Chapter Forty-Two: Wild Places

Osmund learned a number of popular Meskato traveling songs that day. As a general rule, they tended to revolve around the praiseworthy qualities, and, well, endowments, of lovers waiting for the singer at journey’s end.

To name a few, there was Emine with her soft voice and pillowy bosom; Bahar who would serve you your bread and then service you with her clever mouth if you gave her a few extra coins (Osmund thought this one was a bit rude); and Ayşe, who acted modest and shy but also had a really big butt, which was presented as a conflicting trait for some reason. The ladies of the group countered with their own lay about a soldier with a legendary rod unable to find sufficiently modest trousers. Osmund didn’t know any of these bawdy verses, and tried not to seem scandalized.

Then Cemil addressed the company. “Ada!” he cried, and the others immediately launched into another tune. Curious, Osmund listened along. Soon he was blushing furiously and avoiding the snickering gazes of the others.

In short, the titular “Ada” was a blonde Tolmishwoman with a bottomless appetite for carnal delights!

“She never refuses, she never complains, o Ada! ‘Lift me up and keep me, soldier, hold me ’til I’ve had my fill!’”

It wasn’t until they stopped to water the horses and take a couple moments’ rest that Osmund could even look Cemil in the eye. “You are so shameless!” he huffed, putting up at least a show of dismay.

Cemil had the gall to sound innocent, even while grinning broadly. “Do you take offense at our music?”

Osmund gave him a stern look and hid his red cheeks by bending down to scoop some water from the running stream. They’d chosen a private, shaded place away from the others. That, or maybe everyone had considered the lyrics and were afraid to come close! “‘Ada’,” he griped under his breath. “Outrageous.”

“Did you think that song was about you?” The Meskato prince was still playing coy, even while one hand tracked slowly down Osmund’s back. (Osmund tried to ignore its looming mischief, or at least tried to pretend to ignore it.) “Does that mean you never refuse or complain?”

Osmund wasn’t going to take the bait, but then that wandering hand found its way to his rear end and squeezed. He yelped aloud and actually dropped his waterskin, sloshing its contents onto the ground. “Cemil!”

“Sounds like you’re complaining,” Cemil pointed out, more frustrating than ever.

Osmund straightened his back with every intention of giving that frisky man a piece of his mind, but as soon as he forced himself to actually look at Cemil—his loose hair tumbled across his face, the extra color in his cheeks from all their hours in the sun—his resolve crumbled into dust.

Pretense forgotten, he all but pounced on the Meskato prince.

Cemil’s little noise of surprise was satisfying as Osmund shoved their tongues together, but he matched his enthusiasm quickly. They hadn’t been kissing long when Osmund felt pressure around his thighs and the sensation of being lifted off the ground. He wrapped his legs—muddy boots and all—around Cemil’s waist, and this time, when he felt a warm hand palming his backside, he moaned into the other man’s mouth.

Try as he might to deny it, maybe the character Ada in the song wasn’t so unrelatable.

Stray bits of sense filtered their way in after a few frenzied minutes. They couldn’t do this, whatever this was, here. “We have to get back,” he managed in a breath of air.

Cemil’s head dropped to Osmund’s shoulder. He inhaled deeply, like Osmund didn’t smell of dirt and sweat and horse. “They’ll wait as long as I want them to,” he murmured into the fabric of his shirt.

Osmund wasn’t sure whether it was possible to actually die of unfulfilled lust, but he felt he might be dangerously close to finding out. Thoughts of being discovered out here in the open grew distant and unimportant; by contrast, these layers of clothing between them seemed like obstacles devised by demons.

That was when his stomach growled. Loudly.

Cemil pulled back, regarding him with concern. “Have you not eaten?”

There was something so charming and earnest in his change in demeanor. The mood broken, Osmund laughed and leaned down to kiss the bridge of his nose. Then once more, after the first wasn’t enough. Cemil endured the treatment with a frown, still waiting for his answer.

“I have fruit in my bag once we’re back at the horses,” Osmund promised. Sometimes he didn’t even remember his hunger until it edged on intolerable, thanks to his time spent penniless in Şebyan. On a whim, he reached out and flicked at Cemil’s long bangs. It was rare to be able to look down on him like this. “You’re greying,” he lied.

“What?!”

“No, but you are very vain!”

Cemil made a show of dropping him back down on the ground, although he deserved a bit of grief after how much he’d tormented Osmund today. Even with his feet touching the earth, the Tolmishman felt light as a feather. When Cemil turned away, he returned one last favor with a slap on the bum.

At the Meskato prince’s momentary expression of bewilderment, he simply said, “You put me down before I had my fill! Try and remember your culture’s own verses.” And he hurried back towards the horses before Cemil could steal the last word from him.

By daybreak, they were exiting Anshan territory and had re-joined the main road. Only about an hour ahead was the next crossing, if Osmund remembered correctly. A bath and a proper dinner would be nice, but it was the bed—and all the privacy of a prince’s room—that he was really looking forward to.

