Tournament of Losers (15 page)

Tress stopped midstride and turned back, regarded him with a mix of hope and wariness. "We don't have to go. I know you hate anything related to High City."

"Not everything," Rath said quietly, heart starting to pound frantically again. "There's this spoiled brat I can't seem to get rid of. I even tried once, but he came right back, like a stray puppy."

"I am not a
stray puppy
," Tress said with mock affront. "Come on. I actually secured a room for the night earlier today so we don't have to wander far after we're done." He dragged Rath onto the bridge, holding fast to his hand, and began to ramble on about the house party they would be attending. Hosted by a merchant to celebrate his daughter's recent betrothal, the kind of festivity that always brought people—invited and not—in droves for the chance at free food and drink.

From all the things Tress was carefully not saying, Rath suspected they were going to be the 'not invited' type of guest. "We're sneaking into a party. Is this your idea of illicit behavior? Would you have a fit of conscience if you, say, had to cut a purse?"

Tress rolled his eyes. "I'll have you know I once stole two marks from my father. He'd told me I couldn't go to a fair, so I was determined to go by myself. He'd left a bag of coins in his desk so I stole two marks from it."

"Oooh, you little thief. Let me guess, the room was empty and he never noticed."

"Stuff it," Tress retorted.

Rath laughed so hard he had to cling to Tress to keep from falling over. "Brave thief! What did you do with your ill-gotten gains?"

"I snuck them back in the next day because I felt bad about taking them," Tress said with a sigh, forcing Rath to come to a complete stop because he was laughing so hard. Tress scowled and kicked his shin. "It's not that funny! And I'm far more inclined to run off with his money nowadays, I promise you."

Rath kept laughing, and harder still when Tress shoved him against the bridge railing and stomped off. Getting his laughter under control, Rath ran after him and grabbed Tress's arm, holding firm when he tried to pull free.

"Let go of me," Tress grumbled, a notable flush to his skin.

"No," Rath said, clinging tighter. "How could I ever let go of the world's most darling retired thief?"

Tress heaved a sigh. "I knew I shouldn't have told you about that. You'll never let it rest, now."

"It's adorable."

"I'm not adorable," Tress muttered.

Rath smiled, hiding it against Tress's arm as they walked.

He'd never wandered through so much of High City. Normally, he went right to where his mother worked, and the only other time he'd wandered elsewhere had been to do her a favor, and he'd instantly regretted it after all the sneering looks and jeers he'd gotten for being so glaringly out of place.

Tress, still grumpy, but cheerful mood steadily returning, led him to a pretty, two-story building painted green and yellow, marked with a sign and ornate lettering that took Rath a moment to puzzle out:
House of the Three Nightingales.
"What's a nightingale?"

"An irritating bird that people insist sounds pretty, but only people that have never actually heard them," Tress said. "People like to import them to feel fancy, then immediately regret it. This inn had some when it first opened, but they vanished a week after."

"Poor birds."

"I'm sure they were just fine," Tress replied. "Nobody is going to kill something they spent that much money on unless the purpose was to kill it."

Rath doubted that, but Tress was sweet for trying.

Inside, Tress ignored the front desk and simply went straight up the stairs and to a room about halfway down the hall. "Here we are, and by the time you're ready, the party should be busy enough we can slip in."

"You can't steal two slick from a man who will never miss it when there's no one around to see you do it, but you can sneak into a party?"

"One of those is illegal, and the other is expected," Tress replied. "Affairs like this always plan for uninvited guests. If you host a party and don't wind up with at least twice as many people as you invited, the party is an embarrassing failure."

Rath rolled his eyes. "Saying that in a tone of voice that implies it's the most obvious and logical thing in the world does not, in fact, make it sound any less ridiculous." He caught the satchel Tress tossed at him, set it on the bed, and flipped it open. "
What
is this? I'm not wearing this."

"Stop fussing and put it on. I had to guess a bit on the measurements, but it should fit, and I erred on the side of too big."

"It's… too much."

