by Kirby Crow
“Scrats, sire?”
“Whores of the alleyways with no protectors or owners. Scrats are the lowest of prostitutes. They have no masters, belong to no brothels, and no one cares what happens to them. They’re fair game to the bravos, for robbery and for rape.”
Margun shrugged.
“You do not care for whores?”
Margun smiled suddenly and Liall saw that his teeth were a bit crooked, with sharp canines. “Whores are fine, in their place. I’m a man after all, so I’ve paid my share of them.”
“Poor treatment of them would not distress you?”
“I merely think that any whore’s accusations would be difficult to prove.”
“Just so. And?”
The grin persisted. “So perhaps the bravos are not so mindless, after all.”
Liall grunted and poured a cup of wine for Margun. “Sit.” He slid the cup toward him. “Tell me what punishment you would have handed out for a bravo who was somehow prosecuted.”
Margun sat and reached carefully for the wine. He looked down into the cup for a moment before drinking. “What is the punishment for rape in Volkovoi?”
“Castration and death by fire, if committed on a noble, whether man or woman.”
“What about the common men and women? They at least have some rights, I assume?”
“A few. Noble blood is not as rare in the south as here, but they’re even more proud of it. A flogging and a heavy fine would be the punishment for rape of a commoner. Perhaps even death, if the victim were young or a virgin. There are few prisons in the ports, so incarceration would not be an option.”
“And for a scrat?”
Liall tapped his cup with his ring-finger. He did not approve of this man yet, but neither did he dislike him. It was clear that Margun was used to thinking and knowing the facts before he answered. “For a scrat, nothing. Of course, nothing.”
“This is assuming I would be the man in charge of maintaining the peace in this loathsome port? Very well.” Margun drained the rest of his wine in one gulp and placed the cup back on the table. “Then I would find the woman or boy the bravo had raped, and I would bring the man to them. I would let them watch as I cut off the bravo’s privates and stuffed them in his mouth.” He slid a fingertip down the side of the sweating cup and raised his eyes to meet Liall’s.
A changeable nature, Liall thought. His eyes turn dark when he’s angry.
“Rape is a foul act,” Margun said. “Moreover, it is unnecessary, especially for men like us who can find or pay for partners quite easily. For these bravos... their Rshani blood would assure that few could fight them off, and their pay should have been more than enough to buy the poor goods they were taking by force. I would be left with the conclusion that it was their natural inclination to be so foul and there was no chance of repentance.”
“I’m certain there would be some repentance at the moment of incision,” Liall said, amused despite the grisly conversation.
“Yes, but only for being caught, not for the crime.”
Liall tilted his cup to Margun, signaling a victory. “And now to the real question: how do you expect a Hilurin to act?”
Margun’s eyebrows drew together and he breathed in deeply. “May I speak plainly?”
“Oh, please do. I’ve no dearth of courtiers willing to lie to me.”
“I am not a courtier, sire.”
Liall nodded. “Go on.”
“You are the king of Rshan and a Camira-Druz. If you choose to take a Hilurin into your bed, it’s not my place to say it’s wrong. I won’t criticize my king or question his decisions. I was a boy, then I was a soldier, then I was a Setna. Now I’m a soldier again, but without a command. Jarek doesn’t want me on her flank and I can’t say I blame her, but I’m not ready to go into retirement and I believe I can still be of use to you. If you think I’m the man to guard your consort and keep him safe from your enemies, to wear his badge and to kneel and pledge him—and you—my loyalty, then I will do it. I know nothing of Hilurin. I’m sure I will make mistakes with him, but they will be ones of etiquette, not security.”
Margun stood and put his hand on his hip where his sword would have been if Tesk had let him into the room armed. “I will tell you this: If you choose me as master ser Keriss’s guard, I will die before seeing him come to the slightest harm. I swear this on my honor.”
