“You’re full of solemn thoughts tonight, Arman—not auspicious for a general about to lead a major mission across unknown territories.”
Which was true enough. “Again, apologies, Pei, but perhaps I should be going. We’re leaving at dawn and I want to be rested.”
He helped his former tutor stand up, mindful of his arthritic hips. Karus laid a fatherly hand on his shoulder. “At least you’re taking Loke. He’ll make sure you eat and rest properly. My mind is much relieved by this.”
Arman couldn’t resist a smile at the thought of his irrepressible page. “He wouldn’t hear of me leaving him behind this time, and in truth, it will make my task more pleasant as well as easier.”
“Then it is as it should be,” Karus said, his eyes twinkling again. “So I will say goodnight, my boy, but not goodbye, and I expect a more satisfying game of kezi upon your return. In the meantime, I beg you, do not tell any one who taught you the game. I fear for my reputation.”
Arman hung his head in mock shame. “No, Karus-pei. I’ll do better, I promise.”
“Good. Now, farewell until our next meeting. A safe and profitable venture, if the gods so will it.”
“If they so will,” Arman responded with formal correctness. Karus patted his shoulder and then walked away, leaning heavily on his walking stick. Arman made his way through the darkened house to the front door, noting Karus had been right—his servants were all asleep or busy elsewhere. It was very late, after all. Only a single sleepy footman greeted him at the door, unlocked it and bade him goodnight, before securing the door once more behind him. It didn’t do to be careless in Utuk.
The lateness of the hour didn’t mean he had to walk to his own house alone. A slight figure had slipped out of Karus’s house with him and now took up position a respectful two paces behind him. “Did you beat him?”
“Hardly. Did you get some sleep?” Arman had wanted Loke to be well rested, but had also wanted to spend the evening with Karus. Loke had been under orders to find a quiet spot and have a nap for a few hours.
“I was going to, but then I started talking to Matez and I forgot.”
He resisted the urge to cuff his disobedient servant for neglecting himself this way. “I hope you follow my orders better than this on the march, my lad, or I’ll be forced to discipline you in front of my troops.”
“Yes, Sei Arman.” Arman didn’t have to turn to know his page had a cheeky grin on his handsome face. “But that would be a good thing, would it not? Showing the stern, ruthless hand of the mighty Sei Arman, whom no man would dare defy?”
“Loke?”
“Yes, Sei?”
“Shut up.”
“Yes, Sei.”
Arman shook his head. In truth he would cut his hand off before he laid a finger in anger on Loke, and Loke would cut his head off rather than require such an action, but for some reason it sometimes amused his cheerful, helpful friend to become a parody of an obsequious servant in public. Arman suspected he thought it made Arman look more dignified. Arman thought it made him look like he should spank his page.
But Arman honestly didn’t care. No noble in his acquaintance had a squire more devoted, or a more loyal attendant. And none he knew of could call their page a true friend, as he had no hesitation in doing with Loke.
“We leave at sunrise, Sei?”
“Yes. So I’ll need to be up at least an hour before then.”
Loke sighed heavily. “That means I have to get up even earlier.”
“Yes, you will and then you’ll be sorry you didn’t get that rest.”
“Probably. It’s a hard life in the army, Sei Arman.”
Arman glanced at him. “You could stay behind, lad, as I wish you would.”
“No, can’t do that, Sei. I would never sleep wondering who was folding your shirts.”
Now Arman did stop and lightly cuff the back of Loke’s head. “I can and do fold my own damn shirts, you disagreeable child. I’m not some fancy boy that needs my robes gilded before I set foot in public.”
Loke grinned and appeared to consider. “I think a little gilt might look rather nice on you,” he said solemnly, and danced away from Arman’s hand again. He grew serious. “My place is at my master’s side, Sei Arman.”
“I’m not—”
Your master
, Arman wanted to say, but there were people about, and Loke invested a lot of effort into preserving the myth he was but one of Arman’s servants. A favoured one, yes, but still knowing his place. That Arman never thought of him as anything but a friend, and never had done, was something known only to them and one or two of Arman’s close companions, such as Karus. Friendships with one’s servant did not befit the son of a senator, even if his ‘servant’ was well-born too. “I have a foreboding about this. I wish you wouldn’t come.”
“I wish you wouldn’t go,” Loke said in a low voice. “For I too have forebodings.”
“I have no choice but to do my duty.” He nodded at the soldiers standing guard at his front door, acknowledging their salute.
“And that’s my answer too, my master.” Only Loke could make that term affectionate, as he rushed ahead of Arman to open the door to Arman’s house, holding it open for him.
Arman’s footman wasn’t sleepy, but he was a good deal surlier than Karus’s, scowling at Loke for daring to bring his impertinent self back so late. He wiped the scowl off his face as Arman frowned at him. “My mistress said to tell you, Sei Arman, that she is waiting for you on the southern verandah.”
“At this hour? Surely she’s gone to bed.”
“No, Sei Arman. She specifically bid me tell you she would be waiting for you.”
“What in six hells—” He bit off his oath. “Very well. Loke, you really must get some sleep now—and be ready an hour before sunrise.”
“Yes, Sei.”
Loke walked off towards their quarters, his step still cheerful despite a long night keeping vigil. The boy honestly had reserves of energy that made Arman feel twice his age, not a mere eight years his senior.
Arman turned to the footman. “I’ll go to my lady. No one else is to be admitted tonight.”
“No, my master.” There was no affection in
his
use of the words.
