Dismissing the pair, Lazzaro focused his attention on the remaining courtesan. Benito had said he probably would not see the man he sought, but would have to give the letter to the proprietor and return another night. However, the man on the small sofa in the corner—half in shadow, half in candlelight—certainly seemed to match Benito's description of the notorious Crown Jewel.
The hair was the first thing Lazzaro noticed, for it was
exactly
as Benito had described it: a long, wavy spill of white gold. Beautiful. He moved closer and the man looked up, an automatic smile of invitation curling his glistening, oil-wet lips. Discreetly tucking away the book he had been reading, he crooked his ring-bedecked fingers, drawing Lazzaro in. "Beautiful evening, handsome stranger."
"Beautiful evening, jewel," Lazzaro murmured. "I thought finding you would prove more of a challenge. You are the one they call Celeste, are you not?"
"I am, indeed. You have found me on a night I happen to be free. You are a clever stranger, or a lucky one." Celeste tossed his hair as he spoke, mouth twisting in a teasing, taunting half-smile. He knew how to play the game, Lazzaro privately conceded. But Celeste would not work in the House of Peace, and be so profitable that he could afford a night off, if he did not.
"Well-informed," Lazzaro corrected, "although there is also some luck involved."
"Then you are intelligent as well as clever," Celeste replied. He shifted slightly, carefully draped robes moving sinuously along his fair skin. "Would you care to sit?"
Lazzaro laughed. "I am not here for your charms, lovely though they are."
Celeste tilted his head back and to one side, the image of curiosity. "Whatever you desire, it will cost, and I do not accept complete strangers off the street."
Sincerely doubting someone like Celeste did not recognize him, but knowing that games must follow rules, Lazzaro reached into his jacket and extracted the letter Benito had written. He handed it over and waited patiently as Celeste broke the wax seal and read.
After a moment, Celeste looked up, pleased and amused. "So I was correct." Reclining back in the sofa, he lazily held the letter out over a candle, watching it for a moment before setting it on a tray to finish burning. "Shall we speak somewhere more private, handsome stranger?"
Tempted to ask what that would cost him, but knowing manners would get him further, Lazzaro only nodded and replied, "As you like."
Celeste stood up and brushed past him—then paused, turning his head up to meet Lazzaro's eyes. His eyes, Lazzaro could not help but note, were the most beautiful shade of brown. He had expected something more exotic—blue, green, amber; but the soft, rich brown was all the more beautiful for its simplicity. Already he comprehended part of why this man was called the Crown Jewel. "Misers are almost as much fun to break as prudes."
Lazzaro laughed and bent his own head, so they were only the barest breath apart. "You are welcome to try, jewel, but I was raised by monks. My discipline is extraordinary."
"So are my charms," Celeste replied, and brushed the barest whisper of a kiss across Lazzaro's mouth. Then he was gone, leading the way from the parlor and leaving a trail of rich cologne—cinnamon and rose, hints of clove and amber.
Lazzaro licked his lips, which tingled and burned the faintest bit. Cinnamon, he realized. The bastard's lip oil contained cinnamon. Shaking his head, amused and impressed and more turned on than he was willing to admit, Lazzaro followed Celeste from the parlor and up the stairs to a room immediately off them.
Celeste's room proved to be large and lavish; strange, Lazzaro thought, for a courtesan to be given so much space. It was clearly meant for extended stays; and for someone as high class as Celeste, he supposed that did make sense, after all.
Spinning smoothly on his heel, Celeste settled down on a dark red velvet settee, the very definition of an invitation to amorous activity. Lazzaro would be lying if he said he was not tempted; however, he was there to catch a killer and needed to remember that.
Before he could speak, Celeste clucked his tongue in disapproval. "You are all unpleasant business, your grace. I promise the business will not be less grave if you sit and have a drink, relax a little bit."
Lazzaro shook his head in amusement. "Said the cat to the mouse, 'Come and share my cream; it is too good for me to pounce you'."
