Lace and Blade 2

by Deborah J. Ross

  But what do you want to see? Orossy wanted desperately to ask, but held his tongue. He agreed with Feisal that he looked odd. Feisal’s clothes were too big; they were nearly the same height, but Feisal was more muscular and broader in the shoulders which meant that the fabric hung poorly and made Orossy look smaller than he was. Neither were they colors he liked. The dark blue and black looked dashing with Feisal’s darker complexion, but they made Orossy’s lighter skin look wan. It would have to do until he had something better made.

  A quick breakfast of steamed rice and soup, and they were off toward the market district. “Shall we ride?” Feisal asked. Before Orossy could answer, Feisal hailed a passing rickshaw. Orossy climbed in after the Healer, stifling the urge to protest the expense. Feisal had never had to worry about such things.

  The runner pulled them at a steady clip through the outer districts, then wove his way expertly around horses, carts, and pedestrians. Orossy clung to his lover, finding it strange that he’d waited for years for the chance to do just this, to be able to choose his own clothing and accessories. So far, he hadn’t had time. The Infirmary had given him the pale blue uniform of a student, and Feisal had ordered more clothing for him and had it delivered. None of it had been overtly masculine, hence the need to borrow Feisal’s clothes. Wearing them to market would be his trial run. If he could act masculine enough among the crowd, then doing so before the Lord Governor shouldn’t be hard.

  The runner dropped them off at the edge of the market district, which was closed to horse and cart traffic during the day. Feisal paid him and took Orossy’s arm to lead him toward the merchants. The early morning sunlight gave the street an exotic look. Brightly-colored paper lanterns hung from the eaves as decoration. Streamers and incense drifted in the slight breeze.

  They walked past shops offering every food or household accessory Orossy could imagine. A potter threw clay on a wheel outside of his store, enticing people inside with his craft. People swarmed the fruit stalls, eager for the freshest products and best bargains. Guards in violet livery patrolled the street, sharp eyes watching for thieves and cutpurses. The scent of fresh bread and roasting meat wafted on the air. Somewhere beyond the crowd, horses whinnied, accompanied by the lowing of cattle.

  Feisal wandered from shop to shop, chatting with one merchant after another. Orossy gazed at the goods with childish delight. Knives. Blown glass. Fresh fruit and vegetables. Bouquets of flowers. Rings and other trinkets, leather shoes and boots, vials of oil and incense. A store with brightly-colored fabrics in the window caught his attention.

  Inside, bolts of fabric were piled high. Linen, wool and fine silks in every color imaginable filled shelves that went straight to the ceiling. Dummies wore examples of the merchant’s work, a green jacket and pants set such as Orossy had in mind and a dress of midnight blue silk overlaid with a gold floral pattern. Orossy looked at the latter for too long before he caught himself. Men’s clothes. That’s what he was here for.

  “Welcome, young sir,” the merchant said from behind the counter. An outlander, by his looks and his northern accent. Rotund and pale-skinned, chin peppered with stubble, he gestured at the array of fabrics lining the walls around him. “My best selection, gathered from across the continent. And this,” he said, patting a bolt on the left of his counter, “is something I think would suit you perfectly.”

  The soft gold fabric with a pattern of vines drew him until he remembered he’d worn gold the first night he’d met Feisal. That part he didn’t mind, but it was the beating from his tavernkeeper afterwards that made him release the fabric. He looked at color after color, trying to find something that didn’t trigger a memory. His former patron had liked him in green. As Rossa, he’d worn a dress of blood red the night he’d run away.

  The merchant stepped around the counter. “My lord? See anything you’d like? I’d be more than happy to have something made up for you. If you’d just step this way so I can take your measurements?”

  A tempting offer—except his eyes kept returning to the blue dress, wondering how it would look in gold. “Perhaps. I’ll have to ask my lov—my friend his opinion first.”

  “Of course, young sir, of course, but keep in mind that many of these fabrics are rare, and sure to be spoken for by day’s end.”

  Orossy ignored the rest of the merchant’s attempts to bargain. He excused himself and stepped back outside, looking for Feisal. The Healer wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Nor could Orossy sense him through the overwhelming emotions of the crowd.

