Nightjar

by Gabbo De la Parra

  Eta spewed his wine and coughed. Bracken dutifully pounded the boy’s back to help him. After recovering, Eta murmured, “I’m also going to miss that nasty sense of humor.”

  Bracken ruffled dark blond curls. “You will be missed too, little friend.”

  Redness reached Eta’s pale cheeks; he looked up from under long, golden lashes.

  Selleck entered the hall, his gait brisk toward them.

  “I guess it’s time.” Eta peered at him with those bright green eyes. “Are you scared, King Bracken?” he asked softly.

  Am I?

  With the Kept disbanded, what was Bracken’s place in Gryphonire? In Adder’s life? “There is a reason for everything, even if we cannot fathom that reason immediately.”

  Eta arched an eyebrow.

  Chuckling, Bracken shook his head. “Not scared. More like mildly concerned.” He grinned.

  With a nod, Eta stood up. Solemn didn’t look right in his usually happy, almost-too-pretty, oval face.

  Selleck bowed. “King Bracken.” After Bracken acknowledged him, he turned to Eta. “Ready?”

  Putting his hand over Bracken’s hand, Eta inquired quietly, “Would you see me off?”

  “Of course.”

  They all walked to the landing courtyard. A burly rider waited to carry Eta, along with a group of escorts. He was expected at the Court of Nivoril, where he had been appointed assistant to Munus’s Ambassador there.

  “Don’t forget to write.” Selleck kissed Eta’s brow.

  Eta and Bracken hugged, then Bracken helped him to climb the night-dark gryphon. Sweet Eta looked fragile in front of the soldier as he settled down, his yellow tunic in high contrast with the burgundy garb of the rider. He waved shyly. “I’ll never forget you.”

  Selleck and Bracken nodded, their smiles sad. The rider dipped his head courtly and yelled, “Up!”

  Soon Eta and his party were mere dots disappearing to the east.

  “We moved the last of your assigned clothes to King Adder’s quarters,” Selleck told Bracken as they walked back to the main building.

  “What are you going to do with the Kept Hall?”

  “The king will figure something out. It has the only indoor pool of Gryphonire after all.” Selleck winked.

  “And you? What would you do now?”

  “I am to be your personal aide.”

  “My what? Why would I need that?” Bracken burst.

  “Well, you need someone to take care of you and handle your daily routine and other things. Right now we need to get you ready for tonight’s feast. King Adder is taking you to Varvarar.”

  Bracken learned long ago to not blush. He wasn’t a maiden. But the thought of being carried by Adder, just like Eta some minutes ago or when he came to Gryphonire left a pleasant tingle all over his body. Sixty-nining with Adder and finishing in each other’s mouths earlier today certainly fueled a lot of that tingling.

  “Ahem.” Selleck looked at him sideways. “You have your own gryphon now. You know you aren’t riding with the King in the same saddle, right?”

  “I know.”

  “Then erase that sappy grin off your face. It doesn’t go well with your usual brooding-warrior demeanor.”

  “I don’t like cheeky aides.”

  “It’s a good thing you didn’t hire me.”

  Bracken narrowed his eyes and snorted. Selleck would be a worthy opponent.

  Many hours later, after much scrubbing and perfuming and wardrobe changing, Bracken sat beside Adder in the Great Hall of the Varvarar Palace. The immense table had forty seats, all occupied.

  Two princes and representatives of the other four Ocean Kingdoms and Vurgeg had come to pay their respects to Bracken, as the person seated at Adder’s right (in the place of honor), not as the former King of Lakoneh. They acted with deference, but there was a certain hesitation that spoke of badly disguised uneasiness. Part of their discomfort had cause. There was no precedent for what Adder was doing. No one had ever seen a War Trophy seated beside his king in a formal reception.

  It was the custom in the Ten Kingdoms to not put a chair at the right of the King commanding the table if he didn’t have a wife, a consort, or was a widower. Adder had placed Bracken as if he were his betrothed, his consort-to-be because everybody knew Adder was not married yet. The fact that he was dressed mostly in white didn’t help much; even his overtunic with its royal blue trimmings was white like a summer cloud. Myriad thoughts assaulted Bracken as he tried not to divine Adder’s reasoning for this unusual action.

