Brotherhood Saga 03: Death (53 page)

“You were both after this?” Odin frowned.

“I was held at knife point when I plucked it from the stand it was on.”

“How did the two of you end up making a trust with each other?”

“When I said I would serve him for the rest of my life in exchange for the dagger.”

“Whatever happened to him?”

“Dumb bastard had sticky fingers and got himself caught. I imagine he’s still in prison, though I haven’t heard or seen from him in years.”

“Where was he caught?”

“An outpost, of all places. He’s probably here in Lesliana now that I think about it.”

“Is that where most of the criminals are kept?”

“Not particularly. There’s a fairly-decent sized jail here in the capital, but there’s other places in the forest that are… well… let’s just say they’re more fit for people who make a living stealing things.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Some of them get dumped off in the woods.”

“The woods?”

“Yeah,” Virgin said, leaning forward almost to where their lips could have touched. “Wanna know a secret?”

“What?”

“A lot of criminals here get dumped into the woods without any weaponry or clothing just so the animals can pick them off.”

“They wouldn
’t,” Odin said, drawing away just as Virgin settled back into his seat. “That’s cruel.”

“Yes, but the Elves live in utopia, as far as they
’re concerned. Anyone who defies the law is given the harshest punishment.”

“Is that why you
’re not… you know?”

“Partially, yes, but it
’s also because I want little to nothing to do about it.”

“I see,” Odin said, looking down at the bread.

“To answer your question, I lived in one of the outpost towns with my parents, left to travel to Lesliana with a supply caravan, ended up apprenticing under my master until my early twenties, then branched off to do my own thing. I haven’t left the forest much in my thirty-two years, but I have been to some of the smaller human settlements across the Whooping Hills and around the tail ends of the Dark Mountains.”

“There are actually towns there?”

“Some, yes, but not many.”

“I don
’t want to go over the Hills when we go back.”

“Did something happen out there?”

Yes.

“No,” he said, brushing his hair out of his face. “Nothing happened.”

As bold a lie as that was, he couldn’t confide in Virgin about the specter that had stalked him across the Hills. To say that he had been followed by a ghost would have been to instill a false belief that spirits, not unlike Sprites, did exist, and that they followed poor sad men to torment and steal whatever shroud or sanity they had.

His questions answered, his pursuit for knowledge more than solidified, Odin reached forward, plucked a piece of bread from the platter, then slid it into his mouth.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Virgin asked.

As well as
Odin could, yes—he was.

They returned to the inn after many of the inhabitants had gone to bed. The windows dark, the doors closed, the shadows cast from candle flames nonexistent except on the torches dangling outside the inn—a place so populated and filled with creatures should have seemed lively, though that was anything but the case. When they stumbled into the inn, however—drunk and full of bread—they took but one look at the people along the counter before making their way to their room.

Immediately upon locking the door behind them,
Odin collapsed into bed, fully clothed but without his shoes.

“Are you… all right?” Virgin asked, crawling atop Odin
’s back and pressing his weight against him.

“I
’m fine,” Odin said, expelling a breath that felt as though it had been held in for far too long. “Why? Aren’t you?”

“I
’m drunk.”

“
I am too, though I probably shouldn’t be.”

“Why?” Virgin asked, sliding a hand under Odin
’s body to cup his stomach. “Worried teacher will say something?”

“I
’d rather not go in hung over.”

“Then stay home tomorrow. With me.”

Is this really home?
Odin thought.
Or something that’s just called home?

Four walls, a bed, a bathing chamber, a desk, tools with which to write, a place in which to call sanctuary
—were these not the things a home was made of: of love, happiness and joy? If that were the case, then this could have easily called such, though it seemed anything but that in the grand scope of things. They were here only because he’d been injured, tended to by a High Healer and was waiting to speak to the queen herself. That was enough to justify the belief that this place—these four walls, this bed, this bathing chamber and these tools with which to write—was anything but home.

Squirming beneath Virgin
’s weight, but enjoying his companion’s passions, Odin pressed his head to the pillow, closed his eyes, then reached down to take Virgin’s hand within his.

“Are y
ou going to sleep on me?” Odin whispered.

“Yeah,” Virgin
said. “Why?”

“Just wondering.”

Odin closed his eyes.

A blanket of white light shrouded his vision.

Shortly thereafter, his world went dark.

Birds sang in the darkness of the predawn morning.

Tangled within sheets, in limbs and
clothing, Odin rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling just in time for a dull throb to bloom to life and radiate shards of pain within his skull. Eyes heavy, bridge of his nose thick and coagulated likely with snot, he turned his attention to Virgin, who slept with one arm over his eyes, then tilted his head back up, unsure whether or not today would be the proper time to visit Jarden.

I
’m still drunk,
he thought, unable to resist the urge to smile in spite of the dreadful pain at the front of his head.

Would it be polite for him to show up in what could only be described as indecent attire? His clothes had not been washed for some time—still, in fact, needed to be pressed within the tub and set to dry out—but where he would do that was beyond his comprehension at this hour, especially given the fact that his world still looked uneasy and the pressure in his eyes seemed all the more forthcoming.

