Five hundred years before:

 

The court was astir.

Ornately-carved redwood screens had been thrown open to the gardens, turning the flowered and gilded sunroom to a breezy bower, the salty tang of the coast mingling with the scents of perfumed roses and heady wine. The courtiers present had been enjoying the afternoon’s laziness. They sprawled on silk-cushioned couches, or sat at the feet of lovers, lost in each other’s eyes and lips, here and there a couple entangled in an embrace too intimate for polite eyes, hands roving in arduous exploration under diaphanous layers of silk.

They had clearly not been expecting the hall’s doors to crash open with such force, nor for the procession of incensed guards with their prisoner among them, a trail of tattered brocade in his wake, his arms bruised from their grip. Their vista was a familiar one to his eyes, but he sensed – no, he knew – how alien he was to theirs.

The gentle cascade of harp music ceased abruptly, and the hushed murmurs of gossip and conversation faded to shocked silence.

The click of the guards’ leather-soled boots echoed down the long aisle to the dais at the other end, and Estienne, the cause of the sudden silence, was there flung to his knees.

The courtiers gasped. He knew well enough that he attracted their attention, and their curiosity. The ends of his hair, like a mass of sticky black spider silk, were matted with blood, but since the rest of him was unscathed, he knew the nobles and courtiers gathered in the great hall would correctly assume the blood belonged to others. They were right; he hadn’t allowed himself to be easily taken. But there was more than that. They feasted their eyes with morbid, feral obsession.

The Lord of the court rose from his high-backed chair and came down from the dais. He stopped in front of Estienne, the silver-tipped points of his blue boots directly under Estienne’s nose. 

Estienne refused to look up.

'You are Lord Estienne of High Crow Fell, a barbarian court in the icy North,' the Lord said. A hiss of indrawn breath, a tensing of slender shoulders; Estienne gave no more indication that he had heard, or that he cared that the Lord already knew his name. He kept his head bowed.

'Debaucher of young men, thief and pirate, conspirator, wizard.'

Estienne smirked.

The Lord put his boot alongside Estienne’s cheek and jerked his foot, snapping Estienne's head up.

 'So the stories are true.’ His voice was soft, low. ‘You have the dragonsight.'

'My talents are not for sale if that’s what you’re thinking. I am not for sale. Not unless I say. And then, I doubt you could afford me. Even in this shit-hole I can fetch a higher price than you can find the coin for.’

'I don't intend to buy you, Estienne.' The Lord snapped his fingers. Two servants, hard-muscled men, their close-cropped black hair painted gold, moved on silent feet to stand beside them. They each slipped a hand under Estienne’s armpits and hauled him up. The court's curiosity was renewed, and a murmur of amusement, tinged with disapproval, rippled around the room.

Estienne’s mouth curved upwards in a devilish smile. They had not been expecting this, either. He plucked at the tattered skirts of the gown he wore, letting the light catch the threads of gold in the rich blue silk.

'Do you like it?'

'You are an abomination!'

Fury blazed in the Lord's dark eyes, along with something else. Estienne knew well enough what that look meant. He’d seen it pass many times between his mother and his stepfather, and between young lovers at their court. He’d seen it even more often in the eyes of people looking at him. Lust.

He narrowed his eyes. That was something that could be used.

The man who looked back at him was not tall, but well-built, muscles honed from physical activity, his tawny skin shining with oil and dusted with gold to catch the light. Silky black hair hung to his waist in dozens of thin braids, strung with beads of lapis and gold, and held in place at the nape of his neck with a barrette of carved jet. His eyes arched high atop cheekbones high and haughty. Estienne found his eyes roving over that face, intrigue making him forget his own arrogance for a moment. The Lord had a full mouth, the lips sensuous and down-turned, giving him a petulant look. But his jaw was strong and stubborn, his nose large and high-bridged, his black brows arched and thick. 

