The False Martyr

by H. Nathan Wilcox

  Normally, Paul would arrange a courier or use one of the services, but Ipid had no idea where those couriers came from or where the services operated. Given the usual volume of his correspondences, they likely stopped here daily, but would they do that now that the estate was abandoned? Were they still operating? Were the couriers even alive?

  Sighing, he decided it didn’t particularly matter. He felt better just having done the job, as if a load had been lifted from his shoulders, as if explaining and apologizing had cleansed his conscious of the deaths and betrayal.

  “Lord Ronigan, your dinner is getting cold,” Eia called again from the bottom of the stairs.

  “Coming!” Ipid quickly wiped the head of his pen, corked his bottle of ink, and tried to wipe the smudges from his fingers. Rising, he saw the smears of ink on his face – painted like a Sylian savage. He employed the slightly scummy bath water to lessen their prevalence. He left his room behind and strode down the staircase that led to the main floor.

  Eia was waiting for him in the dining room, but he barely recognized her. Her wild, translucent curls had been tamed into a long, loose tail that hung like a bundle of yarn down her back. Her face, lacking the hair and hood to obscure it, was fresh and bright, dark eyes huge, round cheeks sagging ever so slightly, slim lips painted just enough so that they were not lost. But most surprising, she was wearing a dress. Somewhere she had found a simple, dark-blue satin dress with white embroidery along the low neckline and down the arms. She stood as Ipid entered, and the dress hung from her, the gap at the neck sagged to show the tops of her white breasts, leaving Ipid trying not to stare. The rest of the dress swept down her in a line to pool on the floor. It was clearly too big for her – even the sleeves had been carefully rolled to allow her hands to escape – but it was such a shock after the black robes, that Ipid could only stammer.

  “You like the dress?” she asked with a knowing smile. “I found it in the room you gave me along with a wardrobe of others. A mistress perhaps?” Her smile grew, and her eyes twinkled. “She must be tall and elegant. I am sorry I cannot hope to compare.”

  Ipid sputtered. A mistress. He hadn’t been with a woman since the fire. Then he realized, Tethina. He had given Eia the room meant for Tethina, and his staff had made sure that she would have everything she needed when she arrived. “My daughter-in-law,” he blurted. “The dresses were meant for her. I doubt they have ever been worn, but I’m sure Tethina won’t mind.”

  Eia smiled knowingly, dropped her eyes, and stared at him through pale lashes.

  “You . . . you look lovely,” he managed.

  “Thank you. I just ask that you to not tell the Belab of this. He is quite strict about the robes ever since the Darthur, but we weren’t always so dour. I used to have a fine collection of dresses.”

  “I’m sure they were beautiful.”

  “Hmm. My lovers liked them best on their floors, but that was before the Darthur burned them – the dresses and the lovers.”

  Ipid gaped. Eia laughed. This was not going how he’d planned. Now, he could only think of that dress lying on the floor of his room.

  “Shall we eat?” Eia asked when her laughter died. “I managed to find enough vegetables in the garden for a soup. It’s not much, but the bread and sausage I brought won’t sustain us for a week.”

  Still rattled, Ipid managed to sit at the head of the table. Eia sat to his left, close enough that his knee bumped hers as he pushed in his chair. She smiled and placed her hand on his knee under the table then ran it up his leg until he caught it and brought it back to the top of the table. She giggled.

  “So your son is joined?” Eia asked casually. “To a tall slim girl it would appear.” She examined the too-large dress. “That fits what the Belab told me and explains a great deal.”

  Ipid nearly choked though he had not even managed to take a bite of the thin soup. “What . . . what do you mean? You can’t mean that . . . .”

  “Your son had a girl with him,” Eia explained calmly, eyes on her soup as she took a bite. “She was masquerading, quite effectively, as a boy, but such disguises are meaningless to us. It must mean they are still together. At least, they were when they escaped Wilmont.”

  Eia took another bite of her soup but spared a sideways glance at Ipid. He could not keep the shock from his face though he should have known that Dasen and Tethina were still together. From what he knew of her, it was probably Tethina that had gotten them as far as they were.

  “Will they . . . I mean if the Darthur . . . will they . . . ?”

  “Kill her?” Eia put down her spoon. “If they think she is a boy and she does not surrender, they most certainly will. With them, it is hard to say how they will treat her if they know she is a she. The Darthur nearly worship their women, the very word for woman is ‘heart of honor.’ And their women are fearsome. They do not leave their lands or fight in battles, but their wills are strong enough to tear a city down without so much as raising a finger. I suppose the Darthur may give your daughter to the wife of the man they murdered. She may kill her or enslave her or sell her to recuperate her loss. It is hard to say with Darthur women.” Eia shrugged off the horror she had just described and returned to her soup. “All the more important then that your son surrender. If he does, we may be able to protect his wife. If not . . . .”

  Ipid felt his mind swim. Certainly he should have known that Tethina would be with Dasen. Where else could she be? But he had not seriously considered the implications. Just one more stone to carry. He stirred his soup, watched the vegetables dancing in the broth, and brought a spoonful to his lips. He barely tasted it.

