The Gypsy King

by Maureen Fergus

  Azriel.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  PERSEPHONE MANAGED NOT TO CRY out or shriek or fall upon him—but only just barely. In an effort not to openly stare at his shorn head—which accentuated his chiselled features to a shocking degree—she fixed her gaze firmly upon the nearer of the two soldiers, a man so hairy that the rank, tangled mess upon his broad chest spilled up over the collar of his dirty black doublet.

  “Yes?” she said stiffly.

  Hastily, the man removed his cap with his free hand and stared at his feet. “Apologies for disturbing you, Lady Bothwell,” he said, “but this ruffian claims to be your slave—”

  “My slave?” choked Persephone, whose euphoria at seeing Azriel alive suddenly threatened to unleash itself in the form of loud, uncontrollable giggles.

  Upon seeing her strange reaction, the hairy New Man inhaled deeply, mashed his lips together and shot a furious glance at his companion. “I told you he was lying!” he hissed.

  “I never said he wasn’t lying, I said I didn’t want to take the chance that he wasn’t lying,” retorted the other, who looked more like a Latin tutor than a New Man and who was looking everywhere but at Persephone. “I said I didn’t think we ought to imprison him or beat him to death until we knew for certain that he was lying!”

  “I knew for certain that he was lying,” snarled the enraged hairy one. “Ye gods, what do you think the Regent is going to do to us when he finds out that we not only disturbed Lady Bothwell without cause, but that we allowed a common criminal to gaze upon her nearly naked body!”

  The desire to giggle abruptly extinguished, Persephone looked down to see that though her body was yet clad in the dead queen’s night things, the robe had fallen open and the torchlight from the corridor was shining through the fine weave of the nightgown in a manner that gave anyone who cared to look an exceedingly detailed view of her every curve, hollow and shadow.

  Mortified, she snatched her robe shut and looked up to find the New Men and guards all pointedly looking in other directions—and Azriel gazing straight at her with a little lopsided smile on his lips and a heart-stopping expression in his very blue (but rather bloodshot) eyes.

  “I hadn’t noticed,” he said in a rasping voice. “Is she really nearly naked?”

  With a cry of outrage, the hairy New Man pulled back his fist as though he meant to smash it into Azriel’s face.

  “Stop!” ordered Persephone sharply. “Do not strike him!”

  “But m’lady, he—”

  “Belongs to me,” she said. “And I would have you know that I am most displeased by the condition in which you have returned him to me.”

  Azriel gazed at the man reproachfully before turning back to Persephone. “They tore my clothes and beat me without restraint, Mistress,” he offered humbly as he pointed to a nasty gash on his forehead and lifted his arms to display his well-muscled but badly bruised midriff. “They had me halfway to the dungeon before they thought better of it.”

  Feeling as short of breath as though she were once again trussed up in her corsets, Persephone tore her gaze away from Azriel’s injured (but still naked) torso and fixed it upon the now thoroughly alarmed New Men.

  “Give me the key to this … this slave’s fetters and be gone,” she said coldly. “Go first to the kitchens and tell the servants to send up food enough to satisfy the gnawing hunger in my belly, then go curl up in a corner somewhere and pass this night wondering what punishment the Regent shall inflict upon you should I decide to inform him of your gross trespass against me and mine.”

  “B-but—”

  “And the next time you happen upon a person of unknown providence, I encourage you to think before you strike, lest misjudgment on your part see you a head shorter before you’re a day older.”

  As soon as the tutorish New Man gave her the key to Azriel’s fetters, Persephone grabbed her “slave” by his biceps, pulled him into her chamber and closed the door. Alone with Azriel at last, Persephone was so overwhelmed by relief at the knowledge that he was safe—and by her desire to fling her arms around his neck and feel the reassuring warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of her nightclothes—that she began to back away. Before she’d gone even one step, however, his powerful arms were around her, sweeping her off her feet and crushing her against him. She made a fleeting, half-hearted attempt to summon feelings of outrage, but the heat and strength of his embrace were too potent to resist, and as sensation collided with sensation, Persephone began to feel reckless and drunk with desire. Sliding her hands up his naked biceps and across his impossibly broad shoulders, she ran her fingers up through his shorn hair until she felt him shudder violently. And when he whirled her around and pushed her roughly up against the chamber door she felt her desire surge, and when he cupped her head in his hands and leaned in with an expression that told her that the long, hard kiss he was about to give her was only the beginning—

  KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.

