Chapter 20: Confessions and Propositions — The Key of Oslov

Volume 19: Oslov Unraveled

Chapter 20 Confessions and Propositions

Chapter Notes

This takes place just a day after the previous chapter. It sets up a few more chapters that will take place nearly a year later, when Einara returns to face Colonel Thibault—an epilogue of sorts.

Chapter Notes

This takes place just a day after the previous chapter. It sets up a few more chapters that will take place nearly a year later, when Einara returns to face Colonel Thibault—an epilogue of sorts.

29 October, year 374, 10:37 a.m.

Blas Lindblom gazed at Tilrey Bronn across the conference table where they’d settled themselves. He woke his handheld with a finger tap and activated the recording function. Then he returned his eyes to Bronn, deactivated it, and said, “I don’t actually need to hear your confession to arranging Councillor Lindahl’s killing.”“No?” The new de facto ruler of Oslov looked surprised, even a little disappointed. “Would you rather I give it to someone with less personal involvement?”“No.”“Then… why are we here?”Blas could almost see Bronn wanting to say the word Fir and swallowing it instead. He wondered how long it would take the man to shake that habit. Probably longer than it would take for his battered face to heal or his broken fingers to work again.Blas still hadn’t forgiven Tilrey Bronn for having slept with his mother and his boyfriend. Never mind that Detmer had barely even known Blas at the time. Tilrey had still seduced him and used him in the rebellion—and, in the process, used Blas as his unwitting tool, too.But Blas was still exhausted from the long night of the blackout, and he had no energy for hatred. A traitorous little voice inside him—a voice that sounded like Detmer—said that whatever Tilrey had done, he’d probably already been punished enough.“What’s the use of pretending the world didn’t change yesterday?” he said. “This ‘confession’ is a formality for the sake of the Councillors you’re trying to reconcile to the fact that they’re not in control anymore. Anyway, your motives are clear enough. Lindahl was a staunch defender of the Republic you’ve just overthrown—and a personal enemy, am I right?”He remembered what Eivan Svanner had told him about Tilrey’s kettle boy days. Lindahl had treated Tilrey the way he had Stefan—as a toy, a piece of currency, not a free citizen. It was no excuse for violence, but everything was different in the heat of revolution.Tilrey gazed down at his splinted hand on the table. “That isn’t why I asked Einara to kill Lindahl. He saw me with a handheld, on which I happened to have … incriminating information. He confiscated it.”Blas remembered the device that he and Detmer had retrieved from Lindahl’s apartment. “That handheld? Did you ask Detmer to get it back for you?”A nod.“Wait.” It all came back in a flash now: what Detmer had told Blas to get him to agree to raid a dead man’s home and how distressed Blas had been by his confession. “Does that mean my Mersha didn’t sleep with Lindahl? He lied about it just to get into the apartment?”Tilrey nodded again, looking contrite. “Detmer told you he’d slept with Lindahl? No, I don’t think Lindahl was his type. Though maybe vice versa.”Blas couldn’t stop himself from grinning. Imagining Mersha in the arms of Lindahl—who’d hurt Stefan so badly—had been even worse than imagining him in the arms of Tilrey himself. Tilrey at least should have the skills to be a considerate lover—not that Blas wanted to know any details! He had made Detmer promise never to mention his involvement with Tilrey again.He knew he was the exact wrong person to be having this conversation in any official capacity. But what the fuck. Now, with the Republic in shambles, was no time for cold professionalism.Detmer and Ceill both insisted that Tilrey wanted the best for all Oslovs. But it was actually Einara who’d come the closest to convincing Blas to trust this man, with her complaints about how Tilrey was too “soft” and not bloodthirsty enough.A little softness could be useful. Blas had favors to ask.He leaned forward. “The way you talk to my mother, even now, I think you do care about her. If it’s possible to care about those you’ve betrayed.”Tilrey’s mouth twisted as if his thoughts hurt him. “Davita… was a friend, and she can still be an asset to the Republic. I hope you’ll watch her carefully. Make sure she doesn’t harm herself.”“Yesterday, she kept raving as if she were delirious.” Blas knew his mother wouldn’t want him to tell anyone how distraught she’d been, but Tilrey needed to hear this. “Einara told her that my father was involved in Malsha’s treason. Did you already know that?”Tilrey nodded. “That must have been a hard blow for Davita.”He sounded so sad that for an instant Blas hated him again. You have no right to pity us! But Tilrey, he supposed, was just a convenient person to blame for the damage his father had wrought. “She’s berating herself. Saying that by marrying my father, she put a curse on our family and ultimately on all of Oslov. I tell her she’s being irrational, but she won’t listen.”“I’m so sorry.” Tilrey’s expression was pinched, as if he really did regret what he’d done to Blas’s family. “For what it’s worth, your father loves your mother—and you and your siblings. The Malsha business wasn’t his idea. Malsha coerced him into it, to an extent. And everything he did for the revolution, he hoped would ultimately benefit all of you.”“Maybe he should have asked us first,” Blas burst out. But he couldn’t let his rising anger sidetrack him. “What I’m trying to say is, I don’t want my dad hanging around us, trying to make up with my mother. I think he’s actually the greatest danger to her already-fragile mental state.”His mother would never forgive him if she knew he was begging favors from Tilrey. But she didn’t have to know. “Can you arrange for my father to go away somewhere? For a while?” He would have preferred forever. “She’ll never come back to the Council table if she has to see him there.”After a moment’s hesitation, Tilrey nodded. “Besha wants to see Harbour, and he’s never been a fan of Council meetings. I could prevail on him to leave, at least for a while. But I doubt he’ll ever give up on winning your mother back.”Blas knew he was right. “Just get him away from her for a few months, maybe a year. Give her time to heal. Will you do that for us?”“You’re negotiating with me.” Tilrey’s eyes narrowed, as if he’d only just realized it. “I expected an interrogation.” “What good would it do to bring you up on charges? You have Janta. You’ve won.” And the rebels were right about one thing—Blas’s mother had attempted to arrange a murder herself. Right now, he was weary enough to be willing to call things even.Besides, he had other priorities.“I want to know something,” Blas said—hesitating, because he’d never dared to discuss this issue outside the family. Even his mother shut him down when he brought it up. Only Detmer understood.Then words were flooding out of him. “My second sister, Virya. She wants to live openly as a woman. She is a woman. She wants to be her lover’s wife. But my parents refuse to accept it. They call her a man, and so do her official papers.”His voice rasped, his throat was so dry with nerves. One didn’t ever talk about these things.But Tilrey didn’t look shocked or disturbed, so Blas barged on. “I heard one of your rebels say they believe in letting people of the same sex marry. That’s why I brought it up in the chamber just now. If you make that legal, could you make it legal for Virya to marry a man, too? Or at least consider it?”“I don’t know much about this, I admit.” Tilrey looked as if he were truly considering Blas’s plea, turning it over in his head. “But I believe there are similar people living semi-openly in Thurskein, among the Northmen—people whose own sense of their gender doesn’t match the official one. They should be free to live as themselves in Redda, too. I’ll propose it for a vote.”“Thank you.” Blas realized abruptly that he was shaking. His vision was blurred by tears.I’m sorry, Mother. I know you would be ashamed of me. But perhaps, after enough time had passed, she would understand. Perhaps she would even embrace Virya as her daughter.He couldn’t stay here and let Tilrey Bronn see him break down. He rose, scooping up his handheld—then changed his mind and left it on the table. He activated the recording function again.“Make your full confession to this,” he said. “Give it to Detmer for me—I imagine you’ll see him around the Council chamber.”Tilrey looked startled. “You really don’t want my statement as evidence?”“No. We’ll keep it in the Hall of Records … for posterity. When historians write about our revolution, your actions—good and bad—will need to be part of it. What?” Blas added, since Tilrey was staring at him.“You said our.”Blas shrugged. “I guess I did.”*

8:10 p.m.

