Baron of Blood (Dawning Era Saga)

by C. N. Faust

  Nicholas and his wife were fighting. They fought often, and up until that moment they had been long overdue for one of their usual spats. Nicholas had been gone more often lately, so he and his Arceia hadn’t been seeing as much of each other.

  Five minutes ago, they had crossed paths, more or less on accident. Nicholas was just arriving home from his meeting with the Baron Clieous, and Arodi had arrived to greet him. They had been in the middle of their usual welcoming kisses when Baroness Arceia had stormed into the room, her wrath and poisonous disdain dripping from every pore. It trailed in her wake like a shadow, ready to seize hold of them and drag them to the floor, thrashing and flailing.

  “War?” were the first words to slither out of her crimson mouth, her teeth clenched and bared, like a dragon rearing for the fight. Nicholas quickly released his hold on Arodi’s shoulders, and the manservant immediately retreated into a corner, away from the line of fire.

  “Where did you hear such a thing?” Nicholas demanded, wiping the smudge of red paint away from his lips that had belonged to Arodi.

  “You wretched weakling! Clieous decides to start a war and you decide to back him up on it? The faithful puppy following at his master’s heels, as always!” she shrieked in frustration. “What do you have to gain from this, then? What could you possibly have to gain! Why not ally yourself with Sitharus, and get something out of this idiotic coup? Or just plunge a dagger into your heart and send yourself straight to Azrael – cut out half the time it will take you to get there!”

  Nicholas brought the back of his hand heavily down against his wife’s face, and her cheek flushed red as she hit him right back.

  “Don’t question me, woman,” he growled. “Remember your place.”

  “I have no place,” she snorted. “You saw to that when your father forced you to marry me, didn’t you? You saw that I was to drift throughout this castle like a ghost – not even a child to keep me company in my coming age. Well – do not expect this ghost to remain silent! I will bang on your doors and your walls and force you to pay attention to me, you barbaric sodomizing whore!”

  He hit her again, and again, each blow heavier and more furious than the last. His wife eventually fell quiet and submitted to the beatings, which ended only when she fell into a heap on the floor, and he was standing over her, panting.

  “Do not ever address me in such a way again, madame,” he said, coldly. She looked up at him, blood trickling from the wreck that was her nose and split bottom lip.

  “I will address you any way I like,” she replied, licking the salty blood away from her mouth and spitting it out onto the floor. “It’s nothing less than you deserve.”

  “Why do you hate me, Arceia?” he sighed. It was rhetoric question.

  “Why do you hate me?” she shot back. Most of their arguments ended this way.

  “I didn’t want to marry you, and you didn’t want to marry me, either. It’s been a calamity on both sides ever since!” Nicholas slammed his fist into his palm, and she winced. “What will it get for you to leave me, Arceia? I know you have family in Drakkian Province, and they will take care of you! Why do you stay here with me, where if you choked on a bone at the supper table I wouldn’t summon the servants to clear your body away?”

  Arceia looked at him, and her words were laced with ice. “Perhaps I stay to make you miserable. My hatred must run that deep.”

  “I don’t believe you,” he countered. “I don’t believe you at all.”

  “You never do, and it would be to your benefit,” she stood, her knees trembling weakly. He did not offer a hand, and she did not reach out to him. Arodi did not move from his corner.

  She laughed regardless, and it rang hollow. “Yes, I hate you so much, that I would rather compromise an entire lifetime of my happiness for a minute of your suffering. In fact, I cannot wait to see what Sitharus does to you. I hope it’s terrible. I hope he cuts off so many pieces of you that there isn’t enough leftover to bury. Then maybe my child and I can live in peace.”

  “Child?” Arodi and Nicholas echoed, almost at the same time. Arodi bit his tongue against the momentary lapse in servant etiquette, but Nicholas didn’t notice. He looked almost sick, like he couldn’t breathe.

  “Oh, didn’t I tell you?” her voice was high, lilting. It mocked him.

  “Arceia…” he was terrified to say the words, as if simply uttering them would make them come true. Arceia, a mother? He, Nicholas Colagraos Ercole, barely twenty-one, a father? His thoughts flew apart in the privacy of his own skull, battering against the walls, and he placed a hand to his temples to calm them. His stomach churned, and he glanced at Arceia through watering eyes. He was suddenly very weak – and completely terrified. Fatherhood, for the love of Azrael! It didn’t suit him!

