Chapter 13: Helpmate — The Key of Oslov

Volume 16: Tales From the Sanctioned Brothel: Part 3: The Chase

Chapter 13 Helpmate

Chapter Notes

I wanted to check in on Tilrey’s evolving relationship with Davita Lindblom, hence this chapter. It gets a little dark with a short scene of BDSM at the end. Thank you so much for reading!! <3 <3

Chapter Notes

I wanted to check in on Tilrey’s evolving relationship with Davita Lindblom, hence this chapter. It gets a little dark with a short scene of BDSM at the end. Thank you so much for reading!! <3 <3

Fall equinox, Year 371

Once a ten-day, after the Council session, Tilrey brought Davita Lindblom her tea. When he entered her office on the evening of fourth-day, tray in hand, she was busy giving her secretary a long string of orders.“And don’t forget to give Alicia Linden the packet of biscuits, and be respectful but don’t flatter her. She sees right through that. The less you talk, the better.”“Yes, Fir’n,” the secretary said a little sulkily. She was young, reedy, and pretty, with full lips and bright eyes, and Davita used her as an emissary and go-between with the other female Councillors. Whether her duties included sex, Tilrey had never asked.“If Albertine Linnett’s there, ask after her grandson. She loves talking about him.” Davita shot a knowing look at Tilrey. She was well aware of Ceill’s parentage, though she rarely acknowledged it aloud. “If she asks about the latest numbers from Labor, tell her I haven’t reviewed them yet. Do not tell her I’ll be using that report as the linchpin of my speech on production targets at the next session. I want her surprised.”“Yes, Fir’n.” The girl glanced at Tilrey, then quickly away. He wondered if she saw him as a rival for the Councillor’s attention or a fellow sufferer.“All right, then, Rina. Go get changed.” Davita transferred her attention briskly to Tilrey. “Right on time, are we? Let’s drink it in there while I check on some paperwork.”In the interior office, behind the closed door, Tilrey poured the tea while Davita sat down and typed on her desktop. “It’s nearly nine,” he said meaningfully, trying to get a peek at her screen. “I thought the whole point of our standing appointment—”“—was to make me stop working through my free-nights. I know, I know.” Without removing her eyes from the screen, Davita grabbed a tumbler in her right hand. With her left, she captured Tilrey’s hand, stroked it absent-mindedly, and applied it to the nape of her neck. “I’m sore again. Too much desk time.”Tilrey rubbed her neck. He remembered how he used to do similar little things for Gersha in the office and how different that felt. For one thing, Gersha always tried to reciprocate. Davita simply took the attentions as her due.“If you’re not off that terminal in five minutes, Fir’n,” he said playfully, “I’ll flip the switch.”“Two more minutes. Seriously.” She reached for his hand and stroked it some more. “Anyway, I’m only late because I took the time to read your—I mean Gersha’s—brief. All forty pages of it.”Shit. Tilrey had nearly forgotten about the legislative brief, though it was his idea in the first place. He had bigger problems now.They were nearly a ten-day into the month that Karishkov had given him to secure a meeting with Davita. Tonight was his first good chance to sell her on the idea of welcoming the man into their Coalition with open arms, and he didn’t need distractions.Yesterday, after days of Vera working her clout in the Bureau of Labor, he’d managed to get a phone conversation with his mother—the first since the lockdown. It was a tense ten minutes, both of them well aware the whole thing was being surveilled and recorded. But at least he’d confirmed that she and Dal were free and unhurt, though Dal was “worried about Lourisa, of course.”Tilrey could tell from Lisha’s monotone that both she and Dal had guessed the truth. Even this loss they couldn’t discuss openly. Int/Sec had still released no information about the arrested parties, including those whose families would eventually receive their remains in an urn.His throat tightening with the memory of his mother’s voice, he slid his hands down Davita’s shoulders and massaged them. She was drafting a message to István, the General Magistrate—something about an upcoming session.He leaned in subtly, trying to get a sense of her tone. Was she ready to be confrontational with the Island Party leader? “You’re so tight, Fir’n.”“This job, what it does to me. Dreadful.” Davita saved her draft and put her system to sleep before Tilrey could read any more.Then she shook him off and stood up. “Pour the tea in a flask. Put half a V in there, too—no, three-quarters. We’re taking a drive.”“We’re not going back to your place?” Tilrey asked. A drive meant she wanted to kiss and grope in the car with her driver as a witness, all the while chiding him about being “uptight.” It was one of many games they’d played hundreds of times, and on an ordinary night, he would have relaxed into it, but tonight . . .He’d planned so many ways to broach this Karishkov business. All of them were pathetically adequate, but if he didn’t persuade her, the man would start carrying out his threats. First Dal would be put in cuffs, then perhaps his mother.“After.” Davita patted his rump absent-mindedly. “I want to watch the fireworks.”“Fireworks?” State celebrations happened in Redda only on the winter solstice and Whyberg’s birthday.A sweet smile—Davita was still regal and radiant in her sixties. “The students set off fireworks every equinox after their midterms. It’s illegal, of course, which is why they do it at the very edge of the Outer Ring where no one who matters will be disturbed.” She hooked her arm in his, her tone becoming fond. “It’s lawless. You’ll love it.”Fifteen minutes later, Davita’s driver found a parking space on a loading platform between two vast, shuttered-for-the-night factories, ten stories above the ground. To their left, sprays of blue and magenta and gold fire were already blooming against the violet bowl of the sky, shot from the rim of the city.They reminded Tilrey of solstice fireworks in Thurskein. His gut twisted, and he shifted his gaze forward to the emptiness of the Wastes, which replaced his worries with a strange tenderness. With the whole city at his back, he remembered how small Redda and Oslov were, how buried in the immense, indifferent world out there.Davita was talking, but he only half-listened, wondering if Ceill would ever join in these student festivities. Their son had seemed happy at Uni, at least happier than he’d been at school—until he heard the news about his Auntie Lourisa. Over the past ten-day, he’d spent much of his time at home with Gersha, the two of them drinking pot after pot of tea. Janta, bless the kid’s heart, insisted on brewing it for them now he’d learned how.Davita snuggled her head against Tilrey’s shoulder. Her dark hair, coming free of its elaborate crown of braids, was fragrant with a spicy scent from Harbour. “You must be so bored of me. All I do is complain.”“I’m not bored. Go on.”She’d been updating him on her ongoing worries, and there were plenty of them, starting with recalcitrant colleagues and fickle constituents who had to be won over before next fall’s crucial election. Family life offered no respite: Her elder son insisted on working a lowly Inspector Constable job instead of seeking promotion, her daughter had a fine husband and career but was always dissatisfied, and her younger son seemed perfectly happy but had chosen to grow his hair long and braid it like a girl’s, which Davita found perplexing. Her mother had warned her that if she married Besha Linbeck she might “put bad blood in her line,” and she had scoffed, and of course she would die for any of her children in a heartbeat, but sometimes she just wondered why young people had to be so whimsical.Tilrey had heard it all a dozen times before. Nodded. Sympathized. He could have produced the proper reactions in his sleep.