by Megan Hart
"It pleased me to have you call me your lady," Mina said. And then at last, Alaric was able to find sleep.
Chapter 22
There would always be those who stared, Mina thought without a blink to betray she was even paying attention to the way heads turned as she passed. Her high-necked, long-sleeved gown, with its buttons from throat to floor, stood out amongst the dresses of sateen and frothing lace. Add to it the fact that her attire was more than merely out of fashion but marked her profession, and she couldn't be surprised at the attention being paid to her.
There would also, she mused, ever be those who chose to be unkind rather than silent. For them, however, she had even less interest in response. She didn't need a title or a family line to outrank all of them. She was a Handmaiden and above their petty comments.
Alaric had called her bolder than the Sisters he'd previously met, but Mina wasn't particularly bold in public. She drew enough attention simply walking into a room; she'd gain nothing by behaving in any manner designed to create more. And it wouldn't serve her patron to cause a scene, no matter how many insults came to her ears in voices making mockery of whispers.
Alaric had performed superbly earlier at court. Any who found fault with his discussions on the current import and export laws being written would have done so only from spite, for his every suggestion had made sense and been backed by scads of documentation. Even Cillian had been fair impressed, clapping Alaric's shoulder and grinning with bared teeth at the lords who made to oppose them.
Mina hadn't, of course, taken part in any of the work, but had been there for every glance Alaric gave her. There'd been fewer as the hours wore on. He'd needed her less. And such was how it was meant to go, she thought now as court dispersed and the lords and ladies who'd lingered with nothing to do but gossip made to leave. She was meant to bolster him so he could stand on his own. No matter how much they both enjoyed each other's company, it wasn't meant to be forever.
Alaric, flushed and laughing, was bent in conversation with Cillian. The men drew envious glances and she heard mutters of favoritism from a few, but there were many who'd left the room praising the work done that day.
There'd be more to do, of course, more than Mina cared to think on, for politics and the working of government held little appeal for her. She learned what was necessary, and that was all. Still, it satisfied her to watch the pair of them, golden head and amber, talking with such affection. It would do Alaric more good than anything to be back in the bosom of his friends again. Better even than the release of climax, she thought with a small smile.
"Look at him prattle on as though anyone but his school chum could bear to pay attention."
Mina didn't turn her head at the snide, feminine tone. She didn't have to see the speaker's face to guess the look of it. A pinch-mouthed, narrow-eyed huss, no doubt. Too bitter and too convinced of her own worth to keep her meanness to herself.
"One might become convinced he's actually managed to teach himself somewhat of business," continued the voice.
Mina turned. She knew the Lady Larissa not from her portrait, which in truth had been painted with a more favorable hand than she deserved. In reality the cut of the lady's lips and ridge of her nose created a much sharper-edged beauty. Her hairstyle belonged on a much younger woman and her clothes, though costly and well-tailored, also hinted at pretentiousness.
Or else, Mina admitted to herself, she could simply not form a decent opinion of the lady, knowing what she knew.
"I don't believe we've met." Women didn't shake hands as men did, so Larissa flicked her fan in Mina's direction. "You're the Handmaiden."
Woman I begin and woman I shall end, Mina thought. It was never truer when facing another woman over a man. "I am. And you are?"
There must have been too few who dared put Larissa in her place, for that lady blinked rapidly as color stole into her fashionably powdered cheeks. She flicked her fan again. Ridiculous, Mina thought. Fans are meant for heat and evenings, and we are having neither.
"I am Larissa Darshan."
Mina said nothing.
Over Larissa's shoulder she saw Alaric, stopped by the same weasel-faced man who'd accosted him in the gardens a fortnight before. They'd bent their heads together over something Mina couldn't see. Larissa shifted to block Mina's view of anything but herself.
"You think you have him," Larissa sniffed, "but you don't. Not if I want him back." Mina had ever faced jealous lovers with compassion, for it couldn't be easy knowing they'd failed the person they claimed to
love. For Larissa she had only contempt and didn't bother to hide it. Apparently the woman was unused to seeing it, for she actually took a step back and closed her fan with a snap.
