Battles of Salt and Sighs by Val Saintcrowe

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

MAGDALIA WAS FOURTEENyears old when she returned to her father’s villa, leaving the capital behind.

It was quite a blow to go back to the Eeslia after having spent years in the hub of civilization, not to mention that she was leaving behind her magister and Cassus and the promise of coming out in society—maybe even next year. Probably not, of course, because girls were usually sixteen or seventeen, but sometimes girls came out as young as fifteen, and she wanted to go to dances and meet men and do all the things that Onivia had been doing.

The villa was backward and boring, and Magdalia hated it there.

There was only one consolation about being back on Quinta Island, and that was Duranth.

It had been years since she’d seen him, and when she had, she’d been a little girl, and he’d been a gangly teenager who had nevertheless been her very best friend and her favorite person in the world.

Well.

She had not admitted that aloud, and maybe had not really admitted it to herself, because she had learned that she must not have such affection for fae slaves.

It was only that surely Duranth was different than other slaves, because he was so smart and so good to her. When she arrived back at the villa, she promised herself that she would get settled in before seeking him out. Finding him on the third day after she had gotten home was acceptable.

But she went out not two hours after she was home, walking down the path that wound around the fields to the rows of huts where the fae lived. She knew that Duranth had lived in a shack with two other fae youths who had no parents on the villa, and she went directly there.

She didn’t knock; dominissae did not knock at the doors of slaves.

But she wished she had because he wasn’t dressed.

He was sprawled out on a cot, face down, clad only in a pair of loose, drawstring canvas pants. His back was a mass of red, raised scar tissue. She saw it all, the wounds, his skin like carved meat, before she let out a noise and he looked up to see her there, and she ran out of the hut, struggling against the tears that had sprung unbidden to her eyes.

One does not cry over slaves,she scolded herself, but he was her special slave, dear to her, like Csaer had been dear to her, and to see him so badly punished was awful.

She would speak to someone. She would see to it that he was not treated in this way. If he was misbehaving in some manner, then they must come to her first about it, and if she spoke to him, surely she could convince him to mend his ways. He always listened to her, after all.

But she wondered there, fighting her tears, if he had changed in the ensuing years.

After all, she had barely recognized him—wouldn’t have, if it hadn’t been for his blue-black hair—because he was huge now, no gangly adolescent but a grown man with broad shoulders and muscled arms.

Nineteen.

He was nineteen now.

When he came to the door, he had a shirt buttoned over his chest, but he seemed to wince when he moved and it touched his back. “Little Magda? What are you doing here?”

“No one told you I was coming back?” She was sniffling a little bit, and that was mortifying. She approached him and a stupid, traitorous tear spilled out and ran down her cheek in a long, wet line.

He smirked, reaching out to catch it. “Not for me?”

He would never have smirked before. She should have known then he was different.

She sniffled again, hard, and seized his hand with her own and pumped magic into him. She could feel him from the inside out and she soothed the angry furrows on his back, laid them down and put them back together. She would have made it so he didn’t even have scars, but there were already scars, healed scars.

“How many times have you been whipped?” She was horrified.

He flexed his shoulders, wonder all over his face. “What are you doing?”

She pulled her hand away from his. “Tell me who ordered it. I won’t stand for it. Not you. What have you been doing that would warrant such horrid punishment, anyway? It’s not the least bit like you.”

“You’re… older,” he said, and he was looking at her in a different way, a way that he had never looked at her before.

“So are you,” she said.

“Yes,” he laughed. “I suppose that happens.” He felt under his shirt, touching his back. “You healed me.”

“I have been learning my magic. That’s why I left.”

“Right. Your magic.” He let out a little laugh. “Yes.” He flexed his hand and bounced on his feet. “I feel your magic.”

What did he mean by that? No one felt her magic. Never mind. He hadn’t answered her question. “Who ordered you whipped?”

“Your father, of course.” He was smiling. “Thank you, Magda. How long are you staying here? Was that difficult for you to do that? It seemed so effortless.”

“My father? But why? He always liked you.”

“Oh, yes, he liked me, when I was younger and more malleable and willing to do tricks for him, like a trained monkey. But now, I am less compliant—”

“Well, stop that.” She let out a noise of disbelief. “Be compliant, for Fortune’s sake. What has gotten into you?”

He cocked his head to one side. “Look at you. Older, but still the same.”

“You will obey me, of course. You always have before.”

His smile widened. “What sort of things did you wish to order me to do? Shall we go on adventures again together? You and me alone?”

What was that in his voice? She drew back, confused by it, stirred by it.

“I can’t imagine what your father would think of that.” He chuckled, as if delighted by this idea.

“What have you done, Duranth?”

“Magic,” he said.

She drew back.

He shrugged. “Well, that’s what they say it was. I say it was only simply a gathering around the fire, a drum circle and some singing. Just a bit of entertainment is all. Nothing to be worried about, but your father is worried.”

