Stalking Darkness n-2 Page 17

  "The way he eats, you'd think I'd not have a drop to spare, but just look at me!" Cilia exclaimed merrily, taking the child back and putting him to breast on the other side. "Maker's Mercy, I've got more milk than Grandmother's goat."

  Unable to think of a suitable reply to this, Alec nodded a hasty farewell and turned to go.

  "Hey, Alec. Take this for your troubles," she said, tossing him an apple.

  Feeling wetness beneath his fingers, he tucked it into a pocket and retreated to the back courtyard.

  There, with the fog cool on his face, he allowed himself a moment's guilty pleasure replaying the scene in his mind. Cilia had never treated him as anything but a friend and until just now it had never occurred to him to think otherwise of her. Of course, the fact that she was at least six years older than he made it unlikely that her opinion would change.

  Settling his sword belt against his hip, he pulled his hood well up and set off through the back gate with no particular destination in mind. The fog carried the smell of smoke and the sea. He tossed a corner of his cloak over one shoulder, enjoying the feel of the cold night air.

  Skirting the Harvest Market, he strolled through Knife Maker's Lane to Golden Helm and followed it, watching the evening traffic bustle past.

  As he reached the Astellus Circle, he was suddenly struck by a new and unexpected inspiration.

  Across the busy circle, beyond the pale, templelike fountain colonnade, stood the gracious arch that marked the entrance to the Street of Lights. He'd been down this street many times on the way to the theater and gambling houses there, and Seregil had often jested about stopping in at a brothel afterward, but somehow it had never happened.

  He'd never imagined it would.

  Until now.

  The colored lanterns-rose, amber, green, and white— glowed softly through the mist, each color signifying what sort of companionship was available within. Rose meant women for men, he knew, and white was women for women; amber meant a house for women, too, but the prostitutes there were male.

  Most enigmatic of all, however, was the green lantern, signifying male companions for male patrons. Worse yet, some houses showed several colors at once.

  There's no reason to be nervous, he thought as he crossed to the arch. After all, his clothes were presentable, his purse was heavy, and thanks to Ylinestra, he wasn't completely inexperienced. As his friends never seemed to tire of pointing out, he was of age for such diversions. There was no harm in just having a look around, anyway. Nothing wrong with being curious.

  As usual, the street was busy. Riders on glossy horses and carriages displaying the blazons of noble houses and wealthy merchants clattered past as he strolled along, looking with new eyes at the establishments showing the pink lantern. Groups of rich young revelers seemed to be everywhere, their boisterous laughter echoing in the darkness.

  A woman wearing the uniform of the Queen's Household Guard was bidding a lingering good-bye to a half-dressed man in a doorway beneath an amber lamp as he passed. Next door, a well-heeled sea captain and several of his men burst from one house showing the rose light and, after a moment's consultation, stormed off across the street to one with a green. Lights glowed in nearly every window; muffled laughter and strains of music drifted everywhere, adding to the festive feel of the place.

  It occurred to him as he walked along that the color of a lantern was not a lot to go on for such a decision.

  No doubt Seregil could have suggested a few likely places, but that wasn't much good to him now. At last, he settled on a house near the middle of the street for no better reason than that he liked the carvings on the door. Just as he was about to go in, however, a door swung open across the street and a group of young men spilled out in a flood of light and music. A man was singing inside, and the voice stopped Alec in his tracks. The clear, lilting tenor was unmistakably Seregil's.

  "Yellow as gold, the hair on your pillow,

  Green as cold emeralds, your eyes.

  Dear as the moon, the cost of your favors,

  But priceless, the sound of your sighs.

  Well, well! So here you are, thought Alec.

  And you figured out that last line, too.

  Wondering what role his friend was playing tonight, he crossed the street and hurried up the stairs and into the spacious vestibule beyond. In his haste, he collided with a tall, handsomely dressed man just inside the door.

  "Good evening," he exclaimed, catching Alec lightly by the shoulders to steady himself. His hair was streaked with silver, but his long, handsome face was youthful as he smiled down on Alec.

