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The noise that woke Damen that fateful night wasn’t a loud one, not the fall of a misplaced boot step or a sword clanging against armor or a muttered curse from down the hall. It was a quiet kind of noise, the kind of silence that had only ever preceded a vicious, surprise attack, the silence of held breaths and tensed muscles and anticipation.He sat bolt upright in his bed, but by then it was already too late.He lashed out at the group of men closest to him with his bedsheets still tangled around his waist, his fist connecting with the soft spots on their faces, the less armored areas near their joints. He was the only one of them not armed and yet after the first scuffle was over three men were bleeding out on the floor and Damen had possession of a sword. More men went down, and more men replaced them. An almost absurd number of guards filled his room with the stink of armor and sword oil and fear. He was on his feet now, and no one was trying to be quiet anymore. Two men with shields knocked the sword out of his hand, and a third wrenched his arm behind his back. Someone shouted orders and then a cloth was pressed against his nose, and this time the attack wasn’t anything he could defend himself against. His limbs went slack as his vision blurred, and he collapsed onto the floor.When he woke again his head felt like it had been stuffed with a million pieces of cotton. He was on his knees with his hands behind him, and when he tried to stand he was brought down immediately. His wrists were connected to the floor by a thick, short chain bolted into the stone. Once his vision stopped swimming he saw that the walls were lined with shelves full of wine bottles, baskets packed with fruit, barrels and crates and supplies. It was cold, and the chill pricked at him through the thin sleeping tunic he wore. He knew this place; he was in the storeroom underneath the palace kitchens. He had played here as a boy, stealing apples from the cooks, and as a young teen he had sometimes taken his paramours here, using the cold as an excuse to get closer than was proper while feeding each other fruit and wine. If he concentrated hard enough he could still hear that young laughter ringing through the stone.“He’s awake.”The laughter faded, replaced by a voice he knew very well.“Hello, Damen.”“Kastor,” Damen said, closing his eyes briefly and heaving a sigh of relief. As his brother walked into the storeroom Damen felt the world settle to rights again. His brother was safe, and looked to be unharmed. Now it didn’t matter if they were being attacked by a few bad actors or the entirety of the Veretian army; as long as the two of them were together, they could overcome any force. “They attacked me in my rooms. Get me out of here. We have to make sure that everyone is safe.”Kastor didn’t answer him. He walked forward slowly, carefully, his feet ringing solidly against the stone floor. When he was an arm length’s away he stopped and crouched in front of Damen. They were eye to eye, and Kastor reached out to gently tilt Damen’s face one way, and then the other.“Those chemicals they gave you don’t seem to have addled your brain too much. That’s good,” Kastor said. “I wanted to be able to say goodbye to you, brother.”“Goodbye?” Damen repeated, and moved his head away from Kastor’s gentle touch. “What are you talking about?”“Hmmm. Maybe there just wasn’t that much to addle. Come in,” Kastor said, gesturing at someone that Damen couldn’t see.More sounds of feet, and then four guards stepped into the storeroom. Their armor was in disarray and all of them had some manner of bruising beginning to bloom on their faces; the ones who had survived the attack in his room, if Damen had to guess. The only ones, most likely.“Kastor,” Damen said, lowering his voice so that only the two of them could hear. “I can’t do much from here, but I can cause a distraction and you can take them—”“Oh, Damen,” Kastor said, rolling his eyes. “You really don’t understand, do you? How is it that anyone expects you to rule, when you’re more innocent than a newborn kitten?”Damen didn’t think innocence had anything to do with it, but some instinct held his tongue. He had beaten his brother at war games since he was fifteen, and bested him in the ring for even longer than that. It wasn’t innocence that had landed him here.Kastor’s eyes never left his face. “You manacled him securely, I presume?”“Yes, Exalted,” one of the guards murmured. The honorific spiked through Damen, replacing his surprise with anger; Kastor didn't have the right to be called that, had not knelt at the Kingsmeet and taken the oath to protect and guard Akielos like Damen had. But Kastor took the rank in stride, without showing the shame he should have felt at that treason, and smiled.For the first time tonight, Damen began to suspect that something was very wrong.He pulled against his chains, felt the way the metal bit into his wrists. If he was going to break out of these cuffs it would not be from where they attached to his wrists but where they attached to the wall. He wrapped the chain short around his palm and pulled again. Small pebbles fell away from the wall and scattered across the floor. Kastor tutted at him.“Don’t be like that, Damen,” Kastor said soothingly. “I did come here to say goodbye, truly. Don’t ruin it by making a mess.”This time Damen gathered all of his strength and lunged forward, dragging the chains with him and using his legs as well as his arms. There was a slight pull as the pin buried deep in the wall moved, and Damen saw the guards shift nervously. Two more pulls. Two more pulls and he’d be able to break free.Kastor sighed and held out a hand. One of the guards placed a sword in it without saying a word, and Kastor lined it up with Damen’s heart.“Pull like that again and you’ll impale yourself,” Kastor said. “Which I would be very angry about. I didn’t want to do this. Believe it or not, I don’t want to hurt you.”“Then why?” Damen said. “Why are you doing this? Tell me what’s happening. We’re brothers, Kastor. We can figure this out together.”“Half brothers,” Kastor corrected, sitting back on his heels. The blade against Damen’s chest didn’t move. “Have you forgotten? I haven’t. We have our father the King in common, but that’s not enough, is it? It’s never been enough. Your mother was the Queen, and my mother is—well, she’s nothing.”Anger made Damen’s vision turn red, and he pushed forward against Kastor’s blade. A drop of blood welled up on his tunic, and he ignored it.“Don’t talk about her like that,” Damen snarled. “She’s not nothing. She’s been as much a mother to me as she has to you.”“Yes, but not in the one way that matters, hmm?” Kastor waved a tired hand and sighed deeply, dropping the sword. “I’m done indulging in this little theater with you. I thought we could be honest with each other for once, but I see you’re going to continue to be tedious, as always. You will be mourned, Damianos. By my mother, and by me. By me more than anyone. I hope you believe me when I say that.”He pushed to his feet and called forth two of the guards. “Ready?”And then, without warning, the other two guards came up behind their comrades and sliced deep, even gashes across each of their throats. The bodies slumped to the floor right in front of Damen, both of their mouths open in a silent scream, surprise etched on their faces.And for a moment Damen thought he might be saved. Thought that these men had come to their senses and decided to free him when they realized what was really happening here.But then they turned as one, and knelt in front of Kastor.“It is done, Exalted,” one of them said. “I know that was very hard for you,” Kastor murmured, motioning for them to stand up. “But you are the only two I trust in this matter.”“We understand,” said the other one. Damen thought that he did not act as though had been a particularly hard chore as the blood from his comrade pooled by his feet, which bounced in excitement. “Now. Take this letter, and give it to the men you meet at the rendezvous. Do what you need to do with my brother but do not, under any circumstances, kill him. And remember—right now you are the two most important people in this kingdom. The future of my rule rests on your heads. I trust you more than anyone.”“Yes, Exalted,” they murmured, as one.“And you,” Kastor said, turning his attention to Damen once more. Damen pulled at his chains as Kastor came closer to him. One more pull and he’d be able to pull them out of the wall, he was sure of it. One more pull was all it would take. “You are going to be the star that brings light to my crown. I’ll make sure you’re remembered fondly, brother, don’t you worry about that. I do love you, you know.”“Kastor—” Damen growled, but then Kastor reached forward and put a cloth to Damen’s mouth. The edges of his world began to blur, and as he closed his eyes all he could hear was laughter once more, ringing out among the stones.
*
His travel through the countryside was a mass of shapes, ghostly color behind his eyes, sound that came to him from a distance. Sometimes he had the feeling he was in a cart; sometimes he could swear they were over water. The first time the drugs wore off enough for him to regain some clarity of thought he tried to escape, but he was slower than he remembered, and his legs did not do as good of a job keeping him upright as he was used to. He was recaptured quickly and his feet were bound together, the roughness of the rope digging into his ankles to match the bruises on his wrists. When he was forced to eat again the food made him sleepy, and the world returned to impressions. The next time food was offered to him he refused, but he was still too dazed to fight back when it was forced down his throat. A part of him realized that he would need to keep up with some form of sustenance if he was to escape, even if it meant he would stay drugged.Escape was the only thing he thought about whenever he could gather enough of his thoughts to form anything coherent. Escape, and returning home. Confronting his brother. Figuring out what he had meant. I didn’t want to do this. Was he being forced into this action? Was someone manipulating him, leveraging him in some way? Didn’t Kastor know that he could have come to him, and they could have figured it out together?He didn’t know how long they traveled; days, at least, maybe weeks, maybe months, or years. There was no way for him to tell. When they finally stopped moving he only knew that it was dark out and that the darkness wasn’t just because he had been blindfolded again. He could hear unfamiliar voices, the first sounds he had heard in days that were not his guards or the creak of the cart they were riding on.“We weren’t sure you were coming,” said one of the unfamiliar voices. “You were supposed to be here hours ago.”“Yes, well, this big lug isn’t exactly easy to carry around. You’ll find out soon enough. Here.” There was the sound of something crinkling, a metal sound against metal. He wished he could see even the faintest outline of what was happening. “He’s yours now. Plus, orders from the Exalted himself.”There was a pause, and Damen shifted in his chains. His head was still fuzzy, like waking from a nap that didn’t want to let him go, but he could swear that given just a bit of time and the slightest bit of focus he could get free.“Hmm. I figured as much,” said another one of the new voices. “Sorry about this, then.”And then—Damen knew what fighting sounded like. He knew what blood smelled like. He didn’t need to have his vision uncovered to know what had just happened.“Come on,” one of the new guards said, pushing him forward. It took all of his concentration not to trip and fall on his face, unbalanced as he was, his hands behind his back and his vision just blackness. “Let’s get going, then.”And Damen was loaded into a new cart with new guards, the two most important people in the kingdom lying on the forest floor, their blood pooling into the dirt.
*
“You think he’s really some sort of mercenary?” Whispered conversation after dinner, the slightly woozy effects of the food taking hold, although not as strongly as it had the time before.“Maybe,” came the response. “Could be part of a coup or something. Looks like a soldier to me.”“Take these cuffs off,” Damen said, holding his hands up to the two of them. “And put a sword in my hand. You’ll find out what I really am.”“Give him more food,” the one guard said to the other, and Damen’s plate was loaded with more of the drugged food which he was forced to eat at the point of a sword. “You’re lucky we’re not in Vere already, brute. They’ve got witches there, you know. I’ve heard they can use magic to make you do whatever they want. Wouldn’t even have to use drugged food to addle you, not when they could do it with Words.”“Don’t tell him that,” the other guard said crossly, making a sign to ward off evil. “What? It’s true. They’ll Write you and make you do all sorts of unnatural acts and there’s not a thing you can do about it.”“No, about the food,” came the hissed reply. “We don’t want him to stop eating, you moron.”“Yeah, it’d be a shame if I starved to death,” Damen said. “Might almost be a match for you then.” That earned him a pommel to the temple, and between that and the food he slipped into dreams once again.
*
Another transfer of guards. Another set of men left in the dirt behind them. Damen wondered if it was hypocritical to hate that these men had been so easily tricked.
* “Who is this guy, anyway?”He was on his fourth set of guards, and it was the longest he’d been with any one pair yet, almost a full week. It was easier to keep track now. It had gotten colder the farther north they traveled—and they were traveling north, he knew that much too—and they had slipped into a Akielon dialect used at the border of Vere, probably assuming that Damen couldn’t understand them.They were wrong. Everyone had been wrong, trying to guess at who he was, and everyone did try. And finally he understood where this road he was being taken on was leading, knew that there was no way he ended up anywhere except dead. Only then would his true identity be revealed, and after that—Well. After that, every single person who knew anything about him would be dead as well. There would be no witnesses.“Dunno,” the second guard answered. “Slept with someone in the King’s harem, maybe. Or a distant relative that’s a little touched in the head. Shame about him, though.”“Shame we have to drag his ass across the countryside, you mean?”“No. It’s just—” the second guard paused, his eyes flicking over to Damen, and then switched entirely to Veretian. Damen could understand that language as easily as he could their earlier dialect, but he turned his gaze blank, pretending that all he could hear was gibberish. He almost wished he had the blindfold on again, to make the pretense easier. “We’re supposed to leave his body in front of the castle, right? And then we get paid, what. A thousand drachma after he’s discovered there?”“Yeah, idiot. That’s the plan. Too complicated for ya?”“Well, it’s just—who’s to say it was us that did it, then? What if they don’t want to pay us for all of our work?”There was a tense silence as the other guard considered this.“You think they’ll try to get out of paying us,” he said slowly.“Yeah. Either that or we’ll end up like the poor sods who brought him to us.”Finally. Finally! Someone with enough brains to figure it out. Damen tried not to show how interested he was in where this conversation was going, and took a bite of the bread they had given him. When they looked away, he discreetly spit it out again so that his head would be as clear as possible.“So what’re you suggesting, then.” A tale as old as time. Conspiracies on top of conspiracies. “Listen. My sister had ten children to a husband that couldn’t keep his prick in his pants. Couldn’t afford to keep ‘em all, not feed ‘em and dress ‘em, and the husband sure as hell weren’t helping. She sold one of the younger ones—the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen—to a pet house. Got ten thousand drachma for him.”“Ten thousand?” the other man repeated. “No way. There can’t be that much money in having pets. ‘Specially not at a pet house.”“I saw it, helped her hide the money from her brute of a husband myself. Might’ve even had more than that she was keeping from me knowing about. And even if we only got half that we’d still be earning more than what we were going to get paid. And less likely to get murdered at the end of it too. And he’s not bad looking, as far as things go.”The other man snorted. “Yeah, not bad looking. Like you haven’t been thinking about him with your hand on your prick each night since we got him.”There was the sound of someone being punched somewhere soft, and Damen stared down at his food with what he hoped was a suitably dazed look rather than an embarrassed one and avoided both of their gazes.A pet house. He had heard of such things. Akielos was as averse to having pets as Vere was to doing anything straightforward or with honesty, but he understood what it would mean: namely, it would mean removing his cuffs, and giving him a little bit of clarity of mind back. Veretians liked their pets sharp and they liked them a little dangerous, and without the drugs addling his mind or any shackles holding his wrists he would have enough freedom to make a suitable mess of these plans.All he had to do was wait, and when the time was right—Escape.
* He was sold for far more than ten thousand drachma to a woman old enough to be his grandmother, the madam of the nicest pet house in whatever starblighted town they were in, some place right outside the capitol. The two guards who had brought him here didn’t even look back as they took the money and, if they were at all smart, went into hiding for the rest of their lives. And for a moment Damen could almost convince himself that he was a free man.But he had forgotten that this was Vere.And he had forgotten that in Vere there were worse things than chains.
“And so I said to her, if you're going to be charging that much for it, it better make me shit gold for a week!”Damen hummed in response to what he figured was supposed to be a joke. He had learned pretty early on that Esme didn't require her audience to be attentive, only present. She continued to chatter on as he filled the buckets up with water and stared longingly across the river. It would only take a running start and a quick wade through the deeper part to get to the other side, and with how long it would take Esme to run back to the pet house and let the Madame know that Damen had escaped—again—he would be so far gone that this time they would never be able to get him back.The spell etched onto his chest twinged, as if in warning, and he sighed and hoisted the buckets to his shoulders.Esme kept chatting away as they made their way back to the town proper, retelling the story that she had told him on their way here about her feud with the shopgirl at the market.“And I don't see why she should look down on me,” she was saying now, “since it's not like I'm the one lifting my skirts for the customers. No offense.”“None taken,” Damen said. Even though technically he hadn't serviced any customers either.Yet.“Not like you wear skirts, of course,” she said, waving a hand airily. “Although that thing they brought you in looked a lot like one.”Damen considered telling her once more that the Akielon chiton he had been wearing wasn't a skirt, at least not like they were used to here in Vere, but he found that he couldn't quite muster the energy to do so. His head hurt. His limbs were sore, and he hadn't even carried that much water today. Ever since that Calligrapher had worked on him that second time, after his third escape attempt, he felt like he was walking underwater, like even the most minor of tasks drained all of his energy and stamina.It hadn't always been like that, he knew. Not even a month ago he had been healthy, hale, with stamina to burn, he could run around all day and not get tired—but it wouldn't help to think of such things now. He could already feel the binding spells beginning to activate. They felt hot, like brands against his skin, a warning of greater pain to come if he didn't stop this line of thought.“So just put that water there, and then I'll have you—oh, Madame, I didn't see you there,” Esme said as they entered the kitchen at the back of the house. The Madame must have been waiting for them; she had that expectant air around herself, like one waiting for recalcitrant children to come in from playing. Damen felt the hairs rise on his arm.“Esme, go clean the parlor, please,” the Madame said, without taking her eyes off Damen. Esme scurried to go do her bidding, more than happy to leave Damen to whatever was about to happen here.And Damen had a feeling he knew exactly what she was going to say.“You're on for tonight,” Madame said, without preamble. “You will join the others by six o'clock at the latest to get ready.”“No, please,” Damen said, hating how desperate he sounded, “you don't understand, I could help out here in the kitchen—”“I've been extremely kind to you these past few weeks.” Madame banged her cane on the floor to emphasize her words. “I have let you earn your keep with kitchen help and repairs to the house. But I paid a fortune for you, boy. And then a fortune again when it turned out you couldn't be trusted not to run away. And if you’re to have any hope of paying me back before you become too withered and old to tempt anyone you need to start working. Properly.”“And if I refuse?” Damen said, already feeling his chest begin to burn. His skin felt like it was on fire, like if he looked down right now it would be blackened and charred, but he knew from experience that he would see no such thing. He wouldn’t see anything at all.“If you refuse...” she paused dramatically, but Damen only stared her down. “I suppose I could give you to the Calligrapher to practice on,” she said, turning up her nose at him. “He was very interested in you, the last time he was here. I'm not sure if you remember that or not, as drugged up as you were.”Damen remembered. A small man with a hunch in his back and large goggles strapped to his head so tightly it caused the skin around his face to bunch up unnaturally. He had an annoying habit of wetting his lips with a quick flick of his pink tongue until they were wet and shining, a habit that continued through the entire process of being Written. It would have repelled Damen if he hadn't been so hazy from the drugs, which did nothing for the pain and only clouded his mind so he was too disoriented to think about getting away.Madame softened at his expression and walked over to him, patting him gamely on the cheek. He didn't flinch when she touched him, and he was embarrassed to be proud of that.“You're young, boy, and I'd wager you're not a virgin. You're luckier than most of the boys here, sold to me by their filthy parents before they even had hair on their balls and knowing nothing of other men's desires. Have a drink, if you need it. Relax. And bag me a rich one,” she said, grabbing his chin with force, “and maybe you'll make it out of here before you're as old as I am.”She released him with a small push and turned to walk out, her cane punctuating every step. Damen waited until she was gone, and then released the breath he had been holding. He turned and grabbed one of the buckets of water he had just carried up from the river and smashed it on the ground, wood splintering and water spilling. Immediately the pain in his chest flamed up, clawing at him until he was doubling over, every part of him screaming as his muscles tensed up and cramped, every inch of skin burning like he was on fire. He stayed in that position until the pain receded, until his breathing calmed and he was reasonably sure that he could walk again without collapsing, and began to clean up the mess.And if there were a few tears mixed in with the spilled water, well. At least there was no one around to see it. “You know,” Etienne said, sidling up to him and speaking in a low voice, “it works better if you don't look like you're about to murder everyone who dares to meet your eye.”“I think it's working exactly as intended, thank you,” Damen said, not as harshly as he could. He liked Etienne well enough; the boy had been kind to him when few others were, and had even helped him get ready tonight, applying just a few stripes of gold to his eyes. He had even argued for Damen when the Madame ordered him to put on more paint, calmly explaining that more would only hide his features and make him look cheap. Madame had sniffed but let Etienne do as he liked, and when she left he shared a small, private smile with Damen that made his heart ache with its unexpected kindness. Then, with brutal efficiency, Etienne had shown him how to mix an oil that would not only highlight his muscles but could be used to ease penetration, as well as having the added benefit of smelling of lavender.Damen had thanked him and set the oil aside.And now he stood in the corner of the parlor, dressed especially to highlight his—as Madame had called it—exotic nature. He was allowed to wear only a gold collar and two mostly sheer pieces of silk that were precariously tethered to him by thin gold chains, and he brought with him an expression that was murderous enough to scare off anyone who was brave enough to look.Which, so far, hadn't been anyone tonight. The first few customers who came in right after opening had been after specific employees. Regulars, Etienne explained. He had a few himself, and one that might be willing to pay to watch them, if Damen wanted to perform with him instead of taking on a client by himself for his first time. Damen had politely declined. The next few customers had startled at his presence and refused to meet his eye, their delicate Veretian sensibilities too fair for the likes of him. One customer had come into the parlor where they were waiting, looked around at them as if they were cuts of meat at the butcher's shop, and without hesitation chose Jacin, a pale, sickly looking boy who seemed like he would break in half if you so much as breathed on him but who Damen knew from experience could make a sailor cry with the foul language that would come out of his mouth. He shot Damen and Etienne the most wicked smile as he led the man out of the parlor by his belt loops, a tease which Etienne responded to by sticking out his tongue.Only a handful of them were left when the next customer entered the house. Damen could feel the atmosphere change the instant the man stepped foot inside, even though he couldn't see anything, not yet. Madame's voice was hushed, reverent in a way that she only reserved for dealing with the most wealthy customers or when she was bribing the local constables. Everyone else could feel it too, this change; the boys either perked up or reclined even further, depending on what their angle was. One of the girls removed her breast from her top, which had barely been holding it in to begin with. Etienne moved into the light, finding the perfect spotlight to highlight his hair and make him shine like a deity in a temple, golden and gleaming in the flickering candlelight.Damen moved further into the shadows, and willed himself to be invisible. And then Madame ushered in the client, and Damen’s breath caught in his throat.He was gorgeous. Lithe but obviously well built, and he held himself with a sort of arrogant defiance that made Damen think that no one had ever not done exactly as he asked, exactly when he asked it. Short blond hair fell gently into his eyes, and—oh, his eyes. The brightest blue Damen had ever seen, almost unnaturally so. They seemed to be lit from within, like a light shining from the back of a sapphire. The man's gaze roved over the assembled persons with barely concealed distaste, the slightest curl of his lips betraying his discomfort.“We have only the best men and women at your pleasure, my lord,” Madame murmured to him, “and of course we will be discreet with whomever you would choose, male or female. I would be happy to find you—”A single raised finger from the man stopped Madame in her tracks.“That one,” the man said, pointing directly at Damen. He wouldn't meet Damen's eyes but looked instead at his chest, blinking harshly.“Yes, my lord,” Madame said, casting a nervous glance at him. “He is one of our newest acquisitions, and perhaps not yet fully trained for someone of your exquisite tastes. Perhaps you would like to sample our—”“Have him sent up to my room,” the man said tersely, cutting Madame off. Damen heard one of the girls in front of him gasp. “I'd like something with clean linens, if you can manage that. At the back of the house. I don't want the sounds of fucking coming at me from every side.”“Yes, my lord,” Madame said, her voice honeyed to hide the murder underneath. “Would you like us to prepare him for you?”The man faltered for the first time, just a slight catch in his breath before responding. Damen frowned.“Prepare him?” he repeated.“We have a variety of oils that we can use to open him, to make the coupling more pleasant. Lavender, rosewater, a lemon scented oil that—”“That will not be necessary,” the man said, closing his eyes briefly. The faintest blush of pink stained his cheeks, and when he opened his eyes again Damen swore they were brighter than before. “I will wait at the bar while you make whatever arrangements are needed for my room.”And without another word the man turned and left, causing the Madame to shuffle after him, murmuring more questions, cane pounding as she scrabbled after him.“Well,” Etienne said, clapping Damen on the shoulder, “at least your first one is attractive.”“Something wrong with him, I bet,” one of the girls—Lydia, Damen thought—said. “Looking like that, he wouldn't have to pay for it if he were normal.”“You're just jealous he didn't choose you,” snapped a brunette named Katrine. She turned to Damen and softened. “He's probably just shy. A first timer, maybe. We get those all the time. You'll take good care of him, won't you?”Damen sighed and leaned back against the velvet curtains before pushing off and going to find Madame.“I don't really have a choice, do I?”“Don't worry, honey,” Lydia called out to his retreating form. “He won't be able to tell that you're not normal either. That's the privilege of first timers,” she said, and Damen could hear them laughing as he marched down the hall.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Damen sat down on the bed in the nicest room in the house, and then stood back up. Should he be standing when his client came in? Or would sitting be better? No one had given him any instruction on this, and though he had been trained for many things in his life not one of his many tutors had ever instructed him on the best way to look pleasing to someone who was paying to have sex with him.If this man had been someone he approached himself, though, someone he’d come upon in a tavern somewhere, or in the palace— that was a situation he’d know how to deal with. This man was exactly his type and if it weren't for the fact that he was being forced to do this it could have been a pleasurable experience. He would have been able to flirt, to tease, to get a sense of who this person was and what they wanted. He would have been able to do this at his own pace, or even no pace at all if he decided he didn't want to. That choice had been taken from him, and it was all well and good that the man was attractive but at the end of the day it didn't matter. The only thing keeping him here were the Words he couldn't see etched onto his skin, stopping him from running away, from fighting back, from doing the one thing that he most desperately wanted to do.Go home. The thought of returning to Ios, of confronting his brother, making him answer for what he had done, it made his head spin with how much he wanted it—The door opened. Damen stood up. He hadn't even realized he had sat down again.The man stepped in, ignoring Damen completely as his gaze darted around the room, as if he was trying to catalogue every nook and cranny. He had a bag in his hands that he clutched tightly to his chest, apparently precious enough that he had refused to let one of the servants take it off him. When he finally had his fill of all the room’s minor details his eyes came to rest on Damen and he winced, that curl of distaste back on his lips. Damen frowned.“They don't leave much to the imagination, do they?” the man said, gesturing towards the silks Damen wore.“Imagination isn't really why people come here,” Damen replied. The man—Damen was going to have to learn his name sooner or later—set his bag on the dresser and snapped it open with a precise flick of his wrists.“But people do come here, right?” he asked. It took Damen a moment to realize that it was a joke, but he didn't feel much like laughing, and the moment had passed. The man grabbed something from his bag and tossed it to Damen, who caught it reflexively.It took him another moment to understand exactly what it was he was holding in his hands. “These are—”“Very good,” the man said. “With what you were wearing I was afraid you might not recognize them. Put them on, if it will make you more comfortable. It would certainly make me more so.”“I was under the impression,” Damen said slowly, “that pants would somewhat hinder what you came here to do tonight.”The man held a finger up and gestured to the trousers that Damen still held carefully as he waited to hear what the catch was. But there was no incoming clarification and so eventually he shrugged and turned around so that he could get dressed in private. He had heard the others talking of such things; men who paid to just rest their heads in a lap and talk, some who just wanted a safe space to cry, and Etienne had even told him about one man who just wanted to watch him eat a peach, and who hadn't touched Etienne or himself before paying twice the going rate and leaving without a word.Damen didn't think this man was going to be doing any crying in anyone's lap. Perhaps it was a peach that he was protecting so fervently in that bag of his.When Damen turned back around, surprised that the pants fit him tolerably well considering he usually towered over most people here, he saw that the man was standing on one of the chairs, running his fingers over the door frame.“So, can you tell me your name?” Damen asked him.“I can,” he said, grunting slightly as he hopped off the chair and dragged it towards the other door in the room that led to a small washroom. “In a moment. Can you—” he turned, squinting again at Damen. “Can you go lay on the bed? Face down, please.”Damen closed his eyes and did as he was ordered, although it rankled at him. It rankled in a different way than the bindings did, stirring up something deep seated and angry inside of him as opposed to the burning, charred feeling that the bindings on his chest caused. He turned his head to watch what the strange man was doing—and so he’d have some warning when the man approached the bed—but he was carrying on with his earlier performance of ignoring Damen completely, as if he were of no more consequence than a lamp, or a table. Although that wasn't quite right either; he was paying most of the objects in the room very close attention, staring at them intently, running his fingers over areas that he couldn't see well.“It seems fine,” he said finally, his inspection of the room apparently finished.“I'm glad the room is to your liking,” Damen said, a little petulant. Ever since he had been sold here he’d been dreading this day, envisioning how this would play out in a hundred different ways, each one more terrible than the last. This—whatever it was that was happening right now—was so far from anything he’d expected that he found he was just a little bit angry about it.In response the binding on his chest began to burn and he sat up on the bed, trying to get away from the feeling, knowing that it wouldn't help.“A feisty one, aren't you?” the man asked, smirking at him. “That explains that...” he waved his hand in Damen's general direction, all of his condescension coalesced into that one brief gesture, “...mess that they left on you.”Damen frowned. No one could see the Writing on him; that was half the appeal of being Written at all. Only with specialized lenses could anyone see that he was bound at all, and yet this man spoke as if he knew exactly what was Written on him despite the fact that he wasn't wearing any eye pieces.The man laughed at Damen's obvious confusion, the sound half bitter, although for some reason Damen didn't think that bitterness was directed at him.“You can't see it, I know. But trust me. You're brighter than all the stars in the sky right now. In fact, you're hurting my eyes. Do you have a shirt?”“You're a Calligrapher?” Damen said, hating the way he flinched.The man must have seen it too, because he took a step back, crossing his arms casually—but in a way that put both of his hands where Damen could see them.“If a Calligrapher is capable of doing that to you then no, I don't want to be considered such,” he said, blinking again. Damen realized that he might in fact be hurting the man's eyes, as ridiculous as that sounded—there was no way he could actually see the Writing, that was impossible, more than impossible—and he grabbed the blanket from the bed and wrapped it around his torso. The other man visibly softened at this, and nodded slightly in thanks.“My name is Laurent,” he said. “And before you ask, no, I'm not planning on fucking you. Or being fucked by you. Don't look so happy,” he said, when Damen's shoulders slumped in relief. “I'm quite the catch, you know.”“Catch or not, having sex with someone who doesn't want it is still rape,” Damen said.Laurent paused for the briefest second, the expression on his face the same as when the Madame asked if he had wanted Damen prepared for him.“True,” he said quietly. “It is.”“So why are you here, then? If I'm hurting your eyes you could have picked one of the other workers—” “You think they aren’t Written too? They are, although nowhere near as bad as you. You must have been quite a lot of trouble for whoever tried to cage you.” “How can you even see anything?” Damen asked, ignoring the obvious goading. “You're not wearing those—those glasses.”The Calligrapher had been wearing those glasses. A complicated lens that took years to make, he had explained while Damen had been strapped down to the table. Worth more money than Damen would ever make in his entire miserable life.Damen had tried to punch him then, tried to reach out and snatch those glasses off his face, but his arms had already been fastened to the table. The Calligrapher had seen the movement and laughed, his spittle hitting Damen’s bare chest.“Very astute,” Laurent drawled, forcing Damen to stop thinking about the Calligrapher. “This bodes well for my plans for you.”“And what exactly would those plans be?” Damen snapped.Laurent looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, those bright blue eyes boring holes into him. Damen didn't look away, meeting that cold stare without breaking. His head still hurt. His limbs felt like lead, and he wanted to sleep. He didn't look away.“You're Akielon,” Laurent said. It wasn't a question, but Damen answered anyway.“Yes.”“And how well do you know your country?”“I've lived there my whole life, up until two weeks ago,” Damen said, his chest tight. He closed his eyes. “No. Three weeks, now.”“That wasn't what I asked.”“I know the country. I've been everywhere from Ios to Isthima to Sicyon and further. I've traveled in carriages and on horseback and on foot through half the country, easily. I could replicate the geography and layout of the entire country from memory, even the places I haven’t been.” His father and his myriad of tutors had made sure of that; now, he wished they had spent a little more time on enemy territories, so he could figure out exactly where he was in Vere. “Why? What does this have to do with anything?”Laurent took a deep breath before answering.“I want you to take me to Ios.”And then he stopped. It took Damen a moment to realize that this was all the information that was going to be shared. It took another moment after that to register what was being asked of him and he let out a short, harsh laugh.“I can't go back to Ios. I can barely leave this house, and even then only with a chaperone and only for errands. I couldn't even make it to the end of this street before these bindings would have me doubling over in pain. If it were possible for me to get to Ios I assure you I would be there right now.”Laurent brushed away those concerns with a wave of his hand, as if they were worth no more consideration than what shoes to put on before leaving the house or what color shirt to wear.“Hypothetically,” Laurent said. “Hypothetically, if you could leave this place, you would know how to get to Ios. And you could—again, hypothetically—get me there hearty and hale and in one piece.”“Yes,” said Damen, the word coming out broken on an exhale. He could close his eyes and his feet would fly him there, would carry him home. “Yes.”If there was any home to go to. He hadn't allowed himself to think about it, how his household would have been disbanded, or—killed. How they would have come for his rooms, his things, the letters he'd saved over the years, the books he'd read, the tokens of affection he'd received from friends and lovers. All gone now, probably burned, or—oh gods, or worse, gone through with a fine toothed comb to weed out his supporters and friends, and then they would also be—“So we have a deal, then?” Laurent said, and when Damen looked up it was obvious from Laurent's expression that he had repeated himself, and maybe more than once.“A...deal,” Damen repeated, and then shook his head. “No, I told you, I can't leave here—““And I told you it didn't matter,” Laurent said, annoyance creeping into his tone. “Leave that for now. If you were free to do so, would you be able to get me safely to Ios?”“For what reason?”It wasn't the question he’d meant to ask, and from Laurent's expression it wasn't something he was prepared to answer.“My reasons are my own,” Laurent said. His expression shuttered. “I am not going to explain myself to you—““If you're going to Ios to do harm to her people I won't help you,” Damen said, resolute in his decision. “If you can't promise me that your intentions there are peaceful, I won't do it. No matter what you're offering.”Laurent stared at him levelly for a moment, before the corner of his lip curled in something that was almost a smile.“So you'd give up your freedom, your chance to get out of here—why don't you just agree to whatever I say and try to take me out once we're on the road, if you're that concerned?”“Because,” Damen said, “I'm assuming that whatever agreement you're going to extract from me for my help will not leave any room for dumping your body in a river somewhere. And if you can see the Writing on me I’m assuming you can also Write, which means I won’t have much of a choice even if I wanted to do that.”At that the tug on Laurent's lips blossomed into a full smile, and when he laughed this time Damen couldn't hear any of the bitterness or wariness from before.“Very astute,” Laurent said, but this time it sounded like praise and it rumbled through him like a clap of thunder rolling in after distant lightning. He hoped he could blame his shiver on the fact that he was still only half dressed. “Very well. I promise that my intentions in Ios are pure and for my own safety, and that I mean no harm to her people or whoever is in charge of it this week. Is that good enough for you?”“Hardly,” he said, cringing at Laurent's casual mockery of the tenuous political situation at home, “but I have a feeling I won't get a better offer soon, if ever. I'll do it, assuming you can—they told me the bindings were permanent,” he said, looking at Laurent in bewilderment.“Nothing in this world is permanent except for death,” said Laurent, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket. When he removed his hand with a pen gripped in between his fingers, Damen couldn't help it—he flinched.“You'd better get comfortable,” Laurent said, his voice gentler than it had been. In a way that was more unnerving than the casual cruelty of the Calligrapher. “This is going to hurt.” They were on the bed, Damen on his back with his shirt off and Laurent sitting close, feet tucked up underneath him. He'd been peering at Damen's bare chest for a few minutes, scowling and frowning in every conceivable configuration, making tiny snorts of frustrated disgust whenever he came across something he deemed to be particularly offensive.“Is it bad?” Damen asked. The thought that he was so close to getting out of these bindings, so close to going back home, to confronting his brother and finding out the true reason he had been sent here—he had not allowed himself to think of it before, when he was certain that there was no way out, but if that hope was taken away from him now he wasn't sure he could survive it.Laurent made a noise that sounded like it could be assent, or could be his way of telling Damen to shut up.“Are you—are you not going to be able to undo them?” Damen asked, and then, because he couldn't stand to hear if the answer was no, continued. “In Akielos we don't, you know. Not like here. No one gets Written except for temple priests and priestesses, and then it's only the ancient Words, Written so they can commune with their gods—““And slaves,” Laurent interrupted. Damen must have looked pitifully confused, because Laurent sighed and looked up at him.“Your temple workers get Written, yes, but so do your slaves. You didn't know? Did you think they just chose to be slaves, and served you out of the goodness of their hearts?”“No,” said Damen, shaking his head, “no, I would know if—““And how would you know? You can't even see the Words Written on your own body. Did you honestly think—never mind. I can see that you obviously didn't.”“It's not true,” Damen said, sitting up quickly enough that Laurent startled backwards just a fraction. “I would know if something like that was going on. There would be—I would have seen the Calligraphers. There would have to be hundreds of them, thousands maybe, to Write that many slaves. I would have known.”“Fine,” Laurent said, pushing Damen back down with a hard shove. “Fine, I'm lying to you and you're right, Akielos is a perfect utopia where no one gets Written against their will, unlike the evil Vere where there's a Calligrapher on every corner. And I'm sure no one in Akielos gets exiled and sold to shitty pet houses in Vere, either. Now will you sit still?”Damen laid back down and tried to settle his beating heart. He knew that what Laurent was telling him had to be a lie, but he couldn’t deny the way it sounded like truth. Even though the pleasure slaves were treated generously and rewarded for their service he had never really considered why anyone would choose that line of work. And just as his bindings kept him within the pet house's purveyance, so too would their bindings keep them—and Damen wondered, for the first time, what else this Writing could do. If they could keep him from jumping across the river and escaping could they also keep someone from feeling pain while they knelt for their master for hours on end? Or worse yet, could they influence someone to think that they wanted to kneel in service for someone, when otherwise they wouldn't? If he couldn't fight or use his strength to defend himself, could someone also Write a slave to be obedient, to submit to something they didn't want to submit to?“It's against everything Akielos stands for to be Written against your will,” Damen said quietly, after Laurent had turned back to his inspection. He wasn't sure if he was saying it to convince himself or Laurent. He wasn't even sure if Laurent had heard him.“I never asked your name, you know,” Laurent said, sitting back and rubbing at his eyes.“Oh,” he said, and blushed. “It's Damen.”“Nice to meet you, Damen,” Laurent said, and with a flick of his fingers he reached into Damen's chest and pulled . When Damen came back to himself a few minutes later his chest was sore and Laurent was gone. His throat felt scratchy, like he may have been shouting, and he was glad that these rooms were at least a little soundproofed because there was no way whatever noise he’d just made would have sounded like pleasure.But maybe they were used to that, here. He pushed himself up and looked around the room.“Oh good, you're up,” Laurent said, walking towards him with a glass of water in his hands. “Here, drink this.”“Is it over? Are they gone?” Damen asked, taking a long, hurried drink of water from the glass.“No, not done. I've barely even started. Easy,” he said, as Damen took another long sip, wishing it was something stronger. He let out an uneven breath once the glass was emptied and set it down heavily on the bedside table.“It didn't hurt that much when it was put on.”“If you're going to insult my technique, you can undo it yourself,” Laurent said, a little petty. “It's not like I'm undoing my own work, you know.”“Would that be easier?”Laurent laughed. “Easier? Yes. It's like—“ he paused for a moment, and Damen wanted to interrupt him again, wanted suddenly to know how he could see the Writing without the glasses, how he could undo work that Damen had been certain, until a few minutes ago, was going to be a permanent burden. But he also didn't want Laurent to stop talking and so he waited, crowding those questions in his mind, waiting until he had a better opportunity to talk about such things.“It's like tying knots,” Laurent said eventually. “Or no, it's more like tying someone up. Any idiot could tie someone up by wrapping ropes around them, making clumsy knots and tangling everything until it's a giant mess that you can only undo with a sharp blade. And some idiot did, apparently. But a true master could achieve the same thing with only one knot, with a short length of rope that couldn't be broken out of but could be easily undone if you knew where to pull.”“Are you saying you want to tie me up?”Laurent rolled his eyes. “I'm saying you're already tied up, and it will do you no good to yell at me just because I'm the one stupid enough to try and cut you out. I am trying to help, you know.”“Before you tie me up again with one knot that only you know how to undo.”The grin Laurent turned on him then was feral, and Damen shuddered. He wondered suddenly if staying here wasn't a better option than going with this man, and then just as quickly discarded the notion. Laurent wanted him for his knowledge of Akielos, something he was more than willing to share. Madame wanted him for something that he wasn’t prepared to sell at all. “We have a long night ahead of us,” Laurent said, calling him back to himself, “and if you want time to rest before we leave, I suggest you stop distracting me and let me get to work.”“Sorry if my screams of pain were bothering you,” Damen said, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice. But Laurent ignored him and sat down on the bed again, settling in against Damen's side.The rest of the night passed by in a blur. The pain became easier to bear, little by little, either because Laurent was becoming more accustomed to unraveling the Words or because Damen was becoming accustomed to the feeling of it. Having nothing to do except endure what was happening and figuring that Laurent would not want to be interrupted with conversation, he found his gaze continuously drawn back to Laurent's face; the sharp, angular planes of his high cheekbones, the way his brows came together when he was concentrating deeply. His hair, somehow managing to shine like gold even in the unforgiving light of the cheap lamp on the bedside table, its edges uneven like it had been shorn with dull scissors but still carefully done all the same and strands of which continuously fell into his blue eyes. Damen felt calluses on his fingers when they brushed up against his skin, but even if there was no way to tell if they were from hard labor or holding a pen he could guess which one was more likely.At some point he must have fallen asleep, because when he opened his eyes again Laurent was no longer working over him and the room was bathed in the grayish blue light of early dawn. He turned, looking about the room—and stopped, when his gaze fell upon Laurent, curled up and sleeping next to him, his pen still grasped tightly in his hand.And even though Damen had thought he’d had his fill of looking last night, he found once again he couldn't take his eyes off him. In sleep Laurent's face appeared younger, with all the casual easiness of youth; in this early pre-dawn light Damen would put him somewhere around twenty, maybe twenty one, whereas last night something about the weight of the world in his eyes had made him think he was slightly older, closer to his own twenty six years. His hair was falling into his eyes again, and Damen’s fingers trembled with the impulse to brush it away—but he stopped himself just in time, turning away again as Laurent's mouth twitched.“Did you not stare at me enough last night that you need to continue doing so this morning?” Laurent murmured, his voice heavy with sleep. He didn't open his eyes, and Damen was glad for it.“I was only checking to see if you were awake,” Damen lied, propping himself up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He could not have gotten more than a few hours of sleep, but his head was clearer than it had been in a week, and his limbs felt oddly light. “We should get going soon, unless your plan is to have me sneak out the window.”There was a certain quality to the silence after this statement that made Damen turn around suddenly and look at Laurent.“You do have a plan, don't you?” he asked. “For getting out of here?”Laurent didn’t answer and got up off the bed and set his bag to rights. He fidgeted for a moment before snapping the bag shut with a decisive click and turned around, blue eyes staring holes through Damen.“You agreed to take me to Ios,” he said, his voice holding no room for argument. “In exchange for the work I did last night. You tell me what the plan is.”Damen rubbed a hand over his eyes and took a deep breath. It had been too much to hope that someone would not only come save him from his predicament and then also get him out of town; but that was something he could handle, now that he was a free man.Well. Relatively speaking. He wondered what Words Laurent had put on him last night, after taking all of the Calligrapher's bindings off of him. He wondered what he would have to do to find out. “All right,” Damen said. “First, I need to know what limitations you've placed on me. Are there any restrictions on the distance between the two of us?”“In a manner of speaking,” he said, an admission Damen suspected he would have never willingly brought up on his own, “but those limits are large enough that it shouldn't be an issue. Unless you were planning on leaving me here, that is.”“I promised I would take you to Ios,” Damen said shortly. “And I know you don't know me at all, but I always keep my promises. They will hold me better than whatever Words you've Written on me.”“So you say,” Laurent said, looking entirely unconvinced. “But I've never met a man whose promises don't crumble into air the very moment he's inconvenienced.”“Then it seems you haven't surrounded yourself with very good men,” Damen said, frowning.“Says the man who looks like he could fight his way through an entire garrison of soldiers and yet was sold to a pet house against his will,” Laurent snapped. “We're fast approaching dawn, Damen. If you want to get out of here before the sun rises we should leave now.”“No,” Damen said, shaking his head. Laurent didn't react to this, at least not in a way that Damen could see, but he could feel the sudden tension radiating from the other man at these words, could almost taste the way the air thickened between them. He pushed his awareness of Laurent aside.“The pets don’t wake until well after noon,” Damen explained. “And I've a hunch that you haven’t planned out what supplies we'll need on the road. Do you have a pen? A normal pen, with ink and the like?” Damen said, when Laurent made a face at him.Laurent rooted through his bag for a moment and came up with a perfectly normal, regular pen. Damen still winced as he took it, enough that Laurent couldn't have missed it, and he quickly set about finding a scrap of paper. He made a quick list of basic supplies they would need on their journey: blankets, dried meat, water canteens, a sturdy pack.“Here,” he said, handing it to Laurent. “Go to the store, see how many of these you can get. We can always pick some supplies up on the way, but it would be better if we didn’t have to stop at every town we come across. Do you know where the southern bridge is? The one that goes through the town center?”“We should stay off the main road,” Laurent said quickly. “At least until we're out of town. Someone might recognize you, alert the authorities.”Damen stopped. Laurent was right, of course, but staying off the main roads would make the going even slower, and he was anxious to put as much distance between himself and this cursed place as possible.“Okay,” he said slowly, casting his mind about the geography of the town. He hadn't had much time to sightsee after being drugged and brought here, but his walks with Esme down to the river had given him a limited sense of the area.“There's a river southeast of here, about a quarter mile away. There's a shallow area not too far from the main road, maybe a half mile, which shouldn’t be difficult to cross. On the other side of the river there's a goat shed. Some trees too, enough to hide from roving eyes. We can meet there, around noon.”“And what'll you be doing while I'm shopping?” Laurent asked him, eyes narrowed.Damen grinned at him, and was rewarded by the faintest blush coloring his cheeks.“I'm going to find us a ride.” No one stopped Damen on his way out of the pet house. Only a few servants were up this early, starting the laundry and putting the house in order for business that night, but Damen wandering around was a common enough sight by now that they all ignored him. Which was for the best, really. He wasn't sure what he would have said if someone stopped him, asked where he was going; he was sure that his newfound freedom was written as plain as day on his face, that it emanated from him in a radiant, incandescent beam of light, and he had never been the kind of person who was able to hide such things from anyone with two working eyes.Despite his trepidation that he would get caught he made it out of the house unscathed. And then he made it a few steps away from the house. Then down the road. Soon he had reached the end of the block without a chaperone, and with each step he was prepared for the burning on his chest to begin, to have him buckling over in pain—but the pain never appeared and the further he got from the house the less he was able to contain the smile blossoming on his face.Freedom. And soon he would be home, and then—His smile disappeared. Once he got home he would have answers. And there would be a reckoning for what was done to him.But it was foolish to think about that now when there were more pressing issues at hand. He had a job to do, and it seemed that he was in charge of this madcap plan of escape; he had to focus on the practical details of the operation. He wasn't sure if Laurent knew that it would have taken them months to get to Ios on foot, or if he did know and just didn't care. Damen was certain that he wouldn't be able to wait that long. He would run the entire way there to get there faster, was certain that if he put his mind to it he could almost fly, but he didn't know if Laurent would be able to keep up.People stared at him and whispered as he made his way across town, and he picked up his pace. This was hardly the first time he had been out—Madame had made sure to parade him around, get everyone talking about him so as to drive up business—but the townsfolk were still getting used to seeing him, and his height and his dark skin made him stand out against the pale, thin Veretians.And he had never been out without a chaperone before. Maybe they were whispering about that too. Maybe someone was running back to the pet house right now to wake the Madame and let her know that her tamed beast wasn’t as tame as she believed.By the time he made it to the stables he had worked himself up to an almost unbearable state of paranoia, and he took a few deep, calming breaths before going up to talk to the hostler. If he was to have any chance of pulling this off he would need to seem casual, even bored, and even then it still might not work. “Morning,” Damen called out when he spotted the hostler out in the yard exercising the horses.The hostler—Damen thought his name might be Jean—nodded at him, polite but distant, and indicated he should wait for a moment. Damen stopped himself from glancing up at the sun. Time slipped away from him with every beat of his heart, and he felt it pounding against him as surely as he could feel the blood in his veins. Laurent had left the pet house a good while before him so that they wouldn’t be seen leaving together. Had he been able to buy all of their supplies yet? Even in a relatively small town like this it shouldn’t be too hard to find the items they would need, and there would be nothing suspicious about someone like Laurent buying them. He would be fine. He seemed capable enough, and wouldn’t draw attention to himself the way Damen would, although that fine face of his certainly drew its own sort of attention.And not for the first time since the morning’s conversation, Damen wondered once more why Laurent was so desperate to get to Ios. Akielos and Vere were not close by any means but travel between the two countries was not unheard of. It would have been easy enough to buy passage on a boat or even a merchant’s caravan, if nothing else. But Laurent wanted to stay off the main road—had practically insisted upon it, despite how casually he had mentioned it—which meant that there was something going on that Laurent wasn’t telling him.Well, he would have time enough on the road to figure it out. And surely Laurent wouldn’t hide something important from him, not when their success depended on one another.“Hello?” the hostler said, and Damen blinked. It seemed like it wasn’t the first time the man had tried to get his attention. “You’re the Madame’s new pet, right? I remember you. How can I help?”“Right,” Damen said, silently sending up thanks for the chores around town that the Madame had given him these past few weeks. “Madame sent me to acquire two horses for the evening.”Jean nodded. He and the Madame had an agreement about the horses; there was no room at the pet house for a stable to be built, but she paid a small fee to ensure that there were always at least four good horses available to her when she might need them. A fact that Damen planned to take advantage of.“Got it,” Jean said, leading the horse he had been exercising back to a stall. “Her usual, I’m guessing? I can have them dropped off around seven.”“Actually,” Damen said, feigning embarrassment as he followed Jean back into the stables, “I was asked to bring them over now. The girls…” He sighed, as if admitting this information would cause him to burst into flames. “The girls want to braid flowers into the horses manes. Don’t ask,” he said, when Jean began to smile. “They said it was an important part of the game.”“Don’t tell,” Jean replied. “I have a feeling I’ll be charged for it if you do. You can take the greys now, but if you want the two blacks I’m afraid they will have to go flowerless. They won’t be ready until later.”“The greys will be perfect,” Damen said, hoping that his excitement didn’t show on his face. Jean motioned for him to follow, stopping at the far end of the stables where two grey horses stood placidly munching on some hay.“Here you go,” Jean said, and then tilted his head at some commotion coming from the front of the stables. “I’d better go handle that. You can get them ready yourself, right?”“I can,” Damen said, reaching over for the tack. “Thanks.”But Jean was already running off to greet the next customer, who was making a furious racket at the entrance to the stables. Not wanting to see what the commotion was and hoping it wasn’t someone from the pet house, Damen quickly saddled and bridled the horses, grabbing an extra length of rope so that he could tie them together when he led them out. He was nearly ready to leave when the familiar clanking of boots stopped him in his tracks, and without thinking he dropped out of sight behind the stable door.Those were military footsteps. He’d know that gait anywhere, even though his own soldiers didn’t wear the fussy, overly complicated boots that Veretian soldiers did. But soldiers were the same everywhere and their march, drilled into them with hundreds of hours of training, always had that same distinctive ring. He considered the risk of taking a peek above the door, and then decided against it. The horse whose stall he was in—the larger grey with a scattering of white spots on her flank, the one he was already considering as his—snuffed at him, and Damen brought a finger to his lips to silence her.“—don’t know what we’re doing in this godforsaken town,” one man said, his voice a whine. Damen could pinpoint exactly the kind of man he was without needing to look: rich, his commission paid for by his parents, a third or fourth son who could be easily lost and not missed, who knew it, and who tried to make up for it by buying every piece of happiness—whether company or alcohol—that he could get his hands on.“You know what we’re doing, Pierre,” a lower, more reasoned voice said. A captain, maybe, or someone angling for it. “Govart told us exactly who we’re looking for.”“The Prince is dead,” the man named Pierre said with certainty. “Everyone knows that. This is a fool's errand, Luc.”“Might not be,” Luc said, as Damen nursed a growing pain in his heart. He knew, in some tucked away corner of his mind, that of course Kastor would have told everyone he was dead even without a body for proof. Kastor's succession would hardly be accepted otherwise, not if there was the slightest doubt about whether or not the true heir was still alive. They might have even produced a fake body—or more likely a real body made to look like him, disfigured enough that no one would ask any questions. He knew that—and yet hearing it felt like a blow that he hadn’t seen coming.The Prince was dead. He was dead—or supposed to be.And yet people were looking for him anyway.It was just his luck, really.“Might not be, he says,” Pierre scoffed. “And I might not be the unluckiest bastard in the world, having to chase a dead man around the countryside. Oh, sorry, we’re doing “routine inspections”, I forgot. Like that’s so much better.”“Govart tells us he’s not dead, he’s not dead,” Luc said pragmatically, ignoring the other man’s complaints. “And that means we’ll find him eventually. He won’t be able to hide forever, not someone like him.”“Pierre? Luc?” a voice called out from up front. Damen wondered exactly how many men were after him. “Just got word there’s been an incident at the Calligrapher’s. Looks like we might have a lead. Get a move on.”“Yes sir,” they replied in unison, and soon Damen was alone once again with the horses. He waited a few minutes to give the guards time to clear out of the stables, and then led the two horses out. They followed calmly—they were good horses, and trained to carry inexperienced riders—and once he was out he turned towards the river, where he knew Laurent was waiting.And he stopped. It would be dangerous—beyond dangerous—to go to the Calligrapher’s right now. Even just thinking about it made Damen’s chest hurt in a painfully familiar way, and while he wasn’t quite ready to admit to himself that he was scared, he wasn’t ready to pretend that he was okay with it either. But he had a feeling that whatever incident these guards were investigating wasn’t a coincidence, and the need to know what was happening overruled his hesitation.He turned back, looping around to the opposite side of town. Luckily the Calligrapher had a successful enough business that he could afford to sit in the town center, which meant that at this time of day Damen would have no trouble blending into the crowd—as much as someone like him could, at any rate. Of course it also meant that there would be more eyes on him, more chances to be caught, but his curiosity overrode those greater concerns.Still, he would be cautious. The Calligrapher could recognize him on sight and would be able to tell instantly that his Writing was gone just by the fact that he was alone, and that was assuming he wasn’t wearing his glasses. Damen had never seen him without them the few times they had met; he wouldn’t be surprised if they were melded into the man’s face, in all honesty.By the time he made it to the Calligrapher’s, though, he realized that he hadn’t needed to worry so much.“I told you, he took them!” a man screamed—the Calligrapher, Damen recognized with a start. He sounded frantic, almost hysterical, so far away from the arrogant, imperious tone Damen was used to hearing from him that he almost didn’t recognize it. Almost. Damen inched closer, keeping one of the horses between him and the building, walking slowly like he was a curious bystander and not someone intimately invested in what was happening here. “Do you idiots have any idea how expensive those glasses are?” the little man fumed, poking a finger at someone who was just out of Damen’s sight. The guards, Damen assumed, and he picked up his pace a little.“Calm down, old man,” one of the guards said. “Tell us who took them and I promise we’ll look for your precious glasses.”“I...didn’t see him very well,” the old man grumbled, and Damen was really courting trouble by staying as long as he had but he couldn’t bear to leave, not yet. “I think he might have had yellow hair. He said I was—he was very mean.”“Oh that’s very helpful,” one of the guards—Pierre, sounded like—muttered.“You’re wasting our time, Calligrapher,” someone growled, and then Damen had to step out of the way as a farmer turned down the road with a cart of vegetables, yelling at him to stop taking up the entire road and to get a move on.The clock in the town center chimed noon, and Damen turned once more to the river, the two horses trailing behind him and the sounds of the Calligrapher’s words fading into the distance. By the time he finally spotted the small goat shed it was well past noon, and he was half afraid that Laurent had left without him. Not that he would have gotten very far on foot given that his sense of direction was, apparently, bad enough to necessitate spending an entire night just to acquire an escort—no, a guide; perhaps escort was an unfortunate term to use in this situation—but it only took Damen a few minutes to find the small goat shed, and to find Laurent waiting for him inside.“Oh good, you’re here. I was beginning to worry,” Laurent said, pushing one of the goats away from his satchel. From the look of the satchel it was a battle he had been fighting—and losing—for some time. The rest of the supplies seemed to be relatively unscathed, and Laurent gathered them up and brought them out.“Worry?” Damen asked, his nerves still on edge from the near encounter with the Veretian guards and from seeing the Calligrapher again. He grabbed one of the blankets from the pile of supplies and began fastening it behind the saddle on his horse with quick, precise motions. “It’s not like I could leave you here even if I wanted to, isn’t that right? You made sure of that, with the words you Wrote on me.”Laurent didn’t answer, and the air around them grew cold. He could feel Laurent’s piercing blue gaze on him, but he continued to fasten the supplies to his horse and pretended he didn't notice the suddenly frigid atmosphere.“Something happened,” Laurent said finally, and at this, Damen turned.“What? Why would you say that?” he asked, and then flushed. He sounded defensive, which really wasn't the impression he wanted to give, especially if Laurent already suspected something was amiss.“You weren’t this nervous last night, even when I was causing you pain. And you seemed confident this morning when we separated. Something must have happened in town,” Laurent said slowly, still studying him. Damen felt as though those unnatural blue eyes were piercing through him, skewering him, and he moved around to the other side of his horse, pretending to check his ties there, anything that would shield him from that gaze.“In town,” Laurent repeated, “did you see anyone? Anyone who was taking undue notice of you?”“Everyone takes undue notice of me,” Damen snapped. “I’m probably the only Akielon these people have ever seen. People stare at me wherever I go.”“More than the usual attention, I mean,” Laurent replied, and if he was angry about being snapped at Damen couldn’t tell. “You didn’t see any guards, did you?”Damen’s fingers stumbled in their tying, and he took a deep breath before smoothing out the rope and trying again.“Why?” he asked, in what he thought was a casual tone. “Are you worried someone is following us?”“It’s a yes or no question,” Laurent said, his eyes narrowing as he advanced on Damen. “And based on the way you’re avoiding it, I’m going to bet the answer is yes.”“Can’t you just force me to tell you?” Damen asked, the thin string of his patience pulled taut, on the brink of snapping completely. “Write me so I can’t do anything but tell the truth? And of course I would never know if that were the case, would I? Because you could Write that suspicion away from my mind too.”“I can’t, and even if I could I wouldn’t,” Laurent said, and he was frowning even more deeply now, but the anger he had shown a moment ago wasn’t directed at Damen anymore. When he spoke again his voice was soft, almost kind. “That Calligrapher almost broke you, didn't he?”Damen stepped back as if slapped. The urge to fight—to use violence to get out of this situation, to make Laurent stop talking—it rose in him like a wave, the strength of his fury threatening to pull him under. Laurent must have sensed something of the sort because he backed off suddenly, his body a sharp line of tension like he was preparing himself for an attack. The movement called Damen back to himself and he forced his fists to unclench, to take a step back. He felt unmoored, adrift; for the past few weeks he hadn’t been able to vent his anger at all without the startling pain of his bindings bringing him down, and to be able to access that anger now without anything stopping him—it would take some time for him to get used to normal again.He took a deep breath, and then released it. Laurent wasn’t his enemy—not his main enemy, at least—and if they wanted to get out of this alive, they would have to trust each other. To some extent.“There was an incident. At the Calligrapher’s. I saw it on my way over here.”“Did you see who was investigating it?”“Did I say that anyone was? The man was out in the streets, raving about some blurry yellow haired goblin who had broken in and stolen his glasses and who was very mean. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” Laurent waved his hand, dismissing the question. He didn’t even have the courtesy to look contrite about it. “The man was a raving lunatic. I’ve done everyone a favor.”“Laurent, you can’t court attention like that,” Damen said, unable to hide the exasperation from his voice. “We’re trying to get out of here without leaving a trail for the rabble of guards to follow.”“So there were guards,” Laurent said, sounding just the slightest bit smug.“We’re responsible for stealing two horses, burgling an old man’s house and are now fleeing the town. Men have been tracked and killed for less.”“It doesn’t seem to me like we’re fleeing,” Laurent said, hopping up onto his horse with a practiced movement. At least he appeared to be a competent horseman; Damen hadn’t even considered what he would do if Laurent hadn’t known how to ride. “It seems like you’re trying to talk me to death while we wait for some imaginary guards to come find us gabbing like old ladies.”“Laurent, will you just—” Damen started, but Laurent put his heels to his horse’s flank and cantered off, leaving Damen’s pleas hanging unanswered and unrecognized in the air. With a muttered curse Damen quickly packed the rest of their supplies, hopped on his own horse, and made haste after his wayward captor. By the time Damen called a halt for the day it was nearly dark. He had pushed them hard to put as much distance behind them as they could, but Laurent hadn’t complained; in fact, he had barely said anything all day, and they had mostly traveled in a tense silence.“Need help?” Damen asked as Laurent struggled to put his tent together. They had split chores, Laurent tending to the horses while Damen started the fire. It crackled and popped merrily, oblivious to their tension.“I can handle it,” Laurent said shortly.Damen sighed and went to grab the food. He had meant to take stock of their supplies before they left, but his late arrival had put a damper on that, and then their fight had distracted him even further. He grabbed the supply bag that Laurent had been carrying and found a few pieces of jerky and some cheese inside, but nothing else.“Where’s the rest of the food?” “It’s in the pack,” Laurent replied, refolding the canvas of his tent.“No, the rest of it,” said Damen.The only answer to this was a muffled curse that Laurent directed towards his flaccid tent.“Laurent, tell me this isn’t all of the food,” Damen said. “There’s barely enough here to last a day.”“I'm sure it's more than enough if we ration it.”“It’s not about rationing,” Damen said, feeling the exhaustion of the day settle in around his bones and rattle his patience. “It’s about making sure we have enough food to not pass out while we’re riding.”“Don’t worry about it. If we need more we can always get some more at the next town.”“The next town—Laurent, we don’t have time to stop at every town we come across. We need to make haste and keep off the main road, which was your suggestion, if you remember. If you suddenly don’t care about that anymore you could have let me know before we set off across open country.” “I gave the shopgirl the list that you gave me,” Laurent said, throwing the tangle of the tent down in frustration and looking over at Damen with those blazing eyes of his. “It’s not my fault you have execrable writing or that you didn’t specify enough supplies on your own list. I got exactly what you told me to get, nothing more and nothing less.”After being silent all day the words came out in a jumble; cluttered, crowded, like he had been repeating them over and over in his head for hours and was only now using this as an excuse to spit them all out.“You’re the leader of this wretched escape, don’t forget. I took the time to free you—”“You didn’t free me, you just put your own leash on me,” Damen snapped. “Don’t pretend that what you did was anything noble. You’re more competent than that Calligrapher but you’re the same kind of creature at the end of the day. Don’t insult me by pretending otherwise.”The look Laurent gave him then was deadly, a piercing sapphire stare that sparkled in the twilight evening, and without a word he got up and stalked into the forest.Damen sighed and put his head in his hands. It was like traveling with a spoiled prince. Worse, actually, since Damen had been that spoiled prince once, and he had never behaved as badly as that. Well. There was nothing they could do now about the state of their supplies; it simply meant they would have to risk stopping at the next town rather than putting more distance between them and their pursuers, and he would know in the future that Laurent couldn’t be trusted to use that brain of his to make reasonable decisions.Simple.With a nod he resolved to stop sitting around feeling sorry for himself. He pushed himself up and untangled the mess that Laurent had made of the tent and then, once that was set up, began putting together a meager dinner for the two of them. Laurent managed to creep back into the camp by the time full darkness set in, which was fortunate since Damen had already decided that he wasn’t going to spend the night wandering around the forest looking for him. He watched as Laurent took in the two pitched tents and the two plates of dinner with a puzzled stare. When he finally grabbed his plate and went to sit by the fire Damen followed, and together they ate the majority of their meager supplies in silence.“I...I should apologize.” The words pushed out of Laurent with force, and they had the note of being practiced. Damen almost retorted that wanting to apologize wasn’t, in fact, an apology, but Laurent sounded so strained already that pointing out that distinction would likely cause him to crumble entirely.“I’ve never...had to do anything like this before,” he continued, when Damen kept quiet. “You’d probably come to realize it eventually even if I didn’t tell you, but I’ve been kept very sheltered for most of my life. I’m not...I’m not as wordly as you are.”“Or as polite.”“That too.” “Or as handsome.”“Agree to disagree,” Laurent said with a small smile. It might have been the first time he’d smiled all day, and Damen knew he shouldn’t feel so pleased to have coaxed it out of him as he was. He also knew he shouldn’t consider it an apology in its own right, but he did, and he felt a jagged piece of annoyance slip away from him.They sat together in friendly silence for a moment before Laurent turned to him again, his mouth set in a tight line.“I also thought I should tell you. Those Words I Wrote on you.”Damen tensed, and then consciously forced himself to relax. He didn’t want to interrupt in case Laurent decided not to finish that thought, and waited for him to continue.“They’re not like what the Calligrapher did. No, I don’t mean it like that,” Laurent said when Damen started to protest. “You were right, earlier. About us being...not the same, perhaps, but a similar kind of beast. It doesn’t matter. What I mean is that the Calligrapher sought to keep you from escaping, or from harming anyone and fighting for your freedom, by basically punishing you for thinking about those things. He sought to stop your actions at the source, so to speak. You probably already felt the side effects of it; headache, muscle cramps, possibly even fainting spells. It’s a dangerous method of Writing, discouraged by most scholars, and one that will drive most people insane, eventually.”“Why would he do that?” Damen asked. “I wouldn’t be worth anything to them with those kinds of symptoms.”“Because it’s easy, and he’s incompetent and a charlatan,” Laurent said with some force before visibly softening. “That’s why I felt I had to stop him. I couldn’t in good conscience let him do that to anyone else.”Damen felt a pang of regret as he remembered the way the Calligrapher had looked, shouting at the guards about how he would never be able to afford more glasses. Which meant, effectively, that he was out of a job.“I’m sorry,” Damen said. “I was angry, when I said earlier—”“No, don’t apologize. You were right, in your own way. What I wanted to tell you—I just wanted to let you know. Those words I Wrote on you—they don’t do anything like what he did. They won’t punish you for thinking about leaving, or even for actually leaving.” Laurent laughed then, a small, disbelieving sound. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this. You’re going to slit my throat while I sleep and steal my horse.”“Technically she’s my horse,” Damen pointed out. “Since I was the one that stole her and all. I’m just letting you borrow her.”“Very encouraging,” Laurent said dryly.“What do they do, then?” Damen prompted. “I’ve had enough of those bindings for my lifetime. I’d rather not activate them if I can avoid it.”For a moment Laurent was silent, and Damen was afraid that he had changed his mind about telling him. Even if he had, Damen had gotten some information out of him—namely, that he wouldn’t be struck down dead if they accidentally got separated—and even that small amount of information eased his mind somewhat.“You can’t kill me,” Laurent said, and for a moment Damen thought he was asking for a promise, but Laurent didn’t make to speak again, and Damen realized that wasn’t how he meant it.“Really?” Damen asked, his heart twisting painfully in his chest. “That’s what you Wrote on me?”“You can’t kill me or intentionally hurt me in any way,” Laurent clarified. “There are allowances for accidental injuries, though. Like, if you mistakenly spook my horse and I’m thrown—”“Laurent, I never had, and never will have, any intention of killing you. Or hurting you. No matter what,” Damen said, appalled.Laurent shrugged, as if it didn’t matter to him one way or the other.“Now you know,” he said, pushing himself up from the fire and brushing his hands on his trousers. “We’ll see if it was the right call tomorrow morning. If you’re still here.”“I promised you I would take you to Ios, and I will,” Damen said. “We’ll see,” Laurent repeated. “And in case I don’t get a chance to say it, thank you. For setting up my tent. And for dinner.”And with that he disappeared into the small canvas shelter. Damen knew he should get to bed as well; it would be a long day tomorrow. Instead he sat and stared at the fire as it died down to embers, and it was a long time before sleep found him.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
It didn’t take long for them to pack up camp the next morning after finishing off the rest of the food. Damen felt Laurent’s eyes on him the whole time, watching him with a wariness that was half amazement and half distrust. As much as Laurent refused to believe in Damen’s honor he truly did have every intention of bringing him to Ios, and he tried not to be insulted that Laurent would think otherwise. They didn’t know each other, not really, and Damen suspected that Laurent would continue to distrust him until the moment they stepped foot in the Akielon capitol.He also wondered about who Laurent must have surrounded himself with to make him so hard. The fact that he had only Written Damen to prevent himself from being killed—assuming he was telling the truth, of course, which Damen believed he was—spoke of a lived experience that Damen desperately wanted to know about, but which Laurent seemed reluctant to share. He didn’t want to stress the fragile trust that had started to grow between them and so he didn’t ask, and as the day continued Laurent stopped stealing looks like he half expected Damen to simply not be there, the next time.It was early the next day, after they had resupplied at a small town, that Damen noticed they had a problem.“We’re being followed,” Damen said as he led them off the road. Laurent turned and looked behind them, as if he’d see a contingent of guards ten feet away instead of a half day’s journey behind them.“There,” Damen said, pointing to a small cloud of dust in the distance. “I thought it might be nothing—wind, or a group of merchants or something. But it’s been following us.”“Through open country,” Laurent said. Damen nodded. “It’s too much of a coincidence to be anything else.”“Can you see how many there are? Or what colors they’re wearing?”Damen looked over at him, a little surprised; surely Laurent could see as well as he could that they were barely a speck in the distance, much too far to make out anything with the naked eye. But then, Laurent hadn’t noticed that they were being followed at all. Perhaps he just had more faith in Damen’s experience than he realized.“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It can’t be more than five or six people, I think. But I also think we should probably assume the worst.”Damen hopped off his horse, soothing her with some gentle neck scritches before lifting up her hoof and inspecting it.“Yeah, that's what I thought. They’re following the tracks,” Damen said, putting her hoof down gently. “See there?”He pointed behind them, and Laurent turned to look.“I don’t, actually,” Laurent said dryly.“These horses weren’t meant to go cross country like this. They’re city horses, and their shoes are fairly distinct. We’re practically leaving a giant trail behind us wherever we go. We’re going to have to get rid of the horses. Go on foot.”“On foot? Whoever’s following will catch up to us immediately.”“Not if we cover our tracks,” Damen pointed out. “Which will be a lot easier without eight horseshoes to cover up.”Laurent had no clever quip or response to this, and Damen started to unpack his horse, gesturing for Laurent to get down and do the same. They couldn’t afford to dally; they had only perhaps half a day’s lead, maybe even as little as six hours, and they needed every minute they could get. Perhaps, if they were very lucky, they could send the horses off in another direction and have their followers chase after two riderless horses; Damen knew how unsupervised horses tended to graze, though, and so he wasn’t going to put much stock into that idea.But when he turned to look he saw that Laurent hadn't moved off his horse, and was making no effort to get down. “I think,” Laurent said, tightening the reins around his hand, “I have a better idea.” “Is this really what we’re doing?” Damen whispered, crouching next to Laurent in the dark.“You’ve had all day to come up with a better plan,” Laurent whispered back. “And I seem to remember you thought this better than literally just running away. On our own two feet. Are you telling me those feet are cold now?”With an immense effort Damen suppressed an eye roll and looked towards the group of men sitting in front of a fire about thirty feet ahead of them. It was dark out, and he was fairly certain that they couldn’t be seen; but then, he wasn’t quite willing to bet his life on fairly certain.“So what do you think?” Laurent asked him, as if Damen hadn’t made it quite clear already what he thought of this insane plan. He sighed, blowing a leaf away from his face.“I think that they’re only lightly armed,” Damen said, peering into the darkness. "And I think there's only three of them."He also thought, although he kept it to himself, that he could probably take the three of them, if it came to that. It sounded a little too much like boasting to say out loud. "Do they look like honorable men to you?" Damen blinked. "Honorable—what kind of question is that?" Laurent shrugged, the leaves rustling as he moved. "They need to be just right," Laurent said. "Honorable enough to not slit our throats immediately, but not honorable enough to pass up what we're offering." Damen thought it a particularly small needle to thread and one likely to end up with them both beaten and bloody in the middle of a forest come morning if they were lucky, but decided there was no need to be maudlin.“They don’t look dishonorable,” he said instead. “And they don’t have a sentry, which means they’re either stupid or trusting.”“Let’s hope for a little of both, yeah?” And with that, Laurent stood up and walked toward the fire. "Hello there!" he called out, his voice pitched differently than usual, no trace of his usual bite anywhere to be heard. He sounded almost friendly. "I'm so glad we found you, thank goodness." The men jumped up at the first sound of his voice, but to Damen’s surprise they didn’t draw their weapons. It probably had more to do with the vision Laurent created than anything; with that face, that hair and those eyes he looked like some sort of nymph come out of the forest to tempt and delight whatever mortal men were lucky enough to find themselves in his path.If only they knew.“Darling, they have a fire,” Laurent called back to him, and then turned back to the men. “My fiancé—he’s tending the horses. Oh, you wouldn’t mind if we joined you, would you? We’ve been lost for days, and neither one of us knows how to start a fire. It always seemed so easy when the servants did it. We only have a bit of food left but we’ll happily share—”“We’ve space,” one of the men said, nodding at the other two to stand down. The leader, then. Damen made sure the horses were tightly tied to a tree branch before coming to stand next to Laurent, protectively close. His arrival wasn’t met with the enthusiasm that Laurent’s was, he noticed, and tried to hunch over, make himself seem smaller.“We thank you,” Damen said in a small voice. He wasn’t sure anything else would sound believable.“Oh, if only we could figure out how to build a fire!” Laurent said, putting his arm through Damen’s and dragging him over to a stump to sit on, holding out his hands to the warmth in front of them. “It’s so desperately cold at night, even though I have this big lug to keep me warm.”He managed to sound so sweetly affectionate at this that the men relaxed just a little, accepting the falseness of Laurent’s words without a second thought.“You travelers, then?” one of the other men asked.“You could say that,” Laurent said, sharing a private smile that Damen struggled to return. Laurent turned back towards the men with a conspiratorial look, like he was revealing a big secret. “We’re eloping. My parents don’t approve of the match, on account of his station and the fact he’s not got a single coin to his name.” Laurent tightened his arm around Damen’s, and Damen fought the urge to scowl and push him off. “But you can’t help who you love. I don’t care that he mucks out our stables for a living, and I don’t see why my parents should either. We stole a few of papa’s horses and came out here. We’re going to find some patch of land somewhere and start a new life.”And Laurent, embellishing the story as he talked, managed to sell the lie convincingly. The men relaxed, fully convinced that Laurent was nothing but a spoiled brat playing with a new toy, and soon even Damen half believed that he was at risk of being run out of town by Laurent’s overbearing parents who only wanted to find him a better match than someone whose job and lack of marketable skills would leave both of them destitute for the rest of their lives.He could have done without that detail, in all honesty. But Laurent was having fun, and the men looked charmed enough by their story that Damen was at least partially convinced they weren’t about to have their throats slit while they were sleeping. “Lymon,” Laurent said, nudging Damen to let him know this was his pseudonym. “Go fetch us some of that wine from our pack, will you? It’s the least we can do to thank these nice men.”“Yes dear,” Damen said, taking the opportunity to plant a kiss on top of Laurent’s head, which caused the men to laugh uproariously. The men, they soon came to find out, were hunters from the nearby town of Milay, although Damen saw the men’s eyes dart to their leader when that fact was revealed, making the truth of that statement rather questionable. Damen would bet that at least one of them had a dagger on them, but they weren’t carrying swords, which suggested they weren’t bandits, something he had been worried about even if he had neglected to share that worry with Laurent. And it didn’t look as if they were waiting for more people to join them, either. They had been genuinely surprised to see someone else approach them, not just wary, although that surprise hadn’t prevented them from ultimately drinking all the wine Damen had brought, or eating all of their bread either.“I don’t know if this is going to work,” Damen whispered when they began bedding down for the night, having accepting the men’s invitation to sleep by the fire. “You can survive sleeping next to me for one night,” Laurent said just as low. “You had no problem falling asleep with me next to you in the pet house.”“No, that’s not what I—these men. They’re not going to do what we need them to.”Laurent hummed, and looked at the fire for a moment before turning back to Damen.“They will.”His voice brokered no argument, and so Damen simply shrugged and settled down on the bedding. They had only the one bedroll to facilitate the story that they were lovers, but Damen seriously doubted Laurent would be able to relax enough to convince anyone that they were anything more than polite strangers. He made himself comfortable, knowing it was going to be a long night of starting at every sound and watching the men through half lidded eyes.And then Laurent settled down on the bedding too, facing Damen with his back to the fire, their faces just inches away from each other. He could feel Laurent’s breath soft against his face, and he had the sudden realization that it would take no effort at all to stay up all night, not if he could lay here and gaze at Laurent like this. “You don’t have a very high opinion of most people, do you,” Damen said in an effort to stop his mind from wandering inconveniently, to distract from the way that Laurent’s body curved in towards his, from the way the firelight played with the golden sheen of his hair. “Everyone is either out to kill you or to steal from you, is that right?”“That’s been my experience, yes,” Laurent said, his voice flat. “And so why shouldn’t I expect that, if every interaction I’ve ever had has proven my instincts correct?”“Not every interaction.”“You’re referring to yourself, I’m assuming.”“I am.”“ If you don’t end up trying to kill me or steal from me—and we’re only three days into this journey, I will remind you—it will only serve to make you an outlier. One out of hundreds. A statistical anomaly.”“You know, when you say it like that it almost sounds like a compliment.”A small laugh escaped Laurent’s lips and the sound of it settled around Damen’s frame like a warm blanket. “A future compliment, maybe,” he said graciously. “Let’s just hope it turns out to be warranted.”“I went along with this insane plan of yours, didn’t I? If that doesn’t warrant some measure of trust I don’t know what does.”“It’s not insane if it works.”“‘If’ is a lot to bet against when the ‘if not’ means we wake up dead. I’ll take second watch,” Damen said, before Laurent could interrupt him with any complaints. “It’s a rougher shift, and I don’t mind it. Just wake me up when you can’t keep your eyes open any longer.”“Did a lot of watch shifts while you were at the pet house, I take it?” Laurent asked, although he had the manner of someone who didn’t expect an answer.Which is probably why he looked faintly surprised when Damen said, “No, not there. I was—I used to be a soldier. I wasn’t—you were my first client. At the pet house. I was there—”Under duress, he wanted to say, except that wasn’t the whole of it. Beaten, drugged, manacled, half insensate while his entire life was upended right in front of him—yes, that was more accurate, perhaps, but he couldn’t make the words come out of his mouth.“I never wanted to be there,” he ended up saying. The only truth he could admit.“I’m—glad, then,” Laurent said, and when Damen looked up, surprised, he saw that there wasn’t anything like pity on Laurent’s face, only a steely determination, a confidence that Damen was beginning to believe never wavered no matter the circumstance. “That I was able to help you escape. I’ll take first watch,” he said quickly, before Damen could respond. “Get some sleep. We have a long day of walking tomorrow.”He turned over, effectively keeping Damen from answering him. And so Damen took his advice and closed his eyes and went to sleep, the images of his home burning behind his eyes. Damen woke with a start. It was light out; early morning with just a hint of the sun coming from the east. The forest was a gauzy golden color, that kind of magical light that only lasted for a few minutes during sunrise and then again at sunset. It was a particularly beautiful color, Damen thought, glinting off the metal arrow currently aimed at his face.“Easy,” the man said, as Damen pushed himself up off the bedroll. Laurent was sleeping beside him, breathing evenly. “Arrows are in short supply lately, and I would hate to have to waste two of them on the likes of you.”The man held his bow with an easy familiarity, the arrow notched but not drawn back. Damen had no doubt that it could be aimed and fired before he would even have the chance to get on his feet. So they hadn’t been lying about being hunters, then. Just about everything else.“What’s going on?” The man with the bow sighed. “You really are slow, aren’t you? Listen. Times are tough out here. There’s word about troubles at the border. The political situation in the capitol is making things expensive. People like us—we don’t have the freedom to indulge in star crossed lovers bullshit like you do. We need to feed our families. We need to take care of our own.”“We broke bread with you,” Damen growled. “Gave you our wine.”“And we appreciated it,” the man said. “And it’s the reason we’re only taking a few of your things and you’re not waking up with an arrow through your chest. Want a free tip, though? Don’t trust strange people you find in the woods. More than likely they’ll cut out your heart and eat it for breakfast.”“If you want me to be grateful to you for exhibiting basic decency by not murdering us while we sleep, you’re going to be waiting a long time,” Damen hissed softly, aware of Laurent still sleeping next to him.“I’ll give you another tip for free, too,” the man said, standing up and nodding at someone Damen couldn’t see. The man didn’t loose the grip on his arrow at all, and he pointed it now at Laurent’s sleeping form. “That one is going to give you more trouble than he’s worth, trust me on that. Even an ass that tight isn’t worth the nonsense he’s going to put you through. Or the nonsense he already has. If you’re even the slightest bit smarter than I think you are I can always save you some trouble, if you like.”Damen wasn’t sure whether the hunter was offering to take Laurent himself or to shoot him, but the look on his face must have been answer enough to both questions because the man’s eyes grew wide and his hand tightened on the bowstring. The anger that Damen still hadn’t learned how to control properly after the Calligrapher’s work flooded through him, turning his vision red, and he put a protective arm around Laurent’s sleeping body, careful not to disturb him. “If you touch him,” Damen said slowly, deeply, “all the arrows you’re carrying will not be enough to stop me from killing you.” “I was only trying to help,” the man said, trying to put his hands up in surrender before deciding they’d be put to better use firmly grasping his weapon. “When you end up in this same situation with him on the other end of the arrow instead of me, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”A number of retorts rose to Damen’s lips, all of them designed to start an altercation that he desperately wanted to finish with his fists, and he pushed them all down. Out of the corner of his eye he saw one of the other men on horseback—on his horse—make a gesture towards the man with the bow, and in a flash he was running and then astride, and they were gone.Damen took a few deep breaths. It was ridiculous to be angry about the situation, since it had come out exactly how Laurent had planned, but he couldn’t help but feel hurt and betrayed by these men whose names he hadn’t even had a chance to learn.“I’m pretty sure you can get off me now,” Laurent said, once the sound of hooves had faded into nothing.Damen looked down to see those sapphire eyes gazing back at him cautiously, with enough clarity that it was unlikely he had only just woken. Laurent’s body was tight with tension, as if he expected Damen to take advantage of his position crouched over Laurent’s body, and Damen scowled and pushed himself away.“What happened to waking me for second watch?” he asked crossly, putting some distance between the two of them. “Did you even stay awake for your own?”“No,” Laurent said, infuriatingly calm, and then, more hesitant, like he was divulging a secret, “it wouldn’t have worked if they had known we were awake.”“They could have killed us. They very nearly did.”“Already regretting not taking that man up on his offer to get rid of me?” Laurent asked. “You already know you can leave whenever you want, even if you can’t hurt me directly. Having him put an arrow through my heart for you would have been quite a nice solution to your dilemma.”“There is no dilemma,” Damen said, yanking the bedroll out from under Laurent. Laurent slipped off of it gracefully rather than tumbling into the embers of the fire, which annoyed him even more. “The two of us are going to Akielos. If you get shot by a hunter because of a dumb plan that didn’t work that only means I’m going to have to carry you there. And I’d rather not do that. So if you could not encourage others into homicidal rages, I’d appreciate it.”“They took the horses, which is what we wanted. It worked. And we both got a full night’s sleep out of it and we’re not dead. As far as plans go, it’s one of my better ones.”“We are in this together, Laurent. It’s not going to work if you’re keeping things from me, or lying to me. Do you think those men that are after me are going to spare you once they find out you’re the one who freed me?”“I—” Laurent stopped, considered. He closed his mouth on whatever question had been forming there and instead he asked, “Why do you think they’re after you ?”Damen flushed and looked away, fighting to put the bedroll back together. He had just been lecturing Laurent about being more open with him, and here he was hiding the fact that men were following them because he was the prince of Akielos and was supposed to be dead. Laurent didn’t deserve to get caught up in this mess.But he couldn’t tell him. Not yet. Besides, in the end none of this would be an issue. Those guards that were following them would already be veering off in the wrong direction, chasing the tracks of those hunters instead of them, and he and Laurent wouldn’t have any way to be followed now. It wouldn’t even be an issue.“The Madam at the pet house told me that she paid a lot for me,” Damen said eventually. “I’m sure she just wants to recoup her costs.”“By paying a mercenary group even more money to come after you? You said that I was your first and only customer, so I can vouch for the fact that you’re not that good of a lay.” “What do you want me to say, Laurent? Until they’re on top of us and putting us both in cuffs we won’t really know, will we?”“I don’t need you to tell me what you think will make me feel better,” Laurent said, as if anything Damen had said was intended for that purpose. “I just need you to tell me the truth.”“I’ll start when you do,” Damen said, shoving the bedroll into Laurent’s arms. “Now let’s go find whatever supplies of ours they left and get the hell out of here.” It was nearly dark the next time one of them spoke, and it was Laurent who broke the silence between them. That was fortunate, because Damen would have sooner never spoken again rather than been the first one to break.“Stop,” Laurent said, panting slightly as he put a hand against a tree for balance. “We have to stop. I can’t keep going.”“We can’t slow down,” Damen said shortly, even though his own reserves were nearly depleted. “We can’t do this all day and all night,” Laurent said, putting his back against the tree and closing his eyes. “We have to—” a few more deep breaths, “—pace ourselves.”“We have to make sure we’re not caught. Come on. A few more miles, and then we can rest for a few hours.”“No.”“Laurent—”“It will be infinitely harder for you to do this if you have to carry me, as you’ve threatened to do. And it is what you’ll have to do, because I’m not going any further tonight.”“Fine,” Damen said bitterly, even though he could admit to himself that it would be dangerous to go much further at night. Laurent seemed to trip over every dead branch and rock as it was even during the day, and Damen couldn’t even imagine how much worse it would be in the dark. “We’ll find somewhere hidden, make camp there. No fire.”“Damen—”“The flame from a candle can be seen over a mile away. A fire is infinitely worse, especially in the dark. We can’t risk it.”Laurent sighed, and knocked his head back against the tree. Something above them chittered, and Damen briefly wondered how hard it would be to catch a squirrel for dinner before remembering that he had just said they wouldn’t be able to cook it. Probably not worth the effort, then. He had eaten some truly disgusting things during his time as a soldier in his father’s army, but raw squirrel was another level entirely.“Okay,” Laurent said after a moment had passed. “Okay. Let’s look for a good place to hide, then.” It didn’t take them long to find a good spot. They had been following a river for most of the day, and though staying by the running water might be an obvious place for a search party to look for them it also meant that there were a number of small caves that the water had carved out over the years, along with loose rocks that provided even further cover. After about ten minutes of searching Damen determined that the small cave they had found was as good of a place as any, even if it meant they would have to put their bedrolls a little closer to each other than he wanted. It shouldn’t matter anyway; one of them would have to stay up for watch, and if yesterday was any indication Laurent certainly couldn’t be trusted to do so.“Here’s fine,” Damen said, unfurling his bedroll. It was still dirty from the hole it had been buried in to hide it from the hunters, but at this point he couldn’t imagine that any more dirt would make a difference to the state of his clothes. “We can eat, and then I’ll take first watch. And I’ll actually wake you up for second, trust me on that.”Laurent sighed noisily and rolled out his own bedroll. It was cleaner than Damen’s, and Damen remembered how close they had been on it only the night before, whispering to each other by the light of the fire.Before Laurent had gone to sleep when he was supposed to be protecting them and had nearly gotten the both of them killed. He would have to remember that too. That one is going to give you more trouble than he’s worth , the hunter had said, and Damen almost wished he could find the man again to tell him just how right he was.“We need a fire,” Laurent said with a measure of authority that Damen found intensely irritating. He had the feeling that Laurent was proficient in giving orders and had enough experience with his forked tongue to ensure they were always carried out to his satisfaction. “I’m going to freeze to death if we don’t.”“You won’t. It’s not nearly cold enough for that. And I’ve already told you we can’t.”“I only need it for a moment. To heat up some dinner. Then we can both freeze to death together, I promise.”