Daimodi, Eleventh of Sund'im, 445 A'A'diel
The summer gardens along Via Elgabarr were a blur of color as the carriage made its way to the palace. Heat rose to Avaren's cheeks as Paulo drew the carriage curtains closed.
Paulo flashed Avaren a mischievous grin. He tossed his plumed hat on the upholstered seat and dropped to his knees. He slipped his hands beneath Avaren's skirts, grasped the back of her knees, and pulled her until her buttocks slid off the seat. "You did what I asked?" Paulo asked.
The inside of the carriage felt like a brick oven. Avaren nodded. She ran her fingers through Paulo's dark curls. "You should have seen the look on Dannia's face when I told her I only needed garters."
Paulo bunched Avaren's skirts over her waist and spread her thighs. He licked his lips as he inhaled the musky scent of her arousal. "So sweet," he whispered, then buried his face between her legs.
Avaren's heart raced as his tongue made contact with her flesh. "Oh," she gasped, "that feels so good. So good..."
⁂
Avaren's heated susurrations roused Jarle from his slumber. When he opened his eyes, he was surprised to find Avaren curled against his side. The girl's bare thigh was draped over his groin, and her arm lay across his chest. She was warm and inviting; the corner of her lips curved slightly in a smile.
Jarle closed his eyes then opened them again, half expecting the beauty at his side to vanish in a wisp of mist. Beneath the weight of her thigh, his erection felt like a steel cudgel in his pants. Merciful gods. Avaren was so close that he could smell her arousal and the smoke and brine that clung to her hair. For a moment, Jarle summoned the image of her rising naked from the pool. He imagined what it would be like to lay claim to all her pale, glistening flesh; to swallow her moans; to hear his name shouted from her beautiful lips.
The thrill of impudence was short lived. Jarle ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. The girl made his blood boil and clouded his ability to think—a wrong move on his part risked inciting her wrath and justifying further distrust.
Jarle raised his head and peered over Avaren's shoulder. Ashes were all that remained of the cooking fire. Avaren's cup lay on the sand; its inside stained with the mysterious ruby vintage they had so copiously imbibed. Jarle was grateful for the alcohol and whatever Seh'nahiel witchery had been trapped inside the bottle. They had both deserved pleasant dreams and a good night's rest.
Gazing upward, Jarle watched clouds spread like ghostly fingers across a charcoal sky. The morning was damp, and a chilly wind howled through the cavern like a lovelorn specter. A brilliant flash flickered and died as thunder rumbled overhead. As the first, fat drops of rain pelted the pool, Jarle was glad that he'd built the fire below an overhang.
Careful not to wake her, Jarle angled free of her embrace, and drew the blanket over her. He stood and walked into the pouring rain, gratified by the sobriety brought on by the cold. The raindrops felt like flechettes against his skin as he relieved himself against the wall. With his bladder drained, desire returned with a fury. Looking down between his legs, Jarle shook his head. He was as rigid as a flagpole.
With a glance over his shoulder to ascertain that Avaren was still asleep, Jarle slipped deeper into the shadows. It was likely that he was wanted for the murder of the Vise and the kidnapping of his daughter, grave offenses that would cost him his neck, yet all he could think about was rutting. Jarle's heart thundered in his chest just as flashes of lightning lit up the cave. He pulled his pants down with an urgency he hadn't felt since he had first discovered his cock. He handled himself with desperate, hurried strokes until he climaxed in a fit of trembling convulsions.
The release left his legs feeling stringy and weak. Jarle squared his shoulders against the cave wall for support and concentrated on his breaths. Each gulp of air felt like a stab between the ribs, but the pain did not lessen his arousal. He was disappointed to discover that his needs were far from quenched.
⁂
Avaren awoke to the stench of burning hair and roasting meat. With a lazy stretch and a satisfied yawn, she opened her eyes and looked around. Her contented smile vanished at the sight of the windy gusts of rain that pelted the pool.
Sitting beside her, Jarle poked at the meager coals of a cooking fire. "Good morning," Jarle said.
Avaren took one look at the four unrecognizable charred carcasses spitted over the coals and drew the blanket over her shoulders. "What's good about it?" she groused.
Jarle rubbed the cold from his shoulders. "Figured we could use some breakfast."
