The Last Canticle: Summoner's Dirge (8 page)

“They ain’t in peace talks. King Auric scuffed in His Majesty’s face and raised his sword.”

“You fool, you’re as loony as His Majesty; you know that? They’re still in talks, and I hope they stay that way. It would be a damn shame to set off to war.”

Balin shook his head and speared a potato. Medicus Ashwin and Emperor Folken were right. War loomed on the horizon like a black plague.

Elina finished her ale with the speed of a sailor freshly ported, and slammed the mug down. Damir removed a couple of trolics from his purse and passed them to her. Balin saw Damir lift one finger in a wordless command for
one more
. Elina flashed him a toothy smile and rose to her feet.

Balin watched as she walked to the bar, her walk almost like a dance, it was so graceful. He looked away, distracted by the rise and fall of Damir’s Adam’s apple as he drank heartily from his tankard. Balin’s attention snapped back in Elina’s general direction when he heard a man shout.

“You stupid cunt!”

Elina was sprawled on the floor, her cup beside her and its contents dripping from a stocky fellow. Elina rubbed her backside and said with a groan, “S-sorry, I slipped.”

“Hey, Jude! Your fucking cards are crooked, you cheating bastard!” one of Jude’s companions yelled.

Jude brushed him off with a harsh bark. “Shut it, Griev!”

Griev launched out of his chair, cards forgotten, and pulled a knife from his boot. “I ain’t shutting it, you lying cocksucker.”

Elina scrambled to her feet and moved to return to their table. Jude’s hand shot out and clamped around her wrist. Elina squirmed and let out a pained cry. Damir jumped to his feet and crossed the tavern to Elina’s side before Jude’s other hand could lift.

Damir threw the first punch, a dizzying blow to Jude’s jaw that snapped his head to the side. Jude’s fingers went slack. He released his hold on Elina, and she stumbled backward. A faint glow emitted from Damir, barely noticeable, but Balin could see the blue emission behind the folds of Damir’s cloak.

Jude let out a warning, a bearish growl that came deep from his chest and rattled through the bar just before he slammed his massive fist into Damir’s gut. Damir’s knees hit the floor as his body crumpled. He let out a rasped groan, the dull light he’d started emanating extinguished before anyone could spot it.

Balin kept to the outskirts, moving with the shadows. In the blink of an eye, he drew his dagger from his boot and slammed Jude onto the floor. He pressed the blade into Jude’s jugular and lowered himself so that his lips were pressed close to Jude’s ear.

“Lay a hand on any of us again,” Balin warned in a low baritone, “and I will personally split you open from nose to navel like the pig you are and feed your intestines to our livestock. Now, you are going to get up, return to your table, and not look over here again. If you so much as breathe in our direction, you will meet the sharp end of my dagger. Understood?”

Jude let out a shuddering breath, which reeked of beer and garlic, and swallowed hard. Upon closer inspection, Balin could see the red lines weaving through the whites of his eyes. Jude was well over his limits for drinking.

Balin rose to his feet and secreted the dagger in his boot. He helped Damir to his feet. “We should go.”

Jude scrambled to his feet. “You bastard!”

From behind the bar, the bartender shouted, “Jude, get out of here! Go cool your head before I call the guards!”

Jude snarled at Balin but left at the mention of guards. Chatter returned to Gooseneck as the doors swung closed behind him. Damir looked at Elina.

“Come on. It’s time to leave.”

Elina snatched up her melon bread from the table as Damir dropped some money to take care of their tab. They left the tavern and returned to their heavily laden wagon.

“You should rest, Damir. I’ll take the reins,” Balin offered as they climbed onto the wagon. There was just a big enough spot for Elina to squeeze into.

DAMIR DEBATED ON arguing, but the punch from Jude had left him winded. He nodded and sat beside Balin on the bench seat and watched as the man took the reins, turned the wagon around, and steered them out of Canaan.

After ten minutes on the road, Elina drifted off to sleep. Damir looked at her and smiled. Elina had rested her head on one of the bolts of fabric. Silence had settled over them, much in the same way it had on their way into Canaan. The only sound came from the trotting horse and creak of the wagon.

Damir could still see Balin slamming the brute into the floor with the grace and stealth only a wild cat should possess. The raw strength Balin had used was breathtaking. Something dark lurked beneath Balin’s skin, yet Damir only felt his warmth.

“You protected Elina and me.”

Balin looked over at him and frowned. “Yes.”

