When he was done, Lissandro looked exhausted. He took a sip of his wine and sat down.
“Is this what they call music in your world?” Selen asked.
“That is good music.” Lissandro grinned.
“Will you sing more for me?” Selen looked at his friend with his best appealing eyes.
“My dear, sweet puppy, I am not a jukebox. Yet, I know a few songs I could share with you. Would you like to learn one?”
Selen nodded with enthusiasm. Lissandro got up and sat on the love seat next to him. The song he sang was beautiful and the text was filled with passionate love with a touch of sadness. Selen asked Lissandro to repeat the text until he learned the lyrics. Lissandro made him sing the song a few times.
“You have a beautiful voice once you pass over the level of the whisper. Not many men can reach such high notes,” Lissandro said.
“Thank you,” Selen said with a blush. “I think I will go back to the solar. It was a very pleasant evening.” He got up and pushed his hair behind his back.
“I am just two rooms away if you need company,” Lissandro said.
Selen smiled. “Good night.”
He left the room and headed to the solar. When he opened the door, Louis was already in bed, writing. His friend leaned against the wooden headboard.
“I thought you had decided to sleep in your apartments,” Louis said. He looked weary but glad.
“This bed is too big for you to warm it alone,” Selen said. He removed his robe, climbed onto the covers, and sat astride his love. “I had dinner with Lissandro. Thank you for the note.”
Louis put away the papers. His hands closed around Selen’s waist. Selen slipped under the bedsheets and pulled them around his hips to keep the warmth of their bodies, creeping closer into Louis’s embrace.
“You look like someone who has learned something new. What did Lissandro talk about?” Louis asked suspiciously with a twisted smile while his hands skimmed Selen’s back.
“I have learned about his world. I have learned about music.” Selen still felt dreamy from the songs. He ran his fingers through Louis’s hair and sang.
CHAPTER 62
He could swear the wench had recognized him. He had seen it in his wide, green eyes. Segar wanted to assist with the court sessions. He needed to know what they planned, and how the whoreson’s decrees would be welcomed by the crowd. It burned his eyes to see him sit there in self-satisfaction with the crown riveted on his brow. After his over-the-top performance at his coronation the day before, the new king had decided to keep on poking the anthill. Segar did not care if the insufferable fool was a basket case; he had understood by the cheers of the commoners that the man would not be so easy to overthrow. Yet, Segar would be the sand in the gears. He did not care about the nobles, but they were good customers of the black market. If they lost their fortune, he would too. However, it would not be long before they despised their new king.
Segar strode through the city. He entered a private house with closed shutters. His headquarters were sober on the outside but richly furnished on the inside. Discretion was crucial. The room was comfy with seats, cushions, and carpets. Small cherry tables decorated with fruit baskets filled with pomegranates and grapes stood under the windowsills. The windows opened to an inner yard. Birdsongs and the chanting noise of the fountain’s flowing rose from the garden. Segar was sweating. The air was warm, but not as suffocating as in the great hall. Jamys sat on a couch near the window, fanning himself. His blond chest hair stuck out of his open shirt.
“How did it go?” Jamys grunted.
“As expected. I had to endure a speech on peace on earth that sounded like a war declaration. Is everything ready for our visitor?”
“The wine is on the table and the package is in the next room,” Jamys responded. “Should I move out?”
“I think it’s best. The man did ask for discretion.”
Jamys left the room. Segar walked around to check that everything was ready. He pulled the shutters, but let the windows open. Someone opened the door downstairs.
“I am pleased to see that you accepted my invitation,” Segar said with a honeyed voice.
“Is the place safe?” the high priest asked.
“As safe as it can be. No one will find you here.” And Segar would hold to these words, should the man refuse his proposal.
“Good,” the old man grumbled and sat on an armchair.
Segar poured the high priest a cup of wine and sat in front of him. “I have heard that you had some words with our new king this morning?”
“The news spread fast.”
“I don’t miss a thing in Nysa Serin,” Segar said with a mocking smile. He grabbed a grape. “So tell me, what do you think of our new king?”
“It’s a scandal! A humiliation,” the high priest snarled, wiggling in his seat. “Who does he think he is?”
“The king, my dear. A king who thinks he is better than you, better than the nobles, and better than everyone.” Segar took a sip of his wine. The high priest gazed at him with interest. “Maybe the king could learn some humility,” Segar suggested.
The high priest looked wary. “He is, above all, the king,” he mumbled.
“He is,” Segar said. “How did you cope with Agroln?” The dead king had been a damn hellish creature. Yet, the high priest did not seem relieved by his death.
“He pretty much left us alone. Always locked up in the palace. Of course, some commoners disappeared, people wailed, and the prices were high. Yet, nothing alarming. Still, I am glad to be rid of these stinking, greenish creatures.”
“And I assume you still got donations from the palace until now? Agroln must have been quite generous.” Segar squeezed a grape between his teeth.
The high priest was uneasy. Sweat pearled on his forehead. He grunted, scratching his beard. “We could not complain.”
Don’t say you got rinsed, Segar thought. “It may turn a bit rough now, with our new king?”
