by Kirby Crow
Tris frowned. “That doesn't seem likely.”
“You only say that because you're a little know-nothing, but trust me, piccolo, there's more ways to fuck than there are flavors of wine or colors of flowers or poems in your fancy books. Maybe Mika just rolls onto his belly and thinks of Malachite, but that's not how it was between me and Marion.”
Tris licked his lips. He gazed up at Jean, clear challenge in his eyes. “How was it?”
How much more invitation do I need? Jean’s hand darted out and circled Tris's neck, fingers tangling in the soft hair and jerking his head back. He pushed Tris with his body until Tris's back was at the wall, then forced his knee between Tris's thighs. He bent over him. “Open your mouth.”
Tris parted his lips, and Jean kissed him.
Tris tasted like sweet wine. He was half-drunk already. Jean suspected it was only the alcohol talking. Perhaps the other times he’d tasted that mouth, Tris hadn’t meant it. But when he slid his tongue deeper inside and Tris moaned and pushed his hips forward, Jean knew it was more than the wine at work.
Jean grunted his pleasure and rubbed himself against Tris, pressing the line of his stiffening cock against Tris's belly, letting his hands slip beneath the robe and brush across naked skin. He sucked on Tris's tender lower lip and nibbled his chin.
“Spread your feet apart,” Jean murmured. “Hands flat on the wall.” Tris obeyed at once. He drew his hands down Tris's chest to his narrow waist, feeling the line of his hips, shivering himself when he felt how soft Tris was, how perfect his skin, how willing, how very willing.
Tris's eyes were closed, his chin tilted up, offering his kiss-reddened mouth for more ravishment.
Submission, complete and utter.
“Oh damn,” Jean breathed. He was sorely tempted to go further, to take another kiss, to see if Tris's knees bent as easily as his neck, but it was wrong, so wrong, and Marion would be furious, especially if he did things to Tris that Marion himself refused to submit to, if he stripped Tris's robe away and uncovered all of that splendid skin and threw him to the floor and fucked...
Jean tore himself away. “Go to bed,” he snarled, desire hot in his veins, pooling near his cock, making him rise thick and hard.
Tris's breath came in little starts, his eyes glazed. Jean looked down and saw the line of Tris's cock tenting out from the silk.
He took Tris by the shoulder and pushed him roughly toward the door. “I said go!”
Tris stumbled back, wrapped his arms around himself and fled. Jean cursed and strode to the front door, fleeing in his own way.
Damned impossible little tease, he fumed as he took the stairs to the paved walkway two at a time. He headed for the canal. Fucking slut shouldn't have been so easy. He's married!
But Tris hadn't teased him, hadn't offered anything he wasn't willing to give. I wanted him on his knees, Jean thought, feeling the heated fullness of his cock aching and demanding attention. He groaned out loud. I wanted to see that smart mouth stretched around my cock, wanted to see his legs spread for me, his body, and see if Paris was telling the truth about the scars. I've never had a man with no scars...
Jean stopped in the middle of the narrow street and just breathed, hands on his hips, trying to clear his head. He didn't even know where he was going, what he intended to do. After a moment, he turned around and headed for the Canal Fiore.
A late-working sandolier pocketed his coin and left him at the Falena. He made his way through the half-naked and sweating throng of men in the Alley of Sparrows, shouldering in when they wouldn't move, pushing eager hands off him. In the tavern, he paid for a room, and a little of the fat purse of golden harpies he'd received from Kon bought the golden bird who had once sat in his lap and sang for him.
Jean was naked on the bed with his legs sprawled apart when a soft knock came at the door. Cardellino wore the same blue silk he'd first seen the whore in. “Lock it,” he bade. “And get naked.”
Amazing how a little gold can change your life. Cardellino smiled and did exactly as he was told, everything he was told. Jean's thumbs pressed into the smooth flesh of slender hips and left bruises like the wings of blue butterflies, lifting him up roughly, jerking him down. After a bit, Jean rolled them over and pressed Cardellino's back to the mattress. He urged Cardellino's legs up to clasp him. Soft heels touched Jean's neck.