“Oh,” she said, thinking about that. “Well, I suppose many dominem are worried about that sort of thing these days. I realize it must be… be hard for you.” She wasn’t sure how to process the idea that she was sympathizing with the plight of fae slaves, because it seemed to smack of a revolutionary idea, and she knew what those ideas were doing to the capital. “Duranth, everything is going to calm down. Everyone says so. The revolts will be put down, and peace will come back, and I’m sure you’ll all be allowed to have the drums again. You must be patient and you must stop causing trouble.”

“I can’t,” he said. “I fear all I do is stir up trouble these days, little Magda.”

“No,” she said. “You’ll stop. For me.”

He regarded her. “I’ll stop.” He nodded. “But you’ll come and see me. In the evenings when I come back from the fields—”

“What are you doing in the fields?” She was horrified again. “You are meant to work in the villa. You are not meant—”

“It’s where I am now,” he said.

“I’m going to speak to my father,” she said. “This can’t stand.”

“It’s actually perhaps better if you don’t just yet,” he said. “Come and see me, though. Show me your magic? I’d like to see it.”

“Of course I’ll come to see you,” she said. “But it will be much easier if you’re not exhausted from laboring under the hot sun all day. I will make him understand that.”

Except her father had not understood.

He hated Duranth, it seemed, and he thought that the fae had become what he called “uppity.” He said it was his own fault for indulging Duranth as a boy, but that now it must be beaten out of him.

She pleaded, but her father was stone.

She flattered her father, which almost always worked, but not this time.

So, there was nothing for it.

She found herself picking her way through the wooded area that surrounded the villa at dusk each night, to an agreed-upon spot, where Duranth would meet her.

The first time they met, he only wished to observe her magic, and he asked her to touch things and make them grow. But he tired of that very quickly.

It was only the second time of their meeting that he showed her his magic.

She had been stunned and frightened. She remembered sputtering things about the iron rings in his ears and nose, about the evilness of his magic, about how she must tell someone.

“If you tell, I’ll be whipped again,” he said, fixing her with a penetrating gaze.

She didn’t tell.

Then, when they met, they would do things.

He would touch flowers and make them wither or coat them in glittering frost. Then she would touch them and bring them back to life, melt the ice and coax back their life and warmth.

She would cause weeds to grow, tangle them around the both of them so that they were encased in a tower of tangled plants, and within that small space, he would lift his hand and his fingers would drip icicles. He would blow on them, and make it cool inside, which was welcome on the sweltering nights. They would be surrounded in a swirling winter storm, and she would part the icy clouds and calm the fury of his magic.

Then sometimes he would bring in insects in a jar, and he would touch the top and they would all drop to the bottom, dead. If she was quick enough, she could bring them back, completely back, but sometimes, it was the way it had been with Csaer, where she had put the semblance of life back into the creature, but no real life, only a mechanical bit of magic that made its body work.

They graduated to small, slithering lizards and then—once—a bird, but that had made her very upset, and she’d been practically inconsolable over its little motionless body. Don’t kill birds, Duranth, I can’t bear it. Even after she had brought it back to life, and it had flown off, seemingly no worse for wear, she could not stop her sobs.

Whatever he did, she could counter, and vice versa. And during all of it, she would feel his magic around her, touching her, sometimes within her, and it felt… good.

There was a euphoria to it, to doing magic with Duranth, and this was part of the reason why she protected him, even though she knew it was dangerous for a fae to be so powerful.

He was also Duranth, and she loved him.

It was during one of these sessions, when they were surrounded by a tangled-weed-tower of her making, a fire burning over head that she had kindled with magic, that hung in the air overhead, burning as fuel only the magic that the two of them seemed to make together, that they kissed for the first time.

She had been thinking about it for a while.

She knew that she wasn’t supposed to think of Duranth as an equal, and that she couldn’t ever marry a fae, but she also knew that it was permitted to use fae for one’s satisfaction, and she had determined that it was not shameful to want him if she would only ask for service from him.

She would practice on Duranth, so that when she met a human man, the sort of proper man who could be her husband and who she could fall in love with, she would know what she was about.

Duranth was gazing above them at the burning fireball. “Do you think it is simply its heat that makes it float, or is it somehow our magic that does that?”

“I don’t want to talk about magic right now,” she said.

“Well, I do, and I think that it’s got to be—”

“Duranth, you are horrid. Now, attend to me, as is your place. I have a service I require of you.”

He slowly dragged his gaze from the fireball to her face. “Little Magda, all bluster,” he murmured, amused affection in his tone.

“Don’t call me that, and don’t address me that way.” She put her hands on her hips. “I’m quite serious. This is an order from your dominissa.”

He laughed then, his eyes dancing. “Oh, is that so? An order. Well, I must obey that, mustn’t I?”

“Duranth.” She tried to make her voice sound threatening.

