Hoard

Paradoxically, escaping from the staid avenue outside into the comparatively raucous entertainment district bought them some peace and quiet, just because nobody here was paying attention to the pair of them directly, yet. With Kaln and Izayaroa on the hook and into their domain, the Nhiyah touts went back to catcalling other passersby.

Kaln was immediately fascinated by the contrast that was everywhere—the fundamental duality of this district. Everything was built in the Verdi style, with heavy gray stone and dark timber embellished with intricate carvings and ornamental ironwork, bristling with spires and gables and buttresses up at the level of the steep roofs, themselves consistently tiled with dark slate. It was an aesthetic at once elaborate and grim, and the Nhiyah had embellished it with the opposite: they liked bright colors and simple patterns. The stained glass added to upper windows and even some of the street lamps weren’t made in Timeglass-inspired artistic forms as had been that at the Renaissance, but simple panels of color through which lights beamed to cast crazy rainbows everywhere. They’d hung up flowers both fresh and dried—and some, he noted, made of cloth that would “bloom” even in the winter—and there were pennants and banners everywhere. Hanging from windowsills, attached to the sides of buildings, dangling from ropes strung across the street, and often with no sigil or even pattern, just put up to add splashes of color.

It was in the people, too, the contrast between the Verdi customers thronging the street and the exuberant Nhiyah loudly soliciting their attention. That contrast was lesser, though, as whatever local sensibilities prevailed seemed to have relaxed somewhat on a street dedicated to fun and carousing. They were mostly local—pale humans with hair ranging from brown to copper to blonde. Kaln did see a few people with darker complexions who might have been Rhiva, and there was a dwarf on the patio of a nearby establishment flirting with two Nhiyah waitresses. One and all, though, they looked relaxed and happy.

From what he knew of entertainment districts in general, that just indicated that it was, after all, only late afternoon, and nobody in the vicinity was properly drunk yet.

“Ah, this seems to be a splendid variety of amenities,” Izayaroa commented. “Public houses, food stalls, and restaurants, and that’s only within our field of view from right here. The Renaissance has an excellent in-house restaurant, catering primarily to guests—I had quite hoped to treat you there, husband. But then, we can always have dinner there tomorrow night. Would you like to eat here this evening, or cut short our visit after an hour or two and return to our lodgings?”

“I must plead ignorance,” Kaln said smoothly, turning to her with his most winning smile. “Besides, quite apart from your greater familiarity with the area, it was you who had a secondary purpose in visiting here tonight. Why don’t you take the lead? I cannot conceive that anything you might show me would be less than splendid—if not in its own right, then by virtue of your company.”

He raised her hand to give her palm a courtly kiss, gazing warmly into her eyes.

Unlike previous times, her smile…diminished by a hair.

Kaln experienced a sudden stab of alarm—a flashback to a similar moment with Tiavathyris, in which her warm and increasingly inviting hints had suddenly flipped into disappointed rejection. Without even meaning to, he found himself focusing on Izayaroa with his full dragon-related power just as he had then, desperate to understand what he’d done wrong, to fix it before he blew this entirely.

As before, it wasn’t as if he could read her thoughts, just sense a general shape of emotions. Unlike Tiavathyris, hers were…calm, with no upset he could discern. She was focused, and…what was that sensation, the peculiar mirror of his own outward presentation? Feeling it reflected back at him was oddly disorienting.

Empathy.

“That is not merely a practice, for you, is it?” Izayaroa asked softly. “You do have quite the knack for getting what you want, husband. Make yourself a source of pleasure to others and they will often seek to please you in turn. But suddenly, I find myself wondering… Is that actually the only way you know to relate to someone important to you?”

Kaln took refuge in poise, barely. He had no prepared response for this—nothing in his repertoire that gave him any precedent for what was happening here, much less what to do about it. All he could manage was to remain outwardly calm, to keep his flirtatious front in place.

“And what’s the harm with that approach? I bring happiness to others, and if I do it well, gain some for myself. Rare in life is the choice with no downside; I hardly find cause for complaint.”

Power swelled in her; already focusing on her with his full draconic senses, Kaln didn’t need to concentrate further this time to understand what she was doing. The magic ensured them privacy even in this crowd, both deflecting attention from their conversation and garbling their words should anyone happen to overhear.

“It is a fine tactic,” Izayaroa said, staring up at him, her eyes calm but intense. “Even a strategy. But as a way of life, it is beneath you—the man you are capable of being. It has been unavoidable for me to read between the lines, husband. I have not asked about your past or the suffering that impelled you on the path to me. Nor will I; you will share that with me when you deem it time, and I will be honored by your trust when I have earned it. But…the shape of it, the broad nature…that it has been impossible not to intuit.”