“Verdant hells and running streams, I’m bored with me.” Davita snuck a hand under the blanket that covered their laps. “I’ve turned into one of those old pampered narcissists I always despised. Remember Verán, how he used to complain about everything from his nephew to the temperature of his tea?”“Too well.” Tilrey kissed her hair, spreading his thighs to accommodate her sly touch. The timing had to be just right. Davita was always more receptive to his opinions after she’d enjoyed his body, which meant it was time to abandon himself to her (and his own) desires. But she hadn’t put enough sap in the tea to make him forget his long list of worries.“You’re nothing like Verán, Fir’n,” he assured her. “He lacked your . . . creativity.”A naughty giggle. But then, instead of kissing him back and letting things escalate, she said, “You’re not telling me something, Rishka. Out with it.”She could still surprise him. “I . . . how could you tell?”She raised her head, preening. “I know you backward and forward. You can’t hide things from me.”Oh? But maybe this opening would work. Maybe Tilrey could use it. “It’s not bad news, love,” he said. “I just haven’t mentioned it because I know you have a personal distaste for him.”“Who?”“Niko Karishkov. He spoke to me about wanting to join the Coalition.”Davita’s body went rigid, though she didn’t budge her hand from his thigh. “That low-testing little hypocrite! Why in the world would he come to you? Surely he knows you’re part of the reason he never got his precious committee chair?”“He knows, yes,” Tilrey said carefully. Besha had told his wife about Karishkov and the misbirth and the blackmail situation long ago. Though Davita didn’t want to be seen condoning such maneuvers, she was happy to give them a pass when they benefited her.“Niko came to me only because he feared you wouldn’t receive him,” he lied. “You can be rather cutting in your dismissals, Fir’n.”That pleased her; she laughed low, close to his ear. “So, after all these years, Niko’s come crawling back in a last gasp for relevance. Is it because of that pathetic lockdown in Thurskein? The workers’ strike he foiled? Am I supposed to be impressed by his clumsy show of brute force?”Now it was Tilrey’s turn to tense up. She had no idea what she was saying, but there was only so much he could hide from her, especially if Karishkov was coming on board. He drew a deep breath. “That’s another reason he came to me, Fir’n. I have family in Sector Six of Thurskein, and I’m . . . concerned for them.”“Oh.” Davita’s hand froze on his thigh. “I keep forgetting you’re not Reddan. You speak like us.”“Yeah. Well.” After all these years, he knew better than to expect her to take an interest in any aspect of him that didn’t match the ideal bedroom and political helpmate she’d assembled in her head. “As I say, that’s why Niko thought I might be more receptive to his proposal. He saw a vulnerability, and he jumped on it.”“Typical.” Her upper lip twisted. “A nasty move on his part—but not stupid. I see now why you didn’t want to tell me. Your judgment’s compromised in this matter.”Tilrey nodded, his eyes lowered. “I don’t deny it. But we could use another vote, couldn’t we? Niko wants in, and he has a strong constituency in Int/Sec and the Constabulary. And he’s willing to take orders from you.”“He better be. I run a tight ship.” Davita gave him a squeeze under the blanket. “There’s more he wants, though. There has to be.”There was no way to sugarcoat it. “If the Peninsula takes power, he wants to chair the Int/Sec committee.”“Of course he does.” Davita sighed gustily, but she was back in her element—playing the game. “Mind you, I never actually promised that post to Besha—honestly, I’m a little worried he’d use it to run some smuggling gig on the side, or something equally mad. But that doesn’t mean I’m letting Niko have it.”“With all due respect, Fir’n, who would make a better impression in the Int/Sec chair than Fir Karishkov?” Tilrey mustered the arguments he’d prepared. “He has a nose for Dissident activity and zero tolerance for it. His undercover service gives him a credible reputation for knowing his enemies.”She snorted. “And sleeping with them! And impregnating them!”“Yes, but things like that happen undercover, don’t they? And he never lost sight of his mission. When it was time to abandon his lover and child, he did it without complaint.” Remembering the misery in Karishkov’s eyes as he talked about his son, Tilrey privately doubted things had been so easy. “Didn’t he receive a citation for heroism, even?”“I suppose. The shirker cell he’d infiltrated was plotting to bomb the wall around Thurskein—with a homemade pipe bomb. By stopping them, he may have saved the lives of a soldier or two. So, yes, he got a citation, and because everyone was so impressed that he’d managed to unearth this sad little plot, he was elected to the Council.” Tilrey could practically hear Davita rolling her eyes. “And then he spent the rest of his life talking about it.”“Right. But because Karishkov’s always talking about security, people perceive him as someone who can keep them safe. Voters do. Isn’t that what matters?”“Oh, please. He’s got a record of favoritism and corruption inside Int/Sec, and he waited years to do something about that silly group of bearded anarchists in Thurskein.”Tilrey wondered if she’d researched enough to know that Karishkov’s son headed that band of “anarchists.” Like most Councillors, Davita seemed to view Thurskein as a giant machine that produced food and goods for Reddans. A strike was a malfunction—inconvenient, but nothing that a wrench and a skilled repair team wouldn’t speedily fix.She talked on agitatedly, as if she were arguing with herself. “But yes, he’s perceived as being tough on shirkers. And it matters. So many voters don’t even read the party platforms. I had to scold Gunde about that at the last election; she said they bored her. What’s the point of being smart enough to earn a vote if you don’t vote intelligently?”Back to the family troubles. Tilrey imitated her headshake at Gunde’s irresponsibility. He thought of all the people—himself included—who would never have a vote unless he did something about it.“And Besha told me once he never read a policy brief until he had to write one. Silly lout!”“That sounds like Besha,” Tilrey said affectionately.“People forget voting is a privilege.” But Davita’s voice had warmed with the same affection for her husband. Changing the subject to Besha was always a good way to improve her mood. “Did you know the little fool is besotted with a low functionary now? He’s spending all his free time with him.”Tilrey hadn’t known, but he imagined Besha would soon tell him all about it. “I thought his flings amused you.”“Oh, they do, they do, especially because he can never resist telling me everything. But this new lad is a sap-drowned low Upstart, and Besha’s supplying him. That’s kind of pathetic, isn’t it?” Her hand slithered out from between Tilrey’s thighs as she added, like a peevish child, “Are the fireworks over, then?”“They seem to be, Fir’n.” The sky over the Wastes had darkened to indigo, pulsing with the brilliance of the stars.Tilrey could have stared at that sky for another hour, but Davita was impatient. “Home, Malka,” she called to the driver, then tugged her body free of his and pulled a vial from her coat.“Karishkov is a clown,” she said, “a sour-faced little climber who lucked his way into that citation and marriage to a Lindahl. But he could be useful as committee chair, yes. As long as we keep a tight rein on him.”She poured sap into her palm and held it out to Tilrey. “Speaking of which . . . someone might need to rein in our dear Gersha.”“Gersha?” As the car unmoored, jogging them both sideways, Tilrey reached for Davita’s wrist to steady it. Then, trying not to think too hard about what he was doing, he bent his head and lapped up the dark, sweet liquid.She was the only one he’d still perform the act of obeisance for. But usually she only asked in the context of one of her games.