New Decameron Sixty-Three: Jenn Lyons (Patreon)

The Blackmailer’s Guide to Friendship and Marriage

By Jenn Lyons

Galen D’Mon saw his Aunt Tishar from across the ballroom and immediately began looking for a place to hide. Unfortunately, the birthday party complicated matters, as much as it was both his own birthday and the root cause of the problem. 

Galen was now legally of age.

That meant Galen was now old enough to marry: Tishar was the family’s self-appointment matchmaker. She’d been waiting for this moment for years.

There was really only one reason she would be scouring the party searching for him. She probably had a list of potential spouses. She’d invite him to tea and she would be ever so polite. They’d both pretend Galen had some sort of choice in the matter. He wouldn’t.

He wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or not that his birthday party swarmed with guests. On the one hand, it meant Aunt Tishar had yet to spot him. On the other hand, no place seemed safe. He couldn’t even hide behind a press of his friends: quite bluntly, he didn’t have any. Galen was all too aware that the only people who were ever drawn to him were those who wanted to be in his family’s debt, or who wanted him to be in theirs. And since a few fools were naive enough to think this lavish party meant Galen would have something akin to authority or adult responsibility, he was greeted with polite congratulations wherever he went.

He’d hated the party anyway. His father Darzin had organized it. That meant it was full of everything which Darzin loved — scantily clad dancing girls, alcohol, and animal contests — and nothing with interested Galen in the slightest. The illusionary battles crafted by wizards from House D’Jorax were vaguely interesting, but more because Galen found the magic intriguing than because of the scenes themselves.

Galen was contemplating whether or not hiding under a table might actually work when a hand clapped him on the shoulder. That hand was attached to Vosiron D’Molo, who was roughly Galen’s age and thus theoretically Galen’s friend because they’d been attending the same parties since they were both toddlers. In reality, Vosiron was a bully and a jerk, which was to say, Galen’s father Darzin kept inviting him in the hope some of Vosiron’s ‘aggressiveness’ (read: being a bully and a jerk) would rub off on his son. It hadn’t.

Vosiron’s fingers clamped down hard. “So, answer a question for me. Are you still the heir now or what?” He looked back at the rest of his coterie, who all wore mocking grins. “See, we were all curious if that older brother of yours has been declared dead yet. What was his name again?”

Galen sighed internally. If he made a scene here, it would only draw Aunt Tishar’s attention. “Kihrin. And no, he hasn’t been declared deceased. The Goddess of Death’s priest said he hasn’t crossed past the Second Veil yet, so he’s not dead.” Just…gone. Either run away or kidnapped or something, but apparently not dead. Galen honestly didn’t know whether or not that was worse.

“So you’re still the spare,” Vosiron said. “Good to know.”

Galen’s stomach tightened, and he fought back the desire to do something, say something. It wouldn’t help. It never did. Vosiron wanted him upset and angry enough to give Vosiron and his friends an excuse to start something. He started to turn away. Started to. 

Then he thought to himself, ‘How would Kihrin respond to this?’ and instead found himself stepping in close to the D’Molo prince. Too close. To his surprise, he was the taller of the two of them, and he wondered when that had happened. 

“Because I’m the spare,” Galen said, pitching his voice low enough that Vosiron’s friends couldn’t automatically hear, “and because I’m legally an adult now, my grandfather can’t object to me fighting duels. And my father would love nothing better. So if you’re volunteering to be my first, please let me know. We could leave right now. I’ve got nothing better to do.”

Galen saw the moment when sense struggled to knock its way into Vosiron D’Molo’s brain. Vosiron knew Galen had been training in swordplay since he was a child. And Vosiron knew that Galen’s father Darzin did love dueling — and rarely fought to first blood when he might fight to the death instead. Which meant it wouldn’t be wise to assume Galen wasn’t serious.

Vosiron huffed. “So the little bird does have claws.” He too, kept his voice quiet. “And what would you do if I said yes? Beg me not to kill you?”

Galen met the man’s eyes. “No, the opposite.”

“As if you could.”

“Do you think you’d be the first man I’ve killed?”

