Idol of Glass

by Jane Kindred

  She dared to place a kiss on Ahr’s sleep-warm brow, with a whispered “Good morning.”

  Ahr opened one indigo eye, a cloth patch covering the other, and bolted upright, scrambling from the bed. “I fell asleep—Jak’s just gone for breakfast—I wanted to make sure you didn’t—that you were…breathing.”

  “You don’t need to fear me.”

  Ahr hugged her arms against her chest. “I don’t fear you, Ra. I fear myself.”

  Before Ra could respond, the door opened and Jak appeared. “You’re awake.” Jak’s grin was irrepressible. “I went to get us some breakfast, but…well, there’s someone here to see you—both of you—that you just won’t believe.”

  Ra sat up, curious, as Jak drew the door wide. In the corridor, head covered by the hood of a heavy cloak, stood Merit. Relieved to see he’d woken from his long sleep, Ra wrapped the sheet around herself and jumped up to greet him, and then stopped short as he drew back the hood. It was impossible that this was Merit.

  This man that could not be Merit, young and strong as Merit had been when he’d carried Ra among the throngs of Rhyman, crossed his right arm over his chest with his fist against his heart and bowed to her. “My liege.”

  Ra touched the smooth perfection of his cheek when he straightened. “Merit?”

  He covered her hand with his and shook his head. “MeerHraethe.” The floor seemed to tilt beneath her feet, and Merit—MeerHraethe—caught and steadied her.

  Ra shook her head. “How?”

  “Apparently, I’ve been…” Hraethe smiled and shrugged. “Asleep.” Looking past her, he let go of Ra’s hand. “Meershivá. Jak told me, but I couldn’t quite let myself believe.”

  Ra moved aside, still bemused, as Ahr came forward and took Hraethe’s hands in hers.

  “My dearest friend,” said Ahr, and kissed him in a way that was more than friendly. “I’m so pleased to see you looking so well.”

  Hraethe let out a somewhat self-conscious laugh. “And I, you, dear girl.” He squeezed her hands, red tears brimming in his eyes that said he was what he claimed to be. “And I, you.”

  Shiva joined them at breakfast in the tavern, oddly subdued, with the news that Pike’s body had gone missing from the mill. Despite what the Meerhunter had done to her, Ra didn’t bear him any personal animosity. He was a man doing a job, and he’d been sincere in his promise to rebury RaNa’s bones—though his audacity in taking them hadn’t won him any points with her. Nonetheless, she’d hoped she’d seen the last of him.

  Ahr, seated strategically between Hraethe and Jak, paused over her flapjacks. “Missing? What do you mean?”

  “I mean, my dear, that he was evidently not as dead as he appeared.” Seated across from her next to Ra, Shiva fixed Ahr with a sardonic gaze. “Unless someone chose to steal his body in the night and bury it in secret.”

  Hraethe choked on his eggs and had to take a drink of water.

  Ra poked at her plate. If Pike was alive, it was troubling news. Thanks to the obscenity of RaNa’s stolen bone dust, he had definitive evidence now of her renaissance. The solicitors who’d hired him would have what they needed to legitimize their planned coup. And Rhyman sat unprotected.

  But what Hraethe told them next—though it was happy news—complicated the situation. Pearl, who’d been kept under the hill against his will, had been reunited with his mother and was home at Ludtaht Ra.

  Both Ahr and Jak seemed puzzled for a moment about who Pearl was, which baffled Ra. Her memories had been suppressed for a time after the madness, not theirs. And Ahr had seemed to recall everything else from the time before.

  “The drawing,” said Hraethe. “Pearl cast a spell on the drawings he gave us to make us forget. You remember, Ahr—the pastel of the courtyard you liked so much?”

  Ahr sipped her tea, brow furrowed, and then smiled. “The one with the dragonflies and falling petals that seemed like you could step right into it.”

  Jak nodded. “I saw that in your room. It’s lovely. But it had some odd inscription on it.”

  “Forget Pearl when you look on this,” Ahr recited, and then both exclaimed together: “Oh!”

  Shiva looked bored. “Yes. He’s a very clever boy.”

  “And Cree’s his mother?” Ahr shook her head in amazement.

