C.S. Pacat Quotes

There was a strange doubling, brother for brother, Laurent close as Auguste has been, and Damen even less defended, Laurent's fingers on te place where he had been run through.

Father, I can beat him, he'd said, and
he'd ridden out and returned to a hero's
welcome, to have his armour stripped by
servants, to have his father greet him
with pride. He remembered that night,
all those nights, the galvanising power of
his father's expansionist victories, the
approbation, as success flowed from
success. He had not thought about the
way it had played out on the other side
of the field. When this game began, I
was younger.

He knew that he was vulnerable to her in this state, that her expertise, like Laurent's, was in finding weakness and pressing down. He looked over at Laurent and said, flatly, 'Deal with it.' Laurent

By this time, the camp was cleared, and the newly pitched tents looked like softly glowing globes, the light from lamps inside turning the tent skins to warm gold.

It was an impressive fight.'
'Yes, I know,' said Laurent.
He didn't smile when he said things like that.

If he could do it, Damen could do it. He could make impersonal negotiations, speak in the formal language of kings. The ache of loss didn't make sense, because Laurent had never been his. He had known that.

To the alliance,' agreed Alexon, the words echoing back from those seated around the fire. To the alliance. Charls saw Lamen lift his cup and incline it towards the Prince, who echoed his gesture, the two of them smiling a little. Lamen,

The Regency,' said Laurent, addressing the troop, 'thought to take us outnumbered. It expected us to roll over without a fight.'
Damen said: 'We will not let them cow us, subdue us or force us down. Ride hard. Don't stop to fight the front line. We are going to smash them open. We are here to fight for our Prince!'
The cry rang out, For the Prince! The men gripped their swords, slammed their visors down, and the sound they made was a roar.

Slave, said the resistance in Makedon's eyes. Makedon certainly had slaves in his own household, and made use of them. What he imagined between Prince and slave stripped it of all the subtleties of surrender. Having been done to his King, it had in some sense been done to him, and his pride revolted at it.

It was with a shock that he felt the touch of Laurent's fingers against the back of his wrist. [ ... ] Laurent was shifting the fabric of his sleeve, sliding it back slightly to reveal the gold underneath, until the wrist cuff he had asked the blacksmith to leave on was exposed between them.
'Sentiment?' said Laurent.
'Something like that.'
Their eyes met and he could feel each beat of his heart. A few seconds of silence, a space that lengthened, until Laurent spoke.
'You should give me the other.

All bad things were done in the dark.

A golden prince was easy to love if you did not have to watch him picking wings off flies.

We'll make another kind of empire

I'm twenty years old,' said Laurent, 'and I've been the recipient of offers almost as long as I can remember.'
'Is that an answer?' said Damen.
'I'm not a virgin,' said Laurent.
'I wondered,' Damen said, carefully, 'if you reserved your love for women.'
'No, I
' Laurent sounded surprised. Then he seemed to realise that his surprise gave something fundamental away, and he looked away with a muttered breath; when he looked back at Damen there was a wry smile on his lips, but he said, steadily, 'No.'
'Have I said something to offend you? I didn't mean
'
'No. A plausible, benign and uncomplicated theory. Trust you to come up with it.'
'It's not my fault that no one in your country can think in a straight line,' said Damen, frowning a touch defensively.

Think he'll kill him? another
speculated.
Damen knew the answer to that question.
Laurent was not going to kill him. He
was going to break him.
Here, in front of everyone.

Are you going to try it with me? Or do
you only take pleasure in attacking those
who cannot defend themselves?" Damen
heard the hardness in his own voice. He
held his ground. Around them, the tower
room was empty. He had sent everyone
else out. "I remember the last time you
were like this. You blundered so badly
you gave your uncle the excuse he
needed to have you stripped of your
lands.

You have to admire it,' said Laurent, in a detached voice. 'It's the perfect time to attack Akielos. Kastor is dealing with factional problems from the kyroi. Damianos, who turned the tide at Marlas, is dead. And the whole of Vere would rise up against a bastard, especially one who had cut down a Veretian prince. If only my murder weren't the catalyst, it's a scheme I would wholeheartedly support.

Enguerran looked up at Damen. The last
time they had faced one another,
Enguerran had been trying to
bar Damen from Touars's hall. An
Akielon has no place in the company of
men.

Guilliame came to talk to him, since they were the same rank.
'Lamen. That's an unusual name.'
'It's Patran,' said Damen.
'You speak very good Akielon,' he said, loudly and slowly.
'Thank you,' said Damen.

