by Jane Shoup
Four maids. At home, Deborah, their housekeeper, had never attended any of them in such a personal and constant way. At least, not since they were children. What a funny concept to be attended. A robe of silver silk was held open for her and she rose and slipped into it. The heavy silk felt sumptuous against her skin. The changing hues of color as she moved reminded her of Milainah’s eyes.
Ammey was led to a chaise lounge. She sat and reclined in it as her maids filed from the room. She finished the last of her drink and wiped the corner of her mouth with the pad of her thumb. The music playing beyond the room was because Marko wanted the night to be special. Memorable. Perfect. As if that were possible. “Marko,” she said quietly, testing it out. She’d only called him by his given name once and in desperation, the night before the marking.
She let the empty goblet drop to her side and laid her head back. The burning incense smelled of musk and wild loira. Its smoke rose in a lazy, seductive rope. The rope danced and spread out formed a shape. The shape of a woman. She was reminded of the Seidh. They had promised help when she most needed it. “Now,” she whispered, not knowing exactly what she was asking for, other than some sort of intervention. “Please help me.”
The door opened and her breath caught, but it was Marko who stepped inside wearing a black robe. Her heart plummeted. Of all things she should have had a choice in. Marko shut the door behind him and came to her. He sat on the edge of her chair, his gaze searching, his expression curiously vunerable. He picked up her hand and kissed it, then turned the hand over and kissed the inside of her wrist. She looked away from him, focusing instead on the thin rope of smoke rising from the incense. There was longer a shape to it. It had been an illusion.
Marko picked her up, carried her to the bed and laid her down. “I will be gentle. I want it to be good for you.”
She closed her eyes, but felt a scalding tear squeeze out the side. As Marko walked to the foot of the bed, she became aware of a stark change in the aroma of the incense. There was a tang of woodsmoke in it. She looked and saw the smoke from the incense was as thick as a dense fog.
The words, “Our gift,” resonated so softly, she didn’t know if she’d heard it or thought it, and yet her heart began to hammer. When a man’s form broke through the fog at the foot of her bed, her breath caught to see Vincent. He was looking at her, confused and astonished. He glanced down at himself, at the silver-gray robe he wore, and then back up at her. He opened his mouth to speak, but she shook her head, willing him not to speak. A single utterance might break the magic of his presence, and he was what she’d wished for. He was the gift she’d been granted.
Marko had disrobed and was climbing toward her with desire and longing in his eyes, but it was him one moment and Vincent the next.
Vincent.
She touched his shoulders and ran her hands over the contours of his back. She threaded her fingers into his hair as he bent to kiss her. Vincent. She would make love to Vincent. Their kiss became hungry and passionate. Their tongues intertwined and explored and she wanted more. How long would she have him here? Long enough? He pulled back to nuzzle her neck and ear and she moaned softly, recognizing his scent. It was him. She had been granted the most wonderful, remarkable gift. Because of the Seidh, she would give herself to the man she loved.
Straddling her, he untied her belt and opened her robe, then bent and kissed her breasts one at a time. He cupped them in his hands and sucked in a nipple, causing another moan to escape her. “I want you to know such pleasure,” he said, although the echo of it was Marko’s voice.
She didn’t want words; she wanted to give herself to him. She allowed herself to be swept into crazed, mindless desire. His fingers explored and stroked where no man had ever touched, and it caused a fluttering in her already tight stomach. No one had ever explained what she would feel at this moment, but she hadn’t fathomed it would be this joy and wonder. She hadn’t imagined how greatly she would want it.
When the moment was at hand, she saw the unspoken question in his eyes and she nodded. Rather than penetrate her right away, he caressed her moistened valley with the tip his hard shaft. She felt feverish. Her breathing was labored. He pushed inside her and she gasped from the pain and instinctively closed her eyes.
“Open your eyes, my love,” Marko beckoned, but it was mostly Vincent’s voice she heard.
