The Gilded Cage Read Online Free PDF Page B

the deep V of her top, straining to hold those breasts in. She had nice breasts, struggling to be free.
    It took several moments to remember she had a face. A layer of makeup base had washed out all her freckles, making her seem vaguely Egyptian, an effect she heightened with the brown eye–liner and color. Blood red lips that made her look like a night creature. Mixed with the now–dark hair, she was someone else. And most men would never make it that far north, anyway, to actually see her face. He certainly didn’t feel that great of a need.
    “Ahem,” she said, not exactly disgruntled, but obviously feeling a bit objectified as he stared at her tits.
    Tough, lady. You’re about to visit a station full of people who will want to kill us. Get used to being a moll.
    Javier smiled. His own outfit was nowhere near as impressive. He wanted them paying attention to Wilhelmina Teague, or Hadiiye , as she was now going to be known.
    He smiled even broader. Very few people in this sector would know enough Turkish to realize her name roughly meant Guide . Fitting for a one–time Shepherd of the Word.
    “Very nice,” he replied. “Nobody will even remember what I look like.”
    “He might like boys exclusively, you know,” she answered tartly.
    “Men are visual creatures, Hadiiye,” Javier leered expansively. “Even then, he’d lust.”
    She blushed, even through the makeup.
    Javier knew that the Shepherds took a variety of vows: poverty, obedience, chastity. That sort of thing. But she had also explained to him, lying in the darkness, covered with sweat, that those were generally more suggestions designed to keep a proper seeker on the path, rather than rules designed for monastic lifestyle. She could still enjoy a good steak, or a good tumble, but those were things for the body, not for the soul.
    He disagreed wholeheartedly. They were very good for the soul.
    “Stand up, you,” she said finally with an impatient snap of her fingers. “I wanna see.”
    Javier rose.
    He had refined her original vision for a blood–thirsty pirate bad–ass, but not in the direction she had intended. It was more like a troupe of Shakespeareans done in street–gang motif.
    Twenty–ring lace up boots in glossy neo–leather, with curb–stomping soles and hull–metal toes. Bright red laces all the way up and double–knotted.
    Knee–length britches out of dark maroon corduroy, with heavy leather combat padding along the outer edge in case someone out of a Chop–sockey movie kicked him.
    Sixteen centimeter tall leather belt around his middle, with a canary–yellow sash tied around that. Much fancier than hers. Just because.
    Sleeveless doublet in that same maroon corduroy, but with two rows of buttons that ran from the inside of his hips to the middle of his collar–bones. Underneath, a startlingly white long sleeve shirt.
    The woman across from him had pointed out that he had the shoulders to pull a doublet off. Javier just had rarely felt the need. But this was Halloween. He could do this level of costume partying for a few days and not feel silly.
    Not very silly.
    Just for the hell of it, a cloth was tied around his head, with a Neu Berne Assault Marine logo in the middle. Sykora would appreciate that last bit. He needed a little bit of silly on his side, to balance things out before they got too dark.
    A dress sword and flash pistol balanced themselves on either side. Javier could barely use the pistol. And if it came to blades with anyone who knew what they were doing, Javier was a Christmas turkey waiting to be carved on.
    Hadiiye, Wilhelmina, whistled, gesturing for him to turn in place as she had done.
    “Honestly,” she said with a wink as he finished. “You should consider that as a permanent look.”
    Javier gave her his best stink–eye scowl, but kept himself from drifting back into that hard place where he had been.
    “It would be wasted on the rest of the crew,” he said. “And you won’t be around to