Aazuria was restless.
She had been confined to one small room for weeks. Only Elandria and Corallyn had visited her to tend to her wound; they had each taken shifts guarding her to make sure that Trevain did not find out about her impaled shoulder.
Trevain had gotten the hint that something was very wrong a few days after her injury when he saw Elandria leaving Aazuria’s room with a pile of blood-soaked clothes and bandages in her arms. When Elandria made eye contact with him and her face froze in fear, he knew that the girls were hiding something. Fearing for Aazuria’s health and well-being, he had headed for her room. Elandria had tried to put herself between Trevain and the door, but he would not be stopped.
Reaching around Elandria for the doorknob, he had aggressively turned it. Finding it locked, he had frowned. “Aazuria, open this door!” he had shouted. “I’m coming in! I need to know that you’re okay!”
“Please do not do this,” Elandria had asked him softly.
He had frowned at the quiet girl. He always paid close attention when she spoke. This was probably the first time he had heard her voice since he had asked her for advice on proposing to Aazuria. This was perhaps the only time that her silent, gracious plea would go ignored.
The pile of bloody clothes in her arms was more convincing than even her heavenly voice. “Aazuria!” he had shouted. He looked at the doorknob, and saw that it was impossible to pick the lock or open it from the outside. Even the hinges of the door were on the inside. He scowled and did the first thing which came to mind. He slammed his shoulder into the door. After doing this several times, he managed to break the door open.
Aazuria lay in bed, with the blanket pulled over her up to her chin. There was a slight blush on her face. “Trevain, what is the matter?” she had asked him softly.
“You tell me!” he said, walking over to her quickly. “Why is Elandria smuggling bloody clothes out of this room?”
“Well… it is… a female thing,” she lied. Her cheeks were flushed, and she hoped that her visible embarrassment would help to validate her story. Even though she was wearing a conservative nightgown that covered the fresh bandages over her injured shoulder, she was terrified that he would somehow find out.
“Aazuria, you’ve locked yourself in here for almost two weeks. I’m worried. What’s going on? You have your sisters guarding you like you’ve got some deadly virus…”
“I do. I do not want you to get sick as well,” she quietly lied. She wanted to talk to him; she wanted to see how he was handling Arnav’s death. She wanted to hear how he had made sense of what had happened in the water. She wanted to reach out and touch him. She could not believe he had broken her door down. “Trevain, please go.”
“Tell me the truth, Aazuria; are you physically injured in some way? Because you’re clutching that blanket to you pretty tightly, and I’m starting to think you may have lost a limb or something.”
She laughed, realizing that she was indeed holding the blanket so tightly that her knuckles were white. The laughter caused her torso to move, jostling her shoulder and sending fresh pain through her body. She sucked in a sharp breath, and exhaled slowly, trying to keep from wincing. “I am fine. Please, just let me be alone for a while.”
He saw that her laugher had caused her pain, and he pried the blanket away from her fingers. He pulled it back, and looked at her body for any visible injuries.
“See? Two arms and two legs.” Her own weakness frustrated her, and she looked up at him miserably. “You had better go wash your hands before you get the bubonic plague, smallpox, cholera, or the Spanish flu.”
“She means swine flu,” Corallyn corrected, sticking her head into the door. “Smallpox was cured like fifty years ago, Zuri! Even I know that.”
“I had forgotten,” she said tiredly, “but they still have bubonic plague, right?”
“I think so!” Corallyn chirped.
“Okay, good. It might be that one, then.” Aazuria groaned, turning to lie on her good shoulder. Her movements were uncomfortable and awkward. She had been running a temperature which caused her whole body to ache.
Trevain had observed the strange way she moved, and he saw the angular protrusion of her shoulder and hip through her nightgown. “You’ve lost weight,” he accused with concern. She had been slender to begin with. “I need to call a doctor.”
“No!” Aazuria protested. “Please. I have a doctor, and she said I would be fine. She also said I should be temporarily quarantined.”
“Is there anything at all I can do for you?” he asked, growing more upset by the minute. It bothered him to not know what was wrong. “Can I get you any medication or…”
“I just need to be alone. I do not want you to see me when I am unwell,” she said dejectedly. “Forgive me for being reclusive.”
“You know… you’re denying me the opportunity to take care of you when you’re ill. I’d like for that to be my job.”
