3859 words (15 minute read)

CYRUS (cont)

CYRUS

“They bare his mark and have turned against their gods to join with the forgotten son, Ismarlen. The dammned drained the blood of the first father from their bodies and became an abomination.” Nez Pores, Book of Luminations 2:361 (translation)

Chapter 7

Mayara slumped in her chair, buried under a massive pile of medical textbooks. Her final medical academy examinations were approaching. After passing these, she would be a doctor and finally be able to open a clinic so desperately needed in the undercities. Normally, studying came easy to her. She was fascinated with medical science and excelled in her classes. This night, however, was difficult. It was beginning to get warmer out and the early summer night beckoned her. She closed the shades to try to banish the nice weather but her brain would not let her forget, not without a fight anyway. Struggling to get through every word, eventually her eyes refused to focus. Five hours had passed, five hours in her chair, reading books.

Hungry for a distraction, she turned to the tea she’d made at the beginning of her study session, deciding if the ice could, soupy black sludge was acceptable to drink. Her nose scrunched when she drained the bag against the spoon and laid it on the plate underneath the ceramic cup. She always managed to ruin good tea when she was studying. Swirling the tea around the mug didn’t make it any more appetizing. A dark ring had stained the inside of the glass. Her fingertips strained to push the cup as far away from her reach as possible in a bid to rid her mind of horrible thoughts about dirty dishes and the need to wash them.

A knock on the door startled her. Her legs, stiff and sore from being in the same position for the last few hours, refused to move.

“Who is it?” She called from her chair, but could only hear a muffled answer.

“Just use the key.” She yelled. If they knew her, they knew where she kept the key.

The tall Iranti-born officer stood in the foyer of her grand apartment, holding an armful of bags from several high-end stores. The older gentlemen smiled gently when he saw her still in her nightclothes under a pile of books.

“So, I’m guessing you have had a busy day?” He lifted an eyebrow

“Cyrus!” She squealed with excitement and stumbled out of the chair, disregarding the pins and needles in her legs. Her arms squeezed him tightly around his waist as she lavished him with kisses, standing on her tip toes to reach his face.

He welcomed every kiss and returned them in double. He was enchanted with his Kyre mistress, small waist with shapely hips, a caramel colored beauty with sparkling Emerald eyes and a playfully seductive smile.

“You didn’t tell me you were home.” She gave him a slap on the chest and started to pick up the messy sitting room. “I would have changed--.” Holding an assortment of books and clothes, she remembered there was nowhere to put the stuff in her cramped apartment, so she just let it drop back on the floor where she stood. “I would have showered.”

Cyrus didn’t mind. After spending the better part of six months in the field with no one except his Shadows, Mayara could have gone without grooming or personal hygiene for months and she would still seem appealing. Still, his mistress insisted she take a shower, a notion Cyrus had little objection to, as long as he got to watch.

Taking in the heavy cloud of steam hovering in around the shower, Cyrus felt like he was in a dream as he watched Mayara under the stream of hot water. He tried to contain himself, hold off until she was done, but after months of fighting in the field, a man could only wait so long.

He reached into the shower and grabbed her by the waist from behind, laying a series of rough kisses on her neck. She melted into his arms as he dragged her from the warmth of the water. He turned her around to face him and pinned her against the door. He licked his lips, taking a moment to admire his next great conquest.

Everything about her was perfect; head to toe, every inch of her reminded him of the statues of Rytu, the Kyre Goddess of love and beauty. Standing there, tiny rivers of water droplets traced her bare curves as they made their way down her body. Her eyes were wild and they wanted him. Her nimble fingers grabbed at the soaking wet fabric of his shirt and she bit her lower lip too keep it from trembling out of a mixture of intense desire and the chill she got after he pulled her from the shower.

There was violence in his passion when he kissed her and that excited her even more. She stared into his eyes and saw the rage, desire, aggression and all of the other emotions he dragged back from battle that he needed to bury deep in between her thighs. She did not break her gaze as she carried her to the bed.

There was something about the way Cyrus made love to her just after he returned from a conflict that was special. It was the only time she got to experience the most real and raw bits of him, the vulnerable and tender. Cyrus dominated any room he was in, the most feared man in the Empire, yet he worshiped her, screaming her name as prayers in ecstasy. He would barely talk about who he was, but on those nights there were no parts of his soul he could hide from her. It was a power she craved.

*****

Hours had passed and the two lovers were spent and exhausted. Both were raw, sore and extremely dehydrated. Mayara drew back the shades on the window to let the light into the bedroom. It was dawn and the beautiful and leggy Kyre woman was clad in one of the little “outfits” Cyrus had bought her. The red fabric contrasted nicely with her dark olive skin.

Used to early mornings, Cyrus was still in the bed, waiting for her under the covers, playfully beckoning her.

“Cyrus,” she said with her thick Kyre accent, “I have to go to class…I can’t. I can’t.” She giggled and pulling a wrinkled shirt over her head.

