by Kim Fielding
His mother came back a while later. Her face was still as stone, and her eyes were dry. She’d gathered Aric into her lap and held him—much like he was now holding Gray—and she’d sung him one of her songs.
When the song was over, she set Aric gently on the ground. She walked across the room and took the birdcage off its little table, then walked to the open door. She opened the little latch on the cage, and after a brief pause, the sparrow flew away.
It didn’t go far, though. In fact, it flew back into the hut, and his mother had to shoo it out with a broom, after which she closed the door. But Aric could still hear it on the tree nearby, on the roof, on the little ledge outside the window, chirping and chirping away.
“Why, Mother?” Aric had asked, mystified why the bird didn’t simply fly away.
“He doesn’t know how to be free.” And she’d collapsed to the floor, her face hidden in her hands.
Three days later, the sparrow was still nearby when the sheriff came again—more quietly this time—and led Aric’s mother to the village square, her son close at her heels. Aric’s father had been brought into the square, and for a brief moment, Aric had been thrilled to see him—until he noticed the rope around his father’s hands, the fear on his father’s face. Aric stood and watched his father die.
The sparrow was there outside the hut when his mother took him home again. It sang as the Geddings came and took almost everything the family had owned. He could hear it singing—much more frantically now—as his mother drank from a silver flask. It only stopped singing that night, when Aric cowered in the hut, his mother’s corpse a few feet from him on the floor. The sheriff came one last time in the morning, maybe to see if there was anything he’d missed the afternoon before, and he discovered the body. He took Aric away, and as they walked down the path that led to the village, Aric looked in vain but couldn’t find the sparrow.
He liked to think it had finally learned to be free and had flown away. Maybe it had found some new sparrow friends. But even when he was very young, he had known that in all likelihood, the bird had starved or fallen to a predator.
“You’re not the sparrow,” Aric said.
The sheer nonsense of that statement was enough to halt Gray’s sobs and make him raise his head. “Wh-what?”
“This has… it’s all been a lot for you. It’s been a lot for me. I never expected to travel any farther than Tellomer, and I never thought I’d be a fugitive. I’m scared too.”
Aric hadn’t really meant to admit his fear—he was supposed to be the strong one now, the protector—but his words made Gray sigh and melt back against him, his head on Aric’s shoulder and his arms around his body. “G-good,” he mumbled. Which didn’t make any sense to Aric, but then Aric’s own comment about the stupid sparrow certainly made no more sense to Gray.
Gray was kissing him again. More softly now. His movements spoke less of hunger than of the need to touch and the desire to unite. He didn’t use his teeth anymore, just lips and fingertips and flicks of his tongue, and he began to arch and rock on Aric’s lap so that soon their cocks—which had softened while Gray cried—filled again. Gray’s movements were slow. If Aric tried to do more than tender stroking of Gray’s back, his lover tsked at him and slowed even more, so that soon Aric was floating in sweet torment as deep as the bath water. Deeper. As deep as the sea itself. And still Gray took his time and hummed and nuzzled and ran his fingers through Aric’s hair.
Gray kissed him squarely on the mouth. Aric could barely breathe anymore and didn’t care—what did he need with all that air anyway? He had everything he wanted, everything he needed, right in his lap and up against him, warm and pliant and firm, demanding and yielding, smelling of sea salt and spices and ale.
Aric’s climax took him by surprise, and Gray swallowed his moans like candy.
Eventually they did get clean. Aric soaped Gray, just as he’d promised, and then Gray soaped him, joking as he did that the landlady should charge a giant double for soap. They rinsed. Aric helped Gray out of the bath, and they stood in front of the stove to dry themselves with clean, lemon-scented towels. Then they dressed and headed back up to their borrowed room.
They had just settled in when a knock sounded at their door. Aric smelled their dinner even before he opened the door. The landlady’s daughter was there with a tray and a shy smile.
Dinner turned out to be a rich mutton stew with crusty rolls and some sort of tart green fruit Aric didn’t recognize. He was famished and the food was good, but not as good as what he’d had from the palace kitchens. That thought reminded him of Alys. He wondered if she was happy, and he fervently hoped she’d faced no trouble because of Gray’s disappearance.
