A Kind of Freedom Pt. 02

This installment involves some hot, hot gay male sex, but no anal. There's also some minor drug use, so if you're sensitive to either of those topics, turn back now. For those of you who just want to tune out the gay sex - well, that's weird, you're in the wrong place, but you can just skip the last section for Jachir.

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Bliss, aboard the Maenad

In the early hour of the evening, the reception space amidships glittered with the brilliant radiance of the hooded electric lamps bouncing off the white satin panelling and the gilded pillar inlays. Bliss was vaguely aware that far below her feet, dozens of strong men toiled to feed great boilers. Hundredweights of coal burned in mere minutes to power the enormous turbines to drive the Maenad on (with but the faintest trace of a rumbling vibration in the deck, all but imperceptible even to keen Elven ears over the elegant sounds of the lyrist sawing away at his small, pear-shaped instrument) through the night, and as a mere afterthought, generated the dazzling artificial daylight that lit up the colourful panoply of silk dresses and jewels on display.

It pained her to be so plainly dressed in such company. Where the other ladies who milled about in idle chatter wore the daring fashions currently in vogue in every possible colour, her dress was a not-unappealing, but comparatively plain, emerald piece in watered silk, its bodice revealing only the faintest hint of cleavage. She did, at least, have her corset and the dramatic wasp flare of her waist it produced to comfort her. That, mercifully, was not a concession modesty had forced. Too many long years of exquisitely uncomfortable training had gone into reducing her waist so to waste it on something as trivial as a scandal! Her corset and her natural beauty were all that was left for her vanity as she drifted through the flock.

"Lady Starshadow?"

A lilting, delicate voice came from her side, and she turned to discover its source lounging comfortably on one of the woven wicker couches. The girl was familiar, but Bliss could not quite put a name to her impish face despite its strong nose and the striking mischief of her large brown eyes. One of the human bourgoisie, she knew that much - but then, there were hardly going to be commoners in the B-deck reception room of any stripe!

"I did think it was you, Lady Starshadow!" The girl continued, rising to her feet with a swirl of the daringly crimson silk-satin long-tailed basque she wore (tight about the chest in a way that appealingly emphasized her waifishness) and its billowing white organza underskirts to offer an elegant, ever-so-slightly deeper than conventional curtsy. A large emerald gleamed on her ring finger. "I am certain you wouldn't remember me, of course, we haven't met since I was just barely out of short skirts - the school?"

Bliss smiled, heart melting. So that was it. One of her girls, from the finishing school in her name. Not, she quietly noted, one of those selected by the spotters to attend the additional year overseen directly by her most beloved pet, Darise, for their exceptional temperaments. A regular girl - yes, almost certainly of the bourgoisie classes, then.

"How could I forget any of my girls?" She replied, letting the warmth she felt into her voice. It made the lie sound quite genuine. "I see we had the desired effect!"

"Oh yes," her former student smiled back, eyes gleaming. "My husband - Lord Ralings, I'm sure you must've met - is just checking his coat for the dinner. Are you here with the Lady Starshadow, Lady Bliss?" As was proper, she dropped to the first name for this matter of clarity with a small, apologetic tilt of the head that quickly flicked back up.

"No, I'm afraid my dearest could not pull herself away from business, Lady Ralings."

"No, you mustn't call me Lady Ralings! I was Jennifer in your care, and I should not have any formality at all keep me from showing the respect due to you, Lady Starshadow!"

"Jennifer, then. Are you travelling the entire route?"

Around them, the crowd began to stir as the music came to a slow halt. Jennifer smoothed down her basque, peering over Bliss's shoulder in search of Lord Ralings as she answered.

"No, Lady Starshadow, we're only going so far as Tehra - a holiday along the old roue de la peintres for the first snows, and then to winter along the Olive Coast. Are you really making the trip all the way to the Prasineonesse?"

Before Bliss could answer, Lord Ralings made his entrance, and she turned to present her side rather than her back. He was not, she noted, an unattractive man - tall, reasonably built, and from good undiluted highborn stock, clearly, from the shape of his sleekly pointed ears and his elegant cheekbones. It was, if she remembered properly, a lesser title, but an old one - a very good get indeed for the daughter of what she could only assume were middling merchanters.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt," he offered with a small bow, "and I do not believe we have been introduced."

