Chapter 28: The Rose — The Key of Oslov

Volume 10: The Trip to Harbour

Chapter 28 The Rose

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

“We came this close to mounting a massive search for you, Gersha.” Albertine Linnett’s thin face was pinched with anxiety, but also with what looked like genuine concern. “You sabotaged government property—your tracker. Your actions arguably led indirectly to Sergeant Ardaly’s death at the hands of the woodspeople. If I report your story to the Council exactly as you told it to me, you could be censured.”Gersha bowed his head, but he felt no contrition. Sergeant Ardaly’s death was a fiction to cover up his defection, and she hadn’t mentioned the three actual deaths he had on his conscience—those of the guardsmen.Here in the conference room of the Embassy, where they sat facing each other, he didn’t feel much of anything except how crisp and stale the air was. Had this environment really ever seemed normal to him?“I trust you’ll do your duty to the Republic,” he said to Albertine, raising his eyes. “I only ask one thing—that Tilrey not share in the blame. He performed his mission faithfully, as you’ll see when you peruse the letter he got from your father. It was I who misinterpreted his journey as a flight to defect and join the exile.”The furrow between Albertine’s brows deepened. “Keeping you in the dark about the mission was our mistake. But I confess I’m baffled about why you’d suppose that Tilrey wanted to flee into the arms of my father. I was always under the impression that . . .”“That he would rather die than be under the power of the man who repeatedly assaulted and coerced him? Yes. When I’m thinking clearly, Albertine, I know that, too.” Gersha leaned across the table, his eyes tight on hers. “But I wasn’t thinking clearly when I followed him. I was absolutely mad with jealousy and the fear of losing him.”The part about Malsha Linnett wasn’t true, of course, but he couldn’t tell her where he’d actually feared Tilrey was headed. Convey the emotional truth, Tilrey had said when they planned this. That’s the important part.Albertine was putting up a good front, playing the implacable authority, but Gersha had already seen signs of wavering. She didn’t want to issue a damning report on him—not just because they were allies, but because she liked him.Tilrey had told him to capitalize on her sympathy; it could be the only way to keep his seat in the Council and continue to help the Hearth. But in Gersha’s heart of hearts, something was more important than averting his own personal ruin. He wanted to be honest about one thing, and so he said, “I know you may be thinking the relationship we have is . . . transactional. You would be wrong. Tilrey is everything to me.”“I understand affairs of the heart,” Albertine said, her voice wobbling a little. “In my youth, I was briefly a bit ‘mad’ myself, as you put it.”“It’s more than that.” Gersha clasped his hands tightly on the table, blinking away the sudden dampness in his eyes. “You know him, Albertine. You know his mind. I know you have the acuity to look beyond someone’s ID card and understand when they’ve been . . . misclassified. If Tilrey hadn’t been your father’s kettle boy, he could so easily have been Raised.”Albertine blinked. “Perhaps you’re right.”Or perhaps not, because Oslov wasn’t a genuine meritocracy, not anymore. They both knew that, Gersha suspected. But it was safer to phrase it this way—to suggest, ever so gently, that Tilrey’s status was an unfortunate mistake. Anything stronger would be Dissent, and Albertine wasn’t ready for that. Not yet, anyway.Still, Gersha could tell parts of the truth.“He isn’t just my bed partner,” he went on. “He’s my indispensable partner in the Council—in strategy, in research, in speechwriting, in gathering support. He actually likes politics way more than I do.”To his intense relief, Albertine’s face relaxed into a grin. “I always had the impression you didn’t much enjoy that part.”Gersha smiled back. Please don’t let her be privately thinking I’m still mad. Let her be broader-minded than that. “I wanted to be honest with you, Albertine. If you think what I’m saying is proof I’m mentally incompetent, then by all means, bring on the censure. I don’t want to pose a danger to the Republic. All I ask is that you concede that Tilrey is as much an asset to the Republic as he is to me. Because I don’t think anyone could deny that.”“You talk like a man in love, Gersha. But . . .”Gersha permitted himself a head tilt and a winsome smile. “All I ask is that, whatever you report about me, you give him his due. If you choose to overlook my appalling lapse in rationality on this trip, I shall hold a lifelong debt to you, and make every effort to deserve your trust. But whichever way you decide, please judge Tilrey on his own merits. Will you promise me that, Albertine?”Albertine dropped her eyes, a faint flush touching her cheeks. “I never considered doing otherwise.”Tilrey found Duke Dalziel in the palace gardens, on his knees clipping his rose bushes. Although he was sitting in the dirt, his suit looked spotless, from the black velvet breeches to the starched white collar.“Welcome back,” said the Duke—cordially, but without bothering to rise. “I was so happy to hear of your safe return. I was going to go and greet Fir Councillor myself, but my men tell me he went straight to the Embassy.”