The Sun Guardian

by T. S. Cleveland

  Before, when Scorch had been with someone, kissing had always been a secondary thought. A means to an end. But with Vivid, it was different. Though his weight and warmth felt unfathomably good in his lap, he felt no need to press for more, not when the act of simply kissing was more satisfying than anything he’d ever done with anyone else. Kissing Vivid felt lucky; it felt right. And he was afraid to stop.

  When a twig snapped, Vivid broke the seal of their lips and looked past his shoulder, his eyes alert. “Someone’s coming,” he whispered, tilting his head to listen. “The guardian.” He kissed Scorch one more time before hopping off his lap and helping him to his feet. They stood, both a bit shaky. Scorch’s legs were asleep, and as the tingles worsened, he muttered a string of curses that had Vivid’s eyebrows rising.

  Merric appeared from behind a bush a moment later, his sword unsheathed. When he spotted them, he put the weapon away with a pissy snuffle. “You’ve been gone almost an hour,” he complained. “I lost the coin toss for who had to come and check on you.” Merric did not look happy to be away from the fire on what Scorch was finally realizing was a cold night. He hadn’t been cold and neither had Vivid. He must have been keeping him warm, a thought that made him smile.

  “We can take care of ourselves,” Vivid said. We.

  “Well, I hope you’ve,” Merric looked between them, “taken care of yourselves already, because Felix refuses to sleep until everyone is accounted for, and I’m not going back without you.”

  Vivid, annoyed, strode past Merric and headed for the camp. Scorch helped himself to the view until he’d disappeared behind a bush, and then he found Merric staring at him, wide-eyed.

  “What?” Scorch asked innocently.

  “Nothing,” Merric said, an amused smirk thawing on his face. The tip of his nose was pink from the cold. “Nothing at all.”

  They arrived back at the campsite ten minutes later, where Felix was fretfully worrying his thumbnail and Audrey was fast asleep. Scorch gave the fire another pass with his hand, and it revved with sparks. Felix and Merric burrowed down in their blankets, facing the fire and shutting their eyes. They may as well have been sharing a bedroll, they were sleeping so close together.

  Instinctively, Scorch sought out where Vivid was unrolling his own blanket. It was on the opposite side of the fire, beside Audrey. That was fine. Scorch hadn’t expected them to sleep side by side. That was something they saved for special occasions, like near-death experiences.

  Scorch was sitting on his own bedroll, untying his bootlaces, and definitely not feeling sorry for himself, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He jumped and turned his head to find Vivid standing there.

  “Do you ever turn your stealth off?” he asked, his heart beating fast.

  Vivid grabbed his wrist and set something light and fuzzy in his palm. His fingers lingered a moment on Scorch’s skin, and then he was gone, returned to his bedroll across the fire. Scorch glanced down at his palm where a fresh stem of Dream Moss was lying. He popped it into his mouth and lay back. His lips were bruised from Vivid’s kisses, and his fingers itched to feel Vivid’s skin beneath them, but it didn’t take long for him to pass into slumber, and when he did, he dreamt about all the things he wanted.

  ****

  They took the south road in the morning, and by Merric’s estimation, would arrive in the Royal Quarter in a little over a week, as long as they didn’t idle. The south road was busier than the east, more people traveling back and forth from the Royal Quarter than the Heartlands, so their ability to gallop was largely hampered. Scorch tried to be upset about it, but it was hard to let anything upset him when he got to spend long hours with his arms wrapped around Vivid’s waist. Vivid acted annoyed by his presence in the saddle, but every time Scorch worked up the nerve to nuzzle into his neck when no one was looking, Vivid would shiver and lean into the touch.

  When the sun set on the second night, they stopped for camp, and after the horses were seen after, Scorch offered to collect timber again. He’d not strayed far and was stooping to collect a prime piece of dry wood, when he heard footsteps behind him.

  “Can I help you?” he asked wryly, knowing exactly who had followed him.

  “Good question,” answered a definitively female voice.

  Scorch turned to frown at Audrey. “You’re not Vivid.”

