Scissor Sisters Chapter Eight
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When Silmaria came back to herself she was lying on a soft, large, comfortable bed. A bed that size should have been draped in silks and finery, but instead was covered in simple, practical sheets of cotton and a heavy, warm wool comforter. The glow of a fire and a number of candles cast shifting shadows and orange light against the ceiling and walls.
Silmaria fought not to panic; she had no idea where she was.
The Gnari girl sat up to get a better view of the room. It was a simple and largely unadorned room and not especially large, but it seemed bigger than it was due to its near emptiness. There was a fireplace across the room from the bed and a well banked fire had recently been started and was now chasing the chill from the room. Over the mantle of the fireplace hung a small plaque displaying House IronWing’s coat of arms, and a portrait of a young couple posing together dressed in fine clothes. The man sat behind the woman, his hand resting on her brazenly exposed shoulder while she sat before and slightly lower than him, her hands folded demurely in her lap.
A large cedar chest sat at the foot of the bed, and there was a thick rug in IronWing navy blue trimmed in silver set before the heavy door to the left of the bed, a small table with two plain chairs in the upper left corner of the room, and a rack displaying a set of armor to the right side of the room accompanied by a rack holding a large greatsword in a finely made leather sheath, and just below it, a simple, sturdy longsword.
The room failed to hold her attention, however, once her eyes found Lord Rael, grabbing up another log and placing it on the fire in the hearth. She realized she was in the man’s room…in his bed no less. She felt herself flushing, which was ridiculous considering how many men she’d slept with and allowed to bed her down, but flush she did. She swallowed her initial urge to run from the room then and there, and cleared her throat to say, “My Lord?”
Rael stood and faced her, but made no move to close the distance between them. “Are you well, Silmaria?”
She bit her full lower lip, nervous and uncertain, unsure why, and really, really hating that look of concern and sympathy in his eyes. “I’m fine. What happened? Why are we here?”
“You fainted,” Rael explained calmly. “It’s okay. It’s a pretty normal reaction, under the circumstances. We’re in my chambers. I needed to take you someplace quiet and away from prying eyes. Everyone is panicky enough already. Are you all right now?”
Silmaria swallowed, nodded, and hastily hopped off the Nobleman’s bed as if it were about to burn her. She straightened her dress, then realized it was still smeared in blood. Her hands had been carefully washed clean while she was unconscious. She tried very hard not to think about that.
“What about your wound, my Lord? Have they been tended?” Silmaria asked as she returned her gaze to the Nobleman.
Lord Rael waved a hand dismissively. “No, but it’s nothing. I’ll tend it myself. You may go, it’s fine.”
The two regarded each other as the room and the silence stretched tense between them. For a moment, Silmaria was relieved that he’d given her exactly what she wanted, and she almost turned to go.
Then her eyes met his, and she saw truly. There, in that intense, intelligent gaze he pinned on her, was a challenge. It was unspoken and subtle, but it was there nonetheless. He knew he made her uncomfortable and awkward, Silmaria realized now, though she doubted he knew why. But he knew, and she could tell from his eyes, he’d given her a way out of this situation, and he fully expected her to take it.
The very notion struck a defiant cord in her. He didn’t think she could put aside her own concerns to do her duty, was that it? He probably thought her too weak and delicate to rise to the task. Well she’d be damned if she would give him the satisfaction of being right!
“I’m fine, my Lord. If you would please sit, I can tend your wounds,” she said at last. She even managed, with a rather large effort, to keep her voice calm and composed.
Rael considered the young woman closely. Her response and her voice were polite and reasonable. But he’d commanded and led men long enough to know defiance hidden under a disguise of obedience when he saw it. He could tell the Gnari was complying because she was too stubborn to admit she’d rather be anywhere from here.
Her dress was stained with dried blood and yet she stood tall and proud, her chin tilted back to meet his eyes. Her arms were crossed under her full breasts and her tail was cutting the air behind her aggressively. He doubted she was even aware of it. Bright, wide emerald eyes stared up at him and he saw the fire behind that gaze. She was lovely. Beautiful. And, even more intriguing, she was strong.
“You don’t like me,” Rael said, deciding to drop pretenses and take the direct approach.
His words clearly caught her off guard; her surprise flitted across her face. Then she stared at him with a look of reserved suspicion. Still, to her credit, she did not try to deny it. “It’s not my job to like you, my Lord. It’s my job to serve you.”
“That’s true. But I wouldn’t want someone to serve me who didn’t do it gladly.”
Her smooth brow furrowed and she stared at him as if he were mad. “How many servants do you really think are truly happy being servants, my Lord?”
“A fair question,” Rael conceded. He tilted his head ever so slightly, giving Silmaria the uncomfortable sensation of being studied. “Have I done something to make you dislike me?”
Silmaria wasn’t about to answer that question. “Maybe I just don’t like Humans,” she shrugged one graceful shoulder.
“I’m don’t doubt you’ve been treated poorly by many Humans. I know my people aren’t very tolerant of Gnari. But I don’t think you hate Humans. You loved my father.”
