by Diane Lau
But Naissun had not quite finished with her, and as she dissolved beneath him he unshackled his strength upon her. The pounding was furious, and might have been painful had she not been so soft just then. But soft she was, and so it simply felt heavenly. And when Naissun came, uttering a deep, tight cry, Miakaela observed it almost as if she were dreaming. Welcome death, she thought again, beautiful, beautiful death. He collapsed upon her, his tremendous weight covering her like impenetrable shelter. Between her legs he was pressed so close, and within her he was rooted so deeply, she felt their conjugation was perfect, utter and complete.
Too soon Naissun shifted his weight from her, and only then did Miakaela realize how starved she was for oxygen. She panted, all the while whimpering with yearning to be crushed beneath him again. But Naissun lay back down next to her, his organ slipping from her to lay against her thigh. He gathered her up in his huge embrace and pulled her tight against him. He kissed her mouth and cheeks and hair tenderly. Mia kissed him back, but she was fading, fading into perfect contentment.
She had never known such happiness as this, falling asleep in Naissun’s arms.
* * *
Miakaela awoke but did not open her eyes. She could smell pine needles and the scent of Naissun’s skin. She was warm except for the top of her head. The needles and branches beneath her were surprisingly comfortable, even though the blanket spread over them had shifted out of place. She realized her left hand rested on Naissun’s forearm. She opened her eyes.
The shelter was still very dark, but the sun had risen and there was a dim glow now, barely enough to see anything by. Mia’s eyes focused and she found Naissun’s face inches from her own.
He smiled sadly. His hand emerged from under the blanket and cupped her chin and cheek. She turned her head to kiss his palm. “My Lord Naissun,” she said with warmth.
“My lady Miakaela,” he replied. “Forgive me.”
She shook her head. “No…I will not forgive you for making me happier than I have ever been.”
Naissun leaned to her until his forehead touched hers, closing his eyes. “It should not have happened.”
“It had to happen,” Miakaela corrected.
He did not respond to this for quite awhile. Mia wished for better light that she might read his face. Then finally Naissun said, “I want you to understand one thing. I did not make love to you as my property, as a concubine, as the Tribute of Taelorea. I did it as a man who loves you. If you were to believe anything other than this, it would injure me greatly. Can you find it in your heart to believe me?”
Tears welled in Miakaela’s eyes. Her voice broke as she answered him. “Yes, I believe you. And I want you to know something as well.” She laid her hand over his rough cheek. “I will not give myself to another, not to King Regit nor any other master. I can’t, not now.”
Naissun shook his head. “You were born to this life, Miakaela…you have lived it honorably till now. I don’t ask for any such faithfulness. You owe me nothing.”
“All those things may be true. But they don’t matter. I can’t let another man take what I gave to you of my own free will. It’s yours now, regardless of what happens to us.”
“But you can’t deny King Regit. He would surely have you stoned. Do you understand? I’d rather have you safe and alive in another man’s bed than meet such a fate!”
The alarm in Naissun’s voice was quite moving. Mia realized he could not possibly feel any differently. “What then shall we do?” she asked him, her throat tight.
“We won’t let this happen again. Neither of us will speak of what happened to anyone. I’ll take you to my king, and you will serve him. You will live, hopefully long and contentedly.”
Miakaela’s sorrow suddenly gave way to anger, not at Naissun, but at their hopeless position. To make matters worse, she hardly knew how to deal with her fledgling emotions concerning sexual fidelity. She had indeed been taught her whole life that her body was the Monarch’s property and would one day belong to his designee. She had never for a moment considered what it would be like to actually choose whom she wished to share it with. Now she found herself suddenly unable to tolerate the thought of someone else taking what seemed so irrevocably Naissun’s. As new as this conviction was, it was also as strong as a stone wall. It turned her whole world upside down, but she could not let go of it. It seemed to give meaning to her life as nothing else ever had.
“So you think life is always preferable?” Mia cried. “What about faithfulness? What if I value my loyalty to you above my life? What if I prefer death to betraying you?”
Naissun stayed quiet in the face of this outburst. He stroked her cheek soothingly with his knuckles. “Miakaela…show your loyalty to me by obedience. Do as I bid you and stay alive. Will you obey me, if not out of faithfulness, then out of love?”
At this, tears spilled over from Miakaela’s eyes. It was hopeless. “Please, my Lord, call me Mia,” she said weakly.
“Mia?”
“The Mother of the Harem always told me that was what my birth mother called me.”
Naissun wiped the tears from her cheeks. “When we are free to speak as we wish, I shall call you Mia. And if you will, please call me Naissun.”
“I will. Naissun, my beloved.” She took a shuddering breath and let it out slowly. “And I will obey you, both out of faithfulness and out of love.”
He kissed her lips lightly and briefly, then said, “I bless you for your faithfulness. Even if you belong to another man, it heartens me just to know you are in the world. Mia, if you live, then I am content. I only wish there were an act of such devotion that I could do for you in return.”
“Simply do the same, Naissun. That such a man as you came to love me is a miracle however brief.”
“That which we remember all our lives cannot be brief,” he told her, smiling.
