Light in the Darkness

by CJ Brightley

  “Sounds good,” he said. “Talk about…?”

  “What we need to talk about.”

  He nodded. They changed in separate rooms, and climbed into bed facing each other. Hope’s bruise had healed completely, and she could lie on either side now. She snuggled up to his chest and looked up into his eyes.

  “You want to start?” she said.

  “All right. First of all, I don’t blame you for any of this, and I don’t have a solution.”

  She made an I-understand noise, since she was too close to him to be able to nod.

  “I love you and I like being close to you, but it’s difficult, too. I wish I could express how much I desire you by acting on that desire, but I can’t. I can keep control, I can get through it all, but it’s hard work. And that exercise last week… I’ve been thinking about you all the time. I mean, I think about you all the time anyway, but the imagery has changed. I think about how beautiful your body is, and how you let me see it, and how I want to, to touch every part of you and be as close to you as I can be, and I know I have to wait. It’s… distracting. I almost cut myself three times the other day, daydreaming about you while I was carving.”

  Hope cuddled close and hid her face in his chest. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Don’t apologise. It’s not your choice. Nobody is doing anything wrong here, but it’s a difficult situation anyway.”

  “I know. And if it were up to me, you know I’d…”

  “I think I’ll find it easier if you don’t finish that sentence. But thanks.”

  They lay quiet for a while, and he listened to, and felt, her breathing and her heartbeat. Then she said into his shoulder, “Will it be more difficult if I kiss you?”

  “I don’t think I care,” he said, and slid down to rest his forehead on hers. She smiled, and kissed him, slowly, starting out with light pressure and not much movement. He responded in kind.

  He wasn’t even sure which of them started to heat up the kiss. It seemed to be a mutual decision at the same moment. First, they started moving more, trailing their lips over each other’s, still gently, then with more passion.

  She took his upper lip between hers and sucked gently. This was the point that had triggered her curse in the mindhealer’s office, but she felt relaxed in his arms, with no sign of distress. Rather the opposite, in fact. She sucked on his lip more enthusiastically, and he returned the favour, savouring. Their hands caressed each other’s sides and backs lightly, fingers strumming and circling.

  She gently licked his lip where it was trapped between hers. He tensed for a moment, then relaxed into it. He parted his lips, inviting her.

  She took the invitation and slipped her tongue softly between his lips, something they had not previously risked. His tongue met it, and they played gently, exploring, enjoying.

  Still moving slowly, even languidly, Hope sucked Patient’s tongue into her mouth. Her lips pulsed around it, more firmly. She pressed forward, harder, and their teeth ground together. Her hands were digging into his back.

  He flailed, seizing her shoulders and forcibly extracting his tongue from her mouth with a wet sucking noise, pulled back and looked her in her now-open eyes. Both of them were breathing heavily. The feeling of imminent curse-triggering that he had picked up on receded.

  “You could tell?” she said.

  “Yes.”

  She rested her forehead on his chest. “Thanks. I don’t think I could have stopped. I could feel the curse-nimbus coming, but I just didn’t care.”

  “That was… intense,” he said.

  “How, Patient?” she asked. “How do you do that? How do you pull back from something like that? I was completely lost in it.”

  “I leave a little part of myself as an observer,” he said. “Always.”

  “Always with me, or just always?”

  “Just always, I think. Since the war.”

  “Oh.” Tears welled up in her eyes, and she hugged him.

  “Patient,” she said, “I swear to you that someday I will find a way to pull that observer in and make him forget everything else, because nothing else will matter.”

  He stroked her hair.

  “And I swear,” he said, “that I’ll let you.”

  Next morning, he brought breakfast in as usual and they sat propped against the headboard, chatting.

  “So,” he said. “What shall we do today?”

  “You were going to give me a cooking lesson.”

  “So I was. By the look of your cupboards, we’ll need to go grocery shopping, then.”

  “How domestic.”

  “Yes,” he said, smiling.

  “You like that, don’t you? You want us to have a domestic life.”

  “I do. I’m looking forward to the time when we wake up together every morning and have to remember whether we need to buy eggs.”

  “Whereas I’m mainly looking forward to…” she began, in a honey-soaked voice.

  “Don’t,” he said.

  “Sorry.”

  He touched her hand and got a jolt of desire.

  “Is that your feeling I just picked up?” he asked.

  “Do you want to move the breakfast tray out of the way and come over here, so we can find out?”

  “I think that’s my answer.” He eyed her through narrowed lids. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “I am.”

  “All right, but only for a little while.” His resistance turned to sawdust and blew away when she looked at him with those huge eyes.

  They began, as they had the previous night, with gentle kisses. He was tense, though, nervous, and they hadn’t gone far when she pulled back and said, “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m thinking about baths.”

  “Oh, love, don’t worry about it. We can have separate baths if you want, if it makes you more comfortable.” He picked up her disappointment, though.

  “Tell you what,” he said. “You come and talk to me while I have a bath, if you like, and I might even let you wash my back, if you’re good.”

