Fen nodded, miserable.
“Go on now. This isn’t your place.”
Fen left, mortified to be caught with his hand in the sugar sack. Sucking on the sweetness of what he found.
He drew me in his book.
He put a hand on his hip, thinking about the silvery line that ran low around his waist. The border of human and equine when he was in kheiros. Every kheiron had one. Fen’s was especially visible because of his dark skin. At some point, Trueblood saw it. He drew it.
He loved it.
If you want to know what’s in Trueblood’s heart, ask him.
“Was it hard being the son of your commander?” Fen asked.
Trueblood laughed. “You’re the heir to the kheiron herd and you’re asking me if it was hard?”
“This is called making pleasant conversation. I can insult you if you prefer.”
“It was hard,” Trueblood said. “I had to learn to call my father Da and call my commander Kep. And keep them separate.”
“How did you know which one you were talking to?”
Trueblood shrugged. “By his voice. Or the subject matter. Sometimes he’d ask a question and I’d answer, ‘Yes, Da.’ Other times, he’d ask something and add on, ‘Answer your commander.’”
He was beautiful in the moonlight.
“Khe, I miss that,” he said. “When he’d be formidable. Pressing a point home by saying, ‘Do you understand? Answer your commander.’ It was intimidating but it was simple. The answer was simple. Aye, Kep. I understand. You have my word.”
“What else do you miss?”
“Him saying my name.”
“Pelippé.”
“Just Pé.” Trueblood set his chin on his hands. “Go to sleep, Pé. Don’t worry so much, Pé.”
“Abrakam calls you Troubled.”
Trueblood smiled. “That’s me.”
Gods, that smile.
Fen wished he had a similar tale to share. For his sake as well as Trueblood’s. Something to keep Trueblood smiling. Questions to make him shrug the moon off his shoulders. Secrets he’d keep tucked in the pages of his little leather books.
Soft laughter caught his ear from further down the deck, where Beniv and Calvo were sitting on one of the bulkheads.
“How long have they been together?” Fen asked, inclining his head.
“Gods, twenty years at least. I mean, I’ve never known a time when they weren’t gelang.”
“Want to hear something idiotic?”
“What?”
“I think I was twenty-five when I realized the ritual handshake is called gelango because gelang means at hand. Like I never put that together.”
“Don’t feel bad. I once saw a kheiron in humos and said, ‘Oh, you have your legs on.’”
Fen pointed a finger. “That was pretty idiotic.”
“Thank you. I put a lot of effort into saying stupid things.”
He smiled and Fen died a little inside. He liked Trueblood so much it hurt. It hurt so purely and simply and beautifully, it made Fen feel young.
Young and free.
He looked away, staring at Calvo’s easy, muscular sprawl. Beniv between his knees, wrapped in a blanket, his head on the quartermaster’s chest.
“Your father never had another mate after your mother died,” Trueblood said. “Did he?”
“No. She was his one and only.”
“You say that like it’s unusual.”
“It is, actually. Stories I’ve heard about past Horselords, they all had multiple lovers. My great-grandfather was a notorious stud. He’d mount anything on four legs. But my father loved only my mother. After she died, he had no more need for any kind of companionship.”
“Something beautiful about a love like that, yet it’s sad at the same time.”
“Did your father have anyone else?”
Trueblood took a long time to answer. “He had his… I’ll say his favorites when we came ashore.”
“Courtesans?”
Trueblood’s mouth twisted. “I don’t want to idealize him, but no, I don’t think they were. It doesn’t seem his way. Then again, you never really know somebody, do you?”
“Mm.”
“I’ve never told anyone this, but I think old Rafil loved my Da.”
“You mean in love with him?”
“Yeah. It’s something I didn’t figure out until the end of his life, and it’s only a guess. But I think Rafil adored my father in every way possible. Kept it secret and un-acted upon. Then when Da died, Rafil willed himself out of life and followed. With him until the end.”
Fen nodded. “I don’t think I ever heard a bad word spoken about your father in my life.” He laughed softly. “I’d actually be shocked if Rafil were the only mariner in love with him.”
“Oh, there were others.”
“Really?”
“Once… I must’ve been thirteen or fourteen. Old enough to know about such things. One of the majoros developed an infatuation with my father. I walked in on an embarrassing situation where Da was… I guess rejecting him. Or letting him know it was impossible. Putting him back in his place. You know what I mean.”
“Did your father bed men?”
“Not to my knowledge. Anyway, he came to see me later. To put me in my place, so to speak. I asked if the majoro would stay aboard. Da said, ‘No, he’ll be put ashore. It’s a distraction.’ Then his face got all stern and he said, ‘I’ll not have you hold this against him.’
“‘No, Da,’ I said.
“‘I mean it,’ he said. ‘One smart remark or one side-eye in his direction and you’ll be up against the mizzen mast. I’ll thrash you myself. Am I clear?’”
“I bet you answered your commander,” Fen said.
“Oh I did,” Trueblood said. “But I was hurt.”
“Hurt?”
“Hurt that Da would think I was capable of that kind of cruelty.”
