Mage Bond, page 14
Peter rubbed his shoulder. The more time passed, the more convinced he became that his injury had been as grievous as the crew claimed. Arkenn healed him. Like Peter now realized he’d helped Arkenn’s healing. May Arkenn be somewhere far from here. Somewhere safe. Somewhere fanatics didn’t kill mages.
Had Arkenn found a lover, making a good life for himself? Did a ragged pirate’s son ever cross his mind?
The two boys Peter found in the warehouse now nestled aboard the ship he watched, on their way to their new life, with a couple who’d keep them safe—along with their little dog, all of them much cleaner after Addie’s tender attentions.
From somewhere, she’d procured an amulet for each of the boys. Coin helped. What would Da say if he knew Peter spent the Seabird’s ill-gotten gains on getting mage-born out of the city?
Nothing stopped Peter from leaving. He could sell the tavern, for he’d gotten offers, or surrender it to Addie, but where would he go? Besides, his heart said he must stay here, for what he couldn’t say.
A tiny flicker on the ship’s deck could have been the older boy saying goodbye. Hopefully, the ship wouldn’t suffer the same fate as the warehouse.
Peter turned away, making his way back to the main street, still bustling with nighttime activity.
A handsome young man caught his eye. “Eve’, sir.” He tipped his hat in the way Peter knew meant he’d put himself on offer. While men with men were judged harshly, supply and demand meant a plentiful selection of male night workers.
The man was slight, with light hair, and for a moment…
Nah. The man caught Peter staring and gave a languid smile. “Looking for some company? Someone to keep you warm on this chilly night?”
Peter shook himself out of memories. “What? Oh, no. My apologies. No offense.”
“None taken.” The man drifted close enough for Peter to smell his bathing soap. “Some other time, perhaps?”
“We’ll see.” If not for a full tavern awaiting his attention, would Peter have accepted the offer? How long since he’d enjoyed the pleasures another man could bring? How much longer could he do without? He no longer lived with Addie, not that she’d have cared who he brought home, but still, word about his desire for men in the wrong ears could hurt business, which could hurt Addie, and hurt the young mages she found and secreted out of harm’s way.
The night air held the crispness of autumn, bringing to mind lands where leaves turned gold, red, and orange. Then snows came. Snow seldom fell in E’Skaara. The trees here also never lost their leaves. Maybe someday Peter would go adventuring again, enjoy such sights once more.
Travel to lands he’d heard of in stories.
He cut down an alleyway to avoid additional propositions, taking a shortcut learned long ago.
Ssssllllllssshhhh! What was that slithering noise? Peter paused, squinting into the dimness. “Hello? Is anyone there?” A flash of purple flickered at the edge of his sight, gone when he turned. Must have been a trick of the darkness or perhaps a cat’s eye.
If so, why did his heart pound so wildly? He hurried, quickly making the next turn.
And stopped cold. A figure stood before him, holding a lantern.
“Don’t be afraid. I’m not here to harm you.” A man’s voice, soft and melodic. The blinding light kept Peter from seeing clearly.
“Who are you?”
“A priest of the Father. You’re not safe here. Leave.”
“Why am I not safe?”
Without answering, the priest brushed past, a swirl of wool sweeping around his ankles. Shrill whistles sounded from the next alley.
Peter took the priest’s advice and ran.
Peter lifted the last of the chairs onto the tables so Addie could clean the floor.
“Nice crowd tonight,” she said, clinking the proof in her apron pockets. “They know how to appreciate my… talents.”
Not to mention her ample breasts nearly spilling from her dress. My little moneymakers, she called them. Then she’d cackle and add, “Maybe not so little.” Yes, she enticed clientele, who left disappointed. Local prostitutes should give Addie a cut of their pay for sending the frustrated men into their arms.
“It was a decent night.” Peter might never grow wealthy lodging travelers and serving ale, but he made a good living, a far better living than he had any right to, without the ever-present threat of a hangman’s noose. He’d hidden away his father’s legacy, using only when needed. Much went to the poor Addie helped. She didn’t ask where it came from, and Peter didn’t volunteer the information. Addie knew his previous profession.
