Trafalgar Boone and the Children of the Burnt Empire

by Geonn Cannon

  The first evening, when Trafalgar was still recovering from her brief illness, Cora almost had a panic attack when the sun began setting. The darkness was so utterly complete it was as if the world was being erased. The animal noises she’d been unaware of hearing all day vanished so suddenly that the silence was almost a new sound. Felix had comforted her, the first act of kindness he’d shown her and a cornerstone of trust.

  Of course now she couldn’t hold onto that trust. She sat with her back against a stone and looked at him, Captain Felix Neville. She barely recognized him. He still hadn’t regained consciousness, which was worrisome. But he had only a mild fever and occasionally muttered in his sleep, so there was definitely life behind his closed eyes.

  Ketcham, the man who had appeared with Dorothy, was doing much better with his recovery. He’d woken up not long after Dorothy and Trafalgar entered the cave and expressed his disappointment at not being invited loudly and with inventive cursing. At the moment he was sitting next to the fire Cora had helped build, poking a stick into the embers.

  Rute, the frightening soldier-ish woman who was also from Dorothy’s party, returned to the group without announcing her approach. She was like a spirit, seemingly moving through the foliage without disturbing a single leaf. She made Cora’s flesh crawl.

  “Anything out there we should be worried about?” Cora asked.

  “If there was, I eliminated it.” Rute stopped in front of the fire. She removed a bloody kerchief from her pocket, unwrapped it, and speared whatever it was on a stick. She crouched and extended the slice of meat into the flame. “Any word from down below?”

  Cora was transfixed by the glistening meat. She prayed it had been an animal. She was concerned that she couldn’t discount the possibility it was one of the tribesmen they’d fought off earlier.

  “No, nothing,” she finally said.

  “That’s not a good sign. How long are we supposed to wait before we go down there, guns blazing?”

  Cora said, “This is Lady Boone and Miss Trafalgar. We have to trust them.”

  Ketcham grunted. “No offense, lady, but my experience with those two has been less than stellar. Boone almost got herself trampled and the other one nearly fell into the cave flailing around with one of those tribesmen. Their reputation is sounding more and more like carnival barking.”

  “Trust me,” Cora said, “these two have a way of getting thing done. It may not be pretty, but they get results. We stay here. We wait. Until we’re given reason to move.”

  “Like those wild men in the woods?” Ketcham said.

  Rute checked the skin of her meat. “We shouldn’t have to worry about them tonight. I tracked them for a mile, and there’s no sign of doubling back. They went home to wherever they came from.”

  “You’ll forgive me for not sleeping tonight.”

  “Suit yourself.” Rute took a bite of her meal.

  Cora looked at Felix, who shifted in his sleep. His brow was furrowed but he seemed to be more at peace than the rest of them. She envied him. She also envied Trafalgar and Boone. She didn’t know what they had found or what horrors they might have been facing, but it had to be better than sitting in the dark surrounded by unseen beasts and hostile compatriots.

  She leaned against her stone, drew her knees up to her chest, and closed her eyes in the hopes she could trick her brain into shutting down to give her a little rest.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The chambers they’d been given had four stone beds with thick pelts folded on top to serve as bedding. Two racks of clothing stood on opposite sides of the room. Dorothy went to one and Trafalgar to the other. They checked the outfits, looked at each other, and crossed in the center of the room to trade sides. Dorothy had no idea where D’janira had acquired these things, but they all seemed to be very fine material and carefully stitched.

  “You don’t suppose she made all of this herself, do you?” Dorothy asked.

  “Did she strike you as the type who spends her free time as a seamstress?”

  Dorothy smiled. “Not exactly, no. But I also can’t see her wandering the aisles of Marks and Spencer with a list of our sizes, either.”

  “You saw those trunks and crates in the main room. These things probably came from crates that fell off boats and drifted upriver.” She pulled out a man’s shirt which had been slashed across the chest and neatly repaired. “Or from unlucky adventurers who crossed the locals. But perhaps she did make these herself. We have no idea where she came from. Whoever this D’janira is, she’s certainly led an interesting life.”

  “True.”

