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They rode on undisturbed and as night fell, approached the town of Northedge. This route was not one traveled by tourists or pilgrims, but it was the last outpost of civilization in that part of the land. So it had a fair share of inns and taverns, but by and large they were rough, functional places that catered to soldiers, merchants and those on political business such as the Envoy. There was really only one inn suitable for housing a Gift of Flesh, and in that inn only one room appropriately furnished. Of course King Regit had arranged in advance for its use.

Servants took care of Naissun’s horse, so the Envoy and his charge went immediately to this room, requesting a private supper there. Naissun bid Miakaela sit and rest as he built a fire in the hearth, and although it felt wrong for her to let him wait on her so, Mia knew it was useless to argue. So she sat on the bed, still bundled in her cloak. The inn walls were of stone and once warmed, the room would stay cozy. But at the moment it was so cold she wondered that they could not see their breath.

Miakaela looked around. The single window was heavily draped against the night’s chill, and the floor was covered with a fine wool carpet. Along with the bed and two large wooden chests, there was a small table flanked by two chairs. These furnishings would have been the humblest pieces in the palace, but in place like this, Mia recognized they were exceptionally fine. The chairs had upholstered seats and backs, the table was draped in a colorful woven cloth of Royounish style. The room was well lit with stout candles that gave off a soothing smell from their mountings on the wall.

The finest piece in the room was definitely the bed. It was large and the bedposts were tall and elaborately carved. Taelorean silk bedlinens and two thick comforters assured a comfortable and warm night’s sleep. But Miakaela noted as well that a pallet had been brought into the room and placed against the wall near the fireplace, linens and blankets stacked upon it in a neat pile. That, then, would be her bed.

She fought off the crazy surge of disappointment that washed through her. What had she expected? Whatever charms she offered Naissun as a bed partner—and since he was a man and she trained in the arts of love, she was not so foolish as to think he felt no appeal—the Envoy clearly put duty before all. They would not be sharing the ample bed, and she would spend the night further from him than she had been all day.

Naissun had fashioned a vigorous blaze in the hearth when there came a light rap at the door. Mia quickly covered her head with the veils again and only then did the Envoy open the door. It was doubtful they fooled any of the inn staff, but it was a precaution Naissun still insisted upon. He relieved the servant of a large tray and dismissed him, bringing it in himself and placing it upon the table. The rich aroma of the food told Mia in an instant how hungry she was. She removed her veils completely and placed them on the bed, rising to go to the table.

“May I serve you, Lord Naissun?” she asked, bowing her head.

He looked uncomfortable but nodded yes.

Miakaela poured a cup of fragrant red wine for him, and filled his plate with thick stew from a large stoneware crock. She even tore several pieces of bread off the loaf, which was still warm and steaming, and placed them on his plate. All this accomplished, she knelt on the floor near the table with her head bowed.

“Please, eat,” said Naissun.

“Thank you, my Lord,” said the Tribute, and rose to her feet again. When she had served herself food and wine, she took these down to the floor and sat there cross-legged, determined not to show how urgent her hunger was. She must eat like a civilized lady…

“By the gods, don’t eat down there,” gasped Naissun with exasperation. As Mia arose and took a place at the table, he continued, “I know you won’t consider yourself my equal, but I want some company. As must you.”

Miakaela’s cheeks flushed. “Of course, Lord Naissun.”

“I know you meant well. But I’m not used to such treatment. I own no slaves, and the servants in my household have all been long with the family…I interact with them in what I suppose is quite a familiar manner.”

“But you command quite well, my Lord,” Mia said, and took a sip of wine to relieve her embarrassment.

“From my service in the army,” explained Naissun. He devoured a huge spoonful of stew.

Miakaela took up a bite. It was mutton, with potatoes, parsnips, carrots and onions, well salted and seasoned. The gravy was thick and delicious, so she followed Naissun’s example and mopped some up with a bite of bread. The meal was nothing like the delicate and exotic foods served in the palace, but Mia was so ravenous it tasted like the food of the gods. The wine likewise was not sophisticated, but it had a fine bouquet and complimented the stew well.

“You have an appetite,” Naissun interjected, smiling a little.

Mia checked herself. She had been eating a bit hastily. “It tastes so good,” she explained as soon as she had swallowed.

“I would agree,” said the Envoy, “but it’s basically peasant food…I’m surprised you like it.”

“I like everything good,” said Miakaela simply.

Naissun looked down at his plate and chuckled. He took another large bite, pushing it onto his spoon with a morsel of bread, and devoured it. Then he said, “You are not what I expected, Fair Tribute.”

From his tone, Mia supposed this was a compliment. “How so, if I may ask, Lord Naissun?”

“You are quite intelligent.”

“The Palace of the Monarch educates its concubines well, thank you.”

She is quite overqualified for the position with King Regit, thought Naissun ruefully. “And what then was your favorite subject of study?”

“It’s difficult to choose….”

“…since you like everything good,” finished Naissun with a smile.

Miakaela laughed. “Yes! I liked drawing, and dance, but I also liked learning the science of healing, and about the movements of the stars.”

“But what of…the more traditional arts of your calling?” Naissun could not resist asking the question.

Mia seemed unruffled by it. “We were taught much of the nature of males, both spirit and body. It was endlessly fascinating to me. We learned how men can kill so easily.” She paused. “I see now how it is possible to kill; I think I could have done so if you hadn’t done it yourself…the instinct to survive is strong.” She poked thoughtfully at a piece of potato.

