A Dowry of Blood

by Gibson, S. T.

  “Dance with me,” you said, already leading me out onto the floor. I didn’t protest. I was happy to have something to do with myself instead of gape at the proceedings like a fish swimming through strange waters. I held your hand lightly and let you lead me through the first steps of the dance, quickly correcting my form by watching the gentry swirling around me. The world was a swirl of skirts and feathered hats, moving faster and faster as the musicians picked up speed.

  Even surrounded by the flowering beauties of Spain, Magdalena’s loveliness was undeniable. She cut through the crowd like a shark darting through shallow waters, her teeth bared with laughter. She never missed a step, and never stayed with one partner for long. Every inch of her, from the soft curve of her cheek to the sharp line of her jaw, tormented me.

  “Do you want her?” you asked, the words almost snatched away by the whirl of the crowd.

  “What?”

  We came back together, your hand a vise around mine. In the golden light of the hall, your eyes burned. I only ever saw that fire in your eyes when you were on the precipice of devouring something. It was all expectation and want.

  “Do you want Magdalena for your own? To be your companion by day and warm your bed by night?”

  Jealousy slithered up my throat as quick as a snake. But there was some other emotion mingled in, dark and sweet. Desire.

  “Do you?” I asked, skirts snapping around my ankles as you twirled me. The whole world was turning, tilting on its axis.

  “Ours is a solitary existence. It would be good for you to have a friend. A sister. I have never forbidden you from taking lovers, Constanta. Remember that.”

  You made it sound like a gift, a gentle reminder of my own freedom. But I heard your double meaning: do not deny me this.

  I opened my mouth but the words faltered. I didn’t know what I wanted. My heart, whipped into a frenzy by the wine and the dancing and the gleam of Magdalena’s dark eyes, felt torn in two directions.

  I never got the chance to answer you. We were torn apart by the demands of the dance. I was sent spinning into another man’s arms while you crossed to Magdalena, slipping in beside her as close as her own shadow. No one could deny the light radiating from her face when she looked at you, like the halo of gold on a holy icon. Her cheeks were flushed pink from the vigorous dance, tantalizing proof of the hot lifeblood pulsing just beneath the surface of her skin.

  How can I blame you for wanting her, my lord, when I wanted her so badly myself?

  I strained to see over the shoulder of my partner as he turned me in dizzying circles. Older than me, handsome, with a healthy tan on his brown skin that told me his blood would taste like ripening summer apricots and the dust of a well-travelled road. I barely saw him, barely registered the appreciative smile on his face.

  All I saw were Magdalena and you, two lovely devils indulging in a little human revelry. Your hand fit perfectly into the curve of her back. Her elegant, sloping neck invited admiration as though she already knew what you were, as though she were teasing you.

  You lowered your mouth down by her ear, lips brushing the lobe as you spoke, something private and urgent. A slow smile spread onto Magdalena’s face as she clutched you closer. What were you telling her? Our secret? Or a more carnal proposition?

  My feet faltered over the demanding steps of the dance, and I broke the tight circle of my partner and I’s bodies. He tried to coax me back, the cadence of his Spanish insisting that there was nothing to be embarrassed about, that we should try again. But I brushed him off, took a few staggering steps further onto the dancefloor. The couples whirled past me like exotic birds winging by in a flurry of feathers, and my stomach clenched. I felt like I was slipping out of my own body and floating above it, observing myself as a spectacle.

  Then there was a small touch on my arm and I turned to see Magdalena, smiling that wry smile at me with her hair coming loose from its elaborate styling. There was a bloom across her chest, a slight sheen of sweat gleaming at her hairline. She looked like she had just stepped out of an opium dream, all blown pupils and reddened mouth.

  “Your excellency,” I breathed, my heart suddenly in my mouth. “You will forgive me. I do not know the steps of this dance.”

