by D L Sims
“She did,” Grant replied with a smile. “The lute player was rather handsome as well,” he whispered.
“Zasha. Do you want me to set something up with him? He’s a man with your preferences.”
“Shh,” he hissed, eyeing the other women, but they were still engrossed in their discussion. “Are you trying to get me arrested? I would not fair well in a cell.”
She just shrugged. “I’ll add a cloak to the list of items I will be making for you.”
“How much for the cloak?”
Milden turned with a mischievous grin. “The Master is paying for the Champions clothes for the Trials. He can pay for your new cloak as well.”
“I do like the sound of that.” He pulled her into a hug, her body familiar and warm against his. “Thank you.”
Shortly after, he left the shop and continued on his path to the Manor, which was dark when he arrived. A servant opened the door for him, and he asked where everyone had gone off to.
“There is a theatre troupe in the square, and they have gone to watch. However, Lord Arlen and Mister Lonis are in the drawing room.”
He thanked the servant and strolled through the Manor’s marbled halls, his boots thudding against the floor, and his hands stuffed in the pockets of his trousers. The drawing room was quiet and empty, but evidence that someone had been there was still scattered throughout. There were cards on the table as if they had gotten up halfway through the game. Half drank goblets of wine still sat on the surface, and the decanter was nearby, almost empty. The room smelled of spicy, sweet tobacco; the same type Lonis had smoked when they were teens.
He continued through the house, heading up the stairs to his room. He passed Lonis' door when he heard passionate grunting. His heart seized, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe as he pushed the door open.
Quick, hot, nasty betrayal rushed through him.
Lonis' back, bare and muscled, dripped with sweat, and long dark legs wrapped around his waist as he pumped forward and back. Arlen’s face was contorted in ecstasy. Lonis' head was thrown back, and Grant hated that even now he thought Lonis looked beautiful as jealousy and anger ripped through him.
Bile burned his stomach. Run, his mind yelled, but he couldn’t. He was glued to the spot, hand on the door, eyes wide, watching the horrific scene before him.
Lonis' eyes opened, and his head turned. Honey eyes met Grant’s. The pleasure in his irises gave way to guilt and regret. “Sin.”
His hips stilled, and Arlen looked at him and then at Grant. The bliss on his face was erased, replaced with embarrassment, and his eyes went wide. Pink tinted his cheeks. “Grant--”
The words shattered him, breaking the spell that had held his body frozen, and he ran. He ran as fast as he could down the hall to his room where he threw up in the wastebasket before sinking to the floor, feeling numb and hollow. His skin itched like there were insects crawling all over him, and his eyes burned with tears.
Knocking sounded at his door. “Sin, please, talk to me.”
He didn’t get up. He curled himself into a ball on the sapphire rug in his room, staring at the shadows that the moon painted on the wall.
“Sin. Please.”
He woke to see Ralsair sitting on his bed. She was dressed in her favorite pale pink dress, and her hair was braided with ribbons tied around the ends. “Why are you on the floor?”
“I heard it was better for your back.” He stood, stretching. He sat on the mattress next to her and tugged on her braid. “Did Mikhial do these?”
She nodded.
“He’s getting better.” He crossed the room to the basin. “Why are you not down at breakfast?”
Grant leaned forward, splashing water on his face, hoping to wash away the memory of the night before. Gods, he could still see it. It was already burned into his brain: Lonis' hand on Arlen’s thigh, the look of bliss on their faces. It churned in his gut, and he wished he could hate Lonis, or at least forget the way it hurt to see him fucking someone else, but he couldn’t. For as long as he lived, he could never hate Lonis.
“I want to go riding. There’s a horse in the stables named Sunshine, and Luane says I can ride her.” She jumped up and ran to the window. “Look! You can see her!”
Grant rubbed the water from his face with a large cloth, and then went to the window, where he could see the stable boy leading a beautiful white mare by the reins around a paddock. Ralsair’s face was split with a wide childish grin.
He envied her joy in that moment.
