Master of restless shado.., p.39
Master of Restless Shadows, page 39
part #1 of Master of Restless Shadows Series
“Is that blood on your tunic?” Narsi pointed to Atreau’s chest. Atreau glanced down and realized that a dark splotch of dry blood stained the side of his shirt.
“Damn it. Blood never washes completely out from these snow-white fabrics.” Atreau supposed the shirt could be dyed to hide the stain, but just now only the very whitest of shirts were deemed acceptable for the resplendent company of princes and dukes. “I just bought this damn thing.”
“Should I even bother to ask what you’ve gotten up to since we last spoke?” Narsi inquired. “Or is it all a secret?”
“Less secret and more pointless as far as anything worth telling goes,” Atreau admitted. “Let me fetch your bag.”
He crouched down to his bedside and, reaching under, found the small trapdoor in the floor. As he slid aside a wooden panel he noticed Narsi pause next to one of the three chairs near the fireplace. He didn’t sit but instead knelt beside the log rack and set to work kindling a fire from the ash-encased embers in Atreau’s hearth.
Atreau fished Narsi’s medical bag from a compartment hidden in the floor and then slid the trapdoor closed again. As he stood he felt the bite of his abused ribs. He drew next to the fire and sank into one of his chairs. He saw how carefully Narsi used his left hand to feed pieces of plum wood into the fire. The injured right he kept folded close to his chest.
Aren’t we a pair . . .
Narsi glanced up at him and offered another of those easy, winning smiles, as if he was thinking the very same thing. Then he snatched up his medical bag and stood over Atreau.
“I think it will be simplest if you just take off your shirt and let me have a look at your chest.”
“Hardly here a minute and already having your way with me, are you, Master Narsi?” Atreau dropped down into a chair.
“Yes, indeed. Resistance, at this point, would only inflame my medical longings further.” Narsi set his medical bag on the nearby side table and then went to Atreau’s washbasin. He rinsed his hands and then brought the pitcher and basin back to the side table. “If you aren’t careful I might well rub a balm on your cheek and actually treat that case of merrypox you seem so attached to.”
“Oh, you want me out of my trousers, as well?” Atreau offered his most salacious smile as he pulled off his shirt. Though he couldn’t suppress a brief grimace when the movement stretched his left side and the fabric of the shirt came away with a crust of scab that had closed up his cuts.
Narsi just shook his head, as if he were humoring a doddering old man. His expression turned more sober when he knelt at Atreau’s side and gently sponged away some of the fresh blood.
“Can you take a deep breath?” Narsi asked.
Atreau did so, though it hurt some to expand his chest.
“Is the pain acute?” Narsi asked.
“Not so sharp as when I cracked a rib back in school,” Atreau replied. “Nothing broken, I don’t think.”
“That’s good.” As he spoke Narsi brought a tincture from his bag and applied several drops to Atreau’s wound. The medicine stung briefly but then seemed to slow the flow of blood and relieve much of Atreau’s discomfort. “These scrapes look like they’re from the back of a steel gauntlet.”
“Well spotted.” Atreau doubted he would have been so precise in recognizing the scrapes, and he’d been cuffed in the same manner more than once.
Narsi nodded and then rose to his feet.
Craning his head back to meet Narsi’s gaze, Atreau couldn’t help but remember all those school days he’d spent gazing up at Elezar, admiring his powerful build and great height. But unlike Elezar, whose attention forever turned to their classmate, Javier, Narsi studied Atreau in return.
“I’d guess that the bruise on your jaw came from a very hard slap, or you were punched but the blow was more glancing.” Narsi narrowed his attention upon the side of Atreau’s face. “It’s oddly shaped. You weren’t hit twice by any chance, were you?”
“Slapped twice,” Atreau admitted, but then he added, “by different people. I didn’t just stand there and take it two times from the same hand.”
