Guarded (2 page)

But now Volos lay alone on his cot. His nose throbbed slightly, reminding him of his foolishness.

There was another man who neared Volos’s strength and prowess in fighting. Prince Berhanu. He could have practiced on his own; he could have hired whomever he wanted to train with. But he seemed to prefer joining the guards. He arrived nearly every day, attired not in his royal costume but instead wearing the same plain tunic and trousers as the guards. He fought like the guards too, never sparing the force of his strength and always becoming furious if he suspected they were returning less than their full efforts. He was excellent at hand-to-hand combat and skilled with blades. The prince in combat was a fine sight indeed, especially when he took off his tunic and the sweat gleamed on his heavily muscled body. But although they were closely matched in size and skill, he refused to spar with Volos.

Volos liked to believe this was a blessing. It meant that he’d never forget himself when that solid body strained against his. He’d never be humiliated by stroking silky black hair when he ought to be wrestling, or by losing himself entirely in the heat of contact and rubbing his aching cock against his handsome partner. But no matter how many times Volos reminded himself of these things, he didn’t
feel
blessed. Not when the prince shot him contemptuous looks, when he deigned to notice him at all. Not when the prince muttered darkly about Kozari scum.

Although Prince Berhanu fought with barely-restrained ferocity, he was charming when he relaxed with the other soldiers. He would squat against the wall with a few other guards, sipping at a cup of water and watching others spar. He joked, laughed, and teased with the easy comfort of a comrade, and he never minded when friendly mockery was made at his expense. He even joined the troops at meals sometimes— although he certainly could have found better food at the royal table— and he’d dig into the plain, hearty fare with as much gusto as anyone else. But every bit of light banter the prince exchanged with others and every good-natured smack to another guard’s shoulder wounded Volos worse than a wooden sword ever could.

The dormitory was dark even at midday. The windows were set high in the walls, tucked under the tower’s eaves, and received direct sunlight only during a short period every day. Sometimes the vast room felt like a cocoon and sometimes like a prison. Lately it had been feeling like a tomb. But Volos had keen eyesight, so even in the dim light he could make out cobwebs among the rafters. When he was very young, his father used to tuck him in at night with folktales from his homeland. The Kozari said that the universe was spun by a spider and each of the stars was a glittering jewel caught in a vast web. “We’re all caught as well,” his father used to say as he smoothed the hair from Volos’s forehead. “Every one of us. The trick is to keep fighting to be free. We will never achieve freedom— not until the very end— but the fight can be so beautiful.”

“Liar,” Volos whispered into the empty dormitory, speaking in Kozari.

After several long minutes of listening to his own breathing, Volos sat up. It wasn’t Prince Berhanu’s hatred that had stolen his appetite and his attention. He’d become used to that hatred over the years, so much so that now he was bothered by its absence. The prince hadn’t appeared at practice for two weeks— not since the night Volos had been summoned before the king. Sometimes Berhanu missed a day or two, but he’d never been gone so long. Surely the other guards must have noticed, but nobody mentioned it and Volos hadn’t wanted to broach the subject himself. Everyone already knew that Berhanu detested him. It would kill Volos if his comrades suspected that the prince haunted Volos’s dreams, if they knew that when Volos furtively pleasured himself in the slumbering company of seventy-nine other guards, it was Prince Berhanu he was thinking of.

Volos stood, shook his head, and tucked his boots under the cot. Then he set off for the wall at a jog.

****

The Thieving Goose was crowded this evening, but Volos managed to snag a small table in the back. He sipped his ale slowly and watched the other patrons, nodding and waving at a few familiar faces. The Goose stood only a few yards outside the castle walls and catered mostly to off-duty guards and certain civilians who were attracted to the guards. These civilians tended to be fairly well-to-do merchants and craftsmen who added a bit of thrill and ersatz danger to their lives by dressing down and consorting with soldiers. The guards never minded. They had all grown tired of fucking each other, and any willing body was good enough.

Volos must have had a reputation, because although women liked to eye him appreciatively, it was nearly always a man who worked up the courage to sit with him. Such as the man— only a few years past boyhood, really— who grinned at him now and folded himself gracefully into an empty chair. He was very pretty. Delicately built, with honey-colored curls and cinnamon-hued skin, and green eyes twinkling with slightly predatory glee. His tunic was probably meant to look plain, but even Volos could discern the fine quality of the cloth and tailoring. “I’m Adiso,” the young man said, speaking loudly over the din.