"I had thought you would know one another!" Jennifer giggled, and placed her hand to her chest. "But no matter. My Lady Bliss of the Starshadows, may I present you my dearest husband, Lord Heron of the Ralings."

Ralings offered a fresh bow, and in turn, Bliss offered a gentle nod. At least the scandal had not interfered here. This, she smiled to herself, was the respect she was due.

"A pleasure, Lord Ralings. I had the pleasure of overseeing your wife's education." As she spoke, she offered him her hand, and he took it for a delicate kiss.

"Then I must thank you for doing so, Lady Starshadow. I have never met a woman as enchanting..." He glanced up over her hand, meeting her glimmering green eyes with his own for a long moment. "...as the woman you helped my wife become."

Out of the corner of her eye, Bliss watched for any hint of jealousy from Jennifer. She bit, momentarily, at her full, sensual lips, but it was a difficult expression to read. Fleeting, and with something that did not seem quite as plain as jealousy in the girl's eyes.

"Lady Starshadow," Jennifer said gently, addressing her husband, "is not joining Lady Bliss this evening, my dear heart."

"Oh?" Ralings smiled again. It crinkled his eyes, and the effect, with his slightly unruly black hair, was pleasingly boyish. "Then please, Lady Starshadow, do us the honour of joining our table?"

"I should be delighted." Bliss replied, inwardly thanking the gods of friendship that at least on this first night - so dreadfully lonely - she would not be dining alone.

Ralings offered her his left arm, and Jennifer his right, and together the three joined the dwindling procession into the Maenad's restaurant, the Epicurean. The immediate impression was, paradoxically, of both size and crampedness. Running almost the full width of the ship, it might adequately seat well over a hundred people - but the low ceiling and the small, round tables gave it an intimate feel. The warm glow of the more moderate electric lights bouncing off the burnished wall-panelling of cherry and the luxurious red carpeting only furthered the faint sense that this was not an entirely public space despite both its vastness and the open curtains on the large, square windows. One wall gleamed in the light, made almost entirely of glass polished to a brilliant finish, and Bliss realized after a moment that there was even a sheltered terrace for those with a preference for outdoor dining on the other side.

They took their place at a small table nestled towards the rear right of the restaurant at the direction of a waiter who was at once both obsequious and aloof, with Ralings pulling out first Bliss's chair and then his wife's. Here, in the grandest restaurant afloat, there was no set order of courses, and with delight, both Bliss and Jennifer took to the menu - printed that very day - as Ralings sat.

"What shall we eat, my dear?" He asked, smiling and leaving his own menu alone.

"Well, we simply must begin with the oysters." Jennifer smiled back, looking to Bliss, who nodded her assent. "And then perhaps the caprese salad..."

"I am afraid I can never look past the braised ducklings," Bliss offered for the mains. "I know it's a little heavy, but just one bite is heaven."

"The duckling, then." Ralings agreed on, finally glancing at his menu for the wine list. "There is only one choice for such company, of course, to drink with it - Smaragdine imperial champagne."

"My Lord Ralings," Bliss laughed, "I don't know if I should be offended that you have not picked my dear wife's champagne instead!"

Fixing his eyes on hers, Ralings smiled again with all his warmth and charm, opening his posture ever so slightly to her in a movement that seemed to say 'here is my soft belly, do as you will'. "My dear Lady Starshadow, I would never insult you by pandering to your ego so - not, at least, at the cost of the perfect wine pairing. Some pleasures must never be denied, no matter politics."

As they laughed together, Bliss saw again Jennifer's queer glance out of the corner of her eye. Oh yes. This might prove to be quite the evening.

_____

Jachir, aboard the Maenad

"Wait, wait." The young man across the polished table laughed, eyes gleaming with mischief under his prominent brow. "You're a lady's maid?"

"Yes." Jachir answered, raising his cup of tea for a sip to disguise his own amusement at the statement.

"And no one's ever told you you have a penis?"

The tea barely covered the quiver of his lips as he suppressed a snort at the vulgar reply. There was a certain formality lacking here in the cream-painted Companion's Saloon of the Maenad, which he chalked up to the general loosening of standards at sea. With no under-servants to set an example for and no likelihood of lengthy service requirements, the drink came freely - there was a very fine bottle of Castellar Rubidium circulating - and so did the suppressed profanities and vulgarities of servant life.

