by Hanna Dare
“Until we pass out,” Marius said as Tris tried not to choke on a mouthful of the strong and bitter drink. “Yonah here brews his own out back. Don’t worry, no one’s gone blind yet.”
“Maybe I’ll just focus on my cards,” Tris said, gathering them up. “What are we playing?”
The evening went on pleasantly. Tris didn’t play too badly, and he found that the drink improved the more he sipped. Yonah both lost and drank consistently until Tris felt guilty about taking advantage of him and kept folding his cards early. Marius had seemed not to have any worries in that regard and set about cleaning Yonah out. He soon had a tidy stack of coins in front of him on the table.
“So,” Tris said trying to distract Marius, “how did you get that scar?”
Marius raised an eyebrow above his scarred cheek. “How’d you think?”
Tris considered the question seriously. “It’s too small for a dragon’s claw, right? Or a sword.”
Marius grinned. “Points to you. Knife fight in a tavern. Over a woman.”
“Women,” Yonah said, more to his cup than to the room. He looked up blearily. “Was she a redhead? They’re always trouble.”
“No,” Marius said, seeming untroubled by the memory. “Black hair. Dark as a raven’s wing and all that other bullshit. Maybe that was the trouble — she didn’t like my poetry and I didn’t like the way she sucked other men’s dicks.”
“Oh,” Tris said uncomfortably, “so it’s not a happy story, then.”
“Are stories about scars usually happy?”
Tris wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but he couldn’t help but ask, “Did, uh, the person who did that — cut you — did you kill him?”
Marius glanced over at Tris. “I don’t go in for revenge. It’s always messy and rarely profitable. He was faster with a blade and she clearly preferred him, so I left. It was a good lesson about keeping my guard up. In knife fights and in love.” He winked at Yonah as he laid his cards on the table. The worn cards showed a pair of queens. “Beware the raven-haired woman.”
Tris nodded and sighed in relief that the story hadn’t turned bloodier. Yonah, however, groaned as he lost even more coins to Marius. He pushed them over and then took a long drink. “Redheads are still more trouble.”
They sat in silence while Marius shuffled the deck and Yonah poured himself another drink. Tris lifted his own cup and was surprised to find it was nearly empty. Might as well, he figured, and drank it down while Marius dealt out the cards.
“Blondes,” Tris said unexpectedly, surprising himself. “I like blondes.”
The other two nodded and accepted this without comment. Tris was grateful he hadn’t blushed, because the hair he’d been thinking of at that moment was not some golden waves, but rather Ormur’s tight curls. He’d known people who’d gone gray early, but that was nothing like the near-white hair Ormur had. It was practically silver. Tris had only seen his hair by lamplight and wondered what it looked like under the moonlight.
Marius kicked his leg under the table. His smile was playful, but Tris’s calf smarted.
“It’s your move,” Marius said.
By the end of the second week of Tris’s employment, Marius was bored enough to offer to give him sword-fighting lessons.
Tris tried not to sound like an eager child. “With real swords?”
“No, because odds are, you’d drop it and end up stabbing yourself in the foot within five minutes.”
Instead, they stood on the grass in front of the mansion and swung at each other with wooden swords, or sticks roughly hewn into a sword-like shape. Marius had taken the time to wrap the ends with leather to approximate a hilt and grip, which Tris thought was nice, but any illusions he had about the hunter’s possible kindness disappeared as soon as the lesson started. Marius took every opportunity to cut inside Tris’s reach to swat at his arms and backside. Tris had to bite his tongue to stop himself from yelping at the stinging blows.
“You’re slow,” Marius said.
“Slow and steady gets the job done,” Tris huffed as he tried to get his makeshift weapon up in time to block Marius’s strikes.
“Any girl who told you that was trying to spare your feelings.” Marius snorted. “And slow and steady in a sword fight gets you dead.”
“Actually, it was my ma who always said that.”
Marius groaned. “There’s no sport in mocking you — you make it too easy. I should skewer you for real and save all that innocence from being corrupted.”
