Glimpses: A Collection of Nightrunner Short Stories

by Lynn Flewelling

  The way Seregil spoke—when he did speak—and the genteel manner in which he handled his delicate porcelain tea bowl all reinforced Nysander’s initial impression that he was from a cultured, perhaps sheltered background. What in the world was he doing here?

  Just then they heard raised voices and Idrilain’s two older children burst in. At eighteen, Princess Phoria and her twin, Prince Korathan, were fair and tall like their mother. Phoria was slender, while Korathan had a lean athlete’s build.

  “Mother, Phoria won’t let me ride Bright Star!” Korathan exclaimed.

  “Because he’ll break her neck if he tries,” Phoria retorted. “Oh, hello, Nysander! And Seregil! It’s good to see you.”

  “Cousin,” Korathan said, acknowledging Seregil, as well.

  “Your Highnesses.” A genuine smile transformed Seregil before Nysander’s eyes. He was more than pretty; he was quite beautiful, perhaps more than was good for him here at court. At least he’d made friends with the queen’s children. No doubt he’d rather have been with them than sitting here in his stiff collared robe.

  ***

  Seregil did his best to concentrate on the document in front of him, a manifest from a grain shipment. The scriptorium was silent except for the light scratch of quills on parchment and the occasional distant honking of the Vs of wild geese flying over the city. Outside in the garden, new fallen snow sparkled in the sun under a clear blue sky. Despite the cold draft from the window casement beside him, he longed to be out there, not in this dreary chamber with its bare walls and cold stone floor. His desk was at the back of the room, furthest from the great hearth. He and the other junior scribes worked with their cloaks on.

  He’d been at this kind of work for almost three months now and he was heartily sick of it. The manifest he was copying out was the sort of task Emidas thought him worthy of, or perhaps it was spite. Seregil knew he’d been foisted on the head scribe after he’d failed as a page. Well, he hadn’t failed so much as not cared. The whole artifice of the Skalan royal court, all that bowing and scraping and memorizing of titles grated on his nerves. And it was boring. And these clothes!

  He hadn’t known what boredom was, though, until they stuck him here with a score of men and women who never lifted their noses from their task. Lord Emidas carried a short walking stick with a knob on the end and wasn’t above rapping the head or shoulder of any slackers. Seregil had found that out the first day and nearly punched the man. No one had ever laid hands on him like that. No one touched the Khirnari’s son—

  Except that I’m not, anymore.

  “Seregil, come here, please,” Emidas called from his high desk at the front of the room, where he’d been checking through the day’s work. Seregil felt a little spark of hope.

  He felt the eyes of the others on him as he passed them on his way to the front of the room.

  “What is this?” Emidas asked, holding up the manifest for a shipment of armor Seregil had completed yesterday. He’d done it in the form of an illuminated manuscript, with dragons, sea serpents and griffons intertwined with the fancy capital letters at the beginning of each paragraph. He done it partly out of boredom, and partly in the hope that Emidas would give him something more interesting to work on.

  “I thought, maybe—”

  “You thought you could impress me by wasting time creating something utterly useless?”

  Seregil clenched his fists inside his sleeves. It was good work, as good as anything he’d seen here.

  “It does show some promise,” the man sniffed. “Perhaps in a year or two, when you’ve mastered the basics, I will consider instructing you in the more elaborate styles.” He handed it back to Seregil. “Please copy this over in the proper form. Immediately.”

  “But I’m in the middle of that field report. Duke Nirus needs it today.”

  “Well then, you’d better get started.”

  A year? Two? Seregil swallowed his anger and hurt as he walked back down the long aisle to his desk. Everyone in the room must have heard. He caught a few smirking down at their parchments as he passed and someone snickered. Pimple-faced Baleus, no doubt. Not that he was the only one who liked to see Seregil taken down a peg. Being known to be queen’s kin hadn’t done him much good.

  Probably his miserable attitude hadn’t, either. Sometimes he regretted getting off on the wrong foot with just about everyone. He hadn’t been like this—before.

