King of Dublin

by Lisa Henry

  He wants my ransom. That’s why he wants me out of Dublin and back to my father in one piece. The fucking bastard!

  Ciaran lay still as Darragh put boots on his feet and laced them snugly. Then Darragh pulled him up and buttoned a jacket around him, bound arms and all. He was totally dependent on Darragh now. No sight. No balance. What happened if they were attacked before they’d escaped the city? He was wrapped up like a gift to be returned to Boru.

  Maybe Darragh was bringing him to Boru anyway. Not like Ciaran could see where he was going. Maybe Darragh hoped to earn his way back into the king’s good graces by returning his wayward Boy.

  Even though he was wrapped up warm, warmer than he’d been in ages, Ciaran shivered.

  Darragh lifted him to his feet, threw an arm over his shoulder, and gathered him in. “Come on now. Not many hours until daylight.”

  I won’t go.

  “I’ll carry you if I have to. You know I will. Won’t be nobody taking much notice of one man carrying off another here, struggling or no.”

  Ciaran’s gut tightened. If they were noticed, and they would be noticed, they were dead men. Boru didn’t suffer traitors. There was no way out of the city. How could Darragh not know that? And now, bound up and blind, Ciaran didn’t even have a fighting chance.

  Shit. Where was Maureen? Where were her people? What the hell had Darragh done to them? He was a monster. And Ciaran had defended him! Had argued for his freedom.

  Ciaran choked back a sob as Darragh began to move, drawing Ciaran along with him. Steps. A lot of steps. Old, uneven steps. Enough that Ciaran imagined they were descending all the way into Hell. If he fell, how far down would he go? Far enough to put a damper on all of Darragh’s grand plans, probably. Shame he wasn’t quite ready to break his neck yet, not even to make a point.

  “At the bottom now,” Darragh said in a quiet voice. “We’re in the old sewers. They’ll take us out of the city.”

  Sewers? Ciaran braced himself for the stench, but twenty years of disuse had left them merely murky, smelling of stale water and moss-covered stone. Despite himself, Ciaran was fascinated. Had Boru known about the old sewers? He couldn’t have. Was that how the Milbourne Avenue rats had moved unseen around the city?

  Shit.

  If Darragh knew about the sewers, then one of Maureen’s people must have sold Ciaran out. Darragh couldn’t have managed this on his own. But for what purpose? A reward his father might offer? No, because there was no guarantee Darragh would return to Dublin with that.

  Boru. It had to be Boru. Darragh was stupid enough to think he was leading Ciaran home, but in reality he must have been leading him straight back to College Green.

  Ciaran stopped walking and tried to speak.

  “Quickly,” Darragh said, drawing him on.

  We’re going to die, you culchie fool.

  Hands cupped Ciaran’s shoulders, turning him until his chest touched Darragh’s. “Please,” Darragh said, and Ciaran felt the roundness of Darragh’s forehead nudge his own. “Please trust me, Ciaran. I will protect you. I will protect you, or I will die trying.”

  Fool, Ciaran thought again, less vehemently this time. What choice did he have but to go with Darragh? He exhaled heavily, nodded, and let Darragh lead him on through the darkness.

  It was hours before Darragh felt like they were getting anywhere. The rat queen had indeed provided him with simple directions, but it was still dark as pitch and the way was twisty and dangerous—some of the tunnels had started to collapse, and the narrow walking pathways were strewn with debris. But there were markers to lead the way, carvings in the stone, pieces of graffiti that had more meaning than one might think at first glance. A secret map for him to follow. A secret map for him to take Ciaran home.

  It would be daylight now, and Darragh had hoped to clear Dublin before then. Impossible, though, with Ciaran at his side. Blindfolded and bound, he slowed their pace. Darragh wondered if it would be safest to remain in the sewers until nightfall or to seek out different shelter aboveground.

  Poor Ciaran. Darragh wanted nothing more than to remove the rope and the tape, but he knew Ciaran would bolt. He wanted to stay, the old woman had said, wanted to fight. So brave, and so careless of his own safety. He would be fine, Darragh hoped, when he was home again, restored to the people who loved him. Boru had taken more than enough from him already. He didn’t have to give any more. He would come to see that, in the end.

