When I emerge, I look down at myself.
I wear a white blouse with loose sleeves gathered at the wrists. The overskirt is a plain black, wrapping tightly about my breasts and midriff before falling loosely about my legs. It’s plain, boring, peasantlike.
Leandros stands behind me and lets down my immaculate hair.
“Stop!”
Too late. The strands fall about my face in loose waves.
“It took my maid an hour to do that.”
“And it was lovely,” Leandros says. Something about the wicked gleam in his eyes stops me from protesting too much.
This will be an adventure, even if I’m clothed poorly. And Leandros will pay me attention the entire night. It’s what I’d told him I wanted from Kallias. And having another man vie for my attention—one who isn’t blackmailing me to do so—is too good an opportunity to pass up.
It’s petty, I know. But I want to punish Kallias. And I need a distraction—just for a night—from the baron and constable who are set on ruining me.
“Let’s get out of here before anyone sees me,” I huff.
Grinning, Leandros shuffles me down the hallway before we turn into a servants’ stairway and make our way down.
Behind the palace, two horses are saddled and ready for us, a stable boy holding them by the reins. Leandros flicks the boy a coin before bending down next to me and cupping his hands together.
“What are you doing?”
“Helping you onto your horse.” Realizing my confusion, he adds, “You can’t ride sidesaddle. Peasant girls don’t do that sort of thing.”
“I am no peasant!”
“Tonight you are; now step up.”
I realize right then that I have a choice to make. Either I do this, or I don’t. But no more shrieking because I’m a lady. I didn’t opt to go off with Leandros because I wanted to be treated like a lady. Ladies don’t spend time alone with men who aren’t their relations. They don’t cavort with the former best friend of the king to get more information about how to seduce said king.
I step onto his cupped hands and swing one leg over the horse. The fabric of my skirt rises up my legs, and Leandros helps to right it, positioning the material so I’m covered.
But as he does so, a finger brushes my bare calf.
I draw in a breath. It’s been weeks since I’ve been touched. Longer than I’ve gone in years.
“Forgive me,” he says. “I didn’t mean—”
“No need,” I say. “Lead on. I’m ready for this promised entertainment.”
Leandros leaps onto his own horse. “Then let’s be off.”
Down stone-paved lanes and past candlelit lanterns we travel, Leandros’s horse ahead of mine. We curve down the streets of the mountain, layer after layer of quiet neighborhoods, run-down inns, and even a bawdy house.
There aren’t many out on the streets, not this late at night when it’s far too dark for the merchants to sell their wares. Part of me feels guiltier and guiltier the farther we travel from the palace, as though I’m abandoning my entire purpose. But that’s not so. I need a night out. An escape. And tonight is not without its purpose.
“Tell me,” I say as the horses turn onto another road. “What were you like as a younger man?”
“Ignorant. Hopeful. Carefree.”
“More carefree than you are now?”
He grins, his teeth shining in the moonlight. “A great deal more.”
“You were friends with the future king. What sort of mischief did the two of you get up to?” I hope the question is a good transition, hiding the fact that I’m hungry for information about Kallias.
He thinks a moment. “We once caught frogs from the lake and put them in his tutor’s bed.”
“I’m sure she deserved it.”
“She had a dreadfully stoic voice, and Kallias wondered if he could do anything to prompt a change in the tone.”
I laugh. “And you were all too eager to help him.”
“He was my only friend for a while. We did so much together. Fencing. Riding. Gaming. Kallias loves competition. He loves winning. But then, what man doesn’t?”
“What person doesn’t?” I amend for him.
“Do you love competition, Alessandra?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Now I’m even more convinced you will enjoy tonight’s entertainment.”
We come to a stop at an unassuming building, all straight walls and quiet darkness. Leandros ties the horses to a nearby post. I fear they might not still be there when we return, but I’m not about to let that ruin the evening.
Somehow, Leandros finds a staircase. I suppose one must know to look for it in order to find it. He takes my arm and leads me downward, until we’re encased in blackness, unable to see a thing.
“I should tell you, I told my maids who I went out with tonight. If I don’t return, they’ll know you murdered me.”
I can hear his smile in the dark. “You won’t be dying at my hands. It’s only a little farther.”
A creak of hinges and rush of air later, we enter through a basement door. A lonely torch sends a flicker of light about the corridor. Distantly, I hear the low rumble of what might be shouting.
As we traverse the new corridor, Leandros says, “Whatever you do, stay close to me the entire time.”
We round a corner, travel down a smaller set of stairs, and then finally—finally—we plunge into a doorway spilling out light and noise and the stench of ale.
“Boxing?” I say when I take in the scene before me.
Up ahead, the room slopes gently downward, allowing us a view of the scene in the middle: Two men face each other, bouncing on the toes of their bare feet, their sleeves rolled up to their elbows, sweat dripping down their faces.
Coins exchange hands, girls walk about with cups atop trays, men and women shout to the challengers, booing and cheering.
“Let’s get closer,” Leandros says, ushering me toward an empty table. We sit, and a girl dressed similarly to me comes forward, asking if we’d like anything to eat or drink.
