Rose of the World (FOOLS GOLD)

by Fisher, Jude

  He replaced the ring inside the box, closed the drawer again and examined the other man’s face. Guileless blue eyes met his gaze: either Erol Bardson was a consummate actor, or he did not know the significance of the artefact the box contained. In which case this was perhaps more of a message from the old woman herself. It must have been bitter indeed, after all those barren years of marriage, to be forced to adopt another woman’s offspring as her own, and that of a foreign woman to boot. And Bardson had mentioned that the Lady Auda wanted the throne for herself. Two vipers in the northern court, each puffed up with their own venomous ambitions, could prove a very useful aid to their cause.

  ‘Excellent!’ he proclaimed, shaking off the old horrors. ‘Plano, take our visitor down to the steward and tell him he is to give the Earl of Broadfell the Safflower Room and to send up hot food and good wine, the Jetran stuff, not the cheap rubbish. And something for his bird.’ He watched Bardson bow and smile and retreat with the guard, then he turned to the Lord of Ixta and there was a gleam in his eye. ‘Well now, Varyx, this is becoming very interesting indeed. Shall we go and find you a girl, then?’

  Forent Castle was one of the oldest fortresses in Istria. Its foundations had been laid in the time of Emperor Seram and the fabric of the castle had sprung up thereafter in a remarkably piecemeal fashion, depending on whether its lord had won or lost funds in the many civil commotions and full-scale wars which had followed. Rui maintained his private quarters in the oldest part of the castle – the foursquare granite keep hewn into the bones of the cliff above the city and the sea. Here the walls were so thick that not a sound permeated from one room to the next, which was just how he liked it. Despite the famed decadence and frivolities of Forent Town, its lord preferred to keep himself to himself; although others were rarely accorded the same privilege. For Rui Finco’s licentious grandfather, Taghi Finco, had seen to the construction of a number of secret exits from the chambers he had occupied, and a maze of concealed tunnels excavated within the thickness of the walls at great expense and the cost of no few lives. From his quarters, therefore, Rui could traverse, unseen, many levels of his castle, appearing and disappearing at will. And where Taghi Finco had made use of these hidden ways purely to indulge his hedonistic vices – visiting dozens of illicit courtesans while publicly maintaining a stable, fruitful and exemplary marriage – his grandson had other uses for them.

  The current Lord of Forent had gained for himself a reputation for shrewdness bordering on the supernatural, an uncanny knack of knowing others’ business and second-guessing their moves, and a particularly unpleasant intuition about the darker corners of their lives. He had, at one time or another, invited every significant lord, politician and merchant in the empire to enjoy the hospitality for which Forent was rightly famed; and while they made free with his liberal servings of rich food and fine wines, with the unparalleled collection of beauties and experts in his seraglio – and his rather less well-known collection of very pretty boys for those with a taste for the truly forbidden – he had watched and made more than mental note of all they said and did while within the bounds of his castle. Thus he knew the sexual proclivities of all his potential rivals, their financial standing, the state of their marriages, friendships and political alliances, and their dearest ambitions. It was amazing what a man would tell a whore in the deep of the night.

  Rui had learned the art of cat-napping early in life (and much else besides): after discovering the secret passages he had made himself a child’s fortune extorting pouches of cantari from his father’s many visitors. He was never too overt in his knowledge, never ostentatious or obvious: soon he became the master of the subtle hint, the double-edged word and the penetrating stare. Even the most thick-skinned of his marks found themselves donating to his funds rather than endure that knowing gaze, and the implication that he might let slip an indiscretion to his father or their peers.

