Brute

by Kim Fielding

“But someone gave us this key. There must be a reason. Someone must—”

  “A trap.”

  Maybe. But Aric wouldn’t throw the key in the well. He would hide it instead, tucking it into that little pile of handkerchiefs left behind by a previous resident and now lying in the bottom drawer of Aric’s dresser. But gods, it pained him so much to see that narrow strip of skin obscured by iron again, to see the chains trailing from Gray’s neck and limbs as solidly as always.

  Gray sat down in his corner and drew his knees to his chest. He rested his cheek on his knees and rocked himself very slightly.

  “I’ll go fetch dinner,” Aric said softly. “But Gray? It’s not impossible.”

  ALYS smiled at him as she handed him dinner. “Are you all right, Brute? You look a little… worried.”

  “I think I just have a lot on my mind.”

  Her smile disappeared, and her gaze strayed in the direction of the Brown Tower. “Is he…. Is there a problem? Brute, I told you to be careful.”

  “I am careful and there’s no problem.” He tried to look untroubled. “I got my new clothes today.”

  She blinked at him a few times before nodding. “Oh! Yes, I guess it’s that time of year again, isn’t it? Now, you won’t get anything else until next year, so don’t give them away.” She gave no sign that there was anything special about this particular delivery of clothing, or that the subject held any special meaning to her.

  “It was a surprise,” he replied carefully. “They were waiting for me at the tower today.”

  “I should have mentioned it to you, but didn’t think of it. I got mine last week.” She smoothed at her skirt, which he supposed might have been a new one. He never paid much attention to what she wore. “It’s nice that they included me, even though they know I’ll be leaving soon. Or maybe they just forgot that part!” She giggled.

  “So… this happens every year? The tailor makes new clothes, and he brings them right to me?”

  Alys shrugged. “I think his daughters actually do the delivery. I’ve never seen him outside his workshop, actually. Almost any time of day or night you can see him there, sewing away. His daughters bring him his meals as well, and they tell me they have to force him to eat. He enjoys his work, I guess.”

  Aric exchanged a few small pleasantries with her and then left the kitchens. He detoured past the tailor, and as Alys had said, the open windows revealed the man bent over lengths of fabric. Three girls who looked very much alike sat at a table, eating and chatting with one another. Aric had seen them about the palace now and then, but hadn’t realized who they were, and he’d never exchanged so much as a word with any of them. Surely none of them could be responsible for bringing him the key.

  And that still left the question of who did, but it seemed as if it was a mystery that would remain unsolved for now. He didn’t want to arouse suspicion by asking too many questions.

  Gray didn’t want to eat. Didn’t want to do anything, in fact, but huddle in his corner with his face buried in his arms. Aric poked and prodded at him, trying to persuade him to at least down some of his mush, until finally Gray snapped his head up and growled, “L-leave me alone!”

  Aric took the words literally. He finished his meal at the table and then left the chamber. But he didn’t leave the tower itself. Instead, fat candle in hand, he continued the exploration he’d begun before in fits and starts. Really, there wasn’t much to see inside the tower. The few things that were stored there clearly hadn’t been touched in generations and were more thoroughly forgotten than Gray Leynham. Aric wondered whether the tower had been abandoned before Gray was incarcerated there, and if so, why. Space wasn’t exactly tight within the palace grounds, but it wasn’t generally wasted either. As far as he had seen, everything in the palace had some purpose, even if that purpose was only to amuse the nobles. The Brown Tower seemed to be nothing except a prison for a single man—and home for his keeper.

  On the ground floor of the tower, a narrow hallway branched off the main one. He’d been down it once before but found nothing of interest—just a few empty, doorless chambers, a stack of moldering cloth that was almost as tall as he was, and a lot of mouse droppings. But there was also a small window, down at the very end. It was an odd window, placed only a few inches from the floor and covered with thin metal bars. Wooden shutters shielded the window as well, and were bolted on the inside. Perhaps the opening had originally been intended for deliveries into the building, or perhaps the ground floor had once been lower than it was now. Certainly the window seemed as old as the tower itself, and that was very, very old.

