by SL Figuhr
His turn with her was fast coming to an end, and he was reluctant to have it end. As she made to move off to another partner, she gave Sydney a naughty wink and a smile. Sydney felt his blood pound. He took in a deep shaky breath as his new partner presented herself. If he didn’t cool off, everyone would see how she had affected him. Mercifully, the dance came to an end shortly thereafter. Men and women bowed or curtsied to whomever they ended with. The musicians struck up another tune and people flowed, some leaving the floor, others switching partners or joining the dance.
Sydney left, stopping to greet men or women he thought he knew, chatting with them. It mattered not who they were; the main topic was Lady Illyria and rumors of what she had managed to advise the king to do for the town.
“I, for one, am glad of them; with winter coming, it will be a struggle just to keep food on the table. My neighbors are still without a dwelling, and though I wish I could help, my own is barely large enough for my own family.”
“What do you think, good sir?”
“Time will tell, as will the new band of sheriff’s men.”
“Yes, I heard the most appalling rumor, my lord. Earl Sydney is said to have all but moved into the barracks. Not only training these slaves, but laboring with them like a commoner. Tell me it’s not true! It’s bad enough we have to suffer slaves in the role the corrupt sheriff and his men once occupied, but to free them, as well? I like it not.”
Shocked exclamations greeted his admission. “But why?” “Preposterous! If your father were still alive, he would be ashamed.”
“Let us hope she can weather the taint. If I were you, my lord, I wouldn’t spend so much time there. Forgive me my boldness, but the town talks, and not in a good way. If I hadn’t served with you in the royal army, I would think you lost all honor.”
Sydney bowed. “I thank you for your warning and wise counsel. I will take heed. If you will excuse me, I must make my obeisance to our king.”
They bowed back. He left them, worming his way through the people in the gardens. Slaves circulated with trays and amphorae of drinks. Armed men stood guard before a long, wide curtain cutting off the garden. The marquis had a raised platform built for the king. His Majesty sat off to one side, sheltered under swaths of colored fabric, attended by many slaves and his chamberlain. Couples or singles passed before, bowing or curtseying before moving off. The earl made an elaborate bow and was called up.
“Sire.”
“Ah, Sydney, you don’t change. I believe you wore the same outfit to all the former masks. This is supposed to be a time to let go, to be someone else!” he bellowed, drinking deep.
“I doubt he would even remember how to do such a thing, although laboring as a common drudge? Tsk, tsk,” the marquis drawled. His eyes glittered maliciously behind his elaborate lion-headed mask. It appeared to be made from the head of a once-living lion.
“He is doing a noble deed; if anyone could retain their honor, and impart it to others, it would be he.” Maceanas gently rebuked the man beside him before continuing, “You had best make sure, sir, they do have honor or it’s your head I’ll be having.”
“I hope it will be soon?”
“Before we unmask.”
“Good, I am hoping the temptress in red is Lady Illyria. I cannot think of who else would be so bold.” He turned to the Earl. “Let us hope your wife has taught her enough of court manners in the time she has had.”
“Hah! Which suggests the lady is the one to blame for failure? We shall see. Has anyone seen Nicky? I told him to attend me, but he has yet to present himself. Go get him for me, both of you. Tell him to attend me at once or he will be banned from my presence for a week. I have grown tired of his tantrums and disobedience.”
Both nobles left the platform, Jenabram saying. “Here I thought you could sink no lower. Living, eating and training not even commoners but slaves. It’s a wonder you are not stripped of title for the disgrace of it all.”
The marquis sniffed, giving his chilly smile. “At least I do not have the threat of a beheading hanging over me. Now where do you suppose our orphan advisor is hiding? Maybe I shall find Lady Illyria instead, and show her what a true noble-born man is capable of.”
