Eft’s gaze had oddly flared at that highly betraying wordlove, but he gave another unmistakable nod, his tongue brushing his dry-looking lips. And wait, he’d lost so much blood, surely he needed water, if nothing else — so Kesst leapt up, rushed away to grasp a waterskin, and rushed back. And when he saw Eft nod again at the sight of it, he yanked out the cork, and raised it to Eft’s mouth.
Eft willingly drank, though his swallows looked distinctly painful. And when he was clearly done, slightly turning his head, Kesst carefully wiped at his mouth, and attempted a miserable-feeling little smile. “Anything else I can do,” he breathed, “you just tell me, Eft. Anything.”
Eft’s chest rose and fell, something shifting in his dazed eyes on Kesst’s. “Keep — talking?” he whispered, so weakly Kesst almost couldn’t hear it. “Distracts — from the pain. Makes it — easier.”
Kesst was already nodding, scooting to kneel a little closer beside Eft’s sprawled legs. “Of course I will,” he said firmly, though his thoughts were spiralling again, because what the hell did Eft want him to say, everything in his head was Skald and misery and death, surely Eft didn’t need to hear that, and…
“Tell me… how?” Eft’s thin voice broke in, his eyes purposefully angling toward the door, toward where Skald had gone. “What you…”
Kesst couldn’t help a wince, and wait, Eft had caught that, and now he was wincing, too. “Or — not,” he rasped. “Whatever you —”
And gods, Eft wasnotfeeling guilty about asking, trying to makeKesstfeel better, not in a state like this — and Kesst flapped his hands toward him, shaking his head. “Of course I’ll tell you,” he croaked back. “I just — you might not like it, you know?”
Eft actually twitched a shoulder, as if he were shrugging, and Kesst had to choke back a sudden, reflexive noise, perhaps a sob. And he was nodding again, and somehow feeling his hand come to Eft’s shoulder, gently gripping against it, drinking up his stubborn strength, even now.
“It’s… more of the old magic,” he whispered. “Obviously. Our fathers called it galdr-telling. Sometimes galdr-spinning. Telling tales.”
Eft gave another one of those almost-nods, his eyes still fixed to Kesst’s — and Kesst drew in air, squared his shoulders. “There’s always power in tales, right?” he continued, with a hoarse little laugh. “Well, this — whatever the hell this is — just makes whatever tale you’re telling that much stronger. More real.”
Eft’s eyes were shifting again, looking dazed again, or maybe even awed. “And you can,” he began, “use it to…”
“To suggest?” Kesst finished, with another sharp little laugh. “To manipulate? To make them forget? Yes. Indeed. But” — he drew in more air — “it’s not infallible. It doesn’t always work. And the listener’s awareness always returns, but it’s just a matter of when, and how much they remember. If I don’t put too much into it, it’s usually only a moment or two — but the more I push, and the stronger the connection between me and my listener, the longer it lasts.”
Eft’s brow had furrowed, his gaze angling toward the door again — and he didn’t need to ask this time, because Kesst nodded, and laughed yet again. “I pushed that tale harder than I’ve pushed anything in my life,” he whispered. “I probably got us a few days’ reprieve. But after that, if Skald finds us here when he comes back” — he dragged in a shaky breath — “we’redead, Eft. You and me both. You should haveseenwhat Kaugir did to the last orc who could compel him like that.”
Eft’s brows were still furrowed, still wanting more, and again it was easy enough to follow. “And no, the rest of them don’t know,” Kesst continued. “Not really. They know I tell good tales, so when they want one, I give them one. It’s just another entertaining trick from the court jester, right? All part of the amusement package, together with a deep throat, a tight hole, and a pretty face.”
His voice had gone low and bitter, his eyes not quite meeting Eft’s anymore. But his hand was still on Eft’s shoulder, surely clinging too tight — and that was the feel of Eft’s shoulder again twitching, just a little. And when Kesst risked a look at Eft’s eyes, they were giving him that familiar stubborn frown, his bottom lip jutting out, his sentiment far too clear.No putting down my best patient, he might as well have said.
