Chapter Text
The noise that woke Damen that fateful night wasn’t a loud one, not the fall of a misplaced boot step or a sword clanging against armor or a muttered curse from down the hall. It was a quiet kind of noise, the kind of silence that had only ever preceded a vicious, surprise attack, the silence of held breaths and tensed muscles and anticipation.
He sat bolt upright in his bed, but by then it was already too late.
He lashed out at the group of men closest to him with his bedsheets still tangled around his waist, his fist connecting with the soft spots on their faces, the less armored areas near their joints. He was the only one of them not armed and yet after the first scuffle was over three men were bleeding out on the floor and Damen had possession of a sword. More men went down, and more men replaced them. An almost absurd number of guards filled his room with the stink of armor and sword oil and fear. He was on his feet now, and no one was trying to be quiet anymore. Two men with shields knocked the sword out of his hand, and a third wrenched his arm behind his back. Someone shouted orders and then a cloth was pressed against his nose, and this time the attack wasn’t anything he could defend himself against. His limbs went slack as his vision blurred, and he collapsed onto the floor.
When he woke again his head felt like it had been stuffed with a million pieces of cotton. He was on his knees with his hands behind him, and when he tried to stand he was brought down immediately. His wrists were connected to the floor by a thick, short chain bolted into the stone. Once his vision stopped swimming he saw that the walls were lined with shelves full of wine bottles, baskets packed with fruit, barrels and crates and supplies. It was cold, and the chill pricked at him through the thin sleeping tunic he wore. He knew this place; he was in the storeroom underneath the palace kitchens. He had played here as a boy, stealing apples from the cooks, and as a young teen he had sometimes taken his paramours here, using the cold as an excuse to get closer than was proper while feeding each other fruit and wine. If he concentrated hard enough he could still hear that young laughter ringing through the stone.
“He’s awake.”
The laughter faded, replaced by a voice he knew very well.
“Hello, Damen.”
“Kastor,” Damen said, closing his eyes briefly and heaving a sigh of relief. As his brother walked into the storeroom Damen felt the world settle to rights again. His brother was safe, and looked to be unharmed. Now it didn’t matter if they were being attacked by a few bad actors or the entirety of the Veretian army; as long as the two of them were together, they could overcome any force. “They attacked me in my rooms. Get me out of here. We have to make sure that everyone is safe.”
Kastor didn’t answer him. He walked forward slowly, carefully, his feet ringing solidly against the stone floor. When he was an arm length’s away he stopped and crouched in front of Damen. They were eye to eye, and Kastor reached out to gently tilt Damen’s face one way, and then the other.
“Those chemicals they gave you don’t seem to have addled your brain too much. That’s good,” Kastor said. “I wanted to be able to say goodbye to you, brother.”
“Goodbye?” Damen repeated, and moved his head away from Kastor’s gentle touch. “What are you talking about?”
“Hmmm. Maybe there just wasn’t that much to addle. Come in,” Kastor said, gesturing at someone that Damen couldn’t see.
More sounds of feet, and then four guards stepped into the storeroom. Their armor was in disarray and all of them had some manner of bruising beginning to bloom on their faces; the ones who had survived the attack in his room, if Damen had to guess. The only ones, most likely.
“Kastor,” Damen said, lowering his voice so that only the two of them could hear. “I can’t do much from here, but I can cause a distraction and you can take them—”
“Oh, Damen,” Kastor said, rolling his eyes. “You really don’t understand, do you? How is it that anyone expects you to rule, when you’re more innocent than a newborn kitten?”
Damen didn’t think innocence had anything to do with it, but some instinct held his tongue. He had beaten his brother at war games since he was fifteen, and bested him in the ring for even longer than that. It wasn’t innocence that had landed him here.
Kastor’s eyes never left his face. “You manacled him securely, I presume?”
“Yes, Exalted,” one of the guards murmured. The honorific spiked through Damen, replacing his surprise with anger; Kastor didn't have the right to be called that, had not knelt at the Kingsmeet and taken the oath to protect and guard Akielos like Damen had. But Kastor took the rank in stride, without showing the shame he should have felt at that treason, and smiled.
For the first time tonight, Damen began to suspect that something was very wrong.
