The Coquette and the Thane

PART III | Chapter XXXVI

3:36 | More Than One Way to Hunt a Rabbit

Dawn.

Or, rather, that hour or two just before – where the sun lingered groggily still beneath the horizon, but the first hints of light were making their way into the sky – and Kedean woke to warm air ghosting over his fingertips, a body curled neatly up against his own, and an endless, tumultuous sea of mahogany red hair tucked like a silken blanket between his chest and Baisyl’s back.  Baisyl had left his pendant on the counter by the cot the night before after their extended…engagement, and thus it was a set of soft feminine curves that were tucked up against him.

It was easy to forget how delicate Baisyl looked like this.  Particularly with his defenses down as he slept, his lips barely parted and chest gently rising and falling, lashes painting whisper thin stripes on his vanilla cheeks. 

In the quiet, Kedean’s eyes wandered freely, shamelessly drinking in the full picture, and pinpointing and dallying with particular interest on specific details.  Habit dictated he ought to carefully untangle himself.  Rise, dress, and begin the day with prayer and exercise early enough so that he was comfortably warm with exertion before the first sliver of sun made it over the horizon.  Complacency, however, and perhaps something else, made him linger.

‘I don’t want you to come back,’ Baisyl’s words from the night before echoed back at him, sharp and hurt in his head as the moment they were spoken, ‘I want you to stay!’ and Kedean frowned, an unfamiliar knot of—‘What?’ he asked himself, ‘Guilt?  Uncertainty?  Concern?’—twisting low in his gut.  As Baisyl had pointed out, leaving was something that he did, but for once, the prospect of doing so was significantly murkier, and more difficult to mentally justify, than it ever had been. 

Opting to think on it further outside as he went through his routine, Kedean shifted, making to leave.  Unfortunately-

“Don’t…” It was a shadow of a word, a murmur tucked into the pillow, and Baisyl’s lashes fluttered, but didn’t lift, his body stirring restlessly.

Kedean, tempted previously and now unable to resist, dipped his head and kissed the naked back of Baisyl’s shoulder.  “I won’t be long, anabhe,” he promised quietly, and then, against his better judgment, he kissed the base of Baisyl’s neck, too, teasing back locks of hair with his lips to reach it.  “Go back to sleep.”

Instead of being placated, however, Baisyl gave a huffed, airy whine, clearly more awake by the moment.  “Mmhn…but…”  A yawn came next, followed by a partial stretch that slid the supple length of his back along Kedean’s chest, and Kedean’s eyes flit shut of their own accord, his hand settling – for lack of a safer place – on the dip of Baisyl’s waist.  “Don’t…want you to go…”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Kedean said gently, and afterwards, quieter, “…or at least not today, anyway…”

To his surprise, Baisyl not only heard him, but responded in kind, lacing his fingers over Kedean’s at his waist and saying, without looking up, “Not tomorrow, either?”

Giving a fleeting smile, Kedean consented.   “Not tomorrow.”

A tentative, weighted pause.  Then, Baisyl shifted, just enough to glance over his shoulder and back at Kedean.  “Or the next day?”

Kedean studied that look, tracing the subtle lines of concentration melded with curiosity, uncertainty…and strictly guarded vulnerability.  When he opened his mouth, Baisyl looked suddenly, sharply away.

“Don’t answer that questi-”

“Or the next day,” Kedean said, and some tiny, barely measurable sliver of tension in Baisyl’s shoulders relaxed.  After another extended moment, Baisyl rolled, turning to face Kedean instead and tucking his face to the plane of Kedean’s chest.

“Stay…” he said, speaking softly, close enough that his breath rippled, like a warm breeze, over Kedean’s skin, “…an hour longer at least.  It’s too early to be up doing…whatever things you do at this ridiculous hour.  Stay and sleep with me…I much prefer the bed with you in it.”  There, his lashes lifted, unveiling a sea of sweeping green eyes under the canopy of red.  And Kedean was lost.

He nodded.  “Alright.”

Days passed. 

Alroy lingered, working with Zyric and dedicating what little he knew of the healing arts to helping him through his magic, as well as working with the resident healers.  Rhyan, too, lent his magic to the cause – despite Baisyl’s initial objection that he should not be exerting himself after his so recent close call – though he did placate his brother’s concerns by keeping his aid to a minimum and focusing mostly on recovering himself.

Baisyl met again with the fairy captain.  She explained that her original mission was commissioned by her prince, and that at the very least, the fairy kingdoms of the north – along with the sun elves that populated the same region – were intent on forging some form of agreement.  Kidnapping had been the last resort after Baisyl’s father, Darion – whom they had tried to send envoys to – refused to meet, let alone negotiate with them, likely due directly to his mother’s wishes.

Why a fairy prince had resorted to hiring a pirate to carry out his wishes was something Baisyl never quite managed to get out of her.  Apparently it was a touchy subject with more to it than what appeared on the surface, and he got the impression that the two – Captain Desper and this prince of hers – had a longstanding relationship that ran deeper than that of a lawless swashbuckler to a high class royal.

By the end of the week, Baisyl agreed to travel with her of his own free will in return for allegiance, protection, and a promise that mages in her land would see to removing his curse permanently.  He had a persisting suspicion that she was withholding something from him, particularly when it came to mention of removing the curse, but chose not to press the matter. 

Initially, he suggested that Alroy – responsible, after all, for bringing both Zyric and Rhyan into the whole ordeal to begin with – ought to see both of the younger boys back home safely to Ire.  Naturally, they objected fervently. 

Rhyan wanted to remain with Baisyl.  He argued that there was nothing for him at Ire but to suffer Myles’ taunting and avoid their father.  More significantly, he agreed to sit and talk candidly with Baisyl about his magic, what he had learned, how long he had been working with it and – the lynch pin, perhaps – how he was using it in such full force.