“You know I hate riding, Ral. Why don’t you ask Mikhial?”
“He took the train to Oszerack to see the Vintner’s daughter, and Lonis said he has sparring with Lady Andalen. And Pa is in the city.”
Grant tensed at the mention of his friend. “Was he at breakfast?”
“Pa?”
“Lonis.”
“No. He and Lady Andalen went straight to the combat house after he woke up.”
The combat house was a small building on the other side of the Manor’s property where the Champions could go to practice their hand-to-hand, archery and swordsmanship. Grant and Lonis had spent many afternoons in the house sparring and cracking jokes. He shook his head and turned away from the window.
“Let me get dressed, Ral, and I’ll meet you at the stables in twenty.”
But before Ralsair could leave, Luane’s voice filled the space. “Champions and loved ones, please meet in the drawing room.”
Ralsair frowned at the circle on the wall Luane’s voice projected from. “We’re not going to go riding, are we?”
Grant knelt in front of her, taking her shoulders in his hands. “We will, Ral. I’m sure whatever Luane has to say will only take a few minutes. Go wait in the hall while I get dressed, and we will walk down together.”
He stripped out of his grimy, day-old tunic after the door shut behind Ralsair, and replaced it with one that was the color of beach sand, and then pulled a vest over that. It had been two months since he had dressed in the Oszerackian fashions, and he missed the simplicity of the tunic and vest. He ran his fingers through his still damp hair and then met his sister in the hall so they could walk down together.
Ikar smirked at him as he came into the drawing room, his cool gray eyes on the tan shirt and pants Grant wore. “Feeling nostalgic, Sinero?”
“I’m not the only one,” he commented, looking at Ikar’s boots. “I don’t think you have a need for fur; it’s not that cold yet.”
Ikar crossed his arms over his skinny frame. “Come, sit. Be my companion as Luane bores us with more news.”
He sat as Lonis and Andalen entered the room. Lonis' eyes met his, and he moved to take the chair on Grant’s other side, but Lord Monneaire--who smelled of alcohol despite the early hour-- got to it before him, and Grant let out a relieved breath. Lonis frowned and made his way to another chair on the other side of the room.
Luane and Master Roxell entered, both dressed in their usual attire: a stiff black dress for Luane, and a fine black and silver coat for the Master. Both looked out at them, smiling.
“Ah, she finally brings us good news,” Ikar whispered.
“Welcome to the beginning of the Battle rounds,” Luane exclaimed with a broad smile. “Each one of you has shown tremendous skill thus far in the Trials--”
Grant tuned her out and turned to Ikar. “Should we be offended that she finds such joy in the prospect of us injuring each other?”
He chuckled. “Probably.”
“The battles will start in one week,” The Master continued where Luane left off. “The first battle will be between the Champions with the top two scores!” His smile faltered when no one’s enthusiasm matched his. “We have decided we will throw a ball in the Champions honor tomorrow night at the castle before the battles begin!”
That did pique the interest of the noble families. Chatter buzzed through the room like a swarm of bees, and the air shifted into a jovial light.
“Roz will be pleased,�
� Ikar said, looking at the woman with bright red hair. “She’s been wanting to go to a ball since we were children.” Her eyes met his, and her smile was like the sun. Grant understood why Ikar was so taken with the young woman.
“How are your parents receiving the news that you and Roz are with child?”
“They keep calling it ‘the Bastard,’ but I think Mother is happy. Her parents are overjoyed. I’m just worried about how the kingdom will receive the babe once it’s born.”
“Nobles have been having bastards since the creation of Elthare, Dominikov. You’re just carrying on the tradition.”
Ikar hit Grant’s shoulder. “Roz and I will be married.”
“Before or after the babe is born?”
“Fuck off. And what about you? When are you going to settle down and start having bastards of your own?”
“Maybe never.” Grant searched for Lonis in the crowd and found him near the doors, engaged in a conversation with Arlen. His light mood darkened, and he turned back to Master Roxell. “Maybe I’m destined to be alone forever.”
