 | [Ajali & Carelya]
Only those who knew of darkwalkers noticed what Ajali was. To most of
the Inn's patrons, he was simply another customer bringing a girl back
to his room. He kept his head down and followed Carelya's lead. She
brought him up the stairs and headed for another rise of stairs at the
end of the second floor hall. In front of one door, he halted
suddenly. Shifter! A shapeshifter rested within! This inn kept many
secrets, it seemed. Carelya tugged at his arm and he deigned to
follow her up to the suites on the third floor.
When Carelya inserted the key into the lock and swung the door open,
Ajali noticed the opulence of the apartments, only slightly after he
felt the bustle of the servants who worked for the Taverishes. Nanny
had tagged along behind, unnoticed after all the fuss and greatly
annoyed, as usual. Mother Taverish bustled over.
"My dear," she crooned, "Your father arrived only minutes before you.
I was sure that he had been waylaid between here and the tower. Are
you all right?"
"I'm fine Mother," Carelya assured her, "Ajali needs a place to stay
until he can arrange for his own accommodations. I thought that since
we had plenty of room, he could rest here this afternoon. He is very
tired after his trip."
Ajali said nothing and let Carelya chat with her dam. He scouted
around the outer salon, deftly avoiding the busy servants as they
worked. Carelya's mother watched him carelessly while she listened to
her daughter's tale.
He moved like a warrior, sure-footed and balanced. He looked like a
dandy and he was very wet from head to toe. Carelya certainly had a
specific taste in men if this was what she liked, Mother Taverish
mused. She'd never been partial to pretty boys but this one had the
look of a waif in need, just the thing to attract her soft-hearted
daughter. That and the lovely face and body. Mother Taverish dragged
her mind back to what Carelya was saying.
"---my room this afternoon until we can things straightened out?"
Absently, her mother nodded, only half listening. To himself, Ajali
smiled. This was going very well. If necessary, he could handle the
father too. Bewitching men was every bit as easy for him as seducing
women.
Carelya extended her hand to him, "Come then, let's get you settled
in. I've got visitors coming over later for cards and I hope we don't
disturb you."
She chattered all the way to her rooms. Nanny stomped along in their
wake, her disapproval wrapped like another cloak around her, purse
swinging as if she'd like to clout Ajali with it.
She unlocked the door to her own suite and brandished the key at him,
"This ensures that only I may enter or let anyone in. You'll be safe
here."
As soon as Nanny had trotted in, Carelya inserted the key and pocketed
it. Ajali needed no key to come and go. His spirit could ride the
darkness to the street. Ahead was the bedroom-salon. . Several
brocaded chairs waited around a round table. Three decks of cards sat
on its polished surface. All of the wood in the room gleamed with
careful waxing. This suite was smaller than the one occupied by her
parents and as in all good inns, the bed was heavily curtained against
the light, sound and intrusion by servants. A short ladder allowed
access to its high shadowed interior. The bed was like a room unto
itself.
Nanny had a cot to herself on the opposite wall. She plunked her
purse down and then sat beside it, glaring and grumbling. Carelya
whisked off her cloak, scarf and the absurd hat her mother had
insisted that she wear. These she tossed onto a low chest.
Carelya took Ajali's new jacket from him and ‘tsked' at how soaked he
was everywhere it hadn't covered him. His blond hair was full of
melted snow and from the waist down his silken clothing had darkened
and clung to him like a second skin. As she walked around him, she
couldn't help but stare. My word, he was nicely put together for a
dead person, well muscled and lean. His hair dripped down his back
and hung in his eyes.
One finger to her lips in thought, Carelya said, "I'll have to hang
those things in front of the fire to dry them. Nanny, would you get
me one of the extra blankets from the chest please?" She opened the
curtained bed and turned down the heavy quilt. Nanny rose to obey and
as soon as she was out of sight, Carelya felt a tap on her shoulder.
The first thing she noticed was that Ajali's clothing was draped over
the brocade back of a chair. The second thing she was aware of was
how close the now naked man was to her. Heat rose to her face in a
blush.
