Poison (12 page)

Etain laughed softly and reached up to kiss him on the mouth. "In answer to your question, White Panther, the ceremony is not yet in jeopardy. Though we obviously would prefer the White Beasts stand tall and proud for it, they need only be alive and present."

"I wonder if the assailant knows that," Ailill said, able to breathe again as she stepped away, though his lips still burned from her playful kiss. "It would just make the matter all the more confusing. Why would somebody want to hurt them, but not kill them?"

Secrets, his mind immediately provided. Somebody wanted to keep something secret, but did not want to kill them or ruin the ceremony. So it was not that somebody was trying to kill them and failing—though that could be possible and the assailant was simply refining his poison—but that somebody wanted to not quite kill them.

"Come, I will take you back to the hall, unless there is something further you need here," Etain said.

"No," Ailill replied and offered her his arm as they left the Sanctuary and returned to the hall where the others still waited. "I did have a thought, though, majesty. We are all connected to the Triad and to each other. Why did neither of them cry out for help? I understand Elianne was too far away, but Lord Lyall was only across the hall. If he had cried out, many people would have heard him. He might have been reached in time to keep him from falling into a coma."

"I guess he did not think he was in danger until it was too late," Etain said. "My guess is that the poison must work quickly, and when he tried to cry out he could not."

Ailill nodded. That did not bode well. "I hope the other Beasts know to be on their guard. Let us hope that is sufficient. With so little information, we do not have any real idea what the attacker is trying to achieve. I fear we will not know the real goal until it is too late."

"Have faith, White Panther. In yourself, in your peers, in your Triad. All will be as it is meant to be, and no one will stop the ceremony this time."

"Yes, majesty," he said, just as they returned to the main hall. When they reached the thrones, Etain kissed his lips once more, then each of his cheeks. "Go now, White Panther. Solve our mystery, and I wish you the best of luck."

"Thank you, majesty. Your highnesses." Ailill knelt, bowed his head, then rose and left.

Outside, the hall was empty save for Ivan still sitting on the bench where Ailill had left him. Tension Ailill had not realized was there immediately eased, replaced by a warmth that was frightening and wonderful all at once. "Vanya, you could have gone home. You look exhausted."

Ivan stood up and stretched, then closed the space between them, looping one arm around Ailill's shoulders to draw him in for a kiss. He drew back after a moment, looking amused when he said, "You smell strange."

Ailill jabbed him in the ribs. Hard. "You don't smell like roses, yourself."

"Not what I meant," Ivan replied, pinching him in retaliation. "I mean, you smell sweet—like, sickly sweet. You always smell like flowers, but now you smell almost too sweet. Did you sneak off to a whore house during your meeting, Ailill?"

Snorting at that, Ailill said, "I was taken to the Sanctuary by her majesty. Congratulations on calling the Faerie Queen of Verde a whore."

Ivan grinned. "I call the Tsar much worse. So are you a murder suspect?"

"No, I have been cleared. I saw Lyall and Elianne, but I could determine nothing. If they fell to that shadow poison, I cannot tell it."

"We will figure it out," Ivan said lightly and kissed his nose. The silly gesture should have made Ailill laugh or roll his eyes, but instead it just made his heart start thudding.

Ivan stared at him a moment, then just smiled faintly. Ailill started to ask why, but the word stuck. Ivan asked, "So what are we doing now, cat?"

When had Ivan started calling him that? He had he done it back in Pozhar? He would swear it was a new nickname, but it also felt as if Ivan had said it a thousand times. "We go home. I think food and then we are going to bed."

"Bed, is it?" Ivan said and slid one hand down Ailill's back, curving it around to graze his stomach before dipping further. "I admit bed would be nice, cat. I am tired of being interrupted."

Ailill laughed and dragged his tongue across Ivan's lips. "Bed, Vanya. Now stop molesting me in the palace and let us go home."

Ivan cupped his cock a moment longer, then released him and stepped slightly back. Ailill linked their arms as they walked through the palace. "So what did the other Beasts have to say while I was inside?"

"Not much to me," Ivan replied. "I did get a great many looks, however. But I have seen plenty of other fire children about the palace, at least in passing. I do not know why I garnered all the odds looks. No one knows what I was before, after all. I am just a rather unkempt looking noble to them."

