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Traci N. Castleberry says she first met Orossy (that’s or-OH-see) when he appeared in her novel in a tavern wearing a dress and she had to figure out a reasonable explanation as to why. “Rent Girl” takes place after the events in that novel.
By night, Traci works in a hotel security department in the Arizona desert helping to corral a variety of creatures including rattlesnakes, tarantulas, lizards, javelina and lost guests. By day she serves her Lipizzan mare, Carrma, who provided the inspiration for several M/M paranormal romance books includingCapriole and Levade. Along with her pen names Evey Brett and Nica Berry, Traci has been published with Lethe Press, Loose Id, Carina Press, Ellora's Cave and Cleis Press. She's attended workshops such as Clarion, Taos Toolbox, the Lambda Literary Retreat for Emerging LGBT Writers and has an MA in Writing Popular Fiction from Seton Hill University. Visit Traci and her alter egos online at www.orossy.com
In this tale of inner strength and the healing power of love, Traci asks some hard questions: How do we accept love when we believe ourselves to be unlovable? How do we reconcile and nourish the masculine and feminine aspects of ourselves, especially when the prevailing expectations force us to be only one or the other?
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Orossy shivered in the cold, gray morning. Feisal’s warm body curled beside him in the same bed they’d shared for the past month, in the same comfortably cluttered room. Yet Orossy felt far away, stifled, choked—
“’Rossy? What’s wrong?”
He couldn’t talk, trapped in a nightmare. Men surrounded him, held him fast. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get away...
“’Rossy? Another dream?” Feisal’s voice brought him back. After a moment: “Another memory?”
With a nod, Orossy pressed his back against Feisal’s broad chest and felt strong arms wrap around him. He still wasn’t used to being able to trust anyone as deeply as he trusted Feisal. It scared him as much as the dream had.
“Want to tell me about it?”
He didn’t. Not really. Nor did he need to; Feisal knew almost as much of Orossy’s past as Orossy himself. “The tavern,” he said. It didn’t matter which day.
“Ah,” was all Feisal said. It was all he needed to say. With his Healer’s mind, he loosed threads of soothing dennar into Orossy’s body. The panic ebbed, but the fear remained. “I’ll make you some tea.”
“I don’t like tea.” Orossy got up to follow Feisal anyway. Feisal tossed him a robe, and Orossy wrapped himself in the blue silk. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.” Feisal looked at him with exasperation tempered by love. “I won’t be able to sleep if you can’t.”
A light already burned in the kitchen. Jussi, the Lord Governor’s steward, crouched beside the stove, dressed in working clothes, a gray jacket and pants. The kitchen, as always, offered comfort. Wooden panels covered the floor. Near the stove stood an oven and a short wooden table with a pair of three-legged stools. Shelves lined the walls, housing pots and dishes from all over the continent. A kettle of water boiled on the stove, and a plate of rice cakes sat ready. Orossy took one and nibbled on it. Jussi always knew what they needed.
Feisal raised an eyebrow. “Up a bit early, aren’t you?”
The steward set out three stoneware cups, leaf-shaped in honor of the arrival of spring, and poured out hot tea. “Everything must be in order for your father’s return.”
The rice cake turned tasteless in Orossy’s mouth. Lady’s grace, what would the most powerful man in the territory think of his son’s new lover? Feisal should have someone his equal, not a half-breed tavern brat.
“’Rossy?”
Feisal rubbed Orossy’s arm. Orossy flinched. “Everything will be fine. He already knows about you.”
Feisal handed him the cup. It smelled faintly of orange. Orossy wrapped his hands around it and shifted his gaze to Jussi. Whatever the steward knew, the Lord Governor surely knew.
Until Feisal’s warm hand covered his, Orossy hadn’t realized he was shaking badly enough to spill a few drops of tea. “It will be fine,” Feisal repeated. “I promise.”
“It will be different.” Lady have mercy. As if it weren’t bad enough to be the object of whispers and stares whenever he went out of the house or worked in the Infirmary. Now he’d be watched, measured, found wanting, inside the house, too.
Feisal ran a hand through Orossy’s long hair, curling a lock around his fingers. “Don’t worry. He’ll like you as you are.” He yawned. “Maybe I can sleep little more after all. Coming?”
“I should study.” Forcing a smile, Orossy kissed Feisal on the cheek. Inside, he felt like screaming. As you are, Feisal had said. Did he have any idea how hard that was to figure out?
~o0o~
Orossy dressed quietly in the dim light. Feisal was already asleep, twitching in his dreams. The Healer might not have Infirmary duty until mid-morning, but classes started early for Orossy. He rubbed his temples, already feeling a headache from the stress of lessons. His lack of education was another reason he felt inadequate. He had more dennar than Feisal, being able to read minds and emotions as well as heal, but he’d never learned how to use it properly. Lady’s grace, he’d never even been able to write his own name until Jussi showed him last month.
He adjusted his uniform, a long-sleeved blue tunic, belt, and a matching pair of pants worn by both male and female students. The leather boots he would pick up on his way out; no one wore shoes inside the house. He cinched the belt and caught a shadowed glimpse of himself in the mirror, struck again by the image that could be either male or female.
Feisal loved men. Always had, which made Orossy worry. Surely it was only a matter of time before Feisal asked him to put away the feminine accoutrements and be as the gods had formed him. A man. And, more than likely, the Lord Governor would have his own ideas about an appropriate pairing for his son. Lord Maddren certainly wouldn’t approve of an uneducated tavern brat who couldn’t decide which sex he was.
Out of habit, he started to braid his hair in the feminine style. Catching himself, he pulled loose two braids, leaving one on either side of his face. The masculine style. It looked foreign. He could get used to it, couldn’t he? For Feisal’s sake? After all, Feisal had done so much already, teaching him that love was something more than the physical. Orossy owed him something in return.
He crept to the cabinet and eased the bottom drawer open. There lay the dresses he loved, along with the cincher and other accessories to enhance his femininity. For one last moment, Orossy ran his hands through the fine fabrics before he took everything out of the drawer and wrapped it into a bundle. As of today, there would be no more Rossa. She was dead.
Orossy bent over to give Feisal a kiss on the forehead. His lover’s dreams were pleasant; a light touch of dennar ensured they stayed that way.
Leaving Feisal to sleep, he slung the leather satchel with his books over his shoulder. Jussi was still in the kitchen. Orossy thrust the bundle of clothes at the curious steward. “Get rid of these. Please.” Not able to bear seeing what Jussi did with them, Orossy pulled his boots on and hurried out into the damp gray morning.
Two days. He had two days to turn himself into someone presentable and respectable, a man worthy of the Lord Governor’s son.
~o0o~
An education certainly seemed like a good way to become a worthy man, but every class only served to remind Orossy of how much he lagged behind the others. This particular class, the history and ethics of the city, had a mix of students, most of whom had some form of dennar. Orossy was one of two studying to be a Healer; far fewer people had the dennar for healing than for mind-reading and empathy, and those few were badly needed. Five or six students were the children of affluent council members. Others hoped to be apprenticed in various trades, but it was obvious that none came from a background like Orossy’s. They talked and joked easily with each other. None of them had trouble with the subject material, having been born and raised within the city. As long as the teacher, Healer Deverrin, explained things aloud, Orossy could understand and remember. He’d always had a good memory. It was when they were expected to work out of their books that Orossy ran into trouble.
Like now, when he sat at a desk in the first row of an Infirmary classroom. Birdsong outside an open window distracted him as much as the muted thoughts of his peers. He’d first wondered if Deverrin picked on him because Deverrin was a Healer himself, but Orossy had since realized that the Healer took every chance he could to humiliate someone he thought undeserving of admittance into their elite order. Deverrin had only asked him one question all morning and Orossy had answered poorly, opening himself up for another round of degradation.