“Laurent, we can’t —”“Damen,” said Laurent, moving into Damen’s field of view so that he couldn’t look away without being painfully rude. “It will only be for a moment. Just enough to heat up some water and make sure we don’t give ourselves cholera. A small bit of risk now to avoid the bigger risk of not being able to walk later. Okay?”And as much as Damen didn’t want to admit it, it made sense. A fire probably would be fine; the spot they were camping on dipped a little next to the river, which would prevent the flame from being seen from a distance, and the smoke would be hard to see at this time of night. And, if Damen was brutally honest with himself, he had said it to annoy more than anything. “Fine,” Damen said, and now it was his turn to be annoyed at how easy it was to let Laurent’s hint of a smile wash away the resentment he had so carefully built up all day. “A small fire. No more than ten minutes.”“That’s all I need,” said Laurent, grabbing his pack and settling it carefully on his bedroll. “Now, go find us some firewood, won’t you?” Damen was glad for the time to be alone. For all that he was tired and ready to sleep for an entire week he felt as if he hadn’t had any time to be alone since…well, since the night he’d been taken from his rooms in the palace. And so as he bent down to pick up a small, dry log from the forest floor, he used the time to gather his thoughts.They had probably made it only a few dozen miles since their escape, and most of that had been on horseback. Going on foot was going to slow them considerably, and so some thought would need to be put into finding a faster means of conveyance, otherwise it might take them months to reach Ios. He didn’t have that much time. He didn’t know what the situation was like at home, but the heir to the throne suddenly disappearing in the middle of the night probably wouldn’t foster a politically stable environment. And the hunter had made some mention of trouble at the border, which could only be because of his disappearance. The kyroi were likely in chaos unless his father had found a way to subdue them all somehow. Threats, maybe. Promises. There would be some loyalists who would not side with Kastor being crowned heir no matter what, but even Damen’s staunchest supporters wouldn’t rock the boat if they could read the writing on the wall clearly enough—and the true heir to the throne being gone was as clear a message as someone like Kastor could hope for. Besides which the kyroi had families to think about, and citizens to take care of. Civil war would get them nothing unless they thought they had a chance to take the throne themselves. A few of them, maybe, might try that. The younger ones. The ones who hadn’t lived and fought with his father.Damen sighed and grabbed another log. Besides all of that to think about, there were his more immediate concerns. Laurent, for starters. Unpredictable at the best of times and seeming more and more likely to get them both killed before either one of them could cross the border. And—Damen still hadn’t figured out why Laurent was so intent on going south to begin with. He had said that he had no intention of doing any harm to Akielos’ people, but Damen had also watched him tell those hunters about how the two of them had slipped out from under the nose of his watchful father and stolen some horses so they could get married in secret, and the only reason Damen had known it was a lie was because he was pretty sure that he would have remembered proposing. All that to say: Laurent couldn’t be trusted, and he needed to remember that if he was going to get the both of them to safety. Once they reached Akielos and Damen had fulfilled his promise to the man, then—then he could deal with whatever underhanded plot Laurent surely had up his sleeve. He picked up another few pieces of wood and started back towards camp.It was easy enough for him to find the river again; he hadn’t gone very far in his quest to find a few sticks for the fire and clear his mind. It was a little harder to find the site where they had chosen to set up camp, but he had camped out before and generally had a good sense of direction. Besides all that he had noticed a large rock in the middle of the river from when they had first settled down and had made note of it as a landmark of sorts. From certain angles it looked like a giant river dragon, like the ones in the stories his mother used to read to him when he was a child.He could see the dragon now, out in the middle of the water. What he couldn’t see, anywhere around him, was Laurent. Or the enormous rocks they were going to shelter under for the night, or their bedrolls, or the fire that Laurent had said he was going to get started.He was standing in the clearing where their campsite had been, and he was alone.It was a ploy. This thing about the fire had just been about Laurent trying to get Damen away from him so he could run; to what purpose Damen could only begin to fathom. Maybe he thought Damen too big a liability, especially with a band of mercenaries after him, and decided to cut his losses. Maybe he was tired of Damen calling all the shots and walking them nearly to death. Maybe he thought that he was close enough to get to Akielos without any more help, and was tired of arguing over every little thing that came up.Maybe Laurent just didn’t like him, and would rather get eaten by wolves then spend one more minute alone with him. Damen dropped the sticks he had been carrying onto the ground, and sat down heavily on a fallen tree that skirted the waterline as he stared into the water running past him.“Damen?”He turned at the familiar voice, and watched as Laurent suddenly appeared in the small clearing behind him, coming into focus like some sort of mirage brought to life.It wasn’t possible. It didn’t make any sense. Damen knew what the rocks they had chosen to camp under looked like and he still couldn’t see them now. And it wasn’t possible to move them; maybe with thirty men such a thing could be accomplished, but even then it would be a difficult task. But Laurent was here, which meant that they had to be close. He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again Laurent was still there. He hadn’t imagined it. “You couldn’t see me, could you?” Laurent said. He looked supremely pleased with himself, and if he had noticed Damen’s expression he didn’t say anything about it. “I knew it would work. Come on, I’ll explain everything. Bring the wood. I managed to get the fire started this time. You see, I’m learning.”And now that he’d said it, Damen could smell the faintest bit of woodsmoke in the air. He wasn’t sure how he had missed that earlier. He gathered up the sticks in his arms, unable to process anything except the order that Laurent had given as he followed him into the camp, which appeared in front of him the moment he crossed the threshold.“I don’t understand,” he said, setting the wood next to the small fire that Laurent had started, which he could have sworn didn’t exist ten seconds ago. He added a log to the flame, careful not to smother it. Laurent sat down on one of the bedrolls, which was exactly where Damen had seen him place it earlier in the evening, sitting next to his own, the dirt there also still exactly where he had left it. “I thought you had left.”Laurent snorted and grabbed some food out of his pack. “As if I could walk any more today than I already have. No. Why? Were you worried?”Damen grabbed the food from Laurent before he ruined it by shoving it indiscriminately into the tiny cook pan they had, and Laurent gave it over without a fight. Damen was glad to be using his hands, to be doing something helpful, and it gave him an excuse not to answer Laurent’s question.Laurent hummed, a low, amused sound that meant that he had noted Damen’s avoidance, but he didn’t interrupt as Damen continued to prepare their food. For a while they sat in silence together, watching as the water started to boil, as the food warmed up, and then as Damen equally divided their dinner, making sure that they would have enough left over for breakfast in the morning. It was enough to put his mind to this task and do it well; it left no room for him to contemplate what was happening, or what exactly he had felt when he had believed that Laurent had deserted him.“Aren’t you curious?” Laurent asked, when they had finished eating. “How I did it? How I hid our camp from you?”He was curious. He was also more tired than he had ever been in his life, and he already had the feeling that he wasn’t going to like Laurent’s answer very much.“I can guess,” Damen said shortly. “You—you used your Writing on me. I must not have—I didn’t see you do it. You could have done it while I was sleeping. But you can make me—you can choose what I see—”He closed his eyes, and saw the Calligrapher’s face lurking there behind his eyelids. He had thought it would help to know that the man couldn’t Write anyone else anymore. But he wasn’t the only one who could Write people. Laurent could too. Laurent had Written him, had made some safeguard to ensure that Damen could be compelled to keep him safe, and that was just the only thing that he had admitted to. Damen could only guess at what things he was keeping secret.A light touch on his arm jolted his eyes open, and when he looked over Laurent was looking back at him with—not pity, not exactly. Concern, maybe. “I didn’t Write you again, Damen, I promise,” he said softly. “I’ll show you. Everything. If you want to see it.”Damen must have nodded or made some sound of assent because Laurent pursed his lips and began digging through his pack. After a moment he came up with two pieces of glass in his hands and Damen repressed a wince as he recognized the lenses from the Calligrapher’s goggles. They were smaller than he had thought they would be, removed from their frame, and he was stupidly glad that Laurent had taken the time at some point in their travels to disassemble the whole contraption into only its barest parts.“Come on,” Laurent said, standing up and pushing his way outside. “You can see it from out here.”Damen got up and followed him, turning back to look at their camp once he was a few steps away. Again he couldn’t see anything. His eyes began to water, and he looked away. It gave him a headache to try and understand what was going on, and when he moved a few feet forward and looked back again he couldn’t see any trace of their camp. The only indication that it was even close was that woodsmoke floating in the air and the slight smell of cooked meat from their dinner.“Here,” Laurent said, holding out the two pieces of glass from Damen. “Be careful, they’re worth a fortune. But hold them up, and look right about—there.”Damen followed Laurent’s finger and held up the glass. Immediately the campsite came back into focus, although—focus was probably the wrong word. Damen could make out the outline of the camp, the giant rocks that protected them from the stream and that protected their fire from spreading or from being seen. He could see the faintest outlines of their bedrolls, their packs sitting on the ground, but everything was a blur, as if he was seeing it through a rainy, dirty window. The color was washed out too, making everything a dingy gray, with only one exception.“Is that—did you Write the rocks ?” Damen said, moving forward to get a better look at the startlingly bright golden words that he could see etched into the rocks around their site. As he got closer he could see that the words were glittering and shimmering, pulsing as if there was something living inside of them. And the words themselves—they looked like language, like something he should be able to read, but he couldn’t make out any words that he recognized and staring at it for too long hurt his eyes. It felt like trying to read something in a dream, where everything made sense in parts but could never coalesce into something understandable.“Technically I Wrote on the rocks,” Laurent said, brushing his fingers up against the Writing, the gesture almost fond. “Writing only works on living things.”“Like trees?” “I—I suppose trees are living,” Laurent said, and Damen took down the glasses for a moment to watch as Laurent frowned. “I’ve never tried to Write a tree before, though. I think that the subject has to be sentient. I can’t imagine it would work otherwise.”“So how does it work, then? If you can only Write living things—how is this working?” Damen asked, using the pieces of glass to look around their little clearing. The sun had fully set by now and the low light did very little to help with the grainy filter the glasses cast over everything, but he held the glasses up to the Writing and then down again until his head was spinning as their little camp came in and out of his vision.“Well, you’re alive. And even if you can’t see or understand the words you can be affected by them. It’s not as effective as Writing directly onto someone, mostly because what I’ve done here only works in direct line of sight, but for us to hide here for the night that’s all we need. Anyone who comes across our camp will see exactly what you did when you came back here. That is to say, nothing.”“But they will be able to smell us,” Damen said, gesturing towards the fire.“And hear us, yes. It can’t do everything.”It was a nice solution, to be sure. Damen was certain that the camp was hidden enough with this Writing that they wouldn’t be found even if the men that were after them managed to track them right to this spot. And that meant that they could both get some sleep tonight and not have to worry about posting a sentry. That might turn out to be a mistake, but they couldn’t both run on four hours of sleep for every twenty they spent walking.Damen put up the glass again and looked for the entrance to their camp. He entered the lee of the rock and sat down on his bedroll while Laurent put out the fire with some of the sand from the river bank.Damen watched him for a moment, confident enough that Laurent was distracted in his task, and then put up the glass to his eye one more time.He was surprised that he hadn’t seen it earlier. It was bright, and the words around his wrist looked like a manacle, or maybe, through these glasses, a golden cuff. Once again his brain couldn’t understand any of the words, but he could appreciate the artistry behind them. From a distance the shackle around his wrist almost looked like a piece of jewelry.“I could show you what it means, if you like,” Laurent said softly, startling him. He hadn’t forgotten the other man was there, exactly, but he also hadn’t wanted Laurent to see him studying his handiwork as closely as he was.“It doesn’t matter if I know what it means,” Damen said, putting the glasses down and turning away. “I’m beholden to it no matter what.”Laurent huffed, annoyed, and grabbed his hand. Damen let him do so without a fight; foolishly, he wondered if this was the first time they had touched before remembering that they had spent almost all of last night sharing a bedroll. But Laurent held his hand gently, loosely, and if Damen had wanted to pull away, he could have.He didn’t pull away.“This word,” Laurent said, running his fingers along the underside of Damen’s wrist. “It’s an old word. One of the first ones the original Writers came up with. Mistonovier . It means—” Laurent stopped, and wrinkled his nose. “Well, it doesn’t translate directly, as if any of these Words do. Compel, maybe, is the closest definition. Or command. But it also means that there’s no choice if the order is to be obeyed or not. It has to be.”“Makes sense that that would be the first thing that Calligraphers came up with,” Damen said, unable to keep the sullenness out of his voice.“And this one,” Laurent said, turning over his wrist. “It means ‘freeze’. Or ‘stop’, I suppose, since freeze has connotations of ice, and that’s not entirely accurate. It’s important to be accurate with these things. Anything else is just messy. And this one—see the lines around it? That indicates that it’s a command word. I won’t say it now, of course. It doesn’t matter if I say it with intention or on accident, it would still activate the Writing here.”“So—this Writing,” Damen said, looking down at his wrist through the glass. He could just barely make out some of the words Laurent had just shown him, slowly coming in to focus now that he knew them. “You said this would prevent me from killing you.”“From killing me, yes. Or—doing anything else to me that I didn’t want you to do.”“Anything else,” Damen repeated, and then stopped when he realized what exactly Laurent was talking about. “Laurent, you know I would never—”“I don’t know that, actually,” Laurent interrupted. “At least, I didn’t when I Wrote this. When I met you I didn’t know anything about you except you were Written on almost every inch of skin that I could see and that you looked like you were from Akielos. That was it. I had no idea if you were a murderer, or a convict, or—I don’t know. I had no idea about anything.”Damen wanted to be mad. More than anything he wanted to stay mad at Laurent for Writing him, for putting this leash on him. But it was hard to not understand where Laurent was coming from, and now that he knew what the words on his skin said it was even harder to blame Laurent for taking only the barest, most necessary steps to protect himself. “But—wait,” Damen said, as the parts of what Laurent had just said added up. “You said there was a command word. To freeze me—”“To stop you, not freeze you.”“Right. Whatever. But if you weren’t able to say the word, or if you were asleep—”“That’s right,” Laurent said, and something in his tone made Damen glance up sharply. Laurent gazed back at him, staring openly. “I wouldn’t be able to do anything if that were the case. I also wouldn’t be able to do anything if, say, you took up a hunter’s offer to put an arrow through my heart to get you out of this whole mess. ”“Why are you telling me this?” Damen asked him.“Maybe I have a death wish.” Laurent removed his fingers from Damen’s wrist and Damen, nonsensically, looked through the glass again to see if the words were still there. They were, of course. He would have felt them being removed, but he still felt bereft, for some reason. “Maybe I’m so tired of walking that I don’t care right now if you do slit my throat.”“Laurent—”“Maybe,” Laurent said, looking away and studying his own hands as though he were trying to see words Written there, even though Damen couldn’t see anything himself, “maybe I heard what you said to that hunter this morning when he threatened me. And maybe I…don’t deserve to have that level of protection from you. Trust, is what you said. Maybe I’m trying that, for now.”“I promised you I’d get you to Ios, Laurent. I meant it.”Laurent yawned, stretching his arms above his head and popping his spine. It was obvious that he was done talking about it all, but Damen couldn't help but feel grateful at even this small amount of new information. “Well. It’ll be a lot harder to do so if we don’t get any sleep. Keep them,” he said, when Damen reached to give back the glasses. “I don’t need them. You can sell them, or even smash them if you like.”“Seems like a waste. You said they were worth a lot of money,” Damen said, turning the pieces of glass over in his palm. It was hard to imagine that someone would ever want these, even though he knew what they could do. He already hated how much they dulled the world when he looked through them, how much they made his head hurt as he struggled to reconcile the magic of the words with the reality he was used to.“Worth enough a new horse or two,” Laurent said, settling down on his bedroll. “Or even a few more than that. Maybe we won’t have to walk after all. But smashing them might be good for you too. There are some things in this world more important than money.”“Yeah,” Damen said, getting settled on his own bedroll. He took up the glass one more time and looked at his wrist again, the bright gold etching of his Writing moving around on his skin like sand falling through an hourglass. “I guess there are, after all.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
It wasn’t quite noon when they finally found a road; only one lane wide and made of dirt but with repairs made to the more egregious holes, which meant it was used often enough to warrant such care. Walking along it was faster than traveling through the forest and easier for Laurent to handle even with the walking stick that Damen had found for him in an attempt to get him to stop tripping up so often.It also meant it would be easier to be seen by someone they didn’t want seeing them. Damen wrapped his cloak a little tighter around his shoulders and picked up the pace.“Don’t you think it’s dangerous to keep on this road much longer?” Laurent asked after they’d been traveling for a few hours. They had seen two carts and had moved out of the way for a flock of sheep, and kept running into more and more signs of civilization as they went. “We’re bound to hit a town if we keep on it.”“That’s the plan,” Damen said. “You want to do that?” Laurent asked, sounding slightly alarmed. His foot caught on one of the ruts in the road, but when Damen reached out to steady him Laurent shrugged him off and steadied himself. “I thought we were supposed to be avoiding towns, especially since we know someone is following us.”“They were following us,” Damen said. “Hopefully not anymore.”“Hopefully,” Laurent repeated. “That’s not very convincing.”“We can’t avoid it. We need to get supplies, food and other things. And unless you want to spend the next six months walking to Ios we need to find some horses. If you know how to find and tame wild horses and you just haven’t told me, now would be a good time to admit it.”Laurent huffed. “I just thought—there have to be horses in fields or something. Couldn’t we take one of those?”“Steal, you mean? And what about the food we need? Or the new flint? Or a water skin that doesn’t have a tear at the top of it? Do you think we’ll find those by the side of the road too?”Damen didn’t want to be mean—the two of them had come to a truce of sorts after Laurent’s confession the other day, and the air between them had been what under normal circumstances might be called friendly. But Laurent’s naivete shone through in moments like this, as if he believed that the two of them could just wander through the wilderness and find what they needed on the ground, while Damen had a more practical mind about moving through the country honed by his years in the army. He had always had a healthy admiration for how much work it took to get ten thousand men from one place to another, but he had never quite considered that it would be nearly as much work to do the same thing for only two.“I just—I don’t like people,” Laurent muttered, banging his walking stick on the ground to emphasize his point. “I don’t like being around a lot of people.”“I can see why that might be the case.”The trouble with the walking stick was that although it helped in keeping Laurent upright it also gave him a weapon, and one that he used against Damen now. It wasn’t the first time he had done so, though, and it wasn’t a move that was meant to actually hit. Damen saw it coming from a mile away and laughed as he avoided it.“Don’t be rude,” Laurent said.“From the man who just tried to break my shins.”“I was trying to beat some manners into you.”“I only meant that I understand why you don’t like crowds,” Damen said, deciding it was safe enough to resume his former position next to Laurent without fear of being immediately attacked. “You probably cause quite the ruckus wherever you go.”“I am capable of being polite,” Laurent said frostily. “And certainly less likely to draw attention than you, in this part of the world.”“I doubt that very much.”“Just because you’ve never seen me be polite doesn’t mean I’m not capable of it.”Damen laughed, and shook his head. “That’s not it at all. I’m certain that if you chose to be you could be the most charming person in the room. In fact just the other day I witnessed you charming a bunch of hunters into only stealing our mounts instead of stealing our mounts and slitting our throats.”“You’re welcome.”Damen laughed again. He marveled at the fact that he found the whole situation funny even now, when a day ago he had been convinced he would never be able to find any amount of levity in what had happened. But Laurent’s confidence was contagious, and his disposition—which at first Damen had uncharitably thought to call bratty, but which he was finding to be much more complicated than that—was becoming more clear to him by the day. “Believe it or not, that started out as a compliment.”“Ah yes. Who doesn’t like to be told they’re good at causing riots in the town square?”“I didn’t say riots, I said a ruckus. All I meant was—” “I get it,” Laurent said, sounding tired. “If you think I haven’t had everyone who’s ever met me tell me what they think of my looks, you’d be mistaken.”“Partially because of that, yes,” Damen said, because it would do no good to deny it. Anyone with two working eyes would be able to see the kind of beauty that Laurent had. “But also because—there’s something magnetic about you, Laurent. Even with a bag over your head people would pay attention to you. There’s just something about you that draws people in and makes them want to align themselves with your orbit. That’s all I meant.”Laurent tensed at these words as if it were Damen coming at his shins with a walking stick, and Damen prepared himself for another scathing retort. But a noise from behind them prevented Laurent from answering, and the incident was quickly forgotten as they turned as one to look. Another cart was trundling down the road, wheels firmly entrenched in the grooves made by previous carts, supplies nearly spilling out the sides. When Damen waved the man waved back. He was the first person who hadn’t ignored them outright.“I don’t suppose we could get a ride?” Damen said when the man was close enough to talk to, gesturing towards himself and Laurent. “We’re heading the same way you are.”The man looked suspiciously at the state of their clothes, at the amount of dirt on their faces, and wrinkled his nose at what it all added up to.“Depends on what you’re offering,” he sniffed. “Here,” Laurent said, grabbing something out of the pouch at his waist and tossing it to the cart driver.Damen held his tongue as he watched the man peer at the coin Laurent had thrown to him. The gold sheen sparkled in the sun, advertising to everyone the flagrant wealth Laurent had so casually gifted. It was enough money to reserve an entire carriage decked out with plush velvet seats let alone a simple ride to town on the back of a wagon filled with supplies, but the man shrugged as if it were nothing more than copper and the coin disappeared up his sleeve.“Hop in. And don’t touch anything,” he said, as if Laurent hadn’t just given him enough to cover what he would have made at the market.The back of the wagon was filled with barrels containing various fruits and vegetables, if their labels were to be trusted, but there was just enough room for the two of them to sit with their legs dangling off the edge. And it was nice, to be able to rest for a moment. With a crack of the reins the cart started up again, swaying gently from side to side as they moved down the road.“If I had known you had that kind of money on you, I might have made different plans for the two of us,” Damen said, his voice low. “That amount of gold would have bought us a lot of supplies in town.”“It’s okay. I have more.” Laurent reached inside his cloak and pulled out a pouch of money filled with small coins. Damen peered inside. It was enough for a scant looking dinner if they put it all together, assuming they weren’t too choosy about what kind of meat ended up in their stew, but he kept that opinion to himself as Laurent grabbed one of the coins and set it on his lap. He reached into his cloak again and this time came out with his Calligrapher’s pen, which didn’t unnerve Damen as it used to. He was beginning to associate it with Laurent instead of the Calligrapher, and the pain from those few sessions was becoming harder to remember.Without taking the glasses out of his bag Damen couldn’t make out exactly what Laurent was doing aside from scribbling something on the coin. But as Laurent made the final touches he watched as it turned from a cheap copper piece into an expensive, shiny gold one, worth ten times more after Laurent had Written it.“Wow,” Damen breathed, taking the coin when Laurent offered it. “You can’t even tell.”“For now,” Laurent said. “Once it gets dirt on it, or becomes bent—or god forbid, if someone bites into it—the Writing will be broken. The magic doesn’t attach to objects like it does to people. But hopefully we can spend it and be long gone before that happens.”“Hopefully,” Damen repeated, and Laurent rolled his eyes.He took out another copper piece and started the process over again. Damen watched as he turned the small pile of change into something substantial, something that would get them a few decent horses and enough food to feed them for weeks. Assuming they weren’t caught and hanged for forgery, of course.“When we get to town,” Laurent said, after making them richer to the tune of ten gold pieces, “I want to get a room. With a bath.”“Changing your mind on civilization now, are you?”“It does have its merits. Nothing so persuasive as a hard bedroll nestled in the dirt and some lukewarm meat for dinner, but we can’t always get what we want.”“All right,” Damen said, smiling as he stared at the clouds above them. It would rain later today, looked like, and Damen was glad they were not going to spend the night hiding from the storm and trying—probably unsuccessfully—to stay dry. “Anything else you’d like while we’re there, your majesty?”It had been meant as a jest, of poking fun at Laurent's sometimes fussy personality, but Laurent didn’t laugh. His shoulders stiffened, and his hands clenched rigidly around the bag of fake gold. Damen opened his mouth to apologize since he had obviously struck a nerve, but by the time he opened his mouth Laurent had already relaxed and turned a sly smile on him before he could say anything, and the moment passed.“Since you asked,” Laurent said, waving his hand imperiously in a manner that wouldn’t be out of place on any courtier Damen had ever seen, “I wouldn’t say no to some fresh bread, or some fancy cheese. Or a vegetable that’s still some shade of green. Or a new cloak that isn’t as scratchy as this one is. Perhaps we could even find a small cart so that you could drag me along behind you whenever my feet get sore.”“With your money we could buy a new horse,” Damen said, gesturing at the wealth in Laurent’s lap. “No need to turn me into one.”Laurent hummed and flipped one of the coins to Damen. He caught it easily, and turned it over in his hand. It looked real. He knew that it wasn’t and tried to convince his eyes to believe him, but the gold sheen of the coin reflected the light of the sun and made spots in his eyes. It even felt like it was the correct weight. Perfect in every way, except that the whole of it was a lie.The cart creaked and groaned as they made their way down the lane, the wheels turning loudly in the dirt of the road. It was enough to prevent them from being heard by the cart driver, but even so Damen lowered his voice further before speaking again.“You know that we don’t Write in Akielos,” Damen said softly. “For the most part, at least. I don’t think I’ve ever really thought about it aside from visiting the temples on holy days, and even then it was only a passing interest, nothing more. And I know that Veretians use it more often than we do, and with less ceremony. All that to say—I’m not entirely ignorant about Writing. Especially not now. But I’ve never heard of it being used except on a person. I didn’t even know it was possible to do some of the things you’ve done. The things you’re capable of—you could destabilize an entire country with that kind of power.”“I promised you that I have no plans to harm Akielos or her people. Don’t tell me that you’re the only one who gets to make unbreakable declarations like that.”“That’s not what I—” Damen stopped, and then let out an amused huff. “You’re very good at tangling me up when you want to change the subject, did you know that?”“And you’re very good at bringing up subjects I don’t want to talk about.”“In Vere,” Damen said, despite the warning in Laurent’s voice. “Are there many others like you? Who can manipulate things the way you do?”“Like me? No. There’s no one else like me,” Laurent said, but Damen didn’t think he meant it in a way that was prideful, or anything close to boasting. Laurent had a hard expression on his face, and wouldn’t meet his eye. When he spoke next, Damen almost didn’t catch the words, and he had a feeling that Laurent said it as a comfort to himself rather than as a sentiment he wanted to share. “And I’ve made sure there won’t ever be again.” “Well,” Laurent said, pushing open the door to a space more suited to storing brooms than beds, “this is certainly not what I had in mind when I said we should get a room.”“It’s a room with a door that locks and has no other occupants,” Damen said, crowding Laurent inside. “Which means it’s a better option than the last five inns we’ve tried.”“You can tell that to our new roommates,” Laurent said, gesturing into the room. When Damen looked at him quizzically, Laurent said, “There are rats here. You’re free to tell them how lucky you are as they nibble at your toes while you’re sleeping.”Damen had thought, when the cart driver deposited them in civilization—a good sized town that would be easy enough to get lost in—that they were extra lucky to have stopped upon this place at the same time as the annual spring festival. Festivals meant visitors, it meant travelers, and it meant that he and Laurent would blend in with such people rather than sticking out as two possibly suspicious strangers who had wandered in, tired and dirty and hungry, from the forest.It also meant, unfortunately, that nearly every room in the entire city had been let, and it also meant that they had been forced to pay nearly five times the going rate for a single bed, not even accounting for the fact that this space had likely only ever been intended as a storage room—or possibly a space for the kitchen boy to catch a nap in—and not for paying customers. A pallet on the floor was the only bed that Damen could see; the mop bucket leaned precariously against the opposite corner.“I suppose it was too much to hope for a bath,” Laurent said, lowering himself on the pallet. He touched the blankets there and winced. “Or clean bedding, apparently.”“We’ll find a bath house,” Damen said, closing the door behind him. “A town this size will doubtless have a few. And we’ll get some new sheets. Or use our own bedrolls. It’ll be all right.”“Can you just let me wallow for a moment, please?” Laurent said crossly, setting his pack on the floor next to him. “I just had all my dreams of sleeping on a feather bed and taking a nice warm bath dashed, you know.”Damen hid his smile from Laurent and set his own pack down, looking about the room. It was small, so there wasn’t that much to take in, but it had a window up near the roofline that let in a scant amount of light and he moved some of the storage crates to allow a little bit more in. No fireplace, but they were on the other side of the wall from the main fireplace in the dining area and the room was warm. They could hear the noise and conversation from the other patrons but it would doubtless quiet down as everyone either left for the festival or went to bed.“I suppose you’ll want to check the room,” Damen said, after ascertaining that the window was likely not going to budge without considerable effort. “Like you did at the pet house.”Laurent huffed, and when Damen turned to look he was staring back at him with a wry expression.“If you want to know what I was doing that night, you could just ask,” Laurent said.“Would you tell me?”Damen thought Laurent was just as likely to make up some ridiculous explanation as to admit the truth—and then thought that, considering it was Laurent, it was likely to be quite ridiculous even if it was the truth.“Please?” Damen prompted, when Laurent didn’t move to speak. “I know you were my first customer and so it’s not like I had a lot of experience dealing with such things, but you have to admit it was rather strange behavior.”“It wasn’t strange,” Laurent said. “It was precautionary. I was looking for Writing.”“I assumed something of the sort,” Damen said, and then when Laurent gave him a look, “after the fact, of course. After I found out that you apparently don’t need glasses to see the words.”“Or maybe I just Write away my glasses,” Laurent said. “So no one else can see them.”“Or that.”“I’d never been to a pet house before,” Laurent said, and it sounded like non-sequitur, but then he added, “I had no idea what kind of Words they might use to influence customers. They might have Written the bed to addle someone’s lust, or make one more susceptible to spending more money than they wanted. It’s the kind of thing I’d do, if I were running a place like that.”“But you didn’t find anything,” Damen said, frowning. He hadn’t even considered the fact that he might be influenced by Writing not even on him, but Laurent had proven that it was possible. Whether or not anyone except Laurent would have thought of that, though, or was capable of Writing something like that—that was a different matter entirely. “No, I didn’t find anything. Just you. Shining like a spotlight and dressed in something that could never reasonably be considered clothing. And maybe I needed something to concentrate on besides that, too.”Damen’s gaze snapped over to Laurent’s, found him looking back calmly, without anything like the shyness Damen was certain would be there. Laurent must have seen the surprise etched on Damen’s face because his lips quirked up in a smile.“It was a very revealing outfit, you have to admit.”“Not one of my own choosing,” Damen said, his voice distant.“That’s a shame. I doubt anyone could pull it off nearly as well as you did. Now, there was a promise of a bath, was there not?”“Yes,” Damen said as Laurent brushed past him and swept out of their small room. As he locked the door behind him and followed Laurent out of the inn he wondered if there was anywhere in town that could boast a cold bath, and what it would cost him to admit that he needed such a thing. They learned, after a quick word with the proprietor of the inn, that the town was in fact big enough to host not one but two bathhouses, and Laurent took an unnatural amount of pleasure in asking after the more expensive of the two and then demanding that Damen take him there. “The things we do,” the proprietor said knowingly to Damen, winking as Laurent linked his arm through Damen’s and steered them out of the inn.“Are we keeping up the fiction of being escaped lovers, then?” Damen asked, once they were on their way. “Can I be a blacksmith this time, or someone who has at least some sort of gainful employment?”“You can be whatever you like,” Laurent said as Damen maneuvered them around a cart parked in the middle of the street. “You just have to make up the lie faster than me.”They followed the directions to the expensive bath house that they had gotten from the inn keeper. Laurent was as unhelpful at this as he was in every other matter that required travel, content to simply hold onto Damen’s arm as he was led through town, stopping them at various points of interest to gawk at some festival related matter or the other.And Damen was surprised to find that he, in turn, was content enough to let him do so without complaint, or without wanting to resort to teasing. Laurent hadn’t been lying when he had said he had lived a sheltered life; although he tried to hide it and play like he was disinterested, he watched everyone—every troupe of actors, every merchant selling fancy, useless baubles, every worker that was hustling to put up the last touches of decoration—with an intensity and earnestness that Damen found to be quite charming. When they finally located the bathhouse Damen was almost sorry that they were already there. If the look the girl at the front desk gave them was any indication, she was too.“Three coppers to enter the public baths,” she said, her nose turned up like she was trying to hide from their smell. “Extra charge if you turn the water black.”“That won’t be necessary. My valet and I will take a private room,” Laurent said, sliding two gold pieces across the desk with the practiced air of one used to giving such bribes. “And be a dear and give us some extra towels, too.”“Oh. Oh,” the girl said, her attitude changing instantly as soon as the gold hit her pocket. “Of course, my lord. We have only the finest private rooms for those who like a little more discretion than the public baths allow.” She then turned to Damen and asked, demure, “And would you like some refreshments for your master?”“Don’t bother. Lymon’s a mute,” Laurent said, stepping in before Damen could even open his mouth to speak. “Inconvenient at times, but he makes up for it in other regards, as you can no doubt tell. But yes, we will take some refreshments. You can have one of the servants drop it off in our room, along with the towels.”“Of course,” the girl murmured, bowing slightly as she ushered them over to the private changing area. Their clothes would be laundered while they bathed, she told them; Damen thought that whoever was in charge of that was going to have quite a hard time removing the myriad of stains they’d acquired from their last few days on the road, but it would be nice to be in freshly cleaned clothes regardless. He picked up one of the bathrobes and turned to give it to Laurent, who took it from him with an incredibly pleased air.“No need for help right now, Lymon,” Laurent said disappearing into one of the curtained rooms to change. “I’ve got it from here. Blink twice if you understand.”Damen fought the urge to roll his eyes and stepped into his own changing room. It felt freeing to shuck the dirty clothes off of himself, and it was only after he had undressed and put his clothes into the basket to be laundered that he realized how dirty he really was. There were lines on his arms and at his ankles that were caked with dirt, stark in contrast to the relatively clean skin that had been protected underneath his clothes. He held his wrist up in the light, certain that he’d be able to see the Writing there, or at least notice some kind of change in the way the dirt clung to his skin, but it looked much the same as the rest of him did. He pushed the matter aside. It would be no good to think about such things now; if he wanted to, later, he could use the glass Laurent had given him to stare at the cuff on his wrist. Once everything was clean.His clothes now safely in the hamper, he stood naked in his small changing room. If he were in Akielos right now, he would have just strode into the bathing area as he was. Being Vere, it had to be a little more complicated than that. He grabbed the robe that he had been instructed to use in the public areas and put it on, but it became instantly clear that Veretians either weren’t used to men as tall as he was or the patrons of this bathhouse tended to be on the shorter side. Either way it hit him mid thigh and left little to the imagination. Even tying the sash tightly around his waist felt inadequate, like it was designed to come open at any moment and unintentionally bare everything to the unsuspecting public.Or it might have not been unintentional at all. Why the Veretians had to make a show of this—it would have been so much simpler just to expect everyone to be nude. They were here to bathe, after all, and this pretense of prudishness was tiring. Damen exited the room and turned when he heard a noise next to him, and saw Laurent emerge from his own changing room.Laurent’s robe was as short as his. He tugged at the bottom of it, as if that would somehow cover the bared expanse of his thighs, calves, ankles, feet. The sash around his waist had been tied into a clever knot but it still gave the impression that it would come undone at the slightest touch. Damen’s fingers itched to try and unknot it. Laurent’s cheeks were stained pink, and it wasn’t because of the heat and humidity of the baths. Damen raised an eyebrow in silent appreciation, and Laurent’s blush deepened. “Not a word,” Laurent said sharply. “Not even if you were capable of it, being mute and all. I suppose it’s only fair that you see me in this, seeing as how I’ve seen you in worse. The universe does so delight in making sure I never have an advantage over anyone for any reason. Come on. Let’s find our room.”It was probably better that Damen couldn’t respond. He nodded mutely and followed Laurent.The large public bath took up the majority of the building, with small waterfalls that splashed softly onto the tiled surfaces masking the sounds of people talking so that only a blurred murmur could be heard. This area was very like the Akielon baths that Damen had grown up with: a place for friends and family to come together and talk, gossip and clean themselves, although the Veretians segregated their baths by gender where Akielos did not. Damen felt a pang of homesickness go through him, wishing he could be back in the large baths back at the palace and filled with all the people in his life that he knew and loved.The part that differed from the Akielon baths were the semi-private rooms that lined either side of the main area. In Akielos these would be open areas for people to sit on, to dry off or just lounge, but here each alcove contained its own smaller, semi-private bath that had anywhere from two to six people in it. Sheer curtains gave the illusion of privacy and the steam from the hot water did a lot to distort what was happening, but the sounds echoing off the tiles were unmistakable. As an Akielon he was slightly scandalized; as someone who had come to know Vere more intimately, he realized that he should have seen it coming.“I’m glad we got our own room,” Laurent said to him, although he didn’t turn his head one way or the other as they walked towards the back, where the private rooms were located. “The fact that we’re here only to bathe would have made us look suspicious.”“More suspicious than paying in gold and having a mute valet?”“A mute valet who’s extremely bad at his job,” Laurent said, waiting for Damen to open the door with the number on it that the girl had told them was theirs. “They say that the most important thing about lying is to make it believable. Maybe I should have said you were a trained wild animal instead.”“I notice you didn’t say ‘well trained’,” Damen said, taking a good look around their private room as he shut the door behind them. It was small, at least compared to the open, airy space they had just passed through, but the bath itself was spacious, big enough for probably ten people to sit comfortably without touching. Everything was covered in turquoise tile, from the bottom of the tub to the top of the ceiling, and natural light streamed in from the small but numerous windows that lined the top of the room.A pipe hung from the ceiling in the corner of the room attached to a drain that wasn’t connected to the bath. Damen understood that they were to wash underneath this station rather than getting the bath dirty, and so he threw off his bathrobe and went to go stand underneath it, pulling the lever to make the water wash over him.It felt like he had never known what it was to be clean. The days of grime, of sleeping on the ground, of waking up in that pet house and knowing that he couldn’t leave no matter how much he wanted to, however much he knew it should be possible, but wasn’t—he felt all of that slough off his skin and wash away, carried off with all the rest of the dirt as it swirled around the drain, and then disappeared. Once the water ran clear he let go of the lever. When he turned he saw Laurent sitting on a bench on the other side of the room, staring intently at the floor. “You should wash under that thing before getting in. Otherwise we’ll be charged extra for the dirty water, remember,” Damen said, making his way over to the bath. When he lowered himself he was hit with how hot it was, and he hissed a little as he eased in. It only took a few moments for the warmth to become familiar, to seep into his skin and relax his tired muscles and make him sleepy. “Be careful. It’s very warm.”“Right,” Laurent said shortly, still staring at that same spot. “I was—I’m waiting. I need to wait for—the towels. They’re bringing us some. Extras, I mean.”“Are you okay? You’re very flushed right now. Should we ask them to pour some cold water in? There’s probably a way to temper this heat.”“No,” Laurent said. “That’s not—”A knock on the door interrupted him, and Laurent glanced once at Damen, eyebrow raised in a silent question. Damen nodded, and Laurent looked away and called for the servant to enter.“I’ve brought refreshments,” the servant said, opening the door. Laurent crossed his legs and Damen tried not to stare at the expanse of thigh the movement exposed. “And extra towels, as the young master ordered.”“You can put them there,” Laurent said, nodding at the bench on the other side of the door. His tone was officious, imperious, and the servant scuttled to obey. “Is there anything else I can do for you gentlemen? I’m trained in the art of sensual massage, and would be more than happy to give either one of you an intimate—”“That will be all,” Laurent said, gracing the man with a dark look. “Leave us.”The servant nodded, nonplussed by the indignant reaction to such a mundane question, and bowed before leaving the room. Damen waited until the door was completely closed before bursting out in laughter.“I’m sorry that I’m not used to such flagrant displays of nudity,” Laurent said harshly, glaring. Now that most of Damen was safely underwater Laurent had no problem turning that chilly gaze on him, and Damen understood that earlier, when he was so stubbornly staring at the floor, he had only been trying at politeness. As much as he was capable of showing, at least. “Or such brazen offers of sexual favors.”“He was offering a massage, not to fuck you.”“I don’t know how it is in Akielos, but in Vere, we don’t use the baths as an excuse to get off and ogle other people—”“Might I remind you that we’re still in Vere. It seems like ogling and getting off in the baths is a supremely Veretian thing, considering. Or did you not see what your countrymen were up to on the way in?”“Ah yes,” Laurent said frostily, and the thought crossed Damen’s mind that it might not be necessary to temper the heat of the water after all if Laurent kept talking like that. “How could I forget that we are still in Vere, the place that you’re supposed to be getting us out of. Please excuse my oversight, I had assumed we’d be in Akielos by now.”Damen flinched. He sank a little lower into the baths so that the water was right under his chin, and then swam to the side closest to Laurent and crossed his arms on the tile so he could stare up at Laurent.Laurent didn’t move. He was tense, as he had been since the moment they stepped in this room, and he looked as if he were preparing for an attack either from another servant coming in offering more sexual favors or even from Damen himself. But Damen didn’t move, and didn’t speak, and the moment stretched out between them. Damen put his head on his arms, closed his eyes, and let the water buoy him.“In Akielos, the baths are big,” Damen murmured. He wanted to know if the words startled Laurent, or if he was stubbornly looking at that spot on the floor again, but he kept his eyes shut. “Bigger than the one out there, even. And they’re not always hot. You have to look at the sign on the door closely, and look for the icon of steam if you want hot and a water drop if you want cold. And women and men aren’t separated. It’s a social affair. People talk, and they gossip and make business deals but they don’t—well. I can’t imagine no one’s ever been hit on at the baths, but it’s not like here. Akielons don’t like to—we don’t do such things in public.”“Yes, nothing so scandalous as that. You only get naked with members of the opposite sex,” Laurent said.“It’s not like that there. Not like it is here. It’s…okay, to be alone with a woman.”“Just okay?” Laurent said, and he was teasing again but there was no bite to it this time, not like before. Damen knew that if he opened his eyes he would see a smile on Laurent’s face, or at least the beginning of one, but he still kept his eyes shut. “From what I’ve heard, most people find it significantly more than okay.”“It depends more on the person, I think, than whatever’s between their legs. At least, that’s been my experience. But I didn’t mean that, I just meant that—if you reserved your love for women, it would be okay to indulge in that. When we get to Akielos. Just not at the baths, maybe.”Laurent was quiet for a moment, and Damen risked peeking one eye open. He had expected Laurent to look away again, or at that most interesting spot on the floor that he so adored, but when he looked up Laurent met his gaze and held it.“I’m sorry,” Laurent said eventually, and Damen stifled his surprise at the words. “I know that—you did tell me it would take some time to get to Akielos. And I know that I haven’t made things any easier for you. I just want you to know that—I appreciate what you’ve done for me so far. For how far you’ve taken me.”“We’ll get to Akielos together, Laurent. I promise.”“I know.” Laurent smiled at him, and after a second a small laugh escaped his lips. “I’m beginning to doubt that there’s anything that can’t be accomplished once you’ve made a declaration to accomplish it. And—thank you, for telling me about Akielos. I daresay I won’t ever have the inclination to use the information about the social conventions around being with a woman, but I appreciate that you told me nonetheless.”A slight blush rose to Laurent’s cheeks as he said this, and he looked away. From his position Damen could track a bead of sweat that ran down the curve of Laurent’s neck and disappeared underneath the flimsy robe he was wearing. Laurent reached up to push a lock of hair behind his ear, the movement natural, unpracticed, a little shy. Suddenly the water in the baths became too hot for Damen to endure, the warmth there too stifling, and he pushed away from his spot the wall.A mistake, to leave that safeguard. The warmth, really, that was the problem, along with the rest of his loosened muscles; what he needed right now was a cold, cold dip in a lake somewhere, to get the blood flowing to less obvious areas of his body. The shower would have to do though, and so he turned away from Laurent and pushed up out of the bath, grabbing the pull cord on the shower as soon as his hand could grasp it. Coming from the heat of the bath, the water was freezing. It sent a jolt through him, almost painful, and he held onto the cord until he was back under control of himself.He had expected to turn and see Laurent still sitting on that bench, not having moved from where he had taken up residence. But when he moved away from the shower Laurent was standing there, not two feet away from him, gaze averted from Damen’s nakedness in politeness, offering him a towel.“Thanks,” Damen said, wrapping it around his waist rather than using it to dry himself. Laurent had asked for extras; he could grab another one later, if he needed it that badly. He needed this one very badly.Laurent clutched his bathrobe around him, fingers playing with the sash nervously. “I—I am not used to public bathing like this. Not like you are. Would it be okay if—I don’t want to be rude, but some privacy—”“Yes, I’ll go,” Damen said, nodding. Yes, that was good, not seeing Laurent naked while wearing only a small towel around his waist—he was glad Laurent had brought it up first. “I’m a little warm anyway. Maybe they have a cold dip pool here. And I should check on—I’ll go find our clothes,” Damen said, because clothes were good, and they needed those, and clothes covered things. He would find their clothes, and then they could get dressed, and then neither one of them would be standing there in front of the other with only the thinnest piece of cloth between them.He didn’t let himself look back at Laurent as he nearly ran out of the room and firmly shut the door behind him. The noise of the public baths was almost comforting after the softness of the room he had just left. No opportunity for the mind to wander here; everything was slippery and loud and it took all of his concentration to get from one side of the room to the other, feet intent on not slipping, ears intent on shutting out the noises from the semi-private baths around the edges of the room. He tried not to think about Laurent, who had probably taken off his bathrobe by now, might even be using those long, slender legs of his to step down into the bath, shuddering as he took in the warmth of it—Damen shook his head. He had to stop, or he was going to find himself in another embarrassing situation. It wasn’t like he had never considered Laurent that way, hadn’t noticed how attractive he was, how he exuded a sort of calm, easy grace in his manner. Damen had noticed him in that way the very first night they met, and the distant part of his brain that had still been concerned with such things registered it, and then put them away in the face of greater concerns.But the longer they were together the more those greater concerns turned into lesser ones, and in doing so made space for other things. For softness. For that biting wit that came out whenever he was especially tired, or annoyed. For the way that Laurent looked at him, sometimes, whenever he thought Damen’s attention was elsewhere.“Sir?”A timid voice, but obviously directed at him, and Damen turned. A servant stood there—the same one that had come in earlier, if he remembered correctly—and wrung his hands nervously as Damen stared down at him.“Ah, my lord. Is everything okay? You are—that is, the baths are for rest. If you feel the need to walk I don’t think the tiles here are the best surface for you, but I could suggest the gardens as a place—”Damen held up a hand. He belatedly realized that he was still supposed to be mute, and wondered if it would be worth it to speak so that he could see how Laurent would lie his way out of that. But instead he just shook his head, patted the man on the shoulder gamely, and sat down next to the nearest bath, his feet in the water. He looked back over at the servant, who seemed much more at ease now that Damen was acting normally.The water was nice. And the old men in the pool he had invaded only looked at him briefly before determining that he wasn’t coming in and likely wouldn’t be able to add to their conversation anyway, and turned back to their gossip.“What I want to know is why they only sent a handful of men,” said one of the old men with a shock of white hair sitting on the top of his head. “Those border raids are coming closer and closer to town. We need more troops, not this paltry amount.”“Bah! More troops,” a man with a scar across his face sneered. “More troops’ll just lead to more whoring and more problems, trust me on that.”“Weren’t you in the guards, way back when?” asked the third man, whose size took up nearly half the bath. He had a gold chain around his neck and rested his hands on his belly; Damen clocked him for a merchant immediately, and one at least pretending at wealth.“That’s how I know what they’ll do,” Scar answered patiently. “I did my allotted whoring and problem causing when I was in the army. Trust me. They can say they’re here for ‘routine inspections’ all they want, but I know what that really means. And it’s no coincidence they’re here at the same time as the festival. They’re here to cause some ruckus, I’ll tell you what.”“Routine inspections,” Damen murmured. That was what those soldiers in the stable had said, that day he had escaped from town. But there was no way that they were here—they had been following the horses, and Damen had watched those hunters turn east. They should be nearly in Vask by now, and the men that had been following them should be right behind. They shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be anywhere close to them.It could be a coincidence. It could be just as the old man had said—troops looking to whore around and cause trouble. Maybe it wasn’t the same group of men at all.A mighty big coincidence.“You worried, boy?” White Hair asked him. They must have seen him startle, or heard him talk; when Damen looked up, all three men were looking at him. “You just stay outta trouble and they won’t bother you.”“My friend and I—we’re traveling south,” Damen said, abandoning the mute valet nonsense. “You said there were border skirmishes. Should we be worried?”All three men puffed up at the question and began speaking, each eager to bestow upon Damen their knowledge of the tenuous political situation at the border.“Don’t go near Ravenel, that’s where the worst of the fighting is.”“Ravenel is the safest place around, idiot. It’s an impenetrable fortress . No one is going to attack that.”“The Akielons are bold, they think they can get away with anything. No offense.”“He’s not Akielon. Haven’t you heard his accent? Delfeur, maybe. Not Akielos.”“Delpha is part of Akielos. Haven’t read a history book in thirty years, have you?”“Better to go west, to Arran and through Fortaine. Less attacks there.”“Through Arran? Are you mad? At this time of year?”Damen tuned the men out. If all they had were rumors and speculation it couldn’t be too serious. He and Laurent would just have to brave whatever was happening and hope it didn’t become too serious before they entered Akielos, where Damen would have some measure of protection, and allies he knew he’d be able to count on if needed.The men that were here, though—that was something they needed to be worried about.“Thank you for the information,” Damen said, when there was a pause in the conversation that he could butt in to. “It’ll be very helpful on our journey.” As if half of what he had heard hadn’t contradicted the other half. “Assuming that the troops you spoke of earlier don’t ruin the fun at the festival.”It was an awkward segue; if Laurent were here, he would surely be cringing at how heavy handed it was. But the men were eager enough to gossip about the soldiers again, and they picked up the thread immediately and without suspicion.“They won’t ruin anything, my boy, don’t worry about that. The city guards will keep them in order,” the merchant told him.“Bah!” Scar said. “The city guards won’t do nothing of the sort.”“And why’s that?” White Hair asked.Scar motioned for them to gather round, and Damen knew that whatever was about to come out of this man’s mouth was going to be the most truthful thing he’d ever heard or the tallest, wildest tale ever told to man. There would be no middle ground.“I saw them when they came into town. Me and Bastien—my friend from my army days,” Scar said, and the other two nodded in unison, “we were having tea at Cassandras.”“Ugh. Cassandra’s is a truly terrible establishment. It gave me food poisoning the last two times you dragged me there. I don’t know why you won’t listen to me about how bad it is.”“Anyway,” Scar said, glaring at the merchant’s interruption, “we saw them march in. The one leading the bunch—he was a bulldog of a man. And when he barked orders at the others, they stepped quickly. And on the front of their uniforms—” and here he paused dramatically, waiting for the held breaths of his comrades to become uncomfortable, “—they each had a red and gold ribbon.”“No,” White Hair said.“Oh my,” the merchant said.“Red and gold?” Damen said, frowning. “Does that mean something?”“Of course it does!” Scar said, annoyed that his big reveal hadn’t landed on Damen the way it had on the others. “It means they’re from the capitol. And the colors mean that they’re the Regent’s men. I don’t think they’re here about the border skirmishes at all. They must be here on official business.”“You don’t think—the prince?” White Hair asked.“It has to be,” Scar said, sitting back, satisfied with the stunned effect his story had produced on everyone. So much so that Damen was almost sorry he had to ruin the mood again.“Okay—it’s just that I’ve been traveling, you see. On the road for a long time. I haven’t heard anything—what’s this about a prince?”“There’s rumors that the younger prince has run away,” White Hair said, leaning forward conspiratorially, and the others leaned in with him. Damen understood that this time his ignorance was a boon, not an annoyance. “Ungrateful child that he is.”“Hardly a child anymore. He’s got to be in his twenties now, yeah?”“That makes it even worse. In any case, the Regent’s guard has been dispatched to take him home before something disastrous happens.”“But—run away? Why would he run away?” Damen said, frowning. Those men at the stables—they had thought he was dead. What had happened to make the story change to this? It would have been easier for Kastor to claim he was dead, to find a body that looked enough like him to fool everyone else. If the kyroi heard any rumor at all that Damen was still alive no one would dare put their support behind Kastor. This new rumor didn’t make any sense at all, and it made even less sense that the Regent would offer his own troops to help in a matter that had nothing to do with him. Kastor would have to be truly desperate to enlist the help of an unfriendly nation—unless there was something else entirely at play here.The merchant shrugged, and the thought dissolved as Damen turned his attention back to the men in front of him. “None of us can truly say we understand the pressure of what it’s like to be royalty. I probably have the best understanding out of everyone here, no offense intended, my dears, since I do have a number of very important patrons, you know. I deal with their kind constantly, and I understand what that kind of lifestyle is like. It’s not easy.”“Yes, we know,” Scar said, trading a look with White Hair. “You tell us about it every time we meet.”“But—why would he run away? It doesn’t make any sense. There must be something else going on,” Damen said, aware that he sounded dangerously close to pleading as the men stood up and made to leave. A distant part of his mind knew that the information they had given him was as good as anything he’d hear in a schoolyard, but he still wished that he could tell them the truth—that he hadn’t run away, that he had been beaten and kidnapped and sent here against his wishes.But it would be foolish to admit such things to such people. And it would make little difference anyway.“It may not make any sense to you,” Scar said, standing up and grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist, “but to those with a mind for such things, I’m sure it makes perfect sense.”“What things?” Damen asked. “What are you talking about?”Scar turned around, and for the first time Damen saw the mess of his back, twisted flesh and scar tissue running in long strips from his neck down under his towel. Some of them were obviously wounds from swords, others from flogging.Scar saw him looking, and cracked a toothy grin.“What things?” he repeated, slightly mocking. “War, my boy. What else in the world makes sense except for that?”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
After he and Laurent finished at the bathhouse they went straight to the marketplace, a bustling open air bazaar only a few blocks away. Damen wanted to get everything they needed as quickly as possible and return to the relative safety of the inn but Laurent, as usual, was not interested in being accommodating. He wanted to stop at every stall, at every booth selling lovely little trinkets or soft flowy scarves. He had the money, after all, and so Damen could hardly stop him from buying some sparklers or that new cloak that he wanted, although he did his best to hurry the proceedings along and stop all the long winded conversations that Laurent was happy to indulge in with the shopkeepers. Once they secured the new waterskin, some lightly worn but comfortable boots, and enough food to last them a week, he steered them away from the marketplace and made a beeline for the inn. Laurent was miffed at this treatment, he could tell, although whether because Damen was herding him like a lost sheep needing to be returned to the safety of the barn or because Damen had acted so vulgarly towards him in the baths—that he didn’t know.And really, he should have known better. He was used to the way baths worked in Akielos, and even though he knew how different it was in Vere he had still disrobed in front of Laurent without thinking anything of it. Because that was what you did in bathhouses—you disrobed, and then you bathed.But that wasn’t what you did in Veretian bathhouses. In his mind he could still hear the soft moans coming from those semi-private rooms in the main chamber, and he felt his face heat up. Of course Laurent would have seen his disrobing as an advance towards something more—and not a particularly smooth advance at that. Egregious enough, at least, that he felt the need to remove Damen from the premises.What a fool he had been. “Is there a reason you’ve got us sprinting through the city?” Laurent asked as Damen steered them through a particularly rowdy group of youths on their way to the celebrations. “Did you nab yourself a hot date at the bathhouse that you’re eager to get back to?”Damen bit back an obvious retort and pulled Laurent closer to him as a large crowd came down the street. It was getting busier as people came out for dinner and to attend whatever festivities were going to take place, and now that he looked he could see city guards mingling with the crowds. None wore the red and gold ribbons the old men had talked about, but that didn’t mean they weren’t here somewhere, or that they hadn’t changed into different clothes. Damen might recognize their voices if he heard them, but he hadn’t gotten a good enough look at any of the guards to pick them out of a crowd.“Nothing like that,” he said, because Laurent’s grip on his arm became more painful the longer he avoided answering. “I just thought it would be safest to get our supplies as fast as possible and get back to the inn. And you said you didn’t like people. I’m just trying to accommodate.”Laurent snorted. “I’m sure. You’ve been so concerned about ‘accommodating’ me that you’ve forgotten to ask whether or not it was even something I was interested in.”Again Damen had no idea whether that was a subtle dig about his faux pas at the bathhouse, but he decided it would be better if he didn’t know. They were at the inn now and he was spared having to come up with an answer by the necessity of getting through the crowd in the dining area and making their way back to the broom closet they were staying in.“Home sweet home,” Laurent mumbled as Damen ushered him inside and locked the door behind them. “So glad that I get to spend the night here instead of outside watching the fireworks.”“We’re not on vacation,” Damen said. “We came to town to get supplies. In the morning we’ll be leaving. If it was still light out we’d be leaving now.”Laurent sighed and lowered himself down to the bedding on the floor. There was a loud booming sound in the distance, and it took Damen a moment to realize that it was the fireworks that Laurent had just been talking about. Every once in a while he could see the faintest color from the explosions through the window in their room, but they were facing the wrong direction to see much more than that.“And not even an unobstructed window to watch them from,” Laurent said, leaning back and closing his eyes. They were silent for a moment, with only the occasional boom from the fireworks to punctuate the low droning from the patrons in the tavern on the other side of the wall. Damen sat down and spread the supplies out in front of him to take stock of what they had and mete it out to their packs. The spelled glass that Laurent had given him he put in a pocket against his chest, since he didn’t want it to get knocked around by the other supplies, and then he rationed out the food, giving himself more of the weight so that Laurent wouldn’t have to carry as much. He worked in silence, assuming that Laurent would spend the rest of the evening pouting rather than helping, but he’d only gotten about halfway through his work before Laurent broke the silence between them.“I know this isn’t a vacation,” he said quietly. “And—I know that it’s probably been more dangerous than you’ve let on. But I wasn’t lying when I said I was very sheltered growing up. Every day was planned, every second accounted for. I had tutors, I had training, I had schoolwork to do. Among other things.”“I understand,” Damen said. And he did, in a way that Laurent couldn’t possibly know; growing up as the crown prince meant that he was constantly being trained, constantly being pushed and schooled and tutored, expected to be the best at everything that he did. The best swordsman, the best statesman, the best strategist. He couldn’t afford to be anything less.“Hmm,” Laurent hummed, neither an approval or dismissal. “I wonder, sometimes. But so—what I meant to say was that a lot of things on this journey have been a first for me. The first time I haven’t had my day planned from morning ‘til night with lessons and tutors and training. The first time I’ve ever been camping, or slept by a fire. The first time I’ve ever been to a festival, even as brief as it was.”“Laurent, I didn’t mean—”“No, let me finish,” Laurent said, not unkindly. “I only meant to say that I understand the severity of what we’re doing. I know that we’re both trying to get somewhere that isn’t here, and I know that it’s not—and hasn’t, and won’t—be easy, or without danger.” Laurent opened his eyes, and the fierce blueness of his gaze pierced Damen through, rooting him to the spot. “But sometimes, when I’m with you, I forget about all that. For a little bit. Sometimes I forget about what I’ve had to leave behind. And sometimes I forget that I’m alone.”“You’re not alone,” Damen said, the words aching.Laurent smiled, but it was a sad, private thing. “For now, maybe. I only meant to say—I’m grateful. For everything you’ve done for me. And if it doesn’t come across that way sometimes,” and he shrugs, “then I’m sorry for that, I suppose.” Boom . The light outside their window turned everything blue for the briefest moment, and Damen could hear people cheering outside. It was closer than the other fireworks; homemade ones, if he had to guess. Damen stood up and looked out the window, watching the roofs outside glow in different colors as each firework from the main event went off, a reflection of a majesty that they could only see the shadows of from inside their tiny little room.He didn’t know what made him want to test the window again. His first glance at the thing had shown him that it was far too covered in dirt, grime and layers of paint to ever want to move, and when he tested that theory it was evident from the start that he had been right. But dirt and grime could come off with enough effort, and it took only an awkward moment of battling the thing before he came out victorious. The cool night air rushed into their tiny space, and Damen turned to grab his cloak before hauling Laurent up to his feet.“Come on,” he said, setting Laurent’s new cloak around his shoulders. It was an intimacy that Laurent allowed, and even helped with, raising his chin as Damen tied the clasp in the front. “We’re going out.”“Out?” Laurent repeated, looking a little stunned as Damen made his way over to the window and threw Laurent’s old scratchy cloak onto the roof. And then, in a smooth movement that Damen wasn’t sure he could recreate if he tried, he climbed out the window, turned, and pulled himself up.From this vantage point he could see half the city. He looked down and saw Laurent’s head poking out from the window, excitement turning his usually serious face more youthful.“Damen, are you mad? What do you think you’re trying to do up there?”“Come on,” Damen said, planting his feet firmly on the sloping tiles. “You can climb out the window yourself. Put your ass on the sill, and then I’ll pull you up. Okay?”Laurent let out a disbelieving laugh, but after a moment he did as Damen said. When he reached up with shaky arms Damen grabbed a firm hold of him and pulled. It had the intended effect of getting Laurent up to the roof in one smooth movement and the unintended effect of putting Laurent firmly, safely, snugly into Damen’s arms. And Laurent, either because he was still finding his footing or because he simply wanted to, made no move to disentangle himself.And it wasn’t like they had never been this close before. Laurent attached himself to Damen like a lamprey every time they were around other people, always firmly tucked into Damen’s side like he couldn’t bear to be apart from him. But those were acts, done only for the benefit of other people, to convince an audience that they were lovers or valets or whatever the fiction was that Laurent was trying to peddle. And in private Laurent had been clear about the boundaries between them. At the bathhouse Damen had been pushed away. On the bedroll in front of the hunters he had been expected not to touch. He had been Written because Laurent had been afraid he would take too much, would try to steal something that could only be given.He pushed away now, gently, before Laurent felt the need to remind him of those boundaries again, making sure that they were stable on the uneven rooftop before letting go entirely. He couldn’t bear to see whatever was on Laurent’s face and so he grabbed Laurent’s old cloak, which had landed near to his feet, and motioned for Laurent to follow him.The rooftop was old—they had hardly been able to find a room in one of the nicer places in town—and more than a little creaky. Damen stepped lightly, hoping they weren’t making too much of a racket downstairs, but then the rest of the city was so loud right now that any noise they were making would probably not be heard over the clamor and clatter of the festivities. There was a relatively flat area near the chimney at the front of the building and Damen spread the cloak out, sitting down on top of it and gesturing for Laurent to do the same.“Oh,” Laurent said, dropping down next to him and staring out over the rooftops of the city. They watched as one of the fireworks shot up into the sky, trailing up and up and up before exploding over them in a series of red and green sparks, the giant boom from the explosion reaching their ears a few seconds later. “It’s beautiful, Damen. This must be the best view in the whole city.”“It may be too dangerous for us to go to the festival,” Damen said, “but there’s no reason we can’t try to steal a little joy where we can. I’m sorry I didn’t realize it before.”For a few moments the two of them sat in silence as Laurent watched the fireworks and Damen, discreetly, watched Laurent. He really was beautiful, golden hair lit up in every color of the rainbow with each explosion, mouth slightly parted in anticipation as each firework was sent up, eyes widening in excitement as the thing exploded in the air. Damen laughed when Laurent jumped after one of the screamers went up, a display with no color or flash at all, just a loud bang, and Laurent turned and scowled at him.“I suppose you’re too worldly to be impressed with this,” he said, waving a hand at the fireworks. Someone to the right of them released another homemade version; it spluttered out just barely over the rooftops in an explosion of sparks with no discernible pattern, and people cheered. “Fireworks are probably a nightly affair in the magical land of Akielos.”“Not nightly, no,” Damen said, smiling. “Every summer, though. For the longest day of the year—there’s always a fireworks display somewhere. Our ancestors devised them in order to scare off the sun so that she wouldn’t come any closer to our lands and scorch our crops, but now they’ve started to use them at the winter celebrations as well and I’m not sure they’ve come up with a good reason why, other than that fact that they’re pretty, and people like them.”“That’s a good enough reason, I think,” Laurent murmured, bringing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them. “Although I can’t imagine staring at these in the cold is much fun.”“Winter in Ios doesn’t get much colder than it is now,” Damen said, and took Laurent’s cloak between his fingers. “You wouldn’t need much more than this to keep warm. Sometimes at the winter festivals they’ll make a bonfire, but even that’s too hot most years. And the fireworks—there’s a little lighthouse, just off the coast,” Damen said, and when he closed his eyes he could picture it, could hear the sound of the waves hitting the cliffs, the smell of the ocean air. “They send the fireworks up from there so that when they explode you can see them reflect against the water. If we’re back in Ios in time for the summer festival I’ll take you there. It’s the best spot in the country. And if you think these are impressive, just wait until you see a proper Akielon display.” “You’ll take me,” Laurent repeated, a little dumbly. “To see the fireworks.”“If you want to, yes. You’re not going to Ios because you want to spread the word about how evil fireworks are and how they should be abolished, are you?”A small, disbelieving laugh escaped Laurent, and he took a deep breath. “I assumed,” he said cautiously, “that once you were back in Ios you’d drop me off at the city limits and never look back. And I also assumed,” he said, when Damen opened his mouth to refute that claim, “that you’d want to spend time at things like fireworks festivals with your family. Your wife and kids.”“My wife and kids?” Damen said, his turn for a disbelieving laugh. “I’m not married. How old do you think I am?”“I don’t see what age has to do with it,” Laurent said, turning up his nose snobbishly. “Eighteen-year-olds can get married in Vere, and I assume in Akielos as well, and it’s more than apparent that you’re significantly older than that.”“I’m only twenty six. I won’t lie and say that my father hasn’t made…suggestions, let’s say, to that end, but I’ve still got time. And I know that Akielos is a bit freer with children born out of wedlock than Vere but I’ve none of those yet either. Believe me, I would know.”“I didn’t say it to offend. And I know in Akielos men take many spouses. I assume you’d have to start early to gather such a collection.”“Are you sure you’re not trying to offend?” Damen asked, nudging Laurent gently with his shoulder. “Men can only have one wife, or one husband. It’s the same in Vere, I’m pretty sure.”“That’s not true. The King of Akielos—he has many wives.”“No,” Damen said, looking up at the sky. It was wispy from smoke, but every once in a while the stars would poke through as if they were competing against the brightness of the fireworks. He tried not to think of his father. “He doesn’t. It’s a translation issue, I think. There is only one Queen of Akielos, his only wife, and she died many years ago. And he has concubines, yes, but they’re not much different from the exclusive pets your royal courts have. If there’s a woman you think of as his wife now—she is called the King’s Consort, but they’re not married. There’s no word for her status in Veretian because your people are unnaturally scared of bastards and have no room for anyone who doesn’t exist in the strict dichotomy of either husband or wife.”“A scathing review of Veretian social customs,” Laurent drawled, leaning back on his hands. “Just as positive as your opinions on Veretian bathing, I’m afraid. Is there anything about this country that you do like?”“You mean the country where I was sold as a pet against my will and locked up so tightly that I couldn’t even think about escape without blinding pain?”Damen had meant the comment as a joke, albeit a self deprecating one. But he could see Laurent flinch out of the corner of his eye, and knew it had come out more blistering than he had intended.“I suppose when you put it like that,” Laurent said, sounding a little chastened, “I can’t really blame you for hating this place.”Damen shook his head. “I don’t hate it. It’s just…I’m seeing it from a different perspective than I’m used to. And it’s not all bad. This roof, for instance. It’s a very nice roof.”It had the desired effect of making Laurent laugh and breaking the tension in him, and Damen knew that it shouldn’t bring him as much pleasure as it did to be able to say that he was the cause.“You’re right,” Laurent said, patting the shingles next to him. “It’s a very nice roof. And to my inexperienced eyes they are very nice fireworks as well, although we’ve already established they’re not as good as the ones in Akielos.” Boom. The roof shook with the force of the firework that exploded next, blue and gold sparks showering down from above them. Night turned into day for one brief, fleeting second before the darkness eclipsed them again, trails of smoke lingering against the sky. “Not as impressive from a technical sense, maybe,” Damen said. “But this show has its own appeal. The company, for instance.”It was impossible to ignore the weight of Laurent against his side, the way he was leaning into him, just slightly. Damen had been careful to give Laurent room, to let him have the space that he usually required whenever they were alone together. But Laurent had been the one to close that gap between them, and Damen had no desire to push him away.“I suppose that means that I’ll be forced to accompany you to an Akielon fireworks display, then. For science, if nothing else.”“It’s important to have controlled testing.”“We wouldn’t want skewed results.”Damen looked up at the sky, imagining what it would be like to be in Akielos with Laurent, how he could show him the beaches, the palace, the city. For one brief, fleeting moment he imagined just that, the two of them walking down the bright cobbled streets with Laurent’s arm through his, and didn’t dwell on the impossible amount of hurdles they still had to cross before they got there. Or the similarly impossible amount that would remain in front of him after.“I’ll get us to Akielos,” Damen said. “And once we're there I’ll take you to see the fireworks. I promise.”“Then we’re as good as there already,” Laurent said, resting his head against Damen’s shoulder as the sky exploded in light. Damen had never really cared for fireworks, much.Oh, they were pretty, sure, and he appreciated the ingenuity and the artistry that went into making them. But seeing one of them had much the same effect on him as the tenth or the hundredth, and so he usually contented himself with a few minutes of watching before turning his attention to more interesting tasks.Right now he would spend the entire night watching these fireworks if it meant he got to sit like this, on the roof of this inn overlooking the city, with Laurent resting against his side.Every once in a while Laurent would shift next to him, and every time he did Damen was afraid that he was going to say that he was done watching the show and wanted to return to their small, cramped room and go to sleep. But he never did, and when Damen was finally forced to move into a more comfortable position lest all of his limbs go numb, Laurent moved with him and made a sleepy, contented sound against Damen’s shoulder.It was this closeness that allowed Damen to feel the exact moment when Laurent tensed, when all of his ease and relaxation fell away and was replaced with the brittle stiffness that Damen was more used to seeing from him.“Damen,” Laurent said, voice strung tight against the noise of the night, “that man down there. On the street. Does he look suspicious to you?”Damen squinted against the darkness of the street to look where Laurent had subtly indicated. The fireworks had ruined his night vision and the street lanterns cast strange shadows across the cobblestones. How Laurent could see anyone at all there and not the giant rocks on the forest floor that were constantly tripping him up Damen had no idea. But eventually his eyes adjusted and he made out the silhouette of a man leaning against the wall of the shop opposite their inn. It was an easy lean, studied in its casualness, and once he saw it Damen marked it for what it was immediately.A watch. The kind posted to make sure that when the building was flushed out no one escaped out the back door. “Don’t move,” Damen said, when Laurent made to push away from him. “As long as we don’t draw attention to ourselves, they may not see us.”“And so—what. We’re just supposed to stay here all night?” Laurent asked, whispering now. The two of them watched as another man came up to the first one, asked him some question. The first man shook his head, then gestured towards the inn, and the second man nodded and made his way inside.Obviously they could not stay here all night, despite Damen thinking a moment ago that there was nothing more he’d rather do. All it would take was one glance at the right moment and they would be found out, made especially easy by the fireworks that were still brightening the night sky. The inn had at least two exits that he knew of, which meant at least two sentries waiting outside, but who knew how many men had entered while the two of them had been distracted. If it was only two or three he could deal with that himself; five or more might be a problem, especially if he had to worry about Laurent as well.“We’ll move when the next firework explodes,” Damen whispered back. “To the other side of the chimney.”Laurent nodded, and they both waited in a tense silence as the next rocket shot up into the sky and then, when it finally exploded into a shower of sparks above them, they moved. Damen was on his feet before the sound even hit them, with Laurent not far behind. “What now?” Laurent whispered, crouched low with his cloak fanned out around his shoulders. “There’s more out this way. Two on the ground. Probably half a dozen inside. What are we supposed to do?”Neither one of them suggested that the men weren’t here for them. They both knew why there was a contingent of guards outside the shitty inn they were staying at, even if Laurent was the only one of them who didn’t know the entire truth of it. It wasn’t even worth the bother of figuring who had sold them out; it could have been the bathhouse attendant, the inn keeper, it really didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered now was getting away.“We can’t go back inside.”“And we can’t go down.”They shared a look, and Laurent’s mouth tightened into a firm line as he came to understand what Damen was suggesting.“A fall from this height will do us in as well as a sword through the gut,” Laurent said, and Damen grabbed his hand and smiled, hoping his expression conveyed more courage than he felt.“Then we won’t fall, yeah? On the next explosion,” Damen said, and Laurent squeezed tightly to indicate he understood. When the next firework was sent up, they moved.Damen had hoped that, like before, the distraction of the fireworks exploding above them would prevent them from being seen on the ground. And for a moment it seemed like it did, that no one had spotted them and they’d be able to vanish into the night without anyone seeing where they’d gone. But a voice called out the instant their feet hit the roof of the building next to them, and that voice was soon joined by more, and Damen could see someone running alongside of them down on the street, shouting their location back to the others.If there was any lingering doubt as to why these men were here it faded quickly as they all streamed out of the inn to follow them. They couldn’t continue like this. They were too exposed this way. Every time one of the fireworks above them exploded it gave their pursuers down below a crystal clear picture of where they were, and any distance they were able to gain by jumping over obstacles that the men on the ground had to find another way around was always overshadowed by the fireworks picking them out and lighting up their position like a beacon.It wasn’t going to work. They were pulling away from their pursuers, slowly but surely, but they had also been running towards the edge of town, and the houses beneath them were getting a little more creaky than the ones they had come from, and a little farther apart. Soon there wouldn’t be any houses at all. If they could make it to the cover of the trees on the outskirts of town, they’d be okay.If they could make it.They had enough of a lead now that Damen was sure they could get down from the roofs unnoticed. He spotted a rickety drain pipe, and although it wasn’t the best option he could hope for it was the best one he had seen so far. They climbed down and ended up in an alley that was open on both ends. It was helpful in the sense that it meant they couldn’t be trapped, less helpful because it meant they could be ambushed from both sides. Damen ducked behind a pile of crates and old wood, hoping the darkness would be enough to cover him, and pulled Laurent next to him.“We have to split up,” Damen whispered.“What? Absolutely not,” Laurent said.“They’ll have to split their forces to chase both of us. And I can fight. I can distract them until you get away.”“And then? After they’ve cut you into a million pieces, what then?”“Hey,” Damen said, placing a hand on Laurent’s shoulder. He wanted to place it against his neck, his cheek, feel the rhythmic beating of Laurent’s heart under his hand, but he knew Laurent wouldn’t welcome a touch that intimate. “I’ve been in worse situations. I can hold my own.” A noise came from one end of the alley, and Damen moved to shield Laurent’s presence from any wandering eyes. “We’ll meet in the forest outside the city once this is all over, and we’ll leave. Together.”“Promise,” Laurent said, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Promise me you won’t get hurt.”Damen’s heart twisted in his chest. This whole thing was his fault; it was him they were after, not Laurent. And yet Laurent still only cared that he was safe. “I promise,” he said. “I’ll find you when this is over. Now go.”And after a brief pause Laurent did, despite looking like he was going to argue again. He ducked out of the alley, keeping to the walls and staying in the shadows, and Damen could barely make him out as he peeked around the corner and then disappeared down the street. The noise from the opposite end of the alley was getting louder, and Damen knew his pursuers would be on him in mere moments. He had nothing to fight with and nothing he could use as a shield to protect himself, which meant that this would be a rather short encounter unless he could think of something quickly.The crates he was hiding behind were useless, too big to move, although they might be good detritus to scatter around. The piles of garbage scattered around looked mushy, and unlikely to be hiding anything even as useful as a stick. He looked over at the rusty pipe they had used to climb down from the roofs. It wasn’t ideal, but it would work. He would make it work.With a pull he wrenched the pipe away from the wall and it came, groaning and complaining the entire way. If his pursuers didn’t know where he was yet they would definitely know it now, but giving away his position was better than being completely unarmed, and it would give Laurent a better chance to get away as well. As the thing detached from the wall and crumbled in front of him he was able to grab a chunk that wasn’t too heavy or cumbersome and about the length of a sword. He would just have to pretend it was a particularly blunt, cylindrical sword.A blunt, cylindrical sword with foul smelling liquid dripping out of both ends. Well, liquid or not it looked like it would do a capable job of smashing someone’s head in, and maybe he could give them a nice bout of cholera as well.The alley was slowly filling with guards. Three, maybe four he could handle, he hadn’t been bragging when he said as much to Laurent, but as he stood there waiting more kept coming. No one routed behind him at least, not yet, but he couldn’t imagine that someone wasn’t already on their way there. He would have to make this quick, before they had time to surround him.But even though more and more guards came pouring in, no one attacked. They had their swords out, ready for a fight, but no one made a move towards him.And then the guards in front of him parted, and a large, heavyset man with balding hair and an angry bulldog face came forward.“So,” he said, looking Damen up and down like he was appraising a particularly finicky horse at the market. “You’re the one who’s been giving us so many problems.”Damen held his weapon at the ready, his attention behind him. This man was giving every indication that he was a distraction, and Damen was not about to let himself get caught up in it.“I’m only a problem if you’re looking for trouble. It’s the spring festival, you know,” Damen said, and another firework helpfully exploded above them to emphasize his point. “You could just walk away and enjoy the fun. No problems for anyone, then.”Implacable, beady eyes started back at him.“I think you know that’s not going to happen. Stop,” he said, putting out a hand as more guards crowded into their small space. “The witch may have spelled him to fight. He could be dangerous.”Anger flared in Damen’s chest, and something of that must have shown on his face because the men in front of him all took the smallest step backwards, crowding up against each other.“Call him that again,” Damen snarled, “and I will take down every one of you myself. I fight for myself, and for him. And I do it of my own free will.”“He is a snake,” the large man said, punctuating each word, “and a witch. You don’t know him, not really. You have no idea what he’s capable of.”In some ways the man’s words seemed more like a warning than a threat, but Damen paid him no heed. He had told him not to call Laurent that again, and he was nothing if not a man of his word.Without warning he lunged forward, makeshift weapon at the ready. Some of the men’s faces in front of him were filled with disbelief, some with surprise, some with fear, but all of that disappeared as the battle started in earnest around him. The space in the alley was tight, cramped, making for an awkward fighting ring, but it was as much of an advantage for Damen as it was a hindrance for the others. It meant they couldn’t surround him, couldn’t attack as one group because of the risk that they would hurt their companions. But Damen had no companion beside him. He swung the pipe in his hands, felt the hard crunch of it move up his arms to his shoulder as it collided with someone’s skull. Easier to use like a bat, and he held it in both hands as he swung wildly, connecting with the blades of the men in front of him and turning all of their blows away from him. Every time the metal of their swords found purchase it would send up a shower of sparks, which Damen used to his advantage to blind his attackers. He couldn’t see the leader, the man who had spoken to him earlier, but that didn’t matter. He would find him eventually, and then he’d make sure that the man couldn’t follow him ever again.He fought, and still more guards came.The pipe was heavy. The fighting paused for a fraction of a second and he saw an opportunity; he threw the pipe like a spear, cracking one man in the skull and sending him to the ground, then used the ensuing commotion to grab the sword from the man nearest him and ran him through with it. Someone coming from his right got a lucky swipe in and Damen felt a searing pain in his side which he promptly ignored before he cleaved the offending weapon from the attacker’s hand.It was a brutal, bloody thing. As desperate as any fight Damen had ever been in before, but without any comrades next to him to give him a moment to find his breath or to share his excitement with. All he had was the promise burning in his chest, the promise that he’d find Laurent after this was all over, the knowledge that the only way to make sure that happened was to take down every single person in front of him which meant, simply, that it had to be done.And still more men poured into the alley. Damen felt the wound he had just taken pull at his side, and then lifted his blade and blocked out everything except the knowledge that he would need every ounce of his strength and capability as a fighter to take down everyone in front of him. No time to wonder if Laurent had made it out okay. No time to wonder where that bull of a man had gone, the one who had called Laurent witch. No time at all.And then—A shrill whistle pierced the night, overpowering the sounds of the wounded men in the alley, the distant booms of the fireworks overhead. Damen was already faced towards the noise; most of the men in front of him, stupidly, turned to see what the commotion was about. Even more stupidly: when he saw what was there— who was there—Damen was too dumbstruck to take advantage of the fact that all of his attackers were looking away from him.Laurent stood in the middle of the street behind the alley, holding something under his arm and looking for all the world like any other youth returning from the market during a festival. He looked at ease, as if he hadn’t just spent the last twenty minutes running (which Damen supposed he hadn’t been, since he wasn’t hiding in the woods like Damen had told him and was, stupidly, still here) and he had a cruel, vicious smile about his lips that Damen hadn’t witnessed since the first time they had met.“Seems a little unfair, does it not? Attacking with so many against just one.”“Come to check on your beast, did you?” the burly man said, appearing from wherever it was he had been hiding. “Don’t worry, witch. We’ve got him under control. And then we’ll take care of you.”“Maybe,” Laurent said, shrugging as if he didn’t care one way or the other about it. “But let’s level the playing field first, eh?”And in a movement that was too dramatic to have been unplanned Laurent flung his cloak behind his back and revealed what he was carrying.Homemade fireworks. Lots of them. And they were all lit.In the brief second it took for Damen’s brain to understand what he was looking at, he wondered what help fireworks could possibly bring. Those fireworks wouldn’t damage anyone, they would barely singe the hair of anyone standing near. If Laurent really wanted to help he could have brought some outraged townspeople with him, or at the very least he could have found that old man from the baths who might be of some use in a fight.And then the fireworks he was carrying exploded, and the chaos was instant.Bright lights, sparks, sounds of screaming that could have been either the noise of the fireworks or from the guards standing around Damen, he couldn’t rightly tell. Instead of having the entire sky to fill these rockets only had the small alley, and the brightness of them was condensed accordingly into the most blinding explosion he had ever seen. Damen heard, very distantly, Laurent yelling at him to run, and without thinking he turned away from the noise and the chaos and confusion and did just that. There was no way he would be able to get from where he was to where he had seen Laurent, not without barrelling through at least fifteen men who were all armed and currently flapping around and trying to get their sight back and figure out what had just happened, but he had to trust that Laurent was running too and that he was, for once in his life, doing what Damen had told him to do and heading for the forest on the outskirts of town.No one was chasing him. He expected that they were still trying to sort out what had just happened, but he knew they’d be on him soon. From a few streets away another homemade firework went up, and then some shouting, and Damen swore. Laurent was as good as broadcasting his position when he did that, and would lead the men right to him. Damen, at least, still had his sword, and could defend himself. That would be a lot harder to do if they had Laurent as a hostage.Another firework set off to his right, and when the street turned he angled that way. And then, one to his left. He slowed, and looked around. There were more fireworks behind him, coming from the town square and every other square he could see, setting off with increasing frequency, until the sky and his vision was filled with it. The finale.Damen started as someone in the house next to him leaned out the second story window and released their own sparkler, and then he started to run again as more and more people joined in the fray. There was no way to tell which blasts of light were from Laurent and which were from the denizens of the town, not anymore. It was all a riot of color and light and explosion and sparks and then—Quiet. No more distant booms, no sounds of clanging swords or yelling behind him. Just the sound of his own feet against the cobblestones. If Laurent was nearby, Damen couldn’t hear him. He made his way carefully down the road. After a few twists and turns he reached a gate at the edge of town. It wasn’t guarded, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. It was easy enough to find multiple ways out of the city; the walls hadn’t been needed for warfare in hundreds of years and the stone once used to barricade the city center had slowly found its way to help support new buildings, new roads, new statues. Just because this gate was unguarded didn’t mean someone had left it to go chase after Laurent. He could have found another way out. Damen went through the gate and surveyed the scene in front of him.The fields around the city were quiet. Most of the population had gathered at the town center for the festival and even the lights were out in their houses, plunging the countryside into an eerie blackness. Damen heard a shout come from the trees near the forest, and then silence. He had no idea if Laurent had followed his instructions to hide there, but that noise couldn’t have been a coincidence. He readied his sword and went to investigate.Once he was under the cover of trees he began a quieter, more tense kind of battle. As he came across the first guard he took a moment to check and make sure that they wore the red and gold ribbon of the Regent before he silently incapacitated them. He felt no shame taking down his attackers this way; while certainly not as satisfying as a proper fight, he couldn’t forget that these men were hunting him, and had threatened Laurent. For that there would be no quarter.A noise to his right. Raised voices—not the surety of men who had scented their prey but something more desperate, pleading. Not wanting to bluster into an ambush Damen quietly made his way towards the noise, covering the sound of his footfalls as much as he could without sacrificing speed and staying in the cover of the trees. He looked back, took only the barest amount of time to ensure that he wasn’t being followed.He saw no one else. The only other noise he could hear was coming from up ahead. There were voices, louder and quieter in turns, as if two people were having a normal conversation in the middle of the woods in the middle of the night. And so Damen kept moving forward, keeping himself in cover until he was finally able to see what was happening.And he saw that they were doomed. Both of them were.Laurent had managed to find the absolute worst place to hide in this entire blasted forest, a small gulley with steep rocks on both sides blocking him in and a solid sheet of rock at his back. Not an impossible climb if he didn’t have fifteen men chasing after him, which he did, all of them ready and waiting around a bottleneck of sorts which was wide enough to let five men stand side by side.So. Not a slim enough area that Damen could push them back and fight them one on one, even if that didn’t mean that he would be pushing them back towards Laurent. And more men than he could handle would be on him in seconds with enough left over to take Laurent as well. He couldn’t risk it. He would have to go up, see if he could somehow drop next to Laurent without breaking his legs on the way down, and they could fight together or die there. He moved from the cover of one tree to the next, but he probably didn’t need to be so careful. All eyes were facing towards Laurent.“Stop!” Laurent’s voice rang into the night, and Damen instinctively stopped in his tracks. But Laurent hadn’t been talking to him; he’d only been telling the men in front of him to stop advancing towards him. And of course he hadn’t been talking to Damen. It was dark, and there was no way he could possibly see him behind the more immediate threat in front of him. Damen got ready to move again.“Not another step!” Laurent cried out, and Damen froze. Because that time it really did seem as if he was talking to Damen—no one else had even moved. From his new position he could see over the entire group, and was struck once more by how badly they were outnumbered and outflanked.“Just end this now, witch,” the man said. “You’re outnumbered, and your spellsword isn’t going to come save you. We put him down like the dog he was.”“As if I’ve ever been dumb enough to believe a single word that comes out of your mouth, Govart,” Laurent snapped. Govart. Damen’s heart dropped in his chest, and he pressed up against the tree next to him. That was the name he had heard at the stables. That was the name of the man hunting him, the one who had been sent to finish the job that Kastor had started. And it turned out that Laurent knew him, somehow.Damen moved again, and this time he was sure he saw Laurent flinch. Govart saw it too, and laughed.“Not as brave as you make yourself out to be, are you, boy? Can’t say I’m surprised. You’ve lived a very sheltered life.”“And what do you know,” Laurent snarled, angry now and lashing out. “You’re nothing but a sniveling, grimy worm. Never had a thought in your head except choosing whose boot you could lick best.”Laurent couldn’t have been more antagonizing if he were trying, and Damen couldn’t imagine that Govart was cool headed at the best of times, let alone after chasing the two of them across the country. With a growl the man stepped forward, hands out as if there was nowhere he’d rather have them than around Laurent’s neck.Damen exploded into movement. He was outnumbered, on shaky ground tactically, but none of that mattered because that man was going to put his hands on Laurent.“Damen, no!”He didn’t worry about how Laurent had seen him, only about how best to get to his side. Not straight ahead; that path was too clogged with guards. He could go up, though, run up along the ravine that hemmed them all in and then drop right onto Govart’s neck.“Damen, stop!”Chaos now, panic setting in among the guards as this new threat was identified and orders to deal with him were shouted. It didn’t matter; he was moving too fast. He’d be on Govart with a blade before they could stop him.“Arret'ale!”And Damen froze. Freeze has connotations of ice, he remembered Laurent saying to him.He was mid-step, mid-run, and had stopped as surely and as suddenly if a wall had appeared in front of him. It’s important to be accurate with these things, Laurent had said.His muscles screamed at him, pulled as tight as if they were all strung like a bowstring, but nothing he could do, no power he could bear could make them move. It was a miracle he didn’t fall over; he had no idea if that was on account of the Writing or just dumb luck on his part.
