“By Vandogan custom, the acceptance of a drink, poured and taken together, is a binding contract.”
Shianan frowned. “Oh. Oh, I see.” He considered. “So I was a sip away from committing to accept his bid.”
“Yes, Master Shianan.”
One side of Shianan’s mouth quirked into a half-smile. “And I suppose our friend outside counted on my ignorance of this? We could hardly renege on a contract, and I could not argue without embarrassing myself and the army.” He exhaled. “Luca, you are the saving of the king’s army, I’m afraid.”
Luca flushed and added hurriedly, “He’s already poured the wine. You cannot drink it even now.”
“Then I’ll have to be careful to avoid drinking,” Shianan replied. “Now, let me return to my guest.”
Luca held the door for him, and Shianan resumed his seat with a casual air.
“Nothing terrible, I hope?” asked the Vandogan.
Shianan shook his head with a smile. “Not at all. I am free to remain with you.”
“Excellent.” The merchant lifted his cup in an easy manner.
Shianan’s hand moved toward his wine and then he arrested it with a frown, reaching instead for a piece of bread. The merchant’s eyes followed his movement.
“Would you like some samples of our product?” he asked after a moment, taking bread and honey.
“Thank you,” Shianan replied, “but I have no venue to test them myself. I have only Luca, as you see, who needs no harness for his duties here. I might give one or two to the caravan masters and ask their opinion.”
“Certainly!” The merchant nodded. “I’ll have several delivered tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” Shianan’s hand moved unconsciously toward the cup again. He paused, regarding his treacherous hand, and then reached clumsily for the wine, upsetting the cup. “Oh! What a mess. Luca?”
Luca successfully contained the spill and then, righting the empty cup, poured fresh wine. He kept his eyes carefully on the soiled table, not risking a conspiratorial glance with Shianan or a peek toward the merchant.
“Thank you, Luca.” Shianan lifted his cup and drank, and then he looked toward the merchant, his expression friendly. “If I can be forgiven for my clumsiness…. I think your offer is very fair, and I will be pleased to discuss it with my superiors.”
The merchant smiled, the pleased smile of a man who knows he’s been bested but enjoyed the game. “Thank you, my lord.” He gestured toward Luca. “Your servant is quite efficient. I’m sure you must receive many compliments on him. Is he perchance for sale?”
Luca tensed. But Shianan chuckled. “Thank you, but no. I find him indispensable.”
“I thought as much,” the Vandogan answered with a smile, “but it was worth the asking, anyway. Have you any more questions for me, your lordship?”
“I don’t believe so.” Shianan rose and gave a small bow. “Thank you for your time this evening.”
“The pleasure was mine,” the merchant responded. “And in appreciation, let me offer you this. Any man of responsibility appreciates a chance to relax. This is a token for the Kalen baths.”
Shianan looked surprised. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”
“Enjoy your visit, with my compliments.” The merchant offered a deeper bow. “Good night, my lord!”
After Luca had locked the door, Shianan faced him. “You looked a little alarmed at the end. Did I err somehow?”
“No, not at all. He knew what you did, but you did not err. I—I only worried for a moment, when….”
Shianan turned to look across the room and reached a hand to Luca’s shoulder. “He could not afford your price,” he said simply. “Come, clear away this mess. I have notes to record and other work before sleep.”
Chapter 37
Luca reversed the staff in his hand and felt a satisfying impact, and Shianan nodded as he stepped back. “Exactly,” he said. “Better than swinging a mattress, yes? Now remember to keep your heel on the ground.”
“Yes, Master Shianan,” Luca answered, a little short of breath. “Again?”
Shianan grinned. “You’re not starting to like this after all, are you?”
Luca felt himself smile. “Yes, a little. I mean, yes. May I try again?”
Someone laughed from outside the practice ring. “That skinny thing? You’re wasting your time, commander!” More voices joined in laughter.
Luca froze. Shianan’s grin vanished and he stepped back. “Giusto,” he called, “come here.”
