Slumber

by Cassandra Dean

  Chapter Five

  Sebastian tore through the darkened streets, his grip tight on the princess’s arm. She followed him, her expression blank, but he couldn’t think on her lack of reaction. He had to get them to shelter, to safety, and he knew these crooks and alleys, knew them like the back of his hand.

  The sight of Coglin Street assaulted him with glaring familiarity, and memory laid a path over the present, reminding him of an inn four doors down, one what don’t ask questions and gets you information besides. The patterns and rhythms of his youth flowed over him, and, gathering the princess closer, he pushed through the crowded street, ignoring the mutters from those who objected to rough treatment. He had concerns greater than bruised feelings.

  The inn was as he remembered it, disreputable, dank, and just this side of derelict. Striding past the taproom, he headed for the back. The princess followed without objection, her face pale and her gaze distant. The innkeeper kept shop in his room at the back, and this hadn’t changed, the man just as burly and just as disinterested as Sebastian’s memory painted him.

  “Need a room,” he said, allowing the accent of his youth to color his words, the rough tone sour upon the tongue he’d spent years refining.

  The innkeeper’s gaze shifted between Sebastian and the princess. A flicker of interest sparked. “And why would a toff and his skirt be wanting a room here?”

  Sebastian allowed his features to form a sneer, the expression vicious and one he’d worn perpetually in his youth. “Why would an innkeeper be asking things best left unsaid?”

  The innkeeper blanched. Lifting a key from the mass behind him with a hand that shook, he said, “Payment up front.”

  Sebastian bared his teeth in a mockery of a smile. “You know that ain’t right.”

  The innkeeper blanched. “Right you are. Right you are, sir. Payment upon—” The innkeeper’s gaze flicked to Sebastian’s. “Whenever you can, sir, whenever you can.”

  He took the key. “And you won’t be saying nothing about who stays in this room.”

  “Not a word.”

  With a grim nod, Sebastian took the princess’s hand and led her to the stairs. She remained silent while he found the room, barely furnished with a sagging bed and a dilapidated chair, and as he searched it, taking note of each entrance and exit. He used the talents he’d learned in his youth, the ones that told him when a guard was approaching and when to strike, who was a likely mark and who should be left alone. He used what he’d learned, and he made for them a protection of sorts, even as he hated himself for remembering so clearly what needed to be done and how to do it. Even as he remembered standing beside a villain such as the one who had attacked them, stood with knife in hand and a sneer on his lips and taken what he could by force and steel.

  The hand resting at his side shook. His hand shook.

  Slowly, he curled his fingers to a fist. He was not that boy anymore. He didn’t use violence to get what he wanted, and he stood beside no man. He was the Tailor of Dormiraa. He was second only to the king. None could take that from him. None could make him anything but what he was, what he had made himself be.

  He waited, and when it seemed he could hold his hand without a tremor, he turned to the princess.

  Seated on the bed with gaze unfocused, she stared at the floor, her fingers digging into the edge of the straw mattress. Her shirt had been pulled from her leather vest, her hair hung in a tangle down her back, and a smear of red stained her pale cheek.

  In one step, he was by her side. “Are you hurt?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Thalia, are you hurt?” He heard the edge to his voice, heard the panic he disguised with anger, but he couldn’t stop it, couldn’t stop himself. “Thalia!”

  She jumped, her fingers digging harder into the cotton-covered straw. She shook her head too hard, too violently.

  “Are you certain?” He knelt before her, ran his hands over her to discover for himself if she was broken.

  “I am fine.”

  There was no tear to her garment, no injury to cause the blood. He had to find it, had to make sure she was well.

  “Tailor. Sebastian. I am fine.”

  Hands cupped his face, fingers digging into his flesh. His gaze was forced to hers, and he saw for himself the truth of her words in her eyes.

  “I am fine,” she said.

  He swallowed. “You’ve red on you.”

  Confusion creased her brow.

  Raising his fingers to her cheek, he drew them away stained.

