Fool Without a Master by Shelley Crowley

Author:Shelley Crowley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Gay romance, Low fantasy, Low fantasy romance, M/m romance, Lgbt books, Historical fantasy
Publisher: Shelley Crowley
Published: 2022-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

Professional Juggler Requests Fewer Balls in the Air

I stood a little way down the street from the tavern as Mirabelle said her goodbyes to her fans. I squirmed, fanning myself with my sticky shirt. It was a warm day, but not warm enough for me to be struggling to catch my breath.

They were still surrounding her, hugging and clapping her on the back. My neck itched whenever passers-by looked from the rowdy group and then to me. I’m not with them, I wanted to say. But instead, I just kept taking slight steps backwards, wondering how far from the group I had to be not be considered in cahoots with this madness.

Finally, Mirabelle broke away and found me. I fought the urge to run as she jogged up to me, face flushed and dark eyes sparkling. Bits of her hair had fallen out of her bun and framed her face.

“What the hell was that?” I hissed, looking over her shoulder to make sure her group had departed. They had.

She stood before me, hands on her hips. She was wearing a different smock than the one that morning, I noticed. This one was murky lavender. It nipped her in tight at the waist and didn’t have a stain in sight. Clearly she was dressed to impress. I felt sick.

“I have a knack for public speaking, don’t you think?” She grinned at me. “I think it was all those acting lessons when we were little. Thanks, coach.” She winked and thumped me in the arm, sharp knuckles connecting with bone. I pushed her off me but the smile on her face didn’t falter.

“Are you insane? Why would you invite me here? I don’t want any part of... whatever that was.”

Her brows furrowed. “Whatever that was?” She jerked her thumb to the tavern. “That was the making of history.”

“That,” I seethed, closing the distance between us and lowering my voice, “was treason.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, Wallace, always so overdramatic. Nice to know you haven’t changed.”

My mind was reeling. The sun was blinding. The air was thin. Why was the air so thin?

“I-I,” The heels of my palms were in my eyes, pressing so hard I saw swirls of black and red. “I don’t even know what to say. You could have at least warned me.”

“Would you have come if you had known?”

“Of course not!” I snapped.

“The king fired you, remember?”

My jaw set, and I winced at fresh pang of old pain.

“Aren’t you angry? You left your home, your family, you left me, for what? For a job you weren’t even fit for?”

Something swelled in the throat – anger, sadness, guilt – I couldn’t tell. Most likely a cruel mixture of all three.

“Is that what this is about? Me leaving you?”

She laughed, aghast, tongue running over her teeth. “Not everything is about you, Wallace. This is about everyone in this town.”

“And since when did you become the voice of the people?”

“I have been for a while, actually, and you would know that if you had sought me out sooner.

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