Jan
ca’Vörl
HE’D BEEN WITH OTHER WOMEN before. But he’d never
wanted any of them as much as he wanted Elissa.
That’s what he told
himself, in any case.
She intrigued him.
Yes, she was attractive, but she was certainly no more so—and
probably less classically beautiful—than half of the young court
ladies who clustered around Fynn and Jan at every chance. Her eyes
were her best feature: those eyes of pale blue ice that contrasted
so much with her dark hair: piercing eyes that could show a laugh
before her mouth released it, or dart poisonous glances toward her
rivals. She had an unconscious grace that the other women lacked
for the most part, a lean muscularity that hinted at hidden
strength and agility.
“She comes from good
stock,” was Fynn’s assessment. “You could do worse. She’ll give you
a dozen healthy babies if you want them.”
Jan wasn’t thinking
about babies. Not yet. He wanted her.
Just her. He thought that perhaps tonight, it might finally
happen.
Every night since
Fynn’s ascension to the Hïrzg’s throne, there had been a party in
the upper hall of Brezno Palais. Fynn would issue the invitations
through Roderigo, his aide: always to the same small group of young
women and men, nearly all of them of ca’ rank. There would be card
games (at which Fynn would often lose heavily and not happily), and
dancing, and general drunken revelry until early in the morning
hours. Jan was always invited; so was Elissa. He found himself near
her more and more often, as if (as his matarh had hinted) he were
indeed a bee drawn to her particular flower.
She was at his side
now, with two other young women hovering hopefully near him. Jan
was seated at the pochspiel table with Fynn, who was glowering over
his cards and the dwindling pile of silver siqils and gold solas in
front of him and drinking heavily. Elissa had circled the table to
stand behind Jan. He felt Elissa lean closely into him, her body
pressing against his back as she leaned down. She whispered into
his ear, her breath warm and sweet. “The Hïrzg has three Suns
supported by a Palais. I would bet everything and lose
gracefully.”
Jan glanced at his
cards. He had a single Page; all his other cards were low cards in
the Staff suit. Elissa’s hand touched his shoulder as she
straightened, her fingers tightening briefly before they left him.
The bets had been heavy already this hand, and there was a
substantial pile of siqils and a few solas in the center of the
table. Jan had been intending to fold now that the final card had
been given out—he’d hoped to make an alignment in suit, but the
Page had spoiled that. He glanced up at Elissa; she smiled down at
him and nodded. Jan pushed his entire pile of coins into the center
of the table.
“Everything,” he
announced.
The player to his
right—some distant relative whose name he’d forgotten, shook his
head and threw his cards in. “By Cénzi, he must have drawn the
Planets all aligned!” All the other players except Fynn tossed in
their cards as well. Fynn was staring at Jan, his head cocked
slightly to one side. He glanced down at his cards again, one
corner of his mouth lifting slightly—the tick that nearly everyone
who played pochspiel with Fynn knew, which was one of the reasons
Fynn so often lost. Fynn pushed his chips to the center with Jan’s;
his pile was noticeably smaller “Everything,” he echoed, and he
turned his cards face up on the table. “If you’ll accept my note
for the remainder.”
Jan sighed as if
disappointed. “You won’t need the note, my Hïrzg,” he said. “I’m
afraid that you’ve caught me bluffing.” He showed his hand as the
other players howled and the people gathered around the table
clapped and applauded. Fynn gathered in the coins, smiling, then
tossed a solas back to Jan.
“I can’t let my
champion leave the table empty-handed,” he said. “Even when he
tries to bluff his sovereign lord with nothing in his hand at
all.”
Jan caught the solas
and smiled to Fynn, then pushed his chair back from the table and
bowed. “I should have known that you would see through my charade,”
he said to Fynn, who grinned even more deeply. “Now I should drown
my disappointment in some wine.”
Fynn glanced from Jan
to Elissa, who hovered at his shoulder. “I suspect you’ll drown
yourself in something more substantial,” he answered. “That’s not a
bet I believe I’ll miss either.”
There was more
laughter, though it came mostly from the men in the crowd; many of
the women simply glared at Elissa silently. In the midst of the
laughter, she leaned closer to Jan again. “Meet me in the hall in a
quarter-turn,” she said, and she slid away from him. The space was
immediately filled by another of the available women, and someone
handed him a flagon of wine as the cards of the next hand were
dealt out. Fynn’s attention was already on the cards and Jan
drifted away from the table, conversing with the young ladies of
the court who flittered around him.
When he thought
enough time had passed, he excused himself and left the hall, the
hall servant bowing to him with a knowing wink as he opened the
door. There was no one in the corridor outside, and he felt a surge
of disappointment.
“Chevaritt Jan,” a
voice called, and he saw her step from shadows a few strides away.
He went to her, taking her hands. Her face was very close to his,
and her pale gaze never left his eyes.
“You cost me nearly a
week’s stipend, Vajica,” he said.
“And I gave the Hïrzg
yet another reason to love his champion,” she answered with a
smile. “Anyone at the table would pay twice what you lost to be in
that position. I’d say you owe me.”
“All I have is the
gold solas that Fynn gave me, I’m afraid. It’s yours if you’d
like.”
“Your gold doesn’t
interest me. I would beg something simpler from you.”
“And what would that
be?”
She didn’t answer—not
with words. She released his hands, embracing him fully and lifting
her face to his. The kiss was soft, her lips yielding under his as
soft as velvet. Her arms tightened around him as he pressed her
tightly against him. He could feel the fullness of her breasts, the
rising of her breath, the faint whimper of a moan. The kiss became
less soft and more urgent now, her lips opening so that he felt the
flutter of her tongue. Her hands slid lower down his back as they
broke apart. Her eyes were large and almost frightened-looking, as
if she were afraid that she’d gone too far. “Chev—” she began, and
he stopped her with another kiss. His hand touched the side of her
breast under the lace of her tashta and she did not stop him, only
closed her eyes as she drew in a breath.
“Where are your
rooms?” he asked, and she leaned against him.
“Your apartment is
here within the palais, isn’t it?” she said, and he nodded. He held
out his hand to her and she took it.
The walk to his rooms
seemed to take an eternity. They hurried through the corridors of
the palais, then the door was shut behind them and he took her into
his embrace and forgot about anything else for a long, delightful
time.