My lips are at his now, grazing them. “Please,” I say uselessly, losing control of myself. “Please say that… is… you.”
His answer is to swallow my cries in his mouth as we splash and rock ourselves to another wave of pleasure so intense—at least for me—that I almost lose my mind and fall into the water. Only his strong arms around me keep me afloat, pressed to his chest, while I squirm in pleasure.
CHAPTER26
Anya
I stand before the doors to the great hall, another red veil obscuring my vision with its silky transparency. The gown I wear is not the same, but very similar; the white robe is embroidered with a red design that Trasmea, with some difficulty, explained. It’s a sign that I’m a widow to be taken into the custody of a male relative, and that, because I’m already pregnant, there will be no breeding ceremony.
She said this with a wink and a grin, because Trasmea knows perfectly well that I’m being taken into something far more desirable than ‘custody.’
For most Za’aka, Trasmea tells me, this robe would be a source of deep humiliation. So I’m determined to act the part, if only to keep the facade alive.
Facade after facade: even after several weeks during which no one has questioned that Zethki is the father of the baby, I keep expecting the whole elaborate plan to fall apart. Even though Rys assured me that Zethki would have taken that secret to the grave, he apparently cultivated a certain kind of bravado, emulating a recklessness toward the fates, that would have crumbled if he had shared with anyone but Rys that he wasn’t trying to breed me because of something a seer said.
The doors open, and the cohort of handmaidens stay where they are as I enter the room. I look down at the floor, because I’m afraid to look up and betray my feelings to theza’kryukpresent. Rys was very specific in his instructions to me: I must not reveal any happiness that I feel, lest anyone suspect the intrigue that has taken place here.
As with the ceremony for my wedding to Zethki, Kerz words are murmured and my hand is bound to Rysethk’s chest with a ceremonial scarf. He is somber and I dare not look at him; when my hand is against hiskrythI feel it pulse with longing. I stare at his shoulder, at the knots of embroidery on this ceremonial robe he wears, so that I won’t burst into tears of happiness.
But I fail. Just as when I was married to Zethki, something travels through my palm from hiskrythand overwhelms me. There is the same raw, overpowering desire—pure lust—as I felt with Zethki. But beneath that strong sensation, I feel something else. I know that it’s love—an undying, boundless love, and it washes through me so forcefully that I feel my knees go weak. Tears pour into my eyes, and I can’t stop them from overflowing.
His hands come to the rescue, holding me up so that the ceremony can finish. It’s a short, perfunctory affair, a Kerz wedding, and yet it seems to last forever this time. All I want is for him to pick me up, like Zethki did, and take me away, so that we can be alone.
At last he’s lifting me, and we are moving, my hand still bound to hiskryth. I close my eyes and feel my body being moved, away from the gathering, out of the ceremonial hall, into a passageway.
When he sets me down, I’m reluctant to open my eyes. Something feels suddenly wrong about coming back to Zethki’s quarters.
His lips find mine, and he kisses away my tears.
“Why are you… doing this?” he asks me tenderly.
I open my eyes and he’s looking at me, and my heart begins to fly. “I don’t… I don’t know,” I blubber incoherently. “I’m so… happy,” I manage to say.
He leans back to examine my face. “You have this… water…” he says.
I laugh. Wetly. Shake my head. “It’s… happiness,” I tell him.
Now that I have my eyes open, I can see around the room. Everything has been changed: the bed, the furniture, the colors. I couldn’t even tell someone what the room looked like before, all I know is that it’s different now. Deep green velveteen fabric covers the bed, and plants abound. The bathing room, which was dark and perfunctory before, seems larger, white, filled with light.
He sees my surprise. I look at him, shocked.
“Trasmea insisted that you would be more content with these… decorations,” he tells me. “Are you?”
I look at him, my eyes getting wet again.
“Yes,” I manage to say, barely able to get the word out without gasping for air. “But not just… it’s not just the… pillows…” I’m not making any sense. I laugh nervously, because that’s something I do—used to do—before this whole adventure began.
“Do not think,” he tells me, caressing my lips with his fingers, “that now you may be as unruly as you wish.”
“No?” I ask playfully.
“No,” he says, his eyes gleaming with desire. “You cannot be disciplined while you are with child,” he says, almost seriously enough that I worry—briefly—that he’s being sinister. His face softens, and he kisses me, a long, luxurious, possessive kiss that sends tremors through my whole body.
“You can only be pleasured,” he tells me, releasing my hungry mouth. “But I have a good memory, Anya, and you will be dealt with… most strictly… if you become disobedient.”
I think I see an actual smile, but maybe he’s just imitating my own expression.
“I will try to behave,” I say. The memory of his hand on my bottom sends me a reminder that I may not try my best.
