Playing With Fire (10 page)

It was an eternity before Lavan returned, giving him time to pace and explore. The bathing area was huge, cabinets filled with pile after pile of furs and cloth, oils and unguents.

“There you are at last! You lied to me—Zujan is not dead and buried! I demand to be taken to him immediately.” He would not give Lavan a chance to lie to him again.

“My master is dead.” Lavan’s jaw was firm, stubborn. “I will not allow his body to be defiled.”

“I am your master now, Lavan. Where is my due?” And Furn had said not dead. Lavan continued to lie to him. Once he had this solved, it would be time to cut Lavan loose. He did not demand that people serve him against their will. He paid his servants and didn’t keep slaves, but he expected their loyalty and honesty in return.

Lavan waved his hand. “I am no longer in your employ, my Lord. I will not be a part of Zujan’s desecration.”

“Then leave. Right now.” Wintras strode past Lavan and began to make his way through the castle. He would find Zujan’s body himself. The staff scattered before him, seeming to find place after place to hide, to disappear.

He headed for the tower first. That was where Furn had thought Zujan to be, and he knew it would make a good hiding place. He’d never have thought to look if he hadn’t already been there once before. As he climbed the stairs the cold grew harsher, making him wish he’d stopped to get clothes. But he strode on, determined.

A wall of pure ice blocked the top of the stairs, a blinding swirl of colored light distorted behind it. Damnit, the man was still up there.

He was going to get rid of the whole lot of them who worked here, send them to their homes or to Dumas or his father for work. He had no loyalty to people who were not loyal to him. He started to hit the ice, searching for a place where it was thinner, where it might be starting to crack.

Furn appeared at his elbow, shivering, shuddering. “My Lord?” The boy had boots, clothing, a cloak. A hammer.

He grinned suddenly at the boy. “I knew there was a reason I liked you, Furn.” He put on the clothing and took the hammer from Furn. “If you’re too cold, you may go back down.”

Furn nodded. “I’m scared. I don’t want to be up here.”

“Go then. Do you know the old wing? Do you know which room is Zujan’s?”

“Yes. No one can go there, my Lord. The magic keeps everyone away.”

“I’ve been there. Have blankets and food left at the door, and mead. And make sure the torches near the door are lit so that I can light the fire. Then go to the harem and warm yourself with the other boys. You’ve done well, Furn, thank you.”

“Yes, my Lord. Thank you.” His cheek was given a soft kiss, Furn hurrying away.

Wintras watched for a moment, thankful at least one of Zujan’s people remembered him fondly. Then he turned to the wall of ice and began to attack it with his hammer.

The lights got brighter, swirling, buzzing. Stupid, nasty firefaeries. He’d as good as warned Zujan against them when he’d been here last. He worked harder, the ice-wall beginning to crack and fall beneath his blows.

It wasn’t until the first hole appeared and the firefaeries started pouring through that he realized that they had been helping him, fighting to break free. It made him wonder if Zujan really was dead, if they were so eager to abandon him. Wintras batted away any that came too close and worked harder to pull the rest of the ice barrier away, shocked to find the air coming through the hole even colder than the stairwell.

There was nothing left in the room—just hundreds of flickering and fading lights, groups snarling and huddling here and there. There was a pile of clothing near the iced in window.

He frowned, pulling his cloak more tightly around him. He was doubly glad Furn had brought the clothes, it was freezing, an angry wind howling and trying to pull his cloak from him despite the fact the walls and windows were covered in ice with not a hole anywhere to be seen. Had the firefaeries…eaten Zujan? The man had said they fed from him, though Wintras had not thought that was literal.

He strode over to the pile of clothes, bending to pick them up, see if they held some clue. A skeletal, ice-blue body fell to the ground, the clothing sagging and huge. The black hair had become streaked with strips of pure silver, eyes open and staring. He might have made a very undignified squeaking noise and jumped about three feet in the air. But there was no one there to see, so perhaps he only shouted upon the Great Halna to preserve him.

Zujan was dead it seemed. He went to Zujan’s body, touched a cheek as cold as any ice. Those eyes shifted, blinking once, making him gasp and stumble backwards. By all that was holy! How could Zujan’s staff, who purported to love him so, just leave him like this?