She opened her eyes and looked at him. It was still Vincent, but he was fading. He moved inside her again again and her jaw clenched.
“Breathe,” he whispered. “Your maidenhead is no more, but don’t resist and it will soon be pleasurable.”
She clutched at him. She didn’t want him to go. He thrust again and again and she began to move with him as a feeling built inside her. It crested and she cried out in ecstasy. So did he. Breathing hard, she pushed back his hair and looked into his eyes. Stay, she pleaded silently, even knowing that it wasn’t in his power to do so. He was fading and neither one of them could stop it.
I love you, Vincent mouthed.
She blinked away tears and, in that split second, he was gone.
Marko settled at her side, breathing hard. His fingers lightly stroked her skin from her neck to naval and back again. “Can you I get you anything?”
She shook her head, but she didn’t utter a word. Her throat was too tight. Besides which, there was nothing to say.
~~~
“What is—” Graybil muttered. He looked bewildered as he stared toward where their tents were pitched.
Kidder and Stripe, sitting with him on the bank of the river, looked and saw a green haze coming from the Vincent’s tent. They got to their feet and hurried to the tent. Vincent had retired an hour ago, but now he sat up dazed and distressed.
“Vincent?” Kidder asked.
“Ammey,” Vincent breathed. “I was with Ammey.”
Kidder and Stripe exchanged a look before Stripe asked. “A dream?”
Vincent shook his head. “I … I don’t know.”
“What did you see?” Graybil asked.
“I saw her,” Vincent replied brokenly. He lay back and curled onto his side, covering his eyes with his hand. “I was with her.”
The others did not attempt a reply. They were too riveted by the glowing talisman that had come loose from Vincent’s shirt and now lay on the ground staring out with an all-seeing eye.
“If it was a dream,” Vincent murmured, “I want it back. I fucking want it back!”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Do you play chess?” Marko asked, slurring his words due to an overconsumption of wine. He was curled up behind Ammey in bed.
She didn’t reply, of course. By now, he knew that she’d remain mute, and she knew it would not stop him from his nightly visits. He wasn’t forcing himself on her. He just held her.
“It’s a good game. Different every time you play, because everything depends on the move you make. Each move changes the game. Changes the next move.”
She pretended to sleep.
He raised his head to kiss her shoulder. “Did you know that, for a brief time every year, we have starflits? Have you ever seen a starflit?”
Silence.
“They’re pretty things,” he continued. “They only live a short while, though.”
She thought of the real starflits she’d seen in Vilhae Forest and the make-believe ones she’d created to help endure the marking. Her make-believe starflits still burned brightly in their lantern. Her arm was forever marred, but her lantern of endurance was beautiful.
“It’s said we have a color of starflit here that no one else has. Magenta. A brilliant purplish pink color. I don’t know if it’s true or not.”
She wondered why the starflits lived such a short time, but she would not ask.
“There’s a summer festival in the city that coincides with the arrival of the starflits. They have fire eaters and jugglers and dancers. Street vendors sell everything you can imagine.” He rolled onto his back; she could tell from
the movement of the bed. “We’ll go, if you like. I’d enjoy seeing you amused.” Within minutes, he was snoring softly.
Usually, he left her room before falling asleep. On the rare occasions when slumber won out, he’d jerk awake in a matter of moments and then get up and leave. Tonight, he slept more deeply. She scooted away and then turned to face him. She studied his profile by the light of the moon, wondering if she still hated him.
He’d saved her and then he’d hurt her. He’d had her marked, but only because she’d humiliated him. And she’d defied and humiliated him not so much because of what he’d actually done, but what she’d been told of him. But he had not ordered the destruction of Wydenyl. He had not even known about it. He had not known of many things. He was not evil, as she’d always thought him to be. There was a core of kindness and decency to him.
With a sniff, he opened his eyes and looked right at her. Jolted, she closed her eyes, but it was foolish given that he’d seen that she was awake. For a few moments, he didn’t move or speak. “Forgive me,” he finally whispered. “Please. Forgive me and let’s move on with our lives. I will make you happy if you give me the chance.”