“And they call me dreary,” Ikar joked, crossing one leg over the other so his boot rested on his knee.
“Who are Champions in first battle?” Lady Dominikov asked in her heavy Lysin accent.
The Master smiled and ran a hand over his beard. “Lady Andalen and Lord Khett.”
The room fell silent.
Chapter
Thirteen
The string quartet played a slow waltz, and the room was lit with bright laughter and conversation. Everyone from Oszerack to Alithane had been invited to the Champions’ Ball, and they had turned up in their finest dresses and coats. Women’s faces were painted with rouge and kohl, enhancing their delicate features. Couples danced to the music, and servants wound through them, carrying trays of food and wine.
Grant, dressed in a sapphire velvet coat with silver buttons and black pants with new leather boots, twirled his sister around the floor; their laughter bounced off the walls as they spun. Mikhial danced with the Vintner’s daughter, Hanali Nihat. And their father had found the company of a Palman school teacher, an elegant woman with graying brown hair.
Grant had not seen Lonis since the previous day. He had been avoiding his old friend, which had not been difficult given the Manor was rather large, but Lonis was somewhere in the ballroom. Grant could feel his friend was close. Lonis' presence was like his heart beating in his chest, pumping in the rhythm in which he breathed. Lonis would always be an extension of his heart, no matter how much that pained him.
The quartet changed songs, easily bleeding from one to the next, and Milden appeared next to him, dressed in a gown that seemed to reflect the lights from the candelabras. She smiled, her brown eyes sparkling with joy. “May I cut in?”
Grant set Ralsair on her feet and held his hand out to Milden. He smiled down at his sister. “Save me a dance for later, Ral.”
She laughed, yelling, “I will!” as she scampered off towards Kal, who was stuffing his face full of bread and grapes. He blushed as Ral came close and pulled him to the dance floor.
Grant turned, sweeping Milden into his arms, and twirled her into the middle of the floor. She giggled, throwing her head back as her small chuckle turned into a laugh, reminding him of their time together: the many afternoons they spent by the river, the kisses they stole behind buildings in the town square, and the first time they had made love. The memories washed over him in a wave, overshadowing the heartbreak when she had refused his hand and left Oszerack and him behind.
They swayed in time to the music, her head coming to rest on the lapel of his coat. “Did you not have a date?” he asked. “I’m sure you would have had many men asking you to the ball.”
“And you would be correct,” she replied. “None that I enjoyed the company of beyond their skills in bed.”
“Not even Yvney?”
“Yvney asked Sherideen Closs.”
“He’s a fool.” He chuckled. “Someday one will capture your heart. I just hope it’s not Yvney.”
“And they’ll want to cage me,” she said, her tone put out.
He thought of the words she had spoken years ago: I am a dove, Grant. I long to be free, to feel the wind upon my wings. I can’t be a dove if I am married; wedding bonds are a cage I will never be captured in.
He tucked his fingers under her chin, making her eyes meet his. “If they love you, they will not dare cage you.” He smirked. “And just to be clear, I still mean someone who isn’t that insufferable oaf.”
She smiled. “You were the only man who has ever truly loved me, Grant.”
He let her put her head back against his chest. His heart ached with the sadness in her voice. “I don’t think that’s true. What about Phinn Monneaire? I’ve seen him staring at you from afar. Your presence makes him blush.”
“Phinn Monneaire!” Her voice was incredulous. “He’s nothing more than a babe!” She hit him in the chest, which made him laugh. “Now, stop saying such ridiculous things, and let me enjoy our waltz.”
They danced in silence, enjoying the familiarity of each other’s company. When the song ended, Milden stepped out of his arms with misty eyes. “Thank you, Grant,” she said with a sad smile.
“Millie?” He took a step forward, his hand outstretched. His heart broke for her, but he did not know how to help. “What happened? Did I do something wrong?”
She shook her head. “You did everything right. You’re perfect.” Her hands clamped over her mouth, trying to hold in a sob, and she scurried away from him, pushing through the throng of bodies until she disappeared behind the heavy dark wooden doors.
