The Pirate of Fathoms Deep (20 page)

Lesto sat and poured a cup of tea, sighed at the stack of papers that had already appeared—including two sealed envelopes with his name written in Sarrica's familiar brisk, impatient scrawl. May as well get it over with, though if Sarrica was interrupting his break before it could even truly begin, he wasn't going to like what Lesto did to him when he returned to the palace.

He drank a few swallows of tea, took a bite of cinnamon pastry, then used the letter opener set with the stack of correspondence to slit the wax seal and unfold the first letter. He read it quickly. "Lord Bestowen has finally come clean about his involvement: his businesses are not doing as well as he's been making everyone think, and when he was paid large sums of money to arrange the theft of a 'Treyan trinket', he was happy to take it. Given private mercenaries of the sort he hires are very strongly about taking money and not asking questions…" Lesto set the letter aside.

"Whatever happened to the star they kept asking me about?"

"The Star of Menceera was given to Sarrica by Bestowen, and it will remain locked in the imperial vault until Sarrica feels like returning it to Treya Mencee."

Shemal laughed. "So never then."

"More or less," Lesto said with a smirk. "Sarrica's new favorite hobby is sitting back and watching Allen bend everyone to his will. Allen likes a challenge, Treya Mencee is being difficult—Sarrica is having more fun than anyone should under such circumstances. Treya Mencee will get their Star back when Allen gets everything he wants, and given all the deaths and harm Treya Mencee has caused… Well, a kinder man than me might feel bad for them."

"They don't deserve kindness."

"Agreed." Lesto took another bite of pastry and opened the second envelope from Sarrica.

I've announced your retirement. Jader isn't comfortable bossing me around yet, but I feel he'll measure up before the month is out. Return at your leisure. Allen is having fun planning your wedding present when he's not busy terrorizing Treya Mencee. If you take too long, I fear he and Tara will also plan the wedding; they're already discussing ideas. ~S

Lesto mentally drafted a scathing reply as he refilled his teacup and ate the rest of his pastry.

"You look ready to kill someone," Shemal said. "Or at least severely maim them. Is something else wrong?"

"No. Sarrica is being bossy and obnoxious as usual." Lesto selected another pastry, this one piled with soft bits of spiced fruits and creamy cheese. "I said I was returning home for a week or two but would be back. He's informed me he announced my retirement and I should stay here as long as I like."

Shemal laughed, turned briefly to bid farewell to the servants as they slipped away, then turned back to Lesto. "How do a bossy man and a controlling man work so well together? Will it be hard, not being commander and always helping him?"

"Undoubtedly, but I'm sure I'll wind up helping him in other ways," Lesto said with a shrug. He and Sarrica were used to being in one another's space, and it didn't feel right when they operated entirely apart, though they both had plenty of duties that required it. He took a sip of tea. "Speaking of Treya Mencee and trouble, that is a mess that will take some time to sort out and I am glad I need have no further part in it. Sarrica and Allen are doing their best to avoid war, but however it ends, you can bet Treya Mencee will be no friend of ours for quite some time. The original crime was Bestowen's, and he's being punished for it, but Treya Mencee's behavior far outstripped the crime. Normally, someone like myself or Lord Tara would be sent to Treya Mencee to discuss the matter with the queen in person, but Allen and Sarrica fear we'd only wind up murdered in our beds, and I can't say their suppositions are wrong. So right now they are weighing their options, trying to pick a noble they can trust to do the job but who is not so powerful he'd be worth killing to make a point."

"That sounds even less thrilling than deciding if we should face down heavily armed mercenaries or the imperial army," Shemal replied.

Lesto cast him an amused look. "All I care is that the matter is over where I am concerned, and the rest is on people paid to fix such problems. Does the choice of mercenary or army come up often?"

"More often than you'd think." Shemal grinned. "I usually went with imperial army. They tend to obey their own rules, at least when it's not just Islanders in the mix. Mercenaries tend to do whatever is most profitable, whether it's against the rules or not. Though to be fair, I think mercenaries are hired because they don't have much respect for rules."

"Essentially," Lesto replied. "I'm glad my army isn't completely reprehensible. I try to make them all too terrified to disobey me, but there's a lot of people and very little time."

