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nike_ravusTitle: Poem 75 (High D'Haran Love Poetry 10/13)
Poem 51
Poem 85
Poem 50
“I’ve heard some interesting things about how you’ve been spending your time while I’ve been away.”
Berdine looked him in the eye. He always liked it when Mord’Sith looked him in the eye. He especially liked it when they got on their knees soon afterward. “Gossip? After torture, gossip is the Mord’Sith’s favorite sport.” Gossip of course was just another breed of torture. The difference was academic.
“You are women.” He laughed at his own joke.
“Of course, Lord Rahl.”
“But honestly, that little barbarian you’ve taken up with. She’s pretty, of course, pretty enough that I considered taking her myself.”
Berdine pressed her lips together and made no other response.
“But she’s worthless.” His voice was flat, as if it were obvious, as if it were self-evident. Of course, because a good teacher was always worthless, because a person who could admit her fears and face them was worthless, because a person who worked harder than anyone to overcome her weaknesses was worthless. The words roiled in her stomach and she wanted to spit them out, spit them all over him, show him how he was the one who was worthless, that his spineless little maneuverings, that his un-worked-for power, his ability to take strong women and chew them up and spit them out were worthless.
Wasn’t Cara worthless? She wanted to ask. But you took her anyways. You took her to bed and let her serve you, and then you cast her aside, and then, when she had suffered for you, suffered endlessly, you waved your hand and told your servant to kill the child, because he was worthless too.
“Can I not even take my pleasure where I wish?”
Lord Rahl laughed, amused at the roll of her eyes. “Take your pleasure where you will, but be careful to not let it interfere with your work.” His face changed. “I will not allow women to interfere with my work, especially women who are and can only be nothing.”
Nothing? Of course, Berdine, born with rank, born with the opportunity to use her strengths, clearly she was worth something, as long as she served the Lord Rahl well. But Raina? Delicate and dark and from the backlands, no of course she was nothing, of course no one would understand.
* * *
Berdine found her leaving the ring. She found her on her own turf, not the library, nowhere where she held sway. She could only beg for this, she could not demand it.
“I want you to train me.” Raina looked over at her sharply. “Please.”
“Again? Why?”
Berdine couldn’t look away, but she couldn’t breach this distance between them, and the distance was too far. “I want you to touch me, and I want to be able to remember it.”
“Touch you with a weapon?”
“I want you to leave your marks on my skin. I need it, she didn’t want to say. I need to remember what you are. I am so lost and alone without you.
“I don’t want to break you.” The words were sad and just tired. But it was ‘I don’t want to,’ not ‘I can’t.’
“You already have, without even trying.”
And Raina looked at her, and saw her. She looked just like she listened. She heard everything, even the words behind the words, and she saw everything, even the thoughts behind the thoughts, and Berdine would always, always, love her, even if it meant she had no secrets left.
“All right.”
* * *
Berdine’s shoulders ached. Her body resented her mind for needing this, but she needed this. And there had been long years where no one dared to touch her in this way. No one could train Mistress Berdine, who stood by the left shoulder of Lord Rahl. Oh they had hated her for it once. They had hated that a child could rise so quickly. Her age-mates had hated her for being better than they were, being more useful to the Lord Rahl, being stronger than her mistress, and they had caught her alone, bound her, and thrust an agiel into her mouth, blistering her lips and tongue, trying to take away the words that had won her her status.
But she had healed, and she had learned, and the next time they came for her, she was ready. Two of them were dead now, and the rest knew better than to let themselves be seen by her. And everyone knew that it was not worth it to try to train Mistress Berdine.
Raina didn’t use an agiel for this. It was better that way. The pain of an agiel was ugly, tainted by its source, tainted by its ease. The electric scream that a knife left in its wake, the fire of a lash, the numbing bone aching bruise of a cosh, that pain was pure. Raina’s hands were gentle and assured, moving over her to sooth the burn of a welt, only to set it on fire again. But more than the slow methodical way she worked her body over, it was her eyes, and the deep banked heat of desire in them, that were the real providers of torture.
A long slow cut up the inside of her thigh, and Berdine let loose a small weak sound, that was almost pleasure, that was pleasure. It ached and stung and throbbed like pleasure, and the cool blade of the knife against the heat of her body was a relief.
“Why do you want this?”
“Because it’s you. I want everything from you,” she managed, at a whisper.
