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Tadek sat down, cross legged, on the floor before Usmim’s altar, trying to centre himself. He breathed as evenly as he possibly could. Meditation had never come easy to him, what with all the sitting still and being quiet. But he knew he had to calm his whirling thoughts or else he was going to burst into tears. It didn’t work. He stood and approached the altar, absentmindedly picking at the wax that had accumulated where people had been lighting candles all day. He took two of the slender white candles and lit them, sticking them on the altar next to each other, and his vision went blurry. One for Kadou. One for himself. His heart felt heavy and his chest felt tight. He’d lost Kadou. Well. Not lost him so much as – he blinked the tears out of his eyes. Been removed by a few feet? Pushed – not exactly away, but – back? Pushed back. Yes. That’s how what Kadou had done felt to him. At arm’s length, that was apparently where he was expected to live from now on. An armsman at arm’s length. He rolled his eyes at himself. It could have been funny if it hadn’t been so dramatically, tragically wrong, dumb and pointless. Apparently, from now on, he was supposed to be in Kadou’s vicinity, but not close any longer. Fuck. That hurt. It hurt as much as losing her, as much as being demoted. He closed his eyes and let himself feel, just briefly, how much exactly it was hurting. There was no stopping the tears now, but at least they were silent, just running down his cheeks and into the collar of his armsman uniform, hot and unstoppable.
“Excuse me,” a soft, female voice said behind him, and he froze, pulling up his wall and trying to wipe his face as unobtrusively as possible before turning around. A middle aged woman in the robes of a temple aunt stood there, smiling gently at him. “I apologise if I startled you. Do you require anything, or should I leave you to prayer and contemplation?”
“I didn’t expect anyone to still be here, Aunt,” Tadek said with an apologetic half shrug.
“Are you apologising for being here?” she asked, slightly amused. It made him smile, which felt weird after the crying. The temple aunt didn’t comment on his state although she probably could tell that he had been crying. His face felt hot and – raw, and his eyes were burning a little. They had to be red. But it was quite dark in the room, maybe she couldn’t –
She took a step closer, slow and careful as if giving him a chance to back away if he wanted. “My name is Yeşim, and I’d be happy to sit with you for a while, if you’d like. Or I can leave. Whichever you prefer.”
All of a sudden, Tadek felt so incredibly tired – exhausted and sore and – raw, that making that decision seemed an impossible task. “I’m not sure,” was what came out of his mouth without his brain giving its permission.
“Hm,” Aunt Yeşim said. “I see.” She turned towards the altar and bowed her head for a moment. “Do you mind if I pray here for a moment?”
“Oh, yes, of course,” Tadek said, getting ready to give her the room.
“No, please stay! Unless you have somewhere else to be?”
A bitter, ugly sound tore itself free from Tadek’s throat, half laugh, half snort. No. He didn’t have anywhere else to be, did he? Wasn’t that the whole fucking problem with him? And fuck, were that tears – again?
“I don’t,” he said, again without his brain making a contribution. He had to be really, really fucking exhausted. It was kind of scary. But also kind of inconsequential. It didn’t matter. He wanted to leave, but where would he even go, and what would he do there? “I think I would like to stay, if it’s alright with you. Just a little while,” he said, because nothing really mattered anyway.
“Very well,” Aunt Yeşim said, her voice warm and gentle. She moved into the first position of prayer, and Tadek sat back down and closed his eyes. Focused on his breathing once more. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when aunt Yeşim spoke again, obviously having finished her prayers. “Is there a specific reason you came here tonight?” she asked, angling her body towards him. He kept his eyes closed for a moment longer, then shook his head. Which was a lie, or felt like one, but it was hard to grasp the concept.
He sighed and turned towards her. “I… am not sure,” he said, vaguely aware that he had said that before. “It just felt like the right thing to do.”
“It does, sometimes,” she said and nodded, facing the altar once more. “The candles – they are yours?”
Tadek swallowed thickly. “Yes.”
“Do you want to tell me about them?”
He did. He wanted to with a fierce determination that absolutely terrified him. He couldn’t. “I can’t,” he said softly.
Yeşim nodded. “Alright. Is there anything else you would like to talk about?”
“I’m not a religious person,” he said, because it felt important to tell her.
“That’s alright. We serve anyone who needs our service, religious or not. It’s not a matter of faith, then?”
Tadek snort-laughed. “Sorry. No. It’s not.”
