“The fuck do I care,” came back up the stairs in such a deep, feral snarl that Aster actually fell back onto the bed in shock.
Well. Whoever was downstairs would have quite an experience.
One that Aster found he really didn’t want to miss. And Corin had seemed in the mood to get it over with.
Aster had never scrambled out of bed so quickly in his life, sticking his leg into the wrong side of his trousers and stepping on the hem, tumbling down onto the bed again, lurching for the stairs with the pants half up and a shirt dangling from his hand.
He managed to careen around the corner into the anteroom right as Corin flung the gate open, still stark naked and with his huge sword gripped in his hand.
It made Aster think about his other sword, the one he’d sheathed in Aster for hours the night before, and he lost his train of thought again. God, it was silent outside, what was going on, he’d missed something important—he scrambled up the ladder by the loophole and peeked out.
Corin stood where he always did when confronting their challengers. This time, two men had approached the other end of the bridge, one a huge, hulking sort of fellow in studded leather armor mounted on one of the most beautiful white stallions Aster had ever seen, and the other a tall, slender youth dressed in an improbably bright set of silk garments, tunic and trousers and cloak, sitting on a mule and holding a polished brass trumpet.
As a pair, they were improbable.
Grouped on the bridge with Corin, naked and gleaming faintly green, with smoke trailing from his nostrils to form odd swirls in the chill pink-gray of the morning mist, they boggled the mind.
The youth cleared his throat and lifted his trumpet, clearly intending to blow another blast.
A low rumble vibrated the air—Corin. But before Aster could blink or Corin could act, the armored man reached over to the herald, snatched the trumpet from his hand just as he put it to his lips, and sent it sailing over the bridge parapet and down into the canyon’s depths.
“Oh!” the herald gasped, staring at his companion, cheeks gone bright red. “How dare you!”
A faint, sad clank echoed up from down below. Corin lowered his sword. The man in armor sighed, shook his head, and said, “Corin, you really couldn’t have put on some pants?”
What the—did this idiot have a death wish?
Aster blinked, shook his head, and took a closer look. Both Corin and the challenger had a relaxed sort of air about them, not hostile at all now that the herald’s miserable trumpet had been so thoroughly dealt with.
“You’re on my doorstep with a fucking trumpeter at the ass-crack of dawn. You’re lucky to still be alive. Both of you,” Corin added, turning toward the herald, who lifted his chin, sniffed, and sidled his mule a little closer to the other. Aster had to give him some credit for remaining calm. “I’d be happy to see you under any other circumstances, but not these, Sig. And I’m not going to fight you, you stupid son of a bitch.”
Corin’s voice held obvious affection, all for this man Aster had never even heard of. Someone who had a history with Corin, a friendship Aster couldn’t begin to imagine. A twinge of something he didn’t want to identify as jealousy soured his stomach.
“Well, no, of course not,” Sig agreed. “I wasn’t planning on fightingyou. Lord Aster’s in there, right? He can come out and surrender peaceably, and we’ll be on our way. Maybe a drink first, though? I ought to have visited sooner, but you know how it is.”
“No, sorry. You’ll have to pay whatever gambling debts you have this time another way. He’s my captive. I’m fighting for him.”I’m fighting for him. Aster closed his eyes for a moment to both savor the wave of pleasure that sent through him and mourn the fact that Corin didn’t mean it the way he wished he did. It wouldn’t do any good in any case. “How’d you hear about this? And what are you doing with him?” Corin gestured at the herald.
Sig shrugged again. “He won’t stop following me, long story. I haven’t gotten around to killing him yet. And I heard about it the way everyone else is. There are king’s messengers reading out a decree about Lord Aster in all the towns between here and the capital. Probably everywhere else, too. Seemed like an easy way to set myself up as a rich nobleman, and whatnot, so I set out the next morning. Didn’t expect you to be taking all comers with your,” he gestured and grinned, “sword out. Thought you’d be glad to get rid of the blighter. Your captive? Seriously?”
“I won’t follow you for much longer if you don’t ever do anything interesting,” the herald put in sulkily. “And you owe me a trumpet.”
Corin made a gesture of his own down by his hips, hidden by his body so that Aster couldn’t see. Not that he really needed to. The herald went even redder, and Sig burst out laughing.
“Yourcaptive. I see,” Sig said, and laughed all the louder. “All right, I know when I’m unwelcome. I suppose I’ll need to make my fortune another way.”
Oh, for—Aster hadn’t been angry at Corin yet; in fact, he’d have said it’d be impossible. Who could be angry with someone so perfect? But now. Now he knew better. God damn it, couldn’t Corin restrain himself a little while joking around with his idiot soldier friend? Fredmund and the other would-be challengers had probably left with the vague impression that Aster had whored himself out for protection from the king’s decree. Did Corin really need to do his best to confirm the story, so that this Sig person and his stupid herald could gossip to everyone they met?
Of course, the story wouldn’t even make sense. Aster had arrived here before the decree. But that wouldn’t matter in the slightest to the rumormongers. This would only be more Cezanne blood in the water for the sharks.
If they all thought Aster was Corin’s actual lover he might not mind so much.
In fact, despite how much he hated being the subject of talk, he had to admit that he wouldn’t mind at all.
But no one would believe it. Not after the way Belinda and Corin’s engagement had ended, and not given Aster’s lack of any of the attractions his sister had to offer. Not only would they assume like slutty sister like whorish brother, they’d also be sure that the only reason Corin could possibly have for keeping Aster in his tower and using him would be the satisfying revenge of adding to the family’s humiliation and shame.
Aster knew Corin was better than that. He’d even begun to believe thathemight be better than that—that Corin might want him even if he weren’t lonely, desperate, and bored.
But no one else would see it that way. Would the Cezannes even have a reputation and fortune left to save by the time he went home? If the family finances had reached the dire straits Sir Gustave had suggested, then only the Cezanne name and the king’s favor would be holding off the creditors. And if their standing at court and in society reached a tipping point…
