by Kirby Crow
“No,” Scarlet said resentfully. “I don’t want that either. But I thought you said you were afraid.”
“I am, but we must begin somewhere, yes?”
Scarlet fell silent, staring at him. The shirt lay forgotten in his lap and a slow, bright blush crept across his fair skin.
Liall wanted to smile but held it back, knowing it would offend him. Poor Scarlet, he thought. You are no child, but sometimes I think you have no idea what effect you have on me, how one glance of you in your nightshirt, stretching and knuckling the sleep out of your eyes, can make me burn for you.
Liall often woke at night with the sharp scent of his own arousal in his nose and his member hard and moist on his belly, begging for notice. Attention he never gave it, for he was too aware of Scarlet being so near, sleeping next to him but inviolate as the moon through their mutual trust. He had a foolish fear that Scarlet would catch him pleasuring himself. It was a boy’s fear, and silly. If Scarlet were any other man, he would not have hesitated to relieve himself whenever he needed to, albeit with a small amount of discretion, but this was Scarlet.
When Scarlet dressed, Liall would gaze hungrily for a flash of white limb being slid into the hateful clothing that hid it from him. He longed to claim that skin and cover it with kisses, to draw sighs of pleasure from Scarlet’s lips and make him clutch at him and beg. Alas, still a dream. Aside from the brief embraces since they met up in Volkovoi, they had been as chaste as brothers with each other.
“What is the matter?” Liall pressed. “Do you not want to kiss me?”
“Yes,” Scarlet answered at once.
“Then perhaps you no longer desire me?” Liall teased. “Have you changed your mind so quickly?”
Scarlet threw the shirt he was mending aside. “Don’t be a want-wit!”
“Then perhaps you are ashamed of me. Too good to dirty yourself with a Kasiri.”
Scarlet gaped at his unfairness. “Liall, I swear to you, that’s not true at all.”
Liall shrugged and left off watching Scarlet to give his attention to the ceiling, watching the little flame on the smaller candle-lamp sway with the waves. After a few moments, Scarlet rose and came to sit beside him. Liall felt warm fingers threading with his and risked a look at Scarlet. A line of remorse etched deep across Scarlet’s forehead, and there was pain in his eyes
“Gods, look at you. I was only joking,” Liall sighed. Scarlet was too young by far. He had known that from the moment they met. Scarlet had no experience in love or the complicated dance of power between couples, and Liall could have easily manipulated him. He might even have done it, if not for his own guilt over the way they had met.
“I’m sorry,” Scarlet said contritely. “I don’t mean to make you feel...”
Liall sighed and put his fingers to Scarlet’s lips. “Hush, the fault is mine.” Yes, the fault is mine, he thought. It is a great responsibility for a man my age to take a lover so green and youthful, for I have the knowledge and skill to do you harm or manipulate you terribly, and I must never use it. I must protect you always. Yet... one kiss cannot hurt.
“No, it’s not, I—”
Liall slipped his hand around the back of Scarlet’s neck and pulled him closer. “I said,” he repeated, his breath gusting over Scarlet’s mouth, “hush.”
After the first heated touch of skin to skin, mouth to mouth, Scarlet exhaled in a shaking sigh and his tense body relaxed, sinking against Liall. Liall wound his arms around Scarlet and rolled on the bed until Scarlet was half under him. His hand roamed over Scarlet’s shoulders and stomach, snaking down to caress the warm line of his thigh.
“Liall,” Scarlet whispered shakily, when he was allowed to breathe.
“Yes?” Liall murmured back, pressing Scarlet’s body to him deliciously, loving the feel of him, the lean slenderness and wiry muscle contrasted by the incredible softness of his skin, the silk of his hair and the full, wet mouth. Scarlet was altogether intoxicating. Liall found himself rubbing against Scarlet’s body like a cat, for that was what Scarlet reminded him of: a small, elegant cat with ready claws and sharp teeth. There was a fire building in Liall. It roared in his ears as he drowned his senses in the feel of Scarlet’s mouth, the way his lips parted to allow Liall’s tongue entrance, the way his legs opened sweetly to pillow Liall’s hips.
Liall ground against him, pushing their bodies together, stoking the melting heat in his groin, clutching and thrusting, frantically close, so very close
“Liall!”
