by Megan Hart
Here in the night, there was only me, Aeris Delaya, born my mother's daughter but raised as no one's son. I parried and feinted in the darkness. My imaginary foe wore Rosten's face. Sweat ran from my brow and I imagined his blood spattering me.
I knew Lir was behind me, though he didn't speak. The night air carried his scent to me, and I breathed it deep. I hated it and adored it...but I did not fear it.
Without a word, I dropped my sword into the frost-crunching grass and turned to face Lir with empty hands. Though there was dim light from the windows overlooking the field and from beyond the walls ringing it, he was naught but a shape a bit darker than the night surrounding him. I heard the noise of his feet on the ground, one being placed in front of the other, and I smiled. He was moving into the first position of the Art.
I matched it. My left hand, the strong one, went to shoulder height, palm up. My other hand stayed near my waist, palm facing inward. One foot in front of the other. Body angled. I was ready.
Silent but for the breath of his exertion, he came for me, and I met him. Fist to fist and foot to foot, we sparred. I closed my eyes so as not to let even the dim light distract me. I felt him, sensed him, knew when he was going to move the moment he began. We moved as though in a dance. We formed the patterns, did the moves, created the rituals.
It hurt like bloody hell. His hand caught my cheek and made me stumble. My foot hit him someplace soft. This dance was brutal, yet there was an element of sensuality about it as well. Defense and offense, a subtle give and take of power and a struggle for victory tempered with the fluid grace of the Art.
Heat rose to my face. Behind my closed eyes, I saw Lir's face as it had looked painted with ecstasy. My heart thudded. His hand passed in front of my face and I blocked it with mine. His foot came out and snaked around my ankle. He'd caught me. I fell, cradled in his grip upon my wrist, and though I hit the ground the impact was softer because of his interference.
I was on my feet in an instant and whirling to complete the last pattern. Again, Lir caught me. I was tired, and he was simply more skilled. And perhaps I wanted him to catch me, to pull my back to his chest. Perhaps I wanted to feel his breath hot on my neck and in my ear, and to hear him whisper my name.
"Let me go." I didn't sound convincing.
"Daelyn wants you."
"He doesn't." I couldn't ask Lir if he wanted me, too.
"I told him I thought you should be allowed to join the cause."
Lir let me go, and I turned to face him. My eyes, open now, had adjusted to the dark and I could see the outline of his features. "You did?"
"You've improved this past sixmonth, Aeris. You've honed your skills. I think you'd do well."
"Even after what I said upstairs?"
"Even after that. I told Dae we needed another man who could fight." Lir's voice sounded like a smile. "Sometimes I can get him to agree with me. Besides, there's no keeping you away. You're less dangerous as a part of our group than not."
I couldn't find it in myself to be offended. I wanted to tell him why I was so adamant about this cause. I thought the truth would be easer to tell him in the dark. But in the end, despite that Daelyn had said he thought Lir might already have guessed, I couldn't get the thought of the burning woman out of my mind. Daelyn trusted Lir...but he had also said if betraying me meant a greater purpose was achieved, Lir would do it. For that matter, I didn't doubt Daelyn would do the same.
"Rosten's face must be purple with rage by now." Lir sounded pleased. "He'll be calling together a council meeting, I guarantee it."
"And he'll be looking for someone to blame." I bent and retrieved the rapier I'd thrown down, and hung it on its peg. "Who will pay for it?"
Lir helped me push the rolling rack toward the gate. "The same ones who've paid for a hundred years, unless we can stop him. A hundred years is a long enough time for people to forget life was ever any different."
"But it must have been, once," I said. "Those posters, those drawings. They're copied from a book in Daelyn's library."
"I know that." Why did I always amuse him so? "I drew them."
We went through the gate and along the cobblestone path toward the armory. The sweat had dried, and I was cold. I welcomed the shelter from the weapons room as Lir and I ducked inside. We worked together to clean and hang the weapons.
"Why?" I finally asked quietly.
"Because I do not believe any person should own another," came his equally soft reply.
"But why do you believe that when so many of your peers don't?" I concentrated on hanging the bucklers and arm braces in their proper places, though they could have stayed on the rack until morning.
Lir shrugged. "Rosten would say I am a pervert. A miscreant."
"Because you like to make love to women?"
He gave me a sideways glance. "There is more to sex than where you put your prick. Rosten would say I am an aberration of society because I enjoy the pleasures of the flesh with females, yes. But more so because I enjoy speaking with them. Because I believe they are as lovely and bright and individual as any man can be, and because when I have children, I believe I'd like to share the raising of them with their mother."
"But why do you think all those things?"
"I don't know." He looked at the ceiling. "The Prince of the Land Above made me what I am, as he made you. It's the way we were made. The way we were born."
It was the way I was born, I knew that. I nodded and felt the truth rise to my lips again, but again let it pass without speaking it. I'd lived too long this way to give it up so easily.