"Oh, I've been told about it." He finally answered in a polite, teasing tone. "But yes. I'm a lady's maid. It's... an unorthodox arrangement, I admit, but one I'm happy with."

"I guess it has advantages, huh? Plenty of time alone with the Mistress...?" His companion to the right asked - a short, aging gentleman with unfortunately large eyes that gave him something of the aspect of a tarsier with his round face. His tone made clear the suggestion. More than one noblewoman had been known to enjoy the services of a handsome footman on the side.

"Yes, if I were so inclined, I suppose so... But no. I enjoy the work and the household."

"Who are you with, anyway?" The young man opposite asked, extending his hand for the formal introductions and offering his own identity. "Kylas, valet to Lord Oxborough."

Jachir took Kylas's hand for a firm shake. Kylas had the rough hands of a man who'd won his way up recently from lower service; a footman, no doubt, and from a household where footmen did the lion's share of the silver polishing. Platehands, as they were called, which Jachir had mercifully avoided in his own days in the bottom five.

"Jachir, with the Lady Starshadow." He replied as he released his grip, noting with some satisfaction the recognition among his company. They knew the name - every servant with aspiration did. Excellent pay, excellent conditions - provided one was an actual servant and not one of those poor deluded 'aspirants' who kept the costs down - and, best of all, excellent references and security even in illness.

"Which one?" The bulbous-eyed man on the right inquired quizzically.

"Lady Bliss."

"Oh, you lucky devil!" Kylas burst out across from him, gazing with a fresh hint of envy. "If I had to undress her, I'd... Well, I don't think I'd keep my position long or get a good reference, if you follow!"

"Yes." Jachir smiled and took another sip of his tea. "I follow perfectly. She's a beautiful woman, and I can appreciate that, but of course, beautiful women are not why I entered service..."

The man to his left, who had hitherto been quiet, looked up and smiled. He was an unassuming sort of fellow, a little on the plump side. With mousy hair that refused to settle flat on his head and a slightly tattered outmoded coat in a faded burgundy (a perquisite from his employer, who no doubt was one of the less prosperous gentlemen on the ship), he was the sort of man whose appearance might utterly fail to be noticed but whose smile could not be ignored.

"Of course not. Not beautiful women. I'm Marcus, with Lord Woodsbreeze." He'd placed the emphasis carefully on the word 'women' while staring directly at Jachir, and an electric thrill ran through the muscular elf's body. Marcus, it seemed, knew the secret of so many men in service in the Republic. A certain liberty from social expectations of marriage, and the attendant duties.

"Precisely." He answered, leaving the other two to puzzle. Kylas scratched at his hand and then shrugged.

"Good pay, was it, then?" Kylas inquired.

"Yes, though of course I can scarcely say how much, Oxborough." Jachir replied. "Suffice to say - I am well compensated for my time - with bonuses, as the usual perquisites of the lady's maid are of no use to me - and I have the opportunity to make a beautiful woman gleam and sparkle for society. The artist in me appreciates that."

The bubble-eyed companion on the right gave a laugh. "You get it too, do you? That pride, when you know they're as stunning as they are because of you? Not that they show it... I'm Kelvin, with Sir Caias of Calmorow."

"Lady Starshadow is a very appreciative employer, Calmorow." Jachir gently corrected. Not every master or mistress was thus, and he felt for the man with his unfortunate large eyes, his heart bursting with servile pride, and his evidently unappreciative knightly employer. "She enjoys my services immensely."

"Of course she does, handsome man like you." Marcus laughed at his side. "Must pay you extra to keep in that shape."

"She does, as a matter of fact." Jachir refilled the tea of his companions, and gave a small nod this time when Kelvin produced a flask from his pocket to pour best brandy into each porcelain teacup. "In my Lady's line of work - " He left unsaid the details. It was sufficiently infamous that he doubted that any of his companions had not seen her work; certainly not Kylas across the table. " - she finds it valuable to be accompanied by a large and imposing gentleman in the event of... Shall we say... Overexcited fans?"

"Ah, is that it?" Kylas joined the laughter after a fresh sip of fortified tea. "Keeps you around to give anyone that gets handsy a good smack upside the head?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so, Oxborough." Jachir let out a melodramatic sigh, looking down at his cup and then back to Kylas. "...so there go your chances!"

