Authors: Jean Johnson
Ambivalence speared through Arasa. She was glad on the one hand that her sister wouldn’t be around to interrupt her privacy with Elrik, but on the other hand, she had intended to find and chat with her sister. To miss her by a matter of hours was a definite disappointment. “Where did she say she was going?”
“Back to the Imperial Hall. Something about finding a solution, but needing confirmation.” The maidservant flicked her gaze to the freckled mage and back. “More than that, Taje-tan, I could not say at the moment.”
“You may speak freely in front of both of us,” Arasa reassured her. “Mage Elrik has been assisting me in my own efforts to find a solution to the succession problem. He is my honored guest, for his aid in that matter.”
“Of course,” the maid agreed, bowing slightly. “The Taje-tan said she needed to check some legal records one more time in the Hall Archives, something about researching a childhood illness. She also said she wished to be informed as soon as anyone had word of your current whereabouts.”
Arasa didn’t know what a childhood illness had to do with the succession, but she was happy to know her sister was still close by. “Good. Send a runner to let her know I am here, and that I wish to see her return. Tell her that I will meet her here, in Ijesh. I have news of my own, regarding a solution to our problem, and that solution literally starts here.” She glanced at Elrik and smiled, adding, “In the Womb of Djin-Taje-ul, or so I suspect. I will be searching the Temple Archives again in the morning with the help of my guest; please let the priesthood know to expect us both.”
A bow, and the maid who had spoken departed. The other one shifted back out of the way as Arasa took Elrik’s hand again, tugging him toward the archway. Once past the daylight filtering through the terrace curtains, the passageways were lit by glowing spheres—magelights. Elrik knew how they were made, of course; it had been a part of his magical education. They were expensive, though. Even more than the intricately inlaid woodwork, the number of magelights told him how wealthy the Am’n Adanjé was, and for one reason alone: not a single oil lamp or candle could be seen.
Elrik had seen a few fine pieces of furniture here and there, some artistic carvings, a number of brocaded tapestries, even paintings and other artworks in his time in Aben-hul, but never had he met anyone who could afford to use magelights as their sole source of illumination. This was the level of wealth that had driven his father’s people to invade time and again, seeking it for themselves. It made him feel a little awkward to be three-quarters Kumronite and a guest inside, if not
the
royal palace—that was the Imperial Hall in the capital—then at least
a
royal palace.
Passing through a chamber lined with benches and shelving, they entered a bathing hall. The chamber, slightly larger than the front room had been, took his breath away. It didn’t hold a mere bathing tub, as his own people knew and most inns used. It wasn’t even a bathing pool. It was a series of pools, one cascading into the next, four of them. The one in the far corner of the terraced room was small, and steamed with visible heat. The middle two curved around that corner, each larger than the previous one, each spilling into the next.
The bottom one was big enough for swimming, and had been sculpted to look something like a natural pool, though the water was clear of both flora and fauna. Clerestory windows carved high in the walls spilled light, as did sconces of crystalline magelights at regular intervals along the walls. Stone planters grew right next to the edges of the tiled pools, soothing desert-weary eyes with a profusion of greenery and adding to the overall effect.
The smoothed granite floor of the chamber was slightly sloped so that any excess water would flow into drains set here and there, but it wasn’t tiled; the pools, however, were. The largest basin was tiled in a pale blue glaze, the next one up in sky blue, and the third in royal blue; he couldn’t see into the highest pool, but guessed it was tiled in dark blue, if it followed the theme. Overhead, the faux-vaulted ceiling had been gilded between its granite-white ribs, but the paint had begun to age and flake, no doubt because of all the moisture in the air. Somehow, the sight of that flaw reassured him that this room was real, that he really was in such otherwise magnificent surroundings.
He didn’t even notice Arasa removing her clothes until he finally turned to look for her and saw her stooping over next to a bench, removing her trousers and underdrawers together. Her other garments and her boots had already been discarded at her feet. Though her naturally tanned skin was darker in places where the desert dust had infiltrated her clothes, the grime did nothing to disguise the feminine shape of her legs, the slenderness of her waist, the palm-sized curves of her breasts.