"Remind me to beat Ichabod in the morning."
I thought of the small boy who had slacked in his duties. "I won't."
Lir gave a mock sigh. "Then what will I do with my anger? I'll just have to beat you on the fight field."
I finally felt like smiling. "You can try."
He clapped a hand to my shoulder. "Come. I'm sure Daelyn has spread a feast in his chambers. I for one could use a pint or two of ale and something to eat."
He'd touched me like a friend, a comrade, but my shoulder tingled from a different emotion. I moved carefully away from him so my body could not betray me again. If Lir noticed, he said nothing.
"Let's go," I said and followed him out of the armory.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The news of what had happened filled the streets of Alyria and the halls of the White Palace. Lords mingling in the public areas paid me no heed as I passed by on the way to the haberdashery on an errand for Daelyn. They were all too busy postulating who had committed the latest crimes.
Posters and newsletters littered the streets like dirty snow. The sky was gray enough to have dropped them. I stooped to pick one up, careless of being seen. Most men in the streets were doing the same, despite Rosten's decree that anyone found possessing the inflammatory writings would be arrested and given five lashes for every piece. I didn't much care what Rosten had threatened. Today, at least, he'd have to arrest the entire city.
"Outrageous," muttered one merchant as I passed his shop. He tapped the parchment with one twisted hand. "This here says women and men used to live together, one to each other! For their whole lives!"
"Disgusting," agreed the second merchant, but I saw him slip a newsletter into his pocket. "Filthy!"
Not everyone was so vocal with their disapproval. I saw many young men gathered on the corners, faces rapt as one of their group read aloud the treatise. The one I overheard was the story of Sinder and Kedalya, and how their love populated Alyria and the world. The lads read it like it was an epic poem in one of the poetry houses, and in a way, I guess it was as full of romance and adventure.
I made my way through the streets and glanced over the several pieces I'd rescued from the gutter. The sheer cost alone of this venture staggered me. This parchment wasn't highest grade, but even so, the amount of it had cost more than I could imagine. I hadn't asked Lir or Daelyn how they made so many copies and distributed them wit
hout anyone suspecting who was behind them. It seemed the finest disguise to me. The Prince Regent and his retinue had a well-earned reputation for their carousing in the poetry houses. The number of lovers they took and discarded was legendary. No one would ever question any of their sympathies, or accuse them.
I laughed a little and shook my head at the brilliance of it. They spent their time fucking and drinking in the houses, and they hung up posters of men and women together while they did it. Nobody would ever be the wiser.
A new thought sobered me as I turned down the final alley before I reached the haberdashery. Rosten didn't like Daelyn, or any of his friends. He suspected the prince was not as adamantly opposed to the rights of women as Rosten would like...and Rosten wanted more power. He'd do anything to see the throne stolen from Daelyn. I thought he might invent suspicion of the prince to further his own cause, even if he had no real belief Daelyn was involved.
"How many times have you lain with a folly?" one lad asked the others. "I've done it dozens of times and got three sons from it. And you want to know something? It feels no different than being with my lover!"
"Sometimes, it feels better," confided another in a tone so low I'd not have heard it had I been even a foot farther away. "They're softer, you know."
"You're a bunch of ruddy ingrates." A tall, red-faced lad with a shock of curly blond hair shook his finger at the others. "I ought to turn you in!"
"We didn't do anything wrong," protested the one who'd admitted he enjoyed the softness of women. "We're supposed to fuck the follies of our house in order to get sons. If it feels good in the bargain, where's the harm in that?"
"I'll agree a folly can milk my prick as easily and maybe even better than another lad, especially if she's desperate to get a babe planted in her. I'll give you that. But you wouldn't want to share a bed with one, would you? Can you imagine writing a poem to one? The thought is ludicrous!"
Their conversation proved what an uproar Lir's latest prank had caused. I'd never heard men speaking so openly of what had long been considered abomination. Now, though I paused in the doorway, none of the knot of lads even bothered to glance round to check if anyone was overhearing them. One in particular, smaller than the others, caught my eye. There was not much to distinguish him from the rest. Same braided, waist-length hair. Same leather boots and belted trousers, same full-cut jacket. He even wore the same short sword as his comrades, more proof the young men of the city traveled in packs defined by their fashion as well as their pursuits.
Yet, as I watched from the haberdashery door, this young man spoke and I saw something his friends surely had not guessed.
"What the posters say is true," the lad said in a clear, low voice. "Every one of us was born of a woman."
"Carsten, you're a freak," said the blond lad, though not unkindly. "They might have squeezed us out between their legs, but that doesn't mean we have to go crawling back up there."
Carsten shrugged and put a hand on his sword. "I'm not afraid to admit my origins. That's all."
He caught my eye over the shoulders of his friends, and froze. I smiled a little at him, and we shared a glance that spoke more than a thousand words could have. He nodded slightly and shifted as though he flicked away a speck of dust from his jacket. But I knew what he was.
