by Megan Hart
He hummed again on her belly and slid a hand up her leg. Alaric nuzzled into her as though he couldn't bear to have one measure of his skin not pressed to hers. She liked it, Mina thought as her fingers stroke-stroked along his scalp. This closeness.
"Why did you want it so desperately?"
"Because nobody believed a girl of ten-and-three could possibly know her own mind. I could be betrothed, even wed should my parents will it. I could bear a child. But command myself? Never." Mina shifted and her voice lowered as her fingers twisted.
"And command another? Unthinkable."
He stretched against her, not pulling from the tug on his hair but leaning into the embrace. "You knew, so young?"
"Oh, my sweetheart, I have ever known I was meant to control, not be controlled. I knew it from behind my mothers skirts, I knew it when my body changed and first drew the hungry glances of my father's friends. I knew it before the first time I had a man on his knees before me."
She didn't miss Alaric's small groan. She smiled and pushed his head lower. He obliged at once, sliding on the sheets to move between her legs. She parted her thighs for him, already arching her back to press herself into his hot, wet mouth.
"But at ten-and-three, nobody would believe I could know this. So, I left my house and went to the Order, and I. . ." She sighed as his tongue found her clitoris. Her words expanded, melted, dripped from her lips without making sense.
With Alaric's mouth on her, working her flesh to ecstasy, Mina's mind opened to the first time she'd been so pleasured. The Mothers-in-Service who'd accepted her into the Order hadn't pressed her for her age, but they'd kept her in training long enough it didn't matter if she wasn't of consent when she joined. Years had passed while she studied. More years than most of her Sisters had to face, but then her natural inclinations had led her down some more . . . strenuous . . . paths.
Stephan, the man brought from the fields to the house, had been the one they chose for her, the first man to act the part of patron. Mina had never asked him how many young women he helped to initiate into the role of Handmaiden, but she knew without question she'd been the first to take him instead of the other way 'round.
Alaric shifted and added the stroke of his fingers inside her. Mina moaned his name, urging him on. His mouth worked in time with his hand, bringing her fast to the edge but holding off at the last moment, keeping her burning.
"I learned how to make people give me what I wanted in a way that satisfied us both." She drew in a breath and ran her tongue over her lips, tasting salt. They rocked together. She let him take her away with his touch. She let him bring her back with it as well. She cried his name when climax shook her, and it tasted right as though she couldn't have said anything else.
When he moved up her body to slide inside her, his kisses tasted of her desire. It sent another surge through her. Her hands found the hard muscles of his back and buttocks, urging him deeper. Harder.
Alaric gave her what she wanted. He pushed up on his arms, angling so deep inside her sweet pain mingled with the pleasure. She cried out again as her body clenched in the onset of another climax. It rippled through her. Mina wrapped her legs around Alaric's waist, holding him to her until he lowered himself to hold her just as tight. They kissed. They breathed. He shuddered and bent his face against her throat, and she felt the pulse of him inside her.
They lay, quiet, for some moments until he moved off her to rest by her side. "I always knew, too."
Mina, drowsy and sated, turned to press her lips to his temple. "Did you?"
"Yes."
"Then we were well matched, yes?"
He tilted his head to look up at her, his hair stuck to his forehead with the sweat of his efforts. "I think so."
Mina thought so, too.
"You know, what I said before," Alaric said after a few more quiet moments. "That first day . . ."
"Yes?" Mina, drowsing, didn't care to think too much upon it.
"I didn't mean it."
"Oh, sweetheart, if I believed you meant it, I'd have walked out that day. There are words men say when they are sore in need of solace, or deep in their grief. You didn't even know me, then. And many men think Handmaidens are equivalent to whores." He shifted and got upon his elbow to look into her eyes. "I shouldn't have said that, either, but that's not what I meant, now."
Ice bloomed in her belly, and Mina sat, too. She drew away from him, just barely, aware more than ever of how selfish her heart was being. "Hush, Alaric."