The earl decided to cruise the rooms. He grabbed a cup of some drink, sipping as he prowled. He didn’t think he would have another as it had a slightly sour aftertaste, not in keeping with the marquis’ standard stuff. The gaming room was filled with men intent on the play before them. Slaves ran to and fro, either refreshing drinks, smokes, or to be fondled as good luck pieces. A smaller room had been set aside for the women to play more ladylike games. The advisor was not to be found in either, nor was he at the crowded buffet.
Gradually the noise level fell; any person who had attended the mask in the past knowing the marquis always had something special for his guests. One year it was dwarves jousting and pantomiming mock battles. Another, female slaves who wrestled in pits of various substances. Last year, he gave male and female slaves away in pairs to everyone. It was rumored only his special friends received the ones trained in the arts of love.
“Fine folks, step this way into the gardens for tonight’s show! It will amaze you, but will hopefully not leave you speechless.” He waggled his extravagant brows and butt to laughter. “And may it inspire you!”
The curtain opened to allow slaves to roll out large, tall wooden platforms, positioning them in the clear space. A murmur rippled through the crowd as they moved closer under brightly colored spots of oil light, slaves directing people to fill the areas between the platforms. The earl let himself be carried along, spotting the red woman. Beside her stood a man who could only be Lord Nicky, his red-gold hair a giveaway. He was more elaborately dressed than usual, having elected to wear a plain gold mask, his gray eyes glittering in lust as he spoke to the red lady. The earl made his way through the press of people to come up beside the young man.
“Piss off,” came the snarled reply.
“I’m afraid, Lord Nicky, I must insist.”
Sydney bowed. “His Majesty sent both the marquis and me to find you and deliver his message. He sounded most displeased you had not presented yourself yet. He is threatening to have you banned from his presence for it.”
The insane rage leaping into the gray eyes at his words had the earl fighting not to give way. The young man opened his mouth to say something in return when trumpets rang out. The king fool mounted the center platform.
“Hear ye, hear ye! Ffor your viewing pleasure, may I present the sun kingdom slaves of love and beauty.” He gave an exaggerated, openmouthed wink. “Oh yes, and should Lord Nicky, our esteemed advisor, be present, His Majesty says get your hiney over to the royal platform posthaste or he shall send the royal guards!” He hopped in a circle as he bent, wiggling his ass at the assembled guests.
“My lord, it sounds serious. Were you not just telling me the king is to be obeyed in all things?” The red woman laid her hand on the young man’s arm. It almost sounded as if she was mocking them both. “I am sure I will be safe, with our noble knight here to keep watch over me.”
Many bells chimed out. The earl moved closer to the woman before him, whose identity he had guessed correctly. Lady Illyria. She gave him an amused sideways glance before shifting, so she was mostly in front of him. The dancers, nine couples, mounted the three platforms, as braziers set up around the garden suddenly billowed with fresh incense. They started off the dance to the bells with graceful, slow movements. The men and women went barefoot, covered in short, white gowns. The press of people made the cool night seem warmer. The feathers of Illyria’s headpiece brushed his cheek and head. He could smell the oiled perfume she wore: musk, sandalwood, vanilla. The top of her head was on a level with his chin.
The bells were soon joined by a slow pounding of drums, both patterns growing in complexity. As the dancers bent and stretched, the outlines of something which jingled could be seen underneath. The crowd shifted restlessly, expecting somethi
ng more. The quiet murmurs grew louder. The drums suddenly stopped, together they gave one great boom of sound.
The comments ran from shocked, to gleeful, to lustful, and the earl heard Illyria give a laugh of appreciation. He was unsure how to feel. On one hand, the display was lewd and lascivious, intended to excite. On the other, it was meant to offend those who disapproved of such sights. The males wore golden cod pieces made up of coins and jewels, the women two pieces covering breasts and groin.
Suddenly the drums came back in a fierce, throbbing rhythm, punctuated by the clash of bells and cymbals and the seductive piping of flutes. The dancers moved again, still graceful, but in faster, more frantic movements, causing the coins to jingle wildly.
