Chapter 1 #5
Hawk tucked his hair behind his ears, like he could hide his shame back there. “I’ll do whatever pays the most. The highest paid adames—they have sex, don’t they?”
“Our absolutely highest paid consort does not have sex, no.”
Hawk blinked a few times, mind tangled by the answer. “Really?” Yes, really—there was a Truth spell holding March’s every word. “I mean. What do they do?”
“I provide blood to a few well-paying patrons. I don’t even kiss anyone these days.”
“You…” Hawk put it together as March’s smile gleamed. “That’s you. You’re the highest-paid adame at Sutaire.”
“I am.”
“How…?” Hawk began to ask, and his face went hot again.
Fortunately, March laughed at his bumbling, instead of growing offended, and he said, “I work for the Crown. My blood sustains our prince. I provide him with a vial daily; I never even need to leave Sutaire. It gets delivered from me, to him, without either of us having to meet.”
Hawk gaped for a moment before he said, “I’m amenable to that work.”
March laughed again, and Hawk found it hard to keep his own grin off his face. “Very well. A few more questions, then.” March continued to smile as he asked, “Are you kinsme?” Preferring the company of men.
“Yes.”
“Are you amenable to having sex with women?”
“No.” Hawk sucked in a gasp at that. “No, I mean—I.” He couldn’t push through; couldn’t lie; the spell stopped him short.
“You needn’t worry,” said March, tucking his long black hair behind his tall, pointed ear. “This doesn’t disqualify you.”
Hawk released a sigh.
“Are you divorced?”
“Yes,” said Hawk, gazing upon the carpet at his feet.
“It seemed so. The travel bag, your hair.” March said. “And that isn’t one of the questions the agency asks; I was simply curious.” He continued, “Are you proficient with magic? Aside from your innate elven gift to extend the lives of a mortal folk, I mean.”
“No. I mean—I know a basic spell to light candles, and I can Prestidigitate a plate clean.” The basics of magic that all elves learned in childhood. He glanced up to gauge March’s reaction, and came up short. His face was smooth, lineless, eyes focused upon his notepad as he wrote.
“Do you have any skills you would like to highlight?”
Hawk’s fingers tightened together, knuckles turning white. “Do you mean skills that would benefit me as an adame?”
“Sure, yes. Or anything else.” March shrugged.
Hawk slid his gaze to one side. “I’ve been told, more than once, that I am a good kisser. I can also hold my breath for three minutes. I’m flexible; I can do a split. Um. I’m good at gardening.”
March blinked a few times, his white eyes flashing like a light. “Gardening?”
Hawk idly ran a hand along his braid, glancing at March’s face and looking away again. “I grew up in a rural place; I learned to care for the wild things out there. I know many things about plants.”
“What’s your age?”
“Forty-four.”
March clicked his tongue. “Young. Why have you not sought out work as an adame before today?”
Hawk gestured to himself and then looked away.
March said, “My apologies; I didn’t catch that.”
“I…” Hawk shifted in the chair, finding it less comfortable now.
“I’m not sure I’d find work as I am. My skin.
..” Purple was uncommon, even among luname.
His hair was generally acceptable, but he had black eyes and not the standard blue or white of Elys or dark elves, and he was short for an elf.
He was skinny, but that was mostly because he’d not had regular meals for the last year while going through his divorce, and he would become far less skin and bones if he got a job here.
And, most of all— “I have pubic hair.” It came out in a shameful whisper.
Many elves—most—were naturally hairless everywhere from the ears down.
His husband had hated Hawk’s body hair. Ex-husband, he reminded himself.
March seemed utterly unmoved by the confession, which made Hawk feel all the more embarrassed about it; he was truly ignorant to the inner workings of elven consorts. Were other adame hairless, like he suspected? Or was that an assumption that now made him appear a fool? He continued to write.
“I’m also short? And my hair has not yet grown long again,” said Hawk. “It will be a few more months before it’s an appropriate length to indicate that I’m unwed.”
March continued to write, which allowed Hawk to stare uninterrupted.
March was tall and muscular for an elf; the opposite of Hawk.
He’d always thought adame to be lean, fair-skinned, blond-haired, and blue-eyed.
March had none of those features, but he was also so handsome that it must’ve overridden any of the requirements before he joined Sutaire.
