The Burden of Ash and Blood - 17. Chapter 17

The afternoon bustled with relentless activity. After departing the inn, Sam and Graeme retrieved Winx and Tusk from the stables in the rear. Given the horses had been sheltered there since their arrival days earlier, both were eager to get moving again.

The watchmen escorted them to the safety of Blakenhall Keep, accompanied by the three scoundrels in custody. Duncan received them enthusiastically, confessing their investigation had proved more helpful than he’d dared hope. That was despite the fact watchmen were still out there, confiscating goods and questioning people. He remarked that Madame Camilla was still at large, though with her operation in ruins, it was unlikely she’d remain in town.

The agreed-upon sum—seven hundred silver—was proffered without any sign of regret, contrary to their initial meeting. At a glance, the modest pile of silver pieces appeared to be far less than seven hundred. It was only when Sam recognised the worth of each piece—a mix of fifty- and hundred-silver coins—that the count made sense. Once the formalities of the contract were dealt with, Duncan immediately invited them to supper in the great hall. But Sam had prepared for this eventuality. As much as he longed to take part in such a regal meal, Graeme’s contentment was more important. Before the knight could even react to the invitation, Sam expressed their exhaustion and, with their departure planned for first light, wished to seek rest in their quarters. Disappointment spoke plainly on Duncan’s face, but what could be said in denial of Sam’s prudent request?

After a hearty farewell, Sam and Graeme were led to the third floor of the keep. A wide hallway opened onto a succession of doors, almost certainly guestrooms. Graeme was given the first room, with Sam’s directly opposite—their doors staring at one another across the corridor. Once situated in his room and the doorway shut, Sam found himself blinking at the silence. Despite the cold stonework—floor, walls, and ceiling—much was done to soften the space. Thick woollen rugs sprawled across the floor, adorned with restrained patterns and colour. Tapestries depicting hunts and heraldry draped the walls. A stately bed commanded attention with its carved frame wreathed in furs. Flanking the bed were two narrow windows, imparting a glimpse of the darkening sky. What had begun as light flurries now fell thick and heavy. Gentle flames within a hearth cast flickering light across the chamber, and brass sconces held beeswax candles, their honeyed fragrance mingling with the scent of woodsmoke.

Sam marvelled at how so much had changed in his life, all wrought within little more than a fortnight. There was no telling how many important dignitaries had slept in this room, and now here he stood—a simple blacksmith from a village nobody knew—completely undeserving of such extravagance. But for all its splendour, it felt empty. The bed was enormous, larger than any he’d ever seen. The idea of sleeping there alone seemed perversely excessive.

After unburdening himself of his belongings, a soft rap at the door drew his attention. He opened it to find a small company of servants, each carrying part of a meal’s setting—a covered platter, a table, and a chair. A matching pair of servants stood outside Graeme’s quarters, waiting to be received.

Before Sam could say anything, he was swept back into the room toward the hearth. The chair and table were set down, then Sam was invited to take his seat. Once the platter was placed before him, the cloche was lifted, revealing a steaming array of sliced meats, vegetables, and bread. A fourth person entered, setting a goblet and decanter of wine beside the platter.

“I trust this arrangement pleases you,” the lead servant said.

Sam’s eyes widened at the spectacle and the graceful choreography of their service. “Of course,” he stammered. “This looks delicious. Thank you, and please send my compliments to the chef.”

Each offered their gratitude with a warm smile and a slight bow of respect, then silently retreated out the door, closing it with equal grace. Mouth watering at the complex waft of aromas, he grabbed the set of utensils and tucked into the meal. Yet after a few bites, the hush of solitude returned, dominating the chamber. Rising from his chair, he opened the door and peeked into the hallway. The servants were gone. Only a solitary guard remained, stationed at the corridor’s end, his stance heavy with boredom.

With a light step, Sam crossed the hall and knocked on Graeme’s door. “It’s me,” he said gently.

