by Clare London
I was startled by her comment. “Yes, indeed he is, Mistress. In many ways.”
She stepped out from behind the desk and walked over to me. I stood with my back against the wall, and she barely reached my armpit. I had on my tunic and trousers, no armor plate or heavy leather yet. Against me she looked almost fragile: a beautiful, delicate woman; a body that could demand and dispense both pleasure and punishment. But even in this casual state, I couldn’t allow myself to see her as anything but my Mistress, and therefore to be both respected and feared. She knew that. She expected that.
“You are spending a lot of time with him, Maen. A very personal attention, I would say.”
I drew a deeper breath than usual. “He’s shown tremendous promise, Mistress. He’s very strong, possibly the best Bronzeman we’ve ever had. He needs more challenge than Grien and Fremer can offer, so I’ve sometimes taken him on additional training exercises.”
She watched me closely as the words spilled out of my mouth rather too swiftly. It was as if she sought to catch me out in something unsavory. “So he’ll likely be a Silver Captain sooner than the others—sooner than is usual. And of course you understand what that means, Maen.” Our eyes met. It was as if she looked deeply into me, and I feared she would see things there that I wanted to keep hidden. Things she’d despise; things she’d be furious with. “He’s watched very closely by the others, do you know that? The other Silver Captains, and maybe the Gold Warriors as well. They desire him. He has a way about him that makes men look, as well as women. He appears far more mature than the others, and they’re waiting for him to become Silver. To become available.”
“They watch him?” I repeated her words rather dully.
“Especially that Silver Captain called Orven.” She moved back toward her desk, but her gaze was still on me. “He has a rather unpleasant way about him. I never desired him much, after his Bronzeman period. But some of my Ladies have him as a favorite, and he talks most indiscreetly to them about his couplings, both actual and desired. You should have better control of your Captains, Maen.”
“He is sufficient enough in the barracks,” I said, rather too sharply. “His pillow talk isn’t my responsibility.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “How dare you speak to me like that, Gold Warrior! I’ll have you whipped like the lowest Bronzeman if I choose.”
I stiffened, shocked. “Mistress, forgive me! I don’t know what possessed me.” I went to drop to my knees, but she moved back to my side, a firm hand on my arm, holding me still.
“Oh, my precious Gold.” She sounded distressed, but when I stared into her face, her eyes were still angry. “When you saw the child Dax at the Choosing, I saw the look on your face. I’ve not seen that look for a long time. Not since you came first to me as a Bronzeman, when you made me feel I was a Queen in your sight and there was nothing more wonderful than serving and pleasing me.”
I shook my head, not understanding what she was saying. In my anger toward Orven, I’d spoken out of turn. “I’ve always felt that way, Mistress, believe me.”
She didn’t answer me directly. Her face tilted up to me, and I gave her the kiss she wanted—a kiss of apology and of regret, a kiss that emphasized my loyalty and devotion to her. Her lips were cool, though, and her hand tightened on my arm, holding me to her. “I’ll be good to him,” she murmured, “To your Bronzeman. He’s safe with me. He will have the best treatment. At least while he’s under my care.”
“I know that, Mistress.” I was having trouble finding other words.
“Don’t let me down, Maen,” she said warningly, though I had only a confused idea of what disappointment she feared. “You’re special to me. You have always been the best, the finest, the steadiest of my Warriors. That’s what I rely on from you. I wouldn’t want that to change in any way.”
“It won’t,” I said emphatically. “I’m always here for you, for whatever you wish, Mistress. That’s all I’ve ever aspired to.”
“That’s not exactly what I mean.” She shook her head. It wasn’t for a Mistress to explain herself to a soldier. “I know what has possessed you, Maen, and it disturbs me. When I speak of Dax in my bed, when I warn you about Orven’s desire for him, I see a side of your character that has never seriously troubled me before.”
Then she seemed to shake off her worries. She drew herself up and walked back to the desk, her smile calm again. “You are forgiven your lapse of judgment, Warrior, and you may leave for your day’s duties.” Her eyes met mine, and maybe she glimpsed my relief. “I know I can rely on your fidelity, always. And I know that you’re not jealous of another Bronzeman, for I’ve never known that in you.”
