23. Twenty

Nothing had changed, but everything was different in Rünhyll. There were no tents to put up or take down, no baths to run, no trays to fetch. There were house slaves for that. As Ruith's body slave, my job became exactly that, tending to his body. I was to follow him everywhere, Senna informed me, like a shadow. Assist him without waiting to be asked. Anticipate his need and fulfill it in gracious silence. Silence I could do. Gracious? That was a stretch.

I was given my own bed for the first time. It was a small, narrow platform with a thin mattress placed at the end of Ruith's bed. The thing was barely big enough to accommodate me unless I curled up tight. In the dark, I found I missed having another body next to me. I missed the soft sound of his breathing, the warmth of him. I even missed the accidental touches in their own way. Alone, it became impossible to sleep. I tossed and turned, waking up sore the next morning.

All day, Ruith went to meeting after meeting with boring Runecleavers who clearly wanted nothing more than to waste his time and kiss his ass. They asked stupid questions laced with barbs.

"How is your father's health? How is your health? You still haven't taken a wife? What of your brothers? Are they still single? They should meet my daughter, my sister, my granddaughter."

It seemed the Runecleavers' primary goal was to marry off their children to any powerful man who would have them. Ruith refused all the offers politely on his brothers' behalf, and they all acted as if they expected him to, anyway. It was an odd sort of posturing.

When, at last, he decided we should leave the courtyard, I was exhausted on his behalf. Back in his room, he sat at his desk going over more papers while I carried out my evening duties, which now included readying him for the wedding dinner. I frowned when I threw open the wardrobe and found very different clothes waiting than I expected.

On campaign, the clothes were simple, functional tunics, trousers, padded undershirts, riding leathers. Things that armor could easily go over in a hurry if needed. The garments in the wardrobe reminded me more of the annoying fluff I had to wear whenever I was summoned to court at Ostovan, except they were different in every way, too. The necklines were all deep, plunging V-necks, or else completely absent. A lot of the shirts were open chested vests, or else fabric so thin, he might as well have been wearing air. The trousers were no better, intentionally made to sit low on the hips. Intentionally made for easy access.

I glanced over at Ruith and tried to imagine him in any of those clothes. They didn't fit him. He needed something more…regally barbaric. He was a prince, but none of those clothes communicated authority and power. How, then, was he meant to appear powerful when he was going to be mostly naked? Laid bare, it would be up to his words and actions to secure his position, and Ruith's ability to trade barbs verbally was…Well, he was almost as bad at it as me.

After some thought, I selected for him some loose-fitting pants that weren't too inviting, and a long crimson overcoat with gold trim to go over a white shirt that laced up one sleeve all the way to a high collar.

He studied the clothes as I laid them out, saying nothing.

When I was finished, I asked via my slate, "You don't approve?"

"The weather here is warmer. I'll be quite hot in so many layers." There was a sparkle of amusement in his eyes.

Would he rather go bare chested? The Runecleavers seemed rather intent on throwing their women at him. They'd only be more insistent if he walked in there half naked.

Ruith smirked and stood, removing the white undershirt from the pile. "I think we can compromise."

I frowned and pushed the shirt back at him. He threw his head back and laughed, the sound clear and warm. My face flushed, but not because of embarrassment. The laugh… It was the first time I'd heard it, and the first time I'd seen an honest smile. It looked good on him.

"Listen, pet," he said as I began the routine of undressing him. "Tonight…It will be…" He sighed. "There are expectations of an elf in my position."

Expectations that I entertain beautiful women of a certain standing. Those were the words my father used when he took random women to bed, as he whored himself from one end of the city to another and ruined his life. Ruined my life by extension.

I clenched my jaw. He said this place was full of snakes. Only an idiot would invite a snake into his bed knowingly.

Ruith caught my chin and lifted my face, staring into my eyes. Into my soul. That odd electric sensation from before shot down my spine. "I'm afraid I won't be going to bed alone tonight, Elindir." He said it almost regretfully. "You can sleep in the hall if you'd like."

Good. Fine. He should have a woman if he wanted one. What did I care? Or a man, I supposed. Whoever he wanted. It didn't matter to me who he fucked. Maybe he'd finally get it out of his system, and I wouldn't have to bear waking up to find him hard and staring at me. I wouldn't have to look at him and wonder if he was thinking about bending me over if he was fucking someone else for a change.

I told myself the spark of possessive rage I felt at the announcement was only because I'd have to clean up after whomever he took to bed. I'd have more work to do because of this. Yes, that was it.

I pulled my chin free of his grip and went back to work, fastening and unfastening, draping and tying. Not looking at the well-made body someone else would be enjoying.

