Knight's ChoiceChapter 24

The dining table, built for a knight’s comfort, was too big for Esra. Upon seating himself, he found that his feet couldn’t brush the floor. He felt much like a child again, unbalanced and uncertain.

It was too frightening to look about himself, at the opaque-faced strangers who surrounded him. It brought to mind a nightmare from his youth, wherein he sat upon a dark throne, at the head of a grand table, as the endless eyes of the court fixed upon him. He’d hear the sound of his own breath, the pounding thud of his heart. Yet try as he might, he could not speak a single word. DfhpdL

Esra hesitated, unsure how to arrange himself under such watchful eyes. He placed his palms briefly upon the tabletop, then, the ornate carved armrests. Both gestures seemed too bold. Finally, he settled for folding his hands in his lap.

The servants who watched Esra so raptly were unlike any the youth had seen so far. In truth, they were men of consequence, servants in name only. They ranked far above the peasant boy they now waited to serve, but to curry the knight’s favour would mean endless possibility.

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It was a grand privilege to be in a knight’s private quarters, when none but the most prestigious might gaze upon a knight unmasked. This was the first time the two younger men had been invited to participate in such an honour, and had come to Sir Umbra’s quarters full of hope for an introduction.

But the knight faced the flames, his back to them all. Just a golden slice of his skin was visible in the darkness; the shape of his jaw under the gleam of his ashen hair. nV5uEQ

“Young master.”

Of the three strangers, the eldest stepped forward into the light. He carried a silver basin of scented water. Aristocratic breeding was so apparent in his haughty features, so clear in the dignity of his bearing, that Esra knew at once that this man who meant to serve him had been born a great many stations above him.

That grand head bowed to him, and proffered forth the silver basin. As if he in all his blue-grey velvet finery was the common servant, and Esra, in his woolen cloak, his homespun tunic, the little prince. Esra faltered at this display of subservience.

“Please, honoured guest,” the elder man said. He spoke with the same refined crisp accent that Umbra had, of the upper class city folk. “You must cleanse yourself before dinner.”

Perhaps he suspected that Esra didn’t know any better. Esra felt his cheeks heat. He was, of course, fastidious in his habits, but he was accustomed to a communal wooden bucket, filled with cold river water. Never before had he dipped his callused hands into a silver basin, the water still steaming, fragrant with fresh sprigs of lavender.

When he pulled his hands from the water, he was immediately offered a napkin of finely woven white linen. At each corner, hand-stitched in gold thread, rested the insignia of the Order; intricate and beautiful. Esra had spent long hours stitching garments with the village women, and knew well the sting of the needle. His fingers went numb with sympathy.

It felt wrong to wipe his hands with such finery, when it was worth many times more than the very clothes he wore.

The elder’s eyes were on him as he squeezed his fingers dry. That noble gaze was pure practised discretion, but Esra still felt it, taking him in. At the edges of the room, the younger men were more obvious. Thinking him more object than person, they looked openly at him when they thought he couldn’t see. a5YIps

He wondered if they knew what he’d been brought here for, although, and his cheeks flushed again, they must. Arturo had known the moment he’d seen him; the implication of his presence here. What it meant for a peasant to be so high up in Balor’s Throne, and would lay by the fire to await Umbra’s return.

* * *

“To welcome our honoured guest,” said the chamberlain, “the chef has prepared for you a special summer menu.”

He presented each dish as it was placed before Esra. Seasoned game hen cooked in almond milk. White bread, soft as clouds. A salad of dark greens and strawberries, whimsically topped with tiny flowers. For dessert were dainty little almond cakes shaped like violets, and fragrant spiced pears poached in red wine. 7BKcLP

The decadence intimidated him, as did the deference of the servants.

Silent, but ever attentive, they were quick to rearrange dishes for Esra’s reach, sweeping away crumbs as soon as they appeared. Esra struggled at the centre of their attention, fighting the need to thank their every movement. Instead, he ate in anxious silence, apart from the few moments his knife scraped loudly against the platter.

We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.

The rich flavours warmed and filled him, like nothing he’d ever tasted.

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Yet, Esra admonished himself, he had been well-matched by the comforts of his home. It was thanks to his father’s resourcefulness that they never needed to fear starvation, even through biting winters. They always had enough. Even when they had to harbour refugees, they were practised at stretching their stocks to provide for all.

