Wings of Wrath (45 page)

As it should be.

“Majesty?”

She returned from her distant flight drowsily, regretfully.
Do not fly too high,
she warned her consort as they parted. Not that there was need for such warnings any longer. The Souleater had absorbed enough of Siderea's own knowledge of the world to understand why such secrecy was needed and how to maintain it.

But how she longed to fly high and free, daring all the other Souleaters to pursue her! No longer a secret invader who must hide her presence from men, but a true queen, master over all the earth!

Soon,
the thought came.
It will be soon.

“Yes? What is it?”

The servant bowed as Siderea shifted herself upon the silken cushions of the couch.

“Petrana Bellisi has arrived.” Despite the fact that Siderea was fully dressed and alone, the servant averted his eyes as he spoke; clearly he felt as if he had somehow interrupted an intimate moment.

Perhaps he had.

She rose up from the couch and clapped her hands sharply, so that her maidservant might come running. She had plans for Petrana Bellisi, and they required her looking her best. “Have her greeted as her rank deserves,” she told her servant. “Bring out the best of our wine and see that she is encouraged to relax. I shall be there shortly. Quickly now!” she prompted, when he did not leave immediately. A maidservant squeezed by him as he backed out of the doorway; Siderea indicated her sleep-tousled hair and the girl took up a brush and began to work on it. Shutting her eyes, the queen gave herself over to the sensations of the coiffure: warm fingers tickling her scalp, the sharp bite of pins as each curl and ringlet was fixed in place, the gentle tug of the brush as it smoothed out the snarls in the long hanging tresses, the soft weight of ornaments as they were positioned amid the strands.

The question was wordless, but she understood its meaning. Her consort did not comprehend why she would preen herself for another woman. As always, Siderea was never quite sure if the Souleater was actually observing her affairs or responding instinctively to thoughts and emotions that seeped from one mind to the other without context.

Desire is power,
she explained.

It was getting hard to focus upon human company these days. Hard to shut out that other soul—so powerful, so primal!—and limit herself to human words and human thoughts. Her other self was a creature of pure self-indulgence whose every instinct became action as soon as it was conceived. A human queen, on the other hand, was a creature of plots and contrivances for whom every word must be chosen with care, voiced in just the perfect tone, then studied as it took effect. How much easier it seemed to just live in the moment, to simply
be
. Sometimes Siderea envied her Souleater counterpart.

She took a moment to glance in the mirror and was pleased by what she saw. The Souleater's vitality had brought new color to her cheeks, and the deep ruddy tone of her lips no longer needed enhancement. Only a bit of kohl was required to blacken her lashes, drawing attention to her wide, dark eyes. Her body was draped in layers of ruddy silk, bound with a twisted girdle that accentuated the curves of her form. Pearl-headed pins peeked out from rich black curls about her face while the rest of her hair cascaded down over her shoulders in long, coiled tendrils. No man could resist her thus. Perhaps no woman either.

She chose a pair of long earrings that tinkled softly as she moved, misted herself with one of her more delicate perfumes—the tastes of men and women were so different in matters of smell!—and finally was ready. A strange, fluttering excitement filled her stomach; was that the Souleater? Was she watching her dress? Siderea took an extra moment at the mirror, just in case.
What do you think?
she whispered to her consort. There was no answer. But she thought to her as she left the room, silken skirts swirling around her ankles,
Now you will learn how to fly without wings.

Petrana Bellisi was waiting in the atrium. She stood up quickly when Siderea entered and offered a quick curtsey. Clearly she was not quite sure what manner of greeting was expected now that they were in the Witch-Queen's home territory. Beside her was a glass of wine, still full.
We shall have to fix that,
Siderea thought.

“My dear Petrana.” She held out her arms in welcome, then, when the visitor hesitated, moved forward to embrace her. A tender kiss on each cheek lingered just long enough to bring a warm flush to Petrana's face; the woman was unaccustomed to such casual intimacy.

