With A Spirit Of Love

Greetings! Many thanks to DrkDreamer, myladymystere and Snidne for their wonderful reviews! I truly do appreciate everyone who takes the time to leave a bit of precious feedback.

Love,
Falcon

P.S. Remember, please don't mention any spoilers in your reviews. (See my note at the beginning of Chapter One.)


With A Spirit Of Love

Chapter Two

In Kythos’s dream, he’s a young boy again, standing in his parents’ bedroom. His small hand clutches the wooden flute that his mother has been teaching him to play. He came in here to remind her about his lesson, only to find her lying on the bed, apparently asleep. Impatient, Kythos reaches out to wake her.

But, before he touches her, an icy draft raises the hair on Kythos’s arm. Something dark ripples through the air, and all the shadows in the room seem to draw together, pulling themselves into a manlike shape with no features except several glowing yellow eyes scattered within it. And those don’t even stay put. Every time one of the eyes blinks, it reappears somewhere else in the shadow-man’s body, staring at Kythos from its neck, its stomach, and the hand it stretches toward him.

Kythos tries to cry for help, but he can’t squeeze any sound through his clenched throat. Even as the monster is about to touch him, his feet stay stuck to the floor, unable to move. Paralyzed by fear, Kythos braces himself for a horrible death. But then the monster suddenly hisses and jerks back its hand, leaving wispy trails of torn shadow floating in the air. All of its eyes blink at once. Then it swirls apart and vanishes.

Finally, Kythos manages to make a sound. He screams and screams, until the servants come running, gathering around and trying to comfort him. But it’s too late. His mother is dead.

Kythos’s own strangled cry woke him from his sleep. For a moment, he could only lie on his back, gasping for breath, pinned in place by the frantic pounding of his heart. Then, with a surge of effort, he managed to rip open his eyes. A flood of sunlight poured into them, washing away the horrible images and allowing him to absorb the familiar surroundings of his bedroom. After a nightmare like that, even the grim reality of his old sleeping mat seemed reassuring.

Groggily, Kythos stumbled to his feet. He couldn’t understand why those delusions continued to haunt him. It had all happened so many years ago. And, time after time, his father insisted that Kythos had seen nothing -- no shadow-man, no monster, nothing at all. His mother died of natural causes, and anything else was only a phantom of Kythos’s wild young imagination. But Kythos wondered why he kept having nightmares about “nothing at all.”

Bending over the room’s washbasin, Kythos splashed stale water onto his face. Then he started to get dressed. As he pulled on his pants, he noticed the tear caused by last night’s fall, and a sigh escaped his lips. Bad enough that he had to go to Lord Bothain today without any money to pay his gambling debt, but now he had to go to him wearing rags. Well, so be it. The worst that could happen would be that Lord Bothain might pity him. Right now, Kythos doubted that pity was the emotion holding the strongest sway in Lord Bothain’s heart.

Before going downstairs, Kythos paused next to his room’s narrow window. It didn’t overlook the part of the estate where his mother’s shrine stood, but he glanced out anyway, hoping to catch a glimpse of Effrem. Effrem, however, must have been elsewhere. And perhaps that was just as well. Seeing him again would only fix the young man more firmly in Kythos’s mind and, considering the sordid nature of the task which lay ahead, maybe it would be better if he didn’t drag Effrem into it. Not even in his thoughts.

But still, Kythos slipped his hand into his coat pocket and made sure that the small bone was still there.

Once downstairs, Kythos went into the pantry and began his daily search for food. Unfortunately, this morning his best efforts only managed to uncover a single carrot and a hunk of bread so stale that it would have made a better weapon than a meal. Kythos, however, had learned not to be picky. Soaking the bread in water rendered it soft enough to eat. As for the carrot, he decided to take that with him and make a snack of it later. But, as Kythos prepared to leave, a strange impulse struck him.

