by Ginn Hale
A hunted look flashed through Javier’s expression every time a Haldiim mother called out a warm greeting. More and more, Kiram found himself leading Javier through the shabby back streets where no decent Haldiim would travel just so the two of them could steal a few moments of intimacy out of sight of his mother’s acquaintances.
A year ago he couldn’t have imagined himself purposefully rushing between a tanner’s dung pots and oily racks of drying fish to reach a dim alley, much less leaning back against a decaying wall in a passionate embrace. But now that he’d spent more than one evening listening to Hashiem Kir-Naham drone on about dry poultices while surrounded by beautiful furnishings and soothing music, he’d discovered that location mattered far less than the company he kept.
Now the smell of smoked fish and leather almost excited him. And on several lonely afternoons he caught himself gazing into the deep shadows of dank streets with a kind of longing.
Still, he was not fool enough to think that the recesses of the Haldiim district were where he belonged. Along with tanners, fisherwomen and soot mongers, thieves and cutthroats populated those winding narrow streets. When he ventured there, Kiram kept his coin purse hidden in an inner pocket of his vest. He dressed simply and carried the knife that Alizadeh and Rafie had given him.
Javier seemed to take a certain pleasure in dressing down. He claimed to have won his faded leather pants and slashed coat from a Cadeleonian sailor. In combination with his fine sword and riding boots, the wardrobe lent Javier the air of a mercenary, a street snake as Kiram’s father called them.
Kiram supposed it was telling that he’d now seen enough of such men to recognize their characteristic fast hands and clean weapons.
“Knowing you has certainly broadened my horizons,” Kiram whispered to Javier as they shimmied between racks of drying river fish. Two fisherwomen watched them pass as if he and Javier were hungry cats.
“I could say the same to you,” Javier replied. Ahead of them drying nets formed a canopy over the walkway. River gulls, ravens and doves fought for remnants of fish and riverweeds caught in the rope. Their cries and the noise of their wings filled the air. Then Kiram heard a terrible screech and looked up to see a cluster of bright blue jays settling among the other birds. He felt suddenly wary of walking past them and instead led Javier down a cramped lane where plumes of pungent smoke drifted from kitchen fires.
Javier looked oddly amused.
“What are you smirking about?” Kiram asked.
“Just wondering if we’re hiding from birds now too.”
“Not necessarily,” Kiram replied. “Maybe I just wanted to get you somewhere more private.”
“And to think I once imagined I would corrupt and seduce you.” Javier paused near the mouth of an alley they had used before. “It’s been quite the opposite, really.”
“I haven’t corrupted you,” Kiram objected and Javier just gave him a lewd grin.
“Not this afternoon, you haven’t,” Javier whispered into Kiram’s ear. “And it seems a pity since it’s all I’ve been thinking of.”
Kiram laughed and then drew Javier into the shadows of the alley. In the alcove of a back doorway, he opened the front of Javier’s trousers and Javier slipped his hand past the loose waist of Kiram’s pants. They stroked and thrust into each other’s hands with rushed, furtive need. Javier pulled him close to kiss his mouth as Kiram brought him to climax. There was nothing beautiful in their surroundings and yet the moment felt precious to Kiram. Later in the evening when he was alone he would press his hands to his lips and remember the heat and taste of Javier’s body.
Eventually opportunities for even these clandestine afternoon excursions grew scarce, as Nestor, Elezar and Riossa began accompanying Javier on his regular visits to the Haldiim district. Kiram always volunteered to escort them through the Haldiim district while Javier supposedly consulted with his father over the design of the water clock; in reality Javier simply looked in on Kiram’s father and then sprinted across the district to Rafie and Alizadeh’s house. While Javier fought to wield the raw power of the white hell, Kiram entertained and distracted the Grunitos as best he could.
Nestor was usually satisfied with a tour of some scenic area where he could sketch and sample authentic Haldiim food. But Elezar bored easily and often wondered aloud about Javier’s prolonged absences. Archery and wrestling at the gymnasium occupied him for a time.
