Malachite

by Kirby Crow

  Taliesin Rosetti Sessane was to wed Marion Casterline in the palace of the Gran Consiglio three days after the end of Aequora. A splendid reception was planned and paid for by Kon Sessane, one meant to display all the wealth and power of his great family, his rank, and of the city itself.

  Or it would have, if the wedding had taken place. Once Tris was certain that Marion would recover, he left Jean and Marion in each other’s care at the Myrtles and returned to his father’s house, to his old bedroom, and locked the door. Aequora had ended ten days ago, and still he had not returned to the Villa Luna.

  A state funeral was held for poor Yves, with Consolari, guardiers, and hundreds of wardens in attendance, along with the fat fathers and the orphan boys of the Merlo. The genuine outpouring of sadness for the fallen Westwarden did not surprise Tris at all. Yves had been well-loved.

  Jean and Marion had attended the funeral, Marion with his head bandaged and Jean with his arm in a sling. Tris had glimpsed them in the formal procession, but turned away when Marion smiled at him.

  Marion was aware that he knew, wasn’t he? He had to be. They had been so obvious. Tris wondered if that had been an accident or if Marion simply didn’t care.

  Servants brought food, which Tris ate more in an effort to avoid accusations of drama rather than from hunger. Mika came and gave him news of the city, the exile of the rebel gangers and the occupation of the Fortezza. Mika told him with enthusiasm of the Drake and the new fleet of Solari-made ships that would make their waters safe against invaders. He also apologized for firing on the fort while Tris was inside of it.

  “You couldn’t have known I was there,” Tris had said.

  “But it was possible. There’s another thing your father will never forgive me for,” Mika had answered.

  But Kon had already forgiven Mika. Tris had watched them as they sat together in the garden, talking in soft voices, or when they charmed and made welcome the strange creature they harbored in the castello. Erzabet, she named herself. A woman, though Kon dressed her as a male and ordered Tris to refer to her as a boy. Tris had never met a woman before. Now that he had, he was amazed how different they were, and also how alike. Erzabet was odd and skittish. She could be smiling one moment and weeping the next, and sometimes she babbled.

  Kon assured him that with time, she would recover from what had happened to her, but Tris had his doubts.

  Erzabet claimed to be a relation to Cwen nobility, though she also claimed to be a cobbler, which was strange to Tris, with his patrician upbringing. What kind of noble house put their members to work making shoes?

  Erzabet said she had stolen the mate of a woman who held much greater rank than her own, and her punishment for the offense was exile. That seemed overly harsh to Tris, and he said so, but Erzabet only smiled and rubbed her hand over the stubble on her scalp, which was growing out to pale blond fuzz.

  “The duchessa cut off my hair,” Erzabet said. “And burned my house.”

  All for an affair? Insanity.

  Not that I’ve behaved much more rationally, Tris thought sourly, rolling over in bed. His window was open and the towers and spires of the Citta Alta were touched with dawn. Morning again. Thirteen days since he had spoken to Marion. Tris ached with missing him. The pain of it was like an open wound, and Tris very much feared it would never heal.

  Marion had come to the castello, of course. Tris had heard him shouting all the way on the ground floor. But not all the shouts in the world could intimidate a magestros in his own castle. Tris Sessane is not receiving visitors, if you please, Highwarden Casterline. Thank you for inquiring. Perhaps tomorrow.

  And Marion would go away, and morning would come and there would be a knock at Tris’s door, and Tris would refuse to see him.

  He wondered if that pleased his father. Kon had never approved of the match. Not really. It seemed that now, in the end, Kon would have his way after all.

  Naturally.

  ***

  Kon persuaded him to come down for dinner.

  The atrium was empty and smelled beautifully of roses. Tris reached out and brushed his fingers over the cool stone surface of the Tazza as he made his way to the dining room. The monument had been ensconced in Paladin Square in the shadow of the Gran Consiglio for centuries, but as the years began to wear on the stone, it had been moved to the castle for protection. The castle had not always been called the Castello Rosa, of course, just as Paladin had not always been Paladin, and Kon Sessane had been Avakon Nera, eldest son of Lord Nera, the most sadistic pirate lord in the history of the Starless Men.

