by Ginn Hale
Kiram felt a prickling dread at the thought.
How long would it be before word spread about his broken engagement and his departure from his mother’s house? His mother would hate that. Nevertheless gossip wouldn’t really do any harm so long as Javier wasn’t brought into it.
But how many people had seen them together last night? Or on earlier afternoons, in alleys and back doorways? How many would put it together with his broken engagement?
Kiram shuddered but Rafie’s neighbor didn’t seem to notice. She gazed up at the blue sky.
“As soon as those beautiful lights appeared I knew your uncle and Alizadeh had gone to the Circle of Red Oaks. It must have been wonderful being right there.” She leaned against the simple mosaic wall that surrounded her house and she tilted her face into the sunlight. “I just know things are going to be different. It’s going to be better.”
Kiram shared none of her optimism, but he nodded anyway. He wondered what excuse Javier had offered the Grunitos for his absence last night and then he wondered when, if ever, Alizadeh and Rafie would come home.
While Kiram waited, crouched on Rafie’s doorstep, Rafie’s neighbor and a passing candlemaker chatted about the amazing lights in the grove. The candlemaker sold Rafie’s neighbor a round of raw beeswax before they both departed to the public market.
The sun passed its zenith and Kiram paced the grounds of Rafie’s house and then the block. At last boredom and hunger got the better of him and he followed the smell of frying lamb and cinnamon cakes past the Ammej Bridge to a busy street vendor.
Only after purchasing and devouring his meal did Kiram pause to consider just how few coins remained in his pocket. If he was careful he might be able to make them last until next week. If Rafie and Alizadeh would take him in then…
Kiram stopped himself mid-thought, suddenly struck by the realization of what he would be asking of Rafie: not just that his uncle should take him in and support him, but that in doing so Rafie should publicly disregard his own sister’s wishes.
Kiram didn’t know how much of Rafie’s money came from his mother but he did know that no one in the district would give Rafie so much as a smile if Mother Kir-Zaki forbade it. And that wasn’t even considering Mother Kir-Naham. The last thing Rafie would need was a powerful pharmacist and all of her friends refusing to supply him or his patients with medicine.
Kiram scowled at the gristle clinging to his blackened skewer as doubt crept over him. Still, even as he began to regret storming out of his mother’s house, he remembered that she had called Javier an animal and his resolve hardened. He couldn’t return and apologize; it would be the lowest cowardice. At the same time he didn’t know if he could thrust himself upon his uncle in good conscience.
He followed the river road for a while, walking aimlessly. Bookstores, tearooms and tailor shops gave way to smoke rooms, cramped wine houses and gambling parlors. He wondered how much renting a room would cost him and then how much he could win playing cards or throwing dice in one of the gambling parlors. At the Sagrada Academy he’d won most games he played and he’d been very good at counting the Hellions’ cards. But the weathered, sinister faces of the men he saw entering and departing the gambling parlors gave him pause. A number of them seemed to be considering murdering him just for meeting their hard stares; he didn’t want to find out what they’d do after he took their money from them.
No, he’d think of something else. In the meantime he wanted to get back to familiar ground. Already the sinking sun turned the sky orange and shadows invaded the surrounding alcoves and alleys. The last thing he needed was to go stumbling around this part of town in the dark and get himself mugged.
He strode quickly through the lanes as shadows lengthened and street vendors closed up their stalls. Someone called his name in a low, drunken slur. Kiram knew the voice and knew that he shouldn’t turn around but he couldn’t stop himself.
Musni and another rough-looking man leaned against the wall of a wine house. Long shafts of red sunlight colored Musni’s hair and glinted off his rings and off the hilt of his fighting knife.
“Lost your way already, Kiram?” Musni stepped forward. His companion watched Kiram but not with any real interest.
“I’m not lost. I just went for a walk.” He wondered how it could be that he’d once thought he loved Musni. Now he felt only disgust at the sight of him. And Musni, who’d once professed to adore him, seemed set upon lowering Kiram’s opinion of him with their every encounter.
“Didn’t your mommy warn you that this was a bad part of town?” Musni sneered.
