4. A Portion for Foxes

It often surprisedpeople to find that Charon did, in fact, like being a courtesan. There was something pleasant about ending a good, long session with a client who really needed his services. His duties in Arktos were not dissimilar to those in the House of Onyx but the difference was that here in Staria, the nobles paid him for the privilege of suffering under his hands, his implements, his harsh, implacable voice and even more implacable dominance. It was a much more enjoyable situation for everyone involved.

Lord d'Arbre—so named, as he'd told Charon, because his family owned a large thicket of forested land south of the capital—was as high-strung as the rest of the nobles who sought Charon's services on a regular basis. He'd been in quite a state when he'd arrived, having gone a few months without an appointment thanks to whatever business one had to do, when one tended a large estate full of trees. Charon was from the desert. It was not known for its greenery.

Lord Eduard d'Arbre was a harried man who always looked as if he too were a tree whacked with a sharp axe and a breath or two away from being felled. Eduard paced around the room for an hour, ranting about tariffs and logging equipment and using words that meant nothing to Charon, but seemed to cause Eduard no small bit of stress to even speak them aloud. Charon took his hand to Eduard's backside, made him sob over his lap, then spanked his upper thighs until they were red and hot to the touch. He finished with a wooden spoon and then the cane, bruising him beautifully, making him gasp and shudder and grind helplessly against Charon's thigh. Eduard liked to be humiliated, so Charon called him worthless and unintelligent while he fucked him, took his own pleasure and made Eduard lick his boots while he came in Eduard's hair.

Then he carried him to the bath, gently cleaned him, put Eduard in his lap and stroked his hair, murmured that he was very smart and that everything would be fine. He made Eduard come after all of that, holding him firmly while he squirmed and begged for release. When Eduard left, smiling and blurry-eyed and under, he gave Charon a beautiful amber pendant made from the sap of one of his trees, which Charon gave to Laurent and asked to have added to whichever debt was still the highest in the house. He knew all about making a life that was different than the one you'd had before, and for those who had helped him in so many ways, Charon would pay that forward if he could. There were other debts he owed, things that were not money or riches, and he was still working on paying those back.

With Eduard smiling and relaxed, Charon too felt the pleasant hum of dominance well-tended and went to settle in for the rest of the evening with his favorite book and his athenero-laced tea, which was his preferred way to wind down for the evening. The book was called On the Habits and Culture of the Fierce Lukoi by Victor Owl-Eyed, a Gerakian scholar who'd recently published an account of life on the remote island of Lukos. Charon wanted very much to visit Lukos some day, a place like Arktos in that it was harsh, but with unrelenting snow, and full of fierce warriors who built their own homes and took mates for life. The quietness of the life there appealed to him. If there was anything he disliked about Duciel, it was the noise of the city, the lack of places to be alone and quiet with his thoughts.

Sometimes Charon thought about embarking on a journey to Lukos and seeing if it could be a home. He did not entirely love the way Staria functioned as a state, the strict class divides and the rulership that could not be challenged or changed without poisons and selling out your own family. He was free to go where he wished, and even with his contributions to the debts of his fellow courtesans, he had enough saved to outfit himself for the journey.

But then he would go downstairs in the late afternoon and see them all there, flittering like bees between flowers, laughing and joking and talking over each other. Yves would smile immediately when he saw Charon enter the room, and the far-off shores of Lukos didn't hold quite the same appeal. Or maybe it was being alone that no longer seemed so enticing.

At the moment, he didn't mind being alone with his book. It was a new book and part of a limited printing, gifted to Charon by Delauney de Mazet. Delauney knew Charon liked stories about the Lukoi, and had found a copy in a stall of—probably pirated—goods in Diabolos. Delauney knew Charon liked stories about the Lukoi, and had found a copy in a stall of—probably pirated—goods in Diabolos. Charon had already devoured it once immediately after Delauney gave it to him, reading until long past dawn when he normally would have gone to sleep for a few hours. He'd missed the meal the courtesans called "breakfast", which in a pleasure house open until dawn, typically happened well after the bells rang at midday, and had endured the good-natured teasing from the rest of the household because of it. He was looking forward to reading it again, slowly, savoring each word as Eduard savored the marks on his backside, eager to revisit some of the fascinating history Victor Owl-Eyed recounted amid the pages.

Except when he opened the book, there was nothing there.