  Bracken surreptitiously glanced at the king beside him. Adder wore the burgundy and gold colors of Munus. Thick gold bracelets and rings adorned him. His hair, with its hints of silver, was windswept as if he had just alighted from his gryphon. Dark eyes competed with the three black diamonds on his crown, but diamonds didn’t glint with merriment or pride, nor had they laugh lines around them. Adder’s lips were perdition; even his square jaw had done wicked things to Bracken’s body. He wanted to hope, but there was no reason for hope. There was no logic in hope; he was a War Trophy, a mere toy. A toy should neither hope nor wish.

  Something caught Bracken’s attention, one of the servants pouring wine across the table. His coloring was wrong; the beard was missing, but he knew him. Their gazes locked. The man did several eye movements that for the untrained meant nothing, but for the Lakonian were a code. The man was a Lightfeet, a royal spy.

  Perplexed, Bracken asked what was his purpose there; the answer was a simply coded “we need to talk.”

  “My King,” Bracken murmured in Adder’s ear, “the lamb has not agreed with me. I need to take care of some business.”

  Adder patted his hand with a smile. “Go, go.” He turned back to the old representative of Kaskal who was reminiscing of younger years when learning to ride his narwhal.

  Nonchalantly, Bracken left the Great Hall.

  Selleck came out of nowhere. “Can I help you?”

  Bracken scowled at him. “You are lucky I don’t have a sword. Never jump at me like that again.”

  “Of course, King Bracken.” He bowed swiftly. “What do you need?”

  “I need to take a dump,” Bracken growled.

  “The pheasant?”

  “Or any of the other twenty dead animals on the table,” grunted Bracken.

  “Aw, come this way please.” Selleck moved aside to let him pass. “By the way, it’s in very poor taste to speak ill of your guests.”

  The chuckle didn’t do anything to mollify Bracken. Still he said, “I was talking about the seasoned, minced, and cooked beasts not the ones eating them and talking nonsense over them.” He stopped abruptly, pulling Selleck by the arm. “Did you say my guests? Those people are not my guests, they are Adder’s guests.” Bracken was in Selleck’s face a heartbeat later. “Do you know something I don’t?”

  Swallowing visibly, Selleck shook his head. “Not at all. I’m just here to make sure your every need is met.”

  “Good. Point out the direction of the relieving area, then go back to the Great Hall. Or are you planning on being there to wipe my ass too?”

  Selleck took a moment to answer as if he was actually considering it. He grimaced. “In the next intersection turn left and then right. You’ll find it easily enough.”

  Bracken nodded, turning Selleck around to face toward the Great Hall. “That’s a good aide.” He slapped Selleck on the ass. “Off you go.”

  His appointed aide walked away, head down— shoulders hunched.

  The need to pee actually surged, so Bracken found the place, doing his business quickly. He was expecting to find the Lightfeet before returning to the Great Hall. Effectively the spy was carrying a tray, laden with dirty dishes. They ran into each other. Golden plates, goblets, and cutlery did cartwheels before landing with ringing crashes.

  Bracken knelt to help the spy.

  “Oh, master, I’m so sorry. Please, don’t bother yourself helping me,” the man said aloud. “The war with Munus
wasn’t retaliation for the stolen ships. Someone massacred the sailors on the ships we returned to Vurgeg. They think it was us and Munus had to act accordingly. The whole thing was a setup. Lord Idared suspects even the fire on the Royal Granaries was no accident,” he whispered quickly.

  Fuck.

  “Well, there’s nothing we can do now. I’m King Adder’s War Trophy. Idared and Laelia must rule until Fern is old enough,” Bracken exhaled between his teeth.

  “Please, master. I beg you. Let me do this by myself. I will be lashed!” The Lightfeet implored dramatically, then hissed, “Sorry, my King. I was sent to scout the situation. We’ll come to get you very soon.”

  “Lakoneh can’t do that. It’s dishonorable.”

  The Lightfeet looked at Bracken in the eye, breaking character— putting his life at risk. “King Bracken, there’s no honor in what you’re going through if the war started by trickery.”

