The Harem Master (43 page)

Sabah made a soft noise, and his fingertips fluttered over Demir's mouth before being replaced by his lips. He tasted dusty, like the metallic-tasting water they'd drunk earlier, but the kiss was warm, sure. It steadied Demir, made some of his unhappy thoughts easier to ignore. Sabah's fingers slid down to curl around his throat, the cold chain of the manacles resting on Demir's chest.

Breaking the kiss, Demir pushed Sabah back long enough to get his own arms up. Dropping them over Sabah and trailing his fingers down Sabah's skin before spanning them across his back, he drew Sabah back in and kissed him properly. Sense and caution would have to wait; he had neither the time nor the patience for either at present. Since becoming Harem Master he'd had little choice in nearly everything he did. If the worst came to pass, he'd never have a choice again.

But this—this was definitely his choice to make. Demir shifted, changed the angle slightly, and pressed the kiss deeper, tongue sweeping Sabah's mouth, exploring every dip and crevice, memorizing the taste of him beneath tepid water and the staleness of being dragged all over for hours on end. Sabah fed soft noises into his mouth, and the gentle fingers pressed against the sides of his neck became nails biting his skin. Demir shifted the angle again, stroked his own fingers across Sabah's soft skin, alternating warm hands with the cold chain, then tightening the chain across Sabah's back, loosening it again and replacing the metal with fingers.

When Sabah was trembling faintly, Demir drew back slowly, sucking at his bottom lip, dragging off it slowly, nuzzling against him before finally withdrawing completely.

"Now I see why Kitt looked so devastated. You could bring a king to his knees with kisses like that." Sabah laughed in the dark, nuzzled against him, lips fluttering teasingly. "Though, I'm pretty sure you already have."

"I think I would remember kissing His Majesty," Demir replied.

Sabah nipped his lips. "Don't get cute. You know very well I meant brought him to his knees, no kisses required."

"You're exaggerating."

Giving a soft little growl of frustration, Sabah lifted his hands, dropped the chain behind Demir's head, and wrapped his arms around Demir as much as the manacles permitted. He kissed Demir hard, something between a challenge and a reprimand.

Demir slid his hands slowly up Sabah's back and curled one into his soft hair, forcing him to hold still as Demir reclaimed control of the kiss with a slow, teasing slide of lips and tongue. Sabah shivered against him, drew back enough to say, "You really are quite devastating," before diving into another kiss.

The sound of raised voices, followed by the clatter and bang of the door being unlocked, making them jerk slightly. Sabah swore softly then lifted his arms. Demir then lifted his own, separating them, and Sabah moved to kneel next to him.

Lantern light flooded the stable as the doors swung open, and six large men stomped across the floor to haul Sabah and Demir to their feet.

Sabah said something to them in that strange language the mercenaries had been speaking since he'd woken up groggy and disoriented and afraid. He'd heard it before around the palace. They were from Pelenna, which was peculiar because Demir hadn't thought Pelenna was involved in the slave trading. Pelenna dealt in precious gems, mostly diamonds. Half of them were sold legitimately, the rest were smuggled. He'd never heard of them being associated with slave trading. That was the sole provenance of the Havarin Empire, and the vast majority of Havarin slaves came from the twenty-four small countries that had been brought under their thumb.

The guards ignored Sabah and dragged them both outside. Demir's stomach clenched in dread anticipation, but the creaky cart was nowhere in sight. One of the mercenaries knelt and unlocked the manacles around Demir's ankles. He stood, tucked the key away somewhere beneath his leather armor, then grunted out an accent-thick: "You walk."

Another mercenary covered Demir in a stifling cloak, yanking the hood down so it was damned near impossible to see. It was made of cheap, thick, scratchy wool, not the kind of thing any Tavamaran would wear, especially that time of year when the hot hours far outstripped the cool. It smelled like sweat and cheap foreign alcohol. "Sabah?"

"I'm fi—" Sabah broke off with a pained grunt.

"Sabah!" Demir jerked, flailed, and threw of the cloak. He twisted through two of the men that came at him, dropping to his knees beside an unconscious Sabah. "What did you to him? Sabah!" He looked up and glared at the men clustered around him. "You worthless heathens, why can't you just leave us
alone
?"

