This is the story of an adept of the Heliotrope House, and how she betrays convention by falling in love with her patron.
**Disclaimer* I am writing in the universe of Kushiel's Legacy, created by Jacqueline Carey. While the individual characters I am writing about are my own invention, I do make frequent references to both her characters, and her work**
Note: This is my first attempt at a Fan Fiction...so any comments or reviews would be greatly appreciated. I plan to continue writing it, for as long as anyone is interested in reading it. Thanks so much!
ONE:
I knelt at his feet, abeyante, with my head bowed and my hands clasped before me, ankles together.
I didn't need to ask him what he wanted, the terms of my assignation had been decided before I even walked into the room. As an adept of the Heliotrope House in the Court of the Night Blooming Flowers, I was to place this patron before all others, if only for this one night.
"My lord is too kind to come and spend his time with me," I murmured demurely. Duc Giles d'Imbert had been my patron before, and I do not lie when I say I was genuinely pleased to see him.
"And you, Simonne nó Heliotrope, are a beautiful as always."
I blushed prettily at his compliment, to the roots of my chestnut hair which hung in waves around my shoulders, grazing the floor.
Slowly, I stood, my pale mauve gown falling like water around my ankles, silk swishing gently. My feet were bare, and I walked slowly to him where he was seated on the bed, laying my right hand upon his cheek like a feather.
"I have missed you far too much mesire," I said, pouring my voice out like honey, warm and slick from the summer sun, "It has been overlong since I've had the pleasure of your company."
Duc d'Imbert reached his hand up to my own and covered it, turning his face inward to kiss my palm.
"Official business is what keeps me from you, my love," his lips tickling the inside of my hand.
Using my left hand, I ruffled his hair affectionately. It was shorter than that of many a D'Angeline man, trimmed above his ears and the color of wheat at harvest.
"The work of a courtier is never done, apparently," I teased, "all fêtes, and dalliances I'm sure."
"Council meetings with the Queen, more like," he said, turning his face from my palm, and looking me square in the eyes, "And I can't think of a fête that would be more enjoyable than an evening in your company."
Again, I blushed, and again my pleasure was true. Even for a D'Angeline, d'Imbert was a fair sight to behold; his eyes the same green as the jade stones brought to our country from far off Chin, with his fair skin and hair that marked him as a Siovalese lord. His jawline was fine and full, his face nicely rounded. His lips were generous and made for smiling.
At the young age of three and twenty, the Duc had already risen in stature within the court of our Queen Sidonne. By far my most frequent patron, I speak with forthrightness when I say that he is also one of my favorites. Of course, it is not proper to put one patron above another, especially in my house.
"My lord flatters me too much."
He reached his hand around my waist, and pulled me close, "I flatter you not nearly enough, even if the things I say are true."
I inhaled sharply at his attentions, air hissing between my teeth. My blue eyes sparkled with unfeigned emotion, as his shone with lust.
Thou, and No Other, that is the motto of my house. I was raised with the belief that Naamah basked in her love as if in the sun. Well and so, I have had need to pretend with my patrons on only the rarest of occasion.
Though I've only been a practicing adept for two years, I have been trained by my house since infancy. My mother was an adept of Heliotrope, as was her mother before her. My father was a man I never knew, a chance meeting at The Longest Night seventeen years hence. Yes, I was begotten at those festivities, as were so many others. There is no shame in this parentage amongst Naamah's servants, only pride to be conceived in a moment of genuine passion. My mother had visited the temple of Eisheth two moons prior to The Longest Night, praying to her for this very outcome. She told me that he was pleasing to the eyes, firm of body and yielding of heart, all the things an adept of our house prizes in a mate. She knew he would make a good sire for her child.
The training for an adept of the Heliotrope house begins much the same as in any of the other great houses, we begin by acting as handmaidens to the older boys and girls, preparing them for their assignations, and helping them also to cleanse themselves in the aftermath of their love making. I became quite good at the styling of hair, and my services were frequently requested by adepts of both genders.
Of course any child can manage a lover's haste knot with little to no skill at all, it was more difficult to layer the hair in twists and turns, braids and knots, buns and curls, keeping a natural look all the while. This I learned to do from my mother. Calliope nó Heliotrope, who had fingers so nimble she would have been welcome in the House Eglantine, whose motto is To Create is to Live. They are the house of craftspeople, seamstresses and artists, they who trained the famed seamstress Favrielle nó Eglantine. My mother would have been suited fine to such a house, but her mother, my grandmother, couldn't bear to have her apart.
