Chapter 11
Eleven
Everyone went off to work shortly thereafter except for Sigurd. They were going to fix the roof today. Once all had departed, he watched Sigurd swallow a tincture in a little glass bottle. “What is that for?”
Sigurd swallowed the single mouthful and corked the bottle up again, setting it on the sideboard to wash.
“I’m not sure what’s all in it, but I’m allergic to something here.
Grim thinks it’s the mold from the roof.
It makes me sneezy when I’m here all day, when the sun shines on the roof.
And I’m allergic to sawdust, which is just excellent luck for a carpenter, eh?
So, Der compounded this to help my allergies. ”
“Well, that won’t do,” Makellos said, glancing up at the patchy roof. “Hopefully taking out the moldy pieces today will help with that.”
“I hope so,” said Sigurd with a chuckle. “Hey, are you really all right? I know my brother can be a handful sometimes, and he’s a dreadful flirt.”
“Oh!” Makellos said, laughing a bit. “I’m all right, I promise. I… I just have never… done any of that… before…” His voice grew softer and softer.
“Really?” Sigurd asked as they headed for the nearby creek to collect reeds for the thatch. “A handsome buck like you? You didn’t have all of the young men and ladies chasing after you?”
“If they did, they never told me about it,” Makellos said with a huffy breath.
“But then, my mother was so severe, I didn’t really ever consider taking a lover to bed.
Any time I became close to a servant or someone in the palace, they would be sent away.
My mother didn’t want me to have friends ‘beneath me.’”
Sigurd clucked his tongue. “And with no siblings, that would be everyone else.”
“Yes,” Makellos said with a sigh, running his fingers through his dark hair. “It was quite the lonely life sometimes.”
“But now you have seven of us,” Sigurd said with a gleam in his hazel eyes.
“That I do,” Makellos said. “Tell me about you. And your brother. Where are you from?”
“Our family is actually from Hallin,” said Sigurd as they reached the creek and began to cut at the reeds. “But Sigmund and I have always lived in Falchovari. Our family were carpenters.”
“Der said you made the furniture in the cottage,” Makellos said, glad to be able to connect those together. “It’s all incredibly beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Sigurd said, giving Makellos a bright grin reminiscent of Sigmund’s. “My brother and I were the only little people in our family. My father never treated us any different than any of his other children. We learned a trade, we got an education, we got married.”
“You were married?” Makellos asked in surprise.
“I was,” Sigurd said, his eyes on his work so Makellos couldn’t see the pain in his face. “I had a wife and a beautiful daughter. They… they actually were in a terrible accident only a year before the Queen rounded us up, and they both passed away. They might have been executed otherwise.”
“I’m so sorry,” Makellos said softly. “You must miss them terribly.”
“Every day,” Sigurd said, then cleared his throat as his eyes started to mist. “I might have remarried one day. Sigmund, he wasn’t married, but he was engaged.
His fiancé was a local farm boy, but of regular height.
It was lucky for them they were not married yet, or who knows what might have happened to him. ”
“Do you know where he is now?” Makellos asked.
Sigurd shook his head. “No. We’re not allowed communication from the outside.” He said it with such loathing that Makellos actually flinched. “I’m sure he’s moved on by now. Twenty-two winters is a long time to wait for someone to return.”
“What about the others?” Makellos asked.
“Hardwic and Der were both married, but I know their families were all executed,” Sigurd said softly.
“Bernhardt was always an old bachelor, more concerned with his career. He was an actor, you know. And Dagobert was only six when he was taken from his family. It’s a miracle he was sent to the mines instead of executed. ”
Makellos shuddered. A six-year-old in the mines. The fact that he survived was in itself another miracle. He counted off the little men in his head. “What about Grimwald?”
“Ah, yes.” Sigurd said it in such a way that Makellos thought maybe he wouldn’t say anything more, but after a long silence, he said, “Grim’s lost the most of all of us, I’d say. He had a wife and five little children. All of them small.”
“Five children!” Makellos breathed in surprise.
“Yes. Even had a sixth one on the way when it happened. His… his whole family was wiped out, from his wife, down to the littlest babe.” Sigurd glanced up at Makellos. “Just… don’t tell him I told you, huh? It still hurts like a fresh wound.”
Makellos nodded numbly. A wife, five children, another on the way, all gone, and Grimwald had been unable to stop it. The man’s prickly demeanor and unwillingness to become close to someone suddenly made a whole lot more sense. “I can’t even imagine what he must be going through.”
“They were dark days for all of us,” Sigurd said, standing straight to stretch out his back. “But especially that.”
“I know they are only words, but I am so sorry for what you and the others went through,” Makellos said, a tear slipping down his cheek and falling off the end of his nose to plop into the creek.
Sigurd shook his head. “It means a lot. We don’t blame you, you know. Shit, you weren’t even born when this happened. It was your cunt of a mother, if you’ll pardon my language.”
Makellos laughed softly. “I have never heard anyone call her that before, but it is definitely applicable.”
They made their way home and spent much of the morning and afternoon patching the roof.
Sigurd got a face full of straw at one point and sneezed so hard he nearly tipped the ladder backwards.
Makellos caught him by the front of his collar and pulled him forward again so he was balanced, but the move brought their faces extremely close together.
