by Megan Hart
"And did you try the door?" She smiled at the way his gaze shuttered just before he ducked his head again and grinned. He had a charming manner that seemed mostly unfeigned. She could work with that.
"If I say no, will you know that I'm lying?"
"I will, indeed."
"And what would you do?" He tilted his head to slant her a look. Mina moved to the edge of the bed to put her feet on the floor. She looked over her shoulder at him as she got up. "Do you want me to say I'll punish you?"
"Would you?"
She stood. "What do you know about Handmaidens, Alaric?"
"I know you believe that for each person you bring to absolute solace, another Arrow will go into Sinder's Holy Quiver. And that when the Quiver's filled, the Holy Family will return. I know you're trained in providing solace to your patrons. But I'll confess, I've met only two of your Sisters and . . . neither was as . . . bold as you." She raised a brow. "Perhaps their patrons didn't require them to be."
"No," he said after a bare pause. "I don't expect any Handmaiden given to Edward or Cillian would be."
Mina smoothed her gown. "You might not know much about me or my Sisters, Alaric, but you are far from my first patron. And you are not the first to ask me such a question. So I shall tell you what I tell them all. If I felt it would bring you solace to punish you, I would do it. But I don't wish to be your mother or your nursemaid, so I hope there shall be no punishment for naughtiness needed."
Alaric nodded. "But you . . . you know me. They told you about me, else you'd not have been so . . ."
"Bold?" She laughed. "My sweet one, I know no other way to be. Think you this is all for your benefit?"
"Isn't it?"
Sinder bless him, the confusion was both adorable and expected. "We were matched, this is true, and it's true as well I am able to bend myself to fit a patron if necessary. Such is my purpose. But the Order doesn't send me to patrons who don't need what I can best provide. I am who I am at all times, not merely because it's what you need." He blinked, understanding swimming up into his gaze from someplace deep inside. "But you are what I need?"
"I hope to be."
"For at least one small moment, yes?" He stood, also.
She hadn't forgotten the words he'd shouted the day before, or the way he'd put his hands on her in anger. It was reason enough for her to leave, even if the drug had forced the actions, but he'd apologized. She believed he meant it. There was hope here, even if it was not for love. "That is the goal, yes."
He moved within an arm's length, but didn't touch her. "You took care of me, all through the night."
"Of course I did. I am your comfort and your grace," Mina said quietly. "I told you that. I'm your Handmaiden."
"My . . . lady . . . My lady Larissa would never have done such a thing." Mina brushed a tendril of golden hair off his face and let her hand linger on his cheek.
"Then she was no true mistress."
He moved from her touch, and though it wasn't unexpected, it did sting her pride just a touch. They stared at each other for the space of a few breaths. He looked away first.
"If you clean yourself up appropriately," she said finally, "I think you might escort me around the gardens. I've heard they're lovely."
Chapter 19
She'd taken his arm as though it were the most natural event in the world. They fell into step beside each other even more naturally, his gait shortening to make sure he didn't walk too fast. Her head came only to his shoulder, and he was shamed to recall how fragile she felt in his grip. He could have broken her, but she walked now beside him as easily as if they'd known each other for years.
"I don't even know your name," he said suddenly, surprised he hadn't even thought of it before now."
"My name is Determinata."
He stopped so short his boots left a mark in the grass. "Truly?"
"I don't lie."
Alaric pondered this. "It suits you, I'll say that."
"It's meant to. The Order doesn't give out names lightly. But you needn't address me by that name," she said with a smile.
"What should I call you?" A small burst of unease twisted in his stomach. Now she would command him to call her mistress, or lady. He couldn't do it. Not in the way she would have it.
She looked up at him and let go of his arm. The breeze tugged the fringes of her hair. Sunshine, just a hint too bright, slanted down across her face. In his chambers he'd thought her eyes dark, but here in the light he could see they were mostly green. And frank, he thought as they studied each other. It was easy to believe she didn't lie.
