Cobweb Empire

  After she had drunk a few swallows and took a deep breath, he helped her sit up again, and she rested the palms of her hands down on the cloak to balance herself.

  Next, he made sure she chewed the bread and the cheese, and watched her grow steadier as she consumed a small amount.

  She ate and breathed gently, bundled in her coat, her legs folded primly to the side and under her, keeping the folds of her skirt around them for warmth. Soft wisps of hair had come loose from her shawl as it slid back from her forehead.

  “How do you feel?” he asked again.

  “Better—thank you.” She chewed another piece of bread and cheese absentmindedly, and some of it ended up on her round cheeks and the rest crumbled down her chin and the front of her coat.

  He reached out without thinking and swept the crumbs away from her chin with his fingers, then realized what he had done and moved his hand away. . . .

  “You’ve recovered well, this time,” he said, keeping his voice matter-of-fact. “There had been so many more dead that you put to rest this time, compared to Letheburg. I marvel how you do this thing.”

  Percy looked up to meet his gaze tiredly. “I don’t really know how I do it. It must be done, that is all.”

  Overhead, the moon appeared. Beams of soft light fell in dappled spots from the holes in the roof.

  “Will you not eat also?” she asked, and then handed him the remaining bread and cheese.

  His fingers touched hers, in a warm instant of contact, and he took the food, then ate, remembering that he was ravenous also. After he was done, he put the leftover portion of the loaf and cheese away, and drank the water from the flask, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

  She watched his every movement.

  “Time to rest now,” he said.

  “I’m sorry, but first, I need to go outside and—”

  He smiled. “Yes, unfortunately there’s no chamberpot here. Can you manage on your own?”

  “Yes!” she exclaimed, and even in the faint moonglow he could see her blush.

  “Good. Then go slowly and take your time, and call for me if you need help. I’ll take my turn afterward.”

  Later, they both returned to the sheltered niche and their makeshift campsite consisting of spread cloak, two small bundles, and piled armor plates.

  In truth, Percy had barely managed to answer the call of nature on her own, and dizziness nearly overpowered her upon getting up and on her way back. Now she moved slowly, holding on to some of the columns for balance, and took each shaky step inside the temple until she could gratefully lower herself back down on the cloak.

  Beltain took his own turn and was back shortly, after also checking up on Jack. He carried with him his long shield that he’d removed from the warhorse’s saddle to lighten Jack’s load a bit more, overnight. The shield was placed with the armor, and Percy stared at it briefly, seeing the frightful evidence of impact damage it had suffered in the last few hours during their insane ride through the Trovadii army.

  It struck her then, the realization of the horror that they avoided, and what might have been had they not. . . .

  “Thank you, My Lord . . .” she whispered. “For all that you’ve done for me, in the course of your own duty. For being so kind to me. . . .”

  Beltain, seated down on the cloak beside her, turned his face to her in three-quarter profile, washed by the silver glow of the moon. His eyes were liquid and dark, and he spoke nothing, only looked at her.

  “No need to thank me,” he said at last. “I would do the same for anyone in my care. It is my responsibility.”

  “I know . . .” she whispered. “I know you are only following the instructions of Her Imperial Highness, Claere. But—I still thank you with all my . . . heart.”

  At this, he smiled. It was a smile that touched his eyes.

  “I should be the one thanking you,” he said. “You are the one who has saved us, many times over, Percy Ayren.”

  But she was not done. “I also want to ask your forgiveness—for—for hitting you with that skillet. . . . And for tying you up. . . . And for dragging you inside the cart—”

  He started laughing. And then said, “To be honest, I am glad you did. For none of us would be here now, if it had been otherwise.” And then he added, “Now, enough! Get some sleep.”

  She nodded, then lay down, resting her head on the small bundle. Seconds later, she felt him lie down also, directly behind her. And then his arm came down and around her waist, drawing her closer to him, so that she was cradled in his full-body embrace.