  “Were you expecting him?” she asked, and there was a hint of malice in her voice, a threatening glint in her eye.

  “No,” he lied. He grabbed for the piece of wood and her boot shot out, pinning his hand to the ground. “Ouch!”

  “What are you doing with Vivid?”

  “Trying to build him a fire so he won’t freeze to death tonight,” Scorch answered. He waggled his fingers beneath the crush of her boot. “Do you mind?”

  Audrey retracted the boot but intensified her glare. “I know you’re in love with him,” she said.

  Scorch’s stomach plummeted. He shook out his hand and fumbled with the wood. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

  “I knew you were before,” she continued. “It’s why I came to you in the first place, to help me save him. But I didn’t know—” She paused. A second later, she had Scorch pressed up against a tree, a dagger to his throat.

  “Hey!”

  “You give the impression of being trustworthy, but people are inherently deceitful,” she said.

  “So I’ve heard,” Scorch grunted.

  “Consider this your only warning from me. If I find out you’re using him, I will slit your throat.”

  Scorch was torn between terror and bewilderment. “Using him? For what?”

  Audrey pushed the edge of the blade into his throat until it made a thin cut in his skin, letting the sting convey her meaning.

  “No,” Scorch said adamantly, anxious for her to believe him. “No, it’s not like that.”

  She looked for a moment like she wanted nothing more than to slit his throat and be done with it. When she finally pulled the dagger away, he sagged against the tree and put a hand over the cut on his neck.

  “Was,” he asked quietly, hesitantly, “was it like that with Elias?”

  Audrey had such fire in her eye that if Scorch had not already known, he would have pegged her for an elemental then and there. “It was like a lot of things with Elias.” It was all she offered, and Scorch didn’t ask for more. It was enough.

  “It won’t be like that with me,” he promised.

  Audrey spun the dagger in her hand and flashed him a terrifying smile. “I hope not.”

  The remainder of his search for firewood was conducted with trembling hands. When he returned to camp, Vivid eyed the small cut on his neck, but made no comment, which wasn’t unusual—he’d said no more than a few words to Scorch all day. Scorch refused to let it bother him.

  After they ate, they slept. Vivid’s bedroll was as far away from Scorch as possible. That, he could admit, bothered him a little.

  ****

  The third day was more of the same, up until the point when they passed a village. People were swarming and bells were ringing. Merric slowed his horse as they trotted by, and the others followed suit. A man stood on a makeshift stage in the middle of a crowd, shouting something Scorch couldn’t discern.

  “They’re mourning the High Priestess,” Felix said after a minute of straining his ears. “News of her death has just reached them.”

  Scorch’s hands were resting on Vivid’s hips unobtrusively, but at Felix’s words, and the way Vivid’s body stiffened upon hearing them, he commanded himself to be bold and tightened his hold, offering his comfort. Vivid glanced back at him, unimpressed. Scorch wanted so badly to kiss him.

  “Should we stop here for supplies?” Merric asked.

  “No,” Scorch said. “I’ve had my fill of zealots.”

  They traveled on, but Vivid remained tense, so Scorch whispered in his ear, “Have I told you how good you smell?” Vivid threatened to make him walk the rest of the way if he talked to hi
m again, but Scorch could feel his body begin to relax, so it was worth it. Besides, Vivid did smell really good.

  That night, he was ambushed again while collecting firewood, and not by Audrey. Vivid claimed he was testing his stealth technique and that he’d failed the test, and Scorch complained until Vivid had to kiss him to shut him up, which he thought was pretty stealthy.

  On the fourth and fifth night of their journey, Vivid continued to hinder Scorch’s attempts at collecting firewood, much to the teeth-chattering dismay of their companions.

  But on the day before they were to reach the Queen, Scorch made a mistake.

  Vivid had him on his back, lying in a heap of dry branches. He’d caught Scorch as he was bending over, kicking him down and wrapping his hands around his throat in a mock strangle.

  “You’re dead,” Vivid said. “Yet again.” Scorch laughed and Vivid glared. “You’re not even trying.”

  “I’m satisfied with my results,” Scorch answered, letting his hands rest on Vivid’s thighs. “Are you going to kill me now?”