  The extra work kept him in the scriptorium long after night had fallen and everyone else went off to supper, leaving him at his desk with a single lamp to work by. He moved to a desk closer to the fire, but it was dying and the day’s supply of wood was gone. Shivering made his script a little crooked, but at this point he didn’t give a damn.

  A year before Emidas let him do anything he was capable of? He’d go mad!

  His fingers were cramping with cold when he finally put the manifest on Emidas’ desk, tucked the field report in a leather folio with the queen’s crest on it, and blew out the lamp.

  It was a long walk to the duke’s private chambers on the far side of the palace, he thought glumly, feeling his way toward the door. He’d be lucky to find any supper now. He’d probably just go back to his room. Alone.

  He used to love this time of day—supper with his sprawling extended family at the clan house, then music or out for nighttime games with Kheeta and their friends. Or those summer trysts with Ilar ...

  He paused by the door in the darkened room, one hand braced against the wall as pain flared in his heart. Don’t think of home, not any of it! Don’t think of him!

  But it was too late. Grief and loneliness and shame rolled over him in a suffocating wave. He slid to the floor, tears he couldn’t hold back dripping onto the folio clutched in his hands.

  “Damn it!” He hadn’t cried since he came here.

  At times like this, which came all too frequently lately, he regretted that he hadn’t loaded his pockets with ballast stones and thrown himself off the ship that carried him into exile when he’d had the chance. But he knew how to tie a noose. Or he could find some high place and jump. Or open a vein in a warm bath. That last one held the most appeal.

  As he knelt there, feeling very sorry for himself, he heard footsteps approaching. Before he could collect himself the door swung inward and struck his shoulder.

  “Seregil?”

  It was Prince Korathan, the last person Seregil wanted to see him in this pathetic state. Caught in the light of the open doorway, he wiped his face hastily on his sleeve and stood up.

  Korathan had a mug of ale in one hand and a meat pasty in a napkin in the other. “What’s wrong? Why are you here in the dark?”

  Seregil held up the folio. “I just finished. I have to deliver this to Duke Nirus. What are you doing here?” The words came out much harsher than he’d intended.

  But Korathan just smiled. “I heard Emidas kept you late again, so I brought you some supper.”

  He put the mug and the pasty down on a desk, then took a lamp and lit it from one in the corridor. “Go on and eat,” he urged, shutting the door again. “Then I’ll walk with you to the duke’s rooms.”

  “Thank you.” It was hard to speak with a lump in your throat. Korathan and his sisters were really the only friends he had in this wretched place, and he seldom got to see them. The queen was kind and the princesses were pleasant, but only the prince sought him out.

  He knew Korathan must have seen that he’d been crying, but the prince didn’t say anything. Seregil deeply appreciated that. Instead, Korathan talked about a new horse his father had given him while Seregil ate. Between the food and the companionship, Seregil began to feel a little better.

  “Say, after we get those papers delivered, we could go back to my rooms and play some bakshi,” Korathan offered. “You’ve almost got the hang of it.”

  Seregil managed a smile. “You’re a good teacher.”

  When he was finished eating, he blew out the lamp again and they set off togethe
r. There were still many nobles strolling the halls and they all bowed respectfully to the prince, who mostly ignored them as he told Seregil more about the strategy of the game. Seregil got a few curious looks, as he always did. He’d heard there were other ‘faie in the city, but he was the only one in the palace, and a bit of a mystery. Or perhaps it was seeing the prince with a lowly junior scribe. Still, with Korathan beside him, Seregil didn’t feel so lonely and out of place.

  The scriptorium was in a wing of the sprawling palace reserved for various functionaries like Emidas. After several twists and turns, however, they entered the palace proper, where there were tapestries on the walls and carpets on the floor. These did little soften the dour ugliness of the place, to Seregil’s eye.

  “I know a short cut,” Korathan said, taking him by the hand and leading him out into a very large, dark garden. The pathways had been cleared, but snow lay deep on either side.