“You see?” Detmer said. “Tilrey’s not what you’ve been thinking, Blas. You two might even agree on some things.”“He’s still a murderer.” But Blas was already half naked, peeling off his trousers, and he wasn’t in the mood to recite Tilrey’s crimes.His sister Gunde was staying with their mother tonight, giving him a break from his vigil, so he and Detmer had retired to the latter’s apartment. After a long day of arguing with his family members and briefing his colleagues in the Judiciary, Blas wanted nothing more than to fall into bed.Except perhaps to fall into Mersha’s arms.He wasn’t sure he had the energy for sex, but he already missed the hot-house closeness they’d had locked in their suite in the Brothel, tangled up in bed. Given Blas’s terror at the time, and everything Mersha had confessed to him, he knew he shouldn’t feel nostalgic for their stint as hostages. He did anyway.When they were both stripped to their underclothes, Mersha pulled back the comforter. Blas crept under it and snuggled close to his boyfriend, using his chest as a pillow.“I knew this was the right choice,” he said, his eyelids drooping.Mersha’s cunning fingers moved in Blas’s hair, sweeping it back from his brow. “What do you mean? What choice?”“Back in the Brothel, when that maniac had a knife to my throat and my mother…” Even now, Blas couldn’t bear to say out loud that his mother had been willing to sacrifice him. “I could have been a martyr, Mersha. If I cared more about honor, I would have been. But right then, I knew what I actually cared about wasn’t honor. It was having at least one more night with you.”Mersha’s hand stopped moving. “That was for me? When you forced your mom to negotiate?”Blas chuckled. “Don’t get a swelled head, love. It wasn’t just for you—it was for me. It’s harder for me to give up the pleasures of living than I thought.”“I’m glad.” Detmer’s blue eyes flashed with a touch of his old mischief. He had done a lot of apologizing to Blas over the past few days, but permanent contrition didn’t suit him. “Were you serious,” he asked, “when you said something about, uh, a wedding? Because I think you shocked most of the people around the Council table.”Blas knew he had. He wasn’t sorry. “The True Hearthers believe people of the same sex should be able to marry. Didn’t I tell you back in Lindahl’s apartment that I wanted that?”“I thought you were just making a gesture. It was safe to say because it wasn’t actually possible to do.”Blas surprised himself with how much he wanted it. Detmer was always telling him he was possessive, and it was true that he loved the idea of introducing Detmer as “my husband”—so much more meaningful than “boyfriend.” So much more permanent.But they could discuss marriage later. Blas had a more urgent concern now. He sat up so he could face Detmer. “When I made that choice to live, marriage wasn’t the first thing that popped into my mind, I admit. There was something else I was more worried about missing out on.”“Right, another night with me.” Detmer gave him a teasing kiss, just brushing his lips. “So here we are.”“Yes. But. Not another night like all the others we’ve had.” Heat rose to Blas’s cheeks. He dropped his gaze. “Remember what we talked about on our first morning in this bed?”“When you were still furious at me for impersonating a Laborer? Let’s see, it’s been a while.” Detmer tilted his head and made a show of searching his mind. “Ohhh. Is that when you said Upstarts shouldn’t submit to each other in bed because it’s ‘not our nature’? That we could play at it, but we couldn’t actually ‘let ourselves go’? That you thought there was something wrong with me for wanting you to fuck my brains out?”The warmth in Blas’s face had become a bonfire. He remembered his arrogant words all too well. “I never said there was anything wrong with you!” he protested. “It did shock me at first—not that you’d want to be on the bottom, just how far you took it. But when you described how it felt… well, I started wondering.”“Wondering what?”Blas drew a deep breath. He could be honest now or never. “I wondered … would I ever want to try that, too? To let myself go, to submit myself utterly to you?”Understanding dawned on Detmer’s face. He rolled back on his haunches and looked hard at Blas. “That’s what you worried about missing out on?”Blas couldn’t speak, but he knew his crimson face and glistening eyes spoke for him. “I won’t lie, Mersha. I’m still a little scared. But yes. I … I’d like to try it.”“Oh, I can arrange that! Tonight, though?” Detmer picked up Blas’s bandaged hand and cradled it tenderly against his chest. “Aren’t you a little worn out?”Blas was. But the tentative touch was already sending blood rushing to his groin. And he might lose his courage if he postponed this one more month, one more ten-day, even one more night.He met Mersha’s eyes. “You’re a rebel, right? You won the war, right? Well, take the spoils of your victory. Take me.”Mersha’s sharp intake of breath sent quivers of sensation down Blas’s spine, making his cock harden. “Oh, Blasha. Yes. If you’re sure.”Blas could only nod.Mersha kissed Blas’s palm. An impish smile spread over his face. “I actually have a scenario we could act out. Something that’s been in my head for the past few days, ever since the mob took over the Ring Eight barracks and you had to be airlifted out of there.”Blas flinched inwardly at the memory of that day. “Tell me.”“Well.” Detmer tugged Blas so close their foreheads bumped, as if to impart a secret. “I never wanted anything bad to happen to you, believe me! I was terrified by the whole situation. But a little later, I couldn’t help thinking: What if you hadn’t been on your way to work when it happened? What if you’d been in the Radius Nine Brothel, where we met?”“I would never go to a brothel in the morning,” Blas pointed out, offended by the suggestion.“Yes, but what if you had? Use your imagination, Blas. This is fantasy.” Detmer’s sly smile widened into a grin. “You’re in that nasty brothel, sleeping beside me, when the news comes. Rebels and riffraff have taken over Ring Eight, and they’re armed. They’re rounding up all the cops in the Ring and cramming them into their own detention cells—and yes, you count as a cop, my friend.”“A cop and a Lindblom. The perfect hostage.” The scenario was close enough to what had happened in the Sanctioned Brothel that Blas needed to draw a firm boundary around it, to make it a little less real.“And you,” he said, raising his free hand to nudge a blond lock out of Detmer’s eyes, “you’re not a Verán in this version of reality, are you? You’re really just Mersha the whore. You’re there for my pleasure.”“Now you’re catching on!” Detmer released Blas’s hand and rolled over onto his side, preening. “That’s right, my sweet little captive. You’re a Strutter and I’m a Drudge. But now the rebels rule the streets, and our roles are reversed. So we make a deal. I’ll hide you in my room in the brothel and keep you out of those bloodthirsty rebels’ hands … if you do what I want.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Everything I want.”It was close to reality, but not too close. Right on the perilous edge where dread could still become pleasure.Blas shuddered, feeling the clammy air of the unsanctioned brothel in his lungs. He imagined the terror of being discovered by rebels who carried guns and handcuffs stolen from his Constable colleagues.He tugged off his undershirt and briefs and burrowed under the covers until he was hidden, curling into a fetal ball. “You keep me in your bed, naked—for days. When you leave the room, you hide me under blankets and clothes. You’re a slob, and your room’s always a mess, so no one notices.”Detmer glanced at a heap of clothes on the floor. “I thought we agreed you’d stop complaining about my housekeeping.” “Shush. We’re not here now, we’re in Ring Eight. Every time you leave, I lie still, barely daring to breathe, till you come back. Sometimes it takes a while.”“Hours!” Mersha laughed, deep in his throat, in a way that was almost sinister. “I bring you food and water and news of the outside world, and you’re so grateful to see me. It’s been forever since you ate or drank.”He swept the comforter off Blas, baring his nakedness. “Wake up, Fir Examining Magistrate! Your lord and master is home!”For an instant, Blas wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Had his mother and father ever enacted playlets like this? He would not think about it.Once he’d silenced the chatter of his mind, his body knew what to do. It sat up and cringed away from Mersha, huddling in on itself again. “You are not my lord and master,” he said in a tone of wounded pride. “Or my Fir, even.”Mersha smiled sweetly. “No, but I am the arbiter of your destiny now, the one person who decides whether you live or die. Aren’t you hungry, love?”“Yes.” Blas could practically hear his stomach rumbling. Never mind that he’d eaten three solid meals today. His body felt the cold, the neediness, and the fear as if Mersha’s scenario were real.