Saffron Alley Page 24

  “Is it really only lunch-time?” said Varazda.

  Dami squinted out the open garden doors at the sky. “I suppose so. Not even noon.”

  It had only been a few hours since they left Kallisto’s house. Ariston had gone for the watch, who had arrested Leto and taken everyone’s statements about the death of Shorab. Varazda, as a freedman in the eyes of the law, with several respectable witnesses, was permitted to pay a bond and remain free pending trial. Kallisto had paid the bond for him, as well as insisting on giving him money for the ruined lute. Everyone in Saffron Alley had been beside themselves with relief when they returned.

  Marzana arrived while they were still drinking their tea. He brought Varazda’s swords, thoroughly cleaned and polished. He set them on the table beside the tea-tray.

  “Join us,” said Varazda, smiling. “Have some tea.”

  Marzana looked at him for a moment with pain in his eyes. “What can I do to seek your forgiveness?” he asked.

  It was a formal Zashian thing, a question Varazda had never imagined being directed at himself. He tried to remember whether it was insulting to the petitioner to refuse. He thought it probably was.

  “Sit and drink tea,” he said finally.

  Marzana sagged slightly. “If you insist.”

  Varazda reached for the teapot and filled a cup. Marzana sat stiffly on the divan and accepted the cup.

  “I have spoken with His Excellency Narosangha,” he said. “He was not entirely surprised to hear that Shorab was passing information to his Pseuchaian mistress.”

  “Was he not? Well, we knew something of the sort must have been happening, to explain how Helenos and his crew knew about the documents that they stole.”

  Marzana nodded. “That would be counted treason in Zash, punishable by death. His Excellency says that on account of that, he won’t lay charges against you.”

  “He—really?” Varazda hadn’t even considered that possibility. Dami gave his arm a squeeze.

  “Yes,” said Marzana, “so there will be no trial. I’m a little sorry that Alkaios’s family won’t get to see his murderer brought to trial, but only a little sorry.” He sipped his tea. “I’m much sorrier that I treated you so callously in the watch-house last night.”

  Varazda waved a hand. “No, no. You were angry, and you’d every right to be—one of your men had been killed. And you were right—I’ve been secretive.”

  “As you have to be when you’re a spy.”

  “I—what?” said Varazda innocently. “I’ve no idea what you mean.”

  Marzana gave him a crooked smile. “As to the rest, I don’t know that we can expect particularly good results from Leto’s arrest. She’ll lie, of course, and with Shorab dead, there’s no one to testify to most of what she did—not that he would have been a terribly helpful witness, if alive. As for Lykanos … ” He shrugged hopelessly. “I doubt we can charge him with anything. The best we can do may be fining him for selling adulterated saffron. But we will keep our eyes on him in future, of course.” He glanced at Varazda. “As will you and your lot, I’m sure.”

  “I hope,” said Varazda, “you weren’t too hard on the guard who let Dami walk off with your prisoners last night. He wasn’t doing his job very well, admittedly, but then Dami was extremely convincing.”

  Dami snorted and bumped his shoulder against Varazda’s.

  Marzana’s expression had turned thoughtful. “I have tried to instill greater discipline in the public watch—it has been my principal aim since I took over the running of it. But it can be useful, sometimes, to have a few imbeciles whom one can deploy when one does not want a job done well.”

  “Marzana!” said Varazda archly. “How extremely Zashian of you.”

  When Marzana had gone, Ariston came in with a strangely tentative look on his face.

  “I, uh. You’re both all right?”

  “We are,” said Varazda. “The tea’s a bit cold by now, but if you want some … ”

  “Oh, no, I don’t think … Yazata’s almost finished making lunch. I just wanted to ask you—tell you—um, it’s about Kallisto. You know she’s lost both her main clients—well, given them the push, really.” A little grin crept across his face, then he became serious again. “And her freedwoman is in jail, and then that fellow Shorab being killed in her house—not that she blames you for that, Varazda, she says it was one of the most amazing things she’s ever seen, how you cut him down, and it was—I’d no idea you could do things like that. I’m afraid I’ve been underestimating you for years, and … Uh. But that’s not what I was going to ask you about. Tell you about.