  Dorothy glanced over her shoulder to see Trafalgar was already disrobing. She started to look away, but her eye was caught by an M-shaped scar on Trafalgar’s right shoulder. There was another on the left shoulder, older and more faded. She moved closer without thinking, without being fully aware of crossing the space. Trafalgar had taken a tunic off the rack but sensed Dorothy’s approach and looked at her, holding the cloth against her chest.

  “My god.” Dorothy could see more marks up close. Little scratches, longer cuts, some that had been treated medically and others which had obviously been left to heal on their own. They were the results of falling, rolling, being in the way of dropped things, and other hazards of their profession.

  Trafalgar said, “I’m sure your back looks similar.”

  “Yes,” Dorothy admitted. “But it’s easy to ignore those. Easy to forget just how many of them there are.”

  She lightly touched one of Trafalgar’s scars with her middle finger. Trafalgar tensed but didn’t pull away. Dorothy moved her finger and gooseflesh erupted in her wake. Her lips quirked in a meager smile, but she was too intently focused on what she was doing to be distracted. The scar ended but her finger continued, up to the soft skin of Trafalgar’s neck where her hair had once rested. She spread her hand out and let it span across the curve of her shoulder.

  “We’re more than the sum of our scars,” Dorothy whispered.

  Trafalgar looked at her again. The silence between them in that moment was as heavy as any words they could have said. Dorothy thought of how close they’d both come to dying. Sure, they had faced death before. Dorothy had actually drowned on one of their missions. But this time... Dorothy moved her hand to Trafalgar’s cheek, and Trafalgar finally turned so they were facing each other.

  “You scolded me about not having a reaction to the fact you were alive. The truth is, I refused to let myself believe you were dead because... If I let myself think I’d lost you so soon after losing Desmond... I don’t think I would have survived that. No one else knows what this life is like. Not even Beatrice really understands. Not the way you do.”

  Trafalgar took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  Dorothy’s hand had slipped off the shoulder to her bicep, and now she moved it to Trafalgar’s cheek. She leaned in, the difference in their heights becoming an issue for the first time as Dorothy pressed her lips to the corner of Trafalgar’s mouth. It could have remained a friendly kiss, affection between close colleagues, until Trafalgar turned her head, and Dorothy touched her tongue to lips that parted under that slight pressure.

  There was no heat of the moment to blame, no adrenaline rush or life-saving gambit to celebrate. It was a premeditated choice on both their parts that still managed to feel spontaneous and unexpected. Trafalgar let go of the tunic she’d been holding and brought her hands up. She lightly brushed either side of Dorothy’s face before dropping her hands lower to touch the collar of her shirt. Her fingers plucked at the button, not quite getting it undone.

  “What are we doing?” Her voice was barely louder than a gasp.

  Dorothy put her hands on top of Trafalgar’s. “This,” she said, and kissed her again.

  Trafalgar opened one button and after that, the rest of them went easily. Dorothy was aware her skin was clammy from wearing her wet clothes for so long, but Trafalgar ignored that as she slipped her hand under the material. Dorothy
followed the curve of Trafalgar’s flanks with both hands until she found the waistband of her pants. She twisted the button and pushed them down, and Trafalgar let them fall. Her underwear went next. She stepped out of the material, putting her weight against Dorothy, forcing her to take a rapid series of steps backward toward the beds.

  “What about D’janira?” Dorothy said against Trafalgar’s cheek. She was very aware of the fact this chamber didn’t have any sort of door.

  “If we believe her claims,” Trafalgar said as her hand moved down the bodice of Dorothy’s underclothes, “she already knows what does or doesn’t happen tonight. So there’s... no reason to cease for fear of being discovered.”

  “Reasonable.”

  Dorothy took a step back, one hand on Trafalgar’s hip, and finally took in the sight of the other woman’s nudity. She unconsciously swept her tongue across her bottom lip as her eyes trailed over the curves, up to her breasts. She finally met Trafalgar’s gaze once more and held it as she shrugged out of her blouse. Trafalgar’s jaw was tight. She held her body very still as Dorothy’s shirt was discarded. Her belt buckle jingled as it came loose.

  Trafalgar smiled at the sight of Dorothy’s underwear. She teased the string tied into a bow under the hem of the camisole.

  “Men’s shorts?”

