MeiLin Miranda's Blog, page 46

Chapter 14 Part 3 | Lovers and Beloveds | IHGK Book 1

‹‹ first
‹ previous
104 of 104

"Arta, what are you doing here? Why are you dressed like that? Not that you don't look nice--you look wonderful, actually, quite beautiful...Gods, really, really, quite, quite beautiful." She stood now, very straight and rigid, her small, shaking hand still in his. She was blushing, and she wouldn't meet his eyes. "Arta," he said more forcefully, "what are you doing here?"

"I...I am bid to say--that is, no, not bid to say..." She blinked rapidly, and began again, her voice stronger, working hard if not successfully to overcome her northern Valmouth accent. "I am here to comfort you in your disappointment, Your Highness. They--I mean, I thought you mightn' want to be alone tonight, an as you an I are friends...we might be better friends," she finished, daring a guilty glance up at his face before fixing her eyes on his shoes again.

Suddenly, she wobbled on her feet, her eyes rolled, and Temmin caught her with a "Whoa!" just as she toppled over; a whiff of perfume hit his nose, heavy roses and lilacs, not at all her usual clean smell of hay and tea. He half-carried her to the green velvet couch and sat her down, reclining against the cushions at one end with her feet still on the floor. He found the brandy decanter on a table by the wingback chair he never sat in, poured her a glass, and ordered her to drink it as soon as she could hold the glass herself.

The brandy brought color creeping back to her face. "Oh dear," she whispered. "Oh, dear, dear, I got all rickety-tick. I'm so sorry, Your Highness, I don' know what happened."

"You locked your knees. Happens every inspection back at the Estate, especially on Farr's Day. Some new man in the Guard, or a postulant Brother, always goes down from trying to stand up straight. One Farr's Day when I was eight, a whole platoon went down one after another, boom boom boom, like ninepins. That was funny," he smiled. "Feeling better? Good. Now, tell me what you're doing here, all dressed up like this."

"I told you," she mumbled into her glass. "I'm here to keep you comp'ny." A tear found its way out of her eye, and she scrubbed at it in alarm.

"And so happy to do it, I see."

"No, no, sir!" she said, sitting up all the way. "No, I like bein with you!"

"Then why are you crying? Arta, tell me. You're under my protection. No one can do anything to you, I won't let them."

"Yes, they can," she said, stumbling over words and tears. "They can! They can turn me away without a ref'rence, an Fen, too, an if I lose my position without a ref'rence, I can' get a new one, you know, an my family needs the money, sir!"

"Stop, stop, stop! Who's 'they!'"

Arta's nervous babbling stopped. "Did I say 'they,' sir?"

"You certainly did." He gave her the handkerchief from his pocket. "Now, don't give this one to Fen," he said.

She laughed and wiped her eyes, but the tears kept falling. "I shouldn' cry, I really shouldn'. T'isn that I don' like you, sir, I do! I do, very much! You're kind, an handsome, an you make me laugh. I know we should get on very well together."

He took her in again: the perfume; the carefully loosened hair; the dress that left just enough to the imagination that removing it seemed best. "Someone sent you to seduce me."

"Why did you think I was here?" she said into the handkerchief.

"Merciful Amma, d'you think girls just show up at my door at all hours? Who sent you, Arta? No tears! Just answer!"

"Mr Winmer, sir," she said, wrenching herself into such a knot that he took to rubbing her back, soothing her loose again.

"And what did he say you were to do?"

"I was to lie with you, sir. That's why I'm all dressed up." She glanced up, guilty. "He knows you like me. You do like me, don' you, sir?"

"I don't know any man who wouldn't. You could charm Farr Himself."

"Oh, I don' think so, sir, especially with my eyes all puffy an red." She wiped her nose. "Mr Winmer knew you liked me because he saw us dancin in the hall that night. I am so sorry, Your Highness! It was my fault for peekin. He caught me just after, an said he could either tell Mr Affton an have me turned away, or I could owe him a favor. So I owed him a favor. An here I am."

A clear image of Winmer came to mind, the little man's eyes bulging as Temmin throttled him. "Why tonight?"