  As they headed for a lighted doorway on the far side, Korathan didn’t let go of Seregil’s hand. He was wearing a wool surcoat and boots. Seregil was shivering in his cloak and slippers. It was a long way across this garden.

  “You’re cold. I’m sorry. Maybe we shouldn’t have come this way.” Korathan stopped and put an arm around Seregil’s shoulders. “Is that better?”

  “That’s all right. We’re almost there.” Seregil started to walk but Korathan’s arm tightened around his shoulders, holding him fast.

  Then the one-armed embrace became a two-armed hug. “You’re miserable here, aren’t you?”

  In all the time Seregil had been here, no one had ever asked him that. Or hugged him. A feeling very akin to relief welled up in his heart, and he nodded as he hugged him back.

  Korathan stroked Seregil’s hair, then kissed him gently on the forehead. “I’ll speak to Mother.”

  “Thank you!”

  Korathan looked down at him for a moment, the kissed him on the lips. It lasted too long for a family kiss. Seregil froze, not knowing what to do.

  “Why did you do that?” he asked when Korathan was finished.

  “You didn’t like it?”

  “I—uh—” Korathan’s arms were still around him but he released Seregil when he stepped back to collect his thoughts. “I didn’t know that you liked men.”

  “I heard you do.”

  Seregil had guessed there might be rumors about him, but not that. Then again, the queen knew the whole sordid story. Maybe she’d told Korathan? “What else did you hear?” he demanded, angry now.

  “Just that you’re here because of something that happened with a lover. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have presumed—”

  “Is that all you heard?”

  “Yes! Seregil, I’m sorry. It’s just that you look so sad all the time.”

  Seregil pushed past him and started back the way they’d come. “I don’t need your pity!”

  “It’s not pity!” Korathan called after him. “I like you.”

  The words, and the sincerity with which they were spoken surprised Seregil in equal measure. Turning, he looked back at the prince, who was standing where Seregil had left him.

  “I like you,” Korathan said again. “And I’m sorry I kissed you. Please, let’s play bakshi, like we planned.”

  Seregil wavered a moment as memories of betrayal threatened to overwhelm him again. At least Korathan hadn’t claimed he loved him. Seregil would have kept walking if he had. Instead, he went back to Korathan and fell silently into step beside him as they continued through the garden.

  ***

  The prince’s fine suite of rooms was just down the corridor from the queen’s, and opulently furnished. There was a large main sitting room and a bedroom beyond. The sofa and armchairs were soft leather, and there were hunting trophies and murals of hunting scenes covering the walls. A fire crackled in the ornate marble fireplace. They moved the bakshi table and two chairs in front of the fire and Korathan sent a servant for wine.

  Settling at the board, Korathan took out his leather bag of stones, and another one like it, which he handed to Seregil. “A gift, cousin.”

  Seregil opened it and found a collection of gaming stones made of blood red carnelian. They bore an incised design of fighting dragons. “Thank you! They’re beautiful.”

  “I thought of you when I saw them. Dragons for Aura and Illior?”

  “Don’t say that,” Seregil said with a smile. “They’re fighting. I’ll just think of them as real ones.”

  “Have you seen real ones?”

  “They’re common as sparrows in the mountains.” Somehow it didn’t hurt, talking about home with him.

  They drank wine and played game after game. Korathan made Seregil laugh, and made him feel welcome. Only when he was with Korathan did he ever really enjoy himself.

  They continued to play and talk and laugh until the candles burned down almost to the sockets. Seregil finally won a game, and in only a few moves, too.

  “Excellent! I think you’re ready for the gambling houses,” Korathan told him. “It will do you good to get out of this place.”

  “I’d like that.” Seregil yawned and looked around at the guttering candles. “It’s late. I should be going.”

  “It’s a long way back to that kennel of a room they have you in. Stay here tonight, why don’t you? We can have another game.”

  That certainly was better than going out into those long, cold corridors, and the wine had made him a little dizzy. “All right. Thanks.”

