The Guild (34 page)

“Archbishop Gafford? No, it isn’t. That’s the Patriarch’s right-hand man,” Alonnen agreed. “Are they saying anything about the reason why he’s here in Heiastowne?”

“
Wait . . . shh . . .”
Several seconds of quiet passed, then Gabria spoke quickly. “
He’s just given Archbishop Elcarei a setdown, saying he’s too tired and irritated to speak of business matters until morning. He just wants food, a warm bed, and quarters for his entourage—heh
,” the mage-clerk giggled, surprising Alonnen.
“He’s just, oh the naughty, insulting words he used, should Elcarei try to stick him in one of the former prisoner cells . . . I’m torn between being frightened at h-having the Patriarch’s Chief Enforcer in town, and . . . He has a very inventive vocabulary.”

“Be calm, Gabria,” Alonnen directed her. “Remember, you’re in the safest place.
We’re
the ones in potential danger. Arrange for surveillance through the night. Oh, and get some detection pendants sent out here with, um . . . Master Tildei. Or Master Julianna. Either of them are good at detecting and discerning priest-spells laid on people.”

“
Yes, sir
,” Gabria agreed.
“I wish I knew how to record these scrying images. Archbishop Elcarei just turned an interesting shade of purplish red . . . Oh! Here comes the Aian mage. Wait . . .”

Curious, Alonnen waited. And waited. Rexei lifted her brows, so he cupped his hand over the cone of the mouthpiece and
whispered to her what was happening. Finally, Gabria spoke once more through the earpiece.

“
Oh my . . . This Torven fellow just firmly put the Patriarch’s right-hand man in his place. This is important, Alonnen
,” Gabria told him
.
“
Important and frightening. The Patriarch’s man came here to wrest control of the . . . the demon summonings from this ‘usurper,’ and Torven Shel Von just thoroughly set him in his place as being half trained, shoddily warded . . . and
enchanted
the archbishop into standing and dancing around to prove it! If Gafford
was
intending to s-summon demons . . . I think I am now very, very grateful this foreigner is in charge, even if his efficiency and skills frighten me.”

“So you’re saying it looks like the Torven fellow is firmly in charge?” Alonnen asked.

“Yes . . . yes, I do think so. The Archbishop Gafford isn’t
happy
about it . . . but he’s reseated himself and is no longer threatening or bluffing. What do we do about this?”

There were several options, but Alonnen had to admit to himself that if Torven Shel Von
was
firmly in charge, even of the arrogant newcomers, then that meant they had more time to prepare. “Continue to monitor all roaches. Arrange for around-the-clock study of the scryings, and have everyone take copious notes. If this Torven fellow is indeed in charge, then we have time, since it’s clear he won’t allow any rash, hasty acts.

“I’ll stay in town for now. Don’t hesitate to call the Consulate to send me a message if you overhear something that needs me urgently. I’d come back, but if anything happens, it might be better for me to be here on hand than all the way back at home.”

“Right . . . Heavens, but I am
very
glad I’m all the way out here and nowhere near there.”

“Goodnight, Gabria,” he told her, and at her murmured reply, ended the connection by dropping the ear-cone back into its cradle. He gave the crank several turns to keep it charged, then faced
Rexei. “Looks like our Aian invader is containing and controlling the problem. For now. Eventually, he
will
conjure a powerful demon and . . . do something with it.”

“Are you sure you don’t need to return?” Rexei asked him, anxious at the thought of something slipping through their fingers, some opportunity or piece of news.

Alonnen shook his head. “There’s not much more I could do there than I could do here. I can’t watch all night long without exhausting myself, so I’d just have to make others do what they’re already doing right now, watching and taking notes on everything. Gabria’s been introduced as my Sub-Consul to a couple of the other Guardians, in case any of them call. And . . . I’m here with you.

“I don’t know how much time we’ll have before the muck hits the motor, but since we can’t do anything until we know more, either of what they’re up to or how to stop them for good . . . I’d rather spend my time with you,” he admitted plainly, searching her brown eyes. “I don’t know why it’s you, but I know it’s you, Rexei.”

“You know it’s me . . . what?” she asked, unsure what he meant.

