Free The Virtu by Sarah Monette

the wall between me and the thing I had been, “He hurt you. I don’t know of a single compulsion spell that doesn’t hurt more than all the beatings in the world. I don’t agree with the Mirador on everything, but there is a reason those spells were pronounced anathema. You should have
said
.”
    “It ain’t heresy here. It wouldn’t‘ve—”
    “If I’d known he’d done that to you, I would never have slept with him.”
    I hadn’t intended to mention that, hadn’t intended to bring sex into this discussion at all. My nerves still raw from the confrontation with Astyanax, I was burningly aware of Mildmay’s beauty, his bones, his grace, the walls and shadows in his eyes. Burningly aware that he was my brother and, more than that, he did not want me.
    “Oh,” Mildmay said, a beat too late to pretend it didn’t bother him.
    “I told Astyanax that if he came near you again, I would kill him, and I meant it.”
    He looked away, down at his scarred, lumpy-knuckled hands.
    “Mildmay.”
    He raised his head reluctantly, but his green eyes met mine steadily. And the words died on my tongue, the easy glib words to charm and manipulate, to make him give without giving anything of myself in return. I knew, all at once, what he’d meant when he said he didn’t want my gratitude, knew what it was he wanted instead, but could never ask for.
    I said, “I do care.”
    He blushed brilliant scarlet, and I knew I was right. He might not desire me, but that did not mean he did not love me in his own way, although the realization made me as uncomfortable as it clearly made him. After a moment, he managed to mumble, “Thanks.”
    It was late; we were both tired, and it was a miracle I’d made it this far without yelling at him. Or kissing him. I shoved that thought away. “Do you need… anything? Your cane?”
    “Nah. I’m good.” He stood up, limped across to the bed. “I ain’t taking that thing tomorrow.”
    “You aren’t? Are you sure?”
    “Don’t need it,” he said, starting to undo his shirt buttons, and if I didn’t get out of the room soon, I was going to do something unforgivable. “Hate it.”
    “It’s your leg.” I was already halfway to the door. I wasn’t sure he was making the right decision, but staying to argue tonight would not help anything. We could buy him a cane in Kekropia if we had to—and I didn’t like that cane either. “Good night,” I said, and barely waited for his answering “ ‘Night,” before I fled.

Chapter 3
      
Felix
    The nearest port was a little town called Endumion. We rode there with one of the Gardens’ cooks, who was on his way to buy fresh fish.
    Only Xanthippe had seen us off, very formal and gracious, with no opportunities for any unfortunate displays of personality. She had unexpectedly presented me with another gift, enough money (she said) to buy our passage to Kekropia and, if we were thrifty, engage a hotel room for a day or two until we could make unspecified “other arrangements.”
    I tried to refuse, but she would have none of it, and I would have admitted, if asked, that I did not try very hard. Neither Mildmay nor I had been particularly sanguine about what we might end up doing if we had to work our passage, and it was a tremendous relief to have that weight lifted from my shoulders.
    So now we stood on the docks of Endumion and surveyed our options. They were two: the
Penelope
and the
Asprophellos
, the
White Otter
. Mildmay and I agreed with a glance that we did not want to buy passage on the
Penelope
if we could help it. Penelope was a name of ill omen in Mélusine, and the ship herself looked unclean, ill-cared for.
    The
White Otter
appeared more promising. Mildmay called out a greeting, a slangy-sounding phrase of Troian he must have picked up on the
Morskaiakrov
. In response, a woman appeared at the top of the gangplank. She wore trousers and a halter-top, and her red hair hung down her back in a multitude of narrow braids. She and