FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy

by Mercedes Lackey

  Taya kept her expression carefully neutral. It was uncomfortable being around this very sick man, who she feared wouldn’t see the end of the season. And she didn’t like being laughed at. Dust made from gold. Why would anyone drink that? There was a pitcher in the middle of the table, so bright and polished it might have been made of gold itself, and several cups. “What does it taste like?” She peered into the nearest cup. The liquid inside did appear gold, although it was hard to tell.

  “Not like much of anything,” said the magistrate. “But it’s a potent aphrodisiac, and for a sick old man like me, this is a good thing.” He tried to laugh, but only coughed again.

  She raised her eyes to Mandir. “It’s an aphrodisiac?”

  Mandir’s face was tight. “Some people believe that. I do not.”

  “Give her some, Kalbi,” said the magistrate. “And some for the Coalition gentleman as well. Or are you not allowed to drink gold?”

  “Coalition members may not wear gold,” said Mandir, “but we may handle it and otherwise interact with it.”

  Kalbi took the empty cups and filled both of them. He pushed one across the table to Mandir and handed the other to Taya.

  She stared suspiciously into the cup. Was this for real, or were these ruling-caste scions mocking her somehow? The liquid glittered. It really appeared to be gold dust, steeped in some kind of liquid. She’d never heard of anyone drinking such a thing. What a waste of good money, when there were farmers starving in Hrappa. And it didn’t look wholesome. If the magistrate drank this on a regular basis, could it be the reason for his illness? “You drink this yourself?” she asked Kalbi.

  Kalbi lifted his cup. “From time to time.”

  That was reassuring. Unlike the magistrate, Kalbi appeared healthy. Still, she hesitated.

  “I’ll show you,” said Kalbi. He poured some liquid from the pitcher into his cup and tipped it back, drinking the cup’s entire contents. He turned it upside down to demonstrate that it was empty and smiled.

  “I’m not sure I want to drink an aphrodisiac,” she said.

  “It’s not an aphrodisiac,” said Mandir. “People just say that. But you needn’t drink it if you’d rather not.” He lifted his cup and drained its contents.

  “You’ve had it before?” she asked him.

  Mandir nodded.

  If Mandir wasn’t afraid of it, and neither was Kalbi, she saw no reason to refuse. They’d probably think her a hopeless provincial if she did. She swirled the liquid in her cup and sipped it. For some reason, she’d expected the gold dust to be steeped in water, when in fact most of what was in her cup was hard liquor. She blinked, but managed to suppress the cough reflex as it went down. Subsequent swallows were easier since she knew what to expect. The gold seemed to have no taste at all, or was overpowered by the liquor.

  “Thank you,” she said to the magistrate, although she wasn’t sure she should be grateful. She believed Mandir that it wasn’t really an aphrodisiac, and she was glad to have had the experience of what appeared to be a ruling-caste custom, but what a foolish custom it was, drinking gold.

  Chapter XXVI

  Hrappa

  MANDIR FOLLOWED TAYA WHEN SHE left the high table. She seemed not to notice he was behind her. She’d been ignoring him almost since the moment they arrived, and he was getting tired of it. He took her arm to stop her.

  She spun around, startled. Then her eyes narrowed. “What?”

  “Have you seen anyone yet?” he asked in a low voice.

  “It’s a party. I’ve seen lots of people.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “No, I haven’t seen either one of them. But I haven’t covered this side of the courtyard yet.” She indicated the direction she’d been walking.

  He stepped alongside her. “I’ll go with you.”

  “No,” she snapped. Then more gently, “I’m less intimidating alone. I don’t come across as part of a team of meddling Coalition, but as a woman looking for a pleasant time.”

  He frowned. What sort of a pleasant time was she talking about? Just drinking and talking to people, or something else?

  Taya spoke again. “What’s with the gold dust, really? The magistrate said it was an aphrodisiac. You say it’s not.”

  He shrugged. “Drinking gold dust is what rich people do to show off how rich they are. As for its being an aphrodisiac, that’s something old, frustrated men like to tell themselves, but I’ve never known it to be true.”