Two men grabbed him roughly by the arms, hard enough to leave bruises. The one in charge, who smelled like he had never heard of bathing, his pasty white skin practically glowing where it wasn't covered by grime or dense hair, stepped in close and thumped Demir hard on the chest. His Tavamaran was moderately better, but only in that Demir could understand five words in ten rather than merely two. "You will walk. This one…" He grunted, nudged Sabah. "Too dangerous. We… how is it said… know the reputation of him. Walk, or he will be made to suffering."

Demir nodded, and the hateful cloak was pulled over him once more. The stones of the street were cold, jabbing his feet, stubbing his toes; by the time they finally stopped moving, he was hobbling and stumbling more than walking.

They dragged him up ornate marble stairs, lit by torchlight, into a house that bordered on garish. Also foreign, to judge by the paintings and other decorations lining the hallway and the small rooms he passed quickly through. Finally they came to a stop in a large room of dark wood and gilt that was as opulent as the rest of the house, if not more so. It was like some overdone variation of the royal courtrooms.

And sitting at the gold table on the far side of the room was Lord Jove, Ambassador of Havarin—not looking anywhere near as dead as had been reported. "Lord Demir, what a pleasure to finally see you again."

Demir ignored him, all of his attention on Sabah as the mercenaries dropped him at Demir's feet like so much baggage. Sinking to his knees, Demir turned him over and gently checked him for injury. There was a fresh bruise on his cheek, a rough cut on his shoulder. A soft groan filled the room right before Sabah's eyes fluttered, closed, then slowly dragged open. "Demir?"

Before Demir could reply, though, awareness returned sharply, and Sabah's eyes turned hard. He rolled, shifted, and rose smoothly to his feet. If he was impeded by the manacles at all, he gave no sign of it. Demir rose to stand beside him. "Lord Jove, I wish I could say I was surprised to see you alive. I can confess I am disappointed."

"Not surprised?" Lord Jove asked, smiling like a parent indulging a child. "I'm crushed."

"I can't say I thought about it, but in retrospect, the pieces were there," Sabah replied. "The rest of your party made just enough fuss to convince everyone… but not nearly the fuss they would have made had you really been dead, because if they'd made that much fuss, more attention would have been paid to the matter. I do confess I'm not clear on the reason for the deception."

Jove chuckled and motioned sharply to a pair of servants Demir had not noticed until that moment. They held so still and were dressed in such a way they had blended in seamlessly. Their skin was so dark it was nearly black. They wore long white skirts overlaid with heavy, ornate gold wraps with tails that reached the floor. Thick bands of gold were around their throat—and locked in place. Gold cuffs were also around their wrists, and some sort of brand had been burned into the backs of their hands and on their stomachs.

Demir's stomach churned. He had known Havarin was despicable—practically no one had anything nice to say about Havarin unless Havarin was within hearing—but to brand people like animals…

The servants laid out thick white and gold mats, motioning to Sabah and Demir. Sabah knelt on one, as though they were sitting to lunch. Demir reluctantly copied him, wishing more fervently than ever that Sabah had gotten himself free, that he was not impeded by Demir.

Jove stood and walked over to them, a long, thick sword at his left hip, a dagger at his right. He wore clothes that Demir assumed were Havarian: brown and gold sandals; and a knee-length red skirt overlaid with another of gold, red, and black in an intricate, dizzying pattern that made no sense to Demir; a sleeveless red shirt with some sort of leather and metal armor over that; and a short cloak secured at the throat and covering only one shoulder and arm, the left shoulder and arm bare, save for ruby and diamond cuffs at his wrists and upper arms. His pale gold hair fell loose all around his shoulders. He reminded Demir unpleasantly of Bulut. Was all of Havarin like Jove?

Movement caught his eye, and Demir glanced briefly at the servants that had faded off again. No, he had a feeling most of Havarin bore a strong resemblance to those two men.

