After the child Imriel had left the main sitting room, I suddenly found myself alone with Melisande. Dangerously alone. I knew this time would come, I just hadn't anticipated how it would affect me.
Although it had taken me some time to fully recover from the cruelty I had known in Drujan, I was not wholly healed. Kushiel may have seen fit to heal my tissue without sign of scar or blemish, but he could not repair the damage Mahrkagir had incurred on my soul.
The word – what I am – anguissette. It falls from the tongue unassumingly. But in the festal hall and bedchamber of that blackened tyrant, I came to better understand myself and the depths of my curse.
Ill deeds, indeed.
Joscelin had kept his distance afterwards. He was not unkind, nor cold toward me for what I had done, but there was a definite change in his demeanor. He himself had needed to act in ways one would rather not dwell upon, but I'm sure most of his forced civility had been the result of seeing me as I really am.
Things were broken between us, nonetheless. His arm had healed, but only time would reveal if it would ever be the same. And as to our relationship…one can repair a mirror, but you can still see the cracks.
It's for this reason, among others, that I had asked my Perfect Companion to stay behind while I brought Imriel to see his mother. The visit would be short, I reasoned. Our small party needed to make it back to Ysandre and Terre D'Ange before the winter winds hardened the earth and made our trek back to the City more taxing than it already would be.
Unexpectedly, however, I found need to dally in the temple of Asherat of the Sea although I knew that even my presence here was an affront to the fragile trust that remained between Joscelin and myself.
Her face showed no emotion as she regarded me. I'm sure my request was a surprise to her, although her calm features belied any true reaction. "And what of your Cassiline consort, Phèdre?"
I set my mouth hard and stood to my full height. That which bends does not always submit. "My lady, you know what I am better than I know myself."
Her generous mouth curved upwards. "Not here," she stated. She stood with an effortless grace, her skirts swishing around her feet. She turned away from me and walked toward a darkened corridor.
Not knowing where she was going or if I should follow, I carefully retraced her steps down the dimly lit hallway. Candles illuminated the space, giving off a dull glow, and their hot wax dripped and collected on the floor.
The narrow hallway opened up into a larger antechamber that served as Melisande's bedroom. I briefly wondered how many others had been granted access to this inner sanctuary.
With her back still turned to me, Melisande walked toward the humble altar on one side of the room. The mantle was decorated with various bowls and vessels, and illuminated by the sharp flicker a numerous candles.
"You have not told me your signale, Phèdre," she stated. "Do you still call out your Tsingano's name?"
"I have not needed my signale for some time, my lady," I admitted, casting my eyes to the marble tiled floor.
Melisande picked up a dark purple taper from the altar and stared at its still-lit flame. A sudden sensation of dread and desire swamped me as I watched the hot wax slowly drip down the side of the long, slender candle.
"Well you'd best tell me your new signale, Phedre. Because before I'm done with you tonight, you'll have need of it."
No one has ever made me swoon with so much as a word like Melisande. I could already feel the wetness on my thighs and the pulsing of my hidden pearl, and she'd yet to touch me.
"Undress," she commanded. Her tone was direct, but not without warmth.
Falling back on my training at Cereus House, I efficiently disrobed. I had not been fully naked before anyone in many months. When the Mahrkagir had his way with me, I was often still fully or at least half-dressed. He said it made the urgency and the debasement more complete. Although nudity can resemble vulnerability, it also can signal trust and intimacy. My naked skin felt almost foreign to me.
"You may kneel," she instructed, her dark blue eyes inspecting me with something that resembled lust.
Melisande began to circle around me. Her steps were small and precise. I remained as erect as I could on my bare knees with my naked breasts thrust out. The hard floor bit into my knees, but it was nothing compared to what I'd recently endured.
I felt her fingernails rake down my naked back. I'm not too proud to admit, that I arched into her touch. Where the Mahrkagir's touch had been icy cold, Melisande's was a hot branding iron. And although his eyes had been as black and crazed as his soul, at least her D'Angeline sapphires had the decency to mask what she was.
"Your marque, Phèdre," she murmured as she continued to trail her fingernails down my spine, "is in need of liming. Don't tell me you've become lazy in its upkeep?"
"My lady, I have not yet been back to Terre D'Ange since finding your son," I replied honestly. "I will be sure to see the marquist when I return to the City, however."
"How is it that your marque is so worn and frayed at its edges?" Her fingers continued to travel, tracing delicate figure eights on my spine. Her touch suddenly stopped however, and I could feel the realization in her fingertips.
"Phedre."
No one can say my name like Melisande Shahrizai. And in that word, I could hear her recognition and understanding of all I had endured to find her son.
Although my tissue heals clean – all thanks to Kushiel – my marquee fades in places where lash and knife and whatever other tool my patrons and captors have struck against the flesh. I sometimes forget altogether about my marque until times like this.
"Phèdre…Blessed Elua, what did he do to you?"