"I am a Handmaiden," Mina said. "I need not squabble over the favors of my patron with the likes of you."
Larissa staggered as though she'd been struck. She put a hand to her heart, and her cheeks flamed like fire. Mina took a dangerous amount of enjoyment from the sight.
"And even if you want him back," Mina said, "you can't have him." The metal box rested against the skin of Alaric's belly. It scratched with every movement. He couldn't stop thinking about it.
He'd not been sick in days, too busy with the tasks set him first by Mina and then by Cillian. He'd discovered much about himself, as well: for example, that he wasn't as dense with numbers as he'd always imagined. He'd taken to his work as Minister of Fashion and he'd taken to his private life as Mina's patron, which was far different from being anything he'd ever been to anyone.
"Just a hit," the stranger had said and offered the box. "You needn't overindulge. You can hold back. Can't you?"
And he could, indeed. Herb, worm, wine . . . these were the indulgences of gentlemen and not considered vices. He'd spent hours in the pleasant haze of intoxication. He could handle one, small dose of oblivion.
It would be sweet, he knew that. First the taste would flood his tongue, then heat would flood his veins. In another heartbeat, no more than two, he'd stand taller, walk a straighter line, pontificate with a brilliance that failed his normal mind.
With just one hit.
And then, after, when he came down, the sickness would come back twice as fiercely as it had before. The only way to stop that from happening would be to take another dose. And another.
For now, he satisfied himself with a glass of Cillian's fine wine. He took another to Mina, who'd declared she didn't dance, at least not in public and not unless it was necessary for her patron. He'd been unable to convince her a turn in the reel would benefit him, and she'd sent him to fetch her a full glass, instead.
He didn't mind, though he enjoyed dancing. King Allwyn's court had been a bit duller than Cillian's, for the new king sponsored entertainments every night. Since his appearance in court, Alaric and Mina had attended the entertainments every night for close to a full sevenday.
"Your wine, my lady."
"Thank you." She took the glass and sipped. She might not dance, but her toes tapped in merry time to the music and her cheeks had flushed rosy to go along with her gleaming eyes.
She was the most beautiful woman in a room full of fine-featured ladies, and he could only stare like a sudden, gape-mouthed fool when she smiled.
"Alaric?"
He'd worried her. Knowing it warmed him more than her smile. He took the chair next to hers. "You are like no other woman in this room."
She laughed. "I stand out amongst all the others?"
“To me.”
She cupped his cheek. "You're very sweet."
The music changed from a simple country tune to one of the newer, more fashionable dances Cillian had commissioned. Alaric hadn't yet learned it, but he looked to the dance floor anyway.
"Are you certain I can't convince you to allow me to escort you for a dance?" Mina patted him. "I'm sure. But you go. There are a number of unaccompanied ladies who look to be fair itching for a partner."
This suggestion puzzled him. "You'd not. . . mi
nd?"
"Why should I mind, sweetheart?" Mina lifted a brow. "It's custom in Firth as in other places, is it not, for men and women to dance together even if they're not wed or betrothed?"
Neither of which they were, he was reminded. "Yes, but—"
"Then go enjoy yourself," she said.
She wouldn't be jealous, was what he thought she meant to say, but knowing that was true didn't sit well with him. Reminded she was with him for a purpose and not from pure desire, Alaric frowned.
"Oh, don't put the pout on," Mina teased. "Go. Dance."
"Do you order it of me?"
Her smile faded and something dark crossed her gaze. "Do you push me to do such a thing, here, in front of your peers?"
"And if I do?"
"Then there are many other demands I could make of you that would better suit me than to have you dance with other women."
The thought of it, of being so attuned to her command he would follow even in public, aroused him. She saw it, he knew she did, and it echoed in the rise and fall of her breath and the slide of her tongue across her lips.
