Heartland by Lucy Hounsom

Author:Lucy Hounsom [Hounsom, Lucy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pan Macmillan

17

Market Primus, Rairam

Brégenne

His hands tangle in her hair as he kisses her and both her own are pressed against his chest, one clutching his tunic, his heart beating beneath her fingertips. She is alive with the sensations that rush through her, a river sweeping her up in its current. She yields to the flow, letting herself feel every caress, every heated touch. There are no spaces between them and the air itself seems afire. He draws her down to him so that they both kneel and when he reaches for her bodice, she lets him and the material slides from her shoulders to pool at her waist. She meets his eyes and sees herself: a woman with a woman’s body, her hair falling around her—

Brégenne opened her eyes. For a moment she was disorientated, blinking at the dark, unfamiliar room. Her heart was beating quickly. She pressed one hand against it and let herself savour the dream before wakefulness returned in a rush.

She sat up abruptly in the huge bed Trader Marahan had granted her for the night. She could feel the heat in her cheeks, though no one was there to see her blush. I just miss him, she tried to tell herself. It was natural to miss Nediah – they’d been together a long time. She’d become used to his presence, taken it for granted that when she turned around, he’d be there, ready with a smile or wry remark.

That didn’t lessen the pain of his absence. Brégenne had to admit that what she felt was more, dangerously more, than the despondency of separated friends. It was a feeling that had crept up on her unawares, a feeling that had perhaps been years in the growing. Now that Nediah was gone …

She forced herself to focus on the day ahead. First things first, Brégenne thought as she dressed. The mob at the gates had to be dispersed. She was afraid that the peaceful solution she had in mind wouldn’t find much favour with people who were half starved and maddened by grief at the loss of their homes and loved ones. She tugged on her boots fiercely, cursing the Trade Assembly. Charity and compassion were clearly not words with which the merchants were familiar.

Trader Astra Marahan greeted them in the breakfast room. The Marahans were one of the oldest merchant families and their affluence was gaudily apparent. Servants hovered by painted screens, waiting to spring into action at Astra’s slightest gesture. Brégenne and Gareth sat in high-backed chairs, confronted by a veritable army of pastries. While Brégenne was impressed and faintly appalled at the surrounding luxury, she could tell by Gareth’s frequent fidgeting that he was out of his depth. The first time he’d reached for a pastry – iced and arranged in a spiral – one of the servants had pursed his lips in unconcealed disapproval. There was an order to the eating of pastries and iced cinnamon spirals were among the last to be consumed. Gareth had dropped the thing as if burned, which caused the servant’s lips to purse even more.

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