Raine: The Lords of Satyr (25 page)

R
aine stalked her in her cell.

She’d never been so happy to see anyone in her life. “Go away,” she told him.

“Am I to understand you have been masquerading as a boy for the past nineteen years?”

Jordan folded her arms, gripping her elbows. “No. You heard my accusers. I’m male. The only masquerading I’ve done has been since the night I met you.”

Only inches away, he looked her up and down. “You want to be a man? Is that what you want?”

She remained silent.

He crowded her against the wall with his body. She turned her nose into the hollow of his throat and inhaled deeply. She’d missed him.

A hand planted on each side of her, he whispered, “Is that why you begged me to stick my cock in your woman’s slit so often? Is that why you came with me to Tuscany? Why you reveled in the role of my woman?”

She shrugged. “I’m tired, Raine.”

He leaned closer. “Admit it. You are a female, are you not?”

Was she? “That’s an unanswerable question. I have two sets of contradictory genitals. They both lead me in different directions.”

“Yet they led you to me, to my bed. And you seemed content enough there. Eager, in fact.”

“You were a diversion,” she lied. Belying her disinterest, she caressed his face, knowing she might never have another chance. “I always planned to return to Venice and take my position in society. As a man.”

“Because you wanted to?”

She shook her head, suddenly done with lying. “It’s my preference to face the world as female. But at times, I find that…I prefer to play the man.”

Her words fell into a void.

Then his voice came to her, low and loving. “You could do that. In Tuscany. With me.”

Her throat tightened. “You’d lie with me as a man lies with a man?”

His head nodded against her hair. “I don’t care about your gender. I want you.” Through the fabric of their trousers, his cock nudged hers. Both were thick with desire. “And you want me.”

Though her heart was breaking, she slipped under his arm and away from him, determined to remain firm. “It doesn’t matter what we want. If the court finds out what I am, it will touch your family. I’ll bring the taint of my past to your good name.”

His tone turned brisk. “There are ways of mitigating that. My family wields a certain power within the courts. Now, let me be certain I understand the facts.” He began counting them off on his fingers. “The Cietta estate was to go to a male cousin unless your mother managed to produce a male child. And your mother bore you, a child that was not entirely male, passing you off as your father’s male heir in order to inherit. Is that correct?”

“How did you know?” she asked in dull surprise.

“Answer me.”

She shrugged a shoulder. “Yes, then. You can understand the reason for her ruse. The rules of society are unfair. She simply tried to tilt them in her favor.”

“With Salerno’s endorsement.”

“My mother said that on the morning of my birth, the entire Cietta clan gathered to await the arrival of the only child of my recently deceased father. They held their breath, hoping for a girl child. Upon seeing I had a phallus, my aunt wept. She looked no further, never suspecting that a vagina lurked between my thighs. Salerno and my mother claimed I was a perfectly shaped boy child, and the world believed. My mother and I inherited the fortune, and my aunt’s son got nothing.”

“Your mother lied about your gender all these years to retain an estate that was not rightfully hers?”

“I see you do not sympathize. Perhaps you must be female to understand the position she was in.”

“What I don’t understand is how she could have in good conscience sent you to Salerno on each of your birthdays.”

Jordan paled. Her eyes darted around the cell searching for a place to hide from the knowledge that he knew all of her shameful secrets now. But there was no place to run from the truth. “How did you know about that?” she asked tonelessly.

“I had it from Salerno himself.”

“I see.” Had Salerno shown him the drawings? She wouldn’t ask. Didn’t want to know. “Do you think I murdered her?”

Raine swatted the air with the back of his hand. “You didn’t murder anyone. You were with me the night your mother died. All night. The hotelier on Lido will attest to it.”

“He never saw my face. I wore a mask that night, remember? Besides, I might have done the deed earlier, before we met.”

“Did you?” He knew exactly how long her mother had been dead and how long Jordan had been in Salerno’s possession, then his own, that day.

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Liar,” he said softly. “You couldn’t have done it. I saw you earlier that night in Salerno’s theater, onstage. Where you’d passed the entire day.”

Pressing her palms to her flaming cheeks, Jordan bowed her head and swung away. “You know?” she gasped. “You’ve known all this time?”

“Yes.”

“And said nothing.”

