The Regent's Knight

by J. M. Snyder

  With a furious cry, Amery overturned the dessert tray by his chaise lounge. Grapes and berries scattered before him, plates shattered on the stone floor, cakes smashed. He had stationed Tovin here to be with him, and he wasn’t. To be safe, and he wasn’t. If anything happened to him, anything at all, it would be Amery’s own fault.

  How would he ever live with himself then?

  His mind turned back to the abandoned sluiceway. It wasn’t an option; even if he wanted to run, Tovin had him trapped here, unable to leave. Because maybe…

  A terrible thought occurred to him, rising like bile in the back of his throat. Maybe Tovin didn’t want him to go. Maybe the knight was ready to sacrifice their love for the common good, just as he would give up his life to protect the regent’s own.

  No.

  Amery flew at the door, beating it with his fists, kicking it, screaming obscenities at it that the guards on the other side must have blushed to hear. “No,” he cried, like a spoiled kid throwing a tantrum. “No, I forbid it. Tovin!”

  Once spoken aloud, his lover’s name dispersed his anger; he slid to the floor, spent, struggling to hold back tears that choked and blinded him. “Tovin,” he sighed. Bringing his knees up to his chin, he wrapped his arms around his legs and hugged himself into a tight ball, burying his head against his knees. Please don’t take him from me, he prayed. I shall give up my position here, this castle, this life, mine in exchange for his, please.

  There would be no more seesawing over the crown, no more question about where his loyalties lay. With his lover, with Tovin—nothing else mattered to Amery. As the castle rumbled around him, the sounds of battle rising thinly into the night, Amery vowed that if Tovin survived, then he would leave the castle behind.

  Just bring him back to me, he prayed. Let him live, and you can have your crown. In his mind, it was a bargain struck with the gods above, his kingdom for his man. He only hoped they kept their end of the deal.

  * * * *

  The regent lost count of the minutes that passed. His legs grew numb, his buttocks sore, from sitting hunched before his chamber door. He felt dead inside, empty; it kept the fear at bay. His ears strained to follow the tides of the battle beyond the castle walls, but he could not distinguish the barbarian’s victorious cries from those of his own men. The only thought that kept him from hysterics was the belief, however erroneous, that his heart would know if Tovin fell. Amery was sure of it. If his knight died, the color would drain from the world around him and his soul would weep. Until that happened, Tovin must still be alive.

  Through the door behind him, he heard shouts and ringing footsteps, the clash of arms, a rallying battle cry. “For Pharr!”

  Were the guards getting antsy, pinned down so far from the fight, that they had taken to sparring together to hone their skills? Perhaps Amery could sneak out now…or better yet, convince the guards to stand with him, follow him to the parapets—to Tovin’s side.

  Scrambling to his feet, he pushed the chaise lounge over to the fireplace, then leaped up onto it and reached for the sword and shield that hung above the mantle. His father’s weaponry, already baptized in battle. The sword had a blunt, awkward blade, one Amery was uncomfortable using, but he needed something to protect himself…

  Angry shouts from the corridor distracted him. He paused for a moment, listening to the scuffle beyond his door, but the sword grew heavy in his hands and he lowered it to the chaise lounge. For a few breathless moments he struggled with the clasp on the scabbard’s belt, intending to wear it around his waist, but the buckle was old and the leather worn. He couldn’t seem to get the clasp free.

  “The hell with this,” he muttered. Ignoring the clasp, he drew the sword and tossed the scabbard away. It would only hinder him. Setting the sword’s tip against the furniture beneath his feet, he rested the flat of the blade against his leg to prop it up. Almost instantly, the sharp tip pierced the fabric of the chaise lounge, and sank a few inches into the mattress. White downy feathers escaped around it, as if Amery had speared a bird.

  Turning back to the mantle, Amery tugged at his father’s shield. It was bulky, fastened to the stone wall by a series of hooks and almost invisible wire that seemed impossible to unravel. He lifted the shield toward him, then ran a hand beneath it, feeling for the hooks he knew had to hold it in place. But the damn shield would not work free from its restraints. “Come on,” he breathed. The polished metal warmed beneath his hands, fogging with his breath. Where he touched the shield, he left fingerprints streaked across its surface. “You fucker.”