  "Excuse me, I wasn't looking where I was going," Alec apologized.

  "No harm done. I'm always glad to meet anyone so anxious to enter my house. You've not been my guest before, I think. I'm Azarin."

  The man's blue eyes swept over him in what Alec sensed was well-practiced appraisal.

  He'd given no patronymics and Alec's name was not asked for.

  Evidently he'd passed muster, for Azarin slipped his arm through Alec's and drew him with gentle insistence toward a curtained archway nearby.

  "Come, my young friend," he said warmly, drawing aside the curtain. "I believe you'll find the company most congenial."

  "Actually, I was just—"

  Taking the room in at a glance, Alec froze, all thought of Seregil momentarily forgotten.

  Beyond the curtain, a broad staircase led down into an opulent salon. The air in the softly lit room was heavy with incense. The walls were painted in Skalan fashion with superb murals and, while erotic themes were not uncommon, these were unlike any Alec had encountered before.

  Green, he thought numbly, heart tripping a beat as he gazed around.

  The murals were divided into panels, and each presented handsome male nudes intertwined in passionately carnal acts. The sheer variety was astonishing. Many of the feats depicted appeared to require considerable athletic ability and several, thought Alec, must have been pure fantasy on the part of the artist.

  Dragging his gaze from the paintings, he swiftly took in the occupants of the astonishing chamber. Men of all ages reclined on couches arranged around the room, some embracing casually as they gave their attention to a young lute player by the hearth, others laughing and talking over gaming tables scattered here and there. Couples and small groups came and went up a sweeping staircase at the back of the room. There was no unseemly behavior, but many of them wore little more than long dressing gowns.

  The patrons seemed to be mostly noblemen of various degrees, but Alec also recognized uniforms of the

  Queen's Archers, the City Watch, several naval tunics, and a red tabard of the Oreska Guard.

  He even recognized a few faces, including the poet Rhytien, who was currently holding forth to a rapt audience from the embrasure of a window.

  The courtesans, if that was what one would call them, were not at all what he'd expected; some were slight and pretty, but most of them looked more like athletes or soldiers, and not all of them were young.

  He hadn't heard Seregil's voice again since he'd entered, but he saw him now lounging on a couch near the hearth. He had one arm around a handsome, golden-haired young man and they were laughing together over something. As the courtesan turned his head, Alec recognized him—it was the same face Seregil had sketched on the margin of the song. Even from this distance, Alec could see the fellow had green eyes.

  His heart did another slow, painful roll as he finally allowed himself to focus on Seregil.

  His friend wore only breeches beneath his open robe and his dark hair hung disheveled over his shoulders.

  Slender, lithe, and completely at ease, he could easily have been mistaken for one of the men of the house.

  In fact, Alec silently admitted, he outshone them all.

  He was beautiful.

  Still rooted where he stood, Alec suddenly felt a strange division within himself. The old Alec, northern red and callow, wanted to bolt from this strange, exotic place
and the sight of his friend stroking that golden head as absently as he'd petted the cat a few hours earlier.

  But the new Alec, Alec of Rhiminee, stood fast, caught by the elegant decadence of the place as his ever-present curiosity slowly rekindled.

  Seregil hadn't noticed him yet; to see him like this in such a place made Alec feel as if he were spying on a stranger.

  Seregil's strange, virile beauty, at first unappreciated, then taken for granted as their familiarity grew through months of close living, seemed to leap out at him now against the muted backdrop of the crowd: the large grey eyes beneath the expressive brows, the fine bones of his face, the mouth, so often tilted in a caustic grin, was relaxed now in sensuous repose. As Alec watched, Seregil leaned his head back and his robe fell open to expose the smooth column of his throat and the lean planes of his chest and belly.

  Fascinated and confused, Alec felt the first hesitant stirring of feelings he was not prepared to associate with his friend and teacher.

  Still hovering at his elbow, Azarin somewhat misinterpreted his bedazzled expression. "If I may be so bold, perhaps you lack experience in such matters?" he asked. "Don't let that trouble you. There are many hours in the night, take your time."

