Guarded (14 page)

After Berhanu drew back, the king addressed him. “We’ve much to discuss. But perhaps you’d like to rest first.”

“No. Just give me some food and wine and let me sit, and I’ll be fine.”

“Very well. Volos, you’ve certainly earned some rest. If we have any questions for you, we’ll send for you tomorrow.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Volos allowed himself one last glance at Berhanu— who was looking at him— before bowing and leaving the room. His narrow cot in the barracks sounded welcoming.

****

Chapter Thirteen

“If you fight that slowly in battle, your opponent will have time to go home, eat dinner, fuck her husband, and then come back and eviscerate you.”

Volos’s opponent scowled and lowered his sword. “I was lining up for a proper angle.”

“And you think the person who’s trying to kill you will stand there patiently while you calculate this proper angle?”

“No. But if I don’t get a killing blow in, if I only wound her, she’s just going to get angry and—”

“And she was already in such a good mood, seeing as how the two of you were engaged in mortal combat.”

The man hung his head. No, not a man; although he was nearly as big as Volos, he was still a boy. He looked as if he was straight off the farm, although he’d evidently spent a few months as a foot soldier, guarding the Mudedye border. His captain must have decided he had potential, so the boy had been sent to the castle to be a guard. Perhaps the captain was correct, but in Volos’s opinion, the boy had a long way to go.

“Look,” Volos said, trying to suppress a sigh. “It’s true that it’s best if you can kill the enemy right away. But that’s not always possible. And it’s far better to only wound her than to be killed yourself. Sometimes even a minor injury can be enough to throw someone off or make them panic, and then it’s much easier to aim for somewhere deadly.”

The boy nodded. “All right. Thank you, sir.”

Volos winced. “I’m not nobility, an officer, or your master, so don’t call me that. My name is Volos.”

“I know. I’ve… I’ve heard lots about you.”

Oh, good gods. The boy was blushing.

“Is it true you killed an entire company of Juganin singlehandedly?” asked the boy eagerly.

“There were eight of them, not a company. And I wasn’t acting alone. They were drugged, or I’d never have been able to handle that many. Nobody could.” He pointed his finger at the boy. “Don’t go getting wild ideas about being a hero. You’ll get yourself killed. You do your best to do your duty— that’s all.”

“Words of wisdom.”

Volos spun around at the new voice, although of course he’d recognized it at once. Berhanu stood very close, grinning. He wore nothing but a pair of the loose trousers the guards practiced in. In the months since they’d returned from Kozar, he’d regained the weight and musculature he’d lost in captivity, and although his chest was now marred with many scars, he was more magnificent than ever. He’d been sparring with the guards nearly every day for weeks, and every time Volos caught a glimpse of him, his breath would catch in his throat.

But a glimpse was nearly all he’d been given, because just as before, Berhanu had practiced with nearly everyone except Volos. And these were the first words he’d spoken to Volos since they’d returned.

Perhaps the boy wasn’t a lost cause. He certainly wasn’t a complete fool, because he caught on to the charged atmosphere at once. He mumbled something unintelligible and scurried away.

That left Volos and Berhanu staring at each other.

“You haven’t lost your sense of duty,” Berhanu said mildly after a long moment.

“No.”

“Good. Because I’ve specifically requested that you lead the ceremonial march to welcome Queen Draga in a couple of weeks.”

“Trotting me out like a pet monkey?” Volos growled.

“Oh, good gods. You know that’s not how I think of you.”

“I wasn’t aware you thought of me at all.” Volos knew he sounded petulant. But Berhanu’s disregard had hurt.

Berhanu wrapped a hand around Volos’s forearm. “We talked about this, Volos. I told you… I want you more than I’ve wanted anything in my life. But—”

“But you can’t because you’re healing. I know. I understand. But does that mean you can’t even look at me?” Volos wrenched his arm away. A few people were still in the training room, so he tried to keep his voice quiet. It came out as an angry hiss. “I tried to check on you. Just to make sure you were all right. But your servants wouldn’t let me anywhere near your apartment.”

“I’m sorry, Volos, I—”

“And then you started coming here, but you stay at the opposite end of the room, and… I understand that we can’t be lovers. But I’d hoped maybe we could at least be friends.” He tried to stalk away, but Berhanu caught his arm again.

