A Savior’s Song – Book Two – The Gathering Storm
An Original Erotic Romance Series
Amileigh Babineaux D’Lecoire
05/13/2012
Copyright © 2012, Amileigh B D’Lecoire. All rights reserved.
Publisher's Note
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents
either are the product of the authors' imaginations or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events
or locales is entirely coincidental.
~1~
“Hold still, Melisande!”
Melisande squirmed and fidgeted as her nursemaid tugged at the tangles in her hair. Eugenia had been her mother’s nursemaid before her, and had been with Melisande since the day she’d been born. She was a robust woman with short gray hair worn in tight pin curls around her head, and most afternoons she had the patience of a saint with her mistresses’ precocious eight year old daughter. But today was different. Today, she was tense and cranky, and twice now she had pinched Melisande’s arm when the young girl refused to stop twitching.
“You’re hurting me,” Melisande protested as Eugenia tried once again to drag the ivory comb through her unruly mass of copper-colored hair. Tears welled up in large green eyes and Melisande bit her lip to try and keep from crying. It wasn’t so much the pain that bothered her as it was Eugenia’s foul temper and lack of usual warmth.
Eugenia stopped for a moment and met Melisande’s gaze in the large beveled mirror that hung against the wall over a massive, intricately carved marble vanity. She looked frightened, Melisande thought, and her stomach begin to ache just a little.
“Eugenia, let me,” a soft voice called from the doorway. Melisande and Eugenia both looked up with a startled gape as Melisande’s mother, Perclusia, walked in. It was rare that she came to Melisande’s apartments so early in the day, but here she was none the less, looking radiant as always as she walked in and took the comb from Eugenia’s stiff fingers. She smiled down at her daughter, her eyes full of love as she stroked the top of Melisande’s head softly and with great affection. “I would have some time alone with my daughter before - “ But she stopped herself from finishing her sentence when she noticed Melisande studying her intently.
“As you wish, mistress,” Eugenia said with a proper nod and small bow. She turned to study Melisande and gave her a sad smile as her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “You mind your manners with your mother, Melisande, and no chewing on your nails,” she admonished with an affectionate wave of her finger. Without another word she bowed with graceful respect and was gone, the pale yellow tunic billowing softly behind her as she went. Cotton, Melisande remembered her mother telling her, very different from the clinging silks that she and her mother wore. Melisande was fascinated by the feel of the thinner material and often wished her own tunics were made of the lighter material. The silks she was forced to wear made it almost impossible to climb trees or chase after goats with her friend Athos, and her mother always frowned when Melisande returned home with a freshly ruined garment.
“So beautiful already,” her mother said as she sank onto the soft cushions of the chair behind where Melisande stood. “And yet you prefer to tumble in the dust like a goat-keeper’s daughter. I dare-say you get that from your father.”
“Do you miss him?” Melisande asked pointedly. Her Mother blinked at her in the mirror and her smile faltered slightly. She recovered quickly and began to work nimble fingers through the jumbled mass of tangles gently and with practiced ease.
“Yes, I do. He was a man of great honor who served Rome well, and he loved his family very much.” The lies came easily enough anymore so that Perclusia did not even hesitate or falter.
But Melisande knew. Each time she asked the questions, the answers were the same. Her mother lied to her, but Melisande could not puzzle out what the actual lie was. There was proof everywhere that her father had been a well respected Patrician who had served Rome faithfully. He had been loved and honored by those who belonged to the surrounding clans and gens, and by listening to their stories about him she knew he had been a good man. But, she had no intimate memory of him outside of what her mother chose to tell her, which was very little. He had died when she was still at her mother’s breast and no one ever actually spoke of what had happened.
“A bad heart,” Eugenia had finally relented and muttered one day under Melisande’s intense questioning. But she had been lying, too, and the old woman had fidgeted and stammered under the unwavering stare of a seven year old girl until she had felt her skin begin to crawl with bugs, rushing from the gardens to douse her arms with water from one of the fountains. Years later Melisande would learn she had caused Eugenia’s discomfort, but at the time she had simply been puzzled and curiously detached as the older woman had fretted and fussed, finding it odd and amusing that she had only seconds before imagined that very thing when she’d grown frustrated with the woman’s lies.
“I wish I could have known him,” Melisande said, “I bet he would have taught me how to fish in the stream like Athos and his father.” Her mother laughed and Melisande smiled, soothed by the sound. Her mother was the most beautiful woman in the world, and Melisande loved everything about her.
“Do not be so sure. More like than not he would have scolded you daily for your un-lady-like behavior and then sent you to a proper school for girls as soon as you were of age.” Her eyes twinkled as she teased Melisande, distracting her as she began to slowly and carefully run the comb through her hair once more.
“I suppose that would be ok, if it meant I’d grow up to be beautiful like you.”
“There are those who would say beauty is a curse.”
“They are stupid, then. How could beauty be a curse?” She turned to look at her mother. “I overhead Eugenia telling cook that Senator Proctavion’s daughter was able to get anything she wanted because of how beautiful her sex is.”
