Battles of Salt and Sighs by Val Saintcrowe
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE NEWS THATLoretia had killed herself rushed through the fae encampment like a fast-moving river. All of the women in the lower quarters were talking about it, and everyone had some bit of information about how it had happened.
She’d shot herself.
It hadn’t been easy for her to get hold of a gun, because Akiel was very sensitive to metals of all kinds and couldn’t bear the touch of the human weapons. He didn’t have any in his rooms, for instance, but she’d gotten hold of one somehow, a rifle.
She’d fitted the thing under her chin and sat back against the wall and pulled the trigger, and the bullet had exited through the top of her skull, which had caved in.
Women knew this because they’d seen the body being drug out.
She’d been buried on the edge of the encampment, not burned, as was the custom amongst humans. No funeral pyre for Loretia, just her mangled body tossed into a shallow hole in the ground and covered with dirt.
This shouldn’t have been a surprise, they all supposed.
Akiel had never treated any of the women any better than animals.
Still, they were shaken.
The officers seemed shaken too.
That morning at breakfast, it was all they talked of, what could have driven the woman to do such a thing to herself, what abominations Akiel could have visited on her that would make her think that death was better than her lot. There was an odd undercurrent to the conversation amongst those men, a certain amount of defensiveness and a tendency of the officers to distance themselves from Akiel’s habits.
The officers all insisted they would never be so cruel, that they were not nearly as demanding nor did they visit such indignities on their girls.
The undercurrent was guilt, Onivia realized.
This made her angry for some reason, and she supposed it was because these men could feel such things toward human girls at all. If they could recognize that what they did wasn’t right, why did they keep doing it?
Eventually, Akiel appeared and took his seat at the head of the table.
Then, it was deadly quiet.
No one said a word.
Breakfast continued in silence.
Akiel didn’t look well, for whatever that was worth. He had dark circles under his eyes as if he hadn’t slept well, and he slouched in his chair, barely picking at his food. When he looked up, he seemed to realize everyone’s eyes were on him.
He left the meal early, even though he’d arrived late.
It was snowing.
Onivia didn’t know if this was a storm wrought because of the drumming around the fire that she’d witnessed, but there was no denying that snow was blanketing the area surrounding them.
The men in the courtyard had fortified their tents and built semi-permanent lean-tos out of mud and recently-felled tree trunks. Smoke rose from a sea of small chimneys in rows in the courtyard, which was currently covered in white.
Akiel didn’t come to lunch or to dinner, and all the men were nicer to all the girls, peppering their requests for refills of drink with “please”s and “thank-you”s.
Outside, the snow came down harder and thicker.
By nightfall, there was also a wind, howling in the distance, blowing the thick snow into drifts, and making it fall sideways. Stepping outside met being pelted in the face with tiny points of sharp icy snowflakes.
Onivia stood at the window in Larent’s quarters and looked into the darkness. There was nothing to see. She was thinking about Albus out there.
She couldn’t help but think of that last interaction between them.
Her aunt had said that she must cut off all communication with him, that it would be the height of impropriety. Besides, dear, it will likely be easier for him that way, not to see you.
But Onivia had felt as if she owed him.
Maybe because of the kiss?
She didn’t know.
She’d sent word to meet him in the library, after the messages had been delivered and his suit of marriage had been formally declined.
The library was rarely open in those days, of course, because of the riots in the city, so it had been one afternoon on a Fateday, which were one of the few days the library open its doors, and even then, only for a brief spat of hours.
He was waiting in the stacks in the language section when she arrived.
She’d had to sneak out, and she hadn’t brought anyone along with her, not even a maid. If anyone discovered what she’d done, it would damage her reputation, and she thought—belatedly—looking at him there, down at the end of the channel between the two long, tall shelves of books—that he might have a reason to wish to hurt her, and he might attack her reputation.
She turned, looking over her shoulder as if someone was with her. “No, leave me here a bit. I’ll rejoin you shortly.” She pretended to wait for a response and then made her way towards Albus.
He had his hands shoved into his pockets. He was primarily looking down at his shoes but occasionally he would lift his face to glance at her. The expression he wore broke something in her.
He was angry and hurt.
