8. Chapter Eight #2
He didn’t want to be a disruption in Viau’s schedule even if Viau had enjoyed himself the first time, and thought he ought to be able to handle it himself now that he knew what to expect. But also… he didn’t want to.
It was indulgent to even think of it. But now he wondered if Viau might understand that. He was the palace favorite but not much of his time seemed to be his own.
“Do you wish you could indulge yourself more?” Rafi asked without thinking, licking his lips when Viau brought his head up and their eyes met. “I meant, with your plays and such. Your friends.”
“The plays are entertainment.” Viau watched Rafi, or maybe whatever fluttered through Rafi’s spirit. “But I wouldn’t call them an indulgence. Maybe at a public theater and not at court—I am working, usually, when at court.”
Rafi nodded, understanding that.
“Outside of that, I visit with friends and talk. But that’s not an indulgence, Rafi.” His tone was almost tender. “To have friends.”
“Right,” Rafi agreed blankly, nodding again.
“No, I know that.” He glanced away from Viau’s observant gaze and raised eyebrow that said he knew Rafi lied.
“I meant something selfish, maybe, or wasteful? No, that’s wrong.
Perhaps as if there is a smarter option, a correct option, but you want to ignore that and choose the less-correct option. The option that feels better?”
He forced himself to turn back to Viau.
Viau had no smile but his tone was warm and his voice was slightly rough.
“That isn’t wasteful. Though it might be selfish.
I’m not a philosopher to know for sure. But I don’t believe someone, say, choosing a comfortable option over a practical one is wrong for wanting that if both options work. But why ask me this?”
“They think I worry too much,” Rafi answered instead of saying that he was asking because Viau was the comfortable option. Though comfortable was not the word. It wasn’t good enough.
Viau shrugged, his gaze darting down to Rafi’s shoulder, still bared for him. He spoke after Rafi tugged his shirt back into place.
“Worrying too much allows you to think of possibilities and plan for them. That can be useful.” He gestured to the swords lying on the ground.
“It can also make you unhappy, or so it appears to the rest of us. As to your original question: work in the palace is often tedious, even if it is a luxury to be there, so I indulge myself as much as I can when away from court.”
“It’s why you live here?” Rafi was beginning to understand that too. “So you have a space for yourself?”
He got a smile. “Indulging myself in a night’s sleep where I cannot be interrupted by royals even when I am not supposed to be on duty. Complications of family, and profession, and my reputation.”
“You can’t relax there because you’re always conscious of your place.”
Viau raised his eyebrows at Rafi’s soft comment but answered.
“It’s work. It is guarding and being on guard.
It’s also monitoring my expression and reactions, watching all corners, and learning to read insults disguised as compliments and compliments that are actually threats.
That is the case in any noble house, but certainly more so in the palace.
And it is knowing that I above all others am expected to never fail in any way.
It keeps me employed.” His smile was briefly sharp and bitter.
“Keeps me needed. I shouldn’t complain. It could be worse; I could be king.
There’s a role no one with sense would ever wish to play.
I wouldn’t trade places with my cousin even if I am a mere swersoldi. ”
Rafi quietly objected on his behalf. “One of the most known and admired of swersoldi.”
This was dismissed with a flick of the wrist. “Are you a third child or a fourth child? A fourth,” he judged before Rafi managed a word.
“And a nex. I am a third, and a fortunate third at that. A miné who could conceivably one day inherit if disaster befell the rest of the family. I grew up loved and I have some money. But even a wealthy third child knows what it is to not be needed or wanted, and what one might do to try to be wanted or needed so much that you are never pushed away.” He drew in a breath, then slowly let it out.
“I can always spot the third or fourth, or Caia save them, the fifth or sixth child of fertile noble families. All of us looking for something. Some of us get it. Only to realize….”
“I wasn’t begging for attention.” Rafi shook his head. “I wasn’t.”
“I know you weren’t.” Viau regarded him with the warmth from before, eyes lit. “You’d never. Well, almost never.”
It took a moment for the realization to hit that he was speaking of whatever Rafi had begged for during his aedis.
But by then, with Rafi blushing hotly, Viau had moved on.
“You don’t even notice begging, bless you.
