by Joseph Lallo
Being a Knight wasn’t meant to be comfortable.
He undressed himself, and rinsed the smell of bloodwine out of his clothes, shuddering at the memories of the Learner Knight from the patrol who had kept buying him drinks, while his stomach was already protesting. To get him punished no doubt. He poured several pitchers of ice-cold water over his head and then got to work on the bathroom floor. Cleaning duty, he’d done his fair share. He collected the broom and scrubbed the tiles.
When he went to hang his clothes to dry, the Apprentices who had been in the dormitory blocked the door of the drying room. Jono was in the middle of the group. He said lazily, “It think it’s time the pet got a lesson, don’t you?” He scratched the crotch of his trousers.
* * *
The girl’s name is Kaila. She holds his arm and talks and giggles. Carro listens to her cheerful babble and wonders how he can guide her into the furniture-maker’s warehouse. It’s big and empty, and young people go there to lose their innocence during the Newlight celebrations. And now he’s managed to sneak her out of the house, he can think of nothing else. His whole body aches for it.
A couple of older boys block the street. Carro recognises some of them as his sister’s friends. The pleasant pulsing of blood fades for an icy cold.
The leader of the group, a lanky boy whose name he doesn’t know, pulls Carro’s cloak off.
Hey, Carro yells. His voice sounds high and boyish. Not the way he wants the girl to hear it. He wants to be manly; he wants her to think he knows all about having girls.
The boy holds the cloak out of his reach.
You don’t need that. You have enough blubber to keep you warm.
Give that back to him, Kaila says. She lets go of Carro’s arm—leaving a warm spot—and yanks the cloak out of the boy’s hands.
Hey, what have we here? The boy grabs her arm. He reaches out and pulls the feather from under her cloak with a broad grin on his face. His mates are cheering.
You keep your hands off her! Carro shouts.
Ah, she’s yours, is she?
Another boy laughs. Do you guys reckon he knows where to put it?
A volley of laughter cascades through the street.
You know what, the leader says. We will let you go.
Carro breathes out heavily, but doesn’t understand. Let him go? They never let him go without humiliation.
Then the boy says, And we’ll come. We’re going to watch.
* * *
One of the boys pushed Carro face first into the wall. Others laughed. Hands yanked away the towel, which slipped past his thighs into a puddle on the floor. An icy breeze made his skin break out in goosebumps.
No. He would not think of what happened that day in the furniture-maker’s warehouse, about the girl and her pale flesh and his own unwilling body, the laughter at his flaccid member, shrunken and shrivelled in the cold. The girl was crying; the boys were cheering, pushing him, jostling him. He could not do it.
And he would not go and relive it. He needed to toughen up; his father said often enough, and as much as he hated his father, the man was probably right. He was not a pretty boy with too much fat and no muscle. He was not an artist with certain parts of his anatomy removed. He was not a boy lover.
* * *
Carro stands in his father’s room. His father sits in his chair by the hearth, smiling.
Carro doesn’t like the smile. When his father is angry, things are bad. When he smiles, things are worse.
But his father doesn’t speak. He sits, saying nothing.
Carro grasps his hands behind his back and stands there, determined not to say anything.
But the silence lasts on.
Eventually he can’t stand it anymore.
He asks, You wanted to see me, Father?
His father doesn’t answer.
Uhm—Father? I’d like to continue with my study.
His father says nothing. Doesn’t even look at him.
What sort of silly game is this? Carro balls his fists, but knows getting angry will not do much good. Whatever he does, his father always wins.
So he stands there, and stares into the fire.
But his father still doesn’t speak.
He gathers all his courage. Father. I really need to study. Please tell me why I needed to come.
Another silence.
Well, if you won’t . . .
A raised eyebrow, and then his father goes back to staring into the fire.
Father, I’m not going to stand here if you won’t tell me what this is about. I have a lot of study to do. I won’t let you keep me here and then punish me for not doing my work.
Carro turns on his heel and leaves the room.
In the hall he stops, panting, listening to his thudding heart, stilling his trembling limbs. He can’t believe what he’s just done.
* * *
Carro mustered his strength and pushed himself back, slamming his elbow hard into the nose of Jono, who was fumbling with his trousers.
Jono swore hard.
There were shouts, cursing, a jostle and few more boys pushed Carro back against the wall. The mixed taste of plaster and blood was too familiar. Two boys on each side held Carro’s arms.
“What did you think you were doing?” Jono stroked Carro’s naked shoulders and let his hand slide down his back, between his buttocks. A cold hand closed around his balls.
“You thought you could beat me, pup?”
Carro dared not breathe. He whispered, “No.”
The hand let go, and slid over the skin. Carro broke out in goosebumps.
“You like that, huh?”
“Yes.” No other reply was possible, not without making this worse than it already was.
Both hands now grabbed the sides of his thighs.
“I didn’t hear that. Can you say it again?”
“Yes!”
“Beg me.”
Carro pushed his eyes shut.
Jono hit him hard on the back of the head. “Beg, I said.”
“Please!”
Jono came up from behind and rammed hard into Carro’s arse. Carro couldn’t restrain a moan. His whole backside was on fire.
