by T. A. Miles
Korsten shrugged, keeping his gaze locked on the other man’s green eyes, determined not to let his sight or his thoughts stray. “Well, I’ve always found that I can get more done in comfortable surroundings. There’s no reason why someone who works with the raw elements of the earth should have to live in earthen hovels, is there?”
“No, there isn’t,” Ashwin agreed pleasantly. After observing his student for a moment, he sighed. “And now I think I’ll leave you here, as it’s plain to see that you’re not going to be pried away from that bench until I’ve gone.”
Korsten felt his face take on a shade of embarrassed and lowered his gaze to the water in front of him. “Ashwin, I’m….”
“Don’t apologize,” the other man said, leaning over his student. His slim hands settled on Korsten’s bare shoulders as he once again touched their foreheads together. “I’m flattered that you don’t trust yourself. Perhaps one day you’ll trust me.”
“I do trust you,” Korsten argued.
Ashwin drew back a little. Then, as if to test Korsten’s claim, he kissed him on the lips, slowly. Korsten’s heart began to thrum rebelliously and while his mentor’s affection beckoned him so very sweetly, he wouldn’t give in beyond simply allowing the kiss.
Eventually, Ashwin drew back, and smiled in a useless attempt to mask the unhappiness he’d drawn from Korsten with physical contact. “Not yet,” he said quietly.
And then he left Korsten alone with his misery. Not alone. Analee remained, just as she always did, even when Korsten neglected to pay her any attention at all.
It was night and somehow it had come to be winter—it had probably been winter for some time and he’d failed to notice—when Korsten was dragged out of bed by a summons from Sharlotte. She was technically one of his instructors and he was used to being called to a lesson by her at particularly dreadful hours, but this was by far the worst example of her tyranny. He’d only just laid his head down upon his pillow and she was calling for a rematch. She was an excellent opponent, but Korsten didn’t much care for her tactics, goading him into carelessness with provoking comments. He’d suffered many an embarrassing loss to the woman in the past, but at no time recently and it made him wonder why today’s match, of all of them, had to be rehashed just now.
When he arrived at the designated training room, he found Sharlotte as he always found her, primed for a fight, one that went beyond foils. He sighed and accepted the weapon she hurled at him. “Do we have to….”
Darkness cut his words short. It seemed as if all the candles had suddenly gone out in the chandelier above and the torches in their sconces as well. He hadn’t felt a draft strong enough to accomplish such a task, but the why of it didn’t matter when he felt the air separating in front of him. He scarcely managed to lift his blade in time to deflect Sharlotte’s unexpected attack. If lack of light wasn’t going to cancel the session, she could have at least waited for his eyes to adjust.
She didn’t though, and for some reason Korsten’s eyes failed to adjust. Perhaps it had something to do with the blinding fervor of her advance. Instinct and a keen sense of her presence was all that kept him from being battered lifeless by her avid blows.
The madwoman drew a brief pause, enabling Korsten to get his bearings straight, only to utterly lose them in the next instant and to find himself somehow falling. He hit the floor heavily enough to inspire pain, though it was minor in comparison to what greeted him when he dared stand again.
Without warning or attention to etiquette, Sharlotte delivered him a nasty blow, whipping her foil across his face. Pain stung over Korsten’s skin and quickly under it from his right cheekbone to his jawbone. Stunned and confused, he fell again. He still couldn’t see properly, but his hearing wasn’t hampered and he heard Sharlotte’s acid words clearly enough.
“You disgust me!” she hissed.
And in the next moment, an intangible force slammed into Korsten, forced the wind out of him, and knocked him head over heels into a sudden, freezing whiteness. He wound up on his stomach in several feet of snow with no clear idea as to how or why. Jealousy was one thing, but Sharlotte’s recent actions seemed more of malice and hatred. He wondered if she’d been trying to kill him. He wondered, as his chest began to ache and his entire head seemed to throb with agony if she had succeeded. He didn’t think he could move and he suddenly hurt too much to breathe. However he’d come to be outside, he wouldn’t be carrying himself back indoors. And that was his last thought before consciousness left him.