  “I see.” She looked relieved. “Well, I’ll go talk to these people I haven’t seen yet.”

  He released her, and she disappeared into the crowd. He folded his arms, feeling testy. He’d managed to conceal his feelings at the high table, but he despised gold dust. His father, Tufan, had drunk it every night. On those occasions when he’d abducted a farmer-caste woman to ravish, he took a double dose. Tufan was impotent. Mandir had known, from the angry shouts and the accompanying screams of the woman, as Tufan’s frustrated sexual urges turned to violence, that gold dust didn’t do what so many men wished it did.

  He didn’t feel like mingling anymore. He grabbed a wine goblet from a tray, and a plate of smoked palla with mustard seeds. The sun was down, and a full moon sat bright and yellow on the horizon. He found an unoccupied bench far from the torches, shaded and dark, and sat down to eat in privacy. He glanced around the room in search of that multicolored sundress and located Taya. She was speaking animatedly in a group surrounding one of the torches. He recognized one of the men in the group—Bodhan the cloth merchant—and his muscles tensed. Bodhan was very much a suspect; Mandir ought to be there to watch over her. But she’d made a reasonable point about her being less intimidating on her own than with him, and it was unlikely anyone would attempt to harm her in such a public place. He’d just keep an eye on her.

  “Hello,” purred a silken voice beside him.

  He turned, and a woman slid next to him on the bench.

  “I hope you don’t mind my sitting here,” she said. “There are so few available seats.”

  That was a lie, but Mandir didn’t mind. “Sit where you like.”

  “May I see your tattoo?” she asked.

  He turned to her and let her scrutinize his face in the moonlight.

  She pouted. “I do not recognize it. Clearly you were ruling caste before you joined the Coalition, but your mark is not that of an arbiter, or a tax collector, or anything else we have in Hrappa. What were you raised to be, before you became an initiate?”

  “Professional zebu’s ass,” said Mandir.

  The woman laughed. “Do you think I could find such work? It would suit me.”

  Mandir shrugged. “It’s not as enjoyable as it sounds.”

  She cocked her head. “And why is that?”

  He held up his goblet. “You end up drinking alone at parties.”

  “Pardon me if I mistake the situation,” said the woman. “But you’re not alone now.”

  “True.” He touched his wine goblet to hers.

  As far as Taya could tell, the gold dust she’d drunk hadn’t done anything at all, but the liquor, on top of the goblet of wine, had made her tipsy. Perhaps that was the secret to the silly custom. Everyone pretended the gold dust was something special, when really all they felt were the usual effects of inebriation. Throwing a little gold dust into the mix allowed them to feel like what they were doing was somehow superior and different from what those provincial, unsophisticated farmers did with their banana beer.

  Having spoken with Bodhan and his associates, she wandered about the courtyard, picking up snacks from the trays and searching for a glimpse of the witness or the jackal. So far she’d seen neither. Mandir had ceased to work the room and was now sitting on a bench. It was irritating how often she found herself looking for Mandir. There was something about him that drew her eye.

  She moved on, passing by a group of boorish young men who were discussing, loudly, some female conquest. She wished she could put her hands over
her ears. Their words were ugly, and she was beginning to be irritated by the constant, ever-present noise of the party. She’d grown up on a farm in quiet and solitude. She could handle noise in small doses, but by now she’d been putting up with it all evening. The men’s words reverberated in her head, like a ball bouncing off the inside of her skull.

  She looked around the room, spotted an empty chair in a shady corner, and headed toward it, hoping that a few moments of rest would energize her for more mingling. Two women stepped aside to let her pass, and she came face to face with Zash the banana farmer.

  At first she just stared at him, surprised. She hadn’t expected to meet a farmer at this gathering. But Bodhan the cloth merchant was here, and he was artisan caste. So perhaps it wasn’t so much a ruling-caste party as it was a party for the wealthy and influential people of Hrappa.

