The sight brought bitter tears to his eyes. Never had he felt lonelier. Even the thought of finding a new lover of his own, surely not impossible in a palace filled with handsome servants and quick-witted tutors, filled him with despair. He knew his heart would always belong to only one person. The knot joining them, though unspoken and perhaps even unacknowledged in so many words, could never be undone.
Now, as once again he let the older students work quietly on their translations while he tried to calm his thumping head, it occurred to him that there was only one sure way to tell if the conversation with Azno had actually happened. He would have to go to the marketplace and see if he turned up. If he did not, then most likely the whole thing had been the product of his altered state. But if he did….
Unexpectedly his pulse quickened and the pain in his head eased.
Well, if he did, Chadan hardly dared imagine what might happen next. Better not to go there until the situation demanded it.
“Master Chadan?”
The voice startled him from his brooding. He turned sharply to find one of his students standing beside him, a scroll in one hand and a quill in the other. An obscure matter of Old Tongue grammar. A bit impatiently, Chadan explained the necessary technicalities and went back to counting the minutes until the morning lesson could end.
At last, the sandglass signaled the beginning of free time for masters and students alike.
Even as he walked into the city, his headache easing at last, he wondered whether he was making a colossal fool of himself. There was no way Azno had invited him out for a secret meeting. How would Azno slip out of the palace unchaperoned, anyhow?
No, it was all too unbelievable. He had dreamed it, surely.
Yet a distant hope in the furthest reaches of his mind spurred him on, urging him to put his theory to the test. At the very least, he might run into Keshi again. That would be less than ideal, but reasonably satisfying, all things considered.
Chadan reached the marketplace, busy and crowded, and began to look around. The marketplace was bustling with mid-morning foot traffic. How would anyone find him in this crowd? Or how would he find anyone, including Keshi? Then again, Shebi no doubt had more than one of his operatives scanning the area for lonely-looking but pathetically hopeful wanderers. Did Chadan fit that bill? No doubt he did. Silently he berated himself for his weakness. How had it all come to this? For years he had been content with his poetry and his teaching, not to mention his loyal service to the palace and all it represented. Now he was sneaking about, seeking a disgraceful union he both longed for and recoiled from. What was it about this one student that had torn his world apart like rough hands on fragile cloth?
Worst of all, no matter how many times he turned it over and over in his mind, nothing got any better. The ache remained, the need still burned. The need not just for physical pleasure, but for Azno himself.
As before, Chadan forced himself to browse the vendors’ varied wares in an effort to fill his mind with something else besides krasking. A variety of goods awaited his inspection—colorful garments, most of them not to his taste, jewelry and baubles both fine and gaudy, and pottery for either cooking or ornamentation. The same musical instruments were out again, with the same scraggly-haired young man demonstrating a simple tune on a three-stringed lyre.
Gradually, he realized someone was following him. The sensation of eyes on the back of his neck made his flesh prickle. He turned quickly and saw no one, though his head did swim for a moment thanks to the abrupt movement. The crowd surged around him as before. He patted his coin purse and found it undisturbed. Not thieves, then. Not Keshi’s sort, either—they would not have ducked from his gaze, but welcomed it.
Cautiously he turned back to the instrument stall. The scraggly-haired youth paused and tilted the lyre toward him.
“You were here before. One day ago.” He had the coarse, heavily accented dialect of the country.
“Yes.”
“You like? You buy?”
The stall’s master was watching him expectantly. Chadan wondered if the boy would get a beating if he failed to make a sale. The thought made him feel guilty.
“Yes, all right.” He pointed to one of the instruments standing just inside the tent. It was painted with a fanciful pattern of birdlike serpents parading over its surface. “That one.”
Baring his discolored teeth in a grin, the young man set down the lyre he had been playing and stepped into the tent to prepare Chadan’s purchase. He and the older man exchanged a few words in a guttural peasant language Chadan did not understand—nor did he care to. Again, he had the feeling he was being watched.
