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Presley woke to the sound of a bird chirping. It was warm in the apartment, and he could feel Grigory’s secure presence next to him without even needing to turn his face over on the pillow. He knew that he would need to get out of bed soon, but he could enjoy this pleasant start to his day a little longer.
Oh, there’s that bird again. What a happy little song. Maybe he’s looking for a mate.
Presley jerked upright, waking Grigory without meaning to.
“What is wrong?” asked Grigory, taking his hand. “Did you have a bad dream?”
“There’s a bird outside the window.”
Grigory slowly sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. When the bird chirped again, Grigory smiled. Leaning against the headboard he looked quizzically at Presley. “Yes. Did he wake you up? Are you annoyed by the bird? I never liked them pecking at my tent when I was a boy.”
“It’s spring.”
“Well, yes.”
“Broderick will be coming.”
Grigory picked up Presley’s hand and kissed it. “Then we will prepare for him. Spring can work to our advantage, too.”
“It can? How?”
“Alfred and I have been discussing this.” Grigory kissed Presley’s cheek, his warm lips offering at least a little comfort. “Get dressed and we will go to the Bocburg. Alfred and I will show you.”
Not that Presley didn’t trust Grigory—there was no one he trusted more—but he could not believe that the coming of spring would help anyone as much as it would Broderick. Of course, he needed to be at the Bocburg soon, anyway, so going with Grigory would be no problem. Why Grigory wasn’t heading directly for his workshop at the riverside warehouse, though, troubled him. “You aren’t going to the castle with me now at the expense of your own work, are you?”
Grigory, who had already jumped out of bed and was getting dressed, said, “No. Alfred and I have been wondering when we should talk to the queen and council. Today is a good day.”
Presley followed Grigory’s lead and quickly dressed after splashing some water on his face. He was excited to hear what Grigory had planned, and in fact, grew a bit annoyed that once they had their breakfast in hand from Crane’s, Grigory refused to say more on their walk through town, although he stopped several times to press his finger into the ground and smile. On Willetts Lane, he even scooped up a fistful of earth and smelled it with a ridiculous grin on his face.
When they reached the Bocburg, they made directly for Alfred’s office. Luckily, he was there and not out with the troops, inspecting the walls, or performing any of the other dozen duties he had been given. Presley thought he looked tired, and he wondered if it was exhaustion from work, or due to the fact that now three months on, Elwyn had still not given him an answer to his proposal.
“Good morning,” Alfred said, trying to smile as though he meant his words. “What brings both of you to my office? Please tell me nothing has gone wrong.”
Alfred raked a hand down his face, and Presley quickly passed him the last cinnamon roll.
“Grigory has promised me the two of you have a brilliant plan for the spring and that today I could hear all about it.”
“Do you think it’s time?” Alfred asked Grigory, taking the roll from the bag.
“Yes. It is warming. The ground is softer. We can begin as soon as we have work crews. So we must tell the queen and council.”
Alfred nodded, and once he finished chewing and swallowed, said, “And of course, Presley, too.”
Grigory grinned at Presley, and it still made his heart warm, just as it had the first time two decades earlier. “And Presley.”
The council met every morning now, sometimes merely to say that nothing important had changed, and Presley was not always required to come. But everyone seemed pleased when Alfred walked into the start of the meeting and asked if he and Grigory might have a few minutes of the council’s time. Undoubtedly this would be the most interesting event at a privy council meeting since Alfred and Grigory announced the gate reinforcement project was complete two weeks earlier.
Presley settled into his usual chair along the wall behind Queen Rohesia, who sat at the head of the table. She, as always, sat upright, ready to hear and discuss matters thoughtfully. In contrast, Lawrence sat beside her, squirming and looking irritable. Presley wondered if this was a matter of his concern for his wife or something else. At the queen’s behest, Presley had been working most days with Veronica with the proviso he give her nothing too taxing. She was made of sterner stuff than Lawrence gave her credit for, Presley thought, but he did as Queen Rohesia asked, nonetheless.
Everyone assembled and ready, Grigory and Alfred launched into their plan. Now that the ground had begun to soften with the spring thaw, and the river was not quite as frigid and icy at the banks, they could begin digging and dredging. Everyone sat quietly waiting for them to explain why they would do such a thing. I don’t know any better than the rest of you, but at least now I understand why Grigory kept poking the ground on the way here.
To many people’s surprise, including Presley’s, it was the queen who answered. “You wish to reinforce the city’s walls against the usurper’s trebuchets.”
Alfred bowed. “Indeed, your majesty. You are astute as always.”
“I have spent the long winter reading all the books about siege warfare in the duke’s magnificent library,” she answered, causing many of the men at the table to fidget.