She bit her lip, and took his hand. "Mr Winmer said you'd gotten some bad news an couldn' go to the Temple after all, an that you were sad an lonely, an that I should make you feel better because you think I'm pretty an you'd like it if I did. An that wouldn' be so bad, would it, because we do like each other, an then he'd make sure I was taken care of an that Mam an Dad would be, too, an if you liked me well enough, you'd take care of me even better, so here I am, to make you feel better."

"He threatened you."

"Oh, no, sir! He just...he explained things to me. It's all right." Arta gave him an unsteady smile, and cradled his cheek. "You're so kind to me. If this is what you want, if this will make you feel better, then..." She rose up on one knee, her breasts nearly spilling from the neckline of the dress, and kissed him.

‹‹ first
‹ previous
104 of 104

Now on sale: "Fears Moon Woman"

"Fears Moon Woman," which appeared as part of the Circlet Press anthology "Like a Moonrise," is now available as a standalone story. This is a "Scryer's Gulch" piece with some backstory on Rabbit Runnels; unlike "Scryer's Gulch," this story is very NC-17.

It will be going into the Patrons area as a free read pretty quick hyar. I'm also going to try experimenting with attaching the ebook files to that post as well.

Posted on 09/01/2011 - 3:19pm

"Fears Moon Woman" ebook

$0.99

1874: Deputy Robert "Rabbit" Runnels escapes to the woods every full moon to avoid detection as a were-creature; if his condition is ever discovered, his brother the sheriff will be forced to put him down. But when the widow of the were-creature who bit him tracks him down to kill him, she and Rabbit find themselves helplessly drawn together in loneliness, need--and desire.

This is a short story set in the "Scryer's Gulch" universe, but unlike the Gulch stories, this one is NC-17. This story originally appeared in the Circlet Press anthology Like a Moonrise: Erotic Tales of Shapeshifters

By purchasing this book, you confirm that you are of age in your jurisdiction. In the United States, that age is 18. Thank you.

Price: $0.99

Quantity:

Chapter 14 Part 2 | Lovers and Beloveds | IHGK Book 1

‹‹ first
‹ previous
103 of 103

Temmin woke to a gentle clatter of dishes, and a savory smell of roast beef, potatoes, warm bread, and a bit of a cabbage-y smell that might be broccoli. He must have slept through tea. Did he have lunch? His stomach seemed to think he hadn't. "Jenks?" he said. He sat up and pushed the hair out of his puffy eyes.

"Harbis, Your Highness," said the valet in his irritating, melodious tenor, nothing at all like Jenks's gravel-filled baritone.

"Oh, it's you," grumbled Temmin.

"It is me, to be sure, sir," said Harbis. "If you please, sir, your dinner has been sent up. You seemed ill-disposed to dine with your family." He had perfectly appointed the little table; its damask cloth shone clean and white, and the valet's elegant, slender hands fluttered among the dishes, removing silver covers with unfamiliar gestures Temmin found annoyingly graceful.

Despite his mood, Temmin wolfed down two bowls of broccoli bisque, a plate full of oysters, most of a roast of beef, potatoes, asparagus, the whole basket of rolls, and a good-sized pudding with custard. Even after all that, he had no objection to the decanter of port, a bowl of sweetnuts and a small, aged cheese. "Thank you, Harbis," he said, remembering his manners even with this overly suave substitute for Jenks. "Now, push off. I don't want you. I'll put myself to bed," he added. Harbis bowed, eager to be gone, and nearly scampered out of the room with the service cart.

Temmin cracked nuts, setting the meats aside. He wasn't hungry any more, but the brittle crunch as he crushed each shell satisfied. He did not hold back on the port; he hadn't intended to get drunk, but drunk suited the gloom of the single lamp, and his mood. He hadn't realized how much Supplicancy had come to mean. Here the twins had just shown him part of what he might learn, what he might do, what he might see... How he suffered for their kisses.

Maybe he could still learn from them. His father might not see the utility in reading people, but he certainly did. Reading people made it so easy to lead them. Look at Issak, bending people so effortlessly, and so gently, to his will.

