“May I join you?”
Arthur looked up from where he sat, honing Storm’s Edge. His father gave him a smile. Arthur nodded. “Of course.”
Matthias settled beside him with a soft exhalation that sounded like relief. They sat in silence but for the long swipes of the whetstone along the sword’s edges. When they decided to camp in the cover of forest, Bedwyr had set to gathering firewood with Medraut. The lad worked quietly, though he was keeping an ear on the other men as they made camp. Now and again, he glanced over to watch some exchange among them, and Arthur was struck by his expression.
“You see it, don’t you?”
He turned to his father. “What’s that?”
“The way he regards them. He very much wants to belong.” His father looked at him. “You wore that look often at his age. You so wanted to be part of what Cai was doing. So wanted to impress Uthyr.”
“And Bedwyr.”
Matthias smiled. “And Bedwyr.” He watched Medraut for a long moment, then said, “Have you acknowledged him yet?”
“I’ve talked to him about the possibility. Told him we won’t know for certain until he’s older.”
Matthias turned back to him, but Arthur avoided his direct gaze. The sharpening stone slid down the blade with a long scrape.
“Do you truly not see it?” Matthias said.
Scrape.
“He may not have your hair or the particular shade of your eyes, but those gangly limbs? He’s going to have your height. He already walks like you.”
“He’s emulating.”
“I’m sure he is, but I don’t mean the way you walk now. I mean the way you walked at his age. His carriage… It’s as if I’ve slipped back in time. And that intense frown he wears when he’s thinking, the set of his jaw.” Matthias chuckled. “You bear both, right this moment.”
Arthur tried to smooth his features. “We don’t know, and we won’t—”
“Arthur.”
His hand stilled.
“Look at me.”
A gentle command, but a command nonetheless. How did his father manage that? He lifted his gaze to meet Matthias’s.
“I know it as deeply as one can, Arthur. He’s your son.”
Certainty, utter and complete. Arthur looked over to find Medraut watching him. The lad glanced away quickly, and something in Arthur’s chest tightened. He knew that move well. How many times had he employed it around Bedwyr at that age? And his father was right about Medraut’s build. Elain was lanky in her way, but the boy was already her equal in height and still growing. And that stubborn jaw.
Yes, he knew the truth.
“Does it frighten you?”
“No,” he scoffed, a knee-kick reaction and immature, and his father chuckled again.
“It should. Sons will test every fiber of patience you’ve got.” His hand came to rest on Arthur’s knee, warm against the chill. “But they’re worth it. No one will ever make you prouder.” He gave Arthur a brief press, and then rose to join the others in their work. He set a hand on Medraut’s shoulder and began to engage him about something.
Arthur watched the ease with which he did so and wondered if he could do the same. But he had his answer in the expression on Medraut’s face. The lad was seen, and valued, and his back was straighter for it.
So, yes, he could do it, as much as the prospect felt like a foray into potentially hostile territory. He’d been managing those sorts of missions for some time now, though, and where Medraut was concerned, his excuses were wearing thin.
He stood and sheathed his sword. “Medraut.”
The lad turned to him, arms filled with firewood. “Yes?”
“If you’re finished gossiping, let’s see what you can do with that blade.”
Medraut grinned. “Yes, sir.” In just a few long strides, he reached the wood pile.
“Yes, Father,” Arthur said.
Medraut dropped the wood and spun toward him. Behind the lad, every man paused in their work and looked up. Matthias was smiling. After a moment, Bedwyr’s chest rose on a deep breath, and he nodded.
“Yes, Father,” Medraut said.
It landed like a blow, as if Arthur had lifted his shield aside, unwittingly exposing his ribs.
Matthias gave him a nod of understanding.
Arthur waved to Medraut. “Come, then,” he said, his voice gruff. “We’re wasting precious daylight.”
Bedwyr stretched as he approached their morning fire, his shoulders creaking. They’d left the port half a moon ago and set a northerly course. The only man among them doing much tracking so far was Morien, a magpie shifter who spent his days in flight to the north and northeast. The rest of them took it in turns to range out in their animal forms, but they wouldn’t arrive at the emperor’s wall for some time yet.
Bedwyr had worried that Master Matthias might slow down his own mission, but he was keeping pace with an impressive determination. Especially considering the multifaceted interrogation he suffered on a daily basis. Safir was the worst about it, playfully but relentlessly poking about the man’s memory for tales of Arthur’s boyhood.
If Matthias wasn’t complaining, Bedwyr wouldn’t either. At least the stories passed the time.
“Morning,” Safir said. “We were just comparing midwinter traditions. Solstice, and the like.”
Bedwyr grunted. Longest night of the year? Traditionally, he spent it on top of Arthur.
His cub was looking well this morning. Something Matthias said to Arthur had given him the push he needed to acknowledge Medraut as his son. Arthur seemed reluctant to talk about it. “It was time,” he’d said, cheeks flushed, so Bedwyr had let it go. But he was proud of him. Perhaps he would suggest they track alone today and find there a quiet moment to show Arthur just how proud he was.
