Kingsbane

Chapter 23

    Their lantern had run out of oil hours ago, leaving them to stumble in the dark. The black, winding corridors seemed endless, and echoed every curse or gasp they made. Sverre had already collapsed twice, and Grayson was not sure he had the strength himself to help him up a third. Not for the first the time he thought of Siva's smile, his shining eyes, his open arms, so much warmer than this damned labyrinth.
    Sverre stopped at a fork in the passage, presumably to decide upon a path. His breathing was labored and though Grayson couldn't make much out in the murky blackness, he knew the man was clutching desperately to the support beam for support. He wasn't going to make it at this rate.
    "Sverre-"
    "Ssh." The man bit out. "Listen."
    He did, but all he could hear was their panting and the strange, paradoxal hum of the quiet. "What is it?"
    "Birds."
    "Which- dammit." Grayson heard Sverre fall and reached out blindly to help him, his own hands quaking from fatigue, his head spinning as he bent over. He stifled a cry of pain as he hefted the man back to his feet, putting a nearly unbearable pressure on his swollen insides.
    "Sorry." Sverre grimaced, trying to escape Grayson's arms.
    "Knock it off. Let's just get out of here already." Gray hissed, tired of the Fae's stubbornness, his irritation only furthered by his own discomfort. "Which way?"
    "Straight."
    Grayson pulled together the remainder of his energy and pushed forward. He wanted to see the sunlight, feel it's warmth, was nearly as desperate for it's kiss as he was for Siva's. Sverre tried to keep up, but Gray didn't wait for him to get his footing, simply drug him onward. He'd only have this burst of stamina for a moment, and he didn't want to waste his last bit of water yet.
    Light. He saw it. His heart leapt as he stepped out into the fading sunlight. And then they both toppled down the steep bank just outside the exit. Grayson let go of Sverre in order to brace himself, trying to avoid landing on his swollen side. He landed with a thud directly on top of his companion. Sverre threw him off, but did not get up.
    Gray rolled to his knees, but couldn't go any further. Blood dripped profusely from his nose and his vision wavered. "No." He hissed, frustrated at his body's inability to recover from a simple fall. "Fuck." Wiping the blood from his face, he flung it into the grass beside him and fought back the urge to vomit. The pain in his abdomen causing his head to spin. "Useless!"
    "Come on, kid." Sverre sighed, appearing beside him, looking no better off than he was but a great deal more calm. Even though he was hardly standing on his own, the Fae offered him his hand. "Can you stand?"
    "I need a minute." He murmured, still fighting back his nausea. "How far is it to your sister's?"
    "A mile or so, but she'll be at the castle tonight for Siofra's fertility ceremony." The man swayed, but quickly spread his feet to compensate for his disturbed balance. "We need to start a fire."
    "Right. I'll go gather some sticks and shit in a second. You go sit down."
    Sverre didn't say anything, but did not sit down. Instead he went around gingerly collecting twigs and other tender. Grayson watched him when his sight began to return to normal. He seemed almost reverent with each piece of wood he retrieved. More than once he seemed to be stroking the grass as he did so. Despite all his obvious pain, there was soft, sad smile on his lips.
    Finally, he managed to force himself back to his feet, by which time Sverre had begun to stack his twigs and branches into a pile near the incline of the hill they'd just fallen down. "Your nose is still bleeding." He commented as he Grayson approached.
    "Did you see where the wine bottle landed?"
    Gray looked around and spotted it a few feet away. "Have you been drinking that this whole time?"
    "Yeah."
    "Is that why you kept falling down?" He didn't even try to hide his annoyance.
    "I'm sure it didn't help. Sorry. I haven't drank in a long time. I guess my tolerance isn't what it used to be."   
     Fearing he may spew curses at any moment, Gray excused himself to find a place to urinate. On his way back he snagged a few larger pieces of firewood. When he returned, Sverre had a small fire going and was laying back against the hillside. He looked gray and his breathing was alarmingly slow. Still, he did not seem terribly bothered by his failing health.
    "Are you sure that drinking this would kill you?" Gray asked, taking the water from his belt. "I'll give it to you."
    "Keep it. It won't help me any." The man sighed, running his hands over the ground beside him. "It's been over one hundred years since I've felt the grass. Seen green growth."
    "There has to be something we can do to stop the poison. Isn't there some magic fruit or enchanted stick we could wave?"
    "Sit down." Sverre snorted. "I'm going to die right here on this beautiful grass and that's okay with me."
    "Siva will be devastated to lose you." He whispered, bottling his need to reprimand the man for lacking the will to live. Still, a little bit of lecture slipped out. "And besides, you shouldn't throw your life away so carelessly."
    "You must think I'm a fool." The man breathed, lifting his shirt to inspect his wound. It seemed to have healed, though the area around it seemed tinged with a moldy green color. "But to be honest, I don't want to live to see the day the love of my life births my brother's child. Duty or not, I can't stand it."
    Gray sighed. That would be hard. In fact, he'd never really thought about how it would feel to be on the side. Siva would be spending a lot of time with his wife and his child, and where would he be? He sat down next to Sverre feeling a little dejected. Maybe he should have thought a little harder about this situation.
    "Does it bother you? Me and Siva?" He questioned, seeking conversation to chase away his blackening mood.
    "Well, you being human is a little inconvenient." He replied, his breathing beginning to slow. "Would you give me that pipe?" Grayson sat up, nervous that his comrade seemed to be fading out.
    "Sverre?"
    "S'all right." The Fae whispered, "Pipe."
    Grayson did as he was asked and watched quietly the man lethargically packed the bowl and struggled with the BIC. "Here." He offered, taking the lighter from his hand and striking it. Sverre nodded his thanks and puffed on the stem until the tobacco lit.
    "So good." He sighed contentedly on an exhale. "Want to try it? Might help with your aches a little."
    "Sure." Why not? He'd already swallowed blood and drank water from a rock.
    The smoke burned going in, filling his lung with fire. On the exhale, however, it came out cold, more like a frosty mist than smoke. His limbs began to tingle and the pain in his bones was gently massaged away. "What is this?" He coughed, looking over at the other man accusingly.
    Sverre didn't respond, his consciousness lost. Unsure of what to do, Gray resigned himself to finishing the strange herb and also the last of Sverre's wine. He even helped himself to more of the unpleasant cheese. He fed the fire and stared up at the purple and pink smeared across the sky, reminding him of that day outside the restaurant with Siva.
    Was he watching the same sunset? Was he thinking the same thing? He took another draw from his pipe, hoping it would ease the sting in his heart as it had the rest of him. His eyelids grew heavy and he knew he wasn't going to be able to fight sleep any longer. With one last look at the sky, he dozed off, cradled in the soft grass, wishing it were Siva's sheets.

