Balin could feel the last threads of his control unravel. The way Damir kissed him was his undoing. It had always been his undoing. He finally allowed Damir to rock his hips into the welcomed embrace of his fist.
They moved with urgency, with desperation as their emotions became uncapped and spilled past their lips. Damir kissed Balin, a fervent light around him.
Damir reached down with one hand and wrapped it around Balin’s hand.
“You feel so good,” Balin murmured against Damir’s mouth. “So fucking good. Don’t want to stop, ever.”
Damir shook his head and let out a whimpered moan. Balin shivered at the sound. The need to come had never been so strong.
Balin shifted, let go, and grabbed on to Damir with a bruising hold. Their cocks rubbed together as Damir bounced in his lap. His calloused fingers glided over hot flesh, pulling and squeezing.
Balin’s mind felt white. He couldn’t think clearly, couldn’t think of anything beyond his climax.
Balin could feel it in his toes and in the follicles of his hair. He was so close he could taste it. He held on to the ledge for just a little longer. He wanted to watch as he pushed Damir over the edge.
Balin gave a final twist of his hand, and Damir threw his head back, crying out as he came. Cum splashed over Balin’s hand and across their stomachs. Balin kept a firm hold on their cocks, thrusting up as a groan rumbled through him. It felt like his equilibrium had been shattered. An orgasm rocketed through Balin and wrung him dry.
They collapsed onto the bed, exhausted and sticky. Panting, Damir rolled off and shifted next to Balin. He rested his head on Balin’s chest, still glowing as he drifted off to sleep.
* * * *
Damir stared up at Emperor Folken, still feeling as small as he had yesterday. There was tiredness in the king’s eyes, a look Damir was all too familiar with. It was the weariness of a world turned black. Too much loss, too much strength. Even the strongest men could break under the weight of the world.
When they had woken up that morning, Balin and Damir had been welcomed by the sight of a wholesome breakfast and a hot bath. Damir had a feeling it was a parting gift, a final farewell.
“There is nothing else I can do for you. I have exhausted all my resources already on you, Brother,” Emperor Folken said from his throne. Balin didn’t respond. He kept his gaze straight ahead.
Emperor Folken shook his head and waved his hand toward a servant who hovered to the side. She held a gold tray out, a letter with the royal insignia resting on top. Balin picked up the letter and observed it briefly before lifting his gaze to his brother.
“I may not be able to do anything, but King Auric will. Take this letter. It will grant you an audience with him,” Emperor Folken said. Damir looked over at Balin, a silent question in his gaze.
They would head to Kalrune, the very country that had inadvertently set in motion their voyage. If not for the war between Pheor and Kalrune, if not for General Gaius and King Vasilis, if not for Damir’s birthright, Elina would be alive and all of them back on the farm.
Balin nodded.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Damir said with a gracious bow of his head.
“And Brother,” Emperor Folken said. His voice boomed in the throne room. Balin jerked his head up to hold his brother’s stare. “You gave up the throne when you abandoned your country, your family. If you return here, I will have you executed.”
Balin turned his back on his brother. Damir knew he would not, could not return. Damir brushed his hand against the top of Balin’s. Balin glanced at him.
Damir would never let Balin be alone. They had lost everything, but their lives had only just begun.
Chapter Nineteen
Brawl at the Ruby Parrot
Balin stood in front of a grave marked by a large sculpture of a voluptuous angel, her marble wings spread out and her arms stretched skyward. Balin crouched down and brushed aside some sand on the name plate. Etched in a solid gold plate was the name:
Rhianna Evangeline Leo de Cor.
A weary smile tugged at Balin’s lips. He wished he had thought to bring flowers. He set his hand gently on the marker. There were nights he still dreamed of her, dreamed of that awful moment. He could see her long black hair, which gleamed like onyx when caught in the light. Her smile had burned brighter than the sunshine. She would have made a wonderful empress.
Maybe Damir wasn’t the only one with a sister complex, Balin mirthlessly thought to himself. He sighed and rose to his feet.
“We can stay longer if you want,” Damir offered. He’d found a bench beneath the shade of a tree while he waited for Balin to pay his respects.
Balin shook his head. “There is nothing left here but bones and memories.”
Damir picked up his bag and rose to his feet. “Then shall we go? We have to find a way to Kalrune.”
