by Angela Boord
“You’re in Karansis. All the establishments are like this. This one’s just cheap.”
He stops and looks around. “They’re all like this?”
I roll my eyes. “The town’s founded on the quest for male vitality. If you were any stiffer, Mikelo, you’d be cast in bronze.”
“I think you just enjoy tormenting me.”
“It provides me some amusement, I must admit.”
He flushes. Then he says, “I think you’re lying to me. Why would a father bring his daughter to this town?”
“Because it was a good place to stop over on our way to Iffria. We didn’t eat in the common room. The servants brought our supper straight upstairs.”
Before he can continue our conversation, a server strides up to stand at his elbow, a slender young man with a clean chin and long ale-colored curls. The kind of man I’m often taken for. He leans past Mikelo’s shoulder to speak to us, and Mikelo jerks away from him.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the server says. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s all right,” Mikelo says, forcing a smile. “I was just watching the devotees out the window.”
“Ah.” The server smiles, but it doesn’t light up his eyes, which are almost the color of twilight. “Yes. Devotions are carried on at all hours. Will the sir be attending any tonight?”
Mikelo glances at me. “No. I think we’ll just be moving on. After supper.”
“Shall I waste my time, then?”
I laugh. “You might earn an extra coin or two.”
The server smiles. “One earns one’s living.”
“One does,” I agree. I lay some catos on the table. “We’ll eat what that brings us and take some hard food from your stores. And send a woman over here to wait on my brother. He needs his vitality restored.”
“Don’t they all,” the server says with a sardonic smile as he slides the coins into his upturned palm. He bows when I chuckle, then turns and walks away.
“I don’t wish a woman to wait on us, either,” Mikelo whispers when he’s gone. “I don’t wish anything.”
“You’re a man, aren’t you? Act like one.”
Mikelo grits his teeth. “I am acting like a householder. It doesn’t do for us to consort with whores. All that produces is kinless bastards.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You shouldn’t speak so about your mother.”
He half-rises, the color in his face telling me that for once, I’ve struck deep. Then he sits down. “I forget who you are sometimes.”
I tap the index finger of my right hand on the table, and the metallic ting it makes is muffled but unmistakable. Mikelo pales at the reminder. “It won’t do to forget that.”
Then the door opens and a man comes in.
Tall. Plain brown cloak, hood up, the tip of a scabbard barely visible at its hem. Not so different from all the other men I’ve seen today.
The innkeeper smiles as she offers him a table. He bends from the shoulders to speak to her.
“What are you watching?” Mikelo whispers.
“Nothing,” I say.
The innkeeper gestures at the room. The man turns his head imperceptibly. Dammit, I still can’t see his face.
“You are watching someone,” Mikelo says, turning in his chair.
“I told you before, I’m not likely to let Geoffre’s men sneak up on me.”
“Is it that man, in the brown cloak?”
“I’m just keeping an eye on who’s going in and out.”
“He’s coming this way now.”
The man in the cloak sweeps away from the innkeeper, toward us. He keeps his head down until he puts his hand on the back of Mikelo’s chair.
Mikelo comes half out of his seat, looking at the cloaked man in fright. But then the man tilts his head upward.
It’s Arsenault. It really is Arsenault this time.
I feel like I don’t have enough air.
The hood of his cloak shadows his face, and he looks so strange without the break in his nose and the scar. It’s like the lost memories in his mind have erased the memories that should exist on his body.
“Andris,” Mikelo breathes.
It was supposed to be me and Arsenault on the road, where it would be easy to see if he had led Geoffre’s spies to me or if he had followed me only to protect Mikelo. Or if he followed me for some other reason I daren’t even hope for, sitting in this inn. But the fact he chose to reveal himself here and not sooner tells me something I’d hoped would be different.
I’m going to have to be careful now. Careful and determined.
Before we left the bathhouse, it seemed as if he might have begun to recognize me. I don’t know how his magic works or if it’s anything like mine. But if it is, and if the memories of me are in the magic, then what he needs is to be pushed.
To be pushed, hard.
Mikelo sits back down, but Arsenault doesn’t even look at him. “You left him free.”
“He seemed to think I was a better choice than Geoffre,” I say.
“And you trust him so far?”
“He hasn’t run yet. Have you, Mikelo?”
“If my uncle truly wanted me back, I think he would have found a way to kill you,” Mikelo says.
“Well? Did he send you to kill me?”
Arsenault sits down in the empty seat next to Mikelo. “My orders are still the same—to protect Mikelo and make sure you do what Geoffre wants.”
“And did you bring Geoffre’s spies along with you?”
“No. I’m alone.”
“They’re probably waiting outside.”
“You would’ve been able to track a group following you on the road, wouldn’t you?”
“Which road did you come?”
“The same as you.”
“You always did let people jump to their own conclusions. There’s more than one road.”
“You disembarked in Cales,” he says, leaning back in his chair so he can cross his arms over his chest and stretch his legs out. “Traveled up the coast road to Karansis. You’ve been keeping Mikelo tied up at night but otherwise not. You traded that rose-colored dress last night for a serf girl’s skirt.”
