by Lane Robins
“Why not? It’s late, I’m drunk, and the bed seems free of vermin. My apologies if I ruined your sport. But more fool you if you paid her before you took your pleasures.”
Gilly stared at the ceiling, counting the crystal stars pasted on it. Lizette’s client list. Each star a patron. In the center of the ceiling was his own favored patronage, marked out in spirals and dots, a constellation made of desire. Lizette swore the constellation was one seen in the Explorations, taught to her by a sailor, but Gilly had no proof of that. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.
Beside him, Maledicte’s breath steadied and quieted.
“Mal?” Gilly said.
When he was met with silence, he pulled the quilt off the floor where he and Lizette had dropped it, and draped it over Maledicte. He bent to tuck it around Maledicte’s shoulders and hesitated, finding Maledicte watching him with steady black eyes. “Here,” Gilly said, awkwardly finishing the motion, aware of the rough silk of Maledicte’s hair pinned between his fingers and the coverlet.
“I’m not cold.”
“Colder than marble,” Gilly said. He stroked the smooth cheek, feeling the dip and sway of the flesh between cheekbone and scarred jaw. “You should go back to Dove Street.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Petulant as a child,” Gilly said. “But if you won’t, you won’t. It would serve you right if I brought Lizette back in.”
“Don’t,” Maledicte said. “Please.”
“I won’t. Best move over some, you’re going to fall off the edge.”
Gilly slid beneath the sheets, unwound them as best he could, allowing for Maledicte’s weight atop them. Gingerly, he stroked the softness of Maledicte’s hair fanning out over the pillows. When Maledicte didn’t object, he tucked himself around that slim form, and felt the tension rise and fall in Maledicte’s bones.
Snuggled together in such surroundings, Gilly found himself wondering if this was how it had been for Maledicte and Janus. Away from the town house, this moment felt fragile, endangered by any opening door, by the rumble of voices down the hall, by the shouts of laughter and anger that rose from the streets. No wonder they clung to each other, he thought, they grew up with no haven but each other. Still, he thought, the situation was no longer the same.
“I’ve been thinking about the Explorations again,” Gilly said, testing the waters.
In his arms, Maledicte made a sound of protest more felt than heard. It gave Gilly courage.
“I want you to come with me. The Virga sails in five months, just before the fall. We could ride out beneath its tall sails, out through the harbor, into the deep waters where it’s so blue you can’t tell sea from sky. We could watch sea beasts at play; the great whales spouting and diving, and stranger creatures still, so strange that no sailor ever mentions them unless you’ve seen them already for fear of being mocked. We’d land in a new world. No Relicts, no court, just the land and the sky and the stars. The sailors say it’s a different sky entirely down there, that it never goes black, just to darker and darker shades of blue—”
“And do what?” Maledicte whispered. “Live like paupers? Or fish for a living, at the mercy of storm and sea?”
“I’d be a chocolate farmer,” Gilly said, inventing on the spot. “Feed you sweets for breakfast, until you grew fat or sick from them.”
Maledicte laughed, his warm breath brushing Gilly’s forearm, raising the hairs on it and on his neck. “Dreamer.”
“But not a fool,” Gilly said. “Before I go, I’d buy up small luxuries here, to take with me. Sell them to the Antyrrian émigrés over there, desperate for a taste of home, and use the money for things exotic to Antyre and send them back for sale. Feathers for gowns and hats, pelts for pelisses, illustrations. Maybe I’d even write a book for the libraries.” His words came stiff and slow, awkward as his stories never were, fearful of being mocked. It was the first time he’d spoken aloud of his dreams. And even then he balked at spilling it all, that he would include Maledicte as more than a whim. That he couldn’t imagine life without him.
“A trader overseas,” Maledicte said.
“I know, a dreamer,” Gilly said.
Maledicte rose up, turned, and kissed Gilly’s forehead, stroked his cheek. He slid back into Gilly’s loose embrace, and only once his face was hidden again did Gilly hear him speak. “What about Janus?”
If Gilly’s words of salt and sea and sky carried sunlight and tropical flavors, the mention of Janus brought the first taste of winter into the room.
