Tempest (20 page)

They sat, and Fergus continued, “Aye, Nichol Searunner. I know of your gran's inn, and have once even sampled the delight that is her fish pie. Too far for me to walk there nowadays, sadly, or I'd sample more of it, but”—he pinched his gut with a grin—“perhaps it's for the best that I don't, eh?”

“Her pie's a danger to us all,” Nichol agreed. “So you're the one who brought Colm down from the Spires! How was he on the road? He's told me nothing about the trip except that it was long.”

“He's a modest lad,” Fergus said, patting Colm on the shoulder as he lifted his tankard. He took a tremendous draught, belched loudly and set the drink down with a satisfied thump. “He kept me in fresh fish almost every day. Some of the others too, and didn't take an insult from any man. Sliced some wretched farm lad's hand clear through with his little knife when the oaf threatened him.”

Nichol's eyes brightened. “Really?”

“No!” Colm exclaimed, forestalling any more dubious praise from Fergus. “It was hardly more than a scratch!”

“Aye, but it
could
have been much worse,” Fergus said. “He's a deft hand with that knife of his and no mistake. Good with the camels, good with the people… If only Weathercliff could hold his drink, he'd be the perfect man.”

“Perhaps we should help him with that,” Nichol suggested. “Practice can help in that regard.”

“I like the way you think, Pickle.”

“Will you two stop talking about me as though I'm not here?” Colm snapped.

“He's just sensitive,” Nichol said, casting a sly glance at Colm. “Tell me more about his incredible prowess.”

“I think we've heard quite enough on that subject,” Marley said, returning just in time to save Colm from more embarrassment. “And on your own,” he added, deflating Fergus's next breath. “How's the fishing, Colm?”

It was a shock to realize that Colm hadn't spoken with them since before he was barred from the sea. “Nonexistent,” he said, and that led into a conversation that ended with both Fergus and Marley disgusted, and Fergus despairing of the fact that he hadn't known about this sooner.

“I should have been at that farce of a trial,” he said. “I'd have set those damn fools straight.”

“Perhaps its better you weren't, all things considered,” Marley said with a pointed look at Fergus's turban. Fergus subsided with a grumble, and Marley changed the subject.

“If you've enough idle time to waste it visiting two old men—”

“Speak for yourself, man, I'm in my
prime
—”

“You might consider visiting the Spectacular,” Marley finished.

Nichol perked up. “It's back? I haven't heard anything about it!”

“Been back for a few weeks now, but Caithmor isn't letting them inside the city this time. The Roving Spectacular used to set up in the fairground used for the spring and summer markets,” Marley said for Colm's benefit, “but this year, the regent's declared that space off-limits to them. He's a very religious man, the regent, more so than King Iarra. The priests have always had a problem with the Spectacular, but now that the king is gone, they're pressing their hand.”

“What exactly is the Spectacular?” Colm asked. “I remember Blake mentioned it once.”

Nichol's face fell for a moment. “Right. Yeah, he loved it. He always dragged us there every year. It's a carnival: a traveling show and circus. They've got amazing acts, and fortune tellers and caged beasts, and a house of horrors! That was always Blake's favorite part,” he added sadly.

“The priests don't like 'em because of the ‘dubious legal nature' of some of their acts,” Fergus said. “Too close to magic for the likes of the stalwart champions of the Four. They've wintered here every year for the past twenty, though, and they're popular enough that people would complain if they were refused a place here entirely.”

“We should go,” Nichol told Colm. “I bet you'd love it, it's so strange. I know how you love new, strange things,” he grinned.

“It's good that you find yourself so amusing,” Colm told him. “Really, at least one person in the room will always appreciate your sparkling wit.”

“Oh, don't be too shy to admit that that one person is you, love,” Nichol teased him, then froze. Colm stiffened up as well, although he wasn't really worried, not in this company. It was more because Nichol had never called him that before, never called him anything other than his given name, and certainly not an affectionate diminutive. “Um.” He glanced over at Fergus and Marley, who were looking on in amusement. “I mean…you know, we're family in a way, and…”

“Have you ever heard of a manticore, lad?” Fergus asked, graciously ignoring the moment of awkwardness. Nichol shook his head, and Fergus launched into the story of losing a camel to the beast when they were sheltering from the sandstorm in the Fasach deserts.

