by T. A. Miles
Korsten’s lips parted in a quiet sigh. Finally, he turned to face Renmyr’s affection. His friend took him in his arms and kissed him once before leading him away from the horses. They lowered onto the grass together. Renmyr had Korsten’s jacket and shirt open in moments and was dropping kisses upon his chest while he lay beneath him and concentrated simply on breathing.
Ren … it’s only been days and it feels like years. I wish it could always be like this, that we didn’t have to hide. But why should you go through what I went through? To be disinherited and disowned … like me, shunned by all of my family save one unexpectedly tolerant uncle, who still kept me at arm’s length for years before finally coming to full acceptance. Somehow it worked out for me. I have a house and a position … and I have you, my beloved friend.
Korsten smiled gently up at his lover, who hovered over him now. He tucked an errant strand of raven hair behind Renmyr’s ear. “I want you to always be happy.”
Renmyr captured Korsten’s hand before it slipped away and kissed his palm. “This is the only place I know happiness.” The other man’s glorious eyes fell closed. A stitch formed between his dark eyebrows. “And I am forced to leave this behind too often, lest my father begin to understand why I’ve been holding off marriage, apart from traditional Camirey bullheadedness.”
A sudden depression filled Korsten’s chest, like an ailment that attacked the lungs. He slipped his hand away from Renmyr and took his gaze from him as well. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Renmyr wanted to know. “For being alive? For being beautiful?” He pushed aside a lock of red curls that had a tendency to fall in front of Korsten’s eye. Then his fingers lightly traced his lover’s jaw, settling upon his slim neck. “And you are beautiful.”
Korsten looked at him again. “I should have left that first day I noticed your gaze lingering more than a moment, but that mine was lingering, too. I loved you at once and I’ll love you always, but I won’t begrudge you pushing me away … if you must.”
A frown drew slowly to Renmyr’s lips. “Nothing is going to separate us, Korsten; least of all me. I’ll leave here first, I can promise you that much.”
Korsten put a hand on Renmyr’s shoulder, gently pushing him aside as he sat up. He dropped his face into his free hand and was once again concentrating on breathing, this time to keep tears at bay. At length, he said, “You can’t leave, Ren. Your family needs you.”
“They need my sword if there is ever a border skirmish. They need my health, should my brother’s falter. But how quickly would they want nothing from me at all if they were to discover us?”
“I know,” Korsten sighed wearily. “I went through it already. How fragile even the closest family bonds are when tested against … what to them is nothing more than perversion and emotional illness.”
Renmyr gathered Korsten carefully back into his arms. He stroked his hair and spoke to him in soothing tones. “We’ll make it, Korsten. Hush now. You’ll see that I’m right.”
Renmyr was three years younger than Korsten at twenty-one. It was during a time like this that he seemed older. Korsten envied him his strength, having himself developed a habit, encouraged by his own family, of hiding when circumstances weren’t as comfortable as they should have been. For years he’d hidden in his library, interacting with outsiders only when it could not be avoided, usually to educate the students his uncle had gathered for him, of which Renmyr had once been one. Korsten was just twenty when Lord Camirey’s second born needed a tutor to help him better understand history. It didn’t take long for Korsten to realize that the younger man didn’t need a tutor; he simply wanted one. Specifically, he wanted Korsten, whom he’d met previously on only a few brief occasions. That was enough, each of them believed, and they quickly fell in love. They taught each other many things during those long hours alone in the library, none of it relating to history. Korsten’s uncle eventually came to know and he had recently taken that knowledge to his grave.
Korsten had lost an ally as well as an uncle with Fand Brierly’s death and sometimes, when he couldn’t be with Renmyr, he felt completely alone and helpless. But he was with Renmyr now. He wasn’t alone.
“Hush….” Renmyr said again, just as Korsten exhaled brokenly.
Korsten clung to him, needing him so badly it embarrassed him sometimes to think about. He couldn’t imagine a life without him. And yet, he could never truly know a life with him. “We’re trapped, Ren,” he finally whispered. “We’re trapped in this lie.”
