by Kirby Crow
Scarlet gazed at Liall with pity. “Who has done this to you, Liall? Who betrayed you so badly that even the thought of love terrifies you?"
He could only shake his head. “I cannot say. I cannot."
Scarlet looked again at the door, as if trying to decide.
"Do not go,” Liall asked quietly. Then, more softly, “Forgive me, please."
Scarlet sagged a little and gave a small laugh as he brushed his unkempt hair out of his eyes. “I've been thinking; when we first met, it felt like you were chasing me. I wished you'd stop and just leave me alone. Now I feel like I'm chasing you."
Liall stared at him, then put his hand on Scarlet's chest, just over his heart, and left it there. Scarlet's heart beat with a slow, trusting rhythm, and his warmth seeped into Liall's palm. Liall shook his head sadly.
"Therein is the problem, little Byzan. You have already caught me.” Scarlet began to answer him, but Liall put his fingers to Scarlet's mouth. “No more,” he begged. “Not just yet. Can we not sit quietly together?"
Scarlet nodded, though Liall saw it was an effort for him. How this Hilurin hated to let go of an argument! They sat together until the moon drifted under the sea and the colorless dawn slipped in thin and sibilant as a whisper in the dark. Soon, there would be no more dawns, for in less than twenty days they would cross into the Seas of Night and the sun would become a memory.
And he is not ready for it, Liall worried, taking Scarlet's hand. Scarlet allowed it and even slid closer to rest his head on Liall's shoulder.
He is not ready and you are not ready, he mused. And the past will not heal. It draws nearer.
* * * *
Liall's wound healed well over the next week and was nearly closed when Qixa requested that Liall and Scarlet stay off the main deck as much as possible. Once they crossed into the Norl'Uhn, the great North Sea, there was little to do, and the hazards of ice and heavy winds made it more sensible for the passengers to stay below, Qixa explained.
After the pirate raid, Qixa seemed to think it was his personal responsibility to deliver Liall to Rshan in one piece. It was also true that the closer they came to Rshan, the more likely another attack would be.
So here we are, Liall thought as another long afternoon with Scarlet droned by. Just the two of us penned together in a small space. You would think that would make me happy.
Instead, Liall found he was growing increasingly morose and ill-tempered. He talked no more of love with Scarlet, and after three days the monotony of listening to the sea batten against the hull and the wind whistle through the cracks of the porthole began to weigh heavy on him. He taught Scarlet to speak a little Sinha to pass the hours, teaching him the nuances of certain words, how to say simple greetings and the names of everyday things. Scarlet was a quick study and forgot nothing, and Liall was amazed at his memory. Then, he recalled that a pedlar who could not read or keep books would have need of a sharp memory. Scarlet's pronunciation was so far off that Liall despaired of Scarlet ever making himself understood once they reached Rshan, but the pedlar never gave up trying, even when it was painfully obvious that a lifetime of speaking Bizye had left him unable to curl his tongue around the more complex Sinha consonant blends.
"Hunge sinir ch'th sun rl'er'r."
Liall smiled, which made Scarlet scowl and purse his mouth to try again. It still sounded like toddler speech. If Scarlet spoke to anyone in Rshan with that abominable accent, they would laugh at him.
"Try blowing your breath out a bit more when you say the words, Scarlet. You will never make yourself understood if you do not speak with more strength."
"If I speak with any more strength, I'm going to be spitting."
Liall shrugged. “At least you will be saying good morning when you spit, not ‘where is the bear buried'?"
"You just made that up,” Scarlet accused.
"Nothing of the sort. Here, try again; hunge sinir ch'th—"
When Scarlet tired of learning and Liall wearied of teaching, tedium returned and Liall settled for watching Scarlet as a pastime: the way the candlelight shaded the hollows of his cheeks, the way he combed his black hair in the morning, how softly he slept at night, on his back with his very slender left hand curled on his chest.
After a day or two, when the initial flattery wore off, the attention naturally began to wear thin. Scarlet caught Liall watching him mend a shirt as he sat on the floor under the porthole. It was perhaps the tenth time that day he had seen Liall's eyes fixed on him, and he blew out a short sigh and looked away.