Instead of heading directly for the stable, Kythos went back upstairs, to the room where his father slept. As quietly as possible, he pushed open its wooden door. Of course, his father had been up all night watching the stars, so Kythos wasn’t surprised to find him still asleep. He’d probably sleep for most of the day. Hovering in the open doorway, Kythos stared down at his father. And, for some reason, Effrem’s words came back to him, along with the grief in the young man’s voice when he spoke about his own father. Long dead. Long, long dead.

Kythos knew that his father and mother had loved each other. He knew that her death must have devastated his father as much as it had devastated him. But as a child, he’d always blamed his father for not handling it better. After all, he was the adult -- he should have known what to do, what to say. He should have been able to make everything alright. Shouldn’t he? But now, as Kythos approached his own manhood, he realized that age didn’t provide any magically granted knowledge. In the face of such loss, words were meaningless, actions futile. Pain was pain, and people struggled for ways to survive it, like blind birds flying through a storm.

Silently, Kythos placed the carrot on the floor near his father’s sleeping mat. Then he slipped out of the room, took the spare key from the hook by the front door, and began his journey to Lord Bothain’s estate.

A short ride brought Kythos within sight of the estate’s main building, its domed top rising into the sky like a stone eggshell. Unlike Kythos’s home, Lord Bothain kept his property meticulously maintained -- no moss grew in the curls of its carefully sculpted scrollwork and no birds dared build their nests atop its marble columns. Kythos couldn’t quell a feeling of envy as he slowed his horse to a trot and started up the long roadway, passing beneath the shadows of tall trees and vigilant statues. Something like this could have been his. If only he’d been born to a man like Lord Bothain, instead of a man like his father.

When Kythos reached the main entrance, two servants approached and greeted him by name. One servant took his horse, while the other escorted him into a lavish audience chamber. “Lord Bothain will be with you in just a moment.”

“Thank you.” Then, quickly, before she could leave, Kythos asked the question that had been in the back of his mind ever since getting to the door of his home the previous night. “I think I might have lost a key at yesterday evening’s party. Did anybody find one?”

The girl shook her head. Then, swiftly, she slipped out of the room.

Left without anything else to do, Kythos began to walk around the edges of the room, examining the murals painted on its walls -- most of which depicted Lord Bothain’s ancestors engaged in various heroic, albeit bloody, acts. Kythos counted over fifty foes, slain by methods ranging from beheading to disemboweling, before he started to feel a little queasy. Eagerly, he turned his attention toward the objects displayed on the large marble table in the center of the room.

The main item was a staff, shaped from the gnarled branch of some ancient tree. An incredible assortment of bones and teeth had been tied to it with strips of leather, and one tooth in particular, the largest of them all, drew Kythos’s gaze. It seemed oddly familiar. And Kythos quickly realized why -- it could have come from the same mouth as the tooth that had been hollowed out to make his Telis. Nearly hypnotized, Kythos continued to stare at the staff until he began to experience a bizarre sensation, as if a voice muffled just beyond comprehension was trying to whisper familiar words in his ear. Some deep, buried part of him knew what the staff was, knew the ways it could be used. Almost against his will, Kythos began to reach for it.

“An impressive trophy, yes?”

The words snapped Kythos from his trance. Hastily, he turned around in time to see Lord Bothain stride into the room. Kythos had been forced to settle for wearing a plain shirt and pants torn at the knee, but Bothain obviously didn’t suffer from any such wardrobe limitations. His shirt was made of silk colored like a perfectly blue sky and embroidered with fine gold thread to depict a battle between two dragons. His pants, which were a deeper shade of blue, vanished into high black boots so heavily polished that light glinted off them. Again, Kythos couldn’t quite repress a pang of jealousy.

“My ancestors fought in the Elf Wars,” Lord Bothain continued, joining Kythos. “One of them took that from an elvish shaman. A fierce, savage race, the elves. My grandfather told me stories about how they ate their captives in order to draw strength from their flesh.”

Kythos shuddered. “I’ve never seen an elf.”

“No one does, not anymore. They were all driven far away from Deorwine long before you were born.”

