Selfish is the Heart

Selfish is the Heart

For Annalise Marony, taking her vows as a Handmaiden isn’t a matter of faith –it’s a matter of the heart.

Betrothed to her childhood companion Jacquin, Annalise finds herself facing a lifetime of marriage to a man she loves – but who can never be a true husband to her. Determined that neither of them shall face that fate, Annalise concocts a plan. She will enter the Order of Solace just long enough for their previous arrangement to be sundered, giving them both the out they desire.

What Annalise does not expect is to find something more important to her than escape in her lessons of service at the Order.

Cassian Toquin is a man of secrets, a carrier of lies. As Annalise’s teacher in the Order, he also becomes her formidable foe…and, perhaps, the only man to fulfill her destiny.

When love and faith collide, there can be only one path to absolute solace – if only Annalise and Cassian can bring themselves to walk it.

Selfish is the Heart

Chapter One

I f I didn’t care for you so greatly, cousin, I’d surely hate you. Caterina Marony turned from Annalise’s bedroom window to stare at her cousin. You’ll be next.

Annalise, who’d not yet bothered to dress in the formal gown she’d be wearing to her sister’s wedding, gave Caterina an uninterested grunt and bent back to the task of lacquering her fingernails. After six weddings, my parents are hardly in any position to provide me with the sort of splendor in yonder garden. If Allorisa’s betrothed was not wealthy enough, and besotted enough, to provide my sister with the finest party she could ever hope for, they’d be stuck having tea sandwiches and cordial, the same as I expect to suffer.

Caterina, Annalise’s junior by but a year, frowned and let the lace curtain fall over the glass. She crossed her arms over her chest. It’s not the party that matters, Annalise. It’s the marriage.

Annalise blew on her nails to dry them. Surely you still cannot envy me my marriage if that’s what you truly think. Not when you know as well as I that it’s an arrangement, not a union of passion.

Caterina’s gaze flickered. But surely Jacquin will be fine lover. He’s so handsome, and . . .

A flirt? Yes, cousin, I’m well aware of my betrothed’s charms. Yawning, Annalise got off the bed and went to the ewer and basin to bathe her face. The garden would be insufferably hot, worse even than this garret room, which was cooled only by an ingenious arrangement of vents and the windows that prevented no direct sunlight from getting in to heat the room. The water was warm but better than nothing, and she dampened a cloth to press to the back of her neck while she made the rest of her toilette.

He is most sincerely charming, Caterina said.

Jacquin, Annalise replied without looking at her cousin, has a fine cock and knows how to use it, which is not exactly the same as being a fine lover.

Caterina giggled and gasped, and Annalise threw her a sharp look. What? The use of such frank language has scarcely teased you so, before.

Caterina fussed with Annalise’s small jewel cask, mostly empty but for a few good costume pieces. Oh, well. Perhaps I played at worldliness before.

And now you play at modesty?

Caterina looked up at that. I can still envy you your future place, cousin. It’s especially worth envy when I have no prospects for a ring of my own.

Hearing her cousin’s wistful tone, Annalise couldn’t find it within herself to tease. Instead, she hugged the other woman quickly. You’ve had scads of suitors, Cat.

And my parents don’t approve of any of them!

Annalise linked her arm around her cousin’s waist and studied their reflections in the looking glass atop her dresser. They both shared the same golden brown skin and ebony, spiraling curls, but the resemblances ended there. Caterina was tiny and dark, with a narrow waist and flat bosom, slim hips of a perfect span. Her figure was fashionable, just right for the current high-waisted gowns and straight skirts. In comparison, Annalise had high, full breasts, long legs, and ample hips less perfectly suited to the day’s current style. Not that she’d ever had complaints. She’d had half a dozen lovers, and not a one had been anything but eager to sample her lushness in dress or out of it.

Your father simply isn’t ready to let you go, that’s all, Annalise said. Whereas mine is probably leaping in the air with joy to be rid of the last of his daughters.

Cat grimaced and turned her face from side to side, letting her black curls tumble over her shoulders. Even so, I’d far rather have someone waiting for my hand than look ahead to a future empty of a husband.

Your future isn’t empty. It can’t be. Look at you, that beauty.

If it were only beauty that brought me a husband, I’d have no worries!