Gawain handed him a chunk of the dense, sticky mixture they packed for long journeys. It reminded him of Gwen’s spice cakes, with its nuts and seeds and dried fruit, but without the spice. He was working on his fifth or sixth bland bite of the stuff when he glanced up to find Safir watching him.
No, studying him. A bit too closely.
“Say, Master Matthias…”
“Yes, Safir?”
“I think we’ve harried you enough about Arthur.”
“Thank the gods,” Arthur murmured.
“What’ve you got on Bedwyr?”
Bedwyr stopped chewing and scowled at Safir. The glare bounced off the fellow like hailstones off a tiled roof.
“Please tell us he was impetuous in his youth.”
Matthias chuckled.
Bedwyr kept his head down.
“Come,” Safir urged, “was young Bedwyr boastful at the story fire? Did he strut about like a lordling?”
“You’re ridiculous,” Bedwyr said.
Safir grinned. “Perhaps he was full of opinions and could never rest until he’d bestowed them upon everyone.”
“I reckon Bedwyr’s always known his mind,” Matthias said, “but he was much quieter about it than Arthur was.”
The men chuckled. When Bedwyr risked a glance at Matthias, the man winked at him. Heat rushed up his throat to his cheeks.
Arthur leaned close, his mouth curled in a trouble-making smile. “You’re blushing.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. He is!”
“It’s the fire,” he grumbled.
“Why are you blushing, Bed?” When Bedwyr said nothing, Arthur turned to his father. “And you. What’s that smile?”
Matthias’s shrug was, unfortunately, unconvincing.
“Fine,” Bedwyr said. “I was infatuated.”
“Infatuated?”
“Just so.”
“With me?” Arthur grinned.
He could take it, this escape. End this embarrassing detour into the past with a credible lie. But then he looked at Matthias again, and couldn’t deny him.
“No,” Bedwyr said, “with your father.”
Arthur’s jaw fell open. He turned on Matthias. “Did you know?”
“I discovered it.”
“How?”
But Master Matthias didn’t respond, except to look at Bedwyr.
Gods, his life.
Bedwyr sighed. “I kissed him.”
Safir crowed. Arthur spun on his seat. “You kissed him? When? Where?”
Medraut was staring back and forth between his grandfather and Bedwyr.
Bedwyr elbowed Arthur. “Does it matter?”
Arthur elbowed him back. “Out with it.”
“The shepherd’s hut, all right? We weren’t shieldmates yet. You’d been a goat’s arse, and I was…greatly aggrieved.”
The men laughed, Arthur loudest of all. “Aggrieved!”
“Devastated, thank you very much. And your poor father suffered for it.”
Matthias chuckled. “Not terribly.” He smiled at Bedwyr. “I would have kept your secret, you know.”
He would have done, Bedwyr had no doubt. Discretion had been rare in their village, but as healer, Master Matthias had practiced it as a matter of course. And he was simply a good man, one who surely had no such secrets of his own.
Arthur sniffed at the pine needles underfoot. Reaching past the resin, he caught traces of deer and rabbits but not of the scents from the shirt of Cai’s that his father had brought with him. No surprise there; none of them had found anything yet.
He sidled up to Bedwyr. So…you had a sweet spot for my father.
We’re not doing this now.
Why not?
Bed didn’t respond, so Arthur bumped his shoulder. Bed rocked on his three great paws, grunting in annoyance before righting himself. He made a show of continuing his tracking, snuffling deep into the forest loam, but it was pure avoidance.
Was it his hair? Did you like how it shone in the light of the story fire?
Bed ignored him.
Or his eyes. How they would always twinkle when he laughed.
Bedwyr picked up his pace, but Arthur matched him easily.
Ah, maybe it was his voice, then. Did you like the way he said your name? Hello, young Bedwyr… Are you feeling well today—
It was his touch.
Arthur slowed to a halt and watched Bed move on, his paws swiping through fallen leaves. A few clung to the fur of his back and rump. His right shoulder dipped with each step, something that had just become a part of how he moved in his bear form. The cadence of it slowed now, and he turned to look at Arthur.
My father handled me roughly. I don’t hold it against him; he was readying me to follow him. But your father was different. Bed’s head swung away, as if he’d caught a scent. I used to invent excuses to see him.
Arthur huffed. You didn’t.
I did. It’s mortifying to think on now—he must have known what I was up to. He may not have known why I did it, but he surely knew I was full of shit.
Like what?
Gods. Any excuse I could find. The year I turned sixteen, I started losing training matches on purpose, trying to sustain some injury or other that would allow me to seek Master Matthias. I all but fell on my sword in the attempt. Your grandfather Marcus must’ve thought I’d lost my mind.
Arthur chucked him under the chin with his nose. Had it bad, eh?
The worst. Unfortunately, there was no cure, let alone a remedy.
