Playing With Fire (9 page)

“Your faeries don’t scare me, but I will happily go and never darken your castle again.” Wintras turned and walked away, the prince not running, though Zujan could see the tension in the muscles, fighting the desire to do so.

The last of his heat faded, turning his heart to ice, and he went to one of his formal bedrooms to find his clothes.

He never looked back.

Chapter Six

“The castle is yours, Wintras. Have the treasures split three ways and send a share to Dumas and a share to me with our cut of the crops and our split of the servants.”

Wintras nodded at his father, the old man looking fat and pleased with himself, though Blethin and Dumas had done no actual fighting, leaving that to Wintras and the men. “A king must survive to lead, son.” Personally, Wintras thought it was a sign of weakness, that a king wouldn’t lead his men through battle as well as into it. But then it seemed his ideas of ruling were far different than most. His time here at this castle two years earlier had taught him that if nothing else.

A small contingent of guards was left as Dumas, and his father led the rest in a triumphant march back toward the northlands. They’d done it. They’d wrestled Zujan’s lands from him. It had been surprisingly easy.

The fire resistance they had all expected had never materialized, and it made Wintras wonder what had happened to Zujan. He told himself very firmly he wasn’t worried, that if Zujan’s slaves had turned on him and killed him, the man only had himself to blame.

He ordered the guards to set up camp in the guardhouse, refused a personal bodyguard and dismounted to inspect the staff. The castle was worse for wear, but the stones held. Most of the battle had taken place in front of the gates until the last hours. The northern and western borders had not been guarded, both his father and Dumas were Zujan’s pawns until Wintras had convinced them that bound together, they could overcome Zujan’s forces.

He walked slowly along the line of Zujan’s slaves, recognizing most of them—by sight if not name. He stopped in the middle of them so they could all hear him. “If there’s anyone here who wishes to return to their home, you may do so.” He looked from one end to the other, waiting for a response.

The staff looked from one to the other, the scantily clad harem boys holding one another, sobbing softly. No one moved, no one spoke.

“Where’s Zujan? Why didn’t your master protect you?” Their beloved master, where was he now? Wintras spit in the snow.

“Wintras?” A tall, pale man leaned forward, blinking. “Is it really you?”

“Furn?” Could this tall lad be the boy he had shared pleasure and friendship with? He nodded and smiled at his old friend. “Look at you.”

“Are you going to kill us all now then? That’s what they’re saying.”

“Who’s saying that? Zujan? Where is he?” He looked into the scared eyes. “Come now, Furn. Is that the kind of man I was?”

“No. You were the same as we are, and you’re not, not now.”

“You think I have changed so much in two years?” Perhaps Furn did. The boy himself certainly had, still slender, the man was now taller, face far more serious. “I always advocated that I was one of my people, that I did not take slaves, that my people were free.” He raised his voice. “None of you is beholden to stay here. If you wish to work for me or for Dumas or Blethin in the northlands, you may. If you wish to return to your homes, you may. No one will hurt you for either choice.”

Dozens of exhausted eyes stared at him, blank and lost. Then slowly the crowd dispersed, the majority heading back into the rough-hewn stone of the castle, only the cook, the housekeeper and the butler remaining in the rapidly falling snow. They looked older, drawn. Surely two days of fighting would not have ravaged them so?

“Mata, Gella, Lavan.” He inclined his head. “Are you choosing to leave?” Of all of them, he had hoped these three would stay and help run the household, but he would not go back on his word because it would be easier for him. He was not like that.

The women didn’t answer, but the old man did, giving him a single shake of the head. “No sir. We are simply awaiting your orders.”

“Oh. All right. Where’s Zujan?” He’d convinced his father to let him have the castle itself and some of Zujan’s lands so that he could repay the man in kind for how he was treated. Dumas and Blethin had both been easy to convince, content to take their share of lands and treasures and not have to worry about running a second household.

A long look was shared between the three of them then Lavan shrugged. “Dead. We buried him in the spring.”

“What?” The word came out shocked. He
was
shocked. Angry that his plans had been forfeit and…upset. Of course, he was. He wanted his revenge, and he’d been thwarted. He wasn’t sad that Zujan was dead. It was a good thing. The man had been a horrible beast.

