by Kirby Crow
“You count time in decades,” Scarlet said, ever so soft. “You live so long that some of you aren’t even sure how old you are. How old was your mother when she died? How long had she ruled?” He swallowed in a dry throat and looked at the man he loved more than life. “My dad was thirty six when he died, and he was old. His hands hurt so bad he couldn’t even hold a rake. How old am I, Liall?”
Liall looked away, and Scarlet could see he did not like the path the conversation was taking. “You were seventeen when we met, or only just,” Liall said uncomfortably. It wasn’t the first time the difference in their ages had seemed to bother him, and it scandalized the Rshani court. “You’re eighteen now, nineteen next summer. I don’t see what this has to do with anything.”
“You do see. You just won’t face it,” Scarlet said with a heavy sadness. I have to tell him. “I was so in love, and it was all so new and strange to me that I deliberately forgot the truth I’ve always known. I was selfish. I dreamed for a while, but that’s over now.” He touched Liall’s cheek and looked straight into his eyes. “I’m not asking you never to marry, or never to have children. I didn’t say that. I only asked you to wait.”
It took a moment for it to sink in, and Scarlet’s heart broke as he saw the truth hit his lover.
“Wait for you to die?” Liall said in dawning shock. “Is that what you’re saying? That’s what you want?”
“Yes.”
Liall stared for a moment, his eyes wide with fear, then his old, confident, arrogant, infuriating self reasserted and he shook his head. “No. No, you’re not going to die early like your kin did, Scarlet,” he began, his voice dropping down into tones of calm. “I know your race is shorter-lived than mine, but the Hilurin you knew in Byzantur were peasants and farmers on the edge of the Bledlands. They suffered greatly, when the Aralyrin allowed them to live at all. I have no doubt that poverty and sickness contributed to their early demise. You’re not going to die anytime soon.”
“I have fifteen years,” Scarlet said tiredly. He was so tired. “Twenty at the most. It used to seem like such a long time, but then I met you and... but I’m not asking you to wait until I’m gone. Before that, I’ll be too old for you, and I won’t object when you take someone younger. I’ll understand then.”
“Oh gods,” Liall groaned. “Listen to yourself. Too old for me? You’ll never be too old for me.”
“I’ll look like my father and you’ll still be the same. That’s what I mean by too old. You’ll set me aside then, and you’ll be right to.” Scarlet marveled that he could say these things aloud. He had avoided doing it for so long, for Liall’s sake as much as his own.
“I won’t listen to this.” Liall sounded like he was gasping for air. “It’s not true.” He turned away.
“Now who’s running?” Scarlet’s voice grew thin. “Don’t leave, please.”
Liall wrenched himself back from the door as if trying to tear himself in two. He pulled Scarlet into his arms roughly.
“Gods, why?” He moaned, wrapping his arms tight around Scarlet. “Why do we have so little time? It isn’t right. It’s not natural. You should live years beyond me, as honest and good as you are, not wither like a young tree in the cold. I can’t...”
“Hush.” Scarlet was struck with a sense of unreality. How odd that he should be the comforter now, when it had always been Liall before. Liall had always been stronger than him. Perhaps not in this, he thought. Liall desired to control everything around him, on his terms. He was a wolf wherever he went, forever snapping at the universe to align with his will.
“This cannot happen,” Liall whispered.
Scarlet had never heard him sound so scared. “It will, and you have to live with it. What else can you do?”
“What can I do?” Liall echoed softly, his hands restless as he petted Scarlet’s hair, and Scarlet felt the slight tremble in his fingers. “What can I do? I must do something... I must do something...”
***
“I cannot lose you,” Liall repeated over and over again as he held him in their bed, after they had loved. Though the sun never set now, the heavy casements were closed, sealing out the light. The only illumination was the flickering fire, stoked with sweet woods that burned with an aroma almost like perfume.
According to the marks on the candle, it was very late at night. The Nauhinir was quiet and Liall’s bare skin was warm against his side.
