A Drink Before Battle [MxM] ✅

Extra 2: Homecoming

Extra Two

Homecoming

Winter afternoons in the Principality of Urskatha were dismal and dreary. Thin light from the distant sun filtered through a canopy of slate-gray clouds, casting the snowscaped earth in gloomy blue shadow, further diminishing the already brief hours of the day.

Darker still were the shadows in Yeresym's bedchamber. Heavy drapes were drawn against the cold, shutting out that wan bit of daylight, and even the blazing radiance of the cavernous hearth couldn't reach the room's high ceiling and expansive corners.

A young girl sat on a stool before the hearth, cradling a dulcimer in her lap, plucking out a selection of mellow, tranquil tunes, occasionally adding her honey-rich alto voice to the strings. She had her instructions: no rousing dances, no songs of war, nothing that soldiers might sing on the march or around their campfires, no love songs. She kept the repertoire to lullabies, formal etudes, and hymns from the temple.

She frequently hazarded a furtive peek at the man on the bed. Sometimes he slept, but more often he lay awake, staring blankly into the dark ceiling, with only the flicker of firelight animating his glassy eyes. Awake or asleep, if she rested her fingers for too long at the end of a piece he would grow restless and sometimes jolt up, shouting out in a frightening fit of alarm. She'd been playing for hours today, but just as she began to fear that she really couldn't go on, the door creaked open and Meira stepped into the room.

"Go to the kitchen and have something to eat," she said to the girl.

"No!" Yeresym's voice, hoarse from disuse, creaked out in desperation. He flung out a pleading hand. "I need it."

Only the music could drown out the incessant condemnation of the ghosts screaming in his head.

Meira grasped his hand and gave it a comforting squeeze as she placed it back down on his chest.

"Let's give her a rest. I'm here with you," she soothed.

The girl slipped quietly out the door and Meira went to the window to pull back the drapes. Gray light fell across the bed, revealing the shadows beneath Yeresym's eyes and his dry lips tinged blue against skin much paler than usual. She sat on the bed beside him and took his hand again.

"Have you eaten anything today?" she asked.

His lip curled up, but fell again as if he couldn't hold the expression.

"A little... soup," he whispered. "Or maybe that was yesterday."

Meira sighed.

"Lady Zileyna has returned, with Master Amaran."

His younger sister, Zileyna, who had just taken a high-ranking position among the King's Alchemists. Master Amaran, Governor of Martial Studies at Azeva Academy of Alchemy, and Yeresym's personal mentor.

Yeresym turned his face away to stare impassively out the window, watching the snow collecting in the corners of the glazed panes.

"I don't want to see them," he muttered. "I know what they want."

"They want to see you well," Meira assured. "They brought a healer with them. I think he might be a Chanter."

Yeresym's brow twisted.

"Good to know they're proceeding with caution." His voice gained strength and deepened into a growl. "I don't need a Chanter rummaging around in my head. It's crowded enough in here already."

Meira smiled, but her eyes glistened with gathering tears.

"Everyone is worried about you," she said. "They'll keep the doctors and the Alchemists coming until they see you back on your feet. Can you come down for dinner tonight? Perhaps a chat would be enough for Lady Zileyna and your Master to forego any examination, and your family—"