  “We’ll wait here a while,” Darragh said, squinting up at the old iron ladder. Above that door, sunlight. Escape. The temptation to go now was strong, but it would be safer at night. Darragh shrugged off his pack. “I’ll help you sit. You should rest.”

  He eased Ciaran down, first onto his knees and then his arse. Made sure he could lean against the wall without straining.

  “Are you thirsty? You must be thirsty.”

  Ciaran nodded sharply.

  “I’ll take the tape off now, so. But you can’t be yelling like you were before. I don’t know if they can hear us up above. Please.”

  Ciaran nodded again.

  Darragh picked at the end of the tape, flush against Ciaran’s cheek, and flinched at the sound it made as he tore it free. “I’m sorry.”

  “Darragh,” Ciaran said, his voice cracking. “Take me back, please. This is dangerous. It’s a trap; they’ve set you up!”

  Darragh unscrewed the lid of a canteen. “It’s not a trap. It’s safe. Have some water.” He pressed the canteen to Ciaran’s lips.

  “Don’t—” Ciaran spluttered. He wrenched his head back. “What did you do to Maureen?”

  “Who?” Darragh pulled the canteen away before he spilled any more water down Ciaran’s front.

  Ciaran shook his head. “The woman. The old woman. Their leader.”

  “I did nothing to her. Why would I harm her?”

  “Because she stood in your way,” Ciaran snarled, turning his face blindly towards Darragh. “She stood in the way of your reward.”

  Darragh’s stomach clenched. “She did not.” He reached a hand towards Ciaran’s face but pulled it back again before touching him. “She told me to take you away.”

  “She …” Ciaran clamped his mouth shut and knocked his head back against the wall. Hard. Once, twice …

  Darragh grabbed him by the coat and pulled him forwards. “Stop that! You’ll hurt yourself.”

  “What do I care,” Ciaran snapped, sullen, but he did stop. “I’m just a whore, aren’t I? Just an object to be passed around. Just a fucking liability!”

  “Shhh.” Darragh put a hand on the side of Ciaran’s head, cradling him. “You’re not a whore. Not an object.” He sighed. “You’re a man, still.”

  “Then why won’t you and Maureen let me choose my own damn fate?”

  Darragh wished he could see Ciaran’s eyes. Wished he could look into them and hold Ciaran’s gaze. “Because I can’t let you die, Ciaran. I hurt you once. I hurt you, and I owe you a debt that I can only repay by giving you your freedom. I cannot. Let you. Die.”

  “You have …” Ciaran murmured. “You have grand ideas, Darragh, that don’t belong in this time.”

  “I think you do, too,” Darragh said, plainly, even as the realisation and the fullness of the thought threatened to overflow him. There were never enough words, especially not when it came to Ciaran.

  “I don’t know what I have.”

  “Me,” Darragh said. “My loyalty. That is what you have.”

  “Loyalty. Now there’s a word that’s lost all meaning.”

  “Only if you let it.”

  “Boru spoke a lot of loyalty.” Ciaran tilted his head into Darragh’s touch. “And you saw what it meant there.”

  “Boru spoke of many things, but he didn’t know anything. Least of all you.”

  Ciaran was silent for a moment, then a small smile curled his lips. “Darragh?”

  “What?”

  The smile grew. “You hit him good.”

  Darragh sm
iled, as well. “I did, didn’t I?”

  Ciaran laughed softly, and Darragh’s chest swelled to hear it. Then he drew a deep breath and bit his lip. “Darragh?”

  “What?”

  “I really need to piss.”

  “Will you run if I untie you?” Darragh’s heart thumped in his chest, He wasn’t even sure what answer he wanted to hear. Did he want Ciaran’s spirit to be defeated, for him to have given up his fire and will so easily? On the other side, did he want Ciaran to distrust him any longer? Hate him any longer? He wanted Ciaran to cooperate, but not to obey. Wanted a partner, not a slave. Ciaran. Not Boy.

  “N-no.” A slight hesitation.

  “I’ll untie you when we’re out of Dublin, I promise. I can’t have you running off and getting lost, or going up top and getting yourself killed. I’m sorry. I want to trust you.”

  “But you don’t.”