Sigurd smirked just a bit. “If you haven’t done the whole fiddle with anyone, does that mean you’ve never kissed anyone either? ”
Makellos’ breath caught in his throat as he looked back into Sigurd’s roguish eyes. It was easy to tell that he and Sigmund were brothers, for they had the same mischievous glint. “I… No, I haven’t.”
“Would you like to?”
“Yes,” Makellos said softly, then quickly shook himself out of the momentary reverie. “I would, but perhaps not while on a roof?”
Sigurd laughed brightly. “Fair enough.”
They finished the roof just as the sun reached the tops of the trees.
They headed back inside, and Sigurd went to wash up while Makellos started on a hearty roast for dinner.
He still wanted to wrangle the vegetable garden, but at least it was plentiful, which was helpful considering how many mouths it had to feed.
Sigurd came out of the bedroom, freshly washed, his chestnut hair still damp.
He was wearing a pair of breeches but nothing else.
Makellos couldn’t help but stare a little curiously.
Sigurd’s torso was relatively large compared to his limbs, but his spine was curved rather sharply, almost seeming to push his torso forward.
“May I be terribly rude and ask if that hurts you?” he asked, gesturing to Sigurd’s back.
Sigurd chuckled. “Sometimes. But I’ve lived with it for almost fifty years. It’s just the way I am.”
Makellos smiled at that. He supposed when one did not have a choice and had known nothing else, being positive was important.
“If I may pry a little further… Bernhardt said that some of you developed relationships with one another over the years. Who… How did…?” Makellos waved a hand, hoping it would articulate what he couldn’t find a tactful way to say.
Sigurd at least caught his meaning. “Ah, well. Sometimes it was just desire and willingness. But Der and Hardwic had something going for a long while.”
“Oh,” said Makellos with a small chuckle. “I could see that.”
Sigurd’s expression changed to a sly smirk. “Yes. I think technically they are still a couple, but with how exhausting things have been recently, they haven’t done much together.”
“What about you?” Makellos asked curiously. “Anyone in particular that you fancy?”
Sigurd’s smirk flickered just a moment, softening into something that looked almost shy, before reverting back to a casual smile that mirrored Sigmund’s usual look. “At the moment, just one.”
“Oh? Who?” Makellos asked curiously.
Sigurd laughed and rubbed the back of his head with his hand. “I don’t think he has really noticed me.”
“Who?” Makellos asked again, giving him a bright smile. An unrequited love was certainly romantic in his eyes. “Have you told him how you feel?”
“Oh, it’s quite new,” Sigurd said, narrowing his eyes just a bit at Makellos, his lips curving into another smirk.
Makellos opened his mouth to respond before he realized with a bit of consternation that Sigurd was referring to him.
He cleared his throat, tipping his head down a little so the little black curls at the front of his hair fell forward, giving him a slightly shy look.
“Oh. So, were you serious about that kiss?”
Sigurd blinked, then grinned, walking over to the bench where Makellos sat. “Serious if you are.”
“And… the others won’t be… upset?” Makellos asked.
Sigurd paused, slotting his torso between Makellos’ knees, his hands resting on the prince’s lower thighs.
“I’m not under the illusion that you like me more than any of the others,” he said, giving Makellos a strangely serious look.
“If what you want is just a bit of fun, whether it’s with me, or any of the others, that is okay.
I can’t speak for anyone but myself, but I’m not the sort to be possessive. I just want to be happy.”
Makellos smiled softly. “I… would just like to be happy too.” He reached up his hands, not quite sure what he was doing, and placed them a bit awkwardly over Sigurd’s bare shoulders to hold him. “Is this all right?”
Sigurd grinned. “Perfect.” His hands reached up to cup Makellos’ cheeks, and he pressed his mouth to the prince’s.
It was soft and sweet, and Makellos kissed him back with a bit of caution, since he had never done more than kiss his own mother on the cheek before.
Sigurd’s hands were rough, but his touch was gentle.
After a moment, he pulled back and gave Makellos a smile. “What do you think?”
Makellos let out a breath as a laugh. “I think I like kissing,” he said softly.
“Good, then I’ll do it again,” Sigurd said, leaning in and pressing their lips together, a little firmer this time.
Makellos closed his eyes, feeling the sweet touch go through his whole body.
His heart gave a happy little hop in his chest, but it also twinged just a little.
Sigurd was so kind, and he was more than happy to kiss him, and maybe even go further than that.
But it felt strangely unfair. All of the others had been just as kind to him, even Grim with his standoffish attitude.
And they weren’t here to all talk about it.
“I like you, Sigurd. A lot. But I also like the others as well, and I don’t want to hurt anyone. Is it all right if we wait until the others are here to discuss… things?”
“Absolutely,” Sigurd said with a small smile. “I know that I am not the only one who has caught feelings for you.”
Makellos’ sea blue eyes blinked. He knew Sigmund, of course, but were the two brothers the only ones? “Who else?”
Sigurd let out a soft snort of laughter through his nose. “Everyone.”
“What?” Makellos demanded in surprise. “No! There’s seven of you!”
“What has that got to do with anything?” Sigurd asked with a shrug. “You are beautiful, you are sweet, you are kind. How could anyone not like you?”
Makellos let out a single uneasy breath of laughter. “I… have not had anyone who liked me in that way before.”
“Perhaps you’re just making up for lost time then,” Sigurd said with a smirk.