  ****

  Chapter Ten

  Goal

  “You future consort seems upset,” Renan commented as Adder stepped beside him. “What did you do to him?”

  “I haven’t done anything to him.” And that had Adder absolutely exasperated. “We sleep in the same bed, but there’s a tension between us that wasn’t there before. Not even upon his arrival.”

  “Well, he’s taking his sexual frustration out on your poor soldiers.”

  They stood on the edge of the practice yard, and, effectively, Nightjar was pulverizing the men trying to train with him. Good thing they were using blunt wooden swords; if not, Adder would be facing a decimation of his forces.

  “I don’t know how to broach the issue of the Vurgeg ships.”

  Or a marriage proposal.

  Nightjar swung one of the two swords he was wielding in an arch and smacked the shoulder of a soldier with the flat part. The man was almost flung by the impact and rolled in the sand with a yelp. His (apparently very angry) consort-to-be fought three men at once, and they looked like baby gryphons who didn’t know how to use their talons yet.

  Adder winced as the second sword descended and veered, slicing a midriff, followed by a sharp elbow to the chest. The man was lucky those were practice weapons, but he’d still be plenty sore for a day or two thanks to the Lakon’s ire.

  They watched Nightjar mince two more triads. Enough was enough. If Nightjar could get rid of his irritation fighting, so could Adder. He crooked his finger at a soldier watching the unfortunate matches close to them.

  “Yes, my King?”

  “Bring me one of those helmets that cover most of the face.”

  “At once, sire.”

  Renan arched an eyebrow. Adder started removing his many rings and bracelets. The Great Counselor shook his head wordlessly as he received the adornments.

  The early afternoon was hot, and the men practicing were all in just loincloths and sandals. Renan and Adder were bare chested, only wearing light leather skirts with plated belts. Adder didn’t have a loincloth underneath so when the soldier came back with the helmet he ordered the man to give him his. Without hesitation the man took it off while Adder made quick work of his own covering.

  “Your sandals are different,” Renan pointed out. The leather in theirs was thicker and laced up to the knees; the soldiers’ were ankle high.

  “Shit. Soldier, your sandals.”

  The soldier chuckled and removed his footwear. Under any other circumstance the other men would have been whistling and catcalling, but all understood pretty quickly Adder’s intention, so they kept quiet to not attract attention to their area.

  By the time Adder looked like any other man in the yard, Nightjar did a high kick, knocking a tooth from one of the men fighting him.

  “Ouch,” hissed Renan.

  Practice swords were handed to Adder, and he jogged toward Nightjar, who was on the sand holding the man he had knocked along with his tooth. The four were laughing, and Nightjar was patting the soldier’s head and apologizing. Adder stood in front of them.

  Nightjar looked up and waved his hand. “I’m done for the day, soldier.”

  Adder shook his head. He moved to a fighting stance and jerked his head, challenging.

  “Did you see what I did to your comrades?” But Nightjar went to his feet, picking up his helmet from the sand.

  First a shrug, then Adder challenged Nightjar again. The thought of flapping his elbows like a chicken crossed his mind, but that would be too much. Right now he was somewhat safe if Nightjar had decided to quit the practice already; the chicken bit would just land him in a whole lot of extra trouble.

  Nightjar did an odd move with one foot tapping his sword, and the flick made the sword jump to his hand. He did the same strange motion with the other. Now he had both swords in his hands.

  Wow, I must learn to do that.

  Spinning his swords like a fire dancer, Nightjar circled Adder. He moved with a grace that hadn’t been there when he was practicing with the other men. And he was waiting for Adder to attack first.

  So be it.

  Adder advanced with his swords at an angle, one higher than the other, and swung as if aiming with the right, but he was actually preparing to work the left counterclockwise. But Nightjar saw the ruse and deflected both contradicting swings. The dry thud of wood colliding was almost anticlimactic. Adder should be fighting his Nightjar with metal, blood should be claimed.