  She looked from his fingers to him. “It’s dye. Sebastian, it’s dye. I am fine.”

  Dye.

  Vaulting to his feet, he put distance between her and him. “Yes, of course. I’m glad you’re well, Princess. However, it appears we’ve lost your guards.”

  “Yes, we have.” She watched his agitated pace. “Your hair is blond.”

  “What?” He shoved his hands through his hair. His wig. Where was his bloody wig? His colored eye lenses had been knocked from him by an errant punch, but he’d thought his wig was safe.

  Belatedly, he realized the foolishness of the thought. Who bloody cared? Changing tack to the matter at hand, he said, “Do you have a plan, one made with your guardians should such a thing occur? This cannot be the first time.”

  “No.”

  He waited, but she didn’t elaborate. “Well?”

  Frowning, she rubbed her finger against her temple. “The plan is for me to know and for me to enact. You have taken me from danger, and I thank you. Do not presume more than is warranted.”

  “I beg your leave, Princess. I forget myself.” He smiled prettily. “Please do forgive me.”

  She skewered him with a look. “Are you being facetious?”

  He kept his pretty smile. “Princess?”

  “You are.” Grimacing, she pinched her temple.

  How could she know that? How could she see past the facade to what lay beneath? Why was he letting her? Panic again took hold of him, and he reacted the only way he knew how—by being obnoxious. “First things first. We’re not going to panic. We’re going to think calmly and concisely, and we’re going to get to Queenstor.”

  “Oh?” Abandoning her temple, she crossed her arms. “Is that what we’re going to do?”

  “Of course we are. This is merely a glitch, a bump in an otherwise smooth road. You and I shall continue as was intended, and this will all be over before you know it.” He debated whether he should pat her hand, but settled instead for another pretty smile.

  “How can this be but a glitch? We’ve lost Bharia and Stahg. Lost them. I’ve not been without them in—” Her throat worked, and she looked away, her fingers digging into the mattress once more. “I’ve not been without them.”

  Damnation, he was not going to comfort her. He wasn’t going to comfort her….

  Stepping forward, he knelt before her. “Princess, it will be all right.”

  “Will it?” She looked at him with too-dry eyes. “What if they’re hurt? Why if they’re…? What if it’s worse? They’re my friends, Sebastian, and I don’t know if they’re well.”

  He wanted to hold her. Rubbing his hands on his thighs did little to rid him of his desire. “We’ll enact your plan, Princess. They’ll either come or they won’t, and it won’t mean a thing either way.”

  “I’m to leave a message at the Central Graph Office.”

  He blinked. “Pardon?”

  She rubbed her temple again. “The plan. I’m to leave a message there. People come and go at graph offices, posting mail and dictating graphs for sending, and no one will notice if I go to the Central Graph Office and leave a message.”

  Concern wound in him as she grimaced again. Did her head pain her? “And the central one, so you always know which graph office to go to. Clever.”

  “It will only be clever if it works.” She looked at him with worried eyes. “Do you think it will work?”

  “If it doesn’t, we’ll devise anothe
r plan.” Sebastian rubbed a hand over his mouth. They needed to get money and passage to Queenstor, and they needed to do it quickly. The innkeeper would not stay silent for long. “We’ll go by sea. We can only stay here a night, Thalia, so if your guardians don’t respond, we’ll have to leave without them. If the Cormare know you’re here, they won’t rest until they find you, and they’ve eyes and ears everywhere.”

  “How do you know this?”

  A chill went through him. Damnation, she was too quick, too observant, and he kept letting her see him.

  He waved his hand flippantly. “Doesn’t everyone?”

  Finger at her temple, she regarded him. “You’re not what you seem, are you?”

  Keeping his expression mildly inquiring, he said, “Princess?”

  Exhaling, she shook her head. “So we are to find a ship.”

  “One that sails as soon as possible.”

  “How are we to pay for it?” Her gaze dropped to his hands. “Your rings?”

  His purse had been lost, along with his luggage. Damnation. “Your treasury can replace them later.”

