Nikola and Justin spent more effort on conversation than fishing; for his part, Justin found conversation more rewarding. Still, they lapsed into companionable silence at times. Even spread out, Nikola’s jacket wasn’t wide enough for them to sit upon without touching occasionally, and Justin was keenly aware of his friend’s nearness. Whenever Justin shifted and stretched to keep himself from stiffening, he inched a little farther away, until he was sitting half-off the jacket in an effort to get a buffer of distance between them. Which was the opposite of what he wanted: his mind was full of fantasies of pushing Nikola down on the moss and making love to him as they had of old. Why did I choose this spot, so full of memories? It was almost intolerable to brush against Nikola when he could not claim him. Distance was safer. A little safer. Has anyone ever petitioned you to mend a broken heart, Nikola? If the Savior cannot heal it, do you know how long it takes to recover on its own? Will I never stop wanting you? He could say none of it.

The day grew warmer, the sun chasing back their shade as it climbed. During a conversational lull, Nikola yawned and shook his head. “Ah, forgive me, Comfrey. This heat is making me drowsy.” He set his fishing rod down to stand and stretch, then bent to slip out of shoes and stockings and roll up his trouser legs. The fair-skinned man picked his way down a sloped section of bank to stand in the shallow water along the edge.

“Testing to see if human toes make more appetizing bait than shiny baubles?” Justin watched the waterfall upstream to avoid staring, but from the corner of his eye he could see his friend’s lithe form as Nikola shook the kinks from his shoulders.

“They can’t do worse.” Nikola wiggled his toes in the muck and bent to splash water on his face and hands.

Justin was more overheated than ever, and the water looked cool and inviting. What harm could there be in bare feet? There is nothing whatsoever for a normal man to find erotic in this. (Yes, and there has never been anything normal about my desires.) He pulled up one foot at a time to unbuckle his own shoes despite his misgivings.

“Did you want to keep on fishing?” Nikola asked. “I think I’ll swim for a bit instead. I don’t suppose it’ll scare the fish any more than the lures do.”

Justin froze in the act of placing stockings atop shoes. He finished the movement with exaggerated care and looked up to see Nikola turned in profile to him, eyes on the depths of the pool. His handsome friend unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged out of it, tossing it carelessly atop the jacket. Justin clenched his fingers against the urge to run them over exposed Haventure-pale skin, to feel the lines of lean supple muscle. Nikola drew the ribbon from his ponytail and ran his fingers through long loose waves of golden hair as he waded deeper into the pool.

Justin splashed into the pool after him. Nikola was up to his thighs before he felt a hand on his upper arm. “Am I stone, Nikola?” Justin asked, softly. Skin flushed pink beneath his fingers. Need overcame restraint and he circled his other arm about the fair man’s waist, caressing his stomach, pulling Nikola to him to press the younger man’s back against his chest. He nuzzled aside golden hair to bare Nikola’s shoulder to his lips. His former lover’s body tensed against his touch, but Justin could not make himself draw back. “Am I unfeeling rock? You are not sixteen, Nikola. Nor innocent.” He kissed the exposed shoulder, skin reddened and heated against his lips. “You know full well what effect you have on me.” In emphasis, Justin ground his hips against Nikola’s rear, ensuring he felt the erection through their clothes.

“I…Justin, I’m…” Whatever he was going to say trailed off unfinished.

“Curse it, boy. Fidelity was your choice.” Justin nipped at the side of Nikola’s throat, provoking a stifled moan. One hand drifted up Nikola’s chest, feeling firm muscle beneath the skin. “Why are you tormenting me like this?”

Nikola shuddered under the attentions of hands and mouth, then twisted to face him. Justin released Nikola and forced himself back a step, eyes down. “I’m not sorry,” Nikola whispered, hoarse and fierce, following Justin’s retreat and wrapping him in his arms to prevent further withdrawal as Nikola dipped his head to lock his mouth over Justin’s. They kissed with the pent-up passion of months of frustrated desire. Nikola tore open Justin’s shirt to stroke the skin beneath. “I can’t stop wanting you, Justin,” Nikola whispered, lips moving from Justin’s to press against his cheek, to lick his ear. “I’ve tried, I’ve been trying for months, but it’s all pretense. I am so very tired of pretending, my lord.” Teeth raked over the curve of Justin’s ear, Nikola’s hips grinding urgently against his.