For a moment, he was convinced he'd picked up the wrong volume and had instead selected one of his blank journals, where he sometimes kept notes in Senex about books he'd read, or interesting tidbits he'd learned from clients or other courtesans. But no. It was the book, with the name embossed on the side and the title page clear and concise—On the Habits and Culture of the Fierce Lukoi and the subtitle in smaller type beneath—A First-Hand Account of the Exiled by a Scholar Who Now Lives Among Them.

Charon flipped the pages, but there was nothing there. There were no illustrations of the handmade home where Victor Owl-Eyed lived, built by his dominant and mate, Sava Snow-Walker, who featured in the illustrations along with a snow cat and a host of other people and creatures native to the region. The cave paintings that told the story of the Lukoi's exile and founding of their state were also missing.

Charon rose from his reading couch, the one Yves liked to sprawl on amid a pile of blankets and pillows to drink tea on chilly winter evenings when the nobles stayed home. He placed the book on the table and went out to the hallway, listening for the sound of a certain Mislian mage's musical voice. He could hear it coming from the back garden, where Hektor was likely having tea with Rose as they stared longingly at each other and traded kisses when they thought no one could see. Rose had passed her age of majority some months ago, shortly after Adrien's coronation, and she and Hektor were officially courting. Laurent seemed resigned to the fact they would marry sooner rather than later, and Charon didn't doubt that while he might have reservations due to their age, he knew Hektor would sooner lay his life down than hurt Rose. He loved her with a pure, beautiful devotion that made the entire house smile when they spoke of it.

Rose was sitting at one of the little wrought-iron tables in the back garden, which had become more expansive over the years since Hektor's brother had become the king's submissive. Bazyli and Emile had retired to one of Emile's country estates after Adrien had taken the throne, and Charon knew that while Hektor missed his brother's visits, he was happy that Baz had found someone to love him and his Mislian goddess. The flowers were a constant reminder of Bazyli, which Charon knew made up somewhat for Baz's absence from the city.

"Good morning, Charon," Rose said, waving cheerily. "Come join me, won't you? Hektor is running lines for the new play. There's plenty of tea, though I know it's not as strong as you prefer. I can send Hektor to fetch yours, if you like."

Rose had been a child when Charon had come here to the House of Onyx, and it was her transformation into a beautiful, accomplished actress that brought home just how long Charon had been a courtesan in Laurent's house. She had grown into a stunning woman, with more admirers than there were stars in the sky, and still her devotion to Hektor was as strong as the moment she'd taken him under her wing when Adrien de Guillory had dropped him on their doorstep.

"Thank you," Charon said, and bowed slightly, "but I am here to speak with Hektor."

"I didn't miss our lesson, did I?" Hektor looked briefly alarmed. He'd kept up his signaling lessons, even after his voice returned.

"No, nothing like that," Charon began. "It's about a book."

HELLO

The House of Onyx's resident demon, Flick the fox, emerged from Hektor's spirit and pranced over to Charon. He wound himself around Charon's ankles like a cat and gazed up at him adoringly, his bright gold eyes gleaming.

"Hello, Flick," Charon said.

HELLO FIERCE WARRIOR, Flick said. I THINK YOU WOULD MAKE A DASHING WOLF MAN. THE WOLVES OF LUKOI WOULD TREMBLE.

"How strange you would say that," Charon said, arms crossed over his chest. He raised a brow. "I have come to speak to you about just that very thing."

"Oh, no," Hektor said, rushing over. "Flick, you didn't. Tell me you didn't."

DO YOU KNOW THAT THERE ARE FOX GODDESSES THERE IN LUKOS, MY BOY? I COULD BE A GOD.

Rose gasped. "Oh, no, Charon, your book!"

Hektor signed I am so sorry, looking miserable.

DO NOT BE SORRY, Flick said, prancing about. I KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT LUKOS. NOW I AM EVEN MORE CLEVER.

Hektor said, very carefully, "Flick, return to me."

Instead, Flick kept prancing like he was showing off his newfound knowledge to an adoring audience instead of a mortified mage, an aghast Rose and a very unamused Charon.

CHARON DID YOU KNOW THAT THERE ARE SNOW KITTENS THERE

I HAVE SEEN THE ILLUSTRATIONS

IT IS NOT AS CUTE AS ME

BUT PASSABLY CUTE

I SUPPOSE

"Flick," Hektor said, desperately. "Did you really eat Charon's new book?"

