6
It was two weeks before he saw Shafiq and the others again, at least for more than a passing glance across the hall. Dali kept him plenty busy, more than busy enough he shouldn't have had time or energy to dwell on it, but he'd thought he'd been doing so well. That King Shafiq enjoyed his dancing and wanted to see more of it. That his concubines had wanted to see more.
Yet two weeks had passed with nothing. Whatever his stupid hopes and ambitions, clearly he'd been a mere butterfly in a garden and their interest had moved on to something else. It stung, but it was his fault for being overly invested in people who would remember his performance far more than his face when he was gone.
He was grateful for the buffer Dali provided, taking requests, filtering them, and only bringing those worth his time to him. Normally he did all of that himself, occasionally with a servant or some other local hired to help him. Never before had palace entertainers just brought him into the fold and treated him like one of their own.
Even the other dancers, minus Raffa and another couple of jealous types, had befriended him, and he spent many evenings dining with them, the actors and duelists he'd met before, and other types of performers.
It was one of the best visits he'd ever had, and every day the idea of leaving slipped a little further from his mind.
On the afternoons he had free, he tutored with Vahid on wine, food, and other components of court life.
Everything was so interesting, so captivating in a way no other place he'd visited had ever been, and he'd been all around the world, seen and done things people could only dream of. He was growing increasingly enamored, wholly outside of his stupid growing infatuation with a king and concubines he would never do more than dance for.
He was hiding in his room with wine and a book of poetry from the library when a familiar knock came at the door. He opened to find one of Dali's runners in the hallway. "Does she want to see me, then?"
The runner grinned. "Of course, Peacock."
Rolling eyes, but smiling, Jankin replied, "Let me get dressed, and I'll be right there."
He did so quickly and headed for the training room, nodding in greeting to various people on the way, sadly not able to stop and chat with any of them.
"Good afternoon," he said as Dali spotted him. "How is your day?"
"Terrible. I've had one dancer break her ankle, two others came down with food poisoning, and one is so hungover he's useless to me. His Majesty did not want you bothered with major performances until next month, but I am simply out of options right now."
"He didn't want me bothered? I am never bothered when it comes to dancing. But yes, of course, I'm happy to help, you know that." Didn't want him bothered? That seemed so strange. He was a dancer. What else was he meant to do? Was His Majesty just being polite, had he caused some sort of problem with his private dance, and King Shafiq wanted him off to the side? That didn't really fit, though.
Dali smiled and patted his arm. "I knew you would. As to His Majesty, I am not privy to his thoughts, but if you will trust the opinions of a wizened old woman—"
"You aren't a day over forty."
"—then I would say that he wanted you to have time to enjoy the palace and city, instead of only seeing everything in the pauses between performances. If the palace had its way, you would be booked every hour of every day. They cannot countermand His Majesty's wishes, though, not even that council of spoiled rotten blowhards. You will be replacing my drunken fool, who was going to do the final performance of the night, which is your forte, hmm? Being the best and grandest."
"It is what I like best, at any rate," Jankin said with a laugh. "Is there a theme or anything?"
"Wear red again. It will be favored." She winked. "I have some options set out for you."
The selection this time was a beautiful red fabric that seemed to shift color to orange, pink, and yellow depending on how the light struck it. How that was achieved, he had not the slightest, but the result was incredible. Once that was chosen and the coordinating jewelry selected, garnets this time instead of rubies, he turned to his routine.
For this he combined two, something he'd done once before, and adjusting it slightly did not take any real effort. The best part of this dance was that it used two fans, a high level Rittuen dance that took no small amount of time and effort to master. He had two sets of fans, one gold and decorated with the image of a firebird, the other silver and decorated with mermaids. Neither had jewels, so between them they'd work with every costume he wore.
After he had practiced the slightly altered routine enough to be confident, he went to shower and rest.
Lying in bed, his mind inevitably turned back to King Shafiq. Who had wanted him left alone to enjoy the city and palace. Not be overburdened. He could recall only one other person who had ever seen to his well-being for him, reminded him to stop working and enjoy things, made certain he wasn't pressured into not being able to.
King Shafiq and Ramsay would probably get along marvelously, now he really thought about it.
What would happen at the dance tonight? Would Shafiq be happy to see him perform again? He must right?
Why did it matter so much? Jankin adored attention, but he'd never wanted one person's attention—approval—so badly. Not since Ramsay. Again. Hmm.