With a groan of pure need, Justin lifted Nikola and carried him to the bank. He laid him down on the moss and covered him with his body, his dominant thought take him now before he changes his mind. Nikola arched into his mouth as Justin bit down on a stiffened nipple, a hand clamping on the back of Justin’s head to hold him in place. Justin stroked his fingers over the trousers covering Nikola’s cock, fumbled at the stiff wet cloth as he tried to unbutton them, fingers clumsy and shaking with need.

§

Nikola’s note had said he expected to find Justin near the waterfall, which didn’t surprise Wisteria. It was one of the most picturesque spots in Fireholt; she and Nikola had been there many times on pleasant days like this one. It was also private, screened off by forest and part of the few dozen acres that remained reserved to the lord of the manor. As she walked up the final rise, she hadn’t heard or seen them yet. But she didn’t expect to; the waterfall often masked other sounds.

The first indication that the men were about was a towel hanging from a tree not far from the pool. She continued along the path, peering between the trees to look for them. Wisteria was about to call out when she saw two figures standing hip-deep in the water. Standing oddly close together in the water. With their arms about one another. How strange. Are they all right? By build and hair color, the two had to be her husband and Lord Comfrey, but why would their heads be so…Oh.

Oh.

Stunned, Wisteria stepped off the path and into the trees, using them for cover as she drew nearer. She watched as Lord Comfrey lifted her half-naked husband from the pool, as Nikola stripped the dark-haired man of his shirt, pale pink hands moving with eager, practiced assurance over golden-brown skin. They lay together on the mossy bank, Comfrey half on his side and half on top of Nikola, kissing, licking, nibbling at her husband.

Am I dreaming? Wisteria touched the bark of the tree she was half-hiding behind. It felt very real. My husband is making love with Lord Comfrey.

It was the most moving, erotic thing she’d ever witnessed. They looked beautiful and right together, as if they were made for this intimacy. She set her half-forgotten basket on the bare earth and crept nearer, wanting to see more, sensible of the impropriety of her actions but unwilling to stop herself.

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It was Sunday, the third day of Justin’s stay at Fireholt. On the bright side, each day was no longer bleak and colorless. Justin hardly knew how he felt from one moment to the next, but “colorless” definitely was not it. At times he grasped the easy companionship he craved, as at home at Fireholt as anywhere, bantering with Nikola and his wife on walks about the grounds, playing cards and other games in the evening, as comfortable as he gave the appearance of being. Other times, he was so consumed by desire that a lifetime of practice at concealing his passion did not seem equal to the task. He had already masturbated three times since his arrival and had contemplated locating the local whore – there must be one – and would have if he thought it would make any difference. It was like satisfying hunger by drinking water: it might temporarily sate the appetite, but it could not touch the underlying need.

Like his great-grandmother before him, Nikola had always given his staff a holiday on Sundays, a quirk his marriage had not altered. Rather than have his people be the only ones in Fireholt working, Justin had followed local custom and allowed them the day off as well. Thus he rose and dressed alone. Mrs. Striker had told him the night before what the breakfast arrangements were, but he couldn’t remember the specifics when he got to the kitchen. He scavenged a few hard-boiled eggs and a pastry that might or might not have been set aside for this purpose. When he finished, Striker and his wife were not awake yet, or at least still in their chambers (thinking about what they might be doing if they were awake prompted a fourth effort at manual satisfaction of his unrelenting lust). So Justin ventured outside for his morning exercise.

He spent half an hour running trails through the wooded hills near the manor, and another half-hour on strength-training exercises. Now he closed with fencing drills in a meadow by the waterfall, where the brook pooled deep and still before meandering its final path to the ocean. Not even the greatcats were in evidence this morning; Justin felt like the only man in the world as he practiced his footwork.