"When I said I would never—"
"I said hush!" She shook her head, and he obeyed.
She settled down into the pillows again and he followed after a few minutes. The rise and fall of his breath told her he slept, and once again Mina crept from the bed. This time not to sit at the window but to creep to the bath chamber where she ran the water as hot as she could stand and scrubbed herself clean of anything to remind her of his touch. His taste.
She got into the tub, overbrimming, and sank down until the water covered everything but her mouth and tip of her nose. She could hear her heart beat, slow and steady in her ears. She could hear each breath as it sighed through her nose, down her throat, and into her lungs. She closed her eyes and floated.
Not dreaming.
Before creating the world, Sinder had walked the Void alone. The texts didn't say for how long, and priests and scholars had argued over the number of years for as long as the texts had been a matter of study and not pure belief. He walked the Void, created the world and came across Kedalya in the forest—-nobody had ever explained to Mina's satisfaction how she came to be there, if Sinder was the Allcreator, but that's what the Book said happened, so she believed it was true. Sinder saw Kedalya and fell in love with her, and they bore a son together. The Holy Family.
And then the versions of the story diverged, some claiming Kedalya sinned with their child, others blaming Sinder for abandoning his wife and son. No matter what the reason, the Holy Family had been broken, on that they all agreed. They'd gone away and wouldn't return until Sinder's Quiver contained enough arrows to fill it.
Mina's entire faith was based on love and the loss of it.
She ducked entirely beneath the water, holding her breath, and wondered how long she could stay there before she had to come up for air. Heat soothed her, as did the water's cradling embrace. She wasn't afraid of drowning. She'd never been afraid of anything in her whole life, but she was afraid now, her heart squeezing in her chest, her fingertips and toes numb despite the water's heat.
Mina fully believed in the principles of the Order. She understood them so deeply she needn't think on the meaning; she simply lived them. She knew how to find beauty in imperfection and how to think first of what another needed to bring the best pleasure to them both. She believed without question she'd begun and would end as a woman, and that utter solace was not only attainable but should be the goal of every person in the Land Below. She had spent her entire adult life doing her best to provide it, and now, here, for the first time she feared she would be unable to finish her task. Her failures had been few before, and not of her making, but Alaric was different than any patron or man she'd ever known. If Mina couldn't bring him to solace it wouldn't be his fault, but hers. Love had ever seemed weak to her. So many had claimed it, held it out like a prize in which she had no interest. That she was worthy of love she had no doubts, for Mina had ever lived above reproach. She was fair of face and form. All that men claimed to love about her, she couldn't disagree with. But to love another based on his features had seemed ridiculous. To love him for his bended knee equally as silly, for of all the men of her acquaintance, even those who claimed to serve her had done so out of hope she would serve them, in the end.
How could she be expected to love anyone when even the All-creator and the Invisible Mother couldn't manage to maintain the emotion?
It had been easier when he'd claimed he would never love her. When she'd believed he meant it. Now something stretched be
tween them, unseen and unheard, untasted, or unsmelled.
But not unfelt.
And you must make sure to use your best stitching. Nothing sloppy." Alaric gave the seamstress the list of measurements and instructions and watched her look them over. There were benefits to his position as Minister of Fashion he'd never considered, he thought with a grin as he left the woman's shop and headed out to the street to next find the sweet shop. Mina had mentioned desiring a certain kind of toffee not commonly found in Firth, but he knew where he might find some. It had been some time since he'd been inside, but once through the doorway Alaric paused to breathe in deep the scents of candies and pastries. He ordered a pound of the toffees, imported and expensive though they were, added a few other sweets to the bill, and arranged for delivery. Then back out to the street again, where he lifted his head to the scent of snow in the air and thought about how many minutes it would take his carriage to get him back to the palace. He wasn't watching where he was going, and there was no excuse for the way he trod upon the lady's gown as she came out from the milliner's. He grabbed at her arm to stop from jostling her further, but let go at once when he saw who she was.
