The Cobbler's Soleless Son

by Meredith Katz

  Hrahez was here. This was his chance—perhaps his only chance—but it was useless if Renart didn't find a way to approach him. He wasn't going to be the only one doing so, either. He was sure of that. Even if his motivations were different than theirs, plenty of the demons here would be trying to curry favor and get attention.

  An introduction would be best, but there was no one to speak for him. He cast another gaze around the room in the hopes that the footman would reappear and Renart could convince him to help, but the demon was nowhere in sight. There was nobody else he even knew in passing, nobody who could introduce him.

  In the moment of that realization, he felt himself grow calm. It was a weird type of focus, more adrenaline than actual peace, but it gave him room to think.

  He had to do this entirely by himself.

  Renart steeled himself, waiting for the ideal moment, watching the musicians and listening to the tune, trying to see how far along Hrahez's dance was. He ignored the dancers, other than to track Hrahez's position in the room. When it seemed like the song would end soon, he began pushing through the crowd. He didn't dare wait for the end, but starting too early was dangerous—there were plenty here who would run him over in their merriment, knock him to the ground, and crush him.

  As if dancing himself, he dodged and wove through the spinning dancers. He was knocked back and forth with bruising strength whenever he misjudged and got clipped, but he refused to fall. He couldn't afford to fall. He kept an eye on the constantly-moving pair of Hrahez and the smooth-skinned demon, trying at all turns to angle himself towards them.

  The music stopped. Frantic, Renart shoved through the remaining few guests between himself and Hrahez, stepping forward just as Hrahez bowed and let go of the demon's hand. Renart's aggression caused a small commotion, hissed threats and muttered offense. It probably wasn't worse only because the prince's attention was now fixed his way.

  He drew a breath and held a hand out. "May I have the next dance?" he asked, and heard his voice come out in a strained wheeze.

  Horrified, he met the prince's eyes as best as he could through the distortion of his veil. Hrahez didn't seem startled, but the polite wall of his shaded expression shifted into something more genuine, corners of his eyes crinkling, amusement washing over his features. He laughed a moment later, ducking his head, then let the weight of his horns draw it back up and said, "So you're the human at my party."

  "Y—"

  "I'll dance with you," Hrahez agreed before Renart could even finish speaking, and took his hand.

  The music started again, but Renart could hardly hear it over the rush of white noise in his head.

  Tari'd had a noticeable aura of desire, but a soft one, a gentle one. The succubus in the village and the footman here were more so. Both had a strong appeal, a sense of restrained power that left arousal burning behind every brush of their fingers.

  Touching Hrahez was like that, but taken to the extreme.

  It wasn't as if it was different from his two recent encounters, not exactly. The feeling of their auras was nearly the same, but Hrahez's was more. If the others had seemed to have that power muted, in comparison, it rolled off Hrahez in waves. His hands touching Hrahez's made him ache to get closer, and when Hrahez pulled him in for the dance his breath hitched, body tight and flushed all over.

  It felt like he was struck by lightning; the hair on his arms was standing up, nerves aching, and his skin over-sensitive. The scent of Hrahez surrounded Renart; he could smell him, taste him, feel him with every breath in. His mind reeled, almost in shock—hyper-focusing on small details, slow and laggy to process anything. It was like being underwater, like drowning. Desperate, he made himself look at the bottom of the veil Hrahez wore, watching the way it drifted as they moved, trying slowly to bring his wits back about himself again so he wouldn't waste his chance. But it was almost impossible, the air between them hazy and warm, this strong and familiar scent in his nostrils—

  —and then Prince Hrahez stepped on his foot.

  It hurt, and only the anklet he was wearing protected him at all from the sharp-edged hoof. As it was, the sudden weight and pressure jarred him out of his daze. He was still attracted, he was still aroused, but he wasn't lost in it.

  "Sorry about that," Hrahez said cheerily. His voice wasn't at all apologetic, light but soft and smooth as honey, and he clipped Renart's foot again with his next step. "I'm not actually that good a dancer, but it's obligatory that I do a dance or two at this sort of thing."

