by Ruby Dixon
"I do. Don't stress, okay? Let's just enjoy a bath and try not to worry too much."
Unfortunately for me, I think about Tadekha's citadel, and how that turned out. I had a bath there after I arrived and then shit went to hell.
I think of how I fondled Aron.
And I think about my dream of Aron earlier today.
Man, that fortune teller was straight up wrong when she said the King of Pentacles was gonna be my lover. I keep offering and he keeps on not taking.
It's so fucking nice to get clean I almost forget to be worried. Like in Katharn, there's an old system of pipes running through the Novoro keep, and while the bathroom quarters are shared and not what I'm used to, they're a hell of a lot better than washing in two inches of tepid water in a tub like I did in Katharn. The “bath” is a pool room with hot water and waiting serving girls who wash us with sponges and floral soaps. Yulenna lets them wash her, and since she's the one “in charge” I don't bitch about it, even though I'm creeped out by strangers running wet sponges over my skin.
The hot water helps, though, as does the cleansing wash they put in my hair. When they comb it out for me, it feels clean for the first time in weeks, and I don't even mind that they smooth scented lotion into my skin and rub a gentle, textured stone over my legs that makes the hair disappear as if sanded away. The bath at Novoro gets an A plus as far as I'm concerned.
It gets a little weird when Lady Gerline returns with clothes for us, though.
"Yours are being washed and tended to," she explains with bow after scraping bow. "It is custom for honored guests of Novoro to share, however, and I have brought two of my favorite feast gowns. It would bring great honor to our hall if you would wear them."
Her smile is guileless and sweet, and she looks as if she'd love nothing more than for us to wear her clothes. Weird people. I let her and her servants help me dress, and they help Yulenna at the same time. When I'm “clothed” though, I have concerns. It's a soft, lovely gown, sure. It's the same dark navy shade that is favored by the Novoro people and is thick and warm, with a pretty white fur trim on the hem.
The neckline is open to my waist, though.
So's the slit in the skirt.
I clear my throat gently, a silent question on my lips as I play with the (one, small) tie at the waist that holds it together. "Are we missing a piece?"
"Feast wear is very formal," Lady Gerline says, with a downright devastated look on her face. "Do you not like the dress?"
"It's very nice," I reassure her, and I'm relieved when her expression turns into a smile again. Jesus, you'd think I'd kicked a kitten the way she looked so upset. Someone comes forward with a thick, wide belt, and I relax. Obviously we're not done dressing. Thank goodness.
I lift my arms and remain still as servants cinch my waist in the ornately tooled black leather belt, and my fingers brush over Aron's symbol. They didn't know he was coming, so all the axes etched into this leather means they truly do worship him. It's a good sign. With the belt on, my dress doesn't gape open nearly as far, but the slightest breeze will expose everything in a completely scandalous matter. I tug and fuss at the fur hems, but stop when I see that another woman sweeps down the hall in a gown just like mine. All right, then. When in Rome and all that.
"Let me fix your hair for you," a servant says, and I'm ushered to a padded stool in front of a copper mirror. "Does your lord prefer your hair up or down?"
It's on the tip of my tongue to tell her that he doesn't get a say, but then I remember I'm supposed to be the concubine. "Let's go with up."
"And you, my lady anchor?" Lady Gerline asks Yulenna politely as another waiting woman combs out Yulenna's thick red tresses.
"I'll be staying in my chambers this night," she says in an imperious voice, making it sound as if she's the lady of the castle and not Gerline. "You can have my food sent up here."
Lady Gerline looks shocked. "Oh…but my Lord of Storms must have a companion for the feast. It is tradition." She wrings her hands, distressed.
"The concubine can go," Yulenna says with a flick of her hand and then yawns. "I am weary."
"That's right," I say brightly before Lady Gerline can protest. "Aron's asked for me tonight." And I give her an exaggerated wink.
A look of relief crosses her face. "Very good."
