by Gregory Ashe
Chapter Fourteen
Pain. Light. Joaquim blinked, trying to focus his eyes. The light bobbed in the air, sending refracted daggers into his brain. Tears leaked from beneath his pressed lids as he tried to push back the throbbing pain.
“He’s awake,” the raspy voice said.
Joaquim opened his eyes. The man in front of him matched the voice. A large, bulbous nose dominated his face, drawing attention away from one eye that was half-shut. Thick, coarse hair ran down to the man’s massive shoulders in tangles. A dirty bandage wrapped around his bare chest. The man gave him a long look, moving the candle he held up and down as he examined Joaquim. Then, without another word, he walked off with the candle.
Without the light in his face, Joaquim’s head did not hurt so badly. He looked around, examining the room. A pair of torches gave off enough light to make out his surroundings. A simple room—a single door that was open and led out into a hallway, no furniture, stale rushes strewn on bare earth. Etio lay on his side on the floor, dried blood masking half his face. Under the tan, he looked pale. His breath came in short gasps.
Joaquim tried to move closer and realized, with a start, his hands and feet were bound. Rough leather bit into his wrists. “Etio,” he said.
Etio’s ragged breathing did not alter. Concern rose in Joaquim, in part for Etio, but also for himself. If he’s dying, Joaquim thought, that means I’m alone. Etio had not been much of a swordsman, but any help would have been better than none.
Memory of the fight came crashing over Joaquim. Beaten like a child, Joaquim thought, anger vying with embarrassment within him. I might as well have thrown myself at their feet. It seemed impossible. And yet it had happened. A single thrust of the rapier, that’s all he had had time for before being knocked senseless. The core of icy confidence was shattered, but he could feel slivers of it still buried in his soul, an infection that left him sick to his stomach when he thought about the sailor he had killed.
Etio moaned. Joaquim’s head jerked up and he saw the tan man’s eyes struggle to break the gummy film of dried blood. Slowly they opened.
“Joaquim,” Etio said.
“Etio,” Joaquim breathed, afraid to be heard through the open door. “Are you all right?”
Etio’s face was a mask of pain. He let out another groan.
Anger overcame embarrassment. “Don’t worry,” Joaquim whispered. “I’ll get us out of here.”
“And how are you going to do that?” a familiar voice asked.
Viane stood in the doorway, dressed in a tight-fitting black shirt and black pants. Her wide mouth opened in a smile, but her eyes remained dark and hard. In spite of his anger, Joaquim found himself aroused. “Viane,” he said. “You still look terrible.”
Her mouth contracted into a big-lipped scowl. “You’re just as much of an idiot sober as you are drunk,” she said. “Did you not notice the amount of trouble that you’re in? You’re lucky Etio had the sense to say my name, or you’d both probably be lying dead in that alley.”
“It wasn’t sense,” Joaquim said. “It was cowardice; you should have seen how scared he was.”
“That bloody well shows how much sense he has,” Viane said. “The Sisters take me, I have no idea why I even came in to talk to you.” She turned to leave.
“Viane,” Joaquim called after her, trying to mask the desperation in his voice. He needed her to stay for his plan to work.
She paused and then took another step into the hall.
“Would you send one of your friends to talk to me, then?” Joaquim asked, trying to force his most business-like tone. “I’m sure one of them would be happy to split the reward with me.”
She whirled toward him, mouth hanging open. “Reward? What in Bel’s name are you talking about?”
Caught on the hook. Joaquim smiled, glancing up at her. “You’re smart, Viane. That’s one of the things I’ve always liked about you. Smart, good at what you do. Held back by your birth, that’s all.” He had to provoke her, get her thinking irrationally.
Her right hand tightened into a fist. She stepped toward him. “What reward?” she asked, her voice tight.
“Don’t be foolish,” Joaquim said. The lie was so simple. He could see in her face, the mixture of fear and anticipation, that she already believed him, that she knew what he was going to say. Seeing that look made him sick to his stomach. Day Sister forgive me for this. “You know what I’m talking about; I figured that’s what this was all about, after all. Spread your legs for someone down here in the Gut, hide out for a few days, then split the reward your father has offered with him. You’ll be lucky if you get your half though; I’m afraid that whoever you’ve taken up with down here is likely to rob you of more than just your maidenhead, although that’s just a guess.” Saying those things to her cut him deep, but Joaquim held onto his plan.
Her fist came up, ready to deliver a blow, and hung there motionless. “He’s offering a reward?” she asked. He could hear the insecurity in her voice, the wonder. The Night Sister take me for doing this to you. “How much?”
