by M. D. Laird
He wanted to run. He wanted to go to the barracks and pretend she wasn’t here, but he stood his ground and waited for her to notice him. He had removed his sweat soaked shirt during his sparring with Kyle and found himself inadvertently flexing his muscles. He checked himself for being foolish.
Rya approached Niall at his pit side desk. Niall motioned for Maol to approach them. Rya’s guards took up positions at her side. Rya looked at Maol, but she did not make eye contact or even acknowledge him. She simply appraised her investment—any of her previous willingness to get to know him had vanished.
“He looks good,” she said to Niall. “He looks much stronger. How has he been?”
“Well,” started Niall, “as I told you in my missive, he has been training hard each day to regain his own skills and fitness. He is a very skilled fighter and has even given Kyle a challenge. He has been instructing some of the trainees. Some of them have made excellent progress—Karim and Zayn especially.”
Rya was beaming and appeared to be thrilled with the news.
“However,” continued Niall, “yesterday he had a quite severe altercation with one of the trainees—young Alessi. Alessi was taunting Maol quite significantly and has been for some weeks, though yesterday Maol lost his temper and kicked the boy fracturing three of his ribs. He intended to strike, what appeared to be, a lethal blow, but was prevented from doing so by Kyle. He turned his attack towards Kyle but was quickly detained and shackled. He spent a short period in the brig with Kyle and me and calmed down quite quickly.”
Maol felt crushed when he observed Rya’s disappointed expression.
“I feel I should take some of the responsibility as Maol did approach me to advise that he was finding Alessi difficult to work with and I encouraged him to continue.”
“Even so, we cannot tolerate such behaviour,” she said sadly. “Arrange for him to be sent to the next market.” Rya’s guards bristled, preparing for Maol to attack.
Maol choked. “You can’t even look at me and tell me yourself?” he snapped.
She turned her face towards him, and her eyes met his. Her face had healed, though she had a scar across the bridge of her nose. He dropped his eyes to the floor.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Please,” he said. “I’ve been trying my best. Give me another chance to prove myself. I won’t let you down.”
She bit her lip and looked thoughtful for a few moments before leaning over the desk to write something on a vellum sheet. She then turned and walked towards Kyle, who had brought her Karim and Zayn, followed by her guards.
“What was that?” asked Maol. “Is she letting me stay?”
Niall read the paper and shook his head. “No,” he said.
Maol felt deflated.
I’ve had this coming.
“She is sending you to the island.” Niall grinned.
Maol’s eyes widened. “Really?”
Niall nodded. “You had better go and pack. You’ll be going soon.” He held out his hand to shake Maol’s hand. “Best of luck, son.”
Maol turned to head to his hollow and spotted Rya talking with the two boys. She smiled at them as she spoke.
“The commander tells me you have both made excellent progress recently; I have only received positive reports about you,” she said.
“We have,” said Karim. “We want to join the army when we leave here.” Karim received a glare from Zayn.
“The king’s army?” Rya asked.
“No, the hom—” He stopped abruptly.
“Is there a hominem army?” she asked.
“It’s not really an army,” said Zayn, glaring and Karim. “Just a group of vigilantes trying to protect the towns and villages. We thought we might be able to help.”
“That’s very noble of you,” said Rya. “Have you given no thought to working for me?”
“We’ve thought about it, but well, we’d just rather leave,” said Zayn.
“The commander tells me you have become proficient with a sword. I can always use skilled men.”
“We only joined in for something to do. We want to go.”
“And where will you go? What will you do?”
“We’ll camp out until we get jobs and then we’ll find somewhere to live.”
“I can’t persuade you to come with me? I can give you a home, food and community.”
“No, we’ll be fine on our own.”
“Very well,” she said sadly. “It has been a pleasure to meet you, gentlemen.”
The boys ignored her and celebrated their new freedom. Rya moved away from them to speak with Kyle. Maol approached the boys.
“We’re going,” said Zayn.
“I heard,” replied Maol. “Where will you go? What will you do for food?”
“I don’t know. We’ll figure it out. The most important thing is we’re free.” Karim smiled.
Maol smiled. “Is the island so bad?”
“It’s fine if you like people telling you what to do all the time. It’s not like here where you can just do what you want. They expect you to work all day: ‘peel those potatoes’, ‘light that fire’, ‘wash this laundry’. You wouldn’t just get ale every day for no reason—if you didn’t do everything they told you to do then you wouldn’t get any ale at supper.”
Maol smirked. “You’re still going to have to do those things when you’re on your own, and you won’t be able to have ale unless you work all day to buy it.”
“They wanted us to do all the boring stuff. We will only have to do that stuff until we find wives.”
“No one is going to marry you unless you can provide them with a stable home and enough money. That will take a lot of work.”
“We’ll be fine,” said Zayn.
“Okay,” said Maol, shaking his head. “Though if I am honest, I think you would be better taking Lord Rya up on her offer. If nothing else, you could learn a trade and then you will at least have some skills to find work. I am going to the island. I may be able to keep training you.”
Zayn paused and glanced at Karim.
