Kesst couldn’t suppress his grimace, the hard swallow of his throat. “Eft didn’t stick around long in there,” he said, his voice a croak. “Did he?”
“No,” Grimarr said, with a sigh. “In truth, I sent him away, soon after you went to Skald. He is not one to hide his thoughts, or hold his tongue, ach?”
No, no he wasn’t, and Kesst felt the strangest, most alarming urge to start shouting, or sobbing. “You need to do something,” he hissed at Grimarr, his voice cracking. “Something more. You were right, Eft’s healing is a damnedmiracle, and we were just going to sit there and watch while they made a mockery of him, and probablykilledhim?!”
Grimarr was rubbing his hand against his face, his claws out, his breath exhaling. “I would have sought to find another way,” he said, very quiet. “I did not ken Efterar had already drawn their ire thus, else I should never have brought him before them. So I thank you, brother, for your quick mind in this. Your bravery.”
Ha. Kesst’s bravery. As if he wasn’t quite possibly the greatest coward in the mountain. As if he hadn’t just thrown himself at one of the most vile orcs alive, and — yes, even now — foundpleasurein it.
And worst of all, as if he hadn’t borne any blame in this, when he should have thought to warn Grimarr. He should have told him the truth about how he’d helped throw that target on Eft’s back. Maybe — maybe he should have even told Eft to take that offer to run.
“And I am doing all I can, ach?” Grimarr’s voice continued, even quieter. “With Ofnir dead, we are this much closer, but Skald…”
But Skald. Huge, treacherous, highly unpredictable, quick to rage and to strike. Not only that, but he was a spectacular warrior, who particularly excelled in single combat, and whose entire existence as Left Hand depended on his protection of his equally treacherous captain. And if it came down to a full-on battle between Grimarr and his father, Skald would do everything within his power to utterly destroy Grimarr, without a second thought.
“Then get rid of Skald,” Kesst hissed back, his own voice barely audible. “As fast as possible, damn it!”
Grimarr groaned and rubbed his face again, his shoulders sagging. “You ken I have not sought to gain this?” he breathed. “He does not bathe, so he cannot be drowned. He will not enter a pitched battle, so he cannot be found by a stray sword. Arrows and blades and poisons betray the scents of their wielder, and any trickery upon this will surely draw too many eyes toward us. I have searched for a human assassin to hire, but none shall speak to us — mayhap wise, for my father should next hunt him down and killhim, also. I cannot even seek to build a wedge between my father and Skald, for he scarce leaves Skald’s side, and listens tonaughtthat I speak! It is only now that I —”
Grimarr’s voice halted there, but it had already gone sharp and furious, surely risking far more than was prudent — and he’d clearly realized that, too, because he abruptly stopped walking, and slammed the flat of his hand into the nearest wall. “I have drunk too much,” he said, louder than before, his eyes darting uneasily around the corridor. “I know not what I speak of. We both need rest, brother.”
With that, he spun and stalked off, his shoulders hunched, his hand gripped at his scimitar. And Kesst suddenly felt his own rage pooling away as he watched, leaving only that dark, bitter sickness behind. That… dread.
Because yes, he’d managed to waylay Skald today — but there were so, so many more days. And Eft’s responses today hadn’t helped the situation, not in the least — and Skald certainly wouldn’t forget that, either. No matter how many stupid little tantrums Kesst threw. No matter what price he paid.
But gods, what possible answers were there? Try to drag Eft out of the mountain, into the middle of a deadly war? Abandon his own home, and everything he knew? Or maybe — something twisted hard in Kesst’s gut — maybe it would be best to firmly shove Eft away, distance himself from him forever, in hopes that Skald might somehow, someday, forget him?
And as he hauled himself off to the grimy, half-empty baths, washing himself up as best he could, his despair only seemed to seep colder, deeper. Gods, he’d fucked this up. All the things he’d said, all the things he’d done. Not just today, but for years, and years, and years.
