Wolf's-own: Weregild (23 page)

"I didn't realize until I was halfway through my bath, but....” The boy paused, eyes narrowing. “Umeia would have introduced you about. I would have met you already. So, that means you're not a new boy.” Soft eyes gone slightly sharper looked Joori over, appraising. “And you don't look like a customer."

Shit
. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

"You're Malick's lover,” the boy went on, softly accusing, but mostly disappointed, his dark hair falling over his pale brow as he blinked his pretty eyes at Joori. “You're the one he was talking about."

It was all Joori could do not to turn his head and spit on the floor. Not only for being assumed Malick's
lover
, but for the fact that apparently Malick had been talking to this young man about Jacin. Like he had some kind of
right
.

Amazingly, Joori managed to keep at least most of his wits. “I, um... I'm not sure I should—"

"No, you probably shouldn't.” The boy sighed and gave Joori a small smile.

Not so much a boy, now that Joori was paying attention—he was probably a little older than Joori himself—but his manner and his wide eyes made him seem so. He likely got more trade that way, Joori thought with a little bit of discomfort. With a languidness that was probably ordinarily seductive, but now just seemed to be the young man's natural state of being, he leaned his shoulder against the wall and shrugged.

"I knew I couldn't keep him. Everyone knows they don't get to keep Malick, but they all try."

And how had Joori known that Malick was a promiscuous asshole? It figured. What was it about Jacin that attracted the most reprehensible sorts?

The young man was looking Joori up and down, as though trying to figure out what Malick's new “lover” had that he didn't. Still clad only in that silky robe, dark hair tousled and damp, and his stance a study in seduction. Joori had never looked twice at another man, but he'd make an exception for this one. He was already making an exception for this one.

An unconscious toss of the head, though it did no good—the boy's thick hair flopped back over his brow and into his eye again almost instantly. “He said you're what he's been looking for, for a very long time.” It was said with a bit of skepticism, but mostly curiosity.

Joori
did not
loose the derisive snort that was knocking at the back of his throat. Of all the predictable kiss-off lines.

"He didn't say you were Jin."

That one made Joori start, and his eyes narrowed a little. If this young man was jealous and thinking to take some sort of vengeance, go running for the Doujou—

"Don't worry yourself.” The boy smirked; it was almost friendly, rather than mocking, as Joori would have expected. “I'm half Jin myself, and have just as many reasons for wanting to stay out from under the Adan's eye. Aren't fake papers a wonderful thing?” A sudden grin flashed his small white teeth. “I wouldn't have even mentioned it, only I thought it was interesting."

"Interesting how?” Joori asked, strangely not frightened, or even uneasy anymore in the presence of this young man who thought Joori was Malick's lover.

"Interesting because he must really love you to risk so much for you."

Joori almost winced that time. Umeia had said that Malick loved Jacin too. Except she'd also said that Malick couldn't save him. She'd said a lot of things, in fact, and so had Shig, and Joori hadn't yet had time to figure out how much of it he believed.

The boy's smirk came back, turned a little sly. “You're very beautiful, you know. I imagine that's what caught his eye. You'd have quite a flock of admirers if you
were
a new boy."

It was so strange, standing here and listening to this young man speak to him like he was Jacin. Giving him Jacin's compliments, flashing him Jacin's smiles. It made Joori wonder what Jacin would do if he were the one standing here, listening to this apparent former lover of Malick's tell him he was beautiful and he'd make a good whore. It depended on which Jacin, Joori supposed—the Jacin he'd grown up with would likely have blushed and cast his eyes to the floor, mumbled polite thanks and edged away as quickly as possible. This new Jacin, the one it almost made Joori sick to admit he didn't really know anymore, this new Jacin would probably glare the boy into silence then stalk past him without looking back. Maybe even flash a knife at him to keep him from ever attempting conversation again.

Joori couldn't see himself doing any of those things.

"I'm sorry if you've been... hurt,” he told the boy, surprised at how sincere it felt.

Another shrug, and an elegant wave of a hand. “It's what we're made for, isn't it.” Phrased as a question, but it wasn't one.