“An ale for me,” Leandros says, before looking at me.
“I’ll have the same.” Why not? Just because I have a taste for fine wines doesn’t mean I can’t sample something simpler now and then.
We turn our heads to the scene below, just in time to see the bigger contender catch the smaller one in the chin with a vicious uppercut. The one who was hit flies backward, crashing to the wood floor with an audible thump. The crowd explodes with a mixture of cheers and groans.
The barmaid returns with our drinks, plopping one down before each of us. Leandros brings the mug to his lips, downing half the contents in one go.
Not to be outdone, I raise my own cup to my lips, trying not to taste the vulgar liquid as it streams down my throat. Bitter and watered down, it’s positively disgusting, but it leaves a warmth in my belly. I drain the whole cup before tossing it back on the table.
“I knew you would appreciate this place,” Leandros says. “You play the dignified daughter of the nobility well, but just under the skin there’s a girl waiting to have some fun.”
My grin isn’t forced. “How often do you come here?”
“Not nearly often enough. My uncle expects a lot of me. If he ever knew I were here—” He cuts off with a shudder.
I let out an unladylike grunt. “No talk of responsibilities tonight. Responsibility is why Kallias claims he can’t spend any time with me. Utter nonsense. If anyone can make anything happen, it’s the king. If he wants a less busy schedule, he should command it.”
“If anyone can bring him out of his shell, it’s you. Give it time. And if he doesn’t ever come around, well, there’s always me.”
Leandros’s cup is now empty as well, and he raises two fingers to the barmaid. Another especially loud exclamation sounds from the crowd as the brutish contender fouls another foe.
“I have to marry a wealthy man,” I say. “My father is greedy, and he won�
�t let me have anything less.” Oh, wait. No, I suppose that’s not true anymore, is it? In the midst of all the things that aren’t going my way right now, I forgot my father and his situation are no longer a problem.
“Lucky for you, I’m disgustingly rich,” Leandros says.
“And you’re content with being a consolation prize?”
“You get used to it when living in the palace with the king.”
I fold my arms. “I was under the impression that the king didn’t show an interest in any ladies before I came to court.”
“He doesn’t have to. They still want him and have to settle for me. But I’m sure you won’t have that problem.”
The second glass of ale is placed before me. This one manages to taste better than the first.
“He won’t break his rules,” I say. “Not even for me.” The ale must be freeing my tongue a bit, but I can’t seem to care too much.
“The no-touching is a problem?”
I hide my face behind my glass. “Women have needs just as much as men do.”
Leandros’s teeth show as he raises his cup. “Perhaps he only needs you to make the first move.”
“And end up at the gallows? I think not.”
“Then you will have to find someone else to satisfy those needs. At least in the meantime.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“I am a man of base interests. Ale. Sport. Sex. I have want of nothing else.”
“I can’t imagine why you don’t already have a lady of your own.”
“All evidence to the contrary,” he says, swaying his mug toward me.
A delicious cloudiness fills my mind, and I find myself offering more smiles to Leandros than I normally would.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?” I ask.
“Even if I were, it wouldn’t be to take advantage. Only to help you have a better time. Now come!”
He rises from his seat and grabs one of my hands. I raise my cup to down the rest of its contents, only to find it already empty. How did that happen?
My feet are only slightly unsteady when Leandros and I push into the crowd circling the newest contenders. We manage to squeeze our way to the front. The big brute still remains undefeated.
“Watching is only half the fun!” Leandros shouts to be heard over the shrieks within the room. “Winning is the true sport.”
A young boy no older than twelve runs around the outer circle, carrying a large goblet in front of him. “Place your bets here! Ten to one odds for our newest contender!”
A smaller man with a crooked nose has entered the circle of onlookers. After stripping off his shirt, he windmills his arms and bounces from foot to foot.
Leandros holds out a note. “Ten necos says the brute wins.”
“Not very sporting of you, sir,” the boy says in return, accepting the money and stuffing it into the cup.
“I bet to win.”
“And how about the missus? Will you be placing a bet? Do be sporting and root for the smaller man! He may surprise us yet!”
I survey both contenders carefully, watching their movements. The one with the crooked nose is so much smaller, but he is fresh, where the brute has expended much energy already. Still, the larger man looks as though he could pick up Crooked Nose and bend him in half with little effort.
I’m about to decline the bet, when I notice something.
The brute stretches his arms out in front of him, but as he does so, he winces ever so slightly, before rubbing a hand over his right side.
Bruised ribs, likely. Though he’s winning the matches, he’s taken a few hits. They’re wearing on him.
“Why not?” I say finally. “Shall we say…” I make a show of rummaging through my pockets. “Twenty-five necos on the little man?”
“A fine bet, miss!” the lad says, ripping the money greedily from my fingers and then scampering off quickly, as though afraid I’ll change my mind.
“That was foolish,” Leandros says. “You know the boy is only given scraps of what the owner wins off the bets.”
“I didn’t do it out of charity for the boy. I intend to win.”
His scoff turns into a laugh. “I don’t want you sour for the rest of the night. You’ll blame me for the loss of all your money.”
