by Jean Johnson
The first impression was of sloping, rough rock walls gradually growing taller as a traveler descended deeper into the canyon, then of caravans coming and going, some in the main ravine, others in side-gullies angling off to either side. Gradually, one noticed the holes cut in the faces of the cliffs. The first ones were raw-edged, just holes that had been rough-hewn. A few had troughs cut and filled with dirt and plants, though not many. Then the road turned to the left, rounding the edge of a window-riddled cliff; as the valley floor widened into a stall-lined market, the view broadened into great carved entryways, balconies, columns, and statues.
Almost all of the buildings were cut from the hard white-and-gold granite that formed the stone of the valley walls. Curtains hung in windows; banners fluttered from balustrades and jutting posts. A few structures stood on their own, mortared in blocks of stone; the remainder were temporary shelters of wooden posts and canvas awnings, lending brightly dyed colors to the views. And everywhere, water trickled in aqueducts that followed the rugged curves of the canyon walls, splashing down carved channels in gurgling rills that allowed greenery to grow in vast, stone-rimmed beds.
For all that the wind was quieter down here in the twists and turns of the hidden valleys, the air at least was cooler, moister. Easier to breathe, if perfumed with a hundred or more scents: dromids and horses, goats and chickens, spices resting in market bins, flowers growing on the terraces overhead. It didn’t seem like a large city, since there was never much of it in view at any one time, but it went on and on, from the market sector, where travelers could find a room at a wall-cut inn, to residential areas, where the bleating of market animals herded to the butchering pens gave way to the chattering of young children chasing each other through the streets. And there were side-canyons that they didn’t explore, passing alleys carved by both natural and artificial means.
Elrik would have been lost within minutes, had he not been following Arasa. He certainly would have been separated from her in the crush, if the sight of her three Imperial Mares, two of them on lead-ropes trailing after the one in the lead, hadn’t cleared a path ahead of them. It was almost eerie, the way the crowd’s awareness of the overgrown horses spread, turning heads and quieting conversations as the inhabitants and visitors shifted out of their way. It made him feel something of a tag-along, an afterthought, riding as he was on mere Juniper, the short, brown, stocky half-pony.
They reached a broad stone barricade, stretching from wall to wall on one side of their winding path and patrolled across its arched top by guards with halberds. Here, Arasa turned her current steed, Lake, toward the broad, wrought-iron gates flanking the archway. Guards appeared, spoke quiet words with the princess through the grille, then swung the gates wide enough for horses and humans to enter. Within short order, Elrik found himself urged to dismount as stable-hands came forward to take Juniper’s reins.
Fingers slipped around his, startling him. He had only a moment to glance at their taupe-eyed owner before she was tugging him away from the servants handling their steeds. Arasa pulled him deeper into what he realized was one of the most ornately carved canyons seen so far.
Bas-relief panels depicted the history of the Empire, while carved pillars represented the Gods of the Empire. Fountains splashed water, cooling the air even further and moistening both his skin and his lungs. Tugged into the cliff-carved palace, he found himself mounting intricately carved stairs flanked on one side by a gurgling cascade that poured down its own set of channel-carved steps. Vaulted ceilings boasted painted surfaces between their ornately pointed ribs. Decades must have been spent shaping the stone around them, but his hostess barely gave him time to see any of it. Before he could absorb more than a quarter of his surroundings, she pulled him through a pierced stone—stone—door into a room three times the size of the tavern where they had first met.
The columns in here were more fluid and the frescoes on the ceiling more abstract, but the walls had been polished to a glossy shine rather than carved with depictions of ancient history. The furnishings were crafted from inlaid wood, bleached leather, and pastel cushions. Gossamer curtains hung across what appeared to be a balcony off to the left, fluttering softly in the slight breeze that stirred the warm air; flanking them were heavier curtains that he realized could be pulled across the opening to protect against the chill of the desert night. Greenery bloomed in planters on the terrace, while more grew in pots on some of the tables, and cut flowers spilled out of ornately glazed vases.