"There will be no need for you to report tonight after the revelry." Ruith's voice had gone cold. "But I expect you present tomorrow morning."

I bowed stiffly, the only answer I could provide.

The banquet unfolded in an almost familiar way. It could have been any feasting day in Ostovan, save for the presence of elves. Ruith and his commanders were given the high table along with Niro and his child bride. Food was brought, wine flowed, and music played. My job was to keep Ruith's cup full and to fetch him anything he asked for. Otherwise, I just stayed in the shadows a step and a half back from the table.

The only other member of our camp that came to attend their master was Nessir, who had the honor of serving Ieduin. Courses were brought and taken away at regular intervals, all while the conversation played back and forth like a sport. Twice, people came down to apologize for Vinolia Runecleaver's delayed appearance, offering gifts of horses, fine silks, and a trunk full of spices. The bride and groom accepted the gifts with controlled joy, almost as if even that were ritual. Perhaps it was.

"And what of you, Ruith?" came the expected inquiry a short time later from Heskir. "When do you plan to make good on your promise to marry my cousin?"

Ruith offered a tight smile in return. "When the time is right."

Heskir gave a polite snort. "Come now. Surely you're not still claiming to be in mourning?"

Aryn went still. Ieduin frowned and lowered their cup.

"What was your wife's name again? Mara? Misha?" Heskir continued, staring at Ruith. "I suppose the name of a dead slave doesn't really matter, does it?"

Niro lowered his glass. "Heskir, this is hardly the place or time to dredge that up."

"Isn't it?" Heskir leaned forward at the table. "It feels like the perfect time. After all, you're about to marry a barbarian whore and bear an insult to the whole family. Why can't we talk about the time Ruith also insulted us all by choosing a house slave over Lady Caelina?"

"Heskir," Nero said more harshly.

Ruith raised a hand. "No, no. Let him speak. Weddings are supposed to be a time when old vendettas are laid to rest. By all means, let us settle this one. What is it, Heskir, that you'd like from me?"

The room went completely silent, all eyes on the front, waiting to see how it would play out. It was a clumsy attempt on Heskir's part. I didn't know the history of which he spoke, but he was blunt. Perhaps it was the drink making him brave.

"I want…" Heskir considered his drink before putting it down. He rose, drawing his sword and pointing it at Ruith, gasps sounding around the room. Heskir tossed the sword on the table in a challenge. "You want to serve as Niro's witness? I put to the room that you do not have the honor required for the position. I challenge you for it."

"Sit down, Heskir!" The old woman's voice echoed through the banquet room, strong and full of force.

Heads bowed all around the room. Only Ruith did not lower his head as the elderly elf woman strode into the hall. She wore a long silk dress, the color just too red to be purple. Her long, gray hair sat in three big piles upon her head. There was so much, I wondered how she could remain upright with so much hair. It must've weighed quite a bit. Her wrinkles were as deep as canyons, yet keen blue eyes scanned the room, seeing everything. I averted my eyes to the floor immediately.

"Grandmother," Katyr offered, bowing deep. There was a slight tremble in his voice as he spoke.

She acknowledged him with a small nod before turning back to dealing with Heskir. "You dishonor yourself, Heskir. You dishonor your clan. We all know Ruith to be a man of honor where it counts."

Heskir's fingers closed into fists. "Grandmother, you know as well as I do—"

"That Ruith was promised to my granddaughter Caelina and instead wed a slave and then bedded her in these very halls?" said the elf, who must have been none other than Vinolia Runecleaver. "Oh, yes. Every man, woman, and child on the isle knows that. We remember the decimation of slaves that followed, the loss of ten percent of our property. But he was a boy then, and boys do stupid things like get drunk at weddings and go to bed with the wrong women. Don't they? Why, it could happen to anyone. Even you, Heskir."

Heskir's face turned red. "I would never…"

"Do shut up." She waved a hand at him. "You dishonor yourself further with every word that falls out of your mouth, Heskir. Go before you say something irreparable. We shall speak of reparations later."

Heskir stormed away from the table so quickly he nearly knocked over his chair. The place was cleared quickly and there was some shuffling at the head table to give Vinolia the place of honor beside the bride and groom. I had to step forward to help rearrange things, but it was not a seamless transition. Nessir's elbow smashed into mine and I nearly dropped an entire carafe of wine. When I shot him a look, he smirked, telling me it was intentional. The prick.

"Our apologies for Heskir," Vinolia was saying. "He is impatient to see his cousin, Caelina, wed."

"A date will be set soon," Ruith offered politely.