Tris wanted to protest that he was a man of the world — or at least a very tiny part of it — but he was too busy trying to fend off a sudden flurry of blows from Marius. Tris knew Marius only had the one weapon, but it seemed like he was surrounded by a swarm of swords. The onslaught left Tris winded and sweating while Marius’s hair wasn’t even mussed.
“I doubt you’ll ever have much in the way of speed,” Marius pronounced at the end of the training session. He rolled his shoulders out as Tris flung himself on the ground in exhaustion. “But you’re strong, I’ll give you that. If you manage to land a blow you need to make it count; you’ll likely never get a second chance.”
“That was just my first lesson,” Tris protested between gasps. “I’ll get better.”
“You think so?” Marius rested the sword on his shoulder and smoothed his mustache. “Well, live in hope, kid. I suppose I don’t have anything better to do.”
After the training session, Tris went to wash. It was a warm day and he was warmer still, so rather than go inside he followed one of the forest trails to a pond he’d found his first week at the mansion. It was a quiet spot, only disturbed by the croak of frogs and an occasional pair of ducks. Green curling ferns and smooth rocks lined the edges of the pool.
Tris stripped off his clothes and waded in, gasping at the chill of the water. The water was murky enough that he couldn’t see what his toes were squishing into, but the pond smelled clean and a rocky stream brought in even fresher water. By the middle of the pool, the water reached his chest and he dunked his head, scrubbing at his hair.
It had felt good to play at swords with Marius, even if Tris ended up bruised all over. It reminded him that his body was for more than carrying trays and emptying chamberpots. The water swirled around his nether regions and, despite the cold water, his cock and balls stirred at the feel of a touch other than his own hand. He had been traveling a long time and his bed had been a lonely one for even longer.
He pulled himself out of the water and sat on the grass, letting the sun warm his skin. He still had the beginnings of an erection and there was no one around.
Tris took hold of himself, sucking in a breath at his cold hand and letting his eyes drift shut. He stroked himself. Tris’s fantasies for bringing himself off quickly usually were a mix of breasts, lips and thighs, but quite suddenly there was a long-fingered hand. And brown eyes with a hint of gold, narrowed in what could be anger… or interest.
Tris stopped. What was he doing?
He stood up and flung himself into the water with a splash, annoying the ducks and doing nothing for his own frustration. He did, however, get an idea.
“What’s that?” Ormur asked without interest as Tris lugged a large bucket of water into the room.
“It’s for you.”
“So I can drown myself? Thank you, that’s just what I was hoping for.”
“Actually, I thought you might like a wash.” Ormur’s eyes narrowed suspiciously and Tris added hastily, “Not that you smell bad or anything.” He’d never been close enough to tell what Ormur smelled like, what with the bars between them and the other man’s tendency to stab and throw things. “I thought it might be nice.”
Tris had set the water to heat in the kitchen while ignoring Helda, who was certain Tris was going to leave a trail of spilled water through the house. She hadn’t let him use her biggest pot either, so it took some time to fill up the bucket, but the water was still hot, with steam curling over the edges like curi
ous fingers, by the time he finally got it to the cell. He’d managed to slosh only a little on himself and none on the floor and was feeling rather proud of that minor accomplishment.
Ormur folded his arms across his narrow chest. “And are you going to open the cell door so I can get to that bucket?”
Tris’s face dropped. “No, I asked the Earl, but he wouldn’t let me have the key.”
Ormur’s top lip curled. “Remember how I initially described you as useless?”
“Sure.” Tris moved the bucket next to the bars. “It was the first time you ever threw something at me. A fellow remembers something special like that.”
Ormur’s lips pursed a little, but he did not look displeased.
Tris pulled out a cloth and soap. “I figured you could reach through the bars. Sorry, it’s the best I could come up with.”
“You aren’t giving me much faith in your escape plan.” But he stood up and stripped off his tunic. There was suddenly quite a lot of smooth brown skin and Tris quickly turned away to grab the broom just as Ormur’s hands moved to the fastening of his trousers.