  Hraethe nodded, and jabbed at his eggs. “Prelate Nesre used her to spite Ume.” Ra shared his anger. Nesre’s death was one about which she had no regrets.

  Jak glanced at Ahr. “Ume and Cree. Not the fortune teller and the bartender—from right here in this tavern?”

  “Fate.” Ahr met Jak’s eyes. “It does seem impossible to ignore its existence after all.”

  They set out after breakfast, warmly attired through various Meeric means. Ra had found the lilac scarf by the bed—pristine, as though it just been conjured—when she returned to the room to wash up. Outside the door, Hraethe had stood guard, as though he were still her loyal servant and not a Meer in his own right. He would travel with her, he said, to be sure she was safe. It was endearing, though Shiva seemed clearly perturbed at the announcement. Something had happened between Shiva and Hraethe that had prompted his renaissance, but neither volunteered an explanation, so Ra reluctantly left it alone.

  By the time they reached Haethfalt, the winds had carried heavy clouds with them, and it had begun to snow once more in a blinding swirl of white, reminding Ra of the storm on the last Heart of Winter, when the memories of her life as MeerRa of Rhyman, buried in her renaissance, had reemerged with a vengeance.

  The members of Mound RemPeta were understandably dumbstruck by Hraethe’s arrival, though Geffn nudged his betrothed, wide-eyed, and whispered something in her ear that made her giggle nervously.

  Still in need of restoration, Ra retreated to her room, leaving the explanations to the others, and slept for the remainder of the day.

  The members of Jak’s moundhold regarded him as if hoping not to seem too plump, lest they be the first to be eaten. After the awkward introductions, Hraethe retired with Shiva to her borrowed room since it was clear neither was truly welcome in this little warren.

  Shiva sat on the quaint little bed, crossing her black-sheathed legs, leaving him standing awkwardly. “Do you have nothing to say about my gift?”

  “Your gift?” Hraethe stared at her, trying to fathom her out. They’d fucked like animals, heedless of the glass and snow they rolled in, until the sun had risen over them. He’d believed she’d surrendered to him at last, but she’d been cold and indifferent ever since, as though they were strangers. “Do you expect me to thank you for allowing me to fuck you?”

  “Now that you mention it, you might. You don’t seem to understand the privilege you’ve been granted. But I was referring to Ahr.”

  He was taken aback. “You don’t meant to say you brought her back for me?”

  Shiva inclined her head. “For those who loved her. Ra made a mistake. I remedied it.”

  “And made her Meer.”

  “I suppose my blood must have seeped into the pool with her essence. I ought to have been more careful. She’s a wretched little creature who’d crush her own skull out of spite if she could manage it.”

  Hraethe’s temper flared. “And you’re an exceedingly cold creature. I’m amazed you have something so hot between your legs.”

  She uncrossed them, her hand sliding down between her thighs, her poison-green eyes on him as she stroked her fingers against the center. He was instantly aroused, and immensely aggravated by the fact. Shiva seemed to revel in the knowledge that these two states for him were intertwined. She unbuttoned the poppy-red blouse with her other hand, eyes on the evidence of his arousal, and bared herself, letting the blouse fall from her arms. The red peaks of her breasts against the alabaster skin were hard as diamonds. She was absurdly beautiful, despite the severity of her rubine hair, drawn back at the crown
and wound with silver wire. He longed to see it down. But he was tired of being toyed with.

  “If you think I’m just going to service you whenever you please, you’re not only made of ice, you’re completely insane.”

  Shiva laughed. “You come,” she said wickedly, her mouth caressing the word, “when I call. That is the creature you are.”

  Hraethe moved with Meeric swiftness and leapt onto the bed, pinning her arms above her head, and Shiva’s laughter increased. A rippling, bubbling sound like a fountain, it was both mockery and enticement. He pressed against her, letting her feel the heat of his desire as his cock ground between her legs, nearly incensed by the brush of her breasts against him through his shirt. Shiva moved sensuously beneath him, breath rising and falling to bring her closer, and maddeningly separating her from him by fractions of an inch, in waves.