Arman grimaced as he stripped off his cloak, handed it to the servant, and then walked along the halls to the southern wing. What did Mayl want? The woman could barely manage the courtesy of friendly conversation, and the gods knew Arman never sought an excuse to talk to her. He left the running of his house to her and wanted nothing more to do with it. All he asked was that his private rooms were left strictly alone, and that his meals—those few he was present for—didn’t contain poison. She could—and did—do what she liked after that.
She was reclining on a couch, facing into the garden, but at his step, she rose gracefully to greet him. If he didn’t know what a mind her looks concealed, he’d have found her an appealing sight this evening. She was carefully made up, dark accents around her admittedly flawless eyes, her pale blue gown chosen to flatter her excellent figure. Once, he had thought her not unpleasant to look at, but that was long before they were married. There was no chance of him feeling that way now. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes, husband. Would you like some wine?” She was already pouring out a glass. He wondered if she would dare poison it, but decided to trust his fate to the gods, as he always did. He trusted them a lot more than he trusted
her
.
“Thank you. What did you want to see me about?”
“So abrupt, Arman. Can’t a loving wife offer a cup of wine to her husband, on a warm, fragrant evening before he leaves for months on a campaign?”
He bit back the instinctive sarcasm. “I suppose.” He took the glass from her hands, but didn’t drink from it. “Mayl, I have to depart very ear....”
“I went to the Temple of Isik today.” Her voice took on a silky purr. “The priests told me my fertility is high tonight.”
Arman stared at her, his heart sinking. “Your fertility?”
“Yes, husband,” she said, stepping closer, and rubbing her hand up his arm. “I’m very fertile tonight.”
He was still holding the glass, so he took a big gulp of the wine, hoping the acidity would wash away the taste of his revulsion. “So you want to....”
“Yes.” She moved to his side. “After all, you will be away for many weeks, perhaps, and your father has waited a long time for a grandson.”
Arman tossed the glass out into the garden, taking a vicious delight in the noise of its breaking and her wince. He hoped it was one of her better goblets. “My
father
is not going to determine when I have sex,” he said coldly.
Her eyes narrowed, but then she smiled. “Ah, but your wife can,” she said sweetly, not so subtly reminding him that a wife—especially one publicly noted to be at high fertility—had a right to request sexual services from her husband, and refusal both damaged his honour and could be used against him as a cause for divorce.
He looked at her in disgust. “You want a child so badly?”
“It
is
my duty. Perhaps a child will fill my empty arms when my husband is away on his campaigns—or carousing with his friends.”
That stung his conscience. However much he loathed this woman, to deny her the chance of motherhood on that account was wrong and cruel. And he
did
spend most evenings away from the house when he was actually in Utuk, which was usually less than half of any year, and never for more than a month at a time. “All right.”
Now her smile was triumphant. “Come now, you needn’t look so stricken. After all, what do I lack that you might want in any other companion?”
A pair of smiling green eyes and an honest heart,
he forbore from saying. “We’ll use your rooms?”
“Yes, husband. Everything is prepared. My maids were very pleased at the prospect of us fulfilling our marital duties.”
So she’s prepared her witnesses in advance
. “I wonder you would want to talk about something so intimate with the servants,” he said, a cutting edge to his tone even as he followed after her.
“The birth of your heir is something which concerns everyone here. Of course they want to know about it.”
What it would be like to be wanted as a partner or a son for himself, rather than for the output of his balls? He rather wished his fertility testing at puberty had been less emphatic. His father wouldn’t have bothered with his dynastic games if there had been no chance of a child from the union, and no respectable aristocratic woman would tie herself to a sterile man, however distinguished.
Should arrange to have my damn testicles permanently damaged in a riding accident one of these days
.
That would teach them.
But it was already too late to prevent the loss of four years of his life in this loveless union.
He hadn’t been in Mayl’s bedroom in over a year, and that only because he’d been drunk off his feet after a state dinner and she’d persuaded him to spend the night rutting until he passed out. He didn’t remember a lot about that evening, for which he was thankful. She’d clearly hoped that would be sufficient, but she hadn’t caught. He wondered if it would be any different tonight.
The room was certainly laid out for a seduction. Sweet incense filled the air, and the covers on the bed were laid down, flowers on both pillows. “Overdoing it a little, aren’t you?”
She laughed. “You never know, Arman. You’ve never really given me a chance to prove myself a worthy bed mate. Perhaps if you tried it sober, you might enjoy it.”
He winced again at the accuracy of her barb. Their few couplings, even on their wedding night, had always been when he or both of them had been drinking. In fact, he’d never had sex sober in his life, except with himself, and it wasn’t Mayl to whose memory he jerked off. “Apologies. I have been less than fair to you, and derelict in my conjugal duties.”
“Never mind,” she said, taking him by the hand and leading him to the bed. “Let’s begin anew. Let’s learn how to treat each other with respect, so your child will be born under auspicious beginnings.”
The mention of a child effectively robbed him of what little enthusiasm he could muster, and he could only watch as she disrobed with—he had to admit it—grace and sensuousness. Nude, she was perfect, a body any artist would love to sculpt or paint. Many men, of a certainty, would consider themselves blessed to have her in their bed. Unfortunately he wasn’t one of them. He’d never been able to lust where he did not like, and he assuredly did not like.
“Arman? May I undress you?”
He started to object automatically, but then stilled his hands. “If that is your pleasure, my wife.”
She smiled pleasantly at the rare use of her title, and slid his outer coat off his shoulders, letting it slip to the floor. He suffered having his shirt similarly treated, and couldn’t help blushing as her fingers tugged at the ties on his trousers. Her hand cupped his groin suggestively, and his cock responded to the pressure, mindless organ that it was. “My, perhaps you’re particularly fertile tonight too.”