“And Doctor Franz has always been blunt about being a Court Physician,” Katrin added, seeing where Hemmett was going. “He said it made him able to endure anything, after learning to contend with some of what he saw there.”
Hemmett went to his dresser and took out a wrapped bundle. He opened it before her.
“Vil brought this back from Surelia, but it was made in Surytam,” he told Katrin, revealing an exquisitely made knife with a brilliant green handle carved from stone. “He gave it to me while you were ill and told me I could learn a lesson from it.”
“Cheeky fellow,” Katrin frowned, taking the knife.
“Not at all. Wise fellow,” Hemmett replied. “Look at the blade.”
The blade sported many alternating, light and dark wavy lines that shimmered slightly with iridescence. Katrin had seen tempered blades before and understood how tempering was done, but she’d never seen anything like this.
“In Surytam the men who make these knives heat the metal, pound it out thin, fold it, pound it again,” Hemmett said, pointing to the wavy lines undulating along the length of the blade. “It takes thousands of hammer strokes, but these are the strongest and most durable blades on Eirdon.”
Katrin took the knife, surprised by how light it was. The blade shimmered and seemed to vibrate slightly.
“That’s what we need to become, Willow. Each hammer blow needs to make us stronger.”
“Easy to say,” Katrin said, turning the knife to see the iridescent colors shifting in the light.
“I never said it’s going to be easy,” Hemmett told her gently. “But it’s a decision we need to make. We can’t go on like this.”
Then he looked right into her eyes.
“I want to tell you something else – something I realized when you came here to me earlier. You could have been frightened and rightly so, because I was losing control of my mind again. But you came right in, sat here and took me in your arms – and I was suddenly whole.
“That day you dressed down Menders’ Men, you called me ‘your other self’. I never said so, but on that day, I finally understood the way I love you, Willow.”
Katrin almost flinched and looked away, but there was an assurance to his voice that let her know this wasn’t a lover’s plea.
“I never could understand how I could love you so deeply while the physical aspects of a romantic love weren’t truly part of it. I’ve always felt incomplete when I wasn’t with you, even though I went through the years away at the Military Academy and I can go and stay in Samorsa with Luntigré and Flori and be very happy – but that’s because I know you’re here in the world with me. I came apart when it was likely I would lose you, when you were so sick after they hurt you at The Palace.
“That day you fussed at Menders’ Men made it clear. I even went through a pile of Menders’ philosophy books trying to find whatever name they put on that sort of love – but there isn’t anything. It’s closer than sister and brother. It’s closer than a lover. I don’t know if it’s closer than Luntigré’s ‘great love’, but I think it may be, in a very singular way.”
He knelt in front of her, putting his hands over hers as she held the tempered knife.
“I never want to be without you, Willow,” he whispered. “I’m not asking for physical love – that would ruin what we have and it isn’t part of what we have. You’re my other self – the other part of me. We need to help each other to be stronger, so we don’t collapse under the hammer when it falls.”
Katrin felt an enormous surge of emotion – relief, joy, love. They were free of trying to be sister and brother or lovers or old childhood friends.
They were one. They had always been one.
She leaned forward and put her cheek next to his.
“Yes,” she whispered. “It has come clear. My other self – the other part of me.”
After a moment, Hemmett sat back on his heels and took his handkerchief from his pocket. He pressed it to the tears on her cheeks and then against his own streaming eyes before he stood.
Katrin looked down at the knife in her lap, at the beautiful blade formed by the torment of metal heated and pounded thousands of times.
“Would you take me to the orphanage site tomorrow?” she asked. “I think it’s time to get our construction crew back. I don’t want that project to fade away. I want to get back to it.”
“I shall indeed – and I also request leave to go and see my little family in Samorsa before much longer,” Hemmett grinned. “I don’t want that project to fade away either.”
Katrin rewrapped the knife and held it out to him. He shook his head.
“It’s yours. One day you may need to look at it and remember,” he smiled. “Care for some more tea?”
Erdahn, Mordania
13
Bonding
I
want you to know that your continuing success is a great comfort to us all, particularly to me. There have been some very dark days where knowing that you are so successful is a great comfort.
I’ve just realized this letter will reach you on your birthday and mine, and that you will be twenty-three. I will send my gift to you with Kaymar, as Eiren, Katrin and Hemmett are doing the same. May I say that the last ten years of my life have been infinitely enriched by your presence, my dear son.
Your loving father,
M
Borsen finished reading Menders’ letter giving him the news about Katrin’s hair loss being permanent. He set it down with infinite care on his worktable.
Then he threw a pattern weight across the room as hard as he could before he rested his head in his hands and tried to stay in control of himself.
***
At the end of a month of being in Borsen’s company, Stevahn was going mad. The only good thing he could say was that he had contact with Borsen while going mad, where before, he’d been going mad with absolutely no satisfaction at all.
He’d been out with Borsen almost every day since they’d been to dinner together, sometimes just for a stroll, sometimes to dinner or lunch or the theatre, sometimes to the races. He felt no closer to knowing much about Borsen than he had been at that first dinner.
