Twenna and the baby arrived at her father's townhouse two weeks after the birth to chaos. Burly men were coming and going with everything they could cart off. White shrouds covered the few remaining furniture pieces until the movers could fetch them as well.
Twenna's one consolation was Wendia. The loyal maid's wages had been paid till the end of the spoke, and now she held the baby as Twenna tried to save something from the wreckage. Her wardrobe was already empty, the many beautiful dresses gone, even the ones she'd owned before she'd become the King's mistress. All that remained was the periwinkle silk she had on her back.
Her jewels had long since gone back to the Keep, including the sapphires he'd said were hers forever. Elbig Shelstone's creditors had even tried to take the little gold and coral ring her dead mother had given her to celebrate her first moon blood—she'd never taken it off, ever—but she'd cried so hard and looked so pitiful clutching her hand that the lawyer supervising the household's dismantling had finally relented. "We're taking all the rest, miss, and you can't stop us. We'd take that cloak," he added, gesturing to the blue velvet, ermine-lined cloak covering her shoulders, "but we've already packed up all your other clothes and t'isn't right to let a new mother wander winter streets without a covering of some kind."
"Thanks awfully," snapped Wendia; the man had enough heart to look ashamed for five seconds.
A huge man whose nose had been broken at least twice stuck his head through the drawing room door. "Miss? There's a gentl'man 'ere to see ya."
She looked to the lawyer. "We can give you a few moments of privacy, I suppose," he said. "Nothing small enough in here to smuggle out." Wendia, the lawyer and his workmen retreated, and Percet Lord Fennows sauntered in.
"Dear me, what a ruin," he said, staring about. "You're preoccupied with the, ah, dismantling of your household I should think, poor girl, so I'll get straight to the point, shall I. I am sympathetic to your plight. I have a proposal for you."
"Yes, My Lord?" fidgeted Twenna. In the next room the baby was working up to the thin wail of a newborn; he must be hungry. If this took much longer, Twenna's breasts would leak; they might stain not just her chemise, but soak her corset straight through onto her one dress.
"You're a comely little thing, Twenna, always said it. As it happens, I'm between, ah, little friends at the moment. Come with me. I have a nice apartment in the Park District, out of the way but not horribly far from the Promenade. You'd have your own staff, of course, and I'd clothe your back and shod your foot as the saying goes, ha ha! I'm prepared to be quite generous to a girl as pretty as you, I should think."
Twenna's stomach fluttered. Take the protection of Lord Fennows? She'd been required to play the part of his friend out of loyalty to his father, but she'd never liked him, not even a little; in fact, she rather loathed him. He was always leering at her and must have thought her too stupid to catch his many insulting innuendos. Still, she was desperate. She would hear him out. "What about my son, sir? What about Nerrik?"
He barked a laugh. "Nerrik? That's what happened, eh? Spread your legs on Neya's Day, did you? Put it in the Mother's House. I know a fine one outside the City, I sponsor a child there already—er, not my child, you understand, it's just the decent thing to do, a 'coin for the Lady' as the saying goes, eh? It's clean and out of the way, and they'll raise the little tyke up to be a skilled craftsman or perhaps even a Father or Scholar if he's bright. You'll never have to think of it again."
"No!" said Twenna before he'd even finished speaking. "No! They can have everything else. They can't take Rikki!"
"Damn you, girl, you can't expect a fellow to take you under his protection with a baby in your arms! Girls like you don't get to keep their children, not if they want to make a living."
Twenna's despair boiled into rage. "You, sir, are not a gentleman! I'll go to the Mother's House myself before I accept the protection of a lout—a cad—a spotty-faced prat like you!" She fled from the room.
"And you're no lady! You'll end up on the block in the Father's Temple without your brat anyway, see if you don't, and then I'll visit you in the whorehouse you end up in!" Fennows yelled after her. "Perhaps I'll buy your indenture myself!"
Twenna joined the maid and the baby in the entryway; he was now crying so hard his little blunt tongue vibrated in his open mouth. "Thank you, Wendia, thank you so much, Amma bless you," Twenna sobbed as she took him in her arms. She ran up the stairs to her now-empty room, closed the door and sat down on the uncarpeted floor. She unfastened her bodice and guided the tiny boy onto her nipple; he complained around it until he settled down to eat.
