Strongman (10 page)

Except that everything in him flinched at the thought.

For that very reason, Fort set his jaw and forced himself out the door and over to the menagerie.
Tonight
, he thought grimly.
Tonight I
’
m going to Valaressa to get laid
.
And
drunk
. And if there was a brawl—he bared his teeth—so much the better.

The day was interminable, wretched. Leo’s cheerful chatter drove him insane, so he was even more brusque than usual. The hurt and resentment in the man’s face gave him fierce satisfaction, though he knew it was petty. Several times, he glimpsed Griff’s straight back, disappearing into the Big Top, or passing Magrit’s noodle stall. Each time, the sweat popped on his forehead, his heart skipped a beat and he castigated himself for a coward.

Late in the afternoon, he came around the side of the tavern tent and nearly walked straight into a knot of men, Griff among them. Shit!

“Hey, Fort!” said one. “Coming for an ale?”

Immediately, Griff’s head jerked around. His lips parted then closed, firming to a grim line. His shoulders stiffened, his dark gaze unreadable.

Fort grunted a negative, spun on his heel and strode away, but Griff’s steady stare slashed at his heart. Seeing the tumbler’s expressive face, usually so full of life, reduced to a smooth handsome mask made everything worse. Gods, he felt like shit!

By nightfall, Fort had little stomach for carousing. Nonetheless, he bathed carefully, changed and saddled up his favorite vran, a huge mare with a confiding nature and dusty brown feathers. He departed for the Pleasure Leaf at a sedate trot, not looking back.

* * * * *

He was sitting at a scarred table in the darkest corner of The Unbridled Vran

nursing a bottle of Aetherian brandy, when a sweet dark tenor said in his ear, “Given up the Fair, have you?”

“Jan.” Fort nodded a cool greeting, somehow not surprised. “No, not yet.”

“Pity. I could use you.” The Aetherii pulled over a bench and sat, his huge wings rustling in a blue-black cloud behind him.

The squat bottle was still nearly full. Fort pushed it across the table, but the Aetherii shook his head. “I don’t drink alcohol.” His hard blue stare challenged the other man to make something of it.

Fort shrugged. “I don’t eat meat.”

Silence fell.

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Eventually, the Aetherii raised a finger and the tavern wench tripped over her own feet to rush to his side. He murmured an order and five minutes later she reappeared with a loaded tray. Jan raised a cover and savory steam billowed out. “Eat,” he said calmly, but it sounded more like an order than a request.

Fort’s belly growled, startling him. Slowly, he picked up a fork and began.

After a few minutes of that patient, assessing stare, he laid it down again. “What the fuck do you want, Aetherii?”

“Can you play Black and White?” asked Jan, unruffled.

When Fort grunted an affirmative, the other man rose to collect a game set from the bar. With swift, economical movements, he unfolded the board and lined up the two boxes of stones.

It occurred to Fort that he’d never seen the Aetherii waste a gesture. “Answer the question,” he demanded.

Instead, Jan held out his closed fists. “Choose.”

“Left.”

The Aetherii uncurled the fingers of his left hand to reveal the black pebble. His elegant lips curved. “White starts. My move.” He slid the box of black stones over to Fort.

Fort swallowed, the vegetable stew hot and spicy on his tongue. “The stakes?”

“A night at The Shuttered Lantern against a task for me.”

Fort’s brows rose. The Shuttered Lantern was a courtesan house so far above his means it had never entered his head to go there. Then he frowned. What? Was his need written on his face?

He set the dish aside. “I am not a whore,” he growled. “Of any kind. I don’t kill to order.”

“But you used to.” Even in the dimness of the tavern, the Aetherii’s eyes shone, hard as gems, level as a drawn sword. His wings lifted and settled.

Under the table, Fort dropped his hand to the long dagger sheathed at his waist. “I was a mercenary, not an assassin.”

“I know that.” The Aetherii paused for a beat, a frown marring the pale brutal beauty of his features. “I’m in the market for information.” With a long forefinger, he pushed a white stone into place.

Fort countered the move with the ease of long practice. “Information?”

“The Eyrie has directed the Winged Envoy to establish an embassy here in

Valaressa.” Jan placed his next pebble. “I’m looking to extend my network of informants.”

Fort grunted, studying the board. “Spies, you mean.” On the face of it, Jan was following a standard opening gambit. Surely, it couldn’t be so simple?