Or perhaps it was their way of breaking free of Zujan’s rule, to let the firefaeries take him and leave him…caught in the cold. It was no wonder the man did not come to the defense of his lands.

Wintras bent and took Zujan into his arms again, hissing at the cold. It hurt, even through the layers of cloth that separated them. Ignoring the pain, he began the long journey back down.

Chapter Seven

The firefaeries fought Wintras every step of his way down the tower, battering and slamming into him, trying to rip Zujan’s body from his arms. He just ignored them, surprised that their fire didn’t burn him; in fact the cold of Zujan’s body was far more painful than the firefaeries who seemed to spark and turn to ashes as they touched his skin.

He was dizzy again by the time he reached the base of the tower, the firefaeries still working at him, though it was still the warmth-sucking cold of Zujan’s body that was far more likely to make him drop his burden.

The firefaeries joined together, tiny sparks buzzing and sliding together, forming a being, a body. “Ssssssssssssssstop.”

He did, for a moment. “Why?”

“Oursssssssss. That one issssssssssss oursssssssssssss.”

He snorted and ploughed through the undulating shape the firefaeries had formed. “Oh no, he’s not. He’s mine.”

The hissing got louder, closer, his clothes smoldering in spots as his footsteps echoed on the stone. He ignored them, striding down the hall, relying on his memory and then Furn’s footprints in the dust to lead him to the right room.

“No.” The word was soft at first then louder and louder. “Nononononononono NONONONONONO!”

“Go away!” Wintras shouted, relieved when he saw the door to Zujan’s rooms, blankets and a tray on the floor in front of it. He remembered the firefaeries couldn’t get in there. Of course, Zujan had also said no one else could either, but he’d managed well enough last time.

He opened the door and stepped, unmolested, across the threshold. The firefaeries slammed against some barrier, flames flaring to life, the ones closest dissolving into sparks.

The room hadn’t changed at all since the last time he’d been there, and he put Zujan in the big chair by the cold fireplace before going and tugging the tray and blankets into the room, closing the door behind him and blocking out the angry buzzing of the firefaeries.

Evil, disgusting things.

Zujan looked like a marionette, still and watching, pale and painfully small. Wintras remembered the fire and went to grab a torch, pushing through the firefaeries that tried to bar his way before shutting them out again. He lit the fire, adding some more logs so that it burned hard, warming him through.

There was a creaking, a soft moan then a clatter as the thin body toppled from the chair, landing in a heap by the hearthstones. With a startled cry, he went to Zujan and picked him up, holding the icy body close. “You need to get warm.”

Skin on skin would work best, he knew that, but Zujan’s skin was still so cold…

Those eyes met his, only the barest awareness in them, so lost, so agonized. He sighed and put Zujan back in the chair, stripping down to skin, first himself and then Zujan. He told himself that he didn’t want Zujan to die because he wanted to take his revenge on the man. The man who was all bones, the skin so pale it seemed translucent, the only hint of color where his own hands had touched. He tugged the chair a little closer to the fire and sat in it, holding Zujan close and tugging the blankets around them. The painful cold eased slightly, the heat seeming to be drawn from his body.

“I don’t understand why you let them do that to you. I know you said that’s the price of your magic, but no magic is worth your life.” He shuddered at the thought of letting the firefaeries do that to him. He received no answer, no movement, just the shallow hint of drawn breath.

“Well, I suppose I shouldn’t complain. We captured your lands, you know. Dumas to the west and my father to the north. Banded together and attacked, and you were so busy feeding your disgusting little firefaeries that you couldn’t do anything to fend us off.” He rubbed his hands along Zujan’s arms; there was definitely some warming happening. “This castle is mine now, and you are my prisoner. Our fortunes have reversed. I think you will find that I am a far kinder master.”

The tiny sorcerer seemed to shrink even further, the pale eyes closing.

It was hard to be angry and nasty to this small, almost boy-like man in his arms. Without his magic, Zujan seemed innocent and powerless, more like the boys from his harem than the kings and princes and dukes of the surrounding lands. It confused Wintras. It twisted his anger and his desire for revenge.