“You like that, huh?” Jono’s breath tickled in the back of his neck. Warm fluid trickled over his shoulder. Blood, from Jono’s nose.
“Do I have a choice?” Carro snarled, with one cheek pressed against the wall.
Jono grunted and pushed deeper.
Goosebumps broke out on Carro’s skin. The pain had subsided and now he was starting to go hard. It always happened. They’d fuck him, use him, and leave him, sore and aching for release. He hated how his body betrayed him. He hated everything.
Carro clamped his jaws. He would not scream or cry. Next time, he would hit harder and in a more delicate spot.
Chapter 6
“THE CITY OF GLASS,” Tandor said, gesturing at the horizon.
Since stopping at the cave early that morning, the sled had skirted the frozen bay, cutting across points and peninsulas. Now at last, the sled had crested the last hill on their path and they had an uninterrupted view of the snow-swept white bay where it joined the southern ocean. To the right, fluffy clouds hung over higher hills that would eventually become the mountains that formed the border with Arania.
Straight ahead, where stacks of ice floes met the bay, the jagged peaks of the City of Glass reached towards the heavens, tall structures that reflected the light of the low sun. The palace tower protruded from the cluster like a broken stick. That was where Queen Jevaithi looked down upon them all from her rooms with the soft carpets, the ruffled curtains, the stuffed armchairs and the huge bed. Oh yes, the bed.
To Tandor’s eyes, the City lay at the centre of a golden web that spread out over the plain, always moving and shimmering. By the skylights, he had never seen it as strong as this. In days to come, it would get stronger, and that was all his doing. Power ret
urning to the Thilleian clan.
Myra sat straight, wincing. She had stopped complaining but kept casting Tandor angry looks. It alternately annoyed Tandor or he ignored it. At the moment, ignoring it was the better option. He had made it here without mishaps. Loriane would probably scold him for taking Myra, but now the women could worry about the women’s things.
“You’ll soon be warm in mistress Loriane’s house.”
“It’s not the cold why I’m shivering. There’s something creepy about this place.”
She let her eyes wander to the jagged out lines of the city. Tandor wondered how much icefire she saw.
Ruko was pulling a hooded cloak from the luggage. Good boy.
Tandor nodded his appreciation; Ruko glared back and sent Tandor images of an infirmary ward. People wore the cloak for fear of contamination.
No one will bother you, Tandor said by way of excuse.
Covering up avoided risky situations. If people saw a driver-less sled moving by itself, there would be panic, or worse, arrests and questions.
A rush of images flashed through Tandor’s head: the same infirmary ward, but the patients bloody and injured in their beds. Red sheets. Some people decapitated, some with their bellies slit open and their intestines spilling out. A madman looking like Ruko, with a knife—
Tandor clamped down on the visions. He gathered icefire in his hand, and threw a loop of it around Ruko’s legs.
The images faded, except for one: that of the girl Tandor had seen in Ruko’s mind before.
Ruko’s inaudible angry howl rang through Tandor’s mind.
You love her? Tandor asked.
The girl’s image smiled, and reached out.
If you do what I say, we will free her from the palace. If you disobey me . . . Tandor cast a glance at the chest strapped to the luggage rack. Ruko’s heart was in there. Returning it to his body would not only turn Ruko back to a weakened, mortal state, it would make him Imperfect, and persecuted in the city.
Ruko pulled on the hooded cloak with jerky movements that oozed anger. While he stepped back up onto the driver’s seat, his eyes met Tandor’s. They both knew that Tandor’s threat was useless. He needed Ruko to be a servitor for his plan to succeed.
Ruko flicked the reins. Even that simple gesture made Tandor’s skin creep. With every step the bear took towards the city, the boy’s power grew.
The bear started moving again.
The Outer City lay on a hillock to the right, a jumble of snow-covered humps which were houses built by those who had been exiled from the city after the Knights had taken over power. Initially, it had been nothing more than a camp, frequently razed by Knights to weed out the last remains of Thillei blood. These days, the settlement was a decent town in its own right, a gathering of buildings that had been thrown together without plans or foresight, home of commerce, and crime.
The traditional festival grounds were a temporary town made of colourful tents on the plain separating the Outer City from the City of Glass proper. It was busy; the breeze brought shards of music and clapping, and grumbles of bears from the sled parking area. There were fences, a course for racing Tusked Lions. They even had igloos for the animals. Tandor spotted the flapping wings of an eagle, and the grey and red uniform of a Knight. Yes, they would be out here in force, too.
Newlight meant free unlimited girls, most of whom were throwing themselves at the Knights, so most of them wouldn’t look so closely at what went on in the Outer City.
Ruko steered the sled along a track that had many marks from passing traffic, no doubt made by Lion-catchers returning to the city with the first of the to-be-slaughtered animals.
Soon, they had reached the ramshackle collection of houses, with Ruko negotiating the twisty streets. Getting lost was easy in the Outer City. No street was straight and the houses, structures locals called limpets, all looked the same from the outside: large conical shapes of ice. The ones that had just been resurfaced were pristine white, while the older ones had gone dirty and grey. Usually, the only other thing that distinguished individual houses was the colour of the doors, but during the Newlight festival, most doors were yellow.