Riossa on the other hand grew daily more enthralled with the freedoms that the Haldiim district afforded her. There were entire bookshops and teahouses as well as trade offices that she could enter freely while the men were not allowed inside—not even a Cadeleonian lord of Javier’s stature.
Once she and Dauhd went shopping together in a women-only bookshop and the two of them returned looking smug and worldly. When Nestor asked what Riossa had seen, she simply shrugged. After Nestor pleaded, she relented and showed him her sketches of elegant Haldiim women playing cards and reading in brightly tiled interiors. Other drawings depicted ornate water pipes and stacks of foreign coins. Nestor delighted in the revelations and encouraged Riossa to explore more.
Kiram smiled at them. Despite being a Cadeleonian, Nestor was one of the most openminded people he’d ever known and in his company, Riossa seemed to blossom into an adventuress. He wondered how many other Cadeleonians might be as liberal as Nestor. Elezar certainly didn’t seem concerned when Riossa disappeared with Dauhd for hours on end. But then Elezar rarely concerned himself with the whereabouts of women. Kiram only wished that Elezar could be so easygoing about Javier’s absences.
More than once Kiram had caught Elezar frowning at him as if he had Javier secreted away in his pocket. At such times Kiram generally suggested that they attend the foot races at the Civic Gymnasium, and the prospects of exertion and gambling seemed to distract Elezar for the remainder of the afternoon.
Kiram tried not to think too closely on how keenly he missed Javier himself.
This week he’d only managed to steal a fleeting touch of Javier’s hand during a torrential downpour when the two of them pressed close together within the crowd of men and women sheltering from the rain beneath a bakery’s eaves. He’d met Javier’s gaze and neither of them looked away. A woman whom Kiram remembered as one of Siamak’s friends watched the two of them and, noticing her raised brows, Kiram released Javier’s fingers and bowed his head.
The last thing he wanted was word to get back to his home. His mother would be angry—or more likely furious—when she learned that Kiram had no intention of marrying Hashiem Kir-Naham. Already he’d annoyed her by claiming to be too tired to attend a dinner with Hashiem. He supposed he should have gone but he didn’t have it in him to look Hashiem in the face and pretend that he intended to live with the man.
And he’d been genuinely tired. For weeks now he’d woken early to help his father with the water clock. Then he’d spent his afternoons at the Civic Gymnasium where he practiced archery and honed the skills he’d learned at the Sagrada Academy. Or he’d explored the markets, playhouses, bookshops and public halls of the Haldiim district, searching out anything to distract and entertain the Grunitos. By dusk most evenings, his voice grew hoarse and his feet ached. He often staggered home exhausted.
Still, he slept poorly. Some nights he dreamed terrible things: Scholar Blasio’s most recent letter informing him that Scholar Donamillo’s condition had worsened had provided grist for several nightmares. But on other evenings, longing haunted him. It was one thing to endure loneliness while believing Javier was far from him in Rauma, but to have Javier near—so close that he could smell his sweat and feel the heat as their shoulders jostled—and to have to restrain himself day after day was maddening.
To console himself, he tried to remember that he needed to master such self-control. Soon both he and Javier could be living in Cadeleonian court and there discretion would be the greatest necessity.
Nothing drove that thought home so strongly as the sight that greeted Kir
am early the next morning as he awaited Javier and the Grunitos at Mother Kir-Mahoud’s stables.
A towering Cadeleonian priest mounted on a black stallion waited there as well. Kiram stood very still and tried not to meet the gaunt man’s cool gaze.
Then to Kiram’s horror, just as the Grunito party arrived and had dismounted, the priest reined his steed forward to block Javier’s path.
“It has been ten days since you’ve visited chapel, Javier,” he stated.
“Always good to know I’m missed,” Javier replied.
Riossa led her horse towards Kiram. In a hushed whisper, she informed him that the priest was Timoteo, the eldest of the Grunito brothers. Timoteo stood nearly as tall as Elezar but looked far leaner. Violet and black robes lent his pale features a sickly pallor. The deep hollows of his eyes and his gaunt cheeks made Kiram think of a corpse more than a living man.