He tried not to think about it too hard and just held Zujan close, warming the little sorcerer with his own body.

* * * *

Someone was speaking to him, but he could not bring himself to care, to understand, to answer. There was nothing but the sensation of heat and cold. Heat outside of him, chill within. An endless circle. The sounds continued, on and on, scented with oils and heat.

How he ached, deep within.

Movement and a sudden loss of the warmth jolted him. He opened his eyes, the universe watery and blurred, unfamiliar, almost painfully bright.

“You’re awake.” The warmth came back, the world shifting once more as he was pulled close to it. “Are you hungry? All this cold is making me starve.”

He looked up, trying to focus, to understand. Hungry?

“Or thirsty? The mead should help warm you.” Something was pressed against his lips, but he made no move to take it in, and the warm voice tsked. A moment later hot lips pressed against his own, liquid pushed into his mouth. The flavor shocked him, scared him, but he swallowed convulsively, hands opening and closing again and again. The warm lips finally released him. “There, that should help.”

Help? It was fire inside him, burning and sliding and sharp and good.

He was rocked, pulled close to the heat with hands that were like brands. Oh. He cuddled in, eyes closing, the steady beating under his ear a comfort. There was a long sigh and then the words started up again.

“I don’t want to like you. I don’t want to feel sorry for you. You’re supposed to be my enemy, who I’ve vanquished, and now, I get to lord it over you like you lorded it over me.”

Oh. Vanquished sounded less than fun. He really wasn’t sure if he was supposed to care. He supposed he should.

“Come on, Zujan, warm up already. I’m tired and cranky, and you’re colder than the snow.”

“Kill me.” The words surprised him at first, although they shouldn’t.

“What?” The warm body holding him went stiff.

“Kill me.” He was so tired.

“No!” The word was adamant.

He sighed, damn.

There was a soft laugh. “I didn’t understand why you insisted I stay alive, but I guess now, I do. You won’t escape me that way.”

Escape? He didn’t even know where he was, who held him, who he was or why he should escape. The warm hands went back to sliding on his skin, inexorably heating him. He curled into himself, the heat sinking deep, into his blood, allowing it to move. His…captor? savior?...kept holding him, talking softly, bringing him back to life.

Eventually he blinked up, long gold hair catching his attention. He reached up, petting it, watching it shine in his fingers.

“What are you doing?” Dark blue eyes looked into his own.

He frowned, considered. “Touching.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’ve been addled in the cold.” The owner of the dark blue eyes sighed. He pulled his hand back, hid it under his own hair. Another sigh, those hands sliding on his skin, so hot. So very hot. “Will you eat? Or take more to drink?”

He shook his head. No. No, he was tired. Sore. Lost.

“Fine.” He was cradled against the warm body once again, a soft humming sounding. He thought maybe he recognized the song as a lullaby his mother had sung to him once.

* * * *

Wintras held Zujan until the slender body was warmed through and in the throes of sleep. At least he assumed it was sleep, Zujan having woken, spoken. It was possible Zujan had been delirious, but there was little he could do about it.

He found himself dozing and decided to move to the bed. He deposited Zujan there first, building the fire up again so that its warmth filled the room. Then he returned to the bed and Zujan’s side. Zujan didn’t seem so fierce a sorcerer now, with his too thin limbs and his pale as snow skin. The only color aside from the blue veins visible through the pale skin was the swatch of black—Zujan’s hair. It was shot through with white now, more snow than earth and the curls around Zujan’s cock were white, barely visible against the pale skin.

A shiver wracked the slender body, and Wintras climbed in and curled around Zujan, surprisingly protective. He didn’t understand this instinct to protect and nurture Zujan, but it was strong, and he was too tired to fight it. Zujan moved toward him, low little sounds filling the air. He tucked Zujan in close, the sorcerer fitting perfectly into his body. Now that Zujan was warm instead of cold, Wintras began to notice just how well Zujan fit, just how soft the pale skin was.

He cursed his cock as it began to firm.

Zujan’s cheek was on his shoulder, breath soft and gentle, warm. It felt…good. Like with Furn, only… Zujan was his equal, not a servant. Except that he had been Zujan’s slave.