Chapter 50: Drawing a Line — The Key of Oslov

Volume 20: All the Kinds of Broken

Chapter 50 Drawing a Line

Chapter Notes

Warning: This chapter involves the CSA of a teenage girl, though I’ve tried to keep the details off-page. There are lines Tilrey won’t cross, even at his lowest points, and this is one. So yeah, it’s an ugly situation.Here’s the chapter where Lindthardt was introduced. Here’s the one where Tilrey and Malsha humiliate him. And yes, Lindthardt’s son will turn up much later to bully Ceill, because they’re just a shitty family, I fear.

Chapter Notes

Here’s the chapter where Lindthardt was introduced. Here’s the one where Tilrey and Malsha humiliate him. And yes, Lindthardt’s son will turn up much later to bully Ceill, because they’re just a shitty family, I fear.

May, year 345

Tilrey was bored.His brain was a sponge, eager to learn new things. Malsha had understood this and given him lessons of all kinds, but now his books were the only real intellectual stimulation he had.He sucked up scraps of knowledge everywhere. When he learned that Bror had an excellent memory for ski-racing stats, he coaxed his friend into monologues on the topic. He asked Vlastor questions about car maintenance. He listened closely as Ulli and Ansha argued over their favorite streams. He observed the subtle differences in dialect and outlook among his fellow kettle boys, reflecting their upbringing in different Rings of the city. He read copies of the Council Record from cover to cover, plowing straight through stultifying descriptions of voting procedure.Councillors’ conversations were occasions to file away tidbits of gossip. Without really trying, Tilrey now had a strong grasp of the intricate webs of patronage that connected everyone working in the Core. Malsha, he supposed bitterly, would have been proud of his protégé.Sometimes Vlastor brought Tilrey to meet Verán in Government Sector before proceeding to the Lounge. On evenings when the majority leader was very busy, they might wait outside his office or in the antechamber for an hour or more. Vlastor fidgeted, clearly bored out of his skull. But Tilrey kept his eyes and ears open, eavesdropping on conversations in the corridor. He noted with interest how deftly Verán’s Secretary Gavras juggled the many colleagues who wanted a moment of the Councillor’s time.In all of these situations, Tilrey avoided appearing observant. He had perfected a bored, sulky, slightly slack-jawed look to conceal his attention to his surroundings, and most people were fooled.One spring day, when he’d been waiting in the antechamber of Verán’s office for forty minutes, Fir Councillor Jena swept in.Jena didn’t even glance at Tilrey, who sat alone on a chair against the wall. (Vlastor was off fetching tea.) Majestic in his robe of office, Malsha’s son-in-law marched straight up to Secretary Gavras and demanded to talk to the majority leader about the wording of a budget amendment.“I’m so sorry, Fir Councillor.” A gray, ageless little man, Gavras was a master of making a refusal sound like a groveling yes. “Fir Majority Leader is in a meeting. May I make you an appointment? No, I don’t know how much longer. You’re welcome to wait, Fir.” The secretary’s raised brow silently said, But I’d advise you not to.“I’ll wait, then,” Jena growled and pulled out a chair.The door of the inner office opened to reveal Besha, who beckoned to the secretary. “Got that report?”“Of course, Fir.” Gavras followed Besha. The door closed behind them, leaving Tilrey alone with the man who had deflowered him.Raped him would be more accurate, he knew. But the word made him deeply comfortable now. It belonged to another time, when he still considered his body his own.Jena himself clearly hadn’t seen anything he did to Tilrey as a violation. But when he learned that Tilrey had spent a few hours alone in a room with his daughter, Vera, he’d reacted as if Tilrey had raped her, despite her protestations to the contrary.And so Jena had also become the first person ever to bruise him. He’s trash, and I want him disposed of. I’ll see him dead before I see him on any Councillor’s arm, even an Islander’s.Malsha had promised to toss Tilrey into a brothel, but he hadn’t promised to keep him there. A month or so later, he had traipsed into the Lounge with Tilrey on his arm, defying Jena to do anything about it.It was so long since Tilrey had thought about this man, let alone worried about him. Jena was a small-fry Councillor, with his party currently out of power and no powerful connections except his wife, Albertine Linnett. The most he could do to make good on his threats was to glare witheringly at Tilrey.He couldn’t know how things went on between Vera and me. Sleeping with Vera in her University dorm already felt like something Tilrey had done in another lifetime. Malsha had punished him for that. But he hadn’t informed his son-in-law, whom he despised.Jena was giving him a long but neutral look—eyes cold, face expressionless.“Can I fetch you something, Fir?” Tilrey asked, trying to be polite. “Vlastor went for tea.”Jena continued his silent contemplation, then said in a thick voice, “The Island’s Jewel. Malsha would turn over in his grave if he knew what they call you.”Malsha isn’t dead. Tilrey lowered his eyes. “My Fir calls me what he sees fit to call me.”“You look unhappy.”This was unexpected, but the response was easy. Automatic, even. “I’m quite well, Fir.”Jena made a dry, scoffing sound. “I have eyes. I watched you with Malsha, and I see you in the Lounge with Verán. Tell me, lad, which of them do you hate more?”I hate them both, and I’ve always hated you. Yet the question felt oddly like a gift. Here was an Upstart who still looked at him and saw something besides a visually pleasing object.Because he knew Verán placed no value on Jena, Tilrey took the risk of speaking plainly. “Does it make you happy to think I’m miserable, Fir?”“I can’t imagine why I should care.” But Jena’s tone was tinged with poison. “My wife has it in her head that I mistreated you. I ask on her account only.”“How kind of your wife, Fir.” Tilrey kept his own voice even, not taking the bait. “Please convey my thanks to her.”And fuck you both. Fuck you all. The anger that flared inside him felt surprisingly sweet. It was so satisfying to spar with an Upstart again. To say something nasty and have it register. He missed doing that with Malsha, he supposed.Before Jena could respond, the inner door opened. Secretary Gavras returned to his desk while Besha finished his conversation with Verán in the doorway, laughing in his braying way.In the instant before anyone noticed them, Jena said to Tilrey under his breath, “Never forget I was your first.”The brief exchange roused Tilrey from his daze of boredom.Half an hour later, in the Lounge, he sat up straighter than usual and actually paid attention to Verán and Besha, who were rehashing the day’s debate over budget allocations.The Welfare Committee had been debating next year’s budget for care of elderly people—“post-workers,” they were called—in the Laborer cities. The Laborer Supervisors who governed Thurskein and Karkei had been agitating for more frequent cancer screenings and surgeries, updated cardiac therapy, more doctors overall. Some of their Upstart Admins had spoken for this position in the committee, arguing that Laborers had a right to aspire to the same life expectancy as their Upstart counterparts.“No one’s stopping them from aspiring to anything,” Besha said now, snickering. “But why fund the health of workers who can’t work anymore?”“We already fund their health care generously,” Verán reminded him. “But the numbers are clear: To give a factory Drudge the same life expectancy as a Programmer, one would actually have to spend more to offset the effects of a life of manual labor. Not to mention, they’re statistically more likely to indulge in bad habits. Higher mortality is a choice. You can’t rescue people from themselves.”The words sounded reasonable in the abstract. But they’re talking about people like Bror’s family, Tilrey realized. Like Dal’s grandparents. Like my own mother.In school, he’d been taught that health care was a human right guaranteed by the government, along with food, shelter, and employment. No one had ever mentioned that Laborers and Upstarts received different health care.What a good little boy you are, Malsha had said once. You believe what they tell you.