Although it was still quite early when dinner was done, both of them were exhausted. Besides, they intended to set out again as soon as the sun rose. They stripped and climbed into the bed. It was plenty big enough for the two of them, and as the landlady had promised, the mattress felt new. But Aric’s missing hand was clenched tight. He’d barely noticed the ache over the past several months—it was only an occasional, passing nuisance—but now it hurt as much as when he’d awoken in Hilma Gedding’s bed and discovered that he was facing an abrupt change in his life. He tried to ignore the pain, or to imagine the ghostly hand slowly relaxing, but neither strategy worked. And Gray was next to him, tossing and turning restlessly.
“Is something wrong?” Aric finally whispered to him.
“I c-can’t….” Gray sighed. “The fucking bed is too soft.”
So Aric cuffed him gently on the shoulder and kissed his hair, then pushed him out of bed so he could drag the blankets down to the floor. Aric wrapped himself around Gray, then wrapped a blanket around both of them. Gray made a happy little sound and fell immediately to sleep, and Aric was not far behind him.
ARIC had become skilled at waking up when Gray’s dream had barely begun. Maybe even in his sleep he could sense the tension in his lover’s body. Aric was already smoothing Gray’s skin and crooning in Gray’s ear when the moaning began. Sometimes Gray would flail and kick during his nightmares, but now he was very, very still except for the rapid movements of his chest. Aric could feel Gray’s heart beating frantically, like a bird in a cage.
“No,” Gray breathed in a deep, hoarse voice. “Not yet.”
“Shh,” Aric said, although he knew it would do no good.
“Please keep him safe for me.”
Aric’s own heart tightened, and his stomach clenched.
“Please! Keep him free and happy.” Gray uttered a terrible groan, like the sound of a timber giving under too much weight. Then he shuddered, and although Aric couldn’t see him in the dark room, he could feel the tears that dampened Gray’s stubbled cheeks. The tears wet Aric’s face as he pressed their cheeks together.
“Ssh,” Aric said again. He was proud of himself for keeping his voice soft and steady. “It’s only a dream. I’m here holding you now, and I’m real.”
Gray didn’t say anything else. He shuddered again, this time so violently Aric almost lost his grip, and his throat made an awful clicking sound. Then he went completely still.
Usually Gray woke up within minutes after a dream. Tonight was no exception—Aric could hear the slight change in his breathing and could feel the subtle shift in his muscles. But Gray didn’t move and didn’t say anything; he simply lay quietly in Aric’s arms.
It was Aric who spoke first, his voice deep and hoarse in the darkened room. “It was only a dream.”
“Y-you never told me your missing h-hand aches.”
“Gray—”
“Your hand aches, and you h-have a little t-twinge in your hips. Did you hurt them once?”
“When I fell, rescuing the prince. The healer took care of it.”
“N-not completely. If I were more skilled, I c-could make the pain go away.”
Aric squeezed him. “You do. All the time.”
“B-but I can’t….” Gray took a deep breath and let
it out. “Aric, y-you’re going to—”
“No!” Aric surprised even himself, his voice was so loud. More quietly but just as urgently he said, “No. Don’t say it.”
“F-fine.”
Aric didn’t want to know how he died. Who would want that sort of information hanging over his head? He’d seen what a man looked like when he faced the end, had seen the fear and resignation and despair on his father’s face. If he had a day left, or a week or a month, he didn’t want that knowledge weighing him down. But what Gray had said during the dream—what Aric had said during the dream. It was too early in their escape, and Gray wasn’t yet safe. Aric had to know so he could make sure he got Gray to safety. “How?” he asked into Gray’s soft hair.
“I’m s-sorry. If I could take it b-back, undream it somehow….”
“I know. Tell me, Gray. Please.”
Gray paused for a long time, slowly rubbing his own collarbone, and when he spoke, his voice was oddly strained. “The w-water. You’re going to drown.” Quick as a fish, Gray twisted in Aric’s arms so that they were facing one another. He spoke quickly, urgently, without a stammer. “Forget the fucking Vale. We’ll go inland, far from the sea.”
