Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 2

heart.
    "Arick!"
    CHAPTER 2
    "Master Sai."
    He lay on his back in the darkened room, staring at walls that glowed with a ghostly white shimmer in the darkness. The orphaned scimitar lay on his chest, warm from the heat of his body. Outside, the frigid wind hissed, occasionally snaking down the chimney, making the coals grow red. The fireplace coughed out puffs of smoke, and Sai knew he should get up and adjust the damper, but the acrid air didn't bother him.
    The same couldn't be said about the whore who curled up on the floor at the foot of his bed. He blinked, tasting alcohol on his tongue, and tried to remember who lay down there in the darkness. The whoremaster knew his requirement, so the faces that came to alleviate his needs were comfortingly anonymous, staying long enough to do their job and then stay out of his way.
    This one had even brought her own blanket and pillow.
    "Master Sai, the sun rises; I'll be on my way. Do you require anything else?"
    He stared at the wall, not looking at the young woman. Or was it actually a young man? The voice was low and husky. He didn't look to find out. Benshi kept a small group of slender young Sylphs who were bewildering in their androgyny; when one knelt between his legs, he never made the mistake of confusing them for someone else. Their hair was always dark, their hands smooth and faces free of beard. Their clothing whispered in the darkness, never accompanied by the sound of rattling swords or the scrape of leather.
    They were bodies, mouths and asses and cunts for him to fuck.
    He'd tried to do without for so long, but the normal needs of a living man returned, though he felt dead inside.
    The whore rose from her pallet on the floor, coughing slightly at the smoke in the room. With a sigh, she knelt in front of the fire, using the hooked iron to find and open the damper. Immediately, the fire burned a bit brighter and the smoke began to draw. As the light flared, he caught a profile view of the whore.
    It was a young man. One he'd used before, many times. One would think he'd remember the name of his favorite.
    "Master, may I ask a boon?" His voice was respectful but without fear. That was unusual of late. The whores who visited the angry sword-master were paid extra, or so Benshi had said.
    Sai rolled to his side, slightly angry, slightly intrigued. He watched as the Sylph dressed. He was cared for and healthy; Benshi charged exorbitant prices but his stable was the best. They were professionals, men and women who made an art of sex.
    "What favor?"
    The young man paused. Sai frowned, embarrassed that he was unable to remember the whore's name. Sai blinked, doing his best to clear the alcohol fueled haze from his mind. By the light of the fire, the whore appeared almost magical. His body was lean and muscular, but almost gracile. His straight black hair spilled down his back. And Sai remembered there was a matching female to the set; they'd once come to him together.
    The whore paused, and then bent to neatly fold his bedding.
    "My sister, sir. She is of child-bearing age. Neither of us desires marriage, but we've decided we'd like a child we could raise together. She favors you as the sire."
    "Me?" That idea nearly caused him to laugh. "Why would the two of you possibly wish for a child of mine?" He sat up, scratching his brawny chest.
    The whore looked at him appraisingly. "Your appearance is similar to ours, though you are substantially more robust than I am. I suppose your occupation formed your physique." He walked over to the bed, looking down on Sai. "You are handsome and your blue eyes are quite stunning against your dark hair and skin."
    "I don't need an heir. Not interested in a child."
    No, Sai had no need for another person to love and lose. Even Arick's son was now out of his life, living with Juliana in the officers' barracks. She was part of the elite, living with others of equal status. Sai was a civilian: a weapons-maker and a mercenary. She brought the boy for occasional lessons, but Sai chose not to spend time with the child. His golden hair and blue eyes unnerved Sai, and he felt… uncomfortable about keeping the scimitar that should rightfully belong to young Aron.
    "Precisely. You'll pass your vocation to the children of your sister. Our child— my sister's child— will be free to choose his or her path in life. It was a choice we were denied."
    Like most civilians, their caste had been determined from birth. Sai had been born into a family