Ah, well, it was scarcely my face that brought me the offer from Jacquin, as you well know. It was our fathers’ doing more than ours. Annalise laughed. Not, mind you, that I’m complaining. I’ve ever found Jacquin’s company to be most merry, and if our fathers feel it will benefit the family businesses to join, well . . .

Well, then at least she would be wed and need no longer worry about it.

Cat snorted lightly and looked away from Annalise. You’d better get dressed. I hear the bells of the Temple priests’ carriage, and you know your mother will wish you to be there to greet them.

Annalise sighed. I suppose I should, else she work herself into a frenzy. Though why my presence is required for the blessing I don’t know. And why, by the Void, did my sister believe velvet was a smart choice for a midsummer wedding? I shall expire of the heat before they’ve even said half their vows.

At least she asked you to stand beside her.

Annalise rolled her eyes. Dear, sweet, Cat. You know the only reason my sister has me as her maid is because my mother insisted, and our next closest sister is too fully with child to be expected to stand up with Allorisa. And the others must come from too far a distance for her to demand their service the way she can of me.

Cat laughed softly. And you have such a natural inclination toward service, cousin . . .

Annalise threw a damp cloth at the other woman, who ducked it, laughing. I do it for the sake of my sister’s betrothed, who will have to spend the rest of his years soothing her temper. There’s no need for me to tease her into further fury when the wedding itself has sent her into a froth.

From outside in the garden, the toll of bells grew louder. The priests had arrived. Annalise could hear her mother’s chatter even through the glass.

Come, Cat. Help me into this Void-begotten gown and tidy my hair. I must go stand beside my sister and make certain she doesn’t do something frivolous.

Like faint?

Or run away, Annalise said with a lift of her brow. Though what a merry scandal that would be!

Chapter Two

A nd another of the stairsteps has found her way to wedded bliss, Jacquin Kirkol whispered into Annalise’s ear, knowing how it would tickle and make her squirm.

His fingers tightened on her hip. To anyone watching they would seem quite the happy pair, Annalise thought as his hot breath and the tip of his tongue on her lobe sent a shiver throughout her. Jacquin had been teasing her for the past hour or so as the endless wedding customs her sister had insisted on spun out the day.

Just one more dance, he murmured. And then you’re free, yes?

Annalise turned her face just barely to look at him. You know I’m standing as her maid. I must attend her for the entire party.

Ludicrous. Jacquin nipped at her neck so swiftly only someone persistently staring at them would see it.

Custom, Annalise sighed and poked him in the side. Cease to pitch this woo with me, sirrah, I’ve no time for lovemaking today.

Jacquin pulled away with a pout that did nothing to sour his pretty face. Bother. I might as well go home to Alyria and spend the days before our marriage tied tight in the chains of chastity.

Annalise kept her eyes on her sister, who would require food and drink soon if she meant to keep dancing with every party guest without falling over. She poked him again. Hard. Hush, you. I know for a fact you came as your grandmother’s escort and for the sake of trade, not for the mere pleasure of seeing me.

The music slowed, the dance close to ending. Annalise made to move toward Allorisa, who didn’t look like she wanted to stop dancing, even though her face gleamed with heat and she’d made her way through every partner but for her newly bound husband. Jacquin arrested Annalise with a hand on her elbow, holding her tight. With the shield of her skirts and a turn of his body to keep most anyone from seeing, he pressed his groin to hers.

Her breath caught and she looked into his eyes. Jacquin had been a guest of her family’s near to every summer since they were both children. He’d ever been fond of kissing and petting her, but as the months drew closer to their impending marriage, he’d grown more insistent about proving his affections to her. Annalise had no issue with this, as she’d long ago relinquished the prize of her virginity and had made no secret to him about it. What was consistently more frustrating was that Jacquin often made much of an effort at wooing her, but very little at actually fucking her.

I must attend my sister, Annalise said through half-parted lips and laughed at his entirely too dramatic groan of frustration. Surely you cannot expect me to slip away from all of this to service you?

Jacquin laughed and kissed her cheek. You, my darling, are a tauntress.

I could say the same of you.

There were a bare few moments before the dance ended. Already Annalise felt the pull of expectation, of what was required. Of service anticipated. The weight of it slouched her shoulders and turned down the corners of her mouth. She could not wait for this day to end so she need no longer dance at anyone else’s whim.

