Forever and a Knight

by Bridget Essex

  I find the strength to raise my head, to capture her mouth in mine again. The kiss is very weak to start as pleasure still pours through me, as her fingers are still inside of me, but then she draws her fingers out with a small chuckle against me, traces a sweet, wet pattern up my thigh, curling her fingers around my thighs, now, as she smiles against me.

  “What are you doing?” she whispers warmly, as my mouth drifts down from her mouth, as I taste her neck, tracing the curve of her neck and shoulder with my tongue.

  I lean back from her, gazing into her eyes, darkened with desire.

  “Claiming you,” I whisper, a rush of excitement moving through me.

  Attis gazes at me for a long moment, her breath coming faster, her lips parting.

  “I am yours to do with as you wish,” she whispers then, her lips curling up at the corners, her eyes narrowing slyly. “Milady.”

  A rush of desire pours through me as she tilts her head back, as I kiss over and over again her cream-colored neck, her sweet, hot skin.

  Wonder purrs contentedly at the very edge of the tent, dead to the world as Attis and I take back the night.

  Chapter 11: The City

  The next few days pass in a blur. There's the constant journeying and cold. There's setting up the tent at night with no light to guide us, fingers frozen from a day of frigid temperatures—but the laughter, her company, her smile, her touch...all of it keeps me warm.

  It's during these precious days that I find that I love, more than anything, to make Attis laugh. Every night, after we set up camp or reach a tavern, we're together, she and I, exploring and learning every inch of each other's skin, learning the taste and touch, learning our bodies and hearts.

  And though, each night, her warm amber eyes are filled with desire for me, though she touches me with a soft gentleness and deep-seated need, and though—each day—the hard lines of her face soften when she looks at me, her mouth turning up at the corners with genuine pleasure...there's still something...off. Something missing.

  I know that Attis cares about me, that she cares more about me each day that passes, but I still have this small, terrible, nagging feeling in the back of my head that there's something's wrong.

  Honestly, I'm worried that maybe I'm falling faster for her than she's falling for me.

  Or that there's one last thing standing between us...one, last thing that, if I could only figure out what it is, I could fix and change everything.

  I know that this urgency is growing in me because I feel like I'm running out of time. I've counted the days we've been together, and today marks the seventh day. Though Attis said nothing about arriving at Arktos City when we rose this morning, when we broke camp and started out on our journey, I feel it, just the same.

  I feel like we're drawing close to the end of our time together. And the mere thought of that is so heartbreaking that I don't know what to do.

  So, this afternoon, I'm bound and determined to get to the root of the matter. To talk to Attis about that thing we've been carefully skirting during our time together: the fact that I'm supposed to be heading back to my world.

  I'm on Zilla's back, Wonder pillowed in front of me under the coat (I think that, at this point, she really enjoys being carried several miles each day on horseback like the queen that she is), and Attis strides ahead of us down the narrow animal path in the woods, moving through the branches and holding them aside so that Zilla has clear footing.

  It's pretty balmy out, considering how miserably cold it was last night. When I breathe out into the air, my breath doesn't hover like a cloud but dissipates almost immediately. In this world that completely lacks thermometers, I'm using that as an indicator to mean it's currently “not cold enough to kill you.” Which is a very good thing.

  I take a deep breath, letting it it out slowly into the air, and I screw up my courage to talk about the white elephant in the room, the white elephant that we've both been purposefully ignoring, and I open my mouth, ready to start all of this, when Attis takes a wider step than usual, springing out from the thick underbrush of the forest, and landing deftly on a stone path in the open.

  Zilla follows her mistress companionably out onto the path and then pauses, her big, black head butting against Attis' shoulder as she tosses her nose, glancing forward. I blink, eyes suddenly dazzled by how bright it is (it was really quite dark beneath the fir tree canopy in the forest), squinting and placing my hand over my eyes to escape the sunshine. Attis shields her eyes, too, gazing down the road with her chin lifted, her nose scenting the breeze.

