Chapter Text
“I bet I could do it,” Rhodin says.
Cliopher carefully surveys the challenge. “You probably could,” he concedes. Rhodin puffs out his chest. “But we’d have to abandon you in a pile of vomit. Ludvic would feel bad.”
“I wouldn’t,” Ludvic assures. Rhodin deflates.
Ser Rhodin’s latest hole-in-the-wall restaurant discovery is advertising itself with a bizarrely excessive challenge – a four pound steak and a platter of fried turnips, free if you can finish in an hour.
Rhodin mostly seems interested in the bragging rights. Although why one would brag about such a thing, Cliopher can’t imagine. At least the steaks look good.
“We can still get a normal meal,” Ludvic points out.
“Cowards, both of you,” Rhodin says sadly. “You disappoint me, Commander.”
Ludvic shrugs in a laconic way, as though to say, I will survive.
They end up getting food at a stall down the street instead, where Rhodin knows the owner.
It’s a lovely day for just walking around. Most days are lovely in Solaara, where it never rains while the sun is high; but Cliopher doesn’t often to enjoy that fact of the city. Much less with friends; if his own schedule is full, it’s extremely difficult to coordinate with the commander and deputy commander of the guard. Conju’s still with their lord. Sometimes Cliopher might invite down Kiri or one of the other inner guards, or make arrangements with scholarly acquaintances in town… but it’s rare he just can waste away hours with his dearest people.
Even if those people can be a little odd.
“So it was actually a front – people would leave codes in the books,” Rhodin explains once they’ve finished their foods. As they walk he waves a hand toward a battered, ill-looking shop that they pass. Paint peels away from the jagged wood, and the books through the window look musty and ruffled. “And they could communicate without anyone noticing the contact.”
“What if someone purchased one of the books with a message inside?” Cliopher asks.
“Well, the shopkeeper wouldn’t allow that, I suppose.”
“So the shopkeeper knew everyone who came in? And kept record?”
“...well.” Rhodin frowns. “I. Hmm. That’s a good question.”
“It seems to me setting up a code system with the actual books would work better,” suggests Cliopher, who admittedly knows nothing of subterfuge. “From the order on the shelves. Perhaps leaving the notes as a distraction from the real message.”
“We did consider that, but it doesn’t allow for complex exchange. We actually recognized one of the people who got arrested before, I don’t know who thought he could be subtle...”
Ludvic mostly listens, in his quiet way, but he wears a faint smile as Rhodin launches into a description of a hilariously disguised man who tried entering as a priestess from the mountains. He misunderstood the customs there and swathed himself in matronly garb while simultaneously wearing jewelry that declared him a prostitute, a beekeeper, and an expert in aquaculture.
Ludvic shows some interest in a display of leatherwork. It’s a new shop within a clustered, active plaza. When was the last time Cliopher came this far into Solaara? It’s been at least a few years. He looks around for anything else new.
“Oh, dessert,” Rhodin exclaims, pleased, and promptly abandons Cliopher to beeline for a stand that smells like fragrant fried bread. He snorts.
There’s a new shop across the way, though painted so luridly pink Cliopher doubts it will interest him. Maybe he’ll check before he goes back to the Vangavaye-ve; his mother still finds it exciting to get little trinkets and perfumes worn by foreign ladies. There’s a great ruckus a few more buildings down; an exotics store. He glimpses bird-cages in the window, currently empty. He makes a mental note to mention that to one of the local business-auditors; there’s a slew of problems that comes with importing wild animals. The Reserve took years to recover the last time some idiot young noble brought his domesticated tiger on a walk.
There seems to be a delivery right now – a cart with a few men handling small boxes. They’re dressed in a mix of local style along with something else. It tickles Cliopher’s memory, and he frowns. Where has he seen those patterns before?
A younger teen hops out the other side Maybe it’s a family business. He wears a long, wicked knife on his hip. Which is fine; Rhodin and Ludvic have spears strapped to their backs even off-duty. Cliopher’s not sure why his chest goes so cold at the sight of it, until he sees another man walk over. Cliopher recognizes him.