  What none knew was how, as a boy of ten and nearly a man by the standards of the day, Rui Finco had been a witness to one of the great acts of treason ever enacted in modern times, or how, instead of raising the guard and calling down death and destruction on the bold intruder, he had watched in a state of rising perturbation as the man who looked remarkably similar to his own father – supposedly miles away up the coast engaged in desperate battle with Eyra’s invading force – had entered his mother’s private chambers and there cast off the glamour which held the imprimatur of the Lord of Forent to reveal himself as the Grey Wolf, King Ashar Stenson, Lord of the Northern Isles: Istria’s worst and bloodiest enemy. Instead of shrieking for help – or casting herself through the open window onto the jagged rocks two hundred feet below in order to preserve her honour, if not her life, as one predecessor had done under similar, if less sorcerous circumstances – the Lady of Forent had gasped in shock and dropped her whisper-soft sabatka in a crimson pool around her ankles so that she stood naked before the intruder, naked that is except for her delicate body jewellery – the glinting silver chain which encircled her waist and looped down from the ring at her navel; the tiny rings in each rosy nipple – which marked out her nomad origins, about which none but her husband had known. Galvanised by this unexpected welcome, Ashar Stenson had thrown off the great grey wolfskin by which he was so famously known, and unbuckled his armour piece by piece with swiftly deft fingers so that the metal-studded leather fell to the floor in a heap until he was down to no more than a woollen undershirt and linen breeches: revealing himself to be a huge man, wild with hair and muscle. Only then had she flown at him, fingers like talons; but instead of clawing at his eyes, she had dragged those last garments from him, a ravening creature; and at last they had fallen upon one another like starving dogs.

  He had not been able to tear his gaze from their extravagant coupling, had not been able to make a sound for fear of drawing their attention to his presence; he had stood there for an hour or more with his legs trembling and his eye pressed so hard against the rocky spyhole that its corrugations had left a bruise, until their sweaty appetites were finally slaked. Then the great northern lord had called in the sorcerer who had made this foray possible, wrapped the Lady of Forent tenderly in his wolfskin and laid her across his shoulder while the nomad muttered over his crystals and transformed the pair into a travelling man and his baggage so that they might leave the castle unrecognised. And then Rui had known he was forever lost, for he was fatally implicated in his mother’s fall from grace, complicit in her treacherous lust, knowing himself tainted by her blood. He had never spoken of what he had seen: but he remained forever haunted by the ghost of that passion. It had made spying from these secret passages an addiction he had never been able to overcome.

  So, sometimes he merely played voyeur as others panted and writhed; sometimes he pleasured himself silently, then slipped into the chamber when the guest was gone to complete his enjoyment with the nicely warmed-up houri left tangled in the sheets. And sometimes he just liked to watch the women when they did not know they were being watched.

  Lately, he had spent many enjoyable hours spying on his newest visitors – the ladies from Eyra. He knew all their names now; knew, too, their voices, their forms and to some extent their natures; though as yet he had bedded none of them. In the flesh, they had been something of a disappointment, for their paleness held less allure for him than he had expected. Dark women, women who looked like his mother – olive-skinned and supple – were what he preferred rather than women who were as tall and pale and stringy as most of these newcomers. He supposed he should try one or two of them just to get used to the idea of it before finding himself surrounded by them in Eyra’s capital, but the concept did not greatly appeal. Last night he had had the women in the slave quarters brought up to the chambers occupied by his better houris and watched the reunion of the nine women Bastido’s men had captured from Rockfall. It had been a most touching event: there had been tears and embraces, and a lot of jabbering in their guttural northern tongue. Then, just as they were r
ejoicing at being together again, he had had them separated once more. They had been a lot quieter and more pensive since then, especially the fiery redhead he had set Peta the task of grooming for him. In truth, he found little appeal in her scrawny limbs and boyish frame, though she was the most interesting in other ways. No: he was bored with Peta and her overbearing methods, so setting her an impossible task would prove to be an entertaining way of removing her from the harem. She’d fetch a decent enough price on the slave-blocks alongside the rest: an experienced whoremistress was quite a rare commodity. Agia would make an eminently acceptable replacement.

  ‘So, Varyx,’ he said now, turning to his friend, ‘how would you like to proceed – have them all in at once so you can make immediate comparison, or draw it out and see them one by one?’

