She decided it was.
She let herself slump against the door, eyes downcast, letting him think himself victorious. He relaxed just a fraction and she took her chance, pushing him with all the force she possessed. He went sliding back across the floor and stumbled, but did not fall.
Yarrow dropped into a fighting stance and waited -- she had no weapon but doubted Caelum would draw on her, unarmed as she was. I can take him -- strength does not conquer all. It was the first lesson of basic training, and one the skinny thirteen-year-old she had once been had learned well.
He came at her then, and she tensed, waiting to move. He feinted to her left and she fell for it, realising too late her mistake. She crashed to the floor, bruising her ribs, and then he was on top of her, crushing her further. They grappled and rolled, fighting for dominance, until she pinned him, digging her knees into just the right spots on his thighs. He grimaced in pain and Yarrow bared her teeth, grinning as ferally as her sister might.
"Give up?" she asked him.
He glared, grunted, and then, in a display of strength, flipped her up and over his head. She landed on the stone floor, her head making a sickening 'crack' noise. Dizzily she looked up to see him leaning over her. "Not hardly," he whispered in her ear as his hand grabbed her braid, free now, and he pulled her up by her hair.
She snarled and kicked and moved, trying to spin around to fight him, but he had her in a headlock then. He tightened his grip and the loss of air to her brain made her realise the futility of struggling. The only way to free herself would be to break his foot or his groin, and she just didn't have it in her actually to hurt him.
At least not in the castle, so close to good healers. She could hurt him in Mudflat.
"Fine," she choked out, trying to catch her breath. "You can come."
He loosened his hold but did not let go. "On your word as a bellica?" he asked her.
She almost changed her mind about hurting him. When had she ever betrayed him? But he was being smart about it, and she couldn't begrudge him using his mind for once. "Yes. In Bellona's name I swear it. Now let me go!"
He released her and she stumbled away, coughing and hacking, getting air back into her lungs. To her relief, he didn't try to help her but stood, waiting to be sure she was okay.
At length she stood and glared at him. She'd be lucky to make Provisioning and Requisitions on time now, at all. "Be ready to leave at dawn -- Main Gate," she said. "If you're late, we leave without you," she added over her shoulder as she walked away.
Heading to the offices, she thought about the new Caelum she'd seen tonight and wondered about the change that had come over her oldest friend. He seemed...smarter. More courtly. Which was strange, considering he'd been raised a farm boy -- he couldn't even read when she'd met him, and he'd been seventeen. He could now, of course, but words certainly were not his strong suit.
He had gone to Southland for leave and his uncle had once been been a courtier. Perhaps Pieter had given him a few tips.
She shook her head, accepting that as the most likely explanation. He certainly was different.
And I'm not sure I like it.
Molly
Everything was in place. Everyone was tensed, ready. All that waited was the signal. The signal she had to give.
What could she say? Luis had been right, Whether the Goddess or his unfailing intuition had told him did not matter -- for Molly had help. With that help, she'd planned a rebellion in little under a tredicem.
Everything was ready. Soon the city would be hers, and Luis would be free.
But she had to wait for the exactly the right moment.
That wasn't now.
The year would end tonight. On a Jourd'Umbra, no less, considered a good omen for the coming year, which would then begin on a Jourd'Aradia. Good luck indeed, to end in darkness and begin in light.
This time it was going to be good luck, silly superstition or not. As of New Year's Day, Duchess Danika would be dead, the city theirs, Luis free -- and the world would change.
She -- Molly, the cripple, the unloved -- she had organised it.
She sighed -- not an unhappy sound but an exhalation of air -- and turned over in bed, letting her body curve against that of her lover's, code name "Lucy."
They all had codenames, in this rebellion. She was "Aradia", named fo the first rebel in their history, the one who had changed things irrevocably so many millennia ago. Her story was so old, no one knew if it was true. The name had power: none but the royal family and the highest order of the priestesshood were allowed to call to Aradia of the Stars in supplication, on pain of death. Nothing stops me from using Her name as a code, Molly thought as she snuggled closer to Lucy.
They were in the safe house, deep in the ghetto, where they went for time alone. Or for planning rebellions.
It had been Lucy who had given Molly the power to do what she'd done. The contacts. The courage. The support.
A miserable day at market, following a miserable day at home, had ended at Lucy's place, hatching plans of revolt.
"I heard tell," the woman had said over their tea, "of a stockpile of old weapons, just north of town."
Molly frowned. "How old? Will they still work?"
Lucy shrugged. "Who knows? But it's worth a shot."
"If they're really there," Molly said gloomily, unable to believe they could be.
"If they're not, I know several people who can outfit us with the more standard knives and swords. But the possibility of Second Age weapons is worth a look-see, I think," she said, drinking her tea.
Molly nodded. The weapons were worth whatever the impoverished rebels could give. The technology of the Second Age had been...incredible. So said the legends. If there was something they could use, the rebellion would succeed.
They'd gone north, in search of the stockpile. There they'd found many strange items, and after testing them out on nearby wildlife (and nearly setting the land on fire) they'd determined what worked and what didn't. Most of it worked.
