Chapter Eight

 

 

ALTHOUGH IT was neither wise nor safe to do so, we stopped first at a tavern. It was a large one, dark inside and packed with people, so at least any would-be assassins would have had trouble finding us. Jory wanted wine, which they didn’t have, and had to settle for ale instead. He complained, yet he also drank three pints. As did I. If a clear mind and steady hands weren’t called for at the moment, I would have had more.

We didn’t speak much as we drank, but Jory stood closer to me than he had to, and I growled at any patron who glanced his way. It made sense for him to curry my favor and encourage my protection, but I didn’t understand why in all hells I so wanted to protect him.

After the tavern, we stopped at a food cart, where I bought us each a bowl of stew. We ate quickly, and I hoped the crowds provided camouflage from anyone who might be searching.

Then Jory led us down toward the river.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Smiths Quarter.”

“Fine. But not via the Royal Bridge.”

He squinted at me. “It’s the most direct route.”

“And the one where I’m most likely to be recognized.”

“All right.”

We took the Basilisk Bridge instead. According to legend, a basilisk once swam from the sea up the river Tangye and slithered around the city, killing people as it went, growing larger with each death. But a woman named Hedrek faced the monster and slew it, at which point the basilisk turned to stone and Hedrek threw it over the river for people to use as a bridge. It was a silly story, although the bridge was ancient, and if you squinted just right, it did resemble a snakelike creature.

Jory stared down at the water as we crossed. “I used to like to swim when I was a boy.”

“In the Tangye?” I asked incredulously. Nobody sane would enter those waters. Except the scavengers, of course, but that was how they survived.

He sighed. “No. Somewhere else.”

I could have asked him about his past, but it didn’t seem relevant to the matters at hand. And I wouldn’t know whether to believe anything he said. Instead I pointed downriver, where we could see the scavengers working under the Royal Bridge. “I started my morning down there.”

“You went for a swim?” he asked, chuckling.

“No. I looked at a corpse.”

“Why?”

I explained how and why I paid the scavengers.

“You’ve seen a lot of death today,” Jory said.

“Some days there’s a lot of death to see.”

We’d reached the opposite bank by then, a part of the Low where wretched shacks crowded against each other and the smell of shit and offal was enough to make the eyes water. The residents stared as we passed, adults and children as thin and dead-eyed as river wraiths, but none of them bothered us. They knew me—and if they didn’t respect me, at least they feared my knives.

“Is your family still in the Low?” Jory asked.

“I don’t have family.”

He set his jaw and nodded.

Eventually the surroundings improved enough to sustain some businesses. Grimy taverns, mostly, and a few whorehouses, but also a small number of shops. When we came to a tiny place with a display of cheap household sundries, Jory stopped. “Let’s go in there.”

“Why?”

“Needle and thread. For your tunic and cloak. And possibly for your arm, since you’re too stubborn to see a healer.”

I guessed we could spare a quick visit. The clerk eyed us distrustfully but fetched the supplies Jory asked for. Not just needle and thread, but also a length of plain white muslin, a packet of soap powder, and another packet of healing herbs. I paid; Jory carried.

We traveled through the Low in a roundabout way—my choice, in case anyone was paying attention. I didn’t want our route to be obvious. Getting to our destination was a slow process, and my pace slackened as we went. Especially when we began a slow climb up Sevi Hill.

As we passed a group of people squatting in the street to play dice, Jory startled me by taking my arm in his. “When is the last time you were outside the city?” he asked lightly.

“Never.” That wasn’t precisely true. On occasion I’d ventured out the Eastern Gate into Moon Harbor, which was not part of Tangye City, strictly speaking. Moon Harbor had its own mayor, council, and guard, although all operated in close cooperation with our own. There wasn’t much of interest there unless you were fond of fish, fishing boats, fishermen, and fishing supplies.

“Never?” Jory repeated, clearly a bit shocked.

“Why would I? Nothing there.” Also not precisely true. Farmland surrounded the city on all sides but the east. Beyond the farms to the north lay the Mad Forest—from which nobody had ever returned—and steep mountains to the south and west. Other kingdoms existed beyond the mountains, but travel to or from them was rare. And as for the east, some people believed ships would drop off the edge of the world five days’ sail from Tangye. I didn’t know if that was accurate, but our fishing vessels hugged the land, and the few unwary souls who decided to venture farther were never seen again.

