Page 33

The oil lamp is still burning on the desk, gold light flickering on the tight Plumian hand, the writing he does not understand.

Even if he were to ask Xan to read this, he cannot do that now. Not after such a dream. Was it a dream?

He sits up. He needs to go to bed. Sleep. Sleep peacefully without dreams.

Only then, he realises what sound woke him. Someone is rapping on his door. Startled, Jemel quickly dons his veil and calls for the visitor to come in. And the person who enters is the last person he wants to see.

“What are you doing here?” he snaps.

Xan closes the door. “I came to see you,” he says, crossing the room.

“How did you even find my chamber?”

“You told me you resided in a devout’s cell near the Immurite’s chamber. I did not realise you thought your location was a secret you kept from me.”

Xan looks around. Jemel’s room is quite small. There is little in it. A desk, a couple of chests, a narrow bed, with linens and a thin woollen blanket. But Jemel feels quite exposed by Xan seeing this chamber.

“It is late,” Jemel says petulantly. “I cannot receive you here after sunset. It’s improper. I am an acolyte of⁠—”

Xan cuts him off. “Don’t fuss, Baraboo,” he says, flashing one of his infuriating smiles. “I came here at this time because I did not want to be seen. I learned that trick from you and your bath house visits.”

Jemel scowls. “No matter that you were not seen, you must leave.”

“Aren’t you meant to be hospitable to me?” Xan comes closer, crossing the tiny room to perch on the edge of Jemel’s desk. His cloak is hanging from the pauldrons on his shoulders. Jemel cannot help but glance at those thighs in the tight leather breeches. He thinks, fleetingly, of how those thighs look unclothed. How every part of Xan looks unclothed. Jemel feels his heart beating like a caged calcis bird in his chest.

He forces himself to speak evenly behind the veil. “I have been given a job of translating for you in the Hall of Six Crowns, that is all I need to do.”

“Why are you so cold with me, Baraboo? Is this about what happened this morning?”

Is he being cold? Colder than usual? Perhaps he is. Because he has never felt so close to slipping. “You are a sinner. You admitted as much and you tried to ensnare me in that sin.” He pauses, “And I have asked you to stop calling me that.”

“Sin?” Xan rolls his eyes. “I am not bound by your rules. And nor should you be. I enjoy many baraboo on Pluma. We are close to Voluptue and Luxoria, you know. I have visited both. Are you not curious, my priest, about the way they view sin on Voluptue? It would be seen as sinful to deny the yearnings of your heart. And Luxoria, I’m sure you know, the land where there are no rules at all and every man there may simply do as he wills.”

“What I will,” Jemel says tightly, “is that you should leave me in peace.”

“Ah yes, you told me so in the bath house when you fled from me. But is that your true heart? Or are you simply afraid? I know you are curious.”

“I am not curious. I was confused, earlier. My body was weak. But now I am possessed of my wits, I have thought on it. I will not be tempted by sinful acts.”

“Sinful acts,” Xan coos in his dark, honeyed voice. He traces a finger tip on the polished wood top of Jemel’s desk. Jemel can’t seem to take his eyes off it. That finger rubbing backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards. “Bodies are for pleasure. Not only on Voluptue and Luxoria. In many faiths they believe so. Mother Greyheart decreed that in Artemia Surrus was a celebration of fertility, and there are more such Gods devoted to pleasure: Gaari, Sister Moon, the Great Mother of Men. Many believe such a Goddess gave men many gifts. Amongst those gifts, our bodies. The pleasure we can take from our bodies and the bodies of others is her greatest gift, given freely because she loved us so.”

“No, your faith is wrong. Surrus is no God, merely a prophet awaiting Zai, who revealed the truth. Body pleasures are for creating life.”

“You understand then that these sinful acts create life. How can it be a sin if it creates life? What could be more sacred?”

“Of course it is sacred,” Jemel spits back. “Creating life is no sin in the eyes of Zai, but you speak of pleasures that do not. Sly coupling cannot create life.”

At this, Xan throws his head back and laughs loudly. Jemel looks at his throat. His neck is thick and muscular, powerful, like every other part of him, but his throat is as vulnerable as any man’s and Jemel finds himself thinking of pressing his lips there, kissing, biting, moaning because Xan is…

He draws a deep breath through his nose to dispel the thoughts as Xan says, “Greater gifts. Purer and sweeter. Pleasure for its own sake.” His tongue flips over his lips. “I would like to give such to you, Baraboo. I cannot deny it.”

“Please, did you simply come here to make lewd suggestions? I have asked you to leave. I cannot associate with someone like you. You are disgusting.”

Xan leans closer across the desk. “You don’t sound disgusted. You sound something else.”

Jemel moves away from Xan, pressing himself back in his chair. “I have work to do.”

Xan scoffs. “Work? At this time? What are you working on? Secrets?” He picks up one of the papers from Jemel’s desk and Jemel curses whatever cruel fate caused him to choose the letter written in Plumian. Xan peers at it. “What is this?”