Fire & Water
Ashe: Book Two
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TBCChapter Twelve
The air was so thick with incense it made Ashe’s eyes burn. She stood silently, cloaked and anonymous in the company of the other would-be apprentices to the Word of the Red Temple as they stood and waited for their induction to commence. The meanings of the Word itself ran around the inside of Ashe’s head and made her dizzy: insane, ridiculous, nightmarish, fucking awful (that was really two words but it passed muster if she discounted the adjective), and unbelievable. She’d ducked out of the cloakroom when the last visitors to it had come and gone and now found herself back in the hall where she’d overheard two Temple attendants being unimpressed with Murah and far from grieving over Janu’s very recent demise.
Then the great doors – so vast that she had not taken them for doors but a wall – opened wide, and everyone pressed forward to gain admittance. Everyone but Ashe seemed to be brimming over with excitement and anticipation. She kept to the rear of the crowd, cautious and watchful.
She straightened her shoulders and let her hand touch the hilt of her sword. If she was about to meet the beast, she’d have to do what she could. If she had to meet Murah, she had a weapon within reach. She tried not to think about whether a sword would work against temptation.
She was so busy concentrating on being unnoticed that she kept her gaze fixed low. In this fashion she was well inside the chamber of temptations before she took stock of what was around her.
What a room, she thought. What a wonderful place in which to live out one’s life: a vast, comfortable hall, with end shutters wide open to the world, through which blew the sweetest air Ashe had ever breathed. She could smell spring in that breeze, and cherry blossoms in pink and white; she could feel the soft grass beneath her feet while her soul just shifted upwards towards the vast white clouds and the serenely blue sky. She blinked and then she could see what she’d just thought of: in the far distance she could see the towers of a mighty stronghold, banners fluttering in the wind, the sky bright above it.
Ashe shook herself and the image was still there. She began to walk toward that view, and the land that had to be as close as a heartbeat, while the breeze played with her, ruffling her fringe as her hood shifted. She could see rivers, and beyond them she could see the ocean itself, wide and blue and magical.
There was a moment in which Ashe’s destiny hung in the balance and she had no idea. It would have been so easy to have kept on walking, to forget about what she meant to do, and what she had done before. She could slough off the old Ashe, the Ashe of battles and fuck-ups and general disarray and immerse herself in a new world. The urge to go on was almost overwhelming. Almost. Ashe’s body swayed forward, and then there came into her mind an image of Betany, of Calliope, Sam and even Gowdie. For one mad moment she could remember the fall that killed her, which aching memory pulled her back. She blinked, shook herself and was back entirely within the Temple, watching the world change around her.
In the hall itself, which was light and bright and almost brashly open, there were a wealth of treasures: the walls were hung with tapestries in colours so real and vivid they hurt the eye. Ashe made her way through the treasures, following in the footsteps of her companions, examining what was on offer. She put her hands into the bowls of rubies and let them fall over her fingers like droplets of blood. She saw carnelians that shone like the eyes of lizards, and amethysts that had been shaped into the nodding heads of harebells. She felt the weight of the threaded ropes of pearl, and stared at the diamonds that had been placed in black dishes in which they shone like a handful of rainbows. She rolled in her palm an egg-sized emerald the deep and lasting green of the ocean during a storm. Had she wanted to, she could have played marbles with a dish of perfectly rounded sapphires.
She examined the jewelled robes that hung from stands in each corner of the room. All were adorned with tiny stitches, each of which held a tiny bored jewel. There was gold enough, thought Ashe, to pave the streets of Caer Arianrhod. There were solid blocks of silver, too, that felt cool and comfortable to the touch. She paused to build a hand-high silver wall, into which she tipped a bowl of diamonds. The contrast was pleasing. Then she moved on, while all around she heard the gasps of pleasure and surprise that were emitted by her companions.
Ashe hesitantly removed the stopper from one of a dozen ornately decorated jars. She anticipated a perfume but was not prepared for the force that would break loose. Even as the lid squeaked free of the mouth, Ashe was overwhelmed with the scent of summer. In an instant every memory of the summer months flooded through Ashe’s mind. The sensation was so overwhelming that it pushed her back. She let the lid fall back into place, only to see another young woman hug the jar to her while she inhaled the season. Scents arose from the other jars all around Ashe and the combination of the scent of every aspect of a love affair met in mid-air the perfumes of the seasons, the sea, the beginning of life. She backed away from the mystical perfumes, but even as she bumped against the others she was overtaken by the perfumes of lust, ambition and war that were breaking out on every side.