The table dissolved into laughter, but beside him, Marcus extended a leg and let his knee press against Jachir's, who did not pull away.

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Hainora, at Starshadow House

While the Maenad steamed away south, Hainora sat in the early morning quiet. The first-floor coffee room's northerly aspect ordinarily looked out over the lake, but tonight, the steady soaking rains pattered against the full-length windows with sufficient vigour to render the outside world only a vague smear of dark shadows. The gentle hiss and crackle of the fireplace mingled with the light tapping sounds as her personal slave, Kayla, made the coffee with the gleaming brass and steel machine she had personally designed.

Karandreya's tedious little husband was proving to be an irritation beyond what she'd expected, and the scar beneath her right breast was burning in memory again. The scandal papers were de rigeur, of course - but he had gathered his manservants and disrupted one of her betting parlours, demanding justice for his poor, defiled wife. That was not merely hurt feelings, but tantamount to a declaration of war.

Kayla interrupted her rumination, presenting her with a small cup of rich coffee, bending fetchingly to present it with both hands cradling the saucer. The short elf was naked as always, her hair immaculate despite the abhorrent hour (soon, the clocks would chorus the three AM chime) and Hainora rewarded her by paying her no more attention than a brief glance as she took the cup. The rich note of the freshly brewed espresso mingled with the scent of woodsmoke and petrichor as she sipped, and kicked one leg up to rest her ankle on her thigh, draped in a full length dressing gown of thick blue silk from Deveraux.

Losing sleep was not like her, and she knew the culprit. It was not Karandreya's husband - he was trivial, or at least too trivial to respond to in the instinctive way, with raw violence, despite the betting parlour incident. But as she had lain there, the scar had started its irritating, trivial itching again.

It was not Karandreya she thought of as she stared into the blurry dark. It was another scandal, some twenty years before. A scandal named Anwen.

"Kayla - pen and paper." She sighed out as she finished the last sip, and placed the cup back down in the saucer her slave was still holding out for her. Kayla disappeared with a speed at odds with her elegant stride, and returned with a small writing tray. With a fresh heavy sigh, Hainora took up pen and paper, and addressed her dear friend.

_____

Hainora, in Tirtassia - twenty years earlier

"Anwen... How long has it been since Nils disappeared?"

It was the subject they never spoke of, and the words hung heavy in the still, gloomy air of the young enchantress's cramped parlour in Tirtassia. Hainora could see the slender, frail elf flinch emotionally despite her clear effort to suppress it - she seemed to shrink in her overstuffed arm chair even smaller than she already was, shrivelling in on herself with the weight of a loss she was unable to admit to.

"I... Fifteen years..." Anwen's small voice was little more than a mumble as she trailed off, pale green eyes suddenly fixed on stirring the honey into her tea. "Why?"

"You know I've had my people keeping an eye out - the sailors, the spotters, the traders, the road-agents. Caname's had her friends in the tinkers look, and I know Lawrence has looked too. All of us with no luck at all. Not hide nor hair."

Anwen shrunk even further into her seat, and Hainora clenched her jaw lightly. Though ordinarily unmoved by such displays, she was fond of Anwen. The porcelain-skinned and porcelain-delicate woman was not only her favourite enchantress, but one of the few genuinely kind and decent people she had ever met. She was one of the few innocents whose beleaguered desperation to believe the best of people and situations made her uniquely vulnerable to heartbreak and which stirred the gangster's much atrophied moral sensibilities. She had even, once upon a time, believed the best of Hainora herself. In a way, she still did.

"I don't say this to be cruel," Hainora continued "But... I think it might be time to start living life again. I've - let me finish, please," she hurried out as Anwen moved to rise from her seat.

Anwen sighed, sinking back into her seat, staring down at her hands and the simple lacework on her lilac gown, cut in a way that had not been fashionable for a decade.

"I've known you for twenty-five years, Anwen. And the last fifteen... Every visit, you're a little paler, a little more... Washed out. You've let sorrow take all the joy I remember from you. The happiness you had exploring the Plain with Caname, the wonder when you watched the fireworks display. You don't leave the house, you barely see anyone else, you just... Sit, and wait, and work a little. You don't even work with a passion - just enough to pay the bills and keep a maid. It makes me sad, seeing you like this. Come visit me at my house - we'll go to the city together, take in a show."