Silk fire, p.7
Silk Fire, page 7
“Why are you so bright, Koreshiza?” Iradz said, yawning as she plopped down on a pillow puff. I remained standing, watching her for a cue. “Are you a slut?”
“What does that mean?”
“Let me tell you a story. Once, an evil whore stole essence from the families of honest women. He hid his crimes by tithing extra essence to his son. The boy grew strong, smart and beautiful. Like you.”
“I don’t have a father!” I didn’t know half the words she’d used, but the bile in her voice still splashed me.
“I didn’t mean it like that, stupid. Listen. The boy thought his essence made him equal to a Dzaxashigé. So he fucked the guards protecting the judge’s betrothed. They let him in the boy’s chamber. He strangled the groom and replaced him at the wedding. But when the judge bound their blood with the sacred dragon’s sword, she saw his eyes were blue. Not Dzaxashigé red. She couldn’t break a vow sworn on the sword, so she ran the blade through his chest to end the marriage he’d tricked her into. What’s the moral of the story?”
“Don’t murder people?”
She laughed. “You’re stupid. All essence comes from somewhere. If you find it somewhere strange, even behind a pretty face—something’s wrong.”
Lady Fidzjakovik entered, followed by the tutor and my mother. “Wine to celebrate a bargain well-struck,” the lady called. “Iradz, join us. You’re ten. That’s old enough.”
“A moment alone with my son, dzaxa?” asked my mother. The lady nodded and drew her people away, leaving us. My mother beamed. “My bright, beautiful boy. Well done.”
I said nothing, rubbing the red marks Iradz had left on my wrist. My mother had told me to climb the stair and follow the crowd. Had she wanted the lady’s heir to befriend me?
My mother hugged me tight. “I’m now a captain in our lady’s guard. We’re moving to the top floor. We’re rich. You’ve done it, Koré.”
I still didn’t understand. I wanted to be rich, and see my mother honored. But what had I done?
She cupped my face in her hands. Framing it like a picture. “You’re going to marry dzaxa Iradz. Your wife will inherit a building!”
“But I don’t love Iradz. I just met her.” Boys in stories only married their true loves, though wicked merchants and generals threatened to steal them away. Though in some stories, the boys are the wicked ones.
“You’ll grow to love her, and she’ll love your store. You’re the brightest boy in the Prizeheron. Your children will shine like stars.”
I wanted to weep, though I knew it wasn’t allowed. I wanted to capture my mother’s rare smile forever. I wanted a hundred contradictory things, and my wants didn’t matter.
I’d just been sold for the first time.
CHAPTER FOUR
The High Kiss, within the eastern sculpture of the Surrender
3rd Kafi, Year 92 Rarafashi
“Shadow lingered in their flesh and poisoned their love, for the priests could not deny their pleasure”—untitled book in the Archive’s university library, categorized as fiction
“Wearing a condom tells your wife you don’t trust her to choose wisely when to conceive. You’re poisoning your marriage. If she rips it off, blame your own selfishness.”—Sexual Education for Boys, Armory Street Civic University Press
Hours raced by in the wake of Stonefire’s murder. Dzaro screamed and shouted. Ruby and Kge rolled Ria into a spare bedroom as a shamed Päreshi slunk away. Sadza argued for her diplomat’s release and met my aunt’s obstinacy. Heralds returned with cleaners and a transmutationist.
“You’re next of kin?” asked the transmutationist, a somber, hooded Engineer.
“I was her employer.” She’d never mentioned family to me. And in War, boss ranked next to blood.
“Would you like us to attempt a higher-order transmutation of the body?”
“Holdspark,” I forced through numb lips. “Stonefire was a guard, once. She would have wanted the essence in her soul to fuel batons.”
I’d ordered my employees to their rooms, but they hadn’t listened. Ruby wept in Kge’s arms, and Bero was speaking quietly with both. Opal watched me, his brown eyes haunted, questioning. I had no answers for him, save violence had always been part of our trade, and I couldn’t summon those cold words. My soul felt like a poured-out cask.
Possessive. Controlling. Faziz’s description of Akizeké lingered in my ears, quivering in a distant corner of what was left of my heart. I’d told myself one bad client was a small price for the magistrate’s attention. But bad clients could go off like bombs.
