by Megan Derr
"I don't think you two understand how much people don't actually like me."
"I don't think you realize how many people would say yes before you finished asking if they'd like to fuck," Jac retorted.
Charlaine threw a bit of fish at her, causing Jac to shriek and throw it back.
Myra laughed, clutching at his ribs and hurting with every jolt, but oh it was worth it. They turned to face him, and then suddenly they were on either side of him, a warm and reassuring presence when the rest of his life had been dashed to pieces and lost forever.
"I really wish we were somewhere else," he said, voice catching.
"It's not over yet," Charlaine, and gently tilted his head up. There was a breath, a hesitation, and then they were kissing. This was nothing like the desperate kiss Myra had stolen in the hallway outside his suite when he'd been certain it was the only kiss he'd ever get, when he'd been certain he was saying goodbye to his oldest and dearest friend. Or the rough kiss they'd exchanged before going to save Jac. Charlaine kissed sweetly, which did not surprise Myra at all. Beneath all his layers of natural reserve and military severity, Charlaine was nothing but quiet sweetness.
Drawing back, Myra licked his lips, unable to tear his eyes away—until he felt a soft touch to his other arm, and as he turned Jac twined her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly, equal parts intense and playful. Myra sensed she was going to be delightfully bossy in bed and tried not to think too hard about the fact he might never get to find out.
Tearing away, he licked his lips again, loving he could taste them both there. Jac leaned across him and curled her fingers into Charlaine's hair, tugging him into just the right position to kiss him hard and filthy. Myra groaned, heart pounding in his chest and ears, the burn of want clashing with the cold fear still prickling at the back of his neck and occasionally crawling along his spine.
When they broke apart, he said, "There has to be a way for us to get out of here, but I'm afraid I don't know it. I thought I'd succeeded in gaining myself an ally, but I have not seen her since we reached clan territory. She slipped away from the group, following orders I didn't catch. I've no idea where she is now." As they all picked up their bowls to resume eating, he told them all that had happened since he was taken away, all he'd tried to do to convince Kimberly to turn on the clans.
At the very least, he hoped she had the sense to leave the moment an opportunity presented itself. He could understand her not wanting to risk her life to help him, but Pantheon, she'd better have the sense to save herself.
"Our only chance is to sneak out, but I don't see that ending well," Jac said. "Not given how easily all these creepy fuckers slink around the jungle."
"The training required to be able to do that is arduous." Myra grimaced at the memories. "I passed out three times, and that is considered impressive."
"How are the clans still around? As brutal and unbending as they are…"
Myra jerked one shoulder. "There's a lot of money to be made killing people for the rest of the world, and the Seven are good at keeping the whole of the Triumvirate exactly where they want them—largely thanks to the clans, who don't mind spilling blood at home when the price is right, and the Triumvirate is as happy to pay in power as in coin." He frowned. "How are you two here? Surely Sarrica would have forbidden and prevented it."
"After you were taken away, we never made it back to the palace. Captain Chass showed up," Charlaine replied, and told him their side of the tale.
When he came to the ship, Jac buried her face in her hands as Myra laughed and laughed. "Oh, I want to see you dance. I didn't know you could. Were you going to take me dancing if tea went well? We could have danced at the festival."
"I was on duty, so no, we couldn't." When Myra frowned, Jac winked and added, "At least, not until my shift was over, but I doubt I would have worked up the nerve to ask you. We hadn't even had tea yet."
Myra scoffed. "I'd much rather dance."
"How have I never known that all these years?" Charlaine asked, shaking his head.
"I don't dance well, but I like trying, especially when I'm drunk," Myra said. "Which is not something I've ever let myself be, between my secrets and my position as imperial head secretary." He sighed. "After twenty years, I had stupidly come to believe I was truly free. Now I'm going to die in the place I fought to escape, the place I hate most in the world. Why did you come after me? You shouldn't have to die here too." He buried his face in his hands in a futile attempt to smother the tears that had gotten the better of him once more.
