These characters are mine, all mine!
Appearances
Ridell had never been embarrassed about his body.
He exercised regularly. Enough muscles showed to interest the girls around the castle. His body was a nice height; tall without being imposing. He liked his deep brown eyes, glossy chestnut hair, and friendly grin. The bump in his nose – legacy of the most entertaining bar fight of his nineteen years – added character.
Generally speaking, he was perfectly happy with it.
However, this was not enough to keep the blush from crawling over his face when he found himself naked in the castle kitchen. Right in the middle, where people down both parts of the L-shaped room could see him. Next to the big ovens which were used for baking bread.
He didn’t know where to look. That wasn’t a problem for everyone else in the kitchen. A maid giggled uncontrollably, blushing almost as much as Ridell. The serving boy turning the roast did a double take, then spluttered so hard he fell off his stool. After the first reaction, the other six or seven people pretended to busy themselves with their jobs.
“Oh, no,” Ridell groaned, and shot behind a table, grabbing something on the way to cover himself. Unfortunately, it was a frying pan. Presence of mind overtook him before he could clap the searing hot metal to his nether regions.
There was movement to his right, from the other arm of the L-shape. “Oh, NO.” Cook barrelled towards him, death in her eyes. She tossed him a large teatowel, which he gratefully wrapped around his waist. “I’m sorry, I swear.”
“What did you do?” she demanded.
He raised his hands in protest. “Nothing, nothing! And may I say you look lovely tonight…”
She glared at him, fully aware of the lines etched by fatigue around her eyes, and her efficiently unflattering bun. The whole kitchen staff had been working overtime for the last two days in preparation for the Bonding feast. She planted her feet on the spotless floorboards, absently wiping her already clean hands on the front of her apron.
“Grovelling won’t work this time, Charmer. In the last week,” she ticked off points on her fingers, “you have appeared upside down in a flour sack – lucky for you it was empty, or you would have paid for the wastage; you have appeared in the windowframe,” Ridell shuddered as he remembered that one; the window was ten metres above the ground, and he hated heights, “you have appeared tied to a roasting spit; and now stark naked.”
“And that’s only the ones you know about,” he agreed humbly.
She raised an eyebrow. “So I repeat: what did you do this time?”
“I was only trying to lighten the mood a little – Alinna’s so tense about all this.”
A tall, slender man walked through the doorway to Ridell’s left. He flipped the end of his sleek black queue over his shoulder, and straightened his tunic. “Possibly because it’s her Bonding, attended by crowds of people? Possibly because it’s the most important event in a Weaver’s life?” His voice was light, amused, though his thin nostrils flared in disapproval.
“Trieste!” Ridell cried, relieved. “Could you please…” he gestured at himself. Trieste sighed and made a complicated, elegant, hand movement. A shimmer of light passed over Ridell, leaving a white robe behind it. One of the maids gasped; still new enough to the castle to be fascinated by magic. Ridell blinked. “Couldn’t you think of anything more interesting? You’ve only just Bonded to Evend. It’s not like you don’t have the power to give me nicer clothes.” He belted the robe securely.
“Oaf. You’re lucky I didn’t make you wear a dress,” Trieste shook his head. “Haven’t you learned to leave your sister alone yet?”
“But she’s my siiiiister!” Ridell grinned, playing the part of mischievous rogue to the hilt.
Cook sighed, knowing she’d get nothing more out of him tonight. “You,” she pointed threateningly at Ridell, “owe me a lot of babysitting for this. I should report you to Lerri, but I’m too exhausted.” She swivelled to Trieste. “You – please get him out of here. And please, please, please keep him away from Alinna!”
Trieste nodded acquiescence, and grabbed Ridell by the arm. He turned at the door. “Oh, Aryenna? If you have a moment after the feast, I have news about Morian’s new daughter. He told me to give you all the details on pain of…well, pain. He’s hoping you can make it home for Spring Festival.”