“All life is filled with loss,” Scarlet whispered against Liall’s chest, his fingers stroking the deep amber of his lover’s skin. “If we’re lucky and good, there’s some love in there, too. I think I love you enough for ten lifetimes.”
Liall hugged him tighter. “Ten lifetimes wouldn’t be enough. I won’t accept losing you.”
“What else can you do?”
Liall looked down at him. His long hand brushed Scarlet’s hair away from his temples, and Scarlet saw the steely determination on his features.
“I don’t know that I can do anything, but I’m not a man who accepts defeat easily. You should know that. There are curaes in Rshan unlike any you have in Byzantur, very wise and learned men. For all we know, the early deaths of your people may be from some sickness of the blood or foreign malady that no one has investigated yet, something endemic to Byzantur but unknown here. You forget: the Hilurin are not from Byzantur. Not originally. Rshan is your true land. Don’t look cross with me; I’m speaking the truth. The Aralyrin live much longer than you, yes? And you can hardly tell some of them from a pure Hilurin.”
“But that’s just because—”
“No, no arguments. For now, put thoughts of death from your mind. And forget Ressilka, too. The barons can go hang.”
Scarlet sighed. “I’m too selfish to protest. I can’t pretend I want you to have her, not now. Even when I’m gone, I suspect I’ll resent it.”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
Scarlet saw the iron in Liall’s pale blue eyes, and he felt cold. What could Liall possibly do to change nature? Hilurin were short-lived. There were reasons for that, he was sure, though they were known only to Deva. His people cherished life more because of it. They were closer to the earth and closer to the gods for it. They married young, prized their children, and risked their scant time in the world much less on wandering and chance. Few Hilurin were what anyone could call adventurous, and when they were, they were branded with suspicion like Scarlet had been. Men with the Wilding were thought to be poor mates and providers.
Well, perhaps he was no fit mate for a woman, but he had been a good one to Liall. It bothered him that he seemed to be failing in that duty now. A good mate would want children for his beloved, he decided. I should want to see him content and happy at his fireside, with plump children at his feet. Instead, I just want him to take me hunting or on a long journey. I’d even be happy to go to sea again.
“I wish we could leave,” he sighed, pressing a kiss to Liall’s bronze throat. “I wish we could travel the roads again, even just for a little while.”
Liall was silent for a moment. “Perhaps we can,” he said. “Don’t roll your pretty black eyes at me, ser Impertinence. It’s not an empty promise, though you may not like where we go.”
Scarlet thought he heard something in that. “Has something happened?”
“Old business. The tribesmen in the north are looting and burning again. It has stirred some debate about what precisely is to be done.” Liall paused. “I’ve called a baron’s council to discuss the matter.”
It was never as easy as Liall made it sound. If he said there was a problem, that meant there had already been blood. “So there will be a battle?”
“More than one, I suspect. It’s nothing new, love. There were battles in your land, too.”
“Hilurin don’t attack their own people,” Scarlet murmured unhappily. “You have a fine kingdom here. Your people are healthy and well fed, and there are no slaves or any great want. Why do you fight among each other so much?”
&
nbsp; “It’s our nature, I think. We may despise outlanders, but we tolerate each other little better. We are territorial and jealous and we lust for power. There are nations like that in the south, too.”
“Yes, the Minh,” Scarlet said. “You’re not like the Minh at all.”
“Don’t be too sure. Most powerful nations have more in common that you like to think about. We do not keep slaves, true, but we take what we want on the seas. We don’t even call that piracy, just keeping our waters safe. Any ship that comes near Rshan without letters of commission from the crown will be set upon and seized. And some, my little pedlar, don’t even wait for the ships to come that close. You forget: Rshani don’t feel that outlanders have souls. When a Rshani warrior kills a Morturii or a Minh, they don’t believe they’re killing a true person, merely something with the shape of a person.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“I do not, no. I don’t think I ever did. Neither did Cestimir, or my lady mother. But I am not your common Rshani, and I’ve lived outside of these lands much longer than I’ve lived in them.”
Scarlet sighed against Liall’s skin. “I hate that kind of thinking. I wish you wouldn’t keep reminding me.”
