Everyone knew—or at least knew of—Lord Lazzaro Salvai, the first Duke of Nascimbeni. He was not loose with his money; in a city of decadence and free-flowing gold, it was a noteworthy trait. He would not have given three sovereigns if he had not thought Celeste deserved them. Of course, there was always the far more likely possibility that the good Duke was simply trying to soften him up with gold so he would be more amenable to giving information the next time he came around—and he would return. They always did. The cynical part of Celeste's mind would not overrule the rest of him as usual, however; he believed the money had been given sincerely.
Celeste knew he was beautiful, knew how to tempt even the most prudish of men. More importantly, he knew how to resist temptation himself. The Duke of Nascimbeni was hardly the first to seek him out explicitly for information. Celeste did not doubt that had he surrendered it, the Duke would have been extremely generous. He
was
the first man to walk away without taking something else while he was there; Celeste had never been refused before and he was not certain what to make of it. He smiled ruefully and pocketed two of the sovereigns. It would not do for Pio to know what the Duke had really paid him.
Reaching up, Celeste touched his lips with the knuckle of his forefinger, remembering the way the Duke had caressed them. All of the hard fucks he had taken over the years did not feel half as intimate as that caress. It really only made the whole encounter stranger. He had seen the way the Duke had looked at him—yet he had walked away.
No matter how he tried, Celeste could not dismiss that he had been resisted. Men succumbed to him; that was his job, and bedding the Duke would not have even been a chore. He had no cause to complain about his current set of customers, and liked that he had managed to arrange one whole night to himself, he would not have minded adding the Duke to his client list.
Chuckling softly, rather taken by the unexpected challenge, Celeste picked up the remaining sovereign. He played with it idly, in no hurry to return downstairs, moving it back and forth between his fingers, making it dance across his knuckles before twisting his wrist sharply and catching it neatly in his palm.
Like most residents of the Entertainment Quarter, Celeste's earliest memories were of life on the street. His mother had been a 'paste jewel'—a cheap prostitute who never managed to climb the ranks to be a true courtesan. She had died from disease when Celeste was—well, best estimate was eight, give or take a year. He had been of an age to remember her well, but simply did not; she had never factored greatly into his life.
Celeste had begun as a thief, it seeming the most exciting option as a child uninterested in sharing his mother's dreary fate. In only a couple of years he had made of himself a more than fair pickpocket, and after four years he was head of his own little gang. He had met Viola shortly thereafter, a woman for whom the word 'beautiful' simply did not suffice. She was breathtaking, elegant, refined, wealthy, adored—and a jewel. It was the first time he had really had something other than his mother and other women like her to put to that word, the first time he ever heard the term 'crown jewel'. After that, life on the streets as a pickpocket, a life of crime, just did not compare. He wanted the luxury, the comfort, for people to come to him instead of always running away from him.
As he had gotten older, Celeste had also appreciated the safety of being a jewel. Although no one in the Entertainment Quarter had an easy life, the jewels had a relatively safe one compared to many—once they reached a certain level, at least. At roughly thirty years of age, Celeste lived the best life a courtesan could ever hope and expect to attain; he had worked hard for it and for the most part he enjoyed it. He never regretted giving up the life of a thief, but he never forgot it either. Still his fingers remembered how to slip coin from the pocket of an unsuspecting passerby. He could smoothly cut purse strings or stroke a man off so well he gleefully handed over that same purse. Whatever the profession, it was all in the hands.
Celeste flipped the coin neatly in the air and caught it with his other hand, then laid it back on the table. Turning away, he strode back to the settee to steal a few more pages of his book—only to hear a sudden commotion in the hallway: shouting, swearing, the unmistakable sound of flesh violently striking flesh. Sighing, for it could only be one of two things, he turned, walked to the door, and pulled it open, loosening his robe as he went because there was little as distracting as bare flesh.
