21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Silvyr

If there was a single fool in the entire Quilen line, it had to be Silvyr.

It'd been so easy to speak in the meadows, the words leaving him with little thought or hesitation, as if Brokil deserved to know. Words that never should have been thought, much less spoken aloud. Words he never should have told Brokil, his captor, of all people. Surely the orc would hold this over his head for as long as Silvyr was in his possession. Surely, he'd find a way to use it to his advantage.

Brokil hadn't looked particularly pleased with the revelations as Silvyr expected him to be, but his face was hard to read. The confusion was clear, but beneath it was something Silvyr didn't recognize. He wasn't sure he wanted to.

When he returned to Brokil's home, Silvyr did whatever he could to stay quiet and out of the way. Brokil returned later in the evening and prepared their meals, and Silvyr ate in silence, finishing less than half of his portion before excusing himself to sleep. The sun had barely set, the night still young, but he didn't want to talk, didn't want to know what Brokil thought of the day's events, or how stupid he finally realized the elf was.

Despite his desire for warmth and the soft quilts, Silvyr returned to his corner on the floor. He had little doubt that Brokil would welcome him back into his bed, but the thought of facing him after exposing himself so foolishly made Silvyr's stomach twist into tight knots. It would be easier to banish himself to the floor where he should have been all along. Where he never would have gotten comfortable enough for Brokil to see him so clearly. After all, it would do him no good to get close to the chief, to let him in.

In the end, Silvyr's life had two courses. Return home and face Father's wrath, or die by Brokil's hand because Father could not swallow his pride.

As much as Silvyr enjoyed himself when Brokil took him so viciously, forcing him to forget everything surrounding his circumstances, he knew in the back of his mind that it couldn't, or rather wouldn't, last. It was fleeting. A way to pass the time and deal with each other. Nothing else. Whatever words they shared in those moments, whatever feelings came to the surface, none of it was real. It was an act. Silvyr did the same with all of his past lovers, though none of them joined him for more than a single night. None of them meant their honeyed words and gentle touches. It was the same with Brokil, it had to be. Fake, fleeting, necessary to survive. If anything, it was a way to ensure Silvyr remained under his thumb, a way for Silvyr to ensure he was treated with some modicum of kindness. Give and take. Equal exchange. That was all.

When morning came, Silvyr awoke to the sun streaming through the open window. The chill of night still clung to the room, and he curled up into the blankets while his eyes adjusted to the morning light. Mercifully his sleep had been dreamless and empty, and he was warmer than he expected to be atop the cold floor.

It took him a long moment to realize another blanket had been lain across him, one that hadn't been there when he fell asleep. Stomach dropping, Silvyr glanced up at Brokil's bed, watching the rise and fall of the orc's chest, and noticed the distinct absence of one of his blankets. It should have made him smile, the consideration, but it only reminded him there was a line they were walking, and it would be all too easy to fall in and disappear in the void. Both of them would be foolish to ignore that.

Trying to keep as quiet as possible, Silvyr pulled himself off the floor, plucked up his jar of salve from Brokil's bedside table, and tiptoed into the living space. He sat in his usual place and lifted his shirt, poking at the wound on his side. Though he couldn't expect the wound to heal entirely by now, the salve had worked just as it meant to. The wound was still pink against his pale skin, and tender to the touch, but the salve helped close the wound quicker and remove the need for stitches, for which he was grateful.

Silvyr took his time applying the salve himself. Normally Brokil would apply it for him, insisting on making sure he was healing properly so he could inform Urzul of any complications, but after this much time, after Silvyr had been visiting Urzul nearly every day there wasn't a need for it. In truth, there never should have been a need for it. He should have insisted on treating his own wounds from the beginning. But what's done is done.

Returning to the rug after placing the salve back on Brokil's shelves, Silvyr sat with his legs crossed beneath himself. The book he had been flipping through was still there, his green ribbon marking the page he left off on. Silvyr had read it many times over by now, memorizing the paragraphs and illustrations, the feel of the red leather beneath his fingertips. Of the books Brokil owned, this one, the very first one he'd found, was his favorite.

