by Anya Bast
Except he hadn’t arrived first.
He’d stepped into the mouth of the alley just in time to see Byron Andropov scooping her up off the pavement.
His woman, no matter that she was soiled beyond forgiveness.
Even then he’d recognized Andropov as a powerful man. Lacking the ability to confront Andropov for possession of Lilya, he’d followed them, watched them for the long months she’d been in Byron’s care. Ivan had seen her slowly come back from the dead in Byron’s presence. One day in the park he’d seen her look at Byron with something far too close to love for his liking.
Ivan hated Byron.
He would have had him killed during Lilya’s recuperation, but some part of him had still felt guilty about her condition. Stupid. Weak. But he’d felt that way anyway. Then Byron had left the city with no warning and Ivan had lost his chance.
That had been all right. Byron was gone, and as long as he didn’t come back, he could keep his life. Lilya entered the Temple of Dreams—no big surprise to Ivan since she was a whore in her heart—and that had been that. He’d watched her from afar, controlling the clients she took. If she seemed interested in a man he didn’t approve of, he would “dissuade” him. None of them could be too big, too virile, too much like Byron.
Then he’d received word that Byron had come back. Not only that, he’d taken Lilya out of the city, away from Ivan’s control. And all the hatred had come flooding back along with a healthy dollop of murderous rage. No one took Lilya away from him.
She had been just fine where she’d been. A courtesan close enough to him that he’d possessed a measure of influence over her life. Now all that was gone and with Byron in the picture he wasn’t sure he’d ever get it back. He didn’t like change.
This was unacceptable.
He stepped away from the window and looked in the mirror that hung on the wall to his right. Smoothing his dark goatee with a well-manicured hand and dragging his fingers through his long silver-streaked black hair, he studied his reflection. Cool gray eyes—the eyes of one of the most powerful men in Milzyr—gazed at him. He wanted Lilya back where she’d been for the last five and a half years. Ivan always got what he wanted.
And he wanted Byron dead, once and for all.
Ten
The carriage lurched to a stop in front of a large area in the center of Ulstrat that was thronged with stalls of late-autumn fruits and vegetable, stacks of clothing and shoes, and other sundry trinkets for purchase.
“This is where you’ve taken me?” Lilya stared out the window of the carriage. “To the market?”
The driver opened the door and the scent of roasting chestnuts reached her nose. She inhaled and closed her eyes, drinking in the moment. She hadn’t been to a market in years.
“I gave Mara the day off. I thought we could do the shopping ourselves.” Byron offered her a hand, helping her out of the carriage. Alek followed.
“I think it’s a lovely idea.” She glanced around her. “This must be one of the last village markets of the season.”
“It is the last day of the outdoor market. It moves indoors next week, but will be reduced in its offerings.” Byron came up beside her.
She glanced at him. “We can find the ingredients for dinner tonight.”
“Yes, but you’ll have to prepare it. Alek and I both lack that particular skill.”
“I would love to. Cooking is a hobby of mine.”
He lingered near her, looking out over the stalls of vendors who had already recognized him and begun calling to him using his first name. It was a testament to his friendliness with the people of Ulstrat. The heat of his body radiated out and warmed her. The scent of him teased her nostrils and reminded her of the night before, how he’d brought her to a shattering climax over and over again. Just having him near her was a heady experience.
Dangerous. So dangerous.
Yet she knew she was in deep now, too far gone to ever come back. She wasn’t sure what the future held....
But she was pretty sure it included heartbreak.
Alek moved to her other side and handed her the basket. “I really don’t want to hold this.”
She laughed and pulled it from his fingers. He was grouchy about the fact that they’d pulled him from his study that morning. Alek rarely seemed happy away from his books.
“I’ll take it,” said Byron, slipping the basket from her fingers and giving Alek a cutting look. “I’m very secure in my masculinity.”
Ignoring Byron’s barb, she linked her arm through Alek’s. “What do you like to eat, Alek?” The old saying was true, often the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach and Alek’s heart was buried deep . . . though she suspected the man’s libido rested very close to the surface.
Maybe the way to a man’s heart was through his libido?
He shrugged, his gaze roaming listlessly over the vendors.
“Don’t ask him,” Byron growled. “I’m the one with the insatiable appetite.”
She gave him a sidelong look. That was for certain.
Alek shot him an annoyed look.
“Well, let’s see what we’ve got.” Lilya walked into the market. “The ingredients will be limited, considering how late it is in the season. Still, I’m sure we can find enough things to prepare a delicious meal.”
She headed down an aisle. A man caught her eye and called her over to a table filled with warm wraps for the cold season. Perusing, she picked up and rubbed her fingers over the soft, heavy fabrics, inspecting their quality. She lingered on a peach-and-cream wrap made of wool, admiring the intricacies of its woven pattern. Just as she stepped away from the vendor, Byron laid it over her shoulders.
She looked up at him in surprise.
“I thought it would look pretty on you.” He leaned in and kissed her quickly. Just that little peck made her body heat.
“Thank you.”
