Ecstasy

by Jacquelyn Frank

  “How do you figure?”

  “Two reasons. First, you’re so distracted by her that you couldn’t possibly coordinate an overthrow of the government that you actually helped create.”

  “And the second?”

  “That you wouldn’t overthrow the government you helped create. You had your chance to do it the way you wanted and you were very exacting about the horse you backed. If the war didn’t change your loyalties,” he noted, stressing “war” instead of “Acadian,” “then nothing will.”

  “I don’t know about that,” he said with a grin. “There’s always the love of a good woman to change a man.” He gave the guard a sly look.

  “Don’t be a smart-ass.”

  Ashla was very much aware of every moment Trace spent watching her. The connection that had formed between them was stronger now than it had been in Shadowscape. Like a homing beacon, it told her when he was coming, when he was getting closer, and especially when he was there. The feeling was like sparkles inside her, the internal equivalent to soda pop bubbles up her nose. She wondered why he didn’t feel it, too. If he had, then he wouldn’t think she was ignorant of his presence, would he? Or maybe he was gambling that she hadn’t figured out what the feeling meant yet.

  Either way, he never approached her, never announced himself, and never so much as stepped out of hiding to wave at her. He simply stuck to the darkest corners, spent his time watching over her, and then left.

  Ashla had no idea what to make of him.

  She played along for two weeks, pretending not to notice a feeling that all but overwhelmed her, and tried not to keep mulling over why he was keeping his distance, because all of the answers she arrived at were so disheartening and disappointing. In the end, they all boiled down to the same thing. He was checking up on her to see she was okay, easing his conscience for the mistakes he had made with her, and pushing her off onto others.

  Even after these weeks, she still felt like she was in the wrong body. Hell, the wrong everything. Her hair was longer than she’d kept it since childhood, she was wearing strange clothes that ranged from religious uniforms to what amounted to harem outfits. She felt cold all the time because she was still thin, and in the beginning her atrophied muscles had made movement all but impossible. Her natural healing talent had quickly helped cure almost all of it, except the thinness of her bones and body. Magnus said that was something only time out of sunlight and good foods could cure. And even that was his best guess, she could tell.

  No one knew quite what to make of her, either. They tended to whisper a lot around her, or outright speak another language. Ignorance of Shadese was something she was going to have to rectify if she was going to hang around with these people in the future.

  She wasn’t exactly sure about that part yet, either. Of course, she had no worthy family to return to, and her only friend was dead. Her job and anyone she knew was gone by two years. Magnus had been kind and righteously pissed off as he’d relayed all he had experienced with her mother, but she was used to her mother’s zealot opinions about her, so she hadn’t reacted much.

  Not much.

  Sometimes she thought she was in a state of shock still from all of this. Oh, she was very glad that the world wasn’t really devastated by some mysterious global phenomenon, but considering how isolated she was feeling again in spite of being surrounded by people taking care of her, she wondered if she was going to feel that way no matter what she did. She was learning about new races—or rather, very old ones. Learning that Demons, Vampires, and Lycanthropes were real unnerved her a bit, but Magnus said they were good guys for the most part, and she was inclined to believe him.

  She was figuring out other things, too. The political structure, Trace’s importance there, the migrations—she had even realized that she was staying in some kind of a religious house, and the very handsome and kind Magnus was some sort of a priest.

  Kind of a waste, if you asked her. The man was beautifully handsome and amazingly magnetic, both attributes probably making him the spiritual leader that he was. He was patient, kind, and incredibly considerate. Intelligent, too. She had actually thought him to be quite the hottie early on, until she had realized he was a religious figure. She had sighed and labeled that under the “All the best ones are gay, married, or…” category. To think that he wouldn’t pass that on to a child or make someone a fairly lucky girl was just a shame. Then again, maybe their priests were allowed to have sex. She wasn’t sure. Everyone seemed pretty austere and tightly wound up in tradition and protocol, so she tended to doubt it.

