The Sand Prince (48 page)

"Huh," he said.

"What's wrong?" She had a horrible thought involving demon women and what their privates might look like. Flowers? What if they
all
had penises, men and women both? What if her lack of jewelry below the waist was ugly to him?

"Nothing," he said, "it’s just..." He cocked his head, looking more amused than alarmed.

She took another look at his body, and then back at her own. "You've never seen a person with hair on their body before, have you?"

"I... actually, no."

"Does it look weird? It does, it looks weird. I'm sorry." She bent to gather her dress, her face crimson, but he took her by the wrist and raised her back up.

"Don't do that," he said. "I imagine even Gwyneth probably had... whatever you call that." She laughed and nodded in agreement. "I just wasn't expecting it. Stand up. Let me see. There, it's fine. It's... I like it." He brushed her light brown curls with the back of his hand, and again, more slowly with his fingertips. "It's soft." He looked up at her, eyes bright. "What else do you have that's different? Can I look?"

Looking involved his mouth and his hands, and when she couldn't hold herself up with her hands on his shoulders any longer, he lowered her onto the blanket and continued his exploration. His long hair brushed her stomach and her thighs, and his mouth was so soft—but that wasn't it, she realized his face was just as smooth, not the slightest bit of a beard. That must be why men like this, she thought, it all feels like silk, all cool and hot together. Then he did something with his hand—was it inside her? Or outside? She couldn't tell, and she didn't care, it was enough to push her over to what he called finding her pleasure. When she could put a thought together again, she decided that was a very good name for it.

She sat up. "Now you. Please." She reached down to help guide him, and for once the heat of her body was greater than his. As he entered her, he said something, a word she didn't recognize, although maybe it wasn't a word at all. She began to understand what the golden beads were for and felt herself moving towards her pleasure again, and then realized he'd stopped.

He was looking down at her, utterly confused.

"Something is different," he said. "Something is missing."

He's a clever man, I know he is, and I hope I'm there to see it when he begins to understand his own mind.
"What is it?" she asked gently. "What do you feel?"

"Nothing," he answered. The way he trembled in her arms told her that wasn't true. She twisted her hips and drew him deeper inside her. He groaned and rested his head on her shoulder.

"Really? You're feeling nothing?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said again. "Nothing... bad." He looked at her again with something like awe, and began to move against her.
I'll think about this later, and I might cry
, she told herself.
But not now
. She pulled him down on top of her. "No," he said, "I'm too heavy."

"You're not," she said. He was still holding back, he was still pulling away from her hands, not moving into them. "Darling, if you were ever to hurt me, I'd tell you at once." She wrapped her legs around his waist and arched her back. "And you're not." She smiled wickedly. "But you can try."

He finished with his mouth against her bright hair, his hands pinning hers to the blanket behind their heads, with the echo of her second wave still racing through both of their bodies. She felt as if fire was flowing between them, she could see it behind her eyes.

The sun in the trees created a pattern of light and dark that shifted and dappled across their skin.

"Can I ask you something?" she said after a while. He made a small sound of assent. "The thing that was missing... did you miss it?"

The pause before he answered was longer than she had anticipated. "It was different," he said. "It was like something else. Like the difference between walking and running."

"Were you walking, just now? Or were you running?"

She watched the sunlight moving across his closed eyelids. "I was flying."

Then she did cry, but only a little bit, and he didn't see it.

***

W
hen they awoke, the shadows had already started to lengthen. The afternoon had come and gone, and she was talking about food. "Roasted game hen," she said, "with new potatoes in cream with dill. And fresh radishes on black bread with butter and salt. And ice cream for dessert."

"I got 'new' and 'salt' and 'ice'," he said. "The rest you'll have to show me."

"Leek and chestnut soup," she added. "And then coffee and brandy for after."

"Would you like me to go get the bag from the cart?" he asked.

"What a wonderful idea! I'm starving." He didn't bother with his clothing for the short walk, and she got to try and decide whether the view was better leaving or returning. Since he had their meal in his hands, returning ultimately got the vote, although it was an extremely close decision.