But Jory was shaking his head. “You can escape the smoke and the squalor if you go far enough. There are places where the sky is so blue you can hear it sing, and there are pools and little streams with water clear as glass. You can breathe in those places, Daveth. People smile when they meet one another.” He paused, then hardened his voice and pasted on a brittle smile. “Those places have good wine.”

We entered Smiths Quarter with little fanfare, receiving nothing but a few passing glances from people who noticed Jory’s beauty. This particular neighborhood housed carpenters. Hammers rang against nails, saws hummed, and the air smelled pleasantly of cut wood. A few streets over, we walked by fabric merchants and tailors. The swirl of colors almost made me dizzy.

I scented leather as we passed the cobblers.

Jory noticed me cast a longing glance at a pair of tall chestnut-brown boots. “Tired of black?” he asked with a laugh.

“No. Mine are fine.”

“Yours are very fine. You’ve a taste for good footwear.”

Nothing makes a day more miserable than poorly fitting shoes—or no shoes at all. I’d rarely owned them as a boy, and my feet had always been cold.

I wasn’t exactly surprised when Jory led me to a neighborhood in which men and women lounged outside the tall, tidy buildings, smiling hopefully at those who passed by. A few taverns and restaurants dotted the area, but flesh was the primary item for sale. We approached a narrow house five stories tall, with a yellow sign hanging on the clean gray stone over the door. I wondered what the sign said but didn’t ask.

The interior smelled of perfume, strong enough to nearly make me gag. Several delicate, pretty boys not far out of adolescence lounged on the upholstered furniture. Most of them wore only scraps of diaphanous fabric, and they eyed us with mild interest as they smoked their calmsticks.

Then a gaunt woman dressed all in green appeared from somewhere. “Jory,” she said without expression or inflection.

Jory nodded at her. “Good evening, Branok.”

Some people are born into bodies that don’t match their genders. If desired, wizards can make the outside match the man or woman inside, but the magic is difficult and very expensive. Only the very wealthy can afford it. The rest accept their bodies with varying degrees of comfort and happiness. I had the sense Branok was not at all satisfied with the male body she was stuck in.

Jory and Branok stared at one another as the boys and I watched them. At last Jory granted her a tiny smile. “My friend and I need a place to stay for a day or two.”

“This is not an inn.”

“We need somewhere more discreet.”

She turned her attention to me, a scrutiny more calculating than friendly. I wondered what she saw. A thin, hard man with a rip in his good cloak?

“Twenty briquets a night,” she finally said.

Jory spoke before I could protest. “Fifteen, and we have access to the bath. We’ll be quiet. You can even give us that awful room in the attic.”

After a brief pause, she gave a jerky nod.

I handed her thirty briquets, even as I hoped that this business would be over in fewer than two nights.

Jory took my hand and pulled me down a hall to a chamber at the back of the house. The room was small, close, and warm, with a fire roaring in a corner hearth. Twin stone benches squatted in the room’s center, and against the back wall, a metal pipe led into a marble basin as tall as a half-grown child.

“Branok has a hot bath?” I asked, surprised. Usually only the wealthy could afford that magic.

“She likes her boys clean, and the bath is a draw for customers too. She gave a wizard lifetime free access to the boys in exchange for the magic. Then the guy dropped dead less than two years later, so Branok ended up with a bargain.”

He twisted a tap, sending a stream of water flowing into the basin. The water likely came from a catchment system on the roof, where rain was collected and stored. The wizard had enchanted it to warm as it ran down the pipe and into the basin.

Jory waved imperiously at me. “Strip.”

It had been years since I’d had access to a hot bath, and he didn’t have to tell me twice. I was out of my clothing quickly, pretending not to notice the way he trained his gaze on me.

When I was naked save for the bandage on my arm, I put my hands on my hips and glared. “You’d rather stare than bathe?”

“I think I can manage both. But hang on. I need to fetch a few things.”

I grabbed his arm before he could open the door. “Don’t run.”

