Chapter 1: Trust (Part 1)
Chapter Text
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PDo8shMAIqM
Laurent and Damen went to the newly built Akielon garden wing, flanked by three guards. One of the men held a lamp, emitting dark smoke that flickered in the cold night air and gave off the smell of olive oil.
Jord walked ahead of them with hurried steps, carrying Latifa on his lap. The unconscious young woman was wrapped in a dyed wool blanket that covered her entire body, its fringes dragging on the cold tiles.
Lauren watched the path, where a blood trail of droplets had formed and walked towards the young soldier standing near the stone archway —the same soldier who had seen Damen and Laurent in a bower a few days ago.
"Get this sorted out. Not a word about what you saw here, do you hear me, soldier?" — the King of Vere ordered in an authoritative voice, but with a certain tension in his timbre.
"Right, Your Majesty!" — the man replied, making a respectful gesture and looking at the white marble with veins in which red spots were visible.
The room in one of those buildings with southern architecture had already been prepared and a bed with clean sheets was ready. Paschal was waiting for Latifa. On a carved table were bottles of liquids separated by airtight labels, herbs, bandages, and sages.
"Put her here!" — Paschal ordered Jord.
Latifa remained very pale and was still unconscious. Her disheveled curly blonde hair fell into her white face.
Then Jord said:
"I did what we learned. I put pressure on the wound. Please examine her."
Paschal then began to examine the young woman's body and tore the top of her faded dress, revealing the inner part of her clothing. The physician then spent a few minutes examining the servant's breathing and pulse, as well as her pupils and spoke:
"She is alive and the wound seems to be superficial. Please excuse me so I can attend to her now."
Laurent, Damen, and Jord left the room and stopped in front of the building surrounded by pilasters. The soldier near one of the stone arches mopped alone a damp cloth across the marble floor while squatting next to a bucket.
From another stone archway, some Veretian soldiers approached, carrying spears and with a reluctant Nikandros and the servant Isander at their heels.
The Kyros of Ios cursed in Akielon and seemed to have an annoyed look on his face, while Isander maintained a deferential posture despite his swollen and reddened eyes.
"Exalted, why did you order them to bring me here?" — asked Nikandros, running his gaze over the three standing men.
Laurent was the one to answer him:
"It wasn't Damianos. It was me who sent for you..."
Nikandros took a deep breath and replied:
"I know, but I don't feel like talking to you right now, Laurent! And to be honest, I don't feel like talking to you either, Damianos! What was that scene in the garden? How can you both claim to be pioneers of the abolition of slavery in your kingdoms and ram a sword through a slave's body without giving her due justice?"
Nikandros' tone was loud, and he wasn't speaking to the kings of Akielos and Vere at that moment, but to the men he knew.
Laurent blinked his eyes with dark blue-rimmed retinas.
"You're very sincere..."
Nikandros replied:
"Akielons are sincere! Your Akielon servant is devastated, if you haven't noticed it yet, Laurent. He feels bad about seeing Latifa executed like that. Why did you send for Isander? Will you ask for him to bow and kiss the toe of your boot even though you did this, Laurent? Why did you send for me?!"
Laurent said, crossing his arms.
"I have a feeling that if you could, you'd leave my palace today and would never come back, Nikandros..."
"Honestly, the only thing keeping me from doing that now is my oath to the Sister Nations."
Damen interjected, saying:
"I respect your non-conformity, Nikandros. But we had to do it."
"Kill a deaf slave who looked scared and may have been betrayed or threatened by a noble or a king?"
"Yes, we had to make everyone believe Latifa was dead." — Laurent replied without changing his voice.
Nikandros was about to reply, but stopped and narrowed his gaze.
"What...? Make everyone believe it? "
Jord, who had his hand on his sword's scabbard, then said:
"I was terrified that I hit one of the slave's arteries. Paschal is examining her right now..."
Isander had now turned his gaze upwards. His dark eyes looked from one man to the other.
After a long silence, during which the crackling of the fire in the lamps could be heard, the Kyros of Ios turned to the kings of Vere and Akielos.
"I don't understand... What is it all about?"
"An illusion..." — Laurent replied — "An illusion I ordered my men to study after the first attempt to execute my uncle in Ios. I thought that if a rogue could survive a sword slash with some luck, an innocent could remain unharmed intentionally. I figured this technique could occasionally be used to my advantage."
Nikandros' eyes sought those of Damen, who nodded. Laurent continued:
"...I had some of my trusted men to learn this trick, with Paschal guiding a person's mortal and no mortal spots. When I pat on Jord's shoulder, he knew what to do. That's our code."
Nikandros looked around. A locked door in the Akielon garden remained inaccessible to nobles and courtiers. The guards who had brought the kyros had left, and the soldier next to the stone arch had gone into the hallway to mop the floor.
Apart from Nikandros and the kings, only Jord and Isander were present. As if he could read the Akielon's mind, Laurent made himself clear:
"... You and Isander are part of the Trust worthies. That's why I sent for you."
Damen said:
"Latifa had thrown a book Laurent was reading into the burning fireplace before she was arrested. She tried to say something. We don't think she wanted to kill Laurent. Someone tried to frame her for it..."
"Much of the book is burnt, but we could see golden dust falling from the pages. I've sent the book to one of the town's apothecaries to examine it." — Laurent said, touching his chin with his delicate hand.
Nikandros asked:
"And why did you have to pretend to execute the slave girl?"
Laurent replied:
"Because if I spared a Patran slave and had the King of Patras arrested, there would be an uprising among the men of Torgeir."
"You could also have had Latifa arrested." — Nikandros argued.
"No. Latifa knows something important and may have information about who tried to assassinate me and frame her. I have to get her to safety. Someone from inside the palace has managed to reach me and poison my food. My leopard and the emperor were caught. There was no guarantee this person couldn't get to Latifa and slit her throat too. People must think that I believed in Torgeir's involvement and ordered the execution of the only witness to the poisoning attempt. People had to see her taken from the back of the palace, unconscious and covered in blood, to believe that she died..."
Nikandros frowned.
"And do you believe in Torgeir's involvement?"
Laurent and Damianos exchanged a silent glance.
"No. Damen and I had seen a similar ploy when the Regent tried to kill me and incriminate Damianos with Akielon evidence while he was in Arles. There's something familiar about the intent."
Nikandros blinked.
"I believe you had Torgeir arrested as a ploy of your lie."
Laurent shook his face.
"The poison didn't work on me. But Afanas and Sorem were poisoned. If someone is trying to frame Torgeir, the best way to stop this enemy is to stop Torgeir. But if someone wants to start a war, he can try to bury a Veretian or an Akielon sword in the King of Patras while he sleeps. Keeping Torgeir prisoner, we can watch over his life and the peace between the kingdoms."
Nikandros looked from Laurent to Damen. The King of Akielos was already familiar with the Veretian's mind, but the kyros, no. A certain admiration crossed the face of Nikandros, who was not used to conversing within the parameters of Laurent's strategic intelligence. As he spoke, there was a hint of relief:
"Damn it! I thought the worst of you two."
Laurent twitched the corners of his mouth.
"Both you and Isander. I can only hope the lie had the same effect on the rest of the palace. But I wanted you both to know the truth."
Isander smiled. There was relief in his expression and doe-like eyes as well.
The kyros asked:
"Why?"
Damen replied:
"You are my friend, Nikandros. I couldn't go on without your support. I need you on the side of the Sister Nations."
Laurent adjusted the gold bracelet on his wrist and said:
"We will need you and Isander in the next few days. The other trustworthy ones too. We'll have to make a move because whoever is conspiring against us is surely not acting alone..."
There was a brief silence, during which Nikandros walked away a little and exchanged a few words with Isander and Jord. Laurent then turned to the closed door of the building and felt it with his palm as he said:
"Damianos, do you remember that I once told you that Latifa's brother Leon would be provided to me as an escort slave when I was eleven years old, and that Latifa served my mother just before she died?”
The King of Akielon nodded and stared at Laurent's fingers before focusing on the Veretian's face again.
"Yes..."
Laurent took a deep breath and said:
"Leon was found dead in the river near the garden before we met. They said he drowned in the early hours of the morning..."
Damen frowned.
"I'm sorry to hear that, Laurent. What a sad fate..."
The Veretian removed his fingers from the door, his gaze distant. For a second, a contraction tugged at the corners of his lips.
"Yes. A fatality..."
After a while, Laurent spoke again, his eyes moist:
"And do you remember, Damianos, that I told you that my uncle had my family's dogs executed behind the palace after he lied saying they would be given to a courtesan?"
Damen touched Laurent's hand and felt a dark shiver in his cold fingers.
"I do..."
"One of the dogs was very close to me and Auguste, and I hid him in the cellars with Theodore’s help because I didn't want him to leave Arles. When I was asked about this dog, I lied and said he had died of longing for my brother. But he didn't. When I discovered what had happened to the other dogs, I secretly gave him to a noble friend of my father and he went to Toutaine. He lived, Damen. He could be safe in Toutaine."
Damen hugged Laurent and felt him grow cold and rigid in his embrace. There were many things unsaid, but the Akielon understood the uncommunicative language of the Veretian, who leaned against his chest and fixed his gaze on a distant point. The sadness was sometimes unspeakable as if such suffering were in some way immoral.
There were so many things thrown prematurely to their deaths in Laurent's life that perhaps he understood that he had to ally himself with the idea of death in some way.
When the door to the white-columned building opened an hour later, Paschal declared that Latifa would be fine. Her wound had already been cleaned and disinfected. A white bandage surrounded the young woman's swaying chest and she remained asleep under the sheets.
Laurent approached the bed, leaned down, and spoke close to Latifa's face. She was deaf and couldn't hear him, but he hoped the words would reach her somehow.
"I am so sorry. I hope one day you can forgive me for ordering Jord to hurt you, but it was the only way to protect you. I won't let anyone get close to you, Latifa. Thank you for trying to tell us the truth. Forgive me, please..."
When they returned to the palace, Laurent immediately went to Afanas in the hospital wing and Damen observed that the leopard was lying on a table with a blanket and his chest heaving slightly.
Kalina and the Vask's apothecary were in the room, as well as a Veretian physician.
"How is he?" — asked Laurent with transparent concern.
Vask's apothecary, who worked as a leopard veterinarian in his kingdom, spoke:
"We rinsed Afanas' mouth and washed his stomach with activated charcoal, and he vomited. We're monitoring his heart and respiratory rate. He's stable, but we must wait a few more hours to see how he reacts. We've used the formula recommended by Paschal."
Laurent approached the small table where the cub was sleeping and adjusted Afanas' blanket. He then stroked the animal's ear and whispered something inaudible and private into its ear. Damen noticed that the Veretian's eyes were red, and the Akielon touched Laurent's shoulder, supporting him as he stood up.
Finally, the two men passed in front of the room where Emperor Sorem of Ver-Tan was being examined and the treatment for the poisoning had been similar. The physicians had used drugs that induced detoxification and vomiting and had kept the patient under careful observation.
As they finally made their way to the royal room, Laurent looked haggard, tired, and had a distant look in his eyes. Damen asked Jord to guard the door to the chamber for a few minutes and announced that he'd return soon.
Half an hour later, Damianos arrived with a wooden tray laden with stoneware plates of roast lamb, bread, olives, potatoes, and spinach. He placed the tray on the table in front of Laurent, pushed the two piles of documents that Isander had left there into a corner, and said:
"I know you're sad and worried, Laurent, but you need to eat something. You look pale."
Laurent stared at the food in front of him for a while.
"...Don't worry about it. It's the food that was served to the Akielon soldiers. There were no cases of poisoning in their wing and I prepared the dishes myself. It's a simple meal, but at least it's better than you starve..."
The King of Vere agreed to nibble on a piece of olive bread and said:
"Eat something too, Damen."
None of them had dinner yet, for the great confusion had arisen when the Veretian and the Akielon were about to eat.
There was an uneven silence, punctuated by Damianos and Laurent's breathing, the sound of lamb and vegetables being stirred on the plate, and the use of the bread knife. As the food reached their palates and stomachs, the two kings realized how hungry they felt. The growing pessimism was exacerbated and strengthened by this human and banal need.
After all, it wasn't the first time Damen and Laurent had been confronted with an attempted murder that came unannounced through a forgotten, open door. The two were better prepared for a confrontation where they could defend themselves with swords, daggers, and speeches, but this was Arles and the level of challenge in the arena was strenuous and challenging.
A few minutes later, Damen put his arm around Laurent's shoulders and embraced him protectively. The young man let himself be hugged and mumbled hesitantly after chewing a piece of potato that he had stuck in his mouth with a fork.
"I'm sorry I let you down."
Damen and Laurent had argued the day before after the King of Vere had been caught smoking a hookah with Pari of Skarva on the training pitch. The Veretian's voice didn't change, but Damen could feel a certain stiffness in his body.
"... But I wouldn't kiss the empress's fourth wife or touch her. Nothing happened between us. I'm loyal to you and enjoy being so, Damianos. Pari was teaching me how to satisfy a lover in bed. Just that."
Damen was silent for a while and then replied with a shake of his face:
"Forget it. None of that matters anymore. It belongs to the past. I don't know how I'd feel if you had been poisoned, Laurent. I was terrified. The most important thing is that Afanas recovers and the emperor too. By the way, nothing happened between Sorem of Ver-Tan and me too. I'm not interested in him at all. There's no need to worry."
Laurent paused for a few seconds and moved the fork on the meat board to prick the potato’s skin. The fireplace was lit and crackling. Incense was being burned on the mantelpiece.
"But there's one more thing, Damianos. You can't go out the door every time we argue..." — Laurent's voice hadn't changed, but there was a slightly hurt tone in his words.
Damen nodded and turned to the Veretian, tucking a strand of Laurent’s blond hair behind his ear.
"I'll never leave, Laurent. And leaving isn't a thought that crosses my mind. Sometimes I just need some time. I’d look for you tomorrow to talk. The day we argued, we pushed our limits and attacked each other. I didn't want to hurt you or be hurt by you. However..."
Damianos fell silent, took two golden cups from the table poured orange juice from a large ceramic jug.
"We were hurt..." — Laurent added.
Damen nodded as he filled Laurent's cup with the drink.
"...I'm sorry."
"I hurt you too. Forgive me."
Laurent raised one of the cups to his lips and took a sip of the Akielon drink, feeling the citrus acidity on his palate. Then he spoke again, closing his eyes briefly to regain his courage.
"I believe in both of us, Damianos. I do, even if the Council demands marriage and heirs from me to secure my throne. I have no interest in marrying anyone but you."
Damen then said:
"I want to marry you too, Laurent. If you don't like the idea of having children with me, that's fine. I don't want to put any pressure on you."
Laurent blushed.
"It's not that I don't want to, Damen, but until recently I thought I'd always be alone. I like the idea of having children with you. And I'm sure you'd be a good father. But I don't want our children to grow up in Arles no matter what. Delfeur or Ios, on the other hand, would be fine..."
Damianos turned his face away quickly. An involuntary smile played around his lips. His voice sounded eager and he touched Laurent's hand, squeezing his very pale fingers:
"Yes. As you wish, my king. As you wish."
Damianos kissed Laurent's hand, who blushed even more intensely.
"There's more... I couldn't be like Egeria, who had Theomedes shared with Hypermenestra, Damen. Nor like Theodore, who didn't mind Auguste sleeping with women from time to time. I don't share. I'm selfish and that situation would be unworthy, for I wouldn't share my husband with another nobleman, king, queen, or servant. When I said I wanted to keep things simple, I meant the freedom between lovers not to overcommit. If you offer me more, I'll demand more from you. Do you understand that?”
Damen listened carefully to the Veretian's words and ran his finger over Laurent's cheekbone, which was very red.
"I like it when you tell me clearly how you feel, Laurent. That way I can understand you better. I've done many things as a prince in Akielos, but nothing in my life compares to what we have today. I don't crave lovers or servants in my bed. I don't want other people in your bed either. It'll be just the two of us, Laurent."
Laurent had lowered his face and a smile formed at the corners of his lips. He murmured a little hesitantly:
"Do you want to start a family with me?"
Damen approached, kissed the Veretian's head, and said with a smile:
"Yes. Our family."
Laurent was red to the ears. He smiled and nodded silently. Damen smiled too and the two men shared that warm, welcoming feeling that surrounded them for a few minutes.
Then Damianos remembered something he had forgotten in the confusion. He reached into the pocket of his chiton and pulled out a yellowish paper, which he began to unfold.
"Did you know this existed, by the way?"
Laurent focused his blue eyes on the document and, in one movement, drew the candelabrum on the oak table closer so that the paper with the ornate letters was illuminated. After more than a minute of silence, during which the Veretian king read everything from the date to the royal seal and Hennike's signature, he lifted his face with a surprised expression.
"It's a peace propose between Vere and Akielos, brokered by my marriage to a member of the nobility or royalty of Akielos."
"To a prince. You would be offered to me, Laurent." — Damen spoke — "The paper has the queen's signature. That would put any thought of a war between Akielos and Vere over Delpha off the table."
Laurent examined the paper again carefully and replied after a few seconds:
"The document has no acceptance stamp. Theomedes has rejected the proposal."
"No, Laurent! My father and I had a good relationship and he always kept me informed of alliance proposals and negotiations between the kingdoms. A proposal of this importance, delivered by a messenger or ambassador from Vere in Akielos, would have attracted enough attention and my father would have let me know. This proposal never reached Ios! Nikandros, whose parents were actively involved in politics, never heard of this document either!"
Laurent's gaze was dark and he put his hand to his chin. He seemed to be reaching for something, staring into the fire as he rummaged through the past.
"My uncle was the royal ambassador, but after my mother died, he was demoted by Auguste and sent to one of the royal estates in Fortaine to take care of minor bureaucratic matters."
Damen frowned.
"Demoted?"
Laurent nodded.
"Auguste removed him from Arles shortly after my mother died. I'm sure the Regent's hatred for my brother intensified after this. At the same time, during this period, my uncle met Guion, who visited him at the royal field house, flattering him and hoping to gain advantages."
"Was that when the Regent approached Aimeric?"
"No, my uncle met Aimeric after the events in Marlas when he stayed at Guion's residence during the trip to Fortaine."
"Do you have any suspicions about who might have been tasked with delivering the document to my father?"
Laurent shook his face.
"I was only twelve years old and wasn't involved in political activities. But I clearly remember that once, while we were having dinner, Auguste received a messenger and discussed a matter with my father in a secluded room. They both seemed upset, and when I asked my brother what had happened, he didn't tell me, but he said that one of our mother's last wishes was a mistake. He told me I should marry someone from the court of Vere who recognized my value, and that he and my father would choose carefully, and not someone brute who rejected me. I never understood Auguste's outburst, nor why he spoke to me about marriage." — Laurent paused and shook his face: — "The brute who rejected might have been you. Come to think of it, I don't think Auguste would like you."
Damen opened his mouth, but then closed it again and shook his face.
"I didn't reject you!"
Laurent remained thoughtful.
"My mother made Auguste delay a marriage proposal as long as possible, even though he was the crown prince. Strangely, she tried to push me towards Akielos when I was still a boy. And I didn't know that mother knew I liked boys. "
Laurent blushed even harder at the last sentence. Damen then began leafing through one of the piles he had brought from Nikandros' room, looking for another document. After a few minutes, he pulled out another piece of paper and handed it to Laurent.
"I found this here too. Look at it..."
Laurent began to read the document. It was the proposal of marriage of Auguste to his cousin from Kempt, which was intended to maintain the nation's alliance with Vere.
The Veretian king leaned his hand on his chin and said:
"This one, I remember vaguely. Kempt rejected Auguste's marriage proposal, which Herode brokered. I think there was some accusation against my brother that I didn't even know what it was. Anyway, there is one person we should ask about these documents, and he was already a trusted councillor to my father at the time — Herode! He'll travel tomorrow morning and will return in a few weeks!"
Damen nodded and raised the cup of orange juice to his lips. Then he said:
"If those two alliances had been put into action, there would never have been a war between Akielos and Vere..."
Laurent's eyes grew thoughtful and he glanced at the document offering him in marriage to the nobility of Akielos. A brief wrinkle appeared on his forehead and disappeared into the milky skin as if a thought rose to the surface of his face and then sank again. Then Damen asked:
"And what did you discover in your pile?"
"Nothing beyond what was said at the meeting. Torgeir was right. My father gave Patras weapons, gold, and supplies in exchange for unconditional loyalty and the cession of the entire territory of Ver-Vassel. The treaty has the signatures of my father, the late king of Patras, and the Council.”
Damen straightened up in his seat after thinking for a moment. Then he said:
"I don't think it was Torgeir who wanted to poison you, Laurent. The King of Patras seemed a sincere man at the meeting."
Laurent blinked his blue eyes.
"And Vishkar?"
Damianos shook his face.
"I don't know. I just think the Empress seemed too upset about the poisoning of Afanas and Sorem of Ver-Tan. And when you had Torgeir arrested, she almost turned on you because she wanted to protect her friend. Vishkar seems to be a dangerous woman, but also spontaneous in her actions. My father visited Vask once when I was four years old. He said Empress Betthany was a strong cunning woman, but the crown princess was an open-minded little girl with good instincts. ..."
The two kings exchanged a deep look, and Laurent drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the table.
"Poison, secret rings, and false evidence... What does all this mean for us, Damianos?"
The next few days were eventful and the warrant for Torgeir's arrest remained in place, although the members of the Patran court and the soldiers in the kingdom continued to be treated well.
Torgeir was detained in his sumptuous quarters and Veretian guards were posted outside the door. Torveld tried to intercede with Laurent on his brother's behalf but to no avail.
After an audience with Torgeir, however, the Patran ambassador no longer insisted.
Laurent visited Afanas several times a day and a hint of joy crossed his lips when the leopard cub, after had been declared out of danger, opened his round eyes and purred before the Veretian king. Sorem, on the other hand, although he had survived, remained unconscious most of the time and, according to the physician, seemed to be very weak, as he still had a fever and chills.
"The poison reacts in a very particular way depending on the patient. The emperor has a somewhat weak heart, which complicates the case. As soon as he can speak, we will send for you immediately, Your Majesty." — said the Veretian physician.
In the meantime, Latifa was being treated by Paschal. The fact that she was alive was still a secret. A servant and a trusted nurse were assigned to help Paschal care for the young woman.
Laurent finally decided to act when a messenger from Enguerran arrived in Arles, on the same day that a messenger came from the northern borders of the forest.
There was a moment when the Veretian king locked himself in the meeting room with the two men, and as the heralds delivered their messages, Laurent's eyes lifted with surprise and tension. He was silent for a while, his fists clenched on the table, putting the intricate pieces of the puzzle together in his mind, which craved answers.
Suddenly he was privy to what the circus company was transporting from the north and what Vask and Patras' entourage were secretly taking to the south.
Speaking more to his own thoughts than to the two informants before him, the Veretian king murmured with a wry smile of understanding:
"So that's what they're up to?"
The next day, Laurent ordered Isander to gather the Trustworthy ones for a meeting, this time not in the usual assembly room but in the royal bedroom itself, so as not to attract attention in the palace.
Laurent had told Damianos what he had discovered the day before, and after a sleepless night poring over a map like old times, the two men drafted a plan.
The Trustworthy ones arrived in pairs and were asked to be discreet as they approached the king's chambers. The guards at the door greeted them and eyed them suspiciously before granting them passage with a wave of their spears.
The first one to arrive was the punctual Lord Berenger accompanied by Ancel. Then followed Charls and Guilliame. Loyse arrived arm in arm with Makedon. Nikandros came next, after fetching Paschal from the Akielon building where Latifa rested. Jord also arrived, his sword in its scabbard.
Finally, Pallas and Lazar arrived. The Veretian soldier looked sheepish as he found himself in the luxurious chambers of the kings of the Sister Nations, with high, gold-decorated walls and carvings depicting a hunting scene. However, Damianos and Laurent's swords remained leaning in a corner of the entryway, cutting through the luxury sharply and quietly.
Isander closed the double doors with arabesques as everyone settled around the huge carved wooden table and sat on high-backed chairs with comfortable cushions. Then the Akielon began to serve everyone tea in porcelain cups with gold engravings.
Laurent had his fingers crossed in front of his face and spoke in his languid voice:
"I need not emphasize that everything we say here is strictly confidential. No one but Damen and the servants may enter the royal bedroom and I hope you will not mention to anyone that you came here. I need you to complete some tasks while me and Damianos can't move from the capital."
The Veretian's gaze fell on Charls and Guilliame. The cloth merchant had a dejected expression on his face.
"... As everyone here knows, there was an attempt to poison me. There are one or more traitors in Arles. My dinner was adulterated with the same poison that was used years ago at the Ver-Tan border during the battle of Vask and Patras. Paschal was quick to identify it."
The Veretian physician looked at all present, touched the wrinkle on his forehead, and began to speak after his name had been mentioned.
"It is a very peculiar poison that is made in processes. It is produced by the locust, which eats plants with a kind of fungus. Until then, the insect is not poisonous. But when some bird species eat the locust, the fungus that settles in its body reacts with the bird's gastric juice, and the poison is produced from the bird's excrement. Contact with the poison in the human body can be fatal as it quickly attacks the human organs. After the war of Patras and Vask and the poisoning of the Patran soldiers, some physicians began to study the substance. Its symptoms are very characteristic and rapid. When I saw the condition of the Emperor of Vask and his constant demand for water, I suspected that it was the same poison used in the war and advised the king to consult a specialist. King Aleron and Prince Auguste feared the poison in the Veretian lands and ordered us to make an antidote. And we have it. It is made from the same locust species. Nature is mysterious, isn't it?"
Laurent then continued.
"The apothecary from the city examined the meat my leopard had eaten and poison was indeed found. But not only was my food adulterated, so was the book I was reading..."
Lord Berenger frowned.
"A book?"
"Yes. The town apothecary said that the pages were filled with another potent poison that extended from the white paper to the gold trim of the copy. A few hours of handling it would be enough to leave me in bed in a serious condition, coughing and unable to breathe properly. The only reason I wasn't poisoned was that I hadn't read the work yet. I was planning to read it that fateful day. And the person who brought me the book and passed it on to Isander was... Charls.”
Silence fell over the room as all faces turned to the Veretian merchant. His assistant, Guilliame, remained tense and straight-backed. Charls nodded and sniffled:
"Your Majesty came to see me the day after the incident, and as I told you that day, I made myself available to be arrested should any doubts arise about my actions. I bought the book in Kesus and kept it locked in my suitcase throughout the journey to Arles. I only opened it to give it to Isander so he could pass it on to you at your birthday party, Your Majesty."
Damen recalled how Charls discreetly handed Isander a bag during Laurent's birthday party and lied to him that the contents were some fabrics.
"I don't doubt you, Charls. And neither Isander. I was the one who asked you to bring me this Akielon book from Kesus and discreetly deliver it to my servant, but I think someone with evil intentions heard you talking about it and snuck into your room to poison the pages. Have you spoken to anyone else about this?"
Charls blinked, trying to remember.
"Perhaps, Your Majesty. I left your birthday lunch a little drunk due to the Akielon brandy..."
Guilliame then said:
"We were talking about this book in the garden, Your Majesty. We were a bit drunk and there were a lot of people there. But we also told the guards what it was about when the soldiers started checking our belongings when we arrived in Arles. Some of the men wanted to confiscate it. I had to tell them that the book was for Your Majesty and that they weren't allowed to keep it."
Nikandros raised an eyebrow questioningly:
"The soldiers tried to confiscate an Akielon book? I thought most of them couldn't read. Why would they want to keep a book...?"
Laurent blushed. Charls and Guilliame looked at the king and pursed their lips. It was Damen who answered and ended the subject:
"It was a book of landscape paintings. It contained many beautiful illustrations of the Ellosean Sea and Isthima Island. Well, someone poisoned the book and tried to affect Laurent in one way or another. The killer can be among the nations' visitors, but that's not guaranteed."
Ancel was wearing a bright shade of lipstick and had his mouth hanging slack.
"Do you think there are spies in Arles?"
Laurent propped his elbows on the carved table. He replied in a stretched voice, without showing any emotion:
"I think it has always existed. Maybe even before I was born. We're dealing with a conspiracy that I don't think started today, but years ago. A plot hatched by the most venomous snake that has ever crawled through Arles: my uncle."
There was a hushed silence in the room. The sound of distant voices and tuned organs could be heard from the balcony.
Makedon stroked his chin with his finger and asked sourly:
"Isn't that bastard dead? What more does he want from the living?"
It was Damen who answered:
"Somehow, even in death, the Regent's poisonous influence still hangs over his followers."
Makedon furrowed his eyebrows in response after taking a deep breath:
"I saw his kind of influence in the whorehouse we dismantled. If your uncle were a living man, Laurent, I'd gladly stick a dagger in each of his eyes, but how do you fight a fucking dead man?"
The Veretian king twitched his lips as he took a handful of old tea leaves from a blue porcelain teapot and crushed them on the table, sprinkling moss-colored green bran on the polished wood.
"The same way we killed his body. We can hit a vital spot, carry out a public execution, and leave a reminder that everything ends sooner or later for the living. Especially for those who have made so many enemies. We must stop the plan behind this."
Loyse blinked her languid green eyes with slightly drooping lids. She had brown hair with silver streaks tied into an elegant bun at the back of her head, and a pearl clip adorned her curls. The colors of her dress were more colorful as well, and Damen briefly considered that perhaps Makedon was a good influence on the noblewoman, who until then had dressed in opaque, discreet tones and retreated into the shadows.
"Your Majesty, how can we help?"
Laurent looked at Damen in silence. Then the Akielon stood up and took a small lacquered wooden chest from the mantelpiece. Inside was a small silver padlock, which the King of Akielos opened and then brought the chest to the table. The King of Vere said:
"In secret rings, those involved never know more than what they should, and to ensure the safety of the operation and all involved, I have decided to adopt this standard. Inside this chest is a letter addressed to each of you. You must read with your designated companion and not inform each other. After that, we will burn the letter here in front of everyone, do you understand me?"
After Laurent spoke, everyone focused on the lacquered wooden chest that had been unlocked by Damianos and stood on the table in front of Laurent.
Then, after a glance at each other, everyone agreed. Laurent opened the chest and began to call out to those present.
"Lord Berenger and Ancel, you can read your letter on the balcony. Ancel is doing well in his reading lessons, but any words he doesn't understand, Lord Berenger can help."
The courtier and the red-haired pet rose in silence, and after they had bowed, Berenger took the white envelope in his hand and went onto the balustraded balcony. They stayed there no longer than five minutes, and it was impossible to tell whether Lord Berenger had to read the letter to Ancel, since the conversation between the two men remained inaudible.
When they returned, Laurent put out his hand to catch the letter, and when he got it back, he burned it in the candelabrum's fire, leaving the flames and ashes on a porcelain plate.
The next ones to be summoned were Loyse and Makedon, who proceeded the same. Then Charls and Guilliame. Nikandros and Isander. Then Pallas and Lazar received a letter written in Akielon, which Pallas had to translate for his lover, who could not read in any language. Finally, an envelope was given to Paschal, who retreated to the balcony and, when he returned to his room, handed it back to the Veretian king. The paper was also destined for the fire and became a pile of ashes and charred white bits on the plate.
Lazar and Pallas had their arms crossed and their heads bowed, somewhat thoughtful. Somehow everyone seemed to have the same look of concentration, as if they were rereading the letter with their minds and the inaudible tongue tapping the roof of their mouths, going over the lines.
When there were no more letters and everyone had already received their assignments, Laurent said:
"Jord has no letter, for his role is clear. In Enguerran's absence, he is responsible for my and Damianos' safety as Captain of the Royal Guard. Aktis is not present because he is in charge of Patrans' surveillance. Those who need to leave the palace must do so tonight through the secret passage behind the castle. Discretion is required before everyone else and I don't want anyone to suspect you have left the palace."
Damen exchanged a look with Nikandros, who propped his olive-tanned hands on the table and furrowed his eyebrows.
"I will fulfill my task, but I have a question, Laurent."
The Veretian king leaned against the back of his chair, his wrist with the golden bracelet resting on the arm of the seat.
"You are free to ask, kyros. "
Nikandros exchanged another look with Damen before asking:
"If your kingdom is being targeted by attacks from people allied with the Regent, why do you trust us?"
Laurent blinked his icy eyes without changing his expression.
"That's a reasonable question, Nikandros..."
The faces of those who were considered trust worthies turned to the King of Vere, who continued:
"...If you wanted to exterminate me or Damianos, all of you could have done so two years ago. Or you could have exempted yourselves from any consequences by supporting my uncle and Kastor, or at least remaining impartial. There is a simple way to test the loyalty of a man or woman, and it was the King of Akielos who taught me this infallible method. You trust someone who has seen you not just sitting on a throne with an entourage of supporters, but kneeling before another throne, waiting for an uncertain fate and being bet like a losing dog. I think you all remember how I was arrested in Ios to undergo an unfair trial, and how Damianos joined me to expose himself to the possibility of execution. You never hesitated either, even though some here didn't like my methods. You put yourselves in danger for my cause and Damianos', and indirectly went on your knees before the Regent and Kastor as well... I thank you for that. I never had the opportunity to thank you properly.”
Makedon cleared his throat after remaining silent for too long and said:
"I hesitated. I didn't trust you for a second at first, Laurent."
Laurent nodded.
"I know that. But you stayed because you believed in Damianos' cause and couldn't let someone like Kastor rule over Akielos."
"No, I couldn't."
"You were honest enough, like Nikandros and Pallas, to show me that you didn't like me, Makedon. Somehow that's sincerer than the court of Arles, where many Veretians called me Your Highness, but in my back, they were amused when my uncle punished me and took away my land, and rushed to flatter him and slander me."
Makedon took a deep breath and, after looking at Loyse with his dark eyes, said.
"Under the bridge, Laurent. I reaffirm my loyalty to the Sister Nations, and it will be my honor to do as I am told."
Pallas, sitting next to Lazar, made a respectful gesture towards Laurent. And Nikandros silently complied, as if the Veretian king's response resonated with some part of him.
When the meeting was finished, the visitors left the royal chamber in pairs again.
Loyse and Makedon stayed longer in the room because Laurent had to give them a document with his seal, rolled up in a metal case, and addressed to a special person.
Then, when the Akielon general and the Veretian noblewoman were leaving the corridor of the royal wing, a voice behind them called them up. It was the councillors Jeurre and Chelaut. The two men wore sumptuous velvet robes and the Council's medallion shone on their chests. Their gaze lingered on Loyse's ringed hand across Makedon's strong arm.
"Milady of Fortaine!"
"Councillors!" — the Veretian said with a polite bow, lifting the hem of her green and red silk dress slightly.
"Where are you coming from? Why are you leaving the royal wing? Courtiers are forbidden to be in this area after the attack on King Laurent." — Jeurre said, eyeing Makedon from head to toe. — "The king is recovering and hasn't received visitors even from the Council. I have something important to tell the king, but I haven't been able to see him yet..."
Loyse screwed up her face with theatrical innocence and opened her bright eyes a little wider. There was a dominant persuasion about her smile as she placed her hand on her chest in surprise and with a sensuality she normally hid. Makedon realized that Loyse was indeed a Vere's snake.
"Oh, really? Forgive me, I didn't know. We were going to my room and came here out of distraction..."
Jeurre and Chaulet opened their mouths and stared at Makedon, a younger Akielon twice the woman's height and wearing a chiton that showed off his hard muscles and olive skin.
Jeurre cleared his throat and gestured with a subtle movement of his chin to the commander of the army of Akielos' north.
"Lady Loyse..."
The woman could have made a fortune in some theater troupe. She didn't seem to understand the councillors' surprise and let the fact that she and Makedon were coming out of the corridor that led to the royal bedroom slip into oblivion.
She exchanged a glance with Makedon, stepped forward, and touched Jeurre's medallion delicately. Her ringed fingers were thin, nimble snakes that slithered over the councillor.
"Please, Councillor, I beg you to be discreet. Guion once told me you have a taste for women, just like Councillor Chelaut. When we reach a certain age and become widows, it becomes difficult to deny our instincts. And besides, I can no longer bear children. There’s no taboo."
Makedon blinked in surprise at the absurdity of the dialog between Loyse and the two councillors before him. In Akielos, a widowed or single noblewoman shouldn't be explaining herself to a bunch of gossipers about her fucks. Nor did he understand the condemning looks from the Veretians. He was a strong and capable man who could satisfy the attractive Lady of Fortaine even though nothing more than pleasantries, flirtations, and innuendos had passed between them.
Not that he didn't wish for a little intimacy, but the Lady of Fortaine seemed to lead this courtship with grace and a particular rhythm. Makedon wasn't used to this, for Akielon women were more direct and it was quick for a couple to end up in a sexual relationship. He didn't know if she desired him, though he enjoyed her company and conversation. But now Loyse was hinting that the two of them were going to bed, and if that was the plan, he'd support her.
"You realize that this is absurd at the Court of Arles, where men and women only sleep together after a legal marriage, don't you, Loyse of Fortaine?" — Chaulet spoke.
Loyse stepped back when he saw the reproachful look on the Council members' faces. Then Makedon stepped forward and spoke in his broken Veretian and with verbs that weren't conjugated in the correct form.
"You Veretians should lose your fear of bastards and learn to fuck whoever you fancy. Fuck for pleasure. A woman should be touched by a man, before marriage if she wishes, or in her widowhood. That way, at any rate, she'd not run the risk of marrying a lazy, lousy lay, shithead like the Councillor Guion, an old friend of yours. Then get out of the way. I need to go attend to Lady Loyse, giving her something that we prefer to do away from the bowers, unless you want to see my obelisk, you hypocritical sons of bitches!”
The councillors' mouths hung slack as Makedon linked arms with Loyse and the two of them walked between the two men, bumping into them a little.
The Lady of Fortaine's mouth was half open as well, and she cast a sidelong glance at the general, feeling the anticipation of a laugh in her throat and biting her lips to hold it back.
Loyse couldn't remember ever being defended by her late husband or even one of her children. She came from a home populated by men who thought her a well-born and virtuous mother. Nothing more than that.
Makedon was silent for a while. Then he cleared his throat and said:
"I'm sorry. I didn't like the way they questioned you..."
"Never mind." — Loyse replied, biting her lip again.
When they reached the Veretian corridor that led to the noblewoman's room, Makedon gently disengaged himself from Loyse's arm and said while avoiding her green gaze, which left him somewhat confused.
"You can go on from here. I'll go to my quarters and get my things ready so we can leave in the evening. I'll pick you up so we can go to the back of the palace. Don't worry, it'll be a safe journey and I'll protect you closely. Please, excuse me..."
Makedon turned, but Loyse's ringed fingers closed around the younger man's strong arm and said:
"Wait..."
There was an uneasy silence surrounded by the voices of servants, men working in the courtyards, passing courtiers, barking dogs in the backyard, and birds chirping in the gardens.
Loyse narrowed her green eyes and said:
"Thanks for defending me, Makedon. The Council has always seen me as Guion's wife or Guion's widow. It amazes me that they even know my name."
Makedon shook his face and declared resolutely:
"Morons. No wonder they've been fooled by the Regent all their lives."
Loyse still had her fingers closed around the commander's olive-tanned arm.
"I can still bear children." — The woman spoke suddenly, raising her gaze after lowering it for a second — "Being with me can be risky for a man who fears bastards."
There was a brief silence and a tacit exchange of glances. Then Makedon replied:
"Akielons don't mind that at all, Lady Loyse. But if it's a problem for you, there are teas that Akielon women use to prevent unwanted pregnancies. Also, there are ways to avoid having children while fucking. We can have fun without taking a risk."
Makedon felt the pulse in his body and the rhythm of his heart quicken and he didn't understand why. He felt a tingling sensation in his arm where Loyse's fingers closed. He had slept with countless women in his life, from slaves to nobles curious about the touch of a brutal northern general. He didn't understand why the Veretian woman disconcerted him.
Loyse pressed her fingers on Makedon's arm. Then she extended the invitation and seemed to take a step that her legs had been anticipating for a long time.
"I liked what you said to the councillors. Do you want to come to my room?"
The Akielon and the Veretian paused as nobles and children in school robes walked past them.
Makedon swallowed hard and said:
"I don't want to create problems for you or put you on the spot..."
Loyse smiled. Makedon noticed that a few freckles could be seen on the Veretian's cheekbones in the sunlight and imagined that her marriage to Guion must have been an arranged affair, as courtiers do, without love, compatibility, or desire.
The Lady of Fortaine's brown hair had a few silver strands, but Loyse looked now like a girl with slightly flushed cheeks. She was a middle-aged woman, older than Makedon, graceful, and with the scent of lilies emanating from her. The Akielon general considered her the most beautiful and desirable woman in all Vere.
It was a mistake to leave a woman who enjoyed the company of men with a husband who had never bothered to satisfy her while she gave birth to four children. Makedon remembered well how he had seen Guion almost two years ago, being driven in a carriage that had become ridiculous thanks to him.
Councillor Guion had seemed a little silly and a little arrogant then, looking at Laurent of Vere and Damianos of Akielos from a small window in his horse-drawn carriage that cast his ugly face in an unfavorable light being framed by a somewhat sleazy curtain. Poor intelligence and arrogance were a sad combination for any mortal or immortal. The lack of character made everything worse. Ugliness was just the icing on the cake.
Fucking moron.
Makedon reached out and stroked a loose strand of Loyse's elegant coiffure and continued:
"...What does a sophisticated Veretian noblewoman expect from a brutish North Akielon man like me?"
"I have never been touched by a man other than my husband. I've never slept with a man who really wanted to be with me. Touch me if you don't just want to play with me. If you really desire me."
Makedon let his fingers slide to Loyse's face and nodded after almost a minute. He didn't understand the nervousness, the anticipation of pleasing this Veretian lady so far away from his harsh world of soldiers, wars, sword blades gleaming in the sun, and belts with marks counting the number of enemies killed. But somehow, they were both there. They were serving on a mission that concerned their kings and their ideals.
As Makedon consented, he remembered how he had started this flirtation almost as a joke, but had gotten involved almost imperceptibly. He, Makedon, who only two years ago, had claimed to hate Veretians and had often taken Laurent to task for not understanding his culture and his way of dealing with situations.
Perhaps the central idea of the culture of Vere and Akielos was becoming more porous, more hybrid, and more mixed, thanks to the involvement of Damianos and Laurent. Or maybe, in the end, it was all just the illusion of a map scrawled across the earth, defining what men and women from the north and south were, when in reality they were just people who could feel terribly alone in the spaces and habits they were given. Humanity does not wave flags.
Makedon squeezed Loyse's fingers and felt them warm and soft in his palm, which was roughened by the hilt of the sword and the horse’s reins. Then they went into Lady of Fortaine's chamber.
The Akielon closed the door to the room while the woman let her thick, wavy brown hair, touched with copper and silver, fall freely over her shoulders.
The two looked at each other, ready to break the taboos in their lives that separated them and at the same time put them before each other, enhancing what they were, but more importantly what they would become.
Chapter 2: Trust (Part 2)
Chapter Text
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s1QCL9AGbO0
Three spoked-wheeled carriages were parked at the back of the palace. A thin layer of mist lifted from the night air and covered lawns with rose bushes and gloomy fountains with carved stone statues spraying water. On the dark horizon, you could see the architecture of gigantic towers in white and gold with golden ribbons fluttering in the breeze of the palace city.
Charls and Guilliame were the first to set off, their carriage pulled by brown horses with well-brushed manes, tails, and shiny coats breathing smoke.
Just behind them rode Pallas and Lazar on long-legged horses with restless fetlocks.
The King of Vere, who stood beside Damianos and near the cypresses, said to them:
"Hendric will meet you at the Sunbeam Inn. Be careful."
The soldiers nodded and Damianos' attention turned to the bite wounds on Pallas' hand and wrist, still from the hounds he'd mastered days ago when he'd broken the secret ring.
"Don't put yourself in danger, Pallas. See you again in a few days." — the King of Akielos declared.
The next to leave were Lord Berenger and Ancel. The Veretian courtier kept a low profile in his respectable brown traveling clothes, but Ancel didn't. The pet wore a steamy green velvet traveling cloak with, a fur stole around his shoulders fastened with a diamond brooch, silk gloves, and red hair tied in a long six-strand braid adorned with emerald green beads.
Lord Berenger stroked the pied horse's mane and Ancel took a step back as the animal shook its head, pawed the ground, and neighed a little.
"Let's get into the carriage, Berenger. I'm still afraid of horses." — the Veretian young man said, waving his hand in front of his face and walking towards the steps of the carriage.
The courtier raised his eyebrows and spoke:
"You've ridden Ruby a few times, Ancel."
"Ruby is a sweet unicorn. Not a monstrous horse. Come, please..." — the pet replied and hurried his master.
Lord Berenger shook his face and seemed amused at Ancel.
Lord Berenger and Ancel’s tastes and preferences were very much at odds, but they seemed to be having fun together and that was enough for them. Lord Berenger liked to indulge Ancel to satisfy his incomprehensible and spontaneous desires, and the young man seemed to reciprocate with sincere affection and full of youthful banter.
Laurent turned to Lord Berenger and said:
"A messenger has already been sent to warn my men at Chastillon. The person you have to bring will surely come willingly. He's already eagerly waiting for it, but keep an eye on him."
Berenger agreed and his carriage set off, pulled by the horses that coachman Jean had set in motion. As he rounded the bend, Ancel's gloved hand could be seen waving behind the carriage's small window, as a princess would do with her entourage, before Berenger closed the curtain and reminded him of the discretion required by the king.
Damen scratched his chin.
"Are you sure it's a good plan to send them on this mission?"
Laurent watched with a cold stare as the carriage and horses headed for the gate and said, pulling the corners of his lips slightly into an apostrophe:
"It has to be them. We can't lose sight of Toby. Apart from me and Nikandros, only Lord Berenger and Ancel have seen the face of the pet who knows an important secret of the Regent. They will do well."
Then Makedon and Loyse departed.
The northern army commander would not travel in a carriage, but on his shiny black-haired horse that had come with him from the south. The man wore comfortable, loose-fitting riding clothes made of Akielon fabric. On his belt was his sword on one side and his dagger on the other.
Loyse wore a dark cloak with a hood, which she had pulled over her magnificent dress with intertwined laces. The metal scroll case with the king's seal was attached to her belt.
She bowed to the Veretian king and Laurent said to her:
"A herald has already been sent to Toutaine. My men will meet you at the border. Be careful."
Loyse agreed, and before she climbed into her carriage, Makedon placed his fingers on the woman's shoulders and whispered something in her ear, causing Laurent to twitch his eyebrows almost imperceptibly.
Makedon mounted his saddled horse and took his leave, accompanying the Lady of Fortaine's carriage.
After they left, there was no one else to leave the palace that night. Damen and Laurent turned their backs on the garden and went inside the palace, feeling the cold of the night into their clothes.
The two went to Afanas, still under observation in the infirmary, being tended to by the apothecary of Vask and a Veretian physician.
"The Empress of Vask and the Fourth Wife were with Afanas earlier." — the physician explained, lowering his gaze to the king.
"Oh yes, and how was Vishkar?" — Laurent asked without changing his voice.
"Nervous." — replied the man.
Damen commented as he stroked the ears of the little leopard, who turned his saucer eyes upwards.
"No wonder, Afanas and the Emperor have had a hard time."
Laurent said as he stood up after stroking the cub's chin. He turned to the apothecary responsible for the leopards' health in Vask, just as Kalina took care of the animals' nutrition and well-being.
"Or is there another reason?"
The middle-aged Vaskian lowered his clear eyes and placed his hands before his plump body.
"Your Imperial Majesty loves the leopards of Vask. During the war between Patras and Vask, she would kneel and beg the mercenaries to spare the animals' lives when those men tried to invade Skarva. I will not ramble on about the Empress of my people. Vishkar is a ruler revered by her people."
Laurent blinked idly and said:
"But we are in my realm, my lord. I don't want Vishkar to come back here. Afanas is now a Vere's leopard and was poisoned days ago. You and Kalina may look after him, but no one else from Vask may come here. Do you understand me?"
The man seemed to hesitate and replied sullenly, the corners of his mouth twitching beneath his thick mustache.
"I'll keep working here for little Afanas, not for you."
"Great. That's exactly why you're here." — Laurent replied dryly.
Next, the kings visited Emperor Sorem of Ver-Tan, who had already been taken to one of the palace rooms, the doors of which were guarded day and night by Veretian soldiers. The physician who remained by his side said the emperor recovered a little after being taken to his quarters with his belongings. However, Sorem had suffered a relapse in the last few days and was again suffering from high fever and chills.
Laurent looked into the room where the fireplace was burning and the curtains were drawn.
Sorem was still asleep and turned on his side in his sumptuous bed, a damp cloth over his forehead and his body covered with heavy sheets.
"Make him live." — spoke the Veretian king.
"I will do my best, Your Majesty." — replied the physician with a respectful bow.
When they returned to the royal chamber, Laurent and Damen went straight to the bathroom next door, where Isander had prepared the bath accessories with hot water, salts, and bathing utensils.
As always, as the day drew to a close, the two kings seemed to strip off the royalty that fell from their bodies along with the heavy clothes; the responsibility; the decision-making, worries, and its consequences.
Laurent rinsed Damen's hair with his fingers soaked in perfumed soap and myrrh. He then slid a soft cloth over his relaxed shoulder blades after the Akielon had given him a long massage to relieve his tension.
As the two men lay on the bed with clean sheets and silk, Damen surrendered to this intimate moment with Laurent and stroked his damp hair, admiring him in the dim light of the lamp.
"You know what? After all, you didn't tell me why you had an erotic book brought to you from a place as far away as Kesus..."
Laurent blushed deeply.
Damen still remembered the surprise he had experienced when the two of them had managed to save the book, which Latifa had thrown into the fire with a pair of long tongs. Flicking through it carefully after it had cooled, Damen came across highly erotic images of sex between two men in positions that would be difficult even for an experienced acrobat.
Damen recalled that when he was thirteen, the same book had been stolen from the palace library in Ios by one of the oldest boys at court and the volume had been passed from hand to hand amid stifled laughter and whispers from the boys. Damen had blushed when he saw the darkly painted picture of a man standing and penetrating his partner, who was standing in front of him in an inverted position — with his head on the floor and his legs slightly open and pointing upwards. The degree of difficulty of this sex position would look ridiculous if thirteen-year-old Damen hadn't felt his erection throbbing under his chiton at that moment.
Laurent, who still had Damen's fingers in his hair, replied and looked away:
"I like to read..."
Damen bit his lip and raised his eyebrows.
"There is not much written."
The Veretian's blush quickly spread to his ears.
"I'm trying to learn the Akielon culture better..."
Damen stopped moving his fingers and said:
"Asking Charls and Guilliame to bring you a hidden pornographic book of Kesus here is a big cultural investment."
Laurent looked at Damen before averting his eyes, "I heard about this work and was told it was hard to get. I asked someone I trusted to travel the kingdoms and try to find it. I believed I could learn from the book..."
"Right. Learning is important..."
Laurent stood up, propped himself up on his elbows, and spoke in the glow of the fire.
"You have a lot of experience in sex, and I feel like I'm too much of a novice for your skills, Damianos. I feel like I'm ignorant in bed."
Damen lifted his face and looked at the Veretian.
"This isn't a competition, Laurent. We're learning about each other together and you're not ignorant. Quite the opposite. Your skills are impressive for the King of Akielos."
Laurent moved his lips into a gleeful expression, which he tried to suppress.
"Seriously?"
"Of course."
Laurent agreed with a victorious smile, even if it wasn't a competition. After a while, he spoke without preparing himself:
"Do you masturbate often, Damianos?"
The sudden question, which sounded almost like a medical examination, made Damen look up in surprise before he furrowed his eyebrows.
"What?"
"You said you like it when I tell you how I feel. Can I talk to you about these issues? I chatted about this with Pari of Skarva at the training ground..."
Damen straightened up on the bed and sat to look at Laurent better and give him his full attention.
"Right... So, sometimes?"
"Pari told me I should try it since I didn't touch myself. I think I was suppressing myself. So, I tried it when we slept apart and it felt great, Damen. I managed to come with my hands."
Damianos looked at Laurent's face in the glow of the fire and, once again, he was confronted with the gaps in Laurent's sexuality, where he alternated between profound experience and equally profound discovery. When they had first been together, it had piqued Damen's curiosity, but now the Akielon understood what that meant and what each advance meant for his lover on the path to his own pleasure. There were so many barriers the Veretian had erected to avoid pain that it took time and patience to break them down so they didn't cause pain as well.
Damen touched the Veretian's face and asked:
"Was it good?"
Laurent nodded with a wry smile and a blush on his cheeks. Damen kissed his lover's face and whispered in his ear:
"Can I see it sometime?"
It was fun to observe the red and pink tones that Laurent's skin tone achieved in complex gradations.
"Maybe..." — the Veretian replied, turning his face away with a shy smile.
The Akielon stroked the Veretian's cheekbone with his finger and said:
"I've been thinking about that document your mother wrote, Laurent. Several times I have been thinking about what it would be like if we had tied the knot forever..."
Laurent moved his blue eyes and ran his fingers over his lover's gold bracelet.
"The document suggested that I marry a nobleman or a prince from Akielos with my consent and my guardians'. You are very confident that this would be you, Damianos. Probably, you would think me a troublesome boy with my face buried in books and too young for the crown prince of Akielos, who was already flirting with noblewomen and warriors."
Damen laughed and shook his face.
"You'd be twelve and I'd be seventeen. Surely, I would see you as a brat, but that wouldn't stop us from being friends, and I'm sure the other children of Ios would be curious about you. But if you came to Akielos at twenty-one, I wouldn't let the sons of kyros get an inch closer to you. The Akielons would fight over you and I would have to take up my sword and proclaim: 'It is my fiancé and I will marry him...Only I can court him. Stay away!'"
Laurent smiled and spoke:
"You'd have to please my family first and I think my father and brother would be very demanding. You know, it's strange that my mother would write such a document and not at all the same time. Same-sex marriages are not common in Akielos and Vere, but occasionally occur in some Kemptian families.”
Damen kissed Laurent's hand and said:
"Your mother was as smart as you. Her political strategy was remarkable. When Herode returns, we'll be able to settle things with him. I can hardly wait."
Laurent nodded and ran his fingertips over Damen's chest, which quivered under his touch. The Akielon turned his face to his lover and said:
"...So, going back to what we were talking about earlier, is that what you and Pari of Skarva were chatting about? Masturbation?"
Laurent smiled wryly and said:
"Among other things..."
The two men looked at each other and Laurent ran a line over Damen's firm belly with the tip of his finger. The Akielon followed the Veretian's movement with his gaze.
"I can't imagine how you two came up with this topic..."
Laurent then asked:
"Why don't you touch me, Damen, like you say you touched your lovers in Akielos?"
Laurent's words came the moment the fingertip stopped moving.
Damen, leaning on his elbows, answered quickly:
"Because you're not one of them."
The two men looked at each other and Laurent muttered after a while:
"I thought you once told me that if I wasn't afraid of sex, I could have it any way I wanted..."
Damen continued to look at Laurent and the Veretian continued with confident honesty:
"... We can do it in other ways, Damianos. It doesn't always have to be slow and tender, although I love it when we're like that. We can also be like we were a month ago before we said goodbye. I have so many ideas..."
The Akielon remembered that in the discussion they'd had a few days ago, sex had been a sensitive point. Laurent finally opened up. Damen reached out and brushed a strand of Laurent's blond hair behind his ear, trying not to push him away.
"When we said goodbye in Delpha, we broke your bed and you fainted on me in the baths the next day. Paschal warned me to hold back a bit when he was hastily summoned because supposedly I'd end up killing you!" — Damianos explained.
Laurent blinked his blue-rimmed retinas and pursed his lips.
"No one dies of that! We're young and we're in love. We were going to stay apart for over a month. Prudence is easier said than done. I get jealous when I hear you talk about your lovers, with whom you always seemed to have so much fun, Damen. But at the same time, I feel inspired and have excellent ideas. Plans."
Damen raised his eyebrows and stared at his somewhat naughty lover's red face for a few seconds.
"With your mind, Laurent, I can see why this mental stimulation excites you. But sometimes, regardless of what Paschal said, I'm afraid..."
Laurent moved his eyes and frowned:
"Afraid?"
Damen nodded, put his hand on his neck, and looked sheepishly to the side.
"Like what happened on the training ground the last time we trained together. You messed with me and I... said things I shouldn't have said. Bad things that the evil tongues of the four kingdoms say about us... I mean, we'll get married... I want to treat you with the respect and courtesy you deserve."
Laurent put his hand on his chin and spoke:
"It wasn't unpleasant, what you said. But I was horny and you walked away. I hated it! I don't care what people talk about me or you, Damen. You won’t disrespect me just because we're not always romantic. I'm not going to love you less or feel less loved just because sometimes we fuck instead of make love."
Damen looked at the Veretian for a while longer. Laurent continued:
"...I know you respect me."
The Akielon lowered his gaze. Indeed, in addition to affection, there was extra care when he touched Laurent… Damen was afraid of being rude or brute to the Veretian. And when he caught himself going further, he usually held back.
"I do. I respect you." — Damen said, wrapping his fingers around the back of the other man's head and pulling his face towards him — "And I love you so much."
Laurent said, bringing his face closer to the other man and whispering against his mouth:
"I love you too. You need not be afraid to break me, Damianos. I am a whole man. We can respect each other and still take pleasure in our boundaries. I see how you look at me sometimes and I'm starting to understand your feelings."
Damen let his finger slide over the Veretian's moist lips and murmured:
"And what does your snake spirit whisper when I look at you?"
Laurent moved his long eyelashes.
"That you, Damianos, grew up in a nation where power and strength were a sign of status, and that you always nurtured it in yourself by having submissive and well-trained slaves in your bed, or warriors you slaughtered in the arena. But you have fallen in love with another king who is similarly powerful and with whom you are on an equal footing. You love our equality, but your instincts sometimes waver like mine.”
Damianos' eyes looked like bitumen in the firelight. Laurent spoke without changing his voice:
"...Dominance comes from a deep insecurity of wanting to control something, from fear of unpredictability and vulnerability. Passivity is a safe place where someone escapes all their responsibilities and the consequences of their own decisions. I am not surprised that everyone in my kingdom is so afraid of the idea of slavery abolition, whether they are masters or slaves. Suddenly everyone will have to see themselves differently. Freedom is scary. So frightening that we can spontaneously return to domination or submission, by no subterfuges. Freedom is unlimited. And dangerous."
Damianos followed the Veretian's words and said:
"We want freedom for our realms. We wish people could choose which path they want to go, without being below or above their kind."
Laurent twitched the corners of his lips.
"I will fight tirelessly if I come again across an illegal ring like the last one we broke, and I will punish everyone involved. But our bed is not a ring, Damianos."
"What do you mean, Laurent?" — the Akielon asked squinting his eyes.
The Veretian took a deep breath, got up from the bed, and went to one of his cherry chests with dark veins near his desk. Laurent took something out of the furniture.
A metallic clink sounded and Damen's gaze fell on what his lover was holding in his hands. It was a golden chain with a necklace and a handcuff attached to it.
It was the chain on which Vere's pets were held, led by their masters, who drove them to and from like show animals. The chain Laurent had used when he disguised himself as a pet to break into the brothel.
Damen still remembered the weight and the metallic smell of the artifact. He remembered the agony he felt when he lived in Arles, having his movements restricted and controlled. But he also remembered something else the chains had awakened in him when he had followed Laurent's entourage to the border. It hurt him when the collar and chain were removed in Ravenel with a chisel and a mallet as if something of himself was being ripped out.
For the blacksmith, freeing a slave was an easy task. But Damen's chest heaved at that moment, feeling free and trapped at the same time as the collar snapped. Free to be a king. And trapped inside a king.
The man Damianos had become would not exist if he had not first been a slave. He would not know the Veretians and Laurent as he did if he had remained in his kingdom, oblivious to everything different from his condition. He would not allow himself to reconsider his father's values and beliefs and become real to himself rather than the fabricated idea of something they wanted him to be. Paradoxically, slavery had set Damianos free.
In the Akielon or Veretian language, there should be a word that mixes pain and pleasure, just as bittersweet mixes the sour with the sweet on the palate. Sometimes words could not accommodate a man’s secret and abstract world, because people did not face his feelings and those hovered nameless and unbending like the mist of night over the battlements. One should at least verbalize this need so that the words can be fertilized.
But Laurent made the world concrete without the need for words. His viper spirit knew other ways. He could slip between the dead ends.
"Do you want to put this on me?" — asked Laurent, lifting his deep eyes and chainrings.
Damen hesitated for a few seconds, then took the Veretian's face and buried his head in his slender neck. He stayed there for a while, silently, embracing Laurent. He felt the Veretian's pulse. His breathing was rapid and his face flushed. There was shame. A terrible shame. And also, subversion.
Because, after all, desire is subversive.
And executive.
Damianos finally said:
"Is that the kind of idea you have?"
"Among other things, yes. We are kings from the bedroom door. But, we can be whoever we want in here. We're two men, Damianos. There are no rules to this sort of thing. The Council, Vere, the Kyroi, and Akielos have nothing to do with us. We will do what is best for our people, but in our bed, I want them to leave us alone."
Damen felt sixteen years old again and mustered the courage to say something immoral and decadent for a king in his culture:
"Put the chain on me. I can be your slave."
Would the ancient Akielon kings Theomedes, Agathon, Treus, Thestos, and Timon have felt a twinge in their bones under the earth or in their disembodied form in the afterlife? Certainly not. Ideas and taboos remained like floating ghosts, even if the dead no longer cared about them. It was better to let them go. Or to kill them too.
"...I am your slave, Laurent." — Damen said.
There was a brief moment where a brief astonishment passed through Laurent's eyes, while a subtle smile of satisfaction tugged around his lips. He remembered that the damned Pari of Skarva had said that even a king liked to be dominated.
After all, Laurent didn't care who wore the collar, but he cared that his desire was accepted and that they could take another step on the safe ground of their relationship.
Laurent's voice was dry as he commanded:
"Turn around!"
Damen quickly caught Laurent's gaze before avoiding it and turning around. He felt the Veretian king's delicate fingers on his skin, fastening the customized collar with a clasp.
The Akielon felt the sensation of agony and satisfaction intensify with the collar. At the same moment that he realized he was kneeling on the mattress, he felt something else that he couldn't say what it was.
Laurent paused briefly and ran his hands over Damen's back, where the scars were still clearly visible, to reassure him, but the Akielon's chest rose and fell as he felt something familiar. Then the Veretian kissed Damen’s shoulder sweetly so he could remind him of who they both were.
Damen felt Laurent's perfume enter his nostrils.
"Do you really want this?" — the Veretian behind him asked in a whisper.
"I do..." — Damen replied after a few seconds.
"I can stop at any time. Just ask me..."
"Don't stop..." — Damianos spoke and blushed.
Laurent then stood up on the mattress, tucking the silk sheet under his feet and pulling a little on the chain he had wrapped around the back of his hand.
With a cold voice that sent a shiver down Damen's spine, he said:
"You tried to escape from my palace? Is life in Arles as my slave so unbearable, Damianos?"
The Akielon turned and looked up at Laurent. A sense of déjà vu came over him as he observed the proudly erect chin, the clenched jaw, the impassive gaze, and the sleeping tunic that, despite making the Veretian's body comfortable, seemed to have achieved a severity as if the fabric's fit molded itself to Laurent's personality.
"I have so many ideas." — the Veretian had said.
Of course, he had. That was also a part of Laurent's personality, and Damen had admitted to himself long ago that he loved the Veretian completely. The two were compatible in deep and unknown layers like the human skin. And they could go so deep that everything remained deep flesh wound.
"Yes, I was trying to escape." — Damen answered, feeling a little ridiculous for interpreting something that wasn't real, but he took Laurent's stern expression as something too true to ignore.
Laurent wrapped another turn of the chain around his hand and forced Damen to straighten his body.
"I've thought about granting you some privileges, but I can't trust you after that, Damianos. I think I've given you too much freedom. Today you will serve me."
Damen's gaze searched for any remnant of the lover who previously was in his arms, but all he saw was coldness and authority emanating from his disinterested and hard expression.
"How can I serve you, Your Majesty?"
"I did not permit you to speak. Undress me!" — Laurent commanded, blinking his languid eyes and bending down to look at Damen.
The Akielon remembered the times he had undressed and dressed Laurent to attend him as he exercised his self-control. The command was unmistakable and Laurent said nothing more. Then Damen stretched out his hands on which hung the chains with the golden bracelets and touched Laurent's tunic.
It was an unadorned ivory-colored silk long tunic with a few eyelets and bows. Damen was used to taking it off and he pulled it off from the top as Laurent lifted his very white arms. Then he pulled off his loose pants, revealing the other man's nakedness.
Damen felt the urge to touch the Veretian's soft skin with his hands, the pink nipples that were swollen, the line down to his belly and groin where some arousal was already beginning to show. Laurent, however, looked at the Akielon indifferently and murmured dryly:
"Take off your clothes."
For a moment, Damianos felt the urge to laugh nervously as he thought of what it would have been like if, while held as a slave in Arles, he had been forced to serve the Veretian prince that way. Perhaps this was the opportunity he had dreamed of to escape. But maybe he would indulge in the pleasure of having Laurent near him. It would be unfair to ask him not to lose his reason, lying in a bed with that magnificent figure that attracted him so much even though he hated him at first.
Damen, then, slowly slid his fingers through the knots of his shirt, knowing that Laurent was staring at him. He didn't understand why he was so nervous. Laurent hissed a sound of impatience through his lips and ran his hands to Damen's shirt, practically ripping the threads from the eyelets. There was a sound as the seams of the fabric were pulled up and stretched taut.
"Do you think I have all day to deal with a slave? Hurry up, Damianos! You don't want me to get angry!"
Damen let Laurent watch him and he could almost see the Veretian's lips curl into a smile, but it faded quickly.
The Akielon hurried to undress. It was hard with the chain and the handcuffs. But Laurent made it possible when he didn't hesitate to remove Damen's clothes with his dagger.
"Lie down!" — Laurent ordered and stood up.
The Akielon lay on his back on the silk sheets and looked at Laurent standing naked on the mattress. It was a marvelous sight, his shapely body, milky limbs, and all the coldness emanating from him were illuminated by the fire in the fireplace and the lamp, as if his skin were melted cream.
With a shudder, the Akielon felt Laurent's pale foot touch his chest. Damen felt the Veretian squeeze him beneath it and spoke as he slid the sole of his foot onto his shoulder:
"I should punish you for trying to escape. But instead, I'm giving you a chance to redeem yourself."
Damianos blinked, feeling a shiver run down his spine and desire throb.
"What if I don't want to obey you?"
It was not strong, but Damianos' eyes widened as he felt a light slap to his face with the side of Laurent's foot. Laurent's phalanges touched the King of Akielos' face reproachfully.
"Shut the fuck up! You are my slave! If you resist, you will suffer the consequences and it will be my pleasure to punish you. Perhaps an even greater pleasure than the one you can give me." — Laurent declared, drawing his foot up to the man's face with a certain delicacy — "Kiss it."
Damianos hesitated and held Laurent's soft heel in his hands. Above him, he saw the raised face of the Veretian, whose gaze wandered indifferently. The Akielon felt naked, completely naked, as he kissed Laurent's foot next to the delicate toes with the well-trimmed nails.
Damen felt another shiver as Laurent slid the tip of his foot across his chest; his taut stomach with muscles that felt ticklish and contracted. Then Laurent's foot touched his groin and the Veretian rubbed his toes deliberately over his erect cock.
"You think I'm going to let you mount me? Don't be so presumptuous..." — Laurent said with a cold tone and a hint of mockery.
"Too late, sweetheart." — Damen replied, pulling Laurent behind his knees and unbalancing him on the bed.
The young man fell noisily onto the mattress above Damianos and those words, words from the past, were perhaps the limit to which they could play. The sheets got a little messy and the Akielon propped his lover up so he wouldn't hurt himself.
Laurent cursed as he fell on top of Damianos and the Akielon quickly laid on top of his lover, closing his fingers around Laurent's and placing his hands above his head.
Damen then murmured and plunged his face into the Veretian's neck.
"I'm your slave. I promise to return the favor by pleasuring you. What would you like me to do, Your Majesty?"
Laurent seemed to have gone a little out of character, for now, with red spots on his cheeks. He no longer radiated indifference and arrogance. When he looked at Damen, Laurent answered:
"Kiss me."
The Akielon brought his face closer to Laurent's and plunged his hungry lips into his mouth, feeling his tongue being massaged with genuine lust. He felt a shiver run over his skin as desire throbbed, untamed and anxious.
As they kissed with thirsty desperation, Damen reached for his own neck and unfastened the collar with a metallic sound as the clasp opened. Their faces moved apart and Laurent saw one of Akielon's bracelets being removed just after the other's chain was released.
Understanding what would happen, Laurent turned around so Damianos could place the chain and bracelet around his wrist. He could see the desire flaring in the Akielon's dark gaze as the libido throbbed in every fiber of his body.
"Now you're my slave..." — Damen murmured in Laurent's ear and nibbled his soft earlobe with small holes.
"Damen..."
There was an honest passion in Laurent's eyes as he accepted the collar. He slipped into seductive restraint as he threw his head back and offered his pale neck. Damianos dipped his lips into the soft skin of his lover and the hard metal of the collar.
Then Laurent looked at the Akielon and licked his lips vigorously, like a tamed pet, giving Damianos a completely different look. The Veretian licked from Damianos' jaw to his Adam's apple.
Damen held his lover's face and kissed him in a lascivious and unrestrained manner. He kissed him the way he had kissed Akielos' slaves when he was a teenager. He wanted to do it most lustfully and sexually.
The two men intertwined their limbs in kisses interspersed with caresses in the center of the sheets. Damianos let his lips slide onto Laurent's white shoulders and breathed in his fresh perfume, the pulse of his body and his moans. Laurent was incredible and Damen felt himself ignite like a log in a fire.
The two men remained in this caress of their bodies for countless minutes, their cocks touching excitedly. Laurent moved his legs further apart and moved a little. Sometimes Damianos' cock touched his entrance and he moaned as he held the Akielon's arms against him and teased him. He pushed himself towards Damen before the two men merged again in kisses, caresses, and movements that rehearsed fucking.
Damen let his hand slide to Laurent's crotch and murmured, panting:
"You're all wet."
"So are you." — the Veretian moaned and tilted his head back as he felt Damen's fingers slide deeper.
"I want you." — Damen whispered in Laurent's ear.
"I am your slave. How can I satisfy you, Damianos?" — Laurent replied with his eyes closed, moving on Akielon's fingers and pulling the sheets tighter.
Damen answered in Akielon, for his consciousness was turning confused and slippery like his body.
"Show me what Vere's pets do. Fuck with me like you were one."
Laurent blinked, stopped moving on Damen's fingers, and his face grew feverish. He also seemed dizzy with lust as he leaned over Damen and lowered his mouth onto his cock. His hands moved to Akielon's thighs as he opened his lips, which were already a little red from all the kissing.
Damen tightened the silk sheets and felt Laurent's tongue stimulating the tip of his cock, pressing gently into the groove and then repeating the movement harder. Laurent's tongue lazily wrapped around the glans before extending into a long, hot lick, wetting it from base to tip.
Damen felt his body gently contracting and opening up. After a few minutes, he realized he was avoiding touching Laurent, but he moved his hips, seeking the rhythm. It was so good.
Damen found himself whispering the Veretian's name inaudibly, finally touching his pale skin and feeling Laurent's caress that could bring him to climax if he didn't stop him. Pulling the air into his lungs and feeling his body protest, Damen stopped Laurent and gently pulled him closer. As he did so, the Akielon wrapped the gold chain around the back of his hand to shorten the distance and wiped away the strand of saliva from the corner of the Veretian king's mouth with his thumb.
"I want to fuck you, Laurent." — he said in Akielon — "I want to fuck you so bad. I want to cum inside you now."
Laurent blushed all over his face, ears, neck, and chest. His lips were moist as he released Damien's hand from the chain and obediently reached into his dresser drawer to retrieve an oil vial from the furniture.
Normally, it was Damianos who prepared Laurent for intimacy by moistening his fingers and carefully sliding them into his lover's entrance. The Akielon often inserted his fingers and made gentle movements towards Laurent's navel, stimulating him in this efficient and safe way to arouse his desire.
But Laurent acted like a pet and took this task into his own hands. The Veretian blushed more and more and helped himself to the oil. He poured the solution into his palm and spread the sticky liquid over his fingers.
Laurent then began to force his entrance in with his fingers, moaning softly and feeling Damen's gaze on him.
The King of Akielos felt his desire beat him mercilessly at this too-private, too-intimate sight, and he kissed Laurent while the young man used his fingers on himself. He kissed him, then murmured to him:
"Look at me while you do it."
Laurent raised his blue-rimmed retinas and Damen could feel the soft skin on his arms getting goosebumps and desire throbbing hungrily in his groin.
After a while, Laurent pressed his hand on Damen's chest and gently forced him to lie on the bed. Then the Veretian slid down, sat on Damen's crotch with his legs open, and guided his lover's cock to his entrance. His legs were spread apart. Laurent groaned as he slowly lowered his body and closed his eyes. Damen cursed in his native language and felt the tip of his cock penetrate the oily heat and slowly press into the Veretian's body.
A prolonged groan left Laurent's lips as he threw his head back and placed his hands on Damien's chest. His body's response was simultaneous: a tremor, the movement of muscles, his face flushed, and his bangs falling down his forehead. He panted, letting himself be penetrated completely until finally moving gently.
Damen experienced the slow, short thrusts, the slow back and forth, and the delicious heat of Laurent riding him, driving his satisfaction. It was a singular sight to see Laurent sitting on top of him, directing the fuck; the rhythm of the penetration with him moving over Damen's groin deliberately; the shake of the hips like a pet, perhaps, would do to his master...
Laurent threw his body back and rested his hands on Damen's thighs. At first, he favored his short movements, until later they became more energetic and intense, reaching the point where the fucking was anything but soft and slow. Damen tightened his grip around Laurent's waist, following him and thrusting against him without caring too much.
It was like the desperation with which the two had made love when Damianos had recovered from the wound Kastor had inflicted on him at Ios. He and Laurent had finally made love after long weeks of recovery. The two clung desperately to each other, happy to have something that had almost been taken from them. Perhaps they were both still a little afraid of everything disappearing.
Damen saw the faint light flickering on Laurent's golden collar as if the yellow metal was melting around the slender, pale neck with the blue veins. Damen still had the chain around the back of his hand and tugged gently, causing Laurent to lean in and kiss him.
In a moment of reverie, Damen thought in an explicit fantasy: what if it had been the other way around? What if Laurent had been taken to Ios to be available as a pleasure slave to the crown prince of Akielos?
It was clear that Laurent would not stay in Ios for many days, as his viper spirit would lead him out of any physical prison they put him in. Perhaps he would even convince the guards from Akielos that the best alternative for them was to willingly open his prison’s door, and give him a fast horse, provisions, and some men to help him on his way back to Arles. And may God have mercy on the Regent, for Laurent's wrath would knock him from his throne. Perhaps the Veretian would even smash his uncle's head with his throne.
But what if Laurent stayed in Ios? What if the closeness between him and Damen had been different? What if they became lovers in this fictional reality and fought together? What if they were always together in any world? Damen would fall in love with his Veretian slave with eyes unyielding and majesty radiating from every pore.
Damen would fall in love with Laurent in any reality. That was the great truth.
The gold-rimmed chain cascading down Laurent's pale body excited Damen. The metallic clink. The sight of his lover as a pleasure slave, ready to satisfy him in Ios.
However, the greatest satisfaction seemed to be felt by Laurent himself, whose movements were desperate and energetic and who opened himself more and more to the Akielon. His mouth remained open and sucked in air. His body was feverish and he savored the pleasure of serving his master by allowing him to thrust deeper and harder.
"Damianos..." — Laurent gasped as his nails dug into the muscles of his lover's thighs — "Damianos, I'm going to..."
It wasn't the first time Laurent had cum from penetration alone and Damen found it fascinating how this pleasure quickly broke through all the barriers the Veretian had erected and crushed them.
Damen squeezed Laurent's narrow waist a little tighter and begged, commanded, granted in a broken voice for the Veretian to be freed like a slave with the pulsing twitches of his body cradled backward. Laurent spurted the pearly strand, hot as blood. The first spurt was followed by a second, even more intense one when Damen touched his cock.
After the intense orgasm, Laurent let his body fall heavily onto Damen as he felt his heart pounding with rhythmic force as if it wanted to exceed his chest. The Akielon embraced and kissed him on his damp forehead, his cheek blushing in his typical affectionate way.
Laurent was given a moment to recover from his short, gasping breaths when he felt Damen breathing heavily beneath him. Laurent's chest quivered as the Akielon's desire still throbbed and invaded his body.
After a few minutes, Laurent felt Damen's fingers noisily release the collar`s clasp, freeing him. The Akielon repeated the same movement with the bracelet. And with a delicate gesture, he freed himself from the Veretian.
With typical carelessness, Damen slipped his shirt over his stomach and dried himself before fastening the chain collar around his own neck and the bracelet around his wrist.
He had not yet achieved his release and Laurent, pulling himself together, knew what he was meant to do.
He slid his hand through Damen's soft, dark hair to the shimmering gold collar on his olive skin and ordered him to get back up:
"Fuck me, slave!"
Laurent turned around and assumed his proper form before giving Damianos a stern look. It was as if the chain was turning a key inside them.
Laurent got down on all fours and offered his body to the Akielon. Damen went down on his knees and let his hands glide over the vertebrae and the firm, white-milk back of the Veretian. Then his hands closed around Laurent's pale thighs and opened his entrance a little further in the dim light. That pink vision, still with the remnants of previous thrusts, ignited Damen's desire like twigs being rubbed together, spreading fire.
Damen thrust into Laurent again, letting out a short moan as he penetrated his lover. This was perhaps how he would serve the Veretian king as a slave. Laurent would not turn his gaze to the servant from Akielos and that would be typical of his personality if he meant to be a cold and cruel whore. Then Damen realized that if he served Laurent this way, he would strive to attract his attention.
Damen's movements intensified as he pulled Laurent's hips towards him with a certain roughness, as one might expect from a barbarian. It felt good to be inside his Veretian master's body. It was so damn good.
Laurent followed the movements, moaning again, sucking in the air and surrendering, but his gaze remained fixed forward.
Without caring, Damen let his palm land on Laurent's hip with a loud slap. The Veretian pulled the sheets tighter after letting out a stronger and more helpless moan.
Laurent returned his gaze and turned around briefly before burying his forehead in the pillow and commanding in a broken voice:
"Hit me again, Damianos!"
Damen slapped his thighs again and Laurent urged him to do it again harder. And as he thrust into Laurent with vigorous movements, the Akielon saw Laurent slide his hand down to his own cock, aroused by everything that was happening behind him.
The command came clearly and amidst the overwhelming pleasure. Laurent tried to maintain his imposing and disinterested voice with no much success.
"Cum inside me, Damianos! That's an order..."
It was a simple, unmistakable sentence, but it shot something mercilessly into Damen's body as if it were slipping under his skin. Damen was lost in the moment his whole body surrendered to it. It was the first pulse of his climax as he felt the pleasure pressing against the fleshy walls of his sex. A tingling sensation ran through his body and his vision blurred until he emptied himself into Laurent with a deep groan and pulled him closer to him.
Damen felt his body tremble and become feverish under the still involuntary movements of his pelvis. He emptied himself inside his lover, feeling exhausted and full as he heard the sound of Laurent still touching himself.
The Akielon pulled his wet member from inside Laurent and pushed it past his entrance in a provocative gesture as he noticed the Veretian make an unmistakable sexual motion backward. Laurent rubbed at his cock and after a few seconds, while touching himself, he declared powerlessly:
"I'm going to cum again..."
Damen, with a quick and manly gesture, laid Laurent on his back on the bed and began to stimulate him with his mouth after pulling him behind his knees towards his face.
Damen allowed Laurent to cum on his lips. The Veretian's hands clawed at his hair as he almost screamed with pleasure piercing his trembling body like a sharp spear.
Damen felt Laurent hard in his mouth until his lover gave in and burst. Then he licked the liquid pleasure that filled him and swallowed it as an obedient Akielon slave was expected to do.
Laurent was powerless as Damen embraced him. Damen himself felt his body grow sluggish and blissful as he fell asleep with the collar still around his neck, just as Laurent had the golden chain around his wrist.
The two men's legs were intertwined, and before he fell completely asleep, Laurent embraced his Akielon lover and watched him in the dim light, feeling truly naked in bed with the man he trusted.
With the man who was his king. Damianos of Akielos. His family.
The Akielon, like Laurent, carried a world within him, a land of plains, forests, mountains, a sky of fireflies, and river veins. An entire land ready to expand even further and unite with another reign in love, fuck, and geography.
Damen and Laurent were not two slaves. No man was. They were lovers who chose each other and played with power because they could, in their daydreams, renounce it. It was all fantasy. Even unreality was part of life. It didn't hurt. It didn't subdue. It watered the dry land of days. It provided physical and mental pleasure because some had to fuck with their minds too.
At the height of Laurent and Damen's happiness, each small discovery was a piece of another supreme happiness.
Fear captivated.
Love freed.
And in the middle of it all laid two crowned kings.
Chapter 3: Trust (Part 3)
Chapter Text
The next day, just before he set off for the Patran wing of the palace, Damen stopped for a while and gazed at his Veretian lover. The two had made tender love in the morning and bathed together in the adjoining room.
Damen and Laurent were now dressed in splendid royal clothes and would soon leave the breakfast table that Isander had prepared.
"What?" — Laurent asked, taking a last sip from his glass of milk and honey while Damianos watched him.
The Akielon waited for Isander to move away a little and said:
"Nothing. I was just surprised by you again."
"Because of the great sex yesterday?" — asked Laurent, raising his pale eyebrows.
"Because of everything. You're amazing, Laurent. Amazing sex is just a part of who you are." — Damianos replied, approaching the Veretian and pressing a kiss to his flushed face: — "You're my brilliant fiancé."
Laurent replied a little more quietly:
"You're very excited about the possibility of a marriage arrangement."
"You better believe it." — Damen answered with a wry smile. — "Is this what our married life will be like?"
"Maybe. But we can't let the kids find out our toys."
Damen smiled and looked pleased as if world peace had been declared.
Laurent watched Damen bite absently into a persimmon until the Akielon met his gaze.
"What?"
Laurent blushed even more and Damen's lips immediately lifted as he heard:
"Nothing. You're amazing too, my future husband."
Like a couple in love at the height of their courtship, Damen and Laurent left the royal chambers hand in hand. But before they did, the Veretian stopped at the door and turned to Isander.
"Were you with Latifa and Paschal yesterday?"
Isander bowed and lowered his dark doe eyes, then nodded.
"Yes, Your Majesty. The Kyros Nikandros accompanied me and we were discreet. She is recovering well and I tried to give her your message. Latifa was very frightened, but now she seems calmer and a little more understanding of what is happening. It looked like she wanted to tell us something, but Lord Paschal told her not to get upset."
Laurent did not leave his room often in those days after the poisoning attempt, and he thought that his constant visits to Akielos' newly built garden might arouse curiosity and uncomfortable questions. He had instructed Isander and Nikandros to visit the Patran servant discreetly every day.
Damen then asked:
"Isander, can you communicate with Latifa? Do you understand who is behind the poisoning and who deceived her?"
The Akielon servant shook his face.
"Unfortunately, not, Exalted. We managed to communicate with gestures, but nothing so complex and complicated. Please forgive me."
Laurent spoke then:
"It doesn't matter. We'll soon find out what happened."
Damianos and Laurent went to the palace wing where the Patrans were staying. They were flanked by Jord, Aktis, and three other soldiers waiting for them at the end of the corridor. They crossed the stone arches and the small gardens full of fleur-de-lis and mango jasmine until they reached the corridors of the Patras' entourage.
On the comfortable sofas in the wing, you could see the courtiers scrutinizing the Veretians and Akielons with fierce glances. You could see the soldiers touching the hilts of their axes to their belts.
"We come in peace." — Jord declared, looking at one of Torgeir's soldiers, who followed him with his gaze.
The women of the Patras court had their legs crossed beneath their tight dresses with wide sleeves and hems with trains and deep armholes as they relaxed on the cushions, and the men in tunics and hats richly adorned with yellow-gold jewelry kept their gaze fixed and unblinking on the visitors. This was the eagle's nest.
A murmur of protest went around among the nobles and an indignant outcry arose. All the Patrans were imprisoned in the palace, together with their king. Of course, the courtiers were allowed to move freely around the palace and enjoy the entertainment, but all seemed loyal to Torgeir, who was forbidden to leave his room.
When Damen and Laurent reached the double doors to the King of Patras' chambers, they encountered a small group of people and two Veretian soldiers with spears standing at the door guarding the entrance.
In front of the door stood Torveld accompanied by Erasmus, Empress Vishkar, Lady Vannes, and the Vaskian pet Talik.
Everyone made a respectful gesture, except for Vishkar, who approached the two kings and raised her finger in front of her face. Her expression was furious.
"This is ridiculous! Not only are you holding Torgeir captive, but you're forbidding me to visit Afanas! What are you up to, Laurent of Vere? Humiliate Patras and Vask?"
Jord stood before the kings and gripped the hilt of his sword, as did Aktis. A commotion arose among the soldiers of Patras and one of them approached with an ax in his hand, flanking the Empress of Vask.
"You do not agree with the laws of Vere, but you must remain a prisoner here on suspicion of attack!" — Laurent replied without changing his voice — "But if you are so unhappy in my realm, I can think about the possibility of you leaving."
Vishkar blinked her bicolored eyes.
"So funny, Star of Vere! You know I can't leave when the Emperor is ill, Afanas is recovering and my raffie, Torgeir, is in prison!"
Laurent replied sourly:
"You seem to suffer more for Afanas and Torgeir than the emperor. I also forbade you to visit Sorem of Ver-Tan, but you didn't notice. It must be because you don't care so much about the welfare of your poisoned husband!”
"Our relationship is complicated!"
"Or are you responsible for what happened to him because you're allied with Torgeir?"
"Don't blame our king!" — the Patran soldier shouted, changing his tone.
"Keep your voice down, soldier!" — Aktis interjected, threatening him with a heavy Akielon accent.
There was tension. Torveld and Lady Vannes stepped between the men and pushed them away with stern expressions. The Patran ambassador declared:
"Please, let's calm down! Erasmus and I have come to see my brother, and Your Imperial Majesty has come to accompany us. We do not want any confusion. We come in peace."
Lady Vannes said, wearing her Vaskian jewelry adapted to Veretian fashion, lowering her face with the diplomacy her profession as ambassador gave her:
"Your Imperial Majesty, we have spoken every time Vere and Vask have strengthened their business ties. I respect you, just as the Veretian nation holds you in high esteem. Please, let's not make a scene. I'm sure everything will be sorted out soon."
Laurent looked silently at Lady Vannes, who had the pet Talik at her side, forcing the others to observe the situation with intelligent wisdom.
Erasmus, with a habit that was hard for him to break, maintained a deferential expression towards Damianos, the King of Akielos, though he had his arm around Torveld's arm.
Laurent took a deep breath and motioned for Jord and Aktis to lower their weapons.
"We too come in peace. We need to speak with King Torgeir, but we will wait until you have spoken with him first."
Vishkar still looked annoyed at Laurent, and there were dark spots under her eyes as if she hadn't slept enough. She was the first to push open the door, not caring that she bumped her shoulder against the Veretian soldiers. Torveld and Erasmus followed her and the door closed.
Laurent, Damen, Vannes, and Talik retreated to a windowed corner of the hallway with sunny seats and stained-glass windows with stars and birds. The Veretian ambassador spoke softly and looked around:
"Your Majesty, I acted yesterday as you asked me to. I held a small party in my entourage and thanks to Talik I could include the Vaskian soldier Gene. She invited him for a drink and they talked near the geometric garden."
Damianos watched the Vaskian pet and remembered the occasion he first met her when he was still a slave in Arles. The woman hadn’t changed. She still had her exuberant figure with muscles on display and golden skin as if she had just come out of a sunbath.
Talik said, looking Laurent straight in the eye:
"Even though I am a pet of Vere, I would never betray my people, Your Majesty. Vishkar is the best thing that happened to Vask, just as her mother, Betthany was the worst empress a kingdom could have. I cannot go against my people..."
Laurent touched the shoulder of the woman who was a head taller than him.
"I know, Talik. I wouldn't ask you to do that. We're trying to untangle a tangle and not incriminate the Empress of Vask."
Damen, who knew Laurent had assigned Vannes and Talik to gather information among the Vaskians, glanced at Lady Vannes, who kept one eye on the conversation and the other on the Patrans watching them.
Talik tightened her phalanges and said:
"Gene said that he was a stableman at the time of the war of Vask and Patras, but that he also served as a soldier in the last years. It seems like many details are not mentioned by Torgeir and Vishkar because many doubts hovered about the end of the war and the border negotiations. Gene told me Vishkar and Torgeir used the Ver-Vassel border to buy time and that they allied before the war ended. He also told me that Somalia, the emperor's mother, was an exceptional commander loved by the Vaskians and the Patrans."
Laurent's eyes narrowed.
"Somalia poisoned the Patran water on the Ver-Tan border, didn't she? How can the Patrans love her?"
Talik continued:
"Gene said that some believe this version of events, but there are ambiguities. He once heard Torgeir say on a visit to Skarva that it wasn't Somalia who poisoned the well water."
Damen spoke, twitching his dark eyebrows:
"So, it was Patras who poisoned his soldiers to wage a dirty war of retaliation?"
Talik twitched the corners of her lips, letting her long braid move across her chest with anxious breath.
"That's where things start to get weird, Exalted. Your Majesty, did Vere also serve in Patras?"
Laurent frowned.
"Not that I know of. We sent provisions, gold, and weapons, but our soldiers didn't serve in Bazal. I remember Auguste, my mother, and even my father not wanting to be so directly involved in the war."
Talik whispered:
"Gene said that Somalia had written a letter to Vishkar before Ver-Tan's troops were destroyed by the Patrans. Former Emperor Ishmael and Sorem narrowly escaped retaliation and were sent to Skarva as sworn friends of the Empress just before the border fell."
"But the Empress and Sorem don't get along so well anymore..." — Damen commented.
Talik blinked her brown eyes.
"Yes, Exalted. Gene said there was a rift in their relationship when Vishkar married Pari of Skarva. I tried to get the reasons out of Gene, but he was evasive and said it was confidential and that Nabsib, the chief of the Imperial Guard, would kill him if he spilled the beans."
Laurent spoke in a hurried voice:
"Nabsib is the Empress's bouncer and won't let anyone blabbermouth about Vask's secrets. As far as I know, he and Aktis have slept together a few times, but aside from not understanding each other's language, they haven't talked about anything to do with their rulers as far as I know."
Damen moved his head and turned to Laurent after watching Aktis exchange a few words with Jord from a distance.
"How do you know that, Laurent?"
"I know everything that happens in my palace, Damianos. I just don't know about the plot that's being forged behind my back and that's killing me! Huet saw Aktis and Nabsib together and asked me if that could be a problem."
"Aktis is loyal. It makes no difference who he sleeps with." — Damen spoke.
Talik said, touching her nose with her index finger and her chin with her thumb.
"Well, Nabsib also seems loyal to the Empire as much as Gene, although Gene is a bit of a loudmouth. Gene said something that could be important, Your Majesty. In the letter to Vishkar, Somalia had mentioned that Veretian soldiers were at the border."
Laurent opened his mouth a little.
"What?"
"Veretian men were at the border of Patras and Ver-Tan when the soldiers were poisoned, Your Majesty..."
The silence was interrupted by the sounds from the palace. Laurent turned pale and Damen asked:
"Talik, was it the Regent's men who went to the border?"
The woman shook her face and said:
"That I don't know, Exalted. Neither Gene. Somalia took that information to her grave. Ishmael, the first Emperor, died years ago. Only one person was at the border of Ver-Tan and survived what happened there – Sorem of Ver-Tan."
Laurent said:
"If he knew something, wouldn't he tell his wife?"
"No, if he didn't trust her..." — said Damen — "Would knowing too much be a good reason to be poisoned?"
Lady Vannes interfered and spoke:
"Exalted, I respect Empress Vishkar. It is too early to conclude. I am an ambassador and have been to Skarva many times. Vishkar is a strong, honest woman, and I truly do not believe she is behind what has happened. Talik does not believe it too."
Talik took a deep breath before saying:
"When I came to Vere, I was fifteen years old and was relocated with other slaves while Vask got back on his feet. My father died in the invasion of Skarva by the mercenaries of Patras and my mother was addicted to hookah. I was very young then, but I remember Empress Betthany dragging the nation into a war against Patras that many were against. Those were difficult times, Your Majesty. Violence, starvation, and disease were everywhere. But Empress Vishkar, the daughter of the Sun, is a good person. She walked among common men. There was a rumor at the time. A terrible rumor that... Betthany wanted to get rid of her own daughter, so she sent her to the border."
Damen shuddered:
"Getting rid of her heiress daughter? Why would a mother do that?"
Lady Vannes replied, putting her hand to her chin thoughtfully:
"That is a good question, Exalted. But Vishkar did indeed serve in the war at the age of fourteen. I've heard these rumors in Skarva too. Would a loving mother try to forge a heroine through a girl with a child's voice and no breasts yet between brutal men at one end of the world? I don't think so..."
Laurent remembered the front in Marlas, from which Auguste and Aleron had kept him away because they were determined to keep Laurent out of the war against Akielos. Laurent was thirteen years old at the time. But Vishkar had been sent from her palace to live on the frontier among enemy soldiers and men for nearly a decade, even though she was only a year older than Laurent. He had never thought about it.
Suddenly the distant and suspicious nature of the Vaskian empress made sense. Laurent remembered Guion pushing his own son Aimeric against a cliff. Twice.
With a nod, Laurent thanked Talik and Lady Vannes. The women bowed politely and walked towards the gardens.
Damen and Laurent made their way to Torgeir's room and pushed through the double doors flanked by soldiers. Jord and Aktis followed close behind.
The room was large, airy and luxurious. Torgeir was sat comfortably in an armchair with cowhide on the back. He had his hair tied back in a bun at the nape of his neck and his eyes were rimmed with kohl. His hand rested on the arm of the chair and kneeling beside him, her head in his lap, was Vishkar, who quickly stood up, squinted her eyes and wiped something off her face.
"Good morning, Torgeir!" — Laurent greeted without changing his voice.
"Laurent of Vere, Damianos of Akielos, what brings you here? Will you finally let me go?"
"I cannot do that, Torgeir of Patras. Not until the case of attempted murder in my kingdom is solved."
Torgeir interlaced his ringed fingers in front of his face.
"And have you been successful in your investigation, Laurent? Will you release me if you find out the truth, or will you otherwise act like a tyrant and order one of your men to stick his sword in me like you did to the poor deaf slave?"
Torgeir's voice was naturally husky, but he didn't change as he spoke the words.
"There was evidence against Latifa..." — Damen said.
Vishkar interjected:
"Oh, come on, anyone can have a doll sewn and carve hateful words into it! That slave was trembling with fear and may have been manipulated. I thought you two believed in slavery abolition, Laurent and Damianos, but I see that the rumors may be true..."
"Which ones?" — the Veretian asked coldly.
"The abolitionist Sister Nations may be a hoax to accomplish what King Aleron couldn't!"
Laurent asked with a wry smile.
"And what couldn't Dad accomplish?"
"Winning the rich Ver-Vassel and who knows what else Aleron was trying to take from Vask and Patras."
"Is that why you think my father sent his men to the Ver-Tan border to increase the Patrans' retaliation?" — Laurent asked.
Voices and the barking of dogs could be heard at the gates. Vishkar seemed to pay attention to the sounds before exchanging a silent look with Torgeir and straightening up. Damen hoped they'd talk before Laurent used the newly discovered truth against the Empress.
"I don't know. Was it Aleron after all? I must believe so since you seem to know this quite well, Laurent..."
Torgeir looked expectantly from the kings to the Empress. Laurent replied:
"If my father's men had been involved, the war wouldn't have ended with a peace treaty. The Veretians would have advanced to Ver-Vassel and not lost it."
Vishkar smiled and said bitterly:
"Come on, Vere lost badly Delfeur to Akielos!"
Laurent narrowed his gaze and Damen intervened with a stern expression:
"Careful, milady! Don't you dare cross that line!"
"You two are the ones crossing lines! You have unjustly imprisoned Torgeir here! Torgeir is one of the best people I know and he doesn't deserve this distrust! It's thanks to him and Torveld that we were able to bring the war to an end. Honestly, it's sad to hear that Aleron's men helped overthrow the Ver-Tan border and allied themselves with the former king of Patras, while Vask and Vere always had a peaceful coexistence!"
"It was not my father!" — Laurent retorted — "He never sent his men to Ver-Tan!"
Vishkar shook her face.
"How can you be so sure? You were just a child then!"
"I was still a child, but I remember those days! Auguste would tell me if something like that had happened. He always thought getting involved in the war was a bad idea."
Torgeir raised his hand, which was covered in thick rings around his joints, and spoke in a slow tone:
"My father was a bad egg obsessed with Patras winning the war. He made shady deals with mercenaries and Vere, but I failed to get accurate information about Ver-Tan at Bazal. If it wasn't King Aleron who sent his men to Ver-Tan, then who was there while my men were being poisoned? By the way, how do you two know about this story that Vishkar and I have kept under wraps?"
Laurent replied dryly:
"It's easy to get hold of information."
Torveld, who until then had remained silent next to Erasmus, said:
"I was already the ambassador of Patras at this time and had dealings with your uncle, the ambassador of Vere, and the royal slave trader, Laurent. But after a while, they stopped coming back to Bazal. As my brother said, our father was trouble, and we never liked his ways. I wouldn't put my hand in the fire for my father but for my brother, yes..."
Torveld paused and Erasmus touched him on the shoulder with delicate fingers, supporting him. The Patran ambassador continued:
"... Torgeir was angered by the way you two punished the slave Latifa, who belonged to our late sister Tilia, and I must say, so am I! Torgeir is honest and good and I came here today with a purpose. I want to confess to my brother that Erasmus and I are involved in stopping the activities of the pleasure slaves in Bazal. I confided this secret to you, Laurent of Vere, because I hold you and Damianos in high esteem! So, how can you believe that someone like my brother, who suffers for his slaves, would finance clandestine rings and attack a king and an emperor?"
There was a brief silence before Damen said placatingly:
"We just need some time to sort things out, Torveld..."
"Exactly! And I came here to find out if the King of Patras needs anything. I came to check whether he's being treated well or if he has any complaints..." — Laurent said.
Torgeir stood up and spoke while touching his thick leather belt.
"I have no complaints, but I wasn't born to be a captive man."
"No man was born to it, Your Majesty." — Laurent said bluntly.
Torgeir took a few steps onto the balcony of his room and watched the landscape through the balustrade. A distant commotion could be heard, which could have been from the stable boy harnessing the horses or from some cargo arriving in carriages drawn by oxen.
"Torveld's confession that he supports the slaves' manifest surprises me, and at the same time, it does not surprise me at all. Since he met Erasmus, my brother has changed a lot and has also shown sympathy for the abolitionist arguments of the Bazal's scholars."
Torveld took a deep breath and spoke:
"Sometimes life puts us in positions from which we can learn a lot. There were changes in Patras and Vask when you and Empress Vishkar ascended the throne, Torgeir. You did not do as you were taught, my brother. Oh, no, you did much better! Perhaps abolition is an inevitable path suggested by the new generations."
Erasmus, wearing a tight Patran-style tunic with wide sleeves, batted his bright eyelashes. He wore a thin tiara of diamond pendants around his head, which got tangled in his blond curls. With a deferential gesture and in very clear and sonorous language, the young man said:
"I have received the worst treatment a slave can receive at the hands of the Regent's men here in Arles, Your Majesty. And I received the best treatment in Bazal, at the hands of Master Torveld, thanks to King Damianos and King Laurent, who watched me when I felt invisible and sad and thought that my life would be an endless martyrdom until the day I died. I am a slave who was trained to play and sing songs, and I know little about the Bazal's scholars who read books about slavery's abolition, Your Majesty. But I do know that people should not suffer the way I did. These slaves in Bazal were mistreated, and I just had to tell them my story to make them dream of something beyond their condition." — Erasmus hesitated, looked at Torveld, and continued after he nodded, — "We are trained to always show joy and be kind. But we are human, and we feel fear and sorrow as well. After all, we are alive."
King Torgeir watched the slave's face after looking at Torveld for a long time without showing any sign of irritation or offense. He touched his belt again, perhaps out of habit, to check the presence of the ax at his waist. At that moment, a commotion arose in the corridors after the Patran king checked the gardens once more from the balcony of his room.
It was impossible to tell whether Torger wanted to say anything, because a jumble of Patran voices, interspersed with an Akielon voice that Damen and Laurent knew, overlapped and called for the Exalted. Damianos immediately turned to the door and Laurent said with impersonal authority:
"What is this mess?"
There was a knock at the door, and when it was opened, everyone found Pari of Skarva being held by Lydos and other Akielon soldiers, while the chief of Vask's Imperial Guard, Nabsib, was flanked by Laurent's guards.
Pari and Nabsib wore simple, dark clothing that only showed their eyes, but as they were discovered by the soldiers, their faces were exposed.
There were bruises on the faces of Pari and Nabsib as well as Lydos and the other men. There had been a fierce fight before the two Vaskians were captured, and everyone looked a little disheveled and panting.
"What happened, Lydos?" — Damen asked, looking around the group.
"Exalted, we saw Pari of Skarva and the chief of the Imperial Guard trying to leave the palace via the forest path! We arrested them as they tried to escape, but they put up a fight! They fought back fiercely! They snatched the trident out of my hand!" — Lydos declared with a swollen eyelid, a bruise on his chin, and in a somewhat plaintive tone.
Vishkar stepped forward with a nervous expression on her face:
"Take your hands off my wife and the chief of my guard now!"
Pari tried to break free, cursing in Vaskish and slapping Lydos' hand.
Laurent looked from Vishkar to Pari and said in his languid tone:
"Well, well, I was just about to ask about your lovely consort, Your Imperial Majesty. You don't seem surprised by the information and I can't believe these two leopards are having a secret romance and were escaping from the palace, leaving you behind!"
Vishkar retorted, speaking between her teeth:
"Release Pari and Nabsib immediately!"