Borsen was companionable, amusing, touching. He was also, on occasion, distant, grumpy, infuriating and downright irritating. He seemed to have no sexual urges. In a month of steady romancing and no end of opportunity, he had not so much as offered a kiss.
Several times Stevahn told himself that nothing was going to come of this non-existent affair, that perhaps Borsen only considered him a friend. He would tell himself to accept what there was and try to be at peace about it.
Then he would wait with his breath held at his office window each morning until he saw Borsen coming up the street to open his store. Borsen would look up, smile and wave. Stevahn’s heart would melt and he’d be anxious for the next time they were together.
On the morning of the shortest day of the year, Stevahn was startled by the announcement that Mister Heldstrom was waiting to see him. Heldstrom specialized in information and worked for Stevahn’s family. Because of their position in finance, they had to know what was going on in Mordania and abroad.
“Hello there, Stevahn,” Heldstrom said, taking the chair offered. “I’m short on time this morning but wanted you to know someone has been making inquiries about you. Not what I would expect in financial circles either. About your personal habits.”
“What?” Stevahn frowned.
“We can trace it back to someone known as Menders, also deals in information, has for years,” Heldstrom said. “Ring any bells?”
Stevahn shook his head.
“Well, that’s the most we know of it. I thought you should be informed.”
After Heldstrom left, Stevahn sat there, puzzling over it.
It wasn’t rare for inquiries to be made when one was in the banking business. After all, investors weren’t about to belly up to the counter and lay down millions of florins without being confident o
f the solvency of an investment bank. There was also a great deal of corporate espionage involved in all facets of business. But inquiries of that sort were about stocks and bonds, holdings and assets, to say nothing of debts. They weren’t about one’s personal life.
Stevan had arranged to meet Borsen for lunch and was still puzzling over the situation as he met him by the statue of Queen Glorantha. He was late because of Heldstrom’s unexpected visit. He could see Borsen wasn’t happy about it. Borsen’s eyes looked shadowed, as they had of late. He had complained a time or two about not having slept well. His mood had degenerated in concert with his looks.
Stevahn hurried to the bench where Borsen was sitting with all the ease of someone lounging nude on an ice floe.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, sitting next to him. “I couldn’t get away.”
“It doesn’t leave us much time to eat. I have an early afternoon appointment,” Borsen replied wearily, with a bit of snap.
“Poor boy,” Stevahn said, getting a good look at him up close. He looked terrible, as if he was ill.
The words acted on Borsen like a lit fuse would act on a bomb. He stood abruptly and whistled piercingly at a passing cab.
“I’m not a boy,” he said viciously, stepping into the cab and giving the driver the address of his store, leaving Stevahn sitting there staring after him.
When Stevahn returned to his office, a note was waiting for him, from Heldstrom.
Stevahn,
Happened on information about the Menders name. Seems it’s attached to Borsen’s, being both the name used by Borsen himself when he signs a legal document. It’s also that of a partner in the business, a relative of some kind. If the same Menders as the one who deals in information, these are very powerful people. If you owe Borsen for a suit, you might need to pay up!
Heldstrom
Stevahn’s secretary nearly fell out of her chair as he stormed past her and banged out of his office, leaving his coat and hat behind, though it was snowing outside.
Stevahn crossed the street furiously, strode past the store director of Borsen’s, tromped resoundingly up the stairs and banged into Borsen’s workroom. He’d seen from his own office that there was no client there. Borsen had not been working, but was sitting rather limply in an armchair, looking as if he had a headache.
Now he found himself facing an entirely different Borsen, one who was on his feet in a half crouch, holding a very large knife in his hand. It stopped Stevahn’s forward momentum but not his fury.
“Oh, for the gods’ sakes!” Borsen cried, tossing the knife on his table in disgust and straightening up. “Can’t you just send in your card, knock, something?”
Stevahn held out Heldstrom’s note. Borsen took it, scanned it, then turned pale.
“If I call you ‘boy’, it’s a term of endearment, you ass, not an insult. I’m in love with you. Do you know enough now?” Stevahn snarled.
He didn’t wait until Borsen answered, but backtracked while he still had enough rage seething through his veins to get him back across the street and up to his office.
He was sulking and calling himself every name in the book an hour later, sure he’d finished his friendship with Borsen forever. His secretary skulked in, trying to be invisible, and delivered a note without a word. He groaned and opened it.
My dear Stevahn,
I have hurt you a great deal because I’m trying to protect someone else. The people making the inquiries that upset you have been more inquisitive about certain matters than they should have been.
I would like to talk to you about this personally. I cannot trust certain information to a written note. If you are still interested in knowing me, please come to my home at six o’clock tonight. I will explain whatever you want to know then.
I also apologize for being so rude at lunchtime today. I just had bad news. The shortest day of the year is also a difficult one for me. I acted like a bastard and you are justified in being angry with me. It is not the way I usually am, Stevahn. I have been under a great deal of pressure lately. No excuse, I know.