“It’s not allowed.” Of course I wasn’t jealous! Though if I had been, I didn’t think it would be of Dax. The issue was not that I resented sharing her with him….
“No,” she agreed, watching my face. “The rules don’t allow it. Do they?”
THE YOUNG Bronzeman stood in the stables, alone. He stood at attention when I entered, though his blond hair fell awkwardly over his brow and his tunic was torn at the side. But he was calm. His expression was carefully neutral.
I hadn’t seen him alone since our discussion in the hall. I’d been more than disturbed at his misconceptions then—his misunderstanding of how things were. I had to ignore the strange gnawing in my mind, that maybe the city wasn’t run quite as I had always believed. I had to, or else I’d have to question everything about my life.
“Dax? Why are you here? It’s horsemanship training today. Fremer is your mentor.”
He cast his gaze down as if he were ashamed in front of me. “I know, sir. I mishandled a horse. I was thrown, and Fremer was displeased with me. He’s taken the beast to calm it down, and I’m to await my lashes here.”
I stared at him as he colored. It was well within Fremer’s authority to order punishment for students who misbehaved or performed badly, though limited to five lashes at any time. For anything else, I’d need to be consulted. I remembered that first day, when I’d had Dax whipped for his ill behavior, and I wondered how many other times his trainers had chastised him. He was a promising recruit indeed, but I doubted he was an easy student for anyone. My mind filled with the thought of the broad young body under his tunic and what marks there might already be across his back.
He looked up at me again, the white hair brushing at his neck, the eyes steadying as he gathered his courage around him. “Please accept my apologies, sir. I won’t make that error again. I hope you won’t think too badly of me when Fremer reports the day to you. I… I’m so eager to do well, but I let things run away from me sometimes.”
“I believe you do, Dax. I understand your passion, boy—”
“Do you?” He interrupted so abruptly that I was momentarily shocked.
“Silence!” I snapped, and he flinched. “Else there’ll be more lashes to look forward to, and they’ll be from my hand! I wanted to say that I understand your passion, but it’s discipline you must master. That’s your weakness and will be your undoing.”
He flushed again. “I know, sir,” he replied in a low voice. Its hoarseness made him sound much older than his years. “But then I think ‘what’s the worst they can do to me?’”
I stared. “The worst? You could be lashed into unconsciousness, and I couldn’t guarantee your limbs would ever be sound again. Or dismissed from the Guard and have to return to the Remainders. In an extreme case, you could be exiled.” I’d not meant to be so harsh, but he made the anger rise in me too quickly. I heard the echo of my breath in the silent stables. It sounded ragged.
He’d turned white. “I know of men who’ve been exiled,” he whispered. “Sir, I’d never be allowed back in the city, would I? I’d never see….”
His voice trailed off. I had to ask. “Dax, what do you know of the Exiles? Do the Remainders know more than the Household? Do you personally know of people who have deserted the city?”
“Deserted? Is that what the tale is? That people run a
way, that they accept exile, that they seek it?” He saw the flame of anger in my face, and he groaned aloud. “Forgive me, sir. But perhaps I can’t answer your questions and still remain submissive to you. Which do you want? An obedient, pliant Bronzeman who chants the Devotions to you on request, or someone who wants your respect and wants to learn from you, and wants to talk to you about these things as a man, not a child?”
I was astonished. Never had any recruit spoken to me in such a way! I stepped forward and grasped his arm. It brought his body very close to mine, and I felt his heat. He’d grown since he joined us, and he was probably near his full height by now. His head came above my shoulder; his eyes stared into mine, startled and maybe fearing.
“Sir, forgive me. But you were told that the Exiles were people who couldn’t work in the city, who couldn’t give their commitment to the Queen. Weren’t you?”
“They—” I didn’t know why I felt I should answer him, but I did. “They were original colonists turned out of the city because they couldn’t adapt. They’ve bred a community of sorts, though without all the advantages we have here, and sometimes others join them. Rejects, misfits.”
