“Most of it,” Eduor agreed. “But some of it ripened early. It’s not much, but it’s all handpicked from just an hour ago. And there are some early figs, too, and some acacia gum. I also picked some of the sweet herbs for incense during the offering.
And
I confessed my sins, few as they are, to Jimeyon while he was scrubbing the tiles in the bathing hall.”
She smiled. “You’ve really put some thought and care into honoring our Goddess, haven’t you?”
He nodded and gestured at the brazier, which currently held only a small oil lamp. It was there to symbolically keep the Flame of Sundra burning while the ashes were carefully cleaned out each evening and the brass of the exterior polished each morning. “I want to make sure I do not offend your Patron. And to show that I will honor Her, so She will accept me. I like being here. Not just in Sundara, but living and working right here, in Oba’s Well. I don’t want to leave.”
“Even when the donkeys drag you into the thorn trees?” Chanson teased lightly.
He ducked his head, but he grinned. “Even when I’m dragged into the thorn trees.”
“Well, the Goddess is happy to accept such carefully selected first fruits. It’s the thought and the intent that matter most, not the size of the offering,” she told him. “The full fire won’t be lit until just before noon, but I’ll be happy to put ... this basket? Or that one?”
“This one,” Eduor said, lifting the one in his hands.
“That basket, then, on the altar platform,” she agreed. “That will be the first fruits to the Goddess. This one would therefore be the second fruits for the priesthood and the
dyara
.”
The tap-tap of
dyara
Kedle’s cane, which she had started using in the last month, heralded the approach of the chief priestess. “That is a very small offering of first and second fruits, young man. Important, in that you brought it so soon, and I’ll trust you gave as much care in selecting the first fruits as you’ve shown in everything else you’ve done so far ... but it
is
customary to bring a larger tithe of the harvest than that.”
“With respect, reverend
dyara
,” Eduor said, giving her a bow, “I did not feel right about giving the full tithe. The land is not mine, and the seed was not mine, nor the bushes, nor the trees. Only the effort in growing it has been mine. The larger share of it still belongs to the absent owner, Falkon. In his name, I will bring a larger portion in a few days’ time, when the full harvest begins. This is just what I felt I could bring to represent the value of my own labors.”
Kedle paused, studying the young man, then smiled. “You show wisdom ... and the mind of a law-sayer, to parse your responsibility so fine. But only by the letter of the law. If Falkon and his followers haven’t returned by now, either they are dead at the hands of their enemies or they have been indentured to their captors ... or perhaps they have taken to the warrior’s life like an animal takes to an oasis. Somehow I doubt the boy will return before the end of harvest. If he does not ... then all but
that
portion of the first fruits would be your tithe to the Goddess of Water and Flame, and what you have brought today would be his.”
“With respect, reverend
dyara
,” Eduor started to protest. Kedle lifted her hand, forestalling him.
“The greatest portion, young man, comes not from the seed to sow and the land to sow it in, but the
act
of sowing it. You cannot have a good hen to lay eggs if her own egg is not first carefully tended and hatched,” Kedle reminded both of them. “Now, set the first fruits on the altar dais, and take the second fruits up to the kitchen,” she directed them. “
Dyara
Chanson, have you finished polishing the brazier?”
“Well, no, reverend
dyara
,” Chanson admitted. “I was almost finished, but I paused so that I could accept his offering.”
The elderly woman chuckled. “That’s not the only thing he’s been offering—have you given her a kiss yet, young man?”
Eduor blushed, his cheeks darkening further under his tan. “Well, no, but ... I thought it best to first honor the Goddess, and to not think of such things in Her temple.”
“The Goddess enjoys a good romance, the same as any of us—passion has been compared more than once to a flame, after all. Sometimes it warms us and sometimes it burns us, but it is a vital part of our life. Now, I can polish the rest of the brazier, if you will deal with the baskets. The rubbing cloth is the lighter of the two loads, after all. Go on,” the reverend
dyara
urged, gesturing with the tip of her cane toward the stairs to the second and higher floors. “Make sure he shows you his appreciation as he helps you with the second fruits.” She smiled, wrinkling her face with definite humor. “Just don’t be late for the noon prayers. Or too noisy.”