§

Nikola and Wisteria had separate suites – Fireholt might be small for a lord’s holding, but not so small that the lord and his lady had to share sleeping quarters. The two suites did share an adjoining door for convenience, however. Nik usually came into Wisteria’s bedchamber after her maid had finished dressing her for bed and left. “I don’t know why I keep changing into nightclothes when I am just going to take them off again a quarter of an hour later,” Wisteria remarked once.   

Often they fell asleep intertwined. Nik always drew his nightshirt back on but sometimes Wisteria snuggled up to him nude and didn’t bother with her nightgown until the lady’s maid came back in the morning. Nik found this habit intensely erotic and did nothing to discourage her from it.

Last night had been such an occasion. Nik felt as if he’d been in a constant state of arousal since Comfrey’s arrival, and had been subjecting Wisteria to even more of his attentions than usual in an effort to give this lust an appropriate outlet. Thankfully, Wisteria was as eager as ever herself. This morning he had awakened to find her wrapped intimately about him, one hand stroking his cock and her own body aroused and ready for him. After they made love, she fell back into a doze. He held her for a while as she slept, then rose to check on their guest.

The door to Comfrey’s suite was open but he wasn’t in it, or any of the common rooms. Probably taking some exercise. I should wait for him here. The vivid memory of Comfrey shirtless and gleaming in the garden of his own home flashed through Nik’s mind. Or I could look for him. It’s a beautiful day, and I know his favorite trails and spots. He left a note on the dining table for Wisteria, and took fishing gear with him as an excuse to be out.

The early morning had been pleasantly cool, but as the sun rose higher the day turned warm, and Nik perspired while he hiked up the trail to the meadow by the waterfall. As he drew nearer, he could hear the pad of Comfrey’s feet and the occasional grunt of effort. The polite thing to do would be to call out, but Nik pretended he couldn’t hear. This had been a favored locale of theirs in years past; Nik felt himself warm further at the memory of some of the things they had done together in this pool. The trees thinned as he cleared a rise, and he could see Comfrey. The Newlanture man was turned away from him, moving with a practice foil in hand, feet shifting backwards and forwards along an invisible line. The foil’s blunted end dipped and wove with thrusts and parries against an imagined opponent.

Nikola drew to a halt, mesmerized. When he was a boy, before he’d even met Comfrey, he’d seen the lord compete in sporting events. That was how he’d first contrived this lifelong infatuation. He realized anew how much he missed watching Justin in such activities: grace, strength and skill combined in movement as elegant as any dance, the interplay of rippling muscles on Comfrey’s back as hypnotic as any cut-crystal adornments on an Ascension jacket. Nik stared, not wanting to say anything that might draw attention to himself, that might bring this private performance to an end.

But after several minutes, Comfrey lifted his sword in salute to his invisible opponent, and started to turn. Nikola hastily cleared his throat, resuming his approach. “Good morning, Comfrey.”

The dark-haired lord turned about to look at him. “Hello, Striker. I didn’t hear you coming.”

“It’s the waterfall.” As Nik entered the meadow, Comfrey splashed water over his torso to rinse off, then dried himself with a towel from a bag he’d brought.

“Indeed. So what brings you out here?”

“Looking for you.” Nikola motioned with the fishing poles resting against his shoulder. “One of my new brothers bought me this array of angling gear. I thought you might care to try it.”

“You know I am game for every sort of sport, Striker.” Comfrey tossed the damp towel over a tree limb and, to Nik’s regret, produced a shirt from the bag and buttoned it on.

“It is the least sporting sport I have tried,” Nik warned him. “It requires a great deal of patience and sitting. Well, one might stand if one preferred, but I don’t believe it helps any. It is, however, an excellent excuse for lazing next to a river for several hours, accomplishing nothing whatsoever in a socially-acceptable form.” He offered Comfrey one of the poles.

