My wedding to my king had been a spectacle. A lavish gown. A lavish ceremony. A lavish parade. A lavish feast.
During all this, we probably said twenty words to each other and sadly, fifteen of them for me were, “I take this man as my husband and my king and his Will be done.”
We’d then had a colossal argument directly in front of our marital bed, which I slept in alone after he slammed out of the room to drink rum, get loud, and eventually sleep elsewhere.
We had, as prescribed, met only the day before. In the sanctuary of Leuthea, the sacred sea goddess of distressed sailors.
There we knelt at the altar, giving our thoughts to her and not saying a word to each other.
For two hours.
But I’d felt his eyes on me.
And I had found my times to study him.
It was the way of things, for the King of Mar-el to wed his queen in this manner.
And now, months later, I was getting the courtship I should have had back then.
But although often endearing…
It was seeming my husband was no bloody good at it.
I sighed, got off the bed, and moved to the bathing room.
It would hearten me to be in the water.
I would not transform, as it wasn’t seawater, but it would feel nice and restore me.
And then I would face my day without my husband, and my night with him but still without him.
On this thought I decided I would give him some time.
He was a man, a very manly man, and perhaps would not take well to such overtures from his wife.
Very manly men preferred to make such overtures themselves.
But tomorrow, Silence would wed Mars, and from their demeanor when they were in each other’s presence, they would be down the hall doing what my husband of over seven months and I had not yet done.
We’d wasted enough time not communicating properly.
And there were a variety of ways to communicate.
That piercing ceremony taught me well.
Aramus would have my ear, my mind and my honesty.
He was also going to have my body.
Even if I had to throw it at him.
29
The Kindness
G’Drey
Streets of Fire City
FIRENZE
G’Drey walked (with difficulty) through the city toward the school where he taught.
As his pretense (for his real purpose in this realm was not thus), in a Go’Doan school he had charge of fifty-six Firenz children aged eight, nine and ten.
He taught them Triton history, some maths, reading, the language of the Vale, and how to draw and paint.
And he had found, to his surprise, he enjoyed doing this.
It had not started easily. He was an untried teacher and they had been annoyingly rambunctious and not mindful.
However, some days in, irritated beyond measure, he had been stern.
And somehow, from there, order had ensued (though, with the older ones, he’d had to be stern on other occasions, but for the most part, after their talkings-to, they’d minded).
And when one was proud of his or her painting or assumed a bright look on their face after they conquered the difficult conjugation of a Valerian word, Drey felt something curious in his chest which was not unpleasant.
He had never much thought of children, and to the truth—his thoughts on his warrior, when he would call upon Drey, his chosen one back home, The Rising and the role he played in that—he didn’t very much think of them now.
Unless he was with his students.
When he was, he thought, their innocence, excitement over foolish things or their implicit trust in him (which was foolish as well, though they did not know that) was rather, he had to admit, engaging.
This had made Drey seek an audience with G’Liam, who had come from Go’Doan with Jell to attend the ceremonies and be on hand for any diplomatic discussions that might need their skills.
Liam also oversaw the schools across the realms, doing this mostly by post and bird, but sometimes with visits.
Drey had informed Liam that his class was first, too large, and second, the spread of ages too long.
He’d then suggested the ten-year-olds be moved to their own class for they were advanced in studies and easily became bored as Drey looked after and instructed the younger children.
And Drey had learned quickly a bored child was not a child you wished to be around.
After he’d shared this, Liam had examined him at some length.
This he did before saying, “I am heartened you take such interest in your pupils. And in such a short time spent with them. It says much about you. And you speak sense. I will think on this.”
Drey had felt an odd sense of pride at this for Liam was known as a lofty personage and he was respected by most, even those priests of The Rising.
But G’Drey had only ever seen Liam in passing in Go’Doan, though he obviously knew of him, as most did.
This was because Liam was very young for his level of responsibility.
He also had an unusual pastime of examining bodies, those being cadavers, in an effort to understand how they worked. How wounds or illnesses affected them and how to identify ailments that struck those with causes unseen, using what he found in the bodies, matching them to symptoms reported before death.
He also had a pastime of concocting potions and elixirs from herbs and minerals and testing them on injuries, lesions and in treatments of diseases.
Further, like Jell, Liam spent most of his time worshiping Go’Vicee, the god of service. Not the gods of obedience and faithfulness, Go’Bedi and Go’Chas, as most other priests did.
However, Drey had heard that Liam had given a rousing lecture to the order of the high priests that had caused much discussion throughout Go’Doan about how Go’Chas was truly about chastity, and not faithfulness to the gods.