  Then he felt Eia’s hand on his. He looked up and saw her staring at him, head tilted slightly, mouth pursed. Her fingers moved on his hand, made his heart flutter, his breath quicken, his pores open. “Such worries,” she cooed. “Trust me, there is nothing to do about them now. This should be a reprieve, a time to prepare for what is to come. You should let me help you with that.” Her hand crept back under the table and found his leg.

  Ipid cleared his throat and caught her hand at the top of his thigh. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” he declared, but his voice cracked and blood rose up his face like a boy. “I have to admit that I find you attractive, very attractive. Too attractive really. And that is the problem. I am afraid that if we continue like this, I will never be able to concentrate on what I need to do. Do you understand?”

  Eia watched him with that same smile then made a false pout. “I understand, but that does not mean I agree. I feel the same way about you, and I have been denied my passions for a long time. I cannot see why we cannot have this time. Is a week not enough time for this and your preparations?” Giving up on her hand, she brought her small bare foot up to creep along his leg.

  “Stop!” Ipid gasped. He stood and stepped from the table. “I cannot do this.” His breath came in gasps, his heart hammered until it hurt. “I think we need to be apart. Thank you for the soup, but I think I will now retire to my room. It has been a long few days. Perhaps, I will see you again tomorrow.” He stumbled from the room, nearly running to be away from the temptation that dogged him like a pack of wolves on an injured deer. He did not look back as he left, but he could almost feel Eia’s dark eyes and knowing smirk pulling on him from behind.

  In a minute, he was in his room. He pushed the door closed, turned the lock, and leaned against it. Heart hammering, he suddenly felt as if he had barely escaped that meal with his life. And he was not sure that he did not want to go back.

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  Ipid slept in his own bed, the very bed he had been praying for, but it, somehow, felt too soft, too conforming as if it might swallow him whole. He tossed and turned, trying to find a place in all that softness that gave him the same reassurance he now received from the hard, lumpy ground. And as he turned, his mind wandered helplessly through a series of mazes, making its own twists and turns without any hope of finding its way out of even the simplest. Despite all
that, sleep could not be denied. Eventually, it claimed his mind, eased his body, and dragged him down deep into its embrace.

  Thus it was that he roused from that sleep only slowly, fighting through layers of dreams to reach reality, to place the sensations that were flooding him: a body warm and soft against his own; hands touching him, caressing, urging; lips brushing, tantalizing; breath tickling across his neck, chest, face. By the time his eyes opened, stared upon Eia’s face perched above his, he was breathing in gasps, was overwhelmed with need, was lost beyond hope of recovery. His hands were already upon her, feeling her soft skin, thin arms, firm breasts, bare back, round rear. His lips moved with hers, their breaths mingling in pants. Their body pressed so close as to be one.

  And before Ipid could find his bearings or the sense to stop, her hand was moving past the band of his nightclothes. Her legs parted around him. Her head pulled back, white hair falling around him like a veil. And it happened. Everything he wanted and feared. Beautiful Eia rising and falling before him, soft skin, warm breath, infinite release. It was over almost as soon as it started. She collapsed upon him, covered him with her body, whispered unfamiliar words, and sent him back to sleep.

  Chapter 5

  The 15th Day of Summer

  The first rays of morning shone into Ipid’s eyes through the open doors that led to a small balcony. The curtains, cast back, ruffled gently in the breeze. The air flowed over him but failed to penetrate the crisp cotton sheet that covered him. He groaned softly, squirmed, and rolled onto his side.

  Soft hair filled his face. The scent of herbal soap overran him, but there was musk underlying it, the sharp tang of sex. A warm body slid into his, fitting his fetal shape like a puzzle piece. His arm wrapped around it. His hand cupped a naked breast. The body squirmed, writhing against him, making him groan as he pulled it closer still.

  “Good morning,” a soft, husky voice said. The hair moved from his face. Lips found his, kissed him gently. The body shifted, disengaged then rolled to tangle him in a snare of arms and legs. Lips moved on his. A tongue probed his. A hand moved across his body, past the band at his waist.

  He gasped as that hand clasped him. His own free hand moved up soft legs, around hips, and down as the kisses became more urgent, the breaths desperate. Ipid was barely awake, barely aware, but he knew what he wanted. Eia did not deny him.

  They moved together, fully awake, illuminated by the sun. There was no mystery now, no dreams, no doubt. This was real. This was happening, and Ipid wanted it more than anything. Eia smiled through her moans, kissed him hard, and he caressed her, felt every part of her until everything went blank, they shuttered together, and Eia collapsed again on top of him.

  “What a nice way to wake,” she sighed into his chest. “It has been too long. I was beginning to think I was a priest of your order rather than mine.” She lifted her head, pushed her hair back, and looked at Ipid a few inches away.

  He smiled and ran his hands over her legs still spread around him. “So that was real last night? I thought I’d dreamed it.”

  “A dream then not a nightmare?”

  Ipid could not help but chuckle. “I should be angry, but I’m not. I’m as happy as I’ve been in years. I can’t stop smiling. I forgot how wonderful that was, how good it feels to be so close to someone, how much I needed it.”