Dear gods, he’s been watching me sleep.
How could he track me like that, so silently? Anxiety sings through me and the magic shoves at me like someone trying to force open a door.
I struggle to push the magic back. I have to keep my head for this.
“Did you follow us from Liera?” I ask.
“I—” he starts, and then his voice dies.
“You didn’t, did you?” I say in triumph. “You knew that I would come this way even though no one thinks it makes any sense.”
“The hills will have snow.”
“The only reason you know the hill road is harder is because you remember riding up it. You know all the routes to my father’s hunting lodge because you’ve been there before.”
He drops his arms onto the table and leans forward, gritting his teeth. “I studied them on a map,” he says. “I could figure out about the snow, and I didn’t think you would be an idiot.”
“Why not?” I say, as innocently as I can.
“Because—dammit, are you an idiot?”
“Have you led Geoffre’s spies to us?”
“No!” His tone is low but urgent. Then he drags in a big breath. “He has them out, though.”
“What kind of spies?’
“What do you mean, what kind of spies?” Mikelo says. “Is there more than one kind of spy?”
“That Geoffre could use? Of course.”
The serving girl sets down a pitcher of wine on the table between us. Her eyes are painted in the style of the cheaper courtesans, with little flakes of glittering mica embedded in a paste of ochre. It gives them a swollen look, which is probably meant to be alluring.
“Your food will be out shortly,” she says, smiling at Mikelo. “You’re in luck; tonight, we’re serving roast fowl with pandieti, the little no
odles, and it will be coming to you hot. You’ve arrived at just the right time.”
She turns her smile on Arsenault now, clearly sizing him up as a better patron. Or maybe just a better-looking one.
“Will you be eating, too, ser? Staying the night or going on?”
“We should stay the night,” he says, looking not at the girl but at me.
“No,” I tell him. “We’ll be moving on.”
He lays a few coins on the table. “For my supper,” he says. Then he puts another down. “And for yourself.”
She arches an eyebrow. “That isn’t enough for entertainment, ser.”
“I’m not asking for entertainment. I’m giving you a tip. For serving us. And letting us speak in private.”
Now both her brows lift. “Oh,” she says. “Of course.” She leans over to collect the money from the table, and her breasts are right in his face. His gaze flicks downward, probably not even voluntarily. I reach in my pocket for more coins and catch her sleeve as she straightens up.
“Here,” I say, pressing them into her hand. “Take these and give them to that pretty boy who met us when we came in, the one with the curls?”
“Silva?” she murmurs in surprise. “But—”
“Tell him I should like some entertainment.”
“Kyrra!” Mikelo says. “What are you doing?”
“Hush,” I tell him. “Maybe he’ll give you some entertainment, too.”
I put on my best smile and let my hand trail down over the girl’s sleeve as she walks away.
When I turn to face the men on the other side of the table, Mikelo is staring at me and Arsenault has two spots of red high on his cheekbones.
“You’re just trying to devil me,” he says.
“You might have been entertaining yourself while we were apart, but I didn’t have the inclination or the opportunity. Well…that’s not true. I did sometimes have the inclination, but I couldn’t pursue the opportunity or I would have given myself away.”
I smile at him sweetly. He’s staring at me with his brows pulled down in that V over the bridge of his nose.
“So, I suppose now that it doesn’t matter…”
Mikelo leans over and clamps his hand on my left wrist. “Kyrra, you said we were leaving.”
“We are. I haven’t paid him enough for a night. Yet.”
Arsenault makes a rumbling noise. When I look at him, he’s poured himself a glass of wine and is taking a long drink. A very long drink.
He sets the glass back on the table and swipes his arm across his mouth. “You’re doing this to torment me.”
“Does it torment you?”
“Why should I care how you keep yourself entertained, as long as it doesn’t put Mikelo in danger?”
“You shouldn’t. So, if I want a kiss with dinner…”
“I told you we should have eaten somewhere else,” Mikelo says. “There must be somewhere decent in this town—”
“You could at least give me a chance to prove myself, mestere, before you go telling people I’m not decent.”
The serving boy is standing behind Mikelo.
Mikelo shoves his chair back and stands up. The boy—he’s not really a boy, I just can’t help thinking of him that way—darts out of the way. Mikelo is left standing nose to nose with him. They both look startled in that position, though the server recovers first.
“My sister wasn’t clear…”
“It’s me,” I say, draping my right arm over the back of the chair. “I’m the one who wants you.”
Silva looks down at me, bewildered.
I roll my eyes. “Isn’t this how you men do it? You pay your money and receive your services.”
“But—”
“But? I paid my money and now I want my services. Or are you going to toss me out for being a woman? In spite of the fact I’ve traded you coin?”
“Kyrra,” Arsenault grinds out. “You’re going to cause a scene.”
“Nobody will even notice.” I pat the empty seat on the other side of me. “Silva’s your name, right? Come here.”
For a moment, I’m not sure he’ll cooperate. Maybe he doesn’t want to be ordered around by a woman. Or maybe he’s just tired of being a pawn in the dramas staged by householders with money. He looks away from me at the two men, his glance lingering on Arsenault for a moment too long—probably because Arsenault’s expression has begun to edge toward the volcanic—but then he bows his head stiffly.
