by Inez Kelley
“I guess he’s below already. Wait here.”
Taric slithered out of the balcony into the hall and Bryton leaned higher, still searching. King Balic had a red face and white lips. The man before him cried. Angry words Bryton didn’t understand flew around the room, all the adults loud and heated. Women wept. But where was his father? Mactog never left Balic’s side and why would he be below as Taric said? There was nothing in the underchambers but darkness and scary, eerie noises.
“Come on,” Taric hissed, holding a key on a large ring aloft. “Let’s go exploring.”
They had to bounce around grown-ups, wait for the hall to clear and then dart glances to check for guards, but they made it. The lock didn’t even squeak. The two nosy young boys snuck down the dark stairs. The screams stopped them both.
At first Bryton thought it was an animal wailing in pain but animals don’t talk, they don’t curse and plead for death. The smell turned his stomach. Human waste, blood and sweat clung to the stone walls like a gruesome tapestry and seeped into his skin. Taric trembled, his tunic shimmying in the torch-lit staircase. Bryton’s bones shook just as hard. A thud of something hitting flesh brought another scream.
A hand fell on Taric’s shoulder. The prince yelped and jumped back, knocking Bryton on his rear end. King Balic scolded, swatted Taric on the ass and chased them both upstairs but not before Bryton saw.
A metal door swung open and his father stepped out carrying a length of iron-studded leather. Wet crimson smeared along his forearm. Inside the room, bent and tied over a wooden bar, a naked man wept while shiny red blood dripped down his back. Suddenly Bryton knew what it meant to be the King’s Might. Mactog caught Bryton’s gaze and resignation darkened his father’s features.
Bryton waited all night for his father to confront him, to discipline him for sneaking where he shouldn’t have been. He’d always wondered why Taric got spanked but he never did. Now he knew. Mactog would never raise a hand to his children, not when he had to use that power to inflict harsher punishment.
Mactog never came. The next morning he’d simply asked if Bryton wanted to talk about what he’d seen. He hadn’t and they’d never spoken of it again. But Bryton never forgot the sadness in his father’s eyes as he watched Bryton’s innocence slip away, helpless to stop it.
A tug on his line snapped him back to the present and he hauled in a redgill as long as his forearm. Nature-crossed between a salmon and a trout, the thick-bellied fish would make a nice pan-fried supper. He gathered some dandelion stalks and other wild salad greens before heading toward home. He shucked off the memories like a snake sheds its skin. He’d chosen his path and knew it had been right, even if it did carry a tarnished glow with it.
A deep twinge under his ribs stirred thoughts of Jana, of bright blue eyes and biscuit crumbs coating her lips. She was one thing that he regretted having to leave behind. But it was for the best. What did he know about raising a little girl? He had three nephews and a godson. She was better off with Myla and Taric. At just over a full summer, she’d forget him in time. She might have forgotten him already. She discovered her toes anew at least once a moon.
His feet slowed near the cliffside. Home. The crude cave with very little comforts did feel like home because Salome stood in the opening, waiting with her wide, sunny smile. He took the ease she gave and held it tight to his heart, like a dying man hoards his memories.
“I saw your daughter. She is beautiful.”
He nodded. “She is. She looks like her mother.”
“No. Her hair, perhaps, because I saw no copper, but her eyes are yours and her chin. I wished her peace.” Salome cocked her head and prodded. “What are you doing?”
Leaf crawled over her, pawing at her hair, her face, her gown, anything to get attention and another bite of redgill. Already her belly was round and plump and Bryton had said no more or the cat would be sick. Still, Salome snuck the feline pieces of fish when he wasn’t looking.
Bryton glanced over the top of the twig he was sanding, caught her and shook his head with a grin. “Making arrows, and if she gets sick, you’re cleaning it up.”
She sat the kitten aside. “You have a dozen arrows in your quiver, why make more?”
“To look like this. Do you know what feathers those are?”
Salome took the missile and fingered the stiff black fletching. “Raven. Why?”