Molly could hardly believe her luck. Then again, it had been a Jourd'Selene on the day they'd met, a mere ten days ago. Maybe the Goddess did speak to Luis.
Or mayhap it's coincidence. She didn't really care. All she knew was that she'd never been so happy to have someone run into her and knock her down.
She knew the danger, of course. If they failed, she knew too much truth about Lucy for her lover to be safe. And vice versa, she was sure.
Danika's already taken Luis, and if I fail at this....Then she would have failed at everything, and nothing would matter anymore. At least an attempted rebellion would give the people of Athering hope -- if the story got out. It had to get out. It would. She had planned for that.
If they succeeded, however, all was to be kept silent. Aeril could not stand against the forces of Atherton, even if Molly had an ally in the bellica of the second regiment. An ally she'd not heard from in too long.
No, there was no counting on Selina, for all that Molly trusted the woman. There were too many variables at work. She just hoped that, when they succeeded, help would come soon enough. Help from where, she didn't know. She would try. Mayhap they would succeed.
She might have only limited time with this woman who had changed everything. So, despite the pre-dawn hour, despite their need for sleep for tonight's rebellion, Molly lifted the long tresses that guarded Lucy's neck and began to cover the sensitive skin there with gentle kisses.
A murmur in response, and Molly intensified her caresses, nibbling where shoulder and neck met; hands roaming over breasts, belly, hips. Lucy moaned and arched her back against Molly, driving her skin against the insistent caresses of the nascent rebel leader.
Molly's hand found its way between Lucy's legs, the place that welcomed her fingers as they worked their magic expertly. At this, Lucy turned, facing Molly, and kissed her deeply and passionately.
Lucy's kisses always made Molly want to surrender completely, reaching and loving as they did
some deep wound in the ex-healer, but not tonight. She was determined to remain in control this time. Her hand continued its manipulation of Lucy's most sensitive part, while her other hand continued its tender explorations elsewhere, until the gorgeous blonde tensed, a small cry escaping her mouth, and shuddered against Molly, collapsing as the pleasure took her over.
Smiling in the darkness at her limp lover, Molly gave Lucy one last stroke, making her convulse, before removing her hand and leaning back. She curved her back and stretched her muscles, the satisfaction she'd given her lover satisfying her.
She was not to be let off so easily. Lucy pounced then, giving lie to her previous passivity and reminding Molly that her lover was far more experienced than she was. Gratefully she surrendered to her lover's tongue as it laved away the pain of her life. "Mmm," she murmured against Lucy's lips, and the other woman gave a soft chuckle before moving her mouth down the length of Molly's body. She opened to Lucy eagerly, letting the sensations take down her defenses, drifting on a sea of yes.
When she came to, stars in her vision dazzling her night-blind eyes, Lucy was curled up against her, already asleep again. Molly pulled the blanket over them and kissed the other woman on the top of the head.
"I love you, Selene," she whispered, only daring enough to say it when her lover slept, daring to use Lucy's real name only in the dead of night, when no one could hear.
"I love you," she whispered again, safe to be herself only in the perfect anonymity of darkness. There was nothing else to be said.
Jules
Jules woke to the feeling of being stared at. He raised himself up on his elbow and looked at the space beside his bed. A flash of light on eyes. Gold eyes.
"Ghia? What...is it dawn already?" No, it couldn't be, for the windows showed darkness outside.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, and he felt a pressure on his mattress as she sat the edge of his bed. "I couldn't sleep."
He groaned and flopped back against his pillow. "And so you decided to keep me from slumber as well?"
"No." Her voice was small, and he regretted getting cross with her. "I was hoping you had some trick for getting to sleep in difficult times...some soldier's trick, mayhap."
None that I could practise with you, Luscious. He realised he'd need another cold shower in the morning.
He rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Do you want me to sing you a lullaby?" he asked, somehow keeping his voice from being flippant. It was the only thing that came to mind and didn't involve stripping her naked and ravishing her until she screamed his name in pleasure.
Woah, there. Down, boy.
"Yes, please," she whispered, and before his surprise could register she was lying down beside him. Hastily he scooted over to make room, and she snuggled up against his chest.
"You want to sleep here, then," he said. Was he dreaming?
Her head moved against his chest in a nod. "I trust you, Jules."
He suppressed a groan and wrapped his arms around her in a hug. Good show, Jules -- a young, gorgeous, buxom girl in your bed and you're just friends. What did you do to piss off Desirelle?
Determined to keep his thoughts pure, he started rocking her gently and singing in a not-too-terrible voice. He'd had to sing Nathan to sleep when his brother had been a babe, after all; so he had some practice.
Soon Ghia's breathing dropped into a regular in-and-out, signifying deep sleep. Jules let his voice fade into silence and stopped rocking her. She didn't stir, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
Now. If he could just ignore the feeling of Ghia's supple body against him, he was sure he'd have a wonderful night's rest.
As wonderful as possible, sharing such a small bed.
Hope
Lady Hope Exsil Vis eased herself out of her lord's bed and stole out of the room, heading to her own, private bedroom.
It had been a difficult five days. Her previous bruises still showed, and she had fresh ones marring her golden-toned skin. She ached all over, but in a sleepy, satisfied way. It disgusted her.
