Important plot A/N: I screwed up a detail in the last chapter. I was revising a hunk of this one when something struck me as wrong, and when I went to check my timeline, I realized I'd screwed up. The writ of manumission is not dated from two days before, but from one day before. I am going back to fix that, in the meantime, adjust your calendars, please! ^^

Chapter 23

Free.

I was no longer slave. No longer an eromenos. No longer property at all, but a man with free will.

Still in some shock, I left my Lord with the Prince and went to my room to cleanse the last of the black from my hand. Scrubbing, I supposed, so that there would be no evidence to question the master's version of events, should it come to that.

He'd done it yesterday, by the official signature, and he must have visited the statehouse in the morning as I'd been with him for most the rest of the day. But he hadn't said a word on it. Not that evening, nor all of today. Likely he'd thought I would balk.

Shaking the water from my hands, I realized that likely, he'd been correct. Even now, with the need so plain, it was only by latching tightly to my faith in him that I didn't succumb to panic. My Lord would not abandon me to drowning.

But I wondered at his original plan for the papers. For plainly, my actions had forced the issue—I would warrant that before the uproar, he hadn't had any intention of producing them tonight.

The night before, he'd instructed me to flee. To Fionn. So maybe my Lord had intended to entrust the papers with him. My mark was all they'd been lacking, after all, and Fionn's hand would have worked as well as my Lord's to guide me.

Drying my hands on a towel, I looked over my bedroom. I'd not slept in here for well over a moon now. It had not changed, yet it was different to me, a stranger's room, belonging to one who no longer existed. The autumnal colors, still lovely and soothing, but a static painting that held none of the intimate comfort that it once had.

Voices down the hall—frustration, impatience, anger and fear, all of those, by turns loud and hushed. A lull fell. Murmurs, and then the click of a latch and a shutting door. I inspected my hands, turning the right one carefully, looking for any tell-tale smudge of black in a crease. Nothing.

Looking towards the window, I heard my Lord's voice again, as though he stood at my shoulder. We leave tonight, he'd said. We. And not—I didn't think—to return. There'd been finality in his voice, the finality of a decision long pondered.

Tonight. I started, as though just waking to the situation at hand. The night was well begun already; I should not be musing like a dazed lamb, but packing. Yet what did I bring? My gaze fell on the book. A Natural History… I picked it up and placed it in the center of the bed. That. If nothing else, I took the book.

Looking into my wardrobe, I strained to filter the anxiety and think. Wraps and gauzy tunics, silken breeches and embroidered vests. Did none of these apply any longer? Yet I had little else.

I pulled my single pair of trousers from a peg and tossed them across the footboard of the bed. That, I expected, I would wear, wherever it was that we went. The flannelled shirt as well; mornings were still chilly. I took it from its place and shoved an arm into the sleeve.

There was a tap at the door, and I turned, surprised to see Prince Arich there. I'd have thought it was he who'd left. "Well," he said, as he entered. "He's long wanted to leave this place. It is overdue."

Thoughts racing but sense working sluggishly, I drew the shirt over my shoulders as he ambled towards the bed, his eyes flitting about the room—reading it, I thought. A fright rushed me then, remembering who he was—not only the Prince, but a man I'd severely wronged, who had lost his right hand—and a brother—for my rashness. When he sat on the mattress, I dropped hastily to my knees and touched my head to the moss of the rug. I heard the misery in my voice when I said, "Your Highness. My regret is profound. If there were any way that I could change what is past, I would."

He gave a sigh of long-suffering and after a pause, said, "Free men don't kowtow to me, Sylvan. You have a raft of new habits to learn. Here…" he tugged lightly at my shoulder. "…sit with me."

I rose and glanced cautiously towards him, anxious to know whether there was anger hidden in his eyes. But he'd found the book, had opened it, and was now reading the inscription. I sat, an arms length from him, and watched as he flipped loosely through the pages. I fingered the buttons of my shirt, carefully doing up the middle two.

Prince Arich brought his eyes to mine, and gave me a wan smile. "Nygell has gone to secure horses and supplies. That he was leaving at dawn simplifies matters somewhat." Closing the book and setting it on the bed between us, he said, "He assures me you can ride."

"Yes, your Highness." Since I'd come to the palace, I'd never sat with another free man alone, and now that I did, it was with the Prince, under circumstances such as these. I lowered my eyes and stilled my hands, though the urge to twist at my fingers nearly overwhelmed me.

"You must learn to speak as a freeman, Sylvan. More than one-word answers are required to sustain a conversation."

"My Prince," I said, in acknowledgement of his chiding, but kept my eyes down. "They taught us most necessary skills at Eros. I am no expert, but a fair portion of my trip north was atop a horse. I can ride, your Highness."

