Chapter Fourteen #2
Sweat trickled down Cador’s spine, the sun lower in the sky and beaming straight at his face. He gulped mead, choking down a belch at the last second. Jem’s father was talking about Glaw and the drought and how blessed they were in Neuvella’s royal district and praise the gods.
“We must pray to the gods that the rest of Onan returns to their favor.” This husky, slightly hoarse droning voice was familiar.
Cador had to look down to find the speaker—the head cleric who’d married him to Jem. How long had the old bitch been standing there? What was her name again? Ysella. And why was Jem still talking to that man?
“The sooner we can build a proper temple on Ergh, the more blessings the gods will bestow,” Ysella said.
Despite the heat, an icy shiver rippled through Cador. There it was, Tas’s prediction come true. Jem’s parents and the other people crowding around nodded and spoke their agreement while he bit his tongue so he didn’t bellow that it would happen over his rotting corpse.
Sweat stung his eyes, and his face was surely scarlet.
How did everyone else seem so at ease? His shirt clung to his lower back, and he stood there nodding every so often, not listening as the old cleric went on and on about the gods.
He should have paid attention so he could report it all to Tas, but blood rushed in his ears.
His skin itched with too many curious gazes.
And Jem laughed again!
Muttering a half apology that was more of a grunt, he strode past the fountain, grateful for the spray of cool mist on his flushed skin.
The borrowed boots felt flimsy compared to his own, the breeches too tight.
He longed for his trousers and tunic and a spear in his grasp, cursing the sun and holding up a hand to block it.
He almost marched right into Jem and the slender man, blinded for a moment in the tree’s thick shade after the glare. Jem’s smile froze, then vanished as Cador barked at the man, “Fuck off.”
Immediately squeezing between them, Jem glared up at Cador. “What is the matter with you?”
“Me? You’re the one getting cozy with this, this—” He sneered at the man, who watched with a placid expression. His mind whirled trying to find the best insult.
Jem poked him in the belly. Hard. “ This is Arthek, Santo’s husband.”
Oh. “Oh.” Cador clenched and re-clenched his hands, the fury smothered by embarrassment. “Oh.”
Jem smiled too brightly. “And now everyone is watching and gossiping, and you are making a spectacle of yourself. And me. So now you will laugh, and we’ll pretend you aren’t a complete jackass.” He laughed himself despite the ice in his tone, shoulders shaking. “You see? Like that.”
Arthek chuckled and smiled, and Jem shot him a grateful glance that Cador coveted for himself. He imagined the old cleric’s face if he belched during her sermon. His laugh boomed as though they’d shared a hilarious jest. But it had been too loud, and now all eyes were most definitely on them.
Santo appeared, speaking through their smile. “And what’s going on here?” They’d changed into different skirts paired with a tight leather vest that Cador would have loved to wear himself if not for the blasted sun.
Arthek drew Santo into a kiss. “Merely a misunderstanding.” He extended his hand to Cador. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Cador had to shake the man’s hand or make himself out to be an even bigger prick. Ugh, what a child he was being. It was shameful. He didn’t deserve Arthek’s understanding. He clasped his hand, then gratefully took another cup of mead from a passing tray.
Jem wouldn’t meet his gaze, instead murmuring to Arthek, “I’m sorry. I have no idea what got into him.”
Cador bristled despite his intentions, gripping his cup. “ He was only…” There was no good way to finish the sentence, so he swallowed more mead.
Santo frowned. “What?”
“A bit jealous, perhaps,” Arthek said with annoying kindness.
Laughing genuinely, Santo almost snorted. “I assure you, there’s nothing to fear from my Arthy. He’s all mine and I’m his.” The two of them shared a look so affectionate Cador felt sick with a different jealousy.
Someone announced that the feast would begin, so they slowly made their way inside. Cador was grateful for the coolness, at least. He felt like they were crawling as he kept pace with Jem, who stared straight ahead.
