Tempest

by Cari Z

  Nichol reached a hand down and held his cock steady as he pressed in once, twice, rhythmic and deliberate and gods, every nerve Colm had was on fire and he felt like he couldn’t catch his breath, and the tight bud of his entrance gave a little more with each slippery push until it was open just enough, just enough that the tip entered him, stretching him painfully but so good—

  Nichol came like that, pressed that little ways inside Colm’s body, just enough to spill his warmth into Colm. He was shaking by the end of it, and fell back as his arms gave out. Colm felt a little bereft at the sudden loss, but he reached out and pulled Nichol in close, tight against his chest as he wrapped his mind around the sensation of something foreign inside him. It had been just for a moment, but all that did was stoke the urge to feel more.

  Nichol moved a hand clumsy with fatigue down between them, and gently pressed his fingertip to Colm’s hole. It was sticky with his come, and when he pressed a bit harder, more oozed out onto his fingers. He finally pressed all the way inside with one, and both of them sighed with satisfaction.

  “I’ve never done that before,” Nichol murmured, lips pressed to Colm’s chest. “Never went so far with Jaime. I thought about it, but…it wasn’t right, with him. I want to, though.” He kissed Colm’s nipple, then sucked until it peaked. “I want to do that with you.”

  “I want you to,” Colm acknowledged.

  “Mmm, but not tonight,” Nichol groaned, fumbling for the damp rag that they’d gotten in the habit of leaving by the cot each night. “Tonight, I am completely spent.” He wiped Colm down, taking special care between his buttocks and thighs, then did himself. “I can’t believe you listened to us,” he said as he rearranged himself on top of Colm. “I wish I had known before.”

  “You didn’t need to know I was pining over you back then,” Colm said, running his fingers through Nichol’s wild hair. “It’s enough that you know now, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose,” Nichol agreed. “Colm…you know that I…” His voice broke, and he took a deep breath. “You know that I care for you, don’t you? Deeply. It doesn’t surprise you anymore, does it?”

  “No,” Colm said. “Not at all.” And then, because he didn’t say it as often as he wanted to, he added, “I love you.”

  “I know,” Nichol whispered.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The day that followed was in all ways surprising and new, and it started with a letter. A surprise letter, because there hadn’t been one for over a month, and Colm had been convinced that the time of no news from home had finally come, the weather too thick and harsh to support the passing of messages. But a courier brought one to them anyway, and Colm grasped it with eager hands as he thanked the man and gave him a few copper coins for his trouble. Then he turned it immediately over to Nichol, because while his reading ability was slowly improving, he was in no mood to take the time to sound everything out when he had a better way right here, smiling at him over a bowl of chowder at lunchtime.

  “One from Anneslea?” Megg asked. “That’s surprising!”

  “It is,” Colm agreed. “Nichol…”

  “You can’t wait for me to finish my chowder first?” Nichol said teasingly. “Really? Are you that desperate? Because I have to say, I’m positively exhausted, and I need to eat to restore my energy…”

  “Exhausted? After working in the kitchen all morning?” Megg reached out and pressed a hand to her grandson’s forehead. “Perhaps you’re coming down with something.”

  “Gran! I’m fine, it was just…” Nichol sighed and put down his spoon. “Fine, I’ll read it now.” He opened the letter and shook it out.

  “My dearest brother,” he began in his trilling falsetto. “I can only hope that this letter reaches you. I have no one to turn to now except for you, even though I know there is nothing you can do…” Nichol dropped the voice and continued in a more serious manner, his cheer fading. “The winter has barely begun and already it is taking a terrible toll. Anneslea has burned the bodies of three young families who died of sickness so far this season, and many others have lost spouses or children. Even Merdith’s babe has passed. Sam was only a week old, too small and too ill to survive at this time of year, but his loss has been devastating for her and Tellan.

  “Honored Gherick believes that Anneslea is being punished by the Four. He says we are too tolerant of licentiousness and weak morals. We are required to attend church every evening for fear of being ostracized by our neighbors, and every night he has a new rant to frighten us with. His latest trial for the faithful is that those of us who are of age submit to arranged marriages to help replenish the stock of the faithful, and I am now old enough to be one of those marriages.”