Allorisa looked as though she never wanted the day to end. Annalise could scarcely blame her sister, who’d not inherited their mother’s winsome grace or their father’s casual charm, nor any of their shared attractive features. Of all the sisters, Risa was the most like their grandfather in appearance, and though Grandda was a formidable, well-liked gentleman, his face sat rather better on his shoulders than on a young woman’s. Even so, she had a lush figure and lively eyes and was as bright as a new-minted coin—but coupled with a determined disposition and no seeming ability to temper it, her intelligence had kept away suitors by the dozen. The fact she was the sixth of seven daughters didn’t help, for it meant her dowry was nothing to brag upon. Not that her own was anything to brag upon, Annalise thought as she waited for her sister to finish a last whirl around the slate patio laid especially for this day. But at least Annalise was ebon-haired and lushly formed, with a merry sense of humor. At least she had that.

Annalise, I’m thirsty, Allorisa complained the moment her partner had bowed and left her. By the Mother, the sun has fair roasted me!

Come, sister, and sit in the shade while I bring you something to drink. Annalise took Risa’s arm and led her to the bride’s bower, hung with expensive, out-of-season flowers and ivy that cast shadows, if not coolness. Your husband has nearly finished his dancing, as well. He’ll be along soon, I’m sure, and then we’ll have the feast.

I think I know the course of events at my own wedding party. Allorisa took the mug of chilled wine Annalise handed her. She quaffed it back and returned the mug. Her eyes flashed and softened. Thank you.

It’s hot, Annalise said with a shrug, as though that made a difference in her sister’s disposition, when they both knew quite well it did not. I’m fair roasted myself in this velvet.

But you look so lovely. Risa said this charitably and could afford to, for though the gown had been sewn of expensive fabrics and cut to current style, it did not suit Annalise half as much as Risa’s did herself.

But then, that was the bride’s privilege. Annalise gritted out a smile. More wine?

Allorisa was craning her neck for the sight of her husband, Denver, who was still locked in the final waltz with some distant cousin. Yes, yes, before he’s finished.

Custom dictated the bride’s maid act the part of fetchencarry, so that was what Annalise would do. She refilled her sister’s cup, dodging a few well-meaning relatives who wanted to congratulate her on her upcoming nuptials, and returned it just as Denver found his new wife. The couple made a show of kissing sweetly at the request of the guests gathered ’round, and the announcement of supper was made. Annalise hung back, though her stomach rumbled. Her corset had been laced too tightly for her to enjoy the meal, and as her sister had insisted on the most gourmet of every dish, Annalise knew there would be a great many exotic dishes with tiny, insufficient portions and long pauses between the courses. If she were going to make it through this as well as sit at her sister’s elbow and serve her whatever her husband did not, she needed something to sustain her.

There was also the matter of the service her mother was now fluttering about. The Temple priests who’d performed the wedding ceremony even looked askance as Fluta Marony begged them with hands clasped to her bosom and fluttering eyelashes to lead a special afternoon service. Annalise’s mother didn’t notice the shifting sighs and looks the wedding guests gave, but even if she had, Annalise doubted it would matter. Her mother had long ago given herself fully to the Faith in every respect, though she’d left off forcing her children and husband to worship with her.

It would be best to eat first, said the tallest priest, the one who’d been to the house before and who knew Fluta’s eccentricities. So that all might enjoy the service without distraction.

It said much, Annalise thought, when a priest found her mother too enthusiastic in her worship. She took the chance to slip from the crowd. Bread and honey in the kitchen would settle her stomach while she waited on the poached quail’s eggs and copperfish roe. Annalise lifted her skirts, grateful at least for the flat-heeled slippers her sister had insisted she wear so as not to tower over her, and hopped across the kitchen threshold. Inside, the bustle and commotion did not dissuade her. Her mother preferred to cook most of their simple meals herself now that the family had so dwindled, but today all the cooking was being done by hired caterers. Annalise knew where to find the loaves of yesterday’s bread and crocks of sweet honey gathered from her father’s bees, and she ducked into the pantry without even speaking to any of the hired help.

Many manor homes had multiple pantries for wet and dry goods, chill and warm. At Marony House the kitchen had been expanded over time as money allowed and necessity dictated, so the main pantry had been carved from spare bits of space left when walls went up and others came down. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined a narrow, short hall with a jog at the end that led to the stairs of the cold cellar. The cool shadows and quiet were welcome after the hours of heat and noise outside, and Annalise paused to acclimate.

The low sound of murmured voices around the corner alerted her that she was not alone and though she was surprised when she turned the corner, she was not shocked.