He'll be here, Damen had said, and he believed that, even as the first wave hit and the men around him began to die.
There was a dark logic to it. Have your slave convince the Akielons to fight. Let your enemies do your fighting for you, the casualties taken by the people you despise, the Regent defeated or weakened, and the armies of Nikandros wiped out.
It wasn't until the second wave hit them from the north-west that he realised they were totally alone.

He would also have the additional duties of attendant. In that capacity, he would report directly to the Prince. The duties described to him seemed to be a mixture of man-at-arms, adjutant and bed slave - ensuring the Prince's safety, attending to his personal comfort, sleeping in his tent - Damen's whole attention swung back to Radel. "Sleeping in his tent?" "Where else?" He passed a hand over his face. Laurent had agreed to this? The

A brother's love? You don't know him at all, do you. What's a death but easy, quick. It's supposed to haunt you forever that the one time he beat you was the one time that mattered.

They are surely gods who speak to him
With steady voices
A glance from him drives men to their
knees
His sigh brings cities to ruin
I wonder if he dreams of surrender
On a bed of white flowers
Or is that the mistaken hope
Of every would-be conqueror?
The world was not made for beauty like
his.

Don't think, he'd said, because it was easier than saying, Take me for who I am.
He couldn't bear that suddenly. He wanted it without pretences, without excuses, his fingers curling hard into Laurent's hair.
'It's me,' said Damen. 'It's me, here with you. Say my name.'
'Damianos.

Let him come to Charcy, with his hithertos and his wherefores, and there he will find me, and with all the might of my kingdom I will scourge him from the field.
"And if you want a personal message," said Laurent, "You can tell my uncle boykiller that he can cut the head off every child from here to the capital. It won't make him into a king, it will simply mean he has no one left to fuck.

Nephew. you were not invited to these discussions.'
'And yet, here I am. It's very irritating, isn't it?' Said Laurent.

You fill me with horror," said Jord. His
hands were tight on his knife. Both his
hands, now.
"Captain," a voice called. "Captain!"
Damen's eyes were on Jord's face.
"That's you," Jord said.

Lamen though of modest origins was a thoughtful young man who spoke Veretian very well, even if his knowledge of cloth was lacking. 'I

Order whatever punishment you like, from the coward's distance of a chain-lenght. You and Govart are two of a kind.

My scorn and contempt,' said Laurent, 'are not in need of your leniency. Lord Touars, you face me in my own kingdom, you inhabit my lands, and you breathe at my pleasure. Make your own choice.

I should return to oversee the work outside. Ravenel should have impeccable defences. I want... I want to do that for you.' he said.
'It can wait. You just won me a fort' said Laurent. 'Let me spoil you a little

Dear Charls. Whatever will you do with your own Kemptian silk? It will spoil on the road.' 'We aren't carrying any Kemptian silk,' said the Prince. It took a moment for those words to be understood, and then Makon's expression changed. 'Oh, did you think we were? I'm afraid you undercut yourself for no reason.' A look of fury had appeared on Makon's face. The Prince said, 'A little healthy competition.' Dinner

The shock of collision was like the smashing of boulders in the landslide at Nesson. Damen felt the familiar battering shudder, the sudden shift in scale as the panorama of the charge was abruptly replaced by the slam of muscle against metal, of horse and man impacting at speed. Nothing could be heard over the crashing, the roars of men, both sides warping and threatening to rupture, regular lines and upright banners replaced by a heaving, struggling mass. Horses slipped, then regained their footing; others fell, slashed or speared through.

A hiss of a rock, thrown. Nikandros came up off his knees, drawing his sword. Damen flung out a hand in a motion for halt, stopping Nikandros instantly, his sword showing a half-foot of Akielon steel. He could see the confusion on Nikandros's face, as the courtyard around them began to disintegrate. 'Damianos?' 'Order your men to hold,' said Damen, even as the sharp sound of steel closer by had him turning fast. A

The delicate thing that had grown between them had never had a right to exist.

The next night, alone in the tent, Laurent said: 'As we draw closer to the border, I think it would be safer
more private
to hold our discussions in your language rather than mine.'
He said it in carefully pronounced Akielon.
Damen stared at him, feeling as though the world had just been rearranged.
'What is it?' said Laurent.
'Nice accent,' said Damen, because despite everything, the corner of his mouth was beginning helplessly to curve up.
[ ... ]
It was of course no surprise to find that Laurent had a well-stocked armoury of elegant phrases and bitchy remarks, but could not talk in detail about anything sensible.

The ache of loss didn't make sense, because Laurent had never been his.

