Lovers and Beloveds

by MeiLin Miranda

  Fennows pounced on the wine. He finished off a glass in two gulps and poured himself another. He regarded Temmin across the table, as the Heir piled his plate with ham and cold chicken. "D'you mean to tell me you haven't bedded that little darling?"

  Temmin's hand paused over the bread basket. He blushed, but said, "It's none of your concern, Fennows," and fished out a roll.

  Fennows squinted at him, malice playing around the corners of his mouth. "Touchy! It's true, isn't it? You do qualify for Supplicancy. And at your age, tsk."

  "I said, it's none of your concern," said Temmin. He took a fierce bite from a chicken leg.

  "Dear me," said Fennows. "I'd be grumpy if I were a virgin, too, I should think. What is it, old thing? Don't like girls? One would assume you do, the way you stare at Allis Obby, but then, perhaps it's Issak Obby who's your ultimate goal? Well, they're a package deal, ain't they."

  Temmin wiped his mouth. "I like girls just fine, thank you."

  "But you're eighteen, and you haven't fucked one."

  "I haven't had the opportunity," Temmin said. He plucked the decanter off the table and filled his glass to the rim.

  "Haven't had the-- You have plenty of opportunity with that maid. She's right here, and five dozen more just like her under this roof alone! It's clear you want her, if you're this jealous of me."

  Temmin stopped himself from retorting that he was hardly jealous of a prat like Percet Sandopint, and said instead, "I leave the maids alone." He picked up his glass, found he'd managed to empty it somehow, and poured another.

  "Then let me have a go at her. Oh, see there!" cried Fennows. "Look at that face! Never worry, I'll stay well clear of her. Nerr bless my prick, to be so inflamed over a maidservant, and then not fuck her! Are you worried about your lack of experience? Is that it? I tell you what. I'll take you to the best house in the City--and that's saying a great deal. The City has it all over Maryakuspa when it comes to houses, I should think, and we have some fine ones. I know a girl at this one, a fine girl. Plump and happy, thighs like marble. They say she washed out of the Lovers' Temple, but before she left, she learned this trick with her tongue..."

  "You do realize if I accept Supplicancy, I'll be practically living at the Temple among hundreds of Beloveds who've forgotten more tricks than that girl remembers."

  "And you do realize, old thing, that the Obbys' only interest is in snaring you as a royal patron for the Temple, don't you?"

  Temmin stopped short, glass halfway to his lips in surprise. "They have one," he said. "Ellika's a devotee."

  "For now," snorted Fennows. "Harla take me straight to the Hill if I'd let a wife of mine serve at the Lovers' Temple! Pay respects, of course, I should think--wouldn't do to miss Neya's Day, hey? But let Elly serve there? Out of the question."

  "You have no right to call her 'Elly,' for starters, and for seconds, she's not your wife," said Temmin.

  "Well, really, Temmy, I'm trying to help you out here before you make a horrible blunder! You do know what those two Obbys get up to when they pretend to be 'possessed,' don't you? Gods know what they do in private!" Fennows leaned toward him, face avid and wolfish. "Let me take you to that house, we can spend the day there tomorrow!"

  "I have to study tomorrow," mumbled Temmin through a mouthful of hothouse grapes; he washed them down with his third glass of wine and gave Fennows a look as dark as a thunderhead.

  "Study? Tell your tutor you're busy tomorrow."

  Temmin cracked a sweetnut with a significant glare and picked out the brain-like meat. "I can't," he said. "He's not the sort of tutor you can order around."

  "So he orders you around? How princely is that? Are you that little a man, then? The Heir of Tremont." Fennows drew his chin down, stretching his face like rubber, and popped his eyes; he fluttered his hands by his ears. "'Oh, my tutor won't let me skip a class!'"

  "Who are you to tell the Heir of Tremont whether he's a man or not!" said Temmin.

  "I'm a man, that's who, not an unfucked boy!"

  Temmin rose slowly, listing from the wine. "Percet Sandopint," he said, deliberately using Percy's name instead of his title, "leave my study."

  Fennows seemed to realize the much taller Prince was looking for a good excuse to beat him senseless; he stood up and snatched at the wine decanter. Temmin moved it out of reach, and Fennows left without it, marching out of the room with an affronted but somehow triumphant step.