Sighing, he closed his eyes to try and get some sleep before the performance that felt so pivotal in his head of a sudden, even though it was probably just one more in an endless number.
A servant woke him a few hours later, leaving him plenty of time to wash up and get to the practice hall to dress and have his hair and makeup done. Then it was off to the waiting room once more, a place he'd only been in the once, but vividly recalled. He'd thought he'd be here more often, but instead…
Well, apparently Shafiq had been letting him enjoy the sights in peace. He still didn't know what to make of that knowledge. What would he think after tonight's performance?
As with last time, there were other performers waiting their turn. Many more, so this banquet must be a much larger affair. Directly across from him, as far as he could get while still being in the room, was Raffa. He cast one brief look Jankin's way, full of contempt and loathing. It was all so fucking tiresome.
Ignoring Raffa, Jankin asked those nearest him, "Is there some special occasion tonight?" He hadn't heard anything around the palace, and nobody had mentioned anything to him.
"Nothing like a birthday or holiday, no," said the woman closest to him. "It's that time of year where some ambassadors and other foreign staff and such go home, and new people arrive, so His Majesty always makes their first banquet a little grander as a show of welcome to them and a farewell to the others."
"I see, thank you."
The woman smiled briefly then went back to speaking with her friend, a pair who from their earlier warmup would be singing.
Eventually, after an eternity of waiting, his turn arrived, the last to leave the room, the last to perform, because he had always worked hard to be the best and grandest. The cost had been greater than anyone knew, even him sometimes, but it was all worth it for these moments when he held an entire room captive.
He waited outside the main doors, fans in hand, taking a last deep breath as they opened and he stepped inside.
A quiet fell as he walked past all the tables, unusual but nothing seemed amiss that he could tell, and all eyes were definitely on him in an admiring way, so maybe it was simply that he had done something particularly right.
Were Shafiq's eyes on him just as intently? Jankin wanted badly to know, but was afraid to look in case he was wrong. If he could, he'd look up just that last bit more and stare openly, until the dancing began. He would do whatever Shafiq wanted, honestly. Whatever it took to keep those fierce, beautiful eyes on him.
He wasn't a concubine though, chosen specifically because they had Shafiq's full, undiluted attention, because they stood out and were special, and he wanted them close to him always. And what wonderful choices he had made, each and every one. Jankin would treasure them too, in Shafiq's position.
His role was to perform, though, and that he would do to the best of his abilities.
Finally looking up the last bit, he caught his breath to find that Shafiq was indeed watching him, and with a fierceness that didn't just catch his breath, but stole it entirely.
As the music started, he threw both fans high into the air, a movement he had practiced at least a thousand times, unable to learn the rest of the dance until he could do this single move a hundred times without mistake.
The fans came down, unremarkable bands of gleaming gold barely catching the light—until he grabbed and snapped, gold and silver flashing brilliantly as he went into the first movements of the dance. This was a fan dance, so everything revolved around them. Every twist, bend, snap, spin, and leap, the fans were there. Flashing high, swinging low, extended as far as he could reach while spinning in place before carrying the momentum into a flip. The gold of the fans, the shimmering red of the skirt, the rainbow of jewels—like a colorful fire seen at festivals, where fire jugglers added secret ingredients to turn the flames all different colors.
You dance like a flame was an old compliment in Rittu, and those who earned it were rare. Jankin put everything he had and more into dancing like a flame. Into a Peacock made of fire.
By the time the dance came to an end, he was hot, dripping sweat, and faintly dizzy. The applause was truly deafening and went on longer than he could remember ever happening before. His heart was still pounding in his ears as Ender approached him and offered wine.
"Every time you perform, you leave your previous performances in the dust," Ender said. "My king is most awed and thanks you for letting us enjoy your time and skill. By your leave, he would like to speak privately with you tomorrow."
"Of course," Jankin said before thanking Shafiq for the wine and drinking it.
"See you tomorrow," Ender said softly before withdrawing.
He hadn't been invited to spend the rest of the meal with them. Shafiq wanted to talk to him tomorrow, had admired his performance, but… didn't want to eat with him? What had he done wrong this time when his dancing had been even better?
Eventually, after all the people who wanted to speak with him had left, returning the costume and jewelry, getting a thorough bath, he sat on his bed in his little room still desperately wondering what he had done wrong. He had given that dance everything he had and more. Tomorrow he would be so unbelievably sore he'd barely be able to move. Shafiq had offered him wine. The applause had been so loud his ears rang with it, hadn't stopped until some minutes after he left the banquet hall.