He accepted his purchase, now wrapped in a length of scrap cloth, and stepped away. Surprised how light the instrument was, he tucked it under one arm and began heading back to the palace. That, he thought, would conclude his foolish adventure, based only on a ridiculous dream. At least it hadn’t been a total waste. The lyre would make an interesting prop in his classroom and perhaps the inspiration for a lesson or two on folk ballads and their relation to the poetry of the underclasses.
After he had taken only two steps, a hooded figure darted in front of him and tilted his head just enough that Chadan caught a glimpse of wide, bright eyes and a familiar grin. He reeled backward, again almost dropping the lyre. “Azno,” he whispered.
Grinning, Azno raised a finger to his lips. He motioned for Chadan to follow him, then pivoted and slipped back into the milling crowd.
His heart pounding, Chadan followed. Every few moments, he lost sight of the slim, dark-robed figure as Azno wove between strolling groups of shoppers and the sprawling displays of merchants’ wares. Then he would spot the pointed tip of the hood again and quicken his pace. The heat was as intense as it had been on his last jaunt to the marketplace—or at least it seemed so, with sweat running in rivulets down the sides of his face and along the groove of his spine, soaking his tunic.
At last, Azno ducked inside a crowded tent from which a group of men were selling small bottles of oil to a murmuring crowd of eager customers. Chadan could guess what the oil was for—had Azno deliberately chosen this tent? The thought of his student knowing where to purchase such substances, designed to rub on the flesh to enhance pleasure while krasking, shocked him. But it excited him, too. He licked his lips, imagining Azno gently rubbing it on Chadan and then, with more determination, on himself. Then they would test its supposedly arousing properties….
Azno was not looking at the oils for sale, however. Instead he pulled Chadan to the corner of the tent, where no one would pay particular attention to them, and peered up from inside his hood.
“I’m glad you came, Master Chadan. I wasn’t sure you would.”
“How did you get out here?” Chadan glanced around nervously. “You’re still in your probationary period—you’re not supposed to be in the marketplace alone.”
“There are ways to sneak out. I won’t tell you how, so don’t ask. Let’s just say it has to do with some creative excuses to the trainers and the ability to climb trees.”
“Just the same, I advise you to return to the palace at once. You’re heard what happened to Prince Vidnar’s concubine, surely? Snatched off the street and never seen again. Even now he is most likely toiling in slavery or perhaps lying in a gutter with his throat cut.”
To his surprise, Azno laughed. “I heard a slightly different version of the story—that he was carried off by a handsome cloth merchant, draped in the finest garments, and bedded in the softest sheets that ever existed. That is not a bad outcome, to my way of thinking.”
Chadan did not admit that he had heard the same tale or that his more fanciful side was inclined to believe it. “You wish to be abducted, then? Is that why you are here? Because I must admit, it is not a goal I can support.”
Again, that musical laugh tickled Chadan’s ears. “Abducted? No. Ravished, yes.”
“What do you know of being ravished?”
Azno’s smile was
nervous, his eyes bright with anxiety as well as lust. Chadan assumed he had learned the arts of seduction in his sex training sessions—that was likely where he had heard about the oils, too. Chadan felt his heart break a bit with love for Azno’s innocent, trusting nature. The young man could recite the words, but he did not have the experience yet to hide the rawness of his feelings while he spoke them.
“Nothing yet, beyond what I have read in the scrolls and heard among my friends. I know it is a wonderful experience.”
“It is for Lord Garghas to teach you that.”
“No. I want it to be you, Master Chadan. Surely you understand how I feel about you. I have from the beginning of our lessons together. And I have good reason to believe you feel the same.”
With trembling hands, he drew Chadan closer. Chadan felt fear spiral through him.
“It cannot happen. It is forbidden.”
“That makes it more exciting, surely,” Azno whispered, and Chadan knew it was true. “Besides, we are safe here.”