  Temmin played with the cheese-knife, spearing rinds as he drank his last glass of wine. If he were king, he'd have that Pagg-damned dog beaten through the City. He wasn't king, but the mental image of Percet driven behind a cart, shirt in bloody tatters and the crowd showering abuse on him, pleased Temmin anyway.

  Nevertheless, the taunts had found their mark; Temmin nursed the wound. Would Allis have paid him any attention if he weren't the Heir? There was no way of knowing. And yet, she seemed so sincere. Her kiss was sincere. So was Issak's. He'd felt wanted. He'd felt like a man in all the best ways.

  And then, to have Fennows of all people call him a boy, just because he respected his tutor. Come to think on it, though, when had he paid attention to any of his other tutors? When had he ever let any of them order him around like this? Why should he be so constricted? Wasn't he the Heir? He should be able to do as he pleased--he did at the Estate, and he was a boy, then. Now he was a man, he was the Heir. He would spend his time as he pleased here at the City. Oh, not going to a whorehouse with Fennows, even for a plump girl with a talented tongue. Eddinday looked more like a day to be out in the fields on horseback, away from the Keep, away from Fennows, and away from his exciting but disturbing studies. Temmin thought of Teacher, admonishing him the day before: "You must learn to lead, or at least consciously choose to follow, instead of letting yourself be lulled along."

  "Lulled along," Temmin said to no one. "I'll show you 'lulled along.'"

  The next day, Temmin wore his riding clothes to breakfast, going straight to the morning room from the stables and returning there straight after, as Jenks discovered too late. "He's gone, Mr Jenks, sir," said the Riding Master when the valet searched for his errant charge. "He wore the chestnut oot this morning an took another horse--Inchari mare, a rare fine un. T'was odd for him to be goin back oot, but it's not fer me to decide what a Prince should do, eh? We'll tell him you want him, sir."

  "I'll tell him more than that when I see him, Pagg damn him for a headstrong boy," rumbled Jenks to himself on the way back to Temmin's rooms. "Tempted to chase him down and turn him over my knee."

  The "headstrong boy," however, was in fine spirits, and not in the least repentant. Whatever admonition he might receive for skipping his studies was worth getting out of the Keep, and away from Fennows. He couldn't avoid the lordling at breakfast, and Fennows's endless fawning over Ellika enraged him; it was all Temmin could do not to vault across the toast rack and throttle him.

  But here in the meadows of the foothills, the fresh air cleared his head. The mare he'd chosen, a black Inchari cross named LeiLei, had a fine comfortable gait and a good temper, far better than a purebred Inchari horse. Too bad Jeb was a gelding; a colt of Jebby's out of this mare would have been a fine horse indeed. Temmin let her wander, cropping the spring grasses. He looked down at the City, spread far below him. He'd climbed high into the foothills over the course of the morning, higher than he'd realized, and the mare hadn't griped at all. No trouble carrying him in the least--a good-sized girl. Wonderful horse, LeiLei. She'd make a good addition to his personal stock.

  "C'mon, sweetheart," he said, and guided them back into the forest. He knew a stream ran nearby, and he was sure the mare was thirsty. He found not just a stream, but a lovely pool: a backwater formed behind a rocky outcropping in the stream. The mare dipped her head gratefully, and Temmin dismounted to wash his hot face, and take a drink himself.

  When he looked down into the water, he saw his reflection. His mind flitted to Hildin finding his brother in the story, and instantly he real
ized he'd made a mistake. "Oh, shit," he whispered.

  Too late: Teacher's shadowy face appeared, rising through the water towards him. Before he could scramble back away from the bank, Temmin found himself seized by the collar and dragged down into the pool.

  He emerged into his wardrobe, a fist clenched in his shirtfront. "I wondered when I would have to cane you," said Teacher. Temmin found himself marched into the study and thrown over the back of the green velvet couch. So many hands pinned him, he knew there were none: magic pinned him. His trousers came down, as did his pants. There was a crack! A burning hot stripe of pain followed across his ass. Before he could catch his breath, five more stripes criss-crossed the first. He struggled against his restraints; his hands jerked in an involuntary attempt to protect himself. As Teacher laid the six stripes down, each worse than the last, Temmin's knees buckled, his eyes streamed, he choked and gasped and howled. For a moment, he wondered if he would vomit.