On the premise that Rhyan guide Baisyl through the process of using his own magic, teach him how to summon more power behind it without exhausting himself, and show him, bit by bit, everything he had learned to date, Baisyl eventually consented to taking him along and arranged it with the fairy captain that his brother would accompany him to her homeland.

Zyric, much to his own irate disappointment, was not so successful in his wheedling.

“But-”

“Absolutely not.”  On the fifth day after the incident in the square, Kedean stood just outside the back of their main complex of residence, back to the wall, facing the flat, grassy patch often used as a practice grounds.  He shook his head.  “You will return with Alroy.  It’s by far the safest course, as well as-”

“I already came all the way out here,” Zyric petitioned, desperation edging into his tone.  “It doesn’t make sense if I just-”

“And look at where that got you!” Kedean snapped back, harsh.  “Originally I forbid you to follow me because I feared for your safety, and there is nothing I can do for you on the road.  You deliberately went against my wishes, and in the process nearly got yourself and Baisyl’s brother killed-”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Zyric blurted, hastening to defend himself.

“If you had remained in Ire, Zyric…would it have happened?”  The challenge was upfront, his tone low and serious, and his eyes sharp as he waited for Zyric’s response.

Zyric dropped his gaze, his expression riddled with conflicting emotions – guilt, frustration, anger – but none of them helped him to build a cohesive argument.  What Kedean said was true.  If he’d never left Ire, chances were when Rhyan’s magic misfired he’d have ended up with Baisyl, and Zyric obviously never would have gotten himself into the spot he had.  They both would have been safe.

“Things…worked themselves out…in the end…” he said eventually, fully aware of the weakness of the comeback, and Kedean sighed, pursing his lips.

“I worry about you, Zyric…when I do not know that you are safe, it is a constant weight on my mind.  Is it too much to ask to want to know that you’re out of trouble?  To not have to spend half of my waking time-”

“I can take care of mysel-”

“Obviously you cannot.”  That came out sharper than Zyric anticipated, and he stifled a cringe at his brother’s tone.  In effect, though, it only served to fan the anger already prickling under his skin, the wounded pride.  “Every time you try to prove yourself to be more grown up than you are, it backfires – this time with particularly disastrous consequences – and you have to understand that these things affect more than just you.  You never think, Zyric, but your actions have-”

“Oh, I see,” Zyric cut him off.  “That’s everything right there then, isn’t it?  ‘You’re young, Zyric,’ ‘You’re irresponsible, Zyric,’ ‘You don’t know what you’re doing,’ ‘The world doesn’t revolve around you,’ ‘Stop being so selfish, Zyric…’ ‘There’s a bigger world out there far beyond your comprehension if you’ll only open your eyes and-’ You know what?” he stopped dead in the midst of his own mimicking.  “I’m fucking tired of being too young and immature for you-”

“Watch your langua-”

“Fuck!” Zyric snarled back with emphasis, and got some sort of angry pleasure out of watching Kedean’s shoulders tense, jaw tightening.  “Fuck your rules, and to hell with your opinions, alright?  Yeah, I’m not full grown yet, I get it.  Sure, I’ve gotta lot to learn still, but I’m not a freakin’ infant, okay?  If you wanted t’ take Da’s place and act like a father in his stead you damn well shoulda started by bein’ there when I needed you, not stoppin’ in every few months, or every once a year, or every couple of years.  ‘Oh yeah, hey brother, it’s been a while, sorry but I’ll be gone again in a week or two…’ You wanna know what that felt like?”

Kedean opened his mouth.

“Felt like shit is what it did, Dee,” Zyric continued before he got a word in, the words sharp in his throat, and it hurt more to say than he expected; he swallowed the dry lump lodged there before continuing, “…an’ it still feels like shit right now.” 

His brother met his stare, but whatever Kedean had to say, he kept to himself, so eventually Zyric went on. 

“Maybe it’s selfish of me…to only think that I hate that I couldn’t have you around when I wanted you and hate that strangers got more time with you than I ever would and hate that Alroy – Alroy, Dee…drunkard, distracted, loyal as shit to you and me and Da, but conniving, backstabbing gambler to the rest of the world Alroy – he…ended up takin’ more care o’ me than either you or Da…

“And you know, if you’re leavin’ me in Ire ‘cause you think it’s safe there?” he persisted.  “‘Cause you think I behave myself better, or ‘cause you don’t think I get myself in trouble as easy…?  Yer wrong.  You come home, catch me fightin’, take my place to keep me from gettin’ hurt, know what?  When you’re not around, I fight…for bettin’ sometimes, sure, and that can rake in a pretty penny every now ‘n then, but sometimes it’s just on the streets when some’on causes a ruckus or wants to pick one and sometimes I lose, and sometimes I get hurt, and it’s alright, ‘cause I’m used to it and that’s how shit works.  You take risks and you get hurt and you…you…” He shrugged, “…you just live ‘til somethin’ gets you killed…”

Zyric shook his head.  “But you know…‘f you’re intent on seein’ me like a child, then those are my selfish…childish problems.  And you can put on like you know what you’re doin’ all you like, but sometimes…sometimes I think you’re still twice as lost as you’ve ever been, and eventually, you’re gonna have to make some decisions…‘bout what you want…where you wanna be…who you wanna be spendin’ the rest of your life around, ‘cause…ain’t a one of us that’s gonna live forever.”

When he came to a pause there, he opened his mouth again like he had more to say, but finally words failed him.  One look at Kedean, and he knew his point had already hit home, and anything more would simply be driving the nails deeper, adding to the puncture wounds, aggravating the damage. 

