Wings (13 page)

prince lay on his stomach asleep beside Anyar, a faint smile on his lips.

Anyar raised a hand as though to touch him; then he gritted his teeth and silently left the

bed. He dressed swiftly and silently. It was easy enough to find leather ties among Vanyae's

things, and Anyar slowly and gently eased the prince's arms back and bound them. Then his feet.

Vanyae murmured, but he was a sound sleeper, as Anyar well knew, and he soon settled

again.

Heart in his throat, Anyar took a silk cloth and began to work it between the prince's lips.

Heavy sleeper or not, this was too much. Vanyae jerked awake, and Anyar had to swiftly

stuff the cloth into his mouth and tie it tightly behind his head.

The prince struggled to turn, to face his attacker, and his sleep-stunned eyes widened when

he saw Anyar. The disbelief there made the younger man swallow with difficulty before

Vanyae's face hardened with fury and he struggled wildly for long moments.

Anyar felt ill as he watched, saw Vanyae suddenly stop and look at him with an expression

of complete betrayal, not able to disguise the hurt that lay beneath.

The young Melanian reached out with shaking fingers, wishing to comfort him even then,

but the prince jerked back as though at the touch of a viper.

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Anyar's fingers curled into his hand as his heart spasmed, and for that pained moment, he

wanted to simply free his master…explain, have things go back to the way they had been.

He closed his eyes against the tears that wanted to form. There
was
no going back. The

emotions Vanyae had offered were a sham, an illusion that would be taken back and leave Anyar

with nothing, nothing at all but hollow memories and a shattered heart.

This way he would have the knowledge that at least he had done something to right the

wrong that had been done to his people. To free his commander, to whom he held first loyalty.

He swallowed bile. If only his heart did not sway toward Vanyae, did not scream at him to

forget duty, forget blood, forget anything but how he felt for the prince. Surely…

He took a deep breath and fought back the tears, firmed his jaw as he met Vanyae's cold

eyes.

“I am sorry…Vanyae.” He savored the sound of the name on his tongue for the final time.

“I cannot stay. I love—I want to…but you will turn on me, use me, and I am not strong enough

for that. Not after you have treated me so gently, shown me something else. To take that away,

that I cannot survive. You would destroy me more surely that way than if you had taken my

wings. And perhaps one day you would have done that or sold me or…” He shook his head,

feeling a great coldness spread through his very being. “You never gave me my freedom back;

you never named me other than slave. I cannot trust—”

He cut off then, wondering why he was even trying to explain. There was no understanding

in the prince's glare, only a bitterness and anger at being in a position of helplessness.

Anyar gave a sad smile as he stood.

“Now you know how it feels,” he whispered softly. He did not face his captor again but

found the weapons he needed at various points around the room. He belted them to him with

hands that shook only a little. He paused at the doorway, fighting the longing to go back, then

slipped silently through and into the darkness of the hallway, and closed the door ever so softly

in his wake.

* * * * *

made everyone move from his path with alacrity as he strode to a meeting with his father.

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Tanyan was gone, horses stolen; it was discovered, and Vanyae, flexing his fingers upon

the hilt of his sword, ground his teeth at the news.

The commander and his…companion…would have a good head start on swift horses.

Veslan looked up as his son entered, and he waved his other advisors from the room.

Vanyae went to one knee before his father, a great sense of failure gripping him.

“This is my fault, Father. If I had not been so selfish as to take Anyar in the first place…”

Veslan laid a loving hand on Vanyae's golden hair, slowly cupped his chin, and made him

look up.

“I have seen a different man emerge from the hard shell of who you had become, my son. I

have seen you fall in love and show compassion. In that, you have shown others that same

compassion. Through your eyes and what you have done, you have made an old man like me

think of change.”

He sat back then, looking suddenly tired beyond his years. “Through all these years, we

have been at war with Melan. My father and my father's father had the same trials. I do not think

that the way things have been can any longer be held as reasonable. We hate the Melanians; they

hate the Nazarians. Can there not be proper peace?”

Vanyae stared at him then, concerned at the exhaustion in this indomitable man, laid a

hand on his father's knee. Never had he seen the king so worn, so despondent.

“I am sorry, Father. I have given you grief with my actions, and now…”

“Now they will wage war. They will not let this go. We will have no choice but to meet

them if they come over our borders.” Veslan gave a grim smile. “There will be war, and I will

have done no better than my ancestors at keeping my country safe.”

“Could we not treat with them, Father?” Vanyae questioned hesitantly.

“They will have anger on their side now, fresh atrocities to fuel their hatred. They will not

treat.”

“I am the one they will blame. If I gave myself to them—”

Veslan sat up abruptly, his face blanching, one hand going out to grasp his son's arm.

“You will do no such thing.”

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“If it prevents war…” Vanyae felt despair rise up to swamp his thoughts. Anyar was gone;

perhaps if he gave himself up to Tanyan, his lover would realize how much he needed him…how

much he…loved him. He closed his eyes briefly. He loved Anyar. He truly did. His father was

right.

“We have become a nation of war; we reap what we have sown. The Melanians torture our

people as prisoners, as we torture theirs. Perhaps if we had been gentler…” Veslan shook his

head.

“Whatever might have been is gone now. It is too late.”

Vanyae bowed his head, concurring.

It was far too late.