“I have nice hot broth right here.” Mersha gestured at the air. “Even sap, my darling. But if you want to swallow those, you’ll have to swallow something else first.”Warming to his role, Blas looked away from his captor’s odious smirk. “Not again!”“Oh? Are you bored of sucking me off?” Fingers pinched Blas’s chin, turning his head to face Mersha. “Because I seem to remember you never got tired of sticking your cock down my throat. Turnabout is fair play, right, Fir?” Nails pricked Blas’s skin. “Right?”“Right!” Blas trembled all over. To his own surprise, his cock was ridiculously hard. “Yes, I want to drink your cum before I eat or drink anything else. Please, let me!”“You’re not convincing me at all, Fir Examining Magistrate. You still sound like a Strutter, not like a good, eager whore. I should know.”Mersha yanked Blas into a kiss, his tongue venturing aggressively into Blas’s mouth before Blas had time to catch his breath. “See what I mean?” Mersha complained, detaching himself again. “You’re so stiff. Have you already forgotten how much you loved it when I fucked you last night? How you squirmed and begged for more?”It seemed to Blas he could actually remember what Mersha was describing, though he’d never been fucked in his life. “N-no.”“Good. Beg me now—beg to suck my cock.” Mersha winked, reassuring Blas they were still just pretending. “And then give me a proper kiss.”Blas closed his eyes. Even knowing it was all just a play, he couldn’t stand to look at Mersha. “Please, let me suck your cock,” he whispered. “Please, I beg of you.”The words shouldn’t have aroused him, but they did, and so did the pressure of Mersha’s fingertips on his chin. So did Mersha’s mouth when he leaned close to kiss Blas again—and this time Blas opened easily to the hard poke of his boyfriend’s tongue. It explored his mouth in a leisurely way, sometimes tickling him and sometimes bringing him close to gagging. He wanted to pull away then, but he didn’t.“That’s better, sweetheart.” Mersha’s other hand was in Blas’s hair. “Has anyone ever told you your eyelashes alone are worth a sap vial? Maybe two?” His lips ghosted over Blas’s closed eyelids. “You make an absolutely stunning whore. And your mouth—just now, you were so open to me. So warm and soft, so giving and accommodating. That’s exactly how you’re going to open your mouth to my cock. And then your other hole.”Blas gasped—couldn’t help it—and his eyes popped open. He was so hard it hurt. “Let me!”Mersha released him, then sat back and pointed to the bulge straining against his briefs. “Go to it.”Blas didn’t understand what was happening to him. It was like being bowled over by a wave and borne helplessly along. His craving to abase himself was so great that he felt swallowed and digested by it. His brain was gone, leaving only a body that yearned to be pummeled and penetrated.Delicious heat shivered over his skin as he crept to Mersha, intensely aware of his nakedness, and began working the younger man’s cock through his briefs. When Mersha told him to, he switched from his hand to his mouth, sucking on the stiffening ripeness through the synthetic fabric. When Mersha told him to, he eased the briefs off Mersha’s hips and swallowed the bare, hot organ, savoring the musky scent and the bristly hair and the pressure in the back of his throat.Mersha seized Blas’s head and pushed it down, making him gag for a few seconds before loosening the grip. “C’mon, take me deeper. You love every second of this, don’t you?”And Blas did.This wasn’t the first time he’d sucked Mersha off. Even when they’d been a patron and a whore (in Blas’s imagination, at least), he had believed in a degree of reciprocity. But he had never done it this way, allowing Mersha to control every aspect of the experience.When Mersha grabbed his head again, he didn’t struggle, just learned to breathe through his nose until he was released. He used his tongue doggedly, trying to make up in commitment for what he lacked in technique.And when Mersha finally forced him to stay down for an ungodly length of time, hips pumping against Blas as hot cum spurted into his throat, Blas closed his eyes and rode it out and swallowed every drop.This makes me his, he thought as Mersha collapsed back on the pillows in a puddle of satisfaction, allowing Blas to pop the sticky cock from his mouth. I am his.Though he hadn’t come yet, and he remained achingly hard, Blas floated in his own pleasant haze, rolling over to press his nose against Mersha’s bare thigh. “I love you,” he whispered.“I love you, Blasha,” Mersha said as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His hand was knotted in Blas’s hair. His voice was hoarse with exhaustion. “Was that okay? I didn’t want to choke you.”“It was more than okay.” Blas caught Mersha’s hand and sucked on the fingertips, still tasting his lover’s fluids. “I liked it,” he admitted quietly.“We should have a word for you to say in case you ever stop liking it. To signal to me. How about Radius Nine, for our old brothel?”“That’s two words.” But Blas nodded. “Whatever you say, my lord and master.”He nipped Mersha, who laughed. “You wore me out, love. I’ll take care of you in a minute.”“What about my broth? And my sap?” Blas asked with mock petulance. He sat up to rest his head on Mersha’s shoulder. “It’s okay. I can wait a little more. Anyway, once you’re ready, I want you to fuck me.”“Really? Already?” Detmer slung an arm around him. “This would be your first time, unless there’s something you haven’t told me. A lot for one night.”Blas nodded stubbornly. Until Mersha, he had never imagined wanting to be fucked, except in the occasional dream that he could tell himself was just a glitch of his subconscious. “I want to come with you filling me,” he said, realizing it only as he uttered the words. “That’s just what I want, and I want it tonight. I want to be totally yours.”“Oh, a bossy bottom, huh?” Detmer tousled his hair. “Why am I not surprised?”Ten minutes later, on his back with his legs splayed and his knees pressed to his shoulders, Blas didn’t feel so bossy. He writhed at the first intimate touch of Mersha’s slick finger, still not sure he was ready for this degree of vulnerability.But when the finger withdrew, he said, “No, keep going. Please.”“Are you sure?” Perched between Blas’s spread legs, Mersha bent to kiss the knob of his shoulder. “You look so beautiful like this. You can’t imagine.”“Yes, I want it!” Blas was still afraid of being opened and penetrated, yet somehow it was the only thing he wanted, the only thing he could imagine wanting. Trapped between their bodies, his cock was like iron. “Fuck me,” he whispered as Mersha’s two fingers worked themselves deeper into him.He felt Mersha’s hardness bobbing against his thigh, and he couldn’t imagine having all that inside him, but he wanted it anyway. When Mersha finally withdrew the fingers and lined himself up, his cockhead nudging the sensitive rim of the passage, Blas threw back his head and closed his eyes.He knew he would have to grit his teeth, and he did. The first few inches—or maybe only centimeters!—were absolute murder. But then he felt himself widening, giving way. So warm and soft, so giving and accommodating. And when Detmer’s cock nudged the right spot, Blas gasped and arched his back, waves of pleasure and eagerness washing over him.Mersha seized hold of Blas’s cock and began working it, thrusting deeper into him at the same time. Blas was rigid with desperate need, his hips straining up toward the invader. But there was only so much he could do, pinned under his boyfriend’s body; he was not in control here. He was being used, occupied, shaped to Mersha’s will—like a Drudge, like a whore.Like a Lindblom. Like himself, because this was part of him. Nothing to be ashamed of, ever again. Only something to savor.Blas came embarrassingly quickly, spurting onto his own chest, and Mersha followed soon after. They lay entangled, sweat-soaked, too exhausted even to speak.Eventually, though, Blas just had to ask a question. “Was that your first time… taking someone?”Face mashed against Blas’s chest, Mersha nodded. “Was it really obvious? I did get some pointers, just in case.”Blas took in his breath sharply. “From him?”Mersha had the grace not to speak Tilrey’s name aloud. “No, no! I, um… I asked Kai. In the Brothel, while you were busy watching over your mom.”“You asked the stream maker? The man who lured Lindahl to his death and then took us hostage?”Another nod. “I know he did all that, but he’s actually very reasonable and nice, and he had good advice for me. I used it.”Blas snorted softly. “You’re incorrigible, Mersha. Every time I think you can’t get more inappropriate, you exceed my expectations.”But he spoke tenderly, wrapping his arms around the man he hoped to make his husband. And Detmer melted into him.“I hope,” he whispered in Blas’s ear, “to keep shocking and scandalizing you for a long time to come.”*

