I am making a to-do list. This is what is on it.
- Fuck Ari.
- Get stinking drunk.
- Fuck Ari again.
- Fuck Malachi.
- Fuck Thomas.
- Fuck Aran.
- Win the war against CenGov.
- Fuck Ari again.
I do, of course, want to further my intimacy with Manasseh and Valentin. But at that point, I have husbands I haven’t seen in two years, like Daniel, Sloane, Evan, Whirljack…get in line boys.
Number 7 is problematic. I know very well that all the time Lord Danak and Driscoll were planning the party, General Panic was planning her attack. But Mickey and Cillian aren’t exactly asleep, either. It’s a real advantage, and one our enemies don’t consider – Ash’s current emanation could be doing something entirely innocuous – like Evan playing the fasharp – while the others are plotting for universal domination.
Well, Callum is always planning for universal domination, but that’s a different story. Hmmm, I haven’t seen Callum in ages, either. But I’ll bet Ross is right. I should talk to Lorcan first.
I’ve always kept the same room here at Court Emmere since I was a child. As Matriarch – hell, back when I was Empress of Sideria – I could’ve taken the master bedroom. But that was my uncle’s room. I want nothing to do with it. Besides, I like this room. I like the view of the orange groves. And my bed is enormous. When I was a little girl, it felt like I was sleeping in the middle of the ocean.
For the first time, I wonder if it might be big enough. Ari couldn’t lie down in the bed in my apartment on Dalgherdia. Not that it mattered – he never slept. He had to sit up a little, though, when he held me while I dozed. It must have been uncomfortable. He never complained.
The sheets smell good – fresh, like the forest. And there’s a decanter of Nau’gsh wine on the table, and a fresh negligée in the wardrobe. Lady Madonna didn’t forget that it was my wedding night, even if I allowed myself to be distracted – first by those ridiculous reporters, and then by Dermot.
What am I going to do about Dermot? He did it all for me – and I’m sure he could never have done it without Ash’s full cooperation. They saw it as a way to allow me to have freedom of choice. But I can’t help feeling that it was some kind of test. I don’t want freedom if it means being free of you, Ash. When you said those things about love – I could see that Clive was about ready to vomit, but I – I buy into it, Ash. A little. That’s why I’m not with Clive. I want my love to somehow bridge the space between us, Ash. I want to believe that you can love me.
I always wanted a pony, too. Most little girls want a pony. But I was Marquesa of Dolparessa. I got one. Spoiled brat I was. He was a beautiful white pony with a thick pink mane. Yeah, he’d had genework. If you’re going to sell ponies to little girls, might as well make them pink. I named him Eldrich Moon of the Desert Sunset. Gag. That’s the sort of name Premma gives her ra’aabits. But we ended up calling him El Moony for short.
I kept him in my uncle’s stables on Sideria, the one thing which made my visits there bearable. Then one day, many years later, after I had escaped the living death of my arranged marriage to Tenzain Merkht, I went to the stable and Sloane was there. During the time I was gone, he had become my uncle’s Master of Horse. And he had taken wonderful care of El Moony. The pony looked amazing for its age.
You made my pony immortal, didn’t you, Ash?
You made my pony immortal.
I’ll tell you a secret, Ash. I didn’t really want a pony. I wanted a unicorn. A unicorn with wings, maybe? No, that would be tacky. Gilding the lily. I’m afraid to say it out loud because then Davy will actually make a unicorn for me. Here’s the secret – not that I wanted a unicorn, you knew that already – the secret is that sometimes it’s better to not get every last little thing that you want. Give me a unicorn, and the next thing you know, there’ll be dragons and basilisks and chupacapras and chimaeras all over the lawn and trampling the garden.
Hmm, a chimaera might be fun…NO. I already have a chimera anyway. He’s waiting for me on the balcony. Tonight, he’s calling himself Ari, and I have an apple to eat.
