The Summer Queen (107 page)

Reede jerked free of her again as Ananke went out; taking
hold of her arms when she reached for him. His skin seemed to burn where she
had touched it. Elco Teel must have slipped her a dose of possession. He knew
that it breathed through the skin, making someone who was under its influence
contagious, infecting whoever touched them with the same helpless arousal. The
throbbing ache in his loins spread through his entire body, making him sweat,
making him burn. He told himself that it was impossible, drugs didn’t affect
him at all—“Ariele,” he said fiercely, shaking her. “You don’t want this. Stop
it!”

She struggled against his hold, her eyes filling with tears
... her eyes that were like agate, like fog, like no eyes he had ever seen. “I
didn’t want them—I wanted you. I want you.” Suddenly she was soft and yielding
in his grip, candlewax touched by flame, clinging to him everywhere, warm and
fragrant. Murmuring, “Please, oh please ... Reede please ... only you. Only you
....” She pressed her lips to his half-bared chest, devouring him with kisses.
His own arms were suddenly strengthless as he heard her speak his name, as he
saw recognition in her eyes.

“No,” he said, as her arms slid around him. “No, Ariele—”
His hands rose to push her away; but now his hands seemed to have gained a life
of their own, fusing to her flesh, refusing to stop touching her. Helplessly he
felt the silk and velvet of her skin, the pressure of her body against his,
making his nerves sing as though some live circuit had closed between them when
they touched ... and he knew that the impossible had happened. His mouth found
hers, in a long, deep kiss. He knew that he was lost ....

She sank down along his body, pulling open his clothes, kissing
him everywhere; drawing him down with her onto the cargo mats as the cold,
barren space around them dissolved into waves of heat.

Ariele woke out of a dream of a dream, feeling the heaviness
of arousal still congesting her languid body, making every motion deliciously
sensual. She ran her hands down over herself, finding that she was naked
beneath bedcovers; not what she had expected to find. She opened her eyes and
discovered the ceiling of a room she had never seen before, but no memory at
all of how she had gotten to this place. She felt a sudden coldness drop
through her as she saw herself in her mind’s eye, saw a cold, echoing space in
which she was surrounded by strangers, offworlders with hard hands and soulless
eyes, letting them ... letting them ....

But the images metamorphosed like cloudforms, and it was no
stranger, but Reede Kullervo holding her, caressing her, peeling away her
clothing as his kisses dissolved her mind into seafoam .... His hands on her,
melting her very flesh from her bones as they opened and explored her. She
remembered the burning sword of his manhood tracing a fiery track across her
skin, its white heat driven deep into her loins, searing the soft folds below
with its exquisite passage as he sought, and found, and took possession of the
secret core of her being; as he buried himself souldeep in her annealing, fluid
depths ....

She remembered a slow, deep rhythm that went on and on, filling
her, fulfilling her, m a way that she had never known before, until she
screamed like a sea bird with the length, the depth, the purity of sensation as
her pleasure crested and fell away into blissful release ... only to be carried
upward to crest again, by the rhythm that went on and on, driving her into
delirium dreams ....

She turned her head on the pillow, as the cascading memories
dissolved into the brightness of day. Turning away from the light that filled
her eyes, she searched the space beside her for a form, a face; suddenly afraid
that she would not find him, not find anyone—

But he was there, to her relief and joy, lying beside her,
sound asleep. She studied his face, turned toward her; fascinated by the sight
of him at rest, at peace. He never looked that way, so peaceful, so vulnerable,
when he was awake; he was always like a fist full of thorns, filled with
potential pain. It was what had drawn her to him, the hint of danger, the
wildness in his eyes. But it was the man sleeping next to her now who had held
her: the haunted, haunting stranger she caught glimpses of as they talked together
about the mers. She was sure it was that man who had kept coming back to her,
even while something inside him fought against it, keeping her at bay, keeping
him unreachable and untouchable.