"But I shall make them later," Mina breathed. "Now. Go." So he went, if only to prove to them both how obedient he could be. Alaric joined the dancers as they lined up across from one another and found himself partnered with a sweet-faced girl he thought he might have known, if only she'd have kept her eyes on his face and not at the floor. She had a familiar giggle, but perhaps he only thought so because she sounded so much like so many of the women there. Had he made love to her? The touch of her gloved hand told him nothing, nor the sly smile she gave him as they turned and went down the row to the end of the line in time to the music. She fluttered her eyelashes at him but made no move to speak, though a good part of the dancing was usually spent conversing with one's partner. This dance, though, switched off partners readily, and in the next round he stood across from another woman entirely. This one he had no doubts he knew. This one didn't waste her time with a simper. She gave him her hand, though.
"Puppy," Larissa purred as they moved close and then apart. "What a pleasure." Even a week before he knew he'd have reacted, maybe even making a spectacle of himself right there on the dance floor. And she'd have eaten it up, he saw by the gleam in her eyes. She'd have reveled in watching him perform for her. Of watching him make a fool of himself in front of his peers.
Not like Mina, who might have asked him anything with the assurance he'd do his best to comply, but who'd required nothing that might make him look the fool. Larissa loved having reason to condescend and even better, reason for anger. She must have been expecting a different reaction from him. In the past she'd have left him no room to wonder about her feelings but now she only stared.
They bowed and circled one another. Larissa eyed him. "You look . . . different."
"And yet you look exactly the same," he murmured as he took her hand to move down the row.
It wasn't time to change partners just yet, though he might wish to escape her. Larissa squeezed his fingers and pulled him closer than the dance required. Alaric allowed it but only because he could see Mina from across the room.
He might have made a scene, before, but now there was no need. Nothing Larissa could do or say could prompt him to it. Not even when she pulled him closer and the metal box pressed again at his belly.
"Your lady keeps you on a rather long leash."
"Perhaps she knows I'll come back to her without being short-tethered." The music ended just then, and before they could begin to call the next, the crowd parted and closed around them. Larissa made him move to the side of the room. Against his belly, the metal box scratched.
Larissa leaned close and put her hand on his waist. The metal pressed him. She had to feel it. Larissa smirked.
"My, my. Has my boy been visiting you? I didn't think you still. . . indulged. I heard you'd gone off all that."
Alaric swallowed his retort. Larissa studied him. Really studied, not just swept him up and down with her gaze to make him feel as though his appearance was lacking.
"You never used that garbage when you were with me."
Alaric slid a hand into his shirt and pulled out the box. It fit just right into his palm. Inside, the contents rattled. "No, Larissa. I never used it when I was with you, no matter how hard your 'boy pushed it."
She ran her tongue over her lips in a gesture that had fascinated him in the past but now left him cold. "I heard you went deep, Puppy. What a shame."
"I wish you wouldn't call me that."
"If wishes wore saddles, I'd have no need of a pony." She laughed, a bright and tinkling sound like chimes of glass. Larissa lifted a brow and looked purposefully at Mina. "You might have done more for her, Puppy. You might have at least dressed her properly. It is your place, you know, to provide for her."
The crowd dispersed around them, another dance starting. Alaric didn't join it, and neither did Larissa. She ran a finger across the lace at his cuffs.
"She's kept you tidy, I see. But then you always did clean up rather well. It's a pity you haven't seen fit to do the same for her."
Before he could reply, she laughed in his face. "You've no idea what I mean, do you? Oh, by the Arrow, you do so amuse me more when I need not tolerate your simple head every day."
The words stung but he only smiled.
Larissa's laugh died in her throat. "She's a Handmaiden. Yours. You're bound to provide for her. Clothes appropriate for the season and activities. Food. Shelter. Whatever she requires, it's yours to provide. And yet you parade her about in the same shabby gown she's worn most every day since her arrival. What, she has but the two, yes?”
