Scars and Swindlers

by Val Saintcrowe

  “Yes.” He was speaking without looking at her, facing away, barely moving his lips.

  “So, we wait,” she said.

  He didn’t even answer this.

  “You all right?”

  “Fine.” He squared his shoulders, standing up straight. “More than fine. Maybe they’ll need you to take down the guards. Maybe you should leave me.”

  “Nope, that wasn’t the plan. The plan is for me to watch you and make sure you don’t go crazy on the iubilia,” she said fiercely. “So, we wait.”

  He sighed, leaning back into the wall. “We wait.”

  SEFONI WAS REARRANGING her breasts for the seventeenth time. The dress that Pairce had made for her was very revealing, but it also had the side effect of being incredibly uncomfortable. The dress plunged very low in the front, all the way down to Sefoni’s belly button. Then, two structured pieces of fabric, reinforced with boning, came up to clutch her breasts and hold them up, pushing them together so that they were two round balls of flesh half exposed in the midst of her chest. In order to achieve this, the dress was incredibly tight, and it was also fairly precarious. Sefoni kept feeling as if she was going to simply pop out of the thing.

  Which reminded her of being on cainlach in the carriage with Haid, coming out of her stays and Haid’s expression when he’d first seen her.

  Haid, of course, despised the dress, but he hadn’t tried to talk her out of wearing it, seemingly resigned to her part in the heist. Or perhaps he was so interested in getting the job done that he didn’t truly care who ogled her. She knew his priorities, after all.

  “What’s wrong?” said Pairce. “Maybe I can make a few last minute modifications to the dress?

  “I just feel like I’m falling out of it,” said Sefoni.

  “Well, if you do, it’ll only work in our favor,” said Pairce.

  “What?” Sefoni was horrified. “No, I don’t want guards seeing my… no.”

  Pairce smirked. “Don’t worry. I won’t let them touch you.” She put her hands on Sefoni’s skin and the dress, and Sefoni winced because the other woman was essentially fondling her, but Pairce bent the bodice of the dress a bit, and some of the pressure eased.

  “How did you do that?”

  “I sewed some thin strips of metal in there,” said Pairce. “It was actually Mairli’s idea, but it worked well. The metal can be bent. It’s a bit more malleable against your warm skin. Probably wouldn’t work as well if a person had to wear the dress for hours on end, but for our purposes, it’s fine. Is it better?”

  “It is, thanks,” said Sefoni.

  Pairce took a watch out of her pocket, eyeing the hands. “It’s time.”

  “Already?” Sefoni was feeling nervous now. She wasn’t sure if she was nervous about her body accidentally being exposed, or if she was nervous because she really never had learned to flirt properly (Tristanne had pronounced her unteachable) and she wasn’t sure if she was going to pull this off.

  True, she didn’t need to flirt exactly, but…

  “You’re going to be fine,” Pairce said reassuringly, as if she could sense Sefoni’s nerves.

  Sefoni took a deep breath, and then she went around to the back of the carriage, where they had a wagon. It was full of small bottles of ale. They had taken the large bottles of black-labeled ale and poured it into small bottles, each containing exactly enough to knock all the men out.

  There would be twelve guards to deal with. Eight of them belonged to the Cowntess and the other four were security that belonged to the house where the ball was taking place. All of them needed to be incapacitated so that Haid and the Cowntess could make it out without impediment.

  The ale worked quickly, and if the men did not all drink at once, then they would become alarmed and start fighting back. They might even call for more reinforcements.

  None of that could happen.

  Sefoni bent at the waist to reach for the wagon handle. She immediately fell out of the bodice of the dress and squealed.

  Pairce laughed. “Don’t bend over.”

  Sefoni tucked herself back in, and Pairce helped her to get the dress back in place. Then, turning to the wagon, Pairce picked up the handle and began pulling it.

