Page 17

“Damon has already said he won’t touch me.”

Opeth makes a scoffing noise and drinks her cup of ale in one. “Do you want him to?”

Lyr bites his lip. “I do not know,” he says, taking his own seat at the table. “I did not expect him to be so handsome. And he has been very kind to me.” He feels himself colouring, pink in his cheeks. “He saved my life. Sometimes when he looks at me, I think he is imagining kissing me and I…” Lyr looks down at the tabletop. “I want him to. I did not expect it. I thought he would take me and I would have to bear it, but it seems he will not take me and I will have to bear that. He is so handsome and he has been so kind and careful…” Lyr feels ashamed of his outburst. He takes a long sip of ale and changes the subject, saying, “And you? Are you safe? With Atticul?”

Opeth smiles. “Oh, I’m safe. I’m very safe.”

“What about Razelii? What happened to her?”

“She was taken by the other prince. The little young one. He seemed quite happy about it. I think he will treat her well. Or, not badly, anyway.”

Lyr nods. Pleased to hear this. “And the others?”

“Divided up among the high-ranking officers. No one was killed. You were the only one even threatened with that.”

“Not killed that you know of,” Lyr says darkly. “Who knows how they’re being treated.”

“I doubt any of them are worse than Ramel.” Opeth fixes her gaze on Lyr. Her deep black eyes are strangely soothing. “And you? You are sure this sly bastard brother is treating you kindly? Apart from his refusal to bed you?”

“There are worse things than not being bedded.”

“Dangerous though. For you, maybe. You would be wise to find a way to take him to bed if you can. For safety. To be sure Damon won’t decide you’re too much trouble to keep around when we dock in Attar. You’re part of Atticul’s scheme to tarnish the bastard in the eyes of their cruel God. It may be better for Damon to dispose of you. Atticul will not stop goading him. He thinks Damon could challenge him for the throne. He’s hardly spoken of anything else. Even when he is inside me.” Opeth smirks darkly.

“Damon has spoken of it too. He seems sure that would never be possible.”

“We have landed right in the middle of some dastardly Azurian politics, it seems.” Opeth smiles. “I don’t know much about your bastard, Lyr, but I am sure he would make a better Emperor than Atticul who is an angry fool.”

“Perhaps, but do Azurians want good Emperors? Damon says the one they have now is quite terrible.”

Opeth laughs. “You mean the current one? Selim? The uncle? Apparently, he is some kind of zealot. He has vowed his body to their God and will take no wife and father no children to remain pure in his devotion. All he does is pray for victory in war. He has brought in all these strict laws about morality and now the poor Azurians can’t so much as pleasure themselves without risking the wrath of their enforcers.”

“I don’t think Damon wants to be Emperor,” says Lyr. “He didn’t even want to be in the Imperial Army. He was forced. He was indentured for twenty years for some kind of crime. When I asked him today, he wouldn’t say what he did. But he’s finished his sentence now. I get the impression he just wants to be left alone to retire.”

“Perhaps he could be persuaded to be left alone to retire with you.”

Lyr shakes his head, a thought so sweet it is almost painful. “He has a wife. I heard him talking to his friend. He has this friend. I met her. A massive woman, I think she’s Plumian. She’s gone with the rest of the troops now to the Ik-Sundal border.”

“Shame she’s left,” says Opeth, helping herself to more of the ale. The last of the ale it turns out, the jug’s dregs only yield half a cup. “She sounds interesting.”

“She is. Damon said to her that he’d find me work in his manor. In the kitchens. Not pillow work. Males can’t be pillow workers in Azuria.”

Opeth grins as she finishes the last of the ale. “I think you’ll find they can. There are pillow workers everywhere, for everything that is desired.”

“But I will not be for his bed,” Lyr insists. Opeth seems unwilling to accept Damon has rejected him. “Not in this cabin, on this ship. Or in his manor. He is sly, but perhaps he doesn’t want to bed me.”

“Oh, he wants to bed you,” Opeth says, pulling a bottle out of the pockets of her white robes.

Lyr gasps as she sets it on the table. “You had your own drink all along?”

“I did. But I took it from Atticul and it’s a strange foreign drink that looks like a man’s seed and tastes worse. The effects are nice though. Want some?”

Lyr nods. He can think of nothing he wants more than making his mind sweet and soft. Opeth pours some of the white liquid into each of the two cups on the table. Lyr takes a drink. The liquid is viscous and bitter, but as soon as he swallows it he feels a warm looseness spreading through his body.

“Good?” says Opeth.

Lyr nods. But he is eager to return to the subject of Damon. It is strange how much his mind keeps circling back to this man. A man who for so long was just a name. Jareleezi’s obsession, but just a name. Now he is real. He is flesh and blood and a face Lyr cannot shake from his mind.

Damon Darekul.