Jason

  They only went a few more minutes before arriving at the hostel where Darion was staying. It really was a hole in the ground, Jason thought as they descended the basement steps. A bored-looking woman with a lined face was sitting behind a counter. She frowned when she saw them.

  "Darion, I told you the rules. No lovers," she said.

  Darion smiled winningly and touched his heart. "Ah, Darlene, I didn't know you would get jealous."

  Jason had not realized the level of annoyance a human face could express until that moment.

  Darion kept smiling. "I need to pick up my things. We'll be quick."

  "You owe last week's payment." Darlene tapped the counter. "Four Lares."

  "That's more than the week before."

  "Late fees."

  Darion grumbled but dug out the coins.

  "You better not dally," Darleen said as she opened the door and let them in. "No lovers."

  Windows near the ceiling let in just enough light to see by, motes of dust swirling in the sunbeams. The floor was concrete but relatively clean. Some of the bunk beds had occupants, but it didn't smell as bad as Jason expected.

  They went to one in the back, pressed against the wall. Both bunks were empty.

  Darion opened a wooden locker and started stuffing some loose clothes into a pack.

  "Give your jacket."

  This time, Jason didn't hesitate. He expected Darion to shove it in with his other clothes, but he folded it neatly before putting it in his pack.

  He put on a lightly armored vest. It was a pattern of greens and browns, meant to blend into a forest.

  As they left, Darion let Darlene know he was moving out. Jason didn't ask where he was moving to, but he had the sense that Darion was going to push himself into their lives. And Jason would be stuck figuring out how to make that happen.

  Darion gestured with his chin down the street. "Let's go, I'm hungry."

  ***

  Jason hadn't been to a Karangasz restaurant before. The ceiling was draped with small, brightly colored flags. Patterned rugs covered the floor, and some were on the walls. Reds and browns dominated, with an occasional dash of yellow or blue. The air smelled like spices, and the sibilant sounds of Karangasz filled the room. Darion went to the counter to order, with Jason trailing him.

  "What do you want to eat?" He asked.

  "I'm not hungry. I had breakfast," Jason said.

  Darion looked at the ceiling in exasperation. "I'll choose something for you then."

  He spoke to the server in Karangasz, then paid and took a card with a number on it. Jason followed him as he found a secluded corner to sit in.

  He propped the card on the table, then leaned back against the tall-backed bench. The benches had stained brown cushions and were made of what once must have been light wood.

  "So what's the story?"

  "What do you mean?"

  Darion rolled his eyes. "You know what I'm talking about. Why is Tsarek still alive, and why are you involved?"

  Jason looked around. "Is it safe to discuss here?"

  Darion nodded. "A good thing to be concerned about. But can you make out anyone else's conversation? No? Then we should be fine."

  It was true, but Jason shook his head. "You would be surprised by how sound can carry and where someone might be listening."

  Darion looked at him with a new intensity, as if seeing him for the first time. Jason stared back into his dark eyes.

  Jason looked away before his face betrayed his thoughts.

  Darion grinned. "Sounds like you know from experience. But this is the sort of place meant for private conversation. We should be fine."

  Jason paused and tried to think through what would be the right thing to say. He looked at the swirls of wood in the table, weighing his options.

  Darion spoke up. "Tsarek said we should trust each other."

  "It's not so much that—" Jason began when Darion raised his hand to silence him.

  Three men walked over to their table. All of them were tough-looking, though none were obviously Karangasz, not that Karangasz always looked it. They wore armored jackets, each with bright green elements, as if the color united them. All of them had swords. Jason focused on keeping his expression neutral. He adjusted Darion's jacket, grateful to have it.

  "Houndsblood," said the one with a missing tooth and a large piercing in between his nostrils. His sunken eyes made him look stupid. His hand rested on his sword hilt. Jason could feel the panic rising in his chest. He didn't want to see another fight.

  Darion smiled and leaned back. "While it's absolutely lovely to see you, Marco, you're interrupting breakfast with my boyfriend here."

