Chapter Three

Cay spent the night seething with anger between restless dreams, remembering over and over his last conversation with Adrio. Especially when Adrio had said, condescendingly, Hob Fierar was an attractive man.

Damn him.

Adrio was the most captivating bed partner of Cay's life. They'd spent hours naked together, experimenting, teasing, discovering all the ways they could gratify each other. Their estrangement had not just broken Cay's heart; it had included a sudden and complete suspension of all such pleasures. Frustration was not Cay's greatest hurt, but it was certainly a perpetual and bothersome one.

He had to assume Adrio was not bothered by lonely celibacy. He went away, sometimes for an afternoon, sometimes for weeks at a time. He was a vigorous and enthusiastic lover who probably felt no compunction about seeking satisfaction elsewhere.

Cay did. He was married and still hoped to be until death. If Cay was not to spend every night for the rest of his life in an empty bed, either Adrio would have to thaw—which seemed increasingly unlikely—or Cay would have to find a lover. Which he found difficult to imagine.

He could not claim it had never occurred to him, but he certainly had not considered it with Hob Fierar. The charge stung like a wasp, and so did the necessary speculation: Did Adrio's rude accusation stem from a guilty conscience?

Cay supposed he should count himself lucky. If Adrio had a lover, at least he was discreet. At least he was not bringing anyone here. But as he rose in the morning, sullen and headachy, to find Adrio had left the house before breakfast, it seemed cold consolation.

"Should I leave?" he had asked Mandru. Was Adrio trying to goad him into running away? The scandal would be ruinous for him. He had weathered the disgrace of marrying Cay; he might not weather the disgrace of being discarded by him. He might be rejected by Valette society, and his folly would be remembered for years. If it was bad enough, his mother, the Bai of Lodola, might choose a different heir.

And he would still be in danger from the Grup envoy. And Cay would be alone.

No. Cay would fix it somehow. He'd been in worse straits before, with fewer tools in his hands, and managed it. He could do it again.

Restlessly, he paced his bedroom and tried to force his tired brain to formulate a plan to get him out of this predicament.

He did not intend to tell Hob Fierar the truth about anything. With all its faults, Lucenequa was his home now. He loved Muntegri with an aching nostalgia, but Muntegri had fallen to the Grup and was lost. The queen might want to forge a relationship with the new Muntegri, but she was a fool. Cay knew exactly how evil the Grup was. It would have no assistance from him.

And then there was the matter of the escaping Chende refugees. After the coup, the Grup had raked through the Sixth Circle, the only part of Turla where the Chende could live or work, rounded them up by the hundreds, murdered them in the streets or forced them into labor camps. Lucenequans tended to be pleased with themselves for being less brutish toward the Chende than the Muntegrise, but Lucenequa had been but little help. If someone was helping free Chende prisoners from the Grup and getting them over the mountains somehow, Cay would not betray them.

He drank tea and forced his tired brain to work through his plan. The first step would be to misdirect Hob Fierar. His ridiculous, impulsive lie about the smoke-balloons had been unexpectedly diverting.

Very well, he could divert even more.

He rang the bell, and when Lirano appeared, he said, "I am going to begin a new project. A gown for my sister. I'll need a stock of paper and ink."

"Do you not have enough of these already, Lord Cay?"

"I do, yes. But for this project, I want common paper. The gray pulpy stock, you know? And the purplish ink used by tradesmen?"

"I see." Lirano plainly did not see why Cay wanted cheap tools when he was well-supplied with reams of creamy white paper and inks in shades of raven black and midnight blue, all specially supplied to the Heir of Lodola by a stationer on Summit Street.

Cay smiled. "I know, it's silly of me. But when I started designing clothes, I could only afford the inexpensive ink and paper, and I rather miss it. One's free to experiment and make mistakes if one's using the purple ink and pulp paper, do you see?"

Lirano bowed. "Very well, Lord Cay. I'll see to it."

"Thank you."

He returned to his tea, thoughtfully.

The second part of his plan was to find out what Adrio was actually doing. Surely the real truth of the matter would lend his lies a solid foundation. It was important to be credible. Authentic.

But he also wanted to know for his own benefit. How was Adrio spending his days? With whom? Was he working? Was he indeed somehow involved in military planning? Or was he visiting a lover or series of lovers? Was he merely slaking his lust, or had he actually fallen in love with someone else?

Cay wrestled with the urge to follow Adrio. Was he indeed in secret meetings with important government ministers, as the envoy from Muntegri claimed? Or was he dallying with a lover, as Cay bitterly suspected?