Far too serious, far too worried. I can imagine the fiery young nobles trying to pick a fight with you only to be faced with serious concern and deference.
It must infuriate them. Though, of course, they could ask you for what they want, if they dare. Do they dare? Could they?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Rafi felt as if he was saying that too much. “It’s not poetry, and it’s not tactful court speech, but I feel as if I’m missing something. Are you insulting me? Am I boring for not wanting to duel?”
“Boring?” Viau’s eyes widened. “Never. And you do want to fight, you know. Maybe not duel. Or maybe yes.” He studied Rafi intently from top to toe and back again.
“You’d be something to behold in a duel.
Lethal, almost certainly. You’re wise and careful, though yes, worried.
You have reason to worry. You’re smart, and you’ll go far, and you look like an artist’s model.
You could be one if you ever wanted some money and a bit of a reputation… and artists chasing after you.”
“Me?” Rafi echoed doubtfully, thinking of his freckles and his hair.
Viau pushed out a small, irritated breath. “You,” he said with certainty. “So whatever indulgences you’re thinking of are probably fine. Your sensible friends are here.” He took a step back from Rafi and tugged his sleeve down.
Rafi twisted to find Laure and Katoh, with Cambray and some of his friends trailing behind them.
“They want to watch you fight,” he explained, although Viau could probably guess their motives. “But we don’t have to keep going. We can go get something to eat instead.”
Viau gave him a long study before turning to watch the others all gather beneath one of the trees, some distance from Viau and Rafi’s sparring ground. “I’m not a performer. Nor am I an instructor.” He turned back to Rafi.
“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Rafi hurried to say. “They were just curious. I’m sorry.”
“So if I do this,” Viau continued, “we do it fairly. When you lose,” he paused, apparently expecting a reaction from Rafi and pleased when Rafi scoffed. “The loser,” he went on, “fights one of them over there, and so on, until everyone has had a go.”
“And we sit in the shade of the tree while they sweat?” Rafi wondered, an undignified laugh tickling his throat.
Viau clucked his tongue. “There you go, little killer, anticipating your victory.”
“I’m not little,” Rafi insisted. He also didn’t think he was wrong about how the bouts would go. Especially since the others wouldn’t be used to the lack of rules. “You and Laure are the strange ones for being too tall.”
“You are appropriately nex-sized.” Viau nodded in acknowledgment of this, not at all serious.
His eyes crinkled at the corners before his mouth formed a smile.
That, Rafi couldn’t argue. He didn’t want to, anyway.
Viau was teasing but it felt like a compliment, as if he liked Rafi’s size and the fact that Rafi was going to work hard to trounce his friends.
Viau’s smile grew as he turned to the others. “Rafi has a suggestion for you all.”
Rafi gasped at the blatant lie but was too pleased to correct it.
They found the time to spar again three times after that before the king invited Viau to the palace and Viau was absent for a week; an order couched as an invitation, or perhaps Viau did sometimes enjoy palace life.
Students who had gone into the capital the night before came back with news that Bellai had written a new play. As the king was Bellai’s main patron, the play would debut at the palace before public performances could begin.
Katoh cooed at Rafi, recovering from her latest aedis but in the mood to coo, and told him the delay was probably for the best. His body would have time to heal before his next round of Trading Bruises, as she had named his sparring with Viau.
Despite her teasing, she’d seemed enchanted with the whole thing for the lack of rules and, or so she claimed, the sheer delight on Rafi’s face throughout each round.
With Viau gone and two of his friends attending to each other for several days, Rafi had expected to be bored.
But word of his wild sparring with Viau had gotten out, and several students had attempted it on their own, which then meant several of the arms and combat instructors seeking out Rafi for an explanation.
He still wasn’t sure if they were angry with him or not, but he had been compelled into serving as an assistant in the Arms Room, with all proper padding, to help get out some of the rambunctious energy of the younger students before they could seriously injure themselves with Viau’s style of sparring.
That might have been punishment, except that Rafi had been encouraged to beat them soundly—provided they also wore all the proper padding. Bruises might be a badge of pride for Rafi and Viau, according to Feurne, but the younger students still needed to learn from them so they could avoid them.