Hatam-Ile, 7th – 11th Tenthmoon 3045
Messages between the Pass and the camp travelled at a frustrating pace. A day and a half had passed since the first smoke signals when a purple-tail hawk, a folded letter tied to one of its feet, reached Hatam-Ile and allowed one of Onniar’s hunters to catch it. The message was short.
Two days later a Veremese messenger arrived on a koori, exhausted from the merciless ride, confirming what the letter had said.
Smoke was rising from the Liqarian coast. The army was on the move.
The meeting went on until the small hours. Ren’i, Ared and the akheri elders watched bleary-eyed as Agal and Venu mobilised their troops just an hour after sunrise and started marching across the desert.
Ren’i didn’t know when exactly Onniar had started participating in the meetings, but he argued loudly with Vannuil concerning their strategy as they organised the akheri volunteers into platoons.
”Akheris wears no plate armour,” he repeated mulishly for the third time, disregarding the consul’s protests altogether. ”Archers are meant to be light on their feet. That’s not feasible decked head to toe in iron.”
”Sending them to the frontlines without adequate equipment is murder, my good man.”
Onniar straightened. There was the same pig-headed glimmer of pride in his eyes that Ren’i had seen in Hawk’s a hundred times before. ”We are volunteers, not mercenaries. Either we fight on our terms or not at all.”
Eventually Vannuil threw up her hands and surrendered. ”I give up! Make sure that they stay behind the vanguard as much as possible.”
Onniar smirked. ”Never you worry, girl. I know the reach of your longbow.”
All taivashi soldiers within earshot looked like they had suddenly swallowed something down the wrong pipe, despite Vannuil ignoring the huntsmaster addressing her as ’girl’, just as surely as she ignored his wooing attempts. If Qel and Kha’ar had been eavesdropping, they saw it best not to comment.
None of the brass were no longer sleeping full nights. Meetings with the consuls and the council kept Ren’i up way past midnight, and he would have exchanged all of his wordly belongings for one more day and night in the cabin’s peace. There were days when he and Hawk did not see each other once; other times Hawk was waiting for him outside the elder’s house. The sense of his presence carried Ren’i through the long, exhausting days. During those weeks they scarcely had the time for more than briefly exchanged words and a couple of hasty kisses, and Hawk never saw him without his armour.
Despite Ren’i’s doubts the captain had kept his word. He was withdrawn, if not exactly polite with the akheri elders, and though he must have known he was under constant surveillance he did not let it show in his work in any way whatsoever.
Even so, Ren’i had ensured that he was always accompanied by at least two of his Guards. He’d assigned Sava and Luwai, a pale taivashi woman from Kara as the captain’s personal assistants. Sava had grown-up in Meril-An’s multicultural environment, and nearly half of Kara’s population was of asari origin. They were quicker to recognise potential dangers than Ren’i and knew how to keep the captain away from things that might set him off unnecessarily, which had become easier now that the Meril-An legions had left the outskirts of Hatam-Ile. Agal was far from being the only soldier of non-taivashi heritage, as Ren’i had noted in the past weeks, and the way the captain looked at them left no questions as to what he thought of them.
Hatam-Ile, 24th of Tenthmoon 3045
Weeks passed while endless rain continued to fall over Hatam-Ile, but the war practice didn’t stop for a moment. Hawk went hunting alone with Silverbrook. All other hunters practiced daily with the other volunteers now that Onniar was partaking in the teaching. Wild game was not on high demand the way it was during the dry season, but Hawk knew Silverbrook needed the same as he– a way to escape the gruelling sense of idleness. On most days they hardly spoke, but the long hours in the silence of nature soothed the worst of Hawk’s unease and helped him sleep, even when worry for the future would otherwise have kept him awake.
It was the last week of Tenthmoon when the scouts announced the enemy army had reached the northern coast of Seiye.
”Is it certain?” Nemeken asked the scout bearing Om-Var’s coat of arms as they dismounted.
The scout nodded, breathing almost as hard as the koori. ”Our captain posted pickets in the midway point of the land bridge. Liqaris have started sending out patrols to cross the isles.”
The scout switched to a well-rested steed and headed back towards the Pass the very same evening without staying to rest.
Evening rain had begun pounding against the window panes when there was a knock on the cabin’s door. Hawk set down his book and got up, quilt falling on the floor. He’d felt a familiar presence approaching and left the door unlocked on purpose. Ren’i look weary as stepped in. His soaked cloak formed a puddle at the doorway. Hawk could tell from his face that something had happened.