  And it's an actual road, I realize in shock, as I stare down at the stones. This isn't a dirt path, or even a more compact dirt path masquerading as a road. This is actual cobblestones.

  Attis chooses that moment to flick her gaze back up to me, her eyes soft at the edges, her mouth turning up, and her warm amber stare golden with affection and triumph as she sweeps her arm in front of her.

  “There,” she whispers softly, her voice full of emotion. “There is Arktos City. We've arrived.”

  My gaze follows her hand, and then I clutch tightly to Zilla's saddle, because if I didn't, I'd be in danger of falling off.

  The city rises in front of us, and I can honestly say that, though I've lived in Boston, though I've gone to New York City many, many times, which is (arguably) the greatest city on the planet, I've...never quite seen anything like this.

  This city is like a painting from a history book come to life. The very first thing I notice is the massive stone wall that looms, thick and imposing, around the outer edge of the city, ending at the very front, where the road leads, with a massive iron gate that now stands open—but I can imagine it being shut at night. The closest thing I can compare this wall to is the type of wall they put up around a prison, but while most outer prison walls that I've seen are ugly and blocky—obviously meant to keep people in—this stone wall has the characteristic, to me, of fine architecture. There are wide, almost Greek key-looking designs made with different-colored stone around the top edge of the wall, and every hundred feet or so, there's a tower with a pointed slate roof.

  This city is built on a hill; I can see the stone streets winding their ways gracefully, higher and higher between tall, blocky stone buildings the color of granite and shorter ones the color of sand. These roads lead up to the tallest building at the very center of the city, a sprawling, many-towered castle. This castle is utterly beautiful, with narrow towers made of white stone that flute upward with graceful curves, and golden-colored roofs with bright, many-colored pennants flying from every tower, lines of pennants flapping briskly in the wind in every hue of the rainbow.

  There's a small line of people making their way into the city on the same road we stand on, and sprawling on either side of the iron gate, in front of the city and outside of its walls, are about fifty tents, maybe more. The tents are brightly colored, unlike the drab black tent we're traveling with (“standard issue for knights,” Attis told me one night with a laugh), and these tents look like they're all from different places; they're so unique. Honestly, it looks like an encampment is set up in front of the city.

  “Gods, I hope we're not too late,” sighs Attis, taking in the encampment, too, with a frown. “All of the inns are usually full up for the Festival of Stars, and it starts tonight, so—technically—we're already late if we wanted to find room and board. We might have to rough it out here,” she tells me, gesturing to the tents. “But we'll see, yes? It's not the worst thing in the world to camp out, is it?” Attis glances up at me with a small smile. “Do I keep you warm enough?” she asks, the words a low growl as she lifts one brow artfully, placing her palm on Zilla's shoulder and brushing the backs of her fingers against my thigh.

  I know I'm already blushing before I feel the warmth spread across my cheeks. “Crap,” I mutter, reaching up and touching my very hot skin, but I'm chuckling as I look down at her, breathing out. “Yes,” I tell her, my voice low. My hand drops down to my thigh a
nd I reach out to touch her hand as I hold her gaze. “Yes, you do,” I whisper.

  Attis is smiling as she turns away from me, as she lifts her chin, lengthening her stride. She begins to walk purposefully down the stone street toward the city, but I saw a flicker of something pass over her face before she turned from me. Pain, fleeting pain that she swallowed and silenced.

  I need to talk to her about this. Tonight.

  I think it's mostly the fact that I could be leaving. But I also think this is about Hera.

  I mean, it would make sense. I know that Attis cares about me, and I know that Attis wants to be with me. We're not doing anything that makes her uncomfortable, as we begin this—whatever “this” is—together, but I'm worried that the ghost of Hera is still standing between us. It would be Attis' right, obviously, to never forget her; she loved Hera fiercely and deeply. And there's nothing that I can do if that's the case, if Attis feels guilty for starting something with me, something she had with Hera.

