Glimpses (3 page)

He hadn’t known what boredom was, though,
until they stuck him here with a score of men and women who never
lifted their noses from their task. Lord Emidas carried a short
walking stick with a knob on the end and wasn’t above rapping the
head or shoulder of any slackers. Seregil had found that out the
first day and nearly punched the man. No one had ever laid hands on
him like that. No one touched the Khirnari’s son—

Except that I’m not, anymore.

“Seregil, come here, please,” Emidas called
from his high desk at the front of the room, where he’d been
checking through the day’s work. Seregil felt a little spark of
hope.

He felt the eyes of the others on him as he
passed them on his way to the front of the room.

“What is this?” Emidas asked, holding up the
manifest for a shipment of armor Seregil had completed yesterday.
He’d done it in the form of an illuminated manuscript, with
dragons, sea serpents and griffons intertwined with the fancy
capital letters at the beginning of each paragraph. He done it
partly out of boredom, and partly in the hope that Emidas would
give him something more interesting to work on.

“I thought, maybe—”

“You thought you could impress me by wasting
time creating something utterly useless?”

Seregil clenched his fists inside his
sleeves. It was good work, as good as anything he’d seen here.

“It does show some promise,” the man sniffed.
“Perhaps in a year or two, when you’ve mastered the basics, I will
consider instructing you in the more elaborate styles.” He handed
it back to Seregil. “Please copy this over in the proper form.
Immediately.”

“But I’m in the middle of that field report.
Duke Nirus needs it today.”

“Well then, you’d better get started.”

A year? Two? Seregil swallowed his anger and
hurt as he walked back down the long aisle to his desk. Everyone in
the room must have heard. He caught a few smirking down at their
parchments as he passed and someone snickered. Pimple-faced Baleus,
no doubt. Not that he was the only one who liked to see Seregil
taken down a peg. Being known to be queen’s kin hadn’t done him
much good.

Probably his miserable attitude hadn’t,
either. Sometimes he regretted getting off on the wrong foot with
just about everyone. He hadn’t been like this—before.

The extra work kept him in the scriptorium
long after night had fallen and everyone else went off to supper,
leaving him at his desk with a single lamp to work by. He moved to
a desk closer to the fire, but it was dying and the day’s supply of
wood was gone. Shivering made his script a little crooked, but at
this point he didn’t give a damn.

A year before Emidas let him do anything he
was capable of? He’d go mad!

His fingers were cramping with cold when he
finally put the manifest on Emidas’ desk, tucked the field report
in a leather folio with the queen’s crest on it, and blew out the
lamp.

It was a long walk to the duke’s private
chambers on the far side of the palace, he thought glumly, feeling
his way toward the door. He’d be lucky to find any supper now. He’d
probably just go back to his room. Alone.

He used to love this time of day—supper with
his sprawling extended family at the clan house, then music or out
for nighttime games with Kheeta and their friends. Or those summer
trysts with Ilar ...

He paused by the door in the darkened room,
one hand braced against the wall as pain flared in his heart. Don’t
think of home, not any of it! Don’t think of him!

But it was too late. Grief and loneliness and
shame rolled over him in a suffocating wave. He slid to the floor,
tears he couldn’t hold back dripping onto the folio clutched in his
hands.

“Damn it!” He hadn’t cried since he came
here.

At times like this, which came all too
frequently lately, he regretted that he hadn’t loaded his pockets
with ballast stones and thrown himself off the ship that carried
him into exile when he’d had the chance. But he knew how to tie a
noose. Or he could find some high place and jump. Or open a vein in
a warm bath. That last one held the most appeal.

As he knelt there, feeling very sorry for
himself, he heard footsteps approaching. Before he could collect
himself the door swung inward and struck his shoulder.

“Seregil?”

It was Prince Korathan, the last person
Seregil wanted to see him in this pathetic state. Caught in the
light of the open doorway, he wiped his face hastily on his sleeve
and stood up.

Korathan had a mug of ale in one hand and a
meat pasty in a napkin in the other. “What’s wrong? Why are you
here in the dark?”

Seregil held up the folio. “I just finished.
I have to deliver this to Duke Nirus. What are you doing here?” The
words came out much harsher than he’d intended.

But Korathan just smiled. “I heard Emidas
kept you late again, so I brought you some supper.”

He put the mug and the pasty down on a desk,
then took a lamp and lit it from one in the corridor. “Go on and
eat,” he urged, shutting the door again. “Then I’ll walk with you
to the duke’s rooms.”

“Thank you.” It was hard to speak with a lump
in your throat. Korathan and his sisters were really the only
friends he had in this wretched place, and he seldom got to see
them. The queen was kind and the princesses were pleasant, but only
the prince sought him out.

He knew Korathan must have seen that he’d
been crying, but the prince didn’t say anything. Seregil deeply
appreciated that. Instead, Korathan talked about a new horse his
father had given him while Seregil ate. Between the food and the
companionship, Seregil began to feel a little better.

“Say, after we get those papers delivered, we
could go back to my rooms and play some bakshi,” Korathan offered.
“You’ve almost got the hang of it.”

Seregil managed a smile. “You’re a good
teacher.”

When he was finished eating, he blew out the
lamp again and they set off together. There were still many nobles
strolling the halls and they all bowed respectfully to the prince,
who mostly ignored them as he told Seregil more about the strategy
of the game. Seregil got a few curious looks, as he always did.
He’d heard there were other ‘faie in the city, but he was the only
one in the palace, and a bit of a mystery. Or perhaps it was seeing
the prince with a lowly junior scribe. Still, with Korathan beside
him, Seregil didn’t feel so lonely and out of place.

