by Kim Fielding
Gray took Aric’s arm. “The priests will let us stay here for the night.”
“But if the king’s men come—”
“Aric, there’s nothing for miles and miles but trees. Do you want to try traveling through the forest in the dark?”
Aric didn’t. It was bad enough one of them couldn’t see. So in the thickening twilight he took Gray back through the ring of trees, to where Kashta was waiting with his arms crossed on his chest. “It sounded like you were killing one another! Have you any idea how that would desecrate this holy place?”
“We’re both alive,” Gray answered. “But my giant is an idiot. A sneaky idiot.”
Kashta raised an eyebrow, and Aric thought he saw the corner of the priest’s mouth twitch. “Oh. Well, I take it you have completed your supplication.”
“Yes. Could we sleep here tonight?”
“Of course. We have a meal for you as well.” He took them back toward the cluster of little buildings. There was still no sign of the other priests, but Aric could see smoke rising from two of the buildings and into the purple sky. The building they entered wasn’t the one where they’d been purified, but it was roughly the same size. It contained nothing but two blanketed mats on opposite sides of the floor, three sconces with flickering candles, and a washstand with basin, jug, and towels.
“You may push the mats together if you prefer,” Kashta said. His face definitely had the hint of a mischievous smile that time. “It is not luxurious, but I hope it will do.”
Aric nodded at him. “It’s fine. Thank you.” It was certainly nicer than Gray’s cell, and it was doubtless less vermin-infested than his old room at the White Dragon.
“Excellent. There is a latrine in back. Wait here, please, and I’ll fetch your dinner.”
Relieved that they wouldn’t have to eat with the priests—Aric had no idea how to make conversation with them—he sat on one of the mats. Gray folded himself down beside him, just close enough that their knees touched. “I feel like I could sleep for a week,” he said with a yawn. “I haven’t really slept soundly since… well, since the last time I was here.”
“Now you can.”
Gray nudged him hard. “Except now I’ll be worrying about you.”
“I can take care of myself.” He always had.
“At least the gods didn’t take your voice. I can’t imagine how we’d communicate if you had my stammer.”
“We’d find some way, I suppose.”
They were still mulling that over—or perhaps thinking about what the gods would take instead—when Kashta reentered the hut, a bit overladen. He had a big covered bowl in his hands, Aric’s and Gray’s clothing tucked under one arm, Aric’s boots shoved under the other arm, and the satchel hanging a little precariously from one shoulder. “I thought maybe you might like to get dressed again eventually,” he said with a grin. Somehow he managed to set down the bowl in front of them and put their belongings neatly in one corner, all without spilling or dropping a thing.
Whatever was in the bowl smelled wonderful, and Aric’s stomach growled loud enough to make both of the others chuckle. Gray reached out, trying to find the lid, but Aric’s conscience prickled and he grabbed Gray’s wrist.
“Um,” Aric began, looking up at the smiling priest. “You’ve been very kind to us.”
Kashta shrugged. “This is why I am here.”
“But… I think I have to tell you something.”
“I am a priest. You may admit anything to me.”
Gray pulled his wrist away and set his palm on Aric’s thigh. “It’s not that kind of confession.”
Kashta still didn’t look alarmed, although he did have his head cocked slightly with interest.
Aric took a deep breath. “There might be—there probably is someone chasing us. The king’s soldiers. We’re fugitives, I guess.”
“Did you do something so terrible?”
“No. I… I stole Gray. He was a prisoner.”
“Ah.” The priest’s handsome face remained serene. “And today you did not ask the gods to do something awful to the men who are chasing you, so that you might get away?”
Aric was shocked at the very thought. “Of course not! We don’t want to hurt them. I’m sure they think they’re doing the right thing.”
Kashta nodded. “I see. The Vale is a sanctuary. No person who has entered this place may be lawfully harmed or taken by force, not even by the king’s men. At least, not so long as the person remains within the Vale.”