Resting her back against the wall, she could just see out the window; snow fell in fits and starts. The grate was empty and cold, and she pulled the blue velvet cloak closer around the baby at her breast. There she stayed, rocking him on the bare floor until the workmen begged her pardon but she had to leave now, very sorry she had no place to go but that's how it was, miss, very sorry, nothing personal, only business. They chivvied her out the door and onto the front step of the house that had once been her father's; the Shelstones' former belongings, heaped on tarped wagons, were just pulling away.
Nerrik slept; Twenna pulled the cloak closed around them, grateful for its fur lining, and gazed about her in bewilderment. In the distance high above the City hovered the Keep like a giant astride the rock. Why had she ever wished to see inside it?
The snow stopped. She stepped out from under the doorway's protection and into the slushy street, toward the last resort of abandoned women and children.
The Temple of Amma was a C-shaped, white stone building tiled in clear blues from powder to midnight in mosaics and reliefs of sheep, goats, pigs, sheaves of wheat, children, mothers, looms and shuttles; its wings curved away from the Promenade, where it anchored the row of buildings leading down the Temple Green to its end at the Temple of Pagg the Father. Nestled between those wings stood the enormous Mother's House, an institutional-looking structure built around a large courtyard. By the time Twenna reached its steps, her little boots were soaked through; they were made for carriages, not for walking winter streets.
Inside it was warm and noisy; the place smelled of cabbage, sour milk, lavender, clean laundry and children. Women and children were cleaning, carrying laundry and scurrying about. It hummed, loudly but not unpleasantly. The women wore shapeless, ugly wool dresses, high-necked and utilitarian, blue for the priestesses and gray for the laity; some carried babies on their backs or in slings across their fronts. The boy children wore dark wool breeches and smocks; the girls wore dresses much like their elders, covered in white pinafores. Twenna took Nerrik out from under her cloak. A whiff came to her nose; did Rikki need changing, or was it coming from somewhere else?
A frazzled little woman in a Mother's blue habit marched up to her. "May I help you? Are you leaving this child?"
"I…I've never been here, can you help me?"
The Mother swept a professional eye over her. "Hm. Come with me." She led the way into a cramped room off the busy main hall and shut the door; the noise seeped through the thin wood. She motioned to a chair, sat down herself behind a desk, its one short leg shimmed with a wooden block, and pulled out a thick ledger bound in blue cloth. "There is a back way, you know. Or you could have sent it with a maidservant, you didn't have to come yourself."
"I beg your pardon? Sent what?"
"The baby. You're leaving it here, aren't you?"
Twenna hugged Nerrik tight and stood up; he squeaked in his sleep. "You won't take him from me, will you? Please don't take him!"
"Gently, gently, dear!" soothed the surprised Mother, waving her back down into her chair. "We won't take him from you unless you want us to. You really won't be parted?"
"No, no, never!"
"Oh, you poor thing," sighed the Mother. She dipped a pen in the desk's inkwell. "All right then, your name?"
"Twenna Shelstone. Miss."
"Parents?"
"Elbig and Deannis. They're dead."
"Child's name?"
"Nerrik."
"His father's name?"
"I…I'm not sure."
"Last name Shelstone, then." The Mother gave her scribbling a judgmental squint; she passed the pen to Twenna and turned the ledger around. "Sign here." Twenna dipped the pen and signed. The Mother blotted it, sanded it for good measure, poured the sand into its reservoir and closed the book. "All right then, Miss Shelstone, welcome to the Mother's House. It's not a comfortable life," she said, looking askance at the ermine, "but you get breakfast, luncheon, tea and dinner, and while the babe is nursing he may sleep with you in your cell. In exchange, you are expected to work. Cleaning, cooking, taking care of the motherless children—if you have a great deal of milk, we may make you a wet nurse. We try to feed as many babies on the breast as possible. It's cheaper, and here at the Mother's House we're forced to scrimp and save where we can. Come with me, now." They left the tiny office.
"Otherwise," the Mother continued as they marched into the main hall, "it's the laundry for a strong young one like you. We do all the other Temples' laundry, you know. It's our main income apart from tithes." The Mother led her through the swarms in the main hall and down a flight of stairs into the basement. Women and older children bustled about the huge, warm, steamy room; it smelled pleasantly of soft soap. As comfortable as it was now, it was probably a sight less so in the summer.
Behind a counter, a silent woman dressed in gray sized Twenna up and gave the Mother two large bundles wrapped in white sheets. The Mother gave a polite nod and marched Twenna back into the main hall and up five flights of stairs to a dark but clean hallway lined in narrow doors. From behind them came snatches of lullabies and the crying of both newborns and grown women. The Mother took a key from her apron pocket and opened a door at the hallway's end. "This is one of the nicer rooms. You'll have a window facing the courtyard, at least."
