Chapter Text
Snakeskin
Chapter 1 (Damianos)
Damen's boots sank down deep into the snow with a satisfying crunch, and he felt the insidious wet cold begin to seep through the leathers and caress his toes. Though the weather was miserable whenever it managed to get through his layers of leathers and furs, he could never cease to be amazed by the white, icy beauty of the forests of Vere.
These hinterlands in the center of the country were currently beset with ankle-deep snow on the ground and in the wiry, bare branches of the trees. The lakes and rivers had frozen over with blue ice several inches thick, and Damen enjoyed exhaling to see his breath come out in sensuous white curls, like a fire-breathing dragon of legend. Damen could ignore the freezing temperatures in the face of such ethereal beauty.
His companions were disinclined to agree.
Nikandros sat astride his dappled horse, looking thoroughly miserable even with the lush gray wolf fur at his throat; never did a word of complaint slip past his teeth, but his trembling hands and chattering teeth more than gave away his discomfort. Pallas and Lydos were sweet and accommodating, only moving in place to heat themselves up. Aktis was the only one who had the heat left to complain, which he did jokingly, if frequently. Not a single place in Akielos could boast snow, and the group's collective dark skin belied their usually balmy lifestyles.
Damen scooped up one more handful of freezing cold water from the unfrozen stream, feeling his stomach ice over. If he was not in such a hurry, he might have basked in this snowy grove for a while longer.
"E-Exalted One." Nikandros, who was overly fond of nagging, gripped his reins tight to hide his annoyance. "Night sets in early during the winters here. We must make haste to find an inn before darkness falls. We would be at a disadvantage wandering about in the dead of night."
The other three shuddered at the very thought, and Damen snorted, wiping the excess water from his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Duly noted, Nikandros."
If he so chose, they would wait for him due to the honor and love they bore him as the blood prince of Akielos, but he did not wish his loyal companions to freeze to death and besides, he had a mission to complete. Silently he slid on the fleece-lined gloves they had purchased at the border and retraced his steps back to his black charger. With ease, he remounted and could almost feel the sighs of relief rippling off of his four companions.
Back on the single road that wound through the forest, it did not take the five of them long before they reached a town. It was barely large enough to be called a town, but it had a main square, a derelict stone manor of some long-forgotten lord, and a small tavern with an inn on the second floor, probably for the benefit of merchants passing through the heart of the country to the border. Though their skin color and size raised a few eyebrows amongst the fair, slender Veretians, the five newcomers to town were simply accepted as another group passing through on a journey to a more populated destination.
Nikandros had been right to insist on them moving on, as the sun had already set by the time they dismounted their horses and paid the skinny stable boy a copper coin to stable their horses in the barn behind the inn. Aktis waxed poetic in anticipation of a fire and warm food.
Like a thousand other taverns across the four kingdoms, the inside was clean, if sparsely decorated, with a roaring fire in the hearth and a half-dozen old wooden tables set up across the room to accommodate travelers and local gossips. Of course, the innkeepers' stout wife stood behind the polished wooden bar, simultaneously taking orders while making food and pouring drinks, while her plain-faced daughter delivered the steaming plates and exchanged witty banter with customers. There were several glances at the new arrivals, but for the most part, it was comfortable in its' familiarity.
The innkeeper looked Damen up and down, and only his years of seeing all sorts come through the town kept the shock from showing on his face. Damen smiled; he knew he was tall, even by Akielon standards.
"Can…I help you?" He spoke slowly in anticipation that they did not speak the Veretian language.
This suited them all the better.
Damen and Nikandros were fluent in Veretian, but the others only spoke a few phrases with a strong Akielon accent. It would probably help them overhear gossip if people underestimated their intelligence, so Damen fully intended to speak as if he only understood a little.
"Traveling." He said simply, making his accent harsher than it normally was. "Need stay night. One night and food…and horses."
The innkeeper nodded, gesturing wildly to various points around the room. "One night, this much." He helpfully held up two fingers: two silvers for five people. "My wife, make food and give you. Give horses food tonight, ok?" Damen nodded, just as amused as he was thankful for the abundance of help. Nikandros forked over the coins, and the innkeeper took note with his eyes though he took pains not to look interested. "Please sit."
There was a dull echo of ‘Akielon' or ‘Akielos' in murmured Veretian as the five of them made their way to an empty table close to the fire.
From that point, they needed no excuse to strip of layers and warm themselves with the pleasant heat inside.
