Velvet

by Xavier Axelson

  Although my mind registered the words, I couldn’t accept what I was seeing. The cloak fell from my hands. In my head, I heard it thud to the ground as if it were made of glass and the ground marble.

  There, on his knees, was Cale, his face a mask of disgust, shock, and rage. Blood dotted his throat where Seton’s dagger had pressed. My stomach pitched and I felt the moonlit world around me begin to slide away.

  This isn’t true, not true…

  My eyes closed, and for a minute I was swept away into a comforting black pitch.

  When I felt hands upon me, I opened my eyes and found myself looking at Seton. I shook my head, but he jerked my head towards Cale and forced me to look upon him.

  “Look and tell me he doesn’t deserve my blade.”

  However badly I wanted to close my eyes, I found I couldn’t. The only thing I could do was stare at the man before me. My eyes struggled to endure his grimacing face, his bloodied mouth leering. He flicked his tongue over his split lip and started laughing.

  I saw his pants were undone and his cock hung from the front of his breeches like a sleeping serpent.

  Understanding flashed upon me as if the garden was lit not by the mysterious moon, but by the glaring sun.

  Seton must have sensed my realization. He started to speak. “He tried to—”

  I heard no more. A seething red blindness descended upon me and with it came the terrible humiliation and shame he’d forced upon me and now had attempted to inflict upon another man, a man with whom I’d found love.

  “You,” I heard myself say in a voice carried from the pits of hell itself, but I could say no more. Before I knew what I was doing, I’d grabbed for the blade Seton held clasped in his hand and jerked it from him with such force, he stumbled, and I was upon Cale.

  “Bloody, bloody bastard shit,” I cursed in the same foul voice, my body no longer my own. I arched my hand so the dagger gleamed wildly in the silvered light, cut through the blood scented air, and made a whipping sound.

  Beneath me, Cale at first expressed shock, bucked wildly beneath me, and in normal circumstances would have been able to throw me, if not for the sheer force with which I’d fallen upon him. I heard Seton cry out and felt his hands and arms grappling with my own flailing limbs, but my arm with the knife stayed poised to strike.

  “No!” Seton cried. “Not you, Virago!”

  Seton’s voice broke through the red rage blinding me. The world stopped. There was Cale, and in his eyes was not rage or disgust, but fear. Behind me was Seton, his arms about me, both our weights pinning Cale underneath us. I felt myself begin to shake with wracking sobs.

  I couldn’t kill.

  “I can’t,” I wailed and felt the dagger fall from my hands. The sound of it hitting the ground rang like a shot in a silent wood. “I can’t!” I wept bitterly and allowed Seton to pull me from Cale and gather me into his arms.

  Cale scrambled, sought the support of a nearby bench, and attempted to struggle to his feet.

  We heard what sounded like a scream coming from the direction of the theatre. Seton and I could see people rushing from where the performance had been. We looked at one another.

  Cale stared past us to where the commotion came.

  “Go,” I demanded. “Go now, or you’ll be killed.”

  “Virago, I—”

  But I pressed the palm of my hand to his mouth. “Say nothing. I know your heart, for it is the same as mine. I loathe thinking of the words being repeated in this place before this creature.”

  As I removed my hand from Seton’s mouth, he grasped it and held it long enough to kiss my hand.

  “Go, please go,” I pleaded.

  Seton stood a moment, his face a mask of hurt and bitterness. He backed away and I watched as long as I could bear it. Only when the clouds overtook the moon and the garden darkened did I hear his voice.

  “The dagger,” it said, and vanished.

  As if woken from a dream, I bent to the ground, felt for the dagger and finding its handle, I swept it to me. The sound of the blade along the flagstones struck me cold. The ripped cloak was nearby. I grabbed it and centered my attentions on Cale. He’d struggled to his feet, teetered and tumbled back onto the bench. I went to him, bent over, and jerked the tip of the dagger to his throat.

  “How easily I could have slit your throat and returned to the theatre like any other man.”

  This time he didn’t try to pull away, his eyes met mine. “You’re no man. You are an abomination of God! A traitor to the King and your neck will meet the block for it!”

