Goddess of the Rose (41 page)

 

 

TIME surprised Mikki by passing slowly. Maybe it was because the work of cutting the rotting, diseased roses and dragging them outside the wall to their pyre was so damn hard and depressing. Or maybe it was because Mikki's mind couldn't stop thinking about what the future held. Either way, it seemed that several eternities had passed in that one, endless day. Mikki had fallen into a hypnotic rhythm of cut—dip—cut—dip, so she was surprised to look up and see that, finally, the sky had darkened enough for Floga to light the torches up and down the rose wall.

“Gii,” she called to the Earth Elemental, who hurried to her side, smiling even though her eyes were bruised with shadows and her arms were pink with thorn scratches. “That's all we can do today. Have the women finish dragging what they've cut through the gate, and let's call it a day.”

“Yes, Empousa,” Gii said, looking relieved.

Mikki didn't blame her. Her own shoulders were aching and her hands were bruised and sore from the shears. Thankfully, they were razor sharp—a group of women had spent the day doing nothing but sharpening and re-sharpening blades. Mikki glanced down at the shears. Carefully, she dipped them in the bucket of wine and then cleaned them in the grass before hiding them at the base of the rose she'd just finished pruning.

“The women are finishing their tasks as you commanded, Empousa.”

Gii's voice made Mikki jump guiltily, which she covered with a small laugh. Then she took the handmaiden's arm and said, “Walk with me a little?”

“Of course,” Gii said.

They walked together silently, taking a meandering path back toward the rose gate. Mikki was satisfied by what she saw in the rose beds. The diseased bushes had been purged. It looked stark now, but she knew that in the spring they would grow back and be healthier and hardier than before. Roses were survivors—not the delicate fainting flowers too many people believed them to be. Mikki knew better. She knew about hidden strength and resilience. Too often people had misjudged her, discounting her as a pretty face and nothing more, or worse, considered her opinions inconsequential because she was “only” a woman. She thought about Asterius. He, too, had been misjudged, solely on his appearance. Little wonder they fit so well together.

“You were wrong about him,” Mikki said softly.

Gii glanced at her, surprised by the High Priestess's words. “Him, Empousa?”

“The Guardian. He's not a beast, and he doesn't deserve to be treated like one.”

Gii stayed carefully silent.

“I don't know what happened before. I don't know what he did, and now, I don't want to know. But let me tell you what I do know. He saved this realm yesterday when my mistake could have destroyed it. He would do the same today and tomorrow—or for every tomorrow until eternity. He's honorable, Gii. And he's kind. Did you know that he's an artist?”

“No,” Gii said.

“He is.”

“He loves you,” Gii said hesitantly.

“I know. I love him, too.” Mikki drew a deep breath. “And that's why I want you to promise me something. I want you to promise me that you'll treat him better. Don't ostracize him. He . . .” She paused, struggling against a wave of emotions. “He gets lonely, and I don't want him to spend eternity alone. If you change the way you react to him, so will all the handmaidens who come after the four of you. Would you do that for me?”

Gii stopped and gazed into the High Priestess's eyes. What she saw there made her breath catch. Then, slowly, she nodded. “Yes, Empousa. You have my oath.”

“Thank you, Gii. Now, let's get out of here. It's been one damned long day,” she said with forced cheerfulness.

They reached the rose wall in time to see Asterius closing the gate, much to Mikki's relief. For a little while the four Elementals, the Guardian, and the Empousa stood with the women of the realm and watched the diseased roses burn at the edge of the forest. Then the women began to move off in little groups, calling tired farewells to Mikki, until only the Elementals were left.

“You did well today,” Mikki told them, meeting each of their eyes in turn. “I want you to know how proud I am of you.”

The handmaidens smiled wearily at their Empousa.

“Tomorrow I want you to sleep past dawn—we'll all need the rest. Then eat breakfast and meet me at Hecate's Temple. We'll start again then, doing the same things we did today—pruning and burning the disease from the roses. But I believe they will be better tomorrow.”