"And you can dispense with the constant honorifics. We are on your bed, not in a throne room.

"Commoners will call you by your title. I know this."

"Ah. But you are my brother's lover. No mere commoner." At his words, the blood left my face and a chill caught my limbs. But he waved the topic aside, saying, "No matter," and then stood. He paced to the window, and looking up towards the stars, said, "He takes you from here. Where, I don't know. Far, I hope, for the King will call him a deserter. He leaves an army during wartime."

Startled, I blurted, "Please. Talk him out of this."

He whirled to face me, his expression fierce in its frustration. "You think I have not tried? Did you think that quarrel was over a toy boat?"

I tucked my head down again, feeling wretched and impotent in the face of his anger. If I knew what to do, I'd do it, but my recklessness had begun an avalanche that I could see no way to stop. "But what will you do? He was to go to the front…"

I'd expected his rage to grow at my speaking of that truth, but instead, the Prince let out a breath of a laugh and said, "Right now, the armies drink together. There is no fighting—in truth, there's been none in well over a moon. I expect a truce, and they only await word of it. My lieutenants suffice to keep alcoholic brawls to a minimum."

It was as my Lord had said. The Prince only wanted him gone from here.

The Prince settled on the bed again, choosing to sit a little closer to me than I had to him. "Do you love him?"

"Yes. Gods, yes." My voice wavered and my eyes stung. I was unable to have him know just how deeply it ran. Clutching the fingers of one hand in the fist of my other, I said, "But I am not special to see his worth, you know this. All adore him, and I am fortunate to have landed at his door." Forcing myself to meet the Prince's gaze, I said, "How can I not love him? Any eromenos would."

His tone serious, the Prince answered, "I doubt any but you could. He is far too moody and difficult. And regardless, it is not any man he could love back."

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to trust that what we had could not exist with another. But I didn't. My voice was unsteady when I said, "I am not worth this."

"Stop this!"

In a sudden fit of rage, the Prince grabbed at my shoulders and shook me hard, and I nearly choked in startled terror. "You," he said, pointing a finger right between my eyes. "You started this…with your damned defiance. You will not now hide behind Nygell's knees like an infant. You are a free man. Behave as one."

I should never have met his eye, because once I did, the ice in them fixed me and I could not look away.

"If I hear one more frail cry from you I swear I will rip it from your throat. Because of you, Nygell makes himself a criminal, and you can not be a burden, do you hear?"

I heard him, easily, for his voice was clear and cut like a blade.

"You challenged me—I am not blind, and I am not stupid. Well, boy, you won him, and if you shrink now from what you've done, if you cause him to live in guilt, gods help me, I will make you regret it." He stopped, face white and jaw tight, fist clenched in my shirt, trembling.

I breathed in sharp short gasps, only slowly realizing that his anger was one that sought answer, not one that wanted to maim. Heat rose into my cheeks, and burned the tips of my ears with shame. My voice croaked when I said, "You are right. I will…I only…" Clearing my throat, I pushed gently at him, separating myself from his grasp. "My Prince...Arich…" I strove to keep my voice clear, to explain, not to excuse. "…It is not so easy for me…to cause such upset, to believe I am worth tearing him from this…" I waved my arm vaguely.

He only watched me, not giving me a hair's width of comfort. I stood, scrubbed my face in my hands, and then went to my wardrobe. After a moment of thought, I took a tunic from the back, two favored wraps from one side, and draped them over my arm. Then I took my boots from the floor, shut the doors and latched them. Turning back, I walked to the bed, laid what I'd gathered down, and with a glance towards the Prince, said, "You say he will be a traitor?"

The Prince relaxed fractionally, plainly relieved that I no longer cowered. "No. He won't, though father may say so. I've officially relieved him of his duties. As of tonight, he no longer commands the home army. The King will see me as conspirator, but…" He let the sentence trail with a shrug.

I studied him as I finished buttoning my shirt, wondering if his plans for the throne had been put on hold, if the King's charges would even matter five days from now. "But the monotheists come…" I ventured.

"They do." Prince Arich's eyes narrowed, studying me, wondering how much I knew, perhaps. After a moment, he said, "It is my hope that once I gain the throne, Nygell will return to my service. I need him close to me."

I only nodded in answer, not wanting to seem too keenly interested. It was best if he thought me ignorant.

Still watching me closely, he continued, "I know you feel no loyalty to these lands, but please hear me, do not keep him from me."