That orc is hideous. And he reeks, and clearly has no manners, and no sense. It’s no wonder he hasn’t been touched before. Do whatever you want with him. Does it look like I care? I love the taste of his blood on you. More, harder, please, whatever you want.
And there was the whisper, not new, that perhaps it would be easiest to slip under the water, once and for all. To just make it stop, to relent to the justice he so desperately deserved.
But he was too selfish, too damned self-absorbed, to even manage that much. And instead, he trudged his still-bared, dripping-wet body all the way back down to Ka-esh hell. To that dank little sickroom. To… Eft.
And gods, what would Eft say now. What would he look like, smell like. Would he mock Kesst, judge him, reject him? Would he be hurt and betrayed? Would he refuse to speak to him, or even to heal him, after everything Kesst had said about him? Again?
But when Kesst hesitated in the sickroom doorway, Eft’s head snapped up, from where he’d been working over an unconscious-looking Drafli, one of Grimarr’s shadows — and then he instantly lurched over. Not stopping, not even hesitating, as he pressed both his hands to Kesst’s bare chest, his magic unfurling in a furious, beautiful rush of heat.
“Gods damn it, Kesst,” he hissed, his voice cracking, his eyes unnervingly bright. “What thefuck.”
There was pure, bristling rage in his scent now, in his touch, in his magic — but that touch still didn’t hesitate, not for an instant. And oh, one big warm hand was even sliding up Kesst’s chest, caressing slow and purposeful to the multiple fresh bites on his neck, while the magic kept flaring out in its wake.
Kesst’s cursed throat swallowed hard against the heat of Eft’s hand, and in response it slid even closer, the strength of its palm firm and impossibly, alarmingly reassuring. “These willnotscar,” Eft growled, with a fervour that felt entirely unfounded. “I swear to you, Kesst.”
And suddenly Kesst was so, so close to weeping, to breaking, to ruining everything — and even as his nose betrayed a pathetic little sniff, he managed a huff, and a cool, practiced smile. “You don’t need to worry about it,” he replied, his voice thin. “I’ll be fine. I always am. Ilovedit.”
But that was surely the wrong thing to say, flaring even more fury into Eft’s still-caressing hands, into the sharp sweep of his eyes up and down Kesst’s bared form. “No,” he snapped back. “Go. Lie down.Now.”
But Kesst had betrayed a faint, unmistakable flinch — perhaps at Eft’s command, or his tone, or his anger, or all of it — and in response, Eft instantly reeled back from him, shaking his head, rubbing his hands at his mouth. His magic snapping away too, and suddenly Kesst wanted to weep again, or to shout again, to throw all his sickening guilt straight into Eft's face…
“Happy to oblige,” he heard his voice say, as he walked past Eft to his usual bed, holding his head high, keeping his steps as even as he could, perhaps even swaying his bare hips a little. “Because I meant it, you know, when I said you can tell me what to do. Because you can. Because Ilikeit.”
Kesst could feel Eft’s eyes on him, but he suddenly couldn’t bear to look back, and instead flopped face-down on the bed, biting off his resulting grunt of pain. “I like it,” he said again, harder this time, burying his eyes in his forearm. “I like big powerful orcs like you, and like Skald. I like you bossing me around, and looking at me, and paying attention to me, and touching me. I like youwantingme.”
And gods, he was really saying all this, driving himself deeper, so deep he’d never get out again — and he could feel Eft still standing there, watching him, surely judging him like he deserved, once and for all.
“And I love you fucking me most of all,” Kesst made himself continue, his voice even harder than before. “I’m such a fucking size queen, always have been, always will be. Skald’s is the fattest in the whole mountain, you know, so of course I’m all over that, any damned time he wants. Then there’s Simon, one of the least vile Skai, who’s even longer, and nearly as thick — that length is life-changing, feeling it rearrange your insides like that — but he won’t give it to me anymore because Skald gets threatened, you know? And have you seen Grimarr’s yet, it’s very,verynice, and I’d be on that every day if he’d let me. But he won’t either, so I’m still stuck with Skald, and I know he’s vile but I’ll still do anything he wants,anything.”
