33. Thirty-Three

A brook had notched a path through the foyer, tiny white flowers and fresh grass peering through cracks within the dark stone surrounding it. A week after its first trickle, and still Ryurikov forgot about the rivulet, splashing into it anytime he hopped down that last step of the lopsided staircase.

He grunted, shaking off his boot-clad foot and grimaced at the stiffness in his leg. Dodged several children darting past him, too, and sidestepped more roots that had grown to push up walls and flooring.

The presence chamber smelled of freshly baked bread and ale, brimming with newcomers and residents alike. Ryurikov wove past tables and chairs and make-shift beds of fur and hay alike. There was not a day, or night, that the chamber wasn’t full. Ryurikov couldn’t say he hated it. Not that he’d ever admit it out loud.

Valka sat on a bench by the firepit, her shoulders sagged with fatigue, but her gaze lit up once she caught sight of him.

“I knew that colour would suit you.” She nodded at the dark teal cloak she had fetched him. Paired with the fire-yellow tunic, reinforced leather jerkin, and deep brown breeches, Ryurikov whole-heartedly agreed. “Nice to see you up.”

“Where’s Awi?”

Valka rolled her eyes. “Why is that the first thing out of your mouth every time you see me? I’ve been killing Clutchers with Mauvie all morning, I don’t know where your lover is.”

With a tired groan, Ryurikov dropped to the bench beside his sister. “When are you going to get rid of that fucking jerkin? It no longer works, does it?”

“So?” Valka patted away ash from its fabric, mended into a pattern even more pied. “It looks good. Besides, the drakes won’t tolerate anything less. Speaking of, they’ve agreed to help rejuvenate the surrounding land.”

“Perfect.” Ryurikov had already lost interest, scanning past the many heads for any sign of his demon outside the window, now without glass entirely. Awimak’s trees were gradually taking over the entire place.

“Still no sign of Vasili’s body.”

“Ah. Some Skin Crawler probably just tried him on for size.”

“I don’t know, Ruri, something feels wrong about it.”

He waved it aside. “I’m going to look for Awi.”

“Are you going to be alright walking around?” Valka chased after him.

Ryurikov ignored her question because it was a ridiculous one. Of course he could walk. It was just with a different gait, a stiffness in his body that had yet to wane.

Outside, thick moss encroached the stoops and pathways, soft underfoot as he veered off to the left along the stream. The ancient trees whispered in a cool breeze and he inhaled, trapping fresh air in his lungs as long as he could.

The smoke had cleared days after defeating the Skin Crawlers. It had taken less time for rumours to fly, and even less for people to continue pouring into Briarmour. Housing was quickly becoming a problem. The sooner they restored the surrounding lands, the sooner they could expand the town.

Then Mulgar would certainly have something to weep about.

“It’s really nice here,” Valka murmured beside him, her hazel eyes flicking from one bit of greenery to the next. “Too shady for the drakes, but… You really fit in here.”

Ryurikov hummed in agreement, unsure of what to say. Briarmour was all he had come to love. The forest, the sunlight, the quiet early summer breeze laced with birdsongs. Everything the Maksim castle hadn’t been.

“It feels like I belong here,” he admitted, quietly. “It can be your home too, you know.”

A smile graced Valka’s lips. She wrapped her arm around his shoulders and pulled him against herself as they continued their stride. “I’ll hang around for as long as you need me. What are we going to do once Mulgar decides to send more soldiers?”

Ryurikov shrugged in her clasp. “We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it.”

He stopped in his tracks at the sound of whispers, carried along the zephyr, irritatingly familiar. He shifted out of Valka’s hold, slammed the side of his palm down into his uncooperative knee to unlock it, and rounded a particularly massive tree.

“Hey!” he bellowed at five snowy silhouettes, fencing in a young woman who must have taken a spill in the grass, a basket of fruits scattered nearby. “Stop that right now!”

