Page 15 of Winds of Destiny

Kai

This trip has turned out far differently than I thought it would in the beginning. I didn’t have the highest hopes for it back in Huridell. My greatest wish at that point was that Prince Camrael would be a person I could live with, ideally someone to help when it came to advancing my city’s ability to innovate and change. I didn’t see myself falling in love—didn’t see any need for it. Why bother, when I could get physical affection anywhere? What I needed from my husband was an ally, for both my city and, ideally, for my goals.

On our fourth day out from Huridell, I realize just how far my perspective has changed since then.

Camrael sits on his jaka easily now, with no edge of uncertainty like he showed the first few days. He knows each of my men’s names and feels free to laugh and joke with them, and they’ve warmed up to him as well. He’s beautiful in the sunshine. He would be beautiful anywhere, but seeing him riding beside me, with the sunlight bringing out the rich brown highlights in his hair and making his eyes gleam, he’s less “prince” and more “husband” than ever, nearly impossible to resist. It doesn’t hurt that he’s spent the last three nights cozied up in my arms.

I could fall for him. I feel the shift in my heart like a rockslide about to happen, tiny pebbles sounding the alarm before the whole mountain shifts, forever changed. I even have some hope, not entirely wishful thinking on my part, that Camrael is coming to feel the same way. That’s good—it will make revealing my identity to him once we’re past the Gate that much easier.

Unfortunately, the one place where things aren’t getting easier is with Lord Turo.

It doesn’t take a genius to see that that’s largely down to Camrael—he’s decided to ignore his own bodyguard. While I’m not about to judge him for that, the fact that he’s comfortable being dismissive makes my men feel bolder about trying out that tactic, too. It doesn’t help that Lord Turo seems to be a reticent man by nature; he spends every morning surveying the grasslands for any dangers and barely says more than two words together for the rest of the day once he’s back. I’ve tried to draw him into conversation, but he’s not giving me much to work with.

I can’t blame him. I’m literally sharing a bed with the man he loves. That’s where all this stems from—hurt feelings that run deeper in both Camrael and Turo than either of them wants to admit.

If he won’t work with me, and Camrael won’t work with him, then Lord Turo has set himself up for trouble with my men. I won’t intervene and undermine his abilities, though. He’s got to determine what he will and won’t tolerate from everyone who isn’t Camrael and act accordingly. I have no doubt Turo can fight his own battles.

I’m actually looking forward to seeing it.

Rusen is the one who pushes it, because of course he is. My second-in-command is a good soldier and I trust him to do what’s right for our people, but he’s never met a bear he didn’t want to poke with a stick. Now that Camrael has shown he’s more than capable of sticking up for himself, Rusen’s attention has turned back to Turo. He’s been nagging at him for the past three days, picking at everything from the time Turo spends looking for trouble “that isn’t even there!” to the way he wears his sword, “across your back like you’ve got all the time in the world to draw it instead of being ready for an actual attack.”

Tonight, with the clouds in the sky a brilliant orange-red and the heat from the day making all of us sweaty and uncomfortable, it seems like Turo has finally reached his limit. “Draw your sword,” he says to Rusen, interrupting the man’s flow of criticism.

Rusen blinks. “What?”

“Your sword,” Turo drawls. “Pull it out.”

“Why?”

“You’ve got a lot to say about the way I handle myself, but for all I know you’re as good at swordplay as one of your sheep.” A few of the other men laugh. “So draw it and let’s have a friendly bout to see if you’re as good as you say you are.”

Rusen looks pleased that his prodding has finally landed a result. “You won’t find me so easy to handle with a proper sword in my hand as you did before,” he says as he stands up, flexing his shoulders in an effort at intimidation. Rusen has at least five inches on Turo and probably fifty pounds. I’ve seen Turo handle him once, though.

I wonder how he’ll do it this time.

I glance at Camrael, just to check and see if he’s discomfited by this. Turo is here for him, after all, not to provide amusement for my men.

Camrael looks utterly unconcerned, scraping up the last of his dinner with the traveler’s bread before taking a long drink of water. If anything, he seems slightly amused by it all.

“You’re all right with this?” I ask quietly.

“More than,” he says. “Turo needs an outlet for his pent-up aggression. It’s nice of Rusen to offer himself up so freely.”

“An outlet?”

Camrael nudges me with his shoulder. “Watch,” he says with a smile. I turn and watch just in time to see Rusen go for his sword. A second later, he’s swearing and rubbing at his hand.

“What the fuck?” he exclaims. “What did you throw at me?”

Turo shrugs. “Just a little pebble. Why didn’t you draw your sword?”

