“You’re going to have a great scar,” Nestor proclaimed. From deep inside a haze of duera, Kiram gave him a slow, distracted nod. He had never had cause to drink the painkiller before; how completely it altered his perception surprised him.
Rambling corridors of vending wagons and open tents spread out in every direction around Kiram. Many of the tents served as small theatres. Several brightly-costumed musicians accompanied masked actors, and others played for acrobats as they flipped and twisted. Now and then the odd dancing bear or trained monkey was brought on stage. Once Kiram glimpsed a scantily clad woman holding a large snake around her waist. Then a man in a velvet coat pulled the tent flaps closed.
Between the theater tents, merchants’ stalls brimmed with countless diverse goods. Just in the small area Kiram had explored so far there were cut flowers and bolts of cloth, strings of beads, garlands of garlic, powdered saints’ bones, horse shoes, red squash, arrowheads, chests of spices, ivory dice and jars of pressed sunflower oil. Men in piebald coats and extravagant hats wandered the open grounds hawking dueling knives, exotic perfumes and decks of blessed cards. Their offers hardly carried over the noise of the surrounding crowds.
The wild shouts of the fair criers, bartering merchants and music blurred through Kiram’s drugged thoughts. The vivid colors of the painted sign and red striped tent in front of him seemed to jump and waver before his eyes.
A man brushed past Kiram leading his newly purchased goat. A few yards away, two youths shouted out enticements as they held up squealing black piglets. A dog raced past with a haunch of roasted lamb in its mouth and two plump women came running after it shouting insults and threats, which Kiram doubted would help to attract the dog. He took a breath and thought he could smell every creature that had ever lived.
Beside him, Nestor held his kerchief and studied the yellow butterflies embroidered in the corners. He looked almost guilty when he noticed Kiram watching him and he quickly tucked the kerchief back into the pocket of his academy uniform.
“Your arm’s not hurting you, is it?”
Slowly, Kiram’s attention drifted down to his own forearm. A long red seam of broken skin was surrounded by a wide expanse of deep purple bruises. Black silk stitches laced the wound closed like the ribbons of a lady’s dress. It was almost pretty, though it looked like it should hurt.
“I’m not feeling a thing.” Kiram swayed and Nestor braced him.
“Steady now,” Nestor said. “Scholar Donamillo gave you a very strong dose. Maybe we should find a place to sit down.”
“No, I’m fine.” Kiram shook his head. The sensation of his hair swinging against his neck distracted him; then he focused his concentration. “We have to see the fair with Javier. We’re going to meet dirty Irabiim and have our fortunes told and probably get robbed.”
“I’d rather not be robbed,” Nestor commented.
“Where’s Javier?” Kiram suddenly demanded. He stared around him. Three girls hurried after their mother with piglets clutched in their arms. A group of Yillar students passed by and then ducked into a striped tent. But Javier was nowhere to be seen.
“He’s getting us some food,” Nestor said. “He’s only been gone a few minutes, you know.”
“I know. I know,” Kiram said and suddenly he had the urge to be completely honest with Nestor.
“I want to see him. But can I? No. Who could? I mean, I honestly want to, but it’s just so stupid. Look at where we are.” Kiram waved vaguely at a man with puppets on his hands. “Is this the kind of place for that?”
“Puppets?” Nestor didn’t seem to have really grasped Kiram’s confession. Kiram tried again.
“This isn’t Anacleto,” Kiram pronounced firmly. “And even if it were, Javier is still going to have to buy a damn monkey and —my god! Look at that pig!” All of Kiram’s thoughts of Javier’s obligations to wed and his own duties to his family instantly dispersed before the amazing girth of a huge black boar with painted gold tusks. The colossal animal trailed behind an old woman who led it by a chain attached to a ring in the end of its nose. Despite the packed crowd, people stepped aside giving the woman and her boar a wide berth.
Nestor grinned. “He’s big, isn’t he?”
“He is one of the old gods brought low by mortal flesh!” Kiram pronounced. The idea felt amazingly profound. A moment later, with the boar out of sight, Kiram forgot it completely.
“Where’s Javier gotten off to?” Kiram demanded.
“He’s gone to the kingdom of Yuan.”
“What? That bastard!”