There was a pause in the laughter and then new guffaws broke loose. “Ha! The commander will tan you now!” someone jibed.
Shianan shook his head as a wary soldier entered the ring. “Not at all.” He tossed his staff toward the soldier, who caught it with awkward surprise. “Luca, go ahead and try it again—on Giusto.” He smiled.
Giusto and Luca both stared at him. “Are you—sir, this is ridiculous!” Giusto protested. “I’ll kill him!”
Luca silently agreed.
Shianan raised an eyebrow. “So confident? You think I have no faith in my student? Maybe your friends should do a little wagering.”
Giusto looked indignant. “I’m your student, too.”
“Then perhaps I think Luca is a better student.” Shianan gestured casually. “Stop protesting and prove yourself.”
Giusto looked across his shoulder at Luca, disdainful and resentful. Luca quailed before the look and fought the urge to drop his eyes in a slave’s posture. Why had his master set him to this impossible match? What would—
Giusto took a step toward Luca, twisting his body as he prepared to deliver a smashing blow. It would shatter Luca’s arm, it would send him reeling across the ring. Luca saw it and felt his arms move as his weight shifted.
The sweeping staff cracked against Luca’s and slid as it rebounded. Luca remained frozen a precious second before realizing he had deflected the onrush. Giusto wavered, off-balance with his own momentum, and growled with rage as he renewed his attack.
This time Luca moved more smoothly, almost expecting to succeed, and Giusto’s staff sailed wide over his head. Luca shifted his left hand’s grip to a position below his right hand, whipped the tip of the staff low over the ground beside his right leg and skimmed it directly into Giusto’s groin.
Giusto grunted, shocked from his charge to a standstill. Luca froze, terrified of what he’d done. He hadn’t meant—! Behind the fence there was a moment of stunned silence and then the spectators began whooping and howling.
Shianan put a hand to his mouth, trying unsuccessfully to conceal his pitying laughter. Luca stumbled backward, dragging his staff, his breath catching in his throat. Giusto’s face contorted as he bent over the injury, and then he raised the staff as he lurched forward unevenly.
Shianan stepped into the path of the angry soldier, twisting the staff easily from his grip. “That’s enough, Giusto. Walk it off.”
Giusto turned hot eyes on his commander. “He—I’ll take him into—”
“That’s enough,” Shianan repeated, his tone firmer. “Walk it off.”
Something penetrated the haze of Giusto’s pain and humiliation, and he gave Shianan a curt nod before limping away. Behind Luca the spectators laughed and jeered; one voice demanded payment for a bet. Luca watched Giusto’s departure, taut with worry, until Shianan called his name. “Luca! Didn’t you hear me? Put away the staves; we’re done for today.” He tossed the second staff.
Luca fumbled the weapon as he caught it. He had struck a freeman—a soldier, even. He replaced the staves in the racks, his hands moving woodenly. He could not think further than that. He had struck a soldier, and—significantly.
Shianan scooped his cloak from the bench and swung it around his shoulders, not bothering to fasten it in place. He grinned at Luca. “That was better than I’d hoped, even,” he confided. “Giusto is full of himself. There’s nothing wrong that a little practice couldn’t fix, but of course he’s far too talented for that. You showed him up
quite nicely.”
“I didn’t mean—”
Shianan looked at him sharply. “Don’t you dare to finish that. Remember, within the training ring there are only instructors and students who train to meet or surpass them. You did exactly as you should have done, if with a more particular aim than I’d anticipated, and you should be proud of your work.”
Luca hesitated. “But—I hit him….”
“And what in the name of all the sky’s stars were you supposed to do?” Exasperated, Shianan stopped and pointed backward. “Within that ring, you are not a slave. Do you understand me?”
Luca followed his master’s finger and saw the soldiers laughing among themselves. “Yes, Master Shianan,” he answered unhappily. “I understand.”
Shianan sighed. “You don’t sound very convincing.” He started walking again. “Go and bring something to eat, if you would; I have reports waiting for me.”
