Gift of Flesh

by Diane Lau

  “May I serve you, Lord Naissun?” she asked, bowing her head.

  He looked uncomfortable but nodded yes.

  Miakaela poured a cup of fragrant red wine for him, and filled his plate with thick stew from a large stoneware crock. She even tore several pieces of bread off the loaf, which was still warm and steaming, and placed them on his plate. All this accomplished, she knelt on the floor near the table with her head bowed.

  “Please, eat,” said Naissun.

  “Thank you, my Lord,” said the Tribute, and rose to her feet again. When she had served herself food and wine, she took these down to the floor and sat there cross-legged, determined not to show how urgent her hunger was. She must eat like a civilized lady…

  “By the gods, don’t eat down there,” gasped Naissun with exasperation. As Mia arose and took a place at the table, he continued, “I know you won’t consider yourself my equal, but I want some company. As must you.”

  Miakaela’s cheeks flushed. “Of course, Lord Naissun.”

  “I know you meant well. But I’m not used to such treatment. I own no slaves, and the servants in my household have all been long with the family…I interact with them in what I suppose is quite a familiar manner.”

  “But you command quite well, my Lord,” Mia said, and took a sip of wine to relieve her embarrassment.

  “From my service in the army,” explained Naissun. He devoured a huge spoonful of stew.

  Miakaela took up a bite. It was mutton, with potatoes, parsnips, carrots and onions, well salted and seasoned. The gravy was thick and delicious, so she followed Naissun’s example and mopped some up with a bite of bread. The meal was nothing like the delicate and exotic foods served in the palace, but Mia was so ravenous it tasted like the food of the gods. The wine likewise was not sophisticated, but it had a fine bouquet and complimented the stew well.

  “You have an appetite,” Naissun interjected, smiling a little.

  Mia checked herself. She had been eating a bit hastily. “It tastes so good,” she explained as soon as she had swallowed.

  “I would agree,” said the Envoy, “but it’s basically peasant food…I’m surprised you like it.”

  “I like everything good,” said Miakaela simply.

  Naissun looked down at his plate and chuckled. He took another large bite, pushing it onto his spoon with a morsel of bread, and devoured it. Then he said, “You are not what I expected, Fair Tribute.”

  From his tone, Mia supposed this was a compliment. “How so, if I may ask, Lord Naissun?”

  “You are quite intelligent.”

  “The Palace of the Monarch educates its concubines well, thank you.”

  She is quite overqualified for the position with King Regit, thought Naissun ruefully. “And what then was your favorite subject of study?”

  “It’s difficult to choose….”

  “…since you like everything good,” finished Naissun with a smile.

  Miakaela laughed. “Yes! I liked drawing, and dance, but I also liked learning the science of healing, and about the movements of the stars.”

  “But what of…the more traditional arts of your calling?” Naissun could not resist asking the question.

  Mia seemed unruffled by it. “We were taught much of the nature of males, both spirit and body. It was endlessly fascinating to me. We learned how men can kill so easily.” She paused. “I see now how it is possible to kill; I think I could have done so if you hadn’t done it yourself…the instinct to survive is strong.” She poked thoughtfully at a piece of potato.

  “Men have many reasons to kill besides survival,” commented Naissun.

  Miakaela raised her pale eyes to him. “How many men have you killed, my Lord?”

  “I was a soldier,” he replied.

  “Then you have lost count?”

  “I have killed one hundred and twelve men, assuming only one those two we met on the road died of his wounds, which I’m sure he did.”

  His frank and plainly spoken answer stunned the Tribute. Her mouth fell open slightly.

  “I would never lose count of men’s lives. Even the greatest scoundrel among them was still a man,” said Naissun. Then he took up his cup and drained it off.

  Miakaela automatically reached for the flagon to serve him more, just as he himself did likewise. Naissun’s hand closed over Mia’s. He released it, but not as quickly as he might have done. Mia frowned as she refilled his cup and poured more wine into her own. Then she put the flagon down and said, “You are certain one of them died?”

