Malachite

by Kirby Crow

  “You were hurting because of Jean. Don't look so shocked, it wasn't hard to figure out. How many times have you been angry at Marion since for the same reason? Or alone or forgotten while he's roaming the city with his former lover? Are they still former? Do you even know?”

  It was beneath Tris to lie to a friend. He wouldn't do it. He also refused to defend Marion to Paris. Silence was his only option.

  “I thought so.” Paris reached for the bottle of wine and poured Tris another glass full. He did the same for himself and stretched out lazily on the chaise. “Sleep with me.”

  Tris’s jaw dropped ungraciously and wine sloshed over the rim of his glass. “What?” He brushed the drops from his trousers and rested the delicate glass on the table before he spilled the rest.

  “Does the sound not carry well in this room?” Paris's mouth curled again. “Come home with me. Lie in my bed. Make love with me. Let me give you something Marion Casterline can't.”

  Tris was amazed enough to be droll. “Oh, truly? You think Marion is incapable of making love to me?”

  “It won't ever be just you he's making love to. Who does he think of when he touches you? For that matter, who do you think of?”

  Tris was just beginning to realize the enormity of his choice: Marion had been with Jean too long, they still had too much contact, too much in common. Jean was going to be in their lives whether Tris wanted him there or not, and Marion didn’t seem unhappy about that at all.

  Paris sat up abruptly and abandoned his wine glass. “Oh, look at your face. I'm sorry. I don't mean to hurt you.”

  “You did,” Tris answered dully. “You do.”

  Paris took his hand. Tris could feel the ridges of the V-shaped burn scar on Paris's palm, a mark that Paris refused to explain.

  “I'm not a very nice man, am I? But I'm honest. I want you. I like you. I'd treat you well, and unlike Marion, when I bed you, you won't be wondering if I'm comparing you to someone else.”

  “When you bed me? Your arrogance is tedious.” Tris tried to tug his hand away. Paris wouldn’t let him “I note that you're not falling to your knees to confess your undying love.”

  “Neither is Marion.”

  A hard shock went through him and he stiffened. All the years of training, the skilled tutors schooling him in discretion and perception, and he couldn't control his reaction, couldn't hide it. It hurt that much.

  Paris's thumb caressed the back of Tris’s hand. “So it's true. Marion has never told you he loves you. What a stupid, stupid man. I care about you, Taliesin. You have the most astonishing mind, and you're beautiful and refined. Far too fine for Marion. I think I could grow to love you. If I could love anyone, it would have to be you. Does that make sense?”

  Such bare honesty took all of Tris’s sarcasm away. “Yes. I think you’re a fine man, too. But I love Marion.”

  Paris scooted closer on the divan until he was rubbing shoulders with Tris. He began to toy with the silver buttons of Tris's shirt. His voice was soothing velvet to a wounded heart. “And it doesn't matter to you that Marion will not return your love?”

  “Of course it matters.” Why did Kon leave him? Did he know Paris would do this? Tris felt his barriers dropping, all the careful fences he had nailed up coming apart stick by stick. He managed to push Paris's roving hand away. “Don't. Please stop.”

  Paris's hand returned and this time it slid lower, coming to rest on his thigh. Paris pressed his face to Tris's neck. The feel of Paris's hot breath against his throat made Tris shiver and gasp.

  “So beautiful,” Paris murmured hungrily. “You're sweet and unspoiled, and your skin is so soft.” He caressed Tris’s thigh through his trousers in a circular motion. “I could make you feel very good. I'd be gentle, too. I wouldn't do anything you didn't want, and no one has to know. Trust me.”

  Tris’s eyes closed. Paris cupped Tris's chin and drew him forward.

  “Take your hands off him,” a dark, dangerous voice rumbled from the doorway.

  Tris started violently. “Jean.” He tried to push Paris away, but Paris calmly refusing to budge.

  Paris smiled at Jean.

  Jean glowered at them, his mouth hard. The hood of his warden’s coat was down, his black hair in wild disarray. His antimony badge was hidden by a turn of his collar. “I said get off him, Paris. Now.”

  Paris took a slow measure of Jean, looking him up and down. “Is that an order, warden? What business is this of yours?”

  Tris didn't think he was capable of moving. His first thought was that Jean would certainly tell Marion what he had seen. Even though he hadn't arranged the tryst, he felt entirely guilty of the accusation in Jean's eyes.