Liall rubbed Scarlet’s back in small circles. “I have to keep reminding you,” he said. “You can’t get too comfortable in your safety here, redbird. My court may love you, but there will always be men who don’t.”
Scarlet nearly purred and threw a leg over Liall’s hips, snuggling closer. “Well, they’re not here, are they?”
“They may come here.”
Scarlet sensed a message in that. He looked up. “Did... are they here? She is, isn’t she? Here in the palace. Lady Ressilka.”
“No, no. Set your mind at ease.” Liall kissed Scarlet’s cheek and whispered, “I’m sorry, my love,” against his skin.
Scarlet put his head back down on Liall’s chest. “I’ve lost track; what exactly are you apologizing for?”
“For hurting you. I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard to agree to something that is against your nature.”
Scarlet pulled away from Liall’s embrace and sat up. “Can you do it? Refuse her, I mean. Is it possible?”
Liall rubbed his jaw. He looked very tired. “Perhaps. Not bluntly, and certainly not now. But perhaps a way can be found where Ressanda is satisfied.”
“Not Ressilka?”
“This was never about her. Royal marriages are seldom about what the bride and groom want. I don’t know if the girl likes me or hates me or wishes me quartered in a gibbet cage. I’ve only spoken to her once.”
Scarlet swallowed hard and felt his eyes stinging. “For however long you manage to delay it, thank you.”
“You misunderstand me.”
For a moment, Scarlet was afraid. “How?”
“Putting a hook in a bear’s mouth is a dangerous undertaking. I can lure the baron and play him for time, but at some point the game will end and he’ll know he’s been maneuvered. When he realizes that, he might withdraw his offer of Ressilka’s hand. That’s when the game becomes deadly.”
“A game. Is that what a crown really is?”
“Depend on it.”
“Liall, I don’t want you to be childless and alone after I’m gone.”
Liall mussed Scarlet’s hair fondly. “Fool. You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to stay with me until I’m old and gray and you beg me to stop trying to make love to you, because I’m wrinkled and have no teeth left and I’m too ugly to fuck.”
“Now you’re just making fun of me,” Scarlet said crossly, reaching for the sheet to pull around his nakedness.
Liall jerked the sheet away. “Stop that, I like to look at you. And I’m not joking. We’re going to be old men together, tottering our way to the throne room with servants holding our hands to keep us from getting lost.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible that men can dream. I thought magic was impossible, didn’t I? I knew it as sure as I knew what direction the sun rose and the color of my eyes. Well, I was wrong. If I was wrong about magic, then it follows I may have been wrong about the gods, too. Your Deva, for instance.”
“You believe in the goddess, now?” Scarlet couldn’t hide the doubt in his voice.
Liall’s smile was wry. “Belief has always been a fraught word for me. It’s not in my nature to believe in what I can’t see or touch. I believe in fire, for example. If I should ever doubt it, sticking my hand in a pile of coals would neatly reaffirm my faith. A god is more difficult. Where is my measure for taking stock of a god? Strangely, it’s you.”
“Me?” Scarlet didn’t like the sound of that. “Talk about plowing the wrong field. I’m no priest!”
“No, you’re not,” Liall agreed. “You’re closer to being a holy man than any priest I’ve ever known.”
Scarlet gaped. “Oh, for Deva’s sake!” He pushed Liall’s leg with his foot and clambered out of the bed. The damn thing was so deep and wide that he could never manage getting out of it gracefully. It was a sea of a bed. And Liall the titan of the waters. The thought made him laugh aloud. “I’ve fought, cursed, blasphemed, gambled, drank, disobeyed my parents, and taken a man for a lover. I don’t know how the goddess feels about the last but I’m positive she disapproves of everything else. Hell’s teeth, where can you find anything holy in all that?”
Liall propped himself up on an elbow and smiled from the ocean of sheets and furs; a long, lean god carved from golden oak. Scarlet’s throat went tight just looking. Holy? He must be mad. There are better behaved bhoros houses than the way we carry on sometimes.
