Chapter 11
Olly
Ash had fallen asleep.
Olly rolled over, dislodging himself from Ash’s embrace. Ash didn’t seem to notice, merely moving onto his back with a snore.
The noise was so familiar that Olly almost laughed, before the wave of emotion crashed on him, transforming it into a sob. Or a growl.
He should never have given in. He could still feel the ghost of Ash’s kiss on his lips.
It was like being home, like being made whole.
Part of him – the weakest part, the part he hated – had given in.
It had succumbed to the feeling. Do it, it had whispered, in a treacherous voice.
Take it. While you can. He’d kissed Ash back with equal parts passion and hate, the two tangled in his head.
He had been ready to attempt to resist his own desires, but to his shock, Ash had never initiated anything beyond kissing, beyond holding him tight against his chest.
Now that he was able to think more clearly, the hate could triumph. Ash hadn’t even apologised. He hadn’t even acknowledged what he’d done. Describing it as a betrayal wasn’t enough: Ash was a traitor, a vow-breaker, a liar to the core. And he had not even seen fit to mention it.
Outside the tiny, high window the sky was still inky black. Olly shuddered. He was no longer bound – although his wrists were marked where the rope had rubbed his skin – but he was still a prisoner. The whispering breeze that blew in sounded like faraway voices.
Olly slid from the bed. The guards had taken his dagger, but the pouch of coins was still tied to his belt. He pulled them out, spilling them into his hand to ensure there was enough to flee this place.
The ring fell out with them. Even in the dark, it had a glimmer to it.
He peered at it, holding it between thumb and forefinger so it reflected the dying embers of the fire.
At last he knew why he had clung onto it for so long.
His pouch was lighter but his heart was stone as he headed from the room, closing the door behind him.
Outside, he hesitated, leaning against the wood.
His feet stuck. It was like there was a rope tied tight around his heart, one that he thought had been severed years ago.
It had never been severed, just gone slack.
Now, it was pulling him back, tugging him to return to the warmth of the bed and Ash’s arms.
He had to resist. Olly pushed away from the door and headed down the stairs.
The keep seemed deadly quiet. He moved quickly but carefully, pressed against the walls, keeping to the shadows. He headed for the stables, where he picked the finest-looking horse. He was about to mount, when there was a noise from the stable door.
‘What are you doing, Oliver?’
Shit.
Standing there was not, as he expected, Ash, but another member of the household. A tall man with curly hair. Somehow, the man knew his name.
He strode into the stable, shutting and bolting the door behind him.
‘You are attempting to leave?’
Olly stalked forwards to meet him. ‘And what if I am? Get out of my way.’
He had been expecting the man to try to restrain him or to shout for the guards. But he did not. He burst into laughter.
This annoyed Olly more than if he had attempted to stop him. ‘What?’
The man managed to control himself, although a smile still played about his face.
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘You remind me of someone else.’
‘Who?’
The man shrugged infuriatingly. ‘So you intend to leave?’
‘You cannot make me stay!’
Olly was fairly sure about that. The man was taller than him, and armed with an expensive-looking dagger. He was not skinny, but not as muscular as the Barden brothers either. He would be a difficult fight, Olly suspected, but one he would win. Noblemen tended to go down easier.
‘I probably cannot.’ The man appeared unthreatened. ‘But I can try.’
‘And why would you do that?’
‘Because I care for Ash. I was under the impression that you did, too.’
Olly glowered at him. ‘Who are you?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘It does.’
The man sighed. ‘Ash is … difficult. I know that. But I love him as a brother. Let us say that I am returning a favour to him. You cannot go. Not like this. He needs you.’
‘He does not need me,’ Olly said. ‘Now move.’
He shoved forwards, attempting to push the man aside.
And then there was a vice around his wrist. Before he could move, the man twisted him about, kicked a foot between Olly’s boots and sent him tumbling to the floor.
The horses whinnied at the sudden noise as Olly cursed, winded by the collision with the stone.
The man did not pause, straddling him with his arm pinned painfully behind his back, forcing him down.
Olly blew a foul-smelling clump of straw away from his face. The man gripped him harder.
‘He loves you, you stupid man,’ he huffed.
Olly shook his head. ‘He does not.’ It was all he could manage.
The man seemed to be growing bored of him – or frustrated. ‘He does. Come inside, come with me, and we can … talk.’
‘Talk?’ Olly scoffed, wriggling against the floor. ‘Really?’