He argued that Go’Chas wished fidelity amongst mates and abstinence of those unmarried, and not stalwart faith in religion, as most felt was the case.
And thus (Drey had heard), Liam had asserted they must abandon their baser uses of the Go’Ella and only take wives or bind themselves to husbands.
By the by, although no one asked him, Drey thought he was wrong in that.
And he was not alone, for the furor his words caused had lasted some time.
Though, Drey had heard before he left the domed city, there was rising support for this theory.
Last, Drey knew Liam, nor Jell, were of The Rising.
They had not been to any of the meetings. And his lover never spoke of them.
Though Drey could not say he hadn’t been impressed with Liam after speaking with him.
It was Drey’s first day back after his time in the catacombs.
He had been fortunate (though he didn’t really think on it that way, but in the most base of purpose, it was true) that Seph had ordered spirits to cleanse his wounds (which did not feel nice, especially having them poured on when he was still strapped to that slab, his entire body feeling frozen in place, he’d been there so long).
G’Seph had also ordered salves to be applied. Salves Drey knew (because he felt it) took away some of the pain and hastened healing.
Seph had also given him a crock of this salve to administer to himself.
But he had taken away Drey’s acolytes and ordered that Drey go without them until he was healed.
They were not to see his injuries.
They would not know of The Rising and his punishment.
Now he faced a day back in his classroom, another command from Seph.
For others had been told Drey had caught a chill (how anyone could do that in this hot land, he could not fathom, but Seph was talented in donning his false face). This was why he had been abed and at rest.
But now he had to carry on so others would not ask to see to him or wonder about his state.
He had no idea how he was going to teach with th
e pain. The salve helped, but it helped better when he was abed and not standing. It would take at least a week before he was fully scabbed over and able to move around without great pain, even with the salve.
He could absolutely not sit.
Therefore, he’d have to stand.
All day.
In pain.
As he had to walk to his school.
In pain.
And thus his reprimand endured long after it had been dealt.
Since receiving his “punishment” he had thought much on his predicament.
In fact, that was all he’d thought on.
At first, he had considered sending bird or letter (the latter of which would take a long time, and he wished his vengeance to be much more swift) to Fenn, his lover, explaining what had befallen him.
His chosen one might be angry he had played with a Firenz warrior (or let that warrior play with him).
But he would be angrier that Drey had been abused.
G’Drey had also thought much on the severity of his punishment for a transgression he did not see as a transgression.
Go’Doan regularly took lovers. Most availed themselves of their acolytes. Others took lovers amongst their fellow priests. And others often and openly found their assignations amongst the lands where they were stationed.
Men.
Women.
Both.
He could not begin to imagine how allowing himself to be used by a warrior, his wife and their playmate could put the plot at risk.
And if it did, Seph could have simply asked him for an aside and told him.
Not delivered a head blow, whipped him bloody, humiliated him, and left him tied to a slab for hours.
He was a soldier of The Rising.
He was at one with the Go’Doan utilizing their carefully gathered recruits, specifically in Wodell, but also Firenze, and their equally carefully gathered weapons to rise up and take control of those lands in order to conquer Airen, enslave the Nadirii, and force all to worship the true gods.
Not to mention, pay homage, in word and coin, to the temples in the city-state of Go’Doan.
But he was not at one with this.
On this angry thought, he was torn from his path, pulled down an alley, and his head was covered with a hood.
In the sudden darkness, he opened his mouth to cry out, but before he could, he heard, “You make but a noise, you’ll regret it.”
His warrior.
He shut his mouth and felt what seemed like a large, heavy blanket enshroud him. He was then lifted over a shoulder, walked a short distance, and thrown belly down on a horse.
He could not stop himself from crying out at that, for the pain in his backside was such he could not quell it.
Not to mention the pain in his gut, where the saddle horn dug in.
“Debole,” the warrior grunted in disgust, and Drey felt him swing up on the horse.
He was not weak.
And he tired of being used.
And abused.
He worshipped Fenn more than any of his gods.
But he was wondering if that devotion was worth any of this.
They rode, too hard and too fast. Along their short journey the pain becoming excruciating, Drey knew they were going to the warrior’s house.
He also knew the warrior took him to the back for he smelled the honeysuckle that grew splendiferously at the side, before he reined in, dismounted, dragged Drey unceremoniously from his steed and carried him inside.
The Firenz walked and Drey knew he was taking him to the man’s bedchamber (for he had walked this himself numerous times) before he was tossed like a sack of nothing to the tiled floor.
G’Drey bit back his cry of pain at that, but it was of such strength, it might not have come out as a cry, but it came as a strong whimper.
The hood was torn off and Drey shook his hair out of his face as he tossed the blanket from his person and stared mutinously up at the man.
