Alensar

  Alensar blinked from the bright morning light as he tried to pour thoughts into his foggy brain. His body hurt.

  Darion.

  The grief rolled through him. It seemed so vivid. Like he could see him right there.

  But Darion was dead.

  His whole family was gone. He was alone.

  The vast chasm swallowing him whole.

  He made a wordless noise.

  "Val, are you awake?"

  Right. He had Jason. That was something.

  "Stop with the Val bullshit, okay?" He wanted a friend, not a servant.

  Alensar pulled off the covers and started to sit up.

  Jason thrust a brass goblet full of water in front of them.

  "Drink."

  "Yes Laude," Alensar said.

  Jason scoffed. "You both make the same dumb jokes."

  Alensar drank the goblet down, unsure of what Jason was talking about. Jason was ready with the pitcher, and he drank several more goblets.

  He tried to orient his memories. There was a hot sun and Jason nearby. He had gotten injured in a fight… then his brother had come and helped them. Then things got hazy.

  He tried to sort through everything, but he couldn't get a sense of what was real. Because Darion couldn't be alive…

  "Feeling better, sleeping beauty?" Said a familiar mocking voice as someone stepped into the room.

  Alensar stumbled up, and they were hugging.

  But then the pressure of Darion's hug felt like too much.

  He pulled away to look at his brother. His hair was shorn off, making him look much younger. He wore a grey buttoned vest and pants over a light grey shirt. A similar style to Jason's uniform, but not as nice.

  Darion was smiling. But he was always smiling. Alensar could see the subtle shifts in his expressions that meant something else. He could see the desperate relief and the touches of grief.

  Now that he knew they were real, his memories solidified.

  He wanted to hug Darion again, but he didn't.

  Alensar tapped his face in the same spot as Darion's scar. "This is new."

  Darion glanced to the side. "I got it dog-fighting."

  "Darion!"

  "You have no right to reprimand me for that."

  "I was sixteen and reckless!"

  "Everyone was dead."

  They stared at each other, terribly mortal.

  "Excuse me, what's a dog fight?" Jason interrupted before Alensar punched Darion or broke down. He wasn't sure which he wanted to do more.

  "It's a brutal prize fight. It often ends with death." Darion said.

  Jason blanched, his eyes wide.

  Darion shook his head. "I didn't follow through. The fight was too easy, and I didn't want to be an executioner. They told me not to come back."

  Darion wouldn't get a scar like that from an easy fight.

  "Why would someone do that?"

  "Because they want to die or they want to feel alive," Alensar said. "Or they are that desperate for money."

  Jason searched Alensar's face for a moment and saw whatever answer he needed.

  Jason cleared his throat. "I'll get some tea and food. Laude Granthor said you are to resume normal activities tomorrow. Including fencing lessons."

  Alensar groaned, "Doesn't a chest wound get me out of that?"

  "I talked to Laude Granthor about Val Walter. He's to be more careful."

  "Why are you taking fencing lessons? I would love to meet the Ang who can teach you something about sword fighting. Then again, you are getting sloppy."

  Alensar glared at him, but he was smiling. "It's to teach me the rules and for me to get a reputation as a bad fighter. To hide my identity."

  Darion raised his eyebrows, but before he could express his skepticism, Jason said, "Speaking of which, Alensar, your Karanagasz accent comes out when you speak with Darion. You need to watch for that."

  "No one else is here."

  "Someone might overhear. Or you might slip up."

  Alensar scowled, but Jason was right.

  Darion shook his head. "I don't know how anyone thinks this is something that will stay a secret."

  "It won't. But it needs to be one for long enough that people know and trust him."

  Alensar sat down. Hellion's wings, he was tired. He leaned back against the headboard.

  "I'll get some food and tea," Jason said.

  Darion went to the other side of the bed and sat next to him.

  Alensar wanted to lean into Darion. To be a little kid again.

  He didn't.

  "Do you think anyone else lived?" Darion's voice was hoarse and quiet. He switched to Karanagasz.

  "Some of the women and children were sold as slaves, I think."