Warm relief washed through Aric’s body. “But won’t you get in trouble for letting us stay?”
“No. Our calling and function is to welcome pilgrims and to assist them in their visit. It is not our place to choose who may enter. After all, some come to the Vale to ask the gods forgiveness or to atone for their wrongs. We cannot turn away anyone who wishes to come here, and the king is well aware of this.” He gave a very slight bow. “But I thank you for your concern. Now, eat before your food is cold, and then sleep. In the morning we can discuss your options.”
Aric liked that, the idea of having options. It seemed as if he’d had very few before. But even as he relaxed his shoulders, he was hit by a sudden insight, and he knew what he had to do. He winced a little, which made Kashta frown. “Are you well, sir?”
“Just tired. And a little sore.”
“Very well. Enjoy your meal. Good night.” The priest left, allowing the fabric over the hut’s opening to fall closed behind him.
The bowl proved to contain a very generous helping of something that looked a little like Gray’s mush but tasted much, much better. Two spoons had been provided, but Gray seemed to be amused by feeding Aric himself. His aim wasn’t perfect, and some of the food ended up on Aric’s chin or cheeks instead, but Gray licked it off. By the time their meal was finished, both men had erections visible through the thin silk fabric of their breechclouts.
“Is it disrespectful to have sex here, do you think?” Aric asked as he cleared the bowl away.
“If it were, I don’t think the priest would have given permission to push the mats together. I’m pretty certain he knows what we are to one another.”
“Good.” But getting ready for bed seemed to take forever. Aric led them to the latrine and then back to the hut. He moved the mats and, almost reverently, untwisted the silk from around Gray’s hips. He wasn’t sure what to do with the length of fabric, so he ended up folding it and setting it aside. Then he pushed Gray gently into a sitting position on the nearer mat and used a dampened bit of one of the worn, soft towels to clean him: his face and hands first and then his feet, which looked a little red and slightly blistered, but not too bad overall. He took his comb out of the satchel and untangled Gray’s hair. He considered shaving him as well, but Gray was beginning to slump with exhaustion, so he skipped it. His own ablutions went much more quickly. When his strip of silk was folded as well, he maneuvered Gray into place on the mats and lay down beside him.
Before Aric met Gray, he had known only one kind of sex: the fast and businesslike kind with the boy whores of Tellomer. Over the past several months, however, he’d learned that there were as many flavors to the physical act as there were spices in the royal kitchens—a thousand ways two bodies could fit together, with movements urgent or sleepy, playful or demanding, rough as splintered wood or soft as silk. It was a revelation to him still.
Tonight’s lovemaking was bittersweet, Gray’s earlier anger still putting an edge to things, but their mutual awareness of a price to be paid making them savor every moment as if it were the last. Their completions came in long sighs rather than shouts, and when it was over, Aric found himself feeling empty and full at the same time.
They kissed tenderly, lazily, and stroked at sensitized flesh until they finally fell still in one another’s arms.
A SOFT rain had begun to fall while they slept. It was hardly more than a mist, but Aric was still grateful for his boots and cloak. He looked back from the doorway of the li
ttle hut, just barely able to make out the shape of his lover sleeping under the woolen blanket. He wished he had paper and ink so that he could write Gray a letter. Surely one of the priests would be able to read it to him. Stay here, the letter would say. Stay safe. The priests will give you sanctuary and find you work to do, and the Vale will be a pleasant place to live. I love you, Gray Leynham. Be well.
But there was no paper and ink. So Aric left all he had: his satchel with his extra clothes, the leather purse that still contained silver coins, and his lover in a deep and dreamless sleep.
Chapter 24
NO MOON was visible to light Aric’s way, but he found the road with only a little difficulty, and from there it was only a matter of keeping his feet on the hard-packed dirt and climbing back up the slope. Soon the forest had closed around him again. He’d never been in such complete darkness before, never been so entirely alone. He drew the cloak around himself and began to hum, but the sound of it only seemed to emphasize the misty silence, and he soon stopped.