  But she had also never seen a priest walk about fully armed before, and she never saw Magnus without his beautiful weaponry. She had recognized the artistic exquisiteness of the scabbards as being very similar to the ones Trace carried. Both men seemed to favor Japanese-style weapons.

  The one thing she was certain of since coming back to her “full” existence was that there was a great deal for her to learn and explore now. Knowing that there were whole cultures in the world that had “freaks” just like her in them made her feel a lot less alone than she ever had before. She just wished she didn’t look so obviously like an outsider. She always drew attention when she passed by, even though she had not gone outside of the Sanctuary proper yet. All of the attention and furtive whispers felt a little too much like…like her childhood; like she had felt every day of her adult life as she had concealed parts of herself she had been raised to dread. She didn’t like being an anomaly, and here she couldn’t hide it like she had been able to among humans.

  It made her worry her lip as she thought to Trace again. He had said and done a lot of things in Shadowscape, and she wondered if he was regretting all of that now. If he was such a public figure, maybe it wouldn’t be such a great idea to be seen hanging around a half-breed girl like her. Apparently it was an unspoken law that Shadowdwellers and humans were an off-limits combination. She was the product of some kind of felony or something, as if she didn’t have enough problems. To top it off, she was pale and blond in a population that was consistently dark-skinned and ebony-haired. She was a minority of one, and she was deeply out of her element.

  Not to mention the women around her were giving her a serious complex. They were incredible. Tall, strong, and curvaceous, they had a dramatic dark beauty that was enhanced by the East Indian way they dressed. Exotic silks in deep colors adorned smooth skin ranging in shade from mocha to burnt sienna. They had amazing complexions, black and russet khols to draw out their sultry eyes, and though they were from a conservative culture, they had powerful wills and decided opinions on what they wanted.

  Ashla was none of those things. Not even close. If Trace was used to women like that, what had he ever seen in her?

  “Ashla,” Karri greeted her warmly as she entered the courtyard from the east. “How are you this evening?”

  “Feeling at a bit of a loss,” she sighed honestly.

  “Really? About what?” The handmaiden quickly sat down beside her, laying a comforting hand on her knee.

  “About Trace,” she answered baldly, figuring she didn’t have anything to lose at that point. Besides, Karri was kind of like a nun, wasn’t she? There was probably some confidentiality clause or something.

  “Ah. I saw he was here again. He still hasn’t approached you?”

  “I don’t think he wants to,” she said with a shrug. “He doesn’t strike me as the shy type, so I have to assume he just doesn’t want to.”

  “No, Trace is anything but shy,” Karri agreed knowingly. Too knowingly, in fact. Ashla felt a sensation of quick and hot jealousy whip around in her belly as she stared at the clean and simple beauty of Karri. She wore the midnight blue sari of a handmaiden, as she almost always did, with her hair drawn back into a tidy plait. She wore bangles and a collared necklace of gold, also as most of the others did, and her nails were painted to match her uniform. She wasn’t heavily adorned and wore no make-up, but she was still young and pretty. “He grew u
p here, you know.”

  “Here? You mean here here? In the temple or whatever you call it?”

  “Temple or, most often, Sanctuary. Sanctuary is all inclusive, and temple is more directed toward the central building.”

  “Thanks,” Ashla said, feeling as stupid as she did every time she made one of these faux pas. “So he lived in Sanctuary?”

  “Yes. He is Magnus’s son.”

  “His son! But…isn’t he a-a priest? Aren’t they supposed to be celibate or something?”

  “Trace is Magnus’s foster son. We rarely make that distinction, though, as it is considered rude. Magnus sees Trace as he would his real blood, and so should we. As for celibacy, Magnus is no more or less restricted from sexual congress as any married man is, barring religious events that require he be. Sex is a very natural instinct and serves great purpose in life. It makes no sense for a religious leader to give guidance about sex, family, and relationships when he has none of his own. Instead of a wife, however, he is given a handmaiden.”