“You don’t have a cruel bone in your body.”
“Sure. I throw rocks at you because I’m nice.”
“You threw it because I was being an asshole.”
“And I didn’t aim at your head.”
“Which I appreciate.”
Fen tapped his thumbs together. “You know, your mother was one of my favorite people.”
“Oh?”
“My stunning personality doesn’t lend itself to having a lot of friends. But Noë was always kind to me.”
“I didn’t know you had a relationship with her.”
“Well, I didn’t spend a whole lot of time in her company but whenever I did, it felt easy and relaxed. I liked being around her. Liked the way she smiled at me or said, ‘Oh, Fenros, you’re home, we missed you.’ She made me feel good. And she liked apples as much as I did. You can’t not like someone who appreciates a good apple.”
Trueblood laughed, and it seemed a good place to end the chat and the evening.
“Goodnight, Kepten,” Fen said.
“Goodnight. Sleep well.”
The kheiron whistled through his teeth as he went below. Closing the door of his cabin, he was struck by how at home he felt. Contentment and belonging infused all the little nighttime rituals he’d cultivated on this journey. Binding the small stones on the insides of his wrists. Shaving a bit of kyrrh for the mug of hot water Melki left him. His bow and quiver hung from pegs on the wall, his boots lined up underneath. The braided rope of his mother’s hair coiled neatly on his night table, next to his knives and a little horse Eleven carved for him. Incredible how a ham-fisted brute like Eleven could pull such tiny, detailed beauty out of wood.
He was pulling his shirt over his head when a brisk knock came at the door. “Come in.”
Trueblood stood in the doorway, a long finger pointing at Fen’s face.
&nb
sp; “It was you,” he said.
“I’m sorry?”
“You were the one leaving apples at my mother’s tomb all these years.”
Fen opened his mouth, then shut it and nodded.
“Huh.” Trueblood crossed his arms, shaking his head a little. “You got a mighty sweet side for an asshole.”
“Well, keep that to yourself or my reputation won’t precede me.” Fen tossed his shirt aside and was immediately conscious of the kepten’s eyes on his skin.
I think I want him.
The fear was electric in his veins. This was the same delicious trepidation that quaked through his limbs when he and Belmiro were in bed and in humos together. But a thousand times more intense. Primed with knowledge. Keen with memory.
Ruined by all the men who used to fuck with him.
“Seriously,” Trueblood said. “I always wondered who was bringing the apples. Both I and my father did.”
“I thought for sure he knew,” Fen said. “I mean, it was my and Noë’s little thing. I brought her an apple when I came home and she left one for me in my room.” He shrugged. “I missed her bad after she died. So I kept doing it.”
“I love that you did.”
What else do you love? Fen thought. He almost dared to ask, but balked at the last second and said, “Good. And I still hate your guts.”
“Glad you cleared that up. I was about to invite you back to my cabin.”
Fen laughed and Trueblood put up a farewell hand before backing into the corridor and closing the door. Fen stared for five heart-pounding seconds, then yanked it open again.
“Were you really?” he called to Trueblood’s back.
The kepten turned. “What?”
“About to invite me.”
“No.”
Relief and disappointment ran down Fen’s back. “Oh. Goodnight.”
“Amatos.”
Fen closed the door, leaned against it and exhaled.
What just happened?
“Pegasos,” came the cry from the crow’s nest one morning.
Far out to sea was a flight of winged horses, their silhouettes blurred but unmistakable. The crew came pouring on deck, leaning bellies and arms against the starboard rail. Hands reached for telescopes and necks craned to the sky.
“They’re real,” Melki said, sitting on Fen’s shoulders.
“Of course they’re real,” Fen said. “You’ve never seen one before?”
All around him, heads shook and eyes shone wide in incredulous faces.
“How many?” Calvo said, a hand shading his eyes and the other arm around Beniv.
“I count nine,” the sail maker said.
“Lucky nine,” Dhar agreed.
“Feels like a sign,” Sixten said.
“I was just about to say the same,” Seven said. “What do you think, Kepten?”
Trueblood lowered his telescope. “It feels like seeing something beautiful.”
“I think we should follow them.”
Now all heads turned to Raj. Rather than wide-open and wondering, his expression was narrowed tight, cold and calculating.
“You think?” Trueblood said carefully.
Raj nodded several times. “Follow them.”
“Why?” The kepten moved closer to his pilot. “I’m not questioning your compass, Raj, I just want to know what it’s telling you.”
Raj’s mouth hesitated before he spoke. “Something’s happening. Or starting to happen.”
Fen swung Melki down and moved closer as well. “I don’t know a lot about pegasos,” he said. “But I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen them on the move in broad daylight. And I’m already down a finger so…”
Trueblood nodded, tapping his teeth together. “Lejo, where’s your needle pointing?”
“Toward Raj.”
“All right then.” Trueblood clapped Raj’s shoulder and motioned toward the helm. “Pilot, change course.”
“Aye, Kep.”
Fen moved back to the rail to watch and Trueblood followed.
“You’re the son of a pegaso yet you know little about them,” he said.
