Long Live the Queen (Book 5 of The Powder Trail)

Chapter Ten: Consummation

They didn't talk much afterwards. They kissed – shaky, breathless, euphoric kisses that said more about what they'd felt than words could – and fell asleep within minutes.

Jack woke first and lay in the darkness grinning to himself for a long time, savouring the banked fire in his chest, the echo of the pleasure in his loins, the glorious sense of fulfilment in every limb. She had spoken French. She'd been as explicit as in any of her letters. It had been amazing.

He turned to look at her, and then felt the heat. Of course, her hair always got hot when she was excited now – not hot enough to scorch the sheets, but hot enough to brush past him and make him catch his breath with a mixture of pleasure and pain. And it was warm in his room in any case, because Sarah – who knew he was used to the climate of India – always saw to it that there was a fire burning in the grate.

But this was different. A warm, dark, steady glow. A glow without light, which should have been impossible, but which made sense in the context of Ellini's bright black hair.

She was still asleep, as far as he could tell, but her hair was glowing darkly. It looked more refined than the rest of the darkness – a pure, perfect black, like the kind of dark you'd get in a cave five miles under a mountain. She stood out just as much as if she had been glowing light.

And he was afraid – oh, not of the darkness, but of the inhumanity of it. He felt as if some mystical essence was stealing over her – as if she was turning into Martha Harrow, or the incarnation of darkness. It might make her more powerful, but would it make her less her?

But then she woke, saw him, and smiled. And everything was as it should be.

He supposed this was how he must have looked after that first night together – gratified in every line of his frame, suddenly possessed with the conviction that everything was going to be all right. She looked molten, purring, languorous with satisfaction, and unbearably aware of it. She knew he could tell. She knew how smug he was feeling. She was embarrassed, but only a little. It sat on top of the molten loveliness like a fine dusting of icing sugar.

"How are you feeling?" he said at last. "I only ask because you're... glowing. A bit."

Her smile faded, but not to alarm. She could already feel the glow, perhaps. She just hadn't expected it to show on the outside. She slipped out of bed and went to stand in front of the full-length mirror.

For a moment, he watched her golden, fire-tinted body as she stood there. Her hair hung down her back and looked like a cut-out window to the far reaches of space. All she would need, he thought, would be some diamond hairpins, and she'd look just like the night sky.

Then he got up, unnerved by the silence and the dark glow. "Do you think it's permanent? Will people notice? Why is there always magic involved when we-? I mean, it always feels like magic, but now there's things like glowing hair, and scars sinking back into our skin."

He was chattering nervously. He wanted to see her face. When he reached her side, and saw her serenely smiling features, he couldn't decide whether he was reassured or not, but he was certainly affected.

This was Ellini at full strength. It was difficult to describe. He had seen hints of it before: the ferocious confidence of her Charlotte Grey persona, the fearless fifteen year-old who had whirled around her kitchen pretending to dance with 'handsome Jack'. This was all those Ellinis stitched together. Or perhaps they stood behind her and buoyed her up – lifted and twirled her like some kind of rapturous dancer.

"I expect it's your Ring-Sister-Piano spell," said Ellini.

"I didn't know it was a spell," Jack grumbled, wondering whether he dared to slide his arms around her. "I didn't know I could work spells."