The Sorcerer’s Wife

by Dolamore, Jaclyn

  It was too soon to give in.

  The door opened. Pan, Pen, and Pin entered, their nearly-identical faces friendly and curious. “Hello,” they chorused.

  “I hope it’s okay to come in. We were worried you might be crying,” one of them said.

  “No,” Velsa said, very glad she had managed not to succumb to that impulse. “Can you remind me which of you is which again? I remember you, Pin.”

  “Pen has the bows in her hair. Pan—well, Pan’s the other one,” Pin said. “But we can’t blame you if you get us mixed up.”

  “I won’t,” Velsa said.

  “I guess you grew up with lots of Lavan girls,” Pen said.

  No one at the House of Perfumed Ribbons talked about themselves like they were designer dresses. These girls must have picked that up from Calban or his guests, or maybe it was a throwback to an earlier time. Pan, Pen and Pin looked young, of course, but she suspected they were not.

  Velsa was more than a little disturbed by the trio, nice as they were. They all had the same dark shoulder-length hair, the same golden eyes and dark lashes. A passing glance was not likely to show that Velsa’s eyebrows were a little thinner and Pen had a smaller mouth, that all their noses had a slightly different shape, or that Pan had a more assertive stance.

  “Do you have any idea what happened?” Pan asked.

  “Not really,” Velsa said. “I was out for a walk and they caught me.”

  “We’re all on your side,” Pin said. “But it isn’t so bad here.”

  Velsa shook her head, even more aggravated that her fellow captives would try to convince her how good life was in prison.

  “It’s true,” Pan said. “Calban isn’t a strict master. He has to follow the laws of the Wodrenarune, but no one will hurt you here.”

  Velsa decided not to argue with them now. “Has Flynn been caught?” she dared to ask.

  “We don’t know…”

  A bell rang somewhere downstairs.

  “That’s for us,” Pan said. “Calban has a few houseguests right now. They were out riding in the auto, I guess they’re back for some tea. Hurry, let’s get you dressed.”

  “I don’t need help getting dressed.”

  “There are so many buttons.” Pan motioned for her to remove her clothes.

  Velsa didn’t feel she had much choice but to play along. She stripped to her underwear, and Pin shook her head. “It’ll all have to go, see?” She pointed at her own exposed hips.

  The garment was cut too high at the hips for underwear. It was like wearing underwear, really, and not much else: just one piece, that only covered her torso and bared the entirety of her arms and legs. The leg openings went almost all the way to her waist. It buttoned up the back from waist to neck with many tiny buttons, and was obviously made for a Fanarlem—there was no way a flesh and blood girl could have used the toilet with any speed. With the buttons fastened, the fabric strained against her every movement. It fit like it had been tailor-made for her dimensions precisely, and certainly not an inch more.

  But somehow the jewelry was even worse. The concubines clasped the gold snakes around her arms, clasped a heavy necklace around her like a collar. The settings were cold and her skin would not warm them. In her hair went the wings made of diamonds. Calban gave such lavish and expensive things to servants. This made her feel like even moreso like she was an inanimate object in his eyes. That was how he saw Fanarlem, wasn’t it? He’d practically said as much. He didn’t even worry that his concubines might steal his jewels.

  But I will. She brightened a little. Yes, if she could smuggle out the jewels when she ran away, they wouldn’t be broke when they got to Laionesse.

  Finally, the boots, that buttoned to her knees. They were similar to the boots she already owned, but with higher heels. And the concubines didn’t wear stockings, leaving the little buttons at the back of her legs exposed, along with all her stitches.

  The bell rang again, more urgently.

  “Oh dear, we’d better go,” Pen said.

  “I’m not going,” Velsa said.

  “Awnwi won’t like that.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Pin flitted toward the door. “It’s okay, I’ll explain. Velsa needs a little time to herself to settle in.”

