by Rachel Lee
The voice was closer now, and all of a sudden a hand gripped his arm in an iron vice, halting him in his tracks.
“Do you not recognize me, cousin?”
Slowly Nagari turned to look at his captor. At first the face was as strange to him as if he had never seen it before. “I do not…” Then the years seemed to melt away, and ice filled his heart. “Ratha?”
“Aye,” Ratha answered. “And my brother Giri, as well.”
Giri stepped out of the shadows, and the expression on his face was enough to freeze Nagari to his very core. Some portion of his brain scrabbled for a way to speak, looking for something sensible and safe to say.
“You escaped!” Nagari gasped.
“We didn’t escape,” Ratha answered grimly. “We were sold for a third time, and on that third occasion our new master set us free. Have you any thought, cousin, for the degradation we suffered?”
“It…it must have been terrible.”
Ratha leaned even closer. “It was worse than terrible. You can have no idea what slavery does to the soul. For you have escaped it all these years, have you not?”
“I…I’ve been fortunate.”
“Hmm.” Ratha’s grip slipped from Nagari’s arm to the front of his tunic and lifted him slightly from his feet. “We have been thinking for many years, my brother and I, about how we were first captured. About who it was who suggested that a small group of us leave the ceremony to hunt the boar and surprise everyone. And who did not accompany us for the hunt.”
Nagari felt his jaw drop. How could they have guessed? “I was delayed! You had left already!”
“Lies!” Ratha hissed, shoving and releasing him at the same moment, so that he fell against the wall. “How many others of us have you sold into slavery? How many times have you betrayed your own kin? How many?”
Nagari wanted to argue with him, to claim innocence, to deny every possible suggestion that he had betrayed his kind and his kin. But the words would not come. It was as if for once in his life no lie would pass his lips.
“Come,” said Ratha, pulling his sword and pointing the tip straight at Nagari’s heart. “Tell us the truth. Surely you can speak the truth for once. Tell us how many of your kinsmen you made into pack horses and party whores. Tell us how many families grieve because of you. Speak!”
Nagari opened his mouth, his gaze fixed on the sword. He had to deny it. He must deny it, for surely there was no way Ratha or Giri could be certain of their suspicions.
But the words that tumbled out were not the lies he wanted to tell. They were the pain of a heart too long constricted by its own fell deeds.
“I did it to protect Cilla!”
“Pah!”
“I did! Have you no idea what the Bozandari would have done to such a beautiful girl? Can you not imagine the horror she would have faced?”
“I need not imagine,” Ratha said bitterly, “for I saw other Anari daughters in bondage. I saw the welts on their thighs and the shame in their eyes. I saw their bellies begin to swell, and the terror in their faces, knowing that soon they would disappear into the night, to be butchered before their babies could shame the honor of a nobleman. Because of you, Nagari! Because of you!”
The struggle on Ratha’s face was apparent and fierce, but gradually he lowered his sword. At that moment Cilla materialized from the shadows.
Slowly she moved toward her brother, who had struggled to his knees. When she stood over him, she stared down at him impassively.
“Cilla?” he said plaintively. “I did it to save you.”
In answer, she spat in his face. The shame in his eyes turned to anger, and his hand shot out, slapping her cheek. “How dare you?”
He was dead before his last words had faded into the night—indeed before he felt the blow that killed him.
Tom awoke to a warmth stirring beside him and realized it was Sara moving in her sleep. Sleep was a luxury in which she had not indulged much of late. While he had lain resting from his injury, she had nursed him, fretted over him, in a way that left him both grateful and ashamed. She was a strong Whitewater lass, his Sara, and for that he was grateful. She was stronger than he, and for that he loathed himself.
