by Amy Boyles
I gasped. He lifted his head. I placed a hand on either side of his face and brought his lips to mine.
It wasn't the kiss of an inexperienced adolescent trying to figure out what to do. Branthe parted his lips, letting his tongue slowly slip over mine. The fragrance of cloves flashed over my taste buds. He was delicious.
My tongue met his, entwining with it. He caressed my lips with short kisses, his tongue probing me each time. I willingly reciprocated, feeling the heat rise in my body. I picked up his hand and placed it back on my breast.
He lifted me from the floor and carried me to the bed. He undid the buttons that lined the front of my dress and slipped me out of it, leaving me swathed in nothing more than shift and petticoats.
His hands tightened at the bottom of my shift, and I felt it rise over my hips. Sitting up, I allowed him to raise the thin cloth over my head. He kissed every inch of my body as it was uncovered. When the only thing I wore was my skin, Branthe gently pushed me onto my back.
He ran his tongue down my neck to my breasts. He sucked and pulled, nibbled and rolled each peak between his teeth until I was about to cry out his name. Reaching for the buttons of his breeches, I found they were beyond my fingers. I rolled my eyes, knowing this was exactly what he wanted.
His fingers danced their way down my skin to the warm spot between my legs. He stroked my damp hair, flicking his fingers gently up and down the spot of pleasure. Rolling to one side, he suckled my nipple as his fingers worked their way inside me. Without a word he edged down between my legs.
He raised each leg, bending it at the knee and then parting them. I waited for him to unbutton his breeches. God, how I wanted him to. But instead I felt the warmth of his tongue as it worked me, licking my nectar away and jutting into me. He toyed with me, letting his tongue swirl all around. Then Branthe pushed his fingers inside. He stroked me, his fingers working in and out while his tongue nibbled at my small mound of flesh until a shudder shifted my body from pure pleasure to release.
I lay on the bed, body exposed, but I didn't care. After a moment he came to me. He cupped my face in his hands and kissed me. Spent and ready for nothing but sleep, still I ran my hands down his chest to his groin. A low moan pushed through his lips. Then he took my wrist and brought it up to his face.
“I don't want that from you, not tonight.”
Oh. So then what just happened? “What do you want?”
He was silent.
His quiet irritated me and ruined the moment. “So you want to give me pleasure and be done with it? To give in to me just enough that you won't have to do any more than that?”
He sighed. “As I said, being with me isn't easy. I wouldn't wish it on any woman, most of all you.”
“Why not?”
He sighed and crossed to the door, laying a hand on the knob. “Some things are better left sacred. Women are paired and married based on sexual history. Surely you know that.”
“Of course. The Rendering.”
“Once you're cleared of any charges and allowed to return to society, you'll be married based on that. Keep your virginity and you'll marry better.”
“How will my name ever be cleared now? I'm a rebel, remember? Same as you.”
“Don't worry. I have my ways, Anna. I'm doing this for you.” With that, he opened the door and left.
Doing this for me. I huddled under the covers. For all the pleasure he'd just given me, Branthe left me feeling hopeless. If he was doing this for me, why did I feel so used, so wanton and so inexplicably void of emotion?
He didn't wish himself on any woman, most of all me. He was leaving me intact (so he thought) because he didn't want to ruin me. Well, he already had. I was ruined from the first moment I saw him.
Fourteen
We stayed in the town for a few more days, though I said not a word to Branthe. He smiled at me several times, trying to engage me in conversation, but I wasn’t interested. After all, he'd told me we couldn't be together. No matter how much I wanted it, we never would be, so there was no point in holding out any hope.
The news devastated me. Yes, devastated. That's exactly how I felt, but I did my best not to let it show. When I returned home, my brother was back. If he and my parents noticed any change in my demeanor, they said nothing. They probably thought it just the drudgery of the city getting to me, which was also true. The more I lived there, the more I noticed how grimy and filthy the place and people were.
More than that, I started noticing the rounding up of young women. Though very subtle, it went the same way every time—two soldiers appeared at the door of the home. The door opened, and they entered. When they left, they escorted a young woman between them. After a few hours, she always returned alone. The look on each girl's face appeared the same—eyes drawn together and mouth frowning, as if something had been taken from her.
The Rendering. At least those girls returned home. Those that failed the test were sent to the Hold.
It took some time, but I finally stumbled into a regular routine of knitting, cooking, and reading, getting used to my small prison. This monotonous repetition, though comforting in some ways, made every day seem the same—long and boring. So when, on a rather nondescript day of performing the same mundane chores, a knock sounded at the front door, it surprised me.
The three of us sat in the living room. Pop read from a copy of Tom Sawyer that he'd procured from Colvin, while Mom and I worked by the fire. She mended socks while I fixed the hem on one of my dark muslin dresses. As soon as the knock sounded, we glanced at one another, eyes shining with apprehension. Pop set the book down and walked to the door.
“Who is it?” he asked.
“It's me,” came Branthe's reply. That he assumed my father knew the sound of his voice seemed either the height of arrogance or telling of the depth of their friendship. I didn’t know which held the truth.