"Who?” Joori asked.

That slender hand waved again, between them this time. “The Jin,” the boy told him. “A race made for pain. I'm only half, but that's the half the pain comes from.” He shrugged it off like he'd shrug off a coat. His head tilted and his mien grew concerned, apparently at whatever expression had blossomed on Joori's face. “Don't look so glum,” he said, tilting another of those soft smiles. “This is a good place. Pain-free, I promise. And anyway, Malick's one of the good ones. If someone like Malick loves you, you're not likely to ever feel pain again. It would have been nice if.... Ah, well.” The boy's expression had gone wistful for a few seconds before he shook it off and flashed another of those disarming grins. “I'm Madi, by the way."

"F—” Joori caught himself. He couldn't just go about blurting his name, even if this young man did seem kind and harmless. And anyway, the boy—Madi—thought he was talking to Jacin. “Um,” was Joori's considered reply.

Madi laughed, a gentle thing. “Right,” he said easily. “Probably wise, though it doesn't really matter—he's called me by your name more than once. You'll understand why I made it a point to forget it. I'll forget it for... other reasons, now.” He shrugged when Joori's mouth twisted. “I'll just call you Beautiful, then.” Madi winked then pushed himself away from the wall. “I need some tea. And you need to get yourself back upstairs before someone sees you. The others will be dragging themselves out of bed for their baths soon, too, and some of the customers stay overnight. We take care of our own here, but you can't stop talk once it starts.” He flowed through a shallow, graceful bow. “It was nice to meet you, Beautiful. Make sure Malick takes care of you, yeah?"

He gave Joori a lazy wave, turned, and sauntered away. Joori only stared after him for a moment, frowning.

This morning had just been too fucked up for coherent thought. He was going to have to clear his head and think about it anyway.

Slowly, he made his way back to the attic stairs, climbed halfway up, then sat himself on a step to consider. He could hear Caidi chattering at someone, a light, pleasant drone; he let it wash over him and took a long breath.

And discovered that it really didn't require a whole lot of thought, after all. It was easy, really. All he'd needed was a moment to catch his breath to reach the same conclusion he'd reached when he'd watched Shig push his brother into a complete break in reason.

Watched Malick allow it.

Malick loves him...

Joori was willing to concede that, as much as it surprised him. Annoyed him. Jacin was ridiculously lovable, and if it had been anyone else doing the loving, Joori would have rejoiced. He might be selfish, but he wasn't a total bastard, and it had been his dearest wish for as long as he could remember that someone might see the things in Jacin that Joori did and love him for it. And Malick's... obsession with Jacin did look suspiciously like something more than concern for the deal they'd made. So, it wasn't hard to believe that Malick might love Jacin—
Temshiel
or no.

It was just hard to believe that someone like Malick knew how to do it properly.

If someone like Malick loves you, you're not likely to ever feel pain again.

Uh-huh. That seemed to have been working out
real
well so far.

Joori shook his head, his mouth thinning down into a sour line. If Malick really did love Jacin, Joori would hate to see what he did to someone he didn't much like.

But Umeia wasn't much of an alternative. The way she had talked, it sounded like she
approved
of Asai and what he'd done, what he meant to do. Joori would bet just about anything that the real reason behind the row between Malick and Umeia had been that strange confession. Which was a reluctant point in Malick's favor, Joori supposed.

From slavery to regency, she'd said. Joori had laid eyes on Asai once in his life, but even he knew that someone like Asai wouldn't offer something like that without demanding a terrible price in return. Joori had a sick, sinking certainty he knew who was supposed to pay it. And Malick, no matter if he really did love Jacin or not, was sending him right into the teeth of the bargain to get chewed up and mangled.

This entire morning had been a complete waste of time and confusion, because Joori had known before he'd ventured down to see Umeia what needed to be done. What
he
needed to do.

Temshiel
and maijin prowling around his brother like he was a coveted bone; assassins living in the attic of a whorehouse; death plots and stolen magic and
Exactly where Malick has known all along...

