“A little powder, sir?”
“Spare a little powder?”
Argus kept walking, toward the voices further down the street, passing one intersection after the next. Fires burned in the tiny alleys between them, where the fiends gathered and set up tents. Dozens of eyes followed him. Not a single pair were friendly.
The wind gusted, lifting dozens of strips of muslin into the air. It looked like the dead had returned to life—just to rip apart their burial shrouds. Those muslin strips landed and a woman scampered after them, ripping them off the ground, smashing them against her face in hopes of tasting whatever powder remained.
Argus went around her, and right between a few Olive Cloaks who'd abandoned their posts and stood frozen with that unmistakable faraway look. Lord Syrio didn't care what his debtors did with the few slivers of free time he allowed them; so long as he got his cut from the merchants and importers from the east, the powders would flow.
Argus turned into an alley. About halfway down, a pair of torches burned. People sat on crates and laughed. The alley was so narrow they could only sit two abreast. They chatted with their neighbors, as if all of them were riding together in the same long carriage.
He found an empty crate next to a man with the button nose and finely-manicured hands of an aristocrat. The man scowled when Argus sat down. But such was the way of the world; if there was anything with the power to unite every social station, it was powder.
“One racosia and one olgamon,” Argus said, tapping the woman in front of him. She jumped, woken from a nightmare, and muttered the order to the man in front of her. News traveled this way until it reached the front of the carriage, near the torches.
A price rippled back to him. “Thirty-five dragons.”
Argus opened his coin purse and made no attempt to negotiate. He handed the woman the money and she passed it up ahead. After what felt like forever, the pair of tiny muslin packages came back to him.
Then he got up and left.
That was how the system worked. At least for this particular dealer, who sold the finest powder he'd found in Azmar. “Buyers stay in the back of the carriage, and disembark as soon as they get what they came for.” That's what his old friend Gian had said while they served together in the city watch. Rumor had it the dealer paid people just to sit between the buyers and the torches, so their identity would remain hidden.
Argus backtracked to the broader street and found a wall to lean on. Hands shaking, he unwrapped the rolled muslin. Some racosia first, to ease the tension. Then a nice mouthful of olgamom, to sleep and forget tonight had ever happened.
He promised himself he'd only have a little…
But that promise ended how it always did with powder: broken.
His aches and questions melted into the stones behind him. Soon his body went limp. The stars were beautiful. He tried to lift his head for a better view, but couldn't. Everything slipped away and became a warm tingle.
A shadow passed. Then came light. A beautiful blonde woman holding a lantern stopped walking and looked down at him.
She stepped closer.
“Argus?”
He couldn't answer. Couldn't even open his mouth. So he just watched. She wore a dingy debtor's robe and had her hair up, but even in his altered state Argus knew better. He knew she was more comfortable in shimmery ball gowns, and she favored letting her hair flow with a tiara perched on top.
Janna.
She floated over and huddled next to him. Her blue eyes burned, and whenever she exhaled he could see her breath. He'd woken up next to those eyes before. In better times.
Finally his eyelids grew too heavy to keep open. The night fell away and Argus plunged into something deeper than night. The last thing he felt was warm—her hand on his forehead.
I'm dreaming already, he thought. At least it's a good one.
CHAPTER FIVE
Searing sunlight.
Argus tried to burrow beneath a pile of pillows, but there was no escaping it. Those rays followed him wherever he went, brightening by the second.
“Gods.”
“I-I'm sorry to wake, sir,” said a mousy voice from the corner. “But it's already early afternoon, and I'm afraid there's a lot that needs to be done yet.”
Argus shielded his face and squinted until he found a petite brunette woman standing beside a window. She held a wad of curtains. And she was blushing.
Argus turned to his side. That's when he realized why. “Shit.” He looked down and found himself completely naked. He scrambled for some sheets to cover himself. Too late. She'd already gotten quite the show.
The shy woman cleared her throat. “I'm terribly sorry. I didn't mean to intrude.”
Argus sat up and scanned the room. He was the one who felt like the intruder. The place was cozy but unfamiliar. They were upstairs; he spotted eaves and rooftops through the window. A fireplace burned in the corner. It was down to embers now, but presumably he'd been there before the flames dwindled.
“Where am I?”
The young woman covered her face, blushing furiously while he readjusted the sheets. “You truly don't remember? You're in Lady Janna's secret place. Her home away from the palace.”
“Janna?”
“Why yes, sir. I was asleep when she returned, but this morning she told me she had her man carry you up. My lady said you were in poor shape. S'pose I shouldn't be surprised that you can't remember.”
“So it was real, then. When she grabbed my hand…”
“I don't understand.”
“Forget it. Where is she? Janna?”
The young woman lowered her head. “She told me you already knew who she was, but she prefers we call her Christine beyond the palace walls. It's safer that way, when she wants to move about Azmar in secrecy. It's terrible; I forget myself sometimes. It's just that she worries me sick with her midnight strolls. It's something I'll never understand; the people of Azmar adore her, so why does she pretend she's someone else?”
Argus waved her off. “I asked you where she went.”
“Oh! Right. Lady Jan—er, Christine—went back to the palace for a few hours. Part of her duties to commence the Turning.”