“Thank you,” Damir said and met Balin’s gaze. Wordlessly he slid closer, so their shoulders brushed against each other. He wanted to extend his hand and take Balin’s, but he settled on the feel of Balin beside him.

“You’re welcome.” Balin returned his attention to the road.

“How did you move like that? I didn’t even see you draw the blade. It was almost as if you just magicked it from thin air.”

“You are one to speak of mysticism,” Balin teased.

“That may be so, but you were amazing nonetheless. I am handy with my blade-bow, but you move like no one I have ever seen before. Not even the guards can exercise such skill.”

Balin whipped the reins to pick up speed. A cool wind blew from the east, sweetened with the scent of currants in the distance.

Damir pressed. “Balin? What is it you do again?”

“Business,” Balin snapped, “and leave it at that. I am just good with the blade, nothing more.”

Damir shriveled back, not sure what could have spurred such a response. “Forgive me,” he said. “I didn’t mean to upset.”

Balin shook his head. “No, I…I did not mean to snap. Forgive me. You have been more than kind to me.”

Damir placed his hand on Balin’s shoulder and gave it an encouraging squeeze. He could feel Balin’s strength beneath his touch. Powerful muscles covered Balin’s body, and Damir craved to worship every inch. Now that Balin would return home with them, Damir didn’t know if he would be able to resist his urges much longer.

Chapter Seven

Lost in the Starlight

After their supplies were unloaded and put away, Elina fixed a simple dinner while Damir checked on the animals. After supper Elina called it an early night and went to bed. The wolf Damir had unknowingly adopted—and who Elina had cheerily named Chipo—followed her up to her room. Balin sat at the table with Damir. They each nursed a mug of beer.

“Elina will make a man very happy one day,” Balin said before he took a sip.

Damir twisted his nose at the thought. “One day, but that day is not soon.”

Balin chuckled at Damir’s expression. “You can’t keep her shut away forever.”

“I can and I will,” Damir stated matter-of-factly.

“She will want to find a young man one day, someone to fill her lovely head with fairy tales. Surely you won’t deny her that simple fancy?” Balin set his mug down and observed Damir from across the table. He squirmed and cast Balin a furtive glare.

“What? Do you wish to be the man that she makes happy?”

Balin shook his head with a disgusted expression. “No. My interests lay elsewhere.”

Damir swallowed thickly, and he glanced away from Balin’s smoldering gaze. “Then why does it matter whether I keep Elina stashed away? She is still a child.”

“That may be so, but you must remember, Damir. The songbird always wants to fly.”

Damir looked down at his beer and set the mug aside, no longer in the mood. The thought of Elina leaving him always left him feeling windblown and scared. Elina was all he had. He didn’t want to see her go. He didn’t want to be left alone in the world.

“Enough,” Balin said and snapped Damir from his melancholy. “You look like a wet dog that has had his bone stolen. Elina will not be leaving anytime soon, and when she does, you will be happy for her. Let’s not think of the future but of now.”

“You’re right,” Damir said. He picked up his mug.

“Of course I am.” Balin puffed his chest out.

“You look like a fat peacock.”

Balin’s chest deflated. Damir let out a snort of laughter. He stood up, moved over to a pitcher and basin he kept in the kitchen, set his mug aside, and poured water into the basin so he could wash his face.

“Retiring?” Balin asked. Damir could feel Balin’s gaze tracking him. It was as if Balin was stripping him down with his eyes, and Damir wanted to let him.

“It has been a taxing day,” Damir admitted. “Tomorrow will be a busy one as well.”

“What of you, Damir? Have you thought of taking a wife?”

Damir paused in front of the basin and stared across the room at Balin. “What?”

“You are of the age, if not past, to take one. Why have you not?”

It was true. Damir was well past the age of beginning a family. Even if he wasn’t bound by the stigma of his markings, though, he wouldn’t have settled down. Damir couldn’t imagine going to bed pressed against the soft flesh of a woman. No, he wanted to feel hard muscles—he wanted to touch Balin, to taste his flesh and tremble beneath his powerful hands.

“Yes, I am… I mean, well…” he stammered, opening and closing his mouth like a guppy. He had to force the image of Balin’s glistening body and steely cock from his mind.

Damir looked down at the water, his heart beating rapidly. “Do you need to wash up?”

“I do. Don’t dodge the question.”

Damir frowned. “Why do you ask it?”