  “I should.” He gave Scorch’s throat a harmless squeeze before sliding his hands into his hair, and then he shifted back so Scorch could sit up.

  Vivid’s fingers threaded again through his hair, and Scorch smiled. He could feel it stretch happily across his face, could feel his eyes twinkling with pleasure. Vivid didn’t smile back. If anything, his face grew darker. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “How am I looking at you?”

  Vivid dropped his hands from Scorch’s hair. “Like this means something.” He moved, tried to get up from Scorch’s lap, but Scorch held his waist, keeping him.

  “It does mean something,” Scorch told him. It means everything.

  “It doesn’t.”

  Scorch tempered his smile and let go of Vivid’s waist. When he didn’t try to get away, Scorch kissed him, and Vivid kissed him back. He should have let it go after that, but he was, as Vivid so accurately and frequently pointed out, a fool. He broke their kiss to mouth along Vivid’s jaw, and then he whispered, too familiar, too intimate, “I want to stay with you.”

  Vivid shoved him back. “Stay with me?”

  Despite the fact that Vivid’s body was coiled like a snake on the verge of striking, Scorch continued. “When we’ve warned the Queen and dealt with Axum, I don’t want to part ways.” Vivid’s breath was too rapid and so was Scorch’s, but he couldn’t stop. “We haven’t talked about it, because I know you hate talking, but,” he felt himself blushing, “I want you. And I want to stay with you.”

  It was a mistake to admit it to himself, and a catastrophic mistake to admit it to Vivid. But it was the truth; Scorch felt the weight of it in his chest, even as Vivid stood from his lap. He stood up, as well, tried to take Vivid’s hand, but his touch was rejected. He’d ruined it.

  “You’ve confused yourself, I think,” Vivid said. He spoke softly, and the back of Scorch’s neck prickled, sensing the danger.

  “I don’t think I’m the one who’s confused,” said Scorch, and Vivid turned his back. Scorch was tired of Vivid turning his back. “I know you care about me.”

  Vivid was walking away from him.

  “Vivid!” he shouted, but the other man had already disappeared through the trees.

  His eyes burned as he piled the forgotten firewood in his arms, hating himself. He’d managed to scare Vivid away in record time. Two minutes ago, they’d been kissing, and now he was unsure if he’d ever be allowed to kiss him again.

  He returned to the camp and set up the fire. Merric and Felix tried engaging him in conversation while they ate, but Scorch could manage no more than a few grunts of acknowledgement.

  Across the fire, Vivid sharpened his blade, acting as if nothing had happened, and Scorch suddenly stumbled upon a horrible thought, one he’d never before considered. He had always assumed he and Vivid shared a connection. He had thought, like the same egotistical ass he had always been, that Vivid returned his feelings. But what if he didn’t? What if Vivid kept pushing him away, not because he was closed-off, but because he wasn’t interested? Had Scorch been just as bad as Elias? Forcing his attentions on Vivid when they were unwanted?

  The campfire sparked and flared, and everyone looked at him, some with worried expressions, some with no expression at all. Scorch excused himself from the camp and took a walk through the dark. No one followed him.

  ****

  The next day was uncomfortable, because Scorch spent most of it on a horse with Vivid, whom he was now convinced genuinely disliked him. Vivid did nothing to assuage his fear, ignoring him, not speaking to him, and keeping his back so rigid that his shoulders never even brushed against Scorch’s chest as they rode. Scorch felt lecherous placing his fingertips on Vivid’s waist. He would have preferred falling off the horse, but then Vivid probably would have complained about him making them late.

  Because of their horses, and the quick pace they’d set over the past week, before the end of that seventh day, the south road brought Scorch and the others to a magnificent brick wall that marked the beginning of the Royal Quarter of Viridor.