He chided himself for feeling lonely. He’d spent well over two decades without companionship, and he should have been familiar with the feeling. But over the past months, he’d become accustomed to Gray’s presence. Even early on, when Gray was mostly silent and they very rarely touched, Aric had known that Gray was there, listening in the darkness. Now he felt as if a piece of himself had been torn away, something important that would slowly kill him by its loss. Or not so slowly, perhaps.
He didn’t have a particular destination in mind. He just figured he’d walk until he met up with the king’s men—and if he didn’t find them by the time he got back to Racinas, he’d just wait for them at the harbor. They should reward him for saving them part of the journey, he thought wryly.
But the drizzle became a shower, and the shower became a pelting rain, and even the thick branches overhead didn’t give him much protection from the downpour. His joke to Gray about drowning in a puddle suddenly seemed less impossible. To make matters worse, he’d begun the long descent back toward the sea—thunder rumbling over the din of the rain—and his footing grew treacherous on the slick mud of the roadway. So when he came to the clearing with the decrepit former inn, he decided that he’d try to wait out the weather with a roof over his head.
It wasn’t until he entered the building that he realized how little roof there really was, the holes illuminated by occasional flashes of lightning. The forest had been eager to reclaim its territory, and the structure was barely holding together. Standing in what once must have been the inn’s public room, he could look up through gaping holes in the ceiling and catch glimpses of the rooms above. The amount of rain that was falling onto his head told him that those rooms had little in the way of intact ceilings either. Fallen timbers and pieces of broken furniture lay littered about, and everything was strewn with broken boughs, moldering leaves, and birds’ nests. The entire building looked as if it might fall down with one good gust of wind. It was a forlorn place where ghosts seemed to hover just out of sight, and if it hadn’t been raining so very hard he would have turned around and gone back outside.
Aric moved as carefully as possible, seeking a relatively dry and clean spot to lie down. He didn’t want his clumsy, oversized body to knock against one of the rotted support pillars that were barely keeping the structure upright. He found a place in one corner where part of the upper floor had completely collapsed, forming a sort of cave of rubble. Spider webs clung to his face, and he just barely fit inside. It wasn’t until he’d crawled in with the cloak hunched around him that he caught a pungent animal smell and realized that other creatures might have sought shelter here as well. Luckily, nothing came growling out of the night to contest its den.
He wrapped the cloak around himself as tightly as possible and lay down. Although he’d grown used to sleeping on floors, he wasn’t remotely comfortable. Maybe it was because this was the first time in many months that he was sleeping with empty arms.
The rain stopped, and exhaustion caught up with him. He drifted into a restless sleep, hearing the wind whenever he came near wakefulness, but too tired to care.
SUNLIGHT, pouring through the building’s holes, awakened him. He crawled out of his makeshift den, stretched unhappily, and scratched at his stubbled cheeks. His muscles—sore from Gray’s pummeling as well as the hard floor—protested every movement, and as usual, his stomach was quick to remind him that it was empty.
But the morning was warm and breezy, and birds were singing. He wondered what Gray was doing just then. Had one of the priests helped him find his way to the latrine and given him breakfast? Was he still raging over his abandonment, or had he realized already that Aric’s departure was the best choice? Even now, was he considering flirting with Kashta, who Aric was pretty certain would not be averse to the idea?
Aric glowered, first at the idea of Gray finding another lover, and then at himself for being so petty. He wanted Gray to be happy, and he wanted someone to look after him. Whatever claims Aric had tentatively had on Gray Leynham were now null and void.
“Stop it!” he said out loud, as fiercely as he could. He should have known better these past months—a brute like him had no happy endings ahead of him, no life filled with love. He never should have even dreamed of it.