"What are those?" Avaren asked, wrinkling her nose.
Jarle looked at the blackened creatures and creased his forehead. "This...is...bat surprise."
Avaren raised her eyebrows. "How in the world did you manage to catch four bats?"
"I have good aim," Jarle grinned.
Avaren pushed back the blanket and crawled to the fire pit for a closer look. The small creatures that sizzled on the coals had been gutted and skewered with green twigs. "What did you do, stone them to death?"
"I wish I'd thought of that. I killed them with a dagger."
Avaren's gaze swept over Jarle's muscular chest as she looked up to the crevasses where the bats perched. "Eat one of those, and I'll share some raska."
The twinkle in Avaren's eyes revealed mischief. Jarle could tell that she was looking forward to watching him gag on the leathery, hairy things. "I'm beginning to suspect that our elegant accommodations come with a cellar."
"A few waterlogged bottles do not a cellar make," Avaren mused.
"True." Jarle picked up the stick and turned it in his hand. Perhaps bat surprise hadn't been such a great idea, but even the slightest possibility of raska was worth a little revulsion. He bit into the bat's charred wing and tore off a piece. After chewing for what seemed an eternity, he swallowed. "It's crispy, tastes just like chicken."
Avaren winced. "Liar."
"You did say, raska, right?"
Avaren's face twisted with distaste. "It occurs to me that bat surprise may make a good lure for catching fish."
"You sure you don't want some?" Jarle offered her the skewer.
Avaren turned up her nose at the sight. "Gross."
Having lost his appetite, Jarle put the skewer down. "Good thing you owe me a drink, I need one more than ever."
Avaren looked toward the cave opening just as a bolt of white hot lightning streaked through the blackened sky. She picked up the blanket and stood. "We should take shelter from the storm on the other side of the cave. It looks like it's getting worse."
Jarle stood up and began to gather his armor from the dangling roots. The wind had picked up and was blowing a fine mizzle in their direction. "Does this area flood?"
Avaren pointed to the lines of pinkish sediment along the cavern wall. "I've seen the water rise about an armlength here, depends on the tides."
Using the net Avaren had left on the beach, Jarle made a sack. He piled his armor in the middle of it and slung it over his shoulder. He returned to the fire pit and stomped the coals with his boot. "How long have you been coming here?"
"I found this place a few years ago." Avaren gathered her skirts and circled the cavern, careful to avoid the sharp rocks. She slipped between two calcite columns and tapped a ledge above her head as a warning to Jarle before ducking into the passage.
Jarle followed Avaren into the darkness. The narrow corridor sloped upwards, meandering through the center of a much larger cave system. To the left and right they passed smaller grottos and plateaus that branched off into the shadows. The only illumination came from areas where the cavern ceiling had collapsed exposing the cave to the elements. The rocky walls were slate-colored with striations of calcite, dolomite, and quartz.
"I am surprised that your father let you wander so far from the city unprotected," Jarle commented.
Thunder rumbled. Lightning lit up the jagged contours of the cave.
Avaren raised her voice above the howling wind. "After our move to Ca'd'Cel, we rarely spoke of my underwater escapades. For years I came and went as I pleased. But after my sixteenth birthday, everything changed. Once there was talk of marriage, I was constantly supervised by chaperones, tutors, and guards. It was so unbearable that more than once I wished I had been born poor and mutt-faced."
At the top of a small ledge, Avaren flattened her back against the stone and slid through a crevice.
Walking behind her, Jarle did his best to focus on the zigzagging contours of the cave rather than on her swaying hips. The delicate silk of her dress clung to her curves like a sheet of vellum. Beneath the folds of the fabric, her sculpted buttocks quivered with every step. Reaching down, Jarle adjusted his pants but found no relief. Avaren muddled his senses and made him throb with an ache that threatened his sanity. He couldn't help but feel pity for the poor sods who had wooed her in vain.
"If you still wish it," Jarle offered, "two swift kicks to your face will do the job."
"You are a terrible man!" Avaren shouted.
"But I'm incredibly attractive and I make good dumplings—two very important qualities," Jarle replied.
"Watch your head."