“Melisande!” her mother gasped in horror. For a moment Melisande thought her mother might pinch her like Eugenia had done earlier, but then her mother only began to laugh softly as she went back to combing her hair. “Remind me to have Eugenia’s mouth washed out with soap for gossiping. And I’ll order the same for you if you repeat such things, even if they are true.” Her mother turned Melisande back around, but not before Melisande caught the small sneer that momentarily marred her otherwise perfect features.
“King Numa comes,” Melisande said flatly after several moments. She had dreamed it last night and knew it to be true. Perclusia did not react, for she knew Melisande had the gift of vision and was simply struggling with how to explain to Melisande why he was coming.
“Yes,” her mother said simply.
“Is that why Eugenia is so cranky today? She pinched me twice, mother. She never pinches me.” Fresh tears threatened at the memory and her mother bent to hug her close.
“Do not be angry with Eugenia. She loves you very much.” She kissed Melisande’s cheek and had to struggle with her own tears. “Numa comes today to test you, Melisande. It is his intention to take you back to serve in the temples of Vesta.” Her voice was tight and Melisande knew her mother was using great restraint to hold back her own tears. “It is a great honor to serve Mother Rome as a Vestalis. It is said Vesta herself comes to our King in visions and directs him on who should be honored as such.”
Melisande’s heart began to flutter against her fragile chest.
“There,” her mother sniffed in an attempt to divert Melisande’s attention. She nudged Melisande who met her gaze in the mirror, innocent eyes filled with dawning comprehension. She barely noticed the now silken array of curls that had been soothe
d under her mother’s expert hands. An ivory and pearl clasp had been used to gather her hair on top of her head so that it drifted down in a gleaming, coppery cloud about her shoulders. Even as a child there is something ethereal about her, Perclusia thought as she frowned down at her. As if a woman’s soul gazed out from beneath those large eyes of hers.
“You will make me go away with him.” Melisande’s small voice was flat with accusation.
“It is not my choice to decide, Melisande. He is our King. To disobey would mean death to us all. And if he does call you to serve in the temples, it is not so very far to the city below. Not even half a day’s ride. Eugenia and I will visit you as often as they will allow.” Her mother’s voice trembled with unshed tears. “You are my little dove, Melisande,” she said as she grabbed the small girl’s slender arms and held her close. “But from the moment the Gods put you in my womb, I knew that you were not meant to keep to a life so simple as mine.” She laid her hand against Melisande’s cheek and squeezed gently. “Already your gifts shine as bright as any sun. Serving in the temples will allow you to explore and understand them in a way you could not do so if you chose the life of a noble woman.”
“I won’t go – you can’t make me!” Melisande said rebelliously, and though her Mother reached to pull her back into her embrace Melisande squirmed away and ran from the room, the sound of her cries echoing against the smooth marble tiles as she disappeared down the hallway.
“Melisande, wait!” Perclusia called after her daughter, but it was no use. Melisande was nimble and quick and had long disappeared when her mother came rushing out into the large hallway.
“My lady, what is it?” Eugenia called as she came from the smaller stairwell the slaves used.
“It is Melisande,” Perclusia sighed. “No doubt she is well on her way beyond the Villa walls.”
“We must go for her!” the older woman huffed indignantly. She moved as if to call for one of the house guards.
“No Eugenia,” Perclusia said with a gentle hand upon her wrist. “Let her go. Our Melisande will return in her own time, and I am sure Athos will not allow her to be long from his sight. Numa will not be here for another 3 days. When he arrives, he will find my hearth in order, and my little dove ready.”
~2~
Melisande hugged her knees to her chest and wiped testily at damp cheeks as she stared out at the evening sky. She had run until she thought her chest would explode and finally collapsed upon the soft grass beneath a large cypress tree. When she finally managed to stop crying, she pulled herself up and turned to stare moodily down at the great city below. The massive stone buildings were little more than small white specs whose edges were rapidly fading in the shadows of the setting sun, and she wrinkle her nose with distaste. She hated the confines of the city walls, dreaded those times when her mother forced her to put in an appearance at various state dinners and festivals. And now she was being told she would have to live there!
“What have we here? A sad little lamb crying because she is lost.”
Melisande whirled to turn a hostile glare towards Athos, who had managed to sneak up on her, much to her embarrassment.
“Go away,” Melisande retorted angrily. She didn’t really want him to go – he was her best friend and always seemed to say just the right things – but her pride would not sit idly by and allow him to see her cry.
“Sorry, I can’t do that,” he said quietly when he saw that she was crying. Athos was 5 years her senior, 13 and already with the look of a man about him. He was the son of a herd-master who had long been a part of her father’s household, tending to sick animals and over-seeing the breeding and care of their livestock, and Athos was eagerly following in his father’s footsteps. He was tanned and muscular, with blue eyes that hinted at secret mischief and dimples that made all the girls giggle when he smiled.
He came and sat beside her, plucking a tall blade of grass and chewing the end thoughtfully. “Tell me who has made you cry, and I’ll have them dressed and tussled like a winter solstice bull.” He chucked her chin gently and she gave a sheepish grin.
