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“Are you done with my boots, yet?” Sir Halvor poked his head into Timothy’s tiny room.
“Yes, sir.” Timothy set the black riding boots on the floor. They hadn’t been this clean and smooth since Halvor had bought them.
Halvor looked them over, frowning, and pronounced them, “Good enough.” Then he told Timothy to polish his sword belt, while he sharpened the blade.
The big knight wanted everything perfect. He was tremendously proud of the fact that he had been invited to the royal wedding. Granted, practically everyone had been invited, but Halvor had expected to be excluded, so he was consequently more grateful to have been remembered.
“I think the king understands my value now,” he said. “Did I tell you that I spoke to my father about estates in Keneshire?”
“No, sir.”
“As a condition of their pardon, Duchess Flora and Duke Hugh are going to surrender some of their estates to the crown. My father indicated that I might, perhaps, receive one.” Halvor looked at his reflection in his gleaming blade. “What do you think of that, Tim? How would you feel about watching over a manor house?”
“I have done the work before, sir.”
“That’s true.” Halvor took the sword belt and put it on. “Now go enjoy yourself. There is supposed to be some sort of entertainment for the servants down in the storerooms.”
In truth, Timothy would just as soon have stayed up in his room. He was pretty sure Sir Halvor was the only person in Dunharvin Castle who was happy to be at this wedding. The Gramirens still hated the Byrnes; the Byrnes still hated the Gramirens. The servants below stairs held tenaciously to their masters’ political views and were less practiced in the sort of polite lies that kept things civil. It wouldn’t take much to start a servants’ brawl, and Timothy didn’t want to be there when it happened.
But he was also famished, and a knight’s valet couldn’t send down to the kitchens to have supper served in his rooms. So he had to go down to the servants’ party, if only for a few minutes, to find something to eat.
He went to the buttery, got a plate of sausage and cheese, along with a flagon of ale, and then found himself a quiet corner where he could be alone. But no sooner had he sat down, than he spotted Milo Malleus, the handsome Immani servant, chatting to some housemaids. Milo saw Timothy, too, and gave him a very slight nod of recognition.
Timothy loved that nod, and the smooth, practiced ease in the big Immani man’s movements. He seemed so totally in control of his body. As he talked, he never fidgeted or looked nervously away for an escape, the way Timothy often did when he was around women.
A minute or two later, after Milo had finished talking to the girls and picked up his own drink, he came and slouched against the wall next to Timothy. “Enjoying yourself?” he asked.
“The ale is good,” said Timothy. “But other than that, this party is dreadful.”
“Then how would you feel about getting some more ale and going somewhere else?”
Timothy felt a stirring in his trousers. “What did you have in mind?”
“Maybe go sit by the river? It’s a nice night.” He helped Timothy to his feet, and as they left the buttery, Milo’s hand rested lightly at the small of Timothy’s back. There was nothing explicitly sexual about the gesture, but Timothy couldn’t think when he’d found someone’s touch so instantly arousing.
They went out on the docks below Dunharvin Castle, and it was, indeed, a beautiful evening. The trouble was that everyone else thought so, too, and a dozen young couples walked in the moonlight or sat huddled together on the steps. Milo stopped in the deep shadows of an ancient archway and put his arms around Timothy’s shoulders. They kissed, but Timothy pulled back, looking around at the couples on the nearby steps.
“You’re going to be self-conscious if we stay here, aren’t you?” said Milo, shaking his head.
“Sorry. There has to be a room in the castle where we can be alone.”
Milo seemed a bit put out. Had he honestly expected that they would take things further out here on the steps, in front of everyone? Maybe people did things like that in the Empire, but that was frowned upon in Myrcia.
“Listen, the legate has an entire floor,” Milo eventually said, “there has to be a room up there we could use. They’re all down in the great hall.”
Unfortunately, when they got up to the legate’s rooms, they discovered that Dorea Talia had started her own little side party for some of the younger people. They were all a bit tipsy, and alcohol had dissolved much of the uneasiness between the rival families. Which was all well and good for them, but it meant that Timothy and Milo were going to have to find somewhere else to go.