“I can bring you some fresh clothes, if you’d like,” Tris said as he set himself to sweeping. So much sweeping. “Get the others washed.”
He didn’t turn around, not even when Ormur’s clothes hit him in the head; he just bent down to scoop up the clothes where they’d fallen.
“There’s a waterfall,” Ormur said musingly as water splashed in the bucket. “Not far from here. The water plunges down so clean and pure and it feels like rain against my body. I could spend all day under that waterfall.” There was a long pause and Tris could practically hear the curl of Ormur’s lip. “This does not remind me of that at all.”
Tris kept his back to Ormur, but it seemed like he could picture every long-fingered squeeze of the cloth and the slow drag of it over skin. Tris shook his head. He was being ridiculous. A man was simply having a wash and Tris was acting like he’d just wandered into a brothel.
Tris cleared his throat. “Right then. Back with fresh clothes.”
He made a quick escape, moving like the sound of gently splashing water was chasing him down the hall.
His next problem was finding clothes for Ormur. Helda had him dump the used tunic and trousers into a basket and sighed. “I’ll get the girls to wash them tomorrow. Their day is full enough without you throwing extra work at them.”
“But he needs something else to wear — he can’t sit around naked all day.” Tris felt himself blushing as he said it — and pictured it — but fortunately Helda wasn’t looking at him, instead frowning down at the basket as though the clothes had personally offended her.
“If the Earl wants to provide his… guest with clothing he’ll do so. It’s not like I keep a spare wardrobe of men’s clothes on hand.”
Tris didn’t want to think about what Marius would say if he asked to borrow something, and Yonah’s clothes always smelled like horses and sour sweat. “What then?”
Helda shrugged. “Makes no difference to me. It’s none of my concern.”
Tris groaned with annoyance but finally took the stairs up to his attic room to go through his things. His clothes would both hang off of Ormur and be too short, but he had a spare set of trousers with a drawstring at the waist. He added a light wool shirt and, with a little twist of spite, the sweater Ormur had mocked in the past.
When he returned, Ormur was wrapped in a sheet. It was somehow more tantalizing than having him naked in the way that it clung to the long lines of his body and how the parted folds revealed random glimpses of skin. Tris swallowed and pushed the clothes through the bars. He also noted how much water and spilled on the floor and wished he kept a mop in here along with the broom.
Ormur raised his eyebrows as he shook out the clothing and set it on the pallet. He held up the sweater and started to open his mouth.
“Not a word,” Tris said. “My mother knitted that for me.”
“It’s very… fuzzy,” Ormur managed.
“I don’t want you catching cold.”
“What does it matter? I’ll likely die in this horrible room. Why not speed up the process?”
“I told you,” Tris said. “I’m getting you out.”
“So tell me, what exactly are you doing to achieve that?”
Tris had been studying the cell door every day. The problem was he had no idea how to pick locks and the hinges looked like they’d need special tools to take apart. He’d poked around the stable looking for a file or some-such but had no luck. He was thinking of getting Yonah drunk so Tris could make off with his tools — once he figured out where the tools were kept.
Ormur folded his arms — revealing a sharp stretch of collarbone and a considerable amount of bare chest — and regarded him dryly as Tris explained his various efforts. “Perhaps using the key would be a simpler solution to the problem?”
“I don’t know where it is,” Tris admitted.
Ormur spoke as though Tris was a very small and slow child. “Don’t you think that Earl of yours would have it? He’s the one who locked me in here in the first place.”
“I know that and he’s not my Earl, at least not anymore.”
“You’re always fawning over him—” Ormur made his eyes go wide and raised his voice to a squeak, “‘Yes m’lord, no, m’lord. May I fetch you my balls on a plate, m’lord?’”
“Excuse me for being raised with manners.” Tris knew he shouldn’t let Ormur annoy him, but he was being very annoying, especially since Tris had spent half the day running around for him. “And I don’t sound like that!”
“You do. I can hear your simpering voice echoing down the hall.”