“Oh, look, there he is.” Nestor pointed past the pig sellers, to a tall man with jet-black hair. An older, bland-looking man and two women stood with him. One of the women looked about sixty and wore a widow’s veil over her white hair. The younger woman resembled the man in her plain features but Kiram guessed she was only sixteen or so. All three of the people wore black bands of mourning around the sleeves of their fine silk clothes. The black-haired man was dressed in a blue academy uniform and smiled widely up at the sky.
“That’s Fedeles,” Kiram said.
“Is it?” Nestor squinted intently. Fedeles caught sight of the two of them and waved both his arms in the air as if he were flagging down a passing ship. “Yeah, that’s Fedeles all right.”
Fedeles pushed and danced his way through the crowd. The Quemanors followed him, though they looked annoyed by the effort. Fedeles easily outdistanced them, having no inclination to either apologize for or excuse his intrusions.
“Firaj! Firaj!” Fedeles shouted and he hugged Kiram to him with bruising force, shoving his face into Kiram’s hair with the rough propriety of a dog snuffling someone’s crotch.
“Careful, Fedeles.” Nestor pulled him back. “Kiram’s hurt.”
Fedeles looked shocked and quickly disengaged. He peered at Kiram’s stitches and whimpered. Then he patted Kiram’s head. “Don’t run away. It hurts but don’t run away.”
“I won’t.” It was surprising how much Fedeles resembled Javier physically and yet his mind was so different. Though there were moments, just instants, when Kiram thought he could see Javier’s expressions on Fedeles’ face. A thoughtful frown would flash across his sharp features only to be engulfed in a maniacal grin.
It was almost like Kiram’s thoughts right now, as he floated through a drugged haze. There were moments of clarity, which the duera distorted and consumed, so that he could hardly communicate. Was that how Fedeles felt?
“You are trying to tell me something, aren’t you?” Kiram asked.
“Yes, yes!” Fedeles hugged Kiram to him again fiercely, hissing into his ear. “He wants to kill Lunaluz. Help us.”
“Who?” Kiram demanded.
“Pretty!” Fedeles released his grip on Kiram and lunged after a flower seller. Nestor sprang forward and caught his arm.
“Fedeles. No!” Nestor said. “Look, your family is here. See?”
Fedeles’ grandmother gazed at him with a look of long suffering affection. Fedeles smiled, but sadly, as if he knew how his behavior horrified her, as if some sane, dignified aspect of himself was trapped within his madness, witness to all this humiliatingly childish activity but utterly helpless to stop it.
Kiram wondered if being drugged really was offering him an insight into Fedeles’ mind or if the idea was itself a delusion of the duera coursing through his bloodstream. At the moment it felt like genuine insight.
He turned to Fedeles and clutched his hand.
“Don’t give up, Fedeles,” Kiram said. “I’ll find a way to get you free. Nestor and I, we’re both looking for a way.”
“Brave ponies!” Fedeles threw his arms around both of them.
“Lord Quemanor.” Nestor pulled free of Fedeles’ grip and bowed his head to Fedeles’ father. “It’s good to see you at the tournament. We missed you last year.”
“Thank you for your compliments, young Master Grunito. Your good manners lead me to believe that you will understand why we have no wish to remain in your company at present.”
Kiram wriggled free of Fedeles’ arm, scowling at Fedeles’ father. What had he just said? It had sounded like a kind of insult but Kiram wasn’t thinking well enough to be sure.
Then out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Javier. He stood back in the shadows of a theater tent just watching them all. There was something in his expression that stopped Kiram from calling out to him, though he wanted to.
Beside him Nestor bowed slightly to Fedeles’ father.
“Of course. I understand, sir. Your family has my deepest sympathies.”
“Thank you. Though I am sorry to be told that members of my extended family have been offered far more of the Grunito sympathy than have those of us who suffered the greater loss.”
Kiram had no idea what the man was talking about but Nestor seemed embarrassed by it.
“Come, Fedeles.” Fedeles’ grandmother took his hand. “Shall we go look at the horses in the auction?”
Fedeles nodded vigorously. She led him away without a further word to either Nestor or Kiram.
“That was ugly,” Nestor said.
“What was he talking about?” Kiram asked.
Nestor squinted around at the surrounding crowd, then he stepped closer to Kiram and lowered his voice.
“Lord Quemanor may always hate Javier but he’s just cutting himself out of society when he refuses to socialize with any of Javier’s acquaintances. If it comes down to it, who in his right mind is going to side with Quemanor against the Duke of Rauma?”