Silence settled over the room. At first, Lord Bothain’s cordial manner had distracted Kythos from the reason for his visit. Now, he remembered that he hadn’t been invited here as a guest to admire treasures and chat about history. He’d been summoned, like a servant or a slave. He had a debt to pay. Kythos felt his head start to bow as his gaze dropped to the floor. But, once again, the anger in his heart gave him a sort of bitter strength. Scolding himself for his moment of weakness, Kythos raised his eyes and looked Lord Bothain directly in the face. He would do this as he did everything necessary to survive -- without apology, without fear, without shame. “So? What next?”

Amusement twisted Lord Bothain’s mouth into a lopsided smile. “You say that as if you expect me bend you over this table and take you right now.”

Kythos continued to glare, unwilling to admit that he didn’t know what to expect. “Is that the plan?”

“Well, if that’s what you’d prefer, I can certainly be accommodating.” Lord Bothain shrugged. “As for myself, I hoped that you might consider having lunch with me first. You look even skinnier than you did last night. If you faint, I want it to be from pleasure, not starvation.”

Pride and hunger battled for dominance within Kythos. For a moment, pride nearly won. Then Kythos remembered the empty pantry, remembered his father, who would probably forget to eat if Kythos didn’t keep bringing him food. And what about Effrem? Surely, sooner or later, he’d want some sort of meal. “I’m not hungry yet. But afterward -- after we do this -- could you pack some food that I could take with me?”

Lord Bothain chuckled. “This is a side to you I haven’t seen before. When did you become a mother bird, bringing home worms to feed her brood? Well, with a father like yours, I suppose someone needs to put food on the table. My servants will prepare some provisions for you to take. But won’t you have something for yourself, now, with me?”

“I’m not hungry,” Kythos repeated stubbornly.

“As you wish.” Lord Bothain raised his hands, then clapped them twice sharply. Immediately, a pretty serving girl appeared. “Filia, take young Lord Kythos to the baths. When he’s clean, bring him to my bedroom.”

Filia started toward the door, but Kythos felt too stunned to follow. By birth and by blood, he was a lord. However, no one ever addressed him by that title, not even the merchants he haggled with when he spent his winnings. Lord Kythos. He liked the sound of that. And he liked it even more when Filia stopped and glanced back over her shoulder. “M’lord? Are you coming?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” Feeling rather pleased, Kythos hurried after Filia.

Filia led him out of the building and down a narrow garden path until they came to a small structure decorated with bits of colored tile. In some places, the tiles had been arranged to form mosaics, and Kythos recognized a depiction of Lilis, stars glittering in her hair as she held a large, silvery-white moon her upraised hand. Her daughter, Liran, stood next to her, cradling a smaller, dark grey moon. But before Kythos had a chance to examine any other images, Filia opened the structure’s door. “In here, M’lord.”

Inside, the air was dark and cool, lit only by a single lamp hanging from the center of the room’s domed ceiling. Tiles covered the floor near the walls, but gave way to rough rock around the pool of clear water in the middle of the room. “It’s built on a natural spring,” Kythos murmured, impressed.

But Filia must have been accustomed to such wonders because she just pointed out the towels and the assortment of oils and perfumes arrayed on the stone table next to the door. “Clean yourself as you see fit. I’ll wait outside.”

After she’d stepped out and shut the door behind her, Kythos stripped, removing everything except his Telis, which he never took from around his neck. Carefully folding his clothes, he placed them beside the table. Then he dipped his foot into the water. It felt cold, but given how long it had been since he’d last bathed, he didn’t mind. Eagerly, Kythos slid into the spring. At its deepest point, it came up only to his waist, forcing him to lift handfuls of the cool water and pour them over his chest and shoulders. As he did so, a sigh of bliss escaped his lips. Droplets of water trickled over his skin, making him shiver, and awakening all his senses. Finally, satisfied that only the sweat and dirt in his hair remained, he drew a deep breath and sat down on the bottom of the pool, submerging himself in the spring water.