“Good to know. Were they lining up to have a go at you?” Narsi dabbed a sweet-smelling salve over Atreau’s sore jaw. His touch felt surprisingly light and warm. As he drew back, Atreau’s skin tingled and then numbed slightly. Narsi hesitated beside the chair opposite Atreau’s.
“No need to stand on ceremony with me, Master Physician. Sit your fine ass down and enjoy this lovely fire you’ve built.” Atreau beckoned him down to the seat.
“If it isn’t an imposition . . .”
“Not at all. I could do with some friendly company.”
Narsi graced him with another of his flattering smiles. Atreau felt certain that, given a little practice and polish, Narsi’s natural charm could be honed into quite the effective tool—though just now there was something disarming about how unstudied he seemed.
Narsi took the chair opposite, yawning and stretching as he did. His long legs brushed briefly against Atreau’s calves, but then Narsi quickly retracted from the contact, offering Atreau a politely apologetic glance. There was no faulting the man’s manners.
“So you’ve had an adventurous evening, I take it?” Narsi commented.
“Hardly. I simply made the mistake of annoying Pepylla after having already offered unwanted advice to my brother.”
“I thought you weren’t on speaking terms with your brothers,” Narsi commented.
“Espirdro isn’t like the rest of them,” Atreau replied, but then he frowned at Narsi. He didn’t recall having told him exactly how estranged he’d become from his father and brothers. Though it wasn’t a secret, and people liked to gossip. Still, this wasn’t the only oddly personal piece of information that Narsi seemed to possess concerning him.
Narsi returned Atreau’s puzzled gaze.
“Do you mean Espirdra?” Narsi asked. “Your runaway sister?”
Now Atreau had to stop himself from gaping. No one remembered Espirdra anymore; their father had gone to immense lengths to erase all trace of her existence. Only Atreau and his father knew Espirdra had not been one of the hundreds of people who succumbed to bluefever. His three oldest brothers had been away at sea or school. Noble peers hardly noted her disappearance, since she’d not yet been presented to the royal court. In the years since, her name had been relentlessly expunged from any records and recollections.
Narsi didn’t offer him a smug smile—as a blackmailer might—but seemed genuinely confused. Clearly someone, somehow, had let one of the Vediya family’s deepest secrets slip out within earshot of Narsi. But who? And what other dangerous information might have spilled out beside the fact that Espirdra hadn’t died?
“Who told you that?” Atreau asked.
Narsi raised his brows.
“You really don’t remember?” Narsi asked; then, with a slightly chagrined expression, he added, “You told me.”
“I did no such thing.” Atreau could hardly credit that Narsi would expect him to believe such a claim. “Take it as a compliment, Master Physician, for I clearly recall the few conversations you and I have shared. Not once did I mention any such thing—”
“Not here, not now, but the first time we met. At the Grunito house, when you came for Lord Nestor’s wedding . . .” Narsi cocked his head. “You really don’t remember any of it at all?”
“Nestor’s wedding was eleven years ago.” He stared intently at Narsi and tried to drag up any recollection of the other man. The Grunitos had employed a large number of Haldiim servants, but Atreau doubted any of them could have been quite as striking as Narsi. Though he would have been younger—twelve or thirteen—but his hazel eyes would have been the same, and likely he would have stood half a head taller than most of the serving boys.
All he recollected of the day was a sickening patchwork of feeling deeply hungover and then clinging to his horse as he raced ahead of the royal bishop’s men. They’d been intent upon killing Javier Tornesal, and for some idiotic reason Atreau had taken it into his head to impersonate his friend and draw the murderous soldiers away so that Elezar and Javier could escape. He’d very nearly died.
“I don’t . . .” Atreau trailed off as a faint glimmer of recollection stirred. There was something almost familiar about the set of Narsi’s mouth, the tempting fullness of his lips . . . All at once disjointed memories seemed to filter through his mind. The night before the wedding, during all the loud festivities and chaos of boisterous guests, when the wine had been flowing like scarlet streams, he’d trailed after a tall young man who’d wandered between shafts of moonlight beneath the apple trees. The figure had reminded him of Elezar when they’d first met. Yes. Now he remembered. The youth had greeted him with that same charming smile and curious expression.