He ignored the flash of a memory of a thin, almost skeletal blue hand reaching out for a berry.

“He died. We told no one, afraid the castle would be attacked.” Lavan stepped away, “The Captain of the Guard acted as Lord, and he died in the first volley against us.”

“T-terrible luck, that. Terrible.” Mata looked at the ground, hands shaking.

There was something not quite right here, though he couldn’t put his finger on it. It seemed terribly fortuitous that the time they had chosen to band with Dumas and make their attack on Zujan’s castle should be shortly after the man had passed on to the next realm.

Wintras was tired, though, after three days riding and two of fighting, and dirty and these three were awaiting his orders. “I’d like the castle to run pretty much as it used to. I will take a bath in the bathing room and then choose a suite.” He had one in the old wing in mind, with simple furnishings and lots of books.

“Yes, sir. Of course.” Lavan led him into the castle. Inside the place was in shambles, evidence of struggle and melee all about. His own men rested where Zujan’s guard had been before.

“This needs to be sorted out, fixed. Lavan, let everyone have the day and the night to eat, rest, find themselves again and then assemble them in the hall. We’ll have the place back to glory in no time.” He grinned at Lavan, reminded of the days after the fire. “Just like old times.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll alert the staff. Your private bathing chamber is through here, sir. Shall I send someone to bathe you?”

“I don’t need a private bathing chamber, Lavan. And I don’t need to be bathed.” Still it would be nice to see Patin again, perhaps Furn and Patricio. He had missed their easy laughter. “Perhaps the baths in the harem will be used tonight? I don’t want to put anyone out, tired and despondent as you all seem.”

Lavan gave him a vaguely horrified look. “I will send the harem to you, my Lord. You need not bathe with them.”

“Lavan. I am not the master you are used to dealing with. I do not put myself above you or any of the people who work for me.”

“But you are the Lordship, here. You must show your strength.”

“By treating people as slaves?” He didn’t understand this need for the person leading to be elevated above all others.

“By taking your due, my Lord.”

He sighed, too tired to fight over it tonight. “Look, I just want to wipe the grime and blood of the day off me, have something refreshing to eat and drink and go to bed.”

“Of course, sir.” A pair of gilt doors were opened, a copper bath being filled with bucket upon bucket of heated water. “I will send someone with your meal.”

“Make sure enough is sent so that whoever must bring it is also fed. I want everyone to have a good evening. To be well-rested and ready to work together tomorrow.” Something still wasn’t right. It was niggling at him, but he was too tired to worry it out. He just wanted to be clean and fed and to rest his head on a bed instead of in a cold, snow-covered field.

“Yes, sir. I’ll send Furn for you. I remember you were close.” Then the old man disappeared, deceptively fast for his age.

Wintras felt suspiciously as if he’d been fobbed off onto Furn and the bath to keep him occupied. He let it go as he stripped his cloak and leggings off and climbed into the tub, moaning. Oh, it felt good. The water worked its magic, relaxing him, easing him. Furn entered in short order with a tray full of bread and roasted game, a huge flagon of ale. “I have your food, my Lord.”

“Oh Furn, call me Wintras. Please.” He reached out for the boy. “Come and share the tub with me. You look like you could use it.”

He got a shy, quiet smile, Furn setting the tray within reach and discarding the familiar tunic and sliding in the water.

“You’ve changed,” he said softly, reaching to cup the still smooth cheek.

“I have, so have you. Have you missed us?” Furn nuzzled into his touch, eyes closing.

“I have thought of you often. Dreamed of this day when I would come and rescue you, give you your freedom.”

“I do not understand you, my Lord. I was never a prisoner.”

“I know you don’t think so, but I never saw how you had any choice.” He lay back weary and more than a little upset he couldn’t take Zujan prisoner. Make the sorcerer pay for using these sweet boys, for using him.

Those soft hands washed him, caressed him, the sounds of fire and water sweet. He let himself be pampered, told himself that he was different from Zujan because he hadn’t asked for it, because Furn wanted to. It was fine hairs he was splitting, but he was tired. Why was it he was always so tired here? Always at war with himself and Zujan…

“Would you like some food, some ale?” Furn’s voice was soft, gentle.