“I witnessed the murder myself.” Dzaro glared hatefully at Tamadza. “As the Lady of the Surrender, I find you guilty. You’ve slain a woman with her essence store intact, forever depriving the world of the power she carried. I sentence you to tithe threefold Stonefire’s essence to her next of kin. Refuse, and be branded Unrepentant.”
“She means it, you bloodthirsty fuck!” shouted a guard. A holdfast brand shimmered in her hand. A circle to mar those withholding essence from the law.
The anger in my breast leapt with crazed joy. I wanted Tamadza to say no. I wanted to watch her flesh sizzle as every eye in the High Kiss forever turned from her.
“I’ll tithe,” Tamadza said, turning to me. “Will you take your price now? I’d like to clear up this disgusting matter promptly.”
Propriety dictated I give her my hand and accept the tithe. Stonefire had worked for me, after all. With no family to recompense, I was due payment for the end of her labor. But I wanted Tamadza’s sentence to hang heavy on her. To make murder nag at her conscience, not quickly paid off with a touch.
“Now that I think of it,” I said, “she may have had a cousin in the Prizeheron. I’ll write and see if they’ll collect the tithe. The journey downstreet should only take you a few days, gracious envoy.”
Her nostrils flared. But I’d gambled correctly—she couldn’t risk ignoring me and incurring more of Dzaro’s ire.
“I’ll handle the rest of this.” My aunt placed a soft hand on my shoulder. I didn’t let myself take comfort from her. “Go to bed, Koré. Please.”
Strain cracked her voice. Exhausted and soul-worn, I turned and dragged myself up to my chambers.
The great bed was only a prop. I leapt into the nook hidden by the tall bedcurtain, maneuvering past my desk and filing cabinet. My pallet here was lumpy, but I didn’t care. Sleeping in the wide bed built for lovers reminded me of Zega’s absence. I flung off my ruined skirt and dropped it into the messy pile of blankets.
At the fourth bell, I woke from dreams awash in shadow. After privately weeping on my pallet, I donned an old leather shortskirt, and my boss’s face, and joined my people in the gym.
“How are you doing, Koré?” asked Kge. She and Ruby, who spotted each other as they hoisted barbells, lowered their weights and hurried to my side. “You missed breakfast. Cook made triceratops bacon.”
“We’re doing fifty sit-ups for each strip,” Bero said. The jest rang hollow. But at least he was here. Providing leadership while I slept in and moaned. “How are you feeling? We cried at breakfast.”
“I’m fine,” I spat. Too aggressive. Too angry. Ugly traits in a man, even in a boss. Be soft. “Would you like the day off? Two days?” Their eyes were raw from tears. My offer did nothing to stir them. How can I make you feel better? Bero should have this job, not me. He had the leadership experience—he’d run his wife’s businesses in the Warmwater District, before divorcing her and moving back to Victory Street to start a career of his own. All I knew was how to tally a balance sheet and get fucked.
“I’d like to keep working,” Opal murmured. “I want a distraction.”
A distraction. Something I could do. “Good. Check the angle of those core twists. Your chest won’t define if you don’t throw your shoulder into the upstroke.”
“Right. Sorry.” He twisted harder, spine stiff with fear. I flinched. I’d forgotten how my youngest employee feared my wrath. I would never fire him or endanger his livelihood, but he wouldn’t believe me if I told him so. Victory Street leached away the soul’s power to trust.
I knelt beside him on the woven mat, pushing his dark shoulder across his body to his knee. “Thorough and smooth. Concentrate.”
“I’m trying. But… what if I fail and I’m not pretty enough? What if a client hurts me?” Tears streaked the white lines of his makeup.
“You don’t need definition.” Neza’s own arms bulged as he patted Opal’s shoulder. “You have a sweet smile, and you listen well to people. We have our own strengths.”
Opal sobbed. His fear recalled memories of phantom slaps and cutting bonds. My jaw tightened. If I spoke to reassure him, tears would spill with my words. No one respected a crying man.
I turned away, a storm in my chest. Better separate myself from friendship. Stay in total control. I had a dragon to hide.
Running my hands along the free weights, I felt out my own. How much one could lift varied with the essence one carried, and my weights were two and a quarter times heavier than the other boys’. But today, I felt weaker than a cooked noodle.