“And far from rivers?”
“Of course!”
“How about lakes? And ponds? And inns with bathtubs? How about horse troughs and wells and buckets? Gray, I can’t escape water forever.”
Gray made an inarticulate and frustrated sound. “But you c-can’t just keep holding your course.”
“Why not? Maybe we head deep into the forest and I drown in a mud puddle.” He surprised both of them by laughing. “I almost drowned once before, but I survived. Maybe the gods had something in mind for me. Maybe they wanted me to set you free. Or maybe—I don’t know. Maybe it’s all one big joke, and this is how the gods stay entertained. I’m not nearly smart enough to second-guess them. I’m just going to have to do what I think is best and hope it turns out.”
“And if it doesn’t? If y-you die tomorrow?”
“Then I’ll consider myself lucky to have had the last year. I made friends, Gray. Real friends. And I felt… welcomed. I had adventures! And gods, I met you.” Aric bumped their foreheads together hard enough to hurt. “I met you.”
“Stubborn b-bastard!”
“I am,” Aric said almost happily. He was more than a strong back—he had a resolute mind. That was another change the past year had wrought.
And Gray couldn’t very well argue with that, so he didn’t try. Instead, he surprised Aric with more of his soft kisses. They made love for the second time that evening, then fell asleep, and this time, neither of them dreamed.
Chapter 22
THE morning light was still soft and tentative when they went downstairs, but the landlady was already awake. Aric could smell bread baking, and his mouth watered hopefully.
“Were you comfortable?” she asked them. “Was the bed good enough?”
Aric smiled. “It was perfect.” He’d dismantled their nest on the floor and replaced the blankets on the mattress before they left. He didn’t want to worry the proprietress of the Four Wolves, making her question the comfort of her accommodations.
She nodded. “Breakfast will be ready in an hour. We’ve ham steaks this morning and thick porridge, and—”
“We can’t stay. Is there something we could take with us now?”
She sniffed in evident disapproval of people who didn’t sit down to proper meals, but then she bustled away into the kitchen. She returned a few minutes later with a fabric-wrapped parcel. “It’s yesterday’s bread. Today’s is still in the oven. And some cheese and dried currants. I hope that will do.”
“Thank you,” Aric said, and Gray gave one of those bows that would have looked stupid if Aric attempted it, but managed to look graceful and elegant for Gray. Then they set out into a city that was just waking up.
The streets of Racinas were packed dirt rather than cobbles. Aric nudged his companion’s shoulder. “Are your feet all right? I imagine there won’t be any pavement between here and the Vale.”
“No, there w-won’t, but I’m fine. Feels good, actually.”
Aric had to take him at his word because it was too early to find a shoemaker. The air was a bit chilly, but that wasn’t why Aric kept his cloak wrapped tightly about him. He did it because the cloak felt like a sort of armor. He knew there was no logic to that notion—armor wouldn’t help him if he was going to drown—but it helped settle his mind. In fact, he found himself surprisingly undisturbed by the news of his impending death. For a year now, he’d been expecting Gray to dream about him, and he meant what he’d said to Gray the previous night. It had a very good year, far better than he’d ever have dreamed possible. The only painful part had been Gray’s captivity, and now that was over. Aric’s only remaining worry was ridding Gray of his dreams and ensuring that he stayed free and secure.
And it was those goals that Aric considered as he led Gray through Racinas. He was also considering a change of plan. His original idea had been to visit the Vale and then see if he could arrange transport to the west. He’d read in a library book that there was a road through the forest—rough but passable, except in winter—that skirted the northern edge of the kingdom and eventually led to Freanas, the small and fairly isolated kingdom to the northwest. He had some silver left, which would probably last them a while if he was careful. And after that… well, he’d hoped that he’d be able to find some way to support them both.
