by Stacey Filak
Tollan nodded because words were too much for him. He entered cautiously, convinced that at any minute Elam would change his mind.
The only places to sit were a straight-backed chair and the bed. Elam sat down on the bed, leaving Tollan the choice.
Tollan looked at the chair, then the bed. He glanced at Elam and swallowed, urging himself to be brave. Then he sat down beside Elam. Only a breath of space kept the outside of his thigh from pressing against Elam’s.
Without giving himself a chance to falter, Tollan turned to Elam and said, “May I kiss you? I’m not sure how you ask in Under. We don’t … we don’t do that kind of thing.”
Elam nodded, and Tollan leaned in, tentative and trembling.
Their lips met. It was slow and liquid, each of them feeling out the other. Elam brushed Tollan’s lower lip with his tongue, and Tollan shuddered. Their mouths took on a life of their own, dancing the intricate steps of courtship and desire.
After a moment, Tollan retreated, his breath quick. Elam smiled languidly.
“I don’t know what to … I’ve never …” Tollan stammered his face coloring with shame.
“It’s all right,” Elam said, taking his hand. “I’ll show you.” He reached out and started to unbutton the front of Tollan’s shirt. He slipped it off his shoulders and looked down at Tollan’s dark skin, the thick, unruly hair that covered his chest and belly. Softly, slowly, he reached out. “We don’t have to hurry,” he said. “Decide if you like the way I look as much as I like the way you do.”
Tollan grunted a laugh. It was impossible to believe that Elam could find him half as beautiful as he found Elam. Elam walked his fingers back. But Tollan pulled him closer.
“Tell me to stop, and I will. I promise,” Elam said. He ran his hand over the muscles of Tollan’s chest, down the expanse of his belly, and downward.
Tollan stared at him, his breathing coming quick, and bit his lip.
Tollan knew about women, but he couldn’t possibly understand how they would feel in a moment like this. But as he and Elam lay in a warm heap, their sweat mingling with their breath, he knew exactly how Elam felt. The delicious emptiness, the chilly stickiness, the smile that couldn’t be tamed.
Tollan propped himself up on an elbow, untangling himself from Elam’s arms. “I’m sorry that I … that it was …” His gaze drifted, smile slipping. “Fast.”
Elam pulled him back down, kissing him with abandon. Then he pushed him back gently and said, “It was your first time, half-wit!”
Tollan blushed. “Well, it’s not exactly my first time for that.” He grinned sheepishly, waving his hand in the air. “But I guess it makes a difference whose hand it is, huh?”
They laughed until Elam was wheezing, the covers pulled over them, their legs intertwined. Slowly, their giddiness subsided, and soon Tollan could feel the slow rise and fall of Elam’s sleepy breath against his neck. He shuttered the lantern and snuggled deeper into the cocoon of Elam’s arms. It could prove dangerously easy to get used to this. He drifted off to sleep, trying to number the reasons why this was not a good idea, but he kept getting distracted by the soft tickle of Elam’s beard against his neck and the sounds of the man sleeping. He’d worry about what Above thought if they managed to survive another night.
“It’s not exactly the marriage suite, is it?” Gemma quipped, as she swayed on her feet in front of Devery in an impersonal room in some shit-hole Dockside inn.
“Any room you’re in is the best room in town,” he said.
She frowned. “You don’t have to try so hard, you know. I’m still me.” She didn’t have the strength to wrestle with all that had happened, tonight.
“I know,” he said, just barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.” He reached out, offering his hands to her, and she took them as she bit her lip. “There’s no excuse for what I’ve done,” Devery said. “And there’s no way I can bring them back. Not Melnora, not Fin. Not the baby. And there’s no reason in all the After for you to forgive me. You’d be a half-wit if you did. I won’t ask you to.”
She pulled her hands from his.
He turned away. “I’ll explain it to Katy.”
