“Promise me you’ll take care of her,” Velsa said, giving Dennis her sternest expression, although she knew this wasn’t much.
“I will, I will. Now, get going. I never meant to involve you like this. Hell, I never meant to involve me like this.”
Chapter 13
“Sorla…can you keep a secret?”
The girl nodded eagerly.
Maybe all slaves loved secrets. Secrets were a piece of power that anyone could hold.
“But I don’t want Grau to know,” Velsa continued. “He’ll worry, and he has to work for Calban every day, so it’s dangerous for him to know anything about the rebellion.”
“I understand.” Sorla pretended to sew up her lips.
Not that Velsa would ever keep a secret from Grau if she thought it would hurt him.
She must be careful not to get herself in too deep either. Today had been unexpected.
But they did need to understand more about this world, especially now that they were apparently trapped here.
Velsa had never lied to Grau before. Before he acquired her, her life was so simple, there was nothing to conceal. He probably could have asked any concubine at any well-respected house her life story and heard the same one. And after that, she belonged to him. She was always at his side. They came to know each other very well in a short time, and when he set her telepathy free, she even dared to share her heart with him, and he with her.
Separate lives make the joining sweeter. He had told her that, and that night, she felt it was true. She was strangely excited to have done something he knew nothing about. It was the first real secret she’d ever kept.
“I have a surprise for you,” he said, when they went to bed.
“You do?”
“Yeah, I worked on a little side project this week. It’s a spell I promised you a while ago.” He fished a little jar from his pocket. “You know I’ve never been able to help kissing you, because you look so kissable, and I guess it’s my human instinct, but then it’s a little disappointing when you don’t taste like anything.”
She nodded, smiling wryly. This had led to his love of bringing honey into the bedroom, but it had gotten messy at times, especially since her skin was only properly proofed against moisture and staining in a few crucial places. Those spells weren’t especially cheap.
“If it works, it should make your skin taste like honey wherever I put it. Well, honeysuckle flowers, actually. I had to use a flower extract to get the spell to pass my initial test and to keep it invisible, so it won’t cause any stains.”
“Honeysuckle sounds appropriate.”
“Open your mouth.”
She did, and he smeared sweet-smelling clear cream all over her tongue. She laughed because he looked so intent. It was more medicinal than she expected at first, but this faded to a light sweetness. It tasted like the fragrance of the conservatory.
“Am I going to taste this all the time?” she asked with sudden concern. She didn’t want everything she ever ate to be seasoned with flowers.
“Uhh…hmm. Maybe I shouldn’t have tested your mouth. It was just the most obvious spot.”
“Well…the taste is fading now. I think it’s all right. But let’s not apply any more to my mouth.”
“Magic is always an adventure,” he said. “But that’s fine. I can find plenty of other places to put it…”
He unfastened the clasps of her tunic and rubbed some on her nipples, very businesslike, but her skin went rigid. His fingers were a little rough, and dirty under the nails, like he’d been working with plants.
“Looks like you’re still making potions,” she said. “Or maybe gardening.”
“I sneak away sometimes to work on personal projects,” he said, pushing her hair away from her ears. “They can keep me from boarding a ship, I guess, but they can’t watch me every second. Don’t tell anyone about this. Remember that any spell I invent here belongs to Kalan.”
“Oh, I don’t think I have anyone to tell about this. Are you planning on going into business making concubines taste good when we get out of here?”
“Hey, don’t laugh. This spell could flavor flesh and blood people too. I’ve seen other sorcerers make good money on much stupider spells than this one. In fact, most successful spells are either very dangerous, or really inane.”
“Aren’t you going to test these before you go any farther?” she asked, pointing at her nipples.
“I think I’d better initiate a number of tests before I catalog the results. So far, my observation is that the consistency is as I’d hoped. It doesn’t appear to stain, nor to leave any residue…” She thought he was teasing, although he sounded genuinely thoughtful.
This talk of tests briefly made her mind wander back to Kessily’s plight again. Having a secret was exciting, but the particular nature of the secret was not exciting at all.
Grau dabbed a little on her ears now. “You like this spot, I think…”
“You know that I do.”
A little pang shot through her. He did know everything about her, and in some ways that was nice. That was what made her feel so safe with him, was knowing him and being known by him, and trusting one another with all of those feelings…even some that had not been easy to share.
She probably should tell him, after all.
But he had burned the note to Flynn. Thrown it in the fire, when it really wasn’t his to burn. At the least, they should have discussed it further.
Moments like that, deep down, she wondered if he would have done that to a flesh-and-blood Daramon wife.
Well. He probably would.
Even so, had it ever been his right? He was a Daramon, and he would surely think so. A Miralem, however, might not agree.
He pulled down her underwear and this was where his hand got very thorough. No crevice was left untouched. She was still standing, but she kept spreading her feet a little wider, and leaning on him a little more. He managed to keep that same clinical sorcerer-at-work expression the whole time.
“Shall we test these applications?”
“Please do.”
“Make yourself comfortable on the bed, miss. It won’t take but a moment.”
“Only a moment?”
He gave her a full kiss, both their mouths wide and eager.
