“When the physician gets here, I’ll have him examine her,” said Kloveon. “He may have a suggestion or two to make. For now, we have to wait – keep her warm and clean and fed, and trust that she will be herself again. She’ll wake up when she’s rested enough.”
Rygnee clearly wanted to press the argument, but she remained quiet, her face showing nothing but a slight frown of concern. “Do you want to keep guard over her tonight, or shall I?”
“You need rest. I’ll take the first half of the night, and if I become too tired, I’ll wake you later.” He stared down at her. “She’s so pale.”
“As she often is after a Shadowshow, which is why I think she needs a hot bath,” said Rygnee. “It always troubles me, when she turns pale.”
“Hardly surprising,” said Kloveon. “I know we all owe much to her – if not our lives, our freedom. But I hope the cost hasn’t been as high as I fear it may be.”
“Then you are anxious about her condition,” Rygnee said.
“Of course I am,” he answered sharply. “Most of the most accomplished master magicians can’t manifest gods or goddesses without serious consequences for themselves, and she hasn’t had the training for such acts. I’ve no doubt her talents can support a manifestation, but she hasn’t been trained, and it’s taken a toll on her.” He reached down and smoothed a stray tendril of hair from her face. “It was a most selfless act – bringing The Retributionist to protect us. Now I must put her welfare uppermost in all I do.”
Rygnee was torn between admiring his dedication and being dilatory in accepting this fulsome pledge – she understood now why Erianthee had had reservations about Kloveon. She remembered Erianthee’s reluctance in accepting Kloveon’s declarations at face value, and her recognition that he had more motives than love to keep her favor. Rygnee sighed. “I should tend to her, Mirkal. And I’ll have her bathed and in her night-things before our dinner arrives.” She could smell aromas from the kitchen, and knew that there was at least an hour more cooking to be done.
“Then I’ll go down and see that all her trunks and chests are brought in, and order the tub sent up. You’ll know best what she’ll need.” He made an elegant respect that managed to include both Rygnee and Erianthee in its sweep. He stood still for ten heartbeats, then turned on his heel and left the two women alone.
* * *
The healing-plaster on Kloveon’s cheek was itching – annoying but a good sign. He had donned his jalai and stretched out beside Erianthee, the heavy comforter wrapped around them both. He was still thinking of the physician’s remarks about her: “She should recover completely, given sufficient time, but she’ll need to use her talents sparingly for some while. She overextended herself badly, and it’s left her depleted.” It had been hard for Kloveon to keep from castigating the physician for speaking the obvious, but he had held his tongue, thanking the woman and giving her a pouch filled with gaylings for her services. Now, as the night wore on, his thoughts kept turning to how long it might take Erianthee to recover, and how much he felt he owed her for saving them all. He fought against the urge to sleep, reminding himself that it was his responsibility to look after her. He set himself the task of recalling the fight with the twenty-seven masked me in every detail, and then to recollect all the demands of their travel from the time they left Tiumboj until this evening. Yet despite his best intentions, his eyes closed slowly and he drifted into a semi-slumber – one light enough for him to waken instantly when he felt cool fingers on his face. He caught the hand in his, wondering if he had dreamed the touch, and realizing at the same moment that he hadn’t, that Erianthee was no longer sunk in her stupor, but coming back to herself, and to him.
“Kloveon,” Erianthee breathed, her eyes opening slowly. “You?”
“Eri . . . anthee.” He could barely speak her name as his throat tightened.
She leaned more closely against him. “You’re . . . warm.” As she felt his face, she nuzzled his shoulder.
For a dozen heartbeats he contented himself with enjoying her gentle touch and the curve of her waist and hip against his side. “You had me . . . worried.”
She sighed and began, “Tired . . . I’m tired. Just tired.” But as she said it, she sensed the first quivering of desire deep within her, a promise of reanimation that she understood would begin her restoration. She summoned up the little energy she had to react to his nearness. His warmth and his attention triggered her ardor in a way she couldn’t recall having experienced before, and for once, she made no effort to contain it. The remoteness that had claimed her was fading, and with its loss came a reaffirmation of the totality of life.