“Is that what your instinct tells you?” Gii said, grinning at her.

“That's most definitely what my instinct tells me.” Mikki smiled through the tight, hot feeling in her chest. Then, impulsively, she hugged each of them before saying, “If you need me, you can find me in the Guardian's home.” She enunciated “home” distinctly, deciding then and there that she would never call it a lair again. “Good night,” Mikki called, turning to join Asterius where he waited in the shadows.

“Sleep well, Empousa.” Gii hesitated only a moment and then added, “Good night, Guardian.”

Mikki was facing him, so she saw the look of pleased surprise that crossed his powerful face.

“Fare you well, Earth,” Asterius said somewhat stiffly.

Then each of the other three handmaidens called similar good nights, leaving the Guardian to gaze in wonder after them.

“In all the centuries I have been Guardian of this realm, that has never before happened.”

“I told you I was going to change things.” Mikki linked her arm through his. “Let's go home.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

M
IKKI stretched out on the pallet beside Asterius. The softness of the thick pelts was soothing against her flushed, sweaty skin. Absently, she traced a finger along the ridges of his abdominal muscles, prominent even as he lay there completely relaxed with his eyes closed. They'd made love twice. Once in his bathing pool again. It had been rough and fast, and Mikki knew her skin still showed raised marks where his claws had shallowly pierced her ass during the climax of their passion. The second time had been long and slow and incredibly gentle. He'd brought her to climax with his tongue twice before he'd entered her and slowly, slowly, rocked them to repletion.

Mikki couldn't imagine leaving him. Couldn't imagine never feeling his touch again—never talking with him again, or never seeing the uninhibited joy and wonder in his eyes when she reached for him. She couldn't imagine it, and so she refused to think about it. She would do what she had to do when the time came. Until then, she wouldn't waste the hours she had with him mourning the future.

“I want to paint you.”

Mikki jumped and made a little “squee” sound.

Eyes still closed, his chest vibrated with his low laughter. She smacked his belly. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I cannot possibly sleep with you touching me like that,” he said.

“Oh, sorry. I didn't realize . . .” She started to pull her hand back, and he caught her wrist.

“I do not mind.” He let loose her wrist and smiled when she continued to trace a soft path over his stomach. “I still want to paint you.”

“You already sketched me.”

“Yes, but I want to paint you, too. Just as you are now. I want your image on the walls of my bedchamber.”

He didn't say “so I can remember you when you're old and/or dead,” but Mikki's mind shouted the words in her head, along with words that whispered that he might need the painting to remind him of her much sooner than either of them expected. She pushed down her morbid thoughts, but suddenly she wanted desperately for him to paint her—for him to capture even just a piece of what they had so he would remember . . .

“Would you do it tonight? Now?” she asked.

Asterius opened his eyes and studied her. “Yes,” he said slowly. “I will paint your portrait tonight.”

Mikki watched as he left their bed and began gathering bowls and brushes from niches that had been carved into the walls of the cave and lighting more torches until the bedroom was alive with warmth and light. He hadn't bothered to get dressed beyond the linen wrap he'd slung haphazardly around his hips. She was struck again by the raw power and untamed beauty of his body. He was beast, man, and god, all mixed together to form a miracle, and there was only one thing she wanted more than to spend her life by his side.

When he had readied the paints and had a brush in his hand, she sat up and smiled at him. “Okay, how do you want me to pose?”

He walked over to the sleeping pallet and gently pressed her back so she was lying on her side as she had been when he'd been beside her. He spread her hair out around her so it made a copper veil on the cream-colored pelt. He positioned her hands so one was draped over her head and the other lay, palm down, on the pallet next to her, as if she had just caressed him. Then he pulled the blanket that had been covering her from her waist down off her, leaving her naked. She raised an eyebrow at him.

His lips tilted up. “Are you cold?”

“If I am, will you warm me up?”

His laugh rumbled between them. “When I am finished. For right now, just lie still and close your eyes.” He went back to the clay pots and brushes.

