Without thinking, she squeezed Pierait’s arm possessively and it seemed to snap him out of his own thoughts to look over at her. Her own eyes met his and Pierait could see something he couldn’t name there, something that made him sure he wanted to be careful not to hurt her. She had smiled at him and patted his arm as if he needed the reassurance; maybe he did, but it was a wonder to him that she would find strength in comforting him.
When they found themselves on the very steps of the Hall of Founts, the ominous-sounding Fount of Death in view behind the gilded towering doors laid open to view with a richly dressed man standing in front of them (flanked by his own guards), Lyria and Pierait had both been in a state of wonder. It was a huge ornate palace; where the front was open to the public for tours or special visitors, the back was clearly residential and recreational, the home of a king—probably the man who stood before them. The man wore no crown but he had the air, presence and look of a king. Crowns did not make kings. Either way, this palace easily took up a good quarter of the city and Pierait had not been able to appreciate it fully with all of the towering buildings that had been around it. Now he stood there, mouth agape in awe and he had heard Lyria’s giggle and her soft hand gently pushing his slack jaw to close his mouth.
No one else had mounted the steps and the regal man waved him up to do so now. Pierait had taken a couple steps and noticed Lyria was not coming, so he moved his back leg a step down to lean back and grab her elbow. She had looked nervous and hesitated as he tugged her arm gently but he caught her eyes with a gentle smile and her legs moved mechanically to answer his unspoken demand. She didn’t quite feel the courage to look at the crowd so she kept her eyes on him. As they walked his hand slid down her forearm and his fingers laced with hers. When his eyes met hers again, she was suddenly feeling shy, as if they were sharing something too intimate for the public. Maybe they were, in a sense, because she was feeling a tingle of vulnerability, awareness and longing within those strange yellow eyes seemed to strip her bare and caress her skin. For a man new to possibilities, he sure seemed to hold a lot unspoken in that gaze. Even in their intensity, there was a distinct innocence at the forefront and rather than unnerve her, she felt drawn in. Lyria tried for a small smile before refocusing on the man waiting to receive them.
When they had climbed the stairs, the King smiled at them and Lyria had seen his lip twitch in amusement at the linking of the hands. She suddenly felt like a child that had broken a vase, which was ridiculous because no one was punishing her but herself. She hooked her arm through Pierait’s for comfort and stability, afraid her legs would give and slightly annoyed that she was running out of faces to look at that didn’t reflect the things she was trying not to think about.
“I am King Oryn, ruler of the New City of Abundance. Lady Lyria, we know of you as well, Chosen of Mot, and are honored by your presence also. We hope that you will both stay in the Palace of the Moon as guests before you continue your journey. Iric has made it clear to me that you are anxious to be on your way, but we will provide you with provisions for your journey; horses, wagons, whatever you need, only I ask that you dine with us and rest well tonight,” King Oryn had told them in a quiet personal voice. Lyria had looked to Pierait, who nodded his agreement to the king. The king smiled and raised his arms to address the people below. It was not an invitation but a demand and there was no doubt that the king would hear everything that happened.
“All hail our savior and champion, Pierait of Wellbourne. Today, we proclaim that the Barren Lands shall now be called Wellspring Valley and we extend a permanent welcome to both our savior and the Lady Lyria, Chosen of the Death Essence Mot and keep their names in reverence from now until the end of time!” the King proclaimed, and Pierait felt a knot in his stomach as he remembered Mot’s words. How the old gods were stirring before the Dream and he dreaded that the end of time might be sooner rather than later.
Lyria became lost in her thoughts again, the roar of the crowd sounding like the low hum of bumblebees as she let Pierait lead her into the Hall, doors opened by guards as the King led them through into the Palace itself. Lyria had gone through the motions of awe that she had felt but the only thing she was fully aware of was her racing mind and everywhere Pierait was making contact with her. Maybe he would grow bored with her, but she was deciding that she would very well take a risk to find out. One of two things would happen; either he would stay with her and be faithful or he would not and pain would leave a lesson. It was a risk other people had to take, but this was a chance to experience a thing that no other woman cursed with touch ever could; a lover whose mind was closed to her. It did absolutely nothing to take the pressure off and her resolve wavered.
She had wondered why Pierait had decided to stay when he had been so insistent upon leaving, but she did not dare ask in the presence of others. Despite the fact that he wasn’t rambling on and on like a drug addict about all the changes in him, she still wasn’t convinced he was entirely able to limit his honesty. He certainly wasn’t able to bluff when he was thinking and his face gave him away as clear as day. The King was talking about all the rooms they were walking through, the paintings, the artifacts, with the pride she would expect from any king, but the words were lost on her. He had mentioned something she had latched onto, about dinner being served at the time dinners usually were (and momentarily musing that she was not the one preparing or serving it for once—Sorrow, or rather Abundance now, was spoiling her for that) and the king himself had led her directly to her suite, explaining that Pierait’s would be close by in an adjoining wing.