Fen smiled. “They are notoriously elusive creatures.”
“But heirs to the kheiron herd are always born from a pegaso, right?”
“Mm. It’s a wonder the lineage lasted this long when the impression is pegasos don’t hold still long enough to mate.”
Trueblood laughed. “I guess you’ll find out someday.”
The kheiron nodded slowly. “I’ll have to, if the line is going to continue.”
“Do you want to sire children?”
“I guess so.”
“Sounds like you haven’t given it much thought.”
“Think again, Kepten,” Fen said. “My dam is dead and my sire is an asshole. So I wonder all the time what kind of parent I’m going to be.”
Trueblood smiled to himself. Lately, when Fen labeled his father in choice terms, he sounded a lot like Lejo—like he didn’t mean it.
Trueblood squinted, but the pegasos were only a smudge now. He turned back to Raj, who caught his eye from the helm and raised a reassuring hand. He should go back in his study, but Fen’s presence had invisible hooks in him, holding him right here to talk more.
“Did you call your father Da?” he asked.
Fen shook his head. “Not since I was a foalboy. It was Father to his face. Less flattering names in private.”
“What’s his khenom?”
“Why?”
“Because I’m nosy and curious.”
Fen twisted the ring on his fourhand thumb.
Truvosol, Trueblood remembered. The ring of Truvos. But it’s obnoxious to refer to it that way.
“I don’t like to say his khenom,” Fen finally said. “It’s an intimate thing and I’m just not close enough to him anymore. Truth is, I’ve kind of forgotten how.”
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”
“I’ll say another if you want.”
“Who?”
Fen spoke a multi-syllabic invocation, more like a phrase of music than a word.
Trueblood blinked. “What?”
Fen smiled. “That’s Belmiro’s khenom.” He said it again. It began as the recognizable Belmiro, then slid into something not of this world. If Trueblood had a knife to his throat, he couldn’t have repeated it. His tongue hesitated in his mouth, not knowing where to even start.
“Khenoms are all like that,” Fen said. “When I say Bel’s, I get it a little wrong. He’s the only one who can say his soul name perfectly. I’m the only one who can say mine. Every other kheiron gets it slightly wrong.”
“And men get it completely wrong.”
“That’s why we have agnoms.”
“On behalf of man, I thank you for being so considerate.”
Fen smiled. “Here’s a funny thing. If I were in a pitch-dark room with Belmiro and twenty other kheirons, and all of them said Bel’s khenom at the same time, I could immediately tell which one was him. I can’t say his khenom properly, but I know it instantly when I hear it.”
“Huh.”
“So when I was young, really little, if I was separated from my father, I wouldn’t call his khenom. I’d call Da, then say my khenom. He could find me much faster.”
“Faster than I can?”
Fen touched his teeth to his bottom lip and smiled, his nose wrinkling. “Maybe.”
Kheiron and giantsblood stood poised on the edge of affinity, the moment shimmering between them. “Say your name,” Trueblood said.
His ears were prepared for the name to start Fen, but it didn’t.
Of course it didn’t.
“Tehvani…” Fen began, and the rest slid across Trueblood’s skin like a kiss. Before he
could ask, Fen said it again.
When the hair settled back down on his arms, Trueblood said, “Sometimes I forget your agnom used to be Tehvan.”
“That’s fine. I left it behind a long time ago.”
“Could you change your khenom?”
“No. It would be like changing my eye color.”
Well don’t do that, Trueblood thought. Your eyes match my coat. Which is only slightly less significant than nine pegasos in a daytime sky.
“Now what are you staring at?” Fen said.
“Nothing.”
The kheiron smoothed his hair and struck an affected pose against the railing. “Want me to hold still while you get your oil paints?”
“Get over yourself.”
“Hey, look who’s back.”
Trueblood followed Fen’s pointing finger toward a shape in the sky. The lark, missing for days now, flew over their heads. She fluttered down to perch on the rigging, wet and bedraggled, her crest pointing in all directions.
“And where have you been?” Trueblood said.
She gave her two-tone whistle and pecked at the mast.
“Looks like she got laid last night,” Fen said.
“Lucky her,” Trueblood said.
The little bird’s eyes seemed to roll as she turned her back on them, preening her feathers back in place. She pecked at the mast a few more times and looked at Trueblood as if daring him to say anything. He held his finger out to her and almost dropped dead when she hopped onto it.
“Holy shit,” he said, laughing. His other finger approached her head, shy and cautious. She allowed him to pet her. “Pegasos in the sky and a lark being nice to me. What’s next?”
He glanced at Fen, who looked back. The clear azure gaze was soft, like a careful fingertip stroking a bird’s head. Not believing its own good luck.
I’m in love with you, Trueblood thought. Quietly. As if noticing the weather. Surely this was supposed to be a thunderous epiphany. Not ordinary and banal. Yet there it was. The next thing.
Pegasos in the sky, a lark being nice to me and I’m in love.
He half-expected to see sides constructed around him. Love was a box and he was in it. Something was no longer happening to him. It happened. The tense was past.
The Voyages of Trueblood Cay Page 32