“You have most certainly been missed,” Timoteo informed Javier sourly. “The father confessor in particular has noted your long absence with concern.”
“I had no idea he was so attached to me, but now that you mention it, he did seem to particularly relish my tales of debauchery and sin.” Javier gave Timoteo a smile that verged on lewd and then went on in a light tone. “Sadly, overseeing the design of this water clock has left me precious little free time to accumulate my normal tally of wanton whoring and dueling.”
Javier’s fingers slid over his sword hilt in an almost obscene manner. “Do assure my dear father confessor that I will return to whisper more of my dirty adventures in his ear just as soon as I have any.”
Kiram strode forward before the conversation could turn truly ugly. Javier’s hand was already on his sword, even if only playfully so.
“Speaking of the water clock.” Kiram placed himself between Timoteo’s horse and Javier. “My father has more questions concerning the pipes.”
“Does he?” Javier asked and Kiram could see the amusement in his eyes.
“He needs an answer as soon as possible.”
“Certainly. I’ll go directly,” Javier said.
“What?” Elezar objected from across the stable. “You’re leaving already? We all just arrived!” Elezar started for Javier but Timoteo’s mount blocked him.
“Timoteo,” Elezar growled. “Move your damn horse! This isn’t a race track, so either dismount or go home.”
“I need a word with Javier.” Timoteo’s tone was indignant.
“You’ve had your word,” Elezar snapped. “Now ride back to your mistress and let the rest of us alone.”
“That woman is not—” Timoteo began.
“You’re not fooling anyone.” Elezar waved aside whatever excuse Timoteo wanted to make. “And I don’t give a shit either way. Your lack of piety is your own damn concern. Just leave Javier alone. He knows his prayers better than you do and we all know it.”
Nestor snickered at that and Riossa and her maid pretended to be occupied with their gloves. Flushing, Timoteo turned his mount aside and rode back the way he’d come.
“Well spoken,” Kiram told Elezar once Timoteo was out of sight.
“Tim can’t help being a jackass sometimes.” Elezar shrugged. “He means well, but the royal bishop isn’t making it easy for him or any priest to be friendly with Javier right now.”
“What do you mean?” Kiram felt a sudden dread at the mention of the royal bishop. He remembered the blue jays he’d seen the week before and the feeling of the shadow curse at his back.
“It’s nothing,” Javier said firmly and he gave Elezar a hard look.
“It’s not nothing. It’s serious,” Elezar replied, then looked to Kiram. “The year before you came to the academy Javier killed Lord Quemanor’s firstborn son in a duel.”
“Nestor told me.”
“Did he tell you that since then Lord Quemanor has been out to destroy Javier?”
“He didn’t need to. I met Lord Quemanor once,” Kiram said.
“Well, now the man is blaming Javier for Fedeles’ condition, claiming Javier possessed him. Quemanor’s even petitioned the royal bishop to have Javier imprisoned and exorcised.”
“Exorcised?” Kiram felt the blood draining from his face.
Javier said, “It’s an empty threat. Quemanor doesn’t have any proof and the royal bishop wouldn’t dare move against me without a shred of evidence.”
“Not yet, maybe…” Elezar scowled at one of the stable hands and then turned his gaze back to Kiram. “I don’t mean any offense to you or your family, Kiram, but all this time in the Haldiim district isn’t doing his reputation any good.”
“You’ve said more than enough, Elezar,” Javier growled. “None of this is Kiram’s doing or his concern.”
Elezar looked like he might argue but closed his mouth as Riossa approached.
“Why are you three looking so dour?” Riossa inquired. Her maid eyed the three of them suspiciously. Nestor followed Riossa, looking both protective and proud.
“Nothing worth lingering on.” Javier gave Riossa one of his handsome, ingenuous smiles. “Certainly not when I have the construction of a water clock to oversee. I expect it will keep me late. When should I see the rest of you back at the Grunito house?”
“Not until evening. Kiram has promised to show us the Haldiim goat market. They hold races every Mediday,” Riossa replied.