  Eia smiled. “I am glad you’re not angry. I know I shouldn’t have come, but I wanted you so badly, needed you so much.”

  “Speaking of which, how did you get in here? The door was locked.” Ipid looked toward the door, still tightly closed, lock still in place.

  “When have you known a door to stop me?” Eia laughed then kissed him. She rolled off of him and laid on her back, one white leg spread over him. “So what now, my lord? Are you still worried about all you have to do?”

  He stared at his desk an impossible ten strides from the bed then over at Eia’s naked body so close and inviting. He took a deep breath of the wild hair spread across his chest, ran his hand along the naked shoulder that pressed on him. For a second his mind replaced the translucent curls with brown waves, the slim white shoulder with one broad and freckled, the thin legs that barely reached the end of his with sturdy ones that would end past his own feet. For a second, he held Kira in his arms, was pressed against her. Emotion flooded him. She is gone, he told himself. You have to let her go. He sniffed, wiped a tear from his eye, and returned his hand to Eia, squeezing her tight.

  “Are you alright?” she asked, her head rising from his chest so that she looked into his eyes through a cascade of hair.

  Ipid smiled, sniffed again, and pushed the hair back from her face. “Just saying goodbye to old ghosts.”

  “I don’t believe in ghosts. I believe in now.”

  “Probably wise,” he said absently, then pulled himself firmly from the dark path his thoughts threatened to take. “And now, I am hungry.” He ran his hand through her hair again, encouraged her to release him. She rolled off, naked body splayed across the bed, one leg still over his.

  “I could eat, or I could lie here all day. I haven’t had a day in bed since the Darthur came.”

  An entire day in bed, Ipid couldn’t even imagine. Already, he’d slept more than he typically managed in two nights. He pulled himself from the bed, retrieved his nightclothes from where they had been kicked into a pile on the floor, and walked stiffly down the stairs to the kitchen.

  A few minutes later, he carried bread, water, and wine up the stairs to his room. He found Eia sprawled stark naked across his bed exactly as he’d left her. His breath caught as the site of her smooth, white body, warm and waiting.

  “What took you so long?” she asked rolling onto her side. “I was starting to get bored. I even thought about putting on clothes.”

  Ipid smiled but did not fall into the trap. “I found us some wine.” He held up the bottle then realized he had brought nothing to remove the cork.

  “I’ll just take some of that water.” Eia propped herself up in the bed but did nothing to cover herself. Ipid pulled himself from the bottle long enough to pour two cups of water. Eia drained hers almost as quickly as she took it. He poured her another with the same result.

  “Would you like some bread?” Ipid held a round of Darthur flat bread out to her. “This is all that is left. We’ll need to find some food soon.”

  “You eat it. I don’t need much, and I actually ate my dinner last night.”

  Ipid sat in the chair at his desk to eat. Despite Eia’s offer and the rumbling in his stomach, he left her half untouched. The entire time, she watched him, naked body squirming into various positions, patience obviously thin.

  “Are you ready to return to bed?” she asked while he chewed his last bite. “I’m bored.”

  “I should write some letters before the day is completely lost.” He looked at the stack of paper on the table, caught between desire and duty.

  “And how do you plan to send your letters? I haven’t seen any couriers waiting. Might as well come here and have some fun while we can.”

  Ipid shook his head. “Are you completely insatiable? I’m not as young as I used to be. Even if I didn’t have all this to do, I need time to recover.”

  Eia made a false pout, rose from the bed, and walked to the desk. She sat on his lap, straddling him. One hand went to his hair, the other to his crotch. She pulled his head back and brought her mouth to his ear. Warm breath tickled across his face. A hand caressed him through his pants. “Doesn’t feel like you need a break.” She kissed him, took his breath, then moved her mouth to his neck. “If you’re tired, I can do the work. You don’t even have to get up.” Her body moved on his to illustrate her point. She tried to move her hand past the band of his pants, but Ipid recovered just in time.

  He caught her hand, held it away. He was ready, but he was not some boy. He knew that all relationships had to have limits, had to have boundaries. If he allowed Eia to pull him in now, he would never escape her, would be at
her constant beck and call, and it appeared she would be calling often. “I said, no.” He was gentle but firm. “I am tired, sore, and just a bit overwhelmed. This has been wonderful, but I need to do some work. We have a week. There is plenty of time.” He tried to smile.

  Eia scowled. She ripped her hand from his. “Fine. I’ll leave, but remember you had your chance. I may not be interested later. I may have found another diversion.” She pushed herself off of him with a hand hard on his chest. She stood beside him for a moment, clearly hoping he’d change his mind, but he just grabbed a piece of paper and pretended to think about what he would write. So, with a huff, she snatched the bottle of wine from the desk and strode to the door. She threw it open with a crash and stormed out of the room, without a stitch of clothes.

  Ipid released a long breath and tried to adjust himself. He watched the doorway for a long time, almost wishing that she’d come sauntering back through. She didn’t, so he returned his attention to his desk, to the blank page before him, but he suddenly could not think of a single thing beyond the feel of Eia’s body pressed against him.

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