Alek had wandered down the aisle, seemingly unconnected to the world around him. She motioned at him, pulling the wrap more firmly over her shoulders. “Is he always like this?” she asked Byron.
“Since . . . what happened, yes. The only thing that seems to soothe his soul is his studies.”
“Why won’t you tell me what happened?”
“It’s not my place. Just as I never thought it was my place to tell your story.”
She pressed her lips together, studying Alek’s broad shoulders as the man drew farther and farther away from them. “He mentioned a woman in his past but did not name her. I feel strongly that whatever forced him away from the world has something to do with her.”
Byron’s gaze lingered on her. “Women always seem involved in a man’s heartbreak.”
She grinned. “Not if they prefer men.”
“Ah, yes, but neither Alek nor I do.”
“Well,” she said, securing the wrap around her shoulders. “I can assure you that men are usually at the heart of a woman’s soul-deep wounding as well. You answered my question, of course. Alek is mourning a woman. I just don’t know if she left him or died.”
“Again, it’s not my story to tell. When Alek is ready maybe he’ll share it with you.”
“I think it’s wonderful the way you respect his privacy.”
“I love Alek.”
She glanced at him. “He’s a lucky man to have a friend like you.”
Byron laughed. “Most days I think he would call me a pain in the ass.”
They wandered the aisles, inspecting the vegetables, meats, and cheeses. Occasionally she added something to the basket, an evening meal taking shape in her mind.
As she finished haggling with a turnip merchant, Alek slipped a pendant in the shape of a butterfly around her neck. She stopped, surprised, and fingered the piece. “Thank you, Alek.”
Byron stood a short distance away, his eyes suddenly stormy.
Alek pointedly caught Byron’s gaze and said to her, “It reminded me of you.”
She blinked, saying nothing. The degree of te
stosterone in the air had suddenly ratcheted upward. Apparently the men were feeling a bit of rivalry for her affections. She wasn’t really surprised it had happened—just by the rate of speed at which it had occurred.
Yes, Alek Chaikoveii definitely was full of surprises.
In the middle of that competitive moment, some other unexpected sensation made the hair on the back of her neck rise. She went still, uneasy for a reason she couldn’t identify. Somewhere near her, she felt the pressure of someone’s gaze. Turning in a slow circle, she sought to identify the person watching her with such intenseness.
“Lilya? What’s wrong?” Alek glanced around the crowd.
The malevolent sensation eased. She stilled, gathering her thoughts. That had been so odd. “I don’t know. It felt like someone was staring at us, someone who meant us harm.”
Alek took her arm and drew her against him. “How could you sense such a thing?”
“It’s a throwback to my time on the streets. When you live that way, you learn to develop your intuition. It kept me alive.”
Byron had come up to protectively flank her opposite side. “I’m well known in Ulstrat. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that someone may not like my family as much as everyone else.”
She glanced at the basket, filled with fresh meat, vegetables, and a few dried spices. “We have what we need. Maybe we should return to the house.” She looked up into the heavily clouded sky. “The air has a hint of snow in it anyway.”
“Good idea.” Byron twined an arm around her waist and they made their way back to the carriage.
By the time they’d reached the house and Lilya was happily cooking in the warm kitchen and a roaring fire had been lit in the hearth, fat white snowflakes had begun to fall outside, quickly covering the tangled, dead garden beyond the window.
While morsels of sautéed fish simmered in a pan behind her, she took a moment to look out the window and enjoy the scene. She wished she could be here in the spring to take that garden in hand, and the thought made wistfulness wash over her.
Of course she wouldn’t be here in the spring; she’d be back in Milzyr and her time with Byron would be long over. There was a garden behind her house, but the thought of working it alone sent a pang through her.
“It smells delicious in here.”
She turned to find Alek behind her. The fish! Hurrying back to her slowly simmering fillets, she tended them and turned the heat down a smidge.
Setting her fork on the counter, she glanced at him and touched the pendant he’d bought for her. “Thank you for this.” Honestly, she really didn’t think he’d bought it for her. It had been a way to compete with Byron more than anything else.
“A beautiful piece of jewelry for a beautiful woman. Are you feeling better?”
“Better? Oh, you mean from sensing that unpleasantness at the market.” She shrugged. “Likely it was my own imagination.”
“Or, like you said, your intuition. I never discount such things.”
“Really? I would think that as a scholar you would trust logic more than some unprovable perception.”
“I don’t discount any possibilities. Life’s far too strange to be sure of anything.”
Smiling, she took a fortifying sip of her wine and lifted her glass. “Here’s to that.”
“Even three years after the revolution, those wealthier than others need to watch their step. There’s a lot of animosity out there.”
She set her glass on the counter and poked the fish again. “Byron seems well loved in Ulstrat, but I can see how he might still have to be careful. Blood ran hot during the revolution and with good reason. The Edaeii pillaged Rylisk for centuries, creating a gap between the lower and higher classes, impoverishing people. I know firsthand of that. The taxes the Edaeii levied on my father wiped out his shipping business and took everything we had.”