He pulled against his chains, felt the way the metal bit into his wrists. If he was going to break out of these cuffs it would not be from where they attached to his wrists but where they attached to the wall. He wrapped the chain short around his palm and pulled again. Small pebbles fell away from the wall and scattered across the floor. Kastor tutted at him.
“Don’t be like that, Damen,” Kastor said soothingly. “I did come here to say goodbye, truly. Don’t ruin it by making a mess.”
This time Damen gathered all of his strength and lunged forward, dragging the chains with him and using his legs as well as his arms. There was a slight pull as the pin buried deep in the wall moved, and Damen saw the guards shift nervously. Two more pulls. Two more pulls and he’d be able to break free.
Kastor sighed and held out a hand. One of the guards placed a sword in it without saying a word, and Kastor lined it up with Damen’s heart.
“Pull like that again and you’ll impale yourself,” Kastor said. “Which I would be very angry about. I didn’t want to do this. Believe it or not, I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Then why?” Damen said. “Why are you doing this? Tell me what’s happening. We’re brothers, Kastor. We can figure this out together.”
“Half brothers,” Kastor corrected, sitting back on his heels. The blade against Damen’s chest didn’t move. “Have you forgotten? I haven’t. We have our father the King in common, but that’s not enough, is it? It’s never been enough. Your mother was the Queen, and my mother is—well, she’s nothing.”
Anger made Damen’s vision turn red, and he pushed forward against Kastor’s blade. A drop of blood welled up on his tunic, and he ignored it.
“Don’t talk about her like that,” Damen snarled. “She’s not nothing. She’s been as much a mother to me as she has to you.”
“Yes, but not in the one way that matters, hmm?” Kastor waved a tired hand and sighed deeply, dropping the sword. “I’m done indulging in this little theater with you. I thought we could be honest with each other for once, but I see you’re going to continue to be tedious, as always. You will be mourned, Damianos. By my mother, and by me. By me more than anyone. I hope you believe me when I say that.”
He pushed to his feet and called forth two of the guards. “Ready?”
And then, without warning, the other two guards came up behind their comrades and sliced deep, even gashes across each of their throats. The bodies slumped to the floor right in front of Damen, both of their mouths open in a silent scream, surprise etched on their faces.
And for a moment Damen thought he might be saved. Thought that these men had come to their senses and decided to free him when they realized what was really happening here.
But then they turned as one, and knelt in front of Kastor.
“It is done, Exalted,” one of them said.
“I know that was very hard for you,” Kastor murmured, motioning for them to stand up. “But you are the only two I trust in this matter.”
“We understand,” said the other one. Damen thought that he did not act as though had been a particularly hard chore as the blood from his comrade pooled by his feet, which bounced in excitement.
“Now. Take this letter, and give it to the men you meet at the rendezvous. Do what you need to do with my brother but do not, under any circumstances, kill him. And remember—right now you are the two most important people in this kingdom. The future of my rule rests on your heads. I trust you more than anyone.”
“Yes, Exalted,” they murmured, as one.
“And you,” Kastor said, turning his attention to Damen once more. Damen pulled at his chains as Kastor came closer to him. One more pull and he’d be able to pull them out of the wall, he was sure of it. One more pull was all it would take. “You are going to be the star that brings light to my crown. I’ll make sure you’re remembered fondly, brother, don’t you worry about that. I do love you, you know.”
“Kastor—” Damen growled, but then Kastor reached forward and put a cloth to Damen’s mouth. The edges of his world began to blur, and as he closed his eyes all he could hear was laughter once more, ringing out among the stones.
*
His travel through the countryside was a mass of shapes, ghostly color behind his eyes, sound that came to him from a distance. Sometimes he had the feeling he was in a cart; sometimes he could swear they were over water. The first time the drugs wore off enough for him to regain some clarity of thought he tried to escape, but he was slower than he remembered, and his legs did not do as good of a job keeping him upright as he was used to. He was recaptured quickly and his feet were bound together, the roughness of the rope digging into his ankles to match the bruises on his wrists. When he was forced to eat again the food made him sleepy, and the world returned to impressions.
The next time food was offered to him he refused, but he was still too dazed to fight back when it was forced down his throat. A part of him realized that he would need to keep up with some form of sustenance if he was to escape, even if it meant he would stay drugged.