Footsteps approached and the door opened. Graeme’s right eye was nearly swollen shut, his face mottled with deep red and purple hues. Seemingly unaffected, the knight smiled.

“Would you join me for supper?”

“What happened?” Sam cried out.

The guard startled and then rushed toward them, but Sam gestured for him to stop.

“Sorry. Nothing to worry yourself about.”

The guard halted, nonplussed. “You sure?”

Sam nodded, and that was enough to convince the guard back to his post.

“What happened?” Sam repeated softly.

Graeme probed at his face, grimacing. “Those men at the glassworks didn’t hold back.”

“Gods. I’m sorry. With your helmet on all this time, I didn’t realise they’d hurt you so badly.”

“I appreciate your concern, but don’t fret, Sam. I’ll be fine.” He pointed across the way. “Would you like to bring your meal and join me?”

The request was simple, but coming from Graeme, it brought a smile to Sam’s lips. “Yeah, that’s why I came over. To ask you that.”

In spite of the damage to Graeme’s face, his grin carried a clear message—what are you waiting for? Without another word, Sam hurried back to collect his platter of food. Graeme’s room bore a striking resemblance to his own, complete with the wide bed where Sam sat and laid his platter.

Graeme moved his table and chair closer to the bed, and they ate in companionable silence. The savoury meal was exquisite, and despite Sam’s hunger, he forced himself to slow down and enjoy it properly. Given their time on the road, there was no telling how long it would be before another meal brought them such pleasure rather than mere sustenance.

After sopping up the juices on his plate with the last slice of bread, Sam glanced at Graeme’s bruised face. The aural memory of those savage punches compelled him to wince. What Sam had endured in that oppressively hot basement was nothing in comparison—mostly just threatening words. The gryphon ash softened what could have been a harsh encounter. It still flowed in his veins, but its potency was waning considerably. He had to speak his mind now before it was too late.

“I’m sorry for what I said today. About my feelings for you. It was inappropriate.”

Graeme stiffened, his eyes wandering restlessly before meeting Sam’s gaze. “The substance was to blame.”

“No, it didn’t put words into my mouth. It allowed me to speak the truth.”

The knight’s expression shifted. Staring into his empty plate, he frowned, but not in anger. He appeared uncertain, doubtful. Sam couldn’t decipher it.

“I thought we were dead,” Sam continued. “At that moment, I realised it was important to share what you meant to me. I know we’ve not known each other long, and even now, it may feel abrupt to admit this, but I care about you.”

“You said you wished to kiss me.”

Heat rushed to Sam’s face. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“In my homeland, Rathium, freely admitting such a desire would result in your death. Men with men, women with women—this is considered unnatural.” His tone was blunt, but without any sense of revulsion. “The doctrine was instilled into us feverishly. It’s difficult to push aside, but be assured I was not offended by your admission.”

A sigh of relief escaped Sam’s lips. “You know those kinds of views don’t exist here in the Alides and the Wardergilian Empire, right? Sure, there’s some who might not like it, but that’s their problem.”

“I suspected, but never outwardly enquired.”

“Well, yeah. Why would you?”

Graeme’s eyes flicked back to Sam for a mere moment before returning to the plate.

“But I want to be absolutely clear,” Sam continued. “I’d hate for what I said to change our friendship. That’s what matters most to me.”

The uncertainty on Graeme’s face melted away, revealing a vague smile. “Your esteemed comradeship is valuable to me as well.”

Hearing those words almost brought Sam to tears. He thought he’d managed to control the fragile emotions plaguing him since his parents’ death, yet once more they returned, powerful as ever. The impulse to jump off the bed and embrace the knight was met with guarded resistance. Instead, he grabbed a towel beside the wash basin and unlatched the window to open it. Giant wet flakes continued to fall, accumulating upon the sill. He gathered some up into a ball and tucked it into the towel.