Slipping an arm around her, he made quiet shushing sounds, hoping to lull her back into the sleep she so desperately needed. He felt her hand settle over his, her skin somehow both tough and delicate, her fingertips slowly trailing along the length of his fingers. His body reacted without conscious thought, warmth growing in his loins and in his heart, and he shifted closer to her. Perhaps she was still dreaming, and if so, he dared not wake her, but the slow movement of her fingers against his sparkled through him like the lights he had seen above Anahar. His shushing sounds faded into slower, deeper breaths, and only then did he hear her soft half-giggle, half-sigh.
For a moment, he froze. But then she whispered, so soft that he would never know whether he had thought or imagined it.
“Don’t be frightened, my darling. Lie with me.”
His member seemed to react to her words as if with a will of its own, and the reaction was not dimmed as she pressed her buttocks against him. Her hand guided his to her breast, massaging herself with his fingers as if directing him in the caresses she most needed. He felt her breathing deepen and match pace with his, and would not have been surprised if even their heartbeats had fallen into unison, for in this moment he felt more one with her than he could ever have imagined in his boyhood fantasies.
“Aye, my love,” she whispered again. “Aye.”
Now almost painfully engorged, his shaft sought her as a snake seeks its burrow, answering to a primal instinct that transcended thought. Her thighs and hips shifted, and soon he felt the caress of her wetness against him, calling to him, welcoming him. Their moans rose in unison as he slipped into her and their hips began a dance as old as time itself.
Quiet it began, and patient, for even in his heat he realized that a moment such as this was not to be rushed. Small whimpers that might have been pain or pleasure escaped her lips, and she pressed his fingertips together against her nipple. The dance quickened and slowed to her sighs and shudders, for he was in the thrall of her every breath, her every sound, her every moment. He pushed her hair aside with his cheek and kissed her nape, the first curve of her strong shoulder, the soft flesh behind her ear, tasting the faint salty tang that glistened on her skin, drinking in her scent, her warmth, until he felt as if the world would be complete only if their bodies were joined and their hearts wrapped together, never again to be separate beings, forever one life, one hope, one dream, one thought.
She arched her back the tiniest bit, and he felt as if he had fallen into her, as if she were pulling him deeper with every movement, until he was wholly submersed in her love. His jaw quivered, and now one of her hands slid down to hold him in place as he fought the urge to thrust. His need cried out for satisfaction, but he held it back, still wrapped in the spell of the woman with whom he lay, trying to think her every thought, to feel her every sensation, to make of himself what would most fulfill her, for a woman such as this deserved no less and much more.
Her breathing grew ragged, and, in the dim predawn light, he watched her lips tremble as her fingers released him and her shuddering whisper emerged.
“Now, my darling. Now.”
He plunged deeper, the world losing focus, all that remained was the warmth of her, the breath of her, the taste of her—the love of her. The sparkles began again, this time starting in his toes and dancing up his clenching thighs until they reached his loins and exploded deep within her. The world seemed to grow and recede in waves of joy, fluttering within and cries without confirming her completeness, fanning the warmth in his heart until he would have sworn it shone with a white glow.
One by one, he felt his muscles flutter and then go soft, his body slowly sliding down from the peak into the pillowy depths below. It was if he were riding on a puffy cloud, mist tingling against his skin, her womanhood still embra
cing him, their fingers still entwined, their breath slowing, until the world began once again to reveal itself before their eyes.
“Oh, Sara,” he said, the first words he had spoken since he awoke. He could find no more to follow.
“Aye,” she replied, and it was not a question.
He realized he could find no more words because there were no more to be found. Her name alone spoke every thought.
“Sara,” he whispered, his head settling to the pillow, his face bathed by her hair. “Sara.”
She squeezed his hand and clutched it between her breasts. “Aye,” she whispered. “Aye.”
In the next room, Tess had listened to the muted sounds, a soft smile on her face. She would never embarrass her sister by speaking of what she had heard, but within her grew a joy that, she knew, was only the barest hint of Sara’s bliss. For the briefest moment, having awakened to their stirring, she had felt the caresses on her skin, the ache in her loins. Had she been awake enough to consider it, it might have startled her. Instead, in her still half-asleep state, it had seemed only natural that she could feel Sara’s sensations. And only proper to close that door and give her sister privacy in this most intimate of moments.