For a brief, fleeting moment, he regretted letting the words spill in the first place, because it was obvious they had dished out at least as much hurt – if not perhaps a good bit more so – than he intended.  But then, he hurt, and had been hurting, and that buried, knotted selfish, confused, frustrated, suffering part of him wanted Kedean to share in that feeling with him.  So when his brother hesitated, opened his mouth, shut it, and reached out, Zyric shrugged out from under his grip, turned his back, and left.

In his wake, Kedean’s heart felt like a balloon with a tiny needle that had long since been buried in it finally taken out, all of its air abandoning it and its walls caving on themselves.  He wondered what, if anything, he had ever done right for his brother, and when Baisyl stepped into the room, Kedean wanted to collapse at his feet.  He managed, only through an impressive show of willpower, to hold his ground as his lover approached.

“I should never be allowed to father children,” were the first words from Kedean’s mouth, his eyes on the outside even as he directed the statement at Baisyl.

“Children?” Baisyl repeated, a hint of surprise in his tone.  “I’m assuming this somehow relates to your interaction with your brother?”

“If I cannot even properly care for him…how can I be expected to do any better with a son or daughter of my own?” Kedean asked, and immediately, he heard Baisyl’s huff.  His lover’s presence, when Baisyl came to a quiet standstill at his side, brought an air of warmth and comfort with it that Kedean couldn’t even begin to thank him effectively for.

“You are his brother, not his father,” Baisyl said.  “There is no logic in you blaming yourself for being unable to perform both roles at once…and however foolish a number of the expectations he has of you might be, he was right on one point.”

Kedean’s eyes flicked to him.  “Oh?”

“He is not a child.”

“He’s sixtee-”

“I’m aware of how old he is,” Baisyl cut in.  “He is approximately the same age as my own brother, and I have long since given up thinking of Rhyan as a ‘child’.  Granted, Rhyan seems more…inclined towards early maturity where personality and temperament are concerned, however, regardless of your brother’s various…antics…he is at a threshold stage in his life.  You cannot keep pretending that he is incapable of making his own decisions.”

Kedean pursed his lips, but held his silence for a good while.  Then, eventually: “So you’re the expert on these things, then?”

Immediately, Baisyl scoffed.  “Gods, no…your own misgivings aside, I’m sure you would make a phenomenally better father than I ever would, heavens forbid…”  He shook his head, and then gave a half, breathless laugh as though thinking it over.  “Truly.  I hate children.”

Kedean tilted his head, inviting elaboration, and the corner of Baisyl’s lip twitched.

“Snotty, loud, disgusting disruptive little things…nightmares, really,” he explained.  “There’s a reason the gods entrusted women and women alone to bear them…”

“Oh?”

“Only women,” he began with all due gravity, “…are crazy enough to wait nine months, suffer all varieties of bodily pains, strange dietary urges, kicking, wriggling, et cetera going on inside their own body only to eventually have to shove it out through a tiny hole – which, ‘designed’ for it or not, cannot be even remotely pleasant – and from there, after excruciating pain, deliver this…wailing…” Baisyl scrunched his nose as he described it, hands motioning vaguely in the air, “…bloody, squirming creature that will henceforth be latched to their side and demanding food, goods, and attention for the next seven to twenty years…”

“Sounds amazing.”

“Sounds like a nightmare,” Baisyl corrected.  “Honestly, prophecy or no prophecy, I do not care a whit what the heavens think they have in store for me I am not ever…ever – mind you that means never, ever, in a thousand lifetimes ever – giving birth.”

Kedean eyed him.

“Ever.”  Baisyl met his stare.

“Mm…”  Kedean offered a rolling, concessional shrug.  “I can’t say I blame you…” A flicker of a wince crossed his face as he added, “I’ve listened to a woman give birth before…it wasn’t a sound you easily forget.”

Baisyl scoffed.  “I’d rather not imagine it…”

“I do like children, though,” Kedean noted.

“Hate children,” Baisyl emphasized.

“They can be…endearing,” Kedean defended.

“Little monsters, the lot of them.  Pint sized…demons.”

“They’re cute.”

“They scream.”

“They do scream on occasion,” Kedean admitted.

“Constantly,” Baisyl amended.

“Not constantly…”

“Almost constantly.  And they cry and break things and make messes.  All kinds of messes…”  Baisyl frowned.  “How did we get on the topic of children?”

“Ah…” Kedean puzzled on that for a moment.  “I believe…you-”

“Oh, it was your fault,” Baisyl recalled abruptly, cutting him off.  “You said you oughtn’t ever be permitted to be a father because you can’t manage your brother properly…”

“Mm.”  Kedean pursed his lips.  “Right…”

Silence settled between them like a sheet after that.  It lingered, holding for a good while uninterrupted.  Eventually, Baisyl broke it.

“You’ll leave soon.”  He made it a statement rather than a question – an observation, it seemed – and Kedean took a moment before responding.

“So will you.”

As Kedean watched, Baisyl’s attention moved out, his eyebrows subtly pinched but his jaw set and lips a thin, thoughtful line as his eyes roamed over the grounds.  “If I asked…”  He stared, but didn’t finish that sentence, trailing off within a moment of beginning it.  After a time, he amended, quieter, “If I begged you to come with me…to leave this expedition of yours for another time and travel at my side instead, to the northlands…” There, he glanced over, meeting Kedean’s stare head on, “…would you?”

It ought to have been a difficult question.  Kedean thought it was a difficult question, but before his mind had made itself up, his mouth was already moving, and when he heard himself say, “Yes,” he knew the instant it left his lips, that it was, without any hint of a doubt, true.  Another, significant stretch of time passed before he asked, “Are you…asking that of me, my lord?”