  “You all right in there, m’lady?” bellowed a gruff voice.

  “W-what?” panted Persephone, who felt as though she’d just been yanked back from the edge of a precipice.

  “I heard noises,” bellowed the voice. “Groaning. Banging. Panting.”

  Flushing hotly, Persephone gulped down her next pant. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she called as she shakily ducked under Azriel’s arm and skittered away from him. “Now … now, stop listening in at my door. It’s rude and I won’t have it!”

  While the gruff-voiced guard mumbled his apologies, Persephone gestured for Azriel to follow her away from the prying ears on the other side of the door. Upon reaching the fireside, she slid the dagger out of her sleeve, hid it beneath the loose floorboard and warily turned to face Azriel. She didn’t know what had gotten into her a moment earlier, but she was back in control of herself now, and she didn’t know what she’d do if he wanted to talk about what had just happened—or worse, if he tried to pick up where they’d left off.

  But he didn’t seem interested in doing either of those things. Acting as if nothing had just happened, he collapsed into a chair.

  “Among other things, I’ve come to fulfill my solemn vow to protect you,” he announced in a voice so weak and raspy that it was nearly lost in the quiet clinking of his fetters.

  Trying not to feel piqued by how easily he’d put their moment of feverish madness behind him, Persephone said, “As ever, your willingness to lay down your life is a tremendous comfort to me.”

  Azriel’s satisfied smile told Persephone that he was well pleased with her words. Rolling her eyes, she poured a second goblet of wine, handed it to him and said, “What is wrong with your voice? Where are Rachel and Fleet? Did you ever find Cur? Were you able to save the child? What happened to your hair?”

  Azriel drank deeply of the wine.

  “I cut my hair,” he said in a much-improved voice as she knelt before him to unlock his fetters, “for my disguise would not have borne up under scrutiny otherwise.”

  “But why disguise yourself as a slave?” she asked, sitting back on her heels. “Why not just call yourself a servant?”

  Azriel took another long swallow of wine. “A male servant would never have been allowed to enter a lady’s private chambers at night without a chaperone,” he explained, wiping his mouth with the back of his sooty hand. “A eunuch slave, on the other hand.…”

  “A eunuch!” squeaked Persephone, her eyes involuntarily flying to Azriel’s crotch. “You mean … you told them that someone cut off your … your.…”

  “Equipment?” he suggested, the corners of his mouth twitching as he followed her gaze. “Yes, that is what I told them—though you needn’t look so distressed, Persephone, for I can assure you that my equipment is still intact and in excellent working order.” He arched an eyebrow and let one hand hover over the laces of his breeches. “Shall I prove to you that I speak the truth?”

  “Not unless you’d like to see your precious equipment go sailing ou
t yonder window,” replied Persephone with a scowl that she hoped clearly conveyed to him the fact that she’d put their moment of feverish madness even farther behind her than he’d put it behind him. “Now, where are Rachel and Fleet and Cur?”

  “I’ve not seen Cur alive or dead since he saved us with his timely departure from the alley, but after the way he survived his fall into the river, I’d wager he’s still alive,” said Azriel. “As for Rachel and Fleet, they are safe and on their way back to the Gypsy camp—though it took a staggering number of sugarberry branches to persuade Fleet to leave you behind. Oh, and I’m to tell you that Rachel intends to ride hard and return to Parthania as soon as may be in order to save you.”

  Persephone frowned at the thought of her friend needlessly putting herself in harm’s way. “And the child?” she asked, rising from her knees to perch at the edge of her chair.