There’s no choice if the order is to be obeyed or not. It has to be.
His eyes—he still had control over his eyes. The only part of himself he could still move, and he did so almost frantically, proving to himself that there was at least a part of himself, no matter how small, that he still had under his control.He could see everything that was happening. He just couldn’t do anything about it.He couldn’t move.He could see the look on Govart’s face when he realized what Laurent had done, and he was surprised at what he saw there—or, more accurately, didn’t see. Nothing like surprise, nothing like the glee he would have expected at having Laurent disable the only person who was coming to save him. He couldn’t move.He saw fear on Govart’s face, saw that clear as day, and he saw him take a step back, away from Laurent even though he should have been pressing forward, claiming his advantage. He stepped back as if realizing for the first time that Laurent was dangerous and not the cowed boy he had thought.He couldn't move. “What did you do?” Govart said, but he didn't sound threatening, or even accusatory. There was something else there, something desperate, something pleading. And then the earth in front of Damen moved.And Damen, still, could not.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Damen, wake up. We have to go. Damen.”The insistent voice calling his name was annoying. He wanted to sleep, but he opened his eyes anyway because it felt important that he at least do that. His eyes, yes; he could control that, the only part of him that he still could. He remembered. But they felt grimy, dirty, like it would hurt to open them without help, so he reached up to brush the grit away from them. Once they felt clean, he opened his eyes again and pushed up off the ground. It didn’t occur to him until he was sitting up that being in this position meant he could move again.“Laurent?” he said, as the world in front of him came into focus.“Good,” Laurent said, and he smiled, but it was a shaky thing, and gone too fast. “Come on. We’ve got to go.”“What happened?”But Damen remembered. He just needed someone else to confirm what he had seen, because he could hardly believe it even now. Might not have, almost, if the ruins of it weren’t right in front of him.The small ravine that Laurent had been trapped in was no more, and Damen came to the sudden understanding that it hadn’t been Laurent that was trapped there, but the guards. An ambush, but not for him. The rock had collapsed inward, crushing everyone inside. Damen could still hear some of them groaning even now, saw tangled limbs sticking out at odd angles, heard the small displacement of rocks as someone from deep underneath tried to move. He saw now why it was so important that they get out of here; while no one was going to be quite ready to give chase to them any time soon, a majority of these men were still alive, and soon someone would be able to drag themselves out and go get help.He looked up to the path he had been on, the one he’d thought to follow to get around the guards and save Laurent. It was nothing more than dust now, and sat ten feet lower than it had before. It would have been him stuck under those rocks if Laurent hadn’t stopped him. Hadn’t frozen him in place. Hadn’t locked all his muscles up so he couldn’t move—His muscles felt strange, sore, like they’d been pulled in too many directions at once, or maybe like he’d just fought a contingent of guards by himself and then chased them through the woods. He stood, and Laurent put a hand around his waist to steady him. Damen hissed as he aggravated the wound there.“You’re bleeding,” Laurent said.“It’s nothing,” he said, stretching out the strange fatigue in his limbs. The cut at his side pulled, but he could tell even without looking that it wasn’t serious enough to need stitches. “You’re right. We should move, and quickly.”“There he is,” Laurent said softly, and when Damen looked over at him he was smiling again, but it was a tense, brittle thing. “Where would I be if you weren’t always there, pushing me forward?” Probably ruling the world, Damen didn’t say as they stumbled forward. He looked back at the ruin of the ravine behind him, the tonnes of stone and dirt and trees that Laurent had somehow moved with no more effort than a few swipes of his pen. A feature that had likely stood for hundreds of years, wiped out in a matter of moments. A grave now, and one he would have found himself in if it weren’t for Laurent. They made their way out of the forest, and Damen didn’t look back again. They rode all through the night.They had been lucky to find one of the guard’s horses tied up at the edge of the forest, a boon great enough that Damen would have insisted they take it even if he wasn’t fairly certain that her owner wouldn’t be coming back to claim her any time soon. And Laurent didn’t protest or demand he do the exact opposite of what he had planned or come up with an extremely harebrained and brilliant scheme that made Damen’s look like child’s play, only did as Damen asked and got up on the horse behind him and clasped his hands around his waist, careful to avoid the wound there.It was slow going with the two of them sharing one mount, but they made better time than they would have just walking. Not that walking would have been a good option for them right now, as tired and shaky as they were. The bloodlust that had spiked during the fight was now crashing, leaving Damen feeling jangly, like he’d been stretched too thin over too big an area. His eyes drooped, and he allowed the tension in his shoulders to relax. The lights from the city winked at him as they passed, and he closed his eyes briefly to clear out the dust that was still there. When he opened them again the lights were flickering in the distance behind them. He felt his eyes slide shut again.“Don’t,” Laurent said, pressing firmly against his unhurt side and jolting him awake. “I won’t be able to catch you if you fall. I’m strong but I’m not that strong.” Strong enough to call down mountains. Damen couldn’t make his mouth form the words; he left them unsaid, forgotten in the open fields behind them.They rode all through the early hours of dawn.Laurent stayed awake. Damen wasn’t sure how he could tell, but he knew Laurent hadn’t drifted off in snatches like he had. He wondered if Writing took anything out of him. He wondered if moving rocks and mountains with a few words was the same as Damen fighting an alleyway of guards by himself.But no, not by himself. Laurent had saved him from that too, with his crazy firework scheme. The wound on his side ached.They rode all through the morning.Eventually they stopped. Laurent forced them to stop. A part of Damen wanted to keep going, would have kept moving forever to put all the distance of the world between them and those men trapped under that hill, but he knew that he couldn’t. Knew their horse couldn’t either, especially not with two riders. She had done a good enough job for now, and he patted her neck as they dismounted.A large tree had fallen about fifty paces away from the small deer path they’d been following, and Laurent declared it a fine place to take a rest. The upturned roots provided an impenetrable barrier from any wandering eyes, and the decaying log of the tree meant that they could only be approached from one narrow side. Damen wanted to tell him not to bother Writing it, that they would only rest for a few hours before continuing, but in the end he figured that the extra safety wouldn’t hurt. He took care of the horse while Laurent set up their makeshift rest area, although in honesty there wasn’t much to take care of. They didn’t even have any bedrolls anymore; those had been lost with the rest of their supplies. They had the cloaks on their backs and whatever they had been fortunate enough to stuff in their pockets. A quick look through the lost guard’s saddlebags yielded a few pieces of jerky, which he split equally with Laurent, and a small waterskin, which he refilled with clear, quick running water from a nearby stream.“All right,” Laurent said, after they had finished their meager meal and refilled the waterskin. “Your shirt, now.”“My shirt?”Laurent frowned. “Surely you haven’t forgotten that someone nearly succeeded in chopping you in half. Your shirt remembers, at least. It’s more red than white now.”Damen hadn’t forgotten. But the wound wasn’t bad enough to distract him from the other various aches and pains of his body, and the state of his dirty clothes was a familiar sensation to him now. But it was obvious from the set of Laurent’s shoulders that he wasn’t about to let this go, and Damen wasn’t quite willing to twist himself into circles to try and clean the wound himself.He started carefully, at first afraid that moving too quickly would startle Laurent into canceling the whole endeavor and then, after trying unsuccessfully to peel the shirt off of his skin, afraid that moving any faster would aggravate the wound into opening again. It had bled more than he thought, and the shirt was more entangled in it than he would have liked.“Stop,” Laurent said, wincing as Damen slowly peeled the shirt from his body, the sticky, dried blood clinging to his skin and making the entire process rather annoying. “Come here. I’ll help.”Laurent drew close enough that Damen could see the faintest remnants of dust in his hair, the smallest twig that had been stuck there, acquired at some point since the two of them had been sitting together at the fireworks display. It seemed so long ago now, but it hadn’t even been half a day.“Have a lot of experience tending the wounded, do you?” Damen asked. “Maybe I have a lot of experience taking men’s shirts off of them, did you ever think of that?”“I haven’t,” Damen said, because he really didn’t want to think about Laurent taking another man’s shirt off. “Can I ask you something?”“You can ask,” Laurent said, more warning than permission. “That man that attacked us. Govart. You know him, don’t you?”Laurent’s lips straightened into a firm line, the curve of his brow carefully blank.“Sit,” he said shortly, pointing to a fallen log, and Damen took that as his answer and did as he was bade.And really, Damen couldn’t even be mad. It was obvious enough that Laurent knew the man; Damen didn’t need confirmation of that. Witch, Govart had called him, and even though Damen knew that accusation to be untrue—Laurent wasn’t feral, he had very obviously attended some sort of Calligrapher’s school, probably had even more schooling than most—the claim had a ring of shared history to it. He would guess that it wasn’t the first time Laurent had been called that, and not the first time he had been called that by Govart specifically, either.He had hoped, that was all. That Laurent would trust him enough to give him the truth.
The same truth that yesterday was not the first time you’ve heard Govart’s name? Maybe if you had told him that you could have prepared him for this confrontation. Maybe if you had told him that you'd both be asleep in that rat infested room instead of out here, wherever here is, with blood dripping down your side.
“Can you grasp your shoulder, please?” Laurent said, breaking him out of his thoughts. He had a rag in one hand, and the waterskin in the other. “So I can clean the blood off without your arm in the way.”“Oh. Sure,” Damen said, and did so.“I would have preferred to boil this water,” Laurent said, kneeling next to him, “but…”But their little pot was still in their room back in town, along with the rest of their supplies. Damen hadn’t even gotten a chance to try out his new shoes. Lost now, with everything else.“Yeah,” Damen said, and Laurent put the cloth to his side.He was gentle. Gentler than Damen would have been with himself; if he had been on his own he would have gotten it clean with a few rough swipes of a rag, not caring if that inflicted further damage or not. But Laurent went painstakingly slow, and touched his skin gently, always careful to only brush against him with the clean side of the rag. It made him uncomfortable to have someone treat him so delicately, and the hand on his shoulder gripped down tightly until the bone was aching under his fingers.“I’ve known Govart since I was a child,” Laurent said quietly, each stroke taking away another layer of dried blood. Damen looked over at him, but Laurent kept his gaze firmly on the task at hand and would not meet his eye. “We have…never seen eye to eye, to put it mildly, although I’ve always done my best to stay clear of him. He’s a guardsman. Or—part guardsman, part fixer, part menace. He works for my uncle.”“Not anymore,” Damen said. “He works for the Regent of Vere now.”There was a pause as Laurent digested this new information.“Ah,” was all he said. Another stroke of the rag. Another clean expanse of skin left behind.“The men at the bathhouse. They told me that they had seen the Regent’s men in town. And—I should have told you then. I thought that if you didn’t know—I thought I could keep you safe. I’m sorry.”“You’re—apologizing? To me ?”“You deserved to know what kind of danger you were in. What kind of danger I was putting you in. It wasn’t fair, and now—” Damen sighed. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore. They’ve seen us working together, and I doubt they’ll let either one of us go after what happened back there. I just wanted you to know I’m sorry, for what little it’s worth.”Another wipe of the cloth. The drag on Damen’s skin, the slight pulling of the wound at his side. The movement didn’t hurt, but Laurent’s touch left a trail of sparks that lit up his nerves. Laurent was on his knees, and Damen didn’t have his shirt on. “How can you say that?” Laurent said softly. “After what I did last night—”“And what exactly did you do? Save me? Not once but twice?”Blue eyes snapped up to him, clear and deadly. That firm line from earlier was still etched into Laurent’s mouth but his brow was creased in confusion. In anger.“I never wanted to activate that word,” he said, and his eyes moved to Damen’s wrist. Damen knew he was looking at the cuff, and it took all he had not to follow his gaze. “I had hoped I would never have to.”“If you hadn’t I would be under that pile of rubble, just like the others. You even told me to stop, but I didn’t listen.”Laurent shook his head, continued shaking it as he pushed himself up and dumped out the rest of the water. “You should hate me for what I’ve done. For what I’m capable of. If you had any sense in you at all, you would.”“I don’t hate you, Laurent, and it’s nothing to do with sense. As far as ‘shoulds’ go—well, I should have told you about the Regent’s men, and you should have told me you’re capable of pulling down mountains, maybe. And then we wouldn’t have needed to have this conversation. All we can do now is promise to try and do better by each other in the future.”Another pause. Laurent was done cleaning, and he set the rag down. Damen picked up his shirt. It was sticky, and the stains would likely never come out. Unfortunately his only options at the moment were to wear it or go entirely without.“All right,” Laurent said eventually. Some of his normal confidence and arrogance had been restored, and Damen was surprised to realize that he had missed it. “I promise to try and do better, then. In my defense, though, I didn’t know I could ‘pull down mountains’. It was a gamble born of a lack of options. I wasn’t sure it would work.”“Not the time I would have picked to start experimenting, but I understand.”“Lack of options, remember?” Laurent said patiently. “But I would have never thought of it without your help. So I suppose I should thank you for saving my life. Both of our lives.”“My help?” Damen repeated. “But—I don’t even know what you did. I have no idea how you managed it. How could I have possibly helped?”“Do you remember that night I Wrote the rocks? In that camp by the river.”Damen remembered. Their bedrolls had been close, and he had listened to the sound of Laurent’s breathing all night, the steady rise and fall of his chest. He remembered.“Yes,” was all Damen said.“You asked me then if I could Write trees, since trees were alive. It had never even crossed my mind before, but after you said that I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And then I was running through the woods, and it was dark and I couldn’t see…anything,” he said, laughing in that strange way men do after fights sometimes when they realize only after the fact how close they’d come to death. “It was so dark and I thought—well, I might as well go out trying something crazy.”And Damen began to see the outline of what he had done, what that frantic flight through the forest might have looked like for Laurent. Running around, scribbling his magic on trees as fast as he could, corralling his pursuers into a natural ravine, wondering when his spell would come into effect. And then Damen had showed up and nearly ruined the whole thing.“I thought I had more time,” he continued, “before you came, I mean. I knew you were coming. But the trees were reluctant to give up their roots, and they were slow in disentangling themselves from the rocks, and I was forced to stall. And then you—I was afraid you’d get caught up in it too.”“I very nearly did.”“Yes. And yet you’re sitting there anyway, apologizing to me.”Damen thought it would be useless to point out—again—that Laurent’s actions had saved his life, especially since Laurent seemed determined to castigate himself for it. And so for a moment they sat, and the small amount of food and water he had consumed, along with the cleaned wound in his side, made Damen feel almost rested. “That trick you pulled with the fireworks,” he said eventually, remembering how Laurent had looked with all those homemade pieces stuffed under his cloak. “When I saw you, I thought we were both dead.”“It worked, didn’t it?”“It did,” Damen said. “I am beginning to see the pattern there, you don’t have to tell me.”“Oh? You will have to enlighten me, I think. I can’t possibly imagine what kind of pattern you’re talking about.”Damen shrugged. “The crazier I think your plan is, the more likely it is to work.”Laurent scoffed. “You’re hardly one to level such accusations against me. I can't be crazier than a man taking on twenty armed men without a weapon.”“It was less than twenty.”“Eighteen, maybe.” “And I had a weapon,” Damen said. “You didn’t see it, but I had a pipe.”Laurent laughed then, a short, disbelieving sound.“A pipe,” he said, incredulous. “Did they teach you how to fight with that during your time in the army? Surely the Akielon military complex is not so poor as to outfit their best fighters with pipes.”“No,” Damen said, the idea of it sparking merrily in his head. “But they did teach me something that has been even more important.”“And what’s that, then,” Laurent said, indulging him.“How to improvise. I’ve had to use that skill more than any other I’ve learned, and I can only imagine that I’ll have to use it even more as long as you’re around.”“You are venturing dangerously close to criticism,” Laurent said.“I'm not, I promise you,” Damen said. Laurent had something close to a smile playing about on his lips, the first that Damen had seen since that moment on the rooftop the night before, and for a moment they gazed at each other, the atmosphere between them thickening, heady with the knowledge of all that had passed between them.Off in the distance a twig snapped, and they turned as one to look. “It’s just a rabbit,” Laurent said, laughing a little, and after a moment of peering through the underbrush Damen caught a glimpse of furry little ears there. “We should get moving,” he said, but Laurent had already pushed himself up, anticipating their departure.The strange thread between them had dissipated, the energy light and casual once again. They worked together to gather their meager supplies and return them to the saddlebags, refilled the water canteen and even grabbed the bloody rags that Laurent had used to clean Damen’s wound. At the end of it their rest spot was all cleaned up, all evidence of their presence gone.“Maybe we're both a little crazy,” Damen said as they mounted the horse, getting as comfortable as he could. “Maybe that's why we work so well together.” Laurent’s chest was pressed up against Damen’s back, his arms around Damen’s waist. He made a humming sound as Damen kicked the horse into a trot, and then after a moment Damen felt him turn his head and rest it against Damen’s back. “Maybe you’re right, after all,” Laurent said as the two of them turned south once more.
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“And libraries? You do have libraries in Akielos, do you not?”Damen sighed and sent Laurent a pained look. He’d been asking questions about Akielos all morning, vacillating between confusion that they had accommodations like the Coliseum and restaurants and amazement that they had such refined infrastructure like sewers and running water. Damen would have been offended except he was almost certain that Laurent was just doing it to annoy him.“We have libraries. Many of them, actually. But most of the books are in Akielon, so I’m not sure you’ll find much to your liking.”“I’ll have to learn to read it eventually, won’t I? It can’t be that difficult. And besides, I already know how to speak the language.”“What—you do?”“Yes,” Laurent answered in heavily accented Akielon. “Of course. Do you think I chose to run away to a country where I couldn’t understand her people?”He would never pass for a native, not with that accent (or that hair or that fair skin) and his words had the slightly off sound of someone who had learned from books and not from other native speakers. But he could be easily understood and Damen was sure that Laurent’s knowledge of this, like everything else, was more thorough than he let on.“Do you mean to tell me that we could have been speaking Akielon this entire time?” Damen said, feeling like the world had just tilted underneath him. It felt good to speak in his native language again. It felt like having a muscle unlock that he hadn't even realized was causing him pain. “We could have been, yes. Although it would have made shopping in the markets a little more difficult.”“We should speak it from now on,” Damen said. “When we’re alone. You will need some practice if you’re to be understood.”“I am always perfectly understood,” Laurent said, tossing his head arrogantly, and Damen laughed.The day was nice, and they walked together for a while in silence, the horse trailing behind them on a rope. They had stayed off the main roads, not willing to risk being seen, but the days were getting warmer and the land less hilly and forested and they were able to cover good ground even so. Damen was sure that for now, at least, they were not being followed, and each step they took got them closer and closer to safety. To Akielos.“So,” Damen said, after a moment had passed. “You ran away, did you?”Laurent huffed and brought a hand up to stroke the horse’s neck, earning him a pleased whicker. “I wondered if you would catch that.”“It must have been bad, if you thought running away was your only option. I can’t imagine there are many circumstances you couldn’t fight against if you put your mind to it.”“It was,” Laurent said, “bad. But that’s not to say that I’m not fighting it, in my own way. Not all battles can be solved with swords,” he said, glancing at the weapon that Damen kept safely tied on their horse. “Sometimes disarming your enemy has to be enough.”Damen frowned and looked over at Laurent.“What do you mean, disarming—”A piercing scream stopped him from finishing the question. Damen crouched automatically, even though there was no cover to hide behind. The scream had come from a copse of trees to his right, maybe a few hundred feet away, and while he couldn’t see anything from this vantage point he couldn’t discount the possibility that there were archers lying in wait.“Get on the horse,” Damen whispered to Laurent, yanking the sword from where it had been attached to the saddle. “Take her out as far as you can go. Once it’s safe we’ll meet by the river, where we stopped for breakfast this morning.”“What? No,” Laurent said. “I’m not leaving you to fight by yourself again.”“I’m not going to fight, I’m just going to see what’s going on.”“Then leave the sword.”Damen shook his head. “It would be shortsighted to go into a situation like this unarmed. Hopefully I won’t have to use it.”“It would be shortsighted for us to split up when we’ve already proven we work better together,” Laurent hissed. “I’m coming with you. I can hold my own in a fight, same as you. I can help.”Another scream, this one a little quieter than the first, but coming from the same spot. Damen glanced over at Laurent, saw the hard steel in his gaze that meant that unless he wanted to spend the next hour arguing they were going to have to do this his way. “Fine. Follow me,” Damen said, and Laurent’s smile was triumphant as they made their way over to the cover of the treeline. They tied the horse securely to a tree and then made their way as quickly and quietly as possible through the underbrush. Damen kept an eye out for archers or sentries as he moved but he saw no one, nor any other signs of ambush. Either these attackers were supremely lazy or they were confident that their crimes would go unnoticed out here.He saw a flash of color through the trees, and another next to it. A caravan. He gripped the hilt of his sword tighter. That meant bandits, although caravans were known to be heavily armed. He hadn’t thought they were close enough to a road to worry about running into such problems, but apparently he had misjudged their location. He heard the stamp of hooves and for a moment thought that their own horse had followed them in; but no, the caravan had horses of its own, and they were only stamping around and munching on grass, unaware and uncaring of the trouble their owners were in.“Stop!” a voice cried out, and Damen followed the noise through the trees as Laurent came up quietly behind him. “You fiend! You would not attack an innocent man, would you?”Damen couldn’t hear the answer to that question, but he was finally in a position to see what all the commotion was. To his surprise, there was only one attacker. And only one victim too, a man who laid sprawled out on the ground as if pushed, his fancy clothes getting ruined in the dirt. He had an arm up in front of his face, as if that would be enough to stop a blade from cleaving him in half.“I said,” the man on the ground repeated, louder this time, “you would not attack an innocent man, would you?”“You are no innocent,” the man with the sword said woodenly, shifting his grip on his weapon. “And you deserve…to die!”And he reached back, the sword held in two hands above his head, intending to drive the sharp end through the prostate man’s body.Damen moved. In seconds he was free from the cover of the trees and barreled straight towards the other swordsman. The attacker’s blade was at too odd of an angle to bring up to defend himself, and in the second Damen met the attacker’s eyes he could see that the other man understood that as well. Instead of trying to readjust his grip the man only barely managed to deflect Damen’s attack and then dodged, rolling away and buying himself a few precious seconds.Damen brought his full bearing down on the man, who kept himself from being cleaved in two with clever footwork and a bit of luck. The sword the man was using was made of some strange material, and it caught on Damen’s blade in a way he wasn’t anticipating. The attacker used that momentary confusion to put more distance between them, but he didn’t press forward or even attack, which seemed like a misstep considering how outclassed he was.A flash of movement behind him, and Damen knew that it was Laurent. He was unarmed, so Damen didn’t have to worry about him joining the fight, although he did, perhaps, need to worry about the ground opening up and swallowing him. But when he risked a glance backwards he saw that Laurent was only trying to help the man who had been knocked to the ground, the one Damen had only barely saved from being skewered.Laurent was trying to help—and the idiotic man on the ground was having none of it. He sprawled there, unmoving, as if he were doing nothing more dangerous than sunbathing at a public beach, and he watched the fight in front of him with eyes that were wider than dinner plates.Damen couldn’t afford to divert his attention any longer and turned back to press his advantage. He was weaker than he’d ever been before, leaner and with less muscle because of the terrible diet he’d endured over the past several weeks, but even still his strength was no match for his opponent. Damen pushed him back, gaining ground with every step, and the swordsman started to make dumb, shoddy mistakes.Damen saw an opening. He could have thrust his blade into the man’s stomach and ended the bout right here, but some instinct had him turning his shoulder and pushing instead. The man cried out as he was knocked to the ground, and the sword was flung out of his grip. Damen kicked it even further away.Damen held his own sword with a tight, firm grip. He pointed it at the man on the ground, not to attack but to warn, nothing as showily overdramatic as what the other man had been doing to his victim earlier.“Stand down,” Damen said, and the man put his hands up in the air.“I’m down,” he said, glancing around Damen. “I’m very much down.”“Oh, wonderful! Simply wonderful!”The victim who had been sprawled on the ground was finally up on his feet and standing very near to Damen. Laurent stood helplessly behind him, watching the proceedings with the confusion of someone who has run across a bear in the forest and found it to be more interested in balancing a ball on its nose than attacking any intruders. Damen shared the sentiment, and watched with growing surprise as the man reached around and put out a hand to help the downed swordsman.Even more surprising: the swordsman took it and let himself be hauled up to his feet, glaring at Damen the entire time.“Wonderful?” the swordsman repeated gruffly. He rolled his shoulder and grimaced. “I hardly doubt that a dislocated shoulder is wonderful, Charls.”“No, no. I’m sorry for that Jord, I truly am,” the crazy man named Charls said, and turned to Damen. “My boy, that was simply incredible. Can you do that again?”Damen blinked.“I’m sorry, do—what again, exactly?”“The question you should be asking is if I can do that again,” the man named Jord muttered, walking over to pick up his sword. “Because the answer to that question is no.”Damen was about to bark at him to stop and not think about touching that sword, but Charls put an arm around Damen’s shoulders and turned him away. Damen still had his own sword in his hand, and it felt heavy and strange in his grip.“This is what we’ve been missing,” Charls said, waving a hand to encompass the spot where he had been laying on the ground about to be skewered, and then brought his hand up to hit Damen lightly on the chest in a sort of comradely way that Damen tried not to flinch from. “An avenging savior. A merciless, vengeful champion. Help sent in from the divine. Nicaise!” he bellowed suddenly, and Damen cringed away from the loudness of it. “Damn it all, where is that boy. Nicaise! Come write this down, I’m having an epiphany!”“Stop,” Damen said, pushing away from Charls’ grip on his shoulders. “Stop. What, exactly, is going on here? I thought you needing saving, that you were being robbed, about to be stabbed—”“Not quite,” Jord said, and lunged forward and drove his sword straight into Damen’s chest. Damen looked down at the sword hilt sticking out from his sternum, and a distant part of his mind lodged the fact that perhaps his training had not been as thorough as he had always led himself to believe, because he had no idea how to deal with this, no foundation from which to even start. It could be that his training hadn’t covered this because this was the sort of view one only saw moments before death and therefore it wasn’t necessary to have any sort of strategy on hand, but strangely he was reasonably sure that he wasn’t dying. He didn’t feel any pain except a dull sort of throbbing where the sword had hit him, and then he thought that maybe it was okay not to know what to do when you had a sword sticking out of your chest.“Jord,” Charls admonished, with the air of a tired school teacher forced to endure one too many intractable children. “That was rude.”“So was tackling me to the ground,” Jord said, and then stepped back and took the sword with him. Damen waited for the slow pull of steel against his bones and organs, the warm rush of blood moving in places that it shouldn’t. Nothing came. And Jord saw the look on his face and shrugged, and held up what used to be his sword but was now just a hilt, the blade nowhere to be seen.“You deserved it,” Jord said, and with an especially hard flick of his wrist he snapped the hilt of his sword down so the blade came popping out. “For tackling me.”“It’s a…trick sword?” Damen said, as Laurent came over to put a hand over Damen’s chest, like he needed to feel for himself that Jord’s blade hadn’t really pierced it. “Ah, my friend here didn’t hurt you, did he?” Charls asked, gesturing to Damen’s shirt as Laurent took up his regular position nestled into Damen’s side. “You seem to…it looks like you’re bleeding.”“Not anymore,” Damen said dismissively. “But could you—what’s going on here?”“My manners!” Charls exclaimed, putting a hand over his heart. “Please excuse me, my dears, I’ve been unconscionably rude. I am Charls. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”“In what capacity?” Laurent asked, his voice icy. “Are you perhaps the famous Charls who screams very loudly in the woods and makes people think he’s being murdered?”“Aha! Oh, you’ve got a biting wit, haven’t you, my dear. I love it. You’ve never acted before, have you?”“Every day of my life,” Laurent muttered.“You’ve got the face for it. Honestly you wouldn’t even need to act that well to be a success. No, no. I am not Charls of the screaming wood. I am Charls, of the famous acting troupe, Charls’ Men. Surely you’ve heard of us.”“You don’t have to answer that,” Jord said with a weary grimace.“Nonsense, my boy, of course they’ve heard of us. And ah! Here are the rest of my fine fellows. Well, some of them, at any rate. Nicaise, Aimeric.” Damen turned to see two pairs of eyes peeking around from one of the wagons, the burning curiosity of youths gone too long without excitement. “Come meet my heroic saviors, sent from the divine to rescue me from the evil villain Voltainiere. Or Jord, as you may know him. Nicaise, write that down. ‘Saviors from the divine’.”“I am not writing anything down until you tell me what’s going on,” the boy named Nicaise said. He came around the wagon to approach them and the other one—Aimeric—followed. Nicaise was a pretty sort of boy with curly hair gone too long without cutting and blue eyes that flashed arrogantly in a way that reminded him of Laurent. “Who are these people? Besides the idiots who ruined our rehearsal.” “Excuse us for hearing blood curdling screams and assuming someone was in trouble,” Damen said sourly. “I bet they’re here to rob us. They look like the desperate sort,” Aimeric said. He looked older than Nicaise by just a few years, with wheat colored hair and eyes like grass. The two boys shared the same snarl of distaste on their lips that they surely must have practiced together. “They are not here to rob us, Aimeric,” Charls said patiently, and then looked over at Damen and Laurent. “You’re not, are you? No, of course not. I would be able to tell. I’m an excellent judge of character.”“You would have to be, to be the leader of Charls’ Men,” Laurent said. His voice held a tone that Damen was beginning to realize meant he was about to be in a lot of trouble. “You’re actors, then. A traveling troupe?”“No,” Nicaise sneered. “We actually live at the Regent’s palace in Arles and perform at his convenience. We’re in one of his gardens right now, haven’t you noticed?”Laurent sent a long, cool look at the boy and then turned back to Charls, as if the interruption was so far beneath his notice that it did not require even a polite response.“So you have, what. Eleven actors under your direction?”“Oh, no, dear. Seven,” Charls said. He looked ashamed, although Damen could hardly understand why.“What—seven?” Laurent repeated, aghast. “But—that would rule out performing some of the best plays ever written. The Cyclone of Arennia. The Magic Pen of Sartienne. Fools Under the Bridge . A troupe of your caliber should have these in your repertoire, and I can’t imagine doing any one of them with less than ten.”“We manage just fine on our own,” Nicaise said, as if the accusation had been brought against him directly.“It is possible to do those plays with our number, and we have,” Charls said, a more polite version of the answer that Nicaise had given. He put a friendly arm around the boy’s shoulders, and Damen half expected the boy to hiss at the touch but he only sulked a bit and allowed it. “It requires a few clever costume changes but we manage.”“Really?” Laurent said, cocking an eyebrow and leaning insouciantly against Damen. “The penultimate scene in The Magic Pen, with Lucien and Sebastien and Rosario and Belladonna. You can do that with a troupe of seven. Each of those characters is supposed to have a personal servant who serves as their narrative foil, which would bring you to at least eight. And you are telling me that somehow you can do it with seven.”“You certainly know your literature, mysterious stranger,” Charls said, inclining his head. “Pray tell, what is your name?”“Laurent,” he said. Damen had expected him to lie again, to give himself some sort of ridiculous pseudonym, but apparently that was an honor that was only bestowed upon him. “And this is my partner, Damen.”Damen was surprised again; he had half expected Lymon to make a reappearance, although not as the mute valet; Damen had already ruined that fiction. But the way Laurent said ‘partner’, the way he was tucked against his side even now—Damen hadn’t expected that. The word lent itself to many different interpretations, but the way Laurent said it did not.“Well. Laurent. Damen. It is nice to meet you both properly. And…yes, we may have lost one of our actors recently, went off and got married, you know, so it would be hard to produce The Magic Pen again. At this point. With only seven. But there are others we can do.”“Hard to do even some of the lesser plays with seven, not when you need the actors to work as stage hands for costume changes, scenery changes and the like.”“If I could be so bold, my dear, it seems as if you have some goal in highlighting our current deficiencies. Are you trying to suggest something?” Charls asked.Laurent shrugged. “I am not suggesting anything. Only…perhaps there’s an agreement we could make that would be mutually beneficial for us. We are in need of conveyance south, towards the border. If you are going that way, we would join you and help out with your plays in whatever capacity you need. My partner here—you’ve already seen his capability with the sword. He could guard your caravan for you, or help you choreograph fight scenes.”“And you?” Nicaise said, crossing his arms and standing in front of Charls protectively. “What could you do, besides swindle us?”Laurent opened his hands, a gesture calculated to make him look as friendly and open as possible. “I could do whatever you need me to. I can act a bit, if you like. I can paint a background reasonably well. I can help facilitate costume changes. Whatever you need.”“Can you excuse us for a moment?” Nicaise said, and grabbed Charls by the arm and dragged him away, Aimeric and Jord in tow. They huddled together and made no effort to lower their voices; Damen could hear Aimeric and Nicaise vehemently rage against the very idea of adding not one but two more people to their troupe who could potentially steal their parts, and it was apparent that they wanted none of it. Jord seemed to be more resolute in favor of having someone help with guard duties, which he appeared to be responsible for on his own, or to take over his villain duties, which he apparently only did out of his desire to be helpful and not because he had ever sincerely wanted to act.“Are we really going to do this?” Damen whispered. “Stopping at every town to put on a play doesn’t seem like the fastest way to get where we’re going. Or the most subtle.”“They only make money when they’re in town, which means they’ll be eager to get from one place to another. And they’ll camp out like they’re doing here rather than stay at an inn. The only time we’ll be in the presence of other people will be in costume. It’s a rather elegant solution to our problem, really.”“Except that we’re not actors.”“Maybe you aren’t,” Laurent said, turning his nose up. “But I can do anything.”“I don’t doubt that,” Damen said, trying his best to ensure that Laurent didn’t see his smile. He didn’t need the encouragement.“Besides, we won’t need to walk anymore. We can ride on the wagons.”“Ah. Your true intentions come to light.”“All right!” Charls cried, clapping his hands together and turning away from the small huddle. “We’ve all come to an agreement.”“I quit,” said Nicaise.“Me too,” said Aimeric. “Don’t worry about them, they say that all the time,” Charls said, flapping his hands as the two boys walked away together. “But so—an agreement. You may accompany us south, as we were heading in that direction anyway. Through Chasteigne, Alier and to Ravenel, our southernmost destination before heading back north for the summer. We can pay you one copper per thirty audience members at each show.”“We don’t need any—” Damen started.“One copper each? Or one for both of us?” As if the difference between one copper or two meant anything to a man who could create infinite wealth. Damen frowned.Charls inclined his head as if in apology. “One copper for both, since we will be giving you food and lodgings as well. And you will help out in the camp however we need you, with whatever chores Jord assigns. And we will require you both to learn lines.” “But—we are not actors. I am not an actor,” Damen amended when he felt Laurent jab him on his good side.“As if such a thing matters. You have a natural charisma, my boy, and you are very athletic. People will be happy enough to watch you wave your sword about on stage and won’t care a jot about the words coming out of your mouth. And you, my dear,” Charls said, glancing at Laurent. “How do you feel about doing scenes in the nude? It would be tastefully done, of course, and only when needed for the story, I assure you.”The glare Laurent sent Charls was an answer of its own, and had it been turned on Damen he was certain it would have transformed him into a pile of ash on the spot. But Charles simply absorbed it and shrugged, as if to say that at least he had tried.“And so…exactly what kind of plays do you produce here?” Damen asked.“Oh, nothing like what you’re thinking right now, I promise. It’s just good to know everyone’s limits. Now come. I’ll take you on a tour of the premises, and introduce you to the rest of the cast.” And without even waiting to hear if the two of them would agree to the offer he walked away, arms already flapping and speaking as if they had immediately followed behind like little ducklings.“I can’t tell if this is the greatest stroke of luck we’ve had so far or if we’ve been kidnapped,” Damen said, as Laurent wound an arm through his.“As long as we get a hot dinner out of it I’m partial to either,” Laurent said, and together they followed Charls through the camp. The tour did not encompass much—four wagons which the actors lived in and which could be pushed together in some configuration that Charls assured them would manifest into a stage complete with a small backstage area and wings, a claim which Damen didn’t quite believe—and a smaller wagon for Charls which served as his personal lodgings. Damen retrieved their horse from where they had tied her and she was added to the others, a motley group bred for strength who towered over her in a makeshift pen. But she seemed content enough to munch on the grass next to them, and the other horses seemed to enjoy the new company, and so Damen didn’t worry about it too much.They had already met half the crew, and Charls introduced them to the rest. Erasmus, a shy boy who looked to be half-Akielon at least, and who waved at them in the most friendly gesture Damen had seen since they arrived. He was the backstage manager as well as being in charge of the cooking for the camp, they were told, since he didn’t care for acting, and he would be responsible for all their meals as well as their props and costumes. Kallias, a handsome, well built lad who stood protectively by Erasmus until he seemed satisfied that neither Damen nor Laurent had any intentions to attack him on sight. Lazar, who rakishly grabbed Damen’s hand and bowed dramatically as he kissed the back of it and then pretended to be struck by love’s arrow as he was introduced to Laurent, a farce which ended up with him prostrate on the ground, clutching at his imaginary wound.“You have quite the interesting assortment of characters here,” Laurent said as they passed Aimeric and Nicaise, embracing their current state of joblessness by lounging against the wagons and throwing acorns at anyone who came close to them.“Oh yes,” Charls said, guiding the two of them under a big tree and leaning against its trunk, his hands clasped over his belly. They had a good overview of the camp here, just far enough that no one could hear them and they could watch as the rest of the troupe went about their business. “I find them all over. Jord’s been with me the longest. I originally hired him to protect my wagon back when I only had the one and was doing my one-man play. He’d been thrown out by the Kingsguard, back when there was a King, you know. As he tells it he was ordered by his captain to deal with a young boy in the market who got caught stealing. Kid couldn’t be any older than six, seven. Third time the boy’d been caught, and so his sentence was death. Jord stabbed the captain instead. Been with me ever since.”Charls’ voice was the same as it was when he had been fawning over the two of them earlier, but something akin to steel had crept into his eyes as he talked, and he looked at the two of them with a shrewder gaze than Damen had previously thought him capable of.“Nicaise used to be an exclusive pet. Aged out of his contract by the time he turned twelve and wasn’t exactly looking for it to be renewed when I found him. Aimeric was a little older, maybe fifteen when he came here. Ran from his father, a self-proclaimed important man who didn’t run a pet house but might as well have with the way he treated him. Erasmus, Kallias, the two of them came from something even worse. They don’t talk about it much. All that to say, I’m a pretty good judge of character. You have to be, in this line of work. Director, actors—we have to understand people. And I do. Very well.”A noise from over by the wagons had all three of them looking over; Nicaise and Aimeric, having no one around to throw acorns at, had begun to throw them at each other, and the battle between them looked like it was about to get bloody.“I suppose I will have to go deal with that,” Charls said, the first hint of weariness creeping into his voice before turning back to them with a bright smile. “But so—all that to say, I am very well acquainted with men who have been hunted. Who have been hurt. And the two of you—well, I think you’ll fit right in here. But if you harm any of my actors in any way I will slit your throats while you sleep and use your skeletons for props in my next production. Are we understood?”Charls stood in front of them beaming, as if he hadn’t just threatened violence on the rightful heir to the throne of Akielos and the most powerful Calligrapher in the nation.“Understood,” Laurent said, nodding, and tightened his grip on Damen’s arm.“Understood,” Damen said too, and Laurent’s grip relented.“Good,” Charls said simply, and then turned towards his two little fighters. “Boys, boys! Where is this energy when I need it on the stage? Save it for the performance, do not waste it on each other!”As soon as Charls was in range the boys immediately complied and began pelting him with what was left of their ammunition. Charls reacted as if each one was an arrow piercing his skin, and soon he was down on the ground, yelping and yowling in faux pain as Nicaise and Aimeric dealt him his final blows, the sound of their laughter above it all, ringing through the trees. Dinner was a noisy affair.It was also, Damen was pleased to see, a bountiful one. He and Laurent hadn’t eaten much in the past few days, and out of either politeness or because many of them had been in a similar situation before, no one said anything when they went back for seconds, and no one called them out when Laurent squirreled away some bread in his pockets either.No other topics, unfortunately, were treated with the same amount of respect.“So how long have you two been fucking?” Nicaise asked during a particularly quiet lull in the conversation.Damen choked on the piece of bread he was eating, and Laurent sent him a very unimpressed look before slapping him on the back a few times and turning back to Nicaise.“What makes you think that we are?” Laurent asked.Nicaise scoffed. “Come on. I’m not an idiot. You two haven’t been more than six inches apart since you got here. And you…there’s a lot of staring going on. Gazing. It’s disgusting.”Damen quirked an eyebrow and looked over at Laurent, who already had the barest curl of a smile on his lips. Their eyes met, and Damen found it impossible to not smile back.“Maybe we’re not fucking,” Laurent said, turning back to Nicaise, and Damen tried not to think about why he made it sound like a lie. “Maybe we just have an alignment of goals that are keeping us together.”“Goals? I think you mispronounced ‘genitals’,” Aimeric said, and Nicaise cackled.An alignment of goals. Damen stuffed another piece of bread into his mouth and turned back to his dinner. It wasn’t as though he was unused to rowdy gatherings like this. Even the most prominent state dinners he had attended as crown prince eventually devolved into drinking contests and back patting. Akielons did not stand on ceremony, and disagreements during official functions were known to be solved with healthy bouts of arm wrestling, and once even regular wrestling, the furniture pushed to the walls to make room, the oil stolen from the kitchen. And his time in the army had been very like this as well, although he had always been treated with the deference of a leader. So he wasn’t sure why he felt so out of place, like he was an afterthought in this company.Laurent, however, was in fine form tonight. Damen had always known him to be quick witted, but with these other Veretians he shone more brightly than usual. His words were full of double entendres, layers upon layers of innuendo, slights and insults buried underneath barely polite niceties. And the others—Nicaise and Aimeric especially, although Damen could see Lazar smiling when he wasn’t pretending to make doe eyes at Laurent—they found it all to be the highest caliber amusement. When dinner was over everyone helped clean up, a chaotic whirlwind of movement that had the entire thing done and packed away in minutes.One might almost call it an alignment of goals. Damen would have to remember that.Charls and Jord and Lazar settled in around the fire for some after dinner discussion, but Eramus and Kallias had already retired for the evening so it was evident that this was not some sort of mandatory activity. And it had been a long day, and neither him nor Laurent had slept well for the past couple nights. “I’ll show you two to your wagon,” Nicaise said, after Damen failed to stifle his second yawn. “No one’s used it since Ancel left.”“He snagged himself a rich patron,” Aimeric explained as the four of them walked through camp, away from the light of the fire. “Ran away and got married.”“He hardly ran away,” Nicaise said, scowling. “We were all at the wedding, Aimeric. Or did you drink too much wine to remember?”“He wasn’t even the prettiest of us," Aimeric lamented. "I have no idea why that man took a liking to him.”“Because Berenger’s as dull as dishwater,” Nicaise spat with the air of having made this argument more than once, “and too naive to understand how much trouble Ancel really is. That boring old man can have him.”“Is that why you’re all here?” Damen asked. “To attract the eye of rich patrons? I thought you were here for the drama of it all.”“You’d be stupid to say no to someone offering you that kind of money. Not that you have to worry about that,” Nicaise said, eyeing Damen up and down dismissively. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Laurent said, as they all stopped in front of the brightly painted orange wagon Nicaise had led them to. Laurent had been gently brushing against Damen while they walked, and now he leaned into him fully, winding their arms together. “I paid ten gold pieces for one night with him, and it was the best night of my entire life.”“What—ten gold pieces?” Damen repeated, even though a distant part of his brain registered that it was probably counterfeit, like the other gold pieces Laurent had made. “That’s how much the Madame was charging for me?”“The Madame?” Nicaise repeated, and looked over at Damen as if seeing him for the first time, gaze hard. “You’re a pet?”“I was,” Damen said. “For a bit. Not anymore.”There was a tense silence between them as Nicaise chewed his cheeks, as though he were spitting up words and swallowing back down the ones he couldn’t say. Eventually he said, “I was a pet too.”“I know,” Damen said.Nicaise scoffed and looked away. “Fucking Charls. Never knows when to shut up.” Even in the dim lamplight Damen could see a slight sheen to the boy’s eyes, and he waited. Nicaise seemed the type to resort to violence rather than show vulnerability, and Damen didn’t want to provoke him.“Ancel always kept the best blankets in the top cupboard,” Nicaise said, and then flushed. “For—in case you get cold. Or whatever.”“Thank you, Nicaise,” Damen said softly. He was sure they would have found the blankets eventually—the wagon wasn’t that large—but he understood the offer to be a gesture, of sorts. But when Nicaise looked back up all traces of genuine emotion were gone, replaced with the bratty look that Damen was beginning to assume he had been born with.“And listen. When the two of you fuck,” Nicaise said gleefully, his nose wrinkling, “keep it down, will you? The walls around here are really thin, and some of us need our beauty rest.”“Some of us more than others,” Aimeric added, his tone leaving no doubt as to which two people, specifically, he meant, and the two of them linked arms and ran away before Damen could even open his mouth to tell them off.“And that’s just one of the many reasons why I’ll never have children,” Laurent muttered, stepping up to the door. “Let’s see what kind of shelter we’ve found for ourselves today, shall we?”Laurent opened the door and ushered Damen inside. It was bigger than he had thought, enough that both of them could walk side by side without touching—or they could have, except that most of the space was taken up by various items one might find use for in a play. A couple of thin pieces of wood painted to look like trees, a rolled up canvas that looked like it might be a drawing of a castle. There were a few props too, another one of those swords that looked to be real but would fold in on itself when pressed, a few rocks that looked like they had fallen straight off a mountain but were light as a feather, a smattering of chairs, a collection of paper mache chains. There was also a lot of fabric, though whether this was for some larger general purpose or was meant to be made into something recognizable he had no idea.It was going to need to be organized just a bit if they wanted to uncover the bed at the other end, and they set about doing so without comment, stacking boxes out of the way, moving trees and towers and dragons to the wall. There were cupboards built into the sides of the wagon and most of them were empty, and so they found some space by simply putting things away.“You didn’t need to lie to the boy, you know.” Damen hadn’t meant to say anything—had resolved not to, in fact—but the words came out anyway as they tidied and cleaned the small space.“Hmm, about what?” Laurent asked, unrolling a backdrop painted to look like fire, staring at it a moment under the light of the lamp before rolling it back up and placing it in the corner with the other backdrops.“You didn’t need to make it seem like we had fucked our way across the country.”“Why not? Would you prefer I told them we’ve got a contingent of guards on our heels instead, and we’ve been stumbling from one point to another with barely enough strength to ride a horse, let alone each other?”Damen felt himself flush, and turned away to rummage through the cabinets to see if he could find the blankets Nicaise had mentioned. After some digging he did find them, and he took them out and threw them on the newly cleaned table. They’d need to be aired, but they did look soft.“I won’t say such things again, if it’s so disgusting to you,” Laurent said, after Damen didn’t answer.Damen sighed. “There are already so many lies between us as it is. I just don’t want to add more. And these people have been generous to us. Given us food, a place to stay. They don’t deserve to be toyed with.”“And you think I toy with them.”“I think you enjoy being around others who are as smart as you are. I think you’re getting to stretch some muscles that you haven’t had to stretch before now. And I think you’re enjoying it, yes.”He hadn’t meant to say so much, all in a rush like that. He especially hadn’t meant to say it while sounding like some sort of teenager jealous that their crush was talking to someone else, jealous of the attention that wasn’t being paid to them anymore. Because that wasn’t the situation between them at all; Damen had long been over the emotional volatility of his teenage years, and he had never considered himself to be the jealous type. And if the feelings he had towards Laurent were what some might consider a crush, then fine. But that was all it was, and all it ever would be.He moved another set piece and finally uncovered the bed. There was only one—because of course there was, the universe delighted in teasing him so—which would be comfortable enough for one person to sleep on, but quite snug for two. He sat down with a heavy thump on the edge of it, resigning himself to another night on the floor. Laurent saw him sit and came over to perch warily on the bed a respectable distance away.“I do enjoy being around others who are as smart as I am,” he said, without a hint of humility that a statement like that should rightly have, “which is why even though this past week has been the most stressful of my life, the most dangerous and harrowing and possibly the closest I’ve come to death—it’s why I’ve never enjoyed being around anyone more than I’ve enjoyed being with you. And I didn’t lie,” Laurent continued, before Damen even had time to be surprised. “When I was talking to the others. I obscured some things, and used some creative phrasing, perhaps, but I didn’t lie. About anything, actually.”“But—when you told Nicaise about the ten gold pieces. You said that the night you visited the pet house—”“Was the best night of my life. Yes. It was. Because it was the night I met you.”The moment stretched out between them. Damen couldn’t tear his gaze away from Laurent, couldn’t help but notice the way his lips parted, just slightly, the way his hair fell slightly into his eyes, how he leaned forward, as if drawn towards Damen's energy. Laurent held some tension within him as he always did, but Damen thought it to be the kind that came from anticipation, not trepidation. And so without thinking, only running on instinct, Damen reached out to see if Laurent’s hair was as soft as it looked, to see how he’d react when he cupped his cheek, if he’d close his eyes when Damen got near enough that they could feel their breath on the other’s face.He lifted his hand—and Laurent flinched. His eyes flicked over to Damen’s wrist, the corners of his mouth tightened, the line of his brow pinched. All subtle, barely perceptible movements, but Damen felt it as clearly as if Laurent had shouted it at him. Damen froze, his hand hovering in the air awkwardly, the spell between them broken.“I—I’m sorry,” Laurent said, bringing up his hands to rub at his face, leaning back to put some distance between them. “I just—I haven’t slept well lately, and I—”“No, it’s fine,” Damen said, and pushed up off the bed. “You don’t need to say anything. I shouldn’t have—I should go air out the blankets.”And he grabbed the blankets that he had taken from the cupboards and fled.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Bang bang bang.
Damen’s eyes snapped open. He instinctively reached for the blade he had started keeping under his pillow, but his hand came away empty. It took him a second to realize why.
He wasn’t at home. Not at the palace in Ios nor the Summer Palace along the coast, not at a friend’s house or even on the beach where he sometimes slept in the summer. Everything snapped back into focus.
He was on the floor of the wagon that belonged to that acting troupe, Charls’ Men. He and Laurent had either been kidnapped or press-ganged into service; he wasn’t sure which better conveyed what had happened to them, but it didn’t matter much because for now they were both heading in the same direction.
Just like him and Laurent. Heading towards the same place, going at the same time. All they shared at the end of the day was an alignment of goals.
Damen had tried to kiss him last night. What a fool he’d been. Laurent had even tried to warn him.
An alignment of goals.
“I hope you’re decent, because I’m coming in,” Nicaise said from outside.
“Go ‘way,” Laurent muttered, still mostly asleep, and flipped around on the bed. It bounced underneath him. It looked like it was comfortable. “Gus, lock the door.”
Nicaise opened the door and climbed inside.
His eyes landed on Damen first, sprawled out on the floor with his blankets around his waist, and then up to Laurent, still sleeping and tucked against the wall, as far away from the noise he was making as possible.
“Ugh,” Nicaise said, his nose crinkling. “You two are just the worst, do you know that? Get up. We’re leaving in ten minutes.”
“What—ten minutes?” Damen said, grabbing the blankets and throwing them in a heap on the bed. “We’re not even dressed.”
“Well, you should have woken up an hour ago with the rest of us, hmm? Charls said we should let you two lovebirds sleep. I’ll tell him not to worry about that in the future. Get dressed,” Nicaise called out, and then was gone.
Damen groaned, and then forced his tired body off the floor. He then set about waking Laurent and informing him of their imminent departure. Laurent turned out to be a reluctant waker whenever his bed wasn't made up of a pile of leaves; Damen had to shake one sleep warmed shoulder for quite a bit until he opened his eyes. After he had confirmation that Laurent was awake in the form of Laurent opening one eye and glaring at him, Damen had enough time to hate that he was now in possession of such knowledge about Laurent’s sleeping habits.
He managed to find a clean shirt in Ancel’s abandoned wardrobe that fit him tolerably well. It wasn’t covered in blood, at least, and as such was a vast improvement over the last one. Once he saw that Laurent was sitting up and not liable to fall back into bed he left the wagon, grabbing his cloak from where he had thrown it the night before and closed the door carefully behind him. He hoped that Nicaise’s warning about their departure time would be enough to get Laurent up the rest of the way.
Outside, the camp was more chaotic than anything he’d seen from them so far, which was an impressive feat considering their dinner the night before and the disastrous rehearsal that they had interrupted before that. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what this place would look like right before a show. He tried to grab someone, anyone, to ask how he could help, but everyone was much too busy to stop and explain anything.
“Just get yourself and your friend up in the driver’s seat,” Jord told him as he finished hooking up the horse’s tack to their wagon. The other wagons had already been outfitted with their own horses, and the horse that he and Laurent had ridden in on was tied to their wagon with some extra rope. “And make sure anything breakable is already on the floor, ‘cause it’ll end up there regardless.”
Damen nodded as Jord hurried away. They didn’t have anything breakable. They didn’t have anything at all. Except—he reached into the pocket of his cloak. The glass from the Calligrapher’s goggles—his fingers touched the smooth surface, and he brought them out. They had survived his fight against the guards, their run through the city and the forest afterwards. He held them up against the light of the morning sun and peered through to the smoky, grungy picture beyond. Their brightly colored wagon turned gray, blurring into the trees behind it. The only thing that he could make out with any clarity—
The cuff on his wrist. He couldn’t help but look at it, couldn’t ignore the way his gaze was pulled towards the subtle, shifting gold there. Against the graininess of the world beyond it was almost a comfort, and he turned his hand back and forth to watch the words shift across his skin.
“Oh, you’re up my boy, good. What have you got there? A magnifying glass? A good thing. You’ll need it today.”
Damen shoved the glass back inside his cloak pocket and looked up just in time to see Charls approaching with an armful of books, which he proceeded to dump into Damen’s arms.
“All of your parts, my boy. Well, yours and Laurent’s. I’ve noted in each who is playing who. Read them as we’re riding today, and have them all memorized by the time we arrive at our next campsite.”
“What—all of them?” Damen said, rearranging the ten or so books that Charls had just thrown at him into a more easily handled pile.
“They’re small parts,” Charls said, waving Damen’s concern away. “No more than twenty to thirty lines in each one. It won’t take you long, assuming you have a decent memory. Ah good, Laurent, you’re here too. I’ve just given your companion here your work for the day.”
Damen turned to watch Laurent step down from the wagon and couldn’t help the small catch in his throat. The morning sun played with the gold in Laurent’s hair, making a halo above his head, and the simple shirt he was wearing—also pilfered from the wardrobe in their wagon, it looked like, with sleeves that were just a touch too long for him—gave him the a slightly risque quality of a man leaving a bed in clothes that were not his own.
“What’s this?” Laurent asked, a hint of sleep still clouding his voice.
“Damen will fill you in. Better get seated, boys, we’re about to leave,” Charls said, flapping his newly freed hands as he rushed off to complete some task or annoy some other member of the troupe.
“I guess we’d better get going, unless we want to risk being left behind,” Damen said, as Laurent casually unloaded a number of books from Damen’s arms.
“Lead the way,” Laurent said, yawning as he fell into place at Damen’s side.
Each wagon had a bench built into the front of it, complete with a small awning which provided the drivers with protection from the sun and rain. As they clambered up to take their seats Damen was surprised to see that not all of the others stayed with their wagon roommates; Jord had climbed onto the same bench as Aimeric, and Nicaise was sitting with Erasmus and Kallias, leaving Lazar to himself. Charls likewise had the entire bench of his own wagon to himself, although as the leader of their little line of caravans Damen supposed he’d need to keep more attention on the road and not be distracted.
“All right my boys, are we ready?” Charls called back to them once everyone was firmly settled.
Assorted calls of assent went up from the various wagons.
“Splendid! Then…action!” he said, and snapped the reins with a dramatic flick of his wrist.
It only took them a few minutes to leave the clearing they had been camped in and find a small dirt road, barely big enough to fit each of their four wheels. It took them another hour or so to find a major thoroughfare. The horses all plodded along gamely, more than familiar with the job of following each other with minimal interference needed from the humans behind, and the catcalls and jokes from the bored drivers that were flung from wagon to wagon quieted and then died down as the day trudged on.
“I suppose we should get to work,” Laurent said once they were comfortably underway, nodding at the stack of books they had deposited on the bench. “Charls seems to have given us the entirety of Veretian canon to memorize.”
“I can’t believe he gave us so many lines. We haven’t even auditioned for anything,” Damen said. “But—I’ll start with these, I suppose, and you can start with the others, and then we’ll switch.”
“Ooh, I can’t,” Laurent said, holding up the reins. He had taken them up when they first climbed into the seat, and had not let go of them since.
Damen stared at him, and Laurent returned his gaze levelly.
“Seriously?” Damen said, after a beat.
“Yes,” Laurent answered solemnly. “You’ll have to read the lines out loud while I drive.”
“Or I can handle the reins and you can read, and we can switch throughout the day.”
“But there’s too much to go through already, isn’t there? Besides, it’s easier to memorize things if they’re said out loud. Plays are meant to be spoken, not read. It’ll be better this way.”
It was not how Damen wanted to spend his day, reading plays out loud to Laurent. In all honesty Damen probably should have found his own bench partner—Lazar, maybe, or any of the other seasoned actors who could give him tips on how to best remember so many words. But Laurent was doing a creditable job of pretending that last night hadn’t happened, that Damen had—
again
—ignored the part of his brain telling him that he needed to stay back, stay detached. And if Laurent could push it away like that then so could he, and he wouldn’t waste another second thinking about it.
And so they spent the rest of the morning learning their lines, Damen following along while Laurent repeated the lines back and closing his eyes and hoping for the best with his own since Laurent couldn’t manage to hold both the books and the reins for any amount of time, no matter how small. Lunch consisted of them stopping briefly in the middle of the road while Erasmus delivered some bread and cheese to everyone, and when they started up again and Damen offered to switch jobs, Laurent refused once again and said that he was already used to learning this way and as such they’d have to continue in this manner indefinitely. Damen sighed and began reading again.
They had learned, if Damen was being generous, perhaps two books’ worth of lines as the sun began to set, and even that was only because Charls had bestowed upon them small parts with only a few lines of dialogue. It was far from the ten books that Charls had tasked them with, and Damen hoped that they wouldn’t be kicked out even so. The setting sun combined with the shadows from the trees was making it hard to read, and so Damen put the books down as their little caravan trundled forward and looked for a good spot on the side of the road to camp for the night.
Laurent was in fine spirits. The bench they sat on was long and they were able to stretch out tired limbs when needed, and after so many days of walking even Damen had to admit that the change in pace was nice. They were making good headway to their destination and weren’t even expending much energy to do so; it felt almost ostentatious, considering what they had been through this past week. It was this buffer of happiness that Damen banked his next question against, hoping to satisfy a curiosity that had been niggling at him all day despite the weight of so many lines pressing against his brain.
“Who’s Gus?”
Their horse shied and let out a disgruntled whicker, as if the question had upset her. When Damen looked over he saw Laurent’s hands tight around the reins, the knuckles of his fingers turned white with pressure.
“You mentioned him this morning when you were still half asleep,” Damen said as explanation. “You said his name so easily. I was just curious.”
Curious if Laurent had someone at home that was waiting for him, or if all he had were people he was running from. If Laurent had anyone he was close to, or if all he had were people he pushed away. Did someone exist who Laurent knew intimately, who Laurent knowingly and willingly let inside those walls that Damen had only very briefly glimpsed behind?
But Laurent didn’t answer him. He had half expected that, in all honesty, and it wasn’t like Laurent had any reason to feel generous towards him after what happened last night. The noise of the caravans was loud, and the sound of others even louder; he could hear someone up ahead of them singing, and someone else laughing. When Laurent spoke again Damen almost missed it, the words very nearly carried away by the wind.
“Do you have any family waiting for you in Akielos?”
It wasn’t a refusal of Damen’s question; he realized that much, at least. And although it wasn’t exactly an answer it could be seen as an offering of some sort, a gentle benevolence of politeness that had been extended to him, and Damen was loathe to be petty about it just because his own question had gone unanswered.
“I do have family, yes. Although—I don’t know if they’re waiting for me.”
“Why wouldn’t they be?”
“Well, I am supposed to be dead, for one,” Damen said, hoping it came out lighter than he felt. “That would be the main reason.”
“You never stop waiting for the ones you love to come home,” Laurent said, his voice gentler than Damen had ever heard it.
Gus, lock the door.
“No matter what has happened to them. Surely there’s someone who would be happy to see you again.”
Plenty who would be happy, perhaps—and some who would not.
“Yes,” Damen said, starting with the easy ones first. “I think—my father.” He hoped his father was doing okay; his disappearance—his supposed
death
—would have been a blow to his frail health, Damen knew. “And my—” he couldn’t think of the word in Veretian, and said, “—
demitira
.”
Laurent shook his head; it was an Akielon word that he didn’t understand.
“I don’t think there’s a word for it in your language. ‘Second mother’, maybe, although that doesn’t really encompass everything the Akielon word does. My birth mother died right after I was born, and my
demitira
raised me as her own. She’s the only mother I’ve ever known.”
Damen couldn’t even begin to imagine what Hypermenestra must have gone through after she learned of his disappearance, and his rage at Kastor’s betrayal took on a new flavor. His
demitira
had loved him as surely as she loved her own son, and she would have felt his loss keenly. How Kastor could bring that kind of sorrow to his own mother Damen had no idea, but it was another mark against him that Damen would hold him to account for once he got back.
“And my older brother.” Damen hadn’t wanted to mention him. Wasn’t even sure he wanted to claim him as family any more, not after what he’d done. But the words came out anyway, and he clenched his fists at his side as his pent up feelings spilled out of him. “He’s the reason I’m here. He’s the one who—the only reason I’m not lying dead in a ditch somewhere is because the greed of the men he trusted to kill me outweighed their loyalty to him. If he hadn’t been so stingy with his coin I’d be laying there now.”
“And so you go to Akielos to confront him,” Laurent ventured.
“Yes. I will look him in the eye and ask him why. I want to face him as a brother and find out what I ever did to him to deserve this. I want to know—he must have had a reason. Someone that must have been pressuring him, or blackmailing him, maybe. I want to ask him—I want to know why he thought we couldn’t figure it out together.”
The evening air was noisy with the sound of birds, crickets, various woodland animals waking up for night, and yet the silence between him and Laurent overpowered it all. Somewhere off in the distance he could hear the rumbling call of a wild cat, and he wondered if the spotted panthers they had in Akielos ever made it this far north.
“Ask your question,” Damen said, when he couldn’t bear it any longer. “I can practically hear it already.”
“It’s just—it’s a hypothetical question. And not one you have to answer.”
“Technically I don’t have to answer any kind of question, hypothetical or not. You aren’t torturing this information out of me.”
“True,” Laurent said, and Damen could hear the the traces of amusement in his voice. “But—despite everything you love your brother, do you not?”
“Yes,” Damen said, the answer coming up unbidden, aching inside of him. “Despite everything, I still do.”
“And so what situation could you imagine would lead
you
to try and kill him? What pressures would have to be placed upon you to betray him and send him to another country for his body to be left in a ditch? Would you do it for money?”
“No,” Damen said immediately. “Never. And our family was never hurting for such, either.”
“That hardly matters; once you have some you always want more. But—not money, then. Would you do it as punishment for what he did to you?”
“No,” Damen said. “He deserves to be punished for what he’s done, yes. But it will be through our justice system, and his fate will be determined by his peers.” Damen knew what the penalty was for traitors, knew it would end the same way if he placed the blade against Kastor’s neck himself. But he would not be the one to bring the killing blow. Kastor had earned that, but it would be done as judgment, not revenge.
“Would you give him up for power, then? Influence?”
A trickier question, and one Damen didn’t have an immediate answer to. There was no one more powerful than his father in Akielos, and so power and influence was not something that he had ever needed to covet. But ultimately Damen was the one set to inherit, not his brother. Eventually he would have that power for himself, and Kastor would not. If he were forced to give that all up to save his brother, would he do it?
He knew the answer, although he couldn’t make himself say it. His crown—that was important, that was what he was raised for, that was everything that he was. He knew that ensuring the crown stayed on his head would be a bloody experience, and he had never shied away from that knowledge.
But there was a difference between openly protecting what was yours and going behind someone’s back and betraying someone that you loved. He would have fought to the ends of the earth to save his brother if he needed to and yes, he would have given up his crown if that was the only price for his life.
“Let me ask you this,” Laurent said, when it became clear that Damen wasn’t going to voice his answer. “Imagine a situation with a little less baggage than your family carries. Imagine you could be taken to Akielos, to your home, right this instant, and all you had to do was give me up to the authorities—”
“No,” Damen said. “I would not do it.”
“You didn’t let me finish. You would be home in an instant and you’d be given a truth serum that would force the truth out of someone when ingested—”
“I still would not,” Damen said. “No matter what the reward is. I wouldn’t accept any sort of agreement if it meant hurting you.”
There was some noise up ahead; Charls had apparently found a place big enough for their caravan to camp for the night, and preparations were being made to arrange the wagons in a protective semi-circle. Jord had climbed down and was leading each horse where he wanted them, and so there was nothing to do now but wait until he was finished.
“You have your answer then, I think,” Laurent said, as the wagon in front of them began to move.
“What answer?”
“As to what you will find when you return home. What you can expect when you hear his reasoning, such as it is.”
“You have extracted an answer from all that?” Damen said, laughing bitterly. “Well then, please enlighten me, because I find I am as much in the dark as I have been since that night his men attacked me in my sleep.”
“Damen,” Laurent said, his voice soft.
“I am waiting.”
Laurent sighed. “You ask what reason he had for doing what he did. And the answer is: there is no reason he will be able to give that will satisfy you, because there’s no reason that exists that would make you do the same. You will find out, eventually, the details, whatever they are. I am sure of that. But it won’t matter. Because he is the kind of man that would betray the ones he loves, and you are not. That is all there is to it.”
“That is not an answer,” Damen said, his hands clenching at his sides. “That is not anything at all.” To be talked about in circles, to play at all these hypotheticals, only for Laurent to lead him to nothing at the end of it—he couldn’t help but feel he’d been slighted. Like he’d been tricked into believing there could be some sort of resolution to this anger that he felt when he thought about his brother’s betrayal.
The wagon in front of them had been settled, and Jord came over to lead their horse into the circle. He motioned for them to dismount once it was placed as he moved on to the next wagon, and Damen took the opportunity to escape. He jumped down, his feet hitting the soft earth below. He felt strange after moving all day; like being on a ship and then coming ashore and having the ground move under your feet. Or, perhaps, like realizing that the brother you adored could have betrayed you for ten gold pieces or for ten million and it wouldn’t matter because at the end of the day it meant that he had still betrayed you.
He heard a noise, and turned to see Laurent looking down from the wagon bench, judging the distance to the ground. Damen lifted his arms to help and saw the surprise on Laurent’s face turn quickly to acquiescence. Damen grabbed him by the waist and lifted him down, and Laurent’s arms wrapped around his shoulders for balance.
“Do you ever tire of being right all the time?” he asked once Laurent had two feet planted firmly on the green earth. His arms were still around Damen’s neck, and as such Damen didn’t move his own hands from Laurent’s waist.
“Do you ever tire of being honorable?” Laurent returned.
He didn’t feel very honorable right now. They were close, very much in each other’s space, and despite everything Damen could feel every one of his fingers itching to press hard against Laurent’s skin. To see how Laurent would react if he moved his grip any lower. How Laurent’s chest would press up against his if he tightened his arms and brought his face in close.
He heard a noise from the wagon behind them, and the sound of someone hooting. It wasn't directed at them; they were in the shadow of the wagon on the far side of the circle, and by this time it was nearly dark and hard to see, but by some mutual understanding they both pulled away anyway. Damen dropped his grip on Laurent’s waist first, and Laurent removed his hands from Damen’s shoulders and they stood apart, two lost souls floating alone in the darkness.
“We should probably help set up the camp,” Laurent said, but he didn’t move to go do so.
“Yeah.”
“And—I think I’ve forgotten all the lines I learned today.”
“Me too,” Damen said and he laughed, some of the tension in him sloughing off his shoulders. Off in the distance someone called for them. They both turned, and then looked back at each other. Damen made to leave—and stopped when he felt the light touch of Laurent’s hand against his arm.
“My brother,” Laurent said, and then, quieter, “Gus—he’s my brother. He died when he was not much older than I am now. I was almost thirteen when he passed.”
“Laurent—I’m so sorry.”
Laurent nodded, accepting the condolence with a practiced air and a sad smile. He had probably heard such sympathy before, and from many other people; still, Damen didn’t know what to do with the hurt it caused in him, to know that Laurent had lost someone so important when he was so young.
“I used to call out for him sometimes. After. In my sleep. I haven’t for years. Not since—” Laurent paused and took a deep breath, and the next words came out of him in a rush. “Not since I realized that he wasn’t going to come save me anymore.”
“Save you from what?”
Laurent glanced away, his gaze intent and focused as if he were listening for something. He still had a hand on Damen’s arm and when he looked back his eyes shone unnaturally in the darkness.
“Come on,” he said, and Damen knew he would get no more answers out of him tonight. “We’re going to miss dinner.”
And the touch on Damen’s arm disappeared, and Laurent made his way into camp. For a moment Damen was left in the darkness, drifting on a tide of inky blackness, before he turned and followed Laurent into the light.
“So, what’s the deal with you guys?”
Too late Damen realized the trap; Aimeric had drawn Laurent into a heated discussion about the use of stage directions and whether the director had the authority to override them for his own benefit regardless of authorial intent, and Nicaise had used that distraction to sidle up next to Damen, the last vestiges of dinner forgotten on his plate and a burning curiosity in his blue eyes.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Damen said as neutrally as possible.
Nicaise snorted. “Come on. It’s strange enough that two men like you would join a nothing acting troupe like ours, even stranger that before that the two of you seemed to just be wandering through the woods and came across us there. And you’re not even fucking. What’s up with that?”
Damen stuffed the rest of his bread into his mouth and tried not to blush. Sex wasn’t something he was ashamed of, or believed that anyone should be; however, reconciling that with a fifteen-year-old who’d probably had more sexual partners than he had was proving to be a challenge at the moment.
“We’re heading to Akielos. Towards my home. You know that.”
“I know that, sure. But what’s he got to do with it?” Nicaise said, motioning his head towards Laurent. “He’s obviously not from there, and he’s not going because of you. So what’s he going for?”
“You’ll have to find out from him,” Damen said, and it came out a little more petulant than he wanted. “That isn’t something that he’s shared with me.”
“Oooh,” Nicaise crooned, looking even closer at Damen’s face. “Trouble in paradise, I see. Like I couldn’t guess that from finding you on the floor this morning. Tell me this, Akielon—how would you feel if you found out he was going there to meet his lover?”
“He’s not,” Damen said shortly.
“Okay, but how do you know that?”
It was the best night of my life,
Laurent had said,
because it was the night I met you
.
“Why are you so curious, anyway?” Damen asked. “You want to know if you’ve got a chance with him?”
Nicaise laughed then, bright and cheery. Damen scowled, and when Nicaise noticed his expression he laughed even louder.
“No, no,” he said, wiping a faux tear from his eye. “It was a good ploy.” He pitched his voice up, a mocking impression of his own speech. “‘Ew gross, a crush on him? I’d rather die, how dare you even assume!’” And he relapsed into giggles.
“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Damen said stiffly.
“Oh no, that’s not it either, silly. It was a good attempt at a distraction, and it probably would’ve worked if I was anyone else. But I don’t let men like him fuck me anymore. Not after everything.” He looked over sideways at Damen, assessing him but never quite meeting his eye. “You know how it is. You were a pet too.”
“Not like you were, Nicaise. I wasn’t a child when it happened, for one, and it was only a few weeks—”
“Oh, don’t start with that,” Nicaise said, waving a bored hand around. “I know, I know. It’s a terrible thing, I didn’t deserve it, I was so young, blah blah blah. But it did happen, didn’t it. And now I’m here. So maybe something good came out of it after all.”
Damen wasn’t sure how to answer that, so for a moment the two of them just sat together, watching the others. The discussion between Laurent and Aimeric had only grown in intensity now that Charls had joined in with his opinion, and the three of them playfully argued among themselves.
“What did you mean, ‘men like him’,” Damen asked, glancing over at Laurent. Nicaise followed his gaze and then shrugged.
“Oh, you know. Nobles. Aristocrats. Aimeric’s one too, it’s why I’d never fuck him either. Along with three hundred other reasons.”
“You think Laurent is an aristocrat?”
“You don’t?” Nicaise goggled at him. “You must not have been a very good pet if you can’t see that shade of blue in his blood.”
“I wasn’t,” Damen said, “a good pet. I ran away. A lot. The Madame would’ve broken my legs if it wouldn’t have lessened my value.”
“You’re lucky you didn’t get Written,” Nicaise said, turning almost sober. “I’ve heard of some houses that do that. You’d never have gotten out then.”
“Yeah,” Damen said, after a beat. “I was lucky. I guess you’re right.”
“I usually am. So? Do you want to fuck me or what?”
“What?” Damen said, his head snapping over to Nicaise, alarmed. “No, absolutely not.”
Nicaise just shrugged, as if it made no difference to him what the answer was.
“Might make him jealous.”
“I don’t want to make him—you’re a
child
, Nicaise.”
“Never stopped anyone before.”
“Well it should have,” Damen said. It came out too loud. The conversations around them halted as the others looked over, but Damen wouldn’t meet their eyes and as Nicaise didn’t protest everyone soon resumed whatever conversations he’d interrupted.
“Wow. Embarrassing,” Nicaise said quietly, once everyone’s attention was elsewhere. He let out a laugh, but it was shaky and fragile. “I would hate to be you right now.”
Damen didn’t argue; he didn’t miss those teenage years when everything had seemed like a slight to him, like the whole world was laughing at a joke that he hadn’t been told the punchline of. He knew too that any comfort offered to Nicaise would likely be repaid with sharpness, and so he held his tongue on that matter as well.
“You know,” Damen said, as Nicaise continued to sit next to him rather than fleeing, “I'm a very good swordsman. I could teach you some tricks, if you like.”
“Oh yeah? Want to get me alone so we can wave our swords around together, huh?” Nicaise said, although it lacked his usual bite.
“We can practice right here around the fire,” Damen continued, ignoring the innuendo. “I could teach you how to defend yourself. Or you can learn some moves that you can use in your plays. Charls might even give you a pay raise if you learn a skill like that.”
Damen had no idea if Charls would do such a thing. In fact he had no idea whether Charls was paying the other actors at all, but luckily this suggestion looked as if it had hit home, since Nicaise seemed to actually be considering it.
“When would we even have time? Assuming I even wanted to say yes, of course,” Nicaise added quickly.
Damen shrugged. “After dinner. Before. Before the wagons set out for the day. Whenever there’s time. We just need a little space.” He pointed to the small clear area between the fire and the wagons that Kallias and Erasmus had just vacated, well within the boundaries of camp and in the eyeline of at least three people. “That would do well enough.”
“I guess,” Nicaise said sullenly, as if Damen had asked if it would be all right to kick him in the shins, “if you really wanted to do that—I guess it would be fine. Not tonight, though.”
“No, not tonight,” Damen said, standing up and stretching. His back popped; he wasn’t used to sitting for as long as they had today. “Tonight I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”
“To bed?” Nicaise said, snort laughing. “What are you, like, thirty?”
Damen scowled over at the fifteen year old. “I’m not—thirty isn’t that old, Nicaise.”
“It’s practically ancient,” Nicaise said gleefully. “That’s almost as old as Charls.”
Damen looked over at Charls, still fighting amiably with Laurent and Aimeric. The man couldn’t be a day younger than forty-five, and even that was a generous estimation.
“Besides,” Nicaise said, never as pleased as when he was delivering bad news, “you can’t go to bed yet anyway. We’ve got work to do.”
“What work?” Damen asked.
“All right!” Charls said, standing up and clapping his hands loudly to get everyone’s attention. “Time for rehearsal!”
“Rehearsal?” Damen said, turning to Nicaise, who waggled his eyebrows at him.
“Rehearsal,” Nicaise said, pushing Damen over to Charls. “I hope you memorized all your lines, because Charls doesn’t fuck around.”
Two and a half hours later Damen stumbled into their wagon, dragging his feet against the floor. Rehearsal had been a lot: a lot of patience, a lot of words pronounced in exact inflections, a lot of specific marks to hit. Damen hadn’t known that so much work went into producing a play, or that someone could possibly find fault with every single way that he walked, moved, phrased his sentences, and held his hands.
But Charls had.
Laurent, as expected, had been brilliant. Charls managed to find just as much to criticize about him as with Damen, but Damen knew that the two of them weren’t even in the same stratosphere. Acting showcased all of Laurent’s subtle, graceful movements, the elegant way he turned his head when someone spoke to him, the way he positioned his body when someone else was at the forefront of the scene. Kallias and Lazar had the major parts of the play and so the most lines, and Nicaise and Aimeric had some of the best lines, but Laurent was the one that Damen could never look away from, the one who always caught his eye, who completely stole the show.
Laurent was still out there, arguing with Charls about an idea he had to make the scene changes more efficient (or more dramatic; Damen hadn’t stuck around to figure out the finer details) but the wound at his side was aching and his legs hurt from sitting all day and he decided that he was done. He looked around their wagon briefly and then flopped down on the bed, the only place in the wagon he could sit and stretch out. The mattress was much more comfortable than it looked, and it had already looked like the softest thing he'd seen in weeks. He snuggled in. No point in setting up the bed on the floor after all, since he would just have to move out of the way whenever Laurent finally decided to retire for the night.
He barely had time to close his eyes before the door handle jiggled and Laurent walked in. Apparently he had persuaded Charls to his way of thinking more quickly than Damen thought.
“I’ve been usurped, I see,” Laurent said, glancing over at Damen's sprawling figure. “No, don’t get up. I have some work to do. You don’t mind a light, do you?”
“Go ahead,” Damen said as Laurent lit a small lamp. The flame bathed the wagon in a warm, flickering glow, and Damen shifted on the bed so he could watch as Laurent went through the cupboards they had packed the night before. He flipped through the one with the backdrops until he found what he was looking for and unrolled it, bringing it over to the lamp so he could see better. He grabbed his pen from his pocket and then stared at the picture for a moment, tilting his head from side to side. Damen was reminded of that first day that they met, with Laurent staring at his bared chest and trying to decide where to begin. After a moment of contemplation Laurent began to scratch at the canvas with his pen, making tiny little marks in no kind of pattern that Damen could discern from his vantage point.
“You did well today,” Laurent said as he moved the lamp around to different areas of the painting to illuminate it better. “At rehearsal. You have a knack for remembering lines.”
“You think so?” Damen said, the flush of pleasure from Laurent’s praise sprawling through him, making him feel fizzy and light. “Charls seemed as if he were weighing the advantages of teaching our horse the lines and leaving me to pull the wagons.”
“Hardly. He’s talking about restructuring the end of the play to put in a sword fighting scene between you and Lazar.”
“Lazar?” Damen said, frowning. “But—I thought his character and mine were on the same side?”
“They are,” Laurent said, turning to scratch at the backdrop again. “That’s how set he is on having a sword fighting scene. I told him he should just pick another play, or you could fight against Kallias’ character if a few scenes are rewritten, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He can be very stubborn, I’ve found.”
“I wonder who that reminds me of,” Damen murmured. Laurent stopped his work to scowl over at him and Damen snuggled into the pillow to hide his grin. “Well, if he says to do it, I’ll do it, regardless of whether or not it makes sense for guard number 2 to do such a thing. I don’t much care, in all honesty. If this was an Akielon play there’d be no shortage of fight scenes to choose from.”
“Yes, and ten times the lines to learn. Aren’t Akielon plays four hours long?”
“The good ones are at least six.”
“Six?” Laurent looked over at him in mock horror. “How does anyone find the energy to watch that, let alone perform in it?”
“Akielons just have better stamina than Veretians. Another thing you’ll have to get used to when you get there.”
“For when I’m watching plays, right?”
