Mage's Blood (52 page)

There were a couple of Hebb maidservants watching, but apart from these onlookers, they were alone. As they knelt before the idol, the women in front, Huriya whispered in Lakh, ‘The Master is at the Domus Costruo, miles away.’ Kazim felt a thrill run through him.

Omprasad led them in prayer, chanting on and on in a droning voice, until the servants lost interest and went back to their tasks. The pandit’s wavering voice filled the courtyard as he invoked all the gods, one by one. By the time he was finally done, Kazim thought he might die of longing. When Ramita rose and he met her eyes, all he could feel was his own need, echoed in her soft eyes.

Huriya led them to another courtyard, where food was laid upon
a small trestle. She invited the three ‘holy men’ to sit and eat. Kazim felt a crushing disappointment as she and Ramita departed: was this to be just a cruel tease? But they returned, and his heart pounded when he saw they had swapped dupattas. Huriya, mimicking Ramita perfectly, said, ‘Omprasad, perhaps one of the chela could bless our rooms?’ She pointed at Kazim. ‘It will take only
five minutes
– I can see you are hungry.’

Ramita stood, pretending to be Huriya, bowed slightly to Kazim and indicated that he follow her. She touched a doorknob, which flickered with light as the wooden panel slid aside and they entered a corridor of cool and shade. He stepped quickly to her as she turned and pulled her to him, his mouth finding hers as she crushed herself against him. He lifted her, pressing her against the wall, drinking in her taste, the feel of her mouth, her tongue, her body.

She jerked her mouth away. ‘This way, next room,’ she panted, and then she was kissing him again as they slid along the wall and fell through the curtained doorway onto a low bed, into soft sheets and a mattress that swallowed them up.

He pulled up her salwar as they wrestled and grasped her waist. She moaned into his ear as he lifted the skirting above her waist. Her face was frantic as he tugged off her leggings. She looked as if she might say something, but there was no time. He fell upon her, pulling up his kurta and freeing his rigid member, and kissed her mouth as he pushed himself inside her. She stiffened in pain until he reached the wetness within, then sobbed into his mouth as he filled her, spreading herself wide, gripping his waist with her legs. He plunged frantically: flesh slapping flesh, frantic gasps, an eruption boiling through his body, fighting to keep it inside for just a split-second longer, but it was all too much,
too much
, and he groaned in agony as his seed gushed and he was gasping, weeping, into her face, ‘I love you I love you
I love you
…’

They gazed into each other’s eyes, panting, skin slick, souls bared. It felt like for ever, but it could only have been minutes before they heard Huriya’s voice, still mimicking Ramita: ‘They are just finishing, I’m sure.’

He cursed,
so little time
… He stood up unsteadily and dressed quickly, watched her do the same. The wet stain filling the crotch of her leggings was hidden when she pulled her salwar back down. She looked bereft already.

‘I will come again soon, and we will get you out of here, I swear it,’ he whispered.

She gave a hesitant smile and pushed him out of the door. ‘Go.’ She grasped his hand quickly. ‘I love you.’ Then she followed him out again.

Huriya rose, a secret smile on her face, and raised her voice so anyone listening would hear her. ‘Offerings must be made here daily for a week so that the shrine is properly sanctified. One or both chela must come here tomorrow at this hour. That will be all.’

Kazim struggled to regain his breath as he met Ramita’s eyes. All his feelings for her were still boiling inside him, unsated by their brief encounter.
Tomorrow
, he mouthed and she nodded, looking nervous now. Omprasad led them, bowing their way out, until they were blinking in the dusty streets and fighting their way through crowds, buffeted by noise and odour.

Jai caught Kazim’s shoulder. ‘Did you—?’

Kazim nodded.

‘I hope you can make good on all your promises to my sister, Kaz,’ Jai said in a low voice, the protective brother.

His tone rankled Kazim. ‘I have said so, haven’t I? I will slit that old goat’s throat and then I will marry her and be with her for ever. You will see.’ He felt exhilarated. It had been so brief a taste of the ecstasies they would share, but it meant so much, to have claimed her, to have made her his –
his
, no matter how often Meiros misused her. ‘You will see, brother!’ He cast off his temper, put an arm around Jai’s shoulder. ‘Sweet as honey, she was – sweeter, an apsara, a nymph of heaven.’