  Instead, he sank to his knees in his puddled trousers as soon as the punishment ended. "Do not ever do that again," said Teacher.

  "I--" Temmin gulped, "I should have--more say--in my life! I am a man!"

  "Simply disappearing is the action of a boy, not a man. It is ill-mannered, impolite, and inconsiderate of the time of others. If you have a need to be elsewhere, consult me. I am not unreasonable."

  "You said yourself I should choose to lead or--choose to follow, not just let myself--be lulled along!"

  Teacher burst out laughing, a surprisingly high, rather unnerving chortle. "Do tell! And who lulled you into this course of action? I wonder. It is not your usual behavior at all. You would have tried to bribe me again and then accepted your fate when I refused. Someone has put something into your head. How was your day with Lord Fennows?"

  By now, Temmin had risen to his feet and regained his clothing. When he could form words, he said, "Perfectly awful, thank you. He's worse than a prat. He's a little bastard who can't mount a horse without a foot-up, and even then has to be manhandled into the saddle. He thinks Papa's going to give him Elly, and by the Gods, I'll do everything I can to prevent it!" He wiped his still-dripping nose with a savage swipe of his handkerchief.

  "And yet you let him goad you into disrespecting me."

  "A scrub like Percet Sandopint, goad me? How can you think that?"

  "The color in your face tells me everything."

  "You just caned me!" Temmin cried, trying for righteous anger, but he dropped his eyes and spoiled it.

  "What did Lord Fennows say?"

  "...He said I wasn't a man because I haven't had a woman yet."

  "Is that all?"

  "He said I shouldn't let you order me around, that only boys let their tutors order them around."

  "Interesting. I had no idea that is what made a man these days." Temmin glared at Teacher, and took to pacing the room, limping as he went. "I am not at all sure why you dislike me so much," said Teacher. "Please, state your grievances, and I will do my best to make amends."

  Temmin stopped in his pacings and gaped. "You just caned me!" he repeated.

  "You just wasted my morning," retorted Teacher. "It may surprise you, but I have other duties than your education, sir. And your distaste for me predates today. I ask in all humility, what have I done to earn your hatred?"

  "Hatred? I don't hate you, honestly, I don't!" Temmin said. He ran a hand through his hair, threw his long arms open and said, "I dunno! I s'pose I'm just not used to you. You tell me disturbing stories from magic books, you pull me through ponds and I don't get wet--hang on, what about my horse?"

  "Shall I pull her through, too?"

  "Don't be ridiculous."

  The door opened, and in came Jenks. "You're finally here, Your Highness--how did you get home? Temmin, are you all right?" exclaimed Jenks. He stepped toward his still-tear-stained charge, but stopped once he saw Teacher; they exchanged disdainful glances. "Ah--the old crow found you in the mirror?"

  "Jenks, would you be able to ride my horse back home to the stables?" said Temmin. "I had to leave her--well..." How to explain why his horse was in one place and he was in another?

  "And cover my riding her home how?" said the unfazed Jenks. "The stables are watching out for you, young dolt. First place I looked. Fine bit of work I'd have, coming up with a story about how you got home in under an hour without your horse!"

  Temmin peered at his valet. "You don't seem terribly surprised by any of this."

  "By what?" said Jenks.

  "The magic...thing," Temmin finished lamely.

  "I've known Teacher longer than you have," said Jenks. "You'll have to put him back, Teacher, or at least wherever that mare is. Here's hoping she hasn't wandered into the next duchy by now."

  They all walked back to the wardrobe. Teacher called up the image of the mare, who had stayed where Temmin left her and was barely visible in the pool. "I'm keeping that horse," he said to himself, just before Teacher pulled him through the reflection to her side. "Come straight back, or I will cane you again," said Teacher before returning to the Keep through the pond.

  Caned. He'd forgotten for a moment. He thanked Farr the mare had a smooth gait, gritted his teeth, and swung himself into the saddle.