“Why do I want this?” And Raina looked broken, and Berdine wanted to do nothing more than to slip her arms around her and draw her in, hold her. But hanging from an iron chain by one’s wrists made that impossible. She looked, and Raina’s eyes slid up, from the blood that soaked her own hand, and met her gaze, and there was a moment, where there was nothing but silence, and Berdine had no words. There were no words for this. And then there was the clatter of the knife hitting the stones, and Berdine blinked, and there was a hand, sliding up over her throat, cupping the back of her neck, and Raina’s form, slick leather pressing against her, and her mouth. The light nip of teeth on her lower lip, and then the warm brush of lips, sinking into it, mouths open…
“Fucking hell, Berdine! If I have to give you the breath of life after this-”
Berdine regained consciousness slowly, her head fuzzy and unexpectedly… wet. She was down on the bench near the water trough, and Raina was standing over her with a bucket. She looked worried and upset, and it was kind of endearing. Berdine managed to reach out, getting her fingers tangled in the laces at Raina’s hip and tugged her close. Raina dropped to her knees in front of her.
“Honestly? It was probably the blood loss, though I really don’t doubt you could kiss me to death.”
Raina laughed, and her eyes were wet, and she leaned in close, and Berdine accepted her kiss, and this time, stayed awake long enough to return it.
* * *
“You have a private room.” Raina sounded annoyed, but Berdine was too pleased that she was there to worry about it.
“I also had a nice personal crutch to help me up here.”
She moved to the bed, her legs still a little shaky, and watched Raina, who was scanning the interior. The books were expected, possibly a few of the other items were not. But Raina’s eyes kept shifting to hers, as if, perhaps, she was the most unexpected item of all.
“Do you want to…” Berdine placed her hand on her bed beside her. “To stay, for a while? Just keep me company. I’m not likely to get up to much any time soon.” Even little movements were wearing. Honestly, getting the Breath of Life would probably have been better. Even though it was never fun to see the Keeper, at least she wouldn’t have felt like shit. But she knew she would feel even worse if she were alone.
Raina looked at the place indicated and then at herself. “I’m still covered in your blood.”
“As it’s my blood, most of which is still on me, I’m pretty certain that you’re not going to be the cause of these sheets being burned.”
Raina hesitantly lowered herself to sit. Berdine leaned close to her shoulder. “You could just take the leathers off,” she murmured. Raina’s shoulders tensed, but she didn’t run, and when Berdine’s lips brushed her ear, she relaxed again.
“I don’t trust you.” Raina looked at her, glancing down at her leg and shaking her head. “I should have cauterized that sooner.”
“I like it when you kill me with your kisses.” Raina gave her a look, with a wry twist of her lips and a raised eyebrow. Berdine laughed. “Fine, that was so below my usual standard.”
“It really was.” Raina leaned in, her warm breath against Berdine’s ear. “Huc est mens deducta tua mea,” she said softly, the words falling like dewdrops from her tongue. Berdine couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t even believe it. If she hadn’t been in so much pain she would have been sure it was a fantasy. “Culpa atque ita se officio perdidit ipsa suo.”
“Ut iam nec bene velle queat tibi, si optima fias,” Berdine couldn’t keep herself from adding the next line, the one that burned.
Raina smiled and finished it. “Nec desistere amare, omnia si facias.”
Berdine felt like a fool, smiling helplessly, her head empty of thought and as slow as cotton.
Raina cupped her jaw and drew her in. The kisses were warm and easy, and nothing that a Mord’Sith would ever do. She released her and Berdine looked at her, and wondered.
“Can I… take out your braid?”
Raina blinked. She touched her hair. “If you want.”
Berdine did. It was a long slow processes, unwinding the strands, and combing her fingers through the thick black locks, leaning in and pressing a kiss to the back of her head. She pressed her face into it, feeling the waves, the sleek thickness, and Raina let out a soft breath, not a moan, but a release of some kind.
“I don’t know how to do this.”
“You think I do?”
And then she turned, and Berdine tangled her fingers in her hair and kissed her slowly. They sank down, stretching out, letting their legs tangle together. Berdine lay back, letting Raina move on top of her, and relaxed, still dizzy and weak enough to fall asleep.
She awoke late, alone in bloodstained sheets, and could not tell if it had been a fevered dream. But in the bath, she turned, catching sight of her back in an angled mirror, and froze to see Raina’s name cut into her skin.
And this is where my mind is led to, Lesbia,
It’s your fault,
By its duty it has thus destroyed itself.
So that now I am neither able to wish you well,
if you are made perfect,
Nor stop loving you,
if you do everyone.