Argus groaned.
He'd forgotten all about it.
An annual Azmar tradition, the Turning was ten days and nights of feasting and dancing and debauchery. Held on the cusp of summer, it was supposedly in honor of Marais, the Elden goddess of fertility. But it was mostly an excuse to stuff oneself silly, watch fireworks, and find as many partners to couple with as possible.
The woman edged toward the bed, bolder now. “Don't you like the Turning? Everyone loves the Turning.” She grabbed her skirt and curtsied. “I'm Morgan, by the way. One of the lady's chambermaids.”
“Well,” said Argus, “It's a pleasure, Morgan, but I'd best be off.” He shot out of bed and reached beneath it, ignoring the chambermaid's gasp. “Where the blazes are my clothes? Is this one of Janna's tricks?”
Morgan cleared her throat, kept her eyes fixed on the window. “You can't leave. Your clothes were beyond filthy. They're drying as we speak. My lady said she'd be back for you by nightfall.”
“I can't wait until nightfall.”
The chambermaid glanced back, and covered her eyes. “My lady told me you'd say that. In that case, she wanted me to remind you about 'the memento' she kept from your reunion.”
Argus moaned. The headache from all the powders and ales detonated in his temples. He doubled over in pain, and would have been furious if he wasn't so damn tired. He clutched the bed, glanced at his bare hips, and then he knew.
“She has Reaver.”
“What?”
“My sword.”
“Oh. Yes, just for a little while. She'll bring it back tonight, polished and sharpened.”
Argus shook his head. “So that was Janna's trick.” She knows I would have left otherwise. She knows me too well…
“Trick, sir? It seems like a generous gesture to
me. But who am I to speak about such things?” She looked back again. This time she laughed. “There are a few things I'm qualified for, though. One of them is drawing a proper bath. That's why I woke you, sir. And since you're already in the proper attire—”
“Argus. You've already seen me naked. You may as well know my name. But, just like with your lady, best if you forget it outside these walls.”
“Right. That's why I woke you, Argus. If you'll follow me the water should be just about perfect. We don't have much time to spare, I'm afraid. Griswold is set to arrive at three to take your measurements. And then there's the barber and the masseuse…”
Morgan kept talking the whole way to the bathroom. Argus followed, shaking his head.
* * *
A few hours later, when Argus was bathed and his beard was trimmed, Griswold returned with the white trousers and navy blue doublet he'd chosen. Argus put them on. The tailor admired his handiwork from every angle, bowed, and said, “It's been a pleasure. But I really must be off.” He walked to the side door, opened it, and jumped aside. “Oh! There she is. Happy Turning, Lady Christine. You look absolutely enchanting.”
Argus spotted a blonde braid as she swooped in and kissed the tailor on the cheek. She thanked Griswold, and when he stepped back to hold the door for her Argus's heart began to race.
“Hello,” she said, keeping her eyes on the floor. Normally Janna was in no short supply of confidence. But seeing her former lover knocked it out of her—at least for the moment.
“You look beautiful,” he said, and wished he had Siggi's gift for words. Staring at the woman in her white lace dress, beaming, blushing, cradling his sword in her delicate hands, he couldn't help but feel whatever compliments he paid her would fall short.
“You cleaned up nicely yourself.” Janna came closer, her silver sandals clopping against the stone. Her confidence returned with each step, and by the time she stopped in front of him her blue eyes pierced his own and didn't wander. “Smell better than you did last night too…”
They kept staring, each waiting for the other to make the first move.
Argus ached. Her touch had the power to carry him somewhere else, to a place where pain and fear were forbidden. Other women had worked their way into his heart gradually, like a stream through rock. But Janna's love? It was something that upended you, and left you a stranger in a place you used to call home.
One touch.
That's all it took.
But am I ready for it?
She reached up and ran a fingertip through his beard. Argus shivered. Janna melted into him. She buried herself in his chest and he wrapped his arms around her and there was only heat between them.
Argus found her chin, lifted it, looked at those full lips.
He pulled away.
When he looked around they were alone. The room was dark save for a few torches burning in sconces.
“I sent Morgan and Griswold away,” she said.
“I… didn't realize…”
“I know.” She laid her hands on his chest. “They were more than generous already. They should have started celebrating hours ago.” Her hands wandered lower, tracing scars from past battles, and found his own. “We should celebrate too.”
“That hot bath was celebration enough.”
Janna laughed. “Are you becoming an old man, Argus of Leith?”
“So I've been told.”
“But you have changed. Even though only a few months have passed since I saw you at my father's feast. After what you did to King Belen—why did you stab him, anyhow?”
“I'll tell you another time.”
“It's your eyes. Like you've stolen them from a man with one foot in the grave. And with the way I found you last night… You were talking in your sleep, you know?” She shuddered. “Saying terrible things.”
“Like what?”
“I don't know. Rhymes. Strange passages in stranger tongues.”
He shrugged. “I've been reading a lot lately.”
Janna laid her hands on his shoulders, enticing with her orange blossom perfume, and caught herself just before they kissed. “Why did you return to Azmar? Truly? I know you aren't one to worry about risks, but there's still a bounty on your head.”