Ramita knelt in the privy, slopping water over her loins, trying to clean herself. She almost screamed when Huriya slid the door open. ‘
Chod!
Can’t I have some privacy?’ She felt on the verge of hysteria.

‘Shhh!’ Huriya frowned. ‘I’ve seen you pee and shit and vomit, and you’ve seen me do the same, and more – there is no such thing as privacy between us. So shut up and listen: I’ve asked for the bath to be filled. No one suspects a thing, I swear.’

‘My husband will be home soon! I’ve got to—’

‘Ramita, he won’t be home for
hours
– relax, it’s not even lunchtime. The only danger is you panicking. Calm down, I’ll be right back.’ She returned with a small drinking flask, the sort men carried. ‘Here, sip this. It’ll help.’

Ramita sat on the floor, trying not to cry, overwhelmed by the emotions she was feeling, part joy, part terror, part – something else she couldn’t name. She sniffed the flask. ‘What is it?’

‘Arak – sip it, just a little.’ Huriya knelt behind her and wrapped her arms around. ‘Are you okay?’

Ramita nodded. ‘I think so – I only meant to talk, maybe to kiss him, but he was all over me. It was … wonderful. Stupid, but wonderful.’ She swigged on the arak and reeled, blinking.

Huriya purred, ‘That’s my girl. Better than that horrible husband of yours.’

Ramita tried not to think about that. Finally she managed, ‘What if he senses—?’

‘Don’t worry, Mita: he’s taught you how to hide your thoughts, you know that. You’ll be fine – just think of other things.’ She giggled. ‘Even if he takes you himself.’

‘Huriya, this isn’t a game – the Amteh
stone
adulteresses – and I dare not even think what magi would do … I’m so scared …’

‘Oh, there!’ Huriya comforted her, stayed with her as she bathed, led her wrapped in towels to bed and sung her asleep. ‘I’ll tell your husband not to disturb you,’ she whispered as she dozed off. ‘Dream sweet dreams of your lover, whom you will see again tomorrow.’

It was the single most terrifying moment of Kazim’s life, to enter Casa Meiros the next morning and hear a rasping voice behind him, speaking Rondian. His throat locked up.

‘Who is this, Wife? Where is the old priest?’ The discordant
voice was almost enough to make him bolt: it was Antonin Meiros himself!

‘These are his pupils, lord.’ Ramita sounded meek and uncertain as she watched Kazim and Jai sinking involuntarily to their knees.
He’ll know – he’ll somehow know, and then
…

They heard the old man sigh. ‘My reputation precedes me again. Get up, you two,’ he said, walking past them with barely a glance. ‘You say these fools have to come here every day this week?’ The old jadugara sounded sceptical. ‘More likely they just want free food.’

Huriya spoke up boldly. ‘Only this week, lord, until the full moon, when Sivraman is in the ascendancy. Your wife blooms at that time. It is auspicious.’

‘I am continually amazed at how many things are
auspicious
,’ he growled. ‘Oh, very well, if this makes you happy, my dear.’ He patted Ramita on the head as if she were a pet dog. ‘I must away. Get some repose, my dear: for someone who slept all afternoon and evening, you don’t look at all rested. Don’t worry so much. All will be well.’ And he strode away, his pale pate gleaming in the morning sun.

Huriya pulled up her scarf and led the way. Kazim let out his breath.

This time they had longer. The servants lost interest not long into the meaningless distraction of the prayers, so there was no need for scarf-swapping. Ramita opened the door and he walked in boldly, whispering his love for her even as he grasped her hair, stroked her face, the curves of her body. There was time to disrobe, to suckle her breasts and glide his fingers through her pubic hair into her soaked yoni. There was time to go slowly, to feel her climax against him, her body jerking spasmodically as the rapture on her face sent him over the edge. There was time to semi-swoon, in blissful oneness, to share their adoration. There was time to whisper of love and eternity before they had to part once more.

But there would be only four more meetings before the full moon rose. He didn’t know why Huriya had set this timeframe, but it must be necessary; she was cleverer than he. He comforted himself that
they would strike soon, then he and Ramita could at last share their love openly, free from this nightmare.

Ramita lay in the warm bath alone, lost in reverie. She could still taste the ash from Kazim’s hair on her tongue. She could remember how her silent shuddering orgasms had felt, first as he slowly worked her with his fingers, and again as he thrust inside her. He was the Love-God incarnate. His magnificent body, his astounding face, the way he could melt her with a smile, everything about him was perfect.