Heat prickled across his skin, adding to the lingering warmth of late afternoon. Tugging at his clothes, Elrik remembered after a moment to untie the chin-straps holding his sun-hat in place. With it removed, he could pull his poncho and tunic over his head. By the time he stooped to unlace his boots, she was already sinking into the water of the largest, lowest pool, a pale-haired, golden-skinned, mortal goddess.
“Will you and your guest need assistance with your bath, Taje-tan?”
E
lrik
jumped, startled by the intrusion of the other maidservant. People in the Flame Sea often bathed together in public bathhouses without thinking twice about it, but they didn’t couple in front of an audience; exhibitionism just wasn’t done. Wanting very much to be left alone with her, he looked over at Arasa, giving her a tight little shake of his head.
She smiled. “We’ll be fine. Give us some privacy for a while, and leave the toweling cloths and some clean clothes in the changing hall.”
The blue-clad woman bowed and removed herself from the chamber. Relieved, Elrik finished undressing. Semihard already, he padded somewhat self-consciously toward the steps, outlined along their curved edges in a darker shade of blue that defined their location under the rippling surface.
Arasa watched him ease into the cool liquid, floating halfway across the pool from him. She smiled at his palpable relief. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
“Very,” he agreed, wading forward until the water was up to his chest and he was just an arm’s length away from her. “Thank you for the privacy. I, um, want to do more than just bathe with you.”
“So do I.” She wrinkled her nose with a rueful smile. “First times with another person are always so embarrassing and awkward, aren’t they?” Lifting a hand from the water, Arasa gestured at a cabinet half-tucked into the greenery. “There’s a collection of softsoaps and such over there. I suggest we bathe each other thoroughly, get our hands all over each other’s bodies, and then we shouldn’t be quite so awkward anymore. What do you think?”
Despite the coolness of the water swirling gently around his body, Elrik felt himself stiffen with interest. “I think that’s a brilliant idea.”
Grinning with relief, Arasa waded with him over to the cabinet. Half of it opened on the pool side, next to a set of steps, the other half to a path through the greenery lining the chamber, so that it could be stocked. Sea sponges, scrubbing brushes, wash-rags, and combs occupied one shelf, while jars and bottles lined two more. Selecting a rough-textured sponge, she poured a bit of softsoap from one of the jars onto the sponge. “This one is scented with musk and spices. Do you like?”
He sniffed the sponge and nodded. “I like it. Is that for you?”
“For you,” she corrected, working the sponge into a lather. “I didn’t think you’d want anything flowery.”
“I like some flower scents. Roses, carnations, lily-of-the-valley.” He fell silent as she pressed the sponge to his chest, scrubbing him gently.
“Roses are cultivated in the Flame Sea, but not the other two. Essence of lily-of-the-valley is expensive to import, since it prefers a much cooler climate. And until I had visited the Kumré region, I don’t think I’d smelled a carnation, before,” Arasa confessed. “Here, get your face wet, so I can scrub that, too.”
Complying, Elrik ducked under the water, then obeyed her directions to sit on the topmost step, water lapping at his ankles, while she scrubbed him from head to toe. When she had him stand thigh-deep in the water so that she could scrub around his pelvis, he had to catch her hands to make her go slow. The feel of her fingers guiding the scratchy sponge over his skin, cleaning between his nether-cheeks and beneath his masculinity, was too intimate, too pleasurable, threatening to bring him to an abrupt, premature ending.
It had been a while since his last encounter, too long for his body to withstand a lot of teasing. Heeding his silent warning, she worked carefully, clinically, though shifting back his foreskin to clean around the head of his shaft was almost too much to bear. As soon as she released him, he dove into the water, swimming away from her for several lengths until he had to come up again for air. The rush of cool water against his flesh and the release of energy, if not the sexual kind, helped him regain some control. Reminding himself to be respectful, to go slow, to avoid giving in to the primitive instincts her touch aroused within him, Elrik waded back. He watched her pour more softsoap into the palm of her hand from the red glass jar, and guessed it was for his hair.
“Don’t scrub all over, when you wash my hair,” he warned her, turning to present his back, then sinking to his knees in the water so that she didn’t have to reach quite so high, “or it will tangle hopelessly. Just smooth it on, then gently rub it in with your palms in small circles at most.”