Part of him wondered if Brokil would let Silvyr take it home with him, if Father ever accepted Ghizol's terms. Silvyr nearly laughed at his own foolishness for thinking it. No doubt Father would destroy it the moment he saw it, and after learning that Brokil's mother created it, Silvyr could never allow something so beautiful to be broken like that.

Despite that, Silvyr settled in and flipped through the pages of the book until he landed on a section filled with wildflowers. He tapped his finger over the ones he'd managed to find in the meadow so far, wondering how many others he might have missed and if he'd be able to find them. The meadow was large, and there were so few months left before the winter frightened the flowers away. Perhaps Brokil might let him take a basket next time to collect a few to bring back.

Heavy steps announced Brokil's exit from his room, and Silvyr made the conscious effort to keep his eyes on the book.

"You're here," Brokil said, sounding as though he expected Silvyr to leave.

"I'm here," Silvyr echoed, sparing Brokil a sideways glance.

The large orc wore only his sleeping trousers, hanging low on his hips, and as quickly as he could, Silvyr forced his eyes back to his lap, hoping the curtain of his hair would hide his flushed cheeks.

Silvyr kept his eyes on his book as Brokil's footsteps moved into the cooking area, though he gave up on actually processing any of the words. Part of him wanted to go see what Brokil was making, maybe help if the orc allowed him to. Something to keep him busy, to keep his mind from spiraling as it was wont to do in the heavy silence. Though, knowing his uselessness in the kitchen kept Silvyr in place.

It wasn't until Brokil took a seat next to him, holding out Silvyr's tea and a bowl, that Silvyr realized how hungry he was, his stomach growling as the steam of breakfast wafted to his nose. It was never more than a simple meal of savory oats, but he couldn't help the smile that twitched at his lips when he reached out to take the offered items.

"Thank you," Silvyr said, glancing down to see a cooked egg and fresh herbs over the serving of oats.

He didn't wait to press his spoon into the egg, scooping up the yolk and oats in one bite, and chewing slowly to savor the robust taste. Each meal Brokil made was simple and clean, yet somehow still delicious and unlike anything Silvyr had eaten before. Always so different from the fruits and dried meats he would have for breakfast at home.

Brokil sat on the other side of the rug, eating his own food with haste, as though someone might burst in and steal the bowl right out of his hands. Even with the false sense of urgency, Silvyr took his time, finishing most of the food in the bowl before setting it to the side.

"You said before you are decent with a bow," Brokil said suddenly, and Silvyr looked at him, furrowing his brows.

"Decent yes," Silvyr said, unsure of where Brokil was trying to take the conversation. "But not good enough for much. I can hit a target if it's very close and isn't moving."

Brokil hummed in thought, leaning back on both arms. "I am patrolling the western border today. Urzul did request your help, but she can wait if you'd prefer to be outside today," Brokil told him, the offer like a slap of confusion across Silvyr's face.

"Patrol? Why?" More importantly, why would he want Silvyr to join him? "I would be useless."

A low chuckle left Brokil's throat. "It won't be very exciting. You'll be on my horse, and we will go up and down the range of the border. It's an offer you can take or leave," Brokil said. "I thought you'd want more fresh air, and to not be barred inside while I was away."

It was undeniable that the idea of being locked inside set Silvyr's nerves on edge, even if Brokil hadn't done it in a while. Just knowing that bar could cross the door filled him with dread that wasn't present without it.

"Would the Elders not be upset with my presence?" Silvyr asked. It wouldn't be surprising if the others demanded Silvyr stay behind. They wouldn't be foolish enough to trust Silvyr, the son of their enemy, with a bow and quiver alone with their chief. The fact that Brokil even offered it was confounding. and Silvyr saw no logical reason behind it.

"They may, but I am extending the invitation. It is my decision, not theirs." Brokil spoke with an air of confidence that Silvyr could only wish he had half of. He lifted his chin in defiance, in challenge, as if the Elders were there with them now to question him. With a look like that, Silvyr could not imagine them denying him anything.

