by Kim Fielding
I knew a little about the Undercouncil, which consists of lesser members of the nobility. During my short tenure as a guard, I occasionally pulled duty at their meetings, which were tedious at best. Well-dressed men and women squabbling among one another and forever yearning for the more impressive powers bestowed on the Great Council. I preferred to patrol the streets.
When I remained silent, Jory continued. “Sometimes he has one of them hire me to sing. Two Gray Cats doesn’t pay enough for me to live off of, and entertaining at wealthy people’s parties isn’t the worst way to earn a few coins.”
“And in return for making these arrangements for you…?” I prompted.
He jutted his chin. “Uren gets to fuck me.”
“So you’ve been to his palace more than once.”
“Yes. A dozen times, perhaps.”
Thus far, the story made sense. But I didn’t see the connection to the allegedly stolen ring and the two murderous men. I opened my mouth to ask another question, but Jory had one for me.
“You’re not disgusted?” he asked.
“By what?” I was genuinely confused.
“I just admitted I’m a whore.”
“You admitted that earlier,” I reminded him. “And if a man was poor and as beautiful as you, he’d be foolish to pass up the chance to make money that way.”
“You really think that?”
This was not the line of interrogation I’d intended, but I gave him an answer anyway. “I come from whores, and I’ve never been ashamed of it. I might have ended up one myself if my fighting skills hadn’t surpassed my looks.”
One side of his mouth quirked. “You’re handsome enough, Daveth. But today, I’m more grateful for your proficiency with blades.” He returned to the mattress and folded gracefully beside me. I became uncomfortably aware that I was half naked, and despite my fresh wound, I had to fight the impulse to fall on top of him.
I cleared my throat. “It sounds as if you and Lord Uren had a mutually beneficial arrangement. What made him angry?”
“I don’t know.”
He was lying. I waited, my gaze trained on his face. I’d grown weary of this game, but I had a sense that if I yelled at him, he’d only harden. So I bided my time, and eventually he began to squirm.
“Maybe…. There’s a wizard. Arthyen. He’s one of Uren’s acquaintances. At Uren’s suggestion, Arthyen hired me to sing for his sister’s engagement celebration. And after the guests had gone home, he took me to bed.” Jory twitched a shoulder. “He didn’t pay me for it—I wanted to do it. He’s nice-looking and he was kind to me.”
Nothing wrong with that. “What does that have to do with Lord Uren?”
“If he found out….” He winced. “He thinks he owns me. He doesn’t mind when I sing for other men, and he might not even mind if someone paid to fuck me. But if he knew I slept with a man in his social circle for… for fun, he’d be angry.”
Angry enough to kill? Maybe. I’d seen people murdered over jealousy more than once.
Something about Jory’s tale didn’t feel right, though. I wasn’t certain that he’d lied, exactly, but I would have wagered he hadn’t given the whole truth. I didn’t have the energy or patience to wrench full honesty from this man.
“I need to speak with Arthyen,” I announced. I might have received a more complete telling from Lord Uren, but in light of this afternoon’s attack, it was best if I avoided him for the time being.
“I’ll take you to him,” said Jory.
“No.”
“But—”
“I have enough other things to worry about right now without also having to protect you. You’re going to stay somewhere safe until I find out what’s going on.” And figure out how to save us both.
Looking resigned, he nodded. “Get me some wine and I’ll stay in my room.”
“You’re not going back there.”
Now he looked stricken, and I felt absurdly tempted to comfort him. But I clenched my jaw instead.
“My lute,” he whispered.
Damn. “Your lute will be safe for now. Lord Uren knows where you live. If he’s the one who sent those killers, he might take a more direct route next time. And hire more capable assassins.” My arm had begun to ache, and so had my head. “I need to find somewhere else to stash you.”
He brightened a bit with the hint of a smile. “As if I were a stolen ring?”
“You’re somewhat bigger than a ring. And more… noticeable.”