It was too warm for a jacket in such an informal environment; Nik took his off and draped it over a mossy spot along one of the higher sections of the bank for them to sit on. They sat side by side, legs dangling over the bank above the pool, while Nik showed him the assortment of baits and lures. “What works best for this area?” Comfrey asked

“Try one of these.” Nik pointed to a selection of lures supplemented by bright feathers. “They’ve not failed me yet. By which I mean ‘I’ve not tried them yet’. I have never caught anything except the occasional small branch. Byron has a theory that the greatcats have already caught all the stupid fish and the ones that remain are too clever to fall for some merely human ruse.”

“A likely scenario. Have you not yet learnt to stock your streams and hunting grounds if you expect to catch anything in them, Striker?”

“Having someone else catch or cultivate animals for me and then release them into my grounds so that I can try to catch them again has always seemed a bit…roundabout? For my tastes. Though I admit that hunting is more fun at the Markavian or on your grounds than here.”

“Exactly. The point is to be entertained, my boy, not to be productive. Having a Blessing has given you entirely the wrong idea about what a lord ought to do.”

“It has?”

“Indeed! You have the misbegotten notion that a lord ought to be the benefactor of his people, healing their illnesses of body and mind and requiring no special reward for the service. Why, I suppose you even believe it is a lord’s purpose to be a good steward over his lands and to exercise wisely what powers Assembly has not yet legislated away from us.”

“It is possible I have been so informed. Yet this is not the true function?”

“Of course not. A lord’s proper role is to amuse himself and his peers with no regard to the ridiculousness of his pastimes. Indeed, the more ridiculous the better, for his goal is to prove himself the most useless of all. His purpose is to be fat, indolent and live off the fruits of other’s labors. Sitting about recapturing someone else’s captured fish is perfectly in keeping with the lordly way.”

“I observe, my lord—” Nik poked at Comfrey’s steely abdomen “—that you yourself have been less than exemplary in regards to gluttony and languor.”

“I have never claimed to be an exemplar of my class, Striker. We all have our vices,” Comfrey said, sanguine. He finished baiting his hook – “Aren’t we supposed to have servants for this sort of thing?” – and had Nikola show him how to cast off.

§

Fishing was a man’s pastime. Wisteria thought gendering activities as male or female was absurd and she was willing to defy convention and learn unwomanly things if they piqued her interest, as bowracing did.

But fishing did not sound exhilarating; it sounded rather dull, and she thought Nikola used it as an excuse to connect with his male friends instead of for its own sake. So when she found his note, she did not intend to intrude on his time with Lord Comfrey.

Usually she had no trouble entertaining herself alone; she loved the stillness and the freedom to concentrate on one thing uninterrupted. But today she was restless; her thoughts kept going to her husband and Lord Comfrey. She longed to be with them, to hear their laughter and banter. As the morning grew later and Wisteria foraged in the kitchen for a snack, she noticed the food set aside for dinner was still packed in its basket in the cupboard. I’ll carry it out to them, she decided. It’s a nice day and we can all enjoy a meal outside, and then I can leave them alone to their fishing or whatever afterwards.

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Fireholt’s front parlor had always been a charming room, with a view of the hills and brook, its thick stone walls covered by drywall painted a cheerful yellow. Nikola and his wife had updated the furniture since their marriage, recovering the threadbare sofa and chairs with a subdued flowery pattern that echoed the carved flowers in the wooden trim. Small matched ottomans sat before each chair. The room’s shelves and mantle showcased an eclectic selection of gifts from petitioners. Some showed great skill, such as the carved bust of Nikola’s great-grandmother, and others only great enthusiasm, such as a clay creation that was perhaps intended to be a greatcat, or the framed picture of a brown stick figure captioned “I lov yu”. There was nothing of pretension or ostentation in the chamber. Justin liked it.

He and Mrs. Striker sat together on the sofa, heads bent to look at her planning notes. As he reached to move a page and almost collided with her hand doing the same, he remembered their flirtation over the Colbury file, the feel of her fingers on his skin, her eyes betraying nothing when they met his. This was almost the first time he had been alone with the girl since her engagement. To distract himself from the memory and discourage the sudden urge to kiss her again, Justin leaned back on the sofa. “I fear for your state in this marriage business, my dear.”

