The Duelist 3, page 6
“Oh, yes,” my cat-wife wheedled. “We must see our options presented to us one at a time, wouldn’t you agree, darling Shay?”
“You two are doing that thing again where you’re in on something together, and I’m not,” I said with my hands on my hips as if I was offended.
In reality, I loved when they kinda ganged up on me like that. Their combined flirtatious teasing drove me crazy in all the right ways.
“It’s nothing nefarious, husband,” my phoenix-wife giggled. “We were just thinking, we might need to see you try everything on before we decide what to wear ourselves. After all, we are a matched set.”
“Um, wait, what?” I asked as my smile faded. “You want me to put on a fashion show?”
When they both just looked at me with their excited jeweled eyes, I knew I was in trouble.
Sure enough, about three hours and eighty-six different outfits later, I was finally standing back in front of the mirror staring at someone I hardly recognized as myself.
For starters, part of the reason that damn box was so fucking heavy was because Zoie took it upon herself to buy me some new silver armor complete with matching pauldrons, a chest plate, vambraces, and leg greaves all polished to an outstanding shine. Under that was a lightweight chainmail vest all over a fine indigo tunic and leather breeches. A heavy black mantel with a white-and-black spotted furred collar clipped to the armor’s pauldrons and hung down to my ankles and concealed my Roman-like sword attached to a flashy armored belt, and the whole thing was finished off with a decorative crossbow slung across my back that Zoie told me was ancient and only for show.
That was all well and good, but what altered my appearance above all else were the filigreed swirls and patterns Zoie was currently inking onto my face.
“Don’t squirm so much,” she chastised me for the tenth time as she leaned close and drew more tree branch-like designs around my right eye.
“Sorry, I’m not one for makeup,” I said with a grin.
Zoie held my chin between her thumb and forefinger so I wouldn’t move, and I watched as her sapphire eyes honed in and focused on her task. At this distance, I could see the cat’s-eye of her pupil expand and contract in its peculiar diamond way.
It was hypnotizing enough to keep me from fidgeting, and before I knew it, she was putting down the small ink brush.
“There,” she said and leaned back so she could inspect her work.
“How do I look?” I asked as I tried not to scratch at the drying ink.
“You look mysterious, which is the objective,” Zoie purred, leaned close, and then booped the tip of her nose with mine so a dot of black ink appeared on hers. “Would you like to see yourself?”
“Hmm,” I hummed as I brought her in closer by the waist. “I don’t know, I like the view just fine.”
“Now, now, you must take a look at yourself,” she said and then pulled her head away before I could kiss her. “How else will you compliment me on my masterpiece?”
Zoie grinned and then moved out of the way so I could finally see all of myself in the vanity mirror again.
“Woah,” I said and stood up from the cushioned stool to get a better look at the details.
Zoie had painted a mask over my eyes that reminded me a little of Zorro. But instead of just a flat swath of solid black, she had painstakingly drawn each detail as if the mask was woven out of actual willow branches. Also, because of the metallic sheen to the ink, the whole effect made the mask look three dimensional under the light.
I looked rather badass.
“Do you like it?” she asked shyly.
“Zoie,” I said with a poleaxed expression even the awesomeness of the mask couldn’t hide. “How did you learn how to do something like this?”
“I, um,” she stuttered, and her ears flattened a quarter of the way and swiveled back as if she was flustered. “Often I would distract myself during training by drawing designs in the desert sands. It became one of those bad habits I never could break.”
“I don’t think you understand what I mean, kitten,” I said and turned around to face her. “People kill for this type of talent back where I’m from. You could have your pick of top art schools on this talent alone, or even do something down to earth like become a tattoo artist… although the tattoo artists I knew weren’t really down to earth a lot of the time--”
“Women can become tattooists where you’re from?” Zoie asked as her ears perked up again.
“Anyone with skill can, and babe, you got it,” I summed up and tugged her in so I could put a kiss on her cheek.
