Blood of Dragons
Page 69

And assured himself that despite his hardships, he hadn’t really been hurt. Some bruises and cuts. Some hunger. He had suffered only the utter humiliation of living at the man’s beck and call. Only the complete destruction of his good name among those Traders imprisoned aboard the vessel. Only the death of his lover and his forced participation in concealing the murder. He tried not to let his thoughts dwell on the greater impact of the terrible things that had befallen him. Sometimes, his thoughts strayed to his father and mother; did they yet know he was missing? Had they taken action, offered rewards, sent out birds hiring searchers? Or would his father grumpily assume that Hest was deliberately out of contact, having taken his lover along on his trip to the Rain Wilds? Probably the latter, he admitted to himself. He could not even dream of escaping and returning to Bingtown. This would follow him for the rest of his life unless he could find some way to redeem himself.
Hest gritted his teeth and wrung out the shirt. It was a chill and blustery day. He had started the washing with hot water, but the wind had quickly cooled it. It was one of his own shirts, he’d noted with grim silence, appropriated by the Chalcedean, as had been most of his possessions. He wore Hest’s fur-lined cloak out onto the deck even in pouring rain, while Hest shivered in his shirt-sleeves as he went about his tasks. He had never so hated a man as he hated the Chalcedean. He hated, too, the moments in which he wondered if this was how Sedric had sometimes felt about him, when he had indulged in utter domination of the younger man. As the boat bore him on, ever closer to a possible reunion with Sedric, he found his feelings about him were in turmoil. When he slept on the wooden planks that floored his cargo compartment, it was hard not to recall how the young man had once been eager to assure every aspect of Hest’s comfort. He would have gently rubbed Hest’s aching shoulders and back, and exclaimed in horror over Hest’s ruined hands. Sedric’s devotion to him had actually begun to grate on Hest toward the end of their relationship. He recalled now how deliberately he had challenged his affection, trampling on Sedric’s sentimental gestures, turning his tender advances into rough encounters and mocking his efforts to discover how he had displeased his lover. At the time, it had all been so amusing, and Redding’s suggestions as to how he might test his lover’s ardour had resulted in many anecdotes that he had later used to regale Redding and stimulate his rivalry with Sedric. How they had laughed together during their early assignations. With his clever tongue, how Redding had mocked Sedric’s gullibility and trusting nature!
And yet, despite all of Sedric’s declarations of devotion, he was responsible for this disaster. It was all Sedric’s fault that he had been reduced to scrubbing out someone else’s laundry, his life daily endangered and his reputation as a Bingtown Trader in tatters. In the dark hold at night, during the hours when he had the most leisure to pity himself, Hest sometimes imagined the poignancy of a possible reunion. When Sedric looked at his friend and benefactor and saw him bruised and thin, worn with hardship and unjust imprisonment, would he then realize how badly he had wronged Hest? Would he grasp the magnitude of the evil he had done with his pathetic efforts to become a Trader in his own right? Would he, perhaps, risk his own life to save Hest’s? Or would he turn aside selfishly and leave him to his fate?
Sometimes Hest played through the possible outcomes in his mind. Sedric risking his life to save him, and Hest magnanimously welcoming him back into his life. Sometimes he ground his teeth in fury as he imagined Sedric rejoicing at the mischief he had done. But perhaps Sedric himself was already dead, the victim of his own foolishness. It was certainly the fate he hoped had befallen Alise!
At other times, when bitterness and desolation weighed him down most heavily, he simply hoped he would die quickly. He had no illusions as to why the Chalcedean had preserved his life and those of the other Bingtown Traders. ‘Having a few valuable hostages is always a nice bit of security,’ the man had told him as Hest waited for him to finish eating one evening. ‘We’ve no idea what we’ll encounter when we come back past Trehaug. Hostages may buy us safe passage. The only ones we have taken are those with the misfortune to have been on board our ship, and those Traders who had agreed to help us obtain dragon parts for the Duke. Since they broke their word to us, they deserved to come with us and aid us however they may in getting what they promised us. But even if they are useless at that, hostages can be offered for ransom from Chalced once we are home again. Waste not, want not.’
And then, just as Hest was reflecting that his mother, at least, would pay handsomely for his return, the man added, ‘But don’t think of becoming more trouble than you’re worth. Right now, you are useful. Continue in that role, and I’ll continue to spare your life. Become any sort of a nuisance, and I won’t.’