Twenna looked around the tiny, immaculate, colorless room: whitewashed walls; pegs for clothing; white sheets and gray wool blankets with a thick blue stripe at the top on a neatly-made, narrow bed; gray-painted floorboards; a small, rough rug that might have once been blue on the floor before the bed; a basin and pitcher atop a miniature night stand; a pale unpadded wood rocking chair; a tiny radiator beneath a window that looked out on a gray and white sky and the wing far across the courtyard that likely held little rooms just like the one in which they stood; and a tiny figure of Amma in a niche above the bed's curving metal headboard.
The harried Mother dropped the two great white bundles on the bed. "These are yours. Diapers and clothes for the little chap in this one and clothes for you in the other one, both wrapped in spare sheets just in case he has an accident. Clean sheets once a week otherwise. You are to maintain this room exactly as it is now—a Senior Mother inspects unannounced. There's a tap at the end of the hall, cleaning supplies are in the hall closet, and you are to tend to the room on your own time. We rise at dawn and retire at sundown, regardless of the season. Key's on the nightstand, keep it with you and the door locked when you're not here. The child is never to be left unattended in this room. Please change into your uniform as soon as possible. Just lay the little one down on the bed, he can't roll off yet." The Mother marched out of the room, leaving the door open.
"Where am I to put my things?" Twenna said to no answer. Nerrik began to root and fuss against her shoulder, weak movements that nevertheless set her breasts to aching. She sat down on the bed between the two bundles and allowed herself a long, shuddering sob.
"It's not that bad," said a voice at the door. Twenna looked up. It was a woman about her own age, her chestnut hair twisted into a low, simple bun. Her snub nose sat in a face neither pretty nor plain. She wore a lay Mother's uniform, the same as the one in Twenna's bundle: ugly loose gray high-necked dress collared in white; a voluminous unbleached muslin apron tying it closer to the body; and a plain wool shawl still the color of the sheep, its ends crossed over her breast and pinned behind her. In a canvas sling before her slept a baby not much older than Rikki, or so Twenna guessed; all she could see was white-blond fuzz and an obstinate little nose exactly like its mother's.
"I've been here three spokes—since before the baby was born," the woman resumed. "A roof over your head, hot food, and it's not too cold in the rooms. The Mothers try to be kind when they can, and they work as hard as we do. It's not that bad, really, once you get used to it." She eyed the cape and the silk dress. "Though you had further to fall than I did."
The woman came into the room, closed the door and held out her arms. "Here, let me take the little one while you get dressed. We'll get you new boots after, those are ruined."
"He's hungry," faltered Twenna.
"Well then, let's get you settled to feed him and I'll help you put your things away, shall I." The woman took Nerrik from Twenna's arms, shooed her off the bed and set the baby squarely in the middle before she attacked the bundles. "Just take off your nice things and hang them on the pegs for now, we'll get them put away properly in a bit. My name's Meggan Esterill. At least I think it's still Esterill. I'm not sure if Gyors will make me stop using it, the divorce isn't final yet. Just call me Meggan."
Twenna hung up her blue velvet cape and her periwinkle silk dress on the pegs; she tucked her gloves into the cloak's inside pocket and let her fingers linger a moment on the cloak's soft ermine lining. All gone, all her finery gone. "Take off those petticoats," advised Meggan. "Put them away with your good things. There are petticoats in your bundle—oh, good heavens, take all those underthings off and save them for better times, the laundresses will ruin them! Let me play ladies maid for you. Ugh, I think your babe needs changing."
Soon they had Nerrik clean if unhappy, and Twenna re-dressed in a plain linen chemise, plain canvas maternity stays, two wool petticoats, thick black woolen stockings and the ugly gray wool dress. "See, here's how it opens to let you nurse your babe, and I see you're going to need these nursing pads. Tuck these against your nipples when you're done feeding him, it'll keep you from staining your chemise. Sit down, now," said Meggan, guiding Twenna into the rocker. She draped a heavy woolen shawl over Twenna's shoulders and handed her the agitated baby, tucking the bed's pillow under Twenna's elbow.
Twenna fumbled with the unfamiliar dress fastenings ahead of Nerrik's impending scream and guided the freed nipple into his hungry mouth. Her milk began to flow; the tension inside her ebbed, and exhaustion flooded in to take its place. "Thank you, Meggan. My name is Twenna Shelstone."
"I know who you are, Miss Shelstone. We were never introduced, but we attended several of the same gatherings over the course of my last season. Your last season too, apparently."