“My mother says King Numa comes to test me.” Athos was silent for a moment before speaking.
“I had heard a rumor that he was coming here this year for the Festival of Bona Dea rather than attending the private celebrations back in Rome. But what on earth could his interest in you be?”
“It seems I am to serve as a Vestal Virgin.”
Athos burst out laughing.
“You? A Vestal Virgin? Why, you’re only a scrawny little girl!” he teased as he poked at her ribs. “Vesta’s chosen are the most beautiful women in all of Rome – there’s no way they’d want the likes of you running around and stirring up trouble.”
“You take that back!” Melisande immediately objected. She jumped up and glared down her nose at him, and he was struck again by the unnerving beauty of one so young. She was like a sister to him, and even still as he grew into manhood he could not deny the pull of her charm. “I could TOO be a priestess. In fact, I could be the BEST Vestalis that Vesta has even known!” He stared up at her amused.
“Relax, Melisande. I’m only teasing,” he laughed. “Of course you could.” He reached up and tugged at her hand until she sank back down on the grass beside him. “Things will be awfully quiet if you go, little sister.” he said affectionately. “Who will I beat at knucklebones?” she grinned and nudged him with her shoulder.
“You know I always beat you.” She said at last. He stroked his chin and gave a mock look of deep thought.
“No, no I’m sure it is I who always wins.” She balled her fist and punched him in the arm and he yelped before laughing as he rubbed the spot where she’d hit him.
“You are a wretched leper,” she said with a laugh and he reached over to push the hair back from her face.
“And you are a fairy princess,” he teased back, knowing how she hated to be called such. “Now, truthfully, would becoming a Vestalis be so terrible? After all, have you seen Vesta’s temples? I hear the one in our city, grand as it is, pales in comparison to her temple in Rome. Not only that, but you would become a woman of great power –Numa himself does not dare make a move without consulting the Vestalis Maximus.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I bet YOU could even be the Vestalis Maximus one day.”
“You really think so?” she sniffed, and he could see the wheels within begin to turn.
“Of course I do, don’t you?” He watched as she turned her gaze back towards the rapidly fading outline of the city below, her face masked by shadow as the sun dipped below the mountains. They sat that way for quite some time, until the moon had risen and the stars began to paint the night sky.
“Will you come visit me?” she asked at last, her voice suddenly small and frightened in the night.
“Wild lions could not keep me away,” he answered without missing a beat.
“Perhaps Numa will not want me to serve.”
He did not answer directly, and instead changed the subject.
“Come on, I’ll race you back to the gardens. I might even let you win.” Before he could say another word she was up and flying as fast as the wind, racing back up the hillside towards the villa where her mother and Eugenia waited. He grinned, glad to see her returning back to the safety of home even as his heart began to slowly burn. Like Melisande’s mother, he had always known she’d had the gift, had known there was something about her that had set her apart even at such an early age. She may only be eight, he thought as he began to chase after her, but she had an intelligence and maturity that went far beyond her years; and already she teased the world with glimpses of the staggering beauty she would become, far more so than even her mother.
It was no surprise to hear that Numa Pompilus was coming for her. Even the King himself could not ignore the jewel that shown brighter than any other in all the provinces of Rome. May the Gods have mercy upon the sisters when she arrives, he thought with a chuckle, for they had no ide
a the storm that was about to be set upon their lives.
~3~
The City of Portelius in late summer was most unpleasant – the air was thick with moisture as it rolled in off the bay, and the suffocating dampness forced most indoors during the heat of the day to seek shade and rest.
Melisande sighed in frustration and pushed her hair back from her face where the breeze had tugged it free of its braid. The temple gardens were bursting with color but she scarcely noticed as she made her way quickly across the lush stretch of greenery and blooms. No matter where her eyes landed, all that her mind could see were the city walls and massive gates to the east, and it made her soul grow anxious as always. Ten years into her service to Vesta, and still she felt no love for city living.
The Temple that was her home was palace-like in size, and sat high upon a small hill-top at the edge of the city. It took the better part of the morning to climb the steep, hand-carved stone steps that led up from the heart of the city below, and at least was removed from the noises and smells of the daily swelling population; still, it felt more prison than home. Never mind that her counsel - and that of the other 7 who served here with her - was regarded with such reverence that even the King himself lent his ear; or that the citizens of Rome treated them as if they were ethereal and Goddess like. These things were all more annoyance than anything for her, and did little to console Melisande, even after all this time.
Ten years of her life had been given over to the temple and to Vesta. Ten years of learning that – no matter how it may appear to those on the outside looking in – she was little more than a trinket to be displayed during festivals, and a channel to the Gods when tormented souls sought guidance. She’d seen her mother and Eugenia sent overseas at the request of the King, and had scarce heard from either one since. She’d been forced to sit silently by and watch as her friend Athos had grown into a handsome man and soon abandoned their friendship for a wife and family. All around her life had gone on, for good or ill as the fates decreed, and yet here she was, growing into a strong, healthy woman who had nothing more than another 20 years of piety and servitude to look forward to; an endless litany of duplicity in a life whose color had faded to dull grey.
The Gathering Storm Page 1