Ariana was sleeping. Tamaryl stood beside her bed, but she did not seem aware of him. Maru had said she was often like this.
There was a whisper of sound from the open door, and he turned to see Daranai. “We’ve taken good care of her, as you can see,” she said.
“And I am grateful,” Tamaryl answered. “I’m sorry to impose both Maru and Ariana on you. Oniwe’aru has promised to have my house open for my return.”
“Oh, but then you will have no cause to visit me.” Daranai sulked beautifully.
Tamaryl smiled. “I am certain you might convince me somehow.”
She kissed him deeply, inviting him to pursue the hungers she stirred.
He knew on some level that he was infatuated. He was not so young and foolish as to believe he loved a political match chosen for him long ago. He was giddy with joy and power and lust as much with Daranai’rika herself. But there was much to be said for joy and power and lust, and Daranai was a formidable rika and a worthy consort.
He would return quickly.
Shianan glanced up from his desk, his hair disarrayed from unconscious fingering. “Good, you’re back.”
“Did you have something for me to do?” Luca asked.
“I have something for you.” Shianan held up a wooden badge. “I have here a token for the Kalen baths. You have done quite well of late—the accounts, of course, and last night you caught the Vandogan’s game, and then that round with Giusto.”
“I don’t understand you, Master Shianan.”
Shianan grinned. “I’m sending you to enjoy the Kalen.”
Luca’s stomach lurched. “I can’t!”
“Of course you can. You’ll have this token, and if anyone notices you, they’ll think you’re serving one of the guests. But once you have your room—the Kalen baths are all private rooms, did you know?—you’ll be the guest yourself.”
Luca tried to swallow. “Master Shianan….”
“Go on.” He extended the wooden badge. “You’ll enjoy it, and once inside no one will think to question you. If you get into any trouble, tell them I sent you ahead for me.”
“You would give this to me?”
“Take it. I’ve never been to the Kalen baths, myself; they’re beyond the means of a mere commander, and I’ve not been a count long enough to have the inclination. Consider this reconnaissance, and tell me if I should bother.”
Luca’s fingers closed numbly on the polished wood. “Thank you, master.”
“You’d better hurry. You’ll want the entire evening, I suspect.”
Chapter 38
Luca hesitated outside the wide, gilded doors. What if he were caught? But Shianan had seemed unworried. He had sent Luca out the door with a cheery wave, telling him to enjoy his reward.
Reward. Luca had not expected that. Renner, who might have been a fair man before illness took him, had often given Luca his leavings when he intended to drink the rest of his supper. Ande had never even jested of generosity, occasionally making Luca beg even for necessities. Shianan had already bought a serviceable cloak and removed the abominable collar—why further reward his slave with the merchant’s expensive gift? The accounting had not been so much, had it?
His master would not have sent him here for sport. The token was too expensive for that. Shianan must have expected he could indeed take a guest room. Luca swallowed and pushed open the gilded doors.
The lobby itself was an ostentatious display of luxury. A fountain splashed quietly in one corner, and flowers perfumed the room so that it seemed nearer a garden. Luca thought briefly of the courtyard of his home, filled with flowers and moonlight, and he shoved the wrenching image away.
A man sat at a narrow counter, scratching at some papers. Luca held his breath as he pushed the token over the counter, trying to let only his fingers show above the polished surface.
The man looked up sharply—the fountain had masked Luca’s quiet entrance—and blinked once at Luca’s rumpled and sweaty appearance. Luca stood absolutely still, his hands at his sides, knowing the man could see relatively little of him over the tall counter.
He took the token. “Good evening. Welcome to the Kalen.” He turned over the polished wooden piece and eyed a marking on the back, then compared it to a small ledger beside him. “Ah, welcome, your lordship. You’ve been training, I see?” He turned over his shoulder and called to a curtained doorway behind him. “Seven for Bailaha!” Then, smiling, he turned back to Luca. “Room number seven, if you would, my lord. Thank you.”