Heart pounding, realizing that Maledicte was tempted, Gilly said, “Can’t you forget him?” His words were a whisper. Vornatti died for voicing a similar thought, but Gilly gambled that Maledicte was far fonder of him.
“I could easier forget my own name,” Maledicte said. “He needs me.”
“I need you,” Gilly said, sudden hunger darkening his voice to a growl, rolling Maledicte to face him.
Maledicte scowled. “You want me. Which is not the same thing at all.”
Gilly started to protest and Maledicte put a hand over his mouth. “Listen to me, Gilly. When you’d had me, what then? You’d be as weary of me as you were of the old bastard…you’d be longing for your sweet-fleshed, sweet-tempered maids and not a dark-natured creature like myself.”
Gilly kissed the fingers overlying his mouth in soundless retort. Maledicte withdrew his hand. “No, Gilly. Leave me be. I’m tired beyond belief….” Hetried to unravel himself from the blanket but Gilly stopped him.
“Shh, just sleep. I’ll guard your sleep. Even from myself.” Gilly forced a lightness into his voice he didn’t feel, was rewarded with Maledicte relaxing into his embrace. He lay with Maledicte a swaddled bundle in his arms, and tried to sort out the truth of it. Was Maledicte right, would he repent of this unseasonal desire? Gilly couldn’t imagine doing so, but when he slept his dreams were full of Black-Winged Ani cradled in his arms, covered in blood.
MALEDICTE WOKE, rubbed grit from his dry eyes, and took a startled breath at finding himself in the brothel. The corset pinched his ribs and he gasped. Untangling himself from the blankets, he staggered to the wash-stand, stared at his reflection in the still water. Gilly. Maledicte turned, breathing shallowly, breathing with small hitches of pain. In the emptiness of the room, he shucked out of the crumpled coat, the vest, and reached into his shirt to loosen the first laces on his corset. The relief was as sweet as the memory of his restraint. Janus would have killed him. Like Roach. Like Ella. Salt stung his eyes.
He splashed water on his face. The water was tepid but clear. Gilly must have asked them to bring another basin when he was done washing and shaving. Without Gilly’s presence, the room seemed too full of the whore’s trade, draggled lace, fine fabrics worn thin with use, the narrow bed and sagging mattress, the cloying odor of rose-scented powder and sweat in the air. If Maledicte had been less fortunate, less determined, without Janus to aid him, Ella might have sold Miranda to a place like this.
Nausea churned in his belly. Never to this, he thought. He would spill blood on the roads first, turn highwayman and waylay rich men’s coaches. The thought calmed him; the sword on the bed soothed him with its bird’s eye glitter.
The door opened behind him. In the mirror, water blurring his vision, he saw Lizette enter. “What do you want?”
Lizette grinned. “Gilly said to make you comfortable. I came to offer you a razor.”
Aware of the dampness at his throat and the loosened laces around his chest, Maledicte took up his vest, buttoning it with his back to her. “I hardly think to be here long enough to require one.”
“I would be amazed if you did,” she said. She closed the door, leaned against it much as he had last night. He remembered that. The stability of the rough wood when his heart was pounding with possibilities.
“Have you something to say?” Maledicte settled his coat as best he could, adjusting the shoulders. His head throbbed, imagining her laughing over how he had routed her from her bed
to lie with his servant.
“Poor Gilly,” she said. “His head’s in a swivet about you, desiring you, loving you.” The scorn in her eyes took away any sweetness left in her face. “And he don’t know the first thing about you, does he, my lady?”
Maledicte’s breath stopped. All his worries about Gilly knowing, about the court finding out, about Aris looking at him without preconceptions, just once, and it was this whore who guessed. “I’ve killed one man for suggesting I was effeminate. What makes you—”
“Whores know things, we’ve got eyes for artifice, don’t we? Appearances is our trade, more’n anything else. How to look better, smaller, fuller—each of us has played the man at least once, going out with a fellow where we wouldn’t be wanted or escorting ourselves places where women don’t walk alone. You’re just better than most. Without that sword though, you’re nothing but a tall, skinny—”
“Shut your mouth,” Maledicte said. He grabbed the sword, yanked it free, then fought to resheathe it. He didn’t need to murder her. Whores were easily bought.
