by Mark Eller
The High Priest brought a silver tray of sweet meats and biscuits from his desk and sat it on the table between them. Tea had been set out already.
“Would you care for tea, Lady Morthanhi?” He smiled warmly. Simta nodded, hopeful but wary. She could not believe he was being so polite. Maybe after more than a year of dutiful repentance he truly had forgiven her past follies.
After pouring the tea, Calto gave her another warm smile. “Something to eat? I know it is rather early, Simta, and I do appreciate you coming here so please help yourself. I may address you by your first name, yes? Are we still on friendly terms?”
Simta blushed and nodded. “Thank you, Lord Morlon. I appreciate your kindness, and yes, we are still friendly.”
“No, no— formalities aside cousin. You may use my first name as well.” Giving her a wink, he sat down in the settee’s matching chair, leaned back, and crossed his long, muscled legs. His booted foot casually swung back and forth as he silently studied her. Never shy, Simta looked back, and she admired the view, starting at his calves and moving up. Cream colored tights hugged his legs all the way up to a waist she found both trim and sexy. When her eyes found his broad chest, covered by a tight silk shirt and an open vest, she fought back a sigh. The silk hid none of his well-defined muscles. She thought it truly a shame he covered it with the shirt and vest, although they did leave little to the imagination. She could almost picture what he would look like naked.
Clasping her hands nervously in front of her, Simta tried to steer her thoughts in other directions. Her time of repentance had obviously been very long if she fell into heat this easily, but by the gods, Calto was a vision. She would have bet her family’s fortune he was paradise in bed, especially since none of the fortune belonged to her.
“How have you been?” Calto’s soft tone only added to her distress. Half-lidded eyes, blue as the morning sky when the first hint of the sun touches the horizon, regarded her almost— well— if she didn’t know better, almost as if his thoughts ran in the same direction as hers. Which was just plain silly. In no way did he want her as much as she wanted him. After all, she doubted he had spent the last year in forced celibacy. To her certain knowledge few unmarried priests paid much attention to those particular vows. Had Calto? Some priests must honor their commitments to Anothosia. Calto might be one of them.
“I have been fine, thank you,” she finally said. “Yourself, Lord Calto?”
“I have been all right. Losing Larson was a terrible tragedy, but I found solace in my goddess’s graces. Anothosia has helped me with her strength, wisdom, and truth.”
Simta nodded. Larson’s funeral in Grace had been well attended. Calto had been thin, gaunt, his complexion almost transparent, and his hair shorn as a symbol of his grief. Many had thought he looked too ill to complete the three days of prayer and solitude required of a high priest when family passed.
“I see you’ve grown your hair back,” Simta noted, although it was still short by Calto’s previous standards. “I wondered if you would.” A sudden imagined vision of Calto’s previously long hair spilling over his shoulders as he swayed naked above her caused Simta’s breath to hitch in her chest. How would it feel to tangle her fingers in all that white blond hair? Like silk perhaps? She would like to find out, but for now it was too short. Hopefully it would reach its previous lengths in another year or two.
Calto fingered the short hair brushing against his ear, and his already warm smile softened. “Yes. I liked having it long. It will get there again. Larson always teased me about having prettier hair than most women. I suppose that is why I cut it off and laid it in his sarcophagus as something to take with him into the veil.” Releasing a short laugh, he shook his head. “Silly really, but we often do odd things when we are awash in sorrow and pain.”
Simta felt badly for Calto. Honestly, unless he took a wife he would die the last of his branch’s direct line. To be even more honest, she had liked Larson— owed him a debt she could never repay. The knight had been courageous and devout to the end even as the devil and his demons covered his body and ripped it apart. According to his partner of that night, Larson had sacrificed himself in order to protect her from the clutches of Hell.
“How is Sulya, by-the-way? Is she still without a partner?”
Calto’s breath caught for a moment. His eyes narrowed. Had he just flinched? Maybe not, but if so, why?
