Nightjar

by Gabbo De la Parra

  “You should know better by now. I don’t need excuses to do what I want.”

  Their lips brushed.

  Cloudless-sky eyes stared at Adder defiantly. “Are you going to fuck me?”

  “You deserve it.”

  “Then get that damn tunic off and do it.”

  The tunic wasn’t gently removed; it was torn apart. The only foreplay was cruel mouths, furious teeth, rabid hands— overheated bodies lying on cold marble floor.

  They rolled, almost in the same way they had on the sand of the practice yard, but now the fight was also exploration and conquering, discovery and subjugation, urgency and craving. Adder ended up on top, his body covering Nightjar’s. He held both wrists above the salt-and-pepper moist curls with one hand, using the other to prop powerful legs over his shoulders. He scooped the fluids pouring from the Lakon’s leaking member (accumulating on his abdomen) and used them as lubrication.

  Moans surged as fingers breached a tight space. Without missing a beat, Adder brushed his own cock and the liquid proof of his need, grazing the rosy entrance he desperately wanted to pound and own.

  “How many times do you have to win to fuck me the way a warrior deserves to be fucked?” Nightjar challenged.

  Adder growled and pushed in. Their eyes locked, and the words that Adder needed to scream in that instant were “be mine, be mine, be mine.”

  Nightjar’s body accepted him, embraced him, and the heat and the squeeze were glorious, sublime. Nothing like The Claiming on his ship, that forceful proof of his ruling over the Lakon; this was something else. Adder didn’t see resignation or duty in those almost colorless lakes; he saw fire. He saw power. He saw the reflection of his own desire, and he hoped.

  He thrust, and there was no deflection; Nightjar’s body moved to receive him, not in confrontation but in a blissful welcoming that became more agitated and vocal and sweaty with each collision.

  Suddenly, Nightjar was wrestling him, rolling them around. He straddled Adder, impaling himself, taking control of the assault. He rocked, gyrated, commanded. His eyes and hair were wild, unnatural, and Adder pulled him down, to kiss, to devour each other’s mouths— because he was close to his destruction, and he wanted his Nightjar to swallow his cry of completion.

  Pleasure rushed forward and shook him, wrung him, made him an exploding fountain. The Lakon swallowed Adder’s cry as he came and came and came, wanting to shout a thousand promises that were wrong for this violent moment.

  Nightjar’s climax followed quickly. Rope after rope of pearly seed coated Adder’s chest, and he reverently swallowed his lover’s convulsing cries.

  Moments later, as they descended from the high mountain where their bed sports race had led them, Nightjar, close to Adder’s face, sighed, “Thank you.”

  Adder chuckled. “Remember what you said about thanking for something one deserves.”

  “Don’t throw my own words at me,” Nightjar huffed. “Bad King, bad.”

  Adder realized this was the first time he had fucked inside the Kept Hall, and he had a moment of inspiration. “You are not leaving this hall until I’ve made you come as many times as you said the word fuck or any of its inflections within the last hour.”

  Rising his head, Nightjar looked at him seriously; still his eyes were full of mischief. “Then you have six orgasms to go, my King.”

  ****

  Chapter Eleven

  Linchpin

  The light in the chamber had changed many times, but Bracken didn’t want to leave the bed. His body still thrummed with the memory of Adder’s rough hands over his body.

  After so many days without touching him, Adder had gone not just inside his body but deeper to a place Bracken didn’t know existed within him. True, Bracken had been the one avoiding Adder, acting cold and distant, but Adder never forced himself on him. It was the King’s right to do as he pleased with his War Trophies; still Adder waited until their fight about the Vurgeg ships broke whatever was holding him back.

  What was Adder planning? So far he seemed content with only Bracken as War Trophy. He hadn’t demanded of Lakoneh to become vassals like Vurgeg. Apparently, annexation wasn’t his agenda.

  Bracken stretched. His body felt sore and bruised. He had been pleased and sated, utterly conquered and worshiped. And because of that, the thousand questions (snarling and snapping at each other in his head) seemed wrong, illogical. Uncharacteristically, his warrior’s instincts nudged him to relax after the sexual combat, while his brain stayed in total turmoil. His head ignored the languid commands of his body; he needed to figure things out. It was important to know what was happening before Lakoneh attempted to rescue him.