“Do people still want to go out tomorrow?” Ruby asked. Her sapphire earrings flashed, a match to the deep-blue skirt she wore. “For the Seven Crows Festival?”
“Celebration is the High Kiss’s sacred art!” Neza hugged her. She kissed his cheek, and soon the boys were naming bars and clubs. Bero pulled Kge over to join in the preparations. Ruby wrote a schedule on the mirror in lipstick. Even Opal was smiling by the time they’d picked their destinations.
“Would you like to come, boss?” Bero asked. “It would make you feel better. A nice team-building exercise.”
They’d stopped asking me to join them years ago. I never let myself say yes. “I’ve sewing to do. Enjoy yourselves.”
Thank you, I nearly added, but didn’t.
After lifting, I bathed, shaved clean, and returned to my room to dress for the afternoon: a skirt of cream-colored silk, cloth-of-aluminum rays slicing the front into wedges of stylized armor, my silver bracers inlaid with electrum starbursts. I left my shoulders bare, brushed gold around my eyes, and sat at my table feeling like me again. Desirable. In control.
Tragedy couldn’t throw me off for long.
As I sorted through escort requests for the state banquet, Ria barged through the door.
The Engineer wore sheer green silk, her fajix straining to hold her breasts, her skirt stretched tight about her wide hips and plump belly. She nearly tripped over the too-long hem. Ruby’s clothes. Gold nuggets winked at her earlobes; her unbound hair fell in a charming mess, no doubt fresh from just rolling off the bed where we’d tossed her drunk ass.
“Honored Teacher Riapáná Źutruro,” I gave the Engineers’ honorific in their round, open-voweled common tongue. “I hope you slept well.”
“Worrying about me? Poor Stonefire was murdered!”
My heart twisted. “An occupational hazard. Fire Weavers shouldn’t concern themselves with the lives of courtesans.”
“The Fire Weavers protect everyone on the city-planet. Including courtesans. Or at least, we’re supposed to. Mostly from ancient abominations and hungering magmaworms and whatever weird shit ancient civilizations buried near the planet core, but, you know. I like to think we generally look out for everyone.” She sighed, and winced. Essence could cure hangovers, but not shame. “And don’t ‘Fire Weaver’ this and ‘Honored Teacher’ that. I’m just Ria. It’s weird hearing you act formal after I threw up on you.”
A smile crept across my lips, despite everything. “Okay, Ria. How can I help you?”
“I’m here to apologize.” She stared down at the floor, where her foot traced a pattern on sandstone. “If I hadn’t made a scene, you would have been free to stop Tamadza. She used me as a distraction to grab Stonefire. It’s my fault.”
My jaw dropped. Ria, all light, blames herself for this evil? “Say no more. Trying to cheer me is kind, but it’s my fault. I invited the envoys. I left to talk with my aunt. I own the venue. It’s my fault.”
“That’s foolish. You couldn’t have predicted your customer was a murderer!”
“And you could have predicted murder from a stranger at a party?” I folded my arms. “I forbid you to blame yourself under my roof.”
“Forbid me?” Her lips melted into a confused squiggle, quirked up at the ends. “From thinking? While you stand there and loathe yourself? Hardly a generous host.”
“I can also loathe myself for being a poor host. Or we can both blame Envoy Tamadza.” A weight slid from my shoulders. Tamadza had struck the blow. I’d had no power to predict or stop it. If I could absolve Ria of Stonefire’s death, I could absolve myself, and miss my friend without making her death about my pain. “Fuck Tamadza.”
Ria gave me a thoughtful grin. “You’re right. Thank you. And fuck Tamadza. My mentor, Päreshi, likes her—but Päreshi likes everyone who badmouths my father, murderer or no. She and Dad argued so much at this one feast, I asked the judge to move them to separate tables.”
“You’re acquainted with the Judge of Engineering?”
“Yeah! No big deal. I’m good at making friends. But Fire Weavers are supposed to be good at languages and history. So everyone back home is like ‘oh, Ria, you’re so smart’ and I’m like ‘thanks,’ and then it’s ‘let me explain why you’re not living up to your potential, because every little thing you do is wrong!’” She mimed the second speaker’s mouth movements on her hand, tapping her fingers to her thumb like she held a sock puppet.