Cay spent the morning in his suite, making preliminary sketches, and then carefully burning them. He attempted to lure Mandru with crumbled bacon from breakfast. Still offended by Cay's attempt to hug him yesterday, Mandru remained on the roof of the house opposite and refused to come into Cay's room.

"I'm sorry," Cay called to him across the alley. "I was temporarily mad. It won't happen again."

Mandru gazed at him and then pointedly ignored him.

"I know," sighed Cay. "You wouldn't have let yourself get into a situation like this, I'm sure."

He emerged from his room at noon, when the servants were released from all duties for two hours. Usually, they congregated in the kitchen in the basement, eating together, but they were free to leave the house and go about other business if they chose. Cay slipped down the stairs and made sure that the servants were all gathered around the table.

He stealthily searched the house and did not find anyone else, so he slipped upstairs and let himself into Adrio's suite.

In layout, it was identical to Cay's: a bed chamber, a sitting room, and a dressing room, none of them large. Cay's suite was scrupulously tidy, his bed made, his clothes hung or folded into his chest. He had converted the dressing room into a sewing room, with a worktable under the window. His notebooks were stacked tidily on shelves, his pencils and inks tucked into their boxes, and fabric swatches folded in baskets under the table, sorted by color.

Adrio's rooms were far less orderly. The bed was unmade, clothes lay on the floor, and half-full cups of tea were on the tables. He had a shelf packed with books. History, mathematics, and great literature were downstairs in the library; these bedroom shelves held romantic adventure novels, an addiction of Adrio's since he was a child. Another pile of books teetered on the floor next to the bed.

Cay forced his thoughts away from the time he'd spent in Adrio's bed, warned himself not to think about the way the room smelled of Adrio's body, and turned his attention to the dressing room.

Like Cay, Adrio had altered his room into a kind of office lined with shelves, cabinets, and a big desk. These shelves were devoted to two types of bound ledger: blue and red. Listening for the servants' footsteps, Cay pulled down a blue ledger and flipped through.

Cay was neither a mathematic genius like his mother and sister nor a landowner like Adrio. But his father had made sure both his children were literate in what he called the books, and these ledgers formed a familiar pattern. The blue ledgers were the books for Lodola, Adrio's old and prosperous holding in the south. Adrio's widowed mother, the Bai of Lodola, still lived there, and Cay had visited once. He remembered rolling hills and lakes, sun-drenched orchards and vineyards, a big, ancient house, and the instant and implacable dislike of Lilia, the Bai of Lodola. (What a gorgon she was.)

Presumably Adrio had these ledgers as part of his training as the heir. Cay scanned the pages. Income: rents from tenants, farm goods, taxes, and tithes. Expenditures: salaries and pensions for employees, property improvements, expenses for food and wine, laundry, and so on. A loan, at three point five interest, appeared to be for some sort of drainage or irrigation project. It all seemed right and square to Cay, and so did the contents of the red ledgers for this household in Valette. Neither the blue nor the red ledgers were in Adrio's sprawling, slanted handwriting: the Valette ones were written by the housekeeper, Lirano. Presumably, Adrio's land steward wrote the Lodola ledgers. Cay was certain Adrio read them over, though. His habits might be a bit sloppy, but he had a sharp mind and a deep sense of responsibility.

It was all extremely unsurprising and unhelpful. Cay was gratified to find that the estate was financially healthy, and he did nosily dig until he found the order for the roseapple blossom earrings. Quite expensive, as he had thought, and commissioned in the early days of their marriage. Not originally intended as a cruel mockery, then; just turned to cruel purpose.

Pressing his lips together against hurt, Cay turned to rifling the desk, opening drawers and excavating pigeonholes. Pens, paper, a few scribbled notes and lists in Adrio's hand.

He discovered a heavy, polished wooden box containing a pair of shining ivory-inlaid dueling pistols and wrinkled his nose. He knew Adrio could shoot; once he had joined Adrio and his friend Fonsca in target practice. He'd come away from the experience thinking guns were ugly, noisy, heavy, smelled bad, and kicked hard enough to hurt his wrists. He didn't like them. He closed the box with a snap.

He couldn't find anything about Adrio being involved in military or any other secret business. Hob Fierar would be unsatisfied.

"Find out."

He turned to a small cabinet beside the desk and discovered it would not open. A small brass padlock rattled against the wood when he tried its doors. He searched the desk for a key and couldn't find one. In the bedroom, he rummaged quickly through Adrio's things, keeping his eyes averted from the rumpled bed.

But he'd lost track of time. He heard footsteps tapping on the stairs, voices on the landing, and realized that the servants had returned. He frantically scanned the room for a way to escape or hide. He definitely did not want the servants to tell Adrio he'd been snooping around in here, so he dropped to the floor and rolled under the bed.

