The King's Whisper

by T. S. Cleveland

  “Finally,” sighed Quinn. “I trust you know how the rest of this goes. Walk, fall, drown. Death for you, coin for me.”

  Torsten turned to face Felix. Water dripped from his hair, and the charcoal around his eyes was hopelessly smeared. Felix was having a difficult time believing any of this was actually happening, but Torsten appeared resigned to their fate.

  “I’m sorry,” Torsten said quietly. “This isn’t how I wanted to do this.”

  Felix heard himself laugh. “It’s not how I wanted—” His response was cut off when Torsten’s mouth pressed fervently against his own. His lips were warm and soft and urgent, and Felix barely had time to respond to them before they were gone.

  “Sorry,” Torsten said with a smirk, his face still close.

  “For the love of the Gods,” the captain cursed. “My apologies for rushing this tender moment, but I really am a busy man.”

  Felix heard nothing but the sound of Torsten’s breathing, felt nothing but the remembered press of his warm mouth. “It’s okay,” was the last thing he said before Quinn leapt upon the plank and gave them each a mighty shove.

  They plummeted.

  The ship was even taller when one was falling off it.

  They hit the water.

  Felix went under, bobbing up a moment later, the current pulling him along. He couldn’t see Torsten, the water was freezing, and he breathed in a frigid lungful of air before he went back down. He couldn’t see beneath the water. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t swim with his hands tied. He surfaced a second time and was hit by a log being towed by the current behind him, and as he kicked to stay afloat, his ropes caught against a jagged edge, where a branch must have broken off. A few wiggles and his bindings were shredded, as easily as if a knife had cut them.

  He tried to grab hold of the log, but it rolled beneath his weight and he was plunged back beneath the water. But now he could move his arms, and he swam, fighting his way back to the surface, gasping and sputtering. He could make out the ship moving away from him, the lantern lights little yellow dots in the distance.

  “Torsten!” he screamed, struggling to stay above the surface as the current carried him further downstream. “Torsten!” He looked around, desperately searching for his head in the water, but it was hard to see. It was hard to even think clearly enough to keep moving, to keep himself afloat, let alone find a bandit in a cold, dark river. And then he remembered Torsten’s hands were bound. He wouldn’t be able to swim. He wouldn’t have the time Felix had prayed for. He—

  Something slammed into Felix from behind, and he yelped, going back under and swallowing water. His hands reached out automatically, hoping to grab onto another log, but instead he grabbed a handful of bandit. The river had pushed Torsten right into him.

  His eyes were closed—he was either unconscious or dead—but Felix didn’t let him go. He hooked his arm around Torsten’s waist, keeping his head above water, and started swimming towards the nearest bank, kicking his legs furiously, grateful beyond measure for the summer his mother had taught him to swim. His muscles burned, despite the cold making him numb. It seemed too far away. It felt like they’d never make it. He wasn’t even sure if he was moving his legs after a time.

  When his feet touched the ground, he hardly noticed at first. Not until he tripped over himself and fell forward onto his knees did he realize he’d reached the bank. He dragged Torsten from the water and collapsed beside him. He was still, and he wasn’t breathing. Felix rolled him onto his side and hit him on the back, hard.

  “Torsten!” he yelled, giving him a vicious shake. “Torsten!”

  He hit him again.

  Torsten’s eyes fluttered open and he proceeded to cough up half of the river while Felix held him tightly by his shoulders. And when he was finished, when Felix was certain Torsten wasn’t going to die, he fell to the ground beside him and promptly lost consciousness.

  12 - Thawing

  When Felix awoke, he was exhausted and shivering violently, but he was also aware of heat warming his cheeks and chest and feet. A hand cupped his face, large and familiar, and coaxed him to open his eyes. Before him was Torsten, naked and wild-eyed, and behind him was a fire. It appeared that, while Felix had slipped uselessly into oblivion, the bandit had broken free of his ropes, started a fire, and stripped himself of all clothes, which were perched beside the flames to dry. A cruel breeze on his back informed him an instant later, along with the second set of damp clothes sitting alongside Torsten’s, that Felix was naked, as well.

