by C. E. Olson
Chapter Four
The barmaid had surprised him by showing up at his door just minutes after he returned himself. She'd claimed it was to collect the coins he owed for the drinks he'd had, but she ended up accepting a very different form of payment. It wasn't what Varis needed, not exactly, and now he lays awake next to her wondering what he does need.
He gets up with stiff movements and dresses quickly, then makes his way down to the throne room to find the King and accept whatever punishment comes his way. If he's lucky, the King will be forgiving and he'll be allowed to return home today — if he's learned anything, it's that his fight with Reeve was ridiculous and he has some apologizing to do.
Balian is sitting on his throne and tearing the meat from a chicken thigh with his teeth. He doesn't look over, not right away, and Varis stays silent until that happens.
“You,” Balian growls. “Some torturer you are. Heard you barely even tried, and I saw his body. I know it's true. Care to explain yourself?”
Bowing slightly, Varis paces his words. “We are not Boedal, Your Majesty. We’re not known for brute violence as they are. Torturing him would've been a waste of time, not to mention barbaric. I’m certain that had I kept going, he would've lied if anything at all. The information wouldn't have been true.”
“I know what a lie is,” Balian snaps. “But very well. It's done, you can't put his head back on his shoulders and try again. But hear me, Varis. If you disobey again, or if another attempt is made on my life because you failed to figure out who hired him... it'll be your head next time.”
Varis simply bows deeper. If he had a coin for every time Balian had threatened his head, he'd be richer than the crown. It stopped scaring him a long time ago. “Yes, Your Grace. I understand.”
“Good. Now go. I don't want to see your face again until you're called upon. You make the whole damned court uneasy.”
“Your Grace.” Varis backs out of the throne room and then turns on his heels in the hallway. That could've gone a lot worse than it did, though Varis suspects that the King is wary of truly threatening him. He has no intentions of going quietly if that ever happens, so it's probably wise of the King not to test him.
Still, he can't get out of Attarand fast enough. He pays the stableboy double to keep his mouth shut and borrows a horse from him, then wonders if it's possible to find a place big enough to hide Trystrel if he smuggles him back from the Golden Realm. His life would be easier — and more enjoyable — if his peryton was by his side more often. In Trystrel's absence, Varis pushes his horse to get him home as quickly as possible. He doesn't start to breathe normally until Attarand is far behind him, but part of him wishes he lived even further away.
When he gets home, he feeds the horse and ties it out back, then eats what little food he has and cleans himself up before heading to Reeve’s. For some reason, he's more nervous about this than anything else, so it takes him a good ten minutes to work up the nerve to actually knock.
Someone he’s never met before opens the door, and Varis assumes it’s Reeve’s partner, Laix. Their flowing dress, short black hair, and warm, welcoming brown eyes are almost exactly what he pictured when his brother described them. “You must be Varis, come in. He’s just finishing up his bath, would you like some tea?”
“No, but thank you for the offer.” He hesitates; he didn't realize that Reeve had company, and this isn't a conversation he wants to have in front of someone else. “I can come back later if I interrupted something.”
“No, please... stay. I’ll go check on him.” Laix heads into the back room, and when they return, Reeve is with them. “It was nice to finally meet you, Varis. Be good, boys.”
Laix winks as they leave, and Reeve stares at the door longingly for a moment before he finishes drying his hair. “Here to apologize for being a dick?”
“You could say that, if you really wanted to,” Varis says quietly. “Certain things have... put others in perspective for me.”
“Well, apology accepted. No need to get all soft.” His brother huffs and pulls him in for a quick hug. “You alright?”
“Maybe? I don't know. It's been a long couple of days, and I know I was hard on you when we got back. Didn't want to leave it like that. I really didn't mean to interrupt.”
“It’s fine. I’m glad you came.” Reeve pulls out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. “I shouldn’t have implied you can’t get tail on your own. I know you can. Hell, I’ve seen it firsthand.”