The scriptorium was in a wing of the
sprawling palace reserved for various functionaries like Emidas.
After several twists and turns, however, they entered the palace
proper, where there were tapestries on the walls and carpets on the
floor. These did little soften the dour ugliness of the place, to
Seregil’s eye.

“I know a short cut,” Korathan said, taking
him by the hand and leading him out into a very large, dark garden.
The pathways had been cleared, but snow lay deep on either
side.

As they headed for a lighted doorway on the
far side, Korathan didn’t let go of Seregil’s hand. He was wearing
a wool surcoat and boots. Seregil was shivering in his cloak and
slippers. It was a long way across this garden.

“You’re cold. I’m sorry. Maybe we shouldn’t
have come this way.” Korathan stopped and put an arm around
Seregil’s shoulders. “Is that better?”

“That’s all right. We’re almost there.” Seregil
started to walk but Korathan’s arm tightened around his shoulders,
holding him fast.

Then the one-armed embrace became a two-armed
hug. “You’re miserable here, aren’t you?”

In all the time Seregil had been here, no one
had ever asked him that. Or hugged him. A feeling very akin to
relief welled up in his heart, and he nodded as he hugged him
back.

Korathan stroked Seregil’s hair, then kissed
him gently on the forehead. “I’ll speak to Mother.”

“Thank you!”

Korathan looked down at him for a moment, the
kissed him on the lips. It lasted too long for a family kiss.
Seregil froze, not knowing what to do.

“Why did you do that?” he asked when Korathan
was finished.

“You didn’t like it?”

“I—uh—” Korathan’s arms were still around him
but he released Seregil when he stepped back to collect his
thoughts. “I didn’t know that you liked men.”

“I heard you do.”

Seregil had guessed there might be rumors
about him, but not that. Then again, the queen knew the whole
sordid story. Maybe she’d told Korathan? “What else did you hear?”
he demanded, angry now.

“Just that you’re here because of something
that happened with a lover. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have
presumed—”

“Is that all you heard?”

“Yes! Seregil, I’m sorry. It’s just that you
look so sad all the time.”

Seregil pushed past him and started back the
way they’d come. “I don’t need your pity!”

“It’s not pity!” Korathan called after him.
“I like you.”

The words, and the sincerity with which they
were spoken surprised Seregil in equal measure. Turning, he looked
back at the prince, who was standing where Seregil had left
him.

“I like you,” Korathan said again. “And I’m
sorry I kissed you. Please, let’s play bakshi, like we
planned.”

Seregil wavered a moment as memories of
betrayal threatened to overwhelm him again. At least Korathan
hadn’t claimed he loved him. Seregil would have kept walking if he
had. Instead, he went back to Korathan and fell silently into step
beside him as they continued through the garden.

***

The prince’s fine suite of rooms was just
down the corridor from the queen’s, and opulently furnished. There
was a large main sitting room and a bedroom beyond. The sofa and
armchairs were soft leather, and there were hunting trophies and
murals of hunting scenes covering the walls. A fire crackled in the
ornate marble fireplace. They moved the bakshi table and two chairs
in front of the fire and Korathan sent a servant for wine.

Settling at the board, Korathan took out his
leather bag of stones, and another one like it, which he handed to
Seregil. “A gift, cousin.”

Seregil opened it and found a collection of
gaming stones made of blood red carnelian. They bore an incised
design of fighting dragons. “Thank you! They’re beautiful.”

“I thought of you when I saw them. Dragons
for Aura and Illior?”

“Don’t say that,” Seregil said with a smile.
“They’re fighting. I’ll just think of them as real ones.”

“Have you seen real ones?”

“They’re common as sparrows in the
mountains.” Somehow it didn’t hurt, talking about home with
him.

They drank wine and played game after game.
Korathan made Seregil laugh, and made him feel welcome. Only when
he was with Korathan did he ever really enjoy himself.

They continued to play and talk and laugh
until the candles burned down almost to the sockets. Seregil
finally won a game, and in only a few moves, too.

“Excellent! I think you’re ready for the
gambling houses,” Korathan told him. “It will do you good to get
out of this place.”

“I’d like that.” Seregil yawned and looked
around at the guttering candles. “It’s late. I should be
going.”

“It’s a long way back to that kennel of a
room they have you in. Stay here tonight, why don’t you? We can
have another game.”

That certainly was better than going out into
those long, cold corridors, and the wine had made him a little
dizzy. “All right. Thanks.”

They cleared the board and started another
round. Seregil thought again how comfortable he felt with Korathan,
and grateful. Being around him made life in this strange land
bearable. He felt he owed him something for that.

As Korathan was concentrating on his next
move, Seregil blurted out, “It’s all right that you kissed me. I—I
don’t mind.”

Korathan looked up at him in surprise. “I’m
glad. I was afraid I’d hurt your feelings.”

“No, I was just startled.”

Korathan smiled as he pushed a piece across
the board, blunting the spear Seregil had been building. “Then I’ll
give you better warning the next time.”

“Next time?”

“If you want there to be a next time,”
Korathan replied. “I really do like you, Seregil.”

Seregil’s cheeks went hot. Korathan wanted to
kiss him again, and right now that didn’t seem such a bad idea. It
felt like a lifetime ago since Ilar had. That thought hurt.

“There’s that sadness,” said Korathan. “Do I
need to apologize again?”

Seregil slowly shook his head. “No, you
don’t. I think I’d like that.”

Korathan immediately took him up on the
offer. Standing, he pulled Seregil to his feet and took him in his
arms for a long, intense kiss that left Seregil a little unsteady.
Taking Korathan’s face between his hands as Ilar used to do with
him, Seregil kissed him back. He could feel Korathan’s cock hard
through their clothes, next to his own. Reaching between them, he
stroked Korathan’s erection. The prince let out a low groan and did
the same for him with far more skill than Seregil possessed. He had
Seregil panting in an instant.