“Side with him over what?” Kiram asked.
“Hasn’t anyone told you?”
“You’re the only one who tells me anything, Nestor.”
“And I didn’t mention the duel over Fedeles?”
Kiram shook his head.
“Well, it’s not exactly table conversation. But you ought to know,” Nestor said quietly. “Javier killed Fedeles’ older brother in a duel two years ago.”
“Was it during a tournament?” Kiram could easily imagine something going wrong in one of the fencing circles.
“No, it was a real blood duel. Prince Sevanyo sanctioned it. Herves Quemanor made some nasty claims about Fedeles and Javier challenged him to a duel.”
“Why would Herves insult his own brother?”
“That’s just it.” Nestor lowered his voice to the faintest whisper. Kiram had to lean in to hear him. “After Fedeles went mad, Herves claimed he wasn’t his full brother. He said that the rumors about Javier’s father having an affair with their mother were true. He called Fedeles a foul, illegitimate product of Tornesal incest.”
“What a rotten brother.” It was the first thing Kiram thought, though almost immediately he wondered if Herves’ claim could have been true. It would explain why Fedeles, of all the Quemanor children, was the only one afflicted by the Tornesal curse.
“People claim Fedeles never really understood what was happening but I think he did. I think it hurt his feelings pretty badly when Herves started talking about having Fedeles disinherited. That’s when Javier challenged him to the blood duel and killed him.”
Kiram glanced over Nestor’s shoulder to where Javier lurked in the shadows of the theatre tent. Now he realized why his first impression of Javier had been that he resembled the mercenary street snakes of Anacleto. There was a cold assurance to the way Javier met other men’s glances. He knew he was capable of killing and his gaze conveyed that.
Javier met Kiram’s gaze and his grim countenance changed completely. He offered Kiram a warm, almost boyish smile. He stepped out of the shadows, swiveled between two men, and sidestepped an old woman. He held up a fistful of roasted meat skewers. In the other hand he held a reed basket full of some kind of bread.
“Are those the chips all you Cadeleonians eat?” Kiram asked.
“What?” Nestor asked.
“That basket of chips Javier’s bringing.” Kiram pointed.
Nestor spun around. “Good eyes, Kiram. Yeah, they’re casocres. God, he’s nearly here. I would have still been babbling about him when he came up, if you hadn’t seen him.”
Nestor was always so willing to compliment another person. Kiram felt a sudden warmth for him and his effortless generosity of spirit.
Javier reached them, handed the basket of casocres to Nestor, and frowned at Kiram. “What’s the happy occasion?”
“What do you mean?” Kiram accepted a beef skewer.
“You were grinning like an idiot just now,” Javier said. “Relief from Lord Quemanor’s company couldn’t have left you that happy.”
“No.” Kiram took a bite of the thinly sliced beef. It was salty and greasy and just a little sweet. He took another bite.
“I was just thinking of how lucky I am,” Kiram said at last. “I could have had the worst time at the Sagrada Academy these last four months but I haven’t. I’ve been really happy.”
“Have you?” Javier handed a skewer to Nestor.
“Well, not when Master Ignacio berated me or when he struck me or when Genimo cropped me, but other times…with the two of you. I’ve been happy and it’s because you’re good people. Don’t give me that look, Javier. You are a good man.”
The smirk didn’t drop from Javier’s face but he managed to look somewhat contrite. “Has he been like this the whole time?”
“More or less. He’s a nice-tempered drunk, that’s for sure.” Nestor ate several of the crispy chips.
“I’m not drunk,” Kiram objected.
“Not exactly sober either.” Nestor handed Kiram the basket of casocres. Kiram took one of the small triangular chips. A thin layer of cheese had been melted over it, and there was a strong scent of mustard on it as well. The chip was amazingly crisp and it tasted delicious with Kiram’s beef skewer.
“Try these with the meat.” Kiram offered the basket to Javier. “They’re amazing.”
“Really?” Javier gave him an amused look.
“You already knew they went well together, didn’t you?”
“I had reason to suspect so, yes. I’m glad to know that you agree though.” Javier turned to Nestor. “So, what did Quemanor have to say?”
Nestor floundered, so Kiram answered for him. “Apparently, he came over to tell Nestor that he wasn’t going to talk to him. Quemanor said it nicely enough I suppose but it was still a rude thing to do and I didn’t understand what was going on at all because I didn’t know about your duel with Fedeles’ brother.”