There was silence before Damianos made a motion for Lydos and the other Akielons to release Pari. The gesture was echoed by the Veretian guards.
Vishkar rushed over to embrace Pari protectively, and Nabsib stood loyally in front of the two women. His dark gaze flitted to the royal guards in blue and red uniforms, who acted in sync. Always in sync.
"Why were you two leaving the palace?" — Damen asked, after exchanging a glance with his men and Laurent.
"Because I wasn't born to be a prisoner!" — Pari replied, her lips bruised and moving angrily — "I'm a warrior!"
Laurent spoke coldly and impatiently at the same time:
"You guys don't make it easy! Is that why Vishkar chose today to visit Torgeir when she knew Damen and I were coming? Is that why Torgeir can't stop looking out the balcony? Were they trying to distract us while Damianos and I were here? Did you really think the woods in my palace weren't guarded?"
Vishkar replied:
"Keep me prisoner, but let Pari and Nabsib go, Laurent. They must go!"
"Why?"
"There are more important things at stake. Things that involve innocent people, important people. Please keep me here if you think I'm a threat, but let Pari go!"
There was a moment when Laurent and Vishkar faced each other. The blue-circled retinas supported the gray gaze and the amber one. Finally, Laurent replied with a sharp look:
"I'm sorry, Your Imperial Majesty! Guards, take these two to their rooms and have them guarded day and night."
Lydos hesitated. It wasn't he, but another soldier who separated Pari from Vishkar and pulled her out by her trembling wrist. The woman stirred and did something you wouldn't have thought she was capable of, given her confident posture and combative expression. She let out a sob and began to cry out in tears, speaking in Vaskish:
"Let me go! Let me out! Vishkar, you have to help her! Vishkar, please, I have to take care of her! She's just a little girl!"
Vishkar pushed the soldier, but she couldn't stop her wife from being arrested. Vishkar was an empress and men dared not touch her, but her eyes were moist and she shouted angrily:
"Laurent, you must let Pari go! This has nothing to do with Vere! It has nothing to do with you or Damianos! It's something that concerns only Vask and me!"
Laurent replied:
"Vere, Vask, Akielos, and Patras are more connected than you can imagine, Vishkar. And I think this has very much to do with me, in case you haven't noticed it yet!"
Vishkar twitched her eyebrows and looked at Laurent. Then she turned to Damen, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath before saying to the Akielon king as if she had made a difficult decision:
"Damianos, don't stand against me! Pari has to go to the north because important people are waiting for us there. I never liked my mother's dirty ways when it came to negotiating or getting things. But if you don't let Pari and Nabsib go, I will have to act in a despicable way. I have no other option. Please don't make me do this!"
The empress spoke directly to Damen. Laurent frowned as Damen asked, feeling the tension building up around him:
"What do you mean?"
There was silence, and when Damen opened his lips to insist, his intention was thwarted by a distant, sharp cry. Then another scream. And another.
The cry was eventually passed on like the infectious sound of a bugle call in battle until it could be heard more clearly in the Patran corridor. Shrill and menacing, as if sung by birds of prey, it rose.
The men turned towards the door as minutes later a frail Veretian guard arrived with his spear, completely out of breath, and spoke with rattling, gasping breaths:
“Your Majesty, you must see this!”
It was a servant who first shouted in an almost falsetto, dropping his silver breakfast tray to the floor, and scattering grapes, slices of bread, honey, and milk on the tiles in the hallway. An apple had rolled across the tapestry of the room, like a directionless ball flying into the void.
Then a soldier came running to see what had happened and started screaming too. A courtier screamed after him and everyone communicated through an infectious fear, immersed in the instability of those days when an attempt was made to assassinate a king and an emperor in the capital of Vere. The shouting was almost an involuntary act.
When Damen and Laurent arrived at the place, accompanied by their men, Laurent retreated and put his hand over his mouth. Then his body quickly tensed into a fighting gesture.
Jeurre, a member of the Veretian Council, lay with his stocky, naked body on the silk and satin mattress with a deep gash across his throat. There was blood, a lot of blood, spilling from the fabrics onto the carpet. Next to Jeurre lay a young woman with wavy blonde hair, pale and cold. A knife was stuck just above her bare breasts. Laurent recognized the woman as one of Vere's servants.
The soldiers stood transfixed, watching the two lovers lying dead on opposite sides of the sumptuous bed, their limbs intertwined.
Laurent spoke as if he was still holding his breath:
"Seal off the area and assemble the Council immediately! I want to know where the soldier responsible for Councillor Jeurre's safety is!"
The men ran in different directions in the room, in and out of the door. Some of them pushed aside the fine pottery, the silver tray, the cup, and the rest of the food scattered on the floor with their feet, swept them out of the way, and cleared the passageway.
After a few minutes of shock at the scene, Damen approached the bed and moved the bloody sheets a little.
The woman's eyes were closed and her blonde hair fell over her heart-shaped face, which was full of painting, as were her shoulders, arms, breasts, and belly. Her legs were held together to hide her nakedness.
Aktis, who was in charge of inspecting the room, said after checking a little cloth bag that was on a carved wooden table along with the woman's folded clothes:
“Your Majesty, look!” — he said, handing the little bag to the Veretian king.
Laurent examined the cheap cloth little bag, felt its weight, and opened it. The small purse was filled with Veretian gold coins embossed with the profile of Laurent's face and the stars of Vere around his head.
Damen then turned his attention back to the two bodies on the bed. He approached Jeurre and looked at his limp limbs, stained with the golden paint covering the servant's body. A large amount of makeup powder was concentrated on his parted lips, which were somewhat reddened as if they had been bitten.
The soldier guarding Jeurre was found and brought to the room. He was a young man and put his hand to his mouth when he saw the dead Councillor. Laurent approached the man. His voice changed and his face turned paler:
"How could this happen? Why didn't you do your job, soldier?"
The man stuttered and fumbled, but finally managed to speak. He knelt, and explained himself in a choked voice:
"Your Majesty, forgive me! Please, forgive me! I've been guarding Councillor Jeurre's door every night, but yesterday he asked me to leave him alone. He gave me an order! He told me to go to my room after dinner and not to disturb him. I had no choice but to obey him, Your Majesty. I didn't know this could happen..."
Damen was still watching the dead with analytical concentration. He was silent and thoughtful.
Jeurre's throat was slit and the woman lay in a position where she might have plunged the knife into her own heart. What did that mean? Had there been a quarrel between lovers?
Had the servant killed the Councillor and then killed herself out of remorse? Had he paid her to circumvent the Veretian court taboo and sleep with him?
Jord approached Damen and said as he looked at the two dead Veretians:
"Her name was Aimée. They say she was a whore in a brothel before she came to the court. I believe she serves the wife of Councilor Chelaut, who is in Lys now."
Damen narrowed his gaze, trying to make sense of the scene.
It was said in Akielos that some priests could speak with the dead. They were sensitive people who often got lost in their thoughts on the way home and were sometimes surprised by a fleshless body that murmured a voiceless truth. People said those were spirits that asked for justice, too thirsty for the affairs of life to accept letting go of death.
Some priests even used hallucinogenic herbs to achieve this spiritual contact, and these stories populated the tales of the elder slaves of Ios when they wished to frighten the stubborn and naughty children of the kingdom.
Damen knew little of the spiritual matters of death and would ponder them when his time came, but he thought that something like a dead body could speak too. Not with words. Not through spirits or priests. But through the trace of substance leaving the flesh and leaving behind an empty shell.
The soldier's absence during the night shift was justified so that someone like Councillor Jeurre could secretly meet with a woman to break the Veretian taboo without being discovered or blackmailed.
Money was involved and the woman was willing to visit the Councillor, which shows that the relationship was consensual.
A disagreement was bound to happen with any couple.
Violence culminating in death on the bed?
That was an act that could be committed by a disturbed and violent mind or by someone in fear. It wasn't common, but it could happen, especially if a man were violent to a prostitute, forcing her to do disgusting things, and she hurt him to protect herself.
But wasn't another suicide after Theodore too much of a coincidence? Did Aimée love Jeurre so much that she took her own life after fatally wounding him?
Or did she fear that she would suffer the same fate as the slave Latifa?
No. If Aimée wanted to escape, she could do so, as Jeurre's soldier was not guarding the door and her way was empty. She could leave, collect her gold, and hope she wasn't identified or accused of the Councillor's death. After all, no one had seen them together...
So, why were the servants of Vere killing themselves?
Was freedom so frightening for them?
Perhaps it was.
Unless...
...Vere's servants weren't killing themselves.
The thought occurred to Damen when he saw the painting powder next to the woman's thigh, falling discreetly onto the silk sheet and her milky skin.
Damianos made a gesture that caused embarrassment and blushing in Jord, who was a follower of the Veretian taboo and did not approach women. The Akielon turned the woman over on the mattress and spread her white legs, revealing her vagina.
Damen had been with enough women to realize that something was wrong. The first thing that made him frown was the tender skin severely swollen and the excessive redness of the servant's vagina, visible even through the golden powder that fell from the fine hair down to the vulva.
Jord blushed and said:
"Exalted..."
"Jord, bring the candelabrum closer and open the curtains!"
The Veretian soldier carried out the order with his face still red and passed the candelabrum to Damen, who illuminated the servant's private parts and examined them. Then he brought the light of the fire closer to Jeurre's face and spoke:
"Laurent, come here! I think you'll want to see this!"
The Veretian king arrived just in time to see Damen bring the fire closer to the servent's splayed legs again. He raised an eyebrow and said:
"What's this about?"
"Notice how the golden hue of the powder here is not the same as the one on her face and arms?"
The Veretian frowned and followed the light guided by Damen. At first glance, it looked like the same shade of gold, but if you looked closely, you could see that not only was the hue different, but so was the grain of the powder. The powder on the woman's pubis looked thinner and more crushed than the painting over her body.
Laurent looked at Damianos and knew what he was getting at. Damen then brought the light of the candelabrum closer to Jeurre's face, whose swollen mouth was covered in fine, golden dust.
This looked like the powder that the apothecary had identified in Laurent's book that had been thrown into the fire by Latifa.
Aimée, the dead servant, was the recipient of a powerful and deadly poison. Jeurre's mouth had touched the woman's vagina during fellatio and he had been poisoned through the servant's body. With wide blue eyes, Laurent spoke to Jord:
"Go to town and get the apothecary at once, Jord! And don't tell anyone about this!"
The Veretian guard bowed respectfully and left the room, somewhat confused by the events of that morning. He even slipped and accidentally stepped on Jeurre's breakfast apple, which had rolled onto the carpet and was thus forgotten.
Huet, who had just returned, almost ran into Jord and announced to the Veretian king:
"Your Majesty, Councillors Audin and Mathe have already been informed and they are shocked. They were having breakfast in the Great Hall and told me they’d wait for you in the Council meeting room. We are still trying to locate Councillor Chelaut..."
"Right, thanks, Huet," Laurent replied, squinting his eyes and for the first time letting himself feel the shock of the morning and the confusion that came with it.
Huet lingered a little longer, looking from the Akielon king to the Veretian king.
"There is something else, Your Majesty... The men guarding the Emperor of Vask's chamber have asked me to warn you. Sorem of Ver-Tan has finally awakened and begs to see you and the Exalted immediately."
Sorem remained lying on the luxurious bed assigned to him. The velvet curtains were open and the room was filled with a radiant light that made the Vaskian's cottony white skin almost translucent.
The emperor pushed the heavy blankets over his body, sat on the bed, and leaned against the pillows. His lively gaze was fixed and at the same time, his eyelids gave him a tired expression. Under the sun, the tone of his retina was amber.
The Veretian physician stood beside Sorem and examined the Vaskian's thin, blue-veined pulse. The emperor's belongings, which until then had remained in the room of the Councillor Audin, were brought there. Several birds hopped on perches into a huge golden cage, while a rhythmic melody glided through the birds' syrinxes.
Damianos was the first to speak, placing his palms together in the typical Vask's salute.
"Are you feeling better, Your Imperial Majesty?"
Sorem nodded and curled his lips into a gentle smile. The white tunic surrounded him with an uninterrupted and garish whiteness. Almost supernatural.
"Yes, Damianos. Thanks to your valuable help and the care of the physicians in Arles."
Laurent shifted with some discomfort and turned to the Veretian physician:
"Can you give us a moment alone, Moreau? I'll send for you when we have finished here."
The man bowed respectfully, held his hands before his rough cloth tunic, and left, closing the door behind him.
Laurent fixed his blue and disinterested eyes on Sorem, took the empty chair beside the man, and said, as he accommodated his body, like a cat seeking a place for itself:
"You were unconscious for several days. I believe the poison has damaged your body. Can you still walk around the palace with the King of Akielos?"
There was a cold impersonality in Laurent's words, and Damen looked at him for a moment, wondering inwardly if the Veretian still harbored a grudge against the emperor for the misunderstanding that had occurred when he had surprised the Vaskian with him at the door of his room.
Sorem smiled a little sheepishly and said:
"I hope so, Your Majesty of Vere..."
"Oh, do you? But I hope not." — Laurent replied dryly — "I don't care if you fuck men or women, Sorem of Ver-Tan, and you can keep flirting with Councillor Audin if you can't control your polygamous urges, but the King of Akielos is my lover. Lover is not the right word. He's my fiancé. I know you want him and that he's attractive, but Damen won't mount you and the King of Akielos only takes me to his bed. Besides, you're not important to him and, frankly, you're not Damianos' type." — Laurent finished the last sentence, scowling at the Emperor of Vask from head to toe and pursing his lips in disdain.
Damen, still standing, put his hand on Laurent's shoulder, blushing up to his ears. A red tone came over the emperor's pale face and he replied in a hesitant voice:
"It was a misunderstanding, Your Majesty."
"I don't give a damn! It's a warning. Stay away from my man!"
Sorem, very red, nodded and stared at the ceiling.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Laurent idly ran the back of his hand under his chin and spoke:
"What do you want, anyway? I'm having a busy morning."
Sorem lifted his face and, seeing Laurent's stern look turned back to the blanket.
"I want to tell you what happened to me..."
Damianos, clearing his throat, said with the tension still in his hand on Laurent's shoulder:
"Sorem, the day you fainted, you came to me in Nikandros' room and said you had discovered something you needed to tell me..."
The Vaskian squeezed the blankets and lifted his face for courage. Sorem replied without elaborating his speech very well:
"Vishkar and I grew up together. We have been friends forever, but she betrayed me. For all the gods, she betrayed me, Damianos! I've always thought Pari corrupted the Empress' personality and heart, but it all started in Ver-Vassel. It started long before Pari when Vishkar colluded with Torgeir!"
Damen frowned and asked:
"How do you know that?"
"I overheard a conversation between her and Torgeir in her room. They both said they needed to hasten the death of Laurent of Vere. Torgeir looked impatient. He said he wanted to go straight to Bazal and arm his men. As I told you, Exalted, Vishkar wants to annex Vere and Torgeir wants Akielos to exploit the land and appropriate its riches. We Vaskians never understood how and why the war between Vask and Patras ended abruptly. There was a pact. A dark pact made by Vishkar and Torgeir to hand over to each other an abundant nation rather than a broken country sucked into misery."
Laurent turned his blue gaze to Damianos before moving closer to Sorem.
"Why Vere and Akielos?"
"I've thought about it and have only concluded that perhaps Torgeir never forgave Akielos for seizing the forts in Aegina and the trade routes when Patras asked for political protection for Princess Enone, its heirs, the nobles of Bazal and the slaves. Perhaps Vishkar has also never forgotten the agreement in which Ver-Vassel was promised to King Aleron. It's not just a war! It's retaliation, Your Majesty!" — Sorem replied in a nervous voice.
Laurent relaxed, crossed his legs, and wrapped his hands around his knee.
"You served in Ver-Tan."
Sorem moved his face to Laurent's and nodded.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"So, you can tell us what happened there."
The Emperor batted his long eyelashes and moved his handsome face.
"Why are you interested in Ver-Tan now?"
Laurent touched Damen's hand, which rested on his shoulder, and said:
"Because that's where the war turned. That's where Commander Somalia of Ver-Tan died. And that's where the soldiers of Patras were poisoned with a poison that was mixed by someone into my food and only didn't affect me because Afanas had eaten a piece of meat. A single piece of meat almost killed a leopard."
Sorem allowed himself a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly. His voice was choked when he spoke:
"I feel bad for little Afanas and am relieved that nothing worse has happened to him or you, Laurent of Vere."
Sorem then looked to a corner of the room. His dark hair fell over his pale complexion and his eyes turned red. He continued:
"...The conquest of the border of Ver-Tan by the Patrans was turbulent and violent. My mother died, but shortly before that, she ordered Ishmael of Skarva and me to return to the capital. I wanted to stay by my mother's side, but she said someone should look after Vishkar and the kingdom. The mercenaries of Patras had no mercy."
"And who poisoned the border water?"
Sorem looked at Laurent and replied:
"If you believe the rumors that it was my mother, then you are mistaken, Your Majesty! It wasn't a settled issue, but if you want to know, I believe it was the men of Torgeir, or the King of Patras, whose mind was already impaired by the end of his life according to rumors."
Laurent propped his delicate wrist on the chair, revealing a glimpse of the gold bracelet encircling his arm. His expression remained impersonal and distant as if he were talking about time and the seasons, while Damianos stopped and leaned forward a little with focused attention.
"Sorem..." — Laurent began in an unchanged voice — "I regret that my father made a deal with the former king of Patras about Ver-Vassel and granted supplies, gold, and weapons to the enemy people of Vask. But I had no idea that Veretians served at the border of Ver-Tan."
Sorem lowered his face and pressed the blankets over his body.
"They were there..." — the man said, tensing a muscle in his jaw — "Vishkar told you, didn't she?"
"Who were them?" — Laurent asked, briefly placing his hand on the chair arm and speaking softly as he narrowed his gaze as if sharing a secret.
The emperor raised his retinas surrounded by yellowish green and tilted his face a little.
"Some soldiers were accompanying an important man from Vere. I was mistaken, I thought he might be one of Aleron's supporters. My mother found out the truth with great difficulty. He was not there on the King's orders. He was on the Regent's orders to ensure Ver-Tan was taken."
There was silence and Laurent furrowed his pale eyebrows for a split second.
"Who?"
Sorem responded assertively.
"Councillor Chelaut."
Damianos felt tension run through his body and realized it was a remnant of something that ran through Laurent like a blade.
"Chelaut?!"
"Yes." — Sorem replied.
Laurent opened his lips before closing them again and turning to the emperor.
"How were you poisoned?"
Sorem blinked irritated, as if tormented by a bad memory.
"Pari invited me to smoke hookah with her. She told me she had discovered important things about Vask, and she was suspicious of Vishkar's actions. I opened up to her, thinking that I could win back an ally among my people, but the tobacco she was using was probably laced with poison. Shortly afterward, I felt ill and went to the Kyros Nikandros' room to speak with Damianos, and what you already know happened."
Laurent gazed unblinkingly into those clear eyes. Damianos asked:
"Sorem, do you think Vishkar and Torgeir are also behind the clandestine rings?"
The emperor was silent for a moment and then replied:
"I don't know. But come to think of it, rings are places where a lot of money is moved, and if Vask and Patras are planning to amass gold and gather Veretian and Akielon allies against the Sister Nations, perhaps the secret rings could be a good investment."
Laurent raised an eyebrow thoughtfully and then asked:
"Do you think Torgeir could do shady business near Aegina and secretly send slaves to Vere from there?"
"Yes. It would be easy for him to use the port in that region. That would justify the slaves being brought to Arles by ship."
Laurent stared at Sorem.
"And what do you expect from Vere and Akielos?"
Sorem took some time before putting his palms together in the typical Vask salute and muttering in a broken voice as if he were in pain:
"In the name of Vask, Your Majesty, I ask Vere for political asylum. Skarva is no longer a safe place for me and I have nowhere to return. My wife has attempted against my life because she is in league with the fourth consort, her men, and Patras. She may also be behind the attempted assassination of Your Majesty, as she is in league with Torgeir."
Damianos glanced at the man's dark head, which bowed in supplication, and when the emperor raised his eyes, they were moist and red.
"If there has been an attempted coup against Laurent, the declaration of war by the Sister Nations is inevitable" — Damen said.
A sob left the emperor's lips and he put his hand to his mouth.
"I would like to prevent my nation from experiencing the suffering it experienced almost a decade ago, but..."
Sorem didn't finish his sentence and after a few minutes Laurent stood up:
"I must take your request to the Council, Sorem, and discuss the matter with King Damianos, but I will try to intervene in favor of your request."
The Vaskian bowed a few times and cupped his hands in front of his face to express his respect.
"I thank you, Your Majesty."
Damianos looked at Sorem for a while with his dark gaze and put his hand around Laurent's arm. The golden bracelet that shone on his olive-colored skin also appeared under the chiton.
"It was fortunate for us that you could come to Arles and leave Skarva without being stopped by the men of the realm, for Vishkar did not want you to leave Vask..."
Sorem agreed and said:
"It was a good idea to use one of Belloy's routes, which I'm already used to. I'm so sorry for what happened in Vask, Exalted. I'm sorry for Yuliya and Yelena, the twin daughters of the Empire, who were left on Skarva by a reckless mother, and the girls will grow up at war because of her. I love them as if they were my daughters..."
Damen paused for a moment, looked at the man, and stated in a firm voice:
"We must go now. Rest well, Your Imperial Majesty."
As the Akielon and the Veretian kings closed the door behind them, the two men exchanged a long, unspoken look. Damen touched Laurent's hand and felt it grow cold between his fingers. Then, the Veretian relaxed his stiff shoulders a little, as if taking two heavy saddlebags off his back.
"Damen..."
"I know."
The Veretian king took the lead and said to one of his guards:
"Tell the Council members I'll be late for the meeting."
"All right, Your Majesty!"
It was only a few minutes before another soldier, wearing the livery of the Royal Guard and the star of Vere on his chest, also appeared before the Veretian king and reached him under the stone arch. He was one of the older soldiers with a stern expression and a forehead furrowed by deep creases.
"Your Majesty, we have found Councillor Chelaut. He was wandering near the lake. The councillor was drinking wine, smoking, and looked confused..."
Laurent replied with a stern face:
"Take him to a separate room. Don't let him talk to the Council and don't put any pressure on him. I'll speak to him after I've taken care of an extremely urgent matter..."
When Damen and Laurent reached the Patran wing, Patran hostility still prevailed, and without announcing themselves, the two kings opened the double doors to King Torgeir's chambers.
The room had hardly changed since their departure. Torveld and Erasmus had already left, but Vishkar stayed behind. She was sitting on the carpet, resting her head of straight, short, dark hair on the Patran king's lap. She looked like a little girl, but the look lasted only a moment before she straightened up and assumed an alarmed posture.
Damianos slammed the door behind him and locked it firmly and definitively.
"What do you want now, Laurent of Vere and Damianos of Akielos?" — Torgeir asked, standing up and fumbling for his belt.
"To finish what began years ago." — Laurent replied with a tense voice.
Vishkar, her eyes sunken like jewels in a pit, said, touching Torgeir's with his very white fingers:
"What do you want from us, Laurent?"
"A war." — the Veretian replied, fixing his icy blue gaze — "A war of Sister Nations against Vask and Patras."
Chapter 4: The Sanpelier's Dragon
Summary:
Ancel and Lord Berenger carry out the mission assigned by Laurent and Damen.
Chapter Text
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j_WfWsSRbTk
*Chapter with references to the short stories 'Pet' and 'Green, But For a Season' by C.S.Pacat.
Ancel slept through the night while Lord Berenger kept a lamp burning in the carriage and turned his attention to a bundle of papers he was leafing through on his upholstered seat.
Lord Berenger didn't seem bothered by the bumpy road as the carriage rumbled over uneven stones and puddles, unlike Ancel, who had put a feather pillow under his face to rest.
When the pet woke up yawning, he blinked its green eyes, pulled aside the velvet curtain, and looked out at the road.
The carriage had been traveling all night and the early morning was quite dark, with a thin mist in the landscape of trees and vineyards that stretched across the beaten earth of the distant small houses.
At Chastillon, six soldiers joined the group and flanked the spoked-wheeled carriage.
"I can't believe you've been reading that boring paperwork all night, Berenger," Ancel commented, closing the curtain again and adjusting the stole over his shoulders.
Berenger smiled without lifting his dark, warm eyes.
"I have to keep the business in Varenne in order, but I've been able to sleep for a few hours."
"You should sleep longer. The king paid you a handsome sum to go to Barbin, and we're on a tour."
Berenger seemed amused and glared at Ancel.
"We're not here for the king's donations, we're here to help him. And I must keep my affairs in order if you want to continue enjoying the luxuries, silks, and jewels you love so much..."
Ancel took a small, carved mirror from his mother-of-pearl box and stared at his reflection, scanning his eyelids with the tip of his finger.
"As if I would believe that all this paperwork has anything to do with me and not with the rescued slaves you accepted in Varenne as field hands, merchants, and servants, Berenger."
A break was taken during the morning so the horses could rest and Jean, the coachman, and the soldiers could sleep. The chosen location was a well-appointed inn with a pretty façade, well-tended flowerbeds, and other parked carriages.
Lord Berenger patted Jean on the shoulder, dismissed him, and instructed him to go to the room he had rented from the inn’s owner. The courtier himself took care of the horses and led them to the stables at the back of the inn.
In the stable, other animals were already standing in the hay and sticking their heads into the brass feeders filled with zucchinis and carrots. Berenger smoothed the manes of the two animals and left them in the horses' groom's care.
As they went to the inn's tavern, Ancel hopped a dark, greenish mound before the stable entrance and lifted his velvet cloak so he wouldn't soil the hem.
"I'm sure that if you could choose, Berenger, you would have been born a horse..."
Lord Berenger replied and put his arm around Ancel:
"I like horses. My father was a horse lover and I enjoyed walking through the stables with him to learn the names of the breeds, the characteristics, and the care of the animals."
Ancel, forcing the Veretian courtier to dodge another trap set by the horses, replied:
"You're lucky. My father was a crook and my mother didn't talk much about him, but as far as I know, he was in some business that had to do with oxen and cows. And the poor fellow wasn't exactly the prettiest creature. He had a face like an ox himself, as far as I know..."
Berenger walked on with Ancel at his side and said:
"I see. So, you got your beauty all from your mother."
‘But the business head came from my father’, Ancel thought.
The inn was tidy, and the beams in the courtyard were painted white to make the place more inviting. A stag was roasting in the flames of the wood fire, and behind it stood closed barrels lit by lighted lamps. A slender young man walked around serving customers at tables with pewter mugs filled with hot drinks.
The food smelled deliciously, and Lord Berenger turned to the tavern boy, who had a squint eye and rather impaired teeth.
"Did you take the meals of the men who arrived with us to their rooms?"
"Yes, sir," he replied promptly, "would the gentlemen like something to eat?"
Lord Berenger opted for a cup of mulled wine with white bread, while Ancel chose the fruit tart with honey, milk, soft cheese, slices of bread, cider, a boiled egg, and grapes. Finally, he ordered a small bowl of soup with chicken and potatoes.
"He eats with a big appetite. He must be the expensive type..." — the tavern boy commented as he cleared the plates and lingered a little on the side of the table where Ancel was sitting.
The young man's gaze was a little absorbed in the luxury that covered the Veretian pet and his jewelry. There was also a distant admiration for Ancel's beauty and shiny aura.
For his part, Ancel, still nibbling on a piece of chicken bone with his hands, glared at the tavern boy with his green gaze and took the remark personally, growling:
"Are you paying for what I eat, anyway?"
The tavern boy excused himself and left, blushing as he balanced all the plates he had collected from the meal on a tray. Lord Berenger raised his eyebrows.
"Did you need this?"
"Well, how is he supposed to learn?" replied Ancel, taking a piece of chicken wing from his bowl and placing it on the saucer before Berenger. "Eat some more. You've lost weight since the ring episode in Arles. Your jacket is baggy."
Lord Berenger stroked his hands over his clothes, smoothing the fabric and seeming to pay attention to himself for the first time in weeks. He followed his pet’s example and nibbled on the meat, savoring the not-too-greasy taste. Finally, he spoke:
"It was good. I think I'll order some soup for myself too."
As soon as Lord Berenger finished his sentence, Ancel raised his hand and snapped his fingers. The inn boy materialized next to him with a smile.
"More food? A full cake perhaps?"
"A soup for my master," Ancel said, pointing at Berenger.
Lord Berenger smiled. He liked it when Ancel took the lead and moved things along with his confident, relaxed gestures.
The pet crossed his legs and played with the cup as he swirled the remaining milk and honey. A few men sitting at nearby tables stared at the Veretian young man with interest, admiring his beauty draped in exquisite silk.
"We should go traveling more often," commented Ancel.
Lord Berenger asked:
"Aren't you happy in Arles?"
"The capital is fun, but many noblemen have traveled to Akielos since the borders between the Sister Nations were opened. I've never seen the sea."
Lord Berenger propped his chin on his hand and commented:
"I have seen the sea at Ladehors. It is fascinating. I'll take you there in the future, as well as Akielos too, if I have the opportunity. The Kyros Nikandros has invited us to visit his estate in Ios."
Ancel moved his face and looked thoughtful.
"There are stories that water dragons live in the Ellosean Sea and fire dragons live under the red earth of Sanpelier. Akielon soldiers saw them in the war, but only those who speak with wild beasts and are pure of heart can communicate with the fierce dragons without their faces being eaten or burned."
Lord Berenger took a sip of his mulled wine and smiled.
"There are no such creatures, Ancel! They're just stories parents tell their children to scare them."
Ancel shrugged his shoulders.
"My mother told me these stories, but many of the boys in the brothels of Sanpelier have told them too. Just because you don't see dragons doesn't mean they don't exist. I like to imagine things."
Ancel fell silent as the tavern boy brought a ceramic bowl of steaming soup and set it down before Berenger. The men looking in Ancel’s direction whispered among themselves, discussing how lucky Lord Berenger was to have the most handsome young man in the tavern eating with him.
The pet blinked his bright eyes before gathering his courage and talking about something he had kept putting off, not bothering to change the subject:
"What will happen when the pet contracts are abolished?"
Berenger stirred the broth with a silver spoon, paused, and stared at Ancel. Then he said:
"If the pets’ abolition is proclaimed by the king, nothing will change between us. I will continue to be responsible for you and support you if you still desire my company..."
Ancel took the last sip of his drink, placed the empty cup on the walnut table, and frowned slightly.
"But what will we be?"
Lord Berenger blew on the broth before he spoke:
"There is a directive that we hire pets as servants and..."
Ancel rolled his eyes and said:
"What a terrible fate! I am the best prostitute in Vere. I can't end my days as a servant with a broom and mop in hand in Varenne. It would be an infinite scarcity..."
Lord Berenger sipped his soup before asking:
"Then what do you want to be?"
"I'm a prostitute..."
Lord Berenger twitched the corners of his lips and wiped them with a napkin.
"You haven't been a prostitute since you moved in with me, Ancel. We know that. And you're not a pet either."
Ancel looked around and his attention met the eyes of the men staring at him. One of them had a handsome, angular face and blond hair framing it. The man smiled at Ancel, but Ancel didn't smile back.
"What am I, then? What are we, Berenger?"
The Veretian courtier lifted his dark gaze and touched the young man's hand on the table.
"You're free to be whatever you want to be, Ancel. And what we are was said the day we put all our belief on the Crown Prince of Vere."
Ancel proudly lifted his chin a little and said with a smile:
"The king said I am smart and I should attend some Council meetings. I managed to read the king's letter almost all by myself."
Berenger nodded.
"You are indeed smart. I always knew that, Ancel. Your reading has improved greatly."
"If I can read better, do you expect me to behave like the slaves of Akielos and recite poetry to you in your bed, Berenger? Do I have to read Isagoras naked after all?"
Berenger frowned and shook his face as if the idea disturbed him.
"No. I don't wish you to learn to read because of me, Ancel. I want you to learn letters and math for yourself. Maybe you do enjoy learning and have fun with it. Maybe you're also interested in something new since the entertainment at court has changed a lot."
Ancel saw the blond man who had been staring at him walk past behind Berenger's chair, still looking at him.
"Math is easier," Ancel replied, avoiding looking at the stranger and drawing undesired attention. "I had to be able to do a bit of accounts because I was dealing with money and it was common in Sanpelier for some customers to try to cheat me. But letters are difficult."
"I can help you if you need it," Berenger replied after chewing his food.
Ancel was silent for a while, then he tilted his handsome face and asked, trying to get an accurate answer to his request:
"Am I your lover, Berenger?"
The Veretian courtier nodded thoughtfully.
"Among other things, yes, you are my lover..."
Ancel insisted.
"I don't really know what I'll be after the abolition."
Lord Berenger took a deep breath before answering:
"You'll be whatever you want to be, Ancel. You are free."
The word "free" sounded beautiful in the mouths of Lord Berenger, King Laurent, and some of the courtiers of Arles, but in Ancel's life, it was a name that stood for hardship and poverty. He remembered feeling free as a child, twirling a flaming baton in a crowded square, collecting coins, and having an empty stomach.
Ancel remembered the hard days and his first time. A merchant had watched him behind the flames of the fire, hours before his profession changed and his rise began. The exchange of favors started when the man put his arm around his shoulder, slipped a coin into his pocket, and whispered in his ear:
" I'll pay to have your mouth on my cock. I'll pay even more if you let me into you. I'll pay double if I cum inside you. "
"You have to pay me extra. I've never done that before," Ancel had said, half an hour later to the merchant, feeling his throat scratchy, before undressing for the first genuine time of the other eleven.
Ancel was aware of the frayed, unstitched hems of his sleeves, every empty, untied eyelet of his shirt, the patch on his shawl, and the ashes on his hands and cheeks from the flames' show.
"How old are you?" the man asked, unbuttoning his pants in the small, stuffy room at the back of the grocery store that doubled as storage.
"Sixteen," the boy replied, running up the numbers.
"Lie down on your stomach," the man ordered, pointing his chin to the improvised straw bed.
At the end of the uncomfortable and painful fuck for Ancel, the merchant put on his boots while sitting on the bed, and spoke:
"You're too pretty to be doing circus acts in a square. I can introduce you to a friend who has a store. It's just a house with a few boys like you. Nothing special. What do you think? "
Freedom was a ruler-drawn ascent to bring some logic to the emptiness and instability. Freedom had never offered Ancel many choices. It gave him fire acts, and he was the best at it. It gave him prostitution, and he had become the best at that too.
But being the best wasn't enough because living in a harsh world with no one to look after or feed you broke anyone in the end.
After his first time, as he left the grocery store behind him, Ancel felt a rage brewing in his stomach, heating him from the inside out. He could feel the bile rising in his throat and the acid burning in his windpipe. He remembered the merchant’s invasive hands and breath, his own body reacting to the inevitable, and he tasted the viciousness with his whole body until he shoved it inside. Until the next time. And the next time.
Freedom was like a hot prison that consumed souls with uncertainty.
At the tavern, Lord Berenger paid for the meals before rising.
Ancel put his arm around the courtier's as the tavern boy pointed to the staircase leading to a balustraded hallway upstairs, and handed him a key.
"Room twelve."
The two men made their way to the stairs and Ancel looked up briefly to stare at the blond-haired customer, whom he knew had been watching him since they entered the inn.
The man looked libertine with his jacket taken off. He rolled his shirt cuffs up to his elbows.
Lord Berenger was distracted, but Ancel was not. He saw the customer intentionally bump the courtier’s shoulder, spilling wine from his pewter cup over Berenger.
"Oh, forgive me, my good lord!" the stranger apologized with a falseness that irritated Ancel as he eyed the Veretian pet from head to toe.
Lord Berenger looked uncomfortable and dazed as Ancel stepped forward to wipe the courtier's jacket with the embroidered handkerchief he had taken from his pocket.
"…Can I pay for the damage, Lord...?" the customer asked, waiting for Berenger to say his name.
“Don’t worry about it..." Berenger replied, twitching the corners of his lips and walking back towards the stairs beside Ancel. He didn't give the stranger his name.
"Asshole..." — Ancel cursed quietly, putting the wine-soaked handkerchief in his pocket and stroking Berenger's jacket with his hands — "I'll get the stain out."
The room Lord Berenger had rented was a modest chamber where they would rest until the afternoon when they would continue their journey. Laurent had instructed them not to travel in the morning when the roads were busy, but in the second half of the day to maintain discretion and security.
Ancel looked at the stain on Berenger's jacket as the courtier took off his boots to rest a little on the clean bed.
"Forget it, Ancel. Come and get some sleep too. You must be tired."
The pet replied:
"I'm not tired. And I can take care of it, even though you have ten other identical jackets and we've talked about you trying blue and green instead of this boring brown. All I need is lemon and salt."
Ancel went into the adjoining bathroom to wash his face and when he returned, Lord Berenger was already asleep. The pet covered his master with the blanket and was pleased that the courtier was getting some rest.
Ancel then went downstairs and returned to the first floor.
The tavern boy called Balain, who was standing behind the counter, turned to Ancel. The innkeeper, an older, fat man, had joined the young man and was also serving the tables.
“Still hungry?” Balain asked Ancel and bared his jagged teeth.
"No," Ancel replied sourly, "I need lemon, lard soap, and salt to get the wine stain out of my master's jacket."
"At your service," the boy replied behind the counter.
Ancel looked around and saw that the group of men who had been watching him were still in the tavern. The man responsible for spilling wine on Lord Berenger’s jacket raised his mug towards the Veretian pet as their eyes met. The men next to him chortled conspiratorially.
"Hey, who are they?" asked Ancel to Balain.
The tavern boy let his squinting gaze wander around the place, scrutinizing the customers as he cut a soap bar with a sharp knife.
"Important people..." — the boy replied, lowering his tone — "People connected to royalty."
Ancel frowned and looked at the posture, the good manners despite the bohemian lifestyle, and the lavish spending of the men indulging in alcohol like there was no tomorrow. They were all drunk before noon.
They reminded Ancel of the young aristocrats who sometimes frequented the brothels of Sanpelier, throwing gold coins in the air and indulging in what they called cheap pleasures; unfettered, exotic, and charitable.
Ancel hated these customers. Perhaps, he also hated himself a little, as he picked up the coins thrown in his direction and rolled under the brothel’s furniture.
"Who's the richest man here?" was the question Ancel learned to ask in the brothels of Sanpelier.
The richest was always one of the young aristocrats who didn't let themselves be fooled and had their own pets at home. They just wanted to show off a bit and tell when they returned to court that they had fucked some provincial whores for a pittance and that they could do things that neither the pets nor their slaves would allow.
Ancel used to stare at the customers behind the coins flying in the air with the Regent's profile stamped into the hard, cold metal of the money, just as he now stared at the men watching him from the other side of the tavern through the dust particles floating in the sun.
Ancel's stomach burned a little and he thought that perhaps the hot soup had not done good to him.
"Who is the richest man among them?" the pet asked, as he wanted to know who was in charge of the group.
Balain moved his face and pointed with his chin at the straw-haired man who had spilled wine on Lord Berenger’s jacket.
"He is said to be the cousin of one of the King's Councillors. His name is *Chauvin."
Ancel frowned.
"Chauvin?"
Chauvin was not such a common name.
Lord Berenger had visited the soldiers in the barracks the day after the Daisies' Street ring’s dismantling and presented Jord with an expensive bottle of wine.
"Here. Thank you for protecting Ancel and me last night. I know it's no big deal. But this is just a thank you."
Indeed, Jord had knocked down six men and stood in front of the courtier and the pet before a larger group of men showed up and pushed him a short distance from the ring.
In the barracks, Ancel stood next to Lord Berenger and Jord while they sat at a small, rustic wooden table and talked about the old and new times in the capital. The pet had already become accustomed to Berenger's manner. As they walked through Varenne, the courtier stopped at every corner and chatted with the farmers, the merchants, the neighbors, and the horses.
Jord told how delighted he was to see the royal banners unfurled at the entrance to the barracks. He proudly touched the Star of Vere badge on his chest and remembered with bitterness the time when the red of the Regency touched every corner of the palace like spilled blood.
"There was a cousin of Councillor Audin named Chauvin," Jord began. "He was a bastard who crawled up the Regent's ass and served in his guard. Chauvin made life hell for the men serving in the Prince's Guard and joined the Regent in trying to disband young Laurent's men. I was even unjustly imprisoned after that bastard spat on me. He also peed on Huet's bed. Fortunately, the prince found a way to expel him from the court and send him back to Marches." Jord leaned over his wooden bench, spat on the floor and scolded, "Damn! I would have stuck my sword up Chauvin's ass if he hadn't been expelled from court."
In the inn, Ancel blinked his green eyes and observed the group unobtrusively before turning to the counter where Balain was attending him.
"Where is he from?" the pet asked, pretending not to care as he pulled a few bronze coins from his purse.
"It seems he lived at court for a while and served in the Regent's guard before being sent to the Marches. He is traveling with his men."
Ancel nodded and got the answer he wanted, while Balain put a few spoons of salt in a cloth bag.
Meanwhile, Chauvin stepped up to the counter, approached the innkeeper, and placed his ringed hands on the damp wooden countertop.
"Another cup of wine."
The fat man, who was drying a cup with a napkin, interrupted his work to serve the customer. Chauvin didn't need to go to the counter. All the customers had to do was snap their fingers and their tables were promptly served.
Chauvin leaned his arms lazily on the tabletop and turned to Ancel.
"Hi, beauty!"
Ancel lifted his face and did not respond to the greeting, but rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the package Balain was preparing.
"... My companions and I have noticed you. Your jewels... and all this silk. Where are you from? From Arles?"
Ancel remained silent and Chauvin persisted:
"...Is the man with you your master? You're too handsome to be the pet of a man like that..."
The red-haired young man grimaced, furrowed his eyebrows, and pursed his lips in irritation.
"I'm not a pet and the one I'm with is a real man! A little shit like you has no idea what that is. Don't you dare talk about him!"
Chauvin smiled and held his hands in front of him as if to defend himself against an attack.
"Calm down, redhead! I didn't mean to insult you. If you're not his pet, then what are you?"
"I'm his friend, you idiot!"
Balain, who had just set aside two lemons for Ancel, looked up and the innkeeper also turned around with a tense expression.
Chauvin laughed with a mocking smile.
"No, my dear, you're not his friend. This man has paid for everything you've eaten, and to be his friend, you should be a nobleman too. If you talk like that and eat with your hands like an animal, as I saw you do earlier, you're more like a slave..."
Ancel felt like stepping on the man's foot. King Laurent cursed more than any brat when he was angry, and he drank soup from the bowl when he was with his soldiers. What did the idiot know? King Laurent had done well to expel Chauvin from the capital.
But Ancel could not mention the king's name, lest he jeopardize his mission, nor the name of Berenger. He closed his lips and almost bit them.
Chauvin continued:
"... Although it is customary for Vere’s slaves to be fed by their masters. That leads me to believe that you are a prostitute without a contract because the man who was with you did not put food in your mouth..."
Ancel took a deep breath, turned his attention to the beams and the ceiling, and searched within himself for some patience before replying resignedly:
"Fuck off!"
“How much is the lay? I can pay for your company for the whole afternoon,” Chauvin asked, ignoring Ancel’s words.
Ancel didn't answer, but he swatted the man's hand away when he tried to slide his fingers into his earrings.
"... You're the kind of exotic beauty I like. I have a merchant friend. I can introduce you to him..."
Of course, Chauvin had a merchant friend. After tasting Ancel to the bone, he would pass him on to a brothel owner who also would taste him and then serve him on a tray to hungry customers who also liked to feast on exotic young men lying face down. That's how it worked.
The pet raised his voice and said through clenched teeth:
"I said fuck off!"
Chauvin made his annoying gesture by moving his hands before his face and, laughing as if he wasn't concerned. Then, he turned to one of his men, who walked past him and whispered something private.
As Ancel gritted his teeth and shook his jaw, he stared at the pewter mug the tavern owner had placed on the counter while he took care of other cups. It only took a second for Ancel, remembering Jord, to snort the snot out of his nostrils and spit into the mug with enviable accuracy.
Balain, who had just finished tying Ancel's package with a string, suppressed a nervous laugh as he watched the scene with wide eyes.
As Chauvin turned to fetch his wine and returned to his table with his friend, he took a sip and said:
"Sparkling wine, just the way I like it," and as he raised the pewter cup towards Ancel, he said with cynical flattery: "Excuse me, bitch."
Ancel trudged up the stairs in his high-heeled boots and returned to his room at number twelve. As he walked down the balustraded corridor, the Veretian listened to the perverse and vile conversations the men at their table were having, making obscene gestures with their hands as they told stories.
Ancel did not understand why he felt so uncomfortable in the presence of these men, nor why the tone of their conversation made him uneasy. When he had moved to Arles with Lord Berenger, the courtier had spent most of his time sequestering himself in secret meetings with the prince and his allies. Ancel amused himself by flirting with the other courtiers and making lewd jokes. He strolled through the gardens and watched the nobles having intimate conversations with their pets in the bowers.
After all, Ancel had voluntarily blown the King of Akielos in front of several courtiers and was congratulated for his performance, which had made him the best whore in Arles. Ancel didn't really understand why this permissive atmosphere bothered him so much now. Perhaps he had become too accustomed to Berenger.
When he returned to room twelve, the young man concentrated on Lord Berenger's jacket and later, clad only in his white shirt of eyelets and lace, lay down under the covers next to his master.
The courtier stirred in his sleep, pulled the young man close, and took him in his arms. Berenger opened his eyes briefly and closed them again, murmuring in his sleep:
"Is everything all right?"
Ancel moved his green eyes and touched Berenger's leg with his feet.
"Am I your friend?"
Lord Berenger made a noise in his sleep, not understanding the question.
"I am your friend, my lord?" Ancel repeated, somewhat uneasy.
Then the courtier opened his warm brown eyes and looked into Ancel's pale face, which was very close to his. The pet had undone his braid and his red hair fell into his face and onto the pillow.
Berenger stretched out his fingers and felt the redhead's cheekbones, on which there were a few pale freckles. He kissed them tenderly and hugged him again.
"Of course, you're my friend, Ancel."
Under the covers, Ancel snuggled into Lord Berenger's embrace, closed his eyes, and smiled. He felt the warmth of his master's body against his own and felt sleep overtake him, lulled by the noise, the slamming of doors, and the neighing of distant horses.
The burning in his stomach subsided.
When they left eight hours later, Lord Berenger put on the brown jacket folded over the back of a chair in the bedroom. He felt the dry, unstained fabric and said, “That's impressive! What did you do?"
"A secret between me and the tavern boy Balain."
"You didn't have to do that, Ancel..."
The pet tied his long hair into a high ponytail and replaced the silks of his clothes with dark velvets. For jewelry, he now wore only a golden necklace with a tiny pendant around his slender neck. A gift that Berenger had bought him on a walk in Varenne.
"I made it because I wanted to. When Parsins isn't around, I'm the one who takes care of you."
Lord Berenger turned to his pet, kissed his forehead, and said as Ancel blushed:
"Thanks."
After the two Veretians had paid the price of the rooms at the tavern counter, Balain lingered for a while as his boss ordered the groom to prepare the horses.
"Hey, milord, that man asked for you," the servant said to Ancel and winked at him.
Lord Berenger frowned.
"What man?"
"The man who was drinking here this morning. He left but tried to get your names out of my boss. My boss was forced to tell him who you were because he insisted he was connected to the Council of Vere."
Lord Berenger was traveling under the name Ancel had suggested — Lord Arten. And Ancel traveled under the name of his straw-colored sable mare named Ruby.
As they entered the carriage, where Jean was already waiting for them, and also the soldiers on their horses surrounding the carriage, Ancel whispered:
"That's Chauvin, the lousy cousin of Councillor Audin from the story Jord told us."
"How do you know that?"
"It doesn't matter. I'm just glad we don't have to see him anymore. Let's just go."
During the afternoon ride, Berenger returned to his papers after a long time, and Ancel began to help his master with something that would distract him.
"Mark all the people with the same surnames on this list," the courtier instructed him, handing him a quill and dark ink. "This will be a great help to us."
At first, it took Ancel a while to get used to reading the different surnames and he spent some time putting the letters and syllables together. But then he started to move his hands and marked a star next to the names.
“Are these slaves from the same family you're trying to keep together in Varenne, by any chance?"
Lord Berenger was reading a document. He nodded and raised his eyes briefly.
"Yes. Whole families have been abducted and the king and some courtiers are trying to reunite them in one country so that they can start again together. Lady Vannes could locate a lost boy in Arran and brought him to his mother and sisters in Lys."
Ancel lingered for a while, looking at the courtier with warm, focused eyes. Ever since he had met Berenger, it had been customary for the lord to spend nights working on paperwork or reading poetry in his spare time.
For a long time, the pet classified these documents as boring, endless blah-blah, and too serious and did not question their content. As he read them, their dimension became clearer.
"I'm finished here. You can give me another paper," Ancel declared proudly.
As the sun began to set, Ancel half-opened the velvet curtain of the carriage and saw a light rain begin to fall from the gray sky, misting the windows. Dark clouds were interspersed with flashes of light that could be seen like veins on the horizon.
The pet leaned out the window and saw that the soldiers were still hot on their heels. Even further behind them, another carriage was driving along the bumpy dirt road.
The rain became heavier as night fell and one of the soldiers rapped on the carriage door with his knuckles. The horses and men were soaked and the ground was muddy and slippery.
"Lord Berenger, we must stop at an inn until the rain stops. We'll arrive in Barbin by noon tomorrow at the latest."
Berenger nodded and felt the cold raindrops seep into the carriage. They stopped in front of a more modest inn than the last one. This time Ancel and Berenger did not linger in the tavern full of travelers, but went straight to their room and enjoyed a warm meal in front of the fire after a long bath.
Ancel wore a simple shirt and his hair was still in a ponytail. Lord Berenger put his work aside and helped the Veretian pet who had brought his school notebooks for the journey.
Ancel had a large handwriting that took up a lot of space on the pages, and he wrote too vigorously, leaving deep marks on the paper. But he was careful and managed to keep his letters straight. There were only a few mistakes, which he quickly corrected when Lord Berenger pointed them out to him. In math, he was only distracted by one calculation and had to recalculate it, moving his fingers to make sure the sum was correct.
"You're doing very well. You learn very quickly." Berenger praised him, staring at him in the glow of the fire.
Ancel's retinas looked like melted jewels near the fireplace. The young man smiled as he felt his master's earthy eyes on him and blushed even more when Lord Berenger murmured and tucked a strand of his red hair behind his ear:
"When the sun rises in the sky of Skarva, the poisonous world becomes aflame/ They are the reddened hands of a lover/ It is not only the morning that rises in the dance of days/ But the man himself who thirsts for the caresses of the gods/ In his mirror eyes I see the sunrise/ In his eyes I am the dawn/ The world is what we have within us and before us/ The world, my love, is nothing, but a dream."
Isagoras. Lord Berenger recited Isagoras to Ancel, who blushed a little more, feeling that he lacked the words of contempt he had reserved for his master's favorite poet. He covered his face with the notebook containing the written pages, but Lord Berenger touched his face with his hand.
"I don't know anything about poetry." — Ancel said awkwardly.
Lord Berenger smiled approvingly.
"You don't have to understand something like that, you just have to feel it..."
Ancel touched Lord Berenger's hand, interlaced his fingers with his own, and snuggled a little closer to the fire. He didn't know if it was because of Isagoras, but he felt at ease as he leaned against Lord Berenger and listened to the sound of the rain pattering against the dark window panes.
Lord Berenger stared at the loose white shirt the other young man was wearing.
"Why don't you wear the silk and jewels you love so much? You even wear them to bed..."
Ancel blinked and his jaw stiffened.
"Don't you like me like this?"
"I like to see you happy. Is there something bothering you? You seem so quiet today."
The pet shook his face, not wanting to share his dark thoughts.
"You worry too much, Berenger..." — Ancel replied, touching the suede lacing of his master's cotton shirt and pulling it with delicate fingers — "Are you going to work on your papers tonight, or use this place where we have to spend the night to do something fun?"
Berenger paused. His gaze slid over the pet's warm, soft body and his white spread legs, inviting the touch.
When Ancel had begun serving Lord Berenger in bed almost two years ago, he had found the irregularity of their encounters strange. Normally, his former master, Lord Louans, had expected to be entertained many nights in a row, and the pet had bathed and oiled himself so that his master could slide into him as often as he wished.
But with Berenger, everything was different. Even after sleeping together, there were nights when the courtier would work through the night or, when he felt tired, would wrap Ancel in his arms and just rest by his side, as had happened at the other inn.
"Is there anything you'd rather I do or enjoy?" Ancel asked a week after they had sex for the first time as he sat on the bed in front of Lord Berenger. "I can cheer you up if you don't feel like it. Don't you want me...?" the Veretian said, sliding his hand to Berenger's groin.
Lord Berenger stared at the movement of Ancel’s fingers and blushed a little. He looked like a shy little boy as he replied, “I'm sorry. How could I not want to be with you, Ancel? The last few times have been great. You're excellent..."
Ancel smiled with private pride and tossed his flaming hair over his shoulders.
"Then...?"
Lord Berenger lifted his gaze for a second and then lowered it again.
"I don't have your knowledge in this area and I'm a bit... a bit..."
"Shy?"
The courtier nodded and replied:
"Besides... I don't know if that's what you want..."
Ancel ran his fingers through the lacing of his silk shirt and pulled it down to his shoulders.
"I thought I made myself clear how much I enjoy it. My reputation will fade if you reject me, Berenger."
"I just don't know how to know if you're in the mood. I don't know what it's like to have a lover. There have been a few attempts on my part in the past like a courtship that lasted a couple of months, but I, I... I'm a bit clumsy. I don't mean to... I'm not rejecting you, Ancel!" the man replied, getting all red.
"Then prove it. Or rather, prove me!" — the young man teased, taking off his shirt completely and showing himself naked in front of Berenger, who stared at him with uninterrupted attention.
There was no set schedule for when Berenger and Ancel slept together, and that was strange for a pet or a prostitute. It always happened naturally, and although they slept together often enough for Berenger’s shyness to diminish considerably and for the courtier to prove his desire, there were still nights when they just talked; nights when Ancel practiced his calligraphy while Berenger read, or they simply slept in each other’s arms.
At other times, when Ancel expected nothing and walked around the rooms in a fresh bathrobe and wet hair, Berenger would leave his work table and surround him with suggestive caresses.
"What do you want me to do to you?" Lord Berenger had once murmured as Ancel sat on his knees and untied the knot of his clothes after feverish kisses and touches.
With a tingle on his lips, Ancel replied, feeling dizzy under Berenger’s heated gaze. When Berenger showed his lust, the courtier seemed as focused as he had been with his books, and Ancel felt desired in a way he couldn’t remember ever being desired before. He had always fucked for money, but Berenger asked strange questions. Ancel always gave the courtier a piece of his mind too, but in those moments, he blushed. Deep down, he melted.
"I like it when my master pleasures me with his mouth... And when he pleasures himself with my body. I also like the feeling of giving my master pleasure..."
Ancel allowed Berenger to do these things to him, opening himself up more to the courtier and losing his self-consciousness as he moved his hips and moaned, giving himself to him.
This was a grave mistake for a prostitute, as Ancel had been trained in the brothels of Sanpelier.
So, coming in his master's mouth, as Ancel did, wasn't even on the agenda discussed by the prostitutes. Was Berenger too serious to spit in the bathroom sink instead of swallowing?
Something was wrong with that relationship. Ancel now enjoyed the modest parties Berenger threw for his entourage at political meetings, and he even started liking listening to some of the musicians or other artistic performances he brought along. He sat on Berenger’s lap and savored the architectural desserts, and now and then the master would ask if he was enjoying everything or not.
Giving presents was also a special affair. Lord Berenger sometimes invited the blacksmith unexpectedly, and the salesman showed Ancel the latest jewelry trends. Then there was the draper, who took Ancel’s measurements and provided him with luxurious clothes made from expensive fabrics. He also provided him with the new fashion of silk chitons with long, wide sleeves.
There was no rewarding pattern to the appearance of gifts, and the pet was often caught off guard and delighted to run his fingers through the luxury. Once, when Lord Berenger presented him with an extravagant ruby necklace, the pet waited for his master to return from dinner, half reclining on the walnut top of the courtier's desk, clad only in the jewelry and thigh-high lace stockings.
"Do you still think that luxury suits me?" the young man asked, running his fingers with red-lacquered nails over the rubies amidst all the boring papers and books.
Berenger's gaze fell on the shapely and very white forms of the red and white blur that was Ancel, touching him first with his attention. Then with his hands. And then with his whole body, pulling Ancel towards him by the back of his knees and showering him with adorable caresses.
As Ancel suspected, it was quite typical of Lord Berenger to want to fuck on his work desk.
Finally, there were the moments when Berenger recited poetry to him. When the two of them talked about the changes in the kingdom and the capital. The courtier would ask Ancel's opinion with interest, thinking about the topics brought up and resting his hand on his chin.
Their relationship was difficult to name, and now that the abolition of slavery was approaching, everything became even more confusing.
Ancel had never been paid to speak, study, listen to music, go for walks, listen to poetry, or receive fellatio. Nor for receiving jewelry without having to thank his master with a long blowjob and his experienced throat.
What were they anyway? What did a declaration of love between a master and a pet mean if they thought they would die at the hands of the Regent? What did it mean that Berenger kept emphasizing that Ancel was no longer a prostitute?
Was it possible that Lord Berenger could one day send Ancel away without a contract? Find a lover with a penchant for art and letters and order the red-haired young man to vacate his room.
Or did that mean he was now just his master's whore? In that case, were the jewels just insurance if he was released when he got old so he could start over somewhere new without wasting his time? The uncertainty tormented him and made his chest ache.
Lord Berenger stared at his pet at the inn, who lifted his long shirt and straddled him. Ancel’s legs were spread as he sat on the courtier’s lap. The young man’s long hair, tied back in a ponytail with a satin ribbon, shone in the light of the fire, and the scent of rose soap wafted from the young man’s body.
Berenger watched his pet's face nestle against his and felt his hair burn in the firelight.
The fire crackled and cast shadows on the walls as the two men kissed long and passionately.
"I want you," Ancel murmured in Berenger's ear, not understanding why his pulse was racing. He had invited men to fuck him before, without hesitation. "I want you to have me. I need to make love to you, Berenger."
Lord Berenger let his fingers slide over the other man's back and replied:
"I want you too, Ancel. I need to touch your body..."
In the glow of the fire, between the fur blankets beside the fireplace, Ancel searched for the merciless pleasure he could get out of men as he lowered his mouth to Lord Berenger's groin. He felt the gentle movement of the courtier's hips; he felt him harden against his lips; his murmured words; the touch of his hand; and Ancel stopped moving when Berenger asked them to lie down in opposite positions.
The customers of the brothels in Sanpelier and Ancel’s former masters would not condescend to him, making indiscreet faces of disgust at the mere idea of the act. The men did not want to pay to give pleasure but to obtain it. Lord Berenger was the first to use his mouth on the experienced Ancel, who prided himself on his fellatio skills. Berenger liked to give him this simultaneous and ultimate pleasure while Ancel stimulated him in a slow sixty-nine.
The pet groaned as he felt his master's mouth between his legs and sucked on the furrow in front of him, inserting his tongue and making Berenger's breathing heavier.
Ancel's skin burned with a fever as if he was about to catch fire. He savored the sensation of feeling pleasure as he gave pleasure. He could have exploded thermometers when Berenger inserted his finger into him while he was still caressing him with his mouth.
After some time of unquenchable, wet, and latent satisfaction, with mouths, tongues, and hands igniting a deep lust, Ancel smiled over his shoulder and offered his body to his master. Berenger let his lips glide over the pet's white neck, encircled by the golden necklace, and kissed the soft skin to the vertebrae as if he were playing the piano with his caresses.
The act proceeded slowly, with Ancel remaining on top at first until Lord Berenger took over and lay on top. He thrust into him slowly at first, until the pace increased and the two men had their limbs intertwined and were panting.
Ancel already understood that the moments of intimacy with Berenger were not performative. There were many kisses and the process was slow and leisurely until the thrusts reached a firm and strong rhythm. He felt his master bury his face in his chest, running his tongue over his pink nipples, teasing him until the pet lost control. He was so hot. Burning.
Ancel held tighter to the furs beneath him, feeling Berenger control his movements. Then Ancel slid his fingers over his cock and pleasured himself. He spread his legs and lifted his hips. He felt the pleasure engulf him as Berenger moved on his knees inside him.
Ancel was aware of his completely naked and feverish body, his rapid breathing and the moans that escaped his lips, the paleness of his skin, the goosebumps, and the sensitivity. He knew Berenger, the serious man who preferred reading to talking, was inside him.
Two years ago, when Ancel had tried to build a desirable persona for Berenger because he was seeking a contract extension, he had caught himself thinking that he should pretend emotional unpreparedness during the fuck beneath the thick layers of physical experience. Berenger would have liked to see some degree of innocence and be told that his bed was like nothing the pet had ever experienced before.
But Ancel did indeed always feel unprepared in his experienced body. There was an innocence when he melted under Berenger's loving murmurs and he thought things had never been like this before. Berenger was not a man of rings or from the brothels of Sanpelier. There was no place for his gentle nature in those dark caves.
When Ancel wrapped his arms around the courtier's body, his eyes were closed and he felt as if he might die, with his legs spread and all the subtle, beautiful sensations that come when two men allow themselves this intimacy.
"You're so good, Ancel..." Lord Berenger murmured into the young man's ear, his breathing heavy.
"I know I am. I know I'm good." Ancel moaned, his eyes still closed.
"I love you," Berenger murmured into his ear, blushing and hiding his face with youthful shyness in Ancel's red locks.
That happened sometimes. Berenger liked to say those words and wrap the joy in something that defied calculation and Ancel's experience.
So, the pet threw back his face, drove his lust to its climax, and released himself in a deep moan. Was he waiting for Berenger's words? He waited for the moment when the master crowned their fuck as something Ancel never had before. Berenger had discovered hidden virginity in the Sanpelier's prostitute and deflowered him every time.
Was love like the freedom proclaimed by Berenger? Gigantic, incomprehensible, and unpredictable. Somehow, perhaps everyone was waiting for these two words to come together, make sense, and free people from their self-imposed captivity for the rest of their lives.
As the pleasure reached Lord Berenger, Ancel wrapped the courtier's body in welcoming arms and let his master fill him with this kind of happiness at brief death.
He opened himself more. He surrendered completely and felt the natural force of the man who confessed love inside him. He felt himself flooded with this ultimate lust. Brutal. Sweet. Lord Berenger was good too. Very good. And Ancel loved him...
The two men vaporized in that embrace under the dying firelight, their limbs remaining entwined even as sleep overcame them after exchanging brief kisses and sharing the silence that love demands when it's comfortable and well received.
It rained all night and only stopped in the early morning. After they had bathed, breakfasted, and dressed, Lord Berenger hurriedly prepared for them to set off again.
The soldiers waited at the entrance to the inn for the courtier and the pet, their swords in their scabbards, while Jean saddled the horses.
Ancel, dressed in dark, inconspicuous traveling clothes, ran his hand over his neck, missing the thin gold jewel.
"I lost my necklace by the fireplace or in the washtub. I'll go and get it."
Lord Berenger was settling the bill with the innkeeper for the rooms and food. He turned and said:
"Never mind. I'll buy you a new one."
"No. It's a gift from you. I'll go get it and be right back."
"Are you sure you want to go alone? Wait until I've finished the bill, then I'll accompany you," Lord Berenger replied, pointing to the innkeeper calculating figures in a grimy notebook behind the tavern counter.
"I'd better hurry so we can be on our way again. Wait for me here."
Ancel hurried up the stairs, his high ponytail bouncing behind him. He entered the room where he had spent the night with Berenger. The servant responsible for cleaning the room hadn't yet arrived.
The young man preferred to search for the object first among the furs, pillows, and blankets near the ashes of the fireplace and examined the room with the flat of his hand on the floor.
He smiled as he found lost on the dark carpet a thin, golden necklace with a tiny peridot on its pendant. Relieved, the pet put the necklace around his neck and stretched his arms behind him to reach the clasp.
As he turned toward the door, Ancel stopped, his breath caught, and an unpleasant surprise made his heart freeze.
Chauvin stood at the door and closed it behind him. He spoke with his unnerving smile as he crossed his arms and displayed the sharp dagger he carried in one hand.
"Hi, beauty! What a lovely coincidence..."
Ancel took a step back and looked around. A commotion had broken out on the first floor.
"... Did you think I wouldn't recognize you without all the silk and jewels?"
The red-haired young man stared at the sharp blade of the dagger and the closed door. He took another step back.
"Coincidence, my ass! What do you want?!" — the pet replied, staring desperately at the barred window.
"Don't even think about escaping, you bastard!"
"My friend is down there!" Ancel replied nervously. "He'll come here and look for me. You'll see!"
Chauvin paused, scratched his angular chin with the point of his dagger, and pretended to think about the answer.
"I don't think so. My men will take care of Lord Arten. Or should I say..." — Chauvin's face twisted into a smile and he whispered — "...Lord Berenger?"
This time Ancel tried to run for the door, but strong arms roughly wrapped his waist and he was thrown onto the bed from which the sheets and blankets had been removed the night before.
A physical struggle ensued, with the pet attempting to kick the man in the groin until Chauvin raised his dagger and plunged it into the mattress very close to Ancel's cheek.
"Next time, I`ll cut your pretty face. Do you think I didn't recognize the king's men? Do you think we didn't hear about the breaking of the ring in Arles; that Laurent of Vere and Damianos of Akielos covertly infiltrated one of our brothels and were aided by the faithful Lord Berenger and his pet? There is no Lord Arten! With his Varenne accent and your striking red hair, it was easy to figure out who you were. We have a good communication network."
Ancel, who was lying under Chauvin, looked at the blade next to his head and asked:
"What do you want from me?"
"To ask you a few questions? I know you two are going to Barbin. One of my men already got it from the groom who looks after the horses here. Are you going to the ring in Verona to dismantle it? What does the king intend to do?"
Ancel felt Chauvin grab him roughly by the wrist. Downstairs he heard shouting and the sound of dishes being knocked over. His heart sank as he thought of Berenger.
"We're just going for a trip. This outing has nothing to do with the king!" the pet replied grudgingly.
Ancel felt Chauvin's hard cock rubbing against him through the layers of fabric and the sensation made hot bile rise in his throat.
"Oh, yes? And why are you traveling under false names and outside peak travel times? Why are you accompanied by soldiers armed to the teeth? I've been following you since the last inn..."
Ancel turned around in irritation, remembering how Chauvin had tried to elicit information from him and Berenger at the last inn. The young man remembered the carriage driving behind them on the road under the rain. He pressed his lips together.
"...If you don't start talking, I'll tear out your pretty eye..." — Chauvin threatened.
Ancel breathed shallowly and pressed his lips together. There was an uneasy silence as Chauvin waited for an answer but got none.
Breathing impatiently, the man lashed out and slapped the pet across the face, splitting his lips. Ancel coughed and tasted blood on his teeth, then felt the pain of Chauvin's hard rings on his mouth.
Ancel turned his face, his eyes flashing with rage, but he remained silent.
Chauvin pulled the dagger out of the mattress with a disappointed hiss, leaned over the pet, and forced a kiss on his mouth.
Ancel tried to keep his lips closed with a frown, even as Chauvin forced his tongue into his mouth. The pet made an agonized sound of despair in the seconds that the kiss lasted and moved his legs on the mattress as if he were in pain.
Chauvin pulled away and, after letting his tongue glide over his lips, said:
"I only wanted to do it while you`re still handsome. It's a shame to cut such a face open, but I think it'll make you talk..."
The man raised the dagger, put the blade to Ancel's cheek, and asked him again in a harsh voice:
"What will Berenger do in Barbin?"
Ancel's chest heaved and he felt the metallic cold on his skin. His stomach sank and he was paralyzed with fear, but he didn't open his mouth, even when the dagger penetrated his face a little, like a knife through soft butter. Blood oozed red and thin from the cut.
The door was violently pushed open by a foot and one of the soldiers who had accompanied them on the journey appeared next to a somewhat disheveled Lord Berenger.
The two men stopped and Chauvin looked at them, annoyed, as he spoke:
"I was having fun with your whore, Lord Berenger."
Ancel, seeing his master, felt the sob in his throat as Berenger ordered through clenched teeth:
"Let him go now!"
"I don't think so."
Chauvin stood up, grabbed the pet by the hair, and pointed the knife at his neck.
"One move and I'll plunge the dagger into his throat. If the soldiers try anything, the little bitch dies..."
Ancel felt his scalp ache as Chauvin's ringed fingers gripped him tightly.
The soldier looked at Lord Berenger, waiting for an order.
Lord Berenger stared anxiously at the blade and Ancel's wounded face. He raised his hands.
"Don't hurt him."
“Then tell the soldier to put his sword away,” Chauvin replied, pointing his chin at the soldier flanking Lord Berenger.
The courtier made a hasty motion for the guard to obey.
Chauvin grinned as he signaled the two unarmed men with his arrogant chin to move on.
"Let's take a walk downstairs. Do you like this foul-mouthed pet this much Berenger? He's not even a good kisser."
With harsh orders, Chauvin propelled Berenger and the soldier forward, forcing them to hold their hands in the air. Ancel was pushed towards the Veretian courtier, and with trembling red lips he stared at his master as he walked down the corridor and the stairs.
On the first floor, the soldiers serving Laurent seemed to have the upper hand over Chauvin's men, as shards of glass, broken tableware, wine, pewter cups, and food were strewn across the rough wooden floorboards.
Some customers huddled in the corners near the fireplaces, their eyes anxious and restless. Others were lying on the floor because they had been accidentally hit. The innkeeper, a small, frail man, hid behind the counter and hugged his wife.
"Drop your weapons! Or they die," Chauvin's voice commanded, looking directly at the soldiers who had escorted Lord Berenger and Ancel.
Since the Veretian guards were there to escort and defend the king's loyal courtier and his pet, they dropped their swords to the ground with a loud clang snarling, cursing, and looking at Chauvin and his men with rage.
“That's much better,” Chauvin said, shoving Lord Berenger into the middle of the tavern, and forcing him to sit down on an overturned chair that one of his men had pulled up. “You mean you all serve that cold whore of Vere who sleeps with that Akielon animal? I was expelled from the Regent’s Guard because of that scoundrel Laurent. It is naive of him to think that the men who served the Regent are all in the capital.”
Lord Berenger remained seated in his chair in the half-destroyed tavern where everyone was being held hostage. He looked around and met Ancel's gaze. The pet noticed a bruise on his master's forehead, visible in the brazier’s light.
There was an unspoken reason why Chauvin and his men had come out publicly against the king and threatened the courtier of Varenne. They did not want anyone to escape alive. This strategy was common among mercenaries and dishonorable men. When they finally got what they wanted, he and his henchmen would lock the place up and burn it down with the people inside.
Chauvin had an aura that wavered between coldness and fickleness. He seemed to be one of the aristocrats of Sanpelier, who rarely had limits or restrictions placed on him in his life. The man remembered spitefully Laurent's reprisals when the king was still a young prince. Even then, Laurent had a greater sense of justice than Councilor Audin's cousin could imagine.
“Come on, Berenger,” Chauvin began, propping his polished boots on another overturned chair.
"What do you want to know?" the courtier asked.
"Why do you want to go to Barbin?"
"We're just going for a trip."
"Oh, that's exactly what your pet told me, but something tells me otherwise,"— Chauvin replied, scratching his rough chin with the tip of his blade. "You have become famous, Lord of Varenne. What does the king intend to do in Barbin?"
While Lord Berenger was being questioned, Ancel’s green eyes lingered on the lamp still burning in the early, weather-darkened morning. A bottle of oil stood on a small table in the corner next to the stairs, and the meat that was about to be served to the customers for breakfast was roasting in the ovens.
Mapping.
The pet blinked and, subtly, loosened the velvet cloak that slipped over her shoulders. He took the fabric before it reached the ground.
Chauvin's gaze was fixed on Lord Berenger, and the gazes of his men were fixed on the surrendering soldiers.
"The king has nothing to do with my journey," Berenger insisted. "He has more important things to do than waste time with me."
"Laurent has meddled in our affairs and wants to do the same with the Ring of Verona!"
Lord Berenger pretended to be surprised:
"Is there a ring in Verona?!"
"Don't play dumb, or I'll stick a knife in your head to refresh your memory..."
The customers stood shivering around the unfolding scene. Most of them were merchants or travelers looking for work in nearby towns.
With fine discretion, Ancel slipped between the people and took a wooden cane from an old man. Hastily, he ran his index finger over his split lip and asked for silence.
Then his gaze met that of one of the soldiers, who frowned and discreetly paid attention to the pet. Ancel jerked his chin towards Berenger and hissed:
"When I tell you."
Chauvin plunged his eager dagger into the warped table and cursed.
"If you don't open your mouth, I'll kill everyone here. I swear to God!"
Lord Berenger looked around and swallowed hard when he saw the soldiers, old Jean, who had been dragged out of the carriage, the innkeepers, and the unfamiliar, frightened faces. At first, he didn't see Ancel, but he could notice him in his dark clothes slipping almost imperceptibly into a corner of the mud wall. The courtier discreetly widened his brown eyes and said:
"All right! The king ordered us to inspect the ring in Verona. We wanted to repeat what we did in Arles and enter the place disguised as customers."
Chauvin let out an angry growl, and Ancel took advantage of the attention he and his men gave Lord Berenger to step forward and sip the uncapped bottle of lamp oil, inflating his cheeks with the foul-tasting liquid. Then, with slow movements, he wrapped his velvet cloak around the cane, his face impassive and his eyes fixed straight ahead.
The old man, who had lost his cane, watched the pet’s movements quietly. When one of Chauvin's men was about to glance in Ancel's direction, the white-haired, bearded man coughed and pretended to knock a mug off the table. He was punished with a shove from the henchman.
“Who else is with you?” Chauvin asked Berenger.
"No one else came from Arles with us. We wanted to meet with some of the king's soldiers in Barbin."
Chauvin shook his face contemptuously.
"Don't you realize that this obsession you all have with the abolition of slavery is outrageous? How is Vere supposed to prosper? What are you going to do with so many whores running around the court like born aristocrats? What is the king to do with this scum who are only good for fucking?"
Lord Berenger answered with an annoyed look on his face:
"There are pets and slaves with more honor, loyalty, and worth than you could ever dream. The Council approves of young Laurent's decisions, and he is a progressive king with innovative ideas for his realm. Your cousin Audin supports the abolition..."
When Chauvin heard the Councillor's name, he reacted with controlled surprise:
"Well, well, it seems I wasn't the only one looking for names. This cat-and-mouse game is fun, isn't it? My cousin betrayed me because he would rather support that wretched prince than me!"
Lord Berenger replied:
"Councillor Audin supported Laurent when you, in league with the Regent, tried to disband the Prince's Guard. Did you think you were untouchable, Chauvin? The king chose the right men. Do you remember Jord, whom you loathed and spat on? He's one of Laurent's men, commands other soldiers, and wears the Star of Vere on his chest. He is loyal and one of the king's best soldiers! He marched alongside Laurent to overthrow the Regent!"
"SHUT UP!" Chauvin shouted and struck Lord Berenger with his heavy hand, his fingers encircled by thick rings.
Chauvin hated Jord, Huet, and the late Orlant. They had been the driving forces behind his demotion and expulsion. It didn’t matter the hell Chauvin had wreaked in the lives of these men.
Lord Berenger persisted, a trickle of blood running down his chin. His voice was angry and determined:
"You think you're such a big shot, but you're a shit, Chauvin! You're aristocratic scum. The shit the Regent left behind. The remnants of an old, barbaric world crumbling and left behind. You can set up a thousand rings. We'll smash them all! Long live the King!"
There was a hurried movement as Ancel glided to the stone oven where red meat and buttered pheasants were roasting on spits. He couldn't keep the strong-tasting oil in his mouth much longer and would pass out if he held out any longer.
"You'll pay for those words, Lord Berenger. I think I've already gotten what I wanted from you. Let's get this over with," Chauvin said, twirling the dagger in his hand.
Ancel sought the gaze of the soldier who accompanied him with an uneasy expression on his face and made a motion with his hand after lighting the fire on the traveling cloak wrapped around the end of the cane.
The guard broke free from the arm of Chauvin's man, elbowed the henchman in the stomach, grabbed him by the fabric of his shoulders, lifted him into the air, and flung him with tremendous force over a table, which broke under the weight.
There was a shout and Ancel's burning cane touched the clothing of another Chauvin's man who had moved through the crowd. The other soldiers broke away and began to beat the thugs.
Jean and the innkeepers armed themselves with frying pans and pots to strike.
Chauvin had Lord Berenger firmly in his grip and forced him to sit down. His dagger's metal shone. Ancel went over one of the tables and ran towards his opponent.
Chauvin smiled contemptuously when he saw the red-haired pet with his cheeks puffed out, without understanding why. He turned his gaze to the torch, thinking that his clothes would burst into flames like the man’s who had run through the inn’s door looking for water in the horse stalls.
He kept his distance, raised his dagger in the air, and said:
"Too late, you son of a bitch. Your master's gone!"
Ancel did not attempt to burn Chauvin’s clothes. Remembering his old circus act, he held the flaming torch close to his face and spat the lamp oil into the flame, tilting his flaming head slightly to shoot an orange fireball into the air.
Lord Berenger, sat on the chair, felt the heat on his face, and saw from below when the fire reached Chauvin's face and boiled his cheeks. The dagger fell to the floor with a sound.
The sun Ancel had created was beautiful, a living, hungry flame. A learned circus trick where the pet was also the best. There was a moment when everything lit up like lightning. The entire world was burning because of that fuel. The world was red.
Ancel, in his dark clothes, was a beautiful dragon breathing fire from the top of a battlement, Lord Berenger thought.
"I'm the best fire-breather," Ancel boasted at the age of ten among the boys in the square where he performed, his face dirty with ash, his bare feet on the red earth of Sanpelier, and his proud smile before he became the best whore in Vere.
Chauvin cried out, feeling the fire consume his skin as Ancel threw the cane into a dangerous, swirling circle of light. He caught it on its descent and burned Chauvin again, this time with the staff across his chest.
The dazed and burning man cried out, flinging himself through the door of the inn and throwing himself to the ground outside the tavern, where puddles of rain had collected on the mud during the night. A chicken running past ran away, clucking afraid.
In another turn, Ancel swung his stick, toying with the ever-present fire's threat. He burnt a henchman who tried to disarm him and kicked him. One of the king's soldiers put the man in a headlock and plunged his sword into him.
Ancel then put his hand to his throat and coughed up some of the remaining oil as Lord Berenger embraced him and pulled him out of the fighting area to the group where the customers, Jean, and the innkeepers were gathered cheering.
The soldiers disarmed the men one by one.
"Someone calls the authorities!" Jean shouted to one of the servants who rushed through the door.
Outside, Chauvin had stopped moving some time ago.
Lord Berenger held Ancel's hand tightly. He touched his cut face to the surface of the soft skin.
"Are you okay?"
The old man who had been stripped of his cane, clapping his hands alongside several other people, spoke:
"This kid is brave! I've never seen a stunt like that before. That was spectacular, young man! You gave the little bastard what he deserved."
Ancel smiled, blinked his green eyes, and said as he put his hand on his waist:
"See, Berenger? I'm a triumph!"
"Ancel..."
Lord Berenger collapsed and pulled the pet's face to his chest, unable to speak further. His voice was choked and his eyes burned. Ancel, understanding his master's feelings, remained silent.
"... I was afraid of losing you." — the courtier whispered in Ancel’s ear and cupped his face with his hands.
Ancel stared seriously at his master and looked visibly shaken.
"You won't get rid of me that easily, Berenger. I was the one who was afraid of losing you."
The local authorities from Vere arrived at the inn on horseback and arrested the men, who were tied up. Chauvin was still breathing but his condition was serious and he was taken to a treatment facility before being taken to prison.
The inn's groom was unfortunately found dead with his throat cut next to a stall in the stables. Lord Berenger paid a large sum to the innkeepers who set about cleaning up the place, putting up chairs, and removing the shrapnel with the help of the servants and some customers.
By the time they set off again in the morning, Ancel had rinsed his mouth with mint tea to wash the oily taste from his palate and eaten strawberries with sugar to remove the remnants of the unpleasant taste.
Lord Berenger had treated the pet's lips and face. Then Ancel also attended to his master into the carriage.
“Are you feeling better?” asked the courtier, while Ancel applied medicine to his swollen forehead.
"Hum. Chauvin and his men followed us from the previous inn. I thought they were just attracted to me, but they were suspicious of our mission. Jord will be pleased to know what fate has befallen that wretched bastard Chauvin."
"How did you know he was Councillor Audin's cousin?" Berenger asked, grimacing painfully.
Ancel prepared a piece of cloth to use as a bandage.
"I checked with Balain, the boy of the other inn. Chauvin had tried to approach me. He realized, of course, that I was not a member of the nobility and concluded that I was your prostitute. He invited me to spend the afternoon with him, but I declined..."
Berenger looked wroth.
"He what?!"
Ancel shrugged his shoulders.
"I refused him. But I can't blame him for realizing that I don't have the class or the good breeding of the courtiers. After all, I'm a pet, and even if I don't wear silks and jewels, my brothel caste is obvious..."
Berenger shook his head and took his attention briefly to the bustle of the road.
"You're not a pet anymore, Ancel..."
"Then what am I?" the young man asked, placing his hand on his lap, his voice sounding higher than he had intended.
Lord Berenger looked at Ancel. Green eyes stared at him from the opposite seat.
"...We sleep together, we walk together, and I take care of some of your affairs at the palace when I don't wake in the afternoon. We have meals together, we dance and talk for hours. You tell me about your plans and I listen to you. We listen to music together and you indulge my silly whims. You recite Isagoras to me! What are we, Berenger? What would we be without a contract?"
The pet’s lips and chin trembled. Berenger was now staring deeply at him. Ancel continued:
"...I don't want to be your servant! I don't want you to send me away when you get tired of me or when you find someone else. The contract is the guarantee that you want to be with me, the guarantee that you desire me! But without it, I'm just a prostitute living in your house and dependent on your handouts until you pass me on..."
Lord Berenger shook his face.
"I don't want you to be my servant, Ancel. I've only shared some of the king's strategies with you. You can't be that. And you're not a prostitute living with me either. Do you really think I want to pass you around like you're something I can dispose of?"
"You say you love me, but that doesn't make it any easier, Berenger!" the young man said. "The first time we thought we were going to die at the hands of the Regent, but you keep doing it in bed. You touch me in a way... Is it always like this with your lovers? I can't be a refined aristocrat, Berenger. I can only... be myself. I've slept with a lot of men for money. Many. Sometimes with more than one or two at a time. I've done things that would make you disgusted at looking at me. Things a good man like you'd be ashamed of!"
Ancel's voice broke, he lowered his face and wiped his cheeks with the cloth he was preparing to bandage Berenger. His eyes were nervous and his chest was moving, swaying.
Lord Berenger took a deep breath, and after taking almost a minute, he sat on the cushioned seat next to Ancel. Then, he touched his hands. They were cold. Ancel moved his damp face towards the window.
"Look at me," Lord Berenger said. "I know there were others in the past. I know what you did at Sanpelier and with the master who came before me. I don't care about the past, Ancel. When I say 'I love you', I mean it. It's been a long time since I've felt this way about anyone until I met you. Honestly, I guessed it would be only my fool dreams and me forever."
"You never tell me about your past! You're so serious and so proper and so upright!" Ancel sniffled.
Lord Berenger smiled.
"Do you think so? The past no longer exists, but if you want to know so much about it, there were only two people before you, Ancel. The first of them was a sudden youth passion at Varenne. He was a young courtier from Toutaine. I was completely crazy about him. So crazy that I lost myself. I forced myself to be in places I didn't want to be and to talk and laugh with people I didn't like, only to be by his side. I completely gave up on myself until I found out he was being courted by another nobleman at the same time. It's never nice to have a broken heart. I had to retreat to my estate for many months to get over this wound. I told him that I loved him, even though I was suffering so much. Yes, I loved him then. But it is gone. I don't think about him anymore. And I've learned that I can only be who I am. I don't know how to be any other way. When he was gone, it was just me. It was important to learn that lesson. I couldn't be anyone else, even if he didn't love me back. That kind of relationship was a terrible bargain."
Ancel sniffled as he thought of sixteen-year-old Berenger in Varenne, among books, horses, and a cup of simple cider that healed his lost heart. The image filled Ancel's heart with tenderness and he imagined him embracing the courtier and caring for him lovingly, inviting him to sunbathe in the garden.
Lord Berenger tucked a loose strand of Ancel’s ponytail behind his ear.
"...Then there was a man who was introduced to me by mutual friends. He read books, liked horses, preferred to live discreetly, and appreciated the arts. We had similar ideals and had a good conversation. He was a rich young man from Belloy..."
Ancel blinked his green eyes, thinking this was a true description of the chief rival that haunted his fears.
"You must have loved him very much," Ancel said enviously.
Berenger smiled:
"Why are you so sure about that? We courted for a few months. He was good company, but I valued his friendship more. There was no passion on my part. I didn't desire him. But I was a coward and let the relationship last. He was making big plans and I was the center of most of them. I had to take a step forward and end our relationship. He was very disappointed with me and I suffered as a result. For the first time, I found myself in the position of someone who hurts another person without meaning. That's when I realized that love is not a simple calculation. You can't create it or force it. You either feel passion or you don't."
Ancel remembered the first time he had presented himself to Berenger with silks and paintings. The courtier had refused him and traveled to Ladehors.
"...Then you came when I was looking for nothing but protocol. I had to go to the Regent's court, and a single man my age needed a pet as a chaperone. I went to that sad party searching for a young man who would be eager for a comfortable life and could understand my aloofness and belief in certain behaviors. Then I saw you in the garden of that house in Sanpelier. I saw you when you provoked those men, but I also saw you a little later among the flowers, eating candied fruit and smiling. You looked so dreamy. So full of life. So radiant. I had never seen anything so beautiful."
Ancel lowered his gaze, confused that Berenger had a memory of him that he hadn't retained. What had he been dreaming of at the time? Of luxury? Of his rise? Of Lord Rouart? Or was he thinking of nothing at that moment and was simply a young man of twenty?
"...I saw you in the ring. I saw what you tried to do to get an offer. I saw you stomp on all those men with the same courage that made you spit fire at Chauvin. I made the highest proposal because I couldn't help but take you with me."
Ancel shook his face.
"You didn't want me the first night, Berenger. And not after that either."
"I had an emerald in my hands. I didn't want you to force yourself to sleep with me, Ancel. I didn't want to pay you to put up with me. You're just a boy, and my ways irritated you a lot. I couldn't treat you like the aristocrats in the ring treat their pets, but you worked hard to help me at court, and I couldn't have survived in that snake den without your help."
Ancel sniffled and said:
"I thought for months that you despised me for being a whore. I was angry with you, Berenger! I wanted the most expensive bid in Arles so you could see how good I am..."
"No, Ancel, I've been watching you the whole time. I thought you were smart, funny, and sincere. I saw you talking to other courtiers and they all laughed at your jokes. Everyone only had eyes for you. I only had eyes for you. When Lord Droet asked me how you were in bed and told me he was bidding for you, I realized I was in trouble because I was dying of jealousy. When you and Damianos of Akielos did that thing in the bowers, I realized I was getting too caught up because my heart was hurting. And then, when we made love for the first time, Ancel, I was already completely in love with you. You're like no other man."
Ancel remembered the first few months he had lived at the court and how special he had felt because he could enjoy the luxury and wealth of the capital. But the next day, after sleeping with Berenger for the first time, he swallowed hard and realized that it wasn't Arles that made him feel special. It had never been the court.
"So, what do you want me to be?"
"For me, you are my suitor. That's how I see you, Ancel. I see you as my intended, my friend, my love, my beau. But I want you to feel free to choose whoever you want to be..."
Ancel felt a warmth and a surge of joy in his heart. His palms were hot. A beau. He had never had a beau before. It was ridiculous that he had fucked so many men and never had any deep relationships. Only recently had he discovered the feeling of fucking without money involved.
"A beau...?"
Berenger smiled, blushed, and nodded.
"If you want and if you..."
"I want to be your beau!" Ancel said with a glint in his eye and a genuine smile.
Ancel threw himself into a hug with Berenger and kissed him briefly on the mouth before frowning and asking:
"But what guarantees are there that this will work out? How are we supposed to know what will happen without a contract?"
"We can't know, Ancel. There are no guarantees for this kind of thing. But I promise to take care of you, and if you ever stop enjoying my company, you can leave. You don't have to force yourself to be with me, but you don't have to go back to a brothel either. You are my friend. I'll take care of you no matter what. I can make you comfortable and ensure you'll have an honest good life no matter what. We can make a contract for that."
Ancel felt so excited and encouraged by these words that Lord Berenger had to hold him back as he tried to climb on top of the courtier.
Berenger, his beau, had to remind him that they were in a moving carriage on a country road, still bandaging the wounds from Chauvin's assault.
Then Ancel opened the window of his carriage and felt the wind on his face, colored by the blood in his cheeks. He felt a warmth envelop his body and a new feeling came over him as he closed his eyes and enjoyed the gentle sun and life to a degree that could not fit in a human.
Ancel smiled, and as the letters expanded his understanding, his universe expanded a little more to accommodate the new word that Lord Berenger, Laurent of Vere, the courtiers, and the thinkers had repeated countless times.
He felt his heart grow warm, pulsating, and alive. And he felt as if he were sinking into it.
On the street, Ancel could see the fire-breathing boy; the prostitute from Sanpelier; the pet; the man who discovered himself a man in the capital, and the future free Veretian among so many others. He could wave to them. And free them from themselves, too.
When they arrived in Barbin, the sky was less gray and became studded with stars as the night progressed. The group spent the night in a well-appointed inn, and the next morning the sun's rays pierced the broken clouds like sharp spears.
Ancel wore his usual silk clothes, an emerald-colored tiara on his head, and bracelets, rings, and necklaces intertwined in golden coils. He was waiting outside for Lord Berenger, holding a parasol tied with ribbons, when one of the guests, sitting on one of the benches on the threshold, tugged at him and took off his hat.
"You're completely stunning, my young man! Would it be bold of my part to invite you into my room for a cup of wine?"
With an impassive expression, Ancel lifted his umbrella a little, looked at the man, and replied with a confident expression:
"Yes. That would be very cheeky of you, sir. I am a decent man and I am waiting for my beau."
It was the third time that morning that Ancel had used the new title of "Lord Berenger". The stranger raised his eyebrows, looked around, and asked incredulously and somewhat contemptuously:
"Beau? So, where is this man?"
Lord Berenger left the inn, accompanied by one of the soldiers, his jacket hanging over his arm. He wasn't wearing brown that day, but a dark shade of green that matched Ancel's jewelry. Watching the scene, the courtier said as he reached his arm out to the young man with the flaming hair and received a small kiss on the lips from Ancel. Since the previous day, Ancel had become more affectionate, always showing spontaneous and cheerful affection.
"I'm his beau. Excuse me, do you have something to tell me?"
The man looked into the serious face of Berenger, the young man who had been mistaken for a prostitute, and the soldier with the scowl. He'd heard of nobles having fun disguising themselves as pets and traveling through Vere. This handsome young man, dressed in gold, silk, and gems and carrying a lace umbrella, had to be one such case.
"Please excuse me," said the man, doffing his hat and walking somewhat agitatedly inside the inn.
The entourage followed the path to the city, tracking the coordinates of a royal messenger from Barbin who caught up with them on the way.
Verona was a bustling city known for its food trade and the sale of furniture and metalwork. A center market also sold perfumes, ointments, oils, and beauty creams. As in all cities, there were also brothels in the gloomy areas of the city center.
This time, Lord Berenger and Ancel did not have to disguise themselves as customers. When the carriage driven by Jean arrived at the house where the king's men had already identified an illegal ring and raided in the early hours, the area was cordoned off.
Armed soldiers walked through the alley, dealing with prisoners with the unmistakable bearing of the aristocracy. From a large house with an inconspicuous façade like the brothel in Daisies' Street, you could see Veretian soldiers entering and leaving the place, giving orders, and dragging people. Some men carried crates and chains. Others had dogs on leashes, barking nervously.
Lord Berenger and Ancel got out of the carriage and looked at both sides of the pavement, which the soldiers had divided. On the right stood the Veretian nobles with indignant expressions and expensive attire. Among them, some wore Patran, Vaskian, and even Akielon clothes.
On the left, slaves sat on the ground with downcast faces. Some were well dressed in jewels and satin. Others were half-naked. Many had bruised limbs, their skin was raw, and they looked tired and weak, with exposed ribs and thin ankles.
Lord Berenger introduced himself to the captain of the operation and pulled a letter written by the king from his pocket. The commander read the paper with the Veretian royal seal and pointed to two of his soldiers.
"The people we have been waiting for have arrived. Accompany the lord so he can inspect the slaves."
Lord Berenger and Ancel, flanked by the guards, walked along the sidewalk, looking at the emaciated men, women, and children with anxious glances. There were many of them, and they all seemed to fear the courtier, but at the same time, the presence of the lively and well-dressed Ancel somehow reassured them.
It wasn't long before Berenger and Ancel were searching the malnourished bodies for the person they wanted to find. Sitting on the ground, elbows propped on his knees, was a young man with jet-black hair, pale skin, and violet eyes intensified by the sapphires on his neck.
Toby’s gaze slid from Lord Berenger to Ancel, as if wavering between anticipation and boredom at having to wait.
"At last," the pet said, standing up and tying his cloak over his narrow shoulders. He also had a small, simple cloth bag with him.
Lord Berenger gestured to the soldier beside him and recognized the young man as the one from the ring of Arles whom Laurent had ordered to be found. He was the pet who had known Tharname in Belloy and had important information about the Regent.
"I will be in Barbin in two weeks. My master will visit the ring in Verona. My master's name is Durand," Toby had whispered to Ancel in the Arles brothel before the two of them performed the illusion of fucking to satisfy an audience in front of the ring.
"It's him," Berenger stated confidently.
There was a moment when the guard brought Toby forward and all eyes turned to him. Lord Berenger was a courtier sent by the king to search for a certain pet in a dismantled ring. The pet was a slaved boy waiting to be rescued like a courtesan waiting for her chariot. There was open and furious rage among some of the captives. That pet was the informant.
Toby looked Ancel up and down and said:
"I thought Laurent of Vere would come for me. Why did it have to be you?"
The two young men did not get on well, and the hostility was mutual. Ancel made a mocking noise with pursed lips.
"Pfff, your ungrateful piece of shit! The king wouldn't come to Barbin because of you. I hope the information you have is worth it. If it's a trick of yours, you'll pay for pissing off Laurent of Vere, and I'll slap you for wasting Berenger's time and mine."
Toby smiled and ran his fingers through his shiny hair.
"What I have is very valuable. So valuable to the king that he will be happy to have me around as soon as he knows more about what his uncle was capable of."
Ancel was about to reply when a brunette young man stepped out of the group, showing his white teeth and an indignant expression. He wore the clothes of a courtier and interrupted the conversation by shouting at Ancel:
"You son of a bitch! You destroyed the ring where Lord Rouart put all his efforts! And you helped destroy another ring! Where is my master?"
Ancel had learned from Berenger that Lord Rouart's pet named Kato worked as an accountant in the other ring. He had to be good with numbers to have such an important position in the brothel. The boy was the one who snitched the king's group disguised in the ring of Arles to the henchmen guarding the place.
Ancel remembered not seeing Kato among the slaves and pets who had been rescued by Jord’s team and the Akielon soldiers. Now, it was clear that he had escaped and come to Barbin to work for another master.
Ancel backed away and replied:
"I know nothing of Lord Rouart."
"You wanted to take him away from me! You want to take everything I own!" the dark-haired boy roared, raising his fist in the air, and being caught by Lord Berenger.
"Don't do this, kid! I won't let you hit Ancel. Rings are forbidden in Vere now. The noblemen and those responsible will be held accountable by law. But the king knows that slaves have no choice and is generous to them. You will be able to start over somewhere else!"
"I'm not a fucking slave! I had a master who looked after me! I had a trade!"
Lord Berenger and Ancel exchanged a look. No, Kato had no trade. Lord Rouart took advantage of the young man's knowledge and loyalty to finance his scam. The young man was disguised as a courtier to enslave boys and girls who couldn't count. He stacked coins accumulated through the suffering of his fellow man.
Berenger took a deep breath, but Kato approached him and asked in a savage tone:
"... Do you know my master? Have you seen Lord Rouart? Has he asked for me?"
Lord Berenger saw the anticipation and tension on the boy's handsome young face.
"Forgive me, I don't know about this. But be receptive to the people who will come to take care of you. Move on, young man. And don't join with such scoundrels anymore. Use what you've learned from all this to start anew."
Toby walked ahead of the group, his satin clothing somewhat revealing, his cloak flapping behind him like a flag and his pet's chain with the bells dragging uncontrollably across the ground. His face was rather grim.
As he passed the group of nobles, Toby stopped short as he saw the men and women cursing and swearing at him, as it became quite clear who had betrayed them.
With an angry expression, Toby began to spit at the aristocratic participants in the ring, looking at them in disgust. Toby's master, Lord Durand, a man in his fifties, approached the rope the soldier had tied, isolating the nobles. His mouth was twisted in surprise and disappointment:
"Toby, was that you...?! Why did you do that?"
The pet rolled his violet eyes and retorted:
"I had at most six months left on my contract! You already had an eye on a boy from Marches because you prefer the young ones. You wanted to dump me mercilessly after I had to fight night after night in the ring and get fucked by your friends and all those men. When I was sick, tired, and feverish, you still forced me to suck your cock and be mounted by a succession of men. Did you really think I wouldn't try to get rid of you at the first opportunity?"
There was an oppressive silence in which Lord Berenger felt Ancel's silk-gloved hand grip his arm tighter. The soldiers stared at the ground.
Durand frowned angrily.
"I made a deal with your slut mother, Toby! I left her a large sum and this is how you pay me back, you little shit? I was right to pass you on. I was going to sell you to the ring!"
Toby watched the master with cold composure.
"You threatened my mother and brothers with difficult words, with terms they didn't know, and used your influence to intimidate them so you could buy me. You raped me in the vineyards while your henchmen held me. Do you think I've forgotten that day? Do you think I didn't wait for the right moment to grab anything that could destroy you, Durand? I hope you rot in jail..."
"You cheap, shameless bastard!"
Toby grimaced and spat at his former master, hitting him squarely. The nobleman raised his hand to his forehead and wiped away the saliva running hatefully down.
The newly freed pet didn't cry. He just spat a few more times at the line of nobles waiting on the sidewalk.
Finally, Toby gave up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Maybe there wasn't enough saliva. It would take a while for his resentment to heal. Maybe, a whole life.
Ancel didn't provoke the boy further, and as Toby walked towards the carriage, some of the slaves hit the ground with their chains, made a noise, and saluted the former pet. Some whistled. Others clicked their bracelets.
A revolution had begun. Perhaps, freedom was contagious. Toby was neither a thinker nor an abolitionist. He was a slave who had been fed hope in a pit. How many were like him?
Now he was hope itself. And many would be like him.
Jean served the young man a mug of lemonade and a piece of cheese and said:
"Here. Eat something, kid."
On the way back, Toby's mood seemed to have improved. The road was a little busier than the day before, with many carriages heading south.
Toby crossed his legs as he settled on the cushioned seat in front of Berenger and Ancel and ate a grape from a bunch:
"So, how's the royal court?"
Chapter 5: Bastards (Part 1)
Summary:
The Trust worthies try to fulfill their missions.
But something they did not expect seems to drag Vere into a terrible fate.
Chapter Text
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ty1oJ4wp9q0
The first time Pallas noticed Lazar and Lazar noticed Pallas, the two soldiers were in Fortaine's divided troops.
The alliance between the peoples of Vere and Akielos had been recent; everyone knew that Prince Damianos had been a slave of Laurent of Vere; the armies consisted of two factions with blue and red flags, and by order, the men were to remain separated. Hostility was a third presence in the camp.
In the early days, the organization of the troops at Fortaine was chaotic, and the younger soldiers of both armies had to sleep on improvised mattresses spread out on the dirt floor. Some men surrounded their makeshift beds with sheets tied to clotheslines for some privacy.
Where the Veretian tents ended and the Akielon tents began, Pallas and Lazar rested in their respective places under the stars.
Pallas had closed his eyes in the cool night when he heard a groan from near him, followed by a muffled sound. Then he heard complicit laughter and the sound of lips exchanging kisses.
A Veretian voice whispered between the laughs:
"Hey, Lazar, have you ever noticed how effeminate Akielon soldiers look in those white dresses? They kiss and fuck unfortunate bastards. Akielons don't wear pants, speak a strange language, stare people in the eye, and look like barbarians... "
There was a long silence and Lazar replied with a somewhat bored voice.
"You've been drinking and talking too much, Serge. Why don't you show me what good you can do with your mouth?"
"Coming right up... " — the other voice replied excitedly.
With a few gaps, Pallas understood the Veretian language better than he spoke. He heard the rhythmic sound of lips and muffled breathing, followed by the unmistakable moans of two men amid the act of fellatio.
He even heard the coughing that accompanied the choking and gagging caused by the cock being shoved down his throat.
The Akielon felt the blood rise and color his cheeks before he mused, "Do Veretians really fuck before people like animals in heat? What fucking libertines... "
Curiously, Pallas crawled into his bed and touched the sheet separating him from the Veretian troops. He pressed the fabric with his fingers, pulled it a little into the corner, and saw a face through an opening in the other sheet, lit by the dying fire of the brazier.
Lazar had a straw cigarette between his lips and his head turned to the sky. Through the shadows of the sheet that surrounded his mattress, Pallas could see another man doing a blowjob on him. They looked like the dark images on the ceramic vases of Akielos, having immortal and indifferent sex.
It was not an uncommon sight in a camp as divided and disorganized as this one. But Akielons maintained a certain decorum and went with their lovers to the stables or storeroom where their weapons were kept.
Pallas stood silently, watching the scene and swallowing hard. Perhaps, due to the movements or the noise in the Akielon's tent, Lazar's attention was caught, waking him from lustful pleasure as he glared at the starry sky with a poetic delight.
Lazar still had the cigarette in his mouth as he turned his face. Pallas held his breath, having witnessed the sexual act between the two Veretians.
A long moment ran before Lazar stopped moaning. His features only changed with a brief grimace that could have been due to his lover's teeth scraping against his cock.