Cook’s tired face softened. “Tell my favourite nephew that I’ll do my best. I’m training Caras to manage the Festival food.” She nodded at the young man stirring stew, trying desperately not to gawk at his superior, the visiting dignitary, and the semi-naked man. “How’s Mory coping with the new students?”
“He said there are a few scoundrels among them, but none worse than I was. And he managed to improve my singing so much that he can teach me from inside the same room now.” They laughed. Ridell pulled unobtrusively on Trieste’s arm, motioning towards the door.
“I’ll try to find you after the Feast clean-up,” Cook promised, then turned back to the kitchen. Their little audience suddenly found urgent tasks to do. The kitchen burst into a flurry of motion as the two men left.
Ridell slung a companionable arm around Trieste’s shoulders as they turned right. The older man twitched uncomfortably. “Thanks for helping me out back there.”
“Any time,” Trieste muttered.
“Come back to my rooms and we can have a drink and a gossip. It’ll be just like when we were at school.”
“We didn’t drink when we were at school.” Trieste said flatly, then had a second thought. “Well, I know I didn’t.”
“You didn’t have a bottle
stashed on you when you took those girls to the tower?”
“How did you know I – you
horrible little boy. You spied on us?”
“Someone had to watch out for
you,” Ridell said gravely, eyes dancing. “And I’ve always been a nosy
bastard.” His hand rubbed absently at his chin.
Trieste folded his arms
defensively. “You deserved that beard. Playing with my shaving things.”
Ridell guffawed. “I got some
funny looks for the next day. A ten-year-old with a bushy black beard! That was
inventive of you. But, well, you looked so serious, trying to shave the two
hairs on your chin.” He opened the door to his rooms and gestured gallantly
for Trieste to enter first.
“True,” Trieste admitted
reluctantly, walking through to the sideboard. He picked up an ornament and
examined it awkwardly.
“I suppose it serves me right
for messing with a magic user,” Ridell grinned, unrepentant. “I haven’t
learned. I shouldn’t piss off a sister who has magic.”
“You really are a masochist, What did you do this time?”
“Drew a portrait of her and Garan kissing, on her wardrobe door.”
Trieste sighed.
Ridell scoffed genially.
“It took her all of two seconds to fix it! She’s too serious. She needs
something to take her mind off all this. She needs something to complain about.
She needs an excuse to come up with inventive methods of retaliation.” He
joined the older man at the sideboard and picked up two glasses.
“So, you’re being
altruistic,” Trieste said sardonically.
Ridell nodded innocently.
“Completely. I’m sacrificing my comfort for her.” He opened the door of
the sideboard to reveal a cluster of bottles, crouched, then reached through and
pressed the right corner of the back wall. It came free to reveal another two
bottles.
“My secret hiding place,” he
explained. He removed one bottle, replaced the false wall, and gestured Trieste
to the overstuffed armchairs in front of the fireplace. With a flourish, he
placed the glasses on the small side table and deftly poured a measure of the
drink. “Be careful with this. I’m still getting the mix right,” he warned.
Trieste took a sip as he sat
down, and lost his footing, sprawling in the armchair and spilling a little down
his front. “Whew!” he gasped, and righted himself. “I’m glad you keep
this stuff hidden. I think my brain is on fire. That’s, that’s, so
strong!”
“Funny you should say that. My
secret supply was responsible for ‘Linna’s best punishment,” Ridell
snickered. He poked at the fire with the tongs, then took his own seat. “A
couple of weeks ago, she had a really bad cold. Couldn’t smell a thing.”
Trieste groaned in horrible
anticipation. “What did you do?”
“Added nearly a whole bottle
of my private stash to her bathwater. She spent the next three hours telling
Garan and me how much she loved us, and composing incredibly bad songs on her
guitar.”
“Oh, no. I hope there was no
one else around?”
“Give me a little credit!
I’m not that cruel. And Garan’s a good sport. He laughed his head off,
though I have a nasty feeling that he helped ‘Linna dream up her revenge.