  “Yes,” she confirmed, viciously latching on to his pain and thriving on every glorious minute of it. “I am with child.”

  “How…?” that was another thing he didn’t understand. He couldn’t remember the last time he had split his wife’s legs, but he could vaguely remember something occurring during their wedding night three years ago. But of course, after that night, he had gone back to Arodi. His love, who had been there from the beginning.

  “It’s not yours,” there was a note of triumph in Arceia’s voice, as if she had just done something she considered particularly clever. “It is someone else’s. There will be another man’s child, in your home, posing as your son. But he isn’t going to be your son, he will be mine. And I shall raise him and cherish him, and give him all of the love and affection that I never could quite manage to waste on you.” She spat through her clenched teeth, blood and spittle rained down on Nicholas’ cheek. He wiped it away distractedly.

  “Who’s?” he grasped her shoulders, trying to restrain himself from shaking her. “Arceia, for the love of Azrael, who’s child is it?”

  Her lips twisted into a smirk. “I’ll never tell.”

  “Arceia!” he growled, shaking her, and her blonde head snapped back and forth with the force. “At least give me the dignity of knowing the man’s name!”

  “Oh, if you insist,” a soft look spread across her features, and a disgusting light appeared in her eyes. She smiled, and glanced dreamily past his shoulder, straight at the lonely figure standing the corner. “Arodi…”

  “LIES,” Nicholas hissed, and twisted his head to glance over his shoulder. Arodi’s hands were in the air in silent protest, and he shook his head emphatically to deny the charge.

  “Yes,” the look vanished as quickly as it appeared, and Arceia laughed cruelly at him, pushing him away. “But I had you worried.”

  A tide of relief washed over Nicholas, and he released her, slapping her again just for the scare. For a sickening, horrible moment, he had entertained the idea that Arodi had … bedded someone else. The image had been almost too terrible to bear.

  “You will never know,” Arceia continued, tracing her bloodied fingers down to stroke her not yet rounded stomach. “That is your punishment for never paying any attention to me.”

  “Perhaps if you were more interesting,” Nicholas replied, flatly.

  “And I require so little,” she looked up at him woefully, continuing to stroke her stomach, working her fingers into the soft wool and silk of her gown.

  “I suppose your new suitor pays much more attention to you than I ever will,” he glanced away with disinterest, his eyes wandering back to his servant. He suddenly found himself possessing a strong desire to pull Arodi in his arms and never, ever let him go.

  “Obviously,” his wife smirked.

  Nicholas was not fraught with jealousy. Quite the opposite, it was a tremendous relief to have someone else giving their attentions to his wife. Perhaps it would keep Arceia away more often, and off his back about things. She certainly could no longer harp on about the baby that she had been wanting for three years. A more vindictive part of him found itself hoping that the suitor was large, and so the baby would be large. He hope i
t broke every bone in her body trying to claw its way out. He hoped she died in childbirth.

  He looked at her, at her tiny waist and slender hips, and realized that it was not so unlikely that the childbearing might kill her. It didn’t concern him greatly.

  “You will get fat,” he said gravely, meeting her gaze. “That is what happens to women, you know. The minute a man’s seed starts stirring in her belly, she gets fat.”

  She glowered at him, but only for a second. “I will leave you to console your manservant, my lord, he looks as though I gave him quite a scare.”

  Him, Nicholas thought dryly, but didn’t say anything out loud. Instead, he merely turned away from his wife, dismissing her with a look. The sound of Arceia’s receding footsteps echoed in the voluminous hallways until finally, they faded altogether.

  “I hope you don’t believe her, my lord,” Arodi said quickly, when Arceia was gone and Nicholas approached him. “I would never-“

  “No, I don’t,” Nicholas touched Arodi’s cheek and traced his fingertips down the scar tissue. “I know that you loathe her as I do.”

  “I would never touch her,” Arodi agreed, inching closer to his lord.

  “She is a repulsive creature,” Nicholas said, leaning in and claiming Arodi’s lips in a gentle kiss.

  “I love only you,” Arodi whispered, and Nicholas silenced him with another kiss.