Warin seemed to read people. He brought them to his side, and he hadn't had Lovers' Temple training: charisma, that's what it was. His own father had it. Maybe it was genetic, and Temmin didn't need training. Harsin had only to look at you, just like Issak--but not like Issak. People feared his father, but they loved Issak; they wanted to do what he wanted them to do, whether it was pour him wine or kiss him. That was part of the twins' skill, perhaps, making you want to be led.

They'd be disappointed, but better disappointed than shamed. The tiny voice in the chapel, it would be disappointed too. Maybe angry. But what could he do? It would be worse to let Allis and Issak be hurt, wouldn't it?

He wondered what he might face when Harla took him home to the Hill, when She would weigh his crimes against his soul. How long would She torment him before he was allowed to rest forever? Centuries? Millennia?

Litta didn't seem concerned, nor did his father, even though Temmin knew he believed. Litta must be an atheist, in spite of what he'd said. To Temmin, atheists were semi-mythical creatures; no one would admit to unbelief, not if they valued their livelihoods. Or lives in some parts of the kingdom.

Worshipping a God, worshipping Allis and Issak--it was the same to him. And if it brought luck to the common people, that was for the best. Why would Litta think otherwise? Warin wouldn't have gotten his throne back without the commoners. There wouldn't be a throne without the commoners. The people were the kingdom, not just the king. But now it didn't matter, and to be honest, it figured only tangentially into his desire to take Supplicancy. It would be easier now, he told himself. He'd find some girl. There were plenty, according to that prat Fennows. Then he'd get it over with, and go to the twins. But it wouldn't be enough. He glanced at the decanter. Nearly empty, though he couldn't remember drinking it, and he didn't feel that drunk.

A whisper of fabric against carpet, and he looked up, expecting that useless Harbis. Instead, a girl stood just inside, with the door closed behind her. She quailed when she saw him, and reached for the doorknob, but steadied herself instead. She walked further into the room until he could see her more clearly.

He rose in surprise. It was Arta. She wore a gown of soft green like the fine ladies she'd admired at the ball. He'd been wrong that night; she was even more beautiful dressed as a lady than she was as a maid. Pale gold freckles dusted the fine skin of her shoulders, just as he'd imagined, and her hazel eyes were brilliant even in the low light. She dropped a curtsey all the way to the floor, stumbling on the way down, and he helped her up; she quickly pulled her loose, dark curls over her shoulders in an unsuccessful attempt to cover her cleavage.

‹‹ first
‹ previous
103 of 103

Chapter 14 Part 1 | Lovers and Beloveds | IHGK Book 1

‹‹ first
‹ previous
102 of 103
next ›
latest ››

Yellow and blue banners flying from Lord Valmouth's city residence proclaimed His Grace was in town. The crest of the City's social season began next week at Neya's Day, and lasted until the season ended on Nerr's Day, the first day of Summer's Beginning; everyone of note in the Kingdom would be in the City for that last spoke of gaiety.

Tonight, Lady Valmouth held a ball. Partygoers' carriages clogged the street before the hulking, old-fashioned townhouse on Park Square, waiting with varying degrees of patience as the King entered with his entourage of attendants and Guardsmen.

Harsin climbed the stairs, acknowledging onlookers. Once inside the tall, narrow entryway, he gave over his cloak to the waiting servant and shot his cuffs; he absently admired the three gold triangles inlaid in his dark ruby cufflinks, a symbol of both his family and its empire for a thousand years. An evening's entertainment while his son got over the sulks and cemented his path away from the Lovers' Temple was the perfect thing. Two of his mistresses would be here tonight; which one he favored with his presence afterward would depend on which charmed him more. His favorite was beginning to fade; the second seemed more likely. Perhaps some enchanting new thing might even catch his eye. It was so hard to tell how the evening would go.

And then he hoped to see Litta. Obviously the conversation with Temmin had gone as expected, but he'd like to know more. The boy so far was completely predictable; his mother's upbringing had left him with an over-abundant idealism and little to no subtlety of conduct. Right now, Harsin found that useful, but Temmin needed training in the ways of statecraft to be an effective king, or even an effective Heir. Harsin resolved to talk with Teacher, and entered the throng to the usual fanfare.