Peter eyed the stool where the handsome stranger sometimes sat, all dark, brooding and quiet.
Something about the man struck Peter as familiar. Arkenn had blond hair and blue eyes, but the man who came in silently and left without saying much had too much width to his shoulders and appeared taller. No lovely mountain lilt added interest to the words, whenever he did speak. No, he sounded E’Skaara born and raised.
Besides, Peter looked for Arkenn and never found him. But, of course, in a city of this size, easy to overlook someone who traveled in different circles, even if blond hair and blue eyes narrowed the choices.
In his time in this city, Peter often swore he’d found Arkenn, only to embarrass himself when the person he approached turned out to be someone else.
His heart couldn’t take much more disappointment.
Both past and present, Peter’s professions taught him what to look for and how to study people. Yet, there was more to the stranger than met the eye, the way he balanced on his stool as if poised to fight at a moment’s notice. Hard to miss the knife up his sleeve, or the one in his boot that inhibited the movement of his right ankle, the way he constantly swept his gaze from side to side.
The way he paused when his gaze fell on Peter, though not in an unfriendly way.
Assassin, perhaps? Hardly the first to grace this city.
Soldier? Guard? Some dangerous profession, surely.
Long, sturdy fingers gripped the spoon when the stranger ate his stew. Peter shuddered, imagining those fingers on his skin. For the sake of that skin and his livelihood, he’d best not get caught staring. On a ship, no one cared how men occupied themselves with each other. However, most landed locals followed the edicts of the Father, at least to a degree. Any regard Peter harbored for the stranger wouldn’t be tolerated. Still, how closely could a former pirate possibly follow the temple’s teachings?
He’d felt the man’s eyes upon him. If only the stranger stayed until all other patrons left… No, such thinking would do Peter no good. No good at all.
Who was the mysterious stranger who hadn’t divulged his name or spoken more than a handful of words? Although he spoke like a native speaker without mixing in unfamiliar words as many travelers did, he didn’t share the locals’ coloring or bearing. Perhaps a younger son, driven away to protect an older sibling’s claim to the family’s legacy.
Most left on ships, overestimating their abilities, never to return.
The man definitely watched Peter. Too bad he always arrived during the busiest part of the night, when Peter had no time to socialize.
And left before the crowd dwindled.
“I’m taking my leave of you.” Addie pulled her shawl off the back of the chair she’d placed near the fire to warm. Though the city enjoyed milder temperatures regardless of the season, nights grew cold from incoming sea breezes, enhanced by the recent unrelenting rains.
“Shall I walk with you?” Peter asked as he did every night. In the beginning, when he’d only worked at the tavern, he’d climbed the stairs at her house to his small room, but once he’d inherited the Stone’s Throw from Mitta and become a business owner, he moved above the tavern.
Addie patted his cheek. “No need for that. Any cutpurses are likely to be my kin.” Peter locked the door behind her. A squeak, squeak, squeak, unmistakable to anyone listening, sounded in the rooms above his head. He’d rented to a bonded couple and two men claiming to be cousins.
The noise wasn’t coming from the couple’s room. If the crowd hadn’t left the tavern, Peter would never have heard the sound.
Although Addie was no stranger to the goings-on of travelers, he’d rather not have her here to grin and make suggestions of him joining the lodgers.
“Meddling woman. I cannot wait until your nephews and nieces reach bondable age so you can matchmake for them and leave me alone,” he often grumbled.
Addie always snickered, unrepentant. She never reminded him of how they’d met, how she’d rescued him from the streets and treated him like one of her own.
“Oh! Oooooh!” came from the ceiling, followed by silence. If she bore witness, Peter didn’t even want to imagine what the saucy-tongued Addie would say. He shifted his rising cock in his trousers and fled the room, assailed by visions of the “cousins,” one buried deep in the other’s body.