“Ah, Beirthsha, you argued our case nicely today,” Verán said to a young Councillor who had just joined them. “What a pity you belong to the opposition.”The newcomer was a sleek young man, with a generous mouth and wrestler’s build—Councillor Beirthrandt Lindthardt, Saldegren’s nephew. “Some things can’t be helped,” he said with a confident grin.Tilrey dropped his eyes. This was becoming a night of flashbacks. He had been the congratulatory gift Lindthardt received from Malsha upon his election.“Lindthardt doesn’t need to be introduced to our Jewel.” Besha’s voice was hoarse with excitement, as always when he was about to embarrass someone. “But it’s been some time for the two of you, hasn’t it? Mm-hm.”Lindthardt allowed his eyes to rest on Tilrey. “I have had the pleasure,” he said. “You look well, Tilrey.”“Thank you, Fir,” Tilrey replied in the same tone.This wasn’t the Lindthardt he remembered, who’d been all over him before they even left the car. You sweet filthy slut. You haven’t been fucked properly in a while. The man had been annoyingly athletic in the bedroom, too, and boastful about his precocious political career, declaring his intention to wed Vera Linnett.He hadn’t gotten far with that, at least partly because Tilrey had warned Vera about Lindthardt’s designs on her. Now Tilrey couldn’t help savoring this secret as he watched the young Councillor clawing his way back to prominence by sucking up to Malsha’s arch-enemy.“We don’t call him Tilrey anymore!” Besha scolded Lindthardt. “We call him Nettsha.”“Forgive me.” Lindthardt aimed a sycophantic smile at Verán. “Things were so different under Malsha—chaotic, really. It’s reassuring to have solid Oslovs back at the helm. I’ve thought about switching parties, but my grandmother would never forgive me. Still, I try to support your agenda where I can.”The conversation went on like that. Tilrey wasn’t shocked to learn that Lindthardt was a political whore with no principles. He was more surprised that Verán seemed so eager for Lindthardt’s swing vote. After some polite small talk, the old man yawned. “Time for me to turn in. I don’t have the stamina for late nights anymore. Beirthsha, I appreciate your support today.”“Least I could do!” Lindthardt protested.Verán waved at Tilrey as if he were offering a spread of questionable leftovers. “Take the piece tonight, if you’re not already tired of him,” he said, putting ironic stress on the words.This was a test, and Lindthardt passed it. “Tired? Hardly. I’m honored,” he declared, rising and offering his arm to Tilrey like a knight in a saga. “No one who experiences your Jewel could forget him.”Besha crowed. “Always nice to see a happy couple reunited!”Was he jealous, or did he just wish he could watch them? Tilrey wondered, allowing Lindthardt to lead him away.As they crossed the Lounge, he looked for Bror—a reflex at this point—and found him at István’s table in the corner, laughing expansively at something his Fir was saying. Bror’s eyes sparkled with good cheer. His deep, resonant laughter brought back memories of their long days in the Vacants.Bror glanced up as they passed, but Tilrey didn’t reciprocate. Later, he promised himself, knowing Bror understood. Sometimes even your eyes could betray you.Once they were out of Verán’s sight, Lindthardt dropped his exaggerated manners, but he didn’t start pawing Tilrey as he had in the past. “Do you remember how I had you in my coldroom?” he asked, handing Tilrey his coat.“Yes, Fir.”“I couldn’t wait.” Lindthardt chuckled to himself. “I knew Malsha would only give you to me once, so I had to make it count.”Had it only been once? Tilrey felt as if he could recall several nights with this tiresome young man, who was hellbent on demonstrating his potency. “You made it count, Fir,” he said flatly, so Lindthardt wouldn’t think he’d enjoyed it.Once they were in the car, Lindthardt shoved Tilrey against the seat and kissed him hard, reaching between them to squeeze his cock. There was nothing affectionate or even passionate in the gesture—Lindthardt was claiming Verán’s offering, simple as that. When he gave Tilrey space to breathe again, Tilrey took it.“Verán thinks you’re a dolt,” the man said as the car floated lazily along the grid.Bror would have cracked a joke. “Doesn’t take brains to suck cock, Fir.”“Malsha thought you were clever, though. Didn’t he?” Lindthardt asked as if he’d caught Tilrey in a lie. “He encouraged you to show off—and humiliate his junior colleagues in the process.”Oh. Two years ago in the Lounge, in conversation with Malsha, Lindthardt had flubbed a simple point of Council procedure. Malsha had mocked the younger Councillor and ordered Tilrey to correct him.Tilrey had. And Malsha had said to his colleague, If I tested you both on Council procedure right now, we both know who would win.Tilrey still remembered his flush of pride and triumph over the young Councillor. Lindthardt was right—he’d been showing off, knowing Malsha would protect him. Malsha couldn’t do that now.“Malsha liked to play games, Fir,” he said.“Hmm, yes.” Lindthardt drank some sap from his own palm and poured out more for Tilrey. “I hope you’re not nervous around me,” he added, running beefy fingers through Tilrey’s hair as Tilrey bent to lap up the sweet, viscous liquid. “I don’t hold a grudge—obviously. I know Malsha set me up. He tutored you so he could embarrass me.”Tilrey didn’t know how Malsha could have predicted that Lindthardt would make a specific error. But he swallowed the sap and tried to seem sorry.“You were his little protégé.” Lindthardt released Tilrey’s head and allowed him to sit up. “Now I see you playing dumb with Verán. You won’t do that with me.”“Yes, Fir. I mean, no, Fir.” The whole conversation was making Tilrey uncomfortable. He didn’t like that Lindthardt remembered his past self so well. The quick-witted apprentice he’d been with Malsha was too different from the dead-eyed accessory he needed to be now.But he also needed Lindthardt not to feel threatened by him, so he spoke artlessly and frankly for once. “I wasn’t playing at anything, Fir. I was just surprised by what you and Verán were saying. My mother’s back in Thurskein. It seems unfair to ration the best treatments, if you really want to know my opinion.”Lindthardt stared at Tilrey for a moment. Then he laughed. “You were listening to us talk about the budget?”“I can follow along, Fir.”“Why would you want to? It’s so fucking boring.” But Lindthardt seemed charmed as he tousled Tilrey’s hair again and slung an arm around his waist. “Anyway, with the powerful friends you’re making, you should be able to keep your mother alive to ninety.”Not if Verán tosses me in the Brothel when he’s done with me. “I only mentioned my mother as an example,” Tilrey said. “I was just surprised because, well, equality of opportunity is in our constitution. Isn’t it?”“State-of-the-art treatments are a luxury, not an opportunity. And luxuries are not for all,” Lindthardt recited in his debating voice.Then, as the car slid into the dock, he dropped the act and kissed Tilrey playfully on the throat. “You sound so feisty when you use big words. Like a shirker. Turns me on.”The driver killed the engine and held the door for them. Lindthardt lingered, nuzzling and groping and humming with excitement, while Tilrey let his body be pliant and his mind float away. He hoped Lindthardt would have the sense not to tell Verán he had sounded “like a shirker.”He expected Lindthardt to proceed straight to the main event. Instead, in the coldroom, the Councillor became a formal host again. Unknotting Tilrey’s scarf for him, he said, “Just one thing before we go in. I didn’t know Verán would be so generous, so I already had plans for tonight. You don’t mind that we’ll have a companion, do you?”Tilrey’s heart sank. He wasn’t in the mood for a threesome. “Why would I mind, Fir?”