  He fought down panic. It was silly. He was safe enough, and there were plenty of guards around to protect everyone. Even so, he felt suddenly helpless. A man brushed against him, then a woman. Orossy’s control cracked. Emotions assailed him; the happiness of a young couple planning a wedding, the frustration of a woman who wanted a lower price for eggs and couldn’t get it, a girl child crying for her mother because she’d fallen and skinned her knee. Too much. To his eyes, they stared at him. Imagined whispers penetrated his ears. Look at him. The freak. Rent girl. Look what he’s done to the Lord Governor’s son. I’m surprised they let him loose after what happened yesterday. He had to get out of here, now, before he—

  A hand grasped his shoulder. “Orossy?”

  The overwhelming presence of the crowd faded. Orossy turned, half relieved, half afraid, to see the familiar face of one of the city guards, Eamon. “Are you here to arrest me again?” he asked as lightly as he could.

  “No. Not unless there’s something new I should know about.” Eamon’s smile was kind and genuine. “Is there?”

  With a shrug, Orossy said, “Depends on whom you talk to, I suppose.” Like those at the Infirmary, but the guard probably knew about that already. Gossip flew fast in a city of mind-readers. “Can I help you, Lieutenant?”

  Eamon guided Orossy to a sheltered spot at the corner of the tailor’s shop. “The colonel has a job. For Rossa.”

  Oh, Lady. Uneasiness clenched Orossy’s stomach. “She’s dead.”

  “A shame,” Eamon said. “Rumor has it that Niklis is up to his tricks again, smuggling in illegal workers.”

  Once, Orossy had been one of those smuggled workers.

  “Niklis knows Rossa, and he’s a greedy man. If there’s any chance of catching him, we need her—your—help. You know the place. You know how he thinks.”

  “Rossa’s dead,” Orossy said again. “I can’t help you.” If he put a dress on again, he might never take it off. Besides, his dresses were gone now. He must get used to wearing men’s clothes and acting like a man. Losing Feisal wasn’t worth the risk.

  “If you change your mind, you need only let us know,” Eamon said. “Please consider it. If we catch Niklis with these girls, we can arrest him and put him out of business. Permanently.”

  It was almost enough to make Orossy concede. Almost. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant.” Hurrying away, Orossy found Feisal bent over a table of silver jewelry.

  Feisal looked up. “Are you all right? I turned my back and you were gone.”

  “I want to go home.”

  Feisal’s smile vanished. “But we just got here, and there’s more to show you. One of my favorite clothiers is right over—”

  “Please. Take me home, or at least get me out of the market so I can find my own way back.”

  “All right.” Feisal led him through a crowd picking over bins of fresh fruit. “What’s the matter? What happened?”

  “Stop it. I don’t need to be fussed over. I just need to leave.” Seeing the end of the street clearly, Orossy broke away from Feisal and walked faster, sidestepping a small child running from its mother.

  Feisal ran a few paces to catch up. “I’m sorry. Why don’t we—”

  Orossy stopped and turned. Palms flat against Feisal’s chest, he said, “There are too many people here. That’s all. Go back and enjoy yourself. Pick something nice for me.”

  Feisal looked a little sad. “I thought you would enjoy being able to choose things for
yourself, and maybe get something new for tonight.”

  Lady’s grace. Now he’d gone and ruined everything. This was supposed to be a special day. “Thank you. I do want to. Just not right now.” The thought of going back into that crowd made him feel sick.

  “You’re sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m sure. Now go on.” He gave Feisal a little shove for emphasis, and finally the Healer went.

  Rickshaws waited just outside the district, but Orossy walked home, unable to justify the expense. In the safety of his room, he slid the door shut, thankful for the familiar, comfortable surroundings. The soft, clean mattress on the floor, the cabinet free of scratches and stains, one of Feisal’s silk robes in a heap on the floor. Books. Dozens of them, and more if he asked. He’d never felt so utterly grateful to have such wonders in his life, especially now that he was so close to having them all taken away.

  He had enough to worry about without the girls adding to it. He couldn’t help them, no matter what Eamon said. “I’m not Rossa anymore. I’m not!”

  He refused to look in the mirror. If he did, he would see her there, waiting, eager to rebuke him for his lies.