Estienne folded his arms. 'You are Akan nala Torrine. So, either I am in Carene, which I never intended, or you have a hall in Cartha.'

Akan arched a sceptical brow. 'You are well educated, for a Northern troll. What do you know of Cartha?'

'I’ve spent the last year in Mortua, so plenty.'

'Why? What were you doing there?'

'Minding my own business. Or to be precise, businesses. I have several.' Estienne’s look turned sly. 'I trade in silks and spices and siren-scale mirrors. And on occasion, if the price is right, myself.’

'Indeed? No such items were found in your effects when my men searched you and your ship.'

Estienne spread his hands. 'There were none to be found, of course. Think you that I travel with my own priceless goods, waiting to be wrecked by pirates like you? You know less of me than I know of you, Lord Terrine!'

‘You insolent cunt.’ Akan turned away. He issued several orders in his own tongue and two scribes hurried forward, their little portable floor-desks and kneeling-cushions in their arms.

Estienne kept his expression carefully neutral as Akan dictated several messages in Carthan and ordered copies in Mortuan and Vallesian also. He had learned all three languages and had never spoken aloud any of them. He’d long since decided that an ignorance of any tongue other than his own would be more of an advantage than not. People tended to be freer with their speech if they thought he could not understand them.

'So where am I?'

'Carene,' Akan replied. 'Seems your knowledge of navigation is lacking, if you don't know how far you were blown off course!'

'Off course?' A laugh flickered from Estienne’s lips. 'I was not off course. I sailed from Soljafel, my Lord Terrine. Not from Oldhaven. Carene was not my destination as I have said, but I was not off course. Indeed, it seems I was still very much on it when your wreckers lit their lamps on Olene's coast. Sadly my knowledge of these waters isn't enough to guide me through the islands when somebody wishes my way to deceive.'

'Torrine,' snapped Akan. 'My name is Torrine. Don't feign ignorance with me, brat. I know what you are. As for wreckers...well. If I were you, I would be careful what you say here. I am no stranger to the cutting of men's tongues.'

'Don't underestimate what I can do with mine,' Estienne shot back.

A titter ghosted among the ladies in the shadows, their faces painted in masks of gold, deep brown skin veiled in red lace. He loved the colour and contrast, the vibrancy of the Southern courts. And he was more than aware of the attention his own looks got him. He'd learned to use it to great advantage in these lands.

Lord Akan flicked a wrist at the guards holding him. One pressed a hand to the back of his neck, and a sharp pain had him sucking his breath in with a hiss. He shook the man off, and rubbed the spot, scowling at the pinch.

Akan smirked. 'Take him to my inner chambers and give him a bath. And dress him like a man, not a whore!'

Estienne smiled. The courtiers shrank back as he was led from the hall. He turned his eyes on every one of them, enjoying their fear. One lady fainted, her blue-painted lips parted in shock as he passed. 

'Do not look at the people,' the guard on his left growled.

'Do you know what you are called here?' The one on the right tightened his grip painfully. 'You are called Starseer. Yet you are a monster. You are not fit to look at virtuous ladies.'

'I'll look at who I please,' Estienne said. 'Your women included, virtuous or not, and I reckon it’s more not. The sluts’ eyes enjoy my body too much for purity. And your young men are just as bad. Even your lord! Why, I saw him looking at me. Give me until midnight and you will witness him as putty in my skilful hands. Or perhaps you’d like to test my boast for yourself?’

That earned him a wild cuff from the crimson-cheeked man. Ah, so he’d hit a nerve. That was good. Let them believe he was unworried. He could gain control that way. Control meant he could survive.

They turned a corner into a wide corridor walled in latticed wood, polished so pale and smooth that in the sunlight it looked like gold. On either side of the tiled floor a channel had been dug and filled with water. Tiny goldfish darted along its white-marbled length, and white lilies floated. Estienne was fascinated. In the North, water was functional - a thing to wash in, sail on, or drink. It was not for ornamentation. Yet in the South, where the intense heat made it all the scarcer and more precious, they built pleasure-canals and fountains, and crystal ponds for growing lilies purely for feasting the eyes on. 