Her lord had not been pleased when he'd discovered her deception. That was what had kept her from supper on Anala's first night there. The make-up she'd used to save face (she almost laughed at the phrase, but her ribs were cracked again) in front of her eldest daughter had prevented her from saving Anala from her lord.
Drugged and held captive by one's own father. Hope supposed it was a bit better than being murdered by one's parents -- a story that dotted the long history of the Exsil Vis family. A history she knew too damned well.
A bath was in order. She turned on the hot taps and waited for the water to fill her giant tub. The smell had never bothered her, though she'd heard from outsiders that the water here was putrid. She was Vocan, born and bred.
Born, at least, and maybe half-bred. The other half, she wasn't sure -- she knew it was Magi, but beyond that she didn't know much. She wished Corinus was still alive, so she could talk to him, as she'd done so often when she and Charity had lived in the wilds of Voco, on the edges of Deadwood. It was because of Corinus that she and her sister had survived at all when they'd been cast out of the palace, accused of something they'd never practised.
Their mother, source of their non-human heritage, had not been so lucky, for all that her sole crime had been failing to age as she should have. Hope could still smell her flesh burning as she writhed in her final bonds, a staked sacrifice to superstition and fear.
Ah, well. It was all in the past. And that I cannot change. She grimaced as she lowered her injured body into the tub.
The future, now...the future she still had influence over. She was glad she had chosen Lares to be her spy -- his undying loyalty and steadfast love of her would be of great use in this situation, as it had been in so many others.
She cared for him, as much as she could. She'd long passed the point where she'd let emotions override practicality, however.
She was glad, too, that she still had enough influence in Harbourtown to make sure it had been Merry who'd taken Anala across the water. The man maintained an avuncular affection for Anala, although it'd been twenty-seven years since he'd last seen Hope's daughter. He'd kept abreast of Anala's life, either through what Tenea told him in her frequent letters or what filtered back to Harbourtown in gossip.
As much as Hope had been kept abreast of Anala's life for nigh on three decades, it was not because of a brilliant spy network, as Lares assumed. He alone was her entire spy network. No, Hope read the world through dreams, not her own but the dreams of other people.
That was her power -- reading and influencing others through their dreams. Her Magi heritage had given her that and an unnaturally long life -- but not much else that Hope could see.
It was through careful use of her gift and innate caution that she had managed to keep the second, more powerful part of it hidden from Maurice. As he saw no benefit in reading dreams, he had not used her for her gift.
That was the strangest part of their relationship, for Maurice was not an impractical man. Hope had expected him to kill her after she'd birthed Miranda, for she was sure he wanted her only for the powers she might give to children of her womb. Instead he had married her and, while he'd not been faithful to her, he'd nonetheless been as good a husband as his nature permitted. God knew that most of the time she was happy with him, and he was good in bed--when he was in a good mood.
Or even a bad mood, she admitted, adjusting her position in the tub. It was her familial legacy -- human, not Magi -- to relish bedroom violence, either giving or receiving. She preferred to receive; he to give. They were perfectly paired.
Most days she was at peace with what she was -- undoubtedly a strong minded woman and independent to a fault, for had he not said upon his taking of her that he "liked a woman with spirit"? But most of the time she was unable to do anything but offer up token resistance. Even the first time, which had been far from consensual.
Days like today...all she felt was disgust. Your dau
ghter lies drugged in her suite, in terrible danger, and you spend your evenings screaming in pleasure as your lord whips you senseless. Some mother you are!
Truly, she feared for her daughters, for Anala more so than Miranda. Maurice loved them only for their usefulness to him -- why else had he asked for Anala in exchange for that bitch Isidora? A deal Hope was glad those bellicas had refused. Why else was Anala trapped here now?
She had to free her daughter. She knew this. She also knew she'd be giving up her last chance in doing so.
That was fine. She had never taken any of the opportunities to leave presented to her. She had been tempted, but she was Vocan -- this place was home to her, and the only way she could make sure it stayed homelike was by staying at her lord's side. She'd made peace with their complicated relationship too many times to count and she was sure she could do it forever. She was sure she could never leave him.
It wasn't love. Not quite. But it wasn't hate. She'd never been able to figure out what it was, except mutual need. She was the only woman strong enough to give Maurice what he desired in the bedroom, and the only woman strong enough to challenge his intellect. As long as she stayed with him, she would not be killed by an angry mob. She was well over eight decades and still had not aged a day beyond an apparent twenty-five or twenty-six. That was a power she could well have done without.
But then I would not have lived to birth my beautiful, lovely Anala. She stared at the old and dirty tile work in her bathroom. My lovely Anala whom I somehow have to get out of the palace.
For that was the one kink in her plan. Anala was still under the influence of the drug, though she'd fought it admirably for a while. It had been hopeless, though. It was a drug specially formulated against Magi, as Hope should know, for it had been tested extensively on her.
She'd had some success in making Anala lucid again through the bellica's dreams. When Anala woke up, however, Hope's influence would be lost and she would succumb to the drug again. It was terribly frustrating.
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