The guards watched him all right, albeit with increasingly hungry eyes. Felix didn’t know what to do except keep playing, even as the guard on the ground began approaching him again, smiling lasciviously. Beyond the leering man, he saw Torsten and Jossy emerge from the back of the wagon with a large chest held between them. He wished for them to hurry, and for the guards to keep their eyes on him just a few moments more. With the expertise learned from years of performing, Felix batted his lashes innocently at the guard who now stood before him as he continued to blow sweet notes into the flute.
“So lovely. Give me your hand,” the guard said, as the last of a bandana-clad bandits vanished into the trees.
The guard was tall and thin, his smile crooked and disconcerting, and a flare of worry brightened within Felix. But he did as he was told and stopped playing, lowering the flute in one hand while extending the other.
The guard held onto his wrist and flipped his hand over. Then he proceeded to place two shiny gold coins in his palm. “Will this be enough?” he asked, smiling.
It took Felix a moment to speak, bowing his head as he did. “Enough for what, sir?”
The guard sank his fingers into Felix’s hair and rubbed at his scalp. It was far too personal a touch, lecherous in a way Jossy’s hand hadn’t been, and Felix shivered, trying not to recoil noticeably. “Enough to have you play for me always. You’re too sweet to give up.”
Felix hadn’t imagined this outcome when he’d thrown himself onto the road. “Thank you,” he said, before pushing the coins back toward the guard. “But I already belong to someone.” As soon as he said it, he wanted desperately to kick himself, but then the hand was gone from his hair and the guard was leaning down to whisper in his ear.
“If you change your mind and find yourself in the Royal Quarter, come to the Queen’s Men Tavern and ask for Niall.” He refused to take the coins back, closing Felix’s hand over them. “We’ll see if you can’t earn more than that when we meet again.” He kissed Felix’s cheek, and, with reluctant steps, began making his way back to the wagon.
Now that his playing had stopped, the driver was beginning to fidget nervously again, and one of the guards beside him gave his head a shake, focused his eyes, and glared down at Felix. “What are you doing in the road?” he yelled. “Get out of the way before we run you over!”
Niall swung up onto the back of the wagon, and Felix backed to the edge of the road. The guards sneered at him as the horses picked up and the wagon went rumbling past, but Niall held his gaze with a sleazy smile. Felix stood frozen in place, watching the wagon continue on until it passed from sight, and then hands spread over his shoulders and yanked him back into the trees.
A second later, Torsten’s furious face was demanding his attention. Felix looked over his furred shoulder at Jossy, who was shaking his head in amazement, and Selon and Marilyn, who were snickering at one another.
Torsten rattled Felix’s shoulders and snapped back his attention. “What was that?” he yelled, voice booming.
“I-I don’t know,” answered Felix, because he didn’t know. He honestly had no idea what he had just done, or why.
“They could have mistaken you for a bandit and arrested you,” Torsten scathed. “Killed you, if they’d been in the mood.”
“Oh, they were in the mood.” Selon was smirking. “Just not for murder.”
At Torsten’s raised eyebrows, Felix shook his hands off and stepped back to gain some distance. “I didn’t want you to shoot them for a distraction,” he said, “so I provided my own.” And in doing so, he’d aided and abetted the theft. Oops.
“I told you to stay hidden,” Torsten seethed.
All in all, Felix considered himself a patient, kind person. He had never been the type for yelling or purposefully causing harm upon another, whether with words or weapons, unless strictly necessary. But every soul, peaceful or otherwise, had its breaking point.
He waved his flute in the air, jabbing it into Torsten’s chest as his face grew hot. “I didn’t stay hidden though, did I? So you can either punish me for disobeying, or you can thank me for saving your stupid raid.” He kicked the chest that sat on the ground beside them. “Forgive me if I didn’t want to see you shoot innocent guards, even if you claim they wouldn’t be killing blows. I lack the heart for needless cruelty, because I’m not a bloody bandit!”
Torsten had nothing to say to that, so he just glowered, and Felix tried his best to glower back, though he knew from practicing that his angriest faces were nothing compared to the menacing crooks and grooves of the bandit king’s displeasure.