In the hallway, several of the men and women of the house were gathered around two figures, all of them in various states of dress. The two figures in the middle of the mess were Pio, the Master of the House, and Tula—young for her level of expertise, but for very good reasons. Currently, she had a livid red handprint on one cheek and was poised to strike out herself as Pio tensed to lunge for her again.
Celeste pushed through the ring of people and caught Pio's wrist as he lifted his arm to strike. "Pio, why do you persist in wasting your time on the girls? Girls are too delicate for you." Never mind that Tula's specialty was anything but delicate.
Pio whipped around and anger flooded Celeste—his eyes were dilated, hazy-looking; clearly he had indulged—overindulged—in dream smoke. Damn it, he had told those bastards to stop selling to Pio. He had made special arrangements for them to ensure it.
Burying his anger, Celeste released Pio's wrist and instead smoothed his hand along Pio's shoulders, letting his robe fall a bit from his own. He slowly slid his hand up behind Pio's neck, drawing them closer together and distracting Pio entirely from the slowly emptying hallway. No man, no matter how jaded, drugged, or angry, could resist being the focus of amorous intent—especially when that focus came from the Crown Jewel. "Come now, Pio. Do not hit the girls. You may as well expect children to satisfy you." He slid his other hand down Pio's chest, nails raking lightly, before slowly undoing the lacings of Pio's hose and pulling out his half-hard cock.
Sliding to his knees, Celeste made short work of guaranteeing Pio would be too sated and tired to try messing with anyone else the rest of the night. Pio came in his mouth with a whiny groan, and Celeste pulled away once he had finished, catching Pio so he did not fall on his face as drugs and release overwhelmed him. Only a moment later, Pio passed out completely, his clothes rumpled and skewed, stinking of booze and dream smoke, his limp cock hanging out, still wet from Celeste's mouth. Tula handed him a handkerchief.
"Thank you, Celeste. He came out of nowhere, caught me by surprise. I was only trying to get him into my room, that was all. I would have made certain the bastard passed out, then, one way or another." She blew out an irritated breath. "I know it's disrespectful and all, but honestly Celeste—the man is a menace. One day he's really going to hurt one of us, and then what will happen? What happens when a customer sees, or worse, he goes after a customer?"
Celeste acknowledged her words with a nod, wiping his mouth and face with the kerchief. He directed the two house guards who had finally appeared to cart Pio away. "Lock him in his room and make certain the door is unlocked around dawn. Tula, make certain everyone is where they should be and that no customers were disturbed." He did not bother to say they had better hope all was well, because the amount of money Pio had spent on dream smoke, alcohol, and gambling had probably taken most of the night's profits.
Stifling a sigh, Celeste returned to his room and discarded his silk robe. Opening his wardrobe, he pulled on breeches, stockings, a linen shirt, and a plain black waistcoat and jacket. Then he pulled on and laced up sturdy boots, sliding a thin dagger into each of them. He slipped a few more daggers into other bits of clothing, totaling seven in all. After the daggers, he slid a small thin case into a hidden pocket inside his jacket. Poison was an old trick in the entertainment business; perhaps he should have mentioned that to the good Duke.
Lastly, he tucked away a small purse, then braided his hair and twisted it up and out of his way, securing it with a plain comb. Ready at last, Celeste slipped out of his room again and headed down the hall to the back stairs. At the bottom, he turned down another hallway and ended at a door that led to the back alley. Only he and Pio had keys to the door. Once outside, it took him only moments to find the pair he sought. "Beautiful evening," he murmured, smile razor sharp.
The men blanched, but were smart enough not to bolt. "B-Beautiful evening, Celeste."
Celeste drew closer. "I told you to stop selling to him. I ensure it is worth your time not to sell to him. Do you want me to put an end to the arrangement?"
"Weren't us," the taller of the two men sputtered. "We don't sell to him, we wouldn't. Tula—anyway, he left us; don't know where he went. We can't stop the entire group selling, Celeste, you have to know that."
Ignoring the whining, Celeste asked, "Who can stop it?"