She saw one of the others holding tight the perfume of a love affair, the lid of which had been flung to the floor. That scent was pernicious, crossing the room to take up Ashe in its coils. She broke free but had inhaled enough of that scent to cause a flush to rise in her cheeks. She shook herself violently and turned her attention to the table of dream boxes. Beyond the delights she could see clouds forming around the distant mountain tops.
The dream boxes were made of something that looked rather horribly like polished bone. Ashe touched one and recoiled like a cat before a spitting fire. This was one area she did not intend to explore, but the others had different intentions. She saw them struggle to open the trick boxes, which had no lids, and which demanded careful manipulation. When the first would-be apprentice learned the knack of twisting the sides in opposite directions, the box leapt from her grip, releasing its dream even as it struck the ground. Ashe saw the dream rise up like a new flame, but one that burned with an intense and cold blue flame. She heard the girl’s gasp as the dream slid into her, and watched in disbelief as the young woman began to respond to the invisible touches of an invisible lover, her eyes closed, her head thrown back in evident ecstasy.
Looking to her left Ashe saw one of the most upright and proper of the girls from Hero’s party begin to run her own hands over her body as she inhaled the essence of a dream. Soon she was tearing free her clothes and touching her breasts, the nipples hard. No-one else commented on the action, but then, no-one else seemed aware of the seduction. In a corner she saw a girl sit down and wrap herself round with a shawl that illustrated a thousand moments of happiness. The girl’s face was dyed with pleasure. The temptation of erotic satisfaction had been accepted.
Ashe looked hurriedly away. She was all in favour of passion, but generally preferred to combine it with privacy.
Stepping back from the centre of the scene she saw more and more of the girls from Hero’s party – was what Janu had hinted at really what had happened to Hero? – forcing open the boxes and responding to whatever lay within. Ashe knocked a bowl off one of the table tops and bent to pick up the jewels that she had inadvertently scattered before they tripped up everyone. She got no further than that first movement and then stopped dead, staring fixedly at the floor.
She had thought that the floor was of solid marble but clearly it could not be, for when she looked down she saw not the white flecked with black but a mirror in which everything, from her own startled face in which her eyes burned, was presented.
Seeing the room from beneath, as it were, threw Ashe’s sense of perspective so badly that for a moment she swayed and came close to falling. Then she rested one hand on a solid table-top and regained a semblance of stability. But she never took her eyes off the polished surface in which the truth of the situation was displayed. She saw everything beneath her that she had witnessed above, but until that moment she had not seen everything.
The girl who had begun to touch herself and to respond as to a lover had that lover in her arms. The lover was a demon, red-eyed and grinning, with needle-teeth bared. It touched the girl with clawed mitts that left jagged and reddened indentations on her skin.
Everywhere in the room there were demons. They stood maybe waist high to Ashe, their bodies lean and corded and their skin cracked and scabby. They were hairless and their heads were both flat and sharp. Everywhere they chattered in delight as their wares seduced the women from Hero’s party. Some held up the bowls of jewels to the beholders, like an adult teasing a child with a bowl of sweets, and the demons’ claws extended into the air an inch beyond the tops of the bowls. Ashe shuddered to think that she might have been within the reach of one of those… Other demons scampered madly about the room, chattering to one another, leaping from the shoulders and heads of their oblivious hosts. Once Ashe could see them, she could hear them, too. This did not seem to be a plus. The voices of the demons were high and jagged and their high-pitched chatter hurt Ashe’s ears as badly as their forms did her eyes. One might wish to go blind rather than to see something like that, thought Ashe, making a point of not wishing to in case that desire became tangible and real, and blotted out the world forever.
She became aware that in the mirror-world she was being left alone by the demons. Evidently they could see her – one noticed the direction of her gaze and hooted and screeched this fact to its kin – but none of them came close enough to touch her. Indeed, when she stared into one set of red eyes she thought she saw a flicker of revulsion cross the pitted, angular face. That was fine: if the demons of temptation wanted to find Ashe unpleasant, all power to them. Her stomach churned and her heart pounded as the next phase of the proceedings came about.
What had changed the setting this time? Ashe didn’t know. But she was perfectly aware that the growing tension in the room had become oppressive. Outside the sky no longer shone blue and white and tranquil: it had darkened, and the sunlight was gone. A dull yellow-grey pall began to shroud the view from the broad and high window.