Celeste laughed, and something in the way he threw his head back, the way his whole body shook—it was artless, uncontrived. He could be that talented, but Lazzaro had a sharp eye for deceit; he believed the laughter genuine.
He should not be pleased that he had extracted an honest response.
Dismissing the errant thought, Lazzaro leaned against a heavy table on which rested a vase of costly roses and a tray with a bottle of brandy and two glasses. He crossed his arms over his chest, merely lifting one brow when Celeste ceased laughing and looked at him. "I only pounce when paid to do so, your grace, and if you are a mouse then I am a kitten. You strike me as more of a fox."
"I have been called such before," Lazzaro admitted, "but I have been called many things."
"Mm," Celeste murmured. "I should think so. Even I, tucked away here in my humble little corner of the city, have heard of the monkish peasant who became a Duke, and is best friend to the crown prince and acknowledged by his royal father. They say you dabble in solving crimes, as well. Smart, although some say too smart. The rumors of your handsomeness were not exaggerated. A miser, also true. Is it true you persuaded his Highness to marry Princess Anastasia instead of Princess Heather?"
"Yes," Lazzaro confirmed. "I met Princess Heather well before his Highness ever saw her. They would have hated each other."
"Well, this disreputable citizen of the royal city approves of our flame-haired demon princess, for however little that is worth," Celeste said, then smirked and added, "I will miss his Highness' patronage."
Lazzaro laughed. "I would imagine so; his Highness believes in generosity."
Celeste tilted his head inquisitively. "You are not troubled that his Highness has paid for my services?"
"Why would I be?" Lazzaro asked, genuinely surprised.
In reply, Celeste shook his head. "Men are always troubled, but you are not here for my charms, your grace. I have little else to offer, though."
Lazzaro sincerely doubted that. "Information."
Celeste's face shuttered, all of the playfulness snuffed like a candle. If Lazzaro had not been watching so closely, he would have missed the flicker of disappointment. Why would Celeste be disappointed? He tucked the puzzle away to sort out later as Celeste spoke. "There is precious little I am not willing to sell, your grace, but information is precious indeed and I do not sell it. Many a person has offered me kingdoms in exchange for the secrets they think I possess. You will notice I do not reside in a castle."
"Offering you a castle is as foolish as offering to buy out your contract. I may as well offer a city to a farmer. A castle would not suit your purposes."
Celeste smiled faintly. "Just so. I do not sell information, your grace, not to anyone. My greatest asset is my discretion. All my looks and talents are not worth half as much as my ability to keep my mouth shut when necessary. I do not bend that rule; truly am I sorry."
He was, Lazzaro realized. He would not be swayed and he was sorry for it. His respect for Celeste grew significantly. He knew so-called honorable men who did not have a smidgen of the integrity that Celeste had just displayed. "I confess my disappointment, jewel, but I respect your stance. For what little it is worth, I am seeking a murderer. I know he is too clever and too smart. Probably good looking, but not of extraordinary looks. He is wealthy, likely privileged, yet no one can recall his face or any real details about him. No one can recall much of anything; even the facts I possess are deduction and supposition. He must have been seen by many, yet not a single person recalls him."
Celeste frowned. "A murderer? Certainly I have serviced many an unpleasant element; I will not deny men come to me with blood on their hands but little upon their consciences. I can say honestly none of those men match what little you have provided."
Lazzaro fought despair. Would he never catch the bastard?
"If I may ask, who has he killed?"
At first, Lazzaro hesitated—but he would not have come here if he had not been willing to divulge his information, and he firmly believed Celeste kept his silences. Finally he said, "Four people over the last year. Lady Accardi, Lord Croce, Lord Lecce, and Lady Salvai."
"Lady Salvai," Celeste repeated. "Your mother was said to have dead of apoplexy. I am sorry; she was in all ways a beautiful woman, from what I heard."
