Zorian for the rest of morning was left drifted and absent minded, so much so that he was exiled from the kitchens for the day, as Mertel did not want to risk any harm coming to the boy. Zorian hardly took any notice of the concerned and worried looks of the servants he passed, no doubt plagued by thoughts of their mistress selling their young lord.
He was grateful that his stepmother had not seen that he had not started the weeding in the gardens, his knuckles still hurt despite how often his mind drifted elsewhere whilst he worked, it was sore and was blistering a yellow like colour. His hands become mudded with dirt, embedded in his nails and up his forearms. He came to a halt as he wiped the sweat from his brows, heaving in a breath, his chest rising and falling steadily. His hands ached as did his fingers, and he sighed looking all over the gardens seeing the many weeds that poked out from the ground.
His head fell back with a crack, groaning as he rubbed the back of his neck, he soon got up, walking over to the water pump, washing his hands and face, as he did so, his belly growled hungrily, Zorian felt too weak and his mind drew way from any rational thought that his feet simple began to walk, making their way to the kitchens again.
When he came close back to the keep, he saw his stepmother preparing to ride out on her black stallion, that was a fierce creature, with brooding eyes that spooked even most gentlest of horses in the stables, that all avoided, and only a few stable hands were able to control. She quickly set off through the gates, without a glance to the man who had helped her up on her stallion. Zorian felt nervous at her leaving and by the look of the man's face who had helped her, he did too, his face wrinkled in worriment.
Zorian carried on to the kitchens, finding it near empty, with only a few kitchen maids and boys, and Mertel resting her back on a chair, her hands knitted together on her breasts, her eyes closed in a deep slumber as a soft rumble of a snore tumbled from her lips and nose. Zorian didn’t say a word to any in the room, only taking a slice of cheese, and as fast as he had arrived he left traveling down to his own quarters.
The boy did not know how long the mistress would be away, but a restlessness took place in him and he had not the heart to object, so he drove into his crate, bringing out one of four books he had still from childhood that he had inherited from his mother. The black leaver book was entirely written in his mother's native tongue. As a young boy he had found it odd whilst during his studies his mother found it rather important to teach her son how to write and read her language and perhaps had prepared to teach him some of the sacred arts she had learnt in her youth during her times on the far isles, and Zorian felt saddened that she had not the time to teach him, thinking on the small parts he had remember his mother speak to him of. Mostly of her goddess, who her sisters and mother had prayed to the most. Zorian took the book and strode out his room, heading out through the main doors of the keep to the bailey, only he nearly bumped into someone as he did.
Zorian looked to the man, who was much taller than he, “good morrow,” Zorian greeted,
The man smiled, “good morrow,” he spoke in a thick accent. “Is lady Gwyneth well to be called upon? I had thought it to be a nice day for a stroll,” he said.
The merchant, Zorian reminded himself, “I believe so, but her mother has left for the moment, but I am sure her brother would be able to sappron the two of you.”
The man nodded, “of course.” he paused looking at Zorian, “had i seen you last night at the festival? for you seem familiar to my eyes,”
“No, sir.” Zorian shook his head.
“Are you sure? now that i think of it, you look much like the boy who had captured all's attention last night.”
Zorian shook his head again, “i do not know what you mean, for i spent the evening shining and polishing the silverware.”
The man hummed unconvinced by Zorians words, “very well.” he said, “are you off somewhere?”
“Yes,” the man nodded to Zorians words. It was quiet and Zorian was not sure why the man chose to speak so comfortably with him in the first place, for it is very uncommon to have a person of his rank to talk to a servant at all in such a manner. “Goodbye,” Zorian bowed, his feet shuffling with speed away from the man, not waiting for another word from the merchant.
He walked along the bailey and through the lifted gates waving to the guarding man, as he set his sights on the grass fields. He breathed in deeply as he trailed along, finding a clear space, on a slope, looking down to high wild grass and flowers that grew, dropping himself to the ground, laying on his back, as he opened his book, beginning to read.
The cool breeze whistled past his ears, the sun shining down with a brighter gleam then days prior, leaving the boy to feel stuffy and hot. The words he read were queer to him, for the tales written in the book were not ones he were use to hearing of gods, especially of death gods, the myth he was reading intaled of the god Veniros, god of Death and sea, the two being one in the same, in the eyes of his mothers religion.
The tale of the bride ritual, where a girl newly welcomed into womanhood, would be offered to the god, and left to drown into the seas around the isles, and would shortly be returned therefore after, carrying the child of death within her belly, who would become when of age the high priest of the temple of Veniros. His eyes skimmed over the parts which detailed the preparing of the girl for the offering which was long and required her to fast a week and to be isolated within the toomes of the temple, till guided out blinded by black cloth, by the four priestesses to the baths where she would wash herself, in milks and honey, then taken to shore, where the high priest would chant the words of the dead till the sun set and the sky dimmed. The high priest himself would be husband to all the priestesses in the temple, which was always the number of four, but Zorian could not say why.
He carried on to read, not noticing how the sun suddenly disappeared on his face or how a shadow draped over him. A sound of a throat clearing began above Zorian as he squinted his tired eyes looking up, seeing Mule.
“Is it alright if i sit here?” he spoke, his hands gesturing to the side of Zorian,
“Go ahead,” he told him faintly, looking back down to his book.
The boy groaned as he sat down next to Zorian, “what are you reading?” he asked his head tipping far too close to Zorian and his book,
Zorian leaned away from Mule, “a book,” he grumbled,
Mule chuckled, “i can see that, but what is it about?”