  “Ridiculous!” Megg exclaimed. “That sort of thing hasn’t been done since my own mother was a girl, not even in the rural villages.”

  “Keep reading,” Colm urged Nichol. He cleared his throat and went on.

  “Mama has done her best to argue against it, she tries anew every morning, but Honored Gherick says that she is blinded by selfishness. Merdith and Tellan agree, and won’t speak to us anymore. I do not know yet who my intended is to be, but I do know that I don’t care for any of the boys in the village enough to want to marry them.

  “I think it’s a very good thing that you left when you did. Honored Gherick has banned Hamm from the village—you remember Hamm? He is the hunchback, the wood carver. He is leaving tonight, and I’m going to try to get this letter to him before he leaves. Honored Gherick calls Hamm a sign of the disapproval of the Four. I think, if you had stayed, he would have thought the same about you. I fear the future you might have had, and the one I am being pressed into.

  “The marriages are to occur on the first day of spring, but I won’t be here to see it. As soon as the pass clears, I will travel to Isealea, and from there I will do whatever I have to to get to Caithmor. It is likely we won’t converse again until then. Please do not pass a prayer to us. I fear Honored Gherick getting a hint of my plans. Have faith in me, and don’t worry. We will meet again at the Cove, and I shall rejoice to finally be with you again. I miss you terribly, as does Mama. She is stuck here, but I at least might be free.

  “All my love, your sister, Baylee.”

  Their table was silent for a long moment. Colm reached for the letter and Nichol gave it over, and Colm traced the letters of his sister’s name, the only one apart from his that he could easily recognize on sight.

  “It does no good to fret,” Megg said finally, pushing back from the table. “We won’t know anything more until the spring anyhow, so the best course of action is to be patient, wait and see. Baylee’s a smart girl. She’ll figure things out. Anneslea will recover. The Four certainly have better things to do than curse a village because it harbors artisans and fishermen!” Her piece said, Megg strode off to the kitchen.

  Logically, Colm knew Megg was right, that there was no way to know what was happening, no way to affect it and therefore no reason to worry about it, but that didn’t help. He could picture it all too clearly in his mind’s eye, and despite how they’d never gotten along, he felt terrible for Merdith. It had to be so painful to lose her babe.

  “Colm.” Nichol’s hand on his shoulder snapped him out of it. “Are you all right?”

  “No,” he said honestly. “But Megg’s right, there’s nothing to be done about it.”

  “Nothing but—”

  “Lads!” Megg shouted from the kitchen door. “I need your help in here!”

  “Work,” they finished together.

  The work wasn’t as effective at relieving Colm’s mind as he’d hoped, however. Neither was the orgasm Nichol skillfully brought him to that evening. Not even the act of reciprocation could completely divert his mind from the pains of his family. Colm lay awake long after Nichol had fallen asleep, holding his lover close while his mind careened through all the awful things that mig
ht be happening back in Anneslea.

  What if Baylee was married against her will after all? What if Desandre or Kels took sick, what if Merdith couldn’t carry another baby? What if Honored Gherick was somehow right, and the Four had turned their grace from Anneslea? Colm knew it was impossible to know if he could have helped at all with his presence. The mere fact that he was in Caithmor now hinted very firmly at no. But it hurt not to be there with them, supporting and comforting them.

  Colm went about his work in a fugue of sorts for the next few days, oblivious to the point where Megg actually lost her temper with him and sent him away from the kitchen when he let an entire batch of bread burn in the ovens that morning. Nichol came after him once the disaster was averted and found him sitting at the very end of the sea wall, drenched with the salty mist and chilled from the bitter wind, and not even realizing it until the warmth of Nichol’s hand on his cheek made him start.

  He was even more surprised when Nichol sat down next to him, huddling close to share what little heat could radiate from them. “You can’t stop thinking about it, can you?” he yelled over the wind.