"I don't know the conduct of men where you come from, or what your
culture says of, er, nudity," Carelya struggled, "But in Montfort it
isn't considered decent to undress in front of a lady."
She kept her eyes averted from his body, but she desperately wanted to
peek.
"I'm sorry if I have offended you," Ajali murmured, "Where I come from
many go bare in the street, especially when it is hot, which it is
most of the time. It is nothing to see skin."
"Well, here you'll find things quite different," Carelya held the bed
curtain aside for him and stood with her eyes closed, "Get into the
bed and cover up before Nanny catches you."
Fighting the impulse to crack her eyes open just the tiniest bit, she
felt him move past her. He didn't bother to use the ladder, he was
tall enough to simply sit on the bed and swing his legs in. When she
felt the feather mattress shift and heard the blankets rustle, she
opened her eyes.
He sat in the bed with the covers pulled up to his waist. Somehow
this was almost as bad as seeing him totally naked. The man did look
so very, well, desirable --- her imagination ran away with her and she
felt her face go scarlet again. She fixed her eyes on the bed curtain
she still held.
"I hope that my friends and I won't disturb you," she told the
curtain, "I'll try to keep them as quiet as I can."
"Don't worry about that," he said, "When I sleep, I am like the dead.
You won't wake me."
Carelya forgot to stare at the curtain when she laughed with him. She
was caught like a bird in the gaze of a snake. What harm could there
be in him? How could anyone who looked like that be evil or
dangerous?
Ajali slowly lowered himself onto his back in the bed. Settling his
head on the pillows, he studied her face. Yes, he had her. She would
do whatever he wanted her to. All he had to do was suggest and she
would move heaven and earth to comply. Things were going as they
should. He allowed himself a genuine smile.
Carelya melted inside when Ajali gave her that suggestive little grin.
Her throat dried out and she returned to addressing the curtain.
"When you awaken, I'll have your clothing all dry. In the early
afternoon we'll go to Mistress Dyer's shop and get you some real
clothes," she fiddled with the seam on the curtain, apparently
engrossed in a thread. "I'll make sure that you're up in time to
listen to the bard."
"Thank you, Carelya."
"You're welcome." By the lady, she was getting the sweats, she
thought as she dropped the curtain into place. Her fingers ached.
She sat in one of the brocade chairs. She was breathing like a spent
horse.
Nanny returned with a blanket and thrust it at her irritably. She
truly hated being a servant to that --- thing --- that had ensorcelled
her lambie. When she saw the man's clothing strewn over the back of
one of the chairs, she bristled.
"What is going on here?" Nanny demanded.
"Nothing," Carelya lied, "He got into bed and handed me his clothing.
I'm drying them."
Nanny ‘pshawed.' She grabbed the silks and carefully hung them on the
fire screen. Wouldn't do to have them catch on fire. Then the wretch
would have to stay until he got new clothes. The faster they dried,
the quicker she felt they'd be rid of him. Best to hurry things on
their way.
For the past two hours Carelya had sat reading the same page in her
book over and over again. Every so often her gaze would stray to the
bed behind her. It wouldn't hurt to just tip-toe over and peep in at
him, would it? After all, he said that he slept like the dead.
Carelya stifled a hysterical giggle, fearing to wake Nanny from her
well-earned nap. '
The old retainer had time off this afternoon as soon as her lambie's
friends arrived. A game of cards or two was innocent enough play.
Three friends would keep Carelya in line. There could be no
hanky-panky with a crowd around. The creature did sleep like the
corpse he was; she gave him that. If he could stay unconscious with
four teenage girls in the room, he should give lessons.
Carelya found herself getting up every so often to check on Ajali's
clothing. Silk dried quickly and after the first hour, they were
toasty warm and snow free. Now she had no reason to walk about, no
cause to swing her eyes towards the silent bed, even accidentally. So
she sat, book open on her lap, eyes glued to the same page, her ears
parked on the back of the chair pointing at the bed, listening for
even the slightest movement that meant he was still there.
