Emissary

by Melissa McShane

  Dakariou, Zerafine thought. “Because you did everything right,” she told the girl. “You know you probably saved my life? If you hadn’t screamed, that man wouldn’t have come.”

  Nacalia perked up. “I saved your life?”

  “You did. I owe you a lot.”

  “Can I have the rest of your juice?”

  “I think I owe you more than that.”

  “That’s okay. I like juice plenty.” She drained the carafe without using the glass. Aesoron appeared beside them with a full carafe and whisked the empty one away. He was good.

  Gerrard came out, fully dressed—what a shame—and fastening his belt. “I’m leaving now to take care of the bed you promised your savior,” he said, “and I probably won’t be back until late, so don’t stay up waiting. Nacalia will get you whatever you need.” He took up his staff from where it leaned against the wall.

  “Wait,” Zerafine said. “You have to know something already.”

  Gerrard sat down next to her. “The god’s curse was powerful,” he said. “It killed them, so they must have meant to leave you dead. They—they must have hurt you badly, by the way it burned them from the inside out.” He turned his head away for a moment, and Zerafine impulsively took his hand. His skin was warm and dry, the palm striped with calluses, and he closed his other hand over hers and gripped it for a moment. “I’m fine now,” she said, and he released her. She pushed away memories of hard hands, a boot to the jaw.

  “Dakariou seems confident that his sources could identify them, missing eyes or no,” he went on. “They meant it to look like a typical robbery gone wrong. It was supposed to seem as if your bearers had wandered into a bad part of the city and then abandoned you when they were set upon. But there was no evidence of anyone there but you and your attackers, who were dressed as bearers themselves. There’s no question this was premeditated. I’m meeting Dakariou at the transport company to find out what happened to the real team.”

  “Will you be able to find who was behind it?”

  “I hope so,” he said, but he didn’t sound confident.

  “We know who was behind it,” she said.

  “Us knowing isn’t the same as proof. I can’t walk into one of the wealthiest estates in Portena and start swinging.”

  “There has to be something we can do. Alita must have been truly desperate to try this.”

  “Alita has the resources to cover this up. It was sheer luck you survived.”

  “Perhaps Sintha’s watching over me instead of Alita.”

  “Don’t joke about it,” he said. He stood up. “Rest. Eat. Sleep.”

  “You keep telling me that as if you don’t think I’m listening.”

  “I know you hear what I’m saying. I don’t trust that you’ll listen.” He looked as if he wanted to say more, then shook his head. “I’ll see you later,” he said.

  After the door closed behind him, Nacalia said, “Sentare told me I could sit on you if you di’nt obey.”

  “I’ll tickle you until you turn blue if you try.”

  “You wouldn’t.” But she retreated to the end of the couch, just out of reach. “I can bring you stuff.”

  “Why don’t you—” Sending her to the book stall Gerrard had mentioned was probably a bad idea; who knew what she’d come back with? “Let’s play that game you were playing with Gerrard the other day,” she said instead.

  They played several rounds of the game. Nacalia won all of them, Zerafine being distracted by her private thoughts. She had to tell him sometime. Sooner would be better. She couldn’t tell him. She had to tell him. Someone came to the door with an enormous bouquet of flowers and a note from Dakariou, apologizing for his role in the attack—what role?—and wishing her a speedy recovery. It made her tear up for a moment. After a while, she told Nacalia she wanted to rest and that the girl could go out and amuse herself for a while. She lay on the couch, sleepless, trying out opening gambits.

  Gerrard, we’ve known each other a long time—

  Gerrard, I know this is going to be awkward—

  It’s only fair I should tell you—

  You’ve always been my best friend, but now—

  I hope you’ll understand when I tell you—

  I love you—

  Eventually, in desperation, she sent Aesoron to the book stall. He returned with a history of religion in Portena that mostly kept her thoughts occupied.