  Which meant the iron bars were ancient as well, and rusted due to the constant damp.

  Aric carefully set the candle on the floor, wrapped his hand around one of the bars, and gave an experimental tug. The metal crumbled almost as easily as if it were a twig.

  Humming thoughtfully to himself, Aric picked up the candle again and retraced his steps to his chamber.

  Chapter 19

  BY THE afternoon of her wedding, Alys had worked herself into a nervous frenzy. Aric was pretty sure it wasn’t the wedding itself that was making her so anxious, but rather her impending departure from the palace. She’d lived her entire life inside the palace walls, venturing out into Tellomer itself only rarely. Her parents had lived at the palace, and theirs before them. Her new home wasn’t too far away, and she’d doubtless be visiting the palace often, but still, the change must be feeling monumental to her. She’d no longer be the girl who worked in the palace kitchens. Instead, she would be the wife of Cearl Oken, mistress of a house of her own, and co-proprietor of a carting enterprise.

  Therefore, she could be forgiven for snapping at Warin and Aric and Cearl and everyone else who came within range. But wisely, the men in her life did the best they could to stay as far from her as possible all day. It was Cearl who had the brilliant idea that he, Aric, and Warin could spend the afternoon carrying her belongings from the palace to their new home. Her things could have easily fit on one of his larger wagons, but he claimed that those wagons were all in use, and that the only conveyance available was a single wheelbarrow. He also said that the wheelbarrow had a bad axel and could carry only light loads. The axel felt fine to Aric, but he didn’t say so, because it provided the perfect excuse for the three men to make numerous trips—keeping them far away from Alys and her sharp tongue.

  But as much as they tried to stretch the task out, eventually every single item Alys owned had been carried over, and Aric, Cearl, and Warin stood mournfully around the empty barrow in the palace courtyard. “Maybe we could sneak some of her stuff back and then take it away again?” Warin said hopefully, but Cearl shook his head.

  “I’m fairly sure she’d notice.”

  “Maybe you guys have more presents somewhere?” As was the custom, friends had been giving the couple gifts all week. The gifts remained wrapped in burlap or paper, or tucked into baskets and jars, all to be opened on the wedding night. Aric hoped they liked the statues of the giants. Now that he’d seen the new house, he could picture the giants flanking the front door, guarding the new family faithfully. But the giants and all the other gifts had already been taken to the new house. They were arranged on Alys and Cearl’s bed, because that was part of the fun of it: the newlyweds would have to wade through all their new belongings before their marriage could be consummated.

  Cearl smiled ruefully. “Nope. All the presents are there already. All we have left to take back is the barrow itself.”

  Aric swallowed thickly. “Um… could I borrow it? I’ll return it tomorrow.”

  Cearl gave him a very long look. The man was so quiet that Aric had never noticed how sharp his eyes were, how perceptive his gaze. Aric tried not to fidget.

  “Why do you need it, Brute?” asked Warin. “You got something to carry? I’ll help!”

  Aric bit his lip, not wanting to lie but unsure how to answer. To his surprise, Cearl gave the boy a friendly cuff to the shoulder. “Le
t him be, Warin. He doesn’t need you in his business all the time.”

  “But—”

  “Come on. The flowers need arranging for tonight.”

  Warin grumbled and rolled his eyes, then loped in the direction of the garden where the ceremony would be held.

  Cearl turned a serious face Aric’s way. “You’re welcome to it, Brute. Just… be careful. The boy and Alys, they really care about you.”

  Aric dipped his head. “Thank you.”

  After Cearl walked away, Aric pushed the cart toward the Brown Tower. It was a bit of an awkward task for him due to the missing hand, but he’d already learned that he could sort of prop the left handle on his stump and steer with the right handle. The system worked tolerably well, although he wasn’t sure how successful he’d be with a heavy load. Now, in any case, he had little trouble trundling the barrow over the cobbles and behind the tower, into the narrow passageway that ran between the tower and the back of the bulky armory. His covert observations had already told him that few people ventured into the little alley, which seemed to be a favorite place for the palace cats to hunt for rats. Even if someone did come across the wheelbarrow, they’d probably think little of it. Carts and wagons of all shapes and sizes could be found on the palace grounds any time of day.