“Of course. What else would I be referring to?”
Laurent made a sound that Damen chose to interpret as a laugh, and he hid his smile against the pillow. It was nice, getting to relax like this with Laurent without any of the awkwardness from the night before weighing them down. The pen made rhythmic scratching sounds against the canvas,
scritch scritch scritch.
Damen wondered if he’d ever get to see another Akielon epic at the great amphitheater in Ios. He didn’t go often—they had performers come to the palace, sometimes, but the responsibilities of a ruler didn’t allow for many performances that took up half the day—but he went when he could. He remembered going there as a child, his
demitira
holding one hand, and Kastor the other.
Scritch scritch scritch.
He closed his eyes, the light of the lamp warm behind his eyelids, and listened to Laurent work.
“Nicaise thought you go to Akielos to meet a lover,” Damen said.
There was a pause in the sound of Laurent’s pen—momentary, fleeting—before it picked up again at its normal pace.
Scritch scritch scritch.
“And what did you tell him?” Laurent asked, his tone distantly curious.
“I told him you weren’t.”
“You sound very confident.”
He couldn’t imagine that he did. He wasn’t sure that he felt confident about anything, not anymore; not what the love of a brother felt like, not what complete freedom from Writing felt like. Not what the interest of a man with blue eyes who looked at him, sometimes, like he was a precious object felt like.
“I don’t know about that,” he said eventually. “But—I don’t think you are. You’re running from something, I think. Not towards it.”
“That doesn’t discount the possibility of a lover. It just means that at the moment I have bigger concerns. Like not getting caught and dragged back to where I started.”
“Maybe,” Damen said. “But I don’t think that’s all of it either. You needed help to get yourself out of Vere. If you could have done it yourself you wouldn’t have wasted your time freeing me, and you wouldn’t have needed my help to guide you this far. But so—if there was someone you trusted enough to let inside your walls, who you loved enough to give up your life here, who you shared all of your secrets and your hopes and dreams with—I am sure someone like that would have come and helped you escape himself. Nothing in the world could have stopped him from finding you and protecting you. And he would have taken you home himself. To Akielos. He would not have rested until you were safe.”
The air between the two of them was so quiet that Damen was almost convinced Laurent had left and that he was alone in the wagon. But when he opened his eyes and peeked over at the desk he saw Laurent still there, unmoving, his back ramrod straight. The gentle scritching of his pen had stopped entirely.
“I think that says more about what you would do for someone you loved, rather than the character of my imaginary lover,” Laurent said eventually, his voice as stiff as his posture.
“So he is imaginary.”
“Yes. I imagine Nicaise knew that when he said it to you. And you knew it too.”
He did. He couldn’t say why he did, only that he was sure he would have been able to tell if Laurent held affection for anyone else. He remembered the way Laurent had cleaned blood off of him, the way his touch was so careful, so tender.
“Nicaise. He also—he propositioned me,” Damen said, a change of subject in order to get his mind to stop wandering towards the way that Laurent’s fingers had felt against his skin. “After dinner. He asked me like he didn’t care what my answer would be.”
There was the sound of the lamp being snuffed, and the wagon plunged into darkness. Damen pushed himself up on the bed, ready to take his place on the floor, waiting for Laurent to tell him to move.
“And what was your answer?”
Damen glared at Laurent’s form in the dark as he approached the bed. “What do you think? He’s fifteen, Laurent. He’s a child. He shouldn’t even—what’s been done to him was monstrous.”
“Yes. And what was done to you, too.”
“That was different. I was barely even a pet. You freed me before I could do anything more taxing than sweep the parlor or repair the roof.”
“And being killed is worse than someone threatening to kill you, and yet I’ve found that I don’t exactly enjoy when someone does the latter. Besides, you’re not free.” Laurent sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed Damen’s arm, and Damen let him do so without resistance. “Or have you forgotten about your leash?”
Damen knew that he was looking at the cuff on his wrist, knew that if he could see it under the Calligrapher’s glass it would be shining even in the dark, piercing gold undulating on his skin.
“I haven’t forgotten. But it isn’t the same.”
“Isn’t it?” Laurent flung his hand away as if disgusted by it, and then after a second of consideration laid himself out in the bed, his head propped up against his hand as he looked down at Damen. “It seems pretty monstrous to me.”
With Laurent on the bed, his body was a barrier that kept Damen from moving freely about the wagon. Damen thought about having to climb over Laurent in order to get out, and then wondered how hard he’d have to punch the outer wall of the wagon to go out that way. It was only wood; it shouldn’t be too difficult.
“I know why you did it,” Damen said, keeping himself carefully still. “I don’t begrudge you doing what you needed to do to keep yourself safe.”
“You don’t begrudge me
anything
,” Laurent said, his blue eyes flashing unnaturally in the dark, like a wolf’s eyes at night. “That implies that you had any sort of say in the matter. You didn’t.”
“All right,” Damen said, and then after a beat, “Would you like me to move?”
“Why bother? We can both sleep here. It’s more comfortable, and it makes more sense for us both to be rested in case we need to bolt again. And if you tried anything I didn't like, I could just activate my leash and stop you in your tracks again.”
“You could,” Damen said.
“I’ve done it once before. I could do it again. I could do it any time I like. You remember how it felt, surely?”
“I do,” Damen said.
“No control over any part of your body. Your brain doesn’t quite understand what’s happening, and it makes your limbs feel all stretched and strange, like you’ve been pulling at restraints for too long even though you know you haven’t been doing anything because you
can’t do anything.
It would be better to be in a cage, because then at least you could see the confines of your prison. The longer it goes on, the more disconnected you get from your body, until you’re floating there, above it all, watching it happen. Watching as you do nothing. And then when you finally regain control it takes a while for your brain to hook everything back up, to remember that it’s possible to use your arms, your legs. That it’s possible to fight back against it, and you think—next time, I’ll be able to fight this. Now that I know what it’s like. And then it happens again and again and again and you’re in the exact same situation as you were the first time except every time after the first one it’s worse, because every time it happens now you know that there’s no hope that you can cling to.”
By the time Laurent finished his eyes were wide, although he wasn’t looking at Damen but a spot just beyond his shoulder. His breath came out in harsh, short bursts. Damen didn’t dare move, hardly even dared to breathe until Laurent wrestled some of his usual composure back and the panic faded from his eyes, his chest heaving less urgently.
“I remember,” Damen said as gently as he could, once Laurent seemed to regain control of himself, “what it feels like. Does it hurt you to know that I trust you not to do that to me unless you have a very good reason? Or is it worse to know that I would never willingly give you one?”
Laurent inhaled sharply, flinching as if Damen had struck him. For a moment Damen was afraid that the panic would come back, but after reining in his composure once tonight the second time was accomplished more efficiently, and only a handful of seconds passed before his breathing slowed and he closed his eyes. Damen wondered if it was possible that he might have fallen asleep, but he had to imagine that Laurent’s brain was spinning at a thousand miles an hour right now, like his.
He could hear someone outside laugh, a distant, quiet sound. If he concentrated really hard and strained his ears he swore he could hear someone singing. It sounded like something he could almost remember, like if he closed his eyes to it he would wake and find himself inside his home in Ios.
“You are a fool to trust me,” Laurent said, but his words had no heat to them, only a sort of detachment more resigned than resentful.
“I don’t mind being such. I’ve read a lot of plays today. The fools always have the best lines.”
A breath of air escaped Laurent’s lips, amused and soft. Damen smiled into the darkness, and he swore he could see an answering smile begin to curve at the corners of Laurent’s mouth.
“I had the bed last night. I will take the floor tonight.”
It was a peace offering, an apology of sorts. It was the way that Laurent preferred to do these things, sometimes, and Damen understood the gesture for what it was.
“You don’t have to,” Damen said. “I don’t mind sharing, if it’s all right with you.”
A pause, as Laurent considered this counter offer.
“All right,” he said. “Then—I’m sorry in advance if I talk in my sleep, or thrash around too much.”
“You don’t do much of either. It’s not the first time we’ve slept this close to each other, remember?”
The pet house, the bedroll at the hunter’s fire, the camp underneath the rocks that had been too small for them to spread out.
“Yes,” Laurent said quietly. “I remember what that feels like too. Goodnight, Damen.”
“Goodnight, Laurent,” he said, and then Laurent turned over and put his back toward him.
Damen looked up at the ceiling of the wagon and listened to Laurent’s breathing until sleep took him too.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Damen was surprised when Charls called a halt the next day shortly after lunch; he had assumed they would cover the same amount of distance as they had yesterday, and hadn’t expected to have most of the day stretch out in front of him. But no one else seemed surprised that they had stopped, and even the horses moved into place as if they had known that this clearing was to be their final destination for the day.
“We always stop here on our way to Chasteigne,” Nicaise said, shrugging, when Damen asked him why they hadn’t gone any further. “It’s a nice spot, and far enough away from town that no one bothers us but close enough we can get there before noon tomorrow. And we probably need more rehearsal time than usual, thanks to the two new barely trained monkeys we’ve acquired.”
The jab was more perfunctory than pointed, and Damen didn’t even bother ribbing him for it as Nicaise wandered away to needle his next target.
And it
was
a nice spot, at least. Far enough from the road that they couldn’t be seen, and close enough to a gorgeous flowing river that they could use to wash their clothes and refill their water stores. Erasmus had gone with Kallias to catch some fresh fish for dinner, although Damen couldn’t imagine they’d have great luck this late in the day. There were trees with wide canopies to shelter under, and a meadow for the horses.
It was quiet here. Peaceful. If he and Laurent weren’t both running for their lives, Damen would stop their journey and build them a home right in this spot.
Rehearsal, as Nicaise had warned, took most of the day. Charls had apparently decided which play they were going to perform in Chasteigne, a silly little farce that only required a few gruff lines from Damen and a scene in which he had to pretend to hide, very badly, behind a curtain, which took a great deal more effort than he would have thought but at least didn’t require any lines to be learned. Laurent had many more lines but knew half of them already, and he spent his time practicing a costume change with Aimeric that Charls proclaimed would be the highlight of the show, if they could get it done correctly.
They rehearsed for hours. Since Damen only appeared in the latter half of the play he helped with a lot of the backstage work, Erasmus showing what needed to be done. He seemed glad of the help, even if it was accompanied by Kallias glaring daggers at Damen every time Erasmus wasn’t looking, and Damen found that it was nice to set his mind to a task and lose himself in it. No time for distractions, no time for thinking about the way the corners of Laurent’s mouth turned up when he was repressing a smile, the way his eyes flashed in the dark, the easy, magnetic way he carried himself when he was playing at being someone else. Damen tried not to stare too openly at him, and did what Erasmus told him to.
They finally broke for a rest about an hour before dinner. It was free time for them to do as they liked, and everyone seemed to have a different set of priorities. Jord returned to his wagon for a nap, Nicaise and Aimeric were sharing a book and reading it together, arguing softly, and Kallias and Erasmus had retreated somewhere to be alone together.
Damen was not surprised to discover that Laurent was nowhere to be found. He had made himself scarce ever since last night; Damen had woken to an empty bed, and they’d hardly had time to say two words to each other before they needed to pack up and eat breakfast and leave. And Laurent’s part in the play kept him separate from Damen, so there hadn’t been any time then to talk either.
Damen sighed, and headed down towards the river.
He walked a ways downstream, listening to the birdcall and the sound of the running water. It was nice, being here, but every second they weren’t moving made him anxious. He hadn’t doubted that joining Charls’ Men was a good idea, and it certainly meant that he and Laurent wasted less time on finding food and safe places to sleep at night, but he wanted to be heading towards his destination, not stopping for hours each day to practice at plays that he didn’t care about and wouldn’t get him where he needed to go any faster.
The late afternoon air still held the warmth from the hottest part of the day, but Damen didn’t mind the temperature. It would get hotter the further south they traveled, and he wondered if it would be possible to stop and buy a chiton when they got to Delpha. He tried not to wonder if Laurent would wear one too, or if it ever got hot enough for him to not cover himself completely, laced up from head to toe.
The path Damen was following intersected a huge slab of rock that sliced through the landscape and jutted out over the river, and he turned to go look out. The river flowed by peacefully underneath him, not too fast, and the crystal clarity of the water showed all the brightly colored stones that lined the bottom. Tiny fishes darted around, sparkling in the sun.
It was as nice a place to rest as any, so he sat down. The rock warmed his backside, and he flipped off his shoes to dip his toes in the water. That felt nice, so he removed his shirt and then, after no more than a moment’s pause, his pants. He placed them all carefully on the rock and then, after checking the depth of the water, dove into the river.
The water was cold, colder than the warm ocean water he was used to in Ios. He came up for air, gasping, but there was something refreshing about the chill, something cleansing and powerful. He dove back down and pushed himself through the water, bracing himself against the cold, only coming up for air when he was certain he wouldn’t be able to last another second without drowning. He swam all the way across to the other side of the river, a feat which took a few minutes to accomplish as the river was quite wide, and then turned around and came back. The current was strong, but not so much that he had to expend too much energy to fight it, and it lessened in the shallow areas. It felt good to be doing something, to be moving even if that movement wasn’t getting him any closer to home. He swam to the other bank again and then came back, his arms pumping through the water, feet kicking up a spray. By the time he reached his rock again he was out of breath, warm from the setting sun that still shone down and he enjoyed the pleasant, burning feel in his muscles.
And then he looked up, and found his gaze tangled in the unnatural blue of Laurent’s eyes. For a moment he thought himself sunstruck, his vision blurred by the reflection of the light against rippling water, but then Laurent’s mouth quirked up in the ghost of a smile and Damen knew him to be real. He was sitting on the rock and soaking up the rays like a kitten, and Damen couldn’t look away.
He gestured at Damen’s clothes sprawled out on the rock in front of him.
“It seems that you’re incapable of keeping your clothes on any time you’re around water,” he said, leaning back against the rock, one knee drawn up, his arm resting loosely on it.
“You should come in,” Damen said, treading water easily as he looked up at Laurent. “The water’s warm.”
Damen expected Laurent to laugh at him, to accuse him of trying to trick him, to just smile and wander away. But Laurent, never breaking eye contact, did none of those things. He never did anything that Damen expected him to. They gazed at each other for a moment, and Damen could see the instant that Laurent made his decision. Panic settled in when Damen realized what it was exactly that he had just asked of him.
“Okay,” Laurent said, and reached down to take his shirt off.
Damen could do nothing but watch as Laurent undid the buttons up the front, revealing perfect, pale skin, a surprisingly muscled physique, two pale pink nipples. He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders and it fell to the rock, sprawled there with the clothes that Damen had cast aside earlier. With a flip of each foot he toed off his shoes, and then stood up to put hands to the waistband of his trousers.
Damen sucked in a breath and tried not to inhale too much river water. Laurent began to undo the buttons down the side and then looked over at Damen and cocked an eyebrow in a silent demand.
“Right,” Damen said, and turned. Laurent was about to undress himself, and Damen knew from experience how uncomfortable he was doing so around other people. He felt his face flame, and ducked under the water as if the coldness of it could arrest his racing thoughts. After a moment there was a splash next to him, loud and deep, and he pushed up with a strong kick from the bottom of the river.
Laurent had jumped in close to him, about an arm’s length away, and he spluttered and splashed as he coughed up water from his lungs.
“Can you not swim?” Damen asked, weighing the logistics of what a rescue would look like in Laurent’s current state. He would be easy enough to drag to shore, and there he could brush Laurent’s hair back, tilt his chin up and put their lips together, breathe life back into him—
“I can swim,” Laurent spat, and then turned a dark look on Damen. His blonde hair had turned darker in the water, clinging against his face. He did not look like he’d be happy about receiving any sort of kiss at the moment, even if it would have been to save his life. “You said it was warm.”
“It is,” Damen said, and then shrugged, “for me. Now. After I’ve been swimming a while. Now that you mention it I can see how it might be uncomfortable for you.”
This earned him a splash in the face, and he laughed as he swam backwards, away from the attack. Laurent dove underneath the surface and Damen spun around, unable to see him over the glare of the sun on the water but expecting another surprise attack. His instincts proved to be correct—Laurent splashed him again as he simultaneously threw himself out of the path of the retaliation splash, the sound of his laughter nearly splitting Damen’s heart in two with happiness.
“Race me,” Damen said as Laurent emerged again, breathless. “To the other side and back.”
Laurent looked over at the opposite bank, and then back to Damen.
“I’m not much of a swimmer,” he said, slipping easily beneath the water. Damen waited for him to resurface and wasn’t surprised at all when he appeared a few seconds later much farther away from him, and much closer to the other side of the river, and called back, “but I’ve never backed down from a challenge!”
And then he started swimming, as fast as as if he had been born with flippers instead of feet, towards the opposite bank. Damen shouted and dove after him, forced to come up for air far more than was necessary because of how hard he was laughing. Laurent stopped to wave at him as they passed each other, Damen still on his way to the far bank and Laurent coming from it, and he doubled his speed.
It wasn’t enough. By the time he returned to the rock he was out of breath while Laurent floated there, calmly, waiting for him.
“Cheat,” Damen wheezed, putting his hand against the rock for support. He moved along its side until his feet touched the bottom of the river and he stood underneath the shade of an overhanging tree to try and save his eyes from the glare, the water lapping gently at his chest.
“Semantics,” Laurent said, splashing gently as he followed Damen to the shallows. “Besides, you have a natural advantage. Your arms are longer than mine. And your legs.”
“Not that much longer,” Damen said, holding his arm out straight for Laurent to inspect. “Not enough for me to claim any natural advantage, at least. See?”
“Hmm,” Laurent said, peering down at the proffered arm carefully and then holding out his own to measure against it. “See? You have at least three inches on me.”
“You’re balling up your fist, it doesn’t count—” Damen stopped as Laurent turned over his arm. There, very near his shoulder, was a small but carefully made patch of brutally marred skin. It wasn’t recent; Damen would guess it to be years old, based on the way it was healed. Its edges were perfectly straight, precise, like they had been measured. He stilled, the river flowing around him as effortlessly as if he were made of stone.
“Ah,” Laurent said, following Damen’s gaze. “It looks ugly, doesn’t it?”
“It looks painful,” Damen said. He wanted to reach out and touch it, graze his fingers along the mottled skin, but it felt too intimate. He was painfully aware that they were both naked, even if the ripples on the water obscured any delicate parts from roving eyes. “Who did this to you?”
“I did,” Laurent said, and then peered down at his fingers. “I’m going to get out. My fingers are getting pruney.”
“Laurent—”
But Laurent was already turning away, pushing himself up onto the rock where their clothes were sprawled out in the sun. Damen watched, unable to tear his eyes away, and Laurent must have realized as much but did not call him out on it as he had earlier. Damen watched as the water sluiced down Laurent’s ass, his thighs, his calves. He took up his shirt and perfunctorily wiped himself down before shimmying into his pants. Damen expected him to simply walk away, disappearing as easily as he had appeared earlier, but he didn’t. He spread his shirt out to dry and then sat, leaning back on his hands and tilting his face up to the sun.
Damen, who had been in the water longer than Laurent, decided it was probably time to get out as well. Dinner would be starting soon, followed by another long rehearsal. He swam over to the opposite side of the rock and pushed himself out, letting the water run off of him before following Laurent’s lead and drying himself with his shirt. He had forgotten what it was like to get into clothes while still wet, and not for the first time he wished he had a chiton as he shimmied into his uncomfortably moist pants.
When he looked over he saw Laurent watching him with half lidded eyes, shuttered against the brightness of the sun.
“I’ve seen scarring like that before,” Damen said, when Laurent didn’t look away. “Not small or precise like yours, but across the entirety of another man’s back.”
“What a strange pastime you have. Do you also compare different sizes and shapes of moles that you see? I prefer to study literature and music in my free time, but it takes a village, I suppose.”
“The man who had that scar,” Damen said, resolute. “He had been flogged.”
“You may think this a mistake of those in charge of raising me, but I’ve never been flogged.”
“No,” Damen said, unwilling to let himself be tricked into starting an argument, “I know that. But the man who had been flogged had pieces of his flesh flayed off his body. When it healed, it looked just like that.”
Laurent didn’t answer him. Damen felt the uncomfortable wetness of his legs clinging to the fabric of his trousers. Laurent’s face was tilted up towards the sun, and Damen wondered how long he could get away with ignoring their conversation before the light burned him up.
“Haven’t you thought about it?” Laurent asked softly.
“About what?”
“I see you sometimes, looking at that Writing I put on you. The Words are right there, set right against your skin. Haven’t you ever—you must have thought about what it would take to get it off.”
Now it was Damen’s turn not to answer. He had spent time looking at the Writing around his wrist, yes, but it was an urge born more from curiosity than him chafing against it. Sometimes he just liked to watch the gold undulate against his skin, tracing the ways it pulsed and moved. Sometimes he liked to immerse himself in the warm feeling it evoked in him, a feeling he wasn’t quite ready to admit was akin to comfort, or protection.
But then the realization of what Laurent was saying hit him.
“You were Written there,” Damen said, the pieces of it falling together as he spoke. “On your arm. Before you learned how to take off the Words—you tried to slice them off of you.”
“It doesn’t work, for the record. I thought you should know before you steal one of the kitchen knives from Erasmus and try it yourself.”
“Laurent, I—the thought of it hasn’t even crossed my mind,” Damen said. “The Writing you put on me—it doesn’t bother me.”
“Then you are more of a simpleton than I thought. Do you have any idea what I could do to you?” Laurent asked, pushing himself up from the rock and throwing his shirt on before stalking back to dry land. Damen scrambled to follow, grabbing all the wayward pieces of clothing as he followed Laurent down the sandy shore. He hadn’t even had time to put his shoes back on; but then, Laurent hadn’t either.
“Laurent,” Damen said, trying to wrestle himself into his shirt while he walked so he’d have less things to carry, “wait, please.”
“I could push you into this river,” Laurent said, whirling on him so quickly that Damen nearly tripped, caught up as he was in trying to put himself back together. “Do you know what it would feel like to be under water when I activated that word? You wouldn’t be able to hold your breath. I bet you couldn't even imagine what it would feel like as water entered your lungs, knowing that if you could just stand up you’d be saved, if you could just hold your
breath
you’d be saved, but unable to do any of that all the same.”
“Laurent—”
“Or I wouldn’t even have to do that,” Laurent said, his eyes blazing, his fists balled up at his sides. “I could just freeze you right where you are, right here by the water. Standing exactly where you are now. No one would find you, as far away from civilization as we are, and eventually you’d either starve to death or wolves would come and start tearing away at your limbs. And you’d be alive the entire time, watching it happen, unable to even scream for help.”
Damen knew the threat wasn’t real, was only a hypothetical like Laurent liked to play at sometimes, but the realization that hit him wasn’t the easiness with which Laurent could imagine such casual cruelty, or the myriad of creative ways in which he could impart a lot of psychic and physical pain on Damen if he so chose. It was something that Laurent had said to him the night before, something that Damen hadn’t truly understood until this moment.
What was done to you was monstrous,
Laurent had said, because he couldn’t say what he really meant: I am the monster that did this to you.
And then—
The scar on his arm. The Writing that had been there, the Writing that was so horrible to Laurent that he had learned to break the one rule that everyone knew to be true—that Writing was permanent, and couldn’t be removed.
You should hate me,
he had said to him that day in the woods, because he couldn’t say: I hate the person who did this to me.
Damen hadn’t realized that he wasn’t the only one who had been hurt by Writing. He hadn’t considered why Laurent was the only Calligrapher who knew how to undo Writing, just like he hadn’t considered why Laurent seemed to be so much more capable than any other Calligrapher he had ever heard about. He had just accepted it and moved on. But Laurent—he hadn’t accepted anything. He must have thrashed and clawed and torn his way out of whatever bindings were on him, like an animal that would chew off its own leg rather than allow itself to be caged.
Damen’s heart ached, and he watched Laurent’s anger turn to confusion as Damen failed to retaliate against his threats.
“I am aware,” Damen said softly, slowly, before Laurent’s confusion had time to turn back into anger, “of what you could do to me. I know the kind of power that you have. But if you want me to leave, all you have to do is tell me to leave with the same words that anyone else can use. If you want me never to speak to you again, all you have to do is say so. And if you want me to stop, then just say stop.”
Damen took a step forward, closing the distance between them. Laurent’s eyes widened, just fractionally, but he didn’t say anything, and so Damen took another step.
“Your Writing doesn’t bother me because you hold just as much power over me with your voice as you do with your magic. I would obey you in almost anything if you only asked, with no need to compel me. So I am going to continue living my life as I normally would, and I’m not going to give the Writing on my wrist another thought. I will treat you with all the grace and courtesy that you deserve. Because you are not a monster, Laurent. And I could never hate you.”
“You don’t know what I’ve—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Damen interrupted him. “It doesn’t change what I think about you. And it doesn’t change how I feel about you.”
“And how,” Laurent grit out, unable to look Damen in the eye, “exactly, do you feel about me?”
It was, perhaps, the most vulnerable question Laurent had ever asked him. Damen was close enough to touch him now and so he reached out, placing a hand lightly on Laurent’s waist. With his other hand he tipped Laurent’s chin up so that he was forced to look him in the eye.
“Tell me to stop,” Damen said. He leaned forward. Laurent had all the tension of a bird about to explode into flight, but he didn’t speak, and he didn’t tell Damen to stop, and so Damen leaned in closer, watching the slight fluttering of Laurent’s eyelashes, the jagged way he drew in breaths, the moment when the tension in him tipped and his eyes moved down to Damen’s lips.
Still he didn’t say anything. And so Damen leaned in and pressed his lips against Laurent’s.
It was an awkward, slightly chaste thing. Laurent stood still, unmoving, as if the culmination of Damen’s slow, telegraphed movements had come as a surprise to him. But he didn’t push Damen away, and he didn’t break this small connection between them, and slowly, hesitant and uncertain, Damen began to feel his defenses crumble and slip away. After a moment Laurent leaned into him and put a hand against his still wet shirt, and Damen might have thought it a warning to stay back if Laurent didn’t tilt his head, just slightly, and deepen the kiss as he did it. It was as honest as Laurent hardly ever was.
There was nothing that Damen could feel that was not Laurent. The pressure of his fist against his shirt, bunching the fabric there. The feel of his waist against Damen’s palm, the way his breath caught when Damen pushed him. The surprised, pleased sound he made when Damen ran his tongue against Laurent’s lips, asking him to deepen this small connection between them.
And a rhythmic, insistent, ringing bell out in the distance. Damen didn’t want to break apart, was afraid that if he broke whatever connected them now he’d never be able to find it again, but the noise did not stop and it was loud, and by some mutual understanding they pushed away from each other.
“What,” Damen growled, looking over to where the sound was coming from.
“It’s the dinner bell,” Laurent said, his breathing a little hitched. He was still gripping Damen’s shirt, unable or unwilling to let him go. “We should—we should probably get back if we don’t want to miss it.”
Damen had a few ideas about what they
should
be doing, but he kept his mouth shut. With another growl he pushed away from Laurent and finished buttoning his shirt, and then reached down to put his shoes on. When he stood back up he was reasonably certain that all of the growling was out of his system—at least until he looked over at Laurent, with his hair still darkened from their swim and his lips bruised from kissing. He brushed a wet lock of hair from Laurent’s eyes. Laurent looked away shyly, color stealing into his cheeks, and then reached down to slip his own shoes on.
With one last clang the bell rang out and then was silent. For a moment Laurent only stared at Damen, his expression puzzled, as if he was trying to compartmentalize what had just happened between them and was unable to find a good place to store it. Damen thought that when he offered his hand for Laurent to take it would be met with an equally puzzled reaction, but Laurent took it without any hesitation, and the contact seemed to ground him and allow him to relax.
Together they walked back to camp, hand in hand, damp clothes steaming in the setting sun.
The rehearsal after dinner that night lasted approximately ten thousand hours. For a while Damen assumed that Charls had forgotten that they were human beings who needed sleep, and he was about to put his foot down and call a stop to everything himself before Charls finally did so himself, shortly after ten o’clock.
“You’re acting strangely,” Nicaise said, sidling up to him. Everyone was working quickly to put their supplies away so they could enjoy the little free time that was left of their night, and Damen was trying to untangle some ropes so that they would not jumble themselves further as everyone slept, as knots tended to do.
“I thought I did really well tonight,” Damen replied, twisting the rope over in his hand. “I didn’t miss a single cue or fumble any of my lines.”
When he allowed himself to think about their performance tomorrow he felt an unusual sensation of nerves that he wasn’t used to dealing with, a sense of dread that might have been familiar to him as a child but which he hadn’t worried about in years. However, dealing with this nervy, anxious feeling was multitudes better than thinking about the way Laurent had melted underneath him by the river, the way he had slowly, hesitantly, surely let down those defenses he always carried protectively around himself. The way his lips had felt against Damen’s. The way his fist had curled into Damen’s shirt, at first as if the touch was preventing him from falling, then turning into something more, something demanding and hot—
“That’s the strange part,” Nicaise said, breaking Damen out of his spiral. “Since when do you care about hitting your cues?”
“Maybe he just wants to impress his boyfriend,” Aimeric sneered, and Nicaise made a sound of amusement.
Damen very carefully stopped himself from looking over to where he knew Laurent was chatting with Lazar, and instead concentrated on undoing the knot in front of him.
“I’d better get these situated,” Damen said, as much to find an excuse to retreat for the night as it was to escape the line of fire, and he purposefully ignored the comments they threw at him as he left. When he got inside his wagon he dumped everything on the floor and sighed. Right now he almost missed camping in the wild; now that he had some distance from the situation he could definitely see the advantages that it had over traveling in relative luxury with two savage teenagers.
Before he could kick the supplies out of the way the door pushed open and Laurent stepped inside. For a moment the two of them only gazed at each other. Damen felt uneven, like the ground between them had shifted and he wasn’t sure if his foot would find a level surface or not. Laurent’s lips pursed into a hard, straight line.
“Sit,” he said, nodding towards the bed at the back of the wagon. And then, an afterthought, “Please.”
Damen saw no reason not to comply. He went and sat down on the edge of the bed. As Laurent moved to join him his foot caught on the props that Damen had dumped and he tripped, but he recovered his balance quickly and cursed the darkness under his breath. He stopped just in front of the bed, as stiff and straight backed as Damen had ever seen him.
“Give me your hand,” Laurent said, and then breathed out hard as Damen held out his right hand. “Your other hand. The one with the Writing on it.”
“What are you—”
“Be quiet,” Laurent said, and then closed his eyes as he clamped his fingers over Damen’s wrist.
At first the pressure was light, barely discernible from the feeling of Laurent’s fingers against his skin, but he could feel the moment that Laurent touched the Writing with his magic. It wasn’t anything like the pain of that first night when Laurent had unraveled every word on his chest; it was more like the feeling of something tight snapping against his wrist, or a prickly bush lodging its stickers underneath his skin. The feeling intensified until he nearly pulled his hand back out of reflex—but then the sensation quickly ebbed, and in a moment faded completely.
“There,” Laurent said, turning Damen’s wrist over and inspecting it. “It’s gone.”
Damen didn’t need to ask what he was talking about. He knew that if he looked through the glass right now he wouldn’t see anything on his wrist, no softly pulsing golden cuff, no magic words tying him inextricably to Laurent. He tried not to wonder why he felt unmoored, as if now that this thing connecting the two of them were gone Laurent would simply walk away and disappear into the ether.
“You didn’t need to do that,” Damen said.
“Yes, I did,” Laurent said. “You deserve that kindness, at least. And—I know it didn’t bother you, that you didn’t care much about it.
Don’t
tell me again how little you cared about it,” Laurent said, his voice strung tight, fingers tightening around Damen’s wrist. Damen thought about that patch of skin on Laurent’s arm, the twisted scar tissue in its small, straight box. “It means something to me. It means—it meant I was safe. And now—”
Damen waited, patient, as Laurent struggled with himself. He dropped Damen’s hand and then seemed uncertain what to do with his own hands, which eventually dropped to his side, fists tensing.
“And now,” Laurent said, the words gritted through clenched teeth, “now you could do whatever you wanted to me. And I couldn’t do a single thing to stop you.”
There were, to be sure, a million rational arguments against that statement. Damen had even made some of them earlier. But there was something new in Laurent’s voice now, something fragile and honest that hadn’t been there before, something that wasn’t entirely born of fear.
“Whatever I wanted,” Damen repeated, and reached out to grab Laurent’s wrist, a mirror of the way Laurent had held him only a moment ago. He pulled gently, insistently, and Laurent allowed himself to be drawn closer, and closer, until he had no choice but to either wriggle out of Damen’s grip or tumble into him.
A hand on Damen’s shoulder. A knee on either side of his thighs, and then Laurent was—tantalizingly, impossibly—falling into Damen’s lap, eyes averted as a blush stole over his face.
“So this is what you wanted.” It wasn’t a condemnation. Laurent’s voice was low, amused. He still wouldn’t meet Damen’s eye. “Me in your lap, the two of us in bed. Why am I not surprised?”
“You seem to have spent a lot of time thinking about what it is that I want to do to you,” Damen said, placing a light touch on Laurent’s waist but not dragging him any closer. “Or what I would do if ever given the chance to slip my bindings. But I think the more interesting question is this: What is it that
you
want, Laurent?”
And
that,
finally, got Laurent’s gaze to snap up and meet his own, surprise etched there for the briefest second before it was tamped down back into casual disinterest. Damen thought that the question might be forward enough that Laurent would dismiss it entirely, but the blush on his cheeks stayed, and he didn’t make to move.
“You have,” he said, grudgingly, forcing the words out as if Damen were torturing the information out of him, “so far, never done anything that I’ve found to be unacceptable. So I am sure that…whatever you do—I will not have any objections.”
Damen laughed, and he could feel Laurent tense under his fingers, in the way his knees stiffened slightly on either side of him, his grip tightening where it was placed at the back of Damen’s neck.
“That is not an answer,” he said, and did not think to stop himself from smiling. “Not even close. Try again.”
Laurent’s mouth worked, his lips pursing as if a dozen rebuttals were trying to come out and were being repressed only at the last second.
“You are insufferable,” was what came out in the end. Laurent’s brows creased in frustration, but he made no move to free himself from Damen’s lap, and the hand that was placed at the back of Damen’s neck did not move around to try and strangle him.
“I will go see if Jord needs any help with the watch, then, and leave you to your peace.”
“You will not,” Laurent said crossly, and then, hesitating, as if the admission cost him, “I—I did not mind what happened at the river today.”
“You ‘did not mind’ it? Stop such words, I’m going to swoon.”
“I liked it,” Laurent said, with some conviction this time. “All right? I liked it and I—I would not mind if it happened again.”
“I would not mind that either,” Damen said, helplessly charmed.
“I wonder,” Laurent murmured. “It seems as if you’d rather talk me to death, as if you can think of nothing better to do with your lips.”
“I would also not mind talking to you all night,” Damen said, a bit surprised to find that it was true. Laurent was stubborn and complicated and liked to twist all of Damen’s words into weapons against him, and Damen had found no small amount of pleasure in learning to fight back, in matching Laurent’s feints and parries and responding in kind.
“Really,” Laurent said, disbelief coloring his tone. “I am sitting in your
lap
, Damen. There is incontrovertible proof pressing up against me that says otherwise.”
“You speak as if I’m going to throw you down on the bed and rip your clothes off,” Damen said, bringing a gentle finger to Laurent’s chin so that he couldn’t look away. “I like talking to you. I have recently found that I like kissing you too. I would be happy doing either of those things until our wagons roll away tomorrow morning. And maybe even longer than that.”
The tension in Laurent did not relent, at this, but it did begin to take on a slightly different tenor. Damen could see the muscles clench in Laurent’s jaw as he worked out his thoughts, could feel the way Laurent’s fingers tightened against him and then, consciously, relaxed.
“What if,” Laurent said, his voice low and husky, “I told you that I wanted you to do that? To—throw me down on the bed. To—”
He didn’t finish the sentiment that Damen had started.
“Do you want that?”
No answer. The tension in him now was singing, rolling in waves off of every limb of his body. Damen had the feeling that the answer to his question was yes, but he didn’t think there was any universe in which he could get Laurent to actually admit it.
“Let me tell you what I want,” Damen said, leaning in to press his mouth against the muscle in Laurent’s jaw. When it relaxed under his lips he moved further down Laurent’s neck, pressing his tongue against the hummingbird-fast pulse he could feel there. “And you can tell me if you find it…objectionable or not.”
Laurent growled, and Damen nipped at the tender skin behind his ear lightly before pulling back.
“I want,” he said, enunciating clearly, unwilling to let Laurent look away, “to use my mouth on you. I want to taste every inch of you that I can reach with my tongue. I want to wrap my lips around your cock and I want you to come down my throat.”
“You
want
that?” Laurent asked, the question coming out too fast for him to stop. The blush on his cheeks had spread higher, to his ears now, and Damen reached forward until he could feel the heat of it under his lips.
“I do,” he murmured against Laurent’s skin. “Very much.”
Laurent swore, briefly, a string of Veretian words Damen did not know but was fairly certain he had heard the others at the pet house murmur under their breath when the Madame was out of earshot.
“And—after that. Then what?”
“Then what?” Damen repeated, laughing. “Well, I could do it again, if you liked it enough the first time and were up for it. But I was planning on sleeping some time tonight. We do have our big debut tomorrow, you know.”
Laurent nodded absently, obviously not thinking of anything beyond what would happen in the next thirty seconds.
“So then you would do—what you said.” He did not repeat the words that Damen had used earlier. “And then we would simply roll over and go to sleep.”
“Laurent,” Damen said, cupping Laurent’s cheek gently, “this is not something that needs an itinerary. We don’t have to complicate it. I want to please you, and doing so will please me. We can stop at any time. We can call it a night right now. Whatever you want to do—I want that too.”
Damen saw that Laurent could not help but complicate it; doing so was a part of him, part of the tension of him, and Damen would not begrudge him that. But he wanted to show Laurent that it could be easy, that the pleasure he was certain he could offer would be effortlessly and comfortably given and without the transactional balance that Laurent seemed to expect.
And then in a movement that didn’t seem to be planned at all, Laurent leaned forward and kissed him. Damen had the brief realization that it was the first time Laurent had initiated things between them and it was, like all things Laurent, fraught with a little bit of nervousness, covered by a hint of arrogance. Laurent pulled away before it could become much else, his eyes wide with a mixture of both fear and excitement.
“I want it,” Laurent said, still blushing but not looking away from him this time. “What you said. I would—”
“Not find it objectionable?” Damen offered.
Laurent gave him a flat, unimpressed look.
“I suppose,” he said coolly, “that depends on how good you are, doesn’t it?”
Damen recognized the challenge for what it was and wasted no time in meeting it. He leaned forward to deliver the kiss he had been longing to give, not hesitant and unsure like their first but something deep and certain, with no steps taken to temper his hunger. He would have to be careful, he knew, because Laurent was quick to frighten in this arena, but the longer Damen plied him with this slow, careful attention—not asking anything, not demanding, but simply allowing the two of them to exist in this pleasurable state with each other—the more relaxed Laurent became, the more his anxiety drained out of him. He could feel it in the way Laurent’s grip became lax, the way he leaned into the pressure of Damen’s hands on him, the way he opened when Damen pushed against him.
They managed to maneuver themselves into lying on the bed without breaking contact. Damen pushed the urgency of his arousal away, letting it become a distant pulse in his mind. What he wanted now more than anything was to concentrate on Laurent, find out all the ways he could be taken apart, to discover whether or not it was possible to bring him enough pleasure that his silver tongue would dissolve into incoherent moans.
Not very likely, if he had to guess. But he found that he wanted to try anyway.
Damen kissed the corner of Laurent’s mouth, his cheek, his jaw. He put his lips against Laurent’s neck once more, let the fluttering pulse of his heart beat against him before moving lower. He was eager to take one of Laurent’s sweet pink nipples in his mouth, even more eager to have his cock, but he paced himself, and made himself take the time to do this properly.
One button undone, and then two. Laurent’s buttons were fiddly little things, unwilling to come apart even though Laurent himself had managed it easily enough down by the river. Damen did battle with the clasps, each small victory exposing Laurent’s pale skin inch by fumbling inch.
“Not much practice taking off another’s shirt, hmm?” Laurent asked as Damen struggled. “If I had to guess I would say you’re only used to hiking up a dress or pulling down pants and taking your pleasure that way.”
“Akielos is a hot country,” Damen said easily, not rising to the bait. “We wear chitons for most of the year. And they are much easier to undo.”
“So it is a practical piece of clothing in many ways,” Laurent said, voice heavy with sarcasm.
“Very practical. You will get to see for yourself when you have to start wearing one.”
“And what—
ah
,” Laurent hissed, squirming as Damen managed to undo the final button and wrapped his hands around his ribs, pressing down gently, “what makes you think I am going to wear one?”
“Verisimilitude,” Damen murmured, ignoring Laurent’s huff of amusement as he reached down to press his lips to Laurent’s chest.
It was a very fine chest, to be sure. Laurent was well built, with strong, lithe muscles that Damen had seen the power of at the river today. Laurent was a strong swimmer and Damen guessed that he would be a strong fighter too, if he ever trained for such a thing. He ran a gentle touch across his chest, skimmed over the muscle connecting to his ribs, pushed against the hardness of the muscle at his shoulder. Laurent’s skin broke out in goosebumps in the wake of Damen’s ministrations, leaving a trail behind to show the path that had been taken. When Damen pressed down, Laurent shivered under his touch.
Damen could feel Laurent’s arousal against him, could tell from the way Laurent canted his hips that waiting any longer than they already had would not be necessary or even preferable. But Damen hadn’t been lying when he said he wanted to taste every inch of Laurent’s body, and so he took his time now to map out all the hidden secrets on the parts that he could reach, discovering the soft skin on the flat planes of his stomach, exploring every small dip and rivulet around his hips, finding spots that Laurent found ticklish, those spots that were a bit too sensitive to spend more than a few seconds on.
He looked at the scar on Laurent’s arm. He could feel Laurent’s attention narrow, could sense the burn of his eyes, but Damen didn’t meet his gaze as he grazed his fingers along the small box of scar tissue. He traced the edges of it, so clean and precise. Just like Laurent to do something so savage, and to take such care in doing it. A wash of something that he only dared to identify as fondness came over him, so powerful that he was nearly beaten back by it, and he pressed his lips to the skin there, and rode out the shaky gasp that the movement elicited from Laurent.
He did not linger. He knew what it felt like to be trapped in that box, but not as well as Laurent did.
Haven’t you ever thought about it?
Laurent had asked him. He wondered what Laurent would say if he told him that he almost missed his leash. Would miss the way Laurent’s gaze caught on it sometimes, would miss the way it made him feel like he was protected, like someone was watching out for him.
In the end he didn’t say anything at all, and put his mind back towards the task at hand.
Laurent’s shirt had been fully divested from him at this point, and Damen turned his attention to the landscape that had been bared. He did what he had been longing to do and put his mouth to Laurent’s nipple, causing Laurent to buck up against him more in surprise than from an overabundance of feeling.
“What are you doing?” Laurent asked, his breath coming out in heavy pants. “I thought you were—you haven’t even taken off my trousers yet.”
“I am enjoying the journey. I haven’t had much chance to do that on our trip so far, but with this I want to take my time.”
“Well if you take too much time you might not have any destination to get to,” Laurent said, writhing under Damen’s tongue. “That—
ah
—feels…”
“Unobjectiona—”
“Do not say it,” Laurent hissed, tensing up. Damen couldn’t help but laugh against Laurent’s skin before moving over to the other nipple, teasing and biting it until it was rosy and peaked.
Laurent’s hands were bunched into the sheets on either side of him, his eyes scrunched tightly shut. Damen thought that under easier circumstances it might be possible to make him come from this small attention, and the arousal that he had so carefully banked flared up at the idea.
“You know,” Damen said, taking a moment to enjoy the picture of Laurent splayed out underneath him, eyes closed and breaths coming out in short, controlled bursts, “you can use your hands on me, if you’re so eager.”
“If I’m—what?”
“Your hands,” Damen repeated patiently, and then lowered his head. “You can touch me, and guide me where you want me to go. You’re always so eager to take up the reins whenever we’re driving the wagon; this is little different.”
“You know that makes you the horse in that metaphor, right?”
“Neigh, it does not,” Damen deadpanned. Laurent groaned, the loudest sound he had made so far, and Damen couldn’t help but laugh.
He half expected Laurent to ignore the offer and so was surprised when, only a few seconds later, he felt shy fingers carding through his hair. Gentle at first, and hesitant, as if waiting for an anticipated reprimand, but it soon turned into something more firm, more demanding. After a moment the feeling became overwhelming, Laurent beneath him, holding on to him, pressing against him, and he turned his head to lay on the flat planes of Laurent’s stomach, breathing heavily and listening to the corresponding breath in Laurent.
“You like it when I do that,” Laurent said, his disbelief of receiving a positive answer evident in his tone.
“When you touch me? Yes,” Damen said. Laurent was gently massaging his scalp, the touch as light as if he was only doing it as an afterthought. “Does that surprise you?”
But Laurent didn’t answer, only made a small hum before relaxing more fully, never breaking away from Damen.
It was obvious that having this small measure of control—or perceived control, at least—put Laurent more at ease. He had no problem gently guiding Damen where he wanted him, and Damen didn’t fight or tease as he was pushed lower and lower. Damen worked the small clasps on the side of Laurent’s trousers and fiddled with the laces there, cursing Veretian clothing the entire time.
Laurent made no demands of him, but Damen could feel a certain kind of amusement that he knew was directed at his ineptitude with Veretian clothing. And then he was through the laces, through the labyrinthine mess of grommets and buckles and clasps, and he was finally able to put his lips on Laurent’s cock, hard and leaking, and amusement turned to something else.
“Damen.” His name came out of Laurent’s lips on the edge of a breath, a wave threatening to crest. Laurent tightened his fingers in Damen’s hair. “I—
oh
.”
Laurent said more, all of it soft and incoherent, and Damen returned to his task. Laurent was still wearing the trousers that Damen hadn’t bothered to take all the way off. He hadn’t even taken his shoes off; they hadn’t had a chance to do anything more before they had fallen to the bed. Damen was still entirely dressed and yet he couldn’t work up the effort to care. He wanted this part of Laurent, all of him, whatever he would give; a sliver of skin between his wrist and a glove; his cock in Damen’s mouth, leaking come against his tongue. Damen would take anything. He would take it all.
Laurent’s cock was a pleasant weight in his hand, and Damen stroked the soft skin there before kissing the tip of it gently, as carefully as he had kissed Laurent earlier. Laurent’s fingers tightened in his hair, so much so that it was almost painful but not enough that Damen was about to ask him to stop, and Laurent made a low, wounded sound as Damen took him down as far as he could go.
It wasn’t very far. Damen had never been good at this, at relaxing enough to make this easy, but while Laurent’s grip on him was unrelenting he never pushed him too far, never encouraged him to take more than he could handle. And Laurent was distracting him too; he wasn’t loud, barely made any noise at all, but Damen was listening for each half bitten moan, each gasp that Laurent endeavored to censor. And Damen could feel the way his fingers would twitch against him, the way the muscle in his thigh would jump, and he chased each and every one of these sensations with the delight that came with learning a new skill and finding that he was successful at it.
He continued cycling lazily between sucking and kissing and licking, and Laurent’s fingers in his hair became more urgent, pushing and pulling against him more greedily. Damen happily obliged him. He took up a rhythm that Laurent responded to, his muscles quivering with restrained need, and Damen swallowed him down as far as he could before retreating and furling his tongue around the head, drinking in the salty wetness there. His hands were on other side of Laurent’s hips, holding him steady and filling the need to touch every inch of skin that he possibly could.
“Damen,” Laurent said, and brushed away the hair that had fallen over Damen’s eyes. Damen looked up and met the intoxicating blue of Laurent’s gaze, his expression fond, almost reverent. Damen did not break eye contact with him as he relaxed his jaw as much as he could and took Laurent down to the hilt. With a slight shuddering of his hips Laurent moaned and closed his eyes as he spent himself in Damen’s mouth.
Damen swallowed it all. He didn’t want to let any part of Laurent escape, wanted to stay exactly where he was and feel the small aftershocks that coursed through Laurent’s body, the way his leg twitched in oversensitivity, the way that the golden, downy hair above his softening cock felt against the roughness of Damen’s cheek. But Laurent was pulling on him, gently but insistently, and so Damen moved and came up to lay next to Laurent on the bed.
“Damen,” he said, looking at him with half lidded eyes, lips still plump and red from when they had been kissing earlier. “You haven’t—”
“No,” Damen said. “But it’s okay, I wanted to—it was all for you.”
He wanted to say more. He was afraid that he had already said too much. Laurent looked nearly insensate with the pleasure Damen had given him, and Damen couldn’t stop staring at him, consumed with all he wanted to do.
“Let me,” Laurent said, turning onto his side and setting his fingers against the laces on Damen’s trousers. It was obvious what he was asking for. “I—I want to.”
“This wasn’t—you don’t have to,” Damen said.
“That’s not a no.” Laurent’s fingers were so close to where he was straining against his trousers. If he pushed his hips forward he would be pressing against Laurent’s hand. He restrained himself.
“Not a no,” Damen confirmed. “Never a no, with you.”
Laurent made a sound like a strangled laugh and leaned forward to kiss him. Damen couldn’t help but meet him there, aware that Laurent was probably tasting himself still on Damen’s tongue. In a flash—much faster than Damen had managed, working the complicated laces with all the steadiness of a task done frequently and often—Laurent opened the front of his trousers and took Damen’s cock into his hands.
Damen knew he was not going to last very long. Laurent’s grip was sure and firm around him, his mouth hot against his own. His control was slipping, his hips moving of seemingly their own accord into Laurent’s hand, and he could hear Laurent make an amused sound into his mouth as he worked him.
“Laurent,” Damen said, panting, his hands against Laurent’s body, his need to be close, to touch and to be touched overriding every rational thought in his brain. “Laurent, I—”
“I know,” Laurent said, a little nonsensically. Damen didn’t think even he knew what he meant by it but it touched something in him, to know that Laurent was here with him even so. “I want you to come, Damen. Please.”
And Damen did, with Laurent’s name on his lips and his fingers tangled in the golden mess of Laurent’s hair.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Another round for Charls’ Men!”
The patrons in the tavern cheered loudly, and Damen hid a grimace in a tankard of ale—his first, which he was still working on getting through despite having four more in front of him that hadn’t been touched. And now, with this latest call, a fifth.
The play had been a success. Funny enough to entertain the drunken members of the audience, short enough that they didn’t pass out on the ones who were less so. The costume change between Laurent and Aimeric had been the highlight of the performance and had the entire crowd roaring with laughter just as Charls had said it would. And even though Damen hadn’t been able to see the reaction of the audience due to the curtain his character was hiding behind, he was fairly certain that he had managed to elicit more than a few chuckles as well. Charls was in the corner of the tavern now, surrounded by a rapt group of men and women who watched as he gesticulated and talked pointedly about some topic Damen couldn’t hear over the general noise of the tavern.
A noise that was mostly coming from the enormous crowd around Laurent and Aimeric, sitting in the middle of the space that had been cleared out to make room for all the people who wanted to wish them well. The two of them sat on top of one of the tables clutching their tankards, and by all appearances Laurent didn’t have any empty ones in front of him to disregard as the fifth—or was it sixth?—was brought out and handed to him. Damen frowned as Laurent smiled and brought the ale up to his lips and took a big swig, the fawning men at his feet cheering him on, each one of them no doubt hoping that he’d drink himself into enough of a stupor to go upstairs into one of the tavern’s bedrooms with them.
Laurent caught him looking as he finished the tankard with a flourish, and winked. Damen frowned.
“You know, this is supposed to be a party,” Nicaise said, a tankard in each hand. He shoved one into Damen’s hands and then jumped up onto the stool next to him, bringing them almost eye to eye as Damen leaned against the bar. “You don’t have to look like someone just killed your dog.”
“I am done drinking,” Damen said. He moved to put down the tankard that Nicaise had forced on him, but Nicaise blocked him.
“Go ahead, take another sip. It might turn that frown of yours right around.”
“I told you, Nicaise, I don’t want to drink anymore.”
“Damen.” Nicaise looked at him, his gaze firm and unblinking. It was a rather scary expression to see coming from such a young man. “I think you’ll like this one better than the last. Don’t you trust me?”
And with that he put his own cup to his lips and drained the thing in one gulp.
Damen sighed, and decided it would be easier to humor the boy rather than have him annoying him all night, so he took a sip as well. He was surprised when the liquid inside turned out not to be ale but water, and he looked over at Nicaise, who was grinning wildly.
“We’ve got a deal with the bartender,” he explained. “Patrons buy us a beer, bartender serves us water. We split the difference. I’m taking your money for this one, by the way.”
“That’s…actually brilliant,” Damen said, looking over at Laurent again. “Does that mean that—do all of you do this?”
Nicaise shrugged. “Charls knows about it. Aimeric knows. He doesn’t usually go for the cheap stuff anyway, so it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s completely sober right now. As for the object of your affection—” Nicaise shrugged again. “No idea. He may have figured it out. If he’s sober right now he’s a better actor than I would have thought after his performance tonight.”
Damen scowled over at Nicaise, but the boy was grinning so triumphantly that Damen knew that was the reaction that he’d wanted, and turned away.
“And so how long do these parties typically last?” Damen asked, sipping his water.
“Really hot about getting to sleep on the floor of your wagon again, aren’t you? They last as long as you want them to,” Nicaise said quickly, before Damen could scowl at him again. “Actors are a strange bunch. You can get away with almost anything if you play it right. We’re supposed to be a little eccentric.”
“Is that what you like about it?”
“What, you mean getting away with anything? I could do that regardless.”
“No, I meant—” Damen waved his hand at the group. Kallias was at the other end of the bar, engaging in what looked to be a drinking contest with a group of rowdy patrons. It was the first time Damen had seen him without Erasmus, but their separation was understandable; if the empty tankards next to Kallias had been filled with water like Nicaise’s, he would probably be taking home a very good sum tonight.
“I just meant,” Damen tried again, “that none of you seem like you’d fit in with polite society. I’m not sure where I was going with that.”
Something about it must have tickled Nicaise, because he cackled and slammed his tankard down on the bar.
“Oh, I won’t fight you on that one. Incoming,” he said, a warning, and then wandered back into the crowd, calling for another drink.
Damen turned, bracing himself against any manner of shenanigans and found himself with an armful of Laurent. Damen barely caught him as Laurent slumped into his arms, giggling at the small group of men who had been following him hopefully, and who looked a little less so now.
“Damen,” Laurent purred, rearranging himself neatly in Damen’s arms. “You’re so pretty. Do you know how pretty you are?”
“You are drunk,” Damen said, taking the tankard gently out of Laurent’s hand and setting it on the bar. “How many ales have you had?”
“Oh, you know,” Laurent said, waving an arm at the group of men in front of them. “These lovely men kept buying me more and more. Eleven? Twelve?”
“You haven’t had twelve. You’d be on the floor right now if you had. Or dead.”
“I think I would know if I were dead. Take me home, darling. I need you to fuck this hangover out of me with your enormous cock. I’d rather be full of your cum than this shitty ale.”
“Laurent,” Damen said, looking down at him with concern, but Laurent only stared back at him with a pleased, slightly vacant grin. When Damen managed to look away he saw that the group of men who had followed Laurent were breaking away, glaring at Damen as if he were to blame for the outcome of their unsuccessful hunt. All except one, who looked at the two of them thoughtfully.
“How much to watch?” he asked, which caused Laurent to collapse into a fit of giggles. Damen didn’t answer, but the look on his face must have been murderous enough to suffice because the man shrugged and turned away to join the others.
“Finally,” Laurent muttered as Damen half carried, half dragged him out of the bar. They stumbled outside into the cool air of the night; spring was nearly over and the nights were no longer cold, and coming from the closed heat of the tavern it felt wonderfully fresh. Laurent was a heavy weight against his side, but as they turned the corner of the empty streets he became a bit lighter, a bit more self possessed, until soon they were both strolling down the road in nearly the same manner as they always did.
“You put on a good show,” Damen said as Laurent righted himself and wound his arm through Damen’s.
“I know,” he answered. “Did you know you could make a deal with the bartender to be served water instead of ale, and pocket the difference?”
“I heard something about that, yes,” Damen murmured.
“And those men,” Laurent said, his distaste evident in the way he spat those words. “They would have given me alcohol poisoning if they thought it would get me into their beds any quicker.”
“And I’m sure you were not encouraging that idea at all.”
“Of course not,” Laurent said haughtily. “But if their idea of seducing a man is to dissolve his brain in a keg’s worth of ale they deserve to get swindled. But I did manage to learn some interesting things.”
“Oh? And what’s that.”
“Border raids have picked up in the last few weeks,” Laurent said, delivering this information like any general Damen had ever heard debriefing his father. “Not from Akielos or Vere, but from Vask and Patras. Outliers, so far,” he said, before Damen could dispute this information. “Nothing officially sanctioned or recognized by either country. But bandit camps in the area have apparently noticed a significant decrease in the number of men stationed in the small villages between our borders, and are taking advantage.”
Damen frowned. Akielos would only pull troops like that to have them fortify the important border forts in preparation of a larger attack. The border villages would suffer, yes, but it was a necessary sacrifice to protect the larger whole.
“Any rumor on why both sides would be making preparations for war?” Damen asked.
“Plenty of rumors, yes. Anything more helpful than that, no. Some say there is some sort of succession problem on the Akielos side, a conflict between the bastard prince and the other. No one knows much about it. As for Vere, the Council there are a bunch of conservative geriatrics, and their reasoning could be anything from trying to secure a more lucrative pet contract for themselves to dementia. Whatever the real reason, war is very beneficial for the people in charge of making such choices. Not so much for anyone else.”
Succession problems. Damen barely heard anything else Laurent mentioned after that. He had almost forgotten about all of his problems at home, traipsing around the countryside as if he had nothing better to do with his time. And a war would be a very neat way for Kastor to consolidate his power, to bring the kyroi on his side. Kastor was not a particularly well loved leader in their father’s army but he was a successful one. In battle he was brutal and unforgiving, and winning a war against Vere might be enough to see him to the throne without contest from the kyroi despite any personal misgivings they had about him or how he had come to consolidate his power.
“We can’t stay here,” Damen murmured, and then looked over when Laurent made a questioning sound. “With Charls and the others. It is taking too long. And the benefits of traveling with them are sound, but I can’t—I have to go home, Laurent. I have to get to Ios. We could have made it to Ravenel by now if we hadn’t dallied.”
“Made it to Ravenel or ended up in a cell on the way there,” Laurent said.
“And we may still end up there regardless. If even half of what you’ve heard is true it means that things are about to get very bad. I have to get home. I have to—”
Protect my people,
he almost said. But the reality was simpler than that.
He had to return home, and he had to confront his brother. He had to make his father understand what Kastor had done, and he had to do whatever he could to stop this war.
“Okay,” Laurent said.
“Okay?” Damen repeated. He had expected something more from Laurent, more fighting, more pushback. He had expected Laurent to present a precise and clear plan made up on the spot that was infinitely more clever than his own.
“Okay,” Laurent said again. “Charls mentioned that he intends to be in Alier for the trader’s market, which is in two days’ time. We will have to ride far and fast to get there by then, faster than we could manage ourselves by walking or even by riding, considering we would need to stop for food and to find a safe place to settle down for the night. And Alier is a large enough town that it will be no problem for us to find horses so we can continue on by ourselves.”
It made sense. Ride with Charls’ Men until it no longer suited them, and then leave. Damen still itched to go faster, to move more quickly, to leave at this very moment, but he knew it would be impossible to do such a thing. Or—perhaps not impossible, but unwise. Joining Charls’ Men had cost them a day’s worth of travel, which in the scheme of things was not much, but for Damen now a day could mean the difference between peace and disaster.
“All right,” he said, and then, after a brief hesitation, “it is going to be dangerous for you in Ios. More so than usual if we are at odds with Vere.”
“It is dangerous for me everywhere.”
“They might think you a spy.”
“Well then ‘they’ can tell me so,” Laurent said, irritation creeping into his voice. “Are you worried I might be called such because it is the truth?”
“You haven’t told me why you go to Ios.”
“And you haven’t told me why you’ve suddenly remembered that you need to go home after I mentioned that Akielos was having succession problems,” he countered. “You’re a charismatic man, you’re well spoken, and you’ve obviously had more than basic schooling. People might follow you if you wanted them to; there may be some who support you already. You have some experience in the army, and I can’t imagine you were a simple foot soldier even if you fight like a demon. What aren’t you telling me, Damen?”
And—
He could tell Laurent everything. Part of him wanted to, wanted to lay everything out in the open so that Laurent could look at it, dissect it, and understand fully what it was that he was getting into.
But another part of him didn’t want whatever was between them to end yet. He had only ever had other lovers who knew him as the Crown Prince, who knew, even if they pretended not to care, that they were engaging in an intimate act with a man who would some day rule the entire country. And although he could not imagine that his previous paramours had thought his station to be the only benefit to sleeping with him, he couldn’t entirely rule it out either.
As long as Laurent didn’t know, then he could still believe that Laurent chose him because of who he was, regardless of his title. Chose him because of the same qualities that anyone else would choose a lover for, even if those qualities were purely physical. There were lies between them, yes. Damen couldn’t deny that. But there was also a truth there that he would never have again, that he could never afford to have again.
“I will tell you everything,” Damen said, “I promise. But not yet. Please. Before we leave Charls’ Men—I’ll tell you then. And once you know everything you can decide if you want to come with me or if you’d rather take your chances with them.”
Damen half expected Laurent to refuse this offering, to stop them both in the middle of the road and plant his feet and demand answers now. And truth be told, if Laurent had pushed, Damen would have given in quickly. But he didn’t say anything, and he didn’t pull away from Damen’s touch, and they finally came to the area where their wagons had been parked on the outskirts of town.
The stage had already been disassembled. Or reassembled, more accurately, since the wagons themselves were both the stage, the backstage area and the wings. Damen had been in awe of the configuration when he first saw it: two wagons along the back had one wall each that folded down, joining together to become the stage that the performers stood on, and one wagon on either side had a door built into each side that became the wings where the actors could change costumes or where the stage hands could find the props. It was marvelously built, clever in its construction, and easy to fold up quickly if they needed to make a fast exit. Damen had been a bit surprised to see that the other wagons were nearly as full as their own; he had, for some reason, expected that needing to keep a forest’s worth of fake trees and a mountain’s worth of fake rocks was some sort of hazing ritual, a punishment for being the newest member of the troupe, but the others had props just as big and just as ridiculous strewn about their wagons as well.
They passed Jord, who was keeping watch to ensure that no troublemakers came to harass them. Damen waved, and Jord nodded back. Damen had offered to take over the watch tonight, and he knew that Jord would be happy not to spend the entire night up there by himself and sleep throughout the day tomorrow. He followed Laurent into their wagon and went over to give them some light.
“I understand,” Laurent said as he went over to sit on the bed. When Damen looked over at him in surprise Laurent gave him the barest hint of a smile. “Why you want to wait. Sometimes I like to pretend I’m someone who doesn’t have the same responsibilities and worries and cares as the real me. And sometimes I can even delude myself into believing it.”
“I’m not pretending at anything,” Damen said, and then, reconsidering, “I am not trying to be someone I’m not.”
“No, I know that.” Laurent laid himself out on the bed without taking his shoes off. He stretched his arms above his head, and Damen had the idea that while Laurent was not anywhere near as drunk as he had pretended to be in the tavern he was likely not quite completely sober either. “I don’t think you’re capable of being anyone other than who you are. And that’s not an insult, by the way.”
“Really,” Damen said. “Because it sounds a little like you’re insulting my capabilities as an actor.”
He went over to the bed and sat at Laurent’s feet. He took one foot into his lap and gently undid the laces there, pulling until it came off with a gentle
pop
, before trading it for the other and doing the same. He put a hand on Laurent’s ankle, felt the warm sliver of skin exposed there, and did not slide his hand any higher.
“I would never,” Laurent said, his eyes half closed, “say anything to insult any of your…capabilities.”
“Laurent,” Damen said.
“You’re very good at saying my name so disapprovingly,” Laurent said, snuggling into the blankets. “You did it earlier tonight as well when I asked you to fuck me.”
“You didn’t really ask me that. You only said it to scare off those men.”
“Can’t it be a bit of both? What if I asked you now? Do you want to fuck me, Damen?”
If Laurent hadn’t looked two seconds away from falling asleep Damen might have pointed out that that he still hadn’t asked for anything. Instead he pulled the blankets up around Laurent’s shoulders and tucked him firmly in, and then leaned down and pressed his lips to Laurent’s forehead.
“Go to sleep,” he said, pushing himself up from the bed and snuffing the light. “I’ll try not to wake you when I come in from my watch.”
“You can do whatever you like to me,” Laurent said. “I’ve got nothing to protect me anymore.”
“You know that’s not true,” Damen said, but as his eyes adjusted to the dark he saw that Laurent was already asleep, and he closed the door behind him as quietly as he could.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Now, I’m going to lunge towards you, okay? And you’ll parry the blow and force my sword to the side so it doesn’t hit you.”
“Right,” Nicaise said, readying his sword in front of him like Damen had taught him. “And then I stab you in the gut.”
“No, Nicaise—for the last time, no stabbing.”
“Okay, okay,” Nicaise said, sounding as dejected now as he did every time Damen forbade him from disembowelment. “Right. I’m ready.”
They were both using practice swords, of course. And Damen moved at about a quarter of his usual speed, much slower than anything that would keep him alive on the battlefield but only slightly slower than would be exciting for a stage play. According to Charls, at least. Still, if wielded carelessly the wooden blades were heavy enough to deliver hard bruises, or even break fingers.
None of which had happened yet, and most likely never would. Tomorrow he and Laurent would be leaving and striking out on their own once again. Or perhaps it would be Damen alone, once Laurent learned the truth about him. Once he realized that it would be much safer to simply stay here with a group of actors who could protect him and keep him safe. Once he realized the depth of Damen’s deception. Damen pushed it all out of his mind and concentrated on the scene before him.
“Watch my feet. They’ll move first,” Damen said, readying his sword. When Nicaise looked like he had settled and was paying attention, Damen lunged forward.
Nicaise was a natural. A bit showy, perhaps, but in his line of work that would be a boon. He thrust Damen’s blade to the side with an elegant sweep, and Damen retreated before attacking again without warning. Nicaise looked surprised but managed to block this one as well, and Damen nodded at him as the boy beamed happily.
“I did it!” he said, looking around for approval from the others. Aimeric clapped only a little sarcastically and Jord nodded gruffly. Apparently this was high praise for Nicaise, because he smiled at Damen.
“Again!” he said, readying his sword.
“Nicaise, a moment,” Charls said, coming over to their small group. He looked at Damen with a serious expression, and Damen nodded back. “All of you, come over here please. We need to have a quick discussion before I let you go for the night.”
Everyone nodded and made their way over to the campfire, which was still burning brightly. Damen went to sit by Laurent, and the rest of the group found their own seats and readied themselves to hear what Charls had to say.
“As you are all probably aware, our performance yesterday was a success.”
Someone—either Nicaise or Aimeric, Damen was certain—let out a whoop in solidarity, and Charls smiled tightly at them.
“Right. Well. Some of you may also have heard some disturbing rumors about border conflicts and troops massing in the bigger forts at Ravenel and Fortaine. I don’t want to worry anyone,” Charls said, holding up a hand to forestall any questions. “As of right now that is all it is. Just rumors from scared folks.”
Damen glanced at Laurent, wondering if he had been the one to tell Charls of this, but Laurent frowned and shook his head when he met Damen’s eye.
“We’ve been in situations like this before, and there is nothing to worry about, my dears. An increased need to secure ourselves from bandits, maybe. But troops on either side have never harmed actors, and I believe it will stay that way. They need the entertainment too much to harm us.”
Damen knew this to be true; in addition to the camp women that followed the army there were always groups of musicians as well, and sometimes even acting troupes. They were always welcomed by the bored, stressed troops, and they kept the men from resorting to their own entertainment, which usually included violence of some flavor. The actors and musicians would not be protected, certainly, if things went badly, but they were treated with an amount of respect not afforded to many other people. And they knew enough to stay away from the front lines.
“Besides which,” Charls continued, gaining some of his usual excitement as he talked, “they are only rumors so far. And so for us the question remains: how best to capitalize on them?”
The other actors around the fire nodded to each other, and Damen had the impression that this was not the first time they had tailored their plays to best suit their audience or the temper of the masses. When he looked over Laurent was smirking, obviously amused by their ruthlessness.
“We can continue on with the farce that we produced yesterday,” Charls began.
“That is my vote,” Damen said. “And not just because I don’t want to learn any new lines.”
“As if your two lines were so difficult to memorize,” Nicaise quipped.
“And like I said,” Charls said, gesturing for them to quiet down, “we had a successful run of it. In worrisome times people like having a reason to laugh. So we can do that again. Or we can do something more somber. A drama to stir up some patriotic fervor in these trying times.”
“
The Tragedy of Larentian
?” Aimeric suggested.
“Or
The Escape
,” Lazar said. “Although—that’s not particularly patriotic, I suppose.”
“Did the King’s head ending up on a pike in the last scene give you that impression?” Laurent asked, his tone icy. “Perfect if you’d like to start a civil war. Less so for anything else.”
“Perhaps
The Escape
would not be the best choice under these circumstances,” Charls said diplomatically, gesturing for both Laurent and Lazar to stand down. “But I did in fact have an idea in mind that I wanted to share with you all. A play that I’ve been working on for a while now. A play about the royal family.”
A number of interested
oohs
went up from the crowd, and Damen looked around. They all seemed intrigued, which meant that they had either produced one of Charls’ plays before to some success or the subject matter itself was enough to interest them. Damen looked over at Laurent for some help, but he was sitting perfectly still, his face a mask of complete indifference.
“Sorry,” Damen said, feeling a bit foolish raising his hand like he was a child in school, “but—what about the royal family is amusing enough for a play? And why would it interest anyone?”
“My boy,” Charls said, holding a hand to his heart. “Don’t tell me you don’t know about our illustrious royal family and the tragedy they have been through.”
Damen knew a bit. He had sat in on meetings with his father to receive intelligence about Vere, but it had never delved into the dramatic. Damen had learned of the King’s battle tactics, his strategies and his proclivities on the field, and then one day the spymaster had come in and announced that the king was dead, and Damen had begun studying the same thing for the King’s brother, who was holding the regency until the one surviving heir came of age. Years later when Damen asked the spymaster if they were ever going to talk about the Veretian heir the old man had just cackled and said it wouldn’t be an issue, and so Damen’s lessons had continued unbothered by such information.
“We are not familiar with it either,” Erasmus said, nudging Kallias. “I don’t think it was a tale that made it to Akielos at all.”
“I cannot believe that it would be interesting to anyone outside of a few stuffy aristocrats,” Laurent said, his voice strung tight. “Perhaps we should go back to discussing the benefits of producing another comedy.”
“No, no, I think we should all be fully informed before making a decision. I will tell you all the general substance of it,” Charls said, settling in and making himself comfortable. Damen looked over at Laurent again, but Laurent would not meet his eye.
“Our story begins with the birth of the heir. We will call him Alexandre, so as not to offend any royalists, and to give us a bit of breathing space for those who might accuse us of disregarding historical accuracy,” Charls said, waving his hands theatrically. He had a nice voice, melodious and charming, and Damen settled in to listen. “Alexandre was a golden child, the jewel of Vere. A perfectly polite and well mannered boy, who only ever complained about one thing: the fact that he did not have a little prince or princess to call his sibling.
“There are a few scenes before the younger prince is born. Alexandre has a friend his age who gets into scrapes with him, you know,” Charls said, waving the details away even though Damen didn’t, in fact, know. “But at the end of the second act the younger prince is born, who we will call—”
“Larentin,” Aimeric offered.
Charls frowned at him, and considered. “I had named him Laramie. But your name is superior, my dear, and I like the allusion. I will put you on as a co-writer.”
Aimeric preened at this until Nicaise elbowed him in the ribs.
“All right. So. Larentin, then, is born, and this makes Alexandre the happiest prince in the land. And then there are scenes of them bonding, becoming close, a touching scene between Alexandre and his father—but that is not the important part. The ending is where it all falls apart. There will be multiple death scenes, as you can imagine,” Charls said, and Damen could feel the appreciation from the other actors. Multiple death scenes were, apparently, something to be pleased about.
Charls continued. “So. The Red Plague ravages the royal family, as most of you well know. The Queen sacrifices herself to save her two sons and locks herself in her tower the instant she shows signs of becoming ill, but it is too late, and she succumbs to the disease first. Then the King, and then—I am going to make it seem as if Alexandre will be the one to live,” Charls said, leaning in as if he were divulging a secret. “Even though the audience will know he does not. So he is miraculously fine against the Red Death at this point, taking care of his Larentin, his only surviving family—oh, I forgot, the king is dead at this point too, did I say that already?—but Larentin is deathly ill. And then, just as the Red Death comes for the younger prince—the Red Death is a character in this part,” Charls added, as an aside. “Long flowy drapes, horns, maybe.”
“I’ll do it,” said Lazar. “Anything with horns, I’ll do it.”
“Of course, my dear, you’d be perfect,” Charls said. “The right height, too.”
“You’ll do anything with horns, huh?” Nicaise asked. “That makes that time we found you passed out in that sheep’s hut a little more suspicious.”
Lazar made a rude gesture towards Nicaise and stuck out his tongue, and the boys cackled.
“We could reuse the costume from
The Claiming of the Sirius
,” Erasmus murmured, and Charls nodded appreciatively.
“Yes, perfect, my boy, just so. But so—this is the final scene now, pay attention. The Red Death comes to take Larentin away, and Alexandre begs Death to take him in his stead. He cannot stand to lose his little brother. And Death agrees, but not out of kindness. There is always a toll for making a deal with death. He does not take the younger brother as planned, but in payment for being spared Larentin can no longer see, or hear, and his exposure to Death has left his brain addled and paranoid. And Alexandre looks back in horror as Death leads him away, and our last view is of watching the late King’s brother returning from his year long stay in Kempt to find young Larentin on the floor, howling in pain and madness as he watches his older brother leave him, hand in hand with Death.”
Charls’ story was over. A quietness settled over the group, jangled and nervy. Damen thought that he did not like this play very much at all, but could not bring up the courage to say so.
Laurent, apparently, had plenty of courage. He stood up, his fists balled by his side.
“That is not a story,” he said, his voice tight and his words clipped, as if he were biting the ends of them off with his teeth. “That is barely a tragedy. It is just a wallowing of misery and nothing more. Do you want to make your audience depressed? Tell them that tale,” he spit, his eyes blazing. “Many of them will have gone through the same horrors as your flat and lifeless characters. The Red Plague did not only take the royal family; it wiped out many more families from every walk of life.”
“Yes, and that is what makes it so relatable,” Charls said, confused by Laurent’s vehemence. “It shows us that death comes for us all, and no one is to be spared—”
“It shows us
nothing
,” Laurent hissed. Damen thought that he had seen Laurent mad before, but it was nothing compared to what he was seeing now. Laurent's fury was barely contained, and the small pieces of it that lashed out were venomous and pointed. “What you have written is—the suffering that everyone went through—it is something that people should be saved from, not exposed to. Entire families were wiped out by that plague. People left disfigured and permanently injured from it. And you mock them?”
“It was not my intent to mock anyone—”
“How dare you,” Laurent said. “How dare you use their pain for your selfish goals. For your trite and pedantic play. All of you,” Laurent said, stepping away from the group and waving his hand to encompass them all. His eyes were wild and he looked about to bolt, but as Damen moved to stop him he felt a hand on his arm keeping him back. He looked over to see Nicaise carefully shaking his head, holding him back from going to Laurent.
“I can’t—”
Laurent never finished that sentence. He simply turned and walked away, no different than if he were retiring for the night after dinner. He stalked over to their wagon and slammed the door behind him, and then a second later there was a sound of something shattering, and then silence.
“Well,” Charls said, after an awkward moment had passed. “I wish I could say that was the worst reception I’ve ever had to my work, but unfortunately it isn’t.”
A few forced chuckles from the group. Damen started to get up again, to go check on Laurent, but Nicaise once more held him down.
“Don’t,” Nicaise said, his voice low. “Not now. Give him time.”
“But he’s—”
“Mad, and angry. And he’ll take it out on you if you let him, and he’ll regret it after. He probably lost someone to the Red Plague. A lot of people did. He just needs time to grieve again.”
The last thing Damen wanted to do was leave Laurent when he was like this, alone and stewing in his grief, but Nicaise’s grip on his arm didn’t let up, and Damen had to admit that there was probably some wisdom in his words. The other members of the group began to chatter about anything and everything except what had just happened, and Damen listened with half of his attention elsewhere.
“Well,” Charls said, drawing their attention back to him after a few moments had passed, “perhaps there is something to be said about doing a comedy in these unpredictable times. And—it was a rather successful run yesterday, wasn’t it?”
“It would be a shame if we didn’t get to use the new backdrop pieces that Laurent made again,” Erasmus said, smiling shyly and nodding over at Damen, who was apparently the stand in for the two of them now that Laurent had left. “They are truly remarkable. He did something clever to them to make it seem as if those silly painted trees I drew were actually moving.”
Everyone nodded, and then to Damen’s surprise it was Nicaise who spoke up next.
“Well
I
, for one, don’t care about any rumors or putting on patriotic plays or anything like that. But my character in the play we did yesterday has the best lines out of all of you, and so my vote is to do that again.”
This, of course, was nothing less than a challenge. Everyone exploded at once; Aimeric claimed that he had the best lines, not Nicaise, and that his stupid character was the dumbest out of all of them; Lazar claimed that it did not matter because his was the most handsome to which Erasmus politely but sternly let him know it was Kallias, not he, who held that title. Lazar took this slight personally and pretended to cry against Jord’s shoulder, who grimaced through it for a good thirty seconds until he finally pushed him off. Everyone devolved into general chaos for a while until Charls stepped in and gently dismissed them for the night.
“Good luck,” Nicaise called out as Damen headed towards his wagon. Damen couldn’t tell if he meant it seriously or in jest, and so he trudged forward without looking back.
Their wagons were spread out more than usual due to the geography of their camp. Large rocky outcroppings prevented them from forming a circle as they usually did, and so Damen and Laurent’s wagon had been nestled under a small copse of trees a good distance away from the communal fire pit. The next closest wagon was Lazar and Jord’s, separated from them by a few trees and a large smattering of boulders littered across the ground. Damen put a hand on the door of the wagon, and took a deep breath before entering.
He expected chaos. A whirlwind of all the wagon’s detritus swirled up into Laurent’s fury, but apart from the glass that they had all heard break nothing else was disturbed. Damen took a second in the darkness to let his vision adjust and then spotted Laurent sitting casually on the bed, his back against the wall, his arm dangling off of one bent leg.
“Well? How did it go,” Laurent asked, his voice even. Damen found a broom and worked on cleaning up the shattered glass.
“We’re doing the same play we did yesterday. Nicaise said that he had the best lines and wouldn’t be persuaded to do anything else.”
Laurent snorted and looked off to the side. Damen finished cleaning up the mess and lit the lamp, casting warm shadows into the darkness of the wagon.
If Laurent had been crying, he had cleaned it up well. Damen didn’t think he had been. Whatever furor had overcome him had evidently bled out, even though Damen could see the current of it lurking underneath his casual exterior.
“Your brother fell to the Red Plague, didn’t he,” Damen murmured. He didn’t move closer to the bed, but even from this distance he could see the muscle in Laurent’s jaw twitch.
“My whole family,” Laurent said. “Except the one who deserved it most. And me, I suppose,” he said, with a harsh laugh. “But then maybe I got what I deserved after all.”
Damen busied himself cleaning up their little area, putting away objects that they hadn’t had time to properly store. It gave him space to get his thoughts together, and he wanted to let Laurent talk without feeling like he was being interrogated.
“I am sorry you had to go through that,” Damen said softly—and then, before Laurent could respond to this kindness with violence, “If the Veretians hadn’t dealt so quickly with the sickness it could have infected the entire continent. You should be proud of your people.”
“Have I ever gave any indication that I wasn’t? My father helped keep the city closed. He made sure no one got in or out, which meant that the plague died with the rest of the city. He was a…difficult man, and not one that I understood very well. But he was a hero. I know that much, even if he was hard to love sometimes.”
It was the most that Laurent had ever said about his family, and Damen had to restrain himself from pushing for more information. The way he talked about his father reminded Damen of his own father, about the duality of love that Damen felt for him; part father, part ruler. Theomedes was both, and he could never be anything other than that. To love one part of him meant you had to at least acknowledge the other, and sometimes it felt like his father too could only love Damen with the part of him that was his father, and the other part could only love him in the same manner as he loved all of his subjects: impartially and from a distance.
Laurent’s father must have been similar. A captain of the guard, maybe, or a high ranking court official. Nicaise had been right about Laurent having aristocratic blood in him; Damen wondered that he had never really noticed it before.
“It was a long time ago.” Laurent tried to sound dismissive, but Damen could hear the pain hidden at the edges of his voice. “Over ten years now. Sometimes I forget it even happened. For a while you think it’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to you, and you grieve and you try to move on and then you fail a big test that you’ve been studying for and suddenly your brain convinces you that no,
this
is the worst thing you’ve ever felt. And then you think that you couldn’t possibly ever be as sick as you were when you almost died of the Red Plague, and then a few years later you get a cold and you’re in bed and can’t breathe and you have a fever and you convince yourself no,
this
is the most I’ve ever been sick.
“And you lose your family, and you think that no one will ever care for you again, no one will ever show you—kindness, and patience and understanding, not like they did. And then you free a man from a pet house who’s been betrayed by his own family and you escape together through the countryside and he is so…so
patient
with you, and you grow to think—this is what it felt like, I remember this. What it was like to be…”
Loved
. Damen could feel the word ringing around their small wagon, even though Laurent hadn’t said it. It ached inside of him, piercing his heart. They were staring at each other as if the words they both wanted to say but couldn’t get out could be communicated through their gazes alone.
“I should apologize to Charls,” Laurent said, looking away. “Not—not now. Tomorrow, maybe.”
“He wasn’t angry,” Damen said. “He was sad, I think, more than anything. That he hurt you.”
“He didn’t—” Laurent sighed, an explosive sound. “Never mind. I don’t want to talk about it anymore tonight, Damen.”
“Okay,” Damen said, because he knew when Laurent had been pushed too far, and tonight he had been pushed even farther than that. “Do you want to go to bed?”
“I am already in bed,” Laurent said, lazily gesturing at the bed around him. “Unless going to sleep was not what you were referring to.”
“It was,” Damen said. “But we can do something else if you want. I still have some of the plays that Charls gave me. I could read them to you, since you seem to like hearing my voice so much.”
Laurent snorted, and when Damen looked over he was regarding Damen thoughtfully, with an expression he was only just beginning to be able to decipher.
“No,” Laurent said, tilting his head and looking back at Damen carefully. “No, I don’t think I’d like to do that at all.”
The hint of promise in his voice drew Damen forward, towards the bed, and Laurent watched with wide eyes as he made his way over. When Damen was only a hairsbreadth away from the bed Laurent held up two fingers with all the grace of a king stopping his subject from approaching the throne.
Damen stopped. Laurent’s lips quirked up in a smile, all the tension and grief from earlier gone, or at least hidden away in a place Damen could no longer see.
“Obedient,” Laurent murmured, and Damen couldn’t help his pulse from skittering at the tone in Laurent’s voice.
“Respectful,” Damen corrected, “of what it is you’re asking for. There’s a difference.”
Laurent considered him for what felt like an age, his gaze roving over Damen’s body, something that could almost be called ogling except it felt more calculating than that, like Laurent was a deer deciding if a watering hole was safe to approach.
“I know that you’re unable to keep your clothes on any time you’re in front of a body of water,” Laurent said, carefully lazy, unmoving from his relaxed pose on the bed. “Don’t tell me that’s the only kind of body that you’re willing to get undressed for.”
“It’s not,” Damen said, and Laurent made a gesture at him as if to say
well, go ahead then.
Damen was willing to go along with it. He understood Laurent’s desire to be in control right now, to take some measure of agency back from a night that had been particularly bad at denying him that. He toed off his shoes, then kicked them over to the side. Then he stood, and waited.
“Is that it?” Laurent asked, after Damen made no movement to do anything more.
“Is what it?” Damen asked as innocently as he could manage. “You asked me a question and I answered it. As far as I’m aware you didn’t ask me to do anything, or say that you wanted me to do something. I just felt like taking my shoes off, is all.”
Laurent didn’t move, but his eyes narrowed slightly.
“If you’re going to be difficult, you can sleep on the floor.”
“I will, if you want me to.”
“I don’t, actually,” Laurent said irritably. “What I want is for you to take your clothes off, and then I want you to fuck me.”
Damen smiled and began to unbutton his shirt. He wondered if Laurent realized that it was the first time that he had actually told Damen what he wanted from him, instead of speaking around the issue as he was so fond of doing. If the blush on Laurent’s cheeks was anything to go by, he did.
“All right,” Damen said when he finished unbuttoning his shirt. He shrugged his shoulders and it fell to the floor in a heap as he began on his pants. He wasn’t the kind of person who made a show of things, so aside from the few moments it took him to wrestle with the laces he accomplished this quickly as well, and his trousers joined the pile of discarded clothes on the floor.
He was undressed. He had no aversion to nudity, no embarrassment in being in his natural state, and he knew that he was well built and had been told he was pleasing to look at. Laurent’s eyes roved over him; he enjoyed the appreciative stare he could see there, and he felt his cock stir.