It was interesting to hear it again, and even more interesting for Colm to watch Nichol's reaction to the story, the longing in his face as he listened to Fergus's adventures. Nichol was built for action, and Colm worried that he would waste away here if he stood still much longer, with no goal to drive him forward. It was that need for activity that drove them around the city day after day, and each day, Nichol seemed a little more wild-eyed, not less.

They were back at the Cove in time to help with the dinner rush, and that night, Nichol pressed Colm down onto the cot and straddled his shoulders, filling Colm's mouth with his cock and being louder than usual, louder than he should, but Colm took it all, took him in and sucked hard, and relished every drop as Nichol spent. It didn't take long. Something about the day had keyed him up. He touched Colm roughly that night, stroking him and talking to him the whole time.

“I never know how much there is to you… I thought you frail once, yet you've walked across the continent. I thought you meek, yet you risked your life to save me from a storm. I thought you passive, and yet now I know you've cut a man who dared to grab you… Gods, Colm, how much more is there for me to learn about you?” he panted in Colm's ear, rubbing his thumb roughly over the head of Colm's cock. “How much is still hidden? Tell me something I don't know about you yet…”

“I heard you once,” Colm said before he could rethink it. “You and Jaime, in here together.”

Nichol's hand stopped suddenly. “What?”

“I heard you,” Colm persisted, biting his lip with frustration at the sudden stillness. “I heard you push him against the door, I heard him talk to you, call you Nicky. I heard him come in your mouth, and then you pushed him down on the cot. I left then—I had to go clean up, I'd already come in my drawers without anything, not even a touch, I was a—a mess, oh…” Nichol's hand was moving again now, slow but building in pressure.

“What else?” Nichol asked, his voice gone guttural in a way it hadn't with Colm before, like his control wasn't all there. It was the way he used to sound with Jaime, and Colm tried not to be jealous and aroused by that, but it was far too late to think about protecting his foolish heart anymore.

“I—I went downstairs, out back, to clean up… I was still half-hard, and when I took my clothes off and touched myself and thought about you—gods, Nichol, ahh—”

“Thought about me how?” Nichol demanded, rubbing his stiffening prick against Colm's thigh as he whipped his hand over Colm's erection. It was too warm, too much, but perfect. “How, Colm, how did you have me? How did I have you?”

“What you just did—here, on my shoul-shoulders,
ah
, with your cock in my mouth…and then, then me on my back and you, Nichol, you were
inside
me, you were filling me, fucking me—
fuck
—” The memory, coupled with Nichol pressed so close to him now, working him over so rough and so intimate, was the end of Colm's meager resistance. He groaned loudly, partly with pain and partly with incredible pleasure, and came hard enough to spatter his throat and collarbones.

“Colm,” Nichol hissed, letting him go and using both hands to lever his body up against his lover's. Colm opened his legs and let Nichol rest between them, pulled his knees back and trembled with the sensation of the slick head of Nichol's cock sliding against his hole as he rutted fiercely. Gods, yes, Colm wanted
that
…

Nichol reached a hand down and held his cock steady as he pressed in once, twice, rhythmic and deliberate and gods, every nerve Colm had was on fire and he felt like he couldn't catch his breath, and the tight bud of his entrance gave a little more with each slippery push until it was open just enough, just enough that the tip entered him, stretching him painfully but so good—

Nichol came like that, pressed that little ways inside Colm's body, just enough to spill his warmth into Colm. He was shaking by the end of it, and fell back as his arms gave out. Colm felt a little bereft at the sudden loss, but he reached out and pulled Nichol in close, tight against his chest as he wrapped his mind around the sensation of something foreign inside him. It had been just for a moment, but all that did was stoke the urge to feel more.

Nichol moved a hand clumsy with fatigue down between them, and gently pressed his fingertip to Colm's hole. It was sticky with his come, and when he pressed a bit harder, more oozed out onto his fingers. He finally pressed all the way inside with one, and both of them sighed with satisfaction.

“I've never done that before,” Nichol murmured, lips pressed to Colm's chest. “Never went so far with Jaime. I thought about it, but…it wasn't right, with him. I want to, though.” He kissed Colm's nipple, then sucked until it peaked. “I want to do that with you.”

“I want you to,” Colm acknowledged.