"Your mercy," he said.
Larissa's broad-brimmed hat was not in the latest fashion, but she made it seem so. It shaded her eyes. Were they more shadowed than they'd been the last time he'd seen her?
"You're alone," she replied. "She lets you out alone."
"She doesn't own me, Larissa."
"Yet you'd be owned, if she wanted it." Larissa glanced down the street. "You've been to the seamstress?"
"Yes." He gave a glance down the street, too, then moved away from her. "Good day."
"Alaric, wait."
He paused but didn't turn at first. When she didn't command him again, Alaric softened. Turned. Larissa gestured and he moved closer.
"You look well," she said.
"I am well. Thank you."
He could remember he'd once wanted this woman, but he could no longer remember how it felt, that desire. Now he stared at her pretty face, the fine clothes, and felt nothing. She might have been an acquaintance from long ago, so unmoved did she leave him. Larissa wasn't stupid. He knew she saw his lack of emotion in his face, where he wore it the way he'd always worn every feeling. She blinked rapidly, and Alaric caught the sheen of tears.
"She'll leave you soon. She'll have to. I can tell how much better you are, already." He swallowed against the words rising like bile in his throat. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of getting such a reaction. Yet when he looked at Larissa longer, Alaric wondered what reaction she'd been hoping for.
"When she does . . ." Larissa didn't move toward him. No longer even looked at him. He recognized that habit, of staring at something else to draw attention away from what she wanted.
"Good day, Larissa."
She looked at him then, the bright blaze of her eyes familiar even if she no longer seemed so. "She will leave you, Alaric. It's what she's meant to do. And when she does, what will you do, then? Go back to oblivion? I'm telling you that you needn't do it. You can come back to me."
A pony, a gown, a book. A set of rooms. A servant. What Larissa could not have, she wanted, and for the first time, instead of anger or grief, Alaric was moved to pity for her. She had wealth and beauty and the love of many, and none of it was enough. It would never be enough for her.
"I don't want to come back to you," he said, but gently. She blinked again and he thought this time the glitter of tears might be real. "You do. Of course you do."
"No. I really don't. But. . . thank you, Larissa."
She took a step back, a hand going to her throat as though he'd made a grab for it. "For what?"
"For not loving me."
Her lips moved in silence. Alaric made a leg. He'd have kissed her hand this one last time, had she not snatched it close to her body and taken another step back. Her shoes gritted on the gravel as her voice ground out her words.
"You are not supposed to thank me for that!"
"But I do," Alaric said. "For if you had, we would ever be gnawing at the ties binding us to each other and would never be happy."
She drew in a breath and curled her lip, but said nothing. Perhaps she had nothing to say. Alaric put his fingertips to his heart, and then to his forehead, and at last his lips in the traditional, triple gesture of farewell.
"Now if you'll excuse me," he said, "I must return to my lady." He didn't bother to wait for Larissa's reply.
When the knock sounded at the outer door to the chamber, Mina didn't move. Alaric did, hopping out of bed as though shot from a cannon. He wrapped a spidersilk robe around his waist but left his chest bare. The look he gave her over his shoulder as he went out of the bedchamber had her pushing up on one elbow, brow furrowed.
What on earth was he about?
At this time of afternoon, it was the height of laziness to be abed, but Mina doubted they were the first couple to ever pass the hours making love. Not even the first to spend a week in such leisure, as they'd done, she was sure. She settled back onto the pillows, still listening for sounds of who might have come visiting and hoping with a yawn covered by the back of her hand she would not have to leave the comfort of Alaric's bed. The murmur of voices reached, but didn't rouse her. She snuggled, tucking herself against the pillow that smelled of him. She breathed in, her eyes closed, thinking of how little time it had taken for her to recognize it.