Alaric's eyes went to Mina, now chatting with Cillian's betrothed. It was true, she wore the same gown, but he'd become so accustomed to the sight of it he hadn't noticed it was the same one. Larissa laughed again.
"You serve her quite poorly. More poorly even than you served me.
"I served you with everything I had!" he cried, pricked at last into anger. Larissa blinked, then reached a hand to flick the lace at his throat. "Ah. The puppy bares his teeth."
"You chose to end our relationship after accepting my ring. You chose it, Larissa, not I. You agreed to become my wife and you . . ." He couldn't continue, not without raising his voice and drawing attention to them both.
"You've not learned a thing," she told him. "Don't you know there's no joy in requiring submission from a man who never, ever, bites back?"
"I never wanted to bite you," Alaric said. "I loved you." Larissa could be cold, and she could be cruel, but now she looked at him with a fondness he'd never thought to see again. "If you'd loved me less, I would have loved you more." Thoughts swirled, but no words came out. Alaric felt the touch of her hand on his cheek but it was gone before he could react. She sighed and shook her head.
"Take care of her better," she advised. "Responsibility goes both ways, Alaric. Spend all the time on your knees before her that you desire, but don't forget to take care of all she might need, as well."
The music swelled and Larissa left him, only unlike before, this time, Alaric was still standing when she went.
Chapter 23
"Tell me about yourself."
Mina looked into Alaric's grinning face and leaned back on the pillows. They'd spent a leisurely hour in the bath, after which he'd rubbed her skin with fragrant oils and carried her to the bed. Now he was feeding her grapes. It was a bit of silliness, a role-play with him the part of the hareem boy, but it pleased them both and did no harm.
"Hmmm," she mused. "What would you like to know?" She had no quarrel with talking about her past. Unlike many of her Sisters who chose to come to their patrons as unmarked parchment, Mina had ever believed her duty required her to give her patrons of herself, a task made too difficult if she kept herself locked away.
"Anything. Everything." Eagerly, he knelt in front of her on the bed.
"What's gotten into you? Invisible Mother, if you don't stop wiggling the bed,
I swear we'll both fall off." She studied him, looking for signs of the drug in his eyes and skin, but saw none.
He leaned in to stroke a hand down her side to rest on her hip, and when she tilted her face up, he kissed her mouth. "I just want to know you, Mina." She laughed against his lips. "Oh, Alaric. What do you think you might need to know?" His mouth moved across hers and over her cheek, down her throat, across the tops of her breasts. He kissed a path down to her belly and rested his head there. "Something you've never told anyone else."
This gave her pause. She touched the softness of his hair but didn't stroke. "If I've never told anyone else, what makes you think I'd tell you?"
"Because soon you'll go away. And I'm safe."
His breath slipped across her skin and warmed her. So did his touch. She couldn't deny what he said was true, though how he'd guessed it, she didn't know. "I would imagine I'm less interesting than you believe, but very well. Something I've never told anyone else. Let me think a bit."
He kissed her belly and slipped his arms around her. He hummed with his lips on her skin. Tickled, she laughed and tugged at his hair until he left off to look at her with that same mischievous grin.
"I lied about my age when I joined the Order."
This was clearly not anything like what he'd thought to hear. Alaric sat upright, eyes wide. "Did they ever find out?"
"If they had, sweetheart, do you think that would qualify as something I never told anyone?" She did, in fact, believe at least a few of the Mothers-in-Service suspected she wasn't as old as she'd claimed, but none had questioned her.
He laughed, chagrined. "No. I suppose not."
Alaric settled back against her and Mina contented herself with running her fingers through his hair. So soft, the color of good, rich butter. . . no, sunshine, she decided. Summer sunshine. And, amused at herself, she sighed into laughter. He looked up at her again. "Why did you lie?"
"Because I wanted desperately to become a Handmaiden. It takes a long time to train for the position, but unlike many other vocations, the Order won't take a girl under the age of ten-and-six into apprenticeship."