Yeşim just waited.
He couldn’t. Where would he even begin? “I don’t know where to start,” he admitted eventually.
“Wherever you like. What was the last thing you did before coming here?”
Tadek chuckled softly. “I served,” he said. “For whatever that’s worth.” When Yeşim just looked at him, he shrugged. “I’m His Highness’ – well. Armsman.”
“Oh,” Yeşim said. “You were demoted from core-guard after that incident at the hunt.”
“Yes, that would be me,” he said airily, because he could not, under any circumstances, allow himself to feel what her words were threatening to make him feel.
“What do the duties of an armsman entail?”
“Fuck if I know.” He winced. “I’m sorry, Aunt. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Yeşim grinned at him. “Not the first time I heard someone swear and most certainly not the last. I’ve been known to do it myself. Off duty.”
Somehow, that made Tadek feel better. Like he could be himself, maybe, whoever that was?
“So, did your service to His Highness make you want to come here? Something you did, or were expected to do, in the line of duty?”
“I wish,” Tadek said, feeling sorry for himself. If only Kadou would let him serve the way he wanted, the way he had, the way that had fucking worked.
“You’re angry.”
Surprised, Tadek realised that she was right. What was he angry about? “I am,” he said haltingly. It felt wrong. He wasn’t supposed to be angry at Kadou just because Kadou had made a decision he didn’t like. The whole point of him was for Kadou to use him the way he needed, to put him where he was most useful. And then it clicked. That was exactly why he was angry. Because Kadou had failed to do that. He wasn’t using him. He’d told him what not to do any longer, but there was no new purpose. There was no point to him. He didn’t make sense.
Aunt Yeşim inhaled, holding his gaze. “I am going to ask you a very personal question, and as with any other question I might ask, you are completely free to answer in whatever way you wish – or not at all, yes?”
Tadek nodded, a little wary of what was to come.
“Who is the most important person in your life?”
“That… would be His Highness,” Tadek said – wondering, even as he said it, if that was still true.
“Aside from His Highness.”
Tadek opened his mouth, then closed it again. His mind was blank.
“Family?” Yeşim asked.
Tadek shook his head.
“Friend?”
Not really. He knew everyone, and everyone knew him, but –
“Who do you confide in when necessary?”
Tadek clenched his jaw. “I don’t,” he said, and wasn’t that just pathetic? Before the hunt there had been lots of people to talk to, flirt with, sleep with – but he hadn’t really been talking to any of them, had he? Not even back then, not really – open, honest, vulnerable. Because nobody was really listening, and it would have been terrifying to try, and what would he even talk about. And since the hunt – everything had been ruined. His carefully crafted connections were worthless. Nobody trusted him any longer after… after Gülpaşa and Balaban. Nobody would take it well if he tried to flirt, let alone try and get anyone into bed. Nobody but Kadou, and even that was over now. Nobody and nothing to distract him from the fact that he had lost everything but his life. No chance to feel anything but that loss. Grief, he thought, call it by its name. He so desperately wanted sensation instead of all these emotions, unbidden, unwelcome, dreaded, feared and hated – but there was nothing. Nothing and nobody. Nobody was touching him. Nobody was even really looking at him, and he wasn’t really looking at anyone either. More like staring, hard and defiant, desperately fighting to keep his walls up. Trying so hard to keep them from crumbling because if they did, then there would be truly nothing left but his foundations, bare and naked, unprotected and defenceless.
“That sounds lonely,” Yeşim said gently.
Fuck. He was not going to lose his composure in front of a stranger, not even one sworn to confidentiality.
“Has it always been like that for you? Or was there someone, at some point?”
He didn’t remember. That probably meant no. Had he always been on his own? He swallowed, but didn’t respond.
“I’m sorry,” Yeşim said, still so very gentle. “Do you want to tell me what happened today?”
“He threw me away,” Tadek spat, and then he gritted his teeth. Fuck. He had not wanted to say that out loud. It sounded whiny and pathetic and unfair. Ungrateful. He inhaled. His mouth just kept going. “His Highness. He told me that we won’t – we used to be lovers. Well. We had sex on a somewhat regular basis. But that’s history. He’s having ethical concerns.”
“I can see why he would. Do you see his point?”
