Free The Iron Maiden by Piers Anthony

up. She was sore, but knew she would recover. She opened the tissue she had brought and looked at it. There was just a whitish blob there, like the translucent white of an egg. So little, signifying so much! She put it down the disposal chute. Then she returned to the chamber and lay down beside Hope. She had to decide what to do, because when he woke he might ask. She didn't want to lie to him, but neither did she want to tell him the truth. Not only had she had full woman-style sex with him, she had reveled in it as the culmination of all her desire. He would never understand.
    She worked out the necessary compromise: if he asked her, she would tell. But she would not volunteer it. That way she would not be lying to him. With luck it would remain her secret.
    She closed her eyes. “Oh Hope, my brother, my love,” she repeated. Maybe it was forbidden, maybe her soul was soiled, but she had at last had what she wanted most of him. She had never really understood what it was she had desired, but now she knew, absolutely. She knew it would never be repeated, but she would cherish the secret memory as long as she lived. It was, in its way, Helse's gift to her. The gift of his ultimate expression of love.
    As morning came, she got up and dressed, letting Hope sleep. He had not slept this well since losing Helse; that much she had done for him. She donned blouse and pants and brushed out her hair, adding a ribbon, making herself respectable. She looked in a mirror. Helse had been right: she was becoming pretty. Her blouse made her breasts show a little, and the pants were tight enough to give her a bottom.
    She had used that bottom! She also looked innocent, which was much of the point. Her innocence was forever gone, but she would try her best to fake it. Maybe Hope wouldn't ask.
    She went out and interacted with the other children, seeing that they got food for breakfast, hugging a girl who had evidently been crying, planning the day. Did any of them suspect what she had done in the night? There was no sign of it. She intended to provide no sign; every hour the secret held made it less likely ever to be exposed. Her mother and the other women had shown her how to fake innocence; it was a lesson she hoped she had learned well.
    “You're pretty,” a little boy told her.
    “Thank you,” she said, exactly as she should. The children needed her to be pretty, because pretty Helse had become their mother figure, and now it had to be Spirit. She had taken Hope's early advice to heart, enhancing her body with clothing and hair and expression, though she used no makeup. She needed to be pretty, not adult, right now, for a reason it was best they not understand.
    She checked on Hope frequently, and when she saw him stirring, she joined him. “Are you all right, Hope?” she asked, peering down into the cell.
    He looked up at her, seeming troubled. Yes, he definitely suspected!
    He was going to ask. She could not avoid it, but it was best that this confrontation be private. She dropped down into the chamber beside him.
    “Spirit,” he said. “Were you with me when I slept?”
    There it was. The hour of trial was upon her. But she would not volunteer it. “Hope, I will always be with you,” she replied. “We are family.”
    “No, I mean--”
    She looked at him, bracing for disaster. She had to answer, but she wasn't going to make it easy. “You mean what?”
    “I mean with me. When--”
    “When you screamed for Helse?” That was of course not the same. He knew she had been with him, every night, trying to ease his pain.
    “Yes.”
    “Hope, you had a bad dream. You were thrashing about. I tried to hold you down. Finally I got you quiet.” Literally true, but not the whole truth. If he asked her how she had gotten him quiet, the game was lost.
    He considered. “Did I--hurt you?”
    “You can't hurt me, Hope.”
    “I mean--” But he did not finish. She understood with a flash of revelation that he didn't want to