30 October, year 374, 1:20 p.m.

Einara was waiting for someone to arrest her. After all, she had proudly confessed to the General Magistrate that she was the assassin whose bloody act had sparked this revolution.Yet, for two days after Bror Birun’s visit and his liberation of the Upstart hostages from the Brothel’s basement, no one came to see her. Not even Besha. She allowed Kai to hover over her, bringing her news and forcing her to eat and drink occasionally. Indulging him was easier than telling him there was no reason for her to continue existing.She had done what she could to destroy Oslov, and instead she seemed simply to have renewed it, forcing it into a new era. Tilrey sat at the head of the Council table now, issuing orders to Upstarts. It sounded like an elaborate joke, but Kai had sources inside the Sector who said it was really happening.All of her daily routines were obsolete. Brothel staffers came and went freely now, with no patrons or inspectors to stop them. A few of them had started hosting Upstarts in their rooms and taking payment in sap, but she made no attempt to control this trade. Let them take advantage while they could. The Sanctioned Brothel might transform into something new under Tilrey’s rule, or even cease to be. Either way, she couldn’t bring herself to care.Then, on the afternoon of the third day, the staffer named Opal came to tell her that Tilrey Bronn was in the foyer. “He wants you to come to him.”“Did he bring Constables?” Einara asked. She lounged on the sofa in her quarters, in the same T-shirt and leggings she’d worn yesterday, with Kai beside her. “Or rebel soldiers?”The suggestion made Kai jump up, his expression darkening. “I won’t let them take you!”But Opal shook his head. “Bronn’s alone.”Kai helped Einara into a fleece and accompanied her to the reception area. Sure enough, they found Tilrey without an escort, seated on a sofa with his coat still on.He rose and extended a hand. “Kai, hello. It’s good to see you. Einara … would you step outside with me a moment?”Kai stepped protectively between them. “She doesn’t go outside. You should know that.”Was Tilrey going to arrest her personally, then? Einara looked him up and down, searching for signs of his new status. He was still wearing his usual Laborer clothes, though there was no longer anyone to reprimand him for putting on a nice tweed coat or a tunic.“Did you leave your guards outside?” she asked. “Or is the interim ruler of Oslov really traipsing around the Core all by himself? That doesn’t seem wise.”Tilrey dropped his gaze in the bashful way he had, as if his new title embarrassed him. “I do have an escort. I asked them to give me a little space.” His hand still stretched between them. “I won’t take your wife away for long, Kai. Not just yet. I want to show her she can leave whenever she chooses.”“It’s not that easy!” Kai protested. He had seen how it frightened Einara simply to step over the threshold.But she waved him away. If Tilrey wanted to make some sort of point, or to humiliate her, they might as well get on with it. “A little fresh air won’t kill me, Kai.”“But…”She gave him a hard look. “I’m fine. Let me go.”In the coldroom, she grabbed a coat and boots that fit her—an Upstart’s never-claimed things—and put them on. Kai trailed after them, trying to argue with Tilrey. “She deserves due process! Just like anyone else.”“I’m not sure due process would work in her favor. But I also hope Judicial measures won’t be necessary.” Tilrey pressed the button, and the glass outer door hissed open, filling the room with cold air. “We’ll be back in a moment, Kai. Truly. You can watch us from here.”A step took him over the threshold, into the brisk snow flurry of a fall afternoon. For all her resolution, Einara couldn’t follow. She froze, gazing through the plate glass at the skyscrapers of the Core. The buildings were so tall, and the spaces between them were so cold and cavernous. So terrifyingly unknown.Tilrey held out his gloved hand to her, and she took it. She looked for pity in his blue eyes. They were solemn, but she found no contempt there.“Just one step,” he said, giving her the gentlest tug.One step, and Einara was outside. Bitter cold air was moving all around her, wind tangling her hair and snow stinging her cheeks. She closed her eyes, ashamed of her fear but unable to face the world out there—so vast, so full of risks, so uncontrollable. She heard the door close, the seal reengaging.A breath caught in her throat, and she couldn’t seem to draw air into her lungs. What if I can’t get back in?Then Tilrey’s arm was around her, steering her—step by tiny step, leading her away from the only home she had known since she was a girl of seventeen. “It’s all right,” he said in a low voice. “I’m taking us a little to the right, so we can stand under the overhang, in the lee of the building.”A few more paces, and they stopped again. At some point, her grip on his hand must have tightened; she was suddenly aware of clutching it as if he were holding her dangling over an abyss.Speaking was difficult. It meant gulping breath. “This is cruel, Tilrey.”“Maybe. I’m sorry. Open your eyes, Einara.”She knew his body intimately from all those nights they’d spent in the Brothel suite together—its reactions of pain, pleasure, shame, surprise. She knew the reflexes that Upstarts in their cruelty and perversity had trained into him.Right now, he was tense. Her grip must be hurting him. But he was warm and solid, too, and he wouldn’t allow her to be hurt. She was still breathing shallowly, but she forced herself to loosen her fingers and open her eyes.She saw nothing special. As he’d promised, they were standing a few yards to the right of the Brothel entrance. An overhanging concrete ledge sheltered them from the snow. The view was familiar—the tram stop, the Library, the distant, looming shapes of the Sector and the Quiet Revolution monument—but she wasn’t used to seeing it from this angle.The bigness of it all made her head spin and her heart race, but she would survive.She leaned into the circle of Tilrey’s arm, still holding his hand but no longer clinging to it. His parka pressed against her back, his tall body shielding her from the wind. Though she knew Kai was watching from inside, she felt as if the two of them were alone, the way they’d always been in bed.“What do they want, then?” she asked bluntly. “Your new government. Do they want my blood?”“The high Upstarts do. You can imagine.” Tilrey sighed, droplets of melting snow tumbling from his hair onto her face. “It’s a tricky thing, since I’m just as guilty as you are.”“Ah, but they can’t exile you. Not their shiny new leader.” Einara made her tone poisonous, trying to distract herself from her still-hammering pulse. “You have to give them a scapegoat. The barbarian who nearly slit Davita Lindblom’s throat will do fine.”“It’s lucky you didn’t actually kill her.” Both his arms were around her now, keeping the vertigo at bay. “If you had, these streets might be running with blood right now.”If only. Chaos, destruction—that had been Einara’s mission here. But she was too exhausted to feel more than sulky disappointment. “You have your son to thank for that. He seems determined to build bridges. And Janta, too. I’d hoped for more from him.”“More, really?” Tilrey’s incredulous chuckle pulsed through her. “Janta’s in control of every server farm in Oslov. He leads the Council of Eight. Upstarts decades older than he is are deferring to his expertise.”“What I’d hoped for was vengeance. Not role reversal. Not rebuilding.” But Einara didn’t pull away from him. “Well, then. I helped you get here, and now I’m inconvenient. What are you going to do with me?”Gradually, Tilrey’s arms slipped free of her until she was standing on her own, only their clasped hands connecting them. “I will need to exile you,” he said, his mouth tightening, “but not in the old way. Do you think Kai would be willing to follow you to Harbour?”Harbour. It was an Oslov word for her homeland; it meant nothing.“I have no home there anymore,” Einara said. “No family, no livelihood. You might as well leave me in the Wastes to die.”“Would you stop being so tragic? Please?” Tilrey gave her hand a squeeze, and suddenly his eyes were sparkling. “I haven’t come just to kick you out of Oslov. I’ve come to invite you somewhere else—somewhere you might actually be happy. Somewhere you might still be able to have your vengeance, if you’re willing to wait for it.”“You would send me to Colonel Thibault’s court?” She didn’t believe it. “You don’t understand, Tilrey. She’s heavily guarded, day and night. I wouldn’t be able to get near her.”“Maybe not.” Tilrey squeezed her hand a last time before releasing it. “But I know something you don’t. When I was in Harbour, earlier this month, I was approached by an emissary from Resurgence. He said Thibault had heard of our rebellion. If I ever came to power, she wanted to negotiate with me for Oslov technology.”“She was trying to trick you!” The Colonel had tricked Einara, tied her brain in knots, sending a frightened teenager to seek vengeance on Oslov when Thibault herself was the one who’d ordered the slaughter of her family. “She hates Oslovs with a passion.”“Maybe she told you that to manipulate you. She certainly had no problem dealing with Malsha. You sound almost worried about the fate of Oslov, Einara. I thought you hated all of us.”Einara laughed bitterly. He was right—there were too many Oslovs she didn’t hate. “You and Thibault can kill each other for all I care. I’m just expressing disbelief that you would be stupid enough to believe anything her emissaries tell you.”“Oh, I’m not that trusting. But I do wonder if she might be willing to accept an Oslov alliance as the lesser of two evils. Duke Dalziel says she’s tied up in a war with some western power.” Tilrey touched Einara’s arm. “You’re shivering. Shall we go back and discuss this with Kai? I have a contact—an Oslov lieutenant at our garrison—who’s a spy for Thibault. I imagine your Colonel would be glad to host us in her stronghold or palace or wherever she is.”“Cleveland.” Confused memories ran through Einara’s head. “It’s called Cleveland. Are you saying you think you could get me there? Close to her? But you can’t go running off to Resurgence when you’re the head of the government!”“That’s why I’m asking you to wait—until we have everything under control here. Eight months to a year, say. Meanwhile, you and Kai can live in Bettevy, under the Duke’s protection.”Einara had heard Bettevy was a pleasant place to live. A city beside a long lake, with temperate winters, warm summers, and mountains rising nearby. If he was willing to leave his stream making behind, Kai might even like it—he was fond of swimming.But she couldn’t let a dream of life in a strange city divert her from her purpose. Long ago, Tilrey had made a promise to her. Did he really mean to keep his word?He led her back to the Brothel door. “It’ll be tricky. We’ll need a good plan. But I’d like to see this Cleveland for myself. And won’t Colonel Thibault be happy to welcome you back, after all this time?”The door hissed open, and they stepped into the warm interior. Back into the embrace of the Brothel, where Einara was safe—and a prisoner. She had always known this, but those few minutes outside made her aware of how accustomed she’d become to her imprisonment. How comfortable in it.“After all, you completed the mission Thibault gave you,” Tilrey said.Einara shook her head impatiently, tugging her coat off. “The mission was vengeance. I told you.”“Was it really? Or was she only hoping for a regime change that might open us up to free trade and knowledge exchange?”Colonel Thibault had lied to Einara, exploiting her own preexisting thirst for revenge. Was it possible that she’d had a more practical goal all along? “I don’t know,” Einara admitted. “She spoke of slaughtering Upstarts on her signal, but the signal never came. She spoke of bringing change.”Tilrey took her coat from her and hung it up. “Oslov has changed from top to bottom, thanks to you and Janta. And it will keep changing.”