“Good.” Lindthardt removed Tilrey’s coat and hung it up. “Because my friend is waiting.”Perhaps Tilrey couldn’t keep his apprehension off his face. Lindthardt laughed. “It’s not what you think. Not at all.”They found the “friend” in the sitting room, lounging on the sofa with her feet up. Sure enough, she was nothing Tilrey had expected.He recognized her as a server from the Restaurant—a Ring Sixer, part of Bror’s far-flung network of friends and relations. Beneath a flood of loose black hair, she wore only a shift and leggings, and she was very pretty and very young.Too young. Tilrey had asked Bror why she wasn’t still in school, and Bror had explained that many Sixers dropped out to work at sixteen.How long ago was that? The girl’s features were still soft and childish, but her smile was knowing as she bounced to her feet, threw her arms around the Councillor, and kissed him passionately. “I’ve been waiting forever, Beirthsha!”“I’m sorry!” Lindthardt’s hands were all over the girl, as possessive as he’d been with Tilrey—who had to look away. “But look what I’ve brought you, sweetheart! This is the General Magistrate’s kettle boy.”Tilrey could only stare at them, feeling queasy. Was she even younger than Ulli, who at least was legally of age?The girl’s eyes moved over Tilrey. “Oh, I know him,” she said, sounding disappointed. “Everybody does.”“But you’ve never been this close to him, have you?” Lindthardt beckoned to Tilrey impatiently. “This is the Island’s Jewel, the most sought-after boy in the whole city. Tilrey, this is my sweet Tzara.”Tilrey clasped Tzara’s hand obediently, but every part of his body resisted the contact. She shouldn’t be here. She deserves better.The feelings must have shown on his face. “I don’t think he likes me, Fir.”“Silly! How could anyone not like you?” Lindthardt twined an arm around Tilrey’s waist, yanking the two of them closer together. “She’s hot, right?” he asked, his breath hot in Tilrey’s ear.Tilrey didn’t nod. When he looked at Tzara, he saw seventeen-year-old Dal as he had known her in Thurskein—free and easy, full of adolescent mischief and mayhem. Far too young to have a Councillor’s arm around her.Even he had been so young at eighteen. Frightened, innocent, unprepared—but not actually a child. No child should be put through these things.Lindthardt tugged them both toward the hallway, seemingly oblivious to Tilrey’s reaction. “It’s late. Let’s retire to the bedroom.”Tilrey stayed where he was. “I don’t think so, Fir.”“He doesn’t want me, Beirthsha,” Tzara said. Her eyes glinted too brightly, as if she’d indulged in sap before they arrived. Perhaps Lindthardt gave her an allowance.“Oh, please! If he likes girls, he likes you.” Abandoning Tilrey, Lindthardt wrapped both arms around Tzara and moved his hands easily over her curves.Tilrey stared down at the carpet. Clearly this was nothing new to either of them.The girl was telling the Councillor breathily that she had no interest in Tilrey. “I think you’re much prettier than he is. You’re older and more manly. I could never get tired of you.”The two of them tumbled onto the sofa. Tilrey stood awkwardly to one side, trying to shut out the unmistakable sounds of Lindthardt getting a hand job.He could imagine how the two of them had met—at the Restaurant, much like Bror and Councillor István. But Bror had been an adult, entering a mutually beneficial situation with open eyes. What had the arrogant young Councillor told this child? Did she think he was actually in love with her?At least she seemed to have no genuine passion for him. The moaning sounds she made as Lindthardt touched her were obviously fake, at least to Tilrey’s ears.She reminded him of the underage boys who hung around Supervisor Fernei’s office in Thurskein. They, too, seemed knowing beyond their years. When Tilrey was a schoolboy himself, they’d disgusted him. But now he knew their sophistication was at least partly an act—and a coerced one. Many Upstarts wanted to believe you were enjoying it, or even that it was your idea.She shouldn’t be doing these things. He’s hurting her.Tzara’s moans suggested the two of them were climaxing at once. Tilrey doubted they actually were, given Lindthardt’s tendency to focus on his own pleasure. He waited agonizing minutes for them to settle down, both panting amorously.Why hadn’t he stopped it from happening? What kind of coward was he? Just because Lindthardt had done this before didn’t make it right. “Why are you standing there, boy?” the Councillor demanded. “C’mere.”Tilrey sat down. A sidelong glance told him Tzara was now wearing only the sheer shift.“No, c’mere.” Tunic off and shirt untucked, Lindthardt grabbed Tilrey’s hand to sprawl him out beside the two of them. “You’re no fun,” he scolded, unclasping Tilrey’s own tunic and yanking it off. “I’m giving you a treat.”Maybe I can distract him from her. When Lindthardt’s mouth attacked his again, Tilrey gave himself to it wholly, parting his lips to admit the man’s eager tongue. As they paused for breath, he whispered, “Let me suck your cock, Fir.”“Mmm, you’re good at that. I remember.” But after a kiss on the forehead, Lindthardt shoved Tilrey toward the girl. “Need a rest. Take her for me. Wanna see you together.”Tilrey turned just in time to see the naked distaste in Tzara’s eyes as she heard this. She didn’t want to give Lindthardt a show any more than he did.She caught herself quickly, though, and made big eyes at the Councillor. “Ooh, really, Fir? Would you like that?”“I’m not jealous!” Lindthardt reached past Tilrey to pat Tzara’s shoulder. “I’ll watch and savor it. Take off your shift, darling, and give the poor boy some encouragement. He looks like he’s going to his execution.”Tilrey kept his eyes down as Tzara stripped. His mind was racing. How do I get out of this?Maybe if he acted like an aggressive lover, Lindthardt would change his mind about sharing his girlfriend. But that would mean touching her in ways he didn’t want to. And if Lindthardt actually enjoyed it … what then?Or Tilrey could claim he was too tired and sapped to get it up. But he had no control over his trained responses. If she touched his cock, he would be hard whether he liked it or not.He was so tired of pretending. When Tzara stroked his shoulder, he backed away, still averting his eyes.It sickened him how predictable the girl’s moves were. She was trying to be a good little whore, just as he would have done in her place. Undeterred by his silent refusal, she crawled forward and reached for his cock.He pushed her away, hard. “I can’t, Fir. She’s too young.”“I am not,” Tzara said, sharp as a slap.Lindthardt spoke over her. “You have no idea how old she is.”Tilrey tasted sap at the back of his throat, sweet turned to bitter. It would be so easy to take their word for it and obey Lindthardt’s orders, holding himself blameless. How often had he gone along with things he didn’t like? But there had to be lines he wouldn’t cross. “I have eyes.”“Maybe you just can’t get it up,” Tzara said. Her tone was taunting, but Tilrey heard unease in it. She needed to keep Lindthardt happy.“Or he wants to correct my morals.” Lindthardt cackled. “I’m happy to take instruction from a Skeinsha whore who satisfies a dozen men in a night.”Tilrey stared down at his feet, trying not to let that sting. Even Lindthardt, a Mainlander, knew about the Spring Fling, probably Election Night as well. Everyone knew he had been passed from man to man, objecting to nothing.Except this. He was sure of one thing: In his place, Bror would never lay a hand on this girl. When Tilrey was young and wounded, Bror had protected him.“I’m not telling you how you should act, Fir,” he said dully. Though I’d like to.