He stroked my chest with his free hand, his touch featherlight. “I told you. I’m through with running.” Then he freed himself and left.

Alone in the little room, I examined the tile mosaics on the floor and walls and watched the basin fill. Jory was gone for so long that I nearly got dressed to chase him, but then he burst through the door with a smile and full arms.

“What’s all that?”

“Towels. Wine. This and that.” He set his burden on a bench and then stripped with quiet, economical grace.

It was my turn to stare. Every inch of him was as delectable as I’d imagined. Smooth skin over tight muscles. A mere dusting of body hair nearly invisible for its paleness. Pink nipples and a plump, soft sex. And gods and goddesses, the smooth rounds of his ass! I realized I was licking my lips and made myself stop—but not before Jory saw it and laughed.

“You’d rather stare than bathe?” he teased, standing hipshot and grinning.

“Yes.”

He laughed again, low and sultry. “You flatter me.”

“Don’t pretend you’re unaware of your… splendor.”

“You’re making me sound like a diamond necklace. Or one of those statues in the Royal Quarter.”

“Diamonds are cold and hard, and none of those statues possess your beauty.”

To my surprise, he blushed and ducked his head.

A moment later he was all business. He spread a towel on the empty bench and pointed at it. “Sit.”

I did, and although I craned my neck, I couldn’t make out what he was doing with a small bowl at the basin. Apparently satisfied that the basin was full enough, he turned off the tap and sat next to me.

“I should be going to Arthyen now,” I protested as he unwound the bandage from my arm.

“Tss. Your skin is hot. You’re brewing an infection. And the hour is growing late. Do you really want to walk all the way back to the Silver Quarter tonight?”

No, I didn’t, especially since I didn’t know what would await me at the wizard’s. I hissed when Jory spread bitter-scented ointment on my wound. “What’s that?”

“Wax. Oil. Herbs. Branok keeps it around because her boys are always getting small injuries.”

“From their customers?” I growled.

“Not unless the boy likes it that way, no. She doesn’t run that kind of house. But when they’re not working, they’re drinking. And then they fall or they cut their finger when they’re trying to slice fruit.” He shrugged. “Things like that.”

“Or they stumble when they take trance-drops.”

“Branok doesn’t allow that.”

“You know a great deal about Branok’s house.”

He gave me a long look, then shook his head and wrapped my arm in a fresh bandage. “We are going to drink this wine,” he said when he was done. “And bathe. And as we do, you can ask me those questions waiting on the tip of your tongue, and you’ll tell me some things about yourself.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Now, that’s a bald lie. Wait.”

I watched him fetch us each a generous glassful of wine. Though I wanted to touch him, just observing him was a heady experience. I could do so for years, I thought. This must be what it’s like to dream under trance-drops.

We both drained our glasses quickly, and he refilled them. Then he dipped a bowl into the basin and carried it to the bench. He sprinkled in some of the soap powder, swirled to form thick suds, and moistened a small towel. These were actions I was certain he’d performed many times before.

He sat beside me and, cradling my jaw with one hand, gently urged me to turn toward him. He began to wash my face as slowly and delicately as a parent might bathe an infant.

“I was born in the Royal Quarter,” he said softly. “My family is very minor nobility, but we hold a title nonetheless. We lived ten minutes’ walk from the castle. My parents liked to entertain. Vast, glittering parties where I would hide in a corner and listen to the musicians. Once the crown prince attended—before he became a recluse, of course—and he found me in my hiding place. I was… eleven? Twelve, perhaps. I thought he might scold me or tell my parents, but instead he brought me a cake and a small tumbler of wine. He wasn’t really much older than me.”

It was a pretty story, but possibly a fabrication. Well, not completely so. I believed that he was born among blue bloods. That idyllic place he’d mentioned in the countryside was probably his family’s summer palace. In any case, my eyes were closed and my skin tingling as he washed me, and for the moment I didn’t care about the truth.

I kept my eyes shut when Jory finished with my face and moved on to my arms. He continued his tale as he went. “A few years later, I fell in love with an entirely unsuitable boy.”

“A servant?”