  “I’ll keep you warm . . .” he whispered in her ear, and his baritone was a sweet rumble down to her bones.

  Percy felt a flush of overwhelming heat rise up in her cheeks, spreading out to the rest of her, and she was suddenly warm indeed, from head to toe, as she felt his powerful muscular body behind her, like a wall of strength, through all the thick layers of their clothing.

  She went limp and motionless, and simply remained thus, afraid to breathe from the wonder of it. He too seemed to feel some kind of effect, for inexplicably he became as still as herself. And then slowly, he pressed himself even closer against her, nearly crushing her with his embrace against the length of him.

  She could feel his heartbeat. Or maybe it was her own, pulsing in her temples. It was no longer possible to differentiate where her own body began and his ended. . . .

  They had become one strange bound thing. A single entity of living warmth, cleaving together in the pale night that had no temperature, no wind, no sound.

  “Percy . . .” he whispered suddenly. “I am not . . . kind.”

  And while she was still considering the strange deep thickness of his voice, his mouth came down, hard and impossible, upon the hollow of her throat. . . . And his other hand was now digging into her hair, pulling her clumsily up to his face, while he was wallowing against her throat, her cheeks, and at last her lips. . . .

  Maybe she had died, and this was a fever dream of the underworld. Percy was a thing of liquid clay, and her single shuddering breath had come and gone—was taken by him—and he was now above her and she was under him, and his mouth was against hers, and it was not comprehensible, not possible, to be so much a nothing, to be rendered into weightless air and pouring amber, and at the same time to be molten warm honey and malleable sun.

  He moaned hoarsely, coming up for air, and then his mouth kissed her again—for yes, this is what it was, a kiss—and then suddenly with a cry he let her go.

  “No!” he cried, “forgive me!”

  And she was released and lay back, in a shock of loss, of sudden cold . . . separated from him while he backed away from her, taking deep panting breaths, and his eyes were opened wide and dark with repressed desire.

  “Oh, God, what have I done . . .” he whispered, quieting, staring at her, in horror of himself, then sat back at the end of the cloak.

  Percy lay, taking deep breaths also, in a vain attempt to still her racing pulse. Her limbs refused to obey her, in a strange debilitating languor that continued to make her into formless water. . . .

  “Why?” she uttered with the last strength of her breath.

  “Because I am—” He strove to speak but could not finish.

  “What, My Lord?”

  “Because I am a liar,” he concluded.

  She listened, barely breathing. “What . . . do you mean?”

  And he again neared her, coming down on his elbows, leaning over her face, and he remained thus, looking down at her.

  “I lied to you,” he said in a hard voice of barely repressed emotion. “I told you that I am here merely on the orders of Her Imperial Highness. . . . But in truth, I had begged her to let me go with you as much as she had insisted that I accompany you.”

  “But why?” asked Percy, gazing up at him in amazement.

  “Because,” he said, “I love you.”

  Percy was in shock. It was as if something had struck her, a hard blunt object, and
made her powerless with an infinite impossible joy.

  Beltain was looking down at her, his eyes glittering with the moon, an indescribable expression on his face.

  “You . . . love me?” she whispered like a broken fool.

  “I had not realized it then,” he said. “Not at first. At first, I simply knew you were the most inexplicable being in the world and I had to understand you, and also to make sure that you were not harmed by anyone—ever.”

  “But—how can you love me?”

  “How can I not?”

  A lump was building in her throat. She lay shuddering, her breaths coming quick and agonized, and at last her eyes were completely flooded, and she could no longer see the moon or him through the tears. They ran down her fat puffy cheeks, and her nose was suddenly swollen full and she could not breathe.

  “You . . . are like the sun to me,” she managed to speak through the morass of tears. “And I am like . . . dirt.”

  “What?” he cried. And then he lowered his lips gently on her forehead and then put both hands at either side of her face, pressing his large warm palms against her cheeks, and wiped away her tears with his strong fingers.