She gave him a kiss, resolving to be brave. “You are so wise, my Lord Naissun,” she told him.
They rose from the bed of pine and wool, the little shelter warmed by their body heat, and emerged into the cold, gray day. It had snowed just enough to dust the hard ground, and even now flakes fell, although few and far between, drifting straight down in the windless air. They broke camp in near silence, speaking only as the occasion required. It took no more than a half hour before they were packed and mounted upon the horse, sharing water and the remaining honey cakes.
Naissun directed the horse onwards north, into the forest, following the road until it curved slightly to the east. The snow fell with a little more intensity, but with no wind behind it, was not troublesome. Miakaela clung gently to Naissun, watching the flakes fall, gazing off into the bare, black trees, musing to herself.
How strange it felt to touch him today. She had her arm looped around his waist and his hand rested over hers. In that gesture she felt both possessive and possessed, as if he belonged to her as much as she did to him. She had never in her life felt like another person belonged to her and couldn’t account for the strange emotion now. She had no right to command him, as he did in his capacity as her master. He was in no regard her property, as she was his by law. Nevertheless, she felt it: that by their intimate connection of soul and body, she had gained some inalienable right to him, some unique claim.
She liked this feeling. Very much.
Miakaela suddenly felt herself augmented, as if Naissun’s gifts were now her own as well. She perceived his strength was her own, the power in his arms and shoulders was hers to wield. She felt his courage and self-confidence swelling in her own breast. This sudden sense of invincibility was intoxicating to her, considering she had spent her life powerless and at the mercy of all those around her.
They had survived both evil men and brutal nature, and even more amazing, they had denied the command of the King upon them and made their own choices in love. And yet…
…and yet, they were neither of them free. For still the road bore them inexorably to the court of Regit of Royoun, and even wit
h all their strength they could not escape that road.
My body may be Regit’s possession soon, thought Miakaela, but my spirit is my own, and Naissun’s, forever.
The Envoy, meanwhile, judged the remaining distance to the next town, when at last they could stop for a hot meal. The woods were beginning to thin, and an isolated cottage or two appeared. The Four Oaks crossroad marked the signal that Hoaryton was nigh—they would be there in only a few minutes.
From there it was four hours’ ride to Naissun’s home in Royoun City. He rejoiced at the thought of at last returning Mia to civilization, where she could bathe and put on clean clothes, eat well and sleep in warmth and comfort.
But he could not think of her sleeping without thinking of sleeping with her.
Of course it was out of the question, not in the royal city, in a home where servants might observe or neighbors suspect. And it was bad enough he had failed once in his duties.
But at the same time, Naissun felt to deny Miakaela that last act of love and comfort was the worst sort of failure. He could feel in the way she held on to him how desperately she wished to be close. Her words of that morning had convinced him of her devotion. And on the morrow he must deliver her—cursed errand!
He had never in his life felt so helpless, and was not accustomed to it. That he, a man who had held sway in battle since his youth, should now be manacled by mere words on parchment, by archaic custom and the will of a pampered king, made him burn with frustrated rage. There had to be some course of action he could take other than the one which seemed so inevitable, there had to be another way besides the road that took Mia to the Harem of Royoun. How could it be that he had met his match in this? The problem was, he couldn’t use his sword in this battle. If it came to that, without doubt both he and Miakaela would end up losing their lives.
It seemed hopeless, but Naissun was tired of operating under that assumption, of lying down like an old dog too weak to show any spirit. He might not find an answer, but at least he had to seek one….
They stopped at an inn in Hoaryton to take their noon meal. There was no more need for secretism now that they were in Royoun, and this town, though small, was well patrolled by the King’s men. Both Naissun and Miakaela were ravenous, so it was a quiet dinner. There was enough activity among the other patrons at the inn to keep their attention: particularly a band of pilgrims that included a half dozen small children making a ruckus. Mia had had little exposure to children, especially little boys, and found their antics most entertaining. Naissun smiled particularly at the two eldest boys, spatting over the last piece of cake. Finally he caught their eye and motioned them over to the bench where he and Miakaela sat.
The two boys were clearly both excited and intimidated by the attention of a soldier, and stepped forward to stand silently before Naissun.
“You see I am a King’s Man,” said the Envoy.
“Yes sir,” said the taller boy, and his brother nodded.
“I have observed you quarreling over that bit of cake; I wonder if you know how a soldier would deal with such a situation.”
The boys exchanged glances and remained silent, neither one willing to risk a wrong answer.
Naissun drew himself to his full height and put on his most authoritative face, regarding the boys just long enough to make them lose their color in trepidation. Then he said, “You should offer it to your mother, and if she declines, to your sisters.”
This answer did not seem to please the boys, but they nodded assent nonetheless.
Naissun went on, “If none of these desire the cake, then the elder of you should cut it in twain, and the younger one choose his half. Very simple, is it not?”
It took the boys just a moment to realize the perfect equity of such a plan, and then they nodded with much more enthusiasm.
“Pursue graciousness and equity rather than squabbling. Now go,” said Naissun.
The boys looked relieved to be excused and scampered back to their family, the younger one offering a quiet “thank you sir” as he left.