  They left, and Velsa regarded herself in the mirror. She didn’t want to be here, but she had the familiar sensation of being slightly torn—that it might have been easier not to resist. But only if she could be with Grau. If he could be the one to unfasten all these buttons, she might not mind this outfit…

  But he was far away, and she had to keep resisting. Grau could die in the war before she was ever permitted to see him again.

  She explored the empty halls, the same ones where she had been with Grau not long ago. Here were the beaded curtains, the phonograph.

  The phonograph shared a room with shelves of records lining the walls. Calban must have had hundreds of songs. She counted a few to estimate and quickly corrected herself—thousands. Some chairs were gathered around for listening, and a magazine in a foreign language was sitting on the table, with a stylized illustration on the cover. Inside the delicate pages were photographs of round-eared women in a variety of dresses.

  This is from Earth…

  These were all women like Dennis might have seen before he left his home. These were their actual faces. This world of legends seemed farther away than the stars, and Calban had magazines sitting around from this fantastical land, like it was nothing. Their dresses were much like the newer styles in Nalim Ima. Identical-looking men in brimmed hats and suits sometimes accompanied the women. They looked so different from the people Velsa had grown up knowing, that the whole thing gave her a strange feeling. Grau definitely didn’t belong on these pages; somehow in comparison he looked downright barbarian.

  Velsa heard footsteps, and hastily shut the magazine and stood.

  Irik peered in the door.

  “Velsa?” Her voice sounded breathy, like she had hurried upstairs.

  Velsa drew back a step. Lost in the pages of the magazine, she had almost forgotten her present circumstances.

  There was nowhere to hide from Irik.

  “Velsa…” Irik trailed off, her eyes moving across Velsa’s body. “I just heard what happened. I didn’t know it would go this far.”

  Velsa stared at her. “But you did know?”

  Irik looked away, wrapping her arms around her waist. Her gray dress was almost like the ones in the magazine, and it didn’t quite suit her either. “Parsons asked me if I remembered that afternoon…when you stole away the girl, and that strange man bit my neck. I didn’t remember any of it, but she insisted we go see her telepathic friend to dredge up our memories. I didn’t know you were really Fanarlem-born…”

  “Yes, well…” Velsa hardly knew what to say.

  “The prisoner. Do you know where she is?” Irik’s tone was guarded.

  “No,” Velsa said. “I left her hiding out in the forest, but I don’t know what became of her.”

  “I need her back.”

  “Truly, I have no idea where she is.”

  “Why did you take her?”

  “Because—Dennis said he found the corpse of another girl, turned halfway into a bird. And then you and Parsons showed up and said the ‘experiment’ failed. You can’t turn people into half-birds. Anyway, it all happened so fast…”

  “Dennis is the vampire? How do you know him?”

  “I was taking a walk in the woods. We got to talking.” Velsa spread her hands. “I had to make a quick decision.”

  “I need her back…,” Irik repeated, but she seemed more uncertain now.

  “Why isn’t the spell working?”

  Irik clutched her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know what else to do. I thought I knew how to shape-shift; I’ve done it myself! I followed all the steps. I just don’t understand!”

  “Calban may have helped you but he wants something in return. He’s done the
same to me, the same to Kessily… What will he do if you never figure out how to turn him into a bird?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “We should escape together.”

  “Escape? No, I’ve tried to run from my life before. It didn’t go well. Calban was the one who saved me from that. I could never betray him.”

  Frustrated, Velsa dropped the magazine on the table. “I see.”

  “Calban isn’t really that bad,” Irik said.

  “Everyone keeps saying that, but forgive me if I don’t believe it. He snatched my life away from me, and expects me to wear his little outfit and…do what? Serve drinks at his parties for the next year or two?”

  “I think Calban is just trying to protect you,” Irik said. “Grau would be sent away to the front anyway. All the men will be soon, I think, except Calban, because he is Kalan’s voice. He respects your telepathic powers.”

  “He locked up my telepathic powers,” Velsa said.