  “He's marrying my best friend,” Jean said. “I don't think you should be pawing him up first. I don't think Marion would like that.”

  Paris cocked his head. “Speaking of dear Marion, what are you doing here? Aren't all the compass wardens required to be at Aequora?”

  Jean's eyes flickered over Tris. “Are you all right?”

  Tris’s cheeks flushed with shame and he was acutely away of Paris's hand on his thigh. He shoved the hand off and nodded.

  Paris stood up slowly, looking only at Jean. “He's fine. Unlike you, I'm not in the habit of punching my bedmates.”

  Tris found he could speak after all. “I'm not your bedmate!”

  Paris glanced back at him and winked. “Soon enough.” He tried to shoulder past Jean.

  Jean clamped his fingers on Paris's bicep and jerked him to a stop. “I meant what I said. Keep away from him. You wouldn't be the first silk-pantsed little bastard who found himself fed to the crabs.”

  “Oh, a threat.” Paris pushed his face close to Jean's, eye-to-eye with him. “I keep a tidy little cell in the Gaol just for boys who make threats against the guardiers.”

  Jean gave Paris a wolfish smile, showing his teeth. “And who's going to put me in it? You?”

  “Keep your hand on my arm and see.”

  Jean let him go. Paris tugged on the pleats of his crimson vest to straighten it. “I'll see you tomorrow, Tris.”

  Tris’s couldn't manage a goodbye. Paris melted into the crowd.

  Jean sauntered to the table and flopped down beside him.

  Tris found he was sweating. “Jean, it... it wasn't what you saw. I didn't come here on purpose.” He bit his lip against the stammer.

  “Flew over on a cloud, did you? Damned kidnapping clouds.”

  “Father brought me.”

  “He brought you to the Corsair to see Paris?”

  Tris shook his head helplessly.

  Jean frowned. “He didn't tell you Paris would be here,” he guessed. “Your first time in the Colibri and he throws you to the sharks. That’s cold, even for Kon. Sink or swim, eh? Never much cared for that philosophy. Sometimes when you throw 'em in they just go straight to the bottom.”

  Tris clasped his hands together to hide their shaking. “Can Paris truly put you in the Gaol for what you said?”

  “I'm a fucking warden, boy. He'd have more luck trying to stuff a cat up his arse.” Jean looked at Tris's trembling hands and sighed. “Leave off, it's over now. He's gone.”

  “I'm not frightened. He wasn't going to hurt me. I'm just...”

  “You wanted to, aye?”

  Tris hung his head, utterly disgraced. “Yes,” he whispered. “I must be a horrible person.”

  Jean laughed and helped himself to some of Kon's excellent wine. “Why? Because Paris felt you up in a back room and got you wet? Please. You're not the first young piece he's fingered, if that's what's bothering you. He likes them young and stupid. Paris knows what he's doing. You don't. Don't be so tough on yourself.”

  Tris couldn't even feel offended at the accusation of stupidity. “I knew what he intended. I should have done something. I should have hit him.”

  Jean slurped the wine. “He'd have hit you back, and then he'd have fucked you and you would've liked it.” He stretched his arms and yawn
ed. “But then, Marion would have killed him and I would've had to dump the body, which would've been messy. This way, everyone goes home alive and happy. Or at least alive.”

  “Please,” Tris begged. “Please don't tell Marion about this.”

  Jean snorted. “Sure, I'll run right to him and tattle, and you know who he'd blame? Kon, first off. Then Paris, for being a raging cock. Then me, for not kicking Paris's ass up and down the street. Everyone but you, little darling. You'll always walk away clean with him.” Jean leaned close. “He believes you're all rainbows and icing on cakes and every bit of sunshine in the world.” The tip of his tongue darted out to wet his lips, and he gave Tris a filthy leer. “But Paris still got your dick hard, didn’t he, puss?”

  Tris recoiled at the truth of the accusation and his eyes stung. His very skin seemed to burn with shame. Jean was right. Maybe his father was right, too. Kon said he wasn't mature enough, that he was rushing into a situation he was unprepared for. What would Kon say now, if he could see how he had dishonored himself?

  Jean pulled back and stared, his heavy brows knitting together. “Aw fuck, are you crying? Don't do that. I can't do anything about that. Stop it!”