“I don’t want to talk about this,” Silmaria replied quickly.
Rael’s eyes bore into her, calm and sure. “Maybe you don’t have a choice this time,” he said, and for the first time there was the stern, firm tone of command in his voice. His father’s voice echoed in his words.
Silmaria scowled softly and briefly considered telling him where to take a walk to, but then let out a deep sigh and shook her head. Her thick, curling black hair fell across her face and, irritated, she shoved it back over her shoulders to spill down her back. “Fine. If I must. Sit down so I can take care of your wound, I may as well get it all done at once. My Lord.”
Rael stared at her for a moment, then let out a soft, low chuckle. One corner of his mouth curved up slightly in a wry smile. “Fair enough. The supplies are on the table.”
The Gnari girl walked to the small table, where there was a basin of steaming hot water, clean towels and bandages, needle and thread, and a small container Silmaria recognized as Lirena’s salve to help chase off infection and hasten wound healing. She nodded to herself, having all she needed. Then her eyes were drawn to Rael as the man peeled his shirt free, and she froze, entranced.
Rael was a specimen of a man. Exposed, he was even bigger than she’d thought. He was powerfully built, his arms thick and toned, his chest broad and powerful, with shoulders wide and thick with corded muscle. The muscles of his belly were thick and taut with defined grooves running between each group of muscle. His woolen trousers hung from his hips, showing the deep V cut running down to his groin.
Yet as finely made as his body was, it was marred with scars. He had many small scars scattered about his abdomen and his arms, testament of his years of war and battle. They ranged in size and shape and severity, standing out vividly on his pale ivory skin. But none stood out so much as the huge, jagged scar running down his body, an ugly length of scar tissue extending from the top of his left shoulder all the way down to the bottom of his right hip.
Silmaria swallowed heavily, her attention pulled in so many directions at once. Her thoughts were scattered and confused. She felt a measure of horror, for she couldn’t even imagine what kind of grievous wound would leave such a scar. A flare of appreciation for the strength and power of his body, the way his muscle shifted under his fair skin, the light spread of copper and red curls on his thick chest.
No, Silmaria thought with dread as just like that, suddenly the Stirring came over her, hard and intense like a battering ram, and her eyes studied his exquisite flesh while she imagined the feel of it under her hands and lips and tongue, the strength of his arms around her while he took her on that bed just behind her. He was in her senses, flooding her. He smelled so good, of sweat and leather and steel and masculine musk. How had she never noticed before? He smelled of violence and war and blood, and even as disturbed as she was by blood right now that smelled good, too, because it smelled of him. She could practically taste him on the air.
Shaking, warring with herself. No, no, no. Not now. Not here. Not him, gods please, have mercy. Silmaria fought for control. She tried to push the primal, overwhelming longing and need flooding her veins down deep.
Rael was looking at her oddly, his brows raised. But whatever showed on her face, he didn’t ask. Instead, he grabbed one of the chairs at the table and turned it so the back was to his chest, then sat.
Being faced with his back did little to quell her desires, as like his front, it was thick with hard, toned muscle that she imagined gripping tight to, feeling the corded muscle shift under her fingers as she clutched him while he used her roughly for his pleasure. At least this way he couldn’t look at her face. And with his body turned this way, her attention was drawn to the ugly gash in his side. The sight sobered her somewhat. She gathered herself, steeling her will against the pulsing between her thighs, and set to work.
Her hands trembled so badly at first that she had to take several deep breaths to get herself composed. She was fearful she was about to badly botch the job of stitching this man up.
“Are you all right?” Rael asked, near startling her out of her thoughts.
“I’m fine,” she snapped, irritated that she was such a mess around him, and even more irritated at how tightly she had to clench her thighs together at the mere sound of his voice. She hated him for how strongly he was effecting her right now, and he didn’t even know it!
“Shouldn’t you drink some wine, or maybe some brandy? It will help the pain.”
“Don’t worry about that,” he replied. “I don’t like the way spirits dull my wits. I’m fine without it.”
“I’m glad one of us is,” Silmaria muttered sourly, but went to work.
As much of a distraction as her Stirring was, making the job all the harder, she was glad to be doing something, anything that put her attention on something beside the nearness of his body and the acute ache of her need. As she worked, she took a closer look at the wound. Really for how deep and long the gash was, it wasn’t in bad shape. Rael’s had already stopped bleeding and the flesh was free of the red, puffy look of infection. The edges were fairly symmetrical, and she felt sure he would heal very well. Her hands had finally steadied and she worked the curved needle and thread through his flesh, the firm pressure and then yielding of her needling working through muscle. Rael was tense, his body taut as a bowstring, but he didn’t move, and he didn’t complain.
“You were going to tell me why you don’t like me,” Rael said just when she was wondering if he’d slipped into some kind of trance.
“While I’m putting a needle through your flesh?” Silmaria muttered.
“Seems as good a time as any,” Rael said lightly.
She shook her head. He was the strangest man she’d ever met. “Different reasons I guess. Because you abandoned us, for one.”