“Fuck off,” Kiram snapped. “You’re the one who got married because you didn’t have the balls to stand up to your mother. In fact, aren’t you late getting home for your evening suckle?”
The man behind Musni laughed and Musni’s taunting expression turned to rage.
“You spoiled shit, I ought to kill you.” Musni drew his knife and lunged for Kiram.
Kiram jerked aside, feeling Musni’s blade slice across his vest. Suddenly Kiram’s heart hammered in his throat. This couldn’t be happening. He leaped back as Musni thrust again. Behind them Musni’s companion whooped with excitement but someone else who Kiram had not seen in the shadows hissed, “Idiot! Are you trying to bring down the Civic Guards?”
Kiram didn’t dare to glance back at them. He watched Musni slowly circle him. The blade of Musni’s knife looked wet and Kiram was aware of something warm trickling down his stomach. He felt a sting more than any pain. He’d fought through injury worse than this in the tournament. He’d fought for hours. But that hadn’t been against a drunk and angry ex-lover. He had to get that knife out of Musni’s hand before he actually got hurt.
Musni charged. This time Kiram stepped into him and was grimly satisfied to see the shock in Musni’s expression.
Kiram pounced, catching Musni’s wrists. Musni fought to break free, slashing his knife awkwardly between their bodies and jerking at Kiram’s grip.
Kiram held him. His hands felt slick with sweat and his heart pounded wildly. The flat of Musni’s blade slapped across his forearm and Kiram dug his fingers into Musni’s tendons, drawing blood as he loosened Musni’s grip on the knife hilt.
“Fucker,” Musni growled as he tried to wrench his hands free. He was strong and Kiram’s muscles trembled from restraining him.
They grappled so close they could have kissed. Instead, Kiram kicked hard against Musni’s knee and heard a terrible ripping sound. Musni howled and fell and Kiram let him go.
As Musni sprawled on the ground Kiram crushed his boot heel into Musni’s wrist and kicked the knife away. Then Kiram bounded back from Musni’s reach. But he needn’t have. Musni lay where he’d fallen, tears coursing down his face as he curled into a ball clutching his knee.
Exhilaration and relief flooded Kiram’s body in a shaking rush. He was alive. He’d won. For the first time he dared to look at the wound in his side. He found no more than a thin scratch beneath the gash in his vest. He was very lucky that Musni had slashed at him instead of stabbing.
A shadow fell across Kiram. He looked up in time to see Musni’s glaring companion. The man’s fist smashed into the side of his head, sending him staggering. Kiram hardly took in anything but a snarling mass of hard muscle and punishing fists as the big man pounded his skull.
Reflexively, Kiram blocked a second blow to his face and struck back. The man took two of Kiram’s fast jabs, grunting at the impact. Then he hurled Kiram back against the stone wall of the wine house.
Kiram thought he heard someone shouting for help, glimpsed the blur of a young woman running up the street, but he could hardly think. Blood poured down his nose. The knuckles of his right fist felt split and broken. The man in front of him grinned and the wall behind him offered no escape.
When the man swung Kiram dropped into a crouch, letting the wine house take the blow. The man shouted in pain and Kiram bounded up, driving his whole weight into the man’s face, crushi
ng his nose and hurling him back. Blood gushed over Kiram’s fist. His attacker groaned and stumbled and Kiram bolted free.
A block away he heard the alarm whistles of the Civic Guards but he didn’t look back and he didn’t stop running.
Chapter Twenty
By the time that Kiram reached the Grunito house, the streets were dark and a full, yellow moon lit the sky. To Kiram’s surprise he found the gates enclosing the vast grounds open. Bright torches illuminated the marble entry and dozens of glossy carriages lined the drive. Footmen in the Grunito colors escorted opulently dressed Cadeleonians from their carriages into the house. Very faintly Kiram caught the melody of Cadeleonian dance music floating from the huge building.
Kiram felt criminal, hiding in the shadows of a cherry tree and watching this brocade and silk-swathed parade of wealthy men and women, their faces glittering with gold dust and their hair powdered black. Gold and silver threads flashed in their clothes and jewels glittered around their necks and hands. No doubt they were all perfumed with the oils of rare flowers and exotic musks.
