Page 27

“It is your name in Plumian.”

“I speak Plumian,” Jemel says, sourly. “I know baraboo does not mean Hare.”

Xan laughs. “Forgive me, my scholar of languages. I am but an uneducated Plumian savage who does not know the appropriate times to bathe. You told me a hare was a creature like a rabbit. Baraboo means small rabbit. I was doing all I could to call you as you are named.” He winks and then says again, quite lasciviously, “Baraboo.”

Jemel purses his lips. He looked up the word baraboo the previous afternoon in one of Pershel’s books. “It does mean rabbit, a baby rabbit. I am aware. But in Plumian slang it also means plaything, toy.” And more besides, Jemel now knows. It’s an endearment and also a bedchamber word. A word for the one the Ambolk would call the kush. Something there is no word for in Artemian. Or not in the Artemian spoken in the Rose Palace. The closest would be luxorite, but that is more of an insult. He cannot imagine being called so in the bed chamber. Jemel feels blood rushing to his face just to think it. He hopes that if Xan notices his skin pinkening, he will think it a result of the warm steamy room and nothing more, although he doubts it.

Xan nods, smiling. “Clever Baraboo.” He speaks as if he is praising a child.

“I ask you not to call me so. I’m not your toy.”

“Not yet,” Xan says in a dark and still thoroughly lascivious tone. Jemel feels his heart beating harder.

“You’re disgusting. What you’re implying is a sin in Azuria.”

“So you keep saying. Your Plumian is improving. Have you devoted much time to studying my tongue?” Xan laughs.

Jemel knows he is being mocked. If Jemel was a man of violence, he feels sure he would attack Xan in this moment. This conversation is nothing more than a joke meant to mock him. But he has no skills in that area. The only weapon he has is his well-practiced, icy demeanour. And so, he simply answers the question as if it were meant literally. “Of course. It is my job. I have been charged to translate for you.”

“I have been wondering if perhaps you were charged to spy on me.”

Jemel makes a scoffing noise. In truth he’d half forgotten Gelen Zain asking him to do just that. “And what would I report to the Rose Court of you? The size of your cock.”

“I do not mind if you want to spy on my cock, Baraboo. Report to your High Word about how it tastes.”

Jemel has to swallow a squeak of indignation. “I doubt he’d be interested.”

Xan only shrugs lazily, saying, “Perhaps not. But perhaps there is another who would be interested.“ And goes back to washing himself. After a moment he looks at Jemel again, with an inquisitive eyebrow raised. “You are still not bathing,” he says.

“No, Jemel says. “I prefer to bathe alone.”

“I see. Then perhaps I should leave so you can be alone,” Xan says simply and then, as if it means nothing at all, he stands up.

Jemel gasps.

Water streams down Xan’s body. He has more tattoos on his legs, like the ones on his chest and arms, gold and silver swirls snake down his thighs. Thighs which are broad and heavy, thick with muscle, like his chest, his back, even his neck. Xan’s naked body fulfils all the promises of his clothed one.

And between those thighs, the cock Xan insisted on mentioning. Not hard, but clearly a little heavy, hanging there as if Jemel having sight on it means nothing at all.

Jemel mutters for Zai to forgive him as he drops his gaze to the floor. “Sire, please.”

But Xan says nothing as he climbs from the bath and walks to Jemel naked. Jemel can’t move. Xan comes very close. So close that Jemel can feel the steaming heat from Xan’s body. “Why do you feel shame for looking at me?” he says, slow and dark.

“You know why,” Jemel snaps, staring up into Xan’s broad face. “It is a sin.”

“And who told you that?” Xan reaches out. He lays his hand on Jemel’s chin. Jemel does not stop him. “What man, because I know it was no God.”

“The High Word of Zai. Doroth Zain.” Although Doroth then went on to tell Jemel the teachings of Zai were not the words of any God, but of a demon. “And latterly, Gelen Zain, who is High Word now.”

Xan tips his head to one side, eyes glittering, dark and warm. “Chaste little priest, tell me, does he own you, this High Word? You are his slave?”

“No,” Jemel says, voice coming out breathy. He should go, step back at least but he’s frozen. He cannot breathe from the heat and scent of Xan’s skin, invading all his senses. “I belong to Zai. I am a child of Zai. A babe raised by the faith.”

Xan laughs. “A child of Zai? Then what womb did you come from? Some whore who claimed to have lain with your God?”

“I would ask you not to speak of my parentage. How dare you.” And then, finally, the rage clears Jemel’s head enough that he does step back, pulling away from Xan’s touch on his face. “Just what do you think you are doing?”

“Sweet, chaste Baraboo,” Xan does not step any closer, but he drops his voice as if sharing a secret, “Don’t you know? I am seducing you.”