Rael grunted softly as the needle lanced through him once more. “A fair point, and true. I can understand that, and cannot blame you for feeling that way. I was preoccupied at the war front, commanding my troops, but that doesn’t excuse my neglecting my other duties here, my responsibilities toward my land, my holdings, and my people. I regret what happened to you. To all of you, in my absence. I am doing all I can to remedy my mistakes.”
“Better that you’d never made them to begin with,” Silmaria said softly, but relented, saying, “But everyone makes mistakes. Even Lords. And you’re more willing to admit to them than most Lords I’ve known or heard of. And you’ve done much to make life better for us since you returned.”
“But that is not the only reason you dislike me,” Rael mused.
Silmaria slid the needle through his skin and drew the stitch tight. “No.”
“What of the rest, then?” Rael pressed.
The Gnari woman pursed her lips and was silent for so long, he thought she was going to refuse to answer. Then, at last, she said, “Your father was a great man. The greatest man I knew. He was noble, and kind, and just. He was taken before his time. And you didn’t come. And then, he passed, and still you didn’t come. And when we put him in the ground, you did not come. You weren’t there. For almost a year you didn’t come to see him.”
Rael had no words. He sat quiet and still as she spoke and thereafter.
Silmaria let out a quiet sigh as her heart ached, not the grievous hurt it had been a year ago, but just a quiet, sad little reminder of what had been. More than anything, the feeling just made her tired, now.
“I hated you, you know. I hated you so much. I thought you must be the most insufferable, wretched, ungrateful and self-absorbed snob of a Noble to ever live. I thought you a craven, a coward, and a poor excuse for a son. I thought pretty much every bad and wicked thing conceivable of you, and laid every evil happenstance and thing gone wrong at your feet. I felt that way from Master Edwin’s passing right up to your arrival here. It was a long time to bear a grudge against someone I didn’t even know, but I did it.”
Rael nodded slowly, staring into the softly burning fire, his eyes seeming far away. “And now?”
“Now…” Silmaria paused, looking inward, searching and mulling through a confused muddle of feelings she hadn’t even fully sorted out for herself yet. She answered as honestly as she was able. “Now, I just wonder how a man who seems by all measures a good and honorable man could have done something so callous and heartless. How you could be such a reflection of your father in so many ways, yet have so little love for him that you never came to honor him and say goodbye.”
There, she’d said it, and said it aloud, and managed to say it without screaming with anger and rage and heartache. And oddly, now that she’d said it, she couldn’t find that knot of rage in her anymore.
The silence stretched, then, filled only with the crackle of the fire and the occasional soft hiss of the stitches being drawn through Rael’s flesh to close his wound.
“I loved my father, in my way, as he loved me in his,” Rael said at last. The tone of his voice made Silmaria feel that he wasn’t entirely talking to her anymore the feeling that he was not entirely speaking to her. “I spent most of my youth away from home. Training, learning, and growing as a squire to the DarkFyre Dale Knight’s Brotherhood. It was a high honor; House IronWing is wealthy and established in its own right, but our House has never been among the most powerful at court. I was accepted on the strength of my Lord Father’s military career and valor as a Knight.
“Father retired from service not long after I became apprenticed. I saw less of him, then. You know how infrequently I was able to return home. By the time I reached adolescence, I hardly saw him except on the odd visit.
“Still,” he said with a soft sigh, “I loved him nonetheless, and honored him. I applied everything I had into my training and apprenticeship. Everything. I strived with every fiber of my being to become a Knight worthy of my family name. I looked up to my father, to his wisdom, his valor, and his strength. I idolized him. It was bringing honor to my father that made me strive for glory in the Knighthood. I would stop at nothing to become a great man that would make him proud.”
“He was proud,” Silmaria said softly, not even realizing what she was saying or why, only she could hear the wistful tone in his voice. It was a brief glimpse inside a closed, guarded man, and she felt an instant kinship with those feelings toward his father.
“He said you’d grown into a good man. He said you made him proud, many times. Especially…toward the end.”
Rael’s smile was bitter sweet. “I’m glad to know that. It’s all I ever wanted.”
Silmaria tied the last stitch and cut the string. She placed the thread and needle aside, then smeared some of Lirena’s salve on the wound. It would heal very well; already the wound looked worlds better. She began to wrap the Nobleman’s side with bandages, but he gently took them from her hands and finished it himself.
She stepped back, and quickly dashed the tears from her face. “Then why? Why didn’t you come? You say you loved him, so why didn’t you come say goodbye?”
Rael pulled a fresh shirt on, then stared down into her obviously pained face with something as close to unguarded sadness as she was likely to ever see from him. “Because it was too much. For both of us. My memories of my father are of him as a soldier, a leader and a strong, capable man. A man who could do anything. My father was my hero. And that’s how I wanted to remember him, always. That’s what he wanted, too. We said our goodbyes. Just not in the way most people do.”
