HELDA FOUND DESTA in the slave quarters. “Where’s Kes?”
“She went to the Salon, Domna.”
“She did?” She blinked in surprise. “What for?”
“To see her girl there.”
Helda shook her head. She needed to find Kes, talk with her about her sudden engagement … Desta was making no sense. “What girl?”
“She had a lover when she was there. That girl. Morya.”
Helda’s fingers tightened on the door frame. Kes had never once mentioned a lover left behind in the joyhouse. Helda was the only one the domina had here at Tryst, and as far as she was concerned, Kes could have a lot more of her.
Seeking out a forgotten lover at time like this? Helda bit back anger and a sudden surge of jealousy. “If you see her before I do, tell her to come speak to me,” she ordered, and shut the door as the slave was replying.
Retiring to her rooms, Helda called Bejmet on the com. The Eosan looked tired. “Yes?”
“When are we supposed to do this … thing … with Kesada?”
Bejmet glanced off-screen, then back to Helda. “Tomorrow, noon. They’re sending two men to get her. No uniforms, I’m told. They’ll identify themselves to you at the door.”
“They could have just contracted for her services,” she snapped, “instead of creating all this disruption.”
Bejmet sighed. “Would you have let the Winter Goddess go for some unexplained purpose for two months or more? I wouldn’t have. I told Ilanya no the first two times she asked me.”
“Our regular clients—the bookings already committed—”
“I know.”
“Tomorrow’s too soon.”
“I know that, too.”
They fell silent, regarding each other through the net. Any time would be too soon. There was no right time to do this at all.
Helda released a long-held breath. “I’ll tell her tonight. She’ll be ready tomorrow.”
Bejmet nodded and broke the connection.
Helda slammed a fist on her desktop and cursed until she was out of breath. Then she buzzed Thea, one of her two personally-owned slaves. “Bring me a tab of Glitz from the Mix bar.”
“Yes, Domna.”
Good girl. No hesitation; no reminder that this was against the Dosan’s own rules, that shigasu of her house did not take euphorics and mood alterants. They were for clients only.
But not today.
KES AND HER girl lay entwined in bed, sweaty, tired, disheveled. Morya traced the domina’s white eyebrow, ran a finger down her cheek. “It makes you look so different than you used to,” she murmured.
“You liked my blond hair better?”
She shrugged. “It’s just different. I hardly recognize you on the verts, but you sure do look good.”
“And not in person?”
“You…!” Morya’s lips pressed against Kes’s. “You’re even better in person. I’ve gotten really tired of looking at your verts.”
Kes propped her head on one hand, wrapped a raven curl around her finger. “Yeah, about that. I guess you’ll see me more often now. Maybe a lot more often.”
The statement was quiet, matter of fact. Dark blue eyes sought her own. “Do you mean that?”
Kes studied her girl’s face: luscious lips, the slightly dimpled cheek where her smile quirked habitually to the side. Fine brows, furrowed now with the earnestness of her expression … a sudden teariness in her eyes.
Gods, thought Kes. It really matters to her.
She felt the nervousness in her own gut that said it mattered to herself as well.
“Yes, I mean it,” Kes told her. “I’d like to … well. We need to spend more time together. So we’ll do something about that. All right?”
Morya grasped her hand, kissed her fingers in reply. She lay there thoughtfully for a moment. “Can you afford this, though? It’s awfully expensive to book a girl for hours.”
“Expense is relative.”
“No, really.”
Kes chuckled. “You cost a hundred creds an hour. I clear three hundred an hour after house cut, more with tips. Trust me. I can afford it.”
Morya kissed her again, quickly, and shrugged off her pensive mood. She got out of bed, poured two glasses of fenberry juice from the service cubby, and returned to the bedside with the drinks. “What are you grinning at?” she asked.
Kes gestured with her chin. “Your backside. Bears my marks.”
“Ah.” Morya looked behind her, glimpsed enough to see marks from Kes’s handiwork. “Souvenirs. You warmed me up nicely.” She sat on the edge of the bed and passed a glass to Kes. “And yes, before you ask—I’m acutely aware of them when I’m sitting. I’ll remember you’ve been there for a while.” She grinned mischievously.
Kes squeezed Morya’s thigh in a possessive grip. “Mine.”
“I suppose Kiyo charged you extra, to leave marks on me.”
“Of course.”
“I can’t imagine you playing without marks, though.”
“Not with you. You make me want to play hard.” She sat up, finished her juice. “I have to get going. I have work tonight. And before you don’t ask, I’ll tell you: I’ll be back. Tomorrow.”
Morya leaned her head on Kes’s shoulder. “Thanks. I wasn’t going to ask.”