Lyria had been relieved the King had not assumed they would share a suite although once she had snapped out of her thoughts and wandered about, she realized the reason the king had been talking about Pierait being in a different wing was simply because the suites she had been given were easily their own enormous wing. It was a lavishly generous appointment, the size of nearly 4 well-to-do houses she had known in Maharyjab, consisting of a spacious bedroom with a huge round bed piled with sumptuous pillows, a bathroom that was easily the size of a two bedroom apartment with a bathtub the size of a small pool, a main room, a library, a sitting room and from all the rooms adjoining the outside, silken curtains hung over entryways that led to her own private courtyard with a fountain large and deep enough to swim in.
Strewn across her bed was a beautiful gown, in her size no less, of a fine emerald silk. Lyria found her pack sitting beside the nightstand and removed the chain belt that Pierait had bought her, thinking of how great it would go with the new gown as well. She went into the bathroom and removed the armor (Mot’s gift had been a hematite toe ring with a diamond inset, which she kept on) and submerged herself in the tub of warm apricot-scented water with a long deflated sigh that curled her toes with pleasure. She knew that the precious few hours they stayed here would pass by too fast if she wallowed so in the luxury of it so she left the water reluctantly and wrapped herself in a towel softer than any she had ever felt against her skin before.
When she had padded into the bedroom, the solitude had made her feel brave and she let the towel slide off of her and padded wantonly across the room towards the courtyard and leaned back against the open doorframe, jutting out her breasts after a moment, enjoying the cool breeze as it tightened her nipples. She sighed and closed her eyes, picturing Pierait’s hands on her. Once she realized how it was affecting her, she snapped herself out of it and hurried over to put on the gown. Her thick brown hair was still damp but her body was dry. She whimpered as the silk of the gown tortured her taut nipples and once she was dressed, she leaned back on the bed and covered her breasts with her hands, hoping the warmth would calm the sensitive, unsatisfied nubs.
Once she was able to chase away the thoughts that heated her blood but left her frustrated, she dropped her hands away and spread herself over the round bed and stared at the ornate ceiling, wondering if she should take a walk. From where the sun stood, she guessed that dinner was already ed
ging closer. She already caught herself wishing Pierait had bothered to visit and wondered now if he hadn’t been caught up with a woman who had found his chambers and wanted to thank him properly for what he had done. She did not like that her thoughts would go there so easily, but she cursed herself that she got so caught up in this paradise that she had not gone to him herself.
Lyria heard footsteps and sat up directly, her heart holding a little hope that he was coming to her. A young guard, handsome but clearly uncomfortable, stood there trying not to gape at the sight of a wanton beauty sprawled out on the bed, propped up on her elbows so he had cleared his throat sharply and straightened his stance, choosing to stare at some point on the far wall.
“His Majesty asks that I accompany you to dinner, my lady. May I have the honor of doing so?” the guard asked, his voice impressively calm and kind despite his nervousness.
Lyria smiled and rolled off the bed, noting that the guard’s arms and hands were covered and relieved that she would not need to put distance between them to be escorted. She almost skipped to where the man stood, at least a head taller than her, so he had no difficulty staring at the fascinating spot on the far wall. She observed what she could see of him for a moment; pale skin (from a life lived in a land without sun), soft brown eyes and sandy colored hair peeking out from the visor of his helm. His face was stern but his eyes were friendly and she decided she liked this one well enough. First impressions were something she was good at. She didn’t dare steal a touch because she was almost positive that it was going to be about how he wished he could fuck her and probably not too gently. This man looked like a chivalrous one but people’s thoughts were about possibility not action. They were always as intense as if they were spoken.
“What is your name?” Lyria asked kindly and the guard seemed surprised that she bothered.
“Ah, Silas, miss, but you need not trouble yourself. I am but a messenger,” Silas assured her.
“And my escort, as it appears. Not JUST anything, you give yourself too little credit, sir. It would make the trip less awkward if we didn’t make it in silence, I should think. Please call me Lyria; Pierait would insist you call him as by his name as well. Neither of us are entirely comfortable with titles,” Lyria instructed him kindly, linking her arm through his and wondering if she should have worn her arm-length gloves after all. The king may not be wearing any and she was hesitant to know what the King might have flowing through his head. However, Silas had started walking and she did not have the heart to protest. She hoped Pierait might be able to bail her out if necessary… and hoped he would not scold her for her carelessness. It was characteristic of the Pierait she knew, but he was certainly not predictable now.