  Somehow, Renart managed to find his own voice. Shock faded into disbelief—was there anyone who'd believe that a demon prince, who'd lived for hundreds of years and was famous for his grand events, couldn't dance?

  But then, Renart supposed, who would teach him if he didn't already know? He tried to keep that from his tone, as warmly neutral as he could manage. "Well, good thing I made the anklets, then. I wouldn't give up this chance for the world."

  "Is that so? Good thing you don't have the world to give," Hrahez said with a grin and a quirked brow. He swept him around, hoof clipping Renart's shin. It stung, and Renart tried unsuccessfully to swallow a yelp, but Hrahez didn't seem to notice. "So you made these? It's just as well that you've got them. They're nicely made, too."

  "I'm the local cobbler's son," Renart answered, voice a little strained. Then, daringly, "If you want new footwear, I could make you a pair of anything you like."

  "Do you think you could? I haven't found many nice shoes for hooves."

  Renart grinned up at him. "I'm inventive," he said, and wiggled a foot on his next step. "Just look at these. I can't wear anything on the bottom of my feet, but I'm pretty proud of my ability to work with what I've got."

  "It is pretty clever," Hrahez admitted. "So your bare soles are unprotected?"

  The conversation was so simple, so easy, that Renart felt his spirits lifting. The pain of Hrahez's wayward hooves aside, it was like walking on air.

  He was finally here. Not just held close, not just dancing, but talking with Hrahez like one normal person to another. As if they weren't demon and human, prince and cobbler. Getting to do so, he found that Hrahez wasn't just interesting.

  Renart liked him.

  It was partially Hrahez's natural charisma, certainly, but there was a familiar comfort to him, an easy-going tone to the way he talked, affably affectionate, that made him want to respond in kind.

  He swallowed and made himself find the conversation again. Soles. Right. "That's the agreement I made, so that's how it is." He shrugged a little against Hrahez's grip, trying to seem nonchalant, and managed not to flinch as a hoof pinched the unprotected edge of his foot to the floor. "I already pushed my luck far enough twisting this verbal agreement from one kind of 'soul' to another—I wasn't going to try to break my word to a demon on top of that!"

  "Wise of you," Hrahez said with amusement. "In fact—"

  The music came to a stop.

  Hrahez stopped dancing along with it and fell silent, still holding Renart close to him. Renart's stomach suddenly clenched, knowing that there were only seconds now before Hrahez would pull away, find another partner. It was too fast, he thought desperately. Too soon. He came all this way and it was wonderful, sure, but it couldn't be over yet...!

  As he scrambled to find something to say, something to do, something that could keep this from ending, Hrahez leaned down, veiled lips brushing against his jaw.

  "In exactly an hour," Hrahez breathed into his ear, veil gusting against his cheek, "leave the party and come to my room." He murmured directions, and Renart forced himself to focus on them and not how hard he'd gotten at the closeness of Hrahez's body, at the murmur directly against him. Out the door Hrahez had entered by, down the hall, the third door to the left, down another hall, take a right, up a stairway, a hall to a door at the end, another stairway, a hall to another door.

  He shuddered roughly, licking his lips. "Yes," he breathed back.

  And at that, Hrahez dropped his
hand and pulled away, leaving him almost staggering. The prince whirled back into the party with good cheer and apparent lack of interest in Renart himself.

  It suited Renart perfectly. He stumbled across the room, leaning against a wall near the door out, and watched the clock. It separated him somewhat from the throng of demons clamoring for Hrahez's attention, though he noticed that he was getting no small amount of glowering and irritated looks.

  No wonder, he thought. Hrahez had spent a few precious minutes on him and not on any of them.

  *~*~*

  A little over fifty minutes after the whispered message, Hrahez announced that he was retiring, and told the rest of the gathered throng to enjoy the party for him. He breezed past Renart without even a look as he headed out the door. Renart didn't let it discourage him. He knew what he'd been invited to. Out. Down the hall. Third door, left. Hall. Right. Up, hall, up, door—

  Soon.