First, Damen removed his thick cloak. Such a thing was useless in a place as far south as his home in Ios, but for Vere, he had purchased it at the border; it was lush and velvety on the inner lining so that it would insulate the wearer, and the hood and nape were lined with gray wolf pelt. Then came the inner coat, tight and fitted in the Veretian style and made of fleece-lined leather. The boots too were lined with fur, but with rabbit, and Damen's hands were clumsy with the laces. In the end, he was left in fitted wool pants and a warm woolen undershirt, scandalously letting the laces hang slack, exposing a deep V-shaped chunk of his dark chest. All of these garments, save the undershirt, which was embroidered with red thread, were black.
The serving girl seemed a little hesitant to approach the undressing group of barbarians, but she took in the apparent quality of their clothing and perhaps decided a good tip would be worth overcoming her discomfort.
Damen made sure to smile warmly at her when she approached.
"What would you like to drink?" She asked, eyes flicking to everyone in the group, sizing them up. Her eyes widened when Damen translated for the benefit of Pallas, Lydos, and Aktis.
"Wine please," Damen responded.
When she returned, it was with a bottle of sharp, spiced wine and bowls of what looked to be boar stew, as well as half a loaf of brown peasant's bread and a small pat of deep yellow butter. It was a far cry from the meals he was used to, but Damen was not the type to scoff in the face of a warm meal, and he and his companions dug in with gusto.
So deep in the heart of Vere, the five of them felt at leisure to chatter in Akielon as they wished without fear of being overheard.
"Should we check the market tomorrow morning?" Pallas asked, his cheeks full of bread. "Even out here in the countryside, there might be a beauty or two hidden away."
"I had hoped to get as far as Arles in the next fortnight," Nikandros said. "More people, more options and with the palace there, I'm sure the beautiful people flock there to make their fortunes and hopefully find themselves with a rich patron."
Damen nodded at both of their good opinions. He valued their companionship for this. "I understand. I'd prefer to leave no stone unturned. Perhaps we should ask the innkeeper if there are any beauties hereabouts."
"He might recommend his daughter," Aktis said in mean-spirited jest.
Pallas was quick to defend, as sweet as he was. "Don't be cruel Aktis. She wouldn't be amiss in looks if she were to gain a bit of weight and wear a more flattering color." Damen snorted; Pallas could personally only find attraction in men, so it was a bit ironic that he was defending a woman's looks.
"Black suits everyone ill." Lydos agreed. "I have never seen a black garment in Akielos, and now we find an entire country of people who wear no other color."
Damen was inclined to agree. In Akielos people wore silks and cotton in the most vibrant shades of sea teal, wine-dark red, indigo, purple, white, and yellow, as widely varied as the flowers that bloomed in the fields outside of Ios. He knew the Veretians were also fond of jewel tones in their tight clothes he also knew was a reason for the abundance of black. "Have some care, Lydos." He cautioned gently between a sip of the house wine. "They wear black for the sake of mourning. Their only remaining prince of the blood has gone missing and is presumed dead. The entire country is grieving his loss."
Lydos and Aktis curbed their mocking talk after this pronouncement, and Pallas solemnly inquired as to the circumstances of the prince's disappearance.
Damen knew the basics of Vere's royal family simply from diplomats of Vere in his own court. Though they kept trade open, mostly the ruling classes of the four kingdoms kept to themselves. Damen had actually never met the only surviving prince, as his uncle ruled as regent until the prince came of age; the uncle Damen had met once or twice, and he struck Damen as a charming but calculating fellow. The previous king had died from sadness and shock upon hearing news of the death of his eldest son some six years before. A freak hunting accident, they said, a poorly aimed spear.
The rest Damen had heard from gossip at the border.
Prince Laurent, nineteen and proud and beautiful, had only been a few months from his ascension when scandal struck. A servant late in the night had gone to stoke the fire in the prince's rooms when signs a struggle had been discovered. A broken lock, bloody sheets, a window left ajar…And the prince missing along with some members of his own guard. Foul play was highly suspected in such a court, which some said was filled with vipers.
"Though they have been searching for the better part of a month, they have yet to find him," Damen admitted, tearing a chunk from a piece of bread. "Many speculate that it was his own captain that made off with him."
A few quick glances at Nikandros, and he was grimacing at the thought of such a betrayal. For someone as noble and loyal as he was, the thought of it was enough to make him fret the rest of the evening.
"It's like something out of a story," Aktis replied, sobered by the entire tale. "I can only help but wonder what happened to him." The rest of his companions nodded in agreement, all of them raised on wild, Akielon tales of bravery and rescue, of missing youths taken by the gods.
Damen shrugged. "I can only hope he is safe, wherever he may be."
