Celes knocked again, louder, and she could hear the sounds of a man cursing from inside the room. Then, in another moment, the door opened and Lucius was standing in the doorway, a coverlet wrapped around his waist and nothing covering the skinny bare chest that would have been more at home on a twelve year old boy than a man grown.
He ran a hand over his attempt at a beard—grown no doubt in an effort to look more like a man, but one that failed considering that it only grew in patches. “Well, Celes,” he said, his frown turning to a grin that displayed his crooked, pointy teeth. “Just what are you doing here?”
Celes glanced past him to the naked woman lying in the bed, now on her stomach, watching them with a bored gaze. “Sorry to interrupt,” Celes said, but the woman only shrugged as if it didn’t make any difference, then yawned heavily. “Anyway, Lucius,” she said, smiling her best smile, “I heard that you were here, and I thought that maybe we could … talk.”
Lucius leered, studying her up and down, his gaze resting on her legs beneath the short skirt she wore. “Talk, is it? That all?”
“Well,” she said, putting a finger under his chin and bringing his gaze back up to hers, “How about we start with talking, see where the night takes us?”
His grinned widened, as did his eyes, like a man who’d just found a bag of gold under his bed. Then, after a moment, his smile faltered. “Wait a minute. You ain’t trying to get me wrapped up in nothin’ with that miserable woman you work for, are you? Did she send you?”
Celes rolled her eyes, “I don’t work for that red headed bitch anymore. Anyway,” she said, leaning in and whispering in his ear, “Do you want to talk about May, or do you want to talk about me and you?”
He grinned, reaching a hand out toward one of her breasts, but she slapped it away. “Lucius,” she scolded, “I can’t believe you. If you want to talk, then we can at least, do it somewhere private,” she said, glancing at the woman in the bed.
Lucius was nodding before she’d finished, “Of course, gods, what was I thinking? Hey, Nell,” he said, turning to the woman in the bed, “I know I promised you a night you’d never forget, but … do you mind, maybe I give you that night tomorrow?”
The woman in the bed rolled her eyes, “I’ll try to manage without you.”
Lucius nodded, apparently not hearing the sarcasm in her tone, then turned back to Celes. “So where do uh….”
“I have a room,” Celes said, thinking that some things really were just too easy. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
“Sure, sure,” Lucius said, smiling so wide she thought the man would be sore in the morning. “Oh, hold on,” he said, “my clothes—”
“Oh,” Celes said, grabbing his hand and barely managing to conceal a wince at the sweaty clamminess of it, “I don’t think you’ll be needing those.”
“Well, alright,” he said, “lead on.”
Celes led him down the hall to her room then knocked on the door three times.
“Hey,” Lucius said, confused, “why would you knock—”
His words turned into a yelp of surprise as the door opened and a thick-necked man with arms bigger than Lucius’s legs drug him inside the room.
Celes glanced down the hallway then followed after, closing the door behind her.
“Aw, shit,” the weasel faced man, Lucius, said as he saw the woman sitting in the room’s only chair. “I knew it.” He turned to Celes, “You said you didn’t work for this red headed bitch, no more.”
“Red headed bitch, is it?” May said, glancing at Celes and raising an eyebrow.
Celes winced as she made her way over to stand by May, “Well, you do have red hair.”
“Yes,” the club owner said, “I suppose I do. And dear Lucius,” she said, turning back to the thin man, still clothed in only a coverlet, “how are you?”
“How am I?” The skinny man asked, “I was just about to have a good night, and now I’m here, naked, with you two and this,” he paused, glancing at the big man who now stood in the corner with his arms crossed frowning, “this uh … gentleman here. So I’m not doin’ great, I guess.”
“Lucius,” May said. “Lucius, look at me.” The skinny man turned from where he’d been studying the big man anxiously to look at the club owner. “We’ve got some things to talk about.”
The thin man swallowed, “Look, May, I swear I didn’t know she wasn’t for sale, alright? I didn’t mean to cause any trouble at the Rest, I swear it. Anyway, she already gave me a black eye for my trouble. I mean, what, with all those skimpy clothes they wear now—”
“Lucius,” May said, frowning, “what are you talking about?”