His face grew hot. Balin pushed his chair back, and Damir glanced up at the scrape. Balin rose to his feet, and with calculated steps, he strode across the room to Damir’s side. Damir sucked in a sharp breath at their close proximity. Balin proceeded to wash his face and patted it dry with a towel. He passed the towel to Damir, who had yet to dry himself.

“Do you not want a wife?”

“I…” Damir lowered his gaze and tightly clutched the towel. Gathering his courage, he met Balin’s stare. “No, I do not want a wife. I have no desire to bring a woman to my bed.”

“I thought not,” Balin said as he took the towel from Damir’s hands. Not breaking eye contact, Balin dried the remaining water from Damir’s face.

“Do you think me queer?” Damir asked. Fear lodged in his throat as palpable as Balin’s hand on his cheek.

“No.”

Damir bit his lower lip, their eye contact unbroken. Everything could be found in Balin’s eyes—light, darkness, meaning, and hope. He found his day only began when he looked into Balin’s warm gaze, and it didn’t end until he saw his eyes slip closed. If Damir could have his way, he would keep Balin hidden away just as he did Elina.

“If not a woman, then whom would you take, Damir?” Balin asked, his words barely a whisper. He trailed a finger down Damir’s jawline and dipped it along the line that ran across his throat.

Damir shuddered at the touch, unable to get his tongue to work so he could form a proper response. Balin smirked and wrapped his large hand aroundDamir’s neck.

“Well?”

So close. Balin filled Damir’s senses and sent them into overdrive. He couldn’t even think, let alone speak, and yet here Balin was, expecting him to answer.

“You,” Damir finally managed to whisper with bated breath.

“Good,” Balin said before smashing his lips into Damir’s. The moon could have crashed into Zoria at that moment, and Damir wouldn’t have cared. For years he had gone without a touch, a caress, or a kiss. He had given his virginity up to a boy when he was sixteen years old in an alley during a festival. It had been painful and quick for both of them, but Damir had felt exhilarated. The feel of Balin against him, mouth to mouth, was even greater. The simple embrace was like a cosmic alignment. Alive didn’t even begin to describe what Damir felt, and he knew he would never let this feeling go.

Weakly Damir moaned into Balin’s mouth. Balin took the chance to slide his tongue in and slip his hands down to Damir’s waist. Twin paths of fire followed in Balin’s wake, searing through Damir’s clothes and burning straight to his heart. Before he could overheat, Damir pulled away. “W-wait.”

“YES?” BALIN LEANED forward, not wanting to keep their lips separated for longer than necessary. Now that he’d had a taste, he didn’t want to stop. Damir tasted of the sweetest wine, and Balin had always enjoyed wine.

“Elina is upstairs, and…” He didn’t finish the sentence but stared up at Balin solemnly.

“Then we shall be quiet.” Balin chuckled softly and brushed his lips over Damir’s.

Damir didn’t respond right away. “What is this? What will you have of me, Balin?”

“Everything, if you’ll give it to me,” Balin whispered with a tender smile.

“You’re a confusing man; do you know that?” Damir raised his hand and dusted his fingers down the line of Balin’s jaw. “I don’t know where you come from, or what you’re doing here. But I don’t think I care. Is that insane?”

“No.” Balin briefly closed his eyes and tilted his cheek into the palm of Damir’s hand. This man made him feel human. Damir had brought him back from the cusp of death and given him a new life. The escape he had sought here in Pheor had appeared not in the shadows but through the starlight. Damir was a North Star on a black sea. “I can tell you I don’t want to be anywhere but here.”

Damir didn’t pull away as Balin drew him closer. In a delicate waltz, they kissed, building slowly until their hunger was on the verge of spilling over. Damir grabbed Balin’s shoulders and held on tight.

Balin chuckled and pulled away. “Let’s go to bed.”

Damir nodded mutely and moved to put out the fire. The nights were warm enough without the aid of the fireplace. His hands shook as he reached for his shirt. Balin caught Damir’s hands and brushed them aside, removing the shirt for Damir. He dropped it on the floor and circled an arm around Damir’s waist, pulling him close so their chests were flush. His cock thickened painfully, constricted by his tight pants.

Hunger spread through Balin, as ravenous as wolves. Damir ran his hands up Balin’s chest and tangled his fingers in Balin’s hair. Balin stole a long kiss, running his tongue across Damir’s lips, and then let the farmer go with a pant. Damir stumbled back with a dazed look.