  A soft knock on the door was all the warning he had before Selleck and Prince Deron entered the bedchamber.

  “Hello!” exclaimed Deron as he climbed onto the immense bed. The sea of rich fabrics and pillows didn’t seem to bother him at all. “Time to wake up, King Bracken!”

  “I’m not a…” Bracken didn’t finish. Selleck shook his head. The boy didn’t know his true status in Gryphonire. Instead Bracken said, “I’m lazy today. I wanna stay in bed.”

  Deron finally reached him, starting to tickle him at once. It was Bracken’s fault; he had told the Prince the other day he could come to visit whenever he felt like it. “Get up! Get up! I came to invite you to a warrior’s meal!” he giggled, still tickling and poking.

  Bracken searched Selleck’s face for an explanation; Selleck did a gesture with his hand indicating to “go with the flow.” Bracken poked Deron back. “I need to get dressed then. Or should I go naked like the warriors of old?”

  Stopping his attack, Deron looked at him as if considering his question. His head cocked in a perfect imitation of his father. This caused a sudden contraction on Bracken’s chest; he didn’t want to investigate the reason for it. Deron appeared to come to a resolution. He loosened the scrunch on his face and uttered solemnly, “We’re flying. I don’t think naked is a good idea.”

  “Dressed it is then.”

  “Splendid,” Deron said, just like his father would. He crawled to leave the bed.

  Quickly, Bracken washed his face and cleaned his mouth, then found clothes and sandals. He could see throughout all these motions that Deron was vibrating with excitement. The boy talked animatedly to Selleck. His aide only nodded silently, a placid smile on his face.

  Selleck didn’t look like he was faking it. That was a good thing because Bracken would have not been happy otherwise.

  “I’m ready.”

  Deron turned to look at him and started to laugh. He pointed at Bracken. “Your head looks like one of those felines they ride in Sulfus.”

  Sulfus was the northernmost of the Land Kingdoms. Her warriors rode giant felines with wild manes around their heads when they were not covered with armor. Bracken roared like one of those enormous cats; he turned his hands into clawed paws. “I heard they give little children to their mounts for breakfast.”

  Dark big eyes startled for an instant, then narrowed with suspicion. “I’ve never heard that.” He turned to Selleck. “Is this true?”

  “I don’t know, my Prince.” Selleck shrugged. “You’ve traveled more extensively than me.”

  “That is true,” Deron agreed. He grabbed Bracken’s hand, towing him out of Adder’s quarters. “We’ll deal with your hair later.”

  Deron’s brisk pace took them to one of the terraces fairly quick. Their gryphons were saddled and ready to depart. Ten guards were leaving with them.

  “King Bracken, this is Allu, captain of Prince Deron’s guard.” Selleck made the introductions.

  Bracken nodded.

  Allu bowed courtly. “Sire.”

  “Let’s go!” Deron clapped his hands. He climbed onto his gryphon with surprising agility for a five-year-old. His gryphon wasn’t normal size but it wasn’t a youngling either. Still, it was a perfect fit for Deron. Bracken wondered if Munus’s alchemists had kept it on the short side for the prince
’s benefit; he’d had never heard of miniature gryphons like certain breeds of horses. In Lakoneh, riders grew with their vultures; that encouraged their connection.

  Thunderstrike, Bracken’s gryphon, made mewling sounds as he patted the wide, feathery neck. He had neglected the poor animal because he didn’t want to get attached to it; not if his people were coming for him.

  Selleck was the last to climb his mount. In perfect harmony, all whipped their reins, shouting “up.” Thirteen gryphons launched themselves upward. They headed westward, crossing Gryphonire’s bay swiftly.

  Twirling and whooping, Deron guided the group. Bracken was impressed by the little prince’s dominion over his gryphon. He was a natural. Would a child of his be this dexterous? Bracken had never thought about children, but seeing Deron’s skill tempted him with the idea of a small version of him whooping on his own vulture. Gods, Bracken missed Silvercall. She was gone; no amount of wishful thinking could bring her back. No point in dwelling on this bout of sadness.

