random encounter

The nearly-silent whisper of a knife being unsheathed woke me. I smacked my fist hard in the direction of the sound before opening my eyes, then leapt to my feet, swinging a kick towards the dark shape. Both fist and foot connected. The figure went down. I rolled, swiped up the bright glinting knife, and brought it down without hesitation. A curdled screech came from the thing, a sound barely human. I pulled out the knife, kicked the creature so it lay face-up, and yanked off its hood. A graveyard stench wafted from a repulsive visage. I dragged its own knife across its throat, and it cried out, and then it was still.

I was panting hard through my nostrils. I still could see nearly nothing in the darkness; I still felt a little tangled in sleep.
I stood, stretching myself out. The knife in my hand was a cruel barbed thing, but gleamed pure white. I could see the brackish blood recede from its blade, vanishing into dust.

I looked down to the figure of my assailant, but it too was receding into nothingness as I watched. Soon, all that remained was a tattered black cloak.

I sighed and rubbed my eyes with a hand. So alleys weren’t safe. At least, not in this part of town. I would know better from now on.

(Taken from an RP. I liked it enough to put it up here on its own. In Krisrix’s words, “Richard is badass”!)

an epilogue for The Privilege of the Sword

(Warning: the following contains mature subject matter, i.e. two men in love. Don’t read it if that bugs you.)
(Warning #2: it’s also pretty much entirely made out of spoilers for Ellen Kushner’s Riverside books. Don’t read it if that bugs you, either.)

Richard stretched awkwardly, tired limbs tangled with bedsheets and Alec. The breeze brought in the brisk unfamiliar scents of sea-salt and thyme, and cooled the sweat on their skin.  Sunlight turned the curtains a scalding white, but inside their airy room the shadows were cool and soothing.

“Well.”

Alec, who was occupied prodding his lover’s ribs with a finger, fascinated at watching the flesh gently move, looked up. “Hm?”

“So Kyros exists.”
“Of course it exists,” Alec said. “You thought I’d be taking both of us to our death on the seas?”
“I entertained the possibility.”
“You’re an idiot.” Alec huffed.  Richard reached for his hand, but he pulled it away. “Anyway, where would your honey come from, then, if Kyros didn’t exist?”
“I don’t know about yours, but my honey comes from my bees,” Richard determinedly sought Alec’s hand, and when he found it he pressed it to the bed, curling over him with a smile. “From the hives I have at Highcombe.”
“Hm. Well not anymore.” Alec yawned. His whole body reminded him of honey right now, all slow and heavy and liquid. He tried to squirm from Richard’s grasp, but found he couldn’t really be bothered. “I suppose those would be Katherine’s bees, now.”

This thought made Richard relax his grip, and slide back to the warm space he’d occupied a moment ago.

“Do you think your niece will take well to being the Duchess Tremontaine?”
“She’s always been sensible. She’ll get the hang of it soon enough.”
“Sensible, certainly. But when she realizes that she can’t be a sworsdman forever, that she must marry some suitable fool and produce little Tremontaines and host parties and sit in endless dull Council meetings? When the full weight of adulthood sets upon her, what do you think she’ll do then?”

Alec draped himself against Richard, just because he could.
“I think she may like the parties. She can ignore the Council, it’s a family tradition,” he dismissed. “And I have the ghastly premonition that she may one day marry dear Marcus.”
Richard laughed. “Oh, Alec. You’d like that, wouldn’t you.”
“Wouldn’t you?” Alec shifted. “It would be charming or something.”
“It would be absurd. The Duchess Tremontaine, wed to a Riverside servant? The city would never shut up about it. Someone would bring it up in Council. It would be havoc.”
“He’s not a Riverside servant, you know that.”
“You want them to get married. You want her to be as utterly outrageous as you.”
“Oh nonsense. No one can be as outrageous as me,” Alec gave a bitter smirk.
Richard raised an eyebrow, waiting.
“I suppose I’d give them my blessing, not that they need it,” he admitted with an idle gesture. “Send them a card or something, congratulating them on being so exquisitely inconsiderate of the conventions of society.”