The Aetherii shrugged and his plumage rustled. “I prefer the term intelligencer.”

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Strongman

Time to push a little. His thighs tensing under the table, Fort said, “Then send your friend Mirry. He seems intelligent enough.” He shifted his stone.

Jan went very still and a chill ran up the back of Fort’s neck. When the Aetherii finally exhaled, he did too. “He is too useful here.”

I bet
, thought Fort sourly, remembering the sensual splendor of their tails coiling together.

“Mirry has an encyclopedia to write. He’s busy.”

Fort raised an insolent brow. “What about Fledge? Women make excellent spies.”

The Aetherii’s wings lifted in a great threatening arc. Chairs scraped back all around them as drinkers hastened to put themselves out of harm’s way. Like a feathered whip, Jan’s tail clamped over Fort’s sword hand, pinning it to his knee under the table.

His blood surging, Fort held the chilly, indigo stare. “I carry two blades,” he said blandly. “Remove your tail or lose it, Aetherii.”

After several tingling seconds, Jan took three white stones from the polished wooden box at his elbow, his jaw set. As he slapped them down, the muscled weight of his tail slithered away. “Five wall on a neutral line,” he snapped.

“Why, you devious bastard!” said Fort, with genuine admiration. Hastily, he grabbed pebbles from his box to shore up his defenses.

Gradually, the hum of conversation around them resumed.

“We will leave both Mirry and Fledge out of this discussion.” Flags of color flew on Jan’s sculpted cheekbones.

Fort nodded. “Fair enough.” He glanced up from the board. “You’re a lucky man, Aetherii,” he said, meaning it.

Jan settled his wings. “You have no idea how lucky,” he murmured, his tone like a dark silver bell. The tension in his cold handsome face smoothed away and the fire left his eyes, to be replaced by a banked warmth that looked very like happiness. Peace. The slightest of smiles curved his lips.

Fort caught his breath, something curdling inside him. He stared down at the lines of stones because he couldn’t bear to see what he didn’t have. What he would never have.

The Aetherii positioned more white pieces, boxing him in on the board, cutting off potential escape routes. “You’re exactly what I need, McLaren. Balls, brains and experience. Impeccable credentials.” A dark brow quirked. “Your move.”

“You checked up on me.” Fort frowned down at the clusters of pebbles, calculating probabilities. Hmm. Definitely a trap. Time for a calculated risk. He took control of a line, formed a wall.

“Of course.” Jan motioned to the serving girl and as he did so, his sleeve fell back, exposing an ugly scar circling his wrist. Glancing back at the board, he lifted a brow.

“You play a dangerous game, Brother.”

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“Don’t call me that!” The words were out of Fort’s mouth before he could call them back.

Jan’s eyes glowed with interest and Fort knew he’d blundered. “How long did you wear the manacles?” he asked in an attempt to retrieve the lost ground.

The Aetherii paused, his hand over the board. Fort hid the glint of evil satisfaction in his eyes by focusing on the wench’s bountiful tits as she brought Jan a tall glass of gaeta juice. A picture came to mind. Two bull vranee, locked horn to horn, battling for dominance. He very nearly laughed. Sweat trickled under his collar and his blood sang.

Lufra, he hadn’t felt so alive since the time Griff had—

Shit.

“Long enough,” said Jan. His face had shuttered again. “But I made her pay.” His gaze lifted, blazing. “She’ll never beat me. Not then, not now.”

A woman? It had been a
woman
? Fort raised his brows. “A sore spot, Aetherii?”

The other man’s beautiful lips compressed. “We all have them.” He set his pebbles down with decisive clicks, shooting Fort a narrow glance. “Would Griffid Ringman be interested, do you think?”

Fort wrapped his fingers around the box of black stones. “No.”

“Really?” Jan’s voice was very dry. “Perhaps I should ask him.” He lifted his glass and swallowed, watching Fort over the rim.

“Griff wouldn’t— He’s not— He’d get himself killed.”

“You underestimate him, McLaren.” Jan smiled without humor. “Last year, when the Fair was in Sere, he was attacked by thugs, three of them. They thought he was drunk.” A shrug. “Perhaps he was. He didn’t tell you?”

Mutely, Fort shook his head.

“He killed two. A dagger through the throat for one, the second to the heart. And he broke the third one’s wrist.”

I
’
ll take you on one day
.
Naked
.
Winner takes all
.

Fort caught his breath. His heart thumped once, painfully hard.