Yulenna retires to the sleeping chambers and I'm left alone with Lady Gerline and the serving maid. Lady Gerline's nervous as she gets ready for the dinner herself, fluttering about as if she's a schoolgirl meeting her first crush. It's strange to see. At least I'm not the only one wearing skimpy clothing. She asks if we have clothes to share with her—it seems that I wear her clothes and she wears mine, which is a weird custom, but I'm learning there's a lot of weird in this land. Most of mine are tunics and men’s clothing, which aren't appropriate for a concubine, so I give her one of Yulenna's gowns and hope she doesn't ask too many questions. (I also hope Yulenna doesn't notice.) Lady Gerline seems satisfied when she puts on the gown and it's completely see-through. She fusses with her hair, then applies a pigment to her nipples so they stand out under the gown's sheer fabric.
I avert my eyes and do my best not to stare. When in Rome, I remind myself. When in Rome. I adjust the deep vee of my gown, and I'm glad it covers as much as it does. Sure, one wrong move and I'm going to be tits out, but the girls are covered at least. The slit in the dress is a little worrisome—instead of going up one leg, it goes straight up the middle, following the part of my thighs, and goes practically to my waist. It's like they gave me an overcoat and forgot to give me the garment that goes underneath.
Other than the breezy clothes, so far these people have been nice and welcoming. Just because I had a bad experience at Tadekha's citadel doesn't mean this place is going to turn into an orgy. Maybe the men like eye candy while they eat.
The serving woman pulls my hair into a tight knot atop my head and shows me a series of pots that contain makeup. It's not the usual foundation-highlighter-powder-blush-etc. routine that I'm used to. There's a pot of color for lips (or, ahem, nipples), several pots of darker powders that must be eye shadows, and a carved stick that applies the darker stuff to lashes. I use it all sparingly, because I don't want to look like a clown, but I also don't want to insult my hostesses. When I've got the barest hints of color on my face, I get beaming looks of approval from the women, and then we sit and wait for dinner.
Lady Gerline shifts and adjusts her clothing over and over again, clearly nervous. It's not a bad nervous, though, but one of excitement. She keeps looking at the door with a smile and giggles to herself now and then.
"Newlywed?" I ask, smiling.
She just tilts her head and gives me a curious look. "Lord Secuban and I have been wedded since I was twelve."
Well. A lover, then. My smile turns over-bright and I hope fervently dinner starts soon.
Eventually, a manservant comes to retrieve us and Lady Gerline is all giggles once more, smoothing her borrowed dress and fussing with her hair. Admittedly, she looks great. She's about my age if not a few years older, with thick dark hair. She's got fantastic tits that are outlined to magnificence in the sheer dress. A purple girdle cinches her waist to a ridiculous, exaggerated amount and she looks impressive even to my unknowledgeable eyes. Whoever she's meeting at dinner is sure to be pleased.
The manservant gestures that we should follow him, and I give my gown one last tug and then hold the bodice closed with one hand and the skirts closed with the other as I follow Lady Gerline to the hallway. I'm not surprised that Kerren falls into step behind me, with Markos and Vitar staying behind to guard Yulenna. Poor Kerren—his cheeks are bright red and his gaze is stiffly ahead, as if boobies will turn him to stone if he so much as looks in our busty, busty direction. We head down a long flight of stone stairs and then down another hall. I can hear a low murmur of voices as we approach the banquet, and a nervous flutter starts in my stomach.
I wonder what Aron'll think of my dress. It's been
a while since I looked pretty and the last time…
Damn it. Someday I'm going to stop thinking of Tadeka's citadel. Someday.
49
The doors to the banquet hall are opened and I'm surprised to see that everyone jumps to their feet, gazing in our direction. Everyone except Aron, of course. He remains seated in his throne on the dais, his cool eyes watching everything. Lord Secuban rises, and if I thought Lady Gerline was excited, her husband looks as if he's about to lose control with eagerness. He looks at his wife proudly, and then his gaze moves to me with approval before he turns to Aron and puts his hand over his heart. He's brimming with enthusiasm and as I look around the room, it's full of men who seem just as eager.
Wow, these people must really love a feast.