“Odd that you’d mention it without knowing it took place,” Javier said.
“Well, I know now.” Kiram finished his beef and tossed the wooden skewer aside. “Nestor just told me.”
“Of course he did.” Javier gave Nestor a reproachful glance.
Nestor flushed guiltily. “Everybody at the academy knows. I didn’t see any reason Kiram shouldn’t.”
“I suppose there isn’t any.” Javier ate the last of his beef and tossed his skewer on top of Kiram’s. “So, Master Kir-Zaki, are you feeling up to a stroll through the fair or should I take you back to my townhouse?”
“I want to see the Irabiim and Nestor says there’s a Mirogoth performer who comes every year and turns into a wolf.”
“I wouldn’t say he turns into a wolf so much as he steps behind a curtain and shoves a rangy dog out onto the stage,” Javier replied.
“No,” Nestor objected. “You have to have an open mind about it to really appreciate the transformation. You hear all these terrible noises coming from behind the curtain and then a wolf steps out. I swear it’s a real wolf, Kiram. And it has the same color eyes as the Mirogoth man. It’s shocking.”
It didn’t take them long to find the tent where a red-haired woman was selling tickets to witness her brother reveal his beast-soul. Signs painted with huge wolves stood outside the small tent and the woman’s wild hair was tied up to resemble two long ears flopping down over her shoulders. Though the woman was clearly of Mirogoth descent, she spoke flawless Cadeleonian.
Most of the people buying tickets were parents, escorting their young children inside. From time to time the red-haired woman gave a wink and reassured a mother that her wolf-brother attended chapel every Sacreday.
Javier bought tickets for all three of them and they filed into the dark confines of the tent. Two lamps at the foot of the stage provided the only light. The three of them kept to the back of the tent, so as not to block the views of the many children assembled inside. As the space filled up Javier stepped slightly behind Kiram, allowing several children to squeeze in closer.
The performance itself was rather simple. A red-haired man walked onto stage, explained in an exaggerated Mirogoth accent, that among his people there were those who walked as men but could assume the forms of beasts.
Few could bear to witness the transformation directly, the Mirogoth man warned them gravely. The sight had driven horses mad and turned milk sour. For their own sakes, he told the children, they should not look too closely.
Then he picked up one of the lamps and stepped behind a curtain. His terrible change was all a matter of strange noises and silhouettes cast up on the curtain by the flickering lamp. Nestor watched with rapt attention.
Kiram hardly noticed the performance. All of his attention focused on the sensation of Javier’s hand touching his own. His fingertips sent a thrill up Kiram’s right arm. He traced the delicate skin of Kiram’s palm and wrist. His touch was light and flirtatious. Kiram returned Javier’s motions. He pushed his fingers between Javier’s and Javier clenched his hand around Kiram’s, gripping him tightly.
Javier leaned closer, his thigh brushing the back of Kiram’s leg. As their hips brushed together an aching desire pulsed through Kiram’s groin. He longed to press into Javier, but Nestor was standing only a breath from them. Dozens of children were gathered all around them.
Kiram pulled away but he didn’t release Javier’s hand. Not yet.
A theatrical howl rose up from behind the curtain. Then the lamp there suddenly went dark, leaving only the single flame illuminating the empty stage. A lanky, reddish dog padded out from behind the curtain. Gasps and squeals escaped the children. Nestor leaned forward.
“That’s definitely a wolf.” Nestor peered intently at the animal.
Kiram had never seen a wolf and had no idea if this animal was one, but it looked too thin to somehow encapsulate the entire mass of the man who had stood on the stage earlier.
The would-be wolf regarded its audience and then suddenly bucked up onto its hind legs and awkwardly tottered back behind the curtain. Children gaped in amazement. A moment later there was another howl and the man returned. He bowed and thanked them for their time and attention.
Then, on cue, the flaps of the tent were pulled open and blinding afternoon sunlight poured in. Javier dropped Kiram’s hand instantly. The man on the stage bounded back behind his curtain and the show was over.
Nestor, Kiram, and Javier wandered out onto the fairgrounds along with several dozen dazed and excited children and their laughing parents.
“It’s genius!” Nestor said. He seemed nearly as delighted as the children. “He’s hiding in plain sight! That performance was so obviously false that it had to be real.”