  He swept a graceful hand at the murals.

  "Perhaps you'll find inspiration there. Or have you a particular sort of companion in mind?"

  "No!" Startled out of his daze, Alec took a step backward. "No, I didn't really— I mean, I thought I saw a friend come in here. I was just looking for him."

  Azarin nodded and said, ever gracious, "I understand. But now that you are here, why not join us for a while? The musician is new, just in from Cirna. I'll send for wine."

  At Azarin's discreet summons, a young man detached himself from a knot of conversation nearby and came up to join them.

  "Tirien will attend you in my absence," said Azarin.

  Giving the two of them a final, approving look, he disappeared back into the vestibule.

  "Well met, young sir," Tirien greeted him.

  Thick black hair, glossy as a crow's wing, framed his face and a soft growth of new beard edged the hollows of his cheeks. His smile seemed genuinely friendly. He was dressed in breeches, boots, and a loose shirt of fine linen; for a moment Alec mistook him for a noble. The illusion was shattered, however, when Tirien stepped closer and said, "There's a couch free near the fire, if you like. Or would you prefer to go up at once?"

  For one awful moment Alec was speechless; what in Illior's name was he to do? Glancing past Tirien's shoulder, his eyes happened to fall on one of the panels. The young prostitute turned to follow his gaze, then smiled.

  "Oh, yes, I'm quite good at that. As you can see, though, we'll need a third man."

  Seregil's eyes widened in genuine amazement at he caught sight of Alec framed in the salon entrance, amazement followed at once by a bittersweet pang of something deeper than mere surprise.

  The boy had obviously stumbled into Azarin's house by mistake. The tense lines around his mouth and faint, betraying color in his cheeks attested as much.

  I'd better go rescue him, he thought, yet he remained where he was, letting the scene play on a bit longer.

  A quick glance around the room confirmed that Alec was attracting the notice of other patrons, as well.

  And no wonder, Seregil thought with a stab of something dangerously close to possessiveness. For a moment he allowed himself to see Alec through the eyes of the others: a slim, somberly dressed youth whose heavy, honey-dark hair framed a finely featured face and the bluest eyes this side of a summer evening sky. He stood like a half-wild thing, poised for flight, yet his manner toward the young prostitute was almost courtly.

  Tirien leaned closer to Alec and the boy's mask of composure slipped a bit, betraying-what? Alarm, certainly, but hadn't there been just a hint of indecision?

  This time Seregil couldn't deny the hot flash of jealousy that shot through him. Thoroughly annoyed with himself, he began disentangling himself from Wythrin.

  "Do you want to go back up now?" the young man asked hopefully, sliding a warm hand up his thigh.

  This gave him pause. Seregil touched the back of one hand to Wythrin's cheek, savoring the faint roughness of it. This one, a favorite for some time now, had charms of his own, and talents that spared Seregil's heart even as they satisfied his need.

  Wythrin, and others like him, offered safe, guiltless passion, free of obligation.

  "In a moment. There's someone I need to talk to first."

  He'd get Alec out of whatever jam he'd stumbled into, whether that sent him upstairs with Tirien or not, Seregil told himself sternly, then lose himself once more in Wythrin's deep bed. It was as simple as that.

  Alec quickly realized that Tirien had no intention of being put off. His own increasingly embarrassed protestations that he had no experience in such matters only seemed to whet the courtesan's interest. It wasn't the first time Alec had run into this attitude; country virgins seemed to be a rare and much sought-after novelty in Rhiminee.

  For a fleeting instant it occurred to him that Tirien was attractive, but he dismissed the treacherous thought at once; that sort of thinking was not going to get him out of this mess.

  To his relief, he saw Seregil coming his way.

  Clearly amused, he gave Alec a discreet need help? sign. Alec answered with a quick nod.

  At that, Seregil strode up to them and slipped an arm around Alec's waist. "There you are at last! Forgive me for intruding, Tirien. My friend and I have some business. Will you excuse us for a moment?"

  "Of course." The young courtesan withdrew with a graceful bow, betraying only the faintest hint of disappointment.

