entire length of her neck, so the golden band was plain to see. “Have you ever been without this?” she asked.

  “Only for a minute, when my body was changed as I got older…”

  “Such a little innocent looking thing you are.” She let Velsa’s hair fall down again, and brushed with careful strokes. “But I wonder if deep down you must hate us all.”

  “Of course I don’t hate you.” Velsa wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or offended. Of course she didn’t hate Grau and Preya…but she rather liked the suggestion that she could, that Preya credited her with having such dark and secret thoughts.

  “We keep you captive.”

  “You don’t.”

  “Grau does.”

  “You’re not afraid of telepaths?”

  “I am. And I know he’s scared for you. He cares about you, and he feels deeply responsible for your welfare. He’s never had a care in the world, before. You’re good for him. But…doesn’t it always hurt the soul to be under lock and key? Maybe there’s no help for it, though.” Preya opened a drawer and fished out the ornaments. “I don’t think I’ll do the buns again. Your hair is lovely framing your face. But maybe two little braids, crossed in the back, with some cloth flowers.”

  Preya wove two segments of Velsa’s hair into plaits, her hands gentle as always. When this was done, Preya unpinned her own braids. Her hair fell past her waist, black and thick. If Velsa could grow her own hair, she would have enviable locks, too. Maybe Grau would be wealthy someday, and could buy her such hair.

  “If you belonged to me, I would have to remove your band, just once, when we made love,” Preya said. “To know what it felt like, to share my thoughts with someone else.”

  Velsa flushed. “You wouldn’t be scared of sharing your thoughts?”

  “Not with a concubine. I know you’d be hesitant to tell my secrets. It would make us a little closer to equal. And it would be a relief, to have one person who really knew me.”

  “Would you know my thoughts, too?”

  “Maybe. I’m not sure how it works. It probably depends on how much control you have.”

  Not much, Velsa thought. Maybe it was for the best that Grau didn’t remove the band. She didn’t want him to know her thoughts. Most of her life, she rarely even thought about the band.

  But it was beginning to feel tight and heavy around her neck. As if she had grown out of it, somehow.

  Grau looked so handsome, dressed for the dance, in dashing black with his boots freshly polished. And Preya, too, with her hair in one loose braid woven with ribbons, and a crimson tunic and fur-edged cloak. Velsa was able to shove aside her nerves and all her troubled thoughts of telepathy and freedom.

  They took the canoe into town, Grau weaving magic with his hands to speed the waters along while Preya paddled, so the ride was swift and smooth.

  The night was on the early edge of sunset. Lanterns already blazed on the streets. The dance was held in the town meeting hall, a large wooden structure painted white with symbols of welcome painted on the doors and shutters: horseshoes and grapes. Music
was already playing from inside; the formal dances popular in Atlantis. Velsa had been taught a few of the common ones at the House.

  Inside, the room was warm from dozens of bodies and hundreds of candles, magnified by mirrors along the back wall. The band was in one corner, a bar at the other. People were dancing in sets of four, couples twirling around and then rejoining the square to hold hands, kick and clap in time with the music. Different drum beats signaled different moves, to aid anyone who forgot the steps.

  Immediately, several people rushed forward to greet Grau and Preya. A pretty girl with curly hair kissed Preya’s cheek in greeting, while Grau introduced Velsa to some other young men.

  Their reaction was predictable by now. “Damn, Thanneau, she isn’t bad looking.” “I didn’t know Fanarlem came that pretty.” “What is it like?” They spoke as if she wasn’t there.

  “Please,” Grau said. “She was worth every coin and then some and that’s all you need to know.”

  “Ooh,” one of them said.

  “Grau!” Preya smacked his arm, turning away from her own cluster of friends. “What kind of response is that?”

  “What? She means a lot to me.”

  “Well, your boorish friends are taking it the wrong way.”

  “Boorish?” One of them clutched his heart in mock offense. “We said she’s pretty. What do you want?”

  Now Preya’s friends were starting to gather around Velsa too. “She looks so real…” “She has fingernails!”

  “That’s enough,” Preya said. She sounded uncertain now, whether this had been a good idea. “Velsa is pretty much a normal person. She could basically be Grau’s wife.”

  “Grau’s wife?” one short, snappy-eyed girl asked, sounding appalled.