“No, Orossy, that’s not correct. Didn’t you look over your text?” Deverrin said with thinly veiled disdain. “Try again. Tomorrow I expect a written explanation of when dennar should and should not be used by a Healer, and you will read it to your classmates.” He addressed the rest of the class, all of them fourteen or fifteen years old to Orossy’s nineteen. Several of them were slouched, bored, in their chairs. “See that the rest of you study well enough so as not to follow...his example. Dismissed.”
Orossy felt the usual heat flood his face. Everyone, it seemed, had noticed his change in hairstyle. As if it weren’t hard enough dealing with differences in age and learning, he had to endure the constant stares and unshielded thoughts.
It’s a gutter brat. How’d it ever sneak in here?
It’s from Tavern Street. What made it ever think that it could be a Healer? I wouldn’t ask it for help even if I were dying.
Orossy gritted his teeth and pretended not to be aware. Healers were supposed to be compassionate and open-minded, a creed Deverrin espoused while not practicing it himself. Deverrin collected a few papers and walked out of the room, trailed by a student asking questions. Orossy picked up his books to leave.
“What’s the matter? Need some help with your homework?” a boy taunted from behind him. “Need someone to read to you?” A foot curled around Orossy’s ankle and jerked, knocking him off-balance.
The books clattered to the floor. Fuming, Orossy bent over to pick them up. He hadn’t told Feisal how bad things were; he didn’t want his lover to think he couldn’t take care of himself. For all his experience in dealing with adults, dealing with young men was completely different. He looked at them, the burly Hannik and the rat-like Johnen, wary.
“We can help, can’t we?” Hannik said, jabbing his friend in the ribs.
“But not for free.” Johnen leered. “We know how to get old Deverrin off your back, but it will cost you.”
Oh, Lady. Orossy had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. “I’m not interested.” A group of students blocked the door, curious to see how the conflict progressed.
“We want to see if all those rumors are true. Were you really a rent girl?” Hannik asked.
Orossy put the books in his satchel. “Yes.”
The boys looked at each other and laughed. “Prove it.” Closing his eyes, Orossy counted to ten before he responded. “Not today.”
“He won’t do it for free. I told you,” Johnen said.
“I won’t do it at all.” Orossy clamped his jaws shut, determined not to say anything else. He walked to the door, but the crowd didn’t move.
Hannik jabbed him in the arm. “Because you’re Feisal’s catamite. Is that it?”
Until now, Orossy had ignored all of the jibes and remarks, because they were directed solely at him. But now they brought in Feisal...
A man defended his lover’s honor. That much Orossy knew. He swiveled. “What did you say?”
Hannik glared at him, seemingly surprised that he’d actually gotten a reaction. “You heard me. Think you’re better than the rest of us ’cause you’re fucking the Lord Governor’s son. You didn’t earn your place here.”
“Privileged little bastard.” Orossy grabbed Hannik’s collar. “You have no right to talk about earning your place. No right at all.”
A few wide-eyed youths gathered behind their friend. Hannik spoke for them all. “We know you came from Tavern Street. How many did you sleep with to get in here? Did you service that old harridan Rewenna too?”
Rewenna was Feisal’s mentor and the director of the Infirmary.
“Bastard.” Orossy drove the boy backwards through the crowd and shoved him against the stone wall. Several other apprentices shouted at Hannik to fight back. Orossy spoke over them. “Apologize.”
“For what? You don’t belong here. Rent boy. Or should I say rent girl?” He snickered. “Even Deverrin isn’t sure. What do you really have under that uniform of yours?” He made a grabbing motion toward Orossy’s groin.
Orossy ignored the whistles and catcalls coming from the others. “Tell me something,” Orossy said in his best rent girl voice. Rossa’s voice. It frightened him how quickly she came back. “Have you ever been to Tavern Street?”
A glint of fear showed in the boy’s eyes. “No.”
“Then you have no idea what a rent girl’s life is like. Let me give you a taste.” He clenched Hannik’s chin, turning the boy’s face slowly from side to side as if he were examining a stock animal to buy.
Hannik tried to pry Orossy’s fingers apart. “Let me go. You can’t do this. It’s against the rules.”
Orossy cracked his palm against Hannik’s cheek. The boy yelped. “Can’t do what? Give you lessons? Isn’t that what this place is for?” Orossy ground Hannik’s head against the rough stone wall, savoring the boy’s unease. “Never talk back to me. Keep your mouth shut or I’ll do it for you.”
Hannik trembled. The rest of the students went suddenly quiet.
“Do you know what you do when you go downstairs for the night?” Orossy continued to use Rossa’s voice. “You wander through the crowd, looking for a potential customer, while the crowd looks at you. Some of them feel you up, to see if you might be to their taste.” He demonstrated, caressing Hannik’s cheek. The boy jerked his head away, but Orossy had already moved on. He pawed at Hannik’s arms and chest, grabbing him bruisingly hard when he tried to get away.
“They call out, ‘Come here, girl,’” he said, mimicking the rough voices of his customers. A little dennar, and Hannik felt the lewd and base emotions Orossy had sensed every night at the tavern. “‘Think you’re a tease, do you? I’ve got a few things in mind once we get upstairs.’ And you choose one.” Orossy kissed him on the lips, the barest hint of what the men would do later. “Even if he’s the worst one there, you have to choose him, which is no choice at all, really. It’s all about the money. No one cares about you. No one sees you as anything but a body to be used.”
Truly frightened now, Hannik tried to shove Orossy away. Orossy caught the boy’s wrists and pinned them against the wall. “Do you know what happens if you disobey your tavernkeeper, or if one of your customers complains?”
Hannik’s brown eyes widened in terror. “Don’t. Please, don’t. I’m sor—”
Orossy kneed him square in the crotch. Hannik’s high-pitched wail echoed in the room. Satisfied, Orossy let his victim go. The boy sank to the stone floor, agony etched in his face. From the corner of his eye, Orossy saw Johnen race out of the room. The other students tripped over desks and chairs as they backed away in mute horror.
“That’s not all.” With his booted foot, Orossy gave Hannik two swift, savage kicks to the ribs. When the boy moved his arms to protect his chest, Orossy knocked the wind out of him with a kick to the stomach. “Then, if he’s not too mad, he’ll leave you to see yourself out. If he’s still angry, he might take you to bed to teach you a lesson, and that, I assure you, is not a pleasant experience.”
Hannik continued to struggle for air, curled up and rocking back and forth in agony with his hands cupped around the tender, abused area.
Orossy forced Hannik onto his back and straddled him at the waist. He leaned over, propping himself up with his arms so he could look Hannik directly in the eye. “Let me ask you something else. Have you ever been hungry for a day, for a week? A month?” Hannik gave a tiny shake of his head. “Have you ever had to find food for yourself? Digging through icy water until your hands were numb and bleeding in the hopes that you’d find enough shellfish to make a decent meal?” Again came a shake of the head. “I was. I did, more times than I could count. I didn’t have a well-built home, like you do. No food, no warm clothes, not even ugly uniforms like these!”
Fabric ripped as Orossy grabbed the laces on the front and yanked them apart. Hannik’s bare chest showed lived red and black splotches. “I never knew my mother. My father drank the money I earned from begging. When I got too old, he sold me to a stranger who told me he’d find me honest work. Instead, he took me to a tavern. The tavernkeeper thought me pretty enough to be a girl, so a girl I became. One man after another took me to his bed. Some were gentle enough. Some...” He choked, remembering. “You wanted to know what it’s like. I’ll show you!”