  Varyx smirked and a dribble of red wine ran down his chin. He wiped it away absentmindedly with the back of the hand not clutching the vast goblet of Jetra’s finest and reclined a little further onto the couch. ‘Oh, one by one, Rui, most certainly. And then all together. Best of both worlds, y’know?’

  Rui gestured to the slave boy who stood by with the wineflask. ‘Go fetch Peta,’ he said, taking the flask from the lad’s hands. ‘Tell her to bring the women up to my dressing chamber. We shall have them in one at a time.’

  The boy – one of Rui’s many bastards – flashed a grin and left the room with alacrity, hoping very much that he’d be allowed to stay.

  By the time Peta and Agia ushered the first veiled figure into her lord’s receiving chamber, Lord Varyx was patently plastered. His face was flushed, his eyes were bloodshot, and he seemed to be having difficulty focusing. Peta found that she was inordinately irritated by this. She had spent the last several hours overseeing a frantic preparation of the women – having them bathed and oiled, shorn and painted, then draped in very proper sabatkas. She knew that her master preferred to see his houris in sheer robes which barely hid a detail; but she also recognized the power of the tantalising glimpse. The northerners had been sullen but for the most part quiescent during this demeaning process. The least disobedience had resulted in a whipping with a wet cloth, which stung the skin but left no lasting mark: that had quelled all but the most rebellious and uncooperative of them, and she had a strategy firmly in place for keeping that one compliant . . .

  Peta enjoyed her life as the mistress of Rui’s seraglio: she had a loom of her own, pleasant quarters and more power than she could ever have imagined when she was a backstreet slave in the Eternal City. Since that grim time she had been bartered and traded all the way from Jetra to Gibeon, from Gibeon to Cantara, from Cantara to Cera; and at last from Cera to Forent, picking up new tricks and tales of others’ misfortunes all the way. Rui Finco was a relatively indulgent master: in comparison with many other women in her situation she had few complaints. And life as a common servant would be hard indeed now that she was past her prime. She had no intention of allowing a skinny little northern bitch to ruin the prospects of her comfortable old age in Forent Castle.

  ‘Make your obeisance and tell the lords your name,’ Peta chided in the Old Tongue, pushing the first girl firmly in the back.

  Forna Stensen bobbed her greeting and mumbled out her name.

  ‘Your hands, girl,’ Peta whispered crossly, and Forna held out her hands to be admired, palms first then backs, so that the candlelight glittered on the strange coloured lacquer they had applied to her fingernails. Then she curled her right hand as she had been shown, left hand cupped below it, and as gracefully as she could manage, moved it up and down. When performed by a properly trained Istrian houri such a gesture was deliciously suggestive: but Forna looked more as if she were milking a cow.

  Varyx guffawed. ‘By the Lady, she’d pull your cock right off!’

  Rui sighed. ‘Don’t bother with the trimmings, Peta: we’re not at the marketplace . . . yet. Let’s see what she’s made like.’

  Peta inclined her head. ‘Show the lords your pretty feet, my child,’ she urged Forna, and Forna Stensen stuck one pink appendage out from under the hem of her demure robe and waved it about in a lumpen sort of way.

  ‘Not my type,’ the Lord of Ixta exclaimed, sitting back. He waved languidly. ‘Next!’

  Rui Finco raised an eyebrow. For all his bravado and his reputation, Varyx was something of a traditionalist, it seemed. For some reason, he found this rather amusing; and yet he had to admit that there was a certain simplicity to it. Besides, if he followed tradition to the letter, Varyx would never see much more than her hands and feet anyway, since even whores tended to keep their capacious robes on when worshipping the Goddess. It seemed ridiculous to him not to appreciate a woman’s entire form; but many would regard him as perverse for even framing such a thought, let alone acting upon it.