Stopping several paces away, far enough to be well out of reach, Jove folded his arms across his chest and looked at them like he was examining horses for purchase. Not so far off the mark, though horses he was putting up for sale was probably more accurate. "Havarin will send someone else to be ambassador. I have better things to do with my time, and death is a thorough way to remove oneself from a situation quickly spiraling out of control. But I was not going to leave without suitable cargo." His eyes landed on Demir, and the blue of them might have been pretty if not for the hungry, greedy want that filled them.

Merciful Divine, he just wanted to be home, to feel safe again.

"You've been quite difficult to obtain, Harem Master," Jove continued. "I hope you prove worth all the time and expense."

Demir said nothing.

"If you think you defy me with your silence, you are mistaken." Jove dropped his arms, made to move in closer, but his eyes fell on something behind them and he held still. "My man doesn't trust either of you."

Sabah and Demir looked over their shoulders. The man at the doors was tall, dressed in dark blue and brown clothing, his face and head covered in a manner similar to Kitt.

"That little shadow that sluts for the prince—pardon, I mean the king—is not the only assassin to be had," Jove said, drawing their attention back. "But we of Havarin have a touch more class than you heathens here in the sand and salt."

Demir had trained for years to contain himself, so well he did it by habit that bordered on instinct. But he had a very difficult time right then containing his laughter.

Jove seemed to catch something though. A faint pinched look bruised the smugness on his face. He waved a hand at the room. "This is presentation, pretty flash. So you do not see those things we prefer to keep to ourselves, like the assassin behind you, ready to kill you the moment I give the order or you threaten my life."

"You've gone to too much trouble to kill us now," Sabah said.

"My interest is in Lord Demir," Jove said. "You're a spare kept alive for now because it's not inconvenient to do so."

Sabah smiled in a way that Demir had never seen and hoped he never saw again. "Concubine doesn't mean I'm stupid, Jove. The knowledge in my head is more than worth keeping me alive."

"Nothing about you is valuable enough to keep you alive if you do not guard your tongue," Jove replied.

Shaking his head, eager to move on from talk of killing and dying, Demir asked, "What is the point of this meeting? Surely it would be safer for you to have waited until we were on a ship."

"We're not going by ship, at least not yet. You're traveling with me elsewhere, and we'll take a ship later. The ambassadors and the rest of my people, they are going by ship, and it should be leaving soon. Once they are gone, and your would-be rescuers dealt with, we will be on our way. That is why you're here, and conversation is an excellent way to pass the time." Jove turned away and returned to his desk, leaned against it, and folded his arms across his chest.

Demir had never fought so hard
not
to roll his eyes. One of the most important lessons pressed upon concubines was conversation. During banquets and other events and celebrations, concubines were expected to help keep the conversation going (save those instances where their royal forbade they speak, but even with silence there were ways to foster conversation). Getting nobles to talk was generally the easiest thing in the world to do. All they needed was the barest excuse, if even that, and most of them would talk about themselves into eternity.

And Jove, as smart and cunning as he was, had never been an exception to that rule.

Perhaps Demir wasn't completely useless at present after all. He relaxed his arms, let the weight of the manacles pull them down to rest against his thighs. He straightened and shifted away from Sabah, drawing Jove's eye. Then he tilted his head, directing Jove's gaze to his throat. "Perhaps it's only that I'm no politician, merely meant to serve them, but I do not understand why everyone has gone to so much trouble to steal concubines. Does nobody know how to fuck in Havarin, that we're so exotic to you?"

"We know how to fuck, Harem Master," Jove said with a smug little chuckle. He didn't move from his position against the desk, but the lines of his body had tightened, attention completely on Demir, the rest of the room clearly no longer of interest. Good. "Though as to that, even Rittu and their perverted excesses do not match the… reverence, I suppose, bestowed upon the concubines of Tavamara. It is practically a religion here, which is endlessly fascinating and amusing."

Demir stared coldly. "Devotion, whatever form it takes, is not a source of amusement save to those who take smug satisfaction in their own ignorance and call it superiority."

Anger flickered briefly across Jove's face, and for a moment he seemed about to surge across the room and launch himself at Demir. But he held still, though the cords of his arms bulged briefly. "You are either brave or a fool, Harem Master, to speak to me so when even my peers would not dare."

"A man who cannot tolerate honesty about himself is a danger to himself and others," Demir said.