“I ordered wine, pretty bird. You're going to need it.”
They rested in the hours before dawn, like fighters between bouts. Jean washed and sent for more wine, and then he made use of Cardellino's apricot-tinted mouth. He'd heard the cortigiano sing, but he liked his tongue better.
The sun was streaming through the window in harsh shafts of vivid light when Cardellino tiredly rolled out of bed and gathered his silks. The purse was enough to buy the whore every night for a month, but Jean gave it all. When the door shut and he was alone, he closed his eyes and slept the entire day.
***
“I'm not pleased to be woken in the middle of the night,” Kon announced. He had taken time to dress properly in his black robes of office and polished boots. Even his beard was groomed.
Jean suspected the long wait was more to punish him for his nerve than a wish to appear presentable. “I'm surprised you agreed to see me at all.”
The library smelled of erba, and he guessed that Kon had been in here this evening, probably with Dominique and Erzabet. Playing family, he thought uncharitably. He didn't have Marion's gift of forgiving.
“I know who you are,” Jean said. “What you are.”
Kon took that in stride. “Tris did not inform me that you were aware of my origins, but I’m not shocked.” He went straight for the bar and the wine. “However, if you hadn't guessed by now, I would have seriously doubted my estimation of your intelligence.”
“Say my name.”
Kon looked up from pouring a pink vintage from a crystal decanter. “What?”
“My name. I want to hear it from you.”
Kon very deliberately put the wine down. He looked to the ceiling. “Jean,” he sighed out.
“When I was young and you were fucking me, did you know I would kill you if I found out what you were?”
“Oh, yes.” Kon smiled dryly. “A Starless Man, a son of Lord Nera himself? Without a doubt, you would have tried. It's not, however, the reason we parted. Is that what you thought?”
“No. I know the reason you didn't want me. I hope Dominique is giving you what I couldn't.”
“Mika doesn't give anyone anything, not even me. With him, every trust must be earned, every promise fulfilled, and weakness is never an excuse. I don't expect you to understand.”
He'd never understood what made Kon tick, or Mika for that matter. They were singular men, shaped by events beyond Jean’s understanding. “Did Aureo know about you? Is that why you had him hanged?”
“Marion hanged Aureo Marigny because he was too dangerous to pardon or to let go. We spoke of sending him to the Gaol for the rest of his life, but it was Marion who decided the noose was safer. Many in the Zanzare still longed for the old ways. Imprisoned, Aureo would have been a symbol of dissent for rebels to rally to. Or worse, a martyr. It was better the way it ended. Cleaner.”
“I think you believe that.”
A quick smile touched Kon's face. “Do you know why they're called the Starless Men? No stars to steer by.”
“You have no laws.”
“They have some, but it isn't the law they live by, only the creed. Any man is free to live as he wishes, without restraint, without rules or masters. If he steals, lies, or attacks another man, takes what’s his, then that man is free to kill him for his actions. This code creates a great deal of killing, as you might imagine, but also a great deal of caution. When you’re a Starless Man, you have to be very certain of what you want, because you can die for wanting.”
Jean tried to imagine it; a world without wardens, guardiers, or soldati, every man utterly responsible for his actions and his ow
n protection. “What did you want?”
“To leave.” Kon handed him the glass of wine. “I wanted to be forgotten. I wanted a new life, one with order, kindness, and peace, so I left Nera behind. I became the son of the magestros, and took the name of Sessane.” He toasted Jean. “A large feat for a boy of fifteen, was it not?”
Jean could not help but admire him a little. “It is, really. So is killing your father.”
Kon didn't blink. “You make no mention of my mother.”
“Did you have one?”
“And unlike you, I knew her name. I remember her. Nera disposed of her when I was thirteen, because she'd gotten too old for his taste and he feared the love his sons had for her. Daeron was only four. He wouldn't remember it like I do. My father took her from a Cwen sailing yacht when she was just a girl. He attacked the yacht, killed a few, threw the other women to his crew and kept my mother as a slave aboard his ship, to bear his seed and cook his food. I still remember the sound of her chains as she walked.” He put his wine down and wiped his mouth, as if his memories left a bad taste. “She was not exceptional or strong, but she was my mother and he put an anchor around her neck and pitched her into the sea as a lesson to me. He had to answer for that.”