“Maybe I’m buttering him up so he trusts me and I can get that key.”
“So get it already!” Ormur snapped.
Tris felt his cheeks flush, with anger this time instead of the usual embarrassment. “If you were any kind of dragon, you’d be able to save yourself.”
“Clearly I’m not,” Ormur said with a snarl, “because if I were, the first thing I’d do is set fire to you.” He swept the clothes Tris had brought him to the cell floor. “The second thing is burn that ugly sweater.”
“You’re no dragon,” Tris agreed hotly. “I’ve met a dragon and he was strong and kind and— and not annoying.” Though he’d never exactly had a real conversation with Ejoler, he just assumed.
Ormur rolled his eyes. “Like a dragon would deign to spend time with some servant boy.”
Tris didn’t know what ‘deign’ meant, but he felt stung. “There’s nothing wrong with being a servant, but I’m a shepherd. I’ve told you that.”
“Really? I’d hardly have guessed with all the chattering you do about sheep and mountains and fucking wool. You never shut up!”
His voice rose to a shout at the end, but Tris didn’t flinch. He matched Ormur’s glare.
“And no matter how much I talk, you still don’t know anything about me. So fuck you, Ormur. You can rot in there for all I care.”
He stalked out, slamming the door behind him. But in the hallway he made himself stop. Tris kicked the wall, then straightened his shoulders and turned back.
In the cell, Ormur was sitting on the pallet, his knees drawn up under the sheet. He looked very young, but also very angry. “Leave me alone. I prefer to rot in peace without your stupid face watching me all the time.”
“So you know,” Tris said evenly. “I didn’t mean it. You should be mad — at me and everything else. What’s happened to you isn’t right. I’m sorry I lost my temper.”
Ormur’s eyebrows drew together. “Are you pitying me now?”
“No, just saying that I’m gonna get the key no matter what. I will get you out, I swear.”
Ormur continued to watch him warily. Tris went up to the bars and bent to retrieve the bucket of water and the wet cloth and soap. “‘Course I’m not saying I wouldn’t mind if you were a little nicer.” He straightened up to meet Ormur’s gaze. There
was no more anger in his brown eyes, only interest and a hint of gold. “Just a little, mind you, I wouldn’t want it going to my head.”
Ormur’s lips curved slightly. “I’ll take it under consideration.”
Tris had a brilliant plan to befriend Tomas, the Earl’s valet. “You know, Tomas, I’ve always dreamed of being a valet, so if you need any help — like carrying things for the Earl or sorting out the Earl’s keys…”
Unfortunately, the man was fairly deaf, so he only smiled and patted Tris on the arm.
Instead, Tris took to spending his every spare moment lurking outside the Earl’s study, hoping that he’d be around when the man made one of his rare appearances. His efforts were rewarded after three days of boring watching, when the Earl unlocked the door and stuck his head out. He frowned when he saw Tris, the blue velvet cap he wore slightly askew on his gray hair.
“Where’s Tomas?”
“I don’t know, m’lord.” Though he had helped Tomas upstairs a short time ago for a nap.
“Bring me tea,” the Earl barked and shut the door.
Tris was so eager he all but ran to the kitchen and back. When he knocked politely and the Earl called to him to enter, he was pleased to find it was unlocked. Now if only the Earl would forget to lock the door more often.
He brought the tea tray in and set it down carefully on the small round table. The Earl was bent over his desk.
“How is your charge?” The Earl asked without looking up.
It took Tris a moment to realize he was talking about Ormur. “He’s the same, m’lord. A man. One who’s frustrated and scared.” He hesitated. “Have you, uh, wondered if he may not be what you think he is?”
The Earl dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “They’re cunning creatures. Watch for any signs.”
“It’s just that—”
“Well?” The Earl snapped his fingers. “Bring me the cup.”
Tris poured the tea. It wasn’t the kind made with herbs that he was used to, but instead a rich, flower-scented liquid, undoubtedly imported from some faraway land and likely very expensive. He carefully set the cup down near the Earl’s elbow.