Eduor flushed with embarrassment.
Blushing herself, though she knew it wouldn’t be as visible on her own brown cheeks, Chanson nudged him into moving. She guided him toward the altar, letting him set the basket of first fruits on the raised stone platform, then handed him the basket of second fruits and shooed him toward the stairs.
“Go on, take it up. Please,” she added as his brow creased in a faint frown.
That’s right, I keep forgetting he has bad memories of being ordered around.
“Would you please carry it up to the kitchen storeroom for me, Eduor?”
The hint of a wrinkle smoothed. Nodding, he headed for the stairs. They had kissed a few times since the Festival of Mid-Dry, but nothing further, and Chanson thought she knew why.
I’ll have to phrase this very carefully, then, and be mindful of his past and its memories. Because Kedle is right, our Goddess
does
enjoy a good romance.
When he put the basket in the kitchen storeroom and carefully added the figs to the shelves and the grain to the bin, she didn’t
tell
him what she wanted to do. Instead, she smiled and held out her hand. He eyed it warily, but she didn’t pressure him, just left her fingers up in a silent offering. Eduor hesitated a long moment, then placed his hand in hers. Still smiling, Chanson led him out of the kitchen area and up the next flight of stairs to her own room.
But not straight to her bed. Instead, she tugged him over to the recessed window looking out across the village, and sat on one end of the cushion-strewn bench. “This is my favorite place to sit and think,” she said as she looked up at him. “Would you like to sit?”
Nodding, he settled near her. Not so close that their thighs brushed, but close enough that their hands, still joined, rested comfortably between them. His blue gaze skipped around her room, first glancing toward her bed, then toward the steel mirror by her clothes cupboard, then back to the bed, before glancing at the door that led to her private refreshing room. And back to the bed again.
Chanson didn’t have to guess what was going through his mind. She figured it was in a muddle. Wanting a little more privacy, she adjusted the wooden blinds on her window, pulling on the cord, which tilted them just enough to block out the view from below. “Eduor ... I want to ask something of you.”
That pulled his gaze back to her face. “What is it?”
His reply wasn’t entirely defensive, but she did notice a hint of wariness in his gaze. Choosing her words carefully, she laid out her thoughts. “I would like to ask you to do something for me. I would like you to tell me what you want. From me, with me, about me ... about us. Because I like you—I really like you—but I know you had some bad experiences in your past.”
He didn’t bother to pretend ignorance. Wrinkling his nose, Eduor rubbed at the back of his neck with his free hand. “I don’t like being
told
to ... go share a bed with someone, or the activities involved. And I no longer feel comfortable
telling
someone else to do those things, either. It doesn’t feel right. I can’t ...”
Squeezing his hand, Chanson soothed him. “I know, I know ... but, Eduor, if you don’t
say
what you want, how can I know? The Gods gave us the privacy of our thoughts, but that in turn means that we must share them of our own free will. I don’t want you to tell me what to do, either. At least, not in the expectation that I’d have done it regardless of my own feelings,” she allowed dryly. “It might turn out to be something that I
want
to do, but I know that you don’t want to order me around. Nor do I want to boss you around. For one, it’s exhausting, and for another, that would be an abuse of my power as
dyara
and the next reverend priestess in training.”
“Quite,” he agreed. He frowned softly, thoughtfully. “You’re saying I do have to
tell
you, in the sense of just saying it so that you’ll know. And then ... let you decide for yourself whether or not you’ll do it?”
She smiled, relieved. “Yes, exactly. And I promise you that I will do the same. We should also remember to ask what the other person wants, and if at any time, anything makes us uncomfortable, we should feel free to say ‘stop’ and know the other one of us will stop, yes? So. Do we have an agreement between us?”
He considered her offer for a mere moment before nodding. “Yes. We do. So ... I should go first, I guess. What do you want?”