“A Lowler. His family owned a tavern some of my friends and I liked to visit when we were feeling daring. He and I used to steal a bit of time together, talking about running away and finding a quiet life together in one of those tiny farming hamlets. I don’t know how I thought we’d survive. The young are foolish.”

Not just the young, I thought as he moved the damp cloth in slow circles over my chest.

Jory interrupted his story long enough to dump the bowl into a drain on the floor, refill it, and add more soap. This time, instead of sitting, he stood behind me and cleaned my back.

“My parents found out,” he said with a sigh. “Ordered me never to see him again. I refused. I was never their favorite anyway. Mother favored my older brother, and one of my sisters was Father’s favorite. They cut me off from the family name and fortune, then cast me out with nothing but the clothes on my back.” He said it lightly, but I heard the echoes of old pain. I could understand that ache even if I’d never been wealthy, even if my mother had died instead of throwing me out. Either way, we had been young and alone.

“Your lover?” I prompted, although I suspected I knew the rest.

“Turned out to be less enamored of me when I was poor.” He lightly tapped my back. “Stand.”

I did, and he continued to speak as his able hands cleansed my buttocks—my knees almost went wobbly at that—and the backs of my thighs. “I had nowhere to go. My friends wanted nothing to do with me. And I had only two things of value: my voice and my looks. I ended up here at Branok’s. I told myself I’d just sing for the customers as they drank in the drawing room, nothing more, but of course I did a great deal more almost at once. Much more pay in it.”

I craned my neck to look at him over my shoulder. “There’s no shame in it. We do what we must to survive.”

“Did you ever sell yourself?”

“Not that way, no. I never had the looks for it.” But I’d sold myself in other ways, hadn’t I?

Jory pushed me back onto the bench. After another refill of the bowl, he came around to crouch in front of me, and that was almost more than I could stand. Even with my eyes squeezed shut again, my cock grew rigid in my lap. Jory kept his touch dispassionate, though, handling me as if getting me clean was his only concern—except for an extra bit of rubbing that nearly drove me insane.

When he stopped, I opened my eyes. He knelt between my splayed knees, as erect as I was, his eyes bright.

“I could use my mouth,” he rasped. “I’m very talented. Or—”

“No.”

“Are you a religious man taking a month of abstinence?” he asked, his tone lightly mocking.

“I don’t know who you are.”

“I just told you. Cast-out nobleman’s son, sometime whore and entertainer.”

“That’s not the whole truth of you.”

“Does that matter?”

“Yes,” I whispered. His eyes could burn me, reduce me to nothing but ashes. But I didn’t look away.

He pushed himself to his feet and drank down the contents of his wineglass and mine. Then he filled them again. He set the bowl on my lap. “It’s my turn.”

“I won’t be as skilled at it.”

“You’ll be skilled enough.”

He took my spot on the bench. Some of the water sloshed over the edges when I brought the bowl over, but enough remained for my purposes.

Copying his earlier efforts, I worked up a lather, cupped his cheek, and began to wash his face. Such smooth skin. If he ever grew a beard, there was no sign of it now. And apart from when I moved the towel very near them, he kept his eyes wide open. Watching my face.

“Have you ever tried recontacting your family?” I asked. “Perhaps over time they’ve changed their minds.”

“They haven’t. They must know at least some of what I’ve been doing, and they would not approve.”

“You’re a very good singer,” I pointed out.

“Maybe. But when I grow a little older and lose my looks, will anyone still want to listen?”

I would.

I turned my attention to his wiry arms.

“And none of them will speak to you?” I pressed.

“I haven’t tried. I do have some pride left, you know. The only relative I’ve communicated with in years is a distant cousin.”

I stopped cleaning his hand and looked at him. “Lord Uren?”

“You are very good at your work. But I’m tired of talking about myself, and I don’t know anything at all about you.”

“You do. I was born in a whorehouse in the Low. One not nearly as nice as this.”

“And?”

“And nothing. You’ve spent time in the Low. You know how children there live.”

With a fresh bowl of water, I began on his back. I wanted to suck on his nape. I wanted to scrape my teeth along his shoulder bones and nibble on his spine. I wanted to kneel behind him, tracing my tongue over the swell of his buttocks, down into the crevice between—

I jerked back, splashing myself.