“You’ll swear by more than that.” Liall looked up. He could afford no misunderstandings now, no insincere courtly words or polite mouthings about honor. “If he is harmed under your care, or taken by my enemies, I will take more than honor away from you. You have a son in Sul, yes? Some by-blow from a lady who is barely fit to be in noble company. For your boy’s sake, I sincerely hope you’re fond of him.” He took a scroll from his desk and tossed it on the table between them. “Here is a list of your family, your friends, your acquaintances, your lovers past and present... even the name of a courtesan you favor, and your pet hawk. Be assured that none of them are beyond my reach, should you fail me.”
He watched how Margun took his threat. The man didn’t even blink.
“You may go.”
Margun bowed and turned. He hadn’t inquired if the appointment was his.
When the door closed after him, Liall sent for Alexyin. His once- tutor bowed at the door, and bowed once more when he came closer. Propriety, that was Alexyin’s weakness. He could abide nothing out of place.
“Tesk chose well,” Liall said gruffly. “How many candidates were there in all?”
“Six, sire. Five were men of my choosing. Margun is the only man Tesk put forth.”
Liall pulled at a bit of loose skin on the pad of his thumb where a blister had broken. “I’ve been practicing a great deal lately,” he mused aloud. “My swordmaster says I’m improving over the Morturii style I acquired in Kalaslyn, but I despair of ever being as good as I was.”
“Nevoi is a true master,” Alexyin said in rare praise.
“There were few great swordsmen in Byzantur, nothing to compare with him,” Liall agreed. “Or at least, none that I ever met, thank the gods.” He sighed. “This man. Margun. How close are you to him?”
“Not in the least. We were on opposite sides of the schism during the Tribeland campaigns. Jarek wanted his head in a basket and his balls adorning the fangs of a snow bear. I advised against it and the matter went before the queen, who banished Margun to the Setna.”
“Who tempered him somewhat, one hopes.” Liall rubbed his nose and realized he was fidgeting. “How does Tesk know him?”
“They were boyhood friends. He campaigned for Margun’s life most fervently with the queen. He said there were precious few men of conscience left in the world, and we could not afford to waste even one.”
“I’d have to trust him to be with Scarlet a great deal,” Liall hedged. “At least he’s not handsome.”
Alexyin only smiled and plucked at the hem of his sleeve.
“Oh?” Liall’s brows went up.
“I think what the king means is that Margun is not his kind of handsome. It’s been my observation that you prefer prettier men for yourself. I don’t believe the ladies of the court share your view on the matter of ser Margun.”
“As long as Scarlet does, I don’t particularly care,” Liall said crossly. Damn it all, why did Alexyin always make him feel so obvious?
“My lord did not particularly specify that the man should be ugly,” Alexyin pointed out.
I guess that’s his notion of being delicate. Liall saw the wine was nearly empty and wished for another bottle, but did not call for the steward. That’s another thing I’m doing too much of. I can’t drown my desire in my cups. The wine here is very good, though, and it makes me yearn for Scarlet less. I have to make more time to see him, more time for the both of us. I’ll do it tonight.
He pushed the scroll of Margun’s particulars into the desk. “Cancel the meeting with the emissary of Hnir tonight. No... wait. Delay it. Don’t cancel. Not after
that speech I made today.” He made a face, then turned his back and busied himself sorting scrolls. When he heard the door open, he assumed Alexyin had left.
Alexyin cleared his throat. Liall looked up and saw Scarlet in the doorway. He looked unsure of himself, as he always did when encountering Alexyin.
Liall waved him in. “Come, come. I was hoping you weren’t busy.”
Scarlet smiled and limped inside, favoring the injured leg a little less than before. He wore a smoke-gray virca trimmed in crimson, with a black velvet collar and a heavy, filigreed silver necklace draped over his shoulders. With his scant height and black hair, he looked like a sketch out of some storybook, delicate and otherworldly, a magical foreign prince out of legend.
Liall hugged him tightly, bending his neck to smell the sweetness of his hair. “You’ve been using that scented soap again,” he murmured close to Scarlet’s ear. “I like that.”