“If you’ll eat with me, yes.” He stroked Furn’s cheek again, finding the same peace and ease with the boy he’d found when he’d been held here against his will.

“I will.” A chunk of bread was torn off, dipped in the dark, spicy stew and held to his mouth.

He took it, lips sliding along Furn’s fingers. It was good, and he nodded for Furn to feed himself as he chewed. Furn ate with him, feeding him the lion’s share, holding the mug to his lips. He petted and stroked Furn. His body, now washed and fed, looked for the next thing it needed, his cock growing, Furn’s soft skin and gentle hands in no way discouraging his need.

“Do you want me, my Lord?” Furn cuddled, hands sliding up along his belly.

“Only if you desire it, too, Furn. I will not have you unwilling. I will not order you to pleasure me.” His own hand worked after all, he did not need to force others to bring him pleasure.

“I am not unwilling.” Furn’s long shaft slid on his thigh.

He moaned softly. “Then yes, Furn, I want you.”

Wintras took the thin face in his and looked into the pretty eyes before bringing their mouths together. Furn slid to straddle his thighs, body moving into his, rubbing, something in the water making them slide. Wintras moaned and slid his hands around Furn’s waist, setting up a rhythm that made the water slosh around them.

Furn’s cock was heavier than he remembered, the heat of it was like a brand along his belly. He shifted them, moaning as their shafts came together. Furn’s gentle hands wrapped around both their pricks, and Wintras’ breathing sped as his hips moved, sliding his shaft within Furn’s hands.

It wasn’t long at all before Furn’s eyes widened, a soft cry filling the air. The prick alongside his throbbed, and his own responded, his balls going tight as he came. Panting, he lay back against the side of the brass tub, the sloshing water slowly going still.

“So strong. So warm. Been wanting to be warm…” Furn’s arms draped around his neck.

“Don’t you boys still keep each other warm?” Wintras asked, hands sliding on Furn’s skin as he remembered the piles under the covers in their sleep chamber.

“The master’s favorite doesn’t sleep in the harem, remember?”

Wintras stilled, the words catching his attention. “Of course. You sleep with the master.” Which meant that Zujan was alive. Why hadn’t the man come to his own defense? Where was he now? Why had they lied to him?

“Mm-hmm. Does that mean I’ll sleep in your bed, my Lord?”

“It means you’ll take me to Zujan!” Wintras stood up, reaching for one of the thick cloths left near the tub for drying.

“My Lord?” Furn looked devastated, lost.

“I wish to see him, and I will not be lied to anymore!” He was angry, too angry to reassure and coddle. Not that Furn deserved to be coddled—he’d participated in this lie. Wintras had come here to free these people, and instead, they had banded together to protect the man that enslaved them.

“See who, my Lord? Who do you wish to see?”

“Zujan.” Now, the boy was just stalling.

“No one may see him, the lights took him. He has not fed, not moved.” Furn stood, water dripping from him.

“Where is he?” he asked, rewarding Furn for the information by placing the drying cloth around the boy’s shoulders.

“The last time I was with him, he was in the tower, but they moved him, else the stones froze and cracked during the heat of the summer.”

“Do you know where, Furn?” He would have his revenge, he would. Teach Zujan a lesson of his own. Served the man right, having those weird little firefaery things freeze him all up.

Furn shook his head. “You have nothing to fear from him. He does not speak, does not move. Simply stares.”

“I am not afraid of him!” Wintras bristled. He had never been afraid of Zujan. Is that what they had thought? How could they? If he had feared Zujan he would have bowed and offered the man his ass from the first, and he never had, never without protest and under an oath unwillingly given.

“I will see him, Furn. If I have to search this entire castle from dungeons to tower, I will see him. I am your master now, and it is my due.” They were so eager to do as their master desired, let it work for him for a change.

“I don’t know where he is. I sleep in the big bed, alone. I have since the spring rains.” Furn came to him, eyes worried. “Please, my Lord. Come to the bed, warm me?”

“Fetch me Lavan first.” He believed the boy didn’t know. Furn had never given him a reason to believe the boy was a liar. But Wintras was not ready to let this drop. While the castle and lands were nice, Zujan was his reward for having led this battle and freed the lands from Zujan’s control. Furn nodded, hurrying away, fluttering.