“Sweet,” he said. “Pleasantly sweet.”
Moving down, he flicked his tongue over each of her nipples. “Good, good…”
“That’s it?”
“There is still a lot of testing to do.”
“Is this really how you act at work?”
“This is exactly how I act at work. I can’t believe I haven’t been fired.”
She snickered. “And what about my ears?”
“Oh, I’ll get to your ears. I don’t have anywhere to be tomorrow.” He put his hands on her shoulders, pushed her toward the bed and then onto the pillows. He grabbed her feet and spent a moment lightly running his fingertips over the arches. She made a very encouraging sound.
“I’m getting distracted. This isn’t part of my experiment. But you do have very cute feet, and plenty of toes.”
“Plenty of toes?”
“I was wondering where the Halnari ladies put their toes. Do they have five tiny toes? Nope. I found out they shape-shift away some of their toes. They only have three toes. I mean…on each foot.”
Maybe it was all the pent emotion, or maybe it was the way Grau said it, but Velsa found this hysterically funny. “Where do their poor toes go?”
“Into hiding, I assume. Strange people.”
“So says the man who spends his evening flavoring his doll wife.”
“Just know that I’m not the one who called you a doll.” He pressed his face to her stomach. “You smell nice.”
“I do?”
“Mmhm. Like woodsmoke and winter forest. And maybe faintly of sheep. And here…like honeysuckle.” He slid his tongue between her legs.
She was glad she had five toes to spread, and curl. H
is tongue was warm and wet against her dry skin. His attentions quickly grew rougher as he ran out of saliva; to her it felt even better but she murmured, “Don’t chafe your tongue either. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
“That…I have such an arid climate.”
He laughed. “Well, maybe someday I’ll develop a spell that moistens you.”
She made a face.
“No?”
“I’m not that sorry.”
When she was lying next to him later, the time when she usually felt so peaceful, instead this was when the events of the afternoon began to cycle through her mind in vivid detail.
She’s still half-formed and it’s only been a month…another failed experiment… Parsons’ words echoed. She saw Kessily sleeping in her shroud, alone in the snowy forest, and then her wild eyes upon awakening.
Velsa was safe here, able to tuck it aside like a dream, but Kessily and Dennis were living the terrifying reality. She wondered what they were talking about, if he was taking care of her, if she was staying put. If the furs could keep her warm enough on a cold night. If they were safe.
She must have drifted off because suddenly she was flailing and crying and Grau was holding her. “Velsa? Shh…it’s all right. It’s a bad dream. Was it the river nightmare…?”
“N-no,” she said. “I dreamed I had wings instead of arms…horrible black wings, like a vulture. They dragged on the ground. I couldn’t fly. I lived alone in the forest because no one could look at me…”
She wanted to tell him something like the truth, now.
“It sounds like the tale of Princess Ela. You heard that when you were young, didn’t you? My mother told it to me.”
“No…”
“I bet you’ve just forgotten it and it resurfaced in your dreams.” He gently smoothed her hair. “Long ago, there was a Halnari princess who loved to watch the birds. She wanted to fly more than anything in the world. Her parents brought a giant condor to the palace and cut off its wings, and gave them to her with an enchantment. Princess Ela ran outside to the parapet of the castle to spread her wings and fly—but she was too heavy and fell to the ground. She tried again and again—more carefully, of course. But her body was simply too heavy for her wings. And so, she simply wandered the parapet every day, feeling the wind in her feathers and watching the birds fly above her.”
She frowned at him. “That’s a sad story.”
“But that’s probably where your bad dream came from.”
Stars above. If only that were true. “Why did your mother tell you such a sad story?”
“She was trying to warn me against wishing for things I can’t have. Especially things I wanted to learn that were actually impossible. But then I would always argue, if Princess Ela had studied sorcery, she probably could have found a way to get those wings to work. So, I say, that was only the ending for now. One day she figured it out and she flew after all. Maybe you can dream about that.”
“It serves her right,” Velsa murmured, “for cutting the wings off a condor in the first place.”
The next day, the distinctive sound of Parsons’ automobile was audible outside, and a chill of horror came over Velsa as she watched her enter the building.
Does she remember?
Sorla had already left to talk to Dennis. Grau was reading by the stove. Velsa didn’t know what to do but answer the door and pretend everything was as fine.
“Hello.” Parsons had her hands thrust into a dark blue coat. She looked uncomfortable.
“Hello…”
“I was just going into town to see a matinee at the theater,” Parsons said. “I bought the tickets before I realized Papa would be out of town so I have an extra. It seems like a shame for them to go to waste, but I realize you’re probably busy with your husband. Still, I was driving by anyway.”
“Oh—” Was this really all?
“You should definitely go,” Grau said. “I’ll take you to the theater when I’m a richer man. For now, Parsons can do it.”
Parsons smiled with what seemed like annoyance.
Velsa managed her initial panic enough to get a sense of Parsons. It didn’t feel like she had any deep suspicions about Velsa. Her primary emotion, in fact, seemed to be loneliness.
“Sure,” Velsa said, grabbing her cloak. “I’d love to go.”