*****
It’s pretty common trope of intimacy to want to see a new lover’s “orgasm face.” However, “orgasm face” has nothing on “apple face.” On my wedding night to Ailann, he didn’t blink as he watched, as though his eyes consumed me in equal measure as I ate the fruit. I’d never been looked at with such passion. It’s likely that the last time the eating of an apple was observed with such intensity was in the Garden of Eden – but whether Ailann was God or the serpent is open to debate. When he embraced me, he smelled like the forest, like resinous woods and gums, like the smell of peat after a rainfall, like the snap of fresh leaves in the spring air. The flavor was still in my mouth, the nau’gshtamine burning a trail of pleasure down my throat, a warmth inside of me. I had been taken before I was touched – I knew what it meant to ripen. It left me weak at the knees.
Ari was different. The minute I bit into the apple, he moaned so loudly that I wondered if he actually felt a physical sensation. I’d assumed witnessing the Chosen eat the apples was a fetish, but given the odd sensorium of the Cu’enashti, it wouldn’t be past belief if there was associated pain or pleasure. Ari’s gaze held such hunger that I honestly didn’t think I’d get past the second bite. But he watched as I ate the whole thing and spat the pit into my hand. It stained my fingers and lips blue with its moisture; it was sweet and rich beyond measure, its flavors perfectly adapted to my preferences. As soon as I was done, he kissed me, wanting to taste the sweetness of his own juices upon my lips. You’re so kinky, Ash.
I placed the pit on a cabinet near the bed. I hate to tell you, Ash, but true apples don’t have pits – it’s another colonial misnomer. Nau’gsh fruit do somewhat resemble apples – although the blue ones are a little deviant – but the texture is more similar to a juicy peach with a flavor somewhere between a berry and a citrus fruit. Except that’s wrong. A Nau’gsh tastes like a Nau’gsh. Anyway, I never know what to do with the pits. Obviously, they can’t all be planted – your trees have hundreds of apples. But if I planted it, it probably would grow. A baby. I could have a whole forest of them. A forest of trees with godlike powers and multiple personalities calling me “Mom.” That’s kind of scary, actually. The traditional thing to do is to throw it into the garden and let fate decide. I didn’t have the heart to do it.
Ari fit into the bed, but barely. That’s Ari. He barely fits. I shared the wine with him, not that we needed it. I did want to get drunk, though, and Nau’gsh wine, the galaxy’s most notorious aphrodisiac, enhances rather than interferes with function. Not that drink has ever interfered with your function, Ash. Ailann can be seventeen sheets to a level-9 permastorm, and he can still get it up.
There are a lot of perks to being your wife. But there’s something I need you to know. I’ve said it before, but I don’t think you listened. If it had been within my power, I would have run away with Daniel to live in some little port-of-call. When I was a girl, I fell in love with a tree, and I told it that if it were a man, I would marry him. I got my wish. It’s enough.
You had a wish too, Ash, and you still haven’t gotten it. It was a vision you had when you broke out of the seed-coat, and you won’t get it for another 14 hundred or so years. But can you understand this? As much as you wanted to become my dream, I want to become yours.
Until then, I’d like to have just one hour a day away from the foolish media, and the quarreling aristos, and tariffs and treaties and the fate of humankind. I’d like some time to be with you – whoever you happen to be that day – and hold your hand.
*****
The day after the ceremony is a quiet day of servants sweeping and aristos nursing their sore heads. I flipped through a few media channels – it seems that Thomas is the most popular of my new husbands, although Manasseh is generally considered the best looking and Valentin the smartest. Malachi has a cult following. Everyone is scared shitless of Aran. That thing with the monkey was too much.
I could really come to like him.
“You’re unpopular,” I said to Ari.
“I’m sorry. Am I sorry?”
“No. It’s probably better that way. The more popular you are, the more nonsense you get from the media. You’re popular enough with the K’ntasari.”
The next day, it was back to work. Cillian had called a meeting of all my top military advisors – Lemkht had come in to provide support for the ceremony, but Naveeta was calling in – she was still on Skarsia with her fleet on standby in case Panic’s ships broke orbit.
Ailann had made a promise to the people of the Domha’vei, and now it was time to deliver.