Chapter Seven
C ador refused. He wouldn’t allow it. This weakness was not permitted.
Standing at the ship’s rail, he fought it with his whole being—clenching his muscles, breathing deep into his lungs and blowing out slowly, willing himself to remain strong. Commanding himself to resist. He’d resisted already for hours. He would prevail.
He would not vomit.
Yet as the ship rolled side to side in the merciless sea, his stomach lurched ominously.
The waves weren’t even remarkably high—he’d witnessed far more treacherous conditions from Ergh’s solid ground—yet the motion was unrelenting.
Cador glanced around the deck in the darkening evening.
No one else appeared affected, which made it all the worse.
Not even Jem, which made it fucking shameful.
Jem huddled at the stern, Delen’s fur-lined cloak dwarfing him, pooled around his feet. He’d been there since they left the mainland, gazing back the way they’d come, staring into the white-tipped waves that grew blacker by the minute as the rising moon battled clouds.
How would Cador feel if he’d been forced to stay on the mainland alone, with only the odd, fancy people there? Tas was there, but he was a brave leader. He’d chosen to remain alone rather than ask any of his people to stay away from Ergh longer than necessary. He was the strongest man Cador knew.
There was no denying it—Cador would feel lonely.
Unmoored and adrift. But this hadn’t been his choice.
None of it was. Why should he be responsible for shoring up Jem’s spirits?
Especially when the boy was so thin-skinned.
It wasn’t his problem. Cador hadn’t meant a word of the vows he’d made in the name of the gods before the head cleric.
Mocking him, his left palm itched. He clenched his fist. The constant sting of the brand was fading, the salve and bandage doing its work. Once it was all over, he’d cover the bird’s wings with tusks. He’d blacken his whole palm to erase it if that’s what it took.
He’d keep Jem safe from harm until the time was right for the next step, but there was no reason he should want to comfort him or coax a smile from that pretty mouth. He shouldn’t give a damn for Jem’s happiness. And he wouldn’t. That wasn’t part of this game.
Cador bit back a groan. Now he just had to concentrate on surviving the voyage home without being violently ill. His mouth watered, his head too light. Perhaps he’d find a quiet corner and curl up. The others were gulping ale and making merry, and he wanted no part of it.
A groan escaped this time as Bryok stalked toward the ship’s side where Cador sucked in the salt air.
Of all the times for his brother to deign to speak to him again, it had to be now?
He forced a deep breath through his nose, gripping the wooden railing and willing his head to stop fucking spinning.
Bryok clapped him hard on the back, and Cador clenched his teeth. “Enjoying the voyage?” Bryok asked, looking down at him as if he didn’t know the answer.
When Cador was a boy, he’d dreamed of one day growing taller than his brother, and although he towered over many, he’d never caught up with Bryok. Always seeking and never quite measuring up.
Cador muttered, “Piss off.”
Bryok frowned with false concern. “Something amiss, brother?”
“Not a fucking thing.”
“No, not a thing.” Bryok sneered, and any amusement for Cador’s affliction vanished. “We should be on the mainland taking what we need instead of begging for scraps.”
Perhaps Bryok was right. Instead of playing these games of peace and politics and secretly planning for war, should they give up the pretence? “Tas says—”
“‘ Tas says,’” Bryok mimicked in a high pitch. “Fuck what he says.”
A spray of seawater stung Cador’s wide eyes. He’d often known Bryok to be impatient and surly, but he’d never heard such dagger-sharp resentment. Such hatred.
He schooled his face, keeping his tone calm as he might when Massen was in a foul mood from too many days stuck in the stable after a long blizzard. “I’m as frustrated as you are.”
“Horse shit. You’re too soft. Always have been. You’re only too happy to play nursemaid to that pathetic little prince.”
Jaw tight, Cador dug his blunt nails into the wet wood of the railing. “I’m performing my role as Tas commanded. Nothing more.”
Bryok grumbled something that was lost in a gust of wind.
“Surely you know this isn’t my doing?” He cursed his pleading tone. Why did he care what Bryok thought?
As a boy, of course Cador had wanted to please his parents, but Father and Tas weren’t men who were overly harsh with their children. Pleasing them hadn’t been hard—though Bryok had battled with them even as a child. Cador and Delen had followed the rules.
Bryok kept his beady gaze distant, his voice flat. “What I know is that Tas cares far too fucking much about what is right and just. I will slaughter everyone in Ebrenn if that’s what it takes.”