“I’m sorry to appear unannounced,” Parsons said, as they settled into the automobile. “Papa left last night. I’d forgotten all about his trip. And as I’m sure you know, it isn’t smart to go into the city alone, but I can’t take a servant to the theater.”
Parsons must not have many friends.
“How long is your father gone?”
“A few days.”
“You must be close.”
“Oh, well, I mean, yes. I guess we are. We have to be. It really isn’t fair, is it?”
“What isn’t fair?” With Parsons, Velsa always felt that she was not sufficiently sharp or fascinating.
“You know what I mean. Girls like us will always need protection.”
“Oh—because—we might be mistaken for slaves.”
“Of course.” Parsons gave the road ahead a withering look.
“You know, if slaves were treated better, we’d be treated better too,” Velsa said.
“We’re not slaves,” Parsons said. “And it’s an uncouth word. My servants aren’t slaves. I pay them wages.”
Velsa really shouldn’t argue with Parsons, but she hated this reasoning. “If you own them, they’re slaves. It doesn’t matter what you give them.”
“But I have to own them,” Parsons said. “Someone has to own them, it’s the law. So that can’t really be helped. They certainly live as well as our Daramon servants.”
“I’m just saying that if we tried to change the laws, all Fanarlem would have better lives, even us.”
“The law is set by fate,” Parsons said. “There isn’t anything we can do about that.”
Velsa dropped the subject, feeling deeply uncomfortable. She shouldn’t have said so much. It was easy to suppose that Parsons would be sympathetic to all Fanarlem, but of course she would feel no kinship to them.
The automobile moved down the streets slowly, around less-than-cautious pedestrians, horses and carriages, including many delivery vans that simply stopped in the street. The skies suggested spring rain and people seemed a bit urgent, trying to get to wherever they were going. The top was up on Parsons’ auto, so they had no need to worry.
Well, at least, she didn’t need to worry about being wet. She certainly worried over other things. Like whether Parsons regretted bringing her, after she dared argue about slaves.
Velsa pretended to be very interested in the sights out the window. Which wasn’t hard, really. The shops had different window displays every time. Velsa never tired of the array of products: “Specialty Modern Menswear”, “Foods of the Sea, Dressed by Request”, “P. Rorig, Fresh Flowers”.
“I think what bothers me the most—” Parsons suddenly spoke again. “Is how hard it is to be taken seriously. My mother was a woman.”
“We’re women,” Velsa said.
“We’re dolls.”
“We’re women,” Velsa insisted. She was starting to feel a little protective of her race.
“You don’t work,” Parsons said. “So I suppose you wouldn’t know how you’d be treated there, by men you’re trying to pose serious ideas to. They see me as a doll, and I can fight it all I like, but it doesn’t do any good. Why don’t you work, anyway? Calban says you are somewhat talented as a telepath. You could do a lot more for the nation.”
Velsa wasn’t sure if she should tell Parsons about working with Irik.
“I don’t want to,” Velsa said. Parsons was making Velsa feel stubborn. “I don’t enjoy telepathy. I don’t like getting in people’s heads, and dealing with flesh just makes me shudder.”
“Well, a lot of us do things we don’t really enjoy for the sake of the nation.” Pars
ons clenched her slender fingers. “I heard that you actually posed as Grau’s concubine while he was in the border guard.”
Fear choked Velsa. “I—I did. That’s true. It was much worse than I expected, or I wouldn’t have done it. I just wanted to be with him. I don’t have any real family.”
“Worse than you expected?”
“Well…people treated me like I wasn’t human.”
“Yes, I suspect they would.”
As they arrived at the beautiful theater, the facade adorned with columns, the marquee dressed in gold and mirrors, Velsa should have been excited to see a play. Instead she was thinking mostly that Parsons must absolutely hate her, and would never invite her anywhere again, and that was just as well because Velsa didn’t like her either.
The interior of the theater had a grand staircase and shining electric chandeliers and colorful posters for other shows. Parsons offered up her tickets and they walked into a palatial room with a red curtain and painted ceilings, every inch of it magnificent. Other theatergoers were filing in with them as they took seats near the front. Velsa wished very much that she was there with Grau instead of Parsons.
Parsons glanced around briefly with her dark eyes and pushed up her sleeve an inch to look at a tiny clock she wore on her wrist. Velsa wondered if any of her tension, her snippiness, stemmed from worry over losing Kessily. Velsa could erase Parsons’ memory of Dennis and herself, but she couldn’t erase Kessily’s entire existence.
The play was unexpectedly funny in a more subtle way than the street entertainments Velsa had occasionally seen. It was about a peasant girl who sold flowers on the streets of Atlantis, speaking with the most abominable low-born accent, and an arrogant gentleman who attempts to improve her speech. Both of them were entertaining characters but it was also unexpectedly affecting.
The different between a lady and a flower girl is not how she behaves, but how she’s treated. I shall always be a flower girl to Professor Higgins, because he always treats me as a flower girl, and always will; but I know I can be a lady to you, because you always treat me as a lady, and always will.
The Sorcerer’s Wife Page 15