Ashe had a moment in-between worlds before things turned really nasty. At last the smell of the incense had dissipated and her sight was as keen as it had ever been. To her left she saw a girl pluck down a tiny vase from the air, a thing coloured blue and white, the blue of opals and the white like that of new clouds. Ashe said, “Look, it’s nice enough, but it’s not worth…” but the girl didn’t hear her. The girl took her choice and held it to her, a hunger like none she’d ever thought of was pulsing through her veins, and nothing but possession would satisfy it. She pressed it to her breast and Ashe looked away, mistakenly looked down, and saw the demon proffering up this latest gift be absorbed with it in the girl’s body. Ashe saw the flesh open to accept the offering, closing back afterwards.
Ashe pushed herself away from the sights and toward the window. Once she’d reached the opening she tore her gaze away from the ground and looked straight across at Murah, who seemed to have come out of nowhere. Murah’s shape was too tall and too fixed, and the shadow she cast – which in terms of light she could not be casting – stretched the length of the room. Murah’s eyes were fiercely red as those of the demons. The chair in which she sat was an oddity in itself: along the armrests were stretched little sleeping dragons, their claws held tightly round the end of the chair’s arms. In turn Murah’s hands rested on the backs of the dragons, while her feet were supported by a floor of moving jewels. She grinned at Ashe. “What a shame there seems to be nothing here that pleases you. Do you truly see nothing you want?”
Ashe could hardly think at all. Her mouth was dry. She’d just looked down in time to see that the demons of temptation had each taken hold of their new victim. The needle-like teeth of the demons were becoming more pronounced by the minute. Murah smiled at Ashe in the floor’s reflection.
Ashe screamed out loud but no aspect of her horror touched the women all around her. Murah nodded her head toward some of the demons, who rushed forward to take and bind Ashe’s wrists. She felt their touch like a cold fire and shook them free. Everywhere else in the room the demons were taking up their victims into their embrace, pressing lipless mouths to vulnerable throats, and letting those long thin teeth tickle the surface of the skin. Then a bell tolled to mark the next stage, and all about Ashe a hundred demons began to ravish their prey.
The intensity of movement all around Ashe became a spinning nightmare: she saw faces blur and heard cries of pleasure become… something else. She felt the heat of the demons as they danced and drank, the lifeblood of the temple being leeched out, drop by drop.
Ashe tried to clutch at the women around her. If she couldn’t make herself heard to the women about her, then surely she could wrestle them free of their captors. But to the women about her whatever pain they might have felt had been anaesthetised by the satisfaction of desire. Ashe tore round and round, grasping at shapes that were gradually leaving the ground, as the demons lifted their prey higher and higher. All that she could hear were mad sighs and amorous voices that grew louder and louder until she dropped to her knees, her hands trying vainly to cover her ears and shut out the nightmare sound.
Then silence fell again, as complete as if it had never been questioned, never been anything other than what it was. A few clouds of spinning dust flew over Ashe’s head and winged their way toward the ceiling of the hall. Ashe stared up after them and at that moment there dropped from the ceiling a cascade of crimson. Blood poured down all, but left Murah and Ashe untainted. It struck the floor and was immediately absorbed. Ashe looked down for the last time.
The world beneath her had become a vast cave carved from quartz. Ashe saw for an instant a stack of bones that reached higher than the tallest tower of the temple. She saw bodies in all directions and for an instant she saw something else; the word of the temple had not been blood, or stupidity, or horror. Beneath Ashe’s feet within the crystal cavern the beast shook its monstrous head and raised its gaze to look straight at Ashe. In those burning suns of eyes set in a skull of uncovered bone Ashe saw every nightmare she had ever woken from, sweating and afraid, and when she turned to Murah it was as if the woman had suddenly become lesser of two evils.
Ashe blinked back tears. Murah grinned at her. An expression of jaded satisfaction had printed itself across her face, but her hands were clenched hard on the arms of her chair, and her eyes were dull with fury.
“The beast…” said Ashe, simply, letting the images beneath her fade or die or live on: she wanted no part of them. She had seen the nightmare and it did not terrify her, it simply took away her hope. That was the element to the nightmare that she would not withstand. She felt heavy, clumsy, and so tired she might have been a year without sleep. But she understood. She said, “The beast. That’s your sacred word. That’s what all this stuff is about. That’s whom you serve.”
“The beast,” said Murah, looking hard at Ashe. “Yes. You killed Janu,” she said. “That’s really going to fuck things up. You know, I thought that today I’d have the satisfaction of seeing you go to play your part in the great dance. But it seems you’re not open to persuasion. It seems you aren’t even avaricious, which really disappoints me. I thought today would bring an end to you.”
“While I didn’t mean to kill Janu,” said Ashe, “I’ll have to admit that I don’t regret doing so.” She wiped away two unwanted tears: a very minor grief for the deaths that had just taken part all around her. She felt as if her grip on reality had gone for good. “How can you do this?” With a mad gesture she indicated what had been around her – and who – before letting her arm drop back down to her side. “How can you glory in this… horror?”