  This isn't my home anymore, Tris thought. It made him feel lonely. He suddenly yearned for the long nights when all he had to worry about were his lessons and playing with his pets. To make up for his solitary childhood, Kon had filled his days with tutors and animals. Tris had been fond of all his pets, but he had only really loved Seta, his little gray owl.

  I set him free, too.

  A familiar scent drifted to him, damp with a strong whiff of seaweed. He noticed the scuffed and patched coat hanging neatly on the rack by the door. Kon was in the dining room, waiting. There were vases of white roses on the long, formal table, and the red drapes of the dining hall had been changed from silk to velvet, suitable for winter.

  “Is Mika here?” Tris asked.

  “In the garden with Erzabet,” Kon said. “They’re getting along nicely.”

  The portero greeted Tris and placed a basket of bread on the table before bowing and stepping out.

  Tris frowned. His father was just returned from the Gran Consiglio and cut a lean figure in his black robes, crimson sash of office, and silver chains. “Are you certain that’s wise? What if someone sees... him?”

  “They will see an ordinary boy at the side of one of the masters of House Sessane,” Kon said casually. “Nothing remarkable in that.”

  Tris nodded, not liking the whole business. “It still seems unnatural.”

  “What else can we do? The mainland is a hundred times our size. We can't force them to take him back. Or to treat him well. The Cwen are not a people acquainted with mercy.”

  “That’s a shame. They seem to be so rich in everything else.”

  But Kon was right: dressed in house livery, with her shaved head and huge eyes, Erzabet was a boy in service to the Castello Rosa. What Kon planned for her future was unknown. His father refused to share that information with him.

  Tris toyed with one of the white roses in its vase. “These are out of season in the market. Where did you find them?”

  Kon smiled. “At your house. The Villa Luna.”

  Tris pushed the vase firmly away. “It’s not my house.”

  “Well, it certainly isn’t Marion’s alone. If you think I’d spend that much money to house a highwarden, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  “Then sell it,” Tris grumped. He propped his elbow on the table and chewed on a roll, but it was tasteless to him in his present mind. He discarded it on his plate.

  “My, what an excellent mood you’re in, lamb,” Kon cooed. He placed a silver flagon next to Tris’s cup. “Here, have some wine. Drink it all. Bathe in it, if you must. Just stop whimpering like a kicked puppy whenever Marion Casterline is mentioned.”

  “I’m not—”

  The portero entered. “Highwarden Casterline,” he announced.

  Tris glared daggers at his father and controlled his impulse to throw the flagon through the window. “Please excuse me,” he began, rising.

  “You are not excused,” Kon snapped. “Sit down.”

  “I don’t want—”

  “Sit!”

  Tris slumped into his chair. Kon placed his hands on the table and leaned over Tris.

  “I know you’re angry, but this is not the manner in which a Sessane manages his affairs. If you truly never want to see Marion again, tell him to his face. If you can do that, I will bar him from my home forever. If you can’t, then it’s time you learned that as well.”

  �
�I don’t need your advice,” Tris answered rudely. “I’m a grown man.”

  Kon actually groaned in dismay. “So mature that you ran away in the night and wound up in the Zanzare. Do you know what happens to boys in the slums? You could have been harmed in ways that decency forbids me to speak of.”

  “I know what can happen to a boy in the Zanzare. Sheltered is not stupid, and don’t forget that I work in the Gaol. How do you think the guardiers speak?”

  Kon studied him intently, as if he were a fascinating new species of bird. “That night at the Corsair, when I left you in Paris’s company. Why were you crying?”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “Please don't annoy me. You're far too old to be such a poor liar.”

  Kon's spies had been there, of course. Tris put his head down, feeling trapped. “I don't know why I was so upset,” he evaded.

  Kon took him by the arm and dragged him from his chair. “Don't you? Look at me when I speak to you!”

  “Please, father.”

