The High King's Golden Tongue (Love Is Always Write) (4 page)

Allen turned his head, looked up at the shadowy figure of Sarrica. "Uh, no, I feel hardly any pain at all, actually. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Sarrica replied, and sat at the edge of the bed, hand still resting on Allen's back. "I am sorry you were treated so abysmally, first by me and then this."

Closing his eyes again, Allen replied, "You wanted a soldier, Majesty. You were sent a diplomat. You had a right to be displeased."

"Not to be an ass," Sarrica said quietly. "But we'll speak more on this later. For now you should focus on recovering. Did you want to try eating? I can help you sit up."

Allen forced his eyes open again, because even that little bit of hiding seemed weak. "Yes, please. Thank you. I am sorry to be helpless."

"You are taking it better than I ever did," Sarrica said with wry amusement. "My father had me lashed only once: ten lashes across the back for being essentially young and stupid. They did not even draw blood, but I kicked up quite the fuss. My personal healer said you showed signs of being lashed on several previous occasions."

He stood up and gently helped Allen sit up and turn around, then got him settled against a massive pile of soft pillows. When he seemed steady, Sarrica walked over to a large table where platters of food were set. He arranged a plate of food on a tray, filled a cup with wine, then brought the tray to Allen and set it across his lap. "Why were you lashed?"

"My brothers," Allen said with a sigh, wishing he could forego the entire conversation—but it was not as though he could sink much lower in Sarrica's eyes. "They were brought up as soldiers, always training in the hot sun, the snow, the rain. All their time went to their training, and when they were not doing that they had other lessons. I was always inside, or being taken off into the city, something they were not allowed to do. They saw me as coddled, spoiled, because I had no 'real' lessons. So they would often drag me into the yard when our parents were away and teach me 'real' lessons."

The lashings had not even been the worst of it. The truly awful part had been sitting all day in hard, unforgiving chairs while he went through all his lessons, wearing dark clothes so the blood stains would not show.

"That is inexcusable," Sarrica said. "Why did you allow them to get away with it?"

"What was I supposed to do?" Allen demanded irritably. "Fight them? I could not do that. Tell on them? That would have just made it worse. I survived it, which is all that matters."

And his brothers had shut up quickly when he made fools of them with his useless lessons, speaking with ease in the city and in court to all the foreign visitors while they stood silently by, unable to do more than listen.

Sarrica nodded and sipped at his own wine. "My apologies. I seem to be making a habit of judging you unfairly, and I vowed I would stop doing that. Tell me how in the names of the gods you came to be with the Dragons. Rene is still sick, and not able to tell me."

"We met by chance when I helped him sort out an argument with a merchant," Allen said stiffly, and recounted the tale.

"I do not understand why you left—," Sarrica said, and bit off whatever else he was going to say.

Allen sighed. "I was not welcome at court. I could not bear to go home in disgrace after all my parents had done to get me to your court. Rene had need of me, and I thought it would prove my use. I regret that I have caused the kingdom so much trouble, Majesty. Be assured that when I can move again I will remove myself entirely."

"If that is what you want, then I will respect your decision, but for my part I have no desire to see you leave," Sarrica said quietly. "The day you vanished, I already had intended to make up for my wretched behavior. I was awaiting you at the luncheon most impatiently, and disappointed you never showed. When you wound up missing ... at first we thought you had slipped away back home, but when that too proved false we combed the nine kingdoms for you. I was not expecting you to turn up here, and am sorry all over again that my careless words drove you to these lengths. I would like for you to remain with me at least long enough for me to make amends."

Whatever Allen had expected to hear, it was not that. Sarrica had planned to apologize that day? Well, didn't that make him a perfect fool. "If your Majesty desires I stay then stay I shall," Allen replied, and picked at a piece of herb-crusted chicken. "To be honest, I prefer to avoid my parents as long as possible." They were probably already rehearsing the guilt-inducing lectures.