“Small wonder,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t be upset by anything he said.
“Where . . . “
”We’re at an inn called The Blue Hound,” he said, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing each finger.
“When . . . “
“We got here about twenty hours after we were attacked. You’ve been . . . asleep . . . for a day and a half.”
“Oh,” she murmured. “So long.” She thought it couldn’t have been more than three or four hours, not more than an entire day and night.
Knowing that it could have been much longer, he said, “You’re doing fine.”
“But why did . . . “
“The manifestation exhausted you,” he explained.
“Then it succeeded? I wasn’t sure . . . “ She moved even closer to him, her body pressed against his as if to make the most of his warmth and protection.
“You drove off all the masked men. Or Zaythomaj, the Retributionist, did. Then you . . . fainted.” He laid his hand on her flank, trying not to stroke the silk of her rourua.
“Oh,” she said again, and freed her hand to explore his face, finding the healing-plaster at once. “You’re hurt.” A cold finger of fear touched her, threatening to halt the burgeoning passion gathering within her. “How badly are you hurt?” Asking the question left her feeling rattled.
“Nothing important – it’ll heal,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t notice his skinned knuckles or torn fingernails. “It could have been much worse for all of us.”
She continued to touch his face, and then his neck, emboldened by the need she felt from him, a need that joined with hers for him. “You’re so . . . alive.”
“Because of you,” he responded, reacting to her adventuring fingers in spite of his determination not to. “Erianthee – “
“I knew you were with me. I could feel you, calling me back from where I had gone,” she whispered, and then moved closer to him, levering herself on her elbow so that she could kiss him full upon the mouth, meeting his tongue with her own, and feeling the warmth of his breath on her face, and his increasing excitement. As she broke the kiss, she moved to pull her silken Fahnine rourua from her shoulders, then let him draw her back into another, deeper kiss that left her gasping even as she guided his hand to her breast, and tugged to open his jalai to expose the dark-gold curls on his chest. “I want to be with you – all of you.”
Hearing that, his desire flared, and he took her face in his hands. “Then have all of me.”
The smell of his body thrilled her, and she licked his collarbone to increase her pleasure of him. Her urgency was as great as his, filling her with a hot-burning need for contact with his flesh, and she strove to ignite his passions as well as her own, lifting herself over him so that his lips could reach her breasts more readily. She slid her hand down his body, not yet touching his erection, but stroking his hips and legs, tantalizing him and fueling her own frenzy even while postponing the culmination of their arousal, wanting to relish every nuance of fervor they evoked in one another. As he nuzzled her breasts and teased her nipples to intense, taut excitation she moaned deliciously and lay back, opening her rourua all the way to the hem. “Hurry,” she said as he caressed her thighs to open them. An anticipatory quiver passed through her and she reached to guide him.
“But – “ he marveled.
<
br /> “Now. Now.” She lifted her legs and caught him around the waist, kicking off his jalai as he sank deep into her body, holding himself on his elbows while he began the long, slow thrusts that kept pace with her breathing. She wanted it to go on forever as much as she wanted to revel in the liberation that was coming; her body moved with his, gathering her culmination deep within her.
“I don’t want . . . to hurt you,” he panted, precariously at the brink of his self-control.
“Never,” she vowed, and gave her mouth to his as she offered the rest of her body. She could feel the increasing nearness of her release, a thrilling sensation that sank into the marrow of her bones. Then came the quivering at the apex of her thighs that heralded gratification, and for once she wanted to delay it so that she could prolong this glorious anticipation that held the key to so much pleasure.
His lunges were deeper and faster, seeming to penetrate the whole of her in a search for the culmination of their love-making. As her first spasm struck, he gave a sudden small cough and his climax met hers; he moved rapidly as his body emptied into her, where he felt the pulsing of her fulfillment meld with his, building one upon the other, as consuming as a thunderclap. The last of his gratification left him gasping rapturously, and he sank down beside her, reaching to pull the comforter over them both.
