Page 30 of Tossing the Caber

Not burying the lede, Rodney scans the area in an exaggerated fashion. “I don’t see Laurel with you,” he comments idly. “Anything wrong?”

Bristling, Beacon responds, “No. He got caught up at his workshop.”

Rodney laughs, not kindly. “That’s not unusual. You’ll find that’s all he does, obsessing over his ridiculous creations.”

“I don’t think they’re ridiculous.”

Shrugging, Rodney says, “Then maybe you’re a suitable mate for him after all.”

“You weren’t certain of that before finalizing the betrothal with my parents?

“I didn’t care,” Rodney says frankly. “Anything to get that boy out of my hair. He was odd before, but after ruining his last engagement, he became little more than an addled fool.”

Beacon sucks in a sharp breath. “Laurel was previously engaged?”

“Oh yes, a good agreement with the town blacksmith. But he dropped an axe blade on Laurel’s hand one day. Complete accident, but the boy lost a few fingers from it. His mother and I tried to keep him focused on his future, but he refused to continue apprenticing, and his betrothed wouldn’t take him without that part of the agreement. That’s when he started all those revolting modifications on his body. His mother’s heart couldn’t take it, you know. When he came home with his awful prototype for that ridiculous tail, she went to bed without saying a word. Not a damn word, and she never said anything again. Passed the next morning.”

“Ah,” Beacon says, beyond overwhelmed by the information. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Scoffing, Rodney waves a hand. “She was the lucky one. Got to escape the mess our son made of himself while leaving me behind to make the best of it.”

“I don’t mind that Laurel has passions,” Beacon informs Rodney out of defiance, finding it’s not a lie. He doesn’t mind Laurel focusing on his work; he just wants to be included in the narrative. Told what’s going on. Given the opportunity to be happy for whatever Laurel accomplishes and able to provide comfort when things fail or go wrong.

“Passions are one thing. Perverse obsessions are quite another.” Rodney spits on the ground between them. “If I were you, I’d drag him to Dun Steorra and leave everything in that damn workshop behind. But that’s no longer my concern. He’s your problem now.”

The open disdain in Rodney’s expression nearly propels Beacon somewhere he prefers never to go.

Violence.

Beacon doesn’t see his husband as a problem. He doesn’t see Laurel as perverse or a mistake. In fact, he dearly wishes tosee more of the unique, colorful man, with his ink-stained fingers and the green crystalline flecks scattered like constellations across his skin.

And right now, Beacon wants more than anything to clean Rodney’s clock, but athletes in his division are held to a high standard. Assault is highly punishable, especially against a reedy brat like Rodney who couldn’t fight back or defend himself against Beacon’s powerful fists. So he does the only thing he can trust himself to do: he walks away without sparing the man another word, glad for the opportunity to take Laurel from the bastard.

Rodney doesn’t call after him. He doesn’t even linger to watch him walk away.

It’s the most important event of Beacon’s time at the Everend Market—the Champion Games, his final caber toss—and Beacon is feeling better than he has in days.

That Laurel is in the stands cheering just as loud as the rest of his teammates’ partners has a great deal to do with that, but that’s not all. After his conversation with Rodney, Beacon stabilized his perspective. Laurel’s focus on his ideas isn’t a rejection. If it were, would he have cooperated with his father’s demands so easily? Would he have snuggled at Beacon’s side last night, or entreated him to carry this ridiculous glass so he could send him messages and updates throughout the day?

It doesn’t hurt that tomorrow is the last day of the Market. Laurel’s surprisingly few belongings have been collected and stored in a new, smaller wagon Beacon’s parents purchased from Kidd the wagon kid after Ottan confirmed his high-quality work on the larger magic wagon, guaranteeing it’d get them back to Stehr’s Peak safely. All that’s left is to finish packing up the contents of Laurel’s workshop.

Beacon hasn’t been to the shop since the first time. Laurel has assured him he’s been working on organizing everything to be boxed up, but he took a break to attend Beacon’s final performance.

He did well in the other events. Competitive performance, even after the few days he spent backsliding due to mental discontent. But it’s time.

It’s time for his final caber toss.

He’s only achieved one other twelve o’clock score this pass, and his first toss of today landed at an infuriating ten-thirty.Nowis his last chance to outshine the rest of the competition.

And Laurel is watching.

Last Beacon saw, his husband was standing arm in arm with Hallie, a nice enough elf who is consistently too boisterous for Beacon to enjoy being around, but certainly a good friend for Laurel. It helps that his parents are also there, clutching hands so tightly, his mother’s brown skin has gone pale. If Beacon can make this, the rest will fall into place.

He takes a long, bracing breath, flexing his arms to test his strength before coming up on his greatest adversary and closest friend: the caber. After pulsing his fists, he bends to accept the long wooden pole, palms wrapping almost lovingly around the tapered base. Grunting, jaw clenching, bulging vein on his temple, he lifts the massive tree trunk, pared down for the sport but never losing the majesty of its branches.

There’s magic in this—its own kind of magic, one that exists without a spell or charm.

Beacon shifts his weight, prays to the sleeping stars that Laurel is watching, and breaks into a run.