“Huh?” The thin man said, his eyes going wide, “err … that is nothing. What are you talking about?”
May studied the man for several seconds while he fidgeted nervously under her stare. Then, “I want you to tell Grinner that I’d like to meet.”
Lucius frowned, obviously confused, “Um … you mean you ain’t here to … hurt me?”
May tilted her head, considering, “Well, we didn’t come for that, but, I suppose, if it’s so important to you—”
“Naw, naw,” Lucius said, “anyway,” he glanced at the big man in the corner again, “that is, I can try to talk to the boss, see if he’ll meet with you.”
“Try, Lucius?” May asked.
“That is,” the thin man said, his eyes going wide, “Of course, I’ll talk to the boss. I’m sure … I’m sure he’d be happy to meet with such a … pretty lady as yourself.”
May smiled but there was little humor in it, “He had better be, Lucius. Or we’ll have another talk, you and I. Maybe get around to the hurting bit.”
The thin man nodded, “Um … yes ma’am. I’ll … I’ll tell him first thing tomorrow.”
“Tonight, Lucius. You’ll tell him tonight. At sunrise, the day after tomorrow, I desire his company and, that of a few others, at the Rest.”
“Others?” The weasel-faced man asked.
“Yes,” May said, “others. Now, I think you’d best be on your way—if you hurry, you might even catch Hale before he’s asleep. I think that would be best, don’t you?”
Lucius swallowed hard and was out the door in a flurry of naked flesh and coverlet. When he was gone, the two women turned to look at each other. “Well,” May said, “it’s started.”
Celes nodded, her expression grim, “Yes. For better or worse.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
Aaron yawned in the saddle, shaking his head to wake himself. They’d traveled three days more since finding Owen and escaping the slavers, finding Owen a horse among the things they’d taken that first night. They’d decided to stick to the edge of the wood so far as they were able, none of them wanting to be out in the open at night after their experience with the slavers. Aaron tried to talk to his old friend often—and sometimes, he even did—but though they’d been close when they were little, he found that, now, many years separated the two of them from the friendship they’d once shared and from the children they’d once been. Still, Aaron’d had few enough friends in his life that he would not lose this one.
It was just a matter of catching up, that was all, of bridging the gulf created by the years. It wasn’t as if he didn’t still like Owen—the thin man was the type of guy it was about impossible not to like—the problem was that, often, he’d open his mouth to say something and find that damned lump of time between what he would say and the man he would say it to, a boulder of years blocking what should have been an easy path.
From what Owen had said about his past, Aaron took it that he’d traveled often, working his way from town to town or city to city, doing the odd job here or there to make his way. Such a man as that, such a man as the one that must grow from a child who’d been willing to give his life for a friend, what did such a one know about the life of a sellsword, a life spent in dealing with the worst the criminal underworld had to offer? No, it was more than that. Not a life spen
t dealing with criminals, but a life spent being one. With two lives lived so very differently, it was no wonder that sometimes Aaron found he couldn’t find words to say to the man.
He frowned over at Leomin riding beside him. It didn’t help that the Parnen captain had, for some reason that Aaron couldn’t comprehend, decided to take a dislike to Owen. Not that he was ever hostile or spoke out of turn, of course, that was not the Parnen’s way. He spoke in riddles always, taking what to Aaron seemed the most circuitous route when a straight line would do and be faster besides. At least he hadn’t asked anymore questions of Owen since the first night, but Aaron could see the questions just the same, hovering on the tip of the Parnen’s tongue.
As far as Aaron was concerned, Owen’s past could remain his and his alone for as long as he wished. After all, all men do things of which they are ashamed—Aaron knew that better than most—and if Owen didn’t want to share the exact path that had led him to being in the middle of the wilderness, a victim to slavers, then that was his right. Aaron wasn’t exactly excited at the prospect of sharing his own life’s doings with Owen either. How could you say to the man who’d given his life for you that he had traded that which was most precious to him, had sacrificed it in a moment, thereby changing the entire course of his life, for a man who went on to rob and beat up and kill for a living?