“Or you’ll shut it for me?” She vamped at him, flashing her skirts, wrinkling her nose, fluttering her eyelashes.
Maledicte grabbed her neck and slammed her into the door.
She coughed, then laughed. “Rough play do it for you? You’ll be disappointed with Gilly then. He’s a sweetheart, through and through, my Gilly is—”
“Shut up,” Maledicte said, pinching his fingers inward like the claws of a crab, collecting her attention along with the air in her windpipe.
Wary now, she opened her mouth to cry out. As quickly as she did, he barred her mouth with his fingers. “Listen to me, Lizette. Should you unmask me, I will make you suffer. I know Itarusine potions to make your blood surge and foam within your skin, seeking egress. You’ll bleed and keep bleeding from your eyes, your mouth, your overused sex…and you’ll suffer pain you can’t imagine. You’ll die slowly while your blood swells like the surf and your skin splits to make way for it. And when you’re dead, even the crows won’t touch your flesh.” He released her. “And no one will even care. Or investigate. You’ll be just another dead whore.”
She slid down the door, soiled violet silk and blotchy face. “I wasn’t going to say nothing. Whores don’t say nothing.”
“Not if they’re wise.” Maledicte stepped back. She wiped her teary eyes and nose with the edge of her gown, looking up at him. He put a hand to her shoulder and she flinched. “I see you understand me.”
He left the door sagging open, left Lizette huddled on the floor, and went home.
GILLY, LOUNGING IN THE LIBRARY, looked up at the bang of the door. He folded the broadsheet, set it down at his feet. “Did you sleep well?” He doubted it, the way Maledicte clung to the shadows of the room, pulling curtains.
“Did you send Lizette in to me?” Maledicte asked.
Gilly winced at the ugly edge in Maledicte’s voice. “No. But the greedy little cat probably liked the rich looks of you. Did she wake you?”
“The screeching of the matron did, rousting some sailors who out-stayed their coin. Don’t I give you enough to establish a bijou in a peaceful neighborhood?”
“Woke up temperamental, that’s obvious,” Gilly said. Aware that Maledicte hadn’t yet met his eyes, Gilly wondered what ailed him, embarrassment or anger. “Come here.” When Maledicte hesitated, he repeated himself. “Come here.”
Maledicte stood before him, stiff and spiky like a child uncertain of chastisement.
“Woke with a head, I’ve no doubts,” Gilly said. “Poor Mal. You were very drunk last night. I am amazed Ani allowed it.”
Maledicte knelt before Gilly. “You’re not angry?”
“No,” Gilly said. Why should he be angry? He knew something he hadn’t known before, that Maledicte desired him. That knowledge made him lazy and content. He stroked Maledicte’s neck, his shoulders, his dark hair. Maledicte laid his head in Gilly’s lap, sighing.
“I’m sorry you woke unpleasantly,” Gilly said, separating strands of dark hair and twining them again. “You looked so peaceful when I left.”
“That was your mistake,” Janus said. Gilly flinched in his seat, felt Maledicte carry the movement through. “When Mal is peaceful, it’s always deceptive. Usually means he’s going to kill someone.”
“I have to wash,” Maledicte said. “Those sheets probably had fleas.” He pushed away from Gilly’s loose embrace.
Janus snagged his arm, studied him with a sapphirine gaze. “Aris restricted you to these four walls. You went out?”
“You disobey him at will. Why shouldn’t I?” Maledicte said, twitching his arm free.
“I am not on sufferance,” Janus said.
“Aren’t you?” Maledicte said.
Janus’s face darkened, and Maledicte sighed. “My temper is foul today, Janus, so go cautiously.”
“I remind you,” Janus said. “Aris has guards watching the house, watching you. Remember that, should you feel the need to draw your blade.”
Maledicte shivered; his hands clenched, but he made no further response to the tightening noose of suspicion he found himself in. Instead, he drew Janus’s head down and kissed him fiercely, after a quick, burdened glance at Gilly.
“I’m tired. You need to time your visits better. Until then, Gilly will take care of me.” Maledicte slipped out of Janus’s arms and went upstairs.