“That’s a Skullman’s arrow. Imagine the confusion when one dies and they have no clue who did it and the weapon is one of their own. I need to hunt a raven for feathers.” The coarse paper slowed on the thin shaft and a frown marred his brow. “Salome, can you not shift tomorrow? I don’t like not knowing what bird you are and aiming to kill one.”
“You do not have to kill a bird for feathers, my charge. I can give what you need and no animal has to die.”
“Salome, these are tail feathers. Even if you got pissed off and shook your ass, that many feathers won’t fall out.”
“So pull them.”
His mouth gaped and his eyes rounded. “No, I am not…plucking you like a goose for a table.”
“You would rather kill than accept a gift?”
“No, I just…I mean…” He floundered and she arched her brow. His sigh slumped his shoulders. “Do you realize how many feathers I need? It would hurt you.”
“Temporarily perhaps, but I heal. Would you like them now?”
There was no answer, just worry edged along his forehead. In a breath of summoned magic, Salome shrank and darkened. Leaf hissed and darted behind the bedding, yellowed eyes peering over the pallet. Salome tucked her wings, walked to Bryton and hopped on his leg. She thrust her tail toward him.
“I don’t like this.” A warm stroke down her sleek back closed her eyes. How gentle his touch was. “Please, Salome, just…come back. I’ll figure something else out.”
Salome stuck her tail higher in the air, shaking it. His palm slid down her spine and over her tail feathers. The caresses continued for several more passes. He drew a deep breath, cupped one hand under her breast and swallowed. “Okay, I’ll do it fast. Ready?”
She bobbed her head and tried to stay still. Sudden ripping pain surged through her and a cry burst from her beak.
“Oh, shit, I’m sorry, Salome, I’m sorry.” His murmurs bounced off the agony radiating from her body. A few feathers dropped beside his leg and he clutched her, cradling her wings against his chest. “No more. Come back.”
He didn’t have half enough feathers for the number of wooden shafts he’d prepared. She had no power to grant him peace, could only guide him through his struggle, could barely comfort his body but this, this she could do. Drawing her fortitude tight, blinking eyes that could not weep, she squirmed and thrust her tail at him again.
“No! No more.”
He would not deny her this, the only gift she could give him. She rammed her beak into his thigh. He spit a curse then gripped her breast. “All right, birdie, you win. Ready?”
Twice more the fiery pain rippled through her. Her wings quivered and her strength gave out until she lay limp on his legs. He stopped, breath roaring from his lungs like a battle song. Did he understand? Could he feel the love brimming in her spirit? Did he know that with each feather he took, it was a fraction of a drop of the love she held for him?
If he plucked her bare and left her broken, shuddering in pain and one breath from death, she wouldn’t care as long as his needs were met. This was all she could do for him, the only true power she held, the offering of her body. Salome weakly inched her scorching hind end toward him again. His lips thinned and once more he yanked. A whimpered squeak fell from her limp beak.
“Enough, sweetling, come back to me, please.”
Salome pulled hard and magic slammed with a dizzying force. Bryton’s hold never lessened. When her cheek formed, she pressed it to his chest and wept. Harsh sobs racked her, her human fingers digging into his arms. Her behind and thighs screamed in pain. Bryton shushed and rocked
her, then grew still. Horror hallowed his voice.
“Salome, you’re bleeding.” Red streaked fingers trembled and he gripped her arms. “Wind, Salome, now. Heal, please. Oh, shit, please heal. I’m so sorry.”
“You took only what I gladly gave with love.” Through her tears, her words rasped like his sandpaper on the twigs.
Bryton shook her, frantic shock paling his face. “Go. Your gown is soaked and the bleeding isn’t slowing. Go, sweetling. If you love me, go and heal.”
Wind whipped from the cave, sucking all the air and extinguishing the fire. Only one pale sea lantern glowed, highlighting the torment lining his damp face. She shot to the clouds in a tight stream, twisting and funneling until the pain seeped away. She had traveled far and that alone told her the wound had been ghastly.
Silvery moonbeams rained on her and the ground below took on the glistening radiance of nighttime. Simple pleasure prolonged her flight. The beauty of slumbering animals mixed with awakening nocturnals. Bats searched for insects, cats preyed in grasses and raccoons washed their faces. Life went on, though sleep hushed the night.