29 October, year 374, 10:37 a.m.

“No?” The new de facto ruler of Oslov looked surprised, even a little disappointed. “Would you rather I give it to someone with less personal involvement?”

“No.”

“Then… why are we here?”

Blas could almost see Bronn wanting to say the word Fir and swallowing it instead. He wondered how long it would take the man to shake that habit. Probably longer than it would take for his battered face to heal or his broken fingers to work again.

Blas still hadn’t forgiven Tilrey Bronn for having slept with his mother and his boyfriend. Never mind that Detmer had barely even known Blas at the time. Tilrey had still seduced him and used him in the rebellion—and, in the process, used Blas as his unwitting tool, too.

But Blas was still exhausted from the long night of the blackout, and he had no energy for hatred. A traitorous little voice inside him—a voice that sounded like Detmer—said that whatever Tilrey had done, he’d probably already been punished enough.

“What’s the use of pretending the world didn’t change yesterday?” he said. “This ‘confession’ is a formality for the sake of the Councillors you’re trying to reconcile to the fact that they’re not in control anymore. Anyway, your motives are clear enough. Lindahl was a staunch defender of the Republic you’ve just overthrown—and a personal enemy, am I right?”

He remembered what Eivan Svanner had told him about Tilrey’s kettle boy days. Lindahl had treated Tilrey the way he had Stefan—as a toy, a piece of currency, not a free citizen. It was no excuse for violence, but everything was different in the heat of revolution.

Tilrey gazed down at his splinted hand on the table. “That isn’t why I asked Einara to kill Lindahl. He saw me with a handheld, on which I happened to have … incriminating information. He confiscated it.”

Blas remembered the device that he and Detmer had retrieved from Lindahl’s apartment. “That handheld? Did you ask Detmer to get it back for you?”

A nod.

“Wait.” It all came back in a flash now: what Detmer had told Blas to get him to agree to raid a dead man’s home and how distressed Blas had been by his confession. “Does that mean my Mersha didn’t sleep with Lindahl? He lied about it just to get into the apartment?”

Tilrey nodded again, looking contrite. “Detmer told you he’d slept with Lindahl? No, I don’t think Lindahl was his type. Though maybe vice versa.”

Blas couldn’t stop himself from grinning. Imagining Mersha in the arms of Lindahl—who’d hurt Stefan so badly—had been even worse than imagining him in the arms of Tilrey himself. Tilrey at least should have the skills to be a considerate lover—not that Blas wanted to know any details! He had made Detmer promise never to mention his involvement with Tilrey again.

He knew he was the exact wrong person to be having this conversation in any official capacity. But what the fuck. Now, with the Republic in shambles, was no time for cold professionalism.

Detmer and Ceill both insisted that Tilrey wanted the best for all Oslovs. But it was actually Einara who’d come the closest to convincing Blas to trust this man, with her complaints about how Tilrey was too “soft” and not bloodthirsty enough.

A little softness could be useful. Blas had favors to ask.

He leaned forward. “The way you talk to my mother, even now, I think you do care about her. If it’s possible to care about those you’ve betrayed.”

Tilrey’s mouth twisted as if his thoughts hurt him. “Davita… was a friend, and she can still be an asset to the Republic. I hope you’ll watch her carefully. Make sure she doesn’t harm herself.”

“Yesterday, she kept raving as if she were delirious.” Blas knew his mother wouldn’t want him to tell anyone how distraught she’d been, but Tilrey needed to hear this. “Einara told her that my father was involved in Malsha’s treason. Did you already know that?”

Tilrey nodded. “That must have been a hard blow for Davita.”

He sounded so sad that for an instant Blas hated him again. You have no right to pity us! But Tilrey, he supposed, was just a convenient person to blame for the damage his father had wrought. “She’s berating herself. Saying that by marrying my father, she put a curse on our family and ultimately on all of Oslov. I tell her she’s being irrational, but she won’t listen.”

“I’m so sorry.” Tilrey’s expression was pinched, as if he really did regret what he’d done to Blas’s family. “For what it’s worth, your father loves your mother—and you and your siblings. The Malsha business wasn’t his idea. Malsha coerced him into it, to an extent. And everything he did for the revolution, he hoped would ultimately benefit all of you.”

“Maybe he should have asked us first,” Blas burst out. But he couldn’t let his rising anger sidetrack him. “What I’m trying to say is, I don’t want my dad hanging around us, trying to make up with my mother. I think he’s actually the greatest danger to her already-fragile mental state.”

His mother would never forgive him if she knew he was begging favors from Tilrey. But she didn’t have to know. “Can you arrange for my father to go away somewhere? For a while?” He would have preferred forever. “She’ll never come back to the Council table if she has to see him there.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Tilrey nodded. “Besha wants to see Harbour, and he’s never been a fan of Council meetings. I could prevail on him to leave, at least for a while. But I doubt he’ll ever give up on winning your mother back.”

Blas knew he was right. “Just get him away from her for a few months, maybe a year. Give her time to heal. Will you do that for us?”

“You’re negotiating with me.” Tilrey’s eyes narrowed, as if he’d only just realized it. “I expected an interrogation.”

“What good would it do to bring you up on charges? You have Janta. You’ve won.” And the rebels were right about one thing—Blas’s mother had attempted to arrange a murder herself. Right now, he was weary enough to be willing to call things even.

Besides, he had other priorities.

“I want to know something,” Blas said—hesitating, because he’d never dared to discuss this issue outside the family. Even his mother shut him down when he brought it up. Only Detmer understood.

Then words were flooding out of him. “My second sister, Virya. She wants to live openly as a woman. She is a woman. She wants to be her lover’s wife. But my parents refuse to accept it. They call her a man, and so do her official papers.”

His voice rasped, his throat was so dry with nerves. One didn’t ever talk about these things.

But Tilrey didn’t look shocked or disturbed, so Blas barged on. “I heard one of your rebels say they believe in letting people of the same sex marry. That’s why I brought it up in the chamber just now. If you make that legal, could you make it legal for Virya to marry a man, too? Or at least consider it?”

“I don’t know much about this, I admit.” Tilrey looked as if he were truly considering Blas’s plea, turning it over in his head. “But I believe there are similar people living semi-openly in Thurskein, among the Northmen—people whose own sense of their gender doesn’t match the official one. They should be free to live as themselves in Redda, too. I’ll propose it for a vote.”

“Thank you.” Blas realized abruptly that he was shaking. His vision was blurred by tears.

I’m sorry, Mother. I know you would be ashamed of me. But perhaps, after enough time had passed, she would understand. Perhaps she would even embrace Virya as her daughter.

He couldn’t stay here and let Tilrey Bronn see him break down. He rose, scooping up his handheld—then changed his mind and left it on the table. He activated the recording function again.

“Make your full confession to this,” he said. “Give it to Detmer for me—I imagine you’ll see him around the Council chamber.”

Tilrey looked startled. “You really don’t want my statement as evidence?”

“No. We’ll keep it in the Hall of Records … for posterity. When historians write about our revolution, your actions—good and bad—will need to be part of it. What?” Blas added, since Tilrey was staring at him.

“You said our.”

Blas shrugged. “I guess I did.”

8:10 p.m.

“You see?” Detmer said. “Tilrey’s not what you’ve been thinking, Blas. You two might even agree on some things.”

“He’s still a murderer.” But Blas was already half naked, peeling off his trousers, and he wasn’t in the mood to recite Tilrey’s crimes.

His sister Gunde was staying with their mother tonight, giving him a break from his vigil, so he and Detmer had retired to the latter’s apartment. After a long day of arguing with his family members and briefing his colleagues in the Judiciary, Blas wanted nothing more than to fall into bed.

Except perhaps to fall into Mersha’s arms.

He wasn’t sure he had the energy for sex, but he already missed the hot-house closeness they’d had locked in their suite in the Brothel, tangled up in bed. Given Blas’s terror at the time, and everything Mersha had confessed to him, he knew he shouldn’t feel nostalgic for their stint as hostages. He did anyway.

When they were both stripped to their underclothes, Mersha pulled back the comforter. Blas crept under it and snuggled close to his boyfriend, using his chest as a pillow.

“I knew this was the right choice,” he said, his eyelids drooping.

Mersha’s cunning fingers moved in Blas’s hair, sweeping it back from his brow. “What do you mean? What choice?”