The young man wore his golden hair pulled back into an intricate braid down his back. Annalise studied his clothes, the high-throated shirt, the brightly patterned cravat, the long-cut trousers and tight-fitted waistcoat that gave him his figure, rather than his body providing the form on which the clothes hung. Dressed with fashion, but not taste. Jacquin could’ve found better.

Blessed Balls! cried the blond young man.

Indeed, Annalise said with a quick sweep of her gaze over his dishevelment. She cast a longer look at his companion, who had the grace to look away. I’ve just come for some honey. Please don’t let me interrupt.

But we weren’t—

Hush, Jacquin said to the blond. Mistress Marony is no fool. You should go.

The blond nodded and ducked his head before brushing past her. The click of his bootheels was very loud, as was the creak of the pantry door and the influx of noise from the kitchen, which cut off when the door shut behind him. Jacquin leaned back against the railing to the cellar stairs. Annalise gave him her back to look for the crock of honey.

Anna . . .

Hush. She echoed him. I am indeed no fool.

Truly, we were only talking.

One hand on the shelf to steady her, she turned with a throat afire from the effort of holding in a shout. I believe your game involved the use of teeth and tongue, indeed, but you’ll find me fair doubtful as to it being only conversation.

And yet I swear to you that’s all we had, love. Jacquin moved to touch her, and she pulled away.

They stared across the narrow space at each other. The sole illumination came from the narrow, high windows set along the roofline. There was enough light for her to have seen everything, to see all of it now. Jacquin’s frown and the flash of his eyes, the soft plumpness of his lips she recognized as the aftermath of passion.

You dishonor me, Jacquin.

I swear to you, that was not my intent.

Then why do it? Here at my family’s house? By the Arrow, Jacquin, we are to be married in a month’s time. I know what you do in your own time before we are wed is of your own account, but . . . Annalise swallowed hard.

I plead your mercy. Truly, Annalise.

She’d long known Jacquin enjoyed the intimate company of his own sex. In Alyria, such bonds were commonly accepted to continue even after marriage. Here in Eldonia it was rather more frowned upon for wedded partners to step beyond their vows…at least in public. Though anything a married man and woman could get up to seemed entirely allowed, no matter how decadent, Annalise thought with bare-boned scorn as she remembered a couple she’d seen standing by the fountain. The woman wore a golden choker that would have looked like nothing more than expensive jewelry if not for the slim leash of golden chain attaching it to the bracelet of the man beside her. It had been difficult to tell if the length allowed either of them sufficient room to move apart or if they always need stay at each other’s elbows.

Annalise shuddered at the thought of being held to such requirements.

She sighed and leaned against the shelves, her appetite fled. She’d accepted Jacquin’s troth a year ago, just a sevenday after Allorisa had taken Denver’s. Annalise enjoyed the privileges of maidenhood and yet grew weary of being her father’s chattel. Trading that in for the position of wife seemed a pleasant enough arrangement. And she’d known Jacquin for near her entire life, after all.

She knew him.

Hush, love, don’t cry. Jacquin pressed a thumb to her cheek and took it away glistening with her tear. Please. I swear to you the lad approached me. In a moment of weakness, I allowed him to pull me inside—I never meant to do more than speak with him about why I must needs refuse his offer.

Annalise captured Jacquin’s hand between hers and kissed his knuckles gently before releasing it. Sweetheart. I know that.

He startled and pulled his hand from hers. Do you?

Think you I could know so well the color of your eyes, your favorite dessert, the way you cheat at cards, and yet not also know the other truths of you?

I think you don’t know as much truth as you think.

Jacquin, will you be happy? With us?

It was not the place to ask such a question, there amongst the bags of flour and crocks of jams and butters. Perhaps there was no good place to ask. Jacquin answered, anyway.

I would do my best to try.

Annalise sighed and ran a fingertip along the shelf, which gave up only the finest hint of dust. She rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger. As would I. But would it be enough?

Jacquin tilted his head to look her up and down. He stepped back. What exactly are you saying?

She had to strain her ears to hear even a hint of the merriment outside and maybe even that was her imagination. Outside in the garden, her sister danced with her new husband. In nine months’ time or close to it, Annalise guessed, her sister’s belly would swell with that man’s child, giving him an heir and Allorisa a reason to occupy her time with somewhat other than herself. Outside in the garden, guests ate and drank her parents’ hospitality, provided by their new son’s coin.