She slapped his face so hard it stung her hand. “You’re right,” she said. “It would take a prickling half-wit to overlook what you’ve done. To ignore the hurt you’ve caused.” She looked down at her blood-soaked shirt. “And by the goddess, there has been hurt.” Her eyes welled with tears. “I’ve been called a lot of names before, Devery, but half-wit isn’t among them. I can’t ignore what you’ve done, and I can’t forget what’s been lost. But you don’t get to make decisions for me. I might be a madwoman—but I love you.” She took his face between her hands. “We’ll figure this out. Things will never go back to exactly the way they were, but—”
He kissed her before she could finish speaking. It was the kind of kiss one gives to a priestess in the temple—gentle and dry. Full of reverence.
She didn’t speak as he slowly undressed her. He poured water from the pitcher into the basin and knelt before her, sponging the blood from her belly and thighs. Quietly, he began to murmur a prayer of devotion. His hands were his prayer, offering what he could, for however long he could. His tears were his sacrifice, and she let him give it freely.
In Vagan temples, the goddess often enters the body of her priestesses, and when Gemma bent and reached out for him, tipping the basin over and pulling him toward her with all the ferocity of the mother and warrior, she’d have sworn that Devery had found his religion.
It was raining. Gemma could smell it. The fresh water rinsing away the salt and dust and leaving behind a prettied-up Yigris, if only for a few minutes. She drew in a deep breath, enjoying the brief respite.
A counter note to the sweet rain was the clean-sweat smell of Devery snoring softly beside her. She nuzzled against him, still refusing to open her eyes to this day that would bring them to the palace and to his mother. To whatever fate the goddess saw fit for them all.
They must be prickling mad to fight six fully trained mage women. The side of her mouth quirked upward. They could still run away. Make a new life and make babies and … but where would they go? Who would they be? She knew in her heart that she couldn’t bankrupt the Guild. If she left, she would leave the bank codes with Lian or Elam. Her heart clenched at the thought of leaving him behind. In Yigris, they were important. Respected. Elsewhere—on Far Coast, or in Ladia—who would they be?
She sighed, then opened her eyes. Reality asserted itself. There would be no baby for her. Not for a while, anyway. They had to get Katya away from Brinna. And then Gemma had to punish the woman for what she had taken from them. And despite her discomfort with the idea, Gemma owed Isbit Daghan. The woman had helped her put down Riquin’s mutiny. In return, Gemma promised to help Isbit retake her palace.
Without warning, a shameful sob pushed its way out of her, and hot tears streamed down her cheeks. She wasn’t even sure why she was crying, but suddenly the world seemed overwhelming. Her life was too much. She felt as if all of her choices had been made for her, as if all her will had been stolen.
Devery’s arms snaked around her, pulling her closer. “Are you in pain?”
She shook her head, snuffling. “I’m fine. I just …” Another sob raked its way upward.
“What is it, love?” He kissed her temple and wiped her tears.
A quavering wail escaped her lips as she buried her head in his shoulder. “You’ll make a terrible farmer!” she howled, before thrusting herself away from him and into the pillows. She pulled the blanket over her head.
He laughed, deep-throated and merry. “Yes, ma’am,” he said as his fingers began to wriggle under the edge of the blanket. He pulled it down until he could see her face. “I would be the worst farmer who has ever lived.”
She stared up at him, torn between her love for him and her sudden terror about their future. He bent and kissed her nose. “And you—my beautiful, brave, brilliant woman”—he
paused—“would make an awful farmer’s wife.”
She tensed, anger flowing through her veins. “Well, how hard can it be, Dev? If you’re to be out hoeing in the yard all day, I suppose I’ll have to mend your socks and raise the children and tend the chickens, or some such horseshit.”
“And you would be terrible at nearly all of those things. I suggest that we not take up farming.” He wrapped her up in his embrace.
She stopped just shy of pushing him away. Though she felt awful—she didn’t want to lose the tenuous thread that connected them to each other. It seemed so fragile. “Well,” she sniffed, “what are we going to do, then?”
He sat up, his face suddenly serious. “Gem, I don’t see any reason why we have to go anywhere or be anything different from who we are now. But I will go anywhere and be anyone you want me to be.”