“Who has what?” Shay’s melodious voice sang, and the two of us turned as one toward the sound.
My jaw nearly hit the floor at the sight of her.
The gown she wore faded from an emerald-green at the hem up into an azure-blue throughout the sleek bodice and made her look delicate yet strong, but the way her hair was styled was the real show stopper.
Apparently, when her hair was gathered from underneath like that, the golden layers of her glorious mane could be seen more prominently than the red. When combined with her gown, the way her hair was pinned made her look like the setting sun over a pastoral meadow.
“Don’t you look like a gorgeous pair? Look at Alex’s face! Oh, Zoie, did you do that?” Shay floated closer, and the bottom of her gown rippled like tall leaves of grass.
“Yes, It’s-I--” Zoie’s ears swiveled back again as a blush stained her cheeks. “Do you want me to do yours, too?”
“Oh, would you, darling?” the resplendent phoenix-woman asked.
“I’m thinking gold paint for you and then silver for me,” Zoie mused, and I watched my wives carry on with a lot more fascination than I thought I would be capable of given they were just putting on makeup.
“What are they doing?” Rylan asked as he finally poked his head into the suite just as they bustled into the bathroom.
“They are finishing up,” I said and then patted the small leather sofa I was sitting on for him to join me. “Everything squared away?”
“Yep!” he said as he flopped down on the cushion next to me. “Arvid says ‘thaaaank yooooou,’ and I also took some fresh liver to Igoric. The stupid monger is in the barn attic sleeping now, but look, I managed to get this back from him!”
He held up the cracked amulet for me to see, and I grinned.
“Why don’t you keep it?” I suggested.
“Really?” His eyes grew wide, and he clutched it close to his chest.
“Yeah, even though the stone is cracked now, it’s still pretty lucky,” I said.
“Okay, thanks, Alex!” he said as he slipped it over his head. “How do I look?”
“Very handsome,” Zoie said when she and Shay walked back into the main room.
Zoie had changed into the dark-blue two-piece she wore for the Blue Gala not too long ago complete with the skirt that was more like a long loin-cloth due to the miles of her gorgeous legs I could see on either side, a halter top exposing her toned midriff, and her delicate feet left bare as was tradition for her people.
The only non-traditionally Varthan thing was the royal blue headscarf spangled with stars braided through her midnight hair, and it wasn’t until Zoie and Shay were side-by-side that I realized their game.
Shay wasn’t the setting sun, she was the rising sun, and the shimmering gold ink of her own mask reflected that beautifully as if the sun’s rays were actually sprouting from her emerald irises.
That meant, if Shale-Lea was the dawning day, then by contrast, Zoie was the deep and mysterious night with her blue eyes highlighted by the silver she inked around them
“Hey, you already had your outfits planned the whole time, didn’t you!” I accused them with a mock glare at both of them, even though their matching grins made my heart skip a few beats at how striking they both were.
“Our game is up, my darling Zoie!” Shay giggled behind her hand.
“I knew once he saw us together he would know something was going on,” Zoie said with a proud smile as I sauntered toward them. She then held up the small herald trumpet I received from Mec before draping the long leather strap over one of my shoulders so the ceremonial object rested against my other hip. “He is quite a clever one, our Alex.”
“So, if you are Morning, and you’re Night, what am I supposed to be?” I asked as I wrapped an arm around each of them.
“You are the twilight in between that holds the Day and the Night in his hands,” Shay said, and there went my heart again.
“Mrs. Zoie?” Rylan spoke up as he blinked his large brown eyes. “Can you teach me how to draw like that?”
We all laughed.
After the three of us finally had on the proper attire to mingle with the highest of society, it was only a short carriage ride to the Village Square and back to the large Battle Hall where the Trader’s Auction was being held.
“Let us take your carriage, sir and ladies,” a weasel-like footman said with a mask made of black feathers. We disembarked like royalty, and I admit I felt a bit like a badass waltzing in looking like we did.