  “My shorts,” Dorothy said. Her voice sounded uncharacteristically meek to her own ears. “Men prefer union suits. These are being sold, so someone might as well take advantage of them. Do you like them?”

  Trafalgar said, “Oh, yes. I like them very much.” Her forefinger curled though the bow and pulled. Dorothy let them fall, holding her breath until she stepped out of them. She crossed her arms, grabbed the camisole with both hands, and pulled it over her head. The speed of removing it caused her breasts to sway a bit, and Trafalgar seemed briefly hypnotized by the movement.

  “Wow,” she said.

  “I know.” Dorothy smiled. “Freckles.”

  Trafalgar said, “What? Oh... yes. But... yes. May I... should...”

  “I very much hope you will.”

  She closed her eyes when Trafalgar’s hand cupped her breast, the thumb sweeping across the nipple. Trafalgar put her other hand on the back of Dorothy’s head and drew her in for another kiss, taking charge this time as she explored with her fingertips.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing,” Trafalgar said.

  “Then you’re doing a fantastic job of guessing.”

  Trafalgar said, “Don’t make light. I’ve never... with...”

  “Ah. You’d like me to teach you. How to touch me. How to please me?”

  Another deep exhale. “Yes.”

  Dorothy kissed her and stepped back. She felt the edge of the bed against her thighs and sat down. She spread her legs and urged Trafalgar to kneel between them with gentle pressure on her shoulder. She moved her hand to the back of Trafalgar’s head and brought the other hand to her mouth. She wet the fingers, never breaking eye contact as she put that hand between her legs.

  “Pay attention,” she said.

  “To what?” Trafalgar’s eyes roamed Dorothy’s body, lingering on her breasts but frequently venturing lower. “It’s all... I... you’re beautiful, Lady Boone.”

  “And you’re magnificent,” Dorothy said. “My hand, Miss Trafalgar. Watch my hand.”

  Trafalgar stared.

  Breathless, Dorothy said, “Do you see what I’m doing? With this finger... these fingers...?” Her face was burning. “Watch. Like this... gently. Taking my time.”

  “Teasing.”

  “Yes. No rush. No need to rush.” She swallowed. “Touch yourself like this.”

  Trafalgar’s hands were resting on Dorothy’s thighs, but she moved one between her own legs.

  “That’s good. Like that. Do you often do this?”

  “Rarely,” Trafalgar said. “When... the need arises...”

  Dorothy said, “I do it whenever I can. It feels magnificent. Why deprive myself of... such joy? A simple pleasure inflicted on myself in the privacy of my bedroom. Of course it’s a different thing entirely when there’s an audience. Do you like watching?”

  “Very much,” Trafalgar said. “I’ve often wondered. Imagined.”

  “Fantasized?”

  Trafalgar looked up into Dorothy’s eyes before quickly returning focus. “Sometimes. You are a beautiful woman. Sensuous. It’s hard not to imagine you in bed. With women.”

  “I like that you’ve thought about me. I’ve thought about you as well.” She wet her lips and closed her eyes. “It’s so rare to meet a woman taller than me. We’re usually equal heights. You are magnificently tall. I want to feel your arms around me. I want to lay my cheek on your breast while sweat cools on my forehead while--”

  “Dorothy...” Trafalgar threw herself forward, capturing Dorothy’s lips and pushing her back onto the furs. Dorothy wrapped her legs around Trafalgar’s waist. They crossed arms, groping for each other. Trafalgar grasped as Dorothy found her target, then bared her teeth as her own fingers brushed against slick skin.

  “Like this,” Dorothy whispered, or perhaps it was ‘I like this,’ even she wasn’t certain. She was too distracted by Trafalgar’s weight, her hip between her legs to push her hand harder against Dorothy’s mound.

  They broke the kiss for quiet gasps, moans, and to implore each other in short, simple directives: “Harder” or “there” or “more.” Dorothy put her free hand in the small of Trafalgar’s back, just above her ass, and pushed, setting a rhythm for her to begin thrusting. She squeezed her eyes shut and moved her head to bite Trafalgar’s shoulder, hoping to muffle her voice. She was only capable of noises now, jaw wide, tongue pressed against sweaty skin, teeth digging in just enough to leave marks that would last a few minutes after they finished.