Silmaria opened her mouth to say something, but Rael held up a hand, forestalling her. He walked to the cedar chest at the foot of his bed and opened it, reaching in to rummage through his belongings and take a small roll of parchment out. The Nobleman turned and came back to her, standing close. She could feel heat radiating off his body like a furnace, even without touching him at all. He held the rolled up scroll out to her, his silver eyes staring into her face somberly. “No one else has ever read this. I trust you will be discrete about what you see in this scroll. I would like it back when you are finished with it.”
“What is it?” Silmaria asked as she took the scroll in trembling hands. The simple parchment seemed heavy with significance and secrets.
“You will see. It’s best you find out yourself.” He nodded, then cleared his throat, and there was that tense, uncomfortable charge in the air between them once more. “Thank you for stitching me up. You did well. I’ve had plenty of far worse stitch jobs. Now, please. Go get cleaned up, and get some food and rest. You’ve earned it.”
“Thank you, my Lord,” Silmaria said weakly. She was suddenly aware of just how tired and hungry she was; by now it had to be late into the night, and she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Her stomach was gnawing on itself, and she felt exhausted, drained to the point of dropping. Her Stirring fled in the face of those needs, her body simply too spent and wrung out to hold any sort of arousal any longer.
He walked her to the door. It was a strange thing to do, since it was his own room, but he did it anyway. He regarded her with his strange eyes and once again they were unreadable. “Goodnight, Silmaria,” he said at last.
“Goodnight, Lord Rael.”
*
To my son, Rael, blood of my blood and heir to my holdings,
What a pompous way to begin a letter. I’ve written so many letters to you just so. Stiff, formal, like we are two stuffed shirts sitting across the dinner table at some highborn court function.
But that’s not really us, is it? I’ve always been a man of simple words and deeds. I hardly known the man you’ve become, but I can say with the certainty of my gut that you are the same. So why, I’ve asked myself, especially recently, do we cling to these formalities and stiff diction? Why do we not speak simple and plain and from our hearts, Father to Son?
Because we are men, of course. You are a man of honor just as I strive to be, and we speak as one honorable man to another. On one hand, it makes me proud. Proud that I have a good, honorable, strong son to carry on my line. And on the other…I want, just once, to speak with you as, simply, my son.
Rael. You may never fully understand just how proud I am of you, of what you became, and what you will one day become. I knew the first time I held you in my hands, so small and frail and new, that you were destined for great things. I see those great things in you already.
But I confess, I am afraid for you as well. Your Mother often said I had my own special version of the Sight. I’m not prescient; I cannot part the veil and take visions of what may be as some seers do. But I get feelings, now and then, and those feelings are strong, and often right.
I see darkness around you.. A heaviness of danger and risk. I cannot say what form this takes. Logically, you are surrounded by it every day of your life at the front, waging this long, terrible war. But I feel this is something different. Something more sinister, and thus more worrying.
So I say, guard yourself, my son. Be vigilant. Know that great men are loved, as you will be, and men who are not loved will forever hate you for that greatness. You will be a mirror held up, showing them all their faults and wickedness and shortcomings by the things you are that they can never be. Such men can never abide to see those things in themselves, reflected from your greatness. They will smash you before suffering to look upon their twisted reflection.
It won’t be long now. My death draws near. I feel it in my bones and in my blood, this sickness. It will take me soon.
Heed my words, my son, as they will likely be the last I send you.
Be brave, and valiant. Be just. This world knows too little of justice and virtue. And be kind, for the world knows even less of kindness. Hard men and warriors such as we can be kind. It costs us nothing, and can give everything to those who know nothing of kindness or a caring word. I have seen much cruelty in this world, and I know you have seen the same. It is a hard thing, knowing as a soldier, you’ve given that cruelty to other men. Men who may have been good fellows. Men who didn’t deserve to have life snatched away too soon. The things we do as soldiers and warriors are necessary, yes, but not always right. Grant kindness where you may, so you don’t lose yourself in necessary cruelty.
The arrangements have been made, Rael. All is ready here. Your place at the front is vital, and you cannot turn your gaze from the Haruke. I have arranged for the estate and holdings of House IronWing to be attended when I pass, so you do not have to return until such a time as it is sensible and convenient. Do not forsake the efforts of your command. All will hold until you are ready.
I think, from time to time, that it may be better for you to come. A place in my heart longs to see you one last time. But then, I think of you, seeing me as I am now. The way you knew me when I was proud and strong erased forever by final memories of me as I am now, decaying and slipping away. And I cannot bear that thought. Your memories of me would be forever changed and, knowing that, my final memories of you would be, too.
It is better this way, for you and I. We both know that.
Goodbye, my son. I go to join our forefathers, forever proud of you, and forever loving you.
I ask one final thing. Please, watch over my kitten. My favorite one. You will know her when you see her. She is strong, and fierce in her way, but she will need your strength more than you know. Protect her. She is worth it.
Lord Edwin IronWing.
Father.
*
Silmaria clutched the letter to her breast, and rolled up into a tight little ball on her pallet, sobbing in great, heaving gasps until she was sick from her tears.