She had done that.
She stopped moving when she was close enough to speak, but she didn’t speak to him.
He didn’t speak to her either.
Silence stretched out between them, like the bookshelves on either side of them.
“I thought I owed you…” An explanation? An excuse? “A goodbye.”
He raised his gaze to hers then, and he held it steadily, looking deeply into her eyes. “You don’t want your name tied to mine. I understand that, I suppose.”
“I… it is not only my decision. My family—”
“It would have died down eventually,” he said. “The talk. My brother is hardly the only man to have done such things.”
“I don’t know about that,” she said.
“My father always had fae women about,” said Albus. “And that girl of my brother’s, she is three-fourths human. She is practically—”
“I didn’t come to argue.” She cocked her head at him. “But perhaps I am pleased that I am not going to tie myself to a man who sees nothing wrong with the practice. At the very least, it is a betrayal of the marriage vows, and I see how seriously you take them.”
He scoffed. “I am not my brother or my father. You cannot lay that at my feet.”
“I-I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s not… if things were different—”
“Well, they aren’t,” he cut her off. “And for what it’s worth, when my father was cut down at the hand of a fae, I determined I would never be as foolishly trustworthy as he was, or my brother was. The women are just as treacherous as the men, and that woman of my father’s, she trained up a little murderer.” He let out a low, bitter chuckle. “So, you needn’t have worried on that score. I’d never take one of them into my bed. Despite what you may think of me, I am not the sort of man who takes marriage vows lightly. You, on the other hand, made promises to me, and you take them back—”
“Women are allowed to change their minds,” she said. “And we were not officially engaged. I… I still care about you, Albus.”
“Spare me,” he said.
“I do,” she said quietly, and her lower lip started to tremble.
He seized her by the arm and he moved very close to her.
She almost thought he was going to kiss her again, and the thought of this was so alarming that she couldn’t move. She was frozen in place.
But he didn’t kiss her. He put his mouth near her ear instead, and he began to speak in a caustic whisper. “You will make a match that pleases your family, of course, but don’t be alarmed when it’s some man twenty years your senior. When he first puts his mouth on yours, I want you to think of me.”
She tried to pull away from him then.
He clamped his fingers down tighter. “And when you see me at some society dance later, on his arm, me across the room somewhere, I’ll look at you, and I’ll look at him, and I’ll tell him with my eyes that I kissed you first.”
“Albus, stop it.”
He let go of her. “I’ll always be the first. That is something you can’t escape.”
“I am sorry,” she said. “But you don’t have to be so ugly.” She turned her back on him and ran up the stacks, clutching her skirts to keep them out of the way. She hoped he wouldn’t follow, that he wouldn’t see that she was alone. He was more angry than she might have imagined.
Eventually, she turned away from the window and from her reverie. She wasn’t sure whether she really would be rescued by Albus. It had been years since that had happened between them, but she hadn’t spoken to him since.
Had his feelings mellowed, or had he ruminated on that hatred?
Well, the hatred had been borne out of desire. She could see that. He had been jealous of her future husband. He had been possessive. Even then, he’d thought of her as his.
I can use that,she thought. When he arrives, I can use that.
Of course, would he arrive? There were no armies marching in this storm. She was not even sure that an army could make an encampment in such weather.
She lay awake in the darkness on the couch in Larent’s sitting room, worrying over the future, wondering what she should do. If Albus was really coming, should she attempt to get away and go to meet him?
No, not in the snow and cold. Better to stay here, with Larent, who protected her. She felt a surge of something toward him at the thought and she hated herself for it.
His fucking me shouldn’t have made me feel things towards him, she thought. Especially not with the way he fucked me.
It must be some awful malformed part of a woman’s body or mind, perhaps. Some sort of instinctive ability to bond with a man after such a thing occurred. She despised it, but she was falling prey to it.
Larent is not so bad,she thought. There are much worse men.
Ah, well, that was such a rousing endorsement. Yes, best to throw in her lot with him, then. Of course, she didn’t have much other choice, not at the moment.
She fell asleep thinking such thoughts, but she slept fitfully, which must have been why she awoke in the middle of the night to hear Larent thrashing in his bed, moaning in his sleep.