  Arodi pressed against his lord, sliding arms around his neck and tilting his head back, allowing the baron to drip worshipful kisses down his neck. Nicholas crushed Arodi against him, pressing him into the wall, devouring his lips, neck, and what he could expose of his shoulder all in a play of lips, teeth, and tongue.

  “My lord,” Arodi squirmed. “We’re in the hallway!”

  “I love you,” Nicholas said suddenly, bringing his lips back up to meet Arodi’s. “Never forget it. Never.”

  “I never shall,” Arodi said softly, stroking the baron’s side.

  “I would rather cut out my own heart… than to see you suffer,” Nicholas sighed, and pulled away, allowing Arodi room to breathe. “And I suppose now, you know there is a war.”

  “Yes,” Arodi said, regaining his composure. He had forgotten about the mention of a war already, and now it suddenly came to hit him. War, along with everything it entailed. “You won’t actually have to fight, will you?”

  “I don’t know,” Nicholas’ eyes looked distant. “But it will feel good to grip the hilt of a sword in my hands, wielded in the name of freedom.”

  “Wielded in the name of Ercole,” Arodi’s fingers worked busily to untuck the baron’s linen shirt from his pants. Once the shirt was out, he slipped his icy hands underneath them, running them up and over Nicholas’ warm, firm chest. “What is in it for us?”

  “Prestige,” Nicholas said, shivering in delight at the touches. Encouraged, Arodi’s hands slid up even further, pinching his nipples. “Think on it! Finally, a chance for the House of Ercole to be taken seriously. We could gain a lot of power in this revolution if we win, Arodi.”

  “And if we lose?” Arodi asked carefully. “What will happen to you?”

  Nicholas paused, as if he had not considered that. Gently, he stroked Arodi’s thick hair.

  “I will probably die,” he said, very matter-of-factly.

  Arodi’s expression was that of stone. It sent a barb through Nicholas’ heart. He tried so hard to keep his love happy, it pained him to see that expression – it mean that Arodi was hiding something from him.

  “Arodi, my love, tell me, what is it? Please, don’t shut me out.” He stroked the side of his lover’s face with his thumb.

  “Die?” Arodi’s voice was flat, calloused. “You would die? And where would that leave me? Here, with your wife?” Arodi turned away, and hugged his chest with his sweetly tanned arms. “She will kill me the moment you are gone, your body won’t even be cold, and mine will be stretched out next to it.” Arodi finished this on a note of bitterness, hugging himself even tighter. “And if – by some miracle of Azrael – she did not, then I would be alone.” He didn’t look at his master; he didn’t want the baron to see the tears that threatened to trickle down his cheeks. “I don’t think I could bear being alone, Nicholas. I don’t think I could face being alive without you.”

  Nicholas’ heart melted. He gathered Arodi in his arms, and brushed his hair away, kissing the back of his neck. “Arodi… Arodi … my love…”

  Arodi turned around, allowing himself to be enveloped in his master’s arms and burying his face in Nicholas’ neck, sighing shakily, trying very hard not to cry.

  “Don’t go to war,” Arodi pleaded, kissing Nicholas’ neck as if that alone could change his mind. “Please, please don’t go-“

  “I have to,” Nicholas forced the words past his lips, though his heart was breaking. “You must understand, Arodi, it’s a matter of honor…”

  “Damn your honor,” Arodi sniffed.

  “Gods, don’t do this to me, I swear that I don’t want to leave you, and I wouldn’t, if I hadn’t already promised my allegiance to Ivan.” He held Arodi at arm’s length, and regarded him with a solemn look. “I love you more than life itself, Arodi, you mean everything to me. I’m lost without you. I swear by all that is holy and sacred to me that I will never leave you, and I won’t die on you. I’m never going to leave you alone.”

  Arodi didn’t want to voice his fears. He didn’t want to say how difficult it would be for him if Nicholas never returned home, how he didn’t think he could bear to live if that happened. And how could Nicholas make such promises? Did he control his life? Was it not Azrael who orchestrated the fates of men? If Azrael did not choose to show mercy…

  He didn’t voice his fears. He allowed Nicholas to believe that he was comforted by such words. It was easier, that way. And he didn’t want Nicholas to go back on his word and compromise his honor just because he was a silly servant with silly fears.