Overall, the sitting room gave the impression of comfortable wealth; not pretentious, but comfortable with itself. Much like Arasa herself, Elrik decided. He turned to her, but found the questions forming in his mind derailed by movement off to the right.
Two women in identical blue outfits moved into the room from an archway opposite the balcony; they stopped and bowed at a respectful distance. Servants. Arasa glanced back at Elrik, smiled at him in reassurance, and addressed them. “This is Mage Elrik, my guest. He and I will be taking a bath as soon as the pools can be filled. Please find something for him to wear while our garments are being washed, and set out fresh clothes for myself as well.”
“As you wish, Taje-tan Arasa,” one of the ladies agreed, addressing her by the Flame Sea equivalent for “princess,” though the title actually only meant “noble heir.” The maidservant offered, “Taje-tan Kalasa left just this morning; the bathing chamber has not yet drained itself from her visit, if you wish to soak immediately.”
Ambivalence speared through Arasa. She was glad on the one hand that her sister wouldn’t be around to interrupt her privacy with Elrik, but on the other hand, she had intended to find and chat with her sister. To miss her by a matter of hours was a definite disappointment. “Where did she say she was going?”
“Back to the Imperial Hall. Something about finding a solution, but needing confirmation.” The maidservant flicked her gaze to the freckled mage and back. “More than that, Taje-tan, I could not say at the moment.”
“You may speak freely in front of both of us,” Arasa reassured her. “Mage Elrik has been assisting me in my own efforts to find a solution to the succession problem. He is my honored guest, for his aid in that matter.”
“Of course,” the maid agreed, bowing slightly. “The Taje-tan said she needed to check some legal records one more time in the Hall Archives, something about researching a childhood illness. She also said she wished to be informed as soon as anyone had word of your current whereabouts.”
Arasa didn’t know what a childhood illness had to do with the succession, but she was happy to know her sister was still close by. “Good. Send a runner to let her know I am here, and that I wish to see her return. Tell her that I will meet her here, in Ijesh. I have news of my own, regarding a solution to our problem, and that solution literally starts here.” She glanced at Elrik and smiled, adding, “In the Womb of Djin-Taje-ul, or so I suspect. I will be searching the Temple Archives again in the morning with the help of my guest; please let the priesthood know to expect us both.”
A bow, and the maid who had spoken departed. The other one shifted back out of the way as Arasa took Elrik’s hand again, tugging him toward the archway. Once past the daylight filtering through the terrace curtains, the passageways were lit by glowing spheres—magelights. Elrik knew how they were made, of course; it had been a part of his magical education. They were expensive, though. Even more than the intricately inlaid woodwork, the number of magelights told him how wealthy the Am’n Adanjé was, and for one reason alone: not a single oil lamp or candle could be seen.
Elrik had seen a few fine pieces of furniture here and there, some artistic carvings, a number of brocaded tapestries, even paintings and other artworks in his time in Aben-hul, but never had he met anyone who could afford to use magelights as their sole source of illumination. This was the level of wealth that had driven his father’s people to invade time and again, seeking it for themselves. It made him feel a little awkward to be three-quarters Kumro
nite and a guest inside, if not the royal palace—that was the Imperial Hall in the capital—then at least a royal palace.
Passing through a chamber lined with benches and shelving, they entered a bathing hall. The chamber, slightly larger than the front room had been, took his breath away. It didn’t hold a mere bathing tub, as his own people knew and most inns used. It wasn’t even a bathing pool. It was a series of pools, one cascading into the next, four of them. The one in the far corner of the terraced room was small, and steamed with visible heat. The middle two curved around that corner, each larger than the previous one, each spilling into the next.
The bottom one was big enough for swimming, and had been sculpted to look something like a natural pool, though the water was clear of both flora and fauna. Clerestory windows carved high in the walls spilled light, as did sconces of crystalline magelights at regular intervals along the walls. Stone planters grew right next to the edges of the tiled pools, soothing desert-weary eyes with a profusion of greenery and adding to the overall effect.