Once we have reached the age of ten, we have of course begun to study our trade in earnest. The texts Trois Milles Joies, the Ecstatica, the Journey of Naamah and the Log of Seven Hundred Kisses are all studied at length, until their practices become but a part of our very being.
From the very start, we are taught tenderness and love. The love of Elua above all else, and of course to hold his precept Love As Thou Wilt above all things. But other skills we learned as well, how to coat our responses in honey, to make them more pleasing to the ear. How to hearten a bruised ego, how to gently rebuff a patron when their affections became too ardent. These were the trades in which we plied.
Some abjured our house, calling us false lovers, saying we made a mockery of Elua's precept. But none would denounce us openly, for we are all his children, after all.
All of these things informed my very being, but none were in my head as I felt Giles d'Imbert's hand tighten on my hip.
"Kiss me," he said, his voice thick with passion.
I bent at the waist and my lips met his. He returned my kiss eagerly, crushing my mouth with his own. He moaned with pleasure, wrapping both arms around me and holding me close. His mouth tasted sweetly of wine. He rose up to his feet, standing a full head and shoulders taller than me. I lifted my chin, keeping my gaze modest and affectionate.
The look he returned to me was pure love.
In one quick motion, the Duc swept me off my feet, lying me back down onto the bed. The goose feathers from the coverlet pricked the back of my neck, but not enough to hurt.
"My lord the Duc is in quite a fashion this evening," I say playfully, as I raised one knee ever so slightly to grant him access between my legs.
"It's what happens when I'm busy at all these fêtes and dalliances…it makes me need you all the more when I'm once again in your sweet presence."
I twined my arms around his neck, feeling his breath hot against my skin. I wanted him, near enough as badly as he wanted me.
His lips brushed against the tender flesh of my neck, and my breathing began to quicken. When his tongue began making circles, I felt my body begin to move against him.
This was no act.
A D'Angeline through and through, he took his time with me, enjoying himself to his fullest. I knew that this was what he desired, the Duc d'Imbert was generous with his attentions, and in truth he preferred to please than to have me practice my skills on him. Well and good, for I have no objections to being used so.
"Stand up," he bade me.
I did as he wished, and he slipped my dress from my shoulders, pooling on the ground in a shimmering puddle.
I stood before him now, nude. The Duc rose to his own feet, and held my hand above my head, turning me about so that I was facing away from him.
"Your marque has grown since last I saw you," he noted, not a trace of jealousy in his voice. And why should there be? Any man who visits the pleasure houses in the City of Elua knows he is not the only one to seek my favors.
"Yes," I replied, weighing my response.
"Your Dowayne has kept you busy in my absence."
"If only all my patrons could be as handsome and kind as you are, my lord, then I would be a happy woman indeed."
A bright smile flashed across his face, never a doubt in his mind that I was being completely truthful. Sincerity, we were also taught.
I used my fingers, nimble as my own mother's, to unbutton his doublet. It was made of fine green velvet, with gold brocade and trim along the edges. He shrugged his way out of it, baring his muscular chest for me to see. Fine, blonde hairs curled gently at the center, and again in a small trail that led downward into his breeches.
I loosened the belt that held them up, and then they fell to the floor, meeting with my abandoned dress.
Hand in hand, we returned to the bed, him lowering his body slowly and deliberately onto mine.
He bent his head and began to softly kiss my breasts, gently suckling upon them until my nipples grew to stiff peaks. I couldn't help the noises that came from my throat, I didn't want to.
"My lord…!" I gasped.
"Call me Giles," he said, his voice muffled by my heaving bosom.
It was not the first time he had made this request, but decorum dictated that an adept wait to be granted permission to use a lord's given name, no matter how often we had coupled.
"Giles…" The name came passing through my parted lips, as much a sigh as a word.
"Ahh, Simonne, you will be the death of me yet…"
He began kissing his way lower, his teeth grazing my skin with every kiss. His hands were warm on my flushed breast, squeezing and pinching them in turn.
But I was not to find satisfaction so easily. Instead of bussing my most secretive folds, he instead began nuzzling against my inner thighs, the skin there hot and sensitive.
My breathing was coming more rapidly now, my body growing slick with pleasure. I felt the Duc's own pleasure rising, as his phallus grew stiff against my leg.