"Liall,” he said, then nothing more.
Liall let a minute pass but kept watching. He was enjoying the shape of Scarlet's body, how he so effortlessly reclined on the hard surface, the torn shirt in his lap and one leg folded under him.
"What?” Liall asked easily.
"Would you please stop that?"
"Stop what?"
"Watching me."
Liall was lying on the bunk on the other side of the cabin, his palm resting against his cheek. He sat up and shrugged. “There is nothing else to watch."
"Well, find something,” Scarlet snapped. He sighed. “I'm sorry."
"Come over here and kiss me,” Liall found himself saying. He was determined to bury his fear and continue on the path he had chosen.
Scarlet looked up quickly, his eyebrows climbing high.
"We can at least kiss, can we not? Or are we to be forever chaste lovers, like the pale, doomed sots in fairytales?"
"No,” Scarlet said resentfully. “I don't want that either. But I thought you said you were afraid."
"I am, but we must begin somewhere, yes?"
Scarlet fell silent, staring at him. The shirt lay forgotten in his lap and a slow, bright blush crept across his fair skin.
Liall wanted to smile but held it back, knowing it would offend him. Poor Scarlet, he thought. You are no child, but sometimes I think you have no idea what effect you have on me, how one glance of you in your nightshirt, stretching and knuckling the sleep out of your eyes, can make me burn for you.
Liall often woke at night with the sharp scent of his own arousal in his nose and his member hard and moist on his belly, begging for notice. Attention he never gave it, for he was too aware of Scarlet being so near, sleeping next to him but inviolate as the moon through their mutual trust. He had a foolish fear that Scarlet would catch him pleasuring himself. It was a boy's fear, and silly. If Scarlet were any other man, he would not have hesitated to relieve himself whenever he needed to, albeit with a small amount of discretion, but this was Scarlet.
When Scarlet dressed, Liall would gaze hungrily for a flash of white limb being slid into the hateful clothing that hid it from him. He longed to claim that skin and cover it with kisses, to draw sighs of pleasure from Scarlet's lips and make him clutch at him and beg. Alas, still a dream. Aside from the brief embraces since they met up in Volkovoi, they had been as chaste as brothers with each other.
"What is the matter?” Liall pressed. “Do you not want to kiss me?"
"Yes,” Scarlet answered at once.
"Then perhaps you no longer desire me?” he teased. “Have you changed your mind so quickly?"
Scarlet threw the shirt he was mending aside. “Don't be a want-wit!"
"Then perhaps you are ashamed of me. Too good to dirty yourself with a Kasiri."
Scarlet gaped at his unfairness. “Liall, I swear to you, that's not true at all."
Liall shrugged and left off watching Scarlet to give his attention to the ceiling, watching the little flame on the smaller candle-lamp sway with the waves. After a few moments, Scarlet rose and came to sit beside him. Liall felt warm fingers threading with his and risked a look at Scarlet. A line of remorse was etched deep across Scarlet's forehead, and there was pain in his eyes
"Gods, look at you. I was only joking,” Liall sighed. Scarlet was too young by far. He had known that from the moment they met. Scarlet had no experience in love or the complicated dance of power betw
een couples, and Liall could have easily manipulated him. He might even gave done it, if not for his own guilt over the way they had met.
"I'm sorry,” Scarlet said contritely. “I don't mean to make you feel..."
Liall sighed and put his fingers to Scarlet's lips. “Hush, the fault is mine.” Yes, the fault is mine, he thought. It is a great responsibility for a man my age to take a lover so green and youthful, for I have the knowledge and skill to do you harm or manipulate you terribly, and I must never use it. I must protect you always. Yet ... one kiss cannot hurt.
"No, it's not, I—"
Liall slipped his hand around the back of Scarlet's neck and pulled him closer. “I said,” he repeated, his breath gusting over Scarlet's mouth. “Hush."
After the first heated touch of skin to skin, mouth to mouth, Scarlet exhaled in a shaking sigh and his tense body relaxed, sinking against Liall. Liall wound his arms around Scarlet and rolled on the bed until Scarlet was half under him. Liall's hand roamed over Scarlet's shoulders and stomach, snaking down to caress the warm line of his thigh.