Alexyin watched the two of them for a moment before leaving silently, which gave Liall a feeling of unease. Alexyin could not move past Cestimir’s death. It was as if he believed his life had ended with Cestimir’s. Alexyin had lost the focus of his life, not once, but twice now, and Liall worried that he would not be able to find it again. Perhaps Jochi shouldn’t be the only Setna to return to the Blackmoat.
Scarlet slipped his hands up Liall’s back and hugged him in return. “I was wondering if you were going to avoid me all night.”
“You know very well I haven’t been avoiding you.”
Scarlet kissed Liall’s neck and touched his tongue to his skin, and Liall felt a shiver go up his back. So I like prettier men than Margun, do I? Well, this one is quite the prettiest I’ve ever seen, but I love him for more than his beauty.
“Keep that up and I’ll have to lock the door,” Liall murmured, reaching down to cup one firm buttock in his hand. He squeezed. “Good thing you landed on your leg and not this.”
“I’d have had to sleep on my belly for a while.”
“How terrible for me.”
Scarlet chuckled and nipped his ear. “Are you going to spend the evening with me or not?”
“Biting now, are we?” Liall growled playfully and pretended to devour Scarlet’s neck. “But it’s your old wolf who has a taste for you tonight. Ooh, and you’re so tender...”
They tussled and laughed and held each other, until the door opened unannounced. Liall frowned and looked over Scarlet’s shoulder. He saw Alexyin had returned with a scroll in his hand. A messenger in the purple baronial tabard of Tebet trailed behind him.
One look at Alexyin’s face told Liall that something was wrong. Scarlet looked too, and cursed under his breath. He tried to pull away.
Liall held his arms locked about Scarlet, reluctant to let him go so soon. “No, wait.”
“You know bloody well whatever he’s come for will take time,” Scarlet murmured.
Liall let him go. His arms felt empty.
“I’ll be in our rooms,” Scarlet said. “Send word when you’re coming, please. Or if you’re not.”
Liall almost called him back, but Alexyin was watching and it was too late. Scarlet was gone, a slender figure retreating down the long hallway. Liall set his jaw and glared at Alexyin.
“What?” he asked flatly.
Alexyin held out the scroll. Liall took it and broke the seal. He scanned the message and his eyes narrowed to slits. He crumpled the scroll in his fist.
“You are his man?” he asked the messenger. The man was older and his boots and purple tabard were spattered with mud; a sign he had ridden in haste and not stopped to freshen before presenting himself at court.
The messenger bowed briefly. “I am Baron Ressanda’s messenger, sire. Shall I take your answer to him?”
Alexyin nodded. “I’ll fetch the scribe.”
“Hold.” Liall stepped forward and locked eyes with the messenger. The man bowed his head deeper. “Baron Ressanda wants an answer. Does he think he can bully his king with...” Liall shredded the paper and dropped it at the messenger’s feet. “With this feeble threat? There’s more strength in watered wine than in this missive.”
The messenger looked at his boots. “I’m sure my lord meant no threat whatsoever to his king, sire. I’m certain of it.”
“Be certain of this instead,” Liall returned coldly. “Be certain I will not be pressured to bestow a crown on any House that would deny my kingdom the safety of arms, or of aid when it is called for. Be certain I will remember those who came when the king sounded the horn of war, and those who sat in their castles waiting to see which way the tide turned. Treason is a short rope to hang one’s self with, messenger. Tell that to your good baron, and tell him I expect the men I commanded of him to report to Khatai Jarek at the fortress of Starhold at once. All of them. Not one man less.”
“But my lord,” the messenger stammered.
“Get out.”
The man fled.
“Close the door,” Liall said to Alexyin. He strode to the desk and picked up the wine bottle to pour the last of it into his cup. “Send to my consort that I will be some time here. He should sleep.”
Alexyin looked uncomfortable. “Perhaps I should have made the messenger wait.”
“You did the right thing.” Liall sipped the wine but it was tasteless and unsatisfying to him. “Ressanda feels his power at last, does he? He would never have dared challenge my lady mother so. I don’t know whether to be alarmed at that or happy that Tebet feels so secure against the north. The eastern baronies seem strong enough to withstand what is happening here.”
