Tslish tslish tak
Tslish tslish tak
Cameron turn to find the source of sweeping glass, Annamarie. Her fixed up in a tight pony tail focused on tidying his room. “Hmm,” he stretched. “You don’t have to do that. Come lay back down.” He reached out his hand to will her closer. She looked at him, her hip tossed to the side. “Is that a demand, Si-Cameron?”
“Never.” He covered himself with the light blanket and buried his head into the pillow gazing at her work out of one eye. He could feel whole doing anything with her. She resumed sweeping. It looked like she had been awake for a while; everything had already been righted. The paper was back on the desk, clothes in the closet, everything as it should be. She was removing the last reminisce while none of their time remained on her.
His distant feeling and disarray within himself felt like the room, swept away like it no longer matter. Today was new. He was just Cameron without any complicated thoughts. Annamarie feared his wondering thoughts. She did just clean the place. She went over to his closet chose loose fitting pants, breathable shirt, and comfortable shoes. “Put these on.” She tossed them on the lump in the bed. “You’ve changed,” he glanced up at her searching for a glimpse of the shy girl that came knocking on his door weeks ago.
“No. There is no pleasantries that would be between Master and Servant. Would you like me to put them back on Sir?”
“No. I like this.” He chuckled. “Do you mind turning around?” Cameron looked between the neatly folded stack and her, and waited. She put both hands on her waist and waited. “Umm…Anna?”
“Yes?”
“Please…?” He pulled the blanket up just below his eyes. Then his whole face when a grin covered her face. She wanted to show. A show like she gave him. Was he ready? Was she ready when he demanded it from her? It wouldn’t be fair to request something he couldn’t deliver. Cameron closed his eyes. Took a deep breath then exhaled. Deep breath then exhaled. He sat up, fanned the blankets off him like a well-trained butler revealing the meal of the day. He wanted to be as captivating as she was: he sat up straight propped up on his hands, he then spread his legs one foot at a time inviting her attention with every muscle especially the one focusing all his blood at the moment. He moved his hands to the edge of the bed, flexing his arms enough to reveal his veins. He looked from his left hand languidly up to his biceps, shoulders to her eyes. He thought that would be enough to get her to come in closer, but she didn’t moved. She studied him as he dropped his head down then up and down on the right. She watched his show as he propelled himself off the bed and took one big step to land close enough to touch her thigh with his sex. He smiled down at her revealing his particularly sharp canines. “Will you help me prepare?” he asked. She pointed one raised eyebrow behind him at the now rumbled clothing still on the bed.
He followed her eyes. “Oh.” Cameron quickly dressed from embarrassment. She combed his hair and washed his face.
“Where are we going, again?” he asked side by side in the hall.
“Something I think you will enjoy. We’re almost there.”
He heard the sound of screams, thuds, and clinks before she open two large doors that looked too heavy for a woman of her size and build yet she opened them with complete ease as if they were curtain. He looked up and several people he knew to be servants and some he never saw before in mid motion. They all stopped to stare back at him, some fell or was tossed in distraction. “Everyone,” Annamarie called everyone in attention over. They lined up tallest to shortest, two row, spaces left for people not present like they were trained. “This is third young Master, Cameron Knightly Fangaria. Some of you have seen him in passing and others have yet to go to the main house, but if you see him give him proper curtesy. He will be sparring with us from now on. Treat him well, but not easy.”
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
“Sparring?” Cameron whispered. “I can’t fight.”
“Now everyone introduce yourselves.”
In the back row stood a striking young boy that stood half an inch taller than Cameron, silver hair, periwinkle eyes, lightly tanned skin with exception of figures on his face that took on changing designs that was also silver. “Sa’Rim (Sah re him)” he spoke softly and bow slightly. Cameron wanted to ask the beautiful boy so many question, but the next person spoke right away. “Ravion Octavion (Rah vee on Ah tay vee on).” A well-built middle-aged man bowed deeply. “This is Silver.” A boy, almost a man pointed to the straight hair girl to right of him. “And I’m Nigen (knee gin). She has no tongue. There was Adajii (ah dah G). This is A’lish.” He pointed to the left a space down. It continued with everyone else introducing themselves.
“Annamarie. (Anne Mah ree)”
“Jakkl (jackel)”
“Raisin (rae sin).” The little girl he sometimes saw following behind Alda-Casidy spoke barely audible.
“So what would you like to know? Hand-to-hand, defense, sword, bow, meditation, Bak or something you can think of? We probably know it.” Annamarie looked up him wearing a confidence he would not be able to witness outside these walls and his bedroom. This was her element and these were her people. Will he ever be as strong as she was on the inside? “What do you suggest?” he asked.
She looked from person to person and then back again, weighing the options against his personality and physic and because of the lack of synchronicity between the two it was a difficult choice. “How about you start with the sword and meditation with Sa’Rim?” She pointed to the odd boy with Rorschach markings that now looked like a mask.
“Okay.” He wanted to know more about the boy.
----------------------------------------
Miles to the North in Nzaaris (Nah Zhar Riz) Seth was warm with nostalgia of being trapped. Which seemed to be happening a lot lately. He sighed, time to go home. He tried to move his arm but it wasn’t just his wrist that was bound it was every joint and his neck pinning him to a wall, on display. Seth opened his eyes. At least he could do that. Did Sir Vladamin want him to witness his own unjustified torture?
Seth studied Victor, head slumped back in his chair; letting all his stress temporarily slip away in private as a fire howled away behind him, flickering between reds, blues and purple pleading for attention. Seth wondered if he ran cold. The flames nearly licking him like an excited pet every so often. Was half his body a testament to his pet becoming unruly and yet he stayed too close as if only comfortable challenging death. Victor’s hair was longer, spirals sticking out like disobedient antennas in a random fashion. Faint smile lines decorated his face underneath his smeared eye liner. His sharp nose pointing to his deep cupids’ bow that smirked even in his sleep. There was a cup of seiz, an alcoholic beverage made of chocolate, potatoes, and yahobaberries native to Nzaaris half full less than an arm length away nestled on the stone table separating Seth from Victor. There wasn’t much else in the room; fire, table, five chairs, two doors, two paintings one of a small snake ripping wings off a large beautiful bird and one of a family with a butterfly, quokka, kitten and an armadillo holding a rolly poly like a ball all wrapped in a black and white blanket.
Three deliberate knocks broke the silence. “State your purpose.” Victor sat up stretching his neck from his rag doll position, leaning over the table.
“It is Marcus, NZri. Alda-Cassidy has woken.”
Victor yawned showing all his teeth. “Keep her contained.”
“Yes, NZri.” The man sharply turning on his heel was the last attention grabbing sound, then nothing. The calming crackle of the fire and his own heartbeat was all Seth could hear. If he was tortured to death in this suffocating spacious room would anyone care? To them he wrong the country and future leader. He was going to die here.
He didn’t want to die. On reflex he tried to speak the word free, but a gag appeared shoving his head further back into the wall. He winced in pain. Even more determined he thought the word, then a symbol appeared on his throat. The symbol turned darker and denser the more he thought until it pierced through to the wall, further pinning him to the wall like another painting. Blood flowed down his chest while Victor sat his head up on his crossed arms out in front of him, observing Seth’s struggle with his golden cat like eyes. “Awake I see. Three days exactly.”