  “I come when you call?” He bit at her lip, and she arched against him. “So I’m nothing but a dog to you.”

  Something dangerous flashed in her eyes. She breathed out, moving that fraction of an inch away and holding it. Her wrists went slack in his hands. He didn’t heed the warning.

  “I guess you’d know,” he growled. “Since you’re such a b—”

  Before the word fully left his mouth, she’d broken his grasp, and in one swift movement, clutched him by the hair at the sides of his head and butted hers so hard against it, he was sure both their skulls would crack.

  Hraethe reeled, the room winking out for an instant, but Shiva had no such impairment, as though she’d turned her own skull to marble, and she tossed him into the wall, leaping on him as he hit the ground. She hovered over him like a goddess of annihilation, her nails like talons above his eyes as she held his head tilted back with a vicious grip of his forelock. He couldn’t help noticing even as he braced for agony how magnificent her breasts were. Perhaps he was the one who was mad, after all. He’d nearly climaxed from the unexpected rush of the blow, and his arousal hadn’t dampened in the least.

  “Meershivá, but you’re beautiful,” he moaned.

  That gave her pause. Shiva retracted her nails, curling her fingers slowly into a fist. “I’ve allowed you liberties no one has ever had. If you dislike my manners, find yourself another body. I’m sure Ahr is willing. But don’t you ever say that word to me again, or you will find this life even shorter than your last.” She dropped his head unceremoniously against the stone floor, and Hraethe grabbed her by the wrist before she could rise, though he knew he was risking further wrath.

  “If I can die fucking you,” he managed, “I’ll take it.” He saw he’d irrationally pleased her, and his cock grew harder. Shiva noticed.

  Balanced on her boot heels, she lowered herself over his lap, ripping open the buttons of his pants with one hand while tearing a hole in hers with the other. “You just might, MeerHraethe.” He was rewarded at last with the heat of her cunt around his unrepentant erection. Hraethe forgot everything while fucking her, forgot his own name. Nothing mattered but her body, the pain in his head obliterated by the inhuman pleasure of her touch.

  “You come,” she whispered, leaning close to him as she rode him, “when I call.”

  “Meershivá, yes,” he groaned, and obeyed.

  They relaxed together on the floor when he’d finally satisfied her, Shiva lying draped across his chest, still wearing the tight leg-hugging fabric, though the crotch had been obliterated. Hraethe tried not to dwell on that with any conscious attention. Both the appetites and the stamina of the Meer seemed to be inexhaustible.

  “You sent me away,” he said, broaching the subject at last, though the transgression was four centuries old.

  Shiva traced her finger over his chest, bared now since she’d shredded the shirt during their copulation. “You had fulfilled your duty.”

  The answer stung both his ego and his heart. “Is that all I was to you?”

  “We both had our duties, MeerHraethe. Yours was to give me your seed. Mine was to give Soth AhlZel a new Meer.”

  “And now?” He ran his hand over the smooth slope of her ass, his fingers unable to resist the part in the fabric—and in her legs.

  “And now, you talk too much. I should never have loosed your tongue.” She pressed herself back against his fingers, taking them in, and Hraethe groaned at the renewed vigor of his erection. She was going to kill him after all.

  “Why did you bind it in the first place?” He pumped his fingers into the moist heat inside her, enjoying the way she wriggled down farther to take them deep, watching the bead of perspiration on her lip that said he affected her as much as she affected him.

  “I didn’t.” She arched against him. “I merely let you drink of my blood through my own. To bind you.”

  “To bind me? To you?” He hadn’t thought his cock could get any harder. He put his hand to the small of her back to press her pelvis more firmly against it, fucking the space between them even as he fucked her with his fingers.

  “Of course, MeerHraethe.” Shiva’s body went taut, her nipples hard in the air above him, and she climaxed with three sharp thrusts against his fingers as he bathed her with the efforts of his own climax. “You are mine.”

  He held her body against him, reveling in the sweat and the spunk that slipped between them, and took her mouth with his in an ardent embrace, rewarded by a slow, sweet kiss that left him breathless.

  Hraethe nipped at her bottom lip when she drew back. “Perhaps I should take your tongue,” he said with a sensuous growl. “Make sure you don’t curse me.”