“Was there a challenge in his missive?”
“Not that you could tell from the subject matter. He’s too smart to put that in writing. Ressanda merely stated that the soldiers I commanded of him would be delayed in their arrival. He mentioned Ressilka and sent her noble regards.”
“Meaning that a future queen would be in much more haste to aid her royal betrothed, if such a match were confirmed openly.”
Liall raised his cup to toast the east. “Here’s to Ressanda. Not exactly a master of tact, is he? He makes it plain that his military support depends upon whether or not I put a crown on his daughter’s little red head.”
Alexyin cleared his throat. “The noble Lady Ressilka is very lovely as well as skilled in matters of—”
Liall slammed his cup down so hard that he spattered his virca with wine. “I don’t care if she can dance with a dinner table on her head. I don’t want her, Alexyin! Lovely and capable as she is, I don’t want her and I don’t want to hurt Scarlet. He’s compromised so much for me already. I can’t ask this of him.”
Alexyin frowned and folded his arms. “Pardon me, sire, but what exactly has ser Keriss given up for you? He’s exchanged being a poor peasant trader surviving on the edge of the Bledlands for living in a palace as the consort of a king. How is that a step down?”
Liall looked at Alexyin with pity. “You miss the heart of this by a league. You don’t understand Hilurin at all, or you would never ask that. I can see why you don’t like each other.”
“I never said that, my lord.”
“You don’t like him,” Liall snapped. “Do you think Scarlet should feel honored that he’s halfway around the world from everything he knows and loves and is familiar with? He’s surrounded by strangeness, hostility, danger, and fear here. He stays only for me, Alexyin. Not for the soft silks in his bed or the luxury or for the gold that could be his just for the asking. None of that means much to a true Hilurin, and Scarlet is the truest I’ve ever known. Family is their deity, as much as that almighty hearth-goddess they pray to day and night. Loyalty is valued over possessions or rank, and a Hilurin man without a family is counted as being worth very little. Scarlet stays in Rshan for me, and no other reason.” He looked away, his throat tight. “He is the only man I’ve ever known who loved me solely for myself, who wants nothing of me in return except myself. I’m not a king to him. I’m his lover and his love. He has made me his f
amily, and he trusts me utterly. You don’t know what that means to me. Or to him.”
Alexyin’s face was cold, unmoved. “And just how could he leave?”
Liall’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“I said: how could he leave?” Alexyin repeated. “He must stay in Rshan, with you, whether he wishes to or no. He has no choice. What ship would bear him, a lenilyn outlander? Who in your entire kingdom would aid him in abandoning his king? No one. So it’s rather a poor virtue to say he stays for you when he cannot possibly do otherwise.”
“I’m not Scarlet’s king and he is not my prisoner!” Liall flared.
Alexyin merely looked at him. “You would release him and send him home if he asked it of you?”
Liall closed his mouth. “He wouldn’t ask,” he said after a moment. “He does not wish to leave me.”
“And how do you really know that, if he never has the choice?”
“He’s chosen already. He asked me to take him to Rshan. I did. I gave him the choice to leave me before I was made king. He didn’t want it. What shall I do, chase after him day and night whining to know if he wishes to leave me? Deva’s shrieking hell, he’s not an infant!”
“Why are you so angry, sire?”
“Because—” Liall groped for words. He raked his hair back and sighed. “Because I don’t deserve his love. I’ve done... the things I’ve done with my life have not been worthy of the blood I carry. You don’t know, Alexyin. I wasn’t a good man in Byzantur. I was a common thief in the Omara hills before I was a Kasiri. When I became an atya, I was still a thief, but I had a krait full of lawless nomads behind me to call it a culture rather than a crime. Anyone who wasn’t a Kasiri was fair game, and when someone got in our way and would not be moved, we didn’t bargain or send messengers or sign a treaty. We killed him.”