Of course, that idea had been based on the assumption that Gray would want to stay with him once the nightmares were gone and the crown was no longer in pursuit. But maybe Gray would have had enough of Aric by then. If that was the case, Aric’s heart would break, but he’d understand. And before he left he’d make sure Gray had someplace comfortable to live and some way to bring bread to the table, because until he managed those things, Gray was still his charge.
But now there was the dream, which threw everything into question. If Aric did change course as Gray had suggested, would that avert his death? Or would the new course be the route that led him to disaster? It was too confusing to think about, and as they neared the outskirts of town, Aric decided to just let it be. He would do his best and accept whatever fate the gods gave him.
And then a wicked thought struck him. If he was meant to die anyway, why not take advantage of that fact?
“S-slow down! I can’t keep up with your long l-legs.”
Aric hadn’t realized he’d hurried his pace; he made the effort to ease up. “Sorry. I was distracted.”
“Wh-what are we passing now? It sounds quieter.”
Aric hadn’t really been paying much attention to their surroundings, and now he took a look around. “We’re still on the main street. That’s the right way, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Straight from the h-harbor and through the c-city. The locals say Ebra herself m-made the road, after her husband Ismundo cured her in the Vale. She l-led him to the sea and to a sh-ship made of ice, and they sailed together to the heavens.”
“I’d forgotten that part of the story.”
Gray smiled. “There’s m-more. The other gods wouldn’t let Ismundo in because he was only human. So Ebra g-gave him half her immortality.”
“What would someone do with half immortality?”
“L-live a very, v-very long time,” Gray answered with a chuckle.
“But if Ebra gave him half, does that mean she’d die someday? Gods aren’t supposed to die.”
“I suppose she decided it’s b-better to live a shorter time with someone you love than l-live forever without him.”
“Oh,” Aric said. He could understand that. He pulled his left arm just slightly closer to his body, so that more of Gray was touching him. “There are mostly just houses here. Wood houses with painted trim and little gardens in front. They’re pretty.”
“I remember. It’s a p-pretty town. I w-wanted more excitement when I was a boy, but afterward I th-th
ought it would have been a nice place to live.”
For a brief moment, Aric entertained a happy vision of sharing one of the neat little houses with Gray—maybe that one over there, with the fancy red scrollwork under the windows and the little grape arbor off to the side. Gray would get used to sleeping on a mattress again, and Aric would have a bath installed somewhere. Aric would find some way to make a living; his missing hand would be less of a handicap now that he could read. Gray could spend every day out of doors, charming the neighbors, learning his way around Racinas as well as he’d once known his cell. And Gray would sleep every night through, his only dreams sweet ones.
It seemed like so little to want.
“Do you think the king’s men are far behind us?” Aric asked, even though he didn’t want to.
“D-don’t know. People will have seen us walking to the docks and boarding the Ouragan.”
Aric sighed. “I wish I was a little less conspicuous.”
“Nothing to be done about it. When they learned we were on the Ouragan they’ll have kn-known we were bound for Racinas. They’ll likely have f-followed in one of the royal caravels.”
“Is that bad?” Aric had been too sick to pick up any nautical knowledge during the journey from Tellomer.
“They’re f-faster than the Ouragan.”
Aric tried to comfort himself with the thought that he and Gray had probably had many hours’ head start—the Ouragan had sailed before noon, and Gray’s absence likely hadn’t been noticed until well after dinner. And even then, it might have taken the guards some time to trace the escape route. But he couldn’t help glance behind them, half expecting to see men in scarlet-and-cream uniforms running up the street.
But no pursuers appeared, at least not yet. The houses gradually became more widely scattered, with the gardens around them looking more like small farms. People were digging at the soil, pulling up weeds, and planting seeds. They gave Aric and Gray mildly curious glances, but nothing more. Doubtless they were accustomed to desperate-looking types on the way to beg favors at the Vale. Aric noticed that the rumors he’d heard seemed to be true: the residents of Racinas were very attractive, with the same broad, sharp cheekbones and sunshine-colored hair as Gray and Petrus the whore. He wondered where Gray’s mother had lived and what her family had been like. Were some of Gray’s relatives still in the city?