Hannik screamed as Orossy used dennar to feed the boy exactly what he remembered: his first night at the tavern when Niklis had shown him exactly what he expected from a rent girl, the terror and pain and humiliation that created the hard, cold shell of Rossa, the slow numbing of all of his feelings so he could use her to survive.
Orossy broke the mental contact. Hannik’s mouth hung open. “I had no hope of living past twenty, let alone an education or honest work. So don’t you dare presume anything about me! I’ve lived through more in my nineteen years than you will in a lifetime, privileged little brat that you are. Don’t you ever—” Orossy pulled Hannik up by the remains of his shirt and then slammed him down hard, “ever say I don’t belong here, or that I didn’t earn my place!” Another smack to the floor, and Hannik lay dazed and unmoving. Blood trickled from his nose.
Without pity, Orossy rose and headed towards the gaping onlookers. This time, they stayed out of his way. One or two mumbled an apology.
Rage-blind, Orossy didn’t see Healer Deverrin until they collided. The Healer’s voice was sharp. “Orossy!”
The use of his name broke through Rossa’s hardness. Orossy stopped, disoriented. Fear and pain choked the room. He saw Hannik, really saw him, battered, bloody, and limp on the ground. He sensed the broken ribs, the concussion, the gathering bruises. Sickness filled Orossy’s mouth. He must have looked like that after one of Niklis’s beatings, and now...
Now he was no better than the tavernkeeper.
Deverrin grabbed his upper arm and shook him fiercely. “What in the Lady’s name have you done?”
The rough contact rekindled Orossy’s rage. He couldn’t stand being grabbed and yanked around. He yearned to give his teacher the same treatment as Hannik until some small part of his mind checked him. This was no helpless, naïve boy but a man, a Healer with status and power.
Hannik’s moans saved Orossy from any further rashness. In disgust, Deverrin let Orossy go and crouched down beside his student. Deverrin’s eyes filled with fury as he used dennar to gauge Hannik’s injuries. He glared at Orossy. “Filthy gutter brat. The Healer’s council will hear about this. So will the Lord Governor. If I ever see you anywhere near this building again—”
Orossy drew himself up to meet Deverrin’s angry gaze. The Healer looked away first. Orossy gathered his shredded dignity and walked out of the Infirmary.
~o0o~
The Infirmary, located in one of the busiest districts of the populous city, was a fair distance away from the Lord Governor’s home. By the time Orossy plowed his way through crowds, rickshaws, and narrow, winding streets to reach the quieter Noble’s district, he was shaking badly. Guilt and shame replaced the surge of anger.
Lady have mercy, what had he been thinking? Not only had he attacked a classmate, but he’d also defied his teacher, a senior Healer. And on the eve of the Lord Governor’s arrival! He’d ruined everything, all because he’d let his temper get the better of him.
He paused at the long, cobbled driveway that led to the Lord Governor’s house. The building stood in the distance, with sloped, tiled roofs, well-kept gardens, and paneled doors that slid to enlarge various spaces or to let in more light. It was one of the oldest and largest houses in the city, and the finest. Orossy couldn’t fathom what made him think he deserved to live in a place like this. Maybe he shouldn’t bother going home at all.
Except then he’d never see Feisal again, and he couldn’t bear that. The only way he would leave was if Feisal told him to. Resolutely, he headed up the path, steeling himself to meet whatever fate lay in store. Jussi met him at the door and, without saying a word, took Orossy’s books and led him into the kitchen where he deposited Orossy onto a short, three-legged stool. The steward draped a wet cloth over the back of Orossy’s neck. Orossy opened his mouth to explain, but Jussi gestured for him to stay silent. “Save your explanations for those who need them. I, for one, need your help with dinner.”
He put a bowl of almonds and walnuts in front of Orossy along with a small paring knife. Grateful for the work, Orossy didn’t notice how late it had gotten until he sensed Feisal come home. The Healer’s fury hit him like the slap of a hand, filling him with a sudden, bright heat. Orossy took a few deep breaths to mentally center himself. It didn’t work.
“He’s not angry at you,” Jussi told him. He poured two cups of tea and left just as Feisal walked in.
“Want to tell me what happened?” Still in his dark blue uniform, Feisal seated himself at the table across from Orossy and picked up a cup.
“What did they tell you?” Orossy asked, cautious. He slid the knife and nuts to the side.
“Lots of different things. I want to hear your version.” Orossy watched steam from his cup twist into the air. “It’s my fault. I lost my temper. I shouldn’t have kicked him.”
“I hear that wasn’t all you did,” Feisal said with a chuckle.
“It’s not funny!” Orossy’s fist pounded the table hard enough that his cup of tea lost a few droplets over the side. “They wanted me to—” He broke off, too ashamed to say more. A whorl in the wood caught his attention.
Feisal waited a few moments before prompting, “To what?”
Heat flooded Orossy’s face when he managed to speak. “To service them.”
“Ah.” Feisal took a long sip, his face thoughtful. “I assume you told them no?”
“Of course I did! I’m not...” He mentally swore at himself for stumbling again. “I’m not a rent girl anymore. No one owns me, and I’m not your cat—cat—” This time, he couldn’t say it.
Mercifully, Feisal didn’t prod him any further. “Good. That makes two things you’re not.”
He wondered how Feisal could take this all so calmly. “I’m not a student anymore, either. There are plenty of things I’m not. I don’t know what I am.” Grudgingly, he picked up his cup of tea, now cool enough to drink without wincing.
Feisal cocked his head and stared at Orossy. “Is this because my father is coming home tomorrow?”
Orossy mumbled his answer into the tea. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
He wasn’t sure, but he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “What are they going to do to me?”
The Healer swirled tea around in his cup. “I don’t know. Rewenna is on your side, and there were plenty of witnesses that saw you provoked, but it’s going to take a while to sort out. Beating is one thing, forcing dennar is another, and it’s more serious. Instead of worrying about it, I’ll tell you what,” Feisal said with a mischievous grin. “Rewenna suggested rather strongly that I should take the day off tomorrow. I’ll take you to the market district. You can pick out new clothes for tomorrow night.”
“I’m sorry,” Orossy said, suddenly guilty that Feisal had been forced to forego his duties.
“For what? That my colleague instills the same ill manners in his students that he possesses? Don’t be an ass.”
“Then I’d like to go.” They’d hardly spent any time together, with Feisal busy at the Infirmary and Orossy struggling to catch up in class.
“Good,” Feisal said, and kissed him on the cheek. “One last day to enjoy ourselves before Father gets home.”
~o0o~
Orossy had already known hundreds of ways to please a lover, but using dennar to do it was something new. Feisal 
had taught him, with infinite patience, how to use dennar to tease and cajole a body, how to bring a partner near climax and then to back off. Often, their sessions had lasted the entire night, leaving them bleary-eyed in the morning, but they were always gentle with each other, mindful that a Healer’s dennar could hurt as well as heal if they got too reckless.
No so tonight. In the dim light of their room, Orossy clawed at Feisal’s skin, desperate for the contact. His dennar traveled through Feisal’s body, touching every part of him, memorizing him. Knowing that Rossa was still so close terrified him, intensifying the fear that he wasn’t good enough for Feisal.
Feisal’s loose hair, well past his shoulders, slipped through Orossy’s fingers like silk. His skin was already warm and damp. Orossy sent his dennar to the pleasure points within Feisal’s body, coaxing them from inside while his hands and mouth sought them on the outside. He focused all his attention, all his effort on it, wanting only to please Feisal, to give him something he’d remember.
“’Rossy.”
Orossy heard his name, but he kept going. This had to be perfect.
“’Rossy. Don’t. This isn’t the tavern. You don’t have to think like that any more.”