YES

NO

I READ IT

IT WAS DELICIOUS

Flick gamboled after a butterfly, while Hektor put his face in his hands and sighed.

* * *

Hektor sat in Charon's room with an empty book in his hands, staring down at the blank pages.

It was bound to happen, really. Flick hadn't eaten an entire book since before Hektor's first year in Staria, when Hektor had used Flick to steal the Archmage Drakos' memories from every mirror between Staria and Mislia. His demon just eating one page of text was enough to send Hektor to bed with fierce headaches and a rolling stomach, and he'd spent the better part of a year building up a system with Flick, a way to organize his thoughts so he could separate Hektor from Everything Else. Now, it seemed that Flick was growing bolder, because when Hektor searched his mind for the carefully constructed catalogue he and Flick had made, he found a whole wealth of information Flick had squirreled away.

"It's like he's a cat with a hoard," he said. He held himself very still while he sifted through the contents. "There's a gossip magazine, I think Simone's, and a recipe for...cake? And the cover of a children's book."

IT'S CALLED POOR POLLY AND THE DREADFUL HORSE, Flick said. He was curled up next to Hektor, tail swishing. AND I AM NOT A CAT.

"You know you can't just steal books from people," Hektor said.

WHAT? Flick sat up, ears alert. IT ISN'T THEFT IF THEY'RE GOOD PEOPLE. THEN IT IS JUST BORROWING.

Flick paused, head cocked to the side.

FOREVER.

"No, Flick."

BUT THEY WON'T HURT YOU FOR IT HERE, Flick insisted. SO IT'S FINE.

Hektor glanced at Charon, who was sitting in the chair opposite. It was hard to tell when Flick was speaking to Hektor alone or broadcasting his words to everyone in the surrounding area. Charon didn't so much as blink, so maybe he hadn't heard, but it was hard to tell with Charon. He kept so much of himself inside, something Hektor could never learn to do. Sometimes he still felt like an open wound, spilling emotions everywhere he went, but Charon kept his quietly locked away.

Just because people won't hurt me here doesn't mean you have free rein to eat their books, Hektor thought at Flick. You have to show some restraint.

Flick narrowed his eyes at Hektor.

"I'm telling him he needs to show restraint," Hektor said, "but I don't think that's enough. Could I buy you a new copy, at least?"

"It was a limited run," Charon said. "I don't know if you'll be able to find it so easily."

Hektor bit down a curse. "I can rewrite it for you." Charon opened his mouth, probably to be magnanimous and tell Hektor it was fine, but Hektor rushed forward before he could say it. "I will rewrite it for you. Flick, I'll need you to help me focus or I'll get the words mixed up again. But Charon, I'll need your help with disciplining him."

WITH WHAT. NO.

Charon raised his brows as Flick stood up, fur bristling.

THERE WILL BE NO DISCIPLINE, Flick said.

"Flick, you need to?—"

NO.

Hektor sat back, alarmed, as Flick turned to Charon and hissed.

HE IS MY BOY AND YOU ARE NOT TO TOUCH HIM.

There had been a time when Flick, new to his life with Hektor and eager to learn, had taken to eating pages from the Archmage's books. The Archmage knew that disciplining someone else's demon was nearly impossible, so he'd turned his ire on Hektor instead. Flick had been too weak to stop him, and Hektor remembered the frantic way Flick used to nuzzle his face afterwards, and the soft, panicky sounds he'd made.

It was strange to realize that he'd forgotten. It made Hektor feel distant from his own body, and he reached out to gather Flick in his arms.

"It isn't that kind of discipline," Hektor said, as Flick clambered onto his shoulders. "I'm sorry."

"He's right," Charon said. "I would rather go without my book than raise a hand to him in anger."

YOU DO NOT NEED ANGER TO CAUSE PAIN, Flick said, and Hektor could feel Flick siphoning his magic, drawing on it like a well. I CAN READ MORE THAN BOOKS, SOLDIER.

"No," Hektor snapped, as Charon's face went carefully blank. "No reading people. I'm sorry, Charon. He's protective. What I mean is, Flick needs a lesson in restraint, and I think you might be able to help." He pulled out the script he and Rose had been poring over before his terrible, wonderful, ridiculous best friend had ruined things, and he scribbled down a hasty list. He handed it to Charon, who scanned it and gave him a curious look.

