The Downs by Kim Fielding

wonderful.”
    “Wonderful,” Enitan agreed. He burrowed his head into the crook of Rig’s neck and enjoyed the final taste he’d ever have of safety and love.
    ****

Chapter Ten
    For the next few days, Enitan kept a careful distance from Rig. He separated their sleeping mats and kept his clothes on at night, and although he worked with Rig at the house by the lake, Enitan never touched him. Rig kept casting him troubled looks but didn’t ask for an explanation for the sudden change in climate.
    Not that Enitan didn’t want to touch Rig, to sleep with him. Gods, he spent hours turning restlessly in the darkened hut; and when he finally did fall asleep, he dreamed of Rig. It would have been so easy to entice Rig back to him. But that would have been a theft, and although Enitan was unredeemable, he was not a thief.
    It was another reason to hate Minna, really. If she hadn’t damned him, he wouldn’t have fallen into the Downs. Rig wouldn’t have found him and healed him. They wouldn’t have made love. And Enitan wouldn’t have abandoned him, no doubt leaving Rig angry and bereft.
    Maybe, Enitan thought, after he dealt with Minna he could make his way to the Judge, and he could exact vengeance on that bitch as well.
    Four days after the fog lifted, the day dawned so brightly that Enitan squinted up at the sky. It was the same color as Rig’s bird, which was greedily gathering crumbs from their breakfast. “No clouds,” Enitan said. He hoped his calm voice hid his racing heart.
    Rig looked at him sidelong. “Maybe my friends from the village will come today. We’re running a little low on supplies.” He paused. “You can go with them when they return home.”
    Instead of answering, Enitan tossed a few more tidbits to the bird. It knew him so well by now that it would sometimes peck at his bare toes if he was too slow at feeding it.
    After a time, Rig turned to him. “A dip in the lake would be nice today, don’t you think? And I’d like to gather some stones for the hearth in my house. We don’t have enough.” The house by the lake had an enormous fireplace. Enitan could stand inside it without stooping. “Help me pack a lunch. We can eat there.”
    “I’ll help with lunch, but I’m not going.” Voice flat, matter-of-fact. Face expressionless. Stomach turning itself inside out. He marched to the hut as if everything were settled.
    But Rig grabbed his arm as Enitan passed him. “Come with me, Eni. Please.” He looked as if the final word cost him a great deal.
    The nickname almost broke Enitan, but not quite. “Not today,” he said quietly, and he gently pulled his arm from Rig’s grip. He entered the cabin, where he began to assemble food for Rig’s midday meal: leftover flatbread, smoked dragonfish, a few small red fruits that tasted bland but were, according to Rig, good for one’s blood. Rig watched silently as Enitan stuffed the food into a cloth bag.
    “I won’t let you—” Rig began when Enitan held the bag toward him.
    “If we fight, I’ll win. And I’ll tie you up. Your friends from the village can rescue you.”
    “I’ll tie you up,” Rig said, jaw tight.
    “You can’t. And even if you could, then what? You’d keep me chained up forever? Could you do that to me, Rig?”
    When Rig’s eyes welled with tears, Enitan’s heart shattered. But the tears didn’t fall, and Enitan didn’t yield. He’d warned Rig. He’d told him what he was.
    Rig still hadn’t taken the bag from him, so Enitan grabbed Rig’s big hand and pressed the cloth against the palm until Rig curled his fingers. Gods, those fingers. Enitan shivered with the memory of them against his skin.
    Rig seemed to misunderstand the reason for Enitan’s shudder. “The scars. I can ask one of the other healers to work on them. I don’t know if they’ll disappear entirely, but—”
    Enitan touched the marred side of Rig’s face. “This has nothing to do with the scars. You’re a beautiful man, inside and out.