Pallas felt an uncomfortable sensation and seconds before he stopped looking, Lazar winked at him with one of his green eyes and beckoned as if he had seen a friend in the crowd.
Pallas blushed up to his ears, let go of the hem of the sheet, and crawled back onto his mattress. Minutes later, he heard the sounds fade into more intense fucking, with one man mounting another.
"Stop it, you animals! I want to sleep!" shouted someone from the Akielon troop.
"Come into my tent and I'll put you to sleep, milady!" — mocked a random Veretian.
A miserable verbal argument broke out between the men of the two nations, which only broke up when Lazar's fuck ended and loneliness and silence covered the entire camp.
The next day, Pallas saw Lazar from a distance, putting his arm around the neck of another soldier and avoiding the attention of his companion from the night before, whose name was Serge. Then the Akielon saw him with another. And another. And another. And then, one afternoon, with another, and before that other, Lazar whistled relentlessly at Pallas' legs.
"Veretians have no hearts," Pallas thought and was glad he didn't love one.
Veretians could not be trusted. Pallas knew that and wanted nothing to do with them.
Also, because Pallas already loved an Akielon.
Not just any Akielon, but the best of them. In his passionate euphoria, Pallas bowed his head and stood at attention countless times a day, saying each time the object of his affection passed him by:
"At your disposal, Exalted!"
Charl and Guilliame's party, flanked by Lazar and Pallas, made their way to the Veretian borders of the northern forest. The four traveled through the night, stopping early in the morning at an inn called Sunbeam so the horses could rest and the Akielon and Veretian soldiers could sleep.
At the entrance to the inn was a carved wooden plaque with a distinctive blasted sun and letters engraved on it. The herald Hendric, who would meet them later, would surely find it there without fail.
Charl's and his assistant's carriage was full of fabrics and laces and did not attract the attention of the tavern's patrons, except for those interested in silks, satins, and organza at a low price.
"Do you want to do business in the north, Mr. Charls?" the innkeeper asked, placing a mug of mulled wine in front of each man. "It must be bustling there because the circus companies are coming for the planting festivals."
The quartet sitting by the fire at a rustic wooden table, answered evasively and didn't give much away. Then the innkeeper pointed to Pallas and asked:
"You're a young man from Akielos, aren't you? I could tell by your complexion and your accent. Are you accompanying Mr. Charls as a soldier?"
Pallas exchanged a silent glance with Lazar, Charls, and Guilliame and replied:
"As a friend, my good man. I'm willing to see the artistic performances of Vere, and Charls and Guilliame have taken me along, as I don't know the north."
The innkeeper, a middle-aged man with dirty blond hair and a belly protruding from drinking, commented and served the guests hot pea soup, sausage, and bread:
"Surely, you'll enjoy it! We didn't used to see many Akielons here, but since the treaty between the Sister Nations, many have come to Vere. We here fully support the alliance and the king. Make yourself comfortable."
Lazar tilted his head over his shoulder and glanced at the innkeeper as he stepped behind the counter. The travelers were discreet as they ate and sipped their mulled wine. During the meal, they didn't mention Laurent or Damianos' names. Nor did they talk about the mission on their way north.
Other guests sat around the quartet. Some travelers in dark cloaks and a few courtiers with handsome faces and shapely bodies were drinking wine. They gave Lazar and Pallas seductive glances, with a youthful hope, but they found no reciprocity.
When the group had made their way to the stairs and everyone went to their rooms, the innkeeper handed Pallas a cloth bag containing several small raspberries and strawberries:
"A courtesy. They're from the kitchen garden behind the house and were picked by my daughter. Thanks to the Alliance, business has been good here. Akielons are always welcome in my tavern. Please, come back again, my young man."
Pallas smiled and ran a hand through his dark hair, not realizing that Lazar was looking at him intently, admiring his smile, which was always so sincere and affectionate, even to strangers. The Akielon bowed his head and replied somewhat awkwardly:
"Thanks, milord. They look delicious."
The room reserved for Lazar and Pallas had two comfortable-looking beds, neat furniture, a brick fireplace, a woven rug, and an adjoining bathroom. Charls, who managed the expenses, wasn't a stingy man and had reserved a room for the soldiers just as comfortable as the ones he and Guilliame were enjoying.
Pallas threw himself on the bed, kicking his legs in the air in amusement and eating a raspberry from the cloth bag he had been given.
"I'm going to sleep all the morning! Wow, this small fruit tastes good! We don't have them in Isthima."
Lazar, standing near the window smoking a cigarette, watched the Akielon and said as he took off his jacket over the shirt and threw it over the back of a chair:
"We can push the beds together."
Pallas, resting his face on his hand to watch the other, spoke:
"I don't know if I can do it, after a whole night on a horse. Hey, Lazar, do you think Charls and Guilliame are lovers?"
The Veretian, who still had the cigarette between his lips, began to untie the knots of his clothes and shook his head thoughtfully.
"I don't think so. They just seem to have a friendly relationship between master and apprentice. I don't know if Charls is interested in that sort of thing. And I didn't see them kiss once during the whole trip."
Pallas watched Lazar slip his blouse over his white shoulders and, after chewing and swallowing a strawberry, he replied with a wink.
"That doesn't mean anything. We've been fucking for a life and we've never kissed."
Lazar paused for a few seconds, exhaled a smoke ring into the air, and put his hand to his belt as he said with a wry smile:
"Will you kiss me, Queen of Akielos?"
For a moment, Pallas' dark eyebrows furrowed deeply and the Akielon rose from the bed with an annoyed look.
"Don't call me that! You know I don't like it!"
Then Pallas announced with a still irritated look on his face:
"...I'm going to take a bath. And don't even think about pushing the beds together, Lazar! I need to sleep and you snore like a neighing horse."
Pallas went into the adjoining room and slammed the bathroom door behind him. He lingered there for six seconds before returning to the bedroom, picking up his bag of berries, and locking himself in the bathroom for good this time.
Lazar smiled and, cigarette still in mouth, pushed his bed to the side of Pallas' bed as he muttered:
"Since you aren't a queen, I don't have to obey your commands, sweetheart."
Indeed, Lazar and Pallas had been fucking for over a year, but they had never kissed on the mouth.
The first words between Lazar and Pallas came on the journey of Damianos of Akielos and Laurent of Vere, when they left Fortaine and headed south with their armies to confront their usurpers and reclaim their thrones.
By this time, Lazar and other Veretians were whistling even more insistently at Pallas' long legs and the flawless muscle tone betrayed by the short chiton. The Veretians whistled at all good-looking Akielons, but Pallas had become their favorite.
After all, Pallas was handsome and trained in the morning, when the sky was dark and the stars were still in the sky. He hunted fish with sharp spears and stood in the sun in his chiton and damp hair. He ate peaches on a tree branch, looking like a resting Akielon god. And he didn't care about the lewd jokes of the Veretians.
The young aristocrat from the Akielon army only had eyes for Prince Damianos and looked like a dog feasting before the Exalted. Barely able to control himself. Pallas watched the future king of his land with fascination.
"That one is on all fours for Damen and is just waiting to be mounted. I hope Pallas doesn't wet his pants when Laurent of Vere finds out about this damn whoredom. There's something unsettled between the crown princes, and any smart man should stay out of their way," Huet had once said as he peeled a mandarin.
Lazar heard Huet's dry words and noticed Pallas staring intently at the Exalted as he exchanged a few concentrated words with Nikandros before making his way to the training ground. Pallas had the eyes of a dog waiting to be petted, and Lazar found him impertinent and foolish.
The Akielons seemed to be a people who were too sincere and whose emotions could be perceived as a change in the weather. Pallas frowned when angry and lifted his lips like a hook when happy. When he was sad, he looked like a downcast dog. That was a curious thing. Lazar had never noticed it before.
After that day, Lazar watched Pallas often, even when he wasn't whistling at his shapely legs and phenomenal muscles. He noticed the harmony in the young man's face, straight nose, moist lips, and dark hair. He perceived his spontaneous smile as if a wind through his body. He noticed the contours of his facial expression when he spoke the spirit-filled Akielon language. And when their eyes met sometimes, Lazar felt his heart pound within him as he watched the clash of bitumen-colored spears.
Standing under a thick-trunked tree and smoking his usual straw cigarette, Lazar often rested and watched Pallas walking beside Damen, breathlessly vomiting his daily report.
Damen gave the soldier his attention with firm kindness but did not go beyond what was necessary. He treated Pallas no differently than he would have treated Aktis, Lydos, or Elon.
Once, when Damianos returned to his tent, leaving Pallas somewhat disappointed, Lazar commented under the foliage of the tree in his Veretian language, which he mingled with what little Akielon he understood:
"It won't work! Damianos only has eyes for Laurent of Vere. You're wasting your time, sweetheart."
Pallas, who understood Veretian words better than Lazar spoke Akielos' language, turned on his heels and asked with furrowed brows:
"And what does that have to do with you? I've also heard that you are fascinated by the Crown Prince of Vere. Mind your own business! And stop whistling at me, your cheeky little rascal!"
Lazar laughed loudly and almost choked on his cigarette at the "your cheeky little rascal". Indeed, Pallas belonged to the Akielon nobility of Isthima. He looked well-educated and blushed when he heard the gallantries of the soldiers. He had polite gestures; he could read and write and even when he ate squatting with the other men, he knew perfectly how to use a napkin. He kept his hands clean and had his own knife to cut his meat.
He was the opposite of Lazar, a mercenary who had never even dreamed of approaching the nobility. Lazar had learned some elegant gestures through observation rather than learned manners. The other soldiers said he was a quick learner, and this ability stood him in good stead in his service in the Guard.
As for Laurent of Vere, the young man had an unreal passion for the Veretian. All the soldiers of Vere dreamed of the prince, for they knew that they would only mount him in dreams far from cold orders, curses, and battles. Dreaming was free. In dreams, Laurent of Vere did not impale other men with the murderous coldness of his gaze, nor did he rip their cocks off.
Outside of the dreamlike extravagance, however, none of the men in the Veretian army dared to circle Laurent or court him while Pallas endeavored to gain Damen's attention.
"Laurent of Vere will smash you like a gazebo if he finds out you're trying to sleep with Damen," Lazar warned him with a wry smile.
Pallas opened his mouth and scratched his head as he tried to understand Lazar's bilingual sentence.
"Smash me like what?"
"Like a gazebo. Isn't gazebo the right word?" Lazar asked after a puff.
It took them a few minutes to realize that Lazar meant potato instead of gazebo. Pallas smiled for they finally understood each other before he too understood the real meaning of Lazar's words and wiped the smile off his face.
"Damianos has a political relationship with Vere! He has no interest in the Prince of Vere," Pallas argued.
Lazar chuckled, remembering Damen watching Laurent as he dismounted his horse less than an hour ago as if the Akielon had seen a goddess descend from the sky even though the Veretian had such a long face.
"Are you kidding me, sweetheart? You've just arrived, but I've been traveling with them for much longer. It's even possible that the two of them have already fucked, because they've often shared the same tent."
Pallas widened his eyes briefly and replied:
"You're wrong! Theomedes, the former king, hated the Veretians and, likely, Damianos will never see Laurent again in the future..."
Pallas was from nobility and had attended a school, but to Lazar, he seemed slow-witted. A blind man had more insight into things than Pallas. What did he need to believe? Did he need to see Damen mounting Laurent of Vere passionately like a troop storming a fortress?
"Right." — Lazar replied, stubbing out the cigarette butt on the floor — "So, who will Damianos of Akielos sleep with when he becomes king? With you?"
Pallas raised an eyebrow.
"Am I not a good choice?"
Lazar looked Pallas up and down and the young man blushed a little.
"Of course, you are, sweetheart. You're a delight that I'd love to kiss right now. I've always wanted to know what it's like to have a nobleman sucking my cock. I can comfort you if your Exalted rejects you..."
"Hey!" Pallas warned him with a stern look. "Don't say such things to me! You're flirting with all the Akielon soldiers while you sleep with Veretian soldiers."
"Looks like you've found out something about me..."
"I don't have to go far to know about your bad reputation. I saw you through the sheet that day. I'm not one of your bitches, and I don't kiss Veretians!"
It took Lazar a while to respond to what Pallas had said. His irritation made it difficult for him to remember the vocabulary. Finally, the Veretian gave up and replied in a bad mood in his own language:
"Fine! You're a damn Akielon who thinks you're a big shot because you're from the nobility and want to win the king. What do you think Damen will do when he gets his throne back? Marry you and crown you his queen? Should I address you as if you were the monarchy of Akielos?" — and with a mocking gesture, Lazar bowed regally, "Forgive me, Your Majesty, for bringing you bad news, but it won't work at all! Damen only has eyes for Laurent of Vere."
There was a silence in which Pallas' dark eyes wavered before piercing Lazar like well-sharpened daggers. The young man from Akielos turned his back to him and said:
"Fuck off, you fucking Veretian!"
Lazar replied with another curse as Pallas left.
In the beginning, the two soldiers did not have a friendly relationship. And just because they slept together later didn't mean that the relationship between Lazar and Pallas wasn't still strained from time to time.
At the inn where they stayed during the break in their journey north, Pallas cursed when he saw that his bed was joined to Lazar's. As he exited the bathing room, the Akielon saw his Veretian lover sprawled across the mattresses like a star—a cursed star of Vere.
"Hey!" said Pallas, pushing him aside. "You haven't bathed and you stink like a horse."
Lazar wrapped his arms around Pallas and closed his eyes as he spoke:
"I'm going to bathe when I wake up. You smell so good. I just want to stay with you like this, sweetheart."
Pallas watched Lazar's white arms wrap around him and the Veretian's green eyes peer at him through half-closed lids behind his brown hair. Lifting the blanket, the Akielon saw that Lazar was naked and pushed him away a little.
"If you try to mount me in my sleep, you'll see..."
"I wouldn't do that to you, sweetheart. But if you want to mount me, you're welcome to."
Pallas hissed an annoyed noise with his mouth and surrendered to the Veretian's embrace. Lazar murmured in his sleep:
"...You can use your Akielon sport and give me a leg lock. I don't care."
Pallas settled down on the bed with damp hair and murmured after almost a minute of silence:
"I should do that. I'm still pissed that you flirted with Lord Berenger's pet. You're such a dirty rogue who won't change, Laz..."
Pallas received no reply. A hoarse sound was already leaving Lazar's lips and he fell asleep. Pallas took a deep breath, put the blanket over himself and the other man, and watched him in the pale morning light that illuminated the room with its dust particles floating in the air.
"Lazar fucks anyone. He's good, but he's a heartless scoundrel. You can sleep with him but don't get too attached. He's not the type to fall in love. He's the type who's only good for one thing." — Pallas had once heard Serge talking to another Veretian during the meal.
The armies were on their way to Marlas, and during this time Pallas and Lazar were regularly involved in scuffles that caused the men to become impatient.
Lazar whistled and Pallas often sent him to a barren place. Lazar made fun of Pallas' passion for Damianos and sometimes received a raised finger in response. Lazar then argued and remained talking to himself. This was repeated again and again throughout those days.
At the same time, Pallas had once seen Lazar leave his tent accompanied by one of the Veretian grooms, confirming the rumors he had heard among the soldiers to be true.
It was one of the young men who saddled and cared for the horses. He had girlish eyelashes, but a shapely body and a stocky build. The groom was smoking and tying the knots of his jacket, looking exhausted and happy.
On another occasion, Pallas had watched Lazar enter the tent of the soldier who had asked Serge for advice, only leaving the place the next day and stretching outside.
Lazar had a reputation among his comrades as a very active young man. And on his journey south between battles and strategies of his ice prince, Lazar emptied himself into any available man without committing himself too much.
Pallas knew his type, and there were similar aristocrats in Akielos. He just wanted to have fun and not look back. As he whistled at Pallas, the Akielon soldier rolled his eyes in annoyance, knowing that the conquest was just a game. And he'd only be a trophy until the next morning.
The scenario changed slightly when the armies of Akielos and Vere had to share a shed to store their weapons, and Lazar and Pallas were tasked with cleaning the place.
That afternoon, the two soldiers worked hard, focusing on their tasks. There was no arguing or joking, but they started to talk.
Lazar paused when he found a hammer and a broken chisel at the back of the storeroom. After examining them for a while, he put them in a gunnysack and said:
"I think I can fix them."
The same thing happened with a rusty metal mug without a handle.
"If I polish it, it will be as good as new."
Pallas watched the sack Lazar was carrying get bigger and bigger and said as he swept across the ground covered in dry leaves:
"How will you carry all this during the journey, Veretian?"
"It's not that heavy, Akielon."
After they cleared the place, Lazar and Pallas began to load the weapons. The two soldiers excelled in efficiency and were praised for their work after completing the task as they set up a partition in the center of the shed to prevent the weapons from mixing.
Afterward, in the moments of truce between the two men, when Lazar approached, looking like a bee without a flower to pollinate and keeping his attempts at flirtation to himself, Pallas exchanged a few words with him in Akielon and Veretian, teaching and learning the languages.
When they were in charge of fishing, the two stood knee-deep in the river and fished with their spears. They worked well together, everyone said. They were focused and didn't argue when they were on duty.
After all, it was better to send them to solve a problem together. That way, the problem always got solved and there was less fighting in the camp.
"Not bad, Akielon. You're good with the spear," Lazar praised him once he saw the concentrated speed with which the young man fished.
Pallas smiled, a blush on his cheeks, and said:
"I used to fish at home. This kind of fish is fried in Isthima with mango and fig sauce. Aunt Lara prepares it on Sundays. It's delicious!"
Lazar frowned with a wry smile.
"Fish with fruit? I doubt it's tasty. Anyway, there's a mango tree at the back of the camp. Have you seen it?"
Pallas shrugged and pulled the net to the edge of the river.
"I have seen it. But the fruit is green. There's only one ripe mango, and I can't reach it because it's so high. At my place, there are mango trees in the gardens, and the air is sweet, especially on summer days. I would give anything for a mango to ease my homesickness."
Lazar listened to Pallas' words and confirmed some in Veretian language. A few hours later, while Pallas was tending his horse Dydimos, Lazar appeared in the stable and tossed Pallas a ripe mango, yellow and pink as a sunset. He carried his hunting bow on his back.
Pallas' face twisted into a spontaneous, automatic smile that made Lazar nervous.
"How'd you do that?"
"It was at a reasonable height."
Pallas pulled Lazar into a corner near the hay, looking like a boy who had stolen a sweet from the kitchen and was afraid of being reprimanded. He took out his small knife and while he still smiled, he began to peel the fruit.
"Well, let's eat it!"
Lazar watched Pallas' smile and thought the young Akielon must have had a good childhood in Isthima. There was a naïve confidence in him, a natural spontaneity typical of those who were always loved.
Lazar was not like that. He was a little suspicious. His childhood had not been as harsh as most Veretian soldiers, but there had been hardships in Ladehors and uncertainties that had made him wary from an early age.
Lazar and Pallas ate together without flirting or exchanging barbs, talking about the journey south and things soldiers talk about. Pallas cut off the mango's slices and handed them to Lazar, who thought that Isthima, with its sweet warmth, must be a unique and happy place. It was like no other place he had been to in Vere.
After that, a brief peace between the two men lasted until the armies arrived in Marlas. There, hostilities broke out again.
This time there was a scuffle between Pallas and several Veretian soldiers, caused largely by the spontaneous candor of the Akielon.
At the time, Damianos' and Laurent's men were gathered near the fire, and as Pallas tasted an apricot roasting in the embers, he said something without thinking that sealed the lips of all the Veretians present.
"I am not the legitimate son of my father. I am the son of his mistress Andreina. But I grew up in Isthima, took part in life on my father's estate, and looked after his affairs."
There was no malice in Pallas' words. He just told the soldiers the truth. But suddenly the Veretians who whistled at him realized that the Akielon handsome aristocratic soldier was a bastard.
One of the men spat on the ground and looked annoyed.
"Bastards are like locusts that devour crops! They can destroy an entire kingdom. In Vere's past, the bastard Asce tried to kill the rightful Prince Edgard out of greed. Now, look at what the bastard Kastor is doing to Damianos of Akielos, appropriating everything that belongs to him! Bastards have degenerate blood."
Pallas stopped as he was about to bring the peach to his mouth. The dying fire flickered close to his dark eyes.
"It's not always like this," Pallas said quickly in broken Veretish. "I am not a usurper like Kastor, and I get along very well with my siblings. My mother was taken as a mistress when my father's wife was pregnant and did not want intimacy with him. She was relieved because she didn't feel like having sex and was very tired during the pregnancy. To be honest I don't think she likes sex very much for what the servants tell. My father's wife is very kind and I call her Aunt Lara. My siblings have children and I like my nephews very much. They call me Uncle Pallas. We used to eat together when I was in Isthima and we are a very close family."
Lazar suppressed his shock at these words and turned his attention to the men beside him by the fire. The Veretian soldiers seemed to be whipped with every word. Bastards were as abhorrent in Veretian culture as the incest taboo is in several places.
Guymar made a noise of disgust before taking a large swig of wine from his wineskin. The thought of the Akielon soldier sitting at a table with legitimate children and grandchildren seemed completely wrong to him. Suddenly, no one seemed willing to whistle to Pallas anymore.
Huet shook his face and said:
"You are a soldier of Damen and I respect your customs, but I still think bastards like that Kastor are dirty and treacherous. It's not for nothing that they say in Vere that the one who kisses a bastard has seven years of bad luck. It is also not good to talk to bastards. They bring bad luck and failure wherever they go and whatever they touch."
Pallas' mouth was half open and he watched the men who had been joking with him and were now looking at him suspiciously or looking away. His attention found Lazar's face, who stared at him before looking away and processing the surprising story.
Lazar had never thought deeply about the taboo of his culture, except for the time when his father left his mother when he was seven years old. He, the legitimate son, had been left behind as an inconvenient bastard.
Pallas threw the apricot kernel he was eating into the fire and replied offended by obvious prejudice:
"I'm not Kastor. But my father would say that anyone who kisses a Veretian is unlucky. That there's always betrayal and infidelity when you're around Veretians. Because of the Veretians, my father almost lost his life here in the Battle of Marlas due to your dear Prince Auguste, and he limps on his leg to this day. You speak to me as if I want to kiss one of your disgusting mouths or befriend scumbag mercenaries who hate us. I loathe that damn race..."
The crackling fire died, and Pallas stood up to go onto Marlas' fortress. He was entitled to a room there thanks to his Akielon nobility, as were Straton and Nikandros. With his head bowed, the young man bumped into Jord's shoulder and disappeared into the darkness.
Huet commented with a grimace:
"He's such a handsome man, but with such a deep stain on his fate. It's a shame. It would be better if Damen gave him a chance and let him join his own people."
Lazar was still watching the darkness in which Pallas had disappeared.
After that day, Pallas withdrew and stayed away from the area of the Veretian soldiers for some time.
Lazar saw him dragging the net down to the river alone one evening, throwing the fish he had caught into a wooden basket and piling them up in silence. And when he tended the horses, he now had Aktis to help him and no longer talked to Huet or Guymar about the breeds of Vere horses and their peculiarities.
The pride of a young man brought up with love also played a role. Pallas had been compared to Kastor, whom he wanted to overthrow from the throne, along with the Akielons loyal to Damianos. The soldier kept the insults that pierced his heart like a sword to himself. He was angry and it was in his nature not to hide this truth.
Meanwhile, Pallas no longer cursed or fought with Lazar either. And Lazar missed even that.
During those long days in Marlas, Lazar experienced loneliness and recognized it for the first time when he was assigned to polish armor as he had done many times before. But Pallas didn't come. He had asked Nikandros to assign another man to the task.
Instead of Pallas, a powerfully built Akielon with a serious face came to help Lazar. The work was also very efficient. There was concentration. But it wasn't the same.
Pallas would whistle a tune with his youthful glee as he worked, laughing as he tested the helmets of the Veretian armor on his head:
"You Veretians have huge heads."
And Lazar, not letting it get him down, would test the Akielon helmet and replied with a cigarette in his mouth:
"Why do I have this feather duster on my head? I look like an idiot."
Lazar looked at the serious-looking Akielon helping him and the corners of his lips twitched. It wasn't the same without Pallas at all.
The days dragged on, and after the Akielons' oath to Damianos as king and the opening of the games and ceremonial battles in Marlas, Lazar, while practicing in a tree with his bow, saw Pallas setting up behind the stand with some comrades from Akielos.
Their eyes met briefly, and Pallas looked away, dipping his hand into a ceramic basin and running oil over his bare shoulders. He was with his people. He had been with his people since the Veretians had driven him out. And that was where he would stay, with his people and his aristocratic pride.
When Lazar competed in the games against highly skilled Akielon archers and won, he was loudly applauded. Lazar bowed to Laurent of Vere and looked for Pallas in the stands, but could not find him.
So, the Veretian soldier swallowed hard, bowed to Damen as well, and left the hall to a standing ovation from the Veretians.
The slaves raised and lowered fans, fanned the courtiers, and carried flat wine glasses on golden trays.
Lydos won with the trident. Jord shone with the longsword. Serge lost to Aktis in the two-handed dagger fight. Huet won in the throwing contest.
As the slaves advanced into the arena, lugging weapons and objects around, Pallas stepped up for the short sword fight. He was a young man with a striking physique that drew attention to himself. With the ease of a swordsman, he cut down one opponent after another and finished his performance by twirling the weapon in his hand.
Lazar watched as he bowed to Damen with shining eyes and was crowned with a laurel wreath. Then he hugged his friends and ignored the Veretians who stared at him curiously. It was said that bastards were born unlucky. Many things were said about them.
Pallas' second appearance was even more spectacular. He won the spear fight, displaying mature concentration despite his youth and managing to disarm his opponents with sophisticated tactics. At this point, some of the Veretians, who seemed to have forgotten Pallas' bad reputation, began to whistle to him again.
Pallas' highest ascent came with his third appearance of the day when he entered the arena for wrestling combat.
Pallas, like his opponent Elon, fought naked, as was customary. The two anointed their bodies with oil brought in a jar by the organizers. Then they put their arms around each other's shoulders and began to push.
Lazar only realized that the cigarette had fallen from his lips when a small fire formed in the grass and he had to extinguish it with uncoordinated footsteps on the floor before the flame reached the silk of the enclosure. Pallas had the physique of a champion and wrapped his legs around Elon, who tried to break free.
There were whistles from the stands, shouts, and cheers as the two bodies struggled against each other on the slippery floor. Was this the Akielos' famous sport? To Lazar, it was reminiscent of pets' ring matches, and many in the audience seemed to feel the same.
Laurent of Vere's newly elected Councillor, Lady Vannes, even ran her tongue over her open lips, seeming to feel a shiver run down her spine and fanning herself with even more enthusiasm.
Of course, the sporting event ended not with a raw fuck and a jewel thrown to the winner, but with a panting Elon lying on the grass and being raised by Pallas' hand.
With his triple victory, Pallas raised his arms to the crowd erupted in cheers. Lazar clapped his hands open-mouthed, waiting for the young man to look in his direction, but Pallas didn't return his gaze.
The Akielon came near the podium, full of confidence with his hair matted with oil, and challenged Damen to a fight with bent knees.
Jord, standing next to Lazar, whispered:
"I have heard that this is an ancient Akielon custom. People hope for this kind of fight between a champion and the king. The best of the best and a new champion..."
Lazar looked back at the scene and swallowed hard as he saw Damen remove the golden pin on his shoulder and let his chiton fall to the ground. There was an explosion of cheers and silence.
Amidst the quietness, Laurent of Vere let his somewhat surprised gaze slide from Damen's naked body to Pallas' smiling, euphoric face.
Huet then commented:
"Well, well, that boy knows how to play. I guess he hasn't given up on Damen yet. The things between the Exalted and Laurent of Vere are getting worse, even though they have a political alliance from what I heard. Maybe Pallas has a chance, who knows..."
Lazar turned back to the arena, where Damen reached their hands into the jar that the servant was holding up, took the oil, and rubbed it on his naked body. Then he nodded to Pallas, who was visibly excited, nervous, and beaming, his eyes fixed on the Exalted's tanned limbs. They touched each other's shoulders and began to fight.
There was a deep silence between the Akielon men, punctuated by whispers, and it took Lazar a moment to realize it was because of the scars on Damianos' back. The Kyros Nikandros stood on his feet for a few seconds and then sat back down with a disapproving look. He looked reproachfully at Laurent.
"Look at the prince..." Huet whispered, very quietly.
Outwardly, Laurent remained aloof and impersonal, but his hand closed discreetly around the armrest of his throne, knuckles drawn together. As Pallas took Damen into the leglock, the connection to sex became obvious. It was impossible for their cocks not to be intertwined, and the panting of the two men didn't make things any better. Pallas groaned loudly. A frown appeared on Laurent's forehead.
Guymar let his gaze wander, observing the scene around him and suppressing a laugh when he spotted the fascinated faces of the Veretians in the stands.
"Shit! Those damned Akielons fight like they're fucking..."
The fight lasted less than two minutes, but the atmosphere had changed. Lazar began to whistle because Pallas was aggressive and persistent, trying to knock his opponent down. Jord made motions with his clenched fists in the air as Huet cheered.
Finally, Damen wrapped his arm around Pallas' neck and held him tightly as the young man tried to break free. Pallas lay still with exertion, then trembling, then exhausted, and the fight was won.
Laurent's mouth was open, and as if he had realized it at the end of the fight, he immediately closed it again. He didn't take his eyes off Damianos for a second and frowned when the Akielon king whispered something in Pallas' ear and patted him twice on the shoulder.
The moment Damen's back was turned, Pallas, seeing his king's scars for the first time, stood motionless and the smile on his face faded until one of the organizers touched him on the shoulder and the servants came to take care of him.
Lazar, too, let his smile disappear without realizing it when he saw Damianos whisper something to Pallas and the Akielon soldier smiled blushingly.
Damen let the servants scrape the oil off his body and then dried himself with a towel. A short time later, he returned to the podium, where he held his arms out to the servants so they could dress him with his chiton. Pallas watched him with a questioning look until he left the arena.
There was a pause in the athletic activities while the organizers prepared the arena for the okton.
Pallas also had his body cleaned by some servants, and without giving much thought to what he was about to do, Lazar walked down the stairs of the stands and headed for the Akielon. As he did so, he almost bumped into Nikandros, who was approaching the podium to speak to Damianos.
Pallas raised his dark eyes briefly, stared at Lazar, and hurried to hide his nakedness with a towel around his waist. The Veretian soldier lit a cigarette and said:
"Great fight!"
Pallas nodded and thanked him somewhat curtly.
"...I haven't seen you lately..." — Lazar commented.
"So, you must be lucky," Pallas replied, thanking the servant who helped him clean himself and began to dry his oiled body himself.
Lazar replied:
"Never mind the Veretian soldiers. They're just repeating what the court has always said and are a bit superstitious. Illegitimate children are a taboo for us, but you... You're different."
Pallas blinked his deep black eyes and replied in a harsh tone.
"No, I'm not different. I'm a bastard who grew up in Isthima, sharing in the lives of my lawful brothers and sleeping under the same roof as Aunt Lara. To you, that's barbaric. Just as what your prince did to Damianos' back is barbaric to us Akielons."
Lazar swallowed hard:
"How do you know it was Laurent of Vere who had Damen flogged?"
"As all the Akielons here know! Who else would dare do such a thing to Damianos of Akielos? Not even Kastor mistreated him like that..."
"No, Kastor sent him as a pleasure slave to a country where he was hated. Damianos killed the crown prince Auguste! Of course, Laurent took revenge. How would you greet the murderer of your siblings or nephews, whom you supposedly love so much? With kisses and hugs?"
Pallas paused, searching for an answer, but he couldn't find one. After throwing the towel into the corner, he replied:
"There are many hard feelings between our peoples, Lazar. My father has hated the Veretians for as long as I can remember. He'd be disappointed in me for trying to fit in. He'd say I don't lose my naivety even in a war and that I'm not here to make friends. You Vere soldiers had better stay with yours while we, Akielons, count on us. Huet, Guymar, and the others aren't so wrong. A little distance isn't such a bad thing."
Lazar nodded with his cigarette in his mouth and felt a twinge in his heart.
"Right. Would you prefer it that way, sweetheart? Because you want to be with your people, did you show up at Damen's and invite him to the fight? Did you manage to get his attention? Is that what he whispered in your ear? That he'll return the favor for your devotion in the back of the stadium?"
Lazar's words sounded bitter and incoherent in Veretian and Akielon languages. Pallas held the other man's gaze before throwing the jar away.
"I still don't get what you have to do with this! Damianos isn't a fucking flirt like you who fucks your battle buddies when you're alone, pissed or bored. He's not fucking to forget that we might all be heading towards a precipice. He doesn't need to mount anyone to feel alive either. Go fuck your men and leave me alone, Lazar! Give me up! I'll never sleep with you!" — And as he raised his dark, piercing eyes, Pallas added, "And I'm not your sweetheart!"
Pallas left the place and walked away without looking back. Lazar watched him disappear among the Northmen crowded around the okton arena. Lazar took a deep breath to steady his breathing and kicked one of the jars in the corner to spread the oil on the sand. A nearby slave was startled by the outburst and put his hand over his mouth.
Lazar glanced toward the stands to calm himself down and saw that Damianos' throne was empty. Seconds after, Laurent of Vere stood up with a puzzled look and walked out of the stadium towards one of the tents.
The ceremonial games and the fight with Pallas had left Lazar with a strange feeling. He remembered that rationality and hard work were the good qualities that made him a reliable soldier. Lazar didn't kick things or lose his temper easily. Sure, he'd had a few run-ins with Aimeric, who liked to stir up discord among the men, but otherwise, there was a controlled tone in his veins.
Lazar placed a hand over his heart, remembering Pallas saying with palpable determination, his eyebrows furrowed in anger —"I'm not your sweetheart."
Ouch! That hurt.
Chapter 6: Bastards (Part 2)
Chapter Text
At the Sunbeam Inn, where Lazar and Pallas slept on their way to the mission the kings of the Sister Nations had entrusted them, Lazar was the first to awaken.
The sunlight streaming into the room was bright and inviting. Lazar tossed aside the covers, rubbed his eyes, and yawned.
Pallas was still asleep, his face buried in the pillow. The Veretian took almost a minute watching his sleeping lover.
Then Lazar got up and stretched, went into the adjoining bathroom, and washed off the dust from the street with warm water and the bar of soap that lay in a corner. He cleaned himself thoroughly.
When he returned to the bedroom, he leaned over Pallas and buried his head in his neck to wake the young man who had pushed him. Lazar had only a towel wrapped around his waist.
"Time to wake up, sweetheart. The sun is high and we need to get going."
Pallas mumbled in his sleep.
"Another half hour, Laz."
A reluctant smile left Lazar's lips and he kissed Pallas' face.
"Once a nobleman, always a nobleman. We are on a mission. We have to go."
Pallas put his hands over his eyes, stretching and finally opening them. He tapped his chin briefly to keep himself awake.
"Right."
The Akielon sat up in bed, and he and Lazar stared at each other. Lazar reached out and ran his finger through a dark strand of hair that fell across Pallas' forehead.
"I got upset about you looking at the Empress of Vask, too. You really like the monarchy..."
Pallas swallowed hard, blushing a little:
"Did you hear me say that I was jealous of Ancel?"
"I did. I was just too tired to answer right away. Ancel seems to be a rare gem. He's good at catching the eye of all men, especially someone like me who grew up far from the luxuries of the court. He's a very handsome young man who charms everyone. But that doesn't mean I want to sleep with him. A fool like me is always impressed by the court. Sorry for upsetting you, Pallas."
Pallas heard the words and remembered Lazar's absorbed look as he watched the pet who had fascinated every man in Vere with his exuberance and vivacity. Pallas took a deep breath and spoke:
"I've slept with women before, but I discovered early on that I like men. I thought the Empress was a man. She's a different woman from the others, and for a moment I thought she was a noble from Vask. I wouldn't court her even if she were a man. It was just a look, Laz. I'm sorry, too."
Lazar heard the words and nodded. His hair was damp and drops of water stuck to his pale shoulders. He said in a hesitant voice:
"The first night we slept together, you said we were just killing time. That was over a year ago now, Pallas..."
The Akielon soldier nodded, crossing his arms as he chose his words in a Veretian language he was now more familiar with.
"I know. I was so pissed. The Veretians said that a bastard was bad luck, and I told you that my family despised the Veretians. We agreed back then to fuck just for fun. In the end, I'm still a bastard, but as for my family, as far as I know, many things changed after the Sister Nations' alliance. My father doesn't care so much about the past anymore. He prefers to spend time with his grandchildren and dream of a world without wars."
Lazar replied and lay down on the bed next to the Akielon:
"What the other soldiers said about misfortune was a silly superstition, sweetheart. If you destroy my crops like a locust, you'll only take away my bow, arrows, cigarettes, and doodads. I don't have much to lose..."
Pallas, who was lying on his stomach, looked at the Veretian and said, leaning on his elbow:
"We almost kissed at Laurent of Vere's birthday party when everyone was making out like there was no tomorrow..."
Lazar smiled and spoke:
"I must say that you have been faithful to your promise. But the question is... do we still want to keep it?"
Lazar's fingers slid through Pallas' dark hair.
"I don't want anything to happen to you, Laz..."
"Nothing will happen to me. I've been fortunate since I met you..."
The two men stared at each other for a while, in the uneven silence of the inn, where footsteps creaked upstairs, furniture snapped and laughter could be heard in the distance.
"...God, how jealous I was of you with the empress, sweetheart..."
"And I was jealous of you with that cheeky Ancel..."
Lazar gave Pallas a brief, crooked smile and felt the Akielon touch his chest. His desire was aroused, but Lazar's gaze was still fixed on those dark retinas and he slowly let his attention slide to Pallas' moist lips.
They both wished to kiss on the mouth. One of the pleasures they had not yet experienced in bed. Something so primal they had stubbornly pushed aside for more than a year.
Lazar brought his face closer, but Pallas guided his lips to the other's white neck and kissed him briefly to the shoulder line.
"How long will it last?"
Lazar closed his eyes and felt the gentle caress of the Akielon tracing another line across his chest, stomach, and abdomen with his lips. Pallas lifted his face and stared at Lazar as he opened the towel, revealing his lover's hardened cock.
"I don't think you'll hold back for long..."
Lazar smiled and said firmly:
"I'm not afraid to kiss you, Pallas. I want to kiss you. I want to taste your mouth."
The Akielon looked down and wrapped his tanned fingers around Lazar's cock. His look was a little sad.
"I don't want you to die like that poor man, Laz..."
"Do you still believe in this story?"
"I prefer to kiss you here as a precaution..." — Pallas replied, parting his lips and sliding his tongue over the groove of the tip of his lover's cock.
Lazar threw his head back and groaned. He felt the moist heat spread through his groin and throughout his body like a fever. Then Pallas moved down and up his head and Lazar stroked the dark strands with his hands in rhythm.
The sound of heavy boots trampling across the wooden floor of the hallway like the hooves of a herd of oxen grew louder and louder. The sound came closer and closer until it burst into the room like a cavalry charge. The two soldiers flinched as the door to the bedroom was suddenly wrenched open. Pallas' eyes widened at the entrance.
Charls and Guilliame appeared at the door, their faces red as the colorful fabrics they were selling. Their mouths were slack and they were already dressed in their velvet jackets, ready to be on their way again.
Pallas hurried away, looking very embarrassed, and stopped near the window. Lazar clasped his hands behind his head, knowing he was charming and didn't look bad.
"I'm sorry..." murmured Charl's voice, —"I'm sorry, Pallas and Lazar. The herald from the north has arrived and he... he..."
At Guilliame's side appeared the red hair of Hendric, Laurent's man, who had come from the northern woods to meet them at the inn.
"Hello, lads! It was I who insisted that Charls wake you up. I have much to talk to you, but it looks like Pallas is the one full-mouthed."
Lazar smiled. Hendric was a messenger with strong arms, used to carrying flags and banners, and his expression was enigmatic. You could never tell if he was joking or serious.
"We'll get dressed and talk to you downstairs," Lazar announced in a monotone voice.
"No, no! We'll meet in Guilliame's room. I don't want anyone to hear us."
Lazar nodded as Pallas, who was beginning to emerge from shame, slowly dressed in his eyelet and lace blouse.
Hendric turned away, Charls and Guilliame on his heels. But in the corridor, he stopped short, turned around, and asked:
"I've always been curious and bet the soldiers a silver coin. Who mounts whom?"
Pallas' eyes widened and Charls shook his head and left, while Guilliame followed the conversation open-mouthed. Lazar watched the herald without his expression changing.
"I'm the one mounting your damn father, you bastard."
"Seriously! We even made a bet, man!" — Hendric justified himself.
Lazar took a deep breath before throwing his boot at the door, which Hendric dodged. Naked, the Veretian soldier stood up and replied, ready to drive the herald away.
"We both mounts, you bloody gossipy! Now get out of here and suck some cock, bigmouth!"
Hendric looked surprised, then nodded as if that was a satisfactory answer. He turned away as the door slammed shut, leaving only Lazar and Pallas in the room.
As he gathered his clothes, Lazar gave a short laugh, reciprocated by Pallas, who was already pulling on his pants.
Then, as he pulled on his boots, still remembering the situation, the Akielon laughed even more spontaneously. It wasn't long before he and Lazar were laughing out loud, having found themselves in the unusual position of having been caught between the sheets during foreplay to a depraved act.
They would have to check later to see if Charls was still breathing.
The situation brought back memories. After all, Lazar and Pallas had made love for the first time in Karthas after the Akielon soldier had surprised King Damianos and Laurent of Vere in an embrace amidst the remains of a fuck in the Exalted's room.
"We are busy at the moment. Have a servant prepare the baths and bring us lunch by mid-morning," the Veretian crown prince had told him in the impersonal voice of an administrator looking up from his desk.
Pallas, who had come that morning to take Damen's orders, could almost see a faint smile forming around Laurent's lips. Naked and wrapped tightly around Damianos' body, he was telling the Akielon soldier something. Something that Pallas had been said for the past few months over and over, but he had ignored it.
"Stay out of the way of the crown princes. Things over there are more complicated than they seem ..."
When he had seen the scarred backs of Damen at the ceremonial games, Pallas had imagined that the king of Akielos loathed Laurent in some secret corner of his being, just as he suspected that the Veretian had not emptied his reservoir of hatred for Damianos. There was animosity between them. But Jord, Huet, and Lazar, who had marched with them from the beginning, had constantly signaled that hatred was a pretext for love in their relationship. It was a small dam holding back a torrent.
Pallas, silent, closed off in his world, left Damianos and Laurent alone. He closed the door of the royal chamber and walked blindly through the corridors until he leaned against a pillar and found his axis again.
Then he did the morning's duties and faced Jokaste's bitter mockery when he finished his shift guarding Kastor's lover's cell. Pallas had to listen to the noblewoman say to him, her body relaxed on the sofa and her posture exquisite:
"What a disappointed expression on your face! I bet your beloved Exalted kicked you out. I know you want Damen because I've seen you talking to Lydos about him. Damen has a lot on his plate at the moment, but nothing takes more his time than that vile creature of Vere. Some things about Damen never change... When he loves, he puts the person he loves on an altar. I've been sitting there for long, and it's sad to give up my seat to a petulant brat after watching Damianos reject the most beautiful people of Akielos because of me. But at least Laurent will be a king. You didn't stand a chance, soldier. Pull yourself together!"
Lady Jokaste's harsh words stung like a well-aimed stone, and Pallas was left to think about them all day.
As he walked absently past Lazar, the Veretian couldn't tell if Pallas was sad or angry. There was no clear or coordinated expression of mood on the Akielon's face. Just a distant attention to everything, as if he wasn't quite there.
That night, Pallas did not join the Akielon soldiers or the Veretians. But he was seen near the lake of Karthas' fort, drinking wine from a bulging ceramic flask. He was alone, his chiton was a little damp and a lantern stood beside him.
Jord, looking at Pallas from afar and pointing at him with his chin, said to Lazar and Huet:
"He's been crawling around like a dog with worms since morning. I heard a slave cleaning the rooms say that Laurent of Vere had spent the night in Damen's room. This was to be expected and it was only a matter of time before it happened. It wasn't without warning that Pallas was ruined."
Lazar glanced in the direction of the Akielon young man drinking wine, completely alone amidst hundreds of men.
So, was this the reason for Pallas' condition? He was suffering. Pallas was indeed still a very young man and was bitter at the disappointment in this arena of love where champions or victors were not always crowned.
Pallas desired someone who had already decided to love another man. Damianos was not only fond of Laurent. He loved the Veretian prince deeply with all the personal consequences it brought for their lives. Perhaps Damianos felt like a better person with Laurent of Vere. Maybe, despite their differences, they were too similar, forged from the same essence. Possibly some loves were too irreversible like a second open door of a story that shuts like a book.
Lazar, however, had always been suspicious of love. In his normal life, it left him without warning. Love curled in the air like smoke, vanished, and left its wreckage behind. Lazar was not looking for it. It was easier to deal with what was familiar.
Akielons, on the other hand, seemed to be very honest with their damned emotions and seemed to need to feel everything from the smallest to the biggest things in their bones. They were passionate and intense. They gave themselves too much to the unseen world. Akielons were not smoke. They were fire.
Lazar felt the urge to go to Pallas to shorten the distance without understanding why. Pallas' suffering pained Lazar and he couldn't ignore that realization.
At that moment, however, there was a clamor among some of the soldiers in the camp, a commotion near the Veretian tents. Some men ran to see what was going on. Pallas raised his head from where he stood. Lazar, Jord, and Huet came closer.
Even Laurent and Damen, accompanied by the kyros Nikandros, left the fort in the face of the confusion and joined the men.
"What's going on?" Laurent asked, looking at his soldiers with a cold and somewhat worried expression.
The last time there had been such a commotion, a messenger had come from Arles with Nicaise's head in a sack.
A middle-aged guard named Benoit bowed low before the prince of Vere and began to speak indistinctly, his hat pulled low on his chest.
"It's just that my comrade Fabrice fell hard on the ground and started convulsing. He's not breathing now, Your Highness..."
Laurent frowned and asked:
"Out of the blue...?"
The man nodded, looked at the King of Akielos, and swallowed hard.
"...Tell Paschal to examine him immediately!"
The camp was bustling with activity and when the Veretian physician entered the tent of the man named Fabrice, he found him lying in a pool of his vomit.
The soldiers, Damen, Laurent, and Nikandros waited outside until Paschal left the tent. The physician touched the wrinkle on his forehead after drying his hands with a damp cloth.
"What happened to him?" Laurent asked. "Was he poisoned?"
Paschal shook his face:
"There is no sign of poisoning, Your Highness. Fabrice consulted me a few days ago and told me he had a terrible headache, felt disoriented during training, and occasionally had blurred vision. He had some bleeding too. It's possible that he died suddenly because something wasn't right with his head."
Damen blinked:
"Is that possible?"
"Yes. In rare cases," Paschal hastened to explain, "Fabrice wasn't that old, but he drank and smoked more than all the soldiers put together. Some physicians say that tobacco and alcohol in excess can be bad for the heart, breathing, and head. Fabrice's brother died a few years ago with terrible headaches, and maybe it's a disease in his blood."
Laurent had his hand on his chin as Benoit sobbed like a child with wet eyes and said:
"Fabrice was my best friend! He was a good man! It wasn't the wine and smoking that killed him. It was the taboo!"
Nikandros, who had overheard everything, shook his head and asked:
"What taboo?"
Benoit snorted with the force of a bugle.
"The taboo! Forgive me, but I can't trust the words a physician uses. I believe in the truth of our ancestors. Fabrice kissed an Akielon slave last week. A bastard!"
There was a commotion, and in the light of the dying fire, you could see the frightened faces of the Veretian soldiers.
Lazar, Jord, and Huet stood still, watching the scene. Pallas, still holding his bulging wine bottle, followed the conversation, having approached some time ago.
Damen shrugged his shoulders.
"What of it?"
Benoit looked up with shaken dignity.
"To kiss a bastard is a harm ordered" — the man spoke as if he were reciting a quote he had heard — "I warned Fabrice that it was dangerous, but he didn't listen to what the elders said and kissed the slave Thepus. He was cursed. That's why he had fallen dead."
Damen and Nikandros exchanged a look that seemed to say silently: 'Great! This is all we need.'
Laurent in turn asked with his impersonal look:
"And where is the slave Thepus?"
Benoit shook his head in disbelief as if he would rather the slave were dead than his friend.
"I saw him, bright and cheerful, serving the men at dinner. The unfortunate one looked well. The cursed was poor Fabrice, who kissed that bastard!"
Laurent replied coldly:
"He's fine, because that's idiotic superstition. If that were true, half my men would be dead, because I doubt that Thepus only kissed Fabrice. I will not dispute what Paschal has said; there is no room for ignorance in our endeavor. Perform the funeral rites and prepare a funeral pyre. I will assign a slave to wash Fabrice's body and dress him for burial since he had no family. That's all."
The men dispersed, but there was a certain tension in their sullen faces. Pallas' lips twitched, he turned away and returned to his exile. So, he drank to die, sipping his wine and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Huet and Jord went to help the men gather wood for the pyre, but Lazar returned to the shore of the lake.
Lazar then approached Pallas. The sky was starry and the night was cool. In the distance, owls' hooting and crickets' chirping could be heard as well as the occasional sound of a fish moving around a rock at the lake.
Pallas looked into the corner, saw Lazar sitting next to him and lowered his face:
"If you've come to gloat..."
"I didn't come to gloat. I only came to talk to you..."
"I doubt it. Are you happy now? I saw Damianos and Laurent in bed. You were right all along! You must know by now that our kings fuck. You were right about everything! You can say I never had a chance from the start."
Lazar lit a cigarette and briefly raised his eyes to the starry sky, searching for patience. Angry, drunk and with gaps in his speech... His communication with Pallas would be excellent.
"Right. You never had a chance." Lazar declared, not thinking of anything better to say. "That's what you get for defying Laurent of Vere. I've seen the crown prince of my country verbally eviscerate men and make soldiers three times his size cry. Did you really think you would tangle with Damianos in an arena and Laurent would congratulate you and hand you him over on a silver tray? His victory over you on the okton was already a warning."
Pallas' lips were parted.
"...I told you that Laurent would smash you like a potato. That's what the Prince of Vere does. He doesn't aim for the flesh, he aims for the heart."
Pallas replied angrily:
"I don't give a damn about the Prince of Vere! Fuck him!"
Lazar gestured the cigarette between his fingers.
"Well, I'd care if I were you! If Laurent and Damianos' project goes well, they may be in each other's lives for a long time. If two people can overcome death, torture, and war, few obstacles can separate them..."
Pallas made a disappointed noise with his lips, and after almost a minute, during which Lazar took the bottle from his hand and took a sip of wine as well, he murmured:
"I just wanted Damianos to notice me, to desire me... On the day of the fight, he whispered that he appreciated my commitment to the sport, even if his coronation was hurried and without the customary pomp for a rising king at Ios. He thanked me for my loyalty..."
Lazar shook his face after taking a puff.
"Damen is a good man. It's not like he didn't notice you. Surely, he noticed a three-time champion and a good soldier like you. It's just that he's already in love with someone else, sweetheart. There's no more room."
Pallas shrugged his shoulders.
"My sister says I'm a big dreamer, and she told me once that it's okay to dream of a prince, but that I can't lose sight of reality. You all warned me about Damianos, but I didn't want to see it because I was too caught up in my illusions."
Lazar took another puff.
"You come from a world where people have time and ways to dream, Pallas, but the other Veretian soldiers and I have already experienced many things because we come from a harsh reality. What you feel now will pass."
Pallas glanced at the Veretian's face and took a sip of wine. Lazar continued:
"...Forgive the soldiers for their harsh words that day. The taboo against bastards scares some Veretians, but perhaps many of the men were envious of your life. You're a noble who chose to serve in the army, and though you are an illegitimate child, your family seems to have loved and cared for you. You have a father, siblings, nephews, and two mothers. You have a place to return to. Many of the men here have nothing. They fight for their country and only for themselves..."
Pallas blinked and stared into Lazar's face as he lay on the lake's edge, leaning on his elbows.
"... Just because bastards are taboo in Vere doesn't mean many parents don't abandon their children when they realize it's easier to manage on their own. My father married my mother, but he left us when I was seven. He was a blacksmith and sold jewelry even to courtiers in Arles. I like to think that my father was a man of good taste, although I often despise him. My mother died when I was fourteen years old. I joined the army and the Regent called me into his guard, but now, at twenty-one, I serve the Crown Prince. Regarding bad luck, legitimate children can have much to worry about."
Pallas twitched the corners of his mouth and spoke:
"I'm sorry for what I said in the arena that day, too. I..."
"I like fucking for fun," Lazar said, "I could be dead in the morning like Fabrice. I prefer to enjoy life a little before I disappear. Sex isn't complicated for me. We're men and we know how everything ends. Why delay something that's going to end anyway? I like to fuck for pleasure and without drama..."
Pallas nodded and said, choosing his words and gesturing with his hands:
"Why are you telling me these things? Fabrice died because he kissed an Akielon bastard. And yet you want to be my friend?"
Lazar took a drag from his cigarette and said:
"No, I don't want to be your friend, Pallas. I can help you forget your precious Exalted. I want to sleep with you. I know you said I didn't have a chance, but I can be an option."
The silence was interrupted by men giving orders on the battlements. Dogs barked in the distance.
"Fabrice may have died because he kissed a bastard," Pallas insisted.
"I don't have to kiss you to get and give you pleasure, sweetheart."
Silence again. This time, after more than a minute of moving his dark eyes, Pallas stood and took the ceramic bottle with what little wine was left. Lazar lifted his face and stared at him, thinking the Akielon would walk away offended and scornful of his wooing. But instead, Pallas held out his tanned hand and said:
"Come."
Lazar felt his heart pounding in his chest. He looked at the bottle of wine and asked:
"Are you drunk?"
"I'm not that weak with alcohol. Come on, let's have some fun. It's not so bad to kill time."
The Veretian looked at the outstretched hand with an M of long, firm lines and took it.
It was unusual for lower-ranking soldiers to roam the interior of Karthas' Fort. But Pallas was a three-time champion in the ceremonial games and an aristocrat, the son of a nobleman from Isthima. He had a room to himself on the sprawling grounds. So, they made their way to the fort, not Lazar's tent.
In Pallas' room was a large bed with a marble headboard, white arched windows, ceramic pots with living flowers, lamps, and columns with grooves in the marble. Incense was burned on a small table and a woven rug with dark figures and designs of half-man and half-horse people covered the stone floor.
Lazar began to remove his boots and jacket. He forced himself to act natural but didn't understand why he had a feeling in his stomach as if the moths circling the lamp were living inside him. He turned to Pallas, who closed the door behind him and remained leaning against it. The young man muttered:
"You don't have to sleep with me out of pity..."
"I don't feel sorry for you. I've wanted to sleep with you since I saw you, Pallas. Many people want that. My actions aren't noble," Lazar replied, looking up at the Akielon.
Pallas squatted down, unfastened the leather straps from his calves, and took off his sandals. The Akielon was eighteen, and his limbs still looked boyish despite the obvious musculature. It was as if childhood was resisting to leave him and lingered within him.
To make sure, the Veretian asked:
"Have you ever had sex? Do you know how men fuck?"
Pallas stood, came a little closer, and replied:
"I'm not a virgin. I've slept with men before."
Lazar, sitting on the Akielon's comfortable bed, looked up as Pallas positioned himself between his spread legs. The Veretian slipped his hands under Pallas' chiton when he looked Lazar in the eye. Flames flickered in the dark retinas.
"My family doesn't like Veretians and I get that you'll fuck anything that moves as long as it has a cock. I know I'm nothing special to you and we won't complicate this. Let's have fun and spend time together, okay? Tomorrow you'll leave and I won't be behind you. The whistles should go away too."
Pallas' words were spoken in a dry, matter-of-fact Veretian. With a strange weakness, Lazar agreed.
"Great. I prefer it that way, too."
"I'm not going to kiss you. I don't know if Paschal or Benoit are right, but just in case, it's better to be safe than sorry. I don't want you to die."
Lazar let his attention slide to the handsome, deep-eyed face of the Akielon. Then he nodded. Sometime later, looking back, Lazar would conclude that he'd have agreed to anything Pallas suggested on this occasion.
The Veretian slipped his hand under Pallas' chiton again and stroked the young man's hard thighs. Pallas teasingly brought his face closer, not intending to kiss the other man, but smiling. His breath smelled of grapes.
"There's more. You can tell other Veretian soldiers that you were with me. I don't care what they think of me. But if you dare to act like a peacock, I'll kill you. I'm not a trophy. I'm a champion, do you understand?"
Lazar felt a strange tingling in his face and nodded again.
"... Right," Pallas spoke, unfastening the brooch on his chiton and sliding it down his body until it fell to the floor. His smooth, glowing skin lay exposed.
Lazar let his gaze glide over the body he had so often wanted to touch, lamenting that he couldn't kiss the Akielon.
As he pulled away from Lazar, Pallas turned his back to him and said in a whisper with a seductive look:
"I'm going to take a bath."
Pallas disappeared into an adjoining room, the door of which was left open, and Lazar understood what to do and followed him.
There was an Akielon bathing system in the small room that Lazar had never heard of. A wide marble bench stood in the center of the room, and they poured hot water from a large bathtub with clay jugs. This was different from the tubs of Vere that the men soaked in.
During the bath, there was teasing and touching. Lazar's hand and mouth touched Pallas between the legs and lingered there while the Akielon surrendered.
Pallas also stretched out in pleasurable caresses on the Veretian man. But it was only in bed, when their bodies were still wet, that they went further.
With his oil-soaked fingers, Lazar slid them to Pallas' entrance and gently pushed them in as the other man cursed in his language, taking in the hot, lustful pleasure that surrounded him.
Lazar inserted himself into the Akielon's body and shortly after began his rhythmic, vigorous, and aroused movements.
It felt good. Pallas was on all fours in front of him, moaning, and the sight aroused him for a long time until the characteristic trembling spread through both men's bodies before they felt the climax overtake them.
Lazar threw his head back as he emptied himself into Pallas' panting, surrendering body while the Akielon moved his fingers, drawing out the pleasure with his eyes closed.
A thought crossed Lazar's mind as he moaned and felt a twinge in his heart.
"I am not your Exalted, Pallas. I am an ordinary man from Vere. Look at me. It's with me you just cum."
Lazar, overwhelmed by a new feeling then, brushed his lips tenderly across the Akielon's neck, causing him to half open his eyes. As the two looked at each other, the Veretian instantly kissed Pallas' face.
Pallas blushed a little and then smiled, holding Lazar's gaze as he smiled back.
Then they did it again.
The night was very still and everything was like a dreamy, dull blur of ragged breaths, whispered words, intertwined limbs, and the realization of lust given and taken.
As they prepared for another turn, Lazar discovered that Pallas liked to fuck both ways. He touched Lazar's shoulder and whispered something into the Veretian's ear, his lips touching the soft earlobe. He forced the man to turn onto his stomach on the mattress.
"My turn."
The suggestion sent a shiver down Lazar's spine. During his fucks, he preferred to penetrate the men rather than be penetrated. Mostly that was because Lazar found the Veretians were a little too rough and eager when they had their cocks hard behind a body that was open and surrendered to them.
But Pallas was not a crude Veretian soldier. He was an Akielon aristocrat.
He was careful as he inserted his slick, oiled fingers into Lazar's entrance. The Akielon kissed the other man's neck, who shuddered at the gentle touch. Pallas' soft voice was soothing. He was a caring lover. Even if it were just a one-night stand, Lazar thought, feeling the ache in his chest again, Pallas would always do his best.
Lazar closed his eyes and let go of control over the feeling that another man had possessed him. He felt the discomfort turn to lustful pleasure and opened up to him even more, moving his body and biting the crook of his arm.
"Am I hurting you, Lazar?"
"No. Make me cum like this." — the Veretian answered, clutching at the sheets.
The idea of being penetrated excited Lazar a little more as he thought of Pallas as a young man with a very readable expression, drinking wine alone like someone in need of support. And also, as a triple-crowned champion in the middle of a bustling arena, accepting all the congratulations he could muster from two rival nations.
He could be vulnerable and that was fascinating. He could be a fighter, and that was fascinating too. Perhaps his lovemaking expressed that.
Lazar felt Pallas move inside him with powerful, gasping thrusts. He felt the sweet murmur of the Akielon on the back of his neck, making his skin prickle.
This kind of pleasure was good too. It was good to explore all the sensations of the same body, like the glide of drumsticks feeling a xylophone, plucking low and high notes in a song that occupied the spaces of silence and emptiness. The pleasure had several paths.
The two men's third climax was intense and long. They continued to caress each other until they fell asleep and woke up again shortly after sunrise.
When Lazar left Pallas' room, he was dizzy, achy, content, and happy. The Akielon stood in the doorway, his arms folded and his gaze serene, warmed by the orange rays of the morning.
"Thank you," Pallas murmured.
"It wasn't a favor..." — Lazar replied.
"Still," the young man replied, a reddish glow appearing on his damp skin.
A few guards on their morning rounds stared open-mouthed at the two men. Lazar wore his jacket over his arm and had loosened the ties of his shirt. Pallas had a towel around his waist and his hair was damp. The possibility that they had sex was certain.
After a silence because he didn't know what words to use, Lazar said:
"Well, we must disguise ourselves as cloth merchants and travel south tomorrow with Lady Jokaste. There's bound to be chaos in the Veretian camp. I'll be off then..."
Pallas smiled, having partially understood the sentences.
"Good."
"See you later," Lazar said, turning and walking towards the hallway lit by the white morning light.
"See you," Pallas replied and closed the door, after a brief hesitation and a resigned look.
Lazar forced himself to ignore the sound of the fort and himself.
Pallas was one of Damen's best soldiers. He was due to report to the courtyard soon and would surely fulfill his morning duty. He was as good in bed as Lazar had thought he would be. Perhaps the Veretian had distracted him a bit from his heartache the night before.
Perhaps there was something honorable in someone like Lazar, who had never made sex into something complex and who was someone who used bodies without being attached to them; who had given up his own body to make Pallas a little happier after his disappointed love for the Exalted.
Perhaps the two of them had used each other, for Pallas had wanted nothing more than a one-night stand. He closed the door to his room and tried not to dwell on the subject.
For a moment, Lazar remembered him and Pallas in the stable, sharing a mango, hiding like two boys. They were still two boys. Two boys who had started handling swords, spears, and arrows at a very early age.
The Veretian remembered the Akielon's face as he chewed the fruit and made spontaneous gestures. If Lazar could choose, he would wish that Pallas never lost his childhood and could always smile instead of sitting on the edge of a lake, drowning in wine like someone without faith.
But Lazar had to return to his side of the camp. To his comrades, to his sword and archery training. To his duty to the Prince of Vere; to his smoke-scented tent full of doodads and broken things. To his world of fucking, where bodies cushioned bumps. To his life with a father who had abandoned him and a mother who, in the end, could no longer care for him either.
If sleeping with a bastard was bad luck, what was his twenty-one-year-old life as a legitimate son like? Was he luckier because he was empty-handed and had pinned all his hopes on a rising king?
But what about his small hopes? The simple hopes that a man keeps to himself in his heart and dares not touch for fear that they will be dashed to pieces. Some men are so afraid of having their dreams shattered that they become rigid and dull lest they lose them.
Lazar had taken a cigarette out of his pocket and was about to put it in his mouth.
Some distance away in the courtyard, FabrIce's pyre had been prepared during the night, and a few Veretian soldiers were gathered around the sticks and branches tied to the marble platform.
Was it this place that people were afraid of? Did they fear physical death and the weeping of the bereaved?
Lazar also feared such circumstances: the farewell and the tears.
Both were painful under both circumstances: for a seven-year-old boy or a twenty-one-year-old man.
It hurts.
But there were many ways to die, short of suddenly bursting an artery in the brain or having an execution on the calendar.
Living less and less so as not to mourn the loss was one of the terrible ways to die. That was a bargain with death as if the days not enjoyed could be saved.
But it didn't work that way.
In the end, only those who feared their own lives feared death.
The Veretian stopped in the colonnaded corridor without digging into himself and turned around, nearly colliding with two Akielon soldiers inspecting the fort.
With quick steps and before fear could hold him back, Lazar returned and rapped his knuckles on the door of Pallas. Something stirred in the room, and when he opened the door, the Akielon had already donned his ivory chiton for his morning exercises.
Pallas paused with his hand on the doorknob and asked on Veretian language. He had been trying hard over the last few months to learn to speak Vere's language better. The soul of a boy who had grown up in love strove for excellence.
"Did you forget something?"
Lazar's cheeks flushed and he forced himself to look at the Akielon:
"We can do this more often if you want..."
Pallas blinked. The blush on Lazar's cheeks deepened.
"...I wish we could do it again."
The Akielon shook his head, making sure he had understood correctly.
"Again?"
Lazar agreed.
"Hmm, while you forget your Exalted. You are a good company. We can continue to help each other."
Pallas said:
"We will leave for the south first thing in the morning..."
The Veretian nodded, feeling vulnerable as he had feared. Just as he had always feared, ever since he had felt abandoned at seven and completely alone at fourteen.
"I know. But you can come to the Veretian camp. You can come to my tent. It's not a chamber like that of an aristocrat from Isthima, but... I want you to come... And I'd like us to go fishing together again and talk. I would like that very much."
Pallas still had his hand on the doorknob and his dark eyes lingered on Lazar longer than the Veretian would have liked. Finally, Pallas smiled as he shook off his surprise. His lips lifted, and Lazar smiled with him.
"I would appreciate that too."
The two men stared at each other for a moment, and for a second Lazar thought Pallas was going to kiss him on the lips. Pallas stepped closer and kissed the Veretian's flushed cheek instead.
Lazar put his hand to his face and felt something in his heart expand in all directions. He couldn't remember any man he'd slept with kissing his face. His mother had done it when he was a boy, but he had forgotten the feeling of care and protection. His father had done it too, before he left.
"...Do you want to exercise with me?" Pallas asked.
Lazar agreed. He would always say yes to Pallas.
"Great! I'll talk to Aktis to find out today's coordinates and meet you at the training ground!" — said the Akielon with a broad smile.
As Lazar left the fort, he lifted his face to the morning and felt the sun warming his skin. Karthas had a bright sun, and he could see that now. It was not like the cold, cloudy mornings in Ladehors. It was a bright blue, a green horizon, and the brightness streamed in all directions.
He was smiling. He must have smiled the way Pallas smiled. He smiled with every part of himself. Not with crookedness or mockery. Not as a shield, but with joy. Lazar put his hand to his cheek again.
There were good times between Lazar and Pallas after that, like resuming conversations, training together, and fishing. There were great times, like intimacy, tenderness, and talking. And finally, there were also arguments.
This was also because Pallas and Lazar's tempers clashed from time to time, such as when the Akielon visited his Veretian lover's tent and was outraged by an unmade straw bed, a bow lying in a corner with arrows piled up on it, clay plates full of cigarette butts, crumpled clothes, a bitten apple that had been forgotten, and broken objects that Lazar tended to hoard.
The Veretian used to take every iron object he found on his way to his room and twisted the metal with rusty pliers trying to fix it.
As he threw away half of a rusty shield and examined a dagger without a handle, Pallas said:
"By the gods, Lazar, that's... Clean this place for the next time. Let's go to my tent for today. There's barely room for me in here..."
Over the following weeks, the men of both armies watched with a certain curiosity as Lazar and Pallas talked and laughed together. Lazar, who had never paid much attention to anyone before, suddenly seemed to enjoy Pallas' company not only at night but also in the morning and afternoon.
And Pallas, who lived like a euphoric dog to please his king, now only approached Damianos when his presence or services were required.
After all, Pallas was proud of himself and it was not in his nature to linger where he was not wanted.
The armies were on their way south, and there was much to think about these days. Sometimes the soldiers of the two troops had to throw things on the road so that the horses could travel more easily and the caravan could be unloaded, especially after one of the wagons had a broken wheel.
Lazar threw away half his doodads, weighing the bag with the remaining items on his arm.
And Pallas, looking at the heap of useless objects that the Akielons and Veretians had piled up in a mountain, could see Damianos whispering something in a smiling Laurent of Vere's ear at a distance.
It was rare to see the Veretian prince smile, but he did.
Damianos' and Laurent's fingers intertwined discreetly, observing from a distance the pile of unnecessary objects whose removal would make the journey easier and more comfortable: dented pans, wooden planks, rusty daggers, broken helmets, teapots with missing or bent lids...
Perhaps the affection between Damianos and Laurent had always been obvious, Pallas thought, watching the two men turn away from everything they left behind as they walked side by side.
After a while, Lazar touched Pallas on the shoulder and said:
"Let's go?"
Pallas nodded and smiled.
The past needed to pass.
"Yes."
Lazar and Pallas made their way to Guilliame's room at the Sunbeam Inn and found the herald Hendric and the merchants sitting on high-backed chairs. Charls had taken precautions and provided two chairs for the soldiers.
Hendric rested his foot relaxed on his knee and propped his elbow on the back of the chair as he said:
"Sit down. I need to bring you up to speed on things..."
Hendric began to relate that the carriage they had to escort was at the forest border to Arles and the cargo they had to transport to the capital showed signs of impatience.
"The girl who was held hostage looks like a raging animal and has even injured two men by biting them. Vask's second wife looking after her, Mircela, seems to have performed in the circus in the past, and the old troupe she belonged to was a disguise for them to get to Arles. Mircela is not a warrior and is more suspicious than aggressive. Now the bigger cargo worries me. The king's messenger said you could handle it," said Hendric, eyeing Pallas' dog-bitten hand and wrist.
The Akielon spoke:
"My father breeds hunting dogs and I helped train them..."
Hendric screwed up his face and pondered the question.
"They are bigger than dogs. Much bigger. They're like giant cats. The soldiers are afraid of them. They have to stay caged until they reach Arles, got it?"
Pallas nodded thoughtfully. After a while, Hendric turned to the merchants Charls and Guilliame:
"We're counting on you to talk to Vask's second wife and the girl. Neither soldier speaks Vaskian language and they are both very reactive and frightened. Lady Vannes would attract much attention in the north for traveling with two soldiers. One of the men in the circus company spoke more or less Veretish and explained the situation in general when they were discovered trying to sneak across the border. You know the second wife and perhaps she will respond better to you..."
Charls and Guilliame agreed to the instructions already known from Laurent's letter. Then Hendric's face twitched, staring at Lazar.
"There's more. You're on your way north, and the people in this area are rough and uncouth, and many don't much like the treaty with the Sister Nations. Pallas might attract some hostility along the way. Be on your guard. I've heard of an old Lysian mercenary named Odilon stirring up the men and making hate speeches against Akielos."
Lazar frowned.
"Odilon Gagneux?"
Hendric nodded:
"Do you know him?"
Lazar twitched the corners of his mouth in disgust and replied:
"I've only seen him a few times. He served in the Regent's guard in Lys and was immoral, dirty, and dishonorable. I heard that he killed King Aleron's dogs with a sword for a gold coin on the Regent's orders, as soon as the king's body was buried, and that he lived in Fortaine for a while."
Pallas, who had a dozen friendly dogs in Isthima and played with his nephews, clumsily climbing on beds and furniture, asked in horror:
"The Regent has ordered the king's dogs to be killed? Why?"
Lazar shrugged his shoulders and said:
"I don't know, Pallas. But that's what people say..."
Hendric took a deep breath and placed his hands on his thighs before standing up.
"Well, let's be careful. The North isn't to be trifled with. We'd better be on our way soon. That cargo from Vask kept me up at night. I'll be with you from now on."
Pallas and Lazar saddled their horses, and Charls and Guilliame sat down in their fabrics' carriage. Hendric ran his hand through his horse's mane and accepted one of the strawberries offered to him by Pallas, who was still chewing the berries from the bag the innkeeper had given him.
They continued their journey and were greeted by a fine, persistent drizzle late in the afternoon as they crossed the border lined with tall trees and guarded by men wearing the livery of the King and the Star of Vere on their chests. Hendric dismounted his horse and turned to the captain, showing a letter with the royal seal.
From a distance, Lazar and Pallas waved to Serge. The Veretian soldier had been transferred from Delpha to his home in the north a few months ago. He was busy at work some distance away, inspecting an ox cart and calling out to travelers. Serge returned the wave of his old comrades with a smile before turning to his work.
After a few minutes, the carriage was released and the group saw a long circus fleet heading towards Belloy in the opposite direction. At night, they reached the small town of Dijon.
Dijon was a small town with tiny houses and cobbled streets. The inhabitants moved from one place to another, carrying baskets and parcels and leading horses laden with grapes and strawberries. Several circus companies set up their tents in the main square and began their show, which would travel throughout Vere in the spring.
Pallas watched open-mouthed a man with an elongated body breathing fire and a young woman balancing on the ground with her hands while holding a ball on the top of her foot. Hendric spoke:
"The Vaskian cargo remains after the second border. It is night, and out of courtesy, we should visit the second wife in the morning. This is no ordinary cargo. This is the royalty of Vask. We will lodge at an inn for today, and we will leave in the morning."
Everyone nodded, while Pallas only partially gave in to his attention. He watched as the fire-breathing man did a backflip and spun a hula hoop around his waist, sending orange glowing particles into the air.
Lazar raised an eyebrow and turned to see the street spectacle Pallas was enjoying. Lazar knew those artists from childhood, but Pallas had never seen them before and seemed enchanted by the illusion of the Veretian performers. With a twitch of his lips, Hendric said:
"You are free to stroll about Dijon discreetly and without drinking too much, as you are on a mission. I will accompany Charls and Guilliame to the inn. Be careful."
With a smile, Pallas walked through the crowd with Lazar's arm around his neck.
They passed through an alleyway and glanced at a rope strung between two townhouses, where a few tightrope walkers were walking across the path with a parasol, practicing for the attraction they did for a living.
Further along, a magician was flying doves out of a hat and men with painted faces made children laugh. More firebreathers were wielding flaming clubs that whirled in the air, lighting the night. They caught objects in flight after pirouetting on the ground.
Pallas left his coins in some corners and Lazar bought a sweet bread from a vendor and shared it with the Akielon.
"It's amazing! There are no attractions like this in Isthima," said Pallas, watching tightrope walkers plunging into a pyramid and a woman hanging upside down from a silk sheet suspended from a beam.
"You can tell your nephews about it when you visit them," Lazar replied, smiling at Pallas' happy expression. "When we return to the capital, we can also check out the businesses of Arles during the planting season. There are many festivities and they are a bit like the festivals in Akielos. Do you remember how much fun we had in Ios?"
Pallas nodded, chewing a piece of sweet bread and popping another into Lazar's mouth.
"How could I forget?"
The week following the retake of Ios, with the flags of Vere and Akielos flying side by side from the palace tower, was a time of joyous outbursts and soldierly celebration in the capital.
Kastor was dead. Long live Damianos of Akielos! Long live Laurent of Vere! Their opponents were arrested and would be tried for treason, usurpation, and attempted murder. They won!
The troops were given a few days off and the city of Ios exploded with music, feasting and dancing on the feverish ground scorched by the blazing sun. Huet drank so much that he was found passed out while hugging the trunk of an olive tree.
Guymar was seen kissing a physician from Akielos passing by, leaning over the man with hungry lips, and was slapped in return. Aktis led Jord and several other men from Vere into the white-walled taverns and toasted with a song of camaraderie in the Akielon language.
The Veretians, who hadn't worn chitons to beat the heat, wore their blouses with the sleeves rolled up, and the eyelets open, and twirled their jackets in their hands amidst the festivities. Their skin was red and covered in rashes. But they didn't seem to mind the climate of Ios. They fanned themselves with whatever they had and sipped melon and orange juices in the sun.
The joy could be felt in every fiber of each man. This was a historic event in their worlds. Vere and Akielos, once rivals, celebrated side by side, having won side by side.
On the seventh day of celebration, as they walked down the street amidst people, cups, and drinks in the air to toast among strangers, Pallas walked hand in hand with Lazar.
"I must show you the hill in the sea from where we can overlook the Gulf of Atros. The sunset there is beautiful and it was my favorite spot when my family brought me here. You can see Isthima from afar."
Lazar, being pulled by Pallas, spoke with a smile:
"You really like the sea, don't you?"
"I grew up near it, just like you did in Ladehors. You can't stay away from it for long. It's a long climb, but it's worth it."
Lazar and Pallas continued to sleep together. They were always close to each other and shared a cheerful, lively atmosphere around them. At an evening feast in front of the capital's palace, the two danced together and Pallas made the soldiers of both armies gathered around the fire laugh with his jokes.
His portrayal of Paschal on a horse was very popular with the men, and even the Veretian physician had to laugh when he joined the soldiers. Lazar watched Pallas and felt the laughter leave his body these days.
Finally, the crown prince's journey was about to end, and Lazar and Pallas had not spoken about where they would go from here. For now, the two men were enjoying the festivities in the capital of Akielos. For the moment, they were happy. For the moment, time did not exist.
Until Pallas, walking hand in hand with Lazar on his way to the top of the hill to watch the sunset, bumped into Serge and Enguerran, who were walking between the streets of the markets.
They were accompanied by a group of six young, attractive Veretian soldiers.
Serge looked Pallas from head to toe with envious disdain. Enguerran introduced the men:
"These are soldiers from Arran who have come to swear allegiance to Prince Laurent. We must look after our comrades and make them feel at home. The cities of Arran and Alier rejoice at the fall of the Regent, as they suffer from exponential tax increases..."
Pallas saw some of the blonde Veretian soldiers smile at Lazar. Others, with dark curls, raised their mugs to him.
"Make them feel at home. I know you're good at it..." Enguerran explained, moving his face closer to speak into Lazar's ear.
There was an awkward moment as the soldiers approached Lazar and made jokes with him. Pallas guessed the young men to be his age or slightly older.
Enguerran began to talk about how the army would line up for the trials of the prisoners next week. That the Regent would end up being executed anyway and that his recovery in prison was not a second chance his nephew would give him. Enguerran spoke loudly, trying to drown out the din of the people around him. One Arran's soldier in particular had his eyes on Lazar.
And while Pallas held hands with the Veretian, the pretty Arran's soldier stepped forward and whispered something in Lazar's ear.
Pallas watched the movement and instinctively loosened his grip, releasing Lazar's hold.
Enguerran continued to talk about the duties of the soldiers of Vere, and another man joked with the captain of the Prince's Guard, which made Lazar smile. The handsome young man whispered something in Lazar's ear again.
The third time, Pallas backed away, holding his arm as if injured, and turned his back on the group. He slipped between the people walking through the market with baskets of fish and bulky packages and disappeared among them.
It didn't take long, but when the Arran's drunk soldier leaned over for the fourth time to whisper something in Lazar's ear, the Veretian backed away. Then he removed the pale hand that had slipped onto his shoulder.
"Enguerran, I ask your permission to leave. Pallas and I will go to the..."
Lazar looked to the side, searching for the Akielon. The place to his right was empty. He looked around and asked Serge, who was watching the scene with a wry smile.
"Where's Pallas?"
Serge shrugged his shoulders.
"He got off before you and that soldier in heat over there started fucking. Are you going to whistle after him too, Lazar? I knew you hadn't changed..."
Pallas had walked numbly along the path he had climbed so many times as a child, the dust sticking to his tanned leather sandals. With his sister Althaia, he used to fly kites from up there and saw the coast of Isthima as a tiny, distant dot.
Why was Pallas so uncomfortable?
Lazar did not belong to him. He had met Lazar amid a depraved act of fellatio, and during the time they had been together, what they had was only a mutually beneficial friendship in which the Veretian helped him forget Damianos. And in return, Pallas thanked him sensually and lustfully.
Pallas hadn't seen the Veretian sleeping with other men lately, but that was probably due to the pace of the armies' journey as situations became more critical and the outcome approached. As the armies approached Kingsmeet, there had been no time for flirting.
But now everything was different and life was returning to a degree of normality. Suddenly the time was tight.
Pallas avoided thinking about it, but Lazar would surely move north with his people, while he was to remain in Ios with the Akielon army. This wasn't a courtship they had. It was a friendly relationship with an unspoken expiration date, and now that there was peace, Lazar would return to the life he enjoyed.
Pallas shouldn't commit. He knew that. There had never been any promises. No kisses. It was just friendship. And sex. Long conversations they alternated between Akielon and Veretian languages to understand each other.
Pallas walked for half an hour along the white limestone path that meandered through the bright blue sky, and when he reached the top where he could see the sea, he sat on the edge of the cliff and watched as the sleepy sun began its languid movement to lay on the horizon.
The sea shone supremely and incomparably. In the distance, the tiny dot of Isthima could be seen. Pallas wrapped his arms around his knees and stood very still as he felt the warmth on his skin.
He was alone even so close to home. Perhaps Lazar's way of life had its appeal after all: sex, alcohol, cigarettes, and freedom. The freedom not to look out to sea with a heavy heart. The freedom to have fun before disappearing one day. To minimize everything at a distance, just like the tiny island of Isthima.
Perhaps the happiness of champions wasn't linked to victory in love. Or maybe love was only for crowned princes loved by all. But why was Pallas thinking about Lazar and love? Lazar liked things simple and without drama. After all, Pallas knew the Veretian's nature, and it was cruel to try to change him. He had accepted his terms.
By the time Lazar arrived at the top of the limestone path, hair disheveled, tired eyes, and damp face, the sun had already set and fire pits had been lit along the paths for passersby to see the way back. Pallas was still watching the sky with his dark eyes.
"Why did you come here alone? It took me ages to find out how to get here! A fruit seller showed me the way. I wasn't sure if you were here..."
Pallas looked up and felt his body was a little stiff and vulnerable. He fell silent as Lazar sat down next to him. Without glancing at the other, he replied:
"I thought you'd rather stay with Arran's soldiers. I don't want to get in your way, Laz..."
"You won't get in my way, sweetheart. I said I'd come with you, and I did. Why did you disappear?"
Pallas twitched the corners of his mouth and replied:
"I know you wanted to have sex with those soldiers and that you wouldn't settle for one person. That you prefer it that way. That's fine with me. We'll break up in a month at the latest anyway. It's not worth missing a good opportunity because of me. It's better if we get used to the idea."
Lazar rolled his eyes and stared at Pallas' tense body. He had never seen him like this even when the Akielon had suffered for Damianos.
"...Maybe I'll do the same in Isthima. Fucking for fun. I won't make a fool of myself anymore by falling in love with a king who doesn't know I exist or be a mockery of all the soldiers. In the end, everything ends. We're soldiers, not princes in love."
Lazar blinked.
"Why do you say that?"
Pallas was silent until Lazar caught a glimpse of himself in the Akielon. His gaze fell on his lover's clenched hands, determined jaw, and hard face. Pallas was very young and had only recently set his heart on the uncertain movements of love.
Is this how the cowards forged themselves? By getting a little tougher after every disappointment? By sleeping with someone else to convince themselves that their heart didn't hurt? By sleeping with another one again to convince themselves that they had nothing to expect from the recovery fuck. And again, to convince themselves that things have always been this way. That their hearts were an obstacle, not a path.
Lazar hadn't slept with anyone during his first heartbreak. He was seven years old. But he had used his little bow in the backyard, aiming arrows at empty cans. He shot them with a click. He had stayed out late and done that, which always earned him a smile from his father and a pat on the head. Lazar didn't want to see his mother cry. He wished to keep up the illusion long enough that his father had given up on leaving and had returned home on the corner of the market street.
Lazar, sitting next to Pallas, took a deep breath and said in a broken voice:
"...When my father left, I thought it was my fault. That's what I thought for a long time. I pretended he was still there until I saw his empty trunk one morning. I cried for hours. I sobbed into my mother's arms when she was well enough to comfort me."
The words just came out. And Pallas loosened his grip a little.
Lazar put the cigarette in his mouth without lighting it and muttered:
"...The bastard was a chain smoker, but he was in such a hurry that he even left his damn cigarettes behind. I guess that he probably hated being tied down to a family and that my mom and I were just a fucking obstacle keeping him from doing whatever he wanted to do with his life. Maybe he started over somewhere else. Maybe he even has a new wife and kids that he cares about. Selfish fucking son of a bitch!"
Lazar's words were angry and he gave up trying to light the cigarette because the match broke nervously. Annoyed, he threw the thin wooden stick on the floor.
"...I don't know why I'm talking to you about this. I'm twenty-one. I'm not a scared little kid and I've never told anyone that... So, you've had enough of me too, sweetheart...? I won't be a burden to you either, Pallas, if you want to leave me."
There was silence, interrupted by birds flying south in flocks and the song of cicadas in the fresh night. Pallas, relaxing his muscles, replied in a choked voice:
"It wasn't your fault, Laz. Your father didn't leave because of you. You weren't a burden to him."
Lazar looked at him, cigarette still between his lips.
"... He left because of something inside him that only he knew and couldn't handle. Maybe he was just being selfish. Maybe it hurt him that he had to leave. We can't know that. But you were just a child, Laz, and needed a father. He was the one who abandoned you. Not the other way around. You needed love. I'm sorry your father didn't know how to give it to you."
Lazar turned his face to the sea, sniffed, and felt vulnerable again. Then he spoke:
"Why are you trying to do the same thing I'm doing? Why do you want to be like me, Pallas? There's so much love around you, so much, but you want to be like a fucking useless rogue like me!"
Pallas turned his gaze to the burning sea after swallowing hard. Then the words came out:
"I was afraid when I saw you and those soldiers together. When I saw Damianos and Laurent of Vere in the same bed, I swore I wouldn't put myself in such a position again. That I wouldn't wait so long for the truth to mock me and tell me to leave."
Lazar turned to Pallas' staring face directed at the mirrored sun.
"...I just didn't know it would hurt so much when it was your turn, Laz. It's hurting more than Damianos of Akielos. Much more. You're good company. I'll miss you when you go back north. And I'm jealous of the soldier who will come after. Maybe I'm like a dog that gets attached too easily."
Lazar took the cigarette out of his mouth and replied after a while:
"As a soldier of the Royal Guard, I must follow my future king. But I can't go to the north without my heart. I need to know that he's doing well here in the south and we'll meet again soon."
There was a silence in which Pallas' breathing slowed and his sinews relaxed completely.
"... I don't want to end what we have, sweetheart. That's not what crossed my mind. But I was wondering if you still wanted me. Let's try to hold on to what we have, Pallas. I don't want to know about those Arran's guys. I want to know about you."
The Akielon soldier twisted his lips into a smile as he replied:
"You know what? I think Damianos and Laurent of Vere's relationship will last long. I heard Nikandros say to Lydos that the troops may focus on Delpha. I don't think we'll be separated for long. We can stay together if you want."
Lazar smiled.
"I would like that very much. For now, let Enguerran take care of those soldiers of Arran. I'm off duty and want to spend my days with you. This is my first time in the capital of Akielos and I love everything here. Show me where your home is, sweetheart."
Pallas gradually returned to his cheerful and confident gestures, unafraid of rejection. He pointed his finger at the distant island of Isthima, and when the sun had completely set, he let Lazar rest his head on his lap and looked at the stars.
"Make a wish," Pallas murmured as a shooting star twinkled across the sky, stroking the brown strands in Lazar's hair.
Lazar followed the line that stretched across the sky in the fresh night, murmuring to himself the wish that was alive in his heart. The desire he had nurtured within himself for the past few months. His sweetheart's company.
Lazar gazed into Pallas's smiling face as the Akielon bent to kiss him on the forehead with his characteristic tenderness.
At that moment, it was as if the universe consisted only of the two men and that infinite, star-studded ceiling above their heads.
The world suddenly became a pleasant place again.
Chapter 7: Bastards (Part 3)
Chapter Text
After a walk through the street, during which Pallas seemed engrossed in the peculiarities and circus attractions of the small Veretian town of Dijon, he and Lazar headed for a tavern when their throats were dry. They had already finished the sweet bread and sugared strawberries.
The nearby tavern was a spacious inn with warped wooden tables among barrels and rustic beams. It smelled strongly of brandy and meat rubbed with olives and potatoes roasting in butter in stone ovens. Some men were drinking in a far corner, laughing and talking loudly.
"Two cups of wine," Lazar said and pressed a coin into the tavern boy's hand before he went to the counter.
Then Pallas said:
"When I visit my family in Isthima, would you like to come with me?"
Lazar lit a cigarette and answered:
"Your family is influential there. They won't want you coming home with a Veretian."
Pallas shrugged and nodded as the tavern boy placed two pewter cups filled with wine before him and Lazar.
"I don't know if they'd mind. Like I said, my father spends a lot of time with his grandchildren and doesn't think about the past that much anymore." — and, lowering his voice considerably— "It was... interesting Laurent of Vere's thanks for what we did against Kastor and the Regent over a year ago. My father was a great supporter of Theomedes and fought alongside him. When he learned that Kastor was to be crowned after the supposed untimely death of the king and Damianos, he revolted and refused to accept Kastor as king. He didn't want me to join the army, but I wanted to serve. In the end, he supported me. If Damianos fell into the hands of Kastor, my family would be punished with the loss of lands and estates and I'd be executed. Supporting Damianos and Laurent was a path of no return."
Lazar nodded. His green eyes were glowing in the light of the dying fire.
"It would be no different with the Regent. Laurent's troops would be executed in public retaliation, just like Aleron's dogs. But I'm surprised you have anything good to say about the King of Vere. You couldn't stand Laurent before, sweetheart."
Pallas sipped his drink, slid his fingertip across the tabletop, and touched Lazar's hand.
"That's in the past. I think the Akielons tend to get used to Laurent's personality. Besides, maybe it's time we..."
Lazar looked at Pallas' hand and then at his face.
"We...?"
"Don't you want to meet my family? In Akielos, it's common for two people who have been courting for more than a year to have known their families for longer..."
Lazar found himself in Isthima's house with hanging gardens, and marble pillars surrounded by the salty sea that Pallas had described to him countless times. When they served together in the war, the two were just soldiers, but now, their stories are very different. Lazar saw himself in a chiton, greeted by parents, children, and dogs, his cheeks flushed. He saw himself eating sweet and sour fish. Damn! He desperately needed to learn to handle the cutlery better through observation.
Pallas was a young, handsome, and skillful aristocrat. He could win the heart of any nobleman or kyros without much effort.
"I would be out of place there, sweetheart. Your parents wouldn't like me."
"Akielons are very sincere, but you shouldn't fear them. I think my family will like who I like and who likes me."
Lazar blushed even more and wrapped his own around Pallas' little finger.
"So, you like me?"
Pallas now had a sanguine tint over his tanned skin and sat upright on his wooden bench. He replied:
"No. Liking is not the right word. It's more than that, Laz. It's been a while..."
Lazar's hand shook and he looked up at Pallas. His heart was beating in a strange rhythm and his face became feverish.
Lazar had slept with many men before, but he had never stayed attached to anyone this long. Nor had he ever experienced anything like what he was feeling with Pallas.
Pallas gave of himself so generously that Lazar found himself doing the same, without holding back his donations or fearing that he would be left later. Little by little, his fears were pushed aside. What they had was an honest exchange in which both always won.
Even when they kept their distance because they served the armies and their kings, or when they did not touch each other intimately, they remained victorious.
It hasn't been just liking for a long time.
The Akielon and the Veretian looked deeply at each other until a commotion arose in the tavern. Lazar blinked as if waking from a trance. From the corner where a group of men were drinking, a voice spoke:
"A brown rat from Akielos! Their shit is everywhere now..."
The men drinking wine from bottles stared directly at Pallas' place. The Akielon wore Veretian clothing to draw less attention to himself, but his jet-black hair and olive skin, characteristic of Akielon nobility, spoke volumes.
Lazar slammed his fist on the table and tried to get up, but Pallas grabbed him by the wrist and shook his head to warn him not to react.
"... From the moment that ice whore opened his legs to Damianos of Akielos, we've had to live with this scum. Here for these bastards..." — one of the men said, spitting on the ground.
Pallas' expression became serious and his hand tightened around Lazar's wrist.
"Let's go," the Akielon decided resolutely.
Lazar and Pallas stood up and made their way to the exit while the drunks continued to curse. As Lazar and Pallas prepared to go through the archway, another group of men arrived and their gazes fell on the faces of the two soldiers.
One had a large body like a bull, bulging muscles, a thin beard, and tangled brown hair. Lazar instinctively reached for the hilt of his sword. The Veretian looked Pallas up and down and said mockingly:
"Well, well, a damned Akielon in my neighborhood. Who brought this barbarian scum here?"
Pallas backed away, put his hand on the hilt of his sword too, and replied in Veretian, "We don't want any trouble. We're leaving now..."
The man, sided with his accomplices, frowned before letting out a slightly exaggerated and uncoordinated mocking laugh that showed a hint of madness. He stuck out his tongue as he laughed.
"Can you speak Veretish? You?! Did you learn it from that one?" he said, pointing at Lazar with his chin. "Are you his whore, you little Akielon piece of shit?" the man added, reaching out to touch Pallas' cheekbone.
"Hey!" Lazar stepped forward, unsheathing his sword and pointing it at the man's wrist as he spoke through clenched teeth. "Don't even try it."
The man backed away, staring at the tip of Lazar's blade with watery malevolent eyes. Gesturing to his companions behind him, he stopped and let his gaze slide from the sword to Lazar's annoyed face.
"...You get out of our way."
Sword still in hand, Lazar retreated with Pallas at his side, looking each man in the eye. They felt the sharp attention on their backs as they descended the tavern's stone steps and went to the lighted street.
With hurried steps, Lazar and Pallas ran to the square surrounded by lamps, where a few fire jugglers were still performing and a woman holding dolls with cloth stockings in her hands.
"Agitators against the Sister Nations," Pallas commented.
"That is not all. The man who blocked our way as we were leaving was Odilon Gagneux himself. The bastard hasn't changed at all! He's just bigger and stinks even more. I don't think he recognized me, but anyway, let's go to the inn."
They flew through the cobbled streets, eucalyptus trees, and small rose beds everywhere in the small town of Dijon. When they reached the somewhat dark alley that led to the inn, they could hear footsteps behind them, boots scuffing on the ground.
Lazar and Pallas exchanged a silent glance with each other, drew their swords, and turned around. It was quite obvious and impossible to miss. It was Odilon accompanied by six of his men, armed with spears and swords. They had followed them.
Odilon said with furrowed eyebrows:
"I knew I saw you before. I came this way and tried to remember where. You were a damned mercenary who served the Regent, Lazar before you became Laurent's lapdog."
Lazar clutched the hilt of his sword tighter and retorted irritably:
"My king killed your master. How did you survive without licking the Regent's boots, Odilon?"
The brute frowned before flashing a wry smile with those crazy eyes.
"I live better than you can imagine. Your king is gone, Lazar! It's only a matter of time before he falls. And where did you get that little Akielon bitch? How about I give him to my men for fun and teach him a lesson that Akielons are not welcome here? Sister Nations is my cock in that frigid king's mouth and will soon be put in that brown rat there!"
No way! Lazar stepped forward, weapon in hand, but Pallas raised his eyebrows with the same impersonality with which he had watched his opponents at the ceremonial games just over a year ago. He made a short noise, glad to have an excuse to slaughter the racists from the north, the enemies of the Sister Nations.
He raised his hand in the air and made a provocative motion as he challenged the men to fight, speaking in Veretish:
"You want to fuck me with those toothpicks you call cocks? Come here and get me, you bastards!"
A rush of men with swords and spears in their hands charged towards Pallas and Lazar.
With those holding a sword, the fight was a little more difficult. With the men armed only with spears, not at all.
The swords of Lazar and Pallas clashed against the blades of the Veretians with bared teeth. The men fought in an uncoordinated and dishonest manner. Two or three tried to strike one down at the same time.
As Pallas dropped his sword to the ground with a blow to his back, he snatched the spear from another man's hand and began the rhythmic, precise movement that had crowned him champion before his kings in an arena.
Pallas struck one man in the eye with the front end of the spear, another in the stomach with the back end, and a third in the head with the middle.
Lazar, who had received a blow from Odilon while thrusting his sword into one of the men, now used his fists against his opponents. He wrestled with the huge Odilon on the ground, receiving hard blows to his ribs and delivering precise kicks.
As Odilon raised his fist in the air to strike Lazar, whom he was holding by the collar, he felt a spear placed against his throat. All his comrades groaned or lay dead on the ground. Pallas buried the sharp metal point deep enough to cause pain without killing.
"Let him go!" Pallas' harsh voice spoke in Veretish.
Odilon paused, looking at the spear and Pallas' face, raising his hands as he let go of Lazar. Amused, Pallas pointed at himself:
"...Don't you like my color, land, and speaking style? Don't you like the Akielons? You can tell the Veretians about the day your men got their asses kicked by an Akielon bastard. That's why I'm letting you live. Get out of here, you brute!"
Odilon stood up shakily, but when he was a little way away, he replied:
"You'll pay for this! This alliance won't last forever!"
"Do you want me to beat the crap out of you?" Pallas challenged him, raising his spear in the air and making a move to chase after Odilon, who ran down the dark alley.
Lazar sitting on the ground with his elbows on his knees, laughed, stood up, and took the hand offered by Pallas.
The Veretian grimaced in pain. His face was bruised and the spot on his rib that Odilon had hit hurt.
"Are you all right?" Pallas asked, feeling the Veretian through his shirt after he had dropped the spear.
"Yes, sweetheart," Lazar replied, but Pallas was already lifting his lover's clothes and examining the wound.
"Let's try to get a hot water bottle from the inn. I can make a compress. You'll feel much better tomorrow."
Pallas' gaze was still fixed on Lazar's bruise, but the Veretian observed his lover. Their faces were very close and their eyes finally met.
The alley was only sparsely lit by braziers and the dying fire made their eyes melt and warm like watery quartz and jet. Distant music sounded in the square, sung by an accordion, and the beating of their hearts could be heard.
"Lazar, I..."
Pallas didn't finish his sentence, for Lazar closed the distance between them again and pressed his lips to the Akielon's. It was ridiculous to think that the relationship between the two had taken such an opposite turn.
Akielons were straightforward and Veretians liked complexity, but both had begun their courtship on the path's end. Over time, they gradually allowed the affection to enter through the bedroom door without being bothered by its presence.
Pallas brought his olive hands to Lazar's pale face, savoring the feel of his soft lips on his. It was only a brief kiss, but when they broke away from each other, Lazar's eyes lit up, and he smiled. Pallas' eyes, on the other hand, were wide and fearful.
"Laz, the taboo!"
"If I were to die tomorrow, I would have had the happiest months of my life, sweetheart..."
Pallas widened his eyes even more and covered the other man's mouth with his hand.
"Don't say such things! I don't want anything bad to happen to you, Laz. I..."
Pallas was silenced again by a deep kiss, during which Lazar became more passionate and the Akielon felt the Veretian's tongue explore his mouth, massaging his tongue in a somewhat lascivious caress that sent shivers down his spine.
When Lazar parted the kiss, Pallas was a little dizzy. And the Veretian, willing to agree with anything Pallas said, spoke:
"I can meet your family if you want me to, sweetheart. I have little to offer an aristocrat like you except my love, bow, cigarettes, and tools. But if you accept a man like me, we can have more years like the last. And if this is the misfortune that an illegitimate son of Akielos can bring to a Veretian, I would a thousand times rather be the most unhappy and damned man in the world than what I have been so far. You make me so happy, Pallas!"
The Akielon, upon hearing the other man's words, raised his arms and wrapped them around Lazar's neck as he swallowed hard:
"That's just a superstition, isn't it, Laz?"
"Fabrice drank, ate, and smoked like an animal. His brother also died because something exploded in his head. Half the Veretians kissed Thepus when drunk, and Paschal is never wrong. We must believe in what makes us better, not something that binds us to fear. I believe in us, Pallas. And I love the way you say my name, sweetheart."
At that moment, the Akielon placed his lips on Lazar's mouth and kissed him as if circumstances, coincidence, twists and turns, and the inevitable disguised as chance had crystallized in this serendipitous moment where the north and south had been placed before a river as the two held hands and thought that beauty lay in the coexistence of two opposites.
"Perhaps you should take Paschal's warning to heart and stop smoking," Pallas commented after he had released his lips from Lazar's mouth, earning a thoughtful look from the Veretian.
The two soldiers went into the inn and jumped into the bed that didn't need to be joined to one another. They kissed like the young men they still were, breathing, sucking, inhaling, and talking with their mouths close together. They laughed under the covers in a loving mix of languages before making love. Pallas fell asleep while Lazar snored and his brown-haired head rested on his chest.
Lazar hadn't fallen dead to the floor after all, and Pallas had long since stopped seeing Damianos as anything other than the honest and just king he served. There was a distinct difference between an illusion and a genuine union of affection. When there is a match, one does not dream alone.
This was also true for Lazar, who realized that reality need not be cushioned, but could be lived in constant presence. Sex could be emotive not an anesthetic.
When they left the inn the next day, the two lovers told Hendric what had happened to Odilon and his men, and the herald frowned a little worriedly.
"Where has that scoundrel gone? We should hurry and reach the second border. I hope we reach the Fleur-de-Lis Inn as soon as possible."
The group made their way north and reached the second border two hours later, guarded by men in royal livery on a road surrounded by woods and deciduous trees. The smell of resin, leaves, and earth was strong.
As usual, Hendric talked to the soldiers he seemed to know, and the captain gave an order, sounding somewhat relieved. He had his hand bandaged.
"They've come to collect Vask's cargo! Soldiers, escort this group into the forest."
A wide path supposedly led to a clearing between the tall trees. Light with dust particles hung through the damp green cover. On the ground, thick roots protruded from the earth between loose stones like fat worms.
Suddenly everyone in the group stopped as they heard a roar that made the hairs on the back of their necks stand on end. Pallas remembered the stories about the old lions that lived in Akielos and roared over the limestone mountains.
Charls opened his mouth slightly and Guilliame turned pale. One of the border guards accompanying them turned around with a worried face and undisguised fear. He muttered:
"One of the beasts of Vask."
Lazar looked at the path ahead of them and the other men and spoke with determination in his voice:
"Let's go."
Despite his fear, Hendric seemed calm in the face of what awaited him, but Pallas had placed his hand on the hilt of his sword as a precaution.
The last obstacle on the path was a branch of a plant that lay in the way and was pulled into the side by one of the soldiers.
In the middle of the clearing, surrounded by trees, a small fleet had been hidden there, brought possibly with the help of oxen and horses making a longer journey. Two cages stood behind a parked wagon.