  The wild peace I’d known when Seton staid my hand vanished. The rush of vengeance flowed forth and I welcomed its return.

  I pressed the tip of the dagger into his throat until my hand quivered with anticipation.

  Deeper, a velvety voice murmured, deeper.

  Seton’s cloak weighed upon my other arm, a stark contrast to the unyielding blade in the other.

  Kill him, make him pay.

  The voice clouded my thoughts, taunted my fingers, and scorched my need for retribution. The cloak felt heavier and the voice grew in urgency.

  Make him pay!

  “Virago!”

  Beyond us, I saw a figure staggering as though lost.

  “Where are you? Virago!”

  Sylvain!

  “Call him,” Cale hissed. “Call the cripple, maybe he can do what you are too weak to do!”

  “Virago!” Sylvain repeated, this time closer.

  I saw him nearly avoid stepping into one of the moonlit pools.

  “Sylvain,” I returned. “I am here, to your left, only you must follow my voice. I cannot come to you now.” I trained my eyes on Cale. I could see a second, thin ragged cut beaded with blood. He lived, I’d not cut deep enough.

  “Why, Brother, why can you not come? We must leave.” He sounded fearful.

  “Come, Sylvain, here,” I directed as he came upon the edge of the garden.

  I reached a hand out to him, but did not dare turn my attention from Cale.

  When his hands found mine, I felt him try to pull me away. I defied him and held my ground.

  “Lord Briar has fallen ill, fainted dead away in the middle of the theatre.” His voice at first insistent, grew silent. His grip loosened.

  I heard him sniffing the air, saw him strain to hear.

  “The air smells of blood, and I can hear the breathing of a wounded man. What has happened?” he asked solemnly. “What have you done?”

  I took his hands. “Nothing, come, let us go. The night is spoiled.”

  “You’re a dead dog!” Cale, shrieked from behind us. “You are dead!”

  Upon hearing Cale’s voice, Sylvain faltered.

  When I tried to lead him away, I found he couldn’t be moved.

  Sylvain yanked his hands from mine. “Wait.”

  “Dead,” Cale repeated, as he attempted to stand.

  Sylvain must have sensed Cale’s movement from behind. I saw this and reached for him. But it was too late.

  “Sylvain!” I yelled, but it went unheard.

  My brother spun on Cale and struck him with such force, the already wounded man shrieked with pain upon the impact of Sylvain’s fist. The blow was followed by the sickening, thick sound of his head hitting stone.

  “You,” Sylvain snarled, “are the one who is dead. You, who have no soul. You have nothing!”

  These were not words but a curse. I found myself shivering beside him.

  “He is not dead,” Sylvain declared, “only unawake, and more importantly for us, unaware. Perhaps he will not be found until the morning.” He cocked his head towards the sound of the chaos from within the castle. “Shall we take our leave?”

  We moved away from the scene and the noisy corridors of the castle. Instead we traversed the castles side gardens which eventually led us to the gates. As we walked, we remained silent. Several times I heard his breath catch as the sounds of castle guard’s armor clanked as they passed us f
rom inside.

  We waited until we passed the gates and our feet met the cobblestones of the street to take deep, relieved breaths.

  “Tell me what happened to Briar,” I asked as we continued to make our way.

  “He is ill with the sickness. Though I am no doctor, it is almost a certainty. The Privy Council is more than familiar with Therese’s offerings.”

  “Duir,” I gasped, my words finding meaning in Sylvain’s hypothesis even before my mind caught up. “He is ill as well?”

  “If he fucked a sick whore, I would certainly say he will follow Briar’s path,” Sylvain answered and placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed.

  “I should have warned him. I should have listened to you and told him!” Panic was falling upon me. “How has this all happened? How has the world become so dark?”

  “Virago, darkness fades. You will see the light,” he answered comfortingly.

  “I fear it will be some time before my dawn. We are in danger. If we weren’t before tonight, we surely are now.”

  For a time, we were silent. I was beginning to weigh the seriousness of everything that happened when Sylvain interrupted my thoughts.

  “What will you do with Seton’s cape?”