“You have your magic.” Liall smiled. “The goddess didn’t take it from you, so she must not be too displeased by all your grievous transgressions.” He rolled the word off his tongue and patted the pillow next to him. “Come back, iaresh, and let’s see how far we can presume celestial forbearance.”
“I don’t know what that means,” Scarlet said, aware that they were only bantering now, and also fully aware that Liall was teasing and trying to entice him to more lovemaking. And making me rise like a stallion scenting a mare in season.
“Iaresh means beauty. For the rest... no matter. You love me,” Liall went on, smiling confidently. “A man who—as I’ve informed you many, many times—is quite unworthy of your love on a godlike scale. Thus, there are two miracles for you. We’re due a third.”
“Stark mad, that’s what you are,” Scarlet pronounced, his hands on his naked hips. “Moonstruck, madcap, and village fool, all in one gigantic lump of a want-wit who needs to shut up!” He grabbed a pillow and hurled it at Liall’s head.
Liall declined to duck. The pillow smacked him full on the nose.
“Oops.”
Scarlet yelped and darted across the room when he discovered just how fast the king could move when motivated. “Accident! Accident!” he protested, laughing and taking cover behind a couch.
“Striking your king is no accident.” Liall grinned.
“It was only a pillow!”
“A crime is a crime.” Liall caught him and held him close to his chest. “And penalty is still required,” he breathed, his mouth on Scarlet’s cheek, his hands sliding low to cup and fondle.
Scarlet felt his knees go weak. “Oh? Best get to it, then. You know how we criminals hate waiting to be tortured.”
Liall lifted him in his arms and hauled him back to the bed.
By the time the coals of the fire had died out completely, Scarlet was flopped across Liall’s body like a rag doll. Liall toyed lazily with Scarlet’s hair, curling it around his fingers.
“You know,” Scarlet murmured thoughtfully, “if I’m to have a life here in Rshan, I’ll need to have some manner of work.”
Liall grunted, his eyes half-closed to slits of pale blue that watched intently. The room was dark, every shape outlined in silver and gray to keen Hilurin sight.
“Are you not content to be employed merely as the
king’s bed-toy?”
Scarlet tried to swat him and missed, then gave up the effort. It was too hard to move anyway. “Well, it’s fine for the nights,” he answered. “Not that there are any right now. But I’ve always worked for my bread. It’s strange to be given everything and have to do nothing. That’s not what Scaja raised me to be.”
“And here I am thinking I’ve been giving you plenty to do. I’ve been remiss. Wake me in an hour and I’ll see to it.”
“Ha. I won’t be sitting down for dinner as it is, thank you,” Scarlet retorted, and grinned when Liall’s chest and belly shook with silent laughter under him. “I’m serious, stop laughing, you fool.” He nipped one of Liall’s nipples with gentle teeth. “I’m not kidding. I need work to keep my hands and head busy. I’m used to an active life, you know. Traveling. Fighting. Killing soldiers. That sort of thing. All this bed-work will make me soft.”
Liall’s fingers trailed up his spine. Scarlet wriggled in ticklish protest. “You’re already quite soft. Always were.”
Scarlet had not known that. He’d never thought of it, really: how he would compare to the lovers Liall had known before. “Is it so?”
Liall nodded. “Soft as the new leaf of a snowy rose.”
“Oh, and poetry, too. I think you’re the one who’s gone soft, but in the head.”
“Rather more south, I think.” Liall took Scarlet’s hand and pushed it down. “You could remedy that for me.”
“Again? Gods below, you’re insane. I’m going to sleep.”
Liall chuckled again and tugged Scarlet until he was on the pillows beside him. “All right then, let’s talk about it. What kind of work did you have in mind?”
Scarlet hesitated, afraid Liall would think him silly. He reached up and pushed Liall’s hair back from his face. Since they had come to Rshan, Liall had begun to let his hair grow longer, as was the custom. Jochi had fine, silken hair to the small of his back, and Alexyin’s mane of white hair, unbraided, fell nearly to his knees. Liall’s hung to his shoulders and was merely shaggy now, and though he had begun to complain of the nuisance of it, he had not cut it.