by Kim Fielding
“It would be interesting to find out,” Gray said a little longingly. “Whether it’s true, I mean. Do you suppose there are truly places where magic doesn’t work or lands are so dry that rain never falls?”
“Maybe. What about some of those creatures he described? Like the one that is like a lizard but long and without legs, or those tiny fish that strip the flesh off the largest animals.”
Gray nodded pensively, and Brute squeezed his shoulder. “Do you wish we could go?” Brute asked. “Because we can if you want. I’d take you anywhere you wish.”
“No. Not when the king could chase us. We’re safe here.”
“Do you really think he’d chase us past the kingdom’s borders?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know, and I won’t risk you. I won’t make a fugitive of you.”
Brute didn’t want to be a fugitive either. Didn’t want it for either of them. But he couldn’t help but wonder how long their contentment would last.
BRUTE and Gray were finishing their lunch—fruit and grilled lamb—when they heard hoofbeats. Brute assumed more pilgrims were arriving, although most of them arrived on foot. He’d asked about that, and Kashta had explained that most people considered the journey itself to be part of the pilgrimage, so even wealthy visitors walked as a way of demonstrating their humility and devotion.
But when Brute and Gray left their hut—to wash the lunch dishes and then maybe take a walk—Brute recognized the new arrival by sight at the same time that Gray did by sound. They both froze. It was Gray who began walking again first, muttering under his breath, “Can’t hide inside forever, can we?”
Prince Aldfrid had dismounted and was leading his horse to a tree with good grazing nearby, but he must have caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned and looked at Gray and Brute, and then waited for them to approach. Even as they got closer, Brute couldn’t read the prince’s expression. Kashta and the other priests were there, however, and they didn’t look alarmed. Of course, in Brute’s experience Kashta never looked alarmed.
“You’re looking a damn sight better than when I saw you last,” Aldfrid said to Brute. “I still can’t believe you’re not dead.”
“Gray is a good healer.”
“Apparently so.”
A slightly awkward silence descended, but none of them failed to notice that Gray took hold of Brute’s arm—not for guidance or comfort, but rather in a possessive sort of way, as if he was claiming his territory. Brute liked it. He was also pleased with the realization that the prince had come alone, which meant his entire party consisted of Lord Maudit, who was still confined to a hut, and the soldier who had been left at the Vale when Aldfrid and the others returned to Tellomer. Not much of a force if the prince intended to recapture the fugitives.
It was the prince who finally broke the silence. “I need to speak with Maud for a while. But when I’m done, I’d like to talk to the two of you, if I might.”
“Fine,” Gray responded. He spun around, somehow managing to drag Brute with him, and stomped away in the opposite direction.
“I won’t let him take you,” Brute announced when they were out of the prince’s earshot.
“You don’t have to keep saving me, you know.”
“I do too.”
Gray snorted. “Well, in case you haven’t noticed, now I get to save you as well. And I won’t let him take you either.”
That settled, they went for their walk as originally planned. Spring had turned to early summer, so that the hillsides were a lush dark green, and bees and butterflies were everywhere. A hawk circled far overhead, reminding Brute that not all birds cowered in cages. Today the Vale didn’t feel confining, but he wondered if they’d feel the same when winter fell, or when the following summer rolled around. Maybe the next time the priests went to Racinas he could give them some silver and ask them to bring more books. That might help.
Gray sang as they walked. His voice was much nicer than Brute’s, clear and fine, without Brute’s usual hoarseness or tendency to wander off key. Sometimes very late at night when they lay together, limp and sated, Gray would run his fingers through Brute’s hair and softly hum lullabies. At those times Brute felt that his heart might burst from joy. But now Gray had chosen ribald tavern tunes. The two of them were on the way back to the hut—Gray was halfway through the song about the tinker and the mule—when he stopped abruptly and brought Brute’s hand to his lips for a quick, dry kiss. “I can hear you worrying,” he said. “Stop it. I think we’ll be fine. Kashta says the gods favor us.”