...it’s probably not even the same person, Cliopher thinks frantically. It’s been years – and with the time distortion it could have been generations for those tribes, there’s no reason to think -
They’re delivering frogs, he realizes.
The man across the plaza turns as a friend walks up to him, laughing. Cliopher knows that face. It was thinner, but he remembers it above him, shadowed by the moon. His friends held down Cliopher’s arms, and the lanky youth was heavy on top of him, panting against his cheek -
Then Ludvic’s there instead.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, sharp. He angles his body in front of Cliopher, turning to keep the bureaucrat half behind him so he can scrutinize the crowd. “Ser Rhodin.”
In line at the food-cart, Rhodin hasn’t noticed the shift. He glances over at that tone, though. Ludvic makes a gesture Cliopher doesn’t catch; Rhodin’s grin slips away at once. He rushes to flank Cliopher’s other side. Ludvic asks, “Who are you looking at?”
Cliopher’s mortified, and even more embarrassed by the relief that sweeps through him.
It’s not like he’d be – it’s not like anything would happen. They’re in public. The men don’t see him, and wouldn’t recognize him anyway, and -
But it helps to have his friends here. “It doesn’t matter,” Cliopher manages. His throat quivers, and he can’t quite catch his breath, so it comes out breathless and unconvincing. He swallows. Exhales. “It’s, it’s fine. It’s nothing.”
Rhodin narrows his eyes, gaze sweeping up and down Cliopher with the critical scrutiny he usually reserves for crime-scenes. Cliopher can’t keep himself from glancing back at the idle tribesmen -
Oh. There’s a third, now. Unlike his friends he’s even wearing the loose wraps favored by the Gray Mountain tribes.
Cliopher recognizes him. He was so huge, and it hurt. A shudder flinches through him.
“Rhodin,” says Ludvic again, and Rhodin peels away. Cliopher sees him weaving in and around the crowd.
Not directly toward the people Cliopher was watching, but he clearly followed his gaze.
They didn’t do anything, Cliopher almost says. But that’s not true. His hands shake.
Ludvic grabs his arm. Cliopher lets himself be pulled along.
He trusts Ludvic, he does. But Ludvic pulls the spear from his back as they walk, almost out of habit, and it really does not help.
One night they didn’t hold him down. They just ringed around with their spears, the boys taunting him for not fighting, even though he’d gore himself if he moved -
It hurt so much. And he could never keep from crying, after. He was so hungry and hollow he felt like he’d snap in half.
Ludvic re-situates the spear behind his back again, then briefly pauses to wrap an arm around Cliopher’s shoulder. Half-dragging him. Why’s he doing that?
Maybe because Cliopher isn’t breathing, he realizes. His breath hitches and catches. His chest hurts, and everything starts to blur. But he trusts Ludvic.
The commander of the guard brings them down a maze of streets. Cliopher doesn’t know where they are, or where they’re going. Everything is bright and blurred, his cheeks wet.
His shoulders jerk, just once. A choked sound crawls up his throat. He stifles it with a surge of terror, though he isn’t sure why.
And then Ludvic pulls him through a door.
“Clear out,” says Ludvic, voice flat and carrying.
“Commander?” asks someone. There’s a scrabble of chairs and feet.
“Clear out. Watch the doors,” Ludvic repeats. A mumble of replies get lost as a few men rush past them.
The glint of rattling spears makes Cliopher flinch again, ruining his fragile composure. He blinks. Ludvic pushes him into a plush chair in the room’s corner. Cliopher sees a small table with an abandoned pile of cards, and a pot boiling on a stove. It smells like tea.
“Fire,” he mutters. Ludvic grimaces, but steps away to turn off the flame.
The distance helps. Cliopher grips the arm of his chair. He tries to breathe.
It’s hard. It shouldn’t be hard. There aren’t any ropes around his chest – he raises a hand to check – and it’s day, not night – so he’s imagining the leaves brushing his cheeks and shoulders, the laughing shouts of the boys chasing him -
A blink, and Ludvic sinks into the chair with him. “Cliopher. I need you to focus a minute. Can you tell me if there’s any immediate danger?”
What?
“Rhodin is following them alone. I need to know if I should send anyone else,” Ludvic says. He’s marvelously patient given the urgency of that question.