She turned on her side and kissed him again, lingeringly and sweetly, tasting his sweat on his upper lip, loving the salty tang of it, and the rough stubble of his beard as she slid her cheek against his. Small quivers still passed through her, and her skin felt amazingly sensitive. She trembled in the aftermath of her orgasm, and whispered, “Next time will be better.”
“Better?” He kissed her lightly. “How can it be better?”
“It will be longer, more varied.”
He laughed softly, “I hope I can stand it.”
“Next time I’ll be better,” she clarified.
He kissed her emphatically, and pulled her close to him. “I don’t know if that’s possible,” he sighed, “But I’m willing to try.”
She yawned suddenly and contentedly, then snuggled close to him. “Thank you for bringing me back,” she murmured.
He didn’t know what to answer, so he kissed her brow. “We’ll talk in the morning,” he promised her as he watched her fall asleep in the curve of his arm, then drifted off himself, certain that his dreams would be joyous instead of fraught with worries and intimations of disasters to come.
* * *
Rai Pareo was dressed for traveling as he respected Poyneilum Zhanf from the arch of the smaller Reception Hall. “My things are loaded onto the wagon to go down the hill to Valdihovee. I’ll stay at one of the inns tonight and leave before first light on the morning tide.” His manner was subdued and his appearance disguised all symbols of his high office.
“If you’re determined to go, what can I do but wish you a safe journey?” Zhanf asked. He studied Pareo for a half-dozen heartbeats before respecting him. “If there are any messages for you that arrive after you’ve left, what would you like us to do with them?”
“Send them along on a ship bound for Fah. I’ll be at Cynee for at least a year, and that’s where messages will reach me. I have lodging in the Scholars’ College which will serve as a sufficient address. I will look forward to letters from both of you, as well as having you pass on messages from others that may come here. Or you can return them to the sender with a note, informing the writer where to find me. Imperial Scholar Gaxamirin will receive a dispatch from me in two weeks or so. Anything from him should be returned to him if it arrives more than six weeks from now.” He coughed uneasily. “I’m sorry I didn’t have the pleasure of seeing the Duzeons again, or the Duz.”
“It’s unfortunate they’re still away.” Zhanf indicated the comfortable chairs set around a low table. “Would you like some refreshments before you go?” Good manners required he make the offer, and he wanted an excuse for a last chance to question Pareo.
“Ver Mindicaz has provided me with a small case of food, thank you. It was most generous of her.”
“Will it suffice?” Zhanf asked, trying to determine what Pareo was seeking to convey, for he clearly had some intention beyond making his farewells. “Surely a little something now won’t take away from what she’s provided.”
“Undoubtedly not,” he answered, some of his old hauteur showing again. “The Cook-Major shows a good sense of the responsibilities of hospitality.”
“Yes, she does,” Zhanf agreed, and went to one of the chairs. “I was taking a glass of wine, and I’d like to finish it. Join me if you like.” By repeating an invitation, he hoped to encourage Pareo to speak some more.
“I might have just a little,” said Pareo, taking another chair, and indicating the large bottle of butter-colored wine. “Uduganish wine is particularly nice.”
“It has that reputation,” said Zhanf as he poured some into a glass cup and held it out to Pareo. “I hope you’ll have a good voyage,” he said by way of a toast.
“And I hope the Duzeons and the Duz will return shortly,” said Pareo, and took a sip of the yellow wine. “I’ll miss having this on Fah. The wines there are not as savory as those of Theninzalk. It’s the heat that does it – turns the wines harsh.” He looked around the room. “The Castle seems empty today, and unless it is my imagination, a number of the staff has gone. Your man, Zhanf, is – “
”Van is carrying invitations for Last and First Day festivities to many of our neighbors here,” said Zhanf.
“General Rocazin is away as well, isn’t she?”
“I believe so,” said Zhanf, who had seen General Rocazin off two hours earlier, bound for the Mercers’ Stage, the first barge stage above Valdihovee, and the center of textile trade in the region. “She’ll return in a day or two.”