"You can draw on the money I keep in the jar in the kitchen," Hektor said. "Just make sure there's a lot of it, and plenty of people to admire it."

ADMIRE WHAT? Flick asked.

"Come on, Flick," Hektor said, picking up the empty book and tucking it under one arm. I have a book to write, and you have a lesson to learn."

* * *

Charon headed toward the bakery, the clouds beginning to gather and a light mist of rain starting up as he made his way along the familiar route. He couldn't shake the memory of the little fox demon hissing at him, protecting Hektor from what he must have assumed would be a violent punishment.

I can read more than books, soldier.

You do not need anger to cause pain.

Charon knew that. He'd been a torturer in Arktos—oh, he'd had a fancier title for it, but that's what he'd been. He'd hurt people to get information, or promises, or sometimes just because they'd earned it for a transgression. It wasn't like here in Staria, where the nobles who came to him wanted pain, craved it, needed it. There were masochists and submissives in Arktos, but that had never had anything to do with what Charon did to the people who were sent to him.

Flick must have known something of that, sensed the violence that was never fully banked in Charon's soul. He knew that was why he'd not only been given his job back in Arktos, but why he'd been so good at it.

"There you are. Gracious, you walk as fast as a racehorse."

Charon blinked as the cheerful, slightly out-of-breath voice broke into his rapidly spiraling thoughts. Yves materialized at his side, and he looked nothing like the glittery, sulky brat he so often playacted during his assignations at the House of Onyx. Yves was dressed simply in linen pants, an oversized coat and a pair of boots with hastily-tied laces and mud caking the soles. His face was flushed from exertion, hair was tousled by the wind instead of his clever fingers and generous use of products.

He was lovely like this, Charon thought, as Yves grinned up at him and rocked back on his heels. "I did not know you were there, or I would have walked slower."

Yves gave a graceful shrug. "I thought you might want some company, but it's fine if you don't." His eyes slid away, and Charon wasn't sure he believed that, but Yves smiled again, too bright this time. "I can just, ah, visit the glitter store."

"That is not a real place," Charon said, slowing his pace to match Yves' shorter stride. He is worried you do not want him around, Charon thought. Shortly after came the uncomfortable realization that if Charon wanted to break him, really break him, like he did when he had a different name back in Arktos, it would be so terribly easy to do. He wouldn't have to lay a finger on Yves to do it.

Pain didn't need to be physical to ruin someone, to break them into pieces that could never be put back together.

"Hey," Yves said, smile fading a bit. "Seriously, if you want some time to yourself, it's fine."

"No," Charon said, surprising himself a bit at how much he meant that. "I would appreciate the company, thank you."

"Oh." Yves looked briefly surprised, then grinned. It made his eyes bright like spring leaves. "Great. So, you're not too mad about the book, are you? Flick does this. He ate my favorite trashy Katoikos melodrama. Wait, uh do Arkoudai find those offensive? You're always carrying some pretty Katoikos submissive off and ravishing them."

"Me, personally?" Charon smiled, his dark mood lifting as they walked and the drizzle gave way to proper rain. It was still something of a marvel to him, rain, even after all these years. "We have them too, illustrations of pretty Katoikos patricians, sobbing while impaled on overlarge Arkoudai...weaponry."

Yves snorted. "Sure. You got any of those in your room?" He slyly elbowed Charon in the side. "Here I thought you only read smart books."

"The banter is often very witty in those sorts of tales," Charon said, straightfaced, and held the expression for long enough that Yves blinked at him, clearly uncertain if he were serious or not. Charon smiled, and Yves elbowed him again, and they walked in the growing rainstorm toward the bakery.

"Was the book that good? The one the fox ate. He's a menace," said Yves, who was often found feeding Flick candy from the dish in Laurent's office, the fancy one where the candies were theoretically only for clients. "Cute, but loud." Yves grinned. "Though, honestly, that could also apply to me."

Someone who didn't know Yves, or who only knew him as the pretty brat of the House of Onyx who made crying look like an art form, might make some glib remark about Flick preferring books and Yves preferring the obvious. But Charon knew a quieter Yves, one who liked adventure stories and gasped softly when reading, like he was watching it happen in the theater.

"When you read my books, the words remain," Charon reminded him. "And it was, yes. The Lukoi are quite something." He sighed. "I should not be greedy, perhaps. I did read it once already."