  Moving with shameless deliberateness, Magdalena cupped my jaw in her hand and kissed me full on the mouth. Not the light touch of a friend’s kiss catching the corner of my lips, but a kiss full of intention and warmth. My head swam as though I had just emptied a whole glass of wine, the entire frantic room falling away. It only lasted an instant, but by the time she pulled away, I was completely inebriated.

  “Then I shall teach you,” she proclaimed, and took my hands in her own. “Do you want to lead? Or shall I?”

  I stammered foolishly, throwing my eyes wildly around the room.

  Magdalena threw her head back and laughed, a beautiful wolf savoring the terror of a rabbit.

  “Me, then. It’s as easy as breathing. One foot and then the other. And don’t overthink it.” We moved together across the floor, fluid and unified. If any of her subjects had seen the kiss, they hid their disapproval well, restraining themselves to gossiping behind spread fans. No one stared or reeled in shock, merely continued with their dancing and drinking, eyes politely averted. As well-trained as her servants, then. This must not have been the most scandalous behavior they had seen from Magdalena.

  “You must never overthink any good and pleasurable thing,” Magdalena went on, her cheek almost pressed to mine as we twirled. The wine on her breath was sweet as blackcurrants. I wanted to taste it on her lips as much as I wanted to taste it in her veins. “We should never deny ourselves any pleasure in this life.”

  I could almost hear you in those words. Had you coached her, I wondered? No, there hadn’t been enough time. Maybe she really was a soul after your own likeness.

  We glided together until the song was done and then, out of breath and giggling from our exertion, raised our hands in applause with the rest of the crowd. The musicians bowed, mopping sweat from their foreheads.

  Magdalena tucked her arms though mine and led me with deliberate steps through the crowd, leaning over conspiratorially.

  “You must sit with me tonight at dinner. I must have you close, Constanta. I want us to be the best of friends.”

  You waited for us at the long wooden table, already seated at the left of Magdalena’s chair and making a show out of nursing a glass of grenache. I doubt any of it actually passed your lips. I still had some of my taste for food and drink then, as the undying life hadn’t yet entirely bled them of their pleasure.

  Magdalena poured me a double measure of wine. Her crow-quick eyes watched my every movement, following the glass as I raised it to my lips, and you observed us both like one of your experiments. Trying to look disaffected, of course. But I knew the gleam that came into your eyes when something seized your attention.

  “Try the polbo á feir,” Magdalena said. “It’s a peasant dish, but one I favor, and my kitchens make it better than anyone. You’ve got to dunk the octopus in boiling water a few times before butchering it; that’s the secret to keeping the meat sweet.”

  I obligingly opened my mouth for her when she raised up a bite on her fork. The flesh was tender, spiced liberally with paprika and slick with olive oil.

  Magdalena beamed, watching me chew with the delight of a child bottle-feeding a kitten.

  “Will you eat?” Magdalena asked you, poised to hand-feed you as well.

  “I never have any appetite when I travel,” you said, plucking the fork from her hands and setting it back down on her plate. You held her wrist between thumb and forefinger, slyly suckling oil off her little finger. If she saw the flash of your sharp teeth, she didn’t show it.

  “If it wouldn’t be rude for me to ask,” you began, leaning in closer. “How is it that one as beautiful as yourself is not yet married? I’m sure it’s expected of a woman of your station. Ever since your father disappeared...”

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nbsp; A look of pure glee came over Magdalena’s face, and she dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

  “I think I shall never marry, my lord. I will simply take lovers and never let any man shackle me with wedding vows.”

  “Ah, but I’m sure your wealth attracts all manner of little birds hoping to fritter away a piece of it in their nests. You must receive suitors by the boatful.”

  “Indeed,” she said with a laugh. “And I entertain every one. I hear their love poems and their declarations, I accept their gifts and I grant them a private audience, but that’s as far as it will ever go. Not that they know that, of course. They sincerely believe they have a chance, poor boys.”

  You hummed your approval, dark eyes shining in the firelight.

  “And if they have hope, they continue to behave themselves and allow you your little indulgences and eccentricities. Very clever, Magdalena.”