The warning came too late. Jarle hit his head on a low-hanging outcrop and dropped the makeshift sack. "Ahhh f—!" Jarle pursed his lips and rubbed his forehead. If he had been watching where he was going, instead of the girl's rear, he wouldn't have scraped his face.
Avaren turned around. "Are you alright?"
"I deserved that for not paying attention," Jarle said.
"I would have thought a man in your profession would be more graceful," Avaren teased.
Jarle bent down to pick up the net and froze. He let out a sudden, explosive gasp of pain. "As graceful as a three-legged pony," Jarle quipped, bracing his side.
"Let me help you." Avaren dropped the blanket and gathered the fishing net.
"I just need a moment," Jarle breathed.
Avaren looked into Jarle's eyes. "This is all my fault. I knew that you were injured and asked you to exert yourself. Apologies."
Jarle leaned on the wall and took a long, deep breath. Avaren's sudden closeness was making everything worse. Did she have any idea what she did to men? "I enjoyed cooking dinner. Broken ribs just need time."
Avaren brought her hand to Jarle's chest and slid her palm over his injury. "And rest," she added.
Jarle looked down at her and winked. "Thank you for patching me up. The silk is not my color, but it does help with the pain."
When Avaren pulled away, Jarle grabbed the sack of armor from her hand and gestured forward. "Please, mejtress, after you."
Without another word, Avaren picked up the blanket and continued down the passage. After passing through a series of claustrophobic arches, they emerged into a natural amphitheater ringed by mineral columns that resembled the sharp, toothed maw of a shark. In the gauzy light, Jarle discerned the outlines of half-rotted coffers brimming with treasure.
The sack of armor slipped from Jarle's grasp. His eyes shone as he spied the gleam of coins and silverware, strings of pearls, scattered weapons, and marble statuettes. Barnacle-encrusted bottles, tattered gowns, keepsakes, and candelabras were piled high between the stalagmites; swathes of colorful silk hung over a nest of dried kelp. Against one wall a cascade of fresh water gushed into a natural basin creating a shallow pool.
As if in a trance, Jarle crouched and picked up a string of pearls. Mind racing, he attempted to put a sequin value to the scattered wealth. He imagined the looks on the fences' faces when presented with such riches. "Where did all this come from?"
Avaren parted the silk curtains and plopped down on the makeshift bed. "Shipwrecks mostly. I take the pretty things."
Jarle wiped his face as if to awaken from a lucid dream. He thought back to his youth; to days spent hoisting up fishing nets under an unrelenting sun. Every so often a rusted bauble would get tangled among the writhing fish. The men would flash their rotten smiles and commiserate on their awful luck. 'Wish it were a pretty naera,' they would say, before clubbing the fish to death.
"You dredged this from the depths?" Jarle's dark eyes sparkled as they met Avaren's. "Naeras are creatures of legend and aren't supposed to exist. How can I be sure that you aren't a figment of my imagination?"
Avaren's voice rose sweetly, echoing through the cavern as she sang.
"Amidst white-capped waves, his vessel nears, assuréd horrors of the deep.
Delightful music to his ears, the siren with a voice so clear.
Could it be she who tore the ship asunder?
Naera's daughter, oh, naera's daughter will pull you under."
Song finished, Avaren reclined on the blankets. "I've heard the tales, read the stories, and know the songs."
From Myrsi's fruity intonations to Gracelynn's modulated vibratos, Jarle had been spoiled by the variety of beautiful voices that graced The Stallion's stage on a nightly basis. He thought he had heard the pinnacle of what a good voice box could intone until he heard Avaren sing. She had sung twice, and twice he had been captivated. Avaren's voice was an unearthly delight; it was silvery and smooth with a dulcet quality that left him breathless. Jarle tossed the string of pearls back into the pile. "Your voice is sublime. I can't say that I've ever heard its equal."
Avaren's eyes shifted from bright blue to a midnight shade. She rummaged under the blankets and withdrew a corked ceramic jar. "Care for a drink?"
Jarle's lips curled into a grin. Careful not to hurt his ribs, he bent down and picked up two dented chalices from the treasure pile. He rinsed the cups in the waterfall, then joined Avaren. He handed her a goblet and sat down. "What's a highborn girl like you doing with a jar of raska? This slag will singe the toe hairs off a Logarian bogbeast."