  “Maybe not for long, though. Velsa, I understand his perspective. He has so much to keep in line, so many people to protect. He needs strong magic to protect us from the Miralem. This is no time to worry over the feelings of one or two people.”

  “Is Calban protecting us from the Miralem? It seems like all he cares about is clothes and music and dance.”

  “Well…you don’t really know him. These things are how he keeps his sanity with so much responsibility on his shoulders.”

  “I can’t believe you’re taking his side like this!” Velsa made a small sound between anguish and exasperation. “I thought you understood how it feels to be captured and controlled.”

  “I do, but it’s complicated!” Irik said. “You have never been on the brink of losing everything because you resisted the place you were given. Have you? I don’t want to see you make that mistake.” Irik took a step closer to Velsa. “Velsa…I understand how upset you must be right now. But I don’t think Calban will really keep you here that long. He just has to wait until Parsons gets past her feelings. And…you know, you look very beautiful.” She took Velsa’s wrist.

  Velsa drew her arm back, putting both her hands behind her back. “I don’t feel beautiful,” she said. “He teased me for dressing in coats, knowing I was doing it so I wouldn’t look like a concubine, and now he’s forcing me to be what he knows I don’t want to be.”

  “Is it really so shameful to be admired?”

  “You sound just like him. No wonder he saved you.”

  Irik recoiled. “I’m sorry. Maybe I don’t fully understand. You know we don’t have Fanarlem like you where I’m from. We don’t have Miralem shape-shifters either. It is a very valuable thing, to be beautiful. It gives women power that they might not have otherwise. I’m not sure what women do here, where everyone with money can be beautiful…” She sighed softly. “I hardly know what to say half the time. I don’t know how to handle myself here. It’s better here, and yet sometimes I am so homesick I…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “I think, at the heart of it, I’m being selfish. I want you to stay here with me. You helped me with my shape-shifting, so patiently. I’ve never touched anyone’s mind like that before.”

  Irik reminded Velsa of an inanimate girl herself, a formal creature carved from the royal court. She always held her distance, chose her words carefully. In this way, she was quite different from everyone Velsa had ever known. Atlantis was the cultural heart of the western lands that faced the sea, and it was a city founded by enterprising rogues, rough sailors and merchants who preferred money over honor. Kings and queens had not ruled this land in centuries.

  This was what drew Velsa to Irik. Glimpsing the real girl beneath the front seemed like such a triumph.

  “I’m so lonely sometimes,” Irik said. “Everyone else is so old, so secure in their place, except Parsons, but I don’t she likes anyone. Do you remember that first day we met?”

  “Of course I do…you screamed at me and asked if I was dead.” Velsa smiled faintly, but she felt a little uncertain about the way Irik said ‘the day we met’, like it had meant something.

  “I was scared of you, but later, I couldn’t stop thinking about your eyes. And then you kept appearing everywhere. In the conservatory, at the party…every time, so calm and assured.”

  Velsa scoffed. “I wasn’t calm at all. Quite the opposite. Especially with Calban around. If I seemed calm, it’s because Grau was there.”

  “Grau? Give yourself some credit.”

  “You’re right…” Velsa knew she spoke of Grau too often. Thought of Grau too often. Every day was a balancing act between her old life, and feeling like a woman who could stand on her own. She missed Grau because she missed him, but also because he was the shelter she could run to when standing on her own felt like too much.

  “Velsa…” Irik lifted a hand and touched Velsa’s face.

  Velsa stiffened. But she couldn’t seem to find any words.

  “I promise it wouldn’t be so bad here,” Irik said.

  Irik’s dark eyes drew her in like magnets. On some deep level, she did understand Irik. They had both been raised to pretend; they had both told a lie to change their fate.

  Grau had chosen Velsa from a crowd of concubines. But Velsa herself had chosen Irik; Velsa had been drawn to her from their first meeting, even while Irik was afraid of her.

  Irik noticed me because I noticed her.

  That was a powerful feeling. It welled within her, even as it felt as wrong.

  Irik gently pushed Velsa’s hair off her shoulders.