Caedmon, sitting to the queen’s right, was one of the few council members who looked pleased. “A good scheme, gentlemen,” he said. “And as this is a purely defensive measure, if you happen to encounter obstacles on your dig, you should feel free to call on me.”
This clearly thrilled both Grigory and Alfred, who now explained the theory and practice of building earthworks against walls to buttress them. Grigory pulled out a map of the city, indicating places where he would like to dig. Several were places special to him and Presley. A little green space along the southern wall where they had liked to picnic when they lived in Leornian years ago was one. Another was a small grove on the university campus. Under one of those trees, they had shared their first kiss.
Dr. Stark asked several technical questions, and suddenly Grigory stood a bit straighter and sounded like a schoolboy. Presley tried not to chuckle, but Grigory was too adorable not to.
How did I get so lucky to find such a brilliant, handsome man to spend life with? If this city, my city, the place of my birth and the birth of my great love, survives, it will be thanks to Grigory. Not because of some Myrcian general or politician or noble. But because of a Loshadnarodski exile who somehow loves me enough to do all of this. Bless Earstien.
***
A WEEK AND A HALF INTO their earthworks project, it became clear that they could not work fast enough. Out on patrol, Robert Tynsdale had taken a prisoner. The man had been far closer to the Sigor lines than anyone had expected, and rather than putting him to the sword, Robert had been very careful to bring the man in for questioning. With assistance from Intira and her arm that Presley did not care to consider closely, they had learned that Broderick intended to move on the city within a month.
They discussed it all later that evening over wine in Presley’s office. It was dark and cool outside after a sunny, but chilly day, and all of them—Presley, Grigory, Intira, Robert, and Alfred—huddled close to the fire. Intira, warm wine in hand, wrapped in a blanket Presley had found in a cupboard one day when searching for parchment, began explaining the situation, not that they hadn’t all realized the situation had grown dire.
“I thought he was lying,” she said. “The one thing all our intelligence has said is that Broderick won’t move without Duke Lukas and he won’t be rushed again.”
“But our source in the Gramiren camp has confirmed what the prisoner said,” Robert continued. “Broderick is anxious. And he doesn’t trust his own people, apparently, and wants to strike while his alliance holds.”
“Given the fact you have a spy in his camp, he’s not wrong to be mistrustful,” Alfred said, raising his glass.
“But less than a month,” said Grigory, shaking his head. “The earthworks will not be done in less than six
weeks. Not how I want them. Not all the way around the city.”
Alfred leaned forward. Presley thought he looked more exhausted than ever. The real question, Presley now realized, was if they would be mentally ready to face battle in under a month, the city be damned.
But Alfred tightened his jaw. “We’ll get it done. Or get it good enough.”
“I would like to make a complete inspection of the city tomorrow,” Grigory said. “We can make decisions then.”
The next day when Grigory and Alfred were ready to set out on their inspection, they were called into the council meeting to provide an update. The council had already heard Robert Tynsdale’s report, and now they wanted to know if the city would be ready for this imminent attack. When Alfred explained this was just the question he and Grigory were headed out to answer, Duke Robert and Lawrence both insisted on accompanying them. Eager to hear Grigory’s assessment of the situation, and knowing no one would object to his presence, Presley grabbed his cloak and joined the party in the courtyard.
Sadly, it appeared as though Grigory’s assessment of the night before was accurate. They headed west from the Bocburg, and when they reached the wall, the earthworks sloped up from about eight feet behind the wall and reached perhaps four feet up. It was oozing river mud, reinforced with timbers and old bricks. Buckets of dredged up mud continued to arrive on Finch and Sons barges as the group stopped and watched the work.
“Well, this looks like excellent progress,” said Lawrence. “I don’t see why you two are so worried. This will be done in a week or two.”
“But if you will forgive me, captain general,” said Alfred. “The attack may well come before that.”
“And this is where we have made the most progress,” Grigory added. “The rest of the earthworks are not as far along.”
“How far along are they?” Lawrence asked, his voice now something of a perturbed growl. “Show me.”
They walked the perimeter of Leornian, Alfred and Grigory asking the workers astute questions, and Presley taking notes of what supplies they required. In most places, work on the earthen ramparts had at least started. South of the university, however, the local landowners had built sheds and barns and warehouses against the city wall for centuries, and these had to be cleared away before the real work could begin. Worse, it seemed that in places, the wall had been undermined, weakened, and stripped of its inner face of masonry in the construction of all these outbuildings.
This created a whole new risk, since taking the sheds and barns away would actually make the wall temporarily weaker. But there was no other way, in the long run, to make it stronger. They would just have to work as quickly as they could.