It was a depressing thing, Aaron thought, for a man to have lived a life without one true thing of which he was proud. Without a single moment or instant he could point at and say, Here. Here I was at my best, and I did my best and that cannot be lost or stolen. Here, in this moment, I was better than myself. He thought surely most men must have such a moment, had to have one. Otherwise, what was the point of it all?
Adina called for them to camp. Aaron, thankful for the opportunity to rest and sort out some of the feelings that his friend’s appearance had caused, led his horse to a nearby tree tied it with the others.
Once they’d all gathered their bedrolls and sat around a fire, Adina spoke, “Tomorrow, we’ll have to leave the woods behind. Another few days’ worth of travel, and we should reach Isalla’s capital city, Perennia.”
Owen nodded, handing out some of the hard biscuits and dried meat they’d scavenged from the slavers’ supplies. “I just want to say, again, how much I appreciate you all letting me travel with you to the city. I’m not much of a warrior,” he said, shrugging bashfully, “and should someone have come upon me out here in the wilderness, there would have been little I could have done.”
Leomin met Aaron’s eyes, but did not speak. The sellsword frowned. It wasn’t as if the man actually needed to. What he would say, what he thought was clear enough. If Owen had known the danger of being out in the woods and the wilderness alone, then why had he come in the first place? Aaron turned away from the Parnen captain, doing his best to ignore the question in the man’s gaze.
They sat in a circle, eating the dry, tasteless food and, for a time, no one spoke. Not again, Aaron thought. They’d spent the past several nights doing much the same, sitting in near silence, each of them speaking little, their faces dour or worried or downcast. It was a time that they should be celebrating. After all, how often did a man manage to run into a friend thought long dead? Not often. Now that he thought of it, even Co had been quiet for the past several days.
Co, he thought. Several seconds passed, and she did not answer, so he tried again, thinking the thought louder this time. Co, are you there?
I am here, Aaron, Co said into his mind, her voice quiet and small.
Then why have you been so quiet?
I … do not know, Co said. Only, I have felt … strange, lately, Aaron. Or, at least, it is perhaps more accurate to say that I have felt it wise to remain quiet. Hidden.
Aaron frowned, Don’t tell me you’re worried about Owen as well?
It is an unusual coincidence you must admit, the Virtue said, to run into him out here, in the wilderness. That he just so happened to be taken captive by the same slavers who took Adina and Leomin.
Aaron spat, You’re as bad as the Parnen. Any more of a coincidence than me running into one of the Seven Virtues? Creatures of myth and legend that almost everyone believes never existed at all? Or as coincidental as me meeting a princess and falli—he cut off. Ah, damnit, never mind.
Still, Co said, he does seem … unusual. There’s something about him that seems somehow … off.
You’re a fucking floating ball of light, firefly, he said, what by all the gods is more unusual than that?
Aaron, the Virtue said, the concern obvious in her tone, look.
He glanced up then and was surprised to find Owen studying him, an intent look of concentration on his face. For a moment, Aaron was struck by the thought that the man sitting in front of him wasn’t Owen at all, not with the way he sat so confidently, hunched slightly over his knees, his eyes—though they were Owen’s—didn’t seem like his just then. They seemed to be the eyes not of a nervous man, shy and bashful, but of a man with years of experience in the darker side of life, a man who had done things and saw things that most people only heard about in horror tales.
Then, Owen laughed and the image was gone, and he was Aaron’s old friend again. “Sorry,” Owen said, “I don’t mean to stare. It’s just … it’s been a really long time, hasn’t it?”
Aaron nodded, “It has, Owen. Too long.”
It’s almost as if he saw us speaking, Co said, her voice so quiet in his head that he could barely hear it, or that he was listening, somehow.
Ridiculous, Aaron thought, but he glanced back at Owen anyway, only to find that his old friend was staring at the fire, the image of it dancing in his eyes. You just imagined it, Co. Relax. You can trust Owen completely. The man sacrificed himself for me by the gods. What more could you ask?