  ~o0o~

  Feisal had missed the midday meal. Orossy had tried not to worry, and instead spent the rest of the afternoon in his room attempting to read through his textbook. It wasn’t working. He couldn’t concentrate. His thoughts kept returning to the girls. Just like him, they had been promised honest work. Just like him, they would end up in a tavern. They didn’t deserve it. His conscience nagged at him, but Rossa was dead, and Orossy couldn’t go there as himself. The girls wouldn’t trust a man, and as Orossy he would be too vulnerable to Niklis’s manipulations.

  Rossa had been the one with the power. She was the survivor, the one that had dealt with the men, but she could be just as cruel and unforgiving as Niklis himself. Look at what she’d done to Hannik.

  Orossy punched a pillow in frustration. Not her. Him. Look at what he’d done to Hannik. He didn’t want to be that angry, distant part of himself ever again. The truth was, Orossy dared not go after the girls for fear of what he’d unleash if he lost control. If he hurt anyone else, he’d lose Feisal for sure.

  No. He couldn’t go. And that was that. Firm in his decision, Orossy turned back to his book but found it no easier to read than before.

  Just before sunset, the door slid open. Feisal entered, dashing and handsome in a new silk shirt and pants nearly the same dark blue as his Healer’s uniform. It fit him perfectly, showing off every angle of his body. He carried a paper-wrapped parcel under his arm. “Here. I got you something.”

  Orossy opened it. Inside was a man’s jacket and pants of the ivy-patterned silk he’d admired that morning. His throat tightened. He didn’t know what to say. The garments were finer than anything he’d owned, and he appreciated Feisal’s gesture, but if only...

  If only it were a dress instead.

  “The merchant remembered you. Luckily, he had them half done, so I persuaded him to finish. That’s what took so long. Do you like them?”

  Orossy swallowed. “They’re lovely.” They truly were. The neck and sleeves were trimmed in forest green. Exactly his colors.

  “Try them on. I want to see how they look.”

  “All right, all right. But go away...unless you want to help me dress.” He cocked his head, pleased to see the lustful look in Feisal’s eyes. Now that would be a way to get rid of all of his tension. “How much time do we have before your father gets home?”

  “Long enough,” Feisal said. Two steps, and Orossy was in his arms. Feisal laughed. “I should know better than to flirt with a tavern brat.”

  “You can’t win,” Orossy said. “One look and you’re mine.” What a shame to muss Feisal’s perfect clothes.

  Feisal held him tight. “You’re so tense.”

  Orossy didn’t answer. Instead, he pressed his lips against Feisal’s, wishing that this moment would last forever, that nothing and no one could ever come between them.

  ~o0o~

  Dressed, flushed, and only slightly rumpled, they reached the front porch in time to hear hoofbeats on the cobbled driveway. Orossy hung back in the shadows, gripping the railing with white-knuckled hands. The sky had turned orange and pink as the sun set. The air was still. Crickets chirped their greeting to the evening. Orossy would have enjoyed the beauty of his surroundings if he hadn’t been so nervous.

  He knew he was being an idiot. He’d met powerful men before, taken them to bed and usually had received a fat purse to show for it. But none of them had been his lover’s father.

  A large dappled-gray stallion stopped a short distance from the house. Feisal didn’t wait; he ran out barefoot to greet his father before the Lord Governor had even dismounted. Jussi went out more sedately to take care of the horse.

  Orossy kept his eyes downcast, seeing only a tall figure dressed in riding leathers, his braided hair silvered from age. He had no idea how old Maddren was, but the Lord Governor was fit and moved with deliberate grace. A moment later, all but the silver hair was blocked by Feisal’s eager embrace.

  Orossy felt a lump in his throat. Tears stung his eyes at seeing two family members so obviously happy to see each other.

  Feisal ran back to grab his hand. “’Rossy. Come here.”

  Orossy stumbled down the porch stairs, suddenly angry at Feisal for putting him through this. Out of instinct, he groped for Rossa’s strength and pulled himself upright. The old, familiar attitude returned. He bowed in greeting. “Welcome home, my lord. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He lifted the Lord Governor’s hand to his lips. Lord Maddren smelled of horse and dust and leather. Orossy focused on the callused hand to avoid looking in his eyes.