“Like your little brother intends for you to answer.”
“I'm sure he does, but I have a city and he doesn't.”
Jean hesitated. Had he ever intended to honor his bargain with Daeron? One more broken oath in a lifetime of impossible choices. “Not all of his men are gone,” Jean sighed out. “I spied one of them in the Corsair tonight. Archer will come back when he's gathered his forces. He only left because he realized the numbers were against him. When they're not, he'll destroy you.”
“And the city with me?”
“I think his plans for the city are different. Will the Cwen help us if the Starless Men attack?”
“They've already attacked. Haven't you been paying attention? The Cwen will come to our aid if we beg, but they'll have a price. I'd prefer not to pay it. What's the matter, warden? Are you afraid of the Archer?”
“I'd be a fool not to be.”
Kon chuckled. “At last, we agree on something. Are you with him, or with me?”
Jean looked away. Whatever promises the Archer gave, he would not keep them. “He wants to hurt you. Probably more than he wants anything else in life. If I'm with him, you die. Tris dies. He'd kill Marion too, eventually. You know the rest. I'd follow in that long list of the needing-to-be-dead. Once Daeron had the city, he'd do exactly as he pleased, and fuck the promises.”
“Fuck the promises,” Kon echoed. “You see more clearly than I credited you for.” He stroked his pointed beard. “Does Daeron know that Tris has his blood, that there is one more Nera still alive?”
Jean hated to say it: “Yes.”
“Unfortunate,” Kon murmured. “A Nera that he might yet get his hands on, if we’re not vigilant.” He paused. “How long before his return, do you think?”
“I wouldn't count on it being forever. What are you going to do?”
“What I've always done: be smarter than everyone else. He has a ship. The Lion Sea is perilous. More so when a man is prepared to spend a large amount of gold to make it as dangerous as possible.” Kon’s smile was cold. “Daeron would find it rather difficult to return from the grave.”
“You'd kill your own brother?”
“To protect Tris?” Kon's eyes were pure flint. “Without hesitation.” He took the wine up again. “And as much as I disapprove of you, Jean, as much as it distresses me to think of you with my son and hope wistfully that you'd find your own grave in some painless way that can't be laid at my door, you're family now.” He raised his glass. “Benvenuti nella mia famiglia. Saluto.”
Welcome to the family. Jean laughed and saluted Kon in return. “And here's to you, bastardo. Long may we reign.” He drank and put the glass down, shoved his hands in his coat. “I'm going home.”
At the door, Kon called his name: “Jean... you will not inform my son about our past.” Kon stared down into his glass, swirling the red wine. “He must never hear of it, and you will not harm him in any way.”
There was no appealing to such a voice. If he did hurt Tris, whether intentionally or by accident, Kon would make that wistful grave a reality, and no apologies.
“I understand.”
He left Kon, but he didn’t go home. He went to the Falena.
Cardellino smiled and took him to his rooms, and when Jean protested that he couldn’t pay, Cardellino put his fingers to Jean’s mouth.
“Hush. Tonight is on the house, warden.” The singer smiled his lovely smile. “You’re a Sessane now.”
Jean sighed. “And you want a favor.”
“Not at this moment.” He kissed Jean and sucked gently on his lower lip, then drew back and slipped the silk robe from his body, holding a length of it for a long moment to hide sight of his cock. “But someday.” He let the robe fall.
Jean dropped onto the bed and pulled off his boots, tossing them in the corner. He laid back on the pillows and put his hands behind his head, watching Cardellino.
“You know... I could get used to this life.”
***
He spent two days with Cardellino and went back to the Villa Luna to find Tris on a stone bench in the twilit garden, under the falling yellow leaves of a myrtle.
Jean bent to brush his fingers over the rose engraved in the smooth stone. “You brought a little of home with you.”
“I used to play on this bench as a child,” Tris said.
Jean looked closely at the blue shadows under Tris’s eyes. “Have you slept?”