“Zephyr should be in the city somewhere, no doubt the taverns. We’ll check the stadium and see if
Bahamut
is still there,” Balin replied. He took his own bag, which sat at Damir’s feet.
“Lead the way.”
There were more taverns and bars in Eyrie than Balin could count on his hands. A cool wind cut through the graveyard, caressed Balin’s cheeks in a familiar brush. He turned once more to study the angelic gravestone. A smile ghosted along his lips.
“Are you coming?” Damir asked as he walked ahead of Balin.
“Yes,” Balin said as he caught up with Damir.
They returned to the city, which teemed with life. While Canaan had been lively in a homey sense, Eyrie was an exotic wonder. Vendors sold everything from the strange and wonderful to the frightening and grotesque. The aromatic scents of cumin and charred lamb permeated the streets, which were filled with the fleshy bodies of its citizens. Balin inhaled deeply. He loved lamb kabobs and was half tempted to stop Damir so they could purchase some, but he knew they had little time to waste.
Damir pulled his hood over his head as they walked to the air stadium. Balin reached out instinctively to take Damir’s hand. The last thing he wanted was to lose him in the fray.
A flood of people poured out of the air stadium as Damir and Balin approached. A cold blast of air hit Balin when they walked in. Damir let out a contented sigh beside him. He knew Damir would welcome the cooler air.
“Come on.” Balin jerked his head toward the gates. It didn’t take much to walk through them. With as many people as there were bustling around, no one noticed them slipping by without a pass.
Bahamut
rested in the same dock they had left it in. Balin walked up the ramp to the massive ship and entered without a second thought. Damir hesitated for a moment before following him.
They walked to the cockpit, hoping to find Zephyr. Cessna looked up from the control panel and smiled, surprise lighting her bright brown eyes.
“Hey, what are you guys doing here?”
“Where’s Zephyr?” Balin asked.
“Captain headed into town, something about treasure or a map. Maybe it was booze; not sure, honestly. He went to the Ruby Parrot, though. Ramiro is with him.”
“Thanks, Ces,” Balin said. “We’re going to leave our things here.”
Cessna waved her hand dismissively. Balin and Damir set their respective bags down and left the cockpit. Damir turned to Balin and asked, “Do you know where that place is?”
“If it’s the place I’m thinking of, it should be located on the upper east side. We’ll take a rickshaw,” Balin answered. Once outside, he waved down a driver. They climbed onto the bright red rickshaw, a cream canopy casting a cool shadow over their heads.
“Do you think he’ll help us again?” Damir inquired in a low voice.
Balin couldn’t be sure what Zephyr would do. He had extended a kind hand once in trade for some extra help, but who was to say he’d do it again? If Balin knew one thing, Zephyr never did anything he didn’t want to, especially when it didn’t benefit him in some way.
Balin wanted to pull Damir close. He kept his hand firmly at his side, though it took all his strength. They’d started making progress last night; he wanted to keep it that way. No rushing.
“Yes. Zephyr is a good man, even if he doesn’t always seem it. A better man than I,” Balin assured him.
Damir set his hand gently on Balin’s bicep. He squeezed encouragingly and said, “You are a good man, Balin.”
Balin snorted in disbelief. He was many things, good not being one of them. Ghosts did not haunt the saintly. He didn’t argue, though. He just smiled and watched his homeland pass by as they rode along.
The Ruby Parrot was along the edge of the city, where the streets rose high at a slant and looked out over a man-made stream that trickled along the edge of the city. The water ran clear and babbled beneath a stone bridge. The rickshaw driver pulled them over the bridge and stopped in front of a tavern.
Balin paid the driver and looked up. A red sign hung above it in the shape of a great macaw, one of the native birds of Terrasolis. Balin opened the door and was greeted by the ruckus of a hundred brawling men. Damir stepped up behind him and shouted in his ear.
“What is going on?”
“I don’t know— Watch it!” he yelled and pulled Damir down. A glass flew over their heads and crashed in the street.
The bar was in an uproar. At any moment, Balin was sure the guards would come around the corner. They needed to move fast if they wanted to get out of there. The last thing Balin wanted was another confrontation with his brother.
“Stay out here,” Balin said to Damir. He entered the bar, followed closely by Damir. Balin bit back a sigh. Of course he wouldn’t listen. He looked around the writhing mob of men. Another glass flew at his head.