Now, lying in the growing dawn, she found that she could reopen that door and feel the pleasant satisfaction coursing through every nerve, the warm trickle between her thighs, the comfort of an embrace. For a moment she thought to close the door once again, but the novelty of the sensation prickled her curiosity. Even more, she realized, it was as if the door wanted to be open.
Sara felt the rhythm of Tom’s breathing slide back into sleep, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Yet not alone. As if she were watching herself in a mirror, she realized she could feel Tess feeling her. There was no threat in Tess’s presence, no hint of shame. She had felt the flicker of that presence earlier, then felt it withdraw, and she knew her sister had stepped back so that she could be alone with Tom. But now Tess had edged closer, drawn by curiosity, restrained by the fear that she might not be welcome.
Sara opened herself with a silent inner smile.
He is such a lovely man, Tess thought.
Yes, Sara thought in reply. He is all that I could ever hope for.
And yet he fears he is not enough for you.
I know, Sara thought with a pang of sadness. If only he and I could talk like this. He would know my heart.
It is not your heart he doubts, Tess replied, but his own. The whispers of your soul could not assuage him.
How long have you known this?
About Tom?
No, sister, Sara thought, stifling a giggle lest she awaken him. About…this?
Only just now, Tess thought, compressing her lips. I’m sorry, Sara. I didn’t mean to…
No! Sara thought. There is no reason to apologize. In fact…it pleases me that we can share this. I would have wanted to share it somehow, for what I feel is…
I can tell, Tess thought, laughing quietly.
Aye, Sara thought, once again suppressing laughter. You can. Oh, Tess, I never imagined I could feel this way. Whatever beauty there be in this world is found in love.
So true, Tess thought. Someday…
I know, sister, Sara thought. And aye, someday…he will realize.
So you have already chosen someone for me? Tess thought, a smile creasing her face.
You cannot tell me that you do not know, Sara thought. Surely you must see it in his eyes.
His eyes long for one who is gone, Tess thought. Not for me.
Perhaps, Sara thought. Perhaps not.
Suddenly a thought crossed their minds in the same instant.
Do you realize what this means?
Aye, Tess began. If this be so, perhaps…
…our enemy’s advantage is lost, Sara completed. If this be so…
…there is hope after all.
19
“By the gods!” Giri swore. “Ratha….”
Ratha pulled his sword from Nagari’s corpse and turned to his brother, every line of his face defiant. “He attacked Cilla. He was vermin.”
“He was all that you say and more,” Giri said. “He died more swiftly than he deserved. But the law…”
Cilla stepped forward as Ratha wiped the blood from his blade onto Nagari’s breeches. Taking his hand in hers, she spoke in a chilling tone. “I am a Monabi judge. I judge that you acted in my defense. Get this…filth…out of our city.”
“Yes,” Giri said. “Filth.”
“Take no joy in this, Giri Monabi,” she cautioned. “There is a gulf between that which is necessary and that which is good.”
Then she faced Ratha again, studying his face closely. “There is something in you that you need to dispel, cousin. Something dark that will not aid us in the days to come. Take the body out into the mountains and bury it, then remain there and fast until you have purified yourself of this darkness.”
“I’ll go with you,” Giri said at once.
“No,” Cilla said. “No. Ratha must do this himself, or he will ever be weak before the darkness.”
She looked into her cousin Ratha’s face, her own a mirror of sorrow. “You are strong. I know you can do this. Then come back to us, Ratha. Soon.”
Stretching a little, she pressed her cheek to his, whispering, “May Elanor guide you and protect you.”
Ratha nodded. While his face remained like stone unhewn, his eyes now reflected a troubled sorrow. When he spoke, his voice had grown low and lost all its anger. “My thanks, cousin.” Then he clasped hands with Giri, and the two brothers exchanged long looks.
Finally Giri spoke. “I will help you remove the body from town.”
