Chapter 23: The Duel — The Key of Oslov

Volume 11: Crosscurrents and Consequences

Chapter 23 The Duel

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

When Gersha finally returned to the suite, the lights were out, and Tilrey’s breathing was deep and even in the dark. Gersha tiptoed to the bathroom, undressed, and slipped into bed beside his husband.He kept distance between them, not wanting to wake Tilrey. But after a few minutes the mattress shifted. Strong arms wrapped around him, and warm breath caressed his ear. “Did Vera say yes?”Gersha nodded, his pulse racing at the touch. “You need your sleep. I didn’t want to wake you.”“Don’t mind. It’s afternoon now, I think. Is it afternoon?”A broad palm moved over Gersha’s stomach, under his T-shirt, stroking up the line of dark hair there. Gersha arced into the touch. “I think so. That tickles.”Tilrey kissed him behind the ear. “Does this tickle?” Hardness pressed against Gersha’s thigh—not demanding, just there. Before he could stop himself, Gersha was pressing back, feeling the dark thrum of his own arousal.Tilrey said in a soft growl, “I want you to take me again the way you did at the base. Be rough, like you own me. I want to hear you say you own me.”Gersha felt so many things he couldn’t speak. Hearing I want from Tilrey was still rare and always welcome. What they’d done in the rickety bunk at the base had been good.But right now he wasn’t in the mood to degrade the person he loved. He was still glowing from the sight of Ceill’s face and the light in Ceill’s eyes, and he wanted to thank Tilrey for making all that possible. He wanted to hug him.Even if Tilrey hadn’t wanted any of it to happen.“I’d like to give you that, love,” he said, rolling over to face Tilrey. “But another time. I should have asked you before—how bad was it, with Tollsha? When I found him, he was into a sloppy-drunk phase. Did he lash out at you?”The languid arousal on Tilrey’s face vanished like a slate being wiped clean, but he didn’t pull away. “We didn’t say a word to each other. Vera and Albertine must have given Tollsha dire warnings not to engage. But the way he looked at me—honestly, I wish they’d just let him do his worst.”He began to tremble, pressing his face against Gersha’s hair. “I wish he had come at me. I wish he’d clipped me on the jaw and knocked me down and pounded me into the floor.”Gersha’s throat closed as he remembered Tollsha expressing similar sentiments about Tilrey. He stroked Tilrey’s hair, the other hand petting his back as if he were a frightened animal. “You have these dark thoughts sometimes. I know you do, and you can tell me. It’s all right.”Tilrey did tug away this time. He sat up and said in a growl, not a sensual one, “You’re always so damn understanding. I hate this. All of you high Upstarts treating me so kindly, like I’m an equal. Even Albertine. And my mom just nods like she thinks it’s her due.”“Maybe it is her due.” For the first time, Gersha wondered if Lisha might be part of the True Hearth like Dal. Tilrey would know, but it wasn’t the time to ask him.Tilrey stared into the dark. “I can’t take it—people expecting things from me. It’s too much. And then Artur saying I should be a leader—what the fuck does he know?” He hung his head and raked his fingers through his hair. “It’s too much pressure. Too much responsibility. And then you get all glowy and excited about this kid when he’s something I didn’t make happen, something that just happened to me.”“He’s not a thing,” Gersha said.Tilrey didn’t seem to hear him. “Vera used me, Gersha. That’s how he exists. That explains everything in my life. I’m nothing. I’m only good for people to use. I want to be used, even. Don’t you understand that?”His breath was coming in sharp hitches. When Gersha took him in his arms again, making wordless, soothing sounds, he didn’t resist.“It’s all right, love,” Gersha said under his breath, pulling Tilrey’s head onto his breast. “I’m here now, and you belong to me, and you can do anything you like. I’m taking charge of things. I’ll be in charge from now on.”

We both know I’ll only be in charge until you pull yourself back together. Just for an hour here and there. Just for a night.