“It’s enough to make any other man despair,” Laurent said, his irritation not quite enough to hide the desperation underneath it. “I trust that you are pleased with yourself.”
“I could be more so,” Damen said, holding out his hand. Laurent hesitated no more than a fraction of a second before he reached out to take it, and Damen pulled him up off the bed and into his arms. Laurent came easily, putting first one hand against Damen’s chest and then, after the briefest pause, the other. Damen didn’t pull him close as he longed to do but let Laurent touch him, his hands roving over the planes of Damen’s chest, his shoulders, never going any lower than his waist. He avoided the mostly healed wound at Damen’s side, even though it barely hurt anymore. When he scraped a thumb over Damen’s nipple Damen inhaled sharply, and Laurent laughed.
“Sensitive,” he murmured, amused, and then tore his gaze away from Damen’s chest. “Well? Are you going to help me undress too, or are we going to stand here like this all night?”
Damen had experience undoing those little fussy buttons by this point, and he wasted no time in applying his newfound knowledge to Laurent’s clothes. In just a few moments they joined his own on the floor and Laurent was standing in front of him, completely, wonderfully naked. Damen had seen most of him before, at the river, in their bed. It didn’t surprise him to see how well structured Laurent was, the delicate turn of his wrist, the lean muscle of his thighs and calves, his slim waist, which Damen wasted no time in trying to fit between his hands. He couldn’t get there quite, but the thought of having Laurent underneath him, completely vulnerable and open to him—his breath caught in his throat, and he reached forward to claim Laurent’s mouth hungrily.
Laurent kissed him back, meeting his urgency with an insistence of his own. Kissing Laurent was still such a new and unexpectedly delightful experience that Damen couldn’t help but wonder if all of his other partners had not known how to do it correctly. He enjoyed kissing in general, of course, and had always considered himself to be rather good at it, but it had always been a stepping stone to something better, something more pleasurable. A simple act of foreplay, and that was it.
But Laurent kissed like he talked: imperiously, confidently, too arrogant by half in a way that made Damen’s arousal flare brightly. Laurent gave no quarter in conversations and he did not do so here either, and Damen thought that if he were only allowed to do this until the end of time—kissing Laurent, feeling his lips against his own, the way his tongue flicked against Damen’s mouth—he would die a happy man.
“The bed,” Damen said, unwilling to tear his lips away from Laurent’s for even those few scant words but certain that it would be rewarded if he did.
“Yes,” Laurent answered, gasping as Damen put teeth to his neck.
They tumbled to the bed, falling against each other in a heap, legs tangled and hands moving, touching, caressing. The hesitancy that had colored their last encounter was gone, at least for the moment, even though the tension Laurent carried in his body was not. It was as if, having made the decision to tell Damen what he wanted from him, Laurent could simply put that part of his trepidation aside and only leave space for what was in front of them.
“Wait,” Laurent said, putting a little distance between them. Damen backed away, but after it became clear that Laurent only needed to rearrange himself on the bed without discomfort, Damen continued. Laurent reached up to grab something from the cabinet at the head of the bed, and Damen put his mouth to the muscle that stretched in Laurent’s side as he did so, palming the arch of his back.
“Here,” Laurent said, shoving something into Damen’s hand. Damen looked down, found it to be a small vial of oil, and then looked back up at Laurent in surprise.
“You were not planning on doing this without that, were you?” Laurent asked. “That would have made things rather uncomfortable.”
“I was not planning on doing this at all,” Damen said, unstoppering the cork and pouring a bit on his fingers. He warmed it between his hands until its coldness would not shock any flushed skin, and then smiled. “But I’m glad now that you’re so forward thinking.”
“Oh,” Laurent said, as Damen rearranged them into a more comfortable position, one hand on Laurent’s ass, the other curved around his waist. “You’re trying to convince me that you haven’t even thought about fucking me. I don’t know whether I should think you presumptuous for lying about such a thing, or whether it’s true and I should be offended.”
“Mouthy,” Damen murmured, because he could see the tension threatening to crest and knew that Laurent was babbling in an effort to cover it up. He remembered the way that Laurent had reacted to Damen’s mouth on his cock, how much coaxing he had needed to relax even then, and it was only when he had been so mindless with pleasure that he had forgotten to be stressed. “We can go as slow as you want, Laurent. I’m not going to push you to do anything if you’re uncomfortable.”
“Don’t coddle me,” Laurent said irritably, squirming out of Damen’s grip so that he could properly glare at him. “I’m not some blushing virgin waiting to be deflowered. I know that it’s going to hurt regardless of how much oil is used, and yet I’m still willing to let you do it, aren’t I?”
“It shouldn’t hurt, Laurent. It’s supposed to feel good.”
“I suppose you’ve been on the receiving end before, then.”
Damen blushed; he couldn’t help himself.
“I haven’t,” he said, ignoring Laurent’s smirk of satisfaction. “But—if you’d rather—”
Damen couldn’t finish that sentence. He had never done that before, never let someone else fuck him. In all of his encounters he’d been the one taking charge, pushing things forward, putting his partners exactly where he wanted them. And he cared about their pleasure, wanted to make sure that they were having a good time, sometimes to the exclusion of his own, but he had still never considered submitting to someone like that.
He was considering it now. Laurent seemed as if he were made of steel sometimes, and Damen knew he had a cruel streak, something that came out especially when he felt chased into a corner. But he could also be tender, and sweet; Damen remembered the way Laurent had cleaned his wound after their escape, the careful way he had touched the damaged skin.
“Stop,” Laurent said, amused. He rolled his eyes as he grabbed the phial of oil from Damen. “I can see your brain about to spin out from your skull. I told you that I wanted you to fuck me, and I meant it. I—think it might not be so bad. Not with you.”
Before Damen could begin to parse the sharp corners of what that meant, Laurent poured oil over his own fingers and grabbed Damen’s cock. He hadn’t bothered warming it and Damen jumped at how cold it felt against his skin; he wondered if it was much the same shock as Laurent had felt that day he had jumped in the river. Laurent let out an amused huff, perhaps at the same thought, and stroked Damen’s cock until he was no longer thinking of the chill, was no longer certain if there was even such a thing as coldness in the world.
“All right,” Laurent said, once Damen’s cock was so slippery it was hard for him to grip it. “Go slow. That’ll help it not hurt so much.”
And then he flipped over on his stomach, parting his thighs. Damen was stunned; not just at the sight, which was enough to take his breath away and make his cock ache with how much he wanted it, but also by the fact that Laurent seemed as if he wanted Damen to just mount him right now, without preparing him at all.
“You,” Damen said, the words drying up in his mouth, “you want me—to—”
Laurent craned his neck and looked backwards at Damen.
“Don’t tell me you don’t know what to do when presented with such an offering,” he scoffed. “I’m beginning to think it’s you who’s the blushing virgin. Surely you’ve mounted boys before?”
“Laurent, I—no, not boys,” Damen murmured, stroking the curve of Laurent’s ass, trails of oil dripping off his fingers and striping Laurent’s skin. “Men, yes. No wonder it must have hurt, if that’s what you think this is.”
“I don’t need a lecture from you,” Laurent snapped. He rolled over so that he was no longer so exposed, and Damen didn’t stop him. “If you don’t think you’re capable or know how to use your own cock—”
“Laurent,” Damen said, his voice hard, “enough. I am going to take care of you, and I am going to do so properly, in the manner that you deserve. That you have always deserved. I want to show you how it’s supposed to be. Will you let me do that for you?”
Damen thought that it was entirely possible this would be answered with a no. He knew that he had already pushed Laurent past what was comfortable for him, but his heart ached to think that Laurent was not used to kind treatment, not used to being treated with reverence and with softness, and he longed to give that to him.
“Please?” Damen asked, when Laurent did not answer.
But Laurent didn’t pull away from him, and didn’t continue to try to break his patience. After a moment he nodded, his head indicating a tight
yes
only twice before stopping.
And Damen understood it for the permission that it was. He gathered Laurent into his arms and leaned in for a kiss. In a way it was an echo of how they had begun, and Damen was determined to not let it get away from him this time.
Slowly, achingly, Laurent began to relax in his arms. It was like the melting of an icicle in the sun, each drip seemingly so small but building towards an ultimately bigger goal. Damen kissed him until he was dizzy with it, his hands roving over Laurent’s body and caressing every muscle, every dip and hollow. He wanted to show Laurent all the places where he was strong, wanted to show him all the ways he could be worshiped.
Damen palmed the curve of Laurent’s ass, and this time Laurent leaned into his touch. Damen had to break away for just a moment to cover his fingers in oil again, and when he came back Laurent was waiting, nervous but ready.
“You are perfect,” Damen said, murmuring against Laurent’s skin before he could stop the words from coming out. He said it softly, hoping that it was quiet enough that Laurent hadn’t heard him, but Laurent made a small, slightly strangled sound, and Damen cupped his ass and pushed a finger inside of him.
Laurent was tight and so hot that Damen thought he would burn up from it. He moved slowly, enough that he felt like the two of them were in suspended animation, but Laurent relaxed against him steadily, allowing him further inside.
“There you go,” Damen murmured, wanting to hear Laurent talk back to him. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart.”
“I—you are the one doing all the work,” Laurent bit out, and Damen felt so overjoyed with it that he had to hide his smile in the corner of Laurent’s neck.
One finger became two, then two became three. Laurent relaxed into it more and more, and as Damen worked him Laurent came slowly back to himself, touching Damen’s chest, his side, his hair. When he grabbed Damen’s cock Damen jumped, causing his fingers to twitch inside of Laurent in a way that elicited a whole body shiver. Occasionally Damen pressed in just the right way to make Laurent rut against him, fucking himself on Damen’s fingers.
“I’m ready, Damen,” Laurent said, biting back a moan as Damen twisted his fingers in the way that he was learning Laurent liked. “How long are you going to keep teasing me?”
“I’m not trying to tease.”
“What you meant to do and what you—
ah
—are doing are two entirely different things,” Laurent said, still too coherent for Damen’s liking. “Good intentions have never filled the belly of a starving man.”
“And you’re a starving man?”
“No, you barbarian, I’m—it’s an aphorism,” Laurent said, seething even as he pushed himself back against Damen’s fingers. “And I’m beginning to think you have no intention of filling me with anything.”
“Certainly not with aphorisms,” Damen said, and then grabbed Laurent and rolled them both over.
It was, perhaps, not the direction Laurent thought they would go. Laurent’s hands were splayed across Damen’s chest so that he wouldn’t fall over, his ass nestled up against Damen’s cock, hard and leaking. He looked down at Damen from his new vantage point with a slightly stunned expression.
“I would not want to be accused of teasing again,” Damen said, all faux seriousness. “You can choose your own pace, now. Although—I would not complain if that choice was to fuck me quickly, and hard.”
And because Damen could do nothing but stare up at Laurent, could not tear his gaze away, he saw a number of emotions flit across his face. Surprise, and a little trepidation; those were to be expected, and not something that Damen was overly concerned about. A little tension too, though it was a small thing and only lurked at the edges. But there was something else there too, something that made Damen sure that this had been the right decision; something akin to wonder, maybe, or the freedom that came from the realization that things did not always have to follow the same familiar, painful path. That it was not a demeaning choice to give up control to someone that you trusted.
Laurent wasted no time. He reached behind him and grabbed Damen’s cock, still slick from when he had generously oiled it earlier, and guided it towards his entrance. Damen felt the warm heat at his head, and then—
He was inside Laurent. Hotter and tighter than he could possibly have imagined, and he put a hand on each of Laurent’s thighs, doing nothing more than helping to steady him. Slowly, inch by glorious inch, Laurent sank down, taking the time to rock back and forth, and to let himself be stretched open even more fully, and causing Damen’s eyes to roll back in his head every time he did so.
“Laurent,” Damen said, the name a plea, a question, a prayer, “Laurent, you’re so—I can’t—”
Laurent slammed himself down onto Damen’s hips, taking in the last of him in an instant. Damen could not help but thrust up to meet the motion, and Laurent threw his head back and laughed.
“You feel—Damen,” Laurent said, grinding against Damen’s cock before lifting himself up and slamming down again. “Damen, you—you’re incredible—”
The Veretian language had left Damen’s brain and he was aware, distantly, that he was speaking in quick, clipped Akielon words.
Good
, he heard himself say.
Beautiful. Laurent. Sweetheart. Faster.
Damen felt the pressure building up inside of him, something that was more than just sex, more than just the feeling of having Laurent above him. He wanted to hear his name from Laurent’s lips, his full name,
Damianos
, wanted to hear Laurent pant and gasp it as Damen made love to him, wanted to leave small bite marks on Laurent’s neck that would show up like a glaring sign to everyone around him, wanted to whisper secrets into Laurent’s skin and have Laurent do the same to him. He wanted it all with an intensity that he wasn’t used to weathering, that he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt before, and it overpowered him. He could feel himself cresting with the earnestness of it before smashing on the rocks below, an awareness that he wouldn’t get to have this forever, might not even get to have it for another night after this.
“Laurent,” he said, desperate with wanting; wanting to please him, wanting to keep him, wanting to have nothing between them but this naked honesty. “Laurent, I—”
Laurent came with a gasp, the hot stripe of it hitting Damen’s chest. He shuddered, leaning forward with his hands on either side of his spill, and even though he must have been sensitive, probably overly so, he didn’t stop moving against Damen’s cock.
“Damen,” he said, grinding against Damen’s hips, his fingernails digging into Damen’s chest, “You too Damen, I need you to—fuck, I want—Damen—I want you—”
And Damen came listening to Laurent murmur those stuttered imprecations, knowing that he would never be able to listen to him say his name again without thinking of this moment, and spent himself inside.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
When Damen woke it was early, less than an hour before dawn. Laurent was sleeping soundly next to him, his breathing deep and even, and for a moment Damen listened only to the soft sound of his breath. Damen had cleaned the two of them up after their lovemaking, enjoyed the surprised awkwardness when Laurent realized what he was doing, the careful way he’d allowed Damen to help him. Damen had kissed him again, after, and Laurent had kissed him back lazily, contentedly, until they both drifted off to sleep.
It was more than Damen had ever hoped for. If he let himself think on some of the things that Laurent had said earlier an impotent anger stirred in him; the fact that Laurent had expected it to hurt made Damen want to find whoever had treated him that way so he could teach him a few lessons with his fists. He was glad that he had been allowed to show Laurent how it could be, that it was possible to be gentle, that he was worth the effort it took to make it so.
But another part of Damen felt like a hypocrite thinking any of that, because in truth—well, in truth he hadn’t known it could be like that between two people either. Fucking was fun, sometimes done quickly and sometimes slowly, in various positions and with various men and women, whoever struck his fancy at the time. But he hadn’t known it could be like that. Laurent was prickly and caustic at the best of times, and he hadn’t been less so when they were making love, but Damen found himself courting that attitude rather than shying away. He liked the way that Laurent looked at him, like Damen was some sort of magical creature that he hadn’t known existed, and he liked being able to peel back all of the protective layers Laurent usually kept tightly wrapped around himself. He thought of the way that Laurent had goaded him, had teased him, and had, eventually, trusted him. The way they could look at each other and communicate an entire conversation; the way that Laurent fit in his arms and nestled against his body, as if they were two pieces made to be whole only with the other.
He had never experienced anything remotely like that before.
Damen pushed himself up, careful not to wake Laurent. He slipped into his pants and shirt, picked up from where he had flung them on the floor last night, and found his shoes hidden under Laurent’s clothes. He stood as still as stone for a moment when Laurent made a sound, and only started breathing again when he heard Laurent resume his. He trip to the door of their wagon felt like it took five minutes, and exiting without making a noise felt even longer.
He wanted to be back in bed by the time Laurent woke, wanted to see the way he opened his eyes as he came into wakefulness, the way he might smile when he saw Damen there, but right now Damen needed some air to clear his head. The camp was quiet, all lights extinguished to avoid tempting any wanderers of either the human or animal variety. The only sound was the gentle creaking of the wind and the horses whickering and stamping their feet in their makeshift pen.
Damen followed the craggy rock that split through camp, careful not to twist his ankle on the rough edges. The landscape eventually evened out into grass—or at least the grass had gotten enough hold to grow over the rock, and he ended up on a slight hill that overlooked the land in front of him.
Through the light haze of dawn he could make out a faint glow in the distance that looked like a good sized town waking up for the day. Alier, perhaps, although from here it looked closer than a day’s ride. But distances could be confusing like this, the ups and downs of the road making the journey longer than the eye would guess. He wondered if he could see any land that belonged to Akielos from here. Maybe, if he looked south and to the east just a bit, he could make out Nikandros’ seat in Delpha.
The trees around him rustled softly in the wind, and he wrapped his arms around himself. It had been stupid to come out here like this; he didn’t know what impulse had made him want to get up. He hadn’t even thought to grab his cloak. The bed he had just vacated had been warm and it had Laurent in it. It was nothing but madness that had him leaving, and so with one last look off into the distance he turned and started the walk back.
Damianos
.
Damen froze. He could have sworn it was his name on the wind that he had just heard, but he had never been the whimsical sort, and he brushed the thought aside. It was his brain playing tricks on him; perhaps his guilt over the fact that he hadn’t yet returned home was manifesting itself like this, with the wind whispering his true name to him.
Damianos.
No. This time he was sure of what he heard, and he spun around, looking for the source of it. The dawn light was only barely beginning to come up over the horizon, and it cast everything around him in strange shadows, suspending him between the dark of night and the harsh brightness of day.
“Damianos?”
There was a figure at the edge of the clearing, looking straight at him. This person stepped cautiously, carefully, and when Damen took a step back the mysterious visitor stopped entirely. They stared at each other for a moment; Damen had the feeling of knowing this person somehow, of having seen him somewhere before. He was Akielon, that was obvious enough from his dark skin and curly hair, though he was clothed in the garb of a Veretian hunter. He was armed too, and as if noticing this at the same time Damen did he slowly took the knives out from his belt and cast them to the ground, and then did the same for the bow strapped to his back. He moved forward again; this time Damen didn’t step back, and when only a few feet separated them the man fell to the ground on one knee and held his closed fist across his chest.
“Damianos Exalted,” the man said, his voice shaking. “I knew you were still alive. Thank all the stars in the sky—I knew you weren’t gone. Come, quickly. I have horses waiting.”
“Explain yourself,” Damen demanded, and the man leapt to his feet excitedly, although he kept his eyes downcast as was proper when addressing a superior.
“There is not much time,” he said, but he would not dare disobey a direct order. “I was sent into Vere by my Kyros to find you, or—to find any evidence that what that traitor Kastor had said was true,” the man said, spitting out Kastor’s name in much the same way Damen did every time it was uttered. “But I knew I would not find such a thing. I knew that you were still alive—I just did not believe that I would be blessed enough to be the one to find you. Quick, quick,” he said, motioning to the trees, the same place he had appeared from. “I have horses for the two of us. We can be in Akielos in two days time, if we ride hard.”
Damen did not believe that he was being led into a trap; the man was too Akielon for something underhanded like that. Still, he didn’t share the man’s need for quickness, and at the moment had no intention of following him.
“I know you,” Damen said, peering at the man closely. The light was still thin, but the man’s face still held that whisper of something familiar. “A few years ago I attended a tour of Makedon’s land.”
“Makedon is my Kyros,” the man said, hitting his chest with his fist again. “It pleases me that you might remember me, Exalted.”
“You won the spear throwing contest,” Damen said. “Thirty five meters with a bullseye, if I recall.”
Even in the early morning light Damen saw the man’s face flush, and he knew he had guessed correctly. He was even sure that he remembered the man’s name, although something held it from his lips.
“You remember, Exalted,” the intruder said, with all the reverence of a man meeting his idol. “I am honored that you would take notice of such a thing.”
“Tell me your name,” Damen commanded.
“It is Pallas, sir. But—please, I implore you. We must leave now.”
His answer confirmed what Damen had already known and pushed any lingering doubts about the man’s intentions out of his mind entirely. He remembered Pallas; he had been one of Makedon’s best and brightest, and Makedon had spoken of him with the fond regard reserved for those he knew would bring the most acclaim to his name. Damen guessed that his instincts regarding the young man had been proven right, in this case, if Pallas had managed to find Damen despite being deep in enemy territory and looking for a presumed dead prince to boot.
“I appreciate that you’ve come here, Pallas,” Damen said, nodding regally at the man without even consciously meaning to. “And I will make sure that you are rewarded for your efforts. But—”
A loud noise sounded from down in the camp, the panicked sound of someone banging a piece of metal beating against another. An alarm. He darted a glance over at Pallas before sniffing the air for smoke; but there was nothing on the air except the clean smell of morning, and the wind was blowing to him.
“The horses!” he heard distantly from the camp. He thought it might be Jord. “They’ve escaped!”
“We are out of time,” Pallas hissed, coming closer to Damen but not daring to touch him. “We must leave now, Exalted. Please, I beg of you.”
Damen turned and ran back towards the camp.
He was aware of Pallas swearing and following behind him, although he paid little attention to the soldier. Damen flew across the rocks, all care from earlier gone as he ran towards the sound of the alarm. Jord was going from wagon to wagon, waking everyone inside.
“Damen, you’re here, thank the—wait. Who is that?” Jord asked, putting a hand to his sword belt.
Damen motioned for him to stand down, but Jord did not heed him.
“I’ll explain later. What happened to the horses?”
“Someone cut the ropes and spooked them,” Jord said, holding up part of a cut rope. “A deliberate attack. Would you like to tell me now who that is?”
“Pallas,” Damen said in Akielon, turning, “find the horses. Bring them back here. Do not return until this is done, do you understand?”
“Yes, Exalted,” Pallas said, obviously not understanding anything except that he had been given an order. He put his fist to his heart before running off towards the most likely direction the horses had taken.
“What in the three hells is happening right now—”
“Jord, get everyone assembled. We’ll go south through camp in a line. Tell the others not to make any loud noises,” Damen said, glancing at the pot and ladle in Jord’s hand. “The horses might be spooked, but they’re also not likely to go far from where they’re fed as long as we don’t make it worse. Okay?”
“Okay,” Jord said, but he looked at Damen for a moment before he left to wake the others, and all Damen could see in his gaze was betrayal and distrust.
All in all it took them a few hours to find all the horses and bring them back. No one asked any questions about Pallas, perhaps having already been warned of his presence by Jord, but no one could deny either that whoever he was he worked the hardest out of any of them to restore order to their caravan, running quickly from place to place and guiding the animals back to their pen. And Damen wasn’t about to tell them that Pallas had caused the incident in the first place, even though he suspected that many of them thought as much anyway.
Besides, Pallas had disappeared once all six horses had been returned. Damen wasn’t sure where he had gone; back to Akielos, he hoped, to let Makedon know that while Damen was alive he had possibly gone insane and was likely not coming home in any manner that might be helpful to them. Erasmus started cooking breakfast as they gathered around the campfire, the others huddling together and whispering quietly in groups of two or three. Charls would not stop making small, anxious circles around the group, wringing his hands, and every time Damen looked at Laurent he found Laurent looking back at him, watching carefully, his face blank except for the smallest furrow on his brow.
“This is not how I imagined this morning going,” Charls said, pausing in his pacing only long enough to utter those words before continuing. “We are going to be late for our arrival tonight.”
“We’ll be lucky if we make it at all,” Nicaise grumbled, “with the horses as spooked as they are.”
“Are we going to talk about what just happened?” Jord asked. He turned to Damen and poked a finger into his chest. “Who was that man you were with this morning? Why did he loose all of our horses and then help us find them again? What is going on, Damen?”
Damen was saved from having to come up with an answer by Pallas’ arrival. He rode in on a bay gelding that Damen had not seen before, and everyone watched as he nearly threw himself out of the saddle and sprinted over to put himself in between Damen and Jord.
“How dare you accost the Exalted like that,” Pallas said in Akielon, his hand on his sword. “I will cut you down for such disrespect. Exalted, I beg for the chance to defend your honor against this man.”
“Damen?” Jord asked, gesturing at Pallas and then back at Damen again. He couldn't understand what Pallas had said, but there was no misunderstanding the soldier's aggressive tone. “What is he saying? What is going on?”
“Pallas, stand down,” Damen said in his own language. “These men are not our enemies. They are my friends.”
“They disrespect you and your crown—”
“Enough,” Damen snapped. “I ordered you to stand down, soldier. Do not speak again unless I ask it of you.”
Pallas nodded, his face flaming with embarrassment, and bowed his head as he thumped his fist to his chest and stood at attention next to Damen. His mouth was pursed shut, and Damen knew that if he never gave him leave to speak again that he would be mute until the end of his days.
“Damen,” Laurent said softly, the first time he had spoken this morning. Damen was hit with the sudden realization that he hadn’t gotten to watch him wake up after all, hadn’t gotten to see that soft smile on his face when the first thing either of them saw was the other. They had made love for the first time last night, and now he might never get to find out what that smile would look like.
“What does
Exalted
mean?”
He pronounced the Akielon word a little awkwardly, a little stilted with the vowels drawn out in a very Veretian inflection. Pallas flinched next to him. Damen realized that it was the first time that Laurent had heard the word and a small, selfish little flare of hope burned in his chest; Laurent understood Akielon, but he didn’t understand what this meant. He could have time,
they
could have time, to do this right, as he had wanted to do.
But then Kallias stepped forward, and he remembered that there were other members of their crew who could understand Akielon.
“Exalted.” Kallais said it in perfect Akielon, and then switched back to Veretian for the benefit of the others. “It is a title of honor given to members of the royal family of Akielos, and used to address them alone. As far as I’m aware there are only two men who may use the title now—the King and the Crown Prince. Using the title on someone not of the royal family is punishable by death.”
Every eye in the camp had been traced on Kallias, but they all turned to Damen in unison after Kallias finished speaking. Damen did not care that they were all blatantly staring at him, their mouths opened slightly in shock. He only cared about one.
“Laurent,” he said, as the small flare in his chest flickered out and died. “I wanted to tell you. I promised that I would. I was going to tell you tonight—”
“Tell me now,” Laurent said. His voice was soft, and though there was no hint of anger underneath it Damen could not believe that he felt anything except betrayed. He wanted to go over to him, to wrap him in his arms and tell him how sorry he was, but he knew that Laurent would not want that. And it would not be enough anyway. It was too late to wish for anything else; Damen knew who he was, who he had always been. It was time.
“My name,” he said, his eyes never leaving Laurent, “my true name, is Damianos. My mother is the late Queen Egeria and my father is King Theomedes, and my brother…”
He stalled, for a moment. That information was already enough; it was what he had wanted to tell Laurent, what he had planned to tell Laurent when he had enough time to do it properly. But there were others here too, others who had been put in harm’s way because of him, and they deserved the truth. He looked over the troupe in front of him and found no accusation, no anger, only an awe that he could not look directly at for too long.
“My half-brother Kastor sent me to Vere and tried to have me killed. He wanted my death to start a war so that he could claim the throne as his own. Now I go home to confront him and to stop his plan. I am the true heir of Akielos, and I go to take back my crown.”
There was a stunned silence from the group, and Damen wondered almost hysterically if this was the quietest that they had ever been excepting the times—and only then just barely—when they were all asleep. Unfortunately he didn’t have to wonder for long, because after only a few seconds they exploded into chatter, all speaking at the same time over each other.
“So—wait. He’s actually a prince? I thought this might be a monologue audition.”
“Nicaise my boy, are you writing this down? ‘Take back the crown that is mine’, yes, write that down.”
“You lied to us.”
“I don’t have my notebook with me, Charls.”
“But—who’s the guy that let out all of our horses? Is he the brother? Er—half brother?”
“When were you planning on telling all this? When we were arrested for harboring a fugitive in Fortaine?”
“Of course he’s not the brother, idiot. They look nothing alike.”
“He’s not a fugitive, he’s a
prince
. There’s a difference.”
“Not nothing alike. Pretty cute, the both of them. If you ask me.”
“No one ever asks you anything, Lazar, because no one wants to hear your stupid horny opinions.”
“Stop,” Damen said, holding out his hands. No one listened, and they continued chattering among themselves. “Everyone, please. I can explain everything, I promise. I never meant to hurt any of you. I never thought it would get this far—hold on. Where did Laurent go?”
He looked around, but Laurent wasn’t with the rest of the group anymore. He would have had to pass right in front of him to get back to the wagon, and Damen didn’t think he’d go there now in any case. Everyone else was still chatting and bickering with each other, barely paying attention to him now that the secret was out. Frantic, his gaze fell on Niciase, who met his stare levelly. After a second the boy sighed, and nodded his head towards the forest.
Damen nodded back, grateful to find support even after everything, and went to go find Laurent.
“Stay,” he told Pallas when the soldier tried to follow him. He tried not to feel like he was ordering around a dog. “I’m just—I need to do this alone. Eat breakfast, if they’ll let you. You can have mine.”
He could still hear the confusion behind him as he plunged into the treeline. Laurent couldn’t have gotten too far unless he was running, which Damen couldn’t imagine he would do in this terrain, not with all the rocky outcroppings everywhere to trip him up. Damen ran, though, his feet flying over the sharp rocks beneath him.
The noise of the camp had faded entirely by the time Damen caught sight of Laurent, slumped against a tree, shoulders shaking quietly. So he hadn’t been running; he had probably only wanted to find somewhere quiet enough to gather his thoughts and stopped the moment he found some peace. Damen could hardly blame him for that.
“Laurent,” Damen said softly, nervous about approaching him. “Laurent, I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you.”
Laurent wasn’t making any noise but Damen could tell that it was an effort not to do so, his hands clamped firmly over his mouth to stop anything from coming out. Damen wasn’t sure if Laurent would want to be touched; he wasn’t sure if Laurent would ever want Damen to touch him again, even if that seemed an extreme reaction to this confession. The more he watched—those shoulders shaking against the tree, the stifled sounds threatening to break the dam of his hands—the more confused Damen became. Laurent didn’t seem the sort to act hysterically even to what Damen could admit was rather surprising information, and this reaction didn’t make any sense to him.
Damen reached out to touch his shoulder—
And Laurent threw his head back and laughed.
The sudden noise of it startled Damen, which caused Laurent to laugh even harder. There were tears beginning to come to his eyes from the force of his amusement, and every attempt to get himself under control was met with failure. He tried to take a few big gulps of air, but instead of a smooth breath coming out the giggles threatened to erupt again.
Damen did not know what to make of this. When he thought Laurent to be crying he had thought that it was, perhaps, an understandable reaction to finding out a secret of such magnitude, if a little much. Damen had convinced Laurent to trust him against his better judgment with slow, careful attention, and Laurent had been paid back in lies. But this laughter—it didn’t seem mean spirited, or even tinged with hysteria. It was pure, unadulterated amusement, and Damen couldn’t understand that at all.
He furrowed his brow. “If you’re quite done—”
“No, no, I’m sorry,” Laurent said, still wheezing and struggling to get his breathing under control. “I didn’t mean to—” a deep breath, “I had hoped to—” another breath, “to get myself put together—before you found me.”
“You are not angry,” Damen said carefully.
“Oh, Damen. I cannot be angry at you in this matter,” he said, and Damen thought that a fit of giggles was about to overtake him again before he managed to wrestle it down. “I understand exactly why you kept it to yourself. I am only sorry that you were made to admit to it before you were ready.”
Damen had not expected this sort of acceptance. He found himself slightly overwhelmed by it, by the graciousness of the easy forgiveness that Laurent was giving him.
“I promised I would tell you the truth about me before we left the troupe,” Damen said cautiously. “I was going to tell you tonight.”
“It doesn’t matter now. I believe you though, for what it’s worth. Oh, don’t look so surprised. I can hardly be mad at you for indulging in a little drama. It was my idea to join an acting troupe, after all. It’s only right you picked up some of their techniques. The world would be a lot more boring without a little secret here or there.”
“It’s not quite a ‘little’ secret,” Damen said.
Laurent shrugged. “In the scheme of things it is. You have a job that you hadn’t told me about, a job that you didn’t have to apply for or even necessarily need to be qualified for. I don’t see how that changes anything.”
“It’s more than a job,” Damen said, frowning. “It’s not a pastime that you can take up as you please. I have a duty to my people that I will always be beholden to.”
“Are you trying to convince me to be angry?” Laurent asked, the curve of his smile turning a little sharper. “Your title does not define you, Damen. If you expect me to treat you any differently because of it or grovel at your feet I will tell you right now that you will be disappointed.”
“I don’t want that,” Damen said. “I would prefer it if you treated me as you always have.”
“Callously?”
“As equals,” Damen said, frowning. “As friends.”
“Friends,” Laurent repeated distantly. “I don’t think that princes are allowed to have friends. They have subjects, and that is all.”
“You are not one of my subjects. You are not even Akielon; you are Veretian.”
“Ah. So you are allowed to have subjects and Veretians, then.”
“You are the only Veretian I have had,” Damen said.
Laurent gave him a long, cool look before tilting his head, just slightly, to acknowledge the hit.
“And if I asked you now,” Laurent said, a dangerous glint in his eye, “to get down on your knees and suck my cock. What would your title and responsibilities say about that? Is a prince allowed to get down on his knees for another man?”
“That has nothing to do with responsibilities, Laurent. You speak as if it’s something to be ashamed of but I would do it for you—gladly—if you asked, because I like pleasing you. I like watching you come, I like being the one to make you come, and if you let me I would like to do both again with you. Who we are together—that is between us only, and it is for us to decide what it means.”
“No room for any responsibility to your people there, I assume,” Laurent said, but he was blushing, and he could not work up his usual bite.
“You think too much. Come on,” he said, grabbing Laurent’s hand. “Let’s go back. I know Charls must be angry but I think I can convince him to let you stay with him.”
“Let me stay?” Laurent asked, making himself more comfortable against Damen as they walked back to camp. Damen could barely reconcile the fact that Laurent was touching him now when earlier he had been certain they would never get to have this again, and he forced himself to hold back from curling possessively around Laurent’s body.
“Yes,” Damen said, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “I know you had your own reasons for going to Ios, but you must understand why it would be so dangerous for you to do so, especially in my company. It’s entirely possible that Kastor will have an army waiting to greet me.”
“That makes it dangerous for you, not for me,” Laurent said. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m not going to stay. I’m going with you.”
“Charls will be able to keep you safe, Laurent, and that is something that I can’t guarantee. You can hide with him for as long as you need to, and I know he’d agree—”
“Damen,” Laurent said, digging his heels into the ground and pulling on Damen’s arm until he stopped and turned. “You misunderstand. Not surprising, since I’ve also been keeping one or two of those secrets that make the world a little less boring. But I can’t stay with Charls.”
Damen frowned. “Why not?”
“Because,” Laurent said, “I’ve been traveling to Ios this whole time to find
you
.”
Everyone had finished breakfast and was waiting for them by the time they returned—even Pallas was munching on a piece of toast as they made their way over. It became clear once no one moved from their spots by the fire that this was not going to be a private one on one meeting with Charls but an entire group affair, and so Damen stood at attention in front of everyone, Laurent by his side. Pallas came over and stood on his other side, toast still in hand.
“Okay, settle down everyone,” Charls said, motioning for the crew to stop talking. “Your highness, thank you for coming.”
“Please,” Damen said. Laurent snorted softly. “Call me Damen. Nothing has changed between us that would require you to address me as such.”
“That is elegantly said, I think. But not entirely true.” Charls clasped his hands behind his back and the troupe made room for his pacing, evidently familiar with this habit of his. “We have not known you very long, I admit. Not long enough for any of us to question why you kept such a secret to yourself. But at the same time, it wasn’t as if this secret came at no risk to us.”
Some gazes shifted to Pallas, who did not stop or slow down his chewing at the new attention. A few looked at Damen, and he could not fault them for blaming him for putting them in harm’s way. If their horses had not been found they would have been stranded in the woods for who knew how long, and that wasn’t the worst of what could have befallen them. If Govart had managed to get himself out from under that pile of rocks and track them here it could have been even more disastrous.
“Still, no harm did come to us,” Charls said, pausing his step for a moment before starting up again. “And it’s not as though you weren’t helpful during your brief time with us. So we have not found ourselves in the red, so to speak, and have only profited off of your presence here. I always said you had great charisma, my boy. Er, your highness.”
“Charls,” Nicaise whined, wiggling in his seat irritably. “The point, please.”
“Of course, my boy, yes,” Charls said, smiling at Nicaise. “Anyway. The troupe and I—minus the two of you, of course—oh, well, actually the three of you now, I suppose—have come to a decision about the best way to ensure our future success in light of this new information.”
Charls paused, ostensibly for dramatic effect. Damen could not even be mad.
“We,” he said with a flourish, “will help you steal into Akielos and assist you in dethroning your brother.”
A stunned silence met this offer. Damen knew it was a ridiculous proposal even as he was strangely charmed by it, and he was almost angry that he was going to be forced to deny them their offer of help.
“What on earth—” Laurent began.
“We cannot ask that of you,” Damen said.
“It is a good thing you did not ask us, then,” Charls said flippantly. “It was a unanimous decision, and let me tell you, I have never seen such agreement between my actors in my entire career. We cannot even decide on what play to produce as one, let alone something of this magnitude. And yet we came together for this. What does that tell you, then?”
“Is that true?” Damen asked, looking at Nicaise. “You have not quit in protest this time?”
“I’m expecting payment for my help, of course. A trunk of jewels would do nicely, and I know you’re good for it.”
“Wait—Nicaise is getting a trunk of jewels? I want one too,” Aimeric demanded.
“Don’t worry, I’ll give you a piece out of mine,” Nicaise said, tossing his head. “The ugliest one, of course.”
“And you? Jord? You must know the danger that awaits you better than the rest of them.”
Jord shrugged. “It has been a while since I’ve been in a good fight. I can’t promise I’ll be as useful as I would have been ten years ago, but it would be good to be a part of that again.”
“And I’ll go where you go, beautiful,” Lazar said, and Damen was not sure if it was him, Laurent or Pallas he was referring to. He would not be surprised to find it was all three.
“It has been a long time since we’ve been home,” Erasmus said shyly, looking up at Kallias with a fond expression. “It would be nice to see the cliffs of Ios again.”
“And as for me, my dear,” Charls said, “I am looking forward to find some inspiration for my next play.
Royalty in Disguise,
I might call it. Or no, how about this:
Betrayal, Murder, and the Akielon Prince.
”
“I quite like the first one,” Laurent said.
“I appreciate your willingness to help,” Damen said, trying to quiet the group, and he could not help but feel a new respect towards Charls for how easily he seemed to manage it. “And I cannot tell you what it means that you are willing to put your lives on the line to aid me. But I cannot allow you all to come with me. With us,” he said, looking over at Laurent.
“What, he gets to go and we don’t?” Nicaise said. “How is that fair?”
“It’s not about fairness,” Damen said. “If you came to Akielos with me and we got caught, you would not simply be sent back to Vere with a slap on the wrist. If Kastor’s men catch you we will all be hanged, if not beheaded on sight.”
“Your lack of faith in our ability to act ourselves out of any bad situation is not surprising, given you have not seen us do anything of the sort, and yet I find I am wounded anyway,” Charls said, holding his hand over his heart.
“Talking your way out of an unpaid tab at a tavern is not the same as being in enemy territory,” Damen said. “And possibly in the middle of a war zone. Not to mention your accents will give you away as Veretians immediately. You will likely be hanged as spies before anyone even finds out you’re hiding me as well.”
“Erasmus and Kallias are both natives, they can speak the language without raising any concerns. And Lazar is learning too, I believe.”
“I like cock,” Lazar said proudly in heavily accented Akielon.
Damen closed his eyes. It was as good as a death sentence for the troupe to come with them, and yet he had the feeling that it was becoming more and more impossible to talk them out of this. And Laurent was surprisingly quiet, not voicing any objections, which concerned him further.
They could agree to this. They could agree just to quiet everyone and then sneak away in the night. They would have to steal one of the horses to do it, but it would be worth it to keep the troupe safe. Or perhaps they wouldn’t even have to do that. They could take Pallas’s hose along with their own and Pallas could return to Akielos on foot, something he would do without question if Damen asked it of him.
For a brief moment he wished that Charls would listen to him as his own men would. He remembered the first time he had laid eyes on the man, certain that he was about to die, and how he had made such a fool of himself trying to help save his life.
“Damen,” Laurent said, and Damen opened his eyes to look over at him. “Not to put you on the spot, but have you come up with a plan to get us safely to Ios?”
“I—have not put much thought to it yet,” he admitted. When he thought about confronting Kastor he had done so without putting too much effort into the details of how he would get there, only what Kastor’s face might look like once he learned he was alive. “I suppose…once we’re in Akielos I will go to the nearest kyros who is loyal to me. Delpha. Nikandros is an old friend of mine, I know he will help. From there we can send word to my father, and then—”
And then his father would fix everything. Damen knew that he would. No matter what lies Kastor had told him, Theomedes would want to see Damen again, he knew that much.
“It seems, then,” Laurent said, “that perhaps it would not be unwelcome to have help getting to Delpha. Surely there is no harm in traveling there with Charls. And as he said before, actors are given a bit of leeway that others are not. Perhaps continuing to disguise ourselves as one of them would be the best move, at least until we meet this friend of yours. And Delpha is not far. We could send them back if it looks like it will be more dangerous than we thought.”
It was a decent plan. And he was hardly chaining himself to these actors until they reached Ios; they were only going to Delpha, barely a days’ ride on open horseback after they hit the border.
He could feel everyone holding their breath waiting for his answer, and their excitement bubbled over and crested before he could even open his mouth to agree.
“All right,” he said, amidst the cheers of the others, not sitting anymore but scrambling to leave. “We will go together. But only until Delpha, mind you.”
“Adventure awaits us, my dears!” Charls cried out. “Lazar, Jord, ready the horses. We leave immediately. Today we go not to Alier to impress the locals with our superb acting, but to Akielos, to return the lost heir to his throne.”
“Nicaise, write that down!” Aimeric called out, and Nicaise answered with a whoop as they bustled around the camp getting ready to leave, as efficient as any army Damen had ever traveled with.
By the time they got underway the morning had fled completely, and Damen sat in the front wagon with Charls. He was loath to be separated from Laurent, especially since he had more than a few important things he wanted to talk to him about, but Laurent had told him they would talk later and walked off with Nicaise, his bench partner for the day. Pallas had not been thrilled when he had heard the plan, and he had not been thrilled to be seated with Lazar either, especially after the man repeated the—apparently—only Akielon phrase he knew a few more times for good measure. Damen had rescinded the order that Pallas not talk and Pallas had responded to Lazar with a few choice phrases of his own, but Lazar had not understood them and had somehow taken the man’s obvious distaste towards him as an invitation to continue in his pursuit of the soldier’s affection.
“Okay,” Damen said as the afternoon wore on into evening. “Let’s go over this again. If we encounter a scouting party—”
“Damen,” Charls said gently, “we have been over this already. Multiple times. And I appreciate that you want to ensure that we are well prepared, but I assure you that we have weathered a fair number of complicated situations in the past. This is not our first foray into dangerous territory, you know.”
“But it might be the first where the penalty for missing a line is death,” Damen said.
“You underestimate us,” Charls answered, and Damen knew that Charls would take no more disrespect about their acting capabilities.
They continued on in silence for a while, watching the landscape roll by. It was strange, being in the front of the caravan like this, and Damen restrained himself from continually looking backwards to make sure that the rest of the wagons were following behind them.
“That play you were writing,” Damen said as a farmer moved over to the side of the road to let them pass, watching them with wide eyes. “The one about the royal family.”
“Ah yes,” Charls said, rubbing his head nervously. “A pithy thing, really. I hadn’t realized how poor the writing was until I reread it recently. Beyond saving, I’m afraid.”
“That’s too bad,” Damen said as neutrally as he could. “But—it’s based on the real royal family, is it not?”
“Only barely. I have not, unfortunately, had enough success in my career to know the ins and outs of the royal family personally, or to be present for any of the conversations between them. That is all made up. But the bones of it, yes, that is true. It seems that they have suffered almost as much as you have with your own family, my boy. It must be a hard thing to wear the crown.”
Damen didn’t answer. Ruling a kingdom was hard work indeed; but then, he had never known hunger, never known the pain of not having a roof over his heard—at least not until the last month had shown him both—and he thought that maybe it wasn’t any harder than the work that most people were thrust into, just different. And yet it was rewarded with so much more.
“Why do you ask?”
“I was just curious,” Damen said. “My father—he concerned himself with martial information. Troop formations, battle plans, supply lines. Anything not part of that was considered inconsequential. I knew of the plague that hit Arles. But I did not know how badly it hit the people there. The destruction that it wrought.”
In fact, Damen barely remembered the incident at all; he had been fifteen, sixteen maybe when it happened. He had only just been allowed to sit in with his father in certain council meetings, but no one there had seemed overly concerned with the possibility of the plague spreading to Akielos, given the chilly relation between the two countries. They had closed their ports to Veretian ships out of an excess of caution, but the trade between them was sparse enough that it was barely missed. Besides, dying of sickness was not the same as being defeated on the battlefield; no victories could be claimed from something like that, no heroic tales to be sung, and so Damen could imagine quite clearly how little it would have interested him at the time. And since the Regent had taken over control of the Veretian government quickly and without any threat of open hostility towards Akielos, in a few years the incident had been forgotten entirely.
But not by everyone. Laurent would wear the scars of it for the rest of his life.
“We never spoke of the royal family except in relation to how they could fight,” Damen explained. “I was barely even aware there was a younger prince. I thought perhaps he was a babe when his family died, necessitating a regency, but to hear he was already in his teens—I find it odd that he was never mentioned to me, considering he is to take the crown in just a few years.”
“Oh, I doubt very much he’ll do anything of the sort,” Charls said. His excitement about the two princes’ story from the other day had vanished, replaced now with a troubled sort of melancholy. “No one has expected that he’d actually be able to wear the crown for…well, I don't think anyone ever expected it, really. Not as a ruler in his own right, at least. Perhaps as a puppet for the Regent, but that is all.”
“Was he that disfigured by the plague?”
“In a physical sense no, not at all. I’ve heard he came out quite often after the plague was over, helping those in need, those who had been displaced, and everyone who saw him reported that he was in fact quite a stunning young beauty, a feat only surpassed by his kindness and compassion towards his people. He must have been about—oh, twelve, maybe thirteen when the plague hit? But I don’t believe he’s been out in public for years, so there’s no telling what he’s like now. As for everything else—well. It’s all rumors, of course. Some have said that complications from his sickness eventually blinded him, others say it took his hearing and his voice. The only thing most people agree on is that it took his mind in some way, although I’ve heard it told that at times he can act quite natural, and even be quite charming.”
“So…nothing. You basically know nothing,” Damen said, his tone light.
Charls scowled theatrically at him. “It is a tough business, my boy, chasing rumors. Everyone has their own motivation for spreading such things, and it is quite a lot of work to figure out the small kernels of truth behind all the pieces.”
“But is it not strange that the heir to the crown is so reclusive? That no one has even seen enough of him to know if he is blind or not? Or if he can even speak?” Damen asked. He could not imagine disappearing into the palace for years without ever coming out to see his people, to visit the men and women in the marketplace, to spar and train with his soldiers. It would probably be a lot like vanishing into thin air one night and never being seen again, he thought darkly.
“Well, it is strange, yes,” Charls admitted. “But the Regent is a…capable man. He enjoys his vices a little too freely, perhaps, but he does not overly tax the merchants, and he does not cause the peasants too much trouble. It has been comfortable under his rule.”
“Except he is only in control of the regency, not the crown itself,” Damen said pointedly. “And he is currently leading your country to war. That will not be comfortable to anybody if it comes to pass.”
“Perhaps you are right,” Charls said. He looked to be deep in thought, and for a while the two of them were silent as the landscape passed them by, rolling hills and rocks and forests falling behind them.
“You know,” Charls murmured, almost as if he were speaking to himself, “the only consistent thread in all the rumors I have heard is how inconsistent they are. I have been told by fairly trustworthy men that they’ve seen the prince in the market, if you can believe that, dressed in disguise like he's in some sort of fairy tale, and then in the same breath will tell me they have proof that he is blind. I have heard that he is well educated, silver tongued and clever, and then not two sentences later will be gleefully told about how he nearly put the country in danger with his idiocy.”
“The entire country, in danger?” Damen asked. “How would that even work, if he has no power?”
“Oh, it’s an old story. One of the few that multiple people agree on, actually, because of how public it was. Back when he was still seen in public, you know, about fourteen years old or so. Apparently he brought in a Vaskian delegation under the guise of discussing peaceful matters and then froze right up in front of them like he was touched in the head.”
“Froze?” Damen said, frowning. For some reason Laurent’s warning about Writing sounded through his head;
It’s important to be accurate with these things,
Laurent had said to him, so many days ago now.
Anything else is just messy.
“Oh yes, right as the delegation came forward to greet him, if I remember correctly. Pride, hubris, idiocy, or some mix of all three; if you hear people call him the Ice Prince, it is because of that encounter.”
“Freeze has connotations of ice,” Damen murmured.
“Well, it’s a metaphorical title, of course. But it was a huge scandal. I believe it was the last time the prince was widely seen by the public. The Vaskians were nearly ready to start attacking right then and there, I’ve heard.”
“The Vaskians wouldn’t do something so foolish as attacking the prince of an allied nation,” Damen said.
“I do not know how much you know of the Vaskians,” Charls said, “but they absolutely would do that if they believed their honor to be in question. As I understand it the Empress’ retinue—not the Empress herself, of course, she would never leave her seat in Skarva—they had approached the Veretian envoys sent to greet them, the prince included. And the Vaskians performed their greeting, their symbolic laying down of weapons, and waited for the prince to do the same. But he did not. He stood there, imperious, meeting their eyes and refusing to move, his sword still strapped to his side. He didn’t move a single muscle.”
Damen winced. Akielos and the empire of Vask were not close by any means, separated as they were by Patras, but he knew enough about them to know that they would have most decidedly seen such a move as a play of aggression, made even worse coming from a man. Or a boy, really. He would have been Nicaise’s age at that time. He remembered watching Nicaise and Aimeric throw acorns at each other the day that they met, the way they had been laughing together like the children they were.
“Eventually he simply collapsed,” Charls continued. “Like all of his strings were cut at once. Which the Vaskians also took as an aggression, of course they did. The Regent was beside himself with worry, but he managed to smooth things over with the envoy. Or—I assume he did, at least. The Vaskians never attacked us, after all, and it was many years ago that it happened. I believe we are in the clear.”
“But—hasn’t anyone tried to help him since that day?” Damen asked, feeling like he was reaching for a handhold on a mountain that he was climbing but couldn’t see. “That sounds like—doesn’t the entire situation sound very convenient for the Regent? A prince no one ever sees, a mysterious illness no one has ever tried to cure?”
“Oh, my boy,” Charls said, looking over at him with pity in his eyes. “Of course they’ve tried to cure him. The Regent does not
want
to rule, you know. He does so out of obligation, but everyone knows he would much rather be holding court and throwing parties than taking on the mantle of such a grave responsibility. He has called doctors from all over to help his nephew, healers and spiritual advisors from every imaginable place.”
“And Calligraphers? Do you know if he has called them?”
“Calligraphers?” Charls repeated, laughing. “Oh dear. I know you’ve not had much experience with Writing, my boy, given you are Akielon born. But I don’t think there’s any way that a Calligrapher could help with the situation. Perhaps they’d be able to soothe him in some way, I don’t know. I’ve heard that some Calligraphers can help with things like that. I’m sure it’s been tried.”
Damen frowned. He didn’t want to reveal what he knew about Writing—which he was aware was very little in the scheme of things anyway—in case Laurent did not want such knowledge to become public. But he could ask Laurent about it later. Something did not sit right with him after hearing about the trials the Prince of Vere had gone through, even if they were just rumors. It was possible that Laurent knew more about it than Charls did, having spent at least some time in Arles. Perhaps he had even seen the prince himself, when he was younger. They had to be nearly the same age.
“Ah, look! Do you see that glint over there, my boy?”
Charls pointed off in the distance, and Damen squinted. He could see what he thought Charls was referring to, a mirror slicing through the land reflecting the colors of the setting sun, and he nodded.
“A lake. A nice enough place to camp for the night, I think, and possibly even bathe. The heavens above know we could use it. Er, not that you smell, your majesty. That is, not that much. That is—”
“Oh Charls, you were doing so well,” Damen said, and then they were caught up in arranging the wagons, and the unease that had settled into his bones disappeared in the light of the camp, in the way Laurent smiled when he saw him, and the chatter of the troupe chased all his worries away as they all settled in for the night.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Come on,” Laurent said, after dinner had finished and they had all helped clean up the camp. “Let’s go for a walk. You can tell your dog to stay.”
Damen looked over at Pallas, resignedly staring into the fire as Lazar chatted at him in Veretian. Pallas probably understood one word in ten, but that didn’t stop the flow of words coming from the other man’s mouth. Damen motioned for him to stay when he stood up and Pallas sighed deeply, the most annoyance he dared show to his prince, and sat back down and put his hands over his ears. This still did not stop Lazar, and Damen could hear him still talking as he walked away.
Laurent tucked himself into Damen’s side as they left the area that had been cleared for the wagons and ventured into the forest, the light and the sound of chatter fading in the distance. It was dark out, but not impossible to see. The moon was bright and the lake reflected enough light that it was possible for them to traverse safely, if a bit carefully.
“You are nothing like I imagined you'd be, you know,” Laurent said, once they were far enough from camp to not be overheard.
“Oh? What did you expect me to be like?”
“The Prince of Akielos? Seven feet tall at least, and hulking with muscle. A perpetual sneer on your face as you condescended to speak to those you believed beneath you, which would be everyone. The blood of your enemies on a sword that never left your hand. We were not given very comprehensive or unbiased education on Akielons, as you can tell,” Laurent said.
“It is a wonder you deigned to speak to me in the first place, if that is what you think of Akielons,” Damen said. He knew what the image of his homeland was to their neighbors, especially the fragile Veretians. He knew that it wasn’t entirely made of fiction, and that his countrymen did little to stop such prejudices as it generally made others think twice about antagonizing them.
“I had an entire proposal all planned out. I practiced it for…years,” Laurent said, stopping them at the water’s edge to peer down into the blackness. Out in the distance Damen could see their camp, but the campfire was a small slip of flame, the people around it barely shadows. Laurent continued to stare down into the water, as if he could see something there. He was leaning forward just slightly, and Damen tightened his grip on Laurent’s arm.
“What was it about? Your proposal, I mean.”
The question made Laurent look up as if he had forgotten Damen was there, his eyes flashing unnaturally in the dark.
“I—it doesn’t matter now, really,” Laurent said, pushing them forward once again and settling in against Damen’s side. “It was a lot of nonsense, though none of it was untrue.
Reasons why my ability to Write would be useful to you in battle. Logical bargains we could make to prove that I was trustworthy that would cost you nothing and me everything. Different ways my work could be used to smite your enemies. And the only thing I wanted in return was a guarantee of my safety, and your promise I would never be turned back over to Vere for any reason, no matter the cost. It was a child’s way of thinking,” he said softly, “which makes sense, since that’s what I was when I thought of it. But that's not what I want to tell you anymore.”
Damen stayed quiet. He had the feeling that Laurent was working up his courage to tell him something important, and he did not want to distract him or sway the conversation in some other way. They ambled through the forest near the lake, the sound of the water gently lapping against the shore keeping them grounded.
“Do you know how Calligrapher’s glass is made?” Laurent asked suddenly, as formal as a professor at the head of a class.
“I don’t,” Damen said, blinking at the unexpected question. “I suppose I should—all of the Akielon priests have a piece in their temples. The King’s Guard keeps watch over each one, so I always knew they were valuable. But I never thought to ask how they were made.”
He had never thought of Writing at all, not beyond the casual curiosity that most everyone had. Not before he met Laurent.
“I would be surprised if you did know anything, actually,” Laurent said. “It’s a complicated process, and not known by many. By design, of course. It takes years to manufacture a good sheen on the glass. Three years is the bare minimum; ten years is not out of the question for a truly powerful piece. And the chemicals used in the process are volatile, and extremely dangerous to mine. If the mixture is off by even the weight of a piece of dust then the glass can crack, and become useless.”
“So they cost a fortune in upfront costs and are likely to break before those costs can be recouped,” Damen said. “I can’t imagine there’s many willing to take that risk.”
“You’d be surprised. When I said that they are expensive, I wasn’t exaggerating. Those two small pieces I gave you might be enough to fund a respectably large band of mercenaries if you ever get tired of riding around with Charls.”
Damen blinked. He had known the glass to be valuable; for a while he had been counting on it to buy a few horses for them. But he hadn’t thought it enough for
that
.
“Good to know,” Damen said, and then, “but you didn’t want to lecture me on glass manufacturing, I think.”
Laurent huffed. “No, I suppose I didn’t. What I meant to say was that—when you have something that is both extremely volatile and extremely valuable, there will always be people trying to even that equation. And they don’t want to detract from the valuable side, of course, so it’s the volatility that they try to control. The chemicals can’t be changed, we know that, not even by a single iota. So it’s the glass that comes up under scrutiny next.”
“Temper the glass, somehow,” Damen said. “It can be done with steel.”
“Yes, but the glass needs to stay clear enough to see through, so stabilizers can’t be added. And making the glass thicker doesn’t work either, because you need more chemicals to affect it, which just compounds the original problem.”
“So what is the solution then, besides giving this business up entirely and going into cloth trading?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Laurent said, and he stopped their aimless wandering and turned to face Damen, eyes blazing. “If the glass is the problem, the riskiest part of the bottom line, then all you need to do is take it out of the equation altogether.”
“But—the glass is how you see—”
Damen stopped. He remembered the first time he had seen Laurent, walking into that pet house as if he owned the place. His wealth and stature had been obvious, but the first thing that Damen had noticed wasn’t his clothes or his affect. It had been his eyes, blue as a glacier and bright like the flicker of a lamp. He remembered asking Laurent why he had never seemed to need glasses to see Writing, and only now realized he had never gotten a clear answer.
He remembered the way that Laurent had looked at him that night they made love, the way that he was looking at him now, that wolf’s eye reflection in the light of the moon. Like nothing he had ever seen before.
“No,” Damen said mindlessly, “no one would be so cavalier as to—”
“As to do something dangerous in the pursuit of power?” Laurent said, turning and continuing down the path so hurriedly that Damen had to rush to follow. “Something a little, let’s say, ethically dubious in order to gain an advantage? Ah yes, no one has ever done such things before in the history of humankind. Especially not for something as gauche as power.”
“But—those chemicals you spoke of. Even under the best circumstances—if you put those in your eyes it would blind you.” He remembered how the world had looked through the glass when he held it up; blurry, dark, full of shadows and ghosts.
The Writing the only bright thing he could see. He couldn’t imagine never getting to put down the glass, never seeing the true colors of the world behind it ever again.
“Not entirely,” Laurent said dismissively, as if he hardly cared. “The treatment made things different, not necessarily worse. In some ways vision like mine can be even better than yours, under certain circumstances. Over there, for instance.” He pointed to the left, away from the lake. “Forty, maybe fifty paces away, watching us. Do you see them?”
Damen looked out into the darkness, but saw nothing except trees. The wind blew through the canopy, rustling the leaves and causing the underbrush to sway, but he could not make out anything in the dark.
“No,” he said, because he knew Laurent was waiting for him to admit as much.
“There are three deer there, fully grown, with one fawn. The fawn isn’t watching us, but the other three take turns. There’s a number of squirrels sleeping in the trees as well, and…an opossum, perhaps? Over to the left. Something small and furry, I don’t know. If there were soldiers waiting to ambush us, I would be able to pick them out in the dark as well. You see? I can be useful on the battlefield, even if I can’t fight like you do.”
“I don’t understand,” Damen said helplessly.
“Oh. Well, you see, it can be advantageous in battle to know where you enemy is in the dark, and—”
“Not that,” Damen snapped, knowing that Laurent was baiting him and angry that he had fallen for it anyway. “I thought that—when I looked through the glass, I could only see the Writing. Everything else was just a blur. How is it that you can see—more?”
“Writing is just concentrated magic. And magic is in every living thing,” Laurent said, and shrugged, “which means if you can see one, you can see the other. Writing is easier to see, certainly, because of how bright it is, but anything that’s alive—animals, people, trees, grass—has an outline of magic around it. Being able to see that was one of the advantages that came out of working on the human eye instead of glass.”
“The advantages,” Damen repeated. “You risked your eyesight, the ability to see—for some
advantages
?”
“It was hardly a risk,” Laurent scoffed, “especially compared to the potential benefits. By the time I volunteered to undergo the treatment—”
“You
volunteered
?”
“—there hadn’t been a death in the facility for nearly half a year. There was very little chance of me dying."
"Very little chance," Damen repeated again.
"Humans are capable of healing from the greatest indignities," Laurent said, continuing as if Damen hadn't spoken this entire time. "We even do it while we sleep, and without consciously thinking of doing so. It isn’t so surprising that our capabilities can be pushed further than a piece of glass.”
They were walking along the shoreline of the lake, the sound of the water lapping against the rocks mirroring the sound of blood pounding in Damen’s head. He could understand the benefits in what Laurent was telling him, could even imagine how powerful a weapon Laurent would have seemed if he had come to him while Damen was in Ios, making a case there. Being able to see enemy formations in the dark, using Writing to cover up their own supply lines and scouts and weapons while the enemy was unable to do the same without considerable effort—he understood now why it was that Laurent could do more with Writing than anyone else he had ever heard of, and knew what a boon it would be to have someone like him on their side. How messy, too, if Vere also knew what he was capable of and was eager to get him back, which they surely were.
But the bigger, more urgent part of him was simply horrified. At the pain and uncertainty Laurent must deal with every day. That he had ever been in a situation that caused him to entertain this extreme measure as a viable solution in the first place. Damen thought of the Writing that had been on Laurent’s arm, that small patch of scarred skin, and could not help but imagine that the two of those were connected. The Words couldn’t be sliced off, Laurent had said. But he had gotten them off in the end after all.
As they were walking, Laurent tripped over a rock by the beach as he had done hundreds of times in their journey so far. It caused him to stumble, and Damen was there to steady him even as Laurent waved off his help. He understood now why Laurent seemed to trip up every time they were forced to walk through the forest—if he could only see living things, as he had said, then rocks and fallen trees and other debris must look like nothing more than shapeless blurs on the ground to him.
“It must have hurt,” Damen murmured.
“I barely stubbed my toe. I’m fine.”
“No,” Damen said, “not that.”
Laurent scoffed, the tension in his body apparent even in the darkness of the evening. Damen could see it along his shoulders, his hands, even the way he walked. He wondered if Laurent could see the same in him, if the outline of magic he had talked about was fine enough to distinguish things like that—furrowed brows, pursed lips. If he could see the look in Damen’s eye when he thought about how much he wanted him.
“It hardly matters anymore,” he said carelessly.
“It matters,” Damen said, ignoring the warning tone and grabbing Laurent by the wrist only long enough to stop him. “It matters to me. It matters that you were hurt. It matters that you felt as if you had no other options except to take on such hurt. It matters because—no one should have to endure what you’ve endured, Laurent.”
“And so what,” Laurent said, throwing the words at Damen like knives. “You want me to cry and wail and gnash my teeth about it? I wanted power, and I got it. More than I had ever hoped for. Just because you wouldn’t be willing to make such a decision doesn’t mean that I was wrong to do so.”
“Power would not have tempted you if you had any to begin with,” Damen said softly. “You should not have been in a situation where you needed to make a choice of that magnitude. Especially not as a child.”
“You have no idea about the choices I would have made,” Laurent said, his voice low and deadly, “to free myself from the chains that were around my neck. And you have no idea about the choices I’m making still. Do you think that I’ve truly been ignorant about who you were this entire time?”
Damen’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest, and he shook his head.
“No. You didn’t know who I was when we made love. You had no motive there beyond your own want.”
“I would never have let you fuck me if I didn’t think I could get something out of it,” Laurent spat with gleeful cruelty. “I thought being connected to some rich merchant’s son or the captain of the guard would be useful to me. Imagine my surprise when I found out the situation was so much better than I could have hoped for. To be the lover of the prince of Akielos himself. I may not have known the details, but they could not have worked out better in my favor.”
Damen felt dizzy.
“Stop it, Laurent,” he said.
“I didn’t need to know you were a prince to know that I could use you. I knew from the very moment I met you that common Akielons do not teach their sons the language of Vere. I knew that you fought in the style of the old masters, likely trained by tutors. I knew you weren’t some lowborn soldier. I let you fuck me because I knew that at some point I would be able to use it against you. And I was right, wasn’t I?
Prince Damianos.
”
Hearing his full name like that, spit out with such distaste, Damen found that his patience was at an end.
He had wanted Laurent to say that name, to know it. He had wanted it whispered to him in bed, in his ear, calling him down the halls of the palace in Ios as laughter rang around the marble columns there. The way that Laurent said it now—full of sarcasm, bite, a little cruelty—that was not what he’d imagined at all.
He moved fast enough that Laurent had no hope of countering him. He tangled their legs so that Laurent lost his footing and Damen could push him back against a tree, one palm cushioning the impact so that he did not hurt his head and the other grabbing Laurent’s wrists and pinning them above his head. Laurent’s eyes were wide but he didn’t cry out, as if he had expected this anger, or thought he deserved it.
“Go ahead then, Laurent,” Damen said, careful to keep his voice from shaking. “Tell me how you didn’t want me. Tell me how much you hated my mouth on you, how you despised the way my cock felt inside of you, stretching you open. You think I don’t know you too?”
Laurent made a soft, desperate sound and closed his eyes, but he didn’t say anything, didn’t fight against Damen’s grip on his wrists, and so Damen went on.
“I know that you lost everything when your family died, and whoever took care of you afterwards wasn’t good to you. I know that you were Written, and that it was used to hurt you over and over again. I know you thought you hurt me too by Writing me in the same way, but the only person who ever suffered for it was you. And I know that you need me. You need me to help you, and I seem to be the only person who can, if you fled your home and everything you knew to find me. So I will tell you this now, Laurent, and I assure you that this will be the last time I do so: You have it. You have my help in any way that’s possible for me to give it. I promise you that.”
Laurent’s eyes flew open. Surprise, disbelief—it was all there, clear as day before Laurent reined it in a second later. Damen released Laurent’s wrists from above his head, stepped away from him, and for a moment Laurent kept his hands where they were before lowering them and rubbing absently, staring at Damen with wide eyes. He looked younger than his twenty years, and Damen’s heart ached.
“Go ahead and tell me whatever you like,” Damen said. “That you were using me. That you were manipulating me. That everything you’ve said to me these past few weeks has been a lie. I will believe you, if you say it. But it will not change my promise to you. Nothing will, except my death.”
Laurent sighed, a rough exhale, and leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes. For a moment they stayed like that, like two lovers huddled against a rainfall, waiting for the storm to pass. Damen listened to the even sounds of Laurent’s breath, watched the way his chest moved up and down underneath his jacket.
“Sometimes,” Laurent said absently, distracted, and Damen had the insane idea that he was intuiting Laurent's thoughts rather than hearing him talk out loud, “sometimes I think that I understand you. You live your life, you make mistakes, you eat and sleep and fuck just like all other men do. But then you say things like that, and I—”
He opened his eyes, strangely blue and icy even in the moonlight. An unnatural color found nowhere in nature. Damen should have known.
“I don’t think you’re a man at all,” Laurent said softly. “I think you must be some sort of deity sent down from the heavens, to either tempt me or kill me. Both, maybe. And I—
oh
, Damen,” he said, the expression on his face the same as a man taking the first step off the edge of a cliff. “I think I would let you do either one.”
Damen breathed in once, deeply.
“I am a man,” he said, “same as you. The only difference between us is that I try to be good.”
“Yes, you’re trying very hard, aren’t you?” Laurent murmured. “Sounds like such a chore.”
“You make it more difficult.”
“I know.” Laurent tilted his head down, and then looked up through his golden lashes, alluring and predatory at the same time. “Would you like it to be easier?”
“No,” Damen said, reaching up and cupping Laurent’s cheek with his hand. He did so unthinkingly, without any motive besides wanting to be as close to Laurent as possible, and Laurent responded in kind, nuzzling into his touch. “I would not have you any way except the way that you are.”
Laurent made a strange, desperate sound, and then he pulled Damen towards him, their lips crashing together in a desperate, wanting kiss. Damen kept his hand against the tree to keep him from crushing Laurent, the bark rough against his palm. Laurent’s legs fell open and Damen took advantage, pressing in closer, relishing the low sound of want Laurent made.
“Damen,” Laurent gasped, his hands on Damen’s back as Damen leaned in to press his lips against his neck. “Tell me you brought the oil with you.”
“I didn’t,” Damen said, dizzy with how much he wanted it. “I—we’re outside, Laurent.”
Apparently Laurent found this amusing, for some reason, and Damen felt the hot breath of laughter against his skin.
“We are outside,” Laurent agreed pleasantly. “And it would be a long, uncomfortable walk back to our wagon in this state.”
“It will be one for you anyway if you insist on doing this without oil.”
“Have you learned nothing from your time with this acting troupe?” Laurent asked, and fixed him with a determined gaze. “
Improvise
.”
Damen did not waste time pointing out what Charls would do to them if they ever tried to improvise anything, and instead leaned in to kiss him once again, gently, gently. For a moment he allowed himself to revel in it, the feeling of Laurent slowly melting underneath him, the pieces of his armor slowly slipping away, baring him. Damen could feel Laurent's arousal against his leg and when he pressed forward Laurent rutted up against him, chasing the small friction he could find there. Damen felt the flare of his own arousal heating his blood.
When he broke the kiss Laurent whimpered, a sound as soft as the wind, and Damen moved his thumb to press against Laurent’s lips, wet with saliva. Laurent’s eyes fluttered open and Damen glanced up, briefly, before his gaze fell to rest on Laurent’s lips.
Laurent understood what he was asking. He parted his lips enough to kiss the pad of Damen’s thumb, but then leaned back playfully, pursing his mouth shut. Damen growled, took a moment to trace the curl of Laurent’s smile, and then pressed on his lips again.
This time Laurent obliged him, and took his finger into his mouth.
He used his teeth a bit too forcefully be enticing, but he wasn’t trying to hurt as much as warn. Laurent sucked Damen’s thumb into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the pad, against his knuckle, and then pumped it in and out of his mouth in such a graphically filthy way that Damen had to lean hard on his other hand—the one that wasn’t currently being fellated—against the tree so that he didn’t fall over.
“Fuck,” Damen said, and when Laurent laughed he felt the vibrations of it through his hand. He didn’t think he had ever been so hard in his life, and he pushed against Laurent, pressing his arousal against Laurent’s leg.
He pulled his thumb out of Laurent’s mouth, nearly forgetting what his plan had been in the first place. Right. Laurent had told him to improvise. Laurent’s mouth already looked wrecked, wet with saliva, his lips bruised from kissing, but he didn’t look apprehensive at all—or surprised—when Damen pressed two fingers against his mouth.
It was possible that Laurent might not do this at all. The dangerous glint in his eye said that Damen was pushing some limit, some boundary that he had not been entirely aware was dangerous to cross. He did not make a demand of it, would not force access where it was not wanted, but when he relented the pressure Laurent parted his lips in invitation and grabbed Damen’s wrist so that he could control the tempo.
Despite whatever reticence he had been dealing with, Laurent took Damen's fingers down in one practiced motion, hollowing out his cheeks as he did so. Damen had to look away. It was too obscene to watch; Laurent had tried to eviscerate him with that mouth only minutes earlier, and now it was impossible to imagine that it had ever been used for anything except pleasure. Damen had only wanted Laurent to cover his fingers with spit in the absence of oil, to improvise in the only manner he could think of, but the filthy way that Laurent was pumping Damen’s fist, sliding fingers in and out of his mouth—Damen was liable to finish before he had even had a chance to use them. He looked up and met Laurent’s eyes, unfocused and hazy and lacking any of the tension from earlier; Laurent was enjoying this too.
“Stop,” Damen said, pulling his hand away from Laurent’s grip. “Stop. If I watch you do that any longer I will finish without even being touched.”
“But I was touching you,” Laurent said sweetly. “A small part of you, at least. As well as a not so small part,” he said, rubbing his thigh against Damen’s cock.
“I am—
ah
—trying to improvise,” Damen said, “as you ordered. Let me.”
“Well, if I ordered it,” Laurent said, and leaned back to let Damen work.
He began undoing Laurent’s trousers. Too late he realized he should have done this before letting Laurent suck on his fingers, but that was one of the downsides of improvisation. It took him a moment to get the laces undone during which Laurent was not at all helpful, but his amused detachment came to an end when Damen put his hands around his cock, spit slick fingers sliding over the soft skin there, deliciously hard under his grip.
If Laurent had asked it of him he would have gotten on his knees right there, damn whatever dirt stains it would leave on him. But he hadn’t, and he didn’t, and so Damen continued on with his plan, keeping one hand on Laurent and using the other to undo the laces on his own trousers.
It was difficult, for a few different reasons. His pants were uncomfortably tight, and every time he moved the rough fabric of his trousers brushed against his already-sensitive cock. But this time Laurent did not wait for Damen to fumble through the laces and reached down to help him, parting the fabric with unerring accuracy in a matter of seconds.
It was strange, to be doing such things outside. Damen had never been adventurous in this way, had always believed that there was a time and place for such things, but he had also never been as swamped with desire as he was right now. He was half crazed with it, with the way that the wind played with Laurent’s hair, the way that the sounds of distant birdcall and nighttime insects harmonized with Laurent’s small, desperate gasps, the way the leaves crunched under his feet as he rearranged his legs so that he could take both his cock and Laurent’s in one hand.
“How would you like it?” Damen asked him.
“I have no idea,” Laurent said distractedly, his gaze fixedly down. “I have never—this is wholly new to me.”
It hadn’t been what Damen meant by the question, but he understood. He had wanted to know what kind of touch Laurent wanted—firm, gentle, rapid, slow. But the sight of their cocks pressed together was arresting; Damen’s cock seemed much darker against Laurent’s pale, milky skin, illuminated by the light of the moon, the only light that touched them now. Damen’s hand was not quite big enough to close around them both, but then Laurent reached down—hesitant, as if he expected to be slapped away—and closed the circle around them.
Damen did not know where to look. The sight of their hands between them was mesmerizing, the way they moved together, two minds to a single purpose. But when he glanced up at Laurent’s face he saw an even greater sight; Laurent in wonder, his face a mixture of amazement and pleasure as they chased each other up and down the landscape of their release.
This was not a time for delicate slowness, Damen understood. He moved to the rhythm that Laurent set for them, quick and exacting. Patience was a luxury afforded to those in a bed; those out in nature were beholden to the rules of it, the savage wildness of it, and Damen understood that too.
When Laurent came it was with a soft, shocked sound, as if he were surprised by this outcome of their activities. Damen slowed down to give him time to recover, but Laurent didn’t allow it. He tightened his grip, forcing Damen to keep up the punishing pace that had brought him over the edge, and placed his other hand at the back of Damen’s neck, holding him with a brutal grip. The touch was too much to handle, one of Laurent’s hands on his cock and the other on his neck, grounding him, electrifying him, and it was only moments later before Damen spilled too, the mess that they had made inextricably twined together.
Damen leaned forward, spent and sensitive, and rested his head on Laurent’s shoulder. Laurent’s grip on his neck relented and then trailed down Damen’s back, rubbing lazy trails there, swirling patterns against the fabric of his shirt.
They would need to clean up, maybe even find a spot by the lake to wash themselves, but right now he didn’t want to move. This was why people normally did these things in bed; he felt a sleepiness wash over him, and his desire to simply gather Laurent in his arms and roll over into a pile of leaves and sleep was tempting. But Laurent didn’t like to be dirty, and Damen knew that he would not want to sleep in a pile of leaves when a more comfortable bed was less than a twenty minute walk away, so he only let himself lean against Laurent for a moment longer before pushing away and rearranging his clothing.
“Wait,” Laurent said. He too had already put himself back together, but he was holding his hand out at a small distance, carefully. “Aren’t you going to help me clean up?”
“I thought we could wash by the water—” Damen started.
But that wasn’t what Laurent meant.
Laurent’s hands were covered in quickly drying come, his fingers dripping in it. Some of it was his spend, some of it was Damen’s. It was impossible to tell apart. He brought two fingers up to Damen’s mouth, mirroring Damen’s own action earlier, and Damen might have almost thought it payback but for his gaze, which let him know that his answer to this question could be no, and Laurent would not be mad or even tease him for it.
Damen opened his lips, and Laurent placed two fingers inside his mouth.
The feeling wasn’t strange—not any stranger than when he’d had Laurent’s cock in his mouth—but getting to watch Laurent was a new experience. He had been by design unable to look Laurent in the eye the first time he sucked him off, but this—now he could watch Laurent’s reaction to this without any hindrance. Laurent’s gaze was focused on the sight of his fingers disappearing into Damen’s mouth, his lips parted slightly as if in awe. Damen had expected that Laurent might feel triumphant for getting to do such a thing, or superior in some way, but Damen saw none of that in his gaze.
A deity sent down from the heavens,
Laurent had said. He was looking at Damen like that now.
Damen did his best. He was not as showily obscene as Laurent had been, perhaps, but he did his best to reach every inch of Laurent’s fingers. Eventually they were as clean as they were going to get. The salty, sticky taste of come had faded, and Laurent pulled his fingers out of Damen’s mouth with a gentle
pop
.
“I think they’re dirtier than they were before,” Laurent said, his breathing uneven.
“It was your idea.”
“I know. I didn’t think…”
“That I would do it?” Damen finished for him.
“No,” Laurent said, shaking his head. “I just…didn’t think.”
Damen breathed out once, carefully.
“Come on,” he said, grabbing Laurent’s hand and leading him to the lake. They cleaned their hands in the freezing water and then, once they were presentable again, made their way back to the wagons where they collapsed together in bed, a warm blanket covering them both.
Damen only remembered seconds before he fell asleep that he had forgotten to ask Laurent about the Veretian prince and that it had been important, for some reason, for him to do so, but then sleep claimed him fully and he thought of nothing at all except the warm body by his side.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The day they crossed into Akielos was rainy and miserable, but even the somber weather could not keep Damen’s spirits down. They were in Akielos, in his ancestral lands, his home, and though their horses plodded on at the same rate as they always did Damen felt as though they were speeding towards their destination with the wind at their backs, and he was satisfied to be finally getting somewhere.
Getting into Akielos without being detected had been easy. Between Damen’s knowledge of his country and the reconnaissance that Pallas had done on his way in, they had been able to find an unguarded road that led them to Olkos, an Akielon town that had been abandoned years ago when the river nearby had been dammed up. The road was overgrown and hard to manage at times, but it hadn’t turned into mud when it started raining and the horses had enjoyed trying to munch on the grass as they moved and so everyone had considered it a boon.
Laurent did not enjoy the rain. He didn’t care for being wet and miserable all day despite the attempts the awnings made to keep them dry. He did, however, care very much about the effort Damen put into warming him back up again, and so Damen considered the entire trip a good one overall despite the weather.
It was slightly past midday, with the sky still covered in gray and promising more rain, when they finally rode into Delpha. Damen’s heart soared when he recognized the keep at the top of the hill, Nikandros’ seat; he had been here many times both with his troops and to visit Nikandros personally after his friend had taken command of the place, and the path up to the keep was nearly as familiar to him as his own home. Less familiar was the way the town was currently decorated. Every window of every shop, every flag, every banner—all of them were draped in the deep purple of mourning.
“This does not seem as welcoming as you made me believe,” Laurent murmured as they made their way through town. Their orange wagons were garishly bright amidst the somber colors, and the townspeople, who Damen knew to be a bright and vibrant people as all Akielons were, gave them ugly stares as they passed.
“Purple is our mourning color. Someone has died,” Damen said. “Someone important.” He felt a strange kick in his chest when he thought it might be Nikandros. But Nik was young; only six months older than Damen, a fact that he had never let him forget, and Damen had known him as a cautious and careful man. It could not be him. Damen would not even allow himself to think of it.
They settled the wagons in an open area to the west of the marketplace. Jord and Aimeric offered to stay behind and watch while the rest of the troupe went to the keep.
“I don’t know,” Pallas said, when Damen asked him about the mourning colors. “I have been in the Veretian wilderness for the last three weeks, Exal—I mean, Lymon.” Pallas still had not gotten used to addressing him by his common name, even after Damen had made him practice doing so for a rather uncomfortable hour after dinner the night before. “If I had to guess I would say that they are probably flying the colors for—well, you.”
Damen stared at the banners as they passed, snapping in the wind. It was not out of the question that Nikandros would do something like this for his death; Kastor must have finally produced a body for public appraisal and given up on the tale about running away, as Damen had suspected he would. He clenched his fist, and next to him Laurent squeezed his arm reassuringly.
They approached the gates with Kallias and Erasmus leading the troupe. They had already discussed this, the need for secrecy, and while Damen still did not like it he had to acknowledge that it was likely a smarter move than simply announcing himself to be alive and well at the gates. He had no room in his heart to think that Nikandros would betray him, or that he would not believe such a claim—but, as Laurent had pointed out, the guards manning the gates he did not know as well. It would not do to have his secret out before it could best be used.
He understood all that. Still, he did not like it.
They were at the gates now, waiting for the guards to come and address them. It was not unusual for traveling performers to try to gain the honor of performing for the Kyros, and Damen had picked a tune that he knew Nikandros would recognize—a bawdy, slightly raunchy song about the ancient King of Sicyon, something he and Nikandros had sung many times in taverns across the country. Erasmus already knew the song—he seemed to have extensive training on the lyre, with quite an assortment of tunes to pick from—and Damen was counting on it being a familiar enough touchpoint that Nikandros would want to hear it in remembrance of his old friend, at which point Damen could reveal himself. But as he stared at the purple banners snapping in the breeze he realized that such a tune would not be appropriate for a city in mourning, and that even suggesting it might cause the guards to run them out of town.
“Lymon—” Erasmus said, looking back at him with wide eyes as the guards approached. He must have had the same thought, and without thinking anything of it Damen inserted himself in front of Erasmus and Kallias as the guard opened the small door that was meant for the help.
“Do you want something?” the guard asked, looking Damen up and down.
Damen was in disguise, of course; another requirement from Laurent, and one he was thankful for now. Erasmus and Kallias were frozen behind him, unsure of what this departure from their plan meant, so Damen pulled the cloak around himself and bowed, and he saw others behind him following suit out of the corner of his eye.
“Illustrious guardsman of the Kyros Nikandros,” Damen said, inflecting his voice in case anyone who might recognize him was around to hear, “we come to offer you our deepest sympathies for your loss.”
The guard’s eyes flicked up to the purple, and then returned to Damen.
“Noted,” he said, already bored. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
“We’ve been traveling in Vere,” Damen said, gesturing to the obviously Veretian members of their troupe, Lazar and Laurent and Charls and Nicaise. It was a piece of information he dropped in hopes that the guard would relay it to Nikandros; if there really were troubles at the border it was not out of the question that he would invite them inside in order to hear about what they had seen.
“We have just returned this very night,” Damen continued. “We were hoping for an audience with the Kyros. I know,” Damen said, anticipating the guard’s disapproval, “that he is in mourning. That is why we would like to offer him this gift: a special performance of
The Rage of Endymion
.”
The guard’s eyebrows raised in appreciation.
The Rage of Endymion
was a particularly famous play, popular among the younger crowd because of its excessive battle sequences but serious enough that even the staunchest audience members could not claim it was in poor taste for mourning. When they were only thirteen years old Damen and Nikandros had snuck out of the palace to witness a performance of it by a local theater group whose proclivities had tended towards the realistic—the battle scenes had used fresh pig’s blood to enhance the scene, and the stench and violence of it had nearly made them gag.
“It is an appropriate play to perform in mourning,” Damen said, after the guard did not answer. “And—please tell the Kyros that we will ensure a proper performance for him as well, a tasteful interpretation. We are all out of pig's blood anyway.”
“All right,” the guard said, looking at him strangely.
“You’ll tell him that, won’t you? About the pig’s blood?”
“Sure,” the guard said, the expression on his face making it evident what he thought the answer would be to such a ridiculous request. “I will tell him that.”
And likely tell the rest of the unit too, in between drinks and laughter at the local tavern. It was a risk, certainly, but Damen needed Nikandros to let them in, and it was a curious enough request that it might just catch his attention.
The guard retreated to his post, speaking quietly to another soldier there. Behind him, Erasmus softly said, “I was never taught any of the more violent battle songs. I do not know how to perform
The Rage
.”
“It’s okay,” Damen said. “I did not think you would know it. Let us hope we are granted a private audience before we need to perform it.”
“And if we are not?”
Damen turned back and met Laurent’s gaze. He held it for a moment, and then Laurent nodded.
“If not,” Damen said, looking up at the gray clouds above them, “we improvise.”
The guard came to retrieve them a few hours later. The foreboding rain hadn’t come but it had begun to mist, and large droplets of water clung to their clothes and their hair as they waited by the gate.
“Come on,” the guard said, unlocking the small gate for them. “The Kyros has graciously accepted your invitation. You will perform for him after dinner.”
“After dinner?” Damen said, the defacto leader of their little group now that their first plan had gone south. “I don’t suppose we can meet him beforehand, can we? To introduce ourselves?”
The guard snorted. “And why would he care about meeting any of you lot? Besides, he’s in the middle of dinner. He has even graciously allowed you all to eat in the kitchens beforehand, if you can do so quickly enough to be ready when he and the rest of the guests are done.”
