Cobweb Empire (42 page)

It struck her then, the realization of the
horror that they avoided, and what might have been had they
not. . . .

“Thank you, My Lord . . .”
she whispered. “For all that you’ve done for me, in the course of
your own duty. For being so kind to me. . . .”

Beltain, seated down on the cloak beside
her, turned his face to her in three-quarter profile, washed by the
silver glow of the moon. His eyes were liquid and dark, and he
spoke nothing, only looked at her.

“No need to thank me,” he said at last. “I
would do the same for anyone in my care. It is my
responsibility.”

“I know . . .” she whispered.
“I know you are only following the instructions of Her Imperial
Highness, Claere. But—I still thank you with all
my . . . heart.”

At this, he smiled. It was a smile that
touched his eyes.

“I should be the one thanking you,” he said.
“You are the one who has saved us, many times over, Percy
Ayren.”

But she was not done. “I also want to ask
your forgiveness—for—for hitting you with that
skillet. . . . And for tying you
up. . . . And for dragging you inside the cart—”

He started laughing. And then said, “To be
honest, I am glad you did. For none of us would be here now, if it
had been otherwise.” And then he added, “Now, enough! Get some
sleep.”

She nodded, then lay down, resting her head
on the small bundle. Seconds later, she felt him lie down also,
directly behind her. And then his arm came down and around her
waist, drawing her closer to him, so that she was cradled in his
full-body embrace.

“I’ll keep you warm . . .” he
whispered in her ear, and his baritone was a sweet rumble down to
her bones.

P
ercy felt a flush
of overwhelming heat rise up in her cheeks, spreading out to the
rest of her, and she was suddenly warm indeed, from head to toe, as
she felt his powerful muscular body behind her, like a wall of
strength, through all the thick layers of their clothing.

She went limp and motionless, and simply
remained thus, afraid to breathe from the wonder of it. He too
seemed to feel some kind of effect, for inexplicably he became as
still as herself. And then slowly, he pressed himself even closer
against her, nearly crushing her with his embrace against the
length of him.

She could feel his heartbeat. Or maybe it
was her own, pulsing in her temples. It was no longer possible to
differentiate where her own body began and his
ended. . . .

They had become one strange bound thing. A
single entity of living warmth, cleaving together in the pale night
that had no temperature, no wind, no sound.

“Percy . . .” he whispered
suddenly. “I am not . . .
kind
.”

And while she was still considering the
strange deep thickness of his voice, his mouth came down, hard and
impossible, upon the hollow of her throat. . . . And
his other hand was now digging into her hair, pulling her clumsily
up to his face, while he was wallowing against her throat, her
cheeks, and at last her lips. . . .

Maybe she had died, and this was a fever
dream of the underworld. Percy was a thing of liquid clay, and her
single shuddering breath had come and gone—was
taken
by
him—and he was now above her and she was under him, and his mouth
was against hers, and it was not comprehensible, not possible, to
be so much a
nothing,
to be rendered into weightless air and
pouring amber, and at the same time to be molten warm honey and
malleable sun.

He moaned hoarsely, coming up for air, and
then his mouth kissed her again—for yes, this is what it was, a
kiss
—and then suddenly with a cry he let her go.

“No!” he cried, “forgive me!”

And she was released and lay back, in a
shock of loss, of sudden cold . . . separated from
him while he backed away from her, taking deep panting breaths, and
his eyes were opened wide and dark with repressed desire.

“Oh, God, what have I
done . . .” he whispered, quieting, staring at her,
in horror of himself, then sat back at the end of the cloak.

Percy lay, taking deep breaths also, in a
vain attempt to still her racing pulse. Her limbs refused to obey
her, in a strange debilitating languor that continued to make her
into formless water. . . .

“Why?” she uttered with the last strength of
her breath.

“Because I am—” He strove to speak but could
not finish.

“What, My Lord?”

“Because I am a liar,” he concluded.

She listened, barely breathing.
“What . . . do you mean?”