  Gaze still considering, she nodded slowly. “Of course.” She drew herself up. “Tailor, I wish to thank you for your assistance this day. I am truly grateful.”

  Surprise filled him at the formality of her tone. “I have done only what any loyal subject would do.”

  She looked at him a long time before she spoke. “I should like to rest now.”

  Standing, he said, “Of course. Your head must be paining you.”

  Surprise lit her expression. “How did you know?”

  “You’ve been rubbing your temple, Princess. A fool would notice.” He straightened his jacket as well as he was able. “I will take repast in the taproom and allow you your privacy.”

  She inclined her head. Sketching a bow, he exited the room, and once in the hall, he held up his hand.

  It still shook.

  Chapter Six

  Softness filled Sebastian’s arms, and he curled around it, burying his face in sweet-smelling hair. The woman burrowed deeper into him, settling with a soft sigh and, tightening his arms, he started to slide back into sleep. Then he realized who it had to be.

  His eyes snapped opened. Gods, it was her. The princess’s head nestled into the hollow of his neck, her hair staining the pillow black. Her leg nestled between his, nudging his burgeoning cock while her arm draped loose over his waist, her steady breath skipping along his skin. Her breasts brushed against his chest with every exhale

  Heart racing, he cursed inwardly as he tried to extract himself. She made a noise, almost a moan, and the sound of it burned through him, his arousal intensifying to painful levels.

  Damn it all to hell. Giving up on stealth, he swung his legs out of the bed and braced his hands on his thighs. He had to get control of his body. The chill in the air hit him, and he cursed again, annoyed at everything. Annoyed at her for fetching him from the uncomfortable chair in the middle of the night, claiming his tossing and cursing was keeping her awake. Annoyed he’d fallen asleep with her safely on the other side of the bed, but woken with her in his arms.

  Annoyed he found her so damn alluring.

  He put his head in his hands. This attraction was ridiculous. Nothing could come of it, and he needed to get that through to his gods-be-damned cock. If only he didn’t like her so well.

  “Good morning.”

  His head whipped up as her husky words shot through him, and he began a new litany of silent curses. “Good morning.”

  He heard her stretch, felt the pull of the sheet against his thigh. He imagined the sheets pulled tight for a different reason, her back arching as he kissed her throat, her chest, her breasts.

  “Did you sleep well?” she said, the remnants of her own rest making her voice a husky drawl.

  He could almost picture her, arm above her head, hair tousled. Her shirt would be askew, maybe even showing too much golden skin. It wouldn’t take much to lean over and push it farther aside, to look his fill and memorize the shape of her breasts, the exact shade of her skin...and then he would learn her with his mouth.

  “Sebastian?”

  Gods damn it, he hadn’t answered her question. What was it? “I did. And you?” Closing his eyes, he mouthed a curse. He had descended into banality. How edifying.

  “Surprisingly well.” She sounded cheerful, almost determinedly so. “So we are off to the docks to find a ship today?”

  He had to face her. Turning, he took care to disguise the state of his body as much as possible. She was just as he’d imagined, a glorious tousle of warm woman. Stop thinking, fool. “Yes, with a detour to the graph office.”

  Her smile became strained. “Of course.”

  His fingers itched to smooth the strain from her face and then to pull her lips to his. “We are dressed too fine to be on the streets of the Sceltish Quarter. We should procure some garments that will allow us a degree of anonymity.” She stretched, and he ignored how her shirt gaped open, displaying the valley between her breasts. “I will find us new clothes, more appropriate.”

  “All right, then.” Thalia pushed herself from the bed, straightened her clothing. “Let’s go.”

  Just like that? “We are not appropriately groomed.”

  She snorted. “And we won’t be. Don’t worry, Tailor. I won’t tell anyone.” With a laugh, she left the room.

  He followed her, his chest filled with an unaccustomed ache. It would be easier to ignore her if lust was all he felt, but did she have to make him like her as well?

  ***

  Nothing had changed. A dozen years since he’d dragged himself from the muck, and, still, all was the same.

