13. The Ice Spirit and the Wire Master
Chapter thirteen
The Ice Spirit and the Wire Master
For the second time in as many days, Rerdas stood in the sweltering antechamber just outside Widran’s battlebox.
This was worse than his previous visit. Imalroc was somewhere far from him in the hidden corridors preparing for the fight, a dizzying crowd of Kiboan elites jammed the room wall to wall, and a heavy, bejeweled hand squeezed his waist.
Umber laughed loudly at Almes’s fawning joke, and jostled him. “Rerdas? Did you hear that?” At least the duke sounded amused rather than vexed by his inattention.
Rerdas summoned a delayed laugh so hopelessly false that Almes gave him an alarmed look and Etiana glared at him.
Umber didn’t seem to notice. His hand wandered down Rerdas’s lower back. Rerdas shifted away before he had to submit to any more pawing.
“Come here, sweetheart.” Umber tugged him back with a laugh. “Poor boy has been skittish all day.” He leaned close and spoke only for Rerdas’s ears. “Shall I take you somewhere and distract you from the nerves?”
It was all he could do not to cringe out of Umber’s hold. “Tempting,” he muttered, forcing a smile. “But I’m not nervous. Imalroc will make quick work of this place.”
Umber hummed agreeably and gave his hip an affectionate tap. Rerdas stared into the blur of silks and beaten gold in the gleaming Kiboan crowd so that he wouldn’t have to look at the man’s face.
If the duke was a bit too comfortable handling him, if Umber was enjoying his visit to Kibo too much, it was Rerdas’s fault.
Last night… last night he’d been so primed for Imalroc’s touch, his blood so hot from watching Imalroc shudder beneath the gentle motion of his brush, and then the way the battleboxer caught him against the wall the moment they were alone—he couldn’t escape the tide that had been rising since Imalroc had surrendered a smile in the bazaar.
It did not subside and vanish, even when he was stretched out beneath Umber’s hands instead of the ones he so badly wanted.
His unthinking responsiveness had thrilled Umber. The duke had enjoyed it. Thoroughly.
Rerdas wanted to vanish afterwards. He’d allowed Umber to steal something that didn’t belong to him, watched him take it without so much as a whisper of resistance, as if he hovered somewhere beyond own traitorous body.
And then he’d thought about leaving Umber snoring in his bed and running directly to Imalroc for comfort.
He’d been halfway out of bed, one foot on the floor, when he made himself stop and think.
Was he going to slip into Imalroc’s room, begging for the anchoring comfort of the battleboxer’s arms, all while he smelled like sweat and sex and the duke’s cloying perfume, his skin still tacky with the evidence of what he’d allowed Umber to do?
Imalroc would be disgusted with him. Anyone would be.
He’d gone to the washbasin and scrubbed himself raw. Not that it helped when Umber awoke delighted and spent the entire day nuzzling him and massaging his shoulders. At least Imalroc hadn’t been forced to watch any of that.
“It’s such a delight to have you here, Your Grace,” Almes tittered. She prodded Rerdas’s arm. “You’re the envy of all Kibo, Rerdas.”
Umber smiled. “I think all of Kibo envies me with such a prize on my arm.” He paused, as if awaiting applause.
Rerdas pulled loose before he fully considered how it would look. Thank the earthbound gods the servants chose that moment to open the doors to the battlebox. He charged ahead without his unwanted guests, and the servants bowed him inside.
People spilled in after him, quickly spreading among the flotilla of chaises and poufs. The servants guided him to a seat at the very front, with a wide oval of pristine floor spread at his feet.
Etiana, Almes, and the duke caught up. Umber crowded onto Rerdas’s chaise without awaiting an invitation, as if it were his space by right.
Perhaps it was. He had sought the Umber’s attention, encouraged his affections, played into the farce of besotted lovers.
He should be thrilled to have Umber so openly favor him in front of an entire city.
Almes turned this way and that, exchanging nods and smiles with the recognizable faces of Kiboan power in the room. “Goodness, everyone is here. Etiana, that’s the booker for Tamasyad! You should approach him directly. Ask about a fight.”
Etiana unfolded her fan with a restless flick. “He has not responded to either of my last few letters. I’m not sure he’d take well to being accosted in person.”
“I’d be happy to escort you over for a conversation,” Umber said. His hand traveled up and down Rerdas’s spine. It was a generous offer. The booker could snub Etiana all he liked, but he wouldn’t dare do the same if she stood next to Umber.
“If you plan to arrange a fight, I’d like to go with you,” Rerdas said. “To ensure the correct terms.”