“No! I do not fucking see his fucking point!” Tadek forced himself to take a deep breath. “Of course I see his fucking point, I’m not an idiot. But it’s a stupid point! I don’t agree with his point. He’s worrying himself to pieces over nothing. But he’s not listening to me when I try to explain that to him, the stubborn fucker.” Somewhere in the back of his mind Tadek was aware that there were probably several reasons why he shouldn’t be talking like that, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care.
“How do you feel about His Highness? Apart from being angry with him, I mean, on a more general basis?”
“I’m not in love with him, if that’s what you’re asking. Sleeping with him was – a cure. A service. I did it because he needed it, and I enjoyed it. He still needs it, I can tell, but he won’t… he won’t let me, and that’s just downright dumb. He’s suffering needlessly when there’s a perfectly fine solution to his problem and it drives me insane that he won’t – make use of it.”
“Make use of you.”
“Yes! He keeps insisting that it’s wrong, and I can hear the capital letter. I don’t know how to get it into his pretty head that I am fine with being used.”
“Are you though?”
Tadek just stared at her, betrayed and very, very tired. “This isn’t going anywhere,” he said after a pause. “Thank you for your time, Aunt.”
“You are of course free to leave whenever you want,” she said. “Although.” She raised an eyebrow. “I think this could go somewhere, if you really wanted that. If you’re ready and willing to face your truth.”
Tadek snorted.
“Can I say one more thing? Like I said, you don’t have to respond, obviously.”
“Sure,” Tadek shrugged, too tired and worn out to do anything but go along.
“I feel like, and I might be wrong, but I don’t think I am – I feel like maybe there is something else, underneath, behind, beyond this recent pain. Something older. You don’t have to tell me what it is, or even whether or not I’m right. But if I’m right, if there is, maybe you should be looking at that. Not necessarily today. But at some point. I can be your sounding board for that if you don’t want to do it alone. Just an offer.”
He couldn’t breathe.
He wasn’t going to…
He wasn’t.
Not that.
Not her.
No.
The silence unfolding in the absence of an answer pressed in on Tadek as if the walls were closing in on him.
Yeşim inhaled and straightened. “Actually there’s a reason why I came back here this late,” she said and gestured to the altar, and then to the floor. “Today was crazy busy and nobody had time to clean up.”
“Oh,” Tadek said, unsure what she expected of him. Was he supposed to leave so she could get started? He had been keeping her way too late, he realised.
“To be honest, it’s the part of the job I could do without,” she sighed, and then she smiled at him. It was the tiniest bit crooked. “Want to help an old lady out?”
Tadek scraped wax off the altar while Yeşim swept the floor.
“What do I need to know about you? Apart from your current situation?” Yeşim asked after a few minutes, pausing, leaning on the broom.
“I was born in the gutter, grew up poor, joined the academy, worked my skinny little… well, worked as hard as I could to build a career and make a place for myself, to be part of something bigger – then lost it all.” It sounded so small and mundane when he put it like that. His whole life, swept away, shattered and broken and crumbled to nothing.
“So you did it once before. What makes you think you can’t do it again?”
That – was not what he had expected her to take away from it all. He shrugged and kept his eyes on his work. “Maybe I can’t. Maybe I don’t have it in me a second time.”
She moved her head form one side to the other. “Maybe. So what’s the alternative?”
Dying an armsman. “Being remembered as the man who got three people killed and ruined everything.”
“Instead of?”
“Hm?”
“How would you like to be remembered?”
He couldn’t. Saying it would hurt too much. Even thinking it hurt – the boy who caught Her Highness’ attention, who was considered for the ministry of intelligence and worked hard to follow his dream of making core guard, the man who knew everything about everyone, lover and friend to a lot of people, including the second most powerful person in the world. It hurt in that same spot behind his sternum that had been hurting for 15 years. He shook his head.
“You don’t know? Or you can’t say?”
Closing his eyes and forcing down fresh tears, he breathed: “The latter.”
“That’s alright. We’re not doing this for my benefit.” She considered for a moment. “Did you do it all on your own?” Tadek looked at her with a frown. “The first time? Did you rise from… your station all on your own?”
That, he might be able to answer. No. That, he had to answer. Not saying it would have been a betrayal of her trust in him, and it would have been so horribly disrespectful that it made him wince. “No,” he said. “There was someone who helped me. I am not talking about them.”
“That’s fair. Are they – no, wait. Let me rephrase. Is there anyone that you could ask for help now?”
“I told you I’m on my own.” Had he? It felt like he had… his brain wasn’t at full capacity, apparently.