Tress made a noise of amusement, exasperation, and fondness all at once. He strode over to the bed and pulled out the velvet and silk clothes inside: blue hose, a long, tunic-like jacket that was blue on the right side, gold on the left, and sleeves the opposite. It was all so soft, the material smooth and faintly shiny with newness. And all far too fine for him, but he didn't seem to have much choice as Tress began to impatiently undress him.

"All right, all right," Rath said and shoved him away. "Stop that, unless you want to take care of certain problems. You start undressing me, my body expects certain things to happen."

"Later," Tress said with that evil little grin that kept making Rath do things he should have enough sense not to do. Like spend every available hour with someone who was already taken. "Hurry up."

Rath gave him a look. "Patience, stripling." Smirking at the pouty scowl that put on Tress's face, he finished undressing and began to carefully pull on the expensive outfit. Tress's scowl vanished beneath the brilliance of a happy, pleased grin. "So do I look suitably tarted up?" Rath asked, looking down and tugging at the bottom of the jacket, which cut off far too soon for his liking, and he much preferred his breeches to the clinging hose. Erred on the side of too big, indeed. Tress was a lousy liar.

"You look amazing," Tress said, voice gone husky. "I mean, you always look amazing. I was sneaking looks at you in the pub long before you demanded to know why I was sitting there reading. You could be mistaken for a prince easy."

Rath rolled his eyes. "Flattery will get you nothing you're not already getting. Shall we get along to this party of yours?"

"You're terrible at taking compliments," Tress said, not moving when Rath offered his hand. "Why do you think I'm lying whenever I tell you that you're beautiful?"

"Because I'm not, though I enjoy you think so," Rath replied.

Tress sighed and took Rath's hand—and lifted it to his lips to kiss before letting go again. "We're not quite ready." Before Rath could ask, he went over to the satchel and pulled something out. Two somethings, in fact. Beautiful velvet domino masks, one in green, the other blue, both trimmed in colorful feathers and glittering jewels Rath assumed—hoped—were made of glass or paste. "This party is a half-hearted masque."

"Half-hearted?"

"With a full masque, no one is allowed to reveal their costumes to anyone else, and the mask must be full-face. Even the king could mingle and none would be the wiser. Half-hearted is everyone wearing masks to excuse their inappropriate behavior, and while some do keep their identities secret, most don't bother."

Rath's brows rose. "Both versions sound reckless, even dangerous."

"That's the appeal."

"For idiots," Rath retorted.

Tress snickered. "So says the man who took Lord Sorrith to task for making him go shopping. Hold still."

Huffing slightly at the unwanted reminder, Rath held still and let Tress tie the mask in place. It felt strange, slightly scratchy against his skin, and was already growing too warm.

"Now you look all handsome and mysterious, like a secret prince from a far-off land, come to seduce a winsome local."

Rath laughed. "I would say you have us mixed up, but me as a winsome anything is as ridiculous as me being a prince." He smiled and reached out to touch Tress's cheek below the edge of his mask. "You, however, do look all mysterious and prince in disguise."

"Fallen to the charms of a handsome commoner," Tress said with an unsteady laugh as he caught Rath's hand and kissed his fingers again. "Shall we to the party?"

"I suppose we shall," Rath said with a sigh.

"Look on the bright side: parties like this always have the good stuff."

"Oh, believe me, I've kept that in mind this whole time," Rath replied, and tried not show all his anxiety as they left the inn and walked down the street to a house bustling with carriages, horses, and more people than he cared to count. If the space outside was that crowded, how overstuffed must the house itself be?

He faltered as they reached it, but Tress held fast to his hand and dragged him along, and then they were in a mass of drunk, singing, and trying-to-dance people. And that was just the courtyard. Inside the house, things were moderately calmer, but only in that there was an actual space for dancing and the drunks were mostly clustered around the buffet tables or leaning against the walls.

"Here," Tress said and thrust a cup into his hands. It proved to be filled with some dark, spicy wine that was like nothing Rath had ever tasted.

After several sips, he finally made himself stop for a moment. "What is this, and is there any chance I could ever have more?"

Tress gave a soft laugh, and Rath looked up to see Tress staring at him with a smile that did funny things to Rath's heart. "I don't think I've ever seen you so excited and happy about
anything.
You're so easy and willing to go along with my ideas, as long as it's nothing too hoity-toity that will make you uncomfortable. I'm always so frustrated about what I can give you that you'd really, truly
like
, and you're enamored of Hetherson spiced wine?"