He remembered a young man who had come to their village, so thin that he seemed wraith-like. Beneath the layers of his traveling cloak, he hid the yellow garments of a slave from the capital. A gold collar weighed down his slender throat, an ostentatious display of the wealth and status of his former master.

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He did not speak, but was so starved that it was a wonder he didn’t collapse upon their doorstep. Hester served him bowl after bowl of thick pottage, as he ate with a hunger that seemed to never be satisfied. She fretted over him, for her son was about the same age, though away at sea with the other men.

The other village women fussed over him as well. Despite his gauntness, he was handsome to look upon. He had an easy smile and seemed ever grateful, though he never spoke a single word. Cznduj

It was not until much later that Esra learned the reason why: the boy could not speak, for he had lost his tongue.

To safeguard the secrets of the rich and powerful, it was common practice to slit the tongues of their personal slaves. Forever mutilated, to give their owners peace of mind.

Where was Hester now, and those young women Esra had grown up with?

Esra swallowed, feeling the heavy guilt as a collar encircling his throat, a hot brand searing – SkGdqJ

“Wardonys in syryp, honoured guest,” said one of the young servants, placing a fragrant dish of wine-poached pears before him.

Esra blinked. His thoughts scattered, and left him, as if on awakening from a dream. The servant graciously placed a sliced pear upon Esra’s plate. It dripped bright red, swimming in a pool of sweet crimson.

For some reason, it seemed to Esra almost like the shape of a tongue.

* * * d937J1

When Esra had eaten his fill, the elder man made a discreet circling gesture. The table was silently and swiftly cleared, and the young men had left the room before Esra truly saw their faces.

But he noticed them, before they exited, casting their eyes almost beseeching upon the knight’s broad back. Umbra remained motionless. Burdened with empty platters, the young men left the room, unacknowledged.

The elder man stood at his elbow. A polite smile formed, barely visible at the corners of his thin lips, when Esra thanked him for dinner.

What a poor, helpless creature that Sir Umbra has brought home, Wulther had first thought, as he considered the youth before him. IdzbYL

But the boy was not entirely without his charms. There was a natural grace to his movements, and refinement to his features, that befitted one of much better breeding. His true station was belied only by his dreadful accent, and the roughness of his hands from manual labor.

“May I ask your name, sir?” Esra asked, with a nervous curiosity.

“I am Wulther, Sir Umbra’s Chamberlain,” the man introduced himself, with an elegant bow. Sensing the youth’s confusion, he continued. “It is my duty to look after my knight’s needs. And yours as well, since you are here under his hospitality.”

Esra struggled with the thought of inconveniencing this man for anything. “I am sure,” he stuttered, “that it won’t be necessary…” FRmQVd

“Please, young master,” Wulther said. “You mustn’t hesitate to call upon me should you need–”

“That will be all,” interjected Umbra, an imperious voice from the far end of the room.

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There was nothing in that tone that was possible to disobey, though the sudden interruption had startled them both into silence. The knight’s head turned slightly in their direction, revealing a sliver more of his masculine features. Esra watched the sway of his hair, the strands golden by flame.

“You are dismissed, Wulther.” 3Dr Bo

Wulther straightened at once, smoothing an elegant hand down the front of his velvet jacket. “Yes, Sir Knight,” he murmured obsequiously, and, after a deep bow to Umbra’s back, swept from the room.

***

Once the door shut behind the chamberlain, Umbra extended his hand. “Here, Esra.”

The youth, quick to obey, slipped from the tall chair to his feet, and went to him. He moved softly over the stone and carpets, treading carefully. The energy rolling off of Umbra was dark, powerful. kcnpPf

Tentatively, he touched his fingertips to the expectant pale hand.

Umbra’s fingers closed over his own. His head tilted towards Esra, his grey eyes sliding up from their joined hands, to meet his gaze in the firelight. His expression was so utterly devoid of emotion that Esra felt a terror grow in his chest. He was as closed to Esra as he’d been that first violent evening; the dragon at his father’s table.

The knight considered him carefully. Esra felt, or maybe he only imagined it, a sort of weighing of value. He remembered Arturo’s eyes on him, the heavy implication of his flaws. Perhaps the thought he’d planted in Umbra’s head had started to take root: Esra was no great prize, and not worth the cost of his keeping.

Yet, he saw Umbra’s face soften. sRtcLy

The knight rubbed a thumb over Esra’s knuckles, then dropped his hand to touch his tunic, feeling the texture of the humble fabric. He cleared his throat and said, with a strangely gentle voice, “I must get you new things; if only to stop mouths dropping when they see what I keep here.”