  Kon was relentless. “Why do you value yourself so little? You're a Sessane. You're brilliant, you're brave, you're the son of the magestros, you're one of the richest men in Malachite, and yet just the thought of disappointing Marion Casterline can move you to tears. Why is that?”

  “Because I care what he thinks of me.”

  Kon slapped his hands together. “No. That's not the reason. Try again.”

  “Because I love him!” Tris shouted. “I fell in love with him and now when I look at myself in the mirror I see Marion!” His breath came fast. The room was hot, suffocating. “I see Marion. I used to know who I was and what I wanted, but now all I see are my faults, the qualities I lack, the ways I could lose him. Loving makes me weak. I feel...” he groped for words. “I feel less than myself, less than I was. I was stronger alone. Maybe I’m not meant to be with anyone.”

  Kon slipped his hand under Tris’s chin tenderly, all softness where a moment ago he had been iron. “It's only your first time being in love. You're permitted to be confused, but you must never make anyone but yourself responsible for your happiness.”

  The way Kon said it, as if he believed that his love for Marion was a passing thing, sent a shiver through Tris. The idea of life without Marion made the future seem cold and bleak. He could barely imagine it.

  Perhaps that was the cause Kon’s anger from the beginning, why he rejected Marion’s proposal, why he finally allowed the match but never approved of it. He wanted Tris to expect more from life than Marion's love, and not to be destroyed by grief if that love ended.

  And yet, knowing all that, Kon had permitted him to make his own mistakes.

  “You’ve been trying to tell me this from the beginning,” Tris whispered. “I feel like such a little idiot.”

  “You are a little idiot, lamb, but you're only learning.” Kon kissed his forehead. “Tomorrow will look brighter. As for Marion, he’s chosen a warden’s life. If you reconcile with him, you're going to have to learn to stand aside and let him live it. No more fretting yourself sick or chasing him into danger.”

  “As long as you're on my side, I can handle anything.”

  “I'm always on your side, Taliesin,” Kon said brusquely. “That’s what family is. It’s never wrong to love, but don't lose yourself in it. Don’t forget what you're worth. If Marion can't see how wonderful you are as plainly as I can, walk away from him.”

  Tris was surprised that Kon had used his proper name. He so rarely did. “Taliesin?” he prompted.

  “Taliesin is a sufficiently impressive name for a Sessane, but you couldn’t pronounce it when you were a child. Continuing to call you Tris...I suppose it was my way of keeping a part of my little boy with me. I didn't want to see that you had grown up. I will amend that.”

  “Please.” He put his hand on Kon’s arm. “Amend your sight, but not the name. I’ll always be Tris to you.”

  Kon smiled with real happiness before he seemed to recall the portero was watching. He nodded curtly to the servant. “Show our guest in.”

  Marion was not wearing his warden’s coat. He was dressed as finely as Paris, with a velvet vest and spotless white shirt, a silk scarf around his neck. A small white bandage covered one brow.

  How beautiful he is. Tris felt weak, undone. He had learned from Paris that a handsome face was not enough, but Marion was so much more than that.

  Marion seemed surprised to see Tris.

  “Welcome, Marion,” Kon said. He glanced at Tris. “Well. Please excuse me.” He strode out, crooking his finger at the portero to follow.

  Marion clasped his hands together as Tris sat down and studied the tablecloth. “Hello, Tris.”

  Tris closed his eyes briefly. How he’d missed the sound of that voice! His throat felt strange, too tight. “How have you been?” he managed to ask.

  Marion drew closer, his steps careful and halting, as if he were afraid a sudden movement would send Tris running. “Not well at all. I’ve been worried about you. I’ve missed you so much.”

  “Have you?” Tris murmured. He pulled one of the white petals from the rose and let it drop. Was it time, he wondered, to confess the awful thing he knew? Was there even any point?

  Marion knelt beside Tris’s chair. “Please look at me.”

  Tris found he could do that, and was annoyed by the lack of guilt in Marion’s eyes. “Were you going to tell me?”

  Marion looked honestly puzzled. “Tell you what?”