Ailill's mouth quirked. "Gossip, Vanya. It is quite clear that we are paramours, and it is decidedly non-traditional for a White Beast to take a foreigner as a lover. Verde has always had a complicated relationship with Piedre and Pozhar. One worships death, the other sacrificed many people in the name of their gods. We worship life here."

"You cannot have life without death or sacrifice," Ivan said. "The five countries were meant to live in harmony, were they not?"

"Yes, but they were already pretty divided when the gods were still around. Some say that the gods themselves are responsible; some say it was inevitable. But it definitely grew worse when the gods were Lost. Hopefully, someday, all will be set to rights again, and nobody will look askance that my lover is a fire child." He sighed softly. "Though I would not mind if I ceased to be a Beast as well."

Ivan did not reply as they left the palace and climbed into their waiting carriage. But once inside, he sat down next to Ailill and held him close. "You are good at it, whatever you feel."

Ailill nodded, acknowledging the words, but did not reply. Before Ivan had arrived, he had simply wanted his freedom. Thoughts of seeing Ivan had been there, but they were mixed with simply wanting to travel.

Since Ivan had returned, all he could think about was the day they would finally have to part again. If the ceremony failed, he would definitely have to remain to replace the gods that would once again be lost. If the ceremony succeeded ... he simply did not know.

But he could not just walk away from his obligations, and he could not ask Ivan to do the same, not when he wore so well the mantle that had been draped over his shoulders.

Shoving the gloomy thoughts away again, Ailill simply tried to enjoy what he had while he had it and left the rest to deal with only when he must.

Gael woke up biting back a scream, tears hot and salty where they struck his lips. He wiped at his face with fumbling hands, entire body trembling for several long minutes as he sat there trying to erase the image of Noire dead in his arms, the light in his silver-blue eyes lost forever.

When the torment finally faded, he took in his surroundings, only then remembering he had stayed in his office working to avoid being dragged into bed by Freddie and Etain. He would have to have that conversation soon because they would not just accept his tendency to overwork forever—but while Freddie he felt would be understanding, if hurt, Etain ...

Etain was a different matter, and it was a matter for which he did not have the energy. Reaching out with his powers, Gael sought Noire, brushing gently against his mind, reassured that he was sleeping deeply, comfortably. It should have soothed him to know that his lover was indeed safe, but instead it just made him more anxious than ever to see for himself that all truly was well. To touch Noire, feel him, know for a fact he was alive and safe.

He shouldn't, but the recent nightmare still taunted cruelly from the back of his mid. Gael shuddered and stood up, nearly sitting right back down again before his legs steadied at the last and held him.

Crossing the room to the table in the corner, he pulled out a handkerchief and dipped the corner of it in the pitcher of water he had requested hours ago. He used the damp cloth to clean his face, then set about fixing his loose, tangled hair. A couple of minutes searching located the ribbon he had lost in his thrashing, and he felt a little bit better just holding it. Hair fixed, he pulled out his pocket watch to see the precise time, grimacing to see that it was half past three in the morning.

Returning to his desk, he pulled out his agenda to confirm his worst fears:  he did indeed have an eight o'clock meeting. Well, it was just going to be a very long day, then.

He should call for a pot of tea, a snack, and just go back to work. But the thought of putting anything in his stomach made him feel ill. No, food and drink was out of the question. And try as he might, the ache to see Noire and reassure himself would not ease. Going to see Noire was the epitome of stupid, but Gael was out the door and walking through the palace halls before he could stop himself.

Being the Voice, Noire's rooms were close to the royal suite. When Gael reached them, the door was unlocked. He frowned, irritated, because he had admonished Noire any number of times to keep it locked. Well, he would address that another time. Slipping inside and locking the door behind him, Gael strode through a sitting room and an office before he finally reached Noire's bedroom.

It was a small space, but well-appointed in various shades of blue, green, and cream. In the dark, with only moonlight, he knew the colors only by memory. The moonlight just barely brushed against the gauzy white curtains surrounding the bed, and as Gael pushed them aside, they teased along Noire's cheek. He looked younger in sleep, far too young for all that had been placed upon his shoulders. Gael should probably feel guilty for taking a man twelve years his junior as a lover, but Noire felt too right for him to feel guilty about anything except the secrecy.