When Tilrey had pulled himself back together, when he was wearing his competent political mask again, Gersha would tell him about the conversation in the basement with Dal. Tilrey had to know, because the True Hearth might greet him on his return to Redda with a genuine interrogation about their trip north.And Tilrey would be ready, because yes, he was the one in charge now. They both knew it. He’d wrangled the intel from Artur. He would handle their touchy relations with the True Hearth—and increasingly, if Gersha had his way, their political schemes in the Sector, too.Tilrey was perfectly competent to write the speeches and plan the strategy—he was already doing most of it. Gersha would keep sitting in Council sessions, of course. But, if Vera allowed it, he might reduce his workload to take Ceill home once or twice every ten-day.A new life blossomed in Gersha’s imagination—Ceill’s life, but also his own. When Ceill got older, he could fetch the boy from school on alternate free-nights and sit with him in the living room, helping him with his homework while they waited for Tilrey to come home for his tea and dinner. Your father is a brilliant man, Gersha would tell Ceill. I’m proud of him, and you should be, too.Maybe it was time for Gersha to slow down and watch life unfold. What had Duke Dalziel said about enjoying life’s fleeting pleasures? He’d spent so much of his life taking tests and writing code and trying to achieve things when Tilrey could easily achieve enough for both of them.And would. Whatever his husband might say in this low moment, Gersha knew Tilrey had a fire in his breast. Whatever he’d learned from Artur on that harsh trek into the mountains, he would figure out how to use it. He would steer the dawning rebellion—with Gersha’s counsel, of course—and keep it from becoming violent or excessive. He had the insight and the empathy to bring disparate factions together. He would make things work.They lay like that, Gersha rubbing Tilrey’s back in small circles and then just holding him, until sleep came for them.*Tollsha woke from a deep sleep with a raging hangover.He hauled himself up, showered—cursing the water pressure in this shithole of a room they’d given him—and tugged on his clothes. Buckled his tunic, fastened the collar to the top. He was still a Councillor, and he was getting out of this nuthouse as soon as possible.Before he finally crashed, he’d endured a long conference with Albertine and Gersha in which they all agreed on the story they would tell when they returned to Redda. Tollsha could barely stay awake through it, but he wasn’t worried about forgetting anything. He had a knack for telling stories, including ones that weren’t true.He would roll his eyes as he told people how his wife had flipped out when she discovered him in bed with one of his special friends (what did she expect? She was a lousy lay). How she had run off craving payback and fucked the first man she saw. How that man was a sanctioned celibate who’d probably never gotten it up for a woman in his life. (He’d pause here to grimace at Gersha’s sexual prowess and nudge his interlocutor.) And, wouldn’t you know, Vera and this “celibate” managed to conceive. One night. One fuck. The irony.Tollsha would pretend to be ashamed (the dishonor!). But it was a good story, and he would tell it with likable self-deprecation, and nobody would end up thinking it was his fault. People would pat him on the back and commiserate.He could think of a few eligible women who might even take their commiseration into the bedroom. Poor Tollsha, how could she? Doesn’t she know what she’s giving up? Before long, Tollsha might have some bouncing, pink-cheeked brats of his own to show off.Vera and Gersha were welcome to each other. They could be grim-faced and rational and earnest all day to their hearts’ content.As he swung his overnight bag over his shoulder and left the Drudge room forever, Tollsha imagined the pair of them gathered with the baby in Vera’s apartment for a formal family dinner. Would they eat in silence, a matching set of stick-in-the-muds? Would they compete for Tilrey’s attention? Or would Tilrey be off seducing someone else?Who gave a fuck? The important thing was, Tollsha wouldn’t have to be there. Striding down the corridor, back toward the transport and his vacation villa and the world of Upstarts, he was free.He stopped short at the sight of Tilrey directly in his way.He was waiting for the lift, his face turned away from Tollsha, a small heap of backpacks and duffels beside him. He was alone.All of a sudden, Tollsha understood that he wasn’t free after all. Not quite. Not yet. Something had been nagging at him.