The Laurentine Spy Read Online Free PDF Page A

heart stopped beating for an instant. Fear froze her to the marble seat.
    “It is unpleasant,” Marta said, glancing up. “And somewhat painful. But it’s over swiftly, and...it is our duty.”
    Saliel managed a weak smile and a nod.
    Marta released the keys. Wife’s keys. Smooth and cool and silver. She rose to her feet. Her smile was shy. “I hope I’ve answered your question sufficiently?”
    “Yes.” Saliel had to clear her throat to speak. “Thank you.”
    ‘Don’t be afraid, Petra.”
    Saliel watched her leave. Her hands trembled as she wiped perspiration from beneath her lower lip. I was a fool to try that. The skill she’d had as a child—the easy concentration, the quickness of finger—was gone.
    No more. Never again.

 
     
    CHAPTER THREE
     
     
    A THAN DIDN’T USUALLY visit the courtesans’ salon two nights running, but the Citadel was bursting at the seams with newly-arrived naval officers. Whatever Corhona planned involved a lot of ships.
    He strolled through the rooms, wine glass in hand. Sounds and scents swirled around him. He saw mouths stretched wide in drunken laughter, bare flesh and groping hands.
    The gulf between the behavior expected of noble men and ladies was vast. Do they not see how odd it is? But the gulf between honor and trickery was no less vast. Death before dishonor was the code the Corhonase lived by—and yet they planned trickery.
    Athan tasted his wine. It was rich and smoky, full of dark fruit—brambles and blackcurrants. He strolled further. His gaze skimmed over Lord Druso, the closest he had to a friend in the Citadel, over Lord Seldo, Lord Tregar. Ah...there was Admiral Veller, taking his pleasure in one of the alcoves.
    Athan drank idly. Brambles and smoke. A wine that smelled and tasted of autumn. When he judged the Admiral had caught his breath he sauntered slowly over. “Admiral,” he said, by way of greeting.
    Admiral Veller opened his eyes. “Donkey. Do join us.” His wave was expansive.
    “Thank you.” Athan sprawled on the cushions. The whore shifted to rub herself against him.
    “You’re overdressed,” she said, coy, businesslike. Her fingers trailed up his arm, over lace and plum-colored satin. She began to unbutton his doublet.
    Athan ignored her. “I hear you’ll soon be acquiring new property for the Empire.” He raised his glass. “I toast your success.”
    Admiral Veller grunted. Sweat glistened on his face. “Thank you.” He drained his glass and belched. “More wine,” he said, and the courtesan rose obediently to her feet.
    “I trust it won’t cost the Empire many sons,” Athan said. He swallowed another mouthful of wine, savoring it.
    The Admiral laughed. “There’s little chance of that.”
    “No?” Athan said, yawning.
    The courtesan returned and the Admiral took the glass she offered. “No,” he said, leaning back against the cushions and scratching his belly. “We’ll be acquiring by invitation, Donkey.” He belched again and drank deeply.
    “Invitation?”
    The Admiral grunted. He closed his eyes.
    The courtesan lay down beside Athan and began to stroke his thigh. He looked at her. He wanted to push her hand away. Instead he lay back and forced himself to relax. Invitation?
     
     
    “A WIFE ?”
    “Yes,” said the Consort.
    “Who?” Athan asked, struggling to stay seated in the same slouched pose. His hands wanted to clench. He kept them loose and relaxed.
    “Lady Petra. She’ll make you a good wife.”
    It took effort not to say No , a short, sharp, forceful monosyllable, not to push to his feet and stride from the atrium, not to be Athan, horrified, instead Lord Ivo, languidly surprised. “Oh?” he managed.
    “Yes,” the Consort said. “She is very biddable and docile.”
    Athan looked at the woman from beneath half-closed eyelids. Docility was not an attribute he sought in a wife. He wanted spirit and intelligence.
    “And she is modest.”
    Athan acknowledged this with a grunt. Lady Petra could