Guarded (10 page)

The gates were guarded, of course. A half-dozen men and women in gaudy uniforms and ridiculous braided hats stood at somber attention, hands on the ornamented hilts of their swords.

Berhanu stopped several paces away. “I had a letter from my father— all done up with seals and everything. But it’s gone now. And I’m not exactly looking princely. I don’t know how we’ll get in.” He looked discouraged. Broken.

Volos patted his shoulder awkwardly. “Let me try.” He walked confidently to the guards, who eyed him— and his sword— distrustfully.

“My name is Volos Perun. I am here as bodyguard to this man, who has a vital message for Queen Draga. I know we don’t look like much— it’s been a hard journey. But I assure you, she will want to see him. And if she finds out you’ve turned him away, the consequences will be dire. Go verify what I’m telling you. We’ll wait.”

The guards exchanged glances. Volos knew that they were thinking he was probably lying, but none of them wanted to bear responsibility in case he was telling the truth. Finally a guard with red hair coiled into braids lifted her chin at him. “Who is he?”

“You can tell her… he’s the man from the south, the one she’s been waiting to see. The man who was recently freed.”

The guard was clearly still skeptical. “If this is a ruse—”

“It would be a very stupid one.”

She thought for a moment before giving two sharp nods. “You’ll wait in the courtyard. In chains.”

That proposition didn’t thrill Volos, but it didn’t surprise him either. “Fine.” He turned to Berhanu and spoke in Wedey. “They’ll give her my message. But they’ll bind us in the meantime. Please don’t put up a fuss.”

“I’m not a child.”

“I know.”

One of the guards scurried away to convey the news. Meanwhile, the others frowned at hearing Wedey, then ushered Volos and Berhanu through the gate and into the courtyard. The redhead put manacles on Volos first, binding his arms behind his back, but she made sure the irons weren’t too tight, and she didn’t take his sword.

Berhanu went pale at her gesture to put his hands behind his back. “Volos,” he said quietly. He sounded strangled. “I can’t…”

Volos answered in a soothing tone. “It’s only for a few minutes. These are not the Juganin.”

“Yes. All right.” Berhanu stepped very close to Volos and looked as if he wanted to run, but he placed his hands as ordered. When the shackles clinked shut, he winced.

They ended up having to wait considerably longer than a few minutes. Volos understood— it wasn’t as if royalty was available at a moment’s notice. Perhaps noting the way Berhanu swayed slightly on his feet, the redheaded guard led them to a stone bench near the wall and asked them to sit. They did, Berhanu so close that his thigh was pressed against Volos’s.

“Do you think we should get a fountain like that at the castle?” Berhanu asked after a while. He nodded his head toward an enormous monstrosity covered in gilded dragons, lions, eagles, and gods knew what else.

“I think you should get two of them.”

Volos was rewarded with a brief smile— one of the first Berhanu had ever given him— and then Berhanu spoke. “Once when I was still a boy, my mother bought my father a statue as a gift. It was hideous and it cost a fortune. My brothers and I used to call it the Nightmare. Father was forced to keep it in his study so he wouldn’t offend her. After she died, he moved it into his bedchamber.” A softness settled on Berhanu’s features. “I think my mother would have loved this fountain.” He sighed. “What’s your mother like, Volos?”

“Dead. Juganin killed my whole family when I was a child.”

“Gods. I’m sorry. I didn’t… I’m so sorry.”

Volos shrugged, which was a bit awkward in chains. “It was a long time ago.”

“And you’ve no family left at all?”

“No.”

“My father said your mother’s family is prominent.”

“They weren’t pleased she married a Kozari.” Volos had never met them and knew little about them. His mother had preferred not to speak about her relatives.

“Then who did you go to for comfort after you were… after the prison?”

Volos looked away.

Perhaps Berhanu would have asked more questions, and perhaps Volos would have answered, because at least the conversation was distracting the prince from his unease. But two important-seeming men came marching purposefully in their direction, both of them looking appalled.

“Unchain these men at once!” ordered the one with a narrow face and long beard.

His companion, almost his twin but for the missing beard, bowed deeply to Berhanu. “I beg your pardon, sir. I do apologize for this horrid treatment.”