Now my eyes shot to his, startled at his words, realizing that I'd misread his concern somewhat. "I would not…my Prince, I would not keep him from his heart, nor try to sway it." I sat now beside him, disconcerted by what he believed of my character. "Besides, I know of them…these fanatics…they've long threatened my homeland. They seek to own minds as much as territory, and have no more respect for my gods than yours. If I were so trained, I would fight at your side."

Prince Arich only nodded, but his brow had smoothed. He seemed satisfied. "I am glad to hear it."

#

With the advice of the Prince, I chose what I should bring. It was a small enough assortment, as I had little, including only soap and salves aside from what little in clothing I'd already put aside. All of it fit into a single small pack, and by the time Nygell returned, I'd dressed for traveling—as well as I was able, in any case.

On hearing him enter, I went to greet him, and watched as he instructed the soldier he'd brought to wait by the door. Coming towards me, he paused when he saw me and a tentative smile tugged at his lips. "Sylvan."

"Nygell," I said, and his smile broadened. "I'm at a loss." I shrugged. "Tell me how to help get us gone."

"Have you packed?" He headed now for his study, settling quickly into his chair and reaching for a pen.

"What I have is ready. There isn't much."

Just then, the Prince joined us, saying, "What is the man for?"

Nygell was writing by then, quick scrawls on paper. "He will carry a message to Fionn."

"By King's guard? That seems unwise…"

"This one, I trust."

The Prince was unconvinced. "People will notice the King's guard clomping about in the night. It is no way to leaving quietly."

Pausing from his writing, Nygell glanced up towards his brother. "I must get this to him—"

"Graf." Both Nygell and the Prince turned their attention to me. "Graf will carry it. He is silent. And trustworthy."

Nygell nodded. "Very well. Wayon! Come, please." When the soldier appeared, Nygell said, "There is a slave boy, Graf." Nygell looked at me. "He sleeps in common quarters?"

I nodded. "Second room on the right. Top left bunk near the door."

Wayon nodded. "I know Graf."

Nygell said, "Bring him, please."

Once the man had gone, Nygell pointed with his pen to the certificates—those that declared me free—and said, "Fold those. Carefully, to fit into those sleeves." I did as he finished his message, and then he handed one to me, and put the others aside. "Keep that safe. It is your proof of freedom. One of these I will keep, one I will leave with Fionn for safekeeping." He looked towards Prince Arich. "If I'd foreseen these events, I'd have arranged a copy for you. Should I leave you mine?"

The Prince shook his head. "Whether or not the King chooses to accept this will have little to do with whether he sees the paper."

Nygell stood. "I must gather a few items from my room." As he brushed beside me, his fingers trailed along my waist and I shivered, glad for the affection. For all the courage I'd mustered, I wanted nothing more than to tunnel into his arms for the night.

Back in his room, Nygell tugged at the door to his wardrobe and began to pull clothing from it.

"Where do you go?"

Nygell frowned at the Prince's question, tossed a pair of wool trousers onto the bed, and said, "North. Towards Caleda."

"But Caleda is an ally; the King will hunt for you there."

"It is. But the border is close, and while Father seeks permission, I can choose our final destination more carefully."

"Go to Morgan."

"Morgan?"

Rising from the divan, the Prince headed back down the hall, calling over his shoulder "It's not much further. I can direct you to an estate there, and will send you with a letter of introduction…" His voice trailed off as he disappeared into Nygell's study, and Nygell cast another armful of clothing onto the bed.

"Pick out two warm ensembles for me, would you, Syl?"

The Prince returned with a pen, inkpot and paper. "The estate is mine, left to me by Nialla." His mother. "Orgud knows nothing of it…and no, neither does Brys. Only me, now. And my cousins in Morgan, but they have no love for Orgud." Sitting down again, he began to sketch a map. "Even if father knew, he would never associate it with you…only Brys or myself."

A pattern of raps at the door brought Nygell's head up and he called, "Come," then headed towards it, saying, "Sylvan…your presence might smooth this."

The guard entered, escorting Graf before him, looking—for all his usual impudence—alarmed. I could only imagine the thoughts that ran through his head, being summoned to Lord Nygell's chambers in the dead of night. His eyes darted quickly from Nygell to me, and he seemed to relax some when he saw that I fared well enough.

There was only that quick assessment, then he dropped to his knees before Nygell, eyes down, much more servile than I'd ever seen him. "My Lord," he said. "How may I serve you?"

"Stand, please. Graf, is it? Sylvan speaks well of you."

Rising, Graf licked his lips and stole a glance in my direction. I didn't think I'd ever seen him so unsure.

Nygell chuckled at his nerves and said, "Of that, too, yes...but I refer to other skills tonight. Speed and quiet, perhaps?"