  The Royal Quarter was a city, the largest in Viridor, and at its center stood the palace, where the Queen lived, and where, if Axum had his way, the Queen would die. Scorch had never seen a city before, and when the guards let them through, he gaped at its magnitude. There were so many people in one place, and it was overwhelming. Vivid, unaffected, led the way through the busy, winding streets, cobbled with brightly colored stones and lined with vendors selling sweets and fresh bread and fruit. The air was smoky with pipe weed and chimney plumes, and Scorch couldn’t resist lifting his head to follow different scents that wafted by on the breeze. He gawked at the rows upon rows of houses, sturdier and taller than any village home he’d seen. Audrey and Vivid’s work must have brought them to the city before, and even Felix looked unbothered, but Merric was as starry-eyed as Scorch. They looked at one another during their clop through the city streets to share a moment of amazement for the culture they’d only ever read about.

  Scorch thought the south road had been busy, but the Royal Quarter had enough wagons, horseback riders, and townspeople to slow their progress phenomenally. It took more than thirty minutes to reach the royal stables, and when they did, Vivid dismounted first, handing over the reins to the stable boy. Scorch jumped down after him, brushing the road dust off his clothes and adjusting the sword at his belt. He watched Merric help Felix from their horse with a pang of jealousy, and Audrey cast him a curious glance, as if she could feel the ache in his chest. He gave his head a shake. Now was not the time. He joined the others in a tight circle outside the stables.

  “Merric and Scorch have the best chance of gaining an audience with the Queen,” Audrey said. “She won’t turn away Guardians of the Guild.”

  “But we’re not acting under Guild guardianship,” Merric argued. “And Scorch isn’t even a guardian anymore.”

  “Well, he looks more like a guardian than the two of you,” Felix said, pointing between Audrey and Vivid. “You look like storybook assassins.”

  “Scorch will be able to convince her,” said Vivid. “He convinced the monks to take him to the High Priestess.”

  Scorch stared at Vivid. “I thought you were unconscious when that happened.” He had counted on Vivid being unconscious when he’d cuddled him in his lap, trying to keep him warm.

  “I was more awake than you thought,” Vivid said, staring back. “Go with Merric. Try not to get tied to any chairs.”

  “What about the rest of you?” Merric asked, eyes darting between Felix and the two assassins who would be his only company.

  “We’ll wait for you,” Audrey said. “Don’t worry about the flautist.” She checked Felix with her hip. “He’ll be safe with us.” Felix gave Merric a smile.

  Scorch nodded, and after Merric squeezed Felix’s shoulder and squinted threateningly at the assassins, they turned together for the palace. He refused to glance ba
ck at Vivid as they walked away.

  “What happened there?” Merric asked as they neared the guards at the palace doors.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve been ignoring Vivid all day. You’ve hardly said a word to him.”

  “He doesn’t want my words. Or anything to do with me,” Scorch said grumpily.

  “Hmm,” Merric hummed. Scorch disliked the tone of that hum.

  “He told me, Merric. Last night. I don’t mean anything to him.”

  “But he’s always saying rude things to you and you’re always swooning.”

  Scorch had no answer to that, but they’d run out of time for answers anyway. Two gruff guards were scanning them from behind their bronze helmets, their spears in a crisscross, blocking the palace entrance.

  “Right,” said Scorch, standing tall and trying to appear guardianly. There had been a time when he didn’t need to try, but it felt a lifetime’s distance gone. “We are Guardians of the Guild. We have urgent information for the Queen.” Scorch could make out no more of the guards’ faces than the slit cut in their helmets for their eyes, but each set narrowed at him in suspicion.

  “Do you have an official missive from the Guild?” asked the guard on the right.

  Merric looked over at Scorch semi-frantically, but Scorch had expected that line of inquiry. “Our journey to the Queen is of the highest import, and the risk of a missive being stolen from us could not be risked.” It’s what the Guild Master told him when he’d sent him on his guardianship, and Scorch had believed him well enough.

  But Scorch lacked the mistrust of a royal guard. “No missive, no entry,” said the guard on the left.

  “I am trying to put this as delicately as possible,” Scorch continued. “It is vital we see the Queen.”

  “Do you know how many gutter rats and scum try to worm their way into the palace with that same excuse?” laughed the guard on the right. “At least they put a little effort into their disguises. If you lot are guardians, I’m the princess of assassins.”