Chanson grinned, happy that he had not only agreed but asked. “I want
you
. Now would be lovely, but I can also wait for later. I made sure to buy a fresh contraceptive amulet from the mage-vendor when he visited last month, same as many of the other young ladies around here, so that worry is taken care of for the next whole year. As for what I want in specific regarding you ... well, I want to do a lot of things with you, but the first thing I would like to see, if I may, is your chest.”
“My chest?” he repeated. “Just my chest, for now?”
Chanson nodded, all but holding her breath, and he gave her a half smile of his own. Freeing his fingers, he lifted both hands to the laces holding the long, overlapping folds of his
thawa
in place. The garment was a fanciful version of the kind worn out among the fields. Once unlaced, the neckline opened down to the waist where it was usually belted or sashed, though the sleeves could also be used to tie the garment around the hips. Slipping free of those sleeves, Eduor left them puddled at his hips, baring his arms as well as his upper body.
Scooting a little closer, Chanson lifted her hand, then paused. “May I touch your chest?”
“You may.”
She laid her hand on his sternum and spread her fingers. The contrast in shades of brown, hers dark and rich, his warm and golden, made her smile. “Look at that,” she murmured, gently sliding her palm up, then down. “You and I together are so different, and yet beautiful.”
“I’ve usually been called handsome, not beautiful,” he allowed, following her fingers with his gaze. “But usually by women who were either ordered to think that, or ...”
“Well, I will say there are a couple of men in this village who are
slightly
better-looking,” Chanson teased, grinning, “but none so exotic, and none that I want as much as you.”
Eduor chuckled. “I’m not exotic. Blond, maybe, but I’m just a man.”
“Nonsense. Everything about you is different. Even your chest hairs,” she told him. “They’re long and straight, instead of short and curly. And your eyes remind me of spring skies between the rains. You yourself are different, inside. You’re educated, and you’ve traveled—”
“—Involuntarily,” Eduor agreed wryly.
“Yes, but you’ve been well beyond the next village,” she reminded him. “You think about things that are larger than just the little world of Oba’s Well, and it’s easier for you because of your travels. I like talking
with
you, not just at you. And I like looking at you ... and thinking about you. I do that a lot, when I sit here in the mornings.”
“I think about you whenever I see the color blue,” Eduor said. She looked up at his face and saw his almost-shy smile. He covered her hand with his, holding it still, then glanced down at it. “I want ...” He flushed and looked away, biting his lower lip.
Chanson waited patiently, wanting him to feel free to say whatever was on his mind. “Yes?”
“I want you to ... touch me. All over. And ... And give me pleasure. But only if
you
want it,” he added quickly, meeting her gaze with a directness that underscored his seriousness on that point.
She grinned. “I was hoping you’d ask. Would you please stand?”
Complying, he stood and loosened the sash. Without being prompted, Eduor pulled both sash and
thawa
over his head. He dropped them on the cushion-padded bench, leaving him in the loincloth favored by Sundaran men. He had once described to her the many layers of a Mandarite nobleman’s clothing. She hadn’t been able to picture it very clearly even with his attempts at drawing it for her. Now, almost naked, she couldn’t imagine him any other way. He stood in his skin and his sandals, facing her with the plain linen cloth wrapped around his hips and groin, and did so with a mixture of dignity and self-awareness.
His thighs fascinated her. Chanson knew he was paler than a Sundaran; one only had to look at his golden-brown face to see it. But his thighs, between hips and knees, were as pale as sand. Wanting a closer look, she slipped off the bench onto one knee. Eduor jumped back.
“What—don’t
do
that!” he exclaimed, eyes wide with shock and what looked like a little fear.
Confused, Chanson blinked up at him. “Do what?”
“Don’t ...” He flushed, closed his eyes for a moment, then wrapped his arms around his chest. “Back ... in Mandare ... As the son of an Earl, it was customary in our household to be greeted every day by our slave-women. Greeted by them ... They’d get on their knees, and ...” He couldn’t seem to get the words out, though he tried. “Just
don’t kneel
in front of me. Please. You aren’t a slave, and I don’t have any right to ...”
She still didn’t get it. “Right to ... what?”