The smallest measure of awareness came to Korsten as he was transferred from one tangle of arms to another. The first had been dragging as much as supporting. A metallic, oily aroma clouded over Korsten’s returning senses, almost smothering him. The next group of arms was quickly brought down to just two and there was suddenly no weight on Korsten’s legs as the individual lifted him bodily from whatever surface he’d been attempting to stand upon. Numbness from the cold had been to blame for his awkwardness at first, but it was quickly becoming pain as warmth and feeling returned to his extremities.
“How bad is it?” someone asked, sounding more angry than concerned. Korsten felt like he should apologize, but he couldn’t move his jaw to speak. It hurt too badly. He couldn’t even open his eyes, which felt swollen. His whole body did and he could only lay limp in the arms that supported him.
“He’ll need immediate attention,” someone else said in a steady voice.
“See to it,” the first speaker concluded.
Korsten couldn’t really feel the arms that carried him, but he sensed the movement, and heard more voices rise in the background, growing more distant.
“Found him like that in the yard behind the metal shop, milord.”
“Don’t know as how he got there.”
“He’ll be fine here. Thank you for bringing him. We are indebted to both of you, good sirs.”
If there was more to the conversation, Korsten didn’t hear it. He didn’t hear or feel anything as he slipped again into unconsciousness.
Korsten awakened to a surprising amount of pain. He lifted his hand instinctively to what he thought was the worst of it and touched bandaging. Where was Lerissa? Or another mage with Healing? Had he been damaged beyond magic’s ability to heal?
His hand dropped away from his jaw … rather, it was moved by someone else … and he opened his eyes to a sight that for some reason made him almost begin to cry. It might have been the pain causing his tears. In the moment, Korsten scarcely cared. “Merran … where have you been?”
The blue-eyed mage frowned at him strangely just then, like he’d asked him something utterly absurd. And then he said, “I told you; in Surelese. Now, please stop moving.”
“You’ve been gone for months,” Korsten complained, inspiring greater upset, most of it physical, as speaking only caused greater pain to his face.
“Not all matters unfold to some form of conclusion as rapidly as they did in Haddowyn. Try not to speak.”
“Why haven’t you healed me yet?” Korsten wanted to know and Merran’s ensuing expression let him know how childish and demanding he’d sounded just then.
“Your body temperature is abnormally low at the moment,” Merran explained and Korsten finally noticed that he’d been brought to his bed. “You were freezing to death. I have to warm you up before I can tend to your other injuries.”
“What?” A sudden, fierce jolt of pain traveled from low along his jaw directly up to his brain. He determined not to speak anymore.
“The right side of your face has suffered a severe laceration and you have three broken ribs,” Merran explained. “Do you know who did this to you?”
Korsten didn’t give an answer. Yes, he damned well knew who had done this to him. She tried to kill me … but maybe it was within her rights. Gods, I know how she must feel. There were times when I would have throttled Calla, if given the opp
ortunity. I’m certain of it.
“Korsten,” Merran pressed, continuing with his efforts to thaw his patient’s frozen limbs. “If the intent was murder….”
“Did … you give me any kind of pain suppressant?” Korsten asked suddenly, and Merran nodded. “Well, I think it’s wearing off. Can’t you hurry?”
Merran sighed quietly and began to prod Korsten’s arm. “Can you feel this?” When Korsten issued an affirmative answer, he gathered up his patient’s hand and squeezed. “This?”
“Yes,” Korsten replied. “It hurts.”
“Your lips look less blue.” Merran lowered the hand he’d been holding, then slid the bedding that had been covering Korsten’s unclothed body down to his waist. He let his healing hand hover above Korsten’s chest.
“What about my face?”
“There’s the vain creature I remember,” the Mage-Adept commented wryly. “Wouldn’t you rather be able to breathe again without lancing pain?”
Korsten was unable to frown quite as much as he would have liked to through the horrific pain. Emergence had been painful, but he would never have recalled just how painful if this experience hadn’t reminded him of it.