Rath's shoulders hunched. "Is that bad? I can drink something else. I wasn't—"

"No!" Tress interjected. "I'm excited. It's wonderful. I hate the stuff, but my eldest brother adores it; he practically keeps the Hetherson family in business all on his own. I'll bring you some next time we meet."

Where in the world would Rath keep wine? It wasn't like his little room had the space for even a small cask. But he didn't say anything for the present, just went along as Tress fetched his own cup of some tart, white wine and then dragged him over to the food tables.

"So this is a betrothal party in High City?" Rath asked, looking around at the milling people, the dance floor where everyone moved to intricate steps he could barely follow.

"Is it so different from Low City? We are all of the one, whatever the divides."

Rath shook his head, smiling faintly. "High City, we're lucky if we can afford a
wedding
party. Who has time or money to host a party simply to announce an engagement? My parents… Well, they never wanted to marry, so I guess they're not the best example. You have a nice dinner with both families, and if the money can be scraped together, there might be a fancy cake or nice wine. That's about it. Wedding celebrations are held in a temple courtyard, since they don't charge for that, and sometimes the ale sellers will sell at a discount for a wedding celebration, so there's plenty to go around. Most of the time, everyone who can brings food to save some of the cost. And we drink and dance until everyone has to go home to be ready for work the next day."

"Ah," Tress said, face falling. "I'm sorry, I keeping making stupid assumpt—"

Rath leaned up and cut him off with a kiss. He tasted like white wine, but Rath forgave him. "There's no need to apologize, and stop fretting. We're at a party; you aren't supposed to frown." He tugged Tress down and gave him another kiss, dragging his tongue across Tress's lips in a way that guaranteed a full-body shiver.

Drawing back, looking much more his usual cheerful self, Tress said, "I'm fairly certain you
are
supposed to dance."

"I don't know how—not this kind of dancing anyway." Rath quickly drank several more sips of wine, because he had the feeling he was going to need the fortification very, very soon.

Tress cast the dance floor an unimpressed look. "Neither do they. Come on." Rath barely had a chance to set his cup down before he was being dragged into the crush and pushed into a line of people directly opposite a line Tress stood in—

And then they were dancing, or something that passed for dancing amongst a bunch of drunk, laughing people. No one seemed to mind that he stumbled as often as he succeeded at mimicking what they were doing. Nor were he and Tress the only ones using every close pass to steal a kiss or mildly inappropriate touch.

Maybe it wasn't all that different from Low City after all.

By the time they stopped, he was breathless from dancing and laughing, smiling so hard it almost hurt. He went easily when Tress pushed him into a dark corner and settled into a thorough ravishment—or as much ravishing as could be done with clothes still on, masks in the way, and people watching.

Pulling away, Tress grinned down at him. "Having fun?"

"I have more fun when your mouth is against mine," Rath replied and pulled him close again, licking Tress's lips before pushing his tongue in deep, still able to taste hints of white wine, but mostly only tasting
them.
Tress's hands fluttered about, his light touches the best and worst sort of torment. He moaned when Tress drew back enough that he had to stop kissing. "Come back here."

Tress laughed. "No, I want to play some more. How about some more wine and then we can see what games are to be had."

"As you wish, then, but I had better be compensated for my suffering later," Rath groused and went easily as he was dragged once more to the refreshment table before Tress whisked them off to the courtyard. Despite the crush, people were managing to play various games.

Tress eventually decided on one that involved hoops and stakes, betting farthings on who could throw the most hoops onto the stakes. Rath tried a few times and came out of it with two pennies, but mostly he was content to drink his wine and admire Tress. Rath was not the solitary-natured person that his mother was, happy to stay in her room with private amusements or play cards with one or two friends, but he wasn't quite used to the large numbers of people that Tress considered normal. For all that Tress professed to prefer his books and solitude, he was remarkably outgoing most of the time. Then again, they almost always stayed in or did something just the two of them, and Rath didn't think that was entirely for his own benefit or even because they shouldn't be spending time together.