“I’m eighteen,” Tzara announced. “Do I look like I don’t enjoy what I’m doing?”Tilrey sighed. For all he knew, she really was eighteen. “You can both do what you like. I’ll oblige you any way you want, Fir. And like it.” Or pretend to.He met Lindthardt’s eyes as he spoke, to show he meant it. “She can even watch. But I won’t touch her.”Lindthardt smacked Tilrey across the face, sending him recoiling backward. “How dare you come into my home and preach at me?”The stinging pain reminded Tilrey of Linden. But he wasn’t bleeding, and a slap was a small price to pay for self-respect. “Sorry.”“Oh, you’re sorry! Insolent snit.” Lindthardt drew back his arm again. “Malsha taught you well, didn’t he? He gave you all kinds of ways to embarrass your betters.”“Sorry, Fir.” All he could do was repeat it. “I can’t.”Lindthardt lowered his arm and stared at Tilrey, his dark eyes burning with resentment. Perhaps a little guilt, too.“Let me work on him, Fir,” Tzara said in a breathy murmur. “I can set him right for you.”“No.” Lindthardt straightened up as if making a resolution. “No, he might hurt you if you try to force him, and I can’t allow that.” He beckoned to Tilrey. “Get up. Take everything off.”Tilrey rose from the sofa and began stripping as instructed. This I can do. I don’t mind.He was undoing his fly when Lindthardt got impatient and pushed him down on all fours. “Sweetheart, get me the lube?” he asked through gritted teeth, tearing off Tilrey’s trousers and tossing them aside. “And be sure to watch. This is for you.”I don’t mind. I don’t mind. Tilrey shut his eyes and took the man’s weight, trying not to think about the girl as her feet pattered to the bedroom. Hot, angry breaths ruffled his hair.As Tzara returned with the lube, Lindthardt grabbed Tilrey by the nape and pushed his head down until the carpet swam in his vision. Fingers jabbed into him with no regard for his comfort. “Remember, you asked for this. You could have had her instead.”He took Tilrey fast and rough, the will to hurt and humiliate in every thrust. Tilrey breathed through it, reminding himself that he couldn’t be hurt in any meaningful way.He thought of Vera Linnett, who’d escaped Lindthardt’s courtship thanks to his warning. Twice he’d embarrassed the man, or three times if tonight counted. No wonder Lindthardt wanted a little payback—he had even more cause than he knew.He thought of Bror, but that hurt too much.He tried not to think of the girl sitting above them on the sofa. Hopefully she wasn’t watching. But she couldn’t close her ears to Lindthardt’s vicious grunts or his own gasping breaths as he tried to absorb the impact without whimpering.After several minutes that felt like an hour, Lindthardt’s cock started softening. He collapsed heavily on top of Tilrey without coming, panting for breath. “You nasty … little … slut.”Tilrey waited patiently for him to get a second wind. But Lindthardt really did seem to need a rest. He straightened his clothes, got up, and lumbered down the hall. After a bit, Tilrey heard the shower running.Then and only then, he hauled himself to his feet and found his clothes. He was shaking badly as he put them on, keeping his back to the girl, his shoulders and thighs aching from the Councillor’s weight. Once he was dressed, there was nowhere to go. He sat down on the floor and rested his chin on his knees, wishing he could sink into oblivion.“You shouldn’t have done that,” a hard little voice said from the sofa.“Oh, you think?” Now that the Fir was gone, Tilrey couldn’t entirely hide his irritation, though he knew she didn’t deserve it.“You could’ve just told him you don’t like girls. You didn’t have to … make a statement. Now he feels bad.”And he should fucking feel bad. Tilrey knew all too well she was right—lying would have been the smartest approach. But Lindthardt had made him so angry he hadn’t been thinking straight.“I saw you with Bror at the Restaurant,” he pointed out. “He told me how old you are.”“I’ll be eighteen in seven months. Sheesh.” Tzara pulled her shift over her head. “It would’ve been so easy just to do what he wanted. I’m good at pretending I like it.”And that’s just the problem. Maybe, if he tried, he could make a difference with her. Persuade her to look for a future elsewhere. “Why are you with him, anyway? What’s he giving you?”She shrugged in a blasé way, clearly an affectation. “He’s okay. Nice to me. My dad broke his back in an accident last year, and Beirthsha gives me sap and pain relievers. The stuff we get in Six isn’t as good as what Strutters get in the Core.”“I could get you pain relievers. Bror and I, we could both help.” How could he reach her without lecturing her? “You should’ve asked Bror in the first place. He’s your friend. He looks out for people.”Tzara tossed dark hair over her shoulder. “Did you think I was an innocent virgin before the big, bad Councillor came along and corrupted me? Wrong. He wasn’t exactly my first.”“That’s not the point. You shouldn’t have to do this.” Tilrey wished he had better words. Bror would have found them. “I mean, once you’re of age, you can choose. But everything you’re doing right now will affect you. It’ll stay with you. You can’t just shake it off.”Her big dark eyes were fixed on him—full of pity or disdain, he wasn’t sure. “Easy for you to say. You live with Strutters, you sleep in their beds, you eat their food. You take it all for granted, and now you’re trying to keep me from having just a tiny taste of that life.”I’m not. I swear. “I just think you should take care of yourself,” Tilrey said, struggling not to sound like a scolding older brother.The shower had stopped running, and now the bedroom door opened. “Respect your instincts,” he added under his breath as the Councillor’s footsteps returned. What kind of advice might have helped his younger self? “Understand your value. Don’t do things you don’t want to.” If you have a choice about it, anyway.If Tzara heard any of this, she didn’t acknowledge it. Lindthardt was back, and she bounded into his arms and kissed his cheek. “Can we be alone now, or does he have to stay?”Lindthardt tucked her tenderly under his arm as if Tilrey might have tried to harm her. “No, love. He doesn’t.”When he looked at Tilrey, his face hardened. “You know your way home.”Tilrey took the tram by himself. He only needed to travel a few blocks, but the Core was deserted this close to midnight, and he couldn’t help savoring the brief solitude and freedom of empty streets. It was a relief after the company he’d had.Stepping from the stairwell onto the car dock of Verán’s apartment, he even caught a glimpse of the stars.The problem was Vlastor. Tilrey’s hand-chip only opened the apartment door from the garage. The driver was up late, as he often was, tinkering with some gadget while he listened to a portable radio.“You’re supposed to be with Councillor Lindthardt till morning!” he cried when he saw Tilrey, dropping his wrench.“He wanted me to fuck a seventeen-year-old.”“He … what?” Comical alarm spread on Vlastor’s face. “I can’t believe that.”Tilrey opened the door to the coldroom. He’d been blunt because he had no energy for the conversation. “I’m sure you can’t.”Vlastor followed him, of course. “Why do you do these things, Nettsha? Why do you make my life so hard?” he lamented once he’d made Tilrey give a brief account of what had happened. “I mean, to be sent home in disgrace! Tomorrow in the Sector, Lindthardt will complain to the Fir.”“Let him,” Tilrey suggested. He was almost curious to know what kind of lie Lindthardt would dream up. Deep down, Verán probably didn’t care about Lindthardt’s vices, but seducing a child was nothing a Councillor boasted of.“But if I say nothing beforehand, if I let the Fir be blindsided by a complaint like that…” Vlastor was working himself up into a lather. “The Fir will blame me, don’t you see? You’re my responsibility.”Tilrey had no fucks to give at this point, for Vlastor, Verán, or anybody else. He wanted his bed.“Tell the Fir everything, then,” he said breezily, touching the sensor so the door of the apartment hissed open. “Or whatever you want. Don’t put yourself out for me, Vlastor. I’m fine.”