"Oh, everyone knows of High Commander Lesto and the folly of incurring his wrath." Shemal's smile softened, eyes sliding away as he focused on a memory. "The rumors do not do the reality justice."

Lesto snorted. "The reality where I told the lot of you to stop being rowdy, and you accused me of fucking my mother and gave me a black eye? Yes, I can tell you were quite overcome by the sight of me." He started to laugh, but the sudden flush to Shemal's cheeks drew him up short. "You cannot tell me you were anything but derisive."

"Intimidated, maybe," Shemal said. "Mostly in awe. I'm not sure you're aware of the way people calm down around you. What we call a—" He said the words in Farlander, then frowned and said it again in Harken. "Storm tamer."

"I'm pretty certain I'm not," Lesto replied, holding his teacup more tightly because even he knew how important that term was to Farlanders. Jader had spoken of the term before with no small reverence in his voice. It was a title applied to elders and highly respected leaders. He set his teacup down. "You said I was your port."

Shemal's cheeks darkened again, but he didn't look away that time. "Yes. You're calming… safe… and I have always been very good at wandering and running and causing trouble wherever I go. You were able to read my note, then?" He dropped his eyes, fork restlessly moving around the remaining food on his plate. "I wasn't certain… Well, it's obvious I'm no lord trained to read and write."

"I read it fine," Lesto said, because he'd rather die right that very moment than make Shemal feel even more ashamed of himself. "If you're looking for something to occupy your time, and you really want to write in all the ridiculous loops and curves of a spoiled noble, finding a tutor would be a simple matter. Please do, then I can foist some of my work upon you."

Looking up slowly, Shemal smiled hesitantly. "I'm sorry—"

"Oh, don't apologize. I'm sorry I've probably done things that made you feel worse about it. I should know better, but a spoiled brat is a spoiled brat even when they try their hardest not to be." He shrugged. "Reading and writing can be taught. Integrity and heart cannot, and those you have enough of to fill an ocean."

Shemal's smile turned into a full-fledged grin. "If you're hoping flattery will lead to fucking, you're on the right course."

Lesto glanced at the rest of the pile of work awaiting his attention. None of it had been marked as urgent… and beneath all of it was a small, narrow wooden box and the velvet pouch he'd taken from the vault. There was a note affixed to the box from his steward.
We were going to send these off to the palace this morning. ~G

He smiled faintly. "As delightful as the idea of going back to bed sounds, I have a couple of gifts for you first."

"Gifts?" Shemal asked, dropping his fork on his plate and wiping his mouth with a napkin. "You've already given me, well, everything. I don't have anything—"

"Oh, stop it," Lesto cut in as he stood, picking up the pouch and box. "If it helps any, these are mostly necessary items if you're going to keep putting up with me. Come here."

Shemal pushed away from the table, stood, and joined him. He took the pouch as Lesto held it out, opened it, and tipped the contents into his hand—a ring of keys similar to Lesto's. "What are these?"

"Keys to the estate, the offices and warehouses on the property, and various rooms back at the palace. Rene and Tara have similar sets. These particular keys once belong to Nyle."

"I can't—"

"They were sitting in the vault collecting dust," Lesto said and handed him the box. "These I did not expect to be ready so soon, but my staff is nothing if not impeccable."

Shemal stared at the box, ran his fingers over the top, where a Harken schooner in full glory had been carved.

Lesto shoved lightly at his shoulder. "Open it, already."

"I wish you'd stop giving me things," Shemal said in a small voice. "I have no skills, no money, not even clothes that are my own—"

"And all of that can and will change in time—probably a very short time—because those are all little things. I know they seem big to you, and I respect why, but to me, it matters more that all you see is
me.
Not the High Commander, not the Duke of Fathoms Deep, not forty thousand crowns a year and close ties to the High Throne. If you'd been anyone else when I was dumped at that cottage, I would be dead right now or sold off to a life of slavery and lost forever. At best, someone might have helped only after I agreed to pay a generous reward. You risked literally everything to save me, without asking for anything in return, though you had more reason than most to leave me to suffer. So please, stop worrying. Money and clothes are easy things to come by. You offer things infinitely more precious and hard to find."