“What?” Javier asked. He sounded more annoyed than Nestor’s proclamation merited. Kiram himself was feeling a little frustrated, but it had nothing to do with the performance. Nestor didn’t seem to notice.
“Exactly!” Nestor said. “It looked like a shoddy performance to disguise a genuine transformation.”
“Or,” Javier replied, “maybe it looked like a shoddy performance because it was. You can’t honestly believe that a real Mirogoth shapechanger would march out to the middle of Cadeleon, advertise himself, and sell tickets.”
“Probably not. But on the other hand, what’s the harm in believing it?” Nestor shrugged. “It makes the whole fair more interesting. And I think it could be true. You have to admit that it would be a clever way to hide himself.”
“There’s a point when something clever just becomes stupid. I’d say that hiding in plain sight is that point.” Javier sighed as if he was releasing some deep frustration. He glanced to Kiram. “What do you think?”
“Well, if we’re going to assume the Mirogoth really is a shapechanger—”
“Let’s assume he is,” Nestor said and Javier just shook his head but appeared resigned to the idea.
“Then, I guess that it would depend on how well he could disguise his true nature,” Kiram said. He didn’t look at Javier as he responded, but he was thinking of the way Javier teased men and made lascivious insinuations. “If there were aspects of himself that he couldn’t suppress then maybe it would make sense for him to flaunt them and make them a kind of joke. People would laugh and never suspect that he was showing them the truth all along.”
“Exactly,” Nestor said.
“But it would be a very dangerous way to live his life.” Kiram glanced to Javier.
“You’re sounding more lucid than before,” Javier commented. “How does your arm feel?”
“It aches, but it’s not bad. I’d like to see the Irabiim before it gets too late. Then I need to find the Laughing Dog—” Kiram cut himself off as a figure in the surrounding crowd caught his attention.
A group of five well-dressed girls walked primly between the stalls of flower sellers and cloth merchants. All but one of them wore their braids up in maiden’s combs. Most were decorated with floral designs but one was painted with butterfly wings.
“Yellow butterflies.” Kiram nudged Nestor. “Yellow butterflies! She’s coming this way.”
Kiram pointed as discreetly as he could.
Javier’s lip curled as he caught sight of the girl. “What do you care about her?”
“She threw a favor to Nestor.”
“Oh, I see.” The edge of anger disappeared from Javier’s expression immediately. “Do you still have the kerchief, Nestor?”
“Of course!” Nestor responded.
“Well then, take it to her,” Javier said. “Tell her that you noticed that she had dropped it and you’ve been looking for her all this time to return it.”
“But, what if it’s a mistake? I mean, what if she didn’t mean it for me? What if—”
“Just do it. It always works for Atreau. You can’t go wrong acting the part of a gallant gentleman. Now, go get her.” Javier shoved Nestor forward.
Nestor seemed dazed. He stumbled ahead, digging the kerchief out of his pocket. As Nestor drew closer to the girl, she caught sight of him. Her expression was so excited and nervous that it made Kiram smile. Then Kiram noticed the tiny pair of spectacles perched on the bridge of her nose. She reached up, removed them, and secreted them in her small yellow silk purse.
She was staring wide-eyed when Nestor reached her, and they both blushed deep red as Nestor offered her the kerchief. She pressed it back into his hand.
In a matter of moments the rest of the girls crowded around. Nestor said something that made them all laugh and then they started after him back towards the transforming Mirogoth’s tent. The girl with yellow butterfly combs clung to Nestor’s arm.
Javier touched Kiram’s shoulder.
“Let’s go before Nestor feels he has to introduce us. He’ll make a better impression without a hell-branded duke flustering his little flock of hens.”
“Are you sure?” Kiram didn’t want to abandon Nestor.
“Positive,” Javier replied. “I’m poor company for giggling girls like those ones. They put me off and I put them off. And you’re hardly likely to win Nestor any compliments either.”
“What’s wrong with me?”
“You’re a Haldiim for one thing.” Javier pulled Kiram back slowly as he spoke. “And you’re not available to them for another.”
Kiram didn’t bother to argue. He’d been caressing Javier’s hand and pressing against Javier’s thigh only a few minutes ago. He gave a quick wave, turned, and followed Javier through the fair.