  Gods.

  The heat from the fireplace brought a fine sweat to his brow, and he stared at his own fevered reflection as he tugged on the shield. Bring Tovin back to me, he prayed again. That’s all I’m asking for at this point. Let the barbarians have the castle if they must, just give me back my man.

  Selfish? Hell, yeah. But he’s mine. Do you hear me? Mine.

  He slipped his hands beneath the shield again, fingers strumming across the wires that held it in place, when he heard the door creak open behind him. In his chest, his heart somersaulted in relief. Tovin…

  It wasn’t him. In the shield’s reflection, Amery saw a soldier enter his room. The regent froze, his breath caught in his chest, every muscle pulled as taut as a drum skin. The soldier’s lack of armor told Amery this was not one of his guards; no chain mail protected his chest, no heavy plates covered his thighs. He wore what looked like rags—a loose fitting shirt negligently tucked into flowing breeches made from a dark animal hide. Dingy fur draped his shoulders, and he wore a boar’s skull as a mask to hide his face. Hair like fire erupted over the top of the skull, a shade more orange than Amery’s, and when he turned his back on the room to peer out into the corridor, the regent saw a braid hanging down the stranger’s back that mirrored his own.

  For a brief second the regent wondered if he were seeing things. In one hand, the stranger held a long, ragged blade, but the relaxed angle of the knife suggested he had not yet noticed Amery. He turned in a full circle, moving slowly, as if ensuring he had not been followed, then saw the carafe of wine on the credenza. He moved toward it, his back to the fireplace.

  He did not know he was not alone.

  Abandoning the shield, Amery pulled the sword from the chaise lounge and leveled it at the man’s back. In a regal voice, he demanded, “Who are you?”

  With a snarl, the stranger turned and raised his own blade. When he saw the regent, he lunged.

  Amery jumped off the chaise lounge to meet the attack. His skills were rusty, but had he not watched the best knights in his land duel amongst themselves time and again? Mimicking Tovin’s moves, hoping he looked even a fraction of the swordsman his lover was, Amery parried the stranger’s blade aside. As the man stumbled past him, the regent brought his sword down on his exposed back, knocking him to the floor.

  Is that it? He laughed, a wild sound that he strangled before it could get away from him. When the man didn’t move, Amery dared to prod him with the tip of his shoe. That was a bit easy—

  Without warning, the stranger lashed out, kicking Amery’s legs from under him and bringing the regent down hard on the floor. King Adin’s sword clattered out of Amery’s hand as he fell, but before he even hit the ground, he was rolling away from the stranger. The jagged blade struck the stone floor inches from his face, hot sparks flashing between the metal and rock to blind him. He reached out for his sword, cut his fingers on the blade as he fumbled for the hilt, then felt the stranger’s hot breath on the back of his neck as he tried to make it to his feet. The door, Amery thought. He just had to make it that far. Then maybe one of his guards could save him, or he could run.

  Despite the hands clawing at his coverlet, Amery managed to stand. He used the sword for leverage, pulling away from the stranger before the twisted knife his attacker held could strike into the regent’s back. Staggering away, Amery turned to face his opponent, and flinched at the skull-covered face that gleamed at him
with malice. Tovin, where are you now?

  Beneath the bony mask, the barbarian grinned, and Amery felt fear like sweat trickle down his back. With both hands on the hilt of his father’s sword, he raised the blade between them, ready to fight.

  Chapter 11

  On the parapets far above the regent’s chambers, Tovin turned from the ledge in disgust. The castle guard were losing, and badly. Where were his own men? When would his friends’ armies join them? Where the hell was Giles?

  Questions he could not answer. He had sent another runner south, to spur his men faster. With any luck they would reach the castle by morning, but could the guard hold out against the barbarians that long?

  Tovin didn’t think so. Already renegade bands of the Cyrians entered the castle through the servants’ quarters, where no one stood to fight. There was little he could do here, so far above the troops, except watch the battle and hope the tide would turn against their foes.