“Hah,” Richard grinned. “I thought so.”

Alec shrugged, too tired and grumpy and happy to give a damn about society right now. He nestled in the crook of Richard’s neck, and tried to believe that everything was over and done, that the life he knew was half a world away, that Richard and he could finally rest without needing to think about anything but each other. It wasn’t easy.

His pale hands clawed at Richard’s skin reflexively, anxiously.

The swordsman stroked his hair for a long time, saying nothing, and in time Alec’s jitters subsided.

Richard’s nearly unseeing eyes were open to the ceiling, taking in ghostly hints of white and blue and gold. The deep faraway light from the window was strangely comforting, but he closed his eyes to it anyway. Alec’s weight on him was better.

“You have to admit it was a gamble, though,” he smiled.
“Mm? What, making her Duchess, or inviting her to stay in the first place?”
“Both,” Richard said.
Alec shrugged.
“Of course it was. I’m mad, after all.”
This got a chuckle out of the swordsman. Alec nudged him.
“And Riverside?” Richard continued, thoughtfully. “Will she tend to that as well?”
“She will or she won’t. It’s not my problem now.”

Richard shook his head with bemusement. “Oh, Alec.” He smiled. “Come here.”
“I am ‘here’. Can’t get much closer,” Alec shifted churlishly.
“Yes, you can.”

~

“She impressed me, you know,” Richard said, later, when the cedars cast long shadows through their open window.
“What?” Alec had been dozing, lulled by the chorus of the bees outside.
“Your niece. She never refused my teaching. “
“Well, why would she? You’re Richard St Vier.”
Richard smiled. “She didn’t know that. And there was nothing keeping her. Nothing obliging her to learn the sword.”
“I was obliging her, did you forget that bit?”
“No,” Richard ran his fingers up Alec’s arm, “you were obliging her to wear trousers and live in my house. She could have disobeyed you, you know. Not unheard of for adolescent girls. She could have pouted or cried or screamed or sat in a corner resolutely practicing needlework instead of swordwork. Yes, I told her to train, but I never forced her to. She picked up the sword day after day of her own will.”
“If that had been her temperament, I never would have sent her to you, Richard. You’d have gutted me alive, saddling you with a watery little chit.” Alec stretched, and inspected his long fingers against the orange light of the setting sun. “I had Venturus make sure of that. The girl didn’t have talent, but I’ll grant that she had spirit.”

“Hm,” Richard let his fingers slowly feel along his lover’s neck, jaw, ear. Going where his eyes had gone, when they could still see. “She has more talent than some, I’d wager,” he said vaguely.
Alec arched into it, eyes closing. Richard’s touch, that he’d hungered for so desperately for a decade, was slowly making itself known as a constant in his life again. It was impossible to think that it was really here to stay. That it wouldn’t be months before the next time they saw each other. That he could go to sleep, and wake up, and go to sleep again, and wake up again, and that always Richard would be there beside him. It was still like a dream.

Richard’s fingers closed tightly on his long hair, and he found himself kissed, with a desperation that reassuringly echoed his own.

“You leave me again, Richard St Vier, and I’ll definitely have you killed this time,” Alec breathed, once they parted.
“By whom, Lady Katherine?”
Alec grinned. “Absolutely. Wouldn’t that be a fitting end? She’s never lost a duel yet, you know.”
“I should hope not. I’ve never taught before, and I doubt I will again. What a sad legacy I’d leave if she was hopeless. Alec,” Richard huffed, “let’s not talk of her anymore.”
“All right,” Alec purred, and pulled Richard close.

(With gratitude, respect and apology to Ellen Kushner, whose books Swordspoint and The Privilege of the Sword are so wonderful they compelled me to it, really.)