To my very last.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric looked up from his work as Constantine came into the tent, setting aside the clothes he was mending. “My master.” He dipped a deep bow.

“My darling boy.” Constantine sighed tiredly. The strategy council had gone on late into the night, one of the few meetings Sinric was not permitted to attend even as Constantine’s cup-bearer. “You didn’t have to stay up for me. You must be tired.” Constantine cupped the blonde youth’s cheek and drew him into a kiss.

A kiss that Sinric melted into. “There is nowhere in the world I would rather be than at your side tonight.” He fought to keep the sadness from his voice but it took all he had.

“Then I suppose you’ve heard.” Constantine shifted, letting Sinric help him out of the ceremonial leather armour he wore as Supreme General of the Army. Constantine’s own battle armour was far less flashy and far more practical, but appearance mattered. “Battle will be met tomorrow.”

Sinric was glad he was at his master’s back then, that Constantine couldn’t see his face. He bit his lip, praying his voice stayed steady. “I had not heard, Patéras,” The pet name slipping out. “But I guessed as much.” He had known this day was coming for so long now. Ever since he found the book of histories in Milliways’ library, the next day’s date had been burned into his heart like a brand.

Constantine turned to cup his favourite’s chin. “You need not fear, my golden one. You will be safe here.”

Sinric pressed his cheek into Constantine’s palm. “It’s not myself I fear for, Master.”

Constantine pulled Sinric into his arms, holding him close. He gave no empty comfort or false hope. Constantine was a soldier first and foremost and had held his empire with the sword and good management. He drew Sinric up again. “I have made arrangements for you and the others. Should I fall tomorrow, you will be free. Each of you will have a living, my son Niketas will oversee it.”

Sinric lowered his eyes, deeply grateful that the Nobelissimos had kept up his part of the plan. Probus and the other Birds would be protected, not just by Niketas’ influence but by Constantine’s writ. “Thank you, Patéras.”

“You don’t seem pleased, my golden one?”

Sinric shook his head, trying to smile. “Given the choice between the warmth of your embrace and freedom in a world without you, I would stay in your arms forever.”

Constantine crooned and lifted Sinric into a kiss, carrying him to the bed.

They made love slowly, gently, exploring each other as if it were the first time. And not the last, as Sinric knew it to be. Knowing now that his beloved bird could reach a peak like other men, Constantine took great pains to see that he did, stroking and coaxing Sinric over the edge once his own passion was spent.

In the warmth of the afterglow, the tent lanterns burning low, Sinric began to sing to his beloved.

It was a simple melody woven around a repeating chorus of loving affirmations.

And you will be eternal in my heart,
Wherever the wind may blow me.
You will be eternal in my heart,
Father, beloved, and always.

The verses sung of Sinric life in the golden cage – of waking from the fever of his gelding to find Constantine watching over him, of the words of loving encouragement his master to be whispered to him. Of loving his master as a father. Of giving himself to him as a lover. Of growing bright and strong under Constantine’s tutelage and protection.

He sang of love, of joy, of having found his place in the world.

And he fought not to choke on his tears as Constantine fell asleep in his arms, knowing this would be the last time.

***

They brought Constantine back on a litter close to dusk, his skin ashen and his side split open. Castor had to hold Sinric tight to keep him from rushing into the tent as the surgeons did what little they could. For all his small size, Sinric fought like a tiger against the big guard’s grasp, feeling every second lost like a blow.

Finally the surgeons came out, shaking their heads and Castor was able to let Sinric go.

The tent reeked of blood and death and Castor gagged at the smell of it, but Sinric didn’t seem to notice. All he saw, all there was in the world for him was Constantine.

The Emperor pulled his beloved bird to his uninjured side, holding him with all his waning strength as Sinric sobbed into the dressings. “Sing for me, my most precious boy. I want to leave this world hearing your voice.”

So Sinric sang. Through tears that fell like Noah’s flood, he sang.

He sang as he sang the night before – the song of love and devotion, of all that they shared.