Dax’s face twisted with his emotions. The dark blue depths of his eyes drew me in and I was distracted by the brush of his hair against his neck. “Maybe that was correct originally, sir, but there are many who’ve joined them since. And not just the rejects, not just the prisoners.” He met my questioning gaze steadily. “The rumors tell of people who’ve left the city voluntarily, men and women. For a different way of life.”
We stared at each other for a moment, both shocked by the conversation. Dax cleared his throat, still standing at attention, legs braced on the bare floor of the stables. “Will you punish me now, sir?”
I was a moment in replying. My tongue felt heavy and awkward in my mouth. “No, Dax. I asked for your reply, and I’ll listen to it, whether I agree with it or not. I’ll not punish you for that.”
His eyes widened again, but now there was a flash of deep pleasure in them. “Thank you, sir.”
With a gust of fresh air, the stable door creaked open again. Fremer appeared, looking surprised to see me. I’d passed him some time ago, at work on the training ground, on my usual rounds of the barracks. He held the cane in his hand, and for a moment he looked to me, as if there might be some problem in carrying out his orders.
“You can come forward, Fremer,” I called clearly, though my gaze stayed on Dax. “I won’t stay for the punishment, but report to me at the end of the day.”
Dax looked down at my hand, still gripping his forearm. He drew in a breath as if it pained him, and his eyes half closed for a second. I was conscious suddenly of the muscles under his skin, the draft of his breath on my hand. I smelled his sweat and felt a ghostly imprint on my mouth that confused me. As he looked up at me through pale lashes, there was fear in his eyes—and something else, much darker.
“They’re right about you. You’re a fine man, sir,” he murmured. “You are the best.”
Then he slipped his arm away and turned bravely to face Fremer’s beating.
A COUPLE of hours before midnight, I was on my way back to my bunk for sleep. I heard a burst of laughter from the Bronzemen barracks as I passed outside, which was just as quickly stifled. They’d spent a hard day preparing a display for the next Games, and I’d released them early in the evening to relax. They weren’t allowed out of the Household compound, but they found plenty of entertainment and distraction in the barracks itself, yet with little enough leisure time to find mischief. I knew Dax had been called again to my Mistress; another of the Bronzemen attended her favorite Lady. All the young men had settled well into the routine of the Household now. I was learning to recognize their characters and identify those with the best potential. Some had grown arrogant with their popularity with the Ladies; some struggled with the training, but they were a satisfactory enough intake for me.
The Silver barracks was no quieter. Some of the Captains were preparing to go down into the town, while others were running an unofficial gambling game with a mixture of dice and bone sticks. Both winners and losers were loud with cheers and complaints. My bunk was at the end of the room. There was slightly more space around the pallet than for the Captains and a low cupboard for my belongings and clean clothes, but otherwise there was nothing to differentiate my space from anyone else’s. That’s how things were; I was still a soldier, like the others. Apart from my office as Gold Warrior, I had nothing more or less than any other man.
I sat on my bunk for a while, but the noises from Fremer’s bunk next to me were distracting: only a thin, portable screen separated us. Privacy was a luxury we weren’t automatically entitled to. The screens paid mere lip service to it, allowing a man to pull them around his bunk and gain an illusion of space. More usually, anything the Captains did in their rest periods was in full view of the others, and although they did try to find quiet times to couple, or late at night, hidden by the darkness, I had to admit it was rare for anything to inhibit them. They had the supreme arrogance and confidence of men in their prime—men wanted for their skills and their looks, who protected the city and pleasured the Ladies. What they were entitled to, they took—and enjoyed to the full.
Fremer had recently become interested in Justes. They sparred often together, and only yesterday I’d found them in the stables, Fremer’s mouth at Justes’s neck and his hand down between his legs, caressing him enthusiastically. Tonight, they were extending the intimacy, resulting in soft grunts of pleasure and the creaking of a bed bearing the weight of two fit young Silver Captains. A buckled belt hit the floor with a metallic clatter, and there was a mumbled complaint from someone else in the room. Fremer’s voice muttered an angry reply, and the other voice withdrew with a ribald laugh. When I heard Justes’s low groan, I knew my peace was ruined for a while. I leaned back on my bunk, wondering whether to take a walk around the Household before retiring for the night.