“I thought you said you’d never killed anyone more.”

“No, I said I’ve never dueled anyone. Killed someone though? Oh, I’ve done that.” The funny thing was that Galen wasn’t even lying. He had. He wasn’t proud of it, the way his father would be, and it had been a kill-or-be-killed situation, but he’d walked away from it. The men trying to hurt him hadn’t.

It must have shown through in his eyes, because Vosiron broke the stare first. Galen smiled. “Goodnight, D’Molo. Please, enjoy the rest of my party.”

Galen had finally figured out the perfect place to hide from Aunt Tishar — namely nowhere near there. So he abandoned his own birthday celebration and walked back to the Hall of Princes, giving some serious contemplation to the idea of finding a quiet corner and a good book. Or possibly even going to the fencing yard and working on his forms. His father might object to the former, but not to the later. Not if Galen told him about the conversation he’d just had with Vosiron.

However, going to the fencing yard might be pushing his luck if Vosiron D’Molo found his courage and decided to hunt him down to press the whole dueling issue. And telling Galen’s father might backfire and guarantee a duel. 

So dark corners and books it was. Galen had only taken a few steps into the private courtyard room when he heard moaning noises. They were not moans of pain: Galen was far too familiar with that kind.

He walked around to the other side of the sitting couches. “Please,” Galen said, “this area is out of bounds. My father’s set up rooms for this sort of—” Then he stopped, staring.

Galen had interrupted two women.

Halea D'Kard was on her back, her legs spread wide and her skirt hiked up around her waist, with no sign of any uisigi whatsoever. And another woman in House D'Talus red had been between those legs but sat up in a panic at the sound of Galen's voice. She turned to him, wiping at her chin, and he saw it was Sheloran D'Talus, lips still shiny and glistening in the dim light. She was missing her raisigi, but she seemed to either not notice or not care that he could see her breasts. Her red eyes burned angrily as they met his.

"Oh gods," Halea said. "Oh gods, oh gods. Please don't--I didn't--" She grabbed a piece of cloth from the floor -- her undergarments -- and made a quick dash for the doorway. She never looked back at either of them.

The hall fell quiet.

Sheloran sighed, stood up, and brushed off her skirts. She still looked angry, but also resigned, with brief touches of chagrin and horror.

Well that certainly explained why they hadn't been in any of the common rooms. As it was, they'd taken a horrible, horrible chance. They were just lucky that Galen had been the one who'd found them, since Galen really, truly could not have cared less what they’d been doing. If it had been someone else, somehow who actually gave a damn about 'proper' behavior in royal princesses... Galen exhaled slowly, shook his head, and then walked out the door.

"Hey wait!" Sheloran yelled out behind him.

Galen ignored her.

He thought he’d left her behind, but evidently it just took her a bit longer to fix her raisigi and make herself presentable. He’d made it all the way back to the main ballroom — he did hope Aunt Tishar remembered to serve those biscuits he liked with tea — when a hand grabbed his arm and swung him around. And there was Sheloran D’Talus, hair still a mess, raisigi not quite buttoned correctly. She looked like exactly what she was — a woman fresh from an illicit assignation with a lover.

“I believe you forgot something,” Sheloran said with eyes narrowed and gaze sharpened to razors.

For a split second, Galen honestly wondered if she was about to knife him. But instead, she stood on her tiptoes, grabbed the back of his neck, yanked him down while she reached up — and she kissed him.

Galen had no idea if it was a good kiss. He suspected not, but he had no basis for comparison: he’d never been kissed before. He did know — knew with a thudding sense of fluttery panic — that they stood in the middle of his birthday party, which meant people were watching. So while his instinctive response was to pull away, to push her away, Galen also knew that wasn’t the correct response.

Galen kissed her back. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pushed his other hand into her hair, and pulled her tight against him. A small voice in his head whispered from a faraway place that it truly did not understand what all the fuss was about. This was like a hug with extra spit.

But hugs were nice?

After a dozen seconds, Galen stepped back. “Oh right,” he said, as if this hadn’t been his first kiss, and it wasn’t a big deal. “So that’s where I left that.”