My stomach growls, reminding me that I, too, love a feast, and some of my nervousness slides away. I ease a hand from the bodice of my dress, and when no boobs come flying out, I let it go so I can walk properly. I notice Aron is watching me, and my shoulders straighten a little. I can feel the heat of his gaze—his and a hundred other men in the room—as I walk next to Lady Gerline. She takes my hand in hers and leads me toward the dais, where Lord Secuban and Aron are waiting for us, and as we swan through the room, delicious smells hit. There are roasted meats and something cheesy cooking, and I smell fruit and something sweet. My mouth waters, and I decide tonight is going to be amazing. If these people throw half as good of a feast as they do a welcome, we're in for a treat.
The closer we get to the dais, the more Lady Gerline begins to tremble. Her hand is sweaty in mine, and when I look over at her, she's blinking rapidly, a fine sheen of perspiration on her face. Wow, she really is nervous, though she's still smiling with pleasure and it seems genuine. Even so, I start to get a sense of unease. I glance around the room, looking at the people gathered. I don't see weapons anywhere, or armor…but there's definitely a lot of men in the room and they're all staring at us as if we're the buffet.
Granted, we do have boobs for miles, so that might be it, but it's still unsettling. I'm not sure what to think, and I don't blame Yulenna for not wanting to come down. Aron will protect me, but it's hard to say if he'll do the same for her.
She bows, and so I do too, though mine is more of a curtsy so my dress doesn't spill open. When we straighten, she looks at her husband with bright, shining eyes, and then to me. All right. I turn to Aron, smile, and take a step forward.
Lord Secuban frowns, putting a hand out. "Did my wife not speak to you of our customs?"
I turn to look at Lady Gerline, who has an equally puzzled look on her face. "She said you guys share everything?" This seems like a weird place to talk about clothing, but maybe I'm supposed to thank them for the swap? "The clothes are nice. Thank you."
He smiles, and then it turns into full-fledged laughter. He glances over at Aron, amused. "Your concubine has amazing wit."
"She does," Aron says. That's all he says, his expression impossible to read. He hasn't moved from the throne, and he looks for a moment as remote and ominous as the first night I met him. A little shiver creeps up my spine.
"It is tradition in Novoro to honor guests by sharing all that we have with them," Lord Secuban agrees, inclining his head slightly. "We will give you and your party all that you ask for. New clothes, fresh food, weapons, anything you need, it shall be yours. We only ask that you share your blessings in return."
Aron's eyes narrow, his gaze focused on Novoro's lord.
I'm still not following his meaning. "I…okay?" I gesture at Aron. "Should I not sit with him at dinner, then?" I keep my voice to a low whisper so I don't embarrass anyone. "I'm not sure what you're getting at."
"We share our bounty with the gods, and we hope that the gods share their bounties with us," Lady Gerline whispers, her words pointed. She licks her lips, smooths her hands down the front of her dress—Yulenna's dress—and then sinks to her knees in front of Aron, putting her forehead to the floor. "It will be the greatest honor for Novoro to share with you, Lord Aron."
Er.
I blink. I'm starting to get an idea of what they mean by sharing, and surely…surely I'm wrong. I look at Aron, and his eyes are tight, his mouth a thin line of disapproval as Lady Gerline lifts her head and then crawls over to his leg and touches it with her hand, practically fawning over him.
Lord Secuban waits, watching me.
They…have to be joking.
Share me? I look around the room with horror, at the lascivious, leering faces of the men in the hall. Their gross, leering stares suddenly make sense, and I clutch at the deep neck of the gown. No fucking way. Secuban thinks he gets me…does everyone else, too? Is that why're they're all piled in to the feast hall so eagerly? It's not for the food?
Yulenna was right to hide upstairs. I should have, too. No wonder Lady Gerline freaked out and insisted one of us had to come down. One of us had to be the sacrificial lamb. Fuck.
Lord Secuban moves forward and reaches out to take my arm.
Before I can jerk away, Aron's cold voice cuts through the room. "If you touch her, it will be the last thing you do."
A hush falls through the room. Thunder crackles overhead and my ears pop with the force of the sudden storm. A headache stabs between my eyes, too. Lady Gerline cowers at Aron's feet, but she doesn't move away. No one moves at all.
Lord Secuban recovers first. He bows to Aron, his expression one of confusion. "My lord, I thought you brought your concubine as a gift to share with those of us in Novoro. It is tradition—"
"I do not give a fuck what your tradition is. That one belongs to me." Aron points at me, and the air practically crackles. I'm gleeful at his defiant claim.