“It sounds like they owe you considerably less advice and many more expensive fruity drinks.” I considered. “Perhaps non-alcoholic ones. But you can certainly figure out how to be yourself on your own.”
She sighed. “I’m sure doing a great job so far. Like, how do I even start? Being an adult? Being my own person?”
I shrugged. I didn’t like considering myself deeply. It reminded me how little I’d accomplished in life beyond scheming. “Let me know when you learn. Shall we return to discussing murder? That’s simpler.”
“Agreed,” Ria said. “It can’t be a coincidence Tamadza shows up the day Dzkegé’s shade disappears. She’s after something darker than diplomacy. If I can tell the Fire Weavers what Tamadza is up to, they’ll have to give me my second bracer.” She stepped closer. I bit my lip, remembering how easily she’d provoked dangerous scales down my spine. “But I need your help to expose her. Let’s get some answers, and some real revenge for Stonefire.”
“I don’t care for revenge,” I said. “It breaks more than it heals.” A normal man would say that. Normal men didn’t know the trick of revenge—already be broken. “But as for answers… I wouldn’t mind learning how to keep my employees safe.” And how to make Sadza endorse Akizeké. Forgive me, Stonefire. Tamadza stood at Sadza’s right hand. I’d have to keep dealing with her until the endorsement was pledged. I needed to show Akizeké I could bring her power, along with my flesh. And if I could also bring her Ria’s powerful connections… “What do you need from me?”
“An invitation to Rarafashi’s welcome banquet. Päreshi refused to use her connections to get me in. My best option is taking Stonefire’s place.”
My jaw dropped. Impersonate an essence-thieving courtesan? “The stain… to your reputation…”
“Oh, no. People might learn I enjoy fucking.” Ria rolled her eyes. “The shame.”
“The stain to my reputation,” I said. “If I send someone a poorly trained escort. I could sneak you in as a caterer, perhaps…”
“What? How hard can your job possibly be?”
Despite my hesitation, calculations spiraled through my mind. Thick, muscular limbs, curves in her hips and bust… every lesbian in War would stare at her ass. Did she have what it took? “You’re bright, funny and bold. Boys likely throw themselves at you. But posing as a courtesan will require more than fucking. Your client will likely be a woman. She’ll want to dominate you, because you’re short and adorable. If you have any problem with that, you’ll have to hide it well.”
“Sounds like an adventure. Not a problem.”
The arrogant smile hadn’t budged from her cherry-red lips. I’d have to test her with more than words. Blood pounded in my ears, foolish and heavy as a down comforter. “Pretend I’m a client. What do you do?”
“Pretend you’re a woman, or show you how I’d take a man?”
“Whatever you’d like.”
“I’d like you, Koré. I’d like you very much.” Her fingers locked about my wrist. Firm calluses brushed the tender skin above my veins. “Might I kiss you? You’re so…”
I bent down and pressed my lips to hers. She stiffened, then stretched onto her toes, wrapping firm hands around my neck. She tasted like the heat of the noon sun, light flashing off Victory Street, fire and smoke in some enormous machine. Her tongue teased mine. Her teeth closed on my lower lip. I gasped before pulling away.
“Not bad,” I panted, pulse racing. “You were about to call me beautiful, weren’t you? Don’t. Clients expect more effort from lies. ‘I can’t look away from you.’ Sound surprised. You weren’t expecting to like this job—now, despite everything, you’re enjoying yourself.”
“But you are beautiful.” Her hands traced the line of pale hair down my stomach. “And I’m very much enjoying myself.”
She tugged the front of my skirt, and I fell into her arms. Her legs wrapped around my hips. She levered herself up. Her weight steered me backwards until I tumbled onto the bed.
“Careful, boss!” she said, fumbling with the knot of my skirt. I unlatched her fajix. Her breasts slid into my hands, heavy and riper than melons, tipped with coin-sized dark nipples. Very beautiful indeed.
I nursed the tender, swollen flesh. Ria moaned a blasphemous invocation. She abandoned the knot and flung my skirt up over my chest. My shaft slid free. She ran her lips over the tip, and, while shivers still danced down my chest, changed her mind and slid on top of me.