The smile slipped back upon his face, easy once more. His features smoothed. “Physically, Sulya is fine. Mentally?” He shook his head. “Not so well. I’ve made her my partner so I can keep a close eye on her until she becomes better. I am hoping to prevent another unfortunate incident.” He sighed, leaned forward, and placed his elbows on his knees. “Speaking of unfortunate events.”
The view she received of Calto’s rather impressive package when he took his pose nearly made her lean forward for a better look.
“Simta, I have a favor to ask of you, one which could possibly release you from your marriage to Charmaine.”
Package forgotten, Simta nearly dropped her cup. This sounded promising. “A favor which would release me from that— I mean from my betrothed?” Simta trembled. Only sheer luck and her time serving Trelsar had kept her from being married already to the despicable piece of jumped-up gutter trash.
“Yes, Simta. Would you like that?” Standing, Calto walked over to the window. The sight of his flexing buttocks beneath his thin tights stirred her interest once more. Sunlight breaking through the window cast golden rays about his body, creating a white nimbus. Simta smiled in appreciation. Always stunning, at the moment Calto could have stood in portrait to represent Trelsar, who also happened to be the patron god of the arts. Calto looked that much like a golden god. Lost in his beauty, Simta nearly missed what he said next, but when her brain caught up to his words, she was jerked out of the moment.
“Larson left behind a wife and child.” Calto turned his gaze back to her. “They are in danger. What I need from you is to befriend them— be my spy butdo not, under any circumstances, let them know I exist. For that matter, do not insinuate Larson was anything but a common knight. I want none of their perceptions of him altered.”
Simta frowned. She would be happy to do this if it meant escaping Charmaine’s lunatic ravings, but— “Why must I conceal Larson’s identity and origins, and how did she miss his obvious importance at his funeral?”
Calto eyes burned holes in her with their intensity. After long moments of scrutiny, he walked over and knelt before her. “I can’t tell you why the concealment. If I did, it could get you killed. As for her not knowing, Larson had two funerals. The second was attended only by his wife and daughter. Not even his knights were there. For that matter, neither was Larson. The casket was weighted and closed so she never knew.”
Simta’s eyes grew large. What exactly was he involving her in? “Please tell me this doesn’t involve devils?”
Calto’s face grew stern. “I would not knowingly put a woman in harm’s way. I simply ask you to tell me what she does from day to day, whom she sees, where she goes. Discreetly slip her a few bits of silver to help out. To do this you need to play a role, something you are uniquely qualified to do.”
Simta frowned. Spying was one of the vices she had given up. She wasn’t sure she wanted to take it up again, but by the gods, Calto kneeled before her. If he was offering what his kneeling implied, she would lick the man’s boots if he asked it of her. The best part would be her father’s blessing of their union, especially if it meant tying the two houses closer together. Lady Simta Alisa Morlon. She liked the sound. Even so, caution, an old friend, insisted she learn more.
“I don’t know. Again— why? Can’t they just come and stay with you?”
Calto’s face fell. He looked pained. “There was a reason for two funerals. I cannot allow anyone other than us to know about Anithia and Missa. It would not be good for either of them. Besides, I have problems I do not wish them to be caught up in.” He t
ouched the side of her face. His fingers were calloused and strong, but his touch soft and seductive. Simta shivered.
“Do you not find my proposal attractive?” Calto whispered. “This favor would not go unrewarded.”
Something low and warm clenched in Simta’s belly. Her body tingled with a desire that had long gone unanswered. Booze and thieving were not the only things she had foresworn.
Calto’s fingers trailed down her jaw. His thumb gently brushed across her lips. Her nipples hardened, poking through her gown’s thin fabric. Heat rushed over her body even though she knew he played her like she was a game. A year previous their relationship might have been warming, but it had still edged closer to cold than hot. “Calto, I—”
Calto’s mouth took her reply away. His tongue teased the corners of her mouth. Simta nearly slid off the settee. Yeah, it had been too fucking long.
“Please,” he whispered. “I could arrange a permanent place for you within my household. Would you not love attending court with me in Grace?”