She reached out, touching his cheek, so softly that she barely
proved his reality. She let her hand trace the line of his jaw, down along his
throat, his shoulder. She had never been allowed to touch him, before; he had
never let her. She studied the tattooing that tendriled the length of his arm,
fascinated by the complexity of the designs. Someone had told her once that
they meant he was some kind of criminal; the prospect had secretly excited her.

But he had denied it, when she had found the nerve to ask
him about them. And now, looking at the beauty of the many-colored symmetries,
patterns resolving into other patterns even as she looked at them, by the magic
of their design, she did not believe it either. They made her think of secrets,
transformations, messages with hidden meanings. They reminded her of the mersong
... of the mystery of human existence, in all its richness and variety ...
things that she could contemplate forever, like these exotic patterns, and the
mysteries of the man who wore them ....

Reede’s hand came alive suddenly, under her touch; caught
her own hand in a painful grip. He sat up, staring at her, while the emotions
on his face changed and changed again, so quickly that she could only see his
anger. Her smile died stillborn, and she shrank back from what she found in his
eyes.

But he looked away from her again; sank back, to lie motionless
in the bedding, with his hands covering his face. “No,” he whispered. “No ....”

Ariele pushed herself up; dared to touch him again. He did
not shake her off, and so she moved closer, to rest her head on his shoulder.
He flinched, but still he did nothing to prevent her from being there.

“Oh, Reede,” she murmured, against his neck. “I love you so
much. You’ve changed everything for me.”

He said something in a language she didn’t know, that
sounded like a curse. “You don’t know anything about love, or about being
changed ... damn you, “he said bitterly. But his arms went around her, pulling
her to him, cradling her against him as if he were afraid she might disappear.
He stroked her hair. “What am I going to do?” he said, to the ceiling, or the
air.

“Are you worried about my mother?” she asked.

He looked at her blankly. “What?”

“She won’t be angry with you .... She might even be happy
with me, for once.”

Something like comprehension filled his eyes; but he only
grimaced. “Don’t tell your mother. For gods’ sakes, don’t tell anyone!”

“But why not? Everyone already thinks—”

He sat up, glaring at her in furious desperation. “You don’t
even know the truth—”

She stared at him. “Then tell me.”

“It’s too late,” he said, shaking his head. He lay down
again beside her. “Too late ...”He looked away from her eyes, down along her
body. His hand reached out, uncertainly, to touch her breast, making her shiver
and stretch with languorous desire. He rolled over, beginning to kiss her,
beginning to make love to her again, with an urgency that took her breath away ...
and then sensation was all she knew.

“Did you enjoy your tour of the complex, Lady?” Vhanu asked,
behind him.

Gundhalinu turned away from the window wall, abruptly startled
out of his reverie. He had managed to lose himself in the spectacular,
eye-numbing view of the starport’s landing grids; avoiding conversation,
letting the incandescence twenty meters below him burn away all conscious thought
for minutes at a time. Vhanu’s question forced his attention back into the
crowded reception hall as the Queen and her husband joined them. Jerusha
PalaThion, who had accompanied the Queen on the tour, stood with them now,
staring out at the grids as if her own mind were somewhere else entirely.

“Yes. It was fascinating,” Moon said, her voice holding just
the right amount of awe. Her glance left Vhanu’s face briefly; Gundhalinu saw
the wary amusement in her eyes. It was not the first time she had set foot in
the complex, although Vhanu did not know that. The last time had also been the
night of the Assembly’s arrival on Tiamat; but then it had marked the beginning
of the end, the Final Departure of the Hegemony from Tiamat, and not the Return.

She had not been an honored, invited guest then. She had
been an exhausted refugee ... and so had the young inspector Gundhalinu,
missing and presumed dead. Together they had come out of the wilderness,
starving, frozen, and wholly unexpected; and although the natives were
forbidden to set foot in the complex, the duty sergeant had taken one look into
the eyes of Inspector Gundhalinu, who had risen from the grave, and let them
pass.