Luca blinked and managed to nod before walking on to the doorway. That had been simple.
The hallway beyond the door was comfortably warm, and Luca pushed back his cloak. Two slaves passed him, one carrying a stack of fluffy towels and the other a tray of jars and bottles, and Luca pulled his cloak forward again to hide his telltale wrists.
Room number seven sat at the junction of two corridors. Luca pushed the door open tentatively.
The room was small but rich, all jewel-toned fabrics and dark woods. Along the right wall was a high couch padded with silky emerald and cobalt sheets, folded back invitingly. A tiny brazier warmed the air near the door, and directly opposite was a wood and stone basin, already filled with water.
Luca closed the door firmly behind him and went toward the bath itself. The water was actually flowing, a current between openings at either end of the basin. Somewhere below or behind the walls, slaves would be turning giant screws and fueling fires to supply this heated, flowing water, but here in the private room, it looked suddenly irresistible.
Luca stripped off his clothing and eased into the basin, twitching a little as the hot water stung, and sank to his chin. Relief poured over him as his water-borne limbs relaxed.
It was wonderful.
For a long, long moment he simply lay there, feeling the hot water move over and around him. There was a faintly bitter odor to the water—perhaps the heat came from natural hot springs and not only furnaces—but the perfumes in the room more than compensated. Luca turned in the bath, letting the water roll over him from a different angle, and rested his head on the stone and wooden edge.
He must have drowsed, for he wasn’t sure if he’d actually heard a knocking sound or if it had been only the water lapping around his ears. He held his breath, his heart pounding. Had he been discovered?
“Hello?” he called quietly, hoping desperately there would be no answer. There was not. Luca lowered himself into the light current once more, feeling little twinges as his muscles fought between recalled tension and warm relaxation.
At home, long ago, this would have been followed by a massage to work out stiffness from bending over desks and ledgers.
He sighed and looked at the low table set beside the bath. There were several bowls and bottles, powders, oils, and lotions. The bowl nearest him was filled with scented salt crystals, dampened and colored to match the wall hangings. Luca scooped out a handful and smeared it over his arm. Then, pleased, he rose from the water and crushed salt over his body, scraping away the sweat and dead skin and filth.
The skin over his back was still too new to be scrubbed with the big crystals. The mild abrasion felt pleasant elsewhere, however, and when he’d scoured himself he sank into the moving water again, gently rubbing it away.
There was another bowl with a milky soap, which made a delicious smooth lather. A colored glass dish held a peppermint-scented soap which he used to scrub his scalp clean. He began to wish he’d brought another set of clothes.
He stretched, his muscles lengthening like a cat’s. He had not felt this good in a long, long time. The exertion followed by the hot water and then the scrub had worked well together. He could forgo the massage of nostalgia.
There was a mirror of real glass and silver opposite the couch, and as Luca climbed out of the warm water, he paused at it.
He had not often seen himself since leaving home. He looked very different from the young man who had greeted his father’s clients and employees. He was thinner—scrawny, Shianan had called him, though he thought he’d gained some weight since—and his hair was ragged instead of carefully trimmed. Most shocking was his own face. The face in the mirror at home had usually been comfortable, content, the face of one who knew he could not outshine his elder brothers but would be satisfied with what they left. Even after his decadence here, however, his expression was wary, a little haunted. Afraid.
Luca squeezed out his dripping hair and pushed it aside, turning. Ugly pale and puckered weals crossed his back, making him flinch to see it. He turned away.
He lifted his shirt distastefully, unwilling to put the dried sweat and grime on himself again. Maybe he could wait a little longer…. He looked at the hot bath and smiled to himself. It would probably be the first time anyone had done laundry at the Kalen, but that milky lathery soap would do admirably.
He washed out the shirt, braies, and leggings—the tunic would take longer to dry, and it did not rest directly on his skin, anyway—and hung them as best he could over the low table, near the squat little brazier that warmed the room. Then he slid between the sheets on the couch, marveling at their delicious texture, and let himself drift toward sleep again.
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