  Agia conducted Forna outside, then returned first with a fat girl, then a thin girl, neither of which met with approval, then a large and clumsy one who trod on the hem of her robe as she came through the door and went sprawling in such a manner the men could see more than they wished of what lay beneath the concealing robes. After her came one with warts on her fingers which Peta had in the time available to her been able to do nothing about, and she was immediately sent packing. Next came Leni Stelsen. Neatly put together and graceful in her movements, she matched the Istrian ideal far more closely than her predecessors. Varyx was intrigued. He ran a bold hand over her foot, even venturing so far as to lift the hem of her robe an inch until Peta tsked and drew the girl away.

  ‘Not bad,’ he said with a leer.

  The Lord of Forent fixed his seraglio keeper’s disapproving mouth with a hard stare. ‘Keep that one outside, Peta,’ he said smoothly. ‘We may recall her later,’ and watched as she bundled Leni away.

  Now a taller girl swept in behind Agia. She wore, Rui Finco noted with some annoyance, a finer robe than the other women, one which clung to her curves and moulded itself against her legs. Whichever one she was – and he had his suspicions – she must have gained Peta’s favour in the short time she had been in the castle, which in itself was no mean feat. He beckoned her over and she came with a swaying gait, throwing out each hip in a graceful arc, her painted toes pointed, her hands pressed with apparent modesty to her crotch, which merely served to draw attention to that area. Reaching the couches where the two lords reclined, she bowed deeply and the way she caught in the fabric of the sabatka gave them both a clear outline of her not insubstantial breasts.

  When she straightened up, the men were treated to the sight of an exquisite pair of lips, finely delineated and coloured in glistening pink and silver. A small silver star twinkled in the middle of the philtrum; seeing the lords mesmerised by this detail, the tall girl formed her mouth into the coyest of pouts then shot the very tip of her tongue out into view to touch the star and back again quick as a snake, leaving a bubble of saliva on her gleaming lower lip. Varyx spilled his wine in his haste to inspect her more closely.

  ‘Now this one is rare,’ he proclaimed, breathing heavily. He reached out and touched a swell in the fabric and sighed contentedly as Kitten’s soft hand closed around his probing finger. ‘Rare, indeed.’

  The Lord of Forent leant forward. He knew exactly which of the women this one was, and having seen her naked was not driven by curiosity to see her undressed; but her blatant sexuality intrigued him. ‘Have her disrobe,’ he said to his harem keeper.

  ‘Really, Rui, I’m quite happy to touch her through the cloth—’

  ‘Have her disrobe!’ he repeated sharply.

  ‘My lord!’ Peta was scandalised. ‘This is slavemarket behaviour, not to be indulged in by honourable men . . .’

  This was too much for Varyx. He grabbed Rui Finco by the arm, almost weeping with delight. ‘She thinks we are honourable men, my friend! How extraordinary. How wonderful! How long has it been since we were honourable, Rui? Thirteen? Fourteen?’

  The Lord of Forent prised the other man’s wet fingers from his velvet sleeve, noting with irri
tation how the nap had been marked. ‘Really, Peta. Anyone would think you ran a chapter of Falla’s Sisters rather than a whorehouse.’

  ‘Seraglio,’ Peta corrected him sharply. ‘My lord.’

  ‘Although money may not be exchanged at the time, my dear, my guests pay for your girls’ services in many other ways, believe me.’

  Peta’s head remained stubbornly still: he could tell that instead of regarding the floor with due deference she was staring at him with her little gimlet eyes glittering away behind that veil.

  With a sigh Rui Finco levered himself to his feet. ‘Whatever is the point of keeping a bitch and having to bark oneself?’ he declared into the close air of the chamber. Behind him, Varyx sniggered drunkenly, a sound which came to an abrupt halt as the Lord of Forent whisked the shimmering robe from the northern girl, revealing Kitten Soronsen in all her statuesque glory.

  ‘Oh . . .’ Varyx was beside himself, almost literally. His body might have been sprawled on the day-bed, but his eyes and mind were elsewhere entirely. ‘I’ll have this one, Rui, truly I will.’

  But his friend was not listening to him. ‘What are you called?’ he asked, head on one side like an acquisitive robin regarding a worm.