Atreau had been so drunk that he could hardly recall any other details, but he now felt certain that more had passed between the two of them, and it worried him.
“Were you by the apple trees? And I . . . walked over to you?”
“Staggered, really.” Narsi appeared amused. “Is that all you remember?”
“At the moment,” Atreau admitted. “Why don’t you tell me about it. Perhaps it will rouse my memory.”
“If you don’t recall”—Narsi shifted his troubled gaze to the fire—“I don’t know that I should bring it up. It might not have been the finest moment for either of us.”
Dread crept through Atreau. All his life he’d promised himself that no matter how low he sank, he’d never stoop to the drunken debauchery of the wealthy men whom his father had slyly admitted to his rooms when he’d been a youth. But now a wretched uncertainty seized him. Had he been so deep in his cups that he’d assaulted Narsi—or at least attempted it? Considering his state, he might well have failed on several counts.
“Did I . . .” Atreau couldn’t even say the words, they sickened him so. “If I . . . harmed you, I know that I can’t possibly apologize enough to make things right. But—”
“No! Nothing like that at all!” Narsi rose to his feet and laid his hand gently against Atreau’s arm. He looked just a little self-conscious. “I mean, I did beg a kiss from you, but you only obliged me after a long laugh, and even then it was the most chaste kiss I’ve received outside of my mother pressing her lips to my brow.”
Relief washed through Atreau. He released a breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Narsi looked decidedly embarrassed, but now the entire thing struck Atreau as funny.
“So I staggered up and you asked me to kiss you?” Atreau wished that he could remember how that exchange had gone. “And then for some reason I told you all my family secrets?”
“Not all, I don’t suppose,” Narsi replied. “And it went the other way around. First you staggered over to me and sort of fell on the ground at my feet.”
“After that dashing entrance I can see why you might beg a kiss of me.” Atreau couldn’t help but laugh. Narsi laughed as well, but he still seemed embarrassed.
“It was the first time you’d noticed me, but not the first time I’d noticed you. The scullery girls were forever pointing you out when you came to visit.” Narsi shrugged. “That night you weren’t at your best, I admit, but you were troubled by Elezar’s talk of having to fight to the death to protect Javier—as though neither your life nor his own was as valuable as Javier’s.”
Atreau scowled at the idea that he’d so blithely announced all this to a random youth. He certainly hadn’t been anything approaching a spymaster at nineteen.
“You told me that you didn’t want to die, not even for Javier. I assured you that it wasn’t fair of Elezar Grunito or anyone else to extract such an oath from you. Then I admitted my own guilt for not wanting to take vows, not even for Father Timoteo’s sake. You assured me that if Timoteo deserved my affection, he’d respect my decision and do what was best for me. And then you explained how it had taken you losing Espirdra for you to realize that despite everything your father said, he didn’t truly care about any of his children more than his own wealth and comfort. If he’d loved Espirdra, he would’ve helped him instead of driving him away and then declaring him dead.”
“I managed to say all that when I could hardly walk?” Atreau asked. Despite the years that had obviously passed, he felt mortified at just how much he must have poured out to Narsi.
“Our conversation wandered, but it wasn’t unpleasant,” Narsi said. “We talked about all sorts of things, from our favorite dishes to our hopes for our futures. You already knew you’d be an author, but you feared that you would never possess enough wealth or social status to ensure you’d never have to curry favor from anyone.”
Atreau nodded. His younger self had been justified in this concern.
“So it was and so, it seems, it ever shall be. But tell me, what did you desire for your future?” Atreau inquired. “An empire built upon importing exotic fruits? Or perhaps a career charming secrets from loose-lipped Cadeleonian nobles?”
Narsi laughed and shook his head. “I wanted to leave service in the Grunito chapel and study medicine in the Haldiim District. I’d passed their entry test, but I didn’t have the money to pay the tuition.” Narsi paused and glanced to Atreau with a particularly searching expression.
