Lovers and Beloveds

by MeiLin Miranda

  Emmae dropped the bucket; the water beaded on the floor. She heard Warin's voice in her memories: Run, run and hide. She backed out the door, but when she turned to run, she found her wrists trapped in the hands of another man--a taller, older, darker man. Warin? No, but so alike: the same angular face and lean body, the same dark hair and eyes, though this man's eyes shone hard, like wet stone.

  "I would never hurt a little friend of my brother's, quite the contrary," smiled the man. "Little friend--wife? No, I think not." He held her wrists lightly, but when she tried to pull away from him, his grip tightened and his smile grew. A horrible warmth spread through her, just as it had when she met Warin; her joints loosened, and a flush built in her cheeks. The man walked her backwards into the cottage, into the arms of his companion, who held her firm. A second, confusing fire woke within her, her body responding against her will to these strange, frightening men. Panic and desire spiraled inside her, forcing tears down her face and shortening her breath.

  "Don't cry, pretty girl," said the older man. He wiped a tear from her cheek, and tasted it. "Gian, I believe she's enchanted. She tastes of magic. Try her." The younger man's tongue licked her neck; a gasp escaped before she could swallow it.

  "I believe you are correct, Your Highness," said the fair one.

  "Magic? I have no magic. Please, let me go," she pleaded.

  "A Leutish accent! Oh, how charming--irresistible, really," smiled the dark one. "My dear, I have enough magic for the two of us. Not as much as your lover, but then, he is the Heir. I'm only his brother. Poor girl, did he put a spell on you? I'm very disappointed in my brother."

  "How could Warin put a spell on me?" cried Emmae. "He wouldn't even if he could!" The blond young man chuckled and nibbled on her shoulder; her eyelids fluttered and she pressed herself into him reflexively.

  "So very sure of him. Who are you, sweetheart? How did you come here?" said the dark one, turning her head this way and that.

  "I--I don't know..."

  The strange man slipped his hands round her waist and pulled her closer.

  Had the two men not held Emmae up, she knew her legs would have folded in unwanted, humiliating desire. She sobbed in shame, and the dark one swallowed her cries as he kissed her; the light one's hands closed on her breasts as he sucked at her neck. And then a strange lassitude came over her: shame, desire, resistance, all slipped away into an uncaring, sleepy fog. The last thing she saw before she slept was a silver ring on her finger that hadn't been there before. "Warin said he would bring me a ring," she murmured to herself, and she fell into unconsciousness.

  "That's better," said Hildin. "Usually I enjoy it when they struggle, but not when I'm taking them through a mirror. That ring does come in handy."

  Gian hoisted the sleeping girl into his arms, and whistled low. "So she's enchanted! How could that be, my Lord?"

  "I have an idea," grinned Hildin. "If I'm right, it's a rare thing." He snatched a flame from the fire, fashioned it into a wand, and wrote a message on the table top. The letters smoked, then faded into a soft, golden glow. Hildin returned the wand to the fire, and walked to the tray; he took Gian by the elbow, and the three of them swirled into the reflection.

  In a room above the Prince's own chambers stood a small cheval glass. It reflected stone walls covered in tapestries, and no apparent door; the still-weak spring sun struggled through the slats of shutters over a small window, streaking the surface of the mirror with light. The reflection shivered; the interior of a small cottage appeared, and Hildin stepped through, pulling Gian and the girl behind him.

  Hildin yanked open the curtains of a capacious bed. Gian set the girl in the middle of it, and hurried to turn the cheval glass to the wall. "Be sure you get rid of that, and make sure anything my brother might use to see into the Keep is covered," said Hildin. "I want him returning on my terms." Hildin sat down on the bed, and smoothed the girl's hair away from her face. She slept on, her pink lips parted. He ran a thumb over them, and she gave a tiny sigh; her head lolled toward him, but she didn't awaken. "Father is failing--I'm likely to be king soon," he said. "I should hate for Warin to show up before the coronation."

  "Will Teacher recognize you after His Majesty dies, though?" said Gian, perched on the other side of the bed.