“Ironically, I feel the inventions the Tinkers’ Guild is releasing could do the same.”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged and walked close to her. “The rich can afford them and the poor cannot. It breeds hostility. Unfairness. Widens the gap the revolution was meant to close.”
She pressed her lips together. Somewhere along the line she’d gone from being a have-not to a have, and the lines became harder to see when one sat on the privileged side of them. “You’re right, but the possibility never occurred to me.”
“It’s occurred to Gregorio Vikhin. We’ll see what he has to say about it.”
“If anyone can affect change in Rylisk, it’s Gregorio.” Indeed, he’d been the father of the revolution. She pulled the pan of fish off the cooking surface and checked the vegetables. “Dinner is ready.”
“Fantastic. I’m starving.”
She smiled, but her smile faded when she saw the look on his face. The hunger in his eyes seemed to have nothing to do with food.
He moved toward her, twining a hand around her waist and bringing his head close to hers. She stiffened as his lips pressed to hers, wondering what he would do, but this kiss lacked the desperate heat of the one in the garden and she relaxed.
Threading her fingers through the hair at his nape, she tilted her head a little for a better angle and kissed him back with interest.
Byron’s voice came from the corridor and they broke the kiss and backed away from each other almost guiltily.
Silly. They had nothing to feel guilty about.
Alek took the bowl of vegetables and she slid the fish onto a platter to serve . . . her hands shaking.
Ivan stood outside the Andropov family estate, snowflakes catching in his eyelashes, melting on his cheeks, and dropping onto the wool of his long coat. The place was immense and rich-looking—of course. Nothing Andropov owned was ever second best.
Thick, gray stone walls marked the edges of the property, matching the gray stone of the house. In the warmer months Ivan felt certain the grass and gardens were lush and green, not the dead tangle they were now.
Lights flickered from inside the mansion, marking the places in the huge structure where Byron, Lilya, and that other man were likely spending most of their time. It looked cozy—nice.
Lilya didn’t deserve nice.
He’d followed them to the market that morning and had seen there was not just one man in the house with Lilya, but two. The other man was of an age with Byron, good-looking. Ivan doubted he was low-born. Not judging by the way he dressed or carried himself.
More than likely his companion was Alek Chaikoveii, Andropov’s closest friend. He hadn’t brought any of his men with him to do legwork for him, but that was no matter. If one had enough money, one could find out anything. He would have the man’s identity verified by tomorrow.
Maybe there was more than just one man for him to kill.
Eleven
So what are we studying today?” Lilya tried not to smile as she flipped open the book they’d been working from and peered over the rim of the reading glasses she’d found in Byron’s room.
Alek looked up from the book he was reading, stared, and then burst out laughing.
“What’s wrong?” The picture of innocence, she looked up at him through the glasses that made everything look a little hazy. “Why are you laughing?” Unable to hold it in, she laughed herself, and then she snorted. Loud. Her hand flew to her mouth. She paused, arrested with surprise for a moment, and then burst into fresh laughter.
Alek laughed harder.
They both dissolved into helpless mirth that fed off each other’s reactions. It was the kind of laugh that comes from a small thing and ends up inexplicably big, feeding an emotional delight that washes away stress. The kind of cathartic laughter that’s difficult to stop. It felt really, really good and she realized she’d needed it as much as Alek.
The glasses teetered on the tip of her nose. They fell off and she caught them before they could hit the table and break.
Finally, they both calmed. He picked up the glasses. “These are way too big
for you. Byron’s got a huge head. You looked like an owl.”
She smiled. She’d been trying to get a laugh out of him and she’d succeeded with interest. It was a good sign that such a simple, silly thing had drawn amusement from him. “I can’t see out of them either. I was trying to look more like you is all.”
He set the glasses aside. “What a pity. Don’t do that. I think you’re pretty.”
“Thank you.” She tapped the book. “Seriously, now, what are we studying?”
“Let’s see.” He looked down at the book and began to thumb through pages.
Just then Byron walked into the room. “I’m headed into town for a few things.”
“Byron, why don’t you hire someone to do that?” asked Alek, not looking up from the book. “You’d be providing jobs for people who could use the work.”
Lilya lightly hit Alek’s upper arm. “That’s exactly what I told him!”
“I’d rather do things myself and maintain my privacy. I’ll be back later.” He leaned over and kissed Lilya’s cheek, which made her flush with pleasure. “I gave Mara the night off again. Since you cooked last night, I’m cooking dinner tonight.”
Alek groaned.
Byron laughed as he left the room. “I’m not that bad.”
“Yes, you are,” Alek called.
The front door slammed a moment later.
Lilya watched Alek, who was still thumbing through the book, and chewed the edge of her thumbnail. “Is he really that bad?”
Alek looked up at her. “I hope you brought indigestion medicine with you.”
She winced. “He just doesn’t know it?”
“No and I humor him . . . mostly.” He shrugged and looked down at the book again. “He tries.”
“Do you think the reason he doesn’t hire servants is really because he values his privacy so much?”