At four hands on the nose, servants ushered three young ladies into
the Taverish's suite. They giggled at how the maids hurried about and
eyed Father Taverish's cute young valet as he carried an embroidered
skating outfit by. Eighteen was such a terrible age to be.
Everything done or said held hidden meanings and most of the time they
were the wrong ones. A harried maid tapped at Carelya's door and she
hopped to her feet like a frightened rabbit. She'd almost forgotten
that her friends were coming to play cards.
Nanny snorfed and grumbled. She rubbed a wrinkled old hand across her
bleary eyes. Carelya had answered the door herself. Three
high-spirited young women flounced and chattered their way into the
room with Carelya following the crew like a mother hen. Her lambie's
expression was concerned and kept flashing to the bed and its secret
occupant. It looked very much as if she wished her friends would
quiet down.
The old nanny glared at the bed. Not a breath of air nor restless
movement stirred the still curtains. Maybe the blasted thing wasn't
there anymore. She'd heard that they could just disappear whenever
they wanted to. Unfortunately, they also seemed to turn up in the
damnedest places. Like Carelya's bedroom. Nanny sat up.
"Nanny," Carelya said, "You may leave now. Your time is your own
until after supper."
With a black look, Nanny grabbed her cloak and her purse. She trailed
her charge to the bedroom door. Carelya held it open for her, but
Nanny refused to pass until she'd had her say.
"Lambie, you be very careful," she admonished, "Remember that you are
a lady first. I am holding you to your honor. Entertain your friends
and stay away from that thing!"
"Yes, nanny."
With a ‘humph,' the old lady left, cloak on one arm, purse dangling
from the other. What harm could come to the girl with such a crowd
around? Carelya shut and locked the door behind her. She turned to
her friends, who were doffing their cloaks and fur-trimmed jackets.
When one black-haired girl started for the bed to lay her cloak down,
Carelya's eyes widened in horror.
"No! Arella, not there!"
Arella stopped in confusion, "Where then? We always put them on the
bed."
Carelya walked forward and took her friend's cloak. Hanging it near
the fire over a slat backed wooden chair she commented, "They are far
too wet to put on the bed. I shall drown later if you do. Let's dry
them near the fire."
Her friends glanced aside at each other. Nutty Carelya had finally
lost her mind? Each girl placed her outdoor wear at the fireside,
boots lined neatly in a row, cloaks and jackets draped over various
pieces of furniture drafted into service.
"What are these?" a blond be-freckled girl asked as she plucked at
some silk trousers.
Her breath rushed into her lungs and Carelya fumbled to come up with a
suitable answer. "Ah, they are underwear. Nanny's underwear."
Arella giggled. She picked up the trousers. Nanny was at least three
feet too short for them.
"Carelya!" the dark haired girl scolded, "If Nanny fits these, then
she can turn into a giant!" She ran the silk through her fingers, "It
is beautiful material."
The trousers passed from hand to hand before Carelya could think. The
girls felt the fine texture of the fabric and wondered.
"My Da says that you can only get silk this fine in the Southern
Countries," Lenori stated. Her father was a trader. "I didn't think
that your Da traded to the South, Carelya."
"He doesn't," Arella was suspicious and sounded it.
"I don't know about you, but I came here to play cards." Leave it to
practical Martine to bring everyone back to the whole point of the
afternoon. The fiery red-head was already sitting at the table
shuffling cards.
Luck placed Carelya on the opposite side of the room from her bed, and
it was all that she could see. Panic that he would suddenly emerge
stark naked and ask for his pants ran about her head waving its
frantic little arms in the air. Several times she lost a hand because
she simply wasn't paying attention.
The conversation ran the gamut from the newest styles in gloves and
leggings, to who was caught with who in the library at the Town
school, to the handsomest boy in town. Arella thought that the
milliner's son was simply the most wonderful man in town. Lenori had
her hat set for a young roustabout she had seen in the marketplace;
low born for sure, but he had the most beautiful brown eyes she had
ever seen. Martine snorted disdainfully. She was bound that she
would be a Priestess and she worked hard to see that her vision came
true. The four girls had a marvelous time whenever they visited the
Taverish ranch, teasing the hands.
