Chapter 35: Familiar Path.

Chapter 35: Chapter 35: Familiar Path.

The staircase was long, and dark, but even without a torch, Binny knew the way. It had been a long time since he’d walked these halls, but he remembered them the way a soldier might recall the way home after years at war –no matter how much had since changed.

Not much had changed here, though.

There were still guards stationed at the foot of the stairwell, but no less easy to sneak past –more so, if anything.

Even if Binny hadn’t been older now, and countless times sneakier, the straight-backed, stern guards that had once stood vigil over the doorway –(and had been none too reluctant about handing out a (deserved) hiding to misbehaving youths) had been replaced by weary, bored-looking men betting on dice. Their king might be concerned to know how easy it was to slip by their watch undetected.

But Binny’s lips were sealed tight enough. It was a servant’s place to never be seen, and never be heard, after all.

Slinking past the torchlight and into the inkiness that lay beyond that doorway felt kind of like stepping into an old, dim memory.

The shadows hung heavy upon the walls, leaving Binny little more than blind, and when he looked up he saw nothing but darkness.

But he didn’t need to see, because it was all there in his mind’s eye. It was bigger, back then, because he had been smaller, but it was there –the looming, seemingly endless staircase that rose up from the castle into a magnificent tower.

Some of the castle children had been terrified of it, but to others it was an adventure –just another part of one of their games.

For a time, at least. And in his youth Binny had climbed these stairs by day and by night enough times to know this stairwell as well as any other in the castle, even after all these years.

He’d been sure that he’d almost forgotten, but really, as he walked –silently following in the steps of his younger self –he found it was impossible not to remember. He knew how many stairs there were, how long it would take him to walk up, and how quickly he could run down.

He knew where to duck where the torches hung low, and the exact step with a chunk of stone missing that would trip you if you were careless. It was colder and mustier than he remembered, but he remembered all the same.

So, even with his sharp grey eyes rendered blind by the pitch blackness, he climbed –climbed past the step he’d once fallen and lost a tooth, past the spot he’d been bundled up by a guard like a sack of grain and hauled off to his mother, past the torch one of his companions had once burned his hand on and cried.

Cried like a baby, another had said, but helped sneak him to the infirmary nonetheless.

Binny gently laid a hand against the wall as he walked, dust coming off against his fingertips as he pressed them against the cool stone.

The other servants who had come this way had obviously made an effort to seem it more travelled, but sometimes it was hard to polish away the dust that settled over years of emptiness.

It just made it all the more obvious that he was not the only one who hadn’t walked this path in a long time.

The door at the top felt a lot smaller. He could finally reach the top bolts without climbing, and they weren’t nearly as heavy when he slid them almost soundlessly from their shackles.

Once upon a time they’d been so loud that they’d only manage to get one unlocked before the clanking would have the guards up on him, but he’d had time, and too much practice to forget, so even now the bolts slid back with little more than a soft click.

The door swung open soundlessly, and Binny slipped inside to find the room painted with moonlight.

The other servants had obviously made a better effort with the room than the stairwell, but to someone who’d known this place when it was cared for, the neglect showed through in the fraying ends of the wall hangings, and the way the blue rug on the floor was growing a little threadbare and was bleached pale after years of sitting alone in the sun.

But even so, he was there, just like he always was, and for a fleeting moment Binny was young again, flung back through his memories to a time when he wasn’t sneaking up here as a servant, but as a friend.

He thought, briefly, as his heart lurched in his chest, that he must be dreaming, because it made no sense for him to be here after all this time.

And yet, all the same, there was a figure in the window, perched upon the ledge and silhouetted against the bright midnight sky –wistfully gazing out into the night as though hungry for what lay beyond.

He’d always be waiting there –waiting for the door to freedom to creak open and for silver, or gold, or emerald eyes to creep out from the darkness, wanting to play.

And he would turn to them, and he would grin, and there would be a kind of bright wildness in his eyes that had burned fiercer than all of theirs combined.

’Let’s go, already!’ Was what he’d say, eyes dancing with starlight. And Binny could almost hear those words echo off the walls, found himself waiting with bated breath to see if he would hear it again.

But of course he didn’t, because when the shadow set against the moon turned to face him, the eyes that landed on him were red, not blue.

In an instant, the scene cracked, and Khobi Frost’s strong features hurtled back into focus, chasing the ghosts of his memories back into the past where they belonged.

"Oh, it’s just you," Binny couldn’t help but mumble, rubbing his eyes a little as the door closed behind him.

"Who else were you expecting?" Khobi snorted flatly, sounding disgruntled, and so he should. His new lodgings were a tower, and no less of a prison than his previous.

"No one." It wasn’t one of Binny’s more convincing lies, but Khobi was either easier to deceive than he thought, or he didn’t care to call him out for it. Either way, he was glad he didn’t have to elaborate, and toed across the room to lay out new clothes on the bed.

He hadn’t needed to, but servants needed reasons to be skulking about at night. As he did so, he caught sight of small prints in blood dotting to the stone floor between the bed and the windowsill.

"You should be resting," he sighed reproachfully, despite knowing that his advice would probably go unheeded. "...Not much else you can do up here," he added, and shrugged when the air tensed, "Just stating a fact."

"...You don’t think I know that?" Khobi growled, exasperated, and Binny glanced over at him to find his hands clenched into fists against the stone window ledge, and his strong profile set into a grimace as he gazed out into the distance.

It wasn’t a particularly warm evening, but he didn’t seem to feel chilled, even shirtless as he was, and sitting in the night air.

He was wearing more bruises than he had been the last time Binny had seen him –believe it or not there had been one hell of a mess to clean up after the events of Lord Sprida’s disaster of a party, and he and the other servants had been scrubbing until their hands blistered and their knees bled –so he’d been a little occupied since Khobi had been shifted to his new accommodation.

It turned out that Khobi’s messes were a whole lot less funny when one had to help clean them up.

But despite the bruises, and the bandages wound tight around his abdomen, arms, feet...he looked no less impressive.

He didn’t look broken, or disheartened, or any closer to resigning himself to his fate. It was a little annoying, even, that he could still be so thick-headed despite everything that had happened to him.

That didn’t mean Binny didn’t respect him for it, though.

...But, he mused to himself as his eyes caught sight of the torn bandages wrapped loosely around the redhead’s feet, stained with blood, it also doesn’t mean he’s not a stubborn idiot.

"Come on," Binny huffed on impulse, heading over to the window and holding out an arm for Khobi to take, "How about I change your bandages and you actually get in bed and let yourself heal? For a change.

" It was more an order than a request, and they both knew it, but surprisingly, Khobi obeyed without too much of a fight. Maybe he was tired, finally.

Unsurprisingly, though, he refused to take Binny’s arm, batting away the proffered help in favour of limping across the stone on feet that must have been causing him some pain.