When he returned to the surface, momentarily blinded by water and strands of his drenched black hair, a voice spoke his name. “Kythos?”

Kythos sputtered, struggling to wipe the water from his eyes. “What--? Who--?”

“Kythos? It’s me.”

“Effrem?” The blurriness of Kythos’s vision subsided, allowing him to see his friend crouched beside the pool, his form still shadowy in the dim light of the flickering lamp. “Gods! You gave me a scare. How did you get past the serving girl outside?”

“She didn’t notice me come in.”

Shaking his head, Kythos waded over toward Effrem. “What are you doing here?”

“I followed you,” Effrem confessed. “I was worried.”

“You should be worried. If Lord Bothain catches you on his property, he’ll slay you.” Kythos heaved himself out of the spring and a wave of cold water rolled off his body, shattering on the rocky floor. “His attitude about trespassers is legendary.”

This information, however, failed to rattle Effrem. “I’m not trespassing. I have a right to be here.”

Kythos remembered the mosaic depicting Lilis. “Lord Bothain won’t care whose robes you wear, or what temple you belong to. I don’t get the impression that His Lordship is particularly devout.”

Instead of answering, Effrem stared down into the water, passing his hand over its surface so lightly that he didn’t disturb the ripples lingering after Kythos’s departure. And Kythos regretted his sharp words. After all, Effrem had come all this way because he was concerned about him. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I guess...I guess I’m just not used to anyone caring where I go.”

“There are those who care,” Effrem assured him. “More of them than you might imagine. The ones that you helped haven’t forgotten.”

“Helped?” Kythos cast his mind back, but he couldn’t think of anyone who’d benefited from his aid. His life was a fierce struggle for survival. It didn’t allow him the luxury of doing good deeds. “Who did I ever--?”

Effrem stood up. As he tilted his head to look at Kythos, a curl of light brown hair fell across his cheek, like the first sign of a premature autumn. “You think so little of yourself,” Effrem chided. “And yet, your heart could hold so much, if you’d only let it.” Then, in a whisper almost too soft for Kythos to hear, he added “...and you’re so beautiful.”

Something inside Kythos seemed to catch fire. With every nerve of his body, he could imagine how it would feel to reach out, to skim his fingertips against the warmth of Effrem’s skin, to tuck that stray curl back into place. The very idea of it drove him close to madness. Forgetting Lord Bothain, forgetting his own nakedness, Kythos took a step toward Effrem. But Effrem’s eyes lit up with fear and he shrank back.

“Don’t,” Effrem begged. “Please. Don’t try to touch me. Not after -- not after what they did.”

Kythos stopped, startled by the terror and pain in Effrem’s voice. “Who?” he demanded. “Did someone hurt you?”

But Effrem just looked away, obviously unwilling to answer any questions. Instantly, the fire inside Kythos went out, extinguished by the shame of having caused his friend such severe distress. Unsure of what to say, unsure if he should try to apologize or just let the subject drop, Kythos turned his back on Effrem, picked up a towel and dried himself with it. Laying the towel back on the table, he began to sort through the bottles of oil and perfume. His mind wasn’t really on the task. But when he pulled the stopper out of a random bottle and sniffed its amber contents, he grunted his approval. A nice scent. Spicy -- not floral, or fruity, or anything too feminine. Spilling a little onto his fingertips, Kythos dabbed the perfume onto his throat.

“There’s something you should know,” Effrem warned. “This is an evil place.”

Kythos smiled, relieved that Effrem seemed to have forgiven him. “I’ll never understand you. My overgrown nightmare of a garden, you love. But this estate, beautiful and well cared for, you find creepy.”

“Something bad happened here. It may still be happening. I just...feel something wrong. You shouldn’t stay here any longer than you need to.”

“Nor should you. If Lord Bothain catches you, he really will have your head.” Or he’ll insist on a threesome. After setting the perfume bottle back on the table, Kythos turned to face Effrem. “When I go back to the main house, the serving girl outside will come with me. That should give you a chance to slip away unnoticed. Go back home. I’ll see you this evening.”

