The King's Whisper

by T. S. Cleveland

  “Is that the Trade River?” he asked reverently.

  “It is,” Torsten replied

  They’d stopped at a summit of a gentle, rock-strewn slope that leveled out for several hundred feet before reaching the banks of the Viridor Trade River, a storied waterway he’d never seen during his travels with Rex, though he’d long wished to. The majority of Viridor’s trade was done by land, but for trade with East Viridor, merchants shipped via the Trade River and its many tributaries, and even by sea, depending on the destination. Water routes were quicker and less dangerous than traversing the vast distances through Viridor’s Heartlands, or so he’d been told. Consequently, Felix knew there had to be ports all along the river, but he was astonished to be looking at one, let alone the mighty river itself. This was, in fact, a river town, with shops lined up, one after the other, selling everything from fabrics to fresh fish. And there were stables, and a large inn, and people rushing around, well-dressed women carrying bundles, and workmen toting crates and ropes. It seemed a prosperous place, and the air smelled different here, vaguely fishy but crisp, and Felix breathed it in deeply. His cheeks hurt from smiling.

  “Look at all those boats,” Felix said, still awestruck as they trotted down the hill. The river was much wider than he’d imagined, and bobbing on its surface, either anchored out or secured to the docks, were dozens of boats. Some were big, some small, but all of them were fantastic to Felix. “I’ve never seen so many boats,” he continued wistfully. “Just think of those lucky enough to be on one.”

  “Have you never been on a boat?” Torsten asked, sounding doubtful as he dismounted and walked them towards the stables. A girl stood outside, and after handing over the reins, he placed a coin in her extended hand.

  “I’ve sung songs about them, about the river, and the sea, and pirates, of course. But I’ve never gotten to—wait.” He slid from his saddle under the impatient eye of the waiting girl and watched as she led the horses off. Lowering his voice, he leaned close to Torsten. “Are we going to raid a boat?”

  “No,” Torsten answered, gently pushing Felix away from the stables and towards town.

  They passed by the shops quickly, soon reaching the dock and stepping onto its weathered wooden planks. Felix was entranced, studying each of the boats tied there as they passed, as well as the water below. Near the end of the dock, Torsten stopped. A woman had just stepped from the deck of one of the smaller boats, and was sizing up Torsten with her arms crossed.

  He flashed her his most disarming smile. “Hi,” he said.

  Felix braced himself for uncomfortable introductions, anticipating seeing Torsten pass himself off as anything other than a bandit, but the woman merely narrowed her eyes at him, as if she knew exactly who he was. “I haven’t seen you in a long time,” she said, by way of greeting. “Have you been well?”

  Torsten’s smile slipped a bit. “I’ve been fine.”

  Her eyes darted to Felix, then back. “I’d ask what you’re doing here, but I think I already know.”

  “I wouldn’t be if it wasn’t important,” Torsten said. “Is she ready?”

  The woman sighed. “Ready and waiting. All you need to do is lift anchor and set sail. You do remember how to handle one of these, right?” Her hair was cut in a straight chop at her shoulders, and as her arms uncrossed, Felix’s eyes were drawn to the collar of her blouse, where a familiar pin was attached. It was the royal sigil.

  “I remember,” answered Torsten. “And I thank you.” He moved to put coin in her hand, but she clasped her hands behind her and shook her head.

  “Seeing you alive and well is payment enough. Just don’t wreck my boat.”

  There was levity between them, and Felix felt a weird pinch in his chest. He tugged on Torsten’s furs to get his attention. The bandit turned to him, and Felix leaned close to whisper in his ear. “She’s wearing the royal sigil,” he said, heartbeat elevating. “This could be a trap. For catching bandits.” He thought he’d been whispering stealthily, but when the woman laughed, he supposed he was wrong.

  “Don’t worry,” she said to Felix, offering a warm smile. “If I knew how to catch Torsten, I would have done it years ago.”

  He sputtered before glancing at Torsten questioningly, but instead of getting an explanation, Torsten merely took his wrist and led him past her. “Hop on,” he instructed.