He came behind her. “Look at me.”

He waited until her eyes found his and then took her in his arms. “What happened to you under Salerno’s watch wasn’t your fault. You were a pawn.”

“I hated it,” she mumbled into his chest.

“I know.” His broad hand stroked her back.

“But I didn’t kill my mother. For all her faults, I loved her.”

“I know.”

It was stuffy in the cell and her breath felt strangled. She pushed away from him to stand on her own. “You should go. And don’t come back. Forget me.”

He pulled her back to him and kissed her forehead. “Not likely. You’re coming to Tuscany with me as soon as I can arrange it. And, Jordan—”

She looked up at him.

“We’ll have more children.”

She shook her head, afraid to believe.

After that, she’d told him dozens of times to go. Finally he did. And she wished him back with all her heart and soul.

J
ordan’s conditions improved greatly once Raine departed, and she determined that he must have greased some palms. She was moved into the non poveri section, where fresh bedding and linen were supplied. Her jailors there were far more deferential, and food rather than genitals was served to her at mealtimes.

Toward evening the following night a new jailor brought a cloaked figure whom he let inside. It was the only guest she’d had save Raine. She regarded the stranger, wary.

After the guard had locked the door and gone, the visitor lowered the hood of the cape. Within was a woman about Jordan’s height and weight, but perhaps a decade older.

Dark haired and plain of feature, the woman stared back at her, awed. “La Maschera,” she breathed.

Jordan’s brow knitted as she tried to place the face. After a moment, recognition dawned. “You’re part of that society that always came to the theaters. One of the LAMAS, are you not?”

The woman drew in a gasp and crossed her palms over her heart, appearing delighted Jordan had recognized her. “Yes! I’m the one who sent the poem.”

“Poem?”

“Yes! But I do beg your pardon. You must receive hundreds of devotions. Please do excuse my conceit in assuming my humble offering might stand out in your memory. But perhaps you do recall it? It was titled ‘O Ambiguous Love.’” She blushed, causing the sprinkling of freckles over her cheeks to darken. “Shall I recite it for you?”

“Um, well…”

The visitor went down on one knee.

“Thank you,” said Jordan, urging the woman to her feet. “That’s quite enough. I do recall it after all, and I truly appreciate your efforts. But tell me—why exactly have you come here to this jail?”

“Signore Salerno informed LAMAS of your invitation only yesterday. I came to him as soon as I heard of it, and he dispatched me only moments ago here to you. However…” She paused, a confused frown forming between her brows as she glanced around the inhospitable cell. “I’m not quite sure where he intends that we are to—”

Jordan rubbed her temples to soothe the throbbing another sleepless night had caused her. “What invitation?”

Her guest giggled coquettishly. “The, um, personal one.”

Jordan stared at her. “Can you be more specific?”

“Oh! Poetic words always escape me when I most need them,” the woman wailed in response. “If only I’d brought my pen and paper. But I shall do my best to improvise.” She whirled away, deep in thought. Moments later, she turned back. Clutching her breast, she began…

Jordan took a backward step, shaking her head in disbelief as she realized the drift of the amorous poem. “No. NoNoNo.”

The woman straightened, refusing to be deflected so easily. “I know I’m neither young nor pretty. But I have two sisters—both married—and they’ve borne a dozen healthy children between them. So it’s likely I am fertile, though untried.”

For each step back that Jordan took, her visitor took a step forward.

“I’m sorry, but Signore Salerno has misled you and your society,” said Jordan. “I made no invitation asking for a female partner to bear my offspring.”

The woman stopped in her tracks. “You don’t want me?” Hurt filled her face

Jordan spread her hands, exasperated. “It’s not that. You’re quite attractive. It’s just that I’m in love with someone else.”

“Oh. Another woman?”

“Well, no.”

“A man then! But he could never bear your child.” A new determination filled the woman’s face. She rushed to kneel at her feet, and the skirt of her dress rustled and pooled around her on the floor, drawing Jordan’s eyes.

“Give me a chance. Let me tempt you,” she said. Her fingers worked at the fastenings at her throat, ripping them wide to reveal the fleshy rounds of her bosom. “Oh, La Maschera, let me be the answer to your concupiscent dreams.”