  “The one I caught in the shoulder probably lived to be found by the next group of travelers. The other, if he were clever enough, might have availed himself of a tourniquet before he bled to death, but I have doubt he was that clever. And the surviving man would have an interest in his associate’s death, since he could then have all of whatever stolen booty was on him. For the same reason he will make no attempt to identify his assailant…far better to take what he can and let the matter go.”

  Miakaela took a long drink of wine, then set down her cup and met his eyes. “I mean no disrespect, Lord Naissun, but do you feel remorse over this?”

  He looked back at her with a steady, direct gaze. “The man who chooses the road of evil chooses the road of death. Whatever blade brings death upon him, it is as if he held it himself and struck the mortal wound. Had I allowed them to kill you, I would have felt remorse. As it was, I did my duty.”

  “In protecting the future property of your King?”

  “In protecting the life of an innocent.”

  Mia smiled slightly at this but did not lose her somber aspect. “You make me thankful that my life has not been a series of such moral quandaries. All I must do is be obedient.”

  “But Miakaela, that is all I do as well.”

  Her smile faded. “Yes, you’re right,” she said.

  They finished the meal in thoughtful silence. The room grew warmer until it was actually quite comfortable. Fatigue came over Miakaela like a sudden crashing wave. When Naissun stood and went to add wood to the fire, Mia commenced the task of making up the little pallet.

  “You will take the bed, the pallet will serve for me,” said Naissun.

  Miakaela was shocked at this and opened her mouth to protest, but protesting was not in her repertoire and no words came. Her dismay then turned to disappointment, even though she had hardly dared hope he would choose to share her bed. Finally she simply said, “Yes, Lord Naissun.”

  “The door is bolted, my knife is at hand, so you must try to sleep easy.”

  “Yes, my Lord.” So he had mistaken her disappointment for anxiety? Mia longed with all her heart to explain herself, to tell him he was the most entrancing man she had ever met, and beg him to take her to his bed. But no good would come of any such admissions, so she set herself upon the task of extinguishing the candles. Then she moved to the bed end of the room and disrobed in silence down to her undershift. Mia tried not to watch as Naissun stripped down to his leggings, but once she allowed herself a glance, she couldn’t help but steal every possible glimpse.

  In the harem the concubines had trained with eunuchs. The Monarch was strict that his tributes be kept from any males who might actually be tempted to act upon their lust. Their culture, as well as most in that part of the world, valued freshness above experience when it came to concubines. So although Miakaela knew how to arouse a man, she had never done so. She knew every aspect of intercourse save what it truly felt like. And she had never before desired a man who was in any position to respond to that desire.

  Unfortunately, by the light of the fire, she could not help but notice Naissun’s erection straining at his leggings. O unhappy irony! Her inner chamber longed all the more to be filled with him. He owned it along with every other inch of her, and here was the clear evidence that he wished to lay claim. Yet in their respective obedience, neither of them dare speak of it to the other.

  Miakaela took to the bed in sorrow and frustrated yearn
ing. She turned to the wall and tried to pretend Naissun was not reclining a mere fifteen feet away from her. It was no use. She could think of nothing but him: his strong arms and golden chest, the warmth of his back that had sheltered her all day, his silken hair and amber eyes, his voice that could command or comfort. She burned to lie with him to such excess that it made her limbs throb and her eyes sting. But eventually exhaustion and the wine overtook Mia and she slid heavily into sleep.

  Naissun waited until he could hear her breathing grow even and steady. She was asleep at last. He wondered what troubled her so and could think of a dozen possible causes. Certainly it would have been kinder to lie down with the poor woman and offer her warmth and comfort, but that was out of the question. His feelings for the Tribute had intensified by the hour all day, deepening to sincere affection and then incurable desire. He didn’t dare trust himself to share a bed with her.

