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Xan looks at Atticul as Jemel speaks, then says in Plumian, his voice a low growl, “I do not wish to marry your foul sister named for the cruel bitch who first divided my land.” He pauses, but Jemel is sure he is not done. “Your ancestor, Sarelik. The first Darekul named his division of my beautiful home for his daughter. This temple he named for himself.” Xan points up at the carved temple ceiling where the Sidu glitter down carved from ancient pink stone. “Of course it is far older than that. Built by your Hevelikar for their Gods, far older Gods.” Jemel looks at Xan who is staring back with his mouth a little open, unsure if he dares repeat any of what Xan has said. Xan smiles and says, “Baraboo, tell your dog of an emperor that I am sly. I consort only with men. I have no interest in his sister.”

Jemel has to swallow his gasp at this, glad of the veil he wears hiding his pinking cheeks. Saying this would be almost as bad as recounting all that Xan has just said of the empire. In Plumian he says, “I cannot tell him that. It is a crime.” He stares at Xan. Does he mean it? Is he truly sly? Or is he simply trying to insult Atticul further?

Xan smiles at Jemel and says, “Tell him I said I look forward to his meeting on the morrow.”

“Hare,” Atticul says, growing tired of watching Jemel and Xan talk to each other in a tongue he does not speak. “Are you having trouble? Gelen Zain assured me that you were proficient in Plumian.”

“I am, your Majesty, but it is one of my weaker languages. Forgive me I was unclear on a few things, but Xan says he looks forward to your meeting.”

Atticul seems happy with that. He takes his leave with a mild expression on his face, moving away to talk to more exalted guests.

When Jemel looks back to Xan he is still smiling at him like they share a secret. Does that mean it is true? This big, rude man is sly? Why did he declare such a thing, surely he must have known Jemel could not translate it to Artemian.

So he said it only to Jemel? Does he think Jemel shares his deviance?

Jemel bites his lip, glad the gesture is hidden beneath his veil. “Perhaps,” he says, “I should escort you back to your chambers.”

“Very well.” Xan’s smile grows even wider and Jemel curses himself. Did his words sound like he was accepting Xan’s proposition?

“So you do not get lost.”

“I am sure you could charge a page, Baraboo,” Xan says.

Jemel says nothing back, simply walking away, expecting Xan to follow.

Xan does so and when they are in a quiet passageway, the long hall that leads to the envoy’s quarters Jemel says, “You must not say that again, even in Plumian. About being sly.”

Xan’s answer is light, almost mocking. “Why should I not? It is my truth.”

“It is a sin,” Jemel responds tightly. He does not appreciate being made a fool of.

“I know your God considers it a sin.” Xan turns to face Jemel, blocking his way forwards. He seems so big, suddenly. He is taller than Jemel by more than a head and very broad, not actually broad enough to block the corridor, but somehow the way he is standing, the tilt of his jaw, makes Jemel feel like passing him would be impossible. “Which would be the bigger sin,” Xan says in a low slow voice, “men lying with men or you showing me your face?”

Jemel stares up at Xan, the question surprising him so much that he feels he cannot catch his breath. In the sunlight coming in from the high windows of the passageway, Xan’s dark skin looks almost blue-toned, his eyes are black as glittering coals. He is an extraordinarily handsome man. He looks like an idol to an ancient God, carved from the strange glossy black stone of fae ruins. Archenwud, Jemel thinks. He forgets where he learned that word, or what language it belongs to. He feels like he is forgetting everything. In a soft rasp he cannot hide, Jemel says, “A sin of the body is one of the greatest sins. Like the sin of a beast. It cannot be washed away.”

Xan is still smiling. Jemel feels like this moment weighs heavy in the air, but only for him. Only for him is the air slow and the light thick as honey. Xan is acting as if this is a light playful conversation and he is enjoying every moment. Every moment of seducing Jemel into sin.

“How terrible,” Xan says, light and playful, then, as easily as if he is not discussing the most terrible of sins, “Would you like to come in? Have a drink. There is good ale in Attar. Bitter Argent.”

“I don’t drink,” Jemel says.

One of Xan’s eyebrows creeps up his forehead. “How could you with that covering over your face?”

“Indeed.” Jemel swallows. Why is his mouth so dry? “And I have to go. I have work I must do.”

6

JEMEL

The next morning, Jemel wakes earlier than usual, flustered and sweat-sheened from a strange dream.

He lies in the dark, catching his breath. The dream comes back to him in fragments.

Xan. He had gone into Xan’s chambers.

The details are misty, but he is sure of one thing, in his dream, Xan had touched him. Xan had taken him on that big bed, that bed draped with furs. Xan had slid a hand slowly between Jemel’s shaking thighs and made him gasp with need.

Jemel tries to banish the memory, but the feelings from the dream are still alive in his body. He can’t stop himself. He trails a hand down over his chest, over his belly. He has not done this for several moons. He should not do it at all.