  Felix jumped the small distance from the dock to the boat, turning excitedly to watch as Torsten did the same. The soft bob and sway felt unfamiliar beneath his feet, and he stomped about the deck to get his bearings. There were only a few paces of deck to stomp, and then he was back at Torsten’s side as he bid goodbye to the woman and untied the rope from its mooring.

  “Who was that?” he asked as she turned to go. "Why does she wear the royal sigil?"

  “She’s a friend from my childhood and the steward here,” answered Torsten. “You don’t need to worry about her.”

  “Oh, I see,” said Felix, watching her walk away. She was pretty, with a shapely figure and a dainty little nose. “You knew her from before.”

  Torsten cocked an eyebrow.

  “From when you were a noble, I mean,” continued Felix. He’d not told Torsten of learning he’d been raised in the Royal Quarter. There hadn’t been time when everyone was preparing for Gethrin’s visit, and had been about the last thing on his mind since.

  “I was never a noble,” Torsten said quietly as he stowed the rope.

  In short order, Felix’s attention was torn between watching Torsten’s strong hands as he pulled up the anchor, and looking about the vessel with eager eyes. It was compact, with only room enough for a small sleeping cabin below. The helm was in the back, where Torsten was heaving the anchor from the water. As soon as he did, the boat lurched beneath Felix’s feet and he stumbled sideways, catching his weight on the rail.

  He studied the river rushing below, mesmerized, until he heard Torsten move past him to the sail, his boots falling heavily on the deck. Felix righted himself and watched as the sail opened and the wind caught it, his initial excitement turning to nervousness now that they were about to head out.

  Torsten returned to the helm in a few strides and steered away from the dock. The river was pulling them along with its current, taking them westward. The body of water was wide, but it was also a popular route, filled with other vessels, most of them larger, and Torsten was watching carefully, his hands resting gently on the helm as he navigated.

  Felix settled down on a pile of rope close to Torsten—everywhere he went would be close to Torsten, on a boat so small. The air was cold on the river, and the wind was whipping the furs of Torsten’s pelt. A part of Felix wished he was back by the cook fire with a mug of Dot’s tea, but another, larger part of him was undeniably excited that he was on a riverboat, setting sail for, well, he didn’t yet know.

  “Where are we going?” he asked.

  Torsten cleared his throat. “I’m taking you home.”

  Felix blinked, staring at Torsten, not understanding. “What?” he asked slowly. “What did you say?”

  “The things you said to me last night,” Torsten said, his hands tightening on the helm, “you were right.”

  “What?” he asked again.

  “You heard me.”

  Felix had heard, he just hadn’t believed what he’d heard. “S-so you’re—you’re taking me home?” He couldn’t fathom it. It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t possible. “You’re taking me home?”

  “I never wanted a hostage,” Torsten began, staring straight ahead at the water, refusing to look anywhere else. “The others and I had discussed it before, but I didn’t like the idea of it, not unless it was someone we could learn valuable information from, and you,” he frowned, “weren’t that. When they brought you back to camp, it was a mistake, and I didn’t know what to do with you. I thought I’d scare you a little and send you on your way, but then you started playing and—your music.” He gave his head a shake. “It had been so long sin
ce I’d enjoyed something the way I enjoyed you. I mean, your playing.”

  Felix stood, because it had become apparent he was involved in a conversation that required standing. “You told me you would kill me if you didn’t like my playing.” He still couldn’t trust that what he was hearing was true.

  “I know,” Torsten said. He sounded miserable, though there was now a ghost of a smirk on his face. He glanced at Felix. “But I wouldn’t have.”

  “I suppose that would have been a step too far for you!” Felix exclaimed. He was beginning to feel delusional. His surroundings were surreal, the reason for them nonsensical. “You just decided to keep me as your prisoner instead.”

  “Yes,” Torsten said, not raising his voice. “It’s hard to explain, but I was—it sounds crazy when I say it out loud—I was entranced by your playing. I knew it was wrong. I argued with Jossy and the others about it that night. They never should have brought you to camp. But I … I wanted to keep you.” He shook his head. “It was wrong. I know it was wrong. But now I’m making it right.”