“Mmm, but not tonight,” Nichol groaned, fumbling for the damp rag that they'd gotten in the habit of leaving by the cot each night. “Tonight, I am completely spent.” He wiped Colm down, taking special care between his buttocks and thighs, then did himself. “I can't believe you listened to us,” he said as he rearranged himself on top of Colm. “I wish I had known before.”

“You didn't need to know I was pining over you back then,” Colm said, running his fingers through Nichol's wild hair. “It's enough that you know now, isn't it?”

“I suppose,” Nichol agreed. “Colm…you know that I…” His voice broke, and he took a deep breath. “You know that I care for you, don't you? Deeply. It doesn't surprise you anymore, does it?”

“No,” Colm said. “Not at all.” And then, because he didn't say it as often as he wanted to, he added, “I love you.”

“I know,” Nichol whispered.

Chapter Fifteen

The day that followed was in all ways surprising and new, and it started with a letter. A surprise letter, because there hadn't been one for over a month, and Colm had been convinced that the time of no news from home had finally come, the weather too thick and harsh to support the passing of messages. But a courier brought one to them anyway, and Colm grasped it with eager hands as he thanked the man and gave him a few copper coins for his trouble. Then he turned it immediately over to Nichol, because while his reading ability was slowly improving, he was in no mood to take the time to sound everything out when he had a better way right here, smiling at him over a bowl of chowder at lunchtime.

“One from Anneslea?” Megg asked. “That's surprising!”

“It is,” Colm agreed. “Nichol…”

“You can't wait for me to finish my chowder first?” Nichol said teasingly. “Really? Are you that desperate? Because I have to say, I'm positively exhausted, and I need to eat to restore my energy…”

“Exhausted? After working in the kitchen all morning?” Megg reached out and pressed a hand to her grandson's forehead. “Perhaps you're coming down with something.”

“Gran! I'm fine, it was just…” Nichol sighed and put down his spoon. “Fine, I'll read it now.” He opened the letter and shook it out.

“
My dearest brother,
” he began in his trilling falsetto.
“I can only hope that this letter reaches you. I have no one to turn to now except for you, even though I know there is nothing you can do…
” Nichol dropped the voice and continued in a more serious manner, his cheer fading.
“The winter has barely begun and already it is taking a terrible toll. Anneslea has burned the bodies of three young families who died of sickness so far this season, and many others have lost spouses or children. Even Merdith's babe has passed. Sam was only a week old, too small and too ill to survive at this time of year, but his loss has been devastating for her and Tellan.

“Honored Gherick believes that Anneslea is being punished by the Four. He says we are too tolerant of licentiousness and weak morals. We are required to attend church every evening for fear of being ostracized by our neighbors, and every night he has a new rant to frighten us with. His latest trial for the faithful is that those of us who are of age submit to arranged marriages to help replenish the stock of the faithful, and I am now old enough to be one of those marriages.”

“Ridiculous!” Megg exclaimed. “That sort of thing hasn't been done since my own mother was a girl, not even in the rural villages.”

“Keep reading,” Colm urged Nichol. He cleared his throat and went on.

“Mama has done her best to argue against it, she tries anew every morning, but Honored Gherick says that she is blinded by selfishness. Merdith and Tellan agree, and won't speak to us anymore. I do not know yet who my intended is to be, but I do know that I don't care for any of the boys in the village enough to want to marry them.

“I think it's a very good thing that you left when you did. Honored Gherick has banned Hamm from the village—you remember Hamm? He is the hunchback, the wood carver. He is leaving tonight, and I'm going to try to get this letter to him before he leaves. Honored Gherick calls Hamm a sign of the disapproval of the Four. I think, if you had stayed, he would have thought the same about you. I fear the future you might have had, and the one I am being pressed into.

“The marriages are to occur on the first day of spring, but I won't be here to see it. As soon as the pass clears, I will travel to Isealea, and from there I will do whatever I have to to get to Caithmor. It is likely we won't converse again until then. Please do not pass a prayer to us. I fear Honored Gherick getting a hint of my plans. Have faith in me, and don't worry. We will meet again at the Cove, and I shall rejoice to finally be with you again. I miss you terribly, as does Mama. She is stuck here, but I at least might be free.

“All my love, your sister, Baylee.”