The Quinary turned to him, eyes glinting with recognition.

“Owes us,”they hissed in unison.

Ryurikov stopped a foot away from them to glower down. “Nobody owes you anything, you little shits.”

“You no longer do,” whispered one, pointing a long finger at him. The remaining four shifted to encircle him. They bowed their heads. “The deal is done.”

“Well fuck you very much,” he groused. “I didn’t give you permission to trick my people into doing your bidding.”

That same spindly digit shifted to the bewildered looking woman, leaning up on an elbow. “Owes us, anyway.”

“I only twisted my ankle!” she cried.

Ryurikov glanced at her, his lips twitching with mirth. “You have my congratulations on being so dissolute that these assholes decided to intervene. Nothing I need to worry about?”

“No, my Prince, I swear it!”

The Quinary whispered in frustration, and Ryurikov sighed. “I’ll pay whatever penance you think she owes you. Agreed?”

Shadowy faces exchanged looks. Then, “Agreed.”

Despite the niggling suspicion that this wasn’t the last time he’d need to deal with them, he left.

“What’s up with them?” Valka asked, to which Ryurikov shrugged.

“I fell to my death and they decided they wanted to redeem me. Don’t suppose you happen to know why?”

“No. All I know of is their whimsicality. I don’t know who they answer to, if anyone.”

It didn’t matter. Awimak was still nowhere to be found, and it worried him. During his recovery, Awimak had left his side exactly once, to scold the witches into creating more of the indigo salve to treat his haggard body with.

Ryurikov continued to follow the stream, grinding his thumb over his pointer finger in thought, until he reached a modest half-timbre house in the furthest reaches of town. A tree had set its roots around it, caging it in moss-laden bark and shade. At its front in the only sunlight afforded to her, Radojka worked on what appeared to be a vegetable patch.

“Where’s Awi?”

“Hatchling,” she croaked in greeting, working her hands through soil while kneeling. At least for Valka, she mustered a half-smile. “I haven’t seen him.”

Ryurikov allowed himself to lean against a nearby root to rest. Still he cast his gaze about in search of his demon, the notion that Awimak might have left him quick to work its way into his heart.

“He hasn’t abandoned you,” Radojka said.

“How do you know?”

Beside him, Valka made a horrible cooing noise. “I didn’t know you were so insecure!”

“Shut up.”

“It’s physically impossible for the damn fool,” said Radojka.

The blood-swear. Ryurikov flattened his lips into a line. He’d asked Awimak about it several times during his recovery. Hinted quite strongly he longed to reciprocate the act. It seemed better than the alternative, which was to ask—

He shook his head. Unfortunately, his demon had evaded giving him an answer, and now he was nowhere to be seen. Had he grown weary of him?

Ryurikov swallowed against the lump forming in his throat. “You’re staying here, then?” he asked to distract himself, adding, “I don’t mind if you do.”

A brief glare upward, though whatever snide remark Radojka might have conjured remained tucked away. Instead, she grumbled, “Thank you. This…is as good a place as any.”

Mirth laced Ryurikov’s huff. “Mulgar’s inevitable attacks notwithstanding.” He hoped by that time, they would have the numbers to help fight them off, and with yet more hags among them.

A faint rumble in the earth below his feet had Ryurikov sidestepping a root that emerged to serpentine through dewy grass in a spiral, before diving back into the soil. He met Valka’s worried look.

“How long until this entire place is just roots?” she asked.

Ryurikov wouldn’t have answered even if he wanted to. At the appearance of a stately figure walking toward him, his mouth dried up.

Thunder grey skin teemed with dappling sunlight, and burly arms were wrapped around the bodies of several children, many more in tow. Ryurikov recognised them, but couldn’t take his eyes off his demon. His horns weren’t all that had grown. Awimak himself was at least a foot taller and wider, more muscular than a creature had any right to be.

And by fuck, Ryurikov was hard just thinking about impaling himself on that cock of his.