Effrem nodded. “In the garden?”

“In the garden,” Kythos promised.

Ready to get dressed, Kythos picked up his shirt. But, as he began to slip his arm into the sleeve, he noticed the dust and sweat that clung to its fabric, and his pants were no better. It seemed a pity to ruin his current state of cleanliness by putting on dirty clothes. But what else could he do? Wrap a towel around his waist? Go to Lord Bothain while still naked?

A wicked grin forced its way onto Kythos’s face. Well, why not? He was no blushing virgin. If he was going to do this, he may as well do it with a certain amount of bravado. After draping his shirt, pants and coat over one arm, Kythos grabbed his boots and stepped to the door. But, instead of opening it, he glanced back at Effrem. “Remember. Wait a little before you try to leave, otherwise the serving girl outside might see you.”

“She won’t,” Effrem assured him, with more confidence than Kythos thought was justified. “Don’t worry about me. Keep your mind on yourself. And Kythos? Ask Lord Bothain about your mother.”

Kythos nodded, opened the door and stepped outside, the bright sunlight nearly blinding him. Politely, Filia waited until he stopped blinking, then led him back toward the main house. As he walked up the garden path, sharp stones pricked at Kythos’s bare feet, but he scarcely felt them, his thoughts still dwelling on Effrem. He could hardly keep from glancing back over his shoulder to make sure that his friend managed to leave safely. He isn’t an idiot, Kythos told himself. He’ll make it back home. But he remembered the way Effrem had cringed, and he worried. Someone or something had hurt him once -- hurt him badly. And, thinking about it, Kythos discovered that he wanted to find whatever it was and hurt it back.

Once inside the house, Filia limited their route to some of the smaller, less-used rooms and hallways, but they still encountered the occasional servant, each of whom nearly snapped their necks in their haste to twist around and gawk at the spectacle of Kythos calmly walking along, utterly naked. Again, Kythos grinned. Shocking people was one of the rare joys his life offered. After all, he did have a reputation as a “young demon” to maintain.

Finally, they arrived at an ornately carved wooden door. Filia gestured to its handle and then bowed to Kythos before hurrying away. Even after she’d turned a distant corner, Kythos continued to stare down the empty hallway. He could still leave. What would Lord Bothain do? Tell everyone that Kythos had defaulted on his debt by refusing to sleep with him? Probably not. But Kythos would always know that he’d failed to pay Lord Bothain what he owed him, and his pride wouldn’t let him live with that. Damn his father for giving him a sense of honor with no money or power to back it up.

Shrugging to himself, Kythos turned to face the door, grasp its handle and push it open.

Lord Bothain stood in the center of a luxurious bedroom. He’d discarded his shirt, and the sunlight that filtered in through the thick red curtains cast a scarlet tint on his bare chest. Kythos couldn’t help thinking of all the blood-splattered ancestors he’d seen depicted on the walls of the audience chamber. With muscles that flexed each time he drew a breath, Lord Bothain looked like hardened warrior, and Kythos, who couldn’t even use a sword, suddenly felt very small and weak. But he still managed to swagger as he entered the room, throwing the door shut behind him.

“Thanks for the bath.”

It took Lord Bothain a moment to register Kythos’s nakedness. When he did, he burst out laughing. “Well, you’re eager. I like that.”

Still chuckling, Lord Bothain walked over to Kythos and took his clothes, which he tossed onto the floor with a cavalier gesture. Then he turned his attention to the one thing that Kythos hadn’t taken off. “What’s this?” he mused, hooking the leather cord around Kythos’s neck with his finger. “A Telis?”

“My mother gave it to me. She told me to never remove it.”

Lord Bothain arched an eyebrow. “So, her ancestors must have fought in the Elf Wars too, just as mine did -- and fought well to have won such a prize. You could sell this, you know. The price would make your family rich again.”

