10. Leoric
Chapter 10
Leoric
I shook my head as I marveled at my brand new door, or at least one better than the flimsy abomination I’d created with my own two hands. Riggs fiddled with the planks, placing the finishing touches. He stood up, stood back, and grunted with satisfaction at a job well done.
“This is incredible work, Riggs.” I clapped him on the shoulder, leveling him with my stare. “Genuinely, you have my thanks. I couldn’t be more grateful.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, smiling as he avoided my gaze. “It’s honestly no bother. Happy to help where I can.”
Riggs tested the door again, catching a glimpse inside my cabin as it swung open a crack. His cheeks burned bright red.
“I, uh, I should go. It’s quite late. See you in the morning.”
Before I could even answer he’d picked up his tools and trotted back to the path. I clenched my teeth, trying to contain my irritation. Why was everyone making such a fuss of the fact that I now had a temporary house guest?
An extremely unwelcome one, too. I stepped into my cabin, sighing at the comforting warmth of my home, and almost groaning when I caught sight of the very thing that had caused Riggs to make a run for it.
Orphium had stripped himself to the waist, cleaning himself with a wet rag and fresh water from a bucket. How had I not noticed him traipsing out to the well to fetch his own water? Seemed suspicious to me. Orphium was exactly the type of person who’d expect someone else to do all the fetching.
What I did notice, however, was the very fetching leanness of his torso. The man did a fine job of hiding a fine body under all that ridiculous clothing.
Yet the athletic definition of his form made no sense. What part of his day led to him building so much muscle in his chest, his arms? What part of performing his stupid magic tricks led to carving those touchable ridges down his stomach, the lines that slid from his waist and down under the belt line of his —
“Are you just going to stand there and stare at me?” Orphium huffed. “Shut the door. It’s cold out.”
I cleared my throat, feeling my skin go hot, praying that I didn’t blush as obviously as Riggs had at the sight of this surprising specimen. I frowned hard — the quickest way for me to turn my pleasure into displeasure — and began to take off my boots.
“Riggs used to be a woodworker before he joined the town guard. Volunteered for it, I would say, except that becoming a guard came more out of necessity. He seems to like his work either way, but he’s definitely very good at carpentry. I can’t believe he secured the door so quickly.”
Orphium huffed again. “And you never considered asking him to secure you a better bed? A bigger one, at least?”
Something in my face twitched, a muscle that had never learned to twitch before Orphium came to Barrowdeep. How was I supposed to survive even one night with this horrible, disagreeable creature? I set my boots in the corner of the room, my mood already darkening.
“I don’t see why you’re so concerned about the state of my bed,” I said, keeping my voice quiet, my tone calm. The better to annoy him. Orphium loved mischief, clearly enjoying every opportunity to get a reaction, to stoke someone else’s ire. “You certainly won’t be sleeping in it, for one thing.”
He stopped mid-scrub, his mouth falling open. “Are you out of your mind? Where do you expect me to sleep, then?”
I picked up a thick brown cylinder from the corner of the room, something I hadn’t used in a long time. I slammed it against the wall a few times, knocking the dust loose.
“Careful with that,” Orphium snapped. ”It’s like you’re trying to wake the dead.”
I threw him a small but triumphant grin. “You’d know something about that, now, wouldn’t you?”
The tips of his sharp elfin ears turned bright red with shame, perhaps anger. Gods, it felt so good to give him a taste of his own bitter medicine. And yet — and yet it made him so fetching, the little spots of crimson that appeared on his cheeks, that bloomed in the center of his pale chest.
I tossed the cylinder onto the floor, where it wheezed out one last puff of ancient dust. Its straps came loose as it rolled out into an oblong roughly tall and wide enough to fit a man.
Orphium pursed his lips and crooked one trembling finger at the floor. “What — is that?”
“You’ve traveled the land, haven’t you? Lived a life on the road? Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a bedroll before.”
Made of old hide and weathered leather, padded here and there with cloth. The ancient thing was far from comfortable, but on the road, or worse, in the midst of war, comfort wasn’t nearly as important as finding meager scraps of sleep.
“But it’s so — hideous,” Orphium said, nudging the bedroll with the toe of one foot, as if checking on an animal carcass. “And it looks so uncomfortable. And itchy. It’s probably smelly, too.”
I shrugged. “You’re more than welcome to trudge all the way back to the plaza and sleep in your caravan instead.”
“No,” he said, an odd expression struggling to make itself known on his face. Was that a smile? Why was it so terrifying? “I have to stay here, just like the priest said.”