Around them, the other bandits moved, collecting their spiky rope and picking the lock on the loot. Torsten did not look away from Felix until Selon called him, summoning him to the open chest. Reluctantly, Felix followed. He’d helped steal the thing after all, may as well have a look at its contents. He gasped when he saw what was inside.
Within the chest was more silver and gold than he had ever seen, as if the coin the queen had gifted him had multiplied a thousand times. It was so much coin, he wondered how it was that Marilyn and Jossy were able to lift the chest at all, but up it went after they closed it, held between their hands.
Torsten held onto Felix’s shoulder as they returned to the horses, as if fearing he might make a run for it. And he might have, if not for the strange feeling in his gut that seemed to want to make him go wherever Torsten’s hand led him. No matter what he’d said to Torsten, the truth was simple. Whether he had intended to spare the guards being shot or not, Felix had purposefully assisted his captors in stealing a chest of coin. He had risked his life and let a guard put his hands on him, all to make sure the bandits went unnoticed. The day might have been spared blood because of him, but he had still done a bad thing. Merric never would have done it. He would have banded together with the guards and fought the bandits, protected the queen’s cargo. Maybe it was for the best if Merric believed he was dead.
When they reached the horses, Torsten failed to release him. Instead, his grip tightened.
“How are you going to get that huge chest back to camp?” Felix asked, trying to distract himself from the strong fingers wrapped around his shoulder. “It’s too bulky for the horses to carry.”
“Thank you, Flautist,” Torsten said shortly. “I didn’t already know that.” He sighed. “We’re not taking the chest back to camp. We’re not going back to camp yet at all. Marilyn, the bags?”
Marilyn went to her horse, petting its mane, and then pulled a bundle of burlap sacks from the saddlebag. Jossy opened the chest again and Felix’s eyes were involuntarily drawn to the luminous shine of its contents.
“We hoped it’d be too much to carry,” Torsten said, accepting a bag from Marilyn and finally releasing Felix’s shoulder. “Fill up as much as you can.”
Felix rubbed his shoulder as he watched the bandits pile heaps of coin into their bags. When they finished, the chest was still half-full. Torsten nodded at Jossy, who knelt beside a nearby tree, cleared the snow beneath it, then inserted his knife and lifted a large square of ground. Felix gasped in excitement; it couldn’t be helped. Torsten side-eyed his enthusiasm.
“It’s finally something like the songs,” Felix explained awkwardly, pointing at the prepared hole Jossy had revealed. “A secret spot for burying treasure.”
Selon frowned. “I thought that was pirates.”
Felix nodded. “Pirates, too. Most bad guys have them, I think.”
Torsten huffed rudely, greatly offended by being compared to pirates, and then trudged past Felix to help Jossy lower the chest. Clearly, the bandits had used the same spot before. Felix wondered if they had buried the rest of the fruit in the same location.
When the chest was buried to their satisfaction, the flap of earth returned and the layer of snow replaced, the bandits returned to their horses, tying the bags of coin to their saddles. Once mounted on his horse, Felix expected to be led back towards camp, but Torsten began leading them in
the opposite direction.
“Where are we going?” he asked, feeling mightily mistrustful, because Torsten’s smirk had returned with a vengeance.
“I told you I would show you what kind of bandits we are,” he said, and Felix thought briefly of jabbing him with his flute again.
They rode through the woods no more than half an hour before they came upon a clearing, and within it, a village. Felix’s nerves fell into instant disarray. Was this where the bandits came to sate their bloodlust and savagery? Was this when they would finally steal innocent maids to suspend over the bandit king’s throne in crude cages? He swallowed down a fit of panic as they trotted into the heart of the modest hamlet.
It was small and sparse and reminded Felix of his home, except the people roaming outside had dirtier faces and hungrier eyes. Their clothes were in rags. There was no tavern among the structures, only little, dilapidated homes. Felix almost felt grand, seated as he was atop a horse, his shoulders draped in fur. He leaned toward Torsten, whose horse was beside his own, and whispered across the divide. “It would be a terrible thing to steal from these people.”