  Tris wiped his face. “I apologize. I'm a little overwrought.”

  “A little?” Jean shoved a wine glass toward him, his hard mockery slipping like a carnivale mask that refused to stay on. “Here. Drink your goddamn wine.” He grabbed an embroidered napkin from the table and pushed it toward Tris's face in disgust. “Wipe your eyes before someone thinks I'm abusing you in here. Paladin's cock, you're useless. What does Marion see in you?”

  At that moment, Tris didn't have the faintest idea.

  Jean sighed and put his hand over his eyes, grimacing. “Listen, I didn't mean that, boy. It's not your fault. Kon brought you here and Paris is... well, he's Paris, isn't he? Everything is a game to him. If you sliced him open from balls to chin you'd find nothing in there but gears. He's a nasty bit of machinery with a taste for lovely boys, but he never keeps them for long. Maybe you should ask yourself why.”

  Tris already knew why. He sniffled and cleared his throat, thoroughly demoralized. He had to call on years of training just to hammer his voice steady. “Thank you for your assistance, southwarden. I regret that I've proven to be such a disappointment to you.”

  Jean smirked and the sympathy vanished from his face. “And there's the other nasty machinery. You sound like your father. You know... I always thought it would be Kon who stole Marion away from me. In a way, he did.”

  Jean never wasted an opportunity to level that accusation at him. “That's unfair. I didn't steal Marion from you. You’ve been separated for years.”

  “That doesn't mean we aren't still fucking.”

  Tris felt the blood draining from his face. “You’re lying.”

  Jean grinned. “Are you sure?”

  “If you're not, then Marion is the liar. Is that really what you want to say to me?” Marion had sworn to him that it had been a long time since he'd been intimate with Jean, though Jean would always be his friend. They behaved more like enemies. Was that what love did to men when it was gone?

  Jean's happy grin persisted. “Ah, you're right. I'm lying.” He stood up and offered his hand. It was big and callused.

  A hand for commanding armies, Tris thought. Or for taking everything from you and leaving you weeping in a tavern. But that wasn’t fair. Tonight was squarely his own fault.

  “Get up, boy,” Jean said. “Let's tuck you into a sandolo for home.”

  Tris swallowed and looked at Jean's hand, unable to move. Rough, uneven scars marked Jean's skin, traveling up his wrist and under the black warden’s coat. Tris wondered what had made those marks. One heard the Teschio tortured informants.

  Jean watched him for a moment, then took him by the shoulders and pulled him up. For an instant, they were standing very close together, chest to chest.

  “Get some sleep, piccolo,” Jean rumbled, black eyes shuttered and unreadable. “This memory won't seem so bad in the morning, and if you don't tell Marion, I won't.”

  EIGHT YEARS AGO

  A hairy spider spun a web between the bars of Aureo's cell, skittering frantically as too many fat flies tore through its efforts. The gray cat watched predator and prey with equal boredom, great yellow eyes half-lidded and her tail still.

  Below the window was a view of the many domes of the Gran Consiglio, where Kon Sessane had passed down the sentence. It was fitting that Aureo got to look down on those men now, since he’d never have the chance again. All across the city, heliograph lights flashed from a hundred towers to spread the news, like a blanket of fireflies hanging over the island.

  “Dolce likes it in here,” Jean said.

  Aureo scratched at a mottled flea bite on his cheek. “No visitors to pester us, if you don't count these god-rotted vermin.”

  Jean's fingers twitched with the urge to scratch. The stone cell in the highest level of the Gaol was cramped and damp. Ancient pillars jutted into the room and the winds were vicious at night. The fleas were the cat’s fault, but Aureo would not banish the beast.

  “I'll see what I can do about that,” Jean said.

  Aureo's lip curled. “I didn't mean the fleas.”

  “Can’t help you, then.” Jean stroked the cat's spine. She arched and purred.

  Aureo rattled the chains on his wrists. “Can't?”

  “Won't.” Jean shook his head tersely. “Don't ask. I didn't put you in here.”

  “True, that was sweet Marion. He’s always been a question mark, that boy. If I’d killed him years ago, you would have turned out better.”

  Jean snorted a laugh, startling the cat. He patted her head. “Don't be alarmed, puss. Padrone isn't very good at making jokes.”