She was dressed in silk the color of twilight, an odd choice for a summer afternoon. The neckline was somewhat lower than her accustomed style, which was perhaps why she had chosen it; she was clearly trying to follow Siderea's advice in looking less somber. But she had draped a veil across her bosom and tucked it into the dress in such a manner that whatever womanly gifts she might have possessed were effectively hidden from sight. Were the veil of thinner silk, or more artfully draped, it might have offered a seductive enhancement, enticing one to search for hidden treasures beneath. As it was, it seemed intended to serve as armor.

For the body or the soul?
Siderea wondered.

“Your Majesty is kind to receive me.”

The Witch-Queen shook her head and touched a perfumed finger to her visitor's lips. “Shush. No titles, my dear. I will not have it.” Taking Petrana's hand in her own, she urged her to sit down once more by the abandoned glass of wine. “You are in my home now, not some foreign court. Siderea will do.” She signaled for a nearby servant to bring her a glass of wine as well.

—
and a low growl sounded within her brain, as the scent of the visitor filled her nostrils
—

“A lovely gown,” she murmured, startled by the mental intrusion. She ran her fingers down one of Petrana's sleeves, along the edges where the fine white chemise peeked through. “Sendalese silk, is it? They make the finest blues.” A glass of wine was handed to her; she brought it to her lips and paused a moment, drinking in its scent before sipping. “Ah, exquisite. You must try some.” She lifted Petrana's glass and handed it to her. “Our southern vineyards have no equal, when the rainfall is right.” She waited while her guest sipped from her glass, then smiled and drank more fully. It was a vintage Siderea usually saved for seduction: smooth, sweet, and laced delicately with herbs that were said to enhance the senses.

Her own were certainly more acute than usual. She could smell the residue of soap in her visitor's hair, the faint minty fragrance from where she had brushed against one of Siderea's plants, the thin sheen of nervous sweat upon her brow. Never had she experienced a person's scent so acutely before. Was this another symptom of her partnership with the Souleater? If so, it was delightful.

Again the low growl sounded in the back of her brain.

Shhh,
she thought to her consort.
All is well
.

She encouraged her guest to speak of her recent travels, all the while plying her with wine. Servants brought them plates of food as well: delicate savories made from the rarest of cheeses, Sendalese olives sculpted into flowers, slivers of smoked fish arranged in delicate patterns upon salted wafers. All of which increased Petrana's thirst, of course. Her wine glass was refilled several times while they chatted. Of course. What Siderea meant to teach Petrana today required preparation.

Finally Siderea judged the time was right. She waited for an appropriate opening in the conversation, then laughed softly. Her long earrings tinkled with the movement. “But you must forgive me. Here I have plied you with questions, and not given you a moment to address the reason you came! What a poor hostess I am!” She set her glass of wine aside and then took Petrana's from her, and set it aside as well. Then she took her guest's hands in her own and gazed into her eyes, noting as she did so that the young woman's pupils were more than a little dilated. “Pleased though I am to have such delightful company, it would be poor hospitality not to address the reason you came. Or do I mistake what that might be?”

A bright flush rose to Petrana's cheeks. “You said at Salvator's coronation that you would be able to . . . advise me. About, ah . . . men.” She tried to wring her hands together, but Siderea held them tightly.

“And so I did. And look what you have brought me to work with!” She smiled her most encouraging smile. “You are quite lovely, my dear. You know that? With a bit of powder and a few social tricks you could have any man you desired—even a High King. And that would be good for all of us, yes?”

She stood, drawing Petrana up with her. “Come, first I will show you how to make the most of what Nature has given you. Later, other lessons.”

Holding her firmly by the hand, she led her through the public portion of the palace back to her own private rooms. A whispered command sent her servants scurrying out, and caused the richly carved doors to be shut behind them. Petrana seemed to be breathless. Was that from the wine, or something more?