“She told me to never remove it,” Kythos repeated, as if that answered everything.

“A strange request. But I won’t ask you to defy her will.” With his boots still on, Lord Bothain stood several inches taller than Kythos. Bowing his head, he caught Kythos’s chin between his thumb and finger, and claimed his lips with a kiss that was neither as rough nor as distasteful as Kythos had expected.

A moment later, when Lord Bothain pulled back, he must have noticed the surprised look on Kythos’s face. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he assured him, running his fingers through the dark currents of Kythos’s hair. “I could, I suppose. But I’d like us to be friends. After tonight, I want you to come back of your own free will. I’m not sure that I could ever be clever enough, or lucky enough, to win you again.”

Kythos didn’t know what to say to that. So he was grateful when Lord Bothain pulled him into another kiss, freeing him from the need to say anything at all.

Skillfully, Lord Bothain slid his hands over Kythos’s body, inciting shivers of pleasure. Kythos’s few previous sexual encounters had all been with people his own age, whose first efforts proved to be clumsy and awkward. By contrast, the practiced grace of Lord Bothain’s caress impressed Kythos and made him hungry for more. Sighing softly, Kythos parted his lips, allowing Bothain to stab his tongue between them, like a sword piercing delicate flesh.

Somehow, without ever breaking the kiss, they managed to stumble across the room. Then, before Kythos knew what was happening, Lord Bothain seized him by the waist and hoisted him onto the bed. Another sigh of pleasure escaped Kythos’s lips. After years of sleeping on his lumpy mat, he’d nearly forgotten the feel of silk and feathers. Languidly, he let his body sprawl as he sank into its supple expanse. And Lord Bothain didn’t seem to mind the display of pale, smooth skin spread before him. Pausing only to yank off his boots, he leapt onto the bed and straddled Kythos. As their eyes met, Lord Bothain grinned, leaning forward over him and grasping his wrists.

Drawn by some irresistible force, their lips came together one more time before Lord Bothain began to kiss his way down Kythos’s throat. Kythos’s breath seemed to transform. Instead of air, he was breathing butterflies, which flit and fluttered inside his lungs, before escaping in brief, erratic gasps. He’d grown unbearably hard, but Lord Bothain kept him pinned so effectively that he couldn’t even squirm. He felt as if his pounding heart was the only part of his body still able to move.

“I have to admit,” Lord Bothain confessed, “that I was a bit tempted by your suggestion to just bend you over the table downstairs. But I’m glad that I waited. This is so much more civilized, don’t you think?”

Kythos made a noise like both a gurgle and a snarl as Lord Bothain’s tongue swept across one of his erect nipples. “Civilized” wasn’t exactly the word he would’ve chosen. Savage drums seemed to beat inside his brain, drowning out all rational thought, while the scent of exotic spices and sweat filled his nostrils. This wasn’t civilized. This was the hunt, the chase, the kill -- this was being torn apart by a hundred hungry mouths.

Twisting his head to one side, Kythos glanced at the room’s single window. The red curtains, stirred by a mild breeze, rippled softly and cast cool shadows across the floor. How could such peace and calm exist almost within reach of his hand when in the bed there was only heat and the churning sensations of pleasure? Kythos’s eyelids, weighed down by ecstasy, slipped shut. For a moment, the fingers that stroked his chest no longer belonged to Lord Bothain and the kisses being placed on his stomach no longer came from His Lordship’s lips. In that moment, Kythos imagined Effrem, imagined sharing these sacred delights with him. And something stirred in his heart that had nothing to do with lust.

Then the sensation of being touched stopped. Kythos tore open his eyes, afraid that some sort of climax had been reached and he’d missed it. But Lord Bothain only paused long enough to reach for a jar on the bedside table and dip the fingers of one hand into it. Without waiting to be asked, Kythos spread his legs, pleased by the chance to show that he wasn’t completely clueless about sex. His display of willingness drew a smile from Lord Bothain.