  Naissun rolled over on his back and stared up at the ceiling, watching the fading light of the fire play upon it. He wondered how she could be so respectful, so sweet-natured, to the man who heartlessly delivered her to her grim future. He thought again of how she clung to his back after the afternoon attack, daring to consider if it might have been more than fear that drove her to be close. It truly was possible she felt something for him…but if so, didn’t that make his betrayal even worse?

  He realized it was that rather than any fear of Regit that held him back from taking advantage of the Tribute. It was bad enough to hand her over to the King, but to use her first and then expect her to keep the secret was an injustice he couldn’t bear.

  That thought would keep him steadfast this night. But tomorrow night, in the Lakelands, would be another story. Tomorrow night they would need each other’s warmth to survive till morning.

  And how exactly would Naissun endure that?

  * * *

  Miakaela started awake. A bit of morning light leaked around the heavy draperies. She lifted her head, confused, then recalled where she was and why. Today they would be crossing the Lakelands, and the day after tomorrow she would be in the palace of King Regit of Royoun.

  She looked across the dim room to the pallet but found it empty, the blankets turned back in a pile. Where was Naissun? Her heart was heavy and afraid, contemplating what was to come so soon, and she longed for the sight of him. Tears welled in Miakaela’s eyes but she fought them, fearful that if she let herself feel too much, despair would consume her.

  Instead she rose, dressed, and brushed out her hair and tied it back. She was just putting things away in the saddlebag when the door opened to admit the Envoy, bearing several large bundles.

  “Ah, you’ve risen,” he said with a warm smile.

  The sight of his face and the sound of his voice drove sorrow from her as the sun burns off a mist. “Yes,” she said. “I’m glad to see you, my Lord.”

  “I was just collecting some things I left here for the journey back, and some provisions.” He hefted the bundles onto the bed. “Warmer clothes for you, and for me as well. I brought breakfast…and loaded the rest on my horse, who is nearly ready to go.”

  “I suppose we need to make an early start.”

  “The earlier the better. We must get across the swamp to the North Forest and make camp as close to nightfall as possible. If we don’t reach the forest, it will go hard.”

  The words “make camp” had caught Mia’s ear. Taking shelter out of doors was completely beyond her experience. However, she could hardly become more frightened than she already was, so she elected to consider this an adventure. She blinked brightly at Naissun and awaited his next instruction.

  “I bought a sack of honey cakes, you’d best have one now before we go,” said Naissun. “Staying warm requires food. I’m going to finish loading up the horse, and I’ll change clothes when I’m done. I’d only make them sweaty doing it, and end up chilled in the first mile.”

  Miakaela nodded. “I’ll eat while I dress…it won’t take me but a few minutes.”

  The sun stood just above the horizon, dimmed by thin cloud cover, when they set forth from Northedge. Naissun grumbled about the weather, fearful that the wind would pick up later. His horse was packed even more fully than before, mostly with wool blankets and a large folded piece of oilcloth. Mia was crowded by the bundles and forced to sit even closer to Naissun than on the previous day. His warmth was welcome to her and she judged it likewise for him. He made no reference to the shackles and simply left her unbound.

  They crossed the bridge over the Coaxe River, which served as the north border of the city. Civilization ended abruptly, and in a very few minutes they began traversing frozen swampland. The roadway did its best to stick to higher ground, but it was clear that in warmer weather long stretches of it consisted of pure mud. The land was flat and monotonous, with only a rare clump of trees, mostly the stubble of dead grasses and large patches of cattails. Seen firsthand it was hardly frightening enough to be the birthplace of monsters, but Miakaela supposed after awhile the gloomy monotony of it would become monstrous enough.

  And it was cold. There was nothing to break the wind. The sky lowered and darkened to iron gray. Mia wasn’t sure if the temperature was truly dropping or if she was just getting colder as the journey wore on. The layers of wool clothes she wore became insufficient protection, and by afternoon the travelers used one of the blankets for additional warmth. They didn’t stop to eat but finished off the honey cakes as they rode.