  I hugged the torn, soiled garment tightly to my chest as we walked. “I will put it around his shoulders when I see him, and we shall wear them proudly as we leave this place.”

  Sylvain said no more, and we hastened our pace.

  When a guard on night watch passed, I yanked Sylvain into a shadowed alley behind the alehouse, and held a hand to his mouth.

  “A guard,” I warned as I watched him approach. He did not linger, but walked by and we remained unnoticed. When he was gone, I lowered my hand.

  “Surely, a guard on night watch cannot know what has taken place on the castle grounds,” Sylvain surmised.

  “Do you wish to answer questions now?” I asked. Though I knew it was unlikely the guard would know us as criminals, we would be questioned about being about the streets, and, if the guard chose, he could hold us until we gave a suitable answer. It was an unpleasant prospect.

  “It’s the alehouse,” Sylvain blurted after taking several appreciative sniffs of the air.

  I could now smell the sour, bitter tang of the brew. It was the same establishment Seton and I patronized the day he wooed the court. The memory sprung painfully to mind. “I have lost my love. It is indeed a dark and bloody night.”

  “You are not to blame, Virago,” Sylvain stated.

  “Who is to blame?” I asked this hoping for an answer to make everything clear.

  “Therese knew of the illness. She bears it inside her, and brought it to the palace as if she bore a gift.”

  “Ahh, Therese,” I sighed sadly as we crept from the alley and hurriedly made our way to our home. “I have not even begun to understand the twisted path she walks.”

  “Everything comes as it should,” Sylvain replied.

  When we neared our home, I stopped at the gate.

  “Why would she do it?”

  “Perhaps a whore gets tired of being a whore. No matter how she longed to be seen as a theatre maven, she would always be a whore to the court. Who knows what axes her heart longed to grind on the bones of His Grace. You yourself seemed prepared to grind your own tonight. Perhaps you can visit Therese and ask, but I wouldn’t listen to her. She is an adept liar.”

  “As are we all.” I pushed open the gate only to be struck silent as Seton emerged from the shadows of the doorway.

  “You.” I could say no more. I ran to him, flung the cape around his shoulders, and pressed my mouth to his.

  His lips were cold. I felt my teeth nibble them, forcing hot blood to rise beneath the soft flesh. Our tongues met with contended sighs.

  Sylvain came close and offered his hand in Seton’s general direction. “This is him?”

  Seton and I parted but held onto one another.

  “It is an honor to meet you, if only it were under more pleasurable circumstances.” Seton took Sylvain’s hand, and despite his wounds, shook it heartily.

  “You are a brave man to love as you do. I am unsure if it is foolish or criminal, but I love my brother and I am accepting of his ability to love freely.” He moved past us, fumbled for his keys, opened the door, and entered the house. “We must go inside and make plans.”

  The fire light from the kitchen came forth through the doorway and brought with it a certain security we all craved.

  Seton gripped my shoulder and urged me inside. “The night is alive and filled with ears and eyes. Let us find comfort within.”

  I followed Seton and was relieved when the door closed behind us. Immediately, Durant came out from under the table and set about growling at Seton’s boots as he passed. But Seton, unafraid of the small creature, offered his hand to the fox, who, to all our amazement, sniffed cautiously, and after only seconds, allowed Seton to pet and caress its ears.

  “Not only are you a musician, but an animal tamer like Sylvain,” I joked, and was pleased to see Seton smile up at me.

  “It is only because I am not afraid.” He sat back on his haunches.

  He offered his hand to mine, which I took and helped haul him up, wincing as I felt the sores on his fingers and saw the pain cross his face.

  “You’re wounded,” Sylvain observed. “I can smell the beginning of infection. What is it?”

  “My hands are badly blistered and cut from Duir’s demented punishments,” Seton answered as he lowered himself onto the bench by the table.

  “Punishment? For what?” Sylvain queried and went about gathering things from the cabinets where he’d stored herbal ointments and medicines.

  I lit enough candles to give us light, but not enough to bring attention to the house.

  “We were found out by one of Duir’s men.” Seton winced as I forced one of his hands open to fully observe the wounds.