  Hildin shrugged, and let his fingers wander across the girl's cheekbones, down her neck, to the laces of her bodice. He pulled a short, jeweled dagger from his belt. "I don't know," he said. He cut the laces and spread the bodice open. He untied the chemise underneath and pushed it down, exposing the girl's breasts. He took one in his hand, and weighed it thoughtfully. "It's why I haven't minded being Regent. As Regent, Teacher must obey me--it was my father's last coherent order. But once the King dies, I'll just have to kill Warin, won't I? I gain the throne, the royal magic, and Teacher's obedience, willing or no." Hildin pinched the girl's nipple. Her back arched, and she moaned in her sleep.

  Gian chewed on his lower lip, never taking his eyes off the hand on the breast. "Warin's evaded you all these years," he said. "Why would he let you find him now?"

  "This." Hildin smiled, a pleased, savage slash filled with sharp, brilliant teeth, a smile that always frightened Gian into loving him even more. Hildin took up the dagger again and sliced the waistband of the girl's skirt. He put the dagger between his teeth and ripped the skirt to its hem, then used the blade to cut open her chemise. Hildin pushed the ruined clothes aside, and skimmed his hand down her belly to the hair between her legs. "We have her. Would you leave such a woman to a brother you despised?"

  Gian wouldn't leave her to a beloved brother, let alone a despised one. Downy, ivory skin blushed rosy across full breasts; rounded hips invited his hand, though he didn't dare touch her until Hildin said he could. "So you think he'll come for her."

  "I know he will. All this beauty, and enchanted in some way." Hildin slipped a finger inside her. He chuckled low in his chest. "Oh, perhaps enchanted this way, boy, else she's a spectacular slut. She's very needy of attention, let's say." He removed his wet finger and thrust it into Gian's mouth. Gian closed his eyes and sucked it clean, rolling her sweet, musky taste on his tongue; it sparked with the familiar charge of magic. Hildin withdrew it. Gian let out a gasp, and craned his neck toward his master. Hildin laughed, and kissed him, short and biting.

  "She still tastes of magic, and not just the sleeping spell, my lord," said Gian when he found his voice again. He looked at her again; on her left hip glowed a familiar sigil, traced in silver. "She bears the Traveler Queen's mark!"

  "So she does," smiled Hildin. "How thoughtful of her to make sure my brother didn't get her with child in all his rutting. But soon it will wear off, and we'll present her to him with my child in her belly instead. No," he continued, "there's no doubt who cast the spell. That old bitch is the only one who could have done it, whatever it is." He snatched a flame from the small fire burning in the hearth, lengthened it into a wand, and traced figures in the air over the bed. They glowed gold, until the answer came in silver. Hildin shook his head. "It's certainly hers, but I can't read it all. A kindling spell--sensation, or emotion." He dismissed the wand back into the fire. "Let's ask Warin's little friend." Hildin slipped the ring from the girl's finger, and her eyelids flickered open.

  * * * * *

  Temmin withdrew his hands from the book, and struggled to free himself from its spell; pain had called him out of the story. "I can't sit any more," he groaned. "I have to stand up!"

  "We can discuss things standing up," said Teacher, rising in sympathy.

  Temmin's heart still beat hard with Emmae's terror; the knife slicing through her chemise; the taste of magic and sex on Gian's tongue. All of it mixed together in a red confusion of horror, arousal, and the ache in his bottom. Temmin stood slowly, and braced himself on the table until he felt confident of his feet; his breathing slowed, and he took to walking in slow circles around the table. He worked to sort his own emotions from those of Emmae and Gian. "When will it stop h
urting?" he murmured.

  "In the morning it will be a distant memory. Though after riding tomorrow, the memory may return."

  "It's not just the stripes." He changed the pattern of his steps, walking in a slow circuit from Teacher at the one end to the wall of bookcases on the other. Temmin focused his mind on the magic to distract himself both from his excitement and his pain. He'd never seen one of his ancestors perform this much magic, though he wondered if many times great-uncles were ancestors. "Let me see if I understand magic correctly," Temmin said. "At one time, the royal family could control flame--make things out of it; they could use reflections like you do; if they wanted to, they could chop wood without an axe; they could read other people's spells; and they could put people to sleep?"

  "And much more," said Teacher. "But the last is women's magic. Men's magic controls the inanimate--wood, fire, stone, metal, water, even the air--anything that is not alive, even if it was once alive. But it cannot control a person."

  "Nonsense!" said Temmin, with an accusatory glance. "You held me over the couch yesterday with magic."

