The bodies writhed around him, and Perian lost himself in the music, in the rhythmic drumming like a fast-beating heart, accompanied by melodic strings and pipes. He loved dancing almost as much as he loved what often came after—if he found the right partner. Tonight, the public house was crowded and the dancing enjoyable, but he hadn’t found someone for anything more. He usually got a good sense of people while dancing, and he never lacked for partners—people tended to find his tall, slender form and hazel eyes appealing. If they were both interested, the next step was easy. But… not tonight.
It was the first time he’d been to this pub, a recommendation from someone he’d met a couple nights ago, and it was in an area of town he didn’t know very well. The place was crowded with the influx of visitors to town for the Water Festival that started tomorrow. It should have meant a gluttony of choice, but Perian couldn’t seem to settle on anyone. He still felt restless instead of eager and energized. Maybe he simply wasn’t in the mood.
Whatever the reason, Perian headed out on his own. It was late, the streets dark, but he was reasonably certain he knew where his inn was. It wasn’t until he’d turned onto a narrow, deserted street that he realized he’d been followed.
A slurring voice asked, “Where are you going, beautiful? Don’t you want company?”
“No, thank you,” Perian said firmly without turning around.
“But you acted like you wanted company while you were dancing.”
That was a different voice, though it sounded as drunk as the first, and it was a lot closer than Perian expected. Heart jumping in his throat, he whirled around to find there were three people, and they’d nearly caught up to him.
“Yeah,” the first person said belligerently. “You were teasing us!”
It was hard to see with the street lit only by the moon, but he thought they were well dressed and probably somewhere in their twenties. The light was glinting off the round beads in their hair that identified them as male.
The elements protect him from entitled asses.
“I was just dancing,” Perian told them.
“Didn’t look like just dancing,” the man in the middle said obstinately.
“I assure you, it was.” Perian tried to keep his voice even.
He might want to tell these men off, but he didn’t want the situation to escalate. Until now, he hadn’t felt unsafe about walking back to the inn alone. The city was large, but it had regular patrols of City Wardens and low crime rates, at least in the nice areas where Perian always stayed.
The idiot on the right was frowning fiercely, and his voice was too loud as he demanded, “You think you’re better than us?”
“Not at all,” Perian assured him. “I’m simply not interested.”
He didn’t think this was a difficult concept, but they seemed to be having a lot of trouble with it.
Without warning, the man on the left, who’d been staring at him fixedly, lurched forward and grabbed Perian’s shoulders.
“We can fix—” the man started to say, leaning alarmingly towards Perian like he was going to try to kiss him.
Panicking, Perian shoved at the man’s chest as hard as he could. The man stumbled back, tripped, and fell on his ass.
Unfortunately for Perian, rather than helping their friend, the other two turned on him. The first blow came out of nowhere, snapping his head back and making pain explode even as fear filled him. Perian wasn’t a fighter; he’d never faced a situation like this before, and he had no idea how to defend himself.
He managed a few desperate, glancing blows thanks to sheer proximity, but then another strike to his head made his senses reel. He collapsed, his head hitting the cool stones of the street as the taste of copper flooded his mouth. Had he bitten his tongue? One booted foot hit his ribs, then another.
Desperately, he tried to wrap his arms around his head and curl up as small as possible. The blood rushed frantically in his ears and drowned out whatever they were yelling at him. Perian couldn’t believe it had escalated like this. Was he going to die here? In this city, like his father?
He should have tried to run, he realized belatedly, but it had all happened so fast, and he wasn’t thinking clearly. Everything was fuzzy and muddled in his head.
Between one heartbeat and the next, a gale force wind whipped around them, shocking in its ferocity. And then, as suddenly as it had arrived, it was gone again.
It took a moment in the absolute stillness that followed for Perian’s senses to catch up. No one was attacking him anymore.
Cautiously, he moved his arms, trying to ignore how much everything hurt as he peered up through bleary eyes that didn’t seem to focus properly, trying to figure out what was going on. Someone new was standing over him—someone dressed in a Warrior’s leather armor and talking to his attackers.
“ What is going on here?” the Warrior demanded, sharp and imperious.
“He wouldn’t give us what he owes us!” one of the men protested angrily, words slurred but still intelligible.
Perian scoffed, but the sound was lost amidst the grumbling agreement from the other two.
His rescuer didn’t seem to notice they were outnumbered. Their voice was cool with disapproval. “No matter what he may owe you, a physical attack is not the correct response, never mind one as skewed as this. If you value your continued freedom, you will not behave in such a manner again. Leave. Now.”
Before Perian could quite track the motion, his attackers rushed his rescuer. Perian tensed and let out an involuntary cry at the pain this caused.