"Please call me Twenna." The baby in the sling began to fuss; Meggan used the remaining bundle on the bed to bolster herself into the corner, where she sat crosslegged as she nursed her own child. "What's your baby's name?" said Twenna.
"I still haven't decided. She hasn't a last name either. My husband turned me away, my lover turned me away, my father turned me away. I'm just Meggan now. I'll probably take formal vows at some point and become Mother Meggan. I don't know what else I can do—well I suppose I could remarry, but then I'd have to leave poor little no-name here and I won't, will I, little bunny?" she crooned to the tiny blond bit. "That's what I should name you—Connia. Connia. I hadn't thought of it before, I rather like it. It means 'little rabbit' in the old Kellish tongue, or so my great-gran always said. She called me that when I was little. Connia. Connie. Hm! What's your baby's name?"
Nerrik pulled off the nipple with a gasping sigh of sleepy delight and Twenna chuckled in spite of herself. "Nerrik. I call him Rikki."
"Oh, a Neya's Day babe?"
"He—he has to be," said Twenna, her own sleepy relaxation retreating. "I was at the Spectacle last year. I don't remember what happened—as far as I know I was never with anyone other than Harsin, I swear it."
"It's all right, you're not on trial here. If you told me who it was I'd never tell anyway. I didn't have to tell my husband, he was there when it happened in a way."
"I beg your pardon?"
Meggan fixed her with a hard, questioning eye. "Are you easily shocked? No? ...My husband doesn't like women."
"What's so shocking about that? I don't think my father likes—liked—women all that much. He never remarried after my mama died, and I'm their only child."
"No, but he did manage to get you on her. Gyors couldn't bear to touch me at all, but he was the oldest son. It was his duty to have children, or renounce his inheritance. He couldn't bear to do that—what gentleman wishes to earn his living? Oh, I knew he preferred men, but you hear about married men and their lovers all the time, don't you, and they have children. He said he loved me, and I just thought…" She absently shook her baby's tiny hand as it clutched her finger. "I didn't think. It never occurred to me that he couldn't spare at least a little love for me. The man I knew was his particular friend has children by his wife. Several. Gyors went to great lengths to prove he loved me before we married, but once the cord was tied it all changed. He didn't love me at all, not even a little. He only had sex with me once, and that was in the Lovers' Temple with another man. A sweet man, the current Supplicant. The Heir, actually. How funny to think I've seen the Heir half-naked. I still think about him now and again, how kind he was to me. That was the only time Gyors could manage it."
Twenna found this extremely personal, candid talk on such indelicate topics uncomfortable, but then, coming to a Mother's House was usually the result of indelicate topics; perhaps shared experience made for less restraint in conversation here. "Then how…?"
"Oh, once we'd gone to the Temple, I decided to do as he asked and let his particular friend into our bed. The time at the Lovers' Temple didn't take, you see, so we tried again, this time with Pollus. My husband still couldn't perform. But later that week, Pollus came to me while Gyors was at his club…"
"…And you…?"
"'And we,'" said Meggan, her smile crooked, sad and somewhat defiant. "'And we' for a whole spoke or more, almost every day, until I got with child. Gyors knew it couldn't be his, and so here I am with little no-name—Connia. I think I really like that name."
"You never told him who the father is?"
"He said he didn't believe me, and Pollus denied it. Gyors doesn't want to know because he loves Pollus...but he knows. It's just a matter of time before they end it."
Nerrik let out a tiny snore and Twenna fumbled the unfamiliar fastenings of her bodice closed. The tears in her eyes made it more difficult than it should have been, even one-handed. "Harsin swears he's not the father, but there's never been anyone else." She thought about the golden young man whose face she could not see, but whose body she remembered against her, inside her, all around her. "Except sometimes I try to remember what happened at the Neya's Day Spectacle and maybe…I don't know!"
"A girl as beautiful as you could leave the baby here and re-marry," said Meggan, fastening up her own dress as the newly-named Connia slept in her sling. "Men come here all the time from the other duchies looking for wives—widowers looking for a free nanny and housekeeper, mostly. They try Mother's Houses far from home to avoid anyone knowing the wives they bring back, though everyone knows she must be a beggar, an orphan, a bastard or worse. As long as she behaves no one mentions it. They'll make you leave your child behind, but they'll provide for you. You'd be respectable again and mistress of your own house. You might even come here and see the baby from time to time. They encourage it, if you settle nearby and your new husband will allow it. Most women take the chance."