  Ten minutes after their departure, Deron pointed downward, winking at Bracken. They approached a plain where a squad of Munus soldiers had already made camp. Bracken hadn’t seen any garrisons close by. The group alighted; Deron jumped from his gryphon and rushed toward Bracken. “Come, the food must be ready!”

  “Slow down, warrior.” Bracken chuckled, but the boy was already pulling him toward a massive roasting pig and other cooking fires. The soldiers bowed at them as they passed.

  Deron plopped himself on a log by one of the fires, patting the space beside him.

  “What’s the name of this place?” Bracken asked Deron.

  “This is the Pepbod plain.” Deron became serious and continued as if giving a lecture. “In the early days of Munus a great battle took place here, and the first king of Munus came to power by winning it.”

  “Your ancestor,” Bracken offered.

  “Yes. I come from a long line of great rulers.” Deron nodded proudly.

  Bracken wasn’t sure if they were all great. If he wasn’t mistaken Adder’s grandfather had killed his brother to become king. Surely, Deron didn’t know this yet, but he was bound to learn about it someday. It was part of his history.

  “I’m sure you will be an excellent king yourself one day.”

  “For that I need to know how to wield a sword.” Deron twisted his lips. “Abba says I have to wait until I’m seven.”

  “You mean you don’t even have a toy sword?”

  Bracken didn’t want to intrude in the boy’s education, but if he was so skillful flying surely he could wield a little wooden sword.

  Deron shook his head wordlessly.

  “Well, if it is all right with you, I’ll speak with the King about it.”

  Those big eyes (so dark like his father’s) brightened instantly. “Would you do that?”

  “If you allow it, I can be your emissary.” Bracken smiled.

  Climbing on the log to be able to reach Bracken’s shoulder, Deron put his tiny hand on it and regally said, “King Bracken, I accept you as my emissary to the King of Munus regarding a toy sword.”

  Applause and cheers thundered around them. Bracken hadn’t noticed that the men surrounding them were paying attention to their little exchange. They both waved at the men grandly. Deron sat back. They stared at the fire silently. Selleck came to sit beside them.

  The silence among them wasn’t awkward, but it was silly. “So this is a warrior’s meal. A meal you eat at camp surrounded by warriors,” Bracken commented casually. The other two nodded. “Was this squad training here?”

  “No. They came early this morning to prepare this, so you and I could have our meal together,” Deron explained in the manner of a general describing a battle plan.

  “Are you sure you are only five?” Bracken narrowed his eyes.

  “I’ll be six in a month.”

  “That explains a lot.”

  Deron snapped his finger as if remembering something. “I’ll be right back.” He jumped from the log and ran toward Allu, who wasn’t far. He said something in the man’s ear. Allu beckoned one of his men, gave some instructions, and the man left at a trot to where the gryphons were tended.

  Bracken looked at Selleck. Selleck simply shrugged, obviously as clueless as Bracken. Then a dreadful idea came to Bracken out of nowhere. He did his best to ask nonchalantly, “Selleck, if something happens to Adder before Deron is fit to rule who becomes regent?”

  “The Great Counselor. Why?”

  “Just a simple question.”

  “That’s a weird thing to ask out of the blue.”

  “Not really. Remember I told you my nephew is my heir.”

  Selleck looked at him suspiciously. “I still don’t see the relation. Your nephew is thirteen already. He will rule in three years. Prince Deron is just five.”

  “He’s about to be six,” Bracken pointed with a grin.

  Deron chose that moment to reappear with something clutched in his tiny fist. “Here.”

  “What is it?” Bracken opened his palm to receive it.

  It was a long leather string.

  “You can tie your hair with it.” Deron snickered then. “The flight made it worse.”

  “Are you making fun of your emissary?”

  Deron shook his head violently, but his grin was too big and too comical.

  A soldier came up to them and bowed. “Prince Deron, the food is ready.”

  “Let’s eat!” Deron yelled and ran to get a plate.

  The soldiers cheered.

  Selleck and Bracken stood up to follow Deron. His aide still looked at him suspiciously.

  Perhaps Selleck, and Munus at large, should be suspicious of somebody else.