The murmuring grew louder and softer as she dozed. The thud of the door closing woke her but not enough to force her from the blankets. She waited for Alaric to come back, and when he didn't, Mina again sat up to call his name.
He appeared in the doorway. "Mina."
"Mmmm?"
"Come see this."
She yawned and blinked, then fixed him with a look meant to intimidate him back to her side at once . . . though gently. He didn't waver. He grinned, gesturing, but the look in his eyes was what swung her feet over the side.
"What is it?"
"Come," he said. "Please."
She was not above granting requests, particularly when made so nicely, so even though the soft bed was more appealing than anything else at the moment, she got out of it. "Do you have a surprise for me?"
He said nothing, just took her hand as she came through the door. Mina stopped on the other side of it, made suddenly breathless by what she saw. She turned to him, questions trying to tumble from her tongue but tangling it, instead.
He'd brought in a hanging rack a dangle with gowns in every color. Below it, a rack of slippers, shoes, and boots to match. A jewel case on a stand stood next to it. Boxes brimming with hats, gloves ... a cloak caught her eye and she went to it at once to press the luxurious fall of soft velvet against her bare skin.
"What. . . what is all this?" She turned to meet his gaze and found herself unable to keep her vision clear.
Alaric came forward, expression concerned. "Don't cry."
Was she weeping? Mina swept at her cheeks and blinked away the blur. "What have you done?"
"What I should have done at once, if I hadn't been in such a state. I'm providing for you. Clothing appropriate for the season and activities." He drew her by the hand to the rack.
"It should have been done immediately, and I plead your mercy for failing you.
"You didn't. I have ever preferred my own gowns to those my patrons chose . . . oh!" She stopped herself at the sight of a blue dress, hem hung with spangled gold beads. Matching beads decorated the short, puffed sleeves and the wide band of ribbon that would cross just beneath her breasts. This gown was of the highest fashion, the loveliest fabrics. She touched it, her heart thudding faster with longing to put it on.
"You would be beautiful in that. You're beautiful in anything," Alaric said from behind her.
"There are so many!"
He chuckled. "I do have some small influence in the realm of fashion." She faced him. "You've done too much."
"I haven't. It's my respon
sibility to provide for you." He looked over the clothes, then back to her. "And my pleasure, Mina."
"Purpose and pleasure," she said, her throat thick with emotion. How often had she heard that said? How often had she been required to believe it of herself?
"Yes. Purpose and pleasure, both." Alaric moved closer to take her hand and bring it to his lips. "Are you displeased?"
"No." Mina leaned against him, her cheek to his chest, before pulling away to look again at the treasures before her. Simply because she chose her garments to create a specific appearance didn't mean she never longed for beauty for beauty's sake. "I'm far from displeased."
"Try them on."
He looked so eager she couldn't refuse, though she insisted upon bathing quickly, first. She had no lady's maid to help her as she would have had she been as grand a lady as the gowns would insist, but Alaric was as swift tying laces as he was untying them.
"Practice provides perfection," he told her with an unashamed grin. There were many choices but only one she could imagine making at that moment. With its simple cut, the lack of lace and frills, the gown would have been plain but for the color. Crimson silk, hemmed in gold. It was not the gown for a Handmaiden. It was the gown, however, for a woman.
When she stood before him in the dress, her high-heeled shoes a perfect match, the soft gloves rising to just above her elbow, Mina thought no mirror could better reflect her than Alarics eyes. Men had gazed at her with wonder before this, and with adoration, but none had ever looked upon her with such utter satisfaction.
She was brand-new before him.
"This gown ... it fits me. Perfectly." None of the others she'd ever been granted had done so. All had sagged or pinched, needing tailoring. Many had been the wrong color, what her patron preferred and not what would suit her. But this dress hung on her as though it had grown from her own skin. The shoes fit so well she scarcely noticed them. Mina twirled, slowly, to bell the skirt. "How did you do it?" Alaric looked confused. "Do what?"