The King's Whisper

by T. S. Cleveland

  In a heartbeat, Torsten’s smile returned and he laughed. “I wasn’t hiding him,” he breezed. “I just didn’t realize you were such a fan of the arts.” He turned to Felix, his stance casual but his eyes brimming with upset. “Flautist, music,” he commanded.

  Felix extracted the flute from his satchel, ignoring the slight tremor in his hand. Performing in front of strangers didn’t bother his nerves, but the bandit leader had him riled. Maybe it was the way he was still staring, like he could see straight through Felix’s over-sized trousers.

  He poised the flute at his lips and readied himself to play, but a hand on his wrist stopped him. At first, he presumed it was Torsten, stilling him with a touch so he could instruct him on a specific melody, but when he glanced up, he saw it was Gethrin’s fingers wrapped around the bare skin of his wrist.

  “You’re so eager to please, aren’t you?” the bandit laughed, and his eyes sparkled. “What’s your name, love?”

  Felix’s skin itched beneath the filthy fingers. He glanced at Torsten for help, but he was just watching, a smile on his face. “Felix, sir,” he answered hesitantly. The hand on his wrist tightened. “D-do you have a song request, sir?” Please let go of me, please let go, please, please.

  Gethrin licked his lips and hummed softly, trying to think up a song, his thumb rubbing against Felix’s flesh as he took his time. After a few seconds, Torsten placed a hand against Felix’s lower back and maneuvered him out of Gethrin’s hold.

  “We don’t have all night, Flautist,” he scolded. “Show our guests your skills.” He pushed Felix gently toward the campfire and smiled apologetically at Gethrin.

  Gethrin only looked put out for a moment, and then his slippery smile returned. “He needs a firm hand, I see,” he commented, loud enough for Felix to hear as he made his way closer to the rest of the bandits. He didn’t hear Torsten’s response, but Gethrin laughed loudly a few seconds later.

  To drown out the sinful sound of it, Felix brought the flute to his lips and began the opening notes of a popular tavern song. The guests initially made a few foul gestures, but soon began stomping their feet to the rhythm. He circled the revelers, scolding himself with every step, because with every step, he could still feel Gethrin’s hungry eyes upon him.

  A few hands darted out to grab at him as he passed, but the majority of Gethrin’s bandits were too busy drinking cup after cup of whiskey to have better than mediocre aim, so successful groping was kept to a minimum. Mostly. As he was sidestepping one grope, he rammed directly into another, resulting in a collision that parted the bandit from the whiskey in his cup, completely drenching Felix.

  He sputtered, lowering the flute from his mouth and wiping a hand across his eyes. Onlookers laughed and the bandit with the unfortunate spillage glared at the empty bottom of his mug. But it seemed his anger at Felix was trumped by his desire for more whiskey, because, instead of challenging Felix to a drunken duel, he stumbled past and went for more alcohol.

  Felix just shook his head. Gethrin’s bandits were well on their way to becoming terribly drunk, even though they’d only been drinking a short time. Torsten’s people, on the other hand, didn’t appear to be drinking at all. Instead, they were holding their mugs and talking, never once wetting their lips. They looked completely sober and as on edge as they’d been all day. Felix could relate. He was on edge, too, and now he was also wet with whiskey.

  He stole a look over his shoulder. Torsten and Gethrin had moved away from Dot’s fire and were walking together beside the dais, deep in discussion. For once, he wasn’t being watched. He took advantage, slipping away from the campfire and running to Torsten’s tent. He arrived unimpeded and made quick work of shedding his pelt and shirt, using the latter to wipe the whiskey from his face and neck. His hair was a little damp, and he slicked it back, out of his eyes.

  Things would be better tomorrow, once Gethrin and his bandits were gone. He only had to get through one night of lusty looks and groping hands, and then he could return to the usual, lesser torture of Torsten’s nicer, cleaner bandits. He was bent over, rummaging through Torsten’s things for a fresh shirt, when he heard the tent flaps rustle. He turned, hoping to see Torsten, but finding Gethrin instead. He held a clean shirt to his naked chest and wished the tent was big enough that he could back away. It wasn’t.