“What happened to your parents, Daveth?”

“Never had a father. And my mother swallowed too many trance-drops.”

“How old were you?”

“I don’t know. Nine or ten.” It was easier to discuss this when I couldn’t see his face, so I remained behind him, watching his muscles shift with his small movements.

“How did you survive?”

“However I could. I’d do small jobs like running errands or sweeping a tavern floor. I found discarded food and slept in alleys. I occasionally stole a coin or a piece of fruit from the unwary. I’d sneak into the posher quarters at night and take the coins people had thrown into fountains for luck.”

“A hard life.”

I considered this a moment. “Yes. But it made me strong. I learned to fight because I had to—and eventually I became very good at it.”

“I saw that today.”

Though he couldn’t see me, I shook my head. That had been nothing. Those men had not been trained as killers and were poor at their job. I could have beaten them when I was still a child.

After a moment, I came around to his front and, just as he had, knelt. I’m sure I wasn’t as graceful at it, and my knees protested at once, but I ignored them and focused instead on the sweet soft-firmness of his balls and the rigid length of his cock. I felt gratified when my ministrations produced a strangled gasp and when he strained not to flex his hips into my touch.

Then he settled a hand on my shoulder, almost undoing me. “How did you go from that desperate little boy to this capable man?”

Capable. Is that what I was? “I joined the city guard.”

“The guard! That’s highly unusual for a Lowler.” He kept the one hand on my shoulder but worked the fingers of the other through my hair, which struck me as odd because I’d been dying to do the same to him. Somehow it seemed our most intimate contact yet, even though I was tenderly washing the creases between his thighs and torso.

He tugged lightly at my hair as if trying to focus my attention. “Why the guard?”

“It… they pay decently. Better than any other honest work I’d find.”

“Perhaps. But that’s not why you joined them.”

What was I supposed to tell him? That I’d been an idealistic fool? A simpleton who believed that wearing that showy uniform would help me magically shed the wretchedness of my origins? I’d pictured myself a hero of sorts, proving to the world through my valiant feats that I was better than the filth from which I’d crawled.

“Daveth?” Jory insisted.

I chose a better option than answering him—I slid my mouth over the head of his cock.

He made a strangled noise, and his grip on my hair and shoulder became almost painful, but he stopped asking questions. Instead he spread his knees wide and canted his hips, giving himself over to me completely.

It had been a very long time since I’d had another man in my mouth, but I’d once been quite good at this, and my body remembered what to do. I tasted his skin and felt the thickness of him against my tongue and palate, and I toyed with the soft, springy curls at his root.

I forgot the discomfort of my knees on the tile and the insistent ache at my own groin, concentrating on filling my senses with him. His ragged breaths and soft moans formed a chorus as sweet as anything I’d heard him sing, and the sight of him with eyes closed and lip caught in his teeth was more intoxicating than any ale.

He spilled with a barely coherent blasphemy, and I swallowed until he was done, then licked him clean. I stood, and when he reached for me, I stepped back.

“I can—”

“No,” I interrupted firmly. I crossed the room and reached for my clothes, but he moved quickly behind me and grabbed my arm.

“What are you punishing yourself for?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

His sigh tickled the back of my neck. “I’ll pay one of the boys to wash our clothes and repair the knife-rends.”

“And leave me naked in the meantime?”

He let me go and fetched something from the pile on the bench. It turned out to be a pair of soft trousers made of thin cotton fabric. They’d been tailored for someone shorter than me and with a bigger belly, but a drawstring allowed me to cinch the waist tight. I must have looked ridiculous. Jory, of course, was resplendent in his flimsy trousers.

He pulled the plug to drain the basin and then, when I thought he’d depleted his magic, produced a wooden comb.

“Untangle me?” he asked as he handed it to me.

He stood, drinking the last of the wine, while I finally had the chance to touch those sunshine curls. They were as soft as I’d imagined.

Leaving the bottles, glasses, and towels for someone else to deal with, he handed me my knife-belt, purse, and boots, then gathered everything else in his arms. I followed him down the hall. He had a brief conversation with a short dark-eyed boy—I didn’t bother to listen—and gave the youth most of our things. If the boy was surprised, he didn’t show it.