  He’d made another mistake. The soft, supple drape of her body had gone rigid, and her skin prickled against him with anger.

  He covered his head with his arms in surprised defense against Shiva’s fury as she pummeled his chest with the flat of her hands. “What have I said?”

  “I told you, you fool. You talk too much.” She swung off him and restored her garments before gusting from the room like the storm outside and leaving him alone.

  Thirty-one: Accession

  Jak hadn’t slept a wink. Everything had seemed different in Mole Downs. Jak had assured Ahr that it would all be all right, but there had been no chance to talk in private. Ahr was quiet and withdrawn once they’d returned, turning in early and already asleep facing the wall when Jak came to bed. Whether guilt over Ra—or continued resentment over Ra—weighed on her, or whether perhaps Merit’s transformation had made her contemplative, Jak couldn’t be sure. But Jak hadn’t had a moment with Ra in private either since Ra had revealed the extent of her scars and broken down Jak’s resistance two nights ago.

  Jak had to know where things stood with Ra now. Or let Ra know where things stood with Jak. Too much was unsaid. Jak almost wished the three of them were snowbound at Mound Ahr together as they’d been a year ago when Ra still hadn’t fully understood who she was. Together, they would have had to talk it out, and come to some understanding among the three of them of how things were going to be. Jak hated leaving things to fate.

  Careful not to wake Ahr, Jak slipped out of bed and down the hall to Ra’s room. The light of an oil lamp flickered beneath the door. Ra wasn’t sleeping either. Not wanting to wake Mell and Keiren asleep on the gathering room floor, Jak knocked lightly and entered without waiting for an answer. But the knock had been too soft, and Ra hadn’t heard. Seated on the end of the bed with her back turned toward the door, she was bent over to adjust a pair of boots. On her back, beneath the neatly tied flow of onyx, was a heavy blue coat, tailored for warmth and the elements. This wasn’t the sort of coat one wore to feed qirhu.

  “You can’t go,” said Jak. “I need you.” Ra’s head came up in surprise at the sound of Jak’s voice, and Jak stepped back against the door with a cry. “Ahr?” It was impossible, of course, but it seemed to be Ahr—as he’d been before Ra destroyed him.

  “Jak.” The apparition spoke with Ra’s voice, though wit
h the cadence of a man. “I didn’t think I’d see anyone before I left. I’ve startled you.”

  “Startled me,” Jak repeated like an imbecile. “Who—?”

  “It’s me.” This impossible Ra rose and came forward.

  Close to him, Jak could see he didn’t look so much like Ahr. He had the long nose, the cattish eyes of black, and the thin, burgundy lips of Ra. It was Ahr’s renaissance in reverse.

  “I’m sorry.” He reached for Jak’s hand. “I didn’t mean to alarm you.”

  Jak flinched at the touch but didn’t pull away entirely. “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s simple, really. We imagine ourselves as one thing or another, and so we are. Much like your choice to reject gender.”

  “But I’m still me.”

  “And I’m still Ra.” He had the same pallid scars on his face, the same bruises and cuts Ra had worn the day before, though much diminished.

  Jak searched the obsidian eyes that were the sum of Ra. “But why?”

  Ra brought Jak to sit on the bed and knelt before it. “There are wolves at the door, and Rhyman is unprotected. I’m going to take it back. It’s mine. And I want them to know it.”

  Jak stared at him, too confounded to speak.

  He drew Jak’s hand to his cheek. “Touch me. I promise, I’m your Ra.” He smiled sadly as Jak’s fingers lingered on the hairline marks of his scars. “You’ve forgiven me so much worse, lif. Forgive me for this?” Lif—my love. Ra had first uttered the word while Jak resisted being loved, consciously unaware of the childhood memories that had been pushed down until Ra had laid Jak open and made them impossible to hide. Jak had been ashamed, and Ra had swallowed that shame and driven herself mad with it—out of love.

  Jak studied the hand, the very same that had touched Jak’s body so many times, and interlaced their fingers to bring Ra’s to a tentative kiss. “You love me?”

  Ra closed his eyes. “Ahlzel. Always. You know I do.”