  “I don’t,” Darragh agreed. “I’m relieved I don’t. Means you’re still …” He slipped his arms under Ciaran’s. “Up you go.” He helped Ciaran stand, then turned him to the wall, as absurd as it was to do so. Still with his arms looped under Ciaran’s, he reached forwards. “I’m going to touch you now,” he warned. His hands slipped across Ciaran’s hips until his fingers found fly and zip.

  Ciaran breathed in sharply as Darragh lowered the zip.

  Darragh echoed the sound, hands trembling. “Still all right?” he asked, unable to hide the tremor in his voice.

  “Yes,” Ciaran hissed. He rolled his shoulders, body pressing closer to Darragh’s. “Don’t … don’t let me piss on my boots, all right?”

  Darragh huffed with amusement. “I won’t.” He tugged Ciaran’s trousers open, and then slipped his hand into Ciaran’s underwear. Tried not to think too much about the warmth of Ciaran’s flesh, the smoothness of it. His hand grazed hair, and Ciaran sucked in a shuddering breath. “It’s all right.”

  Ciaran bit his lip as Darragh’s fingers closed around his cock. Their cheeks brushed together. “Fuck,” Ciaran breathed.

  Darragh’s cock began to harden, pressed against Ciaran’s arse. Wasn’t the only one. Ciaran’s, too, had thickened in Darragh’s hand. Darragh couldn’t help but remember the taste of that cock in his mouth. It felt like a lifetime ago.

  But that wasn’t this. He needed to remember that.

  “Okay,” Darragh said. “Go when you’re ready.”

  Easier said than done, he knew.

  “It’s hard,” Ciaran complained, and then he laughed. “God.”

  “I like it when you laugh,” Darragh told him, smiling.

  “I’m never going to be able to piss with you holding my dick.”

  “Think of something else,” Darragh suggested.

  “Like what?”

  “Like Maureen.”

  That earned him another laugh, and Ciaran relaxed against him. The stream followed after that, and the pair of them just stood there like a couple of fools, laughing and leaning together like the horror of their situation couldn’t touch them. Maybe it couldn’t, here and now. Just for this moment.

  When it was over, Darragh gave Ciaran a shake and tucked him back in, unable to resist pressing a kiss to his ear.

  “What was that for?” Ciaran grumbled.

  “For trusting me, just a bit.” And because I wanted it. You. Want you.

  “I get it,” Ciaran said. “I’m allowed to trust you, but you’re not allowed to trust me?”

  “I trust you. I just don’t trust you won’t run off and get yourself killed. It’s not the same thing.”

  “It kind of is,” Ciaran complained.

  “It isn’t. Not at all.”

  I don’t trust that you want to live. Not as much as I want you to live.

  He held the canteen to Ciaran’s lips again. This time, Ciaran drank. Darragh took a drink himself and carefully screwed the lid back on.

  Ciaran huffed. “Well, what now?”

  “We wait until dark, and then we get the hell out of here.” Just mentioning it brought a smile to Darragh’s face. Fresh air. Sunshine. Green fields and hills, once the decay of Dublin was behind them. The things that men made did not last. They crumbled, and nature overtook them. Darragh had always been comforted by that.

  “North?” Ciaran asked in a low voice.

  “North,” Darragh told him.

  Home, for Ciaran. And for Darragh, reward or punishment. He would take either.

  And then, maybe if he was lucky enough, after delivering Ciaran safely back, he’d find his own way home.

  Then both of them could put all this—and each other—behind them.

  They waited in the darkness. After the first few hours, Ciaran stopped asking Darragh to untie his arms and remove the blindfold. Darragh wouldn’t be swayed, as though he thought Ciaran really was so stupid that he’d stumble straight back into Boru’s clutches. After he quit asking, he slept for a while, and woke to find his head in Darragh’s lap and Darragh’s arm over him.

  When it was night—which Ciaran had to take Darragh’s word for—they moved again. Up steps so steep they may as well have been a ladder. Ciaran was afraid of tripping, but Darragh was right behind him. A solid, warm presence.

  “Are you sure you know where you’re going?” Ciaran asked as the cold, fresh air had hit his face.

  “I know,” Darragh said.

  A few hours after that, hours spent stumbling and weaving through unseen obstacles, hours spent with his back to Darragh’s chest so he didn’t fall, they stopped.