Next to the borrowed Veretian carriage, a large folding screen had been put and behind it a bathtub. Poles with cloth tarpaulins had been erected to protect the figures sitting on a towel in the grass, from the sun and rain.
Mircela, the second wife of the Vaskian empire, was playing with threads in her hands and weaving a cat's cradle with a stocky girl who must have been twelve or thirteen years old.
The moment the Vaskian woman saw the men approaching, she embraced the girl, released the threads from her hand, and placed them behind her, adopting a suspicious stance. From behind, the child stared at the men with angry, furious eyebrows.
Pallas' gaze instinctively slid to the two cages. In each was a huge white leopard with dark spots on its body. They were Empress Vishkar's big cats, which dismembered humans for fun.
The big cats paced restlessly inside the large cages and growled louder when they saw the men. A Vaskian slave with strong arms seemed to be trying to calm them down from the outside.
Pallas felt tension run through his body as the biggest leopard threw itself against the cage with all its weight, making the metal frame of the bars tremble. They were definitely much bigger than a dog.
"They're like the cub King Laurent got for his birthday. Only... much bigger..." Pallas murmured, a little fascinated by the two wildcats.
Lazar widened his eyes in astonishment.
"Will that kitten turn into this? Are we going to have a beast like that in Delfeur?"
Charls, who knew the leopards from the times he had entered the halls of Skarva to organize a cloth sale, said:
"They are aggressive to us, but I have seen them fall asleep with their heads on Empress Vishkar's lap. They obey Vask's royalty..."
The men's attention now turned to Mircela and the girl behind her. The two Vaskians were frozen.
Mircela rolled her blue eyes and asked in Vaskish:
"What do you want from us?"
Hendric looked at the faces of the merchants Charls and Guilliame, who quickly put their palms together in the typical Vaskian salute. Charls spoke in Vaskish:
"Your Second Wife Mircela, we come in peace. We have come to take you to the Empress."
Mircela's attention turned to the faces of the two merchants for the first time, and she seemed to recognize them.
"Lord Charls? Lord Guilliame?"
"Yes, Lady Mircela, we know from when we sold cloth in Skarva. We are honored that you remember us. We have come to accompany you with little Nimue, and the sacred leopards of Skarva."
Behind Mircela's skinny body, Nimue looked at the men and recognized the spoken language.
"...That one is the Fourth Wife's sister, right? Hello, kid, we won't hurt you."
Mircela, who had once been a slave, now wore her red hair tied into an elegant bun of braids, and her gestures were characterized by exquisite poise. She still held Nimue behind her. In a firm voice, she said:
"We rescued Nimue from a mountain prison with the help of Halvik's clan and the leopards. We camouflaged ourselves with the circus company to get south undetected. We wouldn't be safe on Vask's routes. We just want to get to Bazal safely. Please tell the Veretians we want to pass, Lord Charls. Someone is waiting for us in Arles."
Charls exchanged a glance with Guilliame. It was the apprentice who intervened.
"I'm sorry, Your Second Wife, but we must take you to the capital. The Empress, Pari of Skarva, and the court of Vask are there. I give you my word that these men have only been assigned to protect you and that they will not harm you, the girl, or the leopards."
Mircela seemed to be in a dilemma, and finally, she knelt next to Nimue and whispered something in the girl's ear. Nimue had Paris' blonde hair, but dark eyes and a stockier body. She wore the clothes that the girls of the clan wore. After a while, Nimue turned to Charls and Guilliame and asked:
"Is my sister, Pari, in Arles?"
"Yes," the merchant replied.
The negotiations continued before Mircela and Nimue agreed to travel to the capital with Laurent's entourage.
"Are you all speaking the truth?" Mircela asked one last time with her suspicious eyes as big as saucers.
"I give you my word, Your Second Wife!" Charls answered with his head bowed.
It took time for everyone to get their things in order and, more importantly, to find a way to transport the leopards' cages on wheels unnoticed.
Hendric scratched his head and ordered meters of cloth to be brought from Charls' carriage and thrown over the railing.
"It won't be easy traveling with them without drawing attention. It's better we travel at night and only stop at the Fleur-de-Lys Inn."
One of the soldiers said:
"These leopards eat like demons. We've brought them kilos of meat and they'll need a whole load of food. They also shit a lot. That poor guy over there is in charge of feeding them and cleaning their cages."
Pallas and Lazar looked to the Vaskian strong man, who stood next to the cage with his wounded limbs. Hendric twitched the corners of his lips and said:
"You may have to help that poor fellow, Pallas, to make this quick and inconspicuous. Do you think you can manage that?"
The Akielon watched in fascination as one of the leopards gave up growling and lay down on the ground with the fat skin of its belly, and agreed. The leopard yawned and stretched. Pallas smiled:
"They are amazing! It will be a pleasure to play with them."
"Play with them?! They are not puppies, sweetheart! I'll stay by your side just in case you want to get into their mouths for fun."
Hendric commented:
"It seems they provoked a bloodbath with some mountain mercenaries on the Vask border. One of the acrobats in the circus troupe told us about it. You'd better take care, Pallas. Vaskian people believe leopards may be gods, but these gods have real fangs and claws."
Lazar then began to organize the things in the entourage's carriage, and Pallas, looking at the horizon with the cloudy sky, said:
"I wonder how the others are doing with their missions. Except for Laurent and now Lady Loyse, Makedon is not so kind to the Veretians. Indeed, he has the head of an old bull, and in a contest with the King of Vere as to who has the dirtiest mouth, the two are tied. I'd give everything to know how that thick-headed troublemaker is faring there."
"Damn you, you're a fucking lot of confusing people!" Makedon roared, rubbing his chin after his request to share a room in an inn with Loyse had been refused by the establishment's owner. "Are all the shitty taverns in Vere like this?"
Loyse bit her lip and suppressed a laugh. A few Veretians who had overheard the conversation in the tavern glanced at her. She had pulled her traveling hood over her head. Makedon spoke Veretian with stiff sentences and unconjugated verbs.
The innkeeper behind the counter, his eyeballs twitching, replied dryly:
"Akielons are welcome, milord, but we do not allow men to share a room with a woman who is not their wife. A marriage certificate must be presented or a witness must be present. Otherwise, we recommend the guest rent a separate room or leave. And yes, all the shitty taverns in Vere are like that..."
Makedon rolled his eyes in his sockets and grumbled:
"I should have come dressed as a woman. I bet if I'd had a young man or two arms in my arm, you'd have brought me oil and fingers to back up your taboos. Just give me the damn key, you confusing old man!"
As they climbed the steps of the wooden staircase that led to the balustraded floor of the rooms, Loyse whispered, sliding her slender hand along the Northern Army commander's arm before walking towards the women's wing of the inn.
"Come when the tavern closes. I'll leave the door unlocked."
Makedon watched Lady Loyse walk elegantly to her room, his gaze lingering on her confident, aristocratic bearing. She stopped before the door and smiled at Makedon before disappearing.
The commander took a deep breath and made his way to his room. In his opinion, the Veretians were a complicated people. There shouldn't be so many obstacles preventing a man and a woman from spending time together. How would they get to know each other without a thorough courtship if they were to marry? It was no wonder Loyse had married that idiot Guion.
Makedon pulled his sword from his belt, looked at the blade, and examined it. The journey had gone smoothly and they were alone on their way to an estate in Toutaine.
The Akielon took off his chiton and found a wooden tub with hot water, stone soap, and clean towels in an adjoining room. He disliked the Veretian baths, preferring the plentiful water brought in by the Akielon aqueducts, but he would visit Lady Loyse in her room and it was better to wash the dust of the road and the sweat from his body.
When the babble of voices below him had died down and the footsteps on the floorboards had ceased, Makedon went to Loyse's room, through the corridor with the half-extinguished braziers. The second floor was empty, and the Lady of Fortaine had left the door open, as she had told him.
Makedon found Loyse in the room light, her long hair tied back in a four-strand plait. She was sitting at her desk in an ivory silk nightgown and a flowing cloak over it.
In front of her was a map she was analyzing and a lit cigarette lay between her long fingers. There was something so much elegant about her intelligent cross-legged posture.
"I didn't know you smoked," Makedon said, closing the door behind him.
Loyse lifted her green eyes from the map and replied:
"You never asked me. Courtiers consider it a lowly habit and I avoid smoking in public. Guion and Aimeric hated it."
"Lazar, of Laurent's Guard, won't stop smoking. He looks like a cigarette," said Makedon, standing near Loyse. "What are you doing?"
Loyse took a deep drag and tapped the cigarette butt on a porcelain saucer as she exhaled the smoke on the other side.
"Thinking. We're in Belloy, near the border with Toutaine. I think we can get there before the afternoon. We'll have to use a lot of diplomacy to talk to our person. Kempt and Vere have a bitter sore in their relations, despite Queen Hennike's rule."
Makedon sat on the mattress of Loyse's spacious bed and studied the woman's slender neck. She was an exquisite lady, and when she turned to him, she smiled with her shrewd eyes.
"What are you thinking about?"
"How did Laurent get you to testify before the Council of Vere against Guion and the Regent? How do two Veretian snaked do business?"
Loyse swallowed hard and said:
"He didn't need to convince me. I swore to myself that it was only a matter of time before I could wipe my husband off the earth after he threw Aimeric into the Regent's bed. When Aimeric was sent to the Guard, I felt like I took too long to act, and when my youngest son killed himself, I felt like a failure as a mother. I cried and cursed everything I could when I heard the news. Aimeric was such a lovely boy at ten years old, and after the incident, he became more and more withdrawn. Every time I tried to talk to him, he pushed me away." — Loyse closed her eyes briefly as if in pain before continuing — "Aimeric thought he loved that monster, but he was lost because of him. However, I still had three living children and a grandson to protect. When Laurent came to me, I bent the knee and said I would do what had to be done. Do you think I'm terrible because I couldn't kill Guion when I hated him so much?"
Makedon listened to the Lady of Fortaine's words and averted his eyes to the floor. Loyse had deep wrinkles around her eyes. It was said in Akielos that this was a sign of people who had cried all their lives.
"Killing is not so easy, Loyse."
The Lady of Fortaine drew on her cigarette, moving her wrist encircled by jewels on the tabletop.
"I could not bring myself to kill Guion with my own hands, but Laurent assured me that someone would do it cruelly if I testified against him and if revenge was important to me."
Makedon felt a shiver on the back of his neck before he spoke.
"Perhaps, there is something savage about how kings decide what to do with those who seek to usurp their crown and throne. The Sister Nations were quite objective about getting rid of their traitors after the trial."
Loyse had a bright look in her eyes.
"Really? Then tell me. I didn't see my husband's execution. I have decided to return to Fortaine."
Makedon told in an impersonal voice:
"Laurent of Vere feared retribution from your three sons, Loyse, if one of his lower-ranking soldiers executed Guion because of his former position in Council. At this point, Damianos said he could send one of his men. I had just arrived from the north a few days earlier. "— Makedon narrowed his dark eyes a little — "I volunteered for it because I couldn't imagine that a father trading his twelve-year-old son for a shitty position deserved a long meeting with the Sister Nations or any sympathy. Guion was executed in the public square after the Regent. He was trembling, pale, and wetting his pants in fear. His head was held high in the street of traitors. He was so insignificant to me that I didn't bother to give him a mark on my belt. I don't regret it. I'd do it again."
Loyse, who had been listening to every word, had red eyes as she replied:
"Thank you."
The brazier's light flickered in the green-rimmed retinas of the Lady of Fortaine and the darkness of the northern commander's gaze. Then Makedon spoke, choosing his words:
"Did Guion know your opinion of him?"
"Of course. After what happened with Aimeric, he went to the court as a Councillor and I wanted to stay in Fortaine. We argued when we were in the same place for even a minute. We argued in Laurent's carriage as we drove south. We argued when I visited him in his cell. I said horrible things to him and he hit back. Guion didn't care about me or love me." — Loyse smiled bitterly — "With his power, he could sleep with the beauties of Vere and Akielos that he desired. He even slept with Vaskian prostitutes in brothels, by his admission he shot me in the face once. All his lovers were better than me, of course. In one of my fits of rage, when he slapped me, I broke a goblet over his head and set his jacket on fire with my cigarette."
Makedon took a deep breath, propped his hands on the mattress and stared through the half-open bedroom window at the starry night sky.
Loyse asked:
"...Disappointed that I'm not quite a lady, Commander?"
"Not at all. If you're interested in a barbarian like me, you're a bad lot too. No doubt you must also have something barbaric in you. But to me, despite everything, you're still a beautiful woman with a serene look."
Loyse smiled and sensually put the cigarette in her mouth without taking her eyes off Makedon's face.
"Do you like older women so much that you'd argue with the innkeeper to stay in my room?"
Makedon propped himself up on his elbows:
"I like women, Loyse. I make no distinction between them. I'm forty-one and I enjoy talking to girls between the sheets, before and after sex. I've needed it more and more since I turned thirty. You're good company."
"I'm already fifty," Loyse said, loosening her copper-colored braid with her fingers, "but I feel like my life only started a year ago."
Loyse stubbed out her cigarette butt on the china plate, stood up, and took off her cloak, leaving only a silk nightgown that revealed the contours of her body. She did this in a very seductive way, and Makedon attributed this sophistication to the Veretian customs that eroticized even the air around.
The woman walked over to Makedon and he buried his face in her belly, feeling the warm skin of the Lady of Fortaine beneath the thin fabric. Then Makedon lifted his face and Loyse stroked the man's face from the contours of his complexion to his bearded jaw.
"So, what shall we do? Would you rather I ejaculate outside like we did in Arles before we came here?" Makedon asked.
Loyse let her long, ringed fingers slide over Makedon's shoulders. She seemed to think about the question before she said, "Let's see. How do the women from Akielos do it?"
"Without thinking about it and relying on contraceptive teas."
Loyse untied the knots of her nightgown, revealing her very white, freckle-streaked cleavage. Her skin looked like cornstarch porridge sprinkled with cinnamon.
"We will do it today as it is done in Akielos."
"Are you not afraid that the worst will happen, Loyse?" Makedon asked, feeling fingers press against his olive skin.
The woman batted her long eyelashes, thinking of her time in Fortaine and how she had adhered to exactly what her family had called the behavior of a well-born woman.
Loyse remembered how foolish, opportunistic, and overly ambitious Guion had seemed to her when she had first seen him, and how she had sensed from the start that this courtship would not work. There was the memory that she had been married to the Veretian as a virgin, and that four boys had been taken from her, now far away. Aimeric was dead, and the other three sons cherished their father's ambition.
When Loyse became pregnant for the third time, she had wanted a girl so that she would have company and not feel so alone. But then she thought that Guion would also find a cruel fate for the unborn child, and Loyse accepted what life finally gave her.
Society demanded obligatory righteousness from its members but threw everyone into the void and never came to defense. And before sleep, the hour when you can feel the loneliness deep in your bones, Loyse's life seemed emptier to her, more finite, the smallest part of the least.
Loyse no longer wanted to be a good girl. She wanted to be a woman with graft, substance, and with gods breathing inside her.
"I am no longer afraid of anything," said the Lady of Fortaine, discovering that she was braver than she thought "If there is an illegitimate child, there will be an illegitimate child. I will raise him in Fortaine as I have raised my four other children."
Loyse finally undressed and allowed Makedon to run his rough, calloused hands over her soft, milky forms, which trembled at the touch. They kissed and indulged in this scandalous act for the Veretians on the linen and cotton sheets of the inn.
The fuck was slow and unhurried.
Makedon and Loyse slept for a few hours before getting up and changing into their traveling clothes. Loyse, wearing riding clothes and the cloak that kept her inconspicuous, put the letter with the king's seal in her pocket and went down the stairs, saying first.
"It is better if we go downstairs separately. I will wait for you downstairs."
Makedon returned to his room and rumpled the bed sheets, determined to avoid Loyse being questioned about anything. Then he also put on his traveling cloak and stood at the counter, leaving the key on the table before the suspicious-looking owner.
"Did you sleep well?"
"Like the dead," replied Macedon, exchanging a silent glance with Loyse.
As the Lady of Fortaine walked to her carriage with Makedon at her side, she saw a group of four men get off their horses and walk into the tavern. Some were pale, others dark. There were light eyes and dark eyes. The tongue that touched the roof of their mouths, spoken with many consonants, caused Lady Loyse to frown and glance furtively over her shoulder.
Makedon seemed to have had the same realization as her and had a scowl.
"Vaskians. What are they doing here?"
Loyse muttered quietly:
"They must have come from Ver-Vassel via the mountains and the Varenne's route."
Makedon frowned as he saw a man with dirty blond hair push a groom out of the way and rudely ask him in the Vaskian language to look after his horse.
"What such men come here for? Do the Sister Nations know about this?" whispered Makedon.
Loyse, seeing that one of the men was now looking at her, touched the commander's arm and murmured:
"We will inform the kings when we return. Right now, we have more important matters to attend to."
Heading towards Toutaine, Makedon, and Loyse continued their journey. In the middle of the morning, the drizzle quickly turned into a rainbow that stretched from one end of the dirt road to the other.
Loyse saw some men on horseback riding hurriedly north through her carriage's window. For a moment she thought they were travelers from Akielos, but their clothing was different.
Makedon rode closer to the carriage driven by the coachman. They parked for a while on the paved road with a carpet of petals and leaves of the trees that presented themselves in spring. They waited for the travelers to pass. The young coachman asked with a worried look as he took the opportunity to water the horses.
"Who were they?"
"Mercenaries. Mercenaries from Patras." — Makedon answered without digressing.
Loyse's eyes widened and she remained very pale.
"Mercenaries from Patras? In Belloy?!"
Makedon scratched his chin and said:
"I don't like this at all. We should hurry up, get our cargo, and return to the capital. I have a bad feeling about this."
As they crossed the border into Toutaine, the three travelers were met by uniformed men who were at the service of the King of Vere and had already been informed of their mission by a messenger. They all wore Laurent's livery with the star on the blue cloth and bowed to Loyse and Makedon.
"Six of us will accompany you to the estate."— glancing from Loyse to the Akielon commander, the soldier added with a touch of color —"I believe you have come with a lady-in-waiting to maintain the Veretian decorum, milady."
Makedon rolled his eyes. This was another of Vere's strange ideas that made no sense. If a libertine man wanted to fuck a rakish woman, the lady-in-waiting would be a guest at the fuck, and instead of one bastard, there might be two bastards populating Vere nine months later. That made no sense at all.
When he said this to Damianos once, the king held a paper he was reading in front of his face to hide his laughter. Laurent of Vere stood there with his mouth open, pensive.
Loyse replied to the soldier:
"No, I didn't come with my lady-in-waiting. The king offered me a maid from the capital, but I turned her down. I didn't come all this way to lay with you, kid. I have a mission. I'm not worried about your cock or these other boys' cocks, soldier. Just like I hope you're not thinking about my cunt. So, can we go now?"
The soldier's cheeks were flushed as he bowed.
"Yes, ma'am. As you wish."
The rest of the distance was covered in a manner that seemed short to Loyse. Makedon rode at her side, and the group reached the Avignon estate before afternoon.
It was a large house, surrounded by cypresses and guards standing in front of the building surrounded by walls and a carved wooden gate. The house was made of rough bricks and some well-tended flowerbeds surrounded a stone fountain with plump angels spitting water.
It was not as ornate as the houses in the capital. It seemed more rustic and cozier, but it was still beautiful. A servant with a dirty apron tended the blooming rose bushes near the lake.
After Loyse left her carriage, she bowed solemnly to the estate's guards, flanked by Makedon and the other soldiers.
"I am Loyse of Fortaine. I have come on behalf of Your Majesty, King Laurent of Vere," said the woman, raising her face.
The guards looked at each other as if they had never expected such an illustrious visitor to appear in front of the painted wooden gates with the lattices surrounded by flowering branches.
Loyse continued:
"... I bring a letter for Lord Haniel, the brother of the late Queen Hennike."
There was silence among the guards and one of them said after some hesitation:
"Lord Haniel is deaf and does not normally receive visitors..."
Makedon insisted:
"It's an emergency, boy! We've come from the capital to get him. We have a letter from his nephew, King Laurent of Vere."
The guard hesitated.
"I understand, but..."
At that moment, a man in a Veretian velvet jacket, returning from somewhere, stepped out of a carriage parked in front of the estate, driven by a burly coachman and well-groomed horses.
He was a middle-aged man with straw-colored hair and brown eyes. He eyed the visitors suspiciously, holding a rolled-up cloth in one hand and a wooden frame without a picture in the other.
"What is this? Who are you, gentlemen?" asked the newcomer, directing his gaze at the soldiers in royal robes.
"Lord Giraud, these people want to see Lord Haniel. They say they come on behalf of the Royal House of Vere."
The man called Giraud frowned and asked:
"What do they want from Haniel? Kempt and Vere broke off relations almost a decade ago."
Loyse said it first:
"Kempt is also in the blood of the King of Vere, and Haniel is the uncle of Laurent, milord. You must be his companion. Some time ago, we learned at court that Lord Haniel had a relationship with a Veretian man of a good family from Toutaine and moved here to give up the royal life in Kempt and opt for a simple life. I beg for an hour with him. Please, milord, it is urgent."
After some time, Giraud finally agreed to receive Loyse, Makedon, and the Veretian soldiers in his waiting room with the laminated tiled floor. Out of decency, he summoned the maid who looked after the garden to keep Loyse company.
When he communicated with the woman in the apron and gesticulated his hands, they realized the servant who served them tea was deaf.
Framed pictures hung on the side walls of the room. One of them showed Giraud's face when he must have been in his early twenties. Others showed rural landscapes in shades of green, purple, and yellow.
The moment Haniel entered the room, everyone stood up. Loyse parted her lips in surprise. The man with delicate and beautiful features had a striking resemblance to the late Queen Hennike. He also had something of Laurent about him, without the impersonal and cold aura. Unlike his nephew, Haniel smiled friendly and returned the visitors' bows before sitting on his sofa.
Giraud turned to his companion and motioned nimbly with his hands.
"My dear, these people came to see you on the king's orders."
Haniel watched the visitors and studied their features, then moved his hands and addressed Giraud.
"He said he would like to read the letter you brought."
Loyse stepped forward and gave Haniel the metal straw she held with both hands as she bowed her head slightly.
Haniel opened the straw and unrolled the thick paper with the king's seal. He took a long time to read the letter, more because of the time the Kemptian allowed himself to ponder the contents and then pass the manuscript to Giraud so he could read it as well than for any other reason.
Finally, Giraud raised his eyes and, after communicating with Haniel and also moving his hands so that the other man could still follow him, said:
"Gentlemen, the king's letter asks us to follow his entourage to Arles, but Haniel does not like to leave the estate. Ever since he came here from Kempt, he has preferred to spend his days painting and reading in our house. Vere harbors a deep grudge against Kempt because the alliance has broken down, and ever since, the two nations have never gotten along well. Aleron and the Regent had canceled all trade treaties with Haniel's family."
Loyse shook her face.
"The Regent is dead. Laurent is of Lord Haniel's blood, and it is suspected that some plot is being hatched against the King of Vere in Arles. There is one person who could be an important witness to the attempted assassination of the king, but she is deaf. Since the king knew that he had a deaf uncle who was a good friend of Queen Hennike, studied the language of the hands, and could read and write, he thought Haniel could greatly help. Could you gentlemen come with us?"
Haniel blinked his clear eyes and exchanged a glance with Giraud. He moved his hands and asked his companion to convey his words.
"Haniel says that he was close to Hennike and missed his sister when she moved to Arles. It was easy for Haniel to give up life at the Kemptian court, as he had several other brothers, but none of them had taken the time to learn his language as Hennike did. Haniel was often alone although he could see things and understand what was happening around him. Everyone was sad when Queen Hennike died, and Kempt's desire to maintain the alliance with Vere was strong..."
Makedon frowned and asked:
"And why didn't they keep it? I heard King Aleron was willing to go through with the alliance."
Haniel took a deep breath.
"King Aleron sent his most trusted Councillor to Kempt, Herode, with a marriage proposal from Prince Auguste to his cousin Leda to renew relations between the two nations..."
A silence ensued. Giraud took a sip of water from his goblet.
"... Weeks earlier, however, a merchant who had served Haniel's family in the past and was now working at the court of Vere had also been in Kempt. He asked for an hour with Haniel's older brother and said something terrible about Prince Auguste. Something that Haniel's brother could not ignore and made him refuse to give Leda in marriage. Since then, Vere and Kempt's relations have been strained..."
Loyse frowned.
"Something terrible? My God, what could be so terrible about Prince Auguste? All adored him. Everyone saw him as a future, successful king for Vere..."
Haniel hesitated before making a gesture, and after a few quick movements, it was Giraud's turn to pause for a moment. Finally, he translated the gestures.
"The merchant of Vere said that... Auguste had initiated little Laurent and the two brothers had slept together. According to him, Auguste had a sexual appetite for children. And everything was supposedly known to the royal family. The marriage to Leda was just a political maneuver so the two brothers could continue doing what they were doing. Besides, he said Auguste despised the idea of marriage, and he was aggressive and sadistic towards women to the point of killing a noblewoman who was pregnant with one of his bastards by kicking and beating her."
"Shit!" — Makedon cursed, touching the hilt of his sword by an impulse.
Loyse's eyes widened. The king's men had their mouths half open.
"Who said that?!"
Haniel moved his hands to answer, and Giraud translated.
"A man whose family was in the bookbinding business. But Haniel learned that the same man had changed his profession in Vere and was now a slave merchant who had great success in the capital and built up a profitable business. Currently, Haniel does not know his whereabouts."
Loyse also stood up and said:
"That's all a big lie! Laurent was still a child at the time and he and Prince Auguste were very close, but as far as I know, there was nothing other than a brotherly friendship. Nor have I heard that Auguste committed a crime against a woman. These are lies invented to slander the princes of Vere, and the monstrous spirit behind them reminds me of only one person."
Makedon spoke through clenched teeth:
"The damned Regent..."
Haniel paused for a moment and said through Giraud:
"Haniel's brother practically chased away Herode from Kempt because he didn't want his only daughter to be married off to a court pervert and murderer. On the other hand, when King Aleron learned what his sons had been accused of, he seemed so angry that he ended some business relations with Kempt because he felt offended. The final break with Kempt came at the hands of the Regent."
Loyse put her hand to her chin:
"Of course. Surely, the Regent didn't want the Council to know of his schemes. This merchant was probably acting at the Regent's behest and wanted to disrupt the union of Vere and Kempt..."
Makedon took a deep breath and nodded as if he understood something:
"Without Kempt, Vere was thrown barefoot into a war against Akielos. The so-called war in which the Regent could get rid of King Aleron and Prince Auguste in one fell swoop and claim the throne for himself. With an alliance with Kempt, Vere would have an army, a future queen, and perhaps an heir to Prince Auguste. That would complicate the Regent's plans. This scoundrel wasn't playing to lose..."
Loyse moved towards Haniel with conciliatory gestures and asked Giraud to translate her words.
"Please, Lord Haniel, your nephew may suffer another coup d'état. Don't believe those lurid stories about Auguste and Laurent. The king is someone who cares about his people and is honest. We depend on your help to know the truth about something happening in Arles now."
Haniel's refusal seemed to waver. After several long minutes of reasoned and diplomatic appeals from Loyse, the man relented, turned to Giraud, and gestured with his fingers. Giraud replied:
"Of course, I will go with you if you want me to, my dear. If all that has been spoken of was indeed a ruse against the princes, a great injustice has been done that must be righted. The king seems to need your help, and Hennike would certainly like you to help her son, as she always helped you in Kempt."
For the rest of the day, the Avignon estate was a bustle of servants carrying chests, clothes, and luggage back and forth to prepare the carriage in which Haniel and Giraud would travel north.
Horses with shiny coats and well-brushed manes were saddled and a sturdy coachman named Miguez came from the neighboring village to help the servants carry their masters' luggage.
"Take care of the things here. We'll be back in a few days," Giraud explained to a servant before he and Haniel sat down in the carriage that was hitched to the horses.
Then the group set off, consisting of two carriages, the king's soldiers and Makedon, who now rode sometimes next to Loyse's carriage and sometimes near Haniel's and Giraud's.
They made their way to the Fleur-de-Lis Inn in Arles, where they would meet up with the other two groups, who were also on a mission.
From there, they would make their way to the palace together. Laurent and Damianos had arranged this because they preferred the Reliable to return together, just as they had left the palace, and had reserved an inn just for them.
On the way back, Makedon and Loyse noticed a strange movement on the road. Carriages and horses from Patras were heading south, while the mercenaries were heading north.
When they arrived in Belloy, they also saw nobles from Vask traveling in the opposite direction, and the two learned from the coachman Miguez, who had inquired with one of the travelers, that many people were leaving the capital.
Loyse, talking to Makedon through the window of her vehicle, asked with a worried expression:
"Are these the nobles who were staying at the palace? Why are the courtiers from Patras and Vask leaving? Wasn't Patras a political prisoner of Laurent until he came clean?"
It took longer than they had expected to arrive at the Fleur-de-Lys Inn. The place was in a remote area outside the city and far away from other establishments.
As they had been warned, the inn had been reserved for the king's reliable, and soldiers only. There were no other guests on the premises. A guard stood by the road and told travelers who wanted to stay at the inn that the building and the surrounding area were flooded and the road was closed.
The innkeeper, an elderly man, greeted Makedon, Loyse, and the others as they arrived in the pouring rain and organized shelter for everyone.
"Don't go to the yard. One of the king's cargoes is already there," the owner warned, handing the commander a key and Loyse another.
"What cargo?" asked the Lady of Fortaine, raising an eyebrow.
At that moment, a whistle sounded from the balustrade floor above. With relaxed limbs and leaning against the pillar, Pallas and Lazar watched the group and waved. They had arrived the day before. Makedon smiled:
"Very well, the pot and the lid! I didn't think I'd be so pleased to see the faces of the two brats."
Pallas nodded to everyone who passed him and then pointed with his chin to Haniel and Giraud, who were heading for a room together. Giraud was an attentive man and carried his companion's bags.
"Is that your cargo?"
Makedon scratched his chin.
"Yes. Lady Loyse was very diplomatic and could with some difficulty persuade them to come along. Where is your cargo?"
Lazar smiled and puffed out a smoke ring on his straw cigarette.
"Two are in a room in the women's wing. You can take a look at the other one, Commander..."
Lazar and Pallas showed the window of their room, which faced the back of the inn, which was an open and ruined piece of land.
Two large wagons were parked outside, protected from the rain by a makeshift awning. A tanned-skinned man deftly stabbed a large piece of raw meat from a shipment with a thick spear and drove it through the bars of a cage.
Makedon's mouth was slack and Pallas laughed.
"We had the same stupid look when we first saw them..."
The Northern Army's commander looked down and fixed his gaze on the image he saw. Two leopards were being fed with a huge meat skewer and looked like a cat getting treats from its owner.
The big cat was running its tongue over its sharp teeth waiting for the next piece of meat.
Makedon then spoke, shaking his face:
"We die one day and don't see everything there is to see. Nikandros told me in Akielos, 'Let's go to Laurent of Vere's birthday. Learning more about Vere's culture might be fun since it's our kingdom's sister now.' Holy shit, Nikandros! Now here I am, locked in a room with two young bucks watching a man feed two leopards in the rain to be taken to the capital. I hope those bars are strong enough and the cage doesn't break on the way. I also hope the poor guy down there doesn't get eaten, because his fucking face is so close to the leopard's snout. I don't know what to make of all this shit."
Pallas laughed and said with boyish amusement:
"Me neither, Commander, but the bars are pretty strong. Laz and I'll be feeding the leopards next shift."
Makedon frowned and said:
"Hey, did you guys see anything weird along the way? People leaving the capital?"
Lazar moved down on a chair, legs splayed and spoke in his much better Akielon language.
"We saw some Patran and Vaskian wagons leaving Belloy. We also saw Veretians and people from Akielos leaving Arles. They all seemed scared and wouldn't stop when we tried to ask them."
Pallas grimaced strangely.
"Why are people leaving the palace?"
The answer came the next morning, when Lord Berenger and Ancel arrived at the inn, accompanied by the coachman Jean and the handsome young Toby, who wore a velvet traveling cloak over his clothes and held a small cloth bag close to his body.
Makedon, Pallas, and Lazar hurried down the inn's stairs as they heard footsteps on the floor below them. Lazar still was pulling his shirt over his pants as he ran down. Makedon had jumped out of Loyse's bed after she had woken him from a deep sleep.
"Lord Berenger, Ancel! We've been waiting for you. Have you brought your cargo?" Pallas asked.
The Veretian courtier, whose eyes were red-rimmed, nodded to Toby, who was standing next to him. The former pet's chains had been removed, but he still wore his collar and bracelets, which could only be removed with the help of a skilled blacksmith.
"Yes..."
Pallas clapped his hands in good humor.
"So, we were all able to fulfill the Kings' missions!"
The silence was interrupted by rain dripping from the inn's gutters into a bucket. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
Ancel's lively gaze was absent, and Toby, at his side, also seemed cut off from the world around him.
"What's happened to you? Why do you have those faces?" Makedon asked curiously.
"There were a lot of people leaving the palace. Everyone who came to Laurent of Vere's birthday party has left..." Lord Berenger replied somewhat vaguely.
Lazar looked at the faces of Ancel and Lord Berenger and spoke:
"We saw some of them, but we don't know why they seemed in a hurry..."
The brazier light flickered a little and Lord Berenger, looking dazed, muttered:
"We managed to speak to some Veretian nobles who returned to Lys. King Torgeir and Empress Vishkar have left the palace. Laurent has released them so they can return to their respective countries with their entourages..."
Pallas asked:
"Why?!"
"It's a polite and honest maneuver by kings to give each other the time they need to prepare and organize themselves before the worst happens..."
Lazar murmured, feeling a shiver run down his spine.
"The worst... What's the worst?"
Lord Berenger took some time before answering, for Ancel folded his arms and looked shaken and afraid.
"The Sister Nations have declared war on Patras and Vask. That's why everyone is leaving the capital. Vere is officially at war with the entire East."
...
A/N
Many thanks to everyone who gave this fanfic a chance and made it this far.
The next chapter is about Vere's past and present.
Will the enemy of the Sister Nations finally reveal himself?
What will Lamen do after this declaration of war?
By the end of the next chapter named "The Beast", I can only guarantee that we will say loud and clear: "F*ck!"
We're in the home stretch, folks! Don't miss the next chapters!
Chapter 8: The Beast (Part 1)
Summary:
The enemy of the Sister Nations reveals himself and the past, present and future intermingle.
Certainly one of my favorite chapters!
Chapter Text
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a5ke731a3V8
Ten years ago
Hennike clutched a handkerchief in her hand as she coughed blood into an enamel bowl beside her bed. Her eyes watered as she closed the book she was reading and gasped for air.
There was a knock on the door of the royal chambers and Auguste entered the room. The cold autumn morning sun streamed through the windows and the heavy curtains, casting a pale glow on the young man's golden hair.
The prince held Hennike's gaze for a while before silently sitting beside her on the bed. Then he closed his eyes as he asked:
"What did the physicians say?"
Hennike coughed and held the red-stained handkerchief to her mouth, then answered:
"Nothing other than was already been told. It seems to be an unknown disease and the symptoms can be alleviated with ointments and sage. But I, who know my own body, can make the diagnosis: I'm dying, Auguste..."
Hennike's eldest son stared at the surroundings, watching the dust particles flying in the sunlight on the carpet, before sniffing and frowning, feeling the final force of these words.
Auguste had avoided looking at his mother for the last few days because he didn't want to see how thin she was, how gaunt her cheeks were, and how short and heavy her breathing became. In a choked voice, he said:
"You mustn't say that, mother. My father will arrive tomorrow. He left when you were better in the summer, and seeing him will revive you. Paschal will come with him and..."
"Auguste!" Hennike's voice spoke in the characteristic way that only a mother calls her son. "You're the future king. Your father will collapse when I'm gone and Laurent is still a child. You have to be strong this time. You'll have to take care of our family!"
Hennike’s voice was matter-of-fact and impersonal. Laurent had inherited that from her, while Auguste had inherited Aleron’s passionate attitude. With a heavy breath, Hennike pulled a folder from under her pillow. In the same impersonal voice, she continued with the naturalness of someone talking about a royal inspection.
"...Many will want to jump down Aleron's throat when I'm no longer here. Akielos certainly will. Patras and Vask, I don't think so after the war, but we still need to strengthen ourselves. I don't want my husband, my boys, and my kingdom involved in a years-long war like the one in the east." — And when Hennike noticed the lost look on her son's face, she became even sharper: "AUGUSTE!"
There was a distant expression on the crown prince’s face, and he shook his head at his mother. Hennike, for her part, opened the folder and leafed through the documents.
"...If you can't do that, I'll have to count on Laurent. There will be time for this. I hadn't time yet to grieve for myself. This kingdom depends on what we do from now on. Pay attention!"
Auguste widened his red eyes and fixed his gaze on the document Hennike was holding up.
"Kempt! We have to get Kempt on our side. My older brother Hazel is keen to continue our alliance, and it's easier with him than with the former king. Your grandfather died last year and we will negotiate with Hazel. I have been in correspondence with his daughter, Leda. Your cousin is a young woman who has no taste for men. She also has a vision of government that matches ours and is quite lovely. She is perfect for you, Auguste." — Hennike had a coughing fit that lasted for some time and her eyes were red when she spoke again —"Give her the freedom to have who she wants in her life, and she will give you the freedom to keep Theodore in yours. This is a political marriage and you are the best choice for Leda, rather than forcing her to marry a man who doesn't understand her. All you need is an heir. One! How you and Leda will sire him can be discussed between you two. I'm sorry, my son, I know you love Theodore. But you are the future King of Vere and that was the best I could come up with."
Auguste frowned when he saw the marriage proposal, in which the spaces for his signature, that of the king, and that of the Council had been left blank. Hennike's elaborate handwriting finished off the bottom of the page in arabesques.
Hennike continued with her impersonality as owner in the notary's office.
"Akielos!" she said, pulling out another paper. "The Akielons want Delfeur back, and it’s quite obvious they'll attack if they see a weak spot in Aleron. We must confuse them..."
"Confuse them how, mother?" Auguste asked, frowning when he saw Laurent's name on the document.
Hennike lifted her bony face and blinked her blue eyes.
"I'm offering them an opportunity for a truce," said the queen, handing Auguste the parchment.
When the young man had finished reading, he was pale and his mouth was half open.
"You can't be serious..."
"The hostility between Kempt and Vere was resolved the day Aleron announced that he would choose his future queen from among the Kemptians. Akielos does not expect this. Therefore, we will have an advantage..."
"You want to marry Laurent to one of those southern barbarians?!"
Hennike rolled her eyes.
"You know we in Kempt don't have the prejudices you Veretians have against Akielons, Auguste. I visited the beautiful Isthima once, and it's a lovely place. Laurent can say no. You may say no if you think no kyros is the best for your brother!"
Auguste shook his head.
"If someone of Laurent's rank is to be courted in Akielos, the most likely candidates will be Damianos or Kastor, the sons of King Theomedes. Those two brutes won't harm a hair on my brother's head!"
Hennike twitched the corners of her mouth.
"It's not a formal contract, Auguste. When Aleron said he wanted to choose a bride in Kempt, he had my cousin Jordana in mind, whose beauty surpassed mine and who possessed a captivating voice and all the admirable gifts of a queen." — Hennike blinked looking to the past through the fleur-de-lis’ petals in her bedside table — "But Aleron happened to see me leaving the palace library when he was lost in the corridors. We talked for hours under an apple tree, and your father proposed marriage that month, choosing the queen of his free will. The same thing can happen with Laurent. You can accompany him to Ios when he's a grown man. Maybe he'll be interested in someone there."
"How can you be sure that can happen?"
"I'm not sure, Auguste. But I think if he can make friends with young people his age, that would be a good way to give him a chance to meet someone. Laurent is studying to become an ambassador for Vere. He enjoys immersing himself in other cultures. A faraway land might have its fascination for an imaginative young man like him..."
Auguste shook his face, still finding the idea absurd.
"And how can you be sure that Laurent likes men enough to want to share his life with one? He's a child! We don't know what he likes..."
Hennike rolled her eyes again.
"I'm his mother, Auguste, and I know my baby very well. Just as I know you. You're attracted to both men and women, but Laurent likes boys. I've seen him look at some of his classmates from afar, and he once asked me a question that made that clear. He even participated in the beauty pageant in which Vannes dressed him as a girl. I saw him from afar leaving his room dressed as a princess. I expected him to tell me about it, but I respected his privacy and imaginative side. He was so lovely..."
Auguste vaguely remembered a girl with long blond hair being crowned in the middle of the court at a children's game. The girl wore a white dress with a crown of flowers and paraded through the atrium holding a scepter, and Auguste, who was watching the scene with Theodore at his side, applauded along with other nobles and encouraged the little ones in their play.
"That girl was Laurent?"
"Yes, Auguste! Do you realize now that there are things I know that you don't?"
Auguste contorted his mouth and shook his face to free himself from his trance.
"But how can you want Laurent to marry someone from Akielos? Same-sex marriages don't happen here or in Akielos."
"No, they don't. And I'm sorry I can't do it for you, Auguste, but Laurent may be able to be who he wants to be. There have been cases like that in Kempt. I'm not throwing my child into the lions' den. I'm merely giving him the option of considering a southern nobleman if he wants to mate with another man." — Hennike coughed strongly —"You must guide him in this endeavor and advise him to find a trustworthy mate. You must evaluate his choice and intervene if someone isn’t good enough for him. Whatever the outcome, we are in the hands of the gods. If it comes to a union, turn it over to Laurent and his Akielon companion Delfeur to manage. That might satisfy Theomedes' ambition..."
Auguste looked again at the document Hennike handed him, and she said, after coughing hard once more and spitting blood into the enameled bowl again.
"There's something else," said the queen, her eyes red and her forehead moist, "your uncle. You must send him away from the palace. Aleron trusts that false man too much and will never take that step."
Hennike's eyes were sunken like jewels in hollows, and her expression suddenly became heavier.
"Why?" Auguste asked. "Do you still think he covets my father's throne?"
Hennike nodded, ran her hand over her face, and brushed the blond hair from her forehead.
"I don't think your uncle will ever stop coveting everything your father has, my son. But there is something I want to tell you. I haven't been able to gather any concrete evidence yet, but I have found some clues. Cécile Levefre finally came to see me last week. I've been waiting for her for months until her postpartum confinement was over..."
Auguste rolled his very blue eyes.
"Velaine's mother?"
"Yes. When Velaine was found dead, there were marks of brutality on his body and a soldier was blamed and punished. And the one who accused the guard was your uncle." — Hennike took a deep breath before continuing, — "Latifa told me that her brother Leon was serving your uncle before he was found dead and that he came to her hours before he drowned, looking scared. I never gave my brother-in-law permission to approach that boy. The responsible for the Patran slaves passed him on to your uncle. You know where I'm going with this, don't you, Auguste?"
Auguste's blue-rimmed retinas suddenly darkened.
"...I spoke to Cécile. I asked her if there was any memory that could shed more light on what happened back then. And there was one... The one where your uncle saw you and Velaine dancing in each other's arms in the ballroom. Cécile remembered watching your uncle from afar, his gaze on both of you. Your uncle didn't have the look of a man who sees two children. The rape and murder of Velaine happened three days later..."
Auguste was silent. He remembered moving across the room with his hand on Velaine’s waist, twirling the young man across the vast space. At the time, Auguste couldn't believe he was being watched. His attention was focused on Velaine’s eyes and the new, youthful feeling growing in his chest.
Finally, Auguste murmured, shaken:
"Do you think that...?"
"Of all the things someone like your uncle can never forgive about Aleron and his lineage, it's the genuine happiness he never felt. Auguste, your uncle may have killed Velaine and Leon. And besides, I don't remember your uncle ever courting a man or a woman. Never! Not even a flirtation or mild interest, though he has been to brothels and those vile rings frequently in the past, I've heard! Isn't that strange for someone of his age and in his position?"
Auguste put his hand over his mouth.
"...There was also the time he demanded that Tharname serve him. I never quite believed that a child with good instincts like Theodore's brother would steal from someone. I kept running it through my mind. Your uncle accused the boy of stealing. For some reason, he wanted him away from Arles. I have no proof, but I can't get the thought out. Aleron has no idea about the monster he calls his brother, but I want your uncle out of here. Aleron will be weakened when I die, and I don't want my brother-in-law to take advantage of that." —Hennike's breathing was heavy —"If I let Latifa, who is deaf, testify against him, he could be acquitted and the girl punished with execution for slander. I have no proof, and your uncle's position is too important in Vere. But you can remove him from the court. Send him to Fortaine. There are only middle-aged men and low-ranking soldiers on our estate. We must find a way to expel him from here."
Auguste was confused by the flood of information.
Hennike closed the folder and said:
"...Besides, my servants must continue to work for the royal family. Latifa and Georgina can serve your cousin as ladies-in-waiting when Leda is brought here as your wife. Always keep Laurent close to you and be a friend to your father. He will need you. Take care of the dogs too. Elisabeth will miss me more than the others."
Auguste felt pain in every corner of his body. His head was spinning and a bewilderment threw him back into the void of himself. Hennike reached out a bony hand and touched his shoulder.
"...I know there is much to think about, my dear, but Aleron and Laurent will need you. Take care of my treasures, Auguste. Theodore loves you and will continue to be by your side. You are no longer a scared boy who can't deal with his pain. You are a grown man. A future king! The star of Vere. And I am so proud of you, Auguste. So proud..."
Auguste was no longer able to suppress the pain in his heart, let the tears flow into his burning eyes, and was enveloped in Hennike's embrace. He felt a flame go out and the sensation was painful.
Then there was silence, interrupted by the crown prince’s sobs. Auguste could feel his mother’s ribs under her nightgown. She was thin and weak. Her breath was panting deep in her fragile chest. Hennike was dying.
And yet, in her last breaths, she ruled with the wisdom and reason that had made her the unique Kemptian choice for Aleron and the best queen for Vere.
After the formal marriage proposal, Hennike explained to Aleron that she would not be happy sitting beside him on a throne beautifully and mute like a statue. She did not long to be just a king's wife, and Aleron found himself loving a woman who seemed to have nothing to lose.
While enumerating her needs, the Kemptian princess sometimes looked at the book she was reading and leafed through it like an ordinary man had proposed. Aleron was captivated by this scene.
So, before the fire, in the seclusion of the royal chambers, the king and queen decided together the future of Vere for years to come. Aleron had a Council, but the most ambitious plans were made with his wife.
After a while, when his crying had stopped and he was comforted by his mother like a child, Auguste left the queen alone so that she could rest.
He adjusted Hennike's blanket, kissed her on the forehead, and brushed some golden dust off her sheet with his hand.
"What's that?" he asked.
"I don't know," Hennike said, blinking tiredly. "I think it's the ink from the fore-edge painting of the books we brought back from Kempt. The ink is crumbling on some of them..."
As he left the royal bedroom, carrying the paper folder with the documents his mother had given him, Auguste walked past the soldiers guarding the entrance to the room. The pain still confused him and he could not notice the snake wrapped in a red velvet jacket following him from afar at the end of the hall between the columns and the shadows.
The Regent, who was not yet Regent, knew what had to be done. Aleron was on his way from Barbin to the capital. He could not risk Hennike recovering once more.
The Regent had not expected the queen's poisoning with the book pages to drag on for months. His person from Vask had told him that it was a poison that could be fatal in high doses, but a small amount sprinkled on a book could be a disguised poisoning. However, it would be dangerous if the physicians continued to search for the queen's illness.
No, there was no more time. Hennike had to die.
...
That evening, after dinner, the little Latifa took the tray from the queen's bed, moving her fingers.
"Your Majesty has eaten nothing..."
Hennike replied, moving her hand and touching her stomach.
"I have no appetite..."
The queen coughed violently and spat blood into the enamel bowl. Her chest ached, but she forced herself to continue reading the book written in Kempt’s language, the plot of which she hadn't gotten very far. There were drops of blood on some of the pages.
As she cleared the plates, Latifa watched the queen cough and she moved her fingers again.
"You always get worse when you read. Why don't you get some rest?"
Hennike watched the girl for a while and looked a little thoughtful. Then she closed the book and said:
"Maybe you're right..."
Latifa placed the tray on a high stool and gestured with her fingers nimbly.
"I can make that guaco tea with carrots and mint for you. Leon had a lot of coughing on the cold days in Bazal and felt better with the tea. I can mix honey so the taste isn't so bad."
Hennike smiled at the girl, nodding and gesturing.
"I have an even better idea. We can mix the tea with milk. Leave the milk jug here. Bring the tea in a syrup bottle so I can drink it when it's close to bedtime."
Latifa smiled and nodded, making a gesture:
"I'll be back later!"
Taking the golden tray and heading for the door, Latifa walked through the entrance to the Royal Bedroom flanked by two soldiers who exchanged a tacit glance as the slave left, taking the dinner dishes to the palace kitchens.
Hennike's eyes grew heavy, and she rested for a quarter of an hour, her chest aching and the air hissing in her throat. When she awoke, the fire in the grate still lit the room, and through the shadows, she saw a scarlet silhouette slipping toward her,
The queen was startled when a hand closed over her mouth, blocking her voice.
The Vere’s Ambassador, her brother-in-law, Aleron's brother… He was in her room. Holding her, the Regent, who was not yet Regent, said:
"Tsk tsk tsk... You women are annoying even when it's time to die. Why don't you die already?"
Hennike pulled away from the man, trying to reach the bell next to her bed, but the Regent pushed it away, making the object fall onto the carpet.
Hennike bit her brother-in-law's hand when he grabbed her again, then shouted:
"Guards!"
"You can scream to your lungs, my lovely sister-in-law. The soldiers won't hear you. It wasn't hard to buy their loyalty. It only took a few gold coins to make them take a walk. You're all alone and you better shut up. By the way, I'm not too fond of your voice, Hennike. Actually, I hate it!" the Regent explained, holding his hand sullenly.
"You bastard! I always knew you were despicable! It's just like you to wait until I'm weak to attack me. With me strong, you're just a useless, disgusting pervert who's jealous of your brother."
"Hush, Hennike!" the Regent replied through clenched teeth. "I should have put an end to you in your first year here. You're a whore who soon became pregnant and Aleron then put you in a glass dome, all fool with the pregnancy of his firstborn. But I managed to reach you when you drank a poisoned tea I sent you during Laurent's pregnancy, Hennike." — the Regent smiled proudly — "I also reached you when you were attacked by ants from the east that were put in your jacket. But I reached you even better when the books you were reading poisoned you. You always lived with your face in books, Hennike, because you thought you could use them to further Aleron's rule. You never thought a friendly book could bring you down, did you, sister-in-law?"
Hennike twitched the corners of her lips and hissed like a snake.
"You can get rid of me! You'll never be king!"
"That's what you think, but I'm this close to being one!"
Hennike narrowed her eyes as if she could see something through the Veretian’s flesh or under his skin. When she spoke, her assessment seemed like of a prophetess, but the reasoning was merely the observation of a woman watching the world around her and the monsoon of weather.
"You'll not... Evil destroys itself! You'll slip and destroy yourself. The top of the tower will be your grave. Do you think you're stronger than Aleron? Than Auguste? Than Laurent? You're not even half of them!"
The Regent grabbed Hennike roughly by the wrist and said:
"I'm not afraid of your curses, you witch! Aleron and his sons are weak! They're passionate, idiotic, and too sensitive! Aleron will die in life when his Kemptian flower is gone. And Auguste has been mourning the love of a pathetic child for years. The only thing that still separates me from the throne is you, you viper!"
"You killed Velaine! It was you, you fucking pervert!" said the queen through a loud cough.
The Regent paused before coldly taking one of the pillows off the bed and fluffing it up.
"Hennike, you've always been nosy and tried to turn Aleron's opinion against me! Fortunately, my brother loves me and will continue to give me all the freedom I want. Do you know he thinks I'm his best friend? Aleron trusts me blindly. We're related by blood. He used to only listen to my words before he met you and you interfered in our relationship. But now it's enough. Enough, Hennike. Enough of you!"
Hennike replied, before having the pillow buried in her face:
"You will never be king! You won't be able to touch Aleron and my children!"
The Regent began to smother Hennike, who was moaning under the pillow, as she closed her thin hands around her brother-in-law's neck. The two of them were like two snakes trying to strike the other first.
"By the way, Hennike..." — the Regent said sadistically, clearing his throat because of the blockage in his windpipe — "I must congratulate you on your youngest and tell you that Laurent is a stunner. I'll be happy to have fun with him when Aleron and Auguste can no longer protect him. I'll think of you when I mount Laurent!"
Hennike fought back even more fiercely, growling like an animal and grabbing the Regent furiously by the neck. The man's face reddened and he coughed, but he maintained his cool, suffocating grip on the queen.
Until the woman's movements became sluggish and powerless. Until she stopped grunting. And her hands went limp. The queen became immobile while the Regent smothered her for several more minutes.
When the Regent lifted the pillow, Hennike's face was calm and her eyes were moist. Indifferently, the Regent lifted his sister-in-law and placed the pillow under her head.
"I've wanted to do this for a long time. It was my pleasure, Kemptian flower. Rest in hell, Your Majesty!"
The Regent took a pair of gloves out of his pocket, pulled them over his hands, and began to collect the three books Hennike had on her bedside table. He would ask his partner to retrieve the others. These pieces of evidence had to be forgotten.
The Regent stared once more with icy contempt at the lifeless body of his sister-in-law before he heard a noise at the door.
He turned around and was sure it couldn't be anyone important. The Regent had paid a soldier to cause a disturbance in the courtyard with another man, keeping Auguste and his guards busy.
The Regent found the slightly ajar door and, as he approached, noticed an orange-colored liquid with a characteristic smell spilled on the floor. It was a broken glass bottle.
The Regent twitched his lips like someone confronted with another nuisance and peered into the light-filled corridor. It was empty.
The Regent rejoiced with the death of his rival and his consequently rise. So, he did not allow himself to pay more attention to this fact than he should. He felt in his chest the vague joy he used to call happiness. He felt the pleasure power gave him, almost sensual and passionate, and that protected him from feeling vulnerable or weak.
When he closed the bedroom door and took the books with him, the Regent, who was not yet Regent, left.
Then, during the night, the queen's lifeless body was discovered. There was a cry from the servants. Auguste ran through the halls with a pale face and faltering breath. The Council was convened. Theodore comforted the crown prince, who held his hand over his mouth.
The physicians came too, of course, and said that Hennike's condition was worse by the day. A mysterious illness. An unknown evil.
Of course, little Laurent appeared at the queen's bedroom door too, and approached her bed. He had managed to see his mother in the morning, and the only difference from now was the strange coldness that a human soul leaves behind when it leaves its shell. Hennike would never whisper the words "My prince" to him again.
When he felt Auguste's arms around his shoulders, Laurent blinked, not knowing what to make of the faintness he felt. He would only cry for his mother in Marlas. And then, in this same palace a long time later.
Aleron arrived at the palace early the next day, and as the Regent had predicted, the first leg of Vere's throne was kicked and broken under the weight of what was to come.
A suffering king turned out to be a terrible void, for despite the luxury and power that filled sumptuous rooms, there was a lack. And nothing could be done about this lack.
She was gone. The flower of Kempt, which Aleron had discovered in the young woman with braided hair and sharp eyes, had been snatched from the world. Hennike had smiled at Aleron under an apple tree, indifferent to the fact that he was a future king, and Aleron had fallen forever in love with the gesture. She had borne him two beloved sons and had accompanied him for more than two decades as his loyal queen. His companion. His love.
The place next to the King of Vere on the throne was now empty and cold like his heart. This started killing him.
Auguste closed his eyes as Aleron lay sobbing beside the bed, kissing Hennike's cold hand and collapsing like an artesian ruin. Afterward, the prince asked the Council and the servants to leave the royal chambers, shielding his father from the world.
Hennike was buried the next morning, and the ceremony took place in the courtyard of Arles, among cypresses, rose bushes, jasmines, and fleurs-de-lis. The morning was pale as if holding its breath for the coming storm.
Laurent, who, like Aleron, was dressed in black, the Council, the courtiers, the slaves, the soldiers, and the funeral decorations, listened to the priest conducting the funeral, saying words like:
"Those who leave never really leave. A piece of them stays and lives forever in those they love. Death does not exist for those who were so loved..."
Laurent watched as the Council members and several Veretian courtiers bid farewell to Hennike. He saw the royal slave owner bow to a dejected Aleron. The servants bowed their heads too, contemplating their feelings.
However, Latifa stared at Laurent with her red face, arms crossed over her knees. She sat on the cold tiled floor and looked at him concerned.
She had cried. A lot. Out of sadness. And out of anger.
Perhaps, despair too.
Laurent turned his gaze away from the Patran slave when his uncle touched him on the shoulder and knelt beside him.
"Laurent, so we meet again... I'm so sorry, my dear nephew..."
Laurent saw the man with the blue eyes and dark hair smiling at him.
"...We’ll all miss Hennike, I'm sure of it..."
"Thank you, Uncle..." — Laurent replied.
The Regent reached and removed a garden insect that had landed on the boy's hair, taking the opportunity to stroke a light lock.
"I'll be here if you need me. I'm part of your family too. You can trust me, Laurent."
But before Laurent could say anything back, someone grabbed his hand and pulled him closer.
It was Auguste, dressed in guard’s livery in the colors of a dark sky. A night sky. The star of Vere was emblazoned on his chest. Laurent felt his brother’s fingers tighten in his gloved hand.
There was silence for a moment, during which the Regent frowned and looked at Auguste.
"What did you say to my brother?" the crown prince asked dryly.
The Regent smiled hesitantly.
"Auguste... Nephew... I was just showing my solidarity with your brother, wasn't I, Laurent?"
Laurent looked at Auguste's hard face and then at the suspicious expression on his uncle's face.
"...By the way, I'd also like to offer you my condolences, Auguste. I'm sorry that Hennike has passed away."
The crown prince raised an eyebrow. The Regent had never noticed that Auguste’s gaze could resemble Hennike’s stern expression.
"Really? You and my mother never got on good terms. Herode even told me once that you were against the marriage between her and my father and said my mother wasn't worthy of him..."
The Regent, dressed in his red jacket in the middle of a dark stream, bowed to a courtier who passed behind him. His eyes were cold.
"That's water under the bridge, Auguste," he replied. "I'm truly sorry for what has happened. Aleron's suffering is obvious and he looks devastated. It breaks my heart. I hope I can do something to support my brother."
Auguste still held Laurent’s hand while he pulled a document out of his jacket. In a dry voice, he replied:
"Do it today, uncle. I don't think there'll be time for comforting words tomorrow. You must leave tomorrow morning for our estate in Fortaine. It's a quiet part of our kingdom, but it needs to be inspected. You must stay there for some time. Months. Maybe even years..."
The Regent was lost for words and looked at Laurent, who was listening to them, and then back at Auguste, who was looking at him severely.
"Fortaine...?! But I'm the royal ambassador! I'm in charge of the negotiations of Vere..."
"You're relieved of this task. I believe that the Council will be able to conduct the negotiations and our heralds will give us the necessary support. That is all. You must leave tomorrow..."
The Regent frowned and raised his chin proudly.
"Do you want to dismiss me, Auguste? You can't do that! You're not the king. Aleron is the king!"
Auguste also raised his face and handed the document to the Regent.
"I am glad you remember that my father is the king, uncle. But as you said, he's devastated and I don't think he has the head to deal with political matters now. And as my mother, the Queen, used to say: In the King's absence, she and I make the decisions around here. I'm in charge. That's all! I'll give you my instructions tomorrow."
Without further hesitation, Auguste, still holding little Laurent's hand, walked away, taking his brother. Laurent looked back and saw his uncle's stern and tense expression.
The Regent, who was not yet Regent, was left alone amid the courtyard, holding the paper with his dismissal.
His nephew knew. Auguste knew something.
All around him, the Regent felt beset by the fleurs-de-lis of Vere with their sweet scent. By the flags with the stars that were unfurled; by the sea of people mourning the death of a woman who wasn't even a Veretian. He felt cornered.
A very young soldier approached Auguste in the respectful manner that everyone seemed to have for the prince. His eyes shone with admiration.
"Jord, have my guards assembled in the barracks. I need six men to escort my uncle to Fortaine tomorrow," Auguste said with an imposing air.
The Regent felt the pain of having his control, the power that was rightfully his, stolen by a brat who until a few years ago was still crying over the loss of Velaine and locked in his room.
Suddenly, the Regent could kill everyone present at the funeral and create a bloodbath that would dwarf the cursed blood of Hennike and her lineage. He wanted to open Auguste's chest with his hands and turn the unfurled flags into scarlet, crushing all the damned stars.
The Regent stomped into his room and, in conniption, knocked over furniture, objects, sheets, and the tray with the tea cups in his room. He cursed Auguste and Hennike's ghost.
His partner, the royal slave trader, and owner, did not seek out the Regent immediately. He waited until the man was consumed with deadly and destructive rage before going to him, knocking on his bedroom door, and announcing himself.
The Regent looked at the straw-haired merchant with an expression of disinterest and waved the goblet in his hand with the remaining wine.
"Auguste knows, doesn't he?" asked the handsome slave owner, pleased to find the other man in his calmer state.
"A servant must have seen me leave Hennike's room yesterday. But we have no time to waste on this. If Auguste hasn't put me on trial, there's no evidence. Did you burn the rest of the books?"
"Yes," replied the other man, "there is no further evidence of that. Sir, where will our plan go from here?"
The Regent placed the goblet on the head of his chair and said:
"A little interruption won't change the picture. I need to know if anyone in Fortaine is trustworthy..."
The slave owner, walking around the magnificent room with his hands behind his back, replied after a minute of silence:
"There is a courtier named Guion. He has already used the services of some of my slaves and has done some trades with Akielos. He speaks Akielos' language perfectly. I can write to Guion. He is an ambitious and a reliable man..."
The Regent screwed up his face and thought about the matter. Then, after some hesitation, the merchant said:
"... But there is something even more important that you should know. I overheard a conversation of the Council. There is a plan by Auguste to ally with Kempt through his marriage to Princess Leda..."
The Regent tensed the muscle in his hand and gripped the armrest of the chair tightly before answering:
"Auguste is only fucking that insignificant slave, Tharname's brother. He has never shown any interest in marriage."
The straw-haired man, who had lowered his hat, said:
"But now he is interested in getting married because of the alliance. There's one important step we might be able to take, though."
The merchant took a paper out of his jacket pocket and said:
"...Vere's Star seems shining even brighter, after Hennike's death. I too have been demoted. I have to leave the palace by the end of the week and go north. Auguste suspects me too."
The Regent rolled his eyes and cursed.
"Bastard like his bitch of a mother."
"I'll be closer to Kempt though," the merchant said quickly, "King Hazel trusts me. I can try to stop the alliance."
The Regent eyed the man up and down, underestimating him slightly.
"I don't think you're King Hazel's favorite person for obvious reasons. How are you going to convince him?"
"I can tell him stories. I know how to scandalize the Kemptians. It's easy to find inspiration for lurid inventions at the court of Vere."
The Regent gave the other man a grim look.
"Are you going to tell the story of how you impregnated a courtier's daughter and killed her and her bastard because you feared they might harm your business?"
The slave owner took on a certain hardness in his face and replied:
"There are stories in Vere that are even scarier than this accident. But there is something else that worries me..."
"Something else?" the Regent asked cynically.
"I had one of my slaves go around the prince to serve him tea, and he overheard Auguste talking to Herode about Akielos. It was about a peace proposal..."
The Regent twitched the corners of his mouth in disbelief.
"Peace? Vere and Akielos? Aleron will never allow that."
"Aleron sits abandoned on the throne and his son is ruling the palace as if he had already been crowned. Whatever Auguste has in mind, he will do it."
The Regent remained thoughtful for a while and then uttered a sound of contempt.
"We're not fighting with Auguste's thoughts! It's the instructions Hennike must have given him before she died. She had time to plan the government after her death while she suffered on that bed for months."
The slave owner saw the Regent tighten his grip on the arm of his chair, tearing the leather and revealing the furniture's foam.
Silence reigned for a moment, interrupted by the sounds of the gardens. The Regent moved his neck as if returning to his normal self.
"You said Guion spoke Akielos' language..."
The slave merchant frowned, finding the change of subject strange.
"Yes..."
The Regent smiled his crooked smile, devoid of joy or emotion, and replied:
"Perhaps a season in Fortaine would not be so bad. But we must bribe some courtiers and soldiers to inform us of the court's movements. And tell your beloved Vaskian that we will need help. We need an effective poison. More effective. Deadlier. So that any peace treaty proposed to Akielos will not reach Theomedes."
The other man nodded. Then he raised his gray gaze and asked:
"What will you do if Vere and Akielos go to war?"
The Regent, who was about to become Regent, took the last sip of wine and said:
"We have heard many rumors about Akielos here, but a merchant has the mobility to enter any land. You have traveled the four kingdoms with the consent of their rulers and have the information I need. Merchants are mapmakers and natural ambassadors. So, answer me: Which son of Theomedes fights better? Damianos or Kastor?"
The slave merchant blinked without hesitation.
"Everyone says that Damianos is the best swordsman in Akielos, despite his young age."
"Right," the Regent replied thoughtfully, "Right..."
The next day, the Regent departed for Fortaine, flanked by Auguste's soldiers. Within a few months, he began his strategic and cold movement, sabotaging plans and building others with methodical movements, bathed in gold and blood.
The next time the Regent met Auguste after leaving the capital of Vere, his nephew was moving towards the border of Marlas, his armor shining and his sword in hand gleaming in the sun.
"Who summoned him here?! Why is he here?!" Auguste asked angrily, pointing the blade at his uncle.
Aleron intervened:
"We needed someone competent to help us with the negotiations. Your uncle was once the ambassador of Vere, Auguste, and he brought Guion of Fortaine, who speaks Akielos' language, to negotiate with the heralds of Theomedes. Your uncle is convinced that attacking the army while our messengers distract them is a good strategy. The Akielons will surrender, and that will prevent more deaths..."
The crown prince's communication with his father, the king, had not been the best for months. Aleron had aged considerably in less than a year. His grief was dragged from one place to another. He was suffering, and Auguste recognized this form of torment.
That was why Auguste did not tell Aleron about the suspicions that hovered over his uncle. He hoped that his father would get over Hennike's death before he lost another person. As he watched the king drink wine alone on his throne, growing thinner by the day, Auguste waited for this pain to pass to instill a new one.
He waited.
And waited...
"I thought the surprise attack on the forces of Akielos was your idea and the Council's, Father! I serve you! Not him!" Auguste replied and watched as the fort's gate was raised with a lever.
One of Auguste's soldiers, the man named Riquelme, who was standing next to him, asked:
"Captain, shall we proceed with the attack?"
There was a long moment of silence. An entire kingdom was pinned on a cliff by Auguste's hand.
Time seemed endless, but the men dared not speak. Auguste looked at his father’s gray hair. He had to end the war. He could stop the army of Akielos with his men. Hennike didn't want a war. Nor him. Akielos had to be made to surrender.
"We will."
And then, clenching his jaw muscle, Auguste spoke, sword in hand, commanding his soldiers and making his way to the battlefield:
"...When I return, I don't want to see you here again, uncle! I want you to leave Delfeur! Stay away from me and my family!"
The Regent twitched his lips and remained indifferent and impersonal in the face of the anger of the Captain of the Veretian army, his nephew.
Then, Aleron stared into his brother's face for a moment. And Auguste's anger roused him from his months-long lethargic state.
Aleron loved his brother, for the Regent was false and wore a mask to gain the king's trust since they were children.
But at this critical point in the sun and listening to the ominous creaking of the fort's gate opening, the king asked himself: Why did Hennike often get angry with her brother-in-law? And now Auguste as well?
And why had his brother questioned Hennike's character weeks before the wedding, claiming fraternal care? Had he tried to persuade him to choose Jordana, even though his heart was already bound to Hennike?
"I love her! I've already made up my mind," Aleron had said to his younger brother at twenty-five, confiding his truths to him.
Aleron was at an age that was considered ripe for marriage. However, the Council found it good since the king seemed no longer carried away by youthful flirting and foolishness.
The Regent, a fake careful brother, had insisted a lot those days:
"Love? Love is bullshit, a fragility! Are you sure that Hennike is honest, Aleron? Why does she seem so close to the book merchant she wants to bring to Vere as a slave merchant? They were together in Kempt and now she wants to bring him to Arles. There's something about her... Hennike is cunning and that's not a pleasant quality in a woman. Jordana is rather naïve, innocent, younger ... No cause for concerns about her..."
Why was Aleron's younger brother always around?
Why was he there, in Marlas?
Had he been summoned in Fortaine by a Councillor? Or had he just turned up there?
Aleron frowned, asking himself these questions for the first time. Blood drained from his complexion and a gray pallor cooled his face prematurely. Suddenly the Regent with his partially raised mask seemed strange to him. Finally, Aleron saw his brother for the first time.
But it was too late.
Aleron would die. The suspicion came in the nightfall of a lifetime.
Auguste walked towards the exit of the fort. Toward the troops of Akielos, waving under the flag with the star, Auguste was heading for death too.
And the Regent, who would become Regent that day, felt his morbid and empty joy again, calling the pleasure in his bones of happiness.
He nodded discreetly to one of the archers who had made his way forward.
And with that gesture, with that impersonal acquiescence, he shot a grave beside Hennike, his brother, and his eldest nephew, coloring the world around him red, like carnage.
With a snap of his fingers, the Regent caused the queen, the crown prince, and the king to topple one after the other, like pieces on a board.
The Regent turned and spotted Laurent standing some distance away, watching as Vere's soldiers charged to the front.
Apart from the layers of sick and miserable desire, the Regent did not understand the intertwining between the king, the flower of Kempt, and the crown prince that made up Laurent's complexity, which sometimes defied calculation. And because he didn't understand him, the Regent underestimated the boy for years.
Had he understood the molecule's movements that form a star from nebulae, he would have destroyed his greatest opponent and crushed him too. He would have opened the chest of the Star of Vere with rough shovels and torn out its heart.
But the Regent had his blind spots, just like his brother and nephew. And on the day, he had dragged the last member of Laurent's family to his death, he had unwittingly dragged himself to his execution as well.
"There's one left. The last heir," his partner had told him at the funeral of Aleron and Auguste as he watched Laurent from a distance, sitting in a far corner with a dog on his lap.
The Regent, dressed in his red jacket, had his arms folded behind his back. He murmured and glanced briefly at his nephew.
"Laurent is harmless. He trusts me. If he dies now, there will be distrust among the Council. Let's wait and see. I'll find a good use for him in the meantime. I am the authority of Vere now. What could a little boy do against me?"
Chapter 9: The Beast (Part 2)
Chapter Text
The Trust worthies were restless in the Fleur-de-Lis Inn. The news that the Sister Nations had declared war against the East surprised them. Even the innkeeper, who had received the news from Lord Berenger, had dropped a mug on the floor, shaken and nervous as he hurriedly muttered a prayer.
That afternoon, the party of eight and the herald Hendric gathered in Charls' room, looking worried.
Makedon ran his hand over the back of his neck and looked nervous. The peculiar sight from the window of the Vaskian slave feeding Vask's leopards at the back of the inn did nothing to improve his mood.
"What are we going to do now? I wasn't expecting a damn war..."
Lord Berenger replied, massaging his temples:
"None of us expected this. What are we to do with the cargo?"
Loyse, who had entered the room filled with men and covered herself inconspicuously under a cloak, said:
"We will take them to Arles, as we promised..."
Guilliame exchanged a silent glance with Charls and said with visible discomfort:
"We also gave our word to Vask's second wife, Lady Loyse, and promised her that she would meet the Empress in the capital. But Vask's entourage has left Arles and a royal consort, a clan girl and two leopards are on their way to meet the rival king of their country. What are they? Hostages of war ...?"
Pallas, who was standing with his arms folded and watching the leopards from the window, took the floor:
"I agree with Guilliame. I don't feel comfortable in this position either. I don't know what King Damianos is up to, but..."
Lazar, trying to resist the urge to smoke, said:
"But...?"
"That's unfair!" Pallas declared, looking away from the felines to the others. "It's unfair to use lies to get the Vaskians and the leopards into the palace."
Lazar took a deep breath and said:
"I'm not happy with this lie either."
Hendric interjected:
"You cannot jump to conclusions. We must head to the palace today and do as we have been ordered. What comes of that is something only kings know. King Laurent and King Damianos are not tyrants! They will not harm a woman, a girl, a slave, and two leopards just because they are Vaskians."
Ancel, who sat cross-legged in a high-backed chair, spoke:
"Toby knows about the war. The only thing keeping him with us is that he has nowhere else to go and he's confident Laurent desires him. Jean will keep quiet, but is Toutaine's cargo reliable?"
Makedon frowned.
"Haniel is deaf, but Giraud hears very well and is no fool. I'm sure he will return to Avignon without delay with his beau if things get dangerous. Giraud is curious about who all of you are and tried to probe me out earlier."
Lazar, sliding his hand through his brown hair, resisting the urge to take his cigarette out of his pocket, said:
"Perhaps it would be a good idea for Charls and Guilliame to travel with Toutaine's cargo to keep an eye on them."
Loyse moved her face as if she liked the idea and spoke:
"I can travel with Vask's cargo, though my Vaskish is pitiful."
Lord Berenger took the word:
"Toby boy will be safe with me and Ancel..."
Pallas blinked his dark eyes, asking:
"Shall we then return to the palace?"
Hendric slid his hand over his rough chin, saying:
"Are you thinking of disinheriting, Pallas?"
The Akielon soldier started at the words and shook his head vehemently.
"No, it's not that! It's just that we left the capital to try to avoid a war, and now we've learned that our kingdoms have declared war on Patras and Vask..." — and, turning to Makedon, he asked — "Commander, what are our chances against the east?"
Makedon took a deep breath, speaking:
"Our army is strengthened, as is Vere's, but a war of this magnitude is never easy. There has been a great recovery in Patras and Vask after the peace was declared, and this should not be ignored. It's not news that pleases me, but if Laurent suffered an attack, it's only natural for him to declare war. And of course, Akielos will support him..."
Charls ran a hand over his forehead, still seeming dazed by the matter of Vask's cargo he was escorting.
"Then what will the kings do with the second wife, little Nimue, and the leopards?"
Lazar ran his hand over his face and lit a cigarette anxiously.
"Sorry, sweetheart, I can't resist! This is a bad time to stop smoking. We should go through the west route. The other roads are busy and the leopards are notorious when they roar under the fabrics..."
Ancel, whose cigarette smell reminded him of the brothels of Sanpelier, fanned himself with his raised hand and forced an unpleasant cough. He opened the bedroom door a crack to ventilate a little, but he heard something as he stood there.
Ancel stopped with his long, red hair tied back in a high ponytail and turned to the group with a raised eyebrow.
"Are we still waiting for someone?"
Hendric grimaced.
"No..."
Ancel replied, turning a little pale.
"I hear voices coming from downstairs. On the counter..."
Without hesitation, Makedon, Pallas, Lazar, and Hendric drew their swords, led the way, and said to the others:
"Lock the door."
The four men walked along the corridor cautiously, trying to overhear the conversation on the first floor. Ahead of them, they could see the king's other soldiers posted outside the doors, guarding the cargos still in the rooms.
Pallas pricked up his ears. The inn owner was talking to a woman. An accented voice could also be heard.
"Vask..." he murmured to Lazar.
As they approached the baluster, the men could see who had arrived at the inn just when the noblewoman turned her gaze to the upper floor.
Lady Vannes was dressed in tight riding clothes, and near her stood her muscular, dark-skinned Vaskian pet, two heads taller and wrapped in a cloak. The inn owner seemed a little suspicious and refused to give any information.
Vannes turned to the four men and bowed elegantly with her ambassadorial manners.
"Good afternoon."
Makedon replied suspiciously, still holding his weapon.
"What are you doing here?"
Lady Vannes stepped forward, removing her hood and revealing her light brown hair. Talik walked beside the woman like a loyal dog.
"I have come on behalf of the king. He has ordered me to escort you to the capital and ensure the cargos are delivered."
Hendric frowned and asked:
"How can we trust you?"
"I was a Councillor to Laurent of Vere in his attempt to reclaim the throne, and my loyalty remains. You know me. I was in Marlas. The king sent me here because he thought everyone was probably running around like mad, thinking the world had been turned upside down by the war. And he assured me that everyone would doubt me. So, I brought a letter with the royal seal and his signature to reassure everyone."
Pallas watched the elegant woman coming from the capital across the rough streets to the distant inn guarded by soldiers and looked behind her for the royal guards who must have accompanied her.
"Where are the men who came with you? Did you travel alone?"
"No. I came with someone who wouldn't let anyone get close to me. I came with my security."
Pallas' gaze slid to Talik and he noticed that the woman had a tonfa in her belt, just like the soldiers of Vask.
"Then?" Vannes asked, moving her pretty face. "Are you going to talk to me, or should I go back to Laurent of Vere and tell him that the Trust worthies don't trust even the king's word?"
When Lady Vannes and Talik rejoined the group, the noblewoman put her hand on her hip and looked at the people in Charls’ room. She was not very tall, but something lofty remained in her stance.
Hendric, who was reading the letter written by Laurent, broke the seal, rolled up the parchment, and asked:
"How did we get into a war?"
Vannes went to the window where Talik stood watching the leopards.
"Councillor Jeurre was murdered. He was found dead in his room and Councillor Chelaut was accused of the crime because the servant Jeurre was with belonged to his entourage. The Emperor awoke from his poisoning and accused the Empress of Vask and King Torgeir of conspiring against the Sister Nations. Given these circumstances, Laurent had no choice but to expel everyone from his realm and declare war on the East."
Lord Berenger frowned, looking dismayed by this information.
"Councillor Jeurre has died...?"
Lady Vannes exchanged a look with Talik and replied, moving around the room again:
"Yes. Almost between the legs of a woman. A scandal for a Councillor. Everyone said Jeurre liked women more than anything, but he deprived himself of that by never marrying one. Chelaut may be in cahoots with Patras."
Makedon raised his eyebrows and scrutinized Loyse for a moment.
"Jeurre is gone and we have one less hypocrite in the world. I don't know where Laurent got these stupid Councillors. They're the ones who need advice. Damianos had said that the leopard Afanas in the capital would prevent the Empress from acting aggressively. Has she accepted the declaration of war?"
Vannes took a deep breath and said:
"Yes. After recovering a bit, the leopard Afanas suffered a relapse and died. Paschal broke the news to the public. There's nothing left to stop Vask from attacking..."
Pallas stood up with furrowed eyebrows and spoke:
"Is that why we need to bring more hostages to Laurent? Is that why he needs Vask's second wife and the leopards? To stop Vishkar's attacks?"
Vannes paused for a moment and answered:
"I'm the messenger, not the king's strategist. I was only sent to escort you and deliver the king's message that despite the war, the plan stands. I know the culture of Vask, and my Talik is from Ver-Kindt. Let us ensure the trustworthiness of Vask's cargo by speaking with the second wife."
Talik, holding his arms folded like a mountain, said:
"Let's leave at once, Vannes. We'd better not delay."
Lazar stubbed out his cigarette on a porcelain saucer and spoke:
"We must take the west road so as not to attract attention. Many nobles are leaving the capital. What can you tell us about the mercenaries we saw on the way?"
Vannes, staring at the open courtyard, turned around quickly with a frown.
"What?!"
Loyse then said:
"Mercenaries! We've seen many headings for the capital. Mercenaries from Patras and Vask..."
Vannes exchanged a gloomy glance with Talik, who reached into her belt and searched for her tonfa.
The Veretian woman stated:
"I know nothing about this, but I don't like this information. Let's leave immediately. Gather your cargo and organize the soldiers. Talik, let's get the horses!"
The Vaskian pet nodded with a determined expression.
Ancel got up and ran into the corridor:
"I'll drag Toby out of bed. Since he's been here, he's only slept and eaten."
Makedon, seeing the commotion, declared with a scowl to Loyse, Pallas, and Lazar:
"We know now about the court delegations who left Arles, and about the men from Vask and Patras who took advantage of the confusion on the roads to come here. How did they get past the border guards? They must have traveled across the sea or through the mountains. We should reach the capital before the end of the day. At least Damianos and Laurent are together and that worries me less. This information must reach them."
The inn was bustling with activity as everyone prepared to leave. The sound of boots going up and down the wooden steps and the neighing of horses being saddled could be heard. One of the leopards growled as its keeper tried to cover the cage with a cloth. The horses harnessed to the carriages moved their fetlocks restlessly at the noise.
Meanwhile, some distance away from there, soldiers in royal livery stood guard at the border of the small town of Dijon, which Lazar, Pallas, and Hendric had passed through a few days earlier.
At a point where the trees were so thick that they obscured the road, one of the men frowned when he saw a scout coming out of the town on a horse, out of breath and panting as he dismounted.
"Rioters five minutes away, Captain! A large group is on its way here!"
The border guard captain with a pale face asked:
"Rioters?! Where did they come from? How did they get past the first border?"
"I think they're from Dijon, Captain," replied the scout, taking a deep breath to restore the air in his lungs.
The captain put his hand to his sword and walked along the border, ordering his men to prepare.
No! This could not be true. There were also Veretian soldiers in Dijon. How could the troublemakers try to cross the border in a group without being stopped by the local guards in the small town?
The answer came a few moments later. It wasn't just a group of the king's opponents approaching. They were not alone. The soldiers of Dijon had sold out and were riding alongside them.
"Formation, men! Formation! Let's fight!" shouted the captain in an insistent voice.
Serge, who had once fought alongside Laurent of Vere to reclaim the throne of Damianos, held the sword tightly in his hand and clutched its hilt.
He saw a tall man on a horse riding towards him without a weapon in his hand. He thought that the attacker would get off his horse at some point and draw his sword.
But this man was a mercenary who had served the Regent, and his way of winning disputes was dirty. He was Odilon Gagneux.
When he arrived near Serge, Odilon jumped off his horse and lunged at the soldier, surprising him and wrapping his strong arm around his throat, choking him instantly.
While he strangled Serge, Odilon laughed and ruffled the man's hair as if he were a child being stroked. His muscles resembled a bull and there was a hint of madness in his laughter.
"Easy, easy, soldier. Stay calm so you can die properly."
Serge wriggled under the strong arm and tried to free himself from Odilon's grip. His face was red.
At the border, the invaders dueled with the king's men. Veretians in royal livery fought other Veretians wearing the same garb. It was an act of betrayal. A betrayal that had caught the border guards unprepared.
They had to warn the capital! Lazar and Pallas had come through days before with Hendric on a mission Was there a power trying to stop the king's plans? The border had to send a messenger immediately.
But it was too late.
The scout lay on the ground with a knife in his back, his eyes glazed over and staring into space.
Odilon rolled his eyes back into their sockets and pressed harder against Serge's neck, who coughed. Until the soldier wheezed and turned purple and finally closed his eyes and stopped moving.
With a disinterested movement, Odilon tossed the man's body aside, picked up his dropped sword, and walked towards the border captain, who was left alone under the dark trees of the north, surrounded by six other men.
The Akielon troops stood in perfect discipline in the courtyard of the palace of Arles. A gleaming row of men in heavy armor showed off their legs and muscles.
Laurent and Damianos stood side by side on the wide steps in full state dress in front of the soldiers. A little behind them were the Councillors Audin and Mathe, the expatriate Emperor Sorem of Ver-Tan, and the Captain of the guard, Jord.
The Akielon court, which had come to Vere's capital for Laurent’s birthday, had already left two days ago. Now Damianos was rounding up his men to evacuate the palace as well.
Nikandros sat astride a gleaming brown gelding horse. Banners in red and gold flew around Akielos' troops. Trumpets blared.
Damianos turned to Laurent on the steps and said something quietly:
"Are you sure you want me to go south?"
Laurent replied with his hair shining in the sun and his impressive image:
"We must strengthen Akielos and unite the kyroi for the coming war. Patras and Vask have gone to their kingdoms as quickly as possible to arm themselves. Akielos will have to do the same while Vere gets organized. Staying here won't help any of us right now. Akielos is dependent on his king, just as Vere is dependent on me."
Damen swallowed and touched Laurent on the shoulder in front of everyone present. The star of Vere shone on the Veretian’s dark clothes like a night sky.
"So, we'll meet in Delpha in a month and a half."
Laurent nodded and Damen kissed the Veretian king’s pale forehead with measured gentleness.
"...Take good care of yourself." — the Akielon whispered.
Damianos took a deep breath and took a few steps on the flagstones warming up under the pale sun after a morning of heavy rain. He walked towards the saddled horse next to Nikandros.
The King of Akielos paused, then felt his heart in his chest. After watching the lining men of his army, he turned back to Laurent, walked up to him with firm, determined steps, and kissed him full on the mouth.
To say that Laurent was surprised by the Akielon's spontaneous and exuberant gesture would be an understatement. He was blushing to his ears, but he didn't push Damen away and surrendered to his embrace. It wasn't a long kiss, but it was a deep one. Damianos was already expressing a premature missing.
Someone coughed among the soldiers. One of the heralds dropped his trumpet. Nikandros turned his gaze to a sparrow perched on a vault. Mathe cleared his throat and Sorem looked away with a thin smile.
Damianos and Laurent seemed not only like two kings taking leave to structure their kingdoms for war but also like two lovers already embittered over the longing for a love that a quarrel with the whole East had trampled.
Releasing his lips from Laurent's mouth, Damen whispered to the young man with flushed cheeks:
"I didn't mean for this to happen..."
"Neither did I. But we'll have to fight. And win, Damen..." — the Veretian replied, stroking the face of the man before him.
After a long glance, Damen kissed Laurent’s palm, turned away for good, went to his horse, and got on. Then he left the courtyard and rode to the gates.
Nikandros bowed to Laurent from a distance and pulled on his horse's reins to urge it on.
Damianos crossed the inner walls and turned in the saddle to look at the palace as he left it. The sight was the same as it had been two years ago: beautiful, with tall doors, imposing domes and towers, and endless intricate, interlocking patterns carved into the cream-colored stone.
The dark towers were lit with marble and polished metal, reaching up into the sky to lift people into the translucent realm of the gods.
Arles had been Damianos' prison for an interminable amount of time, and when he left the place for the south two years ago, he had felt a genuine desire never to return.
But he had come back. For the man he had thought was his jailer. And he would come back as often as necessary for the same man.
When Damianos had passed the gates and his olive, ivory, and red silhouette was no longer visible, Laurent turned his back on the Akielon soldiers leaving the capital.
Audin, who wore the Council’s medallion around his neck and stood on the podium, commented:
"Your Majesty, I have been informed that Councillor Chelaut is forbidden to receive visitors..."
Laurent raised his impersonal gaze to Audin and replied:
"Chelaut is no longer a Council’s member. He is a confessed prisoner responsible for the death of Jeurre and must remain in isolation. Besides, there is another accusation against him..."
Audin shook his face.
"I know, Your Majesty, but perhaps we should listen to him and..."
"And...?" Laurent said, raising an eyebrow.
"And give him a chance to explain himself again! I've known Chelaut for a long time. He has a wife, and children and is a scholar. Not a cold articulator..."
Laurent averted his gaze and lifted his proud chin a little.
"Many slavers trapped in the secret rings have the same argument: wife and children. Do you know how often I hear that every day to justify some abject men chaining and raping people? 'Don't punish me, Your Majesty. I have a wife and children’. But I believe that wife and children are better off without this scum who presents himself as the exemplary head of the family to his own but as a vile to others..."
At this argument, Audin looked at Laurent in disgust. He seemed annoyed.
Mathe took a deep breath and insisted as well:
"I can talk to Chelaut, Your Majesty if you want me to see if he's sane. Chelaut's intentions are unclear, and he is no ordinary man. Please be reasonable."
Laurent twitched the corners of his mouth and said:
"Chelaut will be heard in court when Councillor Herod returns from his tax audits in Chastillon. Chelaut is a murderer who killed in cold blood the man we thought was his best friend. He should be feared, not defended. For now, that is enough, and the matter is closed."
Mathe nodded, realizing that the king’s decision was not up for negotiation. Audin, on the other hand, regarded Laurent with a grim look.
"You remind me of someone sometimes..." — the Councillor said, silencing himself.
"I hope you're not suggesting me to guess who that might be," Laurent replied impersonally.
"Your father was a generous king, but stubborn, Laurent. So was Auguste and Hennike too. But there's another person who was also willful. You're like your uncle sometimes..."
Laurent seemed to hold his breath for a moment, then narrowed his eyes and moved his face quickly towards the Councillor.
"If you repeat it..."
"Will you ask the guards to arrest me too, Your Majesty? Using arrogance and tyranny? Your uncle had an interesting way of convincing us of things. He took advantage of your every mistake, Laurent, to elevate himself so that we thought no one but him could rule Vere." — Audin took a step forward —"But when he could no longer defame you, he was strong-willed and never took our advice, blinded by his ideas. Blinded by his self-centered mind. Ironically, the Regent condemned himself when he organized your judgment in Ios. We told him that the trial of a prince should take place in our capital, but he was ecstatic at the thought of punishing you. And in Akielos he fell. So, the Regent ended up with his severed head rotting on a stake in Ios."
Laurent held Audin's gaze.
"And you mourn the fall of my uncle?"
"No. I'm just telling you that intransigence, tyranny, and lack of compassion blind a ruler, whether he's good or bad."
"And did you give the same advice to my uncle when he convinced you to offer Nicaise for rape in a slave ring, or did you save the best words for me?"
The air became so thick you could cut it with a knife. Mathe kept his face serious and discreet. So, did Jord.
Audin looked offended, bowed with a frown and clenched teeth, and replied:
"With your permission, Your Majesty. I believe my presence here is no longer necessary..."
Then the Councillor left without looking back, visibly angry.
After a while, when he saw Akielos' soldiers riding out of the gates of the capital palace, Mathe raised his eyebrows and asked:
"Is this wise, Your Majesty?"
"Our military base will be in Delfeur. It's the right thing to do."
Mathe blinked and said:
"The last time we saw an army leave Arles, we had dark and difficult days. In the end, the Council failed again with its negotiations."
Laurent stopped and looked in the direction Mathe was facing.
"Get ready to travel with me to Delfeur. We need Vere united against the east."
Laurent then turned to Sorem.
"I also need to learn more about Skarva's movements and Vask's army. That's what I'm interested in. I will send for you when it is convenient."
With an elegant bow, Sorem replied:
"As you wish, Your Majesty," and, glancing toward Audin, who was descending the marble staircase, he said, "With your permission, I will keep the Councillor company on his walk."
Sorem left and followed the Veretian. Seemingly, he and Audin had slept together again.
Then Laurent addressed Jord in the impersonal voice of a landowner on his farm.
"Our supplies and trained horses for the army will arrive tonight. See to it for me, Captain."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Laurent then walked to the stone archway leading to the gardens and corridors. The palace was emptier and quieter than it had been for weeks. The flowers and rose bushes were in full bloom, and their scent filled the empty spaces of the gardens. Laurent's booted footsteps echoed harshly on the flagstones.
As soon as the declaration of war between the West and the East had been announced, all the nobles and slaves of the four nations had hurried to leave the capital.
The last few days had seen a flurry of people leaving the place, carrying chests and giving orders to the slaves in different languages. Everyone was desperate to leave and seek refuge in their estate.
As Patras’ entourage departed, Torgeir moved silently on his dark steed towards the exit. So, did Vishkar, dressed in simple clothes that resembled those of a horse groom and wearing the royal medallion around her neck.
However, Pari of Skarva looked furious when she saw Sorem of Ver-Tan on the dais. She tried to jump on him but was held back by her wife.
With a contorted face, the woman screamed in Vaskish as she was forced into a spoke-wheeled carriage:
"When the time comes, I will stab you, you bastard! I will kill you, Sorem! You traitor to Vask! You damn traitor! You betrayed the empire, you bitch!"
Finally, Pari spat on the ground, not as a royal consort, but as the woman of the clans she would not stop being. And she shoved Huet, who blocked her way.
Audin, whose face was pale and frightened, laid his hand protectively on the emperor's shoulder, who, as soon as he had obtained permission to leave his bed, returned to visit the Councillor's room.
"That woman is insane! I've heard that she's addicted to some kind of weed. She doesn't seem to be in her right mind."
Mathe had a dismayed expression as he spoke:
"This is outrageous. In the end, Vishkar and Torgeir accepted all the charges. They deserved to be punished here for what they tried to do to our king. They were lucky that Laurent of Vere was fair, giving them some time before he hit back. The king acted like an honorable man."
Laurent strode through the corridors that led to the newly created gardens in the area that had once been King Aleron and Queen Hennike's chambers and the Regent's den. Laurent looked over his shoulder to ensure no one was following him.
Then he turned and walked into the citrus-scented room, surrounded by olive trees and vein marble, and entered one of the white buildings flanked by pilasters. This was the meeting room reserved exclusively for the kings of the Sister Nations.
The room was just as he had left it the day he had made love to Damen, right after he could explain his feelings to him.
The polished wooden table was still set, the map spread out on it and miniature soldiers of polished bone scattered across the west. Soldiers from Vere and Akielos stood side by side, from the northern forests to the island of Isthima.
The only change in the meeting room was the arrangement of a painting Laurent had brought. He had been able to save the painting from the fire and his uncle's vandalism after he had become Regent. The portrait was gigantic and took up almost an entire wall. Its gilded frame still shone despite the years.
The picture had been painted before Hennike's illness got worse. Before everything got worse. Before they started to lose.
Aleron and Hennike sat on the throne in an elegant and relaxed posture, their limbs resting on the backs of the seat and their hands touching. They were both beautifully crowned, draped in an abundance of blue and ivory silk, and draped in the royal cloak embroidered with stars. They were both smiling, although it was said that kings should not smile in their royal portraits. They should be remembered as stern monarchs. But they weren't like this.
Next to Aleron stood Auguste in his shining armor. His long hair was pinned in a golden ponytail, and his lips were curled in amusement. The painter complained that Auguste had no patience to stand still, and the man had been forced to follow the crown prince into the courtyard between troops and training to make a passable sketch of his face.
Finally, there was little Laurent.
He was the only one with a serious expression, next to Hennike. The boy was dressed in children's clothes and, like the rest of his family, had very blond hair that looked like a lighthouse.
In front of the royal family stood a group of eight dogs. Some were lying down, others stood upright with their tongues hanging out. One of them was nestled against Laurent's leg.
That had been his life, his loved ones, his pain. Another life.
Laurent turned his blue gaze to the painting and stopped in front of it to break the silence:
"So, how do we win this time?"
Chapter 10: The Beast (Part 3)
Chapter Text
As they followed the west road, it was difficult for the group chosen by Laurent and Damianos not to attract attention with a long line of carriages, horses, and soldiers shaking along the road.
The group was led by Hendric, who rode with Lady Vannes and Talik. Both women were experienced riders and controlled their horses with skill and agility as they sat well in their saddles. Their presence somehow seemed to reassure the second wife, for she knew the ambassador of Vere in Vask from their meetings at the palace in Skarva.
Behind the trio came the carriage of Lord Berenger and Ancel with Toby, followed by Giraud and Haniel's carriage, who found it increasingly strange to see other people on this journey, so Charls and Guilliame were asked to join them to put their minds at ease.
Last came the carriage of Mircela, Vask's second wife, who shared the vehicle with Nimue, Loyse, and the Vaskian slave. Just behind them, some distance away, rode the imperial leopards in their cloth-covered cages.
The king’s soldiers followed the carriages in a single-file procession, but Makedon, Pallas, and Lazar brought up the rear.
For a long time, they drove along the long, rough track, which was rarely used by travelers or local merchants. There were loose stones and holes along the way, and because of Vask's big felines, sometimes they had to slow down.
Pallas and Lazar had fed the leopards at the inn, but the two animals ate like hell as they had been warned at the Dijon's border. The soldiers hoped that the leopards would take their usual nap during the march, for a load of meat had been disposed of at the inn, as had the surplus wagons, to reduce the size of the fleet.
The sky was purple with dark patches of clouds, and it was as if ink had exploded there. The sun was slowly beginning to dip below the horizon. Soon it would be dark and they would need torches to light their way.
The first suspicious movement during the journey was the clattering of hooves among the gnarled, skeletal trees that lined the path. Pallas turned over his shoulder and recognized a man stepping out of the rocks and shadows on a horse.
So, as Lady Vannes reined in her horse, a royal soldier who was not part of the entourage suddenly emerged from the open field, climbed up the hill, and rode alongside her.
"Stop at once! King's orders!"
Lady Vannes glanced nervously at Hendric, who put his hand on the hilt of his sword.
"...Stop!" the man insisted, his voice changing.
"My ass!" Vannes replied, moving away from him and making the man run after her.
In the middle, the soldiers saw a fleet of men emerging from the road from the tall grass. Some wielded clubs with spikes in their hands. Others carried swords forged from the metal of Vere, still wearing the star on their chests.
Lazar, still riding, drew his bow and struck a man running towards them.
"IT'S A DAMN AMBUSH!" Makedon cursed, throwing a dagger at the mercenary crawling out of the hill.
Lady Vannes' horse was alarmed by one of the mercenaries who appeared on the road carrying a torch. The animal reared up on its hind legs, neighing, and with a thud, the noblewoman fell to the ground.
"Thank you for bringing us to them, milady!" the soldier said with a narrow smile, approaching. "And thank you for coming by such a favorable road for us!"
Lady Vannes looked around and saw Hendric was beginning a sword fight with one of Vere's sold-out men. The other traitor soldiers were trying to get close to the carriages with their cargo and were fought off by the king's men.
Lady Vannes drew a dirk from her belt and raised it, but at that moment, Talik appeared behind the soldier and, with a dull, hollow blow, struck the man's temple with her tonfa. The soldier fell from his horse, dizzy, and Talik, dismounting hers, walked towards him, ready to fight.
Pallas was short of breath after taking down two mercenaries who tried to approach the last wagons. He brandished his sword, spinning it, and cursed when he felt a spear cowardly wound his shoulder from behind.
Getting off his horse, he positioned himself for combat. And Lazar dismounted his mount as well.
The mercenaries were burly men. Some were strong, and others were heavy, fat, with a raw, savage physical strength. They had dark beards and hair. Makedon frowned, noticing the Vaskian tonfa at the waists of some of the light-eyed, milky-skinned men. Men from Vask, Patras, and Vere were fighting side by side. He had seen something like it before when he had helped dismantle the slave ring in the brothel on Daisies Street.
"Fight back!" Makedon shouted, cutting down a mercenary wielding an axe.
Pallas spotted Odilon Gagneux, the man he and Lazar had fought with at Dijon, emerging among the assailants.
"Hello, Akielon!" he said, with a crooked smile and armed with a spear.
The carriages stopped and, from inside his, Ancel, with his hands flat on the window, said nervously:
"It's an ambush!"
Lord Berenger, with a tense expression, slid open the carriage door and spoke to Jean:
"Are you all right there?"
The coachman nodded, showing the dagger he carried. The soldiers flanking the carriage did not let the men attacking them get too close.
"...We must do something!" spoke Lord Berenger.
"Do you have any oil?" Ancel asked, thinking of something that could create fire.
Toby, blinking with a sarcastic look, said to Ancel:
"Serious? Will you get fucked by all those men out there? All of them?! Good luck, redhead!"
Ancel became furious.
"Not me! You go, your provincial hillbilly who reeks of sour wine!"
"You're the provincial and have a strong Sanpelier accent when you get nervous. And I can't be mounted. I'm still recovering from the last ring and am too valuable for the king! Save your cheap oils for you!"
An argument raged between the two young men until Lord Berenger put his hand to his head and murmured:
"Enough, please..."
In Charls', Guilliame's, Haniel's, and Giraud's carriage, the men in the stationary carriage looked around anxiously. Haniel seemed the quietest, unable to hear the shouts and clanging of metal outside due to his deafness.
Giraud, having his arm around his companion's shoulders, was red-faced and tense.
"What's going on here? No one told us we'd be followed..."
With a trembling hand, Guilliame took out a head knife, which he uses to cut leather in his job as an apprentice, and muttered in a determined voice:
"Don't worry, Mr. Giraud! I will protect you, Mr. Haniel, and my master Charls..."
Frowning, Charls watched as a mercenary with an ax cleaved the head of one of the honest young soldiers accompanying them and muttered a prayer. No, Guilliame didn't stand a chance.
In the penultimate carriage, Loyse stood nervously next to Mircela, Nimue, and the slave. Her knowledge of the Vaskian language was poor and the nervousness in the face of the spears, Lazar's arrows, and the hollow sound of metal outside didn't help. But she had to try to keep people calm.
Blinking her big blue eyes, Mircela shook her red head, looking dazed.
" Eng thil nge thlëngish?"
With what little Vaskish she knew, Loyse mumbled:
"Rukrute na nin!"
She had explained succinctly that these were invaders. Bandits. Not the king's men.
Mercenaries who certainly didn't want them to reach the palace.
Nimue moved her face as she looked out the window, furrowed her bushy eyebrows, and said:
"Vaskiano te na nï!" "
Yes! For some reason, Vaskians were also involved in this attack. Surprise seemed to hit Mircela, who leaned over the girl to better observe the scene of Makedon using the sword to block a tonfa strike.
A hurried conversation ensued between the second wife, the slave, and Nimue, from which Loyse understood: 'Soldiers of Vask', 'they want us', 'we must do something'.
Mircela turned to Loyse and said in a strange Veretish:
"They want kill I and Nimue."
Loyse agreed, knowing that they would not be the only ones killed if these men got into the carriages.
With the same strange Veretish, Mircela said:
"I get out here."
"No!" said Loyse.
But Mircela was already standing in the big carriage and ordered Nimue to rise from her seat too. She removed the cushions from her seat and, with the girl's help, began to examine the place for a mechanism between the leather and the silk.
"Second wife, please! It's dangerous! You mustn't go outside!"
But Mircela didn't listen to Loyse. The strong-armed Vaskian slave helped the second consort to search and discovered that the seat of the bench could be lifted. Crouching on the floor, they began to search for something, tearing up the carpet in the process.
The scene seemed unusual to Loyse until the man cried out in delight when he discovered something on the floor.
"Vask angi bawkinsh!"
Loyse frowned. What was the same as Vask?
The answer came when the slave opened a small door on the floor leading to the emergency exit from the carriage. In an insistent voice, Mircela motioned for the servant to follow her and scolded Nimue when the girl tried to follow her through the opening leading to the dirt path, ordering her to sit beside Loyse.
The Lady of Fortaine asked with a pleading look:
"Second wife, kal suh, don't go! Akaga. It's dangerous!"