  Sebastian trudged through the streets, pulling the rough-spun cloak tighter. The thing stank of onions and sweat and the faint aroma of dye that permeated everything. The tickets for their passage to Queenstor were tucked safely in his pocket, and they were to sail on the evening tide.

  Thalia trudged beside him, her own cloak wrapped around her. He had no notion if hers stank of onions and dye and no wish to find out. He’d managed to purchase clothes from the washers, who were just as open to the exchange of coin for clothing as he remembered. They were now the owners of some poor fool’s laundry—two shirts, a coat, and breeches for him, a skirt and three blouses for Thalia. He’d lost his wig, so a trip to the pharmacy resulted in pomade to darken his hair. Thalia’s they’d bound in a dull head scarf, the glorious tumble disguised by the rough-spun cloth.

  They’d also visited the junk dealer and exchanged Sebastian’s rings for coin, more than the dealer wanted to give, but Sebastian remembered the game. Every time the dealer had moaned about the quality, Sebastian had countered with a tale. When the dealer had claimed none had heard his tales, he made them grander. In the end, the dealer had practically thrown coin at him, more than likely just to get him out of his shop.

  “This is it.”

  He glanced at Thalia. She’d stopped in the middle of the footpath, her gaze directed to an unassuming little shop wedged between a wheelwright’s and a gear shop. “This is what?”

  “The Central Graph Office.” She turned to him, and the light in her eyes almost took his breath. “Look.”

  Taking a moment to collect himself, he followed where she was pointing to see the familiar graph office sign, hidden by grime and what looked to be a piece of torn sailcloth. “This is the Central Graph Office? You’ve only to blink, and you’ll miss it.”

  “It’s not like I decided the office should be here, but you can plainly see it has been decided by someone. I’m going in.” Determinedly, she started toward it.

  Sebastian curled his fingers about her arm. “Wait a moment. We should stay together.”

  “Aye, we should, and yet we won’t. I am to do this thing, Tailor, and you will heed me.” Glancing at his hand, she raised a brow.

  Immediately, he let her go. “Yes, Princess.”

  Quick as a flash, she turned a frown upon hi
m, but then a rueful smile stole the ill expression. “I was acting imperiously, wasn’t I?”

  He raised a shoulder. “But very attractively.”

  Dark eyes lit with amusement, her smile widened into a grin. It hit him like a blow, and he ducked his head to disguise his reaction.

  “Well, I’ll be going in to the graph office alone, so occupy yourself with something.” Sobering, she touched his arm. “I will be safe, Sebastian. You’ve no need for worry. Only look, there are a dozen other women alone. I’ll be one of them, and none shall comment.”

  He looked down at her hand against the sleeve of his coat. It was such a small hand, but it wielded such power. “If you are certain.”

  “I am.”

  Though better judgment screamed at him, he did not argue. “I will be in the pub.”

  Her brow creased. “Pub?”

  “That one. The Drunken Goat.” He frowned. “Did you not notice it? Thalia, if you cannot notice the presence of a pub, how will you notice the presence of villains?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’ll be fine. Stop worrying. No one will recognize me like this, and I’ll be gone less than a moment.” She disappeared into the graph office.

  He watched her go. He had a feeling she’d not often been deterred from her course, and though it seemed the veriest folly to allow her to go, he could see the sense it in. A woman alone, dressed as a servant, would be of little notice in a graph office. A woman and a man, sticking together like glue? A completely different tale.

  Exhaling, Sebastian turned to the pub. He was not unfamiliar with it. He’d spent much of his youth here or in places like it, drinking away his coin, keeping his ear to the ground. The Goat was an especially good source of information. Travelers from far and wide passed through the docks, and most sought to wet their throats while telling a tale or two in a welcoming place before moving on.

  The pub was the same as it had been in his youth, a dim dive of a tavern with weak-as-piss ale and sullen bar girls who could be had for a copper or two. Raucous conversation hit him as he entered the tap room, the dim lighting making shadows of the patrons.