Graeme eyed him suspiciously as Sam drew near. “What are you doing?”

With deliberate care, Sam pressed the cold towel against Graeme’s face. “It’s probably too late by this point, but this might help with the swelling.”

“Oh.” Graeme’s meek response mirrored his features. His hands dithered tensely. “Forgive me. I’m not accustomed to someone doting over me in this manner.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Sam replied. “I’m willing to bet you’ve never let anyone get close like this during your travels.”

“You would be correct.”

“But somehow I managed to break through.”

Graeme locked eyes with him, as though astonished to realise the validity of his claim. “Indeed. I must admit I find myself questioning how such circumstances came to pass.”

“Well, if I think back, it didn’t take much for you to . . . lower your guard, so to speak,” he said with a wry grin.

While Sam adjusted the cold towel, the knight pondered for a time—his eyes reaching for answers he couldn’t grasp. This allowed Sam to process his own thoughts, confirming his suspicions that Graeme’s gestures of affection were mere fraternisation, nothing more. He couldn’t deny the shard of disappointment poking through his fanciful hope to deepen their bond beyond friendship, but as he’d always suspected, such a notion was a step too far. In any case, he had to remind himself that he’d managed to befriend a knight—a chivalrous man who cared for his wellbeing. To want more would be considered greedy.

By this point, the towel had become soggy. Sam withdrew, dumping the remaining melted snow out the window, twisted out the excess water, and then laid the wet towel by the hearth. Graeme remained silent and only watched—as was his usual manner—but Sam wished he’d say something at this moment.

“I guess we should get some sleep,” Sam muttered as he ambled toward the door. “Are you concerned about the snow?”

Graeme stepped toward the window pensively. Nightfall was upon them, making it difficult to judge how severe the storm had become. Specks of warm light emanated from the distant windows of the town below, but they were undeniably obscured.

“It could prove troublesome, but we have no choice. Blakenhall is too small a town to remain for the winter season. We risk retribution from those we sabotaged here, and finding work would be near impossible.”

Sam nodded in understanding, then offered a firm smile. “Then we’ll figure a way to reach Langscott.”

“Indeed. Together, we’ll manage.” Graeme laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it once. “Sleep well, Sam.”

Upon returning to his own room, Sam dug his hands into his trouser pockets and stared at the giant, empty bed in regret. Had he kept his mouth shut today—never told Graeme his true feelings—he would’ve braved asking to sleep together. Not for any intimate reasons, merely to aid in keeping his nightmares at bay.

Something pressed against his hand, prompting him to remove it from his pocket. In his palm lay the two forgotten phials of gryphon ash, purchased from Rafe the night before. He swore the ash would only be used in an emergency, and he meant to keep that promise. Opening a compact pocket of one of his bags, he stashed the phials and stepped back warily, as though they would tumble out on their own and call to him.

With a sigh, he stared at the imposing, empty bed again. Despite the warmth of the hearth, it still looked terribly cold. Then he turned back to the doorway, envisioning Graeme readying for sleep, alone in his own chilly bed.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered to himself.

Before he lost his nerve, he marched out of his room and knocked on Graeme’s door.

“It’s me,” he uttered softly.

Once again, Graeme’s swollen face appeared in the narrow gap of the doorway, regarding him in confusion. “Did you forget something?”

Sam peered at the guard at the end of the hall in discomfort. “Can we talk inside?” he whispered.

Once ensconced in the privacy of the room, he took a deep breath while he gathered his wits. Now was not the time to falter over words. Graeme waited patiently, as always.

“You know about these nightmares I’ve been having,” Sam began. “While we’ve been travelling, I slept a little better when we shared a bed. I guess, subconsciously, I feel safer.”

Graeme nodded. “And you wish to share my bed this night?”

“I do.” The admission shamed him, as though he were a child wanting to sleep in his parents’ bed after a bad dream, although his reasons were much more complex than that. “But I don’t want to make you uncomfortable after what I said today. Could you just forget all that—”

“But you stated it was the truth.”