Sarrica chuckled, drawing his attention and a hesitant smile. He'd never heard Sarrica laugh before, save derisively. "So is it true that you know twelve languages?" Sarrica asked. "I confess I have been a perfect imbecile so far as the matter of a consort has gone. I've been reluctant to ... well, it is long past time I moved on. How in the names of the gods does one learn twelve languages?"

"One spends a lot of time indoors, sitting at tables, reading and writing, and reciting. Other days, one goes into the city and speaks with complete strangers, some who are kind and help, others who laugh and mock you every step of the way. You practice and practice and practice, all the while envying your brothers the time they get to spend riding and swimming and hunting. On the bright side, all the pretty visitors danced with me because I could talk to them."

Laughing again, Sarrica poured them both more wine, and then said, "I can imagine the looks your brothers gave you for that. I remember being in precisely their situation. I could not even read the missive that Cartha sent, and only barely read yours. It's been a long time since I've had to read the Old Tongue."

"It was always my favorite," Allen admitted quietly. "Not much practical use, however, so I study it only in my spare time."

Sarrica snorted. "I think it has proved its use in this venture. Study it whenever you like. There are all manner of books about this fortress, no doubt because they are trapped here so much of the year. I've had some brought for you and can bring you more."

"Oh—thank you," Allen replied, trying another hesitant smile. He'd thought Sarrica handsome even when he was being a bastard. When he was being pleasant he was even more attractive. Dangerously so. "I should not be stuck in bed overlong. Two, three days at most, and I'll be fine." He blinked, yawned, found it abruptly difficult to keep his eyes open. "I am sure you must return to the palace, Majesty—"

He stopped as Sarrica's hand covered his, squeezed it gently. Allen was suddenly reminded of his own much more slender figure, that Sarrica had several stones on him. It was the sort of contrast he had always enjoyed. He was surprised all over again that he found Sarrica so appealing.

If by some miracle Sarrica actually chose to keep him after all, if they somehow managed to smooth everything out, he was more certain than ever that their bed would never be cold. Not for lack of trying on his part.

"You are my future consort," Sarrica said. "You need not keep calling me 'Majesty', please. I would be honored if you'd use my name. Indeed, I seldom hear it."

Allen nodded, and said, "Sarrica, then. Thank you. I am certain you need to return to the palace."

"I've already made arrangements, and the snow is falling too heavily to travel in the next couple of days, anyway. We will return together when you are well enough to make the journey." When Allen started to protest, Sarrica placed a finger over his mouth. "Get some rest, we'll talk more later." He gathered up the tray and carried it away. Allen fell asleep admiring the way he looked in firelight.

Finding someone to warm his bed had never been difficult. It had always been insultingly easy, and Sarrica had learned at a very young age that it was really only the crown of the High King they were interested in fucking.

Nyle was the first one to really make him work for it, though he had done it mostly to be an infuriating bastard. Nyle had always thrived on making his life difficult. He was vibrant, loud, and ruthless. Sarrica had loved him for it.

Allen was proving to be just as much of a challenge, but in a wholly different way. For one, Sarrica was fairly certain that Allen did not know he was challenging. He was so self-contained, so in control of his thoughts and feelings, that Sarrica was very close to requesting he give instruction on controlling one's self to the entire Great Council.

He hovered in the doorway, admiring the way the sunlight spilling in the open window fell across Allen, who'd pulled back the tapestry to look outside at the snow.

The healing lash marks were lurid, but the faded scars from previous lashings were somehow worse. Some of the ointment rubbed into his skin to help with the pain still gleamed. Sarrica dropped the papers he'd been reading on the table and poured them both coffee. "How are you this morning?"

"Fine, thank you," Allen replied, dropping the tapestry and turning toward him. "Well enough to return your bed to you."

Sarrica sat down and took a swallow of coffee, then retrieved the papers he'd been reading over. "Keep it. I hardly sleep anyway, and I am ever hopeful it will eventually be our bed."

When only silence greeted his bold words, he looked up braced for disappointment—but Allen only looked pleased and amused, and it wasn't until the relief swept through him that Sarrica realized just how hopeful he'd been. "I don't think that will be a problem," Allen finally said, and moved stiffly to the table, sat down slowly and took a sip of coffee with a happy sigh. "Thank you."