“His name is Father Whiston,” I said, cocking an eyebrow, wondering at Orphium’s sudden change in demeanor. Was this a fae thing, this flightiness, how his mood seemed to shift so swiftly? “And if you’re quite done washing, I’d like a turn with that bucket, too.”
Orphium patted himself dry, then picked up the bucket by the handle. “I’ll draw you some water,” he announced, almost a little too loudly for my benefit, then strolled across the room and straight out the front door.
“Don’t bring back any ghouls, now,” I called out.
Or a cold, for that matter. He’d sauntered outdoors in nothing but his trousers. The fae could feel cold, couldn’t they? Nothing in the books back home said otherwise. Perhaps I’d misjudged him.
As a fae of the Dawning Court, he would be attuned to summer and sunshine. Perhaps Orphium bore warmth on the inside. But that couldn’t be it. His odd expressions, the false platitudes, the way his mood shifted so quickly between anger and delight — something was off. Missing. Hollow.
The door swung open again, the bucket in Orphium’s hand so full it was close to sloshing all over the floorboards. There it was again, his smile that was so clearly plastered on, as if designed to appeal, or possibly to appease.
In fact, this whole thing about drawing water from the well didn’t sit right with me, either. At what point had Orphium shown any capacity for doing something without gain? But it wouldn’t serve to hurl accusations at a man I was meant to spend the night with, especially one who knew how to handle a dagger.
A man I was meant to spend the night with . Again I could feel my ears burning. Orphium must have noticed the same, his eyebrow hitching up his forehead.
“Something the matter, shovel man? Does it amuse you to see me lower myself in this way?” He set down the bucket and smirked, sliding his hand down the unbearably tantalizing front of his torso. “Or is there something else about me that amuses you?”
I cleared my throat even louder than before. I stuttered some stupid excuse about it being late as I pulled my tunic over my head, hoping that changing out of my shirt would serve long enough for my embarrassment to subside. I could spend the entire night moaning over Orphium, but even I had to admit that he had a beautiful face, along with a beautiful body.
I could spend the entire night moaning over Orphium.
Something in my breeches kicked. I cursed the stirring interest of my cock, tensing my muscles as I commanded it to stop hardening. Gods, how long had it been since I’d been touched? How long since I’d touched myself, for that matter?
My shirt came off at last, and Orphium came back into view. He’d slipped on something soft and silky, a long lavender tunic meant for sleeping, crisscrossed laces forming a network over his chest — hiding too much of his chest. I tried not to look too hard. I especially tried not to look too disappointed.
I picked up a clean rag, taking my time to soak it in the bucket, wring it out again, knowing that doing so would cause certain parts of my anatomy to tighten, others to bulge. I was right, of course, because Orphium couldn’t stop staring .
“The only thing I find amusing about you is your immaturity. Dancing about like a jester, making pops and bangs with your magic. Why not channel your essence into something useful?”
I dragged the wet rag along the back of my neck, tilting my head as I watched him watch me, relishing the slow, angered reddening of his cheeks.
“This is useful, or have you never heard of the value of the arts?” He jabbed a finger at his chest. “Creativity soothes the soul. Laughter is as balm for the weary people of Barrowdeep.”
Soak the rag, wring the rag again. I chuckled, as derisive as I could be. “You really do know how to make your words so pretty. Which is quite funny, thinking back, because ‘Explodia’ sounds like an extremely stupid spell word, indeed.”
Orphium stamped his foot, his hands balled into trembling fists. “No, it’s not. It might mean nothing, but it rolls off the tongue, drops the jaw, widens the eyes. It’s all about applause and showmanship. Smoke and mirrors, curtains and lights — not that you would know anything about that.”
This time I left the rag sopping wet, letting it dribble down my chest, down the muscles of my torso. Orphium struggled to look away, but his eyes wouldn’t obey him. The lump in his throat bobbed as he swallowed. This was delectable, locking him into an argument he couldn’t refuse, forcing him to show me without words just how much he wanted me.
“I know a thing or two about smoke and mirrors,” I said, “which is a very generous way to describe your parlor tricks. That shell game you played with Hertrude. The player never actually wins the game, do they?”
He crossed his arms and sniffed. “Sure, they do. My games are always fair. In fact, I’d say they’re constantly tipped in the player’s favor. Everybody wins.”
“Except for you.” I took two steps forward. Orphium took two steps back, stopping when the back of his legs brushed against the edge of my bed. “What’s in it for you, Orphium of the Dawning Court?”
