Chapter 10 #2
It doesn’t matter anyhow. As easily stirred as my flesh is right now, my mind and spirit are still in a Cornish forest watching my deceitful ones hold hands in their sleep.
“Sedge,” I say with as much kindness as I can muster.
Contrary to what you might have heard about me, I try to soften my cruelties where I can. I understand Sedge’s lust. I know what it feels like to have a yawning void in your belly, to feel like the ache in your chest and the ache between your legs are the same, the same throbbing grief.
“Sedge,” I say again, and I pull his hair, tilting his face up toward mine. I am too firm with my grip, I think, because arousal whips through him as he registers the pain, and his hips move in the air. “You are everything someone like me could want. But I can’t.”
“You want it,” he breathes. His cheeks are flushed, and his velvety lips are too. “You’re so hard, sir. I can help. Let me help.” He reaches up to squeeze the undeniable erection I’m sporting. Fuck.
I tighten my grip enough that the hand on me falters.
“I can’t,” I say, my voice as sympathetic as the hand in his hair isn’t. “My body and my mind aren’t in agreement. I still miss—I still wish they were?—”
I blow out a long breath, let go of Sedge’s hair, and then step back. His hand, where it had been fondling me, hovers in the empty air.
“I’m sorry. I am grateful for this, Sedge, but I’m not ready.”
He ducks his head, his hand falling slowly to his side. “For her. You deny yourself for her, when she has denied herself nothing.”
“I have not denied myself Tristan either,” I reply. “Surely, the gossip at Lyonesse isn’t so feeble that you haven’t heard.”
“They’ve chosen each other. They’ve left. How long will you starve yourself?” His voice is a miserable whisper now, and it makes me miserable too. That is the nature of unhappiness. It spreads like ink in water.
I move forward and press my hand to the side of his face. He turns toward the warmth instinctively, a flower to the sun. “In another life, you’d be very wanted. And in this life, I can help you find what you’re looking for.”
“You,” he says, his eyes closed. “I’m always looking for you. And at you. Sir.”
“I wish that things were otherwise,” I say, which is barely true. There is no otherwise that’s worth living through.
But the words seem to revive Sedge. “They will be eventually,” he murmurs, opening his eyes to look up into mine. “I can wait, sir. For your broken heart to heal.”
It won’t, but there is no point in telling him so. I don’t want to bruise this rare, vulnerable courage any more than I have to.
“That’s kind of you,” I answer, and then I kiss his head. “Will you be okay? Do you need a break from me after this?”
His teeth catch his lower lip as a new flush stains his skin. “I’ll never need a break from serving you, sir.”
I do have time for a shower before my afternoon meeting, and then right after, Lox calls me.
“Do you have more contractors exploiting my perfectly safe security systems using the log-ins you gave them?” she asks after I say hello. Just because one time a contractor managed to use our background check system to allow for Drobny’s men to attack the club, endanger my guests, and stab me.
“I’ll let you know during New Year’s Eve,” I say, turning in my desk chair to face the window. The Potomac is a tired gray, and even though the capital is doing its best to put on a festive show for the holidays, it looks tired and gray too. “But I appreciate the fixes you made.”
I hear the reluctance in her reply. “However they got in, I wasn’t happy they were able to fool the system with the fake profiles. I take pride in my work, and it pissed me off. I was glad to fix it.”
“I have another project for you.”
“Is there money in it, and will it piss off the NSA?”
“Don’t worry about the NSA,” I say, waving a hand she can’t see. “We have a friend there now.”
Lox snorts. “You want me to trust your sister? I was in intelligence too, Mark. I heard the stories about her.”
“Then trust me.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Fair. But I’ll pay double your usual rate.” I quickly explain about Father Minch’s Bible and my little library excursion in Rome.
Lox is immediately interested. “A Vatican archivist? Killed by a saint?”
“On Cashel’s orders. I feel like it isn’t saint business but Ys business. I have no evidence for this, however. Only a gut feeling.”
“And you think the scribbles in the priest’s Bible are the evidence you need?” She doesn’t sound skeptical, more like a mathematician drawing up an equation and tagging the unknowns.
“I can’t even say think , because it implies some logic behind it. But he wanted me to have the Bible. He made it sound like what he’d written in there was important.”
“Okay,” she says. “So what do we need to do?”
“I’ll send the pictures of the book over to you and the other titles Minch wrote down. I can’t read Latin but…”
A snort. “I’ll have it translated.”
“Thank you.”
“What do you think it will say?” she asks. “What could any of these books say that would have made Minch run away?”
“Something about Ys. Maybe something that connects Ys to the Catholic Church. Perhaps he went to Cashel, or perhaps he was smart enough to run away the minute he realized.”
“Makes sense. Okay, I’ll call once I have something.”
“And, Lox?” I ask before she can hang up.
She groans. “What now?”
“Could you find someone for me too?”
“Possibly,” she says warily. “Who?”
I stare out at the river. “Cara Sims.”
“I’ll do my best,” replies Lox.
“I’ll pay you double for that too.”
“You better.” And the call ends.
With a sigh, I turn back to my desk, where I see my prepared folder for the day, unopened from earlier this morning. I flip it open, seeing Sedge’s neat and organized mind all over it, and let out a long, regretful exhale.
In another life, maybe. I dislike causing him pain in this one though.
There’s a printed news article in the folder too with a brief note from Andrea. I thought you’d find this interesting, she’s written.
Disgraced Carpathian Leader Melwas Kocur Dies in Prison; Preliminary Investigation Points to Heart Medication
As it happens, I do find it interesting. There will be an inquiry, an investigation into the Carpathian prison’s healthcare services, but he was an unhealthy man at the end, or at least that’s what one hears through the grapevine.
I tap my thumb against the paper, granting myself a small breath of satisfaction. This at least has gone to plan.
Under the very satisfying article is a one-page report—from Andrea—detailing a search for any mention of the name Brittany Hill in our treasury. There is none, so Andrea naturally asked Lox to shake some digital trees. As far as anyone can tell, Brittany Hill doesn’t exist, at least online.
And then finally, there’s a quick report about an email that was sent out to the college of cardinals in advance of the conclave.
Sent anonymously, it succinctly described the various Ys-related sins of Mortimer Cashel and then offered as much verifiable proof as we have—any proof that doesn’t directly expose myself or a Lyonesse member as the source.
If the cardinals are really going to elect Cashel, then I don’t want them to say they weren’t warned.
That said, my hopes for this particular gambit are limited.
Most of the cardinals aren’t reading their own email, and the odds of an anonymous, conspiratorial message getting in front of a cardinal’s eyes are low.
Still, it would only take one chatty member of the Sacred College to ignite gossip, and if anything slows down the conclave, it’s worth it.
I make a mental note to tell Andrea to hold off on sending our florilegium just yet—the conclave will start any day now, and then nothing will be able to penetrate the hallowed halls of the Sistine Chapel.
I’d rather save that card for a later, stronger play.
I flip the folder closed just as my phone lights up. A text from a number I don’t recognize, six words to set my heart pounding.
We’re coming back to you, sir.