“To be honest with you, Ashe, it’s a job. Yes. At the end of the day it’s as good as some and not much worse than others, but it is fiendishly well paid. It’s not your thing: you’re not cut out for it. But it’s a necessary evil and I think it works very well.”
Ashe put up a hand to her throat and let her cloak fall to the floor. She kicked it away, gestured to her sword and said, “Please. Let’s just get this over with, or are you too nice to fight your own battles? Come on: I’m done with this abattoir.”
Murah stood up, the two dragons hissing at Ashe. She reached to her side and drew a fine, razor-sharp sword from its sheath. Light bounced off the perfection of the metal. Ashe drew her own sword from its faded leather sheath and weighed it in her hand: it felt steady and solid and real. She felt lightness begin to flood her body, felt a new clarity behind her thoughts. The scent of freshly-spilled blood stuck in her lungs. No matter what else happened, it would be good to leave the Temple, even if the exit door was labelled death.
They stood on the marbled floor, now as white as a new moon and without a stain to stand for what had just passed. Ashe shifted her weight lightly from one foot to another, her sword ready.
Murah said, “I don’t suppose it’s worth asking if you’d like to take Janu’s place? You’re the last person I’d think to offer the post to, but you’re here, which is convenient, and I think you’re capable of running the upstairs part of the Word.” Ashe stared coldly back at her. “Is that a no? Oh, don’t tell me: it’s a horrible suggestion and you’d rather die than even consider it. Alright, let’s accommodate your desires, Ashe. Let’s see you dead.”
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A week of sexually-charged dreams had Laure on edge and as frustrated as she could remember being. Sex had always mattered to the queen, and sex had always been readily available, up until this last year when everything had gone wrong. Ashe had always been a willing participant. Laure considered and discarded that thought as being not wholly accurate. Ashe had never had much choice. Even that last afternoon, which had been so successfully shot to pieces when Calypso turned up, had augured well. An orgy, indeed! At that moment in time Laure might have considered almost any reasonably attractive, reasonably personable partner. What a shame that Ardan couldn’t have been a little less clinging. If there was anything that Laure detested, it was that kind of fawning affection. It brought out the worst in her. If Ardan had sunk to her knees and begged, as Laure thought she was going to do, Laure probably would have kicked her. But then again… Laure walked once more down the staircase and into the sunlit afternoon, and found Ardan standing in the newly-built entrance to the palace.
The sun’s rays were falling over Ardan’s shoulders, making her incandescent. Laure looked up and stayed looking. She had given up on the little apprentice, but now it seemed that the little apprentice was a thing of the past.
Laure moved toward Ardan, and began talking before her brain had moved into gear. She was aware that she was a little dishevelled and more than a little surprised. Ardan was dressed differently: gone were the loose robes that had hung about her. Now Ardan was wearing a leather shirt – much like the one Ashe hardly ever took off – and it was loosely laced, showing the tops of her breasts. Ardan’s hair looked different, too, in a little wild and decidedly more attractive a style. Her leather trousers were tucked into her boots and – oh, Goddess – just for a second Ardan really looked like Ashe, if Ashe had been born light-skinned and fair haired. Laure managed a fairly diffident greeting, but her interest was aroused all the same. At last she said, “I didn’t think to see you again.”
No, and I wonder why that was? I was almost too excited for an ordinary, civilised response. I wanted to turn cartwheels around the reduced court before a reduced palace. How are the mighty fallen. I almost wish I’d had the chance of seeing Lascar before it fell. From the remains all around I can see that it must have been a wonderful construction. Ardan of course had known the city fairly well, and now that she has been nice enough to invite me in, I’ve learned from her memories. I can just visualise the palace, rising floor upon floor, closer and closer to the sun, with the floors of marble and the sandstone walls, the decorations and the flowers everywhere. Laure’s old chamber, with the golden hangings and the bed like a ship’s figurehead, the four posts carved into the images of wild and exotic beasts.
Sometimes the sense of imprisonment comes back to haunt me. I wish that I had learned how to explore this skill at an earlier time, but if I had, would I ever have become as strong or as resilient? Besides, wasn’t it Calypso’s death that really set me free? I might have learned how to send my spirit out in the world, but until she died I was incapable of entering anyone’s head, let alone someone as smart and as hungry for revenge as Ardan. And if I had been capable, back then, I would have been incapable of concealing my power. Like a child with a special birthday present I should have slept each night with that thought beside my bed, so that it would be the first thing I saw when I woke up. And everyone else would have seen it there, too.