Damir sidestepped a fist. They weren’t even looking at who they fought. It was a mad pulse of adrenaline. Balin felt it march along his skin, tickle his primal senses. This was his element, the ruthless grit of society.
“Over there!” Damir tugged at Balin’s arm and pointed.
Zephyr was a slippery man. He didn’t fight so much as dodge and run. He was like the wind, incapable of being caught. He slipped past the fighting melee and glided through the crowd. Ramiro fought behind him with deadly accuracy. His limbs cut through the air and struck a man beside him, sending him to the floor with a single blow.
Balin elbowed his way through the crowd. Someone clipped him hard in the jaw. His head cracked back.
“Cythra’s tits!” Balin cursed.
Damir let out a pained gasp and grabbed his stomach. Balin released a low growl and let his fists fly. Bodies crumpled against the fury of his attack. He held nothing back as knuckles connected with bone. Anyone that had the misfortune of coming upon him was cut down. Balin paved his pathway to Zephyr with bodies.
Balin grabbed Zephyr by the arm, startling the man, and snarled, “Come on!”
Damir called out over the roar, “Hurry up!”
“Ramiro!” Balin shouted to the other man and swung his arm high. Ramiro delivered a final blow to a behemoth of a man with a swift swing of his leg. His foot cracked against the man’s skull. Chairs crashed to the floor and snapped beneath the man’s body as he fell.
Balin stumbled outside, pushing Damir in front of him and hurling Zephyr out into the street. Zephyr grinned impishly as he stumbled. He straightened his disheveled clothes.
“I didn’t expect to see you here. What, couldn’t keep away from me?”
“Shut up, you fool. Let’s get out of here before the guards have your neck!” Balin barked.
Zephyr chuckled. Ramiro spilled out of the bar just then, and Zephyr took them down a winding path of back roads, away from the main street where the guards and an audience had gathered.
“What was that?” Damir asked as they doubled around and headed south again toward the air stadium.
Zephyr carded his hands through his unruly hair. Ramiro removed a kerchief from his pocket and wiped blood from his lip. Zephyr had managed—to no surprise of Balin’s—to leave the Ruby Parrot without so much as a scratch. Even Damir still nursed his stomach.
“I had some business to attend to,” Zephyr replied. He clasped his hands behind his head as he walked, fingers threaded together.
“And that caused a riot?” Damir asked.
“It does when you need a distraction.” Zephyr grinned at Damir.
“You’re a fool,” Balin said. He promptly clipped Zephyr in the ear, earning a yowl of pain.
“Israel will not be pleased,” Ramiro said. He folded the bloodied kerchief and tucked it away. He was dressed again in a three-piece suit, this time with a royal-blue frock coat that offset his misty eyes.
“He’ll be pissed. You were better off with the guards,” Balin said amusedly.
“You let me deal with Israel,” Zephyr grumbled. Balin thought he heard a hint of trepidation in Zephyr’s voice. He smiled to himself.
WHEN THEY ALL returned to
Bahamut
, they found Israel in the cockpit with Cessna and Allen, a forgettable man with no defining characteristics. Israel set his hands on his hips as he took in Zephyr’s sheepish expression and Ramiro’s bloody lip.
Israel let out an exasperated sigh. “I hope you two didn’t stir up too much trouble. We aren’t set to leave yet, and we don’t need you making waves, Zeph.”
“Me? Cause problems?” Zephyr’s eyes grew impossibly wide. Israel cast him a doubtful look. Zephyr walked past him and grumbled, “You know, I’m supposed to be the captain. Not you.”
“I’m not the one who nearly gets us killed every other day.”
“It isn’t every other day. It’s usually only once a week!” Zephyr retaliated. He drew out the map from his pocket and set it out over the navigation panel. “Look, I got what we needed.”
“What is that?” Damir craned to look around Zephyr’s wide shoulders. The old, creased map was tinged a shade of brown and worn down the center from where it had been folded many times.
Zephyr smoothed his hands over it. His fingers stroked the map with a reverence that most held for a lover. “This is the map of the Ice Fields of Netherlune. More specifically, this is the map that will lead me to the fabled Staff of Metatron.”
“I’ve never heard of it,” Damir said. He’d never heard of the Ice Fields of Netherlune or the Staff of Metatron, but he wasn’t about to admit his ignorance on Zoria’s geography. The world had never seemed so large before. He had never gone beyond Canaan, and now he had not only left his country, but he had begun to hop from one to the next.