Chapter 16

16

E ben didn’t know how he ended up in the Ka -esh wing, staring at the dyflissa .

The scents of pain and pleasure were so familiar, so sweet, the sounds of firm slaps and cracking whips thudding deep into his aching chest. But his prick stayed soft and slack in his trousers, and a distant part of Eben pointed out that he was so often soft, in the dyflissa . It wasn’t like those moments with Tryggr , with all that desire and longing. It was… empty. Just as empty as he was.

“ Eben ?” asked a voice, Gareth’s voice, and Eben blinked at where his familiar form was striding out of the dyflissa , his whip still in hand, his trousers sagging around his sweaty waist. “ What is amiss? Are you hurt?”

Eben couldn’t even speak, could only stare blankly at Gareth’s face, at the slowly increasing concern in his eyes. “ Is it that Skai ?” Gareth demanded, sharper now. “ What has he done to you?”

But it was enough to rouse some faint awareness in Eben’s chest, and he shook his head. “ He did naught,” he said dully. “ Naught at all.”

Gareth kept studying him, the worry creasing his forehead. “ Should you mayhap… wish for some relief, then?” he asked, tentative. “ I should be glad to offer whatever you wish.”

He’d even held up the whip, but still nothing stirred in Eben’s trousers, and now he could hear Tryggr’s voice again, echoing behind his blinking eyes. Not much relief if it brings you real harm, is it? Keeps you running back for more?

Eben’s head seemed to shake on its own, and his sad little smile almost felt genuine. “ Thank you, brother,” he whispered, “but I ken it should be wiser to rest.”

He was vaguely surprised at the strength of the disappointment in Gareth’s scent, but he suddenly felt too weary to wonder at it. Too weary even to return to his own room, on the opposite side of the Ka -esh wing — and instead, his numb, staggering feet took him to a different room. A far larger room, just a corridor over, reeking of familiarity and pain.

His family’s room. Their hellir .

Eben hadn’t stepped foot in it since his father’s death years before, but he was unsurprised to see that it hadn’t been changed, or put to another use. It would still be considered his own hellir by the clan, even after all this time, and the furnishings were all still here, even his father’s old clothes, now surely ruined by moths and mildew. And Eben blinked around at it for a dazed, stilted moment, before lurching over to sink onto his old stone bunk, burying his face in his hands.

Never trust a Skai , his father’s voice shouted, so loud now. You never focus on what is important. You waste your talent and your time. You do a deep disservice to all your Ka -esh kin. You show yourself foolish and weak.

Get out. Do not return here or speak to me again, until you come to your senses.

Eben’s mouth choked a sound like a laugh, or a sob, because he had never come to his senses, had he? He’d always been a disappointment, a failure, a waste for his kin and his clan. He’d always known it, his father had always known it, never trust a Skai …

Another sob tore from Eben’s chest, heaving out of his trembling mouth. Never trust a Skai . A refrain, a mantra, a curse, that had spoken so strongly of his father’s conviction, his clan’s truth. And Eben had believed it, had believed it and feared it, just as he’d believed and feared all the rest of it, and maybe —

His head shook in his hands as more thick, ugly sobs barked from his throat. He’d believed it all for so, so long. And maybe — maybe Tryggr had been — a hint of light, in the darkness. A rebellion. I can show you the way.

Because with Tryggr , Eben had fought against his father’s words, even as he’d still feared them. For if a Skai could be trusted, after all, then maybe — maybe the rest of it might have been wrong, too.

You never focus on what is important. You waste your talent and your time. You show yourself foolish and weak…

But Tryggr — Tryggr had never treated Eben that way, not once. He’d never thought him or his efforts a waste. Even tonight, even amidst all that hurt and grief, Tryggr hadn’t been harsh or cruel. I’m sorry. Naught personal. Not your fault.

The sobs kept choking from Eben’s throat, his head shaking against his trembling fingers, but Tryggr’s voice kept speaking now, steady and certain and so, so confident. No need to apologize. Don’t speak thus. I’ve got you. Naught to fear.

It was good of you, Ka -esh. Brave as hell. You didn’t need to do it, and you did it anyway. We’re grateful.

And even stronger, sharper, those heady, impossible moments in Eben’s room, with his head in Tryggr’s lap. Good . Real good, Ka -esh. Ach , you’ve got a tight, hot little mouth. Real nice. So good and tight and sweet, so pretty with a Skai in your mouth…

But beyond that, even strongest of all, was still that day in the sickroom, when Tryggr had come to ask for Eben’s tonic. For Eben’s work. When he’d looked Eben in the eye, and spoken those impossible, unthinkable words, words Eben would never forget.

It’s good work, Ka -esh. Real good. Your pa was a fool for not seeing how good you are at your work. An ’ how important it is, too.

Your pa was a fool. It’s good work. Real good.

The words rang around and around in Eben’s skull, behind his scratchy eyes, curling into his empty-feeling chest. It’s good work. Real good.

And amidst his hollow, aching exhaustion, Eben could somehow, almost… agree. It was good work. It was. He’d seen how it had helped Duff . He’d seen how it had helped countless other patients, orcs, women, orclings. And that truth — that help — wasn’t something his father could ever take from him.

His father had been… wrong.

Never trust a Skai , the grating voice chanted, but Eben shook his head, and drew in a deep, dragging breath. Because maybe… maybe his father had been wrong about that too, after all. Even if Tryggr hadn’t wanted Eben , or hadn’t even liked him — he’d still been so kind. So consistently generous. He’d looked out for Eben , he’d helped him, he’d praised him.

If nothing else, Tryggr had been… a friend. A real friend, who could be trusted, and relied upon.

And that, too, was something else Eben was sure about. Even if his own perceptions couldn’t be trusted, Tryggr had still been a true friend to Alma . To Duff . Even to Drafli , doing all that miserable work in the scullery, seeking to support his boss in a time of great personal difficulty, and helping to make his new woman feel at home.

And yes, even Drafli had trusted Tryggr . The fiercest, most fearsome Skai in the mountain had trusted Tryggr alone with his woman, for days and days on end. And Tryggr had returned that trust with hard work, and with care, and with kindness.

Never trust a … began the voice, but Eben shook his head, and curled up on the bunk.

Your pa was a fool. It’s good work. Real good.

He somehow slept like that, alone on the hard cold stone, breathing the scents of his father, his lost home. He even dreamt of his father, of his father speaking, speaking, speaking, hurling his conviction and his fear at his small, cowering child. A child who finally raised his wet, miserable face, and whispered, It is good work, Father . It is.

When Eben awoke again, his head still ached, his eyes puffy and gritty, his throat still raw from his weeping. But the emptiness in his chest had shifted, somehow, settled into a strange, unfamiliar certainty.

It was good work. It had been a good choice. He had worked hard, and done his best.

But then — he blinked, rubbed his face — a scent. A familiar scent. A scent he’d never expected to taste this close again, still whispering of… him.

“ Tryggr ?” he croaked, toward the door — and in a flash of movement, Tryggr indeed lurched into view. Hovering in the doorway with an odd, jerky intensity, his forehead furrowed, his face pale.

“ Sorry to bother you, Ka -esh,” he said, his voice rough. “ But there’s been a bit of a mess up above, and I was wondering if you might be willing to —”

He broke off there, wincing, but Eben was already shoving himself up in bed, and nodding. Tryggr had been a friend. A gift. And Eben would never, ever forget that, as long as he lived.

“ Ach , I am happy to help,” he said, and he meant it. “ Aught that you need. Always .”