  The morning had been Alys’s last hours in the kitchen, since she’d been granted the afternoon and evening off to prepare for her wedding. Most likely because the chief cook couldn’t stand her irritable presence one moment longer. When Aric had fetched breakfast, Alys had been teary. But now it was dinnertime and she was gone, and an older woman with frizzy brown hair gave him his buckets instead.

  “Dinner smells good tonight,” Aric announced when he returned to his chambers.

  Gray grunted a reply. He’d been unusually quiet since the discovery of the key days earlier, but when Aric joined him beneath the quilts every night, Gray had clung to him desperately, repeatedly touching every part of Aric’s body as if he meant to memorize it, as if he feared he might never touch it again. Their lovemaking had been unusually raw each night; it carried a sense of urgency that had never been there before.

  Aric sat beside Gray, and they ate without speaking to one another. When they were finished, Aric handed him a candy he’d saved from his last visit to the sweet shop with Warin. Gray sucked on the candy for a while and then slowly toppled to his side so that his head and body rested against Aric. “Y-you’re so strong. But you can’t do miracles.”

  “I know,” Aric sighed. “I can’t do much, really. But I try.”

  “D-don’t. Just… stay. Please.”

  “I won’t leave you,” Aric vowed. “But tonight I’ve a wedding to attend.”

  That made Gray smile a little in the darkness. “When I w-was fifteen, I went to a wedding. My f-father’s cousin. Everyone drank too much wine, including me. I ended up under some bushes, having sex with a p-pretty boy. My first time.”

  “Prince Aldfrid wasn’t your first?”

  Gray chuckled. “N-no. I was very experienced by the time he had me. I’d had sex three and a h-half times by then.”

  “Half?”

  “S-silly story. Go to your wedding. I’ll tell you when you c-come back.”

  So Aric made himself as presentable as possible, washing and shaving and combing his hair. He’d become almost used to his reflection in the mirror by now, so seeing himself so plainly was no longer such an unpleasant shock. Now he looked himself over, straightened his clothing, and set off for the celebration.

  He’d never attended a wedding before; he wasn’t exactly at the top of most people’s invitation lists. But when he was a boy, he’d slunk through the darkness and spied on a couple of them from afar. They hadn’t really seemed that interesting to him, although the food had looked good. But tonight was different because it was Alys getting married, and she was his friend.

  The little garden was strewn with yellow blossoms. Alys stood in the center, looking beautiful. Her red hair was loose, hanging halfway to her waist, and she wore a circlet of flowers around her head. More flowers were strung around her neck like a gaudy necklace. Her feet were bare, and her smile was radiant. Cearl wore flowers too, both in his hair and around his neck, and he stared at his bride as if dumbfounded over his good luck.

  There were about two dozen guests, and Warin and their other siblings, and the chief acolyte in his purple robes. Aric took his place at the back, in part so as not to obscure anyone’s view. Several people turned to look at him, but they didn’t frown or chase him away. A few even smiled at him, making him feel welcome. He was welcome here, he realized. He could stay, and this could be his home. He would have good friends. He would belong in a way he’d never dreamed of.

  But Gray would remain in chains.

  The acolyte intoned his prayers and passed several small bowls to the couple. Alys and Cearl dipped a finger in each bowl and pressed their fingers together, then gave the bowls to Warin, who looked very serious about his task of lining them back up again on the ground. There was water, both sweet and salty, and earth. There was honey, and there were ashes. There was blood, and there was wine. Then Alys and Cearl recited their promise to one another: “To thee I give myself, body, heart, and soul. I take thee into myself, body, heart, and soul. I will have no others, and you will always be mine.”

  Aric wished he could say those words to Gray, could laugh a little while an acolyte drizzled oil on their heads, could join with friends and family in a blessing to Bercthun and Breguswid, god and goddess of love and loyalty. He wished he could simply stand under a starlit sky and hold Gray’s hand.

