by A. H. Lee
His words had an immediate and gratifying effect. Roland groaned and his body shuddered. But before he withdrew, he heaved himself up on one massive arm and slid a hand between them. Two strokes was all it took. Sairis convulsed. His eyes watered with the intensity of the pleasure as it spilled in hot spurts across his stomach and chest.
Some time later, after they’d had another dip in the springs and lay in drowsy contentment, Roland murmured, “You know the way to the stables. And you have supplies and a horse. I’ll fall asleep in a moment. If you aren’t here when I wake up...I’ll understand.”
Sairis pressed his face into Roland’s neck, one arm wrapped around his chest. But he didn’t say anything. If I had to wear a mage collar to have this forever...would I? He was still thinking when Roland’s breathing grew deep and even, his heartbeat slow and steady under Sairis’s head.
Chapter 4. Gifts from Marsden
Roland woke to the soft chiming of the bell rope. He sat up and gave an answering tug to show that he was awake. The air outside the sheets was chilly, the spot beside him in the bed cold.
Gone.
Roland swallowed. I will think about it later. Today: Daphne, Winthrop, my men in the pass. If I die in battle, my feelings will not matter. If not, I will have the rest of my life to think about Sairis. Plenty of time for that later.
The idea produced an unexpected tightness in his chest—a sense of resistance, as though the drawer of “things for later” was becoming rather full. He took a deep breath.
“Roland?”
Roland raised his head. A figure was framed in soft light from the next room.
Oh. Roland scrubbed hard at his face.
Sairis came padding over to the bed in his socks. He was wearing his new dove gray waistcoat, white shirt, and fitted trousers. He had his sleeves rolled up, a cup of tea in one hand. He looked wonderfully domestic.
Roland tried to sound casual. “You’re still here.”
“Yes, they set out breakfast for us before the bell, and I woke up.” He came quickly over to the bed. “I’m sorry, Roland, I didn’t mean for you to wake up alone.” He got a better look at Roland’s face, put his tea down on the bedside table, and hugged him. Roland pulled him down across his lap, and Sairis laughed.
“You’re still here,” repeated Roland.
“I’m still here. Do I look like I’m playacting in these clothes? I feel like it.”
“You look extremely handsome and respectable. Also good enough to eat.”
Sairis wrapped his arms around Roland’s neck and slid a knee over his lap. His body felt relaxed and trusting. Roland pulled him up close, enjoying his warmth through the sturdy fabric. “I wish we had all morning. I would utterly ruin these clothes.”
Sairis snickered. “Run away with me?”
“I wish I could. Thank you so much for staying.” He stroked Sairis’s hair, ran a hand over his back. “How do you feel? Up for riding this morning?”
“I feel like a knight pinned me to his bed and ravished me until I couldn’t see straight.” Sairis pulled back enough to let Roland see his smirk.
Roland kissed him. “I take it that’s not a bad thing.”
“I wouldn’t trade it for any other feeling in the world.”
A knock on the door interrupted a heated kiss that might have led to things they didn’t have time for. With regret, Roland let Sairis disengage and go to answer the door. He got up and began to dress, noting with amusement that Sairis had once more left him in need of a cool, calming bath and perhaps a few moments of meditation. Roland felt as though his desires had been sleeping for the last year, buried in the icy mountains. Now, suddenly, he was awake again.
Sairis stepped back into the bedroom a moment later. “It’s Marsden. He seemed to think we...um...might not get going on time.”
Roland laughed.
Sairis looked a little pink around the ears. “He wants a word with you.”
* * * *
When Roland stepped into the sitting room, Sairis took his tea to the desk and sat down. He fished a handful of folded paper charms out of his pocket. He’d lost everything apart from his glasses after Marsden kidnapped him. Until this morning, he hadn’t had a moment to himself to begin rebuilding his arsenal of half-finished spells.
Sairis’s magic had not fully recovered from calling the River through Hastafel’s sword, but he had enough for a few small things. The inn had thoughtfully provided paper, pen, and ink, and the water from the spring did have some excellent anchoring properties. Sairis had been at work over breakfast, and now he continued, occasionally pricking his finger for a drop of blood as he folded the charms.
