The Still Read Online Free Page A

My voice trailed off.
    We almost never spoke of the Power.
    “Yes, it would help.” A quick grin. “But then you wouldn’t be among us.”
    A soft knock at the door forestalled my reply. “It’s me, Sir Rustin. I had time before supper.” The door opened; a pretty little wench with russet hair peered in, hands twisting at her apron. “I’m so sorry! I—I mean—forgive me!” She glanced round in confusion, curtsied, and fled.
    I growled, “What was that all about?”
    Rustin shrugged. “Chela. She helps in the kitchen.” Under my gaze his cheeks reddened.
    “Why would she—oh!”
    His words came in a rush. “She’s just—we’re not particularly ...”
    “It’s nothing to me,” I said, fighting for composure. “You’re grown.” Casually, I stood. “Well, I have business to attend. See you another day.” I escaped to the stairs, rushed out to the stable.
    By the time I’d unknotted Ebon’s bridle, Rust had caught up to me. “I’m sorry she burst in.” His hand fell on my arm. “Wait.”
    I shook him off. My voice was tight. “Another time.” I flung up a leg.
    He caught me before I could mount. Ebon whinnied in alarm. “I’m sorry, Rodrigo. It must be hard for you, never having—”
    I swung a knotted fist, and knocked him to the straw-scattered floor.
    Rust lay on the planking, half-dazed.
    “Don’t speak of it,” I said. “Ever.”
    Hard for me? He couldn’t possibly imagine.
    I was near sixteen, sported a faint moustache, tall almost as a man. The castle servants, young visiting cousins, my town companions, and, for all I knew, my little brother, rutted like stallions, while I writhed alone in the damp sheets of my chamber.
    I could not lie with a woman.
    “Roddy, I—”
    I howled, “Shut thy mouth!” I clutched at Ebon.
    Not that I was physically unable. Were I impotent, I’d be spared the frenzies of desire, the sticky sheets, the unbearable humiliation. But I must withhold my yearning.
    Prince Rodrigo, heir presumptive to the throne of Caledon, must remain a virgin.
    Else he could not wield the Still.
    My vision blurred, I clawed blindly for the saddle. A sob. My own. I swung up my leg to mount.
    A lithe form hurtled across the floor, hauled me from my steed, toppled me to the dung-specked straw. We rolled and thrashed. I pummeled Rustin’s arms, his chest, his face, until at last he pinned me helpless under his legs. “You’ll listen,” he grated. “As we are friends, by the Lord you will listen!”
    “Get off! I’ll have your life!” I bucked and kicked. “Mother will—”
    “Oh, stop your nonsense!” His palm lashed out in a slap that spun my head and rang against the rafters.
    I squawked. “It’s treason to lay hand on—” I faltered, as he raised his hand again.
    “Stop your foolery! Think you Elena Queen of Caledon cares if two youngsires tussle in the hay, as we have for years? Fah!” He flung a loose tuft of straw at my face. I blinked, unhurt. Rustin rolled to one side, releasing me. “Roddy, I’ve known for years how miserable your need makes you. Never do you speak of—”
    I aimed a kick at his side, which he avoided by a dexterous twist. Again, he swarmed atop me, pinning my shoulders. His strong fingers seized my jaw, held it still. “You’ll listen, or I’ll stuff this hay down your throat!” He snatched up a handful, waved it in my face. “By the Lord of Nature, I will have my say!” His eyes blazed.
    I sobbed in frustration, but knew better than to try to break free. When Rustin’s temper was well and truly ignited, he was a formidable adversary. After a time, I lay quiet. “Have your way.”
    “Your word, that we will not fight, and you will hear me.
    I had no choice. I nodded. He rolled aside, helped me to my feet.
    “We’ve horse dung all over us.” He wiped his knees. “Let’s wash and change. Then we’ll talk.”
    I followed him to the well, where we poured icy water on our leggings and shirts, until the worst of the