His mind, however, chose to add those frantic sex noises to the visage of a mysterious patron.
The lovers were probably asleep when Peter finished preparations for the next day and climbed into his loft bedroom. Thoughts went through his head: the stranger, the Seabird, the boys he’d sent on a journey.
His odd walk back revisited his mind. The slithering sound. The priest.
The priest’s words:
You’re not safe here. Leave.
Could a former pirate and mage-born be safe anywhere?
Chapter Nineteen
Martin handed the tightly wrapped parcel to the temple clerk, arching to stretch his back. Today, a small delivery conducted on foot, only because the commander asked for this special favor.
“Martin! You’re back!” came an excited voice from behind.
He should have known he’d not escape the temple grounds without being spotted. Martin turned to face a delicately-built young man with high cheekbones, smooth, unblemished skin, and copper waves, dressed in clothes far finer than Martin would ever own. The perfect, typical temple dweller.
Cere had grown during their acquaintance, nearly of an age with Martin, but still retaining delicate features Martin never possessed. “Come with me to the garden?”
As much as he’d like to truly be a friend, Martin must be careful, especially after Cere kissed him. “I’m afraid I am needed. I have other duties.” Somehow Cere had wriggled his way into Martin’s affections with his puppyish need for attention.
But yet, how could Martin resist such a hopeful smile? “Well, maybe a moment.” Please let Cere not mention the kiss. There was no room in Martin’s life for kisses from a temple novice.
Cere led the way to the gardens. Even late into the season, flowers bloomed. The paths were strewn with shining white pebbles, matching the temple’s walls. Vine-covered arbors offered shade; ornate benches beckoned the weary to pause a moment, rest, and enjoy the meticulously kept gardens.
Or rather, beckoned the weary elite. Martin bet the tavernkeeper of the Stone’s Throw had never seen anything so fine.
No other novices roamed the pathways, just an army of gardeners. Oh, how many working people it took to keep this temple lavish.
“You know you’re attractive enough to join us, don’t you?”
This old argument. Martin shook his head. “I have no use for a life of leisure. I like my freedom to roam the city too much.”
“If you joined the order, you could stay here with me.” Cere gave Martin a smile that likely lured many to his bed.
Cere was Martin’s one regret, befriending one of the Lady’s own. He’d only meant to infiltrate, not engage. A city guard and occasional deliveryman, he should have been invisible. This temple-dweller alone saw him. Acknowledged him.
So different from all the others, who barely acknowledged Martin’s new rank of Captain. “You know I can’t.”
“You won’t.” Cere pouted.
Martin lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Even if I presented myself, I am far past the age to be a novice.”
Cere ran an appreciative gaze over Martin’s body. “If you don’t try, you’ll never know.” After a moment, his smile fell, as did his gaze. “I must go. Will you be back soon?”
“Yes. In a few days.”
“I will see you then, my friend. Look for me?” Without waiting for a reply, Cere took another path, disappearing around a tree.
Without a kiss. Good.
Martin sighed, staring after one of his few friends in this place. While he didn’t enjoy the gossip of others, he had no wish to alienate anyone.
The very man he wanted to see waited across the street when he stepped from the gardens.
Brown gloves, boots, cassock, and a hood hid every inch of the priest. Martin had never caught a single glimpse of skin. Likewise, Dmitri’s accent revealed nothing—he could have been from anywhere. The same held true for the other priests Martin saw.
Martin’s blue, red, and green uniform stood out in stark contrast. Not as fine as the novice’s clothing, but he’d passed approval for leaving the garrison.
“Good day, Father.”
“Good day, Martin.”
“What can I do for you?” Let the priest speak his own heart. Maybe he’d see Martin’s demands as proper payment for whatever he wanted.
“Walk with me.”
Martin fell into step beside Dmitri, meandering around the side of the temple, stopping before an open portico.
Ah, so that’s where Cere hurried off to.
Two by two, the novices paired off, facing each other in a spirited, quick-footed dance while an instructor patted out the rhythm with his hands. Twice, Cere stumbled, regaining his footing before the instructor noticed.