Damen's palm slid over Laurent's warm nape; slowly, very slowly, making his height an offering, not a threat, Damen leaned in and kissed Laurent on the mouth. The kiss was barely a suggestion of itself, with no yielding of the rigidity in Laurent, but the first kiss became a second, after a fraction of parting in which Damen felt the flicker of Laurent's shallow breathing against his own lips. It

Having made the decision to let Damen in, Laurent had not gone back on it. When the walls went up, it was with Damen inside them. But

Auguste had fought with honour. He had
been the one honourable man on a
treacherous field.

It's lucky King Damianos is at Delpha,' said Charls, uncertainly. 'There's no need to worry that the Prince is away so close to the Ascension.' 'Yes, this would be a terrible idea otherwise,' said Lamen.

Laurent stopped. Damen could see the moment when Laurent decided to continue. It was deliberate, his eyes meeting Damen's, his tone subtly changed.
'Damianos of Akielos was commanding troops at seventeen. At nineteen, he rode onto the field, cut a path through our finest men, and took my brother's life. They say
they said
he was the best fighter in Akielos. I thought, if I was going to kill someone like that, I would have to be very, very good.

If he was aware of anything beyond the fight, it was of an absence, a lack that persisted. The flashes of brilliance, the insouciant sword work, the bright presence at his side was instead a gap, half filled by Nikandros's steadier, more practical style.

For a moment he thought Laurent wasn't going to do it. But in public, Laurent had no recourse to refusal. Laurent extended his hand. And then waited, palm outstretched, his eyes lifting to meet Damen's. Laurent said, 'Put it on me.' Every

No. Wait. I ... wait.
Damen stopped, and turned. Laurent's
gaze was edged with indecipherable
emotion, and his jaw was set
at a new angle. The silence stretched out
for such a long time that the words, when
they came, were a shock.

From the severe, straight-backed posture to the impersonal grace of his cupped yellow head; from his detached blue eyes to the arrogance of his cheekbones, Laurent was complicated and contradictory, and Damen could look nowhere else.

Something to say?' said Laurent
Jord was holding off from them. The same stubborn distaste was in his voice. 'Not with him here.'
'He's your Captain,' said Laurent.
'He knows well enough he should go.'
'While we compare notes on spreading for the enemy?' said Laurent.

There is little sense in pitting a lesser sense of duty against a greater one. No leader could expect loyalty to hold under those circumstances.

I hurt you, Laurent."
"That's enough, stop," said Laurent.
"It wasn't right. You were just a boy. You didn't deserve what happened to you."
"I said that's enough."
"Is it so hard to hear?

"That's enough," title="C.S. Pacat Quotes: I hurt you, Laurent."
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There was no immediate disaster.

Charcy is claimed for Akielos.' As he rose, Damen wrapped his hand around its wooden pole and planted it in the earth. The

Last night, in the evening darkness of the tent, he had pulled this gift from his packs and looked down at it, feeling its weight in his hands. Once or twice before, he had thought about this moment. In his most private thoughts, he'd imagined it happening with the two of them alone together.

Damen watched as alone, unattended, Laurent had left his own banquet to find him, to follow him here, up the worn steps out onto the battlements. Laurent fitted himself next to him, a comfortable, unobtrusive presence that took up room in Damen's chest. They stood on the edge of the fort they had won together.

Guilliame said in a low voice, 'It was poison. It was in the feed. Lamen noticed a dead field mouse near the grain stores. If not for that warning, we'd have lost all the horses. Not just this one.' The Prince stayed with the horse while Lamen touched him on the shoulder, then arranged for a horsemaster to put the horse down. The Prince only rose when the horse was dead. The

He wasn't sure how it would be, but
when Laurent saw who was beside him,
he smiled, the expression a
little shy but completely genuine.
Damen, who hadn't been expecting it,
felt the single painful beat of his heart.
He'd never thought Laurent could look
like that at anyone.

I'm not going to use the knife," said
Damen, "but if you're willing to put it in
my hand, you underestimate how much I
want to."
"No," said Laurent, "I know exactly what
it is to want to kill a man, and to wait.

Charls met the Prince of Vere once,' Guilliame said to Damen, lowering his voice to the conspiratorial, 'in a tavern in Nesson, disguised as a,' lowering it further, 'prostitute.'
Damen looked over at Laurent, who was deep in conversation, letting his eyes pass slowly over every familiar feature, the cool expression tipped with gold in the firelight. He said, 'Did he?'
'Charls said, think of the most expensive pet you've ever seen, then double it.'
'Really?' said Damen.
'Of course, Charls knew who he was right away, because he couldn't hide his princely style, and nobility of spirit.'
'Of course,' said Damen.