Volos translated while the redhead unlocked Berhanu’s manacles and then Volos’s. Berhanu bowed back, albeit not quite so deeply. “It’s not necessary. Of course you must be very careful about security. Your guards were not at all unkind.”

When Volos translated that little speech into Kozari, the thin-faced men looked relieved and the redhead smiled slightly.

Berhanu and Volos were led into the palace, an edifice of endless marble hallways lined with colorful carpets, paintings, tapestries, and statues. Passersby gaped at Berhanu and Volos, then scurried out of their way. The foursome finally arrived at a large room with silk-upholstered chairs and more tapestries. Large windows overlooked an elaborate walled garden, while inside the room, numerous vases overflowed with fresh flowers.

“Her Majesty will join you very shortly,” said the bearded man. “Would you, er, care to freshen up first?”

After Volos translated, Berhanu shook his head. “No. All the freshening up in the world won’t make me look less disreputable.”

The men listened as Volos conveyed the message, and then they bowed and hurried out of the room.

Berhanu paced while Volos waited near one of the paneled walls. It wasn’t long before a door swung open and a woman stepped into the room. She wasn’t what Volos had expected. For one thing, a detailed rendering of a flowering vine crept from her neck up one cheek. Volos had never seen a tattoo before but vaguely remembered his father once mentioning that Kozari nobility applied ink to their bodies. The queen was in her sixties and had probably never been beautiful, but her clear eyes showed keen intelligence. Her trousers, blouse, and long vest were obviously made of expensive cloth yet were mostly unadorned. Her gray hair formed a nimbus of tight curls around her face.

“Prince Berhanu,” she said and curtseyed. “I am so relieved to see you.” She spoke in heavily accented and quite formal Wedey.

Berhanu’s answering bow was very deep. As battered and poorly dressed as he was, there was no mistaking him for anything but a prince. “Your Majesty. Thank you for agreeing to speak to me.”

“Of course.” She frowned. “I cannot properly express my regrets over the treatment you have received in my country. I know you understand why I could not act more directly. But please understand how pained I am at what you have endured.”

After a very brief pause, Berhanu bowed again. “I do understand. And I’d like you to know that I owe my life, in part, to the kindness of some of your subjects.” He gave an unhappy little smile. “Every country has its villains and its heroes.”

She trailed her fingertips along an ivory-inlayed tabletop. “And speaking of heroes…?” She gave Volos a significant look.

Berhanu turned to look at Volos, who tensed. But then Berhanu shocked him with a warm smile. “I apologize, My Lady. Let me present my bodyguard, Volos Perun.”

Volos felt huge and shabby. Rather belatedly, he dropped to one knee, but the queen quickly motioned for him to stand. She gave him a very close look, and then her eyes widened. “Perun! Your father was Rok Perun!”

“I… Yes, Your Majesty.”

“I should have seen it immediately. You look so much like him.” The corners of her lips twitched. “I had a terrible crush on him when I was a girl.”

“You… you knew my father?”

“Not well, but yes. He was one of my mother’s advisors. He was very young for that position, actually, but I believe he inherited it. And he had a reputation for plain speaking. If more people had listened to him, a great deal of pain could have been avoided.”

Volos didn’t know how to respond to that. His tongue felt thick and stupid, so he nodded awkwardly. Then he risked a glance at Berhanu, who was giving him an odd, unreadable look.

“So many sorrows,” said Queen Draga. “But perhaps due to the bravery of both of you, we can avoid yet more.”

“That’s my hope too,” said Berhanu.

“Good. And I must apologize again, but I was in the middle of a meeting. I think perhaps you might like some rest and refreshment after the ardors of your journey. Will you accept my hospitality? This evening we can begin our discussions in earnest.”

“Thank you, My Lady.”

“Good. Please wait here. In a few minutes someone will come to take you to your rooms.”

But before she could leave, Berhanu held up a hand. “My Lady? I’d prefer it if Volos stayed with me. He can translate for me if necessary. And he’s my guard.”

“Of course.”

A brief round of bowing and curtseying accompanied the queen’s departure. Afterward, Berhanu crossed the room to the window, leaned against the sill, and looked out at the thick afternoon mist. Not only did Volos have no idea what the prince might be thinking, he wasn’t all that sure of his own thoughts, which were jumbled and confused.