  “Cale came upon us in the palace and guessed our passions, though I thought he’d held his tongue after…” My voice drifted away, and under Seton’s gaze I felt the familiar shame of what happened threaten to return.

  Sylvain came to the table and placed a jar of thick, viscous jelly by Seton, who eyed it suspiciously. “You must wash the wounds first,” Sylvain instructed.

  Seton stood and allowed Sylvain to guide him over to the large washing basin.

  “No one holds their tongues at court, Virago,” Sylvain scolded. He left Seton, returned to the table, and opened the jar. “You should have known this.”

  “He saw nothing!” I exclaimed. “It was a guess, something he supposed and for this we have been tormented!”

  “And now he has discovered the cloak lined in velvet, and he will claim assault by my hands,” Seton, affirmed.

  “Cale need not have seen anything, he has proof not only with the cloak, but now both of you have threatened and attacked a member of the Privy Council, as have I.”

  “You?” Seton asked, incredulous.

  “Cale lies unconscious,” I answered for my brother.

  Before I could explain further, Sylvain broke in. “It no longer matters. It is done and I need not tell either of you, Duir will never take any man’s word over Cale’s, a man he calls brother,” Sylvain remarked as he dipped a length of linen into the jar.

  “Treason, violence and carnal depravity. I have certainly tarnished our parents’ names in this land. How I wish things were not as they are. I have done a disservice to our family, Sylvain.” I let my head drop, unsure I could look my brother in the face.

  “Father would have wanted you to stand up for what made you most happy. It is enough to live. To walk away with our lives will mean we have overcome the laws of this time,” Sylvain commented.

  I watched as he removed the linen and went over to where Seton stood.

  “Virago, there is no going backwards, only forward.” His voice became a painful moan as Sylvain wrapped the bandages around his hands.

  I could hear hi
s sharp intake of breath and lifted my head to see him wincing. It was at that moment I realized there was something missing.

  “Your lute!” I practically shouted as my eyes searched frantically for his beloved instrument. “Seton.” I was going to ask where it was, but I saw loss overtake his face and in the flickering candlelight, his sadness was clearly marked.

  “Gone, Cale broke it. It is in pieces among those white pools where the moon reflects from the sky. If only I’d killed him, how my fingers would have savored the heat of his blood to atone for the broken pieces of the lute. I love the lute, but the music a blade makes is much more lasting.”

  His words hung in the air and brought Cale closer than any of us wished.

  “Damn him,” Sylvain cursed as he finished wrapping Seton’s hands. “He will know a painful death sooner than you think and Hell will yawn for him.”

  Seton held his hands up to the light and smiled. “You have the healer’s touch, my friend Sylvain, and I am thankful to you for it.”

  I could see a shy grin spread across Sylvain’s face.

  “It is nothing,” he answered.

  Seton, now we must sleep and wake before long if we wish to live.”

  “Sleep? We must leave now! They will be on us like hounds on a fox, we cannot wait for them in our beds.”

  “We will leave in the morning,” Seton stated and stretched tiredly. “Before the cock crows, our feet will know the road. The castle and the King are in enough of a state this night. There is a fair chance Cale will be overlooked until the dawn.” He looked at Sylvain. “For this I am thankful to you, healer and fighter.”

  As if sensing my next words, he added, “A ship is leaving at first light, and we will be on it or know the block. But I will be sleeping with my blade close at hand this night.”

  Chapter 18

  In the dark, pain is distant. Physical pain is hidden behind the sighs of spiders spinning webs in dark branches and emotional pain is a ghost pulling at your uncovered feet when you turn in your bed.

  Seton lay with me and both our aches felt closer and more insistent than the weaving of a web or the wandering of a specter. Both of us ached in each other’s arms. I felt him pull me tighter when I sighed and I clung to him when he emitted a soft gasp. Exhaustion was the ghost here, and though we both yearned to yield to its haunting, being in bed together for the first time was more alluring and our sleepy senses were sharply aware of each other’s bodies. Close, closer, so close, and so complete. Could this completion heal the damage done to us? Neither of us could tell. Instead, we held each other and did our best to live amongst the hurt surrounding us.