  ****

  Chapter Twelve

  Plan

  The Record Room was supposed to be uncomplicated.

  Adder growled as he rolled back another parchment. He hadn’t asked for help to keep his investigation under wraps, but he was failing on his own. Sighing, he went to the door and called a clerk. “Summon Amanbar.”

  If he was going to ask for help he might as well call the Head of the Archives. He didn’t trust a low clerk not to go babbling afterward.

  Amanbar came into the room and bowed. Not a hair out of place from her severe coif. She had ruled the archives under three kings, rumored to be everlasting to keep a promise to Adder’s grandfather. “What a pleasure to see you here, my King.” She smiled conspiratorially.

  It always amused Adder how ancient she was supposed to be but looked no older than Adder’s mother would be (in her late forties) if she were alive. “I have a mission for you, my dear Amanbar.”

  She nodded, waiting for him.

  “I was advised that Lakonian emissaries came last winter. I need the transcription of that visit.”

  “Easy enough, sire.” She seemed to study him for a moment. “You were looking by month, weren’t you?”

  Adder shrugged, suddenly feeling childlike.

  “Things regarding other kingdoms are filed under the kingdom’s name. Munus’s businesses are filed monthly.”

  “I’ll file that information for my next foray into your realm, dear.”

  Amanbar giggled softly. “Please follow me.”

  They found a two-door cabinet with the word LAKONEH neatly labeled on top of it. Amanbar simply opened it because it wasn’t locked. There were around twenty racks with at least thirty diamond shaped spaces in each, but there were only four scrolls in them.

  “Seems like Lakoneh doesn’t visit much,” Adder commented, surprised. Now that he thought about it, he had been king for eight years and couldn’t recall a single direct interaction with Lakoneh.

  Odd since Nightjar’s kingdom was a rich one, perhaps not agriculturally, but they had enough resources of other types to be able to procure food if needed. The Ten Kingdoms traded among them, but he had only seen Nightjar a few times in meetings regarding all kingdoms, and always away from Munus.

  “Hmm, this l
ast scroll is ten years old.” Amanbar brought Adder out of his musings, a cloud of dust accompanying her words.

  “Could it have been wrongly filed?”

  “Human error is always a possibility, but since a visit from Lakoneh is such a rare occurrence it shouldn’t have happened.” She arched an eyebrow. “If it did.”

  “What are you implying?”

  Before answering, she swept one finger on the dust next to where the scroll she opened had laid. Then she used another finger to do the same on a random place within the cabinet. “The dust is not as thick here.” She pointed at the empty space beside the scroll as she put it back. “Maybe someone took the transcription of that recent visit.”

  Adder cocked his head. “Or there was no visit and my informant is wrong.”

  “An absolute possibility, my King.” She bowed. Then she looked at him brilliantly. “Isn’t the twin princes of Zigag’s birthday during the winter, and you always take Prince Deron there for a couple of days?”

  “Yes it is. But what does it has to do with anything?”

  “The Lakonian visit could have happened when you were not presiding over the hearings because you were away with the prince.”

  And the person who presided over the hearings when he was away was Renan.

  “Thanks for your time, Amanbar,” Adder said courtly.

  She bowed elegantly. “Whatever you need, I’m always here for you, sire.”

  Where was Renan when Adder needed him?

  Adder had sent a herald the previous night to inform the city that there would be no hearings today because he’d decided between sex in the Kept Hall and sex in their chamber to do this little investigation. He stopped in his tracks toward the Hearing Offices. Did he just think about his chambers as “theirs,” his and the Lakon’s?

  Yes, I did.

  And that was the logical frame of mind as he was thinking of asking Bracken, his Nightjar, to marry him.

  “Where is the Great Counselor?” Adder asked one official as he entered the Hearing Offices.

  “He went to Lemvar for the day, my King.”

  Shit. Lemvar was the outermost city of Munus, at the other end of the island. Renan would return straight to Gryphonire. All right, there were other people in each hearing, someone must remember if emissaries from Lakoneh came last winter. They were in the beginning of autumn, it shouldn’t be that hard to recall, precisely because (as Amanbar had mentioned) it was a rare occurrence. The official waited to be dismissed. Adder asked, “What group managed the hearings last winter?”