His hair looked like it was made of silk, straight and airy and soft.
So pitch black that it could have been a shade of blue.
Hawk didn’t think his own face was ugly—he’d the typical Elys-elven upturned nose and unmarked skin—but he also didn’t think that was all it took to succeed in the business of consorting. He wasn’t like March. He was purple. He had pubes.
His mind was reeling as March asked, “And why did you seek out Sutaire specifically?”
“I hoped you had a garden.” Hawk let the answer flow from him without much consideration; Truth made it simple.
March blinked. Hawk blinked back. March hummed some thoughtful sound and said, “We do. Our garden is famous, in fact; some come to visit Abblesbet just to take a stroll through it.”
Hawk opened his mouth to reply, paused, and tried to temper his excitement. “If I get an apprenticeship here, will I get to enjoy the garden?”
“As much as you’d like.” March stood up, folding his notes with a satisfied nod, and then held the bag of coin for Hawk to take. “Thank you for answering all of that. Really, you’re doing quite well. I see the potential.”
Hawk rose out of his chair and took the bag.
He hefted it into the pocket of his jacket and peered up at March, skeptical.
“Is that it?” A few minutes, and a few odd questions, and now he had enough money to rent a room for a month.
If not for the spell, Hawk would think March was pulling some manner of scam on him.
“For the first part of the intake, yes, we’re done.
The second part requires more intimate surrounds.
Please, come with me. Don’t worry; you’ll be perfectly safe.
” March exited through the door while Hawk’s heart did a little nervous jitter across his ribs.
Intimate? There was no other meaning than sex, right?
Was he going to have to have sex right now? Because he said he’d be open to it? What else could it mean?
Praise Elys that he had the wise thought to very thoroughly bathe before coming to Sutaire.
He hadn’t thought, really, that he’d be having sex on this day—but the bathhouse had tastefully displayed supplies for men and women to prepare themselves.
And he had done so, because when else would he have such an opportunity?
Elys, or some other elven god, had smiled upon him. Even if he didn’t deserve such blessings.
Hawk jogged to catch back up to March as he strode down a long corridor. Truth no longer lingered in the air, having been contained to that room, and Hawk found he missed the simplicity of it back there. It made it easy to trust March. But wherever they went next—
Could he trust that?
“Good morning, Reeves. Lovey.” March swept into a room that seemed half-dining, half-office.
Seated at a table was Lovey, the human woman from the foyer, and farther down, the elf named Reeves.
“This is Hawk. I’d like to propose that we add him to our apprenticeship. He satisfies most every need we have.”
Hawk tried not to wilt behind March; he needed to hide his nerves. He’d not been warned they’d be entering a room with others from Sutaire, and he needed to convince them as much as he had to convince March, didn’t he?
Reeves eyed Hawk openly and said, “No prior experience, then.”
Hawk glanced at March, because he wasn’t sure Reeves was addressing him. When March said nothing, Hawk said, “With being an adame? No.” Of course not, he didn’t add. Look at me.
“That’s great news,” said Lovey. She sat behind a dining table, a cup of tea steaming before her. “For you and us. You’ll get the best training in the world and we’ll get to keep you from bad habits that happen in this line of work if you enter it unprepared.”
Hawk’s heart danced against his ribs. “You truly think I may succeed in this work?”
Reeves and Lovey met eyes, and raised eyebrows, but March spoke first. “Almost anyone can be trained—the success of the training remains with you,” he said. He placed the pad of paper—filled with his notes—in front of Lovey. Reeves moved his chair closer, to peer at the stack as well.
After a brief pause, Reeves said, “Very well. You may proceed, March. Complete his intake and we’ll make arrangements, should he pass.”
March gave Hawk one of his dazzling smiles and swept a hand towards the exit on the far side of the room. “Then, for this next step, we’ll head out here.”
Hawk looked from Reeves and Lovey to March and back again. “That’s it? You needn’t interview me, too?”
Lovey said, “Not until after the next part. It’s rather an important step, and it’d be a waste of my time to talk to you before we know what role we’d train you for.”
Hawk fell in step behind March yet again, and as they passed through the doorway, he found himself in a large, warm loungeroom with windows high on every wall, a central iron fireplace suspended from the ceiling, and a number of patchwork floor cushions laid about. Atop those cushions: elves.