The Virtu (13 page)

“Ingvard, what—”

He caught my face between his palms and kissed me again, ruthlessly. I was taller, but he was heavier. “We both know what we want,” he murmured as I half-sat, half-fell on the lower bunk, hitting my head painfully in the process. Ingvard was right there with me, still kissing my face and throat, his hands cradling my skull.

“Ingvard, wait!” I said, as breathless as a virgin. The scars on my back seemed to be burning; I could not bear the shame of having him discover them. And I did not like this feeling of being assaulted, overpowered. “Stop!”

He did, sat back, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t expect…” I said feebly, and he hooted with laughter.

“Didn’t
expect
? Are you asking me to believe you
haven’t
been flirting outrageously for the past fortnight?”

I could feel myself blushing; worse, I could feel myself shaking. “No,” I said, almost whispering. “But…”

“But what? I’m sorry if I rushed you, but you also can’t expect me to believe you’re a virgin.” He was leaning closer, and one hand was now on my thigh, hot as a branding iron through my trousers.

“No. I…” I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t find my self-possession, my strength. “I can’t do this,” I said, the words coming out in a strangled whisper. I lurched to my feet, knocking his hands away, and fled from the cabin out into the moonless night.

I hid like a child, and when Ingvard opened the door and stood peering out, he could not see me. He called my name in a low voice, but was clearly loath to come after me, for which I did not blame him. Quite the contrary, I was grateful. I was shaking, my body awash with nauseating heat, and any attempt on my part to speak or move—
anything
—would result only in hysterical weeping. I stayed where I was, crouched in the shelter of a rain barrel, and presently Ingvard retreated and closed the door.

I knew there would be sailors about—one could not leave a sailing vessel unattended while all on board got a good night’s sleep—but they did not seem to have noticed the melodrama being acted on their stage, and I hoped I had found a sufficiently out of the way niche that I would not be discovered at least until I had myself under somewhat better control.

To say that I did not understand what had happened would have been the grossest of understatements. I had never cared to be dominated—six years with Malkar would be enough to give anyone a distaste for that role—but I had never found it frightening,
never
been reduced to a state of panic merely by being kissed. I was still frightened now, but not by Ingvard; I was frightened by my reaction to him.

There had not been even a hint of this trouble with Astyanax. We had done a great deal more than merely kiss, and I had felt nothing but lazy pleasure. Of course, he had made no attempt to dominate me, or even take the initiative. But still, if I were going to be traumatized in the aftermath of what Malkar had done to me, I would have expected it to be triggered by nakedness, or the sight of another man’s arousal. Not by something as trivial as a kiss.

Something must have happened to me. Something else. Something that caused this incalculable reaction to a man using his strength against me. I clenched my hands on my shins, pressing my forehead against my knees. Something had happened to me that I did not remember. The mere idea made me feel ill, furious… helpless. I was shivering, but I could not go back to the cabin and could not think of anywhere else to go. The ship was too small a world; it was a miracle that I had found an unoccupied and unobserved corner to begin with. But I could not stay out here all night.

It took me some time to admit to myself that there was one place I could go that would be safe.

It was almost the septad-night. Me and Phaëthon were both lying in our bunks. I was awake, and I knew he was, too, because I could hear him turning over and thrashing around, trying to find some way to lie that was comfortable. My leg was aching—the weather’d been sharp today, and there was rain coming, and powers and saints but I hated the fact I could tell that. So he was restless and I was achy, and neither one of us looked like we were getting to sleep any time soon.

The knock on the door made us both start up like we’d been stabbed. I heard Phaëthon kind of squeak, and I was cursing myself for not having got a knife. But I went to the door—cabin that size, you don’t need lights—and said, “Who’s there?”

“It’s me.” Felix’s voice. “I need to talk to you.”

So I’m a dog, to be whistled up when you want me? But I didn’t say it, no matter how loud I was thinking it, because he wouldn’t be wandering around at this hour of the night just to yank my chain. And, even allowing for the whispering, his voice sounded funny—and not funny in a good way, neither.

