Glenda Larke - The Heart of the mirage

He had barely stopped speaking when we heard voices shouting and the startled squawking of the hens in the courtyard.

'Pull the place apart if you have to,' someone said in Tyranian. 'If there's as much as a mouse hiding in the building I want to know about it! Bring everyone you find down here.' I didn't know the voice; it did not belong to any of the legionnaires who had assaulted me. However, it was clear one of those men was present because the next words, spoken in lower tones were, 'You, legionnaire – you stay here. I want you around to identify that murdering thrall if they turn her up.'

The Kardi bent to whisper in my ear, 'Not a sound.'

I nodded and resigned myself to waiting. The noise continued: voices raised in protest, the sound of breaking wood, running footsteps on stairs, children crying, hysterical hens clucking their distress.

It was uncomfortable squashed as we were. My back was pressed against rough adobe, my arms were pinioned by his. I twisted my head slightly to look out through the entrance crevice. The bushes grew thickly

to blpck out much of the light, but I could just see movement on the other side. The same voice, now alarmingly close, was saying, 'Check these bushes, legionnaire.'

Tension stiffened us both, and the movement, as slight as it was, jammed us still tighter against one another. A rustle in the leaves was an explosion to my ears; someone was using their sword to poke into the branches. Sweat, mixed with dust, trickled down my neck, and my slave collar seemed unbearably tight. I felt no fear; I was hardly in any danger from Tyranians. No one except the Brotherhood itself would dare to question the killing of a rankman legionnaire by a Brotherhood Legata. If I were caught, all I had to do was explain who I was and what had happened. It wasn't fear that built the tension in me; it was excitement, the provocation of the chase, the stimulation of pitting myself against another…

The tension was pleasurable. I moved my head slightly to relieve the crick in my neck and found my face almost on a level with the Kardi's, my mouth brushing his chin. His smell was pleasant, his hard muscularity tempting. No hint of his emotions now reached me; he had obscured himself, just as Brand did. I was intrigued.

He stirred against me in turn. At first, I thought it was merely discomfort at our cramped position. Then I felt the real reason for his unease pressing into my hips. I jerked my head sideways so that I could focus on his face. He was looking at a point somewhere above my head. The light was dim, but I thought I could see a flush colouring his cheeks. Indignation swelled inside me: how dare he!

Before I could do anything to indicate my displeasure, I felt him quivering. It took me a moment

to identify the cause. Laughter. I had no way of expressing my anger; I couldn't move, and I certainly couldn't risk saying anything for fear of being heard. I stayed rigidly still while the cause of his amusement remained abundantly clear to us both. Then, reluctantly, my lips twitched. The situation was funny. Despite his laughter, he was embarrassed – but there wasn't anything either of us could do about it. I sucked in my cheeks and tried to suppress the chuckles threatening to erupt.

His head dipped and his lips brushed mine gendy, tentatively. I wanted my anger to return, but it stayed obstinately away. His mouth closed over mine, tender, then demanding as his tongue probed and I responded.

The sounds of the search outside continued. Irate officers snarled their irritation, legionnaires vented their frustration in muttered asides to one another. Neither of us moved to break the kiss. Neither of us wanted it to end. I could no longer distinguish the tension of desire from the tension caused by fear of discovery. When the noises finally faded and disappeared, I was hardly aware they were gone. Wave after wave of desire rippled, touching mind and body. Pleasurable tightness travelled across the surface of my skin, an unfamiliar sensation matching the more recognisable pressure building in my loins. Tension-desire invaded every inch of me, subordinating mind to physical senses. Tissues swelled and warmed and throbbed. I'd never experienced anything so pervasive and thought I would disintegrate if there was no release. Alarm slipped into the cracks between passionate hunger and an overwhelming yearning for this man's body. Goddess, I thought, I've been drugged. Again. But I didn't want to listen to the warning. In

that moment, I wanted nothing but to satisfy an all-encompassing lust.

He broke away and I heard wonder in his voice as he asked, 'Blessed cabochon – a Magor? Who would have thought it?'

The words meant nothing; I felt only annoyance that he had stopped kissing me when I was still almost incoherent with need. But he gave me no time to say anything. 'They've gone,' he said and eased himself out of our prison. Wordlessly, I followed, trying to dredge up the vestiges of my equanimity, hearing the whisper of warning in my mind, yet unwilling to listen. No sooner had I extricated myself from the bushes than he had grabbed my hand again and was pulling me up wooden steps to the balcony above. I did not protest – I did not want to protest. My whole body was throbbing.

I noticed nothing about the room we entered. I had already forgotten the legionnaires, I had forgotten who this man was, all I knew was I wanted him as I had never wanted anyone before in my life, that I had to have him or die with wanting.

Later, I Jiad no recollection of how I came to be naked, but I was and so was he and he had entered me and my world would never be the same again. The tension, which I had already thought unbearable, grew still greater until I wanted to scream and scream and go on screaming. But just as I opened my mouth, he touched his left hand to mine and the world splintered around me, slivered into light and colour and sound and beauty and love and velvet touch and I wanted to die with the joy of it.

I floated in magic, in music, in perfume, in tangy peach sweetness, in soft silk, in golden light, in an overload of sensation. Reluctant to descend to reality,

reluctant to question, reluctant to have answers. Sure I had been drugged. Not knowing how that was possible. Not caring. Horrified I had so lost all control over my actions. Appalled that I didn't care.

In the end, it was he who spoke first. He was lying beside me, his glistening naked body brown and muscular and perfect to my still-besotted eyes. He propped himself up on one arm and allowed his glance to roam over the curves of my nakedness. Then he touched a finger to the brown of my nipple and said, 'You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.'

I was accustomed to being considered too tall, too muscular, too swarthy; not even Favonius had ever said I was beautiful. Yet I believed this man. I saw the truth in his eyes even before he allowed me to feel it in my mind. I took up his left hand and touched the swelling there, the swelling that matched mine in shape and size. 'What did you do?' I asked in wonderment…,•/

'Have you never loved one of your own kind before?'

My own kind! Shock shivered through me. I wasn't one of these people! I shook my head, trying to deny the truth. 'Who – who am I?'

'You do not knowV

'There was never anyone to tell me. I was brought up in Tyrans. What I told Parvana wasn't quite the truth; I was taken to Tyr as a very young child.' I shielded my emotions from him; I knew he had the same abilities I had. If I'd wanted, he could have read me as easily as a scroll. The talents I once called intuition were no such thing; I knew that now. They were all part of being born different, of having a swelling in the middle of the palm…

'You have a lot to learn,' he said.

'The first lesson was… unbelievable.'