”News from the camp?” Hawk asked.
Ren’i sighed and closed the door after himself.
”Tell you in a bit. Could you help me out of this?” Ren’i requested, tapping his chest.
Hawk stepped closer, laid a hand on the breastplate’s cold metal, and took a good look at him. Even exhausted and soaked to the bone Ren’i was a soldier through and through, and so handsome in his plate armour that Hawk felt his throat contracting. He cupped Ren’i’s face and kissed him, long and hard. Gingerly, Ren’i wrapped his arms around him.
”You’re getting soaked,” he mumbled.
”Hell if I care,” Hawk responded. He brushed the strands stuck to Ren’i’s face behind his ear. ”Tell me.”
Ren’i hesitated. ”We’re leaving.”
”When?”
”Tomorrow.”
Hawk fell silent before kissing him again, with more fervour than before. It took for his unaccustomed fingers to ease Ren’i out of his gear, one piece at a time. The breastplate fell to the floor to join the boots and the gauntlets. Leather straps had left imprints on tattooed skin, and Hawk paused to look at each of them.
There was no need for words when Hawk took him by the hand and lead him towards the bed. They undressed one another in peace, pausing to steal a kiss or two whenever they stripped off another piece of clothing. Ren’i’s face burned as he knelt in front of Hawk. He looked at Hawk the way a thirsty man looks at an oasis, and Hawk felt his heart skip a beat.
”Don’t,” he managed, voice catching in his throat. ”The crown prince shouldn’t kneel in front of anyone.”
Ren’i placed his hands on Hawk’s hips and smiled. ”On the contrary, you wouldn’t believe how much I do that in this role.” His warm breath tickled at Hawk’s skin. ”Let me show you how much I’ve missed you.”
Hawk let him.
The night felt longer than usual, yet despite the exhaustion Ren’i showed no sign of falling asleep. Hawk held him in his arms, caressing his hair silently, listening to the restless racing of his heart. It reminded him of the long winter nights in Liqaria, of the quiet hours of uncertainty that he’d spent guarding Ren’i’s rest.
Ren’i let out a frustrated sigh and laid his head on Hawk’s shoulder. ”Sorry. I’m just keeping you up, too.”
”Not really,” Hawk said. ”I tend to go to sleep around dawn.”
”That late?”
He shrugged, or at least tried to, which was rather challenging underneath Ren’i’s weight. ”I’ve always been a night owl. Made my parents’ lives more interesting when I was little.”
Ren’i chewed on his lip as he thought. When he spoke, he sounded like he was choosing his words with care. ”What were they like? Your parents?”
Hawk didn’t speak for a long time. For the first time in ten years, ever since his escape from Hatam-Ile, he truly, thoroughly thought about his parents. Of their smiles, their voices, the warmth of their hands. Each detail rose unbidden to his mind, though he’d long since feared the years would have eroded something essential from his memories of them.
”Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked,” Ren’i hastened to say, and Hawk realised he’d not said anything for several minutes.
Hawk patted his shoulder soothingly. ”I was just lost in thought.” The sorrow of his mother and father’s passing had not vanished, but to Hawk’s surprise the worst of the pain had eased. Some part of it would always be with him, he knew as much, but the thought was no longer petrifying. Memories had become just memories, and there was something permanent in the longing that he no longer feared to look in the eye. ”My father’s name was Evenfall. He was, well, a lot like Onniar, really. Cheerful, good listener, full of bad jokes. They were second cousins, he and Onniar.”
”Was he a hunter too?”
Hawk laughed. ”No, no. He was useless with tools of any kind, more likely to shoot his own friends than the game. My mother didn’t even let him chop firewood, probably fearing he’d manage to get himself killed somehow.” Hawk couldn’t resist smiling. ”Father took care of the house and us – myself and my cousins – and fed nearly the whole family. Fuck, I still miss his meat hot pot sometimes.”
Ren’i rolled on his belly and crossed his arms across Hawk’s stomach. The same silver necklace, worn on a short chain, hung from his neck like before. It felt strangely cool against Hawk’s skin, as though body heat had not touched it at all.
”And your mother?”
”Rainveil. She was a smith – strong as a bear, though you’d never have guessed it. She was even shorter than Ared but still managed to carry the three of us like we weighted nothing.”
”She had a lovely name.”
”She did,” Hawk said softly. ”She was half Om-Varian, but my grandparents gave her a Hatam-Ilean name.”
