Tea for two

Feigning female ailments secured a day to myself. My keeper would believe I was with the physician, the physician would believe I was with my keeper.

It is not difficulty to acquire things in the district. For all the locks, bars and assortments of barriers to prevent loss people are quite lax with their belongings. A robe of yellow and white was snatched from the line it was left to dry on. Some little wisp would carry the marks of her oversight as I drew it on. Layers of veils easily shielded my face as I found Wessick's house. Lady Olivieta met me at the door, so pleased to see me. Her mate was in the library. It had become his fortress to escape the shrieking of his shrew companion. I was more than glad to close the door leaving the barrage of her insessant demands on the other side.

It is not sex that a lonely man truly wishes for. Wessick's hunger was simply for quiet conversation, understanding, genteel entertainment. The day was spent offering him a banquet. We shared kalana instead of bazi tea, discussing whatever came to mind and laughter often filled the little study. He was delighted to rise and join me in a dance. One that was dear to his heart, one that was practiced by his people but never allowed in his own home at his mate's fierce request. Today, he stood strong. He ushered her away, silencing her protests firmly. He would have what he wanted and she would be silent about it. He stood taller, the staueque epitome of a man's virility. When I wrapped him in my arms, his eyes widened with surprise. The stiletto blade had slid easily between two ribs to pierce the balloon sac of a lung and the withering organ of his heart. He thought he had found his miseries saviour only to feel it slipping through the fissure in a slickened ooze. It was a delicate smile that met him, reassuring that all would be alright. My lips surrounding his in an affectioned kiss drank in the hiss of expelled air. I helped him down to one of the thick carpets and brushed my fingers along his brow. I think he even smiled as I took his own fingertip, dipping it in the magenta stain and began to write on the hard wood flooring ... Liv

The lady of the house in her impatience burst through the door and immediately began to shriek. This was nothing that she had planned. How could I? How dare I? The demise ... yes, the method ... no. I rose to meet her. Soothing dulcet tones quieted her leaving the length of the blade extended from her stomach. She did what most do. She grasped the hilt between her hands.

It was not satisfaction. It was not remorse. It was not even insanity that brought the proud inhale and deepening smile just as I reached the door.

Once out on the street, I screamed and pointed back to the house, 'She's gone mad'

It was easy to slide into the gathering crowd of curiosity seekers.

The robe was left in a refuge heap long before I returned to the apartment. The purse of coins the woman no longer needed would be added to the collection.

tueur compatissant

It was almost closing time when the bell rang on the front door. The physician's aggravation was highly noteable as he growled at the intruder. Sorticles had plans for those few moments before I returned to the insula and the intrusion was unwelcomed. The tirade was short lived however when he saw who had entered. A centurian, obviously in distress had found his way to the healer rambling about needing a serum to reduce fever. His young daughter was close to delirium with it. The entreaties of the armed guardsman would have been compelling to someone sentimental.Such a compassionate killer. It gave me an opportunity.
My employer was shooing the uniformed soldier toward the door with murmurs that we were closed .. come back tomorrow. All that it took was a gentle rest of my hand against the emerald sleeve to quiet him. We had a few moments to spare and it would offer a few more coins. I went to find the small vial that would cure the child's ails. The soldier's gratitude spilled into the street as he held the small package like it was made of gold. I took advantage of the moment to slip between the two men and bid them both farewell for the day.
I left them both behind while I hurried along the street. I sought that niche in the cement of an alley wall to poke part of the day's earnings. Once the bits were safe, I stepped back out within the crowds. If I had been studying faces looking for one in particular it was not the one that stopped me in my tracks.
Could it be? Was it him? My mind told me the improbabilty but the intense rise of emotion .. so new to me ...washed away reasoning. I found myself calling out across the way, trying to capture his attention. So emmersed in this beckoning, I'd not noticed Jelus coming up behind me. There was no mistaking that steel clutch at my arm. The bruises now layered on my skin in a rainbow of purple to greenish yellow fades. How long had he been there? How much had he seen?
For a moment I tried to break the grasp, reaching out across time, across distance, even across impossibility for Septus, the only male that had been allowed to live ... my brother.
That disobedience, that bit of defiance would cost me dearly. That night, Jelus earned a new place at the top of my book of retribution

What we do not know cannot hurt us

?


It is not only bred slaves whose destinies are crafted from their heritage. A slave born of slaves is to become a slave. Likewise it is the same of all Goreans. The caste system determines the fate of the children. A child born of a warrior is a warrior to be from the time of its birth, as is a merchant, a scribe or even a peasant. The caste of the sire is to be the caste of the child upon reaching majority. One can change their caste only by edict of a ubar and never does one take on a lower caste than they were born to. These tenets have not changed since the creation of parchment to write them down. There may be a cornerstone somewhere that bears the chiseling of it in stone.

There is a selfish tendency of people not to ask more than what they wish to know. Racselis was a physician by birthright. He followed in his father's footsteps albeit with a strange limp that almost dragged one foot in a crippling fashion. His specialization was the breeding of pleasure slaves. That is all anyone ever cared to know. It is the point that they stopped asking questions. No one ever asked what he had desired to be, what he wanted to do when he grew up. Because of that, his passion tainted all that he touched. Unrequited love. It is not only women that have a hellacious fury when scorned.

It would have been a lowering of caste to pursue his greatest dream. A life of simplicity as a weapon's maker would have offered him peace and contentment, but that would have defied a legacy. Instead he continued with the work his father had handed down, crafting the most glorious of creatures meant to serve. In his spare time he still dappled with his hobby. Speculation had rumored that long ago in his tinkering, he had combined a potassium derivative, and another ingredients with quite exciting results. It excited the Priests enough to exile him to Acresius. No one ever asks what happens to those consumed by the blue flame. It would be beyond the World's end that he would spend the rest of his life paying restitution. There in the imposed seclusion of his laboratories, his true brilliance would surface. He would find a way to combine his profession with his desire.