“But your eyes, and all those years in the cell… doesn’t sound much to me like the gods favor you.”
“But they brought you to me, didn’t they?”
Whatever answer Brute may have given was stopped when Gray tugged him down for another kiss, this one lips against lips, tongue dancing with tongue. By the time they pulled apart, they were both panting a little and their faces were flushed. “Let’s go,” Gray purred suggestively.
An excellent idea, Brute thought. But then he looked up and saw a figure standing by their hut. “Prince Aldfrid’s watching us.”
“Let him.” And to prove his point, he pulled at Brute’s hair until Brute leaned down for another scorching kiss despite the audience.
Brute didn’t have to lead Gray back. In fact, Gray walked slightly ahead, his chin up and his arms swinging comfortably. It was almost impossible to believe that this confident, handsome man was the same person who’d huddled in chains, mute and filthy, only a little over a year ago.
Prince Aldfrid nodded a greeting to them as they approached, then apparently realizing that Gray couldn’t see, gave a soft hello.
Gray grunted a sort of reply.
“Will you sit with me now? I’ve brought wine from Racinas.” The prince held up a bottle of red liquid. “It’s the best. They bury it in a clay jar for six months and then age it for another eighteen months in an oak barrel.”
With another grunt, Gray pushed past him and settled on a log that he and Brute had recently dragged in front of their hut. He grabbed Brute’s hand and pulled him down next to him, which left the prince to shrug philosophically and sit on the slightly damp ground. “Have you glasses?” Aldfrid asked.
“This isn’t the palace dining room, Friddy.”
After a little struggle, the prince uncorked the bottle. He took a healthy swallow, humming with appreciation. Then he passed the bottle to Brute. The wine was sweet and strong and by far the best he’d ever tasted. He had a second mouthful before handing it to Gray. Gray sniffed it before he drank, and then he gave the bottle back to Aldfrid.
“How’s Maud?” Gray asked.
“He’s… getting better. He can walk a few steps. The priest says he’ll grow stronger with exercise.” Aldfrid sighed. “He’ll always limp badly. But at least he’s alive. Thanks to Brute.”
“My giant saves everyone, doesn’t he?”
“I suppose he does.” The prince frowned. “Why haven’t you tried to heal Maud? By the looks of it, you’d do a better job than the priest.”
“Because just thinking about that little ass makes me seethe with anger. I couldn’t possibly get in the right frame of mind for healing. I’d probably end up killing him if I tried.”
Prince Aldfrid looked startled by those words. “He was your friend once.”
“That was a very long time ago. He never lifted a finger to help me when I was in the Brown Tower. He was probably thrilled to have me out of the way so he could set his claws more firmly into you.” Gray reached out demandingly until he was handed the bottle again. He had a swig and then rolled the bottle in his palms.
“He didn’t… it wasn’t like that, Gray. He couldn’t go up against my father’s decree any better than I could, and it hurt him to see you….” He cleared his throat. “It hurt us both.”
Gray frowned and didn’t answer.
Prince Aldfrid looked as if he might grab the wine back but then seemed to change his mind.
“It’s my father I wanted to talk to you about, actually.”
“The old bastard clamoring to have me dragged back?”
“He was.” The prince scratched at his beard. “He was not at all happy that I returned without you.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” Gray said with a sneer, then handed the bottle to Brute.
Prince Aldfrid chewed at his lip for a moment and then sat up straighter. “I told him everything—about how you’d been mistreated for years, about how Brute had cared for you. I told him I gave Brute the key.”
That last sentence must have surprised Gray. He made a sudden, explosive noise and tilted his head a bit. Brute was surprised as well, and tried to picture the king’s reaction to hearing about the criminal exploits of an ugly giant. He decided he needed more wine and drank some, and then was startled to find the bottle nearly empty. He gave it to the prince, who finished it off and set it aside.