Orossy opened his eyes to look down at his lover. Guilt stabbed through him. Feisal’s dennar for mind-reading was weak, but when they were intimate he could pick up thoughts and feelings. “I’m sorry. I wanted—”
Two fingers pressed Orossy’s lips together. “I know. Let me.” The Healer brought Orossy’s face towards him for a kiss. Feisal’s hands were like magic; every touch tingled with dennar, warm and exciting. It was a trick Orossy hadn’t learned yet, and Feisal enjoyed taunting him with it. Dennar-laced fingers tickled his face and neck, to his chest, belly, and lower, until Orossy thought he might die from need.
Feisal wouldn’t let him, of course. Here, he was safe. It was such a blessed relief to be in accord with someone, to trust. Not like the tavern, where Rossa had become more than his name.
Feisal had seen behind that façade to the real Orossy. Making love hadn’t always been this easy or wonderful; it had taken time, and Feisal had been careful and understanding. The Healer loved him, he knew, but tonight Orossy had a desperate need for proof.
His lover knew it, although the ease and sincerity with which Feisal made love to him hurt. I don’t deserve this, Orossy thought, but kept it sheltered from Feisal’s dennar. The Healer was so kind and gentle and earnest that Orossy couldn’t believe that he’d been lucky enough to find him. It wouldn’t last. Nothing this good ever could.
“Yes, it can,” Feisal murmured in his ear. With the exquisite control he’d learned over the years, Feisal wrung every bit of stress and tension from Orossy’s body, leaving Orossy unable to think of anything besides what Feisal was doing to him. The Healer took his time, ensuring that Orossy was completely aroused before bringing him to a full, delicious climax.
Afterwards, when they were both sated and spent, Feisal held him close. Even so, Orossy felt cold, as if a frigid wind blew against his bare skin. If he closed his eyes, he could still remember the boy he’d been, starved for love as well as food. “I’m not like that anymore. I’m not naïve. I’m not hungry.”
“You’re not alone, either,” Feisal said with a squeeze. “I’m here, ‘Rossy. I’ll always be here for you. My father coming home won’t change anything.”
Even with Feisal’s reassurance, the cold didn’t leave him.
~o0o~
The next morning, Orossy fiddled with the silk jacket and pants, wondering why he found it suddenly difficult to secure the fastenings of a men’s jacket on himself when he’d had no trouble doing it on someone else.
Feisal lounged on his bed, watching, and trying not to laugh. He was already dressed, his mauve shirt hanging rakishly open. “Are you sure that’s what you want to wear?”
Orossy felt the heat rush to his cheeks. “I’m sure.”
“You look miserable.”
Done, finally, Orossy shook out the sleeves. “Your clothes are too big on me. That’s all.”
“It’s not all, but...” Feisal came up behind him to adjust the shirt, running his hands over Orossy’s shoulders and arms. “If it’s what you want, then it’s fine with me.”
But what do you want to see? Orossy wanted desperately to ask, but held his tongue. He agreed with Feisal that he looked odd. Feisal’s clothes were too big; they were nearly the same height, but Feisal was more muscular and broader in the shoulders which meant that the fabric hung poorly and made Orossy look smaller than he was. Neither were they colors he liked. The dark blue and black looked dashing with Feisal’s darker complexion, but they made Orossy’s lighter skin look wan. It would have to do until he had something better made.
A quick breakfast of steamed rice and soup, and they were off toward the market district. “Shall we ride?” Feisal asked. Before Orossy could answer, Feisal hailed a passing rickshaw. Orossy climbed in after the Healer, stifling the urge to protest the expense. Feisal had never had to worry about such things.
The runner pulled them at a steady clip through the outer districts, then wove his way expertly around horses, carts, and pedestrians. Orossy clung to his lover, finding it strange that he’d waited for years for the chance to do just this, to be able to choose his own clothing and accessories. So far, he hadn’t had time. The Infirmary had given him the pale blue uniform of a student, and Feisal had ordered more clothing for him and had it delivered. None of it had been overtly masculine, hence the need to borrow Feisal’s clothes. Wearing them to market would be his trial run. If he could act masculine enough among the crowd, then doing so before the Lord Governor shouldn’t be hard.
The runner dropped them off at the edge of the market district, which was closed to horse and cart traffic during the day. Feisal paid him and took Orossy’s arm to lead him toward the merchants. The early morning sunlight gave the street an exotic look. Brightly-colored paper lanterns hung from the eaves as decoration. Streamers and incense drifted in the slight breeze.
They walked past shops offering every food or household accessory Orossy could imagine. A potter threw clay on a wheel outside of his store, enticing people inside with his craft. People swarmed the fruit stalls, eager for the freshest products and best bargains. Guards in violet livery patrolled the street, sharp eyes watching for thieves and cutpurses. The scent of fresh bread and roasting meat wafted on the air. Somewhere beyond the crowd, horses whinnied, accompanied by the lowing of cattle.
Feisal wandered from shop to shop, chatting with one merchant after another. Orossy gazed at the goods with childish delight. Knives. Blown glass. Fresh fruit and vegetables. Bouquets of flowers. Rings and other trinkets, leather shoes and boots, vials of oil and incense. A store with brightly-colored fabrics in the window caught his attention.
Inside, bolts of fabric were piled high. Linen, wool and fine silks in every color imaginable filled shelves that went straight to the ceiling. Dummies wore examples of the merchant’s work, a green jacket and pants set such as Orossy had in mind and a dress of midnight blue silk overlaid with a gold floral pattern. Orossy looked at the latter for too long before he caught himself. Men’s clothes. That’s what he was here for.
“Welcome, young sir,” the merchant said from behind the counter. An outlander, by his looks and his northern accent. Rotund and pale-skinned, chin peppered with stubble, he gestured at the array of fabrics lining the walls around him. “My best selection, gathered from across the continent. And this,” he said, patting a bolt on the left of his counter, “is something I think would suit you perfectly.”
The soft gold fabric with a pattern of vines drew him until he remembered he’d worn gold the first night he’d met Feisal. That part he didn’t mind, but it was the beating from his tavernkeeper afterwards that made him release the fabric. He looked at color after color, trying to find something that didn’t trigger a memory. His former patron had liked him in green. As Rossa, he’d worn a dress of blood red the night he’d run away.
The merchant stepped around the counter. “My lord? See anything you’d like? I’d be more than happy to have something made up for you. If you’d just step this way so I can take your measurements?”
A tempting offer—except his eyes kept returning to the blue dress, wondering how it would look in gold. “Perhaps. I’ll have to ask my lov—my friend his opinion first.”
“Of course, young sir, of course, but keep in mind that many of these fabrics are rare, and sure to be spoken for by day’s end.”
Orossy ignored the rest of the merchant’s attempts to bargain. He excused himself and stepped back outside, looking for Feisal. The Healer wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Nor could Orossy sense him through the overwhelming emotions of the crowd.
He fought down panic. It was silly. He was safe enough, and there were plenty of guards around to protect everyone. Even so, he felt suddenly helpless. A man brushed against him, then a woman. Orossy’s control cracked. Emotions assailed him; the happiness of a young couple planning a wedding, the frustration of a woman who wanted a lower price for eggs and couldn’t get it, a girl child crying for her mother because she’d fallen and skinned her knee. Too much. To his eyes, they stared at him. Imagined whispers penetrated his ears. Look at him. The freak. Rent girl. Look what he’s done to the Lord Governor’s son. I’m surprised they let him loose after what happened yesterday. He had to get out of here, now, before he—
A hand grasped his shoulder. “Orossy?”
The overwhelming presence of the crowd faded. Orossy turned, half relieved, half afraid, to see the familiar face of one of the city guards, Eamon. “Are you here to arrest me again?” he asked as lightly as he could.
