by Ginn Hale
“Is this a blessing?” Kiram asked.
Javier nodded. “My father gave it to me when he passed the white hell to me. It belonged to Calixto and was supposed to have protected him.”
The gold was warm from Javier’s body and heavy in Kiram’s hand. He wished that he had the skill to press his own desire to protect Javier into the soft gold, but he wasn’t a Bahiim. All he could do was wish deeply that somehow the two of them could find a way to stay together.
He carefully laid the medallion back against Javier’s bare chest and settled beside him, relaxing into the comfort of Javier’s nearness. They both slept.
When Kiram awoke he found that he liked the weight of Javier’s thick thigh against his own. If he listened closely he could hear Javier release slow, deep breaths.
There was another sound as well—a cry rising through the patter of raindrops, distant but growing increasingly close.
Crows. He could hear them now, just outside the window. Despite the darkness and rain, the birds were flying and calling to each other. Or more than likely they were calling to some Bahiim.
Kiram sat up.
“What is it?” Javier asked. “Is your arm hurting?”
“No.” Though in truth his arm ached deeply, but he had grown used to it, almost forgotten about it. “It’s my uncle and his partner. I think they may be looking—”
Before Kiram could finish there was a loud rap at the locked door.
“I’m sleeping,” Javier shouted, though the response came far too quickly and loudly to be believable.
“I beg your pardon, my lord.” Kiram thought it was the same servant who had served Javier his liqueur. “There are two…men here, relations of your guest’s. They seem to have some urgent news for him. I looked for him in his room but then I recalled that he had helped Your Lordship to bed.”
Javier glared at the door and then glanced questioningly to Kiram. Kiram had no doubt that Javier would have Rafie and Alizadeh thrown out if Kiram wanted him to. He also knew that neither Rafie nor Alizadeh were likely to go quietly and a public spectacle was the last thing he wanted.
“I better go.” Kiram started up but Javier caught his hand.
“We’ll both go,” Javier said softly, then, to his servant, “Show them to the sitting room. We’ll be there directly.”
“Very good, my lord.”
They dressed quickly and in silence. Kiram wanted to again assure Javier that he wouldn’t leave, and at the same time a fear crept through him that if he spoke he might be lying. He buttoned the vest Javier had given him, while Javier laced his boots. At the door, Kiram caught Javier’s hand meaning only to offer a reassuring touch, but Javier immediately pulled him into his arms. They kissed deeply and desperately, as if they both knew that this opportunity would never come again.
Then they descended to the small sitting room, which was furnished with several plush chairs as well as a card table and harpsichord. Neither Rafie nor Alizadeh had taken a seat. They stood just a little apart from each other in front of the fire, both soaking wet. Straightened by water, Alizadeh’s blonde hair hung nearly to his knees. Rafie glared at Kiram with an expression that was as much disappointment as anger, while Alizadeh maintained the calm countenance of a Bahiim, though Kiram noticed that his gaze lingered on Javier.
Javier studied Rafie and Alizadeh with the cool appraisal of a prince surveying a newly conquered land. Kiram had lived with him long enough now to know that this proud countenance was a reflex imparted by noble Cadeleonian upbringing. Even Nestor assumed the same upright posture when he was unsure of his surroundings. Javier resorted to it rarely. At this moment, however, his hard gaze and arrogant frown looked like they were carved from a column of white marble.
The room was silent except for the crackle of the fire. Then a quiet clink sounded as a footman placed a tray of porcelain mugs and a pitcher of mulled wine on the card table. Kiram had hardly noticed the footman when he and Javier had come in. The servant glanced nervously between Javier and the two rain-soaked Haldiim, bowed to Javier and then fled.
“I’m sorry that you had to venture out into such terrible weather,” Javier said. “It must be a matter of some importance that brought you.”
“We came to find Kiram.” Rafie only gave Javier a cursory glance before turning his attention to his nephew. “I thought I was very clear when I told you to return to the Laughing Dog.”