"For coffee? You are the easiest person in nine kingdoms to spoil," Sarrica said with amusement. "My hunting dogs are not that easy to please."

Allen shrugged. "Coffee is harder to obtain so far south, where we are nowhere near the harbors. By the time it reaches us, there is very little left and of poor quality. My parents and most of the court prefer tea, so not much is done to obtain coffee."

Sarrica nodded, and refilled Allen's cup. He handed over the papers he'd been perusing. "Tell me what you think of this," he said. "It's a trade agreement between Rilen, Delfaste, and Mesta. They are two steps from war over the matter, because they keep claiming different things were agreed to. I am comfortable with Mesta, and can traverse Delfaste without getting lost, but I am not fit to sort through these contracts. I have no suitable translators on the premises, and am not confident the version sent to me in Harken matches what the other three say."

"I am happy to help," Allen said, and Sarrica believed him. He took the contracts and spread them out, frowning in concentration as he began to read them. "Here is the problem," he said after several minutes. "Your contract has it the way it should have been written across all of them, but it was not written that way in the Delfaste and Mesta copies. It's a common enough error, numerical values are always the hardest to translate. The Rilen and Harken drafts use the High Court system, but the other two contracts attempted to convert that to local forms of measurement. Unfortunately, the figures are not accurate, so proper amounts are not being traded. The Mesta and Delfaste contracts would need to be amended to switch to the High Court system."

He held out the papers, and Sarrica took them back. "Thank you," he said, setting the papers aside. "It would have taken me at least two translators and a great deal more time to do that. My greatest wish is that a common language would emerge. I could try to make it law, but relations are tenuous enough."

"One will catch on eventually, I think. Along the borders it's nearly impossible to keep track of who speaks what." Allen smiled over the rim of his coffee cup. "In the meantime, at least we silver tongues will never lack for work."

Sarrica smiled briefly and began to eat breakfast. When his porridge was gone, he pushed the empty bowl aside and said, "Benta has sent their apologies and withdrawn from the mountains. I'm certain they're just plotting how to slit my throat, but at least they've stood down for now. Unless you say otherwise, I think we can return home the end of next week."

"That sounds fine. I'm sure I could travel now; you're fretting over much."

"Better safe than sorry, and quite honestly it does not upset me too much to be up here. Once we are back in Harken, we will be chained to the palace and never granted a moment of free time. Nyle and I had the very devil of the time obtaining just a few minutes alone—" He broke off, realizing his error. "I'm sorry."

Allen frowned. "About what?"

Sarrica finished his coffee and poured more. "I feel it is in poor taste to speak of a past lover to the one I am attempting to court."

"He was important to you," Allen replied. "I am pleased you'd speak of him to me at all. I—well, I am no soldier, and he was unmatched in that regard."

"Yes, he had no equal," Sarrica said quietly. "He won every battle I ordered him to lead. But he had no patience for courtly life, and it was a source of contention between us. I am realizing more and more that perhaps everyone knew what was best for me, except me."

Allen smiled faintly at his coffee. "Well, your opinion is the one that matters."

"No, it is definitely our opinion that matters," Sarrica corrected. "Being consort to the High King is no easy thing, especially as your silver tongue is going to be used to the point I fear some days you'll have no voice left."

"I know a few tricks to help with that," Allen said, and finally began to work at his own breakfast. After a few minutes he asked, "Why were the Dragons trying to get to Benta? I still don't know their true mission."

Sarrica stared at him in surprise. "Rene never told you? They were on a rescue mission. A ship of ours went down off the coast of Benta, and the survivors captured. The Dragons were going to retrieve them. They've been secured as a condition of my not starting a war with Benta. I'm sorry, I would have explained all that if it had occurred to me you did not know."

Allen laughed, shaking his head. "I'm sure Rene is just as happy to see the back of me; I seem to be a source of ill-luck, and if Cartha and Benta had realized who I was everything would have been much worse."