Free Brute by Kim Fielding Page B

normal man, he would have been simply ugly. But with his towering height and overgrown body, his features turned him into something else: a freak.
    He frowned at his own self-indulgence and turned away from the mirror—but only after he’d twisted it around so that all he could see was its plain wooden back.
    He tidied his bed and stacked the dirty dishes in the largest of the dinner pails and then was left with little to do. He wasn’t used to sitting idle. He decided that perhaps he would wander the palace grounds for a while and get a better sense of the layout. If nothing else, he’d be entertained: constant activity buzzed everywhere.
    He unlocked the cell and hunched beside Leynham, a tin cup in his hand. “Here’s some water. You might want to drink it now because I’m going out for a while.”
    Leynham paused for a moment before nodding and then pulled the cup to his lips. When he was finished, he lifted the quilt Brute had given him. “H-h-h-here.”
    “Don’t you want it?” The stone walls kept the room cool despite the warm sun outside, and the prisoner had no clothing to protect him from the chill.
    Leynham turned his face to Brute, his brows drawn together in confusion. “M-m-mine?”
    “If you like. I have more.”
    “B-b-b-but… wh-why?”
    If Brute’s hand had been free, he would have scratched his head. He didn’t really have a good answer. Instead, he shrugged—which he knew the other man couldn’t see—and repeated, “I have more.”
    After he locked the cell, he wandered around outside, garnering fewer stares than he had on his previous excursions. The palace locals were becoming accustomed to him. That was good. Although he doubted he would ever fade into the background, at least he didn’t have to be the center of attention.
    A crew of men was constructing a stone building, and Brute wished he could join them. They seemed happy, and their foreman yelled less and worked more than Darius ever had. He wandered to the kitchens, where it was too early for lunch but Alys gave him an apple and a piece of cheese anyway. Outside one particularly grand building, a garden had been planted with a riot of colorful flowers. He stood nearby for a while as two men and a woman pulled weeds and heaped them into a green and brown pile. He prowled around the walls of the palace, staring up at the guards who paced the ramparts, wondering if they got tired of that duty after a few years with no invasions. He found the stables and gave his apple core to a sorrel gelding with a white blaze on its nose. The horse nuzzled at his arm. He liked animals. They didn’t care what he looked like.
    He came upon a yard where soldiers were exercising, bare-chested and sweaty. He watched them for a very long time, until he finally sighed and wandered away. Maybe when he’d earned his first month’s pay he’d visit the bawdy houses. The Harvest Moon Festival was months away, but there wasn’t any particular reason why he had to wait that long. Hell, he could afford to fuck monthly now if he chose to. But somehow that thought didn’t bring much cheer.
    He found the armory and the kennels. He waved at the tailor, who promised him new clothing by the next day. He discovered a pleasant promontory where he could look out at the endless blue-green sea and the boats bobbing at the piers and the gulls wheeling overhead.
    And then a tolling bell announced that it was lunchtime, and he made his way back to the kitchens without getting lost. He searched for Alys amongst the frantic activity, but she saw him first, shoving a bucket into his hand. “Bread, cheese, meat, pickles,” she said cheerily. “And ale, of course.”
    He stood there for a moment, waiting, until she gave him a shove. “Away with you. You’re too much of an obstacle in here.”
    “But… the prisoner’s food?”
    The corners of her mouth turned down. “He gets two meals a day.”
    Brute took his lunch to a stone bench tucked under the overhang of a