  Gethrin stepped closer, and there was nowhere for Felix to run. “This is a nice surprise,” he said, reaching a hand out to wipe an errant drop of whiskey from Felix’s cheek. He sucked the flavor from his finger and leered, crowding Felix until they were standing atop Torsten’s pallet and his back was against the tent wall. “Were you hoping I’d follow you in here? Find you half-dressed and waiting for me?”

  “No!” Felix answered, nearly shouting in his panic. Gethrin was close enough to smell, and it wasn’t peppermint and pine, it was dirt and whiskey and blood, enough to make him choke.

  “Torsten didn’t want to share your music with me, but he came around,” Gethrin said, cupping Felix’s cheek in his hand. “He wouldn’t mind sharing your other talents with me, would he? Is he a selfish man?” Felix whimpered and he held his finger to his lips. “Hush, love.”

  Felix jerked his head back, away from Gethrin’s filthy finger. “Torsten doesn’t touch me,” he insisted. “He’s n-never touched me. I swear. That’s not my purpose here. I play the flute, that’s all. If you’re looking for skills of the flesh, I’d disappoint you, sir.”

  His aim was to dissuade the bandit, but all his admittance appeared to have done was brighten the menacing sparkle in his eye. “Is the little flautist untouched?” he asked, eyes wide with wonder, lips split in a gratified grin. “Are you a virgin, boy?” Felix flushed, tried to look away, but Gethrin dug his nails into his cheek and demanded his gaze. “Be honest. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  Felix had first slept with a traveling bard when he was fifteen, and had slept with several people since, but he didn’t think that was an answer Gethrin would take to kindly, so he lied. “I am,” he said, using his sweetest, most innocent tone in the hope that the bandit would be less inclined to bend him over then and there.

  Whether or not he would have, however, remained a mystery, because less than a breath later, Torsten burst into the tent. His eyes were wild as he took in the sight of Felix shirtless and Gethrin pushed up against him, but when he spoke, his voice was deceptively relaxed. “Gethrin, there you are.”

  “Here I am,” Gethrin responded slyly, moving reluctantly away from Felix. “Just having a chat with your flautist.”

  “I’m sure.” Torsten glanced at the shirt in Felix’s hands and smirked. “Get dressed and get back out there. The party misses its entertainment.”

  “S-sorry,” Felix stuttered, slipping past Gethrin and crossing to Torsten’s side before he pulled the shirt over his head. He secured his satchel around his shoulder and didn’t even bother with his pelt, bowing his head to the bandit leaders and rushing out as quickly as possible. He tripped over his feet as soon as he got outside, but a hand was there to save him from falling.

  “You alright, princeling?” Jossy asked, taking his elbow and leading him back towards the campfire.

  “I’m fine,” Felix answered, but his voice sounded strange, even to him.

  “You’re shaking,” Jossy commented.

  Felix exhaled harshly and curled his jittery hand into a fist. “So I am.” It was then that he realized Jossy’s bow was slung over his shoulder. None of Torsten’s bandits had been armed before. “Why do you have your bow?” he asked. “What were you doing outside the tent?” He’d hardly spoken to Jossy since entering the camp, and it felt strange to pose a question to him now. He was certain he wouldn’t get a response.

  “King brought me,” Jossy said, after the shortest of pauses.

  “Why?” Felix asked.

  They had reached the campfire, and the warm glow brought to light the disbelief on Jossy’s face. “In case you needed help,” he answered slowly.
<
br />   “I did. Thank you,” Felix said, excusing himself from Jossy’s side and scrubbing his hand over his cheek, trying to wipe away Gethrin’s grime. His heart was racing and he felt sick to his stomach, but now was not the time to dwell. Torsten had saved him from Gethrin’s unwanted advances in the tent, and whether or not he’d done it with the intention of protecting Felix or just keeping his own possession out of Gethrin’s hands, he couldn’t be sure. But it didn’t matter now. He moved back to the circle of bandits, still deep in their cups, distancing himself from the whole affair. He tried not to stress over the way Gethrin had touched him, or the glint in his eyes when he’d asked if Felix was a virgin. He tried not to think of anything at all as he played, stacking one perfect note on top of the other, until Torsten and Gethrin returned.