“I haven’t seen you in months and I know you missed me.” He kissed the back of her neck, trying to coax her back under the covers. She was tempted by his kisses and was slowly drawn into his arms. There would be no going to class today.

Despite the man being over twenty years her senior, she found him very attractive. Aside from being handsome, he was kind and good company. If it weren’t for him she would have never been able to attend Medical Academy.

She’d met Cyrus at the undercity bar she worked at, while trying to save the coin needed to put a down payment on her caste debt. After one week of serving him, Cyrus insisted he sponsor her caste debt, putting his money upfront so she could register into one of the middle castes and become a doctor. Since then he had taken care of her needs while she attended school.

Although their arrangement on the outside looked immoral, she was in no way his concubine. He had made it very clear at the beginning that his financial assistance was in no way dependent upon her company. Whenever Mayara inquired about his decision to be so generous, he would just refer to it as “reparations”.

She never questioned him further about it. It was one of his rules: she could ask any questions she wanted, but if he refused to answer or clarify anything, she must leave it alone. They both had rules for each other. She must be discreet about their arrangement. She couldn’t have any other men over while he was visiting her. He couldn’t make open judgments about her lifestyle. She maintained the right to refuse him at any time, without justification, and most importantly he could not use their arrangement as a means of coercing her to do anything outside of those agreed-upon terms. In three years neither of them had broken any of the rules.

*****

Cyrus was spent after a day at Mayara’s, a good spent. Having found comfort in the arms of his beautiful mistress all afternoon, he was reluctant to leave her bed. She was in the kitchen cooking up dinner. The aroma of the spicy Kyre food filled the small one bedroom apartment, making him hungry.

“Stay for dinner, darling,” she called. It was less of a request than a demand and Cyrus was not about to argue with her. He exited the bedroom to pay a visit to the cook. He stood in the entryway to the kitchen admiring Mayara’s exotic features. Her silky black hair hung right at the small of her back, dancing dangerously close to her shapely behind, which was swaying back and forth to the beat of the music Mayara had blasting in the kitchen. It was that new style, a mix of urban and tribal music. Cyrus was not very fond of it, but the generation gap didn’t stop him from dancing with her right there in the cramped kitchen.

They were still embracing even though they had stopped dancing. Mayara ran her fingers down his bare chest and softly traced around his many scars, carefully ignoring the jagged one on his cheek and the large brand over his heart while he hovered blissfully in her scent.

“I need to get back home tonight. There are things I need to take care of tomorrow that I should have done today,” he said, making no effort to break their embrace.

“No, stay. I will finish making your dinner then I will draw you a bath, spend the night with me. Don’t make me beg.” Her eyes were hungry for him and she playfully bit down on her lip, giving away her intentions.

“Even the Navat sleep woman! You sorceress! Your Kyre magic has vexed me so. I have become a slave to your beauty.” He said, tickling her.

It amazed him how beautiful her mouth looked when she laughed and he kissed it. He didn’t want to go back to his place, or even home to Kyrant. This apartment, nestled away in the University district of New Empire was the only space in the world where Cyrus could find the closest thing to true peace, so he let the world outside of it disappear from his thoughts while he hid inside her for one more night.

Chapter 8

Dear Cyrus,

I regret to inform you that upon coming to the discovery of certain truths, our beloved Lilly has taken her own life. We are devastated at such a tragedy. I have included the paperwork necessary to have the Trust set up in her name to be transferred over to her me. Please fill out the forms, my attorney has prepared and return them, so we can move past this terrible event. Once I receive the funds, I’ll let you know where you can pay your respects.

Regina

The typed note crumpled under the crushing weight of Cyrus’s palm and he fell to his knees on the marble floor of the foyer. Lilly’s starfire bracelet spilled on the tiles when the box fell from his pocket. The sharp snap of the heavy trinket bouncing on the floor echoed loudly down the hall, snuffing out the uncomfortable silence. Barlow, his butler struggled to help him to his feet, but his feet couldn’t recognize the floor. His body rejected the heaviness of what remained of his universe. His fingers tore at his coat until he pulled the small leather pouch that held his escape. Just knowing it was there as he gripped it close to his chest was enough to bring the air back to his lungs.

Barlow had received the message last week, but as pained as he was to see his master like this, Lilly had always been a ghost to him; a child with her own room in the large house, but whose face he never saw. Despite all of this, the house seemed even emptier with the news of her death. He had been with the Mason family for over forty years. Having barely escaped with his own life when the Navat attacked the city, a fate not afforded to the rest of the family, Barlow always held out hope that a family would sometime breathe life back into the estate, however it seemed that he would serve out his days as a caretaker to an empty tomb.

The staff waited in the darkness for their master to compose himself, unsure of what just happened. Barlow shooed them away.

“Barlow!” Cyrus’s voice cracked and he coughed. “Get the air transport ready. I’m going out.”

“Sir, you just arrived. Maybe you should rest. I’ll have your attorneys come in the morning.”

“That bitch isn’t getting a single coin from me!” Cyrus yelled. “Get the air transport ready, I’m going to Core City for the night.”

“Yes, sir,” Barlow answered quietly.

