‘If I thought you were here to take on responsibility, I’d welcome you to the table with open arms. You have no interest in trade negotiations. You’ve never applied yourself seriously to anything in your life.’
‘Haven’t I? Well, then it’s nothing serious, uncle. You have no cause to worry.’
Damen saw the Regent’s eyes narrow. It was an expression that reminded him of Laurent. But the Regent said only, ‘I expect appropriate behaviour,’ before preceding them to the entertainments, displaying far more patience than Laurent deserved. Laurent didn’t follow him immediately; his gaze stayed on his uncle.
‘Your life would be a lot easier if you stopped baiting him,’ said Damen.
This time coldly, flatly, ‘I told you to shut up.’
CHAPTER 8
EXPECTING A SLAVE’S inconspicuous place on the sidelines, Damen was surprised to find himself seated beside Laurent, albeit with a cool distance of nine inches interposed between them, not half in his lap, like Ancel and his master across the way.
Laurent sat consciously well. He was dressed as always severely, though his clothing was very fine, as befitting his rank. No jewellery except for a fine gold circlet on his brow that was mostly hidden by the fall of his golden hair. When they sat, he unclipped Damen’s leash, wound it around the handler’s rod, then tossed it to one of the attendants, who managed to catch it with only a slight fumble.
The table stretched out. On the other side of Laurent sat Torveld, evidence of a small coup for Laurent. On the other side of Damen was Nicaise. Possibly also evidence of a coup for Laurent. Nicaise was separated from Councillor Audin, who sat elsewhere, close by the Regent; Nicaise didn’t seem to have a master anywhere near him.
It seemed like a blunder of etiquette to have Nicaise at the high table, considering the sensibilities of the Patrans. But Nicaise was dressed respectably, and wore very little paint. The only flash of pet gaudiness was a long earring in his left ear; twin sapphires dangled, almost brushing his shoulder, too heavy for his young face. In every other way, he could be mistaken for a member of the nobility. No one from Patras would suppose that a child catamite sat at table alongside royalty; Torveld would likely make the same incorrect assumption that Damen had made, and think that Nicaise was somebody’s son, or nephew. Despite the earring.
Nicaise also sat well. His beauty at close range was striking. So was his youth. His voice, when he spoke, was unbroken. It had the clear fluting tone of a knife tapped against crystal, without cracks.
‘I don’t want to sit next to you,’ said Nicaise. ‘Fuck off.’
Instinctively, Damen looked around to see if anyone from the Patran delegation had heard, but no one had. The first course of meat had arrived, and the food had everyone’s attention. Nicaise had picked up a gilt three-pronged fork, but had paused before sampling the dish in order to speak. The fear he’d shown of Damen at the ring seemed to still be there. His knuckles, clenched around the fork, were white.
‘It’s all right,’ said Damen. He spoke to the boy as gently as he could. ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’
Nicaise stared back at him. His huge blue eyes were fringed like a whore’s, or like a doe’s. Around them, the table was a coloured wall of voices and laughter, courtiers caught up in their own amusements, paying them no attention.
‘Good,’ said Nicaise, and stabbed the fork viciously into Damen’s thigh under the table.
Even through a layer of cloth, it was enough to make Damen start, and instinctively grab the fork, as three drops of blood welled up.
‘Excuse me a moment,’ Laurent said smoothly, turning from Torveld to face Nicaise.
‘I made your pet jump,’ said Nicaise, smugly.
Not sounding at all displeased: ‘Yes, you did.’
‘Whatever you’re planning, it’s not going to work.’
‘I think it will, though. Bet you your earring.’
‘If I win, you wear it,’ said Nicaise.
Laurent immediately lifted his cup and inclined it towards Nicaise in a little gesture sealing the bet. Damen tried to shake the bizarre impression that they were enjoying themselves.
Nicaise waved an attendant over and asked for a new fork.
Without a master to entertain, Nicaise was left free to prick at Damen. He began with a stream of insults and explicit speculation about Damen’s sexual practices, pitched in a voice too quiet for anyone else to hear. When, at length, he saw that Damen was not rising to this bait, he turned his commentary on Damen’s owner.
‘You think sitting at the high table with him means something? It doesn’t. He won’t fuck you. He’s frigid.’
This subject was almost a relief. No matter how crude the boy was, there was nothing he could say about Laurent’s proclivities that Damen had not already heard speculated about extensively and in coarse language by bored guards on indoor duty.
‘I don’t think he can. I think it doesn’t work, what he has. When I was younger, I used to think he’d had it cut off. What do you think? Have you seen it?’
When he was younger?