He gave her a lopsided smile somewhat reminiscent of Marta. “I know it’s you I want in my life . . . and in my bed. For more than just sleeping. Still willing to head to Big Momma’s?”

She blushed and ducked her head, then nodded. Eyes bright, she smiled and helped him to his feet. “You, me . . . and elderberry jelly.”

Grinning, he let her pull him out of the talker-box room.

R
exei wrinkled her nose. “It’s kind of small.”

Alonnen rolled his eyes. “You don’t need
that
much.”

“Well, I thought it’d be a lot larger,” she protested, holding up the little jar of elderberry jelly, one barely half the size of her fist. The oil lamps lighting the brothel room—fourth floor, instead of third this time, but still a corner room—shone through both the glass of the jar and the deep purplish red preserves inside, but there was barely half a cup’s worth. “For that much silver, I’d expect a full pint, is all I’m saying.”

“Can you honestly eat an entire pint of elderberry jelly in a single sitting?” he challenged her. He reached for the jar, only to have her pull away. Undaunted, he cupped her arm instead, but she didn’t move far. Moving up behind her, Alonnen wrapped his arms around her sweater-clad chest. “Well, can you?”

“With a big enough stack of toasted bread? Maaaybe,” Rexei teased. Setting the jelly back down next to the other jar, she picked
it up and squinted at the label. This jar had a rippled outside texture and a smooth oval for the glued-on label, which simply said,
Pomade
. The translucent white contents were a mystery. “What’s this one for?”

“Well, after you’ve had your elderberry jelly mess, and we’ve had a chance to clean up in that nice big copper tub . . . I was hoping we could . . . you know,” he coaxed, sliding one hand down to cup her backside.

She considered his words, conflicted. Alonnen was a good man, smart, funny, handsome, and appealing in many ways. He had a lot of love to give, from what Rexei had seen. In fact, she was sure he would make a wonderful parent. However . . . “Um . . . I’m not ready to be a mum. And the potion isn’t one hundred percent perfect.”

“It’s not for
that
,” he told her. She gave him a confused look. Plucking the jar from her fingers with one hand, he slid the fingers of the other down between her nethercheeks and spoke bluntly over her little squeak of surprise. “Pomade is used to grease the bottom for pistoning. I’d hope to be a good father, and I’m sure you’d be a good mother, but neither of us is in a position at this point in our lives where creating a child is a wise option.”

“Ah. Right. And using the back door for pistoning avoids that as a complication,” she agreed, remembering all the lurid gossip she’d listened to over the years in her guise as a boy. The fingers between her nethercurves had been a bit of a surprise at first, but . . . were kind of exciting now. Rexei had heard it was enjoyable for both genders, though apparently it took a bit more preparation and effort than the baby-making route.
And he’s willing to be careful, and I know he cares enough to make sure I’d enjoy it . . .
A thrill of excitement wormed its way past her trepidation. “Okay . . . we’ll do it.”

Alonnen squeezed her waist and nibbled on the side of her neck
in gratitude. “As much as I enjoy fondling and being fondled,” he murmured, tracing a little circle on her skin with the tip of his long nose, “I also want to do much more with you.”

Part of her was nervous at the thought of all they were about to do. Part was curious. The greatest part of Rexei’s feelings, though, was very glad she was here in this room with
him
. Alonnen. Setting down the pomade jar, she turned in his arms, looped her own around his shoulders, and . . . they bumped noses awkwardly.

He ducked his head at the collision, mumbling an apology. Smiling, Rexei kissed the “offending” appendage. Several times, too, so that he knew she didn’t care his nose was a bit longer than most. In fact, she peppered it with pecking kisses until he laughed and pulled back.

“Enough—enough! Leave my nose alone, woman, or I’ll attack you with it!” Alonnen mock threatened, though it was spoiled by his grin.

Giggling, Rexei covered her mouth with both hands; giggling was a girlish thing, a habit she had mostly broken over the years. But the way he smiled at her, warm and accepting this side of her, all of her, made her relax. “And how would you attack me with it? I’ll grant you it’s long and sharp at the tip, but it’s still made of flesh.”