“What’s Gersha done?” he asked, lifting his head. The last thing he needed was a new crisis.“His brief, darling! The one I read today, as I told you. He didn’t tell you what’s in it?”Tilrey had conceived Gersha’s brief, consulted on it, and read several drafts. But all that was before his conversation with Karishkov. His head wasn’t in the right place now, and the brief seemed idealistic and far away. “Freedom of movement,” he said. “A bill that would allow residents of Thurskein and Karkei to visit their Reddan relations provided they, uh, submit a detailed request and receive—”Davita cut him off. “Bless Gersha’s reformist heart, but you at least can see that’s political poison. Especially now.”“Now?”“Since Karishkov’s lockdown! If Dissidents are taking over Thurskein, the last thing we should do is give those people more freedoms. They’ve shown they don’t know how to use them.”Those people. Tilrey was grateful for the pleasant weightlessness that came with sap. He couldn’t afford to feel his anger, not with her.He closed his eyes and took a long breath, feeling the car jog again as it locked on the mag-grid and extinguished its jets. Then he opened his eyes and spoke as lightly as he could:“‘Those people’ are my friends and relations. And the freedom to visit members of your own family—a dying sister, say, or a newborn grandchild—seems like a basic human right. One that Whyberg himself would have affirmed.”If Davita heard the stifled desperation in his voice, she gave no sign. “Yes, that was Gersha’s argument, and he makes it well. But if we bring Karishkov into the fold, if we make security a major plank in our platform, then we can’t exactly be giving rebellious Laborers all kinds of new rights. It’s not consistent.”She was using her Council chamber voice, low and throaty. Once she got in this mode, she could debate all night. “There are excellent reasons to keep the residents of Laborer cities confined. For one thing, mobility facilitates Dissidence, allowing like-minded malcontents to connect. Furthermore, the disparity in lifestyles between those cities and Redda—”“You’re scared of envy.” The words burst from him. “You think Skeinshaka will see what you have and covet it.” And rise up.“Am I wrong?” Davita shrugged, the lights of the nearest factory playing in her eyes. “It’s human nature to envy those who have more than you. When you first came here, weren’t you shocked at everything that had been hidden from you? Didn’t you want to live like we do?”“I never had the opportunity to want it. I was forced to live with and like Upstarts.” The words came out far too harsh. He clamped his mouth shut.“Sweetheart. I’m sorry.” She stroked the line of his jaw, grazing it with one of her chunky rings. “But you’re better off this way, aren’t you? In Redda, with us? This is the life you were born for.”Tilrey said nothing, tensing at the cold of silver on his skin. Those rings came from Harbour, like the perfume, and Davita wore them as a backhanded tribute to her late father, the man whose remorseless judgments had inspired her to aim for the office of General Magistrate just to prove to him that she was no “silly girl.”Over the years, he’d learned so much about Davita. She knew some parts of him intimately and others not at all.After a moment, he said, “I’ll tell Gersha the mobility bill has to be set aside until after the election.”“Yes. You will.” Pressing closer, Davita slid her hand up his thigh, under his parka and jerkin, and took possession of his cock through the trousers. There was no tenderness in the gesture, only efficiency. “What have I told you about arguing political theory with me?”Tilrey closed his eyes and tried to relax into the unexpected rush of arousal. They were playing a scene now, and he knew his part. “You said it makes me ugly, Fir’n.”“And it does. You’re very good at the game of politics, just like my Besha. The maneuvering and all that. But you need to leave the guiding ideals to Gersha and me.” She’d gotten her hand inside his trousers and briefs and was pumping his cock in long, agonizingly slow strokes. “You’d only make a mess of things, wouldn’t you, troubling your head about ideas?”“Yes. I would.” As he strained into her touch, reflexes kicked in: Hold back for her. Control yourself. Make it good.“Yes. You were made to take a firm hand. As for Karishkov, you can tell him I’ll see him tomorrow after the session. Rina can shuffle my calendar.” Her motions were speeding up. “You like that, don’t you, sweetheart?”“Oh god—yes!” It came in a groan. Tilrey tried not to think about the driver, who was right there in the front seat, listening to him come undone. Or maybe he should be thinking about her; his red-faced humiliation was part of the game. “Green hells, Fir’n, don’t stop, please!”Then, of course, Davita did stop, holding him fast at the base. “I feel like I got to you just in time,” she said. “When Karishkov came to you with his proposal, that must have made you feel important. As if you were the Councillor yourself. Whenever you start having ideas above your station, you get so sad. So anxious.”“Yesss.” He rutted against her iron grip, only half pretending. “You know me so well, Fir’n. The responsibility was more than I could handle.”Long ago, he and Gersha had imagined they could convince Davita to join the revolution of her own accord. But it hadn’t taken Tilrey long to realize that her faith in the system wasn’t paper-thin like Besha’s. When the time came, she would have to be forced into a corner. The only way to make her abandon her Upstart prerogative was to threaten her very existence.And if he had to do that, one day, he would.“Poor boy.” She began moving again, and his whole body stiffened with desperate need. “You need me to tell you what to do, don’t you?”“I do, Fir’n.” A gasp.“In a minute or so, you’re going to make a dreadful mess,” Davita said thoughtfully. “Perhaps, when we get home . . . a little belting, as a token punishment? Would that make you feel better? After all the stress you’ve been under?”“Yes!” And he meant it, though it wouldn’t change his plans for her. Nothing would. “Yes, Fir’n, please, please.” And he did feel better once he was in her bedroom, standing with his clothes off and his wrists lashed to the bedframe. She made him beg for each stroke of the belt on his ass, each stinging, tingling rush of pain and pleasure, until tears rolled down his cheeks.“What are you, love?”“I’m a tool. Something for you to use.”“Which means?” Davita reached around his body to give some attention to his cock, which was painfully hard again.He squirmed in her grip. “I’m yours.”She released him and stepped back. “And what should you never do, sweetheart?”Another stroke—just a flick, really, but the impact sang in his blood and made him even harder, writhing helplessly in search of friction. When he could speak again, he said, “I should never . . . think.”“No, you shouldn’t think for yourself, love. It never works out, does it?”No, I shouldn’t. The whole cursed scheme with Karishkov was his idea, all those years ago, and it had backfired. Lourisa died for me.And though Tilrey knew that wasn’t exactly true, that Lourisa had made her own decisions to defy the Republic, he relaxed into the sensation of guilt and helplessness. He remembered Malsha asking him over and over, back in their days together, Have I broken you yet, love? Are you broken?Yes, I am broken. But he never really was. Not quite. When the time came, maybe he would do some breaking of his own.For now, though, he could lay down his responsibilities. He could just be in this moment, all of time shrinking and sharpening to the outlines he could feel on his flesh.“I’ll never think again,” he whispered. “Only follow orders. Just give me more, Fir’n—please.”The next stroke hit him full on the right buttock. He yelped, shameless tears pouring down his cheeks. And something that had been locked tight inside the prison of his chest—tight as his own body in the coffinlike box that Int/Sec had once used to torture him—stretched and flexed, released at last.