“He has urgent business to take care of there.” Tilrey sat down on the low stone wall behind the flowerbeds and propped up his crutches. The walk through the gardens had been hard on his ankle, but he needed to feel out the Duke before Gersha returned, to get a sense of whether the man would be an asset or a liability. And, perhaps, to put him in his place a bit.The woodspeople could so easily have killed Gersha. If they had, would that be Duke Dalziel’s fault for facilitating his flight, or Gersha’s for initiating it? There was no way to say, but Tilrey knew one thing: The Duke had alerted the Southern Hearth to Gersha’s presence on the road.“Specifically,” he went on, “Fir Councillor is explaining his absence to Fir’n Linnett. I’m guessing you didn’t inform her that you helped him run off and desert his diplomatic mission, or that you then proceeded to inform a group of . . . miscreants of his whereabouts.”The Duke put down his clippers and sat back on his haunches. He examined Tilrey through narrowed eyes. “Gersha suspected, young man, that you had dealings with these ‘miscreants’ yourselves. And the message I received yesterday from across the lake suggests he was right. You’re on good terms with the Hearth.”Tilrey had to admire the man’s gall. “So we’re being frank, your Grace? Because I’d like to know what the hell you thought you were doing when you sent the ‘phantom damned’ after Gersha, after you lied to him and claimed not to know they existed. Did you expect them to ambush him, capture him? Torture him for secrets?”The Duke rose and fastidiously brushed soil off his knees. “On the contrary. Gersha was sick at heart because of the way he believed you had deserted him. He was a drowning man, flailing about for something to keep him from going under. I feared his journey would be suicidal; even if he didn’t fall prey to the dangers of the route, your rejection might deal him a death blow. That is why I asked our mutual friends to intervene.”Tilrey’s blood pressure was soaring. The Duke stopped him from speaking with a gesture, then went on, “Perhaps I acted on insufficient information. But Silas told me you were friendly with Sergeant Ardaly. I concluded the Councillor was far more devoted to you than vice versa.”Tilrey swallowed hard, trying to keep his outrage in check. “Your Grace knows nothing about us. The late sergeant and I were comrades, nothing more.”“Forgive me.” Dalziel sounded genuinely contrite. “Anyway, when I say Gersha seemed sick at heart, I don’t just mean about you. He seemed to me like a man who was seeking, eager to expand the borders of his world without knowing how. I thought the Hearth might help him.”Given how much a few days in the Southern Hearth had changed Gersha, Tilrey couldn’t deny the astuteness of that assessment, but it didn’t calm the storm brewing in his chest. “That may be. But because you ‘helped’ him, he could have died on the road, drowning in his own blood like your three guardsmen.”Duke Dalziel bent to cut a rose with petals so dark it was almost purple. “I begged Gersha not to go,” he said. “I only helped him when it became clear my sole alternative was to report his erratic behavior to the Embassy.” He held out the flower. “Would you bring this to him? He can consider it an invitation to dine with me tonight in my private garden.”He gestured over the hedge at a red brick wall that rose well above their heads, feathery branches spilling over it. “Fir Councillor and I need to speak face to face. I feel uncomfortable discussing his private business with his servant.”Tilrey had no patience for rank-pulling right now, though he supposed it was as natural to the Duke as it was to Gersha. “I’ll tell him,” he said, plucking the flower from Dalziel’s fingers, doing his best not to snarl. “But if he chooses to dine with you, I’ll be there, too. I don’t want you spinning his head around with pretty words.”The Duke looked Tilrey up and down as if seeing him for the first time. “You’re protective of him. Do you really care for him, beyond what he can do for you?”Why is that so fucking hard for everyone to believe? Tilrey remembered standing in the sunlit conference room and pledging himself to Gersha, their hands tethered together. No one there had rolled their eyes or suggested the bond wasn’t real. Even cynical Celinda had drunk a glass to them.He was starting to understand why Gersha had insisted on that ceremony. It might be purely symbolic, but symbols mattered.“I do care for him, and not just what he can do for me,” he said, doing his best to meet the Duke’s eyes in a civil manner. After all, they seemed to share an interest in Gersha’s welfare. “And I shall convey your message.”“Do we really have to deal with the Duke now? Can’t it wait till tomorrow?”Gersha paced in front of the tall mirror in their bedroom. His reflection, dressed in a spotless gray Oslov tunic and trousers, was normal and hateful to him at once. The collar was buttoned up high, the waist cinched tight. He was the picture of an Upstart at the top ration Level.“I know you’re tired,” Tilrey said, sprawled on the bed, “but we can’t let this lie. We’ve got a full agenda.”