"My lady." I choked on my words. There was nothing I could say that my body did not already tell her.
She surprised me and took my hand in hers. With some effort, I rose to my feet. Melisande led me to her bed. It was an impressive piece of furniture. The massive wooden frame was black and twisted and better resembled wrought iron than a formerly living thing.
"Lay down," she murmured.
I obeyed, falling backward onto the plush pillows that adorned the head of the mattress. It was a stark contrast to the sleeping quarters to which I had recently become accustomed.
Melisande hesitated. It was the first time, and probably the last, that I'd see such a gesture. "Have you need of restraints, my dear anguissette?"
"My lady," I sighed. I honestly knew not what to tell her. Part of me craved the tenderness that had been denied me at Drujan. But another revolted against the mercy she was wont to grant me.
"I want you to hold onto the bed frame," Melisande ordered. "I hope I can trust that you will not let go unless I give you leave to do so?"
"Yes, my lady." I clasped onto two vertical slats woven into the massive wooden headboard, and tried to prepare my body for what was to happen next.
Melisande continued to stand above me, her figure hovering above me like a menacing ghost. For a moment, panic struck my core. Was I really trusting my body to this woman who had betrayed me so many times?
Her face was emotionless as she tipped the slender candle over me. I could only watch as small droplets of wax fell from the lighted ends, and landed in flecks on my torso. The pain was minimal – there for a brief flickering, and then exchanged for the sensation of my skin tightening where the wax cooled.
Melisande's lips curled up curiously as if a thought or suggestion had suddenly come to mind. She blew out the candle with a single breath. Wisps of smoke twisted into the air.
She slowly dragged the extinguished candle down the length of my neck. I turned my head away from her; the candle was out, but the wax still dripped hot on my flesh. She slid the wax-taper between my breasts, drawing a line down my abdomen. The wax cooled with every moment the candle was extinguished; the slight sparks of pain faded, but grew into another feeling as the candle inched further down my naked body.
When I felt her pressed against my folds, I gasped. The tapered end of the long candle parted my lips and entered me deeply. I had no need of preparation. She knew my body was ready and more than willing to take all that she had to give me.
As she slid the phallus-shaped object into me, I could feel the warm ridges and bumps of hardened wax where the candle had burned down and then resolidified. It was too slender for any real damage, but I knew this was just the beginning.
But just as quickly as she had penetrated me, she withdrew the candle. I instantly missed the feeling, and whimpered my impatience.
Melisande might not have had the luxury of her normal bedchamber here at the Temple of Arsharet, but the woman was not without creativity. I was the last who need be reminded of her resourcefulness, although for at least the next few hours I would be the recipient of her skills.
"Open your eyes, Phèdre," Melisande ordered, a chuckle on her generous mouth.
When I did as she instructed, I noticed the candle that had just so recently violated my nether-regions hovering above my face. Even in the candle-lit lighting of Melisande's chamber, I could see my arousal clinging to the object.
I watched Melisande draw a long finger down the length of the candle, collecting my essence on her fingertip. I shuddered involuntarily when she sucked the tip of her finger between her shapely lips, tasting me.
"I don't think I realized how much I missed you," she purred, the tip of her tongue working over her lips.
Without warning she grabbed a fistful of hair and wretched me from the mattress. She crushed her lips into mine. I could taste the slight tang of myself on her as she forced her tongue into my mouth.
I braced myself, expecting the familiar beating of Kushiel's wings and the pools of red flooding my vision, but instead I saw a vision of a Bright Lady in a field, smiling over me. The warmth of her grace filled me, and I gasped loudly at the intensity of emotions overwhelming my body.
"You may now please me," Melisande murmured in her sadistically calm tone.
I rose from the bed, puzzled by my unusual vision. But rather than dwell for too long, I kneeled before her, the hard marbled tile once again biting my flesh. She steadied herself, holding one hand lightly against the massive wooden bed frame. With her other, she lifted the bottom hem of her long skirts, revealing herself to me.
I parted her nether lips with my fingers and captured Naamah's pearl between my lips. Her juices spilled onto my cheeks as I eagerly fed from her essence. My tongue tasted her delicate folds, caressing her most sensitive skin with a kind of devout worship to which she had become accustomed. It was obvious she had not the benefit of lovers as practiced as I in the Temple, for it did not take long for her to shudder against me, pulling hard at my loose hair.
Later, after we were both fully sated, Melisande lazily stroked her long, tapered fingers through my hair as we reclined together on her luxurious bed. Dark satin sheets pooled around her naked limbs and partially covered her most intimate places. Her naked body glowed under the dying candlelight of the chamber.
"Phèdre, dear," she started slowly, "do you ever think about…"
"What would have happened if I had agreed to be yours?" I finished for her.
She pursed her lips and nodded.
"Sometimes," I admitted, looking into her sapphire eyes. "Sometimes."
FIN