Another high-pitched sound escaped Kesst’s throat, but he had to keep talking, keep distracting. Anything Eft wanted to know, anything he’d ever asked…
“Before my mother died,” Kesst heard his wavering voice continue, “I used to spend half my days telling her tales. To help her forget. She was mated to my father, you see, but by then he was completely destroyed by all the war and fighting, and barely knew our names anymore. And my mother was very beautiful, with a lovely scent, and Kaugir wanted her, wanted another son, and so —”
He couldn’t finish, suddenly, his vision flooding with the memories, with his blank-eyed father, his weeping mother with her belly rounded yet again. With his big, powerful brother Rathgarr loud and vicious and reckless, consumed by fighting, by drink and raucous laughter… and in between, by ever longer spells of strange, stilted silence.
“It’s why I have this human accent,” Kesst made himself continue, keep talking, keep talking, “and not my father’s. I didn’t want to sound like an orc, I wanted to sound likeher. To be something safe for her. To remind her of her home.”
Eft’s eyes hadn’t once left Kesst’s as he’d spoken, listening, acknowledging, knowing. “Your mother must have,” Eft whispered, hoarse, “loved you. So much.”
Kesst couldn’t deny his sob this time, his erratic little shrug, because yes, she’d so often told him she loved him, but at the same time, he’d never been able to save her, either. And instead, he’d learned to do exactly what she’d done, to smile and wheedle, to placate and lie. To pretend at desire, to find her pleasure where she could, to only weep when she was alone. To do whatever it took to survive.
But she still hadn’t survived, and neither had any of her other sons after Rathgarr and Kesst, because this mountain — Kesst’s own clan, his own kind — had still caught up with her in the end. All that effort, all that hiding and lying, and all it had done was gain her a few more years of helpless, hopeless misery, trapped in a prison, serving the vile orcs she’d both desired and hated.
“And then she died,” Kesst choked, his voice cracking. “And my father barely even noticed. And Rath, he swore to me we’d find a way out of here, hepromisedhe’d keep me safe. But then he — he justleft. Disappeared. His scent gone off due north, alone. And he didn’t even — didn’t even say —”
Kesst couldn’t keep going, because something dark and dangerous was knocking against his ribs, his head shaking, the grief threatening to explode from his throat. Too much to bear, to face, he couldn’t, he couldn’t, he —
“Hey,” croaked Eft’s voice, snapping Kesst’s gaze back to his pale, sweaty face. But that was surely concern in his eyes —concern! — and he’d even lifted a bloody hand from his own chest, his fingers skittering against Kesst’s forearm. Flaring him a tiny flicker of that magic, so much weaker than usual, and Kesst suddenly twitched back to awareness again, and belatedly glowered down at Eft’s watching eyes.
“You donotstop healing yourself for my rubbish, you reckless menace,” he hissed, and without at all meaning to, he’d shifted up to carefully straddle his body over Eft’s thighs, so he could better meet his hazy eyes. “No. And no more sob stories, either. You focus on healing. On fixing this. That’sall.”
An unmistakable warmth had crept across Eft’s eyes, his breath slowly exhaling as he nodded. And to Kesst’s twitching surprise, he lifted his knee up behind Kesst’s still-straddling body — which was, incidentally, fully bared — almost as if to hold him there. As if he liked him there. Wanted him to stay.
“Then — tell me one?” he whispered at Kesst, his voice just slightly steadier than before, the pain perhaps softer in his scent. “A tale?”
Oh. Yes, yes, of course Kesst would do that, and he fervently nodded, and settled himself a little closer. Ignoring the sensation of Eft’s bloody trousers brushing against his bollocks, and attempting a smile as he drew in breath.
“Long ago, in a land across the sea,” he began, “there was once a lost, lonely mortal. He was kept prisoner by his cruel masters, and he had abandoned all hope of freedom.”