Escape was the only thing he thought about whenever he could gather enough of his thoughts to form anything coherent. Escape, and returning home. Confronting his brother. Figuring out what he had meant. I didn’t want to do this. Was he being forced into this action? Was someone manipulating him, leveraging him in some way? Didn’t Kastor know that he could have come to him, and they could have figured it out together?
He didn’t know how long they traveled; days, at least, maybe weeks, maybe months, or years. There was no way for him to tell. When they finally stopped moving he only knew that it was dark out and that the darkness wasn’t just because he had been blindfolded again. He could hear unfamiliar voices, the first sounds he had heard in days that were not his guards or the creak of the cart they were riding on.
“We weren’t sure you were coming,” said one of the unfamiliar voices. “You were supposed to be here hours ago.”
“Yes, well, this big lug isn’t exactly easy to carry around. You’ll find out soon enough. Here.” There was the sound of something crinkling, a metal sound against metal. He wished he could see even the faintest outline of what was happening. “He’s yours now. Plus, orders from the Exalted himself.”
There was a pause, and Damen shifted in his chains. His head was still fuzzy, like waking from a nap that didn’t want to let him go, but he could swear that given just a bit of time and the slightest bit of focus he could get free.
“Hmm. I figured as much,” said another one of the new voices. “Sorry about this, then.”
And then—
Damen knew what fighting sounded like. He knew what blood smelled like. He didn’t need to have his vision uncovered to know what had just happened.
“Come on,” one of the new guards said, pushing him forward. It took all of his concentration not to trip and fall on his face, unbalanced as he was, his hands behind his back and his vision just blackness. “Let’s get going, then.”
And Damen was loaded into a new cart with new guards, the two most important people in the kingdom lying on the forest floor, their blood pooling into the dirt.
*
“You think he’s really some sort of mercenary?”
Whispered conversation after dinner, the slightly woozy effects of the food taking hold, although not as strongly as it had the time before.
“Maybe,” came the response. “Could be part of a coup or something. Looks like a soldier to me.”
“Take these cuffs off,” Damen said, holding his hands up to the two of them. “And put a sword in my hand. You’ll find out what I really am.”
“Give him more food,” the one guard said to the other, and Damen’s plate was loaded with more of the drugged food which he was forced to eat at the point of a sword. “You’re lucky we’re not in Vere already, brute. They’ve got witches there, you know. I’ve heard they can use magic to make you do whatever they want. Wouldn’t even have to use drugged food to addle you, not when they could do it with Words.”
“Don’t tell him that,” the other guard said crossly, making a sign to ward off evil.
“What? It’s true. They’ll Write you and make you do all sorts of unnatural acts and there’s not a thing you can do about it.”
“No, about the food,” came the hissed reply. “We don’t want him to stop eating, you moron.”
“Yeah, it’d be a shame if I starved to death,” Damen said. “Might almost be a match for you then.”
That earned him a pommel to the temple, and between that and the food he slipped into dreams once again.
*
Another transfer of guards. Another set of men left in the dirt behind them. Damen wondered if it was hypocritical to hate that these men had been so easily tricked.
*
“Who is this guy, anyway?”
He was on his fourth set of guards, and it was the longest he’d been with any one pair yet, almost a full week. It was easier to keep track now. It had gotten colder the farther north they traveled—and they were traveling north, he knew that much too—and they had slipped into a Akielon dialect used at the border of Vere, probably assuming that Damen couldn’t understand them.
They were wrong. Everyone had been wrong, trying to guess at who he was, and everyone did try. And finally he understood where this road he was being taken on was leading, knew that there was no way he ended up anywhere except dead. Only then would his true identity be revealed, and after that—
Well. After that, every single person who knew anything about him would be dead as well. There would be no witnesses.
“Dunno,” the second guard answered. “Slept with someone in the King’s harem, maybe. Or a distant relative that’s a little touched in the head. Shame about him, though.”
“Shame we have to drag his ass across the countryside, you mean?”
“No. It’s just—” the second guard paused, his eyes flicking over to Damen, and then switched entirely to Veretian. Damen could understand that language as easily as he could their earlier dialect, but he turned his gaze blank, pretending that all he could hear was gibberish. He almost wished he had the blindfold on again, to make the pretense easier. “We’re supposed to leave his body in front of the castle, right? And then we get paid, what. A thousand drachma after he’s discovered there?”