  “Dorothy.” It reached her ear like a desperate grunt, echoed a moment later. “Dorothy.” And again on each forward thrust, punctuated by Trafalgar’s thumb on her clit, two fingers inside of her. Dorothy felt Trafalgar’s muscles clenching around her own fingers and knew the end was near. She relaxed her jaw and turned the bite into a kiss, pressing her lips against the throbbing vein in Trafalgar’s throat.

  “Let yourself go for me,” she whispered, and Trafalgar cried out. She arched her back, rising up, and Dorothy pressed her face into the hollow between her hanging breasts. Trafalgar’s convulsions set off Dorothy’s own orgasm. She held tightly, her heels digging into the stone bed. Their moaning was uncoordinated but their bodies moved as one. Dorothy fell back, pulling Trafalgar with her.

  “I finished,” Trafalgar said.

  “You did?” Dorothy said. “When?”

  Trafalgar laughed and dropped her hand on top of Dorothy’s face. Dorothy angled her neck until she could get two of the fingers into her mouth to taste herself off of them. Trafalgar made the hissing noise Dorothy now recognized as a sign of acute arousal. She brought her own hand up, and Trafalgar tentatively kissed the tips of them.

  “Odd.”

  Dorothy popped the fingers into her mouth and smacked her lips. “Mm. But a very good odd.”

  Trafalgar kissed Dorothy high on the cheek, just below her eye. They were both out of breath, weak-kneed, and Trafalgar repositioned herself so she could settle on top of Dorothy. Their lips met in a casual, idle, slow kiss. When Dorothy inhaled, she felt Trafalgar’s stomach slipping against hers. Trafalgar’s thigh was a strong pressure between hers. She found Trafalgar’s hand, linked their fingers, and squeezed. Trafalgar rolled to one side and pulled Dorothy with her, holding her tightly. She put one hand on the back of Dorothy’s head to guide it to her breast.

  “Is this how you fantasized?”

  Dorothy smiled and kissed the curve of sweaty skin in front of her mouth. One dark nipple, still erect, was close enough for her to flick it with her tongue.

  “I’ve never been creative enough to imagine something like this,” Dorothy said.

  Trafalgar threaded Dorothy’s hair with her fingers.
“I... When we get back to London, I hope this doesn’t complicate things with Beatrice.”

  “We have an understanding.”

  “I know, yes, with people you encounter out in the world. People you leave when you come home. I imagine it will be different with someone who lives under the same roof.”

  Dorothy shook her head. “I don’t believe she’ll care. But we’ll discuss it. We can be mature adults about it. And now that it’s happened, I think we can all admit that this was bound to happen eventually.”

  “We can?” Trafalgar said. “I admit, my feelings for you have been confusing lately. But to go so far as to call it inevitable...”

  Dorothy sat up and put her chin on Trafalgar’s breast. “I knew. Even when I hated you, I could admit you were a beautiful woman. I couldn’t imagine becoming your friend first, but I did always feel a physical attraction to you.”

  Trafalgar raised an eyebrow. “I see. Dorothy...?”

  “Yes?”

  “Your chin is very sharp.”

  Dorothy laughed and kissed the spot where it had been pressing. “Better?”

  “Very much.”

  Dorothy put her head down and closed her eyes. Trafalgar’s fingers in her hair was very calming. She felt like they should sit up for a while, discuss D’janira and the Burnt Empire attack she claimed was imminent. They needed to strategize. But it had been such a demanding day, and she was so utterly exhausted, and Trafalgar’s touch was so comforting... She felt safe and her mind was quiet. So she kept her eyes closed and just let herself slip into a restful sleep.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I’m having difficulty with something...”

  Cora was mostly talking to herself, her voice barely more than a mutter, but it carried to Ketcham a few yards away. He held up his canteen.

  “The granola? It’s easier to break off a piece with your fingers, pop it in your mouth, then drown it with a big drink of water. It’s the only way to get it down.”

  “What?” She looked at the granola in her hand. “Oh. No. I’ve eaten enough of this garbage that I barely even notice it anymore. There’s something...” She scanned the area around the lake. “Last night when we arrived, when Captain Neville lost consciousness and you came out of nowhere with Lady Boone... there were... men with us.”