“That was my fault, I’m afraid,” Javier replied. “I arranged with War Master Ignacio for Kiram to stay at the Tornesal townhouse.”
“I mean no offense, Your Lordship,” Rafie replied easily, “but Kiram knows his duty regardless of what others may have arranged for him. He knew we were expecting him and he chose not to return.”
“I have decided to stay with Javier,” Kiram said firmly.
“Do you have any idea of what you’re saying?” Rafie demanded in Haldiim.
“Yes, and I mean it,” Kiram replied. He tried to stop the slight quaver in his voice. He’d never seen Rafie look so angry. “He’s my…friend and I’m staying with him.”
“Your friend?” Rafie narrowed his eyes. “Musni is your friend. Hashiem is your friend. This man is some Cadeleonian you just met. Do you really expect me to let you risk your life at that snake pit of an academy just so you can ogle his firm ass and bulging cock?”
The sudden red flush that colored Javier’s cheeks made it immediately obvious that he had understood Rafie’s words, though Kiram was somewhat surprised at Javier’s embarrassment. After all he said far more provocative things to his fellow Hellions every day before breakfast. But then, Kiram thought, Javier had never had the experience of being the subject of this sort of remark before.
“You discover so many new turns of phrase when you learn another language.” Alizadeh gave Javier an almost warm smile.
“That’s quite true,” Javier replied.
“Did you know that the Mirogoths have a single word which means to put your foot into the excrement of an animal?”
“I didn’t.” Javier picked up two of the mugs of mulled wine and offered one to Alizadeh.
“That is not why we are here,” Rafie snapped.
“No, it isn’t.” Alizadeh accepted the wine with a slight bow. “But it’s late and the weather is foul. It seems a waste of energy to drag Kiram back through the mud and rain to the Laughing Dog. Especially when His Lordship seems so generous with his hospitality.”
Alizadeh gave Javier a pointed look.
Javier seemed to grasp the opening being offered. “You are both welcome to stay here, if you like. I can have rooms prepared.”
“We’re all family. We can share Kiram’s room,” Alizadeh said. “We wouldn’t want to put you out any further.”
“Of course,” Javier replied.
Rafie scowled but didn’t argue. He grudgingly accepted a mug of mulled wine. Kiram took his from Javier, feeling obvious and foolish for being so aware of Javier’s fingers as they brushed his hand. Javier stepped back from him self-consciously and sat down in one of the chairs. Kiram drifted towards the hearth.
“There’s white pepper in this, isn’t there?” Rafie took another sip of the mulled wine. Kiram knew from his tone that Rafie was trying to recover from his earlier gaffe and make the best of the situation.
“I think so,” Javier replied. “It’s hot enough, isn’t it?”
“It’s good.” Rafie took another appreciative drink. “You wouldn’t believe the things they’ll serve a man on the Mirogoth border.”
“Oh?” Javier asked and Rafie began to describe the numerous, unctuous drinks that he’d forced down his throat while traveling in the frozen north.
Kiram stole a quizzical glance at Alizadeh, wondering what had softened him towards Javier so suddenly. But Alizadeh had turned back towards the fire, his head slightly raised, studying the ceiling where the firelight flickered and cast deep shadows on the now familiar Tornesal invocations.
Alizadeh waved his hand j
ust slightly and the firelight crackled and spat briefly. Suddenly the shadowy forms of the invocations were gone, and Kiram found himself gazing at a simple pattern of filigree.
“In Yuan,” Alizadeh whispered to Kiram, “they have a word for a man who fights a darkness he cannot defeat.”
“What is it?” Kiram asked.
“A fool,”Alizadeh replied. He gave Kiram a pitying smile. “Everyone knows that.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The next morning was overcast and the cobblestone streets glistened with rain. Out on the fairgrounds masses of bright yellow straw had been scattered over the paths to stabilize the sinkholes of mud. Under the gold pavilion, fine wood shavings and black grit filled the salt rings of the fencing circles.
The footing was still bad. More than once Kiram slipped as the soil beneath him slid away. Fortunately his opponents had no better luck than he did.