“Do I have to close my eyes? I'd rather watch you.”

He looked over his shoulder at her. “It will forever be a surprise to me that you enjoy looking at me.”

“I like to do more than look.” She smiled seductively.

“Do not move,” he chided, but his smile was clearly indulgent.

He began painting, working with bold, fast strokes, which he painted right over the top of the Tulsa Rose Garden scene, causing the garden to be cast in the background, as if he was superimposing one view of reality over another.

“Can I talk to you while you do that, or do you need to concentrate?” Mikki whispered, a little awed by the beautiful, glistening version of her that was taking form.

“You may talk. I may not answer, though. Sometimes I forget where I am when I paint.”

“In my old world they call that The Zone. I read an article on it once. It happens to artists and authors and athletes. Something about brain endorphins. It's supposed to mean you're doing something right if you can find The Zone.”

Asterius grunted.

“Do you always get in The Zone when you paint?” she asked.

“Yes. Usually.” He squinted as he studied her and then turned back to the cave wall and drew the long, curving line of her waist, hip and leg.

She watched him paint and thought about his talent and the beauty he seemed to so easily create, even though he had, for centuries, been an outcast.
Please, Gii, keep your word.
Then she pulled her mind from the handmaiden's promise, afraid Asterius would study her face too closely and be able to read her melancholy thoughts.

She needed to think of him instead. As he was then—as he had been earlier—passionate, tender, loving and full of surprises like the exquisite paintings he could produce. Which reminded her . . .

“Asterius, who is the woman you drew on the wall of the front room?”

His hand stilled mid-stroke. Without looking at her he said, “It is Pasiphea, my mother.”

“I thought so,” she said. And she had. Asterius wasn't adding her picture to his wall as he would a trophy. He wouldn't do that—he wouldn't even think that way. “She's very beautiful.”

“That is how I remember her.”

Mikki wanted to ask him to please remember her as beautiful, too. To please forget her faults and the pain of their parting after she was gone. To just remember how much they loved. But she knew she couldn't. All she could do was to hope that when the time came he would forgive her for being mortal. Mikki closed her eyes, afraid if she kept looking at him she would blurt out what she was thinking—admit everything and beg him to help her find another way out of this mess.

 

 

Somehow, Mikki slept. She only knew it because the next time she opened her eyes the room was much dimmer and Asterius was sleeping beside her. She lay there for a few moments, listening to him take deep, regular breaths. Then, tentatively, she eased up from their bed. Quietly, she wrapped herself in a length of chiton she'd discarded earlier. She didn't look at the wall until she had the material fastened at her shoulder. Then she stared, pressing her hand to her mouth to stop her gasp. He had made her look like a goddess! Her painted image was sleeping, with a slight upturn to her lips, as if she had been having a lovely dream. Her skin looked touchable, her body lush and inviting. And he hadn't painted her lying on his pallet. He'd painted her sleeping on a bed of rose petals—specifically, Mikado rose petals.

She turned back to the bed and looked at him, wishing she could wake him up and make love to him. But she couldn't take the chance. She had to check on the roses.
If my instincts are wrong,
she promised herself,
I'll come back and wake him up and make love to him all morning.
Without looking at him again, Mikki padded on bare, silent feet from the room.

The sun hadn't risen yet, but the eastern sky was starting to turn from night's black to a gray that would soon welcome dawn. The grass was cold and damp under her bare feet as she followed the path around the base of the cliff to the stairs that would lead her up past the hot springs baths, around to her balcony, and then down into the heart of the gardens. Mikki didn't allow her mind to wander. She hurried up the stairs, barely glancing at the steaming baths, not wanting to remember how wonderful it had been to soak there in the company of her handmaidens and how much she had been looking forward to doing so again. Her balcony was empty, as was her room, but she could see a welcoming fire burning in the hearth and a candelabrum tree still lit beside her bed. She bit her lip and turned away from the homey sight.