“Gimme a second,” I said.

He said something, but it wasn’t loud enough to make out. Might’ve been “please,” or “need,” and I could feel the goose-flesh rising on my arms and bunching my shoulders up. Because it wasn’t like him, and this was seeming worse and worse.

“What is it?” Phaëthon hissed while I was dragging on my trousers. “What’s going on?”

“M’brother,” I said. “It’ll just take a minute. You okay?”

“Of course. Go ahead. Do you want the light?” He sounded worried, too. Of course, he liked Felix. They all did.

“Nah. It’s okay. But thanks.”

I opened the door and slipped out.

It took a minute for my eyes to adjust, and I still couldn’t see much of Felix. But I could see how wide his eyes were, and when he touched my arm, like he had to prove to himself I was really there, I could feel how cold his fingers were and how he was shaking. And I think it was right then that I forgot to be mad.

“Are you okay?” I said, even though I knew he wasn’t. I’d learned all about giving Felix space, and besides I was trying hard to pretend that he didn’t look like he’d spooked right the fuck out, gone back down that well where his crazies were.

“I’m all right,” he said, but it was a creaky little whisper and he
sounded
like his head had gone bad again, like we were still in Kekropia, all alone out in the grass.

“What happened?” I said.

“N-nothing. It was nothing. But I need a… a favor.”

Oh fuck, sacred bleeding fuck, this was bad. For him to admit that he needed anything, especially that he needed anything from me—this was worse than bad. “Anything,” I said, although that wasn’t a smart thing to say to Felix and I knew it. “Just tell me what.”

He made some movement—nothing I could make out clearly—and it was a moment before he said, in that same creaky little voice, “Trade cabins with me. Please.”

“Sure. But why? Did Mr. Vilker do something to you?”

“No!” he said, so panicky that I knew the answer was “yes.” “It wasn’t his fault.”

“What wasn’t his fault?”

“Mildmay,
please
. Just… please.”

“Okay,” I said. Whatever Mr. Vilker had or hadn’t done, it didn’t matter nearly as much as getting Felix calmed down and to where he was himself again. He might drive me absolutely screaming batfuck nuts, but I didn’t want him back the way he was before. “We trade cabins, and you get some sleep, right?”

“I’ll try. And—you mustn’t say anything to him. You
mustn’t
.”

“I won’t pick no fights,” I said. Which wasn’t what he’d said, but he didn’t call me on it, just sort of nodded and said, “Thank you,” and went into the cabin where Phaëthon was for sure wondering what the fuck was going on.

I wished I could have told him. But I didn’t know either. I didn’t think either me or Phaëthon was going to get answers from Felix, but I did wonder if maybe Mr. Vilker might cough up the problem. If it really wasn’t his fault, he was probably about as confused as I was.

So I wasn’t quite as slow getting over to the other cabin as I might have been. I mean, it wasn’t nothing I was exactly looking forward to—I already knew Mr. Vilker didn’t care for me, and whatever had gone down between him and Felix, it couldn’t‘ve been much fun. But I sincerely did want to find out what the fuck had happened, partly out of my own fucking curiosity, but more because I wanted in the worst way to know if this was going to be a one-time thing, or if the celebrants hadn’t done quite as good a job on Felix as they all said they had. Because if this sort of thing was going to start happening regularly… well, it was going to make getting back across Kekropia even more interesting, and I’d already thought it was looking way more interesting than it needed to be.

I knocked on the cabin door and heard Mr. Vilker say, “Felix? Is that you?” He sounded half-hopeful and half-worried, and I figured that at least Felix hadn’t been lying when he’d said it hadn’t been Mr. Vilker’s fault. Because he sounded like somebody who’d bitten into a pear and found out it was a lemon and was now trying to figure out where the fuck he’d gone wrong, and that wasn’t what he’d‘ve sounded like if he’d meant any harm.

I opened the door and went in. “Nope,” I said. “Me.”