He gnawed on his bottom lip. “It’s a game of skill, player against me. Three cups and a ball, the attentiveness of their eyes against the deftness of my hands.” He held those hands up, fingers long and elegant, and parted them. “Again, I ask you. Where’s the harm in that?”
“Met a few men from Whiteport on the road myself. You know why they call it a shell game, don’t you? That was how they played it, not with cups nor bowls, but with beautiful shells, gathered from the gleaming shores of Whiteport when the tide goes out.”
I took one step forward. Orphium took one step back, but had nowhere left to retreat. He fell onto the bed.
“They showed me the shells, too, these men of Whiteport, showed me how to play the game honestly, and then the way you might be doing it. Very pretty things, those shells, polished by the ocean, pale blues and pinks and periwinkles. Is that all you are, Orphium of the Dawning Court? A pretty thing come to shine your light on Barrowdeep?”
I swept the rag down beneath the belt line of my breeches, making contact with the most indecent parts of myself. Gods, I was practically touching myself — barely, but my cock was already tingling with excitement, thrilled to be acknowledged.
His hand rested on my stomach, long fingers and soft palm pressing against the taut muscle. I was suddenly so very close to losing my own game. He looked up through his wild wisps of lovely hair, through impossibly long lashes. Orphium shoved.
I stumbled backward, clutching at the ache in my stomach, glowering at being so rudely rebuffed. Gods, did I actually want it that badly? What did I actually want from him? Orphium rose from the bed, his smile growing and growing as he spoke.
“And what of you and your origins, Leoric? Quite cagey about your background now, aren’t you? A man who knows his letters, a man who knows too much about my kind. You know far more than you’re letting on.”
He folded his hands behind his back and tilted his head off to the side, peering around my shoulder at the mirror resting against the wall.
“My shield,” I growled. “The only thing left from all the fighting.”
“Not the only thing,” he replied. “That shovel of yours is no ordinary tool for digging. Far too balanced for fighting. And the funny thing about this shield of yours — that crest in the center.”
I clenched my teeth, clenched my fists, and lifted my chin. “What of it? It’s common enough for a soldier to carry his lord’s symbol into battle.”
Orphium nodded. “His lord, and his father. ”
I froze in place, every muscle tense, water cooling on my skin. Orphium slipped past me, hands clasped behind his waist as he bent low, observing the shield.
“Excellent craftsmanship. Inlaid metalwork, is it not? Everything formed meticulously into shape. A stone wall. Beautiful detail. I can see every brick. Only painted wooden shields for commoners, obviously. But you? The son of a powerful man? Ah. Only the very best for a lordling.”
My lips drew back as I stalked toward him. “Now you listen here, fae — ”
“No. You listen to me, Leoric Stonesguard.”
I gasped. A name I thought I’d never hear again. I inhaled slowly, steadily. “How did you know? Did my father send you?”
Orphium chuckled, an echo of my tone from before. “That’s the problem with you humans. You think that you’re the only ones entitled to know about the other peoples of Aidun. We have our ways, too. And no, I’ve never even met your father, nor any of his men.”
I frowned. “Then how?”
He waved his hand. “You know as well as I do. You learn things on the road. Heraldry happens to be one of them, as it turns out. Not as nefarious as you think. Battered soldiers, weary warriors, all dragging themselves home after the fighting — several are too brave, honorable, or stupid to cover up their shields and tabards. You start to learn all the colors and symbols. You start to remember which ones to look out for.”
I knew it. Underneath all of Orphium’s pomp and whimsy was a keen mind .
“And my father’s men? Are they ones to look out for?”
Orphium grinned. “The colors and banners don’t matter once Wagon gets involved. Under my caravan’s wheels, everything becomes a bloody red.”
I grunted with mirthless laughter. Father was never very picky with those he recruited for his petty wars. Thieves, murderers, and worse. It wouldn’t be difficult to argue that some of them deserved their demise, even if Orphium was probably exaggerating his caravan’s kill count.
There were a rare good few who found themselves under my command, but those men turned out too noble and honorable for their own good. Too many I had to bury. In war, as in matters of lords and territorial disputes, the scum would always rise to the top.
“Now, Leoric,” he purred. “I imagine there’s a reason no one in Barrowdeep knows of your true identity.”
My stomach churned. Jeromah, Father Whiston, all the others — none of them would betray me. But one could never be too careful when it came to Ederick Stonesguard.
“I don’t like where this is going,” I growled.
And that was how I found myself crammed into the same bed with the worst person for miles around.