  Felix just stared at him.

  “I think I’ve spent too much time in the forest,” Torsten continued. “My manners have eluded me.” He sought Felix’s gaze and held it. “I apologize for everything that’s happened. I’m truly sorry.”

  “I’m not your flautist anymore?” Felix whispered. “You’re really taking me home?”

  “Yes,” Torsten confirmed. “You said you lived near the Guardians’ Guild, and the river is the quickest route there. We can put in downriver from the guild in a few days, and I’ll escort you on foot the rest of the way home. I would have given you a horse and let you go on your own, but there’s a good chance Gethrin’s still in the area. I just,” his voice subsided into a mumble, “wanted you to be safe.”

  Felix was so shocked by Torsten’s offer to walk him home that it took his brain a few seconds longer than normal to process. “Actually,” he said, his turn to avoid eye contact, “when your bandits kidnapped me, I wasn’t going home.”

  “No? Where were you going?”

  Felix pictured auburn hair glinting in the sunshine and smiled sadly. “I was going to the Guardians’ Guild.”

  Torsten smirked. “So you were planning to become an apprentice.”

  “No,” Felix replied, a bit put off that everyone scoffed at the idea of him becoming a guardian. “I was going to be with my friend.”

  And just like that, Torsten’s smirk disappeared. “Merric McClintock, you mean.”

  “Yes. Merric.”

  Felix worried for the helm a brief moment, afraid Torsten might rip it off and leave them directionless on the river. But then he took a deep breath, albeit a painful looking one, and nodded. “Then I will escort you to the Guardians’ Guild.”

  What would it be like, Felix imagined, to be reunited with Merric? He would be shocked to see him alive, of course. He would embrace him, kiss him, want to hear all about his time with the bandits and how he’d escaped and found his way home. Would Felix reveal that he hadn’t escaped, but been escorted home personally by the King of Bandits? Would Torsten be waiting outside the Guild Walls for him, tapping his foot and expecting to be invited in for dinner?

  “Flautist?”

  Felix rubbed at his eyes, his headache from earlier returning. “Are you sure we should be doing this now?” he asked. “Gethrin is still out there, you said so yourself, and he wants your territory, probably now more than ever. You shouldn’t be leaving camp. Maybe we should go back.” He turned toward the shore, but the port where they’d boarded was already indiscernible in the distance.

  “Gethrin should want to regroup with the whole of his people before trying to take our land by force, especially after his humiliation last night. I’ve left Jossy in charge, and he’s more than capable of handling things in my absence. I should be back within the week, and they shouldn’t attack before then.” Torsten looked at Felix. His eyes were cloyingly hazel in the daylight. “Worrying yourself over bandit politics is a strange habit for a flautist, especially one with a guardian friend.”

  “I’m not worried about your bandits,” Felix announced hastily. “It’s just that, if I had to be assaulted on the road, I would much prefer fruit bandits to Gethrin.” He shuddered. “I doubt he’s in the business of feeding hungry villagers.”

  “You won’t need to worry about Gethrin anymore,” Torsten told him. “I don’t think he’s in the business of hanging around the Guardians’ Guild either. Besides, the guildmaster’s son will keep you safe, better than I could.”

  Felix nodded. “Merric is a good man."

  “I’m sure.”

  “If he hadn’t already been injured when your bandits captured me, he would have taken all of them down, and we never would have met.”

  “I’ll have you back with him shortly,” Torsten said.

  “Good.” Felix turned away, staring out at the horizon, where the river seemed to stretch on endlessly. He was almost free. Torsten was taking him back to Merric. He should have been thrilled. He should have been holding his breath and counting the seconds.

  Maybe he was still in shock. Maybe those feelings of relief and excitement would take hold of him soon, once the news had time to sink in. But for now, all Felix felt was a little sick. He tugged at the bandana around his neck, surprised by the softness of the fabric between his fingers, before lifting it to cover his nose. He inhaled deeply.

  ***

  There was something wrong with him.

