by Chris Bunch
“What would you will?”
“That you formally renounce all of Kallio’s claims to the Border States and agree to join with Dara in mounting a punitive expedition into Kait to finally reduce that country to proper obedience.”
“That would mean war,” he said.
“I do not call suppressing bandits who call themselves a nation war, but if you choose that term, so be it.”
“And if I do not call for this crusade? The Rule of Ten haven’t suggested that to me at all.”
Tenedos looked unblinking into the Kallian’s eyes, and said nothing whatsoever. To my surprise, Chardin Sher was the first to look away.
“Yes, well, I’m afraid our chat’s holding up the line,” he said. “Perhaps we should make arrangements to continue this discussion before I leave Nicias.”
“My time is yours,” Tenedos bowed and stepped away.
Again, the little man whispered information, and I bowed to the Kallian.
“You are the man who saved Seer Tenedos’s life, eh?”
“And he mine.”
“Guard him well, soldier,” Chardin Sher said. “I have no magic, but I can predict a man such as him will always be courting danger.”
“I thank you for that advice, sir,” and I stepped away.
Chardin Sher’s eyes gleamed as he took in Marán.
“Countess,” he greeted after the briefing. “You are the most spectacular thing I’ve seen in Nicias thus far. Thank you for honoring me with your presence.”
Marán curtsied, and we joined Tenedos, who stood a few feet away, waiting. Rasenna was positively glowing, and seemed to care nothing for not being spoken to.
“You see why I love him,” she said, unasked. “My little magician will stand up to anything for what he believes.”
Tenedos looked embarrassed at her words. I waited for a comment, but, instead, he stroked his chin thoughtfully. “You know, that small one that Chardin Sher has with him. A walking file. Interesting. Most valuable at times like this when you’re meeting strangers but courtesy suggests you should know them.”
“Perhaps you could train Kutulu,” I said.
“No,” Tenedos said. “He will have other, more important uses. Such a man as Chardin Sher has must have no identity, no soul, beyond what his master gives him.”
He replaced his mask, and I remembered what he’d told me in Sayana about never finding a man so monstrous that nothing could be learned from him.
“Now the preliminary skirmishing is over,” he said, “shall we enjoy ourselves, even though I dance but indifferently? Oh, yes. One thing, Damastes. I’ll lay ten gold pieces against one of your collar buttons that I never am summoned for a talk with Chardin Sher.”
I grinned. “Sir, just because I’m but a captain doesn’t mean I’m a fool. No bet.”
“Tsk. I do love an easy victory.” Tenedos bowed to Marán and led Rasenna toward the dance floor.
I took Marán’s arm and followed.
• • •
Marán, naturally, danced superbly. I am regarded as a decent stepper, but she knew all of the latest steps, whereas I had only familiarity with older standards. So we sat out some numbers, talking of this and that, thoroughly enjoying each other’s company. I thought, wistfully, it was like the beginning of a courtship, when both parties are delighted over their lover-to-be’s wit, charm, and beauty.
A simple dance I knew the steps to began, and I took her in my arms and we moved together to the music.
The material of her dress felt like silk, but where silk is cold this was warm, living in the brief spell the magician had given.
I let my hand slip down from Marán’s shoulders to the small of her back, and could feel the beginning of her cleft. I longed to slide it down farther, and cup her buttocks, but knew better.
“You dance a bit closer than a chaperone might approve of, Damastes.”
“I apologize to the invisible iron lady. But not to you.”
“You are a shameful man, sir. Does the army teach you such behavior?”
“That and worse, my good Countess. For instance, there is a dance done by soldiers of my real regiment, in faraway Mehul, when they visit the sinful dens of Rotten Row, that requires the man to put both arms closely around his partner. Of course we officers would never partake of such an ostentatiously sexual pastime as that.”
“Is the dance slow or fast?”
“It alternates, and I’ve seen women leap from the floor and wrap their legs around their accomplices, and then lean back until their hair brushes the floor.”