Liall jumped back like a shot, his heart thudding. “What?”
“Can’t you hear me?”
“Hear what?” Liall wiped his mouth. He had been right on the verge, so close that the dull ache of unfulfilled passion scraped on his nerves like sand in an open wound. Scarlet’s eyes were wide and his breathing ragged, and Liall recalled suddenly—and with some shame—that all was not as he had imagined in his ardor. Scarlet’s legs hadn’t opened to him: he had thrust them apart with his knee. Scarlet’s mouth had yielded at last to his probing, but only after Liall nipped his lower lip and Scarlet yelped in surprise.
Liall looked away and recoiled to the edge of the bed, head down, breathing raggedly as he rebuilt his shattered composure. It was not easy. The same berserker rage that often took Rshani warriors into battle-madness made them intemperate lovers as well. Truly, he thought dizzily, there is a reason for our proper ways and fine speech: it hides the animal inside.
He reminded himself that Scarlet still had not realized how very unlike their races were, that the differences between Hilurin and Rshani ran deeper than skin and hair and the color of their eyes. They were a completely opposite species, at times as brutal and savage as Hilurin were aloof and cool, swift to temper and swifter to passion, and not all of it wholly controllable.
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Scarlet stammered. “I wanted you to, I just... I don’t know what happened.”
“I crave your pardon,” Liall was able to say at last, though it stuck in his throat. His bed would remain empty for a while yet. Months, maybe. Oh, Scarlet was worth it, he knew. At that moment, however, his body knew no such thing.
Scarlet touched his arm. “Liall—”
Liall jerked away. “Spare me your pity. I will not die if I do not have your touch.”
“Are you all right?”
“It will pass.”
“Are you sure, you look kind of—”
“Hell’s teeth!” Liall stood up and whirled on him. “Either bed me or leave me alone, but cease your prattle! I cannot take any more of this!”
Scarlet’s expression reflected shock and hurt, enough to make even a cruel man think twice, but Liall was beyond caring. He stormed to the door and flung it open. The icy blast that rushed in doused the candle and put a fresh damper on his lust, but not his temper.
“I need to walk before my head explodes!” he snarled. “Serves me right for taking up with a boy!”
He left, slamming the door behind him so loud that the timbers shook.
Scarlet sat rigidly as the cabin door had slammed, feeling very much as if Liall had struck him physically. Liall hinted at love, but would not say it. Liall asked for a kiss and then tried to take more than that, and when Scarlet refused, Liall dared to call him the child!
Slowly, Scarlet’s hurt faded into anger. He began to suspect they each wanted very different things from each other: Liall seemed to want only pleasure, while Scarlet wanted much more than that. Still, he thought angrily, no matter how much I care for him, he has no right to push me into pleasing him, as if I were a whore.
Scarlet still harbored a horror of being viewed like the boys for sale in the souk: a pretty piece of meat, fit only for the bed or the block. When Liall refused to answer his questions, it only intensified his growing suspicion that Liall did not consider him a suitable mate.
A suitable bedmate, perhaps, he thought sourly. But still, have I been any more honest than he has? I’ve hinted and looked, but did I ever say I cared for him?<
br />
Cursing himself, Scarlet drew on his coat and gloves. Opening the abused door, he ducked out into the icy wind, shielding his eyes while trying to discern which way Liall went. Cold sleet drove out of a black sky, making his eyes water. He saw no sign of Liall near the inner railing, and the deck bucked worse than any Byzantur ferry ever had. He ventured out to the companionway, holding on to the wooden rails and shivering, and worked his way down the narrow walk. As he reached the end of it, he dimly recognized Liall standing braced by the bulwark watching the sea churn, and he was not alone. The young mariner with the pale hair stood very close to him. As Scarlet watched, the mariner took Liall’s hand and bowed over it, pressing a kiss to Liall’s skin.
The cold wind roared in Scarlet’s ears and battered him. He had seen that mariner watching Liall with desire before.
As Scarlet stood, locked in hesitation of whether to stay or flee, he saw Liall’s hand come up and briefly cup the young mariner’s cheek. The mariner’s eyes looked past Liall’s shoulder and locked with Scarlet’s momentarily, and he smiled in gloating triumph.