Baisyl stifled a wince – a flicker of an expression before he snuffed it out – and Kedean wondered if it were the effect of the question itself, the use of the formal title of address, or something else entirely.  At last, Baisyl said, “No…no, I am not.”

“Then…pardon my asking, milord, but-”

“Kedean.”  Baisyl cut him off, turning squarely on the spot to face him, and Kedean quieted, catching his gaze and holding it.  “I realize…” Baisyl began, his expression as firm and unrelenting as his tone, “…that we are in a nominally public setting, outside of our personal quarters certainly, such that the circumstances might call for the use of more official titles, however…”

So it was the formal title that set him off, Kedean noted as Baisyl stepped up and in, heedlessly moving into his personal space until they were all but chest to chest and then resting his palms, if loosely, on Kedean’s hips.

“…we are alone together here,” Baisyl went on, “…and as such, I would rather you refrain from speaking as though our relationship is purely that of a lord and his vassal…”

Kedean took his time answering.  At length, he reached out and up, gently tracing a brushing touch along Baisyl’s cheek before folding fingers beneath his chin.  “But you are a lord, Baisyl…and you will continue to be one, regardless of how many times I kiss you…or share your bed.  You are my lord as surely as you are my lover…and my friend.”  He hesitated before adding, “And there will be a number of things expected of you which I’ll have no business partaking in…you won’t need-”

“That is not why I am not on my knees pleading with you to stay,” Baisyl clipped, cutting him off, and Kedean’s eyebrows notched upwards.

“No?”

Scoffing, Baisyl jerked his chin to the side, dislodging it from Kedean’s grip and glowering in that general, sidelong direction.  “No,” he asserted.  “And it has nothing to do with pride, either, if that was your second guess.”

“Then-”

Baisyl’s attention snapped forward, pinning Kedean with sharp, silencing intensity.  “You are not my pet, and you are not my servant-”

“I am your servant-”

“I care a great deal about your sentiments on things,” Baisyl insisted, barreling over whatever more Kedean might have said, “and I do not want to string you into making a decision you’ll regret.  If I were being entirely selfish – which is tempting, have no doubt about that – then I would have been at your feet beseeching you the moment I thought you might leave my side-”

“That’s the selfish move?” Kedean responded, openly surprised.  “To beg?”

“Yes, naturally,” Baisyl came back without pause, “…to use whatever power of influence I have over you to convince you to do whatever would please me most at the cost of your own freedom of choice?  Of course that’s the selfish move…”  His eyes dropped there, shifting to pin the ground with his frown instead.

“Surely you know…” Kedean said, his voice quieting as Baisyl’s brow furrowed with any number of unreadable frustrations, “…even stripped absolutely bare of social titles and status markers…you do wield a fantastic deal of power over me.”

A pregnant silence.  Then:

“I know.”  After another brief interval, Baisyl looked up again, meeting Kedean’s eyes.  “There are a slim few things I can think of which, if I asked them of you in earnest, I would still expect you to refuse me…but for that very reason I am attempting to exercise restraint.  Take the ‘noble’ approach as opposed to…throwing power around like a…battle axe…”

“And if you were to be completely selfish?” Kedean asked, and then, remembering Baisyl’s words, he cleared his throat.  “If I were your…pet, to do with what you would?”

He didn’t miss the way Baisyl’s eyes dilated, briefly, darkening with marked interest.  Quickly, though, he diverted his gaze, a ghost of a frown twitching into place as though disapproving of his own reaction to the thought.  “That…would be another matter entirely.”

“I’m curious.”

Warily – almost suspiciously, as though judging whether or not Kedean meant the words in earnest – Baisyl glanced back up, eyes narrowed.  Assessing.  “Are you,” he asked, point blank, though it sounded very little like a question.

“Mm.”

Apparently, he found what he was looking for, or at least some semblance of it, because his expression eventually relaxed there into something calmer, calculating, and distinctly more…hungry.  He tilted his head a fraction of an inch to the side, lifting a hand and drawing his fingers with curious, speculative slowness along the curve of Kedean’s neck, as though to trace the line of a necklace.  Or an invisible scar.  Kedean curbed the urge to shiver in the wake of the warm, teasing heat left behind.

“If owned you…” Baisyl began, and it ought to have sounded insulting or degrading somehow, Kedean figured, except that he had explicitly asked for it and in any case it didn’t sound that way—it merely made heat crawl up his neck and his pulse stumble messily, “…obviously I would keep you with me, first of all.  There would never be a need or reason for you to stray far from my side.  I would likely appoint another guard for travel, since I wouldn’t want one of my most prized commodities throwing himself in the thick of danger, unless-”

Baisyl hushed Kedean’s opening mouth with a single finger to his lips, and, reluctantly, Kedean obliged, settling for a pursed frown instead.

“-it was absolutely necessary, to the point where I, too, was involved directly in the midst of it.”  At that point, his eyes dropped, from Kedean’s own, down, past his lips and to the column of his throat.  He lowered his hand from Kedean’s mouth and thumbed, gently, over the hollow beneath his Adam’s apple.  “I think…as would seem fitting for such a position…I would have to have you fashioned with a collar as well.”

Kedean, appropriately, choked on whatever response he might have had.

“Custom design, naturally…white leather, I suspect, would look nicest against your skin,” Baisyl proceeded smoothly, undeterred.  “The engraving would read: ‘Property of B. L. Merseille: Trespassers will be shot…survivors gutted and burned in oil.’  A leash would likely be pushing it…” His eyes down once more, this time in a quick once-over of Kedean’s figure, “…and, needless to say, you’d wear decidedly less clothing.”  By the time Baisyl looked up again, Kedean didn’t quite trust himself to speak, and the corner of Baisyl’s mouth edged up, amused.  “That’s it.”

