Chapter 30 #2
But with said, very permissible husband now atop me .
. . the hunger and rashness were even stronger than they had been when I was a youth.
A woman dying of thirst does not turn away a cup of water because it’s a bit dusty.
So, I gave in, surrendering myself to Raksh’s hands and his lips and his .
. . Well, judging from the flush in your cheeks, perhaps the memory has carried me past modesty’s boundaries, and I should cease the spilling of details.
As I am relating this tale to you now, it should be obvious that Raksh did not wring my neck upon satisfying himself and leave my ravished body to be discovered the next morning.
But the entire encounter remained strange.
And short. There was a time that Raksh and I could enjoy each other all night, him coaxing and massaging my worn-out limbs when I protested that I was spent.
We eventually ended up back in his bed, but it wasn’t long before he rolled away from me.
“You cannot already be sated,” I said in disbelief. “Where is the ravenous demon eager to explore his contract?”
The question seemed to take him aback. “It is night. I wish to sleep.”
Sleep? After one round? Who was this man?
There were a variety of reasons I’d stayed married to Raksh, but one that loomed larger than I wanted to admit was that sex with him was fun.
It was playful, a release on multiple levels.
His utter uncaring about what people thought, his self-centeredness—things that made him a terrible person made him a partner without equal in bedplay.
He was happy to try anything, had suggestions that bent the mind (and body) in creative weirdness, and so thoroughly enjoyed the act—both taking and giving pleasure—that to know him once made him entirely irresistible again.
I had never felt such joy, such laughter and confidence in lovemaking.
What had just happened between us had been different. Enjoyable, yes, but this gruff, rough, table-tossing Raksh was not the husband I knew.
Even so, I put him to the test. “It reminds me of our wedding night.”
He paused. “How so?”
I stretched my arms over my head, unguarded. “Do you not remember? We both drank so much that we fell asleep nearly as soon as our marital contract was signed. We had to wait a whole week before having the chance to be alone together again.”
That was very much not what had happened, but I saw it again—the uncertainty in Raksh’s expression, like he was having difficulty placing the memory, until he chuckled. “But of course.”
What has Lab done to you? I glanced at the dyed belt at his waist: the “gift” from the queen that he hadn’t wanted to remove.
If I pinned Raksh down and ripped that off his body, would his memories return?
Would our bond? Would this strange, scattered creature content to idle around the palace like a lazy lion become the cunning chaos spirit I knew, the demon who’d laughed as he stoked the ambitions of criminals he’d left to a fiery, violent death?
Was that what I wanted? A lethal, selfish spirit of discord who might prefer me over the queen who’d ensorcelled him?
As opposed to what, a spy? For if Queen Lab had somehow enchanted Raksh before returning him to my sickbed, surely, he was her tool.
“Are you all right?” Raksh asked, seeming to notice my unrest. Another oddity, since the husband I knew cared not one whit about my feelings unless they affected him. It was impossible now not to notice the contrived warmth in his voice.
I forced a smile. If he was a spy, there was no reason I couldn’t use him to my purposes. “Just cold. Tired.”
He reached for a blanket, dragging it over my body. “Then stay with me,” he suggested, pulling me into his warmth. “You needn’t be so prickly all the time. Admit it . . . this place isn’t so bad. I am not that bad.”
“This place is cursed and you’re a liar,” I retorted, laying my head on his chest.
“A liar you just obviously enjoyed.” He ran his fingers through my shorn hair. “May I make a suggestion?”
“You don’t typically ask.”
“Would it be so terrible to remain in Khatti Ugal? You must have come for a reason—I do not buy your feigned interest in treasure.” He stroked my back. “Why are you truly here, Amina? Tell me: you know I can help.”
I turned to meet his gaze—his beautiful, treacherous gaze that always reminded me too much of Marjana’s. The question was intentional, but I also saw no guile in it. Raksh was as curious as he was ignorant.
But he shouldn’t have been.
Raksh has not mentioned the peris once since he arrived, I realized. And it made little sense. He’d all but brokered my original agreement with them, in hopes that the quests would make me a legend, drench him in power. How could he not suspect their involvement?
“Is treasure not enough?” I asked. “Maybe I wish to retire. To retreat behind a great heap of fortune.”
Raksh snorted. “I don’t believe you. Amina al-Sirafi retire? You’ll be on the seas until they finally pull you and your Marawati into their depths.”
The remark had been glib but hearing it from a creature like Raksh sent a chill down my spine.
I abruptly sat up, straddling his thighs. “And maybe you’ll be aboard when that happens.”
Displeasure flickered in his eyes, interrupted rather hastily when I slipped my hands under his belt. “You’re”—his breath hitched—“avoiding the question.”
“I am,” I agreed as he sighed. And that was the truth: if I had needed further convincing not to take Raksh into my confidence—and I hadn’t; I would have trusted a hashish-addled street mendicant more readily—I now knew to guard my words.
“But since when has conversation been what we enjoy best about our marriage?”
And by the time I moved again, Raksh had thoroughly stopped protesting.