  "Did you feel a need to be over the couch? An inward compulsion?"

  "Certainly not!"

  Teacher pushed out a hand, as if commanding Temmin to stop, and said, "Keep walking toward me, Your Highness."

  Puzzled, Temmin continued in his track, until he walked straight into an invisible wall. "Fuck!" he yelled through the hands cupping his nose. "Pagg damn it, are you trying to kill me?" He removed his hands, examining them for blood; there was none. He prodded gingerly at his nose, to find it unbroken. He sighed in relief. It would have been horrible to greet Allis with a broken nose. He pinched it in hopes of dulling the pain. "Please excuse my language, but that hurt," he honked. "What did you do?"

  "I made the air stand still," said Teacher. "That is all I did yesterday. Air pinned you to the couch. That is the difference between men's magic and women's magic. Women's magic would have compelled you inwardly, coerced your body into doing what the enchantress wished you to do, if she were powerful enough. I simply held you down. Further." Teacher pulled a handkerchief from one pocket, dipped it in a water pitcher on the library table, wrung it out and handed it to Temmin. "Freeze." It stiffened with frost. "Now," said Teacher, "Apply that to your nose to keep it from swelling. It will stay cold as long as needed. I do not think your nose will bruise."

  Temmin kept pacing. "What a charming demonstration," he said, holding the frozen handkerchief to his nose.

  "You will not forget it. That is the charm," said Teacher.

  "Thank you ever so. If that's how it works, how was Hildin able to put Emmae to sleep? That ring? You just said men couldn't do things like that."

  "Let us say the ring's manufacture was a collaborative effort."

  "Could the royal women do magic as well?" he said. He imagined his sisters with women's magic. Ellika would make everyone throw parties. Sedra would--what would Sedra do? Make everyone talk politics?

  "Women have not had magic for nearly a thousand years," said Teacher.

  "One did--that Traveler woman," said Temmin. He shifted the icy handkerchief on his nose.

  "She is the only one. She has it all now. She--" Teacher gasped, and clutched the table's edge.

  Temmin strode across the room, dropping the handkerchief. "Teacher! Are you ill? Let me call for a Sister!" He took Teacher round the waist; his tutor leaned on him for only a moment before standing more firmly. Teacher waved Temmin off.

  "No, no, there is nothing a Sister can do for me, now or ever. I am all right." Teacher paused, and straightened the robes set askew in Temmin's attempts to help. "There are things I am prevented from telling you until you are king. I came too close to those forbidden subjects, I fear."

  "It hurts you?"

  "Oh, yes."

  Temmin put one hand on Teacher's shoulder. He put Teacher in the same class as Jenks and his father: invulnerable. What could possibly hurt any of them? "Who does this to you, Teacher? And why?"

  "Among the forbidden subjects, Your Highness. Now," said Teacher, moving out of sympathy's reach, "we are done for today. You have an engagement tomorrow to prepare for, and a little more time on your feet will allow you to ride comfortably, I am sure."

  "May I ask you one thing? Nothing forbidden, I hope," said Temmin.

  "I hope so, too," said Teacher with a small smile. "What is it?"

  Temmin put his palms on the table top and leaned forward. "Tell me what Allis likes!" he said. "I'm thinking of a picnic, up in the foothills--well, maybe not so high as all that--"

  "Liable to encourage bad memories," agreed Teacher.

  "--and I'm wondering what she might like," said Temmin, ignoring the jab. "Little sandwiches with the crust cut off, I expect? Those teeny cakes with the frosting all over them? I don't know what girls like!"

  "A healthy young woman like Allis likes food, Your Highness, especially after a ride. I suggest cold chicken, bread, fruit, wine, cheeses--"

  "That can't be right, it sounds like what I'd eat."

  "Women are not a different species, Your Highness. Perhaps lighter in appetite, but that depends on the woman. Leave it to Mr Jenks and I am sure it will go splendidly. Food is hardly the issue, though, is it?"

  "No, I s'pose not," said Temmin.

  Fennows drove "the issue" home throughout dinner, making innuendo after smirking innuendo about tomorrow's ride until even Harsin had enough. Nevertheless, the King took his own chance, closeted with Temmin after dinner. "You're not still thinking about going to the Lovers, are you?" he said, and then proceeded to pepper Temmin with all the reasons why he couldn't. The nobility wouldn't like it. His mother wouldn't like it. His virginity was an embarrassment at his age. He'd be cheek by jowl with commoners. And on, and on.