”That explains the smithing,” Ren’i said. ”Moonstone mentioned that there are mines in Om-Var. Did she know how to work quartz, just like Moonstone?”
Hawk nodded. ”She was good with her hands – and very strict both in the workshop and at home. There was no bargaining with her, she wouldn’t give an inch. Between the two of them my mother was the one who’d always order us to bed.”
”Were all three of you night owls?”
”Just Nightsong and I.”
Ren’i smiled. ”I was apparently the same. My father tends to stay up late, though, so he didn’t mind it much.”
Hawk assumed he didn’t have another parent; the only one he’d ever heard Ren’i mention was his father. ”Must have been tough, getting used to the military schedule.”
”It still is. I have to readjust to it every single year once the summer’s over.” Ren’i stretched. ”You’d like Hol Saro. The whole city comes alive after sundown, if you don’t count the merchants and the soldiers.”
Hawk found it difficult to picture himself in a big city, least of all the international capital of demonic might from which Quan himself had ruled his growing empire. Verem was the largest and oldest of the akheri cities, but even then it was hardly more than a shabby hamlet on Kishan standards. If he’d felt uncomfortable during his visits to Verem with his parents when he’d been young, how on earth would he manage in a metropolis where the majority of its citizens were of demonic origin?
”I don’t know,” he said. ”What’s there for an akheri to do in one of your cities?”
”There are other akheris residing in Hol Saro,” Ren’i pointed out. ”I’d show you the imperial library. You’d love it, believe me. And you’d get to meet my family.”
Hawk huffed a laugh. ”Oh, they’ll be beside themselves upon seeing me.”
”I’m serious.”
”So am I. I know what your people think about empty-bloods. I’ve seen how your captain treats us.”
”They’re not all like that,” Ren’i said. ”My father would like you. So would my uncle, and Nahere.”
”And your aunt?”
Ren’i swallowed. He’d tried very hard not to think about her reaction. ”I’ll speak with her once we return to the north. She trusts me. I’m certain I can bring her around.”
”She’s the empress.”
”She’s still my aunt. She’ll give in eventually.” Hawk fixed a long, hard look at him. Ren’i stared back just as stubbornly. ”She raised me with my father, Hawk. I know that she wants what’s best for me.”
”The empress wants what’s best for her empire, and what makes you happy isn’t necessarily part of that.”
Ren’i sat up. His brows had drawn into one mulish line. ”In that case she can appoint one of her brothers as her heir.”
”The crown prince can’t abdicate.”
”Oh yes, he can. It’s rare, but there are precedents.”
”Ren’i…”
”Khara’in the Second in the Second Age,” Ren’i dictated from memory. ”Venliaranu the Fifth in the Fourth Age—”
”Listen—”
”—and Kiyasu the First in the Ninth Age,” Ren’i went on as though he’d not heard Hawk. ”They all renounced the throne and stepped down from their rightful inheritance. There are others, but those three are the most well-known cases.”
”Ren’i, please.”
Ren’i pushed out his chin defiantly. ”She either accepts you or finds herself another successor. I’m not leaving you, no matter what anyone says.”
”Don’t let your captain hear that or he’s dragging you back to the north by your hair if he has to.”
”I mean it.”
Finally, Hawk sat up, too. ”Are you even listening to yourself? Those are dangerous words.”
The question was futile; he could see in Ren’i’s eyes that he was dead serious.
”I knew what was waiting for us when I chose this. I’m not running away at the first possible obstacle.” Ren’i took Hawk’s hand in his own and clutched it tight. ”I don’t want the throne nor the crown, and I never have.”
Hawk could do nothing but squeeze his hand back. ”It won’t be easy.”
Ren’i brought Hawk’s hand on his left shoulder, over the flame tattoo, and held it there. It was as if embers were glowing in his eyes; they seemed to emit their own light, just a touch too bright in the dark, and once again Hawk recalled his dreams, the firestorm. The night-time air felt hotter than it was, and his skin tingled all over.
”I can’t promise we’re facing an easy path, but I swear we’ll walk it together.” Ren’i’s skin burned against Hawk’s cool palm, and he felt his heart beating in unison with Ren’i’s words. ”Once the war is over I’m making our relationship official. I’ll bind myself to you with the customs of my people. My ashay, my life, every single blessing that’s mine through blood will also be yours, should you accept them.”
Hawk felt a lump in his throat. He swallowed repeatedly until he found his voice again. ”I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves,” he managed to say, despite the voice in his head wanting to agree with Ren’i.