  “The ancient people,” she read,

  lived in fear of the natural forces that shaped their lives. The gods heard their pleas and obeyed. (What god do you pray to if your heart is so heavy with love you can barely breathe?) They cast wide their nets and brought down the powers of heaven and earth, wind and sky, water and fire, took them out of themselves and tamed them to their own purposes. (I can barely tame myself. Someday, sometime, I’ll slip up, and he’ll look at me with bewilderment in those gray eyes and not even know me.) Kalindi built her throne where their great victory was won, and all eyes turned upon her.

  She already knew this. She flipped ahead a few pages.

  The eldest of them, Atenas, He Who Walks Alone, stood apart from the gods, and would not join their victory. They pleaded with Him that they might be One, but He turned His back on the gods and went His own way. But Atenas took compassion upon men, whose spirits would have been lost after death. For their sake, He made a place for them in His courts. Thus do the Twelve bless us in life, and the One judge us after death.

  Atenas as savior. It was not a perspective she’d heard often outside the gates of Atenar. She laid the book down on its face, careful of its spine, and stared at the ceiling. No cracks to suggest humorous figures. She wondered how well received the book was in this bastion of Kalindi worship. No one in Portena was likely to take well to the idea that Atenas was the Goddess’s superior in any way, even if only in age. She wondered who the author was.

  Someone knocked at the front door, and it swung open without an invitation. Berenica entered. Zerafine sat up, too quickly, and her head swam for a moment. It seemed she really wasn’t as well as she believed.

  “I came to see how you were getting on,” Berenica said. She gathered her red robe around her and sat on a couch opposite Zerafine. Her beautiful voice was cool, neutral. She glanced at the book next to Zerafine. “Interesting reading choice,” she said.

  “It was Aesoron’s,” Zerafine replied. “He has impeccable taste. I’m enjoying it very much.”

  “Thank you,” said Berenica. “It’s nice to be appreciated.”

  “You wrote this?” Zerafine exclaimed, then, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so astonished.”

  “It’s not exactly what one expects from a thelis,” Berenica admitted.

  “But—and again I apologize for my incredulity—why?”

  “There is so much fear of Our Lord,” Berenica said. “So much misunderstanding. Preaching is useless. We teach people not to fear simply by doing our duty, consoling ghosts, helping people come to terms with their loved ones’ deaths, or their own, and even then we risk being called murderers. As you know.” Berenica rolled her sleeves away from her hands. “I saw an opportunity to reach people another way. Tell the old familiar stories, but tell them as we learn them, with Atenas playing a vital role in the works of the gods.”

  “Is it...popular? Did it accomplish your goal?”

  Berenica smiled. “It’s not being read by everyone, but people have begun to talk about it. Discuss it. I admit it’s gratifying.” The old Berenica surfaced, a gleam of pride in her eye.

  “I think...it would never have occurred to me to take your approach. I suppose I thought of those stories as sacred because we don’t talk of them to others. But that’s not true.”

  “No, it isn’t. I sent a few copies to Atenar and the Marathelos approved. Arland, on the other hand, started an ongoing correspondence battle about my interpretations of certain points of doctrine.”

  Zerafine laughed. “I can imagine he would.”

&n
bsp; Berenica smiled. “He’s never been happy that this shrine holds some of the oldest sacred records of our sect. He wants them all safe where he can see them.”

  “I didn’t know that! What records?”

  “Nothing special. The creation story, the records of our earliest theloi and their journeys. The Unholy Wars. It’s their age that makes them special, not their contents. There are hundreds of copies in Atenar.”

  “I’d love to see those records.”

  “Perhaps when you’re well.”

  The conversation died off. Zerafine wondered at the change in Berenica’s attitude. Perhaps all it took to win her over was to nearly die.

  “I officiated at Alestiou’s funeral this morning,” Berenica said. “I heard you’ve been blamed for his death.”

  “He asked for Our Lord’s blessing, and I gave it to him.” She remembered the look of peace on the great man’s face. “He was in so much pain.”

