* * * *
Tired. Goddess help him, he was tired, the magics eating at him, making him ache and itch, the flame wanting out, wanting free. Zujan idly set the fire to blazing in the hearth, in the sconces, in the lamp. Furn should be appearing any moment, the prince in tow. The rumors were that his lovelies had done their job well, touching and loving the prince into satiation.
Sweet lads.
He was curious to see what Wintras’ time in the orchard had done for that stubborn streak.
Furn led Wintras in by the hand, the prince naked as he had ordered, body oiled, hair in braids with beads wound through out. The prince’s bronze skin gleamed in the firelight, the dark blue eyes shining at Furn for a moment before turning hard as they moved to look at him. Nonetheless, Wintras bowed his head as he stood with Furn.
“Quite lovely, pet. Is this your handiwork, sweet Furn?”
“Oh, we all helped, Master. We had such fun!”
“Did you?” He held his arms open, enjoying the devotion in the bright eyes. The prince’s midnight eyes watched as Furn ran into his arms, all happy laughs and gentle hands. He petted the slender body, teasing and tickling and making the lad laugh. Wintras stayed where he was, stiff and silent as Zujan and Furn played together.
“You don’t wish to join us, pet?” He nuzzled Furn’s jaw.
“I will do as you command, Zujan.”
“Then come and play, pet. Enjoy yourself.” He waited to see what the proud boy would do, given such orders.
Wintras’ jaw clenched, his hands fisted for a moment and then relaxed, his long legs bringing Wintras to them. A warm smile was given to Furn, Wintras’ hands sliding along the slender body.
“Good boy.” Furn reached for Wintras’ hand, bringing it to Zujan’s chill skin.
Wintras hissed, hand pulling away. “You should be beneath the blankets, Zujan.”
“Perhaps you should warm me.” His skin was as ice, but his pets bore it.
Wintras pushed Furn to the side. “Do not chill yourself little one, I will do it.” The prince’s hands were as fires, hot against his skin.
Zujan’s eyes flew open, body jerking, pushing surprised into the touch. What magic was this? There was no passion in the touch, or in Wintras’ eyes, but those hands remained hot as they moved along his skin, thumbs brushing his nipples.
“You will have to tell me what you want, Zujan.” All of Wintras’ ice was in his voice.
“I wish you to pleasure me. Enjoy the touches of our bodies.”
“I will pleasure you, Zujan. And my body may betray me. But even your command cannot make me enjoy it.”
He growled softly. “Stubborn boy, must you try me at every step?”
“I am here, am I not? I am touching you as you bid me. You cannot have my soul or my heart, but until the new moon, my body is yours.”
“As if your soul is palatable, child.” He wrinkled his nose. “Your acquiescence will suffice.”
“Should I continue?” Wintras asked, one eyebrow rising.
“You have not been told to cease.” Aggravating boy.
Wintras rolled his eyes, but bit his tongue, hands moving on Zujan once again, warm but impersonal. Furn’s hands joined Wintras’, soft and sweet and gentle. One of Wintras’ hands strayed to the lad, tender and careful.
Furn chuckled, nuzzling into his throat. “My beautiful master…”
Zujan stroked the soft hair. “Pretty thing.”
Wintras watched warily, body stiff. Zujan focused on Furn, on making the sweet lad need, reach for him.
Furn took one of Wintras’ hands and slid it along his body. “Like before, Wintras. We can have such fun.”
“You have no choice in the matter, Furn.”
“Have I forced you to be here, Furn?” The exhaustion weighed upon him like a yoke.
“No, Master, I want to be with you.” Furn pressed against him, worry gnawing at the pretty face. “I told you, Wintras. We have a good life.”
“Don’t hurt him, Zujan. The words are mine, the conclusions mine.”
“Watch your tongue, fool. You accuse me of hurting one whom I have never laid a hand on!” The air began to crackle with magic.
Wintras stiffed again, standing tall, towering over him where he sat. “Then why does he cringe? There are more ways to hurt a body than by laying hands on it!”
He hissed, the room going chill. “Perhaps he cringes for he has the sense to know when his peer has stepped beyond the bounds of good sense!”
Wintras gave him a cold smile, seeming composed, despite the goose bumps that raised on his skin. “You always seem to resort to anger and threats when faced with logic, Zujan.”