They had arrived in the middle of a celebration exactly like
the one taking place tonight, and the pleasure and unspeakable relief he had
felt, to find himself back among his own people, alive, safe, and going home,
had matched the celebration of all the assembled guests in the hall that night.

He glanced at Jerusha PalaThion again, at her expressionless
face, wondering what she was thinking tonight. She had been Commander of Police
then; this time she was only a Chief Inspector. But her life had undergone so
much change in the years between—almost as much as his own had—that he could not
imagine what her reactions were. He remembered suddenly how she had smiled as
she came into the infirmary room where he was being treated; how her pleasure
at the sight of him had filled his beaten, shivering body with warmth and
strength.

And he remembered the looks on the faces of the Assembly
members who had followed her—thinking they had come to honor one of their own,
a Kharemoughi Technician who had been lost in the barbaric wilderness—as they
saw the scars of his failed suicide attempt on his wrists, and listened to him
blurt out his forbidden feelings for the Tiamatan woman who had saved his life.

He glanced down at his wrists, as if he would suddenly find
the red weals of fresh scar tissue standing out against his skin; although he
had had all traces of them removed long ago, and scarcely even thought about
them anymore. He felt surprise as he realized that, because once he had been so
certain that a day would never pass when he would not think about them, even if
they were made invisible; when he would not hate himself simply for being alive
....

But now, after so many years, it also surprised him to
realize that although he could barely remember what he had eaten for dinner
yesterday, he still remembered every stinging word of mockery and censure that
had been spoken to him that night in the infirmary; how if he had had the
strength left in him to do it, he would have taken the nearest sharp medical
instrument and finished what he had so ineffectually started ....

He felt himself blinking too much; forced his mind to concentrate
on the complexities of an adhani until his emotions were back under control. He
glanced at Moon, wondering what she remembered of that night, so long ago for
both of them, when his own people’s self-righteous cruelty had driven him to
turn renegade, rejecting everything he had ever believed; and by that act,
helped Moon Dawntreader achieve her destiny.

She was not looking at him now, but stood listening to Vhanu
discuss more details of the starport’s function, with her own face carefully
composed. She wore a long, fluid robe that would not have been out of place on
Kharemough, although there was something about the subtle dappling of greens in
the restless fabric that made him think of leaves moving in the wind, waves on
the sea; something wholly Tiamatan. She wore her hair in a simple loose plait
down her back, woven with golden thread, and on her head a diadem made of what
looked like crystal. He had never seen her wear anything like a crown before;
realized that it must be one of Arienrhod’s, and worn for a calculated effect.
She held herself like a queen; but that, he realized, was something she had
always done .... He looked away from her as the ache in his chest suddenly grew
too strong.

Sparks Dawntreader was listening too, his face taking on a
rare animation, as if he were honestly interested in the subject Vhanu was
discussing. He was dressed in an imported tunic and pants, formally cut, and
there was nothing, superficially, that would have marked him as a native.

“... but forgive me,” Vhanu said, “I must be boring you, droning
on about such technical matters.” Gundhalinu heard the unconscious dismissal of
the Queen and her husband as less than rational, educated human beings.

“Not at all,” Moon said. Gundhalinu saw the brief glint of anger
in her eyes, and knew that she had heard the unthinking judgment too. “This has
certainly satisfied a healthy curiosity in me to know what your starport is
like. It has been a restricted area for my people for so long, even though it
has played such a vital part in the fate of our world .... Although I have to
admit it really doesn’t compare with the orbital cities that circle your
homework), Commander Vhanu.”

Vhanu looked at her blankly. “Have you ... seen a tape of
the starport hub, then?” he asked.

“No, I’ve seen the starport. I visited there when I was a
girl. That was when I learned about the sibyl net.” She smiled, pleasantly, in
the face of Vhanu’s suddenly acute discomfort.

“How did you get there and get back again?” he asked. “No
one has been able to leave your world for years—and before that, I believe any
Tiamatan who did leave was proscribed from returning. Isn’t that right—?”