  Zash’s face broke into a delighted smile. “Taya.”

  Taya, Taya, Taya, the words echoed irritatingly in her head. “Zash,” she replied. Despite her less than ideal state of mind, she was happy to see him. Here was someone she could relate to, someone who probably found this party as strange and foreign as she did. She wondered if Zash had ever drunk gold dust. “What brings you to such a gathering?”

  He shrugged. “If my creditor invites me somewhere, I go. The food and wine are good.”

  “Not as good as your banana wine,” said Taya.

  “Thank you for saying so.”

  Her eyes drifted toward Mandir again, and she saw that he had company—a woman she didn’t recognize. Looking at the pair, she felt discombobulated, like she’d put her clothes on backward. She did not like the look of those two together.

  “Taya?” Zash cleared his throat.

  She turned back to him. “Did you say something?”

  “I was asking if you’d found the jackal yet.”

  “No, not yet.” And she had no intention of discussing the case with him. “Are there other farmers here? Or are you the only one?”

  “I think I’m the only one. These parties are mostly about the marriage market—merchants and bureaucrats showing off their daughters so they can get good marriage contracts. I usually get an invitation because of my banana farm, but speaking practically, I can’t marry until I settle my debt.”

  Debt, debt, debt. Was it an effect of the wine that caused this reverberation? She rubbed her forehead and glanced back at Mandir. He was still sitting with the strange woman. “Have you tried the gold dust?”

  “No, that’s only at the high table.” Zash’s eyebrows rose. “Did you try it?”

  You, you, you. “Never mind.” She took Zash by the arm and led him toward an unoccupied bench. “Let’s sit down and talk banana beer. Leave these others to their marriage contracts and business dealings.”

  In truth, she rather needed to sit down, for the strangest feeling was coming over her. She felt almost numb, as if her body wasn’t her own anymore and she was commanding it from the outside. Words and noises kept bouncing around in her head. And Zash, in addition to being the friendliest face in the room, was looking very kissable just now. He wasn’t Mandir, but he’d do.

  Something was wrong with her. In some distant corner of her mind, she knew that. But the rest of her didn’t care.

  In a way, Mandir desperately craved what this spoiled ruling-caste woman had to offer. It had been a while since he’d been with a woman physically, and his body was letting him know about the oversight. Furthermore, Taya’s hostility toward him and her complete romantic disinterest had been a slap in the balls. For this pretty young woman to seek him out was balm for his wounded pride. As she escalated the encounter, scooting closer and brushing his hand, he felt himself warming to her.

  But no. He was courting Taya, however ineptly, and sleeping with another woman was not going to help matters. For the most part, he’d given up on affairs; he could never seem to find harmony with a woman. While he knew better than to mention Taya or say anything about his unrequited love from the past, somehow the women he slept with sensed that they were not foremost in his life. They knew he dreamed of another.

  His attention began to wander, and the woman didn’t back off. Her questions became more insistent. Flood and fire, he didn’t even know her name.

  “You’re from Rakigari Temple, is that right?” she was asking. “Is that upriver or downriver?”

  “Upriver, on a tributary.” He didn’t feel well; perhaps he’d drunk too much. The woman’s words echoed strangely in his ears, and his hands and feet felt prickly and numb. Meanwhile, his state of sexual arousal had become almost painful. He needed to get away from this woman before he was tempted and did something he’d later regret.

  “What is temple life like?” she asked, laying a hand on his wrist.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, standing up. A strange feeling washed over him, as if some pent-up poison in his bloodstream had been freed by the sudden movement. He blinked in confusion. “I need to find my partner.”

  “Of course,” she said, looking disappointed.

  He glanced over at Bodhan, who was still holding court with a circle of associates, but Taya was not among them. Weaving a little on his feet, he scanned the room. Through the haze of guttering torches, he searched not for her face but for her distinctive sundress. The room’s conversation was bothersome, an echo chamber of irritating noisy reverberations.

  Ah! There she was. Sitting with someone. He squinted to see who it was.

  Zash the banana farmer. And she was kissing him.