  “Never say such a thing again!” he exclaimed, his warm breath bathing her face.

  “I—” And indeed she could hardly speak.

  And then he spoke instead. “I must further admit, I have taken advantage of you. And I am sorry to have placed you in such an uncomfortable position, Percy. I never intended to do anything more than be near you, for as long as I could—especially considering that all this time, up to a few moments ago, I thought you could not stand the sight of me.”

  “What?” It was now her turn to be shocked. “My Lord, I am a clumsy mannerless oaf and idiot. I had never seen or met anyone like you before, and I was terrified of your grace and beauty. At first, ’tis true, when we first met, I had not formed a fair opinion of the fearsome Black Knight. But now—I love you with all my being. And I had expected to go to my grave with that secret.”

  “If I die now . . .” he whispered. “If I were to die, it would be like this, with you. . . .”

  In that very moment Percy lifted her arms about his neck. And with all the love her heart could hold, she kissed him.

  They did not say another word for a long time, simply lay in a quiet, chaste embrace, separated by so many layers of clothing between the two of them, and yet infinitely warm.

  At some point, Percy whispered against his neck, “I am dreaming . . . are you really here? Is this real? Is any of this a dream?”

  “I am here!” he replied. And his arms moved hard around her, pressing her to him until she almost could not breathe, while she heard his own ragged, shuddering intakes of air, as he trembled, and his eyes were vulnerable with desire. . . .

  At last, as the moon disappeared from the exposed openings in the roof above, they slept and did not wake till morning.

  However, soon after dawn, from outside came the sound of neighing horses.

  Beltain was awake in an instant, like a coiled spring, and he went for his sword.

  Percy opened her eyes, blinking, but his finger was placed softly upon her lips. And then he was up and gone, moving through the dappled morning sunlight in the shadows of the temple.

  The additional sounds outside resolved themselves into voices. A man and a woman were speaking in subdued tones. And then, footfalls sounded upon the marble stairs leading up to the front colonnade.

  The black knight froze in the shadows on one side of the doorway, his blade bared. Another moment, and someone entered the interior hall, a man in dark somber clothing and a heavy winter cape. Before he could walk more than a step, Beltain’s sword was held at his throat.

  The man, a middle aged nobleman, made a short exclamation, then froze in place, putting his hands up in resignation.

  “Halt!” said the black knight softly. “I can take your life in a blink and make you a walking dead man. What is your business?”

  “Please, no . . .” the man responded in an accent of Balmue. And in the next instant, behind him appeared a woman, dressed in dark travel clothing. She looked inside and barely stifled an exclamation of fear, while her eyes widened in her thin pinched face.

  Beltain assessed the situation immediately and slowly lowered his sword.

  “I mean you no harm,” he said. “If you in turn feel the same way.”

  “Oh, Lord!” the woman exhaled with a shudder, and the man also let out his breath in relief.

  “You—you are not a cutpurse?” the man said.

  Beltain examined him with a gaze of thorough appraisal. “Is there anyone else with you outside?”

  “Oh, no!” exclaimed the lady. “It is only the two of us! But I’m sure many more will be coming soon!”

  The gentleman meanwhile gave her a warning glance, but it was too late.

  “Not a cutpurse, but a careful traveler,” Beltain replied.

  The man considered for a moment then decided that the danger had passed. “We are travelers also, here to visit the Temple Thesmophoros, to honor the one who is Thesmos divine and—and to pray on behalf of Ulpheo. Not many remember her or honor her, these days. Now, of course, it will all change—”

  “Is that the name of the Goddess?” Percy had come forth quietly from her hiding place in the alcove of the sanctum.

  The man started slightly at the sound of her voice, but seeing that it was only a young girl, eased again.

  “Yes,” replied the woman in his stead. “It is but one of her many names.”

  “We have taken shelter here for the night,” the black knight said, “and did not expect any other visitors.”