At length, Kedean cleared his throat, and managed to ask with a passably even voice, “Are you…quite certain all of that text would fit on one collar?”

Baisyl’s amused smirk broke immediately into a dancing, canine grin and a laugh, and he shook his head.  “No.”  And then, after a moment: “Well, you know…” He considered, taking a pause before going on, “…if I kept only the first bit on the front in large, obvious letters and then left the latter bit as…‘fine print’ if you will, scribbled tightly onto the back, perhaps then it would fit…the sort of lettering you don’t realize exists until you already have the knife an inch from your belly and oil boiling in the background…”

Kedean snorted.  “And to think, once upon a time I thought you were this elegant…delicate, innocent young woman…”

“Innocent?” Baisyl’s attention darted up.  “What ever did I do to give you that impression?”

“Well,” Kedean admitted, “you did…turn a number of my initial impressions on their head the moment you opened your mouth.”

Baisyl’s chuckle was soft and rolling, and the breath of his laughter warm against Kedean’s lips when he leaned down, bringing them into a gentle, catching kiss.  “Good,” Baisyl said.  “What was the first thing I said to you?  I don’t even recall…”

“You got irritated with the way I addressed you,” Kedean said, amused as he thought on it.  “I believe my first instinct was ‘Mistress Merseille’ and you objected…and then shortly thereafter you were making sharp remarks at me about whether or not I was ever going to lead you onto the ship or if I planned on letting you walk yourself and fall off the side of the gangplank into the bay…”

“Mm,” Baisyl gave a thoughtful hum and nodded, “…that’s right.  I’d forgotten that sequence…” Though already close, he moved in further still, looping his arms loosely over Kedean’s shoulders and behind his neck and tucking his face against his chest as Kedean let his own hands wrap around to rest at the small of Baisyl’s back, just beneath his waist.  “Your life would have been simpler,” Baisyl mumbled, speaking into the cloth of Kedean’s shirt front, “…if you’d went with the second option and let me walk myself into the bay.”

Kedean frowned, and he leaned down, turning his head in to brush past hair and kiss Baisyl’s temple.  “Simpler, maybe,” he admitted, “…but not better.  Never better.  I’m very glad things went as they did.”

Another quiet hum of acknowledgement and then, after a moment, Baisyl lifted his head again.  “So,” he started, adopting a fresh, brisk tone, “…say I do manage to fit all that on one collar…” Kedean’s eyebrows quirked up, waiting, and Baisyl’s lips curled into a baiting smirk, “…you’d wear it for me if I had one fashioned for you?  At least once?”

-o-

On the roof, Alroy stilled at the threshold between the stairwell and the outside, shifting to lean his shoulder up against the frame, folding his arms and tilting his head as he eyed his target: blonde head turned facing away, perched in a sit on the ledge with his arms wrapped around his knees and feet bare. 

At length, partly by way of making his presence known, Alroy said, “I thought I might find you here…” and Zyric’s head snapped around, startled.  Alroy stepped out into sun, squinting briefly but tucking his hands in his pockets as he moved out.  “You, your brother…everyone I’ve known in your family, in fact, it seems…has a fondness for retreating towards high places when upset…” He cocked his head, considering.  “Well…that or, you know…breaking bones.”

Zyric frowned, but said nothing, and looked back away.  A sharp breeze whipped at the loose strands of his hair, pushing them occasionally into his face, but he paid them no mind, either, focused on some unmarked point in the distance.

“An issue with your brother, isn’t it?” Alroy queried.

Silence answered him.

“You know…” he commented, going on and approaching until he was a foot or two behind Zyric and stilling there, “…he does love you-”

“I hate him.”

Alroy blinked, and then folded his arms again, loosely, frowning.  “You don’t,” he said gently, but point-of-fact.

“Sometimes I do,” Zyric clipped in immediate response, his voice sharp and brittle as too many pieces of glass, and Alroy’s frown tightened, but remained sympathetic.  “And right now I…it’s-”  There, Zyric bit his own lip, hushing himself and nesting his chin back atop his knees, wrinkles of conflicting emotions marring his brow.

Alroy took his time before speaking up again.  “You’re angry…there’s a difference between anger and hate.”

“He’s leaving…”

“Of course he is.”

Finally, Zyric’s eyes shut, and the dampness on his lashes made something in Alroy’s gut twist.

“Zyric-”

“What are you doing out here?” Zyric asked without opening his eyes, and Alroy reached out, hesitated, then sighed and made the final stretch, brushing his thumb in a gentle sweep over Zyric’s cheek, edging away the wetness.  Zyric’s frown pinched tighter, but he didn’t shirk away.  Instead, he asked, quieter still, “What do you want?”

“To…”  Even Alroy stalled up there, not entirely sure, for a moment, how to answer.  Eventually, though, he finished, “Help.  To help…in whatever way I can.”  Wordlessly, he slid his fingers back, carefully tucking away the longest of the blonde streaks to have fallen in Zyric’s face.  “Whether you believe it or not,” he continued, “…it does pain me to see you this upset, you know…I’ve grown accustomed to your smile.”  He gave a weary, half-smile and conceded, “Even if they’re rarely directed at me.”

Zyric’s lashes lifted, blue eyes pinning Alroy like two swaths of color stolen from the sky itself.  “You’re not the one sending him away this time.”

“No.”

Zyric shook his head.  “Why, then?  Where’s he going?  What’s he think he’s got to do?”

Alroy considered for a long moment before responding cautiously, “He’s…digging up history, among other things…and running, as usual.”

Zyric’s frown, if anything, grew more pronounced, but he turned it away, lips pursing thinly as he looked back out to the sea of rooftops.  “I don’t understand.”