He entertained himself by taking the youngest daughter of the house onto the dance floor first. The lady was far too inexperienced to interest him, barely out of the schoolroom, but something about a flustered, pretty young girl, blushing and stammering, amused him no end; to boot, the King's attention would fill her dance card faster than her still-unformed looks would, which amused him even more.

The second dance he gave to his waning favorite, a slender, long-legged woman who realized her sun was setting; an understated desperation lingered in her clasp, the color high in her cheeks as his ear missed every third word. He left her at the sidelines with a dismissive bow. She bored him. He'd set her aside before Neya's Day with a nice present of a costly necklace, perhaps a country house--something that would please both her and her cuckolded husband. His eye roamed over the dancers to land on his rising favorite, the dark-eyed, olive-skinned daughter of an Alzehni merchant, a Miss Selvaci; their eyes met, and his satisfaction with himself grew.

He turned toward a commotion at the top of the stairs. Applause and obeisances rippled through the crowd: the Obbys had entered. A surprise: Harsin had expected they'd absent themselves from any social situation where they might encounter him, at least for a few days.

A tug in Harsin's groin brought sympathy for his poor foolish son. Though Harsin's tastes didn't run to men, Issak might change anyone's mind, and Allis was in astonishing looks even for her, long black hair brilliant against luminous skin. He regretted keeping Temmin from them, but only momentarily; after tonight, Temmin might make any number of appointments with them with no more thought than Harsin ever gave it. A fluttery young man buttonholed Issak, and they disappeared into a side room.

Unexpectedly, Allis met Harsin's eye. Always be gracious to the defeated, especially the beautiful defeated, he said to himself. He strode through the parting crowd to her side.

"Your Majesty," Allis smiled, curtseying low.

"Holy One," replied Harsin with a bow. The musicians began the introduction to the next dance; he took her on his arm and they twirled onto the floor. Harsin's hand fit so delightfully at her waist--such a delicate woman for such curves. "I will be calling on you in our official capacities, soon, I think," he said.

Allis lifted a brow. "You surprise me, sir. I should have thought we would suffer from your disfavor for at least, oh, two years."

"My disfavor? How could anyone be angry with you, Miss Obby?"

"I have heard that your son's plans to join us as Supplicant have displeased you. Nevertheless, you are welcome at the Temple any time you wish. If you don't care to run into him, we're happy to offer you the Door of Discretion."

"Oh, Miss Obby, I thought it quite clear that Nerr will not be getting the Heir, at least this Heir." Harsin whipped her through a turn, but she stumbled nary a bit.

"The conversation with Lord Litta?" she said, returning his smile. "You may note His Grace's absence this evening."

"I hadn't noticed. You have my entire attention."

Her smile revealed the tips of her teeth, shining white against her rosy lips, intimate and promising, but she said nothing.

Curiosity overcame him. "What explains Litta's absence?"

She danced on tiptoe, and leaned in toward his ear. "Two things stop blackmailers," she said. "Prompt disclosure of the horrible secret they threaten to reveal, and horrible secrets of their own."

They danced in silence, Allis keeping her eyes on his face, and Harsin staring absently over her head at the yellow and blue draperies, the yellow and blue livery of the servants lining the walls, the yellow and blue flowers--Lady Valmouth's over-use of her husband's colors was giving him a headache. "I must say, Miss Obby, that I do admire your nerve," he said.

"I cannot return the compliment, I fear."

"Have a care, my dear," he said, tightening his grip around her waist. "I am an embodiment myself, the embodiment of this empire."

"Your Majesty, I am the Embodiment of a Goddess. I'm not the one who must have a care. However powerful you think you are, you are nothing compared to my Mistress."

"Your Mistress has strict rules about confidentiality. And yet you risk displeasing Her."

"You and your proxies risk your souls, sir, with far fewer qualms," she replied. "As to confidentiality, of course we would never betray any confidence given in worship, but we have many, many sources of unprivileged information. Devotees of the Lovers are in all walks of life, you know, especially one particularly intimate profession. It is not at all difficult for us to learn useful things about anyone, however high or low."