"Myra…" Charlaine was pressed close again, pulling his hands away and tightly holding one of them as Jac took the other, their free arms wrapping around his back, and Myra cried all over again to feel so safe and warm after so many weeks of constant terror. "No one is going to die. I don't know how we're getting out of this, I admit it, but we didn't come this far, fight through so much, and throw away three perfectly good careers only to die. We'll figure something out."
Myra nodded, but even with their soft kisses and caresses, all he could think was that their lives were now numbered in hours, and he was going to have to watch them die slowly, in increasing agony, until dehydration and exposure broke their minds and they died not even knowing where they were—or possibly even who they were.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I wanted you to stay safe in Harken."
"And we're not going anywhere without you," Jac said, and kissed him hard once more, biting and sucking at his lips, not withdrawing until his mouth throbbed. "We are two mercenaries and a former assassin. We will figure something out. For now, I say we go back to sleep. Myra looks exhausted and needs all the recovery he can get if we're going to escape tomorrow night. After that last guard I tangled with, I could use some rest myself." She sighed. "I finally have you both in bed and all we're going to do is snore."
"You'll get your chance at us once we're safe, Dragon, never fear," Charlaine said, and despite everything, Myra laughed.
They helped him to his feet and back to bed, and if he wasn't so tired and wrung out, he might have cried all over again once they finished cleaning up and tending the fire and crawled into bed with him.
Though he would have liked to stay awake simply to savor the pleasure of being caught warm and safe between them, Myra was asleep within moments.
For the first time in weeks, he slept without nightmares.
*~*~*
When he woke, he was pressed against Charlaine, nose to chest, and a more slender arm was curled over his hip. Myra's breath hitched as the night before rushed through his mind. He'd been so tired, even after all the sleeping he'd done, that the whole night had possessed a surreal quality. Had they really all kissed? Had he truly agreed to give the three of them a try should they survive to do so?
His heart drummed in his ears. Pantheon, he wanted more than anything to go home, resume his place as head secretary, and let the whole palace gossip endlessly about who had been coming and going from his suite at all hours and in various states of disarray.
Not that Sarrica would be taking him back as head secretary. After his story got out, and the infinitely more scandalous rumors spread, he'd be lucky to get a job anywhere in Harkenesten City—or even Harken. He'd probably have to go far south to find someone willing to hire him.
It would be even worse for Jac and Charlaine. Damn it, what had he done? Why had they come? Whatever they said, he wasn't worth throwing away their lives and livelihoods. He had to make certain they lived, and whatever it took, he'd make certain they'd be well when they returned to Harken.
If only doing was as easy as thinking.
"Stop thinking so much," Charlaine said, in a voice rough-edged with sleep. Over the years, Myra had heard that voice only a handful of times, but this was the first time he allowed himself to fully enjoy it.
"I can't help it."
Charlaine opened his eyes, the good one staring intently, just visible in the flickering firelight. "Then at least think of s
omething more pleasant. Thinking about what's coming won't do any good. What would you be doing if we were home right now and everything was as it's been?"
Myra smiled faintly. "Realistically, I'd probably be acting like a selfish jerk, caught between my oldest friend and the lovely young woman who asked me to tea. I doubt I'd have ever worked up the nerve to suggest we try all three of us."
"Don't worry, I'm fairly certain Jac would have gotten there," Charlaine said.
"I feel I'm being insulted, but I'm not awake enough to be sure," Jac replied groggily, her arm tightening on Myra's hip as she levered herself up.
Myra shifted to lie on his back so he could see them both, reaching up tentatively to touch Charlaine's cheek, smiling faintly when Charlaine turned his head to kiss Myra's fingers. He pulled his fingers away after a moment, only for his hand to be captured by Jac and treated to more kisses. Drawing a shaky breath, Myra said, "I'm pretty certain this is more than I deserve after a lifetime of murder and deceit."
"You've suffered more than enough," Charlaine said. "I can't judge you on the murders. I've killed far more people than you, in battle and in stealth. It counts for much, though, that you didn't enjoy it and stopped doing it."