  Jason's stomach clenched, and his face grew hot. He had been ready to hide his fear. The blush was harder to hide. He rubbed his neck.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Marco's brows furrowed as he glanced over at Jason, then back at Darion. Some of the tension left him. "Didn't know you swung that way, Houndsblood."

  "That's because you can't afford me."

  Marco snorted. "And he can?"

  "I give discounts when someone's good-looking." Darion winked at Jason.

  Jason smiled back, trying to play the part.

  Marco's eyes narrowed. "You must think you're so clever, you piece of trash."

  "The price just went up for you, so be careful what you say next." Darion seemed unfazed by the insult.

  "Marco, stay on task," said a smaller man with a wiry build and patchy facial hair. He had a quiet, serious expression that made Jason suspect he was actually in charge. The last man, who was hardly more than a boy, stood in the back with his arms crossed.

  Marco nodded. "The boss says three of our guys were killed real fast, and he wanted me to find you."

  Darion raised a brow. "Why would I go around killing your guys?"

  Marco sneered. "Aren't you always going on about being the best brawler in the city? You're one of the few people who could pull it off."

  "Glad to hear that you know about my reputation, but cage fights and killing in the street are two different things." Darion scoffed. "And if I did do it, why are there only three of you here? Seems unsafe."

  "Everyone says you're waiting to die," Marco said. "Maybe you were looking for a fight."

  "And when was I supposed to have done this? In between fucking and breakfast?"

  "Some discretion, please!" The focus went on Jason again, who didn't need to fake being flustered.

  Marco's lips curled in a sneer. "I didn't think you were serious about that."

  Darion made his eyes big. "Me? Not serious about something?"

  The wiry man spoke again. "I don't think he knows anything."

  Marco looked at Darion for a long moment, then nodded. "I have my eye on you, Houndsblood."

  "I should hope so." Darion blew him a kiss. Marco looked disgusted and left, trailed by his companions.

  Jason leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. This day was simply too much, and it had barely begun.

  "You don't need to worry. I just say shit because I didn't know if you could keep a straight face," Darion said, no longer smiling. "Better that you looked embarrassed."

  Jason felt a pang of ... disappointment? What was wrong with him? It was probably just stress.

  He composed himself and looked back at Darion. "I'm a servant. Part of my job is reacting how I'm supposed to."

  Then Darion smiled again, but it was different this time, softer and more genuine. "And you did well."

  Jason kept a straight face, letting none of the stupid passing thoughts show. "Thanks."

  Mercifully, the food arrived. It was a large platter, with flatbread, a couple of hard-boiled eggs, and small dishes filled with stewed beans and lentils. The waitress also put down a pot and two cups. They were all heavy earthenware ceramics.

  Darion poured them both the dark drink, ripped off a piece of bread, and started scooping up the stewed vegetables.

  Jason felt it would be rude not to join in and wanted an excuse not to talk, so he did the same. The bread had a slight sour tang that complemented the touch of spice from the vegetables. He started eating with a hunger he didn't know he had.

  Darion sat back and started nursing his drink. "Are you going to tell me what's going on? What's your relationship with Tsarek?"

  Jason took a sip of the kava, which was more smoky and bitter than he expected. But he liked it more after the second sip.

  "I work for him."

  Darion's whole face scrunched up in confusion. "And what kind of work could he possibly be hiring you to do?"

  "I work as his personal servant. He's…" Jason paused, trying to put together his thoughts, "He's the long-lost son of a Laude."

  Darion scowled. "You're a good liar. But I know that's not true. He's my brother."

  There was no familial resemblance in his face.

  But before Jason could express any doubt, Darion said, "Well…there is the fact that he's adopted. This is not uncommon with the Karangasz. Blood is not so valuable. But still… why didn't he tell me he was the long-lost son of a Laude?"

  Darion tapped the table in thought.

  Jason stated the obvious. "He didn't know."

  Darion snorted. "I'll make my jokes more obvious next time."