  “Go,” he said, shoving playfully at Nicholas’ chest. “Go on, fight your war. Come back bloody and scarred up. And with muscles. I like muscles.”

  “Do you?” Nicholas smiled in relief, and pinched Arodi’s sides, causing him to jump. “I’ll remember that. I will have plenty of time to work on all three areas, it seems.”

  “Yes, well, not so much blood,” Arodi quickly amended, kissing him chastely. “But do not spare yourself on exercise.”

  “Am I such an eyesore, then?” Nicholas teased. “Am I becoming my father, with a round belly and a boisterous roar?”

  “Well,” Arodi placed a fingertip to his chin and tapped it in mock thoughtfulness, twisting his lips and appraising his master critically. “Not quite, but I’d say a few more pounds, and you wouldn’t be far off…”

  Nicholas pretended to be insulted, and pinched him again, harder. Arodi shrieked and took off running up the stairs, fast as his tiny booted ankles could carry him. Nicholas darted after him, chasing him down like a hound after a fox. Arodi wormed their way into the bedroom and managed to just get halfway to the bed when Nicholas finally caught up with him. The baron seized his servant by the wrists and flung him down onto the bed, straddling his hips and looming over him, slightly out of breath from the run.

  “What was that?” he asked, pressing Arodi’s wrist down into the bed.

  “Nothing, my lord!” Arodi purred, bucking his hips playfully. Nicholas growled hungrily and kissed his servant’s throat.

  “Don’t make me beat you for your impudence,” Nicholas warned him, nipping at his ear. Arodi squirmed, rolling his hips, wrapping one ankle around Nicholas’ knee to hold him in place.

  “Oh, do be kind, sweet master,” Arodi laughed, kissing Nicholas firmly on the lips. “Please, please be merciful!”

  “I shall be merciful,” Nicholas said loftily, then added, “If I feel like it.”

  Arodi giggled in delight as Nicholas showered him in kisses.

  Nothing more was spoken of his fears.

  Chapter Eight

&nb
sp; Charon dropped his pack to the ground and landed heavily on his ass on the corner of the street. He didn’t care that it was covered in ice, he only cared that his shoes were too filled with holes – which were now filled up with snow. His toes were numb and probably falling off, at this point. The bottoms of his boots were slick, and slipped even on the dry patches on the street. His clothes, which had once been of good quality, were now insufficient against even the paltriest of winds. He shivered as he huddled on the street corner, pulling his knees up to his chest and peering at the world from behind ragged blonde bangs.

  He had once been a wealthy man, you could tell just from looking at his clothes. They were wool and silk- a common but expensive material. Of course, bad circumstances and worse weather had worn them down to their bare threads. A slave wouldn’t be seen in them, but they were all he had. His leather pack contained all of the food and money he had left in the world. He was a man without any position, hardly any possessions, and no real ambition to acquire either. He had never been very industrious.

  He was a comely looking man, as well. At least he had that in his favor. His hair, like liquid sunshine, parted haphazardly in all directions and hung over his piercing blue suede eyes. His nose was regal – an aquiline nose – and presided over a depressingly normal mouth. It was flat and long, nothing particularly sensuous about them, or the way they were cracked and bleeding from the bitter winter cold. His skin was pale and dry underneath his piles of shabby clothing. A woolen cowl was tugged over his head, for what little good it did. Rubbing his hands together, Charon cupped them around his mouth and blew into them, hoping to generate a little heat. He hadn’t the foggiest idea of where he was staying for the night. His only hope was that he could find somewhere before the sun set in the next fifteen minutes and left him to freeze.

  Charon cursed his bad luck. He had been thrown out of every tavern and brothel in Drakkian Province, it seemed like. What little money he had managed to keep/beg/barter/steal was quickly gone. He didn’t even know how it had happened – he just reached into his purse one day and it had vanished. Disappeared. Gone up in smoke, for all he knew. Unfortunately, credit only ran so far before someone wanted you to own up and start paying up on your bills. That was when he got in trouble. After all, if they had just left him alone, he would have paid them back. He just didn’t have a job right now. No one did. The king was bleeding their province dry and unfortunately, all of its inhabitants suffered with it.