“Because you’re throwing shit at me!”

“Are you honestly saying that a pebble is enough to keep you from drawing your sword?” Turo smiles thinly. This level of confidence on him is new to me, and it’s… Well, I can see why Camrael is attracted to him, that’s all.

Rusen snorts and reaches for his sword again. He gets his hand around the hilt before—“Ow!”

“It was a shell that time,” Turo informs him. “Why haven’t you drawn your sword?”

“Draw yours first, you bastard!” Rusen snaps.

“All right.” Turo stands up and reaches for his back. As he does, Rusen charges, ignoring his sword completely in favor of simply getting his hands on Turo and dealing damage that way. It’s one of his favorite tactics, and he’s surprisingly fast for such a big man. I’m half ready to get to my feet when—

“ Fuck! ” I don’t quite see how it happens, but Rusen staggers and falls to the ground before he even reaches Turo, who then draws his sword in a leisurely manner and holds the edge of it to Rusen’s throat. Rusen rubs his hand on the spot right between his eyes. “What the hell did you hit me with?”

“My bread crust.”

Deran breaks out laughing. “Bread! Felled by bread! Oh, I can’t wait to tell Liese about how her mighty husband was taken down by a piece of bread.”

“Don’t talk to my wife,” Rusen says sullenly, staring at the edge of Turo’s sword like it’s offended him.

“She was my sister first. I’ll do as I please.”

Turo removes his blade. “Go on, get up then. I’ll even let you draw your sword uninterrupted this time.”

Rusen narrows his eyes. “Swear it. No more trickery, just a straight-up fight.”

“No more trickery,” Turo agrees. Sure enough, he lets Rusen get to his feet. He even lets him draw his sword without a hint of a problem.

Once he’s armed, Rusen’s bravado comes back. “Let’s go,” he says and moves in with another strong attack. Turo counters, and…

It’s not a genuine fight, not really. I can see that much. Whoever trained Turo, he’s got an edge to him that not even my men have, a killing edge that drives him to push until he forces a fatal opening. He’s not taking any of them, obviously, but to Turo, this bout is as good as a fight to the death.

For all that Rusen is strong and quite skilled, he’s not fast enough to block every blow from the blunt side of Turo’s whirling blade, and his own strikes don’t land anywhere near where he’s expecting them to. Turo is a force of nature, and after five minutes of losing so abjectly that even he can’t deny it any longer, Rusen surrenders the bout.

“Me next!” Jeric jumps up, eager as a cub. “I’ve never seen some of those moves before. If you’re all right with another round, I’d love to try my hand with you.”

Turo smiles. To do otherwise in the face of Jeric’s enthusiasm is nearly impossible. “Very well. What’s your weapon?”

“Hand axes.” He reaches for his belt, then pauses. “Are you going to let me draw them without embarrassing me?”

“Sure,” Turo replies easily. “I’ll save the embarrassment for when we get going.”

Cam watches avidly as the two square off. Double hand axes versus a sword—if the ax fighter is quick enough, it would be a slaughter. Jeric is quick and skilled, but Turo isn’t fazed. He ducks and dodges, his sword cleaving through Jeric’s defenses like water until he’s left mock slices on the younger man five separate times. The last one touches his neck, and Jeric laughs and steps away, lowering his axes obediently.

“What about a spear?”

That’s Morfan, lounging against the wagon wheel. He doesn’t usually put himself out there—I’m intrigued that he’s bothering now. He’s an excellent spearman, though, second only to me in our company.

“Fighting with one, or against one?” Turo asks.

“Both, if you’re game.”

Turo seems to think about it, then smiles. It’s the first time I’ve seen it since… Actually, I might never have seen him smile before. It makes him look younger, sharp and handsome, and I can tell that Camrael notices as well by his audible intake of breath.

“Fine.” He sets his sword aside. “But I don’t have one of my own.”

“Use mine.” I get up from my seat and retrieve my spear from the wagon it’s stored in, handing it over. Several of my men laugh—and I get it. The spear is at least two feet taller than Turo is, but he’s got a decent grip on it. He hefts it a few times, then nods to me and heads back over to square off with Morfan.

Camrael is tense when I sit down again. “I’ve never seen him fight with a spear,” he murmurs. “Against them, yes, but always with a shield and sword.”

“Well, then.” I nudge Camrael with my hip and am delighted by the way he blushes. “This should be interesting for all of us.” Turo doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who resigns himself to losing, but Morfan has distance and strength on him.