“One: Find out what the Duke hopes to gain by conspiring with the Southern Hearth,” Gersha recited obediently. Tilrey had given him a lengthy briefing on the carriage ride from the docks. “Two: Secure his pledge he won’t betray us. Three: Convince him the garrison need not be a threat to him. Four: Thank him for his help, apologize for the loss of his guardsmen, and offer reparations to their families. End on a note of friendship. Did I forget anything?”“Just one thing.” Tilrey held up the pungent flower he’d showed Gersha earlier. “Did you know that in Harbourer culture the gift of a flower, and particularly a rose, is an act of courtship?”Gersha’s cheeks warmed as he remembered the brown-and-orange flower the Duke had given him during one of their earlier conversations. “I think he just likes flowers.”Tilrey spun the flower between two fingers. “Do you think I can’t see you blushing? Did something happen between you and Dalziel?”“Of course not! I mean, not like that.” Gersha stretched out beside Tilrey, trying not to remember the warm tingle he’d felt when the Duke kissed his hands on his last night in Bettevy. “That’s not why I don’t want to dine with him. I’m just tired from hours of talking to Albertine and trying to keep all the different lies and truths straight.”The moment he’d mentioned it, he was sorry he had, because Tilrey dropped the flower and frowned. “Do you really think she’ll hold back in her report? She seems like a stickler for facts.”“I don’t know! But, as I already told you, she seemed very sympathetic. Very receptive.”That was true enough. Though Albertine was upset over the fictional death of Sergeant Ardaly, she’d shown great interest in everything the two of them had seen and heard in Resurgence. She’d eagerly pocketed the letter full of “tidbits” that her father had passed to Tilrey. And, most importantly, she’d promised to judge Tilrey’s conduct on its own merits, with the proviso that she’d interview him separately tomorrow.Gersha hadn’t reported that part of their conversation. Tilrey would scold him for acting like anything less than a proper Councillor of the Republic, and a proper Councillor of the Republic would never have admitted that he owed his political success to his brilliant secretary.But Albertine understood—Gersha was sure of it. She’d worked with Tilrey too closely to underestimate him; perhaps she even had it in her to be their ally in a deeper sense. For that, the ground would need long and artful preparation. But Gersha chose to believe in her, just as he hoped she’d chosen to believe in them.“I don’t think she’ll outright lie in her report,” he said. “But she seems to have decided retroactively that my unplanned trip to Resurgence was actually an accessory intelligence operation. And a successful one, since my sharper Upstart eyes naturally picked out signs of the Colonel’s power consolidation that yours missed.”Tilrey snorted. “Trust Strutters to believe whatever flatters you.”“But our limitations are useful, aren’t they?”“They are.” Tilrey slid over on the bed and rested his head on Gersha’s shoulder. “Back to the Duke, though—you know I wasn’t accusing you of anything, sweetheart. Dalziel’s an attractive man. And he seems extremely fond of you, to the point where he’s been borderline nasty to me because he thinks I’ve made you unhappy.”“Nasty? How?”“Not in any important way. I have to say, though, he seemed almost jealous.”“Jealous!” Gersha sighed. “All right, so he did call me ‘beautiful’ once, though he called me ‘mad’ at the same time. And yes, he’s handsome, and I liked talking to him. But none of that matters now, and you know it. We were apart then. Now we’re—”“—bonded.” Tilrey’s lips brushed his neck. “Yes. And we agreed that bond wouldn’t be a chain. If you like him, love, I won’t stand in the way of your fun. Remember how much fun you had with Besha?”“Rishka! We barely know the Duke, and it’s too soon after everything else.” Gersha’s voice was steady, but the sudden bulge between his legs gave the lie to his words. Just for an instant, he’d imagined it was the Duke who was mouthing his neck while Tilrey watched with a speculative smile. The image lit an unaccountable fire in his belly. To show off for Tilrey, to display himself . . .He kissed Tilrey’s tousled hair, hoping his lover—his husband—hadn’t noticed the swelling beneath his tunic, and asked tentatively, “Would you like that? To see me with Dalziel? Or are you just suggesting it for political reasons, or because you think I’d like it?”Tilrey gazed at him for a moment. “I’m not sure.”There was an odd look on his face, as if his own answer had surprised him. Thinking back, Gersha realized he’d rarely made any sort of erotic proposal to Tilrey that Tilrey hadn’t received with at least apparent enthusiasm. Saying yes—or politely deflecting when he couldn’t—had been trained into him. “Not sure” was new.“Which part aren’t you sure about?” Gersha asked gently.“I . . . don’t know.” The admission sounded like something Tilrey had to haul up a hill. He stroked Gersha’s throat with a fingertip, dropping his eyes. “I might feel a little jealous seeing you with him, and I might get turned on. And I might just turn off all those feelings if it’s politically expedient. Sometimes I do that, you know.”Gersha captured the wandering hand and brought it to his lips. “And I wish you wouldn’t turn off your feelings, love, ever. But I understand. How about we just go and see what happens? If it feels right, it feels right.”Tilrey relaxed against him. “Easier said than done. But I’ll try.”