A minute or two more and Orlant disengaged, and swore. 'Are you going to fight me or not?'
You said we were sparring,' said Damen, neutrally.
Orlant flung down his sword, took two steps off to one of the watching men, and pulled from its sheath thirty inches of polished steel straightsword, which without preamble he returned to swing with killing speed at Damen's neck.

My throne for your throne,' Damen said. He pushed back the fabric. It was more bare skin than Laurent had ever shown in public, on display to the entire tent. 'Help me regain my kingdom, and I'll see you King of Vere.' Damen fitted the cuff to Laurent's left wrist. 'I'm overjoyed to wear a gift that reminds me of you,' said Laurent. The cuff locked into place.

It was like watching a man smile as he surrendered himself to drown in deep water.

You're better than I am.'
Damen couldn't help his amused breath of reaction to that, or the long, scrolling look from Laurent's head to his toes and back again, which was probably a little insulting. But really.

Keep your mouth off my brother.

It's me,' said Damen. 'It's me, here with you. Say my name.' 'Damianos.' He

Why do you give me good advice?"
asked Laurent.
Isn't that why you brought me with
you? Instead of speaking those words
aloud, Damen said, "Why don't you take
any of it?

What are you doing?" Damen's breath
was shaky.
"What am I doing? You are not very
observant."
"You're not yourself," said Damen. "And
even if you were, you don't do anything
without a dozen motives."
Laurent went very still, the soft words
half bitter. "Don't I? I must want
something.

You came', said Laurent.
'You knew I would', said Damen.
'If you need an army to take your capital', said Laurent, 'I seem to have one'
Damen let out a strange breath. They were gazing at each other. Laurent said, 'after all, I owe you a fort

You just surprised me,' said Damen. 'Sometimes I think I understand you, and at other times I can't make you out at all.'
'Believe me, that sentiment is mutual.

Action exploded to his left, movement busting from the trees. The attack came from the north, charging from the slope and the tree line. Ahead of it was a solitary rider, a scout, racing flat out over the grass. The Regent's men were on them, and Laurent wasn't within a hundred miles of the battle. Laurent had never planned to come.
That was what the scout was screaming, right before an arrow took him in the back.

I don't know. I don't know why. I don't know what I did to make him hate me as much as this. Why we couldn't go as brothers to mourn - - our father - 'You

If we just knew which end to start with,' Lamen said. It was suddenly obvious that Lamen had no idea what to do. With a clear moment of insight, Charls saw that Lamen was not a cloth merchant's assistant. He was the prince's private companion, and had no real skills whatsoever. 'Guilliame,

Look, it's those flowers from that boring poem that you like,' Ancel announced proudly. He stood in front of the spray of white flowers.

But after a moment Laurent turned his eyes elsewhere, and then closed them, and they both made their way to sleep.

Laurent was a nest of scorpions in the body of one person.

Time unslid the knot of any last ribbon of tension.

By that time, Damen had received the tally of the dead: twelve hundred of us, six and a half thousand of them. He

If it hurt it was fitting. It was simply kingship.

He was not inclined to believe that cruelty delivered with one hand was redeemed by a caress from the other, if that's even what this was.

Stay back, old man. It isn't your business. This is the Prince of Vere.'
'But
I only paid three coppers for him,' said Volo, sounding confused.

To take off the collar required a blacksmith. He

I don't have sleeves to carry handkerchiefs in,' said Damen. 'I wouldn't mind being given a knife.' 'Or a fork?' said Laurent.

A kingdom, or this

A ludicrous boyish hope flared that someone would come to help him, and, carefully, he extinguished it.

This place sickened him. Anywhere else, you simply killed your enemy with a sword. Or poisoned him, if you had the honourless instincts of an assassin. Here, it was layer upon layer of constructed double-dealing, dark, polished and unpleasant. He would have assumed tonight the product of Laurent's own mind, if Laurent were not so clearly the victim.

Torveld favoured Laurent with another of those long, admiring looks that were starting to come with grating frequency. Damen frowned. Laurent was a nest of scorpions in the body of one person. Torveld looked at him and saw a buttercup.

He became aware of a man drawn
alongside them, frozen in stillness even
in the midst of battle, and
knew that what had just happened had
been seen, and overheard.
He turned, the truth on his face. Stripped
bare, he could not hide himself in that
moment. Laurent, he thought, and lifted
his gaze to meet the eyes of the man who
had witnessed the last words of Lord
Touars.
It wasn't Laurent. It was Jord.
He was staring at Damen in horror, his
sword lax in his hand.