*****

It was dark when Cyrus and his guest arrived at the tall iron gates of the huge estate overlooking New Empire. The young casteless woman leaned over the slightly drunk and rather disinterested Colonel, trying to swallow the grand sight with her eyes. She had never flown in an air transport before and she definitely had never seen a place as fine as this. Lights bathed the walls, casting large shadows that highlighted the intricate carvings adorning it. Two Oprian flags, dark blue velvet banners dotted with twelve silver stars hung in front of the house. Between them flew a third flag of the same material but deep scarlet, with gold scythes behind stalks of wheat paid homage to his ancestral lands of Lo Irant.

Gaylestone was one of the largest and oldest houses in the wealthy Diamond District of New Empire. There was a time the Colonel swore he would sooner see it burned to the ground than return to its great halls and marble corridors, but after becoming the sole heir in his family after the Navat attacks, he had a change of heart. Although he rarely stayed at his grandfather’s home save for a few weeks out of the year, Cyrus could never bring himself to sell it. He told himself it was mostly because it irked the hell out of the Highborns and the Vistany elite that they were neighbors with an Iranti-born.

“Dis, you home? Shit, I woulda ponced up for da occasion.” She almost sung her words in a way that sounded like she was originally from the undercities of New Empire.

Cyrus had always thought the way they spoke down there had a lyrical quality. The way her red painted lips puckered when she spoke caught his attention, as did her hand on his thigh as she tried to get a better view. The streetlights caught in the new fire stone bracelet he gave her.

The sleek black transport pulled up into the brick courtyard and an elderly gentleman, prim and pressed, opened the door. Cyrus exited first. The girl was left to fumble out of the vehicle herself, uncomfortably tugging at her too-short dress as she tried to catch up to her host, who at this point was already through the front door. Each click of her heel on the cobblestone, echoed loudly in the black silence of the late winter’s night. The windows were watching her and suddenly she felt so...exposed. Every inch of her wanted to slink back into the transport and go home. She sighed deeply and continued, home was too far away.

He led the young woman by the hand down the dark halls towards back of the house, tugging her gently along whenever she paused to look around. The room looked out of place in such an old house, modern furniture and art on display. The latest in novel gadgets had their spots on the shelves, next to shapeless sculptures and ancient tribal artifacts. Whatever caught his eye, he would collect and put on one of the shelves in this room. Although some of the objects were considered priceless, none of them carried any particular sentimental value to Cyrus.

The girl couldn’t have been less interested in his menagerie. She tugged at her skirt before plopping down on the sofa, sinking into the thick plush fabric. For a moment she allowed her head to swim in the drinks she’d had on the flight over from Core. The warmth from the alcohol chased out the chill from the night air.

He felt heavy on top of her. His weight crushed her ribcage. No matter how much she tried to escape into the high and let herself float away, his intensity dragged her back into the moment with each angry thrust. His hands explored her with a clumsy violence before they settled, wrapping around her neck. She started to struggle as his grip tightened around her windpipe. Panic set in and she dug her fingernails into his wrists, clawing at his hands attempting to pry them off of her. His once sad, blue eyes were angry and glowed with an inhuman rage. They looked right through her as she pleaded with her last breaths.

Cyrus awoke in a cold sweat on the marble floor. It was still dark and everything was spinning. He sat up, resting his head in his hands until the room settled around him. There were so many blank moments he tried to piece together. The girl and then the itsy, the cocktails in the transport, that much was clear. He retraced his steps inside his mind while surveying the damage to the place. He didn’t know how he ended up on the floor, but he remembered the sex and-

“Shit…” Cyrus dropped to his knees by the sofa where the girl lay.

Her limp, lifeless body was sprawled in an unnatural and vulgar position. He pursed his lips in disappointment when he couldn’t detect a pulse. It was a shame. She was so young, so pretty. Her hand felt soft and cool as he caressed it against the rough stubble on his chin, his eyes transfixed on the starfire bracelet, the red and purple glow from the candlelight dancing in the blackness.

The steam from the tub made the bathroom a hazy dream world. He gently scrubbed the girl clean, the hot water giving some of her color back. There was no discernable reason as to why he was doing this, lost in the itsy and grief, Cyrus felt compelled. He washed away the smeared red lipstick. She looked younger without her make-up and yet, much more worn. In silence, he cradled her head against his chest as he carried her down the darkened hallway, her wet hair soaking through his shirt.

The girl, hair neatly brushed and still dead, was dressed in a modest nightgown. She felt like a feather in his big arms. The room was a pale blue, a large four post bed, decorated with soft lace and filled with toys and treasures that have never been played with. Cyrus placed her in the bed, stroking her hair, whispering quiet apologies. He gave her a peck on the cheek before shutting off the lights.

Watching her from the darkness of the shadows, he could imagine she was sleeping, a peaceful sleep, one she would rise from in the morning. By the time the light stretched across the room chasing away the shadows, Cyrus was gone and the unfortunate girl was left for Barlow to deal with.

Next Chapter: Lo Irant