"Only you would say that." Yves hooked his arm through Charon's. "You're allowed to be annoyed the magic demon fox ate the words out of your new favorite book, Charon. Honestly, you're so nice. How is Arktos an army again, if they're full of men like you?"

Charon had lost count of the men who'd cursed him with their last, screaming breaths in the dirty cellar that smelled like blood and waste. He was not a nice man, or he hadn't been one then. Perhaps it meant something, that someone like Yves thought he was now. "Arktos is a place like any other, full of good people and bad, as I am sure it is the same in Lukos. But I would like to see it, snow that covers houses and the caves. The illustrations in the book were truly something, but to see it myself, that would be better even than the book." Even to his own ears, his voice sounded wistful.

Yves gave a little shiver. "The rain is enough to make me cold, I can't even imagine all that snow. You'd look dashing in fur, though." Yves winked at him. "Like a big desert bear. Do they have those?"

"Arktos comes from the word that means bear in Senex, but that is because we are from Katoikos, originally, the forest region near the old capitol city. That's what the scholars say, anyway. I have never seen a bear in Arktos, myself."

Yves neatly avoided a puddle with the grace of a dancer and gallantly held the door to the baker's shop open for Charon. "You could always dress up like one. You do look good in fur."

Charon smiled briefly, but he felt his face heat as it always did when Yves looked at him with frank admiration and that sly little smile. "Yes, well. First, we will find the things on this list so that Hektor's menace will learn a lesson."

"When the book's done and you've read it a few more times, can I read it? I'll read it in your room and won't spill any tea on it, promise, cross my heart." Yves looked up at him, expectant, wide-eyed and lovely. He looked delicious in his tight shorts and boots and glitter, but Charon liked him this way, slightly disheveled with only the remnants of last night's glitter and liner smudged under his eyes.

"If you like," Charon said, and turned his attention to the baker.

* * *

Flick was having the worst day of his life.

Actually, the real worst day of his life was hundreds of years gone, when Flick had been summoned by a young poet who had informed him with absolute earnestness that "the war was over."

what war

Flick's voice had been quiet back then, soft as the scratch of a quill on paper. He hadn't looked like a fox, either, more like a cat with too many legs, covered in dozens of blinking gold eyes.

"The war," his human said, "between the Old Ones and the mages. The Mother died a few weeks ago. It's why we're all summoning so many demons. It's finally safe for you."

i was safe before

why would it not be safe

i don't understand

"Hey." His human scratched Flick's ears. "Don't worry. You must've been in the dark for a while, huh? It's okay, I'll help you. I have a missive the new Archmage wrote, it's in here somewhere."

The human handed Flick a paper covered in words. Flick understood words. Words had power. They could shape the universe, and they didn't even need magic for it. Flick had stared at the paper, and all of his eyes widened as the words lifted off the page and settled into his spirit.

no

He had looked up at his human.

no

"It's all right, friend," his human had said, and reached out a hand. Flick flinched away.

No

His human frowned. "Maybe it's because you're so new. You see, the Old Ones, they torture demons, their magic drags demons back into the d?—"

NO

His human had winced as Flick raced across the small study where he'd been summoned and knocked a stack of scrolls to the floor. Flick's eyes widened again. Words faded from the pages of dozens of missives, letters, and scrolls. None of them helped.

The Old Ones were dead. Demons would forever be left with the dark, lost without the light to balance them. They were alone. Flick was alone. He would never see an Old One fly over the low houses of Mislia again.

NO, Flick had said, and the walls of the study had trembled. The human had collapsed with his head in his hands, and the words of every book and every scrap of paper in the room had disappeared in one instant as Flick's eyes blinked out one by one, closing themselves off in the face of this terrible truth.

Thathad been Flick's worst day.

Flick wasn't thinking about that day. The Flick who had whispered to scribes and poets, feeding them words and drinking in their talent, was not the Flick who had eaten Charon's book on Lukos. This Flick was used to being held like a baby in the morning while Hektor sat in the garden to watch the sun rise. This Flick spent the night curled up in Hektor's mind or sprawled over Rose, who called him handsome and fed him flowers she picked on the way home. This Flick romped in the blossoms grown by the Mother of the Old Ones, the great goddess who was thought to be dead but was only changed, like Flick, with her own boy to care for.

This Flick was betrayed.

