The Devil's Garden (4 page)

Ume looked up at him through lowered lashes. “Where would you like me, my liege?”

“Take off your clothes, Ume.”

She displayed no surprise at his request or his familiarity but unlaced her outer dress to lay it aside. As she reached to the hem of her azure silk, MeerAlya set down his supplies and put his hands over hers. He lifted the gown slowly to reveal her at his leisure, drawing the silk up over her thighs and stopping to smooth his hands over her legs when she was exposed.

“Would you like me to touch myself?” She lowered her voice to a purr.

“Would you like to touch yourself?”

“If it is your pleasure, my liege.”

The Meer stood. “No.” He untied the roll of parchment and removed the piece on which he’d begun. “Continue undressing, Maiden Sky. Remove your headdress, but not your slippers.”

She obeyed as he sat before the dressing table. MeerAlya took a piece of graphite from the tin and for several minutes sketched her in silence with only brief glances from the parchment to her. When he was satisfied with his work, he set it aside and reclined in his chair.

“Come here.”

Ume approached him and started to lower herself to her knees, but Alya grabbed her and sat her firmly in his lap. She acquiesced, letting him move her as he would. MeerAlya pulled her back against his chest and leaned his chin against her head, the silver veil of his hair enveloping her.

“You fear me, Ume,” he whispered. “But the safest place you will ever be is in the arms of your Meer.”

She shivered at the touch of his hair against her skin, uncertain how to respond. Without warning he rose, lifting her in his arms, and carried her to the bed.

“You are an exquisite blossom.” He laid her inside the curtains and held out his open palm. “A flowering plum in winter.”

In his hand, a dark purple twig took form, tufted with pale pink blossoms and frosted with high-mountain snow. MeerAlya set it beside her on the pillow and kissed her hand.

“Thank you for a delightful evening, Maiden Sky. I hope you will let me sketch you again in the future. For now you should sleep.”

At his words, her eyelids fluttered closed.

When she returned through the high-ceilinged halls and tiled arches of the temple the following day, there was no sign of the Meer. Only an alabaster box full of gold
alyanis
awaited her on the seat of the carriage.

Behind In’La’s pubs and taverns, the indolent river wound toward the setting sun like a molten copper filament as the carriage bore her to the Garden. She’d slept most of the day away. Hardly noticing the lush vines the carriage passed by, Ume turned the plum-blossom sprig between her fingers. She’d half expected it to disappear, but it was as solid and real as if the tree had been in the room when MeerAlya plucked the blossoms from the ether. In her hand, she held evidence of the magic of the Meer.

Ume tucked the sprig into the beads of her headdress. Ravenous, she directed the driver to take her to one of the pubs outside the Garden, where she could eat in relative peace. Working girls frequented the public taverns—it was where she herself had started out—but temple courtesans did not do their business here.

After ordering a full meal of squab and
pilav
with a flagon of chilled berry wine, she loosened her veil and set to it with relish. The Meer hadn’t thought to offer her dinner; her last meal had been the pomegranate in the market. She hoped Cree didn’t think ill of her. The brief dalliance in Cree’s world had been sweet, but Ume couldn’t imagine being welcomed into Cree’s circle as Cillian had been.

As Ume finished her squab, a group of young men at the bar began to eye her, elbowing one another in apparent dares of bravado. She focused her attention on the chilled wine and ignored them, but they were well in their cups, and it wasn’t long before their appointed ambassador presented himself.

“My friends have a bet,” he confided as he leaned unsteadily over her table. “They say you won’t give me a kiss for a copper.”

Ume smiled graciously. “I’m afraid your friends are right, sir. But I’m sure there are plenty of girls about who will fit your purse.”

“Oh, come on,” he insisted as his companions approached. “Tell you what. If you say I gave you a copper for a kiss, and you kiss me in front of my friends, I’ll come round later and give you an extra. Be nice to a gentleman, would you?”

“Sir, you cannot afford me,” said Ume more sternly.

His solicitous expression dissolved into a scowl. “Now you’re just being a bitch.” He threw his copper
alyani
on the table as his companions flanked him.

“Look. I don’t mean to embarrass you in front of your friends, but you don’t seem to understand. I am a temple courtesan, not a common pub girl, and I am trying to have my dinner.”

“What you are is a whore. And no whore is going to tell me she’s too good for me. Now I’ve given you my copper, and I’ve asked nicely for a kiss.” He lurched forward and grabbed her by the arm, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. “You’ll give my money’s worth, or I’ll drag you out back and have it with interest.”

“Take your hand off the lady.”

Ume turned to find Cree standing behind her, rolling up her sleeves. She gave no indication she recognized Ume, only a fierce look of challenge toward the young men.

Her would-be patron sneered as he straightened. “Who the hell are you?”

“A gentleman,” said Cree. “Which is more than I can say for you. If you don’t let go of the lady, you’ll become better acquainted with what that means.”