Liall, seeing that his companion’s gaze was elsewhere, turned and saw Scarlet watching them. Scarlet whirled around and quickly fought his way through the wind back to the cabin, his heart thudding.
Rutting bastard! Let him bed the stinking mariner if that’s all he’s after! He slammed the poor cabin door hard enough to rattle the frame and stood there shaking and breathing hard. Once inside, he felt trapped and angry.
The door opened and Liall was there. “Scarlet,” he said, as he closed the door firmly behind him. “I do not know what you think, but—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Scarlet broke in, fighting to keep his voice steady. “Just don’t say anything.” He turned his face to the wall for fear Liall could see how much he was affected, how much seeing Liall touch the mariner had wounded him. Whatever else, he did not want Liall to see him that way. He picked up his pack and sat with his back against the wall, pretending to mend a strong strap on the side that needed no mending, determined not to look at Liall.
After a long moment, Liall crossed the cabin toward him. His fingers touched Scarlet’s hair lightly.
“Scarlet,” he said, a note of chastisement in his voice. “I do not deny that Oleksei sought my company in his bed, but if you think I would cast you aside thus without even a word, you are mistaken.”
Oleksei. Scarlet seethed. The name was alien and beautiful, nothing at all like his. He kept mute, afraid to say anything at all, for fear of shaming himself or making an already tangled matter worse. Liall sighed and muttered in Sinha, and then the bunk creaked as he lay down again.
Scarlet stayed awake for perhaps an hour after he heard Liall’s breathing even out into the rhythm of sleep. Eventually, the rolling of the ship soothed his mind and he slept, waking only when a swell tossed the ship and he thumped his head hard against the cabin wall. He opened his eyes to darkness and tried to stand, finding he could not. The movement of the ship robbed him of any proper sense of direction. For a moment, he could not recall where he was, and then strong hands caught hold of him and an arm went around his waist, lifting him to his feet.
Still dazed and disoriented, he held on. The cabin was cold as death, and Scarlet realized he had let the fire burn out.
Liall’s voice was close to his ear. “I have you,” he rumbled, his voice as steady as the ship was not. “Are you all right?”
“Just bumped m’head,” Scarlet said blearily. He blinked a few times in the utter blackness to clear his vision, and the corners of the cabin took shape in the form of blurred, silvery lines. He could see the bunk now, and the shape of Liall’s body next to him.
“Do not move. I will find the lantern.”
“I can see,” Scarlet said.
“In this?” Liall’s voice registered surprise. “How?”
Scarlet held on to Liall as another swell tipped the cabin alarmingly. Blind himself, Liall urged him over to the bunk. Scarlet lay down without protest, not even bothering to take off his boots. Liall settled into the bunk next to him and Scarlet huddled against the welcome warmth, wondering if Liall even felt the cold. He never seemed to, and certainly he never complained.
“Rough seas,” Liall murmured. One strong arm curled around Scarlet’s back, drawing him closer to Liall’s chest.
Scarlet had a thought that Liall might be referring to more than the actual water. “Yes,” he agreed quietly. He was glad Liall did not question him further about his sight. Most Hilurin had an innate ability to see well in dark, which accounted for much of their skill at navigating roads and rivers. It was just one more piece of evidence that pointed to how different he was from Liall, and how far apart their races were.
Liall placed his palm against Scarlet’s face. “You’re freezing,” he commented, and tugged the heavy blanket up around them both.
“I fell asleep. The brazier burned out.”
“We will light it again in the morning. This will do for now.” He rubbed Scarlet’s arms through the blankets.
Their hands brushed, and Scarlet felt Liall’s fingers lacing with his. Liall’s hands trembled a bit, and Scarlet realized suddenly that he was not the only one in that cabin who was worried and afraid. Liall carries his own set of fears, he thought, wondering. They may be different from mine, but not lesser.
He felt Liall press a quick, chaste kiss to his temple. “I am sorry for my behavior earlier. It will not happen again.”
Scarlet wondered what he meant by that exactly. Wouldn’t try to touch him again, or wouldn’t get mad when he was refused?
“Go back to sleep,” Liall whispered, lulling like the sea.