“We
can
be. It’s just—”

“Never mind.” This time when Volos jerked himself free, it hurt. “You don’t have to be nice to me.”

Berhanu danced around to block his exit. “I
want
to be nice to you.”

“But you don’t— Argh!” Unable to articulate his feelings, Volos was left with nothing to do but growl like a beast. Even he wasn’t sure why he was so angry at Berhanu. Or maybe he was mostly angry at himself.

“Do you want to fight?”

“What?”

Berhanu pointed at the wooden sword Volos held. “Fight. We never have. Hang on.” As Volos waited dumbly, Berhanu sprinted across the room, grabbed a practice sword from a rack, and ran back. He positioned himself in front of Volos with his wooden blade raised.

Maybe he thought Volos would refuse, or at least be confused over his offer. But Volos didn’t hesitate. He lifted his own sword and swung it straight at Berhanu’s head. If Berhanu hadn’t jumped back with a startled yelp, he might have ended up with a concussion. But he was quick, and the blunt tip of the wooden blade merely grazed his head. Not only that— he immediately took a good swing of his own, lunging forward at Volos’s chest. Volos leapt nimbly to the side.

After that, they began to spar in earnest.

Neither of them said anything as they fought, although they grunted loudly and soon their breaths were noisy. Sometimes Volos’s sword smacked against Berhanu, although never in what would have been a mortal blow had they been fighting with steel. And sometimes it was Berhanu’s weapon that hit its target, sending jolts of pain through Volos’s body.

It was a good fight. They were very evenly matched. Volos had a somewhat longer reach, but Berhanu was better at controlling his attacks. Both had considerable strength and stamina, so even as their fight grew long and their bodies became soaked with sweat, they didn’t stop. Their bare feet shuffled on the floorboards, and the swords thud-thwacked against their flesh. They’d both have bruises by morning.

Berhanu spun and clipped his sword against Volos’s hip. Volos countered with a lunge at Berhanu’s neck, but the prince managed to duck out of the way. While he was still off-balance, however, Volos slammed the flat of the blade against his back hard enough to make Berhanu lose his footing and go sprawling facedown. He rolled over at once, sweeping the sword at Volos’s legs. But this time it was Volos who danced up and away. And when he landed— his legs straddling Berhanu’s supine body— he jammed the rounded point of his sword into Berhanu’s chest, right over his heart. Berhanu cried out in pain.

But then the prince caught his breath and said softly, “Go ahead, Volos. Punish me for what I’ve done to you.”

Volos bellowed and heaved his sword away. Still wearing nothing but his sweat-soaked trousers, he stomped out the nearest door.

The spring sun was already strong, casting sharp shadows onto the courtyard. Queen Draga had sent a gift to King Tafari in advance of her visit: an enormous stone fountain. It had arrived as several wagonloads of pieces and had taken a team of workmen weeks to assemble. Fortunately, it wasn’t nearly as gaudy as the one in her palace, although it did feature multiple cascades of water flowing into a shallow pool. The guards had taken to using it to cool down after practice, and nobody had objected.

Volos headed straight for the fountain. He stepped over the low marble wall, splashed through the pool, and stopped directly underneath the largest water flow. It was like standing under a waterfall, and although it soaked his body instantly, it did nothing to cool the flames of his emotions. He closed his eyes and imagined giant plumes of steam rising from his head, far above the castle walls and into the flawless blue sky.

“Volos.”

Over the roar of the water, Volos heard Berhanu call him. He opened his eyes to find Berhanu striding through the pool toward him. Berhanu’s wet trousers clung to his body, revealing the narrow curve of his hips and the heavy muscles of his thighs. The large scar on his chest looked red and angry. He stopped in front of Volos, just out of reach.

“Stop running away,” Berhanu said.

Volos’s jaw was clenched so hard it ached. “Why?”

“Because I’ve been thinking about this for months. I’ve thought of almost nothing else. I’ve thought of
you
. I wake up in the middle of the night, wondering if you’re having a nightmare and wishing I was there to comfort you. Sometimes— no,
often
I think about those Juganin bastards, the feel of them when they used me, and I chase that away with my memories of feeling
you
. But then you’re not there and I’m empty, and…” He stopped and tilted his head into the cascade, letting it soak his long hair. He smoothed the strands behind him. Then he looked at Volos. “I told you I needed to put my pieces together before I could come to you. That was a fucking lie, Volos. I know that now. The only way I’m ever going to heal is in your arms.”