However, the closer we came to the large arena-slash-Viking mead hall, the more Zoie slowed her pace until she stopped completely and caused her arm to slip out of mine.
“Zoie?” I glanced at her with a worried frown.
When she remained staring up at the Battle Hall with her pointed ears lying flat against the top of her head, Shay and I came up and tugged her out of the way so the people behind us didn’t have to part around her like a river stone.
“Darling?” Shay asked as she put a hand against the cat-woman’s suddenly pale cheek.
“I’m sorry,” Zoie said and seemed to snap herself out of her brief trance even though her ears were still lowered. “I admit my memories are a bit dark due to the last time I was here at the Auctions. I will try harder to put it out of my mind.”
I draped my arm around her and tucked her in close.
“We don’t even have to do this, kitten,” I reminded her. “It shouldn’t be our responsibility to save Vel-Rala from her choices.”
“You’re right,” she said, but then her ears finally rose, and a look of determination came over her face. “But no one deserves the fate that awaits them from the Traders.”
With her cryptically grave utterance, I was reminded that although we were all dressed up for a party that could probably put all of the Roaring Twenties to shame, this would not be like the other galas or events I’d participated in simply due to the fact the emcees hosting the Auction sounded like the scum of Aventoll.
“Are you sure?” the phoenix-woman asked as she fussed with the scarf braided through Zoie’s hair.
“I have you two,” she said with a smile, and the last of the storm clouds in her ocean eyes evaporated.
Then Zoie looped her arms through both of ours and led us into the large hall like the brave woman she was.
Not much had changed from when I was in the Battle Hall just a few days ago.
There was already some type of entertainment beginning to take place on the hard-packed dirt of the arena, but this time the entertainment wasn’t me for once, and I was escorted to the spectator stands for a change with Zoie on my right and Shay on my left.
There were already flagons of that violet-colored vernaberry wine and platters filled with the typical Nata Isle fare I was getting used to eating, like roasted purple ash-roots, fresh bread, and porack meat slow-cooked in cauldrons of fragrant stew kept warm over large hot-plate glow stones.
Down in the ring, something similar to a gladiator fight was taking place between a wasp-like man with four arms and two swords, and a toad creature with no arms and two giant back legs. It kept trying to lash the wasp-man with its long-barbed tongue, but each time it got close to striking the man with the sticky green appendage, the wasp-man would slice clean through the muscle only for it to respawn a few minutes later.
It was a mixture of weirdly fascinating and really gross, and I couldn’t make up my mind on if it put me off my appetite or not.
“This is… quite barbaric,” Shay said, and I felt her shiver next to me, so I took off my mantle and draped it around her bare shoulders. “Will they get to the Auctions soon?”
“That’s a good question,” I murmured as we both glanced to my right at Zoie.
“The Fights come some time during the Second Act, which means we have already surpassed the first third of the evening’s spectacle,” she said in a dead voice. “We missed the Flesh Parade. I’ve always hated that part…”
The cat-woman trailed off, and I frowned when I could see her knuckles fade to white from how hard she was clasping her hands together.
“Hey,” I whispered as I forced one of my hands between hers so she would have something more to hold onto. “I’m here.”
As if she was snapping out of a flashback, she shook her head and blinked a little. Then she gasped when she glanced around as if noticing for the first time she had willingly walked herself into a lion’s den and was just now regretting that decision.
“Hey,” I said again and gripped her chin so she would look only at me. “I’m still right here, Zoie. I’m your husband, and nothing is going to happen to you.”
She breathed out long and slow as she closed her eyes. Like raindrops, a few tears trekked down her cheeks and caused the silver ink of her painted mask to weep just like the willow branches her tattooed design suggested.
It was as heartbreaking as it was beautiful, and I was half-convinced this was all a big mistake when Zoie opened those beautiful orbs once more, and she smiled like the sun.