Mircela raised her big eyes and said while stretching her thin and flexible limbs of a former circus acrobat and passed through the opening. With a sound, she reached the ground and said with a smile:
"Min ring wawish!"
Loyse shook her face as the slave followed the second wife. Trust her? She hardly knew her! And what could a second consort of an empire do against a group of men armed with axes, tonfas, swords, and spears? There were so many of them!
Outside, Mircela crawled across the ground beside the Vaskian servant and headed for the other carriage. She took advantage of the shadows that appeared at the end of the sunset and the slaughtered bodies to remain inconspicuous.
Pallas was disarmed and felt his injured shoulder pull. Lazar had given up on keeping the mercenaries at bay with his bow and was fighting a soldier with his sword. Makedon was surrounded in battle by Vask's opponents.
Odilon pounced on Pallas and knocked him to the ground with his strong body, causing the Akielon to cry out in pain.
"Sweetheart!" Lazar roared and plunged his sword into his opponent.
Pallas felt the pain and tried to pin the man with a wrestling move for which he had already been crowned, but Odilon stuck his finger in his wound.
Further ahead, Hendric cursed as he swung his sword, and Talik prevented the men from approaching Lady Vannes by deftly spinning her tonfa and aiming it at her opponents' heads.
The first gap in the barrier appeared near Lord Berenger and Ancel's carriage. One of the mercenaries, his hand covered in blood, forced his way through the door while Jean tried to calm the horses. Ancel kicked the invader and pushed him away. Then Toby used the half-open door to squeeze the fingers of another attacker who tried to enter.
The same thing happened in Charls' carriage. Guilliame cut with his head knife the hand of a Veretian soldier who finally managed to reach the window.
And in Loyse's carriage, little Nimue bit like an animal into the hand of the man who came through the door, holding his wrist. The man cried out and drew back, and when the girl bared her teeth, they were stained red.
Lazar attacked Odilon, who was strangling Pallas by kicking him in the head with all his strength and pulling the coughing Akielon towards him.
The fight ended when one of the Veretian soldiers managed to break through Talik's blockade and reach Lady Vannes, pulling her by the hair and forcing her head back. The man's sword gleamed in his hand and it would not be difficult for him to pierce the woman with a simple gesture.
"If you don't mind me killing her, you can keep fighting back."
Lady Vannes grimaced painfully, held the man's hand tightly, and replied:
"I'm just the messenger, you idiot! I'm not important! No one will care if I die..."
The man pushed his face close to Vannes' ear and whispered seductively.
"Are you sure, milady?"
On the battlefield, Talik seemed to give up on swinging her tonfa relentlessly, and her dark eyes were fixed on her master. Hendric hesitated as well.
In the meantime, the two had also been surrendered.
That was the problem with having such a large entourage. They were all part of a grand plan, but anyone who made themselves vulnerable also made everyone else vulnerable.
When the front group surrendered, the soldiers in the middle hesitated and were overwhelmed.
Makedon was the last to drop his sword, cursing in the Akielon language. Pallas gasped at the aching wound in his shoulder, and Lazar threw his weapon on the ground with a disgusted look.
After that, the cargo was forced to leave the carriages. Only the last wagon remained inconspicuous and immobile, as due to its size, it was considered a wagon for items and luggage.
All were lined up next to Lady Vannes, Talik, and the surrendering guards. Odilon exchanged a few words with some Veretian soldiers who had betrayed the king before addressing the group. He had his hand on his head kicked by Lazar. A young man seemed to be his messenger, providing him with information.
Odilon pointed at Toby and finally spoke:
"You must be the damned informer from the ring of Verona. And that one with you is the Lord of Varenne and his pet!"
Lord Berenger frowned and asked:
"How do you know that?"
Odilon replied and set his bull-like body in motion.
"Our communication network is very good..."
Indeed! Chauvin had said the same thing, and now Lord Berenger realized they had been ambushed for the second time in this venture.
Odilon continued towards Pallas and Lazar. He still had his sword in his hand.
"...And what were you two doing in Dijon?"
The man pointed at Nimue, who was staring at him with her eyes as wild as Pari's.
"...This has to do with the girl rescued in the north? The girl who shouldn't be here but trapped in the mountains."
The man moved his face to look at Pallas more closely.
"... But there is an older girl who should be with her. That Vaskian brat wouldn't know how to get to Vere alone. What people in the Vaskian realm are helping her? Is it Junity? According to our informant who arrived yesterday, there was a massacre in the mountain prison, and only someone skilled in warfare could dismember our men like we were told. Where is the first wife?"
Pallas stared at Odilon, his expression unchanged. Then Odilon moved to where Lazar stood staring at him disdainfully.
"What are you looking at?"
"Pigs! Sold-out pigs from Vere who want to fight the rightful king of our land."
Lazar was slapped by Odilon and felt the iron taste of blood in his mouth before he spat on the ground.
The man with the big body retorted:
"Have you ever wondered what the world would be like if the Regent had executed Laurent? Do you think the Regent would have risen to the top alone? Do you think he has not made promises to many men? Vere was only the beginning of all he and we would have..."
Lady Vannes spoke from where she stood:
"Is that why these men from Vask and Patras joined forces with the treacherous soldiers of Vere? For promises?"
Odilon approached the noblewoman, and Vannes stepped back when Odilon touched her long braid. Talik growled beside her.
"There are also Akielons who were allied with Kastor's ideas and are helping us. Many of our supporters come from the court of Vere and Akielos. We could not have gotten this far without funding from those from whom the kings took their slaves. Laurent acted confidently and arrogantly in his first year of reign, confiscating lands from nobles and removing courtiers from the palace!"
Vannes replied:
"He expelled the Regent's supporters and was right about it too!"
Odilon laughed.
"Laurent just didn't know his enemies would have so many allies. We also benefit from the bastards who follow us. It's incredible what Veretian nobles leave behind in brothels when their need for women is stronger than their decency. The Regent promised the bastards that he would give them a name and a craft and that they could leave the underworld. Ivan is one of them. It's not easy to be born as an outcast and not even be reckoned as the lowest caste." — Odilon said, pointing with his chin at the young man who was his messenger.
Odilon took a deep breath, walked over to Lord Berenger, and stared at Ancel. His eyes seemed to be moving madly.
"You must be the bitch who defeated Chauvin."
Ancel raised his chin proudly.
"... Shall I start asking questions by the pets? Or maybe the tattletales?" he added, glancing at Toby, whose gold metal collar and bracelets were on display.
Odilon took a few more steps. He seemed to be the commander of this troop, as the mercenaries and soldiers followed his orders and ensured the vigilance of the prisoners.
"...Or should I question you, who I don't know who you are, but who is worthy of an entire entourage of the king escorting you?" — Odilon asked, stopping before Haniel.
The man raised his clear eyebrows, unable to respond to the words. His gaze then, as habitually, searched the face of his companion.
"...Does the cat have your tongue?"
"He's deaf, you brute! Leave him alone!" Giraud retorted.
Odilon's gaze slid from Haniel to his companion and, after a maniacal laugh, he brandished his sword and said to Giraud:
"So, it's you I'm supposed to get the answers from?"
"Don't do this!" shouted Loyse and Charls in unison.
The man scratched his beard, pacing back and forth restlessly, and spoke:
"The person who sent us here told us to find out who the fucking the Trust worthies are. Why did Laurent send his former Councillor and her pet to a distant inn in the middle of the night, and she came back down the road with some familiar faces? My king wants answers, but I don't think we need to leave you all alive. We only need a few!"
After going to Loyse, he grabbed the woman by the arm and brought her to the middle of the road.
"Let's start with you, milady. What did you do on Laurent's orders?"
Makedon stirred, pushed the soldier next to him, and said through clenched teeth:
"If you hurt her, I swear it will be the last thing you do, asshole!"
Odilon stopped and said with a grim look.
"Another bastard with that disgusting Akielos' accent. Now that Damianos has left the court, I hope I never have to look into your faces again."
Makedon exchanged a worried glance with Pallas.
"Has Damen left the capital?"
"This morning with his army, according to our informant. You are all alone, as is Laurent. Today, the Star of Vere will go out forever!"
This news surprised everyone. Even Lady Vannes, who had left the palace at dawn, stared at Talik in bewilderment. The information was new to her too.
Loyse stood rigidly beside Odilon.
"...So... Shall I use my sword to make you know how to speak again? What the hell is Laurent up to?"
With sealed lips, the Lady of Fortaine exchanged a sad look with Makedon breathing shallowly and agitatedly. He clenched his fist and was about to attack.
But at that moment, Mircela emerged from behind the cloth-wrapped carriage, near the Vaskian slave. A few strands of red hair had come loose from her elegant bun as she escaped from the carriage, but she smiled.
“Hello,” she said in Veretish, seeming detached from everything around her.
As if there weren't fifteen surrounded people, aside from the coachmen and countless soldiers lined up unarmed in front of the mercenaries and the king's sold men, the woman with the blue tunic and jewels interlaced her fingers and remained silent.
Odilon stared at the second wife of the Vaskian Empire. She could not be more than twenty-six years old. She was beautiful, but judging by her thin wrists and bone structure, she had probably never held a sword.
"Hello, pretty," he said with a disdainful smile, "Are you one of the women who suck the Empress's cunt? You must be the second wife because the first was once in Vask's National Guard and I could break all your bones with a single kick."
Mircela didn't seem to understand the man's words. Her face remained impassive, unlike the slave, who stared shakily at something behind the carriage.
In Vaskish she said:
"Ka hnungah chuan lut rawh."
Loyse frowned, only partially understanding the words. Charls and Guilliame looked at each other strangely at the same moment as two presences made themselves known with the same subtlety as a punch in the stomach.
One of the animals pawed the ground heavily with its thick claws. It snarled and bared long, white, stalactite-like teeth in its open mouth. The other leaped onto the cart, growling and glaring at the men below.
Lazar held Pallas' hand tightly, feeling it grow cold and losing the ability to speak.
The released leopards moved slowly, but all their attention seemed focused on the moving flesh. On the fresh prey, they had not enjoyed since the mountain prison's feast.
The soldiers and mercenaries suddenly seemed petrified, their swords in hand hovering powerlessly in the air.
They had all heard stories about the land of Vask, where the empress had two leopards sitting by her side on the throne. People told the felines, like her blood, were descendants of the gods and they could dismember people for fun, listening only to the voice of their royalty as a command.
The leopards of Vask looked much bigger outside their cages. Like huge, fearsome cats, members of a power greater than anything human.
Mircela had interlaced her fingers in front of her body like a priestess in front of a temple. With an unchanged expression, she spoke again in her broken Veretish:
"Behind I."
The leopard on the wagon growled and the men took a startled step back. Odilon still had his sword in his hand, but his mouth was as loose as sand and his furious eyes were fixed on Vask's leopard.
Talik, who was Vaskian, mumbled shakily, relaying the knowledge of her country in a stuttering voice.
"They don't attack royalty... They obey them! Mircela is a royal Vaskian! Behind her!"
As the mercenaries and traitor soldiers broke into a run the moment the most eager leopard jumped heavily onto the other carriage, crushing the hood beneath him, Talik moved, stumbling and tugging Vannes by the sleeve.
"Behind the second wife!"
Nimue, who seemed to know from experience how things went, took the stunned Loyse's hand and pulled her after Mircela. Charls, who now understood the Vaskian's words, pulled Giraud and Haniel and forced them to walk beside Guilliame.
"Hurry up!" Talik urged them as she saw one of the mercenaries aiming a spear at the leopard.
Word spread and Makedon, Pallas, Hendric, and Lazar gave orders, forcing everyone to move.
Lord Berenger and Ancel helped Jean and another elderly coachman walk. Toby offered his arm to a wounded soldier.
Everyone hid behind Mircela. Finally, Makedon, Hendric, Lazar, and Pallas ran and got behind the second wife.
It was an unusual scene. So many people were being held back by a frail woman bound to an empire by marriage. Kingdoms held by one hand over a cliff.
A woman who had been beaten and raped by her former master in the past and who, since being rescued by Vishkar, had sworn eternal loyalty to the gods.
The mercenaries and traitorous soldiers fled up the hill and into the tall grass, while the leopards moved about excitedly, waiting for a commanding voice to free them.
Some of the fugitives sought shelter in the carriages. Others, Vaskian men, strangely fell to their knees, gazing at the sky and muttering a prayer. They pleaded for forgiveness from the gods they believed in and had betrayed.
At another roar, the attackers' horses broke into a run over the hills and through the tall forest but the horses that were part of the Veretian entourage, whether because of the thick blinders on the side of their eyes or because of something singular and unfathomable, remained silent, whinnying softly with their heads bowed in strange obedience.
Without changing her face, Mircela said to the two leopards in Vaskish:
"Bicet boce katan"
Kill all the men.
Under the sky, which was gradually darkening and where the first stars of the night were appearing, the leopards hunted the men as if they were in a sport forged by the laws of nature itself.
The first mercenary they reached was bitten on the face by one of the big cats. The other leopard lunged at Odilon and gave him a powerful paw to the face, knocking the sword from his hand.
The man crawled on the ground and tried to get his blade back, but that was the last thing he did or would do.
The two leopards charged up the hill, dragging the men by their limbs, throwing them into the air, and ripping out their throats. They also dragged others off the wagons, showing their claws and killing those who remained on their knees.
Lord Berenger swallowed hard at the sight of the death. Nimue laughed and seemed amused. Ancel and Toby tilted their heads a little to better follow what was happening. Giraud hugged Haniel shakily, saving his companion and himself from the chaos that surrounded them.
Pallas, for his part, had his mouth half open, seeming to rekindle his fascination with the leopards of Vask and forget the wound that had soaked his chiton.
While the attackers were being decimated, Mircela began to speak in Vaskish and Lady Vannes began to translate for those who did not understand the language.
"The second wife says that the former Empress Betthany and the monarchs before her did this to their enemies when captured in Vask. They were released into the forest, where beasts and gods punished them. Vishkar never liked this practice and abolished it during her reign, but she vowed that she would gladly revive the old customs if anyone ever tried to oust her from the throne, invade her lands, hurt her people, or attack her family."
Pallas and Makedon looked at each other.
They brought Mircela to a capital that had no empress and had declared war on Vask. Would the second consort also release the leopards in Arles when she discovered that she had been deceived?
The bloodbath continued for a while, interrupted by screams and shouts. Hendric's face was hard and tense.
Finally, the two beasts returned, coming down the hill with blood-soaked mouths and paws. They ran towards the second wife, who met the leopards in the middle of the road and stroked their ears.
The two felines sat there, letting the Vaskian stroke them and purring after she whispered something private into their ears. They were like cats that were rewarded for their smart behaviors.
There was also something beautiful about the scene. In the twilight, the petite woman had two beasts under her command that had slaughtered men but seemed friendly to her, leaving bloody footprints on the ground. Lady Vannes said with a thoughtful look as she watched Mircela lead the two leopards back to the wagon with the cages.
"In Vask, the choice of a mate is not made by a Council as in Vere. But by leopards. It is said that when they smell nobility and divinity in a human, they lick his hand and take him into the family. Mircela was once a slave."
Talik watched with her dark eyes as the two animals ignored the rest of the retinue of the living and sat obediently in their cages. Lord Berenger, looking thoughtful as well, remembered an Isagoras' poem he had read and muttered under his breath:
"God is everywhere."
Ancel stared at his beau with deep eyes.
Mircela signaled to the Vaskian slave to lock the cages. As she walked towards the entourage and all eyes were on her, the second wife said something in Vaskish, took Nimue's hand, and walked back to her carriage.
As she left, Hendric asked:
"What did she say?"
Vannes blinked and translated it:
"She said she could have done it from the beginning. But she doesn't want war just like the Empire of Vask. She would only have acted if the border guards had tried to touch her, Nimue, or the slave. But they treated them with respect."
As night fell and everyone packed their things back into the carriages, Makedon and Pallas walked forward to Lady Vannes:
"You didn't tell us that Damianos had left the capital!"
Lady Vannes shook her face and justified herself:
"I didn't know anything! There were rumors, but it was nothing solid when I left the palace at dawn."
Pallas spoke quietly so that the others couldn't hear. Lazar had made a makeshift bandage around his injured shoulder.
"And what of it? The army of Akielon is heading south to war. Vere has declared war on Vask, and we're bringing the Empress's consort and her leopards to the palace. You've seen what the leopards of Skarva are capable of! They threw Odilon up like a rotten peach. Is it wise to take them to the capital?"
Lady Vannes, with Talik at her side, looked from one man to the other.
"What do you want to do? Will you turn your backs on us and follow your king to Akielos?"
Makedon scratched his beard and said:
"Akielons does not break its promises, milady. I will not rest until my cargo is in Arles. And there is one more thing..."
Pallas's eyes were dark. Makedon moved uneasily.
"... Laurent is without the army of Akielos, and maybe more traitor soldiers are roaming the capital. What the hell made Damen leave now?"
Lady Vannes whispered a little nervously:
"I didn't like the way that vile man told us this. We'd better hurry..."
They all quickly mounted their horses and descended the dark path strewn with thin trees.
Ivan, Odilon's messenger, his face disfigured and throat torn open, had been removed from Toby's bloody seat, and as he was carried away, a paper fell from his pocket.
Ancel gathered up the parchment and unfolded it as the carriage began to move and came upon a drawing of stick figures.
It was a stick figure with a crown. He was between two other stick men with broad smiles and medallions. A pointed weapon hovered in one corner of the sheet toward a star.
The king's enemies' communication was very effective; they boasted about it. However, most soldiers, slaves, peasants, and bastards could not read. They were men from different nations who acted together regardless of their distinct languages. How could they communicate?
Perhaps they could create their language, as the pets of Vere had done to plot against the Regent at the behest of their masters. In their internal mail, they used pictorial language.
Ancel handed the sheet of paper to Berenger with a worried expression. The courtier's blood froze in his veins as he understood the scrawl, which was a clear and complete message, recognizable to any man.
The night fell gloomily on the palace in Arles, whose white and gold towers stood out against the sky with shy stars and sparkling ribbons. The figures carved in stone and marble remained somber near the gardens and the lake filled with dead leaves and dry petals.
A servant lit a few unlit lamps in the empty stone corridors and dragged his feet sluggishly through the thin fog that persisted despite the arrival of spring.
Two soldiers with spears inspected the central gates and surveyed the load of horses chewing the green hay in huge carriage stalls.
Jord was the one who broke the news to Laurent:
"Strange movements have been detected on some roads, Your Majesty. I have already sent a herald to the northern border to find out what the mood is like there."
With an impersonal look, Laurent replied, pacing through the stone corridors filled with squares of light from the windows:
"Keep me posted. Any news from the Trust worthies?"
"Nothing so far, Your Majesty."
The King of Vere twitched his lips into an apostrophe and replied after a few seconds in which only his footsteps could be heard:
"Right. I'll go to my room. You can go to the barracks for dinner, Captain. Have Isander let me know when they arrive."
"As you wish, Your Majesty."
At that moment, a commotion could be heard in the courtyards, mingled with the neighing of horses.
With a frown, Jord stepped closer to the window and tried to make out something in the light of the lamps and braziers.
"There seems to be some quarrel among the soldiers. Some of the men have been agitated since the day before yesterday, like animals being led to the slaughter because war is imminent. Even the horses seem restless."
Laurent narrowed his gaze.
"Take care of that."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Then the king walked towards the corridor to the royal chambers, past the two soldiers flanking the door, and gazed firmly ahead.
Once in his warm room, whose fireplace had been lit by Isander, Laurent, as always, glanced at his sword, which was kept behind the door, and placed his dagger at the head of his bed.
Laurent felt the tiredness settling on his shoulders. On normal days, this was the time when he and Damen could undress for a few hours and enjoy each other’s company. The Akielon would massage his heel and Laurent would slide his fingers over his lover’s hard shoulder, giving him the comfort of their life together.
The royal bedroom seemed absurdly large without Damen, its sumptuous furniture and double bed somehow impersonal.
But there was a reason Laurent sent Damen away. It was the best they could do at that moment. That was the way they found to win a war that loomed on the horizon, having dark signs and dragging people to their deaths before it even had a face.
Councillor Jeurre and the pet Aimée had been murdered. They were both silenced and interrupted forever. The king himself had suffered a poisoning attempt that had reached poor Afanas.
Exhausted, Laurent lay down on his bed for a while. In many ways, Damen had been right about the Veretian clothing. When you're on the run, excited or tired, they're an inconvenience. Perhaps he should call Isander to help him untie the laces, which Damen usually did by pulling them through the eyelets, smiling as he revealed the warm silk shirt tucked tightly around the Veretian’s body inside the jacket.
Unlike Damen, Laurent slept little and never had trouble waking early, but he felt exhausted from the last events. His head felt heavy and he massaged his temples against the silk sheets and pillows.
When Laurent had finished talking to Torgeir, Vishkar, and the Council a few days ago, he had thrown one of his tantrums, cursing and breaking objects around the room. He had thrown the bulging ceramic lacquer bottles and a tray with the tea cups against the wall. He had pulled the covers off the bed out of anger. He had hurled everything he could against the wall, swearing. A mirror had landed in sharp shards on the floor, reflecting the shattered world.
"They want to kill me! The bastards want to kill me! They want to overthrow me in the capital of my kingdom. I hate Arles! I hate my uncle! I hate!"
Damianos had not interfered with the Veretian king's anger and let him feel it, but he had gone to Isander when the servant brought lunch and had stood in the doorway with his mouth open when he saw the ruined room.
He took the tray from Isander, who stared with bloodshot eyes at his master sitting forlornly in a chair and said:
"Let me serve Laurent. Do not allow anyone to disturb him. The king needs to rest and will not be available to anyone today."
Then the anger subsided a little and Laurent sat down, red-faced and panting, on his bed with the rumpled sheets next to Damianos. It had been a long time since he had had such an angry outburst. He knew that when he lost his temper, he made fundamental mistakes.
Living with Damen meant that Laurent's emotions were no longer so pent up that they exploded like they used to when he got out of control, but there were still things inside him that he found difficult to deal with and that raged, screamed, and moaned like ghosts.
Laurent leaned his head on Damen's shoulder, which was still there, nursing his heart as old wounds reopened and burned.
"I didn't want it. I..." — the Veretian began, unable to conclude.
As his lover's head rested on his shoulder, Damen murmured:
"I won't let anyone hurt you. I know you can fight the whole world and win, Laurent. You're the strongest man I've ever known. But I want to be here. You're not alone."
Laurent closed his eyes and felt his anger subside for a moment.
But in practice, the anger was still in Laurent, even after this violent outburst even as the days passed. Even when the palace calmed down and the corridors fell silent.
The nightmares of the last few nights, when Laurent had dreamed that there was an underground tunnel under his bed leading to a secret slave ring, had often left him sleepless. In the dimly lit room, he looked at himself in a full-length mirror and saw the reflection of the Regent on the other side, staring at him with cold, blue eyes. And somewhere in the dark room, lit by the fire of a candle, he heard the chirping of some insect, which grew louder and louder until his eardrums almost burst.
This bad dream fueled the strange rage in the Veretian's chest.
Laurent felt the same rage rise in his throat like bitter bile when Audin had compared him to the Regent. He was furious and being that angry was exhausting.
The young man massaged his temples with his eyes closed and settled for a moment on the clean silk sheets, listening to the distant barking and noise of the carts.
He blinked, closed his eyes, and surrendered to the soothing sleep. And he dreamed of the bright, boiling sun of Ios. But Laurent was not in Damen's palace.
He was in prison, being led to his trial. Kastor's guards came to fetch him, and as he walked, flanked by soldiers wearing his tattered chiton, Laurent passed a locked door. Inside, someone was banging relentlessly on the door.
Then Laurent found himself on the Street of Traitors, his eyes fixed on the bright blue sky. He could hear the noise of blowflies incessantly in his ears. His head was stuck on a stake.
Laurent was the executed, not the executor.
Then the king opened his eyes in his dimly lit bedroom and sat abruptly. An hour had already passed and he was awakened by an instinct, like someone who feels the dangerous flame of a candle close to his skin.
The royal chamber was lit by the flickering light of the fireplace, which sucked in freshly cut logs. Laurent blinked and massaged the back of his neck.
So, the Veretian king could see shadows gliding through as if darkness had suddenly been animated.
The tension on Laurent's face lasted only a second before he returned to his impersonal, cold stare. The Veretian king quickly searched with his attention for the dagger he had left on the bedside table and the sword resting next to the door.
Without beating about the bush, he spoke:
"Well, I thought you were interested in Damen. What do you expect when you come to my room uninvited, Your Imperial Majesty? To court me?"
Sorem of Ver-Tan stood with his hands behind his back and a calm, almost generous look on his face. He wore Veretian clothes, and near him stood a soldier from Vere, who Laurent knew served in the palace. Both had their noses and mouths covered with silk scarves.
"I didn't expect you to think I'd take the trouble to come all this way just to mount you, Your Majesty of Vere. Come on, I was told you were smart."
Laurent kept up the cold stare.
"I never sympathized with you."
"Neither did I, my dear. That's why I turned to your lover. I was told you were unpleasant, and, indeed, you are. But this Damianos is naïve and trusts anyone who seems vulnerable. With a little seduction, he was easy to fool."
Laurent twitched the corners of his mouth contemptuously.
"Your victim-like whining didn't work on him, Sorem."
"Oh, no? Am I not here? Or do you think I wanted to be mounted by your southern barbarian king? That's enough for some, but I've to tell you, I'm a bit pickier..."
Laurent hissed angrily like a snake:
"And how did you get past my guards? With that ridiculous disguise covering part of your face?"
"They went for a walk. You can try to scream, but I don't think anyone will come and save you, princess."
Laurent cursed an ugly word and then said:
"You've infiltrated my court!"
"Hey, look at that mouth, boy! You don't even look like a king. It wasn't hard to get what I wanted here in the capital of Vere, but the hardest part, I must say, was staying on a bed and secretly taking small doses of poison so as not to arouse suspicion with the physician you sent to watch me. And it was hard to watch you survive the poison in your food and Afanas die in your place."
"Did you poison yourself?" Laurent asked, narrowing his gaze.
"With the help of a slave following me. Or do you think everyone you want to free is loyal to you?" —and with a glance at the soldier, Sorem ordered, "Seize him!"
Laurent watched as the guard walked towards him, his eyes fixed on his movements. When Laurent stood up, he threw himself at the head of the bed and armed himself with the dagger.
The guard made a move to restrain him with his strong arms, but Laurent raised the blade in the air and plunged it into the man's shoulder as he leaned over the bed.
The soldier groaned in pain as he was hit, but he blocked Laurent's path to the door and held his shoulder with the dagger in it. Sorem stood in front of Laurent and said:
"The last and the first of four!"
Laurent frowned as Sorem pulled a porcelain flask from his pocket, opened the clasp, and hurled the contents into the face of the Veretian king with a sudden movement.
Laurent felt the tiny particles cover his face, nose, and eyes. His vision quickly blurred and he held his hands over his burning eyes as he suddenly felt dizzy.
Sorem spoke in a quiet voice as Laurent staggered into a corner, losing his balance and knocking over objects:
"It's amazing what one man can do with his sword on the battlefield, but I've always preferred working behind the scenes. In an infirmary, we decide who lives and who dies. With some herbs and organisms, we can get poisons to remove obstacles without getting our hands dirty."
Laurent narrowed his eyes and said:
"You were the one who poisoned the Patran soldiers! You allowed your mother to be blamed in your place for years..."
Sorem's voice sounded strange.
"My mother? No, Laurent. You don't know anything. But in a few years, everyone will claim that Patras sacrificed his men at Ver-Tan anyway, when they find the soldiers from Arles poisoned dead and bleeding to death down there, with the same poison from the border. Everyone will think that Torgeir left you a gift before he left." — turning to the soldier, he said, — "Go on, grab him! Let's get this over with and take him to the slaughterhouse!"
The man came, and Laurent threw a chair at the soldier, swaying and with blurred vision.
The guard had a sword on his belt but seemed unwilling to use it. He hesitated, not knowing what to do when Laurent tossed him a book and a goblet. So, the Veretian king crept closer to his sword and took it in his hand.
"You can't barely move, boy! Empress Bethanny used this powder to dope the leopards of Vask. You're about to feel your limbs and reflexes give out."
Laurent's vision blurred and he saw the soldier under Sorem's command approach him in a dim silhouette.
Sword in hand, the King of Vere closed his eyes and accepted that his sight was useless at that moment. He didn't need to see to sense his opponent's scent and movements.
Laurent had trained with the same swordsman who had trained Auguste. After his grief and experiencing the change in the course of the world around him, he continued to train. When he had turned fifteen, his teacher had also blindfolded him and said:
"Your nature is different from Auguste's. It was easy for your brother to put his heart into the arena. Put into it what moves you, Your Highness."
Laurent, fifteen years old and with his eyes covered, had replied at that moment, moving his blade.
"Why do you think I'm so different from my brother?"
The Veretian king in the royal bedroom walked to his opponent, who appeared somewhat dazed. The man followed orders to arrest the king, but somehow, he radiated a certain fear of the Veretian monarch.
Laurent kept his eyes closed, and his movements, while not excellent, were precise.
The soldier met Sorem’s gaze and he backed away. The soldier backed away, dodging the king’s sword thrusts once and twice. The third time, he used his blade to block the blow and stepped wrongly on the fallen goblet.
Hearing the noise, Laurent stopped and opened his eyes, which seemed even cloudier. With one swift blow, he killed the man who had fallen before him, plunging the blade into his neck.
Sorem watched the Veretian and seemed to fear him for the first time. He stood some distance away near the fireplace. Laurent felt his arms and legs grow heavy and went to the door.
He opened it and moved into the dimly lit corridor, which remained empty. The royal guards had disappeared. Laurent staggered to one of the exits when he heard a commotion from the courtyards. His arms felt heavy and his legs weak.
At the corridor to the Council wing rooms, a door opened. A man emerged. Laurent couldn't make out his image clearly, but he recognized him by his voice. It was Mathe.
"Your Majesty, what happened?" the man asked, kneeling to support Laurent. "Who did this to you?"
Laurent felt his limbs go limp as if he had run a marathon, and could no longer hold his sword. He stopped and said:
"Another attempted murder. What's going on down there?"
The Councillor replied, somewhat confused:
"Some kind of rebellion among the soldiers. The guards have run to get the situation under control. It's dangerous. We have to get out of here."
"Councillor Mathe, send someone to find Audin and send out a warning signal. Some of the guards must have been poisoned. We must prevent the situation from getting any worse. I need Jord and Isander now."
"Yes, Your Majesty. But you need help too. Come, I will accompany you. We can go to the Great Hall, it's safer and Sorem won't find you there."
There was an even louder crash in the courtyard, followed by a scream. A horse neighed and the sound of metal overlapped.
A thought seemed to cross Laurent's mind before he pulled his arm away.
He hadn't mentioned Sorem's name.
Another, even louder crash in the yards and the metallic sound of blades clashing furiously.
"You..."
There was a moment of silence in which the two breaths seemed to catch in its throat.
Laurent, whose vision was blurred, backed away when he noticed Mathe touching a lock of his hair with his pale fingers. Behind him, at the end of the corridor, he sensed another presence approaching. So, the Councillor smiled and looked up.
"Your resemblance to Hennike is uncanny…"
The Veretian king felt the ground pulled out from under him as Mathe's hand closed tightly around his wrist.
"...Your beauty, brilliance, how you do things in your own way, and, of course, your stubbornness to die..."
Laurent blinked and got a better look at the inside of the room Mathe had left. The revelation made him nervous as the wind opened the door a crack.
This was not Mathe's room. It was Audin's room. The man was lying on the floor with blood under his head.
Laurent tried to grasp the hilt of his sword, but his fingers were weak from the powder Sorem had blown him. As he turned around, the Veretian king realized Sorem had caught up with him. In an even voice, the emperor turned to Mathe and complained:
"Myn leafde, the soldier you got me was incompetent!"
Mathe untied one of the laces from the eyelet of his silk shirt.
"That's why I like to solve things my way."
Laurent felt dizzier when he heard Sorem say:
"Remember, he must be found on the throne with an ax in his head. Verisimilitude, so we can say it was Torgeir's men. And drama, so Damianos never forgets. Besides, we owe him some suffering in memory of our partner."
"Fine," Mathe said, looking bored as if he'd heard this a thousand times before, "but can we swap the skull for the neck? I don't think anyone doubts that the southerners wanted the head of the King of Vere in a tray, just like they wanted the heads of the leopards of Skarva."
Sorem agreed with a smile:
"Sounds good to me."
With a quick movement, Mathe wrapped the suede strip around Laurent's pale neck. The Veretian king managed to slip his fingers under the thread to keep it from clogging his throat.
"You won't be able to fool them all," Laurent said with difficulty.
"Oh, I will!" Mathe replied "Chelaut is in prison and is accused by you, Laurent, of killing Jeurre. Herode is old and is in Chastillon. It's only a matter of time before I deal with him. You are faithful to your lover, just as Auguste was faithful to his slave, and you have no heirs. Do you know who will take over Vere in this case, Laurent? That's even better than the position of Councillor your uncle offered me. And Sorem will have the realm of Vask to himself."
Sorem stepped forward and knocked Laurent’s sword away with ease. The Vaskian said:
"With that Akielon barbarian confused by your death, Laurent, it will be easy to conquer the south. Just as it was easy for the Regent to topple Aleron from the throne after your mother's death."
Laurent cursed, feeling the tight wire cutting into his hand and neck.
"They'll find out," he said after coughing.
Mathe whispered in Laurent's ear and tightened the noose that was strangling him:
"I don't think so. They never found out about your mother, who was poisoned for months under the noses of your father and brother. Nor about the slave Theodore, who was killed in the backyard of the palace when he regretted putting damiana in your birthday wine. You never found out about me, Laurent. And you're all alone."
Laurent felt the noose tighten around his neck as his movements became sluggish.
The Veretian king's vision became increasingly blurred and he struggled not to lose consciousness, moving his feet.
Laurent felt his strength leaving him as the commotion in the courtyards and now in the wings of the two gardens grew louder.
"...Strange how stories repeat themselves, isn't it?" whispered Mathe, still close to his ear. "I'll see about sending Damianos to you soon. Your prince killer will keep you company in hell."
With one last violent movement, Laurent struggled against the chokehold on Damiano’s name until he turned red. Then he trembled. Exhausted. Panting. And finally, he stopped moving.
The lamps illuminated the faces of the other two men, cutting through the night with an indistinct and ominous darkness. They exchanged a glance before facing the king they had just overpowered.
Mathe, who had been the chief of Veres' royal slaves before becoming the Councillor who replaced Guion, used words the Regent had once said to him:
"...Do you know the irony of life, Laurent? We are all captive slaves of it. And do you know the irony of death? It is a release. But the greatest irony of all is that I, a former slave owner, am now freeing a king."
Chapter 11: Locusts (Part 1)
Summary:
Just as important as finding out who is responsible for the crimes against the Sister Nations is understanding why.
Notes:
In the first Portuguese version of this story, there is a chapter called "Mirror" right after the "Poison" chapter. It tells the behind-the-scenes story of the war between Vask and Patras and contains some interesting scenes, such as Theomedes' visit to Skarva when Damianos is still a child, and the mention of the kingdoms of Vere and Akielos at the height of the war.
It's a long chapter, but it was necessary because I needed to convey the structure of this war that triggered the current events. However, when I was working on the translations to English, I wanted so much to start the second book with the chapter "Trust", which forms the backbone of the sequence, and I felt that the story of the war between Vask and Patras would interrupt the sequence.
Therefore, some events mentioned in this chapter are better explained in the "Mirror" chapter, which will be translated into the extras after this story ends.
Chapter Text
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MpnfqNmj-6A&list=RDMMMpnfqNmj-6A&start_radio=1
" Jeurre rose. As the onlookers watched, Jeurre left his place with the Council and crossed the hall to drop to one knee alongside Herode. A moment later, Chelaut followed. Then Audin. And finally, like a rat deserting a ship, Mathe moved away from the Regent and hurriedly fell to one knee in front of Laurent. "
PACAT, C.S. Kings Rising. New York: Berkley Books, 2016.
Characters
VASK
THE DEAD
THE TWINS, imperial brothers of Vishkar. Present in Ios at the execution of the Regent
Sixteen years ago
Sorem was still very young when Mathe first saw him in one of Varenne's busiest and most turbulent brothels.
And youth seemed to the slave owner not just foolish, but above all dangerous, like a moving carriage without reins or a coachman.
It was a rainy day, and a soaking wet slave held an umbrella over the boy's head to keep him dry and inaccessible.
Sorem stood out in a tunic of Vaskian silk with bird embroidery on his almost translucent skin, jewels, and a ruby headdress. He looked like an exotic imported prostitute in wrapping paper, and the necks of the nobles craned as he entered the room and engulfed the air around him. They whistled, and someone muttered:
"A Vaskian doll."
In the ring, a blond-haired slave mounted a dark-haired one and began thrusting hard while several men threw jewels at him, cheering and shouting.
"Fuck him! Shove it in!"
Sorem cast an indifferent glance over his shoulder at the customers, as if their longing gazes were insignificant, and climbed the stairs to the rooms upstairs.
With his arms wrapped around a male and a female slave on either side of him, Mathe watched the silhouette of the boy ascending the stairs with slow steps and turned back to the ring, waiting for the fuck to end.
The courtier next to Mathe had lost the bet and pounded his fist on the ring floor in anger, but Mathe had won because the two men in the arena were his slaves and his winnings were guaranteed. He always won.
Amidst the commotion of the nobles gathered around the action, Mathe broke away from his companions and followed the Vaskian boy, trucking the ground with his whip and causing the slaves to open their way.
He reached the stairs and passed the bedroom doors on the upper floor, which were filled with the sounds of fucking and moaning.
The rain-soaked Vaskian slave stood before the last door in the corridor with his umbrella closed, dripping water on the floor. He lifted his anxious gaze to Mathe, who asked in Vaskish:
"Who is he? How does he know about our meeting?"
The slave replied with a lowered, submissive look.
"My master was invited by King Aleron's brother to attend tonight's party. They have an appointment."
Mathe furrowed his pale eyebrows questioningly:
"And who is your master?"
"One of the imperial family's cousins: Sorem of Ver-Tan."
The slave owner knew that the Regent, who was not yet Regent, had been corresponding with Empress Bethanny for some time. The monarch was eager for an alliance with Vere, and after sending her eldest daughter to the Ver-Vassel border, she had become even more insistent in her appeals.
But Mathe did not know that a messenger from the Empire had been sent to Varenne. He pushed the slave away from the door and entered the room, where candles burned and a soft scent of lavender filled the air. The young man remained seated on the mattress between the silk fabrics that fell around the bed like curtains.
The moment Mathe entered the room, the Vaskian boy immediately jumped up, knelt on the floor, and bowed to him with his hands before his forehead. Then he spoke in clear Veretian language:
"I am here, Your Highness. I have come from Skarva to serve you."
Mathe frowned, pursed his lips, and flashed a mocking smile. Sorem turned his green eyes, which gleamed almost amber in the light of the fire, to the whip the man held in his hand and swallowed hard.
"How old are you?" Mathe asked.
"Thirteen," the boy replied, in a voice that betrayed him.
Mathe narrowed his smile and asked:
"Are you a virgin?"
"I've been waiting for you, Your Highness," the young man replied deferentially.
Still smiling wryly, Mathe sat down in an armchair and said with amusement as he cracked his whip beside him.
"Come here..."
The boy made a move to get up and go to the slave owner, but Mathe stopped him and stated:
"No, no. Come on your knees."
At this point, Sorem betrayed himself again. He would have rolled his eyes impatiently, but he held back, remembering the role he was currently playing. The boy slid to his knees and crawled towards the man.
When he reached the legs of Mathe who was sitting in the armchair, the Veretian parted them and spoke in an impersonal voice:
"Serve me."
Sorem paused and seemed to be trying to control his breathing. He looked up at Mathe, and the man saw that the boy was indeed good-looking. His lips were moist and very pink and looked to be kissable. His eyelashes were long and hung from lazy lids.
Mathe, used to assess slaves carefully, focused on the Vaskian’s hands, which looked soft. Sorem’s slender body looked elegant, and there was a suppressed pride in his haughty chin. He was no ordinary young man and must have grown up well-cared in the magnificent halls of Skarva.
After taking a deep breath, Sorem reached for the button of Mathe's pants with nimble fingers and opened it with natural skill.
"You're not a virgin. Stop pretending you are. And you're not thirteen. How old are you? Fifteen, sixteen?" shot back Mathe.
Sorem stopped and looked stunned at being caught red-handed. He rolled his eyes and replied,
"Your Highness, I assure you that if you allow me to entertain you, you will not regret it. I can satisfy you..."
Mathe felt the words slipping into a secret corner of his being. Was Empress Betthany so desperate for an alliance that she'd send family members as an offering to the Regent who wasn't yet Regent?
"Call me Your Majesty..."
"Your Majesty..." — the boy quickly corrected himself.
There was an uneven silence, broken by the noise of another slave fight that had started on the first floor. Shouts and jeers rang from downstairs.
"Look at me."
Sorem lifted his pale face, framed by strands of hair as dark as Mathe's was light. His slightly lowered eyelids gave him an appearance of sleepiness or boredom.
"... It won't work with the king's brother, sweetie. You're too old for him. But if you don't want your walk to be in vain, I can fuck you." Mathe stated.
The Vaskian remained on his knees momentarily, pondering the words spoken to him. After a few seconds, he stood up with an impassive expression, wiped the dust off his tunic, and leaned over Mathe with more natural pride, bringing his face closer to his.
"And who are you?" he asked with a seductive look, but with a curl of his lips.
"I'm Mathe, the chief of the royal slaves of Vere."
Sorem smiled, and his moist, pink lips curled into a kiss before he spat in the man’s face. Mathe closed his eyes and wiped the spit from his forehead with an expression of disgust.
"Then you're not worthy of spreading my legs and putting up with being fucked up on that shitty bed, asshole!" Sorem declared.
Mathe screwed up his face and looked surprised.
"So vulgar! You don't seem to be a noble from the imperial family."
"But, I am! More than you can guess, you nobody!"
Mathe shot up and grabbed Sorem by the arm.
"Listen to me, you little shit, you're talking to the king's brother's partner! And if I wanted to, I could throw you down there in the ring to be fucked by a bunch of men. With that voice, that face, and after being all cummed the way you already must have been, the King's brother wouldn't give a damn about you!"
Sorem frowned contemptuously.
"Many want me in Vask! You wanted me until a second ago, your spiteful son of a bitch! Why do you think the king's brother doesn't want me? Betthany has heard that he likes young men!"
"Not men, you idiot. Boys!"
Sorem hesitated and replied:
"He told Betthany he wanted an exotic Vaskian boy with imperial blood. So, she sent me. Betthany said it wouldn't hurt if I fibbed a bit about my age and the king's brother could let himself go."
Mathe looked the other man up and down.
"You're too old for his taste! And my partner never gets carried away. Consider that luck or bad luck. Betthany won't get an alliance. Give up while there's still time."
Sorem was about to answer, but he paused when he heard someone at the door talking to the Vaskian slave. Impersonally, he ran to the bed, ignored Mathe, and resumed his place on the mattress between the silk curtains. Before doing so, however, Sorem stared at himself in the room's full-length mirror and adjusted his tunic and rubies.
Mathe stopped and buttoned up his pants before he saw the door open and spit out the Regent.
The king's brother did not enter the room alone. A brown-haired boy with thin limbs followed him. Around the boy's neck hung a golden necklace with bells and a chain controlled by his master. Mathe knew that pet. He was the slave trader who had convinced the brothers Tharname and Theodore to accept the servant contract in Belloy and enter the service of the nobles of Arles.
Theodore had fallen into the favor of Prince Auguste, but his brother had fallen into the favor of the Regent, who was not yet Regent and devoured the boy, far from the eyes of the royal family.
Tharname had fixed his gaze on the carpet and had been brought there for a purpose.
The Regent scowled at Mathe without appearing overly upset or angry. The emotions within him always seemed to crackle on the surface.
"I don't remember giving you permission to meddle in my affairs. What are you doing here?"
Mathe stared at Sorem's face, who had resumed his false posture of innocence and braced his pale hands at his sides.
"The boy attracted the attention of the men downstairs and I came to accompany him so that they'd not rape him on the way. I didn't realize your dealings with Vask were so... intimate..."
The brother of King Aleron looked at the other man with his icy blue eyes and replied:
"If I invest my energy in an empire that is going down in a war against the South, I need recompense."
Sorem remained sitting on the mattress impassively, and with an indifferent expression, the Regent tossed Tharname's golden chain to Mathe and approached the bed.
The Regent, who wasn't yet Regent, wore his red velvet jacket and patent leather boots. He walked in a straight line towards Sorem, whose face was illuminated by the flickering light of a candelabra.
"How old are you?" the Regent asked.
"Thirteen," Sorem answered, not ashamed that Mathe knew the truth.
Not caring about Tharname or the chief of the royal slaves, the Regent approached Sorem to the point where their knees touched. With a gesture that showed some experience, the Vaskian spread his legs apart while the Veretian placed himself between them.
Then, the Regent kissed Sorem's mouth, without warning or words as the boy slid his hand and one of his legs along the Veretian's body, demonstrating an experienced sensuality.
Tharname kept his eyes on the ground and avoided looking at the scene, but Mathe stared at the two for a long time.
Sorem even dared to pull the regent's shirt out of his pants and opened himself up even more during the kiss, slipping a little on the satin sheets. Mathe suspected the Vaskian wouldn't mind if the Regent wanted to mount him before the other two observers.
As the Regent walked away, he said:
"Two or three years ago, you'd have been exactly what I was looking for. Despite your imperial blood, you must fuck like an experienced slut from a cheap brothel. But you're too old. You're no good for it anymore."
The Regent's words were harsh, and after he said them, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand, twice, three times.
Sorem forced himself to maintain his dignified expression and swallowed the bitter words. His eyes briefly met Mathe’s.
The Regent walked over to the armchair and sat down indifferently.
Sorem stood up with an amber, disgruntled look, but could not hide his disgust either and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his tunic.
As he was about to leave, the Regent said gruffly:
"I did not permit you to withdraw. Empress Betthany is determined to win the war. She has sent Vishkar to the border and you to my bed. The members of Vask's court are bargaining. What else can you offer to convince me that a lost cause is worth investing in?"
Sorem paused in the room and, as he spoke, took off his rubies and gold-adorned headdress with a disinterested motion and tossed it into a corner like an incongruous garment.
"We have gold, silver, bronze, and rubies in our safes. If we can gain Bazal, we can also award Vere the lands and riches of Patras."
The Regent snapped his fingers and replied:
"I'm not interested in that. Come on, old boy, you studied to be an ambassador, I hear. You must have something better to offer me..."
Sorem seemed uncomfortable in his position. He exchanged a glance with the pet Tharname, who had sat down at the Regent’s feet, as the Veretian gestured to him.
"Empress Betthany said that Ver-Vassel..."
"Empress Betthany is not here..." — the Regent replied gruffly once again. "You can do better than that."
Sorem breathed shallowly, looking both agitated and annoyed at the man. He seemed to be searching for the right words but to no avail.
"...What can you do besides fuck and go on a fruitless journey wrapped as a gift? You're too old to be petted and too young to be an ambassador. Maybe you're incompetent at everything." — the Regent said and put his hand around Tharname's neck — "What have you learned all this time in Skarva?"
"I can speak the four languages of the kingdoms fluently!"
"How are you on the battlefield?"
"I had military training..."
"But you're not as good as Somalia or Vishkar, of course..." — the Regent stated as if regretting the series of wrong answers.
Sorem held back, and Mathe saw the boy swallow hard for a moment and grow even paler. His eyes reddened, and he lifted his proud chin and shook his face in reply.
The Regent said, running a finger over Tharname's cheekbones.
"...Then you are a nobody. You're old, poor in battle, incompetent in negotiations, and nothing but a pitiful distant relative to the imperial family. I bet there's not a drop of what the Vaskians call the kiss of heaven and earth left in your blood."
At that moment, Sorem said, picking up one of the cups on the table and throwing it on the floor. The metal cup bounced with a clink and stopped on the other side of the room.
"My blood is imperial! I have the empire in my veins! I am bound to the gods. No one can take that away from me!"
"But it is Vishkar who will sit on the throne and rule the kingdom of Vask while you remain under women's skirts," the Regent retorted as if amused by the thought while spreading his arms theatrically.
Sorem shouted angrily:
"Vishkar will die in the war! She won't come back!"
"And her sister Amaranta, the second in line to the throne, will succeed her!"
"No, not Amaranta... The empress said I was the best in the family!"
"So good that she sent you to be fucked in a neighboring country in exchange for a little trifle?"
Sorem took a deep breath and looked at the Regent, Mathe, and finally Tharname standing there with his mouth open.
"I'm an apprentice physician," Sorem growled but tried to remain firm. "I studied in the apothecary wing of Skarva and learned how to make poisons and drugs from the best physician in Vask! He taught me several formulas and said I was worthy. I have a natural gift! I'm the one who controls the leopards of Vask with a few herbal mixtures and insects. The leopards have rebelled against Betthany's new lover and rejected the empress herself."
The Regent screwed up his face as if Sorem finally got the right answer.
"My former court physician, who slipped an abortifacient into Queen Hennike's drink when she was pregnant with Laurent, tried to blackmail me and I had to get rid of him. I need someone I can trust. Can you kill with your substances and plants?"
"Of course!" — Sorem replied between his teeth.
Then the Regent took a document out of his jacket and said:
"Betthany has written to me and told me about you. I know you also know who you are, and you did not come here as an ambassador from Vask. She said that I can do what I want with you once I've fucked you, and that she doesn't need you to return to Skarva. Betthany just wanted an alliance. The only question is... Who will you be loyal to, Sorem, and what can you offer me so we can talk? This is not between me and Betthany but between me and you, Sorem of Ver-Tan."
Sorem paused and stared at the parchment in the Regent’s hand with a shaky expression. He swallowed hard.
Mathe narrowed his gaze and stared at the two men. Then the Regent said:
"...You have a lot in common with my partner Mathe. That's exactly what I need. And also, in common with me, more than a temperamental and unstable woman from the East like Empress Betthany. For now, Vishkar should live for your good. Without her first heir, Betthany will haggle for her throne with anyone who does as she says. Do you think Betthany promised the imperial medallion just for you, my naive ambassador? There's as much chance of her letting you sit on the throne as of you beating Vishkar in battle, Sorem. You haven't the slightest chance!"
The Vaskian wiped away a defiant tear with a despairing expression as he sat back on the bed, defeated. He remained silent.
The Regent smiled and stroked Tharname, who stood at his feet like a pet. Mathe watched as Sorem was destroyed in a matter of minutes, and from the expression on his face, he could tell that this was not the first time the Vaskian had been struck down in a political ring.
After an uneven silence, there was a moment when the Regent began to speak while the pet Tharname stroked his master's calf. In an impersonal voice, the Regent began to read the letter.
Mathe turned to Sorem after being told the revelation Betthany's letter brought and saw him in a new light.
Indeed, they looked alike.
The truth they held in their hearts and the outrage the realization sparked in them were similar. Bastards.
It was a long meeting. At one point, the Regent ordered the slaves to bring wine.
In that spacious room, the Veretian and the Vaskian had locked themselves in an idea that their lives would revolve around in the years to come, as reparation for their existence. In that moment, the three became partners and there was one goal, one ascension: the throne of Vere and Vask.
By the time the three men had finished their meeting, the ring fighting had stopped and the brothel was filled only with the sounds of fucking and the sad remains of a party. Dawn was reaching its peak.
Sorem and Mathe left, and Tharname closed the door to the room with an ashen face, while the Regent unbuttoned the cuffs of his jacket. The Veretian spoke impersonally to the Vaskian boy:
"You and Betthany owe me a fuck for wasting my time. You'll have to figure out how to reimburse me for the disappointment you caused me when I saw your face."
Sorem then walked silently beside Mathe until he reached the brothel's exit. Downstairs, his slave was waiting for him still holding the umbrella closed and having his body shivering from the cold.
Mathe, who at this point was still only a royal slave chief and merchant, longed for Vere's Council more than anything else. He slept and woke and thought about it. He ate and thought of the power that would protect him and bring back what had been taken from him. He longed for the position that the Regent, who was not yet Regent, offered him:
"If you help me reach the throne, I will make you an important Councilor. More important even than Herode."
Mathe remained diligent on his path. He brought on board those who could help them in their endeavor and fended off setbacks. He got rid of the Regent's boys when they became old and dangerous. The Regent, in turn, had covered up the death of the noblewoman who was expecting Mathe's child and had tripped over a stairstep when he slapped her.
The partnership between the two men had begun some time ago with an objective exchange of favors, but now a third element had been added.
Sorem’s amber eyes had glinted as his loyalty shifted from one point to the next, like a cat watching a sudden movement.
"The empire with all its gold, rubies, power, glory, concubines, and damn leopards. Do you want it?" — the Regent had asked turning to the Vaskian.
When they reached the exit on the first floor, Sorem looked at the merchant dismissively and spoke, heading for the door:
"Thank you for accompanying me."
"Where are you staying?"
“At an inn,” Sorem replied vaguely, walking over to his parked carriage.
The rain had stopped, but the ground was covered in slippery puddles. The coachman in his raincoat was dozing on his seat.
"I can accompany you," offered Mathe, who found himself looking into Sorem's yellow eyes by the lamp’s light.
"Not necessary. I'm fine," Sorem replied and walked towards the carriage.
The Vaskian, however, seemed as dazed as an insect trapped in a room for a long time, fighting incessantly against the window panes until someone, after he was completely crippled and half-dead, opened the window and freed him.
Mathe watched as the horses rode away, leaving the damp ground with the parallel lines of their spoked wheels.
The two men didn't go to bed on their first meeting. Sorem needed his time after being slaughtered by the Regent.
He needed to reflect after discovering that his loyalty to Empress Betthany was a mistake and that his ascension was a precipice leading down into the depths of himself in a spiral of subversive decline.
At the journey's end, Sorem would get more of himself, an imperial medallion, an eastern throne, appropriation, and himself again.
Mathe recognized this spiraling, painful daze because he had experienced it before — The contraction, the deadly pain, and the relief of being born into himself along with an amoral purpose beating strongly like a second heart.
This is how you killed a man. This is how you give life to a new man.
Mathe and Sorem didn't fuck the second time they saw each other either. They talked about politics and geography and drank wine with the king's brother in a closed room.
The third time, when the meetings with the Regent became more structured and his plans started being applied, Sorem came to Varenne's brothel not dressing Vaskian silks, but Veretian attire. He wore the ensemble complete with a jacket and smoked a straw cigarette.
As Mathe had observed, Sorem was a very active kind and had completely shed the false image of a well-behaved, virginal young man of Skarva's court. Mathe had seen him call two slaves to him and lead them into a room, pulling them by the chains around their necks.
A couple of fire-juggling prostitutes held the danger in their hands as if it were an extension of themselves, lighting up the room filled with wine and laughter. The atmosphere was warm, and Sorem disappeared down the hallway in a flash of orange and metal chains wrapped around the backs of his hands.
On another occasion, Mathe saw Sorem climb on top of one of the courtiers in front of the ring and kiss him on the mouth like a cheap and vulgar boy, nearly fucking with him in front of the other customers. Everyone in Vask was polygamous, they said. Sorem took more than one lover in one night, coming down from the second floor, tying the laces of his clothes, or tucking his shirt into his pants to seek other entertainment.
Sorem of Ver-Tan, with royal blood in his veins, seemed to revel in sex and alcohol and found a harsh comfort in it, not turning down courtships and proposals between one meeting with the Regent and the next.
At one point, Aleron's brother, leaving one of the rooms in the company of Tharname, said to Mathe:
"That one's nothing but a little bitch. That's the way the Vaskians are. He's happy to burn the empress's gold while plotting against her. Private vendettas can be a pleasure for someone with many frustrations and few talents."
"Is it a good idea to trust him?" the slave merchant had asked.
"That's an excellent idea! We need to use Vask's destructiveness in our favor. We just have to push it to the side that suits us, like a crossbow on the hunt."
Mathe then watched Sorem every night, keeping an image imprinted in his mind of words that followed him — Your Highness, Your Majesty.
He watched Sorem once after putting money on a slave fight and bending down lewdly to kiss the man Mathe was talking to on a couch, and say:
"I'm out of coins. I can pay you another way..."
"Is that so?" the Lysian courtier replied, wrapping his arms around the Vaskian's waist and pulling him towards him. Sorem's goblet almost fell out of his hand.
Mathe raised his eyebrows and sipped his wine. Sorem looked even cheaper than the slaves being fucked in the ring. Whether he had the destructive power the Regent saw, Mathe didn't know. But certainly, Sorem’s undoing began within himself.
The Vaskian easily understood the Regent's ideas. Despite his youth, he had come to some interesting conclusions, such as his proposal to negotiate with the mercenary clans of Patras. He brought poison for Aleron's brother to test the effectiveness of the substances on one of his political enemies. He was intelligent and observant.
But Sorem turned into a mess outside the meeting room where he tried to act like a decent ambassador.
"The Vaskians are impressive..." — the courtier from Lys murmured and held out his goblet to clink glasses with Mathe, still keeping his arm around Sorem.
Mathe then looked Sorem up and down and pushed his goblet towards the boy to clink glasses with him. The courtier was left hanging.
"Your Highness!" Mathe murmured before taking a sip of his wine. And then: "To us."
Sorem's amber eyes gazed at Mathe for a moment. Then the boy left the hall and strolled around, but returned a few minutes later and sat next to the courtier.
Unashamedly, he kissed the nobleman between conversations about the Veretian court and Vaskian customs. The man kept his arm around Sorem's waist and occasionally let his fingers glide over his back. The wines in the silver cups disappeared quickly as the slaves served them. Sorem kissed the nobleman's mouth while Mathe kissed his outstretched hand, a delicate gesture.
Then, as the boy climbed on top of the courtier's body to tease him, Mathe pulled Sorem's head towards him and kissed the Vaskian suddenly with the desire he'd had since he'd first seen him.
The kiss was slow and lingering, and in the next moment, Sorem wrapped his arms around Mathe's neck and began a skillful motion with his tongue and a smooth movement of his hips.
Mathe felt the arousal in his body, as did the nobleman the Vaskian was rubbing against. The slave merchant, however, saw Sorem indifferently drink more wine as soon as they parted the kiss.
Then the amused-looking Vaskian joined the chorus of customers as a red-haired slave mounted another at ringside.
The fucking was rough and surrounded by an animalistic, and oppressive sound.
"Cum! Cum! Cum!"
Several men pounded the ring floor in a rhythmic, wild, and commanding chorus. The courtiers also controlled the climax and the outcome of the fucks performed by the slaves, rattling the chains from a distance.
The nobleman of Lys, still wrapped around Sorem's waist, whispered something in his ear, to which the boy smiled. Then the man spoke in a clear, loud voice:
"Shall I make you cum, sweetie? We can have fun together..."
It was not uncommon for the brothel's rooms to be occupied by more than a couple, and the bond between the three men signaled this when Mathe grabbed Sorem's head and stole another kiss without warning.
When the touching became too intense, the three considered entering a room. The courtier seemed intrigued by the idea that he could share Sorem with the slave merchant he was in debt to and encouraged the man by patting him on the shoulder.
"We can take turns if you want, or fuck him at the same time if that's what the young man wants..."
Mathe nodded, but as the three of them climbed the stairs to the upper floor, he held the Vaskian's wrist and whispered:
"I want you." — with a glance at the nobleman going ahead, he added, — "Only you."
Sorem blinked and spoke:
"We have a risky society. Don't take this flirting too seriously."
Mathe waited until a group of drunken people moved away before he said:
"You and I are the same. You know that."
"Don't take it too seriously either," Sorem replied, puffing on his straw cigarette in a gesture very similar to Betthany's eldest daughter Vishkar.
Mathe kissed the boy again and held his wrist before he brought the cigarette back to his lips. He whispered in Sorem’s ear:
"Your Highness, tell me again what you said that day! When we first met, you thought I was the king's brother..."
Sorem blinked and seemed a little affected by the words. He had dark spots under his eyes from the many nights spent in the brothel. The Vaskian mumbled very quietly:
" Your Majesty ..."
"Yes. Your Majesty ..." — Mathe repeated, kissing the man's lips with a certain desperation and pressing him against the wall.
The two exchanged an intense, prolonged, breathless kiss and when they parted, Mathe insisted on whispering something in Sorem's ear:
"... I like this. I've never fucked a future emperor. We can take our nobility to bed and form our own alliance."
The Vaskian let his gaze slide over the slave merchant's face and for a second, he smiled in amusement, as if realizing the irony of what the two of them were for the first time. As if he suddenly remembered what Mathe was.
"I've never fucked a prince either."
"I can make that Lys' man disappear. I can make up a story for him. Any story... It's just between you and me. I want you. I've wanted you since when I saw you for the first time, Sorem of Ver-Tan."
The ring was bustling with the activity of another slave fight and Sorem's green eyes had turned very yellow from all the fire of the lamps in the hall. He was panting from the kiss and could feel Mathe's erection against his body. Sorem was young and receptive to outside attention.
With a discreet gesture, the boy consented. And in an instant, with a twinkle in his eye, Mathe made things happen.
He took a blank parchment from his pocket and scribbled with the quill of an inkwell on a small table on the second floor, a childish drawing of a man in room 26 and something that resembled a gemstone in the corner.
Mathe tucked the paper into the cleavage of a pleasure slave who was walking with a noblewoman. The prostitute grabbed her breast and the slaves' merchant ordered:
"Take it to Milani. He'll understand."
Sorem raised his eyebrows and watched the scene with some curiosity. Mathe explained:
"... This is how I send notes to the slaves. They're all illiterate. That courtier will be busy for the next few hours and will barely remember his name after fucking Milani. Shall we?"
So Sorem went.
That day, he and Mathe slept together for the first time. And together they told each other their stories, without a manipulative intermediary between their bodies.
Within the partnership they had formed with the King of Vere's brother, Mathe, and Sorem had forged another strange and unique alliance. Tentatively, they made love a second time, because the first time had been so good and had left them both in ecstasy and pain. And at the third time, they slept together again without explaining much to each other.
The fourth time, they fucked before others in the hall. And the fifth time on the parapet of the terrace with the height below them. Somehow, Mathe felt their relationship was unearthing more layers of something unspeakable and deep wrapped in a cocoon.
Dangerous and brutal. Filthy and vengeful. It was decomposing itself and decomposing the world at the same time like pus.
The sixth time they fucked in a moving carriage. The seventh time in a tree in a forest on the road. The eighth time, in a damp alleyway in the markets. The ninth time, again in the middle of the brothel. They were young and, in many ways, looked like two animals taking off their clothes or lifting them to fuck somewhere.
The tenth time happened in the stables. Sorem had bitten his arm and asked Mathe to use his whip. And the eleventh time, just as Sorem was about to return to Skarva, the boy stuck the tip of a hot needle into Mathe's nipple and inserted a metal ring like his own into the pink skin.
Mathe cursed at the burning sensation of the alcohol being poured on his chest:
"What is the meaning of this?"
Sorem's youthful and excited expression was rarely shown. With his smiling face and narrowed eyes, he looked very young.
It was the most youthful and sincere expression Sorem had ever shown Mathe. The Vaskian had been sent by the Empress of Vask to fend his land in a corrupt environment, to raise funds for a lost war. He was sent to spread his legs and whatever else he had to offer. How could a child's mind function before this?
Sorem might be old to the king's brother, but he was still a boy to most people.
"The Vaskians like this fashion. If we meet and you still have the ring, I know you have longed for my return. It's a memory of me."
Mathe was uncomfortable with the Vaskian's spontaneous gesture and was gruff:
"You're the one taking all this too seriously now, Sorem. You'll be gone for a long time, and if Betthany sends you to the border, we might not hear from you for years. If we run into each other again in the future and I'm free and you want to fuck for fun, why not? But don't behave like a young man in love. We're at war. I don't feel like being tied to anyone, sweetie. Or waiting. Or complications. I'm alone, and that's fine."
Sorem stared at his lover, hiding his hurt with his sharp words. He cleared his throat before he spoke, and his smile crumbled.
"I know that. The king's brother told me that you killed a noblewoman who was pregnant with your child."
Mathe swallowed and averted his eyes.
"Bastards are a grave stain in Vere and she wanted me to marry her to avoid scandal. I didn't kill her. I pushed her and she fell down the stairs. She would have ruined my future and my name."
Sorem replied with a thin smile:
"If you want to believe that, I won't object. Throw the ring away if it bothers you. You don't have to kill me or push me if you don't want me anymore. I've other options."
Mathe said, sliding his finger over the metal ring:
"What options? Your childhood friend Ishmael? I thought you said he only had eyes for Vishkar."
Sorem spoke:
"Ishmael has no taste in men. I've always known that, and it's no surprise that Vishkar takes away everything I've ever wanted. I liked Ishmael when we were kids, but now we're grown men. If Vishkar survives, she and Ishmael will be united in marriage and have Vask's future heir. He'll be the Emperor."
Mathe watched the Vaskian put on his clothes in the glow of the dying fire. A metal ring remained attached to one of his nipples.
"And what will you do if that happens?"
"If that happens, I've something in mind. I think you have no idea how committed I am to our alliance."
Impersonally, Sorem put on his clothes and said, as if leaving an unspoken rejection, glancing at Mathe before closing the door behind him:
"...Throw away the ring. You're right. Maybe I'm taking this all too seriously. It's my weakness and the best thing you can do for me is to rip it out by the roots."
But Mathe kept the ring stuck in his flesh despite the pain. Now and then the ring pricked and he felt for it on the left side of his chest under the eyelet blouses and the Veretian velvet jackets.
Sorem stayed in Skarva for a long time. Long months.
He told Betthany that Aleron's brother didn't like grown-up boys, but he was interested in the cause of the realm and the future exchange, without dwelling too much on how the Regent had spurned a gift from Vask.
However, Sorem emphasized they needed to make the right offer to Vere's ally. They should keep the Veretian's attention, and Betthany agreed.
In this way, the Vaskian boy tricked the monarch of his people and began a series of well-crafted lies designed to serve the interests of the society founded with the Regent. With words and false naivety, Sorem rendered Beththany harmless and deceived her, while the empress thought she was deceiving him.
The movements between the four kingdoms were not a political tactic for losers. Rather, it was a game whoever held their breath the longest while diving into filth water won.
After a long absence, Sorem returned to Varenne for three short days, and on this occasion, he treated Mathe no differently than a messenger.
Sorem met with the merchant and the Regent at the brothel and informed them of Vask and Patras' movements. Sorem was sent to the border of Ver-Vassel because Betthany wanted him to keep an eye on Vishkar and Somalia. Then, he would keep an eye on them for himself.
"Hey..." Mathe said as he reached Sorem before the young man mounted his horse and left the brothel as soon as the meeting was over. The Veretian joined his palms in the typical Vaskian greeting.
The long months made Sorem even more handsome, whether through nature or time. He had become a good-looking man with a proud bearing. However, he made no move to approach his former lover. His eyelids gave his gaze an uninterested expression.
"Hello, Mathe. How have you been?"
The merchant looked around before bringing his face closer and whispering with an expectant smile:
"I've been thinking about us. Our particular meetings, Your Highness. I've missed you..."
Sorem raised an eyebrow. Men became fools when they took for granted something beyond their control.
Somehow, Mathe thought Sorem's youth made him stupid, and submissive. To him, the Vaskian was a guaranteed fuck as he opened his legs to anyone.
"I suppose so," Sorem replied indifferently.
Mathe placed Sorem's hand on his chest, where the metal ring could be felt under the thin blouse.
Sorem paused for a moment, let his hand slide back to his saddle, and spoke detachedly:
"Oh, that... Do you still have it?"
Mathe suddenly felt embarrassed under the cloudy afternoon sky in front of the boy from Vask. A storm was gathering on the horizon.
It wasn't as if Mathe hadn't slept with someone while Sorem was away. He had several slaves at his disposal to fuck when and how he wanted, but somehow, among other bodies, he sought the young man's excess and madness. He touched the ring on his chest and remembered the pain when the needle had pierced him. He remembered the words and the substance they were made of.
"Should I have thrown it away?" Mathe asked.
Sorem looked up with languid eyes and ran his hand through his white horse's mane.
"Do as you please. I don't care. You could relieve yourself instead of having that vulgar ring stuck in your nipple. I have to go now. Ishmael accompanied me this time on Betthany's orders. I left him at the inn."
Mathe frowned with an expression of disgust.
"Are you sleeping with Ishmael? I thought he only liked women."
Sorem lifted his face and said with an irritating and didactic naturalness:
"Mathe, we plan to take Vere and the Empire. Ishmael is loyal to Vishkar down to the roots of his hair. He only sees me as a childhood friend and I have to put up with him pining for Vishkar day and night. Ishmael also goes to the borders of Ver-Vassel."
That was not the answer Mathe had expected. He persisted:
"Is it over between us?"
"I'm being sent to the border. I might end up with a Patran ax rammed into my head. But if I don't die, I'll return to fulfill my duties as ambassador and spy. That's all."
Mathe was increasingly irritated by the Vaskian’s manner. Sorem answered no questions but filled in the blanks with general information. The slave merchant wasn't getting what he wanted and it bugged him.
"If you want to break up with me, say it now!" the pale-haired man shouted.
"I thought it was already over. I came here expecting nothing. Vere's pleasures take away every memory a man has, good or bad. Even Vask's."
Mathe became angry without knowing why.
"I thought we looked alike!"
"We are similar. But I don't attach much importance to what happened. We're in a society and I want the throne as much as you want your position on the Council. Don't get lost in distractions." — the boy replied lightly slapping Mathe's cheek twice as if waking him up.
Mathe held Sorem's wrist angrily. Fury grew in his chest and he did not understand it.
"You cheap, rotten whore! Are you screwing with me? Is this the cold polygamy of your people?"
With authority, Sorem spoke in a dry tone:
"Let go of me!"
After a while, Mathe let go of the boy's wrist with the pink fingerprints printed on the white skin. He walked away angrily. Then Sorem said:
"...There are many people in Vere. There are many people in Vask. In my culture, we fuck who we want to, and I can't remember all the names. It doesn't matter how many and with whom. It doesn't matter it's you. It doesn't matter it's me... We're all alone in the end."
And, speaking softly to himself, Sorem mumbled, closing his eyes:
"...I always have been like this."
Mathe could not recognize in Sorem the fear of being sent to the frontlines of a war, which further weakened the Vaskian's emotions. No one cared, and nobody regretted that he couldn't stay.
Mathe, too, was alone and commanded respect with a whip in his hand, which he swung and put around the slaves' necks when he punished them. He couldn't leave himself and understand feelings no more than Sorem could from the depths of his spiraling abysses.
At that moment, they were two continents with terrible and brutal borders. They were two brutalized people. Most of the time they turned complex emotions into sex, mocking, violence, and greed. Now they were experiencing violence.
Mathe cursed and made his way to the brothel, saying first:
"I hope you end up with an ax in your head in Ver-Vassel!"
Sorem of Ver-Tan put on his riding gloves and said before mounting his horse and leaned towards irony:
"Then good luck with Empress Betthany and Vishkar. You cannot count on Vask for what you long for, and you'll continue to be the same, Your Nothingness."
Sorem spurred his saddled horse and rode off. Clad in pale Vaskian robes, he looked like a ray of light heading towards the hazy horizon.
Chapter 12: Locusts (Part 2)
Chapter Text
Mathe then returned to Arles and spent his time in clandestine rings forbidden by King Aleron and Queen Hennike. He slept with men and women one month as if the world would end the next. He drank expensive wines and attended high society parties. He felt stupid about his last words to Sorem. And so Mathe tried to bury himself more into himself.
Amid conversation, Mathe had once overheard two noblewomen commenting at a lavish party in the capital:
"I have heard that the realm of Vask has sent a cousin of royal blood to the border. He is the son of Somalia of Ver-Tan. After the departure of the Crown Empress to serve in Ver-Vassel, and the Patran Prince Torgeir, I believe tempers are running high in that region."
The woman who spoke fanned herself with a silk fan and whispered:
"...I'm afraid Vask does not fear for its people, just like Patras. To send the heirs and members of the royal family to a place forgotten by the gods for years... What a shame, my God... What a shame..."
Mathe, who had overheard the conversation, pushed aside the unpleasant feeling in his chest and put it down to too much alcohol.
Time passed between cheap and sordid amusements, punctuated by laughter and breathless pleasure with the clink of metal. Pleasure was filled with falls and fucks in a ring, surrounded by screams and coins thrown in the air.
The secretions on the sheets, the primary, secondary, and tertiary odors of the wines brought from Belloy, the musky scent of the courtiers mixed with the acrid smell of flesh.
The rain, the storm, the sun. The plans, the climbing, the oblique movement.
Chalis emitted in closed and dimly lit rooms, leaving men and women aroused like animals in heat. More bastards would be born and locked in brothels forever, like bees in a hive. Not even the lowest caste for the illegitimate ones was offered. Wouldn't it be better if they died in the womb? Being pushed off a ladder...
More chalis. The spiral. The abyss.
The repetition ad eternum.
The Patrans killed Vaskians with axes at the border.
All the time.
Once, Sorem sat among the silks on a bed and waited for an alliance. Sorem with a silver circle on his nipple, waited for another one as well. Sorem, on the border of Ver-Vassel, amidst the chirping of crickets and locusts, still waited for his mad desires' fulfillment.
"The empire. One day."
Without realizing it, Mathe waited for the Vaskian with a petted fantasy.
Hours passed in the brothels, and on the border, in Arles and Skarva, until it became months.
Then, Mathe found himself alone in front of the ring, thinking. The days that passed suddenly began to drag on, entangled in carnal and predictable pleasure. Tactile. It was as if he was dragging himself towards nowhere and nobody.
Sex, mocking, violence, and greed. That was what life was all about.
Sex, mocking, violence, and greed. This damn life was too little.
Finally, when the Regent called Mathe into his office and warned him of the impending movements, the merchant had to control his reaction to keep it from showing on his face.
"Our Vaskian person will be coming to Varenne. I can't leave the capital for fear of arousing suspicion. Hennike has been watching me. You must go and bring me information."
A boy next to the Regent was shaking his legs in boredom. It was not Tharname, for the slave had reached transition age and had been sent away from the court.
Mathe asked and felt his heart race:
"Was Sorem discharged from military service at the border?"
"No, but Betthany decided to make another offer for our support. Give this to Sorem," the Regent said, handing his partner a letter with his seal. "And be discreet."
Mathe went to Varenne the next morning with a strange heart palpitation. He waited for Sorem in the brothel's room where they usually met, growing more impatient as the hours passed and time dragged on.
Mathe was pacing back and forth when Sorem came through the door. They stared at each other, and suddenly time was obvious. And at the same time, it wasn't.
Youthfulness was creeping out of Sorem, and the child features on his face had disappeared. He had grown thin at the border, and his gaze seemed lowered. The boy stood without the accompaniment of a slave and wore a simple traveling cloak. His face wasn't adorned with gold or silk.
The room was large, and in one corner stood a floor-length mirror that reflected Sorem’s silhouette when Mathe looked into it. Somehow it was as if they were back where it all began.
Sorem moved his moist pink lips and said:
"Hello, Mathe..."
The merchant fought his urge but gave up when he closed the distance between them, took the boy's face between his hands, and kissed him intensely.
Sorem didn't respond to the other man's kiss at first until Mathe whispered in his ear:
"I was afraid that one of Patras' men would hurt you. I'm sorry..."
Sorem wrapped his arms around Mathe's body with some distance between them and said:
"The border isn't as we expected. Vishkar and Torgeir are in cahoots with Somalia's blessing."
Mathe turned his face away from Sorem, frowned, and asked:
"What?"
"I thought you didn't want complications on your side," Sorem said, changing the subject. "Even if we have a partnership, I know the king's brother will get rid of me when he no longer needs my help. I know it's every man for himself here. I'm alone, and I learned to be alone in the front. What do you want from me? Did you enjoy fucking me that much?"
Maybe it was the difference between Vask's and Vere's foreign languages, or Sorem's way of expressing himself, but sometimes it seemed as if there was no connection between the young man's words.
Mathe looked at the other man and said as he looked away.
"Yes, I enjoyed fucking you, but it wasn't just that... I don't know what it was. We're very similar. I'm lonely too. If you want, we can be alone together, Your Highness."
Hearing the words as if they echoed from a distant time or land, Sorem closed his eyes and spoke:
"I once heard that the loss of a twin is something excruciating. People say emptiness persists in the heart of the surviving sibling and that he spends his whole life trying to fill that void. Do you feel that too?"
Mathe ran a finger through Sorem's dark, military-looking hair and said, a little confused:
"My twin brother died when I was very young, Sorem. What do you mean by that? Are you talking about...?"
"I'm telling you I already have a gift to seal the alliance with the king's brother! Betthany thinks he's only doing this for her sake, but I'll arrange everything so he can help me negotiate with the mercenaries... I just need time to set things in Skarva."
"What are you talking about?"
"About the twins of the empire! Two boys are the sons of Betthany with a concubine man. They are being raised at the court and will please the king's brother. Quite young and with royal blood in their veins!"
Mathe frowned, somewhat surprised by Sorem's words and the changing topics of the conversation.
"Are you going to give him the twins?"
"It's necessary to feed the beast."
"Both of them?!"
"Twins are completely lost without their other half. If one goes into an abyss, it's better if the other goes too."
Mathe remembered the letter he brought, took it out of his jacket, and handed it to Sorem. The conversation made him dizzy. Perhaps the Vaskian hadn't spoken to anyone for so long, or the border had scrambled his brain.
Sorem read the king-brother's words and kissed the paper with a thin laugh of satisfaction.
"We are united in our thinking! The king's brother is willing to try to buy off the mercenaries from Patras. Vishkar and Torgeir are at the border to stop an invasion. The heirs are safe and sound. At first, I was pissed, but then I realized that this could be useful for us." — Sorem looked over the letter—"The lives of Torgeir and Vishkar keep Betthany vulnerable and the other nations away from the cause of the two kingdoms. The last thing we want is for Akielos to get involved in this dispute. But at some point, Vishkar and Torgeir will have to move on this plank, and when they do, they'll have to move in the right direction."
The two men talked about their next steps and as dusk fell, Mathe once again brought his face closer to Sorem's, who turned away.
"Mathe, no..."
"Don't you want me?" the merchant murmured in Vaskish into the other man's ear, pushing the boy's pale hand under his shirt. "I still have it."
The ring remained on the merchant's nipple, piercing it through the months like an arrow. Mathe didn't know why he showed it to Sorem again, looking like a stupid, lovesick lover.
"I was a foolish boy when I pierced you. You should remove it," Sorem said, amused. "Will you remember me when you're a serious Councillor?"
"You'll be the Emperor of Vask and we'll surely meet when we're on top. I'd like to have you on the throne of Skarva."
Sorem put a cigarette in his mouth, which Mathe lit. The two men stared at each other, the flame burning brightly between them. The Vaskian shook his face and said,
"What's all this about, Mathe? Do you realize that we're being rejected from all sides? Somalia never put me before her interests in peace and left me in Skarva when I was a kid. As a mother, she took better care of the Crown Empress than she did of me. Betthany wanted to use me and dispose of me at the first opportunity. Ishmael always valued Vishkar more than me, and now even Vishkar has a new best friend. Vishkar is close to Torgeir. Very close."
Sorem took a puff and continued:
"...And you... You have so many slaves at your disposal, but no friends. How long have you avoided your family in Kempt? You have only one whip and great ambitions. You killed your former lover and your bastard as if they were two insects, and here we're conspiring under the watchful eye of an ice-cold man. No one ever wanted us. We're indeed scum. The refuse of two kingdoms."
Mathe listened to the words, digested them, and in the end, he took Sorem's hand and kissed it on the back as if he were kissing the hand of a monarch.
"To hell with them! To hell with everyone who didn't want us. I want you! We're alike, Sorem. We grew up in other's shadows, waiting in this room for the right moment to reclaim all that is rightfully ours. I've missed you!"
"We're two monsters, Mathe!"
"Fuck that! We're the same thing. I can't get you out of my head! I don't care what we are! I'm sorry I pushed you away when you asked me to wait for you! I'm not used to anything lasting in my life!"
Sorem watched the merchant in the glow of the dying fire and replied, moving his fingers with the cigarette between them:
"Me neither. But when you're rejected so often, you get good at pushing others away."
"I felt bad when you dodged me last time. I... missed you, Sorem!"
The Vaskian let his yellow-green gaze slide to the other side of the room and looked at the full-length mirror, where he could see Mathe's face. As he looked at the reflection, he touched the other man's cheek to make sure his hand would appear in the image.
His reflected hand felt Mathe.
So, Sorem swallowed hard and allowed Mathe to untie the knot of his cloak and the laces threaded in the eyelets of his blouse. As the slave merchant undressed him, the ring on the Vaskian’s nipple became visible.
Sorem looked away and silently crushed the cigarette butt in a porcelain ashtray. And Mathe looked at him with tacit understanding and added affection to his meager repertoire of emotions.
From then on, they finally kissed and resumed what had only been interrupted. There was a starving void in Sorem yearning to be filled by an entire empire, but Mathe struggled to occupy that space. Burying a part of himself into that relationship and unearthing another for himself.
It was lazy days when the two lovers fucked during their meetings. Sorem liked the brutality and destroying himself a little in a sensual pleasure that didn't flatter him, but punished him.
They experimented together chalis and damiana, mounting slaves with the drugs in their bloodstreams and slaughtering themselves in depraved and vile pleasure as in a swarm where individuality was absent from the rhythmic operation.
Once, as the Regent walked through one of the open doors of the brothel rooms with his new pet and saw his two partners stoned and asleep between the sheets, he said to himself, watching them thoughtfully in the semi-darkness of the room:
"Bastards are like pests in a kingdom. It will be fun to watch an infestation."
The twentieth time Mathe and Sorem had fucked, they stood in front of the mirror, and over his lover's shoulder, Sorem stared at the intertwining of their bodies, longing to disappear into something distant and primal.
Afterwards, on the day Sorem finally had to return to the front, they parted. There were no harsh words between the two lovers, but intense kisses as they said goodbye on the road to Varenne.
Sorem wrapped his arms around Mathe's neck and murmured in Vaskish:
"Mai leafde. My love..."
"I'll see you in a few months. I will count the days..." Mathe replied in the Vaskian language as he stood on the muddy road, surrounded by the chirping of crickets and locusts.
Thus, with the neurotization of reality, Mathe's everyday life reached a new depth. What was simple suddenly became very complex.
Love could show itself as a glimmer of sanity in the lives of some confused souls, but for others, it could reveal itself as a shattering of imposed codes. Love didn't go over well for them. Together, they looked more perilous.
Their relationship grew closer when Sorem returned to Varenne under the pretense of investing in the negotiations between Vask and Vere, and Mathe received him like a waiting lover. And they yearned for each other more and more as their ambition simmered.
When Ismael accompanied Sorem on imperial journeys, Sorem misled his childhood friend and met Mathe in the markets. Sometimes the two men smoked hookahs in an inn room while they sat naked on the windowsills above the stalls and talked about their ambitious dreams. They called each other by real and imaginary names. They fantasized together.
At these moments, Sorem ran his fingers through Mathe’s fair hair and told him how important they would be, how respectable they would look with the Empire and the Council at their feet. Everyone would be watching them and know them.
The merchant blinked his gray eyes, laughed, and gave the Vaskian's thin neck a little squeeze as he said:
"The imperial locket suits you better than Vishkar."
Sorem stared into the dying fire and muttered:
"The royal crown would look better on you than on Hennike. Even better than on the Beast."
Meanwhile, the plans being hatched in the association grew more aggressive. The Regent, who was not yet Regent, was bothered by the queen's presence at the court and needed a poison that would kill her without arousing suspicion.
Then Sorem showed up with a terrarium of poisonous eastern ants that fascinated the Regent. The Veretian stared at the Vaskian as if seeing him in a new light.
"That might help you. It leaves no trace," Sorem said laconically. "They're common in Ver-Kindt. You don't need to hurt the ants. Just throw them at Hennike."
"There you go, you're getting better," praised the Regent, watching the insects carrying leaves and dead organisms into the box. "Why don't you throw one of those on your enemies?"
"I'll throw other things when the time is right," Sorem replied, watching the large ants move around.
Sorem remembered when he, Vishkar, and Ishmael were seven or eight years old. He had brought the heir empress a blue butterfly in his hand and Vishkar, jumping with joy and having the insect fly to her outstretched little finger, exclaimed:
"Sorem is the greatest!"
The three children strolled through Skarva's garden and watched the mating butterflies flying above them. Finally, they bent down under a stone bench to see a mysterious anthill in full bloom.
"Those are poisonous ants! Don't touch! They'll hurt you!" the boy said to Ishmael with an alarmed gesture.
Ishmael then spoke up, quickly pulling his little olive skin hand away and putting it around his friend's shoulder:
"Sorem knows all species! Sorem is the greatest!"
The Vaskian felt Vishkar's pale little arms wrap around him with the devotion that children display. And the three of them laughed with the joy that children feel.
Then Sorem threw this deep memory into his abyss. He killed it. Butterflies, ants, children, and bonds flew from a great height and shattered when they hit the rough ground. Vishkar and Ishmael also flew with the lightness of dolls sewn in Patras and were devoured into a dark infinity.
The Regent bribed a soldier to put the insects he had gotten from Sorem into Hennike's jacket, which she had forgotten on a branch while riding. But the Queen of Vere was tough enough to survive the attack by the poisonous ants. Then, the king's brother asked for another more effective poison that wouldn't arouse suspicion among the physicians.
As they walked around the brothel room naked and smoking after a few hours of analytical thinking and intense fucking, Sorem spoke:
"Mathe, you said that Hennike sent you to get the books from her Kemptian library, didn't you?"
"Yes," Mathe said, lying on the bed, "What are you up to?"
"There is a poison made with an herb. You can use crickets or locusts in its composition. We can achieve the golden color of the parts of a book with pigments and crushed mushrooms. Tell the king's brother I know how to kill Queen Hennike without arousing suspicion."
Sorem returned to the bed and Mathe slid his fingers over the white skin of the Vaskian's back.
"How did Betthany get the news that Aleron will help the king of Patras by sending him weapons and supplies? And that her dreamed-of alliance will be for her enemy?"
Sorem smiled.
"That old hag shouted like crazy and is determined to win the royal brother's favor since Theomedes stopped answering her letters. She attributes the help for Patras to Aleron and Hennike, unaware that it was the Beast who convinced the Council."
"You and the king's brother did a good job stringing Betthany along, offering her brass painted into gold. The roads in Acquitart provided to the Vaskians won't be much help, as it's a hostile area ruled by mountain mercenaries. The metal offered for the armor is of poor quality, as is the wood for the spears, which are scraps that Aleron would never have given to his soldiers in Vere. The king's brother has said that he will try to reduce supplies to Vask, and that he will only allow the death of the king of Patras when it suits him."
"The King's brother is bleeding Vask dry, while the Empress sees him as a benefactor. Betthany is not in her right mind and can bend backward to get help. The Vaskians are suffering and many disapprove of her. She has more than a few enemies in her kingdom now. We have her in the palm of our hands."
"Do you feel avenged now for what she did to you?" Mathe whispered in his lover's ear.
Sorem stared at the full-length mirror in the room, which reflected the closed door.
"No, that's not enough. It never will be. And now... How about you fuck me again, Your Majesty?" Sorem suggested, letting his lips slide over the other man's body again. "Let me come and forget the smell of that damn Ver-Vassel border. I hope Ver-Tan will be better."
"Are you excited to go there?" Mathe asked, touching the Vaskian intimately.
"Yes. It will be easier to break through the barrier there. Besides, Betthany will send her new lover to try to kill Vishkar or Torgeir in Ver-Vassel. The crown princes will be forced to move. You see, Vishkar and Torgeir have the same weakness: they don't know what to do when they realize the person they love doesn't love them back. They freeze and can stay in complete inertia on that damned border for another decade, trapped and cornered.”— Sorem moaned quietly because Mathe’s touch — “I don't want to be there when that happens."
Months later, Mathe negotiated with the leader of the Patran mercenaries under the Regent's guidance, concealing it under the mission to transport slaves from Bazal to Arles on behalf of Hennike. When he returned, accompanied by the slaves Latifa and Leon, he found his lover in Varenne in passionate anticipation.
So, weeks later, at one of the society's official gatherings in Belloy, Sorem stepped out of his carriage, holding a boy in each hand adorned with Vask's rubies. The Vaskian twins looked shy and out of place in the foreign land as they clutched their kinsman's tunic fabric.
The only person they knew and trusted in this unfamiliar place was Sorem. They had never been on a journey before.
The Vaskian kept his perfidious promise and, with Empress Bethany's consent, brought the twins of Vask to the Regent almost as sheep to a sacrifice.
The Regent, who was not yet Regent received them at the inn’s door with his gaze fixed on the children's olive-tanned skin and boyish limbs. The king's brother looked at Sorem with admiring respect and said:
"You're getting better and better, Sorem... You no longer seem like the pathetic, shameful man you were when I first met you."
Sorem let go of the boys' hands and spoke with his chin proudly raised:
"Am I worthy of the realm or not?"
The Regent looked at the Vaskian's face with a thin smile.
"I wish I had known you when you were younger, Sorem. It's dangerous to let you walk around all grown up and degraded. Look how far you've come."
Then the Regent looked at the boys in the light of the silver candelabrum he carried and said:
"...I know they say in Vask that blessings come twice," and as he raised the glow of the fire to illuminate Sorem's pale face, he added: "So does misfortune."
Sorem wrote from Ver-Tan to the king's brother in the later months. He would put into practice what the society had decided. Sorem would make the well of the men of Patras in Ver-Tan unsanitary and persuade Somalia to offer one of the wells of Vask.
He would then poison the well offered by Somalia, and when the Patras men began to die, the mercenaries would be sent to help.
In retaliation, the border of Ver-Tan would be taken and Mathe would take some sold soldiers from Vere to aid the mercenaries in their endeavor. The mission included the fleet running to Skarva. If the capital fell, Vishkar and Betthany would fall together.
*Mathe was seen with Vere's soldiers at the border, as Commander Somalia had reported in her last letter to Vishkar. But she had not seen the slave merchant who hours later was fucking Sorem in one of the trees in the coniferous forests. Nor had she seen the Vaskian sucking the Veretian's cock between the rocks.
When Sorem left the capital Skarva for Varenne at the behest of Vishkar herself, so that he could beg for Vere's mercy as an ambassador, Sorem felt victorious and toasted with Mathe in the usual brothel. A mercenary invasion was on its way to Skarva that could decimate Vask's forces.
Betthany and the former king of Patras were dead. Hennike had passed away, and the king's brother was pursuing his dark plans to dethrone Aleron and Auguste.
Sorem had administered a strong poison to a bribed herald of Vere who didn’t take a peace treaty to Akielos. The man had vanished from the earth, taking with him the truth that the Treaty of Vere had never come anywhere near Ios, and the fabricated lie that Theomedes and Damianos had spat on the peace offer.
A series of conquests made the Vaskian confident. The dreams of the empire he had imagined in dark rooms next to Mathe took on new contours. The society was winning through an armlock given in Vere and Vask.
However, Sorem's plans proved unsuccessful when an unforeseen peace treaty was signed in the east between Vask and Patras, mirroring the actions of the heirs.
Sorem's chances of ascending the throne were suddenly dashed. The war between Vask and Patras was over. In an unforeseen move, Vishkar and Torgeir had come to the throne with combined forces. The heirs had survived. The unpredictable had happened.
"I'm sorry it didn't work out." — Mathe murmured to his lover after kissing his hand and comforting him.
Sorem twitched the corners of his mouth and said:
"Skarva is destroyed and miserable. Many can't even stand on their own two feet. Vishkar will have a lot of work to do to rebuild it. Who says it didn't work? I know how to wait. That is my virtue. Until our partner is crowned king, it will be interesting to see how the world adapts."
"What about us?"
Sorem smiled, kissing the man's hand and interlacing their fingers.
"We persist. We're in the same boat. The king's brother is thrilled with his accomplishments and has promised Guion the position of Councilor because Guion can offer him more than you can right now."
Mathe was still boiling with rage at this information. Sorem, noticing his lover's agitation, hastened to say:
"...The Council thinks you're young and has problems with the fact that you were a slave merchant. You should better not get upset about it. Guion won't live forever, but he has to work hard to impress his benefactor. Besides, it's not a good time to act, my dear." — Sorem gazed at a moth flying inside the room, circling the lit brazier as if the fire was the entire sun — "Insects are interesting creatures to watch when you're forgotten at a damn border. They stay in their cocoons for a lifetime, waiting for the world to sort itself out in their favor, slowly transforming from the inside out. Let's wait for the world around us to become prosperous again. The king's brother will have to dispose of Laurent after he has killed Aleron and Auguste anyway. He won't be king as long as the boy lives."
Mathe frowned.
"Laurent is a little boy and it'll be easy to get rid of him."
Sorem repeated the words.
"Laurent is a little boy and his uncle will keep him alive until he's no longer a boy. That is the Beast's weakness."
Mathe's eyes darkened as he understood the Vaskian's words. Sorem continued:
"...This is a battle of kings. Let everyone vie for the crown and clear the path for us. There is much to be done. Since we're trapped in this life, let us enjoy the events in the shadows as if we were watching a ring."
Mathe smiled, hugging the other man and delighting in the idea.
"As if we were the kings and they were the slaves."
Sorem agreed, pleased at the idea.
"Yes... We can even bet if you want. But we'll have to be discreet when the time comes so no one notices us..."
Mathe took a puff on the straw cigarette Sorem brought to his lips and said:
"Who are you betting on, mai leafde?"
Sorem rolled his greenish eyes.
"On Akielos. Even in Fortaine, our partner has shifted the game in his favor. The South will swallow Vere and retake Delfeur. And that will be exactly what Aleron's brother wants."
As witnesses of time, the two lovers waited for Aleron and Auguste to fall at Marlas and for their partner to become Regent. They saw how Laurent remained a boy until he became a young man and so, an adult.
Patras was rebuilt with the help of Vask. Vask was rebuilt with the help of Patras. As expected, Vishkar married her friend Ishmael. Not only him but also a member of the national guard, Junity, and Mircela, a concubine.
The empress became pregnant with twins and the girls were born with enviable health and strength. The leopards reproduced. The harvests were huge in the years to come. The empire grew stronger and stronger as much as Patras.
Then there was Ishmael's death and Sorem's boldest gesture, which would have shocked even Mathe. There was Pari of Skarva, known from the brothel Guion frequented in the capital of Vask. There were many things.
And there was the Regent's fall as well.
There was the last meeting of the society in Ios, where the Veretian was to be executed in a public square after being tended to by competent physicians so he could die better.
Ironically, Mathe had become Councilor and Sorem Emperor of Vask before the Regent had ascended the throne. Perhaps the wait was a blessing for some and a curse for others. The Regent would never become king.
"Let's hold an official trial," Councilor Audin suggested before the herald who was to be sent to the capital of Vere. "That way we can give a voice to the victims and those who died as a result of the treachery of the Regent and his accomplices."
Chelaut nodded.
"I agree. Even if the execution is already a consensus, we owe the Veretians and the Akielons an explanation after the Regent plotted the public humiliation of his own nephew and his death."
Jeurre spoke:
"Not only the death of Laurent of Vere, but also that of King Aleron."
All eyes now turned to Herode, Vere's oldest Councilor. He was wise, cautious, and had the last word, unlike Mathe, a newcomer to the Council with a voice that carried the weight of a fly.
After a few seconds of thought, Herode agreed and said:
"Let's proceed with the protocols. Not only with the Regent but also with Guion and the other traitors in league with him. Before an execution, we must set things clear. People deserve it."
In other words, the trial was supposed to invite everyone to public humiliation to satisfy the people's hunger for retaliation and barbarism. The Regent had survived the soldier's sword thrust, and the trial was a symbolic act of purging. The execution of the Regent was certain and incontestable. The executioner was already sharpening his blade on soapstone and tanned leather. It was all according to protocol. The Veretians liked to beat around the bush.
So, the Regent's death would then be the execution of a dead man. And when his head was severed from his body with a precise stroke of the sword, the cocoon beneath the kingdoms would rupture for good.
During the trial, Mathe stood near the Council of Vere's in the Great Hall of the Akielon Palace in Ios. The Regent was dragged by a chain around his neck and stood before Laurent of Vere and Damianos of Akielos.
Damen had his abdomen bandaged and was supported by a physician so that he could sit on his throne and attend the most anticipated hearing.
The Great Hall was in chaos. Soldiers from both nations stood between the dark-veined marble columns, shouting in agitation. Peasants and merchants crowded under the stone arches, as did courtiers. Slaves served food in the open space. And there was euphoria under the glistening white sun.
Guion had already been condemned as the main mediator in the negotiations between Kastor and the Regent. The hall erupted in cheers and curses. A tomato had been thrown across the room and hit the man in the head with remarkable accuracy.
The Regent would be the last. The main course of snakes and lions was sent back to the oven to be served even juicier.
Laurent stood impassively, dressed in a white chiton and sitting impersonally on the throne that the Regent had occupied just a few weeks ago. He turned to Herode and said in his cold voice:
"My uncle killed the former king and wanted to kill me too. He was planning a coup d'état in Vere, supported by the bastard Kastor and his other followers. We have brought witnesses and there is no lack of evidence for the maximum penalty."
Mathe sat frozen in his chair. He had been named Councilor by the Regent when Guion had been captured. He had sided with the Regent and supported his decision to put his nephew on trial.
But the Regent had fallen, and Mathe knelt before Laurent to forgive him, like a rat deserting a drowning ship. Like the other Councilors, Mathe had proclaimed the crown prince king of his nation to save himself.
But the Regent knew who Mathe really was. He knew it! He could betray him with a single word or gesture. He had been his long-time partner.
Herode whispered something to Chelaut and then to Audin. He leaned over to Jeurre, who nodded. To Mathe, he only looked at. Herode raised his wrinkled hand and stood up:
"The Council will now pass judgment. We vote for the maximum execution."
The hall erupted in shouts and cheers. A Veretian soldier, hand in hand with another soldier from Akielos, made a lot of noise, whistling and banging against the pillars. The Kyros of Ios stood next to Damianos as a witness. Guion's wife, Loyse of Fortaine, made a relieved face. After the sentence was pronounced, she closed her eyes briefly before turning and leaving.
Herode continued:
"...And we undertake to investigate and punish all those involved in the acts against the kingship of Vere orchestrated by the said criminal."
The Regent kept his icy blue gaze as flanked by the Akielon soldiers. Only the corners of his lips curled, and he stared directly into his nephew’s face, who stared back at him. The two men were like two reptiles stalking each other.
Then the Regent, after displaying an embarrassed silence in the face of the Council's accusations and bored irony at the moments when he was given the floor, said sardonically.
"Will you be able to rule Vere on your own, Laurent? You?! You, who came to me so often as a little boy when you missed your family and begged me not to leave you alone? Are you on your knees in front of Akielos now?"
At that moment, Damianos took Laurent's hand in a protective gesture, stood up, and glanced at the Regent angrily.
A thin line stretched across Laurent’s face before Damen stepped forward, his eyes blazing like a lion’s. Some might have mistaken the words for the mockery of a condemned prisoner, but to others, they were a profound blow.
"Don't you dare! It won't work again. Laurent is not alone! You're a dead man! I told you! Get him out of here now!"
The king of Akielos made a motion with his fingers and ordered his guards to take the Regent back to prison. The hall was still abuzz with shouting and euphoria.
As he was led to his cell, the Regent's gaze met Mathe's and the former slave merchant felt a shiver run down his spine despite the intense heat of Ios.
Mathe remained seated in his high-backed chair for a few moments, watching slaves walking through the crowd carrying silver trays with pieces of orange, slices of melon, and fruit juices offered to the nobles.
The kings stood up and Laurent offered his shoulder to help Damianos return to his chambers.
Herode and the other councilors closed their folders of parchments in a bureaucratic gesture and tapped them to align the papers on the table. Tap tap.
Jeurre tapped Mathe twice on the shoulder, encouraging him like a veteran would a rookie.
But Mathe could only wallow in his fear. If the Regent betrayed him, he would be executed just like Guion.
Should he flee? But wouldn't that be proof of his participation in the event?
When a boy with chubby limbs in a chiton brought Mathe a sealed letter, waking him from his lonely trance, he stood up abruptly and looked for a familiar face in the crowd. Mathe handed the messenger some coins as he read the letter, left the hall, rode his horse, and immediately set off for the market.
The city of Ios had been celebrating Damianos’ return for days and the sun was high in the sky, scorching the tiles and seedlings. The glow in the alleyways was bright and labyrinthine, almost maddening.
Sorem appeared in the markets, wearing a cloth that protected his pale skin from the morning heat.
Mathe kissed him passionately. Years passed and Sorem was no longer a nymph, but a grown man. Handsome, imposing, cultured — an emperor of Vask who had joined the empire by marrying Vishkar after the death of Ishmael.
The two men smiled at each other, hugging in the sea of people who piled onto their shoulders with parcels and baskets.
"You have come..."
"I always come," Sorem replied in Vaskish, slipping Mathe's hand under his blouse and placing it over the nipple ring.
Mathe smiled but then frowned when he saw a group of Veretian soldiers carrying ceramic bottles of wine and humming. They were Laurent's men. One of them was Enguerran. They would be surprised if they saw the Councilor in the markets. Mathe was no longer a merchant. He was an important man of Vere.
"Come with me."
Mathe held Sorem’s jeweled wrist and pulled him around people, horses, and oxcarts through the alleys. They ran when they saw a group of Akielon soldiers making their rounds and took cover on a narrow uphill of limestone surrounded by olive trees.
Sorem touched his chest, drew the air into his lungs, and gasped.
"Mathe, don't make me run like this! You know that my heart, just like Betthany's, is weak..."
The Vaskian let his hand glide over her damp skin and removed the veil from his neck:
"...I managed to escape from Skarva, saying I would stay in Acquitart for a long time. Vishkar is suspicious of me, and Pari is not keeping her end of the bargain. But I had to come, and after learning that the Regent had been captured here, I crossed Patras and traveled day and night... What was decided?"
Mathe took a deep breath and said as he watched some goats with bells around their necks nibbling on the green grass some distance away.
"The Regent will be executed."
"And he mentioned our names?"