She reached up, first touching his cheek with her soft fingertips—itself an oddly incongruous sensation, as he kept expecting the cold hard claws that were so much an integral part of her. Then, though, she slid her hand around, brushing back a few stray locks of his hair, over his ear, and finally caressing his neck.

“The past is the past. You are no one’s plaything, Ar-Kaln Zelekhir, and never shall be again. I am… We are what we are. The potential I see in you, the will you hesitate to embrace—the inclination to impose yourself, to take what is yours without apology? Neither I nor your other consorts fear it. We are accustomed to it. We are…inclined to value it.”

He wasn’t quite sure how to interpret the rising pressure in his chest, much less what to do about it. For now, he just stared down into his wife’s eyes as she gazed back at him. Then, subtly, licked her lips in a fleeting little gesture that sent a stab of heat through his consciousness.

“This is something you will need to do, to fulfill your role in our family,” she said, her voice quiet but assertive. “It is the thing that will make your skill at pleasing us an asset and not a mark of weakness. But more than that, it is something we need—that I need, and appreciate. Your ability, your willingness to declare what will please you, and command it to be done.”

She had shifted by that point to be standing directly in front of him, so close they both had to tilt their heads to lock eyes. Slowly, Izayaroa slid her hand down the side of his face, his neck, to rest it lightly against his shoulder. When she spoke again, it was a whisper.

“Command me, husband.”

Before deciding he was going to, Kaln had pulled her into his arms. She was pliant and warm and wondrously soft, reaching up to embrace his neck as she yielded to him and raised her face expectantly.

The kiss was barely restrained by them both; he wanted to devour her, to crush her lips with his own, to drive her into the pavement right there and drink in her beauty and receptiveness until he burst from it. She rewarded him with soft murmurs of appreciation as her lips opened to welcome him in. In every squeeze and tiny wriggle he could feel her matching eagerness, rising to meet and meld with his own frantic energy, even as they mutually held back.

They sort of had to; they were standing in the middle of a public street. And the magic that repelled interest and intrusion into their conversation clearly did not make them invisible, to judge by the chorus of whooping and catcalls which erupted from all sides, most in shrill Nhiyah accents.

Everything Kaln understood about himself as a person told him that should have left him poleaxed with mortification, but on the contrary…if anything it spurred him on further. Squeezing Izayaroa, he lifted her bodily off the pavement and spun her in a circle even as she squealed into his lips. She was his, and he didn’t care if everyone… No—he wanted everyone to see it!

There was, however, a limited number of seconds they could keep that up and not have to either pull back or go urgently in search of privacy. And… After all, they’d come here for a purpose; they had a lovely suite back at the Renaissance for that.

With deep regret, but still firmly, Kaln gently pushed her away to catch his breath, taking great satisfaction in her wordless little murmur of protest, the reluctance with which she allowed herself to be put at a greater distance. The way her lips clung to his until he finally created enough space to look her in the eyes again.

Kaln wordlessly stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers, then lifted his hand again to graze her temple, lightly ruffling curls that were too thick and tight to actually wind his hand into. He playfully tweaked her nose and caught her chin for just a second between fingertip and thumb. And all the while his wife, his proud and ancient Empress, beamed up at him in warm delight at being thus playfully handled like a kept concubine.

“We’ll dine at the Renaissance tomorrow night,” Kaln declared. “I wouldn’t want to miss that, since you so recommend it, so it can be our treat after we finish business tomorrow. For now…we are here. It would be a shame not to explore, no?”

She blinked once, languidly, and dipped her head in acknowledgment. “As you wish, husband.”

Kaln kept an arm around her, sliding it down to encircle her waist and pulling her against his side as he stepped further into the Roundabout. Now, the awkwardness was beginning to settle on him as his blood managed to cool slightly; they still had an audience and while the local humans appeared to be trying to ignore them, there were lingering wolf whistles and commentary from some of the nearby Nhiyah.

“Aw, don’t stop! Dip hew!”

“I wanna pway! Can I be in the middwe of that?”

“You two want a job? That was a bettew pewfowmance than ouw opening act!”

“I heawd that, Kifni!”

He risked a glance down at Izayaroa, who looked…actually, rather than uncomfortable, she seemed openly proud of herself. Kaln marshaled his own public face and tried for a more serene indifference, since he doubted he could pull off her level of self-satisfaction.

“Before today,” he asked, “when was the last time you indulged in street food?”

“Oh, that’s a question. I legitimately have no idea, Kaln. It’s been…likely long enough that the recipes have all changed.”

“Perfect.” He tugged her diagonally across the street toward the nearest stand. “I have missed it. No disrespect to the restaurants here, but we can indulge in our formal sit-down meals back at the inn. Tonight feels like a good opportunity to graze as we go.”