The guards stopped in front of a large, carved door at the end of the corridor, and the one on the left rapped the butt of his spear on the floor. The door opened.

‘In,’ said the guard, with a jerk of his head. Estienne stepped into the room. The door shut behind him, and he saw that there was a guard there, either side of the huge door, long spears ready in their hands. He turned away again. Several guards lined the walls; he took note of them all, from polished breastplate to curved sword to long-tipped spear; hands adorned with steel-clawed rings, their necks ringed in iron collars.

He looked around Lord Akan's chamber with surprise, and a small amount of disappointment. He'd expected a sumptuous, luxurious interior, redolent with gold and silk and carved wood, intricately-woven carpets, and scented oils burning in crystal lamps. Instead, the floor was plain, cool stone, and apart from the great carved bed, there was little adornment or decoration of any kind. 

Estienne frowned. He suspected someone had done this to unsettle him; he'd pulled that sort of trick many times himself. Ensuring that expectations weren't met was a sure way of unnerving someone. They had to spend time and energy re-evaluating all that they thought they knew of you, thus giving you more time to get the true measure of them, and therefore the advantage. The upper hand, he thought with disgust, was Akan's. This time.

He stood in the middle of the floor and waited while the servants filled a bath. That seemed to be done the Northern way, and not with Carthan plumbing, which he found odd. 

As if he doesn't want me to know about the heated copper vats, or the pipes.....he pulled my brows back from the frown wrinkling his forehead. He must know I know about them. I have said I have spent a year in Cartha. And even in the Northern countries, many wealthy people were now building new halls with the same pipes and vats and furnaces. Only older homes - and the chilly granite towers of his own home - had no accommodation for the new way. 

He was roughly jerked away from his speculations by one of the guards slitting the laces of his gown and yanking it from his body with a violent flick of the wrist. A snort of derision followed the gown, and with it went his sense of dignity. His hands flew to cover his cock, then away again, his chin raised high in defiance.

'You should cover yourself, whore,' snarled the guard. 'Men here do not flaunt.'

'Perhaps they have nothing to flaunt,' Estienne sneered. He stumbled as a cuff took him alongside the ear. 

'Get in the bath.'

The water was hot, deliciously so, and scented with roses. A maid came with a jug of milk and added it to the bath, and with a look of apprehension on her plump face, dropped a fat yellow sea sponge in. Estienne stared at her until she scurried away, her pale cheeks flaming. 

The door clicked shut. He had not heard it open. He looked over his shoulder. 

'Lord Akan,' he grinned. 'You interrupt me in my bath. To what do I owe the pleasure? I'd get up and bow but I'm afraid that would give me an advantage over you.'

'I doubt it.' Akan crossed to the long, narrow table under the window and poured himself a glass of golden wine. He held it to the light and swirled the honeyed liquid lightly, admiring the glow dancing in the depths. He took a sip. 

Estienne was suddenly thirsty. he'd managed to ignore the hunger pangs that had plagued him for the last few hours, exerting an iron will over his own body born of long practice, but now, watching the sweet gold wine slip like sugar down Akan's smooth brown throat, he was suddenly parched, with a thirst that he desperately wanted to slake, and did not have everything to do with wine. He cursed. Giving in to desire here would be his undoing. Making him would be Akan's first move, he was sure.

He looked away and fixed his eyes on the plain-plastered wall opposite. 'Why am I here?'

'You are a notorious smuggler. You were picked up heading to our shores; my men captured you.'

'I know all that. I've been evading your men for three years - I'm surprised it took them so long. But I meant: why am I in your chamber?'

'I ordered a bath for you.' Akan took another sensuous sip of his wine and came round to look at Estienne. 'Stand up.'