“We would only need a brief second, it’s standard procedure to introduce—”
“Not happening,” the guard said flatly, and Damen knew it would only antagonize him to push any further. “You’re lucky you’re getting in at all. The Kyros does not often entertain troupes. But he’s been in a strange mood ever since—” He stopped suddenly and coughed, as if suddenly realizing he was gossiping with strangers and not his usual compatriots. “Anyway. It doesn’t matter. Be glad for the opportunity and respectful to the Kyros’ household, or I have full authority to kick you out.”
“We appreciate your generosity,” Laurent said in his accented Akielon, squeezing Damen’s arm. “Thank you.”
The guard huffed, accepting this apology, and led them through the side door of the keep used by the help.
They ate in the kitchens with the rest of the household staff, the noise and clatter of preparing food overwhelmed by the servants’ excitement at getting to mingle with a real, actual acting troupe. This close to the border a lot of the staff spoke some manner of broken Veretian and so even Charls and Lazar and Nicaise were able to converse with the staff and regale them with funny stories about their performances. It was impossible to speak privately with anyone, and Damen ate in silence with only his nerves and Laurent’s furtive glances to attend him.
After their brief dinner was finished they were taken to the atrium, where Damen understood they were to perform. It was as he remembered it from his previous visits; one of the larger rooms in the house, with a small opening in the roof to let light in with a shallow pool beneath, an unobtrusive fountain making happy gurgling sounds at one end. Couches had been brought in for the audience, and a hasty curtain had even been erected for the troupe’s use. A servant boy scuttled around to light the lamps in the wall, casting everything into a flickering brightness.
Once they were left alone, with a warning that they had only a few minutes before the guests’ arrival, they all huddled together.
“I understand this is not ideal,” Damen said, looking at the troupe gathered around him. “And I know I have made it more difficult with my promise of a play that none of you know, but we must find a way to get Nikandros alone.”
“Patrons typically meet the cast after the performance,” Lazar said.
“But that means we will have to perform something,” Nicaise pointed out. “And Damen messed up the one thing we were prepared for.
”
“It got us in, didn’t it?” Laurent said. “Damen, I might have a plan. You will not like it.”
“Does it involve fire, or maiming?”
Laurent smiled, the corner of his mouth tilting up just slightly before becoming serious again. “No, neither of those things. You trust this Nikandros, do you not?”
“I do,” Damen said. “With my life.”
“And—his character. Is he much like you?”
“Like me?” Damen said, frowning. “I’m not sure I take your meaning.”
“Is he—you know. A good man,” Laurent said, waving his hands around to distract from the fact that he was starting to blush. “Honorable. Kind. That sort of thing.”
Damen could not help it; he smiled, making Laurent blush even deeper.
“Like me,” he repeated softly.
“Could you two not?” Nicaise broke in, waving his hand in between them. “We’re running out of time. You can get a room together later.”
“Yes,” Damen said, looking at Laurent and nodding. “He is. He’s one of the best men that I know.”
He wanted to say more, wanted to tell Laurent all about his friend, how they had grown up together, how they had been to school together and laughed and joked and fought and made up throughout the years. He wanted Laurent to know those parts of Nikandros too, and likewise wanted Nikandros to know Laurent, to understand this strange, complicated man that Damen had found himself entwined with, how his sharpness could be just as enticing as his sweetness, how he made Damen a better person, a better man.
But there was no time for such things now. They needed to focus if they didn’t want that sullen guard escorting them from the premises before they’d even had a chance to talk to Nik.
“Okay,” Laurent said. “Nicaise, Lazar, Erasmus. Come with me. You,” he said, pointing at Damen, Charls, and Kallias. “Find us something to wear. Something…soft. Flowy. Akielon designs, if you have anything like that.”
“We might,” Charls said, dragging Damen over to the small chest they had carried with them which held their most basic props and costumes. “Help me get this open, Damen.”
“Wait a minute,” Damen said. “Tell me what you’re planning—”
But Laurent had already gathered the others and was leading them away, their heads bowed as they whispered to each other. Damen had a feeling that he wasn’t, in fact, going to like what Laurent had planned, but he could do nothing except help Charls and Kallias. They searched through the chest to find clothing that they thought might be acceptable and handed it over to Laurent, and helped dress the others.
There was noise from the other side of the curtain; the guests were beginning to arrive. Damen shrank back, not wanting to be seen by them. It was unlikely that anyone would recognize him even so, but he did not want to take any chances. He trusted no one here except Nik. He went over to see if Laurent was ready yet, but heard him talking softly to Nicaise, and for a moment he held back.
“You don't have to do this,” Laurent said softly. “I can get Kallias, or even Pallas—”
Nicaise scoffed, cutting him off. “As if either one could do it better than I can. I'm the only one here who knows what he's doing.”
“That may be true, but I need you to be honest with me, Nicaise. Will you be alright?”
The silence between them was claustrophobic, heavy with unspoken words until Nicaise let out a loud breath.
“I want to help,” he said. “Let me do this, Laurent.”
Damen came forward and let his foot fall heavily and the two of them parted, pretending they hadn’t just been speaking. Laurent nodded once at the boy and then began to hold up different fabrics to his skin. He acknowledged Damen with a tip of his head, but didn't stop working.
“I would feel a lot better about this if you told me what your plan was,” Damen said as Laurent draped a piece of scarlet fabric around Nicaise, scrunching it and tying it in place with rope as the boy squirmed impatiently.
“I know,” Laurent said. “But if I told you, you would forbid me from doing it.”
“That does not make me feel better,” Damen said.
“I know that too,” Laurent said.
Nicaise was dressed now, looking like a parody of an Akielon slave in his costume, and though he shifted uncomfortably he had a serene look on his face, as resolute as any hardened soldier in those moments before the first blood of battle. Laurent sent Nicaise to go stand with the others and then, finding themselves relatively alone for the first time in a while, leaned up and kissed Damen briefly on the cheek. The gesture was unpracticed, slightly awkward, and all the more endearing for it.
“Trust me, Damen. This will work. Are you ready?”
“Probably not,” Damen said, and then Laurent joined the others as Damen was shuffled off to the side.
They were not in a room that was meant for performances. There was no lighting beyond the lamps lit along the walls, and the open ceiling in the middle of the room cast strange shadows. Damen nearly grabbed Laurent to warn him of the pool under the skylight, thinking it might be hard for him to see, but he followed the others who stepped out into the room and avoided it gracefully, and Damen let out a breath.
From where he was hiding he could make out Nikandros, reclining on a lounge and draped in the deep purple of mourning. The others around him wore similarly colored garments, and in contrast Laurent and his coterie looked positively garish. The guests fell silent as the four men walked among them, which must have been what Laurent was waiting for.
“Thank you all for joining us here tonight,” he said in silky Akielon, his Veretian accent more pronounced than normal. He spoke as if it were they who had intruded on him and it was he who was being gracious by allowing them to be here. “It is not every day we perform for men such as yourselves. A special thanks, I think, to the Kyros, who invited us here specifically for the special…talents, let's say, that we are known to possess.”
The murmur that ran through the audience was unsettled, which was not surprising; they had likely been promised some violent, bloody entertainment, not whatever this was turning out to be. He saw Nikandros shift in his chair so that he was no longer lounging, but ready. Damen too had an idea of where this was goin
g,
and he wished that he had made Laurent tell him his plan because he saw no way that this would end except with the lot of them thrown out on their ass.
“Thank the Kyros, boys,” Laurent said.
“Thank you, Kyros,” the three other actors parroted in unison. They were moving through the crowd now, approaching but never touching any of the audience members. In a way they were alluring; they moved with a subtle sensuality, playing up the distance between the individual audience members and themselves with a skill that promised more to those who were willing to close that distance.
The Akielons, of course, did not react the way a Veretian audience would have. The Akielons were slightly stunned, a bit prudish in their distaste for the obvious seduction, a reaction that was made slightly hypocritical, Damen thought, by the slaves who rested at their feet and who watched the performance with blank expressions. Many of those slaves would follow their masters back to their chambers for the night and be expected to perform in the same way that Laurent and the others were performing now, except that Laurent had chosen to do this and the slaves had not. He wondered if any of the slaves were Written. He wondered if Laurent could see it.
“So what would you like to see tonight?” Laurent asked, correctly identifying Nikandros—probably based on the way that everyone in the audience kept glancing at him, confused—and approached until he stood not more than an arm’s length away. “My performers are the most experienced in the business. We could start with my boy Nicaise sucking off sweet Erasmus, if you like. Or perhaps one of your guests would like the honor?”
The atmosphere in the atrium was quickly moving from confused to angry. The Akielons would not stand for much more of this, and Damen prayed that Laurent would move quickly.
“Or perhaps—oh, I have been so careless,” Laurent said, and Damen watched with slowly growing horror as Laurent fell, bewitchingly, into Nikandros’ lap. “I have not offered you a taste yet, my lord.”
Laurent leaned in and whispered something into Nikandros’ ear. From Damen’s vantage he saw Nik’s face contort with anger as Laurent talked to him, and then with a sudden, vicious shove he removed Laurent from his lap, sending Laurent sprawling against the lounge as Nikandros stood.
“How dare you,” he said, sparing a moment to glare at the other actors before returning his gaze to Laurent. “How dare you come into my household and lie so boldly to my guests, telling them I have invited you here. This dinner is over. You have killed my appetite for entertainment, especially of the kind you have suggested. Out! Everyone out,” he said, his voice raising as he gestured to the servants. “I will deal with these sordid Veretians myself.”
Laurent watched the guests shuffle hastily out, making himself comfortable on the couch as if he had chosen to sprawl there, languid and bored. Nicaise teased an elderly gentleman as he left with a slave who could be no older than Nicaise himself, and Damen thought that he was going to be sick. It took barely twenty seconds for all of the guests to disperse, and with a flick of his hand Nikandros sent out his servants as well.
Then they were alone, with only Nikandros and the other actors present. Damen threw off the disguise he was wearing to go join the others, who were gathered on the opposite side of the room. Nik reached forward and grabbed Laurent by the arm, dragging him up from the lounge roughly before Damen could stop him.
“You want my attention? You have it,” he said, biting off each word and spitting them at Laurent, who looked at him as if he were no more dangerous than a barking dog on the other side of a well built fence. “Tell me why you said that name, or your lies will be the last thing you ever say.”
“I didn't lie,” Laurent said. If Nik’s grip was painful, Laurent did not show it. He motioned towards Damen, who was walking towards the two of them. “See for yourself.”
“You seek to trick me—”
“Let him go, Nik,” Damen said gently, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Laurent doesn’t always tell the truth, but I have a feeling that he did tonight.”
Nikandros froze. His grip on Laurent’s arm relented and then he dropped it as if it had burned him. He turned slowly, his face as white as a ghost.
“Damen,” he breathed out, his eyes roving over Damen’s face, taking in the lines of worry etched there, the strange costume he was wearing. “Damianos,” he said again, and then, as if remembering himself, clasped his fist to his heart and went down on one knee. “Exalted. I knew you were not dead. Kastor said that you had betrayed Akielos, but I knew you wouldn’t, I knew that—”
“Rise, Nikandros,” Damen said, helping his friend to his feet and then greeting him with a proper hug, pounding him on the back as Nik mimicked him weakly, still stunned. “I am not dead, but it was a near thing. I will tell you everything, if you wish.”
“If I wish,” Nik repeated sarcastically. “Of course I want to hear everything. How did you—who are these people? Why are you traveling with so many…Veretians?”
Damen could not help but laugh. He could barely believe that he was with his oldest friend again, could hardly reconcile the fact that he had finally made it back to Akielos. It felt like home, speaking Akielon in Nikandros’ atrium with him, the smell of Akielon spices drifting in the air.
“I will tell you everything, as I promised,” Damen said, clapping Nik on the back. “But first I must ask you to change out of those clothes. I do not like to see you wearing mourning colors for me when in turns out that I am not, in fact, actually dead.”
“Oh,” Nik said, his face gone carefully blank. “Damen, I—you have not been in Akielos long, have you?”
“We arrived only earlier today,” Damen said, frowning as his stomach turned uncomfortably. His eyes sought out Laurent, who looked back at him with a furrowed brow that was just as confused as his own, and Damen unthinkingly reached out to pull him closer. “Why do you ask such a thing?”
“Damianos,” Nik said, his voice soft and terrible, “these colors are not for you. The King of Akielos is dead.”
The rain had started again in earnest.
Damen hadn’t noticed when it began, although a part of him realized that his clothes were rather sodden, which meant it had probably been happening for a while. But he couldn’t bring himself to think about it too much—or about anything at all—as he wandered the gardens of Nikandros’ estate in the dark, listening to the rain pattering against the leaves. His face was wet, but in this weather he couldn’t tell if it was coming from him or the sky.
He eventually sat on the steps of a folly that overlooked a lake. It was a nice lake, probably made just to be admired at from where he was sitting. Whoever had made it had done a good job. It had a pleasant shape, not too round as to be unnatural looking. It had a little island in the middle that looked as if it could be reached by a short swim. It would be nice to swim in a lake like that, and then it would not matter if it were raining or not. He would be wet either way.
He sat until the chill became uncomfortable. He was not currently being rained on, protected as he was by the roof of the folly, but he would have to brave it to get back to Nikandros’ estate, and he was so tired. He knew everyone would be worried if he slept here, and it was not at all comfortable, but his eyes were so heavy and his mind was made of mud and he could not work up the effort to care about any of it.
He heard steps behind him. After a moment something settled around his shoulders; a blanket, warm and dry. It would not stay that way for long as it soaked up the water from his own clothes, but for now it was welcome. The fact that someone had bothered to keep it dry in this weather just so he could be warm for such a short time was too much of a burden to think about, and so he just allowed himself to feel its warmth and nothing else.
After a moment Laurent sat down on the steps, a respectable distance away. Damen wanted him closer, wanted to feel the warmth of another living, breathing body next to his, but he couldn’t make himself move or work up the courage to ask.
“Are the others okay?” he asked finally, wanting to hear Laurent speak more than he cared about the answer.
“Everyone is fine,” Laurent said. “Nikandros has graciously offered us rooms for the night. I asked him if he was concerned with the optics of it, given the manner in which we were introduced to his friends, and from his answer I learned a number of new Akielon curse words that I had not known before.”
“You are baiting him on purpose,” Damen said, a strange lightness in his chest.
“I filled him in on what has happened to you,” Laurent said, not answering the challenge. “Not—not everything. I only said you were abandoned in Vere by your brother’s men, and that I happened upon you there. I told him nothing about my being a Calligrapher. Nothing about you being Written, or sold to a pet house. And I told him nothing of…us. I was not sure how much you wanted him to know.”
“I will tell him everything,” Damen said. “What Kastor did to me, the pet house, the Writing. If you allow it, I would like to tell him about you too. What you’re capable of. Why we would risk angering Vere in order to keep you safe. And I would like to tell him about us as well.”
Laurent did not answer—but he moved closer, enough that Damen could feel the warmth radiating off of him, breathe in the familiar scent of him. Their shoulders touched, and Damen grabbed Laurent’s hand, tangling their fingers together, and rubbed his fingers over the ridges of Laurent’s knuckles.
“I thought about it, you know,” Damen murmured. “What it would be like to introduce you to my father.”
“Oh?” Laurent said, carefully.
“He wouldn’t have understood you, I don’t think. Not right away. He understands physical things. Strength in the arena, prowess on the battlefield. But he is the greatest strategist I have ever known. Everything that I am has come from him. He can see problems ten steps ahead of anyone else, just like you can. And he solves them before anyone else even realizes it could have been a problem to begin with. And that’s where he would understand you, I think, even if you come at it from the opposite side of the spectrum than he does. With enough time—he would be able to see your mind as I do. Understand the way that you think. And he would respect it.”
Laurent squeezed his hand, and Damen brought it up to his lips, briefly. For a moment Damen only thought about the feeling of Laurent’s hand in his own, the way the marble they were sitting on held the chill of the rain.
“He died thinking I was a traitor.”
Damen realized only after the fact that he had spoken those words out loud, but he had needed to test how they felt coming out of his mouth, how they felt being heard. They had a ring of truth to them, and he stared off into the distance as the idea built on itself, became something more.
“He may have died
because
he thought so,” Damen said, a pressure building in his chest that he was afraid would not be contained. “He was barely sixty. We had talked about my succession, about how he would abdicate so that he could spend his later years enjoying life, visiting the islands around Ios, reading the books he never had time for as King. He was supposed to have so much more time, but—Kastor must have told him such lies, and if he believed them—”
“Damen,” Laurent said, gripping Damen’s knee with a strong, punishing hold. The pain grounded Damen, brought him back to himself, and he looked over at Laurent in surprise. “If your father knew you even a little he would never believe you capable of such a thing.”
“But if Kastor told him—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Laurent said sharply. “You are not the kind of person someone thinks ‘maybe’ about. Anyone who has spoken to you for more than five minutes can understand the strength of your character. I know that you are grieving, Damen, and I know that you are looking to blame yourself. Believe me, I lived with that blame for years after my family died. But it will not help you. And living with it will drive you mad.”
Damen didn’t answer. He imagined what he would do if someone accused his father of treason; there would be anger and an immediate reckoning against the accuser, but such a thought did not feel uncomfortable, as if it were a worm that would slowly grow inside of him and become more insidious and impossible to ignore. It felt simply false, to the extent that he could look at it and dissect it and still come out with the same conclusion.
All he could do, he supposed, was hope that his father had taken that same accusation and come to the same conclusions. He wondered how his
demitira
was doing. He wondered if she had been with his father in his last days.
“I am cold,” Damen said, the past few hours crashing down on him all at once. His ass hurt from sitting, his clothes clung uncomfortably to his skin. He did not want to be wet anymore.
“Come on,” Laurent said, dragging him up and then snuggling the blanket firmly around his shoulders. “We’ll get you out of those wet clothes.”
The rain was still falling, but it made little difference as they made their way back to the keep. Once they were inside Damen fought the urge to shake off the water like a dog, and Nikandros’ man Cadmus greeted them as if he had simply been waiting there for them. Perhaps he had been.
“I will show you to your room, Exalted,” Cadmus said, bowing as he led them down the hall. “The Kyros apologizes, but we only had time to prepare the room you regularly stay in during your visits here.”
As opposed to the King’s room. The room reserved for his father’s visits. The room that was now Damen’s. Damen felt a surge of gratitude to his friend, and he nodded.
“Thank you, Cadmus. That will suit perfectly.”
“And Monsieur Laurent’s room has been prepared as well,” Cadmus said blandly as they walked. “Near the other Veretians. I will accompany him there after I have ensured you are properly settled.”
“No need,” Damen said. “He will be staying with me.”
There was only the slightest, most infinitesimal pause from Cadmus before he said, “As you wish, Exalted.” He had to be one of Nikandros’ best men; his tone conveyed only perfect politeness, and yet his disapproval of the situation was clear.
Cadmus opened the door of Damen’s room, bowing as they entered, and Damen handed him the wet blanket around his shoulders before decisively shutting it. He did not want to hear any more opinions about their lodgings. Then he turned, leaning against the door as Laurent watched him steadily.
“Was that wise?” Laurent asked. “The servants will gossip.”
“Do you want to leave? I can call Cadmus back.”
“No. Your room is much bigger than mine,” he said, coming forward to help Damen undress. “And you have a fireplace.”
“The benefits of sleeping with royalty,” Damen murmured as Laurent fastidiously undid all the buttons on his shirt and then peeled the wet thing off of him.
“It is not the only benefit,” Laurent said, throwing the shirt into a pile on the floor. “I have also extracted a promise of help from you. A promise that, diplomatically, might turn out to be quite the headache for you.”
“Must we do this now, Laurent? It’s been a long day.”
“I know,” Laurent said, putting his hand briefly over Damen’s heart before reaching down and starting to untangle the laces on his pants. “But you have made a political decision by keeping me here tonight, and it is something we need to discuss.”
“I was not thinking of politics when I made it,” Damen said, as Laurent pulled at the water logged laces. “I was only thinking of you. About how I wanted you near me.”
Laurent forced out a breath and his fingers paused; for a moment he seemed to be suspended, as if he had forgotten how to both breathe and move his fingers at the same time. But it only lasted a second, and then he resumed his work. He didn’t speak again, didn’t push the issue any further, only cursed a few times as he struggled with the soggy laces until they finally came free.
He stepped back once this was done, and Damen understood he was to shimmy out of his clothes himself. He did so, adding his pants to the wet pile Laurent had started. He was no longer wearing any wet clothes but he was slightly chilled even still.
“Come on,” Laurent said, rolling his eyes as he went to pull back the blanket on their bed. “I can see you shivering from here.”
“Your clothes are wet too,” Damen said, climbing into the waiting bed and snuggling into the blankets there. “You’ll have to undress if you want to join me.”
“Isn’t that always the case,” Laurent murmured, and then his clothes joined Damen’s on the floor and he was climbing into bed as well, pushing Damen over to the other side rather than having to go around.
Damen allowed himself to be jostled and then, once they were settled, pulled Laurent to him. Laurent tucked his head under Damen’s chin and burrowed into his chest, nuzzling there as Damen ran lazy circles against his back with his fingers. There was no intent, no desire to push this towards anything sexual, not after all he had been through tonight, and Laurent seemed to understand that as well and settled under Damen’s touch. It was enough to be near each other, to share each other’s warmth. Damen did not care about the politics of it; tonight, he needed this simple companionship.
“I did not like watching you play pet to Nikandros,” Damen said into the silence.
Laurent made a sound, and moved away just far enough away to look up at him. “I told you that you wouldn’t.”
“Well, you were right.” His hand was against Laurent’s side and he pressed down with firm fingers. He knew if he looked under the blankets there would be red marks there, bright against Laurent’s pale skin, proof that Damen’s hands had been on him. “You could not have come up with a better way to annoy and scandalize every Akielon there if you had tried.”
“But I did try,” Laurent said. “How do you think I comforted myself when I realized I would have to climb into a lap that was not yours?”
Damen flushed. The sense of possessiveness that he knew he had no right to was made worse by that admission, not better.
“I still did not like it,” he grumbled.
Laurent made a soothing sound, amused. “After tonight no one will be confused as to where my loyalties lie in that regard, will they? So perhaps your plan worked as well.”
“My plan?” Damen said, and then stopped. He hadn't been attempting any plan when he told Cadmus that Laurent was going to stay with him, but now that he thought about it he realized that the reason Cadmus had taken them to Damen's rooms first was so Laurent could mark where they were. That way any nighttime assignations could be done in secret, as they were supposed to be done. And Damen had promptly exploded that fiction with his insistence that Laurent stay with him.
He sighed, and Laurent seemed to take it as an answer because he curled up against Damen once more.
“I'm not going to keep you a secret, Laurent,” Damen said.
“There is a difference between keeping a secret and simply being discreet,” Laurent murmured, although he sounded pleased.
“I do not want to keep you discretely, either,” Damen said. “I just want—”
“To keep me?”
Yes,
Damen wanted to say, his heart aching with it. But Laurent would not understand that as he meant it. He did not want to keep Laurent possessively like a bird kept in a cage, a precious rock kept under glass, a lover kept in a harem. He wanted Laurent beside him to show him all the paths that he couldn’t see, to come up with brilliant, crazy schemes that he could never dream of. He wanted everyone around him to know that they were not dealing with just him but with them both; that they were connected in every way that mattered.
He had been quiet for too long. “Would that be so bad?” he could not help but ask.
Laurent breathed deeply and then threw a leg over Damen’s, tangling them together underneath the warm blankets, his skin against Damen’s like a furnace.
“It has been a long day,” Laurent said eventually. “We can speak about it…later. When you are not so tired.”
“I am not tired,” he said, but Laurent only laughed softly against him, and whatever other protests were on his lips were forgotten as he fell into a deep, restful slumber.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Four chitons were spread out in front of him.They had been delivered at some point while Damen still slept, along with a small breakfast consisting of fresh bread and some fruit, and the fire had been stoked to a pleasant blaze. Two of the chitons were for him, and two for Laurent; more proof that the servants had been gossiping about their sleeping arrangements as Laurent had warned him they would. Damen found that he cared as much about it now as he had last night, which was to say not at all.He wondered if Laurent would wear the chiton, or if he would insist on his usual tightly laced clothes. He wondered what Laurent would look like in the deep red of Akielon nobility, a lion pin on his shoulder. What he would look like standing next to Damen in such a garment, or sitting next to him on a throne.Damen shook his head. There was too much to do; he could not get caught up in such things right now. He looked at the two chitons that had been offered to him, one the deep purple of mourning and one the bright white of a commander, red and gold trim around the hem. Damen took up the purple and set it aside. He would need time to grieve, to visit the temple where his father would have been buried, to light the candles as he walked the mourner’s path. But he could not be allowed to give in to such luxuries now. “Are we to get dressed already?” Laurent asked sleepily from where he was still curled up on the bed. “It is barely daylight outside.”Damen slipped on his chiton, appreciating the familiar weight of the cotton against his limbs, the softness of the breathable fabric settling around his frame like a second skin. He had missed this, the easiness of it. No laces or ties or fussy little buttons to mess with.“I wanted to get an early start,” Damen said, “because we have a lot of work to do today, and I knew it would take a few hours to convince you to wear this chiton Nikandros has generously gifted you.”“You are wrong,” Laurent said, turning away from Damen and wrapping the blankets around himself. “It will not take a few hours, because I will not do it at all.”“It would be rude to refuse.”“I thought you were trying to convince me.”“Persuading you shouldn’t be too hard,” Damen said, flopping back down on the bed in a way that jostled Laurent and caused him to turn over so he could properly glare at the interruption. “The servants took your wet clothes this morning and have not returned them. It is either the chiton or you go naked.”“And you prefer me to wear the chiton? I must be losing my youthful beauty already,” Laurent said, opening his arms so that Damen could fold himself in them.“It is not your youth that makes you beautiful,” Damen said, nuzzling against the warm softness of Laurent’s skin, pressing lips against his neck. He thought that maybe he had been too hasty in getting dressed for the day. “When you are eighty years old and wrinkly and frail I will still find you the most beautiful person I have ever met.”Laurent exhaled and let out a rough, shaky laugh. After a moment he said, “You cannot say such things to me so early in the morning. It is—I can barely deal with your particular brand of charm when I am fully awake.”“Very well,” Damen said, looking out the window as a bell began to ring frantically in the courtyard below. “I will say the same thing to you later today and we will see how it fares then.”Laurent made a sound of amusement and gently pushed Damen off of him, sitting up on the bed, the blankets pooling around his waist. “Who knows what the day holds,” he said, joining Damen in looking out the window. “I may say or do something so egregious by nightfall that you will not want to talk to me at all, let alone say something sweet.”“You could avoid that by attempting not to do anything egregious,” Damen suggested.“I…suppose,” Laurent said slowly, as if the thought had never crossed his mind. “But I cannot fathom what kind of plays I will be called upon to produce today. I cannot promise anything.”“Let us try to avoid putting on any more plays for the time being,” Damen said. “Besides, the troupe only agreed to deliver us to Delpha. Now that we're here, I think we'll soon be on our own, and play-less.”“We’ll see,” Laurent said, noncommittal. “I wonder how they’re faring.”“Nikandros would have put them up well,” Damen said, and then, because he didn’t think Laurent worried about that, “I know you were concerned about Nicaise last night.”Laurent shrugged. The noise from outside had faded and he turned away from the window to snuggle back into bed. “It was only pretend, but the performance was likely very similar to what he had been asked to do as a pet. Some people can find it empowering, to have agency in a situation like that in a place that is, as far as we’re concerned, safe. I think that is how he felt about it after the fact. But I can also understand how it might have been…uncomfortable. I think—I should have looked more after Erasmus than Nicaise, in the end.”“Why?” Damen asked, turning at the concerned note in Laurent’s voice. “Did something happen?”“No,” Laurent said. He looked away, and would not meet Damen’s eye. “Nothing happened. He and Kallias are very good at hiding it. But—I knew they were Written when I first met them, of course. I could see it on their arms. But I’ve never seen an Akielon slave in person before, so I didn’t know...” The two of them came from something worse, Charls had told him the day that they met. Damen thought of all the songs Erasmus had known, all soft Akielon love ballads, the clever way he played his lyre. The protective way Kallias always stood over him, barely more threatening than Erasmus himself except for the way he bared his teeth when he thought anyone might hurt them. The soft kind of beauty they both possessed, well formed and pleasing to look at.“The two of them used to be slaves,” Damen said, the realization hitting him like a bucket of cold water. “And the slaves you saw in the atrium—they had the same Writing on them.”“None of them had much,” Laurent said, as if any amount of Writing done under coercion was okay. “Certainly nothing like what you had, a mess meant to chain you up and keep you down. But all of the slaves in that room had two or three lines of Writing on their arms, all in the exact same spot. It might even have been the same words, although I didn’t ever get close enough to read any of them. And yes, Kallias and Erasmus have Writing in the exact same place.”Two or three lines. Even if they were not the same as Damen’s bindings, it was possible they did similar things. How much Writing was there to keep them from running away, to exert some manner of control over their lives? How many lines existed to make the Written slaves pliable and eager to please?He had taken pleasure slaves to his bed before. They had all been exquisitely trained, pleasantly submissive. He had believed that their willingness to obey was something that had been cultivated with practice and patience. He had believed that it was an honor for them. The thought that they might be acting against their nature had never even crossed his mind. And even worse than that—they could have been acting against their nature and not even been aware of it.“And so?” Laurent asked, snapping him back to the present. “What are you going to do about it?”Damen turned. “About Erasmus and Kallias? The penalty for escaping a training center is death. I didn’t even think it was possible to do so. No one else can know about them. If you were able to—I don’t think they’d ever trust me. I don’t see how they could. But if you offered to help them remove their Writing—I think they might listen to you. They might let you help.”Laurent hummed, contemplating. “And aside from them. What about the rest of the slaves?”“It cannot continue,” Damen said immediately. “When I am King—”“You will outlaw Writing?” Laurent asked.“No,” Damen said. Doing so would be a stopgap measure at best, especially since Writing was essentially invisible already. Outlawing it only meant that the Calligraphers would go into hiding and have even less oversight on their work. “There is only one way to stop this. When I am King, there will be no more slaves. We will help those who are already Written, and set up a system that does not allow for such things in the future.”Laurent was silent for a moment.“It will take a lot of work,” he said eventually. “And it will not be easy.”“Nothing good ever is. But if it is the one thing accomplished during my reign, then it will be worth it. I will need support from my kyroi. I will make them see my side of things. And I will need your help, too.”“You know you have my help,” Laurent said softly. “Whether or not you can convince your kyroi, I do not know.”“Nikandros will listen to me. I am sure of it.”“He will listen,” Laurent said, “and he might even understand the necessity of it. But those who depend on slaves for their livelihoods will not understand as easily, and they will be pressuring him in the opposite way that you are. And he has never been Written. He will not know viscerally, like you do, what it means.” Like you do too , Damen couldn’t bring himself to say. He did not want to see the hurt in Laurent’s eyes when he said it.“I will convince them,” Damen said instead.There was a noise out in the hallway, some muffled shouting and something heavy falling on the ground. Damen rose from the bed—it was unlike Nikandros to have loud and clumsy staff, so the noise could only mean something concerning was happening—but before he could even make it halfway across the room the door flew open, the heavy wood banging noisily against the wall.Damen’s first thought was that he had been discovered, and Kastor had sent someone to finish the job that had been left undone. It took him only a fraction of a second to identify the most useful weapon in the room: a large bronze candelabra that looked to be capable of turning a skull into paste. It took another second entirely for Damen to realize that he would not need to use it, because he recognized the men who had besieged his room.“I told you I must see with my own eyes,” Makedon was saying, continuing the conversation whose muffled beginnings Damen had heard from the hallway. When Makedon’s gaze landed on Damen he stopped in his tracks, causing Nikandros and Pallas to crash into him. Their combined weight was not enough to move the hulking Kyros of Sicyon, appointed by Theomedes before Damen had learned how to walk; for a moment the old man stared, as if he could not believe the picture in front of him, before he dropped to one knee and clasped his fist to his heart. Pallas followed his Kyros and Nik sighed noisily, sending Damen a look that begged forgiveness. “Damianos,” Makedon said, his voice booming around the room as if the only volume he was capable of was the one used to address his troops. He stood, his fist still clasped to his heart. “Exalted. All the gods above, it is true. I scarcely believed it when Pallas sent me word that you still lived. Nikandros, how long have you known about this?”“As I said when you arrived very early this morning, I sent you a messenger the instant I found out,” Nik said, sounding weary. Nik had probably been dealing with Makedon for a while then, trying to keep him from doing just this. “Damen, I am very sorry about this, I didn’t think he would actually—”“That lying snake Kastor told us you were dead,” Makedon said, ignoring Nik’s niceties. “He made up a story about you that was so strange and convoluted it’s a wonder that anyone in their right mind believed it. I certainly did not. And—Damianos. Your father.”“I know,” Damen said, pushing the part of him that still grieved even further down. “I found out last night. Nik told me.”“Kastor killed him.”“Makedon,” Nikandros said, shooting Damen a worried glance. “Those are rumors. We shouldn’t trouble Damen with them, not without proof.”“Seeing Damianos alive is all the proof I need,” Makedon said. “Kastor lied about your death, Exalted. At your funeral he looked every kyros in the eye and told them that you had been killed in some childish attempt to start a war with Vere. It made little sense then, and your father knew it. He was against any sort of retaliation, even if it was to avenge you, and Kastor openly tried to paint him as a coward for it. A week later he was dead.”“Makedon, this is not the time—”“No,” Damen said. “As much as I do not want to think about it, we are all out of time. I must get back to the capitol before Kastor is crowned. If the ceremonies are allowed to take place this will be infinitely harder to fight.”“My men are yours, and they are ready,” Makedon said, pounding on his chest once more for emphasis. “And if you need more I can gather another five thousand in four days time. We will march on anyone blind enough to support Kastor and we will crush them all like the spineless cowards that they are.”“Marching on Ios,” Damen said, finding the thought distasteful. “I do not like it.”“You have a plan, then?” Makedon asked.It was at that moment Laurent made himself known. Damen hadn’t forgotten he was in the room but he did forget that Laurent hadn’t a chance to dress. He slipped off the bed now like some rosy dream, a bedsheet wrapped haphazardly across his body the only thing keeping him modest in front of all of their guests.“Damen, must we turn our bedroom into a war room so early in the morning?” he asked silkily in Veretian. “We haven’t even had a chance to get into a proper row about the chiton that you’re going to make me wear.”“Damianos, tell your slave to return to bed,” Makedon said, frowning at Laurent. Then, in extremely accented Veretian, “Leave us, blondie. Men are talking.”“He speaks Akielon, Makedon,” Nikandros said wearily. He gestured at Laurent, who was blinking owlishly at them. “Were your rooms not sufficient for your needs, Veretian? I will have to speak to my steward if you found them so unusable.”“I have no idea if they were unusable or not,” Laurent said, answering in Akielon. “I was too busy being used in here, if you take my meaning.”“Ugh,” Nikandros said, blanching. “A deaf man would take your meaning.”“Damianos, your bed slave is poorly trained,” Makedon said, continuing to frown at Laurent, as if his very gaze should be enough to make him disappear. “You should send him back for further training. I have a beautiful young thing in my household who just completed her training, hasn’t even had her First Night yet. As docile as a lamb, that one, and with similar coloring to yours there. It would be my honor to gift her to you.”“That will not be necessary,” Damen said, rubbing at his face. He had just woken up and was already so tired. “And Laurent is not my bed slave.”“Not all the time, at least,” Laurent said, sitting down on the edge of the bed before reclining, one pale leg slipping out of his makeshift wrap. “It’s fifty fifty. Sometimes I like to be the one chained up, sometimes I get to tie him to the bed. We’re equal opportunity lovers like that.”Makedon frowned even further. “Damianos—”“I will explain everything,” Damen said, putting up a hand to forestall any more complaints. “Well. Not—this. But Laurent is right. My bedroom is not an appropriate place for a discussion of this magnitude, and I have not even broken my fast yet. Everyone out. We will meet to discuss this in one hour.”His men grumbled at this, but they recognized an order when it was given, and they filed out of the room, with Makedon pausing to send furtive glances back at the two of them. Laurent waved cheerily to them as he made himself more comfortable on the bed, and once the door was closed behind them—with slightly less clamor than it had been opened with—Damen turned and pinned Laurent with a level expression.“Equal opportunity lovers?” he said, after a moment had passed. “You do not have to needle everyone that you meet, you know.”Laurent smiled at him, the corners of his mouth as sharp as a dagger.“And you did not have to turn down that man’s offer of a present. Docile as a lamb, was it? Your usual preference, I assume?”“I think you have a good idea of my usual preferences,” Damen said, watching as Laurent stretched, the sheet beginning to slip from his shoulder. “Docile doesn’t even make the top ten.”“Hmm, I wonder what does, then. Savage, perhaps? Or no—venomous.”“Those certainly,” Damen said, unable to keep a smile from his lips despite everything. “And others too. Prickly. Complicated. Blonde. Sometimes very sweet.”“And sometimes not so sweet,” Laurent murmured. He propped himself up on an elbow, looking at Damen carefully. “What are you going to tell them?”“Everything,” Damen said. “And as much about you as you’ll allow. I would like you there with me when I talk to them.”“And about the slaves? Will you tell them your ideas on that subject as well?”“Yes. Makedon and Nikandros are two of my biggest supporters; they will understand the need for it, once I explain it to them.”“And if they don’t?”“If they don’t,” Damen said, because he wasn’t sure he could make Laurent understand that this was not Vere, and they did not scheme and plot behind each other’s backs here, “then we will know shortly where they stand on the matter. And I have you,” Damen said, grabbing his hand and bringing it up to his lips, “who I know will stand by my side.”“And that would be enough for you?” Laurent asked, his already rosy cheeks turning even a deeper shade of pink. He did not pull away from Damen’s grip, and squeezed Damen’s hand possessively. “To take back your crown? Just me?”“Yes,” Damen said. “It’s enough.” The gardens of Nikandros’ estate were sprawling, carefully cultivated to appear wild and untamed. The morning sun had chased away any lingering clouds from last night and caused the morning dew to sparkle like a thousand jewels scattered over the landscape. The morning was pleasantly warm, and Damen was decidedly comfortable in his chiton. Even Laurent looked at ease in his own, despite how long it had taken to get him into it.Damen spoke to his two commanders without interruption for almost an hour. He told Nikandros and Makedon of the night he was taken, the last conversation he’d had with Kastor. He told them of the guards that had ferried him across Akielos and Vere and he told them about the pet house and how he had been Written there. He told them of how he had met Laurent, how the two of them had escaped, how they had fled the guards chasing them and joined up with Charls’ Men, and how they came to be here.There were, to be sure, a number of things that Damen left out: how Laurent had looked under the light of the fireworks, how their clothes been damp the first time they kissed by the river, the softness of the bed that they shared in the wagon. Those things were for him and Laurent alone; there was no space for them here with his generals. And he doubted they would be much interested in those details in any case.“It is remarkable what you have endured, Exalted,” Makedon said after he was done. Nikandros had not said anything, and was only frowning now. “I expect nothing less from the son of Theomedes.”“It would not have been possible at all without Laurent,” Damen said. “Without his help I would still be stuck in that pet house, unable to even think about leaving. Or perhaps gone insane with my inability to do so.”“Yes, how convenient that he found you,” Nikandros murmured, low enough that Damen could ignore it.“Truly barbaric, those things the Veretians do with Writing,” Makedon said, having either not heard Nikandros or choosing to ignore him as well. “But I do wonder if that detail should stay between us, and us only. It is not that you should be ashamed, Exalted, it is only that—well. Everyone knows Writing cannot be undone.”“And under normal circumstances it cannot be,” Damen said, frowning. “But it was undone from me. I am telling you that before Laurent saved me I could not so much as think of walking down the block without being in incredible, agonizing pain. And now I am here. Explain that, if you do not believe it can be undone.”“It isn't that I don't believe you,” Makedon said patiently. “I do. And I believe you when you tell me that your Veretian is the only one capable of it. But it could be seen as a weakness for some to exploit, Damianos. If Kastor got wind of this he could use it to accuse you of all sorts of witchcraft, and the more superstitious Akielons might even believe him.”“It does not matter what Kastor accuses me of,” Damen said, heated. “As long as I'm alive he has no claim to the throne.”“He might have a better case than you think if there is any suspicion that you are not acting under your own influence.”“And what is that supposed to mean?”“Calm, Damen,” Nikandros said, stepping in front of their path through the gardens. “Makedon is only considering potential problems, as it is his job to do. And perhaps he's catastrophizing a bit, not that I am saying you are,” Nikandros said, holding out a hand to forestall any complaints, “I did say ‘perhaps’, Makedon, settle down. But I do think that it would be judicious to at least consider how this looks.”“And how does it look to you, Nikandros,” Damen said coldly. Next to him Laurent squeezed his arm in warning.There was a tense moment between the four of them where no one spoke. Damen half expected that Laurent would start needling the other two, to rile them up and distract from how obviously angry Damen was, but he hadn’t spoken all morning and he didn’t start now.“I would talk to you plainly, Damianos,” Nikandros said, his eyes darting over to Laurent before settling back on Damen. “In private.”“Anything you want to say to me you can also say to him,” Damen said. “There are no secrets between us.”“Damen,” Laurent said, disentangling himself from Damen’s arm. “It’s all right. You haven’t had a chance to speak with Nikandros alone, and obviously he’ll feel better to get this out of his system. Makedon and I will—walk over there,” he said, gesturing toward some trees on the other side of a small hill. “I can show him a little of what I can do with my Writing.”Makedon looked about as pleased with that proposal as Laurent did, but he nodded and led Laurent away before Damen had a chance to protest. Damen sighed as he watched the two of them disappear around a copse of trees, and couldn’t help the bitterness in his tone as he turned to Nik.“Well? Go ahead and say it.”“Damen,” Nik said, “you have to understand how convenient this all sounds. Out of all of the people he could have gone to, he found you? The exact person he had been attempting to find?”“I was the only Akielon in the entire town,” Damen said. “It wasn’t as though he had literally any other option. It had nothing to do with convenience.”“And then it turned out that he was uniquely suited to get that Writing off of you. The only person, apparently, who could. Does that not strike you as—”“Convenient?” Damen offered. “You can say it again, if you wish. And not under your breath this time.”Nik sighed. “I am not trying to convince you of anything, Damen, or spin some conspiracy theory that does not exist. I am simply supporting you as best I can. Maybe this will come to nothing. Maybe it is, somehow, the biggest coincidence in the entire history of humanity. But we would be remiss not to consider every option. On the battlefield I have never known you not to consider a situation from all angles. I cannot understand why you would not do so now.”They walked together for a moment in silence, and Damen looked at the view around him. Strange to be walking in such a carefully cultivated garden made to look wild rather than the untamed wilderness he had been used to for the past couple of weeks. It was discomfiting to be here, constantly having to remind himself that he was back in civilization and that he couldn’t simply vanish into the trees whenever he wanted. That there were people here who depended upon him, who needed him to act like a man, a ruler, a king. He put his hand out to brush against the rough bark of a tree as they passed it, scraping his palm and pressing into the pain of it. “I cannot tell you,” Damen said quietly, “what it felt like to be trapped in that pet house. I had no manacles I could fight against, no chains that I could see. Every door was open to me but I could not cross the threshold of any of them. It is one thing to be captured as an enemy combatant on the battlefield. That is something that I can understand, in theory. This was something else entirely.”“Damen, I didn’t know—”“No, Nik. That is not why I mentioned it. I only meant that—you’re right, of course. Every situation needs to be assessed from every angle. But Laurent freed me from that place. Regardless of what his intentions were or if he truly knew who I was, I cannot forget that I am only free because of him. I do not believe that he had any ulterior motives or that he’s part of some hidden conspiracy with my brother or whatever it is I’m certain I will hear over the next few months, but for what he did for me—I would be willing to forgive him nearly anything.”Nikandros made a sound of assent, and Damen felt the cloud that had hovered over the two of them lift. Nik still probably didn’t understand everything, not the way it felt to have that Writing on him, not what it felt like to learn that someone could and would take it off—but it was enough, for now.“I was standing right over there,” Nikandros said, pointing to the other side of the estate where the training yard sat, “watching some of the new recruits train, when a messenger brought me word about your death. I punched him. Knocked him out cold.”“What, the messenger?” Damen asked, unable to keep a smile off his face. “There’s a famous saying about that, you know.”“I know,” Nik said ruefully. “I just—I was convinced it was a trick of some sort. The kind of prank in which no one ends up laughing. By the time I realized it wasn’t, the messenger was nursing a split lip and the recruits were splashing water on his face to wake him up. Oh, I compensated him,” Nik said, elbowing Damen. “More than I needed to for what had truly been an accident. But I cannot tell you what I felt when I heard the news. My heart felt split into pieces.”“Nikandros—” Damen started.Nik punched him in the arm, a playful gesture that Damen pretended to reel back from.“I knew it wouldn’t stick. Not even death could to claim you until you were ready for it. But what I meant to say was that—if that blond demon of yours helped you in any way, even if I do not trust his motivations—I can recognize that he still did something good, because he helped you. So I will try to see him as you do.”“Thank you,” Damen said.“Although I am not as taken with blondes as you are, so I suspect I will have a more difficult journey than you did,” Nik said. “It might not be that difficult, once you see what he is capable of,” Damen said, nodding towards the two figures approaching them. Laurent chatted amiably as Makedon walked stiffly next to him, his eyes wide.“Are you all right, Makedon?” Nikandros asked as the two of them came to a stop.“Oh, he’s fine,” Laurent answered when Makedon remained silent. “He was just very impressed when I made a few boulders disappear from his vision. And he continues to be impressed, as you can see, even after I tried to explain everything in very simple layman’s terms to him.”“He is a witch,” Makedon said, but unlike the way Govart had spat the word Makedon said it with no small amount of awe. Damen was half afraid that he was going to renounce his loyalty to the crown on the spot and pledge it to Laurent instead.“Not a witch,” Damen said, slapping Makedon on the back encouragingly. “A scholar. And an ally.”“Thank all the stars above for that,” Makedon said, and turned to Nikandros, and then to Laurent. “You must show him. Show him what you just showed me.”Laurent shared a smile with Damen, and when Damen held out his arm Laurent took it.“Another performance for Nikandros," Laurent said, snuggling against Damen's side. "It must be his lucky day.""Oh?" Makedon asked, despite the warning growl from Nikandros. "You've already seen what he can do? It's—Nikandros. You have to admit that his skills are beyond anything we've ever seen before. He's magnificent.""Not the word I would use," Nikandros said, and they went to go watch him work his magic. The plan they came up with, after hours spent discussing every possible idea from every possible angle, was not good.Damen knew it. Laurent knew it too, although he again held his tongue as he had that morning. Nikandros and Makedon seemed to be in agreement that although it wasn’t the best of ideas, it was currently the only one with a hope of working.The problem, which none of them dared say out loud, was Damen’s refusal to march an army on Ios. With the troops that Makedon could raise and the support they would likely find along the way, Kastor’s army had no hope of winning, especially with the morale problems they would certainly endure once they found out that Damen was still alive. But Ios was a strong city with thick walls, and the fighting would be extensive and bloody. And it would be his own people he was fighting against, his own home, and he was adamant that there was another way.So they came up with a compromise. They could not travel with Charls anymore, Damen knew that for certain—the road they took had already been too dangerous, and he wouldn't put them in harm’s way any more than he already had. But the idea of traveling with a small group wasn’t a bad one, and less likely to attract attention from any scouts that Kastor might have patrolling the area. They would take ten men, the best fighters that Nikandros and Makedon could gather, and they would travel with Nikandros, Damen and Laurent to Ios. Makedon would stay near the border and quell any disruptions there, and keep his fighters in reserve in case the worst was needed.“This is not going to work,” Laurent murmured as he and Damen made their way to where Charls had parked the wagons. They had gone to visit the troupe in their rooms, to say goodbye and let them know that they were welcome to stay as long as they wanted to, courtesy of Nikandros—but found that everyone had already departed the keep and returned to their wagons. Since the soldiers would need the rest of the day to gather their supplies anyway Damen found no reason why he couldn’t spare a moment to visit so they could say goodbye. He and Laurent had walked through town in their chitons, along with some light cloaks that covered both of their heads to protect them from too many wandering eyes.“It has to work. I will not bring war to Ios.”“And I do not think you have to,” Laurent said. “But traveling with a dozen trained fighters—anyone with two eyes will be able to tell that we're not simple travelers. As if a dozen men have any reason to be traveling together aside from causing trouble.”“Or putting on plays,” Damen said.“Yes, but we’re not disguising ourselves as actors, are we? And if we were, we could just go with Charls and continue the fiction that has gotten us this far.”“It’s too dangerous,” Damen said. This was not the first time Laurent had privately made this argument, and not the first time Damen had brushed it aside either. As much as he wanted to stay with Charls, he could not find it in himself to put them in such danger. “They’d all be hanged as traitors.”“If they get caught, yes. But in that case we’ll likely swing along with them.” Not you, Damen didn’t bother pointing out. Laurent's talents were too valuable to waste; anyone with half a working brain would be able to see the kind of power that he had. “I can’t ask them to take that risk,” Damen said. “But you’ll ask others to do so,” Laurent said. “Nikandros. Makedon.”“Yes,” Damen said, a little louder than was polite, causing a few townspeople to look over at him suspiciously. “Yes,” he said, quieter. “They know exactly what they have agreed to. They have fought in battle, and they have pledged their lives to Akielos. They know the danger they are taking on.”“You underestimate Charls,” Laurent said, but he dropped the subject as they approached the camp.Damen would not have been surprised to see the camp set up to perform, their wagons set up in the “U” shape that allowed for the stage and the wings to be set up. He wouldn’t have been surprised to see everyone lounging around either, perhaps performing small tricks in an attempt to get passer-bys to throw them some coin. He was surprised, however, by the current state of the camp: nearly packed up, the actors all rushing around to get everything sorted as quickly as possible.“Oh, my boys!” Charls said, spotting them as they walked into the chaos. He was carrying a bundle of something under his arms, possibly the curtain used to shield the stage from the audience, possibly some swaddling for a fake baby or a toga for one of the actors. Impossible to tell. “I’m glad you’re here. I wasn’t sure how many personal effects you had in your wagon, but I would have dropped off anything of value before leaving, I assure you.”“You’re leaving?” Damen repeated, a little dumbly. Laurent unraveled himself from Damen’s side and went over to speak to Nicaise, who was busy packing some sort of trunk as tightly as he could manage, looking grateful for the help.“Oh, yes,” Charls said, rearranging the bundle under his arm as he turned to Damen. “I’ve heard the greatest bit of news, you know.”“And what’s that?”Charls leaned in and held his hand up to his mouth, as if telling a secret. “A new king will be crowned in Ios in two weeks time.”Damen stared at him for a moment, waiting for the punchline.“I know,” he said, after it became apparent that he would be waiting for some time. “I've already told you—are you not familiar with where Laurent and I are headed, and for what reason?”“Oh yes, of course,” Charls said, waving his concerns away with a flap of his hands. “You’re going to take back your throne, to reclaim your crown. It’s all very exciting, you know. But coronations are extremely lucrative for those of us in this line of work. And I have a special play to produce there, one I’ve been working on for a while now, and I think it will be extremely popular.”“What play?” Damen demanded, and then, “You cannot go to Ios.”“I won’t say another word about it,” Charls said. “I am not talking about my plays ever again before they are finished. I learned my lesson there. Even if you beg to hear about it, my lips are sealed.”“I don’t even care about the—Charls, it is going to be dangerous in Ios. I am going to do everything I can to stop a civil war from breaking out, but it may happen even so. You cannot travel there.”“Damen,” Charls said, in a tone of voice that Damen imagined would drive any schoolboy to put himself in a corner in shame, “first of all, I have told you that you underestimate us. And secondly—well. I am sure that you will be a superb king. Wise, empathetic, and kind, but—oh dear, please believe me when I say that I did not want to pull this card, but I am Veretian down to my bones, and you are not my king. In this troupe I am the only ruler. A democratic one, let's say, because I do nothing without the agreement of all my actors. And we have all agreed on this path. I am sorry it is not the one you want us to take, but we will be taking it regardless.”“But—why?” Damen asked. “You could go back to Vere, you would be safer there. You would be able to practice your craft—”“And miss out on possibly the most exciting event that will happen in our lifetime? I think not, my boy. Do you know the kind of acclaim we will get from witnessing this event from the front lines? We will never suffer from lack of work again.”“Nobody will understand you,” Damen said. “None of you speak Akielon.”“You forget about Erasmus and Kallias, but our language barrier will not matter in any case. Would you like to know why?”“I’m…not sure that I would, actually,” Damen said. In some ways he wished he was arguing with Nikandros or Makedon, because at the end of the day he could simply order them to do whatever he thought best. Charls, however, was an agent of chaos, and Damen was regretting coming down here at all.“According to my sources,” Charls said, gleefully ignoring him, “there will be plenty of Veretians in Ios for the coronation. Do you know why?”Damen frowned. “No, I don’t know why.” Nikandros had not mentioned anything about Veretians visiting for the coronation; it would have been strange if they had not sent one low ranking diplomat just for appearance’s sake, but any more than that he would not have expected. Enough to make a Veretian troupe think they could successfully perform there without any trouble—he certainly would not have expected that. It didn’t make any sense for so many to make the journey when their two countries were on the brink of war.“The Regent himself is attending the coronation,” Charls said exuberantly, only barely keeping himself from crowing and then failing entirely when he saw the surprise on Damen’s face. “Oh, you had not heard that? Well. It seems that perhaps our little acting troupe could have some use for you after all. It is beneficial, I think, to have allies from every walk of life.”“I see what you’re doing,” Damen said. “It will not convince me to change my mind.”“I don’t need you to,” Charls said, tossing the bundle he had been carrying to Jord as he passed by. Jord caught it without looking and continued walking. “I only wanted to give you some information in case your own rumor mongering was not thorough enough. For a man trying to avoid war, I mean.”“I will have you detained here in Delpha if you will not stay of your own accord,” Damen hissed as Laurent wandered back over, having helped Nicaise pack his trunk securely in his wagon.“You will do nothing of the sort,” Charls said, looking at him imperiously, and then at Laurent. “And if you do, I will find a way out of it anyway.”“He told you his plan to go to Ios, then?” Laurent asked, and then shrugged when Damen looked over accusingly at him. “Nicaise told me. I just found out.”“You cannot agree with their decision,” Damen said, and Laurent simply shrugged again.“It does have some advantages,” Laurent admitted, and then held up his hands when Damen made an angry sound. “I already told you what I thought about traveling with soldiers.”Charls scoffed. “Soldiers. I would be able to pick them out from a hundred yards. That one is salvageable, maybe,” he said, pointing to Pallas, who Damen only now realized was here, helping Lazar lash something to the top of a wagon. “But only because he is willing to take advice from a more seasoned actor.”“That isn’t all he’s taking, I think,” Laurent murmured.“Well, that doesn’t hurt either,” Charls said dismissively. “I could train these soldiers of yours into proper actors if I had a month or two.”“I don’t have that long,” Damen said. “You know I don’t. The coronation is in two weeks.”“Well, it's settled, then!” Charls exclaimed, clapping Damen on the back with friendly enthusiasm. “You will travel with us, and we will get you into Ios safely and without any trouble from your brother’s soldiers. Your wagon has been left for you, just as you remember it.”Damen did not protest again. He did not tell Charls that it didn’t matter if he needed two months to train his soldiers into becoming actors because he didn’t need them to act, he only needed them to get him to Ios undetected. And he didn’t tell Charls—again—that what he was doing was dangerous, and there were easier ways to live and even easier ways to be successful. And Charls did, somehow, apparently have an extensive network of sources that provided him with information—or at least semi-helpful rumors—of what was going on in Vere, which was something that could be useful to him. Especially if it turned out that the Regent was in Akielos. But he recognized the glint in Charls’ eye. It was the same kind of look he had seen on his soldiers before they did something reckless and impossible and came out on the other side unscathed. It was the look of satisfaction that came from knowing something was dangerous and understanding that you wanted to do it not regardless of that fact, but because of it. It was the same thrill he felt in the hunt, knowing that he was powerful enough, trained enough, skilled enough to do this thing and do it well.And so Damen held out his hand, and when Charls understood he clasped it firmly, grinning like a madman. And Charls was, Damen supposed, a little mad. But then it seemed as if they all were, and something like that might just be enough to tip the scales in their favor.“When do we leave, then?” Damen asked, and a cheer went up from the actors around him.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Nik had not been pleased, to put it lightly, when he was told of the change in plans. He had argued about it for a while before Damen suggested they work off their disagreements in the fighting ring, and by the time they were done, an hour later, Nik was much more amenable to Damen’s whimsy, as he called it, and Damen found he was a little more sensitive to Nik’s point of view.
Laurent watched the two of them spar with a bored, almost hostile expression for the entire time they were in the ring, and then after everyone cleared out he had shoved Damen into the small closet where they stored the pikes and kissed him until they were both dizzy with it.
Overall the whole thing had gone rather well, Damen thought.
They decided, he and Nik, in a totally unanimous decision, that Makedon did not need to be informed about the change in plans. He would hardly care about such details anyway, Damen argued, and he had already returned to his seat in Sicyon to gather his troops and hold them at the ready. There was no point in sending a messenger to inform him of what was an arguably minuscule change and besides—they would take Pallas with them, and of course Nikandros would go too, which meant that Damen would have a few soldiers accompanying him. It was basically the same as they had discussed earlier and Makedon, if he knew, would surely not care about that.
Laurent teased him about it later, after they bedded down for the night, and Damen retaliated by making love to him so slowly, so sweetly and so carefully that by the end of the night Laurent hadn’t been capable of stringing more than two words together and his mood for teasing had been thoroughly wiped off the map.
Damen thought that had also gone rather well.
Once they were off they made good time. Nikandros had stocked the wagons with all the food they could need and given them a stable’s worth of fresh horses. Pallas spent his time teaching Lazar how to scout ahead and look for trouble to avoid and Lazar had taken to the instruction quickly—quickly enough, Laurent conjectured, that he likely had some amount of mercenary training in his past—but it meant that in only four days Damen could just make out the top of the temple that sat on the tallest hill in Ios, gleaming bright white in the sun and shining like a beacon, and all without encountering any problems along the way.
An easy journey, all told. Until they hit the gates.
“They’re checking everyone,” Pallas said, riding up to them with Lazar trailing not far behind. They were no more than a mile from the walls of the city. “Wagons are being searched. They’re even dumping out crates of food. They’re looking for something. Or someone.”
Everyone was too polite to look at Damen, but he still felt the weight of their combined attention.
“There are other ways to get into the city,” he said. “We would have to get rid of the wagons, but down by the southern gate there’s a crack in the wall that hasn’t been repaired since my grandfather’s time—”
“Kastor will know every way in just as well as you do,” Nikandros said. “If it’s you these guards are after—and there’s no reason to believe otherwise—then those places will certainly be guarded. Possibly even more heavily than the gates.”
“You said they’re searching wagons? And looking through crates?” Laurent asked, turning to Pallas, who nodded. “They’re looking for someone who’s hiding.”
Laurent looked over at Charls, who smiled back at him. Damen had a bad feeling about these two being in such obvious agreement; an ominous sign, certainly.
“Well,” Charls said, stretching his hands out in front of him and cracking his knuckles. “It’s time I finally earned my keep, I think.”
It did not take long for Charls to implement his plan. Damen and Nik were the only two at risk of being recognized, but that didn’t stop the others from raiding the supplies that were brought out, picking up and trying out various wigs and prosthetics as Charls worked on the two Akielons.
“Hold still,” Charls said, gripping Nikandros’ shoulder tightly. “You will mess it up if you keep squirming like that.”
“It’s itchy,” Nik said, reaching up to scratch at his wig. Charls slapped his hand away.
“You’ll get used to it,” said Nicaise, whose dark curls had morphed into strawberry blond locks. He glanced over at Damen and didn’t even try to hide his smirk. “The beard, though…I don’t think that ever gets better.”
Damen fought the urge to scratch at his face. When Charls had proposed the beard, Damen’s mind had immediately gone to the giant bushy beards sported by the wizened men at the Amphitheater, hanging down to their chests and thumping against them as they walked. But Charls had come to him with just a dusting of curly, itchy fake hair, and plastered it to his face with something that smelled sharp and tangy. The smell no longer bothered him but the hair was itchy, and when he brought his hands up to his face his fingers recoiled at the strange feeling there.
“I agree,” Laurent murmured, as Damen winced and scratched his nose. “I don’t like it either. Your hair, though…it looks good on you. You should grow it long.”
Laurent ran his fingers through the long black hair attached to Damen’s head, and even though it was only a wig Damen shivered at the touch.
“It would hardly be practical in the middle of a fight,” Damen said, even as he couldn’t help smiling. “Covering my eyes and getting in my face. And can you imagine? The blood would never come out.”
“Do not,” Charls said sharply, turning to him, “get blood in that wig. That was made from the winter coat of a Kemptian mountain sheep, and it cost a fortune. I expect it to be returned in the exact condition it was lent to you.”
“Understood,” Damen said. And then: “Wait, a sheep? I’m wearing an animal on my head?”
But Charls had already turned back to finish up Nik’s appearance, and Laurent only shrugged and continued styling Damen’s hair.
“You’re very good at this,” Damen said as Laurent quickly braided a small strand and tucked it behind Damen’s ear before starting on another.
“In Arles it was the style for young men to have hair this long,” Laurent said, his fingers moving nimbly. “I was pretty good at dealing with it. Shorter is less trouble to manage, though. And easier to wash in a river.”
“Pragmatic as always.”
“In a few ways, yes. Changing your profile is the easiest way to go unnoticed, even by those who know you well. I changed mine to sneak out, and now we’re changing yours to sneak in.”
“And so?” Damen asked, turning to face Laurent. “Do you think it will work? If I walked by you on the street like this, would you recognize me?”
“Of course
I
would recognize you,” Laurent said, rolling his eyes, resting his hand at the base of Damen’s neck. “But a random overworked guard, even one who’s seen you before—I don’t think they’ll see the resemblance, no.”
“Oh?” Damen said, and pulled Laurent down on his lap. Laurent went easily, arms winding around Damen’s neck so that he didn’t lose his balance and topple the both of them over. “You’ve studied my face so intently that you would know it no matter what, is that it?”
“Idiot,” Laurent said, cheeks flaming. “As if I need to study anything. The look in your eyes when you stare at me is as blatant as if you were yelling your intentions across a busy street. You could be wearing a mask in the dark and I would still be able to recognize you. You’re just that obvious, that’s all.”
“That obvious because you spend just as much time looking at me as I do you,” Damen said, unable to keep a smile from his face. Laurent began to squirm and Damen held him still, his hands tightening around Laurent’s waist. “No need to be embarrassed. I’m not.”
“You should be,” Laurent said, but it was obvious that his squirming was just for show, a necessary fiction to keep face. “Now. Are you going to let me finish, or are you going to keep me here and risk a guard noticing your bad wig?”
“It is not a bad wig,” Charls said, his head still down and bent over Nikandros. “A poor carpenter will always blame his tools for his mistakes. You must inhabit the character, that’s all. Do that and it wouldn’t matter if it was a bad wig. Which again, it is not.”
“Inhabit the character,” Damen said, loosing his grip on Laurent’s waist. “A long haired, slightly bearded Akielon man who needs entrance into the city for reasons that are not at all suspicious.”
“Now you’ve got it,” Charls said as he slapped Nikandros’ hand away from itching once more.
As they waited at the city’s gates, Damen tried to calm his nerves. He felt as if he were a bright red fox in the middle of a wide, green field. Or, as their situation would have it, a wanted man in a not-so-bad wig on top of a wide, orange caravan.
“State your business,” the guard at the gates said when it was their turn, sighing deeply.
“Esteemed men of Akielos,” Charls said, standing on his bench and bowing. “I am the illustrious Charls, of the famed Charls’ Men. We have traveled far and wide to—”
“No,” the main guard said, waving his hand in front of his face as if Charls’ Veretian was something that stunk up his nose. “No Veretian. If you can’t speak Akielon you can go back where you came from.”
It was obvious that was the preferred option, and Damen could see the man already looking behind them for his next target.
“I can speak Akielon,” Kallias said, hopping down from the wagon behind Charls’. They had accounted for this possibility, and Kallias was ready to step into his role. “Sorry about my boss. He’s a bit much, right? But most of us here speak Akielon,” he said, gesturing behind him. Damen, Laurent, Nik, Pallas and Erasmus all nodded. “So we’re not all terrible, I assure you.”
“Hmm,” grumbled the guard. With the prospect of having to search the wagons back on the table he was annoyed again. “Well. You, then. State your business.”
“My business? Nothing more than making some coin. At least that’s what I was promised when I joined this ragtag bunch of thespians. And we’re here to celebrate the coronation, of course,” Kallias added after the first joke didn’t land.
“You’re all actors?” the guard asked, looking at the group of them distrustfully. “You here to put on some plays, then?”
“Plays, music, dancing, we do everything. Figured there’d be more people than usual here for the great celebration, and we wanted to capitalize on that.”
The guard muttered something noncommittal, and then shook his head. “Well, I suppose I can’t blame you for chasing coin. We’ll have to search your wagons, you understand.”
“Of course,” Kallias said, resigned but not suspiciously so. “Please do be careful with the paper mache props, though. They’re very delicate, and it’s my job to maintain them. I’d rather spend my first time back in Ios in ten years doing something a little more fun than repairing all of them, you know?”
The guard nodded, already bored in a way that made Damen think he had no intention of being careful with anything, and motioned for the other guards to get started. They moved quickly despite their initial apathy, and Damen followed the other members of the troupe when they were instructed to assemble away from the caravans.
They didn’t even give him a second glance, and he was glad they hadn’t tried anything as stupid as hiding. There was a crash as something heavy hit the floor in Erasmus and Kallias’ wagon, and Erasmus winced.
“Don’t worry,” Damen said, his voice low. “Anything that breaks, I’ll replace it. I promise.”
“That’s kind of you,” Erasmus said, turning away so he didn’t have to watch the carnage. “But it’s not that. It’s just…that wagon has been our home for ten years. It’s upsetting to watch someone treat it like that. That’s all. I appreciate it, though.”
Damen smiled, and was about to ask Erasmus about his travels to distract him further when the main guard wandered over, leering at each member of the troupe in turn.
“So,” he said, wandering over to Kallias. “Actors, entertainers. You said you’re dancers too? Don’t know if I’ve ever seen a troupe as pretty as some of you.” He ogled Nicaise, then Aimeric, and then his gaze locked on Erasmus, who turned red up to his ears. “You know, it’s been a while since I’ve seen anything…entertaining. Maybe you could put on a show for me, take my mind off how stressful this job is.”
Erasmus backed up until he bumped against Damen, who put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. Kallias glared at the guard with murderous intention, and Damen tried to catch his eye, willing him to back down.
“So? What do you say? A little private showing to make sure we don’t find anything…questionable in any of your wagons, hmm?”
Damen realized suddenly that it was entirely possible these guards hadn’t, in fact, been posted to watch for the wayward Akielon prince. There was money to be made here, bribes to be taken, small treasures to be stolen, and an influx of people into the city could mean quite a payday for those with loose enough morals to take advantage of it. Damen and his father would never have allowed such men to guard the city walls, to be in charge of something so important as the safety of the city, and he noticed only now how ill fitting their armor was, how awkwardly they handled the swords at their sides. They were recent recruits, and badly trained at that; Kastor must be hard up for soldiers if he was allowing men of this caliber such an important job. He wondered what had happened to all of his highly trained men, men who would sooner fall upon their own sword than treat their fellow citizens this way.
Well. He would make time to answer to such questions once they made it through. And they would do so without having to submit to this vile man, Damen would make sure of that.
“Actually,” Damen said, stepping in front of Erasmus, “Erasmus here doesn’t dance. He’s a lute player, and a fine one at that.
I
am the dancing expert of the group.”
“And I,” Nikandros said, coming to stand next to Damen. Together the two of them formed an impressive wall that was impossible for the guard to penetrate with his leering gaze.
“Yes, we are Lymon and Leander,” Damen said, nudging Nik in thanks. “Perhaps you've heard of us? We'd be happy to put on a show for you, if you like. It takes us a while to warm up, though. Don’t want to stretch a hamstring, right? Or dislocate a shoulder again.”
“Dislocate a shoulder?” the guard repeated, looking between them with a fair bit of apprehension. It was obvious that neither Damen nor Nik—both large men with a fair amount of coarse hair all over their bodies, not to mention the long wigs which made them look quite wild—were his type, and he eyed the two of them warily.
“Oh yes,” Nik said, picking up the thread Damen had left for him. “It’s more like fighting, almost.”
“Fight dancing,” Damen said, and the two of them nodded at each other. “It’s been banned in Vere for being too violent. Too many of those cowards fainted during our performances, and do you remember, Leander? One high ranking aristocrat vomited onto some very expensive lace that one time, said we cost him a fortune. Didn’t tip us at all, either. After that it was hard to get a showing anywhere. We thought we would have better luck here, among more…sturdy men. Akielon men. Someone like you, eh?”
The guard was prevented from having to answer—and Damen and Nik saved from having to make up an entirely fictional and potentially fatal way of dancing—by the arrival of the men who were done searching the caravans. They were met with a measure of gratitude that Damen was mildly offended by, but it was obvious from their bored shrugs and the absence of anything in their hands that they hadn’t found anything incriminating.
“All right,” the main guard said, turning to Kallias, who was still fuming silently. “Looks clean, apparently. Get a move on, you’re holding up the line.”
“Thank you,” Damen said, stepping in before Kallias could answer with something that would likely get them thrown in the city jail for the night. “We won’t take up any more of your time. Let’s get going, then.”
Everyone got back into their seats with haste, and they moved through the city and away from the guards as quickly as they could. It was strange seeing Ios from such a high vantage; people glanced over at them, because giant orange wagons were certainly not a common sight, but once they had satisfied their curiosity most people simply looked away and continued on with their day. Damen wasn’t used to riding through the city without constantly being stopped by his people: well wishers, citizens who wanted to chat with him, children who wanted to shake his hand, sometimes even offers from men and women who wanted his company. He almost missed the easy camaraderie he shared with his people, these strangers all around them, even if the attention could be a little much, sometimes.
They stopped at the great crossroads down by the bazaar, the roads ahead tempting them in every direction. South down to the palace; west to the docks; east to the grand Coliseum and shopping district. Damen jumped down from the wagon with all the potential in the world before him and clambered onto Charls’ wagon, standing close so he wouldn’t have to yell.
“Take that road,” Damen said, pointing down the path that would take them to the docks. “There’s a small Veretian population that lives there, you’ll be safe. And you’ll find a suitable place to park the wagons, I’m sure of it.”
“Leaving us already, my boy?” Charls asked.
“I have some things I need to see to,” Damen said. “But I’ll be back soon. And I’ll be careful.”
“I never worry about you, Lymon,” Charls said, snapping the reins on his horse once Damen’s feet hit the ground. “You’ll always have your fight dancing to keep you safe.”
“Yeah, yeah. Get out of here,” Damen said, smiling as the wagons trundled past him. He waved at Nik as he passed, and Nik nodded back; they had discussed what their first moves would be once they were inside the city, and Nik knew what his instructions were. As soon as everyone was gone Damen turned to Laurent, who had appeared next to him without a word, his shoulder length brown wig unfamiliar in Damen’s peripheral. According to their plans Laurent was supposed to stay with the others, but Damen couldn't be mad at the last minute change.
“So? Where are we going?” Laurent asked, falling in beside him as they walked down the broad, cobbled street lined with sweet smelling trees.
“Nowhere exciting,” Damen answered, although he knew with a kind of lightness in his chest that Laurent would not be dissuaded from joining him. “And nowhere near any crowds, I promise. I want to take the temperature of the city, that is all.”
“Ah,” Laurent said, winding his arm through Damen’s. The houses on either side of them had reasonably thick walls to protect them from the noise of the road, but Damen could hear laughter and voices coming from behind them. It was comforting to hear Akielon words all around him, even if they were too soft to make out. “It must be nice to return to a home that you’ve missed.”
“It is,” Damen said, “nice. And bittersweet. This was not the way I thought I would return, in disguise and hunted by my brother.”
“And with a new citizen on your arm,” Laurent said lightly, before Damen could get too maudlin. “One who is going to call this place home as well, and who hasn’t seen what a certain Akielon claims to be the greatest wonders of the world.”
“Well,” Damen said, straightening his shoulders at the challenge. “I wouldn’t want to be called a braggart. Come on, then.”
Damen took them past the Coliseum, where a few dozen spectators watched and chatted among themselves as the gladiators trained below. Past the amphitheater on the western side of the city where a lone student was making a passionate statement about the myriad horrors of existence to an audience of two extremely bored old men. Past the fountain depicting the ancient King Thestos, Damen’s forefather, riding a chariot pulled by two seahorses, water tumbling over the entirety of the delicately carved marble sculpture. All of those places were exactly as Damen remembered and yet they felt strange, as if he only knew them because they had been described to him in great detail and he had somehow tricked himself into thinking he knew them himself. It was a feeling that could be attributed to homesickness, as if his brain hadn’t caught up to the fact he was home yet after so much time believing he never would be again. But he knew that wasn’t the entirety of it. There was something else that was marring his memories of Ios.
“Are there always this many guards in the city?” Laurent asked, leaning in to speak quietly to Damen as they passed yet another pair of guards. These two were loitering in the shade of one of the broad trees along the road, staring distrustfully at everyone who passed them.
Damen shook his head.
“Not even half this number, usually. And they’re like the guards at the gate, have you noticed? Ill fitting armor, hands wrapped around their swords like they’ve never touched a pommel before. They’re new recruits, all of them.”
“Recently pressed into service,” Laurent murmured, steering them away from another pair down the street that Damen could only barely see. “Well, it makes sense to increase troops for a coronation, especially one that promises to be contentious.”
“Yes, and you know what else helps? Feasts and triumphs and parades. It was said that during my father’s coronation the wine and food was so prevalent that everyone in the city gained ten pounds that week, and the road that led from the main walls to the palace had to be rebuilt because of all of the parades. And yet now there’s nothing. Not even a single banner.”
Damen could not see the sense in it. If Kastor wanted to win over the people of the city—and he would need to try very hard to do so, if the atmosphere Damen felt right now was anything to go by—plying them with free food and liquor and entertainment would be the easiest way to do so. Increasing troops and depriving the people of a party that many had anticipated their entire lives seemed like a bad decision, and one likely to turn riotous.
When they turned down the next street Laurent’s grip tightened on Damen’s arm, a warning that there was something ahead they should probably avoid. Damen angled them away from the area even though he couldn’t quite make out what had spooked Laurent—and then he heard the clear, unmistakable sound of someone in trouble.
“Let me
go!
”
It was the unbroken pitch of a young child, his voice echoing against the stone walls of the houses around them. Everyone on the street turned at the sound, as Damen did, but just as quickly turned away.
Damen did not turn away. Instead he paused, stopping him and Laurent in the middle of the street, and Laurent sighed quietly.
“We’ll let you go when you give us what you stole, boy.”
“I didn’t steal anything!” the boy cried, his voice strained as though he were pulling against something. Damen was drawn towards the noise, his feet pushing him forward until he could see the child, who was indeed pulling against the guard’s iron grip around the collar of his shirt.
“I think you did,” growled a second voice. “I think I saw you put something in those grubby pockets of yours. Turn them out, boy.”
“I didn’t do anything,” the boy said, tears beginning to spill down his face. “My momma will want me home soon, please.”
“Your momma might never see you again if you don’t—”
“Stop.”
Damen didn’t realize he had spoken until the two guards turned to him, startled, a hand still wrapped around the boy’s collar. For a moment they goggled at him, offended in the same way that two lovers would be if their private conversation had been interrupted by a wandering drunk.
“I think you’re confused,
dominus
,” the guard who had his hands free said, still slightly incredulous that someone had dared to talk to them at all. “Keep walking and leave us to our business.”
“He’s only a child,” Damen said, uncowed by their posturing. “If you wanted to scare him, you’ve succeeded. Now let him go.”
“And who, exactly, are you?” The guard who’d been holding the boy’s collar stood up straight, releasing the boy as he did so. In a flash the boy was gone, and Damen had two guards facing him. He had the feeling that everyone on the street was looking at him, yet he could see nobody in his peripheral except Laurent, who he stepped in front of protectively.
“I am
Akielon
,” Damen said, aware that he needed to keep the flames of his anger at bay and only barely managing to do so. “I am Ionian. And we do not treat our countrymen this way. You are supposed to protect our citizens, not traumatize them.”
“You don’t look Ionian,” the first guard said. His nose was crooked, like it had been broken before, and he held himself on the balls of his feet. If it came to a fight, Damen would need to take him out first. “You look as if you’ve been living in the wilds for the last ten years. And that pretty companion of yours doesn’t look Akielon at all.”
Damen must have moved then, or something must have shown on his face, because the two guards flinched backwards as one. He did not want to fight anyone—especially not men who were ultimately meant to be under his command—but he would do what was needed to in order to protect both Laurent and himself.
“Aye, give it a rest, Caius,” someone called out from the building next to them. After the guards turned to look—and only after they did—Damen followed their gazes. An old woman leaned against the balcony on the second floor of the building next to them, the door to her flat left open behind her. “You’ve been such a prick ever since you were conscripted.”
“Nona,” the guard named Caius said, his cheeks pinking as his fists clenched by his sides. “You can’t just say that—”
“Oh, shut it. Come in and get some stew, the both of you,” she said in a tone that brokered no argument. “You need something good in your bellies to even out the bad humours that’ve flared up these past few weeks. They made that armor a little too tight around those big balls of yours, if you ask me.”
“
Nona—
”
“Come on,” Laurent said quietly, putting a gentle hand on Damen’s back as the old woman bickered with the two guards below her, effectively distracting them. “Let’s get out of here.”
Damen did as he was bade and turned to follow Laurent.
They walked quickly for a few blocks, not quite running but near enough, until it was clear no one was following them. Damen couldn’t help the sigh that escaped him as he gathered his bearings, and Laurent let out a strangled laugh.
“Is something the matter?” Damen asked. Laurent nestled up to him, their feet falling into rhythm as Damen pointed them towards the docks where their crew was waiting.
“No, it’s nothing. It’s just…you can’t really help yourself, can you?”
“What do you mean?”
Laurent waved his hand in front of them, as if trying to encompass the entire city with the gesture.
“You. All of it. You’re just so—”
“Impetuous?” Damen asked, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. “I couldn’t let them harm that child, Laurent. Who knows what they were going to do to him—”
“Stop,” Laurent said quietly, squeezing Damen’s arm. “That’s not what I meant. And that’s not what I think of you, either. You’re not impetuous. You know exactly what the cost will be every time you stick your neck out for someone else. I just wonder where you get that inexorable certainty from, that’s all.”
“I don’t know that certainty has anything to do with it,” Damen said, guiding them over to the shade of a large tree by the side of the road. Even though the sun had nearly set, it was still warm out and he was tired; he didn’t think he had enough energy for whatever conversation Laurent was angling for
and
walk at the same time. “I just…try to do the right thing. That’s all.”
“And you believe that you being King is the right thing,” Laurent said, half question, half challenge. They disentangled themselves and Laurent moved to stand in front of him, his feet braced against the ground as if he felt at risk of getting bowled over.
Damen frowned at him. “Do you really want to do this now? I am the rightful heir of Akielos—”
“I know that,” Laurent said. “I’m not doubting that. I’m not even doubting anything about you. I’m just trying to understand.”
“It’s not that difficult to understand the order of succession,” Damen said.
Laurent blew out an annoyed breath, and Damen knew it had been a petty answer. But he did not apologize, only waited for Laurent to get to the point he was trying to make.
“So this confidence that you have,” Laurent said, after a brief moment had passed, “it’s not about doing the right thing, it’s about you chasing your birthright. It can’t be both—you’re either doing this because you think it’s right, or you’re doing it because you were born to it. Which one is it?”
“It
can
be both,” Damen said, unable to understand where this sudden fit of rebelliousness had come from. “My brother betrayed me, Laurent. He betrayed our father, he isn’t fit to rule—”
“But maybe he is. Maybe that’s exactly what makes him so,” Laurent said. Some of the buildings around them were being lit and it cast the area around them in a warm glow, setting Laurent’s eyes ablaze. “Maybe that’s what it takes to be a successful king. Perhaps a king needs to be ruthless, needs to be savage, in order to protect the greater good. Perhaps your compassion for others will be a burden to you, and not an advantage.”
“You don’t believe that,” Damen said, frowning.
“No,” Laurent said, sagging a bit, “I don’t. I am just…trying to understand. As I said. Trying to understand you. I just can't see where all of your sometimes irritating, sometimes irritatingly attractive confidence comes from.”
“Irritatingly attractive?” Damen repeated, raising an eyebrow.
“You see? That is exactly what I’m talking about,” Laurent said, waving his hand in frustration at Damen’s chest before pinning him down with his gaze. “How do you know you shouldn’t be that stable boy I made you into that night we gave up our horses? Or a different path entirely, a librarian, a historian, a scholar? What gave you the right to look at the kingship before you and think you could ever be good enough for it?”
Damen bristled. It was a question that scratched too close to the doubt he harbored about his station, and a part of him wanted to issue his own challenge in answer. But this was Laurent, and however much he sounded like he was angling for a fight, Damen had the idea the real reason behind this line of questioning hinted at something deeper, something he couldn’t quite understand yet. But he wanted to, and so he took a deep breath before continuing, and ultimately found no anger that needed to be swept away.
“I was raised to do this,” Damen said eventually. “It’s what I’ve trained my whole life for.”
“So the answer is training, then,” Laurent said, pouncing on this answer with the ferocity of a cat springing on a distracted bird. “Strategy sessions, history lessons, learning different languages. But many princes have had such things and they have not all been successful. And we can blame the tutors for that fact, certainly, or perhaps the wandering attentions of a young prince, but that can’t be all of it. Is it the fault of a prince if he isn’t suited to the throne, or can it be blamed on something else? You have charm, of course, and a certain kind of charisma that can’t be taught. Perhaps that is the missing key that dooms too many hapless princes.”
“It is a hard job. I would not blame anyone for not being able to weather it.”
“But you have,” Laurent said insistently. “Through betrayal and slavery and hardship you have weathered the worst that life could throw at you. Why is it that you can, and with such certainty, and others cannot?”
Damen did not have an answer for that. In truth he had never given it much thought; he had considered it a task to be done, and he was the kind of person who wanted to do things well. Of course there had been bad princes in the history of Akielos, men incapable of leading their people, lacking in grace or compassion, but he had never let the fear of becoming like them stop him from trying to do his best. And his father likewise would never have allowed him to give anything less.
Laurent was waiting for him to answer. Damen remembered once when he was young he had been on the deck of a ship, and the captain had told him there was a whale swimming right underneath their stern. Damen had peered into the inky blackness of the water—it had been nighttime—but he hadn’t seen anything, only felt viscerally that something huge and monstrous was just inches from his face, unknowable and yet not any less real. He felt like that now, looking at Laurent.
The silence between them weighed heavily on Damen’s shoulders, and as one they turned to lean against the wall that separated the road from the houses behind it, the leaves of the tree casting starry shadows on the path in front of them. They watched as people began to fill the streets, families and couples and groups of friends looking for entertainment, for food and laughter and dancing. He wondered if any of them would go down to the Veretian quarter, if Charls had already decided what play they would perform, or if they would perform at all. He wondered if Nik had been able to complete the task that Damen had asked of him. He wondered if Laurent would believe him if he said that he was not nearly as confident as he seemed, and that at times he felt no better than a sailor trying to navigate through fog.
“I ran away once, you know,” Damen said, the story coming to him unbidden as they looked out at the city in front of them. “When I was a child. No, not a child. A man, almost.”
“You did?” Laurent asked, startled. “But—”
He did not finish the thought. That heavy silence threatened to descend on them again, and Damen laughed at himself to chase it away.
“I did,” Damen said. “I was fourteen. Gods, maybe even fifteen. My early teenage years were—volatile. I fought with my father quite often. At that age I could only see the hesitancy in his actions and not the carefulness, and I confused his patience with cowardice. I felt as if I was the only one in the entire palace who could see any matter clearly. And my father, he is—was—a natural leader of men. But children are not men, and he did not know how to deal with me.”
It had not helped either that at fourteen Damen was consistently beating some of the best, most seasoned men in the training ring, or that he was routinely astounding his battle masters with his grasp of military tactics. Too much praise had been lauded upon him by too many people except the one that he coveted the most.
“The night I ran away, my father and I had been fighting. I don’t remember about what; I can’t imagine it was anything important. It took very little back then to goad me into reckless action. He might have critiqued my fighting, my studies. Something like that. He was always so stingy with his praise when it came to me, and yet was so adoring of Kastor. I felt like I would never be good enough for what he wanted me to be.”
It felt almost traitorous to say these things when his father was barely cold in the ground. But Damen knew now, as an adult, that his father loved him. Had loved him. He had loved him in the best way that he knew how, and that meant constantly pushing him, forcing him to be better, never being satisfied with good enough. And Damen was who he was today because of that.
“So what happened?” Laurent asked gently. “You obviously didn’t run away to start your own country somewhere.”
“No,” Damen said. “I didn’t. And if I had actually gone through with it I hardly would have put myself in charge of a new kingdom. No, I went up to my room and I threw every single thing that I owned into my pack. And I knew by then how to pack a bag for traveling—food, a waterskin, a blanket. But I took every book, every letter, every trinket I’d ever been given and I threw it all in there. I was determined never to come back, and I wanted everything with me. My bag must have weighed eighty pounds; I would only have been able to carry it for a few minutes, if that. And then, right before I was about to leave, my
demitira
caught me.”