She was tempted to open her eyes, but she didn’t. After a minute, she heard him sigh. He leaned over, kissed her forehead and got up and left. She opened her eyes then, but she felt even more alone and lost with them open, and so desperately sad.
~~~
Mehr sat slumped in a chair in the back of Marko’s study, which was an excellent position of observation. Zino had requested a late evening meeting with Marko and he’d tagged along. There was something disturbing about the way Zino had been watching Marko throughout the evening. Had it not been for that, he would have retired for the night by now.
“Some of the men that were to meet in Shilbridge,” Voreskae started in, “did not arrive as they should have.”
“So you said,” Marko replied. “Gilley?”
“Yes,” Zino spoke up. “And some others. It seems a division is missing.”
“Missing or deserted?”
“Missing,” Voreskae replied hotly.
“Whichever it is,” Zino said more dismissively, “we need to discover their whereabouts and we need to send a new emissary to Shilbridge immediately. Someone trustworthy. We’re close to an annexation agreement.” He got up and poured more brandy into Corin’s goblet and then his own. He held up the bottle for the other two men to accept or decline. Both declined. “I have suggestions for whom to send if you’re interested,” Zino indicated a short stack of papers on Marko’s desk. “Look over them and sign the orders of whomever you choose.”
“You choose.”
Mehr cringed. He hated the power that Marko freely handed Zino.
Zino reached for the stack and thumbed through the pages. Looking pensive, he selected three and laid them down in a vertical row so Marko’s signature could be scribbled right down the line with little effort. Mehr noticed that Marko’s signature was looser than usual because he’d been drinking. He’d been drinking heavily most nights since having Jade marked. It was as if he could not bear his own company.
“Is that all?” Marko asked.
“Yes,” Zino replied. He lifted his glass. “To quick success in Shilbridge.”
“And to finding our men,” Voreskae added.
Mehr put his fist to his mouth and gave his cousin a look.
“Well, I’ll be off,” Zino said. “Much to attend to.”
“I’ll go with you,” Voreskae said. “Goodnight, your majesty. Mehr.”
“You really do despise him, don’t you,” Marko remarked after the others had gone.
“Which one?”
“Voreskae,” Marko replied with a dubious look. “Of course.”
“Why, ‘of course’?”
Marko thought about it, shrugged and drained his glass. “True. You despise them both.”
“I do. Despise them. Distrust them. I have a question for you, cousin.”
“What’s that?”
“Why are you avoiding her? Or are you having her avoid me?”
Marko looked puzzled. “Whom do you refer to?”
Mehr cocked his head and lifted a brow.
“I am not avoiding her,” Marko gave in. “I see her almost every night.”
Mehr was puzzled. “Not a half hour ago, you said you had not seen her since the marking and had no intention of doing so.”
“Because I am not a boy and I do not enjoy lectures. Zino thinks she’s a bad influence and that I should not give her the satisfaction of my company. I didn’t want to hear it again.”
“You really have been seeing her?”
“Of course.”
“And she has not joined us in the evenings because Zino does not approve?”
Marko shrugged. “Perhaps it’s that you are too charming.”
“Obviously, that’s true,” Mehr said with a straight face, “but—”
“I don’t care to discuss it further,” Marko cut him off.
“One more question.”
“What?” Marko snapped.
“Do you care for her?”
Marko reached for the brandy bottle, but misjudged the distance and knocked it over.
Mehr jumped up and grabbed it. “A sure sign you’ve had enough.” He retrieved a cloth from a table and blotted the spilled brandy. It had ruined some papers. “Hopefully those weren’t too important,” he murmured.
“I could,” Marko said.
“Could what?”
“Care for her. If she weren’t so difficult.”
“Oh, she’s difficult. Hmm. Let’s see. We’ll make two lists, her crimes and those committed against her. First, those done to her.”