“Ruri, sir!”

Like being clobbered in the head by a giant slab of ice.

Ryurikov startled, straightening up and hoping to hell nothing gave him or his depravity away. He grunted, his neck cinched tight by an embrace, the scratch of stubble against his scars a discomfort. He raised his arms as if readying to fly away, refusing to enable Andrew’s invasion. A helpless look directed at Awimak only prompted amusement as his demon lowered that great, beautiful body to release the urchins he’d been carrying.

“Aw, did you adopt these?” Valka took the youngest out of Awimak’s hold to cradle against herself. A dirty thing with auburn curls like the rest of them.

“What the fuck? No!” Ryurikov spluttered, pressing both hands against Andrew’s forehead and pushing. He wasn’t ready to be a father—ever. “I agreed to no such thing!”

THEY WERE ALREADY ON THEIR WAY HERE. I MERELY HELPED THEM CROSS THE WASTELAND.

“Oh.” He paused. Then, “Why the fuck are you here?”

Andrew stepped away, pale cheeks rosy and honey-coloured eyes filled with that same, awful admiration. “We heard about the Rogue Prince who saved an entire town from Skin Crawlers and Monarch Mulgar’s conquest. I knew it had to be you.”

“That was some gamble you took,” Ryurikov admonished.

He would have liked to scold Andrew further, in particular for risking his siblings, but bit down the urge. They had come all this way, even after he’d given Andrew more coin than the lad had ever seen before. Something must have been remiss.

“We’re tight on housing right now,” he said instead, an idea occurring to him while watching Radojka garden. “You can stay in this house. It’s not ideal, but better than what you had.”

Orange eyes flicked back up to him, and a wrinkled mouth parted around a rebuttal. Wordlessly, Ryurikov dared her to oppose.

“What am I supposed to do with,”—Radojka’s gaze flicked from toddler to teenager to young adult—“twelve of them?”

“That’s a problem for you to sort,” he said, then walked away, grateful when the sound of thick hooves followed.

“And where have you been?” Ryurikov asked at once, the nervous lurch of his stomach clipping his voice.

I WENT TO FETCH THESE. Awimak held out a great claw. Within, a bounty of seeds. Seeds of what, Ryurikov didn’t have a clue.

“Hang on!” He tilted backward to peer at Awimak’s sculpted ass, covered by the woodsy dupion. “Where did you keep those?”

NOT THERE, Awimak rasped with humour.

“Well, I know of something else that can—” Ryurikov’s knee buckled as he came to an abrupt standstill. He was grateful for the powerful fingers curling around his biceps, keeping him upright, his mind steeplechasing with a sudden realisation.

WHAT IS IT?

He looked up at Awimak, brows pulled in a frown. “Apatura.”

THE LYKE YOU MET IN THE GUILD TOWN.

“She’s the one!”

Awimak silently regarded him.

“She had a tome in front of her when we met. Slammed it shut the second I came close enough to read it. I remember thinking she needn’t have bothered since I couldn’t make sense of the unusual script. I’ve seen it before in Radmila’s dungeon on the day the Crawlers came into the castle.”

THAT VERY SAME TOME?

Ryurikov glanced out across the expanse of grass to the lopsided houses beyond, thinking. “Maybe. You said it would have required impossible knowledge to summon demons like them. It had to have been Apatura who helped her. Fuck, is that why she was rotting from the inside out, why her magic rejected her? Because she’s the one who brought Skin Crawlers into Vale?”

Only once Ryurikov regained control over his leg did Awimak release him, gently guiding him to rest by a tree. Yet he remained silent, sitting beside him, until Ryurikov nudged his side with an impatient forearm.

I WAS NOT MEANT TO MEDDLE.

“What are you on about?” he asked, yet feared the answer. “Awi, you said you wouldn’t keep secrets from me.”

