Dark Space - Marianne de Pierres [47]
The pressure of her body sparked an instant wash of desire in Trin. He tried to push her away but she clung to him with surprising strength, hugging herself close to the swell in his groin.
He stripped off his gloves and ran a hand across her dry, papery cheek.
She turned her lips to it and tongued the skin between his fingers. Even her tongue felt parched and abrasive.
‘What are you doing?’ The words strangled in his throat.
‘I am ready for quenching but here . . .’ she rolled her eyes up under her lids and gestured in the direction of the villa ‘. . . they do not understand such things. The Baronessa only knows of quenching in the ways of the Latino. When the man says. When the man wants. I am not Latino and I want. . . now.’
Trin felt another rush of desire. Djeserit’s strangeness fuelled his passion, as if repulsion was his true attractor. She was bold and vulnerable at once. But more than that…she was alien and unrestrained.
He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. She wore a simple working fellala without thermal layers. Underneath it he could feel the protected parts of her lotioned skin—so soft and malleable compared to her face. He lifted her robe and peeled back the lower layers of his fellalo so that he could lie on her. Explosiveness built inside him as he pressed himself into her. Their union was quick and difficult, her anatomy not a complete fit for his.
Afterwards she clung to him, making disjointed carking noises. They did not startle him this time. He brimmed with elation—he had performed without bravura.
‘More.’ Her breath was light and quick against his neck.
Methodically Trin refolded his robe and sealed it. ‘Tonight, late,’ he said. ‘Can you come here?’
Djeserit nodded. ‘Under the cucina there is a wine cellar. I use it to get away from the ‘esques. They don’t like to come outside.’
‘They taunt you?’
‘Si. But I am not afraid of them. Not like your Carabinere.’ Her face tightened with fear and her eyes disappeared under their lids as if she had gone to sleep.
Trin felt the pangs of a mistake he could not undo. He had soiled himself with a ginko. He was a ginko-lover.
Djeserit hugged him again but this time he stood impassive in her embrace. When she had gone, he left along the side of the villa, thankful that he would not have to look Faja Fedor in the face.
* * * *
MIRA
Mira woke on the floor of the little hall with her sorella’s face blurred by nearness. She tried to sort the sounds coming from Faja’s lips but they emerged as drops of noise without form. The room was a blur of shapes. Her feet felt bloodless and distant. Faja lifted her to them, propelling her along the corridor to the cucina. She helped Mira to a low seat, returned to the door and locked it.
Mira inhaled the food scents. Her stomach contracted with hunger. ‘I have not eaten,’ she whispered.
Faja hastened to her with a plate of minestrone from the huge pan on the cooker. As Mira sipped the soup her vision cleared. Faja’s house fellala was stained with food and sweat-crumpled, even in the cool of the house. Her rich crimson skin glowed with the cooking heat and beads of moisture dotted the line of her dark hair.
Mira’s sorella felt the scrutiny and set the ladle down, wiping her hands on her apron. She poured Mira a drink from a tall jug and brought it to her. ‘Can you speak now?’
Mira took a deep and shuddering breath, unsure where to begin.
‘I know some of what has happened. They told me the Principe would take your Talent. The Carabinere were here just a few hours ago,’ said Faja.
Mira jerked upright, ready to run from the cucina, but Faja pressed her back down. ‘You are safe for tonight, cara. There has been a fire and the Carabinere have other things to divert them.’
Mira trembled with relief and then began to sob. Seeing Faja had made it more real.
‘Madre de Dios,’ said Faja with uncharacteristic softness. She clasped Mira tightly. ‘Tell me what happened.’
‘The Carabinere came for me after graduation. I ran ... to find Insignia. But she is gone. The Principe has moved her