Metal and Flesh (The Rohvim, Book 1)

2.1 Spittoon

“Father!”

“Shh! Do you want your mother to hear you?” The answer surprised Aeden. He had expected the back of his father’s hand. “If she knows you’ve been out alone, you’d be worse off than what I’m going to do to you.”

Aeden flinched. “And what is that?”

The man glared at him. “And what is that…”

Aeden sighed. “And what is that, sir?”

Eyes gleaming, the man rubbed his gloved hands together—odd, Aeden thought, he didn’t wear gloves to bed. Had he been out? But his father’s words snapped his attention back. “I’m sending you to your favorite place tomorrow. As just one more reminder about our deal.”

“Our deal? You mean … the priests?” Aeden sighed again. So his father meant it.

“Oh yes. You’ll go and bring them our share of their stipend, as a reminder of what will await you if you don’t do well at the tournament.” Aeden could see the man study him. “Our family’s honor must be preserved, boy, for reasons you can’t understand yet. But I tell you, if you do well, I will make it worth your while.”

Now what could that mean? Aeden opened his mouth to ask, but his father hadn’t finished.

“But if you do poorly, I swear you’ll rot the rest of your days away in that warm spittoon they call the priesthood. And if you really embarrass me, I’ll send you to live with my father. After he’s done with you there won’t be much of you left to be embarrassed of.”

“Yes, sir.”

The man looked down at Aeden’s dark cloak and scowled. “Where have you been?”

There was no point in lying to him. He’d find out, and if he knew that his son lied to him, there would be little that could contain his fury. “The barracks, sir. To see the lists.”

“I could have told you where you placed. In fact, I had Lord Caldamon put you in the higher age bracket—he owed me a favor. Owes me several favors, in fact. Each time I look the other way when he skimps on his share of the priest’s stipend, he owes me.”

Aeden’s eyes opened incredulously. “You asked for me to be in the older group? But why? I’m good, but I’m not as good as some of those older guys. Lord Emry’s son—he’s twenty-two, and he’s far better than me. And Lord Dydonna’s son—he’s twenty-four, and deadly with a blade. At least in the lower age group I might have won my bracket.”

“Oh stop being a whining fool. Just think of what a shock it’ll be to everyone to find out that even though you were accidentally placed in the older group, that you pulled out a victory. That’s how reputations are made, boy. And how can I trust you with our family’s name in the future if you can’t bring honor to it now?”

“But, I can’t win that bracket…”

“Nonsense. Of course you’ll win it. It turns out that in a few days Lord Dydonna’s son will be called away to the capital city. The rest you can manage,” he lowered his chin, “I assume.”

The lord’s plan started to dawn on Aeden, and he both marveled at its deviousness and felt a little sick. “And Lord Emry’s son?”

The sly smile covered the lord’s face. He ignored the question. “And so your job will be just to win. Win your bracket. Win the tournament—or at least third place. Do this, and you’ll have a trusted place at my side in the years to come. Fail,” he paused, looking down as he ran a finger along a dusty ledge flanking the entryway, “and you’ll have a bright future as Elbeth’s newest priest.”

Aeden looked down at his boots. A small onion peel still clung to the side of the shaft.

“Did anyone see you?”

“Lord Bleak’s son, and a few guardsmen.”

“Good. They’re of no concern. Now, get to bed.” He jabbed a finger upwards, and Aeden took that as his signal to bolt towards the stairs. “And Aeden—” the man glanced up at his son perched on the first step, “do have a little more trust in me. You could have asked me about the lists, you know. I am your father, and I do love you, in spite of what you may think.”

“Yes, father. I know, father,” he lied. He knew no such thing.

The man regarded him for a moment, and dismissed him with a wave. Aeden crept up the rest of the stairs to the third floor and tiptoed to his room, releasing a long sigh as the door creaked shut.