“It would take a lot of explaining,” Alroy said, “…and it’s not exactly all my story to tell.  In any case…” He shifted, moving to sit on the low wall beside Zyric instead of standing, “…I doubt you’d approve, even if you heard it all.”

Zyric drew a long, filling breath through his nose, held it, and then released it a rush, shaking his head again, this time as though shaking each of his worries off along with it.  When he turned back to Alroy, his expression was decidedly different.  “Let’s talk about something else,” he said, and Alroy’s eyebrows arched neatly.

“Something else?” he repeated.  “What would you like to talk about?”

Zyric’s eyes darted once, curiously, over Alroy, assessing, as though trying to make up his mind about something.  Eventually, he answered, “You.”  And Alroy’s surprise evidently showed.

“Me?” he responded.  “Why me of all things?  First off, you’ve known me your whole life, and second, I’m really not very interes-”

“Yes you are,” Zyric cut him off mid-word, and Alroy’s curiosity remained peaked, but he let the boy speak.  “You turned into a dragon, Alroy…”

“Ahh, well,” Alroy cleared his throat and glanced away, “…technically I am one, so it’s not really ‘turning into’ per se-”

“You were twenty feet tall.”

“Not-”

“Your wings alone all but cast the entire platform in shadow,” Zyric blurted, rushing on now that he’d gotten started.  “You were…huge, with teeth and talons, and…and scales…” Alroy opened his mouth.  “You were beautiful.”

Oh.  That was unexpected.  Alroy blinked, momentarily dumbfounded.  “Beautiful?”

Zyric’s cheeks lit up.  “Ferocious, I mean…or magnificent…impressive?” he tripped over his string of new adjectives, clearly desperate for a re-wording.  “Somethin’ other than…that is, I didn’t quite mean-”

“Beautiful,” Alroy repeated, more curious now, as he gained his bearings, and he studied Zyric’s expression as the boy dipped his head, cheeks a dark, rich red brown with his blush.

“I’d just never…seen anythin’ like it,” Zyric defended eventually, the words hushed due to his heightened embarrassment, and a flicker of a smile edged onto Alroy’s features.

“Not surprising,” he noted.  “Seeing as dragons’ dealings with humans are generally comparable to those of wolves with sheep…”

“If you hadn’t shown up when you did…if you hadn’t-” For a moment, Zyric’s words petered off, but eventually, he lifted his gaze, meeting Alroy’s determinedly.  “If it hadn’t been for you, I would have died, whipped and bled to death, on that podium…”

Alroy was the first to drop his eyes, frowning.  “You don’t owe me anyth-”

“I owe you my life, is what I owe,” Zyric countered, point blank.

“If I hadn’t helped you onto the ship-”

“Which was my stupid mistake to begin with,” Zyric interrupted him, again.  “I asked you,” he insisted, “…and eventually, with reluctance, you helped me.  I wanted onto that ship, and it was my ass that got itself in trouble, and I’ll continue to make stupid mistakes in the future, and they’ll continue to not be your fault…”

Alroy glanced up, though his frown had yet to entirely fade.  “I still consider…looking out for your safety to be my responsibility, not a…favor.”

“So?”

“So,” Alroy persisted, “…it was my failing that I didn’t get there sooner, and it’s certainly not something you should feel the need to thank me fo-”

“Thank you,” Zyric said.  “Regardless.  Whether you think you want it or deserver or whatnot, I…want to thank you.”

Alroy considered him, and then, after a long moment, gave another flicker of a smile.  “You’re welcome.”

“Why do you care?”  Apparently, Alroy’s puzzlement showed, because Zyric quickly elaborated.  “About…me, about Dee, about our family at all, what little there is of it.  If you can…” He shrugged, “…I dunno, sprout…wings, and fly anywhere you like, be with anyone you like, cast spells and…whatever else it is you do, why are you in Ire?  Drinkin’ at cheap pubs, sleepin’ with whores, and livin’ in a rundown…shack of a place?  I know we’re not important people…Dee, and Da and I, just…more, poor…outsiders.  Why us?”

“Not all of the women I sleep with are whores…” Alroy defended half-heartedly.

Zyric waited.

Alroy sighed.  “It’s…complicated.  There’s a lot you don’t know-”

“Which is why I’m askin’.  You know…generally the reason people ask questions…to find out stuff they don’t know.”

Alroy pursed his lips, unimpressed.  “There’s a time and place for sarcasm, kid, and now-”

“I’m just curious is all…”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been welcome among those who I once called family,” Alroy said.  “My ties with your family go back significantly longer than you’ve been born, and if you want more information than that, talk to your brother.”  When Zyric’s nose wrinkled with a grimace, Alroy gave an amused smile.  “I thought not…”

“Maybe later.”

“Mm…if you catch him before he-”

“How old are you, anyway?” Zyric asked, deftly changing the subject, and Alroy’s smile grew a fraction of an inch.

“Too old for you.”

“Not what I asked.”

Alroy chuckled.  “How old do you think I am?”

Zyric’s eyes flicked over him, narrowed speculatively, and then he shrugged.  “Twenty-eight…” Alroy’s eyebrows notched up, and Zyric rolled his eyes, tagging on, “…decades?”

“Twenty-eight decades?  Two hundred and eighty years…”

“You really don’t look a day older than thirty,” Zyric insisted.

“You’re probably close to right, actually,” Alroy said.  “It’s somewhere between two fifty and three hundred years now.  Honestly I haven’t been keeping close track recently-”

“Three hundred years old?” Zyric yelped, and Alroy laughed aloud, his eyes dancing with open mirth at the boy’s flabbergasted expression.