After Damen's tale of the new intrigues of Vere had completed, the tavern had seen a steady flow of regulars who stopped by for a drink and a look at the most recent additions to their small town. At least most of the gawkers had the decency to listen to the lightning quick Akielon with polite disinterest. None of them stared openly but glanced over their dinner as Nikandros removed the map from one of his bags, spreading it across the table once the serving girl cleared the empty plates. Despite her curious glance, she could not hope to decipher the Akielon letters if she was able to read, to begin with.
Nikandros hoped that if they set off by early afternoon, they could reach the border of Barbin and be within ten days of Arles. Although Damen and Pallas wished to check every township, it simply was not possible, and they were forced to agree that Arles was their best bet for their current mission. By the time they had finished plotting, they had apparently lost the interest of the locals, and the tavern had cleared out for the most part.
The innkeeper's wife and daughter had retired for the evening, and the innkeeper was half-asleep by the door to deal with any unexpected, late-night guests or calls for more alcohol. The only other occupied table was half-hidden in the shadows and populated by eight or so scruffy men who looked like they could be trappers or rangers in the snowy foothills. They had bright red and yellow braided cords so that they could be easily recognized in the snowy wasteland.
As their own conversation waned and his companions seemed content to just bask lazily by the firelight, Damen could not help but overhear the conversation between the group of eight nearby.
The near emptiness of the tavern and Damen's group's refusal to speak Veretian gave the men a boldness that they might not have had otherwise had there been someone nearby to overhear them. Damen glanced quickly at Nikandros who returned his concerned gaze, giving a nearly imperceptible shake of his head in a promise to remain quiet. Pallas, Lydos, and Aktis remained oblivious to their benefit; Damen listened closer.
"---I swear to you, up in the old manor. I saw him there and one of the village girls said she takes him food on occasion. There can be no harm in checking."
"Is he as beautiful as they say?" Another asked with barely restrained excitement.
"A beauty unrivaled." One of the others cut in, and Damen felt his heart palpitate. "I saw him once in Arles and I can honestly say no girl I've ever seen can compare to him. That face was designed by angels, I swear to god."
There was a murmur of illicit satisfaction.
"Not to mention the payout we'd get…"
"We have to make it shameful." This man had violence rippling from his tone. "Those were the specific requests. It can't just be a quick gut job. We have to make it compromising." His expression left no question as to what he meant by such a statement, and Damen gripped the chair to keep from murdering the man behind him. In his opinion, no good, honest, or noble man would ever consider such a course of action.
"I have chalis." One of them piped up, and Damen recognized the name of a favorite love drug. "I've heard he's a formidable swordsman so it would be good to have this as a contingency. Burn a little outside his door, and he'll melt." There was a noise of satisfaction from several of the others. "It won't matter anyway since that manor is basically abandoned. No one will hear anything." Damen felt physically ill at this statement.
"When should we leave? It's well past nightfall, and I would think most of these backwater peasants should be asleep by now…Should we wait until these barbarians go upstairs?"
"They're foreigners, didn't you hear them earlier? I doubt they could speak a lick of Veretian." Damen was relieved that he and Nikandros had had the foresight not to use their Veretian. "No, just finish your drinks and then let's go. We've been on the road so long I'm excited to have a pretty face in bed again." There was a booming laugh of agreement, and Damen actually felt the arm of the chair break under his grip.
As the men cheerfully went back to their drinks, Damen turned to Nikandros. He already looked chagrined as he began to speak in quick, calm Akielon.
"Damianos, you know how I feel about killing locals…if you're set in your mind, I beg you: caution."
That got the attention of Pallas, Lydos, and Aktis who had not been able to eavesdrop. They took note of Damen's obvious fury and subtly began to put their hands on hidden weapons, anticipating a fight. "And you know me better than to think I would let anyone get away with what they have planned. Those foul bastards don't deserve to live if they speak the truth. If their victim is Veretian, I still find it my duty to protect them from harm." He was so filled with righteous anger that he struggled to keep his tone even.
"What is going on?" Pallas asked, struggling to keep the alarm off of his face.
Damen explained what he and Nikandros had overheard and felt a rush of pride when his other men echoed his disgust.
"I refuse to let them hurt anyone," Damen said with conviction; he knew that his comrades would follow him wherever he chose. "When they leave, I'm going to follow them."
The four others nodded in assent. "We are coming with you then."
Lydos jolted a little as the men behind them stood in preparation to leave. However, he stayed still and silent as Damen quickly raised a hand to stop. "We cannot leave immediately after them. It would be too suspicious." Although he hated it, "We have to wait. These men are the type to watch and make sure no one follows them. Start putting on your gear, and we'll follow them out in about ten minutes." Four nods assured him that his word was law and they would be ready the moment he was on his feet.