“Sinful, perhaps,” Marán said. “And definitely acrobatic.” She laughed. “Wouldn’t that shock the good people of Nicias if we suddenly began such a turn?”
“Possibly,” I said, a bit drunk with the notion, “but I at least wouldn’t notice their response.”
“Careful, sir.”
There was a touch on my shoulder, and I came back to earth and prepared to relinquish Marán reluctantly to an interloper. Standing there was Elias Malebranche.
“Good evening, Captain á Cimabue.”
Anger just at his presence flashed through me, but I said nothing, and stepped back. Marán looked puzzled, but moved toward Malebranche, ready to dance away. She smiled at him — the landgrave was a not unhandsome man, I had to admit.
“No, Countess, I am not asking for the dance, but thank you for the honor,” he said. “My master wishes to have further converse with you.” He nodded at me. “We shall need the honor of the lady’s presence for only a few moments. So if you’ll excuse us …”
Marán’s face reddened.
“Captain,” she said to me, “I am not sure I understand what this man really wishes, but I am most shocked he would ask me to leave my chosen escort at his master’s beckon, for some sort of dialogue he is afraid for you to overhear. I gather you know him?”
“Yes,” I said, pushing my own rage back, and put an expression of puzzlement on my face. “Yes, now I think I do. Forgive me. Countess Agramónte and Lavedan, this is Elias Malebranche. I believe he has a title … ah yes. Landgrave.”
Malebranche bowed, Marán barely inclined her head. Before Marán could respond to the insulting invitation, I said, in my smoothest courtier’s tones, “My humblest apologies, Landgrave Malebranche. But I did not recognize you without your yellow silk cord.”
Malebranche’s eyes flashed rage, and he spun on me.
“What does that mean, sir?”
Instead of answering him directly, I spoke to Marán.
“The good landgrave has close friends in the hills and now elsewhere who have most unusual ideas on how to enrich themselves. I shall not speak their name here, but his associates are the sort of murderous scum you might expect a man who behaves as he does to associate with.”
Malebranche’s words came through gritted teeth.
“Your manners, sir, are exactly what I’d expect from a peasant foot soldier. My master merely thought the lady might enjoy the company of a gentleman, rather than a mercenary from a forgotten and barbaric state who’s probably taken vows of celibacy to match his costume.”
There could be but one response to that. I was about to explode, but saw Malebranche’s hand unconsciously caressing the haft of his knife. If I struck him, he would be entitled to defend himself by any means necessary right here, and I was unarmed, though I feared him not in the slightest. If I called him out, it would be his choice of weapons, and obviously he was an expert with the knife. Marán, too, knew what must occur, and her anger had turned to fear.
I don’t know where I found control — perhaps Tanis or my monkey god Vachan granted me a boon. But I did, and said, in a fairly calm tone, “Landgrave, I know what you wish me to do. But I cannot. A Numantian officer must not duel with his inferiors.”
“How dare you! The Malebranche family can extend its heritage for a thousand years!”
“If that is so, which I doubt, then your ancestors would be hanging their heads, seeing
their descendant no more than a false nobleman’s pimp.”
That did it.
Malebranche, his voice ice, said, “Very well. My response shall be on the Field of Honor. Is that agreeable with you?”
I bowed agreement, and he stalked away.
The red anger subsided, and I looked about. Fortunately no one seemed to have heard our exchange, and we were merely getting puzzled looks as to why we were standing still in the middle of the dance floor.
I took Marán in my arms and moved away, pretending to dance.
“Now what happens?” she whispered.
“Now I kill the bastard.”
• • •
A few minutes later, Marán’s temper roared back, and she wanted to go to Chardin Sher and tell him what a contemptible swine he was.
“If you wish,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “I’ll cheerfully accompany you.”
“No you won’t. I can take care of myself. Besides, you’d probably take that wretched man’s dagger away from him and stab the shit, and then what would happen?”
“I’d be executed, of course. But I would die happy, and rise on the Wheel for having served such a beautiful woman.”
“Stop trying to calm me down, dammit!”