“More preparation for Last and First Day, I warrant, at a time she can get a good, winter price on cloth,” he said. “Even that ingratiating fool Merinex is gone.”
This was news to Zhanf, who said only, “If he’s beyond the Castle’s outer wall, I’d be surprised.” Pareo’s rancor at the mention of Merinex didn’t surprise him, but he added, “All his duties are in the Castle.”
“I saw him in the tower where the spell-mummies have been placed.”
“No doubt he wants to reinforce the protective spells on them,” said Zhanf. “That’s one of his duties – to maintain protective spells. He’s always been careful about his duties. No? You’ve seen how he bustles about, and how he makes sure everyone knows he’s done his work. He is diligent about those spells. ” He smiled at Pareo as he decided he’d have to speak with Merinex about how he was containing the spell-mummies.
“Something was said about there being Cazboarthen men at the wall where the spell-mummies were discovered.” He made a gesture of protection. “Merinex told me that the guards had been alerted to watch for more trouble from Cazboarth.”
“When did he tell you that?” Zhanf asked, hoping to find out how much Merinex had said, and to whom.
“A few days after . . . Ruch died.” Pareo looked down into his wine-cup as if he would like to have much more. A shake of his head ended his wish.
“Did he make a connection between the spell-mummies and Cazboarth?” That was precisely the kind of rumor Zhanf didn’t want bruited throughout the Duzky, and it was exactly what the people were likely to seize upon. He would have to speak to Merinex about it.
Pareo didn’t answer directly. “I hope he knows what he’s doing. One mistake with spell-mummies, and who knows what mischief could be unleashed. I hope the spell-mummies aren’t beyond his talents to control.” He paused thoughtfully, then said, “I can’t understand how such an experienced magician as Duz Nimuar could engage such a fellow as Merinex as his Castle magician. Compromised or not, Nimuar must be aware of Merinex’s limitations.”
“He is somewhat . . . incapable of all that’s required of him, I suppose, but he does his work and he is given nothing beyond his talent
to accomplish, as far as I’m aware. But Duz Nimuar, in spite of what was done to him, kept up a great deal of the routine household spells himself, so Merinex carries fewer obligations than most household magicians.” As Zhanf said it, he discovered he shared Pareo’s puzzlement.
“You spoke, Magsto, of possible enemies within the walls,” Pareo observed. “Someone like Merinex is ill-equipped to deal with them.” He tossed off the rest of his wine and got out of his chair. “This was most kind of you. I regret that I’m unable to remain longer, but I must leave.” He respected Zhanf lavishly and went to the door. “One day, we may meet again.”
“One day we may,” Zhanf agreed.
“I’ll look forward to it, and to meeting Duz Nimuar.” He flourished the long, tied sleeves of his gaihups and left Zhanf alone with his thoughts.
A short while later, Zhanf heard the Castle trumpeter play Farewell to the Guest a sure signal that Pareo was through the main gate and on his way down the long, curving road to Valdihovee. He continued to sit, sipping his wine and trying to discern what message, if any, Pareo had concealed in his last remarks. One thing was certain – Pareo was worried about the spell-mummies. This didn’t surprise Zhanf, for Pareo had been much distressed by the death of Hoftstan Ruch, and had remained uneasy since the seneschal was murdered. He couldn’t figure out why Pareo had made such a point of bringing up Heijot Merinex’s inadequacies, except that it helped to justify the dread that had driven Pareo to flee Vildecaz Castle. And while Zhanf was worried about possible enemies or allies of enemies within the Castle walls, he had found no evidence linking any of the household to Cazboarth. His ruminations continued until Neilach Drux appeared in the doorway.
“I think I may have found something,” he said as he respected Zhanf.
“What is it?” Zhanf rose and gave his attention to Drux, for he could see that Nimuar’s valet was agitated.
“Well, I was going through the Duz’s clothes-presses for the usual winter repairs, as is done every year at this time,” Drux began, making an effort to organize his thoughts. “I found something behind the clothes-press, up against the wall. I think you’d better have a look at it.”
Agnith's Promise: The Vildecaz Talents, Book 3 Page 18