Aazuria sighed, and looked at the ceiling with vacant eyes. “I just need time.”
“There has been a lot of death in my life lately, Aazuria. I’m not strong enough to deal with another. You had better not dare…”
“I can assure you that hell is not on my itinerary.”
Trevain leaned down and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Come to me when you’re feeling better,” he told her. “I miss you like mad.”
Now, she lay in bed, staring up at the same ceiling she had been looking at for weeks. It had been a while since Trevain had broken down her door, and she wondered if she was feeling better. She had long since memorized every inch of stucco and had come to the conclusion that stucco was not very interesting; neither did it hold the secrets of the universe. She had stared at the dancing shadows around the corners of the curtains until she started to attribute characters and personalities to them. Every corner of the small room had been cemented in her brain.
When the wound had closed up, and Aazuria was positive there was no risk of infection, she had begun to move about the room and do gentle exercises. She had dismissed Corallyn and Elandria from guarding her, and she had begun to take baths on her own. She wore only extremely conservative clothing with turtlenecks and long sleeves in case Trevain ever happened to see her. She kept the curtains open, and stretched and massaged her arm and shoulder while sitting in the starlight. She knew that the bones and muscles needed more time to heal, but she could not help trying to push herself every day until she could do nothing but lie in bed writhing in pain. She frequently swallowed the maximum dose of Mr. Fiskel’s prescription painkillers. Even more frequently, she exceeded the maximum dose.
Aazuria knew that if she had been in Adlivun’s infirmary her injury would have already been completely healed. The rejuvenating hot springs suffused the body with all kinds of nourishing minerals while the heat improved circulation. She often felt like a complete invalid on land even when she was healthy; she was not used to having so much pressure on her legs and such a lack of buoyancy. Now the feeling of feebleness was increased fiftyfold.
Worse than the frailty was the loneliness. Aazuria could sometimes hear Trevain’s footsteps as he passed by her room. Her hearing was not special like her eyesight or lungs, but she could easily discern his heavier stride in comparison to others in the house. She wanted to go to him, but she was afraid that he would somehow find out about her shoulder. She was afraid he would touch her in some casual way, and she would flinch, and he would know. Part of her liked to ask: So what if he knew? He saved my life that night. He let me kiss him even when he thought I was a stranger. Does he not deserve to know? Another part of her would always find ways to negatively answer these questions and counter every argument until she was deflated and dissuaded from telling him, or even being around him.
Aazuria now sighed. She could see the bottom half of the crescent moon from where she lay. The winter sky was incredibly clear. Sea-dwellers often named their children after stars and constellations. Orion the hunter shone brightly right outside her window, forever chasing the Pleiades. Was there any more inspiring constellation? It was over, she suddenly decided. She was releasing herself from her own mental penitentiary. She was going to stop hiding, and she was going to stop using her injury as an excuse to seclude herself like a leper or criminal in solitary confinement. Life was short—even shorter here on land, and she would not waste any more days.
She raised herself off the bed, carefully using her good arm to support herself until she was in a seated position. She tossed her legs off the side of the bed, and straightened herself until she was standing, dissolving the ninety-degree angle between her knees and calves. She swayed on her feet for a second. Grasping the furniture, she carefully walked over to the dresser mirror. She pulled her nightgown away from her shoulder and studied it in the dark reflection.
The puncture wound was not that visible. It was also not that bumpy and discernible to the touch. The only damage remained deep underneath the skin, where no one else could notice. No one else could feel it but her. As long as she pretended that the injury was not there at all, no one else would ever know that it had been inflicted.
Trevain would never know. She smiled at herself in the mirror with determination as she pressed on the wound with her thumb, and practiced maintaining the calm smile on her face and showing no outward expression of pain. She was successful. That was it—it was over, and she was healed. The decision had been made, and the documents had been stamped.
She opened her door (the broken door had been fixed shortly after it lost the battle with Trevain’s shoulder) and walked soundlessly into the hallway, closing it gently behind her. She tried to tiptoe as lightly as possible down the corridor, blushing and hoping that her sisters would not hear her footsteps.
When she reached Trevain’s door, she turned the knob and opened it carefully, slipping in with the liquid stealth of a lynx before closing the door behind her. She stood in the room for a minute, silently listening to the sound of his breathing.
