gingers you like. Do his cuffs match his collar, lovey?”
“They do,” Eliza says absently, though she knows this from young adulthood, when they were all still free enough with their bodies to dive into the Sacaruna bare as babes, and not from any more intimate experience.
She cannot actually believe he's here; it's a little as though one of Parna's ancient sun gods has come down from the sky to alight in her courtyard. She knows of Sandalia's death, of course, and knows that Beatrice Irvine proved a spy and an assassin and worse, because neither winter nor Echon's breadth keeps stories from spreading, but regardless, it's quite impossible that Javier should have travelled all this distance, most particularly to find her.
Which is clearly his intent, because while the boy has stopped bellowing her name, Javier has lifted his eyes to the window, and for the first time in their lives, his gaze is only for her. There's a smile in his grey eyes, and relief, and joy, and love, though not the depth of that last that she might wish. At least, that's what her head tells her, while her heart bumps and crashes and makes sick places of wild excitement inside her.
It's impetuosity that makes her call, “Have you a pear, my lord?” though at ten she'd had nothing like the wit to have asked such a question.
Javier, though, responds perfectly, patting his pockets with increasing alarm in the gestures and brightening laughter in his eyes. When he comes up empty, the boy in the gondola sighs with terrible exasperation and jumps to the steps with all the grace Javier lacked. He, somehow, has strawberries, if not pears, and he presses them into Javier's hand, then gives Eliza a look that suggests she'd be better off with his young self. Amused and full of roguish hope, Javier lifts the berries toward the window. Half a dozen women squeal and reach for them, but Eliza is not among them. She watches, not quite letting herself smile, and says, “If I fall I'll break your head, and there was trouble enough when I broke your arm. And you were a lesser man, then.”
“I was the same man I've always been,” Javier says, and lowers the berries. The women all coo disappointment, but their giggling and delight fade into the background until Eliza is barely more aware of them than she is of the light breeze that cools her. Something must cool her, at least, because the warmth within her seems to be growing, and if there's no breeze she may well light into fire, burning up the skies out of not-so- secret hope and joy.
“I was the same man I've always been,” Javier repeats, more softly, “only younger and more foolish. Much more foolish, Liz. I didn't know until you were gone how badly I needed you.”
There's murmuring in the background, and Eliza takes her eyes from the young king of Gallin to look at the gondola, where Marius appears to be translating Javier's words for the benefit of the gondola boy. The boy's mouth is pushed out, ducklike, and he wobbles his head dubiously, then finally turns his palms up in reluctant approval. Marius grins and ruffles the boy's hair, then turns his attention back to Javier and Eliza, offering a bow from the waist when he sees she's looking at him. Javier twists, offended, to see what's taken her attention from him, then turns a plaintive look back toward her window.
“The boy thinks I'm poor with words, and shouldn't be allowed to speak for myself. He may be right, as I've had a lifetime to say the things I should, without realising how badly I wanted to. We've been so careful of our balance, the four of us,” he whispers. “I should have seen long ago that you were worth upsetting it for. I have been rescued from my own folly and have brought these,” he says wryly, and offers up the berries. “Hardly a fitting gift for wooing, but pears are not yet in season, and I find myself on the edge of desperation. Will you have me, Liz? I go to war, and need you at my side.”
The women all around her are silent now, clutching one another, clutching her, holding their breath to hear her young lover's words more clearly, turning to her with wide eyes to see how she might respond. Oh, whores all of them, perhaps, but born to a culture that admires the ideal of romantic love and plays to it, even if they don't believe in it themselves.
And there is the grain of truth at the centre of it, the few rare moments when love does conquer, and makes glad fools of all. There's a stillness in those moments, a greatness waiting to happen, and not even the most jaded courtesan wishes to let those grains escape when hands might clasp to catch them.
“Damn you, Javier de Castille,” Eliza finally whispers, and her throat is tight with the curse, and her eyes bright with tears. “Damn you, for there's nothing I can deny you, least of all my heart.”
JAVIER, KING OF GALLIN
The courtesans, not one of them believing Javier was in truth the king of Gallin, left in a drove, scattering to the canals to tell tales of how the king of Gallin had come to make love to an impoverished but beautiful woman under their watch. Truth hardly mattered; it was the delight of the story they wanted to share.
When they were gone Eliza came into her courtyard and caught first Javier, then Marius, and then both men together, into a hug with strength enough to belie the softness of her gown and long shining hair. None of them spoke for long minutes, until Eliza finally took back a few steps and pulled her wig off to rake her fingers through short matted locks.
Her hair had grown out in the months since he'd seen her last; had grown out considerably since she'd begun her business under Beatrice's tutelage, but it was still too short to be anything but a man's cut. Even that couldn't take away from the delicacy of her face and the largeness of her eyes. Given a crown, she could stir men's hearts to wonders, and it was a wonder to Javier that he had never seen it. Unaware of Javier's thoughts, though, she gestured to her gown, muttered, “I feel ridiculous in this,” and fled upstairs to change.
Bemused, Javier watched her go; watched her leave behind the vestiges of softness that had shaped her moments ago. He thought it strange, that she could be soft and feminine more easily when surrounded by strangers, but when her family of friends arrived she fell back into more masculine ways, making herself hard and practical. If that was what their friendship cost, then the three men who were her near-brothers had done her a disservice.
She returned in clothes that were familiar to him, lightweight pants and a loose linen shirt, cinched at the waist with a belt of leather and metal. There was a dagger at her hip, a new addition; she had not needed one in Lutetia, even dressing as she did, not with all the city knowing she was under Javier's protection. With it, she looked the part of a pirate, soft boots and all, though no pirate had such curves, and his straining memory couldn't remember seeing the shadow of her breasts so clearly before.
Tomas, at his side, made a sound of dismay. Eliza's eyes flashed to him, then darkened and came back to Javier. “Don't tell me you've brought a priest to mend my wicked ways.”
“Not unless he'll mend them by marrying you to me,” Javier replied, and felt ice slide down his spine at the weight of both Tomas and Eliza's gazes.
Tomas recovered first, if barely, hissing, “She wears men's clothes, my lord, and shows her body without-”
Javier snapped a hand up, cutting off his words. “She always has, and always may, so far as the king of Gallin cares. Do not condemn her, not in my hearing nor out.”
Tomas's jaw tensed, but Eliza curled a smile and glanced from Javier to Marius, then beyond the priest. “Sacha?”
“In Gallin still, searching for you, the last I knew.” Javier came up a few steps toward her and offered his hand.
Eliza's faint smile stayed in place as she put her hand in Javier's, though her gaze went to Marius again. “So you're the one who betrayed me, are you?”
“Sacha didn't know where you'd gone.” Marius arched an eyebrow at Eliza's hand in Javier's. “And I think you're not as betrayed as you might pretend, Liz. Tell me you didn't want us to come after you.”
Eliza shrugged, a small tight motion that said even more than her words did. “I didn't believe you would.”
Javier tugged her closer, pulling her off-balance on the steps and catching her weight when she might otherwise have fallen. “I will always come for you, and I beg forgiveness that it's taken this long. I was a fool, Liz. I've always been one.”
Eliza put her hands on his chest and pushed herself back, one eyebrow cocked dubiously. “Marius, who is this man? He looks and sounds like Javier de Castille, but my prince only apologises when he's drunk.”