"Boss, maybe," the shorter man mumbled. "But ain't everyone going to refuse that kind of money even if the boss says to. And that's money lost, so the boss ain't likely—"
"Where is he?" Celeste interrupted.
"Why do you care so much what Pio does?' the taller man whined.
Celeste shook his head. "I don't give a damn about Pio, only what he does to the other jewels. We lose money when Pio does this, and we'll lose a lot more if the jewels decide to work elsewhere. No one likes to be roughed up, not even jewels." He smirked and added, "Unless, of course, we're being handsomely paid to be roughed up."
The men chuckled at that, already distracted by the lovely thoughts of what they would be doing to Tula later. Celeste left them to their lustful daydreaming for the moment, his own mind preoccupied with Pio and keeping him away from dream weed for the next seven months. That was all he needed, and then he would have enough coin and leverage to buy the House of Peace from Pio.
Then
he would have all he wanted.
The Duke's face flickered through his mind then, startling him. Dismissing it, he turned his full attention back to the job at hand. "I will not ask again—where do I find Marco at this hour?"
Scratching his chin, the taller man replied, "This time of night, he's always in the Theatre District, usually the Primrose Teahouse."
Celeste slapped his cheek playfully, putting only a little bit of sting into it. "Good boy. You should perhaps be more diligent about seeing he does not get the dream weed. The way he slapped Tula tonight, next time she may not be able to service you. Ta, gentlemen." Slipping away, he cut quickly through the Pleasure District and soon slipped past the twin mermaid statues that marked the beginning of the Theatre District.
Actors, he thought scornfully, watching as a few of them stumbled drunkenly past him, still dolled up in cheap make-up and cheaper costumes from whatever farce they had put on. No different than jewels, really, but they loved to think they were better—as though flaunting their ability to act made them special. The best actors never gave any indication they were acting, as any proper jewel knew. Actors were just gaudy little bitches who wanted to rise to the half-world, the closest any peasant got to nobility, as if that was the smart thing. All that make-up addled their brains. Celeste loathed the Theatre District; they were unpolished jewels pretending to be something grand. All show and no substance.
Bypassing the theatre houses, he made for the throng of teahouses that stretched along the water front portions of the district. Pastel-colored paper lanterns lined the entries and walkways, along with bells and chimes, lush flowers and little ponds filled with exotic fish.
He walked up the well-lit white stone path of the Primrose Teahouse, one of the most expensive in the district—and one of the more notorious. He slipped under the overhanging roof and into shadow, then pulled the comb from his hair and unwound the braid, allowing his hair to tumble free again. It was long, heavy, difficult, and tiresome to deal with—but something about it always helped him earn those precious extra coins he had secreted away from the first day. Every detail mattered in the life of a jewel and his hair had always been an especially crucial one. His mouth was another, which was why he drew still more attention to it by way of his costly lip oils. He bothered with no other make-up, since they did more harm than good in the end, but the lip oils were infinitely worth it.
Reaching into his jacket, Celeste pulled out the small tin of lip oil that he perpetually carried, using his small finger to rub it on his lips, making them glisten and burn from the cinnamon oil in it. Ready, he entered the teahouse and strode past the hostess in her gaudy, over-patterned dress.
Teahouses were a popular thing, a peculiarity brought into the kingdom centuries ago. They were less formal than other establishments, but better than taverns and bars. He kept walking, ignoring the way other patrons stared, stopping only when he reached the large table in the middle of the room where Marco sat with a handful of his men.
It had been a very long time since he had laid eyes on Marco. They had gone their separate ways at thirteen, when Celeste had been old enough to take up legally as a jewel and Marco had gone down deeper into the criminal world. They had been good thieves together as children; a pity that Marco had blackened himself with the drug trade. "Marco."
Everyone at the table froze as a complete stranger addressed their boss so casually. Marco only laughed and sipped his wine from a delicate porcelain cup. "Well, a visit from the Crown Jewel himself. I am honored. You are more beautiful than all the rumors say."