I never had the chance to be a child, and I never had any birthdays.
It can be dangerous to hold someone down for too long. Sometimes they never get up again. Sometimes they spring back from restraint with so much power that something… snaps. Something breaks. I would never have chosen to be a friend to Ardan; she is not my type. I think that I could have talked on an almost even keel with Alexis, but I sense now that I will not get that opportunity. She’s gone from all this, off to Caer Arianrhod where all is sunshine and happiness and ease.
Alright. I am guilty of envying the people of Caer Arianrhod. I don’t think that I would ever fit in there, nor want to, but I can see that it must be nice to enjoy one’s home.
I am quite enjoying my new residence inside Ardan’s head and heart. I know now that I badly underestimated her, which was very foolish of me. I had thought her incapable of sustained emotion of any kind, but that is not the case. When I first met her, when she slipped free of Rhea and was for a time isolated and vulnerable, my only honest intention was use her a little and then let her go. But Rhea thought her worth saving, and I can see that Rhea’s opinion is of some merit. Besides, Rhea came back from the drained state that Calypso and Alexis brought about, which means she has real power. I wish I knew in what part of her soul that power has its roots. Anyway, it doesn’t matter: what is of significance now is Ardan’s relationship with Lammor’s queen.
This feels almost incestuous, to be honest. Here I am taking up residence within Ardan so that I might seduce Laure, the former partner of my sister. I suppose I could make jokes about attraction running in the family, but I’m not that crass. Besides, to whom could I tell them? And it’s not a hunger for a consummated relationship; I simply want to know what makes Laure tick.
Ardan is still here, of course. It was Ardan who began thinking about Laure again, as she has done, day after day, since being unceremoniously dropped from a height. She is unaware of me, while I am utterly conscious of her. It is as if we inhabit different rooms in a house, or a palace. But Ardan confines herself to only a couple of rooms – which are really all she needs – while I am happy to wander freely everywhere, and I have keys to all the locks. I don’t think Ardan even knows that there are doors.
She would never have come back here were it not for me. Her fury and hurt on account of Laure’s treatment of her would have kept her away for ever had I not quietly inveigled my way into her mind. She is proud – as proud as anyone I’ve known – and she is single-minded. I could not let the silence between them continue: I knew that if Ardan stayed away any longer I would not have sufficient power to guide her. But I sifted into her dreams so many thoughts of Lammor’s queen that she woke with that name on her lips. All day I have gently pulled at her, reminding her of the terrible times that Laure had experienced (that was an effort: does the woman have redeeming qualities?), encouraging her to imagine herself the only one left who truly cares about the queen. In this last I think there is some truth: does anyone left now feel any concern for Laure? I suggested to Ardan Laure’s foolishness. I may have added a description of the regret Laure might have felt after she had driven Ardan away. I must admit, not only is this stuff hard to do, it’s hard to believe my own lies.
There is some goodness in Ardan. Not as much as I had at first imagined, because the girl is still unfinished. I don’t know why Rhea would have wanted her as an apprentice: she shows no particular aptitude for the job. She’s smart enough and ambitious in a small way, but she lacks direction and drive. Too many emotions swirl around the inside of her head: she has a selection of pretty paints to work with, but she possesses no single canvas. She is relatively unspoiled because she has not experienced much in the way of pain or loss. That’s partly why Laure’s words made such an impact. Ardan thought she was in love with the queen. I have done my best to fan those flames. Now I have to make her into someone Laure might truly fall for, even if Laure’s interests in anyone else are rooted in her own self-love. I need Laure to want Ardan a whole lot more than Ardan once wanted her. This should be interesting. I do enjoy a challenge.
Laure smiled at Ardan. Again she regretted the loss of servants. Ardan could have been kept from her more easily in the old days. “Hello,” she said at length. “I didn’t think to see you again.”
Ardan smiled back. Her voice was easy and confident; the sunlight was turning her outline to gold. “I’ve been busy,” she said. “Rhea left me a million things to do, and as she may be back soon, I thought I should at least make a start. But you know how it is.” She paused and looked past the queen. “It’s a fine day and the summer won’t last for ever and I felt that I needed a rest from collecting flowers.”
“Yes.” Laure was still a step behind. She said, rather vaguely, “I can see that you might want a rest after that. Would you… Would you like some wine? Uh, we could walk down into the city. I could use the fresh air and it can get a bit lonesome here…”, indicating with unnecessary vagueness bugger all.
Ardan reached into the bag she had slung over her shoulder and produced a flask. “I’ve raided Rhea’s secret supply,” she said, which should have sounded a clarion warning loud to deafen. “This is something really special. Shall we drink it here or find somewhere more… private?”