Varis nods and accepts the drink when it's handed to him. “I shouldn't have insinuated that you're more of a hindrance than a help. You're better with a bow than I am, and when you're not trying to get me laid, you're extremely helpful.”
“Noted.” Reeve chuckles and tosses back his drink. “Is there anything I can be helpful with now? Do you really intend on leaving me behind for the next mission?”
He shrugs, honestly not knowing the answer to that question anymore. “I still don't want you to get hurt. You could've died, Reeve. And then what would I have done? I wouldn't have stopped until every Fae in the realm was dead. But I don't want you to hate me, either.”
“Alright... one more shot? If I screw it up then I give you my word I won’t pester you to go again. Deal?” Reeve holds out a broad hand and wiggles his fingers.
Varis smacks his hand instead of shaking it. “You said not to get soft. But yes; deal. Do you want me to go now so Laix can come back? The King sent me home, so it might be a while.”
“They’ll be back for supper. You want to stay for a hot meal? They make the best damn chicken I’ve ever had.”
While intruding doesn't sound like a good way to spend an evening, Varis nods. The least he can do is try to get to know Reeve’s partner and spend some time here, and he'd be lying if he said the food he’d eaten earlier filled him up. “Sure. Sounds good.”
Reeve pours them another drink and plops down on the couch with a groan. “They’re beautiful, huh?”
“Yes,” Varis says honestly. “Not that I'm surprised, you always have had certain tastes... but I'm happy for you. Seems this goes beyond that.”
Reeve smiles down at his glass and then deflects as he always does when matters of the heart are being laid bare. “They were waiting for me on the couch, prepped and hard for me under this skimpy little skirt. I—”
“That's wonderful, Reeve, really... but I have no interest in hearing about your sex life unless it involves that chicken you told me about.” Varis chuckles to let him know he's teasing. “Some things should remain private.”
“Chicken, eh? Guess I understand how you went so long without a proper date.”
The belly laugh that works its way out of him is unexpected, but incredibly welcome. “What was it that you used to say? A hole is a hole? I'm sure one or two fine citizens have tested that theory out on a cooked chicken or two, but I’m not one of them. I’ve gotten laid twice since the last time we saw each other, if that makes you feel any better.”
“Good for you. You seem less... you,” Reeve teases and takes another swig. They joke like that until Laix returns with groceries in tow and starts on their dinner. They join them for a drink in the kitchen, but then give them privacy until they all sit down for their meal.
When Varis tastes their chicken for the first time, he nearly chokes. It's so spicy and tough that Varis has to wonder what kind of spell Laix has put his brother under to make him think he enjoys this. But then it hits him. It's not a spell at all. His brother is simply in love. With that in mind, Varis forces himself to swallow and let out a hum of approval. “Very... good. Thank you for letting me stay for this.”
“Thank you.” Laix beams and Varis catches Reeve squeeze their hand encouragingly from the corner of his eye.
“Told you,” his brother responds proudly. “Best chicken in the realm.”
Suddenly, the chicken isn't the only thing making Varis want to gag, but far be it from him to ruin this for Reeve. If anything, it's giving him more fuel
to convince him to stay behind and stay safe. “Both realms, I'd bet money on it.”
Dinner passes quickly after that, and before long, they’re sitting on the porch with drinks in hand and reminiscing on their childhood. “Remember the time I got caught sneaking to the castle?” Reeve asks just as Echo walks out of the trees and curls at his feet.
“Too well. I thought we were both going to be whipped, but Aylard took pity on us. I don't think I've ever been happier to see another living person, honestly.” Varis thinks back on the joy and confusion he felt when he recognized Reeve’s bright blue eyes and playful smile, even after years. “I still can't believe you disobeyed Father like that.”
“Yeah, well... Father is a cuck,” Reeve jokes, and they both laugh harder than they have in years.
Once the drinks are empty, Varis recognizes that the couple are ready to move on to a very different part of their evening, so he stands. “I'll get out of your hair. If my horse is kind, I'll make it back before dusk.”