“Let’s not.”
“Attacked, taken prisoner, marched for days, beaten, dragged—”
“I said, let’s not!”
“Raped, I imagine,” Mehr continued.
Marko’s look went ice cold and Mehr realized he’d gone too far. He held up his hands in concession.
“She was not raped,” Marko stated. “I am the only man she has known or will know.”
There was a long pause before Mehr said, “It’s just that I feel for her. I like her and I feel for her.”
“And I don’t? I rescued her in the first place, remember?”
“Not exactly in the first place, Marko. She was nearly dead when you came upon her.”
“Which I knew nothing about!”
“Why are you drinking so much these days?”
“Did I mention I am not a boy and do not care for lectures?”
“You may have,” Mehr conceded.
Marko sat forward. “Why do I get the feeling there’s something you wish to say?” Mehr didn’t reply. “Say it. Whatever it is!”
“Fine, I will. Zino is dangerous, Marko.”
Marko’s expression went from fierce to incredulous. “What?”
“He manipulates you to do what he wants. Only afterwards, you feel like this,” he waved his hand.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I believe you do.” He turned and went to the door. He’d had too much to drink and was speaking too freely. Turning back, he said, “Why don’t you forgo the rest of the bottle and go to her? Perhaps Jade isn’t the one who’s being difficult. Perhaps she isn’t the one who is a bad influence.” Mehr left, leaving the door wide open.
Marko leaned back thinking of Jade who refused to look at him or speak to him. She was lifeless in his arms. He’d tried to make up for what she’d endured, but she wouldn’t allow it. That’s why he went late, after his senses were dulled with drink. He couldn’t abide her hatred of him, and yet he could not keep away from her.
~~~
Ammey looked up from her needlework, surprised to hear the door being unlocked. It was earlier than he’d been coming. The door opened, but it wasn’t Marko who stepped in. It was two rough looking men coming for her. Their sickening odor reached her before they did.
“Who—” was all she’d managed to utter when they grabbed hold of her and hauled her to her feet. “What are you doing?”
They forced her from the room and down the corridor. “Stop,” she cried. She was dragged down a flight of stone steps and then another. “Where are we going?” They descended more steps, not one flight but two. “Please,” she begged. “Tell me!”
Was this punishment or a scare tactic because of her indifference toward Marko? He had sworn never to hurt her again, but he hadn’t said anything about frightening her half to death. Was that it? Would he do that? “Is this the king’s orders?” she stammered.
They did not reply. Down and down they went until they reached the bottom-most floor where it was dark and the stone floor beneath her slippers was cold. The only light was from sporadic torches mounted to the wall. “Please,” she pleaded. “Has the king sent for me?”
They went around a bend and toward an ominous looking door at the end of the hall. She would have stopped if she could, but their grip was tight, their strength greater than hers. A guard stationed in front of the door opened it and a terrible stench assailed them. It was the smell of human waste and death. The dungeon. Raw terror snaked through her.
Surely she would not be imprisoned here. Marched through to teach her a lesson, perhaps, but he would not allow her to be kept here. There were bars on both sides of the dungeon and cowering, deathly thin people behind them. The stench nauseated her beyond endurance, but the men each held one of her arms, so she couldn’t even lift a hand to her mouth and nose to try to keep from vomiting. Her stomach heaved and she spewed its contents.
One of the men quickly released his hold, but Ammey, pulled by the other man, spewed again and it covered his front. He reacted without thought, backhanding her and knocking her against the iron bars.
“What are you, stupid?” the other man bellowed. “He said not to touch her.”
The words penetrated and she felt a small measure of relief. She’d grabbed hold of the cell bars for support and found herself face to face with a person whose gender she could not tell. The person had long, gray hair and mad looking eyes. As he or she lifted a bony finger to pale lips, Ammey noticed the long, sharply pointed fingernails. A split second later, she felt a burning above her eyebrow. She’d been cut by the mad creature.