“Men have many reasons to kill besides survival,” commented Naissun.

Miakaela raised her pale eyes to him. “How many men have you killed, my Lord?”

“I was a soldier,” he replied.

“Then you have lost count?”

“I have killed one hundred and twelve men, assuming only one those two we met on the road died of his wounds, which I’m sure he did.”

His frank and plainly spoken answer stunned the Tribute. Her mouth fell open slightly.

“I would never lose count of men’s lives. Even the greatest scoundrel among them was still a man,” said Naissun. Then he took up his cup and drained it off.

Miakaela automatically reached for the flagon to serve him more, just as he himself did likewise. Naissun’s hand closed over Mia’s. He released it, but not as quickly as he might have done. Mia frowned as she refilled his cup and poured more wine into her own. Then she put the flagon down and said, “You are certain one of them died?”

“The one I caught in the shoulder probably lived to be found by the next group of travelers. The other, if he were clever enough, might have availed himself of a tourniquet before he bled to death, but I have doubt he was that clever. And the surviving man would have an interest in his associate’s death, since he could then have all of whatever stolen booty was on him. For the same reason he will make no attempt to identify his assailant…far better to take what he can and let the matter go.”

Miakaela took a long drink of wine, then set down her cup and met his eyes. “I mean no disrespect, Lord Naissun, but do you feel remorse over this?”

He looked back at her with a steady, direct gaze. “The man who chooses the road of evil chooses the road of death. Whatever blade brings death upon him, it is as if he held it himself and struck the mortal wound. Had I allowed them to kill you, I would have felt remorse. As it was, I did my duty.”

“In protecting the future property of your King?”

“In protecting the life of an innocent.”

Mia smiled slightly at this but did not lose her somber aspect. “You make me thankful that my life has not been a series of such moral quandaries. All I must do is be obedient.”

“But Miakaela, that is all I do as well.”

Her smile faded. “Yes, you’re right,” she said.

They finished the meal in thoughtful silence. The room grew warmer until it was actually quite comfortable. Fatigue came over Miakaela like a sudden crashing wave. When Naissun stood and went to add wood to the fire, Mia commenced the task of making up the little pallet.

“You will take the bed, the pallet will serve for me,” said Naissun.

Miakaela was shocked at this and opened her mouth to protest, but protesting was not in her repertoire and no words came. Her dismay then turned to disappointment, even though she had hardly dared hope he would choose to share her bed. Finally she simply said, “Yes, Lord Naissun.”

“The door is bolted, my knife is at hand, so you must try to sleep easy.”

“Yes, my Lord.” So he had mistaken her disappointment for anxiety? Mia longed with all her heart to explain herself, to tell him he was the most entrancing man she had ever met, and beg him to take her to his bed. But no good would come of any such admissions, so she set herself upon the task of extinguishing the candles. Then she moved to the bed end of the room and disrobed in silence down to her undershift. Mia tried not to watch as Naissun stripped down to his leggings, but once she allowed herself a glance, she couldn’t help but steal every possible glimpse.

In the harem the concubines had trained with eunuchs. The Monarch was strict that his tributes be kept from any males who might actually be tempted to act upon their lust. Their culture, as well as most in that part of the world, valued freshness above experience when it came to concubines. So although Miakaela knew how to arouse a man, she had never done so. She knew every aspect of intercourse save what it truly felt like. And she had never before desired a man who was in any position to respond to that desire.

Unfortunately, by the light of the fire, she could not help but notice Naissun’s erection straining at his leggings. O unhappy irony! Her inner chamber longed all the more to be filled with him. He owned it along with every other inch of her, and here was the clear evidence that he wished to lay claim. Yet in their respective obedience, neither of them dare speak of it to the other.

Miakaela took to the bed in sorrow and frustrated yearning. She turned to the wall and tried to pretend Naissun was not reclining a mere fifteen feet away from her. It was no use. She could think of nothing but him: his strong arms and golden chest, the warmth of his back that had sheltered her all day, his silken hair and amber eyes, his voice that could command or comfort. She burned to lie with him to such excess that it made her limbs throb and her eyes sting. But eventually exhaustion and the wine overtook Mia and she slid heavily into sleep.

Naissun waited until he could hear her breathing grow even and steady. She was asleep at last. He wondered what troubled her so and could think of a dozen possible causes. Certainly it would have been kinder to lie down with the poor woman and offer her warmth and comfort, but that was out of the question. His feelings for the Tribute had intensified by the hour all day, deepening to sincere affection and then incurable desire. He didn’t dare trust himself to share a bed with her.

Naissun rolled over on his back and stared up at the ceiling, watching the fading light of the fire play upon it. He wondered how she could be so respectful, so sweet-natured, to the man who heartlessly delivered her to her grim future. He thought again of how she clung to his back after the afternoon attack, daring to consider if it might have been more than fear that drove her to be close. It truly was possible she felt something for him…but if so, didn’t that make his betrayal even worse?

He realized it was that rather than any fear of Regit that held him back from taking advantage of the Tribute. It was bad enough to hand her over to the King, but to use her first and then expect her to keep the secret was an injustice he couldn’t bear.

That thought would keep him steadfast this night. But tomorrow night, in the Lakelands, would be another story. Tomorrow night they would need each other’s warmth to survive till morning.

And how exactly would Naissun endure that?

* * *

 

©2008 Romance at Heart Magazine.

Book ©2005 by Diana Laurence.

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