May, year 345

Tilrey was bored.

His brain was a sponge, eager to learn new things. Malsha had understood this and given him lessons of all kinds, but now his books were the only real intellectual stimulation he had.

He sucked up scraps of knowledge everywhere. When he learned that Bror had an excellent memory for ski-racing stats, he coaxed his friend into monologues on the topic. He asked Vlastor questions about car maintenance. He listened closely as Ulli and Ansha argued over their favorite streams. He observed the subtle differences in dialect and outlook among his fellow kettle boys, reflecting their upbringing in different Rings of the city. He read copies of the Council Record from cover to cover, plowing straight through stultifying descriptions of voting procedure.

Councillors’ conversations were occasions to file away tidbits of gossip. Without really trying, Tilrey now had a strong grasp of the intricate webs of patronage that connected everyone working in the Core. Malsha, he supposed bitterly, would have been proud of his protégé.

Sometimes Vlastor brought Tilrey to meet Verán in Government Sector before proceeding to the Lounge. On evenings when the majority leader was very busy, they might wait outside his office or in the antechamber for an hour or more. Vlastor fidgeted, clearly bored out of his skull. But Tilrey kept his eyes and ears open, eavesdropping on conversations in the corridor. He noted with interest how deftly Verán’s Secretary Gavras juggled the many colleagues who wanted a moment of the Councillor’s time.

In all of these situations, Tilrey avoided appearing observant. He had perfected a bored, sulky, slightly slack-jawed look to conceal his attention to his surroundings, and most people were fooled.

One spring day, when he’d been waiting in the antechamber of Verán’s office for forty minutes, Fir Councillor Jena swept in.

Jena didn’t even glance at Tilrey, who sat alone on a chair against the wall. (Vlastor was off fetching tea.) Majestic in his robe of office, Malsha’s son-in-law marched straight up to Secretary Gavras and demanded to talk to the majority leader about the wording of a budget amendment.

“I’m so sorry, Fir Councillor.” A gray, ageless little man, Gavras was a master of making a refusal sound like a groveling yes. “Fir Majority Leader is in a meeting. May I make you an appointment? No, I don’t know how much longer. You’re welcome to wait, Fir.” The secretary’s raised brow silently said, But I’d advise you not to.

“I’ll wait, then,” Jena growled and pulled out a chair.

The door of the inner office opened to reveal Besha, who beckoned to the secretary. “Got that report?”

“Of course, Fir.” Gavras followed Besha. The door closed behind them, leaving Tilrey alone with the man who had deflowered him.

Raped him would be more accurate, he knew. But the word made him deeply comfortable now. It belonged to another time, when he still considered his body his own.

Jena himself clearly hadn’t seen anything he did to Tilrey as a violation. But when he learned that Tilrey had spent a few hours alone in a room with his daughter, Vera, he’d reacted as if Tilrey had raped her, despite her protestations to the contrary.

And so Jena had also become the first person ever to bruise him. He’s trash, and I want him disposed of. I’ll see him dead before I see him on any Councillor’s arm, even an Islander’s.

Malsha had promised to toss Tilrey into a brothel, but he hadn’t promised to keep him there. A month or so later, he had traipsed into the Lounge with Tilrey on his arm, defying Jena to do anything about it.

It was so long since Tilrey had thought about this man, let alone worried about him. Jena was a small-fry Councillor, with his party currently out of power and no powerful connections except his wife, Albertine Linnett. The most he could do to make good on his threats was to glare witheringly at Tilrey.

He couldn’t know how things went on between Vera and me. Sleeping with Vera in her University dorm already felt like something Tilrey had done in another lifetime. Malsha had punished him for that. But he hadn’t informed his son-in-law, whom he despised.

Jena was giving him a long but neutral look—eyes cold, face expressionless.

“Can I fetch you something, Fir?” Tilrey asked, trying to be polite. “Vlastor went for tea.”

Jena continued his silent contemplation, then said in a thick voice, “The Island’s Jewel. Malsha would turn over in his grave if he knew what they call you.”

Malsha isn’t dead. Tilrey lowered his eyes. “My Fir calls me what he sees fit to call me.”

“You look unhappy.”

This was unexpected, but the response was easy. Automatic, even. “I’m quite well, Fir.”

Jena made a dry, scoffing sound. “I have eyes. I watched you with Malsha, and I see you in the Lounge with Verán. Tell me, lad, which of them do you hate more?”

I hate them both, and I’ve always hated you. Yet the question felt oddly like a gift. Here was an Upstart who still looked at him and saw something besides a visually pleasing object.

Because he knew Verán placed no value on Jena, Tilrey took the risk of speaking plainly. “Does it make you happy to think I’m miserable, Fir?”

“I can’t imagine why I should care.” But Jena’s tone was tinged with poison. “My wife has it in her head that I mistreated you. I ask on her account only.”

“How kind of your wife, Fir.” Tilrey kept his own voice even, not taking the bait. “Please convey my thanks to her.”

And fuck you both. Fuck you all. The anger that flared inside him felt surprisingly sweet. It was so satisfying to spar with an Upstart again. To say something nasty and have it register. He missed doing that with Malsha, he supposed.

Before Jena could respond, the inner door opened. Secretary Gavras returned to his desk while Besha finished his conversation with Verán in the doorway, laughing in his braying way.

In the instant before anyone noticed them, Jena said to Tilrey under his breath, “Never forget I was your first.”

The brief exchange roused Tilrey from his daze of boredom.

Half an hour later, in the Lounge, he sat up straighter than usual and actually paid attention to Verán and Besha, who were rehashing the day’s debate over budget allocations.

The Welfare Committee had been debating next year’s budget for care of elderly people—“post-workers,” they were called—in the Laborer cities. The Laborer Supervisors who governed Thurskein and Karkei had been agitating for more frequent cancer screenings and surgeries, updated cardiac therapy, more doctors overall. Some of their Upstart Admins had spoken for this position in the committee, arguing that Laborers had a right to aspire to the same life expectancy as their Upstart counterparts.

“No one’s stopping them from aspiring to anything,” Besha said now, snickering. “But why fund the health of workers who can’t work anymore?”

“We already fund their health care generously,” Verán reminded him. “But the numbers are clear: To give a factory Drudge the same life expectancy as a Programmer, one would actually have to spend more to offset the effects of a life of manual labor. Not to mention, they’re statistically more likely to indulge in bad habits. Higher mortality is a choice. You can’t rescue people from themselves.”

The words sounded reasonable in the abstract. But they’re talking about people like Bror’s family, Tilrey realized. Like Dal’s grandparents. Like my own mother.

In school, he’d been taught that health care was a human right guaranteed by the government, along with food, shelter, and employment. No one had ever mentioned that Laborers and Upstarts received different health care.

What a good little boy you are, Malsha had said once. You believe what they tell you.

“Ah, Beirthsha, you argued our case nicely today,” Verán said to a young Councillor who had just joined them. “What a pity you belong to the opposition.”

The newcomer was a sleek young man, with a generous mouth and wrestler’s build—Councillor Beirthrandt Lindthardt, Saldegren’s nephew. “Some things can’t be helped,” he said with a confident grin.

Tilrey dropped his eyes. This was becoming a night of flashbacks. He had been the congratulatory gift Lindthardt received from Malsha upon his election.