“I told you…” He leaned forward, reaching out to ruffle Zyric’s hair and earning himself a shirk back and an irritated glower, “…too old for you.”

Zyric huffed.  “You don’t look too old,” he grumped, reaching up as he spoke to string his fingers back through his hair and resituate it, not wholly succeeding.  “And you sure don’t act it…” he added, quieter, and with even more of a grumbled tone.

“Don’t…” Alroy trailed off.  “And what is that supposed to mean?” he retorted after a pause.  “I act my age when necessary…which…” He frowned, “…come to think of it…”

“Isn’t often?” Zyric finished skeptically, and Alroy pursed his lips.

“That isn’t what I was going to sa-”

“Anyways, however you feel you wanna act, I don’t see why you keep stressin’ you’re the one too old for me when you were the one chasin’ after me in the first place.”

“Chase—?  I never chased y-”

“You’ve flirted with me.”

“I’ve teased you,” Alroy amended.  “There is a difference…”  Albeit an unnervingly minute one in this case.

Zyric remained obviously unconvinced.

“Look-”

“I know you’ve bedded girls younger than me more than once.”

“Every girl I’ve ever-” Alroy started fiercely but then frowned, cutting himself off.  “Every woman,” he amended, with only slightly less gusto, “…that I’ve ever slept with, has assured me she’s seen at least eighteen summers.”

“Right, because whores are honest-”

“They’re not all whores,” Alroy repeated, insistent.  After a moment, he added, less insistently, “Some of them are sluts…”

The edge of Zyric’s lip twitched, a smile obviously fighting for space.  He cleared his throat to subdue it.  “You ought to teach me your hunting techniques…”

Alroy snorted.  “It’s not hunting if you pay the prey to skewer itself on your spear…”

“Thought they weren’t all whores?”

Alroy’s eyes flicked over and he quirked his eyebrows.  “Still talking about women?  I thought we’d moved on to rabbits…”

Zyric’s expression dripped with disbelief.  “You hunt rabbits with spears,” he said flatly, “…and pay them to hop on?”

Effortless keeping a straight face, Alroy shrugged.  “Isn’t that how everyone hunts rabbits?”

Zyric struggled, clearly fighting for his composure, but it was a losing battle, and in seconds his stare was breaking, his lips curving up and laughter bubbling up and out.  He covered his mouth with his palm as it spilled, turning away and shaking his head.

“Oh come now, princess…you have such a pretty smile, don’t cover it,” Alroy berated, teasing, and Zyric shoved at him with his spare hand.

“Prick.”

“I have one,” Alroy confessed.  “Would you like to see it?”

“I should shove you off this building.”

“So you can see me sprout wings again?”

Zyric narrowed his eyes over the edge of his hand, still more or less covering his mouth.  “I don’t like you.”

“Yes you do.”

“Oh?” Zyric challenged, and dropped his hand into his lap.  “How much?”

Alroy opened his mouth, but then, under Zyric’s pointed stare, he hesitated.  “This is a trick question, isn’t it.”

“What else can you do?”

“With my pri—?”

“No, gods…” Zyric groaned, making to flop onto his back in exasperation, but, of course, the sudden, sharp move did not agree with his recent injuries, and he yelped, hissing and tensing instead, nearly losing his balance until-

“Whao, there…” Alroy swept in and caught, carefully as could, at Zyric’s shoulder and the small of his back, steadying him as he winced and helping him back up.  “You’d do well to remember you’re not as invincible as you once were, kid…not for a bit yet.”

To that, Zyric gave a broken laugh, still cringing slightly.  “Invincible…” he repeated, his smile wry and sarcastic as though mocking himself, “…right, ‘cause like…I’ve always been invincible before…”

Alroy frowned, eyeing him once critically, and then sighing.  “Take your shirt off,” he instructed.  Only after catching sight of Zyric’s look in response did he raise his eyebrows.  “So I can have a look at your back…” he clarified, promptly earning himself a ripe blush, followed by a terse scowl.  “You’re only ever this grumpy with me,” he pointed out, sitting back as Zyric tugged his top up and off without meeting his eyes.  “What’d I do to deserve that, huh?”

“I can be ‘grumpy’ with Dee, too…” Zyric piled his shirt in his lap and rolled his shoulders, though he immediately looked to regret it as he stifled another wince.  “Family, I guess…”

“You blush often at family?” Alroy asked, moving in behind the other to settle at his back and not missing the brief tensing in Zyric’s posture.

“What’s that supposed t-”

“Relax…” Alroy interrupted gently, fully aware of the way Zyric refused to do anything but that as he traced, lightly as possible, over the map of scars on the boy’s back.  Healing ointments, tender care, magic, and days of rest were doing their job remarkably well, but there was no doubt Zyric would carry the marks for the rest of his life.  They’d simply been too deep and too many for anything but that; it was a miracle in itself he hadn’t permanently damaged any crucial nerves.

When Alroy lay his palm flat to the small of Zyric’s back, shutting his eyes and calling up his magic, he felt the boy’s shiver—felt him draw new breath into his lungs, and then, as his magic answered, rippling up, glowing into life and flowing like a guided stream from Alroy’s and into Zyric’s body, teasing the lingering magical signatures there from past healing attempts back into life like blowing a gust of air on warm coals, he felt Zyric’s heartbeat, felt the twitch of his muscles as he clenched and opened his fists, felt the flit of his eyelashes though he was turned in the opposite direction and couldn’t possibly see.

When he finally drew back – some time later after guiding his magic to all the worst persisting areas in need of attention – it was much like withdrawing from a partial occupation of a second body.  Alroy’s eyes opened again, and Zyric shuddered.

“It’s always…strange, when you do that,” Zyric noted.  “Feels like…you’re there, but not just close, more like…part of me, for a bit.  Closer than you ever could be otherwise.”