They passed tanners’ stalls where beautifully tooled saddles and bridles were displayed along with deerskins and bull hides. Despite the strong smell of leather Kiram picked out a familiar scent. The aroma of the sharp spices, which perfumed adhil bread, briefly floated over Kiram but when he looked around him all he saw were stocky Cadeleonian men, testing the stirrups or bartering over the cost of calfskins.
“Is something wrong?” Javier asked.
“I was just thinking that we must be close to the Irabiim.”
“Oh?” Javier cocked his head slightly, studying Kiram. “How did you know?”
“I can smell them,” Kiram said. “Not in a bad way, but their food. Someone must be frying adhil bread. Our cook used to make it for us on cold mornings.”
“I haven’t ever heard of it.”
“It’s delicious, though it’s not really bread at all. It’s more of a thin pancake. The batter is fried in a pan, flipped out and eaten right away.”
“It sounds good,” Javier commented but he seemed distracted by other thoughts. “Here, let’s go up around this way. There are fewer people.”
Kiram followed him through a narrow lane of rickety stalls and drab tents. They walked past a stall offering spurs and twisted bits. Kiram glanced away from the jagged edges of metal. He was glad that Firaj was already trained and didn’t require such brutal tools to be controlled.
Just behind the stalls Kiram could see a poorly-repaired stone wall and beyond that stood thirty or more brightly-painted traveling wagons circled in the shadows of a stand of large, twisting trees. Black crows perched among the branches on the wagon roofs. Blue-tinged smoke rose up from at least four cooking fires.
As Kiram gazed at the red and gold designs on the walls of the wagons and at the shabby figures crouched around the fires, the sense of familiarity that the aroma of adhil bread had nurtured in him withered.
The Irabiim really weren’t Haldiim.
They were filthy and their horses were rangy-looking creatures with rough, spotted hides. The women standing watch over the cook pots wore dark circles of kohl around their eyes and their blonde hair was tied up in what looked like strips of rag. The men carried fighting knives tucked into their belts, wore no shirts, and jangled gaudy bangles from their wrists.
Kiram’s uncle Rafie had told him that each of the bracelets identified an Irabiim man as the son or husband of a particular matriarch and that because Irabiim mothers exchanged their sons like they were trading dice, only those bracelets prevented daughters from wedding their own brothers.
The wagons were decorated with morbid warnings to trespassers. Gilded human skulls hung from the roofs like wind chimes. Kiram felt his stomach clenching as he stared at them. No Haldiim would have treated his ancestors’ remains that way, much less allowed crows to grow fat picking away the strips of flesh.
Kiram retreated into the shadow of the stone wall.
Javier asked, “What is it?”
“I always thought my uncle was exaggerating about them.” Kiram didn’t want to tell Javier that he was frightened, so he said, “They’re filthy.”
“Well, cleanliness doesn’t seem to be a ruling tenet among them.” Javier appeared unfazed by the skulls and obscenities on the wagon walls. “They breed some of the fastest colts you can buy and of course there’s also the matter of having your fortune read.”
“I don’t believe in fortune telling.”
“If you don’t want to meet them, that’s fine with me.” Javier leaned against the wall beside Kiram so that their shoulders just brushed together. His hand hung down, almost touching Kiram’s. “But I don’t feel like wandering around in a crowd right now.”
“Neither do I.” If Kiram had been thinking more clearly he knew he would never have moved. As it was, he shifted slightly, leaning into Javier’s shoulder. The weight of their bodies balanced. Kiram closed his eyes, letting the familiar scents of sweat and leather encompass him. He imagined that he could feel Javier’s heart beating through his own body.
Kiram twined his fingers between Javier’s and held his hand tight.
Javier said, “You don’t make it easy for me to stay away from you.”
Kiram kept his eyes closed, fearing his resolve would collapse if he looked into Javier’s eyes. Then he’d kiss his mouth. He’d run his hands over his chest and down to his thighs. His body ached just thinking of the mistakes that he longed to make. Kiram started to pull his hand back but Javier tightened his grip. Kiram relented too easily.
“I want to be with you. But then you know that. Does it please you to know how much I want you?” Blatant hunger edged Javier’s voice. “That I lie awake, staring at your sleeping body, thinking of how close you are and how easily I could reach you? How easily I could tear off those flimsy white clothes you wear and have you? Some nights I hardly sleep at all.”