  “With Rachel and Fleet, but—”

  “Thank goodness for that, at least,” she said. “Last night when I stepped into the light of the soldiers’ torches—”

  “As I watched helplessly, wondering if I’d ever see you again, that I might have the opportunity to soundly chastise you for your courageous but infuriatingly foolhardy actions,” interjected Azriel pointedly.

  “And I saw the soldiers herding the people away and setting fire to the slum, I feared that you would be unable to save the child,” continued Persephone, as though he’d never spoken. “For some reason, I could not stop thinking of Sabian and imagining his little body lying beneath the charred ruins. Knowing that your kinsman has been saved makes it easier for me to bear … to bear the price paid to rescue him.”

  “You are very kind to say so, for I know how you loved your hawk,” said Azriel. “Unfortunately, however, your fears were half right.”

  Persephone stared at him. “What do you mean?”

  “The message the pigeon carried was incomplete,” he explained, smacking the chair arm in frustration. “There was not one child, but two. Two little brothers abandoned to a fiery death by the family into whose care they’d been entrusted. Using the cover of chaos and smoke to slip into the slum, I reached the place we’d been told we’d find the child just ahead of the flames. Upon discovering him hiding behind a sleeping pallet, I scooped him up and ran.” Azriel leaned over as though he was about to vomit. After a moment, he sat back up and continued. “I never thought to look for a second child and was halfway to the alley before I realized what the one in my arms was trying to tell me. Of course I turned back at once but by the time I got there it was too late.”

  Persephone went pale and swayed in her chair. “So … you saved one boy but the other one is—”

  “Notdead,” said Azriel quickly. “Notdead—but perhaps wishing he was dead. For you see, when I got back to the place where I’d found the first child I found the dwelling being consumed by flames. Before I could even begin to despair, however, I saw a New Man running with the child slung over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. I followed him at a safe distance, hoping that an opportunity to free the second child might present itself, but it did not and at length I saw the little one being delivered into the hands of the Regent’s henchman, General Murdock. Murdock listened as the New Man whispered something into his ear, then he shouted an order to have the Gypsy outlaw caged and delivered to the palace dungeon at once.”

  “So this afternoon when Lord Bartok and the Regent spoke of a Gypsy being captured they were speaking about this child?” said Persephone incredulously.

  “I imagine so,” said Azriel.

  Suddenly realizing that someone must have identified the child as a Gypsy and had probably done so in order to save himself, Persephone was about to ask what kind of a person would do such a thing when Azriel slid to his knees before her, took her hands in his and said, “Persephone, I mean to rescue the boy or die trying.”

  Even though she should have known the words were coming, she gasped and snatched her hands away. “You can’t—”

  “I must,” said Azriel, once more reaching for her hands. “I do not know if he is the Gypsy King, but I do know that he is where he is because I failed to save him when I had the chance, and I cannot turn my back on him now. I won’t ask you to help in the rescue itself, but I am on my knees begging you to play your role as a noblewoman a little longer that I may have an excuse to be inside the palace walls, for without that, all hope is lost.”

  All hope is probably lost anyway, thought Persephone wildly as she recalled what the noblewomen at her table had said about the dungeon. How it was deep within the bowels of the castle; how it had but one well-guarded entrance. How it was a labyrinth so vast that some years past, a slave sent to feed the prisoners had gotten lost and his body had never been found.

  And, of course, how there were only two ways out of the place: in pieces, through one of the trapdoors that opened to the underground river running beneath the palace, or intact, shortly to be chopped into pieces.

  A vision of little Sabian thus dispatched caused Persephone to shudder. She was no Gypsy and the child in the dungeon was no one to her. Anyone of consequence would think her a hero for even considering the prospect of continuing to play her role as a noblewoman and yet.…

  And yet she could not imagine standing idly by while Azriel risked his life to descend into hell to rescue the boy.