"You may call me Mina."
Alaric watched as a cloud passing overhead cast her face into shadow. "Mina?"
"It's also my name." She took his arm again and started walking, the hem of her gown sweeping across the short-clipped grass.
"But you don't wish me to call you something more formal?" She stopped again to face him. "Such as my lady?"
Alaric shuddered. "No. Not that."
It was what he'd called Larissa, his one true lady. Mina—and it would take some effort for him to think of her that way for Determinata suited her so well—narrowed her eyes to watch him, as though she understood. He thought perhaps she did, better than anyone.
"I don't hold the use of my name as a privilege. Anyone can call me by it, and many do. It's not what you name me but how you behave for me that matters." She wasn't like the other women of his acquaintance, most who simpered and flirted behind their fans. She wasn't like Larissa, who'd met his gaze as boldly but had held her favor above his head the same as she'd lift a treat to make a dog leap. Alaric's guts tensed at the memory, then again with a sudden flare of craving.
She noticed. "Walk with me."
He forced himself to the steady pace she set, though the sunshine had become far too bright and the wind too chill. It had been how long since his last needle-full of oblivion? Too long. The crunch of stone beneath his boots raked at his ears, but Alaric kept his head high.
Mina's grip tightened on his arm. "Tell me the names of those flowers, there." He looked to where she pointed as they drew closer. Red-petaled heads danced on the breeze and sent even chillier fingers down his spine. Next to them a bush of spiked green leaves bloomed with yellow flowers. "Mother's slippers."
"And the yellow?"
"Something buttons. Captains buttons, I think."
"You know your flowers. Very nice." Her touch should have been too light for him to feel, yet each caress of her fingertips pressed him through his coat and shirt. "And the blue ones, farther down the path?"
They walked. In the distance he saw the flowers she mentioned. His mouth opened to answer but a voice from behind them called his name. Alaric turned.
"Cillian."
Dressed as always in the height of fashion, Cillian sauntered down the path toward them.
"Alaric! And . . . my lady Determinata."
Alaric had never seen Cillian at a loss for words. Now his friend looked back and forth from Alaric to Mina and spread his hands, silent. Alaric's guts took another slow tumble, thinking of how low he'd fallen, that his friends should have taken it upon themselves to fit him with a Handmaiden. He swallowed a surge of emotion and blessed the Quiver Edward wasn't there to see him. He didn't think he could face him. Not yet.
"I've just had the most delightful letter," Cillian said. "From Edward. His lady wife has had their child, Alaric. Our dear one is a papa."
The earth slid a bit beneath Alaric's feet, though why the news of Edward's fatherhood should so rock him, he didn't know. He'd seen the man with Stillness. He knew how much Edward loved her. But somehow, knowing it before when he'd had his lady to hold him up had made all the difference.
"Please send him my congratulations." The words slipped out from numb lips. Cillian looked at him askance. "You might present them yourself. They're not opening the house to guests just yet, but I'm to go there in a few days. You'll come along." Alaric said nothing and Cillian only stared.
Mina's fingers tightened again on his arm.
"Alaric," she said. "I would know the name of those blue flowers. Go and wait for me by them."
He thought of balking, for who was she, after all, to order him? But he wasn't so far gone he couldn't see what she meant to do. Give him the space he sorely needed. Some time. He nodded and gave Cillian a half bow that set the other man back a step, a startled look upon his face.
He looked back over his shoulder to see Cillian and Mina locked in serious conversation. Cillian was frowning, his arms crossed, the familiar "I want" look on his face. Mina didn't look as though she meant to bend to whatever Cillian was proposing, and a smile flitted across Alaric's mouth. He'd known her just a day, but she would be a formidable opponent even to the King of Firth.
At the end of the path he stopped to stare at the blue flowers. He didn't know the name of them. He'd never cared. He didn't care now, but for the fact she'd asked it of him and it was more natural for him to answer than to refuse.