“I’m sorry,” Cador murmured. “I have no right to jealousy.”
Jem glanced at him, frowning. He seemed ready to say something but only nodded curtly.
As at the Holy Place, this feast was held in a hall with vast murals, though there were even more fancy statues and strange objects everywhere Cador looked.
And the food! He’d thought the wedding feast was extravagant, but somehow they managed to top it with the amount of roasted meats and countless dishes Cador couldn’t even recognize.
Sitting with Jem to his right at the end of the royal table, he whispered, “How did the cook make all of this in a day?” Though people spoke and tinkly music played, it seemed so quiet compared to a feast at home. If he didn’t whisper, he was sure everyone would hear his stupid questions.
“Feverish work and a large staff, I imagine. Though we usually eat well.” He twirled his fork in a bowl of long strands that looked something like worms. “I never even thought about it before leaving.”
Cador missed the simple freedom of eating with his hands. He tried to twirl his fork in the strange dish and splashed bright red sauce onto Jem’s silk sleeve. Reaching to blot it, he knocked a mug of mead, which tipped, spreading dark wine over the oak table. “Fuck!”
Everyone heard that judging by the stares and whispers.
Biting back more curses, he blotted uselessly at the spill with his hand until servants appeared out of nowhere and cleaned it all with quick, efficient movements.
Cador sucked mead from one of his fingers before realizing what he was doing.
Giggles skittered through the grand hall.
Beside him, Jem ate like nothing had happened, though Cador spotted the flush on his cheeks.
Cador was humiliating him, and all at once he wanted to shove back his chair and shout that nothing here was real.
Fuck politeness and fluffy bread baked in the shape of fish.
Children were dying, and he was sitting here pretending… what?
That he wasn’t a barbarian like they thought? Why did he fucking care what these pampered mainlanders believed? If only Tas and Delen and the others were with him. He’d sat through the feast after his wedding without feeling like he wanted to climb out of his own skin.
But everything had been different then. He hadn’t given a fuck what the mainlanders thought of him. Least of all Jem. He’d been doing his duty to Ergh. What was he doing now?
He shoved back his chair.
Jem’s small hand gripped his wrist. The buttons of Cador’s silk shirt dug into the thin layer of flesh over bone. Eyes forward, Jem spoke so softly Cador had to lean down.
“Please.”
With that one word, Cador’s confused anger drained away. He inched his chair back toward the table and bit the head off a bread fish. It was light and crumbly and delicious, and he ordered himself to enjoy it.
Jem let go of his wrist, and immediately Cador missed the pressure. He sat with legs wide under the table, and if he leaned his knee toward Jem to touch his thigh, would Jem allow it?
Awkwardly, he used his fork and knife to cut off a piece of roasted chicken. He was acting like a boy with his first crush, not a grown man with a husband. Still, that husband might as well have been on the other side of Onan. Cador wasn’t allowed to touch.
By the time the old cleric, Ysella, stood—her shoulders so stooped she could have still been sitting—during the dessert course and started sermonizing, Cador was ready to run down to the stables and ride away on Dybri.
His skin crawled with the weight of hundreds of eyes on him, though when he glanced around, most people were paying attention to the cleric.
“Heard enough from this woman to last a lifetime,” he muttered under his breath.
“Mm.” Jem barely moved his mouth, his gaze on the cleric. He fidgeted, running a hand through his hair though it looked perfectly neat.
There were dozens of other clerics at a table near the royals, and they appeared mesmerized by Ysella. For her wrinkled, tiny appearance, her voice filled the vast space.
“We thank the generous and all-knowing gods for blessing us with this feast. We pray for the droughts elsewhere in Onan to end swiftly and for Glaw to bestow us with the autumn rains. Here, the queen has clearly pleased the gods in service of her people. In service of Onan.” There was a murmur of agreement, and Jem’s mother smiled and inclined her head.
If the clerics visited King Perran in the West, would Ysella be praising him just as much?