  But it makes my heart ache to think about the fact that Attis might be thinking of Hera when she looks at me. Might be comparing me to her, might be thinking about what Hera would have done in a situation, how Hera would have smiled or laughed or touched her.

  I take a deep breath as I remember the way that Attis moved over me last night, as her eyes darkened, as she gazed down at me with desire crackling between us... Was Attis wishing it was Hera and not me beneath her?

  I rake my hand through my hair, bite my lip, try not to let the fear or worry of that tortured thought twist further into my gut. I don't honestly know if Attis was thinking any of that, and honestly, wouldn't it be her right to think it?

  I don't know how many more days I'm going to have with her. I don't know how this will end. And it's started to make me nervous. Because I am falling for Attis; I am falling head over heels in love with her, and it's a progression that I'm powerless to stop.

  Right now, I don't know what the next few days will bring, and that mere thought terrifies me. What if I'm whisked back to my world, and I never see her again?

  And what if I'm not? What if I can't get home? Would I be perfectly happy to stay here, on Agrotera, forever?

  I think you would, comes a deep, secret thought. And I think about it for a long moment before I put my attention back on the present, back on Zilla and Attis and Wonder, snuggled tightly against me, and this impossible, beautiful city rising in front of us.

  I don't know how many of these moments I have left. And I need to treasure each one. No matter what may come.

  But we still have to talk about all of this. And we have to talk soon.

  I clear my throat. “So, what's the plan?” I ask Attis, wrapping my fingers in Zilla's reins and mane tightly as the big, black horse lengthens her gait to follow closer behind Attis, Attis who's moving so quickly toward the city, she's almost trotting.

  “Well,” says Attis, glancing up at the sun, directly above us and shining weaker now through the thin cloud cover. Attis flicks her gaze ahead of us. “We need to get to the city, and then we find my knights, get settled in... We'll speak with Virago then. The festival starts at sundown, so the festivities will begin, but we should be able to find out if you'll be able to return home or not beforehand.” Attis glances up at me quickly and then away—if I hadn't been watching her, I wouldn't have seen the worry that passed over her face, quickly covered by the warm smile she flashed up to me.

  My heart's thundering in my chest as I grip Zilla's mane tighter, my fingernails curling against my palm so hard it hurts.

  So there's no time for that talk. Because I'm going to find out this afternoon if I can go back home or not.

  The seemingly unhurried pace of our journey, the many wonderful conversations and the few precious nights we had together suddenly don't seem like enough. Not nearly enough.

  I'm just learning what makes Attis laugh, just learning what makes her sigh in pleasure and growl in delight. I'm just learning the way her hair falls in the sunlight, flashing a brilliant, transcendent red when she bends down to kiss me, how her hands feel around my waist as her fingers grip me tightly, what her cold, hard armor feels like, pressed against my chest when she draws me to her for an embrace. I'm just learning that, when she's in a particularly good mood, she calls her massive war horse the ridiculous nickname “Zilly,” and that she couldn't cook porridge over a fire to save her life (but that I, surprisingly, can). I'm just learning that she hates goodbyes and will never say the word, especially to her friends that she sees so infrequently. She always promises that she'll see them again because she thinks it brings good luck, that to say “goodbye” would court disaster for her and them.

  I'm just learning that she misses being a knight so much that she's wondering if she should go back to it.

  I'm just learning her. And it's like I've lived an entire lifetime in these past few days, but these past few days, by themselves, will never be enough. I want a lifetime with her.

  And how is it possible that I can get that?

  I'm becoming sadder and more frustrated the closer we draw to the city, the towers, its walls and castle looming over us like an impossible fantasy. I try to concentrate on how beautiful it is, on these last few moments of my journey with Attis, but I can't do it: I keep thinking about what we've had and everything we won't get to have, and it's breaking my heart.