Gersha bowed his head, but he felt no contrition. Sergeant Ardaly’s death was a fiction to cover up his defection, and she hadn’t mentioned the three actual deaths he had on his conscience—those of the guardsmen.

Here in the conference room of the Embassy, where they sat facing each other, he didn’t feel much of anything except how crisp and stale the air was. Had this environment really ever seemed normal to him?

“I trust you’ll do your duty to the Republic,” he said to Albertine, raising his eyes. “I only ask one thing—that Tilrey not share in the blame. He performed his mission faithfully, as you’ll see when you peruse the letter he got from your father. It was I who misinterpreted his journey as a flight to defect and join the exile.”

The furrow between Albertine’s brows deepened. “Keeping you in the dark about the mission was our mistake. But I confess I’m baffled about why you’d suppose that Tilrey wanted to flee into the arms of my father. I was always under the impression that . . .”

“That he would rather die than be under the power of the man who repeatedly assaulted and coerced him? Yes. When I’m thinking clearly, Albertine, I know that, too.” Gersha leaned across the table, his eyes tight on hers. “But I wasn’t thinking clearly when I followed him. I was absolutely mad with jealousy and the fear of losing him.”

The part about Malsha Linnett wasn’t true, of course, but he couldn’t tell her where he’d actually feared Tilrey was headed. Convey the emotional truth, Tilrey had said when they planned this. That’s the important part.

Albertine was putting up a good front, playing the implacable authority, but Gersha had already seen signs of wavering. She didn’t want to issue a damning report on him—not just because they were allies, but because she liked him.

Tilrey had told him to capitalize on her sympathy; it could be the only way to keep his seat in the Council and continue to help the Hearth. But in Gersha’s heart of hearts, something was more important than averting his own personal ruin. He wanted to be honest about one thing, and so he said, “I know you may be thinking the relationship we have is . . . transactional. You would be wrong. Tilrey is everything to me.”

“I understand affairs of the heart,” Albertine said, her voice wobbling a little. “In my youth, I was briefly a bit ‘mad’ myself, as you put it.”