Only when I was trembling beneath his attentions did he begin the languisement upon me. He tongue running along my inner lips, and over Naamah's Pearl in delicious patterns until I could see nothing, hear nothing. I was at his utter mercy and I loved every moment of it. My fingers ran tightly through his hair as my hips jerked forward involuntarily. Like a cat lapping cream, he licked me.
I writhed against his as he wiggled his tongue deeper inside of me, increasing pressure so that I gasped out loud. Again, he returned to Naamah's Pearl, sucking gently on its swelling protrudence.
Finally, my body had had enough, and wave upon wave of ecstasy hit me. I moaned audibly with pleasure, unable to control myself. I was lost in a moment of pure sensation, bliss beyond reckoning. He continued to work upon me, more gently now, until the last of my spasms had subsided, and my body went slack.
The Duc d'Imbert began making his way back up my body, lazily bestowing his kisses. When at last he reached my mouth, I kissed him hungrily, craving the sensation of his lips upon mine. The taste of wine was gone from him, replaced by the tart, salty taste of my own femininity.
Using a delicate touch, I reached down and guided him into me, feeling his member fill me. He sheathed himself in me to the hilt, his fingertips digging into my hips and I squirmed against him with wanton lust, not unbecoming.
He rocked his hips against mine rhythmically, and it felt like the beat of a distant drum. He buried his face in my hair, tangled now in the throes of passion.
"Simonne…my Simonne…" he murmured, as he drove himself deeper still into me. Still, Giles d'Imbert was no green lad, and was able to last a considerable amount of time, as such things are reckoned.
One hand went behind his neck, as he pulled his face back from my mass of hair, and he looked me in the eye.
"My love…" I breathed, holding his gaze, "my only love…"
With these words he could hold back no longer, driving himself faster and deeper, until he shuddered against me, his body growing rigid with fruition.
Finally, he slumped against me, satisfaction having overcome him. A small smile played across my face, for I could not help the feeling of accomplishment I had at bringing my patron to completion.
After a moment or two further of breathing into my shoulder, the Duc rolled off of me. I laid my head upon his chest, while his fingers stroked my hair, combing through the tangles.
"Do you mean it, Simonne?" he asked me, after a time.
"Mean what my lord?"
"Do you mean it when you tell me that you love me?"
I hesitated in my response. For while it was true that I had a deep affection for the Duc, I knew that was not what he was asking. I was reluctant to give him a pat response, one such as I had been taught from childhood.
"My lord," I started slowly.
"Giles," he corrected me.
"Giles," I began again, "Of course I find you unendingly charming, and the most ardent of lovers. But you know, I am not in a position to choose. I do love you, with as much of my heart as I am free to give."
This was not the response he had hoped to receive, but there was nothing I could say that would make him feel better. Such was the lot of a courtesan. Trained to spin half-truths, to make pretty lies, and to make men believe them. Ah Elua, would that I could give myself to one such as Giles d'Imbert, body and soul, mind and heart. But it was not to be, and that was the most difficult lesson of all.
He brushed an errant lock of hair from my brow.
"I expected as much," he said, sighing deeply, "still, I had hoped…"
"I know, and truly my lord, were I free…"
"Yes?" His eyes lit up with hope, and my heart broke anew.
I looked away then, unable to meet his piercing countenance any longer.
In truth, I had found things to love in all of my patrons, it was not a difficult thing to do, for one who was trained such. A boisterousness of personality, a cock of the head, a gleam of the eye. It is always better to love with one's own heart than to feign affection for your patron. There may be those amongst our numbers who can accomplish such a thing, but I am not one of them. To leave this life would be unthinkable, and yet my thoughts lingered on the Duc, on what it would be like were my sole patron, or were my marque made and complete, and I free to choose.
Duc d'I'mbert sat up then, resting his elbows upon his knees, head in his hands.
As though he were reading my mind, he said, "Someday, Simonne, your marque will be full, and you can do as you will. I wonder, what will be your answer to me on that day?"
I gave him no answer, there was none to give. Resigning himself, he rose from the bed a dressed himself. Reaching into his doublet, he removed a small pouch, swelling with coin. My patron gift, to be used towards the furthering of my marque, my freedom.
"My lord is too generous," I said, my hand sinking slightly under its weight as he pressed in into my palm.
"No at all my love. All I do it hasten our future. Until the next time I may have the pleasure of your company…"
He kissed me full on the mouth, then turned on his heel and left the room.
I sat up, drawing the coverlet up around my shoulders, but it did nothing to help me. I was shivering, but it wasn't from the cold.