The smoothed granite floor of the chamber was slightly sloped so that any excess water would flow into drains set here and there, but it wasn’t tiled; the pools, however, were. The largest basin was tiled in a pale blue glaze, the next one up in sky blue, and the third in royal blue; he couldn’t see into the highest pool, but guessed it was tiled in dark blue, if it followed the theme. Overhead, the faux-vaulted ceiling had been gilded between its granite-white ribs, but the paint had begun to age and flake, no doubt because of all the moisture in the air. Somehow, the sight of that flaw reassured him that this room was real, that he really was in such otherwise magnificent surroundings.
He didn’t even notice Arasa removing her clothes until he finally turned to look for her and saw her stooping over next to a bench, removing her trousers and underdrawers together. Her other garments and her boots had already been discarded at her feet. Though her naturally tanned skin was darker in places where the desert dust had infiltrated her clothes, the grime did nothing to disguise the feminine shape of her legs, the slenderness of her waist, the palm-sized curves of her breasts.
Heat prickled across his skin, adding to the lingering warmth of late afternoon. Tugging at his clothes, Elrik remembered after a moment to untie the chin-straps holding his sun-hat in place. With it removed, he could pull his poncho and tunic over his head. By the time he stooped to unlace his boots, she was already sinking into the water of the largest, lowest pool, a pale-haired, golden-skinned, mortal goddess.
“Will you and your guest need assistance with your bath, Taje-tan?”
Three
Elrik jumped, startled by the intrusion of the other maidservant. People in the Flame Sea often bathed together in public bathhouses without thinking twice about it, but they didn’t couple in front of an audience; exhibitionism just wasn’t done. Wanting very much to be left alone with her, he looked over at Arasa, giving her a tight little shake of his head.
She smiled. “We’ll be fine. Give us some privacy for a while, and leave the toweling cloths and some clean clothes in the changing hall.”
The blue-clad woman bowed and removed herself from the chamber. Relieved, Elrik finished undressing. Semihard already, he padded somewhat self-consciously toward the steps, outlined along their curved edges in a darker shade of blue that defined their location under the rippling surface.
Arasa watched him ease into the cool liquid, floating halfway across the pool from him. She smiled at his palpable relief. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
“Very,” he agreed, wading forward until the water was up to his chest and he was just an arm’s length away from her. “Thank you for the privacy. I, um, want to do more than just bathe with you.”
“So do I.” She wrinkled her nose with a rueful smile. “First times with another person are always so embarrassing and awkward, aren’t they?” Lifting a hand from the water, Arasa gestured at a cabinet half-tucked into the greenery. “There’s a collection of softsoaps and such over there. I suggest we bathe each other thoroughly, get our hands all over each other’s bodies, and then we shouldn’t be quite so awkward anymore. What do you think?”
Despite the coolness of the water swirling gently around his body, Elrik felt himself stiffen with interest. “I think that’s a brilliant idea.”
Grinning with relief, Arasa waded with him over to the cabinet. Half of it opened on the pool side, next to a set of steps, the other half to a path through the greenery lining the chamber, so that it could be stocked. Sea sponges, scrubbing brushes, wash-rags, and combs occupied one shelf, while jars and bottles lined two more. Selecting a rough-textured sponge, she poured a bit of softsoap from one of the jars onto the sponge. “This one is scented with musk and spices. Do you like?”
He sniffed the sponge and nodded. “I like it. Is that for you?”
“For you,” she corrected, working the sponge into a lather. “I didn’t think you’d want anything flowery.”
“I like some flower scents. Roses, carnations, lily-of-the-valley.” He fell silent as she pressed the sponge to his chest, scrubbing him gently.
“Roses are cultivated in the Flame Sea, but not the other two. Essence of lily-of-the-valley is expensive to import, since it prefers a much cooler climate. And until I had visited the Kumré region, I don’t think I’d smelled a carnation, before,” Arasa confessed. “Here, get your face wet, so I can scrub that, too.”
