Page 11 of A Brat's Tale
“You are most welcome. Now. Pick up your bow.”
Deglan is a hard taskmaster. One of the promises Andothair made me is that he would fulfill my heart’s desire, thus, I was permitted to train with Bayaden’s warriors. Training on the field is the place I self-identify. I didn’t know how I was going to live my life without ever picking up a sword again.At least now I don’t have to.
The Elves here have no fear over me having the skills Deglan says I am earning.Arrogant Elves, they are.I swear, one day, Elven arrogance will be their doom. In any case, I’m more than happy to be out here doing what comes naturally. After having my title stripped, I was forbidden from lifting a sword. Not that I haven’t, I’d been able to procure many a sword without Father or Papa knowing—they both would have had words to say about that.
Bayaden’s had me fighting with his warriors since the first couple months I’d been here, though, “fighting alongside his warriors” is putting it generously. More accurately, I got beat to a pulp each day, at least when he had me try with a sword. Eventually, Bayaden thought I’d do better with a bow in my hand. It’s not like fighting with a sword, but it stirs my dragon’s blood and makes me feel whole all the same.
Over time, I impressed Bayaden with what I could do, enough that he gives me private lessons with a sword that aren’t much easier than the ones with his warriors, but it’s not a malicious beating. I look forward to those, even though I leave them battered.
“Good job, Warlord,” Deglan says.
I look at her curiously. Only her and Andothair call me that. With Andothair it’s mockery, but Deglan’s not like that. “Why do you still call me that?”
“That is who you are.”
“Bayaden is Warlord.”
“Of Aldrien, yes. But you are still a Warlord. It is who you are—it's in your blood,” she says. “Denying it doesn’t make it any less true.”
“Corrik didn’t seem to think so,” I say under my breath. I know she can hear me, but she only smiles.
Great. And now he is on my tongue.
“How did he do today?” Bayaden says as he walks toward us, several hours later. My arms are ready to fall off, and my back muscles have been worked nearly to death, but all my aches are good ones. Bayaden often talks to Deglan like I’m not here—he can’t treat me too much like a person in front of warriors.
“He is doing well, brother, but he is tired. You need to give him a night off. Fromeverything,” she adds. I balk at her—she's one of the few who shows any respect for my strength and now she’s acting like the rest of them do like I’m a pathetic human.
As a great warrior should, she reads my body language. “Do not be insulted, Tristan. You have much strength if you can last this long in my brother’s service.” She winks. “I work you harder than I do the Elves, and no human here can match your strength. But we all need time to recover.”
Bayaden loves how annoyed I am. “I will take better care of my weak little human. He will have the night off.”
“I don’t need the night off!”
“Come.” He ignores my protests, taking the bow from me and placing it on the rack. He grabs my hand, tugging me along as I glare after Deglan—this is her fault! “I’m sorry my little human. I’ve got to take better care of you.”
“I’m not a pet, Bayaden.”
“You’re my pet,” he says and smiles a cheeky smile.
“Oh really? Wasn’t someone having a strop earlier because he thought I wasn’t his for some asinine reason?”
He yanks my wrist, snapping my body to his, so he can look down at me face to face. “Mark my words Tristan, no matter where you goin the world, you’ll never stop being mine. I shall always have a piece of you and that is the truth. I was being a jealous idiot before.”
I laugh. “And where in the world would I go? Am I planning a trip I don’t know about?”
He pulls me closer and presses his lips to my crown. His long ears twitch. “The only trip you’re going on right now is over my knee.”
“Forwhat?I’ve been a perfect angel.” I squeeze around his waist though. He knows me, yes, but I also know him. He’s distracting himself. My heart clenches and my stomach churns. Something is about to happen, but he can’t talk about it yet and I don’t want to see the Warlord cry. There is nothing more heartbreaking and I’ll turn into a worse mess.
“Haven’t decided yet,” he says picking up our cadence, holding my handagain,which is another sign. We’re not supposed to hold hands in public. I am a human slave and he’s Elven royalty. “But with you something always reveals itself, I have but to wait.”
That makes me smile. It shouldn’t, this is my arse on the line, but I’m on air about it. Maybe others care about having their arse spanked, and believe me, I have the good sense—most of the time—to watch which vats of oil I stick my hand in, to avoidthosekinds of spankings, but either way, I live for the dance.
Unbeknownst to myself, I’ve been involved in this dance my whole life. I just didn’t know how free I could be within it. Bayaden taught me how to release myself. He might regret it just a bit, but mostly he has as much fun as I do.
“Not this time,” I say purposefully not thinking about the shirt I set aflame this morning.
“For good measure then,” he says.