He lost himself in the daydream for a while, enjoying the warm sun and the gentle sway of being on horseback, but then the company around him pulled to a halt.

Osmund wiggled on Banu to try and get a good look. They were at a great bridge over a wide ravine—or rather, where the bridge from Osmund’s memory should have been. What remained was charred wood and a steep drop into a raging river. Civil engineers were busy at the site. Great mounds of stone were being hauled off of ox-drawn carts.

Cemil was already off Anaya, speaking with the workers. Lala Muharrem dismounted with him. They spent several minutes in heated discussion.

The soldiers started muttering amongst themselves. Almost at once, Osmund learned that there were two options available: a second bridge to the south over unfriendly terrain which would greatly prolong their journey, and a third to the north through a well-stocked travelers’ crossing.

Whatever conversation Cemil was having with his mentor, it was causing his face to become graver or graver. “We’ll use Tafkan Crossing to the north,” he said at last to those assembled as he re-mounted Anaya. “Prepare to ride into the evening.”

Though this setback dampened everyone’s’ spirits, there were relieved sighs from the soldiers and mercs all around. Not surprisingly, few among them had wanted the longer, harder journey south. It seemed in fact like the only logical choice. So why was Cemil wearing such an expression?

Osmund usually tried to respect Cemil’s need for professional distance while they were riding in formation, but he decided to ask anyway. He spurred Banu up alongside Anaya. “Hi,” he said to announce himself. No one was close enough to overhear, but he spoke in quiet tones all the same. “Are you alright? What’s wrong?”

Cemil twisted in the saddle as if he had somehow snuck up on him. “Oh, Osmund. There’s no need to worry,” he said quickly, which failed to be reassuring. “It’ll be a quick detour.”

“I don’t mind that. But what did you hear?”

The Meskato prince was still expending a lot of effort to appear unconcerned. “Probably nothing more than rumors,” he answered dismissively. “The architects claimed to see another imperial company headed this direction.”

Osmund blinked, mind working. “A second army? Could it be the emperor?”

“My father rarely leaves the palace,” Cemil said tightly. “Far more likely would be my oldest brother Bayram, who governs this territory.”

Now the reason for his dismay was crystal clear. Osmund went rigid in the saddle. “But—” His volume had increased. Controlling his voice again, he asked in an urgent hush, “isn’t he one of the ones who’s sent assassins after you?”

“Even if we were to encounter Bayram or Safet,” Cemil began, listing his usual suspects and sounding as though he were saying this to convince Osmund and himself, “neither can order their imperial soldiers to attack another company. We are all my father’s servants. It would be treason punishable by death.”

“But he still wants you out of the way! It’s not safe.”

Osmund didn’t even know what he was trying to accomplish by arguing. It was no simple thing to change course with so many mounted soldiers all eager for home. “It’ll be a quick stop for the night,” Cemil said firmly. “Nothing more. My brother and I can act civil to each other for one afternoon. He must be hunting the rebels who destroyed the bridge.”

Rebels. Osmund had heard words like that from time to time, always lurking on the edges of conversation like shadows. Perhaps this word referred to people like Emre. Neither he nor Cemil acknowledged what it meant if rebels weren’t responsible.

Anyway, Cemil didn’t ask him to fall back in the column, and he seemed grateful for the company if his stray comments on the conditions of the road were anything to go by. Though Osmund was tired and ready to turn in for the evening, it was a pleasant ride. Hours passed in happy companionship. A tree-capped mountain range was coming into view the further they rode, a mystical sight in the purple hues of the sky. It was almost enough to forget that every step brought them potentially closer to danger.

“Is there anything interesting in this area?” Osmund asked to pass the time (and hopefully provide them both a distraction). “How about those mountains?”

Cemil considered the question a moment. “There’s a fairy pond on one peak that’s supposed to be very beautiful.”

“Oh! That sounds lovely.”

“It’s said that nothing can escape the water’s pull,” Cemil continued, with the air of someone telling a fanciful story. “The moment one dips beneath the surface, their soul is scattered to the winds, and their body sinks like a stone.”

Of course it had to have such a grim twist! Osmund shuddered. “Horrible. Why would the fairies do that?”

Cemil offered him a little smile. “Apparently, they like a good show.”

Needless to say, this wasn’t doing a whole lot to put Osmund’s mind at ease. Though, he felt something else too. There’s something nice, he thought, about knowing that this world has so many wild places. “I’d like to see more of the empire someday,” Osmund said offhandedly. “When we’re not so busy.”

He’d thrown the out the “we” while truly not thinking anything of it. But then Cemil mused, “Hmm. Perhaps someday there’ll be time for us to travel.”

Osmund was just about to ask what that meant—did Cemil mean they should take a trip together?—and the underlying question beneath it, which was, what were they to each other, anyway?—

But then, calls came from the riders behind them. The bridge was in sight.