Emerald City

     She had never looked forward to winter. To her, the Western peninsula would always be home. The waves crashing during spring tempests were as music to her soul and the silver morning fog of autumn blanketed like an ermine stole. Her mind's being wandered through the dunes, with their whispering sea grasses and gnarly pines, and gathered shells on the narrow beaches in the summer.

     Traveling to the City, with its twisted alleys and occult tunnels honeycombing the quadrants, with its labyrinth-like hidden ways connecting the four broad boulevards, had meant an end to the comfortable luxury of the palace and a fresh reminder of the responsibilities of her station.

     The City, an ancient walled fortress with a cold hard keep at its heart, felt like a prison and she never understood the excitement that drove her parents, hiding it poorly, to rush the winter migrations and delay the spring's retreats. Her mother, though still in mourning, had pushed the procession toward the City as quickly as custom allowed and chafed, however politely, at every wayside audience with the people of the outer lands.

     Rianona sighed and flung down the drape, shutting out the view. She didn't bother to pretend that she heard her tutor's question. Eketh lifted his long delicate fingers in mock defeat and let the paper flutter to the floor.

     "Mathematics not to your liking today, Ria?" he said, "Nor Geography, nor Cultural Adaptations and Social Amenities?"

     "Nor Language, nor Weather-casting, nor Agrometaphysics," she replied. Ria gestured to the curtained window. "What does it matter if mother rules from the keep or from the palace?" she asked. She paused before the gilt-framed looking-in-and-out glass and wished it reflective, preferring her own glum visage over that of the cityscape to which it had defaulted when the serving-ladies had finished dressing their mistress.

     She'd chosen a black robe to compliment her mood but the women had done their damnedest to brighten her ensemble. Brilliant yellow gemstones dangled from her ears and neck. Shimmering tones of gold and silver glittered on her cheeks and eyes. Ruby lipstick covered the paleness of her lips and turned her mouth into a ripe rose.

     Emerald green silk ribbons plaited Ria's auburn hair into manageable order. Without the constant vigilance of her retainers, the curly calf-length tresses would resemble a bramble patch.

     Still in all, it was her best feature. Her mouth was too big, her cheeks too wide, and her eyes so-boring hazel. Ria stuck out her tongue and waggled it at the too plain to be royal, too tall to be feminine, too busty to be boyish, too cowardly to be… Anything. Anything worthwhile, anyway.

     Her Birthday approached. An important one. At twenty-eight, a Kinest youth or maiden was expected to become an adult and assume the role of one. That she had no inkling of what that role was… Well, was that her fault or that of her model and mentor?

     Eketh swung his feet down from the table, stomping numbness from his toes. "It matters, dove. It matters. The Kinest rule with the permission of the ruled. The City is a microcosm of the people." He gestured for her to follow. She wanted to refuse but his gesture had invoked an authority geis and, rather than test those old and (probably) lapsed bonds, she complied.

     His hair, more silver than gold now, glittered in the last rays of sunset. She hated this time of day when the shadows lengthened and stretched the City beyond the walls to cover the green lands beyond.

     Ria stood at the railing, spider web fine metal bending under her knuckle-whitening grasp, glowered at the darkening streets and waited for candles and lamps to dot the maroon gloom. Until the bright points appeared, she would hold her breath, fearing that the denizens had died or departed, leaving her in an all too well-known but totally unfamiliar maze of a tomb.

     The black squares and circles and faith-knew-what shapes of the City's windows stared back at her. Judging and… What? Finding her wanting? Perhaps. She lacked her father's passion and heroic nature, and had none of her mother's fire and determination. If it were her destiny to rule, what would she bring to the throne - except misgivings and half-hearted vaporings of good will?

     The City stared up at her aerie in the Keep without blinking.

     Comforting arms enfolded her and the hands of the man who had taught her everything from Fire-laying to Sewing and from Flirting to Sex petted and caressed her clammy skin and stroked her thick braid. The ribbons loosened under his clever fingers, undoing the work of hours in the space of two breaths, and strands crept free to tickle her neck and suddenly bare shoulders.

     "You can not rule what you fear," he whispered in her ear. The slither of her gown, puddling to her ankles and hanging on her wrists, barely registered as she waited for some sign that there were people behind those million not-blind eyes.

     Eketh stroked her breasts until the nipples lifted, and then relinquished that joyous task to the tender touch of the night-breeze.

     "Your City," he whispered. She shook her head in denial. "Your City. Your people," Eketh insisted, nudging Ria's thighs apart with his knee and urging her to relax her head back onto his chest.

     Not yet. Not yet. Not a single candle flickered. How could she look away?

     Over her ribs and into the dimple of her mother's mark, his fingers played. Cool kisses, no warmer than the wind's, fell from his lips in staccato like punctuation on the line of her neck. His scent drifted to her nostrils and, for a moment, he smelled like sunshine and Ria remembered summer, when lovemaking had carried the aroma of the grass that they had crushed in their exertions. Here, everything smelled like stone or tile.

     His fingers found precious niches, which inspired sensations that, even in her terror, she could not ignore. No longer was her spine encased in ice, and she relented to lean against him. The velvet of his coat brushed her skin where the curve of her rump nestled. The shape of him throbbing there invoked its own geis on her compliance. But not her eyes.

     One candle and she gasped. Eketh's fingers found a hint of womanly damp. A second candle and, over there, a lamp shone its reliable light. Something between a gulp and a moan escaped from between her clenched teeth. One moment Ria was closed and tight, and then the next open and almost ready. He slipped fingers inside her, encouraging her transformation from willing to wanting, and watched the city. Not afraid as she always was, just awaiting his cue. As each new candle twinkled, he timed his efforts. As the residents banished the bloody twilight from their homes, so he exorcised the terror of the twilight from their scion.