“Some.” Tris wore a plain shirt and trousers, soft shoes on his feet. He patted the bench, inviting Jean to sit. “Father asked me what I wanted from the castello. I didn't wish to hurt his feelings, and this was the only thing I could think of. I couldn't wait to leave home, make my own way in the city.” Tris glanced at him quickly. “He was never unkind,” he added. “I only—”
“Wanted to be your own man.”
Tris nodded. “It didn't quite work out that way, did it?”
Jean sat down and put his arm around Tris. “The story isn't over yet, kitten. How's Marion?”
“Like you, he hasn’t spent much time here. I haven't spoken to him since you left. I’ve tried, but he’s too angry.” Hurt made Tris's lovely features look pinched and lined. “I went to see father. He offered to annul the marriage and take me back.”
Jean’s mouth curled bitterly. “Of course he did.”
“I refused. For better or worse, I've made a vow. If Marion doesn't want me, he'll have to be the one to throw me out. I wasn't taught to run at the first sign of trouble.”
“I know what you were taught. Thing is, I don't think you know it.” Jean slid his hand into Tris's smaller one, but encountered a cold object resting in his palm. “What's this?”
Tris offered it to him. The surface caught the waning moonlight and reflected off the scrollwork and engraved initials: J&M.
“Lody found it at the Horn,” Tris said softly. “I thought you might want it back.”
Jean’s fingers closed around the silver match safe and he swallowed past a lump in his throat. Tris might be a prissy brat but he was also a generous and loving brat, and it appeared there would be no getting rid of him.
“Let's go find your man,” Jean said, running his fingers through Tris’s soft hair. “I have something I want to say to him.”
***
Marion, Jean guessed, was four bottles of beer into a bad mood.
Maybe five, Jean thought, looking at the ruddy-faced frown Marion threw their way when he saw Jean holding Tris’s hand. Tris tried to pull away. Jean held it fast.
Marion slumped in a big chair under the window. His shirt was unlaced at the throat and his boots were off, beer bottles rolling on the fine carpet. His bare feet were propped up in the windowsill and the pale curtains blew around his legs. He looked
weary but unbroken, beautiful but not young. So goddamned beautiful.
Jean stood for a moment and gazed at Marion, drinking in the sight of him; the deep gold of his hair limned with moonlight, the square line of his jaw, the shape of his hands as he sat and glared as if wondering whether to kiss one of them or throw them both out.
Marion stared pointedly at Tris's hand in Jean's.
Jean waited for him to speak first, but Marion's cards were played out, it seemed.
“Haven't seen you drunk in a while,” Jean said.
“You're not seeing it now,” Marion retorted. He made a sound between his teeth. “Tch. Beer. All it's good for is making piss.”
“If you don't like it, you shouldn't buy it.”
“Didn't say I didn't like it,” Marion said testily. He toed one of the bottles away from the chair. It rolled heavily across the floor. “But I'll float away before this makes me drunk, and I want very badly to be drunk. I really do.” He finally looked at Tris, and Jean saw sorrow touch his eyes. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Go to bed, Jean. This doesn't concern you.”
“I don't agree.” Jean reached behind him and pushed the door closed. He slipped his coat off and dropped it carelessly to the rug. “But I will go to bed.” He tugged Tris closer to the canopied frame, hung with white netting against mosquitoes. The mattress was a big, sprawling thing that could have held five of them. “You've got more than enough room.”
Marion put both his feet on the floor. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Make a guess.”
“Jean...” It was a low, furious growl.
Jean turned back, his hand on Tris. “Brother, either you're going to fuck him or I am. Take your pick. You wanted him so damned badly, and now you're acting like he's a toy you broke and can't fix.”
Tris gave a distressed moan.
Sorry, kitten.
“Stop it,” Marion warned.
“What exactly is the problem?” Jean demanded. “Was it that he kissed me, or that he liked it? Or maybe it was because you liked him better when you thought he hated me? Well, we don't hate each other, Marion, and if you don't get in this bed right now, the first cock in your husband's mouth is going to be mine.”