“That sounds quite entertaining, so long as you don’t let Elezar lose too many bets.” Javier bowed slightly to Riossa. “Doubtless you will have a lot to tell me about at dinner this evening.”
Javier slipped away to train while Kiram occupied Elezar, Nestor and Riossa with the amusements of the goat cart races. Teams of goats whipped around the muddy track surrounding the open market while crowds cheered and wagers raged. Regardless of language barriers Elezar dove into the betting, placing money on teams for reasons that eluded Kiram but proved oddly accurate. Nestor and Riossa tended to cheer for the scrawny, weird goats that rarely won.
Between races they all drank spiced tea and ate candied fish. Nestor and Riossa sketched their surroundings and encouraged Riossa’s maid to try Haldiim dishes, though she didn’t seem to care for many. Elezar walked through the crowd at Kiram’s side. He looked as if he had something on his mind but in typical Cadeleonian style remained silent.
“Is there something bothering you?” Kiram asked at last.
Elezar stole a quick glance to where Nestor and Riossa stood with Riossa’s maid at a tanner’s stall. They seemed deeply occupied with the kidskin vellum on display.
“Javier’s up to something here in the Haldiim district,” Elezar whispered. “He’s doing something and it’s changed him.”
“Changed how?” Kiram asked.
“You should tell me. You’re the one who brought him here, who keeps inviting him back,” Elezar replied. His gaze was intent. “What’s he been doing in the Haldiim district this past month? He’s not just talking about some water clock, I know that. He comes back haggard with strange burns all over his body.”
Kiram wondered how exactly Elezar had spied Javier’s burns, but he didn’t ask and Elezar went on quickly. “He’s been avoiding chapel for weeks and the last three days I think he slept outside in an old oak tree. It’s insane.”
“He slept in a tree?” That was something from an archaic holy text, wasn’t it? Javier really was embracing Alizadeh’s Bahiim teachings.
“Yes, up in a tree.” Elezar lowered his voice. “And it’s not just that, when he’s up in the branches I swear…” Elezar suddenly clenched his mouth closed.
“What?” Kiram demanded.
“You really don’t know anything about this?” Elezar’s expression was disbelieving.
“I’ve spent nearly every day with you and Nestor, not Javier. How could I know what he’s been doing?”
Elezar sighed heavily and then nodded.
“He flickers.” Elezar looked uncomfortable even saying the words.
“Flickers?” Kiram asked. “You mean
—”
“It’s the white hell. He sits up there in the oak with sparks lighting up and dying all around him. It’s not just one little flash. It’s like a cloud of fireflies—like he’s pulling stars down from the sky.” Elezar scowled as two women passed close by them, then went on. “Late last night he lit up the entire tree. The branches and leaves blazed white all around him and he looked like…like something from another world. Javier has always liked to show off with sparks and tricks but that wasn’t showing off. That was something powerful and unholy.”
Kiram remembered the image he’d seen in Calixto’s diary of a luminous, tangling tree and Alizadeh talking about igniting the White Tree.
“Unholy,” Kiram repeated. To any Haldiim luminous branches reaching from the earth to the heavens would be just the opposite. But knowing that wouldn’t be any consolation to Elezar. “No wonder Timoteo wants him to attend chapel.”
Elezar nodded.
Kiram asked, “Do you think Javier is in real danger from the royal bishop?”
“The way things are right now, he might be,” Elezar said. “Something’s gotten up Lord Quemanor’s ass and stirred him enough to think that he has the evidence to have Javier arrested. I don’t think Quemanor is bluffing either.”
“And if he convinces the royal bishop to move against Javier, what will happen?” Kiram asked.
“We’ll give him one hell of a fight.” Elezar’s hand dropped reflexively to his sword hilt. “Atreau and Morisio are both here for the wedding and they’ve sworn to stand with him.”
Kiram frowned at the thought of a small group of schoolboys holding out against the royal bishop’s personal army. They’d be slaughtered.
“What about you?” Elezar asked. “Will you stand with him or run if trouble comes?”