The first few exchanges are slow, Turo feeling out the limits of his weapon and Morfan probing for openings. Things speed up after that, and it doesn’t take long to see that, with this weapon at least, Turo is at a disadvantage. My spear is too long and Morfan too skilled at blocking for Turo to get close to landing a blow, and when Morfan finally begins to push his advantage, I wonder if we’re going to see Turo lose at last.

Rusen certainly thinks so. “Hit him in the ass!” he shouts. “Let him run off his bruises tomorrow, eh?”

“Don’t fight his fight!” Camrael calls out, surprising me. Turo too—he actually glances at us before being forced back into defense. “Make it into something you’re better at!”

“Perhaps he should try pole-vaulting over Morfan, then,” Rusen says with a laugh. “He can…”

Whatever he’s about to say dies as Turo suddenly speeds up, taking enough initiative that he gets Morfan to drop the tip of his spear in an effort to block. That’s when Turo jumps on to Morfan’s spear, forcing it deep into the dirt before dropping his own weapon, leaping in front of Morfan, and driving his heel into the other man’s gut, right at the seam of two pieces of armor.

Morfan doubles over with a gasp, and that’s all the time Turo needs to draw a knife—where from, I don’t even see—but there’s a palm-sized blade resting against Morfan’s neck before I can blink.

Morfan nods his acceptance of his loss, then groans as Turo levers him up straight. “Well done,” he says gruffly, the closest Morfan ever gets to approbation. His lover, a newer soldier in my guard called Ferow, looks torn between challenging Turo himself and dragging Morfan off to their bedroll to “check his wounds.”

Hells, I’d like to test my skills against Turo as well. Just as I shift my weight, though, Camrael gets up and stretches. “I’m tired of sitting here watching the fun,” he says. “It’s clear that Zephyth produces better warriors than Huridell.”

Oh, is it? “How do you rate yourself compared to Lord Turo, my prince?” I ask him.

“I’m excellent, of course. How could I not be, given my instructor?” His smile is more like a smirk, infuriating and compelling at once.

“Then perhaps you’d like to test yourself against me,” I offer.

Turo’s face goes from pleased to alarmed in the space of a moment. “Commander Kai, I don’t think that—”

“Excuse me, my husband has offered to spar with me,” Camrael cuts in, polite and vicious all at once. “I need to satisfy his curiosity.”

Oh, the things he could satisfy… I wait for Camrael to get his sword before pulling my own, then meet him where Morfan and Turo were fighting a few moments ago. The grass is fairly well tamped down this close to the road, and when Camrael turns to face me, his expression is eager. He holds his sword like he knows how to use it.

The sword isn’t my best weapon—I don’t move it like it’s an extension of my own body the way Turo does. The blade my people favor is short and broad, and I’d usually dual-wield with a shield if I were serious about protecting myself from damage. But tonight, I’m going to try something new. I’m going to trust my own skill and trust Camrael not to hurt me, and I’m going to meet him head-on in his own style.

I lift the sword toward my forehead in a mark of respect, which Camrael mimics. Then, blades lowered to the ready position, we begin.

The first few seconds of the bout make it clear that Camrael is skilled. He wields his blade with dexterity, blocking my attacks and striking back as fast as lightning, but I’m good enough to keep anything from landing. He can dance around me as much as he wants, but as long as I root in and set my stance, he won’t be able to get past my defenses. So that’s what I do—I weather every attack that comes my way, brushing them aside with my blade and occasionally redirecting with the long hilt of my sword, and striking back only when Camrael moves in close.

“Do you not like to dance?” he gently taunts me from just outside striking distance. “Are you so poor on your feet?”

“Do you never stand still?” I reply. “Will my prince have to tie you down in order to make you stay and listen for a bit?”

“I’m not averse to being tied down,” Camrael says before launching a new style of attack. He strikes from overhead, then loops back up from low at his hip. The way he bends his body is mesmerizing, enough to distract even the most focused mind, but I hear the way Turo gasps—and then I see the opening Camrael’s left for me.

It takes more strength than I’d prefer to use against him, but there’s a moment just as Camrael changes the direction of his blow where his grip is weaker. I bring my blade down hard against his, and with a clang it falls to the ground. At the same time, I finally move in—not to level a blade at his chest, but to grab him and pull him close to my own. Camrael’s eyes are wide, his pupils dark… He’s into this.

Hells, so am I.

“How’s this for dancing?” I say, tilting him back ever so slightly until he has to loop his arms around my neck to stay upright.

“Just the kind I like,” he replies, shifting so that the front of his body is pressed even tighter to me, and—

Oh. He’s hard. And now, so am I.

Fuck it. I’m taking Camrael to bed.