“It’s more than that.” Gersha clasped his hands tightly on the table, blinking away the sudden dampness in his eyes. “You know him, Albertine. You know his mind. I know you have the acuity to look beyond someone’s ID card and understand when they’ve been . . . misclassified. If Tilrey hadn’t been your father’s kettle boy, he could so easily have been Raised.”

Albertine blinked. “Perhaps you’re right.”

Or perhaps not, because Oslov wasn’t a genuine meritocracy, not anymore. They both knew that, Gersha suspected. But it was safer to phrase it this way—to suggest, ever so gently, that Tilrey’s status was an unfortunate mistake. Anything stronger would be Dissent, and Albertine wasn’t ready for that. Not yet, anyway.

Still, Gersha could tell parts of the truth.

“He isn’t just my bed partner,” he went on. “He’s my indispensable partner in the Council—in strategy, in research, in speechwriting, in gathering support. He actually likes politics way more than I do.”

To his intense relief, Albertine’s face relaxed into a grin. “I always had the impression you didn’t much enjoy that part.”

Gersha smiled back. Please don’t let her be privately thinking I’m still mad. Let her be broader-minded than that. “I wanted to be honest with you, Albertine. If you think what I’m saying is proof I’m mentally incompetent, then by all means, bring on the censure. I don’t want to pose a danger to the Republic. All I ask is that you concede that Tilrey is as much an asset to the Republic as he is to me. Because I don’t think anyone could deny that.”

“You talk like a man in love, Gersha. But . . .”

Gersha permitted himself a head tilt and a winsome smile. “All I ask is that, whatever you report about me, you give him his due. If you choose to overlook my appalling lapse in rationality on this trip, I shall hold a lifelong debt to you, and make every effort to deserve your trust. But whichever way you decide, please judge Tilrey on his own merits. Will you promise me that, Albertine?”

Albertine dropped her eyes, a faint flush touching her cheeks. “I never considered doing otherwise.”

Tilrey found Duke Dalziel in the palace gardens, on his knees clipping his rose bushes. Although he was sitting in the dirt, his suit looked spotless, from the black velvet breeches to the starched white collar.

“Welcome back,” said the Duke—cordially, but without bothering to rise. “I was so happy to hear of your safe return. I was going to go and greet Fir Councillor myself, but my men tell me he went straight to the Embassy.”

“He has urgent business to take care of there.” Tilrey sat down on the low stone wall behind the flowerbeds and propped up his crutches. The walk through the gardens had been hard on his ankle, but he needed to feel out the Duke before Gersha returned, to get a sense of whether the man would be an asset or a liability. And, perhaps, to put him in his place a bit.

The woodspeople could so easily have killed Gersha. If they had, would that be Duke Dalziel’s fault for facilitating his flight, or Gersha’s for initiating it? There was no way to say, but Tilrey knew one thing: The Duke had alerted the Southern Hearth to Gersha’s presence on the road.

“Specifically,” he went on, “Fir Councillor is explaining his absence to Fir’n Linnett. I’m guessing you didn’t inform her that you helped him run off and desert his diplomatic mission, or that you then proceeded to inform a group of . . . miscreants of his whereabouts.”

The Duke put down his clippers and sat back on his haunches. He examined Tilrey through narrowed eyes. “Gersha suspected, young man, that you had dealings with these ‘miscreants’ yourselves. And the message I received yesterday from across the lake suggests he was right. You’re on good terms with the Hearth.”

Tilrey had to admire the man’s gall. “So we’re being frank, your Grace? Because I’d like to know what the hell you thought you were doing when you sent the ‘phantom damned’ after Gersha, after you lied to him and claimed not to know they existed. Did you expect them to ambush him, capture him? Torture him for secrets?”

The Duke rose and fastidiously brushed soil off his knees. “On the contrary. Gersha was sick at heart because of the way he believed you had deserted him. He was a drowning man, flailing about for something to keep him from going under. I feared his journey would be suicidal; even if he didn’t fall prey to the dangers of the route, your rejection might deal him a death blow. That is why I asked our mutual friends to intervene.”

