by A. H. Lee
“Well, you know what they say about third dates,” returned Roland.
Sairis tucked his face against Roland’s shoulder. “For gods’ sakes, stop making me laugh before we both die!”
The voice in the room spoke again, “I was hungry. If you won’t feed me, I must find someone who will. And I don’t know where the damned sword is. If I did, I would already have handed it over.” A pause. “It wouldn’t have mattered if I’d been there. He arrived late on purpose. He’s suspicious. He’s not stupid.”
Another silence.
“Whose side am I on? My own side, of course. Now you’d better scamper off. I hear my darling lord’s footsteps in the hall.”
Roland’s brow furrowed. Darling lord?
Roland heard the bump and creak of a door opening in the room, then the click as it shut. There was an exchange of voices too low to understand, but Roland recognized his uncle’s laugh. Then, to his confusion, he heard a woman’s voice—a clear alto, but with something of the same inflection as the mysterious male speaker. “You’ve had a long day, love. Has your brother crowned himself yet?”
“No.” Maniford sounded startlingly close as he passed the tapestry. “He still believes Daphne and Roland are alive. Or at least he believes that giving up on them so soon will appear callous.”
The woman’s voice spoke again, “How long does he think he can keep this a secret from Falcosta and Lamont?”
Uncle Mani sounded tired. “I don’t know. He’s very focused on making an offensive move against Hastafel with our own troops. He has talked the dean of magical studies and a few of his best students into riding to the border with him. He’s going to empty the border garrisons. He wants me to send everything I can from the north.”
Roland’s brow furrowed. Why is Uncle Mani telling this woman such secrets? Who is she? Some courtesan he brought with him?
“You think it’ll work?” asked the woman.
“No.” Roland was surprised at the frank certainty in his uncle’s voice.
The woman spoke smoothly. “Hastafel cannot be defeated.” Her voice had a curious edge, almost a singsong.
“No,” repeated Maniford, a little softer this time.
Indistinct sounds of shifting and the rustle of fabric drifted from the room beyond the tapestry. Am I going to have to listen to my uncle fuck? thought Roland.
The woman spoke again, her voice a murmur. “You must make peace with Hastafel.”
Uncle Mani’s voice sounded dreamy. “Yes...”
“You must convince Winthrop to do it.”
“Yes.” A pause. “But he won’t.”
The woman sighed. “I’ll just have to kill him, then, won’t I?”
“Yes...”
* * * *
Sairis felt Roland react—a frisson of shock and anger that ran up his spine and turned the chest against Sairis’s hand to iron. Roland stopped breathing, then started again in quick puffs like an indignant bull. He was going to charge out from behind the tapestry and attack his uncle, perhaps demand single combat or some equally stupid knightly nonsense.
Sairis did the only thing he could think of that might make Roland forget, just for an instant, what was happening on the other side of the tapestry. He slid his arms around Roland’s neck and kissed him. Sairis didn’t have time to think about his lack of experience or worry about whether he was giving the wrong impression. He covered Roland’s mouth with his own and hoped to all the gods that it would keep Roland still and quiet.
Chapter 21. Extremely Professional
Roland made a muffled noise of surprise, but that would be easily covered by the cloaking charm. The tight line of his mouth relaxed under Sairis’s lips. Sairis moved his head back a fraction. “It’s a demon,” he whispered. “Your uncle is not himself. He is under the influence of...of...a succubus, I think. Or an incubus. Astral aspects of Lust can be either. Do not give us away!”
Sairis was dimly conscious that one of Roland’s hands had settled on his waist. He was also conscious of his body taking notice of all this in ways that might be obvious to someone standing tightly against him. He felt the need to keep talking and said, unnecessarily, “I want you to keep calm.”
“Alright.” Roland’s voice came out deep and rough, and it made Sairis twinge in all the right (and wrong) places.
“Alright,” repeated Sairis stupidly.
