“The Queen is loaning us one,” Felix chimed. “Though, honestly, I think she’s just angling for me to write a song about her.”
“We’ll think it over,” Scorch promised, ushering Merric and Felix towards the door, but before they left, Merric patted his shoulder and smiled warmly.
He leaned in close and said, “I told you he wouldn’t leave.”
“Yes, yes, you are very wise. I’ll see you after I’ve had ample time to bask in your divine wisdom.”
Merric laughed as he disappeared into his room, but Felix turned one last time to look at Scorch. He fixed him with a knowing smile, and Scorch gave him a little wave.
When he turned around, Vivid was trading quiet words with Audrey, and he must have said something funny, because her eye was twinkling with amusement by the time they parted. She strolled out the door, pausing only long enough to twirl a dagger threateningly and whisper to Scorch, “Remember what I said,” and then she was gone.
Scorch closed the door and took a deep breath.
Vivid spoke first. “If you need time alone to think about—”
“No,” Scorch interrupted, turning to find Vivid right there, right in front of him. “I don’t need to think about it. I don’t want to go back to the Guild, and I don’t want to work for the Queen.”
“You don’t,” Vivid stated plainly, gazing up at Scorch with his amethyst eyes and his fierce, beautiful face.
“It’s been tiring work, being alive,” Scorch said. Ever since he’d woken up with Vivid in his arms, he’d been mulling over the same thought. “I’ve had enough of guardians and queens and people who want to kill me.”
“You have.”
“I want to disappear with you. At least for a little while.”
Vivid hooked his fingers in Scorch’s trousers and pulled him close. “Where do you want to go?”
“Anywhere,” Scorch said, shaking his head. “With you.”
Vivid scratched his fingers over the scruff of Scorch’s cheek. “You won’t know what to do with yourself if you’re not busy being idiotically heroic.”
“I’m sure I can think of other ways to fill my time that don’t involve either of us almost dying. Or actually dying.” Vivid’s hands were in his hair, on his neck, distracting him. “We could, erm, go east and,” Vivid kissed him, “and,” Vivid kissed him again, “and do all kinds of non-heroic things.” He put his arms around Vivid’s waist and tried to convey his seriousness. “If that’s what you want.”
“I want to disappear with you,” Vivid said softly. And then, a little less softly, he added, “And I want you to stop talking.” He dragged Scorch back to the bed and did a praise-worthy job of shutting him up.
****
Later, when the sky had darkened and they’d packed bundles of food nabbed from the kitchen and a flask of Guild-brewed whiskey from the Queen’s chamber, and Scorch’s pouch from Etheridge was tucked safely in his trousers, Scorch and Vivid used their considerable stealth to sneak away, unnoticed, from the secondary residence.
They unhitched a horse from the stables—only one, because Scorch insisted it would be impolite to steal two—and rode east, Scorch’s hands snug on Vivid’s waist and Vivid’s zigzag part tickling Scorch’s nose. And even though they had no idea where they were going, Scorch knew they were headed in the right direction.
The Sun Guardian
Many a tale has been told of the Gods
And to them all our love we bestow.
For it’s in their power to give us the men
Who are heroes to us here below . . .
And whose real names we often don’t know . . .
Such a man came amongst us a few seasons past,
One whose beauty was bright as the sun.
As tall as a mountain
With muscles of steel,
And with hair as a halo gold-spun
He wooed all the townsfolk,
By his presence alone,
He took one willing lassie to bed,
But when morning came
‘Ere he’d said his goodbyes
Villains cut off the dear lady’s head.
Aghast and grief-stricken, with powerful rage
He was told by the townspeople then,
Such villains oft came
Seeking people to cage
And to fight to the death for a win.
He took up his sword and began running east,
His feet bare touched the ground as he flew,
‘Til he came to the Circle where innocent blood
Was shed for the greed of a few.
Now drawing his sword as an army of one,
He slew fifty men with his might,
And freed from the cages
The captives there held,
And led them all safely in flight.
As the morning was dawning,
He shrugged off their cheers,
Holding tears back, he’d just walked away.
And then set afire,
A villainous pyre,
Of the men who had his lover slayed.
As the flames rose, the sun rose,
And all who were there
Say it shone and made golden his head.
Like a God he thus stood,
A true hero for good
To whom no other man could compare.
And then in the blink of an eye he was gone
As if taken up by the sun,
For now, his battle was done.
For the guardian sent by the sun . . .
-- Felix the Flautist
###
T.S. Cleveland works as an artist, illustrator, and cover designer. She lives in Atlanta, GA. This is her first novel.
To contact the author, or for
information on buying prints or original art, please visit:
http://victoriaskyecleveland.com
https://www.Etsy.com/Shop/ArtbyVictoriaSkye
The Sun Guardian Page 41