“I sent a missive,” the man said. “Yesterday. And when you are called, you come.”
His wife was standing at his side, but Drey didn’t look at her.
“I got no missive,” he retorted.
“Do not lie,” the warrior warned.
Drey leaned forward and spat, “I got…no…missive.”
And it was likely he did not because it had been confiscated by Seph.
He did not share that with the warrior.
His (current) tormentor opened his mouth to speak, but the wife spoke first.
“Sanguina,” she whispered.
He bleeds, she said.
The warrior looked, and before Drey could blink, he was on his stomach on the bed and his robes were thrown up over his arse.
He heard her shocked gasp.
And the warrior’s surprised grunt.
But it was her who spoke.
“Who did this to you?” she asked in his language.
G’Drey started to struggle to get up. “It is not your concern.”
He could not get up for the warrior held him down with a hand in the middle of his back.
G’Drey felt the bed depress at his side and another touch, a lighter one, which pulled his hair from his face.
G’Drey stilled.
Except for his chosen one, and even his chosen one could not stroke as lightly, he’d never been touched in that manner in his life.
The wife was on the bed with him.
“Who did this to you, mio piccolo buco?” she whispered.
G’Drey stared at the silks.
She had called him my little hole.
And the manner she referred to him thus made something in his stomach loosen.
Therefore, his tone was much changed when he lifted his eyes to her and replied, “I cannot say.”
She turned her head to the side and tipped it back.
“Where did you find him?” she asked her husband.
“On his way to his school,” her husband answered.
“Riding?” she inquired, sounding horrified.
“Walking,” the warrior told her.
“That is not much better,” she snapped.
And in the manner she did, something loosened further in his stomach.
“Release him,” she demanded.
“Amore,” the warrior murmured.
“Release him. You might be causing him pain,” she ordered.
The hand went out of his back.
Drey rolled to his side, gritting his teeth as his injury again made itself known.
“Do not move, priest,” she said in a gentle tone. “Why are you not abed?”
“I cannot speak of these things,” he told her.
“You should be resting,” she replied.
He shook his head.
“You must know you should be resting,” she pressed.
“I am not…allowed,” he admitted.
Her brown eyes studied him before her mouth grew tight and she looked up to her warrior.
“We will keep him here,” she decided, and Drey’s eyes grew wide as his mouth opened to protest. However, she was not finished, “I will tend him, and you will send a missive to his temple that they are warned of an investigation into this matter.”
Drey spoke at that, doing it to exclaim, “No!”
She turned to him and raised her elegant, arched brows. “Why no, piccolo buco?”
“You cannot,” he said.
“Why can we not?” she pushed.
“You simply cannot,” he returned.
She seemed to consider this.
Then her gaze moved down his body before coming back to his face.
And her tone was again gentle when she queried, “You enjoy your times with us, no?”
“Yes,” he gritted.
“And we know this, or we would not use you as we do,” she shared.
He clenched his teeth.
“You give us much pleasure,” she whispered.
At that, his jaw went slack.
Drey had…
Meaning to them?
“The mated ones of Firenz take others to their beds but only at the request of their mate, to the desires of them both, and with the presence of their mate,” she explained. “They do not, however, give their mouths to another but their own. Thus he, nor I, will ever suckle you or kiss you.”
“I did not know this,” he muttered.
He did, in a fashion.
Though he didn’t understand the whys of it.
She gave him a small smile and it was…
Appealing.
“Now you do,” she said quietly. “So now, I would hope, at the very least, if you cannot tell us what befell you, and that is yours to give, we will not press, you allow us to tend to you.”
He shook his head. “I am instructed to attend my pupils at school.”
“And not attend us,” the warrior entered the conversation, and Drey looked up to him.
His face was as fierce as ever, but there was disquiet in his eyes and anger about his mouth.
Anger.
About what befell Drey.
And the warrior knew where his missive had gone astray.
Even in his surprise, Drey nodded up to him.
“It is not known the Go’Doan do such to their own,” the warrior stated.
“It is not…it is for the worst…” He had to lie to them, and for some inexplicable reason, he was having difficulty doing this. “It is for the worst of transgressions.”
“I have had other Go’Doan arse,” the warrior declared. ‘My wife likes the white robes, the paleness of your skin and the contrast against my shaft penetrating it.”
How, he did not know, but he was growing hard.
“Though we have never used any, Go’Doan or no, as we have used you and how we use you is something we’ve both desired for some time,” he continued.
Why did that make him feel…
Special?
“But none of them have been mistreated as such,” the warrior carried on, jerking his bearded chin toward Drey.
The Beginning of Everything Page 31