There he spent an agonizing twenty minutes, biting his arm against hysterical giggles, while Lirano and Roya (his own servants!) tidied Adrio's rooms. He stared at the pile of books beside the bed. Romantic adventure novels: The Plum Chrysanthemum and A Sheaf of Swords. Books about Chende religion and lore: The Wind and the Mountains; Symbolism of the Chende Clans. And, more surprisingly: Castle in the Air: Being an Account of Air-Balloons; Report on the Death of Elvier Canto, Aeronaut; Discursions of the Nature of Air and Heat.

"Say what you will about Lord Cay," muttered Roya, grunting a bit as she stooped to pick the books up off the floor, making Cay flinch, "he may be common-born, but he does keep his things tidy."

"Lord Cay's character is noble, even if his birth isn't," said Lirano.

"If you say so, I'm sure."

"I do say so," said Lirano. "His nature is honorable, which is why he makes no trouble for anyone."

"Except Lord Adrio," snickered Roya as they left the room.

Adrio courted Cay gently. He began with brief visits to Therescu and Sons, the tailor shop where Cay worked, bringing small, thoughtful gifts: oranges, or almonds, or a vial of rosemary-scented lotion for his hands. Cay liked him. He liked how deliberately chosen the gifts were: not so expensive as to make him feel beholden but a little more expensive than anything he'd have bought for himself.

He'd been approached by rich suitors before—suitors who assumed a tailor's apprentice would appreciate an offer to become a paid lover, suitors who were offended to learn they were wrong. The Heir of Lodola was by far the richest person who had ever displayed an interest in him. Cay knew it was unwise to encourage him, even the littlest bit, but he enjoyed the flattering attention and the gifts.

Once, in a rare misstep, Adrio brought his horse for Cay to meet. The animal was a tall, snake-necked red gelding named Sparrow. Though Adrio assured him Sparrow was a sweet-natured fellow, Cay refused to go near him. He'd been born and raised in a city of stairs, bridges, and narrow stone passages, so he knew nothing of horses. He disliked Sparrow's restless hooves and evil, flat-pupiled eyes. Adrio offered to teach him to ride. When Cay refused with horror, Sparrow never appeared again.

Then Adrio asked him to go on a dinner picnic after work. It was their first outing together. Adrio picked him up, not in his carriage, but in a dirty closed cart drawn by a small, non-intimidating pony. It was certainly not Lord Lodola's usual transport, and Cay had asked, "What on earth?" as he hoisted himself up into the cart's high seat.

"It's a surprise," Adrio said before clucking to the pony. The snow had melted—Valette's snow always melted in a few days, not like in Turla, where hard icy heaps would linger in shadowy corners well into spring. Frost glittered on the road, and the sunset painted the sky rosy pink.

"What is that smell?" Cay turned around in the seat and looked at the cart's closed box. Something was moving in there. "Is it pigs? Is this a pig-cart?"

"Of course not," said Adrio. "It's far too small."

He drove them to the lake, which was flat as a mirror in the gloaming. After removing the pony's bridle to let it graze, he opened the cart to reveal stacks of wooden crates. Four or five live ducks were packed into each crate, dirty and glassy-eyed from captivity. They had been quiet in the closed cart, but now, as Adrio carried the crates one-by-one to the lake shore, they began to murmur and flutter anxiously, sticking their heads through the bars and peering about.

"Help me," said Adrio. "Grab one."

"No, thank you," said Cay. The crates were caked with guano and buzzing with flies, and besides, Adrio had removed his jacket and shirt and wore only his smallshirt despite the cold. His forearms were corded, and his biceps bulged while he hoisted the boxes. "I'll just watch."

Once he had all ten crates lined up on the shore, Adrio stood up and stretched, arching his back. "There," he said. "Do you want to help me free them?"

"They'll get eaten by foxes," said Cay. "They've never been free in their lives."

"I know. I don't think they've even seen a lake before. Do you think captive ducks know how to swim?" He grinned, sparkling with delight, and held out a hand. "Come on!"

Cay, entirely unable to resist his smile, jumped down and came through the frosty grass to help him open the crates. Forty-seven ducks, foolish with fear, emerged and clustered together on the bank, craning their bodies up to look out over the water. One brave soul ventured onto a rock and leaned over the water to dabble his bill, while the rest quacked, shook their feathers, and watched with apprehension.

Adrio gently pushed the brave one in. It shouted and clapped its wings on the water, splashing, then popped back up onto the rock, where it wagged its tail indignantly and shook droplets out of its dirty feathers.