"I would like the fresh air. Thank you," Silvyr said with a small smile.

He still didn't understand why the offer was made, but Silvyr couldn't pass up the chance to spend the day in the sun. Urzul was wonderful, and Silvyr had grown all too comfortable in her and Brokil's home alike, but there was something different about being able to soak in the sunlight, of feeling the cool wind in his hair, and the oncoming winter kissing his cheeks.

He wouldn't have that anymore when he returned to Athowen. Silvyr would be lucky if Father ever let him leave the palace again after this monumental failure. And while he feared being alone with Brokil, feared letting more of his insecurities show, Silvyr would take any moment Brokil gave him to admire the illusion of freedom the outdoors offered him. Perhaps if he could show the Elders that he wasn't a risk…

No, he couldn't hope for that much. He could only be grateful for the offer. He might have to be extra vigilant around Brokil, lest he let his mask slip again, but if anything, it would be good practice for if—when—he returned to Athowen.

"Good. Get dressed and we will be off to relieve the current guard," Brokil told him. Before Silvyr could get up, Brokil returned to his bed chambers to get dressed himself.

He stared at the door for only a moment before turning back to the book in his lap.

What am I doing?

When Brokil left the chambers, Silvyr excused himself to get dressed, finding a pair of simple green linens already set out for him on the bed. Another thing he wouldn't have when he returned home—the soft comfort of these simple clothes, so different from the clothing he'd had when Brokil captured him. They were by no means as luxurious as Athowen's silks, but they were comfortable and breathable. Silvyr couldn't help but wonder why anyone wore silks at all, or why he'd insisted on holding onto his own for so long.

He shook his head to clear the foolish thoughts from his mind as he finished dressing. The linens were like the sunlight, a gift to appreciate for now, while he had them, before they were cruelly torn away.

By the time Silvyr returned to the living space, Brokil had pulled on various pieces of leather armor over his own linens, familiar leathers, though it'd been a while now since Silvyr had seen him wear them.

Strapping his bracers over his thick forearms, Brokil looked over at Silvyr, clearly noticing the new apprehension on Silvyr's face. "A precaution," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "We rarely need it, but it is more foolish to chance going without."

Silvyr nodded but said nothing in response. He didn't think there would be leathers appropriate for him to wear while they were out, so it wasn't worth asking. Brokil didn't mention it either, so when they left the home, Silvyr followed without question.

When they reached the stables, Brokil's horse was already equipped with its saddle, though Silvyr saw no stable hand nearby to have done it. A short bow in a quiver hung from the horn, and when Brokil handed them over, a single arrow rattled in the opening.

Silvyr almost chuckled as he hooked the quiver to his belt. One arrow wouldn't be enough to do any damage, especially when Silvyr wasn't the most reliable shot. Hopefully Brokil wouldn't come to see how terrible his performance with a bow truly was.

Lifting himself up, Silvyr settled into the space between the horn of the saddle and Brokil's large torso. The familiar sensation almost made Silvyr laugh, but he bit his lip and stared straight ahead, ignoring any sideways glances from the orcs around them as Brokil led his steed away from the township limits. The confusion on everyone's face was clear. What could be the reason that their chief was bringing their captive out on a patrol?

Dirt trails gave way to fluffy grass and open plains, the morning chill slowly fading as they drew further from the shade of the forest and city. Closing his eyes, Silvyr tipped his head back and allowed himself to enjoy the warmth from the sun. He hadn't realized how much staying inside for days at a time had affected him, how just the kiss of the morning rays now made his skin as if it was glowing. He missed the sunlight. Even in Athowen when he couldn't go outside, the large windows and balconies could provide him access to the sun, whereas here, Silvyr had to make do with the small window above the stove in Brokil's kitchen.

"Chief!"

Silvyr opened his eyes when Murzush' voice called out from ahead of them. He could barely see her, but as the speck slowly approached, she grew clearer and clearer. She had her hair tied in a tight tail atop her head, a sword on her hip and a bow across her chest, her leathers nearly the same as Brokil's. She looked just as intimidating as the first time Silvyr had seen her, her and Salthu both powerful and fierce as they loomed over him on the road back home.