The cream from the jar felt cool as Lord Bothain massaged it between Kythos’s legs. No longer held down by Lord Bothain’s weight, Kythos lifted his ass into the air, pressing against Lord Bothain’s fingers until one finally slipped inside. The sensation of it, probing sensitive flesh, made Kythos’s muscles spasm, and he fell back on the mattress with a soft wumpf. But his collapse didn’t seem to deter Lord Bothain, who rested on one elbow, nibbling the insides of Kythos’s thighs while he pushed another finger, and then another, inside Kythos, stretching him to his limits. Waves of ecstasy washed over Kythos in unrelenting succession until he felt sure that he was drowning.

“Please...” he gasped, begging for the first time in his life. “By the gods...please...”

Again, Lord Bothain paused. He withdrew his fingers and unbuttoned the front of his pants, revealing a daunting length of rigid flesh. At any other time, Kythos would’ve felt some trepidation about having something so enormous rammed inside him. But, right then, he didn’t care. He didn’t care if it tore him apart. Grabbing handfuls of the silken coverlet beneath him, Kythos braced himself for what was to come.

Lord Bothain, one hand still slick with cream, took hold of Kythos’s shaft and began to glide his fingers over it, eliciting whimpers of delight from Kythos. At the same time, he maneuvered himself into position between Kythos’s thighs. One moment, Kythos felt the tip of Lord Bothain’s manhood pressed against his opening, the next he’d been impaled on it like another conquered enemy.

Lord Bothain’s grip tightened on Kythos’s shaft as he pumped it in time with his own thrusts, and Kythos howled, blinded by lust. He couldn’t remember who was doing the fucking and who was being fucked. Everything melded into a nebulous cloud of pleasure. The drums inside his head beat louder, faster and harder than anything he’d ever imagined he could endure. The tension within him became unbearable, demanding release. Just when Kythos feared that it might rip him apart at the seams, spasms shuddered through his body as he came. Lord Bothain pounded into him again and again, until his face contorted as he, too, reached his moment of orgasm.

For some indefinite period of time, Kythos couldn’t move, couldn’t even think. When his senses finally did begin to return, he remembered Effrem’s warning. This is an evil place. You shouldn’t stay here any longer than you need to. But Kythos felt so content, lying on the soft bed with Lord Bothain’s arm wrapped around him, that he couldn’t quite make himself get up. And when Lord Bothain summoned a servant, instructing her to bring them platters of food, Kythos ate ravenously.

He did, however, heed one bit of Effrem’s advice. After finishing off his meal by devouring the last of the tiny tarts filled with ripe blueberries, Kythos licked all the crumbs from his fingers and glanced over at Lord Bothain, still resting on the bed beside him. “Did you know my mother?”

Lord Bothain’s face became an inscrutable mask. “Why? Did she ever mention me?”

“No. I just...when I was a boy, I thought I remembered you coming to visit us,” Kythos lied, reluctant to explain about Effrem.

“Ah. Well, I’m afraid your memory is a bit faulty. I never visited your mother after you were born.” Lord Bothain reached across Kythos and lifted the bottle of wine from the bedside table, refilling Kythos’s glass and then his own. “But I did know her. Like many men, I hoped to win her hand in marriage.”

“Really?” Somehow, it had never occurred to Kythos that his father might have triumphed over other suitors.

“Yes. Unfortunately, she married your father. I’ll never understand why.”

“Before she died, my father was...” Kythos trailed off, unable to explain childhood memories of his father taking them on trips in the countryside, his eyes shining with excitement as he showed his son a butterfly and explained how, one day, men might learn to build similar wings that would enable them to fly. When his dreams of knowledge had been something to share, not a place to hide away from the world. Suddenly, it seemed to Kythos that being with Lord Bothain, and talking so candidly about his father, constituted a grave betrayal.

“I should go,” Kythos murmured, sliding out of the bed.

