by S. U. Pacat
Kallias didn’t say anything, and the silence stretched out until Erasmus grew self conscious of the words he had spoken. And then Kallias spoke in a raw little voice.
‘I wish you could be my first.’
He felt the words in his body, little explosions. It was as if he lay uncovered on the pallet as he had done in his small room, offering up his longing. His own lips parted without sound.
Kallias said, ‘Would you . . . would you put your arms around my neck?’
His heart beat painfully. He nodded, then wanted to hide his head. He felt lightheaded with daring. He slid his arms around Kallias’s neck, feeling the smooth skin of his neck. His eyes closed to just feel. Snippets of verse floated through his mind.
In the columned halls, we embrace
His cheek rests against mine
Happiness like this comes once in a thousand years
He put his forehead against Kallias’s.
‘Erasmus,’ said Kallias, unsteadily.
‘It’s all right. It’s all right as long as we don’t—’
He felt Kallias’s fingers on his hips. It was a delicate, helpless touch that preserved the space between their bodies. But it was as if he had completed a circle, Erasmus’s arms around Kallias’s neck, Kallias’s fingers at his hips. The space between their bodies felt clouded and hot. He understood why those three places on his body were forbidden to him, because all of them began to ache.
He couldn’t open his eyes, as he felt the embrace tighten, their cheeks pressing against one another, rubbing together, blindly, lost to the sensation, and just for a moment he felt—
‘We can’t!’
It was Kallias who pushed him away with a strangled cry. Kallias was panting, two feet away, his body curved around itself, as a breeze lifted the leaves of the tree, and they swayed back and forth, as the ocean swelled far below.
On the morning of Kallias’s First Night ceremony, he ate apricots.
Little round halves, ripened just past their early tang to perfect sweetness. Apricots, figs stuffed with a paste of almonds and honey, slices of salty cheese that crumbled against the tongue. Festival food for everyone: the ceremonies of First Night eclipsed anything he had seen in the gardens of Nereus, the height of a slave’s career. And at the centre of it all, Kallias, paint on his face, the gold collar around his neck. Erasmus looked at him from a distance, holding on to the promise he had made to Kallias, tightly. Kallias performed his role in the ceremony with perfect form. He never once looked at Erasmus.
Tarchon said, ‘He is fit for a King. I always questioned Adrastus’s decision to send him to Kastor.’
Your friend is a triumph, the attendants whispered to him the next morning. And in the weeks after that, He is the jewel of Kastor’s household. He performs on kithara every night at table, displacing Ianessa. The King would covet him, if he weren’t sick.
Aden was shaking him awake.
‘What is it?’ He rubbed his eyes sleepily. Aden was kneeling next to his narrow bed.
‘Kallias is here. He had an errand for Kastor. He wants to see you.’
It was like a dream, but he hurried to put on his silks, pinning them as best he could. ‘Come quickly,’ Aden said. ‘He’s waiting.’
He stepped out into the garden, following Aden out, past the courtyard to the paths winding through the trees. It was past midnight, and the gardens were so quiet that he could hear the sounds of the ocean, a soft murmur. He felt the paths under his bare feet. In the moonlight, he saw a slender, familiar figure gazing out at the water beyond the high cliffs.
He was barely aware of Aden retreating. Kallias’s cheeks were brushed with paint, his lashes heavy with it. There was a single beauty mark high on his cheekbone that drew the gaze to his wide blue eyes. Painted like that, he had come from entertainments in the palace, or from his place in Kastor’s household, at Kastor’s side.
He had never looked so beautiful, the moon above him, the gleaming stars falling slowly into the sea.
‘I’m so glad to see you, so glad you’ve come,’ said Erasmus, feeling happy but suddenly shy. ‘I am forever asking my attendants for stories of you, and saving stories of my own, thinking this or that I must tell Kallias.’
‘Are you?’ said Kallias. ‘Glad to see me?’
There was something strange about his voice.
‘I missed you,’ said Erasmus. ‘We haven’t talked to each other since—that night.’ He could hear the sounds of the water. ‘When you—’
‘Tried to dine from a prince’s table?’
‘Kallias?’ said Erasmus.
Kallias laughed, the sound uneven. ‘Tell me again that we’ll be together. That you’ll serve the Prince and I’ll serve his brother. Tell me how it will be.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Then I will teach you,’ said Kallias, and kissed him.
Shock, Kallias’s painted lips against his, the hard press of teeth, Kallias’s tongue in his mouth. His body was yielding, but his mind was clamouring, his heart felt that it was going to burst.
