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niche.”
    Griff stroked the sandaled foot of the seated deity with one finger. “She’s lovely.
    Lufra?”
    “Depicted as the Maiden.” Fort’s heart lightened a little. “She’s my lucky piece.
    We’ve been together more than twenty years. See the flowers in Her lap?”
    Griff turned the little Goddess over and over in his hands. It wasn’t hard to see the questions forming in his quicksilver mind. But all he said was, “A rare artist.”
    21

    Denise Rossetti
    A smile tugged at Fort’s mouth. So Griffid Ringman was actually capable of discretion. Praise Lufra indeed. He rolled his shoulders, feeling some of the tension leak away. “He was like a father to me. A blacksmith.”
    “Truly? Then he had a light hand with wood.”
    Fort twitched the bedroll straight on the mattress, smoothed the blue silk ‘til it lay flat. “He made one for Brin, one for me. Then he died.”
    “Who’s Brin?”
    “The blacksmith’s son. Haven’t seen him in years, but he still owns the best vranee ranch in Feolin. I worked for the family when we were no more than randy lads, the pair of us.” Fort turned. “The only man I ever met who could beat me. Bigger, faster, stronger.” He grunted, remembering. “Well, most of the time.”
    “Twister!” Griff’s sloe eyes widened. “What did he look like? A mountain?”
    Fort allowed himself a slow, evil grin and a hint of pink bloomed on Griff’s cheekbones. “Dark, dark as sin. Good man.” He let his insolent gaze skim the contours of the tumbler’s body, from the square shoulders to the trim waist and muscled thighs.
    Even the bulge of his crotch. “Flirt with Brin and he’d break you in half.”
    Griff cocked his head to one side. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said, opening his eyes very wide. “You haven’t.”
    Gods, what a nerve! Fort couldn’t help it. A chuckle rumbled in his chest. Two seconds later, he broke off, startled. Frowning, he tried to remember the last time he’d laughed like that, without thinking.
    “You should do that more often.” Griff leaned casually against the cupboard, but his chest rose and fell as if he’d been running. “Even with that godsawful beard—”
    Fort rose, looming over the other man. “What the fuck,” he demanded, “is wrong with my bloody beard?”
    “It covers your face,” said Griff calmly. “As I’m sure you intend it to do. Time to stop hiding, Fort.”
    “Hiding?”
    Griff straightened, which put him virtually in Fort’s arms. Setting his jaw, Fort refused to give an inch. He could smell the warm, masculine scent of Griff’s skin, see the pulse ticking in his throat. “How old are you?” the tumbler asked abruptly.
    If truth be told, he wasn’t so short after all. He must be on the tall side for an acrobat because his head reached Fort’s shoulder, his lips about level with his pounding heart.
    “Forty-one, give or take,” Fort said absently. “You?”
    “Thirty-two.”
    Griff ducked under Fort’s arm and made for the door. “You bought the drinks. I’ll buy supper,” he said over his shoulder. “Be back in an hour, after the performance.
    Why no meat?”
    22

    Strongman
    “Why the questions?”
    “If you don’t ask, you never know. Griff’s—”
    “Yeah, I know. Griff’s motto.”
    “Does meat disagree with you?”
    “Gods, you’re like a biteme.”
    “So my mother says.” Griff spun around and stood on the first step, leaning into the wagon with his hands braced on the doorframe. “So why?”
    “Not since my first raid on a Hssrda slave camp.”
    Griff reared back as if he’d been slapped. “Oh.”
    Fort felt a certain vicious satisfaction. “I don’t drink much either.”
    “That adds up. You might lose control.”
    Fort was still searching for a retort when he realized the other man had disappeared into the night. Stalking over to the door, he yanked it shut. Then he sat on the edge of the bed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t think he’d