It was a torturous ten minutes for Damen after he laced up his boots and shouldered his cloak. He and his men were so skilled it was almost imperceptible that they were putting all of their clothes back on.
After the ten minutes was up, their group began to leave with all haste but ran into a bit of a problem when the innkeeper awoke at their departure. He seemed confused as to where they would be going so late at night in ankle-deep snow, but Damen managed to mildly assure him in his childish Veretian that they would return as soon as they were able. This wasted another good ten minutes, which gave them a head start, but Damen trusted in the abilities of his companions.
Another benefit to the snow was that it made a party of eight very easy to track.
The eight monsters could probably navigate the snow with ease and speed that Damen's group did not possess, as used to it as they were, but they seemed to have no fear of covering their route. Perhaps they hoped their trail would be obscured by local traffic before their crime was discovered.
Making no motion to hide, they had apparently traipsed through the village square and then on a path a little outside of the town limits to the abandoned manor. There was no sign of them outside, which caused Damen to panic a little. He sincerely hoped they were not late, or at least able to save the mystery man's life.
A single candle was lit in the third story window, but other than that, the house was cold and dark.
Nikandros, sword unsheathed, followed the footsteps to a massive oaken door, which would not bend even when Damen put a shoulder to it. "They must have locked it and barricaded it from the inside. Veretian furniture is notoriously heavy." Nikandros thought aloud as Damen rubbed his shoulder. "Apparently they are not as confident in being uninterrupted as they boasted…"
"How will we get in?" Asked Aktis in a whisper. "By the time we cut down the door, it may well be too late."
"We climb," Damen responded motioning to the uneven stone walls. "These walls are strong but old. You can see uneven and missing bricks for handholds, and it's only three stories up. Plus windows are easier to break than doors." Nikandros looked like he wanted to argue about letting the Crown Prince of Akielos climb the outer walls of a dubious old Veretian manor, but he seemed to think better of it, closing his mouth of complaints. "We used to scale the cliffs of Lentos in the summer; this should be easy in comparison."
He was a man of action and a leader. He would go first.
One thing that made the task more difficult was the cold. Damen's snow-slick boots gripped poorly on the walls, but he was not about to climb barefoot, as he was used to. He had removed his gloves, since they made his hands unwieldy, and in the first jutting stone he gripped there was instant regret.
Cold stone was no different in texture and temperature than blocks of ice, a new fact he would store for later adventures. He did not pause to put his gloves back on, but continued up at a steady pace, occasionally blowing hot breath on his miserable fingers. He could hear the soft grunts of his men climbing behind him.
When Damen was three-quarters of the way to the third-floor window, one obstacle was conveniently removed from his path. With no warning, the window was flung open from the inside, sending out tendrils of steam and snow from the sill raining down on Damen's bare head.
It was hardly refreshing, but Damen was pleased he would not have to shatter the window. Vaguely, he could make out the sound of raised voices from inside the manor, and he quickened his speed.
Damen's fingers rejoiced when he gripped the warm stones of the windowsill and hoisted himself up. The yellow glow of firelight was irresistible to him, and even though the window was a little narrow for his wide shoulders, he finally managed to maneuver himself into the third story bedroom, rolling deftly so that he ended up on his feet.
Before his loyal soldiers joined him, Damen did a quick survey of the room.
The unsavory fellows from the tavern were yelling obscenities in Veretian outside the only door in the chamber, and the door itself was creaking from their attempts to break it down. The door inside this room had also been latched with a rusty old lock that was surely about to break under stress, but a small side table and bookshelf were helping the door stay in place for now. The room smelled faintly sweet, like the smell of incense but the open window was helping the scent dissipate.
Small personal effects littered the room in an upset over the recent attempt to keep out intruders: papers scattered on the floor, a book tossed in a corner, chinaware in pieces from where they had been dropped, a pitcher of wine bleeding on the flagstones and dying the yellow and red embroidery of a discarded jacket.
When Damen looked to the four-poster bed in the center of the room, he realized with relief that he had not arrived too late…
And then his breath caught in his throat.
He hardly noticed the subsequent arrival of his comrades, as he was so transfixed on the man in front of him. Of all places, this was where he found a beauty beyond compare?
The man lying on the bed looked heated in comparison to Damen's frozen appendages; his billowy white shirt was unlaced at the neck showing tantalizing glimpses of skin, he was flushed pink, and his breath came in hard, short gasps in a manner that was exceedingly erotic.
But more than that…he had that fine-boned, slender prettiness of Vere, long limbs that gave grace without making him look ungainly, and a face unmatched by any Damen had seen in all his days alive. A perfect balance of features, like a sculpture from a great master; the fullness of the lips, the long eyelashes, the high cheek bones…His only flaw was that his gorgeous golden hair was chopped unevenly in a shaggy, careless mop, but that could be easily fixed with a skillful pair of scissors.