  The tedious landscape would have been unbearable had they not kept talking. Naissun regaled Miakaela with tales of far more interesting locales he had seen in the course of his soldiering. Many were places Mia had been taught about; she asked many questions to fill in the blank spaces in her imagination. The prospect of seeing a place she had never been before, that is, the court and capital city of Royoun, had a little bit more appeal. Meanwhile, however, she also envied Naissun the freedom that permitted him some choice in where he went and what he did.

  Miakaela felt oddly suspended in limbo between her former life and her future one. There would never again be a time where she felt so free. Of course she was no more free now than she had been or would be, but being the property of the Envoy did not feel like captivity. Her body must go where he took it, that was true; but at the same time her spirit felt liberated.

  She came to love his profile as it occasionally turned back to her during the conversation. Naissun wore a fur lined cap that covered his entire head, and tucked into his cloak so his neck was protected as well. Without the usual distraction of his striking hair, the classic lines of Naissun’s face became more noticeable. Miakaela became more familiar with her companion’s facial expressions: the stifled smile he wore when about to tell her something humorous, the spark in his eyes when he felt righteous anger, the way he gazed out at the horizon when considering his next remark.

  So despite the cold and the brutal landscape, the afternoon passed quickly and well. In spite of its burden, Naissun’s horse was glad to keep moving since it meant staying warm, and they made good time across the swampland. When Naissun declared he could see the dark edge of trees on the horizon, they rejoiced that the forest was at hand and they could stop for the day. The sun would be down very soon.

  Once they found a large fallen tree that could be used for shelter, they dismounted. Naissun shared the tasks of making camp with Miakaela, for she would likewise stay warmer if she kept active. Mia set about gathering fuel for the fire according to the Envoy’s instructions, and locating other fallen logs that he could dismantle with his axe. Naissun busied himself fashioning an enclosure out of the fallen tree, using fresh pine boughs for walls and roof. While Miakaela gathered small boughs and pine needles for the floor of the shelter, Naissun chopped wood and started the fire. Finally, the two of them worked together to cover the shelter with blankets and the oilcloth, anchored firmly with rock and logs against the wind.

  There was one thing that did not go unnoticed by Miakaela: the shelter w
as very small. Her heart fluttered to contemplate the close quarters it would provide.

  Naissun took one more look at the sky as the last light faded. It still looked like impending snow, but the shelter was ready and they could deal with that if it came. For now it was good to have a fire going and a hot meal in the offing. He had a crock of leftover stew he had brought from the inn, along with bread and a full wineskin. While the stew heated over the coals, Naissun heated some flat stones in the fire. He would use them to warm the wine; in a situation like this it was good to take in heat in any form.

  The remaining blankets were likewise piled close to the fire to warm up, and his charge now sat upon them, warming her hands happily. The flames reflected in her eyes and colored her skin amber.

  How strange it was to be on the edge of one of the most godforsaken places in the world, and feel so content. But no sooner had Naissun recognized the emotion than he checked himself. Two more mornings and he would never see her again.

  The Tribute raised her eyes to him and said, “How resourceful you are to make the Lakelands so cozy, Lord Naissun.”

  “The bed will be a change for you from last night,” he answered wryly.

  “Perhaps less comfortable, but it will be warmer, I expect.” She lowered her eyes shyly then, but neither that nor the falling of night could conceal how happy she was.

  Naissun couldn’t help but make the connection. Could it truly be that she looked forward to sharing his bed?

  Miakaela rose and took one of the two blankets she sat upon and placed it neatly next to her on the ground. “My master should sit, should he not?” she suggested.

  He nodded and sat down cross-legged on the blanket. The fire was a little island of comfort in the sea of cold. Ever since they had stopped to make camp, Naissun had missed the warmth of Miakaela’s body against his back. Not only the heat of it, but also that sweet pressure, and the scent of her. He longed for her nearness again, but for now, the fire was a decent alternative. He took off his cap and shook his hair out, which felt good.