“You can’t believe that,” Renmyr said as softly. “We’ll have a life together someday. And until then….”
“Until when?” Korsten had to ask. “Why can’t we….”
“Leave here?” Renmyr finished when Korsten failed to. He hugged him tighter. “My family needs me. You said it yourself and I should agree, regardless of what I may say out of anger. My brother has not been well and Father is old, aging by the day. So many regions have fallen into disarray since the fall of the last king. Fools and madmen fight for the crown and as a result there are few cities like Haddowyn, a retreat from total chaos. The border of Morenne expands with every season, drawing ever near to us. Edrinor is being taken a piece at a time. Whether we fight Morenne or surrender, it will take a strong leader to protect this area, be it from war or from subjugation.”
Renmyr kissed the top of Korsten’s head. “You’re right. I cannot leave here.”
“Then I must stay as well.” Korsten closed his eyes, refusing anymore tears. Then he pulled away from Renmyr just enough to look up into his eyes, bright as the waxing moon. “I want to stay here … with you. It doesn’t matter how things are,” he determined. “I love you.”
Renmyr pushed aside the wayward curls once again, stroked Korsten’s cheek, and then bent forward to kiss him. Korsten opened his mouth to capture his warm salty taste. They lowered again onto the grass. Renmyr dropped one hand onto Korsten’s waist, gradually unclasped his belt, and slipped into his breeches.
Korsten moaned with the pleasurable groping that followed. His heart began to race as their kissing grew more ardent, his blood pounding under his skin at every pulse point.
At some length, they separated for air, though it seemed that there was none to be had while Renmyr continued his efforts. Renmyr kissed Korsten’s ear and neck, and withdrew his hand in a moment of control that seemed immediately in debate. “My sweet Kor … I could take you here and now.”
“You … could,” Korsten said, somewhat breathlessly. He could feel his skin flush to match his hair when his lover rose just enough to look upon him. “We could wait until tonight … and hope that neither of us is called upon by business before then. Or we could make love now….” He reached up and unknotted Renmyr’s collar. “And hope no one happens upon us.”
“We’re well away from the riding paths,” Renmyr considered. And then he rolled away from Korsten, sitting up. “And now I remember why. Wasn’t there something you were going to tell me?”
Korsten sighed ruefully, then organized himself, and maneuvered to an upright position himself. “Yes,” he said, standing when some of the lightheadedness passed. He felt bereft and overheated and decided to walk back to the horses and the cooler air around the spring. “I had a strange visitor this morning. He came to me seeking an audience with your father. He was clearly mad. I sent him away.”
“What inspired you to judge him as such, if I may ask?”
Korsten glanced over his shoulder at Renmyr, who was still seated on the grass. It took him a moment to form the requested answer. “The gentleman … claimed that a young woman was murdered just outside the city. Last night, in the southern woods. He said it was a … that the deed was committed by a demon.” For some reason the notion chilled Korsten as it hadn’t before.
Renmyr, on the other hand, didn’t seem fazed by it. In fact, he seemed understandably skeptical. “A demon?�
��
Korsten nodded slowly, then looked at Renmyr again. “The Vadryn, to be exact.” He pushed one hand slowly through his hair. “I suppose he wanted to warn your father of it.”
Now Renmyr stood, joining Korsten with the horses. “Of a legendary creature that feeds upon the souls of the living? Resurrected after centuries of absence from this land by what source? Did he mention it?”
“No,” Korsten answered, latching onto the absurdity of just what was being discussed in order to form a faint smile. “I suppose I was right to dismiss him, then.”
“You doubted it?” Renmyr said, gathering up the reins of his horse. He mounted, then smiled down at Korsten. “My father allowed you to inherit your uncle’s position for a reason, beloved. You’ve never made a mistake in judgment in his eyes.”
“It only matters to me what your eyes see,” Korsten told him.
Renmyr gazed at him for a long moment, then said, “I see a lack of restraint forthcoming. Let’s finish our ride. You can finish telling me about your peculiar visitor at Brenwick’s, over a large ale.”