  He was dimly aware of the tinkle of shattered ceramics as his wine goblet hit the floor.

  Taya wasn’t certain why she’d started kissing Zash. Or had he kissed her first? She wasn’t sure. Her mind had gone so fuzzy and her body so oddly numb that she barely had any idea what was going on. Zash was near, and his body was warm and accommodating. Some faint part of her mind was shouting an alarm, but that dim voice was easy to ignore in the cacophony of echoes and reverberations that enveloped her.

  Then the warm body that held her was ripped from her grasp.

  She looked up through blurred eyes to see Mandir holding Zash up in the air by his shirt.

  She started to protest, but a deep longing overwhelmed her. Heat throbbed, deep in her core.

  Mandir tossed Zash aside as if he were a sack of meal.

  “Hey!” cried Zash, who stood up, poised to fight. Eyes turned to them from all over the courtyard. Mandir stood his ground, staring down the farmer, who twitched once as if wanting to throw a punch, but he seemed to think better of it. Finally Zash scrambled away.

  Mandir sat beside Taya, and she snuggled up to him, laying her head on his massive shoulder. He stroked her hair. She tilted her head back and opened her lips to him. Obligingly, he covered them.

  When the kiss was over, he said haltingly, “Something’s not right.”

  “I know,” she said, and kissed him again.

  “I feel strange. Do you feel strange?”

  “Yes.”

  “We should leave this place,” he said. “I think. What do you think?”

  Taya didn’t care where she was or where she went, as long as it was with him.

  Taya’s eyes blinked open to morning sunshine. She felt wretched and sick. Her bladder was full to the point of bursting, and at the same time she was desperately, achingly thirsty. Her mouth was swollen and dry as cotton. She tried to burrow deeper into the bedsheets, but that didn’t help. She would have to get up and relieve herself. Then maybe she could drink some water and go back to bed.

  She shifted to untangle herself from the bedsheets, and her leg banged into something solid and warm. She froze. Where was she? Not in her bed, apparently.

  Or if she was in her bed, something—or someone—was in it with her.

  A wave of paralyzing dread swept over her as she tried to recall something, anything, about the night before. She remembered a party. She remembered drinking gold dust and talking to Mandir. After that, her mind was a blank
.

  She looked around. This wasn’t her room. It was Mandir’s.

  She was in Mandir’s bed. And tangled up in the sheets was the man himself.

  Aghast, she flung off the cotton blanket and leapt to her feet—a mistake, she realized, for her sudden movement set her head to throbbing and also woke Mandir. She looked down and saw that she was still in the sundress from last night, which was now badly wrinkled.

  Mandir’s sleep-dulled eyes shuttered, and then snapped open as they landed on her. “What are you doing here?”

  That was a good question. She wished she knew the answer.

  After a few moments in which they contemplated each other in silence, Mandir rose from the bed. He was fully clothed as well, but she could hardly imagine why she’d woken in his bed.

  He blinked at her. “Did you—were we—” He stopped and swallowed, then indicated the pitcher on the table with a trembling hand. “Would you like some water?”

  Taya fled out the door.

  Chapter XXVII

  Hrappa

  MANDIR’S MOUTH FELT STRANGE, AS if someone had packed it with cotton. Every bit of him felt strange. He had a touch of a headache, perhaps a light hangover, but that didn’t explain the other sensations. And why would he have a hangover when he’d drunk so sparingly? He poured himself a goblet of water and struggled to get it down.

  Why in the goddess’s name had Taya been standing in the middle of his guesthouse wearing last night’s half-wrinkled sundress? It appeared she’d been in his bed, but he had no memory of her coming to his room or of anything happening between the two of them. Yet it was clear she’d been there. And in that awkward moment, all he could think to do was ask if she wanted water. What a bollhead he was.

  He rubbed the ache from the back of his skull. Thinking was painful. He should clean up, get dressed, maybe eat breakfast if his stomach could handle it. When he was in a more settled frame of mind, he could figure out the situation with Taya.