Mathe shook his face and ran his hand over his neck.
"No. And that scares me even more. I don't know what he's up to..."
Sorem sat down on one of the dilapidated stone walls and said after a moment of thought, blinking his amber eyes in the sunlight:
"You must seek him out in prison and offer him our unconditional support."
Mathe narrowed his gaze.
"How?"
"Tell him that the army I have raised in Vask and the mercenaries whose loyalty we have bought will come to his aid. Tell him I'll gather them with the soldiers and bastards the Regent has recruited and they are all marching to Ios."
The Councilor narrowed his gaze even more."
Do you want to declare war on Akielos?"
Sorem looked at Mathe and pulled his handsome face slightly. He frowned as if the idea was far-fetched.
"No... Why would I do that?"
Mathe watched his lover for a few seconds until the idea revealed its true nature.
"... It's not a crime to give a dead man some hope. We don't need to save him. We need to save ourselves and buy some time..."
Mathe approached Sorem's face and touched his cheeks.
"So, does Your Imperial Majesty think we should let the Regent die?"
Sorem turned his gaze to the sky, where a lone kite was soaring from a tall house with narrow windows. After a few seconds, another kite joined the first, cutting through the shrill blue sky.
"You are the Councillor now, my love. What is your best advice?"
The next morning, Mathe received permission to visit the Regent. He presented the idea to the Council as a humanitarian gesture. Mathe often disguised his selfish intentions with generosity, and the other Council members considered him a man with a soft heart.
The prisons of Ios were hot and built into sharp rocks near the sea. The air was salty and a dirty mat was laid for the men to sleep on the rough floor. The bars were thick and locked with chains and bolts rusted by the sea air.
An Akielon guard escorted Mathe to the Regent and the Councilor nodded his thanks before the man moved away, holding his spear at a distance and watching the conversation.
The Regent approached the bars and looked up at Mathe with languid eyes. Despite the red tunic that looked worn, the blood stains on the fabric, and the bruises on the Regent’s face, it was clear that he had hardly moved on from the aloof and authoritarian image of Arles as a hardened profile etched in metal.
"Oh, it's you... I thought you were the executioner in charge of the morning beatings and pathetic insults..."
Mathe lowered his eyes and whispered:
"I came to show my solidarity, milord. I had little power before the Council and Laurent, but we have a plan."
According to Sorem's idea, Mathe promised the condemned man three armies, a declaration of war, a ransom, political protection in Skarva, and unlimited support in the mission to free him before his execution. The Regent listened to everything with his impersonal expression and said at the end in his unchanged voice:
"It was a good move to throw you into the arms of Sorem of Ver-Tan, Mathe, and leave you two alone for so long. You served me well and were wise enough to keep your head down during the harsh times. You are patient and seek for weakness before you strike. You are the most dangerous creatures to have around. Alone you destroy yourselves and are nobodies, but together you are strong and feel like it's just the two of you fighting the world. Do you think I believe all this bullshit? You want me dead."
Mathe swallowed and held the Regent’s gaze for a few seconds. An Akielon guard passed some distance away and inspected the cells.
The Councillor muttered:
"Milord..."
"And I know this was Sorem's idea. I think the only thing he regrets is that I didn't kill Vishkar for him. He knew his poisons could be discovered on Vask. I've always wondered how Sorem felt about fucking the Empress, with all the hate he has inside him. I think I have an idea."
"So, will you report us?"
The Regent propped his elbows on the railing in a relaxed gesture.
"And why would I do that? You're the most dangerous thing we have here. And I will now release you into the company of my nephew."
Mathe blinked. The Regent continued:
"...You could be like a swarm of locusts devouring the crops sown by Laurent and Damianos. If I hand you over, I will gain nothing. But if you stay alive, you can be of use."
The Councillor lowered his tone, his gaze fixed on the guard.
"Do you want us to get rid of the kings?"
"I don't know if you are capable of that. Ambition requires taking risks."
Mathe stared at the man in front of him, who seemed comfortable in his cell.
"... If you two stay in the shadows, Sorem will end up like a pet concubine watching Vishkar rule for decades, leaving her throne to her twin daughters. And you'll settle for a shitty Councilor position and a pat on the back from a bunch of noblemen who see you as nothing more than a slave merchant just learning to walk on two legs and sign papers. In short, if you don't flap your wings, you'll both remain a nobody."
Mathe moved angrily towards the bars and approached the Regent, who did not flinch. Some distance away, an Akielon soldier asked in his language if everything was all right, and Mathe nodded.
"You may think I'm a nobody, but you're the one who will be beheaded and put on display in the street of traitors!" replied Mathe through clenched teeth.
The Regent laughed, feeling no joy.
"The more my nephew tries to wipe me out, the more I exist. There wouldn't be so many men around me if I were insignificant."
Mathe replied:
"I have royal blood, just like Sorem!"
"So, prove yourselves, and show me you've learned something. You have an army. You have the future enemies of Laurent and Damianos by your side. You have the poisons we haven't used in Vere for over five years to avoid suspicion. You can have the king's trust. Do something if you don't want to spend the rest of your lives calling yourselves Your Majesty in a fake post-fuck tale."
Mathe stared at the Regent's face for a while, lingering in his dry expression. In many ways, the Regent seemed like a hollow shell from which came a voice that could assault anyone's ego.
"...Kill my nephew," the Regent said matter-of-factly. "Damianos will be as devastated as Aleron was by the loss of Hennike. Use Vishkar and Torgeir's distrust against them. That woman called Pari that Sorem is using in Skarva is dangerous. Keep an eye on her. It's not that hard to use people's feelings to your advantage, and it has its charms. We never wanted just Vere or just Vask. I made that clear when I sent the mercenaries to kill the former king of Patras and ceded my army to Kastor. When I ascended the throne, we intended to annex the four kingdoms. In a way, you are my heirs. Take everything with you."
As Mathe prepared to leave, still a little confused, the Regent said to him with a wry smile:
"Do you know what the irony of life is, Mathe? Everyone is a captive slave to life. And do you know what the irony of death is? It is freedom. But the greatest irony of all is that I, a king, am freeing a slave merchant today."
It wasn't just the Councillor and Sorem who were dreaming. The Regent had never become king, as Hennike had prophesied before her death. He was only a Regent, as Herode emphasized. Mathe then murmured a little thoughtfully:
"Do you accept your death?"
The Regent smiled and turned around.
"I will be alive every day. What about you, my very dear pests? Will you be alive? Will you both end up pursuing your ghosts or your fantasies?"
There was silence, interrupted by the distant sound of the waves and the cries of seagulls. Mathe swallowed hard and looked at the horizon in the distance. Then the Regent said over his shoulder:
"... You are Hennike's illegitimate brother, son of the former king of Kempt, and a Veretian woman who raised you as a merchant's son. And Sorem is the disowned son of Betthany, the former Empress of Vask. I have to give Sorem credit for managing to marry and fuck his own twin sister since Vishkar believes they're just third cousins. He's as vile as you, Mathe, who watched me killing Hennike from the ringside seat. Or like me. Blessings and misfortunes come in pairs, my dear partner. Give me Laurent's head. Let him suffer until the end! At least you owe me that!"
When the Regent's execution occurred, Sorem and Mathe were in an inn on Ios, watching the goings-on in the squares from the windowsill.
The heat was intense and dust particles hung in the dry, static-charged air. The smell was acrid and the sun seemed to want to blast doors and windows with its glistening white.
The alleyways were teeming with dark heads, crowding the paths and worshipping barbarism as purification in their breathing language. Music was played and merchants were selling roasted almonds on trays set up in stalls, but what one expected to see was the head of a traitor served in a hysteria in which everyone melted down and disappeared.
Sorem felt a shiver run through his body as the door of the room he was opened of its own accord. He heard a distant wind-borne chant that reminded him of a song he had heard years ago in Vask. Two overlapping children's voices rose in high, melodic tones.
The voices were reminiscent of the Skarva's twins, who had participated in soirees in the Vaskian capital before being fed to the Regent and silenced forever.
Sorem, thinking the sound ominous, closed the windows and leaned over the hookah to smoke it. Then Mathe put the metal mouthpiece to his mouth and leaned his head against the wall to be lulled by the many voices that sounded like a mournful lullaby. He exhaled the smoke like wispy clouds or ghosts floating in space. Into the dark room, the thin light cut the exit into a static rectangle.
The Councillor muttered into the void as a shout rose from the crowd filling the alleyways, driving Sorem's hand across the metal ring on his chest. Perhaps something inside him would die too, or be born with the precise blow of an executioner.
"Your Imperial Majesty ... What shall we do?"
Sorem pulled Mathe's hand and placed it on his chest as well. His metal ring was still there under his clothes, connected to the rhythmic movements of his heart. Cold and hard.
The ring would always be there and from that deal, the two men fed each other like twins fed by hard umbilical cords. No one wanted them, but they longed for each other.
Two bastards separated from their twins came to a new pair as a disgrace.
"What are we going to do..." — Sorem murmured.
The lovers had already done so much wrong. They had enacted betrayal, violence, poison, lies, and death with cold, brutal harshness, somehow standing in the shadow of the man who had forged them and who now lay dying in the courtyard.
The world had changed and so had they.
No, there was no turning back. And there was no more room for them in the darkness. They had to break out of their shell and take what was theirs: a plantation, a full kingdom, power, life... What more?
Sorem murmured then, staring at the lighted exit of the room and keeping his amber gaze fixed on the white morning light in which the dust particles danced lazily:
"Let's go out, Mathe. The day is beautiful and it's time. Let's see the sun."
AUTHOR'S NOTES
Since I started writing this fanfic in November/December 2022, the idea of Laurent and Damen's enemies was naturally already finished. The excerpt from book 3 of "Kings Rising" that opens this chapter fired my imagination. And Sorem emerged from a very dark corner of my mind, from a concept of the twofold, and shadow, which can be seen in films like "We" and "The Black Swan", for example. Mathe and Sorem were supposed to be a shadow of Damen and Laurent, living locked in something.
I didn't want them to be psychopaths like the Regent or narcissists like Betthany, and I had to introduce them carefully and explain to readers in the previous chapter and in this one how they managed to remain unscathed for so long and come under the noses of four clever and observant monarchs.
Mathe and Sorem are victims of the society they live in, where bastards are left behind and monarchs are constantly going mad. They are the fruits of an unstable world and with this perspective, they support their ideals. But they are not only victims, they are also victimizers.
How did Sorem try to gain Damen's trust? Through victimization.
And with his victimization, he has always caused tempers to flare between Vere and Vask.
When I got to writing this chapter, I realized that despite everything, I felt sympathy for Sorem and Mathe, and this sympathy made me nervous. Their crimes are disgusting. There is no turning back. That's when I realized I had fallen into the characters’ trap.
We've all been victims (and villains too) at some point. We often sit in the victim's chair, alternating with other chairs. We suffer from many things in life, and sometimes, through carelessness, clumsiness, or lack of awareness, we are also the villains in other people's stories. However, in this story, most characters have wounds and have been victims of something.
Moving on is one of the most important and meaningful lessons in life. It makes us the protagonists of our own story.
"Villains" must be punished by the law. Victims need time to heal and need to see a specialist when the pain is unbearable. They also need support and justice.
But when a person is trapped in their pain, a process of victimization may occur, and that place is compelling (and dangerous). As my therapist, who helped me a lot in writing this story, said, victimizers (not victims) don't look for solutions, they look for allies. Victimizers occupy a place of great power because their perception is that they are ALWAYS right. And in life, no one is always right.
Sorem and Mathe feel that the world owes them something and they have done much worse in revenge. Everyday death is also about letting go of your own pain instead of sitting on it like a throne. The two now sit in the villains’ chair without realizing they are no longer what they once were.
We die several times in our lives, leaving behind concepts about ourselves that are constantly changing and maturing. Change is inevitable and healthy, and letting go of our old “self” is often the growth and learning of a lifetime. Resisting it, parking ourselves in a “victim” or other roles, and remaining faithful to the immense pain to legitimize it ad eternum, makes us stagnant. Resisting this driving force of life is a path of suffering and inevitable loss. It makes us prisoners of ourselves.
Speaking of "letting go of the pain", I know many who follow this story were enthralled by the chapter that tells how Laurent ordered the Regent's execution (it's one of the chapters with the most views on Wattpad). I'm not going to defend the Regent, because I don't cover pedophiles and femicides. It was a pleasure for me to write it. Through fiction, I've allowed myself to sit in the barbarian's and judge's chair, even though I don't condone violence in real life (where would we be without the quotation marks of fiction?).
But what worries me about the execution of the Regent is Laurent himself. What was he trying to kill on the outside that he couldn't do on the inside? Pacat's genius was to make the Regent disappear without much fuss. We hardly notice it. One second, he's there and the next he's gone. At the end of book 3, Laurent's heart is full of love and when you love this much, you have no time or space to hate or seek revenge. That's for sure.
But this is a fanfic and, like all fanfic, inherently carries the legacy of "it's not over yet."
What is inside Laurent that he can't kill? Or let go? Or execute?
This is a perilous situation with two villains who won't let go of what's been done to them. It's easy to go from victim to villain with the snap of a finger. And vice versa.
How can we stop this back and forth?
As written in the chapter "Bastards", we must let go of the past. Forgiveness has little to do with the other person and much more with ourselves. Forgiveness is the freedom we allow ourselves because hating is exhausting. It is a captivity. And nobody can be happy if bound by chains of any kind.
And speaking of Laurent, what is he also trying to free himself by freeing the slaves?
Don't miss the final chapters. Thank you to everyone who has followed this story so far.
Chapter 13: Liberty (Part 1)
Summary:
Penultimate Chapter
Notes:
In the first Portuguese version of this story, there is a chapter called "Mirror" right after the "Poison" chapter. It tells the behind-the-scenes story of the war between Vask and Patras and contains some interesting scenes, such as Theomedes' visit to Skarva when Damianos is still a child, and the mention of the kingdoms of Vere and Akielos at the height of the war.
It's a long chapter, but it was necessary because I needed to convey the structure of this war that triggered the current events. However, when I was working on the translations to English, I wanted so much to start the second book with the chapter "Trust", which forms the backbone of the sequence, and I felt that the story of the war between Vask and Patras would interrupt the sequence.
Therefore, some events mentioned in this chapter are better explained in the "Mirror" chapter, which will be translated into the extras after this story ends.
Chapter Text
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y3juCog-iBc&list=RDy3juCog-iBc&start_radio=1
Laurent woke up slowly, his body was heavy and his limbs felt numb. He had lost consciousness, and as he was dragged somewhere, the Veretian heard a distant voice in his head, murmuring something:
"My prince..."
It sounded like a soft glissando making the hairs on the back of the Veretian's neck stand on end, as if fingertips had slipped over his neck.
Then Laurent caught sight of a movement of gold and silver threads in the shadows —Auguste's agitated walking when he was nervous.
Auguste wore the armor that had covered him in Marlas like a weapon and shroud.
Was this a fantasy or a ghost?
Perhaps both.
Or was this death, borrowing from the once living to be accepted?
Perhaps all three.
Confronted with this scenario, Laurent took two steps back into the night and plunged into the void from the top of a battlement.
"Little potato, open your eyes!" Auguste shouted, stepping forward and grabbing his brother's wrist. "Don't go away! Stay here!"
Laurent blinked and looked into his brother's face. And when he closed his eyes for a few seconds, he no longer saw himself hanging high up on a battlement, but in Hennike's arms, in front of the fire, as if he were still a child.
His mother ran her finger over her son's cheekbones. Hennike was no longer the gaunt woman on her deathbed, but the sweet figure Laurent preferred to remember.
She smiled and said:
"My prince, my king..."
Laurent felt as warm as he had as a child. Then he swallowed hard and said, as he felt his mother's embrace and the flames of the fire close to his skin. He had missed those moments more than he could express.
"Mommy... I've called for you many times right after Auguste and Dad left. I called for you on the nights I wanted to die. When life became unbearable..."
Hennike let her lips glide over her youngest son's forehead.
"I know, baby. I was there. I was also by your side on those nights when you wished to live more than anything else."
Laurent remembered how he and Damen had embraced by the fire the last time they had been together in Mellos, before the Kingsmeet. The night they had dared to wonder what the world would be like if their circumstances and choices had been different.
Then Laurent stood up and lifted his head from Hennike’s lap. He looked at Auguste, who was sitting somewhere nearby. Suddenly they were no longer in a room but a clearing, like the woods surrounding Arles.
The mist was rising from the ground and seemed to be the first hour of the morning. The two brothers looked at each other and when Laurent felt the deep ache in his chest, he murmured:
"I'm sorry, Auguste... I couldn't fight with my own heart."
The man with the long, very light hair stood up in his shining armor and said, touching Laurent on the shoulder.
"I never blamed you for that. I'm glad Love found you anyway. You will always be my brother, Laurent. Whether away from Damianos or by his side. Alive or dead. I will always love you the same."
Laurent took a deep breath and felt a weight fall from his chest. His eyes grew moist. Then he looked around. Hennike, who was still sitting by the fire, smiled at him.
"Am I dead? Is this the end?"
Auguste pondered:
"I had always thought that death was something different from life. Two opposites. But the two coexist with each other. We'll say goodbye many more times, Laurent. We will also see each other again many times. That's the living's dance. But you mustn't think about that now and that's not why you're here."
Laurent directed his gaze to a path where Hennike pointed with her slender finger.
Laurent looked in that direction and approached a corridor. When he looked back, his mother and brother were no longer there. He followed the path paved with the salty smell of the sea. He knew this place. He had been there before.
Then the Veretian came across a rusty door. From inside, he heard the loud knocking of something trying desperately to get out. How often was he confronted with this door that had frightened him so much in his dreams?
The noise inside was deafening. The cry of swallows could be heard in the sky and the sea beat against the rocks in the distance under the white sun.
Laurent put his hand over his heart, took a deep breath, and felt the fear take hold of him. After almost a minute, he fumbled for the latch and moved it with the clink of metal.
So, he plucked up his courage and opened the door.
The morning light and the bright sunshine of Ios let him see. At first, Laurent thought the figure in the cell was Nicaise. And perhaps he did see him as Nicaise at first. But everything changed when the boy stepped forward in his school uniform and patent leather boots.
Laurent saw himself as a thirteen-year-old child. And as he felt it hit him, he murmured to the one he had once been:
"Little potato..."
The boy replied:
"I thought you weren't coming anymore..."
Laurent stepped towards the child and knelt in the fine sand that led into the enclosure. The boy who had been Laurent took another step forward.
After almost a minute, Laurent said in a choked voice:
"I tried to protect you when my uncle became Regent. I tried to hide you in a deep place since I didn't want him to reach you. Forgive me for not being able to stop him. Forgive me for not being able to take care of you!"
Laurent, on his knees, felt his eyes burning and the tears he shed overwhelmed him. He was still very young when he decided to become an adult and leave his naive view of the world behind. He erected so many barriers around himself, leaving that part imprisoned.
The child took another step and touched Laurent's shoulder feeling his body move with sobs. The boy smiled as he had smiled at Auguste in the gardens of Arles.
"It's all right. You did what you could do. And you did the best you could. But I felt fear in Ios when you offered your life at the trial. I'm scared this time too. You don't always have to sacrifice yourself, Laurent. Or punish yourself. Or hurt yourself. There is no guilt."
Laurent felt close to this part of himself and wrapped his thirteen-year-old self in his arms. The boy also wrapped his arms around the Veretian and asked:
"...Can I go with you? I don't want to be separated from you any longer. Please take me in."
Laurent stared at his reflection and felt his heart pounding in his chest. Then he smiled through his tears, took the boy's hand, and nodded.
When Laurent turned around, he saw Hennike and Auguste riding their white horses with shiny cloaks. They rode towards the path leading to the woods, and Laurent held his hand at the beach.
"I'm not dead," — Laurent said, staring at the churning waves, — "I still feel the life running inside me..."
"Do you want to be alive?" Auguste asked.
Laurent let the memories of the first and last years of his life flow through his body like an ocean breeze before he raised his blue eyes to the dead and said.
"I love you, Auguste and Mommy. I love you so much. But if you don't mind, I'll stay a little longer... I want to go on living."
Auguste smiled and looked at his younger brother, who was now a grown man, almost as old as he was when he had left. Auguste was brimming with a pride he had never been able to express in life. He nodded and said:
"Live as long as you have to live, Laurent. Be happy... One day, at the right time, we will meet again..."
Laurent held the thirteen-year-old boy’s hand as Auguste and Hennike’s horses moved towards the trees in the mist. At some point, someone on a horse joined them, riding in the same direction, and Laurent realized it was Theodore.
Laurent blinked and asked:
"Where's Daddy?"
Hennike turned over her shoulder with a soft smile and said:
"He hasn't been with us for over a year. He's been reborn in your world. There is something he has yet to learn about love. He needs to learn to forgive his enemies."
Laurent looked at the hoofprints on the path and turned back to the expanse of the Sea of Ios. He looked at the boy, whose hand he held stronger, and smiled at him as only a whole person could smile.
Then the two of them entered the salty sea, where the waves crashed against the rocks and splashed the foam into the air like snow.
Laurent turned his back on his dead and let them go.
Quietly, they followed their path as he continued on his way.
Then life, which is all we know about, moved on.
Just as it must be.
Laurent woke up a little dazed. His limbs felt tired, and the salty air was still in his mouth as if he had emerged from a raging sea.
The back of the Veretian king's neck prickled slightly. His eyelashes fluttered, and his face moved a little under the flickering light of the burning lamps that filled the room.
This time the Veretian was not surrounded by a musty, damp smell, as when he had been locked up in a cell by Govart. Instead, he smelled the scent of the fleurs-de-lis that bloomed in the palace gardens in early spring.
The flowers resembled a star and were one of the symbols of Vere. They were also abundant in Kempt.
Laurent stood in the Great Hall of Arles, whose tapestries and magnificent tables filled the room. The flags unfurled with the star circled the place. The Veretian looked down at his fingers and saw them lying motionless on the leather upholstery of his throne.
"You're just as hard to kill as Hennike."
Laurent's pulse quickened with an involuntary panic reaction and he stared at Mathe accompanied by Sorem of Ver-Tan.
With them was a Veretian soldier carrying an ax. The entrance was locked, and sounds could be heard from the gardens. None of his loyal men were around. He was alone.
How long had Laurent been unconscious? A few minutes? Hours? Had the capital been taken?
Whatever it was, he had to live.
With great effort, the Veretian king forced himself to do nothing. There was no point in trying to run, for the drug was still in his bloodstream and his tendons and muscles were numb and useless.
More to ensure he made it than anything else, Laurent tried to speak:
"Well, in my humble opinion, I inherited it from my father. My uncle is the most annoying thing to get rid of..."
"And when you did it, you did it with all the pomp to vent your pettiness, didn't you, Laurent of Vere? A memorable execution, indeed," Sorem said.
Laurent thought that if he ignored the fact that he was drugged, he was one against three with the guiding hand of his uncle, a dead man. Sorem had served in the war, but he was unarmed. Mathe had no military training, but he was strong.
The soldier had the edge of the blade in front of him. Although, the Veretian Guard didn't train with axes and this traitorous soldier did not know how to use the weapon.
One against three and one dead.
Laurent had fought in worse rings. Then, he spoke:
"Have you mourned my uncle's execution? I could have made sure you kept him company, Sorem."
Mathe's slap moved Laurent's face and the Veretian smiled as the drug numbed the pain. Laurent spat the blood on the ground and laughed for a reason he didn't know:
"As the most amazing man in the world says, you hit like a milk-fed catamite."
In his rage, Mathe raised his fist in the air and struck Laurent again, who was anesthetized by the drug. Despite the taste of blood in his mouth, the Veretian King suddenly felt an immense urge to laugh. He chuckled.
Sorem took a cooler stance, brought the candelabrum closer to Laurent's face, and looked into his dilated pupils.
"That's the drug. The effects will wear off soon and then you can have fun with him, Mathe. I doubt he'll find it funny when the ax cuts him down."
An important piece of information. A small victory. It was necessary to maintain a rational train of thought.
When the axe cuts him down.
Of all the deaths Laurent had imagined, he had never thought he would be killed while sitting on his throne. He had even considered the possibility that Paschal had pointed, that he would die because he had been fucked by Damen recklessly, but not that way. Laurent, chemically altered almost laughed at the memory of it.
No. It was necessary to control and delay whatever Mathe and Sorem were up to. It was necessary, despite all fun and restraint, to act rationally.
When the drug's effect wears off...
Laurent interrupted his laughter, which made him seem harmless, and said:
"I wonder why you didn't throw the poison you used on Jeurre at me. Of course, I wouldn't drink it out of a servant's cunt, but you might get other ideas."
Sorem said, crossing his arms.
"The poison works very quickly when ingested, but slowly when inhaled. Jeurre died quickly, but we had to kill the slave to make it look like a lovers' quarrel before she screamed in pain because the poison was corroding her vagina."
Laurent moved his face and rested his neck on the back of the throne.
"But you missed something in this plan and allowed the blame to be placed on Chelaut!"
Mathe said:
"The slave was part of Chelaut's entourage and he saw me leave Jeurre's room after I went there to slit his throat to give credence to what happened and kill Aimée. I had convinced Chelaut to give his wife's slave to the Councilor, as it was a humanitarian gesture and would have no serious consequences since the servant was barren." — Mathe raised his eyes, gazing at the door after a screaming came from the gardens —"I gave Aimée a few coins. I persuaded her to insert the poison into her vagina, pretending that it was a harmless aphrodisiac. Jeurre was a fool with women and almost knelt before Aimée. He imposed the decorum of Vere and kept an eye on everyone, but all it took was one pussy and he was doomed."
"Literally..." — Laurent said, "So, you blackmailed Chelaut into taking the blame."
"A wife and kids aren't always a fallacy, Laurent. All I had to do was say that I would look for Chelaut's wife and children in Lys one after one, and he took all the blame after wandering around the palace all night."
Laurent glanced briefly at the soldier still holding his ax and patiently listening to the story.
It was necessary to buy time.
"And what was your problem with Jeurre anyway, Mathe? Did you just kill him because he liked pussy more than his position on the Council?"
"No, you idiot! Jeurre saw me leave the room where Damianos was going through the papers you brought from the archives right after you made a scene and the Kyros of Ios had taken Sorem to the infirmary. I told a story to Jeurre, but he started to suspect me. It got worse when he saw me kissing Sorem in the back of the palace."
"And what did you want on the papers?"
"The records of how I retrieved Hennike's books from Kempt and brought them to Vere. Let's just say they took a detour to Varenne and the cargo stayed there for too long while Sorem poisoned them. It's not even that important, but you were determined to learn something suspicious from the wartime after the meeting with Torgeir and Vishkar."
A sound of metal could be heard at some distance away and Laurent hurried to speak before haste overcame Mathe's desire to tell of his deeds.
Laurent led his labyrinthine speech.
"Is that how you killed my mother? With poisoned books?"
Mathe paused for a moment.
"You know nothing, boy, but we were impressed by the kind of literature you had Charls bring you from the south. I bet the barbarian from Akielos demands a lot of acrobatics from you in bed while he fucks you to exhaustion."
Laurent felt part of him blush and the other part felt the sudden urge to laugh.
"I always like to be up to date. You poisoned the book in Charls' room."
"Yes. You and Damianos were locked in a meeting room with some nobles, soldiers, and pets on your birthday and I couldn’t lose the opportunity. One of my men knew the book was meant for you, but you took your time reading it, didn't you, your frigid boy from the Regent's chambers?"
The mention of his uncle and the knowledge of his dark side touched a nerve in Laurent and he felt the anger in his chest and his blood pressure rise again. This time it took him more effort not to rebel.
Looking at his two tormentors, Laurent said:
"I thought poison killed slowly if not ingested. The book wouldn't kill me so quickly anyway."
"We just wanted to get you out of the way with the book, Laurent, instead of letting you snoop around and change the kingdom’s laws. After that, it would have been easier to put an end to you. But you started breaking into rings and wanting to investigate more and more, and that's where we need to get tougher."
Laurent made a noise of contempt.
"You betrayed my uncle's noble followers shortly after his fall to gain my trust and that of the Council..."
Mathe smiled:
"More than that, cornering the Regent's followers was essential. They had to turn to me when I stirred up their hatred for you, Laurent. You're not the only one in Arles who knows how to think..."
"I see. And how did it feel to have your lover become Councilor Audin's chamber boy, Mathe?"
Mathe frowned. The one who spoke was Sorem.
"Audin was instrumental in my infiltration of the court and I had to distract him while Mathe convinced his servant Theodore to put damiana in the wine on your birthday, Laurent. Many slaves here feel they owe Mathe something because he was once the royal slave chief." — Sorem squinted his yellowed eyes at the fire —"Theodore especially felt that Damianos of Akielos was manipulating and using you. How do you think Auguste's former lover felt when he saw the man who had killed him? Theodore believed that the herb would cause an argument between the Akielon and Veretian courts when Damianos' soldiers began to want to fuck the women of Arles and their taboos. Laurent would have to take a stand and send the Akielons away."
Laurent blinked his blue eyes.
"But it wasn't just a lovers' quarrel you wanted..."
"No," Mathe said, "We wanted a fight between the four nations, especially with Pari being fucked like a commodity by two brutal Akielons. But you managed to turn the chaos into innocent fun with your viper tongue. Vishkar and Torgeir controlled their men, thinking you and Damianos were responsible for the damiana in the wine. The day after, Theodore came to me full of guilt when he saw you next to Damianos and wailed, 'Laurent loves him. Auguste would like to see how Damianos treats Laurent. The way they look at each other... Laurent looks happy! I haven't seen him this happy since Auguste died.' Theodore said he'd look for you and tell you the whole truth. So, I hanged him and faked his suicide behind the palace."
Laurent felt the pain in his throat intensify because of the cord Mathe had used to suffocate him, and he discreetly moved his toe, feeling his commands get back. He had to keep talking.
"You also killed Councillor Audin."
Sorem said:
"I tried to get a Council secret out of him, but his lips were sealed. He was loyal to you, Star of Vere. Still, Audin only spilled just one thing yesterday. He heard you in the garden sending Lady Vannes to fetch the Trust-worthies from an inn. What are they? An army?"
Laurent forced himself to maintain his impersonality.
"I suppose you could say that."
"You should take better care of your Councilors, Laurent. Excluding them from so many important and trustful decisions could hurt deeply."
"Speaking of hurting deeply, tell me what it was like to murder a man who mounted your man, Mathe? I admit that Vask's polygamy never ceases to amaze me, and I don't know much about infidelity."
The corner of Mathe's lips twitched disdainfully.
"When Audin saw that a rebellion was brewing, he wanted to gather the soldiers and order them to stand outside the royal chambers. He wanted to go in search of Jord. At that moment, I used my voice as a Councilor to order all palace guards still serving you to bypass the rebellion outside and leave only those who obey me inside."
Laurent blinked and unobtrusively moved his little finger. His face now ached from Mathe’s slaps. In an impersonal voice, he spoke:
"I must congratulate you on staging a rebellion and assassination in my palace. Certainly, Mathe covets the throne on which I sit, but what do you want, Sorem of Ver-Tan?"
The emperor raised his yellow-greenish eyes to the ceiling and said thoughtfully:
"Come on, Star of Vere, can't you guess?"
"The throne of Vask! But I wonder if you'll have the ability to kill Vishkar. I saw her fight Torgeir on the training ground, and I think she can beat the crap out of both of you."
Sorem grimaced in disgust. Laurent had struck a nerve.
"I won't have to kill her. Your beloved Damianos will go after Torgeir's accomplice with all his kyroi, armies, and men when he learns his Kemptian flower has been murdered."
Laurent leaned his head against the cushioned back of his throne.
"Oh, he will. He'll go after anyone who tries to harm me... Is this all revenge for my uncle? The Regent would get rid of you both at the first opportunity and he didn't like to share. Ver-Vassel was the foot he wanted in Vask! Whatever he promised you, he'd keep it all for himself as soon as he no longer needed you. You'd be two inconveniences he'd use to dispose of his other inconveniences..."
Mathe laughed.
"You don’t say... We were only too aware of what our society was. So, I tried to be of service to the Regent and convinced some northerners and bastards to follow him. And Sorem very carefully rose through the ranks of Vask and gathered an army for himself. The Regent needed an emperor who would give him information about Vask, and a Councillor who would always agree with him."
Laurent blinked his cold eyes lazily.
"Of course, he needed you, Mathe. Ironically, you were the only Councillor who agreed with my judgment in Ios, which incidentally was my uncle's downfall. It's not always good to have someone on your side nodding to your stupid ideas. My uncle was a foolish man!"
Mathe laughed amusedly.
"You're a foolish man too, Laurent! Damianos whispered to you just before the trial of the Regent: 'Let's get this over with, Laurent. Let him be executed. End it today.' But you wanted to prolong your uncle's suffering for weeks, torture him, and make a spectacle of his downfall. Do you know what's so ironic about that? He was the one who gave us the brilliant idea of killing you and executing the plan to reunite the four kingdoms while he was held captive. He plotted your downfall, Star of Vere in the last days. None of this would exist without you, who is an inconvenience to me and Sorem, who'll eliminate others."
Laurent narrowed his eyes as a crash was heard outside, and Sorem lifted his languid gaze to the door and declared:
"Enough of this talk. Let's get this over with."
The Vaskian gestured to the soldier, who stood his shoulders straight as he was finally called to action.
Laurent forced himself to remain rational. He had seen Torgeir swinging an ax as if it were an extension of his arm. It was a joke how the Veretian held the weapon.
Concentration. Laurent had to control his heartbeat and voice.
As the guard came up the stairs, Laurent said with the impersonality of someone seeing a minor setback:
"Hey, sweetheart, what did they promise you? The usual? Gold, slaves, and power? Or are you also on your way to acting like a jerk for the sake of your wife and kids?"
The soldier stopped on the stairs looking confused, and Mathe gave Laurent a painful slap.
"Shut up!"
Laurent said to the guard, his teeth stained red:
"You know, sweetheart, there was this old Councillor named Guion. He was a complete idiot but also had his bouts of sanity. When Guion wanted to get rid of me, he didn't want my death to be associated with his name and used another idiot named Govart to torture me. An act of common sense, of course! Maybe just like those two handsome men over there. The death of a king can be a terrible blight on a man's life. Because my fiancé Damianos talks a lot about honor and morality, but when he gets distraught, he can be worse than me. He can take all his kyroi, the Akielon army, and the devil and come after you with your gold, your slaves, your power, or your family... He'll find you even at the ends of the earth..."
Sorem rolled his eyes and made a sign to Mathe, who took a handkerchief out of his pocket and began to gag Laurent.
"I've had enough of your viper tongue..."
Laurent continued in a choked voice under the gag.
"Damianos killed a man with a single move. You're a dead man..."
Sorem signaled the soldier to act, but the man had stopped on the stairs. His movements were hesitant and he had lowered his ax slightly.
He looked from Laurent's gagged form on the throne to Mathe and Sorem and asked:
"What if Damianos of Akielos finds out it was me?"
"Damianos has gone south with his army! He'll never find out..."
But the guard seemed unconvinced, and suddenly everything he had been promised seemed to wither before the death oath of a southern king.
"Do it!" Mathe urged the man.
The guard grabbed his ax and took another step towards the breathless Laurent. A loud bang grew louder near the door and the soldier stopped again and lowered his weapon.
"I don't know... I don't know if I can do this..."
Laurent's feeling of small victory lasted only a second, for at that moment an enraged Sorem took the ax from the guard's hand and delivered a precise blow to his face. It was a swift move by someone who knew how to handle a weapon. Blood spurted from the fallen man's face, he fell to his knees and rolled down the stairs until he arrived dead at the bottom.
Even Mathe seemed surprised by Sorem's act and Laurent forced himself not to move in his throne.
With a contemptuous look at the fallen soldier's body, Sorem scolded Mathe and put a hand on his waist.
"My dear, what's wrong with the soldiers of Vere? What's wrong with these men who want to fight the East? Even ring slaves can do better than that."
Sorem lifted his glowing gaze to Laurent and said as he walked over, twirling the ax in his hand.
"Did you know that Torgeir taught Vishkar and her favorites how to use the ax on the Ver-Vassel border, such was their friendship? I never thought I would use the weapon of Patras in such a noble way... I'm not afraid of your Damianos, Laurent."
Sorem walked up to Laurent, who forced himself to remain calm, even though his heart was beating faster and faster in his chest. The Vaskian Emperor raised his silver blade high, and just as he was about to strike, Laurent grabbed the Vaskian's wrist and twisted it, just as he had seen Vishkar do to stop Torgeir, and he had done to a man in the ring on the Street of Daisies.
The flickering lamplight reflected the silver blade from the edge to the trembling wedge.
At the same moment, an unmistakable commotion arose outside. Someone shouted:
"The door to the Great Hall is locked! He must be in there!"
There was an immediate banging on the door. And another one.
Laurent held Sorem's gaze as he held his arm and hissed through his gag,
"You can't beat me! I want to live!"
The Vaskian made a sudden movement and tried to free himself.
Laurent used all the strength in his muscles to stop Sorem's attacks, but his legs had not yet regained control, so he was forced to remain seated.
There was a loud crash at the door. An impact so violent that the door’s hinges creaked and the wood shook. The candles seemed to flicker.
At that moment, Mathe grabbed Laurent's wrist and a confused struggle broke out for possession of the ax, with a life at stake. Laurent managed to use his other hand, pushing Sorem back and causing him to lose his balance on the step. The ax fell to the ground with the clang of heavy metal and bounced off the stairs.
The other blow on the door was extremely violent, breaking the bolts and hinges of the double door. But it was the other blow that tore the portal wide open.
In the room, in the light of the lamps, Damianos' image emerged, cut off at the entrance. He wore his armor, his muscles showing, and he seemed panting. Next to him stood Akielon and Veretian soldiers.
It only took a second for the King of Akielos to internalize the sight of Laurent tied to his throne by the two men and the ax lying on the ground next to a dead soldier.
Then he looked up at Sorem and Mathe, and the muscles in his jaw twitched. His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword.
Meanwhile, as if life were taking place in a stretched superimposition, three other figures made themselves known, moving with determined steps in the flickering light, standing out from the guards as if they were detached from a solid landscape.
Torgeir approached with an ax on his shoulder stained red from the grip until the blade.
Vishkar was clad in shining armor, tonfa strapped around her waist, and sword in hand. Beside her, Pari of Skarva, dressed in clan robes and with a dagger in each hand, presented herself as the warrior she never wanted to stop being.
The North, the South, the West, and the East arrived together in the Great Hall. The kings gathered.
Damen seemed to be struggling to keep himself under control. He breathed shallowly, and his chest heaved. He took a step forward and clenched his fist.
The colors seemed to have drained from Mathe and Sorem's faces and they matched the marble floor.
Trembling, the Emperor muttered in Vaskish, so tense was he:
"You shouldn't be here... You have returned to your realms!"
Laurent said, reaching down to his knees and pulling the wet gag from his mouth.
"They shouldn't unless we allied and tricked you two. Everyone saw them leave the capital, but people didn't see them return to the palace today with the horse shipment. You lost! It was all a trap set by the four of us!" — The King of Vere laughed of his own accord this time, "Thanks, Sorem of Ver-Tan, for bringing the traitor of my kingdom to me."
Sorem was short of breath. Mathe cursed and flew angrily at Laurent, squeezing his slender neck.
"You bloody son of bitch!"
At that moment, Damianos, who seemed to be possessed by something incomprehensible, was heard to awaken from rage and, with a quick, precise movement, drew his Akielon dagger and threw it at Mathe.
The weapon flew in a sharp circle across the room and hit the councilor squarely. He loosened his grip on Laurent and Sorem caught him.
Mathe's shoulder was quickly covered in a smear of blood due to the buried dagger in his shoulder.
Laurent repeated, this time without laughing:
"You lost..."
Damen emerged from something gnawing him and walked to the throne quickly as if he were mad.
Vishkar's voice called out to him. And Laurent's voice, too.
But there was a strange ringing in his ear when he reached Mathe and picked him up by the neck.
They had tried to kill Laurent! They had been on the verge of killing Laurent!
They had managed to get him out of Damen's sight and locked themselves in the Great Hall with him. There was an ax on the floor. And a dead man.
Mathe blushed as he was strung up, and when Sorem approached, Damen shoved him hard, causing the Vaskian to fall to the floor.
Damen was beside himself as Laurent's voice reached him. The Veretian struggled to get up and fell beside the throne as his legs felt weak.
"DAMIANOS, NO! WE NEED THEM BOTH ALIVE!"
The Akielon breathed heavily as he met Mathe's gray gaze. Then he dropped him to the ground and raised his hand to his head with a hate-filled scream, violently throwing his helmet to the ground.
Damen paced back and forth, trying to calm his rage and draw air into his lungs. He snorted like a caged lion.
Then he walked over to Laurent and hugged him. A sharp red line ran across the Veretian's pale neck.
"...It's over, Damen!"
"You could have died! This is the last time I agree with your plans, Laurent!" Damen said, kissing the Veretian's forehead and pressing his face to his chest.
On the ground, Sorem slipped his hand into Mathe’s pale fingers and placed his other hand on his heart. At the same moment, Vishkar approached him at Torgeir’s side.
The empress's two-colored eyes were rimmed in red. She stared at Sorem and seemed to be suppressing a scream inside.
There was anger on her face, but also sadness, grief and sorrow. Sometimes there is no word in any language that can succinctly describe the breaking of a heart.
The King of Patras looked at his raffie and understood her pain, putting his finger around hers.
Lazar cursed as a mercenary appeared on the road, trying to close the distance between him and the group. By the light of the torch Pallas held with his good arm, the Veretian aimed with his bow and hit the attacker.
Makedon tried to spot movement in the bushes, swung his blade, and rammed it into the throat of another man who was about to attack his horse.
They all traveled in the dark, the dirt path lit only by flickering torches. In a usual journey, this would be when the fleet would have already set up camp to stop moving on in the darkness, but they would not do that.
Arles was not far away, and although the group could neither run nor walk quickly, they had to reach the palace soon.
But contrary to expectations, there were those damned men who insisted on attacking them like plague-like animals that sneak out of rivers to drag travelers by the legs, or ghosts on a road. From time to time, the mercenaries would approach the horses, swing their axes, and be shot down by the soldiers before they could harm the animals.
Until at some point the attacks became more persistent and Loyse approached the window of her carriage with a lamp in her hand and said:
"The damned mercenaries had taken over the road and they will continue to attack us. We are almost at Arles, but it will take centuries to reach the palace at this pace..."
Makedon reined in his horse and rode alongside Loyse's carriage.
"The mercenaries are watching us and trying to stop us. They won't succeed. How are the Vaskians doing?"
"The second wife and the slave have fallen asleep, but the girl is impatient."
Pallas riding beside Lazar, looked at the last cloth-covered wagon, from which a bored roar sounded.
"Calm down, kid! We're almost there!"
Lazar frowned.
"The leopards are not puppies, Pallas! They've killed a whole army, sweetheart..."
"Mircela treated them like two good-natured kittens. Will we need their help again?" Pallas asked, watching as a man came out from behind a tree and was gunned down by Lazar.
"Maybe..." — Lazar replied, counting only three of his arrows — "Those mercenaries are sneaky and have sold their souls to who knows who."
The fleet traveled on for a few more short minutes, being attacked at short intervals.
There was darkness, the rustle of the woods, the clatter of horses' hooves, the wheels of vehicles on the road, and the crackle of fire, followed by the swing of a blade and a cry of dejection.
Over and over and again until the sound of a horn became clear and loud, breaking through the night.
Lazar hadn't lit his usual cigarette, but he had it in his mouth to ease his anxiety and dropped it in fright.
Pallas' horse reared up on its hind legs and turned around when it noticed the noise. Pallas calmed the animal, stroked its mane, and blew it short kisses.
"Take it easy, Dydimos. No tantrums, boy!"
Makedon turned over his shoulder, his face illuminated by the torchlight, and his mouth twisted into a smile as the second horn blast sounded.
He and Pallas shared a stifled laugh and spoke at the same time:
"Nikandros! It's Nikandros!"
As they looked over the horizon, they heard the thunder of hooves on the ground. In front of them was a light strip with burning torches looking like stars.
And this light moved brightly like a fire, illuminating the road, the trees, the soldiers, and the carriages as it moved towards the fleet.
Ancel and Toby put their hands on the carriage window. Haniel blinked and saw the beam of light pass his carriage. Mircela yawned and woke from her slumber.
The Akielon army had come to meet the Trust-worthies, accompanied by loyal men from Vask's army.
Nabsib rapped his knuckles on Mircela's carriage, and the second wife, approaching the window, shrieked and began speaking excitedly in Vaskish to the leader of the Imperial Guard.
The men of Akielos introduced themselves to Lady Vannes and Hendric, showing the King's seal. Makedon slapped his leg and laughed when he saw the Kyros of Ios approaching on his gleaming brown horse.
"Damn Nikandros! I never thought I'd be so happy to see you!"
"Did I miss something?"
"A feast!" Makedon laughed.
Then Pallas said:
"I don't understand! We heard about the Sister Nations' declaration of war against the East and that the Akielon army has left Arles and went south with Damianos..."
"A hoax," Nikandros said quickly, "the idea of someone you can guess who. Part of the army camped in the southern suburbs of the city and part came here to get you because our scouts warned us of suspicious movements on the routes to Arles. Damianos must have gone to the palace with the others by now!"
Lazar asked, leaning lightly on his mount and raising an eyebrow:
"What others?"
However, before the kyros could answer, they saw Lord Berenger leave his parked carriage and walk ahead with a lamp.
"Nikandros, how are you? It's good to see you again! Ancel has found something that fell out of the pocket of the herald of the mercenaries who attacked us earlier. We must go to the palace immediately!"
With the effective communication the group had established against Laurent, Nikandros only needed to focus his attention on the figure drawn on the piece of parchment for a few seconds to declare anxiously:
"Come on! We need to travel faster! The men will protect the carriages. We must run!"
In this way, the procession was organized into a different pattern, with the coachmen leading the horses' skill while the animals pulled the carriages behind them faster.
Nimue leaned her face against the window, glad of the wind blowing in her cheeks, and stretched out her arm outside.
Six horses pulled the leopards' cages and the big cats began to growl about something, which was certainly not boredom.
The fleet moved quickly. The mercenaries ceased their attack since the Akielons and Vaskians protected the entourage.
When the Trust-worthies reached the city, they made their way to the palace through the streets, turning and landing on paths paved with hewn stones.
Lady Vannes and Talik even leaned over their mounts and rode alongside Hendric and Nikandros as some soldiers cleared the path.
Ancel, with part of his body hanging out of the window and his hair a tangled mess of red and unruly hair, smiled as he made out the outline of the domes, vaults, and tall towers of the palace of Arles on the horizon, lit by thousands of lamps. Excitedly, he said, patting Lord Berenger's hand.
"We're coming!"
Toby swallowed hard and clutched the flimsy cloth bag he'd been carrying since leaving Barbin.
Hendric, riding ahead, spoke as he drew his sword:
"The gate is open!"
The Veretian herald, Nikandros, and Talik led the way with their weapons drawn. The faces at the palace entrance were impersonal gazes, partially shielded by helmets. Horses and swords stood like machinery of death amidst the rubble, slaughtered and cut down.
Furrows of dead bodies could be seen on the palace lawn. The night ground was a jumble of flesh, pieces of armor, and riderless horses. A few men lay alone on the path with glazed eyes staring motionlessly into the darkness.
Ancel cursed, sat down quickly in the carriage, and closed the window. Then he drew the satin lace curtain.
Some mercenaries were dueling with their crude clubs against soldiers wearing the king's livery. Other sellout Veretians fought with soldiers from Vask and Patras armed with tonfas and axes.
The Akielons, who had been waiting at the southern exit of the city and had been warned of the attack on the palace by Vere's scouts, came to the rescue, gutting the men like a mass of muscle and metal. In the palace pond, slaughtered men floated among the pebbles.
A frail soldier on the battlements, who saw the procession coming and was carrying a torch, waved a colorful handkerchief in the air and shouted:
"They're here! They're here!"
A loud trumpet sounded, and a line of Akielon soldiers closed around the Trust-worthies, reinforcing the protective wall around the entourage. Nabsib, sword in hand, still rode close to the carriage with Mircela, Nimue, and the leopards.
Jord appeared on his horse, somewhat disheveled and with damp hair, and called out:
"This way!"
"What's going on here, Captain?" Hendric asked nervously, watching as Aktis cut the throat of a mercenary some distance away.
"An attack on the palace! We had a rebellion of traitorous soldiers who allowed the mercenaries to enter. Some of us were poisoned and are in the infirmary."
Nikandros asked, spurring his horse around a fallen body.
"Is Damen here yet?"
"Yes! He's already in the palace with the king. You should have seen Damianos, Torgeir, and the empress fighting together! They looked like three war machines mowing people down. That Pari of Skarva looked like crazy slaughtering the mercenaries and throwing them into the lake with the help of Lydos' trident. The men who are still fighting are the ones who insist on fighting. But it's over! We've won!"
Lady Vannes asked:
"Who was the mastermind behind all this?"
Jord answered with a scowl:
"You'll know soon..."
A loud noise was heard as they reached the western entrance to the palace. The leopards' cage wagon wheel broke under the weight and the required speed during the journey. The roar of one of the animals widened Jord's eyes and the surrounding Akielons turned their tense faces over their shoulders.
"It's a long story..." Hendric said, twitching one corner of his lips.
From there, the Trust-worthies and their companions disembarked and were escorted into the Great Hall by Jord.
When the double doors to the place, or what was left of it, were opened, they all saw Laurent and Damianos sitting on their respective thrones. Paschal gave Laurent a medicine to inhale and examined his throat.
Next to the kings were two high-backed chairs, occupied by Torgeir and Vishkar.
In the center, dominated by the soldiers, sat Councilor Mathe and Emperor Sorem of Ver-Tan, side by side on chairs like defendants. A bandage had been tied around Mathe's arm to stop the bleeding.
Pari of Skarva stood near Lydos and Huet, dagger in hand, guarding the two prisoners. When she saw the incomers, she turned and ran to little Nimue with expectation.
The fourth Vaskian wife knelt before her younger sister, hugging her tightly and kissing the girl's cheeks with emotion as she spoke in a flurry of sentences in Vaskish. Vishkar also stood up and embraced Mircela, her second wife, happy to see her again.
However, the Trust-worthies and their protégés stood very still and looked from the kings to the two prisoners, who looked around distantly. Their jaws were raised with a familiar, somber impersonality.
Laurent, who had a wound at the corner of his lips, said after he had risen from his seat. He was already moving again.
"I'm glad you're back safely! As you can see, we have the two responsible for the crimes and the poor attempts to keep an old, decaying world alive. We just need to know their reasons. We must piece together the puzzle because now that they know they've lost, they won't say a peep about their wickedness. But I know whose hand is behind all this. It's the hand of my uncle. So, today for the last time, we'll all listen to the Regent’s last breath."
Chapter 14: Liberty (Part 2)
Chapter Text
Latifa arrived in the hall, supported by Isander, and still had a bandage wrapped around her body under her dress. Thanks to Paschal's care, the slave had recovered quickly and the wound was healing well.
The Patran sat in a comfortable chair and looked around with anxious rabbit eyes. Mathe and Sorem were surprised to see Latifa alive.
Laurent turned to Giraud and said:
"I thought Haniel could write what Latifa has to tell us in Veretian language, but your presence will be a great help to us and make communication more efficient." — and turning a little closer to Giraud, Laurent asked, — "Can you tell us what Latifa wants to tell us?"
Giraud nodded and saw the Patran slave swallowing hard and moving her fingers hesitantly. Then, after a few seconds, the man spoke:
"She says she didn't want the poisoned food to reach the king. On the day she was looking after Laurent, Mathe, her master, asked her to remove a wine stain from his robes. She signaled to him that she should take care of the king first, but he insisted that it didn't matter if she was a little late and that she could leave the food tray in his room while she removed the stain."
Mathe snorted contemptuously as the young woman moved her fingers and continued.
"... Latifa removed the stain and then served Laurent. When she returned to her room, she noticed the door was unlocked and someone had rummaged through her things. Then there was confusion in the king's room and she realized they had set her up and were trying to frame Torgeir when they put a doll in her clothes."
Latifa blinked her brown, almost red eyes and moved her hands again. Giraud stared at her.
"...But when Latifa saw the poisoned leopard, she first thought the book was to blame, so she threw it into the fire. Queen Hennike always felt much worse after reading, and her books had this golden dust on them. The books had been given to her by Mathe when he was still a slaves' chief and merchant..."
There was a deep silence in the Great Hall, broken only by Giraud's voice and the fire’s crackling. Laurent said with an anxious twitch of his lips.
"They killed my mother with books."
Giraud translated the words for Latifa, who shook her face violently and waved her hands furiously with red eyes.
"It wasn't the books! The Beast, the Regent, murdered the queen! The books only made her very ill. He smothered her with a pillow. Latifa says she saw him! The Regent also killed her brother Leon. The Regent raped and killed the boy and threw him in the lake! And Latifa kept this to herself for years because no one could understand her! Only Hennike and her brother understood her and they're dead!"
The revelation took Laurent by surprise and he felt his blood pressure drop. The Veretian hardly managed to keep his face straight, while Damen near him also turned pale.
Giraud, who was translating the words, was open-mouthed with horror, and Haniel slumped down in a chair.
Latifa began to sob as she moved her hands.
"... Latifa never liked Councillor Mathe because he was the one who gave Leon to the Regent and was his accomplice!" Giraud continued, "But she had to serve him after the Regent took over Vere because Mathe was envious and wanted everything that belonged to Hennike. Even her servants. Besides, it was convenient for him to have a deaf slave, and Mathe took her on a trip where she saw him with this other man. The two were lovers and locked themselves in a brothel room with the Regent. She had already seen the Vaskian with him when she came to the court of Arles from Patras. And when she noticed Sorem sitting next to the kings at Laurent's birthday party, she knew they were up to something..."
Laurent looked from Latifa’s face to Sorem, who frowned at the slave. He remembered Latifa at his birthday party, dropping her tray in the same hall as she approached the Table of Nations.
Giraud paused for a moment as the slave wiped her eyes with her palms. Isander had placed his fingers supportively on her shoulder.
"... Latifa says she told the queen that Mathe was dangerous and that she should punish him, but Hennike was very generous and asked Auguste to simply remove him from Arles. She thought the Regent was influencing Mathe and didn't see what a snake he was because she felt she owed him something. A blood debt..."
Laurent frowned and looked at Mathe, who raised his chin proudly. There was a different light in his gray retinas and in his very light hair, which was almost the same shade as Haniel's. And Laurent's.
With a cynical smile, Mathe said:
"Our blood, nephew..."
The silence that fell over the room was like a cold wave that swept over everyone and left them speechless. Damianos looked at Mathe with a new look.
It took a moment for Giraud to resume his translation and look worriedly at Haniel's face. Latifa moved her fingers.
"Hennike once told Latifa that Mathe was her illegitimate brother. The King of Kempt had an extramarital affair with the wife of a merchant from Vere. This woman had twins by the King of Kempt but raised the children as if they were her husband's because that would be a scandal in Vere. Until one of the children fell ill during the northern flu epidemic and died. On the day of the funeral, Hennike overheard the truth in a conversation between the Kemptian king and the children's mother and told only Hazel, her older brother. Only the two of them knew that they had an illegitimate brother who had been raised as a merchant's son but was a prince. So, she asked King Aleron to give Mathe a place at court and a good position before her wedding. And because Aleron loved the queen, he gave him this position, even though bastards were taboo in Vere. But Mathe was envious. He was vile. He couldn't be satisfied with Hennike's generosity. He hated her!"
Laurent's eyes grew wide and he shivered slightly. Mathe said with contempt:
"Hennike thought she was so important that she gave out alms to make herself look like a great queen. I suspected that she and Hazel knew about my condition! They pitied me and I hated them for it too! I saw Hennike seduce Aleron and conquer an entire kingdom in the blink of an eye! I am of royal blood! I've known it since I was ten years old when my mother confessed it to me and my dead twin brother! I deserve more! I deserve lands! I deserve my name in the Kemptian line of succession!"
Blinking, Haniel moved his hands in vague motions and Giraud translated somewhat dazedly:
"You helped kill Queen Hennike, your sister who tried to help you...? You tried to take the throne away from your nephew?"
Mathe raised his proud gaze and in the hall, someone let out a sound of disgust.
"I would take all of this, and if the kingdoms were under my power and Sorem's, I would take Kempt as well. I would take everything that belongs to me! That was just the beginning, little brother! You owe me!"
Someone could be heard cursing and waving a blade among the audience.
After a few seconds, Latifa resumed the explanation.
"There's more..." — Giraud spoke, feeling his stomach churn with all the information — "When Latifa visited the brothel with Mathe, a boy named Nicaise was the Regent's pet and they passed the time talking there through mimics. He reminded her of her brother Leon and she liked him. The boy told something about the twin children of Vask who came before him but never became pets. That he was protected because he had a pet contract and wasn't like the other boys. She didn't quite understand it at the time, but it seemed like something important..."
Vishkar, who had overheard everything, had Mircela's delicate hand on her shoulder and exchanged a puzzled look with her wife, who said something in Vaskish.
Laurent’s jaw was tilted as he spoke, forcing impersonality into something that was disconcertingly personal. Damen stared at him intently, imagining the effort that muscles and sinew had to exert to hold back that rage.
"You were one of my blind spots, Mathe. Do you know why I didn't try to kick you off the Council even though I knew you were appointed by the Regent? Because I remembered that my mother held you in high regard and I trusted her judgment. I even distrusted Audin because I believed that my mother's affection might be worth something to you."
Damianos shook his face, remembering Kastor's betrayal as he spoke:
"This is all so disgusting! When we visited Sorem after he woke up from his supposed poisoning, he made some mistakes. He spoke of slaves being brought to Vere by ship, something we kept from the Council and which I unpleasantly learned from Adrastus. And Sorem mentioned a route he had often used in Belloy, although he had told me before he only knew the mountains of Varenne. You were so excited about your victory that you got distracted from your game, Sorem?"
The Vaskian shifted a little in his seat and replied:
"And you ran to join Vishkar and Torgeir! Then why didn't you stop me when you discovered the truth?"
Laurent said:
"Because we knew someone from Vere was helping you. And I wanted to find out who it was. So, we faked the withdrawal of the armies and peoples from Arles. There was only one way for you two to incriminate yourselves —To believe I blamed Vask and Patras for the crimes and that war was imminent. So, I would be vulnerable and alone. You both fell and did me the favor of using your armies to storm the palace and frame Torgeir..."
Mathe said through clenched teeth:
"We nearly finished you off!"
"A miscalculation. We didn't think there were so many sellout palace slaves and soldiers. I didn't guess you could be the partner of Sorem since you've been at court for so long. You've made a lot of allies with your dirty favors, Mathe."
"A lot of people hate you, Laurent!"
"Of course, many liked my uncle and his way of doing things. I got distracted and forgot that this was his court just two years ago."
"Do you think a nation without slaves can sustain itself? Do you think all of Vere's pets love the prospect of a life free from bondage and like that of the bastards? Besides, there are thousands of bastards out there who hate the hypocritical and prejudiced decorum of the court, Laurent!"
"Will you give me one last piece of advice?" Laurent asked, raising an eyebrow and earning a sharp look from Mathe.
Then the Veretian turned to Giraud and asked him to translate his words. The man turned to Latifa and gestured as he heard the king's words.
"I'm sorry you have had to keep so many things to yourself for so many years, Latifa. And I apologize for sending Jord to hurt you, but I knew they'd try to kill you if they thought you were still alive. No one was safe here."
Latifa turned her rabbit eyes on Laurent for a moment and gestured.
"She says you remind her of Queen Hennike. And that she's glad to be able to tell you what happened after so many years." Giraud translated.
There was silence and Latifa was dismissed. Isander helped the Patran to her feet and accompanied her to her quarters.
Then Laurent moved his face and for the first time paid close attention to the pet Toby, who stood open-mouthed beside Lord Berenger and Ancel, watching the presentation of the facts.
"We meet again."
The pet took a step forward and muttered as he lowered his traveling hood:
"I'm all yours, Your Majesty! Completely and utterly!"
Ancel rolled his eyes and Damen looked down at Toby, who had already kissed Laurent, with lips curling in displeasure.
Laurent blushed and said:
"That's not why I sent for you. I'm bound to the King of Akielos."
“I am all yours, Your Majesties!” Toby smiled and winked one of his violet eyes at Damen, startling him. “I've seen you before, passing among the people with your entourage. I was in the crowd. The King of Akielos also accidentally showed his golden bracelet when he stood up from the ranks at the brothel on the Street of Daisies. That's how I recognized him. You're even more beautiful up close. I can serve you two in bed.”
Lord Berenger cleared his throat. Ancel folded his arms and whispered something like: "So pushy..."
Nikandros, recognizing the pet, shook his face.
Laurent exchanged a look with Damen. His cheeks were still stained red as he said,
"That's not going to happen. I'm taken and Damen and I don't share our bed with other people. I didn't bring you here to sleep with anyone. I brought you here because you have important information that I want."
The disappointment on Toby's face was unmistakable and he paused with his hands on his hips. Then the young man took a deep breath, pulled a folded piece of paper from his little bag, walked across the room, and handed the letter to Laurent.
"Right. Tharname wrote this to his brother Theodore. They could read and write because Queen Hennike let them study. I can't read and don't know what's in the letter. But I don't need to. Tharname told me everything. After being accused of theft by the Regent and expelled from court, Tharname returned to the vineyards. He was a drunkard and was always sad or angry, but he sometimes helped me with my work and we became friends. He knew something very nefarious about the Regent and wrote to his brother to tell him. But he never got a reply. The letter must have been intercepted. Weeks later, one of the Regent's soldiers stabbed him to death during a fight in the tavern. When I found out, I looked for proof in Tharname's dormitory. He was writing another letter to his brother. And I stole it. I thought it might be useful to me one day. And it was."
Laurent now had Damen at his side and the two of them skimmed the pages, which were written in slanted handwriting with the date "My dear brother Theodore" at the top of the yellowed paper.
Toby lifted his chin and continued:
"...Tharname was there when these two made a sort of alliance with the Regent in a brothel in Varenne. The Regent persuaded this man named Sorem to follow him and promised him an empire. He said they could form a partnership if they got the kings and heirs out of the way. The Regent had already tried to get Laurent out of the way when he was still in the womb. He asked someone to poise on Queen Hennike's tea, which almost caused her to lose her son and her life, and so King Laurent was born prematurely."
Laurent stared blankly, and Damen touched his shoulder protectively, listening to the information with horror.
"...These two men were partners of the Regent and helped him in many schemes. This plot against the kingdoms began sixteen years ago. They wanted to stage a coup d'état in Vere and Vask. And I remember them, although they most likely do not remember me."
Toby pointed at Mathe and Sorem.
"...They founded a sort of court in the underworld and called themselves Majesties. I caught a glimpse of them while I was serving Durand once. The two pumped money into the rings and brothels. My former master said the rings and the slaves kept the king's opponents loyal. Many did not know who these two were and even believed that the Regent was alive. But some did know and even knelt before them as if they were crowned kings."
Vishkar, who had been staring at Sorem, rose from her chair and spoke angrily. Her two-colored gaze darted at the Vaskian:
"You came to Vere as an ambassador at the time of war, but instead of helping Vask, you betrayed the empire and wanted to remove me from the throne, getting tangled up with this man and the Regent!"
Mircela clenched her fists and Pari, wrapping Nimue around her, glared at him furiously.
"...I married you, Sorem, because you said that the empire needed an emperor to stay strong after Ishmael's death! You were my cousin, Sorem, my precious friend! I trusted you! But some time ago, I discovered your nature and knew that you were in cahoots with someone here. My mistake was believing that it could be Laurent! I failed to believe the rumors that you and this other bitch must have spread that Laurent and Damianos wanted to destroy Vask and Patras! It all had your finger in it! My husband, my cousin, my childhood friend is a monster!"
Toby had frowned during the empress's speech and opened his mouth, but closed it. Looking from Vishkar to the kings of the Sister Nations, he then ventured:
"What...? You and he... are you two married?"
Vishkar looked at the pet, nodding. Toby made an expression of disgust as he said:
"He is not your cousin, milady ... He is your brother! Twin brother! The Regent knew it. And so, does he..."
Twin brother.
There was silence as the truth as heavy as an anvil fell into the room and shattered the marble floor. In the courtyards and gardens, a soldier shouted orders into the night that was beginning to dawn.
The Trust-worthies stared in horror at the empress, then at Sorem. Damianos and Laurent were pale. Torgeir sat bolt upright on his throne, his mouth slack.
She was the empress. And he was the emperor.
Twins.
Mircela and Nimue seemed to be the only ones in the hall who did not understand the pain of the revelation said in Veretish, for their faces moved in confusion, shut out of speech.
Toby continued, his lips puckering:
"... Tharname told me everything. The former empress sent Sorem to the Regent as a pet, but he was rejected because the Regent only liked little boys. So, they made a pact where the Regent would be offered something else. That's why this man wanted the empire. He was also a prince of Vask. A legitimate son who was raised as a bastard!"
Chaos in the silence. A mute pandemonium. Quietness in the screams.
Vishkar had to hold on to the chair and looked dizzy.
Suddenly everything had a logic. Even the dark interests that connected Sorem and Mathe.
Mathe let out a laugh and crossed his arms. And Sorem curled his lips into a satisfied smile.
"Do you understand now, little sister, that I did what I had to do? Betthany didn't want me because I was born weak, with a heart almost stopped, sick, almost dead, and Somalia begged to raise me as if I were her son since she was barren, to at least secure me a home. But when you were at the border, Betthany told me everything. You were a disappointment, Vishkar. You didn't have the luster of an empress. And Betthany told me that she had gotten rid of the wrong child. I could get the kingdom and her love if I helped her."
Vishkar shook her face, her eyes were moist and she looked about to faint. She remembered her days on the border. The women slept with soldiers and drank contraceptive teas to prevent babies from being born in a camp in Ver-Vassel. She remembered Somalia sleeping with slaves and soldiers. But Somalia never drank the damn teas.
The old servants told Vishkar that Betthany hit Somalia right in the stomach with the tonfa several times as a punishment because she had dared to win the empress during a fight when they were young. Somalia almost bled to death and then watched Betthany become a mother several times. But Somalia had only one child.
"I can raise the boy. Please don't get rid of him," did Somalia say?
Well, in Ver-Vassel's border, she asked Vishkar as she untied a knot in a rope,
"I know you have no taste in men, Vishkar, but when the time comes for you to marry, do you have anyone in mind?"
"I will marry Ishmael," Vishkar promptly replied at fourteen.
The girl knew it would be Ishmael. She just knew it. Sorem had never crossed her mind.
Somalia smiled and said after taking a deep breath of the fresh morning air:
"Very well. Ishmael will be an excellent emperor, and Sorem will always be like a brother to you. So, it shall be."
It had happened between the tents. On the border of Ver-Vassel. The memory was as vivid as the Empress's scars.
In the Great Hall, Vishkar sobbed out, clapping a hand over her mouth and looking like she was about to vomit.
Embarrassingly, now everyone seemed to look for similarities between Vishkar and Sorem, tracing them back: the dark hair, the pale skin, the thinness. And the eyes. His amber eyes were the same color as Vishkar’s.
From the audience, Makedon couldn't help but speak:
"You married your own sister?! You're a disgusting man!"
"Yes! And we fucked, didn't we, Vishkar? An heir would have established me in Vask, but you did me the favor of losing the baby like the bitch you are. And while we're at it, I've to say that you're pretty bad in bed, in my opinion. You needed Junity on your wedding night to entertain you before we slept together."
Vishkar turned her face away to an indistinct spot in the hallway as if the memory of something intimate made her uneasy.
Toby spoke after a while:
"But it was a deception of the former Empress to say that she wanted Sorem to rule Vask. She only wanted an alliance with Vere. She didn't care about him, and she was trying to get the Regent to get rid of him..."
Sorem slid back and forth in his chair, glaring hatefully at the pet:
"Shut up, you ring whore! I don't give a damn! I've been deceiving Betthany and Vishkar for years! For years!"
Pari approached the empress, took her hand, and looked at Sorem as if he were a monster. Vishkar replied with tear-filled eyes after she cupped her hands in front of her face:
"Sorem, you've gone mad. You spent too much time with my mother, the Regent, Mathe, and at the border and lost your mind... You're sick!"
Sorem was still smiling. He smiled until the fun he found in it started fading and he became completely silent.
"Maybe we should take a break..." Damen said after almost a minute in which Vishkar sat motionless on the chair, looking at the prisoners as if she was about to collapse.
Sorem, staring at the empress, crossed his legs and propped his dainty wrist on his knee, as if oblivious to the chaos that reigned around him. There was an arrogant attitude towards the empress in front of everyone.
"Let's get on with it!" Vishkar spoke in a hollow voice, gritting her teeth.
Torgeir, standing, said, looking at Sorem:
"One of my men saw you a little over a year ago, passing through Patras on your way south. I found this information strange and spoke to Vishkar at the time. You visited Mathe and the Regent before he was executed in Ios, didn't you?"
Sorem looked at the King of Patras with a stubborn look.
"What do you think, Torgeir?"
Laurent continued speaking, looking pale and somewhat disgusted with the men before him:
"With your position as Emperor, you have raised an army and men in Skarva, Sorem. And you met Pari in the same brothel that Guion frequented. Contrary to what you told Damen, she was never a whore. Pari worked as a bouncer at the brothel and looked after Nimue in Skarva because she couldn't return to the clans. You are the whore!"
Sorem replied:
"That's a matter of perspective, brat. Which is worse? Fucking your twin sister or being mounted by your own brother's murderer? I swear, I still don't know the answer."
Laurent continued, ignoring Sorem's words.
"You met Pari when she punished Guion for hurting the brothel's boys. And you tried to use her against the Empire by kidnapping Nimue and having her held captive by some mountain mercenaries. You blackmailed Pari and put her in Skarva's palace because you wanted her to get closer to Vishkar..."
"Yes. I knew Pari would attract the empress's attention. Vishkar has always had low standards. Junity was the daughter of a nobleman, but Mircela was a damn slave. And she married her and brought her to court. A pretty warrior who reeked of clans could seduce the empire."
Vishkar spoke in a dry voice:
"The leopards bowed to Mircela, Judy, Pari, and Ishmael. They never did that with you. They always had more nobility in their hearts than you, you scoundrel."
Laurent continued:
"You just didn't expect Pari to fall in love with Vishkar too and tell her the whole truth, Sorem..."
Sorem replied with a grim look:
"Women are treacherous animals. I already suspected that when Vishkar started avoiding me and when Pari stopped responding to my orders. I see that you rescued Nimue from the mountains. But tell me, dear little sister, how are your own daughters Yuliya and Yelena doing in Skarva?"
Vishkar let her bi-colored gaze slide to Sorem with sad anger.
"...It wasn't you I was going to ask Pari to target for the final command. It was the crown princesses..."
"Yes, the targets were my daughters, Judy, and Mircela. You wanted to hit me full in the heart, Sorem..."
"Wanted? Do you think my men are all here in Arles, Vishkar? Do you think I wouldn't have sent a messenger to my army to ram a sword into you where I could hit?"
Silence again. And then Vishkar cursed and called Sorem an ugly name.
Laurent intervened with a wry smile.
"When Vask and Patras came to the court of Arles, part of the retinues separated from the two nations. I sent my men to follow them. And a few days ago, Enguerran sent a messenger to me. He intercepted the carriages. Vishkar sent the crown princesses, her siblings, and the best physicians of Skarva to Bazal, under the care of Junity and Queen Enone of Patras. Torgeir offered political sanctuary to the nobles of Vask because they knew you would attempt a coup, Sorem. You lost on that too."
Laurent had received the messenger who had told him how he had seen the two heiresses of Vask in the carriage in Alier: two identical girls with olive skin and amber eyes, leopard cubs on one arm, and short swords in the other. Junity had raised her sword before them, and Enone of Patras had initiated the negotiations with a diplomacy similar to Torgeir.
"... I was beginning to think there was a reason why the Empire left Vask secretly and used the arrival in Vere to go south through our roads. I also suspected the Empress' constant shadowing of Sorem was more than a marital quarrel. Enguerran and the others escorted everyone to the border of Patras. Your men in Skarva are useless without hostages, Sorem."
Sorem let out a hateful cry.
"Then why didn't you want me to come to Vere, Vishkar?! Were you going to hand me Vask on a silver platter?"
Vishkar stood up and replied:
"I just wanted to get the people I love out of the way. I have allies in the capital and can fight for Vask for another ten years, but I would never let you hurt anyone I care about! The Skarva and Ver-Kindt’s troops are alarmed and they would resist you taking the throne."
Sorem spoke angrily:
"Your stupid woman! If you knew I was dangerous, why didn't you stop me? Why didn't you order Nabsib to cut off my head while I was still in Skarva?"
Vishkar blinked her wet eyes.
"You don't know the answer?"
"I know it! You freeze when someone you love turns on you! Betthany sent you to the border to die, and you hid there for years with your tail between your legs! You were afraid to face the truth that our mother hated you no matter what you did or what you gave her! She could not love!"
"And you took advantage of my weakness! I loved you, Sorem! You were my friend! You are my... my brother..."
"No, Vishkar, I was your damned shadow! A shadow who was robbed of what was mine! You had everything and I had nothing! You allied yourself with Patras and placed a slave in our bloodline. You never knew what it meant to be an empress and have the blood of the true gods, and you treated the empire like a fucking frontier!"
"I have fought shoulder to shoulder with our people and the Patrans! I have endured heat, cold, pain, and hunger with men and women in Ver-Vassel! In the long run, I started believing the gods are in all of us, Sorem. And that the harsh world of Betthany must cease to exist."
"And you joined forces with the Sister Nations!"
"Yes, I trusted Laurent and Damianos! They told us what they knew, and I found them honest. Suddenly I realized how beneficial it would be for you if we were enemies. They were in the same situation as Torgeir and I!"
"You keep believing the nonsense of Somalia and seeing life as a damn mirror!"
Vishkar paused for a moment and shook her face.
"Sorem, I would have ruled by your side if I had known what Betthany had done. Your name would have been recorded in the books of the realm if damned kingship was so important to you! I was afraid of our mother's madness too! She broke my heart too!"
"Enough!" shouted Sorem. "I wanted everything! You don't understand, you idiot, what it means to want so much and have nothing!"
Vishkar said:
"When Pari told me who you were, I doubted her word! I said, 'Sorem is not like that!' I pushed Pari away! But then I remembered Torgeir telling me you went to Akielos at the time of the Regent's execution. I remembered Ishmael telling me he had seen you from afar with a Veretian in the markets when he accompanied you to Varenne during the war..."
Sorem shifted impatiently in his chair and spoke:
"Ishmael, sweet Ishmael... He summoned me to a hunt to confront me, you know? He called me for a friendly conversation. He had also seen me with Mathe in Skarva and wanted to know what I was up to with Vere. He had seen Mathe's face and remembered him from the Ver-Tan's border. Ishmael had to stay out of my way anyway. He just chose the moment I would act."
"You killed Ishmael..." — Vishkar murmured, turning pale. She couldn't hold back any longer and began to sob and cry.
"And the twins. Our dear singing brothers have also disappeared with Betthany's consent on the Regent's bed. I promised him a gift. Those twins served well."
The empress's sobs turned to horror as she slapped her hand over her mouth in horror.
"... I had to impress the Regent. He wanted a Vaskian child of royal blood. Then in return, he bought the loyalty of the Patran mercenaries who invaded our kingdom. My kingdom!" — and while staring at the sobbing empress in front of him, Sorem said viciously, like someone poking at a wound — "Betthany was right about one thing. You're bloody ugly when you cry, Vishkar..."
Some of the audience cursed. And Vishkar wiped her eyes and spoke:
"You turned to the wrong people and took your pain out on the world. You have no chance, Sorem. There is no turning back. There's no point in hurting me. You've already hurt me more than Betthany could ever have dreamed..."
Laurent’s lips twitched and he looked at the floor with an incomprehensible feeling. It had been naïve of him to think that the Regent wouldn’t try to kill him forever and ever.
There was a pit, an underworld in Arles, which was always teeming with the dead and ghosts. And from this hole sprang a staircase, the last step of which was always the death of the King of Vere. Laurent said:
"Nabsib had intercepted a letter from Mathe to Sorem in Skarva and delivered it to the Empress. In the letter, Mathe spoke of their meeting on my birthday. But Mathe did not sign as a Councillor. He signed as Your Majesty of Vere himself. So Vishkar and Torgeir arrived in Arles believing that Damen and I had something to do with all their crimes."
Vishkar stated:
"When I saw King Laurent's signature at the meeting of the four kingdoms, I noticed that his handwriting differed from the signature on the intercepted letter. And when Pari was smoking a hookah with Laurent in the courtyard, she told me that she thought the King of Vere was honest. She had known cruel men and thought Laurent of Vere was still a boy. She didn't believe he was in league with Sorem. She noticed he really loves Damianos of Akielos..."
Mathe said bitterly:
"I should have convinced the Regent to kill Damianos before that barbarian stormed the trial in Akielos' palace and allied himself with Laurent! I should have aimed for you instead of Laurent this time too, Damianos."
Damen, who had been listening to everything with a disgusted look on his face, stated:
"Enough! I can't take this much wickedness anymore!"
Laurent said:
"You, Mathe and Sorem, use victimhood and guilt to justify your destructive deeds. You didn't do what you did because you had no other choices or were betrayed. You did it because you became what you wanted to fight. Even worse. Vere and Akielos are responsible for Mathe and he will be punished harshly according to our laws..."
The Councillor pointed to the bandage on his arm, which was already reddening with bloodstains again, and laughed.
"Will you send your physician to treat me so that you can execute me with the same cruelty as you did the Regent, Laurent? Will you make a spectacle of my death too? Will my head be displayed at your gates, Star of Vere?"
Laurent ignored Mathe, and continued with his long-winded speech:
"But Sorem is the problem of Vask and Patras for the crimes he has committed. And they will pass judgment now!"
Red-faced, Vishkar rose from her chair after half a minute of silence. Torgeir followed her, stood up, and walked down the stairs to the prisoners.
Sorem said with a glance at the Empress and the King of Patras.
"I've always wanted to know if, in the end, you two fucked in Ver-Vassel or not..."
"Shut up!" Torgeir answered dryly.
"I don't expect to live in a world without Mathe anyway, and I'm not afraid of death."
Vishkar exchanged a look with Torgeir and he nodded. She said:
"You will learn to live without him, Sorem. You'll never see Mathe again. I sentence you to life imprisonment in the caves of Skarva, without the light of morning or the passing of days. Your name will be recorded in the records of the realm, like Betthany's name: a tyrant who has gone mad. No one will speak to you, and no one will visit you. You will be alone and isolated."
Sorem gritted his teeth.
"Don't you want to know why I can't stand you? Don't you want to know why I hate you?"
Vishkar ignored him.
"I couldn't act sooner because you had Pari's sister captive. At the Ver-Vassel's border, I told you how I felt as a scared little girl surrounded by raping mercenaries in war. I cried with you and you comforted me. I wasn't that honest even with Ishmael. Then, years later, you kidnapped another girl and put her in the care of mercenaries. Enough, Sorem! I won't let you hurt anyone else. This is the end!"
"You went to war and left me alone with Betthany! You stole everything that belongs to me! You see me now! We are the same blood!"
Vishkar remembered the last time she had seen her mother cursing on a bed.
Perhaps it was true that Sorem served Betthany's purposes better. The two were the same. And life was repeating itself at this thorny point that was hard to accept. And to overcome.
There was no reason they lacked so much and they wanted things so badly, not caring about a replica that caused destruction.
"I won't think about you anymore. You will have no power over Vask or me," the Empress said, looking Sorem in the eye one last time and uniting her palms in Vask's signature salute. "You won't be able to hurt anyone else. Whoever you are, and whatever you have done is your responsibility now. You have the rest of your life to repent."
Vishkar signaled to Nabsib, whose mouth was half open, to come forward and take Sorem away. Then she turned away, and everything happened very quickly.
The Vaskian rose from his chair, cursing, and leaped towards Vishkar, pulling at the tonfa attached to her hip and raising it into the air.
"Look at me!" he roared, brandishing the metal weapon above his head. "Don't ignore me! Look at me!"
Torgeir stepped forward, grabbed Sorem by the wrist and screamed,
"No!"
Shouts rang out in the hall and Mathe rose as well. He stormed towards the King of Patras, drew his ax with his good arm, and swung it before Torgeir.
The scene of the tragedy was played out in the clarity of the morning, which was already invading the enclosure, bringing the first rays of sunshine and the song of the busy birds. The day was beginning to dawn.
There was a pair of twins separated at birth by an ambitious and mentally unstable empress. There was a madness that was perhaps in their blood. And there were the people with whom they not only wanted to silence this emptiness but also other flaws, other gaps that hurt the flesh in a mirrored wheel of happiness and unhappiness.
At the border. And in Varenne.
In Ver-Vassel. And in the brothel.
Vishkar shouted. The movement happened very quickly.
Pari of Skarva had drawn her dagger from its sheath and threw it at Sorem. The metallic object cut through the air in a silvery swirl and struck its forever target.
Sorem spat up blood and held his stomach before staggering to the ground. Mathe dropped the ax, screaming, and the sound of metal clanged on the cold marble.
"Sorem!"
Vishkar was pulled away for Torgeir, trembling and empty.
"...Sorem, Sorem..." — Mathe called out his lover's name fearfully — "Leafde!"
The Vaskian gasped, his hand on the spot where the dagger had pierced him. His clothes quickly turned red.
A sunbeam of flying dust touched his face and he widened his eyes with a painful grimace.
Mathe wrapped his arms around his body and called out anxiously.
"Your Majesty..." Sorem murmured, his lush gaze veiled.
The Vaskian heard the commotion of people around him: the sound of boots, orders, commands, diffuse noises, shouts...
Mathe's face against the light.
In the sun.
He raised his hand and touched the metal ring on his chest.
And he found himself again on a bed, surrounded by silken fabrics, looking at Mathe, the Regent, and his whole life. The mirror. And the abyss.
In the Great Hall, an insect landed on the back of a chair some distance away and flew through the window. It flapped its wings and became very still as if it was very tired.
Tired of wanting so much.
Of wanting everything.
Or of wanting.
Exhausted of everything— kingdoms, monarchs, bastards, slaves, and the wheel of life and death, fortune and loss.
Sorem’s wound hurt in some way. So did Mathe, until everything stopped hurting.
And aching.
Then, the world suddenly became quiet just like when the chirping of crickets and locusts on the Ver-Vassel’s border migrated to Vere and the silence in the fort of Patras was the same as in the camp of Vask.
Or in the brothel, when Sorem saw his reflection and Mathe’s in the mirror. He imagined they could control the world that had hurt them so much by executing their ghosts, their living, their dead one by one. They fought.
At the same time, however, the two men gradually died into themselves, until that very moment when Sorem’s life (tired, untouched, and hungry for living) had withdrawn forever from the Great Hall.
Chapter Text
Translation of the Line Song in the Baegu Language, originating from the Solomon Islands and recorded by the French group Etno Techno Deep Forest in 1992
Little Brother Little Brother Stop Crying Stop Crying
Though You Are Crying And Crying Who Else Will Carry You?
Who Else Will Groom You? Both Of Us Are Now Orphans
From The Island Of The Dead Their Spirit Will Continue To Look After Us
Just Like Royalty Taken Care Of With All The Wisdom Of Such A Place
Little Brother Little Brother Even In The Gardens
This Lullaby Continues To The Different Divisions Of The Garden
From The Island Of The Dead Their Spirit Will Continue To Look After Us
Little Brother Little Brother Stop Crying Stop Crying
Though You Are Crying And Crying Who Else Will Carry You?
Who Else Will Groom You? Both Of Us Are Now Orphans
From The Island Of The Dead Their Spirit Will Continue To Look After Us
(Sweet Lullaby – Deep Forest)
"I'm here..." Damen whispered, stroking Laurent’s blond hair whose face was in front of him.
The two men were in the royal bedroom, where heavy curtains prevented the rays of the morning sun. The courtyards were restless as birds sang in the treetops, oblivious to their devastated surroundings.
Mathe had been taken to Arles prison along with the men who had attempted a coup in Vere. Sorem's lifeless body was given to Vask to be bathed and burned on a funeral pyre that was yet to be built.
Laurent watched Damen in his room in the pale light of a burning lamp and lifted the sheet to cover their heads and isolate them more from the outside world. A few hours before they slept, they finally undressed and digested what was revealed.
There was a search for the truth, but that didn't make the confrontation with suffering less suffocating or indigestible.
"I'm here too, Damen," Laurent murmured.
The two kings stared at each other in the darkness, intertwining their fingers. They closed their eyes and closed the distance between them in an embrace.
There were ugly things they had to think about.
There was a past time.
As Laurent discovered within himself that he could weaken before Damianos, he allowed himself to feel what he usually suppressed with the strength of a dam holding back the sea and erosion.
Fear, anger, pain, and sadness were there too. They were part of him. They were part of a whole person. The past could not change.
It was part of life.
Perhaps after weeks of diligent action, sharp reasoning, and logical thinking, Laurent could finally accept that he was exhausted. Worn.
No, it wasn't weeks. It had been years.
And although part of him fell into vain self-appreciation for his stoic and austere restraint, other things made Laurent whole, because he was a living person.
The first sob left Laurent's lips very quietly, and Damen, who understood, pulled the Veretian closer to him so that he could free himself a little more. That was the last intimacy.
With his face buried in Damen's chest, Laurent wept as he hadn't allowed himself to do for years.
He cried for Arles, his crown, and everything that came with it.
For his living.
For his dead.
For Auguste. For Aleron. And, for Hennike.
For the movements that so often wanted to take his life and before which he somehow died. And was reborn.
Laurent shed tears for the Regent and what he stole from him.
For Damen and what he gave him back.
For his executioners.
For his men who were loyal to him.
For himself.
Life was like that — a moment to bring you down. And another to lift you.
Life and death together, blocked the way to life and cleared the path for it.
It was suffocating.
And with another sob, Laurent collapsed as only great men collapsed at great heights. Without anger and impersonality as shields. Without having to throw himself or parts of himself off a precipice.
Without the coldness as a cover for what was burning.
And Damen held Laurent until he fell asleep. As the Veretian no longer knew he needed it.
Laurent surrendered to the fragile ones’ needs. And the strong ones.
The days passed in an eerie silence in the palace while the courtyards were cleaned. Things were put back in their places, and objects were repaired or thrown away. Broken pieces were swept away, and the dead were cremated.
Broken spears were collected and the metal melted down for reuse.
The Veretian soldiers, under Jord's command, were busy with their duty. And the Akielon soldiers helped them with nimble and practical movements. Heralds were sent to the four corners of the kingdoms to inform the allies of what was happening in the capital.
The day after Councilor Audin’s death, as his body was laid out and buried, a fine drizzle started to fall. The rain continued for several days, dripping on the battlements, moistening the tree trunks, and spreading the characteristic smell of sodden ground.
Then the temperature rose a little. The lilies and jasmine bloomed in the gardens in an explosion of color. The sunny days grew longer. The air became warm. The night chill and the fog dissipated.
Ancel showed Toby around the remodeled palace, bragging about all the amenities of the capital while tugging on the boy’s sleeve. The two waved to Laurent and Damen from a distance, and Toby blushed fiercely. Then Ancel dragged him into one of the reading and writing classes.
The circus companies crossed the capital's borders, and Lazar accompanied Pallas to a performance in Arles. Lazar put his arm around the Akielon’s neck and took a bite of the dried apricots Pallas was munching on as they walked among the fire-breathers. He then kissed the Akielon’s cheek and made him smile.
Mircela was seen in one of the small shrines in Arles, her knees bent in prayer. Talik and Lady Vannes joined her, saying that Vask's second wife had donated much to the temples of Skarva and was an ardent devotee of the gods she believed in. It was she who had sung prayers in Vaskish over the corpses as they lay on the funeral pyre.
Even Sorem had received a short prayer from her before his body was burned between the bound sticks.
Pari, on the other hand, spent a lot of time with Nimue or in Arles' training yards. When the Vaskian dead were burned, she stood at a distance and watched the gray dust hanging in the air like dark snow. She held Vishkar's hand as the empress rested her head on her wife's shoulder.
Meanwhile, under the king’s order, Arles' vast forests of the palace were surrounded by a palisade that made Vask's leopards feel at home in the woods, sleeping on a branch or leaping over the rocks. Vaskian soldiers worked tirelessly on this project.
When Damen and Laurent went to look at the imperial cats of prey, they came across Vishkar and Torgeir talking on the battlement overlooking a large part of the forest's green wall.
The King of Patras kissed the Empress on the head as an older brother would do to a little girl and whispered something into her ear.
In the distance, Damen and Laurent paused, as if they had noticed something very intimate between the monarchs of the eastern nations. Afanas lay heavy in Laurent’s lap, but he was still playing with the laces and eyelets of his jacket.
Torgeir said goodbye to Vishkar and turned to Damen and Laurent as he approached the exit. The three men saluted each other, and the King of Patras looked at Afanas and spoke,
"He'll be the big kind. His father likes to sleep with his head on my lap when I visit Vask. They like company."
Then Torgeir lifted his dark gaze to the Veretian and asked:
"...How are you, Laurent?"
The King of Vere replied:
"Fine, I guess. And she?" — His eyes turned to Vishkar, who was unaware of his presence and stared absorbedly at the trees.
Torgeir took a deep breath and looked at his raffie.
"She'll be fine. Vishkar's suffering and it's good she's doing it now. She loved Sorem. I remember her talking about him on the Ver-Vassel border. You're both young, but Vishkar and I come from an older world where there was predation around us and affection was the only thing that kept us sane."
"It's not such an old world..." Damen stated regretfully.
Still watching the empress, Laurent was roused from his silence when Afanas began to nibble at his laces and the frills on his wrist.
"Damen, would you accompany Torgeir? I’d like to have a word with the Empress. I will not be long."
Damianos watched Laurent's face, agreed after a few seconds, and followed King Torgeir:
"I'll be downstairs if you need me."
Vishkar wore her groom's long shirt and fair pants, and the wind blew through her hair, which had grown a little since her arrival at the palace. She lifted her two-toned eyes as Laurent stood silently beside her.
Then, blinking, she turned back to the front and watched one of the leopards climb a tree.
"It's not your fault. He's gone mad," the Veretian king said shortly. "If Pari didn't kill Sorem, he would kill you."
Vishkar nodded and wiped something from the corner of her gray eye.
"He was like my mother. He hated me."
Laurent spoke:
"Maybe some hatreds are like that. Admiration or love that gone mad."
Vishkar took a deep breath and after, turned to the leopard cub Laurent was holding to his chest.
The big cat yawned and turned its attention to the woods.
"It was a good idea of yours to invent the death of Afanas. Paschal announced his death so sadly that even I would surely have trusted him if I hadn't known about the plan. Despite everything, I believe Sorem had a certain affection for the leopards. He was very jealous that the leopards always preferred Mircela to everyone else... Afanas were to be given to Sorem so I couldn't send him to Bazal. Sorem, as Emperor, had the right to sacred closeness with one of the leopards, and he demanded it."
Laurent blinked his blue eyes.
"And Sorem arranged for Afanas to be given to me on my birthday?"
"Not to you. But to Mathe. Mathe would have gotten everything that belongs to you, Laurent if his plans had succeeded."
Laurent took a quick look at the Vaskian's face and said:
"I have heard from Lady Vannes that Pari is returning to the clans with Nimue."
Vishkar agreed and spoke:
"It was our agreement. I went to her clan and begged Halvik on my knees to accept her and Nimue back before we got to Vere. It's ironic, you know? People like
Sorem and Mathe wanted to be kings so much, but many couldn't stand it. Pari has never identified with the court or royal life, and she's a warrior who misses her people. I love her, and I couldn't keep her trapped in marriage. When you love someone that much, you set them free..."
“I understand,” Laurent replied tacitly.
"But I will still see Pari when I visit Patras, and she will look for me when she rides near Skarva. That's why we both have a ring in our navels. It's a Vaskian custom. As long as we wear it, we know we still care for each other."
"I understand that too."
Vishkar hesitated before speaking and finally asked:
"Are you alright?"
In the woods, one of the predatory cats growled. The King of Vere spoke, twitching the corners of his lips:
"Sorem and Mathe are not the first to abuse my goodwill. It seems that death is looking for me. I'm starting to get used to it."
Vishkar turned forward and said:
"You should not get used to it. Our enemies can't be the balance of the world."
Silence. So, Laurent asked the question that had gotten him there in part.
"Why didn't you get revenge on Sorem with an execution when you pronounced his sentence? Why didn't you punish him harshly? Not only did he conspire against the empire, but he also abused you in a way... in a way..."
Laurent didn't look at Vishkar. Before he could finish his sentence, he turned his face away, staring at the other side of the battlement and clenching the phalanges of his hand.
Vishkar watched the Veretian for a few seconds and offered to hold Afanas on her lap since he was restless.
She said after thinking for a moment:
"Because it's very tiring always to be angry, Your Majesty. My mother was a heartless woman, and I was irritated with her for a long time, but it passed too. The same thing happened with Sorem. Sorem was a person who couldn't let go and was attached to Betthany and the Regent even after their deaths. He was so attached to them that he followed them into everything."
Vishkar smiled when Afanas bit one of her pale fingers.
"My uncle killed my family. I'm tired of death. I wanted him to ... feel everything I felt. I wanted death to hurt him. But in the end, it's me who is feeling pain now." Laurent said through clenched teeth.
Vishkar did not look the Veretian king in the eye but stood beside him. Later, when she spoke, her voice had changed slightly, and for the first time Laurent saw in her a woman who had lived in this world longer than he had. Auguste would be about the same age as the empress if he were still alive.
"There is something stronger than death, Laurent of Vere — life. I couldn't make Betthany a good mother, but I can give my daughters and my people everything I hoped for from her. I couldn't stop Sorem, but I could stop myself. We must let bygones be bygones. If there is hate, we must find a way to love even more."
Laurent moved his blue-tinted retinas and saw the Empress smiling and playing with Afanas.
For the first time, he saw the monarch of Vask well. Vishkar ruled her empire with the wisdom of rebuilding a war-ravaged land within a decade. Perhaps detachment was necessary to restore A letting go to start something new.
She handed the leopard back to Laurent and said as she prepared to leave:
"Afanas seems to accept you. I think you two already have a bond. Maybe Sorem did something right when he gave him to you."
"We have an alliance now," Laurent stated, "the four of us."
Vishkar smiled again before she left and spoke:
"East, west, north and south independent and united. This was not even dreamed of in the past when power could only be gained through domination. I will stay in your palace a little longer, Laurent, to see what else the new generations bring to the world. I am curious."
Laurent stood watching the woods for a long time after the Vaskian had left. He felt strangely better after talking to her, which was progress since they had only annoyed each other when they first met.
What did the new generations were supposed to bring to the world?
Of course, changes. And each change paved the way for other changes, which became opportunities for those yet to come. Or for those who were already making flesh in men’s dreams.
And nothing and no one should be enslaved by their idea of themselves or something. Everything could crash down at the first cherished and desired opportunity for change. Crumble. Fall. Rebuild. And turn.
That was life too asking for passage through death.
Damen and Laurent walked through the corridors leading to the palace's entrance. The two kings wore their robes of state consisting of many fabrics, silks, velvet, laces, and eyelets.
The King of Akielos wore a magnificent ivory chiton with his red cloak and crown of golden leaves. Laurent, who stood next to him, was dressed entirely in white, gold, and cream. Sapphire earrings dangled from his earlobes.
There was a babble of voices and noise in the hall. Tension and anticipation. The clinking of metal.
The wise Councilor Herode received the kings of the Sister Nations with a solemn bow and joined them in the long corridor.
Herode had returned two days ago, not from Chastillon, as Laurent had lied, but from a secret attempt at reconciliation with Kempt after so many years of rupture. A small hope for an understanding that had fortunately been successful with Princess Leda, who now ruled the kingdom while her father Hazel was ill. Laurent had learned from the past, and just to be safe, he did things differently.
Chelaut joined Damen and Laurent as well. A survivor of Mathe and Sorem's plans. A voice on the Council who often disagreed with Laurent, which was important in a government to maintain balance.
And finally, the three newly appointed Council members stepped forward: Lord Berenger, Lady Vannes, and Lady Loyse.
The three Veretians bowed deeply and walked alongside Laurent and Damianos, dressed in sumptuous velvet and silk robes. They were trustworthy and loyal. That was also important in government.
"We've never had women on the Council before," Chelaut had mused when he heard of Laurent's appointment of Loyse and Vannes.
"Perhaps it is time for Vere and its taboos to lose the fear of women," the Veretian king argued. "Men and women can have a relationship without having sex. No queen will sit on the throne, but two female Councilors will stay by my side. I want them with me."
Attention at this point turned to Herode, who, after a moment's reflection, declared:
"Lord Berenger is an honest man. Lady Vannes has represented Vere brilliantly in Vask all these years. And Loyse has proven more loyal to the Crown than former Councilor Guion. Let's send them here."
The announcement was then made the next day.
The kings of the Sister Nations and the Councilors of Vere stepped on the platform erected in front of the palace, feeling the excitement that covered the lawns like a living mass on this sunny Sunday.
The group crossed the portal, and a commotion ensued as rows of slaves and pets wearing collars around their necks, bracelets on their wrists, and gold chains clinging waited amidst the bustle.
Countless men and women showed up, bearing the symbol of pets upon themselves. Toby was among them. He had been offered to have his collar and bracelets removed by a palace blacksmith before, but he preferred to wait for the ceremony.
There were slaves without chains, such as Isander, Latifa, and Ancel, who had already been freed but were present because they were part of what was about to come. And Talik, who didn't normally wear bells, collars, and bracelets but was still a pet, a slave.
Some slaves were called servants and worked in kitchens, courtyards, stables, and ovens instead of in bed. Some had served the Regent when the rings were still appreciated in the capital. Some men and women worked in the halls, mopping the floors and washing clothes in the streams. They were the machinery that had always moved Vere in the shadows, providing pleasure and comfort through lopsided and unstable contracts.
Damen looked at the countless people—rows, and rows of faces in the morning light in perfect lines—slaves who had grown up or been born into this spiral of serving entire families. They could be passed on or held back. They could be sent elsewhere as cargo or held captive in one place like trees. Their lives were always in service to others.
Below the podium stood the soldiers of Vere in their shining armor and the stars on their chests. Beside them stood the soldiers of Akielos, their bare calves, their leather and gilded metal. As the kings and the Council arrived, the guards began to strike the ground with the thrusts of their spears in a rhythmic motion that made skin prickle.
Laurent had felt this excitement once before in Ios when Damen made this move first.
Then the King of Vere took the floor and picked up the metal straw given to him by Herode. He unrolled the document with his signature and those of the five Council members and lifted it into the crowd:
"From today, every man, woman, and child living in Vere is free. Slavery and perversity disguised by dishonest contracts are officially abolished throughout the West, from Dijon to Isthima. From the North to the South. We are officially free people today."
There were loud shouts and euphoric whistles. The soldiers' spear movements became increasingly rhythmic on the tiles and marble. The Councilors spoke a few words before Laurent's finger gesture prompted the blacksmiths waiting in a corner with their tools, to start breaking the chains.
Laurent, Damen, and the Council members then descended the steps of the dais and walked among the newly freed slaves. As they began to lecture on how new professions would emerge in Vere and how the kingdoms had found a way to integrate former slaves and pets into society, the blacksmiths opened locks and let chains tumble to the ground.
As Lady Vannes passed Talik, she slipped her fingers through the Vaskian's hand, squeezing it briefly.
Ancel tossed his hair over his shoulders and winked mischievously at the blue-robbed Lord Berenger.
As the metal was removed from his neck, Toby touched the reddened skin and felt the lack of weight. Then he examined his wrists and stared at his removed collar, tossed into a golden, tangled heap that formed in the corner and grew until it became a mountain.
Fireworks were set off and exploded in the sky in colorful lights, surrounded by bangs and smoke when it was all over.
The Empress of Vask and King Torgeir, also dressed in their robes of state, looked down on the event from afar from their assigned seats.
Erasmus, who sat next to Torveld, stared up at the sky, where the fireworks went up in a colorful flurry, and felt the burn scar on his leg itch like a storm approached.
And Mircela, who had once been the pleasure slave of a cruel man, was overwhelmed by her feelings, wept, and hid her face in Vishkar's shoulder. The memory of how she had been freed on the border of Ver-Vassel returned to her heart with a deep and vivid warmth. That was where her faith in the gods of Vask had taken root.
Normally the world changed almost imperceptibly, but now and then one could see the shifts that circumstances, stars, tides, and living creatures made to establish a revolution around them.
Changes began with a haunting thought that arose from a unique experience. Something invisible and fragile that found its echo and breath in books or with friends until it became almost tangible. Until it became visceral and essential. Like water. Or like blood itself.
Then, it was no longer a man who possessed an idea, but an idea that possessed a man.
In the end, many things could emerge from this. Among other things, lives could be intertwined while gazing into the sun. It could be the rhythmic, feverish sound of spears announcing that the world is changing despite everything. And that every change initially springs from a thin thread of an idea that wants to penetrate the substance of the world.
After the move, a great feast took place in the palace of Arles. There was a banquet with food from the north and south, dancing, and circus performances. There was singing and a simple appreciation of life.
Ancel had asked the shy Lord Berenger to dance, and when the two Veretians returned to their seats with slightly flushed faces, Toby asked Ancel with folded arms:
"May I borrow Councilor Berenger to dance with me?"
Ancel arched his red eyebrows, then gave a short laugh and moved his chin.
"No fucking way! Berenger is my beau and only dances with me. You're working as Councilor Herode's secretary now. Ask him."
Toby frowned and asked as he watched Herode walk past Damen and Laurent:
"Councilor Herode, would you like to dance with me?"
The Councilor investigated the dance hall with a less than enthusiastic expression on his wrinkled face and moved his hands disinterested.
"It's your day off, Toby. You don't want to waste time with an old man like me. Go play with your friends!"
"I don't have any friends!" the boy protested like a scolded child. "I'm bored. It would have been better if I had stayed in your workroom and sorted the drawers, stamps, and books, Councilor Herode!"
"Your mother and siblings are coming next week and there will be plenty to do, Toby," said Herode.
