Only it was something more, for now it was the staging ground for Karak’s Army.
Crian approached his tent, a tall swath of canvas as big as his room back in Tower Servitude. He wiped his sandaled feet on the mat before slapping aside the flap and stepping through the threshold. There were already candles burning, lit by his squire, Leonard, so that the space would be comfortable when he arrived.
Being inside his temporary home brought a bit of relaxation to his tired bones. All of his amenities from Veldaren had made the trip with him-his vanity, his wardrobe, his writing desk, and especially the dragonglass mirror. A thick carpet had been brought along as well, soft and supple beneath his feet. Grabbing a copper goblet from his desk, he poured himself three fingers of mulled wine, took a sip, and began to undress. His sweaty garments came off with some effort, like shedding a second skin. He hung Integrity on the corner of his wardrobe, fitted his armor on the frame beside it, and tossed his breeches and tunic onto a pile for the washwomen to take away. In the corner of the room was a giant iron bucket, and he stepped inside it. Above his head was a spigot attached to a tarred sack filled with water that hung outside the large tent. The tar kept the burlap sack waterproof while also attracting the sun’s rays, which warmed the water. With a pull of a lever, a gentle stream of tepid fluid cascaded over him. Crian proceeded to wet his hair and scrub the day’s grime from his body.
By the time he was finished, it was almost dark, and he was exhausted. He slipped his nightshirt over his head and stood before the mirror. Slowly he applied a mixture of watered-down tannins and ground oak bark to the silver streaks in his hair that seemed to multiply daily. That done, he stretched out on his bed, which was made from seven fat blankets stacked atop each other on the ground. Finally alone, all thoughts of training and military theory left him. He allowed his mind to wander to what mattered most: Nessa. He thought of her petite stature and wild red hair, her piercing blue eyes, and the gentle rise of her small breasts. When he closed his eyes, he could smell her rosemary perfume. He hoped the letter he’d sent five days ago had reached her. It had been difficult to find an opportunity to set Atria to flight. The bird had arrived two weeks ago, bearing news of Nessa’s journey through the west. With Avila’s watchful eyes always around, it had taken unbearable patience to find a safe time to release his message. On several occasions he’d almost been caught by one of his sister’s spies. He worried the delay would cause his love to think he had forgotten her.
I could never do that, he thought. And as he drifted off to an easy sleep, he held onto an image of the two of them lying naked by the southern bend of the Rigon, their bodies entwined. Celestia’s star shone overhead, and the future before them was one of never-ending joy.
In the dream a hand, cold as ice, caressed his stomach, bringing an uncomfortable sensation creeping up his spine. Crian’s sleeping mouth rose into a grin, and he brushed the hand away playfully.
“Stop that,” he mumbled.
The hand returned, and his mind began a steady journey back to wakefulness. He felt the fingers tiptoe over the hair on his chest and slide seductively down his sides, tracing his hips and the inside of his thigh until they wrapped around his manhood. He let out a drowsy chuckle.
“I said stop, Ness,” he mumbled. “It’s cold.”
“Who’s Ness?” said a familiar yet out of place voice.
Crian’s eyes snapped open, his vision greeted by the pale blue light of near darkness. He felt pressure bearing down against his side and held his breath, listening. The light wheeze of inhalation reached his ears as fingers squeezed his upper arm. He uttered a cry of surprise and hastily rolled off his pile of blankets, the frigid midnight air biting at his naked body. The presence on the bed stayed silent. Stumbling, he thumped into the wardrobe and reached out blindly, searching for his tindersticks. He found them on the second try and struck one, touching the flaming tip first to one candle, then another. Soft light filled the tent, creating a dome of brilliance around him. He picked up one of the candles and, very slowly, turned around.
The person on the bed was ghostly white, leaning up on one elbow and staring at him. The eyes reflected the candlelight, refracting back at him like a pair of distant stars. He inched forward, knowing exactly who it was, but refusing to accept it. Only when his ring of light fully revealed the invader did the knowledge register.
“What…why are you here?” he stammered, aghast.
Avila’s expression was a mask of intrigue and disappointment. She pushed herself upward on his makeshift bed, her pale flesh and white hair making her look all the more like a phantom. The only color in her was those icy blue eyes and her tongue, which looked red as blood when it snaked out to lick her lips. Like him, she was fully naked, her breasts and sex bared, and yet unlike him, she appeared completely at ease with the night’s chill. It was as if the bitter air couldn’t penetrate her porcelain skin.
“I was hoping for a release after a difficult day,” she replied, her voice emotionless.
He stared at her, confused and horrified at the same time, his mouth unable to form words. Finally he managed to choke out, “A release?”
His sister nodded, pulling back her shoulders so that her chest jutted toward him, as if the sight might hypnotize him. “Yes, a release. The decree of our family states that we are the betters of humanity. We are the pure, the holy, the direct offspring of Karak. To sully our bodies by giving them to the impure is forbidden, and yet our bodies still require intimacy. Who better to share that intimacy with than another who is as perfect as we are?”
Crian shook his head defiantly. “No. I am not hearing this. You wish…to mate with me?”
“No,” replied Avila, her chin dropping and her gaze becoming even colder. “I want to fuck you, my dear brother, that and only that.”
“But you’re…you’re.…”
She shrugged. The gesture was so detached from any sort of feeling, so different from his lingering dream of Nessa, that to Crian’s mind she seemed more alien than human.
“And?” she said. “I have shared a bed with Father, Joseph, and Uther. For Karak’s sake, Thessaly and I have explored each other as well during our more anxious years.”
Crian’s horror grew. He felt his jaw hang lower and lower by the second. “That…that’s abominable!”
“Father has sheltered you for too long, it seems. He has kept this secret from you out of mother’s desire to protect your pure thoughts. I beg to disagree, my sweet brother, but it is not abominable. There is nothing more natural. Like should comfort like in any way they desire. We are different parts of the same whole, Crian. The same blood flows through our veins. I don’t see why you would be opposed to us pleasing each other.”
He turned away from her and leaned against the wardrobe, holding his throbbing forehead in his hand. “I’m not hearing this. Please dress and leave my tent at once, and when morning comes, I don’t want to hear a word of what happened here.”