Complying, Elrik ducked under the water, then obeyed her directions to sit on the topmost step, water lapping at his ankles, while she scrubbed him from head to toe. When she had him stand thigh-deep in the water so that she could scrub around his pelvis, he had to catch her hands to make her go slow. The feel of her fingers guiding the scratchy sponge over his skin, cleaning between his nether-cheeks and beneath his masculinity, was too intimate, too pleasurable, threatening to bring him to an abrupt, premature ending.
It had been a while since his last encounter, too long for his body to withstand a lot of teasing. Heeding his silent warning, she worked carefully, clinically, though shifting back his foreskin to clean around the head of his shaft was almost too much to bear. As soon as she released him, he dove into the water, swimming away from her for several lengths until he had to come up again for air. The rush of cool water against his flesh and the release of energy, if not the sexual kind, helped him regain some control. Reminding himself to be respectful, to go slow, to avoid giving in to the primitive instincts her touch aroused within him, Elrik waded back. He watched her pour more softsoap into the palm of her hand from the red glass jar, and guessed it was for his hair.
“Don’t scrub all over, when you wash my hair,” he warned her, turning to present his back, then sinking to his knees in the water so that she didn’t have to reach quite so high, “or it will tangle hopelessly. Just smooth it on, then gently rub it in with your palms in small circles at most.”
Stroking her palms over his dripping wet curls, Arasa did her best to comply. The crinkly texture of his damp locks reminded her of the coarse sponge she had just used. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with hair quite like yours. Not someone I’ve been close enough to touch. It’s rather exotic, and handsome.”
“It’s a pain to wash, unless I have smoothing crèmes to apply afterward, something to calm the tangles. Here, let me show you.” Lifting his arms, he slid his hands over to hers, showing the little circles he used on his scalp with his fingertips. The feel of her fingers bumping against his, learning how to scrub his scalp, seemed even more intimate than if she’d touched his nipples. He enjoyed the sensual torment for as long as he could stand, then broke away and dunked himself under the water again, swishing his hair to rinse it.
When he emerged, she had a handful of something creamy and fruity. He helped her work it into his curls, then left it there while he found the sponge she had used, lathering it with more of the softsoap she had used. It was more gender-neutral than feminine, but he liked the thought of covering her
in the same scent as him. He took his time in scrubbing her, too; it had been a while, but Elrik remembered how much women liked a longer, slower buildup to their pleasure than men.
Avoiding breasts and loins until the last moment, he played the sponge over her other curves, watching her beige eyes unfocus with increasing pleasure. The sight of the contraceptive amulet strapped to her ankle reassured him when he reached her feet; for all that he had considered one day becoming a father, today wasn’t that day. When he finally circled one breast with the sponge, spiraling in toward her nipple, she dropped her head back, arms braced on the rim of the pool to either side, hips barely on the edge of one of the steps. It was such a wanton pose, he wanted to throw the sponge into the bushes and take her, just take her. Hand trembling, he circled her other breast, and watched her shiver in a minor temblor of desire.
It was all he could do to remain polite and civilized when she stood and guided his hand between her thighs. Not in the sense of being a barbarian Kumronite by birth, but in the sense of being a male on the brink of losing control of his passion. When his fingers encountered slick moisture, shifting the sponge over her flesh, it took a few moments longer for his brain to figure out what that was. His loins knew instantly, stiffening to the point where not even the soothing temperature of the water could calm him. Locking his jaw, Elrik forced himself to finish cleaning her, then gestured abruptly for her to move away from him and rinse her flesh.
Unsure what to make of the stern look on his face, Arasa ducked below the surface and ran her hands over her skin to help remove the lather he had applied. Opening her eyes, she ignored the sting of the water and the slight clouding from the softsoap. The jutting length of him—told its own story. He was on the edge of his control.
