The Silken Slit of the Empress Ch. 10

"You don't care?" She said, when we finally parted. "Do you really not care?"

I smiled. "I'm a soldier, Helena. I've paid for it, like every other man in the legion camps."

She shook her head. "This is different. Leo, I...I won't just be some tart on your arm. I refuse to be."

"I know," I said. "I want more."

"But I'm not right for that, Leo," she said. "People will always know what I am. I'm dir--"

"God, Helena!" I interrupted. "Enough! Christ on his cross, but I'm sick of hearing that."

"Its what everyone says," she said. "And what they'll say about you too."

"Nobody talks like that about the Empress. Or Antonina."

She snorted, and my heart warmed to see some of her old fire. "They're the wives of the most powerful men in the Empire. We're nobody. People will talk, Leo."

I inhaled deeply of the salty air, letting out a long breath.

"Have you ever killed anyone?"

"What?" She asked.

"Have you?"

"No. But what does that have to do with anything?"

"Because I'm a killer, Helena. I don't even think I was seventeen when I became one."

I turned my gaze downward, holding out my war-calloused palms. I could see them there, the stains.

"I was a recruit, marching with my new unit to join the legions at the border with Persia. I was on watch one night, when some bandits, or just desperate villagers, attacked. I remember them being so thin, armed with clubs and pitchforks and knives. It had been a hard winter, I think. It looked like they could barely hold their weapons."

I don't think I'd ever told anyone this story before. The words flowed out of, like water draining from a long festering swamp.

"The first man I killed had a wild beard. And this ragged tunic. I remember that so clearly; the fucking tunic of all things. It was almost an accident, you know. He thrust with a pitchfork, and when he missed, it was like he stumbled into my sword. Another man screamed when he saw it. He was a lot younger, his son, I think. They looked a like. He charged me, and I killed him too."

"Leo," Helena said. "You were attacked."

"I was, and I kept telling myself that. But then, a few years later we went to war with the Sassanids. We marched towards their cities, and I couldn't really use that anymore."

I clenched my fingers, trying to hide the blood I saw dripping from them.

"I've killed so many, Helena. Fathers, sons, husbands; any who came in front of me. So much blood...and no matter how many times I wash my fucking hands, its always there."

I looked back towards her.

"You're dirty? With what I've done, I'll never be clean again."

"You were at war," she said. "You had no choice."

"Thats true," I said. "I did it to survive. And so did you."

She blinked, a few more tears spilling from her eyes. I continued to speak, forcing words past the lump in my throat.

"So, no, I don't care about your past. I don't care what you've done, and what those pampered fools in the palace say. Because when I look at you, Helena, all I think about is the miracle that brought a woman like you to the side of a murderer like me."

"You idiot," she said, a watery smile curling her lips. She let herself fall forward, her forehead coming to rest in the crook of my neck. "You don't know what you've done."

I laughed, taking a moment to wipe the wetness from my eyes. "I know that I spent a fortune on honeyed figs that aren't being eaten."

She shifted against me, finally bringing the fruit up to her lips. She let out a long sigh.

"This one's a bit smooshed..."

I laughed again, deeper than I had in a long time. She raised her head, tear-reddened eyes twinkling in the darkness. I planted a kiss on her lips. The salt was gone, now I could taste nothing but honey.

"Come on," I said, pulling her up. "Those fools should be off-duty now, and it's been a long night."

Neither of us really spoke as we made our way back. We were exhausted, wrung out from a flood of emotions. I felt newly discovered feelings swirling around through me, but I lacked the energy to even acknowledge them.

For now, I was content to walk beside her. Our arms brushed at one point, and I felt her fingers slip between my own.

The city was finally quiet, the not yet rioters having laid down their heads. Though, it was a heavy sort of silence. It was the stillness after the crash, the inhalation before the roar.

And as we came into the streets nearest to the palace, we saw the word 'Nika' painted on more than one door.