Janus smiled thinly at Gilly, and prowled the room, unspeaking. Gilly rose to go and Janus forestalled him. “Something you want to confess to me, Gilly? You’re jumpy today. As if you had a guilty conscience.”
“Is yours any more pristine?” Gilly countered.
“Do I need to tell you again to stay away from Maledicte? He’s more than you can handle.”
“I handled things well enough last night,” Gilly said.
The sudden blankness in Janus’s face gave him enough warning to duck the blow. But then Janus seized his shoulders in a grip that trembled with rage; Gilly felt bruises starting.
“You dared,” Janus said.
“Why shouldn’t I?” Gilly said. “If you can change your appetite from women for Mal’s sake, why can I not do the same? He was willing enough.”
The tension in Janus’s arms eased enough for Gilly to free himself. What he had said that defused the worst of Janus’s temper, Gilly didn’t know, and he found himself regretting it. This fight had been a long time coming, and he welcomed it as much as he feared it.
“Get out,” Janus said.
“This is my house,” Gilly said. “You go.” He grinned. His heart raced with exhilaration and fear. He found Maledicte’s evil genius poking him, as if the night spent together had left him with more than frustrated desire. “Of course, you could stay. Could hit me again, threaten to kill me. Again. But I know why you balk…you are not so sure that Mal would forgive you—”
Janus struck and Gilly blocked, catching the fist in his own grip, twisting it. “No more idle threats, Janus. I’ve gotten your measure. Maledicte’s love protects me from you. And he does love me, whether he wants to or not.”
“Then be honest with me,” Janus said. “You mean to steal him from me.”
Gilly said, “Your love will send him to blood and death.”
“You don’t care about the blood, about the court. All you care about is having him for yourself. Don’t dress your motives in fine words. You want him.”
“I do,” Gilly said.
“I’ll kill you first,” Janus said.
“And that brings us around to where we started this quarrel,” Gilly said. “Like two dogs fighting over a bitch in season.”
“That’s a flattering thought. Be sure to share it with Mal. He’ll gut you for me,” Janus said.
“He promised he’d never hurt me. I believe him. He may be many things, but he’s not a liar.”
“He’d forgive me anything,” Janus said.
“Are you willing to test it?” Gilly said. He stepped back, raised his ar
ms wide, inviting Janus. “Not that you’d have it all your own way. I may not be a swordsman, but I outreach you.”
Janus snarled. “You forget your place. Maledicte may call you friend, but you are a servant born, and a servant until death.”
“And you haven’t forgotten yours?” Gilly asked. “You’re so far out of your place that you’re dangling from a rope marked treason.”
Janus hissed, his hand clenching around his sword, but as soon as his knuckles whitened, they relaxed, the rage cresting and disappearing as if it had never been. He turned a placid face to Gilly, leaving him off-balance. Where did the rage go? Where would Janus vent it? Not on Maledicte, surely; it was no longer safe to do so.
Gilly put his back to Janus and walked out, though his skin crawled. If Janus could be rid of him by accident or manipulation, Maledicte’s protection would be useless. And Janus’s anger, though better controlled than Maledicte’s, always erupted in the end.
He listened for Janus’s footsteps in the hall, in case Janus chose to continue their quarrel. But instead, he heard them going up the stairs, chasing after Maledicte.
· 36 ·
For a most enlightening murder, in times when subtlety is not as prized as spectacle, one can do no better than to seek out tincture Precatorius, imported from the Explorations. A single death by its means is always enough to open the eyes of the most recalcitrant subject.
—A Lady’s Treatise, attributed to Sofia Grigorian
T HE MESSENGER ARRIVED EARLY in the morning, rousting Gilly from his bed after a night full of stealthy leavings, first Livia creeping out yet again, then Janus seeking the palace. Sleepily, Gilly paid the boy and flipped open the note, curious to see which of their spies had something to report, or if perhaps the coachman hadn’t lost Livia this time—the girl was clever and careful. But the terse lines didn’t involve Maledicte and his schemes at all. The note, straggling words written in a hand unused to a pen, read simply: Lizette very sick. Need help. Gilly crumpled the quarter sheet of cheap paper in his fist, releasing the scent of the brothel and desperation.