  He tried not to be too overt about it, tried not to give himself completely away, tried not to stare at the clock. But with less than ten minutes left, he didn't feel like he could risk losing any time. Even as the demons gathered around him again, he just shook his head. It didn't matter anymore if they were inviting or threatening him. Either way, he played dumb. Acted like he was star-struck, overcome by being held by an incubus of that much power. It seemed to work.

  He couldn't leave at one hour on the dot, since he had to wait until it seemed nobody was looking. Those few minutes past his deadline were agonizing, but finally he slipped away and darted out the door Hrahez had left through.

  The feel of the manor was immediately different. While the main hall of the mansion was lavish and opulent, it was immediately clear to him that the rest hadn't been cared for in the slightest since its abandonment. The back halls were dusty and dark, with broken tile and cobwebs filling them. If the echoing music weren't floating down the hallway behind him, he would have started to imagine himself totally alone. Renart found himself wondering if even that main room and the gardens he'd seen had truly been so luxurious, or if there had been some kind of magic involved.

  Still, even if he suddenly felt a little like he was trespassing, it wasn't like that was off-putting. If anything, it was exciting—under normal circumstances, he'd never be able to be here, but he'd managed to not only come but do so legitimately. Was invited not just to the party but to Hrahez's bedroom. Out of all the people in that room, Hrahez had picked him to spend time with.

  Renart took a deep breath, and forced himself to focus on the path in front of him, winding around as he followed the directions to the first stairway. If he worked himself up to the point he forgot where to go, he wouldn't be ending up in anyone's bedroom.

  He took the stairs two at a time, half out of eagerness and half because they didn't seem entirely stable—the wood rotted, the carpet moth-eaten. Going up them quickly got it over with faster, though despite his initial concerns, they didn't seem about ready to give away. The wood shifted uneasily under his feet, but didn't feel mushy or anything too dangerous.

  The hallway at the next landing was another story. He brought himself up short, drawing a sharp breath in.

  It had once been lined with glass-covered paintings and mirrors; some devastation had occurred here, and most had fallen. Some, still on the walls, were simply smashed. A chandelier, too, had fallen in the middle of the hallway, and while the candles on it were unlit and there was no risk of fire, the whole situation had left the entire hall covered in glass.

  His stomach clenched, then sank, and then he sighed. Of course, he thought, demons weren't known for making things easy, and Hrahez was infamous for playing games, for testing people. And Hrahez had shown great interest in his uncovered feet.

  "So this is how it is," he said aloud, and shuffled a foot forward cautiously.

  His feet had toughened a little during his time without shoes, but not that much, and he knew it. All he could do was brace himself for the pain and do his best to nudge aside the glass with the sides of his feet. As he moved forward, he did so at a snail's pace, shuffling each foot as lightly as he could to clear a small swept path before cautiously putting his weight down on it.

  Even so, he cut them. They split and bled, cut into by small glass fragments he wasn't able to move aside. The pain was a dull, throbbing mess that made him clench his jaw and his fists to keep from crying out. The rush of adrenaline that came with the pain made it hard to move at an even pace—his mind kept telling him that if he ran it'd be over with faster, just like on the stairs, and he had to force himself to pick his way across slowly regardless.

  He lost track of time, completely absorbed in the task. He wasn't able to pay attention to anything beyond his deliberate, careful sweeping motions, doing his best to ignore the pain. The throb of agony felt like an inverted image of the shocks of arousal he'd felt when they were dancing. This was a test of his stubbornness, he was sure of that.

  But that was one thing he'd never been lacking in.

  When he realized there was no more glass in front of him he stood dumbly for a few moments, as if waiting for the trap, then crumpled forward with a groan. He must have spent hours, he thought, though maybe that was just how it had felt. Even so, he let himself lose some more time by sitting on the desiccated carpet, gently squeezing glass splinters out of his feet, watching his blood drip down. He couldn't even bind his feet, he thought sadly. It wasn't even the lack of anything to bind with—he'd cut up his vest if he thought it would work. But he'd tried before back when his feet were newly bare, and the bandages wouldn't stay on. His curse affected them as well.