Jory Pearce scrambled onto my lap. Straddled me, in fact, clutching my shoulders and holding his face close to mine. “You notice me,” he purred.
Gods and goddesses, yes. I noticed the weight of him, pressing in all the right places, and the heat of his touch. I noticed that despite our recent adventures, he smelled of sweet wine and spices. I noticed that his eyes were warm pools of honey and his hair like spun gold, and dear god Bolitho, I noticed his hard length straining against my own, our chausses little hindrance between us.
I pushed him onto the floor more forcefully than I needed to, and my wounded arm protested. He grinned, and when I stood, he leapt to his feet and plastered himself against me. And then he stole a kiss—hard and burning and fierce.
I was panting when he stepped back. So was he.
“I know someone who will hide me for a while,” he said. “But you’ll have to pay her for the favor.”
Chapter Eight
ALTHOUGH IT was neither wise nor safe to do so, we stopped first at a tavern. It was a large one, dark inside and packed with people, so at least any would-be assassins would have had trouble finding us. Jory wanted wine, which they didn’t have, and had to settle for ale instead. He complained, yet he also drank three pints. As did I. If a clear mind and steady hands weren’t called for at the moment, I would have had more.
We didn’t speak much as we drank, but Jory stood closer to me than he had to, and I growled at any patron who glanced his way. It made sense for him to curry my favor and encourage my protection, but I didn’t understand why in all hells I so wanted to protect him.
After the tavern, we stopped at a food cart, where I bought us each a bowl of stew. We ate quickly, and I hoped the crowds provided camouflage from anyone who might be searching.
Then Jory led us down toward the river.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Smiths Quarter.”
“Fine. But not via the Royal Bridge.”
He squinted at me. “It’s the most direct route.”
“And the one where I’m most likely to be recognized.”
“All right.”
We took the Basilisk Bridge instead. According to legend, a basilisk once swam from the sea up the river Tangye and slithered around the city, killing people as it went, growing larger with each death. But a woman named Hedrek faced the monster and slew it, at which point the basilisk turned to stone and Hedrek threw it over the river for people to use as a bridge. It was a silly story, although the bridge was ancient, and if you squinted just right, it did resemble a snakelike creature.
Jory stared down at the water as we crossed. “I used to like to swim when I was a boy.”
“In the Tangye?” I asked incredulously. Nobody sane would enter those waters. Except the scavengers, of course, but that was how they survived.
He sighed. “No. Somewhere else.”
I could have asked him about his past, but it didn’t seem relevant to the matters at hand. And I wouldn’t know whether to believe anything he said. Instead I pointed downriver, where we could see the scavengers working under the Royal Bridge. “I started my morning down there.”
“You went for a swim?” he asked, chuckling.
“No. I looked at a corpse.”
“Why?”
I explained how and why I paid the scavengers.
“You’ve seen a lot of death today,” Jory said.
“Some days there’s a lot of death to see.”
We’d reached the opposite bank b
y then, a part of the Low where wretched shacks crowded against each other and the smell of shit and offal was enough to make the eyes water. The residents stared as we passed, adults and children as thin and dead-eyed as river wraiths, but none of them bothered us. They knew me—and if they didn’t respect me, at least they feared my knives.
“Is your family still in the Low?” Jory asked.
“I don’t have family.”
He set his jaw and nodded.
Eventually the surroundings improved enough to sustain some businesses. Grimy taverns, mostly, and a few whorehouses, but also a small number of shops. When we came to a tiny place with a display of cheap household sundries, Jory stopped. “Let’s go in there.”
“Why?”
“Needle and thread. For your tunic and cloak. And possibly for your arm, since you’re too stubborn to see a healer.”
I guessed we could spare a quick visit. The clerk eyed us distrustfully but fetched the supplies Jory asked for. Not just needle and thread, but also a length of plain white muslin, a packet of soap powder, and another packet of healing herbs. I paid; Jory carried.