The group wandered off, still debating. Hope surged within me. I'd heard many tales of women raising their girls as boys, yet I'd never met anyone before. I'd always felt out of place. Stuck between two worlds and part of neither. For the first time, I no longer felt so alone.
Change was coming to Alyria, but I didn't doubt it would bring more horrors with it. Men like Rosten wanted to seize power, not give it up. He wouldn't let go of what he had without a fight. The question was, I thought as I pulled open the door, who would fight against him?
The bell on the door jangled as I stepped inside. The odor of glue assailed me. The air hung heavy with particles of dust created from bits of feather and fur. The floor was a tangled mess of thread and trim, scraps of fabric, buttons, lace. To my left a full-size mannequin, naked but for a large, ornate hat, loomed out of the dimness. In front of me, a long counter piled high with bolts of cloth and bins of sewing materials stretched the length of the room. Behind it, a wall of floor-to-ceiling hooks held hats of every size, shape and description. A small door led to some shadowed back room. To my right was another series of shelves and a low table and chair. The small man sitting behind the table looked up when I came in.
"Ahh, deprinzizfetchencare," he said from around a mouthful of pins. He spat them into a hand and tried again. "The prince's fetchencarry, no? His majesty sent you, to take back a masterpiece?"
"He sent me for a hat, yes." I looked around the shop, amazed at the wealth and beauty of design. "Or several, I suppose."
"And one for yourself, no?" The small man beamed and swept his hands out to show off his wares. "I have many, many to choose from. One to suit every head."
The finest hat I'd ever worn was a felt beret with a trim of fur my uncle had handed down to me when it no longer suited him. I'd worn hats to ward off the cold, but nothing even half as fancy as the plainest hat in this shop.
"I'm afraid I don't have enough coin to buy a hat like this."
He tutted and came closer, cocking his head sideways to peer up at me like a bird. "Twould be a shame not to highlight such a pretty face. A companion to a prince should endeavor at all times to look one's best. Just try one on."
Before I could stop him he went around the counter and found a magnificent creation of velvet and satin, festooned with a great, rippling feather as long as my arm. The feather shone with iridescent colors, blue, green and gray, with a hint of some darker colors beneath. The hat's brim turned up on one side and down upon the other, and the haberdasher set it upon my head with as much care as though he were placing a crown of fine jewels. He turned me to view the mirror.
"There, see?"
I turned my head, admiring the view. "It is lovely."
"You must take it."
"I can't," I protested. "Really. Even if I could pay you for it, I'd have no place to wear it."
To my surprise, I saw a glimpse of tears in the old hatter's eyes. "Please. Take it anyway. Make an old man happy."
Touched by his generosity, I nodded. "But why, sir? Why give such a gift to me?"
He reached to touch my cheek. "Because you remind me of someone I once knew. A long time ago."
"A son?" I could think of no other reason for the man to be so melancholy.
"No, lad," the hatter replied, his eyes gleaming beneath their veil of tears. "A daughter."
I'd grown more used to hearing the forbidden words, bandied about as they had been these past few weeks. But hearing it from the old man's lips in reference to myself took me aback. The smile I'd worn at the sight of the hat melted from my face like wax from a burning candle. I watched my reflection turn pale.
"Watch your tongue, old man," I whispered.
He held up his hands and backed away. "I plead your mercy, sir. Your mercy. I meant no harm."
"And none taken." With trembling fingers I smoothed the feather and searched what I saw in the mirror for any sign of femininity. I could see nothing, not from my clothes or hair or even my stance, which gave me away. "There are those afoot who'd beat you for saying that word, much less admitting you cared enough for a...daughter...to claim her as your own."
"Your mercy, good sir. I am an old, old man." The hatter wept and swiped at his eyes. "I suffer madness on occasion."
"And there is madness in the streets," I told him. "Be careful who you reminisce with."
"I have nobody to reminisce with," the haberdasher said. "Most of my friends are long dead. And the women of my household..." he paused and heaved a great sigh. "Long dead as well."
I settled the hat on the dummy's head. "You must have seen many changes in Alyria, old father."
He focused on me, then nodded slowly. "More than you can imagine. There
are cycles, in life, lad. Alyria is going through another."
I'd never met a man as old as this one, for all he still seemed spry enough. "How old are you, if I might ask?"
"I was born ninety years ago," he said, then gave a chuckle. "Seems impossible to have been alive for so long, and still have all my faculties in order. But my father lived to be one hundred and three, and my...the woman who birthed me, ninety-eight. So while there are many days I long for the great sleep, I fear I'm bound for this world for awhile longer."
I thought of the books in Daelyn's library, and I took a chance. I went to the front door and slid the bolt home, then peered into the empty back room to be certain we were alone. The old man looked alarmed and backed up, hands raised.