  Tris’s gaze went to Marion's neck and the scarf knotted there. He touched Marion’s throat just under his jaw, the very spot where had seen the bruised skin and teeth marks as Marion lay wounded in the Fortezza. “Would you ever have told me?” he asked quietly. “About you and Jean? I saw the marks he left on you.”

  Marion’s shoulders slumped. “That’s why you did this,” he murmured. “I was going to tell you. It was only the once, I swear. I didn't mean for it to happen.” His entire posture spoke of shame.

  “I know you didn’t. You're not a man who betrays casually. I want to know if it... if he...” Tris groped for a word, “if you found what you needed.”

  After a long moment, Marion nodded. “I think I needed it, yes,” he admitted.

  “And you still love him.” Before Marion could speak, Tris put his fingers to Marion's lips, stopping the words. “Don't, please. You've never said you loved me. I wondered why, at first. Now I know you can't say it because it's not true.”

  Marion got to his feet. “Don't tell me what I feel,” he replied with sudden heat. “Do you really think I could ask you to marry me and not care about you? Is that how you see me? As cold and heartless as...as...”

  “As my father?” Tris finished. A measure of his calm returned. He stood up and moved to the window, which had been left open to catch the scent of roses from the trellis below. “Caring is not the same as loving. A man can care about all manner of things without being in love with them, and you're very wrong about my father.”

  “You're not a thing,” Marion said, hurt in his voice. “You're going to be my husband.”

  The heavy curtains stirred with a strong breeze and the smell of rain filled the room. “I wanted to be,” Tris said. He moved the curtain aside. There was no thunder. It was only a shower, not a storm. Maybe our storms are behind us.

  “You don't mean that.” Marion took Tris’s hand and squeezed it gently, his thumb brushing over Tris’s fingers.

  “Actually, I do,” Tris said regretfully. He had a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach, like he’d drank too much cold wine. “I'd love nothing more in this world than to be with you. It's all I've wanted since the day we met. I'm completely in love with you, and it hurts me to know that while you care about me, I can’t turn you upside down and rattle you like Jean can. I can’t make you lose control or say things you’ll regret. Only Jean can hit you that hard.” He sighed deeply. “But even if I can't compare with the great Jean Rivard, I don't come free. I'm not a beggar who must accept your of
fer for lack of any others. I have needs of my own that have to be met.”

  He smiled at Marion’s confusion. “Ah, there’s your great confidence again. You're such an egotist, lord warden. You think that just because you've got that bello face and a hundred conquests behind you that I'll fall into your bed and spread my legs and be your little pet. That's not who I am, Marion.”

  Tris tried to pull his hand away, but Marion stubbornly held onto him.

  Tris’s eyes stung with unshed tears. “So, this is how it is: I don't want to marry you. Not unless you want me every bit as much as I want you. I'm not interested in settling for a man who only cares about me. If I did, I could marry Paris. At least he’s honest about what he wants. But you...” He closed his mouth and wiped his eyes impatiently, hating his own weakness. “You gave me hope that your feelings would change, that you'd eventually love me back. Maybe that's even what you believed in the beginning, but then Jean wouldn't let you go.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Marion murmured. “Tris, I—”

  “No need to be,” Tris broke in. He looked at the rain making patterns on the stones of the courtyard. “You should go to Jean.” He laughed at himself a little. “See? That's what love is. I want you to be happy even if it makes me miserable. Tell Jean that I don't blame him for refusing to quit. This is a battle I would never have surrendered, if I thought I had any other choice.”

  But Marion still did not let go of his hand.

  “Listen to me,” Marion said softly. “Even if you never agree to see me again, I’m not going back to Jean. Do you hear?”

  “So you say now.”

  “No.” He cupped Tris’s face in his hands. “You’re still not listening. I’m not reconciled with Jean. We’re not lovers.”

  Tris blinked. “But I thought... I know he’s staying at the Myrtles...”

  “He’s hurt,” Marion said. “I’m taking care of him. I’m not fucking him. We’re not even bedding down in the same room. The Colibri isn’t safe for Jean right now, not while he’s injured and the Archer still has men in the city.”

  “And once he’s healed?” Tris shook his head. “What then? Jean will always be in your life.”