He put his free hand on Azno’s chest and pushed him back. “No. This is impossible. Please. Return to the palace at once.”
He stumbled away, still clutching the lyre, his eyes blurred with pain, not daring to look back. He paid no attention to his direction and found himself stumbling toward a tavern. A group of tumblers performed in the courtyard outside the open doors. They called to him for donations, but he hurried inside and slumped into a booth, resting the lyre on the wooden seat beside him.
Had he made an error? Perhaps he should have escorted Azno back to the palace. Yet that would have looked even more suspicious. He covered his face in both hands.
The plump, gray-haired tavern-keeper approached with a grin.
“You look as though you need this.” He plunked down a goblet of common ale, the sort the merchants drank, in front of Chadan. Chadan recognized the scent right away. Really, it was the last thing he needed, but he gulped it anyway, grateful to have something to do with his hands besides weep into them.
“Thank you.” Chadan fumbled with his pouch and handed over a coin. He spotted a sign over the bar. It promised rooms to let cheaply. The tavern-keeper noticed his interest.
“Did you want anything else?” The man lingered. His bulbous eyes searched Chadan’s face knowingly. “A room with a companion for a few hours?”
Apparently, this was a common service in an establishment like this one. Perhaps this fellow had some sort of arrangement with Shebi. It made sense. Travelers who might seek a room here might also seek company while they were in the city. “You…er…you could arrange that?”
“Oh, yes.” The tavern-keeper left his palm open. Chadan added another coin. Shebi was brilliant. Everyone in town supported his business and in turn made coin for their own.
“Up the stairs and turn left. You can bar the door from inside while you are using the room. Leave it standing open when you’re finished. You can have another drink here if you like. Some find themselves thirsty after…you know…they have rested a bit.”
“I can imagine.” He pushed the ill-tasting ale away, careful not to grimace and offend the man. “One is probably enough, though.”
“As you please.”
Upstairs, as directed, Chadan found a modest room, surprisingly clean, with a simple pallet that would do fine for his purposes. He was sure it would not be Keshi who showed up, but really, what did it matter? Anyone who was not Azno would do as well or as ill, depending how he looked at it.
He debated whether to undress. Would that be too forward? In the end, he didn’t dare to do more than push the door shut, without barring it, and stretch out on the pallet. Slowly his confidence ebbed away. For all he knew, he had been sent up here to be robbed. How had he gotten himself into such a mess? No—he ought to leave at once. He sat up, his heart pounding.
The door opened. Chadan blinked, unable to believe his eyes. His mouth fell open.
It was not Keshi, or even another of Shebi’s boys.
It was Azno. In his hand lay a bottle of the special oil from the stall.
“A gift,” he said.
Chapter Six
It took several moments for Chadan to accept that he was really seeing what his eyes suggested. When he finally spoke, his voice came out in a strained croak.
“Azno,” he whispered, stunned. “How did you get here?”
“It’s really no mystery.” Azno shrugged. “I followed you when you left the marketplace. After the tavern keeper sent you upstairs, I asked him if you needed a companion. I was willing to take on the task.”
“He thought you were one of Shebi’s boys, then.”
“Shebi? Who is Shebi?”
“He was a harem boy once, like yourself,” he explained. “But now he has his own business, one he is quite successful at. It involves finding companionship for lonely men who wish to engage his services.”
“That is what you wanted here? That is why you come to the marketplace?”
Chadan sighed, amused by Azno’s sudden alarm—or was it jealousy? “I admit I came for that once. But no, it wasn’t what I wanted. I know that now.” A scowl tugged at his lips. The thought of anyone regarding Azno as a purveyor of streetside pleasures, even in error, annoyed him. “You shouldn’t have lied to the tavern keeper, you know.”
“I didn’t lie because no one asked me who I was.” Azno shifted from foot to foot, growing nervous, until he pulled a small cloth-wrapped parcel from inside his robes. He pulled the wrapping away and then opened his fingers to display a small, ornate bottle—one of those sold in the merchant’s tent they had briefly ducked into. “I bought this for you—for us,” he said. “The men in the tent assured me it was the finest in the marketplace. Guaranteed to…to increase pleasure.”