The dance ended. Allis curtsied again and sailed into the crowd, a trail of men following her.

Harsin's dinner curdled, and his restless eye skipped from face to face. Lady Litta stood in a knot of older women, jowls a-wobble, but no sign of her husband. Never mind. Winmer's plan unfolded tonight, and after that it wouldn't matter.

‹‹ first
‹ previous
102 of 103
next ›
latest ››

First real Tremontine map

I've been working on a world map for some time now, and finally have a version of one up in the patron area. When it's more nailed down I'll be putting it up for everyone to see, never worry. The world map will be included in the second book and I'll be making some (minor) changes in book one at that time, to include the map.

Posted on 08/25/2011 - 12:21pm

Martial peeps: I need some help

I need a consult on small skirmish on horseback techniques, especially spears vs swords! Three of each, swords have element of surprise, fairly narrow environs--ambush environment. If this is a stupid scenario, I need to know that too. THANK YOU!

Posted on 08/23/2011 - 5:30pm

Chapter 13 Part 13 | Lovers and Beloveds | IHGK Book 1

‹‹ first
‹ previous
101 of 101

Temmin came out of the book sobbing. Her years of loneliness, her yearning for love: her father broke her heart, and when she finally thought she'd mended it, Warin broke it again. He felt every ache of it, but unlike Emmae, he knew what Warin had gone through, and why. "Warin loved her! Why didn't she know? She was so lonely and unhappy, how could she turn him away?"

"A handkerchief, Your Highness," Teacher said, handing it over. "You have seen this story through her eyes. Is it not possible he did betray her? Is it not possible he expected too much, too soon?"

Temmin wiped his eyes, his tears as much for himself and his present troubles as for Emmae's long-ago heartache. "Because...because it's what she knew?"

"Which was...?"

"That men would always betray her--that's what she felt. She had no experience of anything else, and so she saw Warin in the same light. But that's unfair. He wasn't like them. He didn't mean to do what he did."

"He knew exactly what he did."

"Then he's evil!" said Temmin. "Except...except he's not evil."

"Sometimes, good people do evil things," Teacher replied. "They use duty, profit, expediency, desire of all kinds to justify their actions, and however strong the justification, somewhere inside they know they have done wrong and must make amends somehow. That is the difference between real evil and transitory error. The irredeemable are those who commit evil with no self-justification whatsoever. They commit it because they can. The question is, should good people in error be forgiven? Are some offenses so great that no amends can be made?"

Temmin's head ached. "I don't know. I don't want to talk about it."

"Then think about it until our next lesson."

"I don't want to think about it!" shouted Temmin. "It's all I've done, is think about things, and morality, and gods, and--and what to do for the good of the people!" He jumped up from the couch, and advanced on his tutor. "This was supposed to take my mind off of things, not torture me with them!"

"What tortures you?"

"You're torturing me!" he said, clutching his throbbing temples. "This is a horrible day! Just go away!" He stalked into his bedchamber and threw himself on the bed. Teacher did not follow him.

No matter how he tried to sleep, he kept coming back to "things." Hildin and the woman who'd whored out the Obbys as children--they were certainly irredeemable. Gian made amends with his life, but that was the least he could do. And when he was king, Temmin intended to track down that brothelkeeper and kill her himself, the Obbys and their cavalier attitude be damned. Maybe he'd kill Lord Litta while he was at it. Maybe he wouldn't wait until he was king. He had two years to fill now, after all.

Harbis entered and inquired after His Highness's preferences for dinner dress. His Highness said his preference was for the substitute valet to piss off because he wasn't coming out of his bedchamber until Jenks came back. "Very good, sir," murmured Harbis, wasting a masterfully outraged twitch of the chin on a young man with his head in the pillows. The valet tiptoed out again.

And then, Temmin thought, there were the people who might still make up for their sins and restore their honor. Warin might still make it up to Emmae in the story. Yes, he knew they married in the end, but were they happy? His parents weren't. Maybe married people didn't get to be happy. And Emmae was so frustrating! What else could Warin have done? Here was this girl, half-naked in the hedge...no, she'd been naked in the woods...