Didn't that say it all, really? What was there to think about?

Blood wills out...

Too bloody right it did.

He needed to get his family out of here. He needed to get
Jacin
out of here.

Now.

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Xari hadn't read her cards last night. She'd been weary. She'd had more trade than usual—too many young men abruptly called up to serve their lord or prefect for reasons vague but urgent, protection against the growing shadow-threat of assassination, and wanting to know if there was danger ahead, would they live out their conscription—so she'd been tired. Tired but well-paid.

She hadn't read her cards.

The conflict and sorrow hit her first, and she sipped at it, allowing the strength of it to fill her before she recognized the taste and looked up.

"I did not expect you, Wolf's Daughter,” she sighed, weary all over again, and her day had only just started.

Umeia shifted a small shrug and took the chair across from Xari, demure. “Then that's one for me,” she replied, her manner respectful but harder than Xari had seen her before.

A practical woman, this Paladin of Souls, not chosen by Wolf but conscripted by Blood, and she wore her duties well. The Gift of healing, for it pleased her to right wrongs, and she was not afraid to unbind her heart to sway those gone to despair. Asai had scoffed once, predicted that Umeia's heart would one day bleed a little too much, likely for her brother, and there would be no more lifeblood for her to spare for herself, but Xari judged her too sensible and so had ignored him. Arrogant enough to make predictions without the tools necessary, her errant son, and Xari put him out of her mind.

She had not come veiled today, this proud child of Wolf, but wore the trappings of the Adan: formal robe, wide sash, sensible shoes, and a silky black wig to cloak the brasher style she favored. A respectable woman. No one would guess her preferred nighttime doings. No one would think to look twice at the plain woman, perhaps the mate of a mid-level noble, venturing out into the city on business that was her own and of no interest to them.

"The color does not suit you,” Xari told Umeia, her eyes rising pointedly to the wig. It didn't. It made her look tired and wan, and Xari wondered if the hollow-eyed look was a product of the wig or the reason Umeia had come.

Umeia's fingers rose to twiddle at the ends of her purchased hair, and she shrugged. She reached into her small bag and withdrew a handful of koin, counting ten onto the table. “I should like to see my cards, please."

Xari's eyes narrowed. Not like her brother, this one—Kamen “allowed” Xari to read his cards, he never asked for it, he didn't approve, and he rarely ever listened when she did it anyway. Xari had read once for this daughter of Wolf, just before she'd had Kamen buy the Girou for her, and then never again. Xari's cards hadn't seen far for her—they never did for
Temshiel
—but what they'd shown had been good.

"Perhaps you'd prefer to just tell me what it is you seek, child.” Xari's hands had already taken up the deck, the gnarled fingers of her glamour coaxing them into their proper places. “A reading can set a chancy future too firmly, if one does not understand the message entire."

Umeia's mouth pursed. “The cards, Xari. There are already too many chancy things. I would like
some
thing, at least, that I can see clearly."

Xari bit her tongue on the admonishments that wanted to come. The cards were not for building a future, not even for predicting one, truly. She should refuse. Trading in possibilities was a heavy responsibility, one Xari accepted with all due gravity, one that was too easily abused—just look at her son. But her curiosity had been stirred, and the chill just beneath the demeanor of this very warm woman worried Xari just a little.

Kamen could be a bastard, Xari knew, but he loved his sister. And Umeia would not have come here for something as simple as a row between siblings. Surely whatever this was had nothing to do with...?

Speculation was just as irresponsible as reading one's cards without the proper instruction in their meanings first, and useless, in the end. Xari straightened the deck then fanned it out.

Obediently, Umeia reached tentative fingers, chose a card, and slipped it from between its fellows. She held it to her breast for a moment, eyes shut, as though afraid to see, before she slowly turned it over to lie between them on the table.

It was all Xari could do not to gasp.

"Your card has changed,” she whispered, caught out in too many ways, a slow trickle of fear winding down her backbone. “Paladin of Souls you are no more.” She denied the shudder that wanted to ripple through her and lifted her eyes slowly to Umeia's. “What have you done, child?"