Avaren uncorked the jar. "That and more. I hear raska turns decent girls into amoral women of the night?"
The pungent scent of honey, burnt cedar and plums was like sweet perfume to Jarle's nose. Jarle extended his cup. "I hear amoral women of the night are quite entertaining."
Avaren poured a finger of the dark brown liquid into each of the goblets. "I'm you are very familiar with such women."
Jarle clinked Avaren's cup and slammed back the drink. As the liquor blazed a fiery trail down to his belly, Jarle was—for a moment—enveloped by the warmth of The Stallion and Marcella's smile. Despite the company of a legendary beauty and a cave full of wonders, he missed home.
Avaren's cough snapped Jarle from his reverie. The tears in her eyes revealed that she had no experience drinking raska. Jarle took the bottle from Avaren's hand and poured himself another shot. After pounding back the drink, he refilled her goblet. "Seems you have a way to go before you become one of those women."
Mimicking Jarle, Avaren clinked goblets and drank the shot in one gulp. "Unholy mother of—." Avaren gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut. Her cheeks blazed beet red. "My stomach's on fire."
"This raska business was your idea," Jarle reminded her.
"I admit; I really wanted to see you eat that disgusting thing." Avaren wiped the corner of her lips.
Jarle grinned. Each drink eased the pain of his broken ribs. "Really? I hadn't noticed that you've enjoyed torturing me."
Avaren lay back with a satisfied sigh and rested the cup on her stomach. "The Fates are cruel," she said, circling the rim of the cup with a finger. "For so long I wished for a different life. I wanted to be free like the serving girls, free to love whom I desired, to come and go as I pleased. I lay awake so many nights praying that I wouldn't have to marry Rigo, never once imagining how the gods would end up granting my wish."
Jarle's eyes followed the line of the girl's shapely shoulder down to her elegant fingers. "How little you know about the people you envy. The servants you speak of barely have anything to eat. Many live in squalor and fear their masters' whims. No one is free, everyone answers to someone."
"I never thought of it that way."
"And, why would you?" Jarle shrugged. He poured himself another shot, then set the jar of raska down. "You have led a privileged, sheltered life—a good life. Don't spend too much time courting guilt. It is a useless emotion. Your wishes for freedom did not cause the tragedy that befell your house." Jarle chugged back the shot. "Look around you," he said, waving his hand, "there is enough wealth in this room to afford you the future of your choosing."
"Are riches all you care about?"
Jarle hesitated. He set down his cup and corked the jar of raska. "I could have stayed hidden; allowed Mast to have his way with you. My pockets were already full."
Avaren frowned. "I didn't mean—"
"Forget it," Jarle said, rolling to his feet.
Avaren sat up and tossed her cup aside. "Please," she said, seizing Jarle's wrist, "I would like it if you stayed here, on this side of the cave. There is room for us both. The soft bedding will help you recover."
Jarle twisted his arm free of her hold. "What do you want from me?"
"It's all yours," Avaren said. "My jewels; everything in here—take it! Just please, help me."
"By Ven," Jarle snarled, "I already said that I would see you to safety. What more do you desire?"
"Rigo's death!" she shouted. "I want you to kill Jarle Rigo Iarris!"
Jarle ran his hands through his hair "Why? So you can continue in your father's footsteps and earn yourself an early grave? Rigo hired Mast. Have you any idea what that means? You should be dead three times over. Fate is not cruel, lady, it has smiled upon you. You are yet alive. Take this wealth and make a new life. Let the past be the past."
"Do you think I can do that?" Avaren's eyes blazed. "Everyone I ever cared about is dead. Do you hear me? Dead!!!"
Jarle reined in his temper. "Look, I know you are angry and in pain, but you are not thinking clearly. Going back to Reyza; attempting to kill the jarle is madness."
Clenching her fists, Avaren stood and faced Jarle. "I am going back with or without your help."
"All you rich folk are the same, always thinking the world owes you something. Well, guess what, it doesn't." Jarle closed the distance between them until his nose almost touched hers. "I saved your life. You saved mine. The scales are even. I am willing to escort you to Thromm. But from there, you are on your own. If you want vengeance, get it yourself!"
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