Tollan sighed, leaning in as close as he could to his friend. “It’s a lot to tell. My father was murdered. We believe that the same assassin attacked the Queen of Under today, too. We’re waiting to meet with the new queen, and we can’t meet in the Black Chamber because,” he gulped, “because Iven’s accused me of the murder.”
Wince stared at him, speechless.
Tollan continued, “Right now, I can’t go back to the palace because I don’t know what Iven’s thinking. If he truly believes I’ve killed our father, he’ll have the guards out searching for me. I could be tried for treason. I have no choice but to put my trust in the Under, and in Gemma Antos, the new Queen of Under. It rankles. This isn’t how any of this was supposed to happen.”
“Have you lost your damn mind?” Wince’s eyes went wide. “What makes you think she didn’t have them killed?”
Tollan smiled. He knew he could count on Wince not to treat him like the king. He wanted to reach out and hug his friend, though he restrained himself. “I can’t believe that any woman who’s capable of being Queen of Under is going to blatantly assassinate the King of Above and the Queen of Under in the same manner on the same day. Gemma must be too smart to do such a stupid thing.” But the truth was Tollan had no choice but to trust Gemma. He had nowhere else to go.
Wince raised an eyebrow. “You’ve already met this new queen? Maybe she’s going to show up here and finish the job?”
“Aegos. If she wanted to kill me, she could have done it this afternoon. I was alone with her in the Black Chamber. There wasn’t a person who could have stopped her. This is why the pact works. Because the Above trust the Under, and vice versa.”
“Yeah, but, she isn’t …” Wince was treading on unsteady ground. He wasn’t technically supposed to know about the family connection between the rulers of Above and Under, or that Melnora had been barren.
“And why here? Why is the King of Above sitting in a gold-painted room in a whorehouse?” Wince gestured around them with distaste.
Tollan chuckled. “I get the feeling I’m the black sheep of the family. I don’t think I’d have fit in very well at her meeting with murderers and thieves. She’ll be here to meet us soon.”
Wince rolled his eyes, clearly displeased by the circumstances. “I just … I don’t like some thief queen holding your fate in her hands.”
“Melnora trusted her. She raised her and named her heir. That has to be good enough for me.”
Wince lifted his hands in mock surrender. “All right, Your Grace. I understand. So, this new queen? Is she pretty?”
When Tollan opened the door for Gemma, she was done up like a diamond-ringed whore. She wore a clinging dress of nearly sheer gold cloth, which lifted her breasts to obscene heights. Her face was painted with shimmering gold powder, and brilliant splashes of color highlighted her lips and cheekbones. Long, coppery curls trailed down her back as she walked through the door to Tollan’s room. Had Tollan not been expecting her, he wouldn’t have recognized her.
“Lord Tratala,” she murmured, curtsying deeply.
Tollan understood immediately, as this was a game he knew the rules to. In Above, they shared fake pleasantries like the clap. “Darling,” he said, using his best phony Farcastian accent, all nasal twang and soft vowels. “This is my associate, Master Wincel Quintella. I have utter faith in his integrity and—” he paused, accentuating the word as if it meant something lascivious—“discretion.”
Gemma sighed, whispering for his ears alone, “Thank Aegos. This prickling wig was about to drive me mad!” She pulled it off and tossed it onto the bed, running a bejeweled hand through her hair, then turned to grin at Wince. “I am most grateful to make your acquaintance, Master Quintella.”
“And I, yours, Miss …” He trailed off, his green eyes wandering down her gold-drenched body. Tollan felt his own face grow red with embarrassment for his friend.
“Ah, yes. Discretion,” Gemma said, still in the voice of a courtesan—breathy and feigning desire. She lifted two fingers in an obscene gesture that nearly made Tollan choke with laughter. Wince’s eyebrows climbed to his hairline.
Tollan continued in his accent, “You’re not here to do the pricking, Wince. See to the door.”
Gemma laughed and said, “I don’t mind if he joins us. That is, if you don’t, sir.” Wince’s eyes grew wide.
“Oh, how very … titillating, my dear.” Tollan nodded to Wince, who opened the door, checked to be sure that no one was listening and then pulled it closed and threw the lock.
When Tollan glanced back at Gemma, she was sitting cross-legged on the bed, showing enough stocking to be salacious and grinning broadly. At mid-thigh on each leg she wore a leather sheath that held a wickedly sharp dagger. In her lap was a leather-bound book full of blank pages and two charcoal pencils. Licking her lips, she bent over the book and wrote: Sorry. I forgot there’d be two of you. I didn’t bring enough pencils.
Wince moved closer, seemingly unable to drag his attention from Gemma’s ample bosom, but she didn’t seem to notice. Tollan flicked his friend on the ear, drawing a hostile glare followed by an embarrassed shrug.
Gemma handed Tollan the book and a pencil, and he scrawled quickly: Don’t worry. Wince is a simpleton—can’t write worth shit.
Wince grabbed the book, and wrote carefully: Prick you, Toll. I write fine.
Both of them looked up as Gemma moaned loudly. “Oh, Hu.” She grinned, winking at them and pointing at the door. She cupped her hand to her ear as if she were eavesdropping.
Wince looked at Tollan, eyes gone wide once more.
As Gemma wrote, she interjected the silence with whimpers and moans, and once, a high-pitched giggle. Then she held the book out to Tollan.
Until we know who killed your father and attacked Melnora, we have to assume we’re being watched. Don’t let your guard down.
After Tollan read the note, he wrote: I’m hoping you know who might be behind it all. Crime isn’t my area of expertise. He was having a hard time concentrating with her moaning and Wince’s increasingly heavy breathing.
Gemma looked up at him, eyebrow raised as if to say, oh, really? She made a stuttering, breathy sound—a mix between a squeal and a moan of ecstasy.
A similar sound escaped from Wince, and Tollan couldn’t be sure if he was playacting or not.
Gemma wrote for several long minutes, pausing only to bounce, groan or moan. Her face had gone pink with exertion. The gold shimmer had begun to disappear in spots where sweat trickled down her face. Melnora is still hanging on but just barely. We’ve had no official word from Above, which means your brother is playing things close to his vest. He should have summoned the queen by now. But there have been reports of royal guards in Shadowtown, Merchant Row and Whitebeach going door to door, hunting traitors. It won’t be long before they get to Dockside. Until they get here.
Tollan took the book and wrote: Iven doesn’t know how to summon the Queen of Under. That information is guarded from all save the heir.
Gemma scoffed, meeting Tollan’s gaze for a long moment before writing: Seriously? You have no third in case of a situation like this? How the Void do you people even function up there, let alone keep control for a hundred fifty years? Whatever he knows or doesn’t know, the soldiers are searching ‘in the name of King Iven.’ It sure looks like your brother is making a grab for your throne.
She stretched out and nudged Tollan gently in the ribs with her foot, making it impossible for him to dwell on her revelation. He grunted, and she nodded encouragingly. She moaned, feigning sexual delight, and he felt his mouth fall open as understanding dawned on him. She wanted him to play along, to contribute to the charade she was already playing in. He groaned loudly and awkwardly, elbowing Wince to join in. Red-faced, Wince panted loudly, averting his gaze. Gemma bounced harder on the bed until her ass left the mattress. “Oh, oh!”