Kiram opened his eyes. He expected some trace of resentment in Javier’s expression but instead there was only that familiar look of rueful amusement.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I managed to use the time to get my armor to a high polish. It just gets cleaner the dirtier my thoughts get. But I wish I could inspire a few restless nights myself. You don’t seem too easily inspired, though.” Javier’s gaze seemed to burn into Kiram. A lock of inky black hair fell across forehead. “If only I were some exquisite machine. Do you think you might miss a little sleep over me if I were made of gears and pistons?”
“I’d wonder who built you so well.” Kiram wanted to tell Javier that he spent most nights dreaming of him. Some mornings he despised waking because it meant leaving the rapture of his fantasies.
“Do you think you’d be tempted to tinker with me?”
“Of course I would.” Kiram pushed the lock of hair back from Javier’s face.
“Was there really a girl you liked in Anacleto?”
“What? No.” Kiram laughed at the thought. “I was talking about a man named Musni. He and I were close. But I always knew that it wouldn’t work for us.”
“Why not?” Javier asked the question so directly that Kiram wasn’t quite sure how to respond. He and Musni had not been suited to each other for a dozen reasons. But one in particular had always kept him from committing his heart to Musni.
“I always knew that he would marry into a wealthy woman’s household someday. He just liked being comfortable and normal too much not to. And his mother wouldn’t have been happy until he did.”
“You think your mother will be happy if you don’t?”
“My mother knows I will never take a wife. She used to complain that it was a waste of my good breeding, but I think she secretly likes the idea that she’ll never have to hand her baby boy over to another woman.”
“But she doesn’t care that you’re…” Javier seemed unable to find a word for what he wanted to say. “You’re with a man?”
“That would depend on the man, I suppose. She wasn’t all that fond of Musni, but that had more to do with his mother than anything else. On the other hand, there’s a pharmacist, Hashiem Kir-Naham, who she constantly points out to me.”
“And does this Hashiem Kir-Naham interest you?”
Four months ago he might have. Kiram stole a sidelong glance at Javier, taking in the long, sinuous muscles of his shoulder and neck, the hard contrast of his tousled black hair and his delicate pale features. He was scowling, filthy, and he wore his dueling sword like he planned to make his living with it, and Kiram still found him appealing.
Kiram shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Well, what is he like?” Javier pressed. “Short, ugly, old? Missing his teeth?”
“Not at all.” Kiram laughed at the idea of any mother choosing such a man for her son. “He’s older, thirty, I think. He’s about my height. Very slim, and very formal. An only child, so he’ll inherit his mother’s pharmacy. His aunt owns several medicinal gardens, so he’s well established in Anacleto.”
Even as he described Hashiem Kir-Naham, Kiram felt a trapped dread spreading through him. Hashiem Kir-Naham was a perfect partner. Wealthy. Stable. Established.
Dull.
He would never ask Kiram to leave for the kingdom of Yuan in the dead of the night. He wouldn’t dream of traveling into the Mirogoth lands or sailing across the White Sea. He certainly wouldn’t hold him in his arms and open the white hell for him.
“He’s nice,” Kiram said, then seeing Javier’s scowl deepening he quickly continued, “but he’ll never leave the Haldiim district of Anacleto. I want to see more. I want to travel.”
“Well, there is certainly much more of the world to see. I’d like to travel myself, someday.” Javier looked almost wistful. “If you could go anywhere, where would you choose?”
“The kingdom of Yuan.” Kiram decided after a moment of consideration. “My uncle Rafie told me the musicians there sharpen their thumbnails like knives and wear bright blue wigs.”
“I’m not sure about the fingernails,” Javier said, “but my family once entertained an ambassador from Yuan. Several of his attendants wore wigs like that. The ambassador himself had a long white wig, made of bird feathers.”
“Did he invite you to take steam with him?”
“No, he didn’t say anything to me. I was just a child at the time. Is steam one of their mystical potions?”
“I think so. Alizadeh took steam in Yuan. He said that it opened the world of dreams and allowed him to enter them while he was still wide awake.”
“I’m not sure I want more chances to enter my dreams.” A teasing expression flickered over Javier’s face. “I am curious about yours, though.”
A guilty flush flooded Kiram’s cheeks and Javier leaned close and whispered, “Are they dirty?”
“I don’t remember any of them,” Kiram lied. “What about yours?”
“Filthy,” Javier replied with a salacious smile. “You’d be shocked to see the things you do in my dreams.”