  “Wh-what—” he stuttered, eyes blurring on a bare chest as Torsten slipped behind him. “What’s happening? What are you doing?”

  Warmth encompassed his back as Torsten’s arms slipped around him. “Keeping you warm until our clothes dry,” he mumbled at Felix’s neck.

  “Oh,” Felix whispered. It was for the best that he was too tired to protest, or blush, or do anything at all besides scoot further back into the warmth of Torsten’s body and fall asleep to the beat of his heart.

  ***

  Again, Felix was woken before he’d even come to terms with being asleep, and Torsten was no longer pressed against him, but leaning over him, gently shaking his shoulder. Felix squinted up at him, but instead of catching sight of bare skin, Torsten was dressed back in his damp clothing, lacking his usual pelt and boots. Held in his hands were Felix’s own clothes. The fire was still crackling, but now that Torsten wasn’t holding him, he was extremely aware he was lying on the ground naked. And it was cold.

  “What are you doing?” he grumbled, teeth clattering.

  “We can’t sleep out here,” Torsten replied. He pressed the clothes to Felix’s chest, and they were drier than he’d expected, thanks to Torsten’s forethought to lay them by the fire before they’d dozed, but still undeniably damp. “Get dressed so we can go.”

  “Where do you suggest we go in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere?” he asked, stumbling to his feet and struggling back into his oversized shirt. It was unpleasant, pulling the clothing back onto his body, and he grimaced at the instant chill that washed over him.

  “It’s not so late,” Torsten pointed out, his head craned back to examine the sky. “And if I’m right and we were only swept a mile downriver from where I anchored, we’re not in the middle of nowhere.” He looked at Felix with a weary smile. “I think I know exactly where we are. Come on.”

  Felix’s hands shook as they tried, unsuccessfully, to tie the sash around his waist, and he was unable to tell, in his current state, whether they trembled from the cold or the aftermath of nearly dying. “I can’t,” he muttered, fingers fumbling, “get this to work.”

  Torsten stepped up to him and took the sash in his own hands, pulling it snug around Felix’s waist and knotting it skillfully. Felix swayed in his proximity, steadied himself by clasping his freezing fingers around Torsten’s forearms. “A pirate made us walk the plank,” he said, a burst of laughter coming out like a sob. “How are we alive?”

  “Because you saved us, Flautist,” Torsten answered, clasping his hands over Felix’s shoulders.

  Felix shook his head, slightly stunned, and stared into Torsten’s eyes. It felt like a dream, the ordeal of the pirate ship, and he could barely recall anything that had happened once they’d hit the water. But it was more the memory of the plank that bothered him, and whether or not Torsten had actually kissed him. It didn’t seem outside the realm of possibility that Felix had dreamed that part. His eyes wandered to Torsten’s mouth, which was curved into a worried frown.

  “Don’t forget your socks,” those lips said, and Felix blinked in confusion.

  “Huh?”

  “Your socks,” Torsten repeated, bending down for a moment and coming back up with a soggy set of socks.

  “Oh,” Felix said, accepting the socks but refusing to put them back on; they were still much too wet. He rolled them up and stuffed them in his satchel with a sigh, trying to forget about the kiss that may or may not have
happened. It was then he realized something was missing. Inside his satchel was his old flute. The silver one was gone. “That pirate stole my flute!” he declared.

  “That pirate nearly killed us,” Torsten said, gesturing for Felix to follow. “Come on. We better start walking.”

  “That flute was a gift,” Felix fretted as they began their trek through the trees. The ground was cold and he was beginning to wonder how long he could possibly last walking barefoot. But he only had a short time to worry, because after traveling only a few minutes, lights appeared. “Am I hallucinating?”

  Torsten blinked a few times and examined the slew of houses and shops ahead of them. “I was right,” he breathed, leading them from the woods. “I wasn’t sure, but I’d hoped. Of all the places to come ashore,” he said, turning to Felix, “I believe we’ve washed up beside another port.”