“A golden aps,” Joaquim said. “And your hand in marriage, if it’s a suitable match. Of course, that last part of the offer he only made to certain individuals. You understand, discretion and all that. It’ll be hard to find someone to take you, though, soiled goods, you know?” He used the words like knives, twisting them in the wounds he saw in her façade; Joaquim knew her too well, knew just the amount of pressure to apply. At that moment he hated himself. It’s to bloody save you, he thought.
Tears started in her eyes, and she ran from the room. Joaquim gaped. That had not been the plan; she was supposed to beg him for his help, agree to marry him. He would take her home, they would come up with a story together. Numbness took him, accented only by the biting of the leather straps at his wrists. Not even numb despair, though, could completely silence the disgust that he felt for himself.
Leather on stone brought him out of his reverie. What do I do now? Joaquim wondered. Sticking with his plan, telling the men of the reward in order to get Viane out of here, might work, but it might leave him and Etio with their throats slit. Not exactly the end I had imagined. What was his alternative, though? Joaquim racked his brains, but came up with nothing. He glanced over at Etio, but the tan man lay still, his breathing still rough. Concern, this time for Etio alone, rose in Joaquim. His friend might be dying. And Bel take me for being such a bastard to him.
His thoughts were broken when a tall, dark-skinned man walked in the room. Jaecan, Joaquim could tell, more by the man’s coloring than by anything else. He wore clothes that would have been considered fashionable in Apsia, but not overly so—a rather tame tan cape over a white linen shirt and brown, cuffed trousers. A closely trimmed beard covered the lower half of his face, oiled and curled like the hair on his head. He stopped at the edge of the room, eyeing first Joaquim, and then Etio, his face expressionless.
“Your friend does not look well,” he said. His voice had only the faintest trace of the Jaecan accent. “It was irresponsible of you to bring him here.”
“He wanted to come,” Joaquim said. “He wanted to help me.” Because he’s my friend. Joaquim gritted his teeth; he felt sick again.
“Help you find Viane.” The words were a statement. “She doesn’t want to be found, you know? She has no interest in her father, in her mother, in the life she left behind. She certainly has no interest in you.”
The words, delivered so evenly, were so unexpected that they hit Joaquim like a slap. How much does he know? Joaquim wondered. How could he know anything? “She’s never had any interest in me,” Joaquim answered, almost distractedly, but needing to say something. “She didn’t need to disappear to make that known.”
A faint smile crossed that man’s dark face. “She said you have a quick tongue. Well, Joaquim Dolç, I’m afraid Viane will not be leaving with you. Goodbye.”
He turned, but before he could step out of the room, Viane entered. She s
tepped up next to the man—Sipir, Joaquim guessed—and pressed her mouth to his ear, whispering. One of her slender hands rested familiarly on the Jaecan’s upper arm, her index finger tracing a pattern invisible to everyone except her.
Sipir shook his head, once, but Viane continued speaking too low for Joaquim to understand. “He knows my face,” Sipir said, just loud enough for Joaquim to make out the words. After a few more words from Viane, he nodded and left the room.
Viane drew a dagger from her belt and walked toward Joaquim.
“So this is how I die, huh?” Joaquim asked. “Not surprising, I guess. Murdered by the only woman who refused my advances. I always thought you would be the death of me, but I didn’t mean it quite so literally.” Joaquim was surprised at the evenness of his voice. Fear clawed at him, but under it, like a bottomless sea, was the deep, numbing calm of despair. She really didn’t love me, he thought. The ridiculousness of the thought, as she advanced toward him with that steel blade flickering in the torchlight, made him laugh in spite of his fear. Viane’s face did not register his laugh. Of course she didn’t love me. What was there to love, but a controlling, selfish bastard?
The knife flashed down. It took Joaquim a moment to realize he was still alive. The leather straps fell to the ground. A ragged laugh ripped free from his chest. Still alive. He clamped his mouth shut, forcing down the hysterical laughter. Still alive.
Viane’s dark eyes met his, her big lips parting in a grin. “You’re a smuggler, Joaquim. Congratulations.” She turned her attention to Etio, then, kneeling next to the tan man.
Joaquim leaned his head back against the cold brick wall, blinking tears from his eyes. A smuggler. He could live with that, at least for the time being. Alive. The tides of that great sea of numbness washed over him one final time and receded. He felt empty. Empty, but dirty, ashamed. He saw in that moment the person that he was, who would treat friends like dirt, and then lead them to their deaths. Who would torment the woman he loved because it seemed best to him.
His eyes fell on Viane’s back, tracing the curves of her body, the edge of her left breast. Desire awakened again, but tempered somehow, shaded with something he could not define. It rose up in him, a flame that illuminated for Joaquim, for the first time, the hollow contours of his own soul.
Somehow, he thought, his heartbeat echoing in the emptiness within him, I’ll be better. I’ll be worthy of you. Maybe this was love.