“I’ll leave you to discuss it between yourselves,” said Maol, leaving the boys and catching up with Kyle who had left Rya and was heading into the main enclosure.
“You’re leaving us,” said Kyle.
“Yes.”
“I’ll be sad to see you go,” said Kyle, “I’m sure we’ll meet again, and I might have improved enough to kick your ass by then.”
Maol grinned. He held his hand to Kyle who shook it.
“Best of luck, Maol,” he said.
Maol nodded and headed towards his hollow leaving Kyle to make his way to the training field.
Maol had not taken more than a few minutes to pack. He only owned what Camp Lunar had provided him: three changes of clothes, a coat, a comb, a toothbrush, a razor, two wash cloths and two towels. He walked back to the gate entrance to join Rya’s wagons. He was the only one waiting. He stood watching the guards ready the horses who were munching on some oats.
Most of Rya’s operation consisted of simple and practical equipment, but these were expensive horses, Shenton horses, bred for endurance. They could pull the wagons all day at speed with little rest. The king himself owned such horses, and they had increased the distance one could travel in a day significantly.
With the horses harnessed, the guards began to load up the wagon with supplies from Camp Lunar for the return journey. The guards passed him frequently, but none of them spoke to him.
Maol regretted the day he threw the tankard at Rya. Before he had done that, the guards had been friendly towards him, and now they treated him like another piece of equipment.
“Can I help?” Maol asked the nearest guard.
“We’re almost done,” he replied without looking at Maol. “You can get in this one.” He indicated for Maol to board the nearest wagon.
Maol nodded and climbed inside. A bed roll and a sack of fo
od had already been placed inside. The guard was about to lock the door when Rya called to him that there were two more.
“We’ve changed our minds,” said Zayn as he and Karim boarded the wagon.
“Fantastic,” said Maol. “Now I have to tolerate your incessant chatter. I didn’t think this through.” The boys smiled at him. He was glad they had come. He didn’t like to think of them cold and hungry and trying to manage on their own.
The guards placed more food and two more bed rolls in the wagon before locking the door. Within a few minutes, they were leaving Camp Lunar.
Zayn and Karim were taken, unshackled, to the fireside at supper. Maol’s food was brought to the wagon. He felt bitter that the party still would not talk to him and excluded him from the evening’s arrangements.
Why agree to take me to the island if they’re not even going to speak to me?
He did not touch his supper, not even the ale. The guard who came to collect his things frowned at the uneaten food. He glanced at Maol who was sat with his back against the wall.
“Are you ill?” he asked.
“I’ve lost my appetite,” he replied.
The guard shrugged, he took the bowl and the tankard away but left the buttered rolls. They also took away the breakfast Maol left the next morning. Maol stayed in his bedroll regretting that he had ever asked to go to the island. He had tried his best at Camp Lunar, but Rya’s party still ignored him. What was he supposed to do? The island would have new people like Camp Lunar, but it would be weeks before they got there and it would be weeks of them only bothering with him to hand him food or take him into the bushes.
He had not minded so much when he was taken to Camp Lunar, but since then he had decided he wanted to try and wanted to go to the island and Rya’s group were not trying. They hadn’t forgiven him for throwing the tankard. It seemed ridiculous to hold a grudge—he was a slave, not their friend, and she had provoked him.
That night, at supper, the boys were taken to the fireside and the guard brought Maol a meal.
“Why is everyone ignoring me?” Maol asked.
“No one is ignoring you,” said the guard. “You haven’t said anything.”
“Can I eat my meal at the fire?”
“No. The last time you did you injured her lordship.”
“I’m not going to do anything.”
“No.”
“Take it away then. I don’t want it.”
“Suit yourself,” the guard said, removing the food and closing the door.
Maol leant against the wall of the wagon to look at the fireside through the bars. The group were talking and laughing. Rya was there, and she observed the guard returning with the food.
“Is he not eating again?” she asked.
“He won’t eat it,” the guard replied. “He wants to come out here. He thinks everyone is ignoring him.”
Rya looked in Maol’s direction, and her eyes met his—her expression softened. “I’ll go and talk to him.” She walked towards the wagon and stopped two feet from the bars.
“Maol, can we trust you to come to the fireside?”
“Yes. I’ve told you I’m trying. I know you’ll sell me if I do anything else.”
“Okay,” she replied, “but you’ll need to come out in chains.”
“Zayn and Karim aren’t in chains.”
“Zayn and Karim didn’t cost me ten thousand marcs,” she said. “And besides, they were practically free and then changed their minds and asked to join us. Chaining them seems pointless.”
Maol gritted his teeth. “Fine,” he said.
The guard unlocked the door to the wagon and Maol offered his wrists for the shackles instead of putting his hands on his head and turning away. He wanted to get them to trust him and stop treating him like a dangerous criminal.
Okay, I have a history of being a dangerous criminal, but I’m not like that all the time.
The guard hesitated and looked as though he would consider telling him to move, but instead he clamped on the shackles and led Maol to the fire.
