Page 79 of A Brat's Tale
I lie on the bed and read my nightly entry from Papa. His note isn’t even particularly sad, but it makes me cry.
I haven’t picked up my sword or bow since Corrik disappeared. I can’t. Everything tied to those two weapons is too painful. He never wanted me to hold a weapon again, but slowly, he allowed those things because he knew how much they meant to me. Yes, the sword was because of the king, but eventually, he condoned it too. The bow, a beautiful gift, fashioned by him. I’d forgotten it was sewn withhismagic. I patter over to my training room and pick it up, just to feel him. I can’t bring myself to use either item, but I bring the bow to bed with me and hold on to it all night, falling asleep with it gripped tightly in my fist.
Chapter 16
Over the following weeks, I resolve to practice again. No matter how tired I am from slavetraining, no matter how much I want to lie down after all my lessons—much more rigorous now, advancing to higher, royal protocols I originally didn’t need—I practice. My muscles ache again in the best of ways.
Nothing has changed, but I feel more like myself. Strobavik notices. “I almost believe you, Tristan. The Crown Prince is harder to impress. Keep working at it.” I start to think that maybe even Strobavik likes me.
I carry on, but not for Alrik or even Markaytia, I do it for me. Even sitting on the window ledge, watching the warrior-farmers as I call them, is part of the training for my mind and my heart. I pretend I’m their Warlord and give them pointers, saying them out loud to no one. I realize that without Diekin or anyone to call me Warlord, even that identity dropped away from me. Saying it to myself calls it back.
I’m careful not to let Alrik catch me. He’s worse than Corrik was about protection, not because Corrik cared less, but Corrik was swayed somewhat by my happiness. My happiness is not important to Alrik, only that he fulfills his end of the treaty by taking care of me. Corrik also cared if I was put out with him, he didn’t like me angrywith him. If I told Alrik what I told Corrik, I have no doubt Alrik would simply take further measures to make sure I never escape, even if that meant using restraints of some kind. Elves are creative when it comes to restraining a person. Strobavik has shown me plenty of that.
As I become Tristan again and the sharp edge of my grief recedes, I remember something. The last strapping I received from my father was because I gave up on myself. I’m doing it again. And I get something else. As much as Father is as duty-bound as I am, he was willing to take me out of here when he thought I was placed in the hands of irresponsible Elves and had become a lamb for slaughter.
He did that because he loves me, he loves me because he loves himself. When it came down to it, Arcade Kanes chose his son over duty.
It hits me hard: I can’t stay here. It’s time for me to go. I don’t know how I’ll do it, but I’m going to find Corrik.
I had to leave one of my mates behind for duty. Bayaden. That situation is complicated, but in that one, leaving was what had to be doneforthe other and myself.
With Corrik, it’s different. It’s hard to say how exactly, other than we are bound in some way that seems to go beyond this world. We’re an unlikely pair and yet we are inseparable. I have to find him. When it was me, he never stopped looking, he cared little for duty, he came for me.
Now it’s my turn and I’m going to do the same.
If anything, Alrik’s rules make it easier for me to leave. If I leave at night, I can take food from a whole day’s worth with me. Few people come up to my suite now. Once I’m done with slave training and lessons, I’m alone for the night. I know the exact moment the guards switch over. I’ve watched them for months and if I time it just right, I could be out of here with none the wiser until morning and by then, I’ll be long gone.
There are a few obstacles once I’m out of my confines. The biggest one being that I’m human. I’ll need to cover my head and my ears. There’s a chance I could pass for half-human, half-Elf, which come in different varieties in Mortouge, according to what I’ve read; I have noreal-world experience in this area. I’ll also have to get by the marketplace guards, which won’t happen at night. It will be easier during the day when I can squeeze out with the other people who come and go all day.
But before all that is the palace wall.
My heart races at the thought of my escape. If I get out, I’ll have other problems to deal with, if I don’t, not only will Alrik punish me, he’ll take drastic measures to make sure I can never leave again. This is my one chance.
I pull out my pack, something that’s in the back of our closet, stored here almost a year ago. It’s one Corrik purchased for me on our travels since he made me leave the one I’d brought with me from Aldrien behind.
I make note that I’ll need to cut my hair again.
I place everything I’ll need in the closet, ready and waiting for me; my bow, my sword, a set of boots Corrik had made for me I’ve had no reason to wear other than when my parents came. I’ll need pants and something warm, so I pull out the fur Corrik bought for me on our journey here from Aldrien.
The next day is long. I’m also more distracted than I’ve ever been, and I earn a full punishment spanking from Strobavik. It’s not the first I’ve had from him, but it’s the first in a while. While it fucking hurts, it’s worth it for how calm I feel afterward. “I’m going to have to tell Alrik of this,” he warns me.
By the time I would have to worry about Alrik, I’ll be gone, so I’m not worried, but I attempt to show fear, looking to the ground, making my body position somber. “Nice try, naughty kitten. I know you too well. You need to do better. Alrik will know you don’t care, and he’ll make my punishment look like a gift from the Gods. Kneeling position. Two hours. That’ll teach you.”
Two hours?Fuck.I’m barely capable of one. Not only is the position grueling but focusing on nothing but Alrik for two hours is unbearable. Strobavik has special magic within him though, and while he cannot tellwhatI’m thinking, he can tell if I’mnotthinking of Alrik. It’s based more on feel—he explained to me—than mind-reading.
I assume the position because I don’t have another choice. I splay all ten of my bare toes on the floor, pressing them into the stone floor, and sit on my heels. My back is tall, with my hands resting, palms facing down on my thighs and I keep my head bowed, my eyes resting on the floor in front. Part of submission is worship. I already learned that from my time with Bayaden, I naturally did that with Corrik. In a Master-slave relationship, worship is taken to a whole other level. You sleep, eat and breathe your master. Your existence is to please them. It’s why Strobavik always spends some amount of my training doing this, having me kneel and focus on my Master.
But never for two hours.
This means the usual stuff won’t do and I have to come up with something about him I canreallyget on board with. I decide the way he pushed my hair back over my ear was nice,kindeven. It was a gentle gesture, and he meant comfort by it, even if he half-scolded me. He was also giving me something akin to a compliment. I replay that moment over and over. I remember the hardness in his face, the way his eyes crinkled, I trace my memory along his scar. I think about how sad he was when he talked of how much he missed Corrik, sparking new questions in my mind about Alrik.
Two hours fly by and Strobavik is impressed. “That’s what I’m talking about. You’ve done well Tristan and havealmostmade up for the other two hours of nonsense, which I’m still putting in your report, but I will add this as well.”
He makes me kiss each boot and thank him for the training and he’s finally gone. Then it’s lessons all afternoon. I’m exhausted by dinnertime and I consider leaving tomorrow night, but that’s one more day I could be finding Corrik and I feel the urgency to get to him. What if there aren’t many days left to find him? No. It must be tonight. I decide to have a nap before I eat dinner though, then I shall prepare to leave. The guards have their first change over in the evening, prime time to get out of here.
I lay down on the bed, just in time to hear the locks undoing. What the…? Alrik steps into the room and he spies me on the bed. I should get up and greet him, that’s what a proper crown prince consort-to-be does, but I can’t be arsed. I’m too tired. He doesn’t look angry, which is what he usually is when he arrives at my chambers, instead he’s … I don’t know, but it’s unnerving. “Tristan, have you eaten?”
Tristan?That’s not good. He rarely calls me Tristan, and it usually doesn’t bring anything good. “Not yet, I was going to have a nap before dinner, Your Highness.”