Her throat grew thick with emotion, and she started to cry again. “I’m just scared that something bad is going to happen. I’ve already lost …” She looked away. “I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”
“I’m not going to get hurt,” he said.
She glared at his hand that would always bear the scars of his mother and reminded her of the scars he bore elsewhere.
“All right,” he sighed, wrapping his arms around her. “I can’t promise not to get hurt. But I can promise you that if we come out of the palace alive tonight—I swear to you, by the goddess, that I’m going to be the man you deserve. No more secrets. I’ll be the man I always should have been.”
She clung to him, crying into his shoulder.
“You have to know that I love you,” he said, wiping at his chest with the edge of the blanket. “There isn’t another grown woman alive who I’d let snot all over me like that.”
A knock sounded on the door as Devery slipped from the bed and pulled on his smallclothes and breeches. He walked as he yanked the laces tight, then tugged on a wrinkled shirt. He unlocked the door and opened it to reveal Lian, damp and wild-haired but grinning.
“Good morning, Devery. Regency.” She entered carrying a small basket. “I’ve come to check Gemma over. Go eat breakfast at the Belly Up,” she shooed him away. “I’ll bring the queen when I’m done.” Her tone left no room for argument. “Put on your boots, lad,” she said, turning toward Gemma. “It’s blustery, outside.”
After Devery kissed Gemma chastely on the forehead and left, Lian went over to the bed and sat down beside her. “Oh, posh,” she chortled, “as if that little peck on the head’s going to fool anyone. Seems like a little peck is what started this trouble in the first place.”
Gemma smiled, though her vision was still cloudy from too many tears and not enough sleep. “It’s not like that, Lian. We’re in love. We’ve been …”
“Oh, I know all about what you’ve been. Me and Master Fin have known for years, but you children think you’re so clever. Think you can pull the sails over our heads with your sneaking about. Fin told me two years ago to let you be. He said that once in a while, love is more important than rules. And then he said not to tell Regency Melnora, because she might not see it that way.”
Gemma’s eye’s stung with gratitude for the people who had always taken care of her.
Lian was digging through her basket as she spoke, and she pulled out a small vial. She handed it to Gemma. “That’s for later—before you go to the palace. It’ll fix up your energy problem in a hurry.”
Gemma thanked her.
The maid continued. “Now, I see you’ve been crying, and I … well, I know a thing or two about the wreckage that babes can make of us, you know. When I first had my Tavian and the midwife placed her in my arms, I looked at my child, and I said, ‘I don’t want this baby. I can barely take care of myself.’” She squeezed Gemma’s hand and continued. “Of course, it wasn’t true. I wanted that baby more than I wanted air or food or sweet summer wine. But in that moment, I was terrified. All the love and fear I was feeling got tangled up, and I just couldn’t think straight. It was the same with all of my children. Somehow the love that they plant within you makes you both stronger and weaker. And it gets your heart and your head all confused.
“So, we cry. We say things we don’t mean. We feel alone and broken, as if we have no control over our lives. Then we cry some more.”
She leaned over and kissed Gemma on the forehead, just where Devery had. Gemma could feel the paper-thin skin of her lips. She could smell the clean, herbal scent of Lian, and the damp of her woolen shawl. “I’ve never lost one, sweet girl,” she said, drawing Gemma in to her, “but I helped Melnora through it a time or three.”
Renewed tears flooded Gemma’s eyes. “I feel like such a failure. I wanted the question of an heir out of the way, and I couldn’t … I couldn’t do this one simple thing. I couldn’t protect the baby I chose to bring into this world. I couldn’t …” A sob shook her.
Lian rocked her, cradling Gemma’s head against her chest. “Oh, Gemma. You did the best anyone could have. Some people would say that it was the goddess’s will, or some such horseshit. Some people would say that there’ll be another babe and not to fret over this one. Some people are full of too much stupid and not enough sense. Nothing is going to make this feel better, not for a long while, and to be totally honest, maybe nothing ever will. But I imagine that gutting the bitch who did it will be a decent start.”