Break me. Free me.

Davita reached for his cock again. But before she could touch it, he whipped around and seized her by the shoulders, his fingers digging into the silky fabric of her robe. “It’s my turn.”Without missing a beat, she smiled coldly up at him. “Good. I was getting bored.”And then the cold smile turned to a cloying, approval-seeking one, and her upright body wilted in his hands, her eyes going wild and frightened. “Oh no. You’re so big and strong. You’re not going to . . . hurt me?”This role reversal was nothing new for them, either. He pushed her backward and tossed her on the bed. Lowered his body onto hers, feeling her tremble with feigned fear and real excitement. “Only as much as I need to.”“Oh no. You wouldn’t! Remember your place, remember mine!”Her hands fluttered, pretending to fend him off, and he caught them and pinned them above her head. “You told me not to think, Fir’n. This is what happens when I don’t think.”“You brute! You’re all just brutes, deep down, you men. You Drudges.” She’d taken on a high-pitched, fluting voice that wasn’t hers at all. “Hurt me, then, if you must. Punish me, you monster!”“Oh, I will.”He held her wrists fast with one hand and reached for the hem of her robe with the other, not even sure anymore who was scripting this scene. She came more easily when she was prone; he would have to flip her onto her hands and knees and be mindful of the right angle, even as he thrust “ruthlessly” into her.There were so many details to take care of. Always. His brief, intoxicating sense of freedom was bleeding away.He bent and nuzzled her neck, catching the skin between his teeth. “And you’re going to enjoy every minute of it.”

