Page 20 of Phoenix's Last Heist
Lyra laughs again and looks at me with something like pity in her eyes.
“Stars, youareignorant. This isn’t about love—Velusians are forbidden to love, Ranger. We serve our houses, we are respected and sought after as bodyguards, assassins, advisors, and occasionally as pleasure workers. It depends on the Velusian, and the terms of the contract. The tether isn’t degrading. The tether is a bond,” she says.
She must see the confusion written across my face, because she sighs.
“It represents the bond of trust between the patron and the Velusian. Realistically, a dinky gold chain can’t protect you from what a Velusian can do with theirvellia. Have you ever seen someone go mad from an irrepressible surge of hormonal lust? It’s not pretty. The chain is a promise—your patron will honor and respect you, and you won’t use yourvelliato control them.” She delivers this information in a bored sort of tone, as if she’s heard the explanation a thousand times in her life. Perhaps she has.
“Still,” I say, distaste rolling off my tongue. “Don’t those relationships ever sour? Or go wrong?”
“Partnerships—not relationships. And yes, they do.” Something flickers across her face then—quick and sharp, gone before I can read it. Not fear, exactly, or sorrow. Recognition, maybe. The kind of expression that comes from remembering something you wish you could forget.
“Is that why you’re no longer on Velusia?” I ask.
She winces, then glares at me, thrusting the end of her tether into my hand.
“Here endeth the lesson. We have work to do. Just…try not to talk too much. Keep your hood up and your face covered. I doubt we’ll find any other Thelaousian High Lords here, but we don’t want anyone to get suspicious, okay?”
I nod, mulling over everything she’s told me as we make our way to the outer bay doors and down the ramp onto thedock. The port city sprawls before us like a floating, ramshackle village, gently bobbing atop the cerulean waves. Most of the small cottages and shops are constructed from recycled shipping containers and corrugated titanium stripped from wrecked vessels, giving Turquin the appearance of a somewhat charming garbage heap set adrift in an aquamarine paradise. About twenty docks lie on either side of us, each with a different ship anchored in. I recognize Jovian windjammers, deep space cruisers, even a few pleasure yachts from Cerin. It’s hard to take in everything—so much life and variety in one small place. I’ve never seen so many different kinds of people all at once.
Lyra urges me forward, pausing at the end of the long dock that stretches toward the bustling knot in the center of the floating town.
“Stop gawking,” she hisses under her breath. “You’re supposed to be an immortal High Lord from a planet overflowing with wealth. Look bored, for fuck’s sake!”
I try to do as she asks, schooling my features in an expression of jaded disdain.
“That’s better,” she whispers. “Ready?”
As we walk down the dock, a few looks fall on Lyra—her hips swaying seductively, the ocean breeze tugging at the panels of her skirt, a knowing tilt to her full lips. For a heartbeat, I’m worried her beauty and sensuality will draw too much attention, but she was right. Gazes seem to slide over her like water off a liotha leaf.
I begin to find the rhythm of our ruse, throwing back my shoulders and casting bored looks on everyone we pass.
“It’s not all bad,” she says quietly. “Velusia, I mean.”
“I didn’t say it was bad,” I reply. “It’s just different from how we experience desire and matehood on Xylothia.” I choose my tone carefully—neutral, curious. On Xylothia, devotion is sacredand private. On Velusia, it’s currency. And yet, the more she speaks, the less transactional it sounds.
“People sometimes think we’re sorcerers, or evil, for trafficking in pleasure. For courting wealth and protection and power. But that’s not what Velusians are all about, you know. They just find beauty in desire. Desire is something every species has in common, whether it’s sexual in nature or otherwise. Everyonedesiressomething, which is how Velusians believe everything is connected. They worship the power that it has and they devote their lives to it.” Lyra’s violet eyes focus on some distant point far beyond the horizon.
“Devotion to that kind of ideal must come with a heavy price,” I reply. I mean it with respect, but the thought lodges like a stone in my chest. To devote yourself to desire is to give yourself to something that never stops hungering. I wonder what it costs her—to know how to wield that kind of power and still be at its mercy. I don’t ask. She wouldn’t answer, and I’m not sure I could stand to hear it.
She tilts her head, considering. “Devotion toanythingis costly. It’s not my chosen path, but I don’t look down on them for it. It’s just that at the end of the day, I don’t want to have to trust anyone with my tether.”
The bitterness in her tone nearly stops me in my tracks. The wordtrustlands heavier thantether.Is that why she’s running from Brill? Isheher patron? The thought sends a wave of nausea rolling through my insides. It’s not jealousy—at least, that’s what I tell myself. It’s the idea of her belonging to anyone that twists in my gut. An alien feeling of possessiveness and anger rises in me, but I let it go as quickly as it comes. It’s just from playing this part—from physically holding the tether of someone I’m supposed to honor and protect. There can’t—there won’t—be anything else to it.
Before I know it, we’re standing at the edge of a long, flat barge that has been converted into a kind of market. There are stinking rows of rotting fish and some other aquatic creatures I don’t recognize, a few still twitching in the midday sun. Boxes of desiccated fruits and wilted vegetables, along with crates of bug-infested dried goods stand along the back, tucked behind half a dozen barrels with suspicious-smelling yellow liquid bubbling inside. Lyra sees the disgust on my face and chuckles.
“Don’t worry, my lord. We’ll be getting our consumable goods from a different shop.”
I suppress a shiver at how the honorific affects me. Blood rushes to my cock, and an alarming tightness throbs in base of my spine.No…there’s no way she’s my…no.We’re just playing our parts.
Lyra sashays to the back stall and begins haggling with the shopkeeper over the price of fuel. The insect-like alien’s huge compound eyes keep flicking in my direction, adding to my nervousness. Reminding myself to act the part, I glower at him. Lyra catches the look and arches a brow in amusement.
“Would you rather negotiate with my lord?” she asks with acid-laced sweetness. “Only I wouldn’t recommend it. He has a habit of removing limbs when he feels he’s being cheated.”
The shopkeeper swallows and shakes his head. I have to fight to keep from laughing.
Over the next hour, Lyra manages to bargain for enough goods to fill the ship’s hold and then some. She even finds a couple of replacement parts for the water filtration system so Ada will stop pestering her. Finding spare clothing for me is proving to be more of a challenge, partly because the selection is limited.
“Stop complaining,” Lyra calls to me from outside the makeshift dressing room. “Turquin isn’t exactly a fashion hotspot.”