Ren’i squeezed his hand tighter. ”There’s no telling what tomorrow brings. I don’t want to regret things that were left unsaid.”
Hawk touched his cheek with his other hand. ”My people say that accepting the confession is a promise in and of itself. We need no oaths or ceremonies to prove it.”
”Ared said that it’s old magic.”
”Likely as old as the soil of Melkem itself.” Hawk felt the words dangling on the tip of his tongue and knew he had to get them out, or he’d regret it for the rest of his days. His voice was heavy with emotion when he spoke, ”Ren’i mar Oereinen, do you confess me as your soul mate, just as I confess you?”
”I do so confess,” Ren’i answered, voice catching in his throat.
”And do you accept the confession just as I accept it?”
”I do. Unconditionally and of my own free will.”
When they kissed Hawk knew that it was not just his imagination; the tattoo burned at his skin, and he felt Ren’i’s heartbeats alongside his own for several long seconds. Even the endless rushing of rain seemed to cease momentarily when he felt, rather than heard, something clicking into place. Quan’s fire burned white-hot in Ren’i’s eyes when he looked straight into Hawk’s.
Ren’i slept more soundly than usual in Hawk’s embrace, falling into deep slumber cradled by his warmth. Hawk fell asleep listening to his steady breathing, and when he opened his eyes it was almost as dark as it had been in the cottage. He recognised the dark skies arching above him, recognised the murky air, and the wind that caught in his hair burned his skin like the sun.
This dream again, Hawk thought. Sand whipped against his bare skin in a constant drizzle. In the howling wind he heard a beckoning repeating his name like an echo over and over again.
As always, his feet obeyed on their own – he didn’t even have to think about moving before his body had already obeyed. The wind blew stronger, and he was forced to proceed with his head bent as the sands kept on swirling around him, travelling silently across the dunes. The road felt endless.
Time passed differently in the dream, and this time, he was aware that he was dreaming. Had he been travelling just for moments or been on the road for weeks on end? Minutes felt like days, the quality of light did not change, but he sensed that time was passing though he could not feel the strain of the journey in his body. At some point he had started running, but the rolling dunes went on and on.
The wind carried hot air with it, gray ashes mixed with the red sands, forever fluttering down from the skies. Hawk halted on top of a tall dune to watch the sight opening in front of him, though something in his chest was still persistently tugging him along.
His eyes watered and he fought to focus his gaze. He could just make out the walls of the canyon through the hazy air… No, not a canyon. It was a cliff, it was a mountain with two peaks, no, an enormous city, rising from the misty sand like a ghost. The longer he stared at it, the more it changed shape. At its feet stood a figure, and though there was no way he could make out the features he knew it was looking straight at him.
The gusts grew ever stronger the closer to the figure Hawk treaded, the figure simultaneously approaching him.
His skin burned hotter with each step. The air was so thick with ashes and sand that he could not make out the other’s face. They reached out for each other at the same time, Hawk mentally prepared to feel the heat against his skin. Their hands paused only some inches from one another’s.
Hawk held his breath, but nothing happened. The air seemed to stand still between their hands, as though waiting for a sign. A voice, the same incorporeal voice that he’d heard in the dream dozens of times before, left the sand quivering as it repeated his voice again, once again.
His name, his true name. It echoed with a voice that crept up his spine and crawled underneath his skin.
The voice rung out of the stone walls, yet Hawk knew it came from somewhere deep within the chambers of his own mind, a voice only he could hear. It was so full of longing, a longing to be whispered into the desert winds that his heart could have burst from it, and suddenly, he understood.
He grasped the figure’s hand, leaned closer and whispered his name. As if by magic the air went up in flames around them, but this time Hawk was not afraid. Fire surrounded them, the flames rising to the heavens in a pillar. A golden glow, so bright that it blinded his eyes, pulsated as it spread between their clasped hands and snaked up Hawk’s arm. In its wake there were bright, shining threads like veins, and what had always burned like fire was now only the gentle caress of autumn sunlight on his skin.
Through the swirling sand green eyes were looking at him expectantly.
”Ren’i,” Hawk heard himself say.
The last thing he saw through the storm was the band of golden fire that bound their hands together, until he no longer saw nothing for the brightness. He woke with a start, realising that Ren’i was still sleeping next to him in the darkness of the cottage. He had rolled over on his side, hand tightly clutching Hawk’s. Once Hawk managed to pry himself free he could only stare at his hand, unable to believe what he saw, and felt his heart skip a beat.
His palm was blackened with soot, just like Ren’i’s.