Eleanor trekked through the woods to the rebel training grounds having been dropped nearby by Prince Thomas. Most of the rebels were already training once she arrived.
“Late, as usual, Elea.” Jack snapped.
Eleanor bristled. She could never earn a kind word from Jack. “You said seven, and it's ten minutes to seven.”
“Yes. But everyone else is here early and keen to start. Everyone else takes our cause seriously.”
“If you want me to arrive earlier then give me an earlier time,” she said sharply.
He glared but turned to Hannah. “You’re up,” he said. “You and Elea.”
Jack had chosen Hannah on purpose. He knew Eleanor would struggle to fight her. She was fast and ridiculously flexible. Hannah often joked that she had been a circus performer, though Eleanor had wondered whether it was a joke. She was certainly far more agile than Eleanor, and Eleanor was exhausted trying to keep up with her. She managed a few hits, all non-lethal, but had to take a defensive stance to prevent Hannah from taking her down quickly.
The fight was over in no time as Eleanor was thrown to the dirt by a swift kick to her ribs. She grumbled as Hannah helped her up. After some water, Eleanor was ready to go again. Jack had wandered off to observe the others, content that Eleanor had been punished enough and Hannah went easier on her. She gave Eleanor some tips, corrected her stances and improved her grip on the blade as they sparred.
Eleanor trudged through the woods at the end of the night. She was sweaty, exhausted and starving.
“You smell wonderful again,” said Thomas, picking her up.
“Thanks for noticing,” she grumbled, putting her arms around his neck and nestling into his warmth.
“They are much stronger fighters than you are. You need to train harder.”
“I know,” she murmured.
Eleanor lay in Prince Thomas’ bed. She still hated to be alone at night since James had passed. Being alone with her thoughts allowed nightmares to creep in and she found herself staring into James’ dead, bulging eyes. Each night she asked the prince if she could stay in his room. He had given up his protests and accepted her—especially since the queen was planning to visit at some point and she had to move from her room any day now.
She felt more at ease having the prince beside her. She gazed at him as he slept. He wore only his underwear and the blankets covered only to his waist. He slept on his stomach and presented her with a view of his muscular back, powerful arms and strong shoulders. She blushed. He was really quite spectacular. Demons were not facially attractive—in fact, they were quite frightening until you got to know them, but, well, the prince’s body… She blushed again.
James wouldn’t mind. He’d be glad if I were happy. He wouldn’t mind me not waiting. He’d be glad I’m not with someone who mistreats me.
Still aching from her training, she raised herself onto her elbow and reached her hand to stroke the prince’s back. He stirred.
“What are you doing?” he muttered.
“How do your wings get through your skin and your clothes?” she replied, running her fingers lightly over his shoulders.
“I don’t know.” He groaned sleepily. “Through the midspace I suppose.”
“Can you bring them out?”
“I’m sleeping, Princess.”
She placed a kiss on his shoulders. He tensed, turning his head towards her, appearing immediately more alert. “Show me,” she purred.
His giant grey wings unfurled from his shoulder blades and rested on his back and across his shoulders.
“Can I touch them?” she asked, awed.
“If you like.”
She ran her hand over one of his wings. It was soft and covered not in fur, but in a sort of fuzz or velvet—like a stag’s antlers. They were very soft and very warm. She placed a kiss on his wing. “What does that feel like?”
“It feels like the kiss to my back…but more.”
She continued to stroke his wing gently and summoned the courage to ask what she was most curious about. “Have you ever been…intimate with them out?”
He chuckled and gave her a wicked grin. “Many times,” he answered. “Thorian seem to like it.”
She leant towards him and placed several more kisses on his wings. “Show me,” she whispered.
The prince growled his response and leapt from the bed. Her eyes met his hungry cobalt orbs before they roamed over his magnificent body with his wings fanned out behind him. She smiled excitedly at him and began to unbutton her nightdress. He snarled softly and pounced on her.
A knock on his bedroom door woke Thomas the following morning. The princess lay with her head on his chest and her arms around him and was still fast asleep. He pulled the blankets to cover her nakedness before allowing Arakiel to enter.
“You have received a letter marked urgent from His Majesty, Your Highness,” said Arakiel, handing the letter to Thomas. “Should I bring you and Her Highness breakfast?” Thomas accepted, and Arakiel left.
Thomas broke the king’s personal wax seal, read the letter and groaned. He shook the princess lightly by the shoulder. “Princess,” he said. “Princess, wake up.”
“Prince, I’ve barely had any sleep,” she grumbled, squeezing her eyes closed.
“The fault is yours for waking me in the night. It is not my fault if you cannot match my endurance.”
She nipped him before holding him tighter.
“We have a letter from the king.”
She stiffened and raised her head in alarm. “What does it say?”
“He is inviting us to a ball at his guild—tonight.”
Her nostrils flared. “Why does he do this?” She growled.
“Perhaps it is wiser not to let him know he is getting to you.”
“You think we should go?”
“I believe that it will be worse if we don’t. I could use the opportunity to speak with him about the queen’s intention to visit. She should be here anytime soon, and it will give him something else to think about.”