  Alec braced for the inevitable ragging as they withdrew to the vestibule, but Seregil simply said, "I didn't expect to see you here."

  "I heard you singing. I mean, I thought it sounded like you and—well, I just came in." Aside from the fact that he was stammering like an idiot, Alec was suddenly all too aware of the fact that Seregil's arm was still around him. Strange, enticing scents clung to his friend's skin and hair, unlike his usual clean smell. The troublesome new feelings stirred again, closer to the surface this time, but just as confusing. "I didn't think to check the lantern. I just came in."

  Seregil chuckled softly. "Curious as usual, eh? Well, now that you're in, are you going to stay? Tirien's an excellent choice. Azarin knows his business."

  "No." Alec glanced at the young prostitute, still waiting hopefully nearby, then hastily back to Seregil. There was no hint of challenge in his friend's face, just bemusement. Why then, held in the calm gaze of those grey eyes, did his own agitation increase? The situation was well past his ability to explain.

  "No, I was just looking for you. I'd better go. This place makes me feel strange."

  "There's more than incense burning in those bowls. But I assume if you were just passing by, then you're here on business of your own? Let's see now, how long has it been?"

  "I was thinking of it," Alec admitted. He could feel the warmth of Seregil's skin through the thick silk of the robe now. "I don't know—I might just go on home."

  "Don't be silly," Seregil said, releasing him at last. "I was planning to go back upstairs, but that can wait." The grin flashed again, and Alec abandoned all hope of escape. "There's a place just down the street that's probably more to your liking. And long overdue, too. I'll be right back."

  Returning to the main room, he said something to Tirien. The man gave Alec a last wistful look, then drifted away.

  Leaning in the shadow of the arch, Alec watched Seregil take leave of his companion, who was clearly dismayed by his departure. After a brief, animated exchange, Seregil pressed him back on the couch with a deep, lingering kiss, then disappeared up the stairs.

  He came down again a few moments later fully dressed, sword belt slung over one shoulder.

  "Come along," he said jauntily, leading the way to a villa down the block.

  Well,
at least there's a pink lantern here, Alec thought, nervous again as Seregil urged him up the stairs.

  Seregil appeared to be well known here. A number of women greeted him enthusiastically as he led Alec into the salon. This establishment was quite similar to Azarin's. Erotic tapestries and statuary adorned this room and lovely women in various states of dishabille entertained their patrons, brilliant and lovely as rare birds.

  As they handed their cloaks and swords to a page, a richly dressed woman left a knot of conversation and rushed to embrace Seregil. Her skin, generously exposed by the blue silk gown she wore, had a golden olive tone Alec had never seen before. Thick black ringlets hung in a shining cascade to her waist.

  "Where have you been keeping yourself, you rogue," she cried with obvious delight.

  "A million places, Eirual, my love, but none so pleasant as here," Seregil replied, kissing her throat lasciviously.

  She laughed, then pushed him away, dark eyes widening in mock reproach. "I know that scent. You've been to Azarin's already. How cruel you are, coming to me with your fires already spent."

  "Spent? My fires?" Seregil caught her close again. "And when, my lovely one, have you ever known that to be the case?"

  "I'd like to put you to the test—upstairs."

  "I accept your challenge gladly, madame, but first we have to find companionship for my young friend."

  Alec had been gazing around the room during this exchange, his heart pounding in a manner even his old, Dalnan-bred self could find no argument with.

  "I think he's found someone already," Eirual said with an amused smile.

  Alec nodded shyly at a slender, blue-eyed brunette in burgundy silk. "She's very pretty."

  "Myrhichia?" Eirual shot Seregil an arch look as she summoned the woman. "He has excellent taste, this friend of yours."

  "He hasn't disappointed me yet," Seregil replied, giving Alec a wink.

  Myrhichia glided over, wrapped in perfume and mystery. She was older than Alec had supposed, older than he, but that didn't matter—there was something familiar about her, something that made him wave aside the offer of wine and let her lead him up the stairs to her room.