  He kept his back to them, but he knew they had rejoined the party, could hear them speaking. As much as he didn’t want to, he couldn’t keep from straining his ears, listening to the men talking in hushed tones. It was a pleasant surprise when he realized they were not discussing him.

  “I hope we’ve not caught you too unprepared,” Gethrin was saying, “but I knew you’d want a chance to trade as soon as possible.”

  “I expected no more from you,” answered Torsten. “And as for wanting to trade, I’ve yet to hear what it is you have for me.”

  “I think that’s fair, since I’ve not yet been offered anything in return.”

  “What do you want?” Torsten asked, and though Felix wasn’t looking, he could bet that his eyebrows were furrowed and the smile was gone from his face.

  “Oh, come now,” laughed Gethrin. “We can hardly get to business so soon. The evening is still young. I’d like to sit and drink and listen to your precious boy play a ditty or two. Don’t deprive me.”

  “A moment,” Torsten said.

  Felix continued playing until he felt a tap on his shoulder. He moved instinctively away from the touch until a voice spoke low in his ear. “Come with me,” Torsten whispered. “Stay close this time, Flautist.”

  He could feel his breath on his neck, and was brought back to that very morning, when he’d woken with Torsten hot and hard against his back. It felt like a lifetime ago.

  During the business of the day, two chairs had been added to the dais, and that was where Torsten led Gethrin. As promised, Felix kept close, walking behind them, and lingering at the foot of the dais as they went up and were seated. But the security he felt at being close to Torsten was strongly counteracted by the discomfort he felt in Gethrin’s presence.

  He knew he was being watched by both men as he played song after song, and he didn’t know how to act under their warring attentions. He strove to remain as professional and unbothered as he would on any night in a tavern after catching the eye of a few patrons, but it was difficult. Though Gethrin kept his head dipped to the side, conversing with Torsten about one thing after another, Felix knew his eyes rarely strayed from him.

  After he had completed another song and was taking a breath before moving on to the next, Gethrin stood up and clapped. “Gorgeous,” he proclaimed. “Your boy has such a talented mouth.” His words were spoken to Torsten, but his eyes were raking over Felix.

  Felix turned away, not wanting either man to see the blush on his face. He played the next melody, facing the party of bandits as they continued to drink and eat. He sought out Dot in the sea of fur and leather, and found his slim figure at the cook fire, flanked by two of Gethrin’s men. He felt a bolt of worry for the cook as one of them pushed his spectacles up his nose with a flirtatious smile, but when Dot smacked him with his spoon, Felix swallowed his worry. Dot would be fine dealing with their guests. It was himself he needed to worry about.

  When the next song ended, Torsten called him up to the dais to stand beside his chair, while he and Gethrin were brought bowls of stew. “Take a rest,” Torsten told him, gesturing to his flute, and Felix placed the instrument back in his satchel with a nod.

  “He’s very well behaved,” Gethrin commented after enjoying a mouthful of dinner.

  Torsten ignored him in favor of delivering Felix a cautious glance. He balanced his bowl on his knee and reached out for Felix’s wrist, giving it a gentle tug, a silent reminder to keep by his side.

  “Better at following orders than the rest of your lot,” continued Gethrin. “I think he could be a boy with many talents, but he tells me you’re not taking full advantage of his skills. What a waste.”

  Torsten took up his bowl with indifference. “You’re not here to discuss the skills of my flautist, Gethrin. Tell me why you’ve really come. Let’s talk of your trade.”

  Gethrin smiled. He wasn’t a blatantly unattractive man—Felix could admit it—but there was something fundamentally lacking, an absence in his eyes that kept Felix from being allured. In fact, the aura he emitted was one that Felix was inclined to keep far, far away from. Plus, there was the smell.

  “Fine. We can discuss the trade.” The bandit looked right at Felix as he brought his spoon to his mouth, his eyes crinkling with mirth as he swallowed. He wiped his sleeve across his mouth and slowly let his attention wander back to Torsten, who was gripping his spoon with white knuckles. “I want your land. I want your territory. You’ve monopolized these southern forests long enough and done little with them.” He sighed, giving his legs a languid stretch. They were longer than Torsten’s, but not as thick with muscle, not as strong. “I want this forest and all the roads running through it.”