The suggestion was apparent and oddly appealing to Laure. She thought for a moment and Ardan came closer to her, so that the queen could see the brightness of her eyes and smell her scent, which was a slightly musky and entirely attractive perfume. “Oh, don’t want to be falling over that.” Ardan bent to tie the laces of her left boot. A close observer might have thought it not honestly loose at all, but it was a nice thing to do: the angle she described showed her cleavage off to nice advantage, and the sunlight glinted on the fair hair. It took Ardan a surprisingly long time to collect up the laces and tame them into a new bow.
Laure looked at Ardan with an expression that was three parts lust to one part doubt. She hesitated for the shortest of moment and then brightly picked up a shovel and began to dig her own grave, saying “Let’s go to my room. We can drink that while we look out over the city.”
Oh, I love her. I really do. Almost. Laure has almost no redeeming qualities. Had we met on even ground I think I might have been attracted to her. Rather to my surprise I felt a surge of appetite as I looked at Calypso’s ex.
Ardan had painted a very accurate picture of the Lascan queen. Her artwork was coloured by angst and pain, of course, but she had a good eye for detail and once I’d crushed flat her wealth of inhibitions, she began to blossom like a little flower. I hadn’t asked her if she wanted to be present for the Lascan’s unveiling, so to speak, but I knew that she could look in on the action if she was so inclined.
So up the stairs they went, Ardan with her easy, confident stride and the Lascan working hard to keep up. By the top of the stairs she was a little breathless, and her heart was pumping hard. The sensation was delicious.
Laure brought the cups and Ardan poured the wine, which shone warmly as it was touched by the air. A last drop of wine threatened to fall and stain Ardan’s shirt, but she caught it with a gentle fingertip and touched it to Laure’s mouth, spreading it over Laure’s lips. Reflexively Laure’s tongue reached out to taste the wine and Ardan smiled and took her hand away. They both drank.
Perle is excellent stuff, which makes me sorry that I don’t much care for alcohol. The wine in Ardan’s flask was indeed special, having been distilled by Ardan – under my instruction – over three consecutive nights. The wine was perle distilled and then brewed up afresh with a number of herbs and dried flowers, not to mention a few others that Ardan had to treat with great care, and mutter some succinct imprecations over before including it in the brew. Belladonna, comfrey and a hint of grated hazel root. Even thinking about the combination makes my head spin.
Laure drank her first cup too quickly while Ardan paced herself so that when Laure’s cup needed refilling, her own was still half full. They sat together in silence until Laure had begun her third cup. She wasn’t to know that one of the strengths of the brew was to make a brisk drinker desire more even before the current mouthful had slipped down their throat. Ardan only sipped her wine, her expression unreadable. I had expected nothing less of her.
Laure watched Ardan and Ardan pretended not to notice the regard. She simply slid back so that her back was against one of the sun-warmed pillars and let her legs drift a little apart. From where the queen sat, one of Ardan’s breasts was visible to the nipple. When Ardan caught her rather lustful gaze, Laure smiled awkwardly and re-applied herself to the wine. She was confused: she hadn’t wanted to see Ardan after that one stupid, pointless and clumsy night: the Gods knew, she’d made it perfectly clear to Ardan that the girl’s skills were as far from desirable as they could be. And now she was watching Ardan with a dry-mouthed desire that made her cunt clench and her heart thump against its casings.
The wine began to do its work, allied in all respects by Ardan’s casual disinterest. Since the droplet of wine she hadn’t touched Laure at all, avoiding the touch of the Lascan’s hand when she refilled the cups and never returning her curious and hungry expression. Ardan could feel the blood heating in Laure’s veins.
Ardan leaned back and ran her hands rather luxuriously through her hair, which the sunlight was still wooing. She stretched and her shirt pulled free of her trousers, the gold of her belt buckle contrasting with the warm skin that was exposed. Laure watched her and wanted her and the sensation made her ache. There was a fierceness now to her desire and it clouded all her thoughts. She was coming close to speaking when Ardan rose easily to her feet and excused herself, telling Laure that there were various magical tasks still awaiting her. She was up and gone before Laure had collected her thoughts. Ardan strode down the new steps and out into the courtyard and Laure sat in her chair in the waning sunlight and burned.
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Murah wanted badly to kill Ashe, but first she needed to hurt her. If there was some space left over in the world in which she could humiliate her as well then Murah knew she’d never crave another birthday. She watched Ashe with an angry, predatory gaze, and Ashe looked back at her.
