The Sorcerer's Equal (The Telepath and the Sorcerer Book 3)

by Jaclyn Dolamore

“I think he’ll be happy,” Velsa said. “But cover him up. I don’t want to look at him.” She tossed him a ratty wool blanket.

  Grau returned to her side, lifting her chin and gingerly touching her wound. She tried to tuck her stuffing back inside, but after just a moment her hand moved to her wrist. She had to touch him. Her hands needed to feel that he was here with her.

  “I don’t have a fine hand with a needle like you do, but this looks like it would be a hard spot for you to fix yourself…”

  “You’re right about that,” she said. She still had several sizes of needles sitting out, already threaded.

  “Cowards,” he muttered. “They’re cowards. They attacked Dalaran when they knew he wasn’t much of a sorcerer. They attacked me when I was weak. And they came tonight, thinking they’d find you alone. I am glad I came back.”

  Carefully, he was drawing the needle through her skin. It tickled a little. She clutched the edge of the table, trying to stay still and keep her chin pointed up. “How do you feel, Grau? I know it’s hard to adjust.”

  “I feel strange,” he admitted. “Yes…it’s as if I’m a little detached from my body. But I’ll get used to it, I guess. I’m not in any pain. That’s rather nice. Do you know how many times I’ve been poisoned, punched, stabbed and burnt since I got together with you?”

  “A lot of times. And every time I feel so terrible for you.”

  “This form has advantages to compensate for disadvantages. But…” He tied the knot and snipped off the thread. “You’ll miss me, won’t you?”

  “Very much,” she said. “I loved you so much as you were. Of course I didn’t want anything to change. But…there is something…a little bit nice…about you being like me.” She caught his hand as it withdrew from her neck, and placed his hand on her shoulder. She hooked her boot around his hip and brought him close to her.

  “I think it was my fate,” he said.

  “Your fate? You’re not going to say it’s because you bought me, are you?”

  “No, not exactly. But I’ve been so fascinated with you from the day we met. I want to make you real, and I don’t want you to be real, both at once. I’ve always wanted to develop spells of my own, and I’ve never had the chance.”

  “You created that spell that made my skin taste good.”

  He laughed. “Well, that is a start. And not a bad start. Maybe I’m meant to make you real another way. Working on spells to make our lives better. It’s easier if I can test on myself.”

  “Better, cheaper waterproofing spells?” she asked.

  “I’ll put it on the list,” he said.

  They kissed again, just with hungry lips, leaving her poor charred tongue out of it. Her legs were still around his hips, holding him close to her. She put her hands on his back, getting reacquainted with the feel of his body through the fabric of his shirt.

  “It was so awful, when you were gone,” she said. “I felt like a piece of me was missing.”

  He nodded. “But you would have survived without me. It’s hard to believe you were ever that quiet little thing I first met on a rainy night.”

  “I would have. But I’m glad I didn’t have to.” She could hardly take her eyes off him. She didn’t want to let him go.

  He pushed her down on the table and climbed on top of her, but then he hesitated.

  “We’re expecting Dormongara, aren’t we?” he asked.

  “I’ll sense him coming,” she said.

  He looked at the body covered up in the corner. “Just a nice, quiet life, that’s all I wanted…”

  “It’s too late for that,” she said. “Please, Grau…I want to feel you. You always let my heart know I’m safe.” She clutched him close and nudged him with her pelvis. He kissed her neck where he had mended her, and then her face, and then the edge of her ear. She had always liked that spot.

  “You were right,” she murmured. “I must feel alive, after all, because you do.”

  “I always told you.”

  She suddenly remembered. “Oh dear,” she said, “There aren’t any illusion spells on your body yet.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I want you to have a good first impression when you see yourself. Don’t rip off your clothes. Just unbutton your pants. That part’s okay.”

  “Am I still allowed to rip off your clothes?”

  “Yes.”

  Although, they were a little bit exposed by that broken window. But then, it was in the front of the shop and they were in the back, and it was dark, and no one was on the streets at night anyway. So she decided to go with it. If Dormongara showed up, she could get her dress on quickly.