"M'lord." A bramble-rough voice edged out from behind the bush, and Alaric startled. He'd never learned the man's name, though once it had been
Larissa's pleasure to have the stranger suck Alaric's cock while she watched. Alaric shuddered at the memory, and then again at the smile on the other man's face. He had dark, lazy eyes and a grin that left them cold.
He'd been the one to give Alaric his first taste of oblivion.
"M'lord," the man repeated. "I've not seen you about lately. You've been absent even from court. And from our lady's chamber. Ah, your mercy. I misspoke. She is no longer—"
"Choke on it," Alaric gritted out.
The stranger lifted a brow and pursed his lips and cocked a hip, though he seemed not as casual as he wanted Alaric to believe. His gaze flicked over Alaric's shoulder. "Your master is going to work himself into apoplexy by something that chit is saying." Alaric didn't turn. "You speak of the king with so little respect? You should mind your tongue."
"You can mind my tongue any time you like." The stranger swiped the tongue in question across his teeth.
Alaric had no intentions of doing any such thing, but as much as it disgusted himself, he leaned toward the man. "You still serve her?"
The man raised a brow. "As I ever have. Of course. As I always will." She'd put Alaric from her, but not this man. Knowing it only knotted his guts further. Alaric spat to the side. The man smiled again with another lick of his teeth.
"You shouldn't let it wound you so. I have no fear in telling you she keeps me around because I cost her nothing and bring her much. It's not your fault she let you draw too close."
Alaric didn't answer, just turned to focus his attention on the blue flowers.
"It's eating at you, though, innit?" The stranger's hot breath blew on the back of Alaric's neck. "Not just her. But the other, yes?
I know. I know how it feels, brother. But why make it so? Why not just let me help you with that?"
Alaric looked down to the box in the man's hand. It might have been costly, but now the white porcelain was grimed, some of the jewels missing from the design. The gold hasp was broken. The box fell open in the man's palm to reveal a faded inner lining and a clear glass bottle in which the yellow liquid shimmered.
He was already reaching for it when he heard the crunch of footsteps on the path behind him. The man turned, his smile a lie on his lips. Alaric's fingers twitched, but he withdrew without taking the box.
"The flowers, Alaric," Mina said as her gaze moved smoothly back and forth between the two men. "I asked you the name."
"I bid you good day," the stranger said and fled.
Alaric watched him go and even took a step toward him, but stopped himself. He knew enough to recognize his need was artificial, that it could be ignored. Oblivion tempted him but if that man knew so plainly of Alaric's need for the drug, that meant Larissa must, as well. And though he didn't care if Cillian or Edward or even Mina knew he'd given in to its dark embrace, suddenly it very much mattered if his former lady knew it. She'd laugh behind her fan at the news. Mocking. He'd seen her do it before, about lovers she'd spurned. One had thought to end his life from leaping off a bridge. He hadn't died, but Alaric thought he must have wished he did. Larissa had gone to visit the poor wretch and come home beaming, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling, to regale her inner circle with the story of how he'd clung to her hand even though his fingers had all been broken.
"The flowers, Alaric."
"Blue . . . blue . . ." He stumbled on the name, tongue searching for what his mind refused to give. His fists clenched. He looked at her.
"Take a breath and think," Mina said.
"I don't know it! I don't know the name of your bedamned flowers!" He tore one from the bush and ripped the petals from it.
Mina's cool gaze served to make him feel even more ridiculous. "I would have the name, sirrah, and no further discussion."
"And what will you do if I cannot give it to you?"
She stared in silence.
Alaric spat again to clear the taste of oblivion rising on his tongue. If his action offended her, she showed no sign. She kept her gaze upon his face.
Had she demanded his obedience with threats, or sneered, or given him any indication she thought ill of him for not performing, Alaric thought he would simply turn on his heel and walk away from her. But Mina kept up her steady gaze. She didn't point out to him how she'd nursed him through the night, nor offer to remind him of her purpose. She waited.