Twenna shook her head. "My mother is dead, my father is dead, my love has abandoned me—I have no one and nothing but Nerrik." She looked over at the beautiful clothes of her former life, hanging on the pegs; she looked down at her new rough gray wool skirts. She wanted to cry, but she couldn't wake the baby. "I shall learn to bear it here rather than be parted from him." She rocked and rocked and gave in to her tears, but the baby didn't wake up. "I'm not terribly clever, but I shall learn."
Winter's Ending turned into Spring's Beginning. Temmin's twentieth birthday came and went on the ninth of the spoke with little fanfare; the country was still in mourning, and he was in no mood to celebrate.
The Temple kept Temmin quite busy. Helping petitioners soothed his grief somewhat, but between sessions he walked through the rose marble halls seeing nothing but gray. His duties ran the gamut from coaching petitioners through the acts of love to helping heal emotional wounds. What he so often had in common with the petitioners was not eroticism but pain, now more than ever. "Does suffering always come with sex and emotions?" Temmin asked Barik Lover one day.
"It doesn't have to," he answered, "but it often does."
"Why?"
Barik considered. "Truthfully, Temmin, we don't always get to know why we suffer, and if we did it still wouldn't do us any good. The Gods conceal much from us, for reasons known only to Them. All we can do is accept Their guidance, and do the work given to us."
Temmin tried to do the work given to him, failed, and tried again. I'm doing all I can do, Lord and Lady, he prayed. Make me stop loving her—or at least make me willing to stop loving her. He received no answers; despite his prayers and outward humility, deep in his heart Temmin clung to Allis harder than ever. He fantasized her living at the Estate, or Middlemont, or even in the Keep itself once her time as Embodiment was over. His father had agreed never to keep a mistress under his roof, but surely Temmin and his own wife—whoever she was to be—might negotiate something different. Tennoc and Cariodas had done so, after all, and Teacher said she was content while she lived.
He supposed the King was already thinking about suitable brides and alliances; by Temmin's age, he'd already been married two years and was a father. Temmin resolved to marry a woman who would be the mother of his children and no more. True, it hadn't worked for his parents, but they fell in love. He would not. Look what came of it. Nothing but pain.
At least he was covering his tracks. Keeping an unruffled, unreadable exterior—or projecting an entirely different mien—was almost as important as reading others. Nerr was the God of actors, after all. Allis and Issak continued on as his teachers, but casual contact had faded to nothing; when it did occur it was inevitably with Issak and not Allis. He loved Issak, even more than he loved Anda, but not as he loved Allis.
Talking with someone about it never came into his head. He'd done that already. What could they say that hadn't already been said? It would just expose him to further humiliation and pain. Allis didn't return his feelings, and Temmin could not bear confronting it—not with a heart already so full of grief for his mother. He soldiered on, feeling more and more like a failure and a fraud.
Then came the rebuke.
Summoned once again to Most High Beloved Malla's chambers, Temmin exchanged cautious greetings with her. "How may I serve you, Most High?"
"Tonight we have a special class, my dear. I wish you to narrate the Sacred Eight for an incoming class of Postulants."
Rank beginners in the Most High Beloved's chambers? Most irregular, but Temmin kept his face neutral. "I am always happy to assist in teaching, Most High."
"You're always so good with the new Postulants, Temmin Supplicant," said the old woman, patting his thigh, "but the lesson is not for them."
Temmin's scalp prickled, but he presented polite attentiveness and curiosity. "I am always grateful for anything you may teach me, Most High."
"I rather doubt it this time." Malla clapped twice; the heavy gold-chased doors to her rooms opened, and sixteen Postulants—eight male, eight female—filed in. At the end of the timid procession came Senik Lover and Allis. She flicked a glance his way; he detected a minute anguish, but it resolved so quickly into her teaching face that he doubted himself.
The Postulants sat cross-legged on the carpeted floor in a respectful half-moon around the wide, low couch in the middle of the room. Allis and Senik disrobed, folding their Temple garb and setting it to one side. "Now, Temmin," said the Most High, "I would like you to narrate for the Postulants as Allis and Senik demonstrate the Sacred Eight."
Temmin struggled mightily, but his face flushed as he rose to his feet and placed himself before the half-moon. "Of course." He turned to the students, his back to the naked couple. "Sexual positions can be broken down into eight basics," he began. "Each one expresses the quality of a God. We call them the Sacred Eight."