About halfway through the sixth or seventh hand of cards, Carelya
wasn't sure, a servant knocked at the door and she got up to answer.
The maid with a tray of goodies and tea bustled in. Parking the tray
on a handy serving bureau, the maid turned to leave.
"Cook wants to know if your young man would like some warm cider?"
Carelya's voice fell into the sudden silence like a stone into a pond,
"No thank you Eida."
The maid left and Carelya locked the door at her back. When she again
faced her friends, they were staring at her as if she had grown
another head. Rouged mouths gaped.
Martine repeated, "What young man wants some warm cider?"
"Silly Eida," Carelya talked fast as she returned to her chair, "She's
always getting confused. She meant the fellow Father is meeting with
today."
Martine wasn't fooled. She prided herself on her level-headedness.
"No. She asked _you_ if _your_ young man wanted cider."
Lenori narrowed her eyes, "My dear Carelya, are you holding out on us?
Do you have a beau?"
Carelya stammered, "No. Of course not. Why, whatever would give you
that idea? I – no – what do you mean?"
Arella giggled, "Carelya, you are lying like a rug! You've got a
lover!"
"Who is it?" Lenori fairly pulsed with curiosity, "Have you sneaked
him in here?"
Arella's dark eyes sparkled with insight and she was on her feet in
seconds. Carelya hadn't even time to squeak before the girl was at
the bed curtains, her finger pressed to her lips in a shushing motion.
The other two followed her, tittering with soft conspiratorial
voices. They expected to find a red-faced boy hiding there.
Carelya's eyes bugged in horror and she rushed to save the situation,
but clever Arella had a grip on the bed curtain and yanked it back far
enough that only three girls could see inside.
"Oh my beloved lady!" gasped Lenori, "Look at that!"
Martine squeaked and Arella was frozen with the curtain clenched in
her hand. Carelya pushed through her friends and almost fell onto the
quilt.
Ajali lay asleep, flat on his back, one arm thrown over his head with
his honey blond hair fanned out over the pillow. His chest never
stirred. He slept as if he was dead, which Carelya thought was
somewhat true considering what he was.
In a hushed voice Lenori remarked, "He's gorgeous. This isn't just a
boy."
"He's a man," Arella murmured. A newfound respect had entered her
tone.
"What's he doing here?" Martine asked.
"Sleeping?" Carelya ventured in a tiny voice.
All three girls stared at her. Some semblance of sense returned to
Carelya and she took charge of the mess.
"I told you. He's sleeping. He just got here from the south."
Martine nodded wisely, her eyes studying the sleeping man as if she
saw a prodigy, "I've sure never seen _him_ before. How did you meet
him?"
Carelya warmed to her subject, "I found him in the marketplace today."
Arella was astounded, "You _found_ a man?"
Lenori muttered despondently, "I wish I could find beautiful men in
the market and bring them home. All I ever find are pennies."
"He was soaking wet and freezing to death. I bought him a jacket. He
doesn't have any luggage. He must have lost it."
Clever Arella put two and two together, "If he doesn't have any
luggage and you bought him a coat and those are his clothes drying by
the fire then he's ---" Her eyes rounded and her jaw dropped.
"Starkers," Lenori supplied matter-of-factly.
A collective gasp ran through her friends and Carelya basked in the
glow of doing something so off beat that even radical Martine was
awed. Carelya tied the curtain back with a tasseled cord and the
girls filed back to the table.
"Well Carelya, what do you have to say for yourself?" Arella
challenged as she dealt the next hand of cards.
"He needed a place to stay and he got into a bit of trouble in the
marketplace today, so I took him in. He's very tired."
Martine snorted, "Obviously. Have you been with him yet?"