"But—"
Aron turns his wrathful gaze on Lord Secuban. "Did you not hear me?” He leans forward, his hands clenching the arms of the throne, and there’s so much electrical energy building that my hair is starting to float around my head. Oh Jesus. I’ve never seen Aron this angry.
And it’s all because they want to share me. I’m a little stunned, because in the past, Aron’s made it clear that mortals are expendable and not on the same level as he is.
Lord and Lady Novoro drop to their knees. “Tradition—” Lord Secuban begins.
I swear, the man does not know when to shut up. I step forward, moving to Aron’s side. There’s a little pillow at his feet where I guess a good slave girl is supposed to sit, but fuck that. I slip into Aron’s lap, and I’m relieved when he lets me and then puts a possessive hand on my hip. “Aron is the Lord of Storms,” I tell them. “He does what he wants. If he doesn’t feel like sharing, he doesn’t feel like sharing. End of story.”
“I do not feel like sharing,” Aron says, biting out each word furiously. “I would rather raze this place to the ground and salt the earth.” His hand tightens on my hip and he pulls me closer, until I’m practically astride his big lap.
Woo, all righty then. “Let’s not salt anything,” I say, keeping my tone conciliatory. “I’m sure they didn’t mean to offend. It’s just a difference in customs.”
Lord Secuban sits up, rocking back on his heels. His face is pale, grave with the realization of his insult. “Simply bless us, my Lord of Storms, and we will be your army.”
“I need no army,” Aron tells him arrogantly. “I need nothing from any of you. If I left now and burned this place to the ground, it would change nothing.”
Gerline quivers, her forehead still to the floor. Lord Secuban’s mouth works, opening and then shutting silently. I look around the room and see everyone is silent, from the knights to the serving women. Off in a corner, I see Secuban’s slave women curled up in the laps of other lords, and one of the maids stands between two men, frozen, their hands on her. The plates on the long tables are only one for every two people, same with the goblets. It’s clear that sharing is part of the culture here.
It’s also clear that Aron hate, hate, hates the idea. I can tell by the change of the pressure in the air, the hallmark of
one of Aron’s temperamental storms. My head throbs in response to the sudden onset of weather, too.
I see Markos and Vitar out of the corner of my eye. Their faces are tense, their hands at their sword belts, ready to act. Aron might be fine if he fights his way out of here, and me too—but what about our people? What about Yulenna, who’s cowering upstairs?
“Aron,” I murmur quietly, and put a hand on his chest. I lean in and whisper in his ear, his nearness threatening to distract me. “I don’t think they meant to offend you. Let’s bring it down a notch, okay? No one’s going to touch me but you. I promise.”
His eyes blaze at me for a long, silent moment, and I feel as trapped under his outrage as the others do. I don’t dare breathe, my hand still on his chest. When he continues to remain silent, the air practically crackling around us, I rub my thumb against the fabric of his new tunic, just over his heart, and arch an eyebrow at him.
The terrible tension in him seems to ease a bit. His hand relaxes on my waist, and Aron gives a curt nod.
“Why don’t we just enjoy the celebration of your arrival?” I ask, sliding my hand up and down his chest like a good, flirty concubine would. It’s not a hardship.
Aron’s hard dual-colored gaze rests on me, and he nods, slowly. “If you like.”
Why not. We’re already here and I worry that if we leave now, we’ll make everyone angry enough to hunt us down. I’ve had enough of that. If I have to spend an awkward evening at a feast, I’d rather do that. “I would like,” I tell him, smiling. “I’m sure Markos and the others would, too.”
He leans in closer, his voice low. “You know I care nothing for them.”
For some reason, I get goosebumps. Maybe it’s the way he says it—as if it’s a caress and not a statement of an arrogant god. Whatever it is, it makes me shiver. I keep smiling and turn towards the lord and lady, who are watching us. “No one touches anything of Aron’s, and we’ll stay.”
“Of course,” Lord Secuban says, dipping low to touch his forehead to the floor again. “Of course, my lord. Whatever you desire, it shall be. We are simply honored to host you.”