  “You mean—you have to have sex with him whenever he wants to just because you are assigned to him as his handmaiden?”

  “No! Oh no. Consensual sex is paramount in all relationships. I am not obliged to sleep with him any more than he is obliged to sleep with me. It only means that until death dissolves our religious bond of priest and handmaiden, I am simply his only choice, should he desire to expend sexual energy. He is also my only choice. However, we both reserve the right to decline at all times. It is hard to explain without getting into great religious detail, and you don’t look like you have patience for that today.”

  “Honestly, you’re right. I’d rather you tell me what you know about Trace so I can try and figure him out a little. I doubt I will have any success, but…I still want to try.”

  “Well, what would you like to know?” Karri threw a covert look toward the main temple.

  Here was the challenge, actually. Ashla didn’t want to fish for information from someone else. She wanted to ask Trace this stuff, or at least be able to hang out around him long enough to figure some of it out for herself. That would have been nice.

  Just the same, she found she couldn’t ask any of the personal questions burning in her mind. What happened to his parents, making him a fosterling? How old was he when this happened? How old is he now?

  “Is he married?” It was such a gauche-sounding and stupid little query that her face burned with embarrassment. “Joined, I mean. You call it ‘joined,’ right?”

  “Yes. Just like your human weddings, joinings are great celebrations, usually involving the whole city. And no, Trace is not joined. He isn’t the type.”

  “The type?” she echoed.

  “To settle into a monogamous, familial relationship,” the handmaiden explained. “He is too much engaged with his duties and the development of the government. He is career obsessed, I think you call it.”

  That was easy enough to see, Ashla thought with a sigh. She remembered the fight with Baylor and all he had said so heatedly to the other man. It was clear Trace was devoted to his role and his loyalties to his government.

  “Well, does he have children?”

  “No. It is considered shameful to bear children without a joining. It must seem old-fashioned, I know, but the shame is attached to the inconsiderate parents who ought to have taken precautions against it. Shadowdwellers enjoy sex freely, Ashla, and we choose our desires openly. There is never any shame in that. However, we also believe a child is best raised within a strong family unit with joined parents to guide it. It is shameful to spread seed or give birth without taking great care in planning the results. Especially when it is so easily preventable in today’s society.”

  “I see.” She flushed, thinking of how reckless she had been with Trace before she had realized she hadn’t been so reckless after all. Trace, of course, had not been concerned about it. She had been little more than a ghost to him. A wraith couldn’t get pregnant, so what was there to worry about? “So…sex is neither taboo nor special? I-I mean, you’re used to enjoying each other and moving on.”

  “That is usually the case among single Shadowdwellers, yes. We live much too long to limit ourselves and our experiences. You will see. You will live a long life, too. And there will be many among us who will find you fascinating and exciting.”

  “You mean a freak,” she snapped suddenly, standing up with restless anger as she folded her arms around her clenching stomach. “Like all those stupid erotic stories about making love to an alien. Just because I look and act different, men around here are going to want to nail me, just to say they did it with the half-breed!”

  “Well, of course we are all fascinated by you, Ashla. It is hard to resist curiosity over the unique. There is also great honor to be gained if you can claim to have given great pleasure to such an extraordinary being. But—”

  “Oh my God! I think I’m going to be sick.” She turned away and covered her mouth as tears burned hot in her eyes. Was that what had happened? Did Trace have his bragging rights now? Was he just coming around now to point to his butterfly in a jar and show her as a great conquest?

