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“When?” His voice is hushed, breathless.
“If it is possible for all of us to be in the same room and not cause distress to the webs, I should like to see you all tonight? We can have a lovely dinner and conversation. We can talk about how I can better serve all three of you.” I clasp my hands over my heart. “And then we will go to bed together, if that pleases the three of you.”
Ossev gives me a jerky nod. “Tonight.”
“Shall I tell the others?”
“They know.” He stares at my face, tilting his head in that strange way of his again, and then heads back into the tower.
I bite my lip, trying not to smile to myself. Tonight is going to be exciting. I must make myself ready.
* * *
I spendthe rest of the day in preparations for that evening. If the Spidae are reading my mind, waiting for the right moment to arrive, I’m thankful. There’s so much for me to do. I take a quick bath and pin my thick curls up so they won’t get messy. Tonight is going to involve a great deal of oils and fluids, and I just washed my hair a few days ago.
Granted, I’ll wash it again if it gets messy, but I’m a big believer in being prepared.
I dab a bit of scent at my pulse points and put on a new dress, one that’s soft and flowing and made of a pale, pale chiffon in a delicate amber shade. My limbs are visible through the gauzy material when I walk, and it creates a pleasing tease to the senses. I put on a small corset to plump my breasts and show them off, and decide to skip both shoes and jewelry…and undergarments, but that is a given.
When I’m dressed and feeling sensual, I head down to the kitchens to prepare “our” meal. I know very well that the Spidae only eat if something intrigues them, so I cut up a few pieces of fresh fruit and then make myself a larger serving, adding nuts and a hard sweetbread I’m rather fond of. Several months ago, Apple brought me a bottle of wine with a label written in an unknown language, and I’ve been saving it for the right time. Tonight seems appropriate.
One more thing must be prepared for this evening, as well. I add herbs to a delicately-scented oil, thinking back to my days when I worked in a brothel. The girls there knew how to avoid infections, and this oil was a vital part of enjoyment, both for customers and for us.
Once the oil is steeping, the scent of it lingering in the kitchen, I maneuver the large table I have in the center of the stone floor, since I have no dining hall. I pour four glasses of wine, set out the four prepared plates, and then pull the two large, heavy chairs I have to the table, tossing a cushion on the hard back of each one so my lords can be comfortable. I add my only stool to the other side and then twist my hands, fretting.
I only have three seats, and they don’t match. This feels wrong. I need another chair from…somewhere. But where? Racking my brain, I try to think of where I might have seen another chair in the tower. I have a large one near the fire in my room but getting it down the hall on my own seems impossible. Should I contact Neska or Ossev and ask one of them to move it?
A figure appears in the doorway. It’s Neska, his silver eyes shimmering as he looks me over. Behind him, the other two god-aspects file into the room, and then all three of them are in the kitchen with me.
And…oh. Having all three of them in the same room feels strange. The air feels charged and heavy, and I’m very aware of the fact that they are gods and I’m a mere mortal. Is this why Ossev asked why I wanted all three of them together? Because it would feel overwhelming? Even so, I’m determined to see this through. I want this, and I don’t care if I feel like a bug beneath their godly feet.
“Not a bug,” Zaroun says in that dreamy, distracted way of his. “Mortal. Very different. Sweet. Tender. Soft. So mortal.”
Right. Mortal isn’t bad, just different, and it’s because I’m mortal that I’m tied to them. Even so, I’m nervous, because I want tonight to be special. “I’m not ready,” I protest, fluttering my hands over the table as they move into the room and join me. “Everything has to be perfect. Tonight is important—”
“You’re ready,” he says in that imperious voice of his. The god moves toward one of the large chairs, pulls the cushion off the back and tosses it to the floor.
I gasp, heat flooding my body at the sight of the pillow at his feet. It’s been so long since I’ve sat on a pillow at anyone’s feet, and it reminds me that sometimes serving a man can besucha pleasure. My hand flutters to my throat, because maybe I’m reading this wrong. “Does the chair not please you, my lord?”
“It does,” Neska continues in that arrogant voice of his, his expression unreadable. “But it will please me more to have you sit at my feet.”
And then he sits in the chair, elegantly resting his wrists upon the arms of it. His gaze is locked onto me, and I watch, heart pounding, as Ossev leads a blindfolded Zaroun to the other chair and then sits on the edge of the table, ignoring the place I’ve set for him. Their attentions are focused entirely on me.
“Ossev said he watched your threads,” Neska says when I do not move. “That when you trusted a man in the past, you enjoyed serving him, sitting at his feet like a pampered pet. Or have we read this wrong?”
I swallow, trying to recall how long ago that was. A very long time, I think. Maybe ten years. I had an older client who was good to me, bought me gifts and took me out to fine dinners. How he’d wanted nothing except to spoil me, and so I felt comforted and safe around him. I’d loved kneeling at his feet and caressing his legs while he’d fed me tidbits, because when he was there, everything felt safe. Like he’d protect me from the world. I haven’t thought of that man in ages, because he’d stopped coming to the brothel when he married, but I do remember the pillow at his feet and how I’d felt.
“It does take a lot of trust.” I don’t move just yet, because this is such a fine line and I want them to understand that there is a difference between submitting and serving because it brings you joy, and submitting and serving because you must. Part of me wants to sit on that cushion and part of me is afraid that if I do, we’ll go back to the way things were. Where I’ll be just a body for them to use and not think about beyond that.
“Then trust us,” Ossev says, his gaze bright upon me. “Trust us to tend to your heart as well as your body.”
Neska just waits, watching me. He sits, ramrod straight, his eyes narrow. He won’t try to persuade me like Ossev will. He’s going to make it my decision, my choice. I turn to Zaroun, because I can just ask him. I can ask what he sees if I climb onto that pillow, but that’s not trust, is it? He turns towards me, his blindfolded face calm, waiting.
As I hesitate, Neska reaches out, palm up.
I slide my hand into his and sink onto the pillow, deciding to trust after all.
Sixteen