The smirk on Torsten’s face split into a surprisingly warm grin. “I agree.”
And then something happened that made Felix even more confused.
Torsten slid off his horse, raised a bag of coin above his head, and yelled, “Alex!”
A door swung open and a man stepped out of one of the houses. He had smudges of dirt on his cheeks, but his eyes were bright when they landed on Torsten.
“Back again?” he asked. “So soon?” And then he rushed from his doorstep, laughing heartily and embracing Torsten like a brother. Torsten returned his laughter and clapped the man on the back, the bag of coin clinking in his hand.
Soon, more villagers began to gather, and the rest of the bandits dismounted to greet them. Felix remained in his saddle, peering down at the shocking exchanges, feeling utterly lost. He could see no bloodlust, no ravaging, only smiles, and an awful lot of hugging.
“We didn’t expect to see you here again until next month, my friend!” Alex exclaimed, remaining close to Torsten, whom he didn’t appear to fear at all.
“We’ve had a streak of luck,” Torsten replied. “Meet my flautist.” He crooked his finger at Felix, who found himself hurrying to dismount from his horse so he could stand at Torsten’s side. He realized a bit too late, and with a pinch of frustration, that he might have been too easy to summon.
“How do you do?” Alex asked with a gracious smile.
Felix smiled back, for it had been a long time since he was greeted properly, and friend of a bandit or not, it was only polite. “Hello.”
“He helped commandeer a gift for you today,” Torsten announced, loudly enough for all those surrounding to hear. He made a show of handing over the bag of coin to Alex. Selon, Marilyn, and Jossy handed their bags over to other villagers, as well. A collective gasp swept through the crowd.
“This is enough for all the nearby villages, Torsten,” Alex declared, eyes wide as he took in the bag full of coin. “Do you know what we could do with so much?”
Torsten’s smile was bigger than Felix had ever seen it, his cheeks dimpling, and his eyes crinkling. “Would that we could give you more, but I’m afraid it was too much to carry.”
More laughter followed, and as Felix looked around, he saw the dirty-faced, too-thin villagers all gazing at Torsten with undeniable fondness. With a jolt, he realized that these people must have been the recipients of the fruit, as well. The bandits were stealing to help hungry villagers. That was definitely lacking in all the bandit songs Felix had heard.
Alex grabbed his hand, shocking him from his thoughts, and gave it a hearty shake that lurched Felix forward. It took a moment to realize he was being pulled into a hug. “Thank you,” Alex whispered.
Felix was too stunned to reciprocate, but it was no matter to Alex, who simply pulled away and patted his shoulder amiably. There was a high probability that Felix was blushing, a probability that only increased when he noticed Torsten watching him with that smirk. Instantly annoyed, and keen on letting Torsten know it, Felix squared up to him. “You can stop giving me that look,” he said.
Torsten had to lean closer to hear him amidst the sounds of chattering folk. He looked like he was formulating an aggravating response, so Felix continued before he had the chance. “I know what you’re doing,” he went on, trying not to be stymied by the way Torsten was tilting his head to listen. “You expect me to be impressed, because you’re a group of bandits that steal from nobles and give to people in need, but I’m not impressed, and do you want to know why?”
Torsten’s arched brow implied that he did.
“Because I am still very much kidnapped by you, and your friends still very much shot my friend with arrows, and to me, those aren’t qualities of a good person, no matter how much fruit and coin you give away. The only thing I’m impressed by is your endless delusion that you’re somehow morally righteous.”
Torsten stared at him with parted lips, the smile gone from his mouth, but not from his eyes. “For a flautist I’ve ordered to keep quiet,” he said, “you sure have a lot of opinions.” He delivered Felix a final glance and then turned away, sparking another conversation with Alex, not bothered in the slightest.
Felix huffed, crossed his arms around his middle, and extricated himself from the crowd, finding refuge beside an old well several yards away from the bustle of villagers and pompous bandits. He sat on the edge and fumed.