"Hail," Brokil called back, turning his horse to meet her across the field.

Murzush was already looking at Silvyr when they reached each other, a sneer twisted on her lips. Silvyr quickly turned his face away, staring off at the distance in the hopes that she'd ignore him entirely if he was silent. He knew it was well deserved, but the seething in her eyes was too much to face.

"Why is he here?" she asked, her voice tight.

"Elves need sunlight. Better he gets it with me than by himself."

"Does he need a bow to see the sun?" she asked after a moment of heavy silence. Maybe if Silvyr was braver, he would have agreed with her, hoping that would make her like him, even a little bit. But he swallowed any words he had, knowing it'd be useless.

"Should there be a threat, a bow is necessary," Brokil said, keeping his tone firm and even. Completely unbothered.

Murzush's horse clopped in place, and Silvyr imagined her hands tightening on the reins in anger, causing the steed to shift with uncertainty. "I think this is foolish. Let me return him to your home."

Silvyr couldn't stop himself from lifting his head at that, eyes widening slightly as they settled on the woman. She wasn't looking at him anymore, but the gaze she set upon Brokil could set a thatched roof ablaze. Her words had something twisting in his chest. Fear? Worry? Silvyr had not been alone with anyone aside from Brokil and Urzul since his first escape, and the thought of being so now, with Murzush of all people, had anxiety pooling in his stomach. To Silvyr's disbelief, Brokil chuckled behind him. "That isn't necessary. I can handle him. I will be on my way," Brokil said.

"Chief. This isn't a good idea," Murzush insisted, her voice tightening and brows knitting tight as her frustration mounted.

"I know what I'm doing, Murzush," Brokil replied smoothly. "The elf poses no dangers here, and I'm confident that if he tries anything, I can subdue him."

Silvyr nearly laughed. It was a massive understatement. Yes, Silvyr had an arrow in his quiver, and maybe his brother would be able to use it to its full lethality, but not Silvyr. He was confident that Brokil would have him restrained before Silvyr could even think about using the arrow.

"You will be alone. Anything could happen."

"Anything could, and I am prepared for it," Brokil countered. "I'll be off now."

Silvyr felt him kick his heels to spur the horse forward, trotting past her. Silvyr didn't look back, not wanting to see if she would turn that fiery gaze onto him, which Silvyr knew he would crumple under.

"You've never told me who Murzush is," Silvyr said, turning to look at Brokil over his shoulder.

"My personal guard," Brokil answered with a low chuckle. "She means well, but she is a bit harsh in her opinions." Silvyr hummed, turning to look ahead of them again, finding it amusing that someone as powerful as Brokil would need a guard at all. He supposed it made sense. Brokil may be a skilled warrior in his own right, but he was still Ghizol's chief, still her leader. It would make sense that Murzush would want to protect that.

"I think that is a trend with those who are protective of you," Silvyr said. He remembered the fierceness Salthu displayed around Brokil, particularly when she examined the wound Silvyr treated. The orc must have agreed because Silvyr could feel his chest heaving with a low laugh.

"I do surround myself with our best and strongest," Brokil said. "Are you offended?"

Silvyr smiled and shook his head. "No. I can understand why she is apprehensive. I know who my father is, and so does she. I would think her a fool if she didn't consider that."

"And she is no fool, clearly." Brokil's voice held a cheery air to it, and Silvyr was thankful he did not offend.

"How long has she been your guard?" Silvyr asked, letting himself lean against Brokil, smiling when he felt Brokil's arms tighten around him, encasing him. Gods, it was so easy for him to let his guard down around this man, no matter how stupid he knew it to be. "I wouldn't assume you'd need one. You're strong."

Brokil hummed, the vibrations in his chest bringing forth a light laugh from Silvyr. "Not every chief has been a warrior, so it's become customary to be given a guard. Murzush was the natural choice."

"Not Salthu?"