  “We do not begrudge your presence here,” replied the man in a polite and gentle voice. “But we have come to pray. And thus, I hope you allow us the freedom to do so. Indeed, it appears we are the first to arrive, for soon many others will come also. . . . But please, put away your steel, sir. This is a sacred place, and Thesmos does not permit violence.”

  “Gladly,” said Beltain. He then turned his back on them calmly in a show of peaceful intentions and returned back to their sleeping spot and started to pack away the items and put on his plate armor pieces.

  Percy lingered for a moment, watching the man and woman as they in turn ignored her and Beltain and gazed up at the face of the golden Goddess.

  “I have dreamt of this Goddess,” she said suddenly. “Only, in my dream she was clad in nothing but golden jewels, a collar, and a headdress, and she was seated with one leg folded, and the other upraised at the knee.”

  The man and woman turned to regard her. Then they exchanged curious glances. “How exactly did you see the Goddess Thesmos?” the woman asked. “Was there anything else? Anything—did she speak to you?”

  “It was a gentle dream,” Percy replied. “There were no words I could recall, only her small golden shape.”

  Again the woman and man exchanged glances.

  “There is only one such likeness of the Goddess,” the man uttered thoughtfully. “And it is found in the Hall of the Sun beside the Sapphire Throne. . . .”

  Beltain stopped what he was doing and returned to listen to their exchange.

  And then the noblewoman raised her earnest face to glance from Percy to Beltain, and to her companion. “There may be some significance to this—to our very meeting here,” she admitted with weariness and inexplicable vulnerability. “I am the Countess Arabella D’Arvu, and this is my husband, Count Lecrant D’Arvu of Balmue. I know not who you are, kind travelers, but my heart tells me we are all brought here for a reason. I, too, have had dreams. . . .”

  “Arabella, please, caution!” said her spouse, throwing another glance at the black knight and his newly attached imposing plate armor.

  But the Countess did not heed him. She abruptly stepped forward and crossed the remainder of the distance between herself and Percy. She took the girl by her hands, her own fine jeweled fingers shaking, and she looked into her eyes with
a desperate expression. The fine velvet hood slid off her head and her black wig had been dislodged slightly, revealing the edges of graying hair at her temples. “Please . . .” she said, “tell me what you saw of the Goddess! Anything! For it might mean the world for the life of my daughter! I have—I have lost my daughter, and she is—”

  “Arabella!” the Count exclaimed. “Enough! Not before these strangers! We are here to pray for Ulpheo, nothing more! It is bad enough the entire Sapphire Court knows and mocks us in our unfounded grief! We have no concrete proof she was harmed—”

  “Oh but we know! We know in our heart, in our breast, our very gut, deep here, yes! You see,” continued the Countess D’Arvu, staring into Percy’s eyes, and pressing her hands with her own, “I’ve also dreamt the dream of the Goddess—long before her blessed visage appeared before the multitudes of the city!—and it was of her very same aspect that you mention—it is the one rare form of hers, that can only be found in the small statuette placed at the side of the Throne, where the Sovereign sits! She looks upon the Goddess, I am told, and there is something there—”

  “I wish I could help,” said Percy gently, allowing the woman to continue holding her fingers. “But in my dream the Goddess was silent. All I can imagine is that somehow it is a means to aid me in my quest, for I search for the Cobweb Bride—”

  “Percy!” This time it was the black knight who signaled caution.

  But Percy did not heed him. There was something important about this thin, pinched, grief-wrung woman before her, something that evoked confidence and trust. “We are traveling south,” Percy continued thus. “And we have come from a place that is very far.”

  “Percy!”

  “Ah, you’re from the Realm . . .” said the Count. He glanced back at the knight and then the girl. “I know not who you are, My Lord—for yes, I can see as much by your demeanor that you are no common knight—and it does not particularly matter. There is a war being waged, but I want no part of it, nor do I believe in it. . . . Especially not now.”