  "His name is now Alensar D'Ami. He's a bastard of the D'Ambrosia family."

  "Nekthor's tits." Darion whistled. "Ma called him Alensar at bedtime when we were kids. I forgot about that."

  Jason stiffened at the casual curse. He tried not to show it.

  Darion shook his head. "Your story doesn't add up. If he's a noble, why is he being beaten?"

  Jason paused, "The scars…"

  "The scars are obviously from Tragst. I mean the bruises."

  Jason shook his head. "I don't know. He didn't say anything about them. I only knew they existed today. They must be from his fencing practice."

  Darion exhaled softly. "Sounds like him."

  Jason absentmindedly took some more of the bread.

  "Good, eh?" Darion said, clearly pleased.

  Jason nodded, using the food as a break to help him collect his thoughts. He wanted to ask Darion more about the conversation they had with the men who came to their table.

  But he should probably focus on doing his job, even though it probably wouldn't last much longer.

  "How did you find us? What were you doing out there this morning?"

  "Following the spirits of the dead," Darion said, as if this were a perfectly normal thing to say. Jason waited, but he did not elaborate.

  Jason sighed and rubbed his face.

  "Are you okay?" Darion's concern seemed annoyingly genuine.

  "It's been a lot for me today. And I probably won't have a job when all this is over."

  Darion furrowed his brow. "Why would Tsarek fire you? He says he trusts you. That means something when he says it."

  Jason shook his head. "Not him, Laude Granthor. She's acting as his guardian while he's learning to be a noble. She's very strict."

  Darion frowned. "Where does the money come from?"

  Jason hadn't considered that. "I don't know."

  "How much do you get paid?"

  "Two crowns a week."

  Darion nodded. "Well, hells, that's pretty good. Almost makes me want an honest living."

  He rummaged around for a moment, then put two crowns on the table. "Here's your pay for the week."

  Jason didn't touch it.

  Darion rolled his eyes. "I didn't steal it. I made it prize fighting."

  Jason shook his head. "Why would you just offer it like that?"

  Darion shrugged. "I don't care about money. I don't need it for anything. I need to stay with Tsarek, and if that's what it takes to get your help, it's nothing."

  As Jason slid the coins back, Darion grabbed his hand, crushing Jason's bones just a little. His voice was just above a whisper. "Please. He's the only person I have left."

  This is what it meant to have power. Jason could demand something outrageous, like asking for someone to be killed, and he was sure this man would do it.

  He wouldn't ask for that, but it was strange to know he could.

  Jason pulled his hand away. "I didn't say I wouldn't help you."

  The brief show of sorrow disappeared behind his easy smile once again. "Good. So what do we do?"

  "I have an idea," Jason said, "But for it to work, you need to look less like you will murder someone in the street."

  "Excuse me?" Darion put a hand to his chest. "I look like that? Why had no one ever told me? No wonder I have so much trouble."

  "You'll need a shave, a haircut, and the clothes of a servant for hire. Probably looking to be a guard. It's the best way to be unnoticed and also explains your motivation to help me out. You won't stand out on the street. And then we'll figure out how to handle Laude Granthor based on how mad she is."

  She would be very mad. Despite Darion's reassurance, he could feel the dread of losing his job growing. Laude Granthor could overrule Alensar.

  Darion was nodding, and when Jason said, "You don't mind cutting your hair, right? I've heard that the beads are a count of the people you've killed."

  Darion's smile fell at the edges, and Jason wanted to pull the words out of the air.

  "Where did you hear that? It's just for looks. If it was the number of people I killed, I would need more beads." But the boast felt hollow. He stopped smiling and looked away.

  "Is that true?" Jason said and started berating himself. Why was he asking this? Why wasn't he shutting up?

  "No, but you thought it was, which is useful enough. I have killed people, though. It's the nature of war." Darion drained his cup and stood. "Well, let's do this plan of yours."

  Jason wished he could take it back, but Darion was already walking away.