“Back in the Brothel, when that maniac had a knife to my throat and my mother…” Even now, Blas couldn’t bear to say out loud that his mother had been willing to sacrifice him. “I could have been a martyr, Mersha. If I cared more about honor, I would have been. But right then, I knew what I actually cared about wasn’t honor. It was having at least one more night with you.”

Mersha’s hand stopped moving. “That was for me? When you forced your mom to negotiate?”

Blas chuckled. “Don’t get a swelled head, love. It wasn’t just for you—it was for me. It’s harder for me to give up the pleasures of living than I thought.”

“I’m glad.” Detmer’s blue eyes flashed with a touch of his old mischief. He had done a lot of apologizing to Blas over the past few days, but permanent contrition didn’t suit him. “Were you serious,” he asked, “when you said something about, uh, a wedding? Because I think you shocked most of the people around the Council table.”

Blas knew he had. He wasn’t sorry. “The True Hearthers believe people of the same sex should be able to marry. Didn’t I tell you back in Lindahl’s apartment that I wanted that?”

“I thought you were just making a gesture. It was safe to say because it wasn’t actually possible to do.”

Blas surprised himself with how much he wanted it. Detmer was always telling him he was possessive, and it was true that he loved the idea of introducing Detmer as “my husband”—so much more meaningful than “boyfriend.” So much more permanent.

But they could discuss marriage later. Blas had a more urgent concern now. He sat up so he could face Detmer. “When I made that choice to live, marriage wasn’t the first thing that popped into my mind, I admit. There was something else I was more worried about missing out on.”

“Right, another night with me.” Detmer gave him a teasing kiss, just brushing his lips. “So here we are.”

“Yes. But. Not another night like all the others we’ve had.” Heat rose to Blas’s cheeks. He dropped his gaze. “Remember what we talked about on our first morning in this bed?”

“When you were still furious at me for impersonating a Laborer? Let’s see, it’s been a while.” Detmer tilted his head and made a show of searching his mind. “Ohhh. Is that when you said Upstarts shouldn’t submit to each other in bed because it’s ‘not our nature’? That we could play at it, but we couldn’t actually ‘let ourselves go’? That you thought there was something wrong with me for wanting you to fuck my brains out?”

The warmth in Blas’s face had become a bonfire. He remembered his arrogant words all too well. “I never said there was anything wrong with you!” he protested. “It did shock me at first—not that you’d want to be on the bottom, just how far you took it. But when you described how it felt… well, I started wondering.”

“Wondering what?”

Blas drew a deep breath. He could be honest now or never. “I wondered … would I ever want to try that, too? To let myself go, to submit myself utterly to you?”

Understanding dawned on Detmer’s face. He rolled back on his haunches and looked hard at Blas. “That’s what you worried about missing out on?”

Blas couldn’t speak, but he knew his crimson face and glistening eyes spoke for him. “I won’t lie, Mersha. I’m still a little scared. But yes. I … I’d like to try it.”

“Oh, I can arrange that! Tonight, though?” Detmer picked up Blas’s bandaged hand and cradled it tenderly against his chest. “Aren’t you a little worn out?”

Blas was. But the tentative touch was already sending blood rushing to his groin. And he might lose his courage if he postponed this one more month, one more ten-day, even one more night.

He met Mersha’s eyes. “You’re a rebel, right? You won the war, right? Well, take the spoils of your victory. Take me.”

Mersha’s sharp intake of breath sent quivers of sensation down Blas’s spine, making his cock harden. “Oh, Blasha. Yes. If you’re sure.”

Blas could only nod.

Mersha kissed Blas’s palm. An impish smile spread over his face. “I actually have a scenario we could act out. Something that’s been in my head for the past few days, ever since the mob took over the Ring Eight barracks and you had to be airlifted out of there.”

Blas flinched inwardly at the memory of that day. “Tell me.”

“Well.” Detmer tugged Blas so close their foreheads bumped, as if to impart a secret. “I never wanted anything bad to happen to you, believe me! I was terrified by the whole situation. But a little later, I couldn’t help thinking: What if you hadn’t been on your way to work when it happened? What if you’d been in the Radius Nine Brothel, where we met?”

“I would never go to a brothel in the morning,” Blas pointed out, offended by the suggestion.

“Yes, but what if you had? Use your imagination, Blas. This is fantasy.” Detmer’s sly smile widened into a grin. “You’re in that nasty brothel, sleeping beside me, when the news comes. Rebels and riffraff have taken over Ring Eight, and they’re armed. They’re rounding up all the cops in the Ring and cramming them into their own detention cells—and yes, you count as a cop, my friend.”

“A cop and a Lindblom. The perfect hostage.” The scenario was close enough to what had happened in the Sanctioned Brothel that Blas needed to draw a firm boundary around it, to make it a little less real.

“And you,” he said, raising his free hand to nudge a blond lock out of Detmer’s eyes, “you’re not a Verán in this version of reality, are you? You’re really just Mersha the whore. You’re there for my pleasure.”

“Now you’re catching on!” Detmer released Blas’s hand and rolled over onto his side, preening. “That’s right, my sweet little captive. You’re a Strutter and I’m a Drudge. But now the rebels rule the streets, and our roles are reversed. So we make a deal. I’ll hide you in my room in the brothel and keep you out of those bloodthirsty rebels’ hands … if you do what I want.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Everything I want.”

It was close to reality, but not too close. Right on the perilous edge where dread could still become pleasure.

Blas shuddered, feeling the clammy air of the unsanctioned brothel in his lungs. He imagined the terror of being discovered by rebels who carried guns and handcuffs stolen from his Constable colleagues.

He tugged off his undershirt and briefs and burrowed under the covers until he was hidden, curling into a fetal ball. “You keep me in your bed, naked—for days. When you leave the room, you hide me under blankets and clothes. You’re a slob, and your room’s always a mess, so no one notices.”

Detmer glanced at a heap of clothes on the floor. “I thought we agreed you’d stop complaining about my housekeeping.”

“Shush. We’re not here now, we’re in Ring Eight. Every time you leave, I lie still, barely daring to breathe, till you come back. Sometimes it takes a while.”

“Hours!” Mersha laughed, deep in his throat, in a way that was almost sinister. “I bring you food and water and news of the outside world, and you’re so grateful to see me. It’s been forever since you ate or drank.”

He swept the comforter off Blas, baring his nakedness. “Wake up, Fir Examining Magistrate! Your lord and master is home!”

For an instant, Blas wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Had his mother and father ever enacted playlets like this? He would not think about it.

Once he’d silenced the chatter of his mind, his body knew what to do. It sat up and cringed away from Mersha, huddling in on itself again. “You are not my lord and master,” he said in a tone of wounded pride. “Or my Fir, even.”

Mersha smiled sweetly. “No, but I am the arbiter of your destiny now, the one person who decides whether you live or die. Aren’t you hungry, love?”

“Yes.” Blas could practically hear his stomach rumbling. Never mind that he’d eaten three solid meals today. His body felt the cold, the neediness, and the fear as if Mersha’s scenario were real.

“I have nice hot broth right here.” Mersha gestured at the air. “Even sap, my darling. But if you want to swallow those, you’ll have to swallow something else first.”

Warming to his role, Blas looked away from his captor’s odious smirk. “Not again!”

“Oh? Are you bored of sucking me off?” Fingers pinched Blas’s chin, turning his head to face Mersha. “Because I seem to remember you never got tired of sticking your cock down my throat. Turnabout is fair play, right, Fir?” Nails pricked Blas’s skin. “Right?”

“Right!” Blas trembled all over. To his own surprise, his cock was ridiculously hard. “Yes, I want to drink your cum before I eat or drink anything else. Please, let me!”

“You’re not convincing me at all, Fir Examining Magistrate. You still sound like a Strutter, not like a good, eager whore. I should know.”

Mersha yanked Blas into a kiss, his tongue venturing aggressively into Blas’s mouth before Blas had time to catch his breath. “See what I mean?” Mersha complained, detaching himself again. “You’re so stiff. Have you already forgotten how much you loved it when I fucked you last night? How you squirmed and begged for more?”

It seemed to Blas he could actually remember what Mersha was describing, though he’d never been fucked in his life. “N-no.”

“Good. Beg me now—beg to suck my cock.” Mersha winked, reassuring Blas they were still just pretending. “And then give me a proper kiss.”

Blas closed his eyes. Even knowing it was all just a play, he couldn’t stand to look at Mersha. “Please, let me suck your cock,” he whispered. “Please, I beg of you.”

The words shouldn’t have aroused him, but they did, and so did the pressure of Mersha’s fingertips on his chin. So did Mersha’s mouth when he leaned close to kiss Blas again—and this time Blas opened easily to the hard poke of his boyfriend’s tongue. It explored his mouth in a leisurely way, sometimes tickling him and sometimes bringing him close to gagging. He wanted to pull away then, but he didn’t.