  Colm shook his head. Nichol reached out and brushed his pale wet hair back from his eyes. “We’ve got to find a distraction for you, then.”

  Was he saying what Colm thought he was saying? While the thought was tempting, his mind and body just hadn’t been very responsive over the last few days. “Nichol…I’m afraid—”

  “Not me,” Nichol corrected with a little smile. “Something completely different.”

  “What?”

  Nichol stood up and held out his hand. “Come and I’ll show you.”

  Colm let Nichol pull him to his feet, and as was their habit when alone this far out, they twined their fingers together as they began to slip-slide their way back to the city.

  Only this time they didn’t stay in the city. Nichol took Colm down side streets and back alleys until they reached a small gate in the northern wall of Caithmor. He led him through the gate and down the road, and in the distance, Colm could see luridly colored banners flying, strung up on poles and flapping with joyful disdain for the awful weather. Beneath the banners was a small city of tents and wagons, all just as colorful and defiantly bright. The walls of Caithmor seemed gloomy and dark by comparison.

  “It’s the Roving Spectacular!” Nichol said with a grin as they got closer. “They’re the largest traveling show in the empire! I meant to take you earlier, but the time never seemed quite right.” The closer they got, the clearer the picture became, and Colm could see now that the wagons that made up the makeshift walls of this place, circled up to keep people from entering wherever they wanted. On the side of each wagon was painted a small, stylized blue eye, wide and lidless.

  “What are those for?” Colm asked, pointing at the eyes.

  “Ah, those are a warning not to pass without paying,” Nichol said. “If you do, then the eye will see your crime and bad luck will follow you. Or at least that’s what they say. It’s only superstition, but that’s part of the reason that the priests are so annoyed by this place.”

  “What will we see here?” Colm asked as they lined up with the other eager city dwellers at the makeshift entrance to the spectacle, really nothing but a few lines of ragged ribbon strung up and several large, strong men standing there to make sure people paid before entering.

  “Everything!” Nichol promised. When it was their turn, he handed the girl a silver coin and she bit down on it, then smiled and tied a length of red thread around each of their wrists.

  “Enjoy yourselves, gentlemen,” she said, sounding coquettish even though she probably couldn’t be more than fourteen. “If I were you, I’d head to the Pinnacle. The acrobats will be going on any moment.”

  “Which is the Pinnacle?” Nichol asked.

  “It’s the tallest tent, darling,” she purred, letting her kohl-dark eyelashes flutter. Colm didn’t know whether to be repulsed or amused. She looked too much like his little sister for such a thing to be remotely alluring. “You can’t miss it.”

  The paths were muddy and slick from so many feet crossing over them. Colm estimated there were at least twenty wagons here, and there was no shortage of brightly dressed performers, food vendors and merchants all calling out to them, trying to lure people in closer. A group of musicians were set up on a small wooden platform off on one side, blowing out a bawdy tune with their flutes and horns. Several people in vibrant frocks with colored faces danced with each other in front of it, moving with exaggerated steps and flounces, their faces painted to make them look like dolls. Colm slowed down a bit, tempted to linger, but let Nichol urge him onward.

  They kept to the path and made it to the Pinnacle, a red-and-blue-striped tent in the very center of the Spectacular. Inside of it, near the back of the tent, was a circle of low torches which a young boy was running around lighting now. There was only standing room, but Colm found he was taller than almost everyone else there and could see just fine. Nichol wasn’t so lucky and hopped up and down several times before swearing.

  “Would you like to climb up on my shoulders?” Colm teased him, feeling lighter than he had in almost a week.

  He didn’t expect to see Nichol’s eyes narrow as though he were really considering the proposition. “Not your shoulders, your back,” he said at last. “Bend down and be ready to grab my legs.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “You offered,” Nichol reminded him with a grin. “Come on, don’t you love me? Isn’t giving me a lift up included in your definition of love?”

  “Using my love against me,” Colm sighed even as he bent down. “I see now that the thrill is gone.” Nichol slid up against his back, wrapped his arms around Colm’s shoulders and jumped up, tightening his legs around Colm’s waist.