“Relax,” Merran instructed, and Korsten obeyed. The other man’s healing hand glided over his chest without touching. The glow of magic warmed and penetrated the skin and the flesh, mending the broken bone beneath and gently working away the pain. Gradually, Korsten did find it easier to breathe.
“I hate it here,” he decided suddenly.
“Well, that’s nothing new,” Merran replied without being distracted from his efforts. “You hated Haddowyn.”
“It was easy to forget how I felt about that town,” Korsten told him, forcing some control. “I don’t think I have to explain why.”
“No, you don’t,” Merran said, neither sympathizing nor condemning. “As well, you don’t have to say who attacked you, but Ashwin knows. The Council knows and punishment will be mete out.”
“Is that necessary?” Korsten asked, feeling solely responsible for the night’s events. “I’m not dead and I’m not so sure that killing me was the intent.”
Merran listened to him, then said, “We cannot afford such discord here at the Seminary. Malcontent to this degree must be resolved before it escalates. What if she had killed you, Korsten? What if her next target became Mage-Superior Ashwin? Sharlotte came here a very angry young woman and in spite of his efforts, she has not changed much.”
“Does he love her?”
Merran nodded. “That’s why he is with her now, seeking answers himself, rather than instantly condemning her. She should see how wrong she is by now, while he is there and not here.”
“When did you get here?” Korsten had to ask, sure that he didn’t want to think about Sharlotte or even Ashwin anymore for the rest of the night.
“I’ve been here with you since you were brought to us by two gentlemen from the village,” Merran answered. In a moment, he added, “When did I return to the Seminary? Past midnight. I might have gone directly to bed, but that Eolyn and I got the idea that we would be needed in the main hall. I wasn’t expecting a metal smith and his son to drag you in, iced over and bleeding, though.”
“How did I get outside?”
“A Reach spell, I suspect. A gate that transfers a body over varying distances in a matter of moments instead of hours, days, or even weeks.”
“Yes, I should have thought of that. I can perform that spell now.”
“Can you?”
Bastard, that was somehow condescending. “I’ve just never had or imagined having it cast against me.”
“That was a relatively short Reach, fortunate for you.”
“At least Analee was with me,” Korsten said as he thought of it, spying the butterfly on his bed curtains once again.
“A few more hours and she might have come back here alone,” Merran reminded. “You’re very lucky.”
“I don’t think so,” Korsten said sullenly, casting his darker gaze back at the Mage-Adept.
Merran watched him for a moment, then proceeded with his task, pulling the bandaging away from Korsten’s currently ruined face. “It’s a good thing the Barriers are up. You’d attract every demon in Edrinor otherwise with your negative mindset.”
“I can’t help how I feel,” Korsten told him, welcoming the healing warmth that moved over his bruised and broken skin.
“No,” Merran admitted. He added softly, “And neither can I.”
“I don’t expect anyone to help the way I feel,” Korsten said, and brought the man’s hand inexplicably to his cheek, just as it was fully healed. “But I appreciate the attempt. Merran, thank you … for all that you’ve done for me.”
He felt better for having said that, for having meant it. Some of the pain, that which existed inside of him, felt less. Not healed, but lighter somehow.
Merran just stared at him, a look of genuine surprise on his typically stoic face. Korsten wondered what he was thinking … what he thinks I’m thinking. Gods, but he makes everything difficult. He let his hand slide away from Merran’s. No, my friend, I’m not propositioning you. I’m not desperate for affection. Anyway, I’ve had plenty of opportunities to acquire it from Ashwin, if I wanted it.
The Mage-Adept reclaimed his hand and looked at his palm for a moment before he was back to staring at Korsten, who felt a weight settling down on him. Like the pain that had left him a moment ago, returning, seeping back under his skin.
“Did you feel that?” Merran asked him. He didn’t wait for Korsten to answer, touching his fingers to the Korsten’s cheek again, experimentally. “Do you feel anything?”