“No. Not unless there’s something new I should know about.” Eamon’s smile was kind and genuine. “Is there?”
With a shrug, Orossy said, “Depends on whom you talk to, I suppose.” Like those at the Infirmary, but the guard probably knew about that already. Gossip flew fast in a city of mind-readers. “Can I help you, Lieutenant?”
Eamon guided Orossy to a sheltered spot at the corner of the tailor’s shop. “The colonel has a job. For Rossa.”
Oh, Lady. Uneasiness clenched Orossy’s stomach. “She’s dead.”
“A shame,” Eamon said. “Rumor has it that Niklis is up to his tricks again, smuggling in illegal workers.”
Once, Orossy had been one of those smuggled workers.
“Niklis knows Rossa, and he’s a greedy man. If there’s any chance of catching him, we need her—your—help. You know the place. You know how he thinks.”
“Rossa’s dead,” Orossy said again. “I can’t help you.” If he put a dress on again, he might never take it off. Besides, his dresses were gone now. He must get used to wearing men’s clothes and acting like a man. Losing Feisal wasn’t worth the risk.
“If you change your mind, you need only let us know,” Eamon said. “Please consider it. If we catch Niklis with these girls, we can arrest him and put him out of business. Permanently.”
It was almost enough to make Orossy concede. Almost. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant.” Hurrying away, Orossy found Feisal bent over a table of silver jewelry.
Feisal looked up. “Are you all right? I turned my back and you were gone.”
“I want to go home.”
Feisal’s smile vanished. “But we just got here, and there’s more to show you. One of my favorite clothiers is right over—”
“Please. Take me home, or at least get me out of the market so I can find my own way back.”
“All right.” Feisal led him through a crowd picking over bins of fresh fruit. “What’s the matter? What happened?”
“Stop it. I don’t need to be fussed over. I just need to leave.” Seeing the end of the street clearly, Orossy broke away from Feisal and walked faster, sidestepping a small child running from its mother.
Feisal ran a few paces to catch up. “I’m sorry. Why don’t we—”
Orossy stopped and turned. Palms flat against Feisal’s chest, he said, “There are too many people here. That’s all. Go back and enjoy yourself. Pick something nice for me.”
Feisal looked a little sad. “I thought you would enjoy being able to choose things for yourself, and maybe get something new for tonight.”
Lady’s grace. Now he’d gone and ruined everything. This was supposed to be a special day. “Thank you. I do want to. Just not right now.” The thought of going back into that crowd made him feel sick.
“You’re sure you’re all right?”
“I’m sure. Now go on.” He gave Feisal a little shove for emphasis, and finally the Healer went.
Rickshaws waited just outside the district, but Orossy walked home, unable to justify the expense. In the safety of his room, he slid the door shut, thankful for the familiar, comfortable surroundings. The soft, clean mattress on the floor, the cabinet free of scratches and stains, one of Feisal’s silk robes in a heap on the floor. Books. Dozens of them, and more if he asked. He’d never felt so utterly grateful to have such wonders in his life, especially now that he was so close to having them all taken away.
He had enough to worry about without the girls adding to it. He couldn’t help them, no matter what Eamon said. “I’m not Rossa anymore. I’m not!”
He refused to look in the mirror. If he did, he would see her there, waiting, eager to rebuke him for his lies.
~o0o~
Feisal had missed the midday meal. Orossy had tried not to worry, and instead spent the rest of the afternoon in his room 
attempting to read through his textbook. It wasn’t working. He couldn’t concentrate. His thoughts kept returning to the girls. Just like him, they had been promised honest work. Just like him, they would end up in a tavern. They didn’t deserve it. His conscience nagged at him, but Rossa was dead, and Orossy couldn’t go there as himself. The girls wouldn’t trust a man, and as Orossy he would be too vulnerable to Niklis’s manipulations.
Rossa had been the one with the power. She was the survivor, the one that had dealt with the men, but she could be just as cruel and unforgiving as Niklis himself. Look at what she’d done to Hannik.
Orossy punched a pillow in frustration. Not her. Him. Look at what he’d done to Hannik. He didn’t want to be that angry, distant part of himself ever again. The truth was, Orossy dared not go after the girls for fear of what he’d unleash if he lost control. If he hurt anyone else, he’d lose Feisal for sure.
No. He couldn’t go. And that was that. Firm in his decision, Orossy turned back to his book but found it no easier to read than before.
Just before sunset, the door slid open. Feisal entered, dashing and handsome in a new silk shirt and pants nearly the same dark blue as his Healer’s uniform. It fit him perfectly, showing off every angle of his body. He carried a paper-wrapped parcel under his arm. “Here. I got you something.”
Orossy opened it. Inside was a man’s jacket and pants of the ivy-patterned silk he’d admired that morning. His throat tightened. He didn’t know what to say. The garments were finer than anything he’d owned, and he appreciated Feisal’s gesture, but if only...
If only it were a dress instead.
“The merchant remembered you. Luckily, he had them half done, so I persuaded him to finish. That’s what took so long. Do you like them?”
Orossy swallowed. “They’re lovely.” They truly were. The neck and sleeves were trimmed in forest green. Exactly his colors.
“Try them on. I want to see how they look.”
“All right, all right. But go away...unless you want to help me dress.” He cocked his head, pleased to see the lustful look in Feisal’s eyes. Now that would be a way to get rid of all of his tension. “How much time do we have before your father gets home?”
“Long enough,” Feisal said. Two steps, and Orossy was in his arms. Feisal laughed. “I should know better than to flirt with a tavern brat.”
“You can’t win,” Orossy said. “One look and you’re mine.” What a shame to muss Feisal’s perfect clothes.
Feisal held him tight. “You’re so tense.”
Orossy didn’t answer. Instead, he pressed his lips against Feisal’s, wishing that this moment would last forever, that nothing and no one could ever come between them.
~o0o~
Dressed, flushed, and only slightly rumpled, they reached the front porch in time to hear hoofbeats on the cobbled driveway. Orossy hung back in the shadows, gripping the railing with white-knuckled hands. The sky had turned orange and pink as the sun set. The air was still. Crickets chirped their greeting to the evening. Orossy would have enjoyed the beauty of his surroundings if he hadn’t been so nervous.
He knew he was being an idiot. He’d met powerful men before, taken them to bed and usually had received a fat purse to show for it. But none of them had been his lover’s father.
A large dappled-gray stallion stopped a short distance from the house. Feisal didn’t wait; he ran out barefoot to greet his father before the Lord Governor had even dismounted. Jussi went out more sedately to take care of the horse.
Orossy kept his eyes downcast, seeing only a tall figure dressed in riding leathers, his braided hair silvered from age. He had no idea how old Maddren was, but the Lord Governor was fit and moved with deliberate grace. A moment later, all but the silver hair was blocked by Feisal’s eager embrace.
Orossy felt a lump in his throat. Tears stung his eyes at seeing two family members so obviously happy to see each other.
Feisal ran back to grab his hand. “’Rossy. Come here.”
Orossy stumbled down the porch stairs, suddenly angry at Feisal for putting him through this. Out of instinct, he groped for Rossa’s strength and pulled himself upright. The old, familiar attitude returned. He bowed in greeting. “Welcome home, my lord. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He lifted the Lord Governor’s hand to his lips. Lord Maddren smelled of horse and dust and leather. Orossy focused on the callused hand to avoid looking in his eyes.
“The pleasure is mine, Master Orossy,” the Lord Governor said. “Especially since I have you to thank for saving my son’s life.”
That was how they’d met; Feisal had wandered into the tavern, drugged by someone who meant him ill, and Orossy had nursed him. Surprised by the sincerity in Maddren’s voice, Orossy looked up and found himself caught by a pair of silver-gray eyes. He had the eerie feeling that Maddren was looking through him in an intimate and almost disturbing way.