  Felix had tried to avoid Torsten for the rest of the day, drifting between time in the cabin, sitting alone on the small bed, and playing his flute on the opposite end of the boat. When they’d anchored for the night, they shared a fresh canteen of water, and more of the cheese and dried meat Dot had packed in Torsten’s bag. They ate in silence, which was just as well, as Felix felt too ill for conversation, and when Torsten disappeared below deck to sleep, he’d heaved over the rails. It must have been the ceaseless rocking of the boat at anchor making him feel so sick. That must have been the reason, the sole reason.

  He worried Torsten might return to ask if he was all right, and that made his stomach churn worse. He couldn’t handle Torsten’s apologetic glances anymore, not after a full day of them. It felt like every second, everywhere Felix looked, Torsten was there, watching him with that soft expression, his hair mussed from the river breeze. And even now, with the man out of sight in the cabin below, he was all Felix could see. He could imagine him perfectly, laid out on the bed, which was barely big enough for two, curled on his side. If Felix went down and crawled in beside him, he doubted Torsten would even budge. They seemed to have become quickly accustomed to sleeping side by side.

  Felix knew how it sounded when Torsten was asleep, how his breath evened and deepened. He tried to recall what it had felt like to sleep beside Merric. Gods, they had slept wrapped up in each other’s arms, and he couldn’t even remember how it felt. All he could remember was how it made him restless, like he was waiting for something.

  He sat on the deck, leaning against the side and pulling out his flute to play the melody he’d been working on for Merric. He would play for the stars above and the river below tonight, but soon he would play it for him. For Merric.

  But as he played his stomach clenched, and he stopped, stowing away his flute and holding a hand to his heart. He was cold, exhausted, anxious, and there was a knot of deep, dark dread inside him. He groaned miserably. There was nothing he could do about the dread, but he could fix the exhaustion and cold. Stumbling from the deck, he took the stairs to the cabin, tiptoeing down. Torsten was asleep beneath the bed’s blankets. He had left a candle burning so Felix could find his way.

  He toed off his shoes and slipped the pelt from his shoulders. Soon he would be back with Merric, back with the people he knew to be good and true, but all he could think of was how he might never share a bed with Torsten again. And he wanted more time.

  The bed was just big enough to share wi
thout touching, but Felix found himself cozying close to Torsten anyway, close enough to feel his body heat and hear the familiar in and out of his breathing. He closed his eyes, clutching the bandana around his neck and smelling peppermint.

  There was something very wrong with him

  11 - Captain Ellison Quinn

  He awoke suddenly to a hand clasped over his mouth and Torsten’s face looming above his, and his first thought was surprise that the bandit king, just as Felix had begun to feel safe, had chosen this moment to violate him. He bucked, grabbing at the hand, trying to bite it, but Torsten’s hold was too firm, too strong. Would he kill him after? Cut his throat with the knife he wielded and toss his used, dead body into the cold, dark river below? It was such a strange cruelty that even as the fear rushed through his veins, he was still aware of the pleasant smell of peppermint.

  “We’re being boarded,” came a rough whisper as Torsten bent to his ear. “Get beneath the bed quickly, and don’t make a sound, no matter what you hear.”

  It was dark, save for the lantern light left burning on the stairway. Felix was disoriented as he nodded, then swiftly complied. How he had gone from being curled peacefully against Torsten’s side one moment to crawling beneath a bed the next, he had no idea. But he had no time to figure it out, because seconds later, he heard the sound of boots landing on the deck above him, followed by muffled voices. The stairs creaked. Whoever had come aboard was coming down.

  Too fearful and dazed to do anything but follow Torsten’s orders—something he’d grown used to doing—he covered his mouth with his own hand and tried to be still, even though his heart was trying its best to pound its way out of his chest. His first guess, as he struggled to put his panicked thoughts together, was that the woman with the sigil had betrayed them, despite Torsten’s reassurances, and notified the Royal Guard of their whereabouts, as the bandit king was surely a wanted criminal of Viridor. His second guess was pirates, but even his luck couldn’t be that bad.