He was sitting on the bottom bunk, and he didn’t look pleased to see me. “Where’s Felix?” he said.

“In the other cabin. He asked me to swap.”

“Did he? Sent you with his apologies?”

“Um, no. He just asked me to swap.” Mr. Vilker was looking pretty much like a thundercloud, so I added cautiously, “He didn’t tell me what happened.”

“A gentleman,” Mr. Vilker said like it was an insult.

“He seemed pretty shook up,” I said, still cautious.

There was this pause where both of us were waiting for the other guy to say something. And then Mr. Vilker kind of laughed, and shook his head, and said, “Well, it’s hardly the first time I’ve made a fool of myself. But I really did think…” He looked at me, and I could see he was worried as well as pissed. “He wouldn’t tell Ker Gauthy, would he?”

“No,” I said, because no matter what had happened, of all the things Felix might do, telling
anybody
was about as likely as him sprouting wings and flying home. Less likely, even, because if he
could
sprout wings, I’d back him to do it.

“Oh! Then he is…”

“Yeah?”

“Nothing.” And I would’ve bet all the money me and Felix had that he’d been within an inch of asking me if Felix was molly.

I said, ‘cause I figured Mr. Vilker deserved something, “He’s got a thing about deep water. It makes him twitchy. And don’t tell him I told you, or he’d most likely drop me over the side.”

His laugh sounded better this time. “My mother was terrified of spiders. And she handled it not half so well as Ker Harrowgate.”

“Yeah. It’s rough on him.”

“I can imagine.”

Another gap, and I said, “I’m sorry, but I ain’t gonna be able to reach the top bunk.”

“What? Oh! Oh, of course. I beg your pardon. Did he roust you out of your own bed?”

“Pretty much.”

He got up, eyeing me like now he was wondering if I was molly and likely to make a pass at him. Which even if I had been, I wasn’t.

Mr. Vilker crawled up into the top bunk, and I lay down with a sigh. “You can put out the light whenever,” I said.

“All right,” he said, like it wasn’t what he’d been expecting me to say. But fucked if I was going to give him anything more. Him and Felix could just work it the fuck out on their own.

He snuffed the lamp, and I lay there and prayed I didn’t dream about Ginevra again.

Phaëthon kindled the light as I closed the door behind me.

“Mildmay, what—oh.”

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” I said.

“Where’s Mildmay?” the boy said, his eyes wide, as if I might have murdered my brother and thrown the body over the side. “Are you… is he all right?”

And of course, being an idiot, I had not had sufficient foresight to think of a plausible story. Mildmay would not press me, but I could not expect such tact and gentleness from anyone else on the
White Otter
.

“Nightmare,” I said. “Old superstition—if you change beds, the nightmare won’t follow you.
You
know.” That wasn’t
exactly
how I’d been taught to banish nightmares as a child, but Phaëthon was looking skeptical enough without the more esoteric details.

“And you couldn’t just change bunks with Vilker?”

Damn the boy for applying logic. “No,” I said, now inventing frantically. “You have to change rooms. Crossing a boundary, closing gates, that sort of thing.”

Phaëthon now looked merely as if he thought I was crazy, which was unpleasant but better than concerned curiosity.

I sat down on the lower bunk. I was still too jittery to sleep, but sitting or lying quietly in the dark sounded like gift enough.

“Well, since you’ve disturbed my sleep
anyway
,” Phaëthon said, “I’m going to the latrine.”

Prudish child, I thought, but I had no objection to his leaving the cabin. As far as I was concerned, the longer he was gone the better.

He climbed slowly down; as he put his hand on the door latch, I saw the stain on the seat of his trousers and said before I thought, “You’re bleeding.”

He whipped around, eyes wide and jaw slack with fear.

“Are you hurt?” I said. “Did someone…” And then it occurred to me that one might have reasons other than prudery to eschew the use of a chamber pot. I looked again at the bone-structure of the face, the delicate bones of wrists and hands.

“What is your real name?” I said softly.

She raised her chin defiantly and said, “Arakhne of the House Attalis.”