There were people everywhere: talking on street corners, watching artistes in colourful clothing juggling balls while standing on each other’s shoulders.
The sled progressed at walking pace. The people would see a noble and a girl heavy with child—a man from the city proper with his breeder woman, nothing out of the ordinary. Nobles came to the Outer City for shady business, and as such they were best ignored when they were there.
A juggler performed an act with a set of black coals and a huge butcher’s knife. At his feet lay a stuffed pillow made from bear fur, symbolising the animal that would be ritually killed at the height of the celebrations. Newlight celebrated the end of the long, dark winter, when the sun rose above the horizon and hunting trips were again possible. It was the start of a time of plenty, of new life, and of fertility.
The sled had gone past the juggler before the man got to the part of his act that involved stabbing the stuffed bear and ripping it apart. Usually, there was something inside for the children. Chevakian sweets, or bits of saltmeat. Tandor could taste it on his tongue.
By the skylights, the memories. His mother used to take him here for visits almost every year.
Myra looked wide-eyed at the scenery sliding past. For a short time at least, she seemed to have forgotten to complain.
They crossed the markets, with busy stalls and roaring fires, where people were eating hot food and warming themselves. Tandor felt the pull of icefire from the merchant who usually had his stall in the very corner. To the common people in the street, he sold crockery and bits and pieces he scavenged from old estates, but under his benches, he held forbidden items from the past. Little portraits of the King, a piece of cutlery with the Thillei emblem, scavenged from the palace storerooms. Today there was no opportunity for Tandor to see the man, but he’d come back later. First he must deposit this complaining child in mistress Loriane’s hands.
Ruko halted the sled in front of a newly-covered limpet with a blue door. So familiar, down to the white snowflake patterns on the blue paint—Tandor had painted them—and the mark on the door which he had made trying to manoeuvre a chair inside. So many times had Tandor stepped through that door into Loriane’s soft arms. He could taste her lips against his, he could feel the softness of her breasts under his hands. He could—
“Is this it?” Myra asked, frowning.
Tandor shook himself out of his memories. “Yes.”
He jumped off the sled. A young couple came past and stared at him as he lifted the knocker and let it fall on the door. Why would a noble come to mistress Loriane’s house? Good question.
Tandor ignored the gazes. He imagined the big round stove that was the centre of the limpet, where Loriane would make her heavenly soup. He could almost see her determined face, the cheeks red with cold, the slightly crooked mouth and the way one of her eyes always seemed to squint. No, Loriane wasn’t pretty either. Her beauty was on the inside.
Why had no one opened the door yet?
“Well, your woman obviously isn’t at home.” Myra’s voice sounded peevish.
Tandor wanted to snap at her. Yes, he was sore and tired, too—and how was he to know that Loriane would be out?—but he bit on his irritation.
“She might be at the festival,” he said.
The remaining Imperfect boy would be fifteen. He might take part in some of the competitions. Loriane’s brother was a butcher. He would have an important role in the festivities. Yes, that was it.
He climbed back into the sled.
Ruko’s questioning mind touched his.
Tandor forced his thoughts back on the snow-covered field where the crowds and the tents had been. And the eagles. The place crawled with Knights, since a lot of them would be competing. Well, that was not to be helped.
Ruko stee
red the sled away from the house, and they went back through the same busy streets, drawing annoyed glances from pedestrians.
When they reached the festival grounds, the sled could go no further. The designated parking area was already full and the igloos occupied with bears. But never mind; they wouldn’t stay long.
Tandor jumped out, after which Myra pulled up her legs and settled sideways on the bench. “You go and look for her. I’ll stay here.”
“No, you won’t.” He couldn’t risk losing her now.
“I’m tired.”
“No, you come. I promised your father I’d look after you.” And I didn’t take you to play stubborn adolescent either.
Her face scrunched up briefly, but then she pressed her lips together and rose. “I don’t know why you wanted me to come. So far, you’ve only been disgusting and nasty to me.”
“You’ll find out.” He held out an arm. She took it, clambering awkwardly from the sled. A man walking past shot him a look that might have been disdain. Noble men of the City of Glass paid their breeder women to have their children but did not, ever, fall in love with them. He wanted to scream at those curious people the child isn’t mine.
A man walked past pulling a sled full of barrels. Bloodwine. That load was worth a lot of sore heads tomorrow morning.
To his right, at the bottom of the slope, stood several bright-coloured tents. Clouds of steam rose into the air from food stalls.
A bit further away over the plains, a group of eagles were coming in. The tail end of the long-distance race for Apprentice Knights, Tandor picked up from a shard of conversation.
A couple of youngsters were walking in the snow in bare feet, with bare legs protruding from blankets. Ah, the swimming. Didn’t they make that race harder every year? Jump in the water, swim to the ice floe, climb on, get the token, jump back in and return to the start? By that time, most of the competitors were so cold they needed rescuing, to loud jeers of the audience. Oh, the memories were coming back.