"Yes, I expect so. I sent a message to your father and I am eagerly awaiting a reply." Vinolia shifted in her chair before waving a hand. "Well? Go on. Music. Food. I'm not getting any younger."

The music, which had halted with Heskir's outburst, started again and conversation resumed, albeit at a slightly more muted volume. The conversation at the head table remained polite and topical, though Katyr was notably silent and suddenly looked ill. I filled Ruith's cup when it was empty, barely paying attention for most of it.

Until the conversation turned to me.

"I must say," said Vinolia, "this is the first time I have ever seen a human attend at a high table. Were there no suitable elven body slaves for you, Ruith?"

"This one was a gift," Ruith said calmly, "from the king of Ostovan. He was of noble birth in his home country, which saved me considerable training time. You can imagine that it is much more useful to have someone that already understands how to pour wine and take letters."

"I imagine so," she agreed. "But if he was of noble birth, surely he has other talents that you have availed yourself of? Does he ride well?"

I flushed. The verb she chose for ride was intentionally a double entendre that was never used to refer to horses.

It was a low jab at Ruith, but he didn't react, taking it in stride. "I have not put him on a horse to find out."

"Then perhaps he sings." She twisted to glance at me.

I kept my gaze carefully fixed on the floor as the attention of the room slowly shifted to me.

"He doesn't even speak, if you can believe it," Ruith said lightly. "He was given to me with some sort of spelled collar around his neck. Blood magic."

"Well, I imagine that makes him more tolerable. A slave who gets to keep his mouth but not his voice." She drained her glass and set it down. "I do hope he isn't the cause for the delay in your courtship of my granddaughter, Caelina."

"Of course not," Ruith said dismissively.

"You will forgive my rudeness in asking," Vinolia continued, "but then you do have a history of being enamored with your human pets. What was her name? The pretty one Heskir was on about?"

Ruith clenched his jaw. "Miya."

"Ah, forgive me for not remembering. Human names all sound the same. But it's good to hear you've outgrown your affliction. It's one thing for an inexperienced boy to be so enamored with a slave's talents he shirks his duty, and another thing entirely for a grown man to do it." She sipped her wine and glanced back at me. "Although he is a rather comely thing for a human. Is he attractive under the clothes as well? I heard humans never grow hair below the neck."

"Grandmother, this is hardly appropriate conversation for a wedding," Katyr whispered.

"I'll decide what's appropriate." She clapped her hands. "Go on, then. Bring him front and center. Let us see if the rumors are true."

My heart stopped. I couldn't even look to Ruith for help. I couldn't even look up without inviting a beating. Part of me hoped that Ruith would intervene and stop them, but he said nothing as the carafe of wine was taken from my hands and someone I couldn't look in the face led me to the center of the room.

I didn't need to look at Vinolia to feel her smirking at me as she picked at whatever food had been brought.

"Well, isn't he a tame little beast?" she said. "You say he understands our tongue?"

"Yes." Ruith's voice was tight.

"It reads and writes like us. Serves at our tables, polishes your sword…"

There were several chuckles from the crowd. My face burned. Even Michail never would have dared to shame a noble born enemy in public. This was barbaric, more so than anything I had seen. But the old Runecleaver matriarch was just getting started.

"Your slave seems a bit over dressed for the occasion, Ruith," she said. "Shall we see if, under all that elven finery, there is still a human? Perhaps you've turned him into an elf with some sorcery?"

Silence. My heart was pounding.

Please, Ruith, I thought. Please what? What was he to do? Come to my rescue? He wasn't my protector. He was my master.

"Well?" Vinolia snapped. "Strip him."

I went numb from head to toe quickly as hands grabbed me, tore at my clothes with ruthless efficiency. Blood rushed in my ears, the steady thudding of a heartbeat. I waited for someone to shout for them to stop, for an intervention, and when none came, I didn't know how to react. I was being forcibly stripped in front of a hundred strangers for their entertainment, pulled apart at the seams while they laughed.

I started to lift my eyes to Ruith, but stopped short of his face, taking in his rigid posture, his fist around his fork, knuckles white.

Children laughed.

Seams ripped.

"Look at how pale he is," came the first jeers.

"He's soft and pale like a lamb!"

"We should give him to the boys in the barracks. Satisfy their curiosity while they're young."

It wasn't even the humiliation of being stripped for entertainment that hurt so badly. It was the silence from the one person I had mistakenly believed would come to my rescue. Why would I expect that? He was my enemy. My owner. I was his dog, to be dressed and undressed at his pleasure.

"Gods above, are they all such weak looking beasts?"

"Look at the scars on his back!"