  “The thing is, I don’t know if I’m going to stay on much longer as Themistokles’s apprentice. I’d like to, in a way, because I’m learning a lot from him, and I know I’ve still got more to learn. And I knew there was a good chance he was a bit of a shit—and he is, even his politics aren’t all that great, not radical or anything, you know. But as a sculptor, he is brilliant, so … But I think he may not want to keep me on anyway, once he finds out.”

  “Er,” said Varazda. “Finds out what?”

  “I’ve asked Kallisto to marry me.”

  There was a moment’s profound silence, broken only by the sound of Selene honking in the street.

  “Did she say yes?” asked Dami.

  “No. Well, she said maybe, after we’ve, you know, been together for a little while.”

  “So you’re together, then,” Varazda prompted.

  Ariston nodded, bouncing a little.

  “That’s a win,” said Dami. “That’s a definite win.”

  “Congratulations,” said Varazda.

  “I never imagined it would happen,” Ariston went on. “I think I must have lost my mind for a moment when I asked her, but I—I know she likes me, and I thought maybe she was ready for a change, and it was the only thing I could think of—I can’t offer to support her as her lover, I mean a client—I couldn’t afford that, but if she sells her house—anyway, we’ve discussed it, and we think it will work.”

  “I see,” said Varazda. “What you’re saying is you want her to move in here.”

  “Uh.” Ariston looked nervous again. “Yes. Is that … ”

  “Yes,” said Varazda. “Of course.”

  “Just for the time being, while I finish my apprenticeship or look for work, or—I’ve already talked to Yazata about it, and he said it’s all right with him if it’s all right with you.”

  “Of course,” said Varazda, smiling. “I’d be delighted to have her live with us. I like her very much.”

  “You do?” Ariston glowed. “You do! I’m so glad. I’m going to tell her right now. Yazata,” he called as he spun in the doorway and bounded out into the kitchen, “I won’t be staying for lunch after all!”

  Varazda leaned his head back against the cushions of the divan. “Can I fall apart now?” he said, looking up at the ceiling.

  Dami picked up Varazda’s hand and kissed his knuckles lightly. “If that’s what you need to do, do it.”

  Varazda considered that. “I’m not sure that it is, actually.”

  Dami still had hold of his hand. “No. Sometimes it isn’t. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you’re not strong, Varazda.”

  Varazda smiled up at the ceiling. “No? Why not?”

  “Because you are. I don’t know how you do it.”

  Varazda laughed. “Don’t be silly.”

  After a moment, Dami cleared his throat and said, “That dance at the Palace of Letters. Was it … ” He still couldn’t finish the question.

  “Sometimes,” Varazda said, taking pity on him, “you can tell a story with the sword dance. And the story I had in mind was about someone who’d risen through his own merit, someone in the midst of a brilliant career, suddenly brought down by fate and almost destroyed.”

  “And then rescued,” said Dami.

  “Mm.” Varazda tipped his head to one side. “I don’t know about rescued, but … Loved. I imagined …
that would help.”

  “I think it would amount to the same thing.”

  They were silent for a long time then, resting side-by-side on the divan. Dami put his head on Varazda’s shoulder, and Varazda wondered if he was going to fall asleep. He had been up all night, after all. Varazda was just about to suggest that they should both go to bed when Dami looked up at him through his lashes.

  “You know I’m not leaving, right?”

  “What?”

  “I’m not leaving tomorrow. I’ll write to the Quartermaster’s Office—I’m not sure what I’ll tell them, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve been ‘unavoidably detained’ or something.” After a moment, because he was Dami, he added, “You don’t mind, do you?”

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  List of Places

  Saffron Alley is set in a fictional world loosely based on the cultures of the ancient Mediterranean. Here are some details about the places mentioned in the story.

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  Pseuchaia: A group of city-states, mostly on islands, with a common language and religion, usually in alliance with one another but not always.

  Pheme: An island and a very large city on that island. Pheme is a republic and the most powerful city-state in the region. The city is located on the west coast of the island; the interior of the island is mountainous, and there are villages and seaside estates around the coast.