“Yeah, idiot. That’s the plan. Too complicated for ya?”
“Well, it’s just—who’s to say it was us that did it, then? What if they don’t want to pay us for all of our work?”
There was a tense silence as the other guard considered this.
“You think they’ll try to get out of paying us,” he said slowly.
“Yeah. Either that or we’ll end up like the poor sods who brought him to us.”
Finally. Finally! Someone with enough brains to figure it out. Damen tried not to show how interested he was in where this conversation was going, and took a bite of the bread they had given him. When they looked away, he discreetly spit it out again so that his head would be as clear as possible.
“So what’re you suggesting, then.”
A tale as old as time. Conspiracies on top of conspiracies.
“Listen. My sister had ten children to a husband that couldn’t keep his prick in his pants. Couldn’t afford to keep ‘em all, not feed ‘em and dress ‘em, and the husband sure as hell weren’t helping. She sold one of the younger ones—the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen—to a pet house. Got ten thousand drachma for him.”
“Ten thousand?” the other man repeated. “No way. There can’t be that much money in having pets. ‘Specially not at a pet house.”
“I saw it, helped her hide the money from her brute of a husband myself. Might’ve even had more than that she was keeping from me knowing about. And even if we only got half that we’d still be earning more than what we were going to get paid. And less likely to get murdered at the end of it too. And he’s not bad looking, as far as things go.”
The other man snorted. “Yeah, not bad looking. Like you haven’t been thinking about him with your hand on your prick each night since we got him.”
There was the sound of someone being punched somewhere soft, and Damen stared down at his food with what he hoped was a suitably dazed look rather than an embarrassed one and avoided both of their gazes.
A pet house. He had heard of such things. Akielos was as averse to having pets as Vere was to doing anything straightforward or with honesty, but he understood what it would mean: namely, it would mean removing his cuffs, and giving him a little bit of clarity of mind back. Veretians liked their pets sharp and they liked them a little dangerous, and without the drugs addling his mind or any shackles holding his wrists he would have enough freedom to make a suitable mess of these plans.
All he had to do was wait, and when the time was right—
Escape.
*
He was sold for far more than ten thousand drachma to a woman old enough to be his grandmother, the madam of the nicest pet house in whatever starblighted town they were in, some place right outside the capitol. The two guards who had brought him here didn’t even look back as they took the money and, if they were at all smart, went into hiding for the rest of their lives. And for a moment Damen could almost convince himself that he was a free man.
But he had forgotten that this was Vere.
And he had forgotten that in Vere there were worse things than chains.
“And so I said to her, if you're going to be charging that much for it, it better make me shit gold for a week!”
Damen hummed in response to what he figured was supposed to be a joke. He had learned pretty early on that Esme didn't require her audience to be attentive, only present. She continued to chatter on as he filled the buckets up with water and stared longingly across the river. It would only take a running start and a quick wade through the deeper part to get to the other side, and with how long it would take Esme to run back to the pet house and let the Madame know that Damen had escaped—again—he would be so far gone that this time they would never be able to get him back.
The spell etched onto his chest twinged, as if in warning, and he sighed and hoisted the buckets to his shoulders.
Esme kept chatting away as they made their way back to the town proper, retelling the story that she had told him on their way here about her feud with the shopgirl at the market.
“And I don't see why she should look down on me,” she was saying now, “since it's not like I'm the one lifting my skirts for the customers. No offense.”
“None taken,” Damen said. Even though technically he hadn't serviced any customers either.
Yet.
“Not like you wear skirts, of course,” she said, waving a hand airily. “Although that thing they brought you in looked a lot like one.”
Damen considered telling her once more that the Akielon chiton he had been wearing wasn't a skirt, at least not like they were used to here in Vere, but he found that he couldn't quite muster the energy to do so. His head hurt. His limbs were sore, and he hadn't even carried that much water today. Ever since that Calligrapher had worked on him that second time, after his third escape attempt, he felt like he was walking underwater, like even the most minor of tasks drained all of his energy and stamina.
It hadn't always been like that, he knew. Not even a month ago he had been healthy, hale, with stamina to burn, he could run around all day and not get tired—but it wouldn't help to think of such things now. He could already feel the binding spells beginning to activate. They felt hot, like brands against his skin, a warning of greater pain to come if he didn't stop this line of thought.