“I know.” She kissed her cheek. “Look: I have something I want to talk to you about. Something important, for both of us. Maybe we could talk some at laufre tomorrow, all right? It’s our usual date, anyway.”
“Ooh. I don’t know.” Her brows pressed together. “Sounds serious. Should I be worried?”
Kes pushed unruly curls aside, cupped Morya’s cheek in her hand. “Nothing to worry about. It’s good. I want to talk about our future together.”
The breath caught in Morya’s throat. “Do we have one?” Her voice shook. “Together?”
“If you want it, yes.”
Morya’s answer was in her kiss. When they broke apart, she had tears in her eyes, and Kes did not trust herself to speak.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Morya said.
Kes nodded and busied herself, collecting her things to leave. By time she trusted her voice again, she was halfway out the door. She paused.
“See you at noon, kushla.”
The door shut behind her, and Morya collapsed in happy tears.
KES DIDN’T WANT to deal with the public. She returned to Tryst through the rooftop gardens, her mind racing with a thousand thoughts as she walked the familiar pathways.
It’s all right that you didn’t ask her tonight. It’s too soon. We needed that time together. But tomorrow …
She smiled. She no longer had any doubt how Morya would answer The Question. And her contract—it would take a while to work out the details, but in the meantime, she could still see her girl, even spend the night there if she wanted.…
She allowed herself a smile. Desta had been right: her entrée to the Salon had been a given. Now, what kind of flogger would give the best thud, to reward the house slave? She considered that as she took the stairs rapidly down to the backstage dressing levels of Tryst.
She nodded to Pol in passing, the slave heading for Control for the early evening shift. “The Domna wants to see you,” he said.
Kes nodded. She entered her dressing room, already stripping her street clothes, and talked to the wall comp. “Give me the Dosan,” she told the house com system. It tracked Helda’s whereabouts, connected the two. “I just got in and I’m running late,” she said. “Would you like to join me down here or shall I come up?”
There was brief silence on the com, then Helda’s voice came in a breezy inflection. “Oh, we can’t keep clients waiting, now can we? I’ll come down there.”
Kes looked askance at the speaker. That was a strange tone to hear from the Dosan. Flippant. Helda was many things, but seldom that. She shrugged, donned her red dressing robe, sat at the table to apply her makeup. Moments later Helda entered unannounced, shutting the door behind her.
Kes caught her eyes in the mirror; the Dosan leaned against the door, studying her with an odd expression on her face. “What’s up?” the shigasa prompted.
“I hear you went to the Salon.”
Kes nodded, holding her mouth just so while she ran a color wand over her lips.
“I didn’t know you had a lover there, Kesada. You’re holding out on me.” She said it lightly, as if it were a joke, but Kes didn’t like the sound of that comment at all.
“Then I suppose Dosan Kiyo didn’t tell you every little thing about me when you traded for my contract. She’s good for saying only what she has to, that one.”
“This isn’t about Kiyo.” Helda stepped closer.
Why was it they always managed to have confrontations in this room, before sessions, or after sessions? Was that why Helda was taking that tone with her? Did she want to be taken down again, here, now? Kes wasn’t interested, not after an afternoon with Morya.
“What is this about, Helda?”
The Dosan ran her hands through her unruly hair. “About things that are over your head, Winter Goddess.”
Kes put the static tube of powdercoat down and swiveled around to regard the housemother of Tryst. The woman couldn’t meet her eyes; something was definitely wrong. “What are you talking about?”
Helda burst out in a laugh of hearty amusement. “Puppets of the gods, you know? Like that old poem, lives arranged in ways that only gods perceive, you live your days upon a hidden string…”
Kes eyed the other woman. If she didn’t know better, she’d say Helda was on something.
“You have your secret love and I have my … secrets. We all affect each other’s lives profoundly, don’t you think? In our little ways.”
Kes shook her head. “I don’t have time for this. If you have something to say to me, spit it out.”
Helda tsked at her. “And that is not the proper stance to take to your Dosan, either, junior shigasa that you are. When you treat me with proper respect and are honest with me, maybe I’ll do the same with you.”
Kes turned her back on Helda and picked up the cosmetic stic again. “Suit yourself. I have a client in half an hour, so pardon me while I continue getting ready.”
Helda bridled, put hands on hips in that way she had before she loosed her temper. Kes deigned to ignore her angry reflection. Finally Helda laughed again and broke the tension. “There’s plenty of time tomorrow, oh yes, plenty of time. I’ll talk to you then.” She left without another word.
Kes was glad to see her go. If she was going to carry on like that, tomorrow would be more than soon enough.