  Torsten had set his bowl aside as Gethrin spoke, and now he was sitting up straight in his chair. He looked like a nobleman. “You have the northern forests. Your territory covers far more than my own.”

  “Yes, and now I want yours, too.” Gethrin was still smiling. “I want a direct line from the Royal Quarter to the Guardians’ Guild.”

  Felix’s pulse quickened at mention of the guild. He thought of Merric dealing with Gethrin and his bandits, and he didn’t like it. And he certainly didn’t like the thought of them prowling the roads outside the Royal Quarter, not to mention the elemental school soon to be built or the small village he called home.

  “That is what you have come to trade for? My territory?” Torsten asked, and Felix was relieved to hear his voice remaining so neutral, so calm, when he was sure the man was balking on the inside. Felix was balking and it wasn’t even his land. “You must fancy your own offer extraordinary to think I would even consider it.”

  “Now, now, don’t get so ahead of yourself,” Gethrin rebuked, setting his empty bowl aside and shaking a finger at him. “I’ve not finished.”

  “Go on,” said Torsten. “You have my full attention.” Felix couldn’t detect the tense line of Torsten’s shoulders beneath their thick covering of fur, but he could feel the tension in the air and it was making him increasingly unsettled.

  “As I’m sure you realize, I don’t need to make a trade to take your territory,” Gethrin continued, the beginning of a challenge finally creeping into the timbre of his voice. “I have far more men than you, and unlike yourself, we’re not afraid to spill blood. In fact, we like blood.” He licked his lips and leaned forward. “So this is my offer. For now, I will refrain from taking the land from you, in exchange for something else that is yours.”

  Torsten breathed in deeply, but managed to avoid sighing in exasperation. Felix was impressed. “You have come here with barely a day’s notice to tell me that you won’t take my land for now?”

  Gethrin shrugged, clearly amused with himself. “A tad theatrical, I’ll admit, but I do enjoy the occasional drama.”

  “And what is it you want in exchange for not taking my territory?” Torsten asked.

  “It’s funny, you know. I wasn’t sure until I arrived what I wanted, and then I knew right away. When something feels right, it feels right.”

  “Gethrin.”

  “I want your boy.”

  Felix’s insides turned cold, and Torsten grew very still. He tipped his head slowly to the side, ang
ling himself to hear more accurately. “You want my flautist in exchange for not taking my territory?”

  “Not taking it yet,” corrected Gethrin. “Don’t misunderstand me. I will be taking it eventually no matter what you do, but if you’d like some time to learn how to handle a sword, some time to figure out how you could possibly fend us off, I’ll give you that. In exchange for the boy cowering behind you.”

  Torsten laughed.

  Felix’s knees were trembling so hard he feared he might collapse. He grasped Torsten’s chair to keep himself upright, while escape plans fought for consideration in his head.

  “We’ve become quite accustomed to our flautist, I’m afraid,” Torsten said, still chuckling. “The others would be cross with me if I traded away the source of their favorite amusement.”

  Gethrin looked between Torsten and Felix, defeat entirely absent from his expression. “That’s understandable. I would be hesitant to part from such a sweet creature myself.” He steepled his hands beneath his chin, considering. “Let it not be said that I am not a sympathetic man. I will amend my offer.”

  Torsten nodded stiffly. “Name it.”

  “I will make no encroaches on your territory for a full month, if I may enjoy the amusements of your flautist for one night.” He held up a single finger. “Just one. And I’ll have him right here in your camp. He’ll be playing you a song again come sunrise.”

  If Felix was the star of an epic poem, he would run, and then maybe the wolves would help him, let him ride on their backs and deliver him to safety. Or maybe he would tap into some extraordinary power at the exact moment Gethrin reached for him, and he would break his neck with a snap of his fingers or something. Or maybe, if he wished it hard enough, his flute playing would make all of the bandits’ heads explode. He pulled the instrument from his satchel, clutching it tightly with a shaky hand.

  “Why are you so interested in my flautist, Gethrin?” Torsten asked.