  Sefoni came behind her as they moved through the parked carriages and horses. Some were waiting here to take the guests home, other guests would send for their carriages when they were ready for them to return. So, there were about twenty or thirty carriages, separated from the house by a tall hedgerow.

  At the hedgerow, Pairce handed the wagon off to Sefoni. “I’ll be close if you need me,” she said.

  Sefoni nodded once, and then tugged on the wagon, heading down to the opening in the hedgerow, an arch that had green growth around it, so that it looked as though the arch rose out of the hedge, part of it.

  Once through the arch, she made a show of looking behind her. “Where are you going? Come back here! Don’t leave me here with this wagon!” She pulled the wagon through the arch. “To the blazes with you, then.” She bit down on her lip, and she didn’t have to work hard to summon emotion, because she truly felt nervous and worried and upset.

  She looked around and pretended to spot the guards. She waved at them and then started for them, tugging the wagon along with her. “Excuse me!”

  The guards were all staring at her. Not at her face, of course, but at her exposed flesh, because there was a lot of exposed flesh.

  “I wonder if you can help me?” she said, as she approached.

  “I’d like to help you,” spoke up a guard. “I’d like to help you with all sorts of things.”

  She tried to smile but couldn’t manage it. She didn’t like his tone. If only he knew that she had the living flame, and that she could burn him to ash right where he stood. Luckily, no one was paying attention to her facial expressions.

  “I was summoned here for the Cownt of Bretigern, a surprise from another member of the aristocracy. This ale was for him, and I was to perform for him.” She arched her back, sticking her breasts out even more.

  All of the man gaped at her.

  “What sort of talent do you have?” said one of the men.

  “Oh, I dance,” said Sefoni. “Would you like to see it?”

  The men turned to look at the highest ranking guard, who was denoted with a blue sash. He was ogling Sefoni as much as the rest of them. “Well… can you dance without music?”

  “I can,” said Sefoni. “But I won’t get to perform at all now, because the Cownt of Bretigern denied the gift, sight unseen, and refused to pay.” She let out an annoyed sigh. “And then, upon hearing that, the man who was here to assist me ran off.” She turned in the direction of the hedge, glowering as if someone was there. Then, suddenly, she turned back to the guards as if something had just occurred to her. “Oh, I know, I could do it all for you!” She counted the guards out loud. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve!” She gasped in delight. “There’s just enough. This is perfect.”

  She turned to the wagon, and that was when she realized the problem.

  Don’t bend over?

  To the blazes with Pairce Givons.

  She eyed the wagon and then slowly bent her knees and lowered herself into a squat. She snatched up several of the bottles of ale and then straightened.

  She handed a bottle to one of the men. “Here. Don’t drink it yet. This is part of it. I’ll tell you want to do with it. You got that?”

  The man nodded dumbly, barely looking at the ale because of his proximity to her skin.

  It went agonizingly slowly, going to get the ale and then distributing it, but the men just watched the entire time, none of them saying a thing.

  When she got to the commanding guard, she handed him his bottle. “It is okay, isn’t it? Otherwise, it’s going to go to waste, and it’s only a small bottle. I’m sure it will hardly affect men as burly as you lot.”

  “It’s fine,” said the commanding guard. “It’s a
party, anyway. Nothing ever happens at a party except if two deuxs get so drunk they decide to have a fist fight.”

  She tried to laugh, but it came out sounding artificial. Blazes, she was bad at this.

  However, if anyone noticed, they didn’t let on, and soon enough, everyone had their ale in hand.

  She stood in front of the men. “All right, then, everyone, open your bottles of ale and when I say to drink, drink them, all right? And then the dance starts.”

  The men were willing enough. They opened the ale bottles, lifting them up.

  She clapped her hands together. “Oh, I’m so glad someone will get to see me dance. I’ve been practicing for weeks.” She raised her hands above her head and twisted them presentationally. This lifted her breasts dangerously, and she thought one of the men might be seeing a sliver of aureole. “Drink!” she crowed, throwing back her head.