Indeed, the trip to the hall was long indeed, but not at all awkward. Silas had admitted he was born in Myceum and lived in Maharyjab for a short time before he ended up here. He had shyly admitted that the blue sky and the rain had been more of a fright than a blessing to him but he had never thought to see them in the Barren Lands. He was funny and witty and made Lyria laugh; she had been doing so as they stepped into dining room. Pierait was already there and she saw his look flash between curiosity, suspicion and then desire. The brief dangerous look he had shot Silas had sent him hurrying out before Lyria could thank him or say goodbye and the desire, however brief, she knew had been meant for her. He had a handle on his features eventually and had approached her with a cool smile, taking her hand to his lips and kissing it. He stood and bent in to whisper in her ear.
“My goddess, you are as lovely as ever, but coming here without gloves worries me,” he both purred and chastised. She grinned, comforted at least that she had been right to suspect he wouldn’t overlook that.
Lyria noticed that they were alone still but for some distant guards. Even when he was Soulless, he had been keenly aware of her, so his observation shouldn’t have surprised her. She had expected a stiff long table arrangement but noted a cozy intimate arrangement set for only the three of them: Pierait, the king and herself. There were large overfilled pillow chairs on the floor and an ornate but cozy low table. The guards seemed distracted so she smiled at Pierait and kept her voice low.
“What made you decide to stay after all?” Lyria asked.
“I wasn’t sure how to refuse a King; my mother once said I was never to try because it was a thing needing creativity. I admit I haven’t yet mastered that. Also, as anxious as I am to see my friends, I wanted to spend at least one night with no other purpose than pleasure,” Pierait told her.
The last word had sent a ripple down her spine, but she could not tell if he had meant it to. Being asked to stay in a palace suite was one kind of pleasure. She didn’t necessarily even need to be the woman warming his bed. Or women. She had wanted to help him with that part (alone), whether he had it in mind or not. Despite that, seeing him in front of her again made her feel less wanton and more shy again and she was hoping she wouldn’t lose her resolve.
“How have you spent your day so far?” Lyria asked, suddenly curious and needing to calm her destructive thoughts of grateful female visitors creeping into her mind again.
“It’s a wonder the rich get anything done. It took me that long just to bathe and dress,” Pierait said, frowning and shaking his head at the wonder of it. Lyria had laughed abruptly and he tilted his head, curiosity and amusement written on his face.
“Why do you laugh?” Pierait asked.
Lyria grinned and touched his face, enjoying the gentle humming that kept his thoughts from her.
“Because I faced that dilemma as well,” Lyria admitted, although she had been glad to hear the king enter because recalling her own carnal pleasure with nudity and cool breezes was threatening to cause a repeat reaction. Had the king been any later, she might have been treating him to a show since that thin silk dress was absolutely no modest barrier for her arousal.
Lyria noted unhappily that the King did not wear gloves and her heart plummeted as he approached her. Pierait had stepped in between and whispered something to the king. The king had peered over his shoulder to Lyria, nodding and smiling and when Pierait backed away, he bowed deeply and gestured for them to sit at the small intimate setting.
“Pierait tells me about your… gifts so I will thank you for your wish to guard my thoughts, Lady Lyria. Please have a seat and we will talk about what has transpired so that I may add these events to our history, if you would not mind,” the king kindly said. Lyria was grateful for Pierait’s boldness as they sat in the sumptuous cushioned settees to await the food.
At first, the king and Pierait spoke of things she could not add to, but they were kind to include her and smile at her as they spoke. Pierait had spoken of his time on the other side of the wall and Lyria had been horrified for him. The food that came was an amazing display of color and probably taste, but her appetite was diminished as she heard Pierait recall his tale. It seemed her resolve to take him as lover also wavered and she was now wishing she had foregone her bath and joined him in his rather than having gotten lost in her revelry. Her lusts were not cooled by any means and in truth they increased exponentially as she watched his ease and emotion at the account of his tale, but it was over-thinking her inexperience that was proving to add to her hesitation. She would watch him, picture those hands on her skin, how his mouth might feel and her thoughts made her shy. She warred with these feelings, constantly rationalizing the rarity of the situation with him, but then it was even the rarity that seemed to put pressure on her. No matter how she tried to shut her mind and let herself enjoy his presence, the intensity would scramble in her thoughts, panicky and unwelcome.
When dinner had ended, the king had been very polite but had needed to rush away to attend to the business of recording Pierait’s journeys for posterity. Pierait had asked to join the king and the king acquiesced; he hadn’t wished to detain Lyria who was looking tired but there was more to tell. They both made their apologies to Lyria, asking the reappearing Silas to escort her b
ack to her suites. He had been as entertaining as their first trip but he had hurried away promptly once she had entered her suites and she found herself alone. She made her way to the courtyard fountain and sat on its ledge to watch the sun plunge in the orange sky. She sat there until the stars and moon were clear then sighed deeply, returning to her room. She stood and looked at her bed, her chest queasy with doubt, wondering if she should seek out Pierait. She realized she was at the disadvantage of not knowing where he stayed. She sighed heavily and decided she would walk through the halls and at least try to calm her mind before attempting sleep.
The Truth about Heroes: Complete Trilogy (Heroes Trilogy) Page 48