“And?” Atreau prompted, because a man didn’t look like that if there wasn’t more to be said.
“You really don’t remember at all?” Narsi asked, but then he shook his head. “You told me to wait for you and you staggered off. I waited and began to think you’d forgotten about me when you reappeared and handed me a coin purse filled nearly to bursting with silver—”
“Are you serious?” All at once Atreau recalled the frantic hours, two days later, when he’d rummaged through his pack unable to find even a single coin of the little treasure he’d so carefully saved through all of his years at the Sagrada Academy. He’d been devastated and had miserably reconciled himself to the thought that he’d lost the purse when he’d fled from the royal bishop’s men. How absurd to know now that his drunken youthful self had actually committed the theft and given everything to a boy he’d just met. A very handsome boy, no doubt, but still . . .
“That’s where all my money went?” Atreau murmured.
“I swear. You handed it over to me and declared that if you could not be free to follow your own desires, then at the very least I should pursue mine.”
“How very charming of me. I can see why you would feel the desire to give me a kiss.” Atreau laughed. The color that rose across Narsi’s cheeks was very appealing.
“You did make a rather indelible impression,” Narsi admitted, though he sounded more nostalgic than infatuated. “I probably shouldn’t have accepted the money, but at the time, I’d just been so stunned and happy. You changed everything for me in just a few minutes and you didn’t ask anything in return.”
“Lord, I sound like an idiot,” Atreau muttered, but then he added, for Narsi’s benefit, “I suppose I must console myself that at least I possessed the wit to invest my own foolishness in your wisdom, Master Narsi. I can only hope you won’t charge me too much for today’s treatments.”
“I’ll not charge you a thing. That was part of the promise that I made to you. The one I asked you to seal with a kiss.” The fact that he’d made such a request, and what it implied that Atreau had granted it, seemed to hang in the air between them for a quiet moment. Then to Atreau’s relief Narsi went on. “I vowed that when I completed my schooling I’d find you and come to help you as repayment for all you did for me that night. I know it must sound childish to hold to such an oath, but you really did save me and I truly do feel I owe you a great debt. That’s why I came to Cieloalta. To keep my promise to you.”
Atreau had no idea of how he ought to respond. He’d made and broken so many oaths that he’d long since stopped believing in the worth of his own word or anyone else’s. Yet here Narsi stood holding himself to a decade-old promise that only he remembered; if that wasn’t the test of an honorable man Atreau didn’t know what was.
“I sound rather trite, don’t I?” Narsi commented. “But there it is. If I seem to know too much about you, it’s only what you told me yourself.”
“And I told you about Espirdro?” Atreau could hardly credit it. He’d not confessed to anyone. And he’d certainly had plenty of drunken occasions to do so.
Narsi nodded. “So, I take it she—or he now—made the journey to the Salt Islands and that you two found each other again?”
“Yes, a few years back,” Atreau admitted. “Despite how changed he was. I knew him at once. He’s called Spider by most of the folk who know him—”
“Yes! The owner of the Fat Goose. I thought that the two of you resembled each other. He has a very handsome smile.” Narsi frowned then. “But why did he slap you?”
“I presumed to offer him advice on matters of the heart and he didn’t like what I had to say. To be fair, I didn’t word things as nicely as I should have. He’s quite protective of his lady love.”
Narsi looked like he might ask more, but then he shrugged and leaned back in the chair. “Sometimes advice from the people closest to us is the hardest to hear.”
Atreau acknowledged the fact with a nod. Though in this case it was likely far more complex.
“It’s complicated by the fact that the lady in question is a courtesan and she and I have a past association. The romance between the two of us is over. I wouldn’t have introduced them to each other if it hadn’t been, but I think it still bothers Spider.”
“It doesn’t trouble you?” Narsi asked. He wore a thoughtful expression, which seemed to suit him and lent the flattering appearance of fascination to his curiosity.
