A Dictionary of Fools (The HouseOf Light And Shadow Book 2)

by P. J. Fox

  He’d been treated to speeches before at the hands of various embarrassed teachers and disinterested coaches, but hadn’t paid them any attention until suddenly, examining the rash on his testicles, he’d wished he had. He’d finally summed himself up and asked for help, knowing full well that he had no choice. If he visited a clinic—clinics were plentiful and free and, best of all, anonymous—he’d undoubtedly see his picture on the cover of a magazine the next week. As a member of the royal family, he had no right to privacy; Arjun’s many trips to rehab had been a little too well publicized for Kisten to ever forget that lesson.

  After putting the fear of God into Kisten, Rajesh had collapsed into a convenient chair and begun to wonder aloud how his friend’s consort had contracted the disease and who she’d contracted it from. If her husband had given it to her, then that was no one’s business but theirs. But if he didn’t know, then…surely, someone was honor-bound to do something?

  He’d put the question to Kisten, a rather odd father-son bonding moment and the first time that Kisten distinctly remembered being treated like a fellow adult by his father. By way of response, Kisten had opined that as syphilis was highly contagious during both the first and second stages that the good man had almost certainly developed his own set of colorful and rather odorous sores. Thus, finding out that Kisten, along with who knew how many other men, had also fucked his consort would only add insult to injury. Again, literally. No man wanted to find out that his lady love was the town hall doorknob.

  “Or,” Renta said philosophically, “you can wait until he’s impregnated a dozen or so maids.”

  “Tell me more about what Grace is up to,” Kisten replied, changing the subject.

  It seemed that Grace had, in addition to the police chief’s second in command, also been entertaining several other worthies—both Bronte and local in origin but mostly local. Indeed, the lion’s share of her clientele were known revolutionaries. Some merely nursed sympathies in that direction while others were members of the Brotherhood. Still others had been implicated both in the failed revolution and in other, smaller flare-ups throughout the capital and the province. Grace, herself had been seen going into homes of suspected organizers and possibly participated actively in meetings.

  Renta had, at Kisten’s direction, been keeping tabs on both Grace’s comings and goings and her activities within the house. As a madam, it was her job to know where her girls were and what they were doing, but she tried to give everyone the greatest degree of privacy possible. Many of these, what had started as business arrangements had, after all, matured into full-fledged love affairs. And sex, even bought and paid for, was a private thing.

  “She met, again, with that member of the Merchant Council,” Renta said. “They were in her room together for three hours but, as far as I know, no sex was had.”

  “Oh?” Kisten asked.

  “He’s a homosexual. A friend of mine, Yatin, runs a tea house for men who lean in that direction. Part-time or full-time. According to him, your Councilman Johnson is decidedly full-time.”

  “Friend?”

  “Yes,” she said primly. “He, obviously, is homosexual as well. It’d be a bit dull if he weren’t, don’t you think? Seeing nothing but men all day? But he’s been devoted to an adorable little thing half his age now for about six months. Which, according to him, homosexual men age like cats so six months to him is like ten years to me.”

  Kisten pretended not to be bothered. Who were these mysterious male friends of hers, that she’d been keeping time with?

  “You’re sulking.” She sounded offensively cheerful.

  “I’m thinking,” he corrected her. And he was.

  “Are you sure,” she asked, “that Grace is knowingly involved? I feel bad.”

  “You have a soft heart,” he said kindly. “And if Grace isn’t guilty of wrongdoing, then she has nothing to fear.”

  “I hope you’re not such a babe in the woods that you’ve started to believe your own propaganda on that score. You know as well as I do that once the state has decided it wants something….” She made a noncommittal gesture. And she was right. For all his grand talk, Kisten had no illusions; the police got what they wanted. Theirs was not a democracy, and there were certain brutal realities to life under an imperial regime.

  “Lie back and think of the empire,” Kisten suggested half-jokingly.

  He stood up and, joining her on her divan, pulled her into his arms. She was warm and pleasant, but not nearly as yielding as usual. When he kissed her, she stiffened slightly.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, although he didn’t particularly care about the answer. He’d had a long and miserable morning followed by a long and miserable afternoon and he was in no mood to be brooked—by her or anyone. There were few enough people in his life whose job it was to please him. His job was to please the entire planet, and he didn’t act missish when things weren’t any fun.

  “This whole conversation has put me out of sorts,” she said.

  “I didn’t ask.”

  Renta kissed him. “Then make me feel better.”

  “Oh,” Kisten promised, “I shall.”

  The problem was that he didn’t know how to make himself feel better. He had a son who hated him, a consort with whom his relationship was tenuous at best, and a planet that, while not actively in the throes of revolution, was as close to one as ever. The news from home, as he’d discovered that morning, was bad. Worse than he ever could have imagined. Before rebellion broke out on Tarsonis, it might break out on Brontes.

  And there was a traitor within their ranks.

  One who’d helped the last rebellion, and who’d very nearly helped it succeed.

  And Kisten was afraid, terribly afraid, that he’d been the one to introduce this traitor into their midst. And that said traitor had been working quietly behind the scenes, all over Haldon and even within his own home, for far longer than he—or anyone—knew. And that even now, a situation he’d only barely grasped was slipping out of his control. He had to enjoy this moment while he could, because he might not get another one like it.

  Not for a very long time.

  Possibly, not ever.

  The end of BOOK TWO. The story continues in BOOK THREE of The House of Light and Shadow, PREDATORS IN THE MIST. Look for Predators In The Mist, coming soon, from Evil Toad Press. In the meantime, P.J. Fox welcomes visitors to her website, pjfoxwrites.com, where they can learn the latest updates on her characters as well as on what she herself is doing (and writing). She encourages fans to contact her, and welcomes questions and comments of all kinds.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  P.J. Fox is the author of several novels, as well as the nonfiction writing guide, I Look Like This Because I’m a Writer: How to Overcome Sloth, Self Doubt, and Poor Hygiene to Realize the Writing Career of your Dreams. She published her first story when she was ten. Between then and publishing her first novel, The Demon of Darkling Reach, she detoured to, in no particular order, earn several degrees (including a law degree), bore everyone she knew with lectures about medieval history, get married, and start a family. She realized, ultimately, that she had to make a go of this writing thing because nothing else would ever make her happy. She invites you to visit her at her website, www.pjfoxwrites.com.