Hearts in Zenith (Four Husbands and a Lover)

56. My Old Flame

I held Parneres in my arms, and it wasn't a dream. He was here, in the flesh, though older and maimed. It didn't matter. Happiness suffused me from head to toes, overcoming even the sweet tremors of lust. I had delivered Parneres!

While I walked my love to the exit, Taffiz extracted a thin silvery rope from the depth of his cape and set about binding Peleth. His moves were practiced. Then he came to shut the door behind us.

"Maybe we should have kept your wrists bound," I murmured to Parneres.

He whimpered. Our every step down the tunnel was torturous, because I could see the pain it caused him reflected on his face. I hurried to explain. "No, no. Not like that. It's just the only way I can take you down the pyramid's side is if I carry you on my back. Rope is better than you holding on to my shoulders."

He slumped against the wall. I barely caught him in time before he slipped all the way down to the floor.

"Hang in there, sweetheart."

"There is another exit, Ismar." Parneres' forehead lolled to rest against mine. "I can take it. You don't have to tangle with me."

I could have stood like that in complete silence for a year. I didn't need palatial rooms or gorgeous vistas. Stone hiding us from the world, my heart making a foray into my throat, Parneres' breath on my lips... "I want to, silly."

"In Palmyr, you were a girl just out of a monastery," he started in a shaking voice. "Now you're a woman of the world. You must have guessed what I am."

My fingers warped into the fabric of his shirt. "Is that why you refused my help and ran away? Because I was young? Because you didn't believe I could make good on my promises?"

He brushed a stray hair out of my eyes and peered. "So, you still don't understand. My tattoos—"

I put a finger to his lips to stop this nonsense. "Phedoxia told me about the enchantments burned into your skin. It was cruel. If there was a way to free you from them, I would—"

And he ignored my finger, speaking over me again. "What was done to my body, that I'm a whore—these things alone put me beneath contempt. But that's the least of it. I'm a lure set out by the assassins and spies. I'm trash."

We must have been a strange sight. A woman and her man, dirty, bloody, sweating... and arguing about high morals. I released his waist, leaving grimy prints all over the crumpled fabric of his shirt and cupped his face.

"You. Are. Innocent." I nearly choked on my anger as memories came alive, invigorated by his closeness. "I saw her hit you. Treat you like slime. Attack at the merest hint of kindness toward you. I—"

I struggled to get enough of the pyramid's suffocating air between words. Mad, I was so mad! Also, I was terrified that I couldn't win him over to my side. A woman as a rival, that I could handle. He said 'no' to her command, didn't he? But the guilt?

His eyes took on a dreamy, faraway look. "That's why I loved the theater, Ismar. On stage, I could pretend to be innocent. For a few hours, I would be an honest husband or a son. Even being a part of the chorus was better than what I am. This thing, spoiled beyond repair."

I kept on whispering, "You're innocent. In truth, in essence and in my heart. In every sense of the word 'innocence' you are innocent!"

He shifted, relieving pressure on his poor feet. "I should have told you the truth back in Palmyr, but I didn't know... I couldn't have imagined that this shameful magic could have such a long-lasting effect."

The excitement would not let me stand still. I let go of him to pace back and forth, and threw my hands up. "It isn't! For Mythra's sake, Parneres, magic is a fickle thing. It wears off. I don't love you because you rolled up your sleeve and flashed your tattoos at me ten years ago."