“Come on.” One of his friends tugged his grip from Ume’s arm. “We’ve had too much to drink. It was only a joke.”

“The joke is a whore wearing the veil.” He spit at her as he shook off his friend and turned away.

Before he’d taken two steps, Cree caught him with a hard cuff on the chin. The others scrambled forward and shoved her against the wall, but Ume stepped between them, her skirts and ribbons making a dramatic flare as she held up a silk-draped hand.

“Gentlemen.” Ume spoke in the infamous purr. “Fisticuffs will no more get you a piece of me than will a bag of copper
alyanis.
” She picked up the copper the first man had thrown and tossed it to him while he rubbed his jaw and glared at Cree. “Keep your money, boys, and keep your pretty faces.”

Cree shrugged them off and straightened her coat. Begrudgingly, they went on their way. As Ume resumed drinking her wine, Cree paused beside her table, peering at her more closely.

“Thank you.” Ume lowered her eyes.

Cree was silent for a long moment before dropping a gold
alyani
in front of her. “I believe this is yours.”

“Still not enough.” She met Cree’s eyes at last. “Sit down if you’re going to stare. The tavern keeper looks ready to throw you out.”

Cree pulled out her cigar tin and lit one deliberately as she joined her. “I’d offer you one—” Cree sucked on the end as she fed the flame, “—if I didn’t feel like a complete horse’s ass.”

“Please accept my apology. I wish I could explain. I didn’t mean to take off on you like that, but something came up.”

“Something. Like…your being a temple courtesan.” Cree blew a puff of smoke in her direction. “I’m sorry, who the hell are you? I don’t think I got your name.”

“I told you my name. It wasn’t a lie.”

“And would that be the name you’d tell me now if I asked? Say, if I approached you in the Garden?”

“I wouldn’t speak to you in the Garden. I’m very exclusive.”

“Cillian.”

“Ume. The Maiden Ume Sky.”

Cree’s cigar dropped from her open mouth into her hand.
“You? Meeralyá!”
She ground the cigar out on the table. “The Maiden Sky. And I lectured you about the veil. You must think I’m a proper fool.”

Ume covered Cree’s hand with her own. “No. I was in a bind, and you were very kind to me. No one’s ever shown me such kindness.”

Cree jerked back her hand. “I wasn’t being kind, for gods’ sake.”

“You’re disappointed.” Ume made an attempt at a smile.

“Damn right I am.” Cree pushed back her chair and stood. “Damn disappointed.”

Cree’s look of betrayal haunted Ume later while she undressed in her apartments. The smeared Irises of Alya—blue, like the Meer’s eyes—mocked her from the mirror of her vanity as she applied a lavender cream to her face and rubbed almost violently until the rich honey color was a blushing pink. After rinsing with the day-old water in the basin, she patted a fresh flannel against her skin, peeking over the top as though it were a veil. Were these amber eyes Ume’s, or were they Cillian’s?

She released the ribbons and pins from the chignon, and her hair fell forward against her cheeks, as bright as the
alyani
that had been tossed at her in the pub.

What had Cree seen in Cillian? Was he materially different from the high-priced whore who was Ume? Was it Ume’s status that angered Cree, or was it her appearance? Naked and unadorned before the mirror, there was only a person: slight and petite for a man; narrow-hipped and flat-chested for a woman. Cillian sighed and picked up his dressing robe. He was long overdue for a bath.

The following evening Ume’s dress was understated. Above a simple gold sheath, she draped a sheer black veil decorated with tiny amber beads, and used single drops of gold-dust paint to form the Irises of Alya. When she arrived in the Garden, Templar Nesre waited on the terrace of the Salver & Chalice, raising a glass of
pelia
to her. An involuntary shudder gripped her at the sight.

“The lovely Maiden Sky.”

She took the offered cordial but didn’t drink.

“Did you have a repeat engagement with our mutual acquaintance last evening? I didn’t see you here.”

“No, in fact. My engagement
ended
last evening.”

“Indeed?” Nesre’s eyes widened with interest. “He must have been well satisfied. Perhaps you’ll join me and share the highlights.”

Ume ran a lace-gloved finger along the rim of her glass. “Have I not joined you?”

“Don’t be obtuse, Maiden Sky. It doesn’t become you.” Nesre sipped his cordial. “I’ve gone out of my way to secure you the most prestigious engagement of your career, despite your unfortunate incident. I should think you might show a little gratitude. Have you forgotten our arrangement?”

“I have not, Your Excellency.” Ume set down the cordial and rose. “Shall we?”

She might be beholden to him, but she had no interest in drawing out the pleasantries.

Inside the carriage, Nesre lifted her skirt with his slipper and pressed the toe between her thighs. The pressure was not unpleasant, and Ume permitted him to massage her to arousal.