  “I'm not trying to amuse you, love. And if you believe that I'm still your padrone, why aren't you knifing that shit-licking guard outside and getting me back to where I belong?”

  “Because your guard's name is Tonio and he has a husband and two sons, and because the only one to blame for you being in this cell is named Aureo Marigny.”

  Aureo sniffed. “Fine fellow, he. I heard he had sons, too. Big strapping boys, one fair, one dark, but both bastards.” He glanced at the spinning spider, or perhaps he was checking the angle of the sun. “When's it to be?”

  “Tomorrow. At dusk.”

  Aureo’s chuckle turned into a cough. He hawked and spat on the stone floor. “Fuck this place. Fuck the sunset and Marion and this cursed city. And fuck you too, Jean.”

  “Fuck me, too.” Jean nodded in complete agreement. He stroked the cat a last time. “Goodbye, Aureo.”

  He got as far as the door.

  “Wait.”

  Jean's shoulders slumped. “Whatever it is, my answer is no.”

  “I want to see Marion.”

  He turned and stared. That did surprise him. “You know he won't. He doesn't want to see you. Not until it's time.”

  Aureo leaned his back against the wall and grinned. That grin had once been charming, but now it was framed by a haggard face and a pair of hollow eyes. No longer the elegant pirate, the overlord of the slums, Aureo's clothes were prisoner garb of a tunic and short breeches. His feet were bare, and he was unshaven. His golden beard was growing out gray and his nails needed trimming.

  “What I've got to say, Marion won't want spoken in public. You'd best tell him that.”

  It's another trick. He's full of them, always was. “No.”

  Aureo's smile faded. “Just a message, Jean. You owe me that much.”

  Jean was unprepared for the sudden pain that clawed up his chest. His hands curled into fists. “I don't owe you anything. Do you hear me? Not a single fucking thing!” Two strides and he had Aureo by the throat. “You don't get to tell me I owe you. Not anymore. It's done, Aureo.” Jean shook him. “It's over!”

  “You think I've lost,” Aureo snarled, his manacled hands tearing at Jean’s fingers, leaving red furrow
s behind. “You think this is the end of old Aureo, don't you? Let me tell you something, boy, just because the crabs will be chewing on my balls tomorrow doesn't mean you've won. You think getting rid of me will solve anything? The Zanzare will still be there. My gang is still there. Nothing's changed.”

  He believes that, Jean realized. He shoved Aureo away, the fury draining out of him, curdling into pity. “Your captains burned their flags. The few we didn't catch were turned over by their own crews. Your gang is a gaggle of fishermen now.”

  “Pulling a dog’s fangs doesn't stop him from being a dog.”

  “And how worried do I look about a pack of toothless hounds? Give it over, old man. You're done. Try to die with a little dignity.”

  Jean had avoided saying it for so long. Now that he had, he was struck by the finality of it. Perhaps it hadn't truly been real to him until this moment. He hadn’t expected it to hurt.

  “You're going to pay for what you've done with your life,” Jean said. “And for the countless lives you’ve taken or ruined. Even if I could stop it, I don’t know if I would. Just die and let it be over, will you?” The air in the cell was close and stifling. “For the love of Jesu, just stop.”

  The cat swished her tail and narrowed her eyes in displeasure. She yowled and batted the spider out of the window before hopping down to rub her head against Jean's leg.

  Aureo chuckled mirthlessly. “Prince of cats,” he smirked. “All right, boy. You want me to quit? I’ll quit.” He dropped his hands into his lap and leaned back against the wall. “But only for you, il mio principe. You’re my legacy.”

  “I’m not your fucking legacy. Don’t say that.” Jean tapped on the iron door. “Guard. Open up.”

  “All that I was will live on in you.”

  Jean would not look at him. His breath quickened. “Shut up. Don’t you hang it on me. I won’t carry it.”

  “You were the only one who understood,” Aureo went on. “Not Marion. He was done with all of us the moment he went Silk. Just like that.” Aureo snapped his fingers. “Thirty years, cut from him clean as a razor. When Marion decides to sail on, he doesn’t even leave a wake. But you, Jean. In my place, you would have done everything I did, and done it just the same. We’re kindred creatures. Beasts with black hearts and bloody fangs. Marion doesn’t know you at all. He never will.”