“On your way out?” he asked in a loud, cheerful voice.Tilrey didn’t jump, only swung around. He looked tired. “Fir Councillor’s saying a few goodbyes before we get the shuttle to Redda, Fir,” he said with a bob of his head. “You too?”Making small talk. Showing deference. Like it could all be smoothed over with a few polite words.Tollsha swallowed. “I want to hit you,” he said.Tilrey’s brows shot upward.“I want to hit you,” Tollsha repeated, “and then I want you to hit me back, so it’s fair. Okay?”He took a step closer, already aching to punch those perfectly composed features out of alignment. He hadn’t realized it until this moment, but only one thing could redeem this whole sorry episode in his life; only one thing could make him him again, and this was it. But it couldn’t be one-sided. “You have to promise to hit me back.”One golden brow was still arched. “I’m not going to hit you, Fir,” Tilrey said calmly. “You could bring charges against me.”Tollsha swung the bag off his shoulder. His fists positively itched with eagerness. But Tilrey had a point—punching was serious business. When Tollsha was fourteen, he’d brawled at recess and landed a solid one on Andreas Krigorin’s cheekbone and ended up in the emergency clinic with a broken hand. Since then, he’d mostly stayed out of the fray.“Flat of the hand only, then,” he said, feeling a dancing eagerness in his legs. “I’m not looking to maul your pretty face.”Something slipped in Tilrey’s expression, the usual composure peeling away to reveal a disquieting blankness. “Okay, Fir,” he said.Tollsha had to do this right. He couldn’t put a bruise on Tilrey’s cheek and walk away, the way Uncle had so many times. “You have to promise first,” he said between gritted teeth. “To reciprocate. I won’t be calling any Constables, believe me. How would I explain to them?”Tilrey just looked at him. Then he said, “If that’s what you really want, yeah. I promise.”The whole thing took a few seconds. Before Tollsha’s brain had given the go-ahead, his body went for its release, his hand flashing out to make contact with Tilrey’s jaw and left cheekbone. Then he was staggering backward, his palm stinging from the impact, watching Tilrey stumble back in his turn.Tilrey found his footing quickly enough, though, and he didn’t hesitate. A blur of motion, a whistle of movement in the air, a sharp crack. Then Tollsha was the one whose knees were buckling.The blow had been so quick it barely registered as an experience. But Tollsha felt the outline of a heavy palm on his own left cheek and the side of his nose, and it hurt like hell. He was marked now.His back met the wall, and he sat down heavily. “Shit. Am I bleeding?”Tilrey shook his head, an indistinct blur looming over him. “Did I overdo it?”Tollsha brought his hand up and gingerly palpated his nose and cheek. No blood, but he could swear he was numb in one spot, and the rest of it tingled. “You’re strong,” he said ruefully. Hadn’t he known that all along?“You sure you’re okay, Fir?”Tilrey extended a hand. After a moment, Tollsha accepted it and allowed himself to be tugged to his feet. “Just knocked the wind out of me,” he said. “You look like I barely tapped you.”“You landed a good one.”“Really?” But of course, Tollsha thought as they stood side by side again. Tilrey knew how to take a blow and not wobble or change expression. He had more practice than Tollsha did.And now Tilrey was actually smiling as if the whole thing were a joke. “It’ll be a real shiner. I won’t have fun explaining that to Gersha.”“No, you won’t, huh?” The lift dinged, and Tollsha stuck out his hand. “Well, guess I’m off. Slightly worse for wear.”Tilrey offered his own hand palm down for Tollsha to clasp, like the good Drudge he was or was pretending to be. But that wouldn’t do, not today.Tollsha flipped the hand over and clasped it palm to palm like an equal. “Point to you, lad,” he said. “You got the better of us all. Isn’t that what you always wanted?”As the lift doors opened, Tilrey looked straight at Tollsha. The redness on his jawline was already starting to darken. “It’s not what I wanted,” he said. “None of it.”For an instant, Tollsha wanted to hit him again, promises be damned. But he could see from Tilrey’s face that he wasn’t just copping an attitude. He meant what he said.Tilrey didn’t care that he’d inserted his Drudge genes into an irreproachable bloodline, shoving Tollsha out of the way. He didn’t care. Imagine not caring. Imagine just being whoever you wanted to be and doing whatever you wanted to do.“Does Vera know that?” Tollsha asked before he could stop himself.Tilrey nodded.Maybe, in a dark and shameful corner of his brain, Tollsha had been envying Gersha and Vera and Tilrey their little arrangement, their easy agreement. He must have been, because now he was suddenly acutely aware that he didn’t envy them after all.“Well,” he said, hauling his bag onto his shoulder and stepping into the lift. “Whatever you three have going on, I think I’m well enough out of it. Good luck.”