  “I think that we’re nowhere near sounding out the deeps of what thrills us together,” Nichol whispered in his ear. He was half-hard against Colm’s back, and he wiggled his hips suggestively. Colm bit his lip to hold back a groan, before fortunately both of them were distracted by the entrance of the ringmaster.

  He was a tall man, almost as tall as Colm, and broad like a barrel through his shoulders and chest. He had a pitch-black beard, full and flowing halfway down his chest, and he wore a floppy crimson hat with a long feather the color of flame protruding from the top of it. His red velvet breeches and doublet were an old style, elegant enough for a lord but fairly ill fitting. It didn’t matter. His voice was what captivated people, and when he spoke, it was like hearing a thunderclap.

  “Ladies and gentlemen! Rogues and roustabouts, women and wenches, and all you little urchins out there! Welcome to the Roving Spectacular, the greatest and most magnificent, most stunning and most breathtaking show in the whole of the empire—nay, the world!” He threw up his hands, and cheers roared out from the press of spectators.

  “I, Regar Brighteyes, have gathered the death-defying, the awe-inspiring, the most miraculous of performers during my travels and brought them together here to shock and amaze you! You will see the exotic, the mysterious, and the magical—simple tricks only there, so as to please the Four, but they will nevertheless captivate you,” he assured the skeptical as he made the X of the Four in front of his chest.

  “Prepare yourselves, all you wide-eyed walkers in the wild, and steady your hands and your hearts, because this first act is a vision of skill, a performance to captivate the eyes and the mind. The Bellari clan, a family of acrobats trained practically from birth to twist and bend, will astonish and astound even the most hardened souls amongst you. Prepare yourselves, and welcome to the ring…the Bellari!” He turned and bowed all at once, sweeping his cap off and snapping his fingers. Instantly, the ring of torches flared, causing a ripple through the crowd as the first few rows leaned back so they wouldn’t catch on fire. By the time people’s eyes had adjusted and the flames had fallen, the ringmaster
was gone, and the acrobats were entering.

  The men catapulted in leaps and bounds out of the back of the tent, flipping backwards over each other, their bodies crossing at such high speeds that it seemed impossible they wouldn’t hit each other, and yet they didn’t. They wore body-hugging outfits of bright gold that glinted in the light of the torches, the only source of light within the darkened interior of the tent.

  There were women as well, strong, incredibly flexible girls who went from walking upright to upside down without missing a step, as though their limbs were the spokes of a wheel. Their outfits were sparkling silver, and as the men hoisted them into the air and threw them, turning tight somersaults over and over, from one side of the ring to the other, they looked like falling stars, or the wavering reflection of the moon on a wild sea. They looked beautiful and rare, and Colm was utterly captivated. It shouldn’t have been possible for him to have noticed the small hand that touched his belt, deftly slipping his slender coin purse out from beneath his tunic, especially not with his hands full of Nichol, but he did.

  Colm grabbed for the hand in the dark, losing his grip on Nichol’s leg and making him squawk. Colm saw the light at the nearest edge of the tent as the little thief ran, and he put Nichol the rest of the way down, answering his questions with nothing more than a “I’ll be just a moment, wait!” before running out into the dirty gray light of the day.

  There were people everywhere outside, some trying to push their way into the Pinnacle to see the show, others milling about talking with friends, others stepping steadfastly on their way to whatever had caught their eye next. Colm scanned the crowd rapidly, looking everywhere for someone who was running—there! A child, glancing back and looking surprised for just a moment before he took off again. Colm gave chase, his long legs eating up the distance between them despite the child’s much better knowledge of the little lanes of the Spectacular.

  Colm darted around a man holding an enormous spotted beast on a leash, which snapped idly at him as he raced by, doing his best to keep the child in sight. They were moving away from the central tents now, into the outskirts which were more wagon than tent, where the only people plying a trade were selling space in their bed. The child ducked and dodged, far more agile than Colm in the narrow spaces, and after a few more yards, Colm knew he wasn’t going to reach the thief before he managed to slip away.