*
DarkFyre is burning its way into my brain at an alarming rate. I am digging it, big time. I hope everyone is having as much fun reading it as I am writing it.
Silmaria fought not to panic; she had no idea where she was.
The Gnari girl sat up to get a better view of the room. It was a simple and largely unadorned room and not especially large, but it seemed bigger than it was due to its near emptiness. There was a fireplace across the room from the bed and a well banked fire had recently been started and was now chasing the chill from the room. Over the mantle of the fireplace hung a small plaque displaying House IronWing’s coat of arms, and a portrait of a young couple posing together dressed in fine clothes. The man sat behind the woman, his hand resting on her brazenly exposed shoulder while she sat before and slightly lower than him, her hands folded demurely in her lap.
A large cedar chest sat at the foot of the bed, and there was a thick rug in IronWing navy blue trimmed in silver set before the heavy door to the left of the bed, a small table with two plain chairs in the upper left corner of the room, and a rack displaying a set of armor to the right side of the room accompanied by a rack holding a large greatsword in a finely made leather sheath, and just below it, a simple, sturdy longsword.
The room failed to hold her attention, however, once her eyes found Lord Rael, grabbing up another log and placing it on the fire in the hearth. She realized she was in the man’s room…in his bed no less. She felt herself flushing, which was ridiculous considering how many men she’d slept with and allowed to bed her down, but flush she did. She swallowed her initial urge to run from the room then and there, and cleared her throat to say, “My Lord?”
Rael stood and faced her, but made no move to close the distance between them. “Are you well, Silmaria?”
She bit her full lower lip, nervous and uncertain, unsure why, and really, really hating that look of concern and sympathy in his eyes. “I’m fine. What happened? Why are we here?”
“You fainted,” Rael explained calmly. “It’s okay. It’s a pretty normal reaction, under the circumstances. We’re in my chambers. I needed to take you someplace quiet and away from prying eyes. Everyone is panicky enough already. Are you all right now?”
Silmaria swallowed, nodded, and hastily hopped off the Nobleman’s bed as if it were about to burn her. She straightened her dress, then realized it was still smeared in blood. Her hands had been carefully washed clean while she was unconscious. She tried very hard not to think about that.
“What about your wound, my Lord? Have they been tended?” Silmaria asked as she returned her gaze to the Nobleman.
Lord Rael waved a hand dismissively. “No, but it’s nothing. I’ll tend it myself. You may go, it’s fine.”
The two regarded each other as the room and the silence stretched tense between them. For a moment, Silmaria was relieved that he’d given her exactly what she wanted, and she almost turned to go.
Then her eyes met his, and she saw truly. There, in that intense, intelligent gaze he pinned on her, was a challenge. It was unspoken and subtle, but it was there nonetheless. He knew he made her uncomfortable and awkward, Silmaria realized now, though she doubted he knew why. But he knew, and she could tell from his eyes, he’d given her a way out of this situation, and he fully expected her to take it.
The very notion struck a defiant cord in her. He didn’t think she could put aside her own concerns to do her duty, was that it? He probably thought her too weak and delicate to rise to the task. Well she’d be damned if she would give him the satisfaction of being right!
“I’m fine, my Lord. If you would please sit, I can tend your wounds,” she said at last. She even managed, with a rather large effort, to keep her voice calm and composed.
Rael considered the young woman closely. Her response and her voice were polite and reasonable. But he’d commanded and led men long enough to know defiance hidden under a disguise of obedience when he saw it. He could tell the Gnari was complying because she was too stubborn to admit she’d rather be anywhere from here.
Her dress was stained with dried blood and yet she stood tall and proud, her chin tilted back to meet his eyes. Her arms were crossed under her full breasts and her tail was cutting the air behind her aggressively. He doubted she was even aware of it. Bright, wide emerald eyes stared up at him and he saw the fire behind that gaze. She was lovely. Beautiful. And, even more intriguing, she was strong.
“You don’t like me,” Rael said, deciding to drop pretenses and take the direct approach.
His words clearly caught her off guard; her surprise flitted across her face. Then she stared at him with a look of reserved suspicion. Still, to her credit, she did not try to deny it. “It’s not my job to like you, my Lord. It’s my job to serve you.”
“That’s true. But I wouldn’t want someone to serve me who didn’t do it gladly.”
Her smooth brow furrowed and she stared at him as if he were mad. “How many servants do you really think are truly happy being servants, my Lord?”
“A fair question,” Rael conceded. He tilted his head ever so slightly, giving Silmaria the uncomfortable sensation of being studied. “Have I done something to make you dislike me?”
Silmaria wasn’t about to answer that question. “Maybe I just don’t like Humans,” she shrugged one graceful shoulder.
“I’m don’t doubt you’ve been treated poorly by many Humans. I know my people aren’t very tolerant of Gnari. But I don’t think you hate Humans. You loved my father.”
“I don’t want to talk about this,” Silmaria replied quickly.
