Sin and Soil

by Anya Merchant

  Vel turned to face him and he saw his own surprise reflected in her expression, at least for an instant. She seemed to master her emotions, smiling warmly, but Damon was sure he hadn’t imagined her hesitation and the potential shock underneath it.

  “Oh…” she said. “Damon! It’s… so good to see you.”

  It was her. Damon felt as though a flock of birds was fluttering through his stomach. He was almost sure that it was the same young woman who’d worn the cat mask, the same young woman who he’d brought into his room in the inn during the Turning Festival in Avaricia and laid down onto his bed.

  It couldn’t be, but everything about her matched. For it to be a simple coincidence would be…

  “Solas?” called Malon. “Are you alright?”

  He cleared his throat. “Of course, sorry. Vel… It’s been so long. You’ve certainly… grown up.”

  “I know,” said Vel, her voice a tad thin. “You look so much more like, um, a man. I almost didn’t recognize you. How silly is that?”

  She let out a tiny, rather forced laugh. Damon added to it with a coughing chuckle of his own. Neither of them moved to close the distance between them, to pull the other into the tight embrace that the reunion would have otherwise warranted.

  “I’ll let the two of you catch up,” said Malon. “I need to make sure I remembered to refill the troth for the horses.”

  “Wait!” snapped Vel. “We aren’t done talking yet! I haven’t agreed to anything!”

  “Right, right, seta,” said Malon, emphasizing the familial Rem term with an obvious roll of her eyes. “We’ll discuss it.”

  She slipped out the door before Vel could protest further, shutting the door behind her. The awkward silence that established itself during the next few seconds was one of the most uncomfortable that Damon had ever endured.

  “You’re back,” he said.

  Vel gave a tiny shrug. “So are you.”

  More silence. The memory of the sex pounded at his awareness as he remembered how he’d pounded the woman in the cat mask. He remembered her shuddering moans and soft flesh, her sexy body and silky hair, and was overwhelmed by the uncanny resemblance to Vel’s own respective features.

  “Damon…” said Vel. “You’re looking at me weirdly.”

  “What route did you take on your way here from Merinia?” he asked. “You were at the court in Hearthold, so you obviously took a ship across the sea. Did it dock in Avaricia?”

  Vel’s face flushed, and she narrowed her eyes defensively. “Why does that matter?”

  “I’m just curious.” He coughed again, forcing out more words, difficult words. “I thought I might have… run into you just before I left.”

  Plowed into you, more like, he thought.

  Vel gave a dismissive shrug. “How should I know? I had a carriage waiting for me ahead of time, and I pay no mind to these rustic colonial cities. All of Veridan’s Curve would fit within the capital district with room to spare, I hope you know.”

  She turned to head out the door, presumably after Malon.

  “Velanor,” he said. “How many days ago did your ship dock?”

  She spun around, her face taking on a poutiness that reminded Damon so much of her as a little girl. “What business is that of yours? I’m beginning to dislike the tone of your questions, Damon.”

  He was familiar with her bratty side, but it had matured along with her body in their time apart. There was a dismissive, haughty elegance to it, as though she was talking down to a subordinate, regardless of the fact that he was the older one.

  It chafed him every bit as much to be on the receiving end of as when they were children. Yet, at the same time, Damon was reluctant to push the point. He wasn’t obstinate enough to dismiss the possibility that he was mistaken.

  Memories, especially ones from a night that involved drinking and passion, were often malleable. It wasn’t outside of the question to think that he’d simply bedded a woman with a remarkable resemblance to Vel and was allowing his fear play up their similarities retroactively.

  “Aesta!” Vel had finally noticed what Malon’s intent had been by slipping out of the house and was hurrying after her in a huff.

  Damon looked out the open door in time to watch Vel’s hired carriage disappearing into the trees, with Malon making her way back toward the tower house with Vel’s traveling bag in hand. He heard their argument begin anew as Vel confronted her and ran a hand through his hair, wondering if perhaps he already had enough drama to deal with without potentiating more.