I’ll say one thing for it – that stuff sure cleans out the sinuses. Once she
got over the headache, she was back to normal the next day.”
“Which wasn’t too good for
you, I imagine.”
Ridell chuckled. “No.”
“What happened?”
“I found myself in a
compromising position in the barn,” Ridell said proudly. “She’s clever,
that one. I’ve tried a lot of things in my short life, but I’m pleased to
say that was the first time I’ve ever been naked with a sheep.” He took a
mouthful of his drink, eyes twinkling over the top of his glass.
“I should think so, too,”
Trieste agreed.
“That wasn’t the worst of it, either. Before I could get myself together, Ranuld came in.”
“The armsmaster? How did he react?”
Ridell nodded. “His jaw dropped, his eyes opened wide, and he said ‘I never, ever, want to hear an explanation for this,’ then he practically ran out the door!”
Trieste raised his glass in a solemn toast. “To no explanations,” then carefully took a sip. “I’m glad to hear that sheep have not been amongst your many conquests,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile.
“You misjudge me, sir!” Ridell laughed. “I’m not as much of a womaniser as people think, you know. I’m lucky enough to enjoy some success with them, yes –”
“An awful lot more than other people,” Trieste said ruefully. “You’re lucky you don’t have a legion of jealous women threatening doom on you and your private parts.”
“I’ve never bedded a woman unless she was willing and fully aware that I wasn’t in love with her. Life’s too short for confusions like that. I’m not in love with anyone.”
“I’ve seen you looking at that pretty little healer. Vae, isn’t it?”
“Zae.” Ridell corrected him automatically, then rolled his eyes. “I just gave myself away. All right, I might be interested. But thoughts of her don’t occupy my every waking moment. I’m not obsessing over someone I might have had.”
Trieste sighed, and all the air seemed to go out of his shoulders. He slumped back in his chair. “You know, don’t you.”
“I do indeed. You’re still in love with ‘Linna. I’d have to be blind, deaf, stupid, and constantly drunk to miss it. And I’ll only admit to ‘stupid’ and ‘drunk’.” He patted Trieste amiably on the arm, “You’ve been walking around as if someone stuck a carrot up your rear end.” Trieste winced at the vulgarity. “And it was your last carrot, and your mother gave it to you on her deathbed, and it was your only friend growing up-”
Trieste raised a hand in protest. “All right! I get your point.” He paused for a moment, staring into the fire. “I’ll… cope. I like Garan well enough, I suppose. He seems to treat her well.” It was part regret, part unconscious warning.
“Garan’s a good person,” Ridell said decisively. “And thankfully, he’s too besotted with Alinna, and too busy with preparations, to see that you’re behaving like a lovesick child.”
Trieste winced at the gentle admonition. He said quietly, “I just always thought we’d end up together. And now that she’s going to be Bonded to – him – and to this land, I know we won’t. It all seems so final.”
“If it helps at all, she’s very happy. And very much in love. We talk sometimes.”
“It helps, I suppose.” Trieste stood, unable to keep still any longer. He paced, running his fingers through his hair. “At least I know there’s no chance that she’ll come running into my arms. It was easier before. I could pretend that Evend, and Eralle, were enough. Of course, I knew it was going to happen, but it’s still an amazing honour to be Called to Bond with Evend; with my home.”
“What about Eralle?”
“She’s nice. Pretty. Beautiful, even. But she’s not Alinna. I love her as a friend, but I don’t think we’ll ever be anything more than that.”
“You never asked ‘Linna to go to the tower, did you,” Ridell said softly, eyes intent on Trieste’s face.
“No.”
“Why?”
He sighed. “I guess I was afraid she’d say no.”
They sat in silence for a while, sipping their drinks, lost in thought.
“Ridell?”
“Yes?”
“Did she ever love me?” He didn’t look up.
“No,” Ridell lied smoothly, compassionately, “No, she didn’t.”