She turned to him, shifting a few inches away on the sofa. “Why do you say that, my lord?”

“Why, because I can already tell you have made Striker a terribly happy man.”

“…I don’t believe I follow how this is a problem?”

“Do you not understand the importance of managing investor expectations, Mrs. Striker? How can you sustain such impossibly high standards as you have set for yourself?”

Mrs. Striker folded her hands in her lap, her light brown-gold skin a pleasant contrast against the pale green of her dress, and regarded him with her head tilted. “Isn’t that why I invited you here?”

If you want tips on how to satisfy your husband, I’ll be glad to demonstrate. This was not taking his mind from inappropriate topics. “Yet you are but three months into this venture and you are already drawing on your full resources. You ought to be holding a card such as myself in reserve, perhaps for his fiftieth naming day. If you give him everything his heart desires now, what will you use to appease him a year from now?”

“I think you are worrying over nothing, my lord,” the dark-haired woman replied. “I have been informed by no fewer than six gentlewomen, on my wedding day no less, that I should never be able to make my husband happy if I did not learn to smile more.”

“By women whose own husbands were henpecked miserable creatures, no doubt.”

“I fear I would not have noticed. However, it is clear to me that my husband’s natural good humor requires no help from me to maintain.”    

Justin laughed. “Your triumph is complete, if you have so transformed him. Tell me, my dear, how are you? Is marriage to your own liking?”

“So much so that mere words cannot express it, my lord. I love Nikola, and Fireholt, and having my own household to run just as I please. Nikola is the easiest man in Paradise to live with, he always encourages me to say just what I feel. You have no idea what a pleasure it is, not to feel as if I am being tested each day on some scale I cannot comprehend and am always failing.”

He smiled at her plain language. “So you do not miss Gracehaven?”    

“Oh, a little. I miss the plays and the music at times. And talking to my father and Byron, especially. Business is more difficult to manage at a remove and I regret that I cannot be as involved with Vasilver Trading as I once was. But I admire the peace here. It is so wonderfully easy to concentrate on a task, hours at a time with no interruptions. And we’ll be back soon enough for the season.” She took her teacup from the table and sipped. “No, I do not see how I could be happier, unless I could be wed to both of you.”

The last was spoken with such matter-of-fact simplicity, no pause nor weight to her tone, that it caught Justin off-guard. For a moment, the idea of it seized his imagination: of being gathered into their marriage instead of being divided from them by it. If Nikola could share his wife with me, would she be able to share me with him? It was as if he were a starving man being offered a feast.

An illusory feast he could never taste. It was shockingly painful to contemplate, knowing how impossible it was. No man, not even Nikola, would willingly share his wife; no woman, not even Wisteria, would tolerate her husband having an affair with a man. He closed his eyes against agonized longing. What am I doing here? Waiting to muster the courage to petition Nikola to cure this madness?

“My lord? I apologize, should I not have—”

Justin opened his eyes as she spoke, forcing a smile so artificial he doubted it would fool even her. “My dear Mrs. Striker, you must re-check your calculations. I daresay you would find two husbands to be twice the trouble but half the joy.”

“I do not think mathematical equations work that way, Lord Comfrey.”

“No, but relationships do.” He could withstand no more of this subject and took a page of Mrs. Striker’s notes from the table before them. “Since you miss the plays in Gracehaven, have you considered inducing your guests to perform for you? I am not the only one of Nikola’s acquaintance who enjoys being the center of attention.”

She put her hand over his. “I feel I have wronged you, my lord, and I do not know how to make it right.”

Even that touch was too much; he moved away, putting some distance between them. “Not at all. Dear lady, I have always been so wrong that I do not see how anyone might ever right me. Shall we return to the agenda, or must I sue the chairman to bring the meeting back to order?”

She dipped her head, dark curls falling from the comb to dangle against the side of her neck. “As you wish.”

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