  Thrust. Parry. Swing. Parry. Chop. Parry. Adder was working up a sweat, and the flying sand clung to his skin. His cock grew harder with each arch, with every swirl and spin, with any contact of their bodies. But Nightjar was silent. He wasn’t grunting or yelling like he had with the others. And this enraged Adder. He attacked, and he was deflected once, twice, thrice. His Nightjar was toying with him. Then Adder realized he had been almost as quiet so the Lakon didn’t recognize his voice; every noise had come from him without opening his mouth. His father had taught him this technique because it irritated the opponents and they would surely lose focus.

  The Lakon was doing to Adder exactly the same thing he had been doing unconsciously. He did it to conceal his identity, and Nightjar did it to fuck with him.

  That second of realization cost him. Before he could dodge, Nightjar grabbed him by the small of his back and pulled their bodies together, their hard-ons rubbed roughly. Their helmets clanged with the impact as Nightjar headbutted him.

  “You’re going down, bold one,” Nightjar growled when their eyes met just a few inches between them.

  Adder pushed and used the minimal space to bring his knee up. A swift sidle and his partner’s groin was out of harm’s way, but Nightjar used the momentum to grab the back of Adder’s knee and yanked, making him lose his footing.

  Nightjar landed heavily on top of Adder, knocking the wind out of him. Pure instinct made Adder use the hilt of his left sword to stab at Nightjar’s side. They rolled; the impacts of his helmet on the sandy ground were dizzying Adder. Still, adrenaline ruled, and in the split second he was on top he sprang backward, gained his footing and both swords ended up over Nightjar’s throat with a hasty movement. It hadn’t been graceful, but it was over.

  With a soft thump, Nightjar’s head rested on the sand; he flung his swords to the side, conceding the match. He lay there sprawled, heaving, and his long delicious cock was so visible through the sweaty loincloth that all Adder wanted to do was sink to his knees and worship it.

  The men cheered around them. Adder took the helmet off, and the soldiers started to chant, “Adder! Adder! Adder!”

  Renan came to them and offered his hand to Nightjar. The Lakon took it reluctantly. The moment he was on his feet, he gave Adder a withering scowl, saying between his teeth, “I’m going to get cleaned up.”

  The Great Counselor whistled. “You are in trouble, my King.”

  Two hours and one realization later (after searching throughout Gryphonire), Adder found Nightjar swimming in the Kept Hall pool. He stomped to the edge and stood there with his fists on his hips.
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  The former King of Lakoneh took his time to reach him.

  “You knew it was I, didn’t you.”

  “Of course. How could you think I wouldn’t recognize your body, the way you smell when you sweat, the way you move?”

  The frank leer made Adder shiver, but what came of his mouth was “You cheated!”

  “How the fuck did I cheat when you won?”

  “Because you had me and you let me win to not embarrass me in front of my men.”

  “Do I look like I give a fuck about embarrassing you?”

  “No, you don’t. That’s why you stole my ships and then sent that macabre spectacle back to Vurgeg!”

  “My people were starving!”

  “You could have come to Munus asking for help instead of stealing from me!”

  “We did and you rebuffed us. Fucker, you even killed two of my three emissaries! After that nobody would help us because they were afraid of you.”

  This gave pause to Adder. “I haven’t received any emissaries from Lakoneh ever.”

  Nightjar climbed from the pool. Water ran from his long hair and along his magnificent body, his wet nudity perturbingly distracting. He stabbed Adder in the center of the chest with a hard finger. “Don’t lie. What’s done is done. Besides what was the big deal? The tribute of Vurgeg was ten ships. It wasn’t even something you needed. We were starving.”

  Adder grabbed Nightjar’s wrist. “One of us is lying, and it is not me.” He pulled their bodies together with his arm circling the Lakon’s lower back, his tunic instantly wet. Although that wasn’t the only thing wetting in his body.

  “I’m no liar, Beloved of Erin. This shit fest started because you wouldn’t help my starving people.”

  “What about the defiled bodies on the returned ships? The reports said they were half eaten, apparently by vultures, then shitted and peed on by humans. You couldn’t just give them an honorable death.”

  Nightjar narrowed his eyes but ground his solid cock against Adder’s. “We took what we needed and told them to return home. We didn’t harm or kill a single person on those ships. You probably did that to have a fucking excuse to invade us.”