After a long, weighted pause during which he had polished Usmim’s scales and Sannesi’s bowl, Yeşim asked very, very gently: “What if you asked His Highness for help?”
Her son. His liege. His former lover. The man who held his life in his hands. He couldn’t. Or could he? Suddenly the room was too small, too cramped, and there wasn’t enough air. Please, no. Tadek closed his eyes, then squeezed them shut, then pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. No. Please. Please!
Aunt Yeşim made a soft, comforting sound, put away her broom, and placed a gentle hand on Tadek’s shoulder. “Breathe, child,” she said, so impossibly soft and caring, such warmth, such – love in her voice. “Breathe, and let yourself feel, and cry, if you need to.”
No. No! He didn’t want to, he wasn’t going to. If he fell apart here, in public, in front of her, there was no putting himself back together. He would just shatter and dissolve and disappear and there would be nothing left of him, not even the walls or the mask or the – empty shell he had turned into the moment Kadou had fallen off Wing. No. No!
Aunt Yeşim ran her hand down his arm and back up again, and then she pulled him close. He thought he was resisting, should be resisting, but somehow he found himself engulfed in her embrace like you sometimes find yourself flat on your back during a fight and don’t remember how that happened. She was warm, and soft, and surprisingly strong, but still so very gentle. He just knew that if he made the slightest move to withdraw, she would let him. Give him an out. But he didn’t. Just… just a moment, he thought to himself. A small, secret, intimate moment of being held, of feeling the warmth and comfort of another body, another person. A tiny moment of not being alone. And then he remembered. He pulled back. Kadou had held him. Oh gods. Kadou had pulled him close, and Tadek had let him, but he had barely felt the touch. Hadn’t really been in that moment. How could he… what was wrong with him? He had told Kadou to be angry, as if Kadou could make himself feel that on command. As if Kadou ever allowed himself to be angry. As if Tadek hadn’t been worried sick, lying on that awful dormitory bed, useless and forgotten and whispered about, in cadet whites – worried sick the prince might be angry with him, punishing him by ignoring him, worried Kadou would never speak to him again, worried about never being allowed back in the gold court, worried... worried sick over potentially having lost the only place in the world he had considered safe. A place in his liege’s home, a place at their hearth, that had been in all his oaths, but oaths could be revoked if one party proved themselves unworthy.
Yeşim was looking at him, he could feel her gaze even though his eyes were on the floor. Please. There was nothing left in him. She made that small little sound again and reached for his shoulder once more, and he went willingly.
She held him for an eternity, sitting on the floor with him.
He didn’t remember sitting down.
He thought he was crying, but he wasn’t sure.
Eventually he pulled back and sat up, and she gave him a small smile and stood.
“I’ll be back in a second,” she said. He could only nod.
She did return within a minute, holding a jug of water and a glass. She poured for him and handed him the glass, and he thought maybe he wasn’t going to be able to take it, but it worked. He drank, a small sip at first, then another one, and then long, greedy gulps until the glass was empty and Yeşim had to refill it, and then he emptied it again. He let out a breath, pulled up his knees, wrapped his arms around himself, and rested his forehead on his knees.
“If you asked your liege for his help, what’s the worst thing that could happen?” Yeşim asked gently.
“He could say no,” Tadek murmured. “Tell me I’m not worth it, or that it’s not his responsibility.”
“How likely is that outcome, do you think?”
Tadek chewed on the inside of his cheek and lifted his head. “He said he wanted to make things right between us,” he said hesitantly. “He’s feeling guilty I think.”
“So he already said yes before you even asked. All you have to do is take him up on it.”
Yeşim resumed swiping the floor. “So what’s the best thing that could happen?”
“I tell him…” He drew a breath. “I tell him I’m lost, and alone, and don’t know what my purpose is, and he… helps me. Gives me purpose. Allows me back in.” His voice was barely above a whisper by that point. “Allows me to help him. Trusts me like he used to, confides in me. Allows me to… be his friend. To try and make a difference.”
Would Kadou be able – and willing – to believe in him like his mother had all these years ago? Even though present Tadek had blood on his hands, while past Tadek had just been a scrawny little street urchin who had needed nothing but one chance? Kadou had asked for Tadek’s life – wasn’t that proof of… well. Maybe just of Kadou’s guilty conscience and his fixation on reciprocity. But it was certainly worth something. Kadou had put Tadek in his colours, proud and defiant and way more luxurious than strictly necessary. And he had said he was willing to do whatever he could to fix things between them, and he had asked! Gods above and below, Kadou had asked him if there was anything Tadek wanted that he could give, and Tadek had blanked, and wasted his chance, but maybe, if he was brave enough to pick up the thread of that conversation, maybe Kadou would still be willing?