  And what about Amery? Was he safe?

  Turning to Berik, he snapped, “You’re in command of the ramparts.”

  Berik watched Tovin storm toward the nearest stairwell. “Where are you going?” he called out.

  “To find the regent.” Tovin hoped the guards assigned to Amery realized just how much they protected. With any luck, his lover was still in his chambers, still naked even, waiting for Tovin to show up. The longer it took the knight to return, the more pissed the regent would become. What did it matter if they were at war, if Amery’s libido went unsatisfied?

  The thought made Tovin smile. He took the steps two at a time, drawing his sword as he reached the corridor. The clash of arms rang through the stone, and when he rounded a corner he found Cyrians fighting his own men, hammering at them with their twisted blades and wooden cudgels. Fighting his way through the melee, Tovin hurried through the halls that led to the regent’s chambers. Please, he prayed, hacking at anyone who came in his path, friend or foe alike. Let him be safe.

  The door to the regent’s chambers stood ajar. Tovin’s throat closed to see it—he should have stationed himself here, at this door, and held the barbarians at bay himself. Where were the guards assigned to protect the regent? The corridor was empty save for a bloody handprint on the wall and an abandoned helmet that rolled over the stone when Tovin kicked it. Breaking into a run, Tovin crossed the length of the corridor and pushed through the door, his heart fluttering like a trapped bird in his chest. “Amery?” he called out.

  Oh Gods.

  In the center of the regent’s sitting room lay a man on his stomach. Blood pooled around the obviously dead body, turning the dark clothing black. A long, red braid trailed down the dead man’s back, the ends of the hair curling where they were dipped in the blood.

  Tovin fell to his knees, tears stinging his eyes. Too late. Oh Gods above, I was too damn late.

  Gently he reached out and placed a loving hand on the body’s still warm back. His fingers brushed the plaited hair, which felt coarse and dry to the touch. Amery’s hair had always been such a vibrant part of his being, so soft, so thick, so alive…

  So beautiful. This wasn’t Amery’s hair.

  With a frown, Tovin brushed the braid aside. The color was all wrong, the shade more garish than Amery’s—how often had he seen it spread out against his own skin? It was much darker than this, much thicker, too, and when Tovin peered closely at the clothing on the body, he didn’t recognize it. Beneath the braid was an animal’s pelt, and the breeches were cut wrong. Ignoring the blood on his hands, Tovin rolled the dead man onto his back.

  The man’s face belonged to a stranger.

  This isn’t him. It’s similar—the hair, yes, and maybe the body shape overall, but the facial structure is different. Those weren’t the regent’s lips—Tovin knew, he had kissed them often enough. He thumbed open one eye and stared at the muddy brown depths already beginning to fill with blood. Amery’s eyes were a light green, almost translucent, like deeply cut crystal goblets filled with dry white wine.

  This was not the regent.

  He almost swooned with relief. Choking back his emotions, Tovin raised his voice into a hoarse cry. “Amery?”

  “Here,” came the reply.

  The knight turned toward the doorway that separated the regent’s rooms. There Amery staggered from the bedroom, his father’s sword dragging across the stone floor. Tossing the blade aside, he took a shuddery breath and opened his mouth to say something more, but the look he threw Tovin was torturous. Those pale eyes were haunted—they had seen too much, knew too much, and for once, the regent could not speak.

  Rising to his feet, Tovin caught his lover in a strong embrace. “Ye Gods,” he sighed as he stroked Amery’s back. His arms tightened around the regent at the thought that moments before he believed this man, his man, to be dead. He had not believed he would hold this body against his again, kiss this soft skin, hear the trembling draw of familiar breath in his ear. He hugged Amery tight, fisted his hand in the thick plait of hair that hung from his lover’s nape, breathed in the scent of perfumed oil and sweat that, despite the circumstances, could still stir his groin. Thank you. “Amery, gods, I thought that was you.”

  With a shaky laugh, the regent whispered, “So did I.”

  He clung to Tovin, his whole body shaking like a tear poised to fall. Against Tovin’s shoulder, Amery sobbed, “My decision is made. I swore if you came back to me, I would abdicate, and here you are. Here you are.”