After a minute, he sensed her presence and stirred from his slumber. “Aazuria?” he asked drowsily.
“I am feeling better,” she said softly.
“Then what are you doing way over there?” he asked with a yawn.
She slowly walked across his hardwood floor, her bare feet making hardly any noise. She slipped into bed with him, and lay on her back, staring up at his ceiling. It was the same position that she was in before, but there was a world of difference—and not just because of the unfamiliar stucco. She could feel the sweet warmth and energy radiating from his large body beside her. She felt such soothing security in his nearness. It was divine just to listen to his tranquil breathing.
Aazuria knew that he was still half-asleep—she did not want to bother him with conversation or cuddling, although she had been starved for both. All that she allowed herself to do was to reach out and gingerly graze her fingers against his hand. His fingers immediately closed around hers, sending waves of heat throughout her body. She closed her eyes, with a blissful smile on her face. That had been all she needed. She was content now.
But his fingers began gently stroking the palm of her hand. They slowly, methodically travelled from the tips of her fingers to her wrist, drawing rivers and waterfalls across the sensitive skin. This kept her from the sleep that she thought she would find. The more he caressed her palm, the more awake she became; her fingers tingled with the sensation, and soon her whole body was buzzing to life. Her eyes opened, and she stared at the foreign stucco with confusion. Something had changed in the way he was touching her. Or had something changed in the way she experienced his touch?
Trevain turned over onto his side so that he was facing her. He draped his hand gently across her stomach. She held her breath as she felt his fingers lightly brush her abdomen through her nightgown. She did not understand why she was suddenly so sensitive to every small administration to her skin. It was not as though she had never been close to him before. His fingers continued to play along her abdomen until they lightly brushed the undersides of her breasts. Little prickles of electricity danced through her flesh, and it was completely unnerving. Her breathing was shallow, and she was sure he could feel the way he was affecting her in the irregular rhythm of her chest’s expansions, or in her quickening heartbeat.
She felt that his lips were on her shoulder, and she closed her eyes. Although it was the shoulder that was injured, the idea of his kiss overpowered the idea of her pain. She swallowed, feeling very affected by his attentions. When she felt his breath and his lips on the side of her neck, she could not resist turning her head to face him. She looked at him with a question in her eyes which he immediately answered by capturing her lips.
Aazuria forgot everything once her lips were joined with his. She found herself turning to face him, even though it meant lying on her injured shoulder. She resisted crying out, allowing the pain to mix in easily with the pleasure—they were two elements of the recipe to a perfectly spiced dish. Their bodies fused together perfectly. They remained there like that, entwined and kissing for an unhurried, leisurely stretch of time. Aazuria did not understand how a sensation could be so relaxing and yet so exhilarating at the same time. The only thing she knew with a similar aspect was the sea.
Trevain kissed her with the temperament of the ocean itself.
He did not seem to know it, as he pulled her leg over his and caressed the underside of her thigh. He did not seem to know his touch tormented her insides, flinging all the calm places into the tumult of a tempest. He did not seem to notice how his closeness subdued all of her strength, and liquefied everything that was frozen and hard in her self-possession. The warmth and demanding pressure of his lips against hers destroyed her cool composure. She had seen this power in his eyes the very first time she had beheld him, but she had not understood exactly what it meant.
Aazuria suddenly did not know herself. She did not know this frantic, desperate woman who was governed by bodily pleasure. She could feel his male hardness pressing against her, and it thrilled her to imagine that he felt the same way that she did. Could he? Was it possible? This was the most pleasurable thing she had ever felt. She wanted the sensations to continue forever, and she wanted more. She stared into Trevain’s jade eyes, which always seemed more compelling in the dark.
“Make love to me,” she pleaded. There had never been such a fine line between begging and ordering for Aazuria; she was not sure whether the words leaving her lips embodied a request or a command. She played it over in her mind, and she still could not decide. Luckily, she was far past the point of caring in the least. She felt so possessed that she might even beg if it was necessary.
He was in a state of similar need and urgency, but still just barely able to think clearly. “Have you ever done this before?” he asked her.
“No,” she answered. “Have you?”
He laughed a deep throaty laugh. “You always forget that I’m almost fifty years old.”
She did not know what this meant, but she assumed it attested to his great experience. She wondered why land-dwellers placed so much significance on age.