And he again neared her, coming down on his
elbows, leaning over her face, and he remained thus, looking down
at her.

“I lied to you,” he said in a hard voice of
barely repressed emotion. “I told you that I am here merely on the
orders of Her Imperial Highness. . . . But in truth,
I had
begged
her to let me go with you as much as she had
insisted that I accompany you.”

“But why?” asked Percy, gazing up at him in
amazement.

“Because,” he said, “I love you.”

P
ercy was in shock.
It was as if something had struck her, a hard blunt object, and
made her powerless with an infinite impossible joy.

Beltain was looking down at her, his eyes
glittering with the moon, an indescribable expression on his
face.

“You . . .
love
me?”
she whispered like a broken fool.

“I had not realized it then,” he said. “Not
at first. At first, I simply knew you were the most inexplicable
being in the world and I had to
understand
you, and also to
make sure that you were not harmed by anyone—ever.”

“But—how can you love
me?
”

“How can I
not?
”

A lump was building in her throat. She lay
shuddering, her breaths coming quick and agonized, and at last her
eyes were completely flooded, and she could no longer see the moon
or
him
through the tears. They ran down her fat puffy
cheeks, and her nose was suddenly swollen full and she could not
breathe.

“You . . . are like the sun
to me,” she managed to speak through the morass of tears. “And I am
like . . .
dirt
.”

“
What?”
he cried. And then he lowered
his lips gently on her forehead and then put both hands at either
side of her face, pressing his large warm palms against her cheeks,
and wiped away her tears with his strong fingers.

“
Never
say such a thing again!” he
exclaimed, his warm breath bathing her face.

“I—” And indeed she could hardly speak.

And then he spoke instead. “I must further
admit, I have taken advantage of you. And I am sorry to have placed
you in such an uncomfortable position, Percy. I never intended to
do anything more than be near you, for as long as I
could—especially considering that all this time, up to a few
moments ago, I thought you could not stand the sight of me.”

“
What?”
It was now her turn to be
shocked. “My Lord, I am a clumsy mannerless oaf and idiot. I had
never seen or met anyone like you before, and I was terrified of
your grace and beauty. At first, ’tis true, when we first met, I
had not formed a fair opinion of the fearsome Black Knight. But
now—I
love
you with all my being. And I had expected to go
to my grave with that secret.”

“If I die now . . .” he
whispered. “If I were to die, it would be like this, with
you. . . .”

In that very moment Percy lifted her arms
about his neck. And with all the love her heart could hold, she
kissed him.

T
hey did not say
another word for a long time, simply lay in a quiet, chaste
embrace, separated by so many layers of clothing between the two of
them, and yet infinitely warm.

At some point, Percy whispered against his
neck, “I am dreaming . . . are you really here? Is
this real? Is any of this a dream?”

“I am here!” he replied. And his arms moved
hard around her, pressing her to him until she almost could not
breathe, while she heard his own ragged, shuddering intakes of air,
as he trembled, and his eyes were vulnerable with
desire. . . .

At last, as the moon disappeared from the
exposed openings in the roof above, they slept and did not wake
till morning.

However, soon after dawn, from outside came
the sound of neighing horses.

Beltain was awake in an instant, like a
coiled spring, and he went for his sword.

Percy opened her eyes, blinking, but his
finger was placed softly upon her lips. And then he was up and
gone, moving through the dappled morning sunlight in the shadows of
the temple.

The additional sounds outside resolved
themselves into voices. A man and a woman were speaking in subdued
tones. And then, footfalls sounded upon the marble stairs leading
up to the front colonnade.

The black knight froze in the shadows on one
side of the doorway, his blade bared. Another moment, and someone
entered the interior hall, a man in dark somber clothing and a
heavy winter cape. Before he could walk more than a step, Beltain’s
sword was held at his throat.

The man, a middle aged nobleman, made a
short exclamation, then froze in place, putting his hands up in
resignation.

“Halt!” said the black knight softly. “I can
take your life in a blink and make you a walking dead man. What is
your business?”