  "Not Krystina," Darion said. "I saw her body."

  Alensar looked over. "Not Yarrik."

  The light went out in Darion's eyes at his son's name. "I had hoped…when I saw you."

  "I know."

  "Was it a good death?"

  It was not.

  "He was brave."

  Darion held himself together for a breath. Then whatever string was holding him together snapped. Alensar put his arm around his brother. The contact made him uncomfortable, but he didn't dare pull away.

  By the time Jason returned, Darion had pulled himself together again. He smiled at Jason, but it was strained at the edges. Alensar wondered if Jason could see it.

  "Ah, my favorite person!"

  Even though the compliment was half-hearted, a blush still swept over Jason's face. "You're only saying that because I brought food."

  Darion looked at Alensar and winked. "Hmm, he's on to me. Better keep him around for his wits."

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  It was unclear who rolled their eyes more, Jason or Alensar.

  The food was fresh, flaky pastries, a bowl of dipping honey, and some sweet cheese. There was soon just a pile of crumbs, too small to be worth picking up.

  "I could get used to noble food," Darion said, wiping his mouth on his wrist, despite the napkins Jason supplied.

  Alensar turned to Darion. "What will you be doing with yourself most of the time? I mean, you're working as my guard, but I'm not going to need that much guarding."

  "I talked briefly with Laude Granthor yesterday. I'm going to be getting her guards into shape, so a lot of drills and exercises. Then Jason will be responsible for teaching me etiquette and manners."

  "Not something I'm looking forward to," Jason grumbled, and it rang a little false to Alensar's ears. "I don't know how you convinced her to let you train the guard."

  "Mostly by pointing out how easy it would be to break in and steal her things." Darion shrugged, and Alensar wondered how that conversation must have gone. "Laude Granthor seemed concerned about me transitioning into this life, but it will take a while to get antsy. Regular bathing, good food, and a comfortable place to sleep are a lot to make a man compliant." Darion leaned back onto Alensar's bed to illustrate his excessive compliance.

  Alensar laughed. "Your bed's probably not going to be this nice. I'm still surprised Laude Elaine let you stay. You would think one outlaw is enough for her."

  "Laude Granthor usually has many layers to what she's doing. First of all, your uncle is paying her. If she's keeping you happy, it's more likely that you'll continue cooperating and might recover faster. You might not react so well if your best friend was imprisoned. Also, after yesterday's fiasco, it's quite obvious that you need some sort of protection. Even if just someone intimidating. Even so, I'm sure she has her doubts about this choice. Darion seems significantly less calculating than you, and thus harder to control." Jason's brow furrowed in thought. Darion and Alensar exchanged glances.

  Jason smiled awkwardly. "I noticed a lot."

  Darion raised a brow.

  "And occasionally, I listen when people speak loudly. Laude Granthor often talks through things with her clerk Thaniel or her personal servant Marie."

  Another long pause.

  "And maybe I sometimes listen at doors."

  Darion grinned broadly at the statement and clapped Jason on the shoulder.

  "Jason, I think I got pretty lucky that someone like you works for me," Alensar said with a smile.

  Jason seemed to relax at their approval. He stood and picked up the tray. "Let me get some more of these."

  As he left the room, Darion watched him. "I think he feeds people when he's in a good mood."

  "And when he's embarrassed."

  "You shouldn't be trusting me with that kind of information," said Darion, his wicked smile genuine this time.

  "He doesn't realize how calculating you are."

  "Few people do. I suspect he will catch on."

  Alensar smirked. It was so good to have his brother again.

  ***

  The next day, when Alensar had his lesson with Val Walter, Darion stood near the door, with his arms folded. He still had his uniform for a servant for hire, since none of the uniforms Laude Elaine had fit his large frame. It was incongruously paired with his armored vest.

  Alensar put extra padding on his injured side, but the dread of a blow there made him nauseous. Since when was he afraid of a little pain? Ridiculous.

  They bowed to one another. Alensar was surprised to see Walter give a bow of equals. Laude Elaine's lecture must have had an impact.