The high priest flushed red. “How dare he?” he grunted. “How will I live?”
On your fat, was the first answer to pop into Segar’s mind. “What if I told you that you could have everything back?” Segar smirked.
“How?” the high priest inquired. His sunken eyes narrowed.
“Like this,” Segar said, snapping his fingers. Two buxom wenches dressed in veils appeared at the door. They stepped forward, dancing lewdly. One came to Segar and sat astride him, while the other one rubbed herself on the lap of the high priest, pushing her round breasts to his face.
“I don’t understand,” the man stuttered. Yet, as the girl slipped a hand on his crotch, he did not move.
“It is quite easy.” Segar pulled off the veils of the wench on top of him. He moved his face and pulled at a thick nipple with his teeth. “I could never offer such a gift to our king. Though I tried.”
The high priest stayed silent. Segar wondered if the man had not understood, or if he was too busy fondling the inner thighs of the wench. Though he had judged the priest’s weakness well, this lack of attention irritated Segar. Finally, the man showed interest to his words.
“Why?”
“What does our good king look like?” Segar asked, opening his pants. The girl bent down, took out his cock, and sucked it deep with enthusiastic moves. It grew hard in the whore’s throat.
Busy fondling the girl’s tits, the high priest took some time to think. “Long hair, a slut’s thick lips, piercing blue eyes…and this earring. He looks like a wench.” The high priest gaped at Segar. “Is he a wench?”
“No! Of course, not,” Segar said. He grabbed the girl by the hair and moved her up. “Bend over,” he snapped. He knelt behind the whore, took his cock in his hand, and pressed it between her cheeks. Segar turned to the high priest. “And have you seen the purple thing?”
“The horror. I thought it was a painted woman until I saw his arms,” the high priest panted as the girl rode on top of him, moaning loud. He grasped a
loose breast with one hand. “Perversion. Immoral aberration. It should be burned at the stake.”
“You can’t. Our king shags him…or is shagged. It doesn’t matter,” Segar said as he rammed into the screaming wench. The girl was horny, but it was not as savoring as the wince of disgust on the high priest’s face.
“This is repulsive! Is it true at least?” The man let out a grunt when the girl moved faster. Segar could barely hear him over the girl’s overdone, fake moans.
“As true as it can be,” Segar insisted. The fury in the whoreson’s eyes in Millhaven had been worth a thousand words. Lost in his frenzy, he had not even tried to deny the blatant truth. The cut of his dagger had left a scar on Segar’s arm. Yet, it was nothing compared to what Segar would leave on his body once the insolent brat was in his grasp. “If I remember well, the words of the gods are clear in the Holy Book on buggery and effeminates.”
“Crystal clear,” the high priest gasped. “It is one of the worst sins. This filth will burn in hell for that.”
“I’m not preoccupied about their souls,” Segar gasped, releasing himself onto the wench’s bottom, “but about the views of the population on the matter.”
The high priest swore and jerked. He slapped the wench away. “Give me solid proof or a witness, and I will have my flock build a pyre for these repulsive perverts.” The high priest grinned nastily. The man rectified his clothes, rose, and left the room.
Segar lost himself in his thoughts. Now that he had the high priest, he needed to convince the rich families. It would be more complicated to reach them. They were sly and greedy. He would not corrupt them with cunts or gold. They drowned in it. He had noticed a few potential allies among the new ministers, and some nobles had protested against the new decrees. It would probably take some weeks, but the whoreson was digging his own grave. It was just a matter of time until the nobles became desperate. Once their gold was at risk, they would listen, and together, they would strike. “Oh yes, whoreson, united we build.” Segar smirked. He rose and decided to tidy up.
As he picked up the used goblets, he felt a pain in his right arm. It radiated to his chest. It was not the first time he had felt that throbbing ache. He wondered if he had caught a disease during that stupid war or maybe it was the stress. All this plotting and trade building was a lot of work.
Segar heard screams come from the street. He watched through the shutters. The noises came from the large house on the other side. A plump man in ochre, silk clothes argued with the men of the watch. A young woman Segar supposed to be the rich man’s wife cried. Segar listened with attention.
“I don’t care what your orders are! I bought this house legally two years ago!” the man shouted, infuriated.
“This house previously belonged to the city watch. It was property of the Crown,” the guard responded. “Unless you can show me tangible proof that you don’t own or can’t afford any other residence, you have until tomorrow to leave the place.”
Segar smiled. It had already begun.
CHAPTER 63
“Monarchy will always be popular, whatever its tendencies to tyranny. And, whatever its love for freedom, the people will always show it…its…” Louis muttered, rolling a plum in his left hand. The quill stayed suspended in the air. Louis sat on the chair by his desk. The board was covered with papers and books. There were also two goblets of wine and a plate of fresh fruits, nuts, and olives. Louis let go of the plum and ran his hand through his hair, sweeping it back. Though he had bathed the day before, it was already sticky with sweat. Even with all the windows opened on the cascade, the solar was ridiculously hot, like any room in the palace.
He turned to Selen, who sat on the floor, the book about the history of Trevalden open in his lap. Selen had only his pants on, and sweat pearled on his chest and neck. His usually neat hair was matted and negligently pushed to the side. “Do you have a synonym for ardour?” Louis asked.