“That’s better, sweetheart.” Mersha’s other hand was in Blas’s hair. “Has anyone ever told you your eyelashes alone are worth a sap vial? Maybe two?” His lips ghosted over Blas’s closed eyelids. “You make an absolutely stunning whore. And your mouth—just now, you were so open to me. So warm and soft, so giving and accommodating. That’s exactly how you’re going to open your mouth to my cock. And then your other hole.”

Blas gasped—couldn’t help it—and his eyes popped open. He was so hard it hurt. “Let me!”

Mersha released him, then sat back and pointed to the bulge straining against his briefs. “Go to it.”

Blas didn’t understand what was happening to him. It was like being bowled over by a wave and borne helplessly along. His craving to abase himself was so great that he felt swallowed and digested by it. His brain was gone, leaving only a body that yearned to be pummeled and penetrated.

Delicious heat shivered over his skin as he crept to Mersha, intensely aware of his nakedness, and began working the younger man’s cock through his briefs. When Mersha told him to, he switched from his hand to his mouth, sucking on the stiffening ripeness through the synthetic fabric. When Mersha told him to, he eased the briefs off Mersha’s hips and swallowed the bare, hot organ, savoring the musky scent and the bristly hair and the pressure in the back of his throat.

Mersha seized Blas’s head and pushed it down, making him gag for a few seconds before loosening the grip. “C’mon, take me deeper. You love every second of this, don’t you?”

And Blas did.

This wasn’t the first time he’d sucked Mersha off. Even when they’d been a patron and a whore (in Blas’s imagination, at least), he had believed in a degree of reciprocity. But he had never done it this way, allowing Mersha to control every aspect of the experience.

When Mersha grabbed his head again, he didn’t struggle, just learned to breathe through his nose until he was released. He used his tongue doggedly, trying to make up in commitment for what he lacked in technique.

And when Mersha finally forced him to stay down for an ungodly length of time, hips pumping against Blas as hot cum spurted into his throat, Blas closed his eyes and rode it out and swallowed every drop.

This makes me his, he thought as Mersha collapsed back on the pillows in a puddle of satisfaction, allowing Blas to pop the sticky cock from his mouth. I am his.

Though he hadn’t come yet, and he remained achingly hard, Blas floated in his own pleasant haze, rolling over to press his nose against Mersha’s bare thigh. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, Blasha,” Mersha said as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His hand was knotted in Blas’s hair. His voice was hoarse with exhaustion. “Was that okay? I didn’t want to choke you.”

“It was more than okay.” Blas caught Mersha’s hand and sucked on the fingertips, still tasting his lover’s fluids. “I liked it,” he admitted quietly.

“We should have a word for you to say in case you ever stop liking it. To signal to me. How about Radius Nine, for our old brothel?”

“That’s two words.” But Blas nodded. “Whatever you say, my lord and master.”

He nipped Mersha, who laughed. “You wore me out, love. I’ll take care of you in a minute.”

“What about my broth? And my sap?” Blas asked with mock petulance. He sat up to rest his head on Mersha’s shoulder. “It’s okay. I can wait a little more. Anyway, once you’re ready, I want you to fuck me.”

“Really? Already?” Detmer slung an arm around him. “This would be your first time, unless there’s something you haven’t told me. A lot for one night.”

Blas nodded stubbornly. Until Mersha, he had never imagined wanting to be fucked, except in the occasional dream that he could tell himself was just a glitch of his subconscious. “I want to come with you filling me,” he said, realizing it only as he uttered the words. “That’s just what I want, and I want it tonight. I want to be totally yours.”

“Oh, a bossy bottom, huh?” Detmer tousled his hair. “Why am I not surprised?”

Ten minutes later, on his back with his legs splayed and his knees pressed to his shoulders, Blas didn’t feel so bossy. He writhed at the first intimate touch of Mersha’s slick finger, still not sure he was ready for this degree of vulnerability.

But when the finger withdrew, he said, “No, keep going. Please.”

“Are you sure?” Perched between Blas’s spread legs, Mersha bent to kiss the knob of his shoulder. “You look so beautiful like this. You can’t imagine.”

“Yes, I want it!” Blas was still afraid of being opened and penetrated, yet somehow it was the only thing he wanted, the only thing he could imagine wanting. Trapped between their bodies, his cock was like iron. “Fuck me,” he whispered as Mersha’s two fingers worked themselves deeper into him.

He felt Mersha’s hardness bobbing against his thigh, and he couldn’t imagine having all that inside him, but he wanted it anyway. When Mersha finally withdrew the fingers and lined himself up, his cockhead nudging the sensitive rim of the passage, Blas threw back his head and closed his eyes.

He knew he would have to grit his teeth, and he did. The first few inches—or maybe only centimeters!—were absolute murder. But then he felt himself widening, giving way. So warm and soft, so giving and accommodating. And when Detmer’s cock nudged the right spot, Blas gasped and arched his back, waves of pleasure and eagerness washing over him.

Mersha seized hold of Blas’s cock and began working it, thrusting deeper into him at the same time. Blas was rigid with desperate need, his hips straining up toward the invader. But there was only so much he could do, pinned under his boyfriend’s body; he was not in control here. He was being used, occupied, shaped to Mersha’s will—like a Drudge, like a whore.

Like a Lindblom. Like himself, because this was part of him. Nothing to be ashamed of, ever again. Only something to savor.

Blas came embarrassingly quickly, spurting onto his own chest, and Mersha followed soon after. They lay entangled, sweat-soaked, too exhausted even to speak.

Eventually, though, Blas just had to ask a question. “Was that your first time… taking someone?”

Face mashed against Blas’s chest, Mersha nodded. “Was it really obvious? I did get some pointers, just in case.”

Blas took in his breath sharply. “From him?”

Mersha had the grace not to speak Tilrey’s name aloud. “No, no! I, um… I asked Kai. In the Brothel, while you were busy watching over your mom.”

“You asked the stream maker? The man who lured Lindahl to his death and then took us hostage?”

Another nod. “I know he did all that, but he’s actually very reasonable and nice, and he had good advice for me. I used it.”

Blas snorted softly. “You’re incorrigible, Mersha. Every time I think you can’t get more inappropriate, you exceed my expectations.”

But he spoke tenderly, wrapping his arms around the man he hoped to make his husband. And Detmer melted into him.

“I hope,” he whispered in Blas’s ear, “to keep shocking and scandalizing you for a long time to come.”

30 October, year 374, 1:20 p.m.

Einara was waiting for someone to arrest her. After all, she had proudly confessed to the General Magistrate that she was the assassin whose bloody act had sparked this revolution.

Yet, for two days after Bror Birun’s visit and his liberation of the Upstart hostages from the Brothel’s basement, no one came to see her. Not even Besha. She allowed Kai to hover over her, bringing her news and forcing her to eat and drink occasionally. Indulging him was easier than telling him there was no reason for her to continue existing.

She had done what she could to destroy Oslov, and instead she seemed simply to have renewed it, forcing it into a new era. Tilrey sat at the head of the Council table now, issuing orders to Upstarts. It sounded like an elaborate joke, but Kai had sources inside the Sector who said it was really happening.

All of her daily routines were obsolete. Brothel staffers came and went freely now, with no patrons or inspectors to stop them. A few of them had started hosting Upstarts in their rooms and taking payment in sap, but she made no attempt to control this trade. Let them take advantage while they could. The Sanctioned Brothel might transform into something new under Tilrey’s rule, or even cease to be. Either way, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Then, on the afternoon of the third day, the staffer named Opal came to tell her that Tilrey Bronn was in the foyer. “He wants you to come to him.”

“Did he bring Constables?” Einara asked. She lounged on the sofa in her quarters, in the same T-shirt and leggings she’d worn yesterday, with Kai beside her. “Or rebel soldiers?”

The suggestion made Kai jump up, his expression darkening. “I won’t let them take you!”

But Opal shook his head. “Bronn’s alone.”

Kai helped Einara into a fleece and accompanied her to the reception area. Sure enough, they found Tilrey without an escort, seated on a sofa with his coat still on.

He rose and extended a hand. “Kai, hello. It’s good to see you. Einara … would you step outside with me a moment?”

Kai stepped protectively between them. “She doesn’t go outside. You should know that.”

Was Tilrey going to arrest her personally, then? Einara looked him up and down, searching for signs of his new status. He was still wearing his usual Laborer clothes, though there was no longer anyone to reprimand him for putting on a nice tweed coat or a tunic.

“Did you leave your guards outside?” she asked. “Or is the interim ruler of Oslov really traipsing around the Core all by himself? That doesn’t seem wise.”