About to reply, Alonnen paused, thought, smirked, and stepped back, releasing her. Lifting his hands to his knitted top, he pulled it over his head. “Here, first get yourself naked,” he said. “I’ll do the same. Then I’ll show you how a nose is used—a Tallnose nose,” he amended, “in lovemaking. It’s a skill not every man can train, you know, as most just don’t have the proper appendage.”

The way he lifted his head, tilting it in arrogant nasal display, made her giggle again. The way he stripped off the rest of the layers concealing his chest made her cover her blush and cover her mouth.
That hid most of the smile she simply could not stop from spreading across her lips the moment he bared his winter-pale skin.

“Come on,” he ordered her, flipping a hand at her own garments. “Off with all of it! Not unless you want them stained with elderberry jelly.”

“Uh, no.” Focusing on her own clothes, Rexei worked to remove them in the face of her growing nervousness. She glanced at Alonnen. He stripped in a matter-of-fact manner and dropped his clothes onto one of the chairs next to the little table, completely unashamed of his nudity. It made her realize just how comfortable
she
was with him, given his visible comfortableness with her. “Right.”

Moving over to the lounging couch, she stripped off her clothes and piled them on the cushions. Everything came off easily, except her breast bindings. The material had tangled somehow; between that and the cool draft she could feel against her naked hips, she was even more anxious to get it off.

“Shh, shh, I’ve got it. A few loose threads got bound up in the knot,” Alonnen explained, soothing her. His fingers took over from hers on her left side, then he helped her unwind the long strip of linen. He let her drop the wadded material on the couch, but did not touch her. Instead, he merely observed, “You have a very cute bottom. You also have wider hips than one would think.”

“It’s, uh, the baggy tunics and sweaters and shirts I wear,” Rexei said. Her skin itched, as it always did upon removing the wrappings. Normally she scrubbed at her skin for a minute or so to rid it of the sensation, but with him right behind her . . . The itch didn’t go away. It grew, making her shift her weight and grimace.

“Is something wrong?” Alonnen asked.

“Ugh!” Giving in to her greatest urge, Rexei scrubbed her hands over her modest curves, scratching and rubbing at the
reddish lines formed by the wrinkles in her breast-bindings. “So itchy!”

Chuckling, he placed his palms on her back and started scrubbing. “Here, let me help.”

Startled at first, Rexei relaxed into his efforts with a soft moan of pleasure; it was the one spot she could never reach, and he was now soothing the madness that she had learned by necessity to ignore. “Oh, that feels so good . . .”

“My pleasure. I’m happy to assist,” he reassured her. His nails scraped lightly for a few strokes, then he shifted his fingers to her ribs. Rexei squirmed a little, until he firmed his touch past the point of tickling. Another happy sigh escaped her, drawing a chuckle out of him. “Hedonist.”

“Um, yes,” she murmured, blushing. Then felt his hands slipping around to cup her breasts, making the skin of her face feel rather hot. Those fingers wiggled and stroked, making the flesh gently caged in his grip ache with needs she hadn’t really known about before the last few nights. Remembering now how he had played with and kissed her curves, she sighed and leaned back against his naked frame. Only because it was him, Alonnen, did she feel comfortable enough to confess, “I like this part, too.”

“Mmm, so do I,” he agreed, plumping one small breast. “Barely a palmful, yet so wonderfully sensitive.” He kissed the side of her neck, and played with her other modest curve.

Being passive wasn’t in her nature. She might run and hide, or she might face down a foe and fight, but Rexei was still doing something about her situation when she did those things; standing still was just not in her nature. Taking care of herself, learning new guild skills, all of these things had taught her to step forward and grasp what she wanted.

She also wanted Alonnen, and she had the grace to admit that to herself.

Turning in his arms, Rexei slid her hands over his flesh, exploring every angle and curve. She nipped at his neck and licked along the raspy edge of his jawline, enjoying his musky scent. This felt right, and wonderful, and was exactly what she wanted. “
This
 . . . is where I want to be. In your arms.”