Umber sighed. His hand slipped up to knead Rerdas’s nape.
It was nearly repulsive, like a twisted echo of something he normally enjoyed, and he almost cowered away from it. He had to force himself to listen to what Umber said, pushing away the sense that his skin was being mashed against his bones.
“That’s not the best idea, love. If Alsot is evading a booking, it’s because he’s afraid of angering certain parties.”
Etiana looked up. “What parties, Your Grace?”
“Before Wester came into ownership, Imalroc was owned and handled by Melgreth Hize. Hize is powerful in Kibo. The booker can’t afford to anger him.”
“Lord Hize is of notable rank.” Almes gave a delicate sniff and lowered her voice. “But Silconna doesn’t like him.”
“She’s not alone in that sentiment,” Umber said. He laughed lightly. “Still. Alsot won’t risk offending him by booking a fighter who gave him quite a bit of trouble.” He tapped Rerdas’s arm. “Let me handle the terms, sweet. I’ll take care of it.”
How had everything about the duke become so intolerable? He couldn’t wait for Umber to tire of him and leave him be. If he and Etiana could use Imalroc’s onyx to purchase an estate far removed from good society, if they could nurse Uralta back to health in peace, then…
“Don’t you agree it’s a pity?” Etiana said loudly, reeling him back into the conversation on the cushions. She looked ready to outright smack him with the fan. But he didn’t much care what she wanted from him.
“Dreadful pity,” he muttered, not even attempting to catch up.
Almes tried to rescue him. “We were just saying how we all wished Silconna could have joined us for this.”
Rerdas pretended to drink from a bone-dry goblet.
“Forgive me, I’m sure you've said already, but where is your sweet wife?” Umber asked politely.
“Nothing to forgive, Your Grace. I mentioned only that she was traveling.” Almes leaned forward, her voice dropping. “Truth be told, she’s attempting to shore up trade out of the Southern Felds. The disruption is terrible, and she fears it’ll get worse.”
Rerdas made a sympathetic face, thoughts circling again.
All the attention on the Southern Felds could work in his favor.
They could go northeast, far in the opposite direction from the seething south.
Etiana wouldn’t like the remoteness, but she’d tolerate it for her mother’s sake.
And Imalroc—Rerdas blinked. It had come so easily and naturally, picturing the battleboxer in their little refuge.
They hadn’t properly spoken of it. What would happen after the fights, after the contract.
“I shouldn’t worry about it too much,” Umber said to Almes.
“The Southern Felds are not so united against Kuraya as they seem at first glance. Plenty of the Southern feld nobility are unwilling to turn on the queen. And they know they don’t have a martial force to take on the Red Guard.
It’s only a matter of time before these little disagreements are quashed. ”
“But, Your Grace, you must’ve heard the rumors,” Almes murmured. “They are assembling a force.”
“If anyone is indeed assembling, it’s a handful of poorly trained city guards and disreputable locals.” Umber shrugged. “Once the Red Guard takes control of the cities, the bothersome racket will be crushed.”
Rerdas glanced at Umber. “The Red Guard will be sent into southern cities?” If the Advocate was mentioned, he could imagine Imalroc wanting to join that doomed fight.
Battleboxes were one thing, but an army moving on the Southern Felds was another.
One swordsman couldn’t do anything to stop that.
He wouldn’t have long to convince Imalroc of that after Widran.
A fight or two more, and the contract would be finished.
“They are training for it. Their ranks have grown, and will continue to do so. Mark me, this will all be over before it begins.”
As if the room agreed with him, the sconces on the walls all suddenly pulsed.
Rerdas peered at the nearest wall, watching the servants blot out the light again.
A warning. The fight must be near. They left a second layer of shade over each lamp, so that the light was steady but dimmed, except for a growing circle of brightly illuminated floor.
Lady Nolbrathe swept from the gauzy shadows into the center circle, lifting her hands to quiet the eager audience.
“Good folk, dear friends, welcome. Tonight, it is my honor to present a battle unlike any seen before at Widran. Tonight, you will witness a master of the sword, who himself has been mastered by a far gentler hand. Sweet Master Toriem has brought to us a fierce beast, tamed at last, felled and beguiled by a handler unlike any other.”
Rerdas hung uncomfortably on the edge of his chaise as the audience rippled, heads turning to where Nolbrathe indicated his seat.
None of that sounded good. Judging by the tittering interest of the nobility peering at him, he wasn’t the only one to have caught the implication beneath the introduction.
Umber chuckled behind him. “Beguiled? Eternals, but these Kiboan battleboxes do love a bit of drama.”