"Liall,” Scarlet whispered shakily, when he was allowed to breathe.
"Yes?” Liall murmured back, pressing Scarlet's body to him deliciously, loving the feel of him, the lean slenderness and wiry muscle contrasted by the incredible softness of his skin, the silk of his hair and the full, wet mouth. Scarlet was altogether intoxicating. Liall found himself rubbing against Scarlet's body like a cat, for that is what Scarlet reminded him of: a small, elegant cat with ready claws and sharp teeth. There was a fire building in Liall. It roared in his ears as he drowned his senses in the feel of Scarlet's mouth, the way his lips parted to allow Liall's tongue entrance, the way his legs opened sweetly to pillow Liall's hips.
Liall ground against him, pushing their bodies together, stoking the melting heat in his groin, clutching and thrusting, frantically close, so very close
"Liall!"
Liall jumped back like a shot, his heart thudding. “What?"
"Can't you hear me?"
"Hear what?” Liall wiped his mouth. He had been right on the verge, so close that the dull ache of unfulfilled passion scraped on his nerves like sand in an open wound. Scarlet's eyes were wide and his breathing ragged, and Liall recalled suddenly—and with some shame—that all was not as he had imagined in his ardor. Scarlet's legs hadn't opened to him: he had thrust them apart with his knee. Scarlet's mouth had yielded at last to his probing, but only after Liall nipped his lower lip and Scarlet yelped in surprise.
Liall looked away and recoiled to the edge of the bed, head down, breathing raggedly as he rebuilt his shattered composure. It was not easy. The same berserker rage that often took Rshani warriors into battle-madness made them intemperate lovers as well. Truly, he thought dizzily, there is a reason for our proper ways and fine speech: it hides the animal inside.
He reminded himself that Scarlet still had not realized how very unlike their races were, that the differences between Hilurin and Rshani ran deeper than skin and hair and the color of their eyes. They were a completely opposite species, at times as brutal and savage as Hilurin are aloof and cool, swift to temper and swifter to passion, and not all of it wholly controllable.
"Sorry, I'm sorry,” Scarlet stammered. “I wanted you to, I just ... I don't know what happened."
"I crave your pardon,” Liall was able to say at last, though it stuck in his throat. His bed would remain empty for a while yet. Months, maybe. Oh, Scarlet was worth it, he knew. At that moment, however, his body knew no such thing.
Scarlet touched Liall's arm. “Liall—"
Liall jerked away. “Spare me your pity. I will not die if I do not have your touch."
"Are you all right?"
"It will pass."
"Are you sure, you look kind of—"
"Hell's teeth!” Liall stood up and whirled on him. “Either bed me or leave me alone, but cease your prattle! I cannot take any more of this!"
Scarlet's expression reflected shock and hurt, enough to make even a cruel man think twice, but Liall was beyond caring. He stormed to the door and flung it open. The icy blast that rushed in doused the candle and put a fresh damper on his lust, but not his temper.
"I need to walk before my head explodes!” he snarled. “Serves me right for taking up with a boy!"
Liall left, slamming the door behind him so loud that the timbers shook.
* * * *
Scarlet sat rigidly as the cabin door had slammed, feeling very much as if Liall had struck him physically. Liall hinted at love, but would not say it. Liall asked for a kiss and then tried to take more than that, and when Scarlet refused, Liall dared to call him the child!
Slowly, Scarlet's hurt faded into anger. He began to suspect they each wanted very different things from each other: Liall seemed to want only pleasure, while Scarlet wanted much more than that. Still, he thought angrily, no matter how much I care for him, he has no right to push me into pleasing him, as if I were a whore.
Scarlet still harbored a horror of being viewed like the boys for sale in the souk: a pretty piece of meat, fit only for the bed or the block. When Liall refused to answer his questions, it only intensified his growing suspicion that Liall did not consider him a suitable mate.
A suitable bedmate, perhaps, he thought sourly. But still, have I been any more honest than he has? I've hinted and looked, but did I ever say I cared for him?