He kept distance between them, not wanting to wake Tilrey. But after a few minutes the mattress shifted. Strong arms wrapped around him, and warm breath caressed his ear. “Did Vera say yes?”

Gersha nodded, his pulse racing at the touch. “You need your sleep. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Don’t mind. It’s afternoon now, I think. Is it afternoon?”

A broad palm moved over Gersha’s stomach, under his T-shirt, stroking up the line of dark hair there. Gersha arced into the touch. “I think so. That tickles.”

Tilrey kissed him behind the ear. “Does this tickle?” Hardness pressed against Gersha’s thigh—not demanding, just there. Before he could stop himself, Gersha was pressing back, feeling the dark thrum of his own arousal.

Tilrey said in a soft growl, “I want you to take me again the way you did at the base. Be rough, like you own me. I want to hear you say you own me.”

Gersha felt so many things he couldn’t speak. Hearing I want from Tilrey was still rare and always welcome. What they’d done in the rickety bunk at the base had been good.

But right now he wasn’t in the mood to degrade the person he loved. He was still glowing from the sight of Ceill’s face and the light in Ceill’s eyes, and he wanted to thank Tilrey for making all that possible. He wanted to hug him.

Even if Tilrey hadn’t wanted any of it to happen.

“I’d like to give you that, love,” he said, rolling over to face Tilrey. “But another time. I should have asked you before—how bad was it, with Tollsha? When I found him, he was into a sloppy-drunk phase. Did he lash out at you?”

The languid arousal on Tilrey’s face vanished like a slate being wiped clean, but he didn’t pull away. “We didn’t say a word to each other. Vera and Albertine must have given Tollsha dire warnings not to engage. But the way he looked at me—honestly, I wish they’d just let him do his worst.”

He began to tremble, pressing his face against Gersha’s hair. “I wish he had come at me. I wish he’d clipped me on the jaw and knocked me down and pounded me into the floor.”

Gersha’s throat closed as he remembered Tollsha expressing similar sentiments about Tilrey. He stroked Tilrey’s hair, the other hand petting his back as if he were a frightened animal. “You have these dark thoughts sometimes. I know you do, and you can tell me. It’s all right.”

Tilrey did tug away this time. He sat up and said in a growl, not a sensual one, “You’re always so damn understanding. I hate this. All of you high Upstarts treating me so kindly, like I’m an equal. Even Albertine. And my mom just nods like she thinks it’s her due.”

“Maybe it is her due.” For the first time, Gersha wondered if Lisha might be part of the True Hearth like Dal. Tilrey would know, but it wasn’t the time to ask him.

Tilrey stared into the dark. “I can’t take it—people expecting things from me. It’s too much. And then Artur saying I should be a leader—what the fuck does he know?” He hung his head and raked his fingers through his hair. “It’s too much pressure. Too much responsibility. And then you get all glowy and excited about this kid when he’s something I didn’t make happen, something that just happened to me.”

“He’s not a thing,” Gersha said.

Tilrey didn’t seem to hear him. “Vera used me, Gersha. That’s how he exists. That explains everything in my life. I’m nothing. I’m only good for people to use. I want to be used, even. Don’t you understand that?”

His breath was coming in sharp hitches. When Gersha took him in his arms again, making wordless, soothing sounds, he didn’t resist.

“It’s all right, love,” Gersha said under his breath, pulling Tilrey’s head onto his breast. “I’m here now, and you belong to me, and you can do anything you like. I’m taking charge of things. I’ll be in charge from now on.”

We both know I’ll only be in charge until you pull yourself back together. Just for an hour here and there. Just for a night.

And Tilrey would be ready, because yes, he was the one in charge now. They both knew it. He’d wrangled the intel from Artur. He would handle their touchy relations with the True Hearth—and increasingly, if Gersha had his way, their political schemes in the Sector, too.

Tilrey was perfectly competent to write the speeches and plan the strategy—he was already doing most of it. Gersha would keep sitting in Council sessions, of course. But, if Vera allowed it, he might reduce his workload to take Ceill home once or twice every ten-day.