“I love him. I’d never hurt him,” Orossy said, too quietly for Feisal to hear.
“I know.” Maddren’s low voice was no less powerful for its subtlety. “You are not what I expected. I would speak with you later.”
The Lord Governor bent to remove his boots just as Orossy felt a spike of fear in his belly. If Maddren sensed it, he gave no sign. Lady have mercy. He was in trouble. He knew it. The Lord Governor disliked him already.
Feisal, who could have no idea of what had just passed, still stood nearby, radiating happiness. “Dinner is waiting.”
“Good. I look forward to it. After I rid myself of the grime from the road.” Maddren embraced Feisal again. Orossy turned his head. No one had ever cared about him like this.
“Go on,” Feisal said, finally letting go. “Orossy and I will wait for you, won’t we, ’Rossy?”
Caught, Orossy retreated behind his façade without thinking. “Take your time, my lord. I hope everything will be to your pleasure.”
Feisal glared at him. Maddren’s face remained impassive. “I am sure it will be,” he said, and to Feisal, “I will not be long. And then I wish to hear of your adventures in your own words.”
As soon as Maddren went inside, Feisal rounded on his lover. “What in the Lady’s name was that? He’s my father, not one of your customers! You don’t have to do that anymore, you know.”
Lady’s grace, he was getting annoying. “Do what?” Orossy had a fair idea of what Feisal meant; he was already angry at himself.
Orossy headed toward the formal dining room, its sliding walls opened wide for a view of the garden and darkening sky. The low table was already set with the leaf-shaped dishes, two bowls and three small plates at each setting along with pairs of wooden eating sticks resting on holders. Caddies of tea and wine stood waiting. He wasn’t hungry.
Feisal followed, emanating irritation. “Play the rent girl. Just be yourself.”
“Which is what?” Orossy kicked one of the floor cushions so hard it struck the far wall. “It’s easy for you. You’re a Healer. You always have been. I used to be a rent girl and a gutter rat, but the Lady knows what I am now.”
“What do you want to be?”
“I hate that question.” He retrieved the cushion, not wanting the Lord Governor to see the room in disarray. Dinner had to be perfect. “I have everything I wanted. Safety. Someone who loves me. A chance to learn. So why doesn’t it feel like enough?” He dropped the cushion to the floor and sat on it. “He wants to talk to me.”
Feisal took the cushion next to him. He rubbed slow circles on Orossy’s back. “So? He just wants to get to know you.”
“I don’t feel like dinner. Tell him I’m sick.”
“That’s not a feasible excuse.”
“Then make me sick.”
“How could you even suggest such a thing?” Feisal’s
face reflected the same disgust Orossy could sense with his dennar. The hand moved up to Orossy’s shoulder and squeezed. “Don’t do this. Not tonight. I’m not mind-reader enough to figure out what’s bothering you these past two days. So tell me.”
“I’m a half-breed tavern brat who can’t decide which sex I prefer. You’re the Lord Governor’s son.”
“So?”
“‘So?’ You bastard.”
“Stop it, ’Rossy. Stop. I don’t care where you came from so long as you’re here. I love you. Isn’t that enough?”
He waved his arm, frustrated. “No, it’s not. I—”
His arm collided with one of the tea caddies. Steaming liquid splashed right down the front of his new clothes.
Feisal’s face turned to alarm. “’Rossy! Are you all right?”
His skin burned, but not as much as his pride. “Leave me alone. I’ll go change.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“Stay. Be with your father. I’ll be down soon enough.” He left before Feisal could do anything but stare after him. Gods. He ruined everything from the new clothes Feisal had bought him to Feisal himself. You’re not what I expected. The Lord Governor’s words stung.
In his room, Orossy stripped off the sodden garments and threw them in the corner. Thanks to his own carelessness, he didn’t have anything to wear. If only that could be a reasonable excuse to not go to dinner.
The door slid open behind him. Lady’s grace, why couldn’t Feisal leave him alone? “I don’t care what you say. I’m not hungry, and you’ll have to drag me down naked because I don’t have—” He turned mid-sentence to see not Feisal, but Jussi standing in the doorway.
“Perhaps you might wear this?” Orossy’s favorite red dress, a gift from Feisal, was draped over Jussi’s arm.
Orossy took a step back. “I told you to get rid of that.”
“I thought you meant the tear on the side. I mended it. Good as new.” Jussi laid the dress over Orossy’s arms as if it were a blessing. “He wants you to be as you are, as he’s been telling you all along. Him and Lord Maddren both.”
“I’m not good enough for either of them.”
“Only because you feel you aren’t good enough for yourself.” The steward smiled. “Yet.” He deposited the rest of Orossy’s accessories on the bed and left.
Orossy stood there a long time, dress in his arms, torn between throwing it away and putting it on. The soft fabric taunted him, called out to him. He’d always enjoyed the way he looked in a dress, part of his craving for the female body he’d never had. Rossa had been a mask, but one he’d worn more easily than some of the others at the tavern. To him, playing female had never felt wrong; the wrongness came from being exploited by Niklis and his customers.
Feisal loved men. Orossy didn’t always want to be one, and therein lay the crux of his difficulties. He wanted, more than anything, to make Feisal happy, but giving in to his lover’s desires only made him more miserable. And if he was upset, so was Feisal, more often than not.
“I can’t pretend anymore,” he said, thinking of Feisal. “I can’t be what you want, love. I’m sorry.”
Feisal’s disappointment was a risk he’d have to take. In a short amount of time, Orossy had donned the dress along with his other accoutrements, the cincher for his waist and the specially-made undershorts to disguise his masculine contours. His cosmetics were still in the top drawer, and in moments he’d applied the basics for his face. Dark lines curved around his eyes, bringing out the wildness within.
And there she was in the mirror. Rossa. His altered self, his better, more powerful half. She felt right. The old habits of movement and voice returned naturally, as if he’d never tried to discard them. She smiled, sly and pitiless. It was as if she were there, an entity separate from Orossy, waiting to accompany him on his task.
She couldn’t come. Not this time. “Thank you,” Orossy told her, “for being there when I needed you. For helping me to survive. But I need you as part of me now.” He put his palm to hers on the mirror. Brown eyes met his, curious. “Be with me. Give me your strength, and—and your anger.”
Anger frightened him, but Rossa had kept it for a reason. Better to embrace it than to keep fighting it. “I won’t let you control me any more. I’m in charge. I am.”
She nodded, impatient as if she’d been waiting a long time for Orossy to ask. Her overwhelming presence faded, and there...there was the real Orossy, without masks or pretense. The gods had made him a man, yes, but taking a woman’s form brought him inner peace and calmness.
He’d told Eamon the truth. Rossa was dead, and with her, the fear and guilt over his past. In their place was a simmering, justified anger. This new Orossy wouldn’t let innocents suffer his fate if he could help it. He left the house with the surety that he wouldn’t need to find Eamon. Eamon would find him.
~o0o~
Orossy kept his arm threaded through Eamon’s as they approached the tavern, feeling more confident than he 
would have thought. The guard had exchanged his uniform for the clothes of a respectable, if not wealthy, merchant. They paused at the tavern’s entrance. Light shone from nearly every window of the two-story building. Incense and loud conversation drifted into the street.
“Are you sure?” Eamon asked.
“I’m sure.”
Even so, it was far too easy to remember how he’d been one of those girls, wandering from table to table with trays of food, chatting softly with potential customers, pretending to enjoy the inevitable fondling. Orossy shook that thought away and took a step forward. He didn’t belong here anymore.