“How can you just admit that?” Kiram asked. “Don’t you ever get flustered or embarrassed?”
“Why would I be embarrassed? You’re the one who can’t keep his clothes on in my dreams.” Javier’s fingers gently curled along the curve of Kiram’s neck and he accepted it as easily as he would have accepted one of Musni’s caresses. It seemed natural to rest his hand on Javier’s hip, hooking his thumb under the supple leather of Javier’s belt and leaning in close to him.
The muscles of Javier’s body went taut at Kiram’s touch. The confident smirk dropped from Javier’s mouth; his lips parted just slightly as he caught his breath. He stared at Kiram almost as if he were powerless to look away, a soft pink flush spreading across his cheeks.
Kiram wanted to kiss him. And he almost gave into that desire, but out of the corner of his eyes he caught a movement at the edge of the Irabiim camp. Javier saw it too and pulled back immediately, dropping his hand down to the sword hanging from his belt. Kiram turned just as the approaching figure waved at them.
And then Kiram realized he knew the man.
Alizadeh so perfectly looked the part of an ancient Bahiim that his appearance could have graced a Haldiim scroll from two hundred years past. His honey-blonde hair hung in spiraling curls down to his waist. Flashes of his dark bronze skin showed through the fine white cotton of his flowing prayer clothes.
The orange wrap that he wore over one shoulder and tied at his hip was heavy and in ancient times it would have served as the only shelter a Bahiim could depend upon while crossing the desert. For the same reason, all Bahiim carried water skins, short bows, and hunting knives. Alizadeh’s looked like they had been used often.
His leather sandals were past their prime. The strap wrapping around his right ankle looked as if it had been recently mended. Kiram could easily imagine his uncle Rafie doing the careful stitching while commenting that Cadeleonian boots didn’t have these kinds of problems.
“Well met, Kiri!” Alizadeh called. Kiram waved back at him.
Javier studied Alizadeh with an expression somewhere between wonder and suspicion. “You know him?”
“That is Alizadeh, my uncle’s partner. The one I told you about.”
“The Bahiim.” Javier nodded.
Kiram made introductions. Javier gave a curt bow and Alizadeh responded by holding up his palms in a sign of formal blessing. A flock of black crows swept out from the Irabiim camp, passed overhead, and then scattered out over the fair. Alizadeh watched the birds then returned his attention to Kiram. “I see Rafie got the lotus medallion to you.”
“Yes, it’s already brought me lots of luck. I did better in the fencing circles than I expected anyway. And I think some of it rubbed off on Javier. He won the race this morning.”
“Congratulations.” Alizadeh studied Javier for a moment then glanced back to Kiram. When he spoke again it was softly and in Haldiim. “Do not take the medallion off, Kiri. This place may not be safe. The shadow of an old evil lingers here and it will not be made to rest.”
Kiram knew that Javier understood more of the Haldiim language than he admitted to and clearly from the way his body tensed at the mention of an old evil, he understood Alizadeh’s words, and doubtless took them to mean the white hell.
“Anything I can do? Perhaps show you and your partner around?” Javier’s tone remained polite, but his face revealed his tension.
“No, thank you.” Alizadeh gave Javier a cool, priestly smile. “Kiram’s uncle and I just want to catch up with him and make sure that he is doing all right. He’s never been this far away from home before and he’s been missed.”
Kiram frowned at hearing something so dismissive coming from Alizadeh, who as a rule was so welcoming.
“Yes, he was saying something like that just a few moments ago.” Javier’s expression shifted to mild disinterest, a sure sign that he had withdrawn into Cadeleonian reserve. “I imagine that you all have things to catch up on, and I ought to check on Lunaluz.”
“We could go with you.” Kiram wanted Javier to make some effort to stay with him.
But Javier had retreated to the impenetrable guise of a bored Hellion. Kiram wanted to assure him that he didn’t need to, that Alizadeh wouldn’t see him as a soulless aberration. He’d understand that Javier was a man—a friend. Only Alizadeh wasn’t treating Javier with the warmth of a friend.
He regarded Javier with a cold formality that the Haldiim reserved for only their least loved neighbors and Cadeleonians. He said, “We shouldn’t impose on your upperclassman any longer, Kiram.”
“Master Ignacio will expect us at the city stables by the sixth bell,” Javier told Kiram. “I’ll see you then.” And with that he left them.