Pop, his hand resting on the lock, quickly released the bolt and welcomed Branthe inside. It had been nearly a month (not that I was counting) since my eyes had been given the pleasure of his beauty. I’d almost forgotten how his troubled green-tinted eyes gave him a haunted, yearning look. His straight nose and jawline possessed an aristocratic yet masculine flair that made me (and probably a thousand others) want to throw myself at him. Finally, his broad shoulders could rest a woman atop each one, both of whom would be fighting over him, of course.
“Is everything all right?” my father asked.
Branthe closed and bolted the door behind him. He surveyed the room, greeting us. “Mrs. Hinton, Miss Hinton, good evening.”
“Good evening to you,” my mother replied.
“Please, sit down,” he said to my father, who did what he said, but with hesitation. Branthe took a deep inhale before starting. “Colvin, as you may or may not be aware, went on a raid two nights ago.”
My father shook his head. “He doesn't tell us anything of this business. He says the less we know, the better.”
“And that couldn't be more true. It's for your own protection. The less you know, the less likely it is you can be harmed. Colvin's gone on raids before. That's nothing new, but this time the reds must've been tipped off. They were waiting for us.”
My head started pounding. I looked at my father and mother. The blood was gone from both their faces. They, as well as I, expected the worst.
“Is he… Is he dead?” Pop asked.
“No,” came the quick reply. Branthe pulled a wooden chair from a corner and centered it in the middle of the room. “He's been captured. By Colonel Mann.”
My mother cried out. Pop immediately moved to her, placing a hand on each of her shoulders. It couldn’t have been any worse. It was bad enough that the colonel had declared me a wanted criminal. If he discovered my relationship to Colvin, it would mean torture, if not death for him.
“So he's at the prison,” Pop said.
“For now, but I've received word that he's to be moved.”
“Is this person to be trust
ed?”
Branthe nodded. “I would trust him with my life. The good news is that unless Mann's plans change, they'll be traveling through Corinth.”
“When?” I blurted.
His eyes flickered to mine, his gaze cool and detached. “I don’t have word on the exact day, but I should know soon.”
“I can help you,” I said, chiming in again.
“Anna,” Pop said, shushing me.
“I can. I know what the colonel looks like. Do any of your men know what he looks like?”
Branthe smiled at me with pity. “I believe the entourage will be large enough for us to gather exactly which one the colonel is. We shouldn't need your help in this. Besides, if Mann saw you, your life would be forfeit.”
I wouldn't be deterred. “But neither you nor your other man saw him when you rescued me. Do you know what he looks like?”
“As I said—from his entourage, we'll know him.”
“So you don't,” I replied triumphantly.
His cool gaze hardened. He opened his mouth to make some regal retort, but my mother beat him to it. “Anna, you'd do best to stay out of their way. Your place is here.”
Seeing that this wasn't an argument I would win, I nodded.
“Mr. Hinton, I may need your help in some things, if that's all right with you. We must be ready when Mann arrives. We'll have to work with stealth and speed if we hope to free Colvin.”
Pop clasped his hands together. “Anything. Ask anything of us and we'll be happy to oblige.”
Branthe stood. “Thank you. Perhaps it would be best if we discussed this further in your study.”
Father pawed at the pocket of his quilted waistcoat. He searched for tobacco, a treat he smoked in a pipe only at night. My mother abhorred his guilty pleasure, rolling her eyes every time he partook, but she said nothing. Life was too hard to nitpick about small things. He kissed my mother and me on the forehead and then led Branthe into the next room, lighting his pipe on the way out.
***
“You need to stay out of this,” Branthe said later, having arrived in my room only moments before.
He took a place on my bed but sat closer to the end than he had before.
“I didn’t realize that I’m contagious,” I said smartly.
“Don’t start, Anna. What happened the last time we were alone is neither here nor there. I’m talking about Colvin.”
I disagreed completely. “Then why do I feel used? As if you got from me what you wanted and that’s all I’m worth.”
He sighed heavily. “Would it change things if I declared my undying love for you?”
I laughed quietly. “Go ahead,” I replied, knowing he wouldn’t.
He paused long enough for me to wonder if he would actually do it. “There was once a girl I cared for very much, almost as much as…well I cared for her, let’s say that. We were very close, and I was about to ask for her hand when she disappeared.”
“This was before the war?”
He nodded. “Right after it started. Anyway, she simply vanished. No one claimed to know where she was. I asked her parents—they didn’t know anything. I asked her siblings, cousins, uncles, aunts—anyone and everyone, but all swore they knew nothing about where she’d gone. Then one night I received a letter. It was from her. Technology had disappeared by this time, so the letter came by mail. It didn’t explain much; it only gave me her whereabouts. I immediately went to her, only to discover that one of our friends had gotten her pregnant and insisted she abort the child. The termination occurred late in the first trimester, and the doctor was nothing less than an unfeeling butcher. She got an infection from the procedure that became septic. She died in my arms.”
He paused, giving me ample time to say something, but nothing came. Nothing witty or charming or even sympathetic flew into my mind.
“You loved her?”
“Very much. It broke my heart. Not so much that she ran off with another man, but what he did to her. I’m sure you’re wondering why I burdened you with this.” He took my hand. “Anna, I can’t go through that again, not with anyone, no matter how much I care about them.”