Brenwick’s was no place Korsten particularly enjoyed, but it was necessary, from time to time. Not only in pleasing Renmyr, who seemed to enjoy the alehouse atmosphere, but in keeping up appearances. People would surely begin to wonder about two friends as close as they happened to be who spent all of their time together under less public conditions. When in the abundant company of others, they behaved almost as brothers; speaking casually, arguing openly, and touching rarely. No one seemed suspicious of them, least of all the barmaid Calla, who made no secret of her interest in the handsome heir she was waiting on.
Korsten watched with secret disgust as the tawdry young woman fawned over Renmyr, making open comments about how much stronger he looked today as opposed to yesterday. She supplied him with enough romantic signals for him to have written a book on the subject, from coquettish laughter to coy eye contact and touches that lingered after incidental brushes. Yes, she was expert, and determined. What made it worse was that Renmyr did nothing at all to discourage her. And how could he? Wouldn’t Calla like to know just who her would-be beau had had his strong arms wrapped around not but a few hours ago? Wouldn’t they all like to know?
There would be a scandal to keep the lips of Haddowyn’s gossips flapping for years to come. Lord Camirey’s strong, stubborn, and very masculine son bedding another man. How long before it came to bedding men, and then boys?
Taking one last look at the barmaid all but molesting his lover, Korsten finished his ale and stood. He said to Calla, in as congenial a tone as he could muster, “You seem occupied. I’ll see to refilling my own glass.”
Calla glanced at him, then sidled into the booth beside Renmyr, practically sitting in his lap. Her ample breasts, just covered by her grease and sweat stained blouse, brushed against his chest as she came dangerously near to kissing him outright. While Renmyr pretended to appreciate her nearness, she said to Korsten, “Would you be a good fellow, then, and see to my other tables as well? I think I can keep myself busy enough right here.”
Korsten didn’t trust himself to say anything. He departed with a false grin and headed for the bar. What’s wrong with this world that its inhabitants would prefer a scene like that to honesty? Ren and I love each other. Why isn’t that enough?
Don’t be so naïve, you know very well that that has never been enough, not for anyone under Heaven. And the very first sensible argument anyone would make would be that it’s Ren’s duty to provide Camirey heirs in the event that Edmore cannot. His brother’s been married for three years, sick for two. It doesn’t seem likely that his wife will be bearing him any children soon, if ever. All the responsibility will fall on Ren. His father will finally insist upon a marriage and it’ll be that much worse if anyone were to learn of us then. To find that the next lord of Haddowyn had been adulterating, that his secret lover was none other than his second in the chain of command. There’d be an uprising. Haddowyn would fall into the same chaos as other cities in Edrinor, ripe for the plucking. And I know you wouldn’t like that, Ren. This is home to you. You care about Haddowyn’s future, as much as you care for me … perhaps more.
That final thought let Korsten know that he’d had too much to drink. He tended depressing when he imbibed of too much of Brenwick’s poison. Some might argue that depressed was his natural state, regardless of alcohol and perhaps they wouldn’t be far from correct in that argument. He’d come to Haddowyn alone and unhappy. Meeting and eventually loving Renmyr made him happy, but he was still alone. He couldn’t be otherwise and not risk greater trouble for both of them than simply having to lie in public.
“Ah, there you are Kor! Can’t miss your scarlet head, can we?”
Korsten glanced at the man he’d come to stand beside of at the bar. After passing his glass across the wide counter to Brenwick, he gave the other man an affable smile. “Good afternoon, Gamley. It’s been a while since I’ve been subjected to your company.”
Gamley was quite drunk and laughed loudly at the joke that was not actually a joke. He was an untidy man at best, tall—though not as tall as Korsten—with a stoop to his stance and an avidly developing paunch. He was missing two top teeth in a very noticeable spot and his less than attractive face was never quite shaven on any given day. “Have a knack for words, Kor. I’ll give you that! Ain’t seen you in here recently. Seen more of young lord Ren, to tell the truth. Beginnin’ to wonder if maybe you hadn’t taken ill on us.”