“Gods, from the isles on the south sea.” he answered in a brooding tone,
The boy hummed, “I had learnt of them once, from a sorcerer who had visited court for a time, they have four temples on the isles, don’t they?”
Zorian shrugged, “I wouldn't know.”
Mule smirked, “of course, sorry, he told me that they worshiped four gods, death, the huntress, mother life, and the warrior.”
“Fewer than ours,” Zorian muttered,
“I had just come back from temple actually.” he grew a sly expression, “asking for the goddess of love's blessing.” he grinned,
Zorian frowned, “who's caught your eye?” he scoffed.
The boy carried on to smile, “someone who is as handsome as Hamula himself,” he boasted,
Zorian scoffed again, “no one is as handsome as Hamula, he is king of the gods.”
“He was, and is. And i have not been able to think of anything else but him.”
“Does this him, have a name?”
Mule grinned brightly, “he does.” but he did not say the name, only looking at Zorian with a blaze in his eyes. Zorian looked away feeling a discomfort in his gut, filling with a fluttering of sorts.
“How lucky he must feel,” Zorian spoke indifferently. His eyes wondered about the field, seeing by the distant tree, two horses being held by Will, who lent against the bark looking bored and annoyed. “Why is Will standing over there?”
“I asked him to.” the boy replied.
Zorian creased his brows, “asked him to?”
“Why, does he not do what you ask?”
“Yes, because he is an utter arse and prick.”
Mule sniggered, “I thought you two were friends.”
“Drinking buddies at best.” Zorian bite out, “why aren’t you with the prince, doesn't he need his two serving boys?” he mocked.
“It’s, um, well it’s our..” he took a second to answer, “day off,”
“Day off? Will has never had a day off, not since he started at Stregan,”
“Perhaps the prince is in good spirits today, he did after all have a good time last night at the festival.”
“Really?” Zorian said trying to make his voice sound even, as he gripped tighter onto the pages of his book, becoming nervous to what Mule was about to say.
“Spent it all with this mysterious boy,”
“Yes, i had heard,” Zorian swallowed, “they think him a foreign prince.”
“Yes,” Mule laughed, “but he had left within a rush, running through the hall.”
“Mayhaps he needed to be somewhere.”
“The prince is rather taken,” Mule said softly, “more so then he has ever been,”
Zorian snorted his nervousness disappearing. “They had only known each other for a night.”
“Well,” Mule began in a smirk, “a night, it seems was all it took.”
“I bet the boy doesn't even think of the prince.” Zorian mumbled,
The boy looked shocked, “how can he not? He’s the prince.”
“Yes from what Will has always said he is not a very nice prince.”
Mule frowned, “yes, well Will comes to work, hungover and smelling of vomit.” he rumbled. He sighed, “he did nothing but drink last night.”
Zorian smiled, “sounds like fun. And what did you do last night, were you at the festival?”
Mule began smiling foolishly, “i was,” he sighed happily, looking onward to the horizon, “gods, don’t you have times in your life where you feel like you could burst into song.”
Zorian looked at the boy oddly, “no,”
The boy began to laugh, “gods, i do, i feel as if could fly.” he jumped up quickly, taking hold of Zorians hand within movement jumping into a silly little dance, the boy sang with no talent whatsoever, booming the words loudly, Zorian recognized it as he heard a bard in town sing the song in a tavern one night, strumming his loot, slurring the lyrics in his drunken mess. Mule proudly sung the song, his feet slamming onto the ground pulling the confused boy along who just couldn’t help to laugh and smile at Mule, thinking he had not acted in such a way since he was a child, gladly be swayed along as he too began sing with the boy, dancing wildly among the long unkempt grass. Zorian giggled and chuckled singing as poorly as he had ever sung, but he did not feel embarrassed by it, as both boys singing twisted and tangled together. Soon enough their legs grew too tired to carry on to jump along in their strange dance and let one another go as they panted with heavy breaths, still giggling dumb.
“My what a fine singer you,” Mule jeered breathlessly,
“Not as grand as you are,” Zorian mocked chuckling,
“Zorian!” a voice shouted, “Zorian!” they yelled again.
The boy took a breath, still grinning like a fool, “I am being called,” he told Mule.
“I hear,” he laughed,
“I should go.” Zorian said,
Mule sighed in a breath, “of course.” he hesitated for a moment then gazed at Zorian straight in his eyes, “would it be alright if i saw you tomorrow?”
Zorian raised his brows, “not needed elsewhere?”
Mule smirked, “I'll find a way out, i can not think of anything else, then to spend the day with you.” taking hold of one Zorians hands, his thumb tenderly grazing along his blistered knuckles.
Zorian repressed a flush to his face, convincing himself it was but the heat, “i’ll-”
“ZORIAN!” the voice grew louder,
“I really must go,” Zorian spoke, stepping back towards the keep,
“ZORIAN!”
“I’ll-i’ll see you tomorrow, just before dawn,” he told Mule, “meet here!” he yelled as he began to race up the slope, picking up his book and back through the fields to the keeps gates.
“Until then!” Mule shouted joyously, leaving a grin on Zorians face, he did not understand, but he felt light and giddy thinking of this boy he had only talked to for a few moments. He grinned widely, his cheeks aching, trying not to laugh at the fact that he was thinking so fondly of a boy with the name of Mule..
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