* * * *
    Siva stood with his arms out as a few nameless servants dressed him. Despite Siofra's cryptic optimism, he was still mourning the loss of his brother and Grayson. He moved like a zombie, expressionless and uncaring as he was prepared for a ceremony that felt more to him like an execution.
    "My Lord, your jewelry." A woman whispered timidly, frightened but the darkness that seemed to cling to him. She held up a red velvet cushion upon which the accessories to his wardrobe sat. He looked at it as thought it were a set of severed fingers instead of golden drop earrings and delicate golden head piece.
    Silently, he donned the circlet, only because it was an expected symbol of his title. Another cushion was offered, this one full of rings. He didn't want any of them. He didn't want anything beautiful. In the grief he was drowning in, anything with a shine or sparkle only reminded him of the brightness he felt he'd never see again.
    "No, thank you." He breathed. "Am I finished?"
    Another servant carried over a large full length mirror and set it down before him. "Is it to your liking, Your Grace?" He inquired, peering around the frame hopefully. "The Queen drew up the design for me long ago, when she was still just the princess. I've been working on it for years."
    "She had it made for my brother then." He murmured, looking at the dashing white uniform with it's many golden accents glistening in the lantern light. "It would have suited him."
    The servants looked at one another, unsure whether that was a good thing it not. "Your scepter." The woman offered him a heavy stick, carved with intricate markings and topped with a large blue sapphire. He did not doubt that Siofra had, had this made with Sverre in mind as well.
    "Does it displease you, Your Majesty?"
    "If this is my wife's will, then it pleases me indeed." Stepping down from the little pedestal he'd been asked to stand on as the tailor had hemmed his pant-legs, he went to the window. "Leave me for a while."
    "The ceremony-"
    "Leave me." He hissed, his vibrant eyes dancing with a malice that was unlike him. The servants did not even bother to bow or curtsy before the went skittering away like frighten rabbits.
    When the door closed he went to his night table and took out his tobacco and rolling papers. Siofra hated the smell of it, but he couldn't help it. He'd never wanted a cigarette so badly. Closing his eyes, he could almost hear Grayson's soft breathing from the bed behind him, the rain on the gutter, and the cars passing by.
    Careful not to get ashes on his white sleeves, he looked up at the fading sunlight. Below, his subjects were filing into the party, dressed to the nines and all smiles. The tragedy in Unseelie the night before did not seem to bother them. The death and the pain had not touched them here. They were perfectly at peace, and it was his duty to keep them that way.
    It was a task he was not qualified for.
    He waved as Rafferty entered the courtyard and looked up toward his window. The General nodded and then was pounced upon by a few flirty courtesans. The look on his face was almost enough to make Siva laugh. Almost.