Someone nearby laughed: his father.

Sheloran’s eyes still promised knives and bloodshed, but the corner of her flushed lips quirked up, like he’d just passed a test. She examined him for a few more seconds, then turned around and strode away, head held high against the stares and sometimes ribald commentary of the other party guests.

Which was the point when Galen realized Sheloran was a genius. Nobody was going to ask her how her hair had been mussed, or why her clothes were rumpled. None of the lewd comments thrown in her direction suggested she’d just been found in a sexually compromising position with another woman. The reason she looked freshly kissed was perfectly obvious, after all: Galen was the reason. They’d clearly just come from the back halls of the palace. No one needed to ask what they’d been up to there. Happy birthday.

All of which meant Sheloran D’Talus had just turned Galen into her alibi. It was brilliant. He was dizzy with admiration.

His father came up behind him. “Hah. I take it you found your own birthday present?” Darzin sounded pleased, even proud. And also quite surprised.

Which made sense. “Galen doesn’t seem to like girls” was one of the many unacceptable qualities his father never grew tired of growling about. Usually just before the hitting started.

Galen looked across the room. Aunt Tishar stared at him with undisguised shock. She lifted a glass of wine in his direction, and then left to go bother someone else.

Galen allowed a small chuckle to escape. That seemed safe enough, and appropriate. “You know what? I think I did. And it was just what I wanted.”

“About damn time.”

***

Later that evening, Sheloran D’Talus threw herself across her bed and screamed. She made the scream as loud as possible and then elaborated with every curse word she knew and a few which she extemporaneously invented on the spot.

Her mother was there within seconds.

Lady D’Talus didn’t say a word. She just gathered her daughter into her arms and held her. Eventually, she helped Sheloran take the ruby pins from her hair, the jewelry from her neck and wrists.

“Mother, would you kill someone for me?” Sheloran finally asked, turning over to stare up at the canopy above her bed. “Or ask father to do it. I’m not picky. Either one of you would be fine. It’s just a little murder.”

“Now what have I told you about using assassins to solve all your problems?”

“It works? Um, wait. I do know this one. An alibi and anonymous hiring are both essential.”

“So you were listening. That’s nice.” Lady D’Talus laughed and pet her daughter on the head. “What happened?”

“Someone caught me having sex with Halea D’Kard.”

Lady D’Talus stopped laughing. The room fell silent, until Sheloran sat up, her expression pitiful. “I’m sorry! It was a stupid risk and I shouldn’t have done it. I just…” She tipped her head back and made a whining noise.

“So why did you?” Her mother’s voice didn’t hold a trace of judgment, but that just made it worse. Sheloran was painfully, blisteringly aware of just how badly she’d messed things up.

“You don’t want to know.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know.”

Sheloran made a face. Her mother always said that, but… “Because she had her shoe off under the table and she was running her toes along my calf and I--” Sheloran bounced her knees and let the rest of that sentence die of embarrassment.

“And it made you terribly aroused.” Her mother sounded amused. Amused! “And this is why it’s extremely important not to let the parts of your brain which control sex do the thinking for the parts of your brain which control survival. They are so often at cross-purposes.” Her expression softened. “Which I realize is easy for me to say, as I’m not a teenage girl.”

Sheloran eyed her mother. “You did your share of stupid things when you were my age.”

“Far more than my share,” Lessoral D’Talus admitted, “and as those stupid things resulted in a great many deaths, I recommend learning from my mistakes.”

“If only. Halea probably thinks she’s going to be expected to commit suicide to restore her family’s honor. I bet she’s having a complete breakdown even as we speak. So…”

“I’ll reach out to her.” Her mother paused then. “Who was it who found you?”

Sheloran sighed. “Galen D’Mon.”

Lady D’Talus narrowed her eyes. “…Darzin D’Mon’s son?”

“Well, his second son, after Kihrin. You know the one who showed up a few years ago? Surprised everyone by being legitimate. I was going through that whole ‘maybe if I just pretend to be attracted to men it will finally take’ phase and flirted with him like mad.” Sheloran rolled her eyes. “He was pretty though.”