HOW COULD YOU. Flick lay on his back with all four paws in the air. His tail swished over the desk as Hektor wrote carefully in Charon's empty book. HOW COULD YOU, MY BOY, MY BEST BOY, DO THIS TO ME PERSONALLY.

"You can't eat books without permission, Flick," Hektor said.

MONSTER, Flick said. His paws twitched.

"I'm going to need chapter two," Hektor said, with the unfeeling tone of a man with a heart of ice.

Flick flung the knowledge at him, and Hektor blinked a few times, hand still on the page.

"Thanks."

YOU ARE WORSE THAN A POET.

Flick whimpered and flopped on his side, panting softly.

Outside, just past the door to the kitchen, the House of Onyx was having a feast.

There were sugar birds and caramel horses, candy on sticks and chocolate eggs with gold leaf and cookies full of peanut butter. There were orange blossom cakes and glazed pecans. There was even fish on a silver tray. And everyone else was eating them while Flick was forced to stay in Hektor's room, supplying him with facts about some big lump of ice and snow in the north.

I HATE LUKOS, Flick sobbed, as Rose ate a sugar bird with every sign of enjoyment.

"If you hadn't eaten the book without permission, maybe you would be eating with them right now," Hektor said. "I'll need that illustration, too. It's difficult."

Flick just sighed.

"Oh," said Yves. His voice rang out clearly through the partly open door. "Look, this bird looks like it's wounded."

I LOVE HUNTING THOSE PARTICULARLY.

"You should eat the head first," said Rose.

NO. THAT'S HOW I EAT THEM. BOY, TELL THEM.

"If only Flick were here and not helping Hektor write the book he ate, he could finish the rest of this fish." That was Charon, the one who held so many secrets that were not his own, who had treated Hektor so gently during his first few weeks at the House.

I'M SORRY, Flick howled.

Hektor set down his pen. "And why are you sorry?"

BECAUSE I WANT TO EAT THE FISH AND THEY WILL NOT LET ME.

Hektor sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and picked up the pen again.

Eventually, Hektor had written enough that he had to stop to rest his hand, and Flick stared up at Hektor mournfully when he leaned down to scratch Flick's nose.

I LOVE YOU, Flick said.

"That sounded accusatory." Hektor kissed the spot between Flick's ears. "But you were good tonight. You didn't stop helping me even though you could have if you really wanted to."

IF THAT IS RESTRAINT, I WANT NONE OF IT.

Hektor picked up Flick. Flick could have been sulky and slipped away, but he liked being held, so he allowed it. He also allowed Hektor to hum to him and walk in the bobbing dance that made Flick sleepy and content. Hektor twisted to grab a book off the shelf, and Flick's ears perked up as Hektor set it down on his bed.

"That's for you," Hektor said, "because you were so good."

Flick spilled out of his arms and pressed his nose to the cover. His gold eyes snapped open, wide as tea saucers, and he breathed in the cover.

ADVENTURES IN IPERIOS.

"It's a new book series," Hektor told him, sitting down as Flick started drinking up the words, "by this man called Scout from Thalassa. This one's about a haunted lighthouse in Diabolos."

I LOVE HAUNTED THINGS, Flick said.

"I know."

Flick finished the book, his mind reeling with tales of plucky young kids who befriended ghosts and sirens who were afraid of thunderstorms. He jumped into Hektor, and Hektor laughed, laying a hand on his chest like he did when he wanted Flick to know that he felt him there.

I LOVE YOU MORE THAN ANY SUGAR BIRD IN THE WORLD.

Hektor smiled and lay back on the bed.

"Yeah," he said. "Me, too."

* * *

Laurent returned to the House of Onyx, brimming with deliciously satisfied dominant energy and an equally satisfied, very under Sabre, to find his courtesans having some sort of sugary, dessert-laden orgy in the kitchen.

"What precisely—" Laurent began, then held up a hand when Yves, Margritte and Nanette all started talking at once. "Never mind. Just make sure I get some of that orange blossom cake, and we'll let this be."

Sabre was still chuckling when they went to their room, licking something sticky off his fingers that looked like the residue of a caramel treat. "I am sure there is a story behind this whole thing. Aren't you curious?"

"Of course, but I can't tell them that," Laurent said, pushing Sabre down on the bed and climbing on top of him. He kissed him, tasting caramel, and smiled against Sabre's mouth. "Rule number one of being a house lord, Sabre, is always keep the upper hand, even if you have no idea what is going on under your own roof."

