The False Martyr (9 page)

In a minute, he was in his
room. He pushed the door closed, turned the lock, and leaned
against it. Heart hammering, he suddenly felt as if he had barely
escaped that meal with his life. And he was not sure that he did
not want to go back.

#

Ipid slept in his own bed,
the very bed he had been praying for, but it, somehow, felt too
soft, too conforming as if it might swallow him whole. He tossed
and turned, trying to find a place in all that softness that gave
him the same reassurance he now received from the hard, lumpy
ground. And as he turned, his mind wandered helplessly through a
series of mazes, making its own twists and turns without any hope
of finding its way out of even the simplest. Despite all that,
sleep could not be denied. Eventually, it claimed his mind, eased
his body, and dragged him down deep into its embrace.

Thus it was that he roused
from that sleep only slowly, fighting through layers of dreams to
reach reality, to place the sensations that were flooding him: a
body warm and soft against his own; hands touching him, caressing,
urging; lips brushing, tantalizing; breath tickling across his
neck, chest, face. By the time his eyes opened, stared upon Eia’s
face perched above his, he was breathing in gasps, was overwhelmed
with need, was lost beyond hope of recovery. His hands were already
upon her, feeling her soft skin, thin arms, firm breasts, bare
back, round rear. His lips moved with hers, their breaths mingling
in pants. Their body pressed so close as to be one.

And before Ipid could find
his bearings or the sense to stop, her hand was moving past the
band of his nightclothes. Her legs parted around him. Her head
pulled back, white hair falling around him like a veil. And it
happened. Everything he wanted and feared. Beautiful Eia rising and
falling before him, soft skin, warm breath, infinite release. It
was over almost as soon as it started. She collapsed upon him,
covered him with her body, whispered unfamiliar words, and sent him
back to sleep.

Chapter 5

The
15
^th
Day of Summer

The first rays of morning
shone into Ipid’s eyes through the open doors that led to a small
balcony. The curtains, cast back, ruffled gently in the breeze. The
air flowed over him but failed to penetrate the crisp cotton sheet
that covered him. He groaned softly, squirmed, and rolled onto his
side.

Soft hair filled his face.
The scent of herbal soap overran him, but there was musk underlying
it, the sharp tang of sex. A warm body slid into his, fitting his
fetal shape like a puzzle piece. His arm wrapped around it. His
hand cupped a naked breast. The body squirmed, writhing against
him, making him groan as he pulled it closer still.

“
Good morning,” a soft,
husky voice said. The hair moved from his face. Lips found his,
kissed him gently. The body shifted, disengaged then rolled to
tangle him in a snare of arms and legs. Lips moved on his. A tongue
probed his. A hand moved across his body, past the band at his
waist.

He gasped as that hand
clasped him. His own free hand moved up soft legs, around hips, and
down as the kisses became more urgent, the breaths desperate. Ipid
was barely awake, barely aware, but he knew what he wanted. Eia did
not deny him.

They moved together, fully
awake, illuminated by the sun. There was no mystery now, no dreams,
no doubt. This was real. This was happening, and Ipid wanted it
more than anything. Eia smiled through her moans, kissed him hard,
and he caressed her, felt every part of her until everything went
blank, they shuttered together, and Eia collapsed again on top of
him.

“
What a nice way to wake,”
she sighed into his chest. “It has been too long. I was beginning
to think I was a priest of your order rather than mine.” She lifted
her head, pushed her hair back, and looked at Ipid a few inches
away.

He smiled and ran his
hands over her legs still spread around him. “So that was real last
night? I thought I’d dreamed it.”

“
A dream then not a
nightmare?”

Ipid could not help but
chuckle. “I should be angry, but I’m not. I’m as happy as I’ve been
in years. I can’t stop smiling. I forgot how wonderful that was,
how good it feels to be so close to someone, how much I needed
it.”

Eia smiled. “I am glad
you’re not angry. I know I shouldn’t have come, but I wanted you so
badly, needed you so much.”