His eyes widened, but then the light in them took, and he gave a quick smile. Not so much cheeky as relieved, I think. "Whatever please you, my Lord." Well, perhaps a little cheeky.

"Come." In his study, Nygell sealed the message, handed it to Graf, and then bent to draw a quick map. "There is a man, I need you to deliver this to him. Be sure it reaches his hands, and tell him I asked that he read it immediately." He slid the paper he'd drawn on towards Graf. "This is the south gate mercantile. There is a potter's shop here—a man who paints dragons in blue—do you know it?"

"Yes, my Lord."

Nygell continued, explaining how to find Fionn's home and his appearance. "He is the tall one who limps," Graf said, and at Nygell's answering nod, "He is a presence not easily missed. I hope this is good news I bring him."

With a chuckle, Nygell said, "It is not bad news, only a boon that I ask of him," and then grew serious again. "Graf. It is vital that you do this. And it is not for my sake, but for Sylvan's."

The openness in Graf's expression closed, and his lips drew into a thin line when he answered, "I will do this for Sylvan, but would for you as well. You need not ply me."

"Ah." Nygell frowned, but I knew his expressions, and this was not in anger, but dismay. "Forgive me, Graf, I insult you. But I am worried, and I take no chances. Now go, please. And quickly."

#

Not a quarter of an hour passed before Nygell had stowed what he wanted, all of it fitting into a single bag—albeit one larger than mine. He handed both to Wayon to carry to the mounts and then turned to his brother.

"We must go. We have less than five hours before the palace awakens."

The Prince nodded. "Keep an ear to the ground." He glanced towards me and, seeming to come to a decision, gave a small frown. "I will send word…once I succeed to the throne, you need not stay secreted away. This folly against Alba will stop, but we may soon have a war we did not choose. Brother, I will need you."

"I am not coming back here."

"And I will not want you here. Not for some long time, in any case."

Nygell's glower turned to a look of puzzlement—and perhaps hurt—but Prince Arich only shrugged. "You would come with a certain lover…I applaud your good fortune, but he would not be good for slave morale."

Nygell only nodded, and I…Well, the Prince was correct. It would do no one any good if I returned with the status of a royal Lord's companion. Any admiration of me by the others would quickly turn to spite—perhaps not all, but enough of them to matter.

With an instinctive recoil at supper, my life had changed irrevocably. Cook slipping me tidbits, Graf stealing gropes among the plants, the domestics blushing at my flirtations, the dancer taking me to his bed. As surely as seeing Karmin crumple to the floor, I knew I'd experienced the last of any of those pleasures. I was free, they were owned. If I returned, they would grow suspicious, I would be despised, and the Palace household would be in turmoil. The Prince did not want me to return, and I found that I shared his pessimism.

"You have long petitioned Father for a parcel of land. There is one needs watching, with an old stone manor along the shore. You know it. It wants of repair, but…there are cliffs, and the salt air is healthy and clean. And as for the advantage I see in it...it is only a long day's ride from here."

Nygell kept silent, studying the Prince thoughtfully.

"You could keep your lover; build a life that is quiet and secluded. If you were to somehow beget a child, the manor would pass down your line. But I will not push the matter. I will allow none to question your choices."

"I will think on it. Sylvan must agree."

The Prince smiled in acknowledgement. "Good. When you hear rumor of change, know that I've already sent labor to prepare for your arrival. And I will give you a household from your choice of the slaves here."

"If I agree."

"If." Prince Arich's smile was broad. "Of course."

#

All were gone, leaving myself and Nygell in his residence, Nygell looking anxious to leave. If the truth were told, so was I, but I reckoned that a stolen moment now would surely make no difference…and well-spent, might give us spirit to keep moving later.

Besides which—when the Prince had chastised me, he'd done more than remind me of my duty. He'd reawakened that part of me that coveted in a way I never had before. That believed I was due some measure of gratification. It was by no means a simple thing; my knees wobbled to think of what lay before me. But just now, at this very moment, I saw a man before me who was as desirable as any I'd ever laid eyes on, and I was determined to keep him.

So when my Exquisite Lord set hand to the latch, I grabbed at his shoulder, pulled him back and sideways, and shoved his back into the wall. There came the quickest flicker of fight—the instincts of a warrior—but just as quickly it passed and, releasing the coil of his muscle, he submitted to my wrenching his arms overhead to pin him.

There is something heady about the power of a whisper to dominate a strong body…particularly one as finely tuned as is his. With one knee, I compelled him to part his legs and then crushed my thigh into his crotch, delighting in the hiss that escaped him.