Cliopher’s shoulders hunch. Ludvic must misinterpret this as a sign of hurt, because he wraps an arm around him. “No,” Cliopher manages. “No. I – they didn’t – there is no danger.It was a long time ago.”
He’s not sure that makes sense. He expects questions, or even exasperation.
“Thank you,” says Ludvic, tone even. Like this makes perfect sense. Like it’s normal for a grown man to start shuddering and crying and drowning on land because he was startled.
Cliopher’s still shaky, but starting to feel an odd exhaustion in his limbs. He looks around without comprehension. “Where…?”
“This is one of the guard posts in the city,” says Ludvic, voice still clear and calm. He’s very good at this, Cliopher thinks muzzily. Most people would be panicking right along with Cliopher. “We have safehouses where the guards on patrol can take breaks, bring in criminals for temporary holding, or grab medical supplies.”
Cliopher’s never really thought about the logistics of the patrols. “Oh.”
Ludvic considers him. He squeezes Cliopher’s arm. “There’s a dozen of them around Solaara,” he says, “If you count the ones just outside the city…”
Ludvic drones on about the safehouses for a few minutes while Cliopher composes himself. The commander keeps an arm wrapped around Cliopher the whole time, and doesn’t seem to mind supporting his weight. That steady strength is a great comfort.
Even if Cliopher starts to feel ridiculous as his breaths even out.
Years ago he saw some of those men - their fellows, perhaps. He smiled at them and made pleasant conversation during talks. But it wasn't a surprise. They weren't in Solaaara.
Ludvic finally stops talking, shifting a bit to inspect Cliopher again. “You’re feeling better.”
It sounds more like a statement than a question. Cliopher almost winces. He scrubs at his face, dismayed to find his eyes wet and puffy, his cheeks sticky with tears. “Yes,” he says thickly. “I – I’m sorry for that.”
“It’s fine. You saw someone who frightened you.”
Cliopher winces again. “Yes.”
“Why?”
Cliopher doesn’t want to think about that. “It doesn’t matter. It was years ago.”
“It matters.” Ludvic squeezes his arm. “We won't let anyone hurt you; please trust me."
How could Ludvic suggest Cliopher doesn’t trust him? He’s the only reason Cliopher’s not a mess right now. He might break down crying if Ludvic leaves.
Not that Ludvic would leave; but even the idea makes his shoulders hunch. He’s always been a coward, Cliopher thinks sadly. But words shouldn’t scare him; he steadies himself with a breath. “It’s not political,” he starts, because that’s the most important thing. Ludvic nods, waiting. “It was – I wasn’t in the service, at the time. And it was before Littleridge, and all the governments were – so it wasn’t illegal, technically.”
“His Radiancy won’t hold any crimes during that time against you,” Ludvic assures.
This evokes a breathless, dismayed laugh. “No. No,” Cliopher agrees. “But on my part it was just – trespassing, I suppose. They couldn’t kill me. It was a sort of rite of passage – that doesn’t matter – they weren’t allowed to kill me. But they thought I was a spy, so they tied me to a post for months – sometimes I think they hoped I’d kill myself...” Cliopher hesitates over that memory. He thought a lot about jumping over the edge of that cliff.
There’s no concise way to explain it – the months of horrible waiting, tethered to a post like a dog, whispering the Lays whenever he dared because he thought he’d go insane with nothing but the croaking frogs and dismayed birds wailing in his ears. “They wouldn’t even recognize me,” he adds, trying to convince himself. And then he’s crying again.
Ludvic somehow pulls him closer, tucking Cliopher against his broad chest. And Cliopher might be an idiot panicking over nothing, but that’s comforting anyway.
It feels safe. Because he’s in Solaara, under the protection of the Lord Magus and the Imperial Guard. He is safe. There’s no need to be afraid.
Except he’ll probably need to talk more, later. Somewhere Rhodin’s still stalking those oblivious tribesman. Cliopher knows Ludvic won’t be satisfied with his vague story. Just the thought of trying to explain it -
But that’s a problem for the future. For now, Cliopher can curl up in his friend’s arms and remember that he’s no longer alone.