Desire shivered through her when he lowered his cupid bow mouth to her collarbone. Moaning for effect, she slid her arms around his hard shoulders and pulled him closer. “Yes, oh yes,” she whispered, knowing she would do anything, even play this game, if she didn’t have to marry her half-crazy fiancée of a priest, Charmaine. And to think— when this was over, if Calto kept his implied word, she would be a lady of the court.
Calto’s hand slid down her leg then up underneath her skirts. His probing hand slid between her legs, thus answering her silent question as to him following his priestly vows. Simta opened for him, allowing him access as Calto pushed her skirts up about her waist and knelt to kiss her inner thigh.
A knocking at the door brought Calto abruptly out from between her legs. Cursing, he drew Simta’s skirt back into place, lunged upward and back, moving quickly into his chair, and placed a pillow over his crotch.
Scooting back on the settee, Simta slapped her legs together and grabbed at her cup.
“Enter,” Calto called.
The priest who had shown her in earlier bowed gracefully to Calto. “I apologize for the interruption, My Lord, but your next appointment is here.”
Calto nodded stiffly. “Of course, Brother Dargot. Please let them know I will be with them in a moment or two.”
Simta strangled a cry before it reached her lips. She was on fire, and now there would be no quenching it.
After bowing again, the priest left. Calto rose and escorted Simta to the door. “My apologies for getting carried away, dear Simta. It was inappropriate of me to touch you in such a manner. Forgive me.”
Simta threw her arms around him and pressed her lips to his. Calto hesitated for a moment but pulled her close, returning her passionate kiss before pulling himself away.
“You will watch, Ani?” Calto stroked her cheek lightly.
“Yes, Calto, yes.” She stepped away, her knees weak, her breathing raspy, and allowed herself to be ushered out. She would do anything to be in the manipulative bastard’s arms again. Love and respect be damned. The man knew how to kiss.
* * * *
When Simta arrived at the run down shack Lady Anithia Morlon called home, she thought it a disgrace— only one step above where her father kept farm animals. How could Calto allow such a travesty for his sister-in-law and niece? She tried to peek through the slat boards over the front window, but it was too dark inside. She knocked.
“Are you lost, your Ladyship?”
A deep, almost melodious male voice sounded from behind her. Simta released the catch fastened about her wrist, freeing a knife for quick use. If there was more than one man she would do the same with her other wrist knife.
Turning slowly, she smiled, soft and delicate. “No, I’m here to consult with a woman named Anithia.”
An older man, tall, with a care worn face, smiled back at her. His clothes were not those of a beggar but not fine enough for complete respectability. At least he was clean. “You have no need of your blades today, Lady Morthanhi. The gods walk with you in your search.”
Simta stiffened. “Have we met, good sir? For I do not recall giving you my name, and the Downs are not a place I usually frequent.” Was he following her? Was he part of the danger Calto spoke of?
He shook his head and chuckled. “It’s good you keep your wits about you girl, but you don’t need them with me. If you seek for Ani, try the wharf. Be careful and keep true to your penance, Simta. The gods smile upon your efforts.”
Simta’s mouth dropped open. Her cheeks grew warm. Had she been such a harlot that all knew of her crimes? Even here? Or was this some spy of Charmaine’s, stalking her to make sure she kept her trillion wifely vows even before the marriage took place.
The man held out his hand to her. “Forgiveness starts from within. How do you propose to get on with your life when you refuse to let go of your guilt?”
Frowning, Simta absently took the man’s hand. Blue eyes so intense she thought they saw into her soul beckoned her forward. “Who are you?” she demanded. “Have you been spying on me?”
Instead of answering he squeezed her hand gently. Warmth and a feeling of hope and love, traveled up her arm. It spread throughout her body. Simta felt like a cloud, light and unfettered by earthly cares.
“Remember, she is by the docks, Lady Morthanhi. Watch your way.”
Simta blinked and found herself standing a block from the wharf. Ani’s home, the man, they were both gone. Somehow, she had blacked out and lost time, but how when she had entirely forsaken drinking. Impossible, but she didn’t remember leaving the Downs. Was the man somehow involved?