A blush ran through the seated Postulants and several men began to fidget. "Turn so you may see both your students and your demonstrators, Temmin Supplicant," said Malla. "Define for them now the terms 'giver' and 'receiver.'"
Temmin did as he was told. There on the couch lay Allis, her full breasts splayed to each side of her body. Above her knelt Senik, stroking himself. Senik caught his eye and winked, and Temmin resisted the urge to throw him to the floor and beat his beautiful face in. "The giver is the one who penetrates," he continued. "The receiver is the one being penetrated. A man is not always the giver. There are ways for a woman to penetrate as well, sometimes manually, sometimes with devices."
"Very good," nodded Malla. "Senik, Allis, continue." Senik settled himself between Allis's legs; she let out a small gasp as he entered her and began a slow rhythm.
A fine red mist gathered in the periphery of Temmin's vision, but he kept up his narration. "When the giver is superior, we call it the Way of Pagg, for He is the Father and the Law. There are many variations on this basic position," he continued as Allis and Senik shifted; Senik took her legs over his shoulders and pushed deeper into her, his happy groan masking the sound of Temmin's grinding teeth.
"Next is the Way of Amma, for She is the Mother and the Lady of the Cattle." Senik withdrew long enough for Allis to rearrange herself on all fours, and entered her again. Temmin watched her breasts sway with each lazy thrust, at once aroused and furious. Allis slid to lie flat on the couch, Senik still inside her. "Again, many variations."
When he ran through the Eight himself, Temmin prided himself on his control; he drove his partners to release multiple times while holding his own back until the end. Now a tic pulsed at the corner of his eye, and he was not at all sure he'd make it to the end of this set without running away—or worse. He wanted to pull Senik off and pound into Allis himself until they were both senseless. He wanted to maul her breasts, to soothe her and cover her with kisses; he wanted to do anything but stand here, pretending to be calm.
Allis and Senik both stood up. Allis sat back down on the couch, her hands braced behind her; Senik kneeled between her legs and began kissing up the inside of her thighs. “This is the way of Venna, for She is the Sister and seeks union without penetration,” grated Temmin. Senik reached the curly black thatch between his partner’s legs, spread her lips wide and licked her. Allis let out a moan and cradled Senik’s dark head in her hands, pressing his mouth closer; she threw back her head and came with a great cry, her knees rising up. Temmin suppressed most of a growl of pure frustration. The class studied the lovemakers in rapt concentration, the men all sporting erections and the women flushed and open-mouthed, but he knew Malla had heard him, and probably Allis and Senik as well.
When Allis stopped shaking, she and Senik traded places. "When the giver takes the receiver’s mouth, it is the Way of Farr, for He is the proud Warrior Whose foe kneels at His feet.” Temmin heard a tremor creep into his voice and despaired.
Senik's hands fisted in Allis's hair as her head rose and fell between his legs. A male Postulant gave a sudden cry and began to shiver; a wet patch spread on his trouser front. Senik looked up at the sound. "Word of advice, men: Don't touch yourselves during these demonstrations before you've learned the Patience." A nervous laugh rippled through the half-moon but for the embarrassed young man.
"Stop," Senik murmured, and Allis obeyed. He flashed a grin, displaying even, white teeth. "Even I can't last forever in such a skilled mouth!" The chuckle ran through the Postulants again. Temmin wanted to pull Senik's perfect teeth out through his ass.
Allis got up from her crouch, straddled Senik's lap and eased herself onto him, his hands spread on her flexing bottom. “Isn’t that pretty?” murmured Malla as Senik helped his partner rise and fall.
“Seated positions are the way of Eddin, for He is the Wise One and loves learning," Temmin told the Postulants as calmly as he could. "In this position, one can see one’s partner most clearly.” Allis leaned back in Senik’s arms so they could both watch as they came together and moved apart; Temmin couldn't see her hand, but knew where it was. Allis’s face flushed and her breathing grew faster until she came again, Senik supporting her.
She wrapped her arms around Senik's neck. With his hands clutching her ass, Senik stood, still buried inside her; his thighs bunched and strained. As soon as he got his balance, he began to thrust. Stunned, Temmin pushed his tears as firmly back as possible but not quite far enough for his taste. "The Way of Nerr, Who finds pleasure in display. There are many variations on standing positions as well."
"Show them the supported Way of Nerr. We don't wish to tire Senik out completely," said Malla.
Temmin's hard-won self-control wobbled. "Most High, I'm not dressed for it."
The Most High Beloved waved a wrinkled hand at him. "Remove your shirt."