  Temmin took his meals that day standing up in his rooms. He slept on his stomach, and in the morning, skipped his ride. He made it through breakfast with the aid of a fat cushion; Jenks had discreetly tipped off Affton, and between the two of them, they'd gotten the Prince settled in the morning room without anyone in the family noticing. When he returned to his rooms, Teacher already waited, perched just outside the arc of light that crossed the wide library table. "And how was your ride this morning, Your Highness?"

  "Do be quiet," said Temmin, easing himself into his chair. The sun toasted his back, and he sighed; it was the only comfortable part on him. "I didn't ride this morning and you know it."

  "Oh, I did not mark you that badly. It would not hurt so much if you had not ridden home. I am hoping the time alone may have caused you to reflect on what makes a man."

  "I've learned not to listen to a word Percy Sandopint says, if that's what you mean."

  "If you cannot face the likes of Lord Fennows, you will have little chance standing up to anyone else."

  Temmin rolled his gaze upward to meet Teacher's cold silver eyes, and wished he could find a comfortable position. "I stood up to you," he said.

  "For no good reason other than petulance and pride, and it got you caned. Pick your battles more prudently, Your Highness. One day, you will stand up to me for the right reasons. That is one mark of a man." Teacher rose from the edge of desk and fetched the old red-leather-bound book.

  Temmin opened it, but paused. "You asked me what I thought of Warin as a man--whether he was a good man or not. I think he was a little cowardly."

  Teacher sat back down on the edge of the table, arms folded. "How so?"

  "He was hiding from his brother, for one."

  "It would not have been a bad reason. Hildin wanted him dead."

  "So why didn't he just come through the reflection and kill him?"

  "Warin was much, much stronger, both physically and in his magic. Even with Gian's help, Hildin was no match for his brother. Warin would have killed them the instant they stepped through a reflection. A public confrontation was more advantageous for Hildin."

  "Then why not just get it over with if Warin was so strong, unless he was a coward? --Ow!" An unfortunately placed button on the seat cushion stabbed him as he shifted to find a less painful position.

  "Because he was not hiding from his brother. We are getting ahead of ourselves, Your Highness. Please." Teacher gestured to the book with an elegant hand; Temmin gazed down into it and let the story claim him again.

  * * * * *

  On the day Warin set off for the village, the snow had nearly melted. The stream nearby roared in a thousand garbled young voices as it rushed toward the river, swollen with the snowmelt. Warin held Emmae at the door of t
he cottage. A week's worth of wood stood under the eaves nearby, already chopped; Warin's enormous pack sat at his feet, stuffed with pelts and forage.

  "Check the fish traps, but don't get too near the banks," he instructed. "If someone comes by on the road, do your best to stay out of sight. Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself, and I'll be home soon. And don't worry about being alone," he added. "You can take care of yourself, too." He kissed her forehead.

  "You've taught me how, and I hope I've been a good student," she answered, her determined face wobbling only at her lower lip and the corners of her bright blue eyes.

  "The best of students," he said, kissing her again. "You are my brave girl. You came to me brave, and it will serve you better than anything I've taught you." Emmae helped him shoulder his heavy pack; he bent nearly double, even as strong as he was, but straightened, found his balance, and took his leave.

  She watched him down the trail. Two days to walk there, two days to trade, two days to walk back. She stood in the doorway, growing cold, until she could no longer see him. She shut the door against the early morning chill, and sat crying near the fire until she stopped shivering.

  When her tears ended, she set to work on her chores. By the middle of the day, she had run out of things to do; she picked up the forgotten tray by the cupboard, shining it until she could see herself clearly--a very young woman in a gray wool dress, thick brown hair beneath a plain linen kerchief, round chin smudged with tarnish from the tray. Was that what she looked like? She rubbed at the smudge and wondered if she was pretty. She set the tray beside the hearth. That night, Emmae watched her own reflection in it, to keep her company as she sewed. The banked coals flickered across the surface of the silver just before she closed her eyes and went to sleep, alone in the big new bed.

  They came for Emmae the next morning.

  She returned to the cottage from the stream with water for the day, to find a blonde, lithe young man in elegant clothes standing near the hearth. He turned away from the fire, and said, "Hello, pretty girl. Don't be afraid, we won't hurt you."