He could feel the physical ache of his night with Roland, not just in his backside, but throughout his entire body. Muscles not accustomed to being used with such abandon burned as though he’d been running or swimming. But it is a wonderful sort of discomfort. He would not have traded it for all the magic in the Shattered Sea. I have made the right decision, thought Sairis. I am a man and a human being, and someday I will go down the River just like everyone else, but right now, I want to live. I will not spend my life hiding in a tower, wondering what might have been.
In spite of their late night, Sairis’s mind felt sharp and clear. He had no difficulty focusing on his work. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when Roland came up beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. “We’re almost ready to leave, Sair. Marsden needs to talk to you about something. I want you to listen to him. You may not like it at first, but just...hear him out.”
Roland was dressed in his new clothes, his hair brushed and gleaming in the lamplight against the dark fabric of his coat. Sairis could not quite read his expression.
A hint of uncertainty stirred as Sairis swept the paper charms off the table and stuffed them into his pocket. “Alright.”
His uneasiness grew as he came into the sitting room. When he’d met Marsden at the door, the other magician had been wearing his travel cloak with the hood up against the falling snow. Now Sairis saw that Marsden was dressed in formal attire—a linen and lace cravat above a dark maroon waistcoat with silver buttons and cufflinks to match. His overcoat had a high, elegant cut. He’d put on a court wig with garnets.
Sairis had grown used to the grumpy old man in rumpled travel clothes who treated him like a prodigal child and was pleased to be called Andrew. This person, however, was clearly Lord Marsden, dean of magical studies at Mistala University. He looked like the sort of person who had no truck with demons or werewolves and who bound sorcerers and necromancers every day before breakfast.
Sairis knew that he himself ought to feel respectable in his new clothes, but he didn’t. He felt like what he was—a practitioner of death magic who knew more about ghosts than any living person ought to know.
Marsden and Roland had clearly been eating breakfast as they talked. Marsden was still sipping a cup of tea, although he’d gotten to his feet. He set down his tea and looked at Sairis critically. “Roland tells me that he made your escape easy last night, Sairis, and you chose to stay with us.”
Sairis nodded hesitantly.
“Are you willing to help in the battle against Hastafel?”
Sairis felt a prickle of irritation. “I went into the sword, didn’t I? I called the River to save you!”
Marsden’s gaze didn’t flicker.
Sairis took a deep breath. “Yes.”
Marsden nodded. “I have concerns about the situation we may find in camp. Lord Winthrop is not to be trusted, but if we of Mistala turn on each other now, our discord could be fatal. Winthrop’s men are loyal to him. Many of the border lords are of his age and have fought wars alongside him. Daphne’s throne is new and her position as the first female monarch is precarious. We must not pick fights at this moment.”
Sairis shut his eyes, took a deep breath. “I understand. I will not...seek revenge.”
“I’m afraid your mere presence will be extremely divisive.” He reached into his pocket
and pulled out something that flashed silver.
Sairis’s chest gave a squeeze. Marsden held a collar that shown in the lamp light—not iron, but spelled steel. I can’t melt that. Runes looped and curled over the gleaming metal—a sophisticated shackle for a dangerous monster. He must have spent all night making it.
Marsden was still talking, but Sairis couldn’t focus. There was a roaring in his ears. His vision darkened around the edges. He took a step back and came up against Roland’s immobile bulk. Roland’s large hands folded around his shoulders. “Sair, listen to what he’s saying.”
Sairis was trembling. They’re going to put it on me. I’m still too weak to fight. I’ll be helpless. They’ll put it on me, and they’ll do whatever they like with me. Because I didn’t run when I could have.
Roland was talking. Sairis could feel his voice rumble through his chest, but the words were meaningless. Everything Marsden says will be reasonable—kind, even—and Roland will agree with him. It will all make sense, and they will put that collar on me, and I will never do magic again...
“Sairis!” Marsden was right in his face. “You are panicking, kid! Calm down! Look at it! Look!” He thrust the collar into Sairis’s hands.