She got up from her couch and went in there, thinking to wake him and calm him. The noise was enough that it was disturbing her own sleep.
She went to his bed and touched his shoulder.
One moment later, she was pinned down beneath him on the mattress, her arms over her head, held down at the wrists by his large hands, his thighs trapping her legs.
She gasped.
He panted, blinking. He was just waking up. “Domina,” he wheezed.
“You were dreaming,” she said in a tiny voice.
His grasp went gentle, but he didn’t let go of her. “You shouldn’t touch me while I’m sleeping.”
“I… I see that.”
She waited for him to release her. When he didn’t, she decided he must still be feeling the effects of his nightmare. She might try to soothe him. “What were you dreaming of?”
“The uprising on my villa,” he said. “Running through bullets, blood everywhere, women screaming.” He shuddered.
“It’s all right.” She made her voice soft and gentle. “You’re not there anymore. You’re here. You’re with me. You’re safe here.”
He let go of her wrists. He didn’t move off her. “Safe,” he echoed, his voice bitter.
She supposed he wasn’t safe. He was always fighting, wasn’t he? A whole life of danger and torture and captivity, only to change to this war—constant violence. She touched his face, feeling sympathy for him, a powerful rush of it.
“Domina,” he murmured again, his voice ragged.
She traced the lines of his face. His beard was still only stubble after shaving to go to Akiel. She rubbed her thumb over his chin. She gazed into his eyes, and she felt that sympathy surge and twist in her, changing into… into something else.
She kissed him.
Oh, why am I kissing him?
His mouth moved obligingly against hers. They kissed all the time, after all, in the dining room, with her perched on his lap, his hands all over her body, and it was familiar, even natural. It felt good. She opened her mouth to him.
He claimed her with his tongue.
Now her hands were on his shoulders, and she suddenly realized his chest was bare, and she’d never seen him without a shirt before. His bare shoulders were… well, sort of glorious. In the scant light coming from the moon through the window, the swells of his muscles glowed silver-blue, and the feel of him under her fingertips was glorious too. He was firm and warm. His flesh gave, but his body was so hard under the thin, silky covering of skin.
Her fingers found a raised bit of scar tissue, circular. She explored it.
He broke the kiss, pushing up on his arms. “Bullet wound.”
“Did it hurt?”
“No, it was just like a bee sting.” He was gently amused.
She let out a giggle, taking in the better view of his bare chest now. He had a mingling of black and shimmering green hair—but it just accented him, clinging to the bottom the muscles on his chest and his stomach.
Oh, his stomach.
She ran her fingers over the muscles there. The hair was soft where it clung to him. She liked touching him.
“What are you doing?” he breathed.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“I don’t need you to do this.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
He didn’t answer.
She realized—just at that moment—he was hard. She could feel his cock under the drawstring pants he was wearing to sleep in, and it was pushing into her, insistent, right next to her hip bone. She rolled her hips against it, and she didn’t know why she did that either, but it simply seemed like the thing to do. She was wearing the dress she always wore, but with nothing under it, no corset or drawers. She could feel him through the layers of fabric they were both wearing, however, and he got harder.
“Domina.” His voice was strangled. “I don’t… I’m not…” Abruptly, he rolled off of her. He lay on his back, looking at the ceiling, and his cock was standing straight up, making a tent of the pants he was wearing.
She felt the absence of his weight like a missing limb. She sat up in the bed.
“I realized I was trapping you there with my body. You should have asked me to move.”
“I should have,” she agreed. Maybe… maybe I could use this, if I made him think I was actually falling for him, that my feelings for him were genuine, and that I enjoyed what he does to me. I could pretend.
Yes, she was only pretending.
She seized his cock.
It felt good when we did it in front of Akiel. I don’t mind doing it. Maybe I can even enjoy it a bit. And it can be useful if I pretend. So, why not? Why not have him inside me again, all of his thick, stiff girth crammed into me again?
He choked.
She stroked him. “Do you want me? I want you.”
“No, you don’t.” His eyes were closed, and his hips were moving, barely thrusting against her strokes.
“I do,” she said. She let go of him.
He opened his eyes.