Between one blink and the next, a ball of fire glowed in his rescuer’s hand, and Perian almost laughed at the suddenness with which his attackers screeched to a drunken halt.
His rescuer wasn’t just a Warrior, they were a Mage Warrior. They fought demons . Alone and unarmed, they could have taken out a bigger group than this one.
In a hard voice, his rescuer snapped, “This is your last warning. Go!”
The men scattered, not without final venomous glances at Perian, but those expressions warred with the looks of pure fear they were casting at the Mage Warrior, so it was somewhat comical. Perian tried to laugh, but it came out as a groan as the pain in his chest spiked. The sound of running footsteps faded away. The fire winked out of existence, and the Mage Warrior crouched down closer to Perian’s level.
“Let’s get you up.”
With almost all the effort on the Mage Warrior’s side, Perian regained his feet, though the world lurched alarmingly, swimming before his eyes. Upright, if somewhat dizzy and with his head aching fiercely, Perian could just see the round beads in the dark hair of his rescuer. He was both taller and wider than Perian, and he was most definitely better muscled—not that this was terribly difficult to achieve. Still, this man went above and beyond. He was best described as “thighs like tree trunks” or “bulging biceps” or maybe just “delicious.”
Perian suppressed a sigh of appreciation which would be inappropriate to this particular situation. Also, everything hurt right now, and he felt a little nauseous, which dimmed his enjoyment somewhat.
“Are you all right?” the man asked.
He had a nice voice. It was still strong and a little bit stern, but it was kinder now that the others had gone.
“I’m fine,” he agreed automatically.
The man let him go, and Perian immediately listed sideways as the world refused to stay entirely upright.
Catching him, which made Perian whimper in pain, the man said, “You can’t stand.”
Perian’s attempt to prove that he could stand, thank you very much, failed immediately when his movement made the world lurch and his knees buckle.
Then the world tilted even more sharply, whirling in an alarming manner. Perian closed his eyes with a groan of pain and tried not to throw up. When everything stilled again, he was… pressed against something hard and warm that smelled delicious? Cautiously, he opened his eyes and found that he was now clasped against his rescuer’s chest. He felt the sigh of the other man as much as he heard it.
“Come along.”
This was apparently rhetorical, given that he was carrying Perian, and he immediately set off. Perian considered asking more questions, but it seemed like an awful lot of effort just now. Everything hurt. The motion of being carried didn’t help with the nausea. And this man basically exuded trustworthiness and reliability. Perian leaned his head more fully against that broad chest, even though his head still hurt, and closed his eyes. He fancied that he could feel the warmth of his skin even through the layers of leather and cloth, that he could hear the beat of that steady heart that didn’t seem to notice the extra burden of carrying a whole person through the streets. He really did smell lovely , leather and musk and something that tickled Perian’s nostrils in the most perfect way—heat and earth, a hint of moisture and fresh air.
Perian continued to breathe in the perfect scent and didn’t notice when he fell asleep.
Time passed in a series of fractured moments. Perian was in a large bedroom, lying in an incredibly comfortable bed. The sheets were soft, and there were lots of pillows. The walls were made of stone. The man who had rescued him had inspected his injuries, bound them, and put salve on them. He dribbled water into Perian’s mouth whenever he was thirsty, and he carefully helped him move when he needed to change position. There was a warm cloth, making sure he was clean. Perian’s head ached fiercely, and sometimes the world still swam unpredictably.
There was a fireplace that sometimes had a fire in it. Periodically, his rescuer would carefully lift him to a sitting position, supporting him with his own body so he could drink a concoction that didn’t taste great, but which the man assured him would help with healing. It did usually result in the pain in his head lessening.
Perian sometimes clutched at his rescuer, his only anchor in this strange world, and then he would stay, holding Perian’s hand and telling him he was safe now, and everything would be fine. Sometimes, when Perian woke, his rescuer was not there, but he always returned. Sometimes, he brought soup, and that was much more palatable than the tonic. His rescuer carefully fed it to Perian when he didn’t seem to be coordinated enough to feed himself.
“I don’t even know your name,” Perian managed to croak out at some point.
“Brannal,” the man said, eyes dark and watchful on Perian’s face, like he was inspecting it for signs of discomfort that he would try to fix.
“Thank you, Brannal,” he whispered. “I’m Perian.”
“Hello, Perian.”
His name coming out of Brannal’s mouth was one of the nicest sounds Perian had ever heard, and he was pretty sure he smiled quite stupidly. Thankfully, he fell asleep again before he could say anything completely asinine.