Damen's throat actually felt dry, parched at the sight of him until someone knocked him out of the way.
Nikandros gave him a firm shove as the young man launched himself off the bed with surprising speed, a long, curved dagger slicing through the place in the air where Damen's cock had just been. His azure eyes glittered with serpentine malice.
"So he's hiring barbarians now? You bastards," he hissed, surprisingly with a calm, lovely voice. "Come at me. No matter how many of you…there are, no matter if you come from the ceiling…do not think I'll just roll over and die quickly. At least I'll take a handful of you with me."
Lydos, Aktis, and Pallas, who had also managed to clamber inside, stared at the young Veretian man in boldfaced shock. Damen glanced at his body and noticed that those fine legs were shaking ever so slightly. He was bluffing.
The door splintered and Damen moved his mind from beauty to strategy.
"We're going to ambush them," he ordered softly to the three younger ones standing behind him. He noticed that their lovely blond companion perked up at the sound of Akielon; so he understood? And he refused to cease his defensive stance. Damen liked his stubbornness. "Aktis, Lydos, I want you to bottleneck them at the door and slice them down as they come. Nikandros, I want you beside me to take care of the ones that make it past the door. Pallas, protect this one."
"I need no protection," The young man responded in accented Akielon, followed by him spitting at Damen's feet.
Nikandros sputtered at the insult and Pallas, Lydos, and Aktis looked shocked that someone so far from the border could speak Akielon so well, but Damen smiled over his correct guess. To be fair, this young man was probably very dangerous, as desperate as he was.
"Obviously," Damen replied, half jokingly in Veretian. "But we're barbarians. Listening is not in our repertoire."
The door gave, and the Akielons moved like a well-directed army.
With one easy shove, Damen pushed the young man out of the way, and if it looked like his knees faltered, he could chalk it up afterward to tripping over a loose floorboard. There were shouts of victory and then dismay as the attackers piled through door and were subsequently greeted by the practiced swords of Lydos and Aktis rather than a pretty boy panting on a bed.
If for some reason they managed to get past the soldiers at the door, the even more fearsome fighters of Nikandros and Damen waited within. With one easy move, Damen had caught one man by the throat, and stabbed up into his chest, through flesh and bone and into the heart. This was familiar anywhere, the sounds of battle and it was something Damen knew as well as breathing.
Somehow, one man managed to push past all four obstacles at the door, perhaps hoping to finish one goal and murder the man they were after. However, before Damen could run him through with a blade, he fell backward in mid-stride, a curved, gold-handled blade gleaming wickedly from where it was stuck in his throat. Damen looked at Pallas for such an excellent throw, but Pallas himself was gaping open-mouthed at the panting Veretian man he was supposed to be protecting. His pale arm was still extended from the throw, and he looked beautifully triumphant, if not about to topple over at any moment. Dangerous indeed.
The group of eight stood no chance against such an efficient group and were dispatched quickly, save for one man whom Aktis had to chase down the stairs. As soon as Damen wiped his blade off on one of the dead men's clothes, he turned back to more important matters.
The lovely Veretian was in the midst of slapping Pallas' helpful hand away with a cold, "Don't touch me." He appeared completely at ease, but Damen got the distinct feeling that he was not at all relaxed being aroused by chalis and surrounded by large foreigners.
Damen helpfully retrieved the young man's blade, cleaning it off and admiring the obvious quality. It was curved like a fang, and the handle was made of gold and fashioned with a scale pattern.
"I believe this is yours." He offered gently, holding the knife in an open palm. Despite his drugged state, the young man's speed was nothing short of extraordinary as he snatched it back. "Would you like to sit?" His offer was ignored.
"Who are you?"
"Exalted One," Nikandros interjected while surveying the bloody floors and the Veretian glanced at Damen, "perhaps we should move back to the inn and continue this conversation? I am ill at ease---."
"I'm not going anywhere with you," their newest companion interrupted imperiously, "until you tell me who you all are." Damen thought that despite his outward assurance, he must have been not at all at ease.
"Understandable." Damen sat on the bed, feeling the drain of a long day. "But I doubt you'll believe me if I tell you." That cold, beautiful expression did not change, and Damen shrugged. He also ignored Nikandros' impassioned expression, silently begging him not to reveal his identity outright. "My name is Damianos, and I am the Crown Prince of Akielos."
The young man crossed his arms and smiled with no warmth. "What a coincidence. I am Prince Laurent of Vere."