“Please, no . . .” the man
responded in an accent of Balmue. And in the next instant, behind
him appeared a woman, dressed in dark travel clothing. She looked
inside and barely stifled an exclamation of fear, while her eyes
widened in her thin pinched face.

Beltain assessed the situation immediately
and slowly lowered his sword.

“I mean you no harm,” he said. “If you in
turn feel the same way.”

“Oh, Lord!” the woman exhaled with a
shudder, and the man also let out his breath in relief.

“You—you are not a cutpurse?” the man
said.

Beltain examined him with a gaze of thorough
appraisal. “Is there anyone else with you outside?”

“Oh, no!” exclaimed the lady. “It is only
the two of us! But I’m sure many more will be coming soon!”

The gentleman meanwhile gave her a warning
glance, but it was too late.

“Not a cutpurse, but a careful traveler,”
Beltain replied.

The man considered for a moment then decided
that the danger had passed. “We are travelers also, here to visit
the Temple Thesmophoros, to honor the one who is Thesmos divine
and—and to pray on behalf of Ulpheo. Not many remember her or honor
her, these days. Now, of course, it will all change—”

“Is that the name of the Goddess?” Percy had
come forth quietly from her hiding place in the alcove of the
sanctum.

The man started slightly at the sound of her
voice, but seeing that it was only a young girl, eased again.

“Yes,” replied the woman in his stead. “It
is but one of her many names.”

“We have taken shelter here for the night,”
the black knight said, “and did not expect any other visitors.”

“We do not begrudge your presence here,”
replied the man in a polite and gentle voice. “But we have come to
pray. And thus, I hope you allow us the freedom to do so. Indeed,
it appears we are the first to arrive, for soon many others will
come also. . . . But please, put away your steel,
sir. This is a sacred place, and Thesmos does not permit
violence.”

“Gladly,” said Beltain. He then turned his
back on them calmly in a show of peaceful intentions and returned
back to their sleeping spot and started to pack away the items and
put on his plate armor pieces.

Percy lingered for a moment, watching the
man and woman as they in turn ignored her and Beltain and gazed up
at the face of the golden Goddess.

“I have dreamt of this Goddess,” she said
suddenly. “Only, in my dream she was clad in nothing but golden
jewels, a collar, and a headdress, and she was seated with one leg
folded, and the other upraised at the knee.”

The man and woman turned to regard her. Then
they exchanged curious glances. “How exactly did you see the
Goddess Thesmos?” the woman asked. “Was there anything else?
Anything—did she
speak
to you?”

“It was a gentle dream,” Percy replied.
“There were no words I could recall, only her small golden
shape.”

Again the woman and man exchanged
glances.

“There is only one such likeness of the
Goddess,” the man uttered thoughtfully. “And it is found in the
Hall of the Sun beside the Sapphire
Throne. . . .”

Beltain stopped what he was doing and
returned to listen to their exchange.

And then the noblewoman raised her earnest
face to glance from Percy to Beltain, and to her companion. “There
may be some significance to this—to our very meeting here,” she
admitted with weariness and inexplicable vulnerability. “I am the
Countess Arabella D’Arvu, and this is my husband, Count Lecrant
D’Arvu of Balmue. I know not who you are, kind travelers, but my
heart tells me we are all brought here for a reason. I, too, have
had
dreams
. . . .”

“Arabella, please, caution!” said her
spouse, throwing another glance at the black knight and his newly
attached imposing plate armor.

But the Countess did not heed him. She
abruptly stepped forward and crossed the remainder of the distance
between herself and Percy. She took the girl by her hands, her own
fine jeweled fingers shaking, and she looked into her eyes with a
desperate expression. The fine velvet hood slid off her head and
her black wig had been dislodged slightly, revealing the edges of
graying hair at her temples. “Please . . .” she
said, “tell me what you saw of the Goddess! Anything! For it might
mean the world for the life of my daughter! I have—I have lost my
daughter, and she is—”