Sairis was shaking so hard that he almost dropped it.
I am going to beg. I’ll hate myself later, but I am going to...
Sairis blinked. The collar was not as cold as he’d expected. Spelled steel always felt so cold to his magical senses. This felt...ordinary. Sairis squinted at the collar’s aura. It was definitely enchanted and it definitely had Marsden’s mark upon it. The runes were powerful symbols of binding, and yet the aura did not quite match them.
“What...?” He turned the collar over in his hands, closely examining the runes. At last, Sairis looked up into Marsden’s dark blue eyes, his mouth falling open. “An illusion?” he whispered.
Marsden gave him a crooked smile. “As I just said about five times.”
Sairis’s gaze fell to the collar again, amazed.
“I realize it was unkind to show you before telling you,” continued Marsden, “but I’ve never tried this before. I wanted to see whether it would fool you at a glance. If it fooled you, I believe it will fool others.”
“It fooled me,” said Sairis faintly. “What... What is it made of?”
“Tin.”
He really must have worked on it all night.
Sairis had tears in his eyes when he looked up again. “I am very sorry I set you on fire, Andrew.”
Marsden’s laugh was rough. “I believe you are on our side and that you are in control of your own essential nature, Sairis. You are going to walk into that camp there with all of your considerable destructive abilities intact. Please don’t make me regret it.”
Chapter 5. Unity
It didn’t take Sairis long to realize what a gift Marsden had given him. As he rode into the war camp atop Butterball’s rolling back, men reached for weapons. Swords emerged from scabbards, spears were hefted, crossbows loaded, arrows set to bowstrings. A handful of mages came running with half-formed spells in their fists and on their lips. But the moment they saw the collar, the weapons came down. Fireballs vanished. Binding spells remained unspoken. The attention of the guards shifted fully to Roland and Marsden. A collared necromancer was not a threat. Sairis as a mere man was so unintimidating that nobody even suggested he be tied.
He watched as royal guards greeted Roland ecstatically, bowed deeply to Marsden...and ignored Sairis entirely. Messengers galloped away. As the three of them advanced through the layers of pickets around the camp, the news of their coming began to precede them. More and more important people arrived to pay their respects. They’d just entered the camp proper, when a guard in royal livery pounded up to say, “Your Highness, the queen is delighted to hear of your arrival and anxious to see you.” There was an edge to his voice, as though he was delivering something a bit stronger than an invitation.
Sairis sensed more eyes on him as they moved between the thickly staked tents in the dawn light. Men lined the way or stared from behind canvas flaps. He caught whispers.
“The prince got him, then.”
“...spent three days hunting him down...”
“Glad Lord Marsden made the collar this time.”
“Hope they plan to execute him.”
Sairis forced himself to keep his eyes straight ahead. I could get away. I could burn them all.
Although...maybe I already did?
He wondered whether any of these soldiers had spent an evening putting out necromantic fire and chasing down undead elk. I certainly know how to make friends, don’t I?
The royal tent loomed ahead, bright banners snapping against the pink dawn glow. The guards at the entrance had arrows trained on Sairis as he dismounted. There was a brief argument at the flap. “The necromancer stays outside.”
“He’s collared,” snapped Marsden. “Are you blind?”
“He comes inside or I don’t,” said Roland.
The guard disappeared with a scowl. An instant later, he reappeared and ushered them through the flap, across a dimly lit space, and into a smaller tent within the larger one, where the queen waited.
The space was almost bare apart from a couple of standing lamps. Sairis had the impression that people had been packing to leave. There were still rugs over the canvas floor and marks where furniture had sat. Daphne was dressed in no-nonsense furs and riding leathers. She’d taken the bold step of wearing trousers, which Sairis supposed indicated that she intended to be among the real business of the battle, not waiting in the rear for news.
Her face was set in a stern glower, but her posture broke when she saw her brother. She crossed the tent in three strides. “Roland!” They embraced for a moment in silence. One of Roland’s hands cradled her head. Daphne’s fingers fisted in the fabric of his shirt.