She grasped handfuls of her dress and tugged it over her head. It’s only pretend, she reminded herself as his gaze crawled greedily over her bare skin.
“Domina.” His voice was gravelly. “This… what are you…?”
“I’m yours,” she said. “Isn’t that what we said?”
“No, this…” He shook his head. “I shouldn’t do this. You don’t really want this. You’re confused.”
She climbed on top of him, knees on either side of him, breasts hanging down to brush against his chest. That was nice. She brushed them back and forth purposefully, letting out a little gasp.
“I’m confused too,” he breathed, but his hands were at her waist now, resting there comfortably, like they belonged there. He slid them up, leaving trails of shivers in his wake, and gathered up her breasts.
She sighed.
He rubbed her nipples until they were hard and then put them in his mouth, which he’d never done before, and she liked it.
She arched into him, wriggling her hips against his pelvis while he sucked on her tender flesh, and she didn’t even attempt to try to stifle the noises that wanted to escape her lips. Before, when Akiel had been watching, she had tried to be quiet—failed, of course, but tried—and now she didn’t try at all.
His mouth was on one of her nipples, his thumb and forefinger teasing the other. He was gentle, not like the time with Akiel, when the pleasure had been an assault. This was slow and sweet, building in her like effervescent, bubbling wine. She moaned and bucked, and he made answering noises against her flesh.
She reached down to find the drawstring of his pants and she undid it. He was hard and hot against her palm.
“Domina…” His voice was strained. “We don’t have to…”
“I want to,” she panted, and she rubbed him against her sex. She was wet and slippery, and so he just slipped right in, like before.
She mewled. She liked the way it felt to be invaded by him. She had missed the feel of him in here.
He grunted, hands on her hips, holding her, stopping her from moving against him. “Just… just… wait. We shouldn’t. We can… like before, I can just please you?”
“This pleases me.” She pushed her hips against his hands, trying to get him deeper, wanting all of him.
He groaned, surrendering. He made one swift thrust, going all the way inside, stretching her, filling her.
Yes,she thought, settling onto him, pressing her hips down, taking him as deep as she could. Yes.
He looked up at her. “Good like this,” he breathed. “You can… you set the pace, domina.”
She didn’t understand what he meant, but when he moved against her, her hips rocked against his movement, instinctively, and then she realized that she liked the way he fit in her from this angle.
He held onto her hips. He moved with her.
They undulated.
His thumb found her where the lips of her sex parted, and he began to make circles there.
She let out a little cry.
He groaned.
And then she did find a pace. She liked the way it felt, his finger on her there, and his cock deep inside her. If she moved against him like this, she could make the tip of him stroke her in a deep place, a pleasurable place, a perfect place.
I’m only pretending to like this, she thought, shutting her eyes, knowing she was lying.
This was good. This was overwhelmingly wondrous, and she was riding some edge of bliss here, pushing herself towards a summit, a peak high in the clouds, and she was in control of it, using his body for her pleasure.
She had shut her eyes at some point, and she had surrendered to it.
They moved together. Their bodies made contact, and they were surrounded by the scent of their co-mingled sweat and the sound of their groans and sighs. She was lost to it all.
The peak seemed to evade her for some time. She would seem to be climbing there, seem to be ready to break through, and then it would move higher off, out of her reach.
She pushed his hand out of the way, frustrated, and began to rub herself.
He made a noise of approval at this, and his hands went to her nipples again.
That sent her soaring. She threw back her head and went over the top, pleasure gushing through her in waves. She moaned out strangled noises of pleasure, and he waited until she was panting and quiet before he flipped them over.
Now, pressed under him, their bare chests close, his heart beating against her own skin, he kissed her as he pushed himself in and out of her. She tangled her fingers in his long hair, shot through with strange sensations, feeling close to him, feeling an odd, strong feeling almost like… like the chanting on the high holy days during the petition for the favor of Fortune. How could it feel like that? Oh, she wanted him closer. She never wanted him out of her. When he was inside her body, she felt complete in a way that she’d never felt before.
They kissed and kissed until he stopped moving and pierced her deeply, and she felt him spend inside her again.