They left their shoes with a girl at the door. Since he’d last been here, Orossy had learned to control his dennar. The onslaught of thoughts and emotions didn’t bother him as much as it used to. They threaded their way between the customers lounging on cushions around low tables. A few of the serving girls recognized him, staring in disbelief for a moment before returning to their work.
His eyes fixed on the tavernkeeper pouring drinks from behind the bar. Seeing him there, knowing what he’d done, was like a fist to Orossy’s gut. Orossy’s nails dug into Eamon’s arm.
“Easy,” the guard leaned over to murmur. “We can’t make a scene here. Too many people.”
Orossy knew that, but it was the hardest thing he’d ever done to walk to the bar and act pleasant. He would have happily used his dennar to castrate the bastard. Niklis said nothing as Orossy and Eamon sat on a pair of tall stools, concessions to outlanders who didn’t like to sit on the floor. “Hello, Nik.”
“Rossa.” Eyes flicked to Eamon. “Back to work, I see.”
Niklis knew Orossy too well. He’d closed his mind off so Orossy couldn’t sense his intentions. Orossy had already done likewise lest he give anything away. “My friend here wanted something special, and I knew just the place.” Orossy leaned conspiratorially over the counter.
Niklis snorted. “Special? And just what does my lowly tavern have to offer?” He jerked his head toward a bored-looking Eamon. “I thought you were with the Lord Governor’s son.”
“And what’s wrong with having more than one? You never seemed to have a problem with it.” His laugh was just shy of Rossa’s mocking one. “Feisal knows I go out. He doesn’t mind. My friend here is looking for something...fresh. Something new. And I know you do whatever you can to make your customers happy.”
Niklis began wiping down the worn wood of the bar, a gesture he always used when bargaining. “I’m listening.”
Eamon dropped a pouch of coins on the bar with a thunk. “That enough to get me a look?”
The tavernkeeper laughed. He gestured to the girls in the room. “These aren’t enough to look at?”
“They’re pretty enough, but I want something new. Unsullied.” Eamon brought out another pouch but did not set it down.
Greed seemingly won Niklis over, but Orossy knew better than to trust him. Getting to the girls couldn’t be this easy. He would have taken Eamon himself, but new arrivals were sequestered in a hidden, locked room. Niklis possessed the only key.
The tavernkeeper looked from Orossy to Eamon, his gaze lingering a little too long on the guard. “All right,” he said to Orossy. “But you come with me to choose. Your friend stays here.”
Orossy barely managed to keep his face emotionless. Fear curdled in his belly. Eamon’s hand clenched his shoulder, a gesture of support. “It’s all right, love,” Orossy said, putting his hand over Eamon’s. “Niklis and I are old friends.”
Eamon didn’t let go. For Orossy to be alone with the man hadn’t been part of their plan, but Orossy couldn’t see another way to deal with him.
“Don’t take too long,” Eamon said. “I’m a very impatient man.” Meaning he would come after Orossy if need be.
Orossy nodded. Niklis snatched the second pouch from Eamon’s hand. “Come on, then.” He led Orossy to the back of the main room and down a hallway. The rooms here were less extravagant than those upstairs, used by customers with little money to spare. Orossy shuddered at the muffled sounds behind some of the closed doors. He’d rarely had to use these, and he was grateful.
The rooms all looked alike. Orossy couldn’t remember which one the girls were supposed to be in. Halfway down, Niklis slid open the door on the right. “After you.”
As soon as Orossy peeked inside, he knew it wasn’t the right room. It looked like any of the others here, bare except for a mattress on the floor, a low table and cabinet nearby and a washroom at the opposite end. This one appeared too well-used. The furniture was scuffed and there were stains on the matted floor. Niklis didn’t rent out the one he kept the girls in. Orossy shook his head. “Sorry, Nik, but this isn’t—”
Before Orossy could finish, Niklis wrapped one strong hand around Orossy’s throat and thrust him inside. A brutal shove landed Orossy on the floor, gasping for air. Niklis jammed an angled chunk of wood beneath the door so it couldn’t slide open.
Fear paralyzed Orossy. Just like before. He recognized the twisted, leering face remembered the beatings and what came after. Eamon wouldn’t reach him in time.
The tavernkeeper smiled. “What are you playing at, my dear Rossa? Don’t you think I know that man with you is a guard?” He held Orossy’s chin in a bruising grip. With his other hand, he caressed Orossy’s cheek and neck. Orossy shivered in revulsion. “Did you think you were going to fool me into showing him my secrets? You ought to know better.” He laughed softly. “I missed you. And you must feel the same, since you came back to visit me.” Cocking his head, he leaned in for a kiss.
No. No!
Rossa, the memory of her, surged forward. Orossy was no longer helpless. He could fight back. He had to fight back. Palms squarely on Niklis’s chest, he said, “I’m not one of your girls. Not anymore.”
He raised one foot to aim it at Niklis’s unprotected groin, but the tavernkeeper was too quick. Grunting, Niklis used his weight to slam Orossy to the ground. Orossy’s vision sparkled. And then Niklis was there, on top of him, hands around his neck.
Flailing, Orossy found Niklis’s arm and gripped it hard. Dennar rushed from him. Not enough to kill, but enough to make the tavernkeeper shriek in pain and let go. Orossy rolled over and tried to use the cabinet to stand, but Niklis leapt after him. Orossy slammed into the cabinet as he fell. Pain blossomed in his shoulder.
“Little bitch!” Niklis snarled. “I’ll teach you to fight back.” One hand tangled in Orossy’s hair to wrench his head back while the other pressed a deadly sharpness to his neck. “Your choice, Rossa. Come back to work for me, or I’ll cut you so badly even a Healer won’t be able to save you.”
Orossy closed his eyes, reaching within himself to touch newfound strength. His neck ached from the awkward angle, and he still hadn’t quite caught his breath, but he refused to give in to fear. If Niklis truly wanted Orossy back at the tavern, he wouldn’t do anything to ruin one of his girls—or so Orossy hoped. “Give me the keys, Nik. It’s over. The girls don’t belong here.”
Niklis gave a vicious jerk. Orossy’s throat burned where the knife dug in. “They were abandoned! I took them in, gave them a place to live and a job—” The tavernkeeper broke off, panting. “Like you, you little freak! Who else would have given you work? This is the thanks I get? Gutter brat!” He ground one knee into Orossy’s lower back.
“Rossa!” Eamon’s muffled voice came from the other side of the door. Orossy didn’t answer, not trusting Niklis. Eamon’s fist pounded on the door, followed by a short, sharp kick. The door bent, but didn’t give.
The tavernkeeper bent close to whisper, his rancid, beer-laden breath suffocating. “Once a rent girl, always a rent girl, Rossa. You’ll never get free of it, and the city will never forgive you.”
Four months ago, Orossy would have been cowed. Not now. “I don’t need the city’s forgiveness. Only my own. And I have it.” Out of spite, he laughed. One arm groped behind him until he found Niklis’s leg. Orossy sent another thread of dennar to wrap Niklis’s gut in agony. The tavernkeeper howled.
Niklis jerked backwards, careless with the blade. The sleeve of the dress split open as a blaze of pain traveled down Orossy’s neck and shoulder. Orossy ignored it, scrabbling on the bed until he could lurch to his feet away from the writhing tavernkeeper. He couldn’t go far in the tiny room, and Niklis and his blade were between him and the door.
“Bitch,” Niklis said again, followed by a string of other epithets.
Another round of kicks failed to damage the door. Niklis ignored it, intent on his prey. Orossy barely had time to move before Niklis’s knife screamed through the air and embedded itself into the wall where Orossy’s shoulder had been. As Niklis pulled it out, Orossy clasped his hands together and struck the tavernkeeper hard in the small of his exposed back. Niklis collapsed, groaning, but he held fast to the knife.