  “I’ve upset you,” Karri said worriedly. “This wasn’t my intention. Please, I apologize, Anai Ashla. There are many women here who would love to be the center of such attention. They would thrive on having so many lovers to experience.” Karri stood up and wrung her hands as she came up behind Ashla. “It is not just you, Anai. For instance, a woman who has had Trace for a lover would have incredible prestige in the eyes of other men and women. In our culture, the women would respect her and the men would desire her for themselves. The same would be true for any man who the Chancellor Malaya chose for a lover. For a woman so powerful and highly placed to select him would give him high desirability to others, and the respect of his peers. This is to say nothing of the experience itself. Trace was trained from his youth in the ways of pleasure and gratification. Magnus saw to it he had the very best tutors. We are all trained in the ways of lovemaking when we are young, but such valuable education as Trace or the Chancellors received is only given to an elite class.”

  Ashla wished the handmaiden would shut up. Karri meant well, but the more she said, the more of a nightmare this was becoming. She didn’t want to think about all the lessons and women and prestige Trace had gained or given throughout his already extensive life. What he must have thought of her! With her ridiculous awkward experiences and her admitted failures at achieving orgasm. Ashla couldn’t decide what was worse, thinking of his amusement at that, or thinking of how easy it had been for him to use his “lessons” on her to make her perform on command. How smug and blasé he must have been!

  “Excuse me, I’m not feeling very well.”

  Ashla rushed out of the courtyard. She didn’t want to burst into blubbering tears in public. She was enough of a sideshow as it was. And she absolutely wasn’t going to let Trace watch her—

  As though just thinking his name had conjured him, Ashla ran full-force into his body, and his hands and arms immediately closed around her. She squeaked in utter dismay as she became trapped in an instant in the place she least wanted to be.

  What was worse was how incredibly good it felt to feel his strength around her again. His hands fitted to her arms and back in smooth sweeps that made her whole body groan with relief. He also smelled even better to her now than he had in Shadowscape. Everything came sharper and deeper, as if her senses had only been half complete and torn apart between the two ’scapes. His warmth, the scent of leather and exotic male musk, and as she looked up, even his eyes seemed a richer, more velvety black.

  “Jei li,” he said softly, his eyes searching her face with such intensity and sincerity that she almost forgot everything she had been feeling an instant ago. But all it took was a single thought, a single understanding that he had been “well educated” in the ways of women, and she shoved away from him with a cry.

  “Ashla, what is it?” he demanded, ref
using to let her go even as she squirmed so violently she was likely going to injure herself.

  “Let me go! Just go away!”

  “What did she say? Ashla, tell me what Karri said to upset you!”

  “I’m not telling you anything!” she screamed in his face. “Why should I? Why do you care? You haven’t even talked to me for over two weeks! You lied to me. You…you used me! I was so stupid!”

  “Enough!”

  The furious roar came an instant before Ashla was plucked off the ground and thrown over a leather-clad shoulder. She screeched and kicked, not caring if it sent her crashing on her head. It would probably feel better than she felt right then anyway. She had never been so mad, though God knew she had been hurt that much and more before. Most of all, she was furious with herself for walking right into the lies and the bullshit all over again, proving she would never, ever learn her lesson.

  Through the fury of her flying hair, Ashla saw a door slamming closed behind them. Then she felt herself sailing through the air and landing on a soft surface. She scrambled for footing and posture, but she felt him grab her by her chin and face and shove her back down as he pinned her arms behind her back and forced her legs still beneath one of his.

  “I said enough!”

  “Fuck you!”

  “As appealing an idea as that would normally be, I think not,” he retorted dryly. “Now why don’t you calm down and tell me what in the searing Light this is all about?”

  “It’s about you being a total pig! Get off me!”

  Ashla had never realized how good it would feel to simply scream at somebody. Just demanding what she wanted instead of tucking tail with a whimper and running away was such a rushing and different experience. Granted, she wasn’t getting anywhere, but it still felt better than begging the world’s pardon that she was breathing its oxygen.

  “Did you just call me a—?”

  “Pig! Swine! A filthy, disgusting animal!”

  Trace pushed the wild curls of her hair off her face. Her eyes were shut tight, but there was no mistaking the cold fury on that normally meek and docile face. Something about it just made him want to smile, but she would probably pop a stroke if she caught him at it.