I bit at his neck, sucking until he moaned, then moved my lips to his ear and in a voice rough and low, said, "We leave now, kitten. How is your ass? Does it pain you?"

A sharp inhale, and then a breath. "Yessss…gods, Sylvan."

"You realize, Nygell, that once we are gone from here, you are mine. There will be no relief from your servitude."

"No…Master."

Very nice. I pulled back and watched his face, toying with a lock of his hair. "The Prince offers us a manor." I paused—for effect, yes, but also to watch carefully his reactions. Running one finger down the side of his cheek, I said, "If we go there, you will choose Graf for me, yes?"

He inhaled sharply at this, but then relaxed in my grip, succumbing. He groaned, a sound of profound pain, but there came the twitch at my thigh. Such eroticism there could be in despair. "Yes, Master." Eros, he was beautiful.

"You will enjoy watching us, won't you, kitten?" I ground against him and said, "Serve us wine as we embrace?"

"Yessss…."

"Bring us pillows and oil my shaft for his comfort…?"

Another groan and he shut his eyes tightly, skin turning pink at imagined shame.

"He lusts for you, you realize." I ran the tip of my tongue along his neck. "So afterwards, perhaps, I will loan your body to him. In payment, you understand. For all he's done. Does that not sound fair?"

"Syl…please." He shuddered and his hips bucked involuntarily into my thigh. Hard as granite, I felt the heat through the fabric of his pants. "Yes, Master," he murmured.

"No escape, kitten. Not after tonight."

There was only his breathing, shallow and ragged, and the swipe of a tongue across his lips.

Bending to his ear again, I whispered, "I love only you."

A startled look, eyes wide, and then he lunged to kiss me. I reciprocated, tasting the worry and the desire, sweet and warm on my tongue. Brushing his lips with mine, I said, "Are you ready?"

He nodded, eyes glassy and dark. "I am ready."

"Good," I said, straightening quickly and loosing him. His arms dropped and he stood, blinking dazedly. I opened the door, extinguishing the last candle as I did, and pushed him ahead of me. "Let us be gone."

#

Fionn met us just outside of town. He brought two changes of clothes for me—for though he was taller than I, it was not by much, and his clothes were a better fit than Nygell's. Nygell set the third certificate in his hand and they embraced tightly. Fionn kissed my cheek, and then we left, with a good three hours of riding left before dawn.

It may have been among the shortest routes out of the kingdom, but the way was long. We kept to the common roads at first, where our tracks would be buried beneath morning farm to market wagons. Once the land became rocky, we struck out northeast, aiming for Morgan's border.

We rode through that first day and much of the next night, stopping only as long as we must to keep our mounts watered and rested. Nygell slept not at all, and I only catnapped with the horses, so that by the time we stopped, we were both drawn and pale, beginning to imagine what was not there. We dropped and slept until well past dawn, trusting that the horses would wake us if they heard any noise amiss.

I woke the next morning in agony, shoulders, spine and haunches in spasm from the ride. Nygell laughed (and just how does one punish a man who desires the lash?), but was kind, assuring me that he too ached (he lied, I've no doubt), and slowing our pace as my muscles stretched and released in the warming day. That night it rained, and after a cold meal we huddled underneath a tarp, leeward an outcropping of rock, tasting of each other, skin, fluids, and warmth. It must have been me—aching as I was with freedom—that had us acting as boys in adolescent flush. For once our panicked sprint had calmed, I seemed unable to pass an hour without growing again aroused at the sight of him.

So I took him the next morning, violent and loud, up against the rock wall of our bedroom, drunk with the wide solitude that surrounded us. Again after lunch, having him suck me clean, and as dinner cooked that night, bathing in an open stream, that time gentle and slow, drawing out his pleasure well.

But yes—after supper, exhausted witless, with a belly full of stew, I took to laughing hysterically and then collapsed insensate, leaving Nygell to clean the cooking pots. Late the next morning, we forded the river that marked our crossing into Morgan and then rode on until afternoon, moving well within its borders and making camp early.

There Nygell took a razor to my hair, cutting it just above my shoulders and back away from my face. Untouched by lotions, untamed by the brush, my hair grew unruly, capering out in waves from my face. I shook my head when he'd finished, feeling lighter. Free. And we scattered what had been cut on the breeze. Then we stretched our bones and allowed the mounts to graze long, and we coupled lazily and quietly once it grew dark, trading stories of the men in the stars.

Tomorrow was solstice. We would reach a town, stay an evening or two, and from there, ride a day to the Prince's estate. By now the fates were turning, by now Arich might be King, but if so, the news must reach us, and that left us a space to rest and begin to learn a love that grows from freedom. We had time.

Have I said I was happy?