Cursing himself, Scarlet drew on his coat and gloves. Opening the abused door, he ducked out into the icy wind, shielding his eyes while trying to discern which way Liall went. Cold sleet drove out of a black sky, making his eyes water. He saw no sign of Liall near the inner railing, and the deck bucked worse than any Byzantur ferry ever had. He ventured out to the companionway, holding on to the wooden rails and shivering, and worked his way down the narrow walk. As he reached the end of it, he dimly recognized Liall standing braced by the bulward watching the sea churn, and Liall was not alone. The young mariner with the pale hair stood very close to Liall. As Scarlet watched, the mariner took Liall's hand and bowed over it, pressing a kiss to Liall's skin.
The cold wind roared in Scarlet's ears and battered him. He had seen the mariner watching Liall with desire before.
As Scarlet stood, locked in hesitation of whether to stay or flee, he saw Liall's hand come up and briefly cup the young mariner's cheek. The mariner's eyes looked past Liall's shoulder and locked with Scarlet's momentarily, and the mariner smiled in gloating triumph.
Liall, seeing that his companion's gaze was elsewhere, turned and saw Scarlet watching them. Scarlet whirled around and quickly fought his way through the wind back to the cabin, his heart thudding.
Rutting bastard! Let him bed the stinking mariner if that's all he's after! He slammed the poor cabin door hard enough to rattle the frame and stood there shaking and breathing hard. Once inside, he felt trapped and angry.
The door opened and Liall was there. “Scarlet,” he said, as he closed the door firmly behind him. “I do not know what you think, but—"
"It doesn't matter,” he broke in, fighting to keep his voice steady. “Just don't say anything."
He turned his face to the wall for fear Liall could see how much he was affected, how much seeing Liall touch the mariner had wounded him. Whatever else, he did not want Liall to see him that way. Scarlet picked up his pack and sat with his back against the wall, pretending to mend a strong strap on the side that needed no mending, determined not to look at Liall.
After a long moment, Liall crossed the cabin toward him. Liall's fingers touched Scarlet's hair lightly. “Scarlet,” he said, a note of chastisement in his voice. “I do not deny that Oleksei sought my company in his bed, but if you think I would cast you aside thus without even a word, you are mistaken."
Oleksei, Scarlet seethed. The name was alien and beautiful, nothing at all like his. He kept mute, afraid to say anything at all, for fear of shaming himself or making an already tangled matter worse. Liall sighed and mutt
ered in Sinha, and then the bunk creaked as he lay down again.
Scarlet stayed awake for perhaps an hour after he heard Liall's breathing even out into the rhythm of sleep. Eventually, the rolling of the ship soothed his mind and he slept, waking only when a swell tossed the ship and he thumped his head hard against the cabin wall. He opened his eyes to darkness and tried to stand, finding he could not. The movement of the ship robbed him of any proper sense of direction. For a moment, he could not recall where he was, and then strong hands caught hold of him and an arm went around his waist, lifting him to his feet.
Still dazed and disoriented, he held on. The cabin was cold as death, and Scarlet realized he had let the fire burn out.
Liall's voice was close to his ear. “I have you,” Liall rumbled, his voice as steady as the ship was not. “Are you all right?"
"Just bumped m'head,” Scarlet said blearily. He blinked a few times in the utter blackness to clear his vision, and the corners of the cabin took shape in the form of blurred, silvery lines. He could see the bunk now, and the shape of Liall's body next to him.
"Do not move. I will find the lantern."
"I can see,” Scarlet said.
"In this?” Liall's voice registered surprise. “How?"
Scarlet held on to Liall as another swell tipped the cabin alarmingly. Blind himself, Liall urged him over to the bunk. Scarlet lay down without protest, not even bothering to take off his boots. Liall settled into the bunk next to him and Scarlet huddled against the welcome warmth, wondering if Liall even felt the cold. He never seemed to, and certainly he never complained.
"Rough seas,” Liall murmured. One strong arm curled around Scarlet's back, drawing him closer to Liall's chest.
Scarlet had a thought that Liall might be referring to more than the actual water. “Yes,” he agreed quietly. He was glad Liall did not question him further about his sight. Most Hilurin have an innate ability to see well in dark, which accounts for much of their skill at navigating roads and rivers. It was just one more piece of evidence that pointed to how different he was from Liall, and how far apart their races were.