Yet Shafiq had not wanted to enjoy the rest of the meal with him. Only wanted to speak privately tomorrow. That did not bode well. Nobody wanted a private conversation to discuss good things. Not when one was a king and the other a mere dancer.
Shafiq didn't seem the type to make an offer of an untoward relationship. Even ignoring he had his beautiful, adoring harem, he wasn't that type of person. Had thrown that type of person out of the palace when they'd harassed Jankin.
A business offer? Did he want Jankin to assist in some political scheme? He'd had offers like that before, and even accepted a few, because it had been to stop bad people from causing more harm. That made the most sense, if it had to be a private conversation, and he was making a point of keeping a distance ahead of time.
The best performance of his life and all he felt was disappointment. He should be ecstatic. Celebrating. Reveling in the rush of triumph and lapping up attention. Not sitting alone in his room on the verge of tears because he hadn't gotten what he wanted. Of course he hadn't. Shafiq couldn't sit around catering to his every whim and fantasy. Catering to a man, a foreigner at that, he barely knew. Just because all of this had meant something to him didn't mean it meant anything to anyone else, let alone a king with a thousand bigger concerns.
Stupid, that was what he was. Stupid and pathetic. Peacocks were admired for their beauty and retained for only that. Nothing more.
He'd just stood up to snuff the lights when a knock came at his door. Opening it, he stared bemused at the servant standing with a tray bearing roses and a covered dish. "Master Jankin, a gift for you, in further thanks."
"What—" but the servant was gone after all but throwing the tray into his hands. Was he in a hurry to be done with his shift? Jankin knew nothing of such work, but he could commiserate with being absolutely done with a day.
Closing the door, he set the tray on the table, then sat down to examine it more closely.
It was…florid. The roses were the showy kind, picked for their bright colors and large petals, meant to stand out in a large room, but having little to no scent. Set piece roses, his mother would have called them. And there were ten…no, twelve.
The back of his neck prickled.
Jankin removed the cover from the plate and set it aside. Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't the ridiculous concoction of iced vanilla cream piled with berries and sweet, milky syrup. To go with it was a purple-hued wine in a small crystal decanter with a matching wine dish.
There was a note as well, written in purple ink on gold-flecked paper.
Please enjoy my offerings. Thinking of you. S
The prickling sensation was now a full-fledge crawling sensation.
None of this seemed like Shafiq. The furtive delivery, when he'd been so soft but public about the necklace. The flashy roses, the obscene number? Gold-flecked paper? Such a ridiculous, over the top dessert?
Shafiq was more likely to send a book of poetry, maybe with a personal note hidden in the pages.
The servant wasn't right either. He'd never entrust a token to someone who would behave that way, which hadn't bothered Jankin initially, but now seemed sorely out of place.
He still had a lot to learn about Tavamaran wines, but he was pretty certain this one was as out of character for Shafiq as everything else on the tray.
Was he overreacting?
No, he trusted his instincts, and they were screaming this is wrong . Backing away from the tray, he opened the door and stepped out into the hall. At the end, where it intersected with others, including a large hall that led to the public parts of the palace, he approached the guards. "I'm sorry, I don't think I'm supposed to bother you, but a strange-acting servant delivered a tray to me that purports to be from His Majesty. I don't think it actually is, though, and I don't know what to do."
The guard's gaze sharpened in a way that made his stomach lurch, even though he knew he wasn't the one in trouble. "Show me."
He led the guard, and the two that followed him, to his room and motioned to the tray. The guard picked up the note, sneered, and turned to the other two. He jabbed a finger at the shorter one. "Take him to the west green room. You, remain here. Nobody goes in or out, nobody touches anything, or it's your head."
"Yes, Sergeant."
"I am going to summon the captain."
Before Jankin could ask any questions, he was whisked off to what proved to be a perfectly lovely sitting room.
And left there to wait, with only a pitcher of tepid water to keep him company.
The sun was just creeping up over the horizon when he was jolted from an unpleasant doze by the door not quite slamming open. "His Majesty requests your immediate presence."
Jankin rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I guess that means I can't make myself look less like a complete disaster first."