Rael’s eyes bore into her, calm and sure. “Maybe you don’t have a choice this time,” he said, and for the first time there was the stern, firm tone of command in his voice. His father’s voice echoed in his words.
Silmaria scowled softly and briefly considered telling him where to take a walk to, but then let out a deep sigh and shook her head. Her thick, curling black hair fell across her face and, irritated, she shoved it back over her shoulders to spill down her back. “Fine. If I must. Sit down so I can take care of your wound, I may as well get it all done at once. My Lord.”
Rael stared at her for a moment, then let out a soft, low chuckle. One corner of his mouth curved up slightly in a wry smile. “Fair enough. The supplies are on the table.”
The Gnari girl walked to the small table, where there was a basin of steaming hot water, clean towels and bandages, needle and thread, and a small container Silmaria recognized as Lirena’s salve to help chase off infection and hasten wound healing. She nodded to herself, having all she needed. Then her eyes were drawn to Rael as the man peeled his shirt free, and she froze, entranced.
Rael was a specimen of a man. Exposed, he was even bigger than she’d thought. He was powerfully built, his arms thick and toned, his chest broad and powerful, with shoulders wide and thick with corded muscle. The muscles of his belly were thick and taut with defined grooves running between each group of muscle. His woolen trousers hung from his hips, showing the deep V cut running down to his groin.
Yet as finely made as his body was, it was marred with scars. He had many small scars scattered about his abdomen and his arms, testament of his years of war and battle. They ranged in size and shape and severity, standing out vividly on his pale ivory skin. But none stood out so much as the huge, jagged scar running down his body, an ugly length of scar tissue extending from the top of his left shoulder all the way down to the bottom of his right hip.
Silmaria swallowed heavily, her attention pulled in so many directions at once. Her thoughts were scattered and confused. She felt a measure of horror, for she couldn’t even imagine what kind of grievous wound would leave such a scar. A flare of appreciation for the strength and power of his body, the way his muscle shifted under his fair skin, the light spread of copper and red curls on his thick chest.
No, Silmaria thought with dread as just like that, suddenly the Stirring came over her, hard and intense like a battering ram, and her eyes studied his exquisite flesh while she imagined the feel of it under her hands and lips and tongue, the strength of his arms around her while he took her on that bed just behind her. He was in her senses, flooding her. He smelled so good, of sweat and leather and steel and masculine musk. How had she never noticed before? He smelled of violence and war and blood, and even as disturbed as she was by blood right now that smelled good, too, because it smelled of him. She could practically taste him on the air.
Shaking, warring with herself. No, no, no. Not now. Not here. Not him, gods please, have mercy. Silmaria fought for control. She tried to push the primal, overwhelming longing and need flooding her veins down deep.
Rael was looking at her oddly, his brows raised. But whatever showed on her face, he didn’t ask. Instead, he grabbed one of the chairs at the table and turned it so the back was to his chest, then sat.
Being faced with his back did little to quell her desires, as like his front, it was thick with hard, toned muscle that she imagined gripping tight to, feeling the corded muscle shift under her fingers as she clutched him while he used her roughly for his pleasure. At least this way he couldn’t look at her face. And with his body turned this way, her attention was drawn to the ugly gash in his side. The sight sobered her somewhat. She gathered herself, steeling her will against the pulsing between her thighs, and set to work.
Her hands trembled so badly at first that she had to take several deep breaths to get herself composed. She was fearful she was about to badly botch the job of stitching this man up.
“Are you all right?” Rael asked, near startling her out of her thoughts.
“I’m fine,” she snapped, irritated that she was such a mess around him, and even more irritated at how tightly she had to clench her thighs together at the mere sound of his voice. She hated him for how strongly he was effecting her right now, and he didn’t even know it!
“Shouldn’t you drink some wine, or maybe some brandy? It will help the pain.”
“Don’t worry about that,” he replied. “I don’t like the way spirits dull my wits. I’m fine without it.”
“I’m glad one of us is,” Silmaria muttered sourly, but went to work.
As much of a distraction as her Stirring was, making the job all the harder, she was glad to be doing something, anything that put her attention on something beside the nearness of his body and the acute ache of her need. As she worked, she took a closer look at the wound. Really for how deep and long the gash was, it wasn’t in bad shape. Rael’s had already stopped bleeding and the flesh was free of the red, puffy look of infection. The edges were fairly symmetrical, and she felt sure he would heal very well. Her hands had finally steadied and she worked the curved needle and thread through his flesh, the firm pressure and then yielding of her needling working through muscle. Rael was tense, his body taut as a bowstring, but he didn’t move, and he didn’t complain.
“You were going to tell me why you don’t like me,” Rael said just when she was wondering if he’d slipped into some kind of trance.
“While I’m putting a needle through your flesh?” Silmaria muttered.
“Seems as good a time as any,” Rael said lightly.
She shook her head. He was the strangest man she’d ever met. “Different reasons I guess. Because you abandoned us, for one.”