Gemma didn’t know for sure if that was true–she didn’t think that she could spill enough blood to make up for what she’d lost–but she understood Lian. Brinna had to pay for everything. For the baby, for Melnora, for Yigris, for Devery. Brinna had to pay.
Lian reached into her basket and pulled out a flask. “Drink this,” she said, passing it to Gemma.
Gemma took the flask and sniffed it. “When Melnora lost her first,” Lian said, motioning Gemma to take a sip, “she had terrible grief. Fin was stoic about the whole thing, as even smart men tend to be, but Melnora was rattled by it, and she couldn’t make herself get out of bed. I tried everything I knew until Fin sent me to a Balkland herb man. He taught me how to brew this tea. He called it Albatross Tears.” Once more, she gestured for Gemma to drink the tea. “It helped Mistress Melnora get through the worst of it, and I assume that you’ll be needing to get through the worst of it fairly soon, seeing as how you have an assault to plan.”
Gemma took a sip. It tasted like peaches and cinnamon and something exotic and rare, and it tingled in her mouth like magic. Gemma took another long swig and felt the tension in her neck begin to ease.
“Drink it up,” Lian said, squeezing Gemma’s hand.
A few minutes, and a few swallows, later, Gemma turned to Lian. She felt lighter, as if she could float away from the bed. She hadn’t forgotten her grief, but she wasn’t doubled over by it any longer. She smiled. “Thank you, Lian. I’m not sure how I would have gotten through today if you hadn’t come.”
Lian stood, straightening the cover on her basket. “That’s what family does, girl. You know that.” She bent and gave Gemma a quick hug. “Melnora and Fin would be very proud of you,” she said, her own voice cracking with emotion.
Gemma nodded. She wasn’t about to let herself fall down the rabbit hole of grief again. She owed Melnora and Fin a bit of revenge. She slipped from the covers and walked Lian to the door, though she wasn’t wearing a stitch. “Tell Dev I’ll be along shortly,” she said, opening the door for the maid. “Tell him to send word to the Ain. Tell Under that tonight we go to war.”
“Do you want me to leave some of the men here to escort you?” Lian asked, as she hefted the basket and turned to the door.
Gemma laughed wryly. “I am the Queen of Under. I don’t need protection. Our enemies need protection from me.”
Tollan opened his eyes to a world filled with more light than he’d ever known. His legs were tangled up with Elam’s, his mouth tasted like yesterday’s stockings, and he could imagine that his hair was splayed out in an unmanageable cloud, but it didn’t matter. A smile spread across his
face as he listened to Elam breathing.
Tollan wanted to stay just like this. Maybe forever. Nothing but the two of them and the rain, which he heard pelting the roof of the Belly Up. He felt—for the first time in his life—like a man. The boy he’d been had disappeared sometime during the night. All his fears and guilt and weakness and secrets had been washed away by Elam and the rain, and he was waking up to a new world.
Elam shifted in his sleep, the soft sounds of his breathing changing slightly. “Good morning,” he said, without opening his eyes.
Not allowing himself to think about it, Tollan leaned in and kissed him. “Good morning,” he said, emotion choking him.
Elam’s eyes opened, and he squinted at Tollan. He smiled and moved closer to him, but a brisk knock on the door interrupted the moment.
“Balls,” Tollan muttered as Elam slipped lithely from beneath the covers. The sight of him, bare and beautiful, took Tollan’s breath away.
Elam fumbled for his spectacles on the bedside table, then he pulled on smallclothes and a pair of breeches, and went to the door. He opened the door to reveal Wince, his pale face haggard in the morning light.
“Have you seen … oh,” Wince said, seeing Tollan in the bed. A rapid flurry of expressions flitted across Wince’s features, ending in a broad grin. “Sorry to bother,” he said, bowing exaggeratedly. “I was just worried when I couldn’t find you. I … umm … I’ll just go help with breakfast.” His eyes met Tollan’s and held them, warm and joy filled, for a long moment before he turned to leave.
Elam closed the door and came back to bed. “He’s a better man than I’d have given him credit for,” he said, as he sat down on the edge of the mattress.