“My apologies.” I started to say something more, that I had not been the one to insult her, but fortunately held my tongue. We were alone in one of the gardens. We’d gone out of the ballroom to calm ourselves down, and clearly it was not happening. Marán stared out into the night. After a time, she turned back.
“No, Damastes. It is for me to apologize. I’m foolish to think of going to Chardin Sher. He’ll deny he said anything of the sort, and then I’ll be the fool.
“Why in the hells is it always the man who’s believed?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe it’s because man makes the laws.”
“Well, it’s stupid and it’s fucked!” Her rage was returning. Her dress seemed to respond to her anger, because the coils seethed up and down her body.
“It is,” I agreed. I didn’t know what to do — the evening was ruined. I supposed that we should just leave quietly. But instead of suggesting that, I took her gently in my arms, and held her close.
We stood in silence for a very long time, and her breathing came hard, then relaxed, then hard again, then gentled as she fought for, then found, control.
“I am not going to cry, either,” she said against my chest. “I won’t give that son of a bitch the price of one damned tear!”
She lifted her head to me, and her lips parted. I kissed her, and she kissed me back, fiercely. Then she pulled away.
“I suppose he would have said how taken he was with me, and perhaps I might be willing to meet him in his quarters later. He doesn’t impress me as a man who spends much time wooing those he wants.
“But I’ve heard nastier suggestions,” she said. “The sons of the rich think they can talk like stable hands when they’re not granted their every desire, and have very strange ideas of what an unaccompanied young woman might wish.” A bit of a smile came. “Although I’ve never had them from somebody as high-ranking as Chardin Sher. I suppose I should be honored.”
She laughed then, and the laugh was genuine. “I wonder how Malebranche qualified as Chardin Sher’s procurer.”
“Probably sold him his mother and sister,” I said. I did not tell her I knew Malebranche to be far more than just a pimp — I now realized he was the prime minister’s specialist for any and all dirty work.
“I shall tell you what we are going to do,” Marán said. “We are going back in there, and we are going to enjoy ourselves, and forget about Kallians. I was having far too good a time to allow them to ruin anything.”
That was exactly what we did. Chardin Sher and his lackeys were gone, so it was not impossible. As the evening went on, it became easier and easier.
• • •
The ball would last all night, but it was only a bit past midnight when Marán suggested we leave.
“We have made our appearance, I’ve shown off my outfit, and we’ve discovered Kallians are pigs. What else is there to do? I’m afraid to eat anything or I’ll burst out of this dress.”
“Hmm,” I said. “What an interesting thought. Have you examined that tray of eclairs over there? They look delicious.”
“Come on, you lunatic Cimabuan!” She laughed, pulled the serpent’s hood from her head, and her hair fell free about her shoulders. I unmasked as well and followed her.
On the ride to her house, Marán was quiet. I assumed she was brooding about Chardin Sher’s insult, and so tried to keep a jolly conversation going.
I stepped out of the brougham when it pulled to a halt, and handed her down. I was about to bid her good night, and go to the stables for Lucan, when she said, “Captain, are you a gentleman?”
“I would hope so, Countess.”
“Then I can invite you in, although I have little idea on what to serve a nonimbiber.”
“In honor of the occasion, Madam, I will make an exception and allow you to pour me a small bit of your finest brandy.”
“You are a gracious man, sir, ever ready to help a distressed and puzzled damsel.”
The house was deserted, and there were no servants about, even though the gaslights blazed.
“I suppose everyone thought we’d be out till dawn, and went out to look for parties of their own.” She frowned. “Very, very old, brandy. That would most likely be in … in someone’s study.”
She led me upstairs, and bade me wait.
I stood in the luxurious halls, feeling foolish in my orange robes. After a moment, she came out with a crystal decanter that shot reflections of the light around the room.
“Let’s see. Oh, I know. You haven’t seen the solarium yet. Come on.” She took my hand and led me up the stairs to the roof.