There was too much light from the stones in most streets to hide such an act, so the brothers perforce wrapped the body in a bundle of rugs that were sometimes used to make tents. With this they merely appeared to be new arrivals looking for a place to make camp.
Cilla watched them ride away, her heart still hammering from what had passed, but her spirit certain that she had acted rightly. These were no ordinary times. A spy and traitor must be removed before he could cause more harm.
Even if he was her brother.
She had loved Nagari all her life, and she sank slowly against the wall where he had died and let silent tears flow for the brother who had always watched over her, even in earliest childhood. His death, however justified, rent her heart.
But she was Ilduin, and as she was learning however reluctantly, being Ilduin carried a responsibility that sometimes required one to be hard.
She was still weeping when Sara and Tess found her a short while later.
Both Sara and Tess had been jolted out of slumber by a sudden vision of death followed hard by a searing, aching grief. At once they saw that Ratha had killed a man and understood this man was related to Cilla.
Then both heard her silent cries, “Why, brother? Oh, why?”
They nearly collided in the main room of their lodging as they hurried from warm slumber to the aid of their Ilduin sister. A look passed between them, an understanding. Wrapping themselves in their cloaks, they hurried toward the silent cries, toward Monabi-Tel. As their feet flew along the paths, they learned that Cilla had sent Ratha into temporary exile to banish his demons, and that Giri would help him only so far before he must return.
At some level it amazed Tess that Cilla’s orders had been so readily obeyed by the brothers. She had never seen them defer to anyone save Archer. But Cilla was more than their cousin, she realized. Cilla was a Monabi judge.
The full meaning of that was not clear to her, but Cilla’s grief was as clear as if it were her own. Another glance at Sara told her that the younger woman felt it just as strongly.
Cilla’s silent grief led them straight to her, on a street not far from Monabi-Tel’s gateway. They found her huddled against a wall, silent tears running down her face.
At once they squatted and gathered around her, supporting her with their presence and caring.
When she looked up, her eyes swollen and reddened, her iridescent black skin wet with tears, there was a kind of wonder in her face. “You heard me,” she said.
Tess and Sara nodded. “Can you not hear us?”
Cilla closed her eyes for a few moments, then nodded. “Aye. Then you know what has passed.”
“As well as we can.”
“My brother betrayed the Tel. More, he betrayed all Anari. He was an instrument of the Bozandari.” Her voice broke, and Tess nodded encouragingly.
“He sold my cousins into slavery, and many others, as well. And…and he said he did it for me.”
Tess suddenly grasped the true well of Cilla’s grief, and it was only partly caused by her brother’s death. The betrayal was terrible, being made to feel responsible for it, more terrible still.
She reached out for Cilla and hugged her. “You have no responsibility for what your brother chose to do. None. If you had known, you would have stopped him.”
Cilla drew back and met Tess’s gaze. You read my heart so well.
Tess nodded. As now you read ours.
Cilla bowed her head for a few minutes, as if gathering to herself all the impressions she could of Sara and Tess, of this new and amazing link between them. Then she lifted her head and looked at them both.
This does indeed offer us hope!
Suddenly the three of them were smiling at each other. They had crossed another threshold and could begin to see its possibilities. Grief still hung heavy around them, however, and when Cilla pushed herself to her feet, they were not surprised by what she said.
“I need us to go somewhere together,” she said. “Some place where I can talk freely about my brother. None among the Anari must know, but…”
Tess understood. “Come to our lodging. Tom is there, but Tom is not Anari, and he understands the need for secrets.”
“Aye,” Sara agreed. “He has a way of seeing to the heart of things.”
Back at their lodgings in Gewindi-Tel’s area, Tess built up the fire on the hearth, and Sara brewed a soothing tea. Cilla wept quietly for a while, but gradually calmed and began to speak of her childhood with Nagari and how she had worshipped him. And then how betrayed she had felt when she learned he had been working for the Bozandari and claimed he had done it to protect her.