Estienne stood. He made sure to do it slowly, letting the milky water slide from his skin like folds of the sheerest silk. It dripped from the ends of his hair and over his shoulders, droplets catching in the fine hair between his legs and glinting like diamonds in the late evening sun. 

But it was his eyes that struck the most fear and fascination into people's hearts. The irises were gold, with pupils slit like a serpent's, and shadowed with thick lavender lashes. They were beautiful, and monstrous. He turned the full force of them on Akan now.

Akan merely smiled. 'A pretty boy,' he said, his lip curling slightly. 'But I have heard too much of you to suffer any effect of your appearance, ill or otherwise. You are a whore, and a pirate. Sullied, wanton, and base. Nothing but filth. Now wash yourself.'

Estienne obeyed, laughing inwardly. Lord Akan might be the one with authority here, but he was definitely not the one with the power, despite his insistence otherwise. The silks he wore were too flimsy to hide the fact that his prisoner did have an effect on him, and a profound one at that. Estienne bent his knees in the water and fetched the sponge out. 

He lifted the sponge, heavy with creamy, rose-scented liquid, and brought his palms together around it. A cascade of milky water spilled over his body. He parted his lips, his head tilted back to show the curve of his throat, letting his lashes lie long and feathery against his cheeks. He soaked the sponge again, and this time wet his hair, turning to afford Akan a view of his buttocks, shimmering and wet. 

'You're an exhibitionist,' Akan said, with no hint of disapproval, which surprised Estienne. In fact, he sounded pleased. 'I know of many ladies who would pay your weight in gold to own you.'

Estienne dropped the sponge and folded his arms. 'What the fuck are you talking about?'

'I think you know.' Akan gave a sly smile. 'You say you've spent a year in Cartha so you'll be no stranger to the market in human services. Northern slaves fetch a high price. You are part troll, and with eyes like yours you should fetch a king's ransom. Not for you the pits in the market, I think. Instead, there is an auction in my court every full moon, when flesh such as yours is bought and sold. For very high prices, I should add. And yes, the nobles who attend can afford them.’

Estienne's lip curled. He raised his hand. A crackle of magic sparked from his lips, and died. 'What did you do to me?'

Akan's mouth curled upwards in a lazy smirk. 'Now that is a secret.'

'One I will find out!'

'Not before you've earned me your weight in gold, Starseer.' Akan let his eyes rove lasciviously over Estienne's body, and now he hated the scrutiny. There was lust there, and something else. A victor's gleam. He felt sick, but  refused to cover himself. 

'I also have sent word out for the other ship you command,' Akan continued. 'The one you sent on to Cartha by another route. Dragonscale mirrors, wasn't that the cargo you said you carry? Continuing your business will earn me a wealth I could previously only dream of. And with wealth comes power.'

He finished his wine, setting the glass back on the table. He paused by the bath, just out of my line of sight so that Estienne had to turn to see him.

'I said siren scales,' Estienne said, his voice thick with dread.

'Finish your bath, then dress. I will have food sent for you. You have three days before the auction, and I intend to see that you are presented in perfect condition. You’ll be pampered and coddled like the girls you pretend to be! I suggest you enjoy it while it lasts.’

The door clicked shut behind Akan. Estienne stepped out of the bath and went to the window, trailing silky water as he went. He picked up the carafe of wine, drained it, and smashed it on the floor at the maid's feet when she came to bring in a long gown of linen. Then he smashed the glass too, wild with rage, and flung her hands away.

'Don't fucking touch me,' he snarled, in perfect Carthan.

She bowed her head and backed away, her eyes glistening with tears. 'My lord, I...'

'Never call me that!' Estienne seethed. 'And tell your master I'd rather go naked than endure a single thread of those rags against my body!'

She bowed, shaking. 

'And tell me what he's done to me!' Estienne tried again to cast the fire magic that was an innate part of him, but nothing but a mild heat tingled through his veins.

His magic was dulled and cool.