I roll my eyes, and we turn to watch the match. The contestants stand up to a line drawn on the floor and wait for a mediator to slap his hand on the ground before the two tear into each other.
Crooked Nose is quick on his feet, sending jabs at the brute before scampering out of reach. The brute watches him carefully, keeping his eyes on his outstretched fists. After a duck, he brings forward a left fist and connects squarely with the smaller man’s chest. He flies back several feet but doesn’t lose his footing.
Crooked Nose cracks his neck to the side before plunging forward, throwing a fist toward the brute’s face. The larger man shifts out of the way and throws a punch to Crooked Nose’s stomach.
He goes down right in front of me.
The floor goes wild. Shouts of “Pontin, Pontin, Pontin” resound, and I assume that must be the brute.
“Get up!” a few voices beg, trying to encourage the young man struggling for breath on the ground.
“Better luck next time,” Leandros says to me with a shrug.
But this isn’t over yet. I step forward, grab Crooked Nose by his sweaty arm, and yank him to his feet. He leans against me as a huge gulp of air finally whistles through his lungs.
“Now listen,” I say in a low growl. “I have a lot of money placed on you, and you’re not going to let me lose it, are you?”
“He’s too strong, miss,” the man says with unsteady breaths.
“He’s got at least one bruised rib on the right side. Quit aiming for his face and take a swing lower. Break. His. Bones.” Without another word, I get behind him and toss him into the fray.
Leandros wrinkles his nose. “You smell of sweaty male.”
“As if you could smell anything over the stench of ale on my breath.”
“Would that I were close enough to smell your breath, but—”
The fight continues, and Leandros doesn’t finish his sentence. Not as the small contender feints toward Pontin with a left fist toward the head before immediately following with a powerful jab to the ribs.
Spittle goes flying out of Pontin’s mouth, but Crooked Nose doesn’t stop there. With a flurry of quick punches, he pummels Pontin as ruthlessly as a baker would knead dough.
In only seconds, the bigger man falls.
He doesn’t rise.
The crowd silences.
I lift my skirts as I step over the brute and raise my little contender’s fist into the air. Then the noise is explosive, my ears fit to bursting from the force of it.
Notes and coins trade hands in a flurry, and the winner leans over to plant a bloody kiss on my cheek.
I’m too high off the victory to care.
Satisfied, I return to my spot, and the boy with the cup is back, brandishing an enormous wad of notes at me.
“Two hundred and fifty necos, miss. An excellent wager. But wouldn’t you like to place it on the next match? No one is that lucky only once in the games. You’ve a natural eye for talent! What say I keep this for you and place it on your victor once again?”
“Maybe next time,” I say, taking my money and tucking it away.
I can’t keep the smug smile from my lips as I turn to Leandros.
“What did you say to him?” he asks, looking dumbfounded at his champion lying still on the floor.
“He only needed a lady’s favor to find the courage to win the fight.”
The mediator quiets the room with a whistle. “Who will fight our new champion? Who’s ready to earn some money in the ring?”
I reach for Leandros’s arm to hoist it into the air for him, but he snatches it back. “I am quite content with watching.”
I let out a giggle, the ale still doing wonderful things for my
head, as we watch a new contestant enter the circle.
Though I don’t place any more money, Leandros and I make our own private bets on who will win.
After three more matches, Leandros has completely lost his pride.
“No one guesses right so many times in a row!”
“It’s not luck,” I say. “It’s careful observation.”
Despite my having won every private bet between the two of us, Leandros looks doubtful. I suppose I will have to continue proving it to him.
But the floor begins to clear, the men in the circle leaving, soaking people who don’t get out of the way quick enough in sweat.
“The night is still young. The matches are done already?” I ask.
Leandros shakes his head, a new grin surfacing. “Only the matches between the men.”
“Between the men?” I repeat.
A mop swipes over the floor, then some sort of powder is sprinkled in the area meant for the contenders. Chalk, I would guess.
Then a lady walks into the ring. She’s dressed plainly, but scandalously, with her skirts hiked up to midthigh, held in place by strings.
So she can fight, I realize.
She’s very impressive, all lithe muscle and feminine grace. With round cheeks, small eyes, and a dainty nose, no one would ever guess how she spent her nights. She wears her hair pulled out of her face, pinned tight to her scalp.
Her face is all business, not a smile to be found.
“Who will compete against last night’s champion, the Viper!” the mediator asks, walking in a circle to survey the crowd, which has somehow doubled. A body from behind me pushes, and I shove my hips right back at it.
“Why do they have the ladies go last?” I ask.
“Because they’re far more entertaining to watch,” Leandros answers.
“No doubt it has something to do with the fact that the crowd gets an excellent view of their legs?”
Leandros says nothing, confirming my suspicions.
Finally, a woman steps into the chalked-off circle. She’s bigger-boned than the Viper, with more curves on her, but by the slower way she moves, I know she won’t win.
“The Viper will beat her,” I say to Leandros.
“I’ll take that bet.”
He loses.
The Shadows Between Us Page 12