But he sang on past those words and on to others. He sang now of finding a place of magic when past and present and all worlds met. He sang of the wonders he had seen there, myriad and unfathomable.

He sang of the people he had known – the lady soldier who fought for her world, the sun princess who hid herself as a baker, the carefree noble who found joy in strange and sometimes dangerous beauty, the dour priest who faced monsters, the immortal youth whose beauty turned the heads of gods, the blood-drinking serpent in the form of a man, the kindly doctor who had cared for him after Leo’s cruelty.

But most of all he sang of a northern earl and his Northumbrian steward. Of the loving care they had shown him and the great hope they had given to him. Of the future he would have to bring them together as a wanderer of the wide, wide world.

Constantine raised his hand to cup Sinric’s cheek, drawing him into a long and loving kiss. “I wish all this were true. For then I wouldn’t need to fear for you. My beautiful Sinric.” The first and last time Constantine had ever used Sinric’s true name.

And with another slow kiss, Constantine closed his eyes and was gone.

Silence held the room for what seemed like an eternity, no breath to stir the air. Sinric found he could make no sound, fallen mute as if this song had been his last. He lay there for what felt like an age of the world, unable and unwilling to move; a waking swoon.

Castor, who had stood motionless by the tent flap through all, crossed to take Sinric’s shoulder. “It’s time.”

When the youth didn’t stir, did not even seem to hear him. Other guards came, called in by their captain to carry messages to the leaders of the army and to have messengers ride for Constantinople at once. The surgeons returned, shaking their heads again with the sadness of men who knew there was nothing that could have been done.

Through all the uproar and bustle, Sinric lay at his dead master’s side, as still as the man himself. All will gone out of him.

It was Castor who gently untangled their hands and lifted Sinric in his arms like a child. He carried Sinric, stricken and seemingly lifeless to a corner of the tent. A tiny vial slipped from a surgeon’s sleeve to the captain’s palm in passing. Disregarded by all others, Castor pour a few drops of something bitter onto Sinric’s tongue before setting the vial in Sinric’s hand.

A moment later he sighed and bent to close Sinric’s eyes, as one might for a corpse.

“Captain?” Mehrak, Castor’s second called, glancing over to where the big man sat.

“Aureus is gone.” Castor made a show of pulling himself with an effort. It wasn’t a hard show – like Sinric, he loved Constantine. Differently perhaps but loss cut him no less deeply.

The Nubian Gef joined them as Mehrak leant over the boy, brushing hair back from Sinric’s pale face. “Poor delicate thing.” Gef shook his head. “Done to death by grief, you think?”

“So it would seem.” Castor said seriously, making a poor show of hiding the vial as it slipped from Sinric’s hand.

Mehrak and Gef saw it, drawing the same concussion – that Sinric had taken his own life. Gef shook his head minutely and took the vial from Castor as Mehrak glanced over their shoulders to check they were unobserved. Silent and swift, the vial was dropped and crushed neatly under the Nubian’s boot.

“Grief.” Mehrak affirmed firmly. “We all know how well he loved the Emperor.” Aureus was popular and much loved by the Emperor’s guards. None of them would see him condemned as a suicide.

Gef straightened, moving to scoop up the little eunuch’s body. “I’ll see his body loaded with our other honoured dead.” But Castor’s hand on his arm stopped him.

The captain dropped his voice low, meant for them alone. “Emperor Leo,” the words dripped with venom, “will never allow Aureus rest in peace. If he has his way, the boy’s body will be burned. Or worse.” None of them thought desiccation of Aureus’ corpse would be below Leo. “Help me move him into one of the linen chests. I’ll see to it he’s taken somewhere safe and laid out with honour.”

Both guards nodded and with quiet and efficient care, placed Sinric inside one of the linen chests and moved it to the captain’s quarters.

Somewhere in the packing, the scramble of the defeated rout and breaking of camp, the linen chest went missing. It found its way onto a cart bound for the trade port of Thessaloniki.