“It’s a pity you won’t reconsider and stay here.” Murah and Ashe moved around the inside of a small and invisible circle, each waiting for the other to move. “I mean, you’re no Janu, I accept that, but you might make a decent priestess in a year or so.” She was only trying to wind up Ashe, whose attention was far away. She needed to kill Murah and get out and back to Betany. That was as far as her thought processes wanted to take her.
Murah, impatient, raised her sword and brought it down hard and fast from high. Ashe side-stepped and then swung her own blade backwards, where it smashed Murah’s sword out of her grip and left her hands vibrating painfully. Murah dived toward her weapon at the same time that she tore a short knife from her belt and flung it at Ashe. The blade caught Ashe on the shoulder, cutting her before falling to the ground, all momentum gone. The blade did little damage: Ashe growled. She sounded like Gowdie in mid-change. The growl gave Murah a momentary qualm: she had anticipated her knife taking Ashe’s throat, not merely cutting her.
Ashe kicked Murah’s sword toward her. “Try to keep a hold on it this time,” she said.
Murah said, “You really are some kind of idiot, aren’t you? I would never have given you a second chance.”
Ashe sighed. “Is that what I’m doing? I thought I was just giving you a minute more of life.”
Murah bent down and took hold on her sword. She tossed it from one hand to another, her gaze fixed on Ashe. Ashe ignored the movement – it was, after all, meant to distract her – and feinted forward and left. Murah stamped right and swung her own sword. Ashe ducked the blow that would have taken off her head, and in a single, easy movement, took off Murah’s right hand. Hand and sword dropped to the floor. Ashe saw – with horror – that for a moment the severed fingers continued to flex. Murah screamed, and rushed Ashe.
In-fighting was not Ashe’s favourite activity. It never had been. Up close to Murah she smelled fresh blood, sweat, and fear. The combination was stomach-turning. Murah’s wrist spurted blood; she raked Ashe’s face with the nails she had left. Ashe was full of a horrified revulsion: she had meant to kill her enemy, not maim her. Almost blind to her own movements Ashe grabbed the priestess by the jaw and jerked her head violently up and left. There was a quick loud noise like wood splitting. Murah stood for a further horrible moment, her eyes fixed and staring, her remaining hand still extended toward Ashe’s throat, then she buckled at the knees and dropped to the ground.
Ashe backed away, Murah’s blood all over her. From outside the bolted doors were shouts and cries: evidently this second death was not going to remain a secret for any time at all. The door shivered as either a very large battering ram or a great many women struck at it. Some of Murah’s blood trickled down Ashe’s cheek and she wiped it free with the back of her hand. The door shivered again, and this time Ashe saw the bolts move ever so slightly. She took a firm hold on her sword and only glanced back over her shoulder when the shutters at the east window banged back and stayed back. Ashe turned around to see Alexis standing just inside the room. “I was only going to join in if I thought you were losing, Ashe. Honestly.” She grinned.
Ashe just stared at her, oblivious suddenly to the noise from outside. Then she kicked Murah’s sword across the floor in Alexis’s direction. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.”
Alexis wiped away her smile. Meeting Ashe’s immediate antagonism brought back the memory of their shared past. She said, “Ashe, I know that you might find this hard to be believe, but I’m here at Betany’s request.”
“You’re right,” said Ashe. Alexis’s ease in using Betany’s name made her instantly defensive. “I don’t believe you.” She wiped the blood from her face and re-secured her hold on her own weapon. “Pick up the sword, Alexis. Do it quickly: you’re probably the only other person in the world I’d really enjoy killing.” The hammering at the door continued but both ignored it.
“Ashe!” This was past funny, past irritating. “I really am here at Betany’s behest.” She frowned. Of all the things she’d imagined for this meeting, it had never occurred to her that Ashe would doubt her word. But of course she would. Wouldn’t she have done, in Ashe’s place? She said, “Betany asked me to find you. I’m here at her instigation.”
“Pick up the fucking sword,” said Ashe.
Alexis drew her own sword. “If I was going to fight you, Ashe, I wouldn’t need – ”
“Pick up the fucking sword or I’ll kill you where you stand.”
“Ashe! I’m here because of Betany. She needs you back. They all need you back. Something’s gone out of kilter in the world: Gowdie keeps changing without having any control at all. I’ve spoken with Rhea. I’ve – ”
Ashe said, slowly. “You’re here because of Betany? Prove it.”
Alexis stared at her. “Ashe, I really am here because of her. She’s accepted my help in fighting whatever it is that’s gone wrong in the world. Ashe. She needs you back.” Another moment. She looked directly into Ashe’s dark eyes. “She’s pregnant, Ashe. Do you understand me? Betany needs you back.”