  When she looked back, all of the men were lowering their empty bottles of ale.

  She twisted her hands again, waiting.

  The men blinked at her.

  Another long moment.

  Okay, it really did work fast. She was trying to remember after she’d drunk it with Haid. They’d barely had time to get on the bed, and so any minute now. Any minute.

  “Where’s the dance?” said one of the men.

  She swayed her hips.

  One of the men hooted.

  And then, one by one, they began to stagger.

  A few of them cried out and some of them swore, but soon enough, they were all lying on the ground in front of her, snoring.

  HAID WAS POSITIONED near the door from which they would make their exit. Tristanne was kneeling by him, dressed in a servant’s uniform, polishing his shoes. She’d been polishing his shoes for the past twenty minutes, but no one seemed to be noticing. This room was small, and the lights here were low. Through an open doorway, they could see the couples dancing.

  “Where is she?” said Tristanne.

  Haid was shot full of goodness. The iubilia had begun to work through him, pushing its fingers over his flesh, and he was awash in what he could only term bliss. Everything felt very, very good. He was having trouble keeping his breathing even. He kept wanting to moan.

  “Haid?” said Tristanne.

  “What?” he said breathily.

  “Do we need to find the Cowntess?”

  “No, she’ll come,” he murmured, but he could hardly remember why he thought this was true. Personally, he didn’t want to move, and he wished he was not here, forced to stand up. He’d rather be in a soft place, one swathed in blankets and pillows.

  “You’re not all right,” muttered Tristanne.

  “I am… marvelous.” He laughed a little, and he couldn’t help but let out a small moan that time.

  Tristanne swatted him with the polish rag. “None of that.”

  “Apologies.” He was smiling.

  “What if she doesn’t know we’re in here? You said she’d keep her eye on you, that she’d know where you were, but I didn’t see her when we came in here. Maybe you need to at least go back into the room and show yourself.”

  “Maybe she sat down somewhere and doesn’t want to get up,” said Haid, laughing. “I want to sit down.”

  Tristanne swatted him again. “You on iubilia is the worst idea you’ve ever had, do you know that?”

  But then there was a voice from the doorway. “You shouldn’t let a servant treat you that way, Haid.”

  Haid looked up and there she was. The Cowntess. The sight of her broke through the haze of goodness within him, and he was awash in an inky dread. It was awful, but it sobered him. He didn’t let it show. “Yvain. I knew you’d find me.”

  Tristanne got to her feet and scurried away, head down.

  The Cowntess sauntered over to him. “I knew I shouldn’t have accepted a drink from you.”

  He laughed. “This is a gift, Yvain.”

  She slapped him.

  He moaned. “Do that again.”

  She chuckled. “Well, well, well.” She leaned closer to him. “What are you up to?”

  “Falling apart,” he said, smiling at her, reaching for the iubilia’s goodness and letting it soften his features.

  She laughed again, a deeper, richer laugh. “Do tell.”

  “I…” He leaned close. “I know how hard it can be to convince you of anything, Yvain, and I wanted you to give in completely, to indulge. A dance with Lia can make that happen, you know?”

  “I indulge fine.”

  “This will be more pleasurable for you,” he said. “And I want you to indulge with me.”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “Use me, Yvain,” he said, lowering his voice suggestively. “Top me, master me… penetrate me.” The blackness of dread swirled with the iubilia, making him feel confused and disturbed and unsure of himself.

  The Cowntess let out a breathy sigh. “It’s tempting, I must say.”

  “Come to my carriage,” he said.

  “I…” The Cowntess hesitated. “I can’t trust you, Haid.”

  “No,” he said. “You can’t. But I’ve already tricked you now. I suppose I have taken control a bit. But it’s all in service of getting you to take control of me, don’t you see? That’s what makes it a game. You can’t tell me you don’t want to play.”

  Her tongue darted out and she ran it over her teeth. “You would surrender yourself completely to me?”

  “Of course,” he said.