“Lindthardt doesn’t need to be introduced to our Jewel.” Besha’s voice was hoarse with excitement, as always when he was about to embarrass someone. “But it’s been some time for the two of you, hasn’t it? Mm-hm.”

Lindthardt allowed his eyes to rest on Tilrey. “I have had the pleasure,” he said. “You look well, Tilrey.”

“Thank you, Fir,” Tilrey replied in the same tone.

This wasn’t the Lindthardt he remembered, who’d been all over him before they even left the car. You sweet filthy slut. You haven’t been fucked properly in a while. The man had been annoyingly athletic in the bedroom, too, and boastful about his precocious political career, declaring his intention to wed Vera Linnett.

He hadn’t gotten far with that, at least partly because Tilrey had warned Vera about Lindthardt’s designs on her. Now Tilrey couldn’t help savoring this secret as he watched the young Councillor clawing his way back to prominence by sucking up to Malsha’s arch-enemy.

“We don’t call him Tilrey anymore!” Besha scolded Lindthardt. “We call him Nettsha.”

“Forgive me.” Lindthardt aimed a sycophantic smile at Verán. “Things were so different under Malsha—chaotic, really. It’s reassuring to have solid Oslovs back at the helm. I’ve thought about switching parties, but my grandmother would never forgive me. Still, I try to support your agenda where I can.”

The conversation went on like that. Tilrey wasn’t shocked to learn that Lindthardt was a political whore with no principles. He was more surprised that Verán seemed so eager for Lindthardt’s swing vote. After some polite small talk, the old man yawned. “Time for me to turn in. I don’t have the stamina for late nights anymore. Beirthsha, I appreciate your support today.”

“Least I could do!” Lindthardt protested.

Verán waved at Tilrey as if he were offering a spread of questionable leftovers. “Take the piece tonight, if you’re not already tired of him,” he said, putting ironic stress on the words.

This was a test, and Lindthardt passed it. “Tired? Hardly. I’m honored,” he declared, rising and offering his arm to Tilrey like a knight in a saga. “No one who experiences your Jewel could forget him.”

Besha crowed. “Always nice to see a happy couple reunited!”

Was he jealous, or did he just wish he could watch them? Tilrey wondered, allowing Lindthardt to lead him away.

As they crossed the Lounge, he looked for Bror—a reflex at this point—and found him at István’s table in the corner, laughing expansively at something his Fir was saying. Bror’s eyes sparkled with good cheer. His deep, resonant laughter brought back memories of their long days in the Vacants.

Bror glanced up as they passed, but Tilrey didn’t reciprocate. Later, he promised himself, knowing Bror understood. Sometimes even your eyes could betray you.

Once they were out of Verán’s sight, Lindthardt dropped his exaggerated manners, but he didn’t start pawing Tilrey as he had in the past. “Do you remember how I had you in my coldroom?” he asked, handing Tilrey his coat.

“Yes, Fir.”

“I couldn’t wait.” Lindthardt chuckled to himself. “I knew Malsha would only give you to me once, so I had to make it count.”

Had it only been once? Tilrey felt as if he could recall several nights with this tiresome young man, who was hellbent on demonstrating his potency. “You made it count, Fir,” he said flatly, so Lindthardt wouldn’t think he’d enjoyed it.

Once they were in the car, Lindthardt shoved Tilrey against the seat and kissed him hard, reaching between them to squeeze his cock. There was nothing affectionate or even passionate in the gesture—Lindthardt was claiming Verán’s offering, simple as that. When he gave Tilrey space to breathe again, Tilrey took it.

“Verán thinks you’re a dolt,” the man said as the car floated lazily along the grid.

Bror would have cracked a joke. “Doesn’t take brains to suck cock, Fir.”

“Malsha thought you were clever, though. Didn’t he?” Lindthardt asked as if he’d caught Tilrey in a lie. “He encouraged you to show off—and humiliate his junior colleagues in the process.”

Oh. Two years ago in the Lounge, in conversation with Malsha, Lindthardt had flubbed a simple point of Council procedure. Malsha had mocked the younger Councillor and ordered Tilrey to correct him.

Tilrey had. And Malsha had said to his colleague, If I tested you both on Council procedure right now, we both know who would win.

Tilrey still remembered his flush of pride and triumph over the young Councillor. Lindthardt was right—he’d been showing off, knowing Malsha would protect him. Malsha couldn’t do that now.

“Malsha liked to play games, Fir,” he said.

“Hmm, yes.” Lindthardt drank some sap from his own palm and poured out more for Tilrey. “I hope you’re not nervous around me,” he added, running beefy fingers through Tilrey’s hair as Tilrey bent to lap up the sweet, viscous liquid. “I don’t hold a grudge—obviously. I know Malsha set me up. He tutored you so he could embarrass me.”

Tilrey didn’t know how Malsha could have predicted that Lindthardt would make a specific error. But he swallowed the sap and tried to seem sorry.

“You were his little protégé.” Lindthardt released Tilrey’s head and allowed him to sit up. “Now I see you playing dumb with Verán. You won’t do that with me.”

“Yes, Fir. I mean, no, Fir.” The whole conversation was making Tilrey uncomfortable. He didn’t like that Lindthardt remembered his past self so well. The quick-witted apprentice he’d been with Malsha was too different from the dead-eyed accessory he needed to be now.

But he also needed Lindthardt not to feel threatened by him, so he spoke artlessly and frankly for once. “I wasn’t playing at anything, Fir. I was just surprised by what you and Verán were saying. My mother’s back in Thurskein. It seems unfair to ration the best treatments, if you really want to know my opinion.”

Lindthardt stared at Tilrey for a moment. Then he laughed. “You were listening to us talk about the budget?”

“I can follow along, Fir.”

“Why would you want to? It’s so fucking boring.” But Lindthardt seemed charmed as he tousled Tilrey’s hair again and slung an arm around his waist. “Anyway, with the powerful friends you’re making, you should be able to keep your mother alive to ninety.”

Not if Verán tosses me in the Brothel when he’s done with me. “I only mentioned my mother as an example,” Tilrey said. “I was just surprised because, well, equality of opportunity is in our constitution. Isn’t it?”

“State-of-the-art treatments are a luxury, not an opportunity. And luxuries are not for all,” Lindthardt recited in his debating voice.

Then, as the car slid into the dock, he dropped the act and kissed Tilrey playfully on the throat. “You sound so feisty when you use big words. Like a shirker. Turns me on.”

The driver killed the engine and held the door for them. Lindthardt lingered, nuzzling and groping and humming with excitement, while Tilrey let his body be pliant and his mind float away. He hoped Lindthardt would have the sense not to tell Verán he had sounded “like a shirker.”

He expected Lindthardt to proceed straight to the main event. Instead, in the coldroom, the Councillor became a formal host again. Unknotting Tilrey’s scarf for him, he said, “Just one thing before we go in. I didn’t know Verán would be so generous, so I already had plans for tonight. You don’t mind that we’ll have a companion, do you?”

Tilrey’s heart sank. He wasn’t in the mood for a threesome. “Why would I mind, Fir?”

“Good.” Lindthardt removed Tilrey’s coat and hung it up. “Because my friend is waiting.”

Perhaps Tilrey couldn’t keep his apprehension off his face. Lindthardt laughed. “It’s not what you think. Not at all.”

They found the “friend” in the sitting room, lounging on the sofa with her feet up. Sure enough, she was nothing Tilrey had expected.