All Kiram could smell was the blood that clotted his nose.
He recalled how out of place Riossa had appeared when she had been admitted alone to Lady Grunito’s dance in Zancoda. She had brought the entire room to a silent halt and Riossa had been a well-dressed Cadeleonian girl from a good family, possessing a legitimate invitation. Kiram on the other hand was a ragged Haldiim without so much as a scrap of paper to prove that he knew anyone. His face and clothes were bloodied from a street fight. Just glancing at him a footman would know better than to allow him up the steps, much less through the door.
He slunk away from the light and music and wandered between the cherry trees. He heard a distant bark and vaguely recalled Nestor talking about his father’s many dogs. The last thing he needed was to be mauled by a pack of hounds. He ought to just leave.
But he was hesitant to explore the unfamiliar Cadeleonian streets searching for shelter. After his fight with Musni he wanted to be somewhere that felt safe. Knowing that friends were close at hand seemed more important now than any real physical comfort or security. And he could think of at least one place where he could find shelter, if nothing else.
He crept through the shadows, catching distant laughter and music as well as the whinnies of horses. His chest ached in a dull, deep way while his hands felt swollen and clumsy; he hoped he wouldn’t have to attempt to force a door open. But the flashing lights of swinging lamps and busy voices reassured him that nothing had been locked up for the night.
At last he reached the stables. They were well lit but nearly empty due to the sheer number of grooms required in the carriage house to attend the needs of so many teams of carriage horses and their drivers. One man shouted to another about a scratch on a carriage door, while another called out for a drink from a flask of white ruin.
Kiram slipped past the carriage house and into the warmth of the stables. Inside he wandered past tack rooms and walls of straw bales until he reached the long rows of stalls where horses of all colors and sizes were stabled. Once he would have been terrified by the way the animals watched him, but now he understood the flick of their ears and their flared nostrils. He felt at ease among them. Most took no more note of him than they would have a new groom.
As he moved farther from the noise and activity of the carriages one big piebald gelding thrust his head out and snuffled at Kiram’s hair as if it were a mess of straw. Kiram drew back and patted the horse’s muzzle. It lipped at the salty sweat of his brow and then, finding neither an apple nor feed proffered, gave Kiram a bored sigh.
Kiram smiled at the big animal. He didn’t know why but just that simple caress of its soft muzzle and warm breath on his skin made him feel a little better, somehow more cared for.
Then Kiram caught the sound of quiet laughter.
“Lunaluz, I’m serious. You eat any more of Lady Grunito’s flowers and she’s going to banish us both.”
At the sound of Javier’s voice Kiram wanted to call out but feared he’d just attract a groom. He followed Javier’s soft murmurs until he reached an open stall where Javier stood, dressed in costly black and silver brocade, grooming Lunaluz. Kiram noticed the faint glow of gold dust on Javier’s skin. He almost shimmered in the flicking lamplight.
Kiram simply watched him. Javier looked so handsome and calm. Just seeing him made Kiram feel sure that he’d made the right decisions last night and today, as bloody and tired as they’d gotten him.
Lunaluz lifted his head, catching sight or perhaps scent of Kiram. Javier turned back. At first he didn’t seem to recognize Kiram, then his eyes widened and he strode forward.
“What the hell happened to you?”
What hadn’t happened to him, Kiram thought. He’d lost his family, beaten his previous lover to the ground, and then nearly been killed by a stranger. He’d evaded the Haldiim Civic Guards and run across half of Anacleto.
“I’ve had a rough day.” Kiram laughed despite himself. “Can we just leave it at that for now? I don’t really want to talk about it.”
Javier considered him and then nodded.
“Do you need to see a physician?” Javier carefully lifted Kiram’s bloodied right hand. One of his knuckles sported a dark scab from where he’d broken his skin against another man’s face. Dried blood caked his nails and fingers.
“No. Most of that isn’t my blood.”