"Salthu would make an incredible guard, but she's better served in her current position," Brokil said. "She's my second in command. She has a better head for that instead of a guard."

They fell into a comfortable silence as they continued moving forward, Brokil steering the horse with ease and Silvyr taking in the sights around them. For as far as he could see, the hills rolled with long strands of green grass and scattered bush. The turning of the leaves had started in small patches, speckling the landscape with hues of umber and gold. It was beautiful, and Silvyr wondered what it would look like come winter. Did it snow between the mountains, or simply grow barren for the colder months? Would he be here when winter hit? Surely Father wouldn't wait that long to send his reply to the orcs…

Every day that Brokil left and returned to the house, Silvyr wondered if that was the day the Elders heard something from Athowen. Yet the orc never brought it up, and as far as Silvyr could tell it didn't seem like he was hiding it either.

Was Father even considering the orc's terms? Silvyr knew the man couldn't be worried for him, he wasn't foolish enough to believe that, but he'd been captured for what had to be months now. Had father even tried sending for him? If Father didn't prioritize getting Silvyr back home, maybe Ascal would. She would fight for him, wouldn't she? Would Father let her?

Did he even want them to? Flipping back and forth between wanting to stay and feel the freedom of the sun on his face or rain on his skin, and wanting his family to fight for him for once, nearly made him dizzy with confusion. Silvyr knew how disjointed his desires were. How he didn't even know what his desires were.

He knew what he should want. He should want to return to Athowen. He should want to return to his duties as the crown prince, he should want to work to make Father proud, he should be using every opportunity to examine the orcs and their way of life to use against them.

But the thought of doing so twisted his stomach with thorny vines.

"Look." Brokil's voice pulled Silvyr away from his thoughts and Silvyr turned to follow Brokil's direction.

In the distance, a large herd of powerful horses grazed on a patch of yellowing grass. The herd was a mix of hues and patterns, looking utterly mismatched yet still cohesive. A few foals pranced around the larger adults, pausing only to grab mouthfuls of grass before being on the move again. They looked happy. Free.

"Horses," Silvyr said, a touch of awe on his tongue despite stating the obvious. Brokil chuckled against his chest, bringing a pool of warmth into Silvyr's stomach that he couldn't help but lean into.

"There are many herds around the borders. That is where we get our foal," Brokil explained to him. "We never take them all. We leave behind at least half. The mares will need foals to raise and keep the herd strong."

Silvyr nodded, watching the horses peacefully graze. If they noticed Brokil and Silvyr, they did not seem to care. "Back home we breed them ourselves."

"Unsurprising. All your horses look the same," Brokil said, spurring his horse to keep moving.

Silvyr kept his eyes on the herd as they moved along the ridge. One of the horses lifted its head, turning away to look to the side. One by one, the horses stopped grazing until they set off running, opposite of the direction Silvyr and Brokil moved in. It didn't take long to realize why, and Silvyr's heart sank when he spotted another horse and rider approaching.

"Brokil?" Silvyr tightened his hand around his bow, feeling Brokil shift behind him to follow his gaze.

"Shit," Brokil said under his breath. As the rider neared them, Silvyr could see the green hue of his skin, and whatever fear he had that it was one of Father's messengers disappeared, only to be replaced by the apprehension of Brokil's reaction. "Stay quiet, do not speak to him."

Brokil's command left no room for Silvyr to question him. Instead, he nodded and gripped the bow tighter, praying that he wouldn't need to use it as he whispered an affirmative. Brokil made no attempt to meet the rider halfway, forcing the other orc to approach them on his own.

The stranger rode with his back straight, wearing similar leathers to Brokil, yet the patterns and buckles differed just enough to be noticeable. Across the chest, his leather breast held the engraving of some beast that Silvyr couldn't recognize, though the fangs and sharp edges didn't give him confidence in any peaceful intentions. His head was shaved to the scalp, displaying various scrolling black tattoos that ran down onto his face. It almost looked like the patterns of paint Brokil's troops had worn when they first took Silvyr, only this was a permanent change.