  Temmin's courage ebbed, but he said only, "We're going riding, Papa. I haven't committed to anything. I'm just going riding with a pretty girl."

  "Why this one? There are pretty girls a-plenty in the City. You don't have to go looking in the Temple. You saw no one at the balls you've been to? No, I suppose you didn't. I've heard nothing but complaints about your rudeness, staring at the Embodiment like a clodhopper come to town."

  Both men stood. Pick your battles, Temmin remembered. May as well start with this one. "I'm going riding with Allis Obby, sir. That's all." He noticed he looked his father in the eye; Harsin was only a hair's breadth taller than he was, now. "Good night, Papa," he said, and turned to go.

  "Wait," said Harsin. He took Temmin's face in his hands, and, to Temmin's surprise, kissed each cheek. "Good night, son," he said. "I just want you to think on these things, and make what you know is--what must be--the only right decision."

  "I will think on it, Papa," said Temmin. "After I spend a day alone with Allis," he added to himself as he walked back to his rooms.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  On Neyaday morning, Temmin skipped his ride. For one, he wanted Jebby to be fresh, and for another, he wanted to give what saddle time his poor bottom would allow to Allis. He would have her all to himself for an afternoon. What would happen once he had her all to himself, he didn't know.

  Jenks and Affton made the preparations. A picnic would await them in the Fairy Meadow, not as high in the foothills as Temmin had ridden two days previous, but high enough to afford a lovely view of the City from the comfortable shade of an Inchari-style tent pavillion: opulent carpets, enormous pillows, a low table, and no chairs. Temmin himself found the Inchari style of dining fussy and overly exotic, a decadent, indulgent byproduct of the southern continent's laxity of character and oppressive heat. But with Allis to impress, every luxury the Keep could produce must be brought to bear. All Temmin had to do was show up, and not make a fool of himself.

  Given his way, Jenks dressed his charge with a savage fervor, assembling and re-assembling until he found his ultimate combination: a fine dark gray riding suit tailored to a knife's edge, its cutaway coat graced with a black velvet collar; black riding bo
ots so polished Temmin briefly worried Teacher might spy on him through their reflections; a light gray waistcoat patterned with the sigil of the Lovers' Temple--would Allis notice? She seemed to notice everything. Small sapphires winked at his cuffs, a matching stickpin in his simple, dark blue cravat. Gray gloves, a low black riding hat: on the whole, an impression of complete confidence.

  "This is why I keep you around, Jenks," said Temmin as he examined himself in the mirror. "I look as if I know what I'm doing!"

  "Now you know why the Cavalry is so particular about clothing," said Jenks, beaming. "Looking as if you've already won is half the battle, we say. Now, off with you. Staff will be waiting for you in the Fairy Meadow."

  Temmin bounded out of his study, straight into his last obstacle: his mother, or at least his mother's representative in the form of her personal attendant and dresser. Miss Hanston brought Her Majesty's compliments, and would His Highness please accompany her to the Queen's apartments? Temmin blew a breath out in dismay, but trailed dutifully after her. Looking for clues in Hanston's demeanor was pointless; when it came to anyone's dealings with her mistress, she radiated the disapproving protectiveness people showed when a careless child entered a porcelain seller's shop, or when a too-jolly uncle picked up a newborn baby. No one was careful enough with Her Majesty--not even Her Majesty's son--and Hanston wasn't having it.

  Hanston ushered Temmin into his mother's private sitting room. The dresser's face broke into soft, doughy benevolence as she announced him to Ansella, and puckered into hard folds again as she gave Temmin a glance that said, "You break her, my boy, and you'll have me to pay."

  Ansella put down her teacup, patted the couch cushion beside her, and took his hand as he sat. As soon as the alternately scowling and beaming Hanston left the room, she said, "I know you're hurrying off, Temmy. But I never see you now except at mealtimes, and often not even then. We're both so busy here--I was afraid this would happen." She studied an arrangement of tulips on a nearby console, blood red in the soft cream and blue sitting room, and sighed. "I wanted to speak to you as your mother about your pursuit of Allis Obby," she continued.