“I know.” She squeezed my hand one more time, took a steady sip of wine, and then rested her head against my shoulder for a while.
I didn’t quite know what conclusions she came to behind that mysterious mask, but I figured I didn’t really need to know as long as she kept smiling like that.
“Is Zoie well?” Shay asked in a low voice.
“I think so,” I murmured back as I kept rubbing my hand up and down her arm as she continued to rest against me.
Maybe it was her cat-like characteristics, but there were times the only thing Zoie needed was to just be touched.
Shay picked up on this early on, especially since her species was big on grooming one another as an act to strengthen bonds or for just plain comfort. So, it was no surprise when she asked me to switch seats with her a moment later so she could fiddle with the cat-woman’s hair.
I chuckled and let her sit in the middle even though it was awkward to shuffle around her, especially since she was apparently taking my large fur-collared cloak with her.
“Oh, sorry,” I said when I accidentally bumped into the spectator now on my left.
“No harm done,” a weathered voice creaked out from under a large lion-like headpiece that only left the lower part of his stubbled face visible. Then he reached out with a gloved hand for a shake.
The phantom pain of the scar around my forearm throbbed, and the thought of shaking his hand made my guts squirm, but Zoie had the forethought to get vambraces that encompassed my entire forearm instead of just the upper part like most designs. They were also made of a metal that reminded me of what Beskar iron would look like if the Mandalorian was a real thing, so not only were they awesome as well as functional, they were also formed perfectly to my arms and lined with a soft leather.
Even so, I still dodged the stranger’s handshake by saluting with my fist over my heart like I had seen many of the natives do, and I hoped it would pass.
The lion-masked spectator grunted, saluted me back, and went back to his wine.
“Reeeeeerrrrrccchhhh!” the toad-like creature squealed as the wasp-gladiator man finally ran his blade through the miserable beast, and the crowd went wild as its bloated insides spilled out with a hiss of black blood and steam.
Yeah. Definitely wasn’t hungry anymore.
When the cheering died down, a low humming din could be heard as more wasp-men flew into the arena to clear away the carnage while others wheeled in a large stone dais they placed in the very center like a stage.
“What’s going on?” I asked Zoie as the lights in the large lit braziers dimmed.
“The Third Act,” she said as Shay finished unbraiding her hair so she could tie the scarf around the cat-woman’s shoulders. “The Auctions are about to start, so have your herald trumpet ready. That is what you will raise to place your bid.”
“Okay,” I said and took it off from around me.
More buzzing sounded as a fly-person with a massive bloated head and two bulbous maroon eyes hovered his stunted body over to the dais. In his four hands he carried a wooden podium that he set up in the middle.
“Noble Ashers!” the fly-man buzzed. “Let the Auction begin!”
Cheers roared through the crowd again as a string of mostly women were paraded into the arena wearing skimpy black leather outfits that left little to the imagination. They looked familiar, and it wasn’t until I saw the people being dragged around by ropes tied to the loops in their collars when it hit me Zoie was wearing something similar when I first met her.
“Lot Number One!” the fly-auctioneer bellowed to the jeering crowd, and a wasp-man led a vixen-looking woman with large hips and a russet-colored bottle brush tail. “Starting at ten-thousand!”
Several metallic herald trumpets glinted and shone under the dim lights, and the fly-man kept track of them all with his multifaceted eyes. He was babbling a mile a minute until the price of eighty-thousand was reached, and then the auctioneer yelled out a tremendous, “SOLD!”
It continued this way, person after person sold and traded like cattle to the highest bidder, until the auctioneer called up Lot Twenty-Three, and a wasp-man dragged up a familiar cockatoo-woman with a white-feathered crest.
She wore the black leather thong-bikini like all the rest of the ‘lots’ being auctioned, and her white hair was fluffed up in alarm as she gazed around the hall with her wide coal-like eyes.