Orossy grabbed one of the pillows and used all of his weight to hold it over Niklis’s face. The tavernkeeper wriggled, striking aimlessly with the knife. Orossy straddled Niklis’s chest, his knees pinning the tavernkeeper’s arms to the ground. He caught Niklis’s wrist and dug in his nails so that the tavernkeeper had no choice but to let go of the knife. It thudded to the ground. Orossy shoved it under the table, safely out of reach.
The cushion slid aside. Niklis spat. The warm globule hit Orossy’s cheek. “You’ll pay for this,” Niklis said.
“How does it feel to be the one on the bottom, Nik?” Orossy laughed. For the first time, Niklis was at his mercy, not the other way around. Pinned beneath him, Niklis was only a man, small and angry and helpless, hardly worthy of Orossy’s attention, let alone his fear.
Orossy’s dennar screamed, Kill him.
It would be easy, so easy to stop his heart or lungs, or to pick him apart from the inside out. The little bursts of pain he’d given the tavernkeeper were nothing compared to what he could do.
“Do it,” Niklis said. “I took you in. I taught you. Do you think I don’t know what you’re capable of?”
Kill him.
Rossa would, without hesitation. Orossy wanted to. Some dark part of him craved to treat the tavernkeeper exactly the way he’d been treated.
Niklis grinned. “I taught you well. Like a dog. Every time you tried to bite, I beat it out of you. You can’t do it, even now. You’re too weak.”
The pounding at the door came sharper and harder. Eamon must have found something heavy to use.
“Am I?” Orossy asked. “I could take you apart, piece by piece. One little thought, and I could leave you in agony for the rest of your life. You know I can. Just as you know your words can’t hurt me now.”
He wanted more than anything to send his dennar cascading into Niklis, loosing all the hatred and rage he’d long kept buried. To pound Niklis’s mind as the tavernkeeper had thrashed him in body.
But he didn’t. That wasn’t Orossy, to beat his victims into submission. Much as he wanted to make Niklis suffer, he knew that torturing someone deliberately would be the one thing Feisal would never forgive him for. Now that his rage had lessened, he found the idea despicable.
Strength came from knowing when to use his dennar— and when not to. Ironically, he now had a subject for the essay Deverrin had assigned him, although he doubted he’d ever get a chance to write it.
“You lose, Nik. I’m not like you. And I’m not one of your girls anymore. You can’t control me, and I...I will be merciful enough to let you live unscathed.”
A twist of dennar and Niklis went limp beneath him. Orossy stayed where he was for a moment, panting with exertion. Then, taut with the thrill of victory, he eased away to sit with his back against the wall.
Another sharp crack, and the door splintered inward. Eamon, holding an erotic stone statue swiped from the common room, looked down at the unconscious tavernkeeper. He let the statue fall to the ground with a heavy thud. “I see you didn’t need me after all. Is he—?”
“I knocked him out. Feisal showed me the trick.” Now that he wasn’t afraid for his life, he felt giddy.
Niklis was gone. Forever.
Eamon crouched beside him. “You’re bleeding.”
The cuts on Orossy’s neck and shoulder burned anew. “I’m fine.” Orossy stared past him at the unmoving form. “I almost killed him.”
“Almost.” Eamon rifled through Niklis’s pockets and drew out a set of keys. At Orossy’s nod, he tossed them over. “Go on. Get the girls out. I’ll see that he doesn’t go anywhere.”
Happy to be away, Orossy went into the room across the hall, identical to the one he’d just been in, except for the cleanliness and the nearly invisible outline of a door embedded into the stones at the rear of the washroom. Using his fingers more than his eyes, Orossy found the keyhole. A little fumbling for the right key and he finally got the door open. The windowless room was lit by a single oil lamp and fitted with four mattresses and two worn cabinets. In the corner, huddled in wide-eyed fear atop one of the mattresses, were two half-breed girls and a dark, exotic-looking boy.
Orossy stared at the latter, stunned. No doubt the slight, feminine-looking young man had been picked to be his replacement. The boy’s gaze darted over Orossy, taking in his bloody, disheveled appearance, the ripped dress that exposed his chest enough to prove he wasn’t a girl. Shocked, tear-stained eyes met Orossy’s.
In that moment, the boy saw what he might have become; Orossy, what he might have been, had someone helped him in time.
Orossy held out his hand to the nearest girl. Shivering with fear and relief, she let herself be enveloped in his arms. Dennari, he sensed, with a bit of empathy so she knew who to trust. Poor thing.
“It’s all right,” he told them all. “It’s over.”
~o0o~
“...and Eamon took Niklis off to the prison. The girls are orphans. The boy was sold by his uncle. One of the female guards is looking after them until they decide what to do.” Orossy sipped the cup of tea Jussi had handed him after they’d gathered in the kitchen. Feisal sat on a stool behind Orossy, using bits of dennar to heal every cut and bruise, however minor. The Lord Governor sat next to him, relaxed, leaning on the table with one arm.
“As they were tricked and harmed within my territory, we must make reparations,” the Lord Governor said. “Their future will not be left uncertain for long.”
“Good,” Orossy said abruptly before he remembered who he was talking to. “Thank you, my lord.”
“And thank you, Master Orossy, for your services.”
The gratitude surprised Orossy. He met the penetrating silver eyes. “Even if I’m not what you’d hoped?” He gestured to his torn dress. “Forgive me, my lord, for being less than you expected, but you see me as I am. I cannot change for anyone’s sake but my own.”
The Lord Governor held up a hand. “I said that you were not what I expected,” he replied, “but I regret that you misunderstood. You are all I expected from someone my son would love, and much more, as you have proven tonight. I am proud to accept you into my home and family.” He inclined his head and gave Orossy a slight bow. “Now, if you will excuse me, the fatigue from my travels has caught up to me. I will see you both in the morning.” He stood and bent to kiss his son on the forehead before leaving.
Feisal used one last touch of dennar on Orossy’s cheek. “Good as new.” He kissed it for emphasis. “I told you. He likes you, dress and all.”
Orossy held his breath, suddenly nervous. “What about you? I know you love men, but—”
“I love you, whether you decide to be male or female. Or if you wear dresses or rags or nothing at all.” Feisal framed Orossy’s face in his hand and kissed him, hard.
Orossy let Feisal take his time, enjoying himself, and then drew back to watch Feisal’s face. “Even if I got myself kicked out of the Infirmary?”
Feisal’s expression saddened. “Ah. That. Rewenna sent word. You’ll have to appear before the senior Healers and explain yourself. There’s a chance they’ll reconsider your expulsion, but it won’t be easy to convince them. Even then, it’s likely you’ll be put on probation until they trust you not to misuse your dennar again.”
“That’s fair,” Orossy said. His next words were harder. “I’m going to apologize to Hannik. Maybe talk to him a little more rationally.”
“Good. That will help. Just promise me one thing,” Feisal said, wagging a finger. “Don’t ever run away like that again. You worried me.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Orossy said, filled with another surge of love for Feisal. “I only wanted to be worthy of you and your father.”
“Oh, ‘Rossy.” Feisal embraced him so tightly that Orossy found it hard to breathe. “You were always worthy. You never had to prove anything to me. I don’t care where you came from, only that you’re here, with me, right now.”
“I had to prove it to myself, though,” Orossy said. Jussi had been right. “And I had to stop being afraid. I thought I was going to lose you. It scared me more than Niklis ever did.”
Feisal eased back to meet his eyes. “Are you still afraid?”
“No,” Orossy said. “Not anymore.”
That night, Orossy lay curled in his lover’s arms, warm and happy, dreaming not of loneliness, but love.