Fall equinox, Year 371

“And don’t forget to give Alicia Linden the packet of biscuits, and be respectful but don’t flatter her. She sees right through that. The less you talk, the better.”

“Yes, Fir’n,” the secretary said a little sulkily. She was young, reedy, and pretty, with full lips and bright eyes, and Davita used her as an emissary and go-between with the other female Councillors. Whether her duties included sex, Tilrey had never asked.

“If Albertine Linnett’s there, ask after her grandson. She loves talking about him.” Davita shot a knowing look at Tilrey. She was well aware of Ceill’s parentage, though she rarely acknowledged it aloud. “If she asks about the latest numbers from Labor, tell her I haven’t reviewed them yet. Do not tell her I’ll be using that report as the linchpin of my speech on production targets at the next session. I want her surprised.”

“Yes, Fir’n.” The girl glanced at Tilrey, then quickly away. He wondered if she saw him as a rival for the Councillor’s attention or a fellow sufferer.

“All right, then, Rina. Go get changed.” Davita transferred her attention briskly to Tilrey. “Right on time, are we? Let’s drink it in there while I check on some paperwork.”

In the interior office, behind the closed door, Tilrey poured the tea while Davita sat down and typed on her desktop. “It’s nearly nine,” he said meaningfully, trying to get a peek at her screen. “I thought the whole point of our standing appointment—”

“—was to make me stop working through my free-nights. I know, I know.” Without removing her eyes from the screen, Davita grabbed a tumbler in her right hand. With her left, she captured Tilrey’s hand, stroked it absent-mindedly, and applied it to the nape of her neck. “I’m sore again. Too much desk time.”

Tilrey rubbed her neck. He remembered how he used to do similar little things for Gersha in the office and how different that felt. For one thing, Gersha always tried to reciprocate. Davita simply took the attentions as her due.

“If you’re not off that terminal in five minutes, Fir’n,” he said playfully, “I’ll flip the switch.”

“Two more minutes. Seriously.” She reached for his hand and stroked it some more. “Anyway, I’m only late because I took the time to read your—I mean Gersha’s—brief. All forty pages of it.”

Shit. Tilrey had nearly forgotten about the legislative brief, though it was his idea in the first place. He had bigger problems now.

They were nearly a ten-day into the month that Karishkov had given him to secure a meeting with Davita. Tonight was his first good chance to sell her on the idea of welcoming the man into their Coalition with open arms, and he didn’t need distractions.

Yesterday, after days of Vera working her clout in the Bureau of Labor, he’d managed to get a phone conversation with his mother—the first since the lockdown. It was a tense ten minutes, both of them well aware the whole thing was being surveilled and recorded. But at least he’d confirmed that she and Dal were free and unhurt, though Dal was “worried about Lourisa, of course.”

Tilrey could tell from Lisha’s monotone that both she and Dal had guessed the truth. Even this loss they couldn’t discuss openly. Int/Sec had still released no information about the arrested parties, including those whose families would eventually receive their remains in an urn.

His throat tightening with the memory of his mother’s voice, he slid his hands down Davita’s shoulders and massaged them. She was drafting a message to István, the General Magistrate—something about an upcoming session.

He leaned in subtly, trying to get a sense of her tone. Was she ready to be confrontational with the Island Party leader? “You’re so tight, Fir’n.”

“This job, what it does to me. Dreadful.” Davita saved her draft and put her system to sleep before Tilrey could read any more.

Then she shook him off and stood up. “Pour the tea in a flask. Put half a V in there, too—no, three-quarters. We’re taking a drive.”

“We’re not going back to your place?” Tilrey asked. A drive meant she wanted to kiss and grope in the car with her driver as a witness, all the while chiding him about being “uptight.” It was one of many games they’d played hundreds of times, and on an ordinary night, he would have relaxed into it, but tonight . . .

He’d planned so many ways to broach this Karishkov business. All of them were pathetically adequate, but if he didn’t persuade her, the man would start carrying out his threats. First Dal would be put in cuffs, then perhaps his mother.

“After.” Davita patted his rump absent-mindedly. “I want to watch the fireworks.”

“Fireworks?” State celebrations happened in Redda only on the winter solstice and Whyberg’s birthday.

A sweet smile—Davita was still regal and radiant in her sixties. “The students set off fireworks every equinox after their midterms. It’s illegal, of course, which is why they do it at the very edge of the Outer Ring where no one who matters will be disturbed.” She hooked her arm in his, her tone becoming fond. “It’s lawless. You’ll love it.”

Fifteen minutes later, Davita’s driver found a parking space on a loading platform between two vast, shuttered-for-the-night factories, ten stories above the ground. To their left, sprays of blue and magenta and gold fire were already blooming against the violet bowl of the sky, shot from the rim of the city.

They reminded Tilrey of solstice fireworks in Thurskein. His gut twisted, and he shifted his gaze forward to the emptiness of the Wastes, which replaced his worries with a strange tenderness. With the whole city at his back, he remembered how small Redda and Oslov were, how buried in the immense, indifferent world out there.

Davita was talking, but he only half-listened, wondering if Ceill would ever join in these student festivities. Their son had seemed happy at Uni, at least happier than he’d been at school—until he heard the news about his Auntie Lourisa. Over the past ten-day, he’d spent much of his time at home with Gersha, the two of them drinking pot after pot of tea. Janta, bless the kid’s heart, insisted on brewing it for them now he’d learned how.