Lord Bothain didn’t try to dissuade him. They both got dressed in silence and made no attempts at conversation while walking out to the front door. However, as they waited outside for a servant to bring Kythos’s horse, Lord Bothain smiled. “I won’t try to bind you with promises. But I do hope you will come back. You and I, we’re a lot alike. We fight for what we want. And the fighting has burned us, scarred us, made us strong.”

Again, Kythos didn’t know quite how to answer. So he just nodded before swinging himself up onto his horse and spurring it off at a gallop.

Kythos waited until he’d ridden well beyond sight of Lord Bothain’s estate, then he tugged on the reigns, bringing his horse to a halt, and dismounted. The saddlebags certainly looked full now. And when he checked inside, he found that Lord Bothain had kept his word, packing them with a variety of provisions. He’d even gone so far as to include a small bag containing ten silver coins. After paying his debt with sex, Kythos had expected to feel like a whore. But, to his surprise, he didn’t. He just felt secure, in a way that he hadn’t during the long years since his mother’s death because, for the first time after that, someone was actually looking out for him.

Kythos left the food in the saddlebags, but put the coin purse in his coat pocket. Tomorrow, he decided, he’d ride to the marketplace and buy more supplies. And today... Today there was one small indulgence he’d allow himself.

His trip to the tiny woodworker’s shop took him over an hour out of his way back home. By the time he reached it, the sun was already setting, casting its hazy golden glow over everything, as if the entire world had been dipped in honey. Out of respect for the promise he’d made to meet Effrem that evening, Kythos didn’t waste time haggling over the price, just paying what the shopkeeper asked, in order to get home more quickly. But, even keeping his horse at a full gallop the entire journey home, he still didn’t arrive at his estate until well after dark, when both moons had risen into the sky. Hastily, he stabled his horse, stashed the provisions in the pantry, and hurried out to the garden.

Rushing down the shadowy paths, Kythos felt a pang of fear. What if Effrem hadn’t made it home? What if some servant or guard had spotted him and, even now, he was languishing in Lord Bothain’s dungeon? Grimly, Kythos resolved that if he couldn’t find Effrem anywhere in the garden, he’d ride directly back to Lord Bothain. Effrem hadn’t meant any harm. Surely, if Kythos explained that, Lord Bothain would let him go.

But when Kythos reached the dead cherry tree where he’d first encountered Effrem, his friend stood beside it and relief blossomed inside Kythos’s heart. “Effrem! You got back alright!”

“Of course,” Effrem declared, as if there had never been any question about it. Then he nodded toward Acca, perched on one of the cherry tree’s twisted branches. “But she’s been worried about you.”

“Kak!” Acca protested.

“I’m alright,” Kythos assured them both. “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it might be. And look! I got something.” A bit shyly, Kythos showed Effrem the flute he’d bought at the woodworker’s shop. “My mother was teaching me, before she died. And I thought you might...that is, I haven’t put my mouth to one in years, and I’m probably horrible, but I thought...”

Effrem grinned. “I’d love to hear you play.”

His first few notes staggered out clumsily. But Kythos persisted, and soon his fingers danced over the flute holes with nimble ease, coaxing forth the tones he desired. Emboldened by his success, he launched into his extensive repertoire of raunchy tavern songs. Effrem seemed to be delighted by their bouncy, bold rhythms, nodding his head along with the melodies of the first few, and then asking to be taught their lyrics. Kythos felt slightly odd telling a temple devotee the story of the farmer, his wife, and the itinerant pickle merchant. But Effrem laughed and sung the words with enthusiasm. Then, when Kythos ran out of tunes, Effrem chanted some of the slow, ethereal hymns he’d learned during his service to Lilis, and Kythos mimicked them on the flute as best he could.

Finally, they lay down on the grass, side by side. Maybe it was just his imagination but, when Kythos closed his eyes, it seemed that he could still see Effrem, even without looking at him, that he could almost feel him, even without any parts of their bodies actually touching. Something beyond physical sensation bound them together, tighter than a lover’s embrace.

And, above them, the stars crept along in their enigmatic patterns across the infinite sky.