He took Esra by the waist, guiding him into his lap. His heavy arm slid over the youth’s shoulder, and pulled him close. Esra was swallowed up by the knight’s embrace, by the heat of him. He watched his own hands on Umbra’s chest, narrow fingers against the rich black of his doublet. Under the soft velvet, , he could feel the hot and fiercely muscular shape of him – a beast draped in a prince’s finery.

Umbra’s head dipped in close. Esra felt himself be studied, and he couldn’t stop his face from heating.

“You’d look good in colors,” came the deep rumble of Umbra’s voice from over his ear. “Bright linens, draping silks, furs…” EdxndO

As he spoke, the knight slipped his fingers into the knot of Esra’s scarf, and pulled. The scarf undid itself, and slipped open, revealing his slim neck above the clasp of his bulky travelling cloak. The air slid cool over this newly revealed skin. Esra’s breath caught in his throat, and he swallowed. His heart hammered to a beat between fear and anticipation.

Umbra’s hand skimmed over his neck. “Your skin has such warmth to it. See you more in gold than silver.” He peered closely into Esra’s eyes. “And amethysts, I think.”

Esra shivered at the touch. He could not picture himself as Umbra envisioned him, in clothing meant for nobles. He had always measured himself in the eyes of the other village men, his father’s disappointment. It was a reflection made up of deficiencies: his lack of strength, ill health, and easily broken will. 7zTtnK

Yet, Umbra spoke of him in lavish cloth, adorned with jewels. Although the thought was dizzying, Esra’s heart squeezed with relief. Despite Arturo’s counsel, Umbra still found him worthy of keeping.

The knight watched him closely. There was a strange pull to his attention.

Story translated by Chrysanthemum Garden.

“You need not worry about Arturo,” said Umbra. In a tender motion, touched his fingertips to Esra’s cheek. “He can do you no harm.”

It seemed he had perceived some of Esra’s fears, or perhaps they were more united in thought than Esra had realised. RGZTCt

Esra leaned gently into the touch, weak to comfort. The other knight had put Umbra on edge in a way he did not think was possible. It seemed that with such a statement Umbra was not only reassuring Esra, but also himself.

“He said,” Esra murmured carefully, “that he’s known you as long as you’ve been a knight.”

The hand as his face tensed, then dropped away. Esra feared that he had overstepped, but Umbra said nothing; only sucked in a sharp breath, and looked into the flames.

In the flicker of the firelight, Esra could see the edge of Umbra’s profile lined with gold: the sharp beauty of his features, the tension in his jaw. His eyes glimmered beneath the length of his lashes. When he finally spoke, his voice was distant. He did not look at Esra. tWyajp

“Arturo was the one who found me, when I was but a young soldier in the Weald. Thought I had potential as a knight of the Order.” Umbra rubbed his shoulder absently, perhaps a ghost of a memory. “He took me here, to the capital. Trained me himself, for the trials.”

Esra saw him pause, recollect himself.

“It was a great honour that many can only dream of.”

There was a reframing of events in the knight’s mind; a history not rewritten, but instead cast in a different light. eIrYOD

Esra recalled the sailor Murric, who’d suffered a severe accident out at sea on one of his fathers ships; snapping wood, broken bones. Then followed infection, amputation. He’d come back one armed, crippled but proud. His compatriots hailed his bravery, celebrating him as a hero. Yet he could no longer work, and no sweet maid wished to be his bride, so he spent most of his days at the barkeep’s table, recounting his tales of glory. A young man made old before his time.

The torments you are made to survive can be thought anew into trials that you overcame. A victim becomes a victor. And then the memories might not be so painful to bear.

There was more to the story with Arturo, Esra knew, but Umbra had twisted it shut.

Until he’d seen the two knights together, Esra had been certain of Umbra’s invincibility. He was startled into strange softness for his knight, at this unexpected reveal of long-buried pain. vue7mM

He laid a gentle hand at Umbra’s velvet collar, and didn’t flinch away when the knight abruptly turned to him. Disbelief was etched in Umbra’s brow, in his smoky eyes all aglow with embers as they darted over Esra’s worried face.

“Esra,” he breathed, stunned. His arm crooked, pulling the youth closer. “You should not feel sorrow for me.”

I know, Esra thought, though he did not dare say it. And yet, I do.