You're a Good Man...

Writers: Estelle, Miriah
Date Posted: 12th May 2020
Series: The Assassin's Husband

Characters: Lorican, Lusilk
Description: You're a Good Man...
Location: Barrier Lake Weyr
Date: month 3, day 15 of Turn 10
Notes: Mentioned: Urlene, Dunrik, Jayzine (Not by name)

Lusilk

She rarely got her quarters to herself, especially now that Lorican
was living with them, so when he decided to work late in the smithy
and Silgan was tucked into bed and asleep, Lusilk took the opportunity
to have a steaming bath. She was glad of the privacy, for Silgan
thought little of barging into the bathing chamber when he was awake.
But despite her desire for privacy, for safety, she kept the door
opened, in case he called out for her or there was an unwelcome
visitor.

Unbinding her hair, she pulled the heavy dark mass over her shoulder
as she reclined in the bathing tub, letting the steaming water soothe
her muscles. She only allowed herself a short time to soak, sitting
upwards to reach for the sweet sand and begin to scrub. She scrubbed
away the days sweat and grime, then scrubbed her hair, dunking herself
to rinse.

After the day's work of filling orders for the builders of the Weyrhold
was completed, Lorican had planned to spend the evening working on a few
of his own ideas. He was still undecided on the work he'd need to submit
to the Hall, to prove himself worth of promotion. The tools and parts
he'd produced for the technicians would, he hoped, be enough to show he
had the required ability, but they were made to the designs of others.
The bell for Lusilk's rooms, by contrast, had given him a chance to
indulge his creativity that he found more satisfying.

He tried out some adjustments to the mount, so that it'd be less easy to
quietly remove the bell from the inside. One worked well enough that,
encouraged, he decided to stop work for the night and go back to
Lusilk's rooms to draw up the design. Despite his precautions, the
events at the sea hold had left him less comfortable working alone in
the smithy.

He pushed open the door, drawing a light ring from the bell, and called
out his name. The lights were low, and he supposed she was in Silgan's
room. Setting down his tools quietly in case the child was asleep, he
headed for the bathing room to wash off the sweat of the forge. The
sound of a splash warned him a moment too late and he froze in the doorway.

"I'm sorry..." His embarrassment was forgotten suddenly as, before he
could close his eyes and turn away, he caught sight of the strange
pattern of thin white lines that crossed the back of the woman in the
bath, exposed clearly as she'd swept up her hair to scrub it clean. Too
shocked to look away, he noticed other marks on her skin that were more
familiar to his craft: the shiny, smooth signs of burns. Unlike the
results of mishaps in the smithy, though, these were regular in shape,
one larger than the others, a circle, centered between her shoulders.
There was something...deliberate about them. His gaze rose to her face,
uncomprehending.

She hadn't been able to cover herself in time and went still. The fall
of his voice, the stop of Lorican's words told her enough. She sat up
in the bath and looked over her shoulder at him. It wasn't her nudity
that disturbed her; she had no shame in the shape or tone of her body.
But she knew where his eyes had landed and it wasn't in the shape of
her hips or the line of her bosom. His eyes were locked on the scars.

Lusilk's back straightened. Typically, she didn't explain the marks,
she didn't have to. But the look on Lorican's face, the dumbfounded
expression reminded her how innocent he truly was in some matters. She
rose from the tub slowly, reaching for a towel to wrap around herself
before facing him. Her hair spilled around her shoulders and with the
towel clutched at her front, she appeared softer and also a little
sad, but resolved all the same. "Lord Rorrigraf isn't gentle with the
Holdless on his lands, Lorican. Especially when they're caught."

"Lord _Rorrigraf_ did that to you?" He sounded - not quite disbelieving,
but almost as if he wanted to be told it wasn't true. He knew the Lord
Holder, one of the most powerful men in the South, was Silgan's
grandfather and he'd guessed, though he tried not to think of it too
much, how that had come to be. But those marks on her skin spoke of a
darkness and cruelty that he could never have imagined.

Her answering lifting of lips wasn't quite a smile; instead it was a
painful expression, sardonic and grim. "Yes. He and his son." One brow
arched up at Lorican's expression. "For about five months. When I was
fevered, they'd send a Healer to keep me alive, but only so they could
continue as soon as I healed enough to take it. Rorrigraf and his son
enjoyed it. They enjoyed the power of it." She studied Lorican's face,
saw the disbelief and horror. "All Lord Holders, really any man in
any sort of power, have that in them. Whether or not it's let out, is
another matter."

He let out a breath, stricken. "I'm sorry. I didn't know." Five months,
he thought. Like any smith, he knew how much it hurt to be burned. And
to know it would happen, over and over, for so long. Not to know if it
would end. Abruptly, he realized that he was keeping her standing there,
wet and wrapped in a towel, while he stared.