Naissun turned back to Miakaela, who had watched the whole exchange with unbridled enjoyment. “Well, Good Envoy,” she said, “you would indeed make a great man of the law, perhaps better even than you fare as a soldier.”
“Thank you, Fair Tribute,” said Naissun, pleased. “But were I not a soldier, I would not have commanded the respect of those two young hooligans.”
“Perhaps, but I think the authority you wield comes more from your own character than you realize. Perhaps over the years you have erroneously come to believe that your power comes from your office; knowing you but freshly, and being acquainted with other soldiers, I can testify that it is uniquely your own.”
Naissun paused, considering her words.
“You underestimate yourself,” Mia said, with an air of authority seldom possessed by a concubine. But then, she did not currently feel much like a concubine.
“I will think on what you have said,” Naissun told her somberly.
And think he apparently did, for during the final leg of the journey, northeast into Royoun, the Envoy said hardly a word. He did not seem quite as morose as that morning, so Miakaela did not trouble herself over it and let him be, content to hold onto his back and enjoy his warmth and her full belly.
The snowfall increased in intensity and the two riders had to brush the flakes off themselves every few minutes. But it was a pretty snow, gathering on the branches of the trees that lined the highway. The forest had thinned to a combination of woods and open farmland, and they passed through several towns as well, towns which seemed to increase in size as the journey went on. Finally they crossed a narrow river by a rather ornate bridge and found themselves in the trade district of a bustling urban center.
“I suppose I should welcome you home, Mia,” said Naissun. “We are now in Royoun City.”
Miakaela looked all about her, trying to judge similarities and differences between this place and her home in the royal capitol of Taelorea. It seemed not too foreign, except for local style, and Royounish style was well enough known to her. Nevertheless, it offered similar sights to those back home: parks, marketplaces, shops and taverns, cottages and inns.
They passed a small group of soldiers conversing outside a blacksmith shop, and they acknowledged Naissun with hails and salutes. The air of the men told her they knew him and were not just greeting a fellow.
At last they turned off the main road onto a side street lined with large, two story dwellings, quite attractively decorated and well kept, with gardens between them and the street which doubtless were very pleasing in the green season. They traveled perhaps a quarter mile and then Naissun turned into the lane which ran next to a great house built all of white stone.
He turned around to meet Miakaela’s eyes. “This is my home,” he said simply. And then added, “I will see that you are comfortable as long as you stay here.”
“Thank you,” said Mia, and gave him a little embrace, so slight that anyone looking on could not possibly have noticed it.
There was a small stable, and Naissun dismounted and unbolted the door, then led his horse in out of the snow. He helped Miakaela down, his hands firm on her waist. Just as her feet hit the floor, there was a cry behind them.
“Lord Naissun, here you are safe and sound!”
An older man, plump and with a head of full white hair, stood in the stable door with a broad grin on his face.
“The Lakelands spared me yet again,” laughed Naissun, striding up to the man and giving him a brief but warm embrace. “Stowan, how fares the household?”
“All’s well, my Lord. And this then is your charge?” He stepped closer to Miakaela.
Naissun nodded, setting his hand briefly on her shoulder. “I present the Tribute of Taelorea, the Lady Miakaela. Fair Tribute, this is my steward, Stowan.”
Stowan bowed low and rose again to offer her that bright grin. “Fair Tribute, it’s a pleasure. I trust your journey was not too ard
uous?”
“Good Steward Stowan, it was challenging, but your master was up to the task in all respects. My words cannot honor him enough.”
She noticed the flick of Stowan’s eye casting to Naissun’s face, as if to say, well, you impressed this one! But he was a model of decorum and simply replied, “He is a man who does all things well. And I’m glad to have him safely home! Now let me tend to horse and packs, if you will. My Lord, I beg you go in and see Faisli, the woman has been beset with worry over the weather and was sure you were buried in a snowdrift in the Lakelands.”
Naissun chuckled and nodded. He took Miakaela’s arm and led her via the back gardens to the kitchen door in the rear of the house. He opened it for her and warmth and good smells poured out. “Faisli, heat the bathwater and be quick about it!” Naissun called ahead of them.
As he closed the door behind them Mia heard running footsteps and then a woman appeared in the doorway to the back hall. “My Lord, thank the gods!” she cried and ran to embrace him.
Naissun patted her back and said, “You would think I was off to war for six months…Faisli, Stowan tells me you’ve been a terror to him.”
The woman pulled away, laughing. She was quite young and had a clean, pretty face spread over with freckles. “I’m sure I haven’t! I only fretted a bit because of the weather…but here, there’s business to attend to.” Faisli had spotted Miakaela over Naissun’s shoulder and walked to stand before her. She offered her a curtsy and said, “Fair Tribute, welcome.”
“Miakaela, my housekeeper Faisli. She is with me only four years but as faithful as can be…when she is not terrorizing Stowan, that is.”
Mia laughed with Faisli at this, then offered her own curtsey. “A pleasure,” she said.
“And my master I’m sure is right, you must want a bath desperately,” said Faisli. “What a hard trip for a woman! I’ll go heat the water at once, by your leave.”