Korsten closed his eyes and absorbed the contact. The dire ache that had filled him for as long as he could remember subsided just a little; more when Merran’s other hand landed lightly upon his chest. He opened his eyes, gazing unsurely up at the man hovering over him, a foreign look of longing in his very blue eyes.
You’re so alone, Korsten somehow knew. Lerissa isn’t your lover. You don’t have anyone. You’ve been harboring your own pain … and now you can feel mine as well. But how?
“Merran….”
The Mage-Adept bent closer, as if beckoned by the sound of his own name. A flicker of uncertainty lit in his eyes. And then they fell closed and he touched his lips to Korsten’s. More of the pain lifted away. Not nearly enough.
In the next moment, Merran lifted himself away, off the bed entirely. “You’re healed,” he said, just short of angrily. “Rest. I’ll be in to check on you later.”
“I felt it,” Korsten said, before the man could storm away. Why am I stopping him? I don’t want him to stay.
“Felt what?” Merran replied, as if he didn’t know.
And that made Korsten angry. He sat up. “Whatever you were asking me if I felt, you bastard! And I’m fairly certain I felt you kissing me as well. Why?”
“I’m sorry,” Merran said briskly, trying to leave again.
“I don’t want an apology,” Korsten shouted after him. “I want to know why.” He lowered his voice when Merran drew to a halt. “Why did the pain leave me when you touched me?”
“I worked a Healing spell,” Merran answered. Clearly, he was desperate to leave this situation. Desperate enough to lie by suddenly pretending nothing had happened.
Korsten wouldn’t let him. Though he didn’t know why, he vaulted out of his bed and went to the Mage-Adept. “Not the physical pain. The emotional pain. It….” Merran was just staring at him, like he’d gone mad. Korsten quickly snatched up the other man’s hand. “It left when you touched me.”
“It isn’t now,” Merran somehow knew.
Korsten felt genuine grief as he realized that himself. “You’re … it’s because you’re not invoking the magic. Cast the spell again.”
Merran took his hand ba
ck. “Korsten….” He shed his long coat and wrapped it around Korsten’s shoulders. “Haven’t you been exposed enough for one night? You’re going to chill yourself again.”
With unplanned desperation, Korsten grabbed Merran’s hand once more and this time held with determination. “Cast the spell again,” he insisted. And then, pleadingly, “Cast it.”
He learned in the next moment that Merran’s healing spell required no discernible hand gestures. It seemed to take only a mild level of concentration and was already beginning to take effect again when the Mage-Adept came closer … and lifted his free hand to Korsten’s face.
Korsten looked at him, up at him as he stood a hair taller—close enough now for his height to be noticed. What am I doing? Gods, what am I…. Merran kissed him again. Korsten let him. He closed his eyes and slipped his tongue out for a taste of the warmth his friend was offering. That warmth enfolded his tongue and held briefly. Merran drew back, staring silently, letting his hand slip from Korsten’s face. Korsten gripped the hand he was holding, disinclined to let him leave, fearing that the pain would return. He was so tired of hurting.
Merran lifted his free hand again, like a bemused child, fascinated with the discovery of something utterly new, intriguing and perhaps terrifying as well. His fingertips glided lightly along Korsten’s jaw, his thumb drifting over Korsten’s lower lip, pressing a little. Korsten let his mouth fall open. He caught Merran’s hand before it could slip away again and kissed the other man’s palm. Merran began to tremble just a bit. Korsten knew why if Merran didn’t and somehow he couldn’t feel guilty, even as he led Merran back to the bed and shrugged the coat the man had hastily thrown around him onto the floor. Merran didn’t try to escape, perhaps because Korsten kept their hands joined and their gazes locked, a spell in itself, one that bound Merran to him, at least for one night.
The wrong of it didn’t occur to Korsten. This isn’t betrayal, he told himself as he risked slipping his hands from Merran’s long enough to help the healer out of his tunic. Afterward he kissed his friend once upon the chest, then the throat, and again on the mouth. This is comfort. Gods know we both need it.