"Is that so?" Sabre murmured, reaching up and sliding his sticky fingers through Laurent's hair. "Truly, you are a fount of knowledge, my lord."

"Hush, brat, and if there's caramel in my hair you aren't going to be able to sit for a week."

"Oh, no," Sabre said, eyes wide, and laughed as Laurent kissed him silent.

It wasn't until later, Sabre sprawled loose-limbed and messy on their bed, that he remembered the gift he'd brought back for Charon. Laurent climbed out of bed, drew on a silk dressing gown and swept his hair up into some semblance of a bun as he grabbed the gift and padded quietly out of his room and up the back stairs toward Charon's.

He knocked once. Laurent would never, ever enter a courtesan's room without permission, not after his tenure in the House of Gold where privacy was nonexistent and the desire for it viewed with deep suspicion. At Charon's quiet entreaty, he opened the door.

There, he found Yves curled up under an afghan, his blond curls damp and held back with a colorful scarf. He was reading a book, nibbling on what appeared to be a few leftover sweets, and he smiled at Laurent and gave him a little wave before going back to his reading.

Charon was dressed in loose linen pants, the ones he wore when he wasn't seeing clients, and a simple undershirt that left his tattooed, muscular arms bare. He was on the couch where he took his favorite clients, holding them close and making them tea after he beat them until they cried and shook and came so hard, he usually had to carry them down the stairs. Instead of a client beside him, though, there was a blue fox with bright gold eyes, curled up on a pillow while Charon fed him sweets from a chipped ceramic plate.

HELLO LIGHT-brINGER. I HAVE LEARNED RESTRAINT AND DECIDED IT IS NOT FOR ME.

"Hear, hear," Yves murmured, flipping the page, which meant that Flick was speaking to everyone, not just Laurent.

"You have, have you?" Laurent said, and shook his head as Charon continued to feed Flick little bits of sugared candies and what appeared to be fish, which was possibly the worst meal Laurent could ever imagine eating.

YES.

I DO NOT RECOMMEND RESTRAINT. HAVING ALL THE FISH WHENEVER YOU WANT IS MUCH BETTER.

"Have your fish and eat them, too, little one," Yves murmured, flipping the page.

The fox blinked his big gold eyes up at Laurent.

MY BOY IS SLEEPING FROM TOO MUCH MAGIC.

I AM HERE FOR ADORATION

FISH AND PETS WILL DO

"Is that where the treats came from? Hektor?" Laurent asked, slightly concerned. He trusted Hektor's magic, but he wasn't sure that extended to Hektor's baking.

"No," Charon said, in his deep, even voice. "Hektor made the list of what was needed. I procured the baked goods."

Laurent opened his mouth to ask why, remembered what he'd said to Sabre, and smiled blandly. "All right. Incidentally, the reason I'm here is that I found something I thought you might like while Sabre and I were on our little sabbatical. There was a traveling merchant faire near Adrien's estate, and I picked something up to thank you for keeping order while we were gone. As much as anyone could keep order here."

Yves snorted. Laurent handed the gift to Charon.

Charon stared at it. "Ah."

"Sabre suggested you might have a copy already, given that you're so interested in Lukos, but the merchant assured us it was a very new book and so that wasn't likely unless you were some sort of pirate. It's written by a Gerakian scholar who went to Lukos and married one of the locals, so I hear." Laurent waited, expectant, as he'd rather thought Charon would be slightly more excited to read a firsthand account of the Lukoi.

Charon looked at it for a long time, and then...he laughed. It was a deep, full-breasted laugh that Laurent had never heard before. It sounded like thunder, and it rumbled through the room like a storm in summer. Laurent frowned, glancing between Charon and Yves, who was giggling helplessly and trying to hide under a blanket.

"After all that time he spent rewriting it," Yves wheezed.

Before he could ask what on earth was so funny about a book, Flick leaped up and twisted his body in the air, his voice almost as loud as Charon's continued laughter and ringing like bells in Laurent's head.

I WILL NOW HAVE ALL THE FISH WHENEVER I WANT.

AND THERE WILL BE NO RESTRAINT FOR ME.

The fox demon pranced in place like he was dancing on the bones of a conquered enemy, then stole three fish off the plate and bounded out of the room, vanishing like a ghost through the wood of the door.

Laurent took one look at Charon and Yves, who were both still laughing, and decided maybe it was best just not to ask.