Torsten found him disagreeable; there was no way around it. Felix wasn’t used to being found disagreeable. His occupation relied on the general public thinking him sweet and shy and accommodating. He had opinions, but he was accustomed to keeping them closely guarded. His reluctant nature had begun to shed a bit in the company of Merric and the others, but he’d never acted as contrary in all his life as he did when faced with the smugness of the bandit king. What to make of that, he was sure he had no idea.
He watched Torsten mingle with villager after villager, growing more confused and more frustrated by the second. Why were the villages surrounding the Royal Quarter so impoverished? Did Queen Bellamy know people just outside her city walls were starving? How had it come to this, where these people must look to bandits for help? And they were helping, Felix acknowledged resentfully. He knew the bandits must keep some of the stolen supplies for themselves, since Dot was never without food to cook, but they’d kept no coin for their own use, and by the sound of it, there was already a plan to deliver the rest of it the following morning. It seemed their only goal was to make sure the coin was given to people in need. The entire affair was causing an unwelcomed fluttering somewhere deep inside Felix’s chest.
After many long minutes of cheerful prattling, Alex extended an invitation for the bandits to stay the night, but Torsten politely refused. Before parting, they hugged again, and Alex clasped his hand familiarly over the back of Torsten’s neck. Felix glared from his spot at the well until Torsten came to collect him. With a firm hand around his elbow, he was herded back to the horses. Once they were all astride, the bandits hollered a final goodbye and began their journey back to camp.
Felix was positive Torsten was watching him as much as he was watching the path ahead, but he refused to meet his eyes. He knew the man wanted him to admit that what they’d done was decent, and Felix wasn’t ready to admit it yet, at least not out loud. He bundled deep in his fur pelt and concentrated on thinking disagreeable thoughts.
8 - Hard and Unmistakable
It was mid-afternoon when they returned, and the sun was making the patches of snow around the camp sparkle. The other bandits cheered at Torsten’s announcement that everything had gone well, and Felix found their response entirely different now that he knew what they were cheering about. Fruit deliveries. Sacks of coin for the poor. He wondered where Torsten had found so many bandits willing to forgo murder and debauchery for random acts of kindness.
The par
t Felix had played in the raid went unmentioned, for which he was grateful, but he didn’t miss the way Torsten’s eyes skirted over him as he relayed the events. Selon, Jossy, and Marilyn kept stealing glances at him, as well, to which he responded with a pitiful shrug. Either his playing was truly exceptional, or the flute had reared its magical properties once again. He didn’t know what to believe, but as long as the others were unwilling to ask, he was willing to push the matter aside.
Shortly after their arrival, once the horses were seen to and the bandit populous was satisfied with the retelling of events, Torsten disappeared into the tent at the center of camp, Jossy, Marilyn, and Selon following after him. Felix hung around the cook fire and tried not to think about the fact that they were most likely discussing him. No one tried to talk to him, not even Dot. He probably had a look on his face that deterred conversation. Had he already lost the innocence in his eyes that used to make people eager to engage him? He’d not seen his reflection since leaving the queen. What might he look like after being the captive of bandits for a few days? Did he look like the sort who helped bandits steal royal coin? Because that’s what he was now.
He worked a hand through his curls and decided he must not look entirely bedraggled from his time in the woods, for the royal guard had certainly enjoyed his aesthetic. Too much, maybe. He had not enjoyed Niall’s kiss on the cheek, nor the possessive hand that sank into his hair. But it had gotten Torsten and the others what they’d wanted, with no harm done to anyone, and that was what he had wanted. Why he’d wanted it, he still wasn’t sure. He could practically hear Merric’s voice in his head, gently reprimanding him for not taking better advantage of the situation handed him. The opportunities were endless. He could have whispered in Niall’s ear when he’d approached, told him of the bandits in the woods, given the guards the upper hand. He could have told them he was a prisoner and begged for their aid. He could have done those things. He should have done those things. But at the time, wrapped up in the moment, the most important thing had been avoiding violence. They were stupid instincts, not to be lauded, but he couldn’t deny the thrilling warmth he’d felt when Alex and the other villagers had clapped and cheered for the coin’s arrival.
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