They'd found several links of sausage, both hard and greasy, along with some bread and a handful of dried fruit in the sword man's bag, and as they ate she promised him, "a real sit down meal," as she called it, "and as soon as possible. I'll even cook." She paused to gnaw on the fruit. "Maybe I'd better not."

"Where are we going to have this 'sit down' of... um, salt and... ice... things?" he asked.

She frowned and thought. "We could go back to Mistra, our cook will feed you until you can't move. Or my friend Althee is a brilliant cook, she'll love you. Or we could head the other way and visit our farms, out towards the mountains. Or just go until we see an inn, that's the easiest." Then she smiled. "You decide."

"I... don't know. Do I have to pick right now?" He had a look of stunned happiness about him and she knew it wasn’t only from their lovemaking. "Lelet, you know I can't stay here forever. Eventually Ilaan will contact me. And I'll have to decide whether or not to answer him. There are people at home, I'm worried. Things may have changed a great deal. I don't know exactly how much time has gone by, or what I'll find when I get there."

She nodded. "And we have to deal with my sister."

"But not right now." He looked at her cautiously. "If that’s all right."

She nodded. "I am a bit of an expert at putting off decisions. I think you’ll enjoy it."

He tried to replace his sweetly dazed smile with a serious expression. "There is one thing I'd like you to show me, and I want to do that first."

"Oh, of course." She waited. What could it be? Dragons? Sailing ships? More horses?

"I want chocolate." She burst out laughing. "It's in my book—which by the way is not stupid—and it seems to be magical. Can you find it for me?"

"It is my new life's work." She wiped her fingers on the hem of the ugly dress and stretched and rose to her feet. She took his hand. "Chocolate it shall be. And a dress that doesn't make me want to cry. And a shirt that fits you, too."

"What? I like this shirt."

"And shoes that I can walk in, and a hot bath—you'll like that in particular, I think...."

"Chocolate first," he reminded her.

"Absolutely!" she agreed. "One inn with a hot bath and chocolate, coming up."

They rolled up the blankets and threw the rinds of the bread—too hard even for the horse to bother with—into the trees. As they walked away from the little clearing, neither of them noticed a single slender curl of smoke rising from the brush only a few feet from where they'd lain. If it had been kindled even two days earlier it might have taken half the forest down with it, but after the rain, much of the underbrush was damp, and the bright spark soon sputtered and finally, with no hand to tend it, it went out.

––––––––

E
riis

20 years after the War of the Door, Eriisai calendar

100 years later, Mistran calendar

Yuenne’s family residence

Aelle let herself into Ilaan’s tower room. Well, she reminded herself, it wasn’t his room anymore. She looked around at the mess of books and clothing. He’d taken what he could carry away with him the night he left—the night everyone left—and Yuenne had made it clear he wasn’t welcome to come back around for the rest. Siia had forbidden the maids from entering
. She still thinks she can mend this
, Aelle thought.
She can’t.

Ilaan working for the Queen. And Rhuun half a human. And the two of them conspiring together to open The Door. How did she not see it? What did she think they were doing all this time? She shook her head, she was just so stupid. Stupid and blind. She stood on a chair to look at the top of the bookcase, of course the book was gone. Something so precious to the Queen and to Rhuun—Ilaan wouldn’t have left that prize behind. If she'd found it she would have torn it up, burned the pages, and tossed the ashes out the window. If she’d done that the day they’d found it, maybe Rhuun wouldn’t have left. She took her favorite spot at the window and looked down at the city beyond the arch and wall. If she was quiet enough, she thought she could still hear people talking.

Daala had come for a visit and shown a sweet face to Siia, and her mother had let the woman practically drag her out to dinner.

"It’s been over a week," Daala had said. "Starving yourself and hiding is helping no one. We’ll have a nice dinner and talk about nice things."