The boy put his hands on his hips, bored, and surveyed the room. His eyes fell on Laurent, but the Veretian king had his arm linked with Damen and wouldn't let go.
The Akielon soldier Lydos, however, who was drinking wine nearby with Lazar and Pallas, came closer, took Toby's hand, and bowed:
"May I have a dance, please?"
Toby rolled his eyes.
"Finally, someone is available! I'm all yours!"
Lydos and Toby disappeared between the bodies moving around the hall with practiced steps. And Ancel pulled Lord Berenger to the table where the candies were served.
Damen and Laurent then found themselves alone with Herode, who, with a mischievous gesture, stole an architectural frosting sweet from a tray placed in front of him. They had something to ask the old man they had been putting off because of the last events.
"Councilor Herode, can we discuss something with you?" Laurent began, catching the man's attention as he pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. "Do you remember this document?"
Herode forced himself to swallow a piece of sugary pastry as he held the paper briefly in front of his face with narrowed eyes.
"Oh, yes! I remember it! Queen Hennike's Gambit! Aleron and Auguste hesitated to accept one of the queen's last requests but finally relented. If you had become an ambassador of Vere, Your Majesty, you would have been brought to Akielos with a wedding proposal. Auguste felt that Damianos or Kastor should marry you, considering your position."
"I would marry him! The document never reached my father, I'm sure of it..." Damen said.
Herode looked at the parchment again, then looked at the two men and commented, understanding the tacit idea:
"It was written a long time ago."
"Not that long..." — Laurent mused.
"What do you mean, Your Majesty?"
Laurent took a deep breath.
"I meant it when I announced that no queen would sit by my side on the throne. That is my last word. There will be another king."
The Councilor looked at Damianos. Laurent continued:
"...But it is possible that many will not accept Damen because of what happened in Marlas. You need to make my mother's last wish known among our supporters. And the murders and evil tricks of my uncle, Mathe, and Sorem of Ver-Tan must be known to all as well."
Herode looked at the faces of the couple before him, smiled after a few seconds, and folded the parchment.
"You remind me of your father, young Laurent. When Aleron chose Hennike as his wife, he also declared that this would be his last word. I will not contest the decision of a man in love. I will publish the document, and you can count on me. Let me negotiate with Chelaut and your supporters. But the Majesty of Vere and the Exalted must do the wedding through official channels..."
Damen pulled up the corners of his mouth as he said:
"I want to do this officially!"
Herode continued:
"Good! The wedding must take place in the capital. We've allowed the king's coronation to occur in Delfeur, but if you want supporters, we'll have to hold the wedding in Arles."
"One wedding here and another in Ios! Whatever you want!" Damen spoke.
"We also need the dowry and have to think about the heirs."
"Believe me, we're thinking about this!" Laurent said. "And I'm committed to finding a solution."
Herode agreed:
"Same-sex marriages are performed on special occasions in Kempt. Lord Haniel and Lord Giraud are officially married, as are Princess Leda and Duchess Ágda. Maybe that's something we can think about in the future..."
And with a solemn gesture, the Councilor asked for permission to leave. Damen was delighted at the thought of being able to marry Laurent.
His chest was filled with joy and anticipation.
His smile was broad and spontaneous.
Then Councilor Herode remembered something, turned around, and added:
"...Oh, we also need to think about public consumption. Here in Vere, it is customary for the king and queen-to-be to spend their wedding night before the Council. We cannot leave this tradition aside. Be prepared, Damianos! You are a young man of known performance and in excellent physical condition. Don't disappoint us and your fiancé, right?"
In an instant, Damianos’ smile started fading until it was gone and the Akielon’s lips curved downwards. His face sank. Laurent rolled his shoulders and laughed spontaneously.
“Stop enjoying yourself!” Damen scolded him.
"There's still time to give up, Damiamos."
"That's not going to happen. Come on, let's dance!"
The Akielon held his olive-tanned hand to Laurent and led him into the hall. A few courtiers made room for the two kings as they passed.
On the dance floor, Laurent danced with grace and beauty, moving his feet with the delicacy of the dance taught to nobles from Vere. Damen had learned the steps from Laurent long ago in Delfeur and followed him, placing his hand on Laurent’s waist and twirling him around the room.
The two men looked at each other, smiled, and swayed to the rhythm of the musicians behind the balustrade. Laurent's steps had something of the assurance of a swordsman, and his sword strokes also had something of the physical art of dance.
After a while, Damen said:
"I have been informed of the execution of Mathe."
Laurent, moving a little slower, replied:
"It was an act of mercy, though you may not think so. He hadn't eaten or drunk for days because of his grief over Sorem's death. Then he tried something against himself which, according to the physicians, put him in critical condition. Despite everything, Mathe seemed to love Sorem and fell into deep sadness after the emperor's death."
Damen looked at the face of the king in front of him and moved his feet.
"No fuss and no celebrations, then."
"What happened to my uncle in Ios must have made you sick."
"You're wrong. I'm an ordinary man, Laurent. I killed Adrastus and nearly killed Mathe. I lose myself when those I love are hurt. And I didn't really try to stop you from executing the Regent."
"I stopped myself this time."
The two kings whirled around in a motion with only their hands touching as they stared at each other, leaning back against each other moments later.
Damianos investigated Laurent's face and asked:
"Are you ready to live what you want from now on, my love? Vere is at peace now."
The Veretian blushed and agreed.
"I want us to continue to change what we can together. The problem of the bastards... I've been thinking about what Mathe said. Maybe it's important to go deeper into this taboo."
Damen asked, bending Laurent's body a little:
"Do you think it would have been different if Mathe and Sorem had been taken in by their real families?"
"I'm not sure about that. There are no guarantees. My uncle was a legitimate son, and Kastor, despite being a bastard, was raised honestly by Theomedes. But both turned out to be traitors to their people. Nothing is certain. But at least I can do the right thing in my government."
Damen smiled at the young man developing his ideals and sharing his wishes before his eyes, and he loved him for it too. Then he said:
"You are the man I admire most in the world and I am happy you want to marry me."
Laurent blushed a little more. Damen continued after clearing his throat:
"...I'm glad you accept me. There's something I need to do. I wanted to do it on your birthday, but there were suspicious incidents, and I didn't want to burden you. I walked with it in my pocket to all sides of the palace, waiting for the best opportunity. I even thought of handing it to you when the Akielon troops left the palace, and I kissed you in front of everyone to lend credibility to my departure. I did it, inspired by Pari of Skarva's outburst when she threatened the emperor as she left the palace, not yet knowing about the alliance of the four kingdoms. But the alliance..."
Laurent raised an eyebrow as he noticed Damen’s nervousness and how much the Akielon accent weighed on his Veretish when he was fidgety.
"...Please stop me!" Damen laughed and cupped his hands to his face.
"Are you still breathing?"
Damen breathed heavily, gathering his courage and stopping his dance moves. Laurent stood in front of him, confused.
Then, without warning, Damen pulled a small ivory velvet box from the pocket of his chiton and bent his knee before Laurent. The surrounding courtiers stopped their dance steps and stared at the two kings.
With the little box open in his hand, Damen finally breathed deeply. A ring revealed itself before the King of Vere.
Damianos’ cheeks turned red. He was a king but still had his dreams and ideas about love. In the South, that was how it worked when a man took that step. Damen asked:
"Will you marry me, Laurent of Vere?"
There was a moment when someone in the room let out a little cry. There was an uneven silence and the melody was interrupted. There was the sound of a goblet falling to the floor at Chelaut's side.
The timing was not as Damen had imagined, but somehow it was perfect in those days when some things were left behind and peace reigned. When he could enjoy quiet, serene moments in which Vere's slaves got their freedom, and the laws were changed.
Laurent looked around, a blush spreading across his face and reaching his ears. Everyone looked at him, and for a few seconds, Damianos feared the Veretian's silence when he turned his blue, narrow eyes on the Akielon.
Damen was kneeling before the King of Vere, his army watching him like the rulers of the neighboring nations. And Laurent was very quiet.
Eerily silence was torture. In a moment of tension, Damen thought Laurent would turn and walk away or sit cross-legged on his throne and watch him. But he didn’t.
Laurent finally moved too and bent his knee. They were now two kneeling kings.
"Yes, I do."
There was a shout, Veretian whistles, and Akielon applause. Hands and cutlery drummed on the tables, and people stood up to glimpse the two kings of the Sister Nations making the formal gesture.
Damen beamed as Laurent extended his pale hand with his measured gestures. And the ring that had belonged to Egeria circled the Veretian’s finger and shone on it.
This was the ring that Damen was to give to the future queen of Akielos. But Akielos would not have a queen. It would have a king, just like Vere.
And in the future, songs would tell of how two great enemies became lovers. Of how two kings knelt before each other and wrote their own stories. How they married with the blessing and forgiveness of both peoples.
From that moment on, the Councilors ordered more wine to be brought, and Torgeir's Patran drink was served in golden cups surrounding the tables.
There was singing throughout the hall, and the mood was exuberant. The Akielons slapped their hands harder on the tables as Damen danced a second time with Laurent, lifting him by the waist and forgetting any decorum that majesty imposed on a man.
Damen's chest was full of love, passion, and happiness. It was full of the part that makes a man a true king, filling life with life.
Hours later, when the hall had emptied, and a few soldiers and courtiers got legless on wine, Damen and Laurent laughed like the two young lovers they were and held hands by the marble fountain in the courtyard.
No herbs had been added to the wine, but under the vines and in the bowers, countless happy couples could be seen exchanging caresses and feverish kisses inspired by romance.
Petals floated on the crystal-clear surface of the water, and the two kings had drunk quite a lot themselves. Damen plucked a flower from one of the ornate vases in the garden and tucked it behind Laurent’s ear before leaning down and kissing him under the starry sky.
They lingered there and after a few minutes Haniel, accompanied by Giraud, approached the fountain and addressed the kings of the Sister Nations.
Giraud, dressed in an elegant velvet jacket, said:
"Congratulations on your engagement, Your Majesty, Exalted! We will leave tomorrow morning and Haniel wanted to give his nephew a gift."
The smiling Kemptian stepped forward and handed Laurent a piece of paper rolled into a straw and tied with a satin ribbon.
The King of Vere unrolled the parchment and in the light of the garden lamps, Laurent found a drawing with graphite lines. He didn't need to ask himself who the two in the picture were, for that look was still alive in his memory and blood.
There was an apple tree in the picture, and below it, a man and a woman were talking, their faces close together and smiling. Aleron and Hennike, still very young, were depicted with deep realism, but more than that, the warmth that the two radiated when they were close to each other was captured by the artist's perception in a remarkable feat.
Haniel moved his fingers and Giraud translated his words.
"Haniel says that he was still a boy when Aleron was in Kempt, but he saw the moment when your parents met, Laurent. He intended to give this drawing to Hennike, but now it's yours. You remind Haniel of his sister and that makes him happy."
Laurent looked at the drawing and held the parchment unrolled before Damen.
"Thank you. It is stunning. My father always told me and Auguste about this moment. But it's something else to see it.” then Laurent added — "I've heard you're taking Latifa to Toutaine."
Giraud replied, moving his hands to include Haniel in the conversation:
"Yes. We have some employees on our property who are deaf. Haniel felt very lonely in Kempt and when he came to Vere, I tried to create a welcoming place for him. Haniel loves to talk and so does Latifa, as we have seen. She can help Haydée with the gardening and adapt well. We were glad when she accepted the invitation."
Giraud gave Haniel an affectionate look, who agreed with a slight nod.
"There's one more thing," Giraud said as his husband waved his hands, "Haniel wants you to know that you can always count on our support. Come to visit us if you ever come through Toutaine. Haniel knows your experiences with uncles have not been the best, Your Majesty, but he has no intention of doing more than maintaining some contact with his sister's child."
Laurent paused for a moment and, after exchanging a glance with Damen, said:
"I will wait for you and my uncle Haniel on my wedding day. I will send someone to deliver the invitation to you."
The two men left, smiling, and after Laurent had looked at the drawing once again, he rolled up the parchment and raised an eyebrow questioningly:
"A wedding in Arles and another in Ios?"
“And a festive engagement party in Delpha,” Damen added, nodding as if the decision had already been discussed beforehand.
"You've thought of everything."
"You're not the only one who spends time and energy making plans."
Laurent looked at his hand, where the golden circle on his finger was glowing. He murmured:
"Yeah. Come to think of it, you're pretty good at sneaking around. Was that the surprise gift you had for me? I would have loved to get it on any occasion."
Damen scratched his ear, a smile playing on his lips.
"Indeed, there is another surprise on the way. I have learned it is now fit to travel and has set on its journey."
Laurent paused with his mouth half open and asked curiously:
"What is it?"
"You'll have to be patient a little longer." Damen declared.
"Damianos!" Laurent snapped. "Do I have to get the truth out of you?"
Damen leaned down, kissed the Veretian on the cheek, and whispered to him:
"I can't wait for you to try."
Laurent, whose cheeks were turning red, said, taking Damen's hand and pulling him along:
"Come on! Let's go to our room. I'm tired."
Damen smiled, and his smile widened as he stared at the figure of the Veretian leading him.
"What?"
"You said yes."
The courtyards of Arles were filled with a heat that promised a hot summer in the third month of spring. The tiles were heated and even some gardens' seedlings dried out by the sun.
Rows of men and women rode their shiny-coated horses and well-equipped, spoke-wheeled carriages were parked in the atrium.
Patras and Vask's entourages would return to their kingdoms. The leopards were housed in their large cages, after a long season in the forests of Arles. After climbing up a ramp, they entered the wagon, yawned, and purred in front of Kalina, who had come to say goodbye to them, for the Vaskian would now serve Vere and take care of little Afanas.
Part of the Akielon army that would return to Delfeur was also organized in a well-structured order of men moving from one side to the other and breaking up camp.
Makedon often turned restlessly over his shoulder and looked around while Lydos mounted his saddled horse.
The northern army’s commander stroked his beard and then lowered his gaze. He looked back into the crowd and straightened up in the saddle. Then he bent down to search the courtyards for someone. His concern was obvious.
"If you're going to do this all the way, you'd better be traveling with Aktis. I get annoyed just looking at you," Nikandros commented, running his hand through his bay horse's mane.
Makedon frowned and his cheeks turned red:
"I'm not waiting for anyone, damn it!"
"Oh, no? If I had to guess, I'd swear to it."
Lord Berenger, Ancel, and Toby came to say goodbye to the Akielons and then turned to Nikandros.
"We will visit Ios for the wedding of the kings. And it will be our pleasure to see your estate, Kyros Nikandros," Lord Berenger said, extending his hand to the Akielon and shaking it.
"I want to see the sea, swim, go for a walk, run around naked and... and, what the hell!" — Ancel complained, interrupting his speech when Lydos' horse sniffed his face.
Toby, who had been talking to Lydos for a few weeks, handed the soldier a bouquet he had picked in the garden that morning.
"I have to go to Ios too since I'm accompanying Councilor Herode as his secretary. We can meet there."
Lydos took the bouquet from the young man, smelled the flowers, and said to a very blushing Toby:
"It will be a pleasure to meet you again, my darling."
The chief of the Imperial Guard of Vask, Nabsib, who had appeared hours earlier and was putting his uniform in order, exchanged a few words with Aktis. And the two men patted each other amicably on the back, despite the bite marks on their necks.
Aktis tied on his chiton, with marks on his lips and ears, before going on duty. There were also scratches on his shoulders.
The two soldiers did not yet understand each other's language very well, but some liked simple, physical things interspersed with roughness.
Lazar, tucking a package of red fruit into the leather pouch tied to Pallas' mount, laughed at the scene and commented:
"I've never fucked a Vaskian. Are they as fiery as the Akielons or has a leopard attacked you?"
"Fuck you, Lazar! None of your business," Aktis replied curtly, mounting his horse with unsteady pasterns and grimacing painfully as he adjusted his hip.
Pallas smiled and said when he gave Lazar a short kiss.
"We will meet again in Delfeur. I will write to my family telling them about your visit to Isthima. Take care of yourself."
"Take care of yourself too, sweetheart," Lazar replied, embracing the Akielon and holding him in his arms before Pallas mounted the trotting horse Dydimos.
Nikandros, still annoyed by Makedon's restlessness, felt a hand on his shoulder as he tightened the strap of his tagari.
Vishkar, accompanied by her two consorts, came to bid farewell to the kyros alongside Isander.
The empress folded her arms and said with a wry smile:
"It was a pleasure to talk to you at the baths, and I thank you for being so kind to Pari and accompanying Mircela, the leopards, and Nimue to Arles. The Akielons are honest men. I hope to learn more about Akielon culture when I go to Ios for the wedding of the kings."
Nikandros blushed and joined his hands in the typical Vaskian salute to the Empress, Mircela, and Pari, who looked at him with her stunning beauty.
"You will all be very welcome in Ios, Your Imperial Majesty! And as for what happened on Laurent's birthday... that was an experience I can only imagine in a place like Vere..."
Vishkar nodded with a smile and gave the kyros three heavy pats before walking off arm-in-arm with her two wives.
"Some experiences can be drawn out..." — she nodded to Isander still watching Nikandros silently.
The kyros opened his mouth to say something, but Laurent's servant beat it.
"I thank you for everything too, Kyros Nikandros. You were very ... gentle."
Nikandros walked up to Isander, looked at him, and touched a curl of his hair.
"I'm sorry Latifa moved to Toutaine. I heard you were courting her."
Isander batted his fawn eyelashes.
"We were very good friends, and I fancied her, but Latifa never gave me hope. Besides, my feelings have changed, my master..."
Nikandros shook his face and said:
"I am not your master. Slavery is over..."
"I am going to Delfeur with King Laurent's entourage. Can I expect to meet you there? I would like to see you again."
Nikandros blinked. He hadn't slept with Isander at Laurent’s birthday party only, but also a few times during his stay in Arles. The young man looked for him like a passionate lover. And Nikandros could tell he was enjoying it.
"I have things to do in Ios. But I'd like to see you again in Delpha before I travel south. I'll be waiting for you." — the kyros said, eliciting a smile from the servant.
Damen and Laurent, standing some distance away, watched the scene and the King of Akielos put his hand to his chin, speaking:
"Nikandros and Isander remind me of what happened here in the capital when you managed to bring Erasmus and Torveld together. Torveld fancied you, but Erasmus blew him away. The ambassador from Patras saw Erasmus’ vulnerability. Then, wanted him more than anything else."
Laurent stared at Isander's dark hair, olive-tanned skin, and fawn eyes, which caught Nikandros' attention.
"Love is mysterious, isn't it?"
Then, a different movement could be heard among the people saying goodbye, and Loyse appeared out of breath, dressed in colorful silks and with a shawl around her shoulders. Her hair tied to a bun with a hairpin, came loose a little.
She looked around at the soldiers and walked quickly towards Makedon, who smiled when he saw her, dismounted from his horse, and stepped carelessly on Huet's foot.
"I was starting to think you wouldn't come."
"Of course, I would! I couldn't help saying goodbye to you before we meet again in Delfeur..."
Makedon smiled, noticing the brown freckles on the new Councilor's very white skin. Her eyes were moist, and a nervous smile played around her lips.
"What took you so long?"
"I've been to the physician. I'm going to have to spend some time in Fortaine. A few months," Loyse explained.
Makedon frowned and asked:
"Fortaine... Why? Are you ill?"
Loyse looked around and touched the commander's arm, ignoring the suspicious glances of the surrounding Veretians. She whispered something into his ear in private while keeping her other hand on her belly.
When Loyse turned her face away, Makedon asked open-mouthed:
"Are you sure about that, Loyse?"
The woman blushed.
"Yes. I should be more careful, but whatever... I’ll go to Fortaine before it gets evident. You're under no obligation to it. We're mature and..."
At that moment, however, Makedon, shortening the distance and not caring about the people around him, took Loyse's face in his hands and kissed her full-on mouth in front of everyone.
The atmosphere changed as the taboo was flaunted like a rare jewel before people's eyes.
Huet cried out. Chelaut put his hand on his chest and sat on a stone bench to catch his breath. Jord blushed and fanned himself with something he had at hand. Herode turned away and moved his hands as if leaving that in gods' hands, and Lord Berenger pursed his lips as Ancel playfully patted him on the shoulder.
Damen, standing next to Laurent, said:
"We have a long way to go to break the taboos. Aren't you going to stop your Councilor?"
Laurent watched the couple with an impersonal look.
"That would be pointless. Makedon and Loyse have been sleeping together since before Toutaine. A female Councilor, widow of a shitty Veretian, falling for a younger Akielon commander who swears like breaths, that's something. Arles is modernizing. I think Chelaut will have to swallow it all in one gulp."
"You just like it slow and sweet when it comes to you," Damianos commented allusively.
Laurent blushed but responded with a lopsided smile.
"We didn't go slow or sweet yesterday."
After the exciting moment, there were a few more goodbyes before departure. Torveld and Erasmus said farewell to Damen and Laurent.
Torgeir exchanged a few words with Vishkar too. The Empress would have some of her men escorting Mircela and the leopards to Skarva and the other would accompany her to Halvik's clan. There she would leave Pari and Nimue and meet Judy and the crown princesses again.
When the four kings gathered, they looked at each other. Torgeir said:
"I'll see you at the wedding ceremony. And let's exchange more political ideas about the recent changes. I think you were right, young Laurent. Nobody knows how the end of slavery can affect men's thinking."
Afterward, as he mounted his horse, the King of Patras seemed to remember something. He took a small object from his belt bag and tossed it to Damen.
"I almost forgot! To keep Laurent's doll company."
Damianos looked at the object that had been thrown at him. It was one of the dolls Torgeir had sewn. Its eyes were two black buttons, and its hair was a tangle of dark threads. Around the doll’s body were auspicious words written in Patran language. The chiton was incredibly well made.
"Wow, thank you!" Damen exclaimed, smiling as he accepted Torgeir's gift.
The King of Akielos couldn't imagine a man as strong and athletically built as the Patran sewing wrapped in needles and thread by the light of a lamp. But that was exactly what the King of Patras had done in his last days in Arles— a habit he had acquired during his service on the Ver-Vassel border. The sewing calmed him down and helped him to think.
"It looks quite similar!" Laurent commented, looking from the doll to Damianos.
"I'll remember bringing you a decent gift in Ios," Vishkar said, waving to the kings of the Sister Nations from the carriage she shared with Pari.
"Try showing up in my kingdom with a concubine again and see what happens," Laurent replied dryly.
"Always the sharp tongue and the delightful sense of humor..."
"You're pretty annoying too," Laurent declared.
Mircela waved to Lazar and Pallas and got into her carriage with Nimue and the slave who looked after the leopards.
Charls and Guilliame, who had also stayed in the castle so far, said before they left:
"We hope to provide you with all the cloth and luxury two kings deserve."
"I will not accept your absence on our wedding day." — Laurent declared, waving his hand with golden circles on the wrist and now on the finger.
Under the bright sun and blue morning sky, the entourages left the city gates. Damen would not return to Delpha until the end of the month, as he preferred to travel with Laurent. The carriages turned their wheels, and the horses moved their hoofs on the ground.
Moving among his men, Laurent saw Hendric emerge from the soldiers, his face slightly flushed as he bowed solemnly to the kings of the Sister Nations. Then he let his gaze slide from Damen to Laurent and announced:
"Exalted, the gift has arrived..."
Damen stepped forward with an excited expression.
"Thank you, Hendric," he added, turning to Laurent, "You can finally satisfy your curiosity."
Laurent looked from the herald to Damen with a suspicious look.
"Are you involved in this?"
Hendric had already disappeared among the soldiers although. He returned with a servant carrying something on his lap.
The dog had bright, alert eyes. Its muzzle and ears were darker than the rest of its body, which was covered in brown fur. The animal tilted its head slightly, looked at Laurent, and barked twice before wagging its tail.
Laurent stood frozen with his mouth half open.
"It was a dog?"
"Yes. She's a kokoni girl from the island of Isthima. Pallas' family breeds dogs and I asked him to reserve one for you when she was born. It took her a while because she had to wait until weaning time and because she had to travel a long way."
Laurent kept his mouth half open and smiled as the little dog barked again. Damen added:
"...I think Afanas wouldn’t mind having a sister."
The next moment Damianos saw Laurent hold the little animal and smile at it. He looked fascinated and euphoric, as good souls do when they have a dog in front of them. He scratched her ears and kissed the little dog's head, which began to sniff him.
Damianos smiled too. He would give Laurent the world if he could, but since he couldn't, he gave him beauty and love to fill what they had.
The image turned into future memories. Laurent's smiling face and devotion to the brown kokoni. It was an image of overwhelming sweetness.
Over the next few weeks, the palace became quiet and still — not sad, but simply calmly and serenely. As the sun rose high in the sky and the day of Laurent and Damen's departure for Delfeur approached, they made their way to the new gardens. Butterflies flitted over the woody shrubs and the flowering branches of the bougainvillea in a flush of pink.
Laurent led Damianos to the white building, flanked by pillars and detailed in blue, that was the Sister Nations' room, to which only they had access.
There were people Damianos had to meet. If he and Laurent were to marry, another protocol must be followed.
When the Akielon and the Veretian entered the room, the table with the two high-backed chairs and the map on the polished wooden top was still there, but the painted portrait of Laurent's family was emblazoned on the wall now.
Damianos raised his dark eyes to a huge King Aleron and Queen Hennike. And Auguste.
Laurent stood in the framed painting with the serious look of an intelligent boy, perhaps ten years old. The royalty of Vere was like an island surrounded by dogs. They were a family.
Next to the painting, on another wall, hung the drawing Haniel had given Laurent. The dolls Torgeir had sewn stood next to each other on a shelf.
Laurent didn't need to say anything. Damen knew what had to be done. The Veretian had told him about the vision he had had when he lost consciousness during the attack by Mathe and Sorem and found his dead mother and brother.
In the end, it didn’t matter whether Laurent’s experience had been a journey into the realms of death, a dream, or a vivid delirium. That was not important. What mattered was what remained of the encounter.
Damen stared at the dead and spoke after a few seconds:
"I'm so sorry. I wish I had met you under different circumstances. I'm sorry for what I took from you."
Damen's gaze fell on Auguste's face, which still had very youthful features in the painting.
His memories of Marlas were already beginning to fade with age, but Damen remembered the former crown prince of Vere as a fierce warrior who dueled with him on the front lines — an enemy. A soldier of war with the Star of Vere on his chest, splattered with mud and blood on his shield and his originally beautiful filigree armor.
In the battle, Damen had felt the clash of metal on metal, the harsh sounds of breathing, and the rough crawl of feet over the earth. But the images had lost their contours, their power, and everything disappeared in a radiant glow like the sun of Ios at noon.
When Damen looked at Auguste now, he realized he too had once been a boy — he was even younger than the Akielon king when he died. Vere's heir defended what he loved most with all his might. He did what he thought was right.
There was fragility too, of course. And he was also moved by love in this final battle. He was like a mirror of Damen himself.
The Akielon King looked at the former monarchs of Vere with his moist gaze and added, touching Laurent's hand:
"... I can't change the past, but I promise I’ll take care of Laurent with all my love and devotion. If Laurent wants me, I will strive to make him happy, honor him, and deserve him. I love him and he will rule over Akielos not as a conqueror, but as the admirable king that he is. I regret things have not gone according to Queen Hennike's plans. I am very sorry about it. But I like thinking Laurent, and I would be together in any world we live in."
Laurent looked at Damen as he said a prayer in Akielon language. He vibrated the vocal cords deep in his throat and intoned the words with tonic syllables, grave accents, acute accents... And rough and smooth breathing.
He bowed respectfully, and the two kings left the room for the gardens after a long silence, while Laurent closed his eyes and said something too, without words.
At Laurent's request, Isander had prepared a picnic for the two lovers in the garden.
The days of the approaching summer were growing lazy, and Damen and Laurent wanted to linger in this private, citrus-scented space that was a piece of Ios in Vere.
Isander had laid the towel under a leafy tree with ripe oranges hanging from its branches. There was milk, bread, honey, cake, wine, and grapes. Afanas and the little dog named Dâmaris, were curled up asleep. After some strangeness, the two seemed to get on well and adapted to each other.
The wind blew through the branches of the trees, and a few cicadas could already be heard on the green roof surrounded by white architecture. The King of Vere undressed his severe jacket and kept only his white blouse.
Damen had laid his head on Laurent’s lap and murmured he was happy. So happy.
"I love you, Laurent."
The Veretian ran his fingers through the Akielon's dark curls and felt his heart plunge into a sublime serenity.
Then Laurent looked into the dark eyes that gazed at him lovingly. Under the orange tree, wrapped in the languid morning, the Veretian remembered a feeling he had buried within himself to suppress his need. He hid it from himself. He wanted it so much.
He was with his family now.
Laurent leaned down to kiss Damen's mouth, whispering before their lips touched:
"I love you too, Damianos."
Vask's carriages rattled a little on the dusty road.
With increased surveillance by Veretian and Akielon soldiers along the Vere routes, mercenaries no longer attacked or robbed passersby.
Vishkar traveled alone with Pari in the carriage. The two women would enjoy their time together before saying goodbye in Ver-Vassel.
There was sadness between the empress and the warrior. They loved each other but lived in different worlds. Their needs would wither the two women if they weren't met. An empress gathered power in her empire and a warrior rode free among the clans.
They were still married but had to live apart so that love didn't extinguish, and the relationship was lived within its possibilities. This was the love that was possible.
"You can ride with us in Ver-Vassel," Pari said, resting her head on Vihkar's shoulder in her rough Vaskish. "Halvik wouldn't mind, myn leafde."
Vishkar smiled and kissed her fourth wife on the cheek.
"I can do this for one night. After that, I have to go."
Pari paused for a moment and looked up at Vishkar.
"You haven't told King Damianos about my sister Kashel."
Vishkar blinked her bicolored eyes and brushed Pari's hair behind her ear.
"No, I couldn't. As you said, the boy still depends on his mother, and only when the bond is broken can he be given to his father. I didn't have that right."
Pari leaned her head against Vishkar's shoulder and let her hand slide over the other woman's knee.
"And how do you think King Damianos will react when he learns that Kashel has borne him a boy and a girl? And that his twin heirs are riding in the clans?"
Vishkar stared down the road, watching the hills and tall grasses in the distance. The sun was beginning to set on the horizon in an orange-purple hue. The chirping of crickets and locusts could be heard in the distance.
"We'll know when the time comes. At Damianos and Laurent's marriage perhaps. The girl belongs to her mother and the clan, but the boy... What will the Kings of Akielos and Vere tell when they know the truth?"
Notes:
A/N
I can breathe a sigh of relief that there are no more plot spoilers. From the moment I started this story, I knew Damian would have twins and his children would be the result of Laurent's permission to sleep with the Vaskian women of the clans in Prince's Gambit: Captive Prince Book Two. Damen has been a father in Vask and Brazil since 2023. Now, in other countries. But not yet in Akielos and Vere. lol
Twins, man! Life begs for passage. And what a passage...
Now we understand why there was a lot of talk about the customs of the Vaskian clans in the "Trap" chapter, and why Mathe was worried when he learned that Torgeir might have had illegitimate children from the warrior women of the clans. Mathe and Sorem might have also talked alone about the possibility of Damen having children in the clans as well, anticipating a blind spot from Damen and a topic that intrigued Laurent when he learned that Pari was Kashel's sister. Mathe and Sorem knew more than anyone how dangerous bastards were. And as forgotten heirs from other places, sooner or later might come to take what's theirs.
I must prepare to say a few words to the readers following this story, but this isn't the time yet. Like Damen, I like surprises and have prepared one for those who like this fanfic.
There will be a next chapter with a short story, just like the original trilogy has four side stories signed by Queen Pacat. When I finished the last chapter in the Portuguese version, I felt the need to see our beloved couple Lamen living something gentle, soft, loving, and happy. I wanted to see them enjoying their wonderful life together. Because although this story often revolves around death, it celebrates life.
So, I wrote a loving story set in Damen and Laurent's last days in Arles before they return to Delfeur/Delpha.
After the next chapter, there will be the extra with Patras and Vask's war narrative. I know I'm going to cry and laugh at the same time when it ends but I'm happy that I've continued this impulse I've had to write over the last years in Portuguese and in English and not only put things on paper that I know but things that I have to keep reminding myself of. It's been amazing! Indeed.Thanks to everyone following this story so far, and I hope you've enjoyed "The Execution of the Dead" as much as I've enjoyed writing it. I'll see you again soon! In the short story! Let's celebrate life and love!
Have a nice week!P.S. People in ancient Greece probably didn't get married with rings, as is common in many parts of the world today. But I couldn't help but write the scene where Damen kneels in front of Laurent and asks him to marry. Our romantic Akielon deserves that too! :3
Chapter 16: The Dance of the Living (Extra Chapter 1)
Summary:
Damen and Laurent take a day off before returning to Delpha/Delfeur, but they don't even suspect that someone has been watching them closely.
Notes:
***I will mark this fanfic as completed because it ends here, but as soon as possible, I will share my final notes on the past war of Vask and Patras, whose events had influenced this story.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I4z3Gp4dp5I
*Chapter with reference to the short story 'Green, But for a Season' by C.S. Pacat.
Damen made his way to the courtyard of Arles, surrounded by cypress trees, rose bushes, and the architecture of brooding stone statues. The evening was pleasant and fresh. The chill of early spring had left, and the season drew ever closer to Veretian summer.
The palace was quiet, with only a few courtiers strolling through the gardens after dinner under the chandeliers and jasmine bushes. Laurent stayed in his room.
Isander had informed Damen that Laurent had caught a cold earlier that afternoon and would be resting in his chamber. He preferred to keep the Akielon in another room so as not to fall ill himself. Laurent had also requested that Damen dine with the Council in his place.
Damen's assurances that he could after his fiancée had been of little use. The Veretian had been unyielding and had forbidden the King of Akielos to enter the royal chamber.
When Damen arrived in the atrium, he tugged a little at the collar of his silk shirt. He was wearing the Veretian clothes Laurent had also sent him via Isander. A barber from the city who had previously cut the Akielon’s hair appeared in his room and told him to get dressed for dinner with the Council.
The King of Akielos looked around the empty courtyard. Nothing was to be seen except a parked, spoke-driven carriage with four brushed horses and someone standing in it. The coachman, a young man, was smoking absently.
Come to think of it, it made no sense at all for Damen to meet the Council in the back of the palace like an informant or a herald rather than in the Great Hall like a king.
What did Laurent expect from this?
Damen looked around again and was about to leave when the coachman, seeing him, threw his cigarette butt on the ground and whistled shrilly, irritating the horses. Then he waved.
"Here, Exalted! Come here, please!" said the young man with a smile on his pimple-smeared face.
Damen glanced back as if there was another Exalted in Vere. One of the horses trotted up a leg. The Akielon approached, unsure of what to expect. Vere was unpredictable, even in the last days of his stay.
"What is this about?" Damen asked.
The man with the youthful face that reminded Damen of someone smiled and said only after rapping his knuckles on the carriage window and retreating towards his place:
"You'll see!"
Something moved inside the carriage, and Damen discreetly reached for the short sword at his waist out of habit. The carriage door opened.
Damen stopped as he saw a beautiful woman sitting cross-legged on the leather-upholstered seat. Her long, loose hair fell pale over her shoulders, and she wore an elegant dress of ivory-colored Veretian silk. Her blue gaze fell on the Akielon, who swallowed hard.
Damen nodded curtly to the noblewoman as she waved the fan before her pretty face. The situation worried him.
Someone had sent a lady to meet him. According to old Akielon custom, Damen had to deal with one or other of the kyroi welcoming him to their estates and sending a young woman to wait on him in his bed chamber now and then.
Damen had to explain each time that he no longer accepted this kind of welcome gift and was annoyed by the kyros of Kesus, who always made the same mistake. It was strange that someone in Vere would exhibit the same behavior, especially since Damen's marriage to Laurent had already been made public in all four kingdoms.
"Good evening, Milady. I’m afraid it is a misunderstanding. I am waiting for the Council."
The woman paused and stared at Damen with her blue eyes. After a moment, she replied impersonally, resting her chin on her dainty wrist.
"Well, Damianos, don't you recognize your fiancée?"
Damen, who avoided looking the stranger straight in the eye out of respect, looked up when he heard the familiar voice.
A wry smile played around his pale face, and Damen could see the Veretian better at the lamp's light. The Akielon almost rubbed his eyes to make sure it was real.
"Laurent?! Is that you?!"
"I guess."
Damen looked the Veretian up and down with renewed curiosity. He smiled, surprised.
"Why are you dressed like that? I was told you were not feeling well and that I should meet the Council instead of you..."
"A hoax. I had plans for tonight, and they're secret, of course."
Damen had a silly smile. He ventured up to Laurent and touched the flower arrangement he wore in his now long hair.
"And what are those plans?"
"We're going to spend the night in the capital. Outside the palace."
Damen frowned.
"Why?"
Laurent batted his long eyelashes, and Damen could now see his lover clearly beneath the silk and jewels.
"Because I need to check how things are in the capital before we leave on Monday. I don't think anyone will suspect it's me. We'll be a couple and you'll be the Patran Lamen again."
"I'll be Lamen?"
"Yes. And I'll be your wife, for taboo's sake. Many know Charls in Arles and his cousin's disguise might raise questions."
Damen raised his eyebrows.
"You really like these disguises..."
"There's more." — Laurent added, blushing a little this time, — "I heard the street performers and circus companies are staying in the capital until next week. It could be a good opportunity to show you the real Arles and change our perspective. I want us to go out and wander around like we did in Ios’ markets. Just you and me."
Damen watched Laurent's red-shadowed face. The last few months in Vere's capital hadn't been the best, and it was easy for the two of them to leave the palace since they had revisited many bad memories. Laurent, however, was trying to reconcile the capital of his kingdom before he left for Delfeur.
The Akielon smiled and took Laurent's pale hand.
"Is this a secret meeting of two lovers?"
Laurent answered.
"No. It's the necessary courtship of two fiancés."
“I see,” Damen replied, kissing the back of Laurent’s hand where his ring shone. “It will be an honor to escort you, my fiancé.”
Laurent blushed a little more, and Damen walked up the carpeted steps of the carriage staircase and put his arm around the Veretian.
"We can go now, Oliver." — Laurent authorized the coachman.
The way to the city was not far, and the moon in the sky and the stars illuminated the cobbled streets. The cool breeze blew a little through the window, and Laurent rested his face against Damen's shoulder.
The last few days in the palace had been lazy and quiet. A few of Akielos’ troops were waiting to return to Delpha with Damen and were slowly breaking camp. Laurent’s Veretian army was packing to leave early in the week. Jord, the captain of the royal guard in Enguerran’s absence, had been given the weekend off.
As Damen and Laurent entered the city, the bucolic scenery gradually changed with the flickering fires in the lamps, people walking on the sidewalks, and the sound of music and voices. They heard the accordion played by the nomadic people to the north. The three-story houses with high roofs loomed in the darkness, radiating light and festivity.
The coachman parked the carriage near a square, and Damen and Laurent got out. The young man driving the horses gestured respectfully with his hat to the two kings as he remained seated in his carriage. Very quietly, he asked:
"Are you sure you don't want me to wait here, Your Majesty?"
Laurent replied and took Damen's arm.
"Yes. You can rest, Oliver. Wait for us tomorrow at the address I gave you."
The young man nodded and set off to drive the carriage away. Before doing so, however, he made another gesture with his hat towards Damen to greet him.
"It's a pleasure to meet you in person, Exalted! My brother has told me some stories about you. I loved hearing how you beat Govart in front of everyone in the ring of Arles."
Damen turned to the young man but was already gone, leading the horses at a gallop and riding along the narrow streets. A few dogs barked after him.
"I thought his face looked familiar. Now I know who he reminds me of."
Laurent stared at the carriage as it moved away.
"Yes. He's Orlant's younger brother. Oliver helped in the stables when Orlant was in the Guard."
"I'm surprised Orlant spoke so well of me."
Laurent commented, adjusting the shawl over his shoulders.
"My men have always admired you. Ever since you first defied the Regent and his guard in front of everyone."
Damen and Laurent then walked hand in hand along the path to the square, where some tightrope walkers formed a pyramid with their elongated bodies. Some artists breathed fire and juggled with flashes of light in the night, and a little further on, a man crossed a wobbly rope attached to two beams, arousing the spectators' emotions.
A group of northern nomads played the accordion, and some women danced in a circle, waving their heavy petticoats and coin bracelets. Several stalls were selling candies and fruits with molasses. Some small items and trinkets, like bone combs, wooden boxes, and tools, were also on sale.
Damen and Laurent stopped before a magician who made things disappear from the audience's hands and reappeared inside his hat. After a while, the Veretian, laughing, pulled the Akielon's hand towards a more extensive crowd forming in the square.
Damen bumped into one of the passers-by and apologized rather vaguely. The Veretian, his head covered by a hood, turned back in surprise, seeing the King of Akielos leaving hand in hand with a gorgeous woman enjoying an apple with molasses on a stick.
Frowning, the hooded man narrowed his gaze and hurriedly crossed the alley, finding his companions having fun at an arrow-shooting attraction.
Lowering his hood, the man spoke:
"You have no idea who I just saw!"
Huet, who was cursing at having missed his target, turned around. Lazar made a winning move after hitting the big prize: a bulging bottle of Belloy’s wine.
"Who, Jord?"
Jord, without his hood now, had a sullen expression as he replied, lowering his tone:
"Damianos!"
Lazar held back before shooting another arrow and turned around as well.
"Damianos?! But what is he doing here?"
Jord huffed with an angry expression as he replied,
"Walking with a woman!"
Huet's mouth was slack as he muttered,
"A woman?!"
"That's what you heard! It seems Damen hasn't abandoned his old habits and the reputation he built in Akielos!"
Lazar, putting aside the arrows, pulled his companions into a corner.
"Wait a minute! Who was that woman?"
"Some Veretian I don't know."
"Beautiful?" asked Huet.
"Very. And blonde like our king. I don't know how he dares to do that!"
Huet averted his eyes strangely.
"Do what?"
Jord became angry.
"Come on, man! Knowing King Laurent as we do, do you think he knows Damen is seeing a woman? Two years ago, he nearly gutted Pallas and Lady Jokaste. He has no idea! Damen is cheating on Laurent of Vere!"
Huet put his hand over his mouth. Then he said:
"We've been informed that the king is ill, so he dismissed us. Recently, the marriage of Damen and Laurent was announced, and this is how the Exalted reacts to all our king has endured for him?"
Lazar put his hand on his neck and moved his face.
"Jord, are you sure it was him?"
Jord nodded.
"I know it was him. He disguised himself as a Veretian and even cut his hair so he wouldn't be recognized, but I saw him! He's strolling like a fifteen-year-old boy and holding hands with a fussy woman. Meanwhile, our king is arguing with the Council because of him. This is serious and dangerous!"
Huet lost the strength to speak as he got into Jord's mood.
"D...angerous?"
"Of course, man! For the first time in years, we have some peace in our kingdom, and the creation of the Sister Nations and the marriage of kings ensures peace for Vere for decades to come. But what do you think Laurent of Vere will do if he finds out he's being made a fool of in his kingdom?"
Huet remembered how Laurent had publicly humiliated Govart and sent him packing when they were in camp on their way south. He remembered how the Regent had paid for all his sins in Ios. Finally, he remembered the sour look on the King of Vere’s face as Jokaste climbed into her carriage, looking like a snake ready to strike. He was contemptuous on horseback.
"But maybe the king allows Damen to go out with other lovers."
"Do you believe this, Lazar?"
Lazar swallowed and looked dejected.
"No. What will we do then?"
Jord said with a serious face:
"Now we'll go after Damen."
Huet lifted his moist gaze.
"To do what?"
"To remind him of the shame he forgot in Delfeur. And to remind him that Vere is not Akielos and that our king is not a gladiator with whom he locks himself in a room for seven hours and then throws away."
Damen was happy. With his arm around Laurent, he had watched the Veretian games of quoits and sack races. There was an attraction in dagger shooting, in which Laurent took part and achieved an excellent result. In another attraction, a heavy flour sack had to be thrown over a considerable distance and Damen came out on top.
In the alley next to the Street of Daisies, a competition in which the participant had to carry his companion on his back to the other side of the long lane was presented. Whoever ran the fastest and didn't drop their load won.
"Let's try it!" Damen suggested.
Laurent raised an eyebrow, his face flushed slightly. He looked around and saw the competitors carrying their drunk fellows. The organizer of the competition, a middle-aged man, came up to him and said to the Veretian King:
"No imprudence! We don't want men and women fornicating here. Only men, sweetie!"
Damen opened his mouth to say something, but Laurent beat him to it:
"He is my husband. There's no taboo here."
The man eyed Damen with a certain suspicion.
"Where are you from?"
"Patras. And my wife is from Vere. We come from far away to experience the best of Arles."
The man stared at the two kings for half a minute and said to Damen at the end:
"Fine, if you're married, that's fine. But please don't kiss on the mouth and show your hands! We have our decency. We don't want to see you touching her breasts or her touching your cock. Vere is very different from Patras. It's a place of respect."
For a moment, Damen sympathized with all the curses Makedon would say in this situation.
"I see, sweetie," Laurent replied sarcastically, "but I think these laws are nonsense."
"You're a Veretian lady, and you should respect our king! That's the way things are done here. Take it or leave it."
"I'll take it," Laurent agreed dryly.
Around them, the men turned to whisper as Laurent wrapped his arms around Damen’s neck and climbed onto his back.
"We'll have our hands full changing the laws," Damen said, watching as one of the men tried to complain to the organizer. Another man cried out as Laurent wrapped his legs around Damen's body.
"I wonder if I've been hanging around Akielons too much to see the long roads my culture takes now."
Damen straightened his spine to accommodate Laurent and walked toward the track.
"Since we're dressed up like this today, let's run in a straight line and show them."
Damen and Laurent’s fellow runners looked at the couple with some disdain. Their eyes went to Laurent’s long-haired strands and very white legs, which were visible now. One of the grumpier competitors cursed as Laurent winked teasingly at him, though the blush rose to his cheeks.
The race began with the sound of a hammer on a gong, and Damen ran down the track, leaving his opponents behind as he felt Laurent's arms tighten around him.
It had not been a hard-fought victory. Reaching the finish line with Laurent still on his back, Damen made a victory gesture against the jeers of the other competitors. Laurent added fuel to the fire when he gave Damen a deep, passionate kiss on the lips.
"I said no kissing and no fornication in my tent!” protested the organizer with a bright red face, but without daring to touch the couple.
Amid the crowd, Jord, Lazar, and Huet also had red-colored faces. Huet muttered:
"How bold!"
"Are you seeing it with your own eyes now?" grumbled Jord.
"But where did this woman come from?" — Lazar wondered. — "I've never seen her in Delfeur. And Damianos doesn’t come to Arles alone. Could it be... could it be that she's a noblewoman from the court that he met at Laurent's birthday party? That would be cheeky!"
Huet watched as Damianos' companion laughed at the commotion she had caused with her kisses and pulled the Akielon into the crowd to disappear into it, saying:
"This sassy lady seems uninhibited enough to be a courtesan. Perhaps she is a whore from the low-lying brothels of the city."
"So, this is the kind of company the Exalted enjoys?"
As the Veretians chatted amongst themselves, Damen and Laurent strolled among the people, and the King of Akielos grimaced as he heard crude laughter. A circle of people had gathered around a makeshift stage.
Damen recognized the actors’ accents from his homeland. Then, due to the fall of a man in a mask, he found out they were the theater troupe from the north, whose performance Makedon had given Laurent for his birthday.
Laurent moved his shoulders in spontaneous laughter.
"I can't believe they've stayed here this long..." Damen was surprised.
"They'll stay until late spring. I financed them."
A new wave of laughter broke through the crowd as the actress dressed as Laurent cracked her whip in a disturbingly faithful imitation of the King of Vere.
"And why did you do that? I told you this wasn't the real Akielon Theater. Did you really like the traveling party that much?"
Laurent blinked his blue eyes, still holding Damen's hand, and moved closer to the stage.
"I made a few changes in the storyline. If our enemies told so many lies about us, I thought people had the right to know the true story..."
Damen turned his attention to the actress playing Laurent, watching Damen's version on his horse as he walked towards the trees near the mural with his hand on his chest after a deep sigh.
Indeed, some scenes were included among the laughs in a subtle but significant way. Like the scene where Damen killed one of the Regent's men with a sword thrown from a distance, saving the Prince of Vere. The audience vibrated.
The highlight of the play was when the Damianos actor muttered on a battlement made of cardboard:
"I wish things had been different between us, I wish I had behaved more honorably towards you. I want you to know that you'll have a friend on the other side of the border, no matter what happens to you and me."
"Friends. Is that what we are?" — the actress playing Laurent asked, her voice breaking.
A scream went through the crowd as the actor playing Damen stepped forward and lifted the young woman’s face in front of him with his fingertip. After a split second, he whispered something intimate in the actress’ ear, indicating that something had been said, but Damianos’ words as he declared himself Laurent’s slave remained secret.
Damen remembered that moment. A part of his soul had been released there and would live forever in Ravenel. The two actors kissed, and the audience let out another scream. There was a shiver. An enchantment. A woman with a basket of grapes in one hand and her heart in the other said:
"They're already completely in love with each other! Any blind man can see that!"
"Tell him you love him, Damianos of Akielos! Don't let him get away this time!" — a bearded man in the audience said indignantly.
Damen turned to Laurent’s blue eyes and the two men stared at each other for a second, remembering the path to where they were now. They knew the events from that story. They were the continuation of that story. They had made history.
Other notable moments were shown between the jokes that made the plot palatable to the townspeople like when a blushing Damen under the starry sky invited Laurent to the summer palace at Ios.
The woman with the basket of grapes sighed a little louder:
"Yes, take our king to Ios and look after him. He deserves it."
Damen and Laurent had left before the events leading up to the Kingsmeet and the trial at Ios. Before the Regent's actor took off his mask and revealed the face of a dead man. The two lovers already had enough of their own stories about standing on the edge of a cliff. Of survival. Now they were more interested in life in two kingdoms.
"There's music coming from this direction. Shall we move on?" — Laurent suggested.
Damen linked his fingers with those of the Veretian and the two men walked towards the other square, crossed a small bridge under which boatmen were selling flowers, and turned their backs on the actors, who were walking together towards a Regent waiting for them, seated on his ambition, eager to capture them in the Kingsmeet.
One boy in the audience booed something the Regent said, and another called him names.
Damen and Laurent walked away and crossed the bridge, over which rose the scent of honeysuckle and fleurs-de-lis.
And the past was left a little further behind.
Jord, Lazar, and Huet spotted Damen and the mysterious woman dancing in the street. Ribbons hung from clotheslines, and lamps illuminated the square, where men and women moved about excitedly. Pewter jugs of sparkling wine were poured from warped wooden barrels, and flowers adorned the painted wooden beams under starlight.
The nomads from the north played their instruments, pipes, and accordions, and the capital's people danced. There, the separation between men and women seemed less controlled, for there were travelers from different places, and the rhythm constantly rehearsed the exchange of partners, in a farewell, and a festive reunion.
Moving his feet and imitating the rhythm, Damen and Laurent whirled around in a step very different from the princely festivities of Vere or Akielos. Then they clapped, bowed, and swapped partners until they met again after two or three more dances with smiles on their flushed faces. This was the folk dance in the streets of Vere, with which merchants, farmers, and travelers celebrated life and the harvest.
Lazar tasted the candy fruit he had bought from a stall some distance away and watched the scene with wide eyes:
"This winsome coquette bewitched Damen. He looks at her in the same silly way he stares at Laurent of Vere."
Huet, who seemed to embody Jord's apprehensions, asked:
"Do you think that perhaps Damen has transferred his affections from Laurent to this woman?"
Jord swallowed hard and replied:
"There's only one way to find out."
After three more dances, during which the Kings of Vere and Akielos laughed at some of their awkward moves and hugged, they made their way to a big inn near the stalls.
The place was luxurious and well lit. Damen and Laurent sat on rustic wooden benches before a table and ordered wine. The inn servant, a young man, looked at them somewhat suspiciously and said:
"I'm sorry, but we can't allow you to sit together. Decency..."
Laurent stepped forward and pulled a folded document from a hollow in the handle of his fan.
"We are married. Here's the certificate."
Of course, Laurent had ordered a certificate to be prepared.
The servant scratched his disheveled red hair and replied:
"I can't read. But you can keep the paper. If you say you're married, it's fine."
Laurent replied impersonally and folded the parchment again.
"Lessons are taking place in the manor house in Daisies Street. The king has sent a couple of tutors to teach people letters and numbers three times a week."
The young man smiled a little awkwardly.
"Yes. The owner of the establishment and my fiancée want me to learn to read. I should go."
Damen commented, uncorking the bottle of wine and pouring Laurent a cup.
"You have a fiancée."
"Yes. She's a good woman and works at the apothecary up the street. Unfortunately, I can't see her often for decency. Only once a week and with three witnesses," the young man replied with a disappointed look.
"I've heard that the king is inclined to change some laws about courtship between men and women."
The servant blushed up to his ears and said before leaving with the customers' scribbled and drawn orders:
"If I were alone with my fiancée, I would probably faint. I've been with men before but never with a woman... I wouldn't even know how to behave..."
Damen commented, sipping his wine as the servant walked away.
"Honestly, I don't know how there are still Veretians in the world."
"Maybe we need to get Akielon tutors to teach my people how to behave around women."
Damen smiled.
"I just hope you'll leave Nikandros alone. He's already contributed enough to your court."
"I miss the Akielon close combat training. Let's resume the exercises in Delfeur," Laurent said, changing the subject and resting his face on his wrist, where the sleeve of the ribbon-folded dress swallowed up the golden bracelet.
"At our wedding in Ios, there will certainly be a performance of the Akielon games and wrestling. The wedding of kings is a great feast that begins in the morning and lasts all day."
"And will anyone challenge you, as they did at your coronation?"
Damen pondered the question.
"I don't think that will happen."
After a while, the red-haired inn servant brought a platter of meat and plates of bread and grains. Potatoes and poultry roasted on the fire, and Laurent helped himself with a bowl of pea soup and flambéed apples. A few people glanced in Damen’s direction as he brought a slice of apple to his companion’s mouth.
"Are we an attraction?"
"I can sit on your lap like we've done a couple of times to test."
Damen looked at the loose Veretians around him and said,
"Your people would faint."
The two men enjoyed their meal, chatting and laughing together. The suspicious glances of some of the peasants at the next table still followed Damen and Laurent. At one point, as they were spending a few coins, Laurent asked his table neighbors, who were practically a group of five or six men:
"Do you want to see a magic trick?"
Laurent was initially eyed suspiciously but earned admiring glances from the men when he showed the magic trick he had learned from Volo over a year ago. The Veretian made his gold disappear and reappear behind the ear of one of the travelers.
There were more magic tricks, and Damen asked the servant to bring more wine for the tavern's customers. There was lively chatter. At one point, they invited Damen and Laurent to sit with them and said to the Akielon:
"Hey, buddy, what's your name?"
"Lamen," Damen replied.
"That's an unusual name. Take good care of your wife. With all due respect, your lady is gorgeous and amusing. Akielons are traveling through Vere now and are very flirtatious, so they say."
"Do tell!" Damen laughed, clinking his pewter cup with Laurent's "What do you think of the alliance of Sister Nations?"
One of the men with a thin beard replied:
"I don't know if I can fully trust the Akielons yet, but they have greatly boosted local trade in regions like Alier and Arran, and helped Vere protect himself from another coup by the usurpers who followed the Regent..."
Another man with a lazy brown look spoke up.
"Well, I have no problems with Akielons! They're easy to get along with and know how to drink well. Imagine what it will be like to have a King of Vere and a King of Akielos in the palace!"
Another man with a protruding belly said:
"King Laurent has changed things around here quite a bit. I like him better than that scum of a Regent who took everything from us in taxes."
"He's put women on the Council! That would have been unacceptable in King Aleron's time!” commented another.
A Veretian with a hat and white beard spoke up:
"My cousin was a blacksmith in the palace when King Aleron ruled. It is said that Queen Hennike was the advisor to Aleron and Prince Auguste. They discussed everything with her. If these women have good ideas, let them speak! Two former Councillors have betrayed the crown, and I'd rather have women than two other idiots."
Some agreed with the man. Others remained pensive.
Damen recalled a more harmonious outcome between Laurent and the Council he witnessed in those weeks. At one meeting, the Akielon saw the King of Vere discussing laws with the Council, showing his maturity in matters of state. Everyone listened to what the king said as much as Laurent listened to what his councilors pointed out.
Even Chelaut, seeming somewhat dazed by Laurent's proposed changes, was seen at one of the last gatherings serving ginger tea to Lady Loyse. It seems she had been suffering from morning sickness due to the heat in the capital.
The conversations in the tavern continued for a while, and it was getting late when the place began to empty. The men said their goodbyes, doffed their hats respectfully to the lady they shared the table with, and shook Lamen's hand.
Armed with the marriage certificate he had taken from the handle of his fan; Laurent went up to the tavern keeper and asked for old times' sake:
"I want the best bedroom with an adjoining bathroom and a huge bed. If you send someone to serve my husband, you'll find out I don't like to share the hard way."
Also remembering old times, Damen received the bronze key and said to the owner of the establishment:
"My wife has expensive tastes. Please excuse us."
Damen and Laurent’s room on the third floor was spacious and had new furniture. Incense was burning on the mantelpiece, which brought a wonderful lavender scent into the room. The carpet was new and still smelled of fresh fabric.
With his impersonal gestures, Laurent removed the pearl earrings from his earlobes and announced that he was going into the adjoining room:
"I'm going to take a bath now. Open the window. It's hot here."
Damen stepped forward with a smile, took the Veretian's wrist, and watched him for a moment:
"Wait. Let me look at you like that for a moment longer..."
Laurent blushed at the Akielon's smile.
"Do you like me like that?"
"I like you anyway..."
A fever spread not only across Laurent's cheeks but also in his warm, passionate gaze. In the difficult days following Mathe and Sorem's attempt to take the capital, it was customary for the two kings to sleep together at night, talking till late. They kept each other company until they embraced and fell asleep.
Damen waited for Laurent to seek his caresses when he felt well again. It had been lovely days over the past week, when the King of Vere had been slow to leave the king’s bedchamber, lulled by the languor that peace had finally brought him.
Damen and Laurent had used the collar and chain again a few times in their private, liberating fun. One day, when a guard knocked on the king's door to announce the Kemptian ambassador’s arrival at the capital, Damen was there with the gold bracelets and chain, tying him to the bedstead.
On a disturbing impulse, Laurent had moved his head as if to give the soldier permission to enter, which gave Damen a brief fright. But he had only said:
"I'll see him in five hours."
In the inn room, Damen kissed the lips of the Veretian, who whispered in his ear after their mouths had parted:
"Help me."
Laurent turned and allowed Damen to unbutton the pearl buttons on his ivory silk and lace dress. As he opened it, the Akielon spread gentle kisses along Laurent's white skin.
"I'll be right back," Laurent promised, undoing the laces and walking towards the adjoining room with a sweet smile.
Damen then went to the window, whose sill was covered with seedlings of plants and daisies. He unlocked the latch and opened the wooden shutters. The night breeze was fresh, and the singing and festivities throughout the capital filtered into the room. Damen stretched and looked out into the lively night with a sincere smile.
"Look at the Exalted's face! He's rejoicing like a pheasant!" — Huet commented, watching the inn from a distance with his companions.
The three men were standing behind a merchant selling cloth, who didn't know what they were doing there if they didn't want to buy anything.
"He'll sleep with that mysterious woman," Lazar said a little worriedly, looking for something in his clothes. "Damn, I'm nervous! I wish I hadn't promised Pallas that I would stop smoking!"
Huet, still staring at the inn's window, leaned a little more against the merchant's cloth stall, annoying him.
"Do you think she might be a spy or something?"
Jord's eyes widened as if it was the first time he'd come up with that idea. Lazar interjected:
"A spy? Sent by whom?"
Huet frowned.
"Listen, we've had the second coup attempt since Laurent of Vere became crown prince! Maybe there are more people in the shadows plotting against the kings."
Lazar turned his dark gaze to the window again, worried.
"And they may be manipulating Damen! But how could Damen fall into a trap after everything?"
Jord moved his face closer to his companions and whispered:
"This makes everything much more serious! We will have to intervene!"
"How?" — Lazar was worried.
"We can't break into the tavern now, because that would arouse people's suspicions, and no one must know that the King of Akielos is inside. But tomorrow morning, when the guests have left, we'll storm the room. Damen owes some explications, and we'll know who this spy is."
Huet became even more nervous and shook his head.
"Wait, are we going to invade the room of the King of Akielos?"
"It's for a good cause and he's in Veretian territory. We are from Laurent of Vere's Guard. We're just doing our duty!"
Lazar twitched the corners of his mouth.
"And how do you know Damen and the spy won't be leaving the tavern in the first hours of the morning?"
Jord took a deep breath.
"Haven't you heard the rumors about Damianos of Akielos, man? He often spends hours in his room with his lovers. The King of Vere himself disappears for a whole day when Damen arrives in Delfeur. Tomorrow, we will confront him!"
The rustic frame of the stall on which Huet had been sitting creaked, and the merchant lost patience.
"If you don't want to buy anything, then get lost, you lazy bastards! This isn't a park bench! Get out!"
The three Veretians had to retreat and did not see Laurent approaching Damen at the window almost an hour later. With his short, damp hair and in his sleepwear, he assumed the position of his lover and looked out onto the streets while Damen went for a bath.
When Damen returned to the room, he smelled of soap and myrrh. Laurent stared up at the sky, where two stars shone very close to each other above the rooftops.
"Toby told me later that Mathe and Sorem introduced themselves to some of their allies in the brothels under the pseudonym 'twin stars'. What would they have done when they ruled Vere?"
Damen's dark eyes wandered over the people who filled the streets and enjoyed the spring festival despite the late hour. There was genuine joy among the citizens and a warm atmosphere of brotherhood and camaraderie was in the air. Damen then said:
"They would have recreated outside the dark world they had inside. After all, it's like that freethinker you like so much says: we constantly imprint ourselves. The world we create around us reflects who we are."
Laurent moved his face, looked at Damen, and said:
"I'm glad you like my books. I have already arranged for some copies to be sent to the newly built library in Akielos. I have also instructed the apothecaries to prepare some antidotes for our supplies in Delfeur and Ios."
There was silence, interrupted by the distant sound of the nomads’ laughter and furniture creaking in another room. Laurent looked thoughtful, and Damen studied his face briefly before saying,
"I know you found out more things before Mathe died, during the interrogations in prison, Laurent. Things about Akielos..."
Laurent averted his eyes.
"Who told you that?"
"I didn't need anyone to tell me. I deduced it from everything Mathe and Sorem confessed at the trial."
Laurent took a deep breath, crossed the room, and sat on the bed. He twitched the corners of his lips before saying,
"Yes. Theomedes was poisoned with Sorem's substances. The Regent provided Kastor with them. The formula of the poison was like the one that killed my mother, but according to Mathe, it was even more effective and deadly due to a rare ingredient that could only be found in the Western Isles. Kastor paid dearly for these herbs smuggled by corsairs."
Damen closed his eyes and felt a tugging in his heart, just as he felt in his scars. He remembered his father on his deathbed and how helpless he had felt. The pain was in his bones.
Mathe and Sorem were creatures living in the shadows of something, like nocturnal jackals that prowled between kingdoms to weaken and kill those who stood in their way. They ruled life and death as if they had a right to this mystery. It was a relief that they were gone. There was no shame in admitting it.
Damen sat down next to Laurent, and after almost a minute, the Veretian king said:
"I'm sorry for your pain."
The Akielon allowed himself some reflection. Queen Hennike had been poisoned and Theomedes had taken advantage of the pain of Aleron to wage war. Years later, Theomedes died of poisoning by almost the same substance that had killed Hennike, and the usurpers took advantage of Damen's pain to break him. If there was a flow of comings and goings, it was necessary to stop that cycle. Maybe compassion for the other's pain was the most human gesture — the chains of something breaking off.
Damen then said:
"It's past. In the end, it is the fate of all princes destined for a throne to lose so much and gain so much in the blink of an eye."
Laurent moved his hand with the golden bracelet, murmured thoughtfully, and intertwined his fingers with Damianos'.
"I don't know if I believe that anymore. Life should never be a ring. It's not just the clandestine rings I wanted to break, but the world of some kings that came before us, who despised peace. I'm tired of big or little wars."
Damen ran his fingers through a strand of Laurent’s pale hair. The Akielon’s dark pupils gazed into the Veretian’s blue eyes.
Laurent's cheeks flushed as he murmured with a hint of sweetness in his gaze:
"...Tell me how it will be."
Damen stroked the Veretian's hair again with a smile.
"We can live the first year of our marriage in the palace of Ios. And at the end of the summer, I can take you on a ship to get to know Isthima better. I think Afanas and Dâmaris will like the air there. However, I must warn the residents that a full-grown leopard is about to cross the sea."
Laurent leaned his face closer and rested his head on Damen's shoulder. After a while, he murmured:
"Yes, let them know. Soon, I won't be able to carry Afanas, and Kalina says he'll be a big leopard. I prefer our children to grow up by the sea and not in Delfeur..."
Damen kissed the Veretian's forehead and said:
"We will have to organize ourselves to keep an eye on the children, rule two kingdoms from Ios, and raise a dog and a leopard. But with you, I always knew everything would be wonderful."
Laurent smiled and lifted his clear gaze.
"Will it always be like this?"
Damen had a genuine smile on his lips.
"I think so. I had no idea what marriage would be like until I met you. But surely marriage to you is different than anything else. I want our days to be as fun as today. I want to be a part of your peaceful world."
Laurent smiled and buried his face in the Akielon's chest. The change between them had been gradual, after Laurent's experience of seeing himself as a child behind a door. There was an acceptance of the past and, consequently, a new form of freedom.
Damen and Laurent no longer talked about how things would have been if they had gone differently, but about how things would be from now on. There was no way to change the past. It had led them there, transforming both. To deny the facts would be to deny its strength and achievement from what had happened.
But there would always be room for some hope for the future, based on the joys fully experienced in the present. The present, yes, was vital.
Laurent's first sensual touch was when he kissed the Akielon — a kiss that was tender at first but grew into a voluptuous and languid caress.
Damen drew in a short breath as he lowered his lips to the curve of the Veretian king's neck. And Laurent allowed his lover to undress him with steady fingers. With careful kisses.
Then Damen asked Laurent to lie face down on the covered bed. And there was the sinuous dance of the Akielon's kisses, beginning at the nape of the Veretian's neck, his spine, at the line of his vertebrae.
Tormenting him a little more, Damen let his hands glide over the pale, lavender-scented skin and touched Laurent where he had discovered the Veretian's weak spot.
Damen's mouth and tongue lingered over Laurent's entrance and caressed him.
The Veretian, in turn, clung to the fabric of the sheets and moaned cautiously at first, but then completely lost control as Damen's practice intensified.
In the flickering light of the lamp, Laurent's pale back heaved, and he shivered, his face buried in the pillow.
With just that caress, he could come. Damen had this magnificent power over Laurent's body, which became more and more perfect the more time they spent together. Everything became more and more refined between them.
Laurent enjoyed how everything broke into a thousand pieces and reassembled into a whole. It was as if he merged with his own existence and then felt the universe within him. He immersed himself in himself, tasting that experience.
After a while, having recovered from his passionate panting, Laurent used his mouth on Damen, exercising the experience he had also acquired in the courtship, and that would be part of marriage as well.
Damen buried his fingers in the Veretian's blond hair and murmured his Akielon phrases, exposing himself more. They undressed him. And they revealed his desire, lust, and immeasurable love, which found expression in his mother language and sweet gestures.
That night, Damen and Laurent made love in the slow, unhurried way that crowned nights with no chains or love games. They were just the two of them in the starry night, surrounded by distant voices, song, laughter, and the swaying of the arms of life itself, breathing in its glorious rhythm of a timeless dance.
Damen was inside Laurent as he moved slowly, penetrating him with gentle thrusts. Their eyes met as their bodies entwined in the quiet movement of two lovers melting into each other and themselves.
Their kisses were passionate and interrupted by short breaths. And in the pleasure that overcame them, they fell asleep and woke up in the morning, still filled with the sensations of the previous night. These feelings matured at their own pace and would always be a part of their lives in the new story that was being written.
Laurent looked down at Damianos' sleeping face and smiled at the Akielon's peaceful expression as the sun's rays filtered into the room. A small light strip illuminated the center of the room, revealing the dust in the air. The Veretian thought about a straightforward observation — a direct and matter-of-fact realization.
Above all, life was delightful. Being alive was a gift, a wonder, a magical dance that no man should be exempt from or lose himself in because of pain. The gods were everywhere, said the sacred writing of Vask. Perhaps they were also within men, hidden beneath the armor of flesh.
Gods were a mystery. So was life.
If everyone allowed it, life could be a magnificent mystery guided by the notes of an accordion — a beautiful dance to the sound of the heart, the great adventure.
The best adventure.
Damen slid back and forth on the bed, wrapped his arms around Laurent, and pulled him closer to him. Then he gave him a tender kiss on the cheek.
"Good morning, my king."
It was a lazy morning ritual. Breakfast was brought on a nickel-plated tray by the innkeepers. The servant also brought a suit of Laurent's, which coachman Oliver had delivered when he arrived and parked the carriage outside the tavern.
The two kings would inspect the capital that morning for the last time, accompanied by their men wearing the king's livery. Laurent and Damen would not return to Arles for another six months, and this inspection during the day was necessary to reassure the citizens with their images that peace reigned in the kingdom.
Damen fastened the eyelets on his Veretian jacket while Laurent changed into the adjoining room. There was a knock at the door, and Damen opened, assuming it was another servant or one of Vere’s heralds.
The Akielon was startled when he saw Jord's annoyed face. Impulsively, he tried to close the door, but the Veretian held it with his foot and opened the way with his body.
"Wait, Exalted!"
Damianos stepped back and saw a panting Jord appear in his room. Behind him stood a paralyzed Huet and a somewhat agitated Lazar.
"What's this about?"
"You're still asking?"
Damen looked at the other Veretian soldiers, eager for answers, but their eyes were fixed on the bed with the rumpled sheets and the dress Laurent had left there. Huet’s mouth was open, and he let out a tearful cry, holding his arm in front of his face.
"Damn, Exalted! How can you betray the king and all Veretians like this?"
There was silence for a moment, and Damen turned to the bed.
"What?"
"We know you're here with a winsome coquette! The three of us saw you yesterday, strolling around town like a lovesick fool."
Damen turned back to the bed behind him, and his gaze fell on Jord, Lazar, and Huet. Slowly, understanding dawned on him.
"...She could be a spy manipulating you! Haven't you thought of that yet? We came here to capture and interrogate this mysterious woman." Jord insisted.
Damen’s silence was longer this time. In the end, a nervous laugh trembled at the corner of his mouth.
"You are all very loyal to Laurent!"
Jord replied uneasily, pacing around the room that wasn't his.
"Of course we are! Laurent is our king! And so are you, Damen! We swore allegiance to Sister Nations! How could you do this to us and betray Laurent of Vere like this? To deceive us, break our hearts? How could you swap the king of Vere and us like this?"
It took Damen a superhuman effort not to succumb to the urge that overcame him. But it didn’t work since it was irresistible. After all, kings were just ordinary people.
Damen controlled himself not to laugh when he said:
"Maybe you're right. I think you need to get to know her."
Stepping firmly, Damianos crossed the large room, stopped before the adjoining door, and rapped it with his knuckles.
"...My love, come here for a moment. I want you to talk to someone."
Jord, Lazar, and Huet jumped in astonishment when they heard the word 'my love'. Huet's eyes were red and wet, like he was about to cry from anger or for some other reason. Jord snorted.
It wasn't long before the lock moved and the door to the next room opened. The morning light revealed Laurent in his usual attire, save for the fitted jacket with the eyelets. He fastened the cuffs of his shirt and glanced back at the buttons on his wrist before the unusual scene became evident, and he suddenly raised his icy eyes to the soldiers of his guard.
"What are you doing here?"
Laurent looked up into Damen’s face, where he pursed his lips and held something tight. Jord, Lazar, and Huet had gone as pale as paper.
Immediately, the three men bowed awkwardly.
"Your Majesty!"
Damen said, his voice choked a little with laughter:
"They saw me walking with a mysterious woman last night and suspected a pretty spy had deceived me. But that doesn't make sense, because we were together the whole time."
Laurent’s cold gaze swept over the soldiers of his guard, then down to the ivory-colored dress lying on the bed. Impersonally, he spoke:
"Damen and I have been together all night. There is no mystery woman."
Jord blinked and exchanged a puzzled glance with Huet. He remembered how, when Laurent was fifteen and still a prince, he had arranged for Orlant and Huet, who wore a woman’s hat, to be caught together. There were rumors that Orlant was courting a noblewoman's pet, and the botched catch had resulted in Chauvin being dismissed from the Regent’s guard and the Council reactivating Laurent’s Guard.
Jord and Huet were already somewhat familiar with Laurent's plans. But they had no idea that the king himself would dress like this just for fun. Lazar was a bit lost in the story and kept his mouth open.
"...But it's good that you're here." — Laurent continued, — "We're going to do some inspections in the north wing of the city. Some of my men and Hendric are already there. Keep yourself ready."
"Yes, Your Majesty!"
Lazar was about to ask a question, but was pulled away by Huet, who said:
"Move, man!"
Jord put his hands on his hips and shook his head with a smile.
"Anything else?" — Laurent asked, raising an eyebrow.
Jord looked at the Veretian king, recalling the memory from more than five years ago that had inspired his trust in the Prince of Vere and his unquestioning loyalty. When Laurent defended his guard composed of men discredited by the Regent, these men began to believe in the prince — and so, in themselves.
"Forgive us for the confusion and inconvenience, Laurent of Vere and Damianos of Akielos. The winsome coquette had nice ankles, Your Majesty."
Laurent half-smiled and nodded:
"I appreciate your loyalty."
The three men left the room looking less miserable and more cheerful than when they had entered. Huet no longer had the crying look. Jord tapped Damen on the shoulder three times admiringly, and Lazar seemed to want to ask something else, but Damen closed the subject and shut the door as he said.
"Don't think too much about it."
Laurent had finally buttoned all the buttons on his cuffs, and he saw Damen moving his shoulders, now laughing freely at the situation.
"Mysterious woman, spy!"
"Stop making fun of it!"
"Huet looked like he was in tatters! Winsome coquette!"
After a while, Laurent laughed too, giving in to the uncontrollable laughter of Damen that filled the room. Finally, he said, hugging his Akielon fiancée:
"What about doing this in Ios too?"
Notes:
Phew, I could shed a few tears now, but here we go!
First, I thank God, the universe, and C.S. Pacat for giving us this sublime trilogy called Captive Prince. Our society underestimates the power of art and books. On the outside, we see a focused reader. On the inside, we have a revolution. Thank you for improving our world with your work, C.S. Pacat. Your characters inspire us a lot.
I thank my parents (who supported my education and emphasized that learning is an honor) and my sister, who has an artistic and unique soul, and with whom I can talk for hours.
I thank my literature professors at the Faculty of Literature and the professors at the Faculty of Psychology, where I have occasionally immersed myself in psychoanalysis and Jungian studies, which have been fundamental for all my academic work and for everything I have written so far.
I am grateful to author Clarissa Pinkola Estés, who wrote the necessary book "Women Who Run with the Wolves" and took me out of a practical, methodical, and dangerously rational state during the pandemic to put me in a more truthful state. It had been many years since I had written for myself, but for scientific article review committees. In the chapter where Clarissa talks about the home of the soul in her book, I cried a lot and searched for my old writing. I started writing again and haven't stopped since. It had been years since I had written to myself. It was liberating to be myself again.
I'm grateful to my therapist, Gilda, who helps me see the world differently and with whom I discussed many of the sensitive topics in this fanfic.
Thank you to my friend Mariana for helping me write about Vask's Empress. Thank you to Mitski, Lana Del Rey, Muse, Ladytron, and Cigarettes After Sex for deeply inspiring my writing as I exercised and thought about the plot in the park near home.Finally, I’d like to thank you, my readers, for all the generosity, time, affection, and love you have given me during this read. Your comments and words have touched me deeply. I was so pleased to hear your enthusiasm and had to restrain myself from giving away spoilers like a blabbermouth. I love each one of you.
I especially thank BotanNana26s2 from Wattpad, who played an essential role during the Portuguese version writing process. Her comments and contributions helped me not to get lost in the plot, to keep the characters and the original story close, and, yes, some scenes were improved thanks to her comments. So, my friend, thank you so much! You've been a light, and it's a blessing that you came to read this fanfic.
I hope we can all be as wonderfully happy as the couple Lamen. Not satisfying, not more or less, not despite everything. But VERY happy, and our lives will be long and full of wonderful moments. I hope we can be kings and queens in the kingdoms we call life. I hope we can be loving and patient with ourselves, as Damen and Laurent are with each other. And that every time we lose ourselves, we can find ourselves behind a closed door.
May we look at life and think, like Laurent, that life is a gift. After all, this isn’t a story about death.
Kisses and lots of love,
Brilliant Green
Chapter 17: The Mirror (Part 1)
Summary:
Short story recounting some key points of the war between Vask and Patras that triggered the events in "The Execution of the Dead". (Part 1)
Notes:
Short story recounting some key points of the war between Vask and Patras that triggered the events in "The Execution of the Dead". Originally, this was Chapter 13, but in the English version, I preferred to leave it as a separate chapter, as the focus is on the past and the other two kingdoms. I hope you like it!
Chapter Text
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hn4V6836mUM
ENGRAVED IN GOLD ON THE THRONE OF SKARVA AND IN STONE IN THE TEMPLES OF VER-TAN
(This is the realm of women and leopards nurtured with the gods’ sacred blood, which waters the fertile soil
The gods of heaven and earth touch Skarva's empire
But the gods also touch all Vask's creatures: the strong and the weak, the nobleman and the peasant, the birds and the fish, the child and the old man, the happy and the unhappy.
The gods nurture everything growing under the sun
And everything that rests under the earth, for there is divinity even in the dead
Even in meaningless things
There is power even in the insects that crawl over the ground, just as there is the same power in the stars, the seas, and the mountains
There is no insignificance in the world’s substance, for the gods dwell even in the speck of dust that floats beneath the sun of Skarva
The tiny dust...
You blow...)
Vishkar could not remember the age at which she had realized her mother was a strange goddess, able to poison the fresh air around her, as if she were draining the vibrancy and simplicity of the world while she constricted her chest.
Vishkar remembered when she had taken up this fact, because knowing wasn’t exactly accepting it.
To the court, allies, and royal leaders, Empress Betthany was considered a strong and respectable woman, a monarch born to triumph. But among her people, she was feared for other reasons.
And especially on the slender shoulders of her eldest daughter, Betthany tested her power and authority with the usual excuse that she was preparing her for the throne and that a mother knows what is best for her daughter. That was the answer the world accepted. Parents always knew everything, and children knew nothing. Even when this wisdom touched something as important as the heart, elders were always right.
"I will introduce you to King Theomedes at dinner tonight. He'll come from Akielos for a trade exchange and political diplomacy. This is a good opportunity for you to get to know him..."
Vishkar’s long black hair fell over her bare back and freckled shoulders. She was sweaty from the strenuous workout her mother had made her do, and her feet were bare. She was nine years old then.
Betthany looked at her daughter with undisguised displeasure, and the girl stepped forward, rubbing the dust from the courtyard on her face.
"...Theomedes has two sons. The eldest doesn't interest us because he's a bastard, but the youngest, I see him coming to us by marriage... You know what that means, don't you?"
Vishkar blinked her two-colored eyes and opened her mouth in surprise.
"Mother, Prince Damianos is four years old! Theomedes must not even be dreaming of a marriage for him yet!"
Betthany wore a turquoise tunic and thick necklaces around her slender neck and wrists. Her black hair was tied high in a chignon adorned with pearls. She was a beautiful woman with a well-balanced physique. Many said that Betthany was one of the most beautiful of her lineage, and several of Vask's poems had been about her adorableness since childhood.
Vishkar could not imagine strutting around the palace gardens under the blazing sun. The heat punished everyone with its flaming fists. But Betthany, the Empress, seemed immune to the star that had reached its zenith, remaining cold and out of reach.
Betthany reached her hand to her chest and touched her imperial medallion of solid gold with the face of a leopard. Two tiny rubies were the lurking eyes.
"Vishkar, this kind of agreement disregards that kind of concern. It doesn't matter that Damianos is still a little boy..." The empress stared at her daughter's body, who automatically crossed her arms in front of her chest, expecting the worst. "You haven't grown that much either..."
In Vask, it was customary for girls to train topless until they were ten years old. At this time of year, it was hot in Skarva, and the naked body managed the tonfa better. There was something innocent about children training with only the lower parts of their clothing, mainly wide pants with turned-up hems and unbleached cotton.
Vishkar had a straight body, thin ankles and wrists, and a slim figure. Her bust was childlike. That didn't bother her, but Betthany's expression made the girl think she lacked something.
"...Now, dress accordingly. Your handmaid will help you with your state clothes if you can't remember how to wear them..."
Then the empress left, surrounded by her elegant entourage of concubines and courtiers. She fanned herself with a magnificent fan of painted wildflowers and kept the sun away with a silken parasol held close to her face by a slave, radiating beauty. It was no wonder that poets found it difficult to put her grace into words. Betthany was the beauty everyone expects when they think of a woman sitting on a throne.
Sorem and Ishmael were waiting for little Vishkar on the other side of the courtyard. They also wore their training clothes and brandished their tonfas, which they held nimbly in the air.
"What did she want?" asked the dark-haired boy with brown skin, the color of soft clay.
"She wants to introduce me to the King of Akielos, Ishmael. She wants to push me towards the prince."
Sorem blinked his green eyes.
"Damianos or Kastor?"
Vishkar smiled and teased her cousin, tapping her wooden tonfa lightly against his, making a warm cracking sound.
"Damianos! A brat who probably barely knows Vask exists. He probably doesn't even know he exists..."
The three children began to walk around the courtyard, watching the future soldiers doing their military drills. About thirty children of varying ages stood practicing attack and defense in the Vaskian combat.
"But do you want to marry the crown prince of Akielos?" asked Ishmael, the tallest of the three, looking curiously into the girl's face.
Vishkar pursed her lips.
"Akielons like to dominate!"
"That's not an answer."
"Yes, it is an answer, Ishmael. Hey, Sorem, Cousin Somalia has a dinner date. My mother mentioned that the Ver-Vassel border guards had a break, and she has to give her mid-year report."
After staring intently at Ishmael, Sorem immediately smiled, and his eyes lit up as he leapt into the air joyfully.
"How long has it been since you've seen your mother, Sorem?" Ishmael asked.
"Seven months!"
The children continued to talk, and the conversation broke up when a girl tapped the crown empress lightly on the shoulder with her metal tonfa.
She was one of the older warriors who wore the bustier for training. She was a very dark-skinned girl with hair tied in long braids. Vishkar straightened up when she was addressed by the young woman, who had to be at most two years older.
"Have you given up training, Your Highness?"
Vishkar felt a tingling sensation on her scalp, and her face flushed. Her hands were tense, and she didn't know where to put them. Suddenly, she felt ashamed of being approached by one of the older girls, having her face dirty and hair unkempt.
"No... I'll go back..."
Vishkar said goodbye to his cousin Sorem and her friend Ishmael and ran back into the courtyard, where she clashed her wooden tonfa with an opponent of her height and weight. However, her eyes did not leave the young woman who had approached her earlier. So, Vishkar dropped her tonfa on the sawdust floor when the girl smiled at her from afar, showing her very white teeth.
Sorem began swinging the tonfa alone, and Ishmael went to train with the martial arts tutor. From time to time, however, Ishmael's gaze wandered to Vishkar, who nodded to him in a friendly manner. And Sorem's attention was focused on the tall, dark-skinned boy who was demonstrating advanced tactics.
That night, the crown empress had her handmaid bathe, perfume, and dress her. Her hair was artificially curled with a hot iron and tied in an elegant hairstyle with a ruby tiara. Her body was covered with a green silk dress with several layers that engulfed her. As she looked at herself in the round, arabesque mirror, Vishkar made an unpleasant noise with her mouth and put the carved ivory artifact aside.
"You look beautiful, Your Highness!"
"I look stupid!"
"No, you don't. Your mother only wants the best for you, and you, as heir to the throne, must appear worthy of your name at dinner... You are a symbol of the empire, girl."
"No, Betthany is the entire empire..."
During dinner, Vishkar sat surrounded by nobles, apart from her mother, who stood talking with King Theomedes and Commander Somalia at the low table surrounded by comfortable cushions. Skarva's pair of leopards lay next to the empress, and Jazel, the male, rested his head on her lap and let himself be stroked by Betthany’s long claws.
Vishkar was bored by the conversations, and when she saw Ishmael and Sorem from afar, she rolled her eyes in a grimace, making the boys laugh. Then she yawned.
Sorem, with his formal outfit, eagerly sought Somalia's gaze. But he was unsuccessful in attracting his mother's attention. The woman retreated into belligerent conversation, away from the children, as she blinked her very green eyes and clenched her jaw uncomfortably.
Later, as one of the younger concubines passed by, Vishkar inevitably followed the girl with her eyes and blushed. Her two-toned gaze focused on the slave's beautiful face, the line of her neck, and her half-naked breasts. She felt a strange electricity run through her body, and a feeling of happiness as personal as her heart fluttered. Vishkar has felt this a lot lately. It seemed as if something secret and rebellious was stirring inside her.
At the end of dinner, Betthany finally asked her daughter to sit between her and King Theomedes. The girl used the etiquette lesson, mixing her speech with well-spoken Akielon language. The topics were general, such as name, age, pretty eyes, and a beautiful palace — an opulent world, despite the ugliness of the roads.
The girl’s gaze, however, was fixed on the king’s red chiton. Dyes and dyed fabrics had been expensive in Vask for as long as she could remember. It was said this was due to the war and the fear of cloth merchants roaming the marauding roads. Only the inside of the palace was so colorful, they said.
Vishkar also noticed the lion pin in Theomedes’ chiton. A leopard and a lion wanted to merge and create a kingdom of felines. Animals like that were quite unfriendly. They bit and scratched each other for the best prey or, in hard times, even for a bare bone.
Then Betthany rose from the cushions, leaving the king and the girl alone, and made a tacit gesture to Vishkar that was anything but understood.
After all, nothing had been agreed between mother and daughter. Vishkar only knew that the empress foresaw an arrangement with Akielos by marrying a girl with breasts as straight as a board and a young boy who was still wetting the bed and feeling the first signs of life's torments.
The young girl then confined herself to taking her mother's place and stroking Jazel's head, who yawned, displaying his pink tongue and sharp canines like all-white stalactites.
Vishkar thought the conversation with the king would be boring. But he surprised her by talking about the difference in military training between Vask and Akielos and how all the boys in Ios grew up with a sword hand, just like any girl who would call herself Vaskian.
"I don't have a daughter. But my late queen, Egeria, would have liked to have had a girl after Damianos was born. Too bad the gods didn't want it that way..." Theomedes told sadly.
Vishkar ate one of the oranges the Akielon had gifted Vask, and stained the collar of her dress a little with the yellow juice.
"You should keep trying, Your Majesty. You have a mistress and several slaves, I hear..."
Theomedes smiled at the girl's sincerity, his lips lifted open in a gesture very similar to Damen's.
"You are right. I have a mistress and slaves. But Hypermenestra cannot have any more children, and as far as I know, I have not been blessed with any among the slaves. So, I am content with what the gods have provided for me..."
"I have a sister and two brothers: Amaranta and the twins. But I rarely see them..."
Vishkar stopped talking and looked somewhere — the young woman from the training who had approached her that afternoon, all draped in gold and blue silk. The future empress followed her briefly with her gaze, and only much later did the girl realize that the king was looking at her with a certain curiosity.
Vishkar swallowed hard. Betthany had caught her looking at girls and women before, and although she didn’t mention it, she didn’t seem to appreciate the daughter’s habit. Once, when Vishkar praised the breathtaking beauty of a noblewoman, her mother left her hanging.
"She's a very pretty young lady..." Theomedes commented, glancing at the girl who had walked past, "Do you like her?"
Vishkar looked around to see if her mother was far enough away and nodded quickly, not bothering to reply. She didn't need time to answer that question.
"You look at her like my son Kastor looks at the young women of my kingdom. And what do you think of that young man over there?" Theomedes asked, meaning not one of the concubines with delicate skin, milky limbs, and graceful gestures, but a young soldier with exposed muscles in a strong body, short-shaven beard, and energetic gaze that elicited a sigh from some of the noblewomen in the hall.
Vishkar blinked, brought her face closer to Theomedes, and asked,
"Aren't you going to tell my mother?"
With an amused gesture, Theomedes twisted his closed hand at the corner of his mouth as if he were sealing it.
"A state secret."
"He looks like an ox."
Theomedes raised his eyebrows, laughed aloud, and sipped his wine.
"An ox?"
"Yes, a breeding ox put on display. He's the handsome one..." Vishkar added, pointing to a young concubine with red curls, porcelain skin, and an androgynous body. "He looks like a girl!"
"I see, my young lady. I see..." Theomedes commented, nodding amidst the hall filled with music and laughter, and helping himself to a persimmon.
Meanwhile, after an unusually long silence in the hall of Skarva, during which the king laughed with Vishkar about other trivial things, Betthany began to dance the typical Vask dance as the musicians blew their bamboo flutes.
Dancing was something the empress had indeed mastered.
Moving her body and hands, surrounded by veils and rubies adorning her thick black hair, the empress stole all the hall's attention, as if swallowing them in like smoke from a hookah.
Betthany's waist and hips moved sinuously to the sound of the song, and she lifted her white legs, encircled by golden anklets. It was not customary in Vask for the royal authorities to dance for the guests. It was the concubines’ task to entertain the nobles. But Betthany loved getting attention. It was like food for her. She always had to be the center of attention.
Vishkar could see now the desire in the King of Akielos' eyes, who ignored her for the next few minutes. Vishkar could be a funny girl who made King Theomedes laugh. But Bethany was a woman who ruled over an entire empire and could manipulate men's desires to her advantage. Somehow, the daughter had to be reminded of this, and somehow the girl understood that she had to submit to her mother. She must never overpower her.
When the dance ended, to warm applause and the clinking of coin bracelets on Betthany's arms, the empress turned back to King Theomedes. The Akielon still looked fascinating and was full of praise for the empress. After all, she was the ruby of Vask, the sun, the most beautiful woman in the empire. Theomedes addressed many words to the empress, who feigned modesty. However, the man revealed nothing of his conversation with Vishkar and maintained discretion.
At the end of the evening, Betthany brought up matters concerning marriage and friendship between the kingdoms with elegant delicacy. Theomedes scratched his beard and said, as he seemed to recover from the trance in which he had been immersed,
"My sons are still too young to think about marriage, Betthany. Unlike my father, I married my queen Egeria not out of compulsion or simple attraction, but out of love. The same thing happened with Hypermenestra. I want my boys to have the same satisfaction as I do: I want them to marry for love. If their paths cross with those of your pretty daughter in the future, who knows, perhaps love will blossom between them, Your Imperial Majesty? I think I’ll excuse myself now, so I can admire the legendary sunrise of Skarva before I go on my journey tomorrow. Good night!"
It was an elegant way of ending the topic, but Betthany looked grimly at her daughter with pursed lips and then blamed her for King Theomedes' evasiveness.
"I'm sure you said something inappropriate!"
"I didn't say anything!" Vishkar retorted, taking off her shoe and throwing it across the room.
"You haven't had any suitors or marriage proposals yet. I've had dozens when I was your age, even hundreds of proposals!"
Vishkar threw the other shoe after taking it off her foot.
"Fine! We weren't at war in your time! What king would want to involve his heir in a war that is none of his business? Who would want to bring disgrace to their kingdom? They're not stupid!"
Betthany's red-stained mouth tightened as if a wound had opened in her pretty face. Her eyes squinted, and her voice changed.
"How cruel you are, your useless girl! So ungrateful! The war will bring wealth and honor to Vask, but you only stand there and contribute nothing to the good of the empire! You are not like me at all! The king of Patras has a son who supports him, bringing glory to Patras. Torgeir honors his name! He is already engaged, and they say he is an excellent warrior. You should be more like him!"
It was about time. This was one of Betthany's routine ways of inflicting pain on Vishkar. She compared her to the Crown Prince of Patras, known for his military prowess on the frontiers. A young man armed with the admiration of his people and imbued with his father’s approval, faceless and shapeless as a true hero, the eagle of Patras, in all its splendor, flying over the land.
"I can fight with the tonfa! The tutor said I'm agile!" Vishkar's words came out shakily as she tried to remind herself that she was worth something. "I can fight..."
"That's not good enough! What do you think Torgeir would do with your wooden tonfa? He'd split it in half with a single axe blow, just like you. When are you going to start fighting like a warrior?"
Vishkar felt her chest tighten with sorrow. She felt bad for feeling the familiar urge to cry. She lifted her hand and wiped the tear away before it could fall.
"...And when are you going to start acting like a real empress? Do you think I don't see you smiling at young women? Concubines are for entertainment in the Empire! Do you know how hard it is for an empire of women to be surrounded by three patriarchal states? A woman is only stronger than a man, she only gets attention when she dominates him! When she has him between her legs or under a sword! You will need an emperor to give you daughters and guarantee our lineage! And we must put an end to Patras!"
Vishkar sobbed, accepting defeat in her battle with tears.
"Empress Nadine married a mistress..."
"Your great-grandmother Nadine almost ruined the empire. She was lucky enough to have at least one daughter. It was a shame for a nation like Vask. Fertility is important for an empress. I will not let you destroy all I have built, Vishkar..."
The words were dry, robbing the room of all feeling. I will not let you destroy all I have built, which means I will not let you be different from me.
Vishkar sobbed, thinking that the only way she could be like her mother was to dismember her, cut her up, separate her limbs, and put her back together again. Or honor Betthany otherwise. Her cry reached a higher pitch.
"...I don't know why I'm still wasting my time with you. You are not worthy of my love."
Resolutely and with her chin proudly raised, Betthany left her daughter's room, but before she crossed the threshold, the girl ran to her mother and hugged her around the waist. The woman stopped with her back to her, standing stiffly and staring at an indistinct point.
"Forgive me, Mom! I'm sorry about what I said. I promise I'll fight better. I promise to be better than Torgeir..." Vishkar broke down, her voice cracking.
That was the dynamic. Vishkar pushed herself to her limits, trying to argue with her mother as she fought for her place in a tight circle, hard to breathe. But whenever Betthany threatened to leave her, the girl ran out of the circle, thirstily seeking her mother's embrace. And she gave up everything— even the oxygen around her.
Then Betthany said the words that silenced Vishkar's crying, right after a cold caress. The words that killed her.
"Stop crying. You know you're hideous when you cry. Don't let Skarva find out you're ugly, Vishkar. And weak. Otherwise, we are doomed."
The next day, Vishkar demanded that the military tutor let her practice with the metal tonfa. The girl tested the weapon’s weight and had difficulty wielding it after training only with wooden weapons all these years.
On the other side of the courtyard, Ishmael and Sorem watched as Vishkar cried out in pain when the tonfa hit her in the shoulder and the belly. But they didn't see her give up. Nor did they see her give up in the years that followed. Not even when the tonfa hit her in the face, slashing her chin and causing a gash on her eyebrow that could only be healed with the help of the physician Higen’s plants.
When she turned fourteen, Vishkar wore her hair very long, tied at the nape of her neck with a tanned leather band. She no longer left her breasts bare and covered them with a loose blouse during training. And the young girl had learned how to move quickly, fending off her opponents' blows and dodging their attacks with the ease of a dancer. She achieved the same success with the sword.
As the years passed, all that could be heard was the metal's blows in the training room, and the future empress panting as she grew in skill and muscle. Now and then, she would jump in place to give her feet and legs resistance. And she would spin the tonfa, throwing it and picking it up in the air for another round, even when the others had already reached their limit.
That summer, when Vishkar turned fourteen, Betthany and her courtiers joined her on the training ground without her knowing it. Perhaps it was part of the success; she didn't know her mother was stalking her like a python alongside Commander Somalia and the soldiers.
Vishkar was surprised when people applauded her and looked over her shoulder. She saw Somalia’s jubilant face and Betthany’s dry expression. It was unusual for her mother to be at her training sessions. As a child, Vishkar was envious of the other children who ran to hug their parents after winning a match. Neither the emperor nor the empress was affectionate. They were always strict.
The young woman, who carried the tonfa over her shoulder like an umbrella, ran towards the visitors.
"Somalia!" shouted Vishkar, hugging the commander of the Vaskian troops. "Sorem will be so happy when he finds out you're here!"
Betthany turned to her daughter and said,
"You look more excited about Somalia than you are about me. I don't think you know what brought her here..."
No, Vishkar didn't know why Somalia came to Skarva earlier, and it took some time for her to find out.
The answer came at the worst possible time. It was when Vishkar was living out the part of herself that her mother's sour expression had been unable to suppress over the years.
Vishkar was in her room with Judy, the girl she had been in love with since she was nine years old. It had been a year since the heir to the throne had discovered what she could do with the untamed desire that erupted in floods. She had shared her first kiss with Judy.
She had touched the girl's breast with her palms and her lips. She had also touched her in another place and had been touched in return. By the time Betthany entered the room, Vishkar had her legs entwined with Judy's, and the two girls were enjoying a unique pleasure.
The bedroom door flew open with a loud bang, and light poured from a lamp carried by the empress's soldier. On her arms, Betthany held her youngest daughter, Hannah, who had been born the previous fall.
Vishkar's moan turned into a scream, and she jumped out of bed, covering herself with the sheets as she cursed. Judy did the same.
Betthany's eyes darted to Judy. The young woman did not avert her gaze and raised her chin slightly and defiantly.
"Get out of here!"
Judy blinked, seeking the gaze of Vishkar, who felt small before her mother's expression, and helped her lover pick up the clothes from the floor before leaving. Judy's gaze sought confirmation once more in the future empress. Vishkar nodded as if to say, "Let me deal with her. I know how to do it. At least, I think I do."
The baby was sleeping on Betthany's arms, who had come forward after Judy had left the room and sat down on her daughter's armchair without asking for permission. Vishkar still had the sheet around her body and found the scene most unusual as her mother stuck out her breast and began to nurse her daughter. Recent motherhood had left the empress somewhat exhausted, and her waist was still thick from the childbirth. The soldier stood still, torch in hand, looking uneasy.
After nearly a minute, Betthany shook her face with a disapproving look.
"You're setting a bad example for your sister..."
Vishkar didn't want to scream, but she did. Her mother had interrupted her fuck with her lover in her room and was now scolding her.
"And why is she here? Why are you both here? This is my room!"
Betthany replied with harsh coldness,
"If Judy weren't the daughter of a nobleman, I'd throw her out of the palace..."
Vishkar sat down on the edge of the bed, clutching the sheet tightly.
"You hate me for liking women..."
"Don't be stupid, Vishkar! I've slept with women. I have concubines..."
The answer hung in the air with no clear conclusion. If Betthany had no problem with lesbian sex, her problem with her daughter was completely different. There was an intuition in Vishkar that she dared not verbalize to herself.
"... You will be operating on the Ver-Vassel border under the command of Somalia."
The announcement was not a question. It was an order.
"What, when?"
"Next week. When Somalia leaves, you will go with her."
Vishkar squeezed the sheets tightly under her hands. Never could she have imagined that she would be plunged from the heights of pleasure into a deep valley of tension. Would she serve in the war? She had always known that was what was expected of the Crown Empress, but she thought she had more time. At least another three or four years.
Vishkar looked at her sister on her mother's lap.
Had Betthany ever wrapped her in a blanket, protected and cared for her? Had she ever been welcomed like this? Vishkar had once heard two maids say that Betthany had gone mad at her first birth because Vishkar had been born weak, had caused her incessant pain, and had come into the world with no desire to cry. It had taken Somalia to lock herself alone in the room with Betthany and calm her down.
"... Brave soldiers are fighting on the frontier, putting out the fires the Patrans leave in their wake. It is necessary for the Empire to lead by example and put its people on the front lines as well, just as Patras is doing..."
Vishkar swallowed and repeated, puzzled,
"On the front lines..."
"I want Torgeir's head before next summer. The war has dragged on longer than it should. I've heard the king is ill and only Torgeir stands between us and Patras. You must break his head with the tonfa and sever it from his neck with the sword, do you understand?"
There was something morbid about the way this woman, while nursing her daughter and instilling life in her, described to her other daughter the cold way of inflicting death on a man.
The unfolding of those days happened very quickly. When Vishkar left, people in the towns and markets came to bid her farewell. They knelt on the ground and murmured blessings, like mantis in rows.
Judy kissed Vishkar and made promises. Sorem and Ishmael looked inconsolable.
Very quickly, Vishkar found herself dressed in the dark clothes of the Vaskian soldiers serving under Somalia's command in the border tents of Ver-Vassel. The camp stretched out before the well-equipped fortress of Patras, where hundreds of tents were pitched.
Around the armies, there were plains, hills, a river with clear water, the ruins of a stone hut that had once been a chapel, the forest, and nothing else. There were coyotes at night and rabbits during the day. There were days when the sun burned down on the bodies and heads of the soldiers. And there were days when the rain seemed to wash everything away.
Some Vaskian soldiers from Ver-Tan had already entered Patras through the woods, burning crops, killing farmers, plundering the country's supplies, confiscating horses and sheep, and intimidating the enemy with death.
Patras had done no differently. Mercenaries plundered the land and raped men and women in Ver-Vassel, making secret raids through the Acquitart's mountains. It was a battle of balanced hatred. The two kingdoms asserted their logic of domination, destroying the very thing they most wanted to conquer.
When Vishkar first saw Torgeir from afar, she was surprised. She always imagined him as a hero with broad shoulders, wild hair, and fierce eyes, and he was indeed a bit of that. But he was also something else she couldn't explain.
It was strange to see someone she had only ever heard of and imagined in the glow of a lamp as a strong, handsome, tall man, as she would never be. How many times had Vishkar lost to him under her mother’s cruel comparison? Her harsh judgment. He brought glory to Bazal, and Vishkar had never gotten any. Torgeir was everything, and she was nothing.
The Crown Empress saw him for the first time from the top of the hill, sewing something in a corner of the stream, surrounded by his men.
It took her a while to realize that the gesture with which he stretched his hand in the air, as if he were pulling on something, was sewing. Then he took a piece of thread between his teeth and tore it.