But neither the poor weather nor the filthy streets seemed to dampen the enthusiasm of the crowd. The stands were brimming with onlookers. Shouts and laughter as well as jeers spilled out in a constant cacophony. There were so many bodies and faces that Kiram could almost lose sight of Rafie and Alizadeh. But the glints of golden hair and dark skin always caught his eye. Anytime he looked, they were watching him.
He’d seen almost nothing of Javier this morning. They hadn’t spoken more than a few words at breakfast and once they reached the city stables Javier had left him to ride with Elezar.
Kiram stole another quick glance to where Javier stood in the stands. Elezar, Moriso and Atreau lounged next to him. Elezar was repeating some joke, Kiram could tell just from his stance and gestures. Javier smiled but looked tired. He glanced to Kiram and their eyes met.
Kiram felt a breathless flutter in his chest and an ache deep in his stomach. Javier blinked and then looked away. He said something offhandedly and the Hellions gathered around him laughed. For a terrifying instant the fear that Javier and the other Hellions were laughing at him seized Kiram. He didn’t know why he thought it, except that Javier had turned away from him so coldly, as if he could hardly stand to look at him.
Kiram wiped a thick mass of mud from his boot. His left forearm hurt badly. The pain had made his motions clumsy during his last fight. He’d won but it hadn’t been pretty. Beneath his leather gauntlet, he could feel the wet heat of blood welling up from where his stitches had torn open.
The Hellions were still laughing and Kiram didn’t look their way.
He wished that he knew Javier well enough to be sure that he wouldn’t brag about his conquest. When the two of them were alone he did feel that he understood Javier well. An easy honesty existed between them. But Javier was different when he was with the Hellions—shocking and almost cruel, and they loved those qualities in him. Kiram wished that he could somehow forget this realization the moment that he’d had it. But it was so obvious, watching Javier smirk at Elezar and roll a coin over his knuckles. With the Hellions Javier completely disresembled the man who had pulled Kiram into his arms and held him desperately the night before.
A new opponent entered Kiram’s circle, his fourth today. The Yillar student looked clean assured and well rested and Kiram fought hard because it would have been too humiliating to simply drop his blade and walk away, but he knew he wouldn’t win.
When the judge finally raised the Yillar banner that signaled his defeat, Kiram pulled himself up from the mud and staggered back to the stands where the other filthy, beaten students sat. He collapsed down beside Nestor who, despite being defeated in his first round, appeared to be in good spirits. An open sketchbook lay across his lap.
“Don’t look so glum, Kiram,” Nestor said. “You did your best. Nobody expected you to last one round much less four. You’ve really improved in the last few months, you know.”
Kiram nodded. He wasn’t sure if he could speak without sobbing. Beneath the leather gauntlet, his stitches had burst, and his arm hurt so badly, worse than anything he’d ever felt in his life. How did professional soldiers do this day in and day out? How did they go to war or fight blood duels? How did they endure so much pain?
Red rivulets coursed down Kiram’s fingers. Nestor squinted at him. “Are you all right?”
“I’ll be fine. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Me either.” Nestor stared out at the crowd in the stands opposite them. “I hardly slept at all. I kept thinking about Riossa and then about you having to leave the academy. I spent the whole night just tossing and turning between good and bad.”
“Yes, me as well.” Kiram was glad to have Nestor beside him right now. “I thought maybe I’d run away and hide in Zancoda.”
Nestor cocked his head, considering this latest plan. “Would you still come to classes?”
“I don’t see how I could,” Kiram replied.
“Maybe I could sneak notes down to you and take your papers back up to the academy,” Nestor suggested, a playful expression on his broad, honest face. “Or maybe we could disguise you somehow and enroll you as a foreign prince. We could say you were from the kingdom of Yuan. You’d have to wear a live bird on your head, or something, but it would be a small price to pay.”
Kiram laughed out loud at this.
Nestor smiled. “For what it’s worth, my mother’s agreed to speak with your uncle if you think that will help. I told her that you’re the reason that my math scores have been looking so good this year. And Prince Sevanyo invited you into his box. That has to count for something, don’t you think?”