“You always seem to resort to stubborn fear when you find I may not have you completely unwilling, pet. You seemed to roll and cry out last night, cock buried in soft lips.”
“That was my choice! I chose to give myself to those men, to share their pleasure and how dare you spy on us!”
Zujan pushed himself upright, the fire in the hearth blazing, ice crystals sliding along the bed. Furn crumpled to the floor, whimpering. “You chose to submit to my will. I have been more than generous, and you refuse to honor your word. I can and I will and, until you learn to watch your tongue, pet, you will live a hard life.”
Unlike Furn, Wintras responded to Zujan’s anger with strength, snarling at him. “I have honored my word! I have submitted. I have done everything you asked.”
“You know nothing of submission, of control. You are a rude, arrogant, mouthy child who deserves a beating.” The fire roared, licking at the hearth now, a living thing. His fury filled him.
“Then send me home, and you won’t have to deal with me anymore. I did not ask to be here.”
“You asked by your rude tongue and your lack of manners.”
“I owe you no allegiance! You take what you want, do what you want, and everyone else must bow before you or suffer the consequences. You are a petty, little man and have done nothing to convince me otherwise in the time I have been a prisoner here.” Wintras shouted at him, hands balled into fists.
The curtains caught flame, the bedclothes, Furn’s fallen tunic.
“Fire!” shouted Wintras, going to the tub that still sat near the fire and rocking it, tipping it over toward the bed. Wintras grabbed Furn, next, pulling the boy toward the door.
Zujan sat, still and quiet in the midst of it, ice cold.
Wintras’ arms went around him, lifting him as if he weighed nothing and carrying him from the room. “Don’t just stand there, Furn! Call for help!”
He blinked up, empty inside as the fire raged. “I will set you aflame.”
“I’m saving your life, Zujan, don’t tempt me to throw you back.” Wintras strode through the halls, holding him, snapping orders at his staff, having one of them bring a blanket, another leading them to the courtyard.
The rain began to turn to snow as the household worked to control the blaze. His head man, Lavan, grabbed him from Wintras’ arms. “My Lord? Are you well?”
Wintras left his side, joining the others at the fire, his sure, firm voice leading the efforts. Zujan nodded, head lolling as he pulled the fire’s energy back into himself, the flames beginning to die back. At last the flames were gone, only one wing of his castle destroyed and no one had been hurt.
He stood, swaying just slightly. “I will be in the tower. Lavan? I will not be disturbed. Have the south defenses shored.”
“Yes, my Lord. What would you like us to do with the prisoner?”
Zujan couldn’t think of the boy, not yet. “Put him to work, he seems useful. If he complains, hang him.”
“Yes, My Lord.”
Everyone was bustling and working around him, Wintras among them. He walked through the smoky rooms, alone, small, cold, moving until he reached the stairs to his tower, his prison, his secrets.
Chapter Five
Nearly a week had passed since the fire, and Wintras was actually beginning to settle in, almost enjoying himself. He liked good hard labor and often indulged in it at home, so he was very happy to be put in charge of the burnt wing. He rescued as much of the furniture as he could, but most of it was singed or burned beyond salvation. Then he started tearing the walls out until he reached stone. He and a good number of the staff washed the soot away—he insisted they had to or the smell would never go.
He remained naked, Zujan not having ordered him dressed and none of the slaves willing to risk getting in trouble. It didn’t bother him though, not after the first few hours, and by the time the end of his sixth day came to pass, he was filthy and happy, working with the carpenters to rebuild.
Humming a drinking song under his breath, he made his way toward the kitchen for his evening meal. The kitchen was bustling, the sounds of eating and talking and bubbling and soft sobs filling the air.
Sobs?
He turned to look at the cook, her red cheeks wet with tears, cloth wrung between her fingers. He went and put his arm around her. “What’s the matter, Mata?”
“O-o-our Lord. H-he’s not e-e-eating.” She sniffled, tears falling fresh. “N-no food. No word from the tower. N-n-nothing!”
Wintras had been surprised by how much Zujan’s people seemed to genuinely care for him, especially the ones who had been there a long time like Mata. It was not just the boys that made up the harem who seemed to love Zujan, to feel grateful to the man.
“Oh.” He wasn’t sure what to say. His own ire at Zujan was easy to put aside when he hadn’t seen the man in a week and was no longer living in the dungeons or being raped by Zujan’s rougher people.