  The acolyte said a few more words, and then everyone was looking expectantly at Aric. He startled a little and then, slightly embarrassed to be the center of attention, took a small bowl of seeds from Alys’s hand. He had to balance the bowl inside his left elbow. Then he took a pinch of the seeds in his fingers and said the blessing he’d been practicing obsessively for the past week: “Bercthun and Breguswid, let Cearl and Alys Oken be fruitful, let their children be as grasses in the plain and trees in the forest, let their love grow in bounty and joy.” He tossed the seeds onto the ground as he’d been instructed, then recited the prayer again and again, each time scattering another pinch of seeds, until the bowl was empty. When he was through, Alys gave him a warm smile.

  Warin took the bowl from him, and the acolyte filled it with sweet wine. Cearl held it for Alys while she took a few sips, and then she reciprocated. The acolyte flicked some scented water at them with his fingertips, and everyone cheered, even Aric. The newlyweds held hands and bowed, both of them beaming.

  A table had been set up to one side. It was piled with fruit and little cakes and the phallic biscuits—complete with strategically placed walnuts—that were traditional for weddings. Wine and ale were poured as well. With only one hand, Aric couldn’t eat and drink at the same time, and in any case he wanted a clear head, so he bypassed the alcohol and ate several cakes instead. On a whim, he snuck one of the biscuits into a pocket. Gray wouldn’t be able to see its shape, but he could feel it, and Aric thought it might bring a chuckle.

  It was quite late when someone shouted that it was time for the newlyweds to leave. Everyone crowded around the new couple to wish them well. Everyone but Aric, who hung back awkwardly. But Alys and Cearl came to him. Cearl gave him a steady look and an almost imperceptible nod before shaking his hand. Alys threw her arms around Aric and squeezed hard. He kissed the top of her head. “Happiness to both of you,” he whispered through a thick throat.

  And then Alys and Cearl left—accompanied by good-natured jeers and lewd catcalls—and Aric went back to the Brown Tower.

  Gray was still awake when Aric got back, but just barely. “How was the w-wedding?” he asked sleepily.

  “Nice. Look, I brought you something.” Aric handed him the biscuit. Gray laughed when he realized what it was and waggled his eyebrows as he nibbled on the biscuit’s tip. Aric undressed, and they lay dow
n together in the cell, and they petted and rubbed against one another until Gray cried out his completion against Aric’s neck and Aric shuddered his climax a moment later. Gray fell asleep almost immediately, encircled in Aric’s arms. But Aric remained wide awake.

  Somewhere in the still, cold hours before dawn, Gray began to whimper. Aric held him tight and crooned nonsense and waited, and then Gray’s whimpers turned to moans. “Don’t let me die,” he said in a high-pitched tone. “Is my baby all right? I want to see him grow up. Please!” Aric kissed away Gray’s tears, knowing the comfort was appreciated even though his lover was not conscious.

  Gray woke up a few minutes later with a long, exhausted sigh. “Eaba Limsey will die in childbirth,” he said.

  Aric kissed his cheek. “No she won’t. I’ll go pass your message on.” He stood and dressed. But instead of simply pulling on a pair of trousers, which was usually enough for his purposes this time of night, he put on a breechclout first. He also tugged a shirt over his head and struggled with his socks—always a challenge for him—and boots. Finally, he shrugged on his cloak.

  The mousy guard seemed a bit agitated over this particular dream, but then they often were. Aric didn’t wait around to find out why.

  Gray was asleep again, snoring softly. But he woke up when Aric slid open the creaky drawer in order to get at the key. “Aric?” Gray asked.

  “I’ll be right there.” Before entering the cell, Aric retrieved the set of clothes he’d prepared earlier in the day. Nearly everything else he owned was wrapped in a bundle and tucked into a satchel he’d bought a few weeks earlier. His belongings didn’t amount to much, but they were more numerous than when he first arrived at the palace. And of course there was also the purse full of coins, which he tucked carefully into his clothes.

  “Wh-what are you doing?” Gray asked warily.

  Aric didn’t answer him. Instead, he entered the cell and stood over Gray and the pile of quilts. “Stand up, please,” he said after a moment.