Jac snorted. "I've already lost track of how many people I've killed on this trip alone, and firebombs are meant to be nasty." She leaned down and kissed him again.
Myra clung tightly, desperate to have as many good memories as possible to take with him when he died.
When she pulled back a few minutes later, Jac ran a hand over Myra's hair, a little longer than when he'd been taken in Harken but still too short. He hated it. "I wanted to have a gift when we went for tea, so I bought you hair ribbons."
"I'm sorry."
Jac smiled. "Don't be. We'll just have to find another use for them. I'm thinking Charlaine."
"Woman—"
Myra cut him off with a kiss, more undone than he was going to admit by the idea of Charlaine bound to his bed and completely at their mercy.
Unfortunately, when he pushed Charlaine over, his ribs reminded him why he couldn't do all the delightful things filling his mind. Myra pulled back with a hiss and pressed a hand to his ribs.
Charlaine scowled. "Be careful."
"They're only bruised," Myra said. "This is wholly unfair. If I'm not going to get a last meal, I should get a last fuck, especially since I can't remember the last time I had a fuck."
Jac snickered and sprawled gently along his side, one leg draping between his, head on his chest. "Given I can barely remember the last time I bathed properly, it's probably for the best. But I promise once we're out of here, you'll get a fuck you won't be forgetting any time soon. I refuse to die before I've had a chance to fuck you both."
Charlaine groaned. "Why did I ever think you were shy?"
"Depends on the time and the place, Lieutenant." Jac winked, then shifted enough to lean up and kiss him.
Myra could watch that forever. "I don't know how I came to be this fortunate, but I'm grateful."
"Be grateful when we're home and can make a proper effort to see what we can become," Charlaine replied, and bent to kiss him.
After that, the world was reduced to easy kisses and soft caresses, quiet words of affection and teasing comments. In the dark and fading firelight, it was easy to forget that he was hours away from a trial that would sentence him to a slow, torturous death.
Someone's hands were moving from easy to bold when a sharp pounding at the door made them all jerk apart.
The door was flung open a moment later, and dull, hazy light spilled in, followed by a quartet of woman lugging buckets of hot water, a small bathing tub, a bundle of soap and rags, and clean clothes. "Get clean," one of the woman said, casting Myra a look full of loathing as she said in Soltorish, "Your trial begins in an hour, and you are to look presentable." She spat on the floor and followed the other women out.
"I can't wait until we're out of this place," Jac said with a sigh.
"In their defense, they do regard me as a traitor and murderer." Myra climbed carefully out of bed and crossed the room—but when he started to lift one of the buckets, Charlaine was there to take it away and give him an admonishing look. Smiling sheepishly, Myra stepped away and let him arrange the bath.
Jac came up behind and gently wrapped arms around his waist, nuzzling against his back. "What would they do if you refused to wash and showed up as you are?"
"They'd drag out the tub and cold water and bath me clean right there in the square, then force me into clothes and begin the trial only once I looked presentable. It's been done before, though I never saw it. This sort of thing doesn't actually happen often."
Jac swore softly and held him more tightly. "We'll figure out how to get out of here. You just endure the fucking trial."
Myra nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
"Bath's ready." Charlaine stepped in and started on the fastenings of his clothes.
Myra grabbed his wrists. "I can—"
"Do what you're told," Charlaine cut in. "We've worked damned hard to get to you, and it's going to get worse before it gets better. Let us fuss."
Sighing softly, Myra let go and let them have their way. After weeks of being grabbed, punched, thrown and otherwise bruised—after that brutal beating ordered by his mother—he almost cried to be touched gently, like he was wanted and loved.
"I didn't know you had a tattoo," Charlaine said quietly. "All the years we've known each other…" He reached out to rest a hand gently on Myra's chest.
Jac came around to join them and whistled. "That must have taken weeks."