“Are you sure? Couch is always open,” his brother offers, but Varis shakes his head.
“Those things I mentioned that put things in perspective for me? They may well come back to haunt me soon. I should be close to Attarand when they do.” He tips his head to Laix and thanks them again for the food, then bounds off the porch toward his horse without a second thought.
THE NEXT SEVERAL DAYS go by in a blur. He trains, runs, makes a trip to the market, trains, and runs some more. Varis pushes his body until his muscles scream for him to stop, then pushes harder. Day in, day out. He sees no one else, speaks to no one else, seeks out no one else, until the anxieties that come along with having others close fade away.
Until he fades away.
Here, in his own, quiet home, he can't hear the whispers. He can't see the way that people look at him — the way people judge him, vilify him. He can't see the way his King is disappointed in him. I did the right thing, he tells himself about the man in the stockade.
Something about that nags in the back of his mind like a phantom itch, something that will only be relieved if he can reach it. Someone, somewhere hired that man, and instead of figuring it out, Varis has been wasting time. Frustrated, he resolves to set out in the morning to make good on his promise to himself and find out, but in the meantime, he allows himself one more night.
And maybe one more hookup.
Teag’s Tavern is empty when he walks in, but that changes by the time the new barmaid brings him his whiskey. It feels almost as though the whole town was waiting for his arrival the way they all file in at once, but Varis keeps to the corner as much as he can and lets his eyes dance across the room.
Not many glance his way, and of the ones that do, none particularly interest him. He's beginning to wonder if he should've called Jeskar again or maybe the barmaid from the night after when a man approaches him and sits down.
“So. What brings you here?”
As always, Varis is skeptical of the question. “I like a drink as much as the next man,” he responds. “Hence the whiskey.”
The man spits on the ground next to him. “That's not what I meant and you know it, Bastard. Shouldn't you be off killing Fae?”
“Shouldn't you be off caring about your own business instead of others’?” Varis smiles sarcastically with his lips together, then slides off the stool to stand closer. “Even bastards deserve a drink, don't you think? And why all the interest in the Fae, anyway?”
The barmaid whistles to get their attention, stopping the man’s answer. “Oye! No fighting. Take it out back.”
“Heard that's how he prefers—”
Smack!
Varis slams the man’s face into the bar top and takes a step back, flashing an apologetic smile to the barmaid. “Sorry, miss. I thought I recognized him when he walked in! Should've done that a long time ago.”
The man, who Varis recognizes now as Marsel, lunges forward to tackle him back against the dirty wall, but Varis is faster. He brings his knee up and connects to the soft spot just under his ribs, then forcefully shoves him back into two of his companions.
“Hardly a fair fight, Marsel. Don't remember it taking this much to make you feel like a man last time. What changed?” Varis ducks to dodge the meaty fist headed toward his face and rams his shoulder into Marsel’s knee, then rolls out of the way as he stumbles and falls. Both companions rush him, but a swipe of his leg sends one crashing into the nearest table and he manages to get back to his feet to face the other. He doesn't bother drawing weapons. Men like this are slow and proud, which makes them easy to fight.
The second companion lands a single punch, but it glances off Varis’ shoulder. Varis pivots, grabbing the one that broke the table by the back of his shirt and launching him at both of the others, then turns to head for the door. He finds his path completely cut off — it seems the rest of the tavern’s occupants decided this was a great opportunity to pick fights of their own, but Varis is an expert at becoming a ghost. Bowing his head, he slinks between two pairs of fighting patrons and loses himself in the crowd. Marsel’s angry roar can be heard over the rest of the noise, but Varis simply smiles. He doesn't quite remember what he did to piss him off, but clearly it was something good, and now, he has an excuse not to come back here. No amount of coins in the world will appease Teag this time.
When he finally slips through the open door and back out onto the street, he allows himself to breathe. King Balian won't be happy if he hears his prized assassin is starting fights not five miles from his castle, but Varis only adds that to the list of things Balian will one day punish him for. For now, as long as he remains useful, he's safe. The day he stops being useful is a day he’ll learn to regret.