I understand, the Virtue said, I just … I don’t know, Aaron. There’s something … odd about him. Besides, that was a long time ago. People change.
Aaron let out a growl of frustration. He’d been considering something for some time now and the way Co and Leomin were acting had decided him. “I’ve got something to say,” he said, and the others looked up from their meals.
Aaron, Co said, I know what you’re planning, but I don’t think—
“You have all been good to me,” he said, glancing between his companions, “better than I deserve, in truth. Without the three of you, I wouldn’t be sitting here today, one way or the other, so I want to say thank you.”
He hesitated, unsure of how to go on, but held up a hand, asking for silence, for a moment to gather his thoughts. He turned to Adina, sitting there watching him with questioning eyes, questioning but trusting and that hurt the worst. “You’ve all been honest with me, and it is only right that I should be honest with you.” He glanced at Leomin to see how he’d be taking it, but the Parnen was looking off into the woods, his head cocked as if listening to a sound only he could hear. Aaron was sure he was speaking with his Virtue, no doubt a frantic conversation about what Aaron was likely about to divulge.
As Aaron watched, the Parnen removed a flask of liquor from his tunic—yet another prize from the slavers—and took a long drink. Alright then, Aaron thought, deciding there’d be no argument from that quarter, as much as he had expected one. “If I have been acting strangely lately,” he said, glancing at Adina, his eyes studying her, “If, perhaps, I have seemed … difficult or confused, there’s a reason.”
He sighed heavily. “Ah, shit. I’m not good at this kind of thing so bear with me. Point is, I wouldn’t consider myself a good man. I’ve been called a bastard, a murderer, a thief, a monster, and I’m all of those. You see,” he said, staring at Adina, “I’ve done things….”
He shook himself, forcing his eyes away from the princess to take in Owen who watched him with an expectant expression. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of, always telling myself that a man had to look after his own interests. That in a world of blood and steel and fire, a man had to find
what joy he could, anyway he could find it. Thing is,” he rubbed a hand through his hair, “the thing is, I was wrong. I wasn’t a monster. Or, at least, no more than many men. Now, though … now, I think, I am becoming a monster in truth.”
“What do you mean, Aaron?” Adina said, “What’s wrong?”
Aaron gritted his teeth, “Damnit, this isn’t coming out right.”
Aaron, please—
“What I’m trying to say,” he said, “is that … I have something, inside of me. I don’t really understand it, but … it’s changing me. I know that. You see, not too long ago, I took a job where I found a man,” he turned to Adina, hating the thought of bringing up an old memory and the old pain that came along with it, “your brother, dying. By all rights, the man should have already been dead when I found him—he’d been through a lot, but he took it as well as any man can, that I saw with my own eyes. He was brave, your brother,” Aaron said, and Adina nodded softly, a tear coming from the corner of her eyes.
“Damnit,” Aaron said, “even that’s not the point. Thing is, when your brother passed … something happened to me. Something found me … or maybe I found it, I’m still not really sure. Anyway, this thing—”
“A heart,” Leomin said, taking another pull from the flask he carried and stumbling to Aaron, putting a hand on his shoulder, “You found a heart, Mr. Envelar, I understand. It was there all along, you know. A bit unhealthy maybe, a bit unwise, but there anyway. Still, I’m glad to hear—”
“No, damnit,” Aaron said, “not that. It’s—” He cut off as Leomin suddenly tripped, stumbling toward him. The Parnen’s arms pinwheeled, sending liquor spilling all over the front of Aaron, and Adina let out a gasp of surprise as she too, was splashed with alcohol.
“Leomin, what the fuck?” Aaron said, grabbing the man’s shoulders and righting him.
“Oh, gods be good, I’m sorry, Mr. Envelar, Adina,” he said, nodding his head, “I must have drunk more than I’d realized. It’s the funny thing about it; it seems that the more I drink, the thirstier I get. Thirstier and more foolish. Please, forgive me.”
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