“I like that idea, husband. What with one thing and another, I believe we both deserve a vacation from our…various responsibilities.”

Kaln had picked the stall at random, but as they came close enough to see clearly he discerned that the snack on offer was stuffed peppers, the roasted vegetables packed with a melange of mincemeat and spices; the recent memory of their lamb skewers wasn’t enough to stop his stomach from rumbling in anticipation.

His senses—those not distracted by the prospect of food—were still filled with Izayaroa, and he not only sensed but easily interpreted an on-the-fly modification to the spell she kept over them, protecting their privacy from eavesdropping but enabling them to deliberately communicate with others. Kaln didn’t know enough about magic to guess how difficult that was, but it seemed suitably complicated to be impressive.

“Two, please,” he said politely to the Nhiyah man behind the stall.

“Ah, good choice!” the fellow said cheerfully, showing off pointed fangs in a grin even as he wrapped two peppers in wax paper. “You two stawted with spicy and sweet, so now you’ww be wanting savowy. I hope you bwought enough fow evewybody, because I suwe did!”

Izayaroa laughed in evidently sincere amusement; Kaln cleared his throat awkwardly, but couldn’t help grinning along as he exchanged coins for peppers.

“I won’t hold it against you if they’re less savory than what I just had—nothing possibly could be.”

“I’m suwe she’d say the same, cutie,” the pepper seller replied with a flirtatious wink. “Weave some sexy fow the west of us, you two! Awound hewe, we need it fow wowk.”

Kaln retreated as gracefully as he could manage, distracting himself by taking a bite of his pepper and handing Izayaroa hers. It was small enough that there wouldn’t be more than two bites, three if he savored it. At the first, though, he actually faltered a step, wincing in sheer delight. Oh, this was a spicy pepper, but mildly so, and still noticeably sweet. The ground meat was pork, and padded out with bits of potato and onion, all held together with a thick, smoky sauce. Magnificent.

“Mmmf,” Izayaroa agreed, beaming up at him as she chewed. Kaln could sort of see her earlier point, of her expression now was anything like his back then; it was a pure delight to watch someone to lovely experience something so delicious. “Now this, husband, was an excellent idea. I knew following your lead was the right choice here.”

“That’s good to hear! Now I have someone to blame if I lead us off a cliff.” She laughed and bumped her hip against him, popping the rest of her stuffed pepper into her mouth. Kaln took time to finish his off before continuing. “So, I see theaters as well as a lot of stores… Let’s reserve judgment in case we happen across a really compelling performance, but for now I feel inclined to wander and browse. We can do some shopping while we pick up nibbles here and there from the stands, how’s that sound?”

“Like the best afternoon I’ll have spent in ages, my love. There’s nothing quite so relaxing as aimless wandering. I am curious, though… Excuse me, young lady!”

She paused to address the occupant of the nearest stand, a Nhiyah girl selling flowers, who perked up in apparent delight at being addressed.

“Oh, whoah, what’s this? A pwetty wady desiwes my attention! Take me, I’m youws!”

“I’m afraid my dance card is filled, my dear,” Izayaroa replied, smiling.

“So I see!” The young woman’s slitted eyes darted up and down Kaln and her tail waved in the air behind her. “Awe you two wooking fow a thiwd? I’m not in the twade, to be cweaw, it’s just that you’we both so widicuwouswy hot!”

“Not that that isn’t tempting,” Kaln said, playing along, “but I fear I couldn’t give you the attention you deserve, not when she commands so much of mine.”

“I can see how she wouwd,” the girl agreed, now brazenly eyeballing Izayaroa. Something about her, like a lot of the Nhiyah, was just so ridiculous that he couldn’t manage to feel either jealous or tempted. She was just putting on an outgoing performance to coax some coin out of them, of course. As had been the pepper seller, and the touts back at the entrance… Then again, a lot of the surrounding Nhiyah seemed to be like this, including those who had cheered and whistled their kiss without trying to sell them anything. Back in Rhivkabat Kaln had only encountered Nhiyah alone or in small groups, and always by chance while they were on other business; he’d never been surrounded by them in their own territory before. Was this just how they were? Cheerful, outgoing and horny?

“What is the building at the top of the hill,” Izayaroa asked, “the one this street seems to lead to?”

“Ooh, you mean the Queen! A fine pwace to spend youw time and youw coin. They have evewything—food and dwink, dancing, gaming tabwes, pewfowmances of aww kinds… Not to mention pwivate wooms, and a wot of the staff awe wiwwing to join you in them. Not fow fwee, usuawwy, and onwy if they weawwy wike you.” She once again eyed them up, both in turn this time, and licked her lips. “Something tewws me you’d be a hit.”

“All right, you win,” Kaln said indulgently. “What’s the most expensive thing you have?”