‘Just talk. And if you stand by this choice, then by all means I will let you go. In fact if you do not love him in return, then I ask you to go, if only to save Ash even more heartbreak.’
‘Of course I do not love him.’
Olly spat it out as quickly as he could, but even then, his treacherous mouth fumbled over the words. The man did not seem convinced.
‘Please,’ he said, exasperated. ‘I will not take you to Ash. You have my word. But you cannot leave until you understand exactly what it is – who it is – you are leaving behind. Please.’
He seemed sincere. Olly had learned sincerity these past few years; it had saved his life more than once.
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Fine. But you swear you will not take me to Ash?’
‘I swear. Come.’
The man finally released him, reaching down to haul him to his feet.
‘Wait …’ Olly gave chase as the man pushed open the stable door and headed into the courtyard. ‘What is your name?’
But the man was already halfway across the yard.
Olly cursed, then jogged to reach him. The man didn’t break his stride at all, leading him inside.
As he took him through the great hall towards a side room, the promise he had made not to lead him directly back to Ash seemed dubious.
He was being duped, he realised. He was being walked directly back towards his nightmare, and worse: he was allowing it.
As if reading his thoughts, the other man glanced at him, then reached out, and in a surprisingly firm grip took Olly’s arm.
‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘Don’t.’
He shoved open the door of the side room. There was another person here, and Olly’s first thought was that he had been tricked – but the man beside the fire stood and he realised at once that, despite the strong familial resemblance, this was not Ash.
‘Please,’ Raff said sombrely. ‘Sit.’
He gestured to another chair beside him by the roaring fire. The curly-haired man finally released him and, cautiously, Olly sat.
Raff watched him. In the flash of his eyes, Olly could see Ash. It was unsettling. Finally, he spoke.
‘Can I offer you a drink?’
Olly blinked. ‘What?’
‘A drink? Wine is all we have, though.’ He gestured towards a jug sat on the opposite table. Olly eyed it nervously. ‘It is just wine,’ Raff added. ‘Come, do not think I intend to poison you.’
Olly relented. ‘Thank you.’
Raff did not move, but the other man quickly poured drinks for them both – and himself, Olly noted – before moving to stand again in front of the door.
Ah, Olly realised. A guard.
Raff took a drink, gesturing for Olly to do the same.
‘You were trying to leave, then?’ he said.
The wine was good, and strong. ‘Yes,’ Olly said, keeping his gaze.
‘Why?’
‘What?’
‘Why are you leaving? Why now?’
Olly gripped the mug harder. ‘He is getting married.’
Raff’s knuckles, too, were turning white. ‘He loves you.’
This again. Olly could nearly laugh. ‘He does not love me,’ he said, voice hollow.
‘Do you know what happened when Ash came home?’ Raff spat.
‘Of course you don’t. He was dragged here, his face in ruins, his body racked with rot, babbling about you, always you.
I didn’t even know who you were! But all he said, over and over, was your name.
Even when we thought he was going to die, that was all he could say. ’
‘I—’
Raff cut him off. ‘Do you know what losing you did to him? How broken he was? It has been years, and you follow him around like a damn ghost, and suddenly you return only to … what? Break him again?’
‘But I—’
‘I do not care for your excuses. I know …’ Raff’s voice shuddered.
There was a creak, and Olly snapped around. The man by the door had appeared to move, before thinking better of it.
‘I know that whatever happened to you out there must have been Hell,’ Raff continued. ‘But my duty is to Ash. I love him, and I have not watched him suffer for so many years just to sit back and do nothing as he stands on the edge of that darkness again. I refuse.’
Olly’s hands were shaking. He quickly put the cup down beside the chair to prevent it spilling. Raff’s words seemed sincere, but they clashed against the reality that Olly knew: the truth which clearly Ash had never seen fit to spread, for some dark reason of his own.
‘I know he loved you,’ Raff was saying. ‘He never stopped loving you. Ever. And I do not know if you ever cared for him, or if you even reciprocated that love. Back then, I assumed you had. And now I do not know.’
Raff’s words caught in Olly’s chest, like barbs. He looked up. His body was trembling with bright white rage.
‘You don’t know,’ he hissed. ‘You don’t know! How dare you say he loved me – that he still loves me – when he … when he …’
He was on his feet. He could not remember standing.
‘When he what?’ Raff was staring up at him, expression calm.
‘He could have found me. He could have come for me and he didn’t. He left me. I was trapped, and I was a prisoner, and he left me to rot.’