“Zeal? Like your zeal to work by such a beautiful, sunny day?” Selen answered. His friend picked a fresh fig from the plate beside him and tore it apart with his teeth. “We should go out,” Selen suggested with a pleading look.
“To be seen eating and reading together?” Louis asked with a smile. Zeal was a good word indeed. He wrote the end of his sentence.
“There is nothing wrong with that,” Selen replied, still looking at him.
“You’re half naked. Not that I complain.” Louis raised the quill again.
“Or at least to the bathroom. We could swim. It’s Folc’s watch right now.”
It was Folc’s watch most of the time. As the most trustworthy of the king’s guards, the boy spent all of his mornings and evenings guarding the entrance to the garden. “I don’t know. I would like to finish writing this speech before this afternoon, but I can’t think clearly in this heat,” he sighed. Besides, he had no idea of how the delegation would be and who composed it.
“You could drop some clothes. Starting with your shirt.” Selen’s hand crawled suggestively on Louis’s bare ankle.
Louis thought that, as the king, he had to look a minimum presentable should someone show up at the door for an audience. Yet, his shirt was open and stuck on his skin. He needed to bathe again. The ink on the quill dried.
Louis gave up and opted for an improvised speech. He dropped the quill, got up from his chair, and sat down next to his friend, his back against the desk. “What can you tell me about the history of this land?” he asked softly.
“The author talks about populations arriving from the east, but he can’t date their arrival,” Selen started. “It was a long time ago. The migrants met the Children of the Forest. I suppose it is the folk who lived in the Ebony Forest, the ones Lilo talked about.”
Louis brushed away Selen’s disheveled hair and grazed his lips on his wet shoulder and neck. “Carry on,” he whispered.
“They lived in peace for a while under the reign of the first kings,” Selen went on with a tremulous voice. “The migrants plowed the earth, built cities, and populated the land. Forcing the indigenous to live in the most inhospitable parts of the land. One day, a disease spread. It took away many migrants, especially their children. The Children of the Forest were accused. It is said that they used to celebrate dark rituals on magic stones. To prove their innocence, the Children of the Forest sent some of their own children to be raised in the cities. Many died from abuse. A war started. Many people were killed, and the Children of the Forest were exterminated. The survivors lingered in the deepest of the forests, preserving the remains of their civilization.”
“That is horrible,” Louis muttered.
“The chapter is entitled The Way to Civilization,” Selen sighed with sadness.
“This is why we should take our references from the past and not look into the future for what they call progress.” Louis laid his head on Selen’s shoulder and stretched his arms around his moist, warm chest.
“You mean in civilizations like mine?” Selen asked. “If I trust what Lilo said, I am the primitive among us three, and my folk used to burn people. Only interested in riches, they deforested the island. Their stupid wars destroyed our flourishing nature, beautiful animals, and old trees. Not something someone can be proud of.”
“The men are not fierce or shy towards each other in nature. They become like that because the tyrants tell them to. It’s the tyrants who turn people into savage beasts, who corrupt their souls and call it natural instinct to enslave them. If the men had been so fierce and wild in their nature, they would never have built a society in the first place.” Louis said.
“You mean that the social order is in nature?” Selen murmured.
“Exactly. Your civilization was already corrupted by the political order. But these Children of the Forest, they were close to nature. They must have had a better society.”
“They were small clans living in harmony. They were generous, or maybe just weak. Yet, they sent their children away to the cities. What kind of civilization
sacrifices its own children? Send them to the enemy?”
“What do you think they should have done?” Louis asked, holding Selen tighter.
“Teach them to fight. Teach them to die. A population can’t keep its freedom without unity and the will to defend it. This is what they taught me when I was young.” Louis’s heart shivered when he heard his friend’s words. Selen turned his face towards Louis’s. “Is that what you want to take from the past? To learn how to die?” Selen breathed against his open lips.
“I only want freedom and unity, for everyone,” Louis whispered, feeling his heart pound and his loins burn. He closed the distance between their lips. His love’s warm mouth tasted of berries. Selen pulled off Louis’s shirt and dragged him onto the floor.
Louis, Selen, and Lissandro waited in the gallery, behind the door of the great hall. The court session was about to begin. Louis leaned against the cold, stone wall. They all wore robes of the lightest silk. Yet, it was still too many clothes, especially the pants and the boots on top. Louis and Selen had eventually left the solar for the bathroom for a much-needed shower, and Louis’s hair dried in the warm air, leaving cold, wet spots on his shoulders.
“I would love to cut these long heavy robes into a loincloth. I could say it’s the orcish mode,” Lissandro said. “And when I think I had missed the sun.” He too had showered earlier that day, but marks could be seen under his arms. “Is the stench of sweat something you don’t even notice or was it less frightful in your times?”
“Live in Paris during summer when it is thirty-five degrees with open sewers, horse dung, excrement, and with people forced to wear three layers of clothes and a cravat. You will see that this stench smells like perfume,” Louis answered, smiling.
Rising from Dust (Light from Aphelion Book 1) Page 42