We traveled through the Low in a roundabout way—my choice, in case anyone was paying attention. I didn’t want our route to be obvious. Getting to our destination was a slow process, and my pace slackened as we went. Especially when we began a slow climb up Sevi Hill.
As we passed a group of people squatting in the street to play dice, Jory startled me by taking my arm in his. “When is the last time you were outside the city?” he asked lightly.
“Never.” That wasn’t precisely true. On occasion I’d ventured out the Eastern Gate into Moon Harbor, which was not part of Tangye City, strictly speaking. Moon Harbor had its own mayor, council, and guard, although all operated in close cooperation with our own. There wasn’t much of interest there unless you were fond of fish, fishing boats, fishermen, and fishing supplies.
“Never?” Jory repeated, clearly a bit shocked.
“Why would I? Nothing there.” Also not precisely true. Farmland surrounded the city on all sides but the east. Beyond the farms to the north lay the Mad Forest—from which nobody had ever returned—and steep mountains to the south and west. Other kingdoms existed beyond the mountains, but travel to or from them was rare. And as for the east, some people believed ships would drop off the edge of the world five days’ sail from Tangye. I didn’t know if that was accurate, but our fishing vessels hugged the land, and the few unwary souls who decided to venture farther were never seen again.
But Jory was shaking his head. “You can escape the smoke and the squalor if you go far enough. There are places where the sky is so blue you can hear it sing, and there are pools and little streams with water clear as glass. You can breathe in those places, Daveth. People smile when they meet one another.” He paused, then hardened his voice and pasted on a brittle smile. “Those places have good wine.”
We entered Smiths Quarter with little fanfare, receiving nothing but a few passing glances from people who noticed Jory’s beauty. This particular neighborhood housed carpenters. Hammers rang against nails, saws hummed, and the air smelled pleasantly of cut wood. A few streets over, we walked by fabric merchants and tailors. The swirl of colors almost made me dizzy.
I scented leather as we passed the cobblers.
Jory noticed me cast a longing glance at a pair of tall chestnut-brown boots. “Tired of black?” he asked with a laugh.
“No. Mine are fine.”
“Yours are very fine. You’ve a taste for good footwear.”
Nothing makes a day more miserable than poorly fitting shoes—or no shoes at all. I’d rarely owned them as a boy, and my feet had always been cold.
I wasn’t exactly surprised when Jory led me to a neighborhood in which men and women lounged outside the tall, tidy buildings, smiling hopefully at those who passed by. A few taverns and restaurants dotted the area, but flesh was the primary item for sale. We approached a narrow house five stories tall, with a yellow sign hanging on the clean gray stone over the door. I wondered what the sign said but didn’t ask.
The interior smelled of perfume, strong enough to nearly make me gag. Several delicate, pretty boys not far out of adolescence lounged on the upholstered furniture. Most of them wore only scraps of diaphanous fabric, and they eyed us with mild interest as they smoked their calmsticks.
Then a gaunt woman dressed all in green appeared from somewhere. “Jory,” she said without expression or inflection.
Jory nodded at her. “Good evening, Branok.”
Some people are born into bodies that don’t match their genders. If desired, wizards can make the outside match the man or woman inside, but the magic is difficult and very expensive. Only the very wealthy can afford it. The rest accept their bodies with varying degrees of comfort and happiness. I had the sense Branok was not at all satisfied with the male body she was stuck in.
Jory and Branok stared at one another as the boys and I watched them. At last Jory granted her a tiny smile. “My friend and I need a place to stay for a day or two.”
“This is not an inn.”
“We need somewhere more discreet.”
She turned her attention to me, a scrutiny more calculating than friendly. I wondered what she saw. A thin, hard man with a rip in his good cloak?
“Twenty briquets a night,” she finally said.
Jory spoke before I could protest. “Fifteen, and we have access to the bath. We’ll be quiet. You can even give us that awful room in the attic.”