"Blue . . . bonnets," he said at last. "No. Blue slippers. No. No. Blue coats! They're called blue coats."
Relief sighed through him. The taste of oblivion didn't dissipate, but his stomach settled. He moved to the next bush in the row.
"Roses. Named for the king's mother, Ingrid. These are also roses. I don't know what breed, but they come in white and pink as well."
He turned to her, triumphant. Mina smiled and held out her hand. He took it. She was lovely, but her smile made her the more so. And she was, whether he wished it or no, his. And he hers, he supposed, for the time. Alaric brought her knuckles to his lips and kissed them, helpless all at once against the impulse to bring another smile to her face.
It worked, and he let out a sigh. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," she said.
Chapter 20
Three days had passed since her first arrival, and so had the worst of Alaric's illness. He'd suffered the shakes, the nausea, the mood swings, but ultimately, Mina thought, it was not the drug that had turned him so desolate. He was heartsick, not drug-sick. Oblivion had been a means of easing his pain and later an easy excuse for further downward spiraling. She'd eased him through the initial drug craving. Now she needed to get him past his hearts wound.
He'd taken to her simple commands more easily than any patron she'd ever had. More than any man, she had to admit, watching as Alaric paused to check the level of her glass with his gaze before turning his attention back to the papers on his desk. She had set him to the task of organizing his accounts and settling his debts, for just as no soul could find solace amongst a mess, neither could anyone find peace with creditors banging on the door.
If indeed they should, she thought and turned the page of the novel she only feigned reading. If Alaric's friends had thought it no financial burden to acquire her services, they would surely keep the debt collectors at bay. Someone was keeping everyone away, she knew that, for aside from the maids who brought and took away their meals, nobody else came knocking.
If he felt abandoned by this, Alaric didn't say. He seemed glad enough to stay sequestered with her in his chambers, aside from their daily stroll in the gardens. Though Edward had sent an invitation to his home and Cillian had left a note encouraging Alaric to join him and some other young lords for evening entertainments, he'd refused. As for attending court, he'd made no mention, though she knew he'd gone often in the past. She finished her glass of cool honeyed tea deliberately and turned her gaze to the words on the page. I
n a moment, Alaric was there with the pitcher, though he didn't pour until she looked up and nodded. He had a natural inclination toward service, tempered with a lack of assumption that he could know exactly what she wanted. He was there to fill her cup or pull out her chair, to offer her the best cuts of meat, but he didn't overstep. She watched him pour the glass full and set the pitcher aside, and her pulse throbbed with sudden fierceness in her temples and the base of her throat. Between her thighs. They'd shared a bed every night, skin to skin, and not once had he laid a hand upon her.
"Alaric."
He paused at the low, throaty sound of his name. His eyes widened, just barely. When they left the room, he dressed as a gentleman, for it didn't suit her and wouldn't help him to be displayed as anything else. Here in private, however, he wore no shirt, his drawstring trousers dipping low, the way she'd told him pleased her. Mina saw the vein in his throat throb, the same as hers just had.
She set aside her book. Alaric's gaze followed it, then moved back to hers. When his tongue crept between his lips, her breath caught.
"You have well pleased me these past few days."
He bent his head. "Thank you."
"I thought you might fight me more," she said.
He smiled. "I thought I would, too."
"But you haven't." She didn't mention that first day, though they both knew of it. "You have done just as I told you, to the best of your abilities."
"Because you seem to know what is best for me," he said somewhat gruffly. "I don't have to be a scholar to know it."
"Knowing something doesn't necessarily mean you might accept it, and so readily."
"Have you had other patrons who didn't?" He seemed curious rather than jealous. She thought of past patrons who'd been less able to bend to her whim or to accept the need to do so. There had been few who did not eventually accept her as mistress, but Mina considered it their loss. As she'd told Alaric, she might take a strap to a man's back if she believed it brought him the peace it was her purpose to provide, but it was not her pleasure to do it for any other reason.