Stroking her palms over his dripping wet curls, Arasa did her best to comply. The crinkly texture of his damp locks reminded her of the coarse sponge she had just used. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with hair quite like yours. Not someone I’ve been close enough to touch. It’s rather exotic, and handsome.”
“It’s a pain to wash, unless I have smoothing crèmes to apply afterward, something to calm the tangles. Here, let me show you.” Lifting his arms, he slid his hands over to hers, showing the little circles he used on his scalp with his fingertips. The feel of her fingers bumping against his, learning how to scrub his scalp, seemed even more intimate than if she’d touched his nipples. He enjoyed the sensual torment for as long as he could stand, then broke away and dunked himself under the water again, swishing his hair to rinse it.
When he emerged, she had a handful of something creamy and fruity. He helped her work it into his curls, then left it there while he found the sponge she had used, lathering it with more of the softsoap she had used. It was more gender-neutral than feminine, but he liked the thought of covering her in the same scent as him. He took his time in scrubbing her, too; it had been a while, but Elrik remembered how much women liked a longer, slower buildup to their pleasure than men.
Avoiding breasts and loins until the last moment, he played the sponge over her other curves, watching her beige eyes unfocus with increasing pleasure. The sight of the contraceptive amulet strapped to her ankle reassured him when he reached her feet; for all that he had considered one day becoming a father, today wasn’t that day. When he finally circled one breast with the sponge, spiraling in toward her nipple, she dropped her head back, arms braced on the rim of the pool to either side, hips barely on the edge of one of the steps. It was such a wanton pose, he wanted to throw the sponge into the bushes and take her, just take her. Hand trembling, he circled her other breast, and watched her shiver in a minor temblor of desire.
It was all he could do to remain polite and civilized when she stood and guided his hand between her thighs. Not in the sense of being a barbarian Kumronite by birth, but in the sense of being a male on the brink of losing control of his passion. When his fingers encountered slick moisture, shifting the sponge over her flesh, it took a few moments longer for his brain to figure out what that was. His loins knew instantly, stiffening to the point where not even the soothing temperature of the water could calm him. Locking his jaw, Elrik forced himself to finish cleaning her, then gestured abruptly for her to move away from him and rinse her flesh.
Unsure what to make of the stern look on his face, Arasa ducked below the surface and ran her hands over her skin to help remove the lather he had applied. Opening her eyes, she ignored the sting of the water and the slight clouding from the softsoap. The jutting length of him—told its own story. He was on the edge of his control.
The realization aroused her even further. Arasa had been given instruction in the art of sexual pleasure, just as she had been taught how to ride, how to tally, how to wield a pen or a sword, and a hundred other lessons. She had taken well to her sensual lessons, and enjoyed the variety of them. Sometimes she wanted gentle, sweet lovemaking. Other times, she enjoyed a good, hard ride. Though his touch while scrubbing her had been deliciously attentive and gentle, Elrik looked like a stallion exposed to several in-heat Imperial Mares, taut-muscled and wild-eyed, the latter visible even through the rippling surface.
If she let him, he’d probably give her a good, hard ride, and that thought definitely appealed to her.
Rising from the water, she slicked the moisture away from her face, pushing her blond locks back behind her ears. He stared at her, only his eyes moving in his freckled face. Plucking the sponge from his fingers, Arasa tossed it in the direction of the cabinet, uncaring if it fell short or landed in the bushes. All this self-control was good; it spoke well of his character that he hadn’t pounced on her despite the desire burning in those gorgeous, exotic green eyes. She just didn’t think it was needed at the moment.
“Elrik,” she murmured, holding his gaze. “I appreciate your self-restraint; I find it admirable, and civilized. Gentlemanly, even. But I don’t
need
a gentleman; at least, not every single hour of the day. Sometimes…sometimes I want a barbarian.” The passion in his eyes intensified, even as he arched a brow at her. She drifted closer, adding candidly, “And sometimes I want to
be
a barbarian.” Her fingers found and encircled his flesh, palpably hot despite the coolness surrounding them. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“Gods,
no,
” Elrik rasped, glad she had penetrated his brain with such tacit permission. Pushing her hand away, he grabbed her hips, lifting her in the waist-high water. Muscles flexing, he sighed with relief as she helped him by parting and wrapping her legs around his waist. A prod, an adjustment or two, and he was in the right place. Hips bucking up into her, he pulled her down onto him at the same time, thrusting deep.