Rael grunted softly as the needle lanced through him once more. “A fair point, and true. I can understand that, and cannot blame you for feeling that way. I was preoccupied at the war front, commanding my troops, but that doesn’t excuse my neglecting my other duties here, my responsibilities toward my land, my holdings, and my people. I regret what happened to you. To all of you, in my absence. I am doing all I can to remedy my mistakes.”
“Better that you’d never made them to begin with,” Silmaria said softly, but relented, saying, “But everyone makes mistakes. Even Lords. And you’re more willing to admit to them than most Lords I’ve known or heard of. And you’ve done much to make life better for us since you returned.”
“But that is not the only reason you dislike me,” Rael mused.
Silmaria slid the needle through his skin and drew the stitch tight. “No.”
“What of the rest, then?” Rael pressed.
The Gnari woman pursed her lips and was silent for so long, he thought she was going to refuse to answer. Then, at last, she said, “Your father was a great man. The greatest man I knew. He was noble, and kind, and just. He was taken before his time. And you didn’t come. And then, he passed, and still you didn’t come. And when we put him in the ground, you did not come. You weren’t there. For almost a year you didn’t come to see him.”
Rael had no words. He sat quiet and still as she spoke and thereafter.
Silmaria let out a quiet sigh as her heart ached, not the grievous hurt it had been a year ago, but just a quiet, sad little reminder of what had been. More than anything, the feeling just made her tired, now.
“I hated you, you know. I hated you so much. I thought you must be the most insufferable, wretched, ungrateful and self-absorbed snob of a Noble to ever live. I thought you a craven, a coward, and a poor excuse for a son. I thought pretty much every bad and wicked thing conceivable of you, and laid every evil happenstance and thing gone wrong at your feet. I felt that way from Master Edwin’s passing right up to your arrival here. It was a long time to bear a grudge against someone I didn’t even know, but I did it.”
Rael nodded slowly, staring into the softly burning fire, his eyes seeming far away. “And now?”
“Now…” Silmaria paused, looking inward, searching and mulling through a confused muddle of feelings she hadn’t even fully sorted out for herself yet. She answered as honestly as she was able. “Now, I just wonder how a man who seems by all measures a good and honorable man could have done something so callous and heartless. How you could be such a reflection of your father in so many ways, yet have so little love for him that you never came to honor him and say goodbye.”
There, she’d said it, and said it aloud, and managed to say it without screaming with anger and rage and heartache. And oddly, now that she’d said it, she couldn’t find that knot of rage in her anymore.
The silence stretched, then, filled only with the crackle of the fire and the occasional soft hiss of the stitches being drawn through Rael’s flesh to close his wound.
“I loved my father, in my way, as he loved me in his,” Rael said at last. The tone of his voice made Silmaria feel that he wasn’t entirely talking to her anymore the feeling that he was not entirely speaking to her. “I spent most of my youth away from home. Training, learning, and growing as a squire to the DarkFyre Dale Knight’s Brotherhood. It was a high honor; House IronWing is wealthy and established in its own right, but our House has never been among the most powerful at court. I was accepted on the strength of my Lord Father’s military career and valor as a Knight.
“Father retired from service not long after I became apprenticed. I saw less of him, then. You know how infrequently I was able to return home. By the time I reached adolescence, I hardly saw him except on the odd visit.
“Still,” he said with a soft sigh, “I loved him nonetheless, and honored him. I applied everything I had into my training and apprenticeship. Everything. I strived with every fiber of my being to become a Knight worthy of my family name. I looked up to my father, to his wisdom, his valor, and his strength. I idolized him. It was bringing honor to my father that made me strive for glory in the Knighthood. I would stop at nothing to become a great man that would make him proud.”
“He was proud,” Silmaria said softly, not even realizing what she was saying or why, only she could hear the wistful tone in his voice. It was a brief glimpse inside a closed, guarded man, and she felt an instant kinship with those feelings toward his father.
“He said you’d grown into a good man. He said you made him proud, many times. Especially…toward the end.”
Rael’s smile was bitter sweet. “I’m glad to know that. It’s all I ever wanted.”
Silmaria tied the last stitch and cut the string. She placed the thread and needle aside, then smeared some of Lirena’s salve on the wound. It would heal very well; already the wound looked worlds better. She began to wrap the Nobleman’s side with bandages, but he gently took them from her hands and finished it himself.
She stepped back, and quickly dashed the tears from her face. “Then why? Why didn’t you come? You say you loved him, so why didn’t you come say goodbye?”
Rael pulled a fresh shirt on, then stared down into her obviously pained face with something as close to unguarded sadness as she was likely to ever see from him. “Because it was too much. For both of us. My memories of my father are of him as a soldier, a leader and a strong, capable man. A man who could do anything. My father was my hero. And that’s how I wanted to remember him, always. That’s what he wanted, too. We said our goodbyes. Just not in the way most people do.”
Silmaria opened her mouth to say something, but Rael held up a hand, forestalling her. He walked to the cedar chest at the foot of his bed and opened it, reaching in to rummage through his belongings and take a small roll of parchment out. The Nobleman turned and came back to her, standing close. She could feel heat radiating off his body like a furnace, even without touching him at all. He held the rolled up scroll out to her, his silver eyes staring into her face somberly. “No one else has ever read this. I trust you will be discrete about what you see in this scroll. I would like it back when you are finished with it.”