  “What kind of good?”

  “Not-naughty good.”

  “Ohh,” she protested. “All right. And then what?”

  “And then I’ll leave you to have your bath in private.”

  “You’re comfortable being naked in front of me, but not the other way round?”

  “Only because you’re so stunning I don’t fully trust myself.”

  “You’re so self-disciplined.”

  “Yes, well, I’m not made of iron, you know.”

  “Not all of you, anyway,” she said, wriggling her crotch against his to emphasise what she meant.

  “Hope!”

  “Sorry. Being good now.”

  “So I should expect,” he said, pretend-stern.

  She lowered her eyes and looked up from under her lashes. “Do you have a kiss for a good girl?”

  “Oh,” he said, “all right.”

  They managed to keep their kisses well back from the trigger zone, but still enjoyable, and eventually he said, “I need to get up and have that bath.”

  “Good,” she said.

  “You’re looking forward to it?”

  “Very much. I haven’t had my fill of looking at you by a good way.”

  “Nice to know.”

  He was almost unembarrassed, even in his partially aroused condition, as he stripped off in front of her and climbed into the warm tub. He lathered up and began washing, as they planned a menu for the week and he composed a mental shopping list.

  “All right,” he said, at last. “You can do my back now.”

  “Shove forward,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “Easier to reach.”

  He slid himself towards the taps, and turned on the hot water. The bath was starting to cool.

  Distracted, and with the water running, he didn’t realise at first that she had sat on the end of the bath and put her feet in the water. Then he felt her toes against hi
s buttocks.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Just don’t look behind you,” she said, scrubbing his back with the sponge.

  “Why not?”

  He heard a splash behind him and felt the water rise.

  “Did you just get in with me?”

  “As long as you don’t look, you won’t know, will you?” she said, from behind his shoulder.

  “Hope, we discussed this.”

  “Hush. I’m washing your back. Relax and enjoy it.”

  He did his best.

  “Now shove forward a little more.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “I’m going need the room to wash myself. Can you push a bit more hot water back here?”

  Eyes rigidly fixed in front of him, Patient complied. There were splashing noises, and in his peripheral vision he saw first one foot, then the other, extend past his shoulder as she sponged and rinsed.

  “All right,” she said eventually, “I’m going to swing myself round now and lean forward. Do you think you can turn round and wash my back if that’s all you’re going to see?”

  “Yes.”

  “Here’s the sponge, then. Get it good and soapy.”

  There was a resonant graunching noise as she spun around, and her damp back contacted his for a moment.

  “Ready,” she said, and he turned around. He had to stand up and turn, then sit down again, with his legs extending past her. His injured leg didn’t bend very well.

  Even the curve of her back was beautiful. He could just see her buttocks through the soapy water. Gently, lovingly, he sponged her back, in the way he would oil a carving that he’d laboured on for days. When he finished, he said, “What now?”

  “You get out, dry, and dress. With your back turned, if you like. After you’re finished, I do the same.”

  He did that, and left the room. When she joined him, fully clothed, she looked at him, touched his hand, and he felt her concern turn to relief.

  “I really wanted to do that,” she said. “Even if we couldn’t get any closer.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “But can we discuss it first next time?”

  “All right. Agreed.”

  14

  Rosie and Dignified

  Rosie’s fitting was… an experience. The pieces were tacked together with pins, which despite everyone’s best efforts occasionally pricked her. The rose-gold trousers were a little long, but fit beautifully otherwise, and (she had to admit) made her hips look good, or as good as they ever had. The dark rose sleeveless top was… draughty. She wasn’t used to so much… air on her chest, and it showed the blushes. It also cupped, shaped, raised and in general emphasised her breasts to a scandalous degree.

  “Are you sure…” she began.

  “Yes. Put on the overshirt,” said Mistress Pintuck. The linen overshirt was designed to be open at the front (there were no fastenings for it) and stopped at the hips, covering only her back, the sides of her torso and her arms. The collar highlighted her long neck, and was just the right length for her new haircut to fall around it.

  “Comfortable?” asked the seamstress.

  “To move in and to wear? Yes,” said Rosie. “To go out in public? I’m not sure.”

  “You’ll get used to it,” said Hope.

  “Scarf,” said Mistress Pintuck, and fetched a green scarf which covered most of the exposed skin above her bosom. (She would have to get used to thinking of herself as having a bosom.)

  “That’s better,” said Rosie.

  “Good. Next piece.”

  The pieces were mostly to the same pattern, with a few variations, so there would be four of them ready to pick up the following afternoon. Rosie checked her emotions, and decided that the bubbling feeling in her stomach meant that she was excited.

  Dignified felt anxious.

  He always felt a bit anxious, but now there was a specific reason: Rosie.