Cay laughed. "That is exactly what I would do if you pushed me into the water."

"Do not tempt me, Master Olau."

"I would murder you, Lord Lodola."

Adrio put his clothes back on, and he and Cay sat wrapped in blankets on the cart, eating their picnic and watching the ducks, making bets on which one would swim first. Eventually, all forty-seven made their way onto the surface of the lake. They ruffled and bobbed in the water, ducking to bathe themselves, rearing up to flap their wings, all the while chattering among themselves. They looked ridiculous and happy.

"This is a terrible idea," Cay said, popping hothouse grapes into his mouth. "What if they don't know how to find food? They'll be dead in a week."

"They would have been dead in a week anyway," said Adrio. "But now they're swimming. And we can feed them oats and the rest of the grapes. I brought extra."

Cay looked at him, so handsome in the twilight, as the inane babble of the ducks filled the air. "You're a romantic."

"Oh yes. I'm afraid so," said Adrio, and kissed him.

It was their first kiss. Adrio's hand on his cheek was cold, but his lips were warm.

After supper, Cay and Adrio went to a small gathering at the home of Fonsca Calareto, one of Adrio's bosom friends.

"Are you sure you still want me to come?" Cay had asked earlier.

"Of course." Adrio seemed mildly surprised by the question. "Why not?"

"Even now?"

"Nothing has changed. You are my husband and always will be; you must take your place in Lucenequan society."

Nothing has changed. From Cay's point of view, their pretense of a happy marriage had been ground to dust, leaving him wondering why he stayed. Tentatively, he suggested, "Would it be a scandal if I didn't?"

"That's hardly the point. People should wed whom they will without heeding small-minded gossip. Our marriage will make it easier for others to do the same."

"Ah." Principle. Of course. "Then I shall be ready in an hour, Husband, to display our happy marriage to the world."

Adrio responded only with a short nod.

They walked arm-in-arm the short distance to Fonsca Calareto's house. Fonsca was technically a commoner, and like Cay, he was subject to the occasional rude comment in Starlight Conversation: an alder in an oak forest, a lichen growing upon a castle wall, and so on. Unlike Cay, Fonsca had important connections as well as money. Noble society sought him out even as it condescended to him. Invitations to his little parties were highly prized.

This evening was informal. Fonsca would offer refreshments, a musical performance, and games. Probably he would offer no dancing, as he did not have a ballroom, and Cay secretly found music a bit boring unless he could dance to it. The food would be good, but the company would be chilly.

Cay dressed simply in black, his only jewelry was his wedding ring and small gold hoops in his ears. But his shirt was open at the throat, his waist emphasized by his wide black belt, and his face enhanced with a subtle touch of cosmetics. He needed no more finery to dazzle a room, and he knew it. Adrio's arm was solid and warm beneath his hand as they mounted the stairs toward Fonsca's door, but his profile was remote, and he was silent. Cay kept his chin up.

"Adrio." Fonsca gave Adrio a friendly shoulder slap. "Welcome! And Lord Cay."

Cay bowed. Unlike Ondrei, Fonsca had never been more than polite to Cay. Fonsca disapproved of him and made no secret of it. Cay had asked Adrio about it once, and Adrio had only smiled and said, "He thinks we married too hastily. Once he sees how happy we are together, he'll stop being such a fusspot."

Hah.

After the excellent supper and the boring music, the dice tables came out, and the conversation grew unexpectedly interesting. Lady Patra Jelola, a wealthy widow rumored to be Fonsca's current mistress, enthralled the gathering with the story of the mysterious man who was, at enormous risk to his own life, rescuing Chende prisoners from Muntegri and flying them over the mountains, right over the heads of the guards on the Road.

Cay choked on his wine.

Lady Patra told her story with gusto, appreciating the gasps and exclamations of her audience, and no one noticed Cay coughing into his handkerchief.

"My lady, is this true?"

"Amazing!"

"And so absolutely heroic," said Lady Patra, clasping her hands. She was an exquisite woman with the prized Lucenequan coloring, bronze skin and sun-streaked hair, and she glowed with excitement to be first to share this news. "Don't you think? They call him the Uncanny Aviator."

Someone asked, "But how does he fly?"

"In smoke-balloons," said Lady Patra. "Invisible ones. And the Muntegrise are absolutely seething, I can assure you."

Adrio was gazing at Lady Patra bright-eyed, his lips parted in a half-smile.

"Er," Cay ventured, "my lady, may I ask where you heard of this extraordinary person?"

"My source is quite credible," said Lady Patra, tossing her head. "I heard it from the Muntegrise envoy himself!"

"You spoke to the Muntegrise envoy?"