“Gets it from his mother,” Lady D’Talus said absently. “I’ve tried rather hard to stay away from that family. Too many of the wrong people watching them. I loathe Darzin. He’s everything that’s wrong with the empire in one evil, vicious little package.” Then she paused. “Galen doesn’t seem to be much like his father. The question is whether or not he wants to be.”

“But what should I do—” Sheloran stopped as she saw the look on her mother’s face. “No, no. Truly. What should I do?”

Lessoral’s smile was gentle and kind and it made Sheloran want to scream. She knew perfectly well that her mother was not gentle and kind, so it was a look she usually only wore when she was about to say something she knew the recipient didn’t want to hear.

“Mother—!”

Lessoral reached over and pushed a strand of Sheloran’s hair back behind an ear. “I’m far more interested in what you think you should do. But let’s leave assassins as a last resort, shall we?”

Sheloran threw up her arms. “Fine. Take all the fun out of it.” She fought back the temptation to smile. She was teasing and her mother knew it, but there were rules about this sort of thing. “I suppose the first thing to do would be to see if Galen intends to blackmail me over the matter.”

“Why yes,” Lessoral agreed. “That does seem like a fine place to start.”

***

A week later, Galen’s Aunt Tishar let him know that High Lady Lessoral D’Talus had invited Galen to go boating.

“Boating?” He had a moment of genuine confusion, and then of panic. Because he couldn’t be certain of Sheloran D’Talus’s motives, but he had learned the hard way over the past few years that it was rarely safe to assume innocent motives among royals.

Darzin, also at breakfast, saw the look on Galen’s face and made an assumption not too far off the mark. “No, don’t worry. If they meant you any harm, they wouldn’t have made it this obvious. You’ll be perfectly safe. I’m sure this is just the family checking you out to make sure you’re good enough for their little girl. Just keep her liking you and you’ll be fine.” 

Galen nodded. He didn’t think Sheloran had a reason to see him killed. He hadn’t said a word about what he’d seen to anyone. Unfortunately, he couldn’t explain that there might be a bit of awkwardness between them without explaining exactly why. 

His father stabbed the air with a fork in the direction of —presumably — the House D’Talus estate. “They have a whole lake over there. An artificial lake the High Lord built for his wife. Bit much, if you ask me. The way he dotes on her, you'd think she had him under an enchantment." He frowned then. "Something to keep in mind about his daughter, I suppose. She seems like the sort who'd want to be paid attention to. You'd have to put her in her place." He rolled his eyes, a clear suggestion that he didn't think Galen capable.

"They are the third-ranked house," Aunt Tishar reminded Darzin even as she gave Galen a thoughtful, considered stare. 

"Sheloran's a bit of a slut," Darzin argued.

Galen bit back on the urge to say, "so are you." Galen liked to call these little impulses his 'Kihrin moments' -- meaning honest, sarcastic, and likely to get him into a great deal of trouble. ‘What would Kihrin do?’ wasn’t always a wise question to ask.

"I would not underestimate Lessoral D'Talus," Galen's grandfather Therin said, proving he'd been paying attention after all. "House D'Talus was ranked tenth before Varik married her. Now it's number three. Perhaps that's coincidence. Perhaps it isn't." The High Lord set down his fork and stood, taking his glass with him. "Accept the invitation, Galen."

Not a request.

Darzin shrugged. "Might as well. Maybe you'll even get laid again."

***

“Boating” turned out to be a several day affair in which Galen and a number of other men and women around the same age made use of the D’Talus lake before spending the night in one of several dozen large pavilions built out onto the water. It was all very proper. Chaperones and guards abounded to make sure no one ever had too much fun or was ever in too much danger. 

Galen loved it. 

Sheloran had a much wider circle of friends than he had ever managed. They were all interested in discussing poetry and art, imperial history, magic, and to his shocked surprise, even the Devoran Prophecies on one occasion. Sheloran was well read, smart, and very very good at hiding those first two qualities behind a giggle and a hip shake.