"Chief Brokil," the rider said, stopping his stallion a few yards from them. His eyes immediately fell on Silvyr and confusion marred his face. "What is this?"

"Chief Vakmu," Brokil replied, and Silvyr made note of the name, searching through every inch of his memory for mention of Vakmu, only to come up with a foggy, vague remembrance he couldn't place. "What is the need for your visit? You've reached our borders."

Brokil made no answer regarding Silvyr, and he found some comfort in that. Silvyr had no idea what the other orcs thought of Ghizol's plans, or if they even knew about them, but he could tell Brokil did not trust this man.

"I am aware," Vakmu said. "I came to see if the rumors were true, and it appears to be so."

"What rumors?" Brokil asked, a slight edge in his voice that had Silvyr's heart racing in his chest. Hopefully Vakmu hadn't noticed. There was no telling what would happen if this man sensed the nerves that Silvyr heard.

"That you had stolen an elf of great importance. Son of Keryth, correct?" Vakmu directed his question at Silvyr.

Unsure of how to respond, or if he should at all, Silvyr remained silent and tried to keep his expression neutral. He didn't want to give anything away, or give this man any kind of ammunition. More importantly, Brokil told him to remain silent. Had it been just the two of them, Silvyr might have disobeyed him, but facing this man, it was wiser to let Brokil handle it. Silvyr was used to being silenced in matters like these, after all.

"Your intel is false. He is an emissary," Brokil lied smoothly, and Silvyr fought to keep his eyes straight ahead, to keep any reaction off his face at those words. "He is here to review Ghizol for tax purposes."

Vakmu eyed them with clear suspicion, brows pinched in consideration. Silvyr couldn't tell if he was convinced or not, but he didn't move closer or reach for any of the weapons on him. "An emissary…"

"Correct. I am showing him our borders."

"I see. Well, then I shall report that the rumors are incorrect," Vakmu said. Behind him, Silvyr could feel Brokil relaxing, though only slightly. Still on guard, Silvyr wouldn't let himself relax until this Vakmu person left and they were able to return to Brokil's homestead. He was quite done with their outing after so many unscheduled meetings, he wasn't sure his nerves could take much more after this. "Though, I do find it highly disturbing that you are working with the Tyrant King. This could call your authority as Chief into question."

Again, Brokil tensed. "It is something our Elders discussed. The decision remains within Ghizol's Council and Ghizol's alone, Chief Vakmu," Brokil said, the edge in his voice clearer now, like a knife being sharpened on a whetstone. A warning.

"We shall see." Vakmu turned his horse away from Brokil and kicked it, trotting back the way he came.

Brokil and Silvyr remained in place, watching him ride off until he was out of sight. It wasn't until he was completely gone that Silvyr could feel Brokil ease behind him and was able to do the same. His fingers loosened around his bow, sore from the tight grip he held. His heart still raced, but he let himself lean against Brokil again, taking comfort in his warmth and steady heartbeat.

"Who was that?" Silvyr asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Vakmu, chief of the Bravrith orcs," Brokil answered, his voice just as low, as though they were being listened in on. "They reside in the western reaches of the Amesisle Range. Our borders touch, and we deal with them frequently."

Silvyr nodded, the familiarity of Vakmu's name finally hitting him. In the Council meetings with Father, the Bravrith orcs were a hot topic of discussion. Not only did they refuse to pay taxes or submit themselves for permits, like Ghizol, they also reacted violently to any and all attempts Father made to convince them. Their war was closer at hand than Ghizol's. With their closeness, it wouldn't surprise him if Ghizol was drawn into whatever conflict Bravrith took part in.

"You will have to report your interaction to your Elders when we return, correct?"

"Yes. I do not trust that he believed me," Brokil admitted. Silvyr could only nod, turning to look at Brokil over his shoulder.

"You seemed convincing to me, but it is for the best your Council knows," Silvyr said, hoping that his agreement would somehow make Brokil feel better. He didn't know why that mattered to him, but the smile Brokil offered him warmed his chest.