  CHAPTER 12

  The two women reentered the tower house like storm and thunder. Vel was yelling and throwing a veritable fit, but each of Malon’s replies had the sharpness and bite of years of strict authority.

  “You bribed my carriage driver to leave without me!” shouted Vel.

  “A tip is not a bribe,” said Malon. “I merely paid the man what I thought he was due and explained the situation. The fact that he left without checking with you first speaks more to the lack of trust you foster among the people you hire.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Vel stomped a foot, balling both hands into fists and narrowing her eyes. “I’m no child, aesta! You cannot simply make decisions on my behalf anymore. I am Lady Velanor Isar Deconte of the Malagantyan Colonies!”

  “Is that how they refer to the New North, now?” mused Malon. “It has a certain ring to it. Very well. Lady Velanor, would you so kindly take tea with me on the balcony while I, one of your innumerable local retainers, explain to you a situation that requires your attention?”

  Malon matched Vel’s courtly tone so perfectly that Damon almost snorted with appreciation. It effectively stole the wind out from Vel’s sails, and she seemed content to contain her response to quiet grumbling as Malon gestured for the two of them to follow her upstairs.

  The second level of the tower house consisted of the study and Malon’s alchemy lab, a peaceful space which Damon and Vel had always treated with respect during their childhood. Damon remembered Malon’s reading and penmanship lessons, but also the cozy nights when he’d been allowed to curl up with a book next to a lantern and read until he drifted off to sleep.

  The third level had always been used for storage, namely extra firewood, casks of wine too valuable to leave in the shed, and various collected bits and bobs that somehow managed to escape being thrown out. It was where Damon and Ria had sparred and trained with one another on days when the weather had prevented them from going outside.

  They took the final set of stairs up to the rooftop. A steep, triangular canopy of thatched water reeds helped protect the main roof from leaking, as it was often prone to, and also provided a cozy balcony area with beautiful views across the lake and the greater Malagantyan region.

  Only a single chair was currently in residence, nestled behind a small table with a teapot atop it, true to Malon’s word. She took the seat for herself and gestured for Damon and Vel to find a spot against the roof’s ancient stone parapet as she began pouring them each a cup.

  “If you each had to take a guess as to why I invited you back here, what would it be?” asked Malon. “You arrived before I could reach out to you, Damon, but I want you to consider the question, all the same.”

  Damon glanced over at Vel, noticing the concern in her expression reflecting his own thoughts.

  “I assumed…” Vel hesitated, clearing her throat. “My assumption was that you’d fallen ill, aesta. It’s part of why I feel so blindsided by all of this. You seem in perfect health, in which case I’m at a loss.”

  Malon nodded, more in acknowledgment of her guess rather than affirmation of her answer. Her green eyes flicked toward Damon.

  “Well, I already explained my reason for coming back,” he said. “You mentioned new dangers, both ones that you wish to protect us from and ones you want our help with. Given where we are, in an area colonized by the Merinians, but still claimed by the Remenai, I’d guess that you expect the tensions betw
een the two peoples to finally spill over.”

  “That’s a fair guess, if an obvious one,” said Malon. “It would be a serious threat to my existence here, but if that were the case, why would I summon you, Velanor, and Ria into the chaos instead of warning you away from it?”

  Damon had no answer to that, and from Vel’s expression, she seemed unwilling to hazard another guess.

  “The threat I speak of comes from none other than the Divine Remnants,” said Malon.

  Damon inhaled sharply, but he also noted Malon’s particular phrasing. Most Merinians referred to the Divine Remnants with the name they were known by in modern history, the Forsaken, or occasionally by the Remenai term, the Venmalese.

  The Forsaken were alleged to be the illegitimate children of the True Divine, cursed to reincarnate indefinitely to pay for the carnal affairs of Rovahn and Leandra, God and Goddess. Each of them possessed the kind of magical power that went beyond mortal understanding, inspiring a wealth of stories and legends that blurred fact and fiction.