  "Who is that?" Val Walter said with a tone that indicated he wanted to find a reason to dismiss him.

  "That's my personal guard. He wants to learn the rules of fencing."

  Darion gave an inferior bow in acknowledgment of the statement.

  Alensar adjusted his fencing jacket again. It wasn't real armor, just some grey wool and padding.

  He looked up at Val Walter, who was hesitating much more than usual.

  "Is something the matter?"

  "Shouldn't a guard know how to fence?" Val Walter kept looking over at Darion.

  Alensar glanced at Darion, but he seemed to just be standing there.

  Alensar picked up the sword. "He is trained in other types of fighting."

  "Of course," Val Walter said and swallowed.

  They began, and Val Walter went much easier on him, even giving tips. He didn't hit Alensar's injured side at all. Apparently, Laude Elaine's warning had been more effective than Alensar anticipated. Or was Darion's presence a deterrent? Alensar didn't care. He had enough of Val Walter's "friendly" beatings.

  Even so, it tired him out. Much too soon, Alensar was leaning over, panting.

  Darion stood. "Perhaps I'll give it a go. Since you still seem fresh, Val Walter."

  He was smiling, but not his usual disarming smile. There was something predatory there.

  Walter shook his head. "I have an appointment and must get going. Please excuse me."

  He bowed and left.

  Alensar sat down on a bench to drink some water. He was still breathing hard.

  Darion sat next to him. "It's good that idiot is teaching you. Anyone whose head wasn't so far up their ass would see that you're faking."

  "Oh?" Alensar raised a brow. "I'm not faking being tired."

  "Fair enough, you're weak as a newborn pup." Darion clapped him on the back. "Doesn't mean I'll go easy on you."

  "We're training more?" Alensar groaned, leaning his head back. "I don't have it in me."

  Someone cleared their throat. Both men looked over to see Val Walter standing there.

  "I had left my gloves," he said.

  Alensar had no idea how to reply. How much had he heard? What accent had he used?

  "But of course, please go ahead," Alensar said with what he hoped was a gracious tone.

  Val Walter got his gloves from across the room. No one said anything. He then stopped and stood in front of Alensar. Darion got up and stepped to the side, as a guard should. Alensar didn't stand.

  "I could tell you were faking. Why do you think I was hitting you so hard? I was trying to get you to fight back." He scowled. "You're not very good at hiding it."

  "Ah," Alensar said.

  "He makes a good point," Darion said. "That would have annoyed me, too."

  Alensar gave Darion a look, and he only grinned.

  "So why were you pretending?" Val Walter stood with his hand on his hip, waiting.

  "Because Aunt Elaine told me to."

  "And why would she do that?"

  "Why do you think?"

  Val Walter frowned. "Because horse traders don't know how to fight." He glanced over at Darion. "But Karangasz do."

  Alensar scoffed. "That would be ridiculous, now wouldn't it? A Karangasz being a D'Ami?"

  Val Walter paused, then looked at Darion. "What's your name?"

  "Darion Thresh."

  Val Walter looked back and forth between them. "How do you know each other?"

  "I sold him horses," Alensar lied. "We were friends because of that."

  "Trading with Karangasz outlaws isn't legal."

  Darion dramatically put a hand to his chest. "Me? An outlaw? What gave you such an idea?"

  Walter narrowed his eyes, probably seeing that the lies didn't quite add up.

  "You're right, it would be quite ridiculous if a Karangasz was D'Ami," he said slowly. "So we should make sure you can actually fake your skill. Which may be difficult."

  Alensar blinked. "Why would you do that? You don't even like me."

  Walter huffed a laugh. "Because you are the D'Ambrosia heir. And this morning I got a long lecture on being more political."

  Alensar wilted. Of course.

  "And…" He looked between Darion and Alensar. "I've been the best fencer in Carthage for a while. I… would like to learn real fighting. I know fencing doesn't compare. But it's hard to find a teacher willing to be tough on a nobleman."

  A paradox Alensar hadn't considered. Probably because Walter had no such qualms.