Vishkar frowned. She never thought she would see the future king of Patras sewing instead of slitting open soldiers’ skulls with an axe. Vishkar was so stunned that she shook her head and assumed the warmth of the new morning was driving her crazy.
Besides, the battles on the border of Ver-Vassel were strange. Vaskians fought Patrans a couple of times a week. The wounded were treated, and the dead were burned. Neither side backed down or retreated, but the battles seemed to follow a rule, a pre-structured formality like the laws of a board game.
"When are we going to fight?" Vishkar asked impatiently as she watched the Vaskian soldiers taking a nap after eating.
"Today is not the day. The day after tomorrow we will enter the battlefield..." Somalia declared, polishing her armor.
Vishkar rolled her eyes even more impatiently.
"My mother wants the war to end soon. Why don't we attack them by surprise at night with arrows?"
"We've already done that, Your Highness," said one of the guards, sharpening the tip of his spear with soapstone.
"And what happened?"
"They attacked us three nights later. Five died on the other side and four on this side. We won that one."
Vishkar opened her mouth, not understanding,
"And then what?"
"And then nothing."
The Vaskian young woman dropped to the dry grass and shook her head as she muttered,
"I don't get it. It makes no sense..."
"War has no sense, Vishkar. If that's why you came here, you'll resent it," Somalia said. "The battlefield here is like a mirror. If you strike, they strike back. If you attack at night, they attack too. If you shout, they shout. And if you want to take a nap, they sleep..."
"Then we could attack them while they're sleeping..."
"If we do that, they will attack us someday after lunch..."
Vishkar threw her tonfa on the ground angrily, whereupon the soldiers looked in her direction.
"People are dying on the roads, waiting for the war to end..."
Somalia stood up and threw her helm into a corner:
"People are dying here, too, Vishkar. We came here to raid the route to Bazal, and when we arrived, Patras was already heavily armed in the fortress. We killed and were killed. They will not give up, and neither will we. You can get upset about it, try to attack them and retaliate, or you can rest and prepare for the next fight."
After this disagreement with Somalia, Vishkar chose one of the two options. Her mother wanted Prince Torgeir's head. That would end the war and leave Patras stunned enough to retreat. That would bring honor and glory to Vask. This was why she had been sent into the army. To defend the empire and bring honor to Betthany.
Then, in the early hours of the morning, when the plains were bathed in silence, punctuated by the chirping of crickets, the sound of mating locusts, and the howling of coyotes, Vishkar left her tent under the starry sky.
It was said that Torgeir could not sleep at night and sometimes went to the stream to accompany his slaves and fetch clean water. Vishkar received the information with disbelief. Why was the Vaskian army so apathetic and not preparing an ambush?
Vishkar crouched on the hill and waited for some movement near the fort. She had not only her tonfa but also her short sword in hand. Time passed slowly until she saw Torgeir leaving the stone fort, accompanied by two slaves and flanked by two soldiers.
Vishkar was like a coyote sneaking behind the tall grass in the black robes of her army. She crept silently and followed the group to the stream.
After the two slaves rolled up the hems of their pants and crouched in the stream, they began to fill their amphorae with clean water. The soldiers were ready to help them, telling funny stories and flirting with the young men.
Torgeir, for his part, sat a little further away on a stone that looked familiar to him and began threading a needle into the thing he was sewing.
So, Vishkar moved her bare feet and felt the grass and loose stones on her soles. She approached and silently drew her short sword. On one of the branches, a gray-feathered bird began to sing.
The soldiers walked a little further along the stream and now watched the fish with their shiny scales slipping between the pebbles and the feet of the slaves. One of the guards began to try to catch the fish with a spear, to be eaten with bread and grains for breakfast.
Torgeir was sewing absent-mindedly, and perhaps it was because he was so engrossed in the movement of needle and thread that Vishkar did not notice the twig she had stepped on. Snap!
The Prince of Patras suddenly looked like an eagle on the hunt. He dropped the sewing kit on the floor and raised his arm to grab Vishkar's wrist in one rapid and powerful movement.
For a few seconds, the bicolored eyes stared into brown ones outlined in kajal, and the crown prince and empress struggled for the short sword. Torgeir held the young woman's wrist tightly, his chin tightening as he bruised her very white skin.
The soldiers and slaves stood concentrated on the stream, oblivious to the fight, and just as Vishkar thought the prince would cease, he twisted her wrist so hard she thought it would break.
Torgeir disarmed Vishkar. Then, she tried to yell, but he pressed his hand over her mouth and silenced her. He put the short sword in his belt and gestured with his finger in front of his lips to increase the silence.
Vishkar frowned and looked at the men and slaves in the stream, then at the doll Torgeir was sewing lying on the ground. He dragged her away from the edge of the stream to a secluded area. Soon, the sun would be rising, and the sky was dotted with pink and scattered stars. The air was damp with dew. The Patran spoke in Vaskish in a firm voice.
"What are you doing here?"
"I have come to kill you, Torgeir, Prince of Patras!" the Crown Empress replied bluntly, touching her wrist with reddish marks.
The man, who had been in his twenties for some time, looked at Vishkar from head to toe with an amused expression on his face.
"You're such a little girl! I thought you were scarier, daughter of the Empire! But you're smaller even than Tilia, my sister."
Vishkar narrowed her eyes.
"How do you know who I am?"
"We saw your entourage arrive. We heard rumors that you were coming to serve, but I didn't think you'd be sent as still a child..."
"I AM NOT A CHILD!" she replied sourly.
Torgeir signaled her to keep her voice down. Then, he spoke with a smile.
“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you!”
The scene struck the Vaskian as unusual. The two were war enemies, but Torgeir didn't treat her like this. He reminded her of the cheeky boys from her tonfa training.
"Why?"
"You and your lineage are famous in Patras. A kingdom ruled by empresses! Do you really breed leopards in Skarva?"
"Yes..." Vishkar replied vaguely, sensing an air of unreality around her and having the odd feeling that she should also ask something about Patras, she ventured out of curiosity, "What do you sew?"
Torgeir answered bluntly.
"The doll for my child. I'm going to be a father in winter."
Vishkar had heard of the human replicas that were sewn in Patras to bring blessings when a child was born or was still in the womb.
"Will you have an heir?"
There was no answer. The soldiers began to call out for Torgeir. Vishkar heard the metallic sound as the men drew their swords and axes. The Patran prince became restless and whispered,
"Go back to your tent! The river at dawn belongs to the Patrans. There will be an imbalance if my men find you here. Now, go!"
Torgeir turned his back on the young woman, but before he went, he remembered to take the short sword from his belt and return it to her.
"Go away, Vishkar of Vask!"
The girl stopped for a moment near the trees when she heard Torgeir's voice reassuring his men. The Patran said he had moved away because he had heard a noise, but it was only a scared coyote cub.
Still overwhelmed by the senselessness of what she had experienced, Vishkar ran back to the Vaskian camp, went into her tent, and stayed awake all night. The next day, she was scolded by Somalia when she confessed to the commander what she had done.
"Do you want to bring more misfortune to the war? Do you know that nothing will improve if you kill Torgeir? Patras' army will not stop fighting and will use the prince's death as an excuse to invade us and retaliate against our soldiers. You must not mess with him..."
"Soldiers are being slaughtered on other borders, Somalia!"
"Yes, Vishkar! Vaskian soldiers are dying and killing everywhere! Many men feel more alive in war! Here is how you have seen it. There are laws! You may not like them, but here you obey me! I won't treat you like a crown empress; I'll treat you like a subordinate!"
"Somalia, why don't we attack our enemies? Are you afraid of them?"
The woman turned around, and her irritated green gaze stared at the young woman.
"Do you think all Vaskians and Patrans like being at war, Vishkar? Many of the men and women here have families and children waiting for them at home. To kill a prince of Patras is to sacrifice any possibility of peace. There is no turning back, foolish girl! Tomorrow you will see with your own eyes what war is like, and you can tell me about fear."
Somalia was about to leave when Vishkar asked,
"Why did you lie in the reports you gave my mother? She thinks the war is raging here and that you have killed hundreds of Patrans, but all I see is laziness and rules!"
The commander turned and looked at the future empress. Somalia’s very dark hair was tied back in a messy bun, and her skin was damaged by the sun. There was a scar on her face, and she looked huge when angry.
"Then tell your mother what's happening here, Your Highness! Tell the glory-hungry nobles that we've been in a stalemate for years, in a war they started themselves without asking any of us!"
"Torgeir is going to have a child, Somalia! Did you know that? He might have an heir to his kingdom, making our fight even more difficult..."
Somalia’s voice seemed to build a barrier between her and the young woman with every word. During her training, Vishkar had admired her mother’s cousin as a strong and ruthless commander, but now she saw that she was almost in collusion with Patras. Somalia answered,
"Yes. A few months ago, Torgeir visited Princess Enone, and we heard rumors that she is pregnant in Bazal now..."
"So?"
"So, what?"
"Our plan will be tougher if he fucks his wife like a rabbit, giving birth to royal children! Heirs are a problem!"
"Your mother has three daughters, Vishkar, apart from the twins. You should worry more about yourself..."
The young woman frowned.
"What do you mean, Somalia?"
"Think about it, girl. Think hard. But if you're not ready to think about it yet, sleep. Then eat. And then go to train with the soldiers. Some of the rookies need to practice with the tonfa. If none of that interests you, go help Gene with the horses..."
That was the end of the discussion between Vishkar and Somalia. Later, while Vishkar was feeding the horses next to the stableman, the Vaskian thought about her relative's words. She had two sisters and two brothers. The girls were the daughters of the emperor, her father, and the boys were the sons of a male concubine.
Torgeir had the princes Torveld and Tilia as his royal siblings, as well as some other bastard siblings who grew up in southern Patras.
What did Somalia mean with her comment? What did she have to worry about?
The first battle in which Vishkar had fought took place the next morning. Men on horseback charged across the plains, carrying spears and waving the flag with the eagle of Patras. And the Vaskian soldiers were waiting, armed with swords and tonfas, while the Vaskian flag was carried theatrically by a herald on a banner.
Vihskar ran screaming down the hill, flanked by the men and women of Vask. She ducked under the sword of the first opponent and leapt over the spear of the second. Then she jumped over a third man, who threw her to the ground and kicked her in the stomach. She tasted the iron in her mouth, spat on the ground, and got back to her feet.
Her tonfa clashed hard against the short bald soldier's sword, and the two struggled, their feet dragging in the dirt. They stared at each other, and Vishkar struck her weapon hard against the man's wrist as he swung his sword. Then she parried her attack and slid her tonfa down to her elbow.
She was good! The military instructor and her comrades always praised her. Vishkar moved excellently! Until someone called out to her Patran opponent amidst the crowd of gleaming armor, leather, blades, and shields. Someone who had overheard the words from a Vaskian.
"It's the crown empress! Look at her golden and silver eyes!"
The words spread like fire among the people. Men and women turned their heads over their shoulders to look at the young woman pushed by the soldier. The daughter of the empire was on the battlefield.
The Patran man Vishkar was fighting with, drew back, and asked:
"You are Vishkar of Vask?!"
The young woman nodded and held her chin high and proud.
"Fight with me!"
The man stopped, turned his back to her, and replied with a grimace,
"Go home, girl!"
Vishkar felt the look of contempt and pain in her heart and bones. This indifference seemed so familiar to her. This disdain cracked her soul.
"FIGHT WITH ME!" she shouted and straightened up.
The man said, turning over his shoulder.
"No! Balance is important!"
"FIGHT WITH ME!" Vishkar ordered, spinning the tonfa.
"FUCK, NO!"
Without thinking and feeling her insides churning and a strange buzzing in her ears, she raised her arm and slammed it down on her opponent's head, yelling,
"DON'T IGNORE ME, MOM! LOOK AT ME!"
The heavy metal tonfa hit the soldier squarely on the temple, and a deep, bony rumble rose. Vishkar saw the man pause and raise his hand weakly in the air as the bloody tonfa was pulled away from his head. He fell onto the dry grass, blood pouring from the hole in his skull.
Vishkar felt the urge to throw the tonfa to the ground. Instead, she just stood there, and her stomach sank. So, she knelt beside the man and turned him onto his back. His mouth was oval, his eyes glassy. His head was cracked open.
A physician! Someone should bring the physician, and as if waking from a trance, the Vaskian suddenly found herself surrounded by fallen and injured men and women. There were men armed with swords and advancing on horseback. Another band of men dismounted from their horses and rushed at the Vaskians.
Vishkar found herself among the corpses, trying to protect the dead Patran. Her dead. Maybe he wasn't dead at all. Perhaps he had only fainted from the impact of the tonfa, despite the blood that watered the dry land now.
Years later, Vishkar would remember the first man she killed as a victim of her cowardly act. She had hit her opponent from behind when she believed he thought of her as an unworthy opponent.
What did he think she was? A fragile princess who would run into her mother's arms? Who would grumble at his offended frown? You never turned your back on a leopardess, even if she was a cub.
"Don't ignore me! Look at me!"
To whom had Vishkar shouted?
Killing was not an easy act. If a person had even a shred of humanity in them, they had to remove it from themselves to do it. One had to be afflicted by trauma or madness. Your own body had to be an empty house to serve death.
Or you had to rely on a cause, an ideal, a family, or a love to naturalize barbarism. Ripping open someone's chest and removing their soul from within to throw them into the unknown was unnatural.
But killing people was what was expected of war. Vishkar gasped for air, swallowed a sob, and picked up her tonfa, which she had left beside her. Some of the Patrans scowled at her. And so did some of the Vaskians. It was her first time on the battlefield, and she knelt to watch over the body of the man she had killed.
Vishkar stood still, watching the men fighting around her.
Torgeir! She had to find Torgeir! If she killed Torgeir, it would stop the war. The war had been going on for years. That was why she had come to serve in her mother’s army. To do what Somalia and no other Vaskian soldier had accomplished before.
She recognized Torgeir's dark-haired head, swinging his axe among his men. And she ran at him, cutting down two Patran soldiers.
"Hey!" she shouted, twirling her tonfa with deft skill.
Torgeir continued to move between his men, oblivious to the shrill voice that rose.
"Fight with me!"
Nothing! Until Vishkar picked up a stone from the ground to test its weight, and then she threw it towards Torgeir. The object hit the Patran's back and bounced to the ground with a metallic and earthy sound. This time, Torgeir turned around, searching for the stone and staring at Vishkar with bloodshot eyes as she spun her tonfa.
The Patran prince was no longer as meek as he had been the day before. He cursed and turned around after slitting a Vaskian's throat. Vishkar winced as he saw Torgeir shake the axe, and blood splattered on his chest.
She came up to just above the Patran's waist. Torgeir had pointed out her small stature when he met her the day before, but Vishkar was more aware of it when he had an axe in his hand, not a needle, thread, or a doll.
"You again?! What do you want, princess of the empire?"
"I'll finish you off!" she shouted, raising her finger.
"Why doesn't Somalia put a leash on you, leopard?"
"WHAT?!"
At that moment, Torgeir turned to fight with one of the Vaskian soldiers, who came at him shouting and wielding a gleaming sword. The female soldier let her gaze slide to the crown empress and engaged in a fierce battle with the Patran prince.
Vishkar was again seized by the sense of inutility and unreality around her and walked towards the two combatants, pushing the soldier away. She stood before Torgeir with her chin up and shouted,
"Fight with me, damn you!"
The Vaskian soldier tried to touch Viskar’s shoulder, but her hand was pushed away. Some of the Patrans and Vaskians turned to watch the scene.
Torgeir looked at the young woman in front of him and said,
"I don't kill children!"
"Well, you're going to be killed by one today. Or are you afraid, Your Highness?" Vishkar taunted, baring her teeth like a cat of prey.
The King of Patras cursed again and threw his axe down, ramming it into the ground. He drew his dagger and charged at the girl. Vishkar blocked his attack with her tonfa.
"I killed a man! A filthy Patran!" she screamed as her tonfa clashed with the dagger a third time.
"I know the women of the empire kill with no mercy. Where is your mother, Vishkar?"
Torgeir's speech caused a strange resentment to throb in the Vaskian's chest, and this time she swung the tonfa, striking the divider of Torgeir's shoulder and armor. The Patran prince cried out and spoke,
"I thought you were interesting, kid, but you're a real pain in the ass!"
He swung the dagger and stabbed her in the side, eliciting a scream from the girl and staining her pants with blood. Vishkar felt the metal dig into her flesh, and the pain that followed made her groan.
Torgeir thought that this gesture would be enough to make the girl give up, but she came limping towards him, armed with her tonfa, and struck him again. Then Vishkar kicked the Patran's shin with such force that a wound opened on his leg. The prince cried out and ran after her, looking even angrier.
When he reached her, Torgeir pulled at Vishkar's ponytail and twirled it around the back of his hand like a chain, causing her to throw her head back.
"I don't want to hurt you! Enough!"
"Why not?" Vishkar asked through clenched teeth.
"Because we're the only ones stopping the chaos, you stupid girl! Do you still not understand what this is all about?"
No, Vishkar didn't understand, and when Torgeir let go of her, the fight began anew until the two found themselves still alive but breathless. The Vaskian felt the scratches and bruises on her body caused by the blade and the hilt of Torgeir's dagger, and the Patran felt the fatigue of Vishkar's persistence and the tonfa blows.
It was Somalia who burst through the men and stood before Vishkar as if she were a child who had gotten into trouble with the son of some noble of the kingdom. The climax was Somalia tugging the girl by the ear.
"You pest! I told you to stay away from him!"
“Hold on to your girl, Somalia of Ver-Tan!” Torgeir stood up and pointed at the girl. A soldier poured water from a wineskin while he wiped the sweat from his face.
There were arguments among the surrounding soldiers, but most of them had paused to watch the fight between Vishkar and Torgeir. Then it all ended, and the Vaskian crown empress was brought into her tent by Somalia.
In the battles that followed, Vishkar tangled with Torgeir twice more, and both times she was reprimanded by her mother's cousin. The third time, Somalia even gave her a spanking in front of the soldiers.
"Why doesn't he use the axe against me?" Vishkar asked angrily, feeling her aching butt.
"Because he could split your head in half! You're going to ruin us all."
"I have come to fight! Not to stand idly by and watch something happen. My mother served in the army before she ascended the throne! As the future empress, I must set an example!"
"Your mother never served in a war, and she was twenty-four when she went on an expedition. You can handle the tonfa better than Bettany! Much better! But I don't want you to stay here to become a weapon, do you understand?"
Vishkar frowned. She had often heard her mother boast that she was an excellent and precocious warrior. But it was strange that Vishkar had rarely seen her fight. Once, Betthany had even dropped the tonfa while swinging the weapon around her waist and severely punished a concubine for supposedly distracting her.
"Then what did I come for, Somalia?"
"To become a true empress. You need to see a little more of the world, girl! See what's happening in the land you'll rule one day. Tomorrow I will ride with some soldiers to the border of Acquitart. Some Patrans are trying to make their way through the mountains again. Most of them are mercenaries paid for by the king. Rough men, ready to kill anything that moves. They make this place seem like heaven. Maybe you need a little reality, so you don't crave war so much..."
At that moment, a commotion arose among the soldiers near the camp entrance, and someone shouted,
"Prince Torgeir is here!"
Somalia pulled a face and left the tent, turning her back to Vishkar. The girl followed her, armed with her tonfa, and saw a crowd of Vaskians surrounding Torgeir. The prince was flanked by his soldiers and Vask's stableman, Gene, who had loosened the strings of his tunic, his hair damp and his face flushed.
Beside Gene, a soldier had placed his hand around his waist in a careful gesture, his hair was also damp, and he had a bruise on his chin.
Torgeir placed his palms together and saluted the men of the camp as he introduced himself, following the Vask tradition.
"Good evening, Somalia. I have come to accompany your stableboy. He was with one of my men by the stream, and when one of the guards saw them, he tried to force himself on him. There was a scuffle, and my two soldiers fought over Gene."
Somalia rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips. Her lips were pulled down as if they were on a fishhook. When Gene walked past her and joined his hands in apology, she threatened to slap him.
"I swear, these kids are driving me crazy! Gene, you were brought here to take care of the horses, not to be mounted by your Patran friend!"
Torgeir glanced briefly at Vishkar and then turned back to Somalia,
"Don't worry. He was scared, and the captain of my troop stepped in before the worst happened. I'm also here for another reason. We have some bread that our slaves made. We wanted to know if we could trade it for potatoes and rabbits."
Somalia replied as if this were a common practice,
"We'll accept the bread and a portion of fish."
"Deal," Torgeir declared, snapping his fingers and causing half a dozen slaves to appear behind his men carrying baskets of bread. "Alastor, tell the guards to go to the storeroom and sort out some of the salted fish."
The slave nodded and walked away while Somalia ordered her men to fetch sacks of potatoes and the meat of recently killed rabbits.
Vishkar frowned, observing the well-structured bartering that seemed to be common between the two kingdoms. Later, as she ate the baked bread with a crust of grilled fish and asked Somalia about the exchange, the commander spoke,
"How could we live in war and eat potatoes and rabbits for years? We help each other."
The word help seemed out of place and misused in a warring context outlined by two kingdoms thirsting for power.
Before Torgeir left, Somalia asked the Crown Prince of Patras as she checked the basket of fish the slave had brought with him,
"What happened to the soldier who tried to rape Gene?"
Torgeir paused and glanced briefly at his men and the Vaskians.
"We are honoring our agreement with you. You do not violate ours, and we do not violate yours. The soldier has already been severely punished for trying to assault one of Vask's boys. He has already been removed from the fortress."
"Great!" Somalia replied laconically and closed the matter.
Vishkar had noticed Vaskians fornicating with Patran soldiers and vice versa on the third day after her arrival, when she observed men leaving their tents at night to whistle like birds near the fort.
As the young woman followed one of the Vaskian soldiers unnoticed, she saw the man in a clearing in the forest making out with a Patran near the trees, and as he dropped his pants, he whispered in broken Patran language, and breathless with lust,
"We have to be quick today. I left Teref to make the rounds in my place. Make me cum with your cock."
Vishkar, however, knew nothing of the anti-rape laws in force between the camp and the fortress.
It is like a mirror, Somalia had said. The war on this border was like a tacit peace treaty, accepting only a few dead and wounded in the sporadic moments when fighting broke out.
The next day, Vishkar rode with Somalia and a few men towards Acquitart.
On the way, she saw some burning plantations and farmhouses reduced to ashes; ragged people walking barefoot; a man burning corpses on a funeral pyre, and another with nimble fingers rifling through the pockets of the dead and putting the odds and ends he found into a bag.
Some half-naked prostitutes lived in very poor tents at the foot of the mountain next to the Vaskian camp. There, the prostitutes found johns and some protection for everything they owned, which was basically their lives.
The land protected by these Vaskian soldiers was inhospitable. When the sun was high, the heat was terrible, lashing the earth and the lizards that slithered across it. The men looked slaughtered and were dirty.
Some turned and looked suspiciously at Somalia and Vishkar as they dismounted their horses and introduced themselves. The commander stepped forward and put her arm around her relative’s shoulder,
"Commander of the Ver-Vassel Border Force, Somalia of Ver-Tan. This is the Crown Empress. If anything happens to her, the culprit will be sentenced to death by my own sword with the blessing of the Empire, do you understand? No one touches my girl!"
The soldiers, who had been staring at the curve of Vishkar's neck, her freckles, dark hair, and the beauty of her two-colored eyes, stepped back and made the gesture of joining their hands. Then the men wiped their soot-smeared faces and knelt, cleaning their throats,
"Your Highness, welcome!"
Somalia then asked in a dry voice, handing a water bag to the young woman beside her,
"What's the situation?"
"The worst, Commander Somalia. The mercenaries massacred the peasants and invaded the estate of a nobleman, killing him and looting his goods. They have kidnapped his wife, his children, and his slaves. They are well armed and seem to be furious. The King of Patras promised them land and gold. They have nothing to lose."
Somalia nodded and turned to Vishkar, who wiped the trickle of water from her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Vishkar, you will fight tomorrow with your sword, not your tonfa! I know you're skilled, but let's practice a bit in the courtyard. The mercenaries won't behave like Torgeir's men. We must drive them out of our territory and free the prisoners, do you understand?"
The young woman nodded, and the captain of the troop looked sheepishly into the face of the daughter of the realm and asked somewhat awkwardly as he wiped the damp dust from his forehead.
"How old is Your Highness?"
"Fourteen," Vishkar replied.
The man smiled.
"Almost the same age as my son. I haven't seen him for years. We come from Ver-Kindt."
"Don't you miss him?"
"All the time," the man confessed, scratching his beard, "but since he's still too young, I'd rather he stays safe by his mother's side. I fight and he lives."
Vishkar frowned. Her chest hurt with a hard feeling. A jealousy at the man's words. An ache in some mysterious part of her that she didn’t dare to touch.
No doubt there was jealousy.
Dark envy of the faceless boy from Ver-Kindt that his father fought for?
Maybe...
Why?
Bitter jealousy and envy seemed like an off flavor to war. Still, they were the plates on which it was served. It supported the bread, the meat, the vegetables, and the gastric juice that corroded everything in indigestible satisfaction.
Later, Vishkar went to sword training with Somalia. The commander practiced intensely, wielding her sword skillfully and at the end, as she sheathed the sharp blade, firmly declared:
"Stay behind me tomorrow. Don't do anything stupid, do you hear me?"
Finally, the next day, the Crown Empress witnessed the war with her skin, with her bones, with her astonished senses, with her still somewhat childish impulses, and with her blood. The battle between the two kingdoms had been dragging on for years and would continue to do so for many years to come.
Vishkar would see the ugliness that was the banner of any war that proclaimed glory while trampling on the skulls and corpses of people.
Vishkar found herself in an open field of rocks, clear sky, and arid ground, surrounded by Patran mercenaries. The host of men rode on their horses, brandishing spears that pierced with precise blows the damp breasts of the enemy horses and the Vaskian soldiers.
The mounts bucked their legs, being slaughtered in the inhospitable territory, and neighing in pain. The men fell to the ground with their faces covered in blood and dust, staring at the sun.
There was a group of soldiers on Somalia's side, protecting the crown empress. Vishkar saw Vask's men clash their swords with the Patran's axes, and she froze as Somalia drove her blade into a man with a jutting chin, sending blood spraying the girl's face in a hot stream.
There was flayed flesh, metal, bronze blazing in the sun, leather, and wounds being opened like morbid smiles. Organs were being revealed and whole parts being subtracted from entire forms.
Then, amidst the mass of flying spears and clashing metal, Vishkar saw a mercenary pull one of the soldiers from her horse, thrusting his spear into the animal. He pulled the woman by the hair, then slammed the Vaskian's head into one of the jagged rocks at the foot of the mountain before she could retrieve her sword.
As if it were part of a common ritual, the man, sticking his axe into the ground, began to open his pants beneath the furs he was wearing and took his cock out, lifting the soldier's tunic and tearing it in the process. Surrounded by his men, he began to rape the Vaskian woman in broad daylight, on the heat of battle as if the actions complemented each other. Domination and domination. Suffering and suffering. Invasion and invasion.
Perhaps people were no longer human, and a plague fed on sanity. Morbidity was a ruler.
The rhythm of the mercenary's hips was violent, and he forced his mouth on the Vaskian's face, pulling out an immoral kiss. He touched her breasts as if he wanted to rip them off.
Vishkar felt her legs tremble. Nausea. She felt the bile rise in her throat, and before she could stop herself, the young woman raised her sword, feeling her eyes burn as she broke free of the circle Somalia had created.
Vishkar ran towards the men, feeling the looseness of her armor on her body and her breathing coming in short, ragged gasps. Sweat was running down her forehead, although she felt cold and had lost all sense of heat some time ago.
She swung her blade, cutting off the hand of one of the Patrans as he raised his axe. Then she jumped on the other mercenary, thrusting her sword into his eye and feeling more blood spurt over her. Finally, she ran, dodging another man as she heard Somalia scream her name.
Vishkar saw the Patran who had raped the soldier get up, tide up his pants with cold calm and pick up the axe stuck in the dry ground. He roared, spun his weapon, and charged at the Vaskian young woman without even a second's hesitation.
Somalia tried to reach the Crown Empress, but was intercepted by one of the men wielding a huge shield and carrying a club with pieces of flesh, blood, and tufts of hair hanging from its rusty nails. The man smiled at the commander, who began to fight undaunted.
Vishkar took a glance at Somalia and saw that her relative was fighting like a wild animal, with bared teeth and a swift sword hilt that pierced flesh, slashed, stabbed, and twisted the metal blade in opponents' bodies. She was powerfully built, with wide hips and muscular calves and shoulders that made her look like an extension of the mountain. The woman eyed the mercenaries with her glowing eyes, the color of dry grass, aiming not for the club but for the man’s fingers and wrist.
It was enough that he could no longer fight. Without hands, he was nothing.
Vishkar's sword stopped the Patran's attack as his large, calloused, and rough hands gripped the wooden handle of the axe tightly. He raised the instrument and charged at her again. Again. And again. With the sharp side of the weapon and the metal wedge, he aimed for her life. Until he disarmed Vishkar with a crash. The girl's sword whirled through the air and dragged in circles on the ground.
Vishkar tried to run away, but she was stopped, being pulled by her long hair. The man picked her up with one arm as she tried to squirm and threw her to the ground with unrestrained force. As the mercenary lay on top of Vishkar, her voice rose to an agonized scream. Somewhere, she heard the fearful clang of Somalia's sword.
He reeked of sweat, blood, sour wine, and sex. His thick beard brushed the crown empress's face, and she began to scream as he licked her face. The young woman stretched out her arms, searching for something on the floor, while the man pushed her legs apart with his rough knees.
Vishkar dragged her nails through the dirt, panting with animal ferocity, feeling those hands squeezing her as if they were trying to strangle her. Suddenly, she felt her fingers grasp a stone. Without thinking, Vishkar picked it up and smashed it against the man's head two or three times, making him scream but not pushing him away.
Then, the man lifted Vishkar's head and smashed her skull on the ground. The Crown Empress felt the world sway around her as her body decided whether to stay awake or fall into darkness. She still tried to push him away with her thin arms, and her nose filled with blood until the mercenary reached for his axe.
Then Vishkar saw a quick silver spark under the bright rays of sunlight, cutting off her opponent's head, which bounced on the uneven ground as he collapsed on top of her.
"Vishkar, baby, here! Come on..." Somalia said to her, pulling her away from under the barbarian's body and pushing him heavily to the side.
Somalia's bare fingers wiped away the blood running down the girl's nose. With a motherly gesture, she took the girl's face in her hands. And kissed her forehead to soothe her.
Vishkar's confusion lasted only a minute, but in her body, it felt like fourteen years. The young woman's shallow, rapid breathing made her chest tremble. She looked around and saw the man who had held the club before, missing both hands, screaming amidst corpses and blood.
Vishkar had urinated on her armor in fear. She was so frightened it hurt.
Then, numbed, she took out her sword, walked up to the man who had tried to rape her, and plunged the blade into his large body once, twice, five times, ten times, screaming. She severed limbs. She pierced his stomach.
Later, when Vishkar approached the motionless soldier who was pulled by the mercenary off her horse, she found that her skull was covered in fresh blood. She was dead, and her long hair was red-stained. The woman had died the moment the mercenary had slammed her head against the sharp stones.
It was her dead body that the man had violated. And the slight trembling Vishkar had seen in the young woman under the mercenary was the twitching of her body before she died.
After that, the battle continued like a nightmare. There were more mercenaries to be slaughtered, and more ugliness serving a cause. There were countless Patrans, and Vishkar had to move; she had to keep them from taking the tents behind them and capturing more parts of Vask.
The Crown Empress remembered the Patran she had killed almost by accident with her tonfa, while deliberately slaughtering the second, the third, the fourth man. She had stopped counting by the tenth. Her mother had said it would bring honor to the empire, and these men seemed worthy of death. They were brutal, violent, and bloodthirsty. Inhuman. They could never reach Skarva. They had to die.
It was said that the mercenaries had sworn to the king that they would bring the heads of the empire's royal white leopards to decorate Bazal's hall, and that their pelts would adorn the throne of Patra as a relic of Vask's humiliation.
Jazel, Nola, and their cubs were like siblings to Vishkar. They were children of the realm, of the gods. And pure animals should never be touched by evil hands.
Vishkar also thought of the girls and boys on the training ground, still armed with wooden tonfas and being devoured by these men. She thought of her little siblings. She thought of her mother holding the baby in her arms and nursing. She thought of Sorem and Ishmael, who would protect Skarva as grown men protect their families and homes.
She had to stand between the Patrans and the empire. After all, there were vulnerable men and women in the tents behind her. Prostitutes who would be mounted until they were torn to pieces. Everything would be swept away, ground up, and crushed with hopelessness. The world was ugly. And she had realized that now.
Vishkar fought until she could barely stand. Panting and persevering, she moved. She was dizzy and weak. But she kept going.
Finally, the young woman looked at Somalia and felt her foot slipping on the blood, shattered bones, and organ parts scattered on the ground, as if she were walking into a human body.
A Vaskian soldier said,
"I think we've won. There are only a few men left."
Vishkar would never forget how Somalia was bloodstained to her elbows, face, neck, and bronze breastplate. Unaware that this was also her portrait, the girl could smell the iron-like scent of blood on her hair, hands, and face, mingling with the heated metal of her armor.
When she went to bathe in a wooden tub in the camp, Vishkar saw the water turn to blood as well. And from then on, she thought that she would always reek of blood.
Perhaps, her world would never stop bleeding, as if a spear had wounded it and was stumbling along like the lame horses on the battlefield.
She watched as the mutilated Vaskians were carried to the infirmary at the foot of the mountain. She watched as the tent prostitutes worked as apothecaries, dressing the wounds with bandages and ointments and pouring wine for the men to bear the pain of their amputated limbs.
The next morning, a pile of Vaskian corpses was thrown onto a pyre made of felled logs tied together with ropes. The captain of Ver-Kindt lit the fire with a torch after he had spoken words of honor and said a short prayer.
Among the corpses was the young woman whose hair was tied at the nape of her neck and whose skull had been cracked open by the mercenary who had raped her, and Vishkar saw the fire reach the cold, lifeless body and consume the soldier's face.
That night, Vishkar returned from the infirmary, sat down in her tent, and drew her dagger. She carelessly cut her hair, not thinking deeply. She cut it off at chin level and threw the rest of her strands into the blazing fire with unspeakable, painful grief. The flames engulfed the dark ponytail like an eel writhing in the heat. Something had died.
Perhaps it was childhood. Or maybe, it was her inner self dying, as she sometimes would in life.
Maybe growing up was it after all. Dying for the first time.
After that experience, Vishkar never argued with Somalia or spoke about the war again. When she appeared with her hair short, and the commander asked her what had happened, the crown empress shrugged her shoulders without answering.
Vihskar was fourteen. She remembered again that she had been thrown out of the world of Skarva's palace, out of her bed, out of tender sex with Judy, out of her first love, into a war. Into a field of hatred where she had not only witnessed the atrocities, but been an integral part of the mechanism that brought her to her knees.
Somehow, she remembered the words of Somalia, of Torgeir, of the Vaskian captain. Why had her mother sent her to the Ver-Vassel border? Was that her dowry for her affection? The head of Torgeir?
What kind of mother would send her child to an endless war? A fourteen-year-old daughter with a still-childing body who everyone called a kid because everything about her was still starting.
From that day onwards, Vishkar was engulfed in an undisturbed silence. Every time she tried to speak, her tongue and lips seemed to swell, and on the way back to the old frontier, the young woman remained completely silent, even when Somalia tried to engage her in conversation, hearing only her relative's voice and the hooves of horses riding towards Ver-Vassel.
"I wanted you to see that the glory you are to seek does not exist, Vishkar. Betthany and the King of Patras have great ambition. But they have ambition because they do not strive for what they desire. Your mother is a mediocre fighter and orders her people to die to elevate her name. The King of Patras is a greedy man for whom nothing is ever enough. One is the mirror image of the other. And we are in the middle."
There was more fighting. There were more deaths. Vishkar killed again, and sometimes her life hung in the balance on the edge of a blade, almost seeing death lurking over the shoulder of the enemy army.
To forget what she was doing, she began to sleep with some of the effeminate slaves from the camp, burying the pain with shovels of carnal and sensual pleasure. Outside, she could hear the women of the clan playing drums and occasionally joining the entourage. She could also hear soldiers singing sad songs, punctuated by the long cries of the coyotes.
For a few months, the world of the Crown Empress had been stitched together in this way, and without her realizing it, a year had passed.
In that time, the world on the Ver-Vassel border would remain in her memory as a blur of sex, violence, silence, and melody. There were no glories there except the beauty of the horizon, where the sun rose and set daily, tinting the plains in brilliant colors and passing indifferently by the human losses.
Chapter 18: The Mirror (Part 2)
Summary:
An unexpected friendship develops between Vishkar and Torgeir. Soren and Ishmael go to the border of Ver-Vassel. And Betthany sends someone dangerous to put an end to the war.
Chapter Text
"You’re shorter than my sister Tilia, but you have her ferocity when you wield that damn tonfa..." Torgeir commented, limping slightly. One of the Vaskian soldiers hit him with the tonfa during the last confrontation.
Vishkar sat near the stream, tapping ash from a straw cigarette she had gotten from one of the Vaskian men. It had been an hour since dawn, so the Crown Empress believed that the stream belonged to Vask at this time.
The young woman wore only a worn-out slip. Her clothes and hair were wet from the water. Her gaze searched for the horizon where the pale sun was rising among the dust.
"...My sister is deaf." Torgeir went on, "I never understood her language, but we mimed and understood each other. We laughed a lot together when I was in the palace. Her husband now serves in Ver-Tan and is a good man. Tilia is raising two slaves. The girl is deaf, and the boy understands her language. I am glad that my sister is not alone in Bazal... My brother Torveld must be very busy too."
The Patran moved a little closer and settled down next to Vishkar, who watched him for a while before inhaling and exhaling smoke and throwing her head back. She, too, covered herself with a coarse woolen shawl.
"... Torveld wrote to me that my son looks a lot like my wife. I was very relieved about that. God, how I miss Enone..."
Vishkar rolled her amber and gray eyes dryly and spoke,
"I'm not going to fuck you, Torgeir. I like women, and on the rare occasions I'm with men, I like effeminate concubines. You're not my type. Try the slaves of Vask instead. Maybe they'd like to be mounted..."
Her words were harsh, and Torgeir stared at the young woman for a while.
"Why are you being so aggressive? I don't want to sleep with you."
Vishkar rubbed her eyes. Her clothes remained wet and see-through, showing a little under her shawl. Torgeir avoided looking at her and instead gazed at the colorful horizon.
"So, what?"
"You've changed a lot since you arrived here. It's been over a year. Initially, you challenged me in skirmishes. But lately we haven't seen each other on the battlefield. You fight well, but you seem angry and try to finish off my men even when they avoid you. Stop hurting them. We have rules here."
Vishkar nodded and sniffled.
"You didn't want to fight me with your axe anyway. I should have found another way to chop your head off, but there are men more despicable than you. So, you're in the queue..."
Torgeir said,
"I heard that you and Somalia went up against the mercenaries hired by my father a few times. I'm so sorry..."
Vishkar shook her head and blinked in disbelief.
"No, you don't. Your father sent barbarians to rape women, children, and other men with no mercy. When we rescued the nobleman's kidnapped family on our first mission, they were abused in the worst way, from the infant to the eldest slave. So, your excuses are useless, Crown Prince! You are the eldest son of a monster! Deceitful and in lockstep with his will. You could have prevented it if you felt so sorry..."
Torgeir propped his elbows on his knees and breathed in the damp morning air.
"You overestimate the power I have over my father. He wanted to bring the mercenaries here, but I wouldn't let him. We argued. We're still arguing. We argue every time we speak. Torveld knows how to handle him better, but I'm always annoyed with him. Frankly, I can't stand him..."
Vishkar stared into the prince's face and stabbed out her cigarette butt, scattering the ash around her.
"Your father must have sewn those lucky dolls when you were born, and he must have called you the Eagle of Patras when you were still in your mother's womb. You should have some consideration for the old man..."
Torgeir frowned.
"I met my father when I was six, and he spent most of his life traveling around the kingdom, increasing his holdings and power. He didn't care much about his family. He even reproached my mother when Tilia was born because she was a girl and couldn't hear."
Vishkar took a drag from her cigarette and exhaled the smoke.
"Strange..."
"What's strange?"
"I grew up thinking you were a son of a bitch. Your whole family seemed to me to be a bunch of bastards whose only quality was being good at fighting. My mother always said you brought glory to your kingdom and made me swear to carry your head in a sack to elevate Vask’s name. For a long time, that was the reason I joined the army..."
Torgeir raised his eyebrows.
"Do you still want to cut off my head?"
"I do. But not now. I'm smoking right now, and I don't have my sword with me."
"Right," Torgeir said, smiling, "I've heard stories about the daughter of the empire, too. My father thinks women are dangerous and treacherous. He and your mother never got along."
"And what do you think?"
"I think you're aggressive, violent, and harsh, but I can handle it..."
Vishkar made a mocking noise with her mouth.
"I bet your wife is a submissive lady who only does what you tell her to..."
Torgeir laughed and shook his head.
"There are tough girls in Patras, too, Your Highness. My wife doesn't get along with my father either because she always speaks her mind. If I order her to do something, she orders me to fuck off."
Vishkar smiled.
"Do you miss Bazal?"
"Yeah. Do you miss Skarva?"
"I miss my friends Ishmael and Sorem; my lover Judy; the leopards and potato loaves..."
Torgeir studied the Vaskian's face.
"Don't you miss your mother?"
Vishkar stubbed out her cigarette butt on a sharp stone and answered without changing her tone,
"Yes, of course I do. I miss her. All the time."
There was silence for a few minutes, and Torgeir stood up after taking a deep breath and asked:
"Are you going back to camp already?"
"I'll stay here for a while..."
"Great! Wait for me..."
Vishkar frowned. After a whole year on the Ver-Vassel frontier, perhaps she had gotten used to the strange relationship between the Patran soldiers and the Vaskians, where they fought from time to time and ever more sporadically, sharing food, fornicating, talking, and inventing board and field games to make the days go by faster.
She remained quiet and moved through the new reality that was her life. Like a ghost, she strolled through the camp in the gentle intervals between missions, where she would go near Acquitart and celebrate the war with bloodbaths.
"I'm back!" Torgeir announced, bringing something with him. "Here. The slaves made it for dinner last night, but I think it's still soft..."
Vishkar directed her two-toned gaze at the napkin the Prince of Patras had brought, wrapped around something. When he unwrapped it, a loaf of potato bread was revealed, the delicious fragrance reaching the young woman's nose. She hesitated, and he understood her refusal, taking a bite instead.
"You can eat it. There's nothing in it. Just the ingredients for bread and potatoes..."
The Vaskian watched Torgeir chew. He had a slightly protruding chin, like some Patrans, and his smile was generous, especially when he chewed. Vishkar had noticed this when she first saw him, but she scolded herself for thinking she had let her guard down.
Glancing at the man, she bit into the bread and breathed in the aroma that reminded her of the ovens of Skarva and the sumptuous meals where bread was baked with butter, meat, and aromatic herbs. But she also remembered that this was part of a past that seemed so far away. It was ironic that everyone in Skarva ate so well while the farmers had to be content with grilled lizards and scraps.
"Thanks..." she said, taking measured bites at first and wiping the corners of her mouth with the back of her hand. Then she began to devour the bread.
"Is it good?"
The young woman nodded with her mouth full and smiled.
"Fine..." Torgeir smiled back and tried to touch the young woman's head, but Vishkar pulled back like a startled feline. She quickly reached for the tonfa at her side.
The Patran withdrew his hand, placed it on the grass, and apologized. An embarrassed blush crept up his cheeks.
"I'm sorry. I was just glad to see you smiling. You've been looking sad these past few months, and it was nice to see you perk up again..."
There was an awkward silence, for Vishkar had moved away, and the man stood rigid, thinking his body might be taken as a threat. Then he stood up and wiped the dust off his palms.
"...I'd better go..."
But Vishkar lifted her fingers, held his arm, and said in a whisper,
"I'm sorry... Stay..."
The morning birds were already singing in the treetops in a scandalous melody.
Vishkar held the bread to her mouth and swallowed hard before whispering,
"I was almost raped in Acquitart."
Torgeir lowered his eyes.
"I'm very sorry about that..."
"Somalia wanted me to experience a real battle, but that was something she had no control over. She killed the mercenary before the worst happened..."
"It's a good thing he's dead. That won't happen to you here, Your Highness. I didn't choose to be in a war, but if I must be here, the least we can do is establish some honor..."
Vishkar took a deep breath.
"My mother sent me here to honor the name of Vask. After Somalia killed that man, I slaughtered him with my sword. And then another. And then another. And another. I lost count of how many I wounded and killed. Betthany said it would bring honor and glory, and I did what she told me to do… Over and over..., but then I realized I was getting tired, hollow...sadder… dead. And only in the moments when Vask and Patras do stupid things together do I seem to become whole... Why do I feel like this?"
Vishkar didn't sob, but she turned her face away and wiped away a stray tear with the palm of her hand. Torgeir gave the young woman time to compose herself. Then he said, looking her straight in the eye.
"We, the heirs of Patras and Vask, must stand firm, do you understand? If one of us dies in battle, the war will become irreversible, and there will be retribution from all sides, who can count on the support of Vere and Akielos. There will be more deaths, more carnage, and more emptiness! We are the balance, do you understand, Vishkar? I didn't choose to be here, and as far as I know, you didn't have a choice either."
The young woman remembered Somalia defending the prince and rebuking her for trying to kill Torgeir.
"But our kingdoms and our parents are enemies..." Vishkar spoke, shaking her head.
"So, what? I don't want you to die. I didn't want anyone to die..."
Vishkar's face was downcast, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Hearing this in a war was like a tender declaration of love.
"Right..."
Torgeir's youth became clear as he smiled. The Patran, moving his foot in the grass, spoke against the horizon of orange and pink hues dissolving into blue,
"I wanted to meet you. When I studied Vaskian culture as a child, I wanted to see the leopards and visit the Imperial Forest." Torgeir gazed at the sky absently. "It is said that the sunrise in Skarva is the most beautiful of the four realms and that everyone believes in the kiss of heaven and earth when they see it. There is a verse in Isagoras' poems where the poet weeps when he speaks of the Vaskian sunrise, and I wanted to experience it at least once. But my father said it was wrong to go to Vask because it was enemy territory, and that your mother would feed me to the leopards..."
"She would, but I wouldn't let her. Your meat must be tough, and Jazel and Nola only eat selected food. I already have three friends in Skarva, but you could be an acquaintance, if that's all right."
Torgeir frowned and smiled.
"Raffie!"
Vishkar stared at him uncomprehendingly, furrowing her dark eyebrows as well. Torgeir said,
"…That's the word that lies halfway between friend and acquaintance in Patran language. You will be my raffie from now on, empire's heir. In Patras, a true friend is like a relative. But that's a bit much for two warring enemies."
Vishkar made a noise with her lips before biting into the bread again, feeling the morning rays warming her body.
From that day on, Vishkar and Torgeir sometimes met at dawn, and they chatted when the ownership of the river was unclear. He drank the Patran wine, and she smoked the Vaskian soldiers' straw cigarettes, which she sometimes shared with Torgeir. The two crown princes had conversations about the good life in Bazal and Skarva and the meager life on the borders. They talked about the weather and the seasons.
The two also discussed military tactics and compared their weapons with technical honesty. Sometimes they even engaged in sparring matches and exchanged news about clashes between Patran and Vaskian soldiers in other regions.
"What will you do when you sit on your throne, Your Highness?" Vishkar asked, spinning her tonfa and simulating an attack on Torgeir's axe.
She had barely grown in this second year and looked even thinner than when she arrived. But Vishkar's eyes were more mature, and she spoke less excitedly or softly. Her face gradually lost its childish roundness at the cheekbones and chin. Her fingers grew long and calloused.
"I will help my people. My brother said that there is a famine in many towns and that many houses have been burned down. And you?"
"My mother is still young and will rule for many years to come. When this is all over, I want to see the world. I will travel with Judy, Ishmael, and Sorem..."
"Where to?"
"To all the neighboring nations. I want to see the whole world. I want to know Vere, which is allied with Vask, Kempt, and distant Akielos with its beaches of sand and marble."
Torgeir smiled and swung his axes.
"Patras has beautiful places too when there is no war."
"Your father will have my head chopped off if he sees me walking around with three Vaskians on my shoulders, Torgeir." Vishkar laughed, "By the way, Sorem and Ishmael are coming to Ver-Vassel."
"Your cousin and your friend? When are they coming?"
"Next summer. They wrote to me that they've both been drafted into the army. Sorem has been serving as Skarva's ambassador for some time now. He speaks your language better than I do. Ismael started his service in the Imperial Guard, but he was advised to come here. Somalia will meet them in Skarva."
Torgeir nodded and said with comradely sincerity,
"I'll miss you, Vishkar. You'll be glued to them now and won't waste any more time with me."
Vishkar laughed and tapped the tip of her tonfa against the handle of Torgeir's axe.
"I'm still your raffie, you silly big man. You'll like them."
When Sorem and Ishmael arrived at the camp, the sun was high in the sky, the ground was barren, the grass was scorched, and the dry season had left most of the soldiers dehydrated and limping. There had been no fighting that week, and the men entertained themselves with the soldierly amusements of horse and foot races, and spear-throwing practice.
The stable boy, Gene, then invented the tub fight. In Somalia's absence, he and other soldiers dragged the large wooden tub from the back of the camp, where the bathing area was located, and filled it with river water.
Originally, the competition was between Vaskian soldiers who, half-naked, tried to pull their opponents out of the vat in a physical fight. The winner was the one who remained in the water last.
The Patran soldiers watched the tournament from afar, cupping their wine and betting amongst themselves which of the Vaskians would be most likely to win the fight. When the Patran guard who had been caught with Gene finally joined in the fun, the dispute between the Vaskians and the Patrans escalated.
And the summer fun continued for a few more days. At one point, the water had become too muddy and dirty, but the men didn't seem to mind and laughed, whether they won or lost.
At the end of one afternoon, when Vishkar put aside her position and decided to join in the dispute, the Patrans cheered, urging the crown prince of their people to join in as well.
Torgeir resisted with a guarded smile, but Vishkar, stretching her thin limbs with light clothing, teased him.
"He's afraid of being beaten down in a tub by the Empire..."
There were provocative boos from the Vaskians. The Prince of Patras handed one of his soldiers his waterskin and stepped forward to remove his boot.
"I'll throw you and your men out of this tub like kindling, you malnourished brat!"
The Patrans laughed, and the Vaskians booed.
"One at a time?" shouted Vishkar, running to the tub with her bare limbs, making the Vaskians laugh.
Little by little, she had befriended the soldiers in the camp, who had spent their lives imagining the Imperial Court of Skarva as the center of power in the land, surrounded by nobles, leopards, and empresses linked to the gods. But there was this future empress, fighting shoulder to shoulder with them, an ordinary girl who ate the same food, hunted on the plains, and slept on the same filthy ground as those rough men.
"You will regret this, daughter of the Empire!"
As Vishkar and Torgeir began to fight inside the vat, the soldiers around them seemed wild and lively. The Patran cheers mingled with Vaskian words of encouragement. Bets were made with small change from the camp and the fortress, for few now had gold. The top prize was a bronze mirror that had already passed through many hands.
"Take her down, Your Majesty!"
"Jump on him, Your Imperial Majesty!"
Torgeir was undoubtedly stronger and larger than the Crown Empress, but Vishkar used her agility and small size to slide him into the vat. Within minutes, they both had scratches on their arms and were panting, though smiling.
At one point, Vishkar took advantage of the Patran's slip to push him out of the tub, but he regained his balance. When he then tried to grab her by the shoulder, she bit him. Eventually, he managed to pin her down, and he pulled her to the edge as he heard the screams of his men. To prevent himself from being scratched or kicked, Torgeir lifted the young woman over his head and supported her with his hands as if she were a sack of flour.
The Vaskians raised their arms like little chairs and prepared to catch Vishkar if she was thrown.
"Throw her to the throne here, Your Majesty! Do not harm our future empress. She is a holy woman, and the gods will punish you..."
And when the Patran soldiers shouted at Torgeir in unison to throw her, he burst out laughing, as did Vishkar, who clung to him to avoid being thrown.
At that moment, Somalia, Sorem, and Ismael arrived.
After dismounting from their horses, the two Vaskian young men stared at their friend and saw her in a vat, not with just any Patran, but with the one the soldiers called the Crown Prince. Ishmael's mouth was half open, and it was Sorem who managed to whisper between the Vaskians in the camp,
"What the hell is going on? Vishkar!"
At that moment, the Patrans and Vaskians turned around, and Vishkar shouted back with a large smile on her face.
"SOREM! ISHMAEL!"
Torgeir let go of her, and she ran, drenched from head to toe in muddy water, to Sorem, who stood there dazed. She wrapped her arms around her cousin's neck. Sorem was taller, and his skin seemed almost translucent in the sun. His dark hair was a little long and very straight. He smelled good and wore clean clothes.
He pushed her away from him and asked again,
"What's going on?"
Vishkar didn't answer, but walked over to Ishmael, who picked her up off the ground in a long hug. He took her face in his hands and admired her for a moment. Ishmael had grown very tall, and the hue of his eyes looked beautiful in the sun against his dark skin.
Torgeir had left the vat and was putting on his dry clothes with the help of a slave. Somalia stepped forward and waved to his men.
"I see the camp is in order..."
"Yes, there were no problems...I'm happy you're back." Vishkar replied, hugging her mother's cousin from behind, her smiling face resting on her back.
It took some time for Sorem and Ishmael to agree with the camp’s rules. Like Vishkar, they were initially unnerved by the peaceful, companionable dynamic of neighbors getting along rather than enemies bent on destroying each other.
"We've seen people starving near Ver-Tan, and you're here having fun with these Patrans, cousin..." Sorem scolded her.
"How can you trust them, Vishkar?" Ishmael inquired.
The Crown Empress kept her patience. It had been a long time since she had seen her friends, and she wanted to hear the latest from Skarva. Vishkar had learned from Sorem and Ishmael that her mother had given birth to a child in the spring and that Judy was now a member of the Skarva National Army.
The former ambassador was ill, and Sorem was working further north in Ver-Vassel to gain financial support from Varenne and curry favor with King Aleron. Ishmael had accompanied him on his ventures from time to time.
"Do you think Vere will help us in any way?" Vishkar asked Sorem and served him cold wheat tea donated by Patras.
Sorem took a sip of tea from the wineskin and replied with a look of dismay.
"I don't know. Aleron, despite his friendship with Vask, seems to sympathize more with the Patras cause. But we will keep trying..."
Ishmael looked at Vishkar, and a blush rose to his cheeks.
"You look different..."
"Because of my hair?" the young woman asked, smiling and touching her dark strands, which she had kept short.
"No, it's not just that..."
Sorem, kneading a paste in a mortar, spoke then,
"I worked as a physician's assistant on Skarva for a while. The old Higen taught me a lot. Would you like me to remove these scratches, Vishkar?"
The young woman shrugged her shoulders and said,
"I don't care about them, but you can do your spell. Some men need medicine in camp..."
Sorem and Ishmael exchanged a look. Ishmael then asked,
"Why were you having fun with Prince Torgeir?"
Vishkar's smile faded as she felt the green paste from Sorem's pestle touch the wound on her knee. A cool, fresh feeling spread across her skin.
"He's nothing like we imagined. You'll like him..."
"He's the enemy, Vishkar!"
"No, his father is the enemy."
"He Is The Enemy. Are you fucking him by any chance?" Ishmael asked, crossing his arms.
Vishkar made a noise with her lips and said,
"Do you think sex is the only thing that binds two people together, my friend? You know nothing..."
"I know better than anyone that sex isn't everything, Vishkar. But there's something between you and Prince Torgeir. I don't like him..."
In the months that followed, Sorem and Ishmael settled into the Ver-Vassel camp, which was easy in some ways, but difficult in others. They quickly picked up the duties in the barracks, but in their first battle, they moved awkwardly and suffered only a few bruises as they knocked the Patrans down.
Vishkar felt like she was looking at her reflection one morning when she saw Sorem getting angry at his mother, Somalia, and shouting at her.
"I thought you were a scary soldier! The men and women in Skarva speak of you with awe! I thought you were here fighting Patrans and not resting while the empire is threatened! You spread false rumors!"
Somalia crossed her arms and blinked her green eyes tiredly. How many times had she had to deal with the same reaction over the years? In the face of silence, Sorem threw his tonfa on the ground and lingered in his tent. Only when it became dark did the commander go to her son and crouch down next to him as he lay on his straw bed.
"Sorem, not everything is as it seems. And besides, you were never a friend of war..."
"No, I never was! But I put up with the war and your absence because I thought you were doing something great, not building this camaraderie with Patras. Do you know that sounds like a betrayal against the Empire, Mother? My father died in Ver-Tan because he believed in the cause!"
"Your father served on one of our land's most turbulent frontiers, Sorem, but here it is as you see. Do you think I'll betray the realm if I don't cut off Torgeir's head? Great! Run to Skarva and tell Betthany what happened. If we kill the crown prince, Patras will attack with a vengeance, and Akielos or Vere might join the cause. Do you want more destruction?"
Sorem bent over the map that lay spread out beside him on the dirty floor of the tent. He leaned on his elbow and pulled the lamp closer to him, illuminating his handsome face with green eyes that shimmered amber in the light.
"We're trying to ally with Vere. What if Vere supports Vask, mother? The Empress will attack Patras with everything we have. That's what she dreams of! What will you say to these men?"
"Skarva is too far away, and we're guarding the borders, Sorem. If we are forced to invade Bazal, I hope we can do so without spilling a torrent of blood. We can negotiate a deal with Patras. The king is a reactive man, but Torgeir and his brother may be more accommodating."
"You're risking too much!"
"Maybe. However, during royal meetings, many of us opposed the war. I was against it! Betthany wanted to live out the women's dreams of domination before her, just as the king of Patras wanted to live out the thing his ancestors had dictated to him! You can't go forward if you go backwards! Vask and Patras both have limited rulers, incapable of creating anything new, preferring to regurgitate the past."
"Mother, I want this hell to end soon! And of course, I'm not going to Skarva to flatter the empress by betraying you. Betthany is desperate for an alliance with any nation. There are rumors that she got out of her mind after her last pregnancy..."
"Her mind was never the best. For her, her children had to obey an incomprehensible perfection. It's unfair that a woman like her can be a mother. You know why she sent her eldest daughter off to war, don't you?" Somalia commented, touching her belly.
"I do. Some people at court talk about it. Ishmael and I found out the day she was sent here. Does Vishkar know?"
Somalia was still crouched down, looking like a leopard.
"I think she suspects, but she won't say a word about it. Well, I need your support, Sorem. Can I count on you?" Somalia asked, wrapping her arms around the boy's neck and giving him a big kiss on the cheek.
"I'm happy to come to Ver-Vassel and see you again, mother, but I think I'll be working in the physician wing during this time and not on the battlefield. I think I'm more useful helping people than beating soldiers with tonfas. You can count on me for that..."
"I'm glad you studied with the old Higen and became a learned man who doesn't rely on his sword alone. Some women here need contraceptive teas; if you can help them. We will need people like you to rebuild Vask when peace comes."
"I'll be here, Mother," the young man said. Then he stood up and opened the tent a little to hear the insects chirping at night. "There are lots of locusts here and tree bark in the forest. Higen taught me how to make ointments to keep our soldiers strong and vigorous. I will do my best."
"I am sure of this. Take care of my men and Vishkar. They will need you when the crown empress returns to the kingdom and marries young Ishmael."
Sorem stood there for a while, staring at his mother. His body was slender, and his robes were clean and neat. He smiled and said,
"You would make a better ruler than Betthany, Lady Somalia."
Somalia shook her head.
"I was not in line for the throne, though I was Betthany's cousin. And I never dreamed of the empire, Sorem, but was content to serve in the royal guard. Our relationship as cousins was always strained. Betthany admired me for my military prowess and hated me for the same reason. She hated what she was supposed to be, but she couldn't help being it. When the war broke out, she tried to get rid of me as quickly as possible. Betthany always used her power to get rid of anything that didn't suit her ambition."
Sorem's eyes darkened before he turned his face and extended his white fingers towards Somalia’s tanned ones.
"I'm glad we're back together, Mama. Even if I don't completely agree with what's happening here at the border, I'll stand by you..."
The days passed. The first time Sorem and Ishmael saw Vishkar talking to Torgeir on the riverbank, a strange feeling arose between the old and new friends. The second time, too. And the third time.
Torgeir's joking remark, when he saw Vishkar and Sorem sitting together in the sun, that the imperial family looked alike and like a bunch of walking mirrors, made the Vaskian young man walk irritably to the tent to work on his ointments.
On the fourth try, Ishmael and Sorem sat down with the two heirs and took one of the last steps towards the camp customs.
Sorem opened his eyes a little wider, looking at Torgeir with intense green eyes and practicing his clear, sonorous Patran language on him. Ishmael, who was a little more wary, sat between the crown prince and Vishkar, speaking more silently than speaking.
When they were alone, Torgeir remarked to the crown empress,
"Ishmael fancies you. He's jealous of me..."
Vishkar nodded and propped her elbows on the ground.
"I know. I will marry him when I inherit the kingdom. We promised each other that when we were twelve years old, after my mother tried to push me toward the crown prince of Vere and Kempt and they snubbed Vask."
The young woman said this matter-of-factly before stretching and lying down on the grass. Torgeir raised his eyebrows.
"What, and your taste in women?"
Vishkar rolled her eyes.
"I'll marry women too, even if my mother says I can't. In Vask, you can marry more than once, but I need a good man to be the father of my daughters. Ishmael is my friend, and he will be a good emperor. I don't love him romantically, and he knows it, but if I have to marry a man, it has to be him."
The corners of Torgeir's mouth twitched in amusement.
"Vask's indecent polygamy..."
"There's no indecency here. Ishmael can sleep with men and women if he wants to. He can even let me watch, and I can tell his lovers what he likes in bed..."
Torgeir, who was drinking from a waterskin, spat out some of the liquid and wiped the trickle with the back of his hand.
"God, how strange..."
"Why strange? Wouldn't you rather have a man who touched your wife, treated her with dignity, and satisfied her?"
"I'd rather a man didn't touch Enone, if I have a choice..."
"What's your wife like?"
Torgeir took a deep breath.
"She's the most enchanting woman in the whole world. I love her, but she got jealous when she found out about you. It took me a whole day to convince her that our relationship was different..."
"And she believed it?"
"Kind of suspiciously, as most women do. If we ever make peace, I want you two to meet."
Vishkar smiled wryly.
"Your princess should not fear me. You should fear me, raffie. I am susceptible to enchanting women, just for your information..."
Torgeir let his gaze slide to the young woman and replied sullenly,
"Fuck you, Vishkar! That would make me want to fight a real war with you..."
"Don't be so conservative, Torgeir! I bet you've mounted a lot of slaves here on the front in all the time you've been away from home. Aren't your wife jealous of them?"
"I'm not going to talk to you about it..."
"Why not?"
"None of your business, brat..."
"Spill the beans..."
"No..."
"Tell me!" Vishkar asked, patting Torgeir on the shoulder. He had taken another doll from his cloth bag and was sewing on the toy's chubby little hands. His needle pierced the seam and emerged with the thread.
The crown prince had traveled to Bazal seven months ago and stayed there for a week. A herald had brought him the news that his wife was pregnant again. Vishkar made fun of Torgeir, saying that the Eagle of Patras never missed a beat.
"…My mother must be furious. Not a head of Prince Torgeir in sight, but another eaglet on the nest... Long live the birds of prey, Your Majesty!"
For the next four years, life was a coming and going of Somalia, Ishmael, and Sorem to the north, and of Torgeir to Bazal.
It had been a long time since Vishkar had seen her mother, and her memory of the Empress was still that of a voluptuous woman striding across the flagstones under the blazing sun, adorned with jewels and eyes rimmed with kohl. There were times when Betthany enhanced her connection to the gods by being brought into the company of her retinue on a throne supported by slaves with the earth's blood and muscles glistening in the heat.
But Somalia had told Vishkar that Betthany had put on a lot of weight after her last birth and that her heart and joints were weak. She spent a lot of time inside the palace, exhausted and on medication. Silver strands now appeared thick in the black curtain of her hair.
Betthany did not write to her daughter, but she sent short messages through Somalia and Sorem, inquiring about Torgeir's head. Vishkar tried to avoid her mother and never returned to the palace.
It was strange for Vishkar to realize, during those years, that she had become too accustomed to camp life, as if it were her new kingdom, home, court, and family.
Ishmael had become better friends with Torgeir, and occasionally they could even be seen fishing together during diplomatic hours by the river. The young Vaskian's departure on a mission against the mercenaries had changed his perception of the Prince of Patras, just as Vishkar's perception had changed.
On Somaila's birthday, some Vaskian men gathered around the fire, and the soldiers of Patras joined in the celebration. As Torgeir approached, carrying the Patran drink in a bulging ceramic flask, the clarity of the relationships there became obvious.
Perhaps no more dead were tolerated in the fighting in Ver-Vassel—only wounded women and men. The animosity between the two people was becoming increasingly impractical and almost pathetic.
There was no resistance to the Patrans joining the feast, and some Patran slaves began to serve the Vaskians. Vishkar, Sorem, and Ishmael were no longer children and drank with the men, listening to their stories of battles and crude jokes.
An honest camaraderie settled, and a pale, moderate-looking slave lit Vishkar's straw cigarette while she spent her time with a young woman with curly brown hair. Other slaves seemed interested in Ishmael and Sorem, chatting with them and serving them grilled fish.
When one of the pleasure slaves brought a piece of bread to Vishkar's mouth, she whispered something in his ear, causing him to blush. Finally, when Somalia had retired to her tent with some of the men, having had enough of the drink from Patras, Vishkar asked, looking at Torgeir,
"Should we set up an exchange with Patras?"
In a corner near the fire, Ishmael was caressed by a beautiful slave girl with dark hair and bright eyes. Sorem kissed a Patran slave and slipped his hand under his clothes. Other soldiers were also enjoying themselves.
Torgeir, moving the pewter cup away from his lips, replied,
"It's Commander Somalia's birthday, and I believe the slaves of Patras are willing to participate in it. It's not easy for them to stay at the border either. They miss Bazal's parties and dinners..."
Vishkar smiled, and her bicolored eyes twinkled. She glanced into the corner, bit her lip, and looked at the slave who was serving her up and down. Then she took off the top of her tunic and tossed it to the effeminate slave boy.
"Can we do like the nobles in Vere do with their pets and fuck in the open air?"
The soldiers laughed, and Torgeir looked at the young woman for a few seconds. Her gaze was deep. Her shoulders were bare, her body covered by a loose blouse that showed her freckles and the battle scars on her arms. The outline of her breast was also visible.
"No. Take them to your tent, girl..."
Vishkar shook her head and asked as she felt the alcohol changing her,
"Have you ever fucked a Vaskian, Torgeir?"
The Patran noticed that Ishmael, Sorem, and several men were listening intently to the conversation.
"Yes. Before I came here."
Vishkar nodded and said,
"Slaves are the bedroom dictionaries of the frontier. No wonder your Vaskish is so fluent. I can send you one of our girls. Or perhaps a slave boy..."
Torgeir shook his face.
"I'm fine. Go and have fun, Vishkar."
Vishkar stood up and whispered something in the slave's ear. She smiled and picked up the bulging wine bottle next to the effeminate boy. The crown empress then investigated Torgeir's face and tilted her head. Torgeir looked at her and blushed a little.
"I am no longer a child. I do things you wouldn't believe, raffie..."
Sorem, further ahead, climbed on top of the slave he was kissing, and Ishmael looked at Vishkar while the young woman next to him buried her face in his neck.
"... Are you sure you don't want a Vaskian? It's not polite to refuse a gift from Vask."
Torgeir averted his eyes.
"I do. I'm not the birthday boy to receive presents."
Then Vishkar walked off, flanked by the curly-haired slave girl and the feminine, handsome slave boy. As they approached the tent, the crown empress, looking drunk and limp, kissed the slaves on the mouth.
Torgeir was still watching them. So was Ishmael. And even Sorem was watching the Crown Empress over the shoulder of the man he was hugging.
As she disappeared into the tent with the slaves, the curious eyes of the two Vaskians turned to Torgeir. One question hovered in the air: what was the border within the border?
The crown prince and the crown empress were often seen together at different times of the day. Was this relationship also becoming porous and dubious?
Living lonely and forgotten in a damned backwater for years, it was common for affections to mingle and communicate with each other and become confused. It was common to challenge civilization and cling to every tender gesture as if to give it flesh was to consecrate it to reality.
War was lonely, and sometimes it drove men mad, making them think about the death of governments, hierarchies, kings, and empires. So, sex was anarchy.
As the night wore on, Vaskians and Patrans mingled, and Sorem disappeared into his tent with the slave. Ishmael, who could not be with the woman he desired, also succumbed to the charms of the dark-haired, bright-eyed slave and took her into his tent. Gene had long since disappeared with his Patran lover.
The captain of the fortress, who was drinking the Patran wine next to Torgeir, asked the prince bluntly,
"The future empress wanted to fuck Your Highness. Why didn't you sleep with her? You're always seen together..."
Torgeir took a sip from his pewter cup and replied,
"I'm not her type, and she doesn't really want to sleep with me. She's just lonely and wants company."
The captain laughed.
"Vaskians are polygamous, and they say the fire of Vaskian women is amazing. I bet you'd enjoy mounting the daughter of the empire. I've heard she prefers women, but some effeminate slaves satisfy her too. Her pussy may taste like that of the imperial gods. I wouldn't mind blowing her and being blessed..."
"Stay away from her," Torgeir replied, the corners of his mouth twitching. "That's an experience only slaves have. I don't want my men getting involved with the Crown Empress of Vask. That would bring discord and disharmony to our fortress."
The captain nodded and asked,
"Can’t even Your Highness afford this luxury? The soldiers would not question Prince Torgeir's decisions. In this frontier, the heirs could close their eyes and just be a man and a woman for once..."
Torgeir frowned and drank the rest of his drink.
"Yes, Vishkar has become a beautiful woman, but I need her as a friend, not a lover..."
The captain frowned as Torgeir rose to leave.
"Why?"
Torgeir took a deep breath and looked at the distant tent.
"I don't know. Maybe I feel lonely too and need company..."
Without touching each other as lovers do, the prince and the crown empress continued their routine conversation by the river, interrupted by Vishkar's training with the Patran's axe and two tonfas near the forest.
Torgeir never questioned Vishkar about her veiled invitation to her bed, nor did she ask him about his outright refusal.
But somehow this lack of intimacy seemed to forge an even deeper one between the Patran and the Vaskian. They spent more time together, and Vishkar eagerly awaited Torgeir's return when he left for the capital. Afterward, the two would laugh and share news.
There was flattery in a future empress who preferred women to invite a man to her bed, just as there was flattery in a man refusing something people inferred he wished to extract from a woman with whom he spent hours alone.
Another expectation died, as the two heirs became a little more immune. They were not enemies. But they were not lovers.
Lovers might be easy, predictable targets in a war, but raffies were as slippery as a vat of muddy water.
What was liking without needing?
That feeling could be as strong as the clash of an axe and a tonfa or as fragile as a dry twig being snapped.
Torgeir had returned dejected and taciturn after his last journey to Bazal. Vishkar had met him one rainy afternoon in the ruins of the chapel house. The abandoned place smelled of wet stones, earth, and weeds, and in a rotten corner of the ceiling, cobwebs hung, having insects wrapped in white silk.
"What happened?" the young woman asked, scrutinizing the prince's face.
"My sister Tilia has passed...” the Patran replied with red eyes.
Vihskar took a deep breath and sank into a corner of the floor, which was covered with a woolen cloth that had been brought from the fortress.
"I'm so sorry..." the young woman murmured.
Torgeir sat next to her on the cloth, looking genuinely sad.
"Torveld said that Tilia was very depressed after losing her husband on the border and became ill."
Torgeir also informed Vishkar about the deplorable conditions in the neighboring towns of Bazal and the poverty he had seen among the residents of Patras he had met along the way. There was genuine concern on his face, which deepened the wrinkles on his forehead as he explained gloomily,
"If things go on like this, there won't be much left of Patras to defend or conquer..."
Then Torgeir said as he watched the rain fall on a chimney’s ruin, its brick and plaster mantle fighting valiantly against erosion,
"...Torveld is trying to help the people, though my father wants to use the gold in the war. The king is sick, old, and worse, but he told me to my face that he doesn't want to die without seeing Patras victorious."
Vishkar nodded.
"We can still pursue the plan of begging our parents on our knees to give up this fucking war..."
"Do you think that will work with your mother?"
"Never. Will it work with your father?"
"No. He will never give up. My father is desperate because some mercenaries disobeyed his orders and ordered raids in Patras itself under the command of a chieftain who has united them into a clan. I warned him the mercenaries were dishonorable, unreliable, and opportunistic men, but my father didn't listen to me at the time. So..."
Torgeir hesitated and closed his eyes heavily. Vishkar, in turn, blinked her bicolored eyes.
"...So, he made a contract with Vere. He promised Ver-Vassel to Vere if he won the war... King Aleron agreed to fund my father's cause and gave Patras supplies in return for his loyalty..."
Vishkar's expression darkened.
"...That means Ver-Tan will be attacked with everything we have..."
The Vaskian stood up, looking dazed. Then she slapped her hand to her head before walking towards Torgeir.
"Vere has turned against Vask?! Patras has gained an ally?! Why didn't you try to stop your father, Torgeir?! He will slaughter my people!"
Torgeir replied through clenched teeth,
"I tried to stop him, Vishkar! And in retaliation, he chased me out of the palace. He wanted to send me to Acquitart because he thought I was useless here, and I returned to the fortress against his will! I couldn't even attend my sister's funeral! I am here alone without the king's support! Do you understand that? My father will sort things out in his own way! Torveld also tried to interfere and was threatened! I sent my wife and children to her parents' estate because I'm afraid my father will turn against them and use them in the war. He is too ambitious, too ruthless!"
Vishkar's lips had cracked open, and her sunburnt face had gone pale. She looked lost and frightened. Torgeir spoke again,
"...Listen. Your mother's heralds may have already informed her of the current situation. I didn't come to the borders just to follow my father's orders from the beginning. I have come to forge alliances on the battlefield while my brother forges diplomatic alliances at court. I have allied myself with the captains and commanders of the other borders. They support me as their heir, and we have more camaraderie here than they ever had with my father in Bazal. I will ride to Ver-Tan tomorrow and try to convince the troops not to act without my permission..."
"How are you going to do that?"
"Just as my father does, Vishkar. I'll promise them land and gold when the war is over. I'll promise them political asylum for their families in other realms. They will have to start over somewhere new with their families when this nightmare is over."
Vishkar grimaced.
"Torgeir, you could be declared a traitor for going against your father's orders!"
"Probably, but there's nothing left to do! We argued badly, and we've gone our separate ways. My father lives the war in his mind, but we live it every day in the fortress and with the people. I can try to create a place of agreements and rules in Ver-Tan, just as we have managed to establish a model here in Ver-Vassel."
"Do you think you can convince them?"
"I can try... It would prevent a massacre..."
A silence fell over the dilapidated hut, and the sound of drops falling on the doorframe and on a broken pillar could be heard.
"The massacre would allow Patras to take Ver-Tan and advance to Skarva. Patras would take the capital..."
Vishkar's voice sounded hesitant, and a dark flicker of suspicion flashed in her eyes. There was fear and uncertainty in her tone. Realizing the change, Torgeir replied sourly,
"Right, raffie. You can continue to distrust me all you want, even if I am hanged as a traitor to my kingdom. That will keep us from becoming denisy, pals, or pastan, friends. But if you stop seeing me as an enemy, I want you to let Somalia know. There will soon be changes in the camp when Betthany finds out everything. Tell her what I told you!"
Vishkar lowered her slightly flushed face. Her attention turned to a move near an abandoned basket. A locust had scurried under some leaves.
"Will you come back from Ver-Tan?"
"With good news, I hope..." the Patran spoke, and tried to get up. However, the hand of the crown empress grabbed his arm and stopped him.
"I am sorry. I... I didn't mean... I trust you, Torgeir... I'm sorry."
Silence again. And this time, Vishkar laid her head timidly on Torgeir's shoulder, letting him stroke her damp hair after a hard look on his face that expressed his sorrow.
"If I wanted to act like my father, if I wanted to spill blood, Vishkar, I would have done so by now."
"Right, Torgeir. Please forgive me, raffie. I've just lost my mind. I don't want you to die. And I don't want my people to die either..." the Crown Empress murmured.
Torgeir took a deep breath.
"The war is reaching its climax, Vishkar... We need to think about where we go from here..."
As the prince of Patras had predicted, there were changes in the camp after Torgeir had set out with some of his soldiers for the border of Ver-Tan. Vaskian heralds came to the barracks at the behest of the Empire to confirm news and make plans.
The most serious change occurred weeks later with the arrival of a new commander appointed by Betthany in Ver-Vassel, accompanied by some of his soldiers from Skarva. Somalia would be relocated to the Ver-Tan border.
Andon, the new commander, was a young, handsome man with blond hair and honey-colored eyes. He also had a stern, icy expression that was like repressed disgust. Standing close by his side were the soldier Nabsib and the slave girl Mircela, whom he had brought with him from the court of Skarva and who bore the accent of the capital. Other soldiers flanked him loyally.
Somalia and Vishkar did not need to spend more than a day with Andon to understand his nature. He was a man of war, harsh and authoritarian, and he looked at everyone as if he weren't there. Nabsib only spoke to him when it was necessary, and his pleasure slave, a girl with red hair and freckles, had bruises on her chin and arms and shuffled with her head down.
"I was sent here by Empress Betthany to make a difference after so many years of inactivity on the frontier. From today on, I will act as commander, as I have been appointed by the Empire..." he said after gathering the soldiers in front of the camp as he walked through them. "Somalia must leave tomorrow morning." Andon decided, placing his gloved hand on the Vaskian's shoulder, who felt the unpleasant touch long after he had removed his hand.
That night, Somalia and Vishkar went to Andon's tent and found Nabsib guarding the entrance with a grim expression. From inside the tent came the unmistakable sound of brutal fucking and painful moans, followed by a slap and a curse.
Nabsib entered the tent and reported to his chieftain. Mircela was seen under Andon, who was fucking her on the straw bed without sheets.
Vishkar was outraged when she saw that the girl's lips were hurt and her face was red. She had heard of men who enjoyed abusing and inflicting pain on their slaves.
"Do it right, you stupid bitch!" Andon had said just before the soldier and the two women entered his tent, raising his ringed hand in the air.
Andon didn't seem ashamed of what he had done, but the red-haired girl seemed to want to disappear behind her strands.
"We need to talk to you about the camp..." Somalia announced.
The man rolled his eyes and gruffly ordered his slave to rise from bed.
"Leave!"
Mircela stood up without saying a word, picked up her clothes from the floor, and left the tent. But before she could do so, Vishkar had stepped in front of the young woman and touched her bruised lips with a handkerchief. The slave's moist blue eyes met those of the crow empress, and she timidly thanked in Vaskish.
Vishkar realized that the slave girl must have been her age when she arrived at the camp — fourteen or fifteen. Also, she understood why Mircela didn’t walk, but almost crawled.
"We don't beat our slaves, Andon!" Vishkar said dryly as the man stood up, shamelessly displaying his naked body and still hard cock.
This act was intimidating.
"Forgive me, Your Highness, but the slave is mine and I can do with her as I please. We are not in Skarva."
Somalia intervened,
"No, we're not in Skarva, but there are rules here in the camp, so things don't get out of hand. I will leave tomorrow, but I have to make sure that you and the Crown Empress have reached a consensus."
Vishkar saw the man sit down on a high-backed chair, still without clothes, and because she was annoyed at this affront, the Vaskian took a fur blanket from the table and threw it at him angrily,
"Cover yourself! Who do you think you're talking to?"
The man looked up languidly, and the Crown Empress noticed that there was something familiar about him. Something that irritated her terribly. As he pulled on the fur blanket, the man replied,
"I forgot to tell you some sad news, Your Highness. Your father, the emperor, died of an unfortunate cold last winter. I am very sorry about that. I have been serving the Empress on the battlefield and in bed for some time now. We will marry after I drive the Patrans out of Ver-Vassel. This is my dowry to Betthany of Vask: the cleansing of her border. Don't you two try to stop me from making the most important woman in Vask happy. I will do things my way here, and with the Empire's approval!"
Vishkar blinked. Was her father dead? It had been a long time since she had seen him, and the emperor had spent more time with her siblings and at political gatherings in Vask than with her during the time she had lived in the palace, but the news had hit her hard. Suddenly, Vishkar realized who Andon reminded her of. Betthany's arrogance was in every inch of him like a stinking perfume.
The crown empress interjected irritably,
"The border here is one of the most peaceful in Vask! Somalia has prevented the Patrans from invading this region..."
Andon nodded and leaned his wrist on the arm of his chair.
"I have full confidence in the efforts of Somalia of Ver-Tan. That's why she was sent to her homeland, and she can do even better there. The day after tomorrow, we will storm the fortress of Patras at night. We will take the Patrans by surprise and confiscate their possessions. I'll give the soldiers their instructions tomorrow. If you excuse me now..." Andon stated, as if dismissing them.
Somalia grabbed Vishkar by the arm, who in turn bared her teeth like a cornered feline.
"Insolent! Don't forget that I'm the crown empress, Andon! You're just a cock to fuck my mother when she remembers that she can have fun outside of a war. Don't try to walk all over me and Somalia, because I will crush you!"
The man maintained his icy stare, but a frown settled on his brow. Before she could leave, Vishkar turned to him once more and shouted,
"…And I claim Mircela for my own! We don't beat slaves, not in Skarva and not in any backwater of Vask. If you want to hit someone and act brave, try to hit me, Andon! I'll beat your face in with a tonfa, you son of a bitch of the Empress, you walking cock, you fucking whore..."
As Vishkar and Somalia left the tent, Nabsib watched them curiously and turned on his heel to look after the two women before standing in front of Andon's tent again. Further on, Somalia spoke.
"It's no good. I will have to leave. You know what you must do, don't you?"
"Yes..." Vishkar said, nodding and making her way to the river.
Torgeir had returned the day before. He had allied with Ver-Tan's men, and the Patrans were willing to act honorably on the border if Somalia was the commander negotiating with them. They were encouraged by the prince's recommendation and promises.
When Vishkar caught up with Torgeir at the river, she told him of the plan to attack the fortress Andon had mentioned. The Patran prince frowned and said,
"Somalia will be far away. She is part of the balance of our border, and the only person my men will respect besides her is you. You know what you must do, don't you ...?"
Yes, Vishkar knew.
The next day, Somalia hugged Vishkar as they said goodbye. From a distance, the Patrans watched them from their fortress, where they paced up and down the battlements like jackals.
The commander would travel on with Sorem to Ver-Tan, where the young man's medical skills might be more necessary than on the border of Ver-Vassel. Ishmael would also go with them. Vishkar asked him to accompany the group, relying on his battle abilities. They did not say goodbye to Andon.
Gene cried and ran his hand through the mane of the commander's horse, which was like a mother to him and the younger soldiers. Ishmael sniffled on his horse. Vishkar, who was walking beside Somalia and her friends, said, sobbing,
"Follow the rules. It is a mirror. The war is a mirror. See you before winter... Please take care of yourselves. Somalia, Sorem, and Ishmael... I... I love you."
Sorem turned around in the saddle, interlaced his fingers with his cousin's, and said,
"Take care of yourself, Vishkar! My thoughts will be with you. Every day..."
As Somalia and her entourage passed the fortress of Patras, men could be heard stamping their feet and clapping their hands. The clatter of axes lightly striking shields, as the Patrans did in honor of great soldiers, could be heard. Torgeir stood on the battlement and watched Somalia leave. Someone blew the horn. The men shouted her name. There was respect and admiration.
She was the warrior who had kept order in this drought-and rain-stricken hinterland for years. There had been deaths and injuries, because it was a war after all. But there had also been courtesy and comradeship, because they were humans. Humanity prevailed in this region.
The day before, Torgeir had said to Vishkar,
"Somalia is a great woman. When I arrived at the border, I too wanted to wage war like a spoiled, naughty child, and she taught me peace. She taught peace to all those soldiers. She is the best person I know. Somalia will now teach peace in Ver-Tan, just as she taught peace to the future Empress of Vask."
Vishkar murmured with red eyes and placed her hand on her heart. The commander's departure hurt her.
"Somalia is my mother, Torgeir. She let me pretend to be her daughter for years, while she was a great mother to us all. Only now do I realize how much space that has taken up in me. Until then, I didn't realize how much I missed it."
That night, after Somalia's sad departure, the camp fell into a melancholy silence, and Vishkar sat in her tent smoking her straw cigarette. Mircela came, believing her services as a pleasure slave were needed by the crown empress, but Vishkar had only asked her for more information about Skarva and the emperor's death.
"He died peacefully, as we have heard, Your Highness," said Mircela, resting her head on Vishkar's lap. "The emperor died in his sleep. Your siblings remain in Skarva, except for the twins, who were sent to the far north of Ver-Vassel..."
Vihskar frowned.
"To the north of Ver-Vassel? Why?"
"Your Imperial Majesty, Betthany, said they could stay in the house of a nobleman and learn the art of writing and music there."
Vishkar swallowed the smoke and expelled it into the air.
"They are twelve. They should stay in Skarva. We have excellent music and art tutors in the capital!"
Mircela stretched out her arm and stroked the Crown Empress's calf.
"Your Highness, is there anything I can do to please you? You are very generous to take possession of me from my former master. Allow me to show you my gratitude..."
Ever since Mircela had learned that Vishkar had taken her away from Andon, she had seemed very glad. The Crown Empress insisted that they only talk to each other, but eventually she gave in to the young woman's charm. She began to kiss Mircela's mouth, on which brown freckles adorned her smile. Then she parted the kiss and said,
"You're still too young. Let's stop here for today. We can keep talking for the next few nights, okay? No one will touch you against your will."
"But if it's my will, will Your Highness touch me?"
Mircela laid her head gently on Vishkar's lap again, and the young woman, who had blushed, stroked her thick, red hair. A shiver ran down the back of her neck, and Vishkar recognized the feeling she hadn't felt since Judy had wormed her way into her heart.
Vishkar had learned that Mircela had worked in a traveling circus in Skarva as a child, performing acrobatics for large audiences, but when her parents died, the girl was sold into slavery. To demonstrate her skills to the empress, Mircela did a backflip and balanced an orange on her nose while standing on one foot.
Meanwhile, a commotion arose between the tents, cutting through the night like a rift, and Gene appeared in the crown empress's tent, shouting,
"Your Highness, Your Highness, you must intervene!"
Vishkar stood up and asked,
"What is happening?!"
"Andon captured one of the young slaves from Patras who went to the river to fetch water and wants to rape him with his soldiers! He brought him to the camp!"
Vishkar cursed, grabbed her sword near the tent entrance, and ran after Gene. Mircela followed them.
When she reached the camp entrance, Vishkar saw Andon, flanked by six of his men, leading a boy in the tunic of Patras, who was being dragged by a rope around his neck. The slave had bruises on his face and mouth, and his limbs were trembling. His brown hair was disheveled from the beatings he had received. Vishkar knew him by sight. He was a kitchen slave in the fort, not a pleasure slave. He was even younger than Mircela.
"Release him!" Vishkar declared and drew her sword.
The soldiers, laughing as they stroked the boy's face and played with his curls, paused at the crown empress's command, but Andon refused to be intimidated.
"Your Highness!" he said somewhat mockingly. "Look at the animal we hunted. It's not much, but at least it's good for mounting after you stole my slave..."
The man looked at Mircela, who gulped and took a step back.
"I ordered his release! He's a slave from Patras, and we don't rape in this camp..." the young woman shouted, raising her voice.
Andon stared at Vishkar's sword. Some other soldiers from the camp had heard the shouting and came closer.
"I don't think you're the one giving the orders here, Your Highness! You are just a soldier under my command..."
"No way, you bastard! This is my realm. Let him go!" repeated Vishkar.
Andon rolled his eyes and signaled his soldier to ignore the heir to the throne and pull the slave into the tent. First with a hesitant look, then with a grin, the soldier pulled on the slave's rope and pushed him forward with a kick.
It was a swift movement. Vishkar plunged her sword into the man's heart and pulled the blade from his chest, leaving blood dripping onto the barren ground. Andon's other men took a step back, and the commander himself seemed to hesitate. Finally, he said, his gaze fixed on the young woman's two-tone retinas,
"Your Highness has just killed a soldier of Vask, defending a slave of Patras... I cannot punish you for your position, but tomorrow, after the battle, you will be sent from the camp to the border of Acquitart, Vishkar of Vask."
A murmur rose among the men until they raised their voices in loud protest. Vishkar, however, remained impassive, holding her sword and staring at Andon.
"...Did you not hear what I said?"
"I did, but I have nothing left to lose. If you don't release the slave, I will kill another soldier of yours. And another one. And another. There will be no more of your men here. Only you. Unless you want to face me and fall too..."
Andon studied the young woman's movements, observing her blade and resolute expression. Finally, he gestured to his soldier to untie the slave's rope and calmly approached the boy.
"Empress Betthany will know about your behavior, Your Highness. She had told me you were difficult, but I would not have thought it was something worthy of attention. You seem very fond of the Patran garbage, don't you?"
Andon stepped behind the slave with a decisive move and, in a flash, turned the boy's chin towards his shoulder and snapped his neck. It only took a moment for the Patran to look at Vishkar, his eyes glazed over, and he fell to his knees, dead. The sound of death was a crash that raised the hairs on the back of everyone's neck.
Vishkar, confused and dazed, rushed towards Andon, but one of his soldiers intercepted her with his sword, and three others surrounded her. The young woman began to struggle until Andon pointed a dagger at Mircela, then pulled her close and locked his hand in her hair.
"…I've tried to take pity on you, Vishkar, but it's no use. You are arrested, accused of rebellion against the Empire, Your Highness. And if you fight back, I'll have to kill another slave or some of your men..."
The Vaskians in the camp protested, and a fight broke out between Andon's men and the men serving Commander Somalia. When a soldier pointed his sword at Gene, Vishkar relented after a curse. Her amber and gray eyes flashed.
"Right! Don't react! I surrender..."
Vishkar was pushed forward by Andon's men with rough hands, and on the way, she saw the soldier Nabsib. His dark eyes lingered on hers, and he nodded discreetly, lightly touching the hilt of his sword.
The Crown Empress was tied to a tent that served as a repository for broken weapons, spears, rusty shields, and broken javelins. Her feet were secured with tightly knotted ropes, as were her slender wrists. Her mouth was silenced with a dirty gag, and she was forgotten there all night and into the morning.
In the afternoon, a soldier from Andon brought her water, and the young woman imagined that his men had to guard her day and night to ensure that none of Somalia's soldiers or slaves approached her. Vishkar knew that the attack on the Patran fortress would take place that night. Torgeir had been warned. Torgeir would stop him.
However, Vishkar did not know how the death of the slave would affect the balance on the border. She hoped that the Patrans would slaughter Andon and his followers with cruelty and barbarism.
There was movement in the camp all night long: the clanking of metal, footsteps, crates being pushed open, snorting horses. At some point, the voices of soldiers could be heard, and Vishkar recognized Andon's voice with a sense of disgust. The night itself was eerily silent, without the cries of coyotes and the chirping of crickets and locusts.
Vishkar stayed in the darkness, and no one came to her. Her wrists were bruised and cut open from the sudden movements she made under the rope to free herself. It was only when the Crown Empress heard distant cries on the plain that the tent curtain opened and someone appeared. They were Mircela, Gene, and Nabsib.
Andon's soldier drew his dagger and cut the ropes around Vishkar's wrists and ankles. The young woman spat out the gag and coughed for a few seconds. Mircela handed her a waterskin.
"Your Highness, I'm sorry, we took so long! Your tent has been under surveillance all day."
Vishkar eyed Nabsib's face suspiciously after almost emptying the water. He was a young man and, from what she had heard, one of Andon's men with exceptional military skills. It was a surprise that he was there. When he noticed the questioning look on the Crown Empress's face, Nabsib lowered his face respectfully.
"Your Highness, I am here to serve you. I was designed to serve Andon, but I don’t like his methods. He has betrayed the empire and turned against Your Highness..."
Mircela nodded her clear eyes in agreement.
"Nabsib is a good man, Your Highness. He was the one who told us you were here..."
Another scream could be heard in the distance.
"What's going on?" Vishkar asked.
"Andon will try to take the fortress of Patras today."
Vishkar stated.
"I need my sword..."
Gene stepped forward and handed the metal artifact to the Crown Empress, unwrapping it from a crude woolen cloth.
"I managed to steal it from Andon's tent when the battle started..."
Nabsib had a hard expression on his face as he spoke,
"If Andon wins, he will declare victory over Patras, take their fortress, and proclaim himself their ruler. You will be sent back to Skarva and condemned as a traitor to the realm, Your Highness. They will cut off Prince Torgeir's head and send him to Bazal as an insult to his father. The war will be even worse than before, for Vere will send his soldiers to attack us. Vere is allied with Patras and has cut off food supplies to Vask. That's why the Empress is so desperate to win. But this attitude won't make things any better..."
"Patras can finish Andon off. Torgeir is stronger and would not lose to that wretched whore," Vishkar replied.
Nabsib insisted,
"If Torgeir wins, Betthany will accuse the Prince of Patras of killing someone from the realm, and that will end any attempt at peace. Even if Torgeir apologized, his entire race would be hunted down and blamed for the death of someone associated with the gods of Vask. Betthany would try to force a rapprochement with Akielos, whereupon she would beg the Akielons for mercy, and King Theomedes, knowing that his arch-enemy Vere is in cahoots with Patras, might take sides in the war..."
"Andon is just my mother's lover. He's not part of the royal family!" Vishkar replied. "It's no big deal if he dies..."
Nabsib closed his eyes as if he dared to say something,
"No, he's no big deal. But Your Highness is."
Vishkar felt her insides sink to the ground, and the unspeakable truth that had been dwelling in her heart for some time now penetrated the tent as relentlessly as it did terribly. Nabsib continued,
"...Your Highness is smart. You know why you were sent here..."
The Crown Empress' voice sounded dry, as if everything she had inside her had fossilized over the years.
"My mother wanted me to try to kill Torgeir because it would weaken the King of Patras. But if that doesn't work, Torgeir might kill me, and Betthany might tell the world that a daughter of the realm was killed, trying to gain allies for her campaign. She has other daughters to continue her imperial line. I am not that important..."
There was silence in the tent, and Gene looked confused. Nabsib continued,
"Your mother sent you as a gift to be slaughtered by Torgeir. She wrote to him and dared him to face you when you were fourteen, Your Highness. We heard rumors in Skarva. Many rebelled against her. You're a child of the empire, of the gods! She was evil!"
Vishkar remembered Torgeir years ago, when he learned of her arrival at the camp. Of his closeness. The way he had stood up to his father, who had also wanted bloodshed and barbarism on the thirsty soil of the Borderlands. If he had intended to be unfaithful, he would have done so long ago.
"She wrote to Torgeir... How do you know I would be killed today if Andon loses the war, Nabsib?" the Vaskian asked, her voice trembling.
"Because I was the man ordered to assassinate you, Your Highness. By order of the empress. That's why I'm not in the battle. We would say Torgeir sent one of his soldiers here and murdered you. I was ordered to hit you on the head with an axe to be more credible. Other Andon's soldiers will do the same if I fail or defect."
"And why do you rebel?" Vishkar asked in a low voice. Horror rendered her speechless.
"Because I swore to serve the empire, and Your Highness is the empire I believe in! I have seen how you treat your people! I believe the gods are merciful."
Mircela touched Vishkar's marked wrist and felt the tension.
"Your Highness, you know what you must do..."
Those were the words of Somalia, of Torgeir, and now of the young slave who had been mounted countless times by Andon, who beat her for fun.
Vishkar brandished her sword and asked Gene and Mircela to help her put on her armor.
The time had come.
Once she was prepared, Vishkar ran to the entrance of the fortress.
The fighting there was fierce. The Patrans had shot arrows at some of the soldiers from the battlements, but Andon had ordered his men to use ropes to try to scale the massive stones of the fort.
Some Patrans rode onto the field on their horses and with spears. Vishkar's warning had helped the Patrans avoid being taken by surprise, and they engaged the Vaskians in battle with axes and shields.
Gene blew his horn as Vishkar arrived, sword in hand. The soldiers turned to face her, and Andon, sticking his sword icily into one soldier, cursed.
"Everybody, stay back! This fight is the Empire's!"
Andon shook the blood from his blade and replied,
"You, again. Your treachery will be remembered as a wound in Vask, Vishkar!"
"Your betrayal will not be remembered, Andon. You are a nobody. You're just a cheap bastard sleeping with my mother."
Torgeir, who was fighting a Vaskian from Andon's army, plunged his axe into the man as he tried to take advantage of his distraction.
"You will regret those words, girl! You will die before your men. Whoever helped you will be hanged. Patras and your arrogance, Vishkar, will fall as they should have fallen long ago."
As their swords clashed, the cold clang of metal could be heard, and their feet clawed into the ground. He was skillful with the weapon and must have killed many men with his deft, steady strokes. He scrutinized his enemy with his glowing eyes, trying to anticipate the movements of muscles and tendons to know where the blow would come from.
Deftly, Andon's blade plunged in, grazing the metal tips of the armor and sliding to bare flesh. But Vishkar had been in the camp for many years.
Many times, she had been smoking with a dark-cloaked death, or was almost struck by its scythe. She had fought all these men and the mercenaries. She trained with Torgeir, who wielded his axe like a needle and thread with a quick flick of his wrist. Andon was going to die.
As he tried to plunge the blade into her throat, Vishkar kicked at the dry sand of the border that was also her friend and where she had sprouted. The earth lifted, clouding Andon's vision, and he raised a hand to his face. The dust kicked up by Vask blinded him.
Vishkar gasped after the long fight and plunged her sword into Andon's windpipe, spraying blood onto his chest. The man's glassy, honey-colored eyes lingered on his dazed face before he collapsed in convulsions.
Then Vishkar charged at him, curling her fingers around the hilt of her sword to deliver a killing blow after raising the blade into the air. In the background, she heard the joyous shouts of the Vaskian and Patran soldiers.
Torgeir swung his axe again, aiming at Andon's soldiers. And this time, the Vaskian soldiers who had served Somalia and would now serve Vishkar began to fight their own.
Vishkar buried the sword as deep as she could, burying something deep inside herself. There was grief within her, too.
She buried Betthany and a part of her empire. Her image. Her concept. Her figure, striding across the tiles of Skarva's palace, shining and broken.
The mother who does not love her daughters, and the feminine who hate women.
Vishkar killed the past. The ancestors. The dead.
Also, the mercenary who tried to rape her at the foot of the mountain, rotting underground for years, insignificant and dishonorable.
She killed Betthany's heavy gaze. And her absence, always present. Her contempt.
All Dead.
In the end, life was sometimes about executing the dead.
Hours later, when Andon's soldiers had been massacred and a few had surrendered, the Crown Empress strode among the Vaskians and Patrans and said,
"I declare myself commander of the Ver-Vassel camp by the power bestowed by the gods and the Empire! The battle with Patras is over! We will send a piece of Andon to Betthany as a warning. I think my mother will be pleased to receive a treat from her passionate and loyal chamber's boy."
Across the rows of men, Vishkar saw Torgeir, who was up to his elbows in blood, put his palms together in the typical Vask salute.
Years later, Vishkar and Torgeir assumed war made them a little crazy as they wondered how Betthany in Skarva had reacted to receiving not her daughter’s or her enemy’s head, but Andon's cock in a box. A note in Vishkar's handwriting said,
'You have those failed men between your legs, mama. And I have them under my sword. Stay away from my border, bitch.'
Vallier on Chapter 1 Tue 16 Jul 2024 01:21PM UTC
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Brilliant_Green on Chapter 1 Wed 17 Jul 2024 02:17AM UTC
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Vallier on Chapter 3 Tue 16 Jul 2024 03:55PM UTC
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Brilliant_Green on Chapter 3 Wed 17 Jul 2024 02:20AM UTC
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Navini_PL on Chapter 3 Wed 07 Aug 2024 10:48AM UTC
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Brilliant_Green on Chapter 3 Thu 08 Aug 2024 01:10AM UTC
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Vallier on Chapter 4 Tue 13 Aug 2024 12:10PM UTC
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Brilliant_Green on Chapter 4 Wed 14 Aug 2024 12:38AM UTC
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Vallier on Chapter 7 Thu 10 Oct 2024 03:53PM UTC
Last Edited Thu 10 Oct 2024 03:53PM UTC
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Brilliant_Green on Chapter 7 Fri 11 Oct 2024 01:13AM UTC
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Desires on Chapter 10 Tue 19 Nov 2024 11:44PM UTC
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Brilliant_Green on Chapter 10 Wed 20 Nov 2024 04:24PM UTC
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Demonic_unicorn on Chapter 10 Tue 10 Dec 2024 06:37PM UTC
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Brilliant_Green on Chapter 10 Fri 13 Dec 2024 01:19AM UTC
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Vallier on Chapter 13 Mon 06 Jan 2025 02:06PM UTC
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Brilliant_Green on Chapter 13 Mon 06 Jan 2025 11:22PM UTC
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Vallier on Chapter 14 Mon 06 Jan 2025 02:39PM UTC
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Brilliant_Green on Chapter 14 Mon 06 Jan 2025 11:32PM UTC
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Vallier on Chapter 15 Wed 19 Feb 2025 01:07PM UTC
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Brilliant_Green on Chapter 15 Fri 21 Feb 2025 07:10PM UTC
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Vallier on Chapter 16 Wed 26 Mar 2025 02:29PM UTC
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Brilliant_Green on Chapter 16 Fri 28 Mar 2025 03:29PM UTC
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Vallier on Chapter 17 Fri 13 Jun 2025 06:46PM UTC
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Brilliant_Green on Chapter 17 Mon 16 Jun 2025 12:26AM UTC
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Vallier on Chapter 18 Sat 02 Aug 2025 06:51PM UTC
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Brilliant_Green on Chapter 18 Mon 04 Aug 2025 05:50PM UTC
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