Sairis could see her visibly pull herself together as she stepped back. “You have made the last few days difficult, Brother.”
“I’m sorry,” said Roland. “I can explain—”
“Uncle Winthrop has told me such a story,” continued Daphne, her eyes darting to Sairis. “I do not know what to believe, and there is very little time for explanations. Anton, Uncle Jessup, and I are riding into the pass within the hour with plans to attack Hastafel’s troops at dawn tomorrow. Winthrop will take our border lords down the Valley of False Hope to hit Hastafel in the flank as we draw him forward. There is tension between Anton’s troops and our border lords. I will be pleased to see them separated. If we win a battle together, I believe this tension will ease, but in the meantime, we are not all feeling entirely trusting. Your actions, Roland—”
“Uncle Winthrop took Sairis,” hissed Roland. “He ordered Marsden to capture him while he was spirit-walking in the mirror, to take him without your knowledge or consent. He misled us to think Sairis had run away. The moment I figured it out, I went after him, Daphne. I’m sorry. I just couldn’t wait.”
Daphne put a hand to her temples. She took a slow breath, let it out again. “This is, of course, not the story I have been told, and for all I love you, brother, your judgment regarding this person is suspect.” Her eyes flicked to Sairis with a look that said, “I’ll deal with you later.”
“Uncle Winthrop thinks you are weak and unfit to rule,” said Roland tightly. “He told me as much when I demanded he return Sairis out of deference to your stated wishes. He then...” Roland’s eyes skipped around the tent, at the door, where guards might be listening in spite of their low voices. He leaned over and spoke in Daphne’s ear.
Sairis hoped he was telling her that Winthrop knew Roland’s secret, that he’d tried to make Sairis his spy. Control over Roland would be the next best thing to control over the throne. Daphne’s eyes opened wide and Sairis felt certain that Roland had stated the case accurately.
Her eyes flicked to Marsden, who inclined his head. “You set me to play a role, Your Grace. I felt that role was best served by continui
ng in the confidence of his lordship in the matter of Magus Sairis. I did not realize the...connection with Roland until the events surrounding Sairis’s escape from Winthrop’s camp. If I had had more information, I would have behaved differently.”
Sairis sensed the subtle rebuke in Marsden’s tone. Well, no one will say you weren’t brave, Andrew. Daphne’s scowl could have liquified steel. Sairis remembered her conversation with Marsden in the kitchen of the Tipsy Knave. He’s right. She could have told him more. But he could have told her more, too. We all need to trust our friends more, apparently.
He took his courage in both hands and spoke. “It is true that I panicked when Marsden came after me, Your Grace. I believed I had been betrayed. I made something of a mess in Lord Winthrop’s camp when I fled. But I never wanted to harm Roland. Lord Marsden and I have spoken of these things more calmly over the last few days, and I see that we’ve had several misunderstandings. You may not believe me, but I am on your side, Your Grace.”
Daphne’s gray eyes locked with his. She opened her mouth, but never got to speak, because at that moment, a flurry of sharp words arose outside the tent flap. Sairis heard a familiar voice, full of cool authority. “I will announce myself, thank you.” Lord Winthrop strode into the tent, despite weak protests from the guards.
He made a bow that seemed entirely perfunctory. “Your Grace, I must question your decision to meet with these people under so little protection.”
“And I question your decision to enter my chambers unannounced.”
There was a startled silence. Sairis had the impression that Daphne had not directly rebuked her eldest uncle in quite this way before. He seemed off-balance for a moment. “Magus Sairis is collared, as you can see,” continued Daphne.
“A collar he chose to wear voluntarily,” added Marsden.
Sairis’s eyes flicked to Marsden’s face, but the elder mage did not spare him a glance.
“So, you see,” continued Daphne to Winthrop, “there is no need for a high level of security. I did not request your presence. However, since you have joined us, perhaps you would like to speak for yourself regarding Sairis’s removal from the inn where he’d been performing tasks I commanded. Did you, in fact, order Marsden to take him without my knowledge and against my expressed wishes?”