A dull feeling of alarm sounded somewhere in the back of her mind, but she pushed it aside, because everything felt too good to think about that right now.
They were still kissing. They were kissing like they couldn’t stop, like they needed the other’s mouth to exist. She never wanted him to let go of her, and she maybe said that, out loud, because he said, “I won’t let you go. I won’t,” in a strained, affected voice, and she wrapped her thighs around him and tried to pull him even further into her.
Eventually, the kissing got slower, sweeter, softer, until he buried his face against the crook of her shoulder and let out ragged, noisy breaths.
She tangled her legs around his legs. She clutched his back.
They lay there, breathing together, until they both slept.
ONIVIA WOKE UPunder the heft of Larent’s body, and she liked it. She could smell him, and she didn’t know when she’d come to associate his scent with safety and protection, but somehow it had happened, and she was engulfed in it.
This isn’t good,she thought.
She tried to wriggle out from beneath him and mostly succeeded, except for the fact that she woke him.
He stirred and rolled over, off of her, but he curved a hand around her and pulled her against him. He rained sleepy kisses over her shoulder, and she felt blooming feelings of sweetness low in her belly at that.
She rolled over to touch his face and his bare shoulders.
Soon, they were kissing.
And then his hands were smoothing over her, exploring her, rousing her, and she was swooning against him somehow, pleased and preening, and she let him have her again.
Or she took him again?
It was mutual. Slow. Sweet. Achingly good.
It followed the same pattern as the night before. He pulled her up to be atop him and she acquiesced easily and rode him until she came and then he moved them and thrust into her as she cradled him with her hips until he finished.
Then they lay kissing again, and she felt drunk on it, drunk on his body, drunk on the pleasure he gave her, and she didn’t know what to do with herself.
It’s just because it feels good. It’s physical sensation.
She could not care about this man, because it was not strictly possible. They were not equal, and she was not in a position to choose anything. He had violated her, and she…
Why did it feel like this?
It shouldn’t feel like this.
He eased himself off of her, kissing her neck and shoulder.
“I’m going to be late to the kitchens.”
“You’re not going,” he said in a loose voice. “If anyone says anything, you say I needed you this morning.”
She liked being needed by him. Fortune deliver me, what is happening to me?
“Could we just have breakfast here?” he muttered.
“You’d have to send me to fetch it,” she said. “I’m your ancilla, after all.”
“Don’t,” he said, tightening his grip on her. “You’re not going anywhere, for one thing, and never call yourself that when we are in my bed.”
She swallowed. “But—”
“Don’t.” He lifted his face now, opening his eyes enough to look at her. “Let’s not do that, please? Just for a little longer?”
She nodded.
But the spell between them was broken, and they both knew it.
He sat up in bed, yawning, rubbing his neck. He was entirely bare, and she gaped at his nakedness, at the casual way he was on display for her. This was intimacy, and she sucked in a sharp breath at it, because it sent ripples of sensation through her. He looked down at her. “You’re quite fetching without clothes lying on my pillow, you know.”
She smiled at him. She couldn’t help it.
“Well,” he said, “if that was an attempt to get under my skin and manipulate me, you can be fairly assured it’s worked. If you have some favor to ask of me, do it now, while I’m still basking in the afterglow.”
“No,” she protested. “That wasn’t why I…”
“You don’t have to be like that about it,” he said. “I don’t think you faked those climaxes, anyway, or if you did, you have a remarkably clever cunny, able to twitch on command like that.”
“I didn’t fake—”
“No,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean this is real.” He stood up and reached down to fish her dress off the floor. He tossed it to her and went over to the washbasin, where he began rubbing a wet cloth over his body.
Abruptly, the door opened.
Not the door to Larent’s bedchamber, because that was already open. She had opened it when she came through the door to him the night before. But the door to his quarters, which opened from the sitting room. The doors lined up with each other, and Larent was standing naked in view of both of them.
Startled, he attempted to cover himself with the rag he was using.
The door to the sitting room slammed closed.
“Akiel,” said Larent, tossing the rag, turning to expose himself. “Nothing you haven’t seen before.”
Akiel stalked into the bedchamber.