  They cleared the board and started another round. Seregil thought again how comfortable he felt with Korathan, and grateful. Being around him made life in this strange land bearable. He felt he owed him something for that.

  As Korathan was concentrating on his next move, Seregil blurted out, “It’s all right that you kissed me. I—I don’t mind.”

  Korathan looked up at him in surprise. “I’m glad. I was afraid I’d hurt your feelings.”

  “No, I was just startled.”

  Korathan smiled as he pushed a piece across the board, blunting the spear Seregil had been building. “Then I’ll give you better warning the next time.”

  “Next time?”

  “If you want there to be a next time,” Korathan replied. “I really do like you, Seregil.”

  Seregil’s cheeks went hot. Korathan wanted to kiss him again, and right now that didn’t seem such a bad idea. It felt like a lifetime ago since Ilar had. That thought hurt.

  “There’s that sadness,” said Korathan. “Do I need to apologize again?”

  Seregil slowly shook his head. “No, you don’t. I think I’d like that.”

  Korathan immediately took him up on the offer. Standing, he pulled Seregil to his feet and took him in his arms for a long, intense kiss that left Seregil a little unsteady. Taking Korathan’s face between his hands as Ilar used to do with him, Seregil kissed him back. He could feel Korathan’s cock hard through their clothes, next to his own. Reaching between them, he stroked Korathan’s erection. The prince let out a low groan and did the same for him with far more skill than Seregil possessed. He had Seregil panting in an instant.

  Korathan smiled down at him. “I think you want more than kissing.”

  Seregil managed a nod. Korathan unbuttoned Seregil’s coat and eased it off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Seregil undid the lacings of his shirt and pulled it over his head.

  Korathan took off his own coat and shirt, then kissed him again. His body was warm and hard against Seregil’s. It felt good. So good that he didn’t mind at all when they somehow ended up naked on Korathan’s big bed. He’d never been completely naked with Ilar and found himself caught between excitement and embarrassment. His own pale body looked so scrawny next to Korathan’s lean muscle. But Korathan soon overwhelmed any hesitancy, kissing him and touching him all over. Seregil gasped as the prince nipped his neck just to the point of pain. It immediately turned to pleasure again as Korathan swirled his hot tongue around Seregil’s left nipple. He ran his ha
rd, sword-callused hands down Seregil’s sides to grip his hips for a moment, then caressed the insides of each thigh with fingers and lips.

  Seregil’s whole body was consumed with heat, both by the feeling of being touched so intimately, but also the sight of the handsome young man doing the touching. Korathan knelt beside him, pale hair hanging down around his face to tickle as he kissed Seregil’s belly. When Seregil tried to do the same for him, however, Korathan laughed and pushed him down on the bed again, then wrapped his hand around Seregil’s cock and stroked him until Seregil was moaning between clenched teeth. Just as he was about to come in Korathan’s hand, however, the prince stopped and stretched out close beside Seregil, kissing him and running his fingers through Seregil’s tangled hair. “You’re very beautiful, you know.”

  “No—”

  “Yes, you are, and you know it,” Korathan teased, stroking Seregil’s belly just beyond reach of his cock.

  “Please!” Seregil groaned, shivering with raw sensation.

  But Korathan continued to tease him until Seregil could hardly stand the intensity of the feelings coursing through every fiber of his being. He’d never been more aroused in his life. At last Korathan kissed his way down the length of Seregil’s shaft, licked at the bead of honey that had formed there, then took Seregil’s cock firmly in his fist again and quickly brought him to a long and blinding climax that left Seregil feeling like he was floating several inches above the bed.

  Before he could gather his wits enough to thank Korathan, the prince rolled Seregil over onto his side and spooned in behind him, gently fondling his softening cock. Korathan’s was still very hard and hot against Seregil’s backside.

  Nuzzling Seregil’s ear, Korathan slid his hand back to cup Seregil buttock and whispered, “Have you ever had a man here?”