  “I owe you a debt for that,” said Berenica. “It should have been I who gave it to him. I...have not treated you well. It’s been difficult for me to do my duty, this last year, and I lashed out at you in guilt.” Her voice was tense. Zerafine could imagine how much this admission cost the proud tokthelis.

  “I was not kind to you,” Zerafine said, and realized it was true. “I resented your treatment of me because I was so proud of my responsibility and wanted to be praised for it.”

  “It seems we’ve been guilty of the same sin,” said Berenica, and a tiny smile touched her lips and was gone.

  “Pride butting heads with pride,” Zerafine sighed. “How exhausting.”

  “I agree.” Berenica rose. “I’ll leave you to rest now. Thank you for the visit.”

  “Thank you,” said Zerafine, meaning it. “I’ll come by in a few days to see those records, if it’s all right with you.”

  “Of course,” said Berenica, inclining her head. “Rest well.” She left, closing the door quietly behind her.

  Well. This was a day for surprises. Zerafine picked the book up and turned it over in her hands. Berenica an author. That was a new one. She’d misjudged the woman entirely.

  Chapter Twenty

  Nacalia came back and wanted to be entertained. They played a few more games until dinner. Gerrard still wasn’t back. Zerafine was firmly but gently instructed that she was to take her meal on the couch. She’d started to hate the couch. After dinner, she read a little more. Berenica really was talented. She had put a new spin on old legends that kept Zerafine’s interest despite her thorough familiarity with the sources.

  Eventually, tired of waiting for Gerrard despite his instructions, she lay down on her bed and folded her arms across her stomach. She would tell him tonight. She couldn’t bear the tension any longer; it had sat like a ball of acid in her stomach ever since Berenica’s visit. He had to come home eventually, and she would tell him no matter how late it was. Then she would flee to her room and cry.

  She’d begun drifting off when she heard the front door open and close. Her heart began pounding. Wait until he goes into his room. But he went into the bathing room instead. Surely he isn’t going to bathe at this time of night? What time is it, exactly?

  She heard the bathing room door close, then, farther away, his bedroom door. Now, before you lose your nerve. She slid out of bed and went down the hall, and knocked. “Gerrard?” she said. Her voice trembled.

  “What are you doing still awake?” he said through the door.

  “I want to talk to you.” Come on, open the door and let’s get this over with.

  “Can it wait until morning?”

  “No.”

  There was a pause. “You have to promise not to laugh.”

  Zerafine raised her eyebrows. “Why would I laugh at you?”

  “Just promise.”

  “I promise.”

  A moment later, he opened the door and stood glaring down at her. He was dressed for sleep, shirtless and wearing his undershorts. She put her hands over her mouth.

  He’d shaved his beard. A part of her mind registered the newly revealed smooth line of his jaw, his firm chin, but the rest of her was preoccupied with not laughing. The top part of his face was its usual sunburned red, the color it always turned in summertime. The lower half of his face, the part the beard had obscured, was as pale as his chest.

  She choked on her laughter. His belligerent stance dared her to let it out. She couldn’t help herself. Her hands couldn’t keep it in.

  “Thanks,” he said bitterly, and moved to shut the door. She stepped into the doorway, blocking it.

  “I’m not laughing at you,” she said. “I’m just imagining what you must have felt—you have it shaved off, and then—”

  His hand went to cover his face. He turned away and went to sit on the bed. She followed him, closing the door behind her. The chickens on the wall mocked her.

  “Whatever possessed you to get rid of it?” she asked.

  “I was trying to impress a woman,” he said.

  She stopped laughing. The ball of acid returned with a vengeance. So it didn’t matter after all. “I hope she appreciates it,” she said, trying for a light tone.

  He glared at her briefly, then turned away again. “Right now she’s laughing at me after she promised not to,” he said.

  It took her a moment to register his words. Her ears rang with them. All her carefully planned words vanished into the distance. Dimly, she realized that he was speaking again.