Jan said, “You think it’s funny?” and Fort realized his teeth were bared in a wild grin of anticipation.

“No,” he said, sobering. “No. It’s not even a surprise, now I come to think of it.” He added a stone to a new wall, sacrificing the gains he’d made without a blink.

“Hmm. Reckless.” The Aetherii tilted his head to one side in a gesture like a raptor considering its prey. “You’d make a good pair, you and Ringman.”

Ruler God,
he knew
!

Panic clawed at Fort’s guts, but when he shot a glance at the other man, there was nothing sly in his face, only intelligent calculation. “What do you mean?” he managed.

“You complement each other. I think you’d work well as a team.”

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Gods, Griff would love it! He could see the tumbler now, sloe eyes snapping with interest, as they’d sat in Bruise’s hay wagon, arguing about Ten Nations politics. The younger man relished the very thought of court intrigue, political power plays, and he’d been astonishingly insightful. Ay, Griff’s charm and complicated mind, coupled with his own knowledge of strategy and of men… The Aetherii was right, damn him to the cold hells.

“I’ll think about it,” he said.

For the first time, Jan smiled, and although it was an expression of grim satisfaction, it lit his face with pale beauty. His eyes shone indigo as he slid the final white stone into place. “Game over, McLaren. Concede.”

Relaxing, Fort spread his legs under the table and threw an arm over the back of the seat. “You don’t have anything left, do you, Aetherii?” Taking his time, savoring every second, he dipped into his pebble box and withdrew the two pieces he’d been keeping in reserve.

Keeping his face studiously blank, he set them in the gap he’d left in the wall and sat back to watch the effect.

Janarnavriel the Noir surveyed the board, and his inky brows drew together. “Rip the—” he lifted his head, his eyes wide, “fucking Veil!” A ripple of some strong feeling passed across his perfect features. Fort couldn’t tell what it was.

Abruptly, he sat back, grinning like a boy, so extraordinarily beautiful Fort blinked.

“I should tell Mirry, but I won’t. Gods, I’d never live it down. Do you know how long it’s been since I lost a game of Black and White?” He shook his head, the lamplight sparking blue-black gleams from the hair cloaking his shoulder. “And you had to nerve to call me a devious bastard…”

His hand shot out, clamping over Fort’s wrist with the easy, uncanny strength of his kind. “Work for me, McLaren.” His eyes blazed like the blue at the heart of flame. “I need a counterpart among the Grounded, a second-in-command.”

Fort shook himself free. “I thought you wanted spies, informants?”

Jan grunted a negative. He dug in his belt pouch. “You’re too good for that. Here.”

He tossed a small square of polished black wood onto the game board. It was incised with gold lines. “A chit for The Shuttered Lantern. When does the Fair move on?”

“A few days. We travel toward Mother’s Hearth. Why?”

Jan drained his glass of juice. “Hssrda are massing on the border between the Empty Lands and the territory of the Children of the Mother, but not even the warrior scouts of the Mother can pin the bastards down. They strike like the scum they are then fade like mist, taking their captives with them.” He hissed with frustration. “The Winged Envoy has allied the Eyrie with the Children and they’re asking for our help.”

Fort shrugged. “Send an aerial scout then.”
Hssrda
. Before he could prevent them, the memories returned, vivid and sickening. The slave camps, the stinking pits…

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Denise Rossetti

The Aetherii shot him a dark look. “I’ve done that. There’s nothing to see. I want to know why.” Rising with casual grace, he placed two gold marks on the table.

Fort’s brows rose.

“Find out for me. And when your contract with the Fair is up, come back to Valaressa. I’ll be waiting.”

Shoving his seat back, Fort stood, looking down at Jan. “I’m not even sure I like you, Aetherii,” he said, his mind racing. He purely hated Hssrda. Filthy, hideous, slaver scum. By Lufra, perhaps…

“Doesn’t matter a shit. Will you do it?”

Fort almost laughed. If Jan but knew it, he had him by the balls. Already, his brain was churning, sorting facts from gossip, drawing a mental map of the terrain, assembling all he knew about the Hssrda. Lufra’s tits, he loved a good puzzle!

He pulled in a breath. “Yes.”

“Good.”

When Jan offered his hand, Fort grasped it the warrior’s way, forearm against forearm. Wisely, he didn’t attempt to squeeze. Any piss-up-the-wall contest of strength was a forgone conclusion. No Grounded human was as strong as an Aetherii.