“I figured your father would lift it after Eamon's war ended. I've been cooped up on Davos for months. An old mercenary brother—someone I should apologize to—stopped on his way to Azmar and brought me along with him.”
“Oh.” Janna pursed her lips. Her blue eyes flickered and then she remembered to smile. “I thought… maybe when you saw me at the feast…”
Argus swallowed hard. This was what he feared about running into Janna again—always finding a way to be a disappointment. She asks for something I cannot give. He slipped his hands around her waist and pulled her closer. “Come on. It's already nightfall.”
“What do you—”
“You want to celebrate, so let's go celebrate. It's the Turning.”
“Not if you don't want to.”
He grabbed her hand and led her toward the door. “Take advantage while you can. When have you ever seen me dressed like this?”
Janna laughed. She was still laughing when they strolled into the streets of Azmar, where lutes played and the entire city danced.
* * *
Bliss.
That night—the first of the Turning's ten nights—enveloped them in a balmy breeze. Argus had to keep reminding himself they were still in Azmar. Gone were the scarlet debtors' robes that usually clogged the busy streets. For those ten days, those obligated to wear them could leave them at home. Rich and poor alike dusted off their finest clothes and they were all human—at least for a moment.
The people laughed and danced and passed around wine. Janna should have been wearing a formal gown and gracing the Azmarites from a carriage. But Argus liked her better as Christine, who shuffled through the streets with the commoners and wasn't afraid to get her hands greasy from the sugary almond fritters.
The energy grew more frantic as they approached Urbek Way. Children led the way, racing with streamers in their hands. Drunken parents shuffled along after them. They passed jugglers and street vendors, teenage couples groping clumsily in alleyways.
All of them smiling. Hoping. Reaching for something better.
Argus hadn't seen crowds that large since his last battle, in Garvahn.
“It's almost midnight!” Janna shouted in his ear. They were surrounded by a mass of singers and people drumming, stomping, and clapping to the beat.
In a single voice, they sang to Marais:
“Food for growing bellies, rain for fertile fields, babes for every family, the bounty Marais yields!”
Janna smiled and started to sing along. Argus knew the words, but all he could do was watch her. Blonde braids bouncing on her shoulders. Her face a few shades flushed from the ale. The way she stopped singing and looked at him, but her body kept writhing to the music, moved by some unseen force.
Never had Argus seen her so beautiful.
He kissed her, powerless to resist.
His lips brushed hers and he welcomed her eager tongue. Her cheeks were hot. She tasted like sugary almonds and ale. Strangers whooped around them, wishing them a fertile Turning. Argus kissed her until those cheers died off, and the song to Marais ended.
He pulled away and grabbed Janna's hand. “Come on.”
They raced down the hill and pushed their way to the bottom just in time for the fireworks. Purple orbs exploded above, shimmering, and were engulfed in starbursts of blue. Those shapes and colors ever changing. All of Azmar watching as their city was engulfed in light.
Janna kissed him again beneath those wonders. When it ended, everyone raised their voices in raucous applause as the smoke settled. Most of the revelers crowded the platform in the middle of Luca Square, on which rested an enormous stuffed effigy of the goddess Marais herself. She was naked and smiling, reaching toward the heavens. On the last night they would burn
her, before Azmar's finest craftsmen started to make another for next year. Until then, she served as the focal point of celebration.
Argus looked at Janna, who shook her head.
They'd seen the effigy before.
They'd seen enough of the crowds.
She grabbed his hand and guided him away from Urbek Way, back to her humble room above the blacksmith, where they could be alone.
CHAPTER SIX
Argus stretched his arms and looked out into the city.
Occasionally he heard voices, but for the most part the night was quiet. It wasn't exactly night anymore—more like the last gasp before morning. He wanted nothing more than to sleep a little longer.
Yet he couldn't.
He paced the terrace adjoining Janna's bedroom, stopped, and leaned over the railing.
I can leave, he thought. She gave me Reaver back. I'll be long gone by the time she wakes.
He didn't want to.
That night, powders had flowed freely all around him. Argus hadn't wanted any with Janna by his side. She was all the intoxication he needed to forget about magic—in all of its forms. The longer he touched her, the farther away his old life in Davos seemed.
They'd talked afterward. Naked, she'd lain on his chest and unraveled her mysteries. After some prodding, Argus had unraveled some of his own. He told her about Belen and his sister Kyra, and his exile from Leith.
“You haven't had a home for years,” she'd said, “and I haven't felt at home in Azmar for as long as I can remember. Let's run away from here. Make a new life together.”
He kissed her forehead and said, “You don't mean that, Janna.”
She smiled. “I'll feel the same way in the morning. Just wait. You'll see.” Then she'd drifted off to sleep.
Argus had thought and thought until he couldn't stand it anymore, when he'd given up and gone onto the terrace. He held the railing tightly now, but not even his most earnest white-knuckling could ease the feeling that his life was slipping away from him.
Janna danced in his head. Naked and smiling, nuzzling against him. The real Janna was only a few steps away…
Fortune's Toll (The Legion of the Wind, Book Two) Page 4