  He pulled the garment over her head and her chemise off her shoulders and down. She nudged it off her legs with her feet.

  “I don’t have any oils,” he said. “Do we still need them?”

  “I hope not. They say that Fanarlem men are made to fit Fanarlem women perfectly. So…”She parted her legs, eager and a little nervous to find out if this was true.

  He thrust inside her and the friction made every fiber in her body tingle down to her toes. She let out a gasp of unbridled bliss.

  “That good, huh?”

  “You fit like a glove now.”

  “You’re the glove.”

  “I’m a very happy glove.” She wrapped her legs around him, encouraging him to keep at it. Their lovemaking felt rougher now, in a way that was quite welcome. The tip of him seemed a little sharper and angled slightly differently and once she had adjusted her position to figure it out, he stroked her right up along the place that he used to never reach.

  She tousled his hair somewhat distractedly. “Oh, Grau…”

  “You’re making me jealous of myself,” he grunted. She could tell he was enjoying it too, because he was going at it with vigor, although it was strange not to hear his hard breathing. If she thought about it too much, she would start to feel sad again, would start to think of Three-Tongues sneering “doll boy” at him. It was impossible to think of Grau that way. Her male coworkers, maybe; not Grau.

  Of course, what else could Three-Tongues say as he died with scalded eyes and a knife in his back? Grau would no longer be vulnerable to those sorts of simple injuries. Whatever people might say, they would truly be a force to reckon with if anyone crossed them again.

  “Can I ask for something weird?” she whispered.

  “Of course.”

  “Can you touch me with your metal hands before I put skin back on them? I don’t know why but—”

  “And you said I was kinky.”

  He picked her up and sat her back down on his lap, facing outward, draping her legs over his knees and spreading them. He put his hands on her hips, briskly maneuvering her small body to spear her back onto him, with an assertiveness that thrilled her, before slipping a cold, hard finger against her bud. It was both disturbing and thrilling to be touched by a Fanarlem hand. He traced his narrow fingertips around all the tender skin there, and she arched her back, groaning. She brought his other hand up to her breast.

  “I am still going to miss your old body,” she said. “So don’t be jealous.”

  “Making the best of it, are you?” he asked a bit sarcastically.

  “I mean it. I loved feeling so close to something alive. I…” She trailed off, ecstasy taking an edge of sadness. “I never did want you to be like me, because I don’t want to hear other people hurting you.”

  “Oh, bellora. I don’t care.” He kissed her shoulder.

  The sound of his voice in her ear, always the same voice, made her feel as if nothing really had changed, and nothing really would. He was the same man as he had always been, but now death and age would never take him from her.

  “Truthfully,” she said, “I was terrified that I wouldn’t be attracted to you anymore. But I shouldn’t have worried. I remember, though, when you saw me with Pin’s face. No one else even noticed the difference, but you did. You still missed me, the old me…even as you loved me
the same. That’s how I feel now.”

  “I think the worst of it is to think of word getting back to my family. They won’t think of me the same way.”

  “Not even Preya?”

  “I don’t know. I think it’s one thing for me to love a Fanarlem girl, it’s another thing…” He trailed off. “But I suppose they were already lost.”

  “I see.”

  “We won’t think of this now,” he said gently. “Let’s finish what we started.”

  He moved her so he was on top of her once again, and still he handled her like she was small and light in comparison to him, which she supposed she was. The fact that she was naked while he was clothed also made her feel like she belonged to him. She wasn’t sure she ever really wanted to lose that feeling entirely. His fingers raked down her bare back as he hit her sweet spot, over and over. Waves of feeling came fast, her core pulsing, as he tightened his grip on her body, and she tightened her grip on his.

  Never leave me.

  “Never,” he said. “I think I’ve proven that.”

  She closed her eyes, her face tight with unshed tears, as he slowed his rhythm, sitting back to look at her.

  “Well,” he said. “Not bad. Maybe a bit too tidy.”