Varis weaves through the cobblestone streets and tries for once to make a good impression. He smiles at those he passes, winks at a girl or two, and stops to give the coins he should've given the barmaid to a beggar. Part of him knows he won't get so lucky with this unpaid tab, but that's a debt he’ll square before too long. He always does.
By the time he stops to figure out where he's at, he's clear on the other side of town from his home. Varis curses himself for not paying better attention and heads for the inn. Though it's coin he doesn't need to be spending, he can't deny that making someone else draw his bath and bring him food sounds tempting; not to mention, he doubts Edis will be able to find him here. A night without dreading the arrival of Balian’s messenger sounds good to him.
He eats, bathes, dresses completely, and then flops down on the stiff mattress. It's lumpy and makes him miss his own, but long missions and years spent at Attarand have conditioned his body to deal with much worse than this, so he doesn't struggle to fall asleep.
Staying asleep, however... that's a different story. Every noise he's not accustomed to makes him jerk awake. Every creak of the floorboards in the hall, every time the tree on the other side of the window taps the glass, every howl of every wolf in the area. For some reason, tonight, it all bothers him. When he finally does sleep, he dreams of the man he beheaded days ago. Of the fear in his eyes and the raggedness of his breathing, and of the shadow that stands behind him pulling his strings. Each time Varis tries to shine a light on that shadow, it moves, inching closer until he swears he can see a face — a gorgeous face, not one of bone and dust like he'd expected. A woman's face.
Varis jerks awake with sweat dripping down his cheek and making his tunic cling to his skin. The room around him comes into focus, but that face from his dreams doesn't fade. She stays, all bright, purple eyes and pointed ears. He rubs his chest in a futile attempt to calm his breathing, but he can't stop himself from reaching for his axe. He knows she's not real — or at the very least, she's not here — but somehow, he knows in his gut that she's the one.
She's the one that tried to kill his King.
Chapter Five
Varis had been wrong when he'd thought to himself that Edis couldn't find him here. The sun barely crests the horizon as he's dragged from
his bed by the messenger himself, but Varis smacks him to make him stop. “What the bloody f—”
“I've been trying to wake you for an hour, Master Kester. The King wants to see you. Now.”
He thanks himself for never sleeping naked and pushes himself to his feet to dust off. “I've killed men for less. You know that, don't you?”
“Of course I do. But so has the King.” Edis thrusts the summons into his hands and turns on his heels. “You have one hour.”
There isn't enough light to see it clearly, so he heads for the window and squints at the parchment once he unrolls it. Sure enough, he recognizes the King’s signature and his standard, unpleasant command for him to come. He groans, but pats himself on the back for not getting drunk the night before.
Exactly one hour later, Varis stands with his head bowed in front of the King. He's disheveled and he knows it, but he hadn’t woken up anywhere near Attarand or the horse he'd borrowed, so certain corners had to be cut. “You needed to see me, Your Grace?”
“You’re late.” He isn’t, but he’s also in no place to argue. “Seems we’ve discovered who was behind that wretched hit.”
Varis shifts on his feet. “That's excellent news, Your Grace. I'm happy to hear it. Has Naslan returned?” he asks, as if there's still a single part of him that believes the culprit is human.
“Yes, he’s returned, but he will be staying in the castle until your job is finished.” The King shifts uncomfortably and leans forward. “You’ve got to kill a queen.”
Sure he hasn't heard correctly, Varis snaps his head up to look at him. “A what?”
“Queen Aine of the Sun Court. She put the hit on me, now I’m puttin’ one on her. Only my assassin doesn’t miss.”
Slowly, the pieces click into place. Varis might not be as highly educated as the Sentinels are, but he's no fool. The blacksmith, the farmer, the warrior. They were all from the Sun Court. All bowing to Queen Aine, and probably helping her, too. “Will I have help, Your Grace?”
