Chapter 22
CHAPTER 22
L eofric rode Lyra hard, harder than he’d ever pushed her before. She was gracious, as always, obeying his every command for more speed. He thanked her as they went, knowing it wasn’t a speed he could continue for the whole journey, not without killing her. When he thought they both needed a rest he slowed her to a canter, then a walk. After a hard day’s riding both he and Lyra were blown; they needed to stop and rest, if only for a little while.
With every step, he grew further and further from Cosmo, and felt worse and worse about doing so. The half a second it would have taken Cosmo to mount up wouldn’t have cost him any time, and Cosmo was a master horseman. So why had Leofric not given him half a moment to follow?
He turned their parting words over in his head, but it seemed he’d been so distracted that the conversation replayed in reverse. For the first leg of the journey home, all he could call to mind was Cosmo’s accusation, that Leofric wasn’t even capable of protecting his brother’s family, and rage carried him along for hours, days, as he memorized every line of Cosmo’s hateful sneer, every syllable of his words, etching them eternally in his mind so he could hate Cosmo for them properly.
The next leg, it came back to Leofric that he’d hurled at least three insults at Cosmo before Cosmo had retaliated with his own. If you went by the math, it didn’t come out even, so Leofric thought perhaps he could forgive Cosmo—except, Leofric had meant none of the hurtful things he’d said. Cosmo could easily have meant what he said; it was the truth, after all. Leofric clearly couldn’t keep his promises. Leofric couldn’t work out which was worse—hurting someone with lies, or hurting someone with the truth. And then, he would picture Hamalcar, dying in Leofric’s arms with a smile on his face—only soothed by Leofric’s promise. Then, his features would transform. Grow younger. And it was Sorex lying dead in his mind’s eye—and it was easier, far easier, to think Cosmo’s words the cruelest thing anyone could have said, and his anger at him would return. And the cycle would begin again.
It was the way the words sliced him to the quick that filled him with hot, sick, undulating waves of anger. At first the anger was toward Cosmo, but the truth was…it belonged within. Leofric was the true wretch, the one deserving of anger, deserving of being despised. He’d let his desire for a good fuck blind him, entirely, for days, while Laela and Sorex were left alone and unsupported. Certainly, Cosmo had asked to stay on the mountain, but Leofric had been the one to answer ‘yes.’ His own base desires had cost him precious days in this mad dash toward rescue, and he could only apologize to Hamalcar’s shade with every breath for being so selfish.
Never again.
The miles seemed to pass at a snail’s pace after that, and had the days been cloudy, he would have sworn it had taken him thrice the time to cover the same ground he and Cosmo had covered on the way to the mountain. As it stood, the sun gave lie to his fears. He was making excellent time. Excellent time, however, would hardly make up for six days lost while he was fucking his way around the mountain top. How could he have been so stupid? So selfish. Such a bloody fool, thinking with his cock, just as he used to when he’d been half this age.
He could see the walls of Laela’s villa still quite a ways out from it. Though he’d covered the distance in two thirds of the days, that was still plenty of time for his brain to conjure all the horrible things that could have befallen his family while he dallied on the mountain with Cosmo.
The next thing Cosmo knew, he was drowning. Drowning in a frozen lake, choking and sputtering as water filled his lungs. Drowning, and then—no, no. He wasn’t drowning, but he was blind. He’d opened his eyes and been met with pain akin to someone carving them out with a dull dagger, so he must be blind. Eyes couldn’t survive that, surely.
Eventually though, things broke through, swam in and out of focus for a minute, a day, or five years, but then he could see again. His mind whipped blank and not a single thought could find its way through the emptiness. Cosmo stared and stared, drinking in the sight of his brother’s face, like he hadn’t aged a moment in four hundred years, the same mop of inky curls, the same mischievous grin. He rummaged beneath the cloak now tangled about his legs, found the meat of his thigh, and gave it a good hard pinch, just as he had when he’d woken to see Auro awake beyond the end of spring. It hurt, so Cosmo could rule out the notion that he still lingered in a dream.
“Hi, Cos,” said Ozias. His smile split his face ear to ear.
Cosmo gave a wordless yelp, of joy, of fear—of confusion perhaps, and threw back the covers. He leapt to his feet and pulled Ozias into a hug, crushing his slender body tight in his arms. “Is it really you?”