  “Lascivious, Conceit, Malice, Famine, Wrath, Craven, and of course, Avarice,” said Damon. “If the Godking Avarice is looking to stir up trouble, it would likely be by marching an army north from Avaricia and Veridan’s Curve to seize more land from the Rem.”

  “It’s more complicated than that,” said Malon. “A war is brewing, not between armies or cultures, but between the factions within the Divine Remnants. I… We… are in a rather unique position which might allow us to not only influence the passage of events, but also save innocent lives.”

  Vel let out a somewhat overdone sigh. “That is all well and good, but even as you give specifics, you paint pictures with increasingly vague terms. Influence the passing of events? A war between the Forsaken? Which ones, where, and why? And most importantly, how do you expect us to affect any of it?”

  “You already spoke of the deep inroads you’ve made into Merinian court,” said Malon. “Would Princess Kastet not trust your word to act on what might otherwise be a calamity if you came to her with evidence and information? Ria, likewise, can speak the language of the Remenai and walk among them, despite her status as a clanless.”

  Damon smiled sheepishly and raised a finger. “Surely you must also have an intricate part for me to play as well, aesta.”

  “Solas…” She grinned at him with such affection that he almost blushed. “Not everything is veiled with intrigue. You are strong, as talented with your sword as your father was, and capable of developing into an even greater warrior with the right guidance.”

  “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he said, winking at her. “Well, I’m satisfied. Is there anything else we should disclose while we’re at it?”

  He shot a pointed glance toward Vel, who kept her gaze steadily locked on the center of her teacup.

  “It sounds as though I could have played much of my part in this back in Hearthold,” she said. “Letters and couriers do exist, aesta.”

  “Well, there is more to it than what I’ve explained so far,” said Malon.

  “Like what?” snapped Vel. “Weeding gardens? Harvesting melons and waterfruit?”

  Malon chuckled. “For today, yes, actually. I plan on heading into Morotai tomorrow to sell my produce. Your help would be appreciated, seta.”

  Her tone left little question as to whether appreciated and expected were separate entities in the current context. Damon sipped his tea and smiled, curious as to whether they’d make it through the afternoon without a second major argument.

  CHAPTER 13

  Malon wasted no time putting them to work. Damon stood next to the melon field he’d already defended against giant boars that morning, hands dirty with soil, loading ripe fruit into a basket and making sure the unripe ones were properly weeded.

  It was a chore that he was familiar and comfortable with, despite his long absence from the farm. He knew that the same familiarity applied to Vel, which made it doubly frustrating to watch her drag her feet, working at a quarter of the pace he was and spending as much time pruning her clothing as piling melons.

  “This is beneath me,” muttered Vel. “My weekly allowance from Princess Kastet would easily be enough to pay five laborers to do this task in my place.”

  “Do you have that money with you?” asked Damon.

  “Of course not!” snapped Vel.

  “Then quit thinking about it,” said Damon. “The faster we work, the faster we’ll be done.”

  Vel scowled at him. She lazily tossed the melon she’d been holding into one of the baskets from slightly too high, leaving a bruise on the fruit. Damon shot her a severe look.

  “Careful,” he said.

  “Or what?” She gave him a defiant pout. “Just because you’re more accustomed to slumming in the dirt than I am doesn’t give you any authority over me.”

  “Accustomed to slumming in the dirt?” asked Damon. “I’ll have you know that I was one of the most promising up and coming gladiators in Avaricia.”

  Vel let out a single, mocking laugh. “So defensive! I didn’t mean anything by it, Damon. Simply that compared to the company I’m used to keeping, you’re somewhat of a country bumpkin.”

  “I couldn’t care less what a bunch of stuffy, soft-handed nobles think of me.”

  “True Divine, Damon,” said Vel. “Just listen to yourself. You sound like an actual peasant.”