But now came the waiting as they tried to find a new way to be together. This week was over, and next week her husband would return to her chambers, seeking to finally get her with child. New excuses and plans were needed. It would be best if she didn’t see him next week – she was a Full Moon woman, fertile when Luna was biggest in the sky, though women seldom matched the lunar cycle exactly. Yes, it would be sensible to not see Kazim next week – but how would she endure it?

‘Ramita!’ Huriya poked her head in the door. ‘Lord Meiros is home early – get up, get dressed – wear a saree, that’ll give you more time. I’ve told him you were bathing to refresh yourself.’ Then she was gone and she heard her below a few moments later, greeting the master with a string of babble.

Ramita picked out a saree, a yellow and orange one, and let the patience required in getting it folded
just so
calm her. She pinned her hair and was about to emerge when Meiros hobbled in. He stopped short and a smile creased his face. ‘Wife, what a lovely vision you are.’

She curtseyed, tried to look pleased. ‘My lord.’

‘Have those priest-fellows gone? Thank goodness; I’m getting sick of seeing them here.’ He limped to her and cupped her cheek. ‘Perhaps you can show me what they have done?’

She smiled uncertainly, took a breath and tried to pretend she was Huriya of the glib tongue. She led him to the private courtyard and showed him the shrine. Sweet frangipani and rose-incense filled the air – Huriya and Jai had finished it while she and Kazim were
in bed. She explained to him what the triple-idol represented: the Death and Rebirth of Sivraman, the dutiful woman of Parvasi and the luck of Gann. She found herself enjoying it, displaying knowledge for one instead of always being the pupil, and Meiros showed every sign of being an interested listener.

‘And what is this again?’ he asked of the Siv-lingam.

She blushed. ‘The phallus represents the – um – the manhood of Siv. The lips about it are the yoni of Parvasi. It is auspicious, ah, for fertility.’

He chuckled drily. ‘What offerings are required?’

‘A paste with egg and cardamom and vermilion – the husband tips it over the phallus and then the wife, kneeling here, drinks it as it pours down this channel.’

He raised an astonished eyebrow, then summoned Olaf. ‘An egg, please, also cardamom and vermilion. And hurry – the hour may be
auspicious
.’

Ramita felt embarrassed to say the pooja words to her mildly amused and habitually sceptical husband, but he didn’t mock, and he mixed the paste with his own hands and tipped it over the phallus. She knelt and drank the yolk, praying intently to cover her fear that he would somehow know what she had done that morning. But he just pulled her to his feet, smeared her hands with the paste in his and kissed her forehead. ‘I take it the Omali do not consider it auspicious to copulate in their temples, like the early Sollans did?’

She looked shocked. ‘No!’

‘Good, because my old bones aren’t up to these hard marble floors.’ He led her upstairs to his room, and all the way she was terrified that somehow he would
know
, but he sat on the edge of the bed and watched her undress, as he liked to do, before pulling her onto him. She was startled to find herself responding more to his penetration, almost as if Kazim had loosened something inside her. It felt like betrayal, to climax with Meiros after the beauty of Kazim and yet, when the moment came, she could not stop it, and he swung her onto her back and rode her until he too came, and lay there afterwards, her body pinned beneath his. He gave her a foolish grin. ‘You
take years off me, Wife. I have not enjoyed coupling this much for longer than I dare think.’

It was all she could do to blank her mind, to try to hide the guilt and fear and a confused sense of betrayal.

Kazim’s training had changed: now they also taught him how to disable or kill an unsuspecting victim. He had not imagined so many ways to take down an enemy: a stab to the kidneys or under the left armpit; a slash to the throat from behind; a knife driven up under the jaw into the brain; places where a single blow with a blunt instrument could stun. They showed him how to throw a variety of blades, and set him tests for silent movement.

They even gave him tips for fighting magi, which came down to a few simple principles: kill or knock them out with the first blow, and failing that, keep landing blows, causing pain, so they can’t focus their powers. Never strike the same place twice, for their instinctive shielding will block the second blow, then they will counter and you’ll be done for. Strike from behind when you can, silently.

It was simultaneously chilling and exhilarating, and Kazim lapped it up.