Lenori's eyes glinted. "Have you kissed him?" she asked avidly.
Carelya slapped her hand of cards down on the table and shot, "Of
course not! I'm helping a man in need. What do you think I am
doing?"
"Wasting time," Martine examined her hand critically, "I'd have had
my way with him in less than a heartbeat."
Priestesses were renowned for giving of themselves freely to whomever
they liked. It was a form of worship to them. Martine practiced this
as often as she got the chance. Her father had given up on her. At
least her older sisters had married well.
Not wanting to waste her only good hand of the afternoon, Carelya
picked up her cards, "I kissed him."
"Where?" Martine asked.
"Behind the stage in the market, you know, where that bard plays."
"That's not exactly what I meant," Martine replied with a teasing
glint in her eyes, "Gin!"
All of the girls laughed.
Light on his face started the process of awakening for Ajali. He
heard female voices --- not unusual for him ---and he remembered where
he was. None of them sounded like Carelya's nanny. They were all
young and an undercurrent of nervousness tinged their conversation.
He kept his eyes closed and listened to what they said. He didn't
move. It was hard because he could smell the blood, all the blood, so
close. Only his iron will prevented him from taking a meal right then
and there.
He learned quite a bit from what the girls said, even more from what
they didn't say. Obviously, seeing a man casually without a chaperone
was considered bad form in this place. In the south, only the very
highborn protected their daughters this way, with eunuchs and guards.
He would need to proceed with caution. So instead of merely getting
out of bed and walking over to check on his clothing, he feigned
waking as a human would, slowly and drowsily. It wouldn't be long
until dusk.
[Ajali/Others – in Carelya's Suite]
When the bedclothes rustled as he turned onto his side to watch the
girls, every startled eye swiveled to him. They were mute. He stayed
down and ran a hand through his hair to take it away from his eyes.
It was nicely dry now. The motion pulled the blankets away from his
chest. The girls sat like statues. He had to say something to break
the spell.
"Good evening, my ladies," his voice was as silky as his hair.
Not a peep came from the girls. Unattended cards dropped from fingers
with light ‘plips' onto the table top.
Martine recovered first. Without rising, she inspected the man in bed
rather rudely.
"Hello," she said.
Carelya leapt from her chair, cards forgotten in her haste.
"Stay right there," she commanded as she headed for the hearth and his
now dry clothing, "I'll get your things. Don't get up."
"I hadn't planned on it. There are too many young ladies here," he
checked the group over, "And I wouldn't want to seem crude."
Lenori and Arella stole looks at him from behind their cards. Ajali
sat up and adjusted the pillows behind his back as Carelya handed him
his clothing. The sheets drifted down to his belly but no further.
"Is there any leftover hot tea?" he lay the silks on the quilt at his
side.
Carelya hustled to the tea tray, "Certainly. What do you take?"
"Black, please."
Carelya poured him a cup and brought it to the bed. He took it from
her gratefully and watched Carelya's friends over the rim as he had a
sip. The young girl started to move away, but Ajali plucked at her
sleeve to catch her attention. He already had the complete regard of
the other three.
She turned, "Yes? What---?"
He pulled her closer and whispered, "I would like something to, ah,
eat? Please draw the bed curtains, so that I may dress. Without an
audience."
As he let go of her sleeve, she nodded. He gave her his half finished
cup and waited expectantly. Obediently, Carelya untied the rope and
let the curtain fall into place.
"He's dressing," she explained to her friends as she dropped into her
brocade chair, "I imagine that he'll be out soon."
For a brief while they heard the sounds of someone dressing. Then the
bed curtains fluttered out as though a breeze took them and silence
fell. Ajali didn't appear. Carelya waited as long as she felt she
could until it went beyond rudeness on his part. The other girls
egged her on quietly and she stole to the bed. Where the curtains met
at the bedside, she peeked in and gasped. Her friends were up and at
her side in a blink. Arella grabbed the curtain and thrust it open.
Inside there were only the rumpled bedclothes; Ajali was nowhere to be
seen.
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