“Kastor’s mother,” Laurent said. “The woman who raised you.”
“Yes.”
“And she—what. Threw you in the dungeons to keep you from going? Or did she celebrate your leaving because it meant Kastor would be crowned?”
“No,” Damen said, shaking his head. “Neither, although I was certain at the time I was doomed for the first one. She knew I had been fighting with my father; she looked around my rooms, the destruction I had caused, saw the pack in my hands, and she said to me: ‘Take Nikandros with you.’ That is what she told me.”
“That’s it?” Laurent asked, a startled laugh escaping his lips. “She didn’t try to stop you? It sounds like she wanted you to leave.”
“That's what I thought too,” Damen said. “And I accused her of such. I accused her of a lot of things that night. But she only looked at me calmly, as if none of it even scratched the surface of her armor, and she said that she could never understand the responsibility I was under. The pressure and constraints that were placed on me every single day. But she told me that if I believed this to be the best course of action she would support me in every way she knew how. And her support, she said, was to make sure that I knew I had friends that I could trust unconditionally. That I had people around me to lean on. Because this job, being the crown prince, eventually being king—it’s not something that can be done alone.”
The stars were beginning to twinkle in the darkening sky. Damen looked up through the leaves and saw the archer, his favorite as a boy—not because it had represented a favorite weapon of his, but because it had always been the first to come out at night, the most reliable to see. He wondered if Laurent could see the stars at all, or if it was just inky blackness in his vision. He didn’t ask. He was afraid of what the answer would be, and it was impossible not to think of what Laurent would have been like at that age, a coltish youth of fourteen, his entire family in the ground. Of all the things he was forced to go through alone. The choices that he had made with no one beside him to give him advice, to give him the care and attention he needed, and the price he was paying for that even now.
“So what did you do?” Laurent asked, startling Damen out of his reverie.
Damen shrugged. “Oh, right. I went to get Nikandros. Not because my
demitira
had told me to, but because I thought having a friend in my new life would be a good idea. So I took the pack that I could barely carry, went and woke Nikandros, and together we left the palace.”
“And you lived happily ever after,” Laurent said lightly, leaning his head against the wall.
Damen snorted. “Hardly. We got a half mile out before I had to stop because I was too tired of carrying my pack, and then Nik barraged me with questions. How were we going to pay for food, where were we going to sleep. How would we make money. And I had answers that I thought were good enough for each of those questions, but he picked them apart, one by one.”
“So he’s always been a spoilsport,” Laurent said.
“In his own way,” Damen said, smiling. “By the time we were done arguing there was nothing we could see to do except go back. We were starving, and we had no money to buy food, and no heart to steal. And we were tired. When we showed up again at the palace with our tails between our legs my
demitira
was waiting for us with breakfast, and had sent the guards away so that no one else would know we had even left. So if I seem certain to you, or if I’m confident about anything in this world, it’s because I have learned to trust the people around me. Father. Nikandros. Makedon. My
demitira
.” He smiled, and reached out to take Laurent’s hand in his own. “You. Being a prince is not something that can be done alone. It is folly to try.”
Laurent was silent after that, his mind obviously far away, his eyes fixed on a distant point behind Damen’s shoulder. Damen ran his fingers over Laurent’s knuckles, and Laurent squeezed back every once in a while, the movement more reflexive than consciously done.
“I ran away too,” Laurent said eventually, still not meeting Damen’s eye. “As much as you can say that about a man of twenty years old, at least.”
“You’ve mentioned as much, yes,” Damen said carefully.
“Do you think that—when I left. Or—before that. If I’d had my mother to stop me. If I’d had my brother to talk me out of it. Maybe I wouldn’t have—or—maybe he wouldn’t have—”
He didn’t finish the thought. Damen doubted that he ever would, with or without prompting, so he said, “There’s no telling what you would or wouldn’t have done. Knowing you as I do, I can only guess that the actions that you took were the ones most likely to succeed, and done out of necessity rather than an abundance of choice.”
“You don’t know anything about me, Damen,” Laurent said, a haunted look in his eye. “Not really. What I did to get out of there—how many bodies I left behind—if I told you even a fraction of what I’ve done you would drop me in a gutter and never speak to me again.”
“Do you really believe that? That my regard for you is some fickle, dependent thing?” Damen asked quietly. “I know you’ve blood on your hands. I see the burden of all you’ve left behind, the weight you carry around your neck. You think I don’t recognize those things in you? I do, Laurent. We are more alike than you think.”
For a moment he didn't think Laurent would answer. But eventually Laurent said, quietly, "Yes,"
and Damen knew he had been turning the half-rhetorical questions over and over in his mind. “I perhaps didn’t realize that I was so obvious in some of those matters, but I am not so blind that I do not recognize the…connections between us. And I do not think your—” here he paused for a moment, and Damen glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, saw the blush staining his cheeks, made brighter than usual against the darkness of his hair, “—I do not think that your regard for me is fickle. I think that it is true, and it is strong, and it is real. And in that way too we are alike.”
Damen could not help the tremble in his breast at Laurent’s words, at the traitorous butterflies that flapped in his stomach. He had not brought up the sentiment he had broached at the keep in Delpha again. Laurent had seemed—not irritated, exactly, by the things Damen had said that night, but there had been a new thread of tension in him since then. Laurent looked at him every once in a while like he was about to say something, and then would reconsider and close his mouth, and Damen would catch him staring sometimes, his brow furrowed as if puzzling out some great mystery.
That tension was gone now. This time when Damen looked over at him their eyes met and held, and Damen felt it again—that feeling that something huge and unknowable had passed between them, but this time he had been a part of it, not separate from it as he had been earlier. After a brief moment Laurent squeezed Damen’s hand in warning, and Damen realized that he needed the reminder to breathe; he was in danger of passing out if he continued to hold his breath.
“Come on,” Laurent said, something like a smile playing about his lips as he pushed off from the wall, dragging Damen with him. “We are already going to be late for our rendezvous with the spoilsport. I would hate to ruin whatever fun our evening holds with a lecture about punctuality.”
“Wait,” Damen said, stopping Laurent from pulling them into the street. He tugged on his hand and Laurent turned and fell effortlessly into his arms, their feet tangling together as Laurent moved to keep his balance. “We are already late. Five more minutes will not make a difference.”
Laurent cocked an eyebrow at him, but did not endeavor to move out of the embrace of Damen’s arms. “Each minute we’re late will add another ten to the lecture. Are you sure you want to take that risk?”
Damen answered by reaching down and kissing him. He felt Laurent’s smile against his lips, matched by his own, swallowed the sound of his laughter as Laurent learned into him, hands finding purchase on Damen’s body: one wrapping around his arm, one resting gently against the back of his neck.
It is true, it is strong, and it is real.
The stars of Ios sparkled above them, and off in the distance Damen could hear the ocean.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Damen turned his body, trying to look natural while shielding Laurent from anyone on the street who might look their way. Nikandros was on his other side, standing a little farther away and looking even more uncomfortable than Damen.“We would not have to be worried about this if we had been on time,” Nikandros said gruffly, his voice low.Damen ignored him. They had already weathered the worst of Nik’s irritation, and were at no real risk of being late. As long as Laurent could work his magic, at least.“When did you learn to pick locks?” Damen whispered as Laurent fiddled with the gate. They were in front of a public garden a few blocks from the palace. It was late—closer to sunrise than sunset—so the garden had been locked up for the night, but when Damen had offered his hands so that Laurent could scale the wall Laurent said he had a better idea.“When?” Laurent repeated distractedly as he moved two metal rods around in the admittedly flimsy looking lock. “I’m not sure. A few hours after the first time I encountered a locked door, probably.”“I thought you couldn’t see non-living things,” Nikandros grumbled quietly. “This isn’t going to work.”As if on cue—and Damen wouldn’t discount the possibility that Laurent had been stalling, waiting for someone to question him—the lock popped open.“You don’t need to see anything to pick a lock,” Laurent said with infinite patience, and then slipped the two long thin pieces of metal back in his cloak so he could wrap his arm around Damen’s possessively. “The important part is what it feels like inside. Ask Damen about it, sometime.”Damen ushered the two of them in before Nik had a chance to bite back. He closed the gate behind him as quietly as he could, making sure it stayed unlocked so they could beat a hasty retreat if needed.The garden was eerie at night. The darkness muted the bright blooms of the flowers, turning everything to hues of blue and purple in the moonlight while the trees cast looming shadows over the grass. The sound of water came from somewhere near them, but the darkness hid its source. They were alone here, and even if someone was standing on the other side of the wall they would not be heard, but Damen still found himself lowering his voice, as if the night demanded such reverence.“Can you tell us when someone is coming?” Damen whispered. Laurent nodded. “From the minute they open the door on the other side. This place is beautiful, Damen. And to be right in the middle of the city like this. I’ve never seen anything like it.”Damen’s heart swelled with pride; his city was beautiful, and he knew that, but it meant something to him that Laurent thought so too, that someone who had grown up with all the splendors of Vere—with their overly decorated columns, fussy windows and arches, buildings festooned with sculptures and gargoyles in every possible nook and cranny—would find beauty in this place too.“This is Liador’s Rest,” Damen said, still speaking quietly. Nik shuffled nervously next to him, peering into the darkness to try to make out any figures, but Damen trusted that Laurent would let them know when someone was coming. “Liador was a kyros back when Ios still had to take great pains to protect herself from southern raiders. Legend has it that on the night of their greatest attack he had only his bow and yet still managed to sink fifteen of their longboats. Somehow.”“Seventeen,” Nikandros whispered.“Seventeen, then,” Damen amended with a smile. “More likely it was only one or two at best; I know how Akielons like to embellish their stories. But however many there were, he was fatally wounded protecting his city and his king. He dragged himself here, to drink from the spring one last time before he perished. And so the king commanded this garden to be created in his honor, to water weary travelers and be a place of rest for them.”“Well, let us hope that we do not meet the same fate as Liador,” Laurent said, his grip tightening on Damen’s arm. “There is someone coming, from the other side of the garden. And she is alone.”Nik glanced over at Damen, who nodded. Nik stepped forward, separate from them but still keeping to the shadows, and waited while Damen and Laurent snuck into a nearby hiding spot. It was at least ten seconds before Damen could finally make out the figure walking towards them, draped in a deep purple stola with a hood up around her face. Damen recognized her immediately even as her clothes helped her blend into the darkness, and his heart seized in his chest.“Nikandros,” came the familiar voice. It held more tension than Damen was used to, sounded more fragile than he remembered. “Your hair—but it is you. I hardly believed it; I did not even receive word that you were in the city. Your message said you have news of my son? Is he all right? Is he alive? Why has he not come home?”“I am sorry for the subterfuge, Lady Hypermenestra, but this is a delicate matter,” Nikandros said. “We had to be sure that—”“Do not ‘Lady’ me, Nik,” she snapped at him. “I have known you since you were in swaddling. I watched you fall off your first horse, I was there when you strung your first bow. There are no ceremonies between us. Tell me plainly if my son still lives.”Damen did not wait for Nik to answer and stepped out from his hiding place. He had not wanted to hide to begin with, but Laurent and Nikandros, in a rare moment of agreement, had convinced him of the necessity of it. They did not know whether or not his mother was backing Kastor, they had argued. They did not know whether she’d been involved with what had happened to him. But the pain in her voice when she asked if he lived was enough for him. It wasn’t the pain of a woman whose plans had been foiled, but the grief of a wounded mother.“Peace, demitira ,” Damen said, gesturing placatingly towards her. “We thought this subterfuge necessary, considering what has happened to me. Nik was only following my orders.”“Damen,” she said, the blood draining from her face. “The stars above—you are alive.”None of them moved. Hypermenestra swayed slightly, as if she were a tree in a windstorm, before suddenly launching herself at Damen, wrapping her arms around his shoulders tightly, her feet leaving the ground. Damen caught her effortlessly, his arms winding around her waist.It was, as all her hugs were, slightly stiff and awkward. She had never liked to be touched—Damen had been perceptive enough to notice that as a child—although when he and Kastor were young she had made an effort to comfort them whenever they needed it. It had been years since she had taken Damen into her arms like this, and it made him feel strangely childish, as if the betrayal from his brother was nothing more than a bad dream he was only now waking up from, a hurt that would be entirely forgotten by the time she was done comforting him.Too soon she pushed away, and Damen let her go. She wiped tears from her eyes and this too was unusual; his demitira was not an outwardly emotional woman, and did not give in to dramatics. If she had ever cried during his childhood he did not remember it.“Damianos,” she said, pulling herself together, her stoic mask once again firmly in place. “I cannot imagine why you left without so much as a word to anyone, or what could have been so important that you would not be here with your father during his final hours. I only hope that it was worth it.”“ Demitira —”“No,” she said, putting up a hand. “I will not tell you the pain I’ve felt since we discovered that you had left us. How Kastor has scoured the city for any mention of you, has flung troops to every corner of our country just to find the barest rumor of your existence. How your father asked for you on his deathbed. The only thing I can do now is ask you to come home, Damen. Please. Come back with me, and we will see what we can do to make this right.”“Damen didn’t leave.”The three of them turned as one. Laurent had thus far stayed in the shadows, but he walked forward now, his chin tipped up defiantly. He looked warily at Hypermenestra as he came to stand by Damen’s side, but his confidence remained unshaken even as she stiffened in anger.“Excuse me?” his mother asked, wrapping the regality of her station around her like armor. She looked at Laurent with barely concealed contempt, and then over at Nik. “I took you at your word when your note asked me to come alone. I did not think you were one to break your oaths.”“In order to bring Damen I had to bring the other,” Nik grumbled. “They are…difficult to separate.”“Damen didn’t leave,” Laurent repeated again, his gaze never leaving Hypermenestra. “You speak as if he were out gambling and whoring instead of fighting for his life. He spent every waking moment trying to get home.”“Fighting for his—Damen, who is this man? What is he talking about?”“ Demitira , this is Laurent. He saved me,” Damen said, putting a hand on Laurent’s arm to calm him, “after Kastor sent his men to ambush me while I was sleeping. After Kastor ordered his guards to take me to Vere and have me killed. After they then betrayed him and sold me like cattle to a pet house in Vere. Written by their Calligraphers so that I could not escape. It is only because of Laurent that I was able to return, and only because of him that I can hold Kastor to account for what he’s done to me.”Damen was sure, after he said this, that the surprise and horror in his mother’s face was genuine. Something that had been strung tight in him relented, a tension released that he had not known was there, to think that his mother might have known something about what happened to him and done nothing to stop it.“No. That is not—Kastor would never—”She did not finish that sentence. Her mouth closed and she looked away, perplexed. Laurent leaned forward to push the advantage, to press her obviously weak defense, but Damen knew her better; Laurent relented when Damen squeezed his hand in warning.They all stood quietly for a moment, letting the darkness of the garden enshroud them. Laurent looked around every once in a while, scanning for intruders, but no one else came. They were alone. His mother had trusted Nik as she trusted him, and come without backup as requested; Damen knew that eventually she would trust in the truth as well.“Kastor has been…acting strangely,” she said eventually. “I thought it to be grief over losing you, and then his father, but…”She paused again. The crickets sang into the silence between them, and still Damen waited. His demitira never moved without being sure of her next step, and Damen knew from experience that she would not put to words any idea she hadn’t thoroughly examined and believed to be true.“Kastor has pushed the coronation forward against my advice,” she said after a moment, her voice steady. “There have been no preparations made, no feasts, no triumphs. I advised him to wait for the most auspicious days in next month’s calendar—and even that would have been near impossible to manage—but he would not listen. He was adamant about doing it as soon as possible, without any care as to what the public would think. And so shortly after your father’s death, too. And then—those Veretian ships. They showed up in the harbor without so much as a message of warning to the palace, but Kastor was not surprised. He knew they were coming, even if no one else did.”“Is the Regent of Vere with them?” Laurent asked hurriedly, before anyone else could speak.“Yes,” his mother answered, a hint of bitterness in her voice. “He was the first Veretian to disembark on our shores. He has not been away from Kastor’s side since.”“Why?” Laurent asked, and turned away impatiently when Damen tried to calm him. “Why has he come here? Has he said what his purpose is?”“If he has a specific reason, I do not know it,” his mother answered, drawing herself up. “His official reason is that he comes for the coronation. Unofficially he says that he has brought a special gift for Kastor, but that it will remain a secret until after he is crowned.”“A gift?” Laurent repeated. “Did he say those words exactly?” He switched to Veretian and repeated the word. “And ‘after he is crowned’—did he call Kastor by name, or did he use a general 'he'? What was his exact phrasing?”His mother looked startled at the barrage of precise questions and Damen could hardly blame her; he was also rather taken by the strange minutiae of Laurent’s interrogation, not to mention his tone as he spoke. Damen had not often heard Laurent fearful or uncertain, and right now he sounded as if he had an excess of both.“I am afraid I cannot be of much help in this matter,” she said. “I only learned of the promise of a gift from Kastor, so I do not know how the Regent presented it to him. As for the rest—I am sorry, I do not know that either. My Veretian is a bit rusty. It was all I could do to keep up with the general direction of the conversation.”“We must find out what he’s planning,” Laurent said, turning to Damen. “It’s strange enough that he has left his nest in Arles where he is safe to surround himself with his vices. But now he is here, promising a gift—it does not bode well for us. He is planning something nefarious, I am certain of it.”“We will find out,” Damen assured him, sharing a worried glance with Nik. Laurent talked as though he knew the Regent, and as more than just a figurehead; Damen would have to find out more.“Believe me,” his mother said, “I share this concern, although I do not have your particular knowledge of the man. I have tried to find out what’s going on. The Regent does not like women, and so my usual means of prying information out of our guests is at a stalemate. Your Veretian customs regarding the opposite sex are barbaric.”“Your ‘usual means’?” Damen asked. “What are you talking about?”“You don’t have any men in your spy network?” Laurent asked. “Seems like an oversight.”“She doesn’t have a spy network, Laurent,” Damen said, frowning as he looked between his demitira and Laurent. He caught Nik’s eye and Nik only shrugged. “Right? Demitira ?”She dragged her gaze from where she had been shrewdly considering Laurent and looked at Damen. “My Damianos,” she said, staring as if the sight of him was so unbelievable that she had to get her fill before he disappeared again. Timidly she reached towards him, rearranging one of the long locks of his wig before smoothing out the fabric of his chiton and gracing him with a sad smile. “Keeping you and Kastor safe as children was not a job that I could do alone. The other consorts would have been more than pleased to see something terrible befall you, either of you, and the more ambitious ones might even have tried to engineer something to ensure such a result. In order to make sure that never happened—” she sighed and shrugged. She looked tired, more tired than Damen had ever seen her. “Needs must. You are right,” she said, turning back to Laurent. “Not including men in my network was an oversight. One I am paying for now.”“There are women in the court,” Laurent told her. Some sort of truce had passed between them, and Damen was still slightly mystified as to what exactly had occurred to make it so. “Not many, but they are there. Look for a woman named Vannes. She is the Vaskian ambassador to Vere, but the Regent will have been pressured to bring her, I am sure. She will be receptive to your women’s advances.”“I remember her,” his mother said, nodding slowly. “Red hair? Braided? Wearing lots of fur?”“That sounds like her,” Laurent said. “She is in the same situation as you, pushed to the edges of the court due to the Regent’s…predilections. But she is shrewd. And she might have some insight as to why they are here.”“You think they conspire with Kastor,” Hypermenestra said, her eyes flicking to Damen worriedly. “You think the Veretians had something to do with what happened to my son.”“So you believe us when we say that something happened,” Laurent said. “You believe there is conspiracy here.”She sighed, and turned her gaze towards Damen once more. “Your friend is very good at answering questions with more questions,” she said disapprovingly. “A Veretian trait, I assume.”“It could be,” Damen said, and looked over at Laurent fondly. “Or it is entirely possible that it is just a Laurent trait.”“Ah.” She sounded amused, as if some confusion had just coalesced into a deeper understanding. “I see. To answer your question, Veretian, yes. I do believe there is something at play here, something I don’t think any of us understand the full extent of. And…I do think that Kastor has some part in it. I wish I could say that it wasn’t so, but the way he has been acting these past few weeks…If the Veretians hadn’t shown up in force last week I would have found this harder to believe.” “So what do we do?” Nik asked. “We have no actionable intelligence. We cannot simply march into the palace and demand that Kastor stop his coronation, not without knowing what the Veretians are planning.”“You are right,” his demitira said. “It would be short sighted to announce Damen’s return now. Something else is at play here, and it would be folly to go in blind. I know we do not have much time. Give me two days. I will find out what I can, and I will meet with you again. You can keep yourselves hidden, I assume?”“We have so far,” Damen said. “We have found allies in our journey home.”His demitira smiled at him brightly, the brilliance lasting only a moment before turning contemplative. “I’ve no doubt, my darling. And you’ll find more as you go on, I’m sure of that as well. But I have one request to make of you, Damianos, and I fear you will not like it.”“Of course,” Damen said. “Whatever you need.”She nodded, and took a deep breath.“Whatever happens between you and Kastor,” she said, “I need you to promise me that you will not kill him. I’m not saying he cannot face punishment for what he’s done, but I cannot live with the idea—”“Mother,” Damen said, reaching forward and clasping her hands in his own. “I promise you I have no intention of killing him. We will talk, he and I, and he will answer for what he’s done. But if a blade is drawn it will not be drawn by me. I promise you that.”Damen had said it to comfort her, to make her understand that he had every intention of abiding by his promise to her. But something dark passed over her face at his words and her gaze flicked, inexplicably, to Laurent; and stranger still, Laurent nodded back, as if she had asked of him some favor that Damen could not hear.The strange interaction was over in a second, and his mother reached forward and kissed Damen’s cheek as she had not done since he was a child.“I’m sorry,” she said, and then stepped back, disentangling herself from Damen’s grip and wiping something away from her eye. “I’m sorry you had to go through this, my little Damianos. I’ve always tried my best to protect you, but—we all have blind spots, I think. And Kastor is mine. You,” she said, turning to Laurent before Damen could answer. “Veretian. Thank you for saving my son. I owe you a great debt, one that I don’t think I can ever hope to repay.”“There is no debt between us,” Laurent said, waving the sentiment away. “I did what I did for my own selfish reasons. But—there is something I’m curious about, if you truly feel the urge to repay me,” he said, and she gestured at him to continue. “Why? Why did you protect Damen as a child? Why help us now? Your own child has so much to gain if Damen were to disappear forever.”“Oh, what a question that is. Laurent, is it?” she said, the Veretian name sounding alien on her tongue. “How much has Damen told you of his mother? His birth mother. The Queen.”When Laurent looked over Damen nodded, and only then did Laurent turn back and say, “Not much. Only that she died giving birth to him. That he considers you to be his mother, for all intents and purposes.”“So you spoke to him of me?” she asked, smiling warmly at Damen. Damen felt color steal into his cheeks, and was glad that the darkness would help to hide his embarrassment. “Well. He considers me his mother, then, and I have always considered him my son. Is that not enough of an answer?”“It might be,” Laurent said, “if the throne of Akielos were taken out of account. As its succession is the reason we’re all standing here in the dark, I can’t say that answer is enough, no.”“You don’t take any prisoners, do you?” his mother murmured, looking thoughtfully at Laurent. “Have we met before? You strike me as familiar, for some reason.”“If you don’t want to answer the question all you have to do is say so. It is getting late, even for someone used to being kept up by your son until the ungodly hours of the morning.”“Laurent,” Damen said.But his mother only nodded, her head tipping forward slightly.“All right,” she said. “I will tell you the brief version now and someday, when we are better acquainted and all this is behind us, I will—perhaps—tell you the rest, if you desire. Does that suit?”Laurent made a sound of assent and Damen found himself leaning forward, his attention caught the way it was whenever anyone mentioned his birth mother. He had seen pictures of the Queen in the palace, frescoes and paintings and even statues; his demitira had taken him regularly to visit all of them throughout his youth. But it wasn’t the same as hearing about the real woman from someone who had known her personally. His demitira had never refused to answer questions about his birth mother whenever Damen asked, but the look on her face when he did—Damen had not asked very often. He could not bear to see her in so much pain.“Well. I will be brief, then,” she said. “If such a thing is even possible when one is talking about Ria.” She paused a moment, as if considering which of her memories to share, and then turned suddenly to the small river that ran through the landscape, narrow enough to step over without breaking stride, and spoke while she walked as though to the ancient river spirits that lived there. “I will start at the end of her story, since that is the part you care about. She deserves to have it started from the beginning, but even she would understand the need for brevity in this moment, I think.“So. The night Damianos was born. One life ending, one life beginning. It is not supposed to be like that, but she knew before the rest of us did that something was wrong. She lost so much blood. More blood than I thought the human body could hold, although I suppose if anyone knew that amount it would have been her. She was a warrior, did you know that? One of the greatest Ionian shield maidens that ever lived. The fastest sword work you have ever seen, and not bad with a bow either. And her greatest battle yet: to stave off Death long enough to deliver Damianos safely into this world.”They followed her to a small waterfall, the source of the river that ran through the garden. Hypermenestra stopped before it, staring into the tumbling water as she spoke, the three of them forgotten. She spoke as if she were alone in the garden and indeed, Damen had the notion that she had told this story to the flowers before, whispering her secrets to the only beings capable of keeping them.“After it was over and he was in her arms she sent everyone away. The doulas, the midwives, even Theomedes was ordered out, and no one dared to defy the dying wishes of the Queen. There was little help for her at that point anyway. I was the only one allowed to stay. Damianos cried loud and long as she laid on the bed, smiling as he proved to everyone—everyone in a mile radius, it seemed—how strong he was. What lungs he had! But he cried himself out, eventually, and fell asleep on her chest. Skin to skin contact, they say that’s what babies need, and she clung to him as if he were a lifeboat in a raging river. Her other hand was in mine, and the last thing she said before she slipped away…”She fell quiet. Damen knew that she was not having trouble remembering the words his birth mother had said, only measuring the pain she would need to bear when saying them out loud. He nearly told her to stop, to keep the words to herself, but a selfish part of him needed to know. She turned to him then, smiling at him with a radiance that shone brightly even in the dark of the night.“She said to me, ‘Our baby boy is so beautiful, Nessa. He has your eyes.’” She laughed, and the sound wasn’t bitter or sad but bright, full of something that Damen wasn’t sure he would have recognized a few months earlier. His mother looked younger, happy and carefree, and the love that she held for his birth mother, the love that she held for him—it was plainly there, written in every laugh line on her face, in every visit to his mother’s grave, in every flower they had ever laid by her statue together. Damen had always considered Hypermenestra his mother, ever since he could remember knowing the word, but now his heart ached for the fact that he could have had two— would have had two mothers who both loved him unconditionally, loved him together, if only Egeria had lived. “So you see? Damianos may not be the son of my blood, but he is the son of my heart. He is the son of my only love,” his mother said, her eyes blazing as she stared them down. “And I will do whatever I need to see our child on the throne, where he was always meant to be.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The Veretian quarter had always been nestled quite close to the docks—to save the stuffy Veretians from having to wander too far into Ios before they could get back on a ship and return home, Damen had always thought. But the truth of it was that while Akielos had some trade with Vere, and Vere with Akielos, it was hardly robust enough to keep a dedicated community in either country. A few Veretian-style buildings by the waterfront made up the majority of the quarter, along with one eatery that Damen knew of and one theater that was said to produce Veretian plays but only housed a lewd burlesque that performed all of their dialogue in Akielon. It was quiet even during the busiest season, with few Akielons venturing down for the unfamiliar wares.
As they came upon the docks now, Damen realized that a lot had changed in the past few months. For a moment he almost wondered if they hadn’t truly reached Akielos at all, or had somehow been transported back into the heart of Vere.
It was late, well past midnight, but the streets thronged with people in various states of inebriation. Overwhelmingly the noise was Veretian, the tangy scent of their food overpowering the subtle, sweeter smells of Akielon cooking. The press of people was an immense, heavy thing; the Veretians had not come prepared for the weather and most of them were wearing their traditionally fussy and convoluted clothes, sweltering wool and unbreathable layers. The resulting stench was not doing the area any favors.
“I didn’t know Ios had such a…robust Veretian population,” Laurent murmured as Damen maneuvered them around a particularly rowdy group of drunks.
“We don’t. There’s usually less than a hundred Veretians here, even during the Grand Bazaar. They must be here for the coronation.”
“Or because the entirety of the Veretian court is here. Where the garbage goes the rats will follow,” Laurent said, his tone as dark as it had been earlier, when he’d spoken of the Regent. “Where are the wagons supposed to be again?”
“Nik said they were down where the old wooden warehouses used to be. Down this street and then south just a bit,” Damen said, after Laurent made a small, exasperated sound. “We’re close.”
“Good,” Laurent said, leaning into Damen. “It will be nice to be home. And to take off these terrible wigs.”
Home
. That small cramped wagon that they shared was nothing like the expansive, open rooms he had grown up in, and he doubted it was anything like Laurent had in his childhood either. But it was cozy, and it was just for the two of them, and it was
theirs
, for as long as they needed it, and Damen felt something tight constrict in his chest at the thought.
“Don’t let Charls hear you say that about the wigs,” he eventually managed to say, which earned him a tired snort.
Less than ten minutes later they spotted the wagons in an open spot near the wharf, probably a cheap space due to the overwhelming smell of fish in the air. Everything was set up in the familiar “U” configuration, but this time someone had fashioned a curtain to keep the inside area safe from prying eyes. Enough people were milling about the otherwise abandoned area that Damen guessed they had just missed the end of whatever show the troupe had put on, so he and Laurent stayed hidden in the shadows until the last of the audience wandered away.
Pallas was keeping watch, and his relief at seeing Damen alive and well was evident. They gave their greetings and slipped behind the curtain to see the troupe cleaning up the last of the night’s detritus: a few fake boulders, the tree backdrop Laurent had made, and a few costumes that had been discarded on the stage.
“Big night?” Damen asked as he grabbed one of the boulders from Nicaise, who was carrying so much that he couldn’t possibly see where he was going and was in danger of walking off the edge of the stage.
Nicaise looked up in surprise, and blinked a few times as if trying to place the man in front of him before smiling.
“Yeah, it was fine. There’s as many Veretians here as any town we’ve ever performed in. That beard of yours really is atrocious,” he said, wrinkling his nose.
“I agree,” Laurent said, plucking the boulder from Damen’s hands and dragging him towards their wagon. “And it’s coming off immediately.”
“I bet that’s not the only thing coming off,” Aimeric said, and the two boys cackled as Laurent shut the door behind them.
“Here,” Laurent said, depositing the boulder on the ground and grabbing the bottle of solvent that Charls had given them earlier in the day. “Take it off.”
“You know, some people might say that my beard makes me look distinguished,” Damen said as he poured a bit of the liquid into his hand. It smelled as bad as the adhesive had, and he winced as he scrubbed it on his face to peel away the fake beard.
“Some people might, yes,” Laurent said. He grabbed his wig by the edge and dragged it back, revealing slicked down blond hair underneath. With little care he threw the wig on the table and then shook out his hair, resulting in a slightly greasy-looking mess. “And were I of a different temperament I might agree. You can make anything look good. But I do not like beards. Please do it. For me.”
“It’s already off,” Damen said gently, throwing the remnants of the beard in the trash and grabbing a towel to wipe the rest of the solvent off his face. “I wasn’t planning on keeping it. Laurent, tonight. When you asked about the Regent—”
“Do you need help with your wig?” Laurent asked, turning to him with bright eyes. “Charls will be furious if you sleep on it.”
“I—yes.” Damen agreed reflexively, and lowered his head to give Laurent better access. The wig came off without much trouble, and Laurent set it carefully on the table before running his hands through Damen’s hair, teasing his curls out from where they had been painstakingly flattened. Damen sighed at the feeling of it, like stretching a limb that had been pinned back uncomfortably.
“Tonight,” Damen said, once Laurent had settled Damen’s hair to his satisfaction. “You asked my
demitira
some questions about the Regent, and I need to know—”
“Damen,” Laurent said quietly. Damen stopped, and Laurent cupped his cheeks gently, as if he were protecting a flower that he did not want getting crushed. Damen startled as much at the unexpected intimacy as at the intensity in Laurent’s eyes, an earnestness there that he could not tear his gaze away from.
“Damianos,” Laurent said, his full name this time, sounding impossibly fond, eyes never leaving Damen’s face, “you promised me once that you would tell me who you really were.”
Damen frowned. “I wanted to, Laurent, you know I did—”
“I know,” Laurent said gently. “I am only asking you now to extend the same courtesy to me. I will tell you everything I know about—about the Veretians currently in Ios before we leave this wagon again, I promise you. But not right now. Right now, I just want…this. You.”
As if Damen could deny Laurent anything when he asked that way, with that honest hopefulness shining out, with the way he was looking at Damen now, as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to cradle him in his arms or take him apart, piece by piece, and lovingly devour him. Damen had no particular preference as long as it was Laurent doing it. Something of that acquiescence must have shown on his face, because Laurent leaned forward, slowly but with a fierce kind of confidence, and pressed his lips against Damen’s.
The touch was light, feather soft. The pressure of his hands against Damen’s face was more substantial than his mouth but the kiss still felt searing, possessive, as if it were not a kiss at all but a brand, a mark that would be indelibly left on him for the rest of his life. When Laurent pulled away only a moment later it took Damen too much time to realize that it was already over.
“Damen,” Laurent said, his hands dropping to Damen’s waist and tugging on the belt there, “I want you.”
Damen did not think that Laurent required a response, but he said anyway, “Yes.”
His belt hit the floor a moment later, and then—impossibly—Laurent went down on his knees, his hands on either of Damen’s thighs to steady himself. Damen did not dare breathe, let alone make any assumptions about what was going to happen, which was fortunate; Laurent tapped his foot lightly, telling him to lift it so that his footwear could be removed.
One shoe joined the growing pile of discarded clothes on the floor, and then the other. Laurent rose to his feet—and he
had
to be aware of the picture he’d made, there was no reason for him to look that smug otherwise—and grabbed the hem of Damen’s chiton, his fingers only barely brushing the side of Damen’s thighs.
“You know,” Laurent said, crowding Damen towards the back of the wagon as his hands worked higher and higher, “I’m beginning to see why you like these garments so much. They are remarkably convenient.”
“Glad to see I have swayed you to my side,” Damen said breathlessly, the garment in question rucked up to his chest now, exposing his lower half. He was past the beginning stages of arousal, but Laurent ignored that part of him and continued to move steadily upwards until Damen was forced to raise his arms to avoid being strangled by cloth.
In a fluid motion Laurent dragged the chiton off and threw it behind him, where it joined the rest of Damen’s clothes. Damen was now completely undressed while Laurent still had everything down to his shoes on; Damen thought it more than a little unfair even as his heart refused to stop beating wildly out of control. When the backs of his thighs hit the bed with a thump he stopped moving, and peered behind him briefly before turning back to Laurent, eyebrow cocked questioningly.
With a hum Laurent put a hand to his chest and pushed, and Damen understood the order. He fell backwards, sprawling out until Laurent made a disapproving noise.
“Not yet,” he said, motioning for Damen to get up. “Sit up, please. Back against the wall.”
Damen did as he was told, settling in against the wall of the wagon, his legs splayed out in front of him. For a moment he thought that Laurent might make a tease of undressing himself, but found himself not at all surprised when Laurent climbed on the bed fully clothed to place himself on Damen’s lap.
“I see I’ve convinced you too well,” Damen said, as Laurent learned down to press his lips against Damen’s neck. Damen arched up to give him better access, and felt the warm breath of Laurent’s laughter against his skin. “First you refuse to wear a chiton, now you will not take it off.”
“So impatient,” Laurent murmured, fingers scratching lightly against Damen’s side. “There’s time enough for that later. Tonight—right now, we have that luxury.”
And before Damen could answer that Laurent kissed him again, deeper and more solidly than before. Everywhere Damen put his hands he encountered the barrier of Laurent’s clothes while Laurent was free to roam wherever he wanted without resistance. That was part of the game, he understood; Laurent could do what he wanted while Damen could only immerse himself in delirious exasperation.
Laurent was a solid, glorious pressure on his lap, hips rolling just slightly as they kissed, barely enough to be noticeable except Damen couldn’t help but notice everything: the softness of the linen chiton Laurent still wore, the sturdiness of the belt still tight against his waist, a golden armlet he had grabbed from Charls’ dressing room wrapped around his bicep, accentuating the shape of his muscles. Damen wanted him, the realization of how much piercing through his breast, making him gasp away from Laurent’s lips. There was untold danger in front of them, and an unknowable amount of obstacles still to come, but Damen knew that as long as he could have this—have Laurent, open to him in mind, body and soul, with Damen likewise flayed open—they would be able to weather anything that his kingship would throw at him.
And they would do it together. If they had nothing else in this world, they had each other.
“Easy,” Laurent said, nipping at Damen’s lip. The jolt of pain—though miniscule—snapped Damen out of his thoughts. “I’ve got you, Damen.”
“Yes,” was all Damen said, and when Damen opened his eyes Laurent was smiling back at him, his face as bright as the sun.
The light in the wagon was blinding.
It had to be late morning at least, if not early afternoon; the sounds from outside the wagon indicated the latter, with calls from food vendors and marketplace sellers echoing from across the street at the docks and the bells ringing from the ships. He and Laurent had been up late last night, so it was not surprising that they had slept late too.
He didn’t usually indulge himself like this, sleeping in. His eyes opened slowly, and when he blinked away the final vestiges of sleep Laurent was there, watching him wake.
“You’re up,” Damen said, his voice groggy. He could not help a smile from spreading across his face as he watched Laurent laying next to him, blond hair splayed softly over the pillow.
“I am,” Laurent said, decidedly less groggy than Damen, and less willing to smile as well. “I’ve been waiting for you to wake.”
“Are you—”
“I know you’ve guessed I have some connection to the Regent,” Laurent said, his voice cold and practiced, as if he’d been running this conversation through his head for hours, “and you’re right. I do. I’ll tell you what I know about him, although I’m not sure how much it’ll help. He is deceiving. He will offer you friendship in one hand while the other hides behind his back with a knife. He is every awful stereotype you’ve heard about Veretians rolled into one man. He can be charming when he wants to be. Very charming. He has a way of…convincing people to want the same things as he does. I’ve no doubt that whatever he’s promised your brother, whatever help or gift he’s said he’ll provide, he’s lying about it. And he's here for me, I’m certain of it.”
“For you?” Damen prompted gently. Any lingering sleepiness had vanished like early morning fog the moment Laurent started talking. “Why do you think that?”
“Two reasons. The most pertinent one—” he stopped for a moment and considered, as if realizing Damen needed more context. He took a breath, and then started over. “He funded the research on the experiments that were done to me. I didn’t know he was behind it when I started, of course,” he said, waving a hand as if it were hardly important, “and if he had any inkling about the kind of power he was granting me he would have never allowed me to stumble across it like I did. I doubt he thought I would live through it. There were…a lot of others who didn’t. Some of them went insane because of the pain from the procedures. Some took their own lives. I saw one man who clawed his own eyes out. He died of blood loss. I was the only one who survived—as in most things,” he said, laughing bitterly at a joke Damen didn’t quite understand.
And then for the first time that morning Laurent looked at him,
really
looked at him, and pinned him down with the intensity of his gaze.
“I burned it down when I left. All of it. The lab, the research, the failed subjects buried in shallow graves. The scientists who administered the tests. The ones who mixed the formulas. Even the assistants who helped with the more mundane tasks around the lab. All of it—all of
them
—I burned to ashes. No one will ever be able to recover that research. Not for decades, and not while I still breathe.”
“Good,” Damen said, loud enough that Laurent startled. Damen took a deep breath, calming his anger, and then said again, more restrained, “Good. They deserved nothing less for what they did to you. What they did to countless others. And it saves me the trouble of running them through myself.”
A second’s pause, and then another as Laurent tumbled this declaration over in his head.
“You would do that?” he asked eventually, his voice small. “Because of—what they did to me?”
“Yes. And the Regent will meet the same fate for being part of it.”
“You would start a war,” Laurent said softly.
“If that is what it takes to see a guilty man pay for his crimes, then so be it,” Damen said, and reached out to cup Laurent’s cheek. “There is precious little I would not do for you, Laurent. You must know that by now.”
Laurent closed his eyes briefly and made a sound that was almost a laugh, burrowing against the pillow before turning and kissing the inside of Damen’s palm. Damen moved his hand away so that he could watch the blush that spread across Laurent’s face, a rosy shade charmingly illuminated by the light that filtered into their wagon.
“You might find the boundaries of your regard for me when I tell you the second reason,” Laurent said, and when Damen motioned for Laurent to continue he winced. “The other reason I know he’s here for me. The coronation is a—bonus, perhaps, but it's not the real reason he's here. He must have found out that my plan was to come here.”
“You don’t have to stall,” Damen said gently. “I’ll wait as long as you need.”
Laurent’s gaze turned dark, and he opened his mouth as if he were going to say something biting before deciding on a different path of attack.
“Fine, then,” he said bitterly. “I will put it plainly, in the manner you prefer.” He took a deep breath, as if he wanted to make sure he could spill out his confession without needing to worry about breathing. “The other reason I’m certain he’s here for me is because he’s my uncle.”
It took a moment for Damen to parse the heap of words that Laurent had dumped in front of him; he nearly opened his mouth to ask what difference that would make before the realization hit him square in the chest.
“Your uncle,” Damen repeated. He tried not to ask Laurent to repeat the word in Akielon, just so he could be sure of its meaning, but he switched himself just in case. “The Regent of Vere is your uncle.”
“Yes,” Laurent said. A simple answer for a simple question.
“And you are—his nephew.”
Laurent sighed, an explosive, annoyed sound.
“That is how those things typically work, yes. He is my father’s younger brother.”
“Your father,” Damen couldn’t help from saying. “Your father King Aleron.”
“My father is the late King Aleron, yes,” Laurent said. “And my grandfather was King Alexos. Would you like me to keep going? As a child I was forced to memorize my line fifty generations back. I could probably still get to at least…oh, maybe twenty five, if I’m being generous to myself.”
Damen didn’t move. He thought that he was, perhaps, a little too calm about the situation, but if he didn’t have this strange tranquility to cling to that then he would have nothing. He suddenly understood Laurent’s wild reaction to his own revelation, remembered the way Laurent’s shoulders shook with laughter, and in retrospect thought that perhaps it hadn’t been so strange after all.
“I have to go,” Damen said, pushing up on the bed. “I need to—do something.”
Laurent didn’t answer, only breathed once, deeply, and looked away.
Damen got out of bed and walked to the other side of the wagon where his chiton lay, thrown on the floor by Laurent a handful of hours ago. He put it on feeling strangely mellow, and then tied his belt and put on his sandals the same as he did every other day when he hadn’t just learned that his lover was the prince of Vere. He turned and thought about telling Laurent—
Prince
Laurent—that he’d be back in a moment, but decided it would sound silly to say out loud, so he simply closed his mouth and left, shutting the door behind him.
It was brighter out than he’d thought; past noon, then. He had never slept that late in his life. He had never done a lot of things before Laurent. Some of the other actors were milling around, but not all; either still sleeping or out running errands. He looked around until he saw Charls, chatting with Jord on the other side of the stage, pointing at the parts of the wagons that needed repairs. Jord nodded as Charls waved his hands about; it was an easy, comfortable rhythm between the two of them, likely a routine they did after every show. Damen hadn’t noticed before. He hadn’t noticed lots of things. His feet led him over to Charls before his mind could figure out why.
“Charls,” Damen called.
“Good morning!” Charls called back, patting Jord on the back as he left with instructions for the day. He smiled as Damen marched up to him, and then faltered at the expression on Damen’s face. “Or—good afternoon, I suppose. You look a frightful mess, my boy. Late night?”
Damen endured the friendly ribbing. At some point—either because his muscles were starting to strain or because Charls was looking at him strangely—he realized that he was grinding his teeth, and took a moment to breathe and unlock his jaw.
It didn’t help. When he smiled, it came out more feral than he would have liked.
“Charls,” Damen said through clenched teeth, “do you remember that day you told me about the royal family?”
“Oh, well, yes! Of course I do, my boy. Is something the matter?”
“Did you not think,” Damen said, ignoring the question, “that perhaps the prince’s name might have been useful information?”
“Oh,” Charls said, taken aback. “I did not think of it, in all honesty. I suppose I thought you already knew. What about it?”
“Did you not think,” Damen said again, “it was strange I traveled with a man who shared the prince’s name?”
“Well—no, not really,” Charls said, eyes darting around as if he were considering who he could ask for help now that Damen had shown himself to be slightly mad. “You can hardly throw a stone in any town in Vere but that you’d hit three Laurents. Or five Augustes, for that matter.”
Auguste. Laurent’s brother. Laurent’s brother, who he had called Gus that morning in the wagon. Laurent’s brother who had died of the plague. Laurent’s whole family had died of the plague, all except for him and the uncle. The uncle that had taken over the Veretian throne since Laurent was too young to do so. He remembered how angry Laurent had been when Charls told them of his play; a wallowing of misery, Laurent had called it, and it was true, because Laurent was the one who had been mired in it.
“—which is why I always encourage parents to name their children after dead personages,” Charls was saying. “Either that or characters in plays. That way you know exactly what you’re getting and you needn’t worry about your namesake dying suddenly, or being known for some great scandal. I had a friend named after Gauthier, you know, the great hero of our time, but that was before we all learned what a depraved, sexually bizarre man he was, and Gauthier’s parents—my friend’s parents, that is, not the shameless hero—well, they harshly regretted not choosing a better name—”
“Charls,” Damen said, pleading. “Stop. I don’t care about—I am not even sure why I came over here. I should go.”
“Damen,” Charls said, his expression softening, “I understand. Well—I mean, not really. I cannot imagine the sorts of pressures you are under as a prince without a crown. But I understand the human condition. The need to try and find some commonality in those around you. The prince Laurent, the
real
prince—well, I told you about him, didn’t I? He's not right in the head. He has fits, he has—seizures, maybe, or some other condition that renders him incapable. I have seen nothing of that in our Laurent.”
Fits. Seizures. The scar on Laurent’s arm, the way he had talked about being Written. How he knew, intimately, what it was like to be under its spell. Damen closed his eyes; all that hurt Laurent had gone through, and all by himself. And his uncle the architect of it all. Damen hoped that he would never meet the man under any expectation of civility, because he wasn’t sure he could stop himself from killing him the instant he laid eyes on him.
“Although—well, I suppose they do have similar coloring,” Charles was musing to himself. “And they are about the same age. The prince is said to be quite the handsome one, you know, and I have never seen an actor as handsome as our Laurent, no offense to any of my boys intended, of course, they’re all beautiful in their own way. And our Laurent is very well read, a very capable orator. And…well, I have begun to hear rumors swirling about that the prince hasn’t been seen lately, although he isn’t seen that much in any case, but some have started to speak of him being missing entirely, if not presumed dead…and it
is
rather unusual that the Regent has traveled to Ios, and no one knows exactly why, and now we are in Ios with a man named Laurent…”
Charls trailed off, and Damen’s breath caught in his throat.
“Damen!” Charls exclaimed, grabbing Damen by each arm and pulling him close. His eyes were wild, looking as panicked as Damen sometimes did when he dreamed about readying himself for battle and discovering that he had forgotten all his armor. “Our Laurent—I know it sounds crazy, but it is possible—likely, even—that he is the lost prince of Vere!”
“Yes, Charls,” Damen said, nodding. “I know. That’s why I came over here.”
“Oh my stars,” Charls said, pushing Damen away so he could wring his hands. “I have to apologize to him. I’ve ordered him about as if he were—well, not a prince! I’ve made him wash our dishes. I have—oh no,” Charls lamented, rolling his eyes back as he sighed dramatically, “I have addressed him by his proper name as if we were equals.”
“You have treated him exactly as he wanted to be treated,” Damen said. “If it means anything to you, Laurent has always been your staunchest supporter. I have tried to leave you behind more times than I can count, and it is always he who convinces me to stay.”
“Oh,” Charles said, holding a hand up to his heart. “That is—wait. How often have you tried to leave us?”
“Listen to me. You cannot tell anyone what you know, is that clear? Laurent’s life may be in danger, much more than mine. No one else can have even an inkling of this, do you understand?”
“I knew it!”
Damen and Charls looked down at the unexpected addition to their private conversation and saw Nicaise wriggling out from underneath the wagon next to them. “I told you I could spot that blue blood a mile away,” Nicaise said proudly as he stood up.
“Nicaise—”
“Oooh, Aimeric is going to be so furious when he finds out I knew before him—”
“Nicaise,” Charls said, with as much authority in his voice as Damen had ever used with his soldiers. Nicaise complied with the unspoken command and came over to stand by Charls, who put his arm around the boy’s shoulder and clamped a hand over his mouth. Nicaise squirmed; he did not break the hold as he could have, but Damen could tell from Charls’ grimace that Nicaise was licking his palm.
“Damen,” Charls said, ignoring the squirming youth beside him. “You have our word that this will stay between us. Right, Niciase?”
“Right,” Nicaise mumbled, once he was free to do so. Charls grimaced again and wiped his wet palm against Nicaise’s clothes.
“Right,” Charls echoed. “But this cannot be kept a secret forever. And it shouldn’t be. It was one thing when everyone believed the prince to be an invalid. But if our Laurent is in fact the prince, then he has shown himself to be whip smart, capable, strong. And more important than that—he is empathetic. Kind. Willing to help others. You have taken on the mantle of your responsibility, Damianos. You need to help him take on his own.”
Damen paused. He had not given this much consideration—he was fairly certain he had not thought of anything at all ever since Laurent had revealed his lineage—but Charls’ words resonated. Damen had not thought of any future that did not include Laurent by his side, but that would change, it would
have
to change, because Laurent had his own responsibilities, his own duty that would see him separated from Damen. He would be in Vere, and Damen would be in Akielos. They would be able to visit each other once, twice a year at best, and even then only for a few weeks at a time.
It could not be borne.
“I don’t think I can do this without him,” Damen said. And then, even as he realized how childish he sounded: “I don’t want to do this without him.”
“And I would not ask you to,” Charls said gently, “as if I had any right to. But the two of you have braved untold obstacles to sneak out of enemy territory. You have taken up with a troupe of actors to infiltrate a hostile city and take back a crown. If there is anyone who can find a way to make this work, it is the two of you. Together.”
Damen wanted to ask a million questions and was trying to sort at least one of them into a coherent sentence when a sudden realization struck him: he trusted Charls and his band of misfit actors. He trusted him not just with his own life but with Laurent’s as well, and Nikandros and Pallas too. Before he knew what he was doing he lunged forward and wrapped Charls in a hug, and then just as quickly released him, pushing down the impulse to apologize.
“Thank you,” Damen said, as if that could acknowledge everything Charls had done for him. But it was all he could think to say, and it seemed to be enough, because when Charls nodded back his eyes had a suspiciously wet sheen to them. Damen looked down at Nicaise. A few more years and the boy might be of a height with him; but he wasn’t yet, and so Damen ruffled his hair affectionately and ignored the scowl that couldn’t quite overpower the smile that hid behind it.
He bade them farewell, and then returned to his wagon where Laurent was waiting.
In the time that Damen had been gone Laurent had gotten dressed, and though the chiton he wore did not have the high collar and tight laces of his Veretian clothes he still donned it as if it were armor. He sat stiffly on the bed, wary as Damen came to sit next to him. But he made room when Damen sat down, and didn’t flinch when Damen’s leg brushed his.
“So,” Damen said. “What do we do now?”
Laurent shrugged. “I could do with breakfast, honestly. Or lunch, as it may be. I’m starving.”
Damen did not protest as Laurent got up to do just that. They both knew that a conversation about it had to happen. But Damen realized that he was hungry too, that it had been nearly half a day since he had eaten, so he didn’t complain as Laurent took out a few pieces of food, sniffing them before he placed them on the table. For a moment Damen was confused, but then he realized: while Laurent could undoubtedly tell what kind of food he had grabbed by the general shape of it, his eyesight didn’t allow him to see any mold or rot, and he was checking to make sure it was edible the only way he knew how. Damen's heart constricted as Laurent
spread out a loaf of bread, a few apples and some hard cheese, and began to cut them all into bite size pieces. When he gestured to Damen, wordlessly asking if he wanted some as well, Damen nodded.
“Things will have to change, Laurent,” Damen said.
“If you don’t like apples you can go ask Erasmus for something else.”
“Laurent—”
“Nothing has to change,”Laurent said, bringing his knife down on an apple hard enough to split it in two. “My family tree has no bearing on anything except to give you some context as to why I’m like this, and perhaps to make us even regarding the secrets we’ve kept from each other. You still have my full blessing to kill my uncle, if that’s what you’re looking for.”
But he’s the only family you have left.
Damen was smart enough not to say it, but something in him recoiled from the idea that he would be the one to deprive Laurent of his remaining family, however horrible the man may be.
“If your uncle is gone, who will rule Vere?” Damen asked.
“You didn’t care about that when you were being all chivalrous and offering to kill him earlier, why do you care now?”
“Because earlier I assumed there was an heir who could take up that mantle,” Damen said, “and I believed that heir to be safely in Arles. I thought—Charls told me about him. About you. And—”
“And what he told you made you think there was a capable ruler somewhere in that nest of snakes?” Laurent asked, laughing bitterly. “Maybe he didn’t tell you about the time my failure nearly caused Vask to declare war on us. Maybe he didn’t tell you how my incompetence caused our northern lords to withdraw their border troops, allowing the Kemptian raiders to decimate countless innocent villages. Maybe he didn’t tell you how most Veretians think I’m barely capable of wiping the drool away from my mouth. If he didn’t, he’s a worse rumor-monger than I give him credit for.”
“But those things aren’t true,” Damen said.
“Aren’t they? Those things happened. Just because there were other factors involved doesn’t mean I wasn’t responsible. Perception is a far more dangerous weapon than the truth. And control of people’s perception—my uncle has had that for longer than I’ve been alive.”
“And when he’s gone, and you refuse to become King? Who will rule then?”
“Who cares?” Laurent said, stabbing the knife into the small table, driving the tip of it into the wood. The handle wobbled precariously as Laurent turned and pinned Damen with a blazing stare. “The council can do it if they put their minds to it. With the six of them combined I’m sure they can approximate the intelligence of one brain. Or—I’m certain there’s a distant branch of my family tree with a suitably opportunistic man who will make the most of such a vacuum. Someone can grab a little blond boy out of the gutters and claim him as a long lost heir, I don’t care.”
“They are your people, Laurent,” Damen said gently. “You cannot abandon them like that.”
“I can, actually. I already have. I would abdicate officially except no one thinks me capable of even that feat of mental strength; another thing I can thank my uncle for. And if I know him at all he’s almost certainly spread word that I’m either dead or a traitor to the crown. My people will be glad to see me gone, I assure you.”
Taking a firm grip of the knife, Laurent pulled it from the wood. Damen fell silent as Laurent portioned out the food for both of them, handing Damen a plate before retreating to the other side of the wagon with his own. They finished their breakfast in silence, and Damen did not try to raise the issue again. The apple was sweet, the bread filling, and Damen wondered if Laurent cut the apples into small chunks because it was something his mother or father had done for him as a child.
When they finished eating, Damen said, “Charls told me another story about the prince. About how—right after the plague ended. He said that the prince went out to his people and helped them with food, supplies. He helped those who had been affected by the disaster even as he was still mourning what it had taken from him. Is that true?”
Damen knew that it was even before Laurent answered. He could tell by the way Laurent looked away, the flush on his cheek, the way he clenched his jaw.
“That was a long time ago,” Laurent said eventually, the only answer he would give. “I am not that person anymore.”
“That night at Nikandros’ keep, I heard you talking to Nicaise. You knew the things he had gone through as a child, and you wanted to make sure that he wasn’t uncomfortable with what you were asking him to do.”
“I like the boy,” Laurent said, scowling at Damen. “Is it so strange to think I would not want him to be hurt?”
“And you have pledged to help me free the slaves,” Damen said, “which you know will take a lot of work, and yet you’ve agreed to do it for no gain to yourself. I watched you talk to those shopkeepers at the festival, I remember how your face lit up when they told you about their lives. You care about your people, Laurent. I know that you do.”
An idea was beginning to bloom in Damen’s mind, the germination of a seed that Charls had planted. He knew what it felt like to live only to survive, unable to worry about anything but getting away from the hurt, concerned only with food and shelter and sleep. He knew too that once all of that passed Laurent would start to feel the guilt that he had buried deep inside, the guilt of leaving his people behind, his crown on the head of another, lesser man; indeed, he likely already had, judging by his interrogation of Damen the previous day.
What gave you the right to look at the kingship before you and think you could ever be good enough for it?
Laurent hadn’t been questioning Damen’s ability to rule, however much Damen had taken that statement personally. Laurent had been questioning himself. The idea inside of Damen grew bigger, bolder, and he could see the outline of its true form beginning to reveal itself.
“You said that it is folly for a prince to do this alone,” Laurent said softly. “Since my family died I have only ever been alone. I won’t go back to Vere. Let me stay with you. I can help you, you know I can. Whatever kingship awaits me in Vere—it is a battle that I cannot win. That I do not want to win. I want to—you promised you would help me.”
Damen did not answer. The idea inside of him was growing, faster now, and he chased down every tendril of doubt, examined every prickly thorn and found each one to be inconsequential. He allowed the idea to take root inside of him and it flowered with rich potential, with possibility, the most beautiful thing he had ever envisioned.
“I understand,” Laurent said, pausing uncertainly, “if this is too much for you. If you don’t…even if you don’t want to be with me anymore I promise I can still be useful to you. I can still help, and I won’t be in your way—”
“Marry me,” Damen said, his eyes locking with Laurent’s across the wagon.
It was the last thing Laurent had expected him to say; Damen could tell by how quickly Laurent repressed his shock, the emotion barely given time to register before it was pressed into a hard diamond, nestled somewhere deep inside him, safe from prying eyes. He blinked once, and then again.
“Damen,” he said, with all the care of a man dealing with a firework that might explode at any moment, “you can’t just—”
“Marry me,” Damen said again, and pushed up from where he had been sitting to stand in front of Laurent. Laurent’s eyes grew wide as Damen moved closer, and then wider still when Damen knelt in front of him, looking up to meet Laurent’s panicked gaze.
“You aren’t being serious right now,” Laurent said, a desperate plea that landed somewhere between a question and a statement.
“I can give you the practical reasons it’s a good idea, if that is the best way to convince you,” Damen said. “The most important reason is that if we were married you would have the weight of the Akielon army protecting you.”
This made Laurent bristle. “I don’t need anyone to protect me, especially not an army. I am fully capable of protecting myself—”
“I know you claim not to care who takes over the Veretian throne,” Damen said calmly, “but believe me, whoever does—even a blond gutter rat—they’ll care about you. As long as you are alive you will be a threat to them. And being alive is a problem with a very easy solution.”
“I will fake my own death,” Laurent said, as if it was no more complicated than buying a new chiton at the tailor’s. “Change my name. Buy some wigs off of Charls. No one will come looking for me.”
“The other practical reason is that when you eventually decide that you want to take back your throne—do not argue with me, let me finish—you will have the strength and backing of Akielos to help you.”
That made Laurent laugh, and for a moment afterwards he only stared at Damen, wide-eyed, as if giving him a chance to salvage such a ridiculous sentiment. When Damen declined to amend his statement, Laurent asked, “Have you not listened to anything I’ve told you? That is not something I will ever want, Damen. That is a reason that holds no sway for me.”
“That may be what you think now—”
“It
is
what I think now.”
“—but I know your heart, Laurent, as truly as I know my own. I know what it will cost you to turn away from your family’s legacy. I know the pain you will feel when some petulant warlord takes over your throne, and how it will hurt you when you learn of your people being treated poorly, unfairly. You know your capabilities as well as I do, and I know you have doubts about them. But that is the nature of being a ruler. We will always have doubts about what we do. We will always question whether or not we are making the right choices.”
“I am certainly questioning this choice of yours,” Laurent said, and Damen flinched, the attack landing. Laurent’s expression softened and he put a hand against Damen’s cheek.
“It is very…noble of you,” Laurent said by way of apology, “to offer to care for me in that way. But you can do better than a blind, disgraced, invalid prince with no crown. You will have offers,” Laurent said quickly before Damen could protest, “once you are King, that will be more beneficial to your rule. Kyroi that you will be able to bring to heel, peace agreements that you can seal with a marriage. You gain nothing by binding yourself to me.”
“I am capable of making treaties that do not involve marriage,” Damen said. “And besides, that is a trick that will only work once. But you did not let me finish.”
“All right,” Laurent said, resigned, stiffening as if preparing for a physical attack. “Finish your reasoning, then.”
“I have told you the practical reasons, of which there are many, although they are limited. The rest of my reasons are infinite, and purely selfish. I cannot think of being parted from you. I can’t bear not knowing that you will be by my side, day after day after day.” These reasons were as easy to voice as any other need his body had: I need to sleep, I need to eat, I need to be with you. “I can’t imagine waking up and not seeing you still snuggled into my pillow next to me. I can’t think how I’m supposed to make any decisions about anything except by arguing with you about it. I know I won’t be as good a man unless you’re by my side lending me your wisdom, your strength, your courage. And I can’t imagine ever kissing anyone else, bickering with anyone else in bed, letting anyone else touch me as you touch me. Whatever happens, whatever thrones or crowns we take or leave, it doesn’t matter. As long as I’m with you, nothing else matters.”
Laurent weathered the attack with grace. His eyes never left Damen’s face, and once Damen finished they gazed at one another, neither moving. Damen knew the instant Laurent had his answer, knew almost before Laurent himself, and he couldn’t help the quiet exultation that began to grow in his breast. Laurent noticed his excitement and began shaking his head, but Damen was already pushing up off the floor and dragging Laurent up with him.
“We will never be allowed this,” Laurent said as Damen put his hands against Laurent’s waist. “Princes are not allowed to acquiesce to…sentiment.”
“So princes can’t have friends, and now they can’t have sentiment either. Being a prince seems a pretty miserable existence.”
“That’s been my experience, yes,” Laurent said dryly, and then looked away, turning serious. “At least…it has been. Until I met you.”
Damen pulled him closer and Laurent wound his arms around Damen’s neck, though he kept his face turned away, too overwhelmed to look directly at him.
“Until you met me,” Damen repeated, his voice low. “The best night of your life, wasn’t it?”
“I knew that would make you insufferable.”
“As will your answer now, if you ever get around to it.”
“If that is how you think to convince me, you sorely misjudge how little I care about your ego. But…I suppose it would be rude to leave you without a firm decision. Okay.” Laurent looked up at him, the smallest smile playing about his lips, and then he shrugged and said again: “Okay.”
Laurent’s face was distractedly close to his own, so it took Damen a moment to understand that he had, in fact, just been given his answer. He couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped, and Laurent’s eyes lingered on his mouth for a moment before their gazes met once more, laughter giving way to the seriousness of what they were both agreeing to.
“Okay?” Damen asked.
Laurent nodded. “Okay,” he said, and then, without any warning at all, reached up for a kiss. He kissed without restraint, fingers digging into Damen’s biceps and pulling him close, making small desperate noises that Damen swallowed hungrily. He knew it was reckless to linger here after they had already wasted so much of the day, but when Laurent began to lead him towards the bed Damen did not complain, and did not try to stop him. They made it about halfway there, hands never leaving each others’ bodies, lips never leaving each others’ mouths, when a brisk knock startled both of them.
“Go away,” they both called out in unison.
The knock sounded again, and this time the door handle began to jiggle. They pushed away from each other to maintain the barest sense of propriety, but when the door opened and Nicaise popped his head in he grinned wolfishly at them.
“Better than finding you on the floor, I suppose,” he said, content to stay in the entryway. “You’ve got a message.”
“Can it wait?”
“It’s from Nikandros.”
Damen and Laurent shared a look, and Damen went to grab the note from Nicaise. Nik wouldn’t dare contact them unless it was urgent; each time they contacted each other was another chance to be found out by one of the many, many guards in the city, a chance that someone might discover where Damen and Laurent were hiding. Damen opened the seal and glanced over the writing there: it was his mother’s scrawl, concise in the manner she had always preferred.
We must talk. Tonight. My rooms, after 11.
“She said she needed two days,” Laurent murmured, coming up behind him and reading over his shoulder.
Damen shrugged and put the note away. “She must have worked quickly. Let us hope she’s found good news. Nicaise, thank you.”
“Anything for you, your majesties,” Nicaise said with a ridiculous flourish, bowing low as he backed out of their wagon and shut the door. Laurent turned to Damen, unimpressed.
“Would you believe me if I told you it wasn’t on purpose?” Damen asked.
“Actually, I do,” Laurent said, and they resumed the conversation that had been so rudely interrupted.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The bells struck the eleventh hour just as Damen fell from the lowest branch of the tree that overhung the walls of the palace. Laurent was crouched behind a marble sculpture depicting two wolfhounds looking majestically into the distance, and he graced Damen with an unimpressed look as Damen limped over to join him.“It was a lot easier to do that as a boy,” Damen whispered. “I didn’t find it challenging.”“That’s because you can see all the branches in the dark,” Damen whispered, and then paused as Laurent indicated there was a guard near. They both froze, and after a moment Damen heard the first sound of footsteps. He was certain he held his breath for the entirety of the tense minute before they faded away.“We’re clear,” Laurent said, his voice low. “Where to now?”“Second story, over there. Follow me,” Damen said, and they quietly made their way through the gardens.His mother’s balcony required a short climb to access, so they moved quickly and quietly up the lattice that attached to the side of the palace. Damen was hardly surprised to find the windows open; it was a nice night, and his mother had always liked the sounds of the garden. From the darkness of the balcony he could see her in the light of the room, dressed for bed with her long hair pinned up in a loose bun. She was sitting at her desk, scribbling in a ledger of some sort, and did not look up from her work. Damen didn’t want to startle her even though he knew she must be waiting for them, so rather than simply walking in through the open window he tapped lightly on the glass.Her head snapped over to the noise, and her eyes narrowed as she peered into the darkness. Damen waited a moment before tapping on the glass again, and this time she wasted no time getting to her feet, revealing a small dagger that had been hidden somewhere in her clothes.“Jumpy,” Laurent murmured next to him.Damen frowned. It was after eleven; she really should be expecting them. Damen stood up, moving into the light so she could see him clearly.“Oh, Damen, it’s you,” she said, letting out a tense breath and holding her hand to her heart. She slipped the dagger back into the hidden scabbard in her sleeve. “Oh darling, you scared me. Come inside, quickly, both of you.”She ushered them in and then pulled shut the curtains. Not many of her lanterns inside were lit, but she shaded the few nearest them so that their shadows would not be seen from outside.“I’m sorry we startled you,” Damen said, but his mother waved his concern away before he had even finished speaking. “It’s nothing. But it was dangerous to come here, Damianos. Are you hurt? Are you in trouble?”Laurent shifted uncomfortably next to him, and they shared a brief, worried glance before Damen turned back to his mother.“No, we’re not hurt. We made it here undetected. But—” Damen grabbed the note she had sent them out of his pocket and handed it to her. “You asked us to come.”She took the note from him, staring at it with her brows furrowed.“This is—no,” she said, shaking her head. “This is a note I sent to Kastor last week, I wanted to talk to him in private about the Veretians, but I didn’t—”She looked up at him, and it was at that moment he realized it was a trap. His mother understood a second after he did, her eyes growing wide with the closest thing he had seen to terror in her face.“Leave. Now,” she said, shoving the two of them back towards the balcony.But it was too late. Before they could move the door to her rooms slammed open, hitting the wall with enough force to knock all the pictures off, glass shattering as they hit the floor. Guards poured in and for a moment Damen was in his own rooms again that night so many months ago, blindsided by his brother's ambush, sitting in his bed as he valiantly tried to defend himself against his attackers. He blinked the image away and then he was back; not in his rooms anymore but his mother’s, not alone this time but with Laurent. He grabbed Laurent’s hand and ran towards the balcony.The guards were waiting there. How they had managed to get there undetected he didn’t know. Laurent made a frustrated noise and then Damen was being dragged towards the door leading to his mother’s receiving chamber—but guards were waiting for them there too, advancing with their swords drawn. There was nowhere to go, no way to escape. They backed up until they hit the wall behind them, and Damen stepped in front of Laurent. He had defended Laurent against incredible numbers before; it seemed he would have to do so again.And then Hypermenestra stepped in front of both of them.“What is the meaning of this?” she hissed, her arms flung out to keep the guards away from them. “How dare you intrude upon my private chambers in this manner? And how dare you raise weapons against your Exalted? Put your weapons down and leave this place at once and I will spare your lives for this crime.”The threat did get the crush of guards to pause. Worried glances were shared between comrades and Damen heard an unintelligible murmur, whispered from one end of the room to the other. It was a moment before he made out what they were saying.
Damianos. Damianos is alive.
“Stand aside! Is my mother all right? Tell me she is unharmed.”“Kastor,” Damen growled. A slow boiling rage churned in his gut as he turned towards the voice, near the entrance to the room. The guards parted and then Kastor was there, his head held tall as if the last time Damen had seen him he hadn’t just been made a prisoner in his own home. As if Kastor hadn’t admitted to wanting him dead.“Kastor,” Hypermenestra said, “get these men out of here—”“Oh mother, I’m so glad you’re safe,” Kastor said, and came over to grab Hypermenestra in a tight, punishing hug. She squirmed uncomfortably in his grip, but he did not let her go and his eyes never left Damen. “Guards, arrest my brother. He is here to assassinate the Queen Mother.”The guards were hesitant to obey the order. Damen was unarmed, obviously so, and they had all seen Hypermenestra protecting him, not cowering before him. Damen recognized some of the men before him, men who had worked in the palace for years, men who had worked for his father, and he saw their dislike of the fiction they knew Kastor was peddling.His mother wriggled out of Kastor’s grip and pushed him away violently, taking up her protective stance in front of Damen and Laurent once again.“You have been drinking to excess again, Kastor, and this time it has finally addled your brain beyond repair. Do they look armed to you? Do I seem to be in any danger right now except from the men that you have brought into my private chambers?”“Mother, please,” Kastor said, annoyed. “You are hysterical. I will tolerate a small measure of this because of the harrowing ordeal you’ve just been through, but perhaps it would be better if you went to lie down somewhere.”“And where,” Hypermenestra asked, her voice like ice, “should I do that? There is currently a garrison in my bedroom, thanks to you.”“Maximus,” Kastor called, and a man that Damen recognized as one of Kastor’s cronies stepped forward. “Take my mother to the infirmary. Tell them to give her something to aid her sleep. She has had a trying night.”“Kastor, you will not—”His mother’s words were cut off as Maximus grabbed Hypermenestra by the arm. Before he could think better of it Damen moved to take the man’s hand off of her—a necessary step that needed to occur before he could remove the offending hand entirely from the body it was connected to—but Hypermenestra put her free hand against Damen’s chest and pushed him back. With a sharp movement she shook herself free of Maximus’ grip and lifted her head, settling the larger man into submission with one imperious, calculating look. She turned to Damen and pitched her voice so that the entire room could hear her.“It seems I have no choice except to leave my own chambers,” she said, “but I want everyone here to know how glad I am that you’re back, Damianos. This city has been too long without their rightful King. And I have missed my son.”And then Maximus escorted her out and she was gone.Damen thought it was entirely possible that the vein on Kastor’s temple would throb right out of his head. With their mother gone the guards seemed even more confused, their eyes darting suspiciously between the two brothers, and Damen stepped forward, holding his hands up non-threateningly. “It’s over, Kastor,” Damen said. “You know I would never hurt our mother, and these men have seen the evidence of that. There is time to clear up whatever misunderstanding has happened here tonight. There is still space for us to work this out. Let us talk to each other as men.”It wasn’t a lie. Despite his certainty that he would feel better once his fist found its way around a few angles of Kastor’s face, he also understood that his brother had backed himself into a corner of his own making, and it was one Damen could take advantage of. He may have been tricked into being here but Kastor had played his hand too boldly, had not considered that his own actions would reflect more poorly upon him than anything he could falsely accuse Damen of.There was a commotion by the door, and Damen stupidly hoped that his mother had escaped her escort and come back with troops of her own to settle this entire affair once and for all. But it wasn’t she who stepped over the threshold. The man who walked in was in his early forties, with dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard, his clothes more ostentatious and richly woven than anything Damen had seen during his time in Vere. The man’s blue eyes roved over the scene before him, his gaze piercing through the chaos in a way that was heartbreakingly familiar.“Prince Kastor,” the Regent of Vere said in decent Akielon. The guards parted in deference to him. “I see you have been successful in capturing the most dangerous man alive. Congratulations are in order, although may I suggest—perhaps he should be chained up before he does anything desperate?”“Damen’s not even armed,” Kastor said, frowning. He tossed his head arrogantly, a show for the soldiers around him. “He is not so dangerous that I cannot deal with him.”“That may be true,” the Regent said, smiling, “in regards to your half-brother. But I was not referring to him. I was talking about my nephew. Hello, Laurent.”“Uncle,” Laurent said pleasantly, as if they were meeting over a dinner banquet and not in a claustrophobically small room with a dozen or more swords pointed at him. “How wonderful to see you here, so far away from all the comforts of home. But I suppose even all the varied perversions that Vere has to offer grow stale after a while, and new avenues must be discovered. I trust you’re enjoying yourself in your new environment?”“I have not known peace since I discovered you missing,” the Regent said, ignoring Laurent’s barbs. “I’ve been worried about you. Beyond worried. Everyone knows that you are not capable of looking after yourself, and when I received word that Govart had seen you in Toutaine—”“How is Govart, by the way?” Laurent interrupted. “Not crushed under the weight of his responsibilities, I hope.”The Regent faltered. It took him barely a second to regroup, and his attention narrowed dangerously on Laurent. “When I was brought word of you traveling with some wild beast of a protector I instantly knew the plan your addled brain had conjured up. I just did not think you’d be so short-sighted and selfish as to use the crown prince of Akielos as your personal chew toy. I hope you haven’t been so stupid as to become attached to him, because you know as well as I do that you’ve doomed him.”“What?” Kastor asked, as Laurent went very still. “What do you mean?”“I’m sorry to tell you this, Prince Kastor, but my nephew…he is a truly disturbed individual.” The Regent paused, allowing the anticipation to grow, and Damen had the idea that the Regent wouldn’t be out of place in an acting troupe of his own. “If I know my nephew at all—I believe he has turned your brother into a creature of his own making. You see, I’ve received reports that Prince Damianos is Written.”The guards around Damen recoiled, as if he had just been revealed to have some contagious disease. Most of them had been holding their swords loosely, if they had even bothered unsheathing them at all, but they all shifted now to get a better grip on their weapons, and Damen heard more than one sword sliding out of its scabbard.And really, Damen could hardly blame them. Writing was barely heard of in Akielos beyond the mystical properties the priests ascribed to it and the horror stories about what Veretians did to Akielon prisoners of war back when the two countries were openly hostile towards each other. Stories about Veretians Writing berserkers and sending them back to Akielos to slaughter their comrades, their lust for death not abated by injuries that would have any other man weeping on the ground. Tales of Veretians Writing Akielon citizens in secret and returning them to their families only to have them murder everyone around them when a random trigger word was uttered.They were ghost stories, nothing more. Damen had heard such tales told around campfires, in breathless whispers in the barracks, and he had little doubt that the Veretians told the exact same stories with the enemy reversed.Still. It was not a good position to be in at the moment. He remembered Makedon’s warning to keep the fact that he had been Written to himself, and though he had not heeded it as he should have, he understood now the danger Makedon had been trying to warn him about. Understood, by the looks on the soldier’s faces, halfway between frightened and disgusted, how exactly Kastor could use this against him.But he also knew he had nothing to hide. He had been Written, yes, but Laurent had removed it from him. No one believed that Writing could be undone, and so once they saw he was clean they would be forced to accept it as another lie.“I would be sorry for the Regent to be proven wrong in his assessment,” Damen said, once everyone had settled. He turned to Kastor. “But not that sorry. Go find a priest, tell them to bring their glass. Bring the King’s Guard with them, I don’t care. Let them search me. I have nothing to hide.”“Damen,” Laurent said.“Do as he says,” Kastor told the guard nearest him, his eyes never leaving Damen’s face. “Get a priest. Whoever’s closest, I don’t care. I want to see it for myself.”“You will see nothing,” Damen said. “I am not Written. I am not anyone’s creature. I have protected Laurent because he deserves to have someone do so, and I will continue to protect him for the same reason. And I’ll do it because I want to, not because of any Writing.”“I don’t know if you’re aware, but as a second son Laurent has been trained in the art of Calligraphy since he was a child,” the Regent told Kastor, as casually as if they were two friends lamenting their family drama in private, and not putting on a show for those around them. “Unfortunately, he has always pushed past the limits of what the Guild allows, Writing unsanctioned Words despite all of my warnings about how dangerous it is. I only tell you this to inform you that we may not exactly know what kind of mess he has made of your brother, or what he has compelled him to do.”“He hasn’t compelled me to do anything,” Damen said, and he felt like a child again, as if no one could bother to listen to anything he said. “I told you, I’m not Written at all. Laurent, tell them—”But then Damen looked over at Laurent, and the words dried up in his mouth. Laurent’s eyes were wet with tears, and in the silence one finally escaped and trickled down his face. “Damen,” Laurent said, barely loud enough for Damen to hear. “I’m so sorry.”“Gag him,” called the Regent, gesturing to the guards around him. “Before he activates whatever Word he’s Written.”“Damen, it’s not what you think,” Laurent said as the guards grabbed him by each shoulder. “It’s not what it looks like—”His words cut off as a gag was brought up and forced into his mouth. He struggled against it, his eyes wide and panicked, and seeing him like that something in Damen snapped. With a roar he lunged towards the guards that had a hold on Laurent’s arms, knocking them back and pushing them as hard as he could, bowling over the men standing behind them and sending half the regiment toppling. Someone grabbed him from behind, and he whirled around and felt his fist connect to their face, sending them sprawling as well.Damen knew he had the advantage. Everyone in front of him had a sword but none were willing to use it on him, however ready they had seemed a moment ago. Maybe that would change as the fight went on, but right now he could use their hesitancy to find a way for him and Laurent to escape. The balcony was to his right, maybe ten steps away; with a sweep of his legs he took out the guard blocking his path. The guard fell, hard, taking one of his companions with him, and then it was an all out brawl.Fists and knees and shoulders and elbows were all Damen saw—and felt—as he tried to bulldoze a path to freedom. Someone was shouting in the background, multiple someones, but Damen blocked it out as insignificant noise. He heard a vase drop to the ground and break next to him, but when he looked there was nothing on the floor, no pieces of blue ceramic, no flowers that had been lovingly picked just for him. He felt the tangle of bedsheets at his feet, but when he reached down to pull himself free his hands came up empty. There was a rage burning inside of his chest, an inferno that had been lit that moment he had woken up in his bed and had to fight for his life, and he knew that if he didn’t let it out it would consume him.“Damianos!”His name, bellowed into the room, overpowered the noise and grunts and orders of the soldiers around him. Something caused him to look over—and when he saw, he stopped. Someone took the opportunity to land a blow on him but he weathered it silently, and eventually everyone around him paused as well when they understood he was no longer paying attention to them.The Regent stood at the opposite end of the room, one hand gripping Laurent’s shoulder, fingers digging into his pale skin, while the other held a knife to Laurent’s throat. Laurent’s arms were tied behind his back but he still struggled against his uncle’s hold on him, and the tiniest drop of blood welled up from under the tip of the knife to trail down his neck.“Good,” the Regent said, obviously annoyed at the chaos. “Well? Tie him up.”Someone came up behind Damen and wrenched his arms behind his back. Damen didn’t fight them. He couldn’t stop staring at Laurent, the gag still in his mouth, his entire body strung tight with tension that was the very manifestation of Damen’s failure to keep him safe.“Didn’t I tell you?” the Regent asked, turning to Kastor. “My nephew is the most dangerous man here.”“Is that what just happened?” Kastor asked, looking at the myriad of soldiers that Damen had knocked to the ground. “Did he—was my brother affected by the Writing just then?”“It’s possible,” the Regent said, nodding. “Likely, even. I won’t know until I examine him. Here. Take this one to my chambers,” he said, turning and shoving Laurent into the arms of a Veretian guard who had appeared during the commotion. Laurent struggled to stay upright, and when Damen moved to help him he found that he was being held back by three guards, and that his arms were firmly tied behind his back. The guard led Laurent away. Laurent struggled; the gag in his mouth prevented him from speaking but Damen could hear him trying anyway, his words muffled as he tried to get Damen to understand him. Damen watched as he disappeared from the room and the sound of his feet faded away.“Hold him,” the Regent said to the guards around Damen, and the hands on his arms tightened.The Regent took a small glass from his breast pocket, about the size of Damen’s fist and edged with ornately wrought silver. He brought it up to his eye and peered through it, walking around Damen in a circle and looking him up and down as if he were no better than a piece of meat. Damen could do nothing except stand there and take it.“It’s as I thought,” the Regent said, once the inspection was over. He put a hand to the back of Damen’s neck. “Right there. A good place; even if he had a Calligrapher’s glass to look through he would also need a mirror to see it.”“What does it say?” Kastor asked.The Regent shrugged. “That will take more time to determine. As I said, my nephew often Writes beyond what is allowed by our Calligrapher’s Guild. It may take a while to interpret the Words he has Written on your brother.”“Half-brother,” Damen growled.Kastor looked over at him, annoyed, and then turned back to the Regent.“We don’t have ‘a while’,” Kastor said, his voice low. “The coronation is in four days. It must be done before then.”“Don’t worry,” the Regent said. “Now that I have Laurent, things will move faster. I have ways of making him talk.”“Hmm.” Kastor shrugged, noncommittal. Now that he had what he wanted it was obvious he was already bored by the proceedings. “As long as it gets done.”The Regent smiled tightly, and Damen understood that there was tension there, although Kastor was either too distracted or too inattentive to notice. A mistake either way; Damen saw how the Akielon guards deferred to the Regent when he talked, how they took his orders. Kastor had been a fool to let someone like that into their home.“Now. I believe you said you were preparing a room specifically for your half-brother,” the Regent said, all tightness gone and a cloying, fatherly persona firmly in place. “Why don’t you go make sure everything meets your exacting standards? I want to talk to the prisoner, just for a moment. I can escort him to his new chambers myself as soon as you're ready.”“Yeah,” Kastor said, sneering at Damen. “I’ll make sure everything is nice and tidy for my precious brother. You, soldier. Attikus, right?”The soldier shifted uncomfortably. “It’s Leontius, sir.”“Leontius, then,” Kastor said, as if the guard had changed his name just to annoy him. “Give me five—no, ten minutes. Then take three men and help the Regent escort my brother downstairs. And Leontius—if anything happens, it’s your head. Do you understand me?”“Yes, sir.” “Not sir. Exalted,” Kastor corrected, looking at the man with a feverish intensity in his eyes. “Say it.”Leontius swallowed nervously.“Yes, Ex—Exalted,” he said.“Good,” Kastor said, and turned to the Regent, preening. “I’ll see you shortly.”And with a nod he was gone. Off to ensure that the dungeon was adequately prepared; Damen had no pretenses about the special accommodations that were being made for him. What he was less certain of was why the Regent wanted to get him alone, as if Damen had anything to say to him that he wouldn’t also yell from the rooftops or read at his eulogy.“You know,” the Regent said, switching to Veretian so that the remaining guards couldn’t understand him, “at first, I couldn’t understand how Laurent was doing it. The boy can’t get from one end of the palace to the other without tripping up every other step, and he’s lived there his entire life. But it makes sense now. Tell me, did you have to carry him on your back the entire way?”Damen didn’t answer. His instinct was to jump to Laurent’s defense, claim that he was a fully capable man, the smartest and most competent one he had ever known. But it would do no good to make the Regent aware of those things if he underestimated Laurent; better to let Laurent keep the advantage as long as possible. After it became clear that Damen wouldn’t rise to the bait, the Regent sighed.“I see that this isn’t going to be a very productive conversation. Very well; I will get to the point, then, and hope that you can at least value my attempts at brevity. Tell me what you know about him, what he’s told you about his Writing, and I will let you see him one last time—alone—before you are tried and executed by your brother.”“What I know about him?” Damen repeated, frowning.“Yes. I know he’s spoken to you of Writing; I could see it in your face. Did he tell you about what was done to him?”“What was done to him?” Damen repeated with a bitter laugh. “It did not happen by accident. Do you mean what you did to him?”“So he did tell you,” the Regent said, his attention narrowing, absolutely no trace of regret or pain for what he’d done to Laurent. “He claims the procedure blinded him, and that his vision is nothing but darkness. I know he’s been lying to me about that; you wouldn’t even be giving him up to tell me that much. The Writing on your back is proof enough that he can still make out some things, at least. If you have seen any evidence that he can—alter the Writing, change it or, as unlikely as it may be, get rid of it completely, I will make sure you get to see him one last time.”One last time. It was a tempting offer, and one in which Damen could see his salvation: if he met with Laurent he could have Laurent remove the Writing from him for good, and then there would be nothing for Kastor to condemn him with. And Damen wouldn’t even have to tell the Regent the truth of the matter; he could tell him whatever lies he could think up on the spot: that Laurent could manipulate objects without touching them, that he could use his mind to affect the Writing on someone else’s body.That he could move mountains with a word. That he could completely, utterly, and without conscious thought bring a man to his knees with just the suggestion of a command on his lips.“I will not,” Damen said, squaring his shoulders as best he could considering his wrists were still cuffed behind his back. “The only thing I have to tell you is that you’re a monster, and I’m going to kill you for what you’ve done to him.”The Regent sneered, his face twisted in anger.“Do you think you’re noble, protecting him? He doesn’t appreciate it, the blind, disgraced, invalid creature that he is. Do you think he actually cares about you? He doesn’t. Once I’m done with you I’m going to offer him some measure of freedom back in Vere if he condemns you, and he will give you up in an instant, I promise you.”“Doesn’t matter to me. I’m dead either way,” Damen said flatly.“Yes, you are. But it’s bad enough to be wanted dead by your family; worse to have someone you’re in love with be the one to wield the killing blow. And you are in love with him, aren’t you?”Damen felt his jaw clench, and he looked away. He wouldn’t answer such questions from this man. In fact, at the moment he preferred the dungeon.“So that’s it,” the Regent said, gleeful to have spotted this weakness. “Did he let you fuck him? Was that to be your payment in exchange for dragging him here? Get him here safely and then he’d bend over for you, the little whore.”The Regent moved closer to Damen, peering into his face as if he could read Damen’s answer there. The guards next to Damen tightened their grip on his arms, warning him not to try anything.“It could be payback, you know,” the Regent said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “He Wrote you without your consent; you could take something from him in turn. It would only be fair. I could get you a room where no one would hear him scream. I saw that look of betrayal on your face when you realized what he had done to you. You could even the score. It might not save you, but you could go to your death with the knowledge that you firmly punished the one who led you there.”“You’re disgusting,” Damen spat.The Regent sighed, defeated, and then laughed bitterly, as if he had just thought of a funny joke.“Was he really that good?” he asked, and the hairs at the back of Damen’s neck prickled. “He’s pretty, certainly, although his looks have faded from what they were. I’m certain that you could find someone just as appealing in your harems here. Was his hole that was that much tighter than the others you've had before? Was he such a good fuck that you’d give up everything?" The Regent gestured at the palace around them. "For him?”Damen didn't answer, and the Regent leaned in close, his lips brushing against the outside of Damen's ear.“Personally—I was never that impressed.”It took a moment for the words to penetrate. The idea that the Regent would say such a thing, would admit to having done such a thing—it slipped away from Damen’s mind, the very idea a painful, jagged wound that he instinctively shied away from, a suffering that he was unable to bear. I know it’s going to hurt, Laurent had said, that first time they had made love.A hurt that Laurent had borne by himself, from the only family member he had left.
