Dynasty of Ghosts by P.L. Nunn

Author:P.L. Nunn [Nunn, P.L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Published: 2012-08-30T22:47:54+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. Sweet gods, it had likened to drown him and he’d wanted to fall into the carnal pleasures of what

Ashe offered and never surface.

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