It was a large room, with a glass roof curved like the top of a breadloaf. It was all done in white, wrought-iron chairs and tables, even the frames that held the glass window panes. There were doors that opened onto a deck.
I sat gingerly in an ornate chair, and Marán poured me brandy, then sat down in a thinly upholstered lounge that looked as if it would collapse if I had tried to use it.
“I wish to thank you,” I said, “for inviting me to the ball. Otherwise I would have been one of those poor cavalrymen we saw in the streets, sitting my horse, trying to look noble and freezing my, my — ”
“Balls is the word you are looking for.”
“No it’s not. But it’ll do. By the way, I meant to compliment you on your language. I didn’t know countesses could swear like you.”
“You can if you grow up in the country and ride a lot. All my horses respond better to that sort of language than cooing and such.”
“How odd,” I said. “Army horses prefer soothing and gentleness. Perhaps it’s the unfamiliar that makes them listen.”
I smiled, and she hesitantly smiled back. For a second, her expression once more became that of the innocent expecting punishment. She rose and went to one of the doors. I picked up my glass and joined her.
Below was the river, and even at this late hour I saw the lights of barges and vessels. I thought I heard something, and opened the door. I was right. Soft music drifted up from the water. After a moment I saw where it came from: Far upriver a luxury ferry moved slowly toward us, and there must have been a band aboard.
I was standing very close behind Marán, and could smell, over her perfume that was making me far drunker than the bit of brandy I’d tasted, the clean scent of her hair.
She turned, and took the brandy glass from my hand, and sat it down. “Now, you arrant bluffer, we are far from prying eyes and we have a magically provided orchestra. I wish to see this Rotten Row dance, sir.”
I hesitated, and the way her eyes boldly took me made the decision.
“The hells with being a gentleman,” I muttered, and her arms slid around me, and she melted into my embrace. I
slid my arms down around her back and, as I’d longed, cupped her buttocks. She caught her breath, slipped one leg between mine, and we moved as one. I began kneading my hands, and her breath came faster and I felt her nipples rise, even through my costume.
I felt my cock hard against her thigh, and she forced herself closer. We danced like that for an eternity, and then I suddenly realized the ship was long gone, and the only music we had was in our minds.
She pulled me down into a kiss. Our tongues flared together, and she moaned, moving her head from side to side, crushing her lips against mine.
Then she pulled away.
“Yes, Damastes. Now. Quickly. Come with me.”
Almost running, she led me toward the stairs.
• • •
I did not notice what her bedroom looked like, except that the bed was wide, invitingly laid, and the sheets were silken, but as warm as her dress. The room was lit by a single candlelike flame from a lamp on a bedside table.
We embraced once more, then Marán pulled away. Her fingers fumbled at her neck. She muttered in frustration, and I hooked fingers inside her costume, and tore. The stitching ripped with a tiny shriek, and she was naked.
“You,” she said. “Now you. Hurry. Please hurry.”
I lifted my robes away and kicked off my sandals. I picked her up in my arms, and we fell across the bed. Her arms were moving up and down my back, and she was moaning, murmuring my name. Her leg lifted across the back of mine, caressing. My fingers slipped down her body, the softest, fairest skin I’d ever touched, shaven clean, and then I found waiting wetness.
Her thighs parted, and she pushed up, against my searching hand. There was no hesitation, no time or need for long fore-play as I moved between her legs.
I touched her clitoris with the head of my cock, and her body jerked. “Oh, gods,” she said. “Oh, Damastes. Please. Please. Take me. Fuck me, fuck me hard, fuck me now!”
I found the wetness, pushed, met hard obstruction, felt a flash of amazement, then pushed once more, and Marán cried out, guttural, a moment of pain, and then the tissue gave way and I buried myself in her.
I lay motionless for a moment, then her legs lifted, and she wrapped them around my lower thighs, and thrust up against me, slowly at first, then stronger and stronger. My thrusts met hers, and her fingernails dug into my back. Our bodies crashed together, and then I broke and I could feel semen gush, and a moment later she cried out sharply and her body jerked against mine.