Looking across to the other side of the barracks, I saw Orven lying on his bunk. He’d been polishing his boots—the cloth was still on the end of the pallet, but the boots had fallen back onto the floor, and now he was still. He caught my eye and inclined his head slightly, acknowledging me. As we stared at each other, Fremer’s bunk began a rocking, rhythmic sound. Then another groan from Justes and an urgent gasp in Fremer’s voice.
I continued to hold Orven’s gaze and saw the throb of his throat as he swallowed. It was obvious we were both listening to the coupling. It was nothing new, and I had little choice. However, I suspected from what I knew of him that Orven found it positively stimulating. He enjoyed being a voyeur; my men told me many things about their colleagues, both in words and in what they didn’t say. I had no intention of watching any more closely, but I saw Orven pull himself up to a sitting position and slide his hand to his lap. He cupped his groin and began to stroke his cock through the cloth. He was already half aroused.
I sighed to myself. He didn’t turn his head but obviously made some signal across the room because another, fair-haired Captain came over to join him. It was Sentus, one of the younger men—a promising horseman, so Fremer had reported. He was thicker built than Orven, almost plump, with a slight weakness about the mouth. He wore only his open vest and the soft trousers, and his feet were bare. As he approached the bunk, Orven reached up and pulled Sentus’s head down to him, tugging at a handful of hair. I watched the tableau of the two men, one seated, one standing with his head buried in the other’s neck, and not once did Orven’s gaze leave mine.
Sentus gave a murmur of desire, and Orven’s mouth closed over the skin of the younger man’s throat. Orven’s eyelids flickered, and his chest moved more quickly with shortened breath. His free hand reached out to Sentus’s waist, then fondled between his legs. I saw his arm start to move with a slow, stroking movement. Sentus’s back arched; Orven’s tongue darted out and began lapping at the bared flesh of Sentus’s neck. Sentus shivered and sank down onto the
bunk. He clutched helplessly at Orven’s shoulders and widened his legs to let Orven’s knee in between his thighs, and then let Orven pull roughly at the fastenings of his trousers and slide his hand in to grasp him.
In the background, Fremer groaned more loudly and his pallet slammed against the insubstantial screen beside me.
I stood up, rather abruptly. I was no more inhibited than any of my men, but I had no desire to be part of Orven’s little drama, even as a spectator, so I took up my boots and turned to leave the barracks. Orven’s glinting gaze followed me all the way. I felt it at my back, even as I left the room.
GRIEN WAS in the armory. It was his night for duty, and his companion Captain was patrolling the training ground outside. The room was stone-built and cold on such an autumn night, but the duty Captain would normally have a blanket with him. I let myself inside and the door swung slowly closed behind me. It let in just the slightest sliver of moonlight through cracks in its boards.
Grien turned, surprised perhaps that I was still out and about. It wouldn’t have occurred to him that I might be checking up on him, for he knew his work was always satisfactory. I realized how reassuring his self-confidence was. “Can’t sleep?” he asked quietly.
I looked at him, and he must have seen something in my expression, for his own eyes narrowed.
“You’ve been restless for a while, Maen,” he said shrewdly. “And when your own men disturb you, it’s a measure of how much.” He grinned suddenly. “Come help me stack the longbows. The wood of the container has cracked in the damp and they’ve fallen awkwardly. I’m reluctant to lose any of them.”
We worked together for a while, sorting the arms, testing the strength of wood and twine. We cleared out a few of the shelves of arms, rarely used except at the ceremonial Games, and then marked up the areas in the armory that needed repair or cleaning. A team would be sent out in the morning to make good, probably Bronzemen who showed aptitude in such work. The final circuit of the room complete, Grien leaned against the shelving beside me and yawned loudly, stretching his limber arms above his head. I watched the tunic rise up on his chest, then settle back down on his hips. Despite the chill, a slight sheen of sweat glimmered on his neck and along the muscles of his forearms where he’d rolled up his sleeves. When he turned his easy smile on me, I knew why I’d come here.