Duke Robert made some good suggestions for places to dig up more dirt and rock, based on his superior knowledge of the city, as well as where to find more manpower. Lawrence, however, fluctuated between frustration over the work not being further along and sulkiness.
“I feel we could all use lunch,” Duke Robert suggested after Lawrence grumbled at a workman at the last worksite. “Does anyone know if the food at the Swangate Inn is as good as it was in my youth?”
Presley doubted anyone’s food was as good as it had been a year ago, thanks to dwindling supplies. But they were all hungry, and the Swangate was only a couple of streets over.
“I would be happy to go on ahead and ask them for a room,” Presley offered. “I’m sure it will be a respectable meal.”
“I will go with you,” Grigory said, and in a moment, it was settled they would hurry ahead while the other three came on at a more sedate pace.
Once Presley could be certain they could no longer be heard by the others, he asked Grigory if he was alright. “It’s been a long day, and I know you are disappointed with the progress.”
“It seems as if nothing I can think of will be enough. This...man, who wanted me dead, who killed others to promote himself, who has started a war and told vicious lies to take a throne that is not his.... I do not want to see him succeed. I do not think Earstien wants him to rule this blessed kingdom. But how may he be stopped?”
Presley rested a hand on Grigory’s shoulder. “You’ll find a way. I know you will.” I have to believe that.
They were in luck at the inn. Most people had already finished lunch, so a private room was available. The innkeeper informed him that he didn’t have much food left, but he would be able to manage five trenchers of stew and a little cheese. Presley thanked the man, and he and Grigory settled in at the table in the private room to await the others.
“It is very nice,” Grigory said, “that you have faith I will help save Leornian. I could do nothing good without your love.”
Presley squeezed his hand. “And I’m nothing without you.”
“But there is nothing more I can do.” His handsome blue eyes looked desperately at Presley. “I love Leornian. It is where we met. We fell in love here. It is a good city, and I don’t think I can save it from Broderick.”
Presley brought Grigory’s hand to his lips and kissed it fiercely. “You are the best man I know. Leornian is so lucky to have you. I’m so lucky to have you.”
Grigory’s smile was so tired and shy and beautiful, Presley couldn’t help himself, and he leaned forward and kissed Grigory. “Together, you and I can do anything. Look what we’ve already done with our lives.”
Grigory smiled again, and they leaned together and kissed once more. Then, without warning, the door opened.
Perhaps they were tired or used to life in the Empire where men loving one another was accepted, but they did not pull apart quickly enough. That left Alfred, Duke Robert, and Lawrence to see more than they probably wished to. Alfred sighed softly and turned away, but Presley thought that had more to do with his own continuing heartache over Elwyn than with any discomfort. Duke Robert, on the other hand, turned bright red, clearly not as openly enthusiastic about Presley and Grigory’s relationship as his father had been. Lawrence was also obviously uncomfortable, and just as obviously tried to appear as though he was not.
“Thank you for getting the room,” Alfred said, trying to act as if nothing had happened.
“Not a problem,” Presley said, trying to ignore Grigory fussing at his side, surely embarrassed. The poor man doesn’t like to kiss me in public in Presidium, where most of the city’s residents attend multiple orgies a year. He must be dying a bit here. “The innkeeper will be bringing trenchers of stew and cheese soon.”
Everyone nodded, but then fell into an awkward silence.
“I was looking through the Bocburg library the other day,” Lawrence suddenly said with a pinched voice. “Saw a nice copy of Hippolytes Dynastos. Good poet, don’t you think? Not everyone’s cup of tea, of course. But I think it’s very important to read things that, er...challenge and broaden the mind. And if I can appreciate Adler even if I’m not Odelandic, why can’t I appreciate Dynastos, even if I’m not personally, well...um...you know?”
During this little speech, Lawrence couldn’t meet Presley’s eye, which made his attempt to show how comfortable he was with Presley and Grigory’s relationship all the more embarrassing. Presley and Grigory both well knew Dynastos. He was a famous 2nd Century Thessalian poet who wrote on ‘Thessalian’ themes, which was to say he celebrated passion between people of the same sex.
The volume Lawrence was referring to was most likely the one where Presley had first read Dynastos as a teenager. Before he had worked for Duke Brandon, his father had, and the duke had always allowed Presley free rein in his library. The volume had been bought by Duke Brandon. Presley could remember finding it among a stack of recently delivered books when he was about 15.
To have Lawrence reference the book, however, was painfully awkward. Still, Presley needed to say something. “Yes. Dynastos is a master of meter. So, Alfred, what is your estimate on the earthworks between Bast and Wellard Streets?”