Davita snuggled her head against Tilrey’s shoulder. Her dark hair, coming free of its elaborate crown of braids, was fragrant with a spicy scent from Harbour. “You must be so bored of me. All I do is complain.”

“I’m not bored. Go on.”

She’d been updating him on her ongoing worries, and there were plenty of them, starting with recalcitrant colleagues and fickle constituents who had to be won over before next fall’s crucial election. Family life offered no respite: Her elder son insisted on working a lowly Inspector Constable job instead of seeking promotion, her daughter had a fine husband and career but was always dissatisfied, and her younger son seemed perfectly happy but had chosen to grow his hair long and braid it like a girl’s, which Davita found perplexing. Her mother had warned her that if she married Besha Linbeck she might “put bad blood in her line,” and she had scoffed, and of course she would die for any of her children in a heartbeat, but sometimes she just wondered why young people had to be so whimsical.

Tilrey had heard it all a dozen times before. Nodded. Sympathized. He could have produced the proper reactions in his sleep.

“Verdant hells and running streams, I’m bored with me.” Davita snuck a hand under the blanket that covered their laps. “I’ve turned into one of those old pampered narcissists I always despised. Remember Verán, how he used to complain about everything from his nephew to the temperature of his tea?”

“Too well.” Tilrey kissed her hair, spreading his thighs to accommodate her sly touch. The timing had to be just right. Davita was always more receptive to his opinions after she’d enjoyed his body, which meant it was time to abandon himself to her (and his own) desires. But she hadn’t put enough sap in the tea to make him forget his long list of worries.

“You’re nothing like Verán, Fir’n,” he assured her. “He lacked your . . . creativity.”

A naughty giggle. But then, instead of kissing him back and letting things escalate, she said, “You’re not telling me something, Rishka. Out with it.”

She could still surprise him. “I . . . how could you tell?”

She raised her head, preening. “I know you backward and forward. You can’t hide things from me.”

Oh? But maybe this opening would work. Maybe Tilrey could use it. “It’s not bad news, love,” he said. “I just haven’t mentioned it because I know you have a personal distaste for him.”

“Who?”

“Niko Karishkov. He spoke to me about wanting to join the Coalition.”

Davita’s body went rigid, though she didn’t budge her hand from his thigh. “That low-testing little hypocrite! Why in the world would he come to you? Surely he knows you’re part of the reason he never got his precious committee chair?”

“He knows, yes,” Tilrey said carefully. Besha had told his wife about Karishkov and the misbirth and the blackmail situation long ago. Though Davita didn’t want to be seen condoning such maneuvers, she was happy to give them a pass when they benefited her.

“Niko came to me only because he feared you wouldn’t receive him,” he lied. “You can be rather cutting in your dismissals, Fir’n.”

That pleased her; she laughed low, close to his ear. “So, after all these years, Niko’s come crawling back in a last gasp for relevance. Is it because of that pathetic lockdown in Thurskein? The workers’ strike he foiled? Am I supposed to be impressed by his clumsy show of brute force?”

Now it was Tilrey’s turn to tense up. She had no idea what she was saying, but there was only so much he could hide from her, especially if Karishkov was coming on board. He drew a deep breath. “That’s another reason he came to me, Fir’n. I have family in Sector Six of Thurskein, and I’m . . . concerned for them.”

“Oh.” Davita’s hand froze on his thigh. “I keep forgetting you’re not Reddan. You speak like us.”

“Yeah. Well.” After all these years, he knew better than to expect her to take an interest in any aspect of him that didn’t match the ideal bedroom and political helpmate she’d assembled in her head. “As I say, that’s why Niko thought I might be more receptive to his proposal. He saw a vulnerability, and he jumped on it.”

“Typical.” Her upper lip twisted. “A nasty move on his part—but not stupid. I see now why you didn’t want to tell me. Your judgment’s compromised in this matter.”

Tilrey nodded, his eyes lowered. “I don’t deny it. But we could use another vote, couldn’t we? Niko wants in, and he has a strong constituency in Int/Sec and the Constabulary. And he’s willing to take orders from you.”

“He better be. I run a tight ship.” Davita gave him a squeeze under the blanket. “There’s more he wants, though. There has to be.”

There was no way to sugarcoat it. “If the Peninsula takes power, he wants to chair the Int/Sec committee.”

“Of course he does.” Davita sighed gustily, but she was back in her element—playing the game. “Mind you, I never actually promised that post to Besha—honestly, I’m a little worried he’d use it to run some smuggling gig on the side, or something equally mad. But that doesn’t mean I’m letting Niko have it.”

“With all due respect, Fir’n, who would make a better impression in the Int/Sec chair than Fir Karishkov?” Tilrey mustered the arguments he’d prepared. “He has a nose for Dissident activity and zero tolerance for it. His undercover service gives him a credible reputation for knowing his enemies.”

She snorted. “And sleeping with them! And impregnating them!”

“Yes, but things like that happen undercover, don’t they? And he never lost sight of his mission. When it was time to abandon his lover and child, he did it without complaint.” Remembering the misery in Karishkov’s eyes as he talked about his son, Tilrey privately doubted things had been so easy. “Didn’t he receive a citation for heroism, even?”

“I suppose. The shirker cell he’d infiltrated was plotting to bomb the wall around Thurskein—with a homemade pipe bomb. By stopping them, he may have saved the lives of a soldier or two. So, yes, he got a citation, and because everyone was so impressed that he’d managed to unearth this sad little plot, he was elected to the Council.” Tilrey could practically hear Davita rolling her eyes. “And then he spent the rest of his life talking about it.”

“Right. But because Karishkov’s always talking about security, people perceive him as someone who can keep them safe. Voters do. Isn’t that what matters?”