“There could be consequences,” he told her. “I don’t want you to regret…”
“Regret!” she repeated incredulously. She clutched his hand decisively. “I may live one more day. I may live a hundred, or a hundred thousand more days. But I will never once regret being with you tonight.”
He returned the pressure of her hand, almost as if silently praying that she meant these words. “Zuri,” he said in a suddenly serious tone. “Many people do these intimate things with each other and then they become strangers. I don’t want that to happen between us, okay? I can’t… I can’t deal with that.”
She nodded, surprised at hearing the emotion in his voice. “I will never be a stranger to you.” She wondered who had hurt him so deeply in the past to make him so guarded. She hoped she would someday hear all of his stories. She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his again.
Trevain was the first man she had met in six hundred years with whom she truly wanted to be. She did not give her heart or body away as effortlessly as he seemed to think; neither did she intend on trampling his. Her father had left a string of broken hearts behind him wherever he went, and she did not want to do the same. She knew there were repercussions to every action, and if she hurt Trevain he could someday end up being far more dangerous than Atargatis.
“If you knew everything about me,” she whispered against his mouth, “you would not think this was such an easy decision.”
“I want to know everything about you,” he said, pressing his forehead against hers. “I know your past may be hard to face right now, and I’m not asking you to share it… but I do need something from you.”
“Me too. I need you,” she said softly, crushing her body against his imploringly.
He held her firmly an inch away, and looked down at her with resolve. “On one condition, Aazuria.”
“Anything.”
“If you want to do this with me—you must agree to marry me. I am not young anymore. My heart is not strong enough to bear losing you. It would kill me. I have already lost too much.”
She stroked his grey hair tenderly. She looked into his melancholy green eyes. Her own heart broke to see what sadness he felt underneath the strong, successful man that he seemed to be on the surface.
“My time for playing games is over,” he said. “I can’t do this unless you give me your word.”
Aazuria considered this carefully for a moment. She thought of Adlivun. She felt herself torn down the middle, divided by her love for her kingdom and her love for the man before her. She could not have both at the same time. “I could be called away at any time to attend to my other duties. If that happens I will have to go… I may have to leave for periods of time without notice. Would that be acceptable?”
“Aazuria, small things like obligations and duties shouldn’t present any challenge to love. I want to be with you because I have come to care for you, and there is nothing you can do or tell me that will change that.” He propped himself up on his elbow as he looked at her fixedly in the darkness. “If you believe you can love me regardless of any job or responsibility you have, regardless of how much of your time is tied up in doing other things, regardless of where in the world your life takes you and how far away from me you might be at the time—regardless of how many attractive young men throw themselves at your feet and beg for you to disown me, regardless of how miserable I get when I am so old I can no longer walk, regardless of whether I lose my boat and fishing license and get my pants sued off for…”
“Shhhh,” she said, putting her fingers on his lips and smiling. “That’s easy. I do love you like that. Is that really all you require?”
“Everything else can be figured out with a bit of work.”
“Then you have my word,” she said to him earnestly. “I will be your wife—on one condition.”
“Anything,” he echoed.
She smiled. “When the time comes, if the time comes—will you be open to a concept which you currently consider impossible? Will you allow a new idea into your mind, and will you trust me?”
“I will. I have learned my lesson about not trusting you,” he answered. “I will listen to you, and I won’t waver from now on.”
“Good,” she said. “Then it’s settled. Can we get back to what we were doing?”
He smiled and closed the inch of distance between them, which had felt like much too far. Aazuria realized the importance of the words she had just spoken. In a delayed reaction, she felt a dam break inside of her—excitement and happiness flooded through all of her mental channels, and into the furthest reaches of her soul. She had not realized how badly she had wanted to agree to marry Trevain until she had actually agreed.
His joy seemed to overshadow hers as he covered her face in kisses. “I’m the luckiest man on earth,” he whispered as he returned his focus to her mouth. She allowed herself to be wholly swept away in the comfort of his arms.
They made love all night. Her shoulder smarted like a red-hot poker was being stabbed into it repeatedly, but she hardly noticed. Her spirit was busy soaring to skyscraper-height elevations while her body was discovering that it was possible to feel uninhibited on land. She did not feel like she was on land or sea—she felt like she was flying through the air. She was freewheeling through space.
It was utterly worth the pain.