  And so, with a grunt that suggested she was irritated by her own compulsion to involve herself further, Persephone folded her arms across her chest, thrust her chin at Azriel and said, “I have saved your life so many times that I would consider it an affront if you were to undertake your grand rescue attempt by yourself and subsequently end up a cornered animal with your guts spilling onto your feet.”

  At her words, Azriel’s heart seemed to leap into his eyes. Nevertheless, his tone was mild—even mildly offended—when he replied, “You paint a rather gruesome picture, madam, and one that has the potential to cause serious damage to my manly pride. As it happens, I am perfectly content to attempt to rescue the child on my own—”

  “And yet it would seem to me that two are better than one when it comes to things like rescue attempts.”

  “That is true,” said Azriel carefully, “but I would not have you exposed to danger and—”

  “Enough,” said Persephone, who could not resist quieting him by pressing her fingertips against his lips. “I have come this far for the sake of your little tribesman, Azriel. Come what may, I mean to go all the way.”

  Without taking his eyes off of her, Azriel took her by the wrist, gently pulled her fingers away from his mouth and pressed a long, soft kiss into the palm of her hand. “And when it is over and the child is safe?” he asked softly.

  Persephone clenched her teeth to keep from shuddering with desire.

  “I think we’ve got enough to worry about right now, don’t you?” she asked.

  A short while later, servants arrived with trays and platters and baskets of food. Azriel stood against the wall in respectful silence while they placed their burdens upon the long table by the shuttered windows. As soon as they were gone, he fell upon the food with such a vengeance that Persephone knew there would be more talk in the kitchens of Lady Bothwell’s prodigious appetite. While he ate, Persephone told him everything that had happened to her since departing the alley in the dubious care of the Regent. Later, after Azriel was sated, she fetched a basin of soapy water and, trying hard to ignore the way the firelight played across the muscles of his bare chest—and the way his very blue eyes followed her every movement, and the way he trembled at her touch, and the way she trembled at his—she carefully washed out his various wounds while he grimaced and gasped and groaned as though she were hacking off his limbs. After she was done—having gained valuable insight into why Fayla had treated him like a ridiculous overgrown baby that first night in the Gypsy camp (namely, because he’d acted like one)—she fetched a pillow and several blankets and fashioned a bed for him on the floor by the fire.

&nbs
p; “What!” he exclaimed in mock dismay. “Do you mean to say that you expect me to sleep on this hard, cold floor while you sleep in that great, comfortable bed all by yourself?”

  “That is exactly what I expect,” said Persephone primly as she clambered up onto the bed.

  “But it has been such a difficult few days,” murmured Azriel enticingly. “And who knows what the future holds? I, for one, think it would be foolish of us not to take advantage of—”

  “Enough!” blurted Persephone, who felt positively tormented by the sight of his naked torso glowing in the firelight. “I have fashioned a bed for you and that is where you shall sleep! And if, perchance, you find yourself tempted to crawl in here beside me at any point during the night, I encourage you to imagine yourself a blind, fingerless eunuch!”

  “If it’s all the same to you, I think I’d prefer to imagine myself slit from bow to stern with an old sow feasting on my innards,” muttered Azriel, sounding so grumpy that Persephone had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

  “Suit yourself,” she said with a toss of her head.

  And then, suddenly fearful of what she might do if she did not stop looking at him, she yanked closed the bed curtains, flopped back and waited fitfully for sleep to come.

  The next morning, Persephone awoke late to the sound of loud giggling and even louder shushing. Poking her head out of the bed curtains, she saw Martha fretfully pacing while Meeka, Meena and Meeta gaped at Azriel, who was sitting on the floor by the fire smiling and rubbing his sleepy blue eyes, his lower body swathed in a provocative tangle of blankets beneath his taut, bare midriff.

  “That’s just, uh, my slave!” called Persephone as she flung back the bed curtains, tumbled out of bed and hurried over to try to explain the presence of a half-naked man in her room. “As it turns out, he also escaped death when the bandits attacked my cavalcade. Last evening, after you’d all retired, two of the Regent’s New Men returned him to me.”