“You lay with her.”
Genvissa’s voice was harsh, her stance stiff and unyielding.
They were walking along the northern line of the walls, inspecting the trenches and foundations.
“She is my wife.”
Genvissa was silent.
“You have no need to be jealous of her,” Brutus said. “She is nothing compared to you.”
You almost kissed her, thought Genvissa, not knowing why that would have been catastrophic, but knowing it nevertheless.
“What is a kiss?” said Brutus, laughing at the thunder of Genvissa’s face. “There are more intimate things between a husband and a wife.”
They walked in silence a few more paces.
“Perhaps you should live with me in my house,” Genvissa said. “There is space enough for you.”
“In your bed?”
Genvissa almost cried in frustration. “You know that cannot be, Brutus. Not yet!”
“Then I shall stay where I am.” He stopped, and took Genvissa’s face in his hands as he had Cornelia’s the previous night. This time he did not hesitate when he leaned forward to lay his mouth to that of the woman he held. “Gods, Genvissa, there is nothing for you to fear. When we start the Game then nothing will undo us. We will be together, bound, tied and conjoined as few men and women ever are. Nothing will separate us. Nothing.”
Genvissa relaxed. Those were words he’d never spoken, nor would ever speak, to Cornelia. They kissed again, deeper, passionately, and eventually Brutus stepped back, laughing shortly.
“Enough!” he said. “I cannot stand more.”
“Imagine it, my love. The Night of the Torches, the Game begun, you and I, together, at last.”
“I am imagining it right now,” he said hoarsely, and Genvissa laughed, delighted.
“Good. So tell me, will there be enough warriors and virgins among your Trojans to use as dancers?”
“Yes, warriors certainly, and virgins too, even if I have to sew them back together myself.”
Genvissa’s mood sobered, Brutus’ comment making her think, for no apparent reason, of Asterion growing in the womb of Goffar’s wife in Poiteran. There was nothing to worry about, surely, but…but this was something she should tell Brutus. She dare not alienate him when so much was at stake. “Brutus, Asterion has entered rebirth.”
He stilled. “Where?”
“In the womb of the wife of Goffar, King of the Poiterans.”
“So close? And a Poiteran? Genvissa…”
“There is nothing to worry about, my love. He is a bare few weeks old in the womb. He will only be a grizzling, toothless infant when we complete the Game, and then it will be too late for him. The labyrinth shall trap him.”
“But reborn as a Poiteran, Genvissa. I cannot just ignore that.”
“We will be strong enough, Brutus. But…” Her voice drifted off, and she cast down her eyes and bit her lip, “but just in case, surely, it would be best if Cornelia—”
“Genvissa…”
“If Cornelia were to be sent away, perhaps, my love. It cannot do any harm.”
Brutus hesitated. It would not do any harm, but all he could think of was her sweetness this past night. “I will keep a close watch on her,” he said finally.
Genvissa’s mouth hardened into a thin line, but vanished almost instantly as she laughed, and drew Brutus against her.
“I have waited for you forever,” she said, and kissed him.
And nothing will keep you apart from me. Nothing.