“Alright...” said Roland again, their faces very close in the darkness.
Sairis could feel the thump of Roland’s heart through his clothes. Soft grunts and murmurs issued from beyond the tapestry, but they seemed far away and unimportant.
Roland closed the tiny distance to Sairis’s mouth, his lips opening this time, his tongue a muscular flicker of heat. Sairis thought, I shouldn’t have started this, even as his arms clenched around Roland’s neck, and Roland’s hand tightened against his back. Roland’s curls tangled around Sairis’s fingers. He wished that he could see the glossy gold of them and the flash of those blue eyes. No, no, no, this is not what you came here to do.
It occurred to him that if the demon was indeed an aspect of Lust, its presence was probably stirring up sexual energy in the room. I need to work on my personal wards. I might need to put some on Roland.
A sarcastic part of his mind said, By all means, blame this on the demon. It’s probably the demon’s fault that you went to a tavern and kissed a stranger two nights ago. And now you’re kissing him again. The demon is entirely to blame, I’m sure.
Roland was moving, his head and chin dipping rhythmically between deep kisses. His hips were moving, too—just a little, but it was doing alarming things to Sairis’s self-control. Sairis shifted instinctively, absurdly trying to get closer. Roland reacted by sliding his hand down Sairis’s leg, catching him under the knee, and pulling his leg up, so that he was half wrapped around Roland’s waist. Roland nuzzled under Sairis’s jaw as he bent, his beard a soft counterpoint to the hot intensity of his mouth against Sairis’s throat.
Sairis’s breath caught. Arousal flared in an ache that was almost painful. He could feel the hard shape of Roland’s erection against his own. He thought he should tell Roland to let go of his leg. At the same time, he wanted to wrap the other one around him. He hoped they weren’t moving the tapestry. He knew he should stop and make sure.
Roland’s free hand stroked his sides, his spine, his butt. The rhythmic movements of their bodies grew more desperate. Sairis realized with a sense of dizzy horror that he was going to climax. He was too close to the edge to stop, even if he could have somehow disengaged without getting them killed by an astral demon. He had the dim notion that he might maintain some dignity by pretending it wasn’t happening, but when the pleasure hit him, he lost his rhythm, crumpled up, and gasped against Roland’s ear.
Roland let go of Sairis’s leg, which was a good thing, because otherwise he probably would have lost his balance and fallen over. Sairis stood there in Roland’s arms, panting, far too warm in his coat, his face on fire. Professionals. Right.
He had no idea what to say or what he was supposed to do next. He did not think Roland had finished, and that was embarrassing in a different way. He wasn’t sure whether he should offer to do something about that, or whether he should try to get back to some semblance of appropriate behavior, or...
“They’ve gone into the bedroom,” whispered Roland. “That was the door closing.”
Sairis had completely missed it. When I get out of this, he promised himself, I will work alone for the rest of my life. He turned and stumbled blindly towards the secret door. He reached it and passed through into the cooler stone passage without hearing any shouts of alarm from beyond the tapestry. Roland followed on his heels, shutting the door with the softest of clicks. They stood in the blackness of the tunnel, their breathing loud in the silence.
“Sair?” ventured Roland after a moment.
Sairis cleared his throat. He spoke unwillingly. “Yes?”
“Are you alright?”
<
br /> Sairis screwed his eyes shut. He searched for something to say that would salvage the situation, make everything normal again, restore an appropriate emotional distance between them. He could think of nothing.
At last, Roland said, “Look, I know you want us to just pretend that everything in the tavern two days ago didn’t happen. But there was a reason we got along so well. I like you. I think you like me. I think you’re beating yourself up about it, and I wish you’d stop.”
Oh, gods. He is trying to be gallant. “You could just say I started it,” snapped Sairis.
Roland said no such thing.
Sairis took a deep breath. “I thought you were going to attack your uncle.”
“I was. Thank you for stopping me. You say he’s under the control of a demon?”