  Velsa thought of Grau’s sister, fixing Velsa’s hair before the party back at Grau’s family home. If you belonged to me, I would have to remove your band, just once, when we made love, Preya had said. She looked so much like Grau, and Velsa didn’t dare to allow herself to wonder, if she had ever been given a choice, would she like Preya more than Grau?

  Women more than men?

  No one had ever asked.

  And although she thought she knew the answer, although her desire for Grau’s body was sometimes overwhelming, she never had been given that choice.

  It hit her like a bolt that while she certainly didn’t love Irik, she had been infatuated with her from her first glimpse of the foreign girl’s sad eyes and striking, regal appearance. She had become a quiet symbol for Velsa’s own captivity, that she never was able to make her own choices about who to love.

  Velsa felt a little dizzy.

  “Velsa?” Irik’s voice was hushed. “You aren’t turning away…”

  “Irik, I…”

  “Isn’t it strange how two cultures can be so different,” Irik murmured, “that even the words they use have no translation? Back home, we believed that every person has two parts of their soul, one that can love a man and one that can love a woman. Both should be acknowledged and honored. Here, you don’t have that at all. You don’t even have the language to fully describe it.”

  “No,” Velsa said. “I’ve never heard of that…”

  “But do you ever think it might be true?”

  Velsa was tongue-tied, strangely afraid to answer.

  Irik leaned in to her, her dark brown eyes bright, closing just before she put her lips to Velsa’s. It seemed both startling and natural. Velsa didn’t fight but she also didn’t seem able to respond; she barely moved. Irik tasted of unfamiliar spices. She put a hand at the small of Velsa’s back.

  A rush of anguish and relief tingled down Velsa’s body.

  For a moment, she was caught in it. She wanted to know what Irik’s body felt like, tall and angular, yet soft and small compared to Grau…

  For a moment, it was heat and discovery. Irik’s mind, fluttering against Velsa’s, was yearning and sad.

  And then, like a firework dying away, Velsa had to draw back.

  Irik’s sadness and loneliness were so familiar to Velsa. Too familiar. Especially when taken with the fact that Irik defended Velsa’s captivity at Calban’s hands.

  Grau would never understand
what it was like to be born into slavery, but Irik’s first instinct, upon seeing Velsa the concubine, was to tell her she looked beautiful.

  Grau’s first instinct was to buy her a pair of pants.

  “Irik, I…I’m sorry. This isn’t—I shouldn’t have done this.”

  Irik drew back abruptly. “I am sorry. I overstepped.”

  “No, you didn’t, I—there is something between us, but it’s just—it’s not the right thing.”

  “I see. I’m sorry,” Irik repeated, and then she grabbed one of the magazines off the table, as if that was what she really wanted all along, and rushed out.

  Velsa touched her lips.

  More than anything, Velsa needed someone to remove the golden band. It was easy enough to do, if her head was removed for a moment, but she was unable to remove her own head. She might have asked Irik, before that incident, but now this was far too awkward.

  The other concubines were sympathetic, but they refused to help.

  “Too risky,” Pan said. “This house is crawling with servants at all hours, and they can tell the different between you and us. And the walls are enchanted, so you have to get out through the gates.”

  “Anyway, what would you do if you left?” Pen asked. “Hasn’t your husband already gone to the front?”

  Velsa slept horribly that night, tossing and turning and tugging at the band around her neck.

  The second morning, the bell rang again to summon them, and the other concubines dragged her along. “It isn’t so bad,” Pin said. “We just serve the guests some tea.”

  One of the kitchen staff was pushing a loaded cart of tea and small round cakes, jam and cream into the hall. She stared at Velsa as they approached.

  “You will behave yourself, won’t you,” she said, as a command rather than a question.

  “It doesn’t seem I have much of a choice.”

  “I hope you truly realize that,” the woman said.

  They entered an airy room, where five people gathered on a sofa and chairs that were woven like baskets, with floral-print cushions.