Borsen
***
Stevahn stretched enormously and opened his eyes, launching himself directly into the experience of waking in an unfamiliar place. For a moment, his eyes roved the room and then came to rest on Borsen, who was sound asleep beside him, snugged against his side.
Stevahn smiled and reached over to stroke a stray lock of the young man’s hair away from his eyes. Then the door opened, silently but suddenly. A hawk-faced but attractive woman stuck her head around it.
She looked Stevahn over rapidly, her face remaining impassive. Then she looked at Borsen and raised an inquisitive eyebrow as she looked back at Stevahn again.
“Asleep,” Stevahn mouthed. She nodded and mouthed back “Breakfast or lunch?”
Stevahn looked at the clock and then whispered, “Lunch,” with a sheepish smile. The woman withdrew, pulling the door shut silently.
So that’s Varnia, Stevahn thought, thankful that he hadn’t been out of bed and stretching. That would have given her an eyeful. He had to admire her aplomb, because he knew she’d never looked in on this situation before.
He’d kept Borsen from getting up at the crack of dawn and heading out to work on a rest day, then had drifted in and out of sleep since then, cradling Borsen close and basking in the joy of loving and being loved – because after the night just past, he had absolutely no doubt in his mind that Borsen loved him, intensely and deeply.
He’d accepted Borsen’s dinner invitation despite his anger. Initially things had been tense, but Borsen had explained the reason for enquiries being made – as well as many other things.
By the end of the evening, through dinner and conversation afterward, he knew a great deal about Borsen’s life, from his relationship to Princess Katrin to his own personal circumstances. Particularly vivid was the moment after Borsen told him about his mother’s tragic death by starvation and exposure after a desperate struggle to keep them alive through whatever means possible, leaving him to the mercies of his vicious father at the age of six.
“My dear boy,” Stevahn had said softly. “I… I don’t know what to say.”
“That’s the part I was afraid to tell you out of the way,” Borsen replied, looking relieved that Stevahn hadn’t reacted with repulsion or dismay.
“Why would you be afraid to tell me this?” Stevahn asked, taken aback.
“Perhaps you wouldn’t wish to know the bastard son of a thief and a street whore,” Borsen replied levelly.
After many months of inadvertently saying the wrong thing, Stevahn finally found his voice in the wake of Borsen’s confidences.
“I’d like to kill your father. I wish I could have saved your mother and I want to know you,” Stevahn answered. “Borsen, it doesn’t matter. I judge people by their actions, not by the circumstances of their birth. I love you for who you are – and I do love you.”
After that, there were no more barriers – and this morning, Stevahn knew what he wanted. No need to wait.
He slid his favorite ring, a large diamond clasped in fine gold which he’d bought in celebration of finishing college, from his little finger.
“I’m not good at the loverly talk,” he murmured to Borsen, who slumbered on. “I’m going to put this on your finger and see if you’d like to keep it forever. A little surprise for you when you wake up. I do hope you’ll want it – and me.”
He slid it carefully onto Borsen’s wedding finger, pleased to see it fit perfectly.
Then he stretched again, rose and decided a bath before his dear one woke would be a very good idea.
***
Borsen woke for the second time, sighed luxuriously and had an enormous stretch before thumping his pillows into a more comfortable conformation and snuggling into them. Stevahn was not in the bed, but splashing and what sounded like an enormous bee humming in his opulent bathroom let Borsen know that he was not far away.
The alarm
clock had gone off resoundingly at six that morning. Borsen struggled to turn it off, failing several times before he silenced the strident jangling. He’d only had a couple of hours’ sleep after spending the night with Stevahn. He’d managed to force himself to sit up on the side of the bed and groped for his glasses. He was shaking his head groggily when a big hand closed around his arm and pulled him back down onto the pillows. His glasses were removed with a by-your-leave and returned to the night table.
“No,” Stevahn said firmly. “It is a rest day. Your store is not even open. You do not need to start running around after almost no sleep. Why on Eirdon are you getting up?”
“I have a lot of things to do at work,” Borsen protested, struggling against him, unable to resist laughing.
“No. You’re pushing yourself far too much, I can see that. No wonder your eyes are like pissholes in the snow.”
“Last night you said my eyes were beautiful,” Borsen replied.
“You should look in the mirror. Two hours’ sleep makes even you look like death warmed over.”
“Let me get up and I’ll go look in the mirror.”
“No, little Mister Clever, you won’t trick me that way. Come here.” Stevahn pulled the covers up over them both and wrapped his arms around Borsen. “Go back to sleep. We both need it.”
Borsen had nodded off again, held against Stevahn’s broad chest, feeling more secure than he had in a very long time.
Now he heard Stevahn getting out of the tub. He put his glasses on, looked at the clock and groaned.
“Twelve o’clock!” He hadn’t slept this late in the morning in his life, but then he’d never spent almost all the night hours with a lover before either. Truthfully, he really didn’t want to go to the store by himself and make patterns today. He wanted to be with Stevahn. It was a rest day, after all. He’d done precious little resting lately.
Love and Sacrifice: Book Two of the Prophecy Series Page 48