Their table was silent for a long moment. Colm reached for the letter and Nichol gave it over, and Colm traced the letters of his sister's name, the only one apart from his that he could easily recognize on sight.

“It does no good to fret,” Megg said finally, pushing back from the table. “We won't know anything more until the spring anyhow, so the best course of action is to be patient, wait and see. Baylee's a smart girl. She'll figure things out. Anneslea will recover. The Four certainly have better things to do than curse a village because it harbors artisans and fishermen!” Her piece said, Megg strode off to the kitchen.

Logically, Colm knew Megg was right, that there was no way to know what was happening, no way to affect it and therefore no reason to worry about it, but that didn't help. He could picture it all too clearly in his mind's eye, and despite how they'd never gotten along, he felt terrible for Merdith. It had to be so painful to lose her babe.

“Colm.” Nichol's hand on his shoulder snapped him out of it. “Are you all right?”

“No,” he said honestly. “But Megg's right, there's nothing to be done about it.”

“Nothing but—”

“Lads!” Megg shouted from the kitchen door. “I need your help in here!”

“Work,” they finished together.

The work wasn't as effective at relieving Colm's mind as he'd hoped, however. Neither was the orgasm Nichol skillfully brought him to that evening. Not even the act of reciprocation could completely divert his mind from the pains of his family. Colm lay awake long after Nichol had fallen asleep, holding his lover close while his mind careened through all the awful things that might be happening back in Anneslea.

What if Baylee was married against her will after all? What if Desandre or Kels took sick, what if Merdith couldn't carry another baby? What if Honored Gherick was somehow right, and the Four had turned their grace from Anneslea? Colm knew it was impossible to know if he could have helped at all with his presence. The mere fact that he was in Caithmor now hinted very firmly at no. But it hurt not to be there with them, supporting and comforting them.

Colm went about his work in a fugue of sorts for the next few days, oblivious to the point where Megg actually lost her temper with him and sent him away from the kitchen when he let an entire batch of bread burn in the ovens that morning. Nichol came after him once the disaster was averted and found him sitting at the very end of the sea wall, drenched with the salty mist and chilled from the bitter wind, and not even realizing it until the warmth of Nichol's hand on his cheek made him start.

He was even more surprised when Nichol sat down next to him, huddling close to share what little heat could radiate from them. “You can't stop thinking about it, can you?” he yelled over the wind.

Colm shook his head. Nichol reached out and brushed his pale wet hair back from his eyes. “We've got to find a distraction for you, then.”

Was he saying what Colm thought he was saying? While the thought was tempting, his mind and body just hadn't been very responsive over the last few days. “Nichol…I'm afraid—”

“Not me,” Nichol corrected with a little smile. “Something completely different.”

“What?”

Nichol stood up and held out his hand. “Come and I'll show you.”

Colm let Nichol pull him to his feet, and as was their habit when alone this far out, they twined their fingers together as they began to slip-slide their way back to the city.

Only this time they didn't stay in the city. Nichol took Colm down side streets and back alleys until they reached a small gate in the northern wall of Caithmor. He led him through the gate and down the road, and in the distance, Colm could see luridly colored banners flying, strung up on poles and flapping with joyful disdain for the awful weather. Beneath the banners was a small city of tents and wagons, all just as colorful and defiantly bright. The walls of Caithmor seemed gloomy and dark by comparison.

“It's the Roving Spectacular!” Nichol said with a grin as they got closer. “They're the largest traveling show in the empire! I meant to take you earlier, but the time never seemed quite right.” The closer they got, the clearer the picture became, and Colm could see now that the wagons that made up the makeshift walls of this place, circled up to keep people from entering wherever they wanted. On the side of each wagon was painted a small, stylized blue eye, wide and lidless.

“What are those for?” Colm asked, pointing at the eyes.

“Ah, those are a warning not to pass without paying,” Nichol said. “If you do, then the eye will see your crime and bad luck will follow you. Or at least that's what they say. It's only superstition, but that's part of the reason that the priests are so annoyed by this place.”

“What will we see here?” Colm asked as they lined up with the other eager city dwellers at the makeshift entrance to the spectacle, really nothing but a few lines of ragged ribbon strung up and several large, strong men standing there to make sure people paid before entering.

“Everything!” Nichol promised. When it was their turn, he handed the girl a silver coin and she bit down on it, then smiled and tied a length of red thread around each of their wrists.