  “A third of the men in this court want to bed me and wed me, another third despise me but won’t speak against me because I’ve carefully collected records of their affairs and murders and misdeeds, and the other third simper and fawn because they know where true power lies, and they wish to ingratiate themselves with it.”

  “And the women?”

  “Ah,” she said, her voice almost a purr. She broke eye contact with you and shot me a smirk. “Women are another matter entirely.”

  Her fingers brushed against my leg under the table, equal parts bold and tentative. I seized her hand in mine, unable to decide whether I wanted to cast her off or pull her closer.

  I squeezed her fingers and let her hand go, and she withdrew her hand into her own lap. But we were seated so closely together we were almost touching, and I could feel the living heat wafting off her body. Her blood smelled strongly spiced and sweet as fortified wine, shot through with a salacious, irresistible musk.

  I wanted to take her away from you and pull her into some darkened hallway, unfasten the lace ruff from around her throat and run my mouth along the pale slope of her neck. I wanted to feel her lifeblood bursting in my mouth, savor every note of her complex bouquet.

  Instead, I swallowed through a dry throat and said, “I’m sorry to hear about your father’s disappearance.”

  Magdalena let out a peal of laughter. She was flushed from drinking and dancing, and her shoulders were loose with joy.

  “I’m not! I deposed him, Constanta. Didn’t your husband mention?”

  I shook my head politely, wondering what kind of madhouse I had been brought into. Magdalena threaded her arm through mine and pulled me in closer. I noticed that you were lightly holding her free hand, running your thumb over the delicate bones in her wrist.

  “My father,” Magdalena began, her lips almost brushing my ear. “Was a tyrant. Feared by the people, stubborn in all his strategies, and untrustworthy with the family fortune. I spent my life in his shadow, trying to wrest control away from him, or at least convince him that I could be trusted with diplomatic responsibilities. He didn’t see my skills for politics. But I will not accept a world behind bars, Constanta. I must always have my freedom. So I worked my magic with gossip and bribes and carefully exposed secrets, and the next thing you know my father is wasting away of gout in some remote hunting lodge, out of the public eye.”

  “You banished him?”

  “He quietly… showed himself out. Barely left a trace. With his reputation ruined there was no life for him here anymore. And that’s when my life truly began.”

  “A wonder,” you pronounced, your gaze devouring the bow of her lips, the line of her jaw. “A genius.”

  Now I understood why you were so enamored with her. She was as cunning as you were, and as cold as a Transylvanian winter. Beneath the fripperies and the giggles there was a girl made of steel, one who would do whatever it took to survive.

  You could never resist a survivor. Or a mirror.

  You took her hand and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the pulse on the inside of her wrist. The nobles were watching; people could see you. You didn’t care.

  “And what would you sacrifice, my Lady Machiavelli, for your freedom? What would you give me if it were in my power to promise you total immunity from the shackles of society? A life without limits, without laws to chafe against?”

  “Anything,” Magdalena said, without a moment’s hesitation.

  “If I could take you away from all this tomorrow, would you let me?”

  “Yes.”

  You smiled against her skin.

  “Good.”

  The rest of dinner passed in a blur. I ate whatever Magdalena hand-fed me, I listened to the warm lull of your voice as she trailed her fingers along mine. I gently touched the curls that had come loose at the base of her neck while you fed her little sips of wine from your glass; she whispered salacious nothings in your ear while her ankle brushed against mine under the table. We grew increasingly entangled, the air between us close and hot, and it was no surprise when you said:

  “It’s getting late. Will your excellency be retiring soon?”

  “I think I shall,” she said breathlessly, catching your drift immediately.

  “Allow me to escort you to your rooms,” you said, standing to pull her chair out for her. She threw a dark-eyed glance through her lashes at me. It was a look men would have razed whole cities to the ground for.

  “Will Lady Constanta be joining us?” she asked.

  I wrung my napkin tightly in my lap, out of sight, and tried to keep my voice level. I was being invited to bed with you both, and you would be enjoying each other tonight, whether I came or not.