The barest hint of a smile twitched at the corner of the guard's mouth, but he only said in that calm, level tone all the guards seemed to have perfected, "I'm afraid immediate means immediate, Master Jankin. At least His Majesty is reasonable. When councilors says 'right now,' they mean 'five minutes ago, at least,' but you didn't hear that from me."
"Of course not," Jankin said with a laugh. "Lead the way then, Sergeant."
'The way' proved to be through sections of the palace he was pretty certain he wasn't important enough to be visiting. Heavy doors, more guards, and all with bands of colors on their sleeves the other palace guards didn't have. Decorations that put the rest of the luxurious palace to shame. Every now and then he caught glimpses of gardens that rivaled those he visited every day.
This was the royal wing of the palace, the private quarters of the royal family. Well, of Shafiq, as he had no family, not anymore. Not even cousins or whatnot, somehow, as Jankin understood it.
His heart stopped entirely when he was led directly up to a set of double doors that could only lead to one place. Shafiq's personal quarters. Had to be. Why?
The sergeant bowed and left, with a last wispy smile of reassurance.
One of the guards at the door, vastly more intimidating than the other guards, who were not to be scoffed at, pounded on the door. After a moment, hearing something that Jankin very much did not, he opened the door. "Enter, Master Jankin."
Having no choice in the matter, Jankin did so, and barely kept himself from jumping as the door closed soundly behind him.
"Thank you for coming, Master Jankin."
He turned, finally taking in the room itself. There was no antechamber, though something of an entryway, just a large room sectioned off by furniture and informal dividers like planters, drawn back curtains, and the like. The room smelled faintly of fresh flowers and cool water. At the very back of the room was an enormous bed shrouded by diaphanous curtains, and further beds were built into the nearby wall, cozy little nooks where someone could retreat if desired.
"Your Majesty," Jankin said. "I hope I did not cause a problem."
"Somebody caused problems, but it wasn't you," Shafiq said. He motioned to the table he was standing by. "Sit, please." When they'd both done so, he poured them both tea. A king pouring him tea. Jankin didn't know what to do with that. "What you did was save your own life. The food and the wine were poisoned, and you would not have survived even a single bite. Is the name Raffa familiar to you?"
"Another dancer, jealous and insecure, but I didn't think he loathed me to the point of murdering me."
"He and the cretin I tossed out of court found each other. We're still working on how, and while I fully believe Lord Asken knew you would die, I believe Raffa agreed to help because he thought it would simply make you too sick and weak to perform again anytime soon. There is a major holiday coming up, and performance spots for it are highly coveted."
"Well, wouldn't be the first time someone poisoned me to get me out of the way," Jankin said with a sigh.
Shafiq scowled. "I hope the guilty parties suffered for their actions."
"Not really, no. I had no way to prove it was them, and a certain amount of violence and backstabbing is expected and tolerated in this business, no matter what country you're in. You'd be surprised how universal some things are in the dancing world. I'm glad my instincts were right, though I'm not happy about being right."
"You should never have to worry about such terrible things, but…"
Jankin shrugged. "As I said, it's part of the industry."
Shafiq looked pained. "So you would not be alarmed if it was part of a different life?"
"A different life?"
Sighing, Shafiq paused to sip his tea. "I wanted to have this conversation with you over lunch, not with a cloud of near-murder hanging over the matter. These things never seem to go my way."
"What things?"
"You have traveled the world, Master Jankin. No peacock in the world could rival your feathers. I have been told endlessly of the many people who have tried to clip those feathers and keep you for themselves."
Jankin had thought his heart was racing before, but before had nothing on now. "Your Majesty…"
"I have no desire to clip your feathers, pretty bird, and as I have promised all the others, I will give or do whatever you desire to see you happy, especially after you've being treated so horribly in my home, but I was hoping you would agree to quit your travels and remain here with me, as one of my own.
"There are strict laws regarding this question." He swept an arm to indicate the room. "It must be asked without any audience, so there is no pressure on your reply. You cannot be offered incentives, bribes, or threatened to comply. If you say no, there will be no retaliation of any sort. You will not be kicked out, or have work taken away, etc. Those are the main ones, but there are others. Contracts that must be signed, and in your case, that would include becoming a citizen of Tavamara. Taking a concubine is no small thing, and all the more complicated with a foreigner.
"Because it will come up, your presence in my harem is not contingent on your dancing. My affection is not contingent on your dancing. Obviously dancing is quite dear to you, the dearest thing in your life, but if you joined my harem and then stopped dancing the next day, there would be no repercussions."