  It was a riverside village, far larger than the one they’d departed, and apparently a prosperous one. The road was built of cobblestone and wide enough for two wagons, and the shops and houses alongside appeared well built and tended. And though most of the windows they passed were either dark or dimly lit, given the late hour, they soon came upon a large, brightly lit tavern, through whose windows dozens of patrons could be clearly seen.

  It was not just good luck, it was eerie, and had either of them been in a state to properly assess the odds of being where they now were, it might have made Felix realize a thing or two sooner rather than later. But as it was, they were cold, tired, damp, and still recovering from the shock of having almost died. So despite the strangeness of finding exactly what they needed when they needed it, neither commented on it, but hurried forward excitedly.

  Outside the tavern, Torsten stopped. “They took my pack,” he said. “I have no coin at all. Do you have any?”

  Felix laughed. “You might recall Jossy sticking his hand down my trousers and stealing my coin purse, so no.” Torsten’s frown was impressive. “What’s wrong? Is the King of Bandits worried about not being able to pay?”

  For the first time since he’d pulled him from the river, Torsten’s eyebrows came together in a scowl. It was a relief, honestly; Felix had begun to fear they’d frozen on his forehead.

  “I’m not going to steal from these people,” Torsten said anxiously. “But without coin, our only hope for bread and board is if they hire us in the kitchens.”

  Felix put a hand on Torsten’s chest to silence him, and it worked wonderfully, but it also made him forget what he’d been about to say, so he took his hand away and cleared his throat, trying to forget the feeling of a solid chest beneath his fingers. “We’re not going to be washing pots or stealing from anyone,” he assured, reaching into his satchel and pulling out his old flute. “See?”

  “Are you going to hit the owner over the head?”

  “Yes,” Felix said. “With my talent.”

  He’d done it countless times before, trading his skill for food and lodging, and he could do it now just as easily, despite having no shoes and looking like a half-drowned kitten. After a straightening of his shirt and a tightening of his trouser sash, Felix combed fingers through the untamed curls on his head and rubbed his eyes to remove any remnants of charcoal. He hesitated with the bandana, which had remained around his neck, even when he’d been otherwise naked, and decided to keep it. It wasn’t as if either of them would be mistaken for bandits now, and he liked it where it was.

  He looked at Torsten questioningly. “Do I look presentable?” he asked.

  Torsten put a finger to his mouth, wetting it, and then reached out for Felix’s face. “You have a smudge,” he said, and when he touched the soft skin above Felix’s lip, the memory of their kiss came crashing back. Felix’s face blazed bright red and he quickly turned away. Now was not the time to think of kissing. Straightening his shoulders and wiping at his mouth, he led the way inside the tavern, feeling Torsten behind him, sticking to his shadow.

  The tavern was full, and most every eye landed on them when they entered, but it was a port village, and the folks there were used to strangers coming in for a drink. The attention spared them didn’t last long before everyone went back to the business of loud talk and swilling mugs of ale.

  “So many people, and most of them in their cups. Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” Torsten muttered at his back, and Felix turned to him. He was looking about nervously, definitely uncomfortable, and Felix fought the urge to touch him again, to comfort him.

  “You’ve just been living among your people in the quiet of the forest too long. You said so yourself,” Felix reasoned. “These are my people, the rowdy drunks in public taverns. Why don’t you wait here while I find whoever’s in charge? I’ll be right back. Try not to threaten anyone.”

  “Fine.” Torsten crossed his arms and leaned against the wall by the door, trying to make himself inconspicuous. It didn’t exactly work, given that he was like a beacon of gorgeousness, but Felix figured he’d be all right on his own for a few minutes. He gave him a reassuring smile before stalking off to find the tavern owner.

  He found her by the kitchen. She was younger than he’d expected, with hair done up in ribbons and an apron around her waist. She wasn’t the stereotypical tavern owner, but Felix had enough experience to know the look of someone in charge. She was in the middle of hollering orders back to her cooks, and he waited patiently for her to finish before tapping her innocuously on the shoulder.