Berhanu stepped forward and then fell to his knees in front of Volos. He leaned his cheek against Volos’s torso. “Please,” he said, just loud enough to be heard over the fountain.

“People are watching us.”

“I don’t fucking care if the entire kingdom watches. This is where I need to be. Please, Volos. I need you. I’ll always need you. Guard me. Guard me here.” He pressed his palm against Volos’s heart. “Keep me safe in here, Volos, and I swear I’ll keep you safe as well.”

Volos looked down at the powerful man who knelt before him, who leaned against him. And something as ferocious as a dragon grew inside him. It wasn’t a desire for vengeance, and it wasn’t a sense of duty. It was love— a love that meant not only would he give his life for Berhanu, but also that he’d trust Berhanu with his.

He leaned forward slightly and gathered Berhanu’s hair tenderly at the nape of his neck. It was a gesture a parent might make to comfort a child— or a lover to comfort his beloved.

“I’ll guard you always, Berhanu.” He said it first in Wedey, and then in Kozari. “And please… please guard me back.”

****

Chapter Fourteen

Volos trailed his fingertips along a familiar stretch of wall and didn’t startle when boot steps clomped behind him.

“Don’t tell me you’re missing the barracks. Surely your current quarters are much nicer.”

He turned to smile at Captain Hiwot. “They are.”

“And if you left something of yours behind, I’m sure the other guards took it weeks ago.”

“If I did leave anything, they’re welcome to it.”

“Well, is there something I can do for you, Count Volos?”

He winced. “You don’t have to call me that.”

“You prefer the title the Kozari queen gave you instead? Let’s see… Marquis, wasn’t it?” Captain Hiwot’s mouth quirked into a crooked smile.

Volos hadn’t asked for any titles. But during one of the countless— and endless— ceremonies they’d attended during Queen Draga’s visit, Berhanu had unexpectedly dragged him to the center of the stage. Volos had blushed and glared at his smug lover, while King Tafari had made a speech and then granted Volos a fancy title— and, Volos learned later, some very nice farmlands to the south.

Apparently not to be outdone, the following day Queen Draga made a speech of her own, and before Volos realized what was happening, he was somehow also Kozari nobility. His Kozari title came with an entire village.

Berhanu had later calmed Volos by pointing out that the dual titles helped to reinforce the new alliance between Wedeyta and Kozar. “And,” he’d added with a grin, “it wouldn’t do for the prince’s betrothed to have anything but a long string of impressive designations after his name.”

So Volos couldn’t exactly complain. But ownership of property in two countries had got him thinking about home. His heart felt so much stronger and his soul so much lighter now that he had places to call his own. The best of those places was here in the castle, in a quiet corner of the royal apartments, where he and Berhanu shared a room, a bed, a life. And because Berhanu was gone all this afternoon on some business related to the queen’s imminent departure, leaving Volos feeling a bit at loose ends, Volos had wandered to the barracks to meditate a bit.

Captain Hiwot walked closer. As always, her back was very straight, but now there was a softness to her expression that Volos had never seen from her before. “I’ve been hearing some stories about your father from our Kozari guests,” she said.

He automatically tensed. “You knew my father was Kozari. I’ve never tried to hide that.” Not even when his life might have been easier had he changed his name to a Wedey one. He wouldn’t dishonor his father’s memory that way.

“No, you never have. But now I’ve learned that Rok Perun risked everything he had in an attempt to keep peace between Kozar and Wedeyta. And even when his efforts failed and he was forced to flee over the border— to a country where he knew he’d face prejudice— he kept trying.”

“It cost him his life. Cost my entire family their lives.”

“I know. But consider what he was trying to do, Volos. Even if he wasn’t successful, even if it led to tragedy— do you think he did the right thing?”

Volos considered this question for a moment, but deep inside he knew the answer. “He did,” he said quietly.

The captain nodded. “He would be so proud of you, Volos.” She turned around and marched out of the barracks.