We climbed four long flights of stairs.

After Jory opened a door at the top, we both had to stoop to enter. I expected dirt and dust, scurrying insects, rodent droppings. The comforts of home. But the long, narrow room appeared quite clean if sparely furnished. It contained little but a sleeping pallet and chamber pot. The walls were whitewashed and unadorned, the angled ceiling just beams and wooden planks.

“Rough accommodations,” I said, thinking of his bright apartment.

“I’m sure we’ve both slept in worse. I like this room. There’s a view out the window.” He waved, but darkness had fallen long ago and I didn’t bother to look. Then he grinned. “And you see that little door over there? It leads to the house next door.”

“That could be handy.”

Smiling, he took my knife-belt and hung it on a hook. He tucked my purse into my boots, which he set near the door. “Another good thing about this room is no noisy footsteps overhead.”

“Was this where you lived when you were here?”

“Yes. I think it was intended to humble me. The more experienced boys didn’t like climbing all those stairs. But I quite liked it.” He chuckled softly. “Branok called me her bird since I like to sing and be up high.”

And then, as if the topic flowed naturally, he asked me, “Why aren’t you in the guard any longer?”

“I haven’t been for years.”

“That doesn’t answer me.”

I considered dropping to my knees and taking him in my mouth again, but I didn’t have the energy. I rubbed the back of my neck and then the bandage that covered my arm. I wished I’d drunk more wine. “I was posted in the Silver Quarter. It was an easy posting, mostly walking the streets and trying to look fierce. It makes the merchants feel safer. But then one of the merchants said that an expensive knife went missing from his shop after I’d been inside.” I shrugged. “He sold very fine blades. I often went in to look at them when I had a few minutes free.”

Jory kept his distance from me, his face hard to read in the dimly lit room. “And?”

“And my captain found the knife in the wooden chest I kept under my bed.”

He nodded as if he’d known this all along. “Did you steal it?”

“What does it matter? The knife was with my things and I’m a Lowler. Everybody knows how we are.” I could still see the bitter disdain on my fellow guards’ faces. “I was fortunate. They could have hung me for the theft, but my sergeant interceded and I was simply thrown out.” Myghal had been the only one who entertained the notion I might be innocent, but I’m not certain even he believed it. He saved my life, though, for which I was grateful.

“Come to bed, Daveth.”

Meekly I obeyed, sighing as I stretched out on the pallet. Jory lay close and pulled a blanket over us. The bedding smelled of lavender and witchbane. He reached over and doused the lantern, bathing us in darkness.

And then he snuggled close and rearranged me like a doll until my head rested on his shoulder. He smoothed the skin on my back. Not so much an amorous embrace as a comforting one. I let myself pretend, just for a few minutes. I was being greedy, but it was a tiny luxury in a life that held so few.

Jory kissed the top of my head. Silly. “You didn’t steal that knife.”

“They found it with my things.”

“Just because a man has a thing he’s not supposed to, it doesn’t mean he stole it.”

His soft hand and warm body were lulling me to sleep, and I didn’t respond to his statement.

“Who set you up?” he asked. “And why? Just because you’re from the Low?”

I mumbled an answer. “Because I’m a fool.”

“You don’t strike me as foolish at all.”

“Some of the guards in our company would make certain Lowlers pay a tax for walking through other quarters to find work. If the Lowlers didn’t hand over their few pathetic briquets, the guards would beat them. If the Lowlers had no coins, the guards took it in trade.” The guards reserved that final option for the young ones, of course, the ones fair of face. Some of them were hardly more than children.

Jory’s next question came out like a sigh. “And?”

“And I wouldn’t. I tried to tell my sergeant, my captain.” Myghal had told me to ignore it—happened all the time, he said. “But my captain refused to hear the entire story.”

I expected more questions. Instead, Jory began to sing. And it was a fucking lullaby. He continued his hand’s soothing movements and kept his voice hardly above a whisper, singing about a peaceful forest where lucky wanderers lost all their troubles.

I’ve never cried. Not when I was a small child and my belly was empty. Not when I found my mother cold and stiff on the floor. But in Jory’s arms, I fell asleep with wet eyes and his music dancing in my head.