Sydney only hoped his wife and children had left before the entertainment started, or he would never hear the end of it once he got home. In fact, if he stayed whilst they’d gone home, and she got word of it, he may as well move fully into the sheriff’s barracks. He risked glancing around; the crowd had fallen silent, watching open-mouthed in shock as the performance unfolded.
Another swell of music, and the dancers were naked and writhing against each other. The crowd gasped again as it became clear what they worshipped. The buzz roiled in shocked disapproval, falling with the king’s shout of approval and clapping. The earl’s hands came up to grasp Illyria’s arms below her jeweled straps. He bent toward her ear.
He should have known the marquis would pull such a stunt. The rumors of what he got up to in some of the whorehouses and private parties of his cronies hinted at much worse.
She half-turned toward him, raising up on her toes to murmur, “These are royal dancers; this is a religion to them. This is how they worship. Damn that degenerate marquis for making something sacred to them into a cheap show. Go if you must, but I shall remain; they are not whores.”
She laid a finger upon his lips before continuing. “There is nothing shameful in the naked body, or consenting adults doing acts to show their feelings for one another. You dishonor their religion by thinking it is something dirty, tawdry, or sinful.”
Her eyes glittered behind her mask as she pressed against him. He could barely breathe. He felt shameful on one hand, aroused on the other. He reminded himself of his vow to his wife even as his erection grew between them. The earl opened his mouth to say something when movement in the crowd caught his eye, bringing his gaze off her sharply.
The marquis didn’t just want to entertain and shock; he wanted to degrade everyone. The incense billowed, now sweet and heady. The crowd heaved as men and women groped and ground against each other. They were jostled, nearly toppled.
A billow of the incense floated over their heads, pushed by the breeze. Her nose wrinkling, she hissed in anger, making those nearest to her draw back in alarm. Illyria took the space created to draw the earl after her into the crowd. He stumbled, light-headed, as hands reached out, trying to caress him or stop their transit.
The music pounded furiously, or maybe it was his blood. A trickle of sweat ran down his brow and into one eye. He blinked; she was an avenging flame moving ever onward. The press of people turned away from them or moved to create a path she hustled him through. He almost felt she half-carried him. They gained the stone terrace to have a clearer view. People rutted on any convenient surface, clothes came apart or were shoved to the side, or ripping.
The earl swayed as his head pounded to the beat of the drums. He saw her toss a look over her shoulder toward the royal pavilion. He turned in a half-circle, and saw the king being serviced by a bevy of slave women. There was no sign of the marquis, or Lord Nicky.
He found himself jerked forward and almost fell to his hands and knees. She lifted him up to his feet as if he were a child. The impossibility of it flashed through his mind before fading away, and he obediently followed her swinging hips. Another slave crossed her path; she stopped him.
She took his upper arms and forced him to look into her masked face. “How much have you drunk? How long have you been breathing in the fumes?”
He felt disconnected as she shook him, his head snapping back and forward sharply before he tried to crush her to him. “Enough, or I shall be sick!” He stood a moment, blinking. “I . . . I, only one drink, and I am unsure how long. Several hours, at least.”
Illyria easily broke his hold and began to guide him once more through the marquis’s mansion to the front. Sydney tried to follow in her wake. They encountered another crush of people in the entrance hall, all waiting for their carriages to be brought around. The perfumed oil lamps and incense burned even in this section.
“Damn the man! The poor little marchioness, to be used by whomever without her consent by that asshole.” It sounded like she muttered, “We must get out of the stink.”
He lazily cast his gaze around, not really concerned. It seemed his body throbbed in time with the drums even this far away. The earl was musing over her words, that worship with the body was sacred, when he felt a tug. He followed her willingly down a darkened side hall, a bright, pulsing star before them. It wasn’t long before they crossed a room, out another door, and found themselves farther down the front of the mansion.