“With my uncle?” Kiram asked. He tried very tentatively to flex his left hand into a fist. A deep, ragged ache shot through his forearm.
“Seriously, Kiram, are you all right? You just went white. Which for you is pretty shocking looking.”
“My cut broke open again.”
“Should you take the gauntlet off?” Nestor leaned closer, peering at the leather laces. “It looks like the blood has soaked into the laces and swollen the knots tight. We’ll have to cut it apart, but I’ve got my penknife.”
“Just leave it for now,” Kiram said. He leaned back, resting his left arm across his stomach. His muscles felt stringy and limp. The sweat clinging to his skin began to turn cold and Kiram shivered as a breeze washed over him. “I don’t know what to do about my uncle.”
“Neither do I.” Nestor absently resumed his sketching. “But, you know, we can’t give up.”
Kiram spied Rafie working his way down to the second level of the stands with Alizadeh only a few steps behind him. No doubt they had decided to collect him immediately after the third year duels ended. They seemed to think that they had won the whole argument about him leaving already. And there Javier was, acting as if Kiram had already left when they still had a week to fight for him to stay. His lackluster capitulation suddenly infuriated Kiram and the ensuing rush of anger was a relief from his earlier feeling of rejection.
He’d been so distressed and confused today that he’d lost sight of what it was that he needed to fight for. Yes, he wanted to stay with Javier but there was also his friendship with Nestor and his goal of being the first Haldiim to graduate from Sagrada Academy. He wanted to honor Yassin Lif-Harun, who had been killed before he fully proved himself. And he had sworn to help Scholar Donamillo to save Fedeles—a matter of life and death.
This wasn’t just Javier’s fight. If he wanted to have one night and then give up he could, but Kiram wouldn’t.
He wondered if all endurance was this simple. Whether it was physical pain or complex calculations, a person had to push through it if they wanted to win. Winning just had to matter more than exhaustion or hurt. Kiram thought of how Fedeles kept fighting even though a curse tortured him relentlessly. Compared to that, a disapproving uncle seemed manageable.
Kiram searched the stands for Fedeles and found him in the Quemanor family box along with his father, sister and grandmother. He returned Kiram’s gaze as if he’d been waiting for Kiram to look at him all day. He grinned a
nd waved wildly. Kiram smiled back at him and gave a brief salute with his right hand.
By the time the third-year students entered the dueling ground, the sun had broken through the clouds and humid warmth filled the gold pavilion.
“We’ll see some real fighting now,” Nestor commented.
Despite Kiram’s disgusted frustration, he couldn’t help but look up when Javier’s name was called. He watched as Holy Father Habalan used a small dagger to open a shallow cut in Javier’s wrist and then administered several drops of a black fluid to the wound. Javier grimaced as the holy father bound his wrist and then laced his gauntlet over the wound.
Kiram stole a quick glance to Rafie and Alizadeh, to see what they made of the holy father’s ministrations, and found Rafie openly scowling at the sight, disgust plain on his face while Alizadeh shook his head sadly. Good. Let them see what Javier endured and then still refuse to help or even allow Kiram to try.
Javier strode across the filthy arena and took his circle. Despite the poison, he held the ring five rounds without seeming to even break a sweat. Only after the fighting was done, as he and the other third-year champions left the arena, did Javier offer Kiram a warm, longing smile that sent a rush of desire through him. Then Javier bowed his head and went to the benches with Elezar.
Seconds later Rafie and Alizadeh swooped down on Kiram, intent on escorting him throughout the rest of the day. Kiram introduced them to Nestor, who joined them out on the fairgrounds. Shortly after that Riossa and her friends flounced around them in a giggling cluster of silk and ribbons. Nestor’s imposing mother, Lady Grunito, and her five attendants manifested moments later. Kiram began to feel like he was walking in a parade. He smiled, because he could see from Rafie’s set expression that he had not planned to spend the afternoon in this manner, but had no way of politely extricating himself without leaving Kiram.