"Yes," Lazzaro replied. "Thank you. She was poisoned, as were the other three. Political motives, mostly, we believe. My mother was probably killed because she had so strong an influence on my father and it was known she was vehemently against certain bills." Namely those to do with the taxes that would hurt the Entertainment Quarter where she had grown up; his mother had never shied away from admitting the flaws of the Entertainment Quarter, and many there had called her disloyal because of it. "They were killed weeks and months apart, and each from a different 'health problem'. I have been hunting the killer for the past year. His Highness said if anyone could tell me something new it would be a jewel, and that there was no better resource than the Crown Jewel."
"He would have the money, too, but it's peculiar for men like that to want to part with it. Men who can spend large sums of money on someone like me, but are not nobility, tend to be noticed," Celeste mused. "Being noticed is not something he can afford. Have you considered that your killer is a jewel or a cut flower?"
"Impossible," Lazzaro said. 'Cut flower' was what his mother had been—a member of the 'half world' of people who flitted on the edge of being proper nobility. They were wealthy, popular, but never truly a part of the elite. They were cut flowers, prettily arranged, rather than properly part of the noble garden. "The men and women killed were murdered in private sections of the palace, where such persons are not permitted to go."
"The 'Secret Palace', yes," Celeste said. "Only the royal family and a short list of nobles, guests, and servants are permitted. Certainly no half-world or pleasure-world persons are admitted." He tilted his head back, hair spilling over his shoulders and falling over part of his face. The smirk that curved his lips made Lazzaro want to bite them, drag his tongue across them, kiss them until he left them bruised and throbbing. "Only last week, a man paid triple my usual price so that I would visit him in a particular place. I arrived at the appointed time, was escorted as I was told I would be, and spent three hours in a lovely room. The walls were covered in lavender and cream paper; the furniture was all rich brown and a darker lavender, with accents matching the walls, golden woods, a beautiful brass candelabra, and crystal lights dripping from the ceiling. The brown fur rug before the fireplace is very soft against bare skin." He propped one arm on the sofa armrest, resting his head in hand and letting his robes gape slightly open—
And Lazzaro could all too easily imagine why someone would pay triple the price to fuck Celeste on the floor of the Lavender Room, in the heart of the Secret Palace. He did not bother to contemplate which of the six people who had access to that room had broken such an important rule; he could narrow it to three in a moment and would put the fear of the gods into all of them later. "You have made your point," he said dryly.
"Look for a jewel or a cut flower; that is the best advice I can offer, your grace," Celeste said.
"Thank you for the information," Lazzaro replied. "Especially as you revealed something you probably should not have."
Celeste smiled. "I have not revealed nearly as much as you think, your grace."
Lazzaro shook his head. "Does an honest, open, uncalculated word ever fall from that pretty mouth of yours?"
"I would not be very good at my job if I let that happen," Celeste replied. "But tell me true, your grace—how many truly honest men do you know?"
"None," Lazzaro conceded with a nod. "I thank you again for your assistance, Celeste."
Celeste laughed and rose, tossing his hair over his shoulder with a smooth, practiced movement. "Conversation is easy enough, your grace." He stopped just short of touching Lazzaro as he pushed away from the table and rose to his full height. "I can say honestly that it has been a very long time since the only thing anyone wanted from my mouth was words."
Lazzaro smiled faintly. He lifted his right hand, and lightly traced Celeste's mouth with the knuckle of his forefinger. "I can admit honestly that I understand the temptation for more. Beautiful evening to you, jewel, and a warm rest." He left coins on the table and slipped from the room, retracing his steps out of the House of Peace and back into the night.
Only when he was well away from the Jewel District was he able to breathe properly again. The scent and taste of cinnamon chased him until morning.
*~*~*
Celeste stared at the money on the table, truly surprised. Three sovereigns; that was roughly a third of what he would charge for one night, a veritable fortune in the eyes of most. Even the most shameless courtesan would not charge more than one sovereign for conversation.
He
was the most infamous courtesan in the quarter and he would not dare charge that simply for talking.