Cador jerked as if his brother had struck him. “The people are innocent. It is their king who must be conquered. Aligning with Neuvella and Gwels promises a quick surrender. If we can achieve our goal with little or even no bloodshed—”
“I don’t fucking care how it’s done,” Bryok snarled. “I have waited too long already.”
“But we’re greatly outnumbered,” Cador hissed, glancing around. Delen knew the truth, but none of the others journeying home did.
And Jem certainly did not, although what could he do even if Cador confessed the whole plan to him? He was powerless. It was why he wasn’t bound and caged in the ship’s hold—there was no point when he was helpless to stop them. Jem was their prisoner whether he knew it or not.
“Outnumbered by who? Those weak mainlanders? We are mighty hunters. Warriors!”
“Yet we have never been to war!”
“Because we had no cause. No enemy. Now we do. We must take what they have so plentifully in Ebrenn. What they selfishly hoard. We must be the ones with control.” He thumped the railing in emphasis.
“And we will ! But Tas is right. If you tell the enemy what it is you need, they cling to it with all their might. This way, they won’t even know why we truly fight.”
“We would defeat them now even with their numbers. You saw those mainlanders with their silks and jewels and sweet cakes sculpted into fucking butterflies.” He glared toward Jem at the rear of the ship, far enough to be out of earshot, although Bryok wouldn’t care.
“You see him shivering there like a wet kitten. Your husband .”
“Not by choice,” Cador gritted out.
“We always have a choice, brother. He’s yours.”
Cador followed Bryok’s gaze to Jem’s back in Delen’s too-big cloak. My husband . Even in name only, but it was undeniable. Resentment surged like the swell of seawater that lifted the bow of the ship and churned his stomach anew. No amount of pretending would make it go away.
Bryok muttered, “Tas has chosen to be ‘patient.’ To be fucking weak. Father would never stand for it.”
It was true that their father had been a man of swift action. If he was still alive, would they have simply invaded Ebrenn without forming an alliance with the rest of Onan and be done with it? Cador didn’t know.
He sighed. “I know it’s harder for you to wait.” He tried not to think of his nieces and nephews most of the time, but now he had to, especially Hedrok. “I know—”
“You know fuck-all!” Bryok roared. “When you have children, you will know. Until then, you can keep on doing Tas’s bidding, and Creeda and I suffer. Our children suffer. Not just ours. More and more of Ergh’s children the longer we wait.”
Cador had never been close with Creeda, Bryok’s wife, but he wished he could ease her pain and the pain of all suffering parents.
If Tas believed patience and forming bonds with the Neuvellans was the way forward, Cador had to trust he was right.
Tas had such faith in him, and Cador would not disappoint him now.
Bryok sneered toward Jem. “Bet he fucks like a wet kitten too.” His razor glare turned to Cador. “Did you lower yourself so far as to stick your prick in him?”
“No!” He exhaled a sound of disgust. “I’d rather fuck a boar.” Since Bryok knew the plot, there was no need to deceive him and pretend the marriage was real. Cador was pathetically relieved he could honestly deny it. Relieved the truth would please his brother, despite trying not to care.
Bryok spat over the railing into the churning sea. “That’s something, at least.”
As they stood in uneasy silence, Cador found himself glancing over at Jem and wondering what the boy would fuck like if he ever got up the nerve to spread his legs.
It would surely be as Cador told Kensa—like screwing a plank of wood, except the wood wouldn’t cower.
But what would it be like if Jem actually embraced desire and passion and the joy of fucking?
What kind of sounds would he make as he took Cador’s cock inside his small, lean body?
As he surrendered? He would surely be deliciously tight…
“You deserve better.”
Cador couldn’t stop the sweet flare of gratitude at Bryok’s words and the brief clasp of his hand on Cador’s shoulder. He despised how much he treasured those gifts from his brother—the rare, muttered kindnesses or compliments. He hated how he yearned for more, like a dog begging for scraps.
It was the thought of food that did it. Without warning, he heaved over the side. Bryok’s laughter echoed in his ears along with blood rushing as Cador hung his head, the rail hard against his ribs.
Bryok’s mocking continued, others joining in. Most of them hadn’t spent much time on ships, so why did Cador seem to be the only one afflicted by this shame? For minutes, he spit and heaved again and again even though his stomach had surely emptied completely.