“
Speaking of which, how
did you get in here? The door was locked.” Ipid looked toward the
door, still tightly closed, lock still in place.

“
When have you known a
door to stop me?” Eia laughed then kissed him. She rolled off of
him and laid on her back, one white leg spread over him. “So what
now, my lord? Are you still worried about all you have to
do?”

He stared at his desk an
impossible ten strides from the bed then over at Eia’s naked body
so close and inviting. He took a deep breath of the wild hair
spread across his chest, ran his hand along the naked shoulder that
pressed on him. For a second his mind replaced the translucent
curls with brown waves, the slim white shoulder with one broad and
freckled, the thin legs that barely reached the end of his with
sturdy ones that would end past his own feet. For a second, he held
Kira in his arms, was pressed against her. Emotion flooded
him.
She is gone
,
he told himself.
You have to let her
go.
He sniffed, wiped a tear from his eye,
and returned his hand to Eia, squeezing her tight.

“
Are you alright?” she
asked, her head rising from his chest so that she looked into his
eyes through a cascade of hair.

Ipid smiled, sniffed
again, and pushed the hair back from her face. “Just saying goodbye
to old ghosts.”

“
I don’t believe in
ghosts. I believe in now.”

“
Probably wise,” he said
absently, then pulled himself firmly from the dark path his
thoughts threatened to take. “And now, I am hungry.” He ran his
hand through her hair again, encouraged her to release him. She
rolled off, naked body splayed across the bed, one leg still over
his.

“
I could eat, or I could
lie here all day. I haven’t had a day in bed since the Darthur
came.”

An entire day in bed, Ipid
couldn’t even imagine. Already, he’d slept more than he typically
managed in two nights. He pulled himself from the bed, retrieved
his nightclothes from where they had been kicked into a pile on the
floor, and walked stiffly down the stairs to the
kitchen.

A few minutes later, he
carried bread, water, and wine up the stairs to his room. He found
Eia sprawled stark naked across his bed exactly as he’d left her.
His breath caught as the site of her smooth, white body, warm and
waiting.

“
What took you so long?”
she asked rolling onto her side. “I was starting to get bored. I
even thought about putting on clothes.”

Ipid smiled but did not
fall into the trap. “I found us some wine.” He held up the bottle
then realized he had brought nothing to remove the cork.

“
I’ll just take some of
that water.” Eia propped herself up in the bed but did nothing to
cover herself. Ipid pulled himself from the bottle long enough to
pour two cups of water. Eia drained hers almost as quickly as she
took it. He poured her another with the same result.

“
Would you like some
bread?” Ipid held a round of Darthur flat bread out to her. “This
is all that is left. We’ll need to find some food soon.”

“
You eat it. I don’t need
much, and I actually ate my dinner last night.”

Ipid sat in the chair at
his desk to eat. Despite Eia’s offer and the rumbling in his
stomach, he left her half untouched. The entire time, she watched
him, naked body squirming into various positions, patience
obviously thin.

“
Are you ready to return
to bed?” she asked while he chewed his last bite. “I’m
bored.”

“
I should write some
letters before the day is completely lost.” He looked at the stack
of paper on the table, caught between desire and duty.

“
And how do you plan to
send your letters? I haven’t seen any couriers waiting. Might as
well come here and have some fun while we can.”

Ipid shook his head. “Are
you completely insatiable? I’m not as young as I used to be. Even
if I didn’t have all this to do, I need time to
recover.”

Eia made a false pout,
rose from the bed, and walked to the desk. She sat on his lap,
straddling him. One hand went to his hair, the other to his crotch.
She pulled his head back and brought her mouth to his ear. Warm
breath tickled across his face. A hand caressed him through his
pants. “Doesn’t feel like you need a break.” She kissed him, took
his breath, then moved her mouth to his neck. “If you’re tired, I
can do the work. You don’t even have to get up.” Her body moved on
his to illustrate her point. She tried to move her hand past the
band of his pants, but Ipid recovered just in time.