When they arrived at his room, she bent over the foot of his bed, holding her skirt above her waist while he stroked himself on the settee behind her. It was his pleasure to watch Ume bring herself to climax without using her hands, allowing the motion of her body and friction against the silk coverlet to do the job. It was a coverlet frequently replaced.

Nesre disrobed and finished after her, pressed against her while he worked himself. It was rare he touched her so closely; the idea of what the Meer might have done with her must have whet his appetite.

He reclined against the pillows afterward, fondling his soft phallus while Ume freshened up. “So per our agreement, Ume dear, what did your patron require of you?”

Clad only in her veil, she curled up beside him and tucked her feet beneath her. “He wanted to sketch me.”

“
Sketch
you?” Nesre stared at her as if she’d told him the Meer had set her hair on fire. “With a pen?”

“With a piece of graphite, actually. He said he preferred to create with his hands.”

“That’s it?” Nesre sputtered like an overheated steam engine. “He sketched you for twenty-four hours without touching you?”

Ume shrugged. “He sketched me for perhaps an hour. Then I fell asleep.” She didn’t volunteer that the Meer had held her in his lap. Of that, for some reason, she was almost ashamed.

“You fell
asleep.
” He clearly took her for a liar.

“Asleep, Templar Nesre. He spoke of sleep, and I slept. I believe it was his intent that I do so.”

“Perhaps he took advantage of you while you were unconscious.”

“I have no reason to think so.”

“Very peculiar.” Nesre thumbed his beard. “Do you believe he means to ask for you again?”

“He mentioned he might. I assume you’ll act as his ambassador if he does.” Ume played with the beads on the edge of her veil. “How did he come to ask for me in the first place?”

The templar rolled over and reached for the evening’s purse. “During his reign MeerAlya has taken a number of concubines who matched your type. I thought it would be interesting to provide him with one myself, and the occasion recently arose.” He set the purse in her hand. “I trust you’ll let me know if you see him again.”

“As you wish.” At his cue, she rose and donned her clothing.

“Ume.”

She turned back as she was about to depart, and Nesre gave her a paternal smile.

“I hope your mind has been set at ease about the other unfortunate matter. As long as I can trust in your loyalties, there is no reason anyone should suspect you.”

Ume mulled the implied threat on the ride back to the Garden. Her loyalties… Whether he questioned that they lay with the temple in general or with Templar Nesre himself was unclear, but his interest in the Meer’s activities was notable.

As she alighted from the carriage, she was surprised to find Cree waiting before the Salver & Chalice, formally dressed in a high-collared black frock coat and a brown brimmed cap.

At Ume’s approach Cree removed the cap and ran her fingers through her dark curls. “Maiden Sky.” She bowed with the cap against her chest. “Master Sylva.”

Ume offered her hand. “Master Sylva.”

Cree took it and kissed it through the long golden sleeve. “I realize I’m not apt to qualify as a patron. But I hoped you might join me at supper.”

Ume inclined her head in the formal manner and took Cree’s offered arm.

“I don’t have a carriage. I don’t know if you mind the walk.”

In her understated mood Ume had worn a plain pair of slippers with a sturdy sole, intending to walk back to her apartments. “I’d be delighted, Master Sylva.”

As they headed away from the Garden, Cree stopped and removed her coat to place it around Ume’s shoulders. The night was mild, but it was a touching gesture.

“You are a gentleman,” said Ume as Cree took her arm again.

“Cillian, I’m sorry. I mean, Ume. I was very rude to you last night.”

“It’s forgotten.”

“I was just so disappointed when you disappeared. I thought I’d done something wrong, offended you somehow.”

“I’m sorry, Cree. I was hiding from a patron I’d quarreled with. Then I met him in the market, and we made up our differences.” Ume pressed Cree’s arm. “But I had a wonderful time with you.”

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” She creased her brow in anger. “He isn’t making you do something against your will?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” Ume settled against Cree’s shoulder, and Cree closed a comforting arm around her waist.

At the boardinghouse, Cree laid her coat on the floor before the couch for Ume to sit on. Cold veal from her larder had been set out on the table beside them with berries and biscuits, warm from the oven. Her landlady must have brought them up just before they arrived.

Cree started to eat but paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. Ume still sat primly, wrapped in her veil.

“My, but you
are
a proper girl.” Cree fingered the edge of the fabric. “May I?”

Ume lowered her eyes in assent, and Cree unwound the veil and draped it over the arm of the couch.

“It’s lovely.” Cree ran her fingers over the beads. She paused and kissed Ume’s bare neck beneath the chignon. “You’re lovely. But I seem to be repeating myself again.” She flashed her teeth. “I suppose you’re hungry.”

“Not in the least.”

Cree was almost blushing. Ume unfastened her gown, and it fell from her shoulders as she crawled toward Cree.

“Is that better? You see, I’m only Cillian.”