It might not be so bad. Not with you.
Damen did not want to face it. But he would not let Laurent bear the pain of it alone. Not anymore.His anger was so hot it gave him chills, so potent that he started shaking as it built inside of him. He could feel the echoes of the bindings from the pet house, a muted burning feeling that nearly had him looking down to see if his clothes had started burning. A phantom pain, but one that felt just as real as it had when it was given to him.But it also gave him a strange kind of clarity that he had never experienced before except maybe, faintly, during battle. A precise knowledge of the steps he needed to take without any extraneous distractions. A glimpse of what needed to be done to assuage this anger. His hands were tied behind his back, but that was okay. He had other methods of dealing pain. And so with this terrible clarity guiding him he snapped his head forward and slammed his forehead into the Regent’s nose.The blood came instantly. He had hoped to break enough of the delicate bones in the man’s face that a few pieces would fly up into his brain, killing him instantly; however, it appeared as though the force of his blow wasn’t quite enough. All he had dealt was a great deal of pain, but Damen could hardly be sad about that outcome. There would be time for the rest of it later.The Regent reeled back from the attack, hand clamped against his copiously bleeding nose as he yelled at the guards to restrain the madman. Damen let his jailers grab hold of him and then, using their grip as a support, jumped to kick the Regent squarely in the chest, sending him flying back against the wall. The guards instinctively caught Damen before he could fall to the ground, and Damen wasted no time in advancing towards the Regent’s fallen form, intent on crushing every part of him under his heel. The guards put all their weight into holding him back, but he advanced towards his goal. Slower than he would have liked, but he still progressed.“Knock him out, you idiots! Use the rag!” the Regent said, his voice muffled through his hands. His eyes were wide and wild, and Damen couldn’t help but smile. The guards behind Damen shouted and scuffled over something, but Damen didn’t waste energy figuring out what it was. He would crush the Regent until he was nothing more than meat. Until his blood covered every inch of their palace.A cloth pressed to his mouth, the chemical smell familiar. He held his breath. He had less time then he thought, and he doubled his efforts. Two more steps, one more step, and then he would be able to deal more pain. His vision turned spotty, the pressure too much.
I’m so sorry.
Blackness overtook him, and then there was nothing.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Damen was left in the dungeon, but he was not left alone.
The priests came down at regular intervals to argue softly with each other about the Writing on his neck. With the priests came the King’s Guard, there to protect the
agios
, the holy relic the priests used to see Written Words. The glass in the one they used for his inspection was no bigger than a plum, but it was such an ornately decorated piece that each priest needed both hands to pick it up. Damen saw the carving on one of the
agios
before he was made to turn around: the demon Hellestus attempting to eat the Sun, a sin for which he was punished by being cast into the bowels of the earth, condemned to never let Her warm rays touch his skin again.
Probably not a great omen, as far as things went. As if he needed a warning that obvious.
Damen stood against the bars when he was ordered to, up and down and up again, his back pressed against the iron, his hands clasped firmly in front of him. It would have been obvious that nobody could make any sense of the Words on his body even if he couldn’t hear them, which he could; the rotating cast of priests arguing with each other, each in a different colored robe representing every district in the city, would have confirmed his suspicions if he had any left. The Regent had been telling the truth. Laurent had Written him beyond what was allowed by the Calligraphers Guild, and until Laurent revealed the Words to them they would continue to be blurry and unclear to everyone who looked.
Sometimes Damen swore he could feel Laurent’s fingers pressed against his neck, a phantom pressure that he bore stoically.
Witch
, Govart had called him.
Damen tried not to think about all the different things the Writing on him might do. He tried not to think about a lot of things.
Damen, I’m so sorry.
Time slipped past him. With only a stone slab to lie on it was impossible to sleep for any length of time, but with little light and nothing to do it was equally impossible to do anything else. He cataloged all the aches and pains he had received when the guards dragged him down here—they hadn’t been especially careful, and he was hardly an easy weight—and focused on the hurt, dissecting every single point of pain he could find. Number one his jaw, left side of his face. Number two his arm where his elbow had been twisted painfully. Number eight his right knee, number twelve a bruise on his shoulder. He held the pain tight against his heart so that nothing else could get in.
Every time he closed his eyes he saw Laurent’s haunted expression, heard those painful apologies coming out of his mouth.
Damen, I’m so sorry.
And when the pain of that started to lessen:
I know it’s going to hurt, but it might not be so bad.
Not with you.
He turned over on the bench, the stone digging painfully into a bruise on his hip. Number twenty seven. He pressed down on it and let the pain blossom through his limbs until it consumed him and everything turned dark again.
The priests weren’t the only ones Damen saw. The guards came by sporadically to ensure he was still where they’d left him and to occasionally throw him some half rotten food, which became more appetizing the longer he waited. And waited. And waited. If someone told him he had been here for six hours or for sixty he would have believed either one. When at last he heard unfamiliar footsteps coming down the hallway he sat up, desperate for a break in the monotony even if it was just to watch a newly appointed guard mock him.
But the person who stopped in front of his cell wasn’t a guard.
“Mother,” Damen said, pushing up from the bench. The fast movement made him dizzy, and he wobbled precariously for a moment before he found his balance and moved towards the door.
“Hush,” she whispered, looking nervously down the hall and listening. When it became apparent that no one had noticed the noise, she turned back to him. “I don’t have much time. Here.”
Through the bars she passed him a waterskin and a bag of fresh food, and although he wanted to ask her a million questions—how she was doing, what had happened to her after he had been taken away, if she knew how Laurent was doing—Damen couldn’t help himself; he took the waterskin eagerly and drained it of every last drop. As if she had anticipated this, Hypermenestra took the empty bottle and handed him another full one.
“How long have I been down here?” Damen asked, once he felt more like himself.
“Almost three days. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to come see you, but it’s been…difficult.”
“Three days,” Damen repeated. Three days wasted down here, unable to do anything except moulder and decay. Three days closer to Kastor’s coronation. “And you? Are you all right? Kastor didn’t hurt you after what happened, did he?”
“No, he didn’t,” his mother said, sighing. “Although he was furious that I acknowledged you as Exalted in front of his soldiers. He’s punishing me by having a guard watch over me twenty four hours a day, ostensibly for my protection.”
Damen made a show of looking up and down the hallway outside his cell, and his mother laughed softly.
“I didn’t say he had given me a competent guard,” she answered.
“Fair enough,” Damen said, but his smile faded quickly. “Even so, I know it must cost you to come here. Has something happened?”
“Yes,” she said, “or rather, it’s about to. Word of your reappearance has spread quickly, and Kastor’s decision to keep you locked away was a poor one. Rumors have spread like wildfire, and the kyroi are annoyed that they do not know the truth. Kastor has not confided anything to them from what I can tell. Yesterday they publicly demanded that you be brought in front of them so that they could ascertain the truth about the situation, and Kastor agreed. He had to; they threatened to withdraw their support from his coronation. They might still do so, in all honesty.”
Damen nodded; if the kyroi withheld their support from Kastor it would be war. There had never been a king crowned without the full support—at least full public support—of all the kyroi, never in the history of Akielos.
“But—all the kyroi aren’t present,” Damen said. “Makedon is not here. And Nikandros must have left too, after I failed to return from the palace. If he had any sense he would have fled the moment he found out I’d been captured.”
“Nikandros is here, with the other kyroi,” his mother said, and frowned when Damen made a sound of protest. “What did you expect of him, Damen? He thinks that being here is his best chance to support you, and he is right. I tried to tell him that you would not want it,” she said, holding up a hand to prevent Damen from interrupting her. “Believe me, we talked for a long time. But he would not be swayed. You would do the same for him if your positions were reversed. Drop it.”
“But Makedon—”
“Makedon has been labeled a traitor, his title stripped from him. There is no time to name a kyros in his place before the coronation, so the others have agreed to be a quorum of seven.”
“They agreed to that?” Damen hissed, wrapping his hands around the bars. “They just—they let him go without a fight?”
“Oh, there was a fight. It is why you will be presented to them tomorrow rather than languish here until after Kastor’s coronation. If you were not Written I suspect their support for you over Kastor would be unanimous; it is…complicated now, because of what the priests have told them. But—it doesn’t matter. I have a plan that will not only discredit the rumors about you but also sway the kyroi’s support completely to your side.”
Damen frowned. “That sounds almost too good to be true.”
“You have not heard the cost yet. Listen to me,” she said, before Damen could interrupt, “and do not speak until I have told you the entire plan, all right? I have already started planting the seeds of this idea in the people around the palace, and it has already started to take hold. It has merit, I promise.”
Damen shivered, a chill spreading through him that was not entirely due to the damp of his surroundings. A cost, she had said. He had a bad feeling he would not be willing to pay.
“It is not a secret that you are Written,” she said. “Even if Kastor hadn’t been spreading that information, the priests are too loose with their gossip. The kyroi are taking a measured approach to this and want to know more, but the servants are already starting to whisper. They say you are bewitched by the Veretian prince. That he controls your movements, manipulates your thoughts. And if the servants are saying that, soon the Ionians will too, and then all of Akielos will follow. You have an opportunity to crush that rumor into dust before it has a chance to settle into their thinking. This is a rumor that could follow you for your entire reign, Damianos.”
“But it’s not true,” Damen said, frowning. “Writing doesn’t work like that.”
“It doesn’t matter. We are fighting public perception at this point, as well as time. And right now the people believe that the Veretian prince controls you. But the most important part—the part we can take advantage of—is that they believe he is the
only one
who can. So tomorrow, when you are brought before the kyroi, you will challenge the prince to a duel to avenge your honor. You will take him down in front of everyone and after that they will not doubt—”
“No.”
“—that you are in control of your own person, not he. Damen, listen to me. This is the only way. I know you are taken with him—”
“I am not ‘taken’ with him,” Damen said, affronted.
“—but this will allow you to reclaim your crown, discredit Kastor and gain the support of the kyroi and the people all at the same time. It is the only way.”
“It can’t be the only way. There has to be another option.”
“Then I would hear it,” Hypermenestra snapped. “Because I have not slept for the last three days and right now this is the only plan that doesn’t end with you swinging.”
Damen winced. He didn’t doubt that his mother was telling the truth; she had deep bags under her eyes, and her fingers twitched in a way that made him think she had taken too much coffee to stay awake.
“There must be another way to resolve this,” Damen said, unsure if he was pleading with himself or his mother.
“Don’t look at it as revenge. Look at it for what it is: payment. Payment for hurting you. Payment for betraying you. The Veretian is smart. He must have known that manipulating you would come with a cost. He will not be surprised when you ask him to pay up.”
“It wasn’t like that between us. I think there’s something else going on—”
“He’s still betraying you, Damen, can’t you see that? He could end all this uncertainty if he would just tell the priests what the Words say, but he refuses to do so. Refuses to speak about it at all, to anyone, even his own uncle. He’s too ashamed to confront the reality of what he’s done to you, to look at the things he thought would stay a secret forever. He’s a coward, Damen. He does not deserve your trust.”
Damen didn’t answer.
It’s not what you think
, Laurent had said that night they were separated. And the Regent had said he would offer Laurent a kind of freedom if he divulged the Words on Damen’s back, had even bragged that Laurent would take that offer without a moment’s hesitation, and yet it seemed—if his mother’s information was correct—he hadn’t. Damen was missing something, something he knew would change the entire landscape of this battle if he could just figure out what it was.
“Tell me you’ll think about it, Damen. That’s all I’m asking you.”
Damen took a deep breath and looked at the food his mother had risked giving him, the danger she had put herself in to come warn him of his fate. And so he met her eyes and only let himself think of how much she must love him, to come down here and endanger herself so.
“I will think on it,” he said, and his mother let out the breath she had been holding. With a last furtive glance down the hallway she pulled up her hood, then pressed her fingers to her lips and reached through the bars, touching Damen’s cheek. Without another glance at him she scurried off and was gone.
Damen stood in place, his mind playing tricks with the light, with the sounds from where he knew the guards were stationed. He thought he heard a scuffling of footsteps, the sound of someone struggling, and imagined his mother had been caught, that the guards were dragging her here to be put right beside him. For a moment he was strangely grateful to think he might have company, and then ashamed. He had been alone before, and he knew he wouldn’t be down here much longer. He could wait.
“What’re you doing up, huh?”
It was one of the guards; bored, curious, not dragging anyone behind him. His mother must have gotten away safely. Damen turned so that his back was to the guard and his face couldn’t be seen.
“Must be feeding you too much if you’re getting antsy and stalking around. No funny business, hear?”
Damen returned to the safety of the darkened cell. He sat on his stone bench and let his bruises welcome the familiar surface, settling in to all the cracks and dips and hollows. He looked down at his hands and saw that he was holding a pouch of food and a nearly full waterskin. So it hadn’t been a dream.
He reached inside the bag and pulled out an apple. Red, like the color of the banners that should be flying in his city, like the color of the chiton he should be wearing right now. Red, like the color of blood.
He bit into the apple and let its juice run down his face.
Kastor’s guards came a few hours (weeks, months, years) later to drag Damen out of the darkness.
He was groomed and bathed, prepared like a bull being led to sacrifice. Damen understood that this was a service for Kastor’s sake, and not his own; Kastor wouldn’t want others to see how poorly he had treated his guest. For a moment Damen considered faking a limp to show that Kastor’s generosity wasn’t as substantial as they were being led to believe before deciding against it; no need to be showy. Besides, the poor diet and lack of sleep he had gotten over the last few days coupled with the heavy iron around his wrists made him look fairly pitiable regardless.
The guards took him to the grand atrium, a place categorically unsuited for doing business or discussing important matters. Certainly inappropriate for an execution, which was the only end Damen could see to this. The atrium was where the royal family would take their guests to showcase the grandeur and ingenuity of Akielon design, to cow them with its splendor, to fête them with a generous assortment of food and drinks. Elegant columns held up the ceiling, impossibly high, eclipsed only by the great dome at the far end of the room, magnificently glorious with a sprawling, delicate mosaic across the entirety of it, built by the greatest craftsmen and architects that had ever lived. A room of taste and elegance, Akielon innovation at its best.
A room that was now being used, Damen saw, for an orgy.
The guards formed a ring around him to discourage attention, but Damen saw the interest his entrance sparked anyway: the next course of entertainment to be served. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the party around him, dancers who teased and seduced as they slithered across the marble floor, harried-looking slaves who wound in and out of the crowd as they carried endless plates of food to the ravenous rabble. Smoke hung in the air, a sour smell that Damen recoiled from. A frankly ridiculous number of Veretian pets stood out from the Akielon crowd like jewels among rocks, their skimpy silks keeping them far more comfortable than their masters, who sat sweating in their woolen outfits under fans manned by Akielon slaves.
A true blending of cultures, Damen thought acidly.
And then at the end of it all: Kastor. He sat with his retinue under the great dome, sprawled on chaise longues that had been brought in for his convenience, watching the hedonism before him with lazy disinterest. As Damen was brought closer he was able to make out the other figures there: Nikandros and the other kyroi, all except Makedon, standing uncomfortably at attention and watching the proceedings with distaste; his mother, sitting stiffly at the edge of the gathering; on the other side of Kastor, the Regent and a bunch of old men that must be the council Laurent had always spoken so poorly of.
And then there was Laurent. Free of his gag but back in his Veretian clothes, laced up more tightly than ever, with two guards at his back, their swords out and resting against his neck. Damen could not tear his eyes away.
“You see?” Kastor said, once Damen had stopped in front of them, still too far to leap forward and sink his teeth into Kastor’s neck as he wanted, not without battering through the handful of guards that formed a protective wall around the group. If he hadn’t been cuffed he probably would have tried anyway. “He is alive. As I told you.”
“And in chains,” Damen said, lifting his hands for everyone to see. “Did he tell you that as well? Because I don’t remember any crimes being levied against me.”
“Don’t pretend that you are innocent of all the crimes you have committed against Akielos,” Kastor said.
“I need not pretend at anything,” Damen said. “Including the fact that I am the rightful king—”
“A king that has been charged with treason.”
“Treason,” Damen repeated, the word hot on his tongue. “And are there to be any details of this supposed treason? Or is flinging the accusation enough for you?”
“You also attacked a member of Veretian nobility,” Kastor said. He gestured at the Regent, who shifted uncomfortably in his chair as the attention swung to him. The bruising was still evident on his face, though someone had attempted to cover it with powder. The effect was slightly ghoulish, and Damen could not help but feel a small measure of pride to have been the cause of it. “He did not feel safe here without some assurances made towards his safety. And I cannot say that I blame him. Hence the cuffs.”
“And I cannot say that I care for his comfort in our home. You would talk to me of treason? Perhaps we should investigate just how long the two of you have been in contact. Was it before or after you thought to have me killed?”
“Your paranoia does you no favors, brother. It is no secret that I have been trying to form an alliance with Vere for quite a while,” Kastor said arrogantly, tossing his head. “It’s called diplomacy. Perhaps if you were more skilled in it you would not be in this position.”
“An alliance? Is that why all of our men have been massing at Karthas and Delpha? Is that why our border cities have been left open to be ravaged by bandits from Vask and Patras? Because of an
alliance
? Or is it because I ruined your plans when I didn’t lie down and die? You wanted to start a war.”
“Oh, really,” the Regent said, laughing as he turned to Kastor. After a fraction’s hesitation Kastor began laughing as well. “That is quite the story, Prince Damianos. Tell me, did my nephew feed that fiction to you? Because it sounds like something his twisted mind would come up with.”
“It is no fiction.” Damen turned to the kyroi. “I have seen the border myself; I was there. And unless Kastor has rid you of everyone but his sycophants you must have heard similar reports. Nikandros—”
“Ah yes,” Kastor sneered. “Speaking of sycophants—let us ask Nikandros what he has heard, the bosom friend of your childhood, who no doubt is responsible for smuggling you into the city past my watchful guards and who is very likely your co-conspirator. We are sure to get an impartial report from him.”
“And so are we to bury our heads in the sand and let every piece of information about our country come from your mouth only, Kastor?” Damen snarled. He took a step forward without thinking and five soldiers in front of him simultaneously raised their weapons. He stopped. “Are we to only listen to those who are on your payroll?”
“Enough!”
Aloysius, the Kyros of Ios, stepped forward. The kyroi did not answer to anyone except the king, but Aloysius was the oldest of all of them and had been Theomedes’ closest friend since childhood. The other kyroi respected him and listened to his council. He not only wore the deep purple of mourning for Theomedes but had shorn his hair as well, the only one among the assembled to have done so. When he turned Damen saw deep bags under his eyes that matched the color of his robes.
“We have asked to see Prince Damianos today, firstly to ascertain that he is alive and well. And—”
“You can see that he is,” Kastor interrupted.
“Yes,” Aloysius said, taking a deep breath before continuing. “He is alive, yes. Which I am glad to see.” He turned his attention towards Damen, effectively cutting Kastor out. “I am interested in hearing what has happened to you these past few months, Exalted. However,” he said, holding a hand up before Kastor could protest his use of the title, “that will need to wait, as will the other…charges that your brother has brought against you.”
Damen nodded, forcing himself to stillness. It was obvious enough that the kyroi’s opinion favored him; he would have known that even if that vein in Kastor’s forehead didn’t look like it was about to burst out of his head.
“Before any of that is discussed we must put to rest this matter about the Writing. Damianos. We have heard all manner of rumors, but the most troubling one by far is that the Prince Laurent is able, through the Writing he put on you, to control your thoughts, to manipulate your actions. It is rumored too that he is, as the architect of your Writing, the only one able to do so. What say you?”
Challenge the prince to a duel,
his mother’s voice said in his head. Aloysius waited expectantly, and Damen knew that he too was waiting for a challenge to be issued, as were a few of the others: Varus, the Kyros of Thrace, Linos, the Kyros of Mellos. The expectation of violence sharpened everyone’s attention, and even the orgiastic celebration around them seemed to pause, waiting for Damen’s answer.
He looked over to Laurent, who met his gaze with a sharp, knowing expression. He nodded, just slightly, and mouthed the words to Damen.
Do it.
Damen looked back to his kyroi and squared his shoulders.
“I have only this to say to you: Prince Laurent holds no control over me through his Writing. I choose—of my own volition—to listen to him because he is intelligent, capable, learned. I listen to him as I listen to all the council I receive,” he said, gesturing to the kyroi. “As I have listened to all of you throughout the years. Aloysius, you taught me how to hold a bow, do you remember? I was just a boy, but you were with me the first time I hit the bullseye. And Varus, you taught me about the Battle of Dioctus, how to always watch for a routing enemy—”
“Enough,” Kastor snapped, bringing his fist down on the velvet chaise with a dull thud. “You cannot deny that you have been Written, no matter how much you may want to. The priests have confirmed it.”
“I do not deny it,” Damen said. “I only deny that it has any influence over me, which the priests cannot attest to. You still can’t read it, can you?” Damen asked, looking over at the Regent. “Laurent has not told you what it means.”
His mother had said as much, but Damen couldn’t afford uncertainty. Everything hinged on this answer. The Regent’s snarl of distaste made Damen certain that his guess had been correct, and he willed his wildly beating heart to calm. He didn’t dare meet Laurent’s eye. The Regent turned to the kyroi, his hands spread in supplication, face cleared of all annoyance.
“Unfortunately Damianos is correct in this one matter,” the Regent said, addressing the Akielons in their native language. “But what he cannot understand is that this uncertainty only makes the situation more dangerous. If my nephew would tell me what is Written on your prince, I could give you some counsel on how best to deal with it. Without that knowledge we can only guess at what monstrosities he has inflicted upon Damianos.”
“Damianos,” Aloysius said gently, and Damen tried not to feel like a child being punished for playing too hard in the recess yard, “if you know what the Writing on you says, now would be a good time to tell us.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Damen saw Laurent shift uncomfortably in his chair, although the guards at his back prevented him from speaking. “It does not control my mind or influence my thoughts in any way, and that is all I will say. I am certain of it. Prince Laurent is not a cruel man, and he has an honest sense of things. When we were still strangers he Wrote me to keep himself safe, and that is all it is. A safeguard for his personal protection. Nothing more.”
“He Wrote you without your consent, put the very future of our country at risk, and you still defend him?” Kyros Linos asked.
“I did not say he Wrote me without my consent,” Damen said. A few of the men scoffed, trading skeptical looks with each other. “And he did not know who I was when he Wrote me. He had no idea that any Writing on me would put our country at risk, because he had no clue of my real title. He thought me to be a common citizen of Akielos, and he treated me as such.”
“You let him,” Kastor repeated, almost gleeful. “You
let
him Write you? And you dare stand before us now and try to claim that you are not the traitor that we know you to be?”
“I am no traitor,” Damen said, not backing down. He turned to the kyroi, to his mother. “After Kastor had me kidnapped and sent to Vere—”
“Outrageous lies,” Kastor said, waving the accusation away.
“—Laurent was in a position to help me, and I him. I allowed him to Write me as part of that agreement. He did enough to keep himself safe, and that is all. He did not seek to control, nor manipulate. He did not know me then, did not know my character. And after being surrounded by such men as his own monstrous uncle, I cannot blame him for his actions.”
“Prince Laurent’s inability to trust those around him is hardly Akielos’ business—”
“But I know him now,” Damen said, ignoring Kastor’s interruption. He thought now he could stand to look at Laurent without giving everything away; Laurent only met his gaze with eyes that grew wider and wider in shock as he realized what Damen was trying to do. Laurent shook his head, but Damen ignored the warning, his eyes never leaving Laurent’s face. “I understand him. I know his heart just as well as he knows mine. You are worried that he will influence me with his Writing? He doesn’t need it. I listen to him because he is the smartest, most brilliant and most capable man I have ever met. You think he would influence my ruling of Akielos? We would be so lucky to have someone like him on our side. He is capable of the most amazing things you have ever seen. He has a deep well of kindness and empathy in him, and a sense of justice that does not waver.”
Damen looked over at the kyroi.
“Laurent does not rule over me any more than I rule over him. If I am swayed by him it is only because I love him more than life itself. And that does not make me unfit to rule. It is the only reason that I am.”
“Damianos—”
“What a load of absolute garbage—”
“My nephew has certainly done a number on your brother, Exalted, that is clear—”
“Stop,” Damen said. His gaze caught on Laurent’s; for a fraction of a second they were back in that forest outside of Toutaine, trying to communicate with each other in the dark. “Stop, all of you. You’ve had your turn, and now it is ours. Ask Laurent anything you like. He will confirm everything I’ve said.”
“Prince Laurent?” Aloysius asked, quieting his fellow kyroi and shushing Kastor. “Is there anything you’d like to add to this testimony?”
“Yes,” Laurent said over the sword at his throat. “There is.”
“As I’ve told you all before,” the Regent interjected smoothly, “my nephew is a troubled individual. He doesn’t have the mental fortitude for this kind of thing—”
“And yet Prince Damianos speaks highly of him,” Nikandros said. “Perhaps you should let him speak and let us decide if his mental fortitude is up to the task.”
“I agree with Nikandros,” Varus said. The Kyros of Thrace was in his late forties and had seen many battles; a struggle during one of his earliest campaigns had left him with a damaged windpipe and a voice that sounded like gravel. “This is getting tiresome. I will hear what each has to say, and I will make my own decisions based on their testimony. I do not like having others tell me how to think.”
“Very well,” the Regent said after a brief pause. He motioned for the guards behind Laurent to stand down. “Perhaps Prince Laurent would start with explaining the illegal Words that he has Written on the accused.”
“Everything Damen’s said is the truth,” Laurent said, ignoring his uncle. He looked at Damen as if they were having a private conversation, as if he did not care whether anyone else heard him. “I Wrote him to keep myself safe, and that’s all. A safeguard against a direct attack, since I did not know the kind of man he was. If I knew then what I know now I would not have done it. I didn’t know that he was kind, or the most generous man I have ever met. I didn’t know that to him a promise made might as well have been written on his soul, and that he would sooner die than break it. I didn’t know that I would come to trust him more than I even trust myself. That I would love him more than I thought was possible.”
“Those are kind words,” Aloysius said over the scoffing Regent. “But unfortunately they do not help us in this moment. If you tell us what manner of Writing this is, we will be able to better ascertain—”
“It is nothing worth talking about,” Laurent said, panic creeping into his voice, and Damen saw how the Regent's eyes flashed with interest. “I hoped even when I Wrote him that I would never have to activate those Words, but I’d had my fill of allowing those who think themselves stronger to take advantage of those they have power over.” His jaw clenched and his eyes flickered over to his uncle, but he did not linger. “The kind of Writing that affects someone’s mind or controls their thoughts is dangerous and would have been counterproductive to what I was trying to accomplish. I didn’t want my escort to go insane on the way to Ios, I just wanted to arrive without being raped or murdered.”
“An understandable motive,” Linos said, “and yet we still have no inkling of what it does. Why are you so reticent to divulge its effect on Damianos-Exalted?”
“It is a private matter,” Laurent said, crossing his arms and rubbing his upper arm nervously. His scar, Damen realized. Hidden underneath his clothes. “It only concerns the two of us. Damen has made his peace with it. I did it only to keep myself safe.”
“You see? He is intractable,” the Regent said, turning to Laurent with the intensity of a hound scenting blood. “And I doubt very much that your lover has made peace with it. His surprise when we told him he was Written was genuine. How could he have made peace with something he didn’t even know about?”
“He will forgive me for it. He already has, didn’t you hear him? It doesn’t concern you. Any of you.” Laurent’s voice was rising in pitch, his uncharacteristic nervousness causing him to fidget. “It is between us only.”
“It does concern us,” Kastor said, honing in on this open insecurity. “It concerns Akielos. It especially concerns us because you still have not told us what it does.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Laurent said desperately. “I am the only one who can activate it, and I have no motive to do so—”
“Now,” Kastor said, leaning forward. He had always been good at this; at figuring out the weakness of the enemy, pressing down on the hidden bruise. “You have no motive now. But after a lover’s spat? When Damen brings home another lover, as he is wont to do, and you feel like punishing him for it? We cannot allow someone—a
foreigner
at that—to have such control over a ruler. Damianos is not fit,” Kastor said, turning to the kyroi. “He is not fit to rule. Surely that is obvious to even the most stubborn of you.”
“No,” Laurent said. “No, it’s not like that—”
“Then tell us what it does,” someone said. “Why would you hide it?”
“He’s ashamed—”
“He looks guilty.”
“He’s ruined our prince—”
“He wants a puppet on the throne—”
“No, stop,” Laurent said, and then flinched at the word. “It’s not—I wouldn’t—he’s not—”
The fighting continued around them, spurred on by taunts from the crowd that had gathered at the sound of raised voices. Damen didn’t pay attention to any of them.
He didn’t pay attention, because the Regent had started to laugh.
It was a small thing at first, just a chuckle and a few wayward glances at Laurent. Something complicated passed between uncle and nephew, something Damen couldn’t even begin to parse the meaning of, and then the laughter grew until it became so distracting that even the jeering spectators paused their mockery.
“Oh, Laurent,” the Regent said, wiping tears from his eyes. “Even I did not think you could be this cruel. Gag him.”
The order was said so casually and carried out with such brutal efficiency that by the time Damen understood what was happening Laurent already had a piece of blue silk in his mouth, tied tight to the back of his head. It had been made to match his outfit, Damen thought nonsensically.
“Stop,” Damen said, coming up against the guards around him as soon as he moved. “He’s done nothing wrong, he doesn’t deserve—”
“You have discovered something?” Kastor asked, motioning for the guards to hold Damen back. “Something about the Writing?”
“Yes. I should have known it from the beginning, but I—as always—underestimated the depravity of my nephew.”
“Is it bad?” Kastor asked, sounding gleeful.
“Well—yes and no,” the Regent said, and Kastor deflated a little. “It depends, of course, on how the Writing is used. If Akielos wants a King who must be confined to his rooms, who is unable to be seen in public without the threat of humiliation, who is powerless to defend himself in battle or against anyone who attacks him—well then, it is not so bad.”
“He’s lying,” Damen said hotly. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Laurent struggle against the gag before the guards pulled him back and held his arms behind him.
“I’m not lying. And I can prove it.”
The Regent pushed himself off his chaise, motioning for Kastor to get up. Kastor did so eagerly, like a puppy being called to heel.
“I assume you’ve sparred with your brother before,” the Regent said, throwing a casual arm around Kastor’s shoulders. They walked past the guards surrounding Damen, still not close enough that he could hope to attack them before being subdued, but the instinct to do so anyway was intoxicating.
“I have,” Kastor said, grinning wildly. His excitement at the prospect of humiliating Damen and striking him down once and for all was making him look foolish. “We’ve sparred together ever since Damen was old enough to hold a blade. I’ve put his back into the dirt more times than I can count.”
“Not for the last ten years,” Damen said, but Kastor pretended not to hear.
“And in Akielos it is important, I take it, that your king be fit and hale. That they can defend themselves and their country when needed.”
“Of course,” Kastor said. As if he could say anything else to such a leading question. “We wouldn’t want to appear weak to our enemies.”
“Well put,” the Regent said jovially. “A wise show of power. And so—I’m simply thinking out loud here. Your kyroi do not seem convinced of how dangerous this Writing is, how deeply it can affect the future of their country. It is not just mind control they need to worry about. Perhaps a demonstration would illustrate exactly how harmful this Writing can be.”
“A demonstration?” Kastor asked, turning serious as he eyed the Regent suspiciously. “What exactly do you have in mind?”
“Guards,” the Regent said, turning to the men who had accompanied Damen to the atrium. “Take off his cuffs.”
“You’re freeing him?” Kastor hissed, but then the guards were taking Damen’s shackles off, and in the clamor he could not hear what the Regent whispered into Kastor’s ear to calm him. At the moment he didn’t care. He felt lighter than he had in weeks as he rubbed his wrists, raw from chafing. He tried not to look at Laurent.
“Esteemed kyroi,” the Regent said, opening his arms in a theatrical gesture that even Charls would have appreciated before turning to the crowd that had gathered behind Damen and playing to them too, “and curious onlookers from both Vere and Akielos. I present to you today: a man blinded by his loyalty. By his ego. A man who has let his base emotions cloud his judgment and caused him to lose focus on his real responsibilities.”
Damen’s protests were drowned out by the laughter of the crowd, and he contemplated how much damage he could do to the Regent with a running start. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Laurent shake his head, and he stopped.
The Regent continued.
“But who among us has not been swayed by those things at some point? None of us are truly innocent of acting recklessly. And if this man here, this doomed and cursed man—if he were no one, it would not be a problem.”
The Regent smiled then, his grin wicked, and he turned it on Damen for a moment before looking back to the crowd. He seemed to have forgotten that it was the kyroi he was trying to convince, and was basking in the adulation of the people gathered before him.
“But he is not no one, is he? He claims to be the King of Akielos. He says that he is fit to rule, and perhaps at one time he might have been. But not anymore. Soldier,” he said, turning to the man nearest him, “your sword, please.”
The guard handed it over without hesitation. The Regent hefted it easily, testing its balance, and Damen watched him with the detached curiosity of someone meeting a new opponent in the ring. It was obvious the man had some sort of training, and wasn’t weak; however, Damen knew that if it came down to it he could beat him in a fight. He could beat him even if he were still cuffed. Nothing in this world would have stopped him from doing so.
And then the Regent took the sword and threw it. It hit the marble floor in front of Damen, cracking the stone, and the sound it made was so loud that it echoed around the dome above them. The audience gasped and quieted.
Damen knew it to be a trap. Knew that if he reached down to pick up the sword the trap would be sprung; and yet he could not help himself. He crouched, reaching out. If he was allowed to take up the sword nothing would stop him from using it on everyone here who had wronged him.
His fingers brushed the hilt.
“
Arret'ale
!”
Damen froze.
He remembered the way he had felt when Laurent used the word on him, the way every muscle in his body screamed like he had just fought ten rounds in the ring. He could move his eyes; he remembered that too. He looked around, saw the shocked, almost comical looks on everyone around him. If it was possible he would have laughed, seeing their faces.
“Take up the sword, Prince Damianos,” the Regent sneered. “For the next ten seconds I give you full permission to do what I know you so very badly want to. Pick up that sword and run it through me. Go ahead now.”
The Regent was right. Damen wanted to comply with every bone in his body. He looked longingly at the sword, so close to him, and yet it might as well have been in another continent. He could imagine the way the Regent’s organs would yield to the blade, how the steel would push everything aside, the look of surprise on his face. Damen wanted it almost more than anything he had ever wanted in his life.
His eyes met Laurent’s. He saw Laurent take a deep breath and then release it, slowly. Damen found himself breathing in unison, concentrating on nothing except the slight rise and fall of Laurent’s breast.
“
Arret'ale
.”
He collapsed to the ground in a heap. Easier to do that than figure out how to stand up again. He took a few deep breaths, filling up his lungs with air. The noise from the crowd was deafening, the chatter from the kyroi unintelligible. The Regent was saying something to Kastor, but he couldn’t hear it. He wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the sword and pushed himself up, but his legs were wobbly and it took him a moment to figure out how he should stand.
“Quiet now, all of you,” the Regent said, looking towards the crowd. It had grown in size now that the other guests had sensed the talking was over and the fun was about to begin. “I know what you’ve seen must be shocking, but you have to understand—this is not the first time my nephew has done something like this. I know, I know,” he said, as the crowd gasped in horror. “I can only say that I’m sorry. I should have realized earlier what he had done to your prince.”
“But—if he’s done this before,” Aloysius said, frowning, “and you’re familiar with this Writing, why is it that you can’t read the Words on Damianos?”
Irritation flashed on the Regent’s face, smoothed over quickly. Damen doubted that the kyroi even noticed.
“Slight variations in language could account for the blurred Words,” the Regent said, and then forced out a laugh. “But I won’t bore you with Calligrapher’s theory at the moment. If Laurent wanted to, say, allow Damianos to scream while his body was frozen, minute changes in language would allow for that. And since those minute changes aren’t recognized by the Calligraphers—”
“A convenient explanation,” Nikandros said, loud enough that it could not be ignored. “Convenient enough, I think, that a little more research needs to be done before I would be comfortable making any sort of decision about it.”
The Regent’s eyes narrowed at him. “I am sorry, Kyroi, but you do not understand the urgency of this situation. We are dealing with a serious matter—”
“A serious matter,” Damen spat, the words coming out just the slightest bit slurred, as if he didn’t quite have full use of his jaw yet. “Why don’t you call it what it is. Entertainment. A show. There’s no need to prevaricate. This is not a trial, nor is it a judgment made by my peers. This is a mob.”
“This is a situation of your own making,” the Regent said harshly. “If you had laid down your life peacefully, if you could have admitted how Laurent shamed you and made you incapable, this would not have been an issue.”
“I am not ashamed of it,” Damen snarled, bringing his sword up to a defensive position. “And I will not back down. Fight me. Fight me here, with any trick you care to use. I will beat you even still.”
“You are so sure of that?” the Regent asked, his tone mocking. “
Arret'ale
.” Damen again froze in place, sword held firmly in his hands, and the Regent turned to the kyroi. “I am not a fighter. Not like your prince is. And yet I do not even have to fight him to beat him.” The Regent walked closer to Damen, well within slashing range. The sword quivered in Damen’s hand. “He is beaten already. Now do you understand? Now do you see why he can never be King? This Writing—it cannot be removed. It cannot be altered. You would give my nephew this power over him? This won’t be a secret forever. Soon everyone will know how to use these Words, and then every citizen of Akielos will have their King beholden to them.”
Damen saw, from the corner of his eye, the kyroi fighting with each other. They were yelling, gesticulating, and Kastor was there in the middle of it, goading them. He saw his mother staring at him, her gaze indecipherable. His eyes moved to Laurent, who was shaking his head wildly, as if he were consumed by the desperation of the situation, and Damen understood it for the warning it was.
“I tried to save you from this, you know,” the Regent murmured as the chaos raged around them. “Not that you deserved such generosity. If you had but worked with me you could have had revenge on your lover and earned a small measure of protection from me. Not enough to save your crown, but your pride, maybe. That could have been spared. And now?”
He turned and walked casually around Damen, the sword mere inches from his throat. Damen’s eyes never left Laurent’s, and Laurent never stopped shaking his head.
“Now you’re in the same position as Laurent all those years ago,” the Regent said fondly, putting his fingers against Damen’s sword. Damen would have recoiled in disgust if all of his muscles weren’t currently screaming from being held in such tension. “Ah, you should have seen him at thirteen. So innocent, so guileless. So willing to please.”
Coward
, Damen thought.
Traitor. Monster.
He wondered whether the Regent would be able to read it through his eyes if he thought it hard enough.
“Ah, that glare. Laurent looked the same when I did this to him. Negligent of him, really, to use the same word that I did. But maybe he secretly liked it after all. Wouldn’t that be an interesting layer to this drama? But you see, lover boy, what he eventually understood, and what you’re only beginning to, is that it doesn’t matter if you like it or not. You have no choice in the matter. All you can do…is submit.”
The Regent walked away, joining a grinning Kastor at a safe distance, out of reach of Damen’s blade. Damen saw him mouth the word and let his muscles relax. After being held for so long he couldn’t help but drop the sword. It fell to the floor with a dull clang, and Damen looked down at it with despair written plainly on his face as he forced air into his lungs.
“Are you convinced now?” Kastor asked, walking over to the kyroi. He turned to the crowd before he could hear their answer. “Are you convinced? My brother is no longer fit to rule. You have all seen it. Fully under the influence of Writing and liable to send us careening into war. Everyone around us will see his weakness and think it reflects the weakness of our country. But I am not weak. Only my strength can lead this country to the heights I know we can achieve. Now is the time to show everyone how strong we truly are.”
The crowd cheered, but most of them were Veretian; Damen couldn’t imagine that even half of them understood what Kastor had said. Enough time had passed that he felt able to pick up his sword without arousing suspicion, and he did so, holding it loosely in his hand.
“Words, Kastor,” Damen spat, balancing on the balls of his feet. “All you have to give these people are words.”
“And yet I’m not the one beholden to them,” Kastor sneered.
“I’ve beaten you in the ring every time we’ve sparred since the day I turned fourteen. If it is strength you’re looking for, I'm the one who has it. Not you.”
“I don’t think so,” Kastor said, startling the guard next to him as he yanked the man’s sword from its scabbard. “I’m not the one who freezes like a startled deer every time a magic Word is uttered. You don’t want to fight me, Damen. Not when I have this advantage over you.”
“You’re right,” Damen said. “I don’t want to fight you. I never have. What I want is for you to take accountability for what you’ve done to me. To step aside and let me take the crown that is rightfully mine.”
“What is rightfully yours,” Kastor hissed, and Damen didn’t know if he was being mocked or asked a question. “Oh, yes. This palace, this land, this entire fucking country. All yours with nothing left for me, am I right, little brother?”
“You act as though I would have thrown you out the instant I become King,” Damen said, frowning, “as if I could ever forget that you are family—”
“The fact that you even think you have the right to do such a thing—we are ending this now. Kyroi,” Kastor said, turning to them. “We will decide this once and for all. I challenge my brother Damianos to a fight to the death. Whichever one of us comes out victorious will earn the right to become king. Do you recognize the challenge?”
“No,” Hypermenestra said, leaping up from her chair. “Kastor, don’t—”
Her pleas were drowned out by the roar of the crowd, howling for blood. The guards had their hands full keeping the crowd from rushing in; they had to form a line to push the drunk, half clothed people away from those gathered underneath the dome. Once the noise quieted enough to hear again Aloysius stepped forward, looking between the two brothers with a pained expression.
“Prince Kastor,” he said carefully, “it hardly seems fair—”
“Do not speak to me of fairness,” Kastor hissed. “Would it be fair to crown a king who is unfit to rule just because his mother was a Queen? Would it be fair not to consider me for the crown, even though I am older and wiser, just because my mother was not officially recognized as the King’s wife? No one will speak to me of fairness. Damen and I both have royal blood in our veins. There is nothing more fair than that.”
“If it is a formal challenge,” Aloysius said sadly, “then Damianos must also agree—”
“I accept,” Damen said, ignoring the gasps from the crowd behind him. “I will not turn from a chance to prove myself to those who have been shaken by my brother’s lies.”
The crowd roared. This entertainment was too good to pass up, and most had been sated with sex anyway; a duel to the death meant violence, and few had been served that particular flavor today. The kyroi scrambled to form a ring so they could all officially witness the duel, as well as provide another layer of protection between the roaring crowd and the two princes. Damen met Nikandros’ eye, and all he could do was nod to try and reassure him.
“You have signed your death warrant,” Kastor said, approaching him. Damen placed his sword on the ground as Kastor approached; there were strict rules for conduct now that the duel had been officially accepted, and he wasn’t so foolish as to violate them. And Kastor, as impulsive as Damen knew him to be, wasn’t so suicidal as to violate them either. “Even if you hadn’t spent the last three days in the dungeon you would be unequipped to fight me. Not with the kind of power I hold over you now.”
Damen shook his head. “No. Because I know you, Kastor. We're brothers, and that still means something. If this is to be the end of us it will be done honorably. No Writing, no tricks. Just you and me.”
“You and me and two swords,” Kastor said. “You expect me to roll over and die just to satisfy your demented idea of honor? I don’t think so, little brother.”
“Neither of us has to die, Kastor. I have no problem fighting you, but I won’t kill you.” Damen said, looking over at his mother.
“Oh, how noble of you,” Kastor sneered, following his gaze. “She made you promise, huh? Well, maybe she should have considered talking to me for once. Not that it would have mattered.”
“Kastor—”
“Enough,” he said, stepping back from Damen. “Are we ready? I’m ready.”
“I formally request to change the duel stipulations to first blood,” Damen said.
“As the challenge issuer, denied,” Kastor said, grabbing his sword. “Aloysius? Are we ready?”
“I would like to advise against this course of action, Prince Kastor,” Aloysius said. He seemed to have aged ten years in the past ten minutes. “If something happens—if you are both gravely injured—”
“I thank you for your confidence in me,” Kastor growled, “but I still must decline. Now. Are we ready?”
“If no one has any objections—”
Kastor attacked.
Damen had not anticipated such a quick start; he hadn’t even grabbed his sword from where he had dropped it earlier. He did so now, dodging out of the path of Kastor’s attack and rolling as he picked up the sword. He sprang quickly to his feet, although perhaps not as smoothly as he would have liked.
“Should I draw this out?” Kastor asked, circling Damen with an ugly sneer on his lips. “Or should I simply strike the killing blow now?”
“There is no honor in using tricks—”
“I have never been honorable a day in my life,” Kastor said, and lunged. The attack was obvious—Kastor preferred to fight with a heavy axe, and he used an axe’s brute strength attack now—and Damen dodged clumsily.
Damen, to be fair, was not in top form—but then neither was Kastor. Damen had been struck by the sour smell of the hall when he walked in, and he could see the effects of smoke in Kastor’s movements. He had kicked men out of his troop for the same infraction; it made them slow, languorous, and dulled their reaction times.
With Damen running on three days of near starvation and barely any sleep, it made the two of them almost a match for the other.
Damen parried the blows Kastor rained down on him, dodged the more egregious attacks. The fight was hard and brutal, without any of the finesse that Damen enjoyed when fighting.
The first opening came so obviously that Damen was certain it was a trap. But something about the rage in Kastor’s eyes, the way his lips snarled in distaste, made Damen sure that Kastor was past the point of laying gaudy traps. Damen pushed his advantage and, rather than sticking his sword into Kastor’s belly, put a shoulder against him and shoved as hard as he could.
Kastor went sprawling, his sword flying out of his hands. The crowd gasped, shocked, and for a brief second it was blessedly quiet. And then the shouting came.
“Kill him!”
“End him now!”
“Use the magic word!”
“I want to see some blood!”
Half of the men and women that Kastor had hosted and entertained were calling for his blood now, their gratitude towards him dissolving at the prospect of spectacle. Damen tuned them out as the guards worked to control the crowd. He focused only on his brother, sprawled across the floor, breathing heavily.
“It’s over, Kastor,” Damen said, pointing his sword at Kastor’s neck. “I’m not going to kill you. We have time to figure this out.”
Kastor laughed. Then he turned and spat, blood landing in a glob next to him.
“You’re so aggravating, do you know that?” Kastor asked, reaching over to grab his sword. Damen got in between him and the blade, and Kastor stopped. “So righteous and incorruptible. You must have gotten that from your mother.”
“Yield, Kastor.”
“You’ll have to kill me,” Kastor growled. “Either kill me or let me pick up my sword.”
“Why?” Damen asked, everything around them disappearing. It was just the two of them, Kastor on his back with the bout already over, the ending decided before the first swing of a sword. Had that rage always been in his eyes, and Damen just never noticed? Or had he hidden it, and this was the first time Damen was seeing his true self? “Why are you doing this? Why did you betray me? We could have figured something out together. I would have done anything you asked of me.”
“Even let me rule in your stead?” Kastor asked, and then scoffed and looked away. “Never mind. Don’t answer that. Why did I do it? Because I’m the only one who can. Only I can make the kinds of decisions, the kinds of sacrifices that are necessary to lead a country to glory. I’m not soft like you. The very fact that I was able to usurp you proves that you have no business being a king.”
“That’s not it,” Damen said, kicking the sword away when Kastor inched towards it again. “There has to be something else. Someone was pressuring you, or manipulating you—”
“There was nothing. Can’t you see that?” Kastor said, pushing himself up. Damen gave him space to do so, and Kastor sneered at that kindness. “You had everything I wanted, and I knew you would give it to me if I asked.” Kastor looked at him with eyes that were as cold and hard as steel. “But I shouldn’t have to ask. It should have been
mine
.”
Damen took a step back, the words hitting him more solidly than any blow Kastor would have ever been able to land. Laurent had been right. He’d said that Damen would discover the reason for Kastor’s betrayal eventually and that it wouldn’t satisfy his curiosity. His sense of right and wrong. Damen hadn’t thought that it would be even worse to know that Kastor’s betrayal to be so petulant.
“Kastor—”
“No. No, I’m done talking about this with you.
Arret'ale
.”
Damen had suspected—if he had the heart to admit it he might even have said that he’d known—that Kastor wouldn’t truly observe the rules of a honorable duel. It made no sense for Kastor to hold to those terms because in a truly fair fight he had to know who the victor would be.
Even still, it hurt Damen’s heart to hear him say that Word.
He didn’t move as Kastor retrieved his sword from where Damen had kicked it. Didn’t move as Kastor spun it in his hands, showing off for the crowd as they screamed in excitement.
“Do you see now?” Kastor asked the assembled kyroi, the crowd beyond. “Do you see now why my brother isn’t fit?”
Nikandros stepped forward, his face terrifyingly dark.
“You dishonor your father’s name by using these tricks, Kastor—”
“It is the reality of what we would be dealing with if Damen took the crown,” Kastor said. “You think our enemies wouldn’t stoop to do what I have done? I’m doing this for you,” he said, pointing his sword at Nikandros, and then the rest of the kyroi. “Are you all too blind to see it even now?”
Kastor’s attention refocused on Damen, who met it with his own furious glare.
“None of you may interfere,” Kastor said, holding his sword up. “Our duel is still ongoing, and no one has the right to interfere. The law is as ancient as the very ground we stand on. Damen, we end this now. To the death.”
Kastor lifted his sword. Without pausing, he attacked.
Damen didn’t move. He didn’t talk. All he did was stare as Kastor came towards him, closer and closer, seemingly in slow motion, his blade aimed perfectly for a killing blow. Without any armor to block it the sword would slash through the arteries in Damen’s neck and he’d bleed out in seconds. Without bringing up his sword and defending against the attack it would cut through Damen’s flesh like a spear through water.
The rage in Kastor’s eyes was unlike anything Damen had ever seen. For the briefest second he thought his brother might be crying; but it could have been sweat falling into his eyes. Damen did nothing but stare as Kastor came closer and closer, his mouth open in a yell that Damen barely heard over the roar of the crowd.
And then, right before the blade was brought down on his neck, right before his veins were opened up to pour their contents out and stain the floor red—
Right before that, Damen moved.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“One last matter—the grain shipment this quarter, Exalted, if you will.”Damen sighed and looked over at the empty chair next to him. Damn Laurent.“Go ahead,” he said wearily.“As I’m sure you’re aware,” the man said—Damen thought his name might be Maertin, Laurent would know for certain, damn him twice over—“grain prices have increased dramatically since your…mandate.”“The mandate freeing the slaves who were illegally sent to work in the fields after being deemed unfit for sexual slavery? That mandate?”“Er—yes,” the man who was likely named Maertin said, blushing and looking away. “That mandate. Well. It is a noble thing you have done, Exalted, let there be no mistaking that.”“What is your problem with the grain?” Damen said.“It's only—you see, we’ve already spent our allotted grain budget for the year, and summer is barely over. I am not sure how we are going to—”Damen held up a hand, and the man’s mouth shut with an audible click. “Maertin, is it?” Damen asked.“Yes,” the man correctly named Maertin said. “Maertin du Frampt le Compte the third.”Damen blinked; he had an excellent grasp of the Veretian language at this point in his life, but even he did not try to parse the name.“You,” he said, avoiding the name entirely, “are from Varenne, are you not?”“Yes,” Maertin said warily.“And you’re also in the process of building a manor in the country for your wife, correct?”It was Maertin’s turn to blink now. “I am, Exalted, how did you—”“And it would be your third manor home, I understand.”“I—yes, that is correct, King Damianos. If you understood our social obligations—my wife insisted it was of the utmost necessity, but I am not sure what relevance—”“Perhaps you could halt construction on this manor until the end of the year, when the budget for your grain resets. And perhaps the money that you were using for your new manor can go towards grain for your people, to keep them from telling rebellious stories as they gather around the fire during the cold winter months. Instead they will talk about how generous you are, and how full their bellies feel. You will have to be content with just one extra manor rather than two, but we are all making sacrifices during the unification of our countries. Do you think that would fix your problems with the grain?”A brief pause, and then Maertin averted his eyes. “Yes, Exalted,” he said, chastised. “I daresay that would fix the problem.”“Good. If there are no other objections…” Damen paused for the briefest possible moment. “Dismissed.”Everyone pushed up from the table simultaneously, eager to get out of the cramped room. The official meeting hall, which would be large enough to accommodate an audience ten times the size of this one, was still under construction and wouldn’t be ready for another month. But the wheels of the government did not stop just because it was inconvenient, and this small reception area was the only place large enough to fit even this number. Damen stood by the door as everyone left, wishing them well and thanking them for attending, and was not surprised to find Nikandros stalling so he could be the last one out.“Do you wish to go hunting later today, Exalted?” Nik asked once they were alone, his voice sickly sweet. “Or have you sated your bloodlust for today?”“That was hardly bloody,” Damen said as they fell into step down the long corridor. “And the man had it coming. Complaining about feeding his people while he sleeps on a bed of gold.”“You should be careful,” Nik said. “The Veretians do not share your self-martyring ways. You will alienate them.”“If only they had a Veretian King to speak for them,” Damen muttered.Nikandros, obviously unwilling to comment, made a noncommittal noise and said, “I saw a ship from Ios dock this morning.”Damen stiffened. “Yes,” he said, because he couldn’t deny that the ship had docked.“Did they bring any word on Kastor’s trial?”“No word,” Damen said, and at Nikandros’ sound of disapproval turned to face him. “What do you want me to say? Aloysius says he needs more time to question Kastor about father’s death. He is not satisfied with the answers Kastor has given. That is what he has told me.”“He tells you that because he knows you do not want to hear anything else,” Nikandros said gently. “Aloysius has already lost Theomedes. He does not want to lose you too. And most of all he does not want to cause you pain.”“Whatever happens to Kastor is justice done,” Damen said flatly. “My feelings about it are irrelevant.”Nikandros snorted. “Yes, irrelevant. I look forward to telling Laurent that you said that. He has the most creative use of expletives I have ever heard, and that would bring out an entirely new string of them, I think. Hopefully he hasn’t used his best on whatever urgent business called him away from that dreadful meeting.”“I’m sure he’s fine,” Damen said, but couldn’t help the frown that took over his face. “I was going to find him now, actually.”“Do you think we should postpone—”“No,” Damen said, shaking his head. “It’ll be fine. Let’s keep to the plan.”“As you wish, Exalted,” Nik said, sketching a loose bow. Damen swatted at him but Nik had already moved away, skipping out of his reach and laughing. Damen watched until he disappeared down the hallway, and then turned, taking a deep breath. He looked down at his wrist. He wished he could see the golden Words he knew were Written there, swirling and moving along his skin, but he didn't have his glass with him. He never regretted asking Laurent to move the Writing on his neck to somewhere he could see; he only regretted that he was too nervous to carry the glass with him everywhere he went, so he could look at it whenever he wanted.Still. He knew it was there, and that was enough for him.With a smile, he activated his Writing. “Erastia. ”The magic activated in the form of a gentle tugging sensation, lighter than a feather’s touch that, if followed, would lead him to Laurent. Damen let it lead him now. He turned through the newly finished ballroom when it pulled him left, then through the kitchens when it pulled him right. He wandered through rooms that were still in the process of being constructed, complimenting the workers as they stared after him with wide, startled eyes. He pushed open the door at the end of a hallway with a half-constructed roof and eventually found himself in the garden. Not surprising; most of the doors in the palace ultimately led here.Even though they had been living here for months now, the gardens still took his breath away. The site of their new capitol had been a highly politicized decision, picked deliberately for its equal closeness to both Arles and Ios, a representation of the bridge between two countries that had been made into one. But Damen would be lying if he didn’t admit the landscape had been the true deciding factor. It wasn’t as lush as the gardens in Ios or as diligently tended as the ones in Arles; here, dozens of old growth trees provided shade from the sun, and a brook burbled off in the distance. The stone ruins from a civilization had been here long before them poked up from the ground, covered in a flowering ivy that bloomed purple in the midst of summer, a ghost of a grander past now lost to time.Damen smiled, and let himself be pulled onward.He heard Laurent’s voice before he saw him. He softened his steps and found a tree to hide behind; close enough to overhear, but not so close as to announce his presence. Laurent would know he was coming, of course; he felt when the Writing on Damen’s wrist was activated, just as Damen felt when Laurent’s was, and so he wouldn’t be startled when Damen appeared. But Laurent wasn’t the only person here, and it never hurt to be cautious. “It just doesn’t make sense,” said a voice that was not Laurent’s, and instantly Damen knew what “urgent business” had called Laurent away from their meeting. Damn Laurent thrice, now.“It doesn’t need to make sense,” Laurent said, as Damen forced himself to stop cursing his husband. “It’s a play, Nicaise. It’s entertainment, not a historical reenactment.”“Yes, but—making sense is important.” Nicaise was perilously close to whining, which meant he had probably been talking to Laurent for a while. “You can only suspend belief so far. Besides, don’t I have a right to know? We were traveling companions, once. I put myself in mortal danger for you.”“And did you ever consider that by not telling you we’re keeping you out of even more?” Laurent asked, and Damen came out from his hiding spot. Laurent held a hand up without looking and Damen grabbed it, kissing the back of it gently before setting both of their hands on Laurent’s shoulder.“‘Urgent business’?” Damen said to Laurent, glancing over at Nicaise. “This is what you consider urgent enough to excuse you from a monumentally important meeting?”“A butterfly passing through the garden would have been pressing enough to get me out of that meeting, my love,” Laurent said, smiling innocently up at him. “Damen,” Nicaise said angrily, pointing at Laurent, “he won’t tell me what happened that day. You need to tell me.”“Oh, hello,” Damen said, blinking owlishly. “Good to see you Nicaise, glad you could make it. How are you doing? Well, I hope. I’m good too, thanks for asking.”Nicaise waved his hands around as if to slap all niceties out of the air. He’d grown since the last time Damen had seen him; another inch or so at least, both in height and hair, which hung down nearly to his shoulders. His skin had the rough texture of someone just getting used to putting a razor across it every morning.“Yeah, yeah. Your Majesty, your majesty,” Nicaise said, sketching the most sarcastic bow Damen had ever seen. He wondered if Nicaise had secretly been teaching Nikandros, and Laurent coughed to hide a laugh. “Tell me what happened that day of the trial.”“Well,” Laurent said, exchanging a glance with Damen before turning back to Nicaise, “what do you think happened?”“You’ve never cared about this before,” Damen said.“Listen,” Nicaise said, turning a dark look on them. “We’ve been doing this play for over two years now. And Aimeric didn’t have enough artistic integrity to care, but I have to get up there and watch Pallas act like he’s breaking free of his Writing—which we all know is impossible,” he said, glaring at Laurent, the look indicative of a previous argument left unfinished, “and I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be feeling. Am I mad? Am I happy? Am I somehow in on it? I don’t know. And no one knows what actually happened. How am I supposed to inhabit Larentin’s character if I don’t know what’s going on?”“Wait—you’re playing Laurent now?” Damen asked, looking over to Laurent for confirmation. He shrugged, and Damen said, “Wow. Aimeric must be furious.”“Larentin, not Laurent. And he was. It was amazing. That’s not the point.”“Well, what does Charls say?” Laurent asked, waving a bored hand. “You should take whatever direction he gives you. It’s his work, after all.”“It’s not enough,” Nicaise said, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Listen. I know what everyone thinks. ‘Damianos Exalted’s will was stronger than the unbreakable Writing on his skin’, ‘The magic of the Words saved Damianos that day, may he ever be favored by their light’, blah blah blah. All very nice and I’m sure it’s lovely for you that everyone thinks you’re some sort of god, or whatever. But it sounds like bullshit to me. I want to know the truth.”“The truth?” Damen asked. “The truth,” Laurent said, his voice distant. Damen’s mind flashed back to those first moments after the trial had ended; Kastor wearing the cuffs that had burdened Damen not ten minutes earlier, the Regent led away by Veretian guards on Laurent’s orders. Power changing hands like the turning of the earth. “You’re right, Nicaise,” Laurent said. His sincerity startled even Damen, but Laurent didn’t hesitate. “Damen didn’t have any help from the divine, and it had nothing to do with strength of will, either.”“I knew it,” Nicaise said, bouncing on his feet and leaning forward. “Well? What was it, then? It was a con, wasn’t it?”“No,” Laurent said, shaking his head. “It wasn’t a con. And it wasn’t some grand plan we’d had from the beginning. The thing that saved us that day—it was trust.”“Trust,” Nicaise repeated, looking to Damen for confirmation.But Damen shook his head.“No,” he said, squeezing Laurent’s shoulder gently. “It wasn’t that either. It was love.”“What is love without a little trust?” Laurent asked, squeezing him back. “It was both, then. And if there had been just a little less from either of us we wouldn’t be here now.”Nicaise’s gaze flickered between them.“So you’re not going to tell me,” he said, when it became clear that they were done talking.“If you bothered to listen—”“Lame,” Nicaise said, and rolled his eyes. “You’d think performing that play about you losers for two years would grant me some sort of boon.”“We never asked you to perform it,” Laurent said.“Charls said it’s the most successful play the troupe has ever put on,” Damen said.“So what?” Nicaise said, scowling at them. “You think I care about that? I’d rather have the juicy secret of what really happened that day over any amount of money, especially since I see so little of it.”“Charls does pay for your lodging and food,” Damen pointed out. “And—I’m pretty sure the last time I talked to him he told me about a new wagon you had purchased for yourself that was quite fancy.”“Well yeah,” Nicaise said, affronted. “You think I want to room with Aimeric forever? I can see why he would want to room with me, but I have standards. Unlike some people.”“And we did just tell you what happened, if you cared to listen,” Laurent said as Nicaise stood up and scowled at them one more time for good measure.“Nicaise,” Damen called as the boy turned away, muttering something under his breath about unrepentant kings, “you’re still coming tonight, right?”“Yeah, yeah,” Nicaise called back, waving a bored hand. “I’ll be there. Even though you don’t deserve it.”It only took a moment for the forest to swallow him up—although Damen was certain that Laurent, with his Calligrapher’s vision, could still see him—and Damen moved to help Laurent up.“Tonight?” Laurent asked, taking Damen’s hand as he stood. “Have you planned something I’ve not been informed about, Damianos?”“In a manner of speaking,” Damen said, unable to keep a smile off his face. “One might even call it ‘urgent business’. Come on.”Laurent scowled, but he didn’t hesitate to take Damen’s arm and from there it only took them a moment to fall into their usual arrangement. Closer than was the preference of the Veretian Etiquette Master—an actual, real job that the crown paid for, much to Damen’s dismay—but Laurent, thankfully, shared Damen’s opinion that some things were more important than adhering to the whims of everyone around them.“You missed some important discussion after you snuck out today,” Damen said as they made their way through the forest. Laurent used his eyesight to lead them down the easiest path, and Damen steered them around all the rocks and fallen branches. “Lord Maximilien made a formal request for more troops. Said that the Vaskian bandits are giving his border villages too much trouble to handle with the motley group of mercenaries we already gave him.”Laurent made an angry noise. “That’s the third time he’s asked for more troops this year. I’m starting to wonder what he’s really doing with all those men. Or what he’s doing to anger the Vaskians into breaking our treaties so regularly. We should send someone to find out before we give him anything else.”“I’ve already asked Makedon to investigate. He’s leaving in two days,” Damen said, and shrugged when Laurent sent him a questioning look. “To help retrain Lord Maximilien’s troops, of course. No one knows mountain warfare like Makedon.”“And no one is as taken with the fierce mountain women as Makedon,” Laurent murmured. “You think he’ll make a good impression on them?”“If he doesn’t come back with a Vaskian wife and a new alliance for us to foster I’ll go help Maximilien on the border myself.”“How convenient that it would work out for you either way,” Laurent said dryly. “Either Makedon fixes the problem or you get to play soldier for a while, and leave me to the boring meetings.”“Leave you? No,” Damen said, and then murmured the Word on his wrist just to feel Laurent shiver in response. “Have you ever seen Vaskian warfare? Their fighters hide amongst the rocks, wearing gray to mask their silhouettes. Impossible to see, especially in the dark. You’d pick them out immediately.”“I can pick out enemy combatants on a hillside, but I can’t make out words on a page,” said Laurent dryly. “I’m not sure if that’s a decent trade or not.”“It is if you’re looking to avoid getting shot by a hidden archer,” Damen said, because he knew better than to offer comfort at a time like this. He had, over the years, become more familiar with what Laurent called his ‘shortcomings’—his inability to see furniture in anything other than the brightest light, the need to walk carefully when he was in a new location without someone he could follow, the fact that books were nothing more than mottled shadows to him. They had built their new palace with all this in mind, constructing wide, open windows to let in large the light, installing planters of trees and flowers at the interchanges and stairways, building furniture into the walls so that it was impossible to trip over.Damen hadn’t found a way to let Laurent read again, but that didn’t mean he had given up trying. Eventually Laurent said, “Nicaise told me—before you started eavesdropping, I mean—they were performing up in Arles a few weeks ago.”“Oh?” Damen said, working to keep the wariness out of his voice. “At the palace?”“Yes. He said he heard some very interesting rumors while he was there.”“I somehow doubt it was whether that gray speckled mare I saw the last time we were in the stables had her foal,” Damen muttered.“Black with gray spots and a gray nose. They named him Sooty. The council wants to approach me about opening another inquest regarding my uncle’s death.”Damen suppressed the urge to voice what, exactly, he thought of such a request.“Well,” he said eventually, in his most diplomatic voice, “the council is welcome to do whatever they need in order to settle their concerns. Again. Even if they did find his body it would be nothing but a charred skeleton at the bottom of the ocean, but if they want to waste resources looking anyway they’re welcome to. Again.”“Apparently the reason they’re so interested is because there have been rumors about a man matching his description sailing with the pirates that set fire to his ship after he fled from Ios. They think it’s possible he wasn’t killed, but taken prisoner. And they know he has no claim to the throne, they acknowledge that,” Laurent said as Damen began to protest. “But if there’s a possibility he is alive they feel an obligation to look for him, if only so he can be brought back to Arles and stand trial.”“Laurent,” Damen said, stopping their walk and turning Laurent towards him. As little as he wanted to bring up the ex-Regent in Laurent’s presence it was worth doing so now to give his husband some peace of mind. “Your uncle is dead. I promise you. If the council wants to waste their limited resources chasing after pirates, I say let them. I will not give them a cent to do so, but I will not stop them either.”“But—what if they’re right, and it’s true—”“Laurent,” Damen said again, tipping Laurent’s chin up so he was forced to meet Damen’s eyes. “Even if the pirates hadn’t burned his ship to cinders I would have the exact same certainty that his body is being eaten by fish at the bottom of the ocean. Do you understand me?”He didn’t say more. He didn’t say that he knew the ex-Regent had been dead before the ship even left harbor, or that he knew the body had been stabbed multiple times with an Akielon sword that matched the one Damen kept at his side. He also didn’t say that he knew the ‘pirates’ responsible for burning the Veretian ship had previously been Akielon soldiers, or that soon after the fire they had renounced their piratical ways and retired on a hefty sum of gold that couldn’t be traced back to any specific owner. He didn’t want to burden Laurent with such knowledge, only gift him with the certainty that his uncle would never walk in this world again. The guilt over the act itself—Damen would carry that with him forever so that Laurent would never be tainted with it.And Laurent seemed to understand. He took a deep breath and then let it out, the tension that had been building blowing away with the movement.“I understand,” he said, and reached up to kiss Damen gently on the lips. “I don’t deserve you, Damianos.”“You’re right,” Damen said, smiling. “You deserve someone better. Someone more powerful. More handsome.”“More handsome than you?” Laurent said, brushing a stray curl from Damen’s forehead. “You think I want someone to upstage me? And who could be more powerful than the second most handsome king in the land?”“You,” Damen said, grabbing Laurent by the waist and dragging him close, “need to work on your compliments, your majesty.”“I’ll take it under consideration,” Laurent murmured, and then closed the distance between them and kissed him.It had been a year since they’d married, and this kiss could have been their thousandth or their millionth. It didn’t matter which; each one felt like a revelation, and that quiet exultation, that feeling that this was too good to be true—that feeling never faded. This kiss held a slight apology for skipping out on the meeting, and Damen forgave him for it with a quick flick of his tongue. When Laurent put his hands on Damen’s chest, Damen sighed and pulled away.“We’re going to be late,” he murmured against Laurent’s hair.“You could just tell me where we’re going, and I can decide if I mind being late or not,” Laurent said, pressing a small kiss to Damen’s neck.Damen sighed again, his resolve crumbling faster than he would like under Laurent’s attention. “It’s a surprise. If I told you, it—well, it wouldn’t be a surprise anymore.”“How can I argue when your reasons are so eloquently put?” Laurent asked, putting teeth against Damen’s neck before pulling away. “Fine. Lead the way then, Damianos. I hope whatever surprise you’ve planned is more fun than fucking me against a tree.”It wasn’t, but Damen held his tongue and they continued on their way.Damen heard the ocean before he saw it. The cliffs around Marlas were not as grand as those in Ios, but the harbor here was calmer, and the ships better able to weather the winter storms. Still, the sound of the ocean crashing up against the rocks was a comfortable melody, and Damen was glad to hear it. He was also glad to hear the sounds that were currently at risk of drowning out the sea entirely.“Damen,” Laurent said, and tightened his grip on Damen’s arm.It wasn’t that much of a surprise, surely; Nicaise had ruined that already, sneaking into the palace grounds to gossip with Laurent. But it had been a while since the two Kings had seen the orange wagons in front of them, gathered in a loose circle around a group of men shouting, bickering, and bantering playfully.“Ooh, they’re here!” Charls shouted, in the right place to spot them as soon as they walked out of the forest. “Places boys, they’re here.” He endeavored to be heard over the noise of the others, but it was a futile effort. Everyone else was too loud, and they all continued laughing and chatting and shouting amongst themselves as Damen and Laurent approached.“Surprise!” Charls said, as Damen and Laurent joined the ring of their friends. The entire troupe was present; Lazar, who had an arm slung around Pallas’ shoulder and Pallas, who had a hand resting on Lazar’s ass; Nicaise and Aimeric, bickering over some of the small sweetmeats that were being passed around; Isander, their newest recruit, a shy boy with curly dark hair who couldn’t be older than twenty and who cowered next to Jord, who stood at attention by the boy like a bodyguard next to a prince.There were others too, not part of the troupe: Makedon, who had only recently forgiven Pallas for leaving his service and was now trying to convince Lazar to drink some of his homemade griva. Nikandros, chatting with Kallias and Erasmus, who now lived in Marlas as the co-leaders of Damen and Laurent’s council to eradicate slavery. Damen saw his mother here too, accompanied by Vannes, who had greeted the change of power with a hearty clap on Laurent’s back and a feral, triumphant smile on her face. If Laurent noticed how much time Hypermenestra and Vannes had been spending together he hadn’t mentioned it. Damen had noticed and also said nothing, only smiled as his mother lifted her cup to him in greeting.Eventually the others noticed them, one by one, and calls of “Surprise!” went up like a wave through the company. “Oh, how wonderful to see you!” Laurent said as Charls came over to wrap both Damen and Laurent in a tight, punishing hug. “And what a surprise this is.”“You knew they were here even before you saw Nicaise, didn’t you,” Damen murmured, squished against Charls’ left shoulder.“I had word of their wagons coming to town two days ago,” Laurent whispered back, squished against the right. “Oh, it’s so good to see my boys again,” Charls said, letting them go and wiping either a real or faux tear from his face; Damen couldn’t rightly tell. “I know you’ve important work to do now, very important. But we’ve missed having you in our little group.”“We only have time for political theater nowadays, I’m afraid,” Laurent said. “You just want us for inspiration so you can write a sequel to your most famous play,” Damen said.“Oh no, my boy, that’s not it at all,” Charls said, and then laughed. “Although, now that you mention it, it’s not a terrible idea, is it? Eventually the people will get tired of hearing how their two brave kings came to meet and all the trials and tribulations they suffered as they took back the crowns they were destined for. Perhaps when we’re ready for the next bit you could join us on some new adventures, stretch your acting muscles just a bit? I could always use the inspiration.”“Actually, I did have something I wanted to run by you,” Laurent said, and Damen leaned over to kiss the crown of his head before wandering off. No use ruining what was surely going to be a surprise of his own, after all.Damen walked through the party, thanking everyone for coming. He weathered a hearty clap on the back from Makedon, who thanked him for sending him to some real action. He dodged a biscuit that Aimeric threw at his head, laughing as Jord quieted the young man with a stern look that wasn't entirely devoid of affection. He traded a look with his mother, who smiled sadly at him, and he knew that she had heard the news about the delay of Kastor's trial. They would talk about it later, in private, but not now. Now he had a different sort of mission.He eventually found Nicaise sitting near the edge of the cliff, staring down at the waves, a drink he was surely too young for in his hand. He didn’t scuttle away as Damen came near, and so Damen sat next to him, cursing the hard rocks underneath him. It had only been a few years ago that he and Laurent had traveled through the countryside, sleeping on the ground; the plush seats he’d been in for the last few years had made him soft. They watched as a small boat pulled up to the lighthouse at the edge of the breakers, the men rowing to shore before wading through knee-deep water to offload their cargo.“You know Laurent sees differently than the rest of us, don’t you?” Damen asked after a moment.Nicaise snorted. “One time I asked him to pass the bread and he gave me a rolled up dishtowel. I figured he was somewhere near to blind, yeah.”“He sees differently,” Damen repeated. “It isn’t better or worse than anyone else. It’s just…different.”“That would explain his taste in men,” Nicaise said, and when Damen looked over he was grinning wildly.“Hmm. Perhaps I should go find someone who won’t make me want to fling myself off this cliff,” Damen said, but Nicaise grabbed him, preventing him from getting up.“No, no. I’m sorry, your majesty. It’s better when I call you that, right? Does it make me sound more sincere?”“No,” Damen said flatly. “I doubt you could say it in any way that doesn’t sound sarcastic. I doubt you could say much of anything that doesn’t sound that way, to be honest.”“You might be right about that,” Nicaise said, but released his death grip on Damen’s arm. “You were trying to tell me something, though.”“Right,” Damen said, looking out at the ocean. The men by the lighthouse had finished unloading, and the lighthouse worker waved at them as they piled back into their boat. “It’s difficult to appreciate what it means to look at the world in a way that no one else does. People like to understand things, and they understand nothing better than their own experiences. And since they like to feel their experiences are the correct ones, that the most logical conclusions are the ones that they draw themselves, they make assumptions. They put their hangups on your shoulders and expect you to wear them exactly as they did.”“But that’s stupid,” Nicaise said, with the confidence only sixteen-year-olds were capable of. “It’s such a shortsighted way of looking at people.”“Yeah,” Damen agreed. “You’re right. But it’s easy to fall into that way of thinking, especially if you don’t surround yourself with good people. Sometimes, when all people know is betrayal, that’s all they expect from others. And sometimes—well, when all you’re capable of is cruelty, that’s all you believe others are capable of as well.”“Oh,” Nicaise said, his voice small.“The people at that trial expected Laurent to be cruel, because they were cruel to him. They expected that I would betray him, since they believed he had betrayed me. But that wasn’t what happened. What actually happened was—”“Trust,” Nicaise said, and then turned away as Damen looked over at him. “Trust, and—love.”Damen smiled; he’d known Nicaise would understand.“Our enemies never considered those motivations,” Damen said. “They couldn’t even conceive of them. That someone who had trouble seeing might Write the one he loved to make sure he could always be found. And they didn’t think that a man who had been betrayed by his own brother would ever be willing to trust again. We played them, yes. I wish I could say it was something we planned, that it was all part of a grand scheme, but it wasn’t. It was a leap of faith, and we were lucky it paid off. And we never would have been able to succeed without learning a trick or two from Charls’ Men,” Damen said, nudging Nicaise with his shoulder.Nicaise groaned. “Ugh, don’t tell Charls that. He’d get even more insufferable than he already is about you two. Always going on and on about how amazing and smart you guys are. You should hear the things he says when he thinks I’m not listening, it’s even worse.""It's nice to have people who support you," Damen said neutrally."Oh it's beyond supporting. It's closer to worship. In fact, it’s almost like,” Nicaise turned to Damen with narrowed eyes, “he’s being paid to say those things.”Damen held his hands up. “We’re not paying him to say anything, I promise. Anything you’ve heard during your extensive eavesdropping was Charls’ genuine opinion on us and nothing more.”“Genuine, sure. But he knows more than he's letting on, he always does. He knows what really happened, doesn’t he? You told him too.”Damen faltered. He had known Nicaise would understand; he hadn't expected he would see through so much.“I mean—" Damen stopped as Nicaise's eyes lit up, and changed tactics. "It wasn't my idea—”“I knew it!” Nicaise hissed, punching Damen lightly on the arm. “I knew that bastard was holding out on me. And having us perform that play day after day throughout Vere and Akielos, spreading the word to all the peasants about their charming and relatable kings—” He turned to Damen. “I can help.”Damen blinked. “Nicaise, you’re already helping. You’re playing Laurent’s character—”“No, no,” Nicaise said, flapping a hand. “I mean—yes, obviously I’m the best choice to play him, Aimeric gives commoner vibes while I have just the right kind of gravitas to pull off royalty, I know that. But I can do more. I know what Charls does—besides the plays, I mean.”“Nicaise, I know you think you know what's going on here, but—”“Rumor-monger, gossip gatherer. Fact finder. I know what he does. I know it's not all just because he can't help himself. I can do it too. I can do it better than him, sometimes. Do you even know how many conversations of yours I’ve “accidentally” overheard?”“No,” Damen said, frowning. “How many?”“Look, it doesn’t matter. I can do this. You guys need the help—there are plenty of people out there who think this whole unification thing is bullshit. I could let you know where to send help, focus your resources. And we travel from Ios to Arles and back again every six months, we perform for kyroi and councillors and freed slaves and ex-pets and everyone else in between. We see every kind of person you could imagine. I could write to you, I could send in reports. We could meet when we’re in the area, and I could tell you what I’ve learned.”Damen didn’t need to be told the benefits of such an operation; he had listened to Charls make the same arguments years earlier, and had listened to Laurent make them again after Damen told Charls no. Damen had already exhausted all of his arguments against such a plan. And so he said, “Okay.”“But I would be great at—wait. You approve?” Nicaise’s eyes lit up, and Damen ignored the twinge of panic it elicited in his heart. “You’ll let me help?”“I know there’s no point trying to talk you out of it,” Damen said dryly. “And besides—if you say you can do it, I know you can do it. I know you’ll be careful. I trust you, Nicaise.”“You…trust me,” Nicaise repeated. That, more than anything, seemed to make him hesitate. “Well, I…I mean, I think that…I also…” He mumbled something under his breath, but the sound of the waves against the cliffs drowned them out.“What was that?” Damen asked innocently.“I trust you too, okay?” Nicaise said. “You don’t have to get all sappy about it. Gross. I’m leaving.”Nicaise stood, and Damen followed. He had expected Nicaise to bolt as soon as he was able and was surprised when he didn’t. The boy seemed to be waiting for something, teetering on the edge of sincerity, and after a moment Damen did the only thing that felt natural to him and slung an arm around Nicaise’s shoulders.It was a familiar gesture, and not. Damen remembered his father, sitting in the gardens at the palace in Ios, how he had slung his arm around Damen’s shoulder while the other hand held a book, talking about the theory of how best to use cavalry in different geographic locations. He remembered fighting in the ring, giving his opponents a hearty clap on the back after a good match. He remembered his mother placing a light hand against his shoulder, giving him comfort while listening to him vent about his father.All that friendliness, that warmth, that familiar feeling of family and camaraderie—he poured all of that into Nicaise, squeezing his shoulder gently. A moment later, Nicaise put a hand against Damen’s back, and patted him.“You know,” Nicaise said, pulling away and swiping at suspiciously teary eyes, “this is a party. Your party. You should be mingling, not wasting your time here with me.”“Time with you is never a waste. But go on,” Damen said, nodding towards the others. “Get some food. Make sure Aimeric isn’t getting all the attention for himself. I’m okay here.” He cleared his throat, turning his gaze back towards the sea. “I—I enjoy watching the water.”Nicaise hummed his assent, and after one last pat on Damen's shoulder left to rejoin the party. The waves beat ceaselessly against the cliffs, a rhythmic, calming tempo Damen could feel through his entire body. There was a gentle tug against his wrist and a moment later Laurent stood beside him.“Everything okay?” Laurent asked.Damen nodded. “I told him he could help,” Damen said, looking over at Laurent to see his reaction. “Doing what Charls does for us.”Laurent frowned, but he didn’t look mad. The small anxious voice telling Damen he had made the wrong decision relented, and he let out a small breath.“He’s young,” Laurent said. A concern, not a warning.“Yes,” Damen said, “but he’s not a child. And Charls will be with him. I think he can do it.”Laurent took Damen’s hand, and Damen squeezed gently.“I think you’re right,” Laurent said. “And we’re not in a position to turn down help. Sometimes it seems like…” He trailed off, and a moment later laughed softly to himself. “No, never mind.”“What is it?”“It’s nothing." Laurent took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, gathering his thoughts. Damen had seen him do the exact same thing a hundred times, and waited for him to continue. "I just—when someone has their boot on your neck everything is so…simple. Not easy. I don’t mean to say that. But there’s only one way forward: get out from under the pressure. But this,” he said, gesturing out in front of them, “it’s so…”“Complicated,” Damen said, and Laurent’s hand tightened in his.“Yes,” Laurent said. He laughed, but it wasn't genuine, and Damen could hear the self-deprecation in it. “Pressure for taxes to go down while the cities ask for better infrastructure. Councillors and kyroi who put their own interests before their people. Others who refuse to an easy solution because it would help those they think don’t deserve help. And then there’s us, expected to solve every problem, to right every wrong.”“Yes,” was all Damen said. He understood the weight of the crown, and knew Laurent did too. But it helped to know that he wasn't sharing it alone.“And it just feels…a bit silly,” Laurent said, turning to him and resting a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him in close, “to understand what a monumental job we have before us, to endure the endless parade of problems that conspire to drag us under, and to realize—I would choose it all again. In every life, under any circumstance. As long I could do it with you.”Damen flushed, warmth spreading through his limbs, tingling through his fingertips, his toes. It felt like being wrapped in a warm blanket after coming in from the cold; it felt like surrendering a tired body to a soft cushion of care and comfort.“Laurent,” he said, “I—” Boom .For a moment Laurent was bathed in blue light, his eyes widening in surprise before he turned to look out over the water. Damen followed his gaze, and a moment later another firework went up, exploding in golden light, sparks sizzling as they fell. The reflection of light against the water rippled on the surface of the ocean, making it appear as though there were two fireworks exploding instead of just one. Damen could just barely make out the lighthouse keeper setting up the next one before an explosion of green and purple lit up the sky. He could hear the appreciation from the other party-goers, small oohs and aahs as they all turned to look.“Damen,” Laurent said, laughing, “what is this? A surprise party with all our friends, our family, and now this? It's not an auspicious day. We haven't completed any big project. Why are we celebrating?”Damen didn’t have an answer. Because I want to make you happy, he could have said. Or Because every time I see fireworks I think about how I fell in love with you. Because I love to watch you antagonize Charls, or see Nicaise trying to hide his smile in a scowl when you muss his hair. Because my heart feels so full when I see my mother try to stifle her laugh when you say something funny. Because I want nothing more than to show you every single day how much I love you. But Damen had never been as good with words as Laurent was. And so he leaned down and captured Laurent’s lips with his own, and gave his answer with a kiss.