  His fingers clenched Tovin’s mail with faint, metallic clicks. Tovin wasn’t sure what his lover meant, who he’d bartered with, but that did not matter—he was here, safe in Tovin’s arms. Kissing the regent’s ear, the knight murmured, “If you’re serious about this…”

  “I am,” Amery whispered. “The sluiceway. Your sister’s—”

  “Go,” Tovin told him. He kissed Amery’s trembling lips and forced a smile. “I shall find you there, I promise.”

  But when he gave Amery a gentle shove toward the door, his lover shook his head. “Wait. Shouldn’t I make a royal announcement or something? Tell them…” His face blanched, and his eyes searched Tovin, begging for reassurance. “You don’t think they’ll make me take it, do you? Hunt me down, or kill us both? Tovin—”

  “Shh.” The knight placed a finger over the regent’s lips, silencing him. With a glance to indicate the fallen man at their feet, Tovin said, “They won’t bother if they think you’re dead.”

  “Wha—”

  Slowly, so the regent would catch his drift without him having to say the words aloud, Tovin said, “I thought that man was you.”

  Amery’s eyes widened in understanding. “You know me best,” he murmured. “If it fooled you—”

  “If no one looks too closely,” Tovin added. “If he wore your clothes, and his face were burnt beyond recognition…”

  “Yes,” the regent sighed. His brow cleared, his shoulders sank as if a heavy weight had been lifted from them, and his smile flashed out clear and pure like the springtime sun. “Gods, yes.”

  When he didn’t move, Tovin kissed him again and pushed him toward the door. “Now. Before you change your mind.”

  “I won’t,” Amery assured him. “I’ve never wanted anything so bad as I do you. Nothing I lose could compare to losing you.”

  “Then go.”

  The regent gave him one final kiss—a sweet press of lips that promised a lifetime more. His hands loosened in Tovin’s armor and touched the exposed skin of his neck before cradling his face, holding him still as their mouths touched. His tongue darted into Tovin with a quick taste, as if he wanted just a little more. Tovin poured his heart into the kiss, relishing it, savoring it. He didn’t know when he’d kiss his lover again.

  Then Amery was gone.

  * * * *

  Hours later, a rallying cry sounded outside the castle walls, and Tovin fought his way to the ramparts again. As he came to stand beside Berik, his old friend laughed and clapped him on the back. “He’s alive!”
>
  For a heart-stopping moment, Tovin thought the knight meant Amery. “Who?”

  Berik pointed to the west, where a mass of men astride foaming steeds rode from the forest at a full gallop. The sight of Pharrisian troops rejuvenated the castle guards, and a shout rose from the parapets. “He must’ve found Giles,” Berik yelled over the din. “Those yellow standards are his colors, and the orange belong to Lohden. His men are here, as well. The wily bastard, he’s still alive, can you fucking believe it?”

  Tovin forced a thin smile at his friend’s laughter. In a soft voice, he admitted, “We may win this one yet.”

  By dawn, the castle was secure. Dark oil like blood streaked the exterior walls, the fuel still burning in some patches. The walls that had been pulled down or battered apart stood out in the bright sunlight like gaping battle scars waiting to be healed. The moat around the castle ran thick with black blood; the fields, the forest, and the courtyards all held their share of dead or dying troops. Despite the castle’s ragged appearance, most of the dead were Cyrians.

  Shortly after sunrise, another battle cry sounded from the south. Like an injection of fresh blood, Tovin’s own troops filled the already embattled armies with new hope. They battered back the enemy until only small pockets of resistance held out against the knights, and the majority of the Cyrian army lay slain or captured. When the head of the barbarian king rose from the carnage on a pike, brandished high for all the troops to see, Tovin knew the battle had been won.

  Later, he strode through bloodied halls toward the regent’s rooms, Berik by his side. His nerves felt like a stone in the pit of his stomach, and his face was a mask that hid his emotions. As his footsteps rang off the stone walls, he wondered if he had the strength to do what needed to be done. Amery was safe, he knew that, but he was the only one…