"Why does everything lead back to Mattie!" he shouted, and burst into tears again. "Where is Jenks?"

Harbis the valet, chin still twitching, walked down the short flight of stairs from the Residence Wing to the mezzanine where the senior staff and personal servants lived. There in the hall by his door stood Mr Winmer, the King's personal secretary. "How is the Heir?" said the dapper little man.

"Indisposed, Mr Winmer," said Harbis after a discreet pause. "I believe His Highness will be dining in his room."

"It's a perfect evening for an intimate dinner," said Winmer, his smile widening. "Take the evening off after dinner service, Mr Harbis. I've made other arrangements for Prince Temmin's comfort at bedtime."

"Thank you, sir," said Harbis, his professional facade breaking into genuine pleasure. He opened the door to his temporary rooms. "I am much obliged to you."

"Not at all," said Winmer. "We are obliged to you for stepping in on such short notice." He watched the door close behind the valet, then turned to his own rooms, set apart from the rest of the floor closer to the King's apartments. By the fire stood a young woman in maid's livery, wringing her hands. "Ah, Miss Dannikson!" said Winmer. "Promptness is a rare quality in the young female. It is one of your many charms."

"Mr Winmer, sir," said Arta, bobbing a nervous curtsey.

"Are you frightened? Don't worry, my dear, it's merely time to collect on your little debt."

"My debt...?" she quavered.

Winmer circled behind her and unpinned the little starched cap from her hair. "I didn't tell Mr Affton about your very shocking behavior at the Heir's birthday ball, and you promised to do anything I asked. Didn't you?"

"Yes, sir," she whispered, squeezing her eyes closed.

‹‹ first
‹ previous
101 of 101

Chapter 13 Part 12 | Lovers and Beloveds | IHGK Book 1

‹‹ first
‹ previous
100 of 100

Teacher was at Hildin's side then, ineffectually trying to stanch the bleeding, pale white fingers dyed red and shaking. "I cannot stop it. I was not fast enough to stop her. Your Majesty, I cannot stop it!"

"Let him finish dying, Teacher," said Warin, running up the altar stairs. "You can't save him, and I don't want you to."

"I do not want to either, but I must!" A moment longer, and Teacher's trembling increased as the river of blood subsided. "He's dead. Your Majesty, you must forgive me now, or--" A spasm, and Teacher folded inward, crooning with pain.

"You're forgiven, Teacher, with all my heart!" said Warin. Teacher uttered a deep, relieved sigh, and the pale face relaxed.

"He's dead?" murmured Emmae into the shocked silence. "He's dead." She stood up. Hildin's blood covered her head to foot, soaking through her heavy clothes, thick and clotting in her hair, coating her hands, trickling into her face, warm blood that seemed to grow hotter.

Warin didn't care about the blood. He took her as best he could in his uninjured arm, but the blood grew hotter still and forced him back. "Emmae! Teacher, what's happening to her?"

"The spell is ending."

It seemed so long since the silver smoke had entered her--silver smoke? When had there been silver smoke, she wondered. It seeped out of her bones, trickling up through her flesh, to seep from her skin in long tendrils rising toward the high stone arches above the altar. As the smoke left her, air rushed in; she gulped great breaths. With each one came a rush of memory: her mother's beautiful, loving face; oh, her mother's death, and the tears she wept, tears that never completely ended; her distracted father; the long, lonely days with stupid Olka and the rest of the simpering servants; her horrible stepmother; the carriage--the Travelers. Their Queen. The cards. The spell. Connin.

"I remember," she said. "I remember everything." She looked past Hildin to Fredrik's body, and ran to kneel at its side. "My father--oh, no, oh, Father!" she sobbed in Leutish. "And I didn't know you! Why did you send me away? How could you marry me to that horrible man? How can you be dead!" She cradled his cooling hand against her cheek.

Warin moved toward her, but Teacher stayed him. "Let her grieve."