"I am not hiding," she'd replied, but finally agreed to go out. She'd suspected Daala was just trying to get new tales to take away, but perhaps she was wrong. Her judgment was seriously in question, after all. As she'd taken her scarf from the hook by the door, her mother had been so relieved as to be comical. But it had been just as she feared. Hiding was better.

As she'd walked with Daala through the Old City she'd noticed the stares, and once they were seated it was even worse. As she ate (or tried to eat) she'd heard whispers. ‘Human’, she'd heard. ‘...behind her back...’ and, ‘Poor thing’, she'd heard that, too.

Daala had stopped chattering about ‘nice things’ long enough to make a face. She'd loudly remarked, "A shame that some people have such dull lives." Then she'd leaned forward, unable to resist. "You knew, though, didn’t you? I mean, you had to know."

"About what," Aelle had replied. "Which part? What would make a better story? That I knew, or that I didn’t." She'd sipped her drink and pitched her voice louder. "What’s the story people are telling? I must have known about Rhuun. I mean, look at him. Oh, you can’t, he’s gone through The Door to be with his beloved humans."

Daala had widened her eyes. "Aelle, be calm."

"Why? Don’t you want to know? Don’t you all?" She'd looked around the café. "Anyone have any questions?" Then she'd lifted her glass in Daala’s direction. "I know you do. Anything to do with Rhuun, you’re right there asking."

Daala gripped her
serviette
in both hands hard enough to show white at her knuckles. "You are making a scene," she'd whispered. "I was just trying to cheer you up."

"Oh, apologies, mustn’t make a scene." She'd lifted her glass in a cheery salute to another diner, who quickly looked away.

Daala had made a sad face. "I don’t know why you’re angry at me, but if it makes you feel better, say what you like." She'd glanced at the other diners who were following their conversation with thinly veiled glee. "Shame on yourselves. Leave this poor girl alone. Light and Wind know she’s been through enough."

It was funny, really, watching Daala twist herself in knots. She was desperate for Aelle to confide in her, but didn’t want to appear too eager. Watching her admonish the other people in the café had been the first thing that cheered Aelle up since the night of Ilaan’s party. She hadn’t let Aelle leave until she’d sworn a solemn vow—if she needed anyone to talk to, ever, about anything (but about Rhuun especially and in particular) Daala would always be there for her.

Well, at least I was right about that one,
Aelle consoled herself.
Wrong about everyone else, though.

The worst part of it, the part she’d never confess to anyone, was that beyond her anger and humiliation, was relief. He wanted to leave, anyone with eyes could see that. He wanted to leave, and now he was gone. She could stop waiting.

She leaned against the window frame. The lights of the Quarter below her flickered as dust blew up and down the streets. She wondered if she was looking down on Ilaan, and if he was looking up at his old room. She wondered which one of the two of them would come home first.

The door to the tower room opened. "Niico," she said, and waved him over.

He sat next to her at the window. "Your father said you were up here." He peered at her. "You look terrible."

"Well, I haven’t flung myself out of anything." She returned his gaze. "Did you know?"

He shook his head. "A lot of late nights and quiet conversations. I rather thought they were joining, but then I’ve thought that since school." He frowned. "It would have been better, maybe. Then we could just have a fight and get over it." At her expression, he laughed and added, "You’re right, that’s not better."

"Have you been to see him?" she asked. "I thought he might have sent you to check up on me."

He picked up a left-behind notebook, the pages full of scribbles in at least four languages. He flipped through it and set it aside. "I am capable of worrying about you without prompting, you know. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about this new club I’m forming. We get together and share
rushta
about our terrible taste in partners."

That made her laugh. "I’m in." But then she turned serious. "You could see him, though, if you wanted to. He’s down there." She pointed out at the city. "You don’t need magic or books or blood to see Ilaan. Will you?"

Niico sighed. "He made his choice. I think he would have followed Rhuun through The Door if he could. You know how it is with them. We all follow behind."

That’s not really an answer
, she thought.
Magic and books. Love and blood.
Was any of it real? She could ask Niico, she could go down there and find her brother, or follow Rhuun through The Door. And her father, surely he’d have something to say. Everyone had something to say.