“Oooh, mawwy me! I hawdwy eat anything and I’m vewy bendy!”

Less than a minute later they were back on their way, Izayaroa with an amazingly intricate flower crown perched atop her curls and Kaln with a matching corsage attached to his shoulder.

“Okay, I’ll admit it,” he murmured, grateful that her privacy enchantment was still in place. “That’s going to get old real fast. Do you know what their native language is like? I’m trying to imagine what sort of accent seems to result in…baby talk. Surely they can’t be doing it on purpose, not if they’re fishing for money. That’s a lot more annoying than it is cute.”

“The closest thing the Nhiyah have to a racial language is nonverbal,” Izayaroa said just as softly, matching his languid pace as they sauntered along, people-watching and window-shopping. “And that’s more a set of codes than a full dialect. Actually, husband, it’s not so much an accent as a speech impediment. Feline anatomy, you know.”

“Feline?” He looked down at her in surprise. “I mean, I noticed the ears and tails, obviously…”

“And the eyes and teeth? It’s not just that—specifically, it’s oral anatomy. Nhiyah have blunt-tipped tongues with a rough texture and concave upper surface, and the roofs of their mouths are both highly arched and ridged. It’s very difficult for them, physically, to produce sounds that are articulated by regulating the flow of air between the top of the tongue and roof of the mouth.”

“Wh—really?” Kaln was suddenly intrigued in spite of himself, and also a little ashamed for poking fun. “Hmm, so… Rrrrr…lllll… Huh.”

Somehow, all his use of language at the professional level had never called for much investigation into the anatomical origins of phonetics. Izayaroa gave him an amused look up through her lashes while he experimented with sounds, but forbore comment.

They paused with a crowd of other tourists, watching and listening to a very skilled Nhiyah man playing a fiddle while two women danced exuberantly around him, the whole performance taking up the entirety of a stone platform which formed an elevated island in the middle of the street. This really was a fully dedicated entertainment district, if they could enjoy everything including the performing arts without having to go inside for a sit-down performance.

“Boisverd is doing well,” Izayaroa said quietly, eyes still on the performers, “despite…everything.”

Kaln looked down at her distant expression, then back at the dancers, thinking.

“You wanted to investigate the condition of the country, as well as find some entertainment,” he said, squeezing her close and rubbing the side of her waist. “I think I understand. Because the Nhiyah are perpetual outsiders wherever they go, aren’t they? Disliked in a lot of places, considered beggars and thieves and disease-carriers… So it speaks well of this culture, that they are embraced.”

“That is part of it, husband.” She looked up at him with a smile, then leaned her head against his shoulder, her curls and the flowers resting in them tickling his cheek. “It is about more than culture, though. Such easily identifiable outsider groups are very tempting targets, for a regime interested in its own power above all. Incompetent leadership results in bad conditions for the poorer classes, and a great deal of public anger. It is terrifyingly easy to redirect that anger away from its genuine cause, and toward more vulnerable targets. The gambit is too easy and too predictably successful to be passed up by rulers with even slightly malignant intentions. In any country suffering any significant burden of corruption, one also finds small, vulnerable outgroups being actively persecuted. Not just the Nhiyah, but they are a universal target for it wherever a population of them exists. They are easily, immediately identifiable, and their inability to do magic not only leaves them vulnerable but provides a pretext. Many regimes have claimed they are rejected by the gods.”

The fiddler finished up with a flourish, as did the dancers—whose final pose was half-wrapped around each other, nose-to-nose and staring into each others eyes with notable heat for two seconds before they turned to the applauding crowd and swept elaborate bows. Kaln was impressed in spite of himself—and despite how deeply inappropriate all this was to Rhiva sensibilities. He wasn’t even sure how socially acceptable it was to the Verdi; everybody here had come specifically to carouse.

He’d learned more about the Nhiyah in the last five minutes from Izayaroa than in the entirety of his previous life, and certainly couldn’t claim to understand them in any detail. It was impossible to say whether they were just congenitally randy as alley cats as a culture, or deliberately playing it up for the audience, but he strongly suspected there were elements of both. Kaln had never imagined anyone could make fiddle music seem erotic, but… There they were.

While the other onlookers applauded and he added his own handful of coins to those being tossed into the violin case in front of the performers, Izayaroa continued in a tone just barely loud enough to be audible to him over the nearby tumult.

“I do know the throne of Boisverd changed hands less than a decade ago; the new royal house will have barely had time to fully establish itself. Just how successful they are remains to be seen, but… It appears they are trying, in good faith, to care for their people. It warms my heart to see. Like any professional, I hate to watch my craft ineptly performed.”

Kaln looked at his wife’s expression, then up at a clear evening sky free of dragons, and gathered her up in a hug.