“All right.” He slides around Mikelo and Arsenault, giving Arsenault a wide berth, and into the seat beside me.
I position myself where I can keep an eye on Arsenault. Then I lean over with my left hand on Silva’s leg for balance and I run the fingers of my right hand up through his curls. I get a firm grip on the back of his head, and he looks at me in surprise. Up close, his blue eyes have rings so dark, they’re almost black.
“Your hand,” he says, not quite in a whisper.
“Shh,” I say, and pull him down to kiss me.
In truth, it’s been a long time since I’ve kissed anyone. But his lips are wooden on mine.
“Really,” I say, pulling back. “If that’s how you kiss, I think you’re going to be out of a job soon.”
For a brief instant, his eyes snap. But then he glances over my shoulder at Arsenault.
“Well, if your man over there wasn’t looking at me like that.”
“He’s just jealous I’ve got you all to myself.”
Arsenault makes another noise I can’t interpret and pours himself a second glass of wine.
Silva’s brows pull down in a confused expression, like he’s studying Arsenault but can’t quite understand what he sees. A little twinge of uneasiness passes through the metal of my arm. Instead of stopping to consider it, I lift my metal hand to Silva’s face and push it back in my direction.
“I’m the one who paid you, though, not him.”
“To be fair, sera, I’m considering whether or not the money will be worth it.”
I can’t help laughing. “Ouch. That sword thrust made me bleed.”
“Maybe you should leave off, then,” Arsenault says.
“I meant, are you sure you’re in a situation—” Silva begins.
“It’s like you’re daring me now,” I say.
I reach out with both hands and pull Silva back toward me, pressing his mouth against my own. Once he gets over his initial shock and puts some effort into it, he’s not a bad kisser, although he’s still a little awkward. I’m sure it would be a better experience if we weren’t both trying to keep an eye on Arsenault.
Arsenault’s gaze is pinned to us and getting darker all the time. Mikelo looks like he’s on fire from the inside.
All right, then. I paid for a little more than this.
I come up out of my seat, hooking my leg over Silva’s and preparing to slide into his lap.
He fumbles me into a clumsy embrace.
The sounds of wood slamming onto the table and a splintering snap make us both look up.
Arsenault broke the stem of his cup. The bowl hits the table with a thunk, spilling wine everywhere. He and Mikelo jerk away from the table on one side, Silva and I on the other, all of us getting up out of our chairs.
Cursing, Arsenault grabs the end of his cloak and starts mopping up the puddle of wine, which spills over the edge of the table like a waterfall.
Silva draws his sleeve across his mouth but I just lick my lips.
I try to sound bored. “Watching affected you, did it?”
Arsenault looks up at me with an expression I can’t describe. Anger, desire, jealousy, confusion…and an ache that makes me feel like I reached into his chest and squeezed his heart with my metal hand.
I can’t do this. Dear gods. I can’t do this.
But I must.
I turn to Silva. “I’ve more coin. What are your rates?”
Arsenault sweeps his cloak angrily over the table, splattering Mikelo with wine.
“Andris�
�” Mikelo begins.
Arsenault growls inarticulately.
“I didn’t think you would care so much, Arsenault,” I say. “You seemed to have a good relationship with many of the girls in the bathhouse.”
“You like to stage dramas, don’t you, Kyrra?” His gray eyes might as well be daggers.
“You’re the one who thinks this is a drama.”
“And was it the same with the whores? Vanni di Forza? I imagine you don’t consider those events dramas, either.”
“Were you going to kill me? Or no, wait. Geoffre wanted me alive, didn’t he?”
He looks down at the red-soaked hem of the cloak in his hand. “I—I would have figured something out,” he says.
“Surely, I don’t matter. Vanni gave you an opportunity. You could have killed me and gotten Mikelo back.”
He rubs the back of his hand across his brow. “Then Mikelo would have gone to Geoffre,” he says.
“But you’re working for Geoffre,” I say.
“I... No. Yes. But— Jon, I’m working for Jon.”
Finally, some truth. I take a deep breath.
“And Madame Triente? Who is she working for?”
“Whoever will guarantee her best interests.”
“Are you one of her best interests, Arsenault?”
He flinches and his eyes flicker toward Silva. “The Madame and I...have a relationship.”
“Oh,” I say, unable to hide the sarcasm in my voice. “A relationship. I’m sure that’s different than me throwing a few coins at a serving boy. How much does she pay you?”
His chest heaves in and out. The flush comes up high on his cheeks again.
Dear gods. When I flung that spear, I didn’t know how well it would hit.
He leans on the table with both hands. “It doesn’t matter how much she paid me. She trusted me enough to get you out from under Vanni’s orders, but instead, you blew a hole through his thigh. And then she found out you killed two of her whores upstairs, and she went right to Geoffre. He knows you don’t intend to obey him now. I’m not sure Mikelo will even be a grant of safe haven”—he whirls to look at the room, his cloak swirling after him—“and gods damn you, Kyrra, there are too many people listening to us!”