“Well, yeah, it is the truth, but like I said, your friendship matters more.”

“I understand, Sam, however your feelings toward me can’t truly be forgotten or pushed aside, can they?”

Sam wiped a hand across his face. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry.” He turned to leave, but a sudden firm grip on his arm halted his retreat.

“I asked you a question,” Graeme said. His tone was gentle, imploring.

Unable to meet the knight’s gaze, Sam instead stared at his feet, contemplating what he asked. The answer was obvious, but Graeme wanted to hear it aloud. “No, of course I can’t forget how I feel about you.”

Countless seconds of burning silence filled the room before Graeme, at last, replied.

“I would be saddened if you could.”

Sam turned to face the knight, whose face regarded him with such confounding affection. “I don’t understand you,” he whispered.

Now it was Graeme who couldn’t meet his eyes. “Please allow me time, Sam. Accepting these inclinations does not come easily for me.”

“What . . . are you talking about?” he stammered, not daring to assume anything.

Graeme’s shoulders rose and fell as he heaved a sigh, then he trudged to sit on the bed. In that soft, habitual gesture of his, he patted the space beside, inviting Sam to join him. Filled with uncertainty, Sam sat alongside the knight, careful to allow for space between them.

“Forgive my hesitancy,” Graeme said. “It is difficult for me to speak my own truths. I, too, hold an affection for you that cannot be defined as mere friendship.”

Sam’s head spun at this revelation, but he kept silent as Graeme continued.

“I suppose I have long recognised my differences, but always sought to hold them down. Keep them hidden.”

“Because of how you were raised?” Sam asked.

“Yes.”

“But you don’t live in Rathium anymore. You don’t have to hide your feelings—certainly not to me.”

“I am fully aware, especially now, but you must try to understand this goes against everything I’ve been told. These unnatural thoughts—”

“They aren’t unnatural, Graeme. Just because we’re two men doesn’t mean our feelings are immoral.”

“Every fibre in my being speaks otherwise.”

Graeme’s voice had hardened, but the tone wasn’t directed at Sam’s comment. It was aimed at the contempt he harboured for his own tenets. He clearly wanted to be free of them, but couldn’t discern how to break loose of the tenacious, barbed web in which he found himself.

“Thank you for telling me,” Sam said gently, hoping to ease the tension. “But I don’t want what we currently have—this friendship or whatever you want to call it—to change. And it doesn’t have to.”

“We’ve made our feelings known, Sam.”

“So what? I care about you. You care about me. That wasn’t exactly a secret, was it?”

Graeme reluctantly shook his head.

“Then let’s continue being that way. Maybe one day, you’ll start to feel differently about your beliefs. Maybe you won’t. But I refuse to let those beliefs come between our friendship. I hope you feel the same way.”

“I most surely do.”

“Then there’s nothing else to say”—Sam held his hands out toward him, palms up—“except that I care about you, above anything else.”

Graeme showed no hesitation, taking Sam’s hands into his and gripping them firmly. “You speak the words that echo in my own heart and mind. How I garnered such a dear friend after travelling across such dreadful lands, I cannot fathom.”

Sam had maintained his restraint for as long as he could, but that resolve had finally broken. Allowing the fragile moment to overrule his better judgement, he embraced the knight with an urgency barely contained. Graeme’s form tightened, betraying his hesitation. There was little doubt in Sam’s mind he’d overstepped his bounds, realising the contact between them, until now, had always been Graeme's to initiate. Barely a breath had passed before Sam relented, but the knight—sensing this—pulled him back to return the embrace, tight and enduring. There was no apprehension now, no uncertainty. Lost in each other’s touch, time meant nothing. Sam’s eyes blurred with the threat of tears. True to habit, he fought to blink them away, only belatedly aware they were tears of joy.

• • •

End of Part Two