Sun-like eyes lowered, setting on him. THERE IS KNOWLEDGE I POSSESS. KNOWLEDGE I CANNOT REVEAL. NOT EVEN TO YOU, MY LOVE. IF I DO, Awimak continued, silencing Ryurikov’s flaring sense of betrayal, I WILL BE PUNISHED. I HAD SAID TOO MUCH THEN, AND I CANNOT SAY TOO MUCH NOW.

His anger deflated. He ran his fingers through his hair, distracting himself with how short it had been cut. It barely reached the tips of his ears now.

I’M SORRY.

“No, don’t be.” Good grief, Awimak must have known the connection all along. Unable to say anything, fretting he might be punished for saying too much. And not once had he been able to talk to him about it. “Do you…have possession of certain knowledge because you’re a demon?”

YES.

“So then,” Ryurikov glanced upward, “if we connected through say—oh I don’t know, just off the top of my head—a mutual blood-swear, would that make me privy to such knowledge?”

Awimak cradled the back of his head, encouraging him forward. Although he would have preferred to sit there and wait until he got an answer, he’d ached for his demon ever since waking up that morning. Ryurikov stiffly crawled to straddle large thighs. He ran his palms over smooth skin, already healed, up to a strong neck to toy with a mane that too had been trimmed. Giving him better access to the ears he stroked between his fingers.

“Come on, Awi, don’t make me beg. Answer me.”

YOU USE MY WEAKNESS AGAINST ME, Awimak said, purring under the touch, eyes but fiery notches. His tongue darted out and lavished Ryurikov’s cheek and forehead with attention.

He let himself be guided down into the grass on his back, claws on either side of his shoulders gentle, shifting to undo his cloak and the straps of his jerkin. Soon pushing the tunic up, exposing Ryurikov’s stomach to the air chilled by Awimak hovering over him.

“And you use mine against me.” Ryurikov arched into the open palm gliding across his abdomen, up to his chest. Fingers splayed out and grazed his nipples.

Awimak leaned low, nasal bones of his skull dragging over scarred skin, cooling further under the slick of his tongue. DO YOU RECALL WHEN I ATTEMPTED TO SUMMON THE QUINARY TO ME?

“Sure,” Ryurikov said, distracted, running his palm over his own aching cock, longing to release it. “Why?”

YOU WERE DYING. I HELD YOU WHILE I WAS WOUNDED.

He stilled, cracking his eyes open to peer up into Awimak’s. That tongue whipped out across his lips, parted around a breathy acknowledgement. “Right, I remember.”

Awimak hesitated. I DID NOT TELL YOU FOR IT WAS UNINTENTIONAL. I HAD NO WISH TO BURDEN YOU, OR FRIGHTEN YOU ANY MORE THAN YOU ALREADY WERE.

It was hard to focus when his goliath of a demon kept nudging his legs up, until his ass was nestled against Awimak’s groin. “Wait, what?”

MY EYEWORTHY, WHOM I’VE MARKED ALREADY. MARKED TO BE MINE.

Ryurikov stared, blankly, and Awimak chuffed.

I BURNED YOU WITH MY BLOOD. YOU ARE ALREADY SWORN TO ME.

Still he stared, all he could do while his brain worked hard to piece things together. He’d been on the edge of death, barely remembered being burned. But the scars were there to prove it, running down his arm and ribcage like the tracks of a snake.

His brows furrowed, and Awimak leaned away to give him room. At length, Ryurikov muttered, “I don’t feel any different.”

DOES THE HUMAN TRADITION OF MARRIAGE MAKE YOU FEEL DIFFERENT? OTHER THAN, PERHAPS, ENRICHEN THE LOVE ONE HAS FOR THE OTHER?

“Wait,” Ryurikov strained to sit up, “we’re married?”

After some deliberating, IF YOU’D LIKE.

Delight burgeoned as a smile across Ryurikov’s lips, surprising him so much, it left him speechless.

Well, almost speechless.

“Fuck yes, I would like.”

The End