“Yes.”
“It’s threatening to kill my eldest uncle. You don’t think it could have...could have killed my father, too, do you?”
Sairis considered. “I doubt it. For a sorcerer to be controlling a demon at such a distance is remarkable. I’m not sure I understand what’s really happening here, and your father—”
Roland interrupted him. “On second thought, let’s get out of here and then we can talk about that. I...I can’t think about Father right now.”
Sairis nodded gratefully. “So we’re not leaving any letters with your uncle. Your sister wanted us to leave one for her maid, correct?”
“Yes,” said Roland. “Hopefully she isn’t screwing any demons this evening.”
Sairis laughed in spite of himself. “After that, we need to visit your strategy room and try to get a piece of the mirror Hastafel used for his portal.”
Roland hesitated. “The demon was talking to someone in the mirror...”
“I know,” said Sairis. “I need to think about that. Right now, let’s get these things done and get out of here.”
Chapter 22. Getting to Know Each Other
Roland really wished he could see Sairis’s face. He was having a hard time interpreting Sairis’s reaction to their abrupt and rather intense petting session. Roland was twenty-five, and the first time he’d done something like this had been ten years ago. He could well remember the flood of excitement and pleasure at those first tangled encounters, but he’d forgotten how embarrassing it could be. He wanted to say to Sairis, “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s alright to ask for what you want. It’s alright to enjoy it.”
But he couldn’t tell whether Sairis had, in fact, enjoyed it. The whole thing had happened in near-total darkness where Roland could not read expressions or body language. Sairis had initiated the encounter and escalated it. He’d certainly wanted it in the moment, but now...
An intrusive thought: Uncle Mani offered to help kill Uncle Winthrop. What if he helped kill Father?
The idea circled the edges of Roland’s consciousness like a hawk, waiting to pounce on doubt or weakness. I am not going to think about that right now. Sairis said it was a demon. Father is dead. I knew he was dead when I came home. He won’t be any less dead one way or the other.
Roland focused on the moment. He’d gotten good at that over the last four years. You could set grief aside, he’d discovered. You could put it on a shelf for later—an unopened urn locked in a deep vault where it wouldn’t endanger the people who depended upon you. He put thoughts about his father on the shelf with all the others and let it be.
His body was calming down, at least, and that was a relief. The cool of the tunnels helped. “Could I have some light?” he asked aloud.
Sairis produced the faint green glow that allowed them to navigate, but didn’t help much when it came to reading the expressions of a repressed young man who had just had his first orgasm in company. Roland decided to let him get his thoughts together. They’d walked for several minutes in silence when Sairis spoke. “You don’t like me. You said so.”
Roland was surprised. He thought back over their conversations. “I said I don’t like what you do.”
Sairis gave a bitter laugh. It had a hysterical edge. Roland was reminded that most people would have called Sairis a witch.
“Why necromancy?” asked Roland. He knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but the words burst out. “Why not any other form of magic?”
“Why are you an invert?” snapped Sairis. “You must get constant offers from women. Why not just be normal?”
Roland was startled into silence.
“Any magician can practice necromancy,” said Sairis after a moment. “But I’m what they call a natural.”
“You don’t have a choice?”
“Do you have a choice about dallying with men?” asked Sairis, his voice now unmistakably mocking. “I’m sure you do.” He sucked in a breath and muttered, “Unless you’re trapped behind a tapestry hiding from a demon.”
Roland laughed, the sound rolling in the passage. “Sairis, I enjoyed that, and I am truly sorry if I misread signals or made you uncomfortable.”
Sairis’s silhouette in the dim glow seemed to loosen a little. His shoulders dropped. “You don’t know me,” he said in a voice that was barely audible.
“I know you care passionately about your work,” said Roland, “and that’s admirable even if I don’t understand why you do what you do. I know you’re smarter than most people in any given room.”
Sairis laughed again. This time it didn’t sound bitter or hysterical.