  “The pleasure is mine, Master Orossy,” the Lord Governor said. “Especially since I have you to thank for saving my son’s life.”

  That was how they’d met; Feisal had wandered into the tavern, drugged by someone who meant him ill, and Orossy had nursed him. Surprised by the sincerity in Maddren’s voice, Orossy looked up and found himself caught by a pair of silver-gray eyes. He had the eerie feeling that Maddren was looking through him in an intimate and almost disturbing way.

  “I love him. I’d never hurt him,” Orossy said, too quietly for Feisal to hear.

  “I know.” Maddren’s low voice was no less powerful for its subtlety. “You are not what I expected. I would speak with you later.”

  The Lord Governor bent to remove his boots just as Orossy felt a spike of fear in his belly. If Maddren sensed it, he gave no sign. Lady have mercy. He was in trouble. He knew it. The Lord Governor disliked him already.

  Feisal, who could have no idea of what had just passed, still stood nearby, radiating happiness. “Dinner is waiting.”

  “Good. I look forward to it. After I rid myself of the grime from the road.” Maddren embraced Feisal again. Orossy turned his head. No one had ever cared about him like this.

  “Go on,” Feisal said, finally letting go. “Orossy and I will wait for you, won’t we, ’Rossy?”

  Caught, Orossy retreated behind his façade without thinking. “Take your time, my lord. I hope everything will be to your pleasure.”

  Feisal glared at him. Maddren’s face remained impassive. “I am sure it will be,” he said, and to Feisal, “I will not be long. And then I wish to hear of your adventures in your own words.”

  As soon as Maddren went inside, Feisal rounded on his lover. “What in the Lady’s name was that? He’s my father, not one of your customers! You don’t have to do that anymore, you know.”

  Lady’s grace, he was getting annoying. “Do what?” Orossy had a fair idea of what Feisal meant; he was already angry at himself.

  Orossy headed toward the formal dining room, its sliding walls opened wide for a view of the garden and darkening sky. The low table was already set with the leaf-shaped dishes, two bowls and three small plates at each setting along with pairs of wooden eating sticks resting on holders. Ca
ddies of tea and wine stood waiting. He wasn’t hungry.

  Feisal followed, emanating irritation. “Play the rent girl. Just be yourself.”

  “Which is what?” Orossy kicked one of the floor cushions so hard it struck the far wall. “It’s easy for you. You’re a Healer. You always have been. I used to be a rent girl and a gutter rat, but the Lady knows what I am now.”

  “What do you want to be?”

  “I hate that question.” He retrieved the cushion, not wanting the Lord Governor to see the room in disarray. Dinner had to be perfect. “I have everything I wanted. Safety. Someone who loves me. A chance to learn. So why doesn’t it feel like enough?” He dropped the cushion to the floor and sat on it. “He wants to talk to me.”

  Feisal took the cushion next to him. He rubbed slow circles on Orossy’s back. “So? He just wants to get to know you.”

  “I don’t feel like dinner. Tell him I’m sick.”

  “That’s not a feasible excuse.”

  “Then make me sick.”

  “How could you even suggest such a thing?” Feisal’s

  face reflected the same disgust Orossy could sense with his dennar. The hand moved up to Orossy’s shoulder and squeezed. “Don’t do this. Not tonight. I’m not mind-reader enough to figure out what’s bothering you these past two days. So tell me.”

  “I’m a half-breed tavern brat who can’t decide which sex I prefer. You’re the Lord Governor’s son.”

  “So?”

  “‘So?’ You bastard.”

  “Stop it, ’Rossy. Stop. I don’t care where you came from so long as you’re here. I love you. Isn’t that enough?”

  He waved his arm, frustrated. “No, it’s not. I—”

  His arm collided with one of the tea caddies. Steaming liquid splashed right down the front of his new clothes.

  Feisal’s face turned to alarm. “’Rossy! Are you all right?”

  His skin burned, but not as much as his pride. “Leave me alone. I’ll go change.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “Stay. Be with your father. I’ll be down soon enough.” He left before Feisal could do anything but stare after him. Gods. He ruined everything from the new clothes Feisal had bought him to Feisal himself. You’re not what I expected. The Lord Governor’s words stung.