“He’s a sorcerer, Mata, he won’t starve.” Gella, one of the head housekeepers, shook her head. “He’ll come down eventually, all pale and skeletal and fierce and then he’ll be back to scaring the lordlings.”
“He’s skin and bones at his best!”
“He’s powerful.”
“He’s alone.”
“You spoil him.”
Wintras rolled his eyes. “Make me up a tray and show me where he is.” Anything to keep Mata and Gella from arguing. Or at least to keep him from having to listen to it.
“He’s in the Tower.” Gella pointed as Mata turned to make up a plate of delicacies. The lone tower reached far beyond anything else in the castle, old gargoyles guarding the doors.
“All by himself?” He was starting to get cold feet. Why was he putting himself into Zujan’s sights again?
Mata handed him a tray, giving him a teary-eyed smile. “He hasn’t touched his food since the fire.”
“I’m doing this for you,” he told her pointedly. “Patin? Can you show me the way to the tower?”
“I can.” He got a grin, a nod. “Are you going to see our master?”
“I am bringing this food to Zujan for Mata, yes.” He would not call that man Master. Even if Zujan wasn’t quite the monster he believed.
The boy wrapped himself in a cloak and started walking, chattering happily as they moved through older and older parts of the castle, the tapestries here faded and ancient.
Wintras looked around with interest. He’d never ventured into this part of the castle. It was interesting—he’d have to come back and check things out later. It got colder the deeper in they went, and when they reached the foot of the stairs, it was positively frigid. He shivered.
“W-w-w-would you l-l-l-like my cl-cl-cloak?”
“You’re going to get in trouble if you give it to me?”
“N-no. G-g-gonna g-go back where it’s w-w-warm.” He got a grin, and then he was handed the cloak.
He wrapped it around himself, thankful it still carried a bit of Patin’s warmth with it, and started up the stairs. He went up. And up. And up. And up.
The higher he went, the colder it got until even with the cloak he was shivering. The stairs ended at a huge black door, the wood frosted, ice forming on the stone. He put his hand on it, hissing at the cold. He knocked. The sound echoed, the hinges on the door squealing like a boar as the door opened. The room was huge, bare, the windows massive and open, the wind howling through the shutters.
“Whoa.” He pulled the cloak tighter and stepped in. “Zujan? You really in here?”
Was the man insane? Or was this some trap to catch him in a new prison?
“I said I was not to be disturbed.” The voice came from a dark corner, a mass of dark cloth hiding Zujan from his eyes.
“I brought food.” He walked into the room, the wind stealing his warmth, cloak flying out behind him.
“Leave it and go.” The room was covered in scorched footprints, sigils, little piles of faeries sleeping on the stones.
It was fascinating, and he looked his fill as he brought the tray over to Zujan. The little sparks were littered about Zujan, the man hidden except for the black-black eyes. “Are you going to eat? Mata’s in tears.”
“Mata is in tears more often than she’s not.”
“Yeah, well, she’s right. You need to eat. I mean if you want to keep up your strength for terrorizing your subjects and all.”
Some of the faeries began to flutter. “Indeed.”
“Look, take a bite, and I can tell her you ate, all right?” He kept his eye on the faeries—he remembered seeing a lot of them right before the fire. Really, Zujan needed a better water delivery system if he was going to set fires inside. Of course, Wintras figured it would be prudent to keep that to himself.
One hand, blue and skeletal, the tendons and bones visible, took a berry, the fruit freezing and bursting at the sorcerer’s touch. Then a flash of heat flared, the berry melted, and Zujan ate it.
What? That wasn’t normal.
“Are you alive?” he asked.
“As far as I know, yes.”
“What’s wrong with your skin?” Why did he care? Why was he asking?
Go. Run away. Get out of range.
A soft giggle sounded, almost frightening. “I’m cold. I am waiting for my heat to build again.”
“I could see your
bones
. That’s not cold, that’s…” He shivered. “Well, yeah, cold too—you need a fire in here.”
Another laugh, Zujan’s body shaking. “We had a fire. A big fire.”
“Yeah. All right. Whatever.” He backed off, not even sure why he was trying in the first place. Gella said Zujan always came down, besides, if he didn’t, all these people were free. He was free. His family and the outlying principalities were all free.