  “I like it tidy,” she murmured.

  “Hrrmph…”

  The effort had left her spent and dreamy. Her mind wandered into sleep right in the middle of whatever his disgruntled reply was, and suddenly he was nudging her awake into soft morning light. She was dressed and covered with a blanket. The walls and floor had scorch marks, and some tools and fabric were scattered all over the floor. It looked like Grau had swept up some of the glass and nailed two boards over the broken windows, and he had found himself some boots.

  “Three-Tongues’ boots,” he said, following her eyes. “Might as well.”

  She blinked a few times. It took her a minute just to fully comprehend what had happened before she fell asleep. “You were very industrious this morning. Dormongara never came?” she asked.

  “Not yet. It’s been about two hours.”

  “Oh…” She pushed her hair out of her face.

  “Do you think he can sense people dying while he’s sleeping?” Grau asked.

  “Maybe not.”

  “Equally possible is that he didn’t have time because the traffic out there has really increased.”

  He picked up a handful of dogeared papers from the desk. “I’ve been going through these, looking for clues. They were in Three-Tongues’ satchel. This one is a map of the interior of a theater or auditorium of some kind,” Grau said. “And one section is clearly marked. It looks like a small passageway behind the central box seats.”

  “The royal family is going to the funeral this morning in the Royal Treat. Is this where they planned to place the potion?”

  “We don’t know if he obtained the potion,” Grau said. “And he’s also dead. But we should get going, just in case.”

  She took his hand and slid off the table. They rushed out onto the street, following the crowds, soon reaching a wider road that was clogged with people. Some of them were already in tears. On most street corners stood someone selling memorial pictures of Prince Somon, who looked quite similar to Prince Seldon.

  “Poor prince,” she said. “Even if Dormongara doesn’t care much for them, Prince Seldon seemed like a nice man.”

  A group of priestesses wove through the crowd holding poles with strings of little carved wooden charms, chanting for peace. Occasionally, Velsa spotted a group of people who looked like they might be of the “Fur and Hide” group, with their rugged clothing and judgmental eyes cast upon the city folk.

  Grau was purposeful, shoving past people. Still, they reached a point where it was impossible to shove people aside, because there was nowhere to shove them. The streets were packed tight.

  “I need to get to the Royal Treat,” Grau shouted to everyone in the vicinity.

  “Good luck with that.”

  “Someone might be making an attempt on the royal family’s life.”

  No one paid any attention.

  “Where is Dormongara staying?” Grau asked Velsa.

  “The Tower House.”

  “Maybe it’s a better bet to catch up with him.”

  He started asking directions, dragging Velsa forward if she ever stopped to look at the fine clothes of the city folk. Laionesse was actually quite beautiful in the center, much more cosmopolitan than Dor-Temerna. Elegant old buildings with several stories of ornate balconies, carved and painted in pastel colors with gilded edging, lined broad streets with many old shade trees.

  Luckily the Tower House was not too far away. It was a stone building with what looked like a sentry tower, although the only thing it faced was a small park.

  Inside, it was elegant, by Miralem standards, the walls paneled in painted wood with elegant sconces. Like the inn in Dor-Temerna, the ground floor was a dining room. A girl was serving ample breakfasts to a few guests who lounged at low tables.

  “Excuse me, miss.” Grau approached the waitress, who was burdened by a tray full of small, dense cakes drenched in maple syrup. “Where is Lord Dormongara staying? I need to see him urgently.”

  She looked at them suspiciously. They did make for a ragged pair, scorched and disheveled. She noticed Grau had a smear of dried blood on his clothes.

  “Never mind,” Velsa said, pushing him back from the waitress. “I can find Sorla telepathically if they’re in the building.”

  Velsa searched the rooms above their head. She sensed that Sorla was awake and restless, looking out the window.

  Sorla.

  Meirin?

  I’m here. With Grau. Come downstairs!

  He’s alive? Be right there!