Myra grimaced. "Yes. My badge of honor, a highly skilled and blooded assassin of Clan Iron Moon. A Shadow of the Iron Moon, is the title. I should have been proud the day it was completed—there was a celebration for me and the others who finished that same day. I hated every minute of it. I've always wished I could get rid of it. The only thing it's ever been good for is hiding the surgical scars." He traced the places where the scars were barely visible, memories of waking up swathed in bandages, the knowledge that part of his body was gone forever—a part he hadn't minded, even if breasts were considered 'feminine' by Soldonir, but getting rid of them was the only way to get what he wanted, and that was for his clan to consider him a man.
Fingers curled beneath his chin and urged his head up, and Myra was met by Charlaine's soft kiss, a thumb brushing along his cheek, wiping away tears. Jac kissed his throat, stroked his side, and as easy as that bad memories slipped away.
Pulling away, they led him to the bath—and again insisted he let them do all the work. Myra only wished they were in a time and place he could enjoy it more, have fun with it, leave them all one big mess in need of another bath because the first one had failed so spectacularly.
Instead he simply enjoyed the gentle touches, the scrub of rough cloth and soft, lightly-scented soap. Jac's fingers scrubbed his hair, while Charlaine quickly and causally cleaned his intimate parts, scattering odd kisses to his hip and stomach and chest as he worked.
When he was clean, they dried him off—and faltered at the clothes. Jac shook her head. "I am used to watching Allen's intricate layers go on and still I have no idea what to do with all of this."
Myra laughed and took the undertunic from her, shrugging it on before he retrieved the small clothes from the floor, pulled them on, and tied them off. Then he made certain the undertunic rested tightly but comfortably and had Jac tie it off for him. Over that went the underrobe, dyed blood red and falling to just shy of the floor. How they'd found clothes that fit him so well, he didn't know—and didn't want to know.
The billowy sleeves were more annoying than he recalled, though more likely he was just used to the tighter sleeves favored in Harken, since billowy sleeves would only get in the way there, especially for those who sat at desks and dining tables all day.
Over that went the overrobe, made of stiffer black material, sleeveless and embroidered all over with desig
ns similar to his tattoos. There were discreet pockets and slits meant to store weapons, and he was still well-trained enough he hated they were empty.
"How do I look?" he asked when he was finally dressed—even down to slippers that could almost have been made for him.
"Beautiful, but like a beautiful stranger," Charlaine said. "You don't look like our Myra."
Jac fussed with the laces on either side of the overrobe. "Agreed. I want our secretary back. This Myra looks like some prince I'm not allowed to touch."
"Princess, strictly speaking," Myra said sourly, though it was endearing as always that Harkens failed so miserably at such things. There were gendered clothes in Harken, though it was by accident rather than design. Women, for instance, tended toward certain gowns more than men. Certain styles of breeches and other pants were slightly more favored by men, and other styles by women. But all clothes in Harken were worn by everybody, and Harkens often stumbled abroad when it came to such things. It was, in Myra's opinion, one of their best qualities. "These are women's clothes."
Anger filled Jac's face. "Why would they do that?"
"Because I'm in disgrace, and so all my privileges—including living as a man—have been stripped."
"That's not—"
Myra cut her off with a kiss. "Don't worry about it. In the grand scheme of things, this is a trifling." He smiled faintly. "At least you think I'm beautiful."
"You'd be more beautiful at home in your bed," Charlaine said.
Managing a faint smile, Myra replied, "Hopefully it will be our bed."
"Damn straight it will be," Jac added.
They both kissed him, and Myra swallowed against the tears that threatened.
The dreaded pounding at the door came a few minutes later, and the door swung open to admit Ryan. "Let's go."
Myra stepped forward, but Charlaine and Jac stopped him, each giving him one last, hard kiss. "We'll be here, and we'll find a way to escape," Jac said.
Charlaine simply said, "Above all, with a steel heart."
That nearly undid Myra. Even Ryan's sneering could not touch him right then. That was a line from the Harkenos family motto—not the imperial motto, which was simply We serve the people. But their personal family motto, which was almost universally misunderstood by the rest of the world: We command with a steel sword and steel mind, but above all with a steel heart. Most took it to mean a hard heart, or at best a strong heart—which was closer to the truth.