Voices in every direction, growing louder, closing in. The laughter was in my ears, inside my head.

A hand gripped the one pathetic piece of clothing they hadn't taken yet, the thin undergarment.

When my half-brother sent me to the elves, I told myself I could endure. I'd survive it, if only to live long enough to hear of his death a continent away.

But there were some things a man with any pride should never suffer, even if he'd been sold as a slave. I caught the prying hand at the wrist and twisted. Delicate bones snapped. A voice cried out. I pushed my assailant back and watched him fall clumsily, gripping his hand, which was now attached at the wrong angle.

Swords whispered free. Elves who had been sitting and laughing only moments ago found their feet and their silence.

I had done the unthinkable, a slave resisting a master, and now it was time to pay with my life.

But to my surprise, there were no calls for my execution, no demands that I be maimed, whipped, or beaten.

Ruith began a slow clap. He pushed back his chair and stood. When Vinolia looked at him in disbelief, he arched an eyebrow. "You did ask after his talents, did you not? If you want real entertainment, give him a sword."

The silence of the room stretched. "Very well," she said at length, thinking she was calling his bluff. "Give the slave a sword."

"Matriarch," came the protest from someone in the crowd, "is it wise to arm a slave?"

She turned her eyes on the speaker, the young castalin, and narrowed them, pushing up suddenly to stand. "Are we not Runecleavers? The greatest mages in the empire, and yet you fear handing a lone slave a blade? There is more magic in this room than all the rest of the isles, and this is what you fear?" She gestured to me.

"The slave has more bravery than your castalin," Ruith pointed out.

The castalin blanched and fell to his knees. "Forgive me."

"Be silent before I revoke your right to a tongue." Vinolia gestured.

To my surprise, they didn't bring in a pair of wasters, but live steel. I took the sword in my hand, testing the weight and grip, which was far better than the practice sword I had used in the pit.

"Who will serve as our champion?" Vinolia scanned the gathered faces. They were all mages, every one of them wearing taps, the command of magic at their fingertips. Yet no one stepped forward to face me.

I wouldn't have stepped forward either. There was no honor in defeating a slave.

"I will fight him." At some point, Heskir must have returned to the hall, because it was he who stepped forward and bent his knee before his matriarch. "Let me prove my worth to you. To the clan."

Vinolia studied him. So did I. Heskir was older than me and had likely seen many summer raids. He had more experience, and more clothes. That would help him, too. It would also help him that I was unfamiliar with elven styles, having never fought one except in the fighting pit.

Vinolia gave a slight jerk of her chin. Heskir retrieved the other sword and rose, facing me. He glanced over at Ruith, the message clear. He didn't care about whatever rules there were to such a fight. He meant for this to be his honor duel.

"Make your master proud, Slave," was all Ruith said.

Heskir rolled his neck and stepped in. I moved back, trying to get a feel for his reach. He pressed, and there was nowhere for me to go, so I struck out. He parried expertly and strode in to take advantage. Heskir was not Jandor who had relied on his size to carry him. Here was a skilled swordsman fighting not for glory and approval, but for vengeance.

Steel clashed again as I caught another advance. He kicked at my leg, the impact more painful because I had nothing on to absorb it. I grimaced and fell back. With a shout, he came in to press my injured side, but he hadn't hurt me nearly as badly as I'd let him believe. My retreat was a feint, and soon I had my sword at his neck. A thin line of red marred his otherwise perfect skin. We stared at each other, his angry breath clouding the blade as it erupted from his nostrils.

His sword clattered to the floor. "I yield."

I went to my knees, immediately finding a posture of submission. I hoped it would be enough to keep them from killing me for being so bold. It was a mistake. Heskir's taps flashed, green light flooding the room. Thorn covered vines erupted through the floor and reached for Ruith.

They didn't get within ten feet before Katyr snapped his fingers and burned them to ash in a wash of golden light. A slight breeze followed, as if the room itself were exhaling.

"Attacking the son of the primarch is high treason," Vinolia said, as if she were explaining mathematics to a child. "Arrest him. By your leave, we shall schedule the execution for dawn." She spoke to Ruith, who nodded once.

He stepped calmly around the table and came to stand in front of me. "You did very well."

I was still holding the sword, and he was within striking distance, unarmed. Unarmored. An easy target. He held out his hand. I thought of my fingers in his soft hair, the way his touch had brushed over the pulse in my wrist. The dried salt of the ocean clinging to his lips. The way my skin prickled when he'd laughed.

Then I lowered my head and surrendered the sword. His fingers brushed mine as he took it from me. I wanted to believe it was an intentional gesture, as much as he could afford in public, but it wasn't.