He recognized her as a server from the Restaurant—a Ring Sixer, part of Bror’s far-flung network of friends and relations. Beneath a flood of loose black hair, she wore only a shift and leggings, and she was very pretty and very young.

Too young. Tilrey had asked Bror why she wasn’t still in school, and Bror had explained that many Sixers dropped out to work at sixteen.

How long ago was that? The girl’s features were still soft and childish, but her smile was knowing as she bounced to her feet, threw her arms around the Councillor, and kissed him passionately. “I’ve been waiting forever, Beirthsha!”

“I’m sorry!” Lindthardt’s hands were all over the girl, as possessive as he’d been with Tilrey—who had to look away. “But look what I’ve brought you, sweetheart! This is the General Magistrate’s kettle boy.”

Tilrey could only stare at them, feeling queasy. Was she even younger than Ulli, who at least was legally of age?

The girl’s eyes moved over Tilrey. “Oh, I know him,” she said, sounding disappointed. “Everybody does.”

“But you’ve never been this close to him, have you?” Lindthardt beckoned to Tilrey impatiently. “This is the Island’s Jewel, the most sought-after boy in the whole city. Tilrey, this is my sweet Tzara.”

Tilrey clasped Tzara’s hand obediently, but every part of his body resisted the contact. She shouldn’t be here. She deserves better.

The feelings must have shown on his face. “I don’t think he likes me, Fir.”

“Silly! How could anyone not like you?” Lindthardt twined an arm around Tilrey’s waist, yanking the two of them closer together. “She’s hot, right?” he asked, his breath hot in Tilrey’s ear.

Tilrey didn’t nod. When he looked at Tzara, he saw seventeen-year-old Dal as he had known her in Thurskein—free and easy, full of adolescent mischief and mayhem. Far too young to have a Councillor’s arm around her.

Even he had been so young at eighteen. Frightened, innocent, unprepared—but not actually a child. No child should be put through these things.

Lindthardt tugged them both toward the hallway, seemingly oblivious to Tilrey’s reaction. “It’s late. Let’s retire to the bedroom.”

Tilrey stayed where he was. “I don’t think so, Fir.”

“He doesn’t want me, Beirthsha,” Tzara said. Her eyes glinted too brightly, as if she’d indulged in sap before they arrived. Perhaps Lindthardt gave her an allowance.

“Oh, please! If he likes girls, he likes you.” Abandoning Tilrey, Lindthardt wrapped both arms around Tzara and moved his hands easily over her curves.

Tilrey stared down at the carpet. Clearly this was nothing new to either of them.

The girl was telling the Councillor breathily that she had no interest in Tilrey. “I think you’re much prettier than he is. You’re older and more manly. I could never get tired of you.”

The two of them tumbled onto the sofa. Tilrey stood awkwardly to one side, trying to shut out the unmistakable sounds of Lindthardt getting a hand job.

He could imagine how the two of them had met—at the Restaurant, much like Bror and Councillor István. But Bror had been an adult, entering a mutually beneficial situation with open eyes. What had the arrogant young Councillor told this child? Did she think he was actually in love with her?

At least she seemed to have no genuine passion for him. The moaning sounds she made as Lindthardt touched her were obviously fake, at least to Tilrey’s ears.

She reminded him of the underage boys who hung around Supervisor Fernei’s office in Thurskein. They, too, seemed knowing beyond their years. When Tilrey was a schoolboy himself, they’d disgusted him. But now he knew their sophistication was at least partly an act—and a coerced one. Many Upstarts wanted to believe you were enjoying it, or even that it was your idea.

She shouldn’t be doing these things. He’s hurting her.

Tzara’s moans suggested the two of them were climaxing at once. Tilrey doubted they actually were, given Lindthardt’s tendency to focus on his own pleasure. He waited agonizing minutes for them to settle down, both panting amorously.

Why hadn’t he stopped it from happening? What kind of coward was he? Just because Lindthardt had done this before didn’t make it right.

“Why are you standing there, boy?” the Councillor demanded. “C’mere.”

Tilrey sat down. A sidelong glance told him Tzara was now wearing only the sheer shift.

“No, c’mere.” Tunic off and shirt untucked, Lindthardt grabbed Tilrey’s hand to sprawl him out beside the two of them. “You’re no fun,” he scolded, unclasping Tilrey’s own tunic and yanking it off. “I’m giving you a treat.”

Maybe I can distract him from her. When Lindthardt’s mouth attacked his again, Tilrey gave himself to it wholly, parting his lips to admit the man’s eager tongue. As they paused for breath, he whispered, “Let me suck your cock, Fir.”

“Mmm, you’re good at that. I remember.” But after a kiss on the forehead, Lindthardt shoved Tilrey toward the girl. “Need a rest. Take her for me. Wanna see you together.”

Tilrey turned just in time to see the naked distaste in Tzara’s eyes as she heard this. She didn’t want to give Lindthardt a show any more than he did.

She caught herself quickly, though, and made big eyes at the Councillor. “Ooh, really, Fir? Would you like that?”

“I’m not jealous!” Lindthardt reached past Tilrey to pat Tzara’s shoulder. “I’ll watch and savor it. Take off your shift, darling, and give the poor boy some encouragement. He looks like he’s going to his execution.”

Tilrey kept his eyes down as Tzara stripped. His mind was racing. How do I get out of this?

Maybe if he acted like an aggressive lover, Lindthardt would change his mind about sharing his girlfriend. But that would mean touching her in ways he didn’t want to. And if Lindthardt actually enjoyed it … what then?

Or Tilrey could claim he was too tired and sapped to get it up. But he had no control over his trained responses. If she touched his cock, he would be hard whether he liked it or not.

He was so tired of pretending. When Tzara stroked his shoulder, he backed away, still averting his eyes.

It sickened him how predictable the girl’s moves were. She was trying to be a good little whore, just as he would have done in her place. Undeterred by his silent refusal, she crawled forward and reached for his cock.

He pushed her away, hard. “I can’t, Fir. She’s too young.”

“I am not,” Tzara said, sharp as a slap.

Lindthardt spoke over her. “You have no idea how old she is.”

Tilrey tasted sap at the back of his throat, sweet turned to bitter. It would be so easy to take their word for it and obey Lindthardt’s orders, holding himself blameless. How often had he gone along with things he didn’t like? But there had to be lines he wouldn’t cross. “I have eyes.”

“Maybe you just can’t get it up,” Tzara said. Her tone was taunting, but Tilrey heard unease in it. She needed to keep Lindthardt happy.

“Or he wants to correct my morals.” Lindthardt cackled. “I’m happy to take instruction from a Skeinsha whore who satisfies a dozen men in a night.”

Tilrey stared down at his feet, trying not to let that sting. Even Lindthardt, a Mainlander, knew about the Spring Fling, probably Election Night as well. Everyone knew he had been passed from man to man, objecting to nothing.

Except this. He was sure of one thing: In his place, Bror would never lay a hand on this girl. When Tilrey was young and wounded, Bror had protected him.

“I’m not telling you how you should act, Fir,” he said dully. Though I’d like to.

“I’m eighteen,” Tzara announced. “Do I look like I don’t enjoy what I’m doing?”

Tilrey sighed. For all he knew, she really was eighteen. “You can both do what you like. I’ll oblige you any way you want, Fir. And like it.” Or pretend to.

He met Lindthardt’s eyes as he spoke, to show he meant it. “She can even watch. But I won’t touch her.”