“What is it?” Silmaria asked as she took the scroll in trembling hands. The simple parchment seemed heavy with significance and secrets.
“You will see. It’s best you find out yourself.” He nodded, then cleared his throat, and there was that tense, uncomfortable charge in the air between them once more. “Thank you for stitching me up. You did well. I’ve had plenty of far worse stitch jobs. Now, please. Go get cleaned up, and get some food and rest. You’ve earned it.”
“Thank you, my Lord,” Silmaria said weakly. She was suddenly aware of just how tired and hungry she was; by now it had to be late into the night, and she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Her stomach was gnawing on itself, and she felt exhausted, drained to the point of dropping. Her Stirring fled in the face of those needs, her body simply too spent and wrung out to hold any sort of arousal any longer.
He walked her to the door. It was a strange thing to do, since it was his own room, but he did it anyway. He regarded her with his strange eyes and once again they were unreadable. “Goodnight, Silmaria,” he said at last.
“Goodnight, Lord Rael.”
*
To my son, Rael, blood of my blood and heir to my holdings,
What a pompous way to begin a letter. I’ve written so many letters to you just so. Stiff, formal, like we are two stuffed shirts sitting across the dinner table at some highborn court function.
But that’s not really us, is it? I’ve always been a man of simple words and deeds. I hardly known the man you’ve become, but I can say with the certainty of my gut that you are the same. So why, I’ve asked myself, especially recently, do we cling to these formalities and stiff diction? Why do we not speak simple and plain and from our hearts, Father to Son?
Because we are men, of course. You are a man of honor just as I strive to be, and we speak as one honorable man to another. On one hand, it makes me proud. Proud that I have a good, honorable, strong son to carry on my line. And on the other…I want, just once, to speak with you as, simply, my son.
Rael. You may never fully understand just how proud I am of you, of what you became, and what you will one day become. I knew the first time I held you in my hands, so small and frail and new, that you were destined for great things. I see those great things in you already.
But I confess, I am afraid for you as well. Your Mother often said I had my own special version of the Sight. I’m not prescient; I cannot part the veil and take visions of what may be as some seers do. But I get feelings, now and then, and those feelings are strong, and often right.
I see darkness around you.. A heaviness of danger and risk. I cannot say what form this takes. Logically, you are surrounded by it every day of your life at the front, waging this long, terrible war. But I feel this is something different. Something more sinister, and thus more worrying.
So I say, guard yourself, my son. Be vigilant. Know that great men are loved, as you will be, and men who are not loved will forever hate you for that greatness. You will be a mirror held up, showing them all their faults and wickedness and shortcomings by the things you are that they can never be. Such men can never abide to see those things in themselves, reflected from your greatness. They will smash you before suffering to look upon their twisted reflection.
It won’t be long now. My death draws near. I feel it in my bones and in my blood, this sickness. It will take me soon.
Heed my words, my son, as they will likely be the last I send you.
Be brave, and valiant. Be just. This world knows too little of justice and virtue. And be kind, for the world knows even less of kindness. Hard men and warriors such as we can be kind. It costs us nothing, and can give everything to those who know nothing of kindness or a caring word. I have seen much cruelty in this world, and I know you have seen the same. It is a hard thing, knowing as a soldier, you’ve given that cruelty to other men. Men who may have been good fellows. Men who didn’t deserve to have life snatched away too soon. The things we do as soldiers and warriors are necessary, yes, but not always right. Grant kindness where you may, so you don’t lose yourself in necessary cruelty.
The arrangements have been made, Rael. All is ready here. Your place at the front is vital, and you cannot turn your gaze from the Haruke. I have arranged for the estate and holdings of House IronWing to be attended when I pass, so you do not have to return until such a time as it is sensible and convenient. Do not forsake the efforts of your command. All will hold until you are ready.
I think, from time to time, that it may be better for you to come. A place in my heart longs to see you one last time. But then, I think of you, seeing me as I am now. The way you knew me when I was proud and strong erased forever by final memories of me as I am now, decaying and slipping away. And I cannot bear that thought. Your memories of me would be forever changed and, knowing that, my final memories of you would be, too.
It is better this way, for you and I. We both know that.
Goodbye, my son. I go to join our forefathers, forever proud of you, and forever loving you.
I ask one final thing. Please, watch over my kitten. My favorite one. You will know her when you see her. She is strong, and fierce in her way, but she will need your strength more than you know. Protect her. She is worth it.
Lord Edwin IronWing.
Father.
*
Silmaria clutched the letter to her breast, and rolled up into a tight little ball on her pallet, sobbing in great, heaving gasps until she was sick from her tears.
*
DarkFyre is burning its way into my brain at an alarming rate. I am digging it, big time. I hope everyone is having as much fun reading it as I am writing it.
Nadine
- 06.12.2020
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