Wrong. Wrong.
The intrusive thought had no words, but her own mind supplied them, translating animal instinct into human language.
This place is ours!

Shhh,
she thought back.
It's all right. Watch
.

She brought Petrana over to her vanity and had her sit before the mirror. It was a Magister's gift from long ago and offered a more perfect reflection than polished metal ever could. Clearly Petrana was not accustomed to such luxuries and she gasped as her reflection came into focus, raising up a hand to her cheek as if to test whether the image was her own.

“You see? You have so much potential, my dear.” Siderea stood behind her, close enough to feel the woman's warmth against her flesh. Her fingers toyed gently with the tightly-bound hair, teasing bits of it loose. “May I take this down?”

Clearly out of her element, Petrana nodded.

Slowly, aware that every motion was being watched in the mirror, Siderea unpinned her guest's hair. It was dark and thick, and fell luxuriously down about her shoulders, lock by lock. She stroked it gently, as if testing its weight. “Is it the custom in your home, to wear it all up like that?”

“My father thinks it best. He says a lady of quality should not make a spectacle of herself.”

Siderea laughed softly. “Ah, my dear, there is a world of difference between making the most of one's charms, and ‘making a spectacle of oneself.' ” Siderea took up a lock of hair and twisted it around her finger. “Not that fathers always have insight into such things.”

She took up a soft brush and began to work over the dark tresses. Petrana sighed, relaxing into the rhythm of the caress. “You think I have promise?” she breathed. “Truly?”

“Absolutely.” She ran her hand down the long locks on either side, positioning them delicately on either side of Petrana's face, smoothing the long ends down along the sides of her breasts. “You see, this style will draw a man's eye to where one wishes it to go—such a subtle game—if they only knew how easily we manipulated them.” She touched the veil that was tucked into her neckline. “May I?”

Petrana seemed startled. “I'm not sure—”

“Simply to see what we have to work with.” She smiled. “It is hard to advise you on dress without knowing what it is that must be clothed. Yes?”

The young woman hesitated, then nodded. She watched in the mirror as Sidera leaned over her from behind, slowly working the layered veil loose. Once the lacquered nails slipped down into the neckline of her dress, bushing unexpectedly against the tip of her breast, and Petrana drew in a sharp breath.

“There, you see?” She put the veil aside. Petrana instinctively reached up to put her hand over her bosom, but Siderea caught it in her own and kept her from covering herself. “Look what you have been hiding, my dear.”

In truth the young woman had a fine figure, with full, high breasts that rose and fell with every breath. Any man in his right mind would be aroused by them. Judging from the flush in Petrana's cheeks, this was the first time she had considered that. She let her look into the mirror for a few minutes, imagining what it would be like to have a man assessing her charms. Desiring her. A delicate flush rose to her cheeks.

“Come, now. Stand.”

This time Petrana obeyed wordlessly. Siderea positioned her before the mirror and then stood behind her, close enough that the heat of the young woman's body warmed her own flesh. “We shall have to have something fashioned that suits your figure better than this gown.” She ran her hands down along the sides of Petrana's body, pulling the dress taught across her flesh. “Ah, see, there is the figure that will entrance a High King! This dress does it no justice at all. Come, let us see what is under it.”

Eyes wide, Petrana turned toward her. “I can't . . . I mean . . .” She floundered for words.

Siderea put a finger softly to her guest's lips, quieting her protest. “Surely such a lovely young woman is not ashamed of her body! There are no men here to see you disrobe. No one to compromise your honor. But I can hardly teach you how to dress if I do not see what there is to work with. That gown gives no hint of it.” She paused. “Would it make you feel more comfortable if I disrobed as well? I shall be happy to do so, if it sets you at ease.”

Without waiting for an answer she stepped back from Petrana and began to unwrap her long belt. Her expression was playful, almost teasing:
How silly you are, to be afraid!
In the back of her mind that odd growling started up again, but she ignored it. If the Souleater was going to share Siderea's life, she would have to learn how to play these games.