Suffering channeled through her, the taste of Bryton’s kiss tinged with salt. He ached. She turned, soaring toward home with a frantic drive.
Bryton rubbed his nose with his forearm, the glass flask clutched tight in his hand. Shit, his bones vibrated like a tuning fork struck on marble. What in the hell had he done? The fletchings weren’t worth her pain. Had his mission encompassed him to the point where he stooped to hurting those he cared for? The wet blood pool on his breeches stuck to his skin, pulling with each move. He’d plucked his share of birds, but always for food. He’d never imagined doing it to a live creature, to a woman who meant too much to him to examine.
Cowardice churned the liquor in his belly. His life was a lie. He wasn’t the mighty right hand of the king, unmoved by pain and screams, able to dish out punishments and fell men without suffering the pangs of guilt. It didn’t matter that he was the tallest and largest soldier on the field. His muscle meant nothing. His skill in weaponry and battle plans was worthless, his tracking knowledge pointless. A little bird had brought him to his knees.
Hot tears stung his eyes. Why was the ice around his dead heart cracking and splintering now? The whiskey burned with each swallow. The alcohol tasted bitter, too unrefined for enjoyment, but he didn’t want the flavor. He wanted the numbness. He wanted that frosty shell back that kept the world out, blocked him to the sweetness of her touch, the gentleness in her spirit. Softness gave way to cold, hard anger and he embraced it, held it and turned it until he could brandish it like a glacial sword.
Damn her. Damn him. Damn everything.
Lilac swirled in a smoky stream, then human feet touched the stone. A breath hissed from his gritted teeth. “Tell me you’re all right.”
“I am fine, my charge.” She smiled at him.
That soft curve cut deeper than the sharpest blade and it pissed him off. Who asked her to love him, to care for him? Myla had no right. Infuriated power surged through him and he bolted to his feet. He chugged a noisy gulp then pitched the corked bottle on the bedding. He gripped her hem and dropped to his knees.
“Show me.”
Silk bunched above her ass and his palms roamed over her thighs, searching with deft efficiency. He checked her skin as he might check Jester for briars, coldly and impersonally. The creamy swells of her buttocks were unmarred and her thighs unmarked. He shoved the chiton higher. The small of her back lay smooth and soft without a single bruise. Relief flooded him but it was too pale to overshadow the helpless frustration frying in his belly.
“You can see I am well.” Indignation spiced her words at his rough handling and she snapped the silk from his hand. Her eyes locked on the bottle lying flat on his blanket. “Why do you drink when troubled?”
Bryton pushed to his feet, irritation jabbing into him. It had been months since the days when he’d drunk himself sick every night. But now it didn’t matter. His life was on a collision course with Karok in a matter of days. If he wanted to spend every last second so drunk he couldn’t see straight, that was his business. Salome needed to butt out.
No, this he needed, wanted even. He wanted to fight with her. He needed her to scream and rail at him, to shout and blame him for her pain. Salome needed to push him away because he was too weak to walk away from her. If it took whiskey to force her hand, then whiskey he would use. It was a convenient crutch, a club he’d place in her hand and dare her to swing.
He stomped to the bed and defiantly took another pull from the flask, his eyes locked with hers. A searing burn in his throat masked the frost thickening around his heart. She was too close. Bravado forced him to swallow again and again. Each move of his Adam’s apple tightened the lines around her mouth.
“Are you trying to get drunk?”
“Yep. Don’t knock it until you try it, sweetling.”
She quirked a maple brow and cocked her hip. “You’re a fool, Bryton.”
A snorted laugh shook his shoulders. “Try harder. I’ve been called a hell of lot worse in my life.”
Ire seethed in her eyes, turning the soft gray to polished granite. Not enough. He needed more and so he poked harder. “What’s wrong, birdie? Cat got your tongue?”
The granite hardened to a glossed sheen of steel. “No, I’m not the one who is less than whole. You are blind.”
“What?” The word barked from his mouth, his voice gruff with the scratch of whiskey.
