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“No need for my Baraboo to walk,” Xan says, thinking such a statement will distract Jemel and he is right. As Jemel starts to complain, Xan crouches and quickly scoops Jemel up in his arms, grabbing the lamp as he does so.
By the time Jemel is saying, “What?” then crying out in surprise, “No. Xan!” He is already in the air. He buries his face in Xan’s chest.
Xan supposes as he strides out of the garden that Jemel does this to hide his unveiled face in case they meet someone, nevertheless, Xan likes the feel of it.
But they meet no one. It is a long climb, up many stairs, with Jemel softly directing and Xan, not speaking, reserving his strength for the work of carrying Jemel. He is light, but after some time he feels like a burden.
But Xan does not complain. He carries him all the way to his chambers and places him gently on the bed.
Jemel makes a soft sound and rolls away to keep his face hidden.
Xan bustles around the room. He finds some wine in a flagon, pours out a cup and sets it beside the bed. Jemel is still curled in a ball. Xan leans down to check the wound. The honeywort is doing its work. “You have another veil?” He says, straightening, struck by a sudden fear that he might have destroyed the only one Jemel has.
“I have many, in the trunk there,” Jemel whispers.
As directed, Xan opens a trunk in the corner. It contains veils and hip cloths, neatly rolled. Xan tries not to pause over Jemel’s intimate garments. He selects a veil and brings it over. “Do you want this covering now?”
Jemel takes it and fastens it in place. He seems to relax instantly, shoulders dropping. He looks directly at Xan through the covering.
“You are not planning to take advantage of me?” Jemel says. His voice is a mixture of playful and sleepy.
“No.” Xan lifts the winecup to Jemel’s lips. Jemel whisks the veil aside at the bottom to take the drink. Xan sees his mouth. His lips are strangely twisted.
He swallows the wine, then says, “In four nights there will be a chance.”
“A chance for what?”
“There will be fewer guards on the route to the dungeons. It will still be dangerous, but it may be possible.”
Xan’s heart leaps. “Truly, you said it was impossible.”
“In four nights, it may be possible.” Jemel takes another long drink.
“You would let me embroil you in my treason?”
Jemel sets down the cup. As the veil falls back into place, Xan sees his lips curve. “I suppose. We could free both of them. Trysta and Lukas.”
“Very well,” Xan says. “In four nights. But now you sleep. In the morning see the physician. Invent some tale. You are a clumsy fool. You slipped with this fancy toy.” He places the dagger on the table.
“Are you leaving?”
“I will watch you a while,” Xan says, going over to a chair and sitting down.
16
KERIK
While Kerik waits for Damon to decide it is time to ride for Attar —- through days of white snow and white skies, freezing nights and short, bitter days — he has been learning magic with Perl. Among other things. He has also been exploring Perl’s body. Finding ways to make him cry out in pleasure, in pain, whirling him through sensations, leaving him panting from endless spends.
It’s more intoxicating than magic. Perhaps it is its own kind of magic.
But inevitably, Perl will be the one to demand Kerik attend his studies, like a Master in the Rose Palace, demanding he stall his sword play in the yard to come and study letters. Perl will sit up in bed, marked from some rough love making, beautiful and debauched, and return to explaining, “You need to move the light. Light is made of tiny pieces like anything else. And you can sense those pieces and direct them,” trying to teach Kerik how to make things invisible, using the same spellwork he once contained in the Silence for Secrets ring.
Kerik masters it after almost a day of practice and mistakes, some causing blinding flashes that left both of them without sight for terrifyingly long moments, and regular pauses to kiss Perl’s pretty mouth. When it works Kerik says, “How can this be put inside a ring?”
“We will get to that.” Perl squirms as Kerik slides a hand over Perl’s thigh and curls his fingers around Perl’s soft cock, thinking he will urge it back to hardness, make Perl pant and beg to be allowed to spend again.
“Master, please. No more,” Perl complains, words fractured.