Chadan felt a shudder of desire roll through his body. He struggled to suppress it. “You should go back. I mean it this time.”
Azno lowered the bottle to his side. “I don’t want to. Why should I? The palace is your home, not mine. After my training is complete, Lord Garghas is taking me away with him to his country retreat.
“When?” Chadan had known of the plan, of course. The prince had hinted at it in the garden, and even before that, the gossip had been flying. Still, knowing it would probably happen was one thing. But hearing it discussed as a plan was far worse.
“Soon. I don’t know. After the recital.”
“At least we’ll have that,” Chadan grumbled. Atop all the other indignities, he could at least present the chant he had worked so hard to teach them. And Azno would be there to ensure it went perfectly. It wasn’t much consolation for losing Azno for good afterward, but at least he would have a memory.
“That’s what I was thinking, too. But not about the recital.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean the two of us.” He blushed. “I mean…you know. I want us to…well…to krask. With you.” He swallowed. In spite of everything, Chadan bit back a smile. Did Azno think he might have misinterpreted the invitation if he’d left off the last two words?
“Ah,” he said.
“I know it is forbidden. That doesn’t mean it is wrong, though. There is a difference.”
Leaning, forward, Chadan took the bottle and pursed his lips. “I am glad to see you are paying attention to Master Xarn’s philosophy lectures.”
“You are mocking me, Master Chadan, yet you know what I mean. It can be one time, a special thing,” Azno hurried on. He moved closer, and Chadan saw that he was trembling slightly in spite of his bravado. “Afterward, we will go back to the palace. I will do as Prince Baboye has ordered and welcome Lord Garghas to my bed for the first time. I will make the best of the situation.”
“No,” Chadan growled. The intensity of the sound that rumbled from his throat startled him.
“We can’t stop it. We must obey the prince. And Lord Garghas will care for me as well as he is able. I don’t think he is a cruel man…even if he is not to my taste.”
“G
arghas? I would hope he is not. That barbarian is scarcely fit to mate with a xoxobeast. He will never be able to appreciate your gifts or understand your poetry. Azno, the talent you own should be nurtured and cultivated. I have heard nothing like it in all my years at the palace. You have the power to create something beautiful and lasting, as Diviak once did. But not with a man like Garghas ordering you about and using you to serve his animalistic needs.”
“Please, Master Chadan…do not torment yourself.” Azno placed a gentle hand on Chadan’s arm. “I am prepared to do my duty to the prince and the palace. We must respect their wishes and their plans for our futures, however much we may want something different.” His fingers tightened, his palm pressing down. “But after today, we will both have something to remember. Whatever happens, wherever we go, we will always have that.”
Chadan sucked in a breath. His chest hurt. His throat felt as though someone had stuffed it with rags. Desperately he shook his head. “Azno, please. This is madness. It goes against everything I have always believed and all I have ever done.”
“I know. That’s the point. Let me do this.”
“What of your family? You will be dismissed from the harem if anyone finds out. You will bring shame upon them.”
“There I have no concerns.” Azno let out a silvery, high-pitched laugh. “I have no family, as it happens. I was a foundling, abandoned by my mother, whoever she was. I know nothing of my father, either. Perhaps he was a soldier. Perhaps he was a traveling merchant. I have no idea. In truth, I don’t even want to know.”
“You don’t?” Chadan blinked. He had always pictured Azno as the son of a provincial schoolmaster, like himself, or perhaps a minor village authority. He had never pictured him as deprived of love or material comforts.
“No. Why should I? They did not concern themselves with my fate, at least as far as I know. They left me with a group of monks who brought me up in a temple far out in the plains.”
“Monks? So that was where you learned about poetry and heard the Old Tongue.”
Tales of the Thasali Harem Box Set Page 39