A new life blossomed in Gersha’s imagination—Ceill’s life, but also his own. When Ceill got older, he could fetch the boy from school on alternate free-nights and sit with him in the living room, helping him with his homework while they waited for Tilrey to come home for his tea and dinner. Your father is a brilliant man, Gersha would tell Ceill. I’m proud of him, and you should be, too.

Maybe it was time for Gersha to slow down and watch life unfold. What had Duke Dalziel said about enjoying life’s fleeting pleasures? He’d spent so much of his life taking tests and writing code and trying to achieve things when Tilrey could easily achieve enough for both of them.

And would. Whatever his husband might say in this low moment, Gersha knew Tilrey had a fire in his breast. Whatever he’d learned from Artur on that harsh trek into the mountains, he would figure out how to use it. He would steer the dawning rebellion—with Gersha’s counsel, of course—and keep it from becoming violent or excessive. He had the insight and the empathy to bring disparate factions together. He would make things work.

They lay like that, Gersha rubbing Tilrey’s back in small circles and then just holding him, until sleep came for them.

Tollsha woke from a deep sleep with a raging hangover.

He hauled himself up, showered—cursing the water pressure in this shithole of a room they’d given him—and tugged on his clothes. Buckled his tunic, fastened the collar to the top. He was still a Councillor, and he was getting out of this nuthouse as soon as possible.

Before he finally crashed, he’d endured a long conference with Albertine and Gersha in which they all agreed on the story they would tell when they returned to Redda. Tollsha could barely stay awake through it, but he wasn’t worried about forgetting anything. He had a knack for telling stories, including ones that weren’t true.

He would roll his eyes as he told people how his wife had flipped out when she discovered him in bed with one of his special friends (what did she expect? She was a lousy lay). How she had run off craving payback and fucked the first man she saw. How that man was a sanctioned celibate who’d probably never gotten it up for a woman in his life. (He’d pause here to grimace at Gersha’s sexual prowess and nudge his interlocutor.) And, wouldn’t you know, Vera and this “celibate” managed to conceive. One night. One fuck. The irony.

Tollsha would pretend to be ashamed (the dishonor!). But it was a good story, and he would tell it with likable self-deprecation, and nobody would end up thinking it was his fault. People would pat him on the back and commiserate.

He could think of a few eligible women who might even take their commiseration into the bedroom. Poor Tollsha, how could she? Doesn’t she know what she’s giving up? Before long, Tollsha might have some bouncing, pink-cheeked brats of his own to show off.

Vera and Gersha were welcome to each other. They could be grim-faced and rational and earnest all day to their hearts’ content.

As he swung his overnight bag over his shoulder and left the Drudge room forever, Tollsha imagined the pair of them gathered with the baby in Vera’s apartment for a formal family dinner. Would they eat in silence, a matching set of stick-in-the-muds? Would they compete for Tilrey’s attention? Or would Tilrey be off seducing someone else?

Who gave a fuck? The important thing was, Tollsha wouldn’t have to be there. Striding down the corridor, back toward the transport and his vacation villa and the world of Upstarts, he was free.

He stopped short at the sight of Tilrey directly in his way.

He was waiting for the lift, his face turned away from Tollsha, a small heap of backpacks and duffels beside him. He was alone.

All of a sudden, Tollsha understood that he wasn’t free after all. Not quite. Not yet. Something had been nagging at him.

“On your way out?” he asked in a loud, cheerful voice.

Tilrey didn’t jump, only swung around. He looked tired. “Fir Councillor’s saying a few goodbyes before we get the shuttle to Redda, Fir,” he said with a bob of his head. “You too?”

Making small talk. Showing deference. Like it could all be smoothed over with a few polite words.

Tollsha swallowed. “I want to hit you,” he said.

Tilrey’s brows shot upward.

“I want to hit you,” Tollsha repeated, “and then I want you to hit me back, so it’s fair. Okay?”

He took a step closer, already aching to punch those perfectly composed features out of alignment. He hadn’t realized it until this moment, but only one thing could redeem this whole sorry episode in his life; only one thing could make him him again, and this was it. But it couldn’t be one-sided. “You have to promise to hit me back.”

One golden brow was still arched. “I’m not going to hit you, Fir,” Tilrey said calmly. “You could bring charges against me.”