  “Where are we? Why did we stop?” Ciaran whispered urgently. “Is there someone here?”

  “Just us. We’re safe. Hold still.”

  Ciaran’s pulse raced as Darragh tugged at the ropes around his wrist … no, sawed at them. He wriggled his fingers to get the circulation back as the ropes fell away. Then felt Darragh’s fingers at his temples, fumbling for the edges of the tape.

  He grimaced as Darragh peeled it—and what felt like most of his eyebrows—away, and then he was blinking up at Darragh’s face: his stupid, worried, hopeful face, haloed by sunlight.

  Darragh smiled tentatively.

  Ciaran hauled back and punched him.

  It wasn’t much of a punch, not when he could hardly make a fist with his numb fingers, but Darragh was surprised by it. He reeled back, and Ciaran swung again. He’d thought Darragh would block or catch the blow, but he just let it land, arms hanging uselessly at his sides. So Ciaran hit him again. Again. Punched Darragh over and over in the stomach until he was too damn exhausted to do anything other than fall forwards against him.

  “You fucker!” he shouted. “You kidnapped me! You blindfolded me! You wouldn’t even trust me to take a fucking piss! You almost got me killed!”

  Darragh nodded and turned his face away quickly. But not before Ciaran saw.

  “Don’t you fucking cry! Don’t you dare!” Ciaran sucked in a breath to feed his rage, but it faltered. A flash of light caught his eye. Dew on grass. Just dew on grass, but the sight of it froze him. How long …

  God.

  They were standing at the side of a decaying road, the edges crumbling away, and there were trees, and grass, and a sky streaked with the sunrise. All those months kept in Boru’s filthy kingdom, surrounded by walls, and he hadn’t even known he’d missed the grass or the sky. Hadn’t imagined how seeing them again would make him ache.

  He dropped to his knees, heedless of the damp, and ran his fingers through the grass. The dew collected on his fingertips, cold and sharp, and he lifted his hand to his mouth to taste it. Then he dug his fingers into the earth, releasing the sweet scent of the loam into the air. He inhaled deeply and choked on his sudden tears.

  “Are you …” Darragh asked softly, kneeling at his side.

  “We’re free. You freed us.” Ciaran leaned forwards and pressed his forehead to the wet, green grass.

  “Free of Dublin, yes. But we have a long way ahead of us, still.”

  “Shut up,” Ciaran said. He
felt on the verge of tears. “Just … just let me have this. Just for a bit.”

  Darragh’s hand gently cupped his shoulder.

  Ciaran closed his eyes, feeling the dew soak into the knees of his trousers. “It’s beautiful.”

  When he’d been a kid, he’d played a stupid game. Before going to sleep, he used to pretend he was under an enchantment that would hold him forever, like the old stories of being stolen into the faerie mounds. He used to try to find a way to lie that would be perfect forever, before an itch or a twinge ruined it. But this moment could be it, at last. The moment where it would be perfect forever. Because fuck his aches and pains and all the injuries he was carrying around, and fuck his wet knees and his cold hands and his growling stomach. He was free, and this was perfect. If the world ended now—really ended, not this horrible limping half death they were all trapped in—then he could die happy.

  And Darragh had given him that.

  Ciaran inhaled again, then rose back up onto his knees. He wiped his hands on his trousers. “Okay.”

  Darragh squeezed his shoulder. “Okay?”

  “Whatever we have to do now, okay.” Ciaran heard Darragh shift, and he turned his head. Darragh was back on his feet, holding his hand out. Ciaran gripped it and let Darragh pull him up. “So what is it we have to do?”

  Darragh smiled hesitantly. “Breakfast?”

  “We have breakfast?”

  Darragh patted the straps of his pack. “We do. That dried stuff in packets. But maybe later we’ll catch something.”

  “Catch something?”

  That earned him a nod. “Like a rabbit, or a cat, or something. I’m sick of preserved food.”

  “Oh, you eat cats in Cork now, do you?”

  Darragh flushed. “Strays, we do. When times are lean. But mostly we eat chicken and mutton. Raise it ourselves.”

  “Sounds like paradise.”

  Darragh looked wary, as though he suspected an insult that wasn’t there.

  “I mean that,” Ciaran said. “It does. I wish I could go with you.”