Simta thought a moment while unclasping the second knife’s fastening about her wrist. She might no longer be in the Downs, but the wharf was little better. She tried to bring the man to her mind, but the more she tried to remember his face the harder remembering became. His features were fading from her mind but not the feeling of peace he had given her. Had he been god touched? No, of course not. There was no such thing as god touched, and for all the pain and suffering she had seen, and despite her time serving Trelsar, she wondered if there were really any gods at all outside those residing in Hell. Most likely the magic she had seen about Calto and his knights when they battled Malaria had been only that, magic, and not godly influence at all.
Someone tugged on her coin purse. Cursing her distraction, Simta’s knives dropped down into her hands. She placed one against the thief’s throat and the other at his groin before realizing who she was about to cut.
“Selnac? You old codger! Get your hand off my purse.” Simta scowled as she studied her mentor. The old man was getting careless and slow if she had caught him even while distracted. She replaced her knives.
“Simta? Is that you?” His craggy features twisted into lines of shock. “You look…um…different.”
Sighing, she waved his comments away. “I know I’ve changed, and so have you. I shouldn’t have felt you tug on my purse, especially when I wasn’t paying attention.”
Selnac gave her a sheepish smile. “Ah well, I’m getting older, and I haven’t had a decent partner since you left. I miss having someone young, pretty, and nimble to help me on occasion.”
Smiling, Simta remembered those days well. It was Selnac who taught her to thieve when she was still a young girl. If it had not been for her family’s high profile she would have continued skulking about with him, but as she grew into womanhood things changed— mainly her. She felt a twinge of guilt. He had taught her to be his partner, expected her to take him with her up the ladder, but she had not. Instead, she had left him on the bottom rung still begging for scraps.
Opening her purse, she fished out a gold five rugdle coin. Taking his hand, she pressed it into his palm. “This is for Mother Brood and her lostlings. When I’m given my next allowance, I’ll seek you out and give you another. For now, I must keep what remains. I’ve an important errand.”
Selnac’s face lit with happines
s. He was a thief, yes, but she knew he didn’t prosper from it. His clothes were patched, hanging like rags on a scarecrow, and his body unadorned of gold or silver. Even his weapons were old and scarred. No, for as long as she had known him most of Selnac’s ill-gotten gains went to Mother Brood and her street children. If not for him, Mother Brood’s children would have starved, although she once heard another thief, Glace, gave her part of his take on rare occasions.
“You’re too kind.” Selnac bowed politely. The coin disappeared from his hand. “So what errand brings you to the wharf?”
Simta paused. How much could she tell him of her mission?
“I’m looking for someone. A friend.”
“Hmm,” Selnac said thoughtfully. “What kind offriend of yours hangs around the wharf? I thought you gave the old life up?”
Simta frowned. Yes. Why was Anithia here? Neither this place nor the Downs were somewhere highborn women frequented, and Ani must be highborn despite her living arrangements or Larson wouldn’t have married her. Anything less would have been a disgrace. “I’m not sure. All I know is she is nearby, and I need to find her.”
Selnac glanced around. “I know you’re capable of taking care of yourself, but might I suggest an extra set of eyes? I’ll not intrude upon your business, nor will I tell others of it.”
Glancing around the busy docks, Simta pretended to be looking for something specific. She counted five men who acted as if they were not watching her. Not good. She had dressed too well for this area even though it was heavily patrolled.
“Yes, I would like your company, old friend. I seem to be attracting undo attention.”
“Glace and I will follow at a discreet distance.” Bowing, Selnac backed away, once again acting the beggar.
Simta walked down to the waterfront, marveling at the strange and curious sights greeting her at every turn. Dozens of languages flew through the air. Fabrics of gold, cobalt blue, blood red, dozens of colors, adorned the bodies of foreign sailors, although some sailors wore barely anything at all. And their ships! Many didn’t look like they could float. Other’s looked like they might fly.