Temmin shucked off the embroidered tunic in resignation but instead of folding it he tossed it on the couch. He knew everyone could see his own erection, but it would have been considered odd if he weren't aroused. He placed himself at Allis's back, and she braced herself against him; her bottom pressed at the tip of his arousal, and he shifted her upward, supporting her thighs; sweat slicked her back, and she slid against his chest. She separated from him long enough to sweep her long black hair over one shoulder.
A wicked smile spread Senik's lips. His free hand grabbed Temmin's neck and pulled him close; Senik kissed him. "Thank you," he said when they parted. Temmin wanted to wipe his mouth off, but he couldn't without dropping Allis.
Senik's next thrust knocked her against Temmin's chest. "Unfortunate we're doing the Eight," hissed Senik. "You might take her in the ass at the same time otherwise." Temmin closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, hoping the Postulants would take it as a savoring of the moment—the only mercy he would get, for the sworn clergy in the room knew differently.
A few lusty pushes later, Senik withdrew; Temmin helped Allis to her feet again. As protocol dictated, she stood on her tiptoes and pulled him down into a brief kiss. Her lips were tentative, almost forlorn, and his heart twisted further; pity was far worse. "Thank you," she murmured before turning back to Senik, who reclined on his side on the wide couch.
Temmin took up his position again before the eager Postulants. Almost done, almost done, he repeated to himself. "The Way of Neya is side by side, for She prefers pleasure for its own sake. It allows Her lover access to all of Her—Her breasts and Her neck as well as Her sex." Allis snugged herself against Senik, both of them slick and shining in the warm room. She threw her topmost leg over his, and his cock slid home. Two or three Postulants let out tiny whines. Senik slipped his arms around her and molded her breasts, plucking and twisting the nipples; he bit at her neck as she writhed. Senik moved his topmost hand to where they were joined together, circling until Allis convulsed, screaming and shouting. For a moment, Temmin thought she stared at him before she closed her eyes and her hair covered her face.
Senik withdrew and lay flat on his back, playing with his cock as Allis caught her breath. Just as Temmin wondered whether she'd fallen asleep she rolled over and crawled atop Senik, straddling him. The end, finally. "The Way of Harla, the receiver atop the giver. For all our illusions of control—" Did he have any illusions of control any more? "—For all our illusions of control, Death rides us all." Senik lay still as Allis bounced atop him until he gripped her hips and began bucking up into her. She leaned over to kiss him, cradling his head in her hands until he rose up and up; his hips wedged into her, his head arched away from her, and he bellowed out his final release.
"That," said Temmin to his class, "is the Sacred Eight. You will memorize it. Men, you will be required to last through the entire sequence with ease, with variations, and without rushing before you take your vows. That gives you three years to learn the Patience. Women may reach their crisis as many times as they wish, though learning the Patience is considered good form. Shall I excuse them, Most High?"
Malla nodded. "You are excused, Postulants. Amuse yourselves as you wish before lights out, though I imagine some of you may want to practice while the demonstration is fresh in your minds. I remind you to keep your activities to the private areas of the Temple." The Postulants stampeded from the room.
Temmin stood before the Most High Beloved. "Am I excused as well, Most High?"
She studied him coolly. "You are excused. While I know you don't need to practice the Eight, I may say there are other disciplines you must work at more diligently—as you have been reminded before. I trust you are clear now on this matter, Temmin Supplicant?"
"Very, Most High," he bit off, all pretense at calm abandoned. He kissed her hand and retrieved his crumpled tunic from the couch, where Allis wiped the sweat from her body. He bowed. "Forgive me if I don't give the customary kiss." She gave him a serene, disinterested nod; he turned on his heel and stalked from the room. Perhaps it hadn't all been Malla's idea.
Senik caught up with him in the hall. "I don't think you and I are finished," he said.
"Oh, I very much think we are." Temmin picked up his pace.
Senik kept up. "You were rude to your superiors, including the Embodiment and the Most High."
"Senik, I strongly suggest you leave me alone," he growled.
"Oh, I very much think not."
Temmin jolted to a halt, his temper fully engaged and his face within an inch of Senik's classical nose; Allis's scent arose from the man. "I am warning you, Senik! Keep it up and you'll get a lot more than a kiss."
"You wanna fight?" said the priest, a back alley accent suddenly gracing his voice. His beautiful face turned hard as paving stones. "You wanna? Is that it? You wanna fight me?"
Temmin snorted like a bull and nearly pawed the ground. "I want to grind you into a pulp!"