Wincing, Warin shook the pale hand off his shoulder, and crouched beside Emmae. "Emmae, my love, are you all right?" he said, his voice breaking. "Oh, how I've worried! When I discovered you'd been taken... You--you remember who you are now?" She nodded and cried into her father's hand. "I'm so sorry for your father's death, truly. We will wait as long as you wish to be married, even the year and a day for full mourning."

The spokes of fear, loneliness and horror spun before her eyes, spokes not knowing who she was, or why her body answered anyone's call. Her throat constricted with anger, and she snarled it open. "Married?" she cried in Tremontine. "And who am I marrying?"

"Why...Emmae, we're promised to one another!"

She sprang to her feet. "I was promised to a woodsman, not a king, and as it turns out, both are false men!"

"How have I been false to you?" he said, staring up at her. He rose to his feet, face an appalled red until he jostled his broken collarbone and paled again. "Emmae, I have given up everything to come for you."

"Giving up a tiny cottage and a hard life for a throne--what misery!" she jeered.

"We were happy there," he said, his voice dark with yearning and anger. "You were happy there!"

"Who was I then?" she shouted. "I didn't know, but you did!"

"No, I didn't!" he shouted back. "I knew you were Leutish, and likely from a wealthy family but I never guessed you were the princess!"

"Harla take you, you knew about my enchantment!" she said, breaking into sobs again. "You knew, and you didn't tell me, and you--you used it!" His face crumpled; a bitter triumph rose in her throat.

"I should have told you, but I didn't know how. I didn't want to frighten you, and I couldn't lift it--"

"Only the blood of a king, the Traveler Queen said."

"--And I would have been that king for you!" he shouted. "If the only way to save you from that spell was to bathe you in my own blood, I swear by Pagg right here in His Temple that I would have come back, taken the throne and died for you! Emmae, I love you!"

The bitterness clawed at her heart. "My name is Edmerka, Princess Royal of Leute, Dowager Queen of Tremont, and I will not marry you or anyone else, ever! I hate men!" She ripped at her dress. "I want that bastard's blood off my body, now!"

Warin's hooded, dark eyes glittered with a rage so like his dead brother's that she instinctively stepped back. "My lady, as my brother's widow, you will always have an honored place in my court unless you decide to make your home elsewhere," he said. "Little Father, may we beg the use of your baths? The Dowager Queen wishes to use them." The astonished cleric agreed, and Edmerka, Dowager Queen of Tremont, let the servants lead her off.

Her temper had gotten the better of her. She was angry with him, yes, and she had every right to be, she told herself as the serving women poured bucket after bucket of hot water over her until the red stream eddying down the drain ran clear. She had every right to cry, she told herself as a Sister bound up the wound above her heart: her father had died, right in front of her; she'd discovered the depth of her enchantment; she'd faced Warin's outright treachery. Then why did his hurt and anger stay so fresh in her mind, why did his suddenly hard eyes make her wilt with remorse, why were her tears more for her lost love than her lost father?

‹‹ first
‹ previous
100 of 100

Today from the Unexpected Packet of BPAL: Luna Negra

A mysterious packet appeared in my mail yesterday with a bunch of BPAL decants in it. Turns out a BPAL friend decided to gift me! I haven't done a BPAL review here in an age so why not?

Luna Negra is one of three limited edition scents released on a dark moon last month, unlike BPAL's usual habit of releasing Lunacies on the full of the moon. If memory serves, each of the three has been released before in different iterations. Luna Negra is:

Blackberry and black currant with Nepalese amber, kewda attar, and a deep, rich, sweet dark musk.

Kewda attar, by the way, is a form of sandalwood. The oil is a dark reddish color.

In the imp: I'm wondering if this was mislabeled; I get a strong patchouli, which is a note in Black Moon. Looking at the notes, my nose may be reading this as a patchouli accord.

Wet: O HAI PATCHOULI.

Dry: Sweeter, gentler, no patchouli. The sandalwood, amber and musk are predominant with just a breath of the berries to sweeten it. Really pretty, but if you're going anywhere put it on 15 minutes before you leave, especially if you're going anywhere with my husband.

Posted on 08/18/2011 - 11:30am