Shemal nodded, hand trembling faintly as he finally opened the box.

The first item was a signet ring that exactly matched Lesto's, save the inside where Shemal's name was carved. Technically, such a ring should only be given after they were married, but as Sarrica had said—Lesto's mind was made up. The marriage was a formality in the end.

The remaining items were earrings, since Farlanders put far more stock in their piercings than the rings favored by most of the empire.

He'd consulted with Jader before having them made, and though he'd seen excellent sketches, they didn't compare to the real thing: a pair of gold triple hoops threaded with beads made from black pearls, opals, and teal topaz.

He'd never seen Shemal's eyes light up quite like that. "I don't think these are a necessary item," he said hoarsely and immediately set the box down to remove the cheap hoops already in his ears. "Can I really wear them?"

The anxiety Lesto had been carefully ignoring bled away beneath a hot rush of happiness and affection. The man was elated by earrings and completely ignored the ring that granted him damn near the power of a king, and he worried over the way Lesto gave him things. "You'd better wear them. I commissioned them explicitly for you. I hope I got them right, but if something is wrong, blame Jader."

Shemal laughed as he hooked them in place, fingers working deftly to secure the backings. "They're perfect." He shook his head to make them sway and glitter. He smiled shyly. "How do they look?"

Lesto looked at the earrings, the signet still in the box, and smiled with every scrap of adoration only Shemal had ever inspired. "I think they're perfect."

"Thank you," Shemal said and stepped in to kiss Lesto deep and slow, fingers skating over his body, drawing out delicate shivers. "One of these days, I will have a proper gift for you."

"Wear nothing but those earrings and I'll call it even, but as always, I have a running list of people you are more than welcome to punch. Don't forget your ring."

"I'm trying to leave bad habits like punching people behind," Shemal said with a laugh and brushed another kiss across his mouth before stepping back and returning to the jewelry box. He pulled out the ring, smiled as he looked at Lesto. "It's exactly like yours."

"Yes," Lesto said, anxiety returning full force. "It's a trifle early, but after all the delightful near-death adventures we've faced lately, I'd rather you have it now. But if you thought 'my lord' was bad, you are going to hate that everyone will now skip right to 'Your Grace.'

Shemal's mouth dropped open, eyes widening. "But—" He dropped the ring, stared at it, then picked it up. "I guess I really should have figured that out."

"You can refuse," Lesto said slowly. "You aren't obligated to marry—" Shemal's kiss was hard and biting that time, and the nails that scraped along the back of Lesto's neck did nothing to help him remember what they were talking about when Shemal finally drew back. "I realize this is all a bit fast."

"I've moved around aimlessly my whole life," Shemal said. "My mother insists I've wasted most of it. But the ocean has patterns that no one else can see, and everything washes ashore precisely where she intends." He slid the ring on the third finger of his right hand. "If this is where I've landed, I'm slowly coming to believe it's where I'm meant to be." He frowned slightly, rubbing his thumb over the ring. "Though I admit I don't know the term? The title? For me. I don't think 'Pirate of Fathoms Deep' has quite the right tone."

Lesto disagreed completely. Nothing had ever sounded more perfect. "I certainly think that's appropriate, but your official title is Duchen. You'll be Lord Shemal Arseni, the Duchen of Fathoms Deep."

"Sounds pompous."

"Shut up." Lesto yanked him close and kissed him hard enough he left his own lips bruised. "It's long past time you took me to bed, pirate."

Eyes turning the color of sun-warmed gems, Shemal kissed him as only a plundering pirate could, and dragged him away to bed.

Shemal stretched out where he lay on the settee in his sitting room. It had been his private sitting room since mere days after he'd moved in with Lesto, but two years later, it still amused and baffled him he had his own room with no purpose other than to sit or lay about, and occasionally invite other people to join him.

He certainly had no complaints, though. What was there to complain about in being able to spend an afternoon sprawled on a settee, a book on his chest, a carafe of wine on a nearby table, his only plan for the day to do obscene things to his husband when he returned from the fields.