Gael sat on the edge of the bed and reached out to touch Noire's moon-bathed skin, soothed by the warmth and familiarity of it. The room was warm, and Noire had at some point pushed the bedcovers mostly off, leaving only part of one leg and a small part of the other covered.

He slept nude, his dusky skin smooth, nearly hot in places as Gael reassured himself by touching, feeling. The temptation to crawl into bed with him and sleep until his morning appointment was strong. Too strong. Gael tried to stand and walk away, but instead he just gave a gentle nudge so that Noire lay on his back rather than his side.

Leaning over him, Gael pressed a chaste kiss to his mouth, tasting a hint of wine and sugar. Noire made a noise, soft and breathy, that might have been Gael's name or could have just been nonsense. Gael smiled faintly, nuzzled against him, and just pressed soft, random kisses across various bits of warm skin.

Noire gave a sleepy groan and his cock twitched, began to slowly fill. Gael kept kissing him, gentle and teasing, not quite enough to wake Noire up. There was something about teasing his lover while he slept that pleased him, made him hot, made his breeches too tight. The urge to go faster, to wake Noire and take him, was there, but easily ignored in favor of the chance to savor.

He licked one of Noire's nipples, bit it gently, and blew on it, which earned him a sleepy moan. Smiling against Noire's skin, he repeated the touches on the other nipple, then pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses down his torso until he finally reached the cock that had grown hard, the tip already wet.

Gael wrapped his hand around Noire's cock at the base, and then he swallowed the tip—and immediately drew back when Noire finally woke up, eyes wide as he stared in shock and incomprehension before falling back on the pillows. "Gael!"

Chuckling, Gael let go of his cock and crawled up the bed to take a real kiss, lips sliding across Noire's, tasting more deeply of the lingering traces of wine and sugar, heady when combined with the unmistakable flavor of Noire. "Kitten," he greeted as he drew back.

Noire nipped at his lips in gentle reprimand. "You nearly scared me to death."

Gael snorted. "Who else would be in your bed, kitten? I know many clamor desperately for the privilege, but you are not taking them up on the offer."

"I've only ever been made one offer, and he is quite troublesome enough," Noire replied and tugged impatiently at the ribbon in Gael's hair. When at last he pulled it free, he combed his fingers through the long, silvery-white strands. As ever, Gael was amused and pleased by Noire's obsession with his hair. It fell like a curtain all around them. He bent to kiss Noire again, deep and slow, savoring. His fingers slid along Noire's skin, feeling the slight tremors that ran through him. "Troublesome," Noire whispered again as Gael drew back.

"Very," Gael agreed, voice husky.

Noire smiled and caressed his face, lingering on his lips. Gael kissed his fingers. "You're wearing too many clothes," Noire said.

Laughing softly, Gael drew back and began to remove his clothes, tossing them haphazardly, one of his shoes clunking as it hit the dresser. Then he returned to Noire's arms, settling between his thighs so that their cocks rubbed against each other, leaving damp spots on their skin. Gael bent and sank back into the drugging heat of Noire's willing mouth, kissing as deeply as he could, tongue sliding, tangling, lips bruising, breaths lost.

Noire's hands curled around his hips, keeping him close, hips moving sinuously in a promise of what was to come. When Gael finally drew back, he felt ready to burst from heat, the desire coiled tightly in his belly. He nibbled at Noire's neck, needing more of the way his breath hitched, nails biting into his skin, and all that warm skin rubbing against his. Nipping at Noire's ear, he asked, "Where's the oil, kitten?"

"Pillow," Noire said, voice ragged. He didn't wait for Gael to pull away and find it, just thrust a hand under one of the many pillows on his bed and pulled out a corked glass bottle, thrusting it into Gael's hand.

The scent of warm vanilla blended with the smell of sex in the room. Gael pulled the cork and poured the oil into the palm of one hand, then used it to slick his fingers, warming it. Reaching down, he teased his fingers along Noire's entrance, tracing, pushing in the barest bit only to withdraw again, until Noire's nails dug in deep and one hand yanked impatiently at his hair. "Gael, please."