Onivia backed away, clutching her dress, huddling against the headboard of Larent’s bed, pulling sheets as well, trying to cover herself.
“Your girl is late in the kitchens,” said Akiel.
“So she is. She’s busy servicing me.” Larent walked in front of Akiel, completely naked, and yanked open his wardrobe. Inside, there were three uniforms hanging in addition to the suit that Larent had worn to the dinner with Akiel.
“Well, that’s unacceptable. All the girls have to pull their weight here. You can’t monopolize her time to the detriment of the rest of the cohort.”
Larent was stepping into his trousers. “What in the name of the ancestors are you talking about?”
“You’re going to give her to me.”
Larent’s hands faltered. He stood there, trousers unbuttoned, exposing his soft cock, simply gaping at Akiel.
Akiel squared his shoulders and started for Onivia.
Larent blocked him, hand on the other man’s chest, other hand holding up his trousers. “Like fuck I am.”
Akiel looked down at the place where Larent’s hand was on his chest. “Take your hand off me, centurion.”
“She’s mine,” said Larent. “And I would hate to see you ruin a perfectly good wet cunny, for that matter. The last girl you had preferred to swallow a bullet to your cock, so… no.”
Onivia’s heart was pounding. This was bad.
It was bad to be feeling tender things for Larent, but this was even worse. She was terrified of Akiel. She knew that Larent was never going to surrender her to Akiel. She knew—somehow she was certain—that Larent would fight for her, but what would that mean happened to Larent, who might lose his place in the cohort because of it?
Larent buttoned his trousers.
Akiel seethed. “You stupid half-blood. You think you’re so superior because your father was human—”
“I don’t think I’m superior because of that. I’m superior because I win all your battles,” said Larent.
“You do not.”
Larent shrugged. “Ask anyone.”
“Just give me that girl.”
“No.”
“You’re soft on her.”
“Khenan married his,” said Larent.
“You’re not Khenan.”
“No, Khenan was full-blooded,” said Larent. “Funny how he seemed to be much less bothered by holding a gun or sword, though. Did you notice that? You know what I think, Akiel? You know, deep down, that you’re a useless relic. And so you act like an arsehole just to make yourself feel an eensy bit better about your own inferiority.”
“Out,” said Akiel.
“Out?”
“Out of the villa,” said Akiel. “I strip you of your centuria and your rank. You can serve as a militus grunt and make your own way with the rest of them.”
Larent squared his shoulders.
“Or,” said Akiel, “you could just give me the girl.”
Larent shook his head. “Mine.”
“Then you two can freeze in the courtyard.”
“All right,” said Larent. “As soon as the snow clears, I’ll take all three hundred of my men, because I can assure you they don’t care whether or not you think I’m their centurion and they will follow me regardless, and we’ll go to the Croith and tell him everything about the way you run your cohort. I’m sure he’ll want me assigned somewhere useful, not shoved in as a militus grunt.”
“Oh, you’re going to tattle to your one-handed dominus,” sneered Akiel. “Just hand over the girl.”
“You really want to make it about a girl?” said Larent.
Akiel shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind fucking her. But you’re right, that’s not what it’s about. I despise you.”
“The girl’s an excuse.”
Akiel sneered at him. “Out of these chambers. Out of this villa. I don’t want to see your face, Larent.” He turned and stalked out of the room, slamming the door in his wake.
Larent clenched both of his hands into fists. Then he snatched a shirt out of his wardrobe and shut it with a clatter.
Onivia made herself small against the headboard.
“Hope you can handle the cold, domina.”
“We’re really going to the courtyard?”
“You can stay here if you want,” he said. “Just march yourself after Akiel if that’s what you’d rather.”
“You know it’s not,” she breathed.
He glanced at her. “I’m not doing this for you.”
“I know,” she whispered.
“This is about him,” he said. “This is about everything he’s made me do. This is about the way he looks at me. This is about how he’s never appreciated anything I’ve ever done. It’s about that.”
“Right,” she said. “Of course.”
Larent muttered oaths to the fae ancestors under his breath. He opened the wardrobe and slammed it again.
Onivia was going to need warmer stockings. She knew that Marta had some. Would she be able to see her before they left the villa?