by Megan Derr
Though he had wished their time together might last forever