“Inside you?” Alroy asked.

“Yeah.”  A moment.  “No.”

Alroy chuckled.  “Relax,” he repeated, “…loosen up a bit.”

“Too tight?” Zyric clipped out.  “I’ve never been with a man, it would make sense…”

Alroy pursed his lips.  “Zyric-”

“Is it just teasing, Alroy?” Zyric jumped in before he got anywhere with that sentence.  “Dee wants you to see me home safely, and that’ll be several days travel.  Will you sleep with me during the trip?”

Alroy cough-choked.  “That-”

“In the same tent, that is,” Zyric clarified.  “Or room…presuming we have any coppers to spend on that.  And will I get to ride you?”

“Ah…”

“On your back.  As a dragon,” Zyric went on.  “As opposed to, y’know, a ship or some such, since it might be trouble to find one headed in the right direction on such short notice…same for a wagon train…”

Alroy folded his arms.  “Look, kid, whatever game you’re tryin’ to pull-”

“Just curious.”

Naturally, Alroy remained unconvinced.  “And what about Rhyan?”

“What of him?” 

“Seems as though you took a quick fancy to him, mm?” Alroy persisted, and he noted the brief pause before Zyric shrugged.

“He’s very pretty…” A considering tilt of the head and then an amused flick of a smile, “…prettier than a pile o’ girls I’ve come across.”

“And that’s it?”

“Smarter than I am,” Zyric added, “…helluvah lot smarter than I am…”

“Wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

“I am,” Zyric said.  “S’okay, though, it makes ‘im fun to talk with even when he is grouchy all the time…or…most of the time, anyhow.”  A pause.  “Still don’t think he likes me very much though…”

Alroy snorted.  “Shows how well you know him…”

“And what’s ‘at mean?”

“If he holds conversations with you…” Alroy shrugged, a wry grin tugging up the edges of his lips, “…he likes you better than most.”

“He did say that…or something along those lines.”  Zyric looked pleased, for a moment, as if dwelling on a happy or humorous memory.  Quickly, though, he stomped it down with a quick, dampening frown.  “Don’t matter, though.  If he likes me, it’s nothin’ but the friendship variety of ‘like’…which is okay,” he hastened to add the latter bit.  “I mean…s’not like I’ve taken particular interest in boys before ‘im, and…s’prolly good, actually…seein’ as anythin’ past that wouldn’t make a wit o’ sense…”

Alroy tilted his head, waiting for more.  “Oh?”

Zyric huffed.  “Nobles an’ peasant boys,” he explained flatly, “…don’t work out well as anythin’ more than friends.  An’ even that…I’d say is pushin’ it, but…” He shrugged, more carefully this time than last so as not to hurt himself, “…seems as though fate pushed us together…who’s to argue with that?  And I do like his company…”

“And of your brother’s newest relationship?” Alroy asked, curious.  “Seems he’s more than just a bit taken with-”

“Stupid,” Zyric said before he finished, and Alroy arched his eyebrows, surprised.  “He says the things I do are stupid, whatever he thinks he’s doin’ with Miss Baisyl-”

“Baisyl wouldn’t be pleased if he heard you call him that.”

“He looks prettier as a woman,” Zyric defended.  “And, y’know, the small part about that bein’ the main way I saw him for our whole trip right up ‘til this tail end part after Rhyan and I were…rescued…sorta got that impression of ‘im stuck in my head.”

“Mm…”

“Anyway, dunno what either of ‘em are thinkin’ but…it can’t possibly work…not in the long run, leastways.  Guess it’s okay if they only intend on fuckin’ each other and nothin’ more-”

“And do you think that’s what they’re doing?” Alroy asked.  “Just fucking?”  And Zyric frowned, a soft, considering look.  Eventually, he dropped his eyes to the brick of the low wall he was perched on.

“I’ve never seen Dee look at anyone the way he does him,” he admitted.  “Not Natara, not…” He shrugged, slow and dismissing, “…anyone.  And I’d say Miss—err…Baisyl…is draggin’ him for a spin, but I don’t see what he can get out of that, ‘sides the obvious…and so I can only think he must be mad as Dee, and…’f that’s true…maybe it is good they’re runnin’ off in opposite directions…head off an issue ‘fore it gets started.”

Alroy snorted.  After a moment, he conceded with a, “Maybe…” but it was unconvinced, his mind repeatedly running back up against the first thing he’d noticed on coming back into contact with his eldest nephew.  Baisyl was carrying Kedean’s child.  How long before that came out from under the rug?

Part of him was still seriously considering dragging it out into the open himself.  Obviously, Baisyl wasn’t aware, and if he wasn’t, neither was Kedean.  But how to bring up something like that?  And at what cost?  Would it keep Kedean from fleeing?  Likely.  But would Baisyl even want the child?  Unlikely.

In the end, as before, Alroy concluded it wasn’t his business to meddle in.  Eventually, either someone would spill the information to Baisyl, or, if it went on long enough, he would find out himself.  Either way, selfish as it might be, Alroy did not want to be within range when the scene erupted.  He didn’t expect it would be pleasant.

---

 

A/N:  So, the motherboard on my computer died, and I nearly had a heart attack.  Luckily, the hard drive wasn’t damaged and after a little surgery, I got all my files (and my laptop) back in working order.  I blame the delay on that.  Somewhat. 

In other news, I apologize for my wordiness; this chapter is long and I don’t know if I even accomplished anything with it…maybe a few things.  Still.  I’m slow as a snail, I know.  With ANY luck at all, the next chapter should be the last in this book.  Hope you enjoyed this one!  I’ll be gone over the weekend so leave me some comments to come back to?  :D