“Do you think she’ll be sympathetic to my arguments?” Berhanu asked, still facing away.

“I don’t know. She seemed… well-disposed.”

“Maybe. But you never know with royalty. Quite often we say or do one thing and we mean something else entirely.”

Volos was still chewing over the meaning of that statement when a woman arrived to lead them away.

****

Chapter Ten

Berhanu and Volos were taken to chambers fit for a prince. The main room was large and generously furnished. An elevated platform held an enormous bed, covered by an opulent bedspread and piled with pillows. In a smaller attached room, a spacious window provided a fine view of the city from the carved wooden table placed in front of it, which was set with gold cutlery and gilded plates. A small feast awaited them under covered dishes. But the accommodation that excited them both was the washroom with a huge porcelain tub filled with steaming, scented water. The room also included a pile of thick towels, a painted washbasin, a mirror with an ornate frame, two sets of toiletries, and a rack hung with several sets of clothing.

“I suspect the queen thinks we’re filthy,” Berhanu said with a small grin. “And she’s right. What do you think— eat first or bathe?”

“I… uh…”

“Bathe, I think. Better a cold dinner than cold bath water.” Berhanu sat on a marble bench to remove his boots. Then, while Volos stood like a complete fool, the prince stripped completely and climbed into the tub. He uttered a deep sigh and submerged to his neck. “Heaven.”

Volos was carefully averting his eyes, as if he hadn’t already seen Berhanu naked many times. As if he hadn’t felt him, deep inside, just the night before.

Berhanu made an exasperated little noise. “Get in the tub, Volos.”

“But you’re—”

“It’s big enough for us both. No point in you having to endure cold, second-hand water.”

Volos hung his sword on a hook and quickly undressed. He felt acutely self-conscious as he crossed the room, but Berhanu didn’t say anything as he climbed into the tub. They faced each other in silence. The deep water was soft with scented oil; it felt wonderful.

After lifting a large cake of soap from a basket, Berhanu gestured imperiously. “Turn around. I’ll wash your back.”

Were all princes so inscrutable? Volos turned around, sloshing some of the water onto the tile floor in the process. He tried not to swoon like a lovesick maiden when Berhanu set one slick hand on his shoulder and used the other to smooth the soap over his spine. Volos had never been bathed before— well, not since he was a child. In the quiet of the washroom, with the only sounds being their breaths and the small splashes of water, the act was strangely intimate. More intimate, in fact, than most of the fucks he’d had at the Thieving Goose. And Berhanu was taking his time over it, moving the soap in small, slow circles.

“There’s no tub in the barracks, is there?” asked Berhanu.

“No.”

“Then how do you stay clean? When you spar, you never—” He stopped suddenly, then cleared his throat.

“We make do with wash bowls. When my purse is feeling especially full I might go to the baths.”

“I have a private washroom. I’ve never been to the public baths.” Did Berhanu sound slightly wistful?

“They’re not nearly as nice as this. At least, not the one I go to. It’s near the Goose.”

“I’ve never been there either.”

Volos twisted his head around to look at him. “Really?”

“I’m a fucking
prince
, Volos. Do you think I’d be allowed in a place like that without an entire company of guards?” He sighed. “My social life happens at official dinners where I have to pretend to be fascinated with the Duke of Dumbshit or the Baroness of Boredom. And when I want to get a leg over, there’s a list of whores who are approved for royal use. They’re all very clean and pretty and proper.”

That was an aspect of Berhanu’s life that had never occurred to Volos. Berhanu trained with the guards and, to the extent Volos had thought about it at all, he assumed he played like the guards as well. He opened his mouth to say something— an apology, maybe?— but Berhanu snorted at him. “Tilt your head back. I’ll wash your hair.”

Volos closed his eyes as Berhanu upended several cups of bathwater over his head. And then… good gods. Berhanu used his fingertips to massage soap into Volos’s scalp; it was a gentle sensation since his fingers had lost some strength during his captivity. Volos had thought it felt good to have his back soaped, but
this
was unbelievably wonderful. It was altogether possible he might climax from it.

Berhanu chuckled. “You’re moaning, Volos.”

“I… uh…”

“Feels nice, doesn’t it?”

“Gods, yes!”

The answering laughter sounded delighted.