It's not naive to trust your family.'
'I promise you, it is,' said Laurent. 'But I wonder, is it less naive than the moments when I find myself trusting a stranger, my barbarian enemy, whom I do not treat gently.

As the heavy latticed iron beetled above
their heads, Damen found himself
wanting it, wanting disruption, a cry of
outrage, or of challenge, wanting it as a
release to this
feeling. Traitor. Stop.
But none came.

Laurent had known who he was, and had still made love to him. He wondered what mix of yearning and self-delusion had allowed Laurent to do that.

When you lost your brother, was there someone to comfort you?"
"Yes," said Laurent. "In a way."
"Then I'm glad," said Damen. "I'm glad that you weren't alone."
Laurent pushed himself away, up into a sitting position, and for a moment he sat, without speaking. He pushed his palms into his eye sockets.
"What is it?"
"It's nothing," said Laurent.

Like a lie, cracking and dropping from him. He looked at the gleam of the gold where Guerin placed it, halved, on the workbench. Veretian shackles. In the curve of its metal was every humiliation of his time in this country, every frustration at Veretian confinement, every indignity of an Akielon serving a Veretian master. Except that it was Kastor who had put the collar on him, and Laurent who was freeing him. It

You were worried about failing in the eyes of someone else. When you fence don't think about the outcome of the match. Don't think about winning. Winning is a distraction. Think about fencing. Think about fencing well, in the way that you enjoy. The technique that you're practicing will be there, and it will improve over time

Did you learn the rotation of the border patrols?' said Laurent.

'Yes, our scouts found - '

Laurent was standing in the doorway wearing a chiton of unadorned white cotton.

Damen dropped the pitcher.

It shattered, shards flying outward as it slipped from his fingers and hit the stone floor.

Laurent's arms were bare. His throat was bare. His collarbone was bare, and most of his thighs, his long legs, and all of his left shoulder. Damen stared at him.

'You're wearing Akielon clothing,' said Damen.

'Everyone's wearing Akielon clothing,' said Laurent.

Damen thought that the pitcher had shattered and he could not now take a deep draught of the wine. Laurent came forward, navigating the broken ceramic in his short cotton and sandalled feet, until he reached the seat beside Damen, where the map was laid out on the wooden table.

'Once we know the rotation of the patrols, we'll know when to approach,' said Laurent.

Laurent sat down.

'We need to approach at the beginning of their rotation in order to give us the most time before they report back to the fort.'

It was even shorter sitting down.

'Damen.'

'Yes. Sorry,' said Damen. And then: 'What were you saying?

Guilliame. 'No, I was born in the capital.' He said no more than that. Charls supposed that he and Guilliame were two of the few who knew the truth of Lamen's origins - that under that long Veretian sleeve there was a golden cuff, and that Lamen had once been a palace slave. He did not know how Lamen had come by his freedom, though he could see how Lamen had caught the Prince's eye. Lamen was a young man in peak physical condition, good natured and loyal. Any unmarried nobleman would notice him. 'And how is it you now fight for Veretians?' said Alexon. Charls found himself curious to hear his answer, but Lamen said only, 'I came to know one of them.' The

You wrestled him without any clothes on.'
'That is sports,

You spent the night in the Prince of Vere's rooms.' 'I spent ten minutes in his rooms. If you think I fucked him in that time you underrate me.' Nikandros didn't move his horse out of the way.

Then Laurent turned and saw him, and
the pressure in his chest grew like pain
as Laurent greeted him, half stripped and
bright-eyed.

You're so loyal to him. Why is that?"
"I'm not a turncoat Akielon dog," said
Aimeric.

Believe you'd make it back to Akielos? Yes. I did. You were a force of nature. It was infuriating to fight you. Frightening to have you on my side.'
'Frightening?'
'You didn't know how afraid I was of you?'
'Of me? Or of yourself?'
'Of what was happening between us.

The collar came first, and when Guerin drew it from his neck he felt the collar's absence like a lightness, his spine unfurling, his shoulders settling.
Like a lie, cracking and dropping from him.

He killed, his sword shearing, shield and horse a ram, pushing in, and further in, opening a space by force alone for the momentum of the men behind him. Beside him a man fell to a spear in the throat. To his left, an equine scream as Rochert's horse went down.
In front of him, methodically, men fell, and fell, and fell.
He split his attention. He swept a sword cut aside with his shield, killed a helmed soldier, and all the while flung out his mind, waiting for the moment when Touar's lines split open. The most difficult part of commanding from the front was this
staying alive in the moment, while tracking in his mind, critically, the whole fight. Yet it was exhilarating, like fighting with two bodies, at two scales.