  He felt his temper rise, but instead of hitting back with words, he took aim at Vel’s rather obvious weak spot. He dipped a hand into a loose section of soil, pulling loose a clot of mud with an earthworm wriggling through it.

  Vel made a face, but she had no time to dodge or even react before the muck was midway through the air. It struck her in the chest, against her neck and cleavage, and Vel let out a disgusted, high pitched groan.

  “Are you serious?” she shouted. “Have you not aged a day since you left? This is disgusting, and… Damon, don’t you dare!”

  He had another clump of mud in hand. Vel set her hands on her hips and jutted her chin out, practically daring him to let it loose with her defiant posture. He obliged her, and this time, the mud struck her midsection, against the dress.

  “You bastard!” She glared at him, teeth gritted, and pulled loose a handful of mud of her own. Her aim was surprisingly good, and she caught him in the shoulder even though he tried to dodge.

  “There you go,” he said. “Welcome to the world of peasants, Vel.”

  “I hope you’re happy,” she grumbled. “Now we’re both going to be filthy for the rest of the day.”

  “I take it you’ve forgotten how the waterfruit are harvested, then?”

  ***

  They both eventually managed to get back on task and finish collecting the ripe melons and weeding the rest. After carrying the boxes into the shed to load into the carriage for the next day, Damon and Vel headed to the lake.

  He was surprised by the way the smile he saw on her face as she stared out over the water. It was one that reminded him of Vel as a little girl, precocious and full of energy and imagination.

  She took a seat on the edge of the bank near the beach, ditching her slippers to soak her feet just under the lake’s surface. Damon also kicked his shoes off, but continued from there, stripping out of his shirt.

  “Is that really necessary?” Vel’s face was strangely flushed as she observed his newly bare chest.

  “I’d take my pants off, too, but I know how much of a fuss you’d make,” he said. “It’s better than going through the rest of the day in soaking wet clothing.”

  Vel blushed even deeper, glancing down at her resplendent, albeit mud-stained, dress. “I think I’ll keep my clothing on, regardless.”

  Damon would have argued the point, but a sudden realization made him hold his tongue and consider her perspective. If she was the young woman in the cat mask from the night of the Turning Festival, revealing her chemise and girlshorts would expose her if she was wearing the same ones. Given the fact that she’d been t
raveling recently, it didn’t seem unlikely.

  “Why are you staring at me like that?” asked Vel.

  “Oh, no reason.” He grinned and started out into the water. “Come on, let’s get to it. I won’t hesitate to splash you if you don’t do your share.”

  “Damon Al-Kendras, don’t you dare!”

  He dared. Vel let out a squeal as the water he splashed soaked her dress. She began wading out after him, first bunching up the bottom of her dress before realizing how pointless it was, given the nature of their task.

  The lakebed was a mixture of fine sand and sticky clay, and it felt incredible against the soles of his tired feet. Damon pushed off, floating on his back as he’d seen Malon do while washing the previous night.

  He realized, quite suddenly, that he was glad to be home. Not just glad. He wanted to stay, to help Malon, perhaps even reach a point where he and Vel were enjoying each other’s company as adults.

  The thought made him feel hot in more places than just the face. He kicked his legs, swimming further out, and then shifted to tread water upright. He could see the waterfruit in the depths of the lake below, like sunken, spherical angles with long, trailing seaweed extending from their tops.

  “Would it really be so hard for you to handle this on your own?” asked Vel.

  “It would be excruciating,” said Damon. “I’ll give you a demonstration, in case your time amongst the nobles has atrophied your memory.”

  Vel nodded. Damon pushed up and then dove down, sinking into the peaceful pool of blue. He always luxuriated in that first moment of tranquility, when the sounds of the world above faded away and time seemed to slow to the pace of molasses.

  The trick to harvesting waterfruit was to grab at the base instead of the weeds. It was tempting to grab at the weeds, given how much closer they were to the surface, but they usually snapped off when pulled, leaving a gash on the fruit that would leak their precious juice and cause them to rot early.