Was anything she said true? Cador fiddled with a delicate pastry butterfly, and the treat crumbled into a pile on his plate.
As at the wedding, there were piles of fruit, though fewer sevels. Had the fields burned?
“There are some who will say Ergh is to blame for angering the gods.” Ysella’s voice rang out.
Naturally, all eyes swiveled to Cador. He forced himself to remain motionless and his gaze distant.
“But how can we blame our lost children who wish to return to the fold? How can we not do everything we can to welcome them as part of Onan? It is our duty to the gods, and we will be rewarded for it.”
Children ? Resentment vibrated through Cador, his nostrils flaring.
He wanted to leap to his feet and bellow that they didn’t need the mainland’s fucking charity, but they did.
If Ysella decided to turn the people against Ergh, it was hopeless.
They needed the people’s sympathy. Their pity. And he hated it so much.
He hated also that his face was surely bright red, his cheeks flaming hot with humiliation and useless anger. All eyes were still on him, and he realized that many people watched him eagerly as though waiting for something. Waiting for him to explode. Waiting for him to act the barbarian.
So he sat, flattening his palms on his thighs and counting his breaths, tuning out the rest of Ysella’s sermon and imagining he was home.
Imagining he was on the hunt, riding Massen with cold wind reddening his cheeks.
Returning to the cottage to find Jem in the little aviary with new hatchlings, jumping up into Cador’s arms to kiss him…
He should have smothered such fantasies, but he allowed himself the distraction until the feast was mercifully over and he could escape. He followed Jem upstairs, only realizing at the last moment that Jem would be staying alone in his old chamber.
Cador had followed blindly, jolting to a stop in the doorway as Jem’s palm met his chest, his arm outstretched. That touch through silk had Cador’s heart galloping foolishly. Could Jem feel how he affected him?
Fuck, even if Jem couldn’t sense the thud of his heart, the bulge of Cador’s desire in the stupidly tight breeches was impossible to miss.
Jem’s eyes flicked down and widened. His lips parted, pink tongue visible. Cador burned to bend and finally kiss him again. To taste his sweet mouth and hold him close, protect him from the world that seemed to lurch out of control.
Their eyes locked, and Cador’s mouth went dry at the raw hunger in Jem’s honey gaze, the—
A thud from the corridor made them both jump, and before Cador knew it, Jem had shut the door in his face. Someone—a servant?—approached, and Cador ducked into the chamber Santo had prepared for them.
He tugged off the thin boots and wriggled his sore toes. Simmering with tension and frustration and longing, he tore off the Neuvellan clothing, relieved to find a pile of plainer garments in a neat pile on the end of the massive bed.
They were still finer than anything he’d ever worn on Ergh, but the material was more practical and the colors dark. He pulled on black trousers that were so tight they were practically breeches and looked around for the proper boots he’d asked for.
Apparently they weren’t finished yet since he found nothing. He only wanted to go for a walk and clear his head, but he had to put on the ridiculous high boots again.
Fuck, he ached for his spear and horse and home and the comfort of his damn boots. He ached for the comfort of the man he loved more than anything. Jem was painfully close and still lost to him.
He paced restlessly on the soft carpet. When would Tas and Jory return? What of Delen and Kensa and the others? Poor suffering Hedrok. Would he die before Cador could see him again? He’d wasted so much time when he could have been a comfort to his nephew.
Jem’s mother had insisted pretending all was well at the feast was necessary to soothe the people. But wasn’t it past time to lay all the lies bare? If she threw Cador in the dungeon for his betrayal of her favorite child, so be it.
Before he could think twice, he was throwing open the door to Jem’s chamber clad only in the black trousers, ready to insist they rouse the queen and get the fuck on with it.
Yet those words turned to dust as his throat went dry. He stared at Jem on the bed. Leaning back against a pile of pillows, wearing only his thin white nightshirt, the hem up around his hips. His slim prick in hand, one of his books open beside him.
A waiting candle resting on the pink sheets.