One good thing about Arsule, though. At least you never had to grope for the right words. She’d charge right in and provide them for you.
“But you don’t really have Marcomann’s lusts, do you? In fact, I’ve never been sure you had any real lusts at all. Oh, stop frowning. I’m not casting aspersions on your manhood—Druzla never complained, that’s for sure.” The grin seemed to widen, though it was a bit hard to tell seeing it at a near vertical angle. “You didn’t really think women don’t talk about such things, did you?”
“Ah—”
“Oh, stop pretending. I’m sure Druzla told you that I satisfied my own lusts with a sculptor, here and there, seeing as how my husband was spending too much time with his whores to do the job properly.”
Well, yes, she did. Half in disapproval, and half in amusement. Arsule’s carnal lusts seemed to be just as exuberant as her artistic ones.
She leaned a bit closer. “It’s odd, though. Since Toman died—he did get killed in a whorehouse brawl, you know, the rumor’s quite accurate—I’ve led quite the proper widow’s life. I suspect I was mostly just retaliating. Well, almost. There was one sculptor, a couple of years ago, for about a month—”
“Arsule!” Despite everything, Demansk was still enough of an old-style Vanbert nobleman to feel a little shocked. Not by her history itself, so much as her ready willingness to talk about it.
“Oh, stop pretending to be shocked. Verice, the only difference between me and half the rich bitches in this city is that at least I picked my lovers for their other talents. Never been a single gigolo—not one—who wormed himself into my bed.”
That was probably true, he thought. In this as in everything, Arsule Knecht would make the world fit her tastes, not the other way around.
“Enough,” she proclaimed, the grin fading into a smile. “I dare not test the famous Demansk virtue any further, I can tell. All right, Verice. I’ll listen to whatever you have Prit say to me. Truth is, I suspect I’ll agree—but!”
There was no smile now, and her face came back level. “One condition—tonight. The high priest of the Temple of Jassine is here, and I insist that you speak with him.”
Demansk couldn’t prevent the grimace. Jassine was the goddess of mercy, and her temples provided whatever there was in the Confederation by way of poverty relief. Which . . .
Wasn’t much.
“They’re getting overwhelmed, Verice,” she said softly. “Every year, it gets worse and worse.”
“Yes, Arsule, I know. But—”
Now, she was cross-eyed. “Oh, stop it! Do you think I’m an idiot? Obviously, if you’re to be a new Marcomann you’ll be spending your own money like water on other things. I don’t want your money, Demansk, I want your mind.” For a moment—miraculously—there was a pause. She even seemed to swallow a bit. Then, very softly: “Most of all, I suppose, I want your soul. I trust you, Verice Demansk, believe it or not. Druzla would never have married a monster in the first place, much less spent two happy decades with him. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t even consider this. But you must promise me you’ll think about what the high priest has to tell you.”
That much he could do. Think, yes—even if no answer came.
“Done,” he said.
An instant later, she was sweeping him through the door. “Everyone—look who’s here! Verice, this is my latest protégé—Gaorg’s the most brilliant dramatist, the evening’s devoted to him, in fact—have you seen his latest tragedy?—no, of course not—don’t mind him, Gaorg, he’s not really a boor he just pretends very well—”
Chapter 6
As Demansk’s velipad approached the little house, he felt a certain awkwardness coming over him. Almost shame, truth be told. He had always meant to visit the First Spear after the man retired, but . . .
In the months since the siege of Preble where the First Spear sustained his career-ending injury, something always seemed more pressing. It was not as if Demansk and the First Spear had been personally close. He didn’t even know the man’s name.
Still, there had been a certain bond forged between them, in those days of savage struggle against the Islanders armed with Gellert’s bizarre and frightening new weaponry. And Demansk was acutely aware of the fact that his grandfather would have known the First Spear’s name—that of every First Spear in his regiments, in fact—and would have visited the man, long before this.