Alonnen felt it, too, in an upwelling of love, need, and a deep-rooted contentment. He hugged her close, chest to breasts, and just breathed in the soft, slightly spicy scent of the woman in his arms. But when she wrapped her fingers around the heat of his erection, he twitched backwards. It was too much, too intense on the heels of the emotions she had raised.

“Easy! Easy, I don’t want this to end quickly,” he murmured, soothing her brief frown of disappointment. Beyond her shoulder, he could see the jar of pomade and the jar of preserves. “Actually, now would be a good time to experiment with the elderberry, yes? Which would you rather do, lay out the old sheet or open the jar?”

“Lay out the sheet. I can act like a young man all day long,” she added, stepping back so that she could pluck the folded linen off the table, “but my wrists aren’t up to the actual task of it. How about on the lounging divan?”

“That’ll do,” Alonnen agreed, picking up the preserves. He started to twist the cap off easily . . . and failed. Gripping lid and jar more firmly, he grunted twice, trying to loosen the lid. Finally, he got it off but not before provoking a small giggle from his lover over the effort involved. “Oh, very funny. You and I both know the Threefold God of Fate
loves
a good ironically timed joke.”

“Then I’m very glad we don’t have the Threefold God as our Patron,” Rexei soothed him, hugging him from behind. The more time she spent with him, the more that hugging—and touching, period—felt natural and normal to her. “Or it would happen much more often, I’m sure.”

“That does bring up a good point,” he said, turning to follow
her back to the couch. “Does
Guildra
have a sense of humor, O High Priestess?”

“Guild Master, and of course She does,” Rexei pointed out. “How could She not? She
is
the Patron Goddess of all the entertainment guilds, as well as all the rest. Actors, Bards, Writers, Poets . . .”

“And Patron Goddess of Brothels,” Alonnen replied, lifting the opened jelly jar as if it were a glass for a toast. Lowering it, he tilted the mouth toward hers. “Would you like to break the wax and have the first scoop?”

“I don’t have a spoon,” she told him.

“You don’t need a spoon. Use your fingers,” he countered.

She wrinkled her nose and sat down. “But that’ll be messy.”

“That’s the point,” Alonnen said, and poked at the wax that had been poured on top of the preserve. Working out several chunks, he tossed them onto the small table, then offered her the dark red contents. “Scoop some out, pick a target on either your or my body, and apply it with your fingers—wait,” he added quickly. Stepping closer, he carefully made sure his feet were on a corner of the sheet that had draped over the floor. “Okay,
now
do it. The point of the sheet is to catch anything that falls, after all.”

“Right.” She dug her fingers into the cool, firm, slightly grainy jelly. It squished between her fingertips, and a glob threatened to fall off when she scooped some out. Catching it with her other hand, she hesitated, then scooted forward on the sofa and smeared a bit on Alonnen’s chest.

His muscles contracted under the cool, sticky stuff. Fascinated, she spread the jelly around a bit more, then awkwardly tried to lick it. Sitting, she was too short; standing, she was too tall. With a grin, Alonnen graciously sat down and let her settle next to him so that she could lean over his lap and lick.

The jelly was a bit strong. She loved it, but she usually ate it
smeared thin on toasted bread, not gooped thick on, well, non-toasted man. Still, she tried a few more licks, then looked up at his face. “Is this . . . good for you? Are you enjoying it?”

He gave it a moment of thought, then shrugged and lifted his brows. “It’s not bad. Are
you
having fun?”

She debated, then bit her bottom lip in a brief grimace. “It’s a bit too tart, to be honest. Maybe I should’ve asked for the birch syrup—I’ll pay you back for the elderberry jar.”

“It wasn’t that much,” Alonnen pointed out. He nudged her into a normal sitting position, then he twisted to face her. “Here, let me try it.” Scooping out a bit from the jar, he carefully daubed bits of jelly onto her nipple. “Let’s see if you like being on the receiving end.”

The first few tentative licks felt good. The way he swirled his tongue, too . . . but then he pulled back. Wrinkling his long, pointed nose, Alonnen grimaced.

“Yeah . . . the flavor’s too tart for this. Let’s clean up and share that tub,” he offered instead.

Rexei sighed, but let him rise and head for the rounded alcove. “Sorry.”