Martin stood in silence beside Father Dmitri until the instructor barked an order, sending the dancers scampering. Martin could almost hear their collective sighs of relief.
Dmitri nodded toward the now-empty dancefloor. “Did you know the dance moves they practice were once used in battle?”
Martin laughed, imagining the novices, dressed in gaudy, exotic bird colors, trying to fight. “Their tenets are against violence, are they not?” He shrugged. “Well, except for killing mages.”
“Yes, but peace is fleeting, and sometimes a fight is required. Plus, they have no idea where the moves came from. Here…” Dmitri gestured with a gloved hand toward his chest. “Perform that last dance, imagining a dagger in your hand.”
Martin snorted. The priest hadn’t steered him wrong yet, however. He assumed the stance of the first move.
“Dagger,” Dmitri reminded, pulling a glinting blade from his cloak.
Martin’s eyes widened. While he’d used a sword to decapitate demons and concealed daggers on his person for protection, he’d never brandished one on the street in daylight. He took the hilt, eyeing the blade. Such a tiny thing. He glanced up at his unlikely mentor.
If the guards on duty passed by now, they’d undoubtedly have questions. What was the penalty for attacking a member of the clergy? Especially since Martin’s bulk dwarfed the priest’s, though Dmitri towered over him.
“Just because something is small doesn’t mean it’s not useful.”
Martin resumed his stance. Replaying the dance cadence in his head, he went through the movements. Overhand, underhand… He clearly pictured what would have happened to his arm if Cere had managed force when his wrist met his dancing partner’s.
Eyes wide, Martin increased his pace. Instead of air, he visualized a man’s head, neatly kicking an imaginary chin, then whirled to slide a dagger between ribs had Dmitri not spun out of the way.
“Again.” This time, Dmitri assumed a defensive stance.
Martin countered, recalling movements early in the set. Once more, his body fell into a rhythm, muscles flexing as he spun, very nearly connecting.
Dmitri danced away. “Again.”
Time after time, Dmitri altered his stance, driving Martin to improvise and combine moves in new ways.
Finally, Dmitri stepped back, bowing his head. “Well done for your first lesson.”
Martin huffed for breath, resting his hands on his knees. He’d never exerted this much energy on a dance before.
Though his face remained hidden, a smile came across in Dmitri’s words. “You catch on quickly.”
Martin offered the knife.
Dmitri’s hood swiveled back and forth. “Keep it. You never know when you might have need.”
Need? Martin never faced much threat unless hunting, when a rigid length of steel gave protection, and his own, less fine daggers offered a threat to cutpurses in the night. He’d long ago learned to discourage thieves with a mere growl—or a fist if they proved persistent.
Illusions of scorpions when necessary.
The blade of Dmitri’s gift glowed, a sheen of blue, green, and yellow dancing on the metal when its movement caught the light. Runes ran up either side of the bone hilt. Such a beautiful thing to come from a plain-living man. Martin would have to invent stories of how such a fine weapon came into his possession, or he’d be questioned endlessly by his fellow guards.
Martin slipped the knife into his belt, angling the blade to do no harm.
“Walk with me.” Dmitri led them away from the temple. No one seemed bothered by a man wielding a knife during the whole exercise. Had Dmitri somehow kept them from being seen?
Martin strode beside Dmitri. “Why do you watch me? Don’t your edicts teach against fraternizing with those not of your faith? None of your kind ever tried to convert me. Why not?” He’d heard tales of priests accosting people in the streets, preaching the way of the Father, attempting to lure passersby from the Lady.
They weren’t often successful.
A chuckle came from under the priest’s hood. “It’s not that the Father would reject your service for being a nonbeliever, but you have your own path laid out before you.”
“A path? Ever since my parents died, I’ve been merely existing. It’s like I’m waiting for something, but I know not what.”
Dmitri stopped, clutched his hands together, hood tipping down. “I mentioned knowing your parents. Your mother was dear to me.”