  Darion clapped his hands together. "You know I won't go easy on you."

  Walter smiled, but his eyes betrayed nervousness.

  Alensar sat back and watched as Darion taught and corrected Walter's form and walked him through some of the basics of combat swordsmanship. Contrary to his words, Alensar could see that Darion was being easy on him, though he would likely have some bruises and soreness. Darion enjoyed teaching too much to be cruel, and Walter was a natural.

  After an hour, Walter bowed to both of them, his hair damp from sweat. "I must go now, but it was a pleasure. And I look forward to fighting you next time in earnest, Val Alensar."

  Alensar stood and bowed back. "Likewise, Val Walter."

  Darion was significantly less winded than Walter. After the young man left, he directed his attention to Alensar. "Rested enough for another round?"

  Alensar shook his head.

  "Just a single round. We'll do an easy one," he said in that wheedling tone that he used whenever he wanted a favor.

  Alensar took a deep breath to steel himself and stood.

  They decided to brawl, and each of them wore gloves with padded knuckles. They went to the sand pit rather than the dark wood floor used for fencing. And the fight started at an easy pace, with some circling and an exchange of light kicks, with Darion landing the majority. After Alensar got one good kick in, Darion's brow furrowed.

  It hadn't been an especially hard blow, yet Darion's posture betrayed a wariness.

  However, it was after Alensar landed a good punch that Darion's mood changed.

  "So that's how we're playing?" he said, and then charged. The combination of punches and a strong takedown got Alensar on the ground quickly. Darion got into a dominant position, and Alensar desperately scrabbled to get out. His side was aching, and he was pinned. He was panting, trying to catch his breath. Darion's weight crushed him, and it felt like nothing he did worked. He shifted and pushed, his breath getting faster.

  Finally, he moved just enough to get out, and Darion immediately took his back, slipping an arm around his neck.

  Alensar stopped thinking.

  All his strength and fear had him scrabbling at the arm. Gripping and pulling with no strategy or technique. Not another choking. Not again. The heat and weight of someone on his back. Not again.

  And then he was there, in prison. And it was all darkness and pain and cruelty. Every moment happening simultaneously.

  Alensar put his face in his hands, curled on the ground, shaking.

  The pressure was gone.

  He tried to slow his breath like Jason taught him.

  He could see light between the gaps of his fingers, but it didn't feel real. He focused on it anyway.

  In and out. Slow counts.

  In and out.

  He took his face from his hand. The surrounding space clarified. The sun filtered through the window, dust motes dancing. Cream colored walls and the grit of the sand pit beneath him. No one was touching him.

  He sat up and looked at Darion.

  Darion was rubbing his arm, watching.

  "What happened?"

  Alensar shook his head.

  "I…" He tried to say something more, but no words came out.

  "You were hitting like you wanted to go hard." Darion raised his voice. Alensar flinched and shifted back.

  Darion froze, then softened. His voice was soothing. "It's okay. Are you okay?"

  Alensar didn't know how to respond–he just stared.

  "Can you tell me what happened? It's okay if you can't."

  How could he express the enormity of what happened? The horrors that kept flashing into his mind. So much had happened.

  "Can you tell me what you were thinking?" The question was gentle, without accusation, as if he were speaking to a child.

  Alensar swallowed. "I can't feel pain in my hands anymore. I misjudged my hit."

  Darion nodded slowly. "Good to know."

  He scooted over to Alensar but didn't touch him. "I'm sorry, Tsari. I didn't know. I should have realized. But I didn't know."

  "It's fine."

  They both knew it was a lie. But they needed the lie.

  "I'll be more careful next time."

  "Let's just fence next time."

  "We can do that," Darion forced a smile. "I have the house guard to beat up whenever I am in the mood."

  Darion stood and held out his hand. Alensar looked at it for a moment, then took it and got to his feet.

  "Let's get cleaned up. I'm sure you have a lesson or something you need to do. We don't want to get a lecture from Jason."

  Alensar followed him out, trying to dispel the ghosts flickering on the edges of his vision.