“Oh, please. He’s got a record of favoritism and corruption inside Int/Sec, and he waited years to do something about that silly group of bearded anarchists in Thurskein.”

Tilrey wondered if she’d researched enough to know that Karishkov’s son headed that band of “anarchists.” Like most Councillors, Davita seemed to view Thurskein as a giant machine that produced food and goods for Reddans. A strike was a malfunction—inconvenient, but nothing that a wrench and a skilled repair team wouldn’t speedily fix.

She talked on agitatedly, as if she were arguing with herself. “But yes, he’s perceived as being tough on shirkers. And it matters. So many voters don’t even read the party platforms. I had to scold Gunde about that at the last election; she said they bored her. What’s the point of being smart enough to earn a vote if you don’t vote intelligently?”

Back to the family troubles. Tilrey imitated her headshake at Gunde’s irresponsibility. He thought of all the people—himself included—who would never have a vote unless he did something about it.

“And Besha told me once he never read a policy brief until he had to write one. Silly lout!”

“That sounds like Besha,” Tilrey said affectionately.

“People forget voting is a privilege.” But Davita’s voice had warmed with the same affection for her husband. Changing the subject to Besha was always a good way to improve her mood. “Did you know the little fool is besotted with a low functionary now? He’s spending all his free time with him.”

Tilrey hadn’t known, but he imagined Besha would soon tell him all about it. “I thought his flings amused you.”

“Oh, they do, they do, especially because he can never resist telling me everything. But this new lad is a sap-drowned low Upstart, and Besha’s supplying him. That’s kind of pathetic, isn’t it?” Her hand slithered out from between Tilrey’s thighs as she added, like a peevish child, “Are the fireworks over, then?”

“They seem to be, Fir’n.” The sky over the Wastes had darkened to indigo, pulsing with the brilliance of the stars.

Tilrey could have stared at that sky for another hour, but Davita was impatient. “Home, Malka,” she called to the driver, then tugged her body free of his and pulled a vial from her coat.

“Karishkov is a clown,” she said, “a sour-faced little climber who lucked his way into that citation and marriage to a Lindahl. But he could be useful as committee chair, yes. As long as we keep a tight rein on him.”

She poured sap into her palm and held it out to Tilrey. “Speaking of which . . . someone might need to rein in our dear Gersha.”

“Gersha?” As the car unmoored, jogging them both sideways, Tilrey reached for Davita’s wrist to steady it. Then, trying not to think too hard about what he was doing, he bent his head and lapped up the dark, sweet liquid.

She was the only one he’d still perform the act of obeisance for. But usually she only asked in the context of one of her games.

“What’s Gersha done?” he asked, lifting his head. The last thing he needed was a new crisis.

“His brief, darling! The one I read today, as I told you. He didn’t tell you what’s in it?”

Tilrey had conceived Gersha’s brief, consulted on it, and read several drafts. But all that was before his conversation with Karishkov. His head wasn’t in the right place now, and the brief seemed idealistic and far away. “Freedom of movement,” he said. “A bill that would allow residents of Thurskein and Karkei to visit their Reddan relations provided they, uh, submit a detailed request and receive—”

Davita cut him off. “Bless Gersha’s reformist heart, but you at least can see that’s political poison. Especially now.”

“Now?”

“Since Karishkov’s lockdown! If Dissidents are taking over Thurskein, the last thing we should do is give those people more freedoms. They’ve shown they don’t know how to use them.”

Those people. Tilrey was grateful for the pleasant weightlessness that came with sap. He couldn’t afford to feel his anger, not with her.

He closed his eyes and took a long breath, feeling the car jog again as it locked on the mag-grid and extinguished its jets. Then he opened his eyes and spoke as lightly as he could:

“‘Those people’ are my friends and relations. And the freedom to visit members of your own family—a dying sister, say, or a newborn grandchild—seems like a basic human right. One that Whyberg himself would have affirmed.”

If Davita heard the stifled desperation in his voice, she gave no sign. “Yes, that was Gersha’s argument, and he makes it well. But if we bring Karishkov into the fold, if we make security a major plank in our platform, then we can’t exactly be giving rebellious Laborers all kinds of new rights. It’s not consistent.”

She was using her Council chamber voice, low and throaty. Once she got in this mode, she could debate all night. “There are excellent reasons to keep the residents of Laborer cities confined. For one thing, mobility facilitates Dissidence, allowing like-minded malcontents to connect. Furthermore, the disparity in lifestyles between those cities and Redda—”

“You’re scared of envy.” The words burst from him. “You think Skeinshaka will see what you have and covet it.” And rise up.

“Am I wrong?” Davita shrugged, the lights of the nearest factory playing in her eyes. “It’s human nature to envy those who have more than you. When you first came here, weren’t you shocked at everything that had been hidden from you? Didn’t you want to live like we do?”

“I never had the opportunity to want it. I was forced to live with and like Upstarts.” The words came out far too harsh. He clamped his mouth shut.

“Sweetheart. I’m sorry.” She stroked the line of his jaw, grazing it with one of her chunky rings. “But you’re better off this way, aren’t you? In Redda, with us? This is the life you were born for.”

Tilrey said nothing, tensing at the cold of silver on his skin. Those rings came from Harbour, like the perfume, and Davita wore them as a backhanded tribute to her late father, the man whose remorseless judgments had inspired her to aim for the office of General Magistrate just to prove to him that she was no “silly girl.”

Over the years, he’d learned so much about Davita. She knew some parts of him intimately and others not at all.

After a moment, he said, “I’ll tell Gersha the mobility bill has to be set aside until after the election.”