  Boukos: A city on an island of the same name, a short sea-voyage to the northwest of the island of Pheme. For the last eight years, Boukos has had a trade agreement with the kingdom of Zash. A permanent Zashian embassy was established seven years ago. None of the other Pseuchaian states has an official alliance with Zash. The governing body of Boukos is called the Basileon.

  Zash/Sasia: A sprawling kingdom on the mainland to the east of the islands of Pseuchaia. Their language, religion, and culture are very different from those of Pseuchaia (and also diverse within the kingdom). Zash is what they call their land; Pseuchaians find this difficult to pronounce and so call it Sasia.

  Suna: The main seat of the king of Zash.

  Deshan Coast: A politically volatile region in the west of Zash. Damiskos served with the Phemian army in this region, and this is also where Varazda is from.

  Gudul: An obscure provincial palace and city in Zash. This is where Varazda lived when he was enslaved.

  Laothalia: Nione Kukara’s villa on the north coast of the island of Pheme. This is where the events of Sword Dance took place.

  Kos: Another island city of Pseuchaia, famous for its arts and learning.

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to everyone who helped me bring this book to fruition: Alexandra Bolintineanu, my faithful First Reader; Victoria Goddard, for editorial help and botanical recommendations; and May Peterson, for additional editing. Special thanks and big virtual hugs to Vic Grey, who created the splendid cover art, and Mary Beth Decker, who wrote the cover copy. More thanks (and real hugs) to my husband, Mike, for continuing to support and encourage me. I’m so lucky. Heart eyes all around.

  Also by A.J. Demas

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  On a night when the whole city is looking for love, two foreigners find it in the last place they expected.

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  The riotous Psobion festival is about to begin in the city of Boukos, and the ambassador from the straightlaced kingdom of Zash has gone missing. Ex-soldier Marzana, captain of the embassy guard, and the ambassador’s secretary, the shrewd and urbane eunuch Bedar, are the only two who know.

  Marzana still nurses the pain of an old heartbreak, and Bedar has too much on his plate to think of romance. Neither of them could imagine finding love in this strange, foreign city. But as they search desperately for their employer through the streets and taverns and brothels of Boukos, they find unexpected help from two of the locals: a beautiful widowed shopkeeper and a teenage prostitute.

  Before the Zashians learn what became of their ambassador, they will have to deal with foreign bureaucracy, strange food, stranger local customs, and murderers. And they may lose their hearts in the process.

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  One Night in Boukos is a standalone romance featuring two couples, one m/f and one m/m. It tells the backstory of the Zashian-Boukossian trade agreement and crosses over with Saffron Alley.

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  Find One Night in Boukos here.

  * * *

  * * *

  They met on a battlefield and saved each other’s lives. It’s not the way enemies-to-lovers usually works.

  * * *

  Adares comes from a civilization of democracy and indoor plumbing. Rus belongs to a tribe of tattooed, semi-nomadic horse-breeders. They meet in the aftermath of battle, when Rus saves Adares’s life, and Adares returns the favour. As they shelter in an abandoned temple, a friendship neither of them could have imagined grows into a mutual attraction.

  But Rus, whose people abhor love between men, is bound by an oath of celibacy, and Adares has a secret of his own that he cannot share. With their people poised for a long and bitter conflict, it seems too much to hope that these two men could turn their fleeting happiness into something lasting. Unless, of course, the relationship between them changes the course of their people’s history altogether.

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  Something Human is a standalone m/m romance set in an imaginary ancient world, about two people bridging a cultural divide with the help of great sex, pedantic discussions about the gods, and bad jokes about standing stones.

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  Find Something Human here.

  About the Author

  A.J. Demas is an ex-academic who formerly studied and taught medieval literature, and now writes romance set in a fictional world based on an entirely different era. She lives in Ontario, Canada, with her husband and cute daughter.

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  Find out about upcoming books and more here:

  www.ajdemas.com

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  A.J. also publishes fantasy and historical fiction with a metaphysical twist under a different name (her real one). You can find those here: www.alicedegan.com