Tilrey’s blood pressure was soaring. The Duke stopped him from speaking with a gesture, then went on, “Perhaps I acted on insufficient information. But Silas told me you were friendly with Sergeant Ardaly. I concluded the Councillor was far more devoted to you than vice versa.”

Tilrey swallowed hard, trying to keep his outrage in check. “Your Grace knows nothing about us. The late sergeant and I were comrades, nothing more.”

“Forgive me.” Dalziel sounded genuinely contrite. “Anyway, when I say Gersha seemed sick at heart, I don’t just mean about you. He seemed to me like a man who was seeking, eager to expand the borders of his world without knowing how. I thought the Hearth might help him.”

Given how much a few days in the Southern Hearth had changed Gersha, Tilrey couldn’t deny the astuteness of that assessment, but it didn’t calm the storm brewing in his chest. “That may be. But because you ‘helped’ him, he could have died on the road, drowning in his own blood like your three guardsmen.”

Duke Dalziel bent to cut a rose with petals so dark it was almost purple. “I begged Gersha not to go,” he said. “I only helped him when it became clear my sole alternative was to report his erratic behavior to the Embassy.” He held out the flower. “Would you bring this to him? He can consider it an invitation to dine with me tonight in my private garden.”

He gestured over the hedge at a red brick wall that rose well above their heads, feathery branches spilling over it. “Fir Councillor and I need to speak face to face. I feel uncomfortable discussing his private business with his servant.”

Tilrey had no patience for rank-pulling right now, though he supposed it was as natural to the Duke as it was to Gersha. “I’ll tell him,” he said, plucking the flower from Dalziel’s fingers, doing his best not to snarl. “But if he chooses to dine with you, I’ll be there, too. I don’t want you spinning his head around with pretty words.”

The Duke looked Tilrey up and down as if seeing him for the first time. “You’re protective of him. Do you really care for him, beyond what he can do for you?”

Why is that so fucking hard for everyone to believe? Tilrey remembered standing in the sunlit conference room and pledging himself to Gersha, their hands tethered together. No one there had rolled their eyes or suggested the bond wasn’t real. Even cynical Celinda had drunk a glass to them.

He was starting to understand why Gersha had insisted on that ceremony. It might be purely symbolic, but symbols mattered.

“I do care for him, and not just what he can do for me,” he said, doing his best to meet the Duke’s eyes in a civil manner. After all, they seemed to share an interest in Gersha’s welfare. “And I shall convey your message.”

“Do we really have to deal with the Duke now? Can’t it wait till tomorrow?”

Gersha paced in front of the tall mirror in their bedroom. His reflection, dressed in a spotless gray Oslov tunic and trousers, was normal and hateful to him at once. The collar was buttoned up high, the waist cinched tight. He was the picture of an Upstart at the top ration Level.

“I know you’re tired,” Tilrey said, sprawled on the bed, “but we can’t let this lie. We’ve got a full agenda.”

“One: Find out what the Duke hopes to gain by conspiring with the Southern Hearth,” Gersha recited obediently. Tilrey had given him a lengthy briefing on the carriage ride from the docks. “Two: Secure his pledge he won’t betray us. Three: Convince him the garrison need not be a threat to him. Four: Thank him for his help, apologize for the loss of his guardsmen, and offer reparations to their families. End on a note of friendship. Did I forget anything?”

“Just one thing.” Tilrey held up the pungent flower he’d showed Gersha earlier. “Did you know that in Harbourer culture the gift of a flower, and particularly a rose, is an act of courtship?”

Gersha’s cheeks warmed as he remembered the brown-and-orange flower the Duke had given him during one of their earlier conversations. “I think he just likes flowers.”

Tilrey spun the flower between two fingers. “Do you think I can’t see you blushing? Did something happen between you and Dalziel?”

“Of course not! I mean, not like that.” Gersha stretched out beside Tilrey, trying not to remember the warm tingle he’d felt when the Duke kissed his hands on his last night in Bettevy. “That’s not why I don’t want to dine with him. I’m just tired from hours of talking to Albertine and trying to keep all the different lies and truths straight.”

The moment he’d mentioned it, he was sorry he had, because Tilrey dropped the flower and frowned. “Do you really think she’ll hold back in her report? She seems like a stickler for facts.”