He slept a lot, and each time he woke, the room was a little clearer and the pain a little less. The entire world seemed more approachable as the pain in his head began to diminish and things stayed in focus. Nothing seemed to be broken, fortunately. It was mostly bruising going spectacular colors, swelling going down, a few abrasions, and what he was pretty sure were some cracked ribs—or at least bruised ones.
Eventually, he was able to hobble—with help—not just to the water closet attached to the bedroom, but out of the bedroom and into what appeared to be Brannal’s sitting room. Perian’s knowledge of the day-to-day lives of Mage Warriors was non-existent, but in addition to the many books on the shelves—which looked older and more valuable than the ones Perian’s father had owned—there were several jars perched there as well. Still too immobile to investigate, he found out from Brannal that they were full of earth and water. This seemed very appropriate for a Mage.
There was a large fireplace with several weapons—two swords and a shield—mounted above it, and two armchairs in front of the fire. Here, Perian was wrapped up in a cozy blanket and able to rest in a semi-upright position. He often dozed or drifted, staring into the fire, but at least it wasn’t all flat on his back in bed.
There was a nice-sized window that Perian couldn’t see out of very well from his vantage point, a desk, as well as a small table with four chairs which he hadn’t tried sitting at. There were rugs on the stone floor, and comfy furnishings. It seemed both a bit fancier and much homier than the inn Perian was staying at. He was grateful he’d told the inn staff he was staying for at least two weeks—he couldn’t imagine needing to rush back and secure his belongings right now—and he was glad he was here in the city at his leisure. His father had left him set for life, putting him in a very fortunate position—though he’d much rather have the man back than his wealth.
Once Perian was more mobile, he discovered not only did the food, drink, and tonic appear at Brannal’s door regularly, but also that they were coming from elsewhere in the castle .
Because Brannal was a Mage Warrior, and Perian was now functional enough to take that to its logical conclusion. In Royal City, there was only one place a Mage Warrior was likely to live. Perian was in the Queen’s castle . Fortunately, the chances he would encounter her or anyone else were quite remote when he could barely get out of bed.
Brannal continued to care for Perian himself, checking on his injuries, keeping him company while he worked at his desk, bringing him water, tea, and those tonics to drink—but also more hearty soup, and once he was feeling better and could actually chew properly, bread and cheese and meats.
“Thank you, Brannal, truly,” Perian said as he accepted yet more tea.
He’d said it before, but those two little words didn’t seem to adequately express just how grateful he was.
“You’re welcome,” the man said simply, just as he always did.
Perian reached out and laid a hand over Brannal’s, squeezing it. The other man stilled.
“I mean it,” Perian said earnestly. “I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come, but it wouldn’t have been good.”
Perian could quite easily have died, though he hoped his attackers would have come to their senses before then. The thought made him uneasy, but just looking at Brannal’s solid form made him feel safe. No one had cared for him like this since his father had died. His staff cared in their own way, of course, but they were paid to do so.
After a moment, as though he couldn’t figure out how to respond, Brannal covered Perian’s hand with his own and said, “I’m just glad you’re all right.”
“Thanks to you,” Perian couldn’t help but repeat. “Because you didn’t just stop them, you’ve taken care of me too. You didn’t have to do that.”
A dark eyebrow rose, a glimmer of humor in Brannal’s eyes. “You think I would have just left you lying in the street because you were no longer being actively attacked?”
Perian huffed out a laugh. “I think we both know that many people wouldn’t have stopped at all.”
Whether they were indifferent, unwilling to get involved, or scared, the outcome would have been the same for Perian.
“I’m not ‘many people’,” Brannal said simply.
“That is entirely obvious,” Perian agreed.
Brannal’s dark eyes snapped to Perian’s, and his breath caught. He had known from the beginning that Brannal was well-muscled and fierce, but as Perian had begun to feel better, he’d been better able to appreciate the full scope of the Mage Warrior’s appeal. His eyes were dark and intense, his lips wide and a little thin but altogether appealing, his chin strong, his dark hair shiny and soft-looking. It was pulled back, neatly tied in the prevailing fashion, the small braids with his beads neatly caught up as well.
Perian really, really wanted to pull out that tie and run his fingers through the man’s hair.
At a guess, he was perhaps a half dozen years older than Perian’s twenty-two, though it was hard to tell for sure. He certainly possessed the gravitas of someone older, but there was no hint of gray in his hair, and only the beginnings of fine lines at the corners of his eyes. Perian would dearly love to inspect him everywhere, but the occasion had not yet arisen.
Periodically, there was this instant of awareness, where Perian could swear that the air actually crackled, their gazes catching and holding, and then… nothing, because Brannal turned away, just as he did now.