The morning of the third day, he woke to find Sheloran in his room. The bedroom was located in one of those guest pavilions, and it was itself only marginally decorated in House D'Talus colors -- in shades of peach and pink so tender their relationship to red was as tenuous as spider’s silk. He could hear the sound of lapping water and the calls of birdsong all around him, the scent of lotus blossoms and cedar wood. 

He blinked and rubbed at his eyes and she was still there, watching him. "Um, good morning?"

"Good morning," she replied, mouth quirking.

He didn't say anything. She didn't say anything. Silence stretched out.

She didn't look like she was there for any untoward reason. She didn't have any weapons on her. She wasn't dressed provocatively (not unless exceptionally lavish gold embroidery counted). He had no idea...

"Why--" He cleared his throat. "I don't mean to be rude, but what are you doing in my room?"

“I’ve had several friends, male and female, flirting with you for the past two days and you haven’t reacted at all,” Sheloran said. “How on earth am I supposed to accumulate reciprocal blackmail material on you if you don’t do anything worth blackmailing you about?”

“I…what?” Galen sat up in bed. “I’m sorry. Did you say people have been flirting with me? Really?”

Sheloran narrowed her eyes. “Did you somehow not notice?”

“Well I didn’t, I mean…” He realized he was probably blushing and cleared his throat. “Who?”

“Nelrin D’Evelin and Phinera D’Laakar.” She had a fan in her lap, which she flipped open as she stared at him over the top of the paper. “I thought you were being cagey.”

“I just…I just thought they were being nice?”

Sheloran stared at him in disbelief.

Galen winced. “I’m blushing, aren’t I?”

“You’re as red as my house colors,” Sheloran agreed. “You know, I think I’ve made a mistake. You’re a terrible blackmailer.”

“That’s because I’m not blackmailing you!”

“Well, yes. I see that now. I was just assuming that you were biding your time until the right moment to make your demands, but you don’t have any, do you? Why in the Veils don’t you have any demands? Are you ill?”

“Now you’re upset because I’m not blackmailing you?”

“You cannot expect me to not be surprised when you’re behaving in such a surprising fashion. It’s unsettling!”

“May I get out of bed? I’d really like a glass of water.” He wondered how she’d gotten past the guards, but then again, it was her estate.

Sheloran stood and turned around, watching the lake through the window fretwork. Galen tugged down the hem of his sleeping gown, which always seemed to want to climb up over his body and personally strangle him while he slept, and left the bed to find a nearby pitcher of water and a glass. 

“I don’t know why I should tell people about something that was so clearly private, not to mention not being any of my business,” Galen said. “If I were in your place, I would hate to think someone else would do that to me. So I wasn’t going to put you in that position.”

Sheloran turned around, blinking at him.

“You think I’m lying?” Galen crossed his arms over his chest, realized he was still holding a glass and managed not to spill it all over himself, then awkwardly set the glass down on a side table.

“No,” she said, looking bemused. “I really don’t think you are. I just don’t understand why.”

“Well I—”

“Shh.” She waved a finger. “I’m a princess. I have no idea how to handle someone who doesn’t come with a list of demands. So name something. What do you want?”

Galen picked up his water and drank it again, just to give himself something to do, to stall for time. The thing was, Sheloran was quite beautiful. He knew that objectively. She possessed all the qualities most desirable in a woman, and then tweaked those qualities up a level: larger breasts, smaller waist, more perfect hips, shinier hair, etc. If he was ever going to be attracted to a woman, it would be to Sheloran D'Talus.

He just wasn't. But he could imagine the stomach-clenching dread of being her, of knowing that someone else had your number and could, at their leisure, call that marker due.

"It was really smart, what you did at my party," Galen finally said. "Kissing me in public like that. Quick thinking. But not what happened earlier. Halea D'Kard in the Hall of Princes? That was really stupid."

She hid her face behind the fan. "I’m afraid I let the moment get the better of me."

“So if you’d like to repay me,” Galen said, “then keep inviting me to gatherings like this. I’ve enjoyed this a lot. Honestly, you’ve already repaid me. My father’s treated me better in the last week because of that damn kiss than he has the entirety of my life until this point. He’s probably back at the Blue Palace gloating about me getting laid right now. The idea that his son might like girls? He’s so thrilled.”