“I know you laugh at my jokes,” continued Roland. “I know you can send them right back.” He took a quick breath. “And I know you got between my family and a sorcerer. I know you got stabbed for us.”
Sairis looked away. “That was...a bit more complicated than—”
“I’m sure you had your reasons,” interrupted Roland. “And I wanted to kiss you before that. I reacted badly to your identity, and you’re right. I don’t know you. But I want to. Will you let me?”
Sairis sounded confused. “Let you...what?”
“Will you let me get to know you?”
A long silence.
“Turn left here,” said Roland. “We’re getting close to Daphne’s rooms.”
Sairis was still thinking. “What do you want to know?” he asked with infinite caution.
Roland stifled a chuckle.
Sairis caught it anyway. “I am not good at this! I told you, I am not... I live alone in a tower with a cranky old man who has seen too much. And I am lucky. I could have ended up far worse.”
Roland tried to keep the smile out of his voice. “Well, that’s a start.”
Sairis scratched his head. “Is this how people get to know each other?”
“They generally talk about their hobbies, friends, families, beliefs, and childhoods, yes.”
Sairis shrugged. “I was mostly raised by ghosts on the River Styx.”
“Well, that’s...” Roland could not think of a single thing to say.
Sairis started to laugh.
Roland gave a sigh of relief. “You are joking.”
“I’m not, actually. I was locked in a basement at the time, and spirit-walking was how I dealt with the situation.”
Roland groped unsuccessfully for a comment.
“Well, I’m glad we’re getting to know each other,” said Sairis cheerfully. “You’ve stopped walking. Is that shock or have we reached the maid’s room? Or are you about to take a swing at me?”
Roland cleared his throat. “This is Joslyn’s room, yes.” He fished in his pocket for Daphne’s letter. “I would never take a swing at you, Sairis.”
“I’ll remind you that you said that one day.”
Roland shook his head. “You don’t know me, either.” He hesitated. “You get a lot of knights trying to collect Father’s bounty on Karkaroth, don’t you?”
Sairis shrugged. “Not like we used to. Three or four times a year, at most.”
Roland grimaced. “Knights try to kill you three or four times a year?”
“Selling their armor is mostly how we pay for food, so
it’s not all bad.”
Roland stared at Sairis’s silhouette, at the points of light that were his eyes. He’d never really thought about the day-to-day existence of a necromancer with a price on his head, besieged, as it were, in his own tower. “How did Daphne send you an invitation to the council meeting?”
“Paid someone to leave it on our doorstep. I do not, as a rule, incinerate peasants who knock. They’re usually just asking for love potions...or medicine...or selling vegetables. I quite like vegetables. Anyway, I shouldn’t be talking to you about this.”
Roland opened his mouth to ask why and then shut it. He was the premier knight of the realm and Sairis was the closest thing Mistala had to a dragon. Of course Sairis shouldn’t be talking to him about how he survived or who sold him food. They were natural enemies, and Sairis was keenly aware of it even if Roland often forgot. Roland could afford to forget.
Suddenly Roland had so many questions. “Did Karkaroth want to let you come, or did you have to talk him into it? Is he—?”
Sairis held up a hand. “I assume there’s some back and forth in this whole getting to know each other thing? Or is it supposed to feel like an interrogation?”
Roland winced. “Your turn.”
“To ask a question?” Sairis’s teeth flashed in the low light. “How do we get this letter to Joslyn?”
Roland gave a long-suffering sigh. “We can just slide this one under the door.”
Chapter 23. Fire and Glass
Roland was not surprised to discover that the way to the strategy room had been hastily boarded over. This was a logical course of action to prevent additional people from learning palace secrets. Still, it made their task harder. “We can come out at the foot of the stairs,” said Roland. “Then we’ll have to walk up to the strategy room and come back the same way.”
Sairis chewed his lip. “It’s a dead end?”