He wasn’t the least bit threatened. “What is this order?”

She drew herself up, keeping her tone even and important. “Kiss me.”

The smile slid off his face. “What?”

“I’ve never been kissed, and I want to see what it’s like, and you are my slave, so you must do as I command.”

“All right,” he said, but his voice had changed. They were both sitting cross-legged inside this tower she’d made, close enough that their knees had been touching. He shifted position, moving up onto his knees.

She wasn’t sure what to do. She uncrossed her legs, stretching them out.

He settled down between them, and now there were only inches between them. He lowered his face until it was just in front of hers.

Her heart picked up speed, and it seemed to pound too loudly against her rib cage. He couldn’t hear it, could he?

His voice was soft and deep. “Close your eyes, Magda.”

She hesitated, mostly because he was telling her what to do, and this wasn’t how it was supposed to go, but then she obeyed him.

Another few moments passed, her heart beating out of rhythm. She felt his breath against her chin.

Then, she felt the warm brush of his lips on hers. She might have gasped, but she hadn’t expected to feel his magic when they touched in this way, and she did. It was all churning inside him, untamed and wild, like a black and stormy sea, battering against her, demanding entry.

She opened her mouth, and his tongue swept inside and so did the flood of his magic. It filled her and overwhelmed her.

He pulled away suddenly, gasping for breath.

She opened her eyes.

His eyes were wide, almost frightened. “Not yet.”

She swallowed.

He settled back down into a cross-legged position, a good foot away from her.

For several moments, there was no sound. Not except her heart, which was still beating, and the occasional harsh sound of his breathing, which he didn’t seem to have under control.

Finally, she managed to get herself together, at least she thought she had. But when she spoke, her voice was trembling. “Duranth, when I give you an order—”

“How old are you, Magda?”

Didn’t he know how old she was? She kept track of his age, for Fortune’s sake. “Fourteen.”

“No kissing yet,” he said.

“Listen, you don’t get to make that decision,” she said, strength returning to her voice.

“When I kiss you, I lose control,” he said, shaking his head, looking concerned. “I don’t know what I’d do. I don’t think I’d want to stop.”

“Well, I don’t know if I wanted you to stop.”

“I mean, I’d want to do more than kissing,” he said. He looked up at the fireball above them, which was now burning very brightly, and she realized it had somehow doubled in size. Had that happened while they were kissing?

“You mean…” She trailed off, because this was some strange, secret thing that had yet to be explained to her, and she was too embarrassed to ask anyone about it. “What do you mean?”

He glanced at her, and then a sly grin spread over his face. “Hasn’t anyone ever explained sex to you, Magda?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Well, how unfortunate for you.”

She waited, thinking he’d say something else.

He didn’t.

“You explain it,” she said.

“That would hardly be appropriate.” He was amused again.

“I order you to explain,” she said.

“Well,” he said, still smiling that smile of his, “if it’s an order, I suppose I must obey.”

“You must,” she said.

He scooted closer to her again. “Well, you do know that there are different things between men’s and women’s legs, don’t you?”

She nodded. She had been robbed of her voice.

“Between your legs, Magda, you have a cunt.”

The word was blunt and vulgar and powerful. It made her twitch, deep inside.

“And between my legs,” he continued, his voice going low and deep again, “I have a cock. In your cunt, there is an opening, a space, a place where my cock belongs, where it should lodge.”

“Lodge?” This was strangled.

He moved closer. “Penetrate you. I will put my cock inside your cunt, and then I will work it within you, in and out, over and over, and it will be very good for both of us, and continue to build and build until it’s very good—too good—and then…”

“And then?”

His voice dropped even lower in pitch. “Don’t you ever touch your cunt, Magda?”

Her lips parted, and her face heated up. “M-maybe once or twice, b-but…”

He waited.

She was dreadfully embarrassed. “Was something supposed to happen?”

“Nothing did?”

“This is why we’ll wait,” he said. “Because you’re too young. Keep trying, and eventually, we’ll…”

She shook her head. “No, we… you are…”

His lips brushed her cheekbone, and his voice was a velvet whisper. “Wait for me, Magda. Save yourself for me.”

She shook her head again.

“Save yourself for me,” he said, “and I’ll save myself for you, all right? Is that a bargain?”

“You mean, you’ve never…”

“No,” he said, leaning back, his voice resuming a normal pitch. “I’ve had opportunities, but… I don’t know… it’s never felt right, and now I know why. Because of you. Because when we’re together… you feel it, don’t you?”

She nodded.

“So, you’ll wait for me?”

“Duranth, you are a slave—”

“That might change.”

“How could it—”

“Promise to wait for me.”

And she wasn’t sure what possessed her, but she did promise. “All right,” she said. “I’ll wait. I’ll save myself for you.”

He kissed her again, and it was a swirling mass of goodness and bliss, magic and pleasure and her body, all of it pulsing together at once.