  “Later, perhaps. I’d like to take some of the night air first.”

  “Of course,” you said magnanimously, as though you were allowing me some indulgence instead of taking your own. You leaned over and kissed my brow, your hand hovering over the small of Magdalena’s back. “I have your permission, don’t I?”

  You said it so quietly I doubt Magdalena even heard. I nodded mutely. There was no other answer.

  “Good,” you said, and disappeared with Magdalena into the hallway.

  I didn’t stay at dinner long after that, but I wandered the halls for a while before heading to your bedroom. You would be waiting there for me, I was sure, with Magdalena, probably in some kind of compromising position.

  God, what was I allowing?

  It felt like something that was happening to me, but I had agreed to it, hadn’t I? Part of me wanted this. Wanted her. I shouldn’t be feeling so dismayed.

  I walked circles through the drafty halls, trying to decipher my own feelings for a small eternity. But I knew I had to go into the bedroom eventually. The suspense about what I would find, and no small amount of anticipation, was tangling my insides into knots. I steeled my heart and tried to quiet my fluttering stomach as I pressed silently into your bedroom.

  Magdalena was spread out on top of the sheets, her skin a splash of cream on the dark fabric. One of your hands encircled her delicate ankle, hooked over your shoulder, while the other gripped her ass tight enough to leave bruises. The sight seared itself into my memory.

  You were fucking her in our bed.

  No. Your bed.

  I was only ever a guest, every night contingent on my good behavior.

  And Magdalena was behaving very well for you. Arching the small of her back and digging her long nails into your shoulder-blades while you drove into her. She made soft, eager noises, rising and falling like the cooing of a dove. Pretty, perfect Magdalena, with her cheeks and nipples rouged for you like a king’s courtesan.

  I stepped into the room, silently unpinning my hair as though nothing was out of the ordinary. This was my place, after all, in your room. Nothing, not even the slick circle of Magdalena’s panting mouth, could make me feel ashamed to be there.

  You kissed her throat, the tender junction of her neck and shoulder, and then spoke with your lips still on her skin, with your prick still inside her.

  “Constanta, I c
an feel you over there brooding.”

  Magdalena gave a little gasp, eyes alighting on me as though I were a ghostly apparition. She had been too engrossed to hear me enter, apparently.

  I smiled at her, letting my eyes travel over the lines of her body before coming back onto her face. I would know every inch of her. She would not be able to hide anything from me. Not her nakedness, not her secrets, not her designs for you.

  “Will you come to bed?” you asked me, breath ragged as you slid in and out of her. Slow, controlled. The way you liked to start. Magdalena shuddered, biting her lip to suppress a little noise. She must not have thought it seemly to moan in the presence of her lover’s wife.

  I watched her squirm while I unfastened the emeralds from my ears and dropped them onto the vanity. It was difficult not to. She was a cornucopia overflowing with carnal delights. My hands itched to touch her, but I maintained my icy mask.

  “Am I to be bidden to my own bed like a dog invited to beg at the master’s table?” I said coolly.

  You did look at me then, dark eyes erratic with lust and irritation and some other, less pronounceable emotion. Admiration, perhaps. You showed it to me so rarely I hardly knew how to recognize it.

  “Constanta,” you said, savoring the syllables like they were a filthy note passed under the pews to you in church. “My jewel, my wife.”

  “Getting better,” I said, shucking off my heavy outer dress and draping it over the back of a chair. I loosened the buttons at the nape of my neck and left the length of laces down my spine for your agile fingers to unfasten. My hands were trembling now, my heart beating fast and hot in my throat.

  You tilted Magdalena’s chin towards me, showing off her pink cheeks, her silken fall of black hair. The desire that had been slowly uncoiling in my stomach reached my chest, tightening painfully.

  “Look at how lovely our new bride is,” you said, nipping her earlobe. “Come and kiss your sister. Show her there isn’t any animosity between you.”