  “Can I tie you up?”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  She let out a breathy sigh.

  “It’s hateful standing up here, Yvain, let’s find somewhere else to be,” he groaned. He put his arm around her.

  She stiffened, looking into his eyes, searching for something there.

  He made them blank and blissed.

  She leaned into him.

  They went for the door.

  The cold air hit his face and he grimaced.

  She made a noise of displeasure.

  They stepped outside.

  “Where are my guards?” she said in a mild voice.

  “What are you talking about?” He tugged her along with him.

  “What’s under that blanket there? It’s such a strangely shaped pile of… of something.”

  “Yvain, it’s cold out here,” he said. “Can we walk a bit more quickly?” He dug his fingers into her shoulder.

  She kept pace with him. “If you did something with my guards, Haid, what does that mean you’re really up to?”

  He looked back at the door from which they’d come, trying to think about how long it had been since Tristanne had run off. He knew this part of the plan was cutting it too closely, but Tristanne hadn’t wanted to leave him alone, and now here they were. If the Cowntess got too suspicious, she might make a fuss, and that could cause problems.

  “How about we take your carriage instead of mine, then?” he said to the Cowntess. “That should ease your mind.”

  “All right,” said the Cowntess. “My carriage is this way.” She pulled out of his arms and started walking without him, but he noted the way her gait was loose and free, how she swayed a bit. She was deep into her iubilia journey, and this cheered him.

  He caught up to her. He should touch her again. He didn’t want to. Gritting his teeth, he slung his arm around her again. He was lucky that the iubilia smoothed out all his movements, making everything seem casual, even though he’d been quite deliberate about it.

  She laughed a bit, looking up at him. “I always knew you’d come back to me, you know? I could always see it in your eyes, how you were thirsty for it, how you’d never get enough. You need punishment, Haid.”

  “Yes,” he said, and his stomach turned over in spite of himself, because this rang true.

  “I’m the only one who does it right, who can ease the need in you.”

  That wasn’t true. But he said, “Yes,” again.

  And there was the carriage, Tristanne and Mair
li perched atop on the driver’s bench and none of the Cowntess’s own people anywhere in sight, because Tristanne had dispatched them. That, of course, was why this part of the plan was cutting it too close. It left Tristanne little time to deal with what remained of the Cowntess’s people.

  However, she seemed to have managed it, so all was well.

  “That’s my carriage,” said the Cowntess, a tiny note of alarm in her voice.

  “Excellent,” said Haid. “Let’s get in.”

  “That’s not my driver.” The Cowntess looked up at Mairli, who had the reins loosely in her hands.

  Haid chuckled. “Sometimes people see things that aren’t there on iubilia.”

  “Not like this they don’t,” said the Cowntess. “Iubilia dreams happen when one’s eyes are closed and—”

  “Which of us has experience with this substance?” He tugged her to the door of the carriage.

  Tristanne hopped down and opened the door with flourish, bowing.

  “You,” said the Cowntess. “You were just polishing his shoes.”

  Tristanne smiled.

  From within the carriage came a wisp of smoke, and then Sefoni leaned out.

  Haid winced at her dress. Blazes, it left nothing to the imagination except her blazing nipples, and he…

  Arousal worked its way through him, helped along by the drug.

  Sefoni held up a hand, each of her fingers alight with a bit of flame. “Into the carriage, my laidy, or I’ll hurt you.”

  The Cowntess turned to Haid. “What is this?” She was shocked. She was devastated. She had been suspicious, but he’d fooled her. She’d believed that he actually did want her painful ministrations. It brought her pleasure to hurt him, and she’d wanted to think he enjoyed it too. That was her weakness.

  He gave her a satisfied smile. “This is a kidnapping, Yvain.” And then he shoved her, face first, into the carriage.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SEFONI LIFTED HER feet as the Cowntess went sprawling into the carriage. The woman put out her hands to catch herself, but she still ended up an undignified tangle of skirts and limbs on the floor.