  Velsa’s heart swelled when Sorla ran down the stairs only seconds later, barefooted and half-dressed without the colored apron or pinafore that was de rigueur in the region. She crashed into both of them at once and put her arms around their waists.

  “I thought it was going to take days to make a body,” Sorla said.

  “I stayed up all night and made it myself,” Velsa said.

  “I was so scared…”

  “Scared? You seemed calm,” Velsa said. “I was the one who was a mess.”

  Sorla shook her head. “I was scared. I just didn’t want to make it worse for you.”

  “You don’t have to protect me,” Velsa said.

  “You would protect me, too,” Sorla said. “In fact, you always have. So I want to do it. I just want to be a good daughter because you didn’t have to rescue me, and—and I love you both and I love how much you love each other.” She started crying. Now Velsa was about to lose it herself.

  “We love you too,” Velsa said gently.

  Now Dormongara came down the stairs, stately and imposing in his black robe, with the hood pulled over his hair. Kessily followed him. They were both properly dressed, perhaps having more sense of propriety than Sorla, although Velsa suspected Dormongara’s hood was to cover sleep-mussed hair. She hoped so, to balance the fact that she and Grau looked precisely like they had spent the night fighting bandits.

  “Welcome back to the land of the living,” Dormongara told Grau.

  “Thanks,” Grau said. “We’re in a hurry. Three-Tongues is dead and I found this map on his person.”

  Dormongara recognized the map immediately. “It’s the Royal Treat. But I’m not aware of this room. A secret passage behind the boxes? The king’s box, to be specific…” He squinted at the paper more closely, as it was somewhat crudely drawn. “Come up, let’s have a moment of privacy. The funeral doesn’t begin for another hour.”

  “You aren’t attending?” Grau asked, obviously thinking that the crowds were too thick to leave now.

  “I am indeed, but I’ll be teleporting in, so we have time,” Dormongara said.

  They walked up a floor to a hallway with polished wooden floors and wooden walls, glowing lanterns and neatly woven rugs. It sti
ll smelled of maple syrup even here. The sound of a screeching Tomato could be heard from behind the doors. A wealthy-looking couple, demurely dressed in gray with funeral red collars and hats, walked out and looked toward the sound with affronted expressions. Kessily chewed her lip.

  “Shall we meet in your room?” Dormongara asked Kessily.

  “No,” she said, her voice short. “He peed in the bathroom. I haven’t cleaned it up yet. Smells pretty pungent.”

  With exaggerated patience, Dormongara unlocked his own door. Velsa could see why he tried to meet in Kessily’s room because he had left the bed unmade and scattered the room with a tray of half-eaten room service and half-written letters. Besides that, he was doing something with three small animal skulls and a ceremonial knife.

  He shoved this out of the way and put down the map, then took out the crystal that he had caught Flower in.

  “Do you mind if we question Flower again?” he asked Velsa.

  “Please.”

  He whispered to the crystal, and a light flashed within its facets. Velsa sensed Flower’s presence flickering within the stone, feeble as a dying flame. She seemed weak compared to the moment of her ascension when Dormongara first captured her, as if being tethered to the crystal was a drain on her soul.

  Dormongara looked at Velsa. “Would you like to do the honors?”

  Velsa took the stone, immediately feeling Flower’s spirit cringing back from the contact.

  Flower spoke, her voice faint, but using the same pleading-little-girl tone she used to cajole the men with. “Please let me go…”

  “I want you to know that Grau is here with me, and Three-Tongues is dead. You’ve lost,” Velsa said.

  “Grau? How?” The crystal flashed. “Did you turn him into a Fanarlem?”

  Grau spoke into the crystal like he couldn’t help himself. “Flower, I have had enough of you tormenting my wife. I don’t care what form I have, I’m going to make her very happy.”

  “Do you know anything about the Royal Treat theater?” Velsa asked.

  Flower didn’t say a word for a long moment. Then, sourly, “I’ve performed there…”

  “What about a secret passage behind the royal box?”

  “Yes. It’s where King Glengor used to slip out with his mistress.”