“So just put that water there, and then I'll have you—oh, Madame, I didn't see you there,” Esme said as they entered the kitchen at the back of the house. The Madame must have been waiting for them; she had that expectant air around herself, like one waiting for recalcitrant children to come in from playing. Damen felt the hairs rise on his arm.
“Esme, go clean the parlor, please,” the Madame said, without taking her eyes off Damen. Esme scurried to go do her bidding, more than happy to leave Damen to whatever was about to happen here.
And Damen had a feeling he knew exactly what she was going to say.
“You're on for tonight,” Madame said, without preamble. “You will join the others by six o'clock at the latest to get ready.”
“No, please,” Damen said, hating how desperate he sounded, “you don't understand, I could help out here in the kitchen—”
“I've been extremely kind to you these past few weeks.” Madame banged her cane on the floor to emphasize her words. “I have let you earn your keep with kitchen help and repairs to the house. But I paid a fortune for you, boy. And then a fortune again when it turned out you couldn't be trusted not to run away. And if you’re to have any hope of paying me back before you become too withered and old to tempt anyone you need to start working. Properly.”
“And if I refuse?” Damen said, already feeling his chest begin to burn. His skin felt like it was on fire, like if he looked down right now it would be blackened and charred, but he knew from experience that he would see no such thing. He wouldn’t see anything at all.
“If you refuse...” she paused dramatically, but Damen only stared her down. “I suppose I could give you to the Calligrapher to practice on,” she said, turning up her nose at him. “He was very interested in you, the last time he was here. I'm not sure if you remember that or not, as drugged up as you were.”
Damen remembered. A small man with a hunch in his back and large goggles strapped to his head so tightly it caused the skin around his face to bunch up unnaturally. He had an annoying habit of wetting his lips with a quick flick of his pink tongue until they were wet and shining, a habit that continued through the entire process of being Written. It would have repelled Damen if he hadn't been so hazy from the drugs, which did nothing for the pain and only clouded his mind so he was too disoriented to think about getting away.
Madame softened at his expression and walked over to him, patting him gamely on the cheek. He didn't flinch when she touched him, and he was embarrassed to be proud of that.
“You're young, boy, and I'd wager you're not a virgin. You're luckier than most of the boys here, sold to me by their filthy parents before they even had hair on their balls and knowing nothing of other men's desires. Have a drink, if you need it. Relax. And bag me a rich one,” she said, grabbing his chin with force, “and maybe you'll make it out of here before you're as old as I am.”
She released him with a small push and turned to walk out, her cane punctuating every step. Damen waited until she was gone, and then released the breath he had been holding. He turned and grabbed one of the buckets of water he had just carried up from the river and smashed it on the ground, wood splintering and water spilling. Immediately the pain in his chest flamed up, clawing at him until he was doubling over, every part of him screaming as his muscles tensed up and cramped, every inch of skin burning like he was on fire. He stayed in that position until the pain receded, until his breathing calmed and he was reasonably sure that he could walk again without collapsing, and began to clean up the mess.
And if there were a few tears mixed in with the spilled water, well. At least there was no one around to see it.
“You know,” Etienne said, sidling up to him and speaking in a low voice, “it works better if you don't look like you're about to murder everyone who dares to meet your eye.”
“I think it's working exactly as intended, thank you,” Damen said, not as harshly as he could. He liked Etienne well enough; the boy had been kind to him when few others were, and had even helped him get ready tonight, applying just a few stripes of gold to his eyes. He had even argued for Damen when the Madame ordered him to put on more paint, calmly explaining that more would only hide his features and make him look cheap. Madame had sniffed but let Etienne do as he liked, and when she left he shared a small, private smile with Damen that made his heart ache with its unexpected kindness. Then, with brutal efficiency, Etienne had shown him how to mix an oil that would not only highlight his muscles but could be used to ease penetration, as well as having the added benefit of smelling of lavender.
Damen had thanked him and set the oil aside.
And now he stood in the corner of the parlor, dressed especially to highlight his—as Madame had called it—exotic nature. He was allowed to wear only a gold collar and two mostly sheer pieces of silk that were precariously tethered to him by thin gold chains, and he brought with him an expression that was murderous enough to scare off anyone who was brave enough to look.