“Enjoy yourselves, gentlemen,” she said, sounding coquettish even though she probably couldn't be more than fourteen. “If I were you, I'd head to the Pinnacle. The acrobats will be going on any moment.”

“Which is the Pinnacle?” Nichol asked.

“It's the tallest tent, darling,” she purred, letting her kohl-dark eyelashes flutter. Colm didn't know whether to be repulsed or amused. She looked too much like his little sister for such a thing to be remotely alluring. “You can't miss it.”

The paths were muddy and slick from so many feet crossing over them. Colm estimated there were at least twenty wagons here, and there was no shortage of brightly dressed performers, food vendors and merchants all calling out to them, trying to lure people in closer. A group of musicians were set up on a small wooden platform off on one side, blowing out a bawdy tune with their flutes and horns. Several people in vibrant frocks with colored faces danced with each other in front of it, moving with exaggerated steps and flounces, their faces painted to make them look like dolls. Colm slowed down a bit, tempted to linger, but let Nichol urge him onward.

They kept to the path and made it to the Pinnacle, a red-and-blue-striped tent in the very center of the Spectacular. Inside of it, near the back of the tent, was a circle of low torches which a young boy was running around lighting now. There was only standing room, but Colm found he was taller than almost everyone else there and could see just fine. Nichol wasn't so lucky and hopped up and down several times before swearing.

“Would you like to climb up on my shoulders?” Colm teased him, feeling lighter than he had in almost a week.

He didn't expect to see Nichol's eyes narrow as though he were really considering the proposition. “Not your shoulders, your back,” he said at last. “Bend down and be ready to grab my legs.”

“You can't be serious.”

“You offered,” Nichol reminded him with a grin. “Come on, don't you love me? Isn't giving me a lift up included in your definition of love?”

“Using my love against me,” Colm sighed even as he bent down. “I see now that the thrill is gone.” Nichol slid up against his back, wrapped his arms around Colm's shoulders and jumped up, tightening his legs around Colm's waist.

“I think that we're nowhere near sounding out the deeps of what thrills us together,” Nichol whispered in his ear. He was half-hard against Colm's back, and he wiggled his hips suggestively. Colm bit his lip to hold back a groan, before fortunately both of them were distracted by the entrance of the ringmaster.

He was a tall man, almost as tall as Colm, and broad like a barrel through his shoulders and chest. He had a pitch-black beard, full and flowing halfway down his chest, and he wore a floppy crimson hat with a long feather the color of flame protruding from the top of it. His red velvet breeches and doublet were an old style, elegant enough for a lord but fairly ill fitting. It didn't matter. His voice was what captivated people, and when he spoke, it was like hearing a thunderclap.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Rogues and roustabouts, women and wenches, and all you little urchins out there! Welcome to the Roving Spectacular, the greatest and most magnificent, most stunning and most breathtaking show in the whole of the empire—nay, the world!” He threw up his hands, and cheers roared out from the press of spectators.

“I, Regar Brighteyes, have gathered the death-defying, the awe-inspiring, the most miraculous of performers during my travels and brought them together here to shock and amaze you! You will see the exotic, the mysterious, and the magical—simple tricks only there, so as to please the Four, but they will nevertheless captivate you,” he assured the skeptical as he made the X of the Four in front of his chest.

“Prepare yourselves, all you wide-eyed walkers in the wild, and steady your hands and your hearts, because this first act is a vision of skill, a performance to captivate the eyes and the mind. The Bellari clan, a family of acrobats trained practically from birth to twist and bend, will astonish and astound even the most hardened souls amongst you. Prepare yourselves, and welcome to the ring…the Bellari!” He turned and bowed all at once, sweeping his cap off and snapping his fingers. Instantly, the ring of torches flared, causing a ripple through the crowd as the first few rows leaned back so they wouldn't catch on fire. By the time people's eyes had adjusted and the flames had fallen, the ringmaster was gone, and the acrobats were entering.

The men catapulted in leaps and bounds out of the back of the tent, flipping backwards over each other, their bodies crossing at such high speeds that it seemed impossible they wouldn't hit each other, and yet they didn't. They wore body-hugging outfits of bright gold that glinted in the light of the torches, the only source of light within the darkened interior of the tent.