Tollsha swung the bag off his shoulder. His fists positively itched with eagerness. But Tilrey had a point—punching was serious business. When Tollsha was fourteen, he’d brawled at recess and landed a solid one on Andreas Krigorin’s cheekbone and ended up in the emergency clinic with a broken hand. Since then, he’d mostly stayed out of the fray.

“Flat of the hand only, then,” he said, feeling a dancing eagerness in his legs. “I’m not looking to maul your pretty face.”

Something slipped in Tilrey’s expression, the usual composure peeling away to reveal a disquieting blankness. “Okay, Fir,” he said.

Tollsha had to do this right. He couldn’t put a bruise on Tilrey’s cheek and walk away, the way Uncle had so many times. “You have to promise first,” he said between gritted teeth. “To reciprocate. I won’t be calling any Constables, believe me. How would I explain to them?”

Tilrey just looked at him. Then he said, “If that’s what you really want, yeah. I promise.”

The whole thing took a few seconds. Before Tollsha’s brain had given the go-ahead, his body went for its release, his hand flashing out to make contact with Tilrey’s jaw and left cheekbone. Then he was staggering backward, his palm stinging from the impact, watching Tilrey stumble back in his turn.

Tilrey found his footing quickly enough, though, and he didn’t hesitate. A blur of motion, a whistle of movement in the air, a sharp crack. Then Tollsha was the one whose knees were buckling.

The blow had been so quick it barely registered as an experience. But Tollsha felt the outline of a heavy palm on his own left cheek and the side of his nose, and it hurt like hell. He was marked now.

His back met the wall, and he sat down heavily. “Shit. Am I bleeding?”

Tilrey shook his head, an indistinct blur looming over him. “Did I overdo it?”

Tollsha brought his hand up and gingerly palpated his nose and cheek. No blood, but he could swear he was numb in one spot, and the rest of it tingled. “You’re strong,” he said ruefully. Hadn’t he known that all along?

“You sure you’re okay, Fir?”

Tilrey extended a hand. After a moment, Tollsha accepted it and allowed himself to be tugged to his feet. “Just knocked the wind out of me,” he said. “You look like I barely tapped you.”

“You landed a good one.”

“Really?” But of course, Tollsha thought as they stood side by side again. Tilrey knew how to take a blow and not wobble or change expression. He had more practice than Tollsha did.

And now Tilrey was actually smiling as if the whole thing were a joke. “It’ll be a real shiner. I won’t have fun explaining that to Gersha.”

“No, you won’t, huh?” The lift dinged, and Tollsha stuck out his hand. “Well, guess I’m off. Slightly worse for wear.”

Tilrey offered his own hand palm down for Tollsha to clasp, like the good Drudge he was or was pretending to be. But that wouldn’t do, not today.

Tollsha flipped the hand over and clasped it palm to palm like an equal. “Point to you, lad,” he said. “You got the better of us all. Isn’t that what you always wanted?”

As the lift doors opened, Tilrey looked straight at Tollsha. The redness on his jawline was already starting to darken. “It’s not what I wanted,” he said. “None of it.”

For an instant, Tollsha wanted to hit him again, promises be damned. But he could see from Tilrey’s face that he wasn’t just copping an attitude. He meant what he said.

Tilrey didn’t care that he’d inserted his Drudge genes into an irreproachable bloodline, shoving Tollsha out of the way. He didn’t care. Imagine not caring. Imagine just being whoever you wanted to be and doing whatever you wanted to do.

“Does Vera know that?” Tollsha asked before he could stop himself.

Tilrey nodded.

Maybe, in a dark and shameful corner of his brain, Tollsha had been envying Gersha and Vera and Tilrey their little arrangement, their easy agreement. He must have been, because now he was suddenly acutely aware that he didn’t envy them after all.

“Well,” he said, hauling his bag onto his shoulder and stepping into the lift. “Whatever you three have going on, I think I’m well enough out of it. Good luck.”

Chapter End Notes

Okay, so it was more like a small slap-fight with rules than a duel. But this is Oslov, not the Tangle. ;)

Chapter End Notes

Okay, so it was more like a small slap-fight with rules than a duel. But this is Oslov, not the Tangle. ;)