“Volos.”

Adiso’s gaze sharpened slightly at the foreign name, but he didn’t appear surprised. No doubt he’d heard of Volos already. There were those who sought him out specifically because he was half Kozari. They liked the hint of exoticism, perhaps, or maybe it added to his allure as an almost-ruffian. Not like Prince Berhanu, who was— No. Not Prince Berhanu, whom Volos shouldn’t even be thinking about.

“I’d like to buy you a drink,” said Adiso.

“I already have one.”

“I’ll buy you another.”

Volos sighed and rubbed his face, wincing a little due to his sore nose. He’d thought the bruise might prove off-putting, but apparently not. “Why don’t we just go somewhere and fuck?”

A wide grin bloomed on Adiso’s face. “I should have known you’d be a man of action.” He stood. “I’ll get us a room upstairs. Come on.”

The ale at the Goose wasn’t bad and the location was handy, but the upstairs rooms were the main draw: cheap by the hour and reasonably clean, not to mention conveniently close. The civilians who came to the Goose certainly wouldn’t be eager to bring a guard back to their fancy houses, and trysts inside the barracks were impractical.

A few people hooted as Volos followed Adiso to the shadowed exit in a corner of the room, but Adiso walked jauntily and Volos ignored the catcalls. No doubt some of his colleagues would ask him later for details about the pretty youth he’d bedded, but Volos was rarely willing to share. Sometimes these brief assignations felt more like a duty than a conquest or diversion.

The stairs were right outside the door. They hugged the exterior of the building tightly, as if emulating all the would-be lovers who’d passed that way. The old man on the stool at the upstairs landing was missing a leg and an eye, and his face was terribly scarred. He’d been a soldier once, according to rumors, a fighter in some war nearly forgotten now. He held out his hand expectantly. “Two coppers,” he croaked.

Volos had a few coins in his purse, but he let Adiso pay. Adiso’s purse was probably always full.

“Seven,” said the old man as he handed Adiso a folded white cloth.

Ten identical doors lined the hallway, five on either side. Most were closed, and Volos heard grunts and laughter as he walked by. But the door with the large black 7 painted on it was ajar, and he trailed Adiso inside. The wooden floor and walls were unpainted and unadorned, and there was a tiny uncurtained window. The only furniture was a cot somewhat wider than the one on which Volos slept. Its mattress was very thin, but then, it wasn’t meant to be slept on.

With a little flourish, Adiso spread the cloth over the mattress. Then he pulled a small object from his purse and held it up with a rakish grin. “Olive oil with frankincense. Expensive, but so much nicer than plain oil, don’t you think?”

Volos shrugged. There were plenty of times when he would have been grateful for plain oil but made do with saliva instead. And then there were the months in captivity, when he hadn’t even been granted— He didn’t want to think about that.

Apparently undaunted by Volos’s lack of enthusiasm, Adiso tossed him the little glass vial. Volos uncorked it and took a sniff. Nice, he supposed. And Adiso was nice too, because now he’d kicked off his sandals and stripped off his clothes, standing naked and already erect. He was thin, with neither muscle nor fat padding his bones, and his body was nearly hairless save for the curls at his groin. He wasn’t really Volos’s type— something Volos had known from the start. But Adiso was willing and he was there, and that was enough.

“I’d like to see what’s beneath your clothing,” said Adiso. So Volos pulled off his tunic, and Adiso’s eyes grew round and shiny. When Volos finished undressing, Adiso licked his lips. “Gorgeous,” he purred before closing the distance between them and dropping to his knees.

Just as some wealthy citizens like Adiso got a thrill out of bedding guards, some of the guards got excited over rich men and women kneeling before them like this. It was a little game of sorts, with each side play-acting their roles. Nothing wrong with that, but it wasn’t what Volos yearned for. In fact, given his choice, he preferred to be the one on his knees, tasting another man, feeling him deep in his throat or experiencing the burn of hot flesh in his ass. But he’d learned some time ago that it wasn’t what men like Adiso wanted from him. They saw him standing there— bulky, battle-scarred, a little foreign— and stirred at the pretense of being taken by a brute.