The earl watched the bright star retreat away from them. “How many times has he done this, at his parties?”
It took a moment for the question to sink in. “I . . .” He shook his
He only saw the outline of her body in the darkness. The fog slowly cleared from his head. By the time her carriage arrived, he had become more or less sober. The foot slaves lowered the steps, opened the door, and helped them both inside. They still wore their masks as they seated themselves.
She regarded him solemnly before saying, “You spoke of vows you made. I will not be the reason you break them. I shall take you to the Silver Thorn.”
“Surely you know by now our marriage was arranged. We don’t love each other.” An image of his sweet Alise came to mind and then faded. “We never have.” He settled back against the cushions, sighing. “My vow was not to take lovers from among our peers, and for the most part I have not. His Majesty refuses to let us divorce, and unlike the marquis, I will not order her killed. So we muddle along, hating each other a little more each year.” Sydney opened his eyes, turning to her. “You would not be destroying anything. There was nothing there to begin with. If you doubt me, ask her. Ask anyone. I shall wait.”
Illyria leaned out the window, and gave a few instructions to her slaves. The earl let his lids fall shut, felt the vehicle jerk, rattling over the uneven street. A short time later, he opened his eyes, seeing the dark bulk of buildings before them.
“I wanted to hear your story from your own lips. I know the truth, and if you had lied to me, we would not be here. You must be sure this is what you want. No guilt, no regrets.”
The earl wasn’t sure what woke him. The room was chilly, and he was alone in the empty featherbed. “Lira?” he called out softly. Sydney tried to rise, surprised to find himself weak as a baby. His head pounded, the room swam, his veins felt on fire. He had a terrible thirst.
He lay a moment, gathering up his strength before managing to roll onto one side. With some effort, he sat up. Squares of lighter darkness ringed the room. He could hear birds chirping and twittering. What had happened to draw her from his side? He managed to reach a bell set by the side of the bed and rang it.
He needed to get home. The earl hoped no one had noticed when he left the party or with whom. His wife would go on a path of vengeance for the insult done to her person. Sydney prayed the slaves here could keep their mouths shut.
The slave bowed, hurrying off to do as bid. Sydney struggled out of the swaying bed, wondering how he was going to get his horse back. He sat down to his brief repast after cleaning and reclothing himself, when he felt a swirl of chilling air at his back. He turned to see her striding across the room still in her costume from the night before; only now she and it were splattered with dark streaks as if she had bathed in blood.
“They are now,” was all she said, sitting across from him. “Your mount is being brought around. If you leave quickly, you can make it back home before full dawn.”
“No, of course not. You are right.” He was perturbed all the same, scared his tone gave him away. “She will be hurt, vengeful, and will take the brunt of it out on you.”
“Naturally,” she remarked dryly.
“There is another ball tonight. I will see you then, and we can slip away. Now go; it is becoming light at an alarming rate.” She stood on tiptoe and gave him a deep, fierce kiss, before breaking it off to open the door.
He had no choice but to leave, the sky already turning pale. Domiano stood, holding his horse’s head. He mounted up and when he turned back toward the door, found it already shut. Sydney shook his head, already feeling the loss of her. He spurred his mount into a gallop up the hill to his home.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“I s that her? The duchess?”
“No, not that sour-faced old fart. It can’t be!”
“Oh! I think that might be her!”
“Where?”
“Over there, with the handsome man in green and black.” “No wonder His Majesty fawns over her.”
“The earl is rumored to be her lover.”
Saizar frowned, glaring at the speakers over my head. “It seems your notoriety extends to all corners of the kingdom. Why do you let them speak so ill of you?”
I couldn’t help the amused smile curling my lips up. “What would you have me do? Everyone gossips. If I were to act like I cared, people may think there was some truth to the matter.”
I shrugged. “What they think is of no concern to me. They have small, petty minds if that is all they can talk about. I am surprised you care.”