"Oh. I'll let you dress. I'm sorry..." He backed out, retreated to the
the main room and sat down heavily on the couch. Lorican felt as though
he'd pulled aside a veil and seen dark and foul things crawling behind
it, which he'd never before even suspected to exist. It turned his
stomach. Despair warred with an overwhelming sensation of warmth and
sympathy towards the woman whose scars he'd seen, and a slow-burning
anger at the two men who'd given them to her.

When she emerged, Lusilk was wrapped in a thick robe tied securely
around her waist and she'd tied her damp hair back in a loose knot at
the base of her neck. She looked at Lorican, then moved to slowly sit
beside him on the couch. She didn't speak at first, weighing her words
before she spoke softly. "I wish the world was like you saw it,
Lorican. I truly do. But I've never seen it with your eyes; I'm not
capable of that anymore." She turned her head to look at him, honest
regret in her gaze. "I've tried my best to let Silgan grow up in that
world of yours, to let him be as innocent as he can be for as long as
he can. By the time I was his age, I was already picking pockets and
pilfering what I could from others. All I could do was survive."

Her gaze turned to her son's bedroom, where she could see his sleeping
face, open and innocent in his slumber. "I didn't love my son. Not at
first. I wanted so badly to hate him, but when I saw his face for the
first time, I couldn't. All I wanted was to protect him, despite who
his father was. It wasn't Silgan's fault. All he knows is that his
father is dead. But if Rorrigraf ever manages to get his hands on
him...." She shook her head. "He'll destroy everything I love in my
son."

"Is there no-one you could tell about what happened to you?" He spoke
quietly, in deference to the sleeping boy, but urgently. Lorican was not
a stranger to the privilege and immunity that rank could afford, he'd
seen it even in his Hall, but this went far beyond that and he felt a
growing outrage that this crime had gone unpunished. "Surely if you took
your case to the other Lords... I'm no harper but he must surely be in
violation of the charter. A Lord has a duty to deal justly with his people."

That brought a bitter laugh and she looked over at him as though
sympathetic. "Do you honestly think anyone would speak out against
him? Any of his holders or people? They're afraid of him, Lorican. And
what makes you think they'd listen to a holdless thief's word against
his?" Lusilk shook her head. "No, Lorican. Nothing can be done. The
other Lord Holders...they know what he's like." She stared off towards
her son's room again. "Perhaps you understand now why I have to keep
my son away from him. Why I'd do anything to keep him safe."

"Yes. I understand." He looked down at his clasped hands, sitting
quietly for a while as he tried to take in what he'd just learned. It
was hard to imagine. It changed everything. Then, eventually, he made a
decision and raised his head.

"I'll help you." Of course, he'd promised to do so, it had been part of
the bargain they'd made, but this was different. "I know I'm not much
use yet, but Master Dunrik said that in six months I might have Master's
knots. My Craft would protect him."

She studied him for a long moment, her brow furrowed. She hesitated,
then slowly reached out to cover his clasped hands with her own.
"Thank you." She leaned over and brushed her lips lightly over his
cheek. "You're a good man, Lorican."

"It's the least I can do. After all you've done for me," Lorican said,
suddenly embarrassed, his cheeks warming. Of course, he remembered,
there was every chance he wouldn't live long enough to earn those knots.
"And if anything, uh, happens to me, you have other friends here. Master
Dunrik, the Headwoman. They'd see he comes to no harm."

She doubted that they'd be able to help if Lord Rorigraff decided to
pressure the Weyrhold to get his heir. They would have to bend to the
pressure. "Best to make sure he doesn't find him at all." She rose
from the couch. "I'm going to bed. It's been a long day. " She paused,
looking down at him, dark eyes considering. Slowly, she offered her
hand.

His eyes widened a little. Lorican sensed that this gesture of trust, so
ordinary to him, wasn't something she offered lightly, or often. He rose
from the couch and took her hand in his, fingers closing gently around
hers. "All right. I'm going to bathe, but I'll be quiet." He looked down
at her, not pitying any longer, but with understanding, and respect.
"Good night, Lusilk."

She nodded, gave his hand a light squeeze, then stopped, looking at
his face. Her brow knit and she stepped forward, still holding his
hand. "You can come to me after. If you want." She pressed her lips
against his, gently, then stepped back, letting him go before turning
and walking to her bedchamber, leaving him behind.

Lorican watched her go, his mouth half-open as if to speak, but no sound
came out. Longing burned through him like the heat of a fire, and he
felt his heart beat fast at the thought of what he'd seen, the curve of
her neck where she'd lifted her dark wet hair away from it, her back,
scarred but still straight, unbowed. The soft touch of her lips on his...

He reached for the cord at his neck, and pulled on it, lifting Urlene's
ring from its hiding place inside his shirt. Closing his eyes, he
tightened his fingers around it, feeling the stone digging into his
palm, and remembered.

Last updated on the May 31st 2020

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