So here sat Branthe, admitting he felt something for me. I thought when this moment came (if it ever did), that elation would overtake me. I thought I’d jump up and down on my bed, screaming from excitement. But mainly I thought the news would make me happy.
Instead it made me angry. “So you deny yourself and someone else, mainly me, happiness? And you’re doing it because you might get hurt? Is that right?”
“Not only me. You might as well.”
“Have you seen the world you live in? Do you see the misery that’s out there? This—you and me, could hold happiness. It would be the one shining star in an otherwise meager existence. It would be worth something. It would make this life worth something.”
“Anna—”
“Don’t. Don’t tell me I’m being foolish or childish, because I’m not. What do we have if not each other? The world is upside down, and you’re about the only thing in my life that’s right side up. Don’t you feel the same?” I leaped, hoping he would follow. It was a long shot, with me mainly relying on intuition and our past encounters. I retained a small hope that I wouldn’t fall flat on my face.
“It doesn’t matter how I feel.”
His words sucked the air from me. I leaned back against the bed frame and replied, “Then I can’t help you, and I don’t want to. If you think your feelings are inconsequential, then I’m happy to say good night and wish you well.”
He didn’t wait for me to change my mind. Branthe escaped out the window in a flash. Good. Saying his feelings about me didn’t matter was akin to hearing I didn’t matter. With that thought churning in my mind, I decided I never wanted to see Branthe again.
Fifteen
The next morning, my objective became freeing Colvin. While my father worked in another room, I sneaked into his study, hoping to discover what had happened in there the night before between him and Branthe.
The study radiated opulence. The past owner obviously cared very much for it, for either velvet or leather covered the furniture—sometimes both. My father liked the room too, for the cherry desk facing the door shone from a fresh coat of oil. The polish reflected the sunlight, making the room brighter, while a serpentine vine carved in bas-relief into the overhanging lip was so well kept it looked like it had been chiseled out only yesterday.
Of course, nothing on the desk betrayed what the two had done. I looked around the room, peering in the built-in bookcases, searching for anything that seemed out of order. My gaze drifted until I came to the hearth. Cold gray ash sat under the grate. I’d cleaned out the hearth only the morning before. That meant they’d burned something. But whatever it had been was gone now. Sighing, I pulled on the desk drawers, hoping to find a clue.
Wait.
Paper the color of dark cream sat within the ash. I looked closer.
“Yes, I think I've got one of those. Let me check my study.” Pop's voice drifted in from the kitchen. Without thinking, I snatched the paper, stuffed it down my dress and threw open the door, coming face-to-face with my father.
“Oh, there you are!” I said in what I hoped to be a good cover. “I was looking for you.”
“You could've knocked to find out if I was in my study before barging in without permission,” he said, annoyed.
“I know, but sometimes you fall asleep with your head on the desk.”
“Not at eight in the morning.” He searched my face, looking for a lie. But I kept my features expressionless, or as close to it as possible. “You've found me. What do you want?”
“Do you want carrots or potatoes with dinner?”
“Potatoes, I think.”
“Good. Me too. I’ll tell Mother.” With that, I sidestepped him and fled to my room. I locked the door behind me and pulled the burned fragment of paper from my breast. It left a mess of ash on my skin, which was easily brushed away. Most of the
words were gone save for a few.
Lord Andrews…masque on the eve of October 31…Colonel Mann…
Okay. So there was a masque that had something to do with Colonel Mann and a man named Lord Andrews. Lord Andrews…where did I know that name? It hit me. On my last day at the mansion, Colonel Mann’s desk had held a letter from Lord Andrews. In it, the letter stated this lord lived in Corinth. So that meant Andrews would host the masque? Yes, I was sure of it.
I burned what remained of the message. That bastard Mann had my brother. I didn’t care if the rebels wanted my help or not—I would try to free my brother, with or without them. Besides, the embarrassment Mann would endure from losing a prisoner was worth it. It would be the perfect revenge. Not only for what he’d done to me, but also for what he’d intended to do. I knew that where he’d failed with me, there were women who hadn’t been so lucky. I was doing this for them, too. It meant risking my life, but I didn’t care. In fact, if I drew attention to myself, it might shift Mann’s attention from Colvin and help him escape.
Was my anger in part created by the conversation with Branthe the night before? More than likely. Tired of being an object to one man and less than nothing to another, I set out to prove my worth.
I had to be there the night of the masque, even if it meant risking my own freedom. As far as I knew, there was only one way to do this.
I had to get a job in Lord Andrews's mansion.
Sixteen
I sneaked out the next morning. Knowing my parents would worry and rightly so, I left them a short but cryptic note regarding my whereabouts. Yet I still had a problem. With no idea which way to go, I asked a few people on the street and was quickly pointed in the direction of the Andrews mansion.
Alleys were generally left unguarded by reds, making them the securest route to take. Definitely not the cleanest, as people threw trash out of their back windows. Though I risked arriving with a skirt full of feces, I also ensured my safety. Feces could be cleaned off, I reasoned with myself. Prison and possible hanging couldn't.