"Naturally not. But he was at the university questioning the scholars about whether it's possible. My sister's youngest boy is a student, and he heard all about it. He told her, and she told me."

"Certainly an unimpeachable source," Cay said.

Adrio shot Cay a glance: shut up. Cay raised his eyebrows at him.

"But surely it's not possible," said another young lady, Elia.

"Oh, I think it might be," said Adrio, startling Cay. "The Principle of Levity is a well-known scientific force. It causes things like smoke and steam to rise away from the earth. They fill a balloon with something imbued with the Principle of Levity, and up it goes."

Cay bit the inside of his cheek and averted his gaze.

An older gentleman exclaimed, "Quite right! I saw a demonstration of smoke-balloons some years ago. It was a big sack made of taffeta, I believe, and they heaped wet leaves upon a fire beneath it to make smoke. It rose up above the rooftops and drifted quite half a mile before it came down."

"Did it carry people?"

"Gods, no! Who would ride such a steed?"

"It would be a feat of astonishing courage," murmured Lady Patra.

Someone asked, "But how could they be made invisible?"

"Perhaps they are concealed, rather than invisible," said Fonsca. "If they fly only at night and are made from black silk or some other dark fabric, they might go unnoticed."

"Or perhaps they are invisible," said Adrio, genially. "Who knows what learned men might be capable of? If flight, why not invisibility? Lady Patra, did your nephew say how the professors responded to these questions?"

Lady Patra, regrettably, knew not. But the topic of the Uncanny Aviator and his bold deeds took up the rest of the evening. Cay said nothing more, but Adrio involved himself in the discussion, leading the group to wild speculation: perhaps the Aviator was rich, because black silk in such quantities would be expensive. Or perhaps the Aviator was a sailor or a pirate who understood the mysterious ways of the winds. Or perhaps the Aviator was a scholar from the university who understood science.

"But why should he do it?" wondered a gentleman. "Who would put his life at such risk for a few wretched Chende, who are now dirtying up the countryside and abusing our charity?"

"He must be a true nobleman," said Lady Elia, "who does it for the sheer love of adventure and danger."

The ladies liked this idea. They were even more delighted when Adrio said, "Is there any reason to believe the Aviator is not a lady? She snatches the unfortunate from the cruel Muntegrise because she is both fearless and kind—traits for which all Lucenequan noblewomen are famed."

The ladies laughed and preened. Cay caught Fonsca leveling a flat stare at Adrio. Cay glanced at his husband: Adrio was smiling with pure mischief, his eyes sparkling.

Adrio was still in a fine humor as they walked back home after the party. His delight at the ridiculous rumors of the Uncanny Aviator and his playful inflating of those rumors reminded Cay of the joyous Adrio he'd once known. How long it had been since he'd seen Adrio happy! He'd been so wrapped up in his blanket of misery he'd scarcely noticed Adrio's unhappiness.

He ventured, "An amusing evening."

"Hm."

"I shall enjoy telling Kell about the adventures of the Uncanny Aviator. I wonder if she knows Lady Patra's nephew?" Adrio did not reply, and Cay went on, "In all seriousness, though, I do keep hearing mention of these Chende refugees. I wonder how they evade the roadblocks without encountering the Chende tribes in the mountain passes. Have you heard anything?"

For several steps, Adrio said nothing. Then he said, "I am certainly not going to discuss such matters with you."

Greatly daring, Cay said, "Why not? I am not asking for any expression of affection from you, but may we not have a civil conversation about the events of the day?"

All good humor disappeared from Adrio's face, and he scowled ahead of him as he walked, his shoulders hunched. "You cannot convince me you give a damn about the fate of the Chende of Muntegri," growled Adrio.

"I do not believe we have ever spoken of the Chende of Muntegri in the whole of our acquaintance," Cay said a little stiffly.

"You don't speak of the Chende at all."

Cay did not reply.

Most Lucenequans did not particularly like the Chende. They decried Muntegri's brutality toward its Chende population, but that was because they didn't like the Muntegrise either, not because they were true champions of the Chende. Adrio was unusually curious and open-minded about people who were not like him. Perhaps during their courtship he had thought that Cay was too, but now he believed—Cay had allowed Adrio to believe—he despised the Chende as much as most Muntegrise did. The truth of the matter was more complicated than Cay knew how to explain. And it was probably too late for explanations anyway.

They walked in silence until they reached the red door of their house. "Well, Husband? Will you not complete my evening with a word from one of the great poets? I'm certain one of them would have an insult well-turned for just this occasion."

Adrio looked at him with an unreadable expression and said, "What sorrow, should the swan love the golden-headed duck."