  “Pardon me,” he said, exaggerating the innocence of his voice.

  She spun around and took note of him. She had a streak of flour on her forehead. “Need a room?”

  The fact that she hadn’t made a face at his state of dress told Felix all he needed to know about her. Namely, that she wasn’t cruel, and that meant he had a proper shot at getting what he wanted. “I do,” he admitted. He lifted his flute. “My companion and I suffered a misfortune on the river. We’ve lost everything. I was hoping we could come to an arrangement.”

  “So you can’t pay?” she asked, eyes on the flute, curious.

  “I can pay in music,” Felix offered. “I’ll play as long as you like in exchange for a room for the night.”

  “It’s been a while since we’ve had a flautist come through here,” she said. “And folks do like a good flautist. Are you any good?”

  He smiled confidently. “I’m very good.”

  She wiped a hand across her brow as she considered him. “Yeah, alright,” she said. “I’ve got a spare room for you if you can get this lot off their feet and dancing. People always buy more drinks when they’re dancing.”

  “I can get them dancing,” he assured her.

  “Okay.” She turned to take a newly filled tray from the kitchen. “The stage is over there. Have at it, Flautist.”

  Felix’s eyes immediately sought out Torsten. He was right where he’d left him, leaned up by the door, but he wasn’t alone anymore. In Felix’s absence, he’d become surrounded by a small group of women. It would have been funny, except that Torsten looked terrifically uncomfortable, and there was a particularly bold woman—far too young and obviously drunk—sliding her arm around his waist.

  Felix rushed over, finessing his way through the suitors, and with apologies all around, grabbed Torsten’s hand. He heard Torsten sigh in relief as he led them away.

  “Here’s the deal. If I can get people dancing, we’ll have a room for the night,” Felix said once they reached the small stage. It was a modest platform, providing just enough elevation to be seen throughout the tavern, and Felix stepped onto it gracefully.

  Torsten stared up at him, and it was difficult to read the expression on his face.

  “What?” Felix asked.

  Torsten squinted suspiciously. “I’m just wondering if you can actually play without your special flute to bedazzle everyone. Of course, if you still had it, I suppose everyone would be asleep in a few minutes.”

  “You’re rude,” Felix countered. “Has anyone ever told you that?”


  “And you’re ruder than you think you are,” Torsten returned, smirking.

  Felix chuckled, because maybe that was true. But one thing was definitely true, and that was the fact that he didn’t need a magic flute to entertain a room. He brought his old instrument to his mouth and began to play. Instantly, he had the tavern’s attention, and he used it wisely, falling into a folk favorite that soon had the patrons clapping along. Felix stomped his foot to encourage them, and his audience copied the move, stomping their feet and whistling as he increased his pace.

  He felt a little crazed, truth be told, standing on stage in a strange place, barefoot, playing his flute, when he’d so recently been held at sword point by pirates. He should have felt worse than he did. He should have been too drained to play properly, but he wasn’t. Between the crowd and the fire roaring in the hearth, his bones were warming, and his fingers were moving blithely over the familiar keys of his long-trusted flute. He tossed the hair from his eyes and checked on Torsten, who was standing firmly at the foot of the stage, still wearing that damn smirk.

  It wasn’t long before the bold young woman from whom Torsten had recently been rescued approached again, and this time she was offering a drink, the laces of her bodice partially undone to reveal ample cleavage. Felix watched them closely as he continued to play. Torsten frowned as the mug was pressed into his hand, and then the drunken woman—who, much to Felix’s pleasure, was only moderately attractive—clinked their mugs together and proceeded to down the entirety of her drink. Without means of a proper escape, Torsten took a sip from his own mug. Then another. Then the woman grabbed his hand and pulled him to the floor for a dance.

  And because Torsten had accused him of being rude, Felix increased the pace of the song as revenge, trying not to laugh as the bandit king was caught up in a spin by his partner. Torsten looked unhappy by this turn of events, but after glaring up at Felix and meeting his amused eyes, he continued dancing. It wasn’t long until the floor was filled with dancing couples.