“Dreams?” Jordan echoed. An idea came to her as she watched the woman commence to divest herself of clothing. “An interesting choice of words, signorina. Perhaps you
are
the answer to my dreams after all.”

She pulled the woman to stand. “Here, let me help you off with those garments. But let me also suggest another direction you might put your efforts to, which would lend even greater assistance to me.”

When the guard returned an hour later, he found the cloaked visitor waiting by the door. Her hair was in disarray and her clothing crumpled and askew. She ducked her head, avoiding his knowing leer.

“I’m ready to depart,” she told him.

Beyond her, La Maschera stood at the small window, staring aimlessly into the street.

The jailor made a disparaging gesture toward him. “Tiny little prick like that one has. Doubt it made much of an impression on a signorina such as you. I’d offer my services, but I’ve got orders to take you to Signore Salerno.”

The cloaked figure only shrugged.

He peered closely at her. “Not much of a talker, eh? I like that in a woman. Come on, then.”

He opened the door and let her out, then relocked it behind them.

Jordan felt the jailor’s eyes on the sway of the cloak as he unknowingly escorted her upward into the sunlight and escape. The woman who remained alone in the cell had given her the location of the other members of LAMAS. They would come for her when Jordan made them aware of her situation. The woman and she had concocted a false tale she would tell the jailors, of being overpowered and left to rot by Signore Jordan Cietta.

Outside the jail, Jordan simply walked away from the unsuspecting guard and found her way to freedom.

R
aine lifted the latch and slipped through an unlocked window into the Cietta house. Once inside, he was struck anew by the proliferation of winged creatures that adorned its rooms. But he viewed the interior with fresh eyes today, knowing now that this was the house where Jordan had once lived. First as a boy, then as a man.

Pretending to be entirely male must have been difficult for her. She’d done it out of loyalty to her mother, he was certain. Loyalty to a mother who’d blithely loaned her out once a year to be displayed naked on a stage for the purposes of scientific study. What must it have been like for Jordan to be poked, prodded, and questioned by grown men when she was only a child? She must have been terrified. He ached to think of it.

Better informed now, he noted that her mother’s likeness was to be found in many of the Faerie depictions, cavorting among other creatures of fact and myth. It was obvious she’d retained some memories of King Feydon’s surreptitious visit to her bed those many years ago, and that they’d haunted her life.

Though he saw Celia Cietta’s face everywhere he gazed, nowhere did he find a single likeness of Jordan. Jordan—her only child—who’d loved her mother more than she’d been loved in return.

He slipped upstairs into the bedchamber where they’d viewed Signora Cietta’s body that day. Studying the room, he realized the décor was somewhat more masculine here in this room than in the rest of the house. Less cluttered. The constable had said that this was Jordan’s room. Why had her mother died in Jordan’s bed rather than her own?

He lifted the book lying on the bedside table. It was the same book Celia had been clutching in her death grip—a leather-bound copy of
A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream
—Shakespeare’s quintessential faerie story.

When he thumbed through the pages, an illustration plate fell from between two of them. He bent and picked it up. Titled
Titania’s Awakening,
it depicted Oberon and Titania, Shakespeare’s king and queen of the Faerie, bathed in a pool of golden light. A multitude of characters from the play surrounded them. Dancing Faeries cavorted, carefree and joyful. But others such as witches and demons were sinister and more erotic.

On the back, a note had been written in a spidery feminine hand. It was a mixture of garbled quotes from two of Shakespeare’s more famous plays,
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
and
Romeo and Juliet.

There was more but he skimmed it, his eyes falling to the end…

The imprint of a woman’s rouged lips had been pressed upon the page, there beside the signature.

A suicide note. Celia Cietta had not been murdered after all! She had killed herself. And he held the proof.

Suddenly his nostrils flared. His head lifted. Jordan. She was here. He strode into the corridor to find her standing below-stairs in the vestibule. He peered beyond her as though expecting to see jailors shadowing her.

“I escaped,” she told him without further explanation. “What are you doing here?” She motioned toward the folded illustration in his hands. “And what’s that?”

He went to her and held her as he explained his news. There would be time enough to take Celia’s last letter to the authorities after he saw Jordan safely home to Tuscany.

Together they left the house by the front door, locking it. Locking Jordan’s past behind them for good.