“I told him what happened in the woods,” Aldfrid said. “How Brute saved Maud and then you saved Brute. How you’ve lost your gift of Sight. How… how you love each other, as deeply as my father loved my mother. And I told him that I would not be responsible for imprisoning either of you, and I’d stand in the way of anyone who tried.”
“Did you, now?” Gray said, sounding more bemused than anything. “And how did His Majesty respond?”
The prince barked a short laugh. “Not well. He had a royal tantrum, actually, and for a while, I thought I’d be the next one locked up in the Brown Tower. But a few hours later he had me fetched back, and he was… a lot calmer. He said he was pleased I’d finally shown some courage. How’d he put it? ‘Never thought until today you had balls, son.’ I told him I’d been doubting it myself.”
For the first time, Brute detected a bit of fondness in the way Gray regarded his former lover. As if to keep Brute from feeling jealous, Gray set a hand on Brute’s knee and squeezed. But it was to the prince that he spoke, very softly, “I could have told you that you had it in you. You just never had a chance to notice it.”
“No, I guess I didn’t,” Aldfrid answered with a wry smile. “I don’t notice half of what goes on around me. Never have. Anyway, my father has had a change of heart. He issued a new decree, Gray. You’ve been pardoned. Brute as well. You’re both free to leave the Vale and go wherever you wish, and you’ll never be locked up again.”
The news made Gray go so still that Brute wasn’t sure he was breathing. For Brute, the words were like the sudden roar of a fire on a cold winter day, like thick stew in a starving belly, like a storm ending and being replaced with blinding sun.
“Where will we go?” Gray asked very quietly.
Aldfrid answered with a smile. “Anywhere. Stay here, move on. Come back to the palace if you want. We could always use a healer, and Brute’s friends are missing him. We’d find you better accommodations this time.”
Gray seemed to be considering the options, but to Brute, their destination wasn’t important. They were both truly free, and they were together, and that was everything in the world.
Finally, Gray nodded. “We’re going to have to think about this, my giant and I. We might want to travel the world. But there’s one more thing you have to do.”
“Oh?” Aldfrid said.
“Stop calling him Brute. His name is Aric.”
Prince Aldfrid’s smile grew. He rose gracefully to his feet and gave a deep bow. “My apologies. Aric, I would be very pleased if you would count me as a friend.”
Due to the lump in his throat, Aric could only nod.
Gray stood as well and pulled Aric up with him. “Go visit with Maud, Friddy. He’s probably half-crazy after weeks in that hut.” He smiled wickedly. “Ask Kashta to have a talk with you about meditation.”
And without even a nod to the puzzled prince, Gray dragged Aric into the hut and tugged the fabric door closed. Unfastening Aric’s shirt, Gray whispered, “Lie down with me, my love, and let’s celebrate our freedom. And then”—his face positively glowed with wonder—“we have our lives to plan.”
Acknowledgments
THIS story is one of those that has been churning around in my head for a long time. I’d like to thank some of the people who helped me get it out of my head and into your hands.
I am grateful to my friends Sheree Adams, Jan M. Mike, and Ginny Palmieri for reading drafts of this novel and for reassuring me that other people might love Brute too. Their feedback helped make this a better story. My deepest thanks to Karen Witzke, who polished off the rough edges and made Brute shine. And, as always, my thanks to Dennis, Allison, and Quinn—my cheerleaders, my support staff, and the lights of my life.
About the Author
KIM FIELDING is very pleased every time someone calls her eclectic. She has migrated back and forth across the western two-thirds of the United States and currently lives in California, where she long ago ran out of bookshelf space. She’s a university professor who dreams of being able to travel and write full-time. She also dreams of having two perfectly behaved children, a husband who isn’t obsessed with football, and a house that cleans itself. Some dreams are more easily obtained than others.
Kim can be found on her blogs:
http://kfieldingwrites.blogspot.com/
http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4105707.Kim_Fielding/blog
and on Facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Kim-Fielding/286938444652579
Her e-mail is [email protected].
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