Jankin still did not know what to say. He had received many offers over the years, some of them truly shocking in the wealth and power they offered. Without hesitation he had rejected every single one. "I don't even know what's fully entailed in being a concubine. I'm not trained like they are."
"Concubines rarely come fully trained," Shafiq said with a smile. "Nadir was perhaps the only one who had any at all, because as a noble's son he is trained in many of the same skills anyway. As with the rules regarding asking you, life as a concubine has many, but the important ones are this: you cannot be alone with other people; guards should be with you at nearly all times and report many conversations to me. Not because you are not trusted, but because other people can't be trusted."
"Unfortunately I know exactly what you mean."
Shafiq nodded. "No one but me and the other concubines can touch you, outside of guards in emergencies and your family, of course, should they ever come to visit. You cannot leave the palace grounds. You wear the harem uniform, so your status is always clear. When I die, your contract concludes and you are free to do as you like, and any possessions given explicitly to you are yours to keep. Many jewels and such remain royal property, but not all of them. Those are the most important things. Everything else is quite minor."
Jankin thought about it for a few moments more, but he knew his answer. He'd always known it, even though he'd never dreamed he'd actually be asked such an important question. "My answer is yes, Your Majesty. I accept gladly.
Shafiq smiled, bright and beautiful. "Are you certain, my Peacock? You value your freedom to travel the world."
"I never found anywhere worth staying, and I think I've learned everything about dancing that I possibly can. Time to try something new." He shoved away from the table and went easily as Shafiq reeled him in close, throwing arms around his neck and meeting his kiss full measure. Soft at first, then exploratory, and then deep and eager, leaving his lips throbbing when he finally drew back enough to speak. "I cannot believe you really want me here, forever." He stopped, curiosity getting the better of him. "Could you get rid of me if you decided you didn't want me as a concubine after all?"
"There is technically a trial period, as you might find you do not like this life after all, with all its rules and burdens and risks, but it is incredibly rare a concubine is dismissed from the harem."
"The last time was ages ago, a great-grandfather at least, I think," a voice said from behind them.
Nadir, with Ender standing right beside him, prettier than the finest painting, one in rubies, one in sapphires.
"I have so many questions, now that I can ask them," Jankin said, slowly letting go of Shafiq as they stood up—and barely avoiding a startled yelp as he found the twins wrapped around him.
Nadir bit his lip. "Are we lovers despite being brothers? Yes. Why? Long story, but we didn't know the other existed until not so long ago. Can you watch us fuck? I should hope so. We were hoping you'd say yes, Peacock."
Berkant chuckled from where he stood watching them, larger than all of them but in a comforting way rather than a looming one. "Seemed like fate, with an epithet like that following you around."
Ender laughed. "All we're missing now is… a cat, perhaps?" He turned Jankin's face to kiss him, sweet and teasing. He'd barely withdrawn when Nadir was kissing him instead.
When the twins eventually let him go, it was only to push him playfully into Berkant's arms. His very large, very strong arms. Everything about him was so wonderfully strong. "Bet you could pin me to a wall with no effort."
"Oh, he definitely can," Nadir said.
Shafiq chuckled. "Not today, I think. According to the guards, he was left to suffer in the west green room all night. He is not yet used to the ridiculous hours we must keep. Let him get some rest. Maybe we'll all rest, after a night of barely any sleep."
"I'll go arrange for your morning appointments to get moved back a few hours," Nadir said. "Back soon."
"I'll go see about collecting his belongings," Ender said.
Berkant only finally kissed him, lips hot, firm, and commanding. Then he drew back and, with a move that Jankin completely failed to follow, swept him up into his arms and carried him like an elderly penitent who couldn't walk themselves to temple. "Put me down!"
Smirking, Berkant held fast as he walked across the room to the enormous bed.
"You can sleep here, or in one of the other beds. You each have your own, to do with as you please," Shafiq said. "We'll get you acquainted with all the little things later. For now, you really do look like you're ready to fall over."
Jankin yawned. "I hate to admit it but you're right."
Shafiq cupped his face and kissed him softly. "Sleep. When you wake, your new life awaits."
"I'm looking forward to it immensely," Jankin said with a smile, and kissed them both one last time before climbing into the soft, warm bed that smelled of flowers and Shafiq's spicy cologne, other little scents that collectively just described home.