He caught her hand, held
it away. He was ready, but he was not some boy. He knew that all
relationships had to have limits, had to have boundaries. If he
allowed Eia to pull him in now, he would never escape her, would be
at her constant beck and call, and it appeared she would be calling
often. “I said, no.” He was gentle but firm. “I am tired, sore, and
just a bit overwhelmed. This has been wonderful, but I need to do
some work. We have a week. There is plenty of time.” He tried to
smile.

Eia scowled. She ripped
her hand from his. “Fine. I’ll leave, but remember you had your
chance. I may not be interested later. I may have found another
diversion.” She pushed herself off of him with a hand hard on his
chest. She stood beside him for a moment, clearly hoping he’d
change his mind, but he just grabbed a piece of paper and pretended
to think about what he would write. So, with a huff, she snatched
the bottle of wine from the desk and strode to the door. She threw
it open with a crash and stormed out of the room, without a stitch
of clothes.

Ipid released a long
breath and tried to adjust himself. He watched the doorway for a
long time, almost wishing that she’d come sauntering back through.
She didn’t, so he returned his attention to his desk, to the blank
page before him, but he suddenly could not think of a single thing
beyond the feel of Eia’s body pressed against him.

#

It was after noon when
Ipid looked up from the papers before him. He adjusted the damp
collar of his shirt. It was another sweltering day – the breeze
through his window like a furnace – and he was not sure why he had
decided to put on real clothes. Partially because it felt wrong to
do work in his pajamas but also, he knew, to separate himself from
the scent of Eia. Yet even with his nightclothes folded on the, now
made, bed, even with the windows open and a breeze shifting the
curtains, he could smell her. And each breath brought his thoughts
to her.

He looked down at the
pages before him. As Eia had suggested, he had given up on writing
letters. Instead, he was trying to order his thoughts, think
through all he had to accomplish, and develop a plan for the
remainder of the week. Find Dasen, negotiate Kingdoms’ surrender,
aid Liandria and Morg Fells, destabilize Arin. It was an impossible
list. He had no idea how he would accomplish any of those, did not
even know where to start. What was clear, however, was that he
could not do it alone. His stomach rumbled. His thoughts returned
to Eia.
Not accomplishing anything
here.
And staring at this paper won’t
change it.
He sighed and pushed himself
back from the desk.

Turning into the main hall
that connected his wing to the one he had reserved for Dasen and
Tethina and had since given to Eia, he thought about what he would
say, tried to craft an apology, to think of a tactful way to ask
for her help, then stood at her door for a long moment,
anticipation and trepidation battling. Finally, he brought his hand
up and knocked. He had no idea what to expect, no idea what he’d
say. But wasn’t that always the way with her? He felt his tension
grow, his breaths become shallow as he waited for an
answer.

Nothing. He knocked again,
harder this time. “Eia, it’s me. . . . I’m sorry about this
morning. I want to see you. Are you there?” Not a sound. “I . . .
ah . . . had some questions . . . about the Darthur and Dasen . . .
. And I wanted to look for some lunch. . . . I could find us some
more wine.” Ipid waited before admitting the obvious. She wasn’t
here.

With a sigh, he walked
back to the broad staircase and down its carpeted expanse. He
listened but, hearing nothing, began to search. In the dining room,
a plate sat with a cloth napkin covering it. He lifted the cloth
away and found half of a roasted rabbit surrounded by a colorful
arrangement of vegetables – she hadn’t completely abandoned him.
Stomach rumbling and mouth watering, he covered the food and peeked
into the kitchen. The wine bottle Eia had taken sat empty on its
side on one of the tables. Vegetable scraps and peelings were
scattered around it. A dirty, worn knife stood among them, tip
buried in the wood. The room was otherwise empty. The back door was
open, but the vegetable garden was as lifeless as the
kitchen.