Tonight, Volos gave Adiso what he wanted. And Adiso must have been satisfied, because instead of hurriedly dressing and scurrying back to his home, he nestled against Volos on the uncomfortable bed, one thin leg thrown over Volos’s heavy ones. They waited for their breathing and heartbeats to even out.

Adiso trailed a fingertip across an indentation on Volos’s chest. “Where did you get this one?”

“Guna, I think.”

“Was it a sword?”

“No. Just a knife.” A knife could be as deadly as any sword, though. He’d taken lives enough in close combat with nothing but a short blade.

Adiso’s eyes glittered in the lantern light. “It must be so exciting to be in a real battle.”

This wasn’t the first time Volos had heard those words, and he knew what Adiso wanted in response: a few fine tales of adventure and bravery, stories he could embroider a little before boasting to his friends about the savage he’d bedded.

But Volos wasn’t in the mood to lie. “It’s not exciting. It’s… terrifying. Confusing. Everyone’s screaming like they’re in the third hell, everything’s moving so quickly while your own body seems so slow. The air reeks of shit and blood and…” He trailed off and didn’t try to meet Adiso’s eyes.

“Why do you do it then?”

Maybe at one time, the answer would have come easily to Volos. Vengeance. Patriotism. Valor. But now those words would only taste bitter on his tongue. “What else would I do?” he replied, a response not far from the truth.

“What about your parents? Couldn’t they give you a profession of some kind?”

“No.”

“Ah,” said Adiso, probably guessing— incorrectly— that Volos’s family was poor. “Well, it’s not so bad, really. You got to see something of the world. And life in the castle’s pretty posh, isn’t it?”

“Sure,” said Volos, thinking of his narrow cot in the crowded dormitory, of his pitifully small trunk only half-full of possessions. “Not so bad.”

He might have drifted off after that. The heat of another body against his was pleasant, and Adiso’s fingertips soothed him. But a knock rattled the door. “Time’s up. Two more coppers or get out,” called the old man from the hallway.

Adiso sighed. “We’ll be out in a minute,” he yelled back. He rolled out of bed and began to dress, wincing slightly at the discomfort he must have felt in his ass. But when Volos was dressed and standing there somewhat awkwardly, Adiso smiled at him. “Want that drink now?”

The angry little knot deep in Volos’s chest loosened a bit and he smiled back. “Just one. I have early watch tomorrow.”

“And I have to help my parents with a new shipment of Vuorian tea— which is even more boring and tedious than it sounds.”

They chuckled when they passed room four and heard a woman loudly urging her lover in the foulest terms imaginable. Downstairs, they had a tankard of ale together, and afterward in the darkness of the street, Adiso pulled Volos down for a hard little kiss. “Stay safe, warrior,” Adiso said.

“Best of luck battling the Vuorian tea.”

Long after they’d gone their separate ways, Volos could still hear Adiso’s soft laughter.

****

“Volos. Come with me.”

Captain Hiwot knew better than to stand close to his cot when she woke him. That was fortunate, because if she’d been within reach, he would have struck her when he leapt to his feet. His body always awakened before his brain, and when he was startled, his body launched into full defensive mode. The reflex had saved his life multiple times during the war. He’d once become fully alert only to discover a bloodied sword in his hand and a severed head at his feet, the man’s still-twitching body next to it. He’d been enormously relieved to find that the man was an enemy instead of one of his fellow soldiers.

Now, Volos blinked for a moment at the lamp the captain held, then hastily pulled on his trousers and tunic. He lifted his sword from its hook beside the bed and belted it around his waist. Running his fingers through his unruly hair, he hurried after her.

“What is it?” he asked as they descended the stairs from the dormitory to the ground floor.

“The king,” she answered.

Volos knew that if the king were in danger, the whole dormitory would have been awakened. But just as he let go of that thought, his breath almost stopped. “But… I look like I just woke up. My uniform…”

“He doesn’t want you for a beauty contest. Just hurry.”

“What does he want me for?” Volos rushed to keep up.

“He’ll tell you that himself.”

The king waited in the same crowded room as before, but this time the fire was barely more than glowing coals. Before Volos could even drop to his knee, King Tafari stopped him with a gesture. “I’m sorry to wake you,” said the king.