Sheloran lowered the fan. “Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Do you like girls?”

He knew he was supposed to answer yes. Yes, without hesitation, without reservation. Don't be ridiculous. What healthy young Quuros man didn’t like girls? Clearly Sheloran did. Quite a lot.

“Not really,” he answered. “It’s nothing personal. I just…don’t. See? Now you know something about me. Reciprocal blackmail material, as requested.”

"You don't like girls." Sheloran looked like she'd just been handed a revelation. She leaned towards him, arms crossed on her thighs, eyes bright. "Do you like boys then?"

Galen hesitated. “That depends. How serious was Nelrin D’Evelin with his flirting?” It’s not that he hadn’t noticed the man. He’d just so attuned himself to the idea that no man was ever going to look at him the way he looked at them, that…well, anyway.

“If he hadn’t been,” Sheloran said, “he wouldn’t have volunteered.”

“And I assume, despite all rumors to the contrary, that you don’t really like men?”

“I like men fine,” Sheloran said, “just not in my bed.”

"Oh. I feel bad for Aunt Tishar. She thinks she’s finally found a match for me and it’s the most doomed, hopeless cause in the history of the empire, isn’t it? I don’t like girls and you don’t like boys." Galen started laughing, because gods, it was funny. Except...the laughter trailed off. Because it was like how Sheloran had that finely honed reputation for being easy, which still fell with acceptable definitions of behavior for favorite royal princesses. Nobody ever questioned whether or not Sheloran liked men. Of course she did. 

"Veils and stars.” Galen beamed at Sheloran. "You're going to be the woman who finally makes a real man of me."

"I'm what?" She suddenly wasn't looking so friendly. She even took a step back.

"No, of course you’re not really," Galen said. "But as long as everyone thinks you and I are courting, nobody's going to question the two of us going somewhere secluded and private while I go read a book or even, I don’t know, go talk to my new best friend Nolrin D’Evelin while you have Halea D'Kard over because she is like a sister to you and you just want to gossip."

She started to say something. She started to smile. A hundred emotions crossed over her features before finally being shoved aside by caution and wariness. "That’s very devious.”

“I learned it from you.”

“You’re a quick study.”

“I’ve been told that before.” A fluttery warmth started to spread through him. Not panic this time. Not attraction either, not per se. But the realization that he liked her. He didn’t have to pretend around her. And maybe, just maybe, they could help each other. Maybe they could even be friends. Which was important, because the more they genuinely liked each other, the easier this would be to pull off.

“It’s underhanded...sneaky,” Sheloran said. “I like it. But if this is all a ruse of some kind..."

He held up his hands. "It's not. Do you have any idea how much of a favor you'd be doing me by giving me an excuse to spend as much time as possible away from my father?"

She paused. "He does have a reputation."

"It's well earned. You have no idea."

***

Three days later, Galen D'Mon walked into his Aunt Tishar's sitting room and said, "I’m going to marry Sheloran D'Talus."

Tishar sat back and set down her cup of tea. She gave the young man a good, hard stare, the sort which suggested she saw right through him, that screamed that she was not fooled, no, not at all.

Tishar smiled. "I'll start the negotiations with House D'Talus immediately."

*********************************************

"Well, no coffee, but it certainly was fun," he says. 

Maya nods. "And it's the beginning of something, right?"

"I think so. Not necessarily, but I think it is. It's a how-they-met story I think."

"I like them making friends. I like stories about people making friends and helping each other," Maya says, and stretches. "Still need to find you some coffee. Not to mention looking for a vaccine."

"Maybe if we want a vaccine we should be looking at stories about plagues," he says. "We've been avoiding them for a while."

"All right," Maya says. "I can take it. That Penric one was really good."

"This one won't be like that. It's Peter Watts, and set in this world, in the future," he says, looking at the book in his hand. "The Last of the Redmond Billionaires. Are you braced for this?"

"All right," she says.

And they read.