Except to kiss him.
Wasn’t like that. You had left the shepherd’s hut, and I was feeling sorry for myself. Gwen had tried to bring me out of it, by grace and by force, but I was low. Matthias came to check up on me, and…well, I sort of just fell against his face.
Arthur snorted, sending up a small cloud of chaff. What’d he do?
Nothing. Didn’t move at all. That’s what brought me to my senses. He said it was all right and promised not to tell my father. Said he was glad it’d been him and not one of the other men. And then he said he knew I wished it to be you anyway.
They hadn’t been as subtle as they thought they were being. Arthur supposed someone trained to observe, the way his father had been trained, would’ve sensed easily that something was happening between Bedwyr and him.
He was right, Bedwyr said. I did wish it was you. Half of me thought he was you. I wasn’t well.
Arthur nuzzled his neck. I came back.
You did.
He snuffled at Bed’s ear, just enough to make it twitch. Do you think about him when we’re fucking? he teased, and Bed knocked him away.
The way you natter on the whole time? A fellow couldn’t think of anything else if he tried. He swiped thoughtfully through the leaves below. You give me what I want and what I need. There’s no room for anyone else.
Gods, he was lucky. Love you, Bed.
Bedwyr looked at him, his dark eyes clear and steady, as always. Love you, cub.
Arthur pressed his head into the broad, solid softness of Bedwyr’s neck, and then they fell in beside each other again.
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
Bedwyr glanced up to find Matthias walking beside him.
“This morning, by the fire.”
“I’ll survive.”
“I dare say you will.” Matthias looked ahead to where Arthur was sharing some tale or other with Palahmed as they walked. “Arthur seems well.”
“Well enough. He’s had his odd injuries here and there, but they don’t bother him.”
Matthias’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied his son. “He has so much of his mother in him.”
Bedwyr had thought so himself from time to time. Mistress Britte was a strong, broad woman with hair that shone with all the shades of fire, just like Arthur’s. “Gets his height from you.”
“I suppose so, though Britte is taller than most.”
“He’s damned stubborn sometimes. Who can I blame for that?”
“On any other occasion, I’d say Britte.” Matthias grinned down at him, his eyes dancing. “And I’d say it quietly.”
Bedwyr chuckled. “But not this occasion?”
Matthias shook his head. “We went round and round about my traveling north. I was as bull-headed as she.”
“Well…” Bedwyr began, but what would he say? That Master Matthias was past the age when one made impulsive journeys on the leading edge of winter?
Matthias laughed softly. “No need to point it out,” he said, as if reading Bedwyr’s thoughts. “It’s true—I’m no spring lamb—and Britte argued it until her cheeks went blue. I thought your father would take her side, but he surprised me. Wished me luck and tasked Philip with accompanying me, in his way. Britte was…not pleased with Uthyr.”
Bedwyr snorted softly. That either man would defy her was beyond his own courage. “Why risk her wrath?”
Matthias drew a deep breath. “I want to see my sons reconciled.”
Bedwyr had expected the man to say he wanted to know that Cai was alive and well. Reconciliation was a higher concern. “That could’ve waited until spring. You can tell Mistress Britte I took her side.” He smiled, but it slipped when Matthias looked at him again.
“It can’t wait until spring, Bedwyr. I’ll be dead by then.”
All the air seemed to leave Bedwyr’s lungs at once. With a cramp in his chest, he turned toward Arthur. His cub was walking ahead with Medraut, unaware. “You’re not so old,” he said, flustered. “Ta’s older. So are Philip and Tiro—”
“So is Britte, by a year. Age isn’t the culprit.”
Illness, then. A surprising anger flared in Bedwyr’s gut. “There must be some remedy. You’re a healer.”
“We’ve tried everything, Philip, Mora, and me. When we exhausted our options, Uthyr began to bring physicians to the village. He must have called in every favor owed him. I’ve been prodded quite a bit in the past months.”
Bedwyr unflexed his fist but couldn’t shake the urge to drive it into a tree. “Why are you telling me and not Arthur?”
“Because I need you to help me.” Matthias was quiet for a few paces. “If Arthur begins to think this a fool’s quest, I need you to convince him to keep going. He’ll listen to you.”
A humorless laugh escaped Bedwyr. “Not reliably.”
“Reliably and faithfully. I’ve no doubt Arthur is alive today because he’s had your shield and your counsel, in equal measure.” When Bedwyr didn’t respond, Matthias went on, his voice pitched low. “I’ll tell him, Bedwyr, but I’d prefer to do it only once.”
To both his sons, together.
Bedwyr’s nose stung, and he sniffed hard. “You’re fairly confident we’ll find Cai, then?”
“Confident? Not at all.” Matthias turned to gaze down the path again. “But I’m hopeful. And hope will carry a man far indeed.”
Or lead him directly into peril. But Bedwyr didn’t voice it, concentrating instead on moving forward normally, even as he wondered how he was going to keep this from Arthur.