The continued onslaught on the doors was sending up dust into the thick air.
It was either something wonderful or the most awful lie of all. Alexis saw the conflicting emotions mar Ashe’s expression. “I… I sent to Betany and she gave me leave to enter the court. I was happy to come and find you: I admit that I didn’t realise you’d be having so much fun when I did, though. I know that you’d really like to kill me and maybe some day you’ll get the chance, but not today, please, alright? Today I need you to get through your thick skull that I’m here and on your side and that we need to get going. There’s some strange bad thing on its way. Just pray that we get back to Caer Arianrhod before it does.”
Slowly, her expression unreadable, Ashe lowered her sword. The doors shivered again and wood cracked.
Ashe said, “This is a place of monsters. I have to find the beast and kill it.” Her gaze was steady but her eyes were a little unfocussed: the nightmare images of the last hour were only then making themselves felt.
Alexis could see that Ashe was in no condition to take on anyone else, least of all a monster. She said, “Ashe, if all the people I’ve seen here are outside this door, and you’ve just killed their leader, I think our only option is out, and now. Come on. I’ve got two horses hidden just inside the trees on the lower slope, and there’s a rope hanging down from the balcony outside. We need to go. Alright? We’ll have to come back and deal with the monsters some other time.”
Confused and dizzy, Ashe followed Alexis’s lead, resenting the change in leadership, but sufficiently sensible to know that the only possible outcome if they remained where they were was death. The two of them secured the doors even more firmly, and then sprinted out toward the balcony. Alexis made Ashe go first: she didn’t dare risk losing Betany’s favourite at such an important juncture in time.
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Ardan walked back to the tower through the late afternoon, her expression easy and contented. She thinks that this is as far as I intend to go, that I have no appetite for the Lascan, but am concerned only with avenging her dismissal. I think that at one time that might even have been true, but since slipping into Ardan’s thoughts that first time I have begun to develop an appetite of my own. How unexpected of me.
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Laure could not sleep. She lay back on cool and comparatively clean sheets and stared at the ceiling of her modest bedchamber. The servants were proving their worth: more and more she found proof of their attentions, and this change she enjoyed, even if she’d never think to thank them.
Ardan had not been back to visit the queen since that mindlessly frustrating afternoon. Laure had made sure she was around the palace entrance at around the same time three days running. And three days running she had made an effort in terms of appearance and attitude, but still Ardan did not come.
Laure lay back, her hands resting on her hips. Since Calypso had gone off to battle, returning from it injured and useless and not even there anymore, lodged as she had been in a ward in Mercia, Laure had been more lonely than she would ever have thought possible. She missed Calypso and blamed her for going in equal measure. Her hate list included Alexis – for mattering to Calypso so much more than she did – and Rhea, for not drugging Ashe at the beginning when it might have done some good; Betany for winning, and Ashe for failing… oh, failing everything.
And yet at that moment in time she would have welcomed Ashe into her bed. The simple confidence that bordered on arrogance that had always been a part of Laure was never going to fade, even if Ardan was reducing her to a state of mild sexual madness. Laure replayed in her mind the better nights of her reign. She thought of Ashe in the early days. No. If she thought of her in the early days she couldn’t help but recall to mind Ashe’s diffidence and enthusiasm. A funny but touching combination –
Laure didn’t want diffidence. She wanted enthusiasm but it had to be the right kind. She wanted wild and demanding sex with a wild and demanding partner and she was lying alone in an almost empty palace while her most recent sexual partner was away on the other side of the city, playing with herbs! Laure began to stroke her own skin, replaying in her mind the recent images of Ardan. In her mind she slid onto Ardan’s lap so that she might undo that leather shirt and slide a hand inside, to feel the softness of Ardan’s breasts against her fingertips. She imagined the touch of Ardan’s mouth against her own. Hell: she couldn’t even remember how the woman tasted.
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I’ve begun to wonder what it is that I’m doing with the Lascan; what it is about her that intrigues me. I am sadly aware that this all seems very minor and very insignificant when examined up close, but I believe there is a purpose and a use for my treatment of Laure which will pay off, sooner or later. The other day it was hard to leave her, hard to watch Ardan striding away as if she knew what the fuck she was doing.
Laure is lying alone in her room thinking about sex. That little I have no doubt about. Having convinced myself that this is an aspect of the world that does not matter to me, it is rather shaming to find that a good part of my thoughts centre on the hunger that drives her. Because my life has been so cerebral it is hard for me to remember that there is a physical world out there, too. Today, visiting her in Ardan’s form there were things that I wanted to do. And someone I wanted to do them to.
Poor stupid Ardan.
Poor Laure.