“Good to know,” Javier replied but his expression was still troubled. “Should I ask whose blood it is or would that ruin the surprise when we find the body in the morning?”
“It’s nothing so dramatic,” Kiram replied, but a shudder trembled through him as if shaking loose the bone deep knowledge that his fight with Musni could easily have turned deadly. If Musni’s knife had struck him at a different angle, if Musni’s friend had pinned him against that wall a little longer…
It didn’t bear thinking about—not now that he was here and safe.
“I had no idea you dressed so formally when you were alone with Lunaluz,” Kiram commented just to change the subject.
“I’m simply demonstrating the difference good grooming can make.” Javier released Kiram’s hand. “He’s prone to let himself go otherwise.”
“I can imagine,” Kiram replied. Somewhere far away a peal of laughter and brassy trumpet notes rose. Lunaluz flicked his ears. “It sounds like Lady Grunito is holding another dance.”
“Indeed. She wants everyone to meet Riossa and see that the Grunitos are proud of her despite her common birth.”
“That’s admirable,” Kiram commented.
“It is, but I don’t think I can stand one more baron’s daughter pretending to faint when I take her hand.” Javier scowled. “You really look terrible, Kiram. There’s blood—”
“I know. I got hit in the face a couple times.”
“Is that supposed to be a reassurance?”
“No,” Kiram replied and he realized that he wasn’t thinking all that clearly or maybe he wasn’t explaining himself very well. “It’s just that you know how noses bleed.”
“I do.” Javier leaned a little closer to Kiram, studying his face. “Come here, will you? I can’t just stand here chatting when you look like this.” Javier led Kiram to a trough of fresh water. He moistened a cloth and then wiped the blood and dust from Kiram’s face and hands. Kiram wanted to protest that he could clean his own face but at the same time it was relieving to be tended.
“I need somewhere to sleep,” Kiram admitted at last. “I can’t go home.”
“Can’t or won’t?” Javier asked.
“Both.” Kiram closed his eyes for a moment. The heat of Javier’s body soothed him and distracted his senses, making the ache of his bruises seem to fade. “I had a fight with my mother. She’s thrown me out for refusing to marry Hashiem.”
“Your mother did this to you?”
Kiram laughed. “She wishes she beat me up this badly. No I…I got into a fight on the street
. And it really doesn’t matter who it was with. It’s over and he’s in worse shape than I am.”
“A lot worse?”
“I think I broke his knee.” A weird mix of pride and horror wriggled through him. “He tried to stab me and I kicked his knee backward. I heard it tear.”
“Good.” Javier’s tone was harsh. “I hope you crippled him.”
Kiram hoped he hadn’t. He didn’t want to be responsible for that. “I’m too tired to think about it.”
“You should stay here. I mean with the Grunitos, not in the stables.” Javier rubbed his shoulder gently. “Nestor’s been wanting you to come for weeks now. He’ll be overjoyed.”
The voices of two bickering grooms carried to them and both he and Javier drew apart. Neither of the grooms appeared but Javier turned back to Lunaluz.
“Help me bed him down and then we’ll get you up into the house.”
Between the two of them they finished brushing Lunaluz down and returned the stallion to his stall. Then Kiram followed Javier out of the stables and down a series of winding garden paths towards the back of the Grunito house. Rows of irises filled the flowerbeds and the perfume of lilacs hung in the air.
Soon the sound of music washed over them. Through wide windows Kiram saw the silhouettes of men and women dancing in close couples. He watched them, remembering the night he and Javier had danced at his mother’s house. They hadn’t ever gotten to share a Cadeleonian dance.
Wistfully, Kiram brushed Javier’s fingers with his hand. Javier turned to him questioningly.
“Do you mind if we don’t go in just yet?”
“Why would I mind?” Javier arched a brow. “I was the one who escaped to the stables to groom a horse rather than remain inside. But don’t you want to warm up inside? At least sit down?”
“I’d rather stay out here with you for a little while.” A breeze brushed over Kiram’s face; it felt almost warm. Overhead, brilliant stars gleamed around the golden orb of the moon. “I hadn’t noticed before, but it really is a beautiful evening for a dance.”