* * * * *

the sun rose. Now would the Nazarians come in pursuit; now was the time for they themselves to

fly. It was their only hope.

He glanced at his silent companion, concerned. Anyar had not spoken since rescuing him,

his face cold and blank as Tanyan had never seen it.

He knew the boy had to have undergone horrors, horrors he could guess at, remembering

Vanyae's attraction to the young guard. He did not have the nerve to ask for details.

He dismounted and turned the horse loose, then watched as Anyar did the same. Only then

did he step forward and lay a possessive hand on the younger man's cheek.

“Anyar,” he whispered.

Blank eyes looked up at him, no question in them, only obedience.

The commander leaned forward slowly, giving the boy time to retreat if he wished to, and

laid a soft kiss on Anyar's tempting lips.

For a moment, he thought a response was at hand; then Anyar turned away, breaking the

embrace, unendurable pain in his eyes.

Tanyan looked at him silently for long minutes, then nodded at his own thoughts.

“Can you fly, my boy?”

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Anyar drew a deep, shaky breath. “I can try, sir. They took my flight feathers, but after

almost a year, they might be almost good enough.”

Spreading his huge black wings, he flapped experimentally, a feeling of joy piercing even

the pain in his heart as he felt the lift once more. He jumped and, rising into the air, wanted to

weep with the sense of freedom he had so longed for.

He was not as strong as he used to be, his muscles stiff with lack of use, but he was flying.

Oh gods, he was really flying.

Tanyan joined him, giving him a smile of encouragement, and they headed toward Melan

with all the speed they could muster.

Anyar looked back once, tears in his eyes; then he firmed his jaw and faced forward,

following Tanyan back home.

* * * * *

leave his young guard behind, and Anyar was faltering. His lack of muscle tone and less-than-

full-grown flight feathers hampered him, and although he bravely soldiered on, Tanyan could see

he was close to collapse.

They landed on the Melanian side, near a border fortress.

Upon sighting them, the Melanian guards approached cautiously, crossbows in hand. But

upon identifying the newcomers, they were shocked and gladdened to discover their commander

had returned to them.

There was much celebration as he and his young companion were ushered inside the

protecting walls, safe at last.

They feasted that night, and Tanyan felt the tensions and fears of the last year begin to fade

with his own people surrounding him. Not that he had been mistreated in any way, but the worry

of the future and of what this meant for his people had worn on him. Not to mention that he had

had few freedoms and had not been able to persuade his captors to allow him access to Anyar.

He had not seen nor heard of the young guard in all his time there, and it had been a great

concern to him.

He glanced at the young man sitting beside him in a place of honor.

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Anyar's face was pale, and although he smiled when people spoke to him and tried to seem

happy, Tanyan noted there was only pain in his eyes, a great weariness bowing his shoulders.

This was not a happy man, not one who was joyful at escaping.

What had happened back in Nazar? What horrors did he hold in his mind?

He wished he knew how to help, but perhaps in time Anyar would open to him again.

Perhaps they could continue what had been brutally sundered when they were captured together.

He had only to give the boy time and space to heal, and he would aid him in any way needed.

He turned back to the wine and conversation, and it was some while before he noticed that

Anyar had left the table and was nowhere to be seen.

Anyar sat on the great stone wall, away from the pacing guards. From this height, he could

see far, over the border, back toward Nazar. He wondered with a sort of dim despair what was

wrong with him. He was not looking forward to returning to his home in Cewa; he was not

looking forward to anything. Only a loneliness and despair that seemed to make everything

irrelevant, useless. What was wrong with him that he could not get Vanyae out of his mind?

After all the wrongs done to him, he should feel a great joy at being free, at being his own man

again, and yet—

There was nothing but cold and pain in his heart.

* * * * *

knew nothing of the happenings outside until Tanyan knocked and entered the small, bare room

assigned to the young guard.

Anyar leaned up on one elbow, trying to regain enough sense to understand what the

commander was telling him.

Melanian forces had gathered, and two days hence would see them cross into Nazar.

Prince Vanyae and his forces had been sighted on the border not far from the fortress.

There would be war.

Anyar could only stare at his commander with puzzled eyes.

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“But why?” he managed to say finally, completely confused. “They said they wished a

cessation of hostilities. Why would we go this far?”

Tanyan was silent for long moments and watched the younger man's eyes for clues. What

he saw there made his lips thin and his fist clench.

“This is personal to us all, Anyar. We have had enough of Nazarian threats. Vanyae refuses

to give ground. He says that he will meet us face-to-face if needed, but he will not allow us to

enter Nazar.” He paused then, a certain hint of jealousy in his eyes. “I saw his face when he

made his speech. He wants you back.”

Anyar flushed slightly and looked away. “He misses his slave; that is all.” The bitterness in

his tone jarred even him.

Tanyan considered the words, his eyes never leaving the young guard's face.

“You have not been happy, Anyar. You do not seem pleased at your own escape. I get the

impression that you did this more for me than for yourself. Do you have feelings for this man?”

The flush deepened, and Anyar could not look at his companion.

“He was kind to me, in his own way.”

Tanyan remained silent, listening.

“But he was also cruel—” The confusion and despair in the young man's voice tore at

Tanyan.

He laid a gentle hand on a trembling arm. “I will not give you back to him, Anyar. You are

safe here. In time you will heal, forget him. The men look to you as a symbol of what Nazar is,