Lindthardt smacked Tilrey across the face, sending him recoiling backward. “How dare you come into my home and preach at me?”

The stinging pain reminded Tilrey of Linden. But he wasn’t bleeding, and a slap was a small price to pay for self-respect. “Sorry.”

“Oh, you’re sorry! Insolent snit.” Lindthardt drew back his arm again. “Malsha taught you well, didn’t he? He gave you all kinds of ways to embarrass your betters.”

“Sorry, Fir.” All he could do was repeat it. “I can’t.”

Lindthardt lowered his arm and stared at Tilrey, his dark eyes burning with resentment. Perhaps a little guilt, too.

“Let me work on him, Fir,” Tzara said in a breathy murmur. “I can set him right for you.”

“No.” Lindthardt straightened up as if making a resolution. “No, he might hurt you if you try to force him, and I can’t allow that.” He beckoned to Tilrey. “Get up. Take everything off.”

Tilrey rose from the sofa and began stripping as instructed. This I can do. I don’t mind.

He was undoing his fly when Lindthardt got impatient and pushed him down on all fours. “Sweetheart, get me the lube?” he asked through gritted teeth, tearing off Tilrey’s trousers and tossing them aside. “And be sure to watch. This is for you.”

I don’t mind. I don’t mind. Tilrey shut his eyes and took the man’s weight, trying not to think about the girl as her feet pattered to the bedroom. Hot, angry breaths ruffled his hair.

As Tzara returned with the lube, Lindthardt grabbed Tilrey by the nape and pushed his head down until the carpet swam in his vision. Fingers jabbed into him with no regard for his comfort. “Remember, you asked for this. You could have had her instead.”

He took Tilrey fast and rough, the will to hurt and humiliate in every thrust. Tilrey breathed through it, reminding himself that he couldn’t be hurt in any meaningful way.

He thought of Vera Linnett, who’d escaped Lindthardt’s courtship thanks to his warning. Twice he’d embarrassed the man, or three times if tonight counted. No wonder Lindthardt wanted a little payback—he had even more cause than he knew.

He thought of Bror, but that hurt too much.

He tried not to think of the girl sitting above them on the sofa. Hopefully she wasn’t watching. But she couldn’t close her ears to Lindthardt’s vicious grunts or his own gasping breaths as he tried to absorb the impact without whimpering.

After several minutes that felt like an hour, Lindthardt’s cock started softening. He collapsed heavily on top of Tilrey without coming, panting for breath. “You nasty … little … slut.”

Tilrey waited patiently for him to get a second wind. But Lindthardt really did seem to need a rest. He straightened his clothes, got up, and lumbered down the hall. After a bit, Tilrey heard the shower running.

Then and only then, he hauled himself to his feet and found his clothes. He was shaking badly as he put them on, keeping his back to the girl, his shoulders and thighs aching from the Councillor’s weight. Once he was dressed, there was nowhere to go. He sat down on the floor and rested his chin on his knees, wishing he could sink into oblivion.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” a hard little voice said from the sofa.

“Oh, you think?” Now that the Fir was gone, Tilrey couldn’t entirely hide his irritation, though he knew she didn’t deserve it.

“You could’ve just told him you don’t like girls. You didn’t have to … make a statement. Now he feels bad.”

And he should fucking feel bad. Tilrey knew all too well she was right—lying would have been the smartest approach. But Lindthardt had made him so angry he hadn’t been thinking straight.

“I saw you with Bror at the Restaurant,” he pointed out. “He told me how old you are.”

“I’ll be eighteen in seven months. Sheesh.” Tzara pulled her shift over her head. “It would’ve been so easy just to do what he wanted. I’m good at pretending I like it.”

And that’s just the problem. Maybe, if he tried, he could make a difference with her. Persuade her to look for a future elsewhere. “Why are you with him, anyway? What’s he giving you?”

She shrugged in a blasé way, clearly an affectation. “He’s okay. Nice to me. My dad broke his back in an accident last year, and Beirthsha gives me sap and pain relievers. The stuff we get in Six isn’t as good as what Strutters get in the Core.”

“I could get you pain relievers. Bror and I, we could both help.” How could he reach her without lecturing her? “You should’ve asked Bror in the first place. He’s your friend. He looks out for people.”

Tzara tossed dark hair over her shoulder. “Did you think I was an innocent virgin before the big, bad Councillor came along and corrupted me? Wrong. He wasn’t exactly my first.”

“That’s not the point. You shouldn’t have to do this.” Tilrey wished he had better words. Bror would have found them. “I mean, once you’re of age, you can choose. But everything you’re doing right now will affect you. It’ll stay with you. You can’t just shake it off.”

Her big dark eyes were fixed on him—full of pity or disdain, he wasn’t sure. “Easy for you to say. You live with Strutters, you sleep in their beds, you eat their food. You take it all for granted, and now you’re trying to keep me from having just a tiny taste of that life.”

I’m not. I swear. “I just think you should take care of yourself,” Tilrey said, struggling not to sound like a scolding older brother.

The shower had stopped running, and now the bedroom door opened. “Respect your instincts,” he added under his breath as the Councillor’s footsteps returned. What kind of advice might have helped his younger self? “Understand your value. Don’t do things you don’t want to.” If you have a choice about it, anyway.

If Tzara heard any of this, she didn’t acknowledge it. Lindthardt was back, and she bounded into his arms and kissed his cheek. “Can we be alone now, or does he have to stay?”

Lindthardt tucked her tenderly under his arm as if Tilrey might have tried to harm her. “No, love. He doesn’t.”

When he looked at Tilrey, his face hardened. “You know your way home.”

Tilrey took the tram by himself. He only needed to travel a few blocks, but the Core was deserted this close to midnight, and he couldn’t help savoring the brief solitude and freedom of empty streets. It was a relief after the company he’d had.

Stepping from the stairwell onto the car dock of Verán’s apartment, he even caught a glimpse of the stars.

The problem was Vlastor. Tilrey’s hand-chip only opened the apartment door from the garage. The driver was up late, as he often was, tinkering with some gadget while he listened to a portable radio.

“You’re supposed to be with Councillor Lindthardt till morning!” he cried when he saw Tilrey, dropping his wrench.

“He wanted me to fuck a seventeen-year-old.”

“He … what?” Comical alarm spread on Vlastor’s face. “I can’t believe that.”

Tilrey opened the door to the coldroom. He’d been blunt because he had no energy for the conversation. “I’m sure you can’t.”

Vlastor followed him, of course. “Why do you do these things, Nettsha? Why do you make my life so hard?” he lamented once he’d made Tilrey give a brief account of what had happened. “I mean, to be sent home in disgrace! Tomorrow in the Sector, Lindthardt will complain to the Fir.”

“Let him,” Tilrey suggested. He was almost curious to know what kind of lie Lindthardt would dream up. Deep down, Verán probably didn’t care about Lindthardt’s vices, but seducing a child was nothing a Councillor boasted of.

“But if I say nothing beforehand, if I let the Fir be blindsided by a complaint like that…” Vlastor was working himself up into a lather. “The Fir will blame me, don’t you see? You’re my responsibility.”

Tilrey had no fucks to give at this point, for Vlastor, Verán, or anybody else. He wanted his bed.

“Tell the Fir everything, then,” he said breezily, touching the sensor so the door of the apartment hissed open. “Or whatever you want. Don’t put yourself out for me, Vlastor. I’m fine.”