CHAPTER NINE #3
For just a mere span of seconds, I thought I could entertain a sanctioned union with a magical monster. But of course, such is impossible.
“I would very much like to marry you, Alad. I would be grateful for the opportunity. But you need to know that I’m not… pure.”
“Ah.” He removes his hand back to his own lap. “Because you’re a whore?”
“That’s the second time you’ve said so. I was hoping the first was the result of reading a penny dreadful but not comprehending what the terms meant.” And I was—hoping. Though I didn’t really believe it. “How do you know what I am?” My sin. My secret.
“Only a whore stroking my i?arum could break the curse Gilgamesh laid upon me. The moment your fingers touched me, I came to my senses enough to know it was you, even though I couldn’t yet move. To rouse me from the curse as you did, you must be a whore.”
I swallow again, trying to take in what it means. He already knows I’m impure. He has said he will marry me, knowing—or has he? Has he even suggested it, or just questioned Society’s rules?
The second. He merely asked a question. Once again, I’m seeking a happy ending I don’t deserve.
But I want it. I want it so badly, everything inside me is a tight, wobbly mess.
“I was left penniless by the death of my parents, and I sold my body in exchange for gold. I used the gold to buy passage to London and clothing fine enough that I could present myself to Mary and convince her to hire me as her companion. We grew up together, so she knew my parents died in debt. She knew my situation. But I didn’t share the rest. She doesn’t know what I did to flee to her.
No one does.” I take a deep breath. “So, yes, I’m a whore. A woman of ill-repute.”
And with my words, all my chances fall like broken shards of mirror, revealing the true Charlotte behind the mask I wear.
But what of it? Alad is a monster, however seductive he may be, however much I would love to be seduced by the shedu.
A marriage to him wouldn’t cure my ruin any more than a marriage to a Romanian shepherd would.
Society dislikes any union not based upon class and civilization.
I would be cut from the herd in either case.
Though if I could live with Alad, would the cut matter?
I’m not sure. I went off with him willingly enough. I knew what I was doing, what I was risking, for the chance of touching magick.
So, maybe I am sure—sure I want to stay with him, whatever terrible thing should happen to me next.
The silence grows between us after my disclosure. He must regret his precipitous suggestion.
I clear my throat. “Alad…”
“There exists a startling difference between our cultures,” he finally says.
“I noted it while reading your fiction. In my world, whores are respected. They serve the Goddess Inanna by giving of themselves to her followers. Yes, there are those like Gilgamesh who demand the sacrifice of purity beneath his i?arum, but that’s a matter of ego, and rather rare in our world.
” He pauses. “Temple prostitutes engage in a sacred act—the ultimate act of giving. Not a one would be ashamed.”
I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure I can even speak, my throat is so clogged with emotion. I clear it roughly, giving in to unladylike behavior for the second time. “My act was not sacred, Alad. It was tawdry. And immoral. And… awful. Truly awful.”
“I’m sorry.” He pauses before lowering his voice. “In truth, most men know how beastly we are, in whatever form you find us. The only grace is that some women will love us and allow us to fulfill their desires.”
“As you would fulfill mine?” The words escape as if spoken by a third person in the room.
“It would be my greatest honor.” His voice rings with certainty.
Not marriage, then, but attraction. From such a magical creature, that should be enough.
A sob rips through me. I don’t know why. I shake my head. “You’re benighted, Alad. Your curse has made you lose your mind.”
“Perhaps, but not in this. You gave of yourself to another. To disdain the gift is to curse the gods.” He shuffles forward, holding my gaze.
“I would never disdain the gods, or you, Char.Lot.” His eyes drop, and he smooths the ruffled tatters of his ripped trousers on the bed before looking at me again.
“I’m relieved you have some knowledge of men. ”
“Why? Why would you want that?”
He shrugs. “My i?arum is large. Different. You’ll have to deal with enough without worrying further about tearing. So you see? You’re perfect.”
I don’t understand him at all, even though his English is perfect. No, what confounds me is how he radiates peace and understanding, two characteristics I’ve missed since my cossetted youth. The fullness, now, after the lack, throws me even more off-balance.
I look away to recover my wits before saying, “We should go to London. Together. Find Sir Austen and your answers.” I start toward the door before adding, over my shoulder, “If you would give me a moment, I need to seek the retiring room. I’ll return shortly.”
I don’t wait for him to agree. I need to find my own space, my own air, for he’s sucked the largest part out of the room.