“You cannot see what is before your very eyes. You are more blessed than most your age. You have people who care for you—parents, a child, friends. You have respect and wealth. You’re able-bodied and quick-witted. You’ve loved and been loved. You have lost those close to you but you push others away. For a selfless man, you are incredibly selfish.”
“Selfish? You think I’m selfish?” It wasn’t funny but a huffed laugh ripped from him. The frayed edges of his honor quivered with the verbal slap. Wretched, weak and walking on the edge of sanity he might be, but he was not selfish. He had spent his entire life putting others first.
Her finger whipped up and poked hard into his chest. “Selfish and cruel and blind as a newly hatched bird. You can’t see beyond your own grief, won’t open your eyes to see the riches still left in your life.”
“Screw you. You’re a fucking spell. You don’t know a damn thing. You can’t even figure out how t—”
“I know that you march toward your death by your own will. You gave your child to others to raise. You walked from your duty to feed your own revenge. You’d rather hold fast to your misery and lie beside a dead woman than mourn and move on, living the life you were blessed to be born into.”
Raw agony choked his breath. She went too far by bringing Katina into the argument and he lashed out, shaking finger pointed toward her face. “Fuck you.”
“You did.”
His eyes bugged wide and his jaw dropped. “Excuse me? Who stripped bare-assed naked for who, birdie? It wasn’t my dick hanging out. I didn’t hear any complaints, either.”
A haughty laugh reverberated in the cavern, bouncing off the stone and shrilling through him. “Then hear this, Sir Bryton. Wake up. You wallow in a ditch of self-pity. It is tiresome and pathetic.”
“Well, pardon the fuck out of me. I wouldn’t want to bore you so go back to where you came from. Just fly away and leave me alone.”
“As you left Katina alone to face her demons?”
His head snapped back, her words hitting with the force of a closed fist wrapped in iron. The bottle slipped from his hand, shattering on the rock floor. The pungent burn of whiskey creased the air. The breath sucked from his lungs. She knew. He’d never said the words aloud, not to Taric or his father or to his confessor, but somehow, Salome knew.
She knew his deepest and most shameful secret. The marks on his arm and chest proved how many times he’d saved Taric. He’d kept the late King Balic safe. He’d stood between steel and arro
w, fist and poison, never letting his charge get too close to the bony grip of death. But he’d left his wife alone. He left Katina alone and she died. It was his fault.
Disgust and dishonor abraded his soul like steel wool, scratching with a bloody sting. Fight bled from him, drained through each raw scrape and left him with a queasy awareness. Bells rang in his ears. His legs quaked and he sank to his knees. Failure was a sour enough brew the first time. To know that Salome knew of his shame made the second draught a thousand times more bitter. Not even facing Kat’s father had been so humiliating.
“How did you know?”
The anger was gone, her face shining in serene calm, a beacon of tranquility his turbulent spirit ached for. “You did more than dream in the tent that day. You spoke in your sleep.”
She’d known all this time and still she stayed, still she loved with him, still she cared. It compounded his ache. His fingers shot into his hair, gripping it until his scalp screamed, trying to block the memories from rushing to the surface. The vision of a wide, wet stare pleading for aid scalded him and he pinched his eyes tight. It remained. “I never meant for her to die. I just wanted…I didn’t think.”
Salome knelt beside him. The pool of whiskey soaked her knees and shards of glass clinked with her movement, but her gaze never left him. Gently she tugged his hands from his head, clasping them in hers with surprising strength. “This burden you carry is not yours. Set it down, Bryton, let it go.”
He shook his head, not recognizing the feeble tone of his own voice. “No, I knew her magic was weaker after the baby, but I still left her. It was my fault.”
“No, my charge. The fault lies with the evil that did harm. You acted honorably and reaped only loss for it. You have no shame in any deed.”
“She wanted me to save her and I couldn’t. She died in fear and I watched it happen.” His nose burned and his throat scratched. Inhaling brought the bite of whiskey mingled with salt. “I’ve saved every person I’ve ever tried to protect. Why not her? Why couldn’t I save her? Why didn’t the vision come sooner?”