Tilrey dropped his gaze in the bashful way he had, as if his new title embarrassed him. “I do have an escort. I asked them to give me a little space.” His hand still stretched between them. “I won’t take your wife away for long, Kai. Not just yet. I want to show her she can leave whenever she chooses.”

“It’s not that easy!” Kai protested. He had seen how it frightened Einara simply to step over the threshold.

But she waved him away. If Tilrey wanted to make some sort of point, or to humiliate her, they might as well get on with it. “A little fresh air won’t kill me, Kai.”

“But…”

She gave him a hard look. “I’m fine. Let me go.”

In the coldroom, she grabbed a coat and boots that fit her—an Upstart’s never-claimed things—and put them on. Kai trailed after them, trying to argue with Tilrey. “She deserves due process! Just like anyone else.”

“I’m not sure due process would work in her favor. But I also hope Judicial measures won’t be necessary.” Tilrey pressed the button, and the glass outer door hissed open, filling the room with cold air. “We’ll be back in a moment, Kai. Truly. You can watch us from here.”

A step took him over the threshold, into the brisk snow flurry of a fall afternoon. For all her resolution, Einara couldn’t follow. She froze, gazing through the plate glass at the skyscrapers of the Core. The buildings were so tall, and the spaces between them were so cold and cavernous. So terrifyingly unknown.

Tilrey held out his gloved hand to her, and she took it. She looked for pity in his blue eyes. They were solemn, but she found no contempt there.

“Just one step,” he said, giving her the gentlest tug.

One step, and Einara was outside. Bitter cold air was moving all around her, wind tangling her hair and snow stinging her cheeks. She closed her eyes, ashamed of her fear but unable to face the world out there—so vast, so full of risks, so uncontrollable. She heard the door close, the seal reengaging.

A breath caught in her throat, and she couldn’t seem to draw air into her lungs. What if I can’t get back in?

Then Tilrey’s arm was around her, steering her—step by tiny step, leading her away from the only home she had known since she was a girl of seventeen. “It’s all right,” he said in a low voice. “I’m taking us a little to the right, so we can stand under the overhang, in the lee of the building.”

A few more paces, and they stopped again. At some point, her grip on his hand must have tightened; she was suddenly aware of clutching it as if he were holding her dangling over an abyss.

Speaking was difficult. It meant gulping breath. “This is cruel, Tilrey.”

“Maybe. I’m sorry. Open your eyes, Einara.”

She knew his body intimately from all those nights they’d spent in the Brothel suite together—its reactions of pain, pleasure, shame, surprise. She knew the reflexes that Upstarts in their cruelty and perversity had trained into him.

Right now, he was tense. Her grip must be hurting him. But he was warm and solid, too, and he wouldn’t allow her to be hurt. She was still breathing shallowly, but she forced herself to loosen her fingers and open her eyes.

She saw nothing special. As he’d promised, they were standing a few yards to the right of the Brothel entrance. An overhanging concrete ledge sheltered them from the snow. The view was familiar—the tram stop, the Library, the distant, looming shapes of the Sector and the Quiet Revolution monument—but she wasn’t used to seeing it from this angle.

The bigness of it all made her head spin and her heart race, but she would survive.

She leaned into the circle of Tilrey’s arm, still holding his hand but no longer clinging to it. His parka pressed against her back, his tall body shielding her from the wind. Though she knew Kai was watching from inside, she felt as if the two of them were alone, the way they’d always been in bed.

“What do they want, then?” she asked bluntly. “Your new government. Do they want my blood?”

“The high Upstarts do. You can imagine.” Tilrey sighed, droplets of melting snow tumbling from his hair onto her face. “It’s a tricky thing, since I’m just as guilty as you are.”

“Ah, but they can’t exile you. Not their shiny new leader.” Einara made her tone poisonous, trying to distract herself from her still-hammering pulse. “You have to give them a scapegoat. The barbarian who nearly slit Davita Lindblom’s throat will do fine.”

“It’s lucky you didn’t actually kill her.” Both his arms were around her now, keeping the vertigo at bay. “If you had, these streets might be running with blood right now.”

If only. Chaos, destruction—that had been Einara’s mission here. But she was too exhausted to feel more than sulky disappointment. “You have your son to thank for that. He seems determined to build bridges. And Janta, too. I’d hoped for more from him.”

“More, really?” Tilrey’s incredulous chuckle pulsed through her. “Janta’s in control of every server farm in Oslov. He leads the Council of Eight. Upstarts decades older than he is are deferring to his expertise.”

“What I’d hoped for was vengeance. Not role reversal. Not rebuilding.” But Einara didn’t pull away from him. “Well, then. I helped you get here, and now I’m inconvenient. What are you going to do with me?”

Gradually, Tilrey’s arms slipped free of her until she was standing on her own, only their clasped hands connecting them. “I will need to exile you,” he said, his mouth tightening, “but not in the old way. Do you think Kai would be willing to follow you to Harbour?”

Harbour. It was an Oslov word for her homeland; it meant nothing.

“I have no home there anymore,” Einara said. “No family, no livelihood. You might as well leave me in the Wastes to die.”

“Would you stop being so tragic? Please?” Tilrey gave her hand a squeeze, and suddenly his eyes were sparkling. “I haven’t come just to kick you out of Oslov. I’ve come to invite you somewhere else—somewhere you might actually be happy. Somewhere you might still be able to have your vengeance, if you’re willing to wait for it.”

“You would send me to Colonel Thibault’s court?” She didn’t believe it. “You don’t understand, Tilrey. She’s heavily guarded, day and night. I wouldn’t be able to get near her.”

“Maybe not.” Tilrey squeezed her hand a last time before releasing it. “But I know something you don’t. When I was in Harbour, earlier this month, I was approached by an emissary from Resurgence. He said Thibault had heard of our rebellion. If I ever came to power, she wanted to negotiate with me for Oslov technology.”

“She was trying to trick you!” The Colonel had tricked Einara, tied her brain in knots, sending a frightened teenager to seek vengeance on Oslov when Thibault herself was the one who’d ordered the slaughter of her family. “She hates Oslovs with a passion.”

“Maybe she told you that to manipulate you. She certainly had no problem dealing with Malsha. You sound almost worried about the fate of Oslov, Einara. I thought you hated all of us.”

Einara laughed bitterly. He was right—there were too many Oslovs she didn’t hate. “You and Thibault can kill each other for all I care. I’m just expressing disbelief that you would be stupid enough to believe anything her emissaries tell you.”

“Oh, I’m not that trusting. But I do wonder if she might be willing to accept an Oslov alliance as the lesser of two evils. Duke Dalziel says she’s tied up in a war with some western power.” Tilrey touched Einara’s arm. “You’re shivering. Shall we go back and discuss this with Kai? I have a contact—an Oslov lieutenant at our garrison—who’s a spy for Thibault. I imagine your Colonel would be glad to host us in her stronghold or palace or wherever she is.”

“Cleveland.” Confused memories ran through Einara’s head. “It’s called Cleveland. Are you saying you think you could get me there? Close to her? But you can’t go running off to Resurgence when you’re the head of the government!”

“That’s why I’m asking you to wait—until we have everything under control here. Eight months to a year, say. Meanwhile, you and Kai can live in Bettevy, under the Duke’s protection.”

Einara had heard Bettevy was a pleasant place to live. A city beside a long lake, with temperate winters, warm summers, and mountains rising nearby. If he was willing to leave his stream making behind, Kai might even like it—he was fond of swimming.

But she couldn’t let a dream of life in a strange city divert her from her purpose. Long ago, Tilrey had made a promise to her. Did he really mean to keep his word?

He led her back to the Brothel door. “It’ll be tricky. We’ll need a good plan. But I’d like to see this Cleveland for myself. And won’t Colonel Thibault be happy to welcome you back, after all this time?”

The door hissed open, and they stepped into the warm interior. Back into the embrace of the Brothel, where Einara was safe—and a prisoner. She had always known this, but those few minutes outside made her aware of how accustomed she’d become to her imprisonment. How comfortable in it.

“After all, you completed the mission Thibault gave you,” Tilrey said.

Einara shook her head impatiently, tugging her coat off. “The mission was vengeance. I told you.”

“Was it really? Or was she only hoping for a regime change that might open us up to free trade and knowledge exchange?”

Colonel Thibault had lied to Einara, exploiting her own preexisting thirst for revenge. Was it possible that she’d had a more practical goal all along? “I don’t know,” Einara admitted. “She spoke of slaughtering Upstarts on her signal, but the signal never came. She spoke of bringing change.”

Tilrey took her coat from her and hung it up. “Oslov has changed from top to bottom, thanks to you and Janta. And it will keep changing.”