  I'm halfheartedly trying to carry on a conversation with Attis about the great food she promises is in Arktos City, as I try to figure out what the hell I'm going to do. I didn't want to face this decision yet, if there's even a decision to face. I didn't want to figure this out yet.

  I wanted more time. But I don't have it.

  “Attis?!”

  I blink in surprise at that one shouted word that echoed from behind us, and both Attis and I turn toward the jubilant outcry of her name, the sound of quick, heavy hoof beats against the stone road filling the air.

  A knight on horseback is barreling toward us; that's the first thing I notice, the sunlight reflecting off her silver armor and into my eyes, practically blinding me. Then I take in the fact that she's somehow, impossibly, on a taller horse than Zilla. This one is gray and dappled and quite pretty, though very large (again, similar in build to a Clydesdale, but gray).

  And the knight?

  Um. Wow.

  She has long black hair streaming behind her in a high ponytail (with, oddly enough, a wolf's tail tied into her hair, the tail streaming out behind her, too). Her armor is bright silver and very flashy; it's better quality than Attis' armor, I can see, though maybe it's just more decorative, prettier. Every piece of the intricate armor has scrollwork on it, and delicate lines and curves that look almost like Celtic knots spiral around each piece of the armor.

  The knight barreling down on us has the most piercing ice blue eyes I've ever seen.

  And, put succinctly, she's hot as hell.

  What the hell do they feed these lady knights here, anyway?

  She's tall; I can see that even though she's in the saddle, and she's muscular, just as are all of the other knights I've met, but there's something about this one. She has an inordinate amount of grace and poise as she sits in the saddle like she was born to do it. She also has muscular curves that fill out her armor perfectly, her body fitting snugly in the leather beneath the armor as if it was made for her—which it probably was.

  She looks so self-assured and regal as she pulls her horse up sharply right in front of us, and then she vaults off her saddle, onto the ground, and—immediately—has Attis in a tight embrace, her wide grin pulling up full lips as she kisses Attis on the cheek.

  Attis grimaces, laughing, rubbing the back of her armored glove over her cheek as she pushes this new knight off her, holding her out at arm's length to take her in, then drawing her back to embrace her tightly.

  “Gods, Virago, I've missed you,” says Attis, hooking her chin over the knight's shoulder and squeezing her in such a hold that any normal woman's ribs would pr
obably be broken right about now.

  Wait.

  Virago?

  This is the woman who can help me get back home.

  I take a deep breath, feeling everything fall away from me.

  This is the beginning of the end. It's all over, starting now.

  My heart aches so fiercely inside of me, I wonder if it's already broken.

  This new knight, Virago, steps back, laughing brightly as she looks Attis up and down with those searing, ice blue eyes. “You're surviving, I see? Gods, I've been so worried about you, friend...” Her voice is low, throaty, velvety...the kind of voice that reaches deep inside of you and warms you. But the merriment leaves this new knight's eyes as she stares hard at Attis. “You've been well?” she asks, voice low as she ducks her head toward Attis, wrapping her hand around Attis' neck and drawing her forward to press her forehead against Attis' forehead, closing her eyes and breathing out.

  These are intimate gestures, but it's very clear to me that these two knights have known each other for a great deal of time and are the best of friends. Virago looks up just then, when Attis doesn't speak, when Attis' jaw clenches, and Virago looks past Attis...up at me.

  “Gods, where are my manners?” asks Virago hollowly, shaking her head fast and then—like she's not in the middle of a dusty stone road—Virago kneels down smoothly, her hand over her heart as she bows her head to me, her ponytail and wolf tail falling over her shoulder to lie over her chest. “Milady,” she says formally, voice low, then glances up at me with sparking blue eyes. “I am Virago of the Royal Knights of Arktos City, capital of Arktos,” Virago tells me smoothly, her chin lifted in pride as she smiles up at me. She rises fluidly in a single motion, her smile deepening as she glances at me.