After a brief pause, she gave a jerky nod.
I handed her thirty briquets, even as I hoped that this business would be over in fewer than two nights.
Jory took my hand and pulled me down a hall to a chamber at the back of the house. The room was small, close, and warm, with a fire roaring in a corner hearth. Twin stone benches squatted in the room’s center, and against the back wall, a metal pipe led into a marble basin as tall as a half-grown child.
“Branok has a hot bath?” I asked, surprised. Usually only the wealthy could afford that magic.
“She likes her boys clean, and the bath is a draw for customers too. She gave a wizard lifetime free access to the boys in exchange for the magic. Then the guy dropped dead less than two years later, so Branok ended up with a bargain.”
He twisted a tap, sending a stream of water flowing into the basin. The water likely came from a catchment system on the roof, where rain was collected and stored. The wizard had enchanted it to warm as it ran down the pipe and into the basin.
Jory waved imperiously at me. “Strip.”
It had been years since I’d had access to a hot bath, and he didn’t have to tell me twice. I was out of my clothing quickly, pretending not to notice the way he trained his gaze on me.
When I was naked save for the bandage on my arm, I put my hands on my hips and glared. “You’d rather stare than bathe?”
“I think I can manage both. But hang on. I need to fetch a few things.”
I grabbed his arm before he could open the door. “Don’t run.”
He stroked my chest with his free hand, his touch featherlight. “I told you. I’m through with running.” Then he freed himself and left.
Alone in the little room, I examined the tile mosaics on the floor and walls and watched the basin fill. Jory was gone for so long that I nearly got dressed to chase him, but then he burst through the door with a smile and full arms.
“What’s all that?”
“Towels. Wine. This and that.” He set his burden on a bench and then stripped with quiet, economical grace.
It was my turn to stare. Every inch of him was as delectable as I’d imagined. Smooth skin over tight muscles. A mere dusting of body hair nearly invisible for its paleness. Pink nipples and a plump, soft sex. And gods and goddesses, the smooth rounds of his ass! I realized I was licking my lips and made myself stop—but not before Jory saw it and laughed.
“You’d rather stare than bathe?” he tea
sed, standing hipshot and grinning.
“Yes.”
He laughed again, low and sultry. “You flatter me.”
“Don’t pretend you’re unaware of your… splendor.”
“You’re making me sound like a diamond necklace. Or one of those statues in the Royal Quarter.”
“Diamonds are cold and hard, and none of those statues possess your beauty.”
To my surprise, he blushed and ducked his head.
A moment later he was all business. He spread a towel on the empty bench and pointed at it. “Sit.”
I did, and although I craned my neck, I couldn’t make out what he was doing with a small bowl at the basin. Apparently satisfied that the basin was full enough, he turned off the tap and sat next to me.
“I should be going to Arthyen now,” I protested as he unwound the bandage from my arm.
“Tss. Your skin is hot. You’re brewing an infection. And the hour is growing late. Do you really want to walk all the way back to the Silver Quarter tonight?”
No, I didn’t, especially since I didn’t know what would await me at the wizard’s. I hissed when Jory spread bitter-scented ointment on my wound. “What’s that?”
“Wax. Oil. Herbs. Branok keeps it around because her boys are always getting small injuries.”
“From their customers?” I growled.
“Not unless the boy likes it that way, no. She doesn’t run that kind of house. But when they’re not working, they’re drinking. And then they fall or they cut their finger when they’re trying to slice fruit.” He shrugged. “Things like that.”
“Or they stumble when they take trance-drops.”
“Branok doesn’t allow that.”
“You know a great deal about Branok’s house.”
He gave me a long look, then shook his head and wrapped my arm in a fresh bandage. “We are going to drink this wine,” he said when he was done. “And bathe. And as we do, you can ask me those questions waiting on the tip of your tongue, and you’ll tell me some things about yourself.”