He was dazed, reeling, clutching his tunic to himself, to keep it from falling. Standing two paces away, Kallias was holding Erasmus’s golden pin in his hand where he’d torn it from the silk.
And then the first real understanding of what they had done, the bruised throb of his lips, the stunned feeling of the ground opening up beneath his feet. He was staring at Kallias.
‘You can’t serve the Prince now, you’re tainted.’ The words were sharp, jagged. ‘You’re tainted. You could scrub at it for hours and you’d never wash it off.’
‘What is the meaning of this?’ Tarchon’s voice. Aden was suddenly there with Tarchon in tow, and Kallias was saying, ‘He kissed me.’
‘Is this true?’ Tarchon took hold of his arm roughly, the grip painful.
I don’t understand, he had said, and still he didn’t understand it, even when he heard Aden saying, ‘It’s true, Kallias even tried to push him away.’
‘Kallias,’ he gasped, but Tarchon was tipping his face up into the moonlight, and the evidence was smeared all over his lips, Kallias’s red paint.
Kallias said, ‘He told me he couldn’t stop thinking about me. That he wanted to be with me, not with the Prince. I told him it was wrong. He said he didn’t care.’
‘Kallias,’ he said.
Tarchon was shaking him. ‘How could you do this? Were you trying to lose him his position? It is you who have wrecked yourself. You have thrown away everything that you have been given, the work of dozens, the time and attention that has been lavished on you. You will never serve inside these walls.’
His eyes, desperately searching found Kallias’s gaze, cool and untouchable.
‘You said you wanted to cross the ocean,’ said Kallias.
Three days of confinement, while trainers came in and out, and spoke about his fate. And then the unthinkable.
There weren’t witnesses. There wasn’t a ceremony. They put a gold collar around his neck and dressed him in slave silks that he hadn’t earned, that he didn’t yet deserve.
He was a full slave, two years early, and they were sending him away.
He didn’t start shaking until he was brought into a white marble room in an unknown part of the palace. The sounds were strange echoes, as though it was a vast cavern containing water. He tried to look around himself but the figures wavered like the flame of a candle behind warped glass.
He could still feel the kiss, the violence of it, his lips felt swollen.
But slowly he was becoming aware that the activity in this room was to some larger purpose. There were other slaves-in-training in the room with him. He recognised Narsis, and Astacos. Narsis was about nineteen years of age, with a simple but sweet temperament. He would never wear a pin, but he would make an excellent table attendant, and perhaps a trainer himself one day, patient with the younger boys.
There was a strange atmosphere, bursts of sound here and there from outside. The rise
and fall of voices were the voices of free men, masters, in whose presence he had never been allowed before.
Narsis whispered, ‘It’s been like that all morning. No one knows what’s happening. There are rumours—there have been soldiers in the palace. Astacos said he saw soldiers speaking with Adrastus, asking for the names of all the slaves who belonged to Damianos. Everyone wearing a lion pin was taken away. That’s where we thought you’d be. Not here with us.’
‘But where are we? Why have we—why have we been brought here?’
‘You don’t know? We’re being sent across the water. There are twelve of us, and twelve from the female training quarters.’
‘To Isthima?’
‘No, along the coast, to Vere.’
For a moment it seemed that the outside sounds grew louder. There was a distant metallic clash that he couldn’t interpret. Another. He looked for answers to Narsis and saw his confused expression. It occurred to him, stupidly, that Kallias would know what was happening, that he should ask Kallias, and that was when the screams began.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book was born in a series of Monday night phone conversations with Kate Ramsay, who said, at one point, ‘I think this story is going to be bigger than you realise.’ Thank you Kate, for being a great friend when I needed it most. I will always remember the sound of the wonky old phone ringing in my tiny Tokyo apartment.
I owe an enormous debt of thanks to Kirstie Innes-Will, my incredible friend and editor, who read countless drafts and spent tireless hours making the story better. I can’t put into words how much that help has meant to me.
Anna Cowan is not only one of my favourite writers, she helped me so much on this story with her amazing brainstorming sessions and insightful feedback. Thank you so much, Anna, this story wouldn’t be what it is without you.
All my thanks to my writing group Isilya, Kaneko and Tevere, for all your ideas, feedback, suggestions and support. I feel so lucky to have wonderful writer-friends like you in my life.
Finally, to everyone who has been part of the Captive Prince online experience, thank you all for your generosity and your enthusiasm, and for giving me the chance to make a book like this.
Table of Contents
Contents
About the Author
Also by SU Pacat
Copyright
Dedication
List of Characters
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Extras - The Training of Erasmus
Acknowledgements