And all of that would be hers in a few short weeks. The rest of her life would stretch out in front of her—marriage. Motherhood. A pleasant home of her own and a husband who would do his best to make her happy but would never love her the way she desired, no matter how he was able to force himself toward it. She’d been able to overlook all of this before, but today, now, seeing the joy on her sister’s face and knowing it would never be hers struck something deep inside her.

Jacquin, Annalise said. I cannot marry you.

Chapter Three

Striking Serpent. Biting Dog. Leaping Monki.

Cassian Toquin moved through the forms of the Art with practiced discipline and ended with his feet together, hands tight-pressed palm to palm, fingers pointing to his chin. The sun had scarcely peeped over the horizon and yet sweat trickled down the line of his spine. He tasted salt when he licked his mouth. He opened his eyes.

Above him he heard the hushed titters of his audience, which he ignored. Instead, he bent to lift his shirt from the ground where he’d tossed it. With swift fingers he smoothed his hair back from his face, grateful he’d kept it shorter than fashion dictated. It fell over his eyes but not down the back of his neck.

The creak of a window caught his attention and he looked upward. Once a novice had fallen from the third story as she leaned to get a better glimpse. Fortunately, she’d fallen into the cart of straw and manure Felix the gardener had parked by the flowerbeds in preparation for their fertilization. The girl had been bruised and humiliated, but she’d lived.

Though he glimpsed the forms and faces of several novitiates in the shadowed rooms of the Motherhouse, none of them were hanging from the ledge. Yet. Someone had cranked open the window either to allow in a breeze or to get a better look at him as he exercised, but now had retreated. It was better that way. Cassian found it easier to teach the young women in service when he didn’t have to face them as admirers.

His other admirer was not so silent. How long did it take you to learn the Art, Master Toquin? How long to become a master?

I’m not a Master of the Art, Kellen. I just practice it. I could practice it every day for the rest of my life and not master it.

Kellen, tousle-headed and blond, frowned. I don’t think I’d like to do something every day and know I’d never become good enough at it to be called a master.

Cassian smiled but stopped himself from ruffling the lad’s hair. There are many skills in life that can’t be completely mastered. One can become proficient, and that should be enough.

Kellen followed Cassian to the pump in the yard where he ran the water, frigid from its source deep underground. Cassian splashed his face, blowing great breaths at the chill, and dripping, swiped at his face. Kellen already had Cassian’s jacket ready, held out like an offering. Cassian took it.

You needn’t play the part of my fetchencarry, Kellen. I’m quite capable of gathering my own belongings.

I know, Kellen answered cheerfully. But I like watching you.

It would be a number of years until the lad discovered the joys of living in a house filled almost exclusively with women. Right now, all he saw were the pains. Cassian took the jacket, hung it over his arm. He meant to return to his quarters for a bath rather more private than he had opportunity for now.

Do you?

Oh, yes. The Mothers say I’m to learn what I can from you, at any rate. Not the Art, Kellen added. I don’t think they care much for that.

No, I don’t suppose they do. The Art was a man’s domain, though Cassian had heard tell of women who practiced it. He couldn’t quite imagine what they’d ever need it for, but he’d heard stories. Mothers don’t always understand the importance of the same things men do.

Kellen laughed, eyes crinkling. No!

I was a good deal older than you are now when I first took up the practice. I should think you’d be able to learn faster than I did.

Kellen’s grin did its best to break Cassian’s heart, but he’d grown accustomed to making it into stone. The Art was not the only thing he’d long practiced. The lad leaped into the air in a fair impression of Striking Serpent.

Like this?

Very good. Not quite. Cassian hung his jacket on the pump handle and showed Kellen the form. Like this.

Kellen did it again, better this time. He stumbled a little when he came down, but his hands were in the right place. In the bright morning sun, his hair shone like gold. His eyes, though filled with merriment at the moment, were dark. Cassian didn’t like to look at Kellen’s face overlong. It reminded him too much of what he’d prefer to forget.

From inside the Motherhouse, a chime rang.

Come. It’s time to go inside.

Kellen nodded obediently. Maybe tomorrow you can show me more, Master Toquin? Please?

We’ll see if you’ve made it out here so early, Kellen. But . . . yes. I see no reason why you couldn’t join me. There was no reason, which was the only reason Cassian agreed. To forbid it would