At his side, Virgin offered a slight snort.

“You awake?” Odin decided to ask.

“No,” Virgin said, resituating his head against his pillow before reaching back to set his hands behind his head.

“Bullshit.”

“I’m not.” The Halfling opened one eye to a mere slit and offered the slightest smile. “I talk in my sleep.”

“How hung over are you?”

“Enough to where I know I want you to get up and draw the curtains over the windows.”

“Why do I have to do it?”

“Because you woke up before I did.”

“I have a headache from hell.”

“As do I, love.”

Love?

Had he heard what he thought he’d just had?

“Did you just call me love?” Odin asked, rolling onto his stomach.

“Yeah,” Virgin replied. “Why?”

“You
’ve never called me that before.”

“What? Love?”

“Yeah.”

“I have so.”

“No you haven’t.”

“I
’m sure I have. You must’ve not been listening.”

Surely he would have remembered had Virgin called him such a thing. Even despite the alcohol, the concept of love
would have been more than clear. A diamond in the rough, some would have been fit to describe it: a shining stone worth all its weight in gold.

Not content with the idea that he could not
remember Virgin saying he loved him, Odin closed his eyes, pressed his body to the bed, then nudged Virgin with the tips of his toes.

“What?”

“Pull the curtain over the window.”

Virgin rose without
complaint.

The morning passed slowly. Like a hand pressed to part the wake of a tide, its fingers meant to brush the sand carefully yet assuredly, the sun rose first as a flaming ball of fire, then eclipsed to the softer shades of gold when it rose to the middle of the hemisphere. Throughout all this, Odin found himself lying halfway between sleep and consciousness, all the while lamenting that he was unlikely to meet with Jarden on a day where his head felt as though it were ready to implode upon itself.

While the afternoon contin
ued to pass as though nothing of the sort was afflicting them, Virgin paced the room with his head hung low and his hand slung over his eyes. Likely to keep what little light happened to be in the room out of his face, but also possibly because something was on his mind, the older Halfling—half nude, content in his skin and with his hair falling over his chest—paced first from the eastern corner of the bedroom, then to the doorway, where he peered out the peephole before resuming his endless back-and-forth trek across the room. At first concerned about the activity, then unable to care, Odin rolled onto his back, stretched his arms into the air, then pushed himself forward to watch his companion’s trek, all the while unsure what to do or say.

“Virgin,” he finally spoke, when he felt the rafters were ready to cave around them. “Come back to bed.”

“I’m not sleepy,” the Halfling replied.

“Why are you pacing?”

“For something to do.”

“Read a book.”

“I can’t concentrate on the text. Besides—Elvish is too hard to read.”

“I thought you were raised Elvish?”

Without a word of reply, Virgin turned his head up, regarded Odin with a pair of incredulous eyes, then shook his head before seating himself in one of the corner seats, sighing as he tilted his head back and cupped his face within his hands.

Nothing I can do,
Odin thought, cupping his forehead when the dull pain started to throb once more.

“Are you going to see Jarden today?” Virgin asked.

“I’m not sure,” Odin replied. “Why?”

“I was just wondering.”

“I’m still hung over.”

“You
’re likely to be for the rest of the day.”

“What do they put in that champagne?”

“Enough to where you feel like this.”

A laugh rising, then echoing out his throat, Odin threw his legs over the bed, then arched his back until his neck popped and a wave of pleasure spiraled into his
head. “I might just go to get out of the inn,” he said, throwing a glance over his shoulder at Virgin, who remained still in the seat with both hands over his face.

“I might as well just go back to bed then.”

“Do whatever you want,” Odin said, reaching down to pick his jerkin up from the side of the bed. “I’m taking a bath.”

“Why are you taking your clothes with you?”

“Because I’m going to wash them first, then dry them with my magic.”

“A better way to do laundry than I would
’ve thought of,” Virgin shrugged, reaching down to fumble with his belt buckle. “Will you do mine too?”

“Might as well,” Odin said, turning his head to the side.

“What are you doing?” the Halfling laughed, tossing his pants and underwear across the room and at the floor to his feet. “You’ve seen it before.”

“Just giving you some privacy.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ve been sleeping together for months now, haven’t we?”

“I guess.”

While Virgin continued to laugh in the background, Odin bent forward, took his companion’s clothes into his arms, then carried them into the bathroom before pulling the privacy curtain across the rod dangling above the threshold.

Shortly thereafter, Odin reached forward, grabbed the valves, then watched as brilliant blue light surround
ing the pipes exploded into life.

What power could be at work to fuel such magical engineering?

Though he didn’t know, Odin chose to ignore the fact as the water surged forward.

Odin sat in the office directly across from Jarden and tried to control the feelings of nausea that spiraled through his diaphragm. A slight weight at the front of his temple, a heaviness in his gut that he seemed unable to shake, an imbalance that could unarguably throw him to the side if he even attempted to move forward—all, at that moment, seemed completely impossible to handle, so when Jarden began to spin a copper piece on the desk, Odin thought he’d throw up.

You can do this,
he thought, taking slow, deep breaths and reaching up to press a hand to his forehead.
You aren’t
that
bad off.