Yeşim smiled at him like a proud, actual aunt. At least he assumed that’s what an aunt might look like when she was proud of her niece or nephew. The commander sometimes looked at Kadou like that.
Tadek forced himself to focus. “What if I fail again? What if he does trust me and I fail him, and he… decides that I’m not worth his trust anymore?”
Yeşim was silent for a long moment, and then she took a deep breath. “I wish I could tell you that won’t happen, that as long as you try hard enough, the reward is guaranteed. But I can’t. Committing to wanting something is scary because there is always the potential not to get it, or to have it taken away. But how would it feel to you not to try at all?”
Despair. An endless, pointless, ice cold stretch of darkness, alone, forgotten, ignored.
Yeşim just looked at him, and then she nodded. “What are your strengths? Skills? Interests?”
Tadek pulled himself together and returned her smile. “I was a good student. Good memory. I’m good with words. I know a lot about poetry and theatre, besides the usual skills that all kahyalar are taught. I’m good at people, or used to be – talking to them, getting to know them, getting them to open up. Reading them. And, well, sex. I used to have a lot of sex. With a lot of people.”
“Why?”
Tadek stared at her. “Excuse me? Why? You’re not – are temple aunts… I’m sorry, I never asked myself that, and it’s none of my business…”
“I am not celibate. Some of us are, but it’s not a requirement. I do enjoy sex. I’m asking you why you handled it the way you did.”
“I… like it. Every person is different, every body is different, it’s fun finding out what they like and using it to make them feel good. It usually feels really good for me as well. And I like the connection it creates, if it’s good. I like knowing everything about everyone. Sometimes that just means getting drunk with someone. Sometimes it involves getting naked with someone.”
“Did it serve a purpose?”
Tadek narrowed his eyes at her. “I have never and would never use a lover as means to an end.”
“I apologise. That’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean to imply that you were using the person. I was just wondering if you might have been using the sex.”
Tadek went very still. “What. For?” he said, carefully neutral.
“I don’t know. You tell me?”
He gritted his teeth and took a deliberate, slow breath. “I am not talking about them, I already told you that.”
“Oh,” Yeşim said. “Oh! I think I’m starting to understand.” She nodded a few times. “Alright. What else are you good at?”
He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “I’m a decent swordsman, I can stand my ground in an unarmed fight, I’m decent on horseback. And really, really good at running.” He felt himself blush a little. It sounded dumb. “No need for that as a secretary, I guess,” he admitted.
“There’s probably no reason why you shouldn’t be doing it in your spare time though, is there? If you enjoy it?”
Tadek huffed. “Bit on the nose, no? Running away from – well. Things?”
“I suppose you’d come back,” she said dryly.
Tadek snorted out a laugh, which felt amazing – freeing, liberating, like he was finally able to breathe. “I suppose so, yes.”
“What do you like about it?”
“Running? I don’t know, getting to stretch my muscles, clearing my head? The feeling of the air on my face. Being pleasantly exhausted afterwards, like I earned being tired. And it’s fast, obviously. I like everything that’s fast paced, I guess. Witty banter. Smart jokes. Things like that.”
“A mind that can keep up with your own.”
Tadek swallowed. “Well. Yes.” A mind like Kadou’s, brilliant and flexible and gorgeous, but also, often, its own worst enemy. Suddenly, he missed the prince fiercely. The conversations they used to have. Kadou’s earnest expressions and bright laughter, his protectiveness and determination to do The Right Thing.
He realised he wanted that back. He had to try. This was worth fighting for.
He stood and gave Aunt Yeşim a small bow. “Thank you, Aunt. This was – exhausting, but also very necessary. Thank you for your time. I’m sorry I didn’t bring anything. I’ll come back tomorrow and make a donation.”
“Come back whenever you want. But you already made your donation.” She indicated the altar, clean and tidy, and Tadek smiled, nodded, and wished her a good night.
For the first time since they had pulled him off his horse at the hunt he felt like he had direction. A plan. A goal. Something worth fighting for. Something to build on top of his battered foundations.
He drew a shaky breath and started walking.