  She had started to change. Her hair was… and she was dressing…

  He had said to her today, when she leaned in close to look at something they were working on together, that difficult equation for the flight crystals, he had said, “You smell good. Roses.” And she had gone pink, a bit like the clothes she was wearing now, sort of a rose colour, and there was a rose embroidered on the shoulder part with the stem going down and curving under, under, under the chest part, so it drew attention to… Weren’t women supposed to hide those? But some of the top bits of them were showing, and the, the space in between, and it was very distracting. And then she smiled, and thanked him, and he didn’t know why.

  It was all very confusing.

  After she had left for the day, he sought out Bucket. Bucket, he was dimly aware, was courting Wheel’s sister, so he presumably knew how these things worked.

  “Want to talk to you,” he said.

  “What is it, Master?” said Bucket.

  “Rosie,” said Dignified.

  “Ah,” said Bucket. “Yes.”

  “What do you mean?” said Dignified.

  “You’ve noticed how she is around you?” asked the gnome.

  “Yes. No?” he said.

  “She’s wearing new clothes.”

  “I noticed that.”

  Bucket’s already large eyes went even larger at this. Someone had taught Dignified once that that meant he was surprised.

  “Well,” said Bucket, “good. I think she wanted you to notice.”

  “Why?” asked Dignified.

  “Master,” said Bucket, “what do you know about men and women? I mean, about how men and women… interact?”

  “Nothing.”

  “When a woman…” began Bucket. “That is…” He scratched the back of his head. “I think she likes you,” he concluded.

  “Why?”

  “Why do I think that, or why does she like you?”

  “Either. Both.”

  “She likes you, Master, because you’re a good-hearted man, and because she finds intelligence attractive,” he said. “Or that’s my guess, anyway. I can tell she likes you, because, well, because of how she acts around you. How she looks at you when you’re not watching.”

  “What do I do?” asked Dignified. He felt like a mouse who’d been asked to sail a boat.

  “Well, Master,” said the gnome, “she’s taken extra care with her appearance, got nice clothes that suit her, taken care to smell nice. You could do the same.”

  “Don’t know how.”

  “Master, will you let me guide you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Can we take some time each morning for washing and shaving?”

  “Shave every day?”

  “Yes. A clean shirt every day, too. And I’ll get you some scented water for your skin.”

  “Why?”

  “Women like it. You like how Rosie smells, don’t you?”

  “Roses.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Should I smell like roses?”

  “No, Master. Spices, I think.”

  “She doesn’t want to eat me.”

  Bucket made a choking noise. “Um… of course not, Master. But still. And I should cut your hair.”

  “Why?”

  “To show you’re making an effort to look nice. Trust me.”

  “I trust you, Bucket.”

  “Good.”

  “And then there’s conversation.”

  Dignified looked at him, waiting for clarification.

  “You’re, um, not very good at it, Master. You’re supposed to ask people things.”

  “What things?”

  “Well, um, about… what they like to do, where they grew up, that sort of thing. You know, maybe let’s start by, if she asks you something about yourself, you tell her as much as you can… no, that might be too much. You tell her the first few things you think of, until she stops asking you more questions, and then you ask her the same thing she asked you.”

  “The same thing.”

  “Yes. That shows her you’re intere
sted in who she is as a person. Even if the answers themselves aren’t very interesting to you, it’s still polite to ask.”

  “Polite.”

  “Yes, Master. I know that’s a difficult concept. It’s how people get along together. How they connect.”

  “But they don’t. People. Get along together.”

  “We do, don’t we? You and I? And you get on with the mage, and Mister Wheel, and Uncle Gizmo.”

  “True.”

  “It’ll be all right, Master,” said the gnome. “You’ll do fine.”

  Rosie wasn’t quite sure how she had fetched up in a cheap student tavern at the end of Oneday. Apparently Hope used to work there, when she was a student, because she needed money to get through university — which reminded Rosie yet again that other people’s lives were different — and her friends played music there, a wild, peasant sort of music that Briar said was called Heart and Bird. It had a steady rhythm and a soaring melody line. She rather liked it. Very different from the correct, formal music that her sister played on the orchestral, or the choral music that she heard in temple.

  Somehow or another she was here, though, with a glass of ale in front of her, giving her a giddy feeling, and they were hanging on her report of the day’s events with Dignified.

  “And then he looked down my… bodice,” she said, glancing down at herself and blushing. Briar began to clap.

  “Well done!” she said. “Excellent progress.”

  “He actually said ‘you smell good’?” asked Hope.

  “Yes.”

  “I have never heard Dignified make a personal remark to anyone before,” said the mage. “Oh, this is working wonderfully!”

  “Thank you for all your advice,” said Rosie, in a weak voice.

  “Not at all,” said Briar. “Our pleasure.”

  At that moment, one of the tavern staff came by, a student by the look of him. He greeted Hope and Briar by name, collecting their glasses, and smiled at Rosie. “And who’s your friend?” he asked.

  “She’s taken, Swift,” said Briar.

  “Curses,” said the young man. “My luck continues. Another?”

  “Um, no, thank you, no,” said Rosie, flustered.

  “If you change your mind,” he said, with emphasis, “just call me.”