“I’ve taken ill,” Korsten said, accepting his refreshed mug back from the tavern’s owner. “With Lord Renmyr’s bullheadedness. There’s not a sound piece of advice I can give to him that he’ll take without a long, drawn out fight.”
Gamley nodded. “Aye, the young lord’s a stubborn one, right he is. Head harder than Brenwick’s bread!”
“Hey, watch it there, Gamley,” the aging tavern owner protested. “I seen you stuffin’ your face plenty full with my bread!”
“Gotta use something to soak up that pig squalor stew!”
“That….”
Korsten backed away from the bar before they could go at each other. “Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Right, Kor,” Gamley permitted, then proceeded to complain about the food Brenwick served to his patrons.
Korsten headed back for the booth he’d been sharing with Renmyr, that Renmyr was still sharing with Calla. He frowned peevishly, wondering how much more of this he would be able to endure, when someone else caught his interest.
He recognized Merran at once—there was no mistaking him—and Merran clearly recognized him. They stared mutually for several seconds before Korsten finally veered toward the man’s table in one of the tavern’s shadowed corners. When he arrived, he seated himself without asking permission and continued to study Merran. The man wasn’t particularly handsome, but he wasn’t ugly. There was an attractively serious aspect about him, an alluring graveness that started with his intensely blue gaze.
Once Korsten caught onto his own thoughts, he forced them aside and said, “I had not expected to find you here, Master Merran.”
“It is as good a place as any to observe,” the man replied neutrally. He maintained his all black outfitting with the exception of the ghastly moth-shaped brooch. Korsten wanted to say something about the unsightly piece, but Merran was speaking again. “Have you reconsidered yet, Master Brierly?”
“Yet?” Korsten echoed. “I can assure you that I am not about to reconsider at all. Lord Camirey has more important things to be concerned with than tales of demons and murder. The murder can be handled at this level, by myself and Constable Hedren. And the demons you can keep to yourself.”
“No one can keep the Vadryn,” Merran said, too seriously. “They must be destroyed.”
Korsten frowned at him. “How noble of you to trod through the wilderness after them. And convenient. Conveni
ent that one of the legendary miscreants should arrive here, at the doorstep of a wealthy lord, who is troubled enough by his son’s insistent illness to possibly fall victim to a wandering bard’s chicanery.”
“I am not a bard,” Merran informed him.
Korsten lifted his brow. “No? You sing a fantastic tune. However, know that I am not easily swayed by fantasy, nor will I be tricked by—”
“Yes,” Merran interrupted. “I would say that you are remarkably slow to believe, for a man who lives in a world of pure fantasy.”
Korsten’s jaw hung open in mid-sentence, clamping slowly and firmly. In a moment, he said, “How dare you? What would you know of my life?”
“Your reputation,” Merran said calmly and Korsten’s eyes drew narrow, his mouth taut. The man added, “For one who has been to bed with so many adoring young women—students he seduces in the privacy of his library—you’ve sown a suspicious lack of seeds. There’s not a single red-haired child in this town between the ages of infant and seven years. I’m told you’ve been residing in Haddowyn for eight.”
“There are plenty of red-haired children in Haddowyn,” Korsten argued for the sake of it. He’d be damned if was going to be coerced by this madman.
“None with hair quite so red as yours,” Merran continued. “And none that are yours. No woman claims to have actually been with you, but none who are accused deny it, not with any fervor, because it satisfies their own fantasies to be considered your lover, I think. It is a dangerous balancing act, what you’re attempting.”
“To live, you mean?” Korsten retorted softly, giving his glare to his ale. “To love? As if I don’t have a right to just as everyone else? All right, you’ll have your audience, if that’s what you want. But under the sole condition that you leave this town as silently as you entered it.”
“I was not bargaining with you, Master Brierly,” Merran said.
Korsten looked up to see him standing, leaving behind the necessary coins to cover whatever he’d had to eat or drink, which appeared to be nothing. The only dish in sight was a full mug of cider.