  “I couldn’t figure out why I hated Dakariou so much,” he said. “I thought it was because he was using you to further whatever plans he had. It wasn’t until he asked you to dinner, and you said yes, and he was looking at you the way a man looks at a woman he desires, and I thought, She’s going to sleep with someone, and it’s not going to be me. And I wanted it so desperately to be me.” He blew out his breath explosively. “I thought I could get past it, because I owe you that much. But I love you, Zerafine. It’s not possible for me to be around you and not think of being near you, of kissing you and holding you and...well. Please go. I can’t face you now. I can’t bear to see you look at me with disdain, or embarrassment, or worse, pity. I just can’t.”

  She heard her own thoughts echo in his words. A dozen feelings raged inside her, but the one that came out on top was pure, beautiful relief. Without a word, she stood in front of him, slid her hand along his smooth cheek, and kissed him.

  If kissing Dakariou had been pleasurable, kissing Gerrard was like a revelation. She pulled away and saw that she’d surprised him. Of course she had. His gray eyes were wide and his face was frozen in astonishment. She brushed her lips against his once more and murmured, “Don’t make me do all the work, love.”

  Then his arms went around her waist and he was kissing her until she couldn’t breathe. She pulled away just enough to gasp and heard him laugh a relieved, joyful laugh. He kissed her again, kissed the column of her throat, then went back to her lips. “You’d better not be doing this out of pity,” he whispered, and she put her arms around the back of his neck and showed him just how little pity had to do with it.

  They broke apart, after a long, long moment, and gazed at one another. They both started to laugh, Gerrard’s booming deep chuckle harmonizing with Zerafine’s higher peals of mirth. “I can’t believe it,” Zerafine said. “You—”

  “You—”

  “I was in agony all day, not knowing how to tell you.”

  “You were in agony? I thought you were going to die without knowing how I felt.”

  “I thought you were angry with me.”

  “I was dying of jealousy is what I was. When did you know? How long?”

  “I figured it out when I kissed Dakariou.”

  “You did what?”

  “Take a breath, my love. It was only once or twice. Long enough for me to realize I was kissing the wrong man.”

  “I knew he deserved more than the one punch I gave him.”

  “Why did you hit the poor man? He�
�s got to be half your size.”

  “I told you. Jealousy and pure terror. Remember, at the time I thought you were dying.”

  “I’m really glad I didn’t die.”

  “So am I.” He pulled her close to him again and kissed her, just once, but long and sweet. She put her arms around his neck, ran her fingers down his bare spine. He smelled good, like wood smoke and the minty scent of whatever he washed his hair with and pure healthy male. “This is like a dream,” he whispered in her ear.

  “Better than a dream,” she replied, and she kissed him again, this time with intent. She could feel heat rising in her, starting in her chest and ending somewhere between her thighs. “Help me take this off,” she said, pulling at the hem of her gown.

  “Are you well enough?”

  She gave him a direct look. “I have been lying on that couch all day. I was lying on my bed until ten minutes ago. If I’m going to lie down again it will be on my terms, with you beside me.”

  He helped her peel her dress off over her head and remove her undergarments. His eyes gleamed at the sight of her, and she was treated to his wolfish grin. This time, the wolf had seen a little ewe lamb he wanted very much. He took off his undershorts, and it was her turn to grin with pleasure, just before laughing in delight at how pleased he was that she wanted him. He slid his hand over the curve of her breasts, her hips, and whispered, “So beautiful.”

  “So are you,” she said, and then they were lying together on his bed. It wasn’t very wide, but then they didn’t need it to be.

  ***

  Zerafine lay with her head on Gerrard’s broad chest, with its short, coarse blond hairs, and listened to the beat of his heart slow to normal. “I love you,” she said.

  “And I you,” he replied. “I’m still astonished that you’re here in my bed.”

  “I’d be happy to remind you of how real I am.”

  “I’m going to need a minute.”

  “Just a minute? I’m impressed.”

  “I never guessed you would be this insatiable.”