Brute left the building and stood in the clearing. The sky was cloudless, and the sun was high. The gentle wind moved the hem of his cloak and made a soft sound through the trees. He’d slept much later than he’d intended, but he took time to wander around to the back of the building. Weeds and saplings had taken over a courtyard, and a stable was completely in ruins, but there was a cistern with a tin cup attached to a rusty chain. He filled the cup and drank it down three times, hoping to placate his hunger a little bit. Then he emptied his bladder against a tree, drank some more water, and returned to the front of the building.
He decided he wouldn’t walk to Racinas that day. Despite his late awakening, he was weary. He found himself an almost dry spot on the inn’s sagging porch, then sat up against the wall and tried not to think at all. It was a surprisingly difficult task for a stupid man like him, and in the end, he sang to himself instead. Not his mother’s lullabies, but the bawdy songs he’d heard at the White Dragon, the boastful chants the palace guards liked to bellow, the sprightly tunes that the sailors on the Ouragan had sung. His voice boomed across the clearing, as hoarse and off-key as always.
So it was that he didn’t hear the men until they were nearly upon him. In fact, he barely had time to scramble to his feet when an arrow came flying at him and shot into his left shoulder. He shouted with pain and surprise and yanked the arrow out. Another came at him, missing him by inches and thudding into the wooden wall.
“Stop!” bellowed a voice. “Dammit, stop shooting him!”
Brute growled at the approaching soldiers but didn’t move. The soldiers wore light armor with ornaments in scarlet and cream. There were eight of them, six still on their horses and two already dismounted. One of those was the archer, who held his bow at the ready but didn’t let loose another arrow. Brute didn’t recognize the soldiers. They looked more hardened than the guards he’d known at the palace, and they stared at him with disgust.
But Brute did recognize two of the mounted men. One of them was very small, his clothing meticulously neat despite his travels. And the other was tall, with yellow hair and a matching beard.
“Your Highness,” Brute said through teeth gritted against the pain. “Lord Maudit.”
It was Prince Aldfrid who spoke, and his voice was softer than Brute expected. “Where is he? What have you done with the prisoner?”
Brute shook his head. “He’s safe. But I’m here. Take me. Punish me in his place.”
Lord Maudit started to say something, but the prince held up a hand to silence him. “It doesn’t work like that, Brute. You can’t pay for what he did.” He enunciated every word very slowly and carefully, as if speaking to a small child.
“He�
�s paid enough. He’s suffered for years, and nothing you do to him will change the past. His misery won’t bring back your mother.”
Prince Aldfrid flinched and had to look away for a moment. When he looked back, his eyes were full of sorrow. “This wasn’t…. I shouldn’t have involved you in this. You’re a good man, aren’t you?”
“I’m a monster. You can see for yourself. Take me back to Tellomer and do what you want with me. I’m sure the crowds will be pleased to see a monster beaten and bloodied. Everyone will think how brave you are, how strong, and nobody will care that a man they’ve largely forgotten has escaped his chains.”
The prince hopped gracefully off his horse and walked toward Brute. “I wish… I wish I could just let him go. I do. I loved him once.” He glanced back at Lord Maudit, who was glaring furiously at him. “If it were my choice, he’d have been free long ago. But my father—”
“Did you even try to stand up to your father? You say you loved Gray, but you’ve gone on with your merry life knowing that he was in torment just a few minutes’ walk from your rooms.” Brute couldn’t believe he was speaking to a prince like this, but his shoulder burned and he was tired and angry, and he had nothing left to lose. “If someone I loved was suffering like that, I’d spend every minute of every day doing whatever I could to free him.”
“I did,” the prince said in a whisper.
“No. I did.”
Prince Aldfrid’s face crumpled, and for a moment, Brute was certain the man was going to cry. But then his chin firmed. “I am the king’s son. I have more obligation than anyone to obey the law. Tell me where he is, Brute. You saved my life once, and I know you meant well with Gray. I’ll beg my father to be lenient with you.”
“I don’t fucking care what you do to me!” Brute roared. The soldiers touched the hilts of their swords nervously, and the archer raised his bow. Brute ignored them all. “I won’t let you put him back in that cell!”