The next day was brief and bright, windy but without the fierce gales that had harried the ship northward for a solid week. Wind still caught in the huge white sails and filled them, driving the ship ever northwards, but the dim sun—a small, fuzzy ball of yellow light veiled in white mist—gave the illusion of warmth. With his red pedlar’s coat buttoned tight, Scarlet found a spot on the deck to soak in it. Liall had told him they would soon be entering the Great North Sea, and once they were there, the sun would vanish entirely and shroud them in blue twilight that would not fade, but endure for months. Although Scarlet could not imagine a world without a sun, the ever-shortening days seemed to bear out the truth of Liall’s words.
Liall was restless, working with the mariners when they would allow and helping with various chores. When he joined Scarlet on the deck at last, his mood was bored and out of sorts.
“Byzans are sun lizards,” he said as he stood beside Scarlet. “Enjoy it while you can, for soon the sun will be a memory to us.”
“If you say so,” Scarlet muttered. “I still don’t see how the world goes on without a sun. How do you know when to sleep?”
“You get used to it.” Liall held out his hand. “Come, you need exercise. You learned knives from your travels in the caravan, you said? A swordmaster, I presume. I saw some of that in the alley at Volkovoi, but you must show me what you can really do.”
“The man who taught me was not a master,” Scarlet said as Liall grasped his hand and hauled him to his feet. “Rannon was a good fighter, but I’ve never had any real training.”
Liall nodded thoughtfully. “We will mend that lack in Rshan.” He looked out over the sea. “Perhaps twenty days more and you will see the land of my birth. Rshan na Ostre, the Land of Night.” He seemed depressed at the prospect.
Scarlet tugged his red woolen cap down around his ears as a gust of wind battered them. He was very aware of the mariners working nearby, many of whom had stopped to stare at him as he chatted with Liall.
Liall followed the direction of Scarlet’s gaze and scowled at the staring crewmen. “There is a spot on the half deck that has been scraped clean of ice,” he said. “We will practice there.”
He strode away, plainly expecting Scarlet to follow him at once.
Scarlet tagged after him uneasily, simply beca
use there was nothing else to do and it seemed they would quarrel if he did not. An argument in front of the gawking crew did not appeal to him at the moment. Though Liall’s high-handed attitude irritated him, he obeyed without complaint.
Liall borrowed four sparring long-knives—heavy but blunted—from Captain Qixa. The dour captain looked at Scarlet as if he doubted his ability to lift even one of the blades. Qixa exchanged several sentences with Liall in their incomprehensible language, ending with Qixa staring at Scarlet in surprise and disbelief.
Liall shot Scarlet a look. “He says you are too small, and I will cut you in half with this.” He hefted the sparring knife and spun it a little in his hand. “I told him you saved my life in Volkovoi with a pair of Morturii knives.”
“Does he believe you?”
Liall shrugged. “No.”
They left the captain and moved to the half deck between the mast and the captain’s cabin. The wind was still for the moment and a parade of clouds chased across the sky. Liall chose a spot and spun the blade in his hand again, testing their weight, before taking up a fighting stance. Scarlet stripped off his coat and laid it on the deck.
Liall began first, lunging in with his right to distract while holding the left blade in reserve, ready to slip past Scarlet’s knives. Scarlet guarded warily, turning to protect his vulnerable left side. After a rough beginning, Rannon’s fighting lessons came back to Scarlet, and he returned each of Liall’s moves with fluid counterstrikes.
“You have talent!” Liall called out. He seemed pleased and was not at all winded.
“Not so poor as you expected?”
Liall attacked with his left knife, not as swift as Scarlet knew he could, and Scarlet battered him back. He liked watching Liall, who moved with startling grace for such a large man, and who was careful to test him without endangering either of them. Scarlet danced away from the edge of Liall’s knife and they traded blows, circling each other, for several minutes.
At last, Liall called a halt, raising his hand. “Are you tired?”
Scarlet shook his head impatiently and feinted with his right-hand blade, causing Liall’s mouth to twitch into a grim smile. They began again, swifter this time, Liall less worried about Scarlet's skill and more eager to push him to his limits, testing him. They sparred for more than an hour, until the breath heaved in Scarlet’s lungs and the muscles of his right arm began to tremble.