Which, so far, hadn't been anyone tonight. The first few customers who came in right after opening had been after specific employees. Regulars, Etienne explained. He had a few himself, and one that might be willing to pay to watch them, if Damen wanted to perform with him instead of taking on a client by himself for his first time. Damen had politely declined. The next few customers had startled at his presence and refused to meet his eye, their delicate Veretian sensibilities too fair for the likes of him. One customer had come into the parlor where they were waiting, looked around at them as if they were cuts of meat at the butcher's shop, and without hesitation chose Jacin, a pale, sickly looking boy who seemed like he would break in half if you so much as breathed on him but who Damen knew from experience could make a sailor cry with the foul language that would come out of his mouth. He shot Damen and Etienne the most wicked smile as he led the man out of the parlor by his belt loops, a tease which Etienne responded to by sticking out his tongue.
Only a handful of them were left when the next customer entered the house. Damen could feel the atmosphere change the instant the man stepped foot inside, even though he couldn't see anything, not yet. Madame's voice was hushed, reverent in a way that she only reserved for dealing with the most wealthy customers or when she was bribing the local constables. Everyone else could feel it too, this change; the boys either perked up or reclined even further, depending on what their angle was. One of the girls removed her breast from her top, which had barely been holding it in to begin with. Etienne moved into the light, finding the perfect spotlight to highlight his hair and make him shine like a deity in a temple, golden and gleaming in the flickering candlelight.
Damen moved further into the shadows, and willed himself to be invisible. And then Madame ushered in the client, and Damen’s breath caught in his throat.
He was gorgeous. Lithe but obviously well built, and he held himself with a sort of arrogant defiance that made Damen think that no one had ever not done exactly as he asked, exactly when he asked it. Short blond hair fell gently into his eyes, and—oh, his eyes. The brightest blue Damen had ever seen, almost unnaturally so. They seemed to be lit from within, like a light shining from the back of a sapphire. The man's gaze roved over the assembled persons with barely concealed distaste, the slightest curl of his lips betraying his discomfort.
“We have only the best men and women at your pleasure, my lord,” Madame murmured to him, “and of course we will be discreet with whomever you would choose, male or female. I would be happy to find you—”
A single raised finger from the man stopped Madame in her tracks.
“That one,” the man said, pointing directly at Damen. He wouldn't meet Damen's eyes but looked instead at his chest, blinking harshly.
“Yes, my lord,” Madame said, casting a nervous glance at him. “He is one of our newest acquisitions, and perhaps not yet fully trained for someone of your exquisite tastes. Perhaps you would like to sample our—”
“Have him sent up to my room,” the man said tersely, cutting Madame off. Damen heard one of the girls in front of him gasp. “I'd like something with clean linens, if you can manage that. At the back of the house. I don't want the sounds of fucking coming at me from every side.”
“Yes, my lord,” Madame said, her voice honeyed to hide the murder underneath. “Would you like us to prepare him for you?”
The man faltered for the first time, just a slight catch in his breath before responding. Damen frowned.
“Prepare him?” he repeated.
“We have a variety of oils that we can use to open him, to make the coupling more pleasant. Lavender, rosewater, a lemon scented oil that—”
“That will not be necessary,” the man said, closing his eyes briefly. The faintest blush of pink stained his cheeks, and when he opened his eyes again Damen swore they were brighter than before. “I will wait at the bar while you make whatever arrangements are needed for my room.”
And without another word the man turned and left, causing the Madame to shuffle after him, murmuring more questions, cane pounding as she scrabbled after him.
“Well,” Etienne said, clapping Damen on the shoulder, “at least your first one is attractive.”
“Something wrong with him, I bet,” one of the girls—Lydia, Damen thought—said. “Looking like that, he wouldn't have to pay for it if he were normal.”
“You're just jealous he didn't choose you,” snapped a brunette named Katrine. She turned to Damen and softened. “He's probably just shy. A first timer, maybe. We get those all the time. You'll take good care of him, won't you?”
Damen sighed and leaned back against the velvet curtains before pushing off and going to find Madame.
“I don't really have a choice, do I?”
“Don't worry, honey,” Lydia called out to his retreating form. “He won't be able to tell that you're not normal either. That's the privilege of first timers,” she said, and Damen could hear them laughing as he marched down the hall.