“Yes,” said Ozias, somewhat muffled, but Cosmo could hear the light laughter in his voice. “It really is me.”
And then Cosmo puked all over him.
“Fucking goodness, Cosmo. How much did you drink?” Ozias’s face wrinkled in disgust as he waved a hand in front of his face, a worthless attempt to ward off the scent of vomit.
The headache came galloping in on the heels of the explosive retching, and Cosmo collapsed backward to sit upon the edge of the bed. “Enough that I’m only half certain you’re really here.”
“I assure you, I am. Here, and covered with vomit.”
“I can’t believe it,” said Cosmo. “I can’t believe it.”
“Believe it,” said Ozias, shaking vomit from the edge of his tunic. “Not the heartfelt greeting I expected, after so long, but here we are.”
Cosmo laughed, despite the spike plainly working its way into his brain. “And where is that?”
“Your room at the inn,” said Ozias, taking in the modest space. “Or I surely hope it is.”
Cosmo knuckled his eyes, which made his brain feel like a juiced orange, and said, “I thought they tossed me out.”
“They did,” Ozias allowed. “But I managed to convince them you were harmless and simple minded.”
“Harmless!” Sputtered Cosmo indignantly.
“ And simple-minded,” Ozias replied. And then he grinned.
Cosmo couldn’t help but answer his smile. Then he glanced down at himself. “Why am I all wet?”
Ozias suspiciously set down an empty bucket and nudged it behind the bed with his foot. “Why am I all covered in vomit? Let’s not ask each other these things.”
“Fine,” said Cosmo.
They stared at each other, grinning awkwardly. Words utterly failed Cosmo, who could not help but feast his eyes on his brother, currently using one of Cosmo’s tunics to dab at his own soiled clothing.
“Why is my stuff all over the place?”
Ozias raised his brows. “So many questions, brother. Your things are all over the place because you’re an incorrigible slob at the best of times, let alone when you’ve drunk enough wine to drown a horse.”
“A fair point,” said Cosmo. He frowned, trying to call the previous night into focus. His room was so thoroughly ransacked, he must have been searching for something. Ah, well. Hopefully, he’d found it. Cosmo returned his focus to his brother. “One more question, if you’ll forgive me.”
“I sincerely doubt you’ll stop at one.”
He ignored the jibe, stared Ozias direct in the face and said, “How can this be?”
“The tale is a long one,” said Ozias, after a long pause. “And strange.”
“It would have to be.”
“I know,” said Ozias. Another pause. “Forgive me, Cosmo. I can’t do this. We both need to wash before we have this conversation, and I need a fresh tunic.”
Cosmo laughed out loud, driving the spike even deeper, but it felt good all the same. “I think that is a valid suggestion,” he said. “Apologies,” he added.
Ozias waved it off. “How many times have we vomited on one another? I feel as though we’re even on that score.”
Once they’d washed and changed into fresh clothing, Ozias and Cosmo sat opposite each other at a small table in the tavern.
“It is difficult to know where to begin,” said Ozias, peeking up at Cosmo through his untidy fringe, his wide dark eyes as youthful and wild as they’d been when they were children. Ozias had always been slight, perhaps taller than Cosmo but his carriage made him appear diminutive. He ducked his head, rounded his shoulders, hid within himself. He was thinner than Cosmo, too, bony and gaunt, but the look served him well, if Cosmo remembered correctly—the two of them would often prowl the streets and docks together in search of intimate companions of a night, and Ozias had never had a lack of willing partners. The only salient difference was that the Ozias before him had grown a beard, and the rakish appearance suited.
It was plain he was uncomfortable, plain he didn’t want to dredge up all the ugliness of years gone. Looking at Ozias, Cosmo realized how much he had missed him—how much he had missed having a comrade, a partner. A friend. A brother yes, but Ozias was more than that. He always had been. “I think we should begin with a drink,” said Cosmo. “Or a dozen.”
Ozias laughed. “You would think that.”
“As if you are famed for abstaining.”
“Well,” said Ozias, “I haven’t had much call for frolics in the last few centuries.”
“In that case,” said Cosmo, signaling for wine. “We have quite a bit to make up for.”
“Hear, Hear,” said Ozias, with a grin.