Grant’s heart felt heavy as it pounded against his ribs with sorrow and pain and the love he had felt for Milden all those years ago.
He searched for his sister and found her still dancing with Kal, which made him smile, and he decided to let her enjoy her friend’s company for a while longer before he stole her away again. He wove his way through bodies, clapping Ikar on the shoulder as he danced with Roslen, and rolling his eyes at Master Roxell, who was dancing with a woman who looked to have just stepped foot into her womanhood.
“Come to my estate. I have a collection of pottery from the Republic of Kehan. Given to me by the president himself,” he heard Master Roxell say to the woman as he passed.
Yvney sat in the corner, drinking by himself, watching the festivities with a dark expression. The girl he brought with him was dancing with another gentleman not too far away.
“Have you seen Milden?” Yvney called.
“No,” Grant replied and headed to the gardens. They were lit with torches lining the stone paths, fountains spewing water to the sky, and the smell of flowers perfumed the air. Couples meandered through the gardens, canoodling under the light of the rising moon.
“You’ve been avoiding me, Sin.”
Grant closed his eyes at the sound of Lonis' voice. Pain--white, hot and sharp--shot through his heart. But he had missed Lonis over the last day. He missed the familiar presence at his side, and the way he could count on Lonis to laugh at his jokes when no one else would. “You’re correct.”
Grant lowered himself to the stone edge of a fountain. The golden cherub’s horn spouted water into the large pool at his back. He looked up at Lonis and wished he hadn’t. Lonis was wearing a coat and pants colored blue and silver, his raven hair was oiled and slicked back from his face, making his high cheekbones seem sharper.
Gods. He swallowed. Looking at Lonis was like looking at the snow-covered trees in the winter. All at once: it calmed him, filled him with serenity and took his breath away.
“We should talk, Sin.”
He turned his gaze out to the gardens where two lovers were kissing near the apple trees. “I don’t wish to speak of that night. It’s still burned into my mind, playing on loop. It fucking taunts me.”
Lonis sat on the lip of the fountain next to Grant and plucked at a loose string on his pants, but said nothing.<
br />
“I apologize if I ruined that night for you, Lonnie.”
Lonis' smile was lopsided, not quite full, but present. “You didn’t. I’m happy you walked in when you did.”
Anger burned through him, and his eyes burned like the Infernal Flames as he glared at Lonis. “You wanted me to see that?”
“Of course not.” Lonis took a coin out of his pocket and flipped it into the fountain. “Your intrusion cut things short.”
Grant stood and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I apologize that you did not get to finish, Lonis!” He rounded on his friend, his hands shaking, his blood boiling. “Please, go find Arlen and continue! I’ll keep guard! We wouldn’t want anyone else interrupting, would we?”
A pain developed just behind Grant’s eyebrow. He could see Lonis' sweaty back. His hips thrusting. Grant wanted to scream.
Lonis jumped up from the fountain, his hands up in surrender. “Don’t twist my words, Sin. That’s not what I was inferring. I don’t wish to continue what I started with Arlen. Tell me why it bothers you.” Lonis came closer, grabbing the lapels of his jacket, pulling Grant against him. His breath fanned Grant’s face, smelling of wine. “Tell me, Sin. Tell me what exactly you want from me.”
It would be so easy to press even closer and--.
Grant huffed and pulled away from Lonis. “I don’t want anything, Lonnie. I hope you and Arlen are very happy together.”
Grant threw up his hands and stalked away.
Arlen drank another goblet of wine. All around him people danced and gossiped, enjoying themselves, but their laughter was like an annoying pest buzzing in his ear that he wished to squash under his boot.
Lady Andalen and Lord Khett. The Master’s voice had been ringing in his head since the previous morning, mocking him.
The two people he cared most about in the world were going to fight like animals vying for territory. Punching, kicking, mangling. The only rule: Do not kill your opponent. He could not bear to see either of their pain.