“Sir Halvor’s room,” whispered Timothy, as they retreated back up the hallway.
The bed was far bigger than it should have been for such a small bedroom—it nearly touched three of the walls. Timothy carefully set aside Halvor’s nightshirt so it wouldn’t get wrinkled. Then he turned around, sank to his knees, and opened Milo’s trousers.
Timothy had always thought he was pretty good at this. Boys had told him so, anyway. But he found himself unexpectedly self-conscious with this Immani man. All the world’s art forms—including this one—had been developed and perfected in the Empire. It stood to reason that Milo must have had dozens of lovers, each one vastly more experienced than Timothy.
He tried to overcome this deficit in experience with sheer enthusiasm. After a minute, Milo put a hand on his shoulder and said, “Easy. Go slow and steady. It’s not a race.”
Now he had it right, and he could tell. With his hand on Milo’s abdomen, he could feel the breath deepen and the pulse quicken.
And then, horribly, he heard the door unlatch, and a second later, Sir Halvor said, “Well, well. Sorry to interrupt, lads.”
Timothy jumped away from Milo, nearly bouncing off the bed and into the wall. Milo, white faced, stuffed himself back into his trousers.
“You’re the legate’s manservant, aren’t you?” Halvor asked.
Milo nodded his head.
“Sir, I’m sorry.” Timothy tried to think of some excuse. There really wasn’t one.
“I don’t suppose anyone told you what the penalty for this sort of thing is in Myrcia.”
Milo shook his head, but judging by his nervousness, he had a pretty good idea.
“Now in contrast,” said Halvor, “do you know what the penalty is in my mother’s homeland? Nothing at all. It’s not a crime.” He shrugged. “A more sensible kind of place, in many ways.” He stood aside, opening the way to the door. “Run along, now. And if you boys want to do this again, try to find someplace a bit more private. Or at least lock the fucking door.”
Milo stopped in the hall and looked back expectantly. Timothy moved to join him, but Halvor put up a hand. “Not you, Tim. I need a quick word.” He grinned. “Not to worry. You’ll still have plenty of time with your handsome young friend here.” Turning to Milo, he said, “Tim will meet you down in the Noon Court.” Then he shut the door in Milo’s face.
Timothy stood at the end of the bed, rubbing his arms nervously and shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
“So.” Halvor tilted his head to the side, studying Timothy like some kind of exotic specimen. “So, you’re ‘Thessalian,’ are you? I thought I knew everything about you, Tim, but somehow, I didn’t know that.”
“Yes, sir. I really am sorry, sir.”
Halvor rolled his massive shoulders. “I couldn’t care less where you stick your cock. As I say, I grew up in Krigadam, and I don’t get offended by these things the way your Ivich preosts and priesters do. Have you been seeing that fellow long?”
“No, sir. I mean, we’ve met before, but this is...the first time we did anything...like that.”
“As it happens, I’m quite curious about what the Immani are doing here. My father is, too. We’re wondering what their game is, and who is pulling the strings back in the Empire.” Halvor moved closer and rested one of his huge arms around Timothy’s shoulders. “I don’t suppose you could help me find out, could you?”
It wasn’t hard to see what Halvor meant. “You want me to spy, sir? Using Milo?” Timothy shook his head. “I’d really rather not.”
Halvor’s biceps contracted, forcing Timothy to hunch over slightly.
“I would rather not have to tell anyone what I know about you. Especially not your family. I feel like I know them so well now. I’d hate to have to send them a letter explaining why I can’t have you in my service anymore. Why, I bet that would break your poor mother’s heart.”
“Fine,” said Timothy. “Fine, I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Good boy.” Halvor let him go. “Now when you see your friend later—Milo, is that his name? When you see him, I want you to find out if he knows anything about any secret betrothals for Dorea Talia. My father and I have plans, and we don’t want her upsetting them, you see.”
“Plans, sir?”
“Indeed.” Halvor laughed. “I can’t tell you everything, of course, but let’s say that my little sister Penny might finally become useful for the first time in her life.”