“I don’t know! But, as I already told you, she seemed very sympathetic. Very receptive.”

That was true enough. Though Albertine was upset over the fictional death of Sergeant Ardaly, she’d shown great interest in everything the two of them had seen and heard in Resurgence. She’d eagerly pocketed the letter full of “tidbits” that her father had passed to Tilrey. And, most importantly, she’d promised to judge Tilrey’s conduct on its own merits, with the proviso that she’d interview him separately tomorrow.

Gersha hadn’t reported that part of their conversation. Tilrey would scold him for acting like anything less than a proper Councillor of the Republic, and a proper Councillor of the Republic would never have admitted that he owed his political success to his brilliant secretary.

But Albertine understood—Gersha was sure of it. She’d worked with Tilrey too closely to underestimate him; perhaps she even had it in her to be their ally in a deeper sense. For that, the ground would need long and artful preparation. But Gersha chose to believe in her, just as he hoped she’d chosen to believe in them.

“I don’t think she’ll outright lie in her report,” he said. “But she seems to have decided retroactively that my unplanned trip to Resurgence was actually an accessory intelligence operation. And a successful one, since my sharper Upstart eyes naturally picked out signs of the Colonel’s power consolidation that yours missed.”

Tilrey snorted. “Trust Strutters to believe whatever flatters you.”

“But our limitations are useful, aren’t they?”

“They are.” Tilrey slid over on the bed and rested his head on Gersha’s shoulder. “Back to the Duke, though—you know I wasn’t accusing you of anything, sweetheart. Dalziel’s an attractive man. And he seems extremely fond of you, to the point where he’s been borderline nasty to me because he thinks I’ve made you unhappy.”

“Nasty? How?”

“Not in any important way. I have to say, though, he seemed almost jealous.”

“Jealous!” Gersha sighed. “All right, so he did call me ‘beautiful’ once, though he called me ‘mad’ at the same time. And yes, he’s handsome, and I liked talking to him. But none of that matters now, and you know it. We were apart then. Now we’re—”

“—bonded.” Tilrey’s lips brushed his neck. “Yes. And we agreed that bond wouldn’t be a chain. If you like him, love, I won’t stand in the way of your fun. Remember how much fun you had with Besha?”

“Rishka! We barely know the Duke, and it’s too soon after everything else.” Gersha’s voice was steady, but the sudden bulge between his legs gave the lie to his words. Just for an instant, he’d imagined it was the Duke who was mouthing his neck while Tilrey watched with a speculative smile. The image lit an unaccountable fire in his belly. To show off for Tilrey, to display himself . . .

He kissed Tilrey’s tousled hair, hoping his lover—his husband—hadn’t noticed the swelling beneath his tunic, and asked tentatively, “Would you like that? To see me with Dalziel? Or are you just suggesting it for political reasons, or because you think I’d like it?”

Tilrey gazed at him for a moment. “I’m not sure.”

There was an odd look on his face, as if his own answer had surprised him. Thinking back, Gersha realized he’d rarely made any sort of erotic proposal to Tilrey that Tilrey hadn’t received with at least apparent enthusiasm. Saying yes—or politely deflecting when he couldn’t—had been trained into him. “Not sure” was new.

“Which part aren’t you sure about?” Gersha asked gently.

“I . . . don’t know.” The admission sounded like something Tilrey had to haul up a hill. He stroked Gersha’s throat with a fingertip, dropping his eyes. “I might feel a little jealous seeing you with him, and I might get turned on. And I might just turn off all those feelings if it’s politically expedient. Sometimes I do that, you know.”

Gersha captured the wandering hand and brought it to his lips. “And I wish you wouldn’t turn off your feelings, love, ever. But I understand. How about we just go and see what happens? If it feels right, it feels right.”

Tilrey relaxed against him. “Easier said than done. But I’ll try.”

Chapter End Notes

So, is it advisable for a newly married/reunited couple to engage in a threesome? I’m guessing most professionals would say NO, but then, these two aren’t always the most typical couple. Plus ... it’s midsummer, albeit not inside the story. :)

Chapter End Notes