  Well, that was just how things were, he thought firmly. He was through now, and one hallway closer to the prince. Besides, what could he do—turn around to leave and walk back through the glass? No thank you. He wasn't giving up now, not when he was this close.

  Renart got to his feet again, brushed his hands carefully off on his trousers, and continued along the path with as jaunty a step as he could manage, trailing bloody footprints behind himself until he reached the end of the hall, with a door at the end and one to either side.

  He paused.

  Suddenly, he was no longer so sure that he remembered the path. It was through the door at the end, not the right again? Then a stairway. It was up two floors total—wasn't it? The pain had distracted him.

  But he didn't have time to hesitate.

  He took the door at the end, took the stairs on the other side up, and was weirdly relieved when he opened the door at the top onto a hallway liberally covered in salt.

  "Really?" he asked aloud, laughing. "Is this necessary?"

  At least it proved he was on the right path.

  There was no way to keep the salt from his cuts, and he didn't try, just shrugged and strode forward, still laughing softly to himself. That took him no time at all, and when he reached the door at the end, his feet were stinging and aflame, his entire body aching with both anticipation and agony. He could hardly tell which was which anymore.

  He stood in the salt at the end of the hall and knocked on the door. It opened after the second knock, the still-veiled prince glancing him over. Behind the cloth, his features seemed almost surprised.

  "Even with bare soles you did it," he said, tone taken aback. "Are you an overeager fool?"

  "I am," Renart said, a little giddy.

  Hrahez shook his head and drew him inside with one hand. With the other, he pushed the veil up, revealing his warm green eyes that seemed to hold glittering stars inside them, a strong nose, curved lips. Renart's heart leaped in a triumphant sense of realization, and he leaned up to kiss Hrahez.

  He was, in that moment, completely confident that Hrahez wouldn't reject him.

  There wasn't even a moment of delay. Hrahez's mouth curved against his in a smile, and Renart was pulled into the kiss. It was firm and warm and absolutely radiated genuine affection.

  Renart had a moment to think, I thought so, before he melted into it, kneadi
ng his fingers where they pressed against Hrahez's shoulders.

  The kiss deepened, a pointed tongue winding its way into his mouth, too long and too agile. He met it with his own, letting Hrahez explore, finally managing to loosen his grip enough to allow his hands to start to wander. They moved over Hrahez's chest, down his sides, hungrily touching.

  Hrahez stepped back toward the bed, pulling Renart with him. Renart advanced eagerly—and then put his weight down on a cut section of his foot, hissing with pain into the kiss.

  Abruptly, Hrahez pulled back, twisting and scooping Renart up to carry him. "Little fool," he said, his tone not unkind, "I can't believe you really did it."

  "Of course you can," Renart managed, as Hrahez brought him the few steps over to the bed and put him down on it with only a little jolt. "You're the one who set this all up."

  "Walking across glass to get fucked is a little unnecessary." Hrahez knelt beside the bed, taking hold of one of Renart's feet behind the heel and lifting it to take a look. "But you're the one who's willing to do such undesirable things." He didn't sound scornful, despite his words. He sounded eager, Renart thought.

  Renart let out a breath as Hrahez found a shard of glass in there he'd missed and squeezed it free. "If you don't want me to do it, don't put glass on the floor. You just wanted to know I'd do it for you."

  "Yes, I did, but—"

  "Are you lonely?" Renart murmured. "I'm sure plenty of people want you, but you don't go looking for them. You're the prince, after all. Our eyes met, you know, at one of your parades. I can't be the only one who was looking just at you… no, the whole crowd was. There was no reason for you to meet my eyes in particular. You certainly wouldn't seek me out, I'd thought, so I'd look for you instead. Oh, you made me feel…"

  How to describe it? That moment of hunger, the desire to challenge him like he'd challenged the whole world as a child. Snap me up. Devour me. I dare you.

  Hrahez's eyes flicked up to his again and held his gaze for a moment, hard to read. Then, without responding otherwise, he lifted Renart's foot higher, kissing the arch.