No Greater Pleasure Read online

  He bit into the scone and then sipped some tea. “Perhaps I should make you a list.”

  Quilla smiled, then Waited. “If it pleases you.”

  It was his turn to regard her with a serious expression. “Do you wake every morn with such an abominably cheery manner? Or is it something you put on, like your gown?”

  “I was blessed with an easily contented nature. No matter how I feel when I go to my bed at night, there are few mornings I do not wake with the knowledge that each day is mine own to control.”

  “So you’re happy all the time?”

  She shook her head. “Of course not, my lord. I am sad, or weary, or irritable as any other. I just make a rather greater effort at finding joy when it insists on hiding.”

  He snorted. “You speak as though joy were something anyone could find, like a slug beneath a rock.”

  “More like a flower in a garden of stone, my lord.”

  “Ah. You’ve been walking the grounds.”

  “Walking is good for the legs.” She watched him. “Your garden, forgive my saying, could perhaps use a bit of color.”

  “We have the conservatory and greenhouse to provide flowers.

  The stone garden is not a place for frivolity, but for meditation.”

  “Of course. ’Tis your garden, and should be planned however you choose.”

  Delessan finished his scone and reached for the second she’d already prepared. “Don’t you want anything to eat?”

  “If it pleases you for me to eat with you, than I shall.”

  He frowned. “Are you hungry?”

  “I am.”

  “And if you were not?”

  “If I were not hungry but it pleased you to have me eat with you, I would do so.” Quilla put some jam on an unbuttered scone and took a bite. It was delicious. Better than her simplebread.

  She looked up to see Delessan looking at her with a mixture of appalled astonishment and speculation in his eyes. “Do you not have limits, Handmaiden?”

  Quilla took a swallow of tea and wiped her mouth before answering. “I do, my lord.”

  “And what are they?”

  “I don’t know. I have never had them tested.”

  “Never had—” This seemed to set him aback. He stared down into his teacup, brow furrowed, mouth pursed. “Why not?”

  “I have never been assigned to any patron who has pushed me farther than I am willing to go.”

  The answer was simple, but true. She’d been asked to do many things, and she’d always done her best to provide them. She hadn’t always succeeded, of course. Eating food that turned her stomach had made her ill more than once. Her poetry had earned disdain. She’d fallen asleep when requested to stay awake. Overall, she did her best to provide what her patrons needed.

  “Then how do you know you have limits?” His gray blue eyes burned into hers.

  “Everyone has limits,” she said, her voice huskier than normal, before she cleared her throat self-consciously. “I am not without morals.”

  “So you would not say, steal, for a patron?”

  “I think not.”

  “Even if it made him happy?”

  Quilla had heard stories of Handmaidens who’d committed crimes in the names of their patrons. It didn’t matter in the eyes of the courts, or the priests. They’d been held accountable for their actions.

  “Theft rarely makes anyone happy, my lord. When happiness is measured by wealth or assets, then accumulating more, even by theft, rarely satisfies. If a patron wished me to steal in order to provide him or her happiness, I would likely decline, knowing no matter what I did, my efforts to provide that joy would be fruitless.”

  Delessan looked at her while he sipped his tea. “Likely would refuse. But you’re uncertain.”

  “I have never been told to steal. I believe I would refuse. But I cannot say I would never acquiesce, for there are always situations which defy reason.”

  “Can you think of a situation in which you might agree?”

  Quilla put down her cup and folded her hands, the back of her right in the palm of her left. “I have known of Handmaidens who became thieves for their patrons. All the cases I heard of, and we are all taught of them as cautionary tales, my lord, had one situation in common.”

  He sat back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, teacup cradled in his long-fingered hands. “Which was what?”

  “They all fancied themselves in love with their patrons, my lord.”

  “Ah.” He sipped. “You say fancied themselves in love. Is it difficult for you to believe they actually were?”

  Quilla shook her head. “It’s not my place to judge their feelings, only that whether or not they had given their hearts in addition to their service, committing a crime is immoral and the intensity of emotion cannot make up for it.”

  “So you’ve never been asked to steal but you believe you would not do so, even if you were in love with your patron.”

  “I have never been in love with a patron, but no. I do not believe I would steal. Nor murder, if that is your next question, and yes, I have heard of Handmaidens who did that, as well.”

  “It would seem you are a most violent bunch, then. Thieves and murderers? I thought the Order of Solace would not condone such practices.”

  She bristled at his cool tone, but kept her voice calm. “We are all human. There are far more thieves and murderers who are not members of the Order than are.”

  This made him smile. “Agreed. And I see that though I try to make you angry, you refrain. Tell me something, Handmaiden, how much harder would I have to try?”

  “Much harder, my lord, for I have heard every insult to my profession you can imagine and likely many more you have not. I have been called a whore, a demon, a temptress. I have been spit upon in the streets, set upon by jealous spouses; I have been slapped and kicked and bitten. I have been told I will freeze in the Void and there is no place in the Land Above for me. I’ve endured insult and degradation aplenty.”

  “Why, then, do you continue?” He seemed genuinely curious, so Quilla gave him an honest answer.

  “Because ’tis my pleasure to bring comfort and solace. Because I find joy in bringing joy. Because I truly believe in the higher purpose and that by following this course I am doing my part to fill Sinder’s Quiver. I believe there is a place for me in the Land Above, I do not believe I am a whore or immoral, and because I know the goodness of my heart and of my soul, I care little for those who denounce me out of their own insecurities. I don’t go ’round forcing my services on anyone, my lord. I am assigned to people, such as yourself, who have a need for what I can provide.”

  Again, the intensity of his gaze rippled through her. She could admire his eyes, now showing flecks of gray and gold in them when the firelight caught them. Full black lashes fringed them, and thick but well-shaped black brows, a shade darker than the hair on his head, arched above.

  He seemed to be scrutinizing her as much as she him, for his eyes traveled over her from head to her gown puddled around her on the floor.

  “So, short of theft and murder, you have no limit to what you will do?”

  “You make it sound rather ominous when put that way. But, the answer, I suppose, is yes.”

  “Would you crawl on your hands and knees for me?”

  She lifted her chin slightly. “If it would please you to have me do so, yes.”

  “You would not find it degrading, to be treated so?”

  “You cannot degrade me if I refuse to find humiliation in the task you set before me.”

  “Many women would refuse to crawl willingly.”

  “Many women are not Handmaidens,” Quilla replied.

  Delessan set down his cup and rubbed his hands together, the long fingers twining and twisting. “And your limits have never been tested? Not ever?”

  She smiled. “No, my lord. But should you wish to try, I am certain I will be able to accommodate you.”

  This reply made him frown