Arasa gasped, startled. She was ready for him, and it did feel good—very good—but it had also been a couple of years since her last joining. Everything was tight, to the point of stretchy-painful. A shudder passed through him, then a grimace; in the next moment, she felt his flesh pulsing within her, dragging a groan out of his throat.
Before any disappointment could sink in, he shifted his grip, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and hips. Squeezing her tight, he thrust into her again, burrowing deeper, pulling her down to meet each of his strokes. Contrary to expectations, he remained hard. Now that the initial sting of his girth versus her tightness had faded, the only thing remaining was the pursuit of a pleasure that literally made waves around them. Clinging to him, burying her mouth against his shoulder, Arasa shuddered with pleasure, then in a second, stronger quake of desire.
Feeling her squeezing around him, Elrik lost a little more of his control. Tangling his hand in her damp locks, he pulled her head back, ordering tersely, “Lean back.”
Reluctantly, wanting only to cling and enjoy, she complied. It helped that he shifted away from the stairs, farther into the water, until she was supported by it. The position drove him deeper with each stroke. It also, she discovered with a startled breath, allowed him to bend over and lick one of her breasts. He slowed his hips as he switched to suckling, dragging a moan from her with each circular rub and grind.
Burrowing her fingers into his curls, soft and slick from the crème, Arasa gave herself up to him, trusting in his masculine power. Almost a month of conversations had allowed her to learn the thoughts and opinions of her traveling companion, but only now was she getting to know the man. Unfathomable, intimate, tender yet demanding, he rolled his pelvis against hers until she cried out in a climax larger than the ones before—large enough to curl her toes, spasm her back, and claw her fingernails through his damp locks, arching and tightening against him—and then he gripped her firmly and resumed his previous hard pounding, taking his own pleasure a second time now that she had found hers.
It was exactly what she wanted. Clutching at his shoulders, pulling herself upright in his arms, she shuddered and groaned, enjoying the moment all the way through his stiffening, slowing, and final, deep, twitching-hot stroke. Despite the water helping to relieve some of her weight, her limbs trembled from the effort of keeping herself in his embrace, arms and legs wrapped tightly around his back. She didn’t want to let go. Didn’t want it to end. Not just for the breathless passion of their lovemaking, but because this moment, this clinging afterglow, was perfect.
Arasa could feel him trembling, too. She relaxed in his arms a little, but he clutched her closer, burying his face in the side of her throat. Freeing a hand, she stroked his damp, woolly-feeling curls. “It’s all right, you can let me down; I won’t go far.”
“If I let you go,” Elrik panted quietly, struggling to quiet the racing beat of his heart, “I’ll drown. Or I’ll die.”
“
Or
you’ll die?” she found the strength to quip. “If you drowned, wouldn’t that be, ‘
and
you’ll die’?”
“If I just let go, physically, I’ll collapse and melt into the water,” he clarified quietly. “But if I let go of
you
…No spell could have more power over me than you do.”
Craning her head, she looked into his eyes, his freckled nose almost touching her own. The sincerity and emotion in those green depths shook her. Resting his forehead against hers, Elrik continued, his words piercing straight through her.
“Please, do not take this the wrong way…but I don’t want you to be firstborn. A mere Taje-tan is at the very edge of my grasp, perhaps even beyond what I deserve…but the next Empress of the Flame Sea would be as far beyond my reach as the stars themselves.”
Arasa sought to put her own feelings into words. He was wrong, very wrong to doubt himself like this, but she couldn’t say it in so many words and have him believe. Searching for the right thing to say, she held his gaze. “Elrik…
reach
for me. Take me and accept me as I am now. Whatever happens, I will always be
me
, and the woman that I am wants to reach for and hold onto the man that is
you
. If you want me…don’t let go. Don’t ever let go.”