Dynasty of Ghosts by Nunn PL

Author:Nunn, PL [Nunn, PL]
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The bailey never slept. There were always men on duty, always torches lit to keep out the darkness, always the smell of stew drifting from the kitchens ready for men just come off duty. It was even more alive tonight, with the sounds of Festival going on right outside the stout outer wall. Men staggering in from a night of celebration, or hurrying out, just released from duty to catch the last the night had to offer. And on the other side of the inner bailey wall, where the palace sat, it was dark and quiet, that sacred area buffered from the raucous emanations of the city.

Illya cast a glare that way, towards the palace and all the egotistical asses that lived within it as he stalked towards the barracks and the small haven of his bunk and his things.

Pretentious, manipulating bastard. He let out a hissing breath, wiping a hand again across the back of his mouth, as if he could wipe away the memory so easily.

Kenthy was gone, which was just as well, for he was not of a mood to explain his bad humor. He hung his cloak on a peg over his bunk, and scowled as his hand brushed against bits of straw clinging to the wool. He had it in his hair as well. More than when he’d left from stuffing targets that morning. So much hair was loose of the braid that he unfastened the end and finger combed the debris out. He sat there afterwards in the quiet darkness of the barracks with his head hanging, hair hiding what the darkness did not of his face, and tried to breathe.

Tried to still the hammering of his heart and the buzzing confusion in his head. He’d drank too much. He should have known, but after a few mugs of the potently sweet festival wine, it had just seemed – appropriate to go with the flow. He hadn’t half as many as Ashe. Ashe downed the wine like water and hardly batted an eye till the last. Ashe, he thought in retrospect, had been a far deal drunker than him.

Which didn’t excuse things. He pulled off his boots and his uniform and flopped down on the bunk in exasperation. He lay there thinking bad thoughts about the prince heir, about betrayals and misplaced trusts. He ran the back of his hand across his lips again, trying to erase the tingle, the ghostly echo of sensation of Ashe’s mouth on his. Ashe’s hands on his back. Ashe’s body – He covered his face with his hands, stifling a sob of denial. Fighting back wetness that crowded at the corners of his eyes. It was wrong. It was immoral. It went against nature. That’s what the priests would say. That’s what Grandfather and Father would say. All their voices hammered at him relentlessly, accusing, condemning, threatening the very state of his soul. And none of it was loud enough to overcome the simple blaring fact that it had felt good.

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