"Then c'mon. You and me. In one of the Temple's Own training salons. There should be an empty one this time of day. C'mon." Senik leaned in, a sneer slashing his face.
Temmin paused. Strangling Senik until his crystalline blue eyes popped and his alluring lips turned purple tempted him. Senik's sense of humor always sliced a little too close to the bone, but Temmin didn't hate the man; they'd been bedmates more than once in the last two years. That demonstration was calculated to humiliate Temmin as much as possible, yes, but it had clearly been Malla's calculation, not Senik's.
Temmin could beat him in a fair fight; he had a longer reach, a more muscular physique, and possibly more training. But what would happen to Senik afterwards? He had to know that even if he beat Temmin, he'd lose once the King heard about it. It was a goad—either Senik's own or more likely more of Malla's rebuke—and Temmin decided not to give him satisfaction. "I could whip you," he said. "We both know it."
"We most certainly do not," laughed Senik. "You know nothing about where I've been and what I've done."
"And we both know that in the end I could have you whipped." Temmin kissed him, biting Senik's lip hard enough to draw blood; the Lover tasted of Allis. "There's your 'thank you.' Now leave me alone." He resumed his solitary walk back to his room.
"You still haven't thanked Allis," Senik called after him. Temmin resisted the urge to make a rude gesture and kept walking, his pace more moderated but his feet striking the floor harder than necessary.
Once inside his room, he knelt before the little altar in the Supplicants Chamber, lit a candle to the small entwined statues and prayed. "I've failed You. I've learned so much, but I haven't learned the detachment You require of us. I thought I'd done the right thing coming here, but I don't know if the people are prospering as the prophecy said they would. I'm trying not to love Allis. I did what I was told and turned to others but it hasn't helped. I've asked for Your help but You haven't answered me. I've given up so much for You! I set my father against me and lost the last years of my mother's life for Your sake. Can't you give me something in return? Some little thing? Why can't Allis love me? Why is she so cruel?" Tears started in his eyes. "It isn't fair." Even as the words left his lips he knew they were childish, and he cringed in shame. Jenks had told him something two years ago: The great secret of adulthood is that there's always something wrong and life isn't fair. Perhaps Temmin was an adult now, for the secret was no secret any more.
That night at dinner he sat among the clergy's lower ranks. He usually ate with the Most Highs and the Embodiments, but tonight he could not bring himself to do it.
After the meal, Anda slipped her arm in his. "Are you free? I miss you, let's have a good gabble in your room." In short order, he found himself stretched out on the Supplicants Chamber couch, his head in her lap, tears sliding down his temples into his ears and everything confessed. "Oh, Tem, I'm so sorry," she murmured, stroking his hair. "I heard a little about a demonstration and confess I wondered."
Temmin raised up on one elbow. "Heard what? From whom? I will murder Senik one day, I swear—"
"No, no, Senik is a gorgeous, annoying git but he's not malicious. I heard a couple of Postulants talking. They had no idea what they'd seen, but I gave them the 'class time is confidential' lecture and they slunk off with their tails between their legs. I wish you'd told me sooner, and why won't you talk to me about Allis? I know we're both busy, but I'll always make time for you—you can always talk to me."
Temmin sank back into her lap. "What is there to talk about? I love someone I'm not allowed to love. Malla told me once that if we were anyone other than who we are she would have separated us for good and all—each assigned to different ends of the country. But she's an Embodiment and I'm a Supplicant. We have to be here. We have to work together."
"When you've left the Temple you can pursue a less formal relationship."
"Not in the way I want. What I want is impossible."
"Surely something is better than nothing? You can still live in hope, Tem, just don't let it stop you from loving anyone else."
Temmin looked up into her round, good-natured face above her Beloved's tunic. She wore a short, boned velvet vest that supported her large breasts like a corset; he ran his fingers across its pile, turning it from silvery pink to deep rose and back. The color suited her better than her old white Supplicants garb had, but he missed it anyway. He took her hand and played with her fingers. "I wish we were in love, Anda."
"How would that be easier, hectic boy? You can't marry me, either."
"No, but I could keep you. I'd make you my mistress the day I'm through here. I'd even make you a countess when I become king."
Anda brought his hand to her lips and kissed it. "That might be nice, but it would never do, you know it wouldn't."
"No. It wouldn't." He covered her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. "When I become king, perhaps I'll make you a countess anyway." Temmin sat up on his knees and smoothed her hair back from her face. "Stay with me tonight, Anda. Please."
Anda stayed, and wiped away the tears from Temmin's eyes as they made love in his alcove bed.