“Yes. You will.” Pressing closer, Davita slid her hand up his thigh, under his parka and jerkin, and took possession of his cock through the trousers. There was no tenderness in the gesture, only efficiency. “What have I told you about arguing political theory with me?”

Tilrey closed his eyes and tried to relax into the unexpected rush of arousal. They were playing a scene now, and he knew his part. “You said it makes me ugly, Fir’n.”

“And it does. You’re very good at the game of politics, just like my Besha. The maneuvering and all that. But you need to leave the guiding ideals to Gersha and me.” She’d gotten her hand inside his trousers and briefs and was pumping his cock in long, agonizingly slow strokes. “You’d only make a mess of things, wouldn’t you, troubling your head about ideas?”

“Yes. I would.” As he strained into her touch, reflexes kicked in: Hold back for her. Control yourself. Make it good.

“Yes. You were made to take a firm hand. As for Karishkov, you can tell him I’ll see him tomorrow after the session. Rina can shuffle my calendar.” Her motions were speeding up. “You like that, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Oh god—yes!” It came in a groan. Tilrey tried not to think about the driver, who was right there in the front seat, listening to him come undone. Or maybe he should be thinking about her; his red-faced humiliation was part of the game. “Green hells, Fir’n, don’t stop, please!”

Then, of course, Davita did stop, holding him fast at the base. “I feel like I got to you just in time,” she said. “When Karishkov came to you with his proposal, that must have made you feel important. As if you were the Councillor yourself. Whenever you start having ideas above your station, you get so sad. So anxious.”

“Yesss.” He rutted against her iron grip, only half pretending. “You know me so well, Fir’n. The responsibility was more than I could handle.”

Long ago, he and Gersha had imagined they could convince Davita to join the revolution of her own accord. But it hadn’t taken Tilrey long to realize that her faith in the system wasn’t paper-thin like Besha’s. When the time came, she would have to be forced into a corner. The only way to make her abandon her Upstart prerogative was to threaten her very existence.

And if he had to do that, one day, he would.

“Poor boy.” She began moving again, and his whole body stiffened with desperate need. “You need me to tell you what to do, don’t you?”

“I do, Fir’n.” A gasp.

“In a minute or so, you’re going to make a dreadful mess,” Davita said thoughtfully. “Perhaps, when we get home . . . a little belting, as a token punishment? Would that make you feel better? After all the stress you’ve been under?”

“Yes!” And he meant it, though it wouldn’t change his plans for her. Nothing would. “Yes, Fir’n, please, please.”

And he did feel better once he was in her bedroom, standing with his clothes off and his wrists lashed to the bedframe. She made him beg for each stroke of the belt on his ass, each stinging, tingling rush of pain and pleasure, until tears rolled down his cheeks.

“What are you, love?”

“I’m a tool. Something for you to use.”

“Which means?” Davita reached around his body to give some attention to his cock, which was painfully hard again.

He squirmed in her grip. “I’m yours.”

She released him and stepped back. “And what should you never do, sweetheart?”

Another stroke—just a flick, really, but the impact sang in his blood and made him even harder, writhing helplessly in search of friction. When he could speak again, he said, “I should never . . . think.”

“No, you shouldn’t think for yourself, love. It never works out, does it?”

No, I shouldn’t. The whole cursed scheme with Karishkov was his idea, all those years ago, and it had backfired. Lourisa died for me.

And though Tilrey knew that wasn’t exactly true, that Lourisa had made her own decisions to defy the Republic, he relaxed into the sensation of guilt and helplessness. He remembered Malsha asking him over and over, back in their days together, Have I broken you yet, love? Are you broken?

Yes, I am broken. But he never really was. Not quite. When the time came, maybe he would do some breaking of his own.

For now, though, he could lay down his responsibilities. He could just be in this moment, all of time shrinking and sharpening to the outlines he could feel on his flesh.

“I’ll never think again,” he whispered. “Only follow orders. Just give me more, Fir’n—please.”

The next stroke hit him full on the right buttock. He yelped, shameless tears pouring down his cheeks. And something that had been locked tight inside the prison of his chest—tight as his own body in the coffinlike box that Int/Sec had once used to torture him—stretched and flexed, released at last.

Break me. Free me.

Davita reached for his cock again. But before she could touch it, he whipped around and seized her by the shoulders, his fingers digging into the silky fabric of her robe. “It’s my turn.”

Without missing a beat, she smiled coldly up at him. “Good. I was getting bored.”

And then the cold smile turned to a cloying, approval-seeking one, and her upright body wilted in his hands, her eyes going wild and frightened. “Oh no. You’re so big and strong. You’re not going to . . . hurt me?”

This role reversal was nothing new for them, either. He pushed her backward and tossed her on the bed. Lowered his body onto hers, feeling her tremble with feigned fear and real excitement. “Only as much as I need to.”

“Oh no. You wouldn’t! Remember your place, remember mine!”

Her hands fluttered, pretending to fend him off, and he caught them and pinned them above her head. “You told me not to think, Fir’n. This is what happens when I don’t think.”

“You brute! You’re all just brutes, deep down, you men. You Drudges.” She’d taken on a high-pitched, fluting voice that wasn’t hers at all. “Hurt me, then, if you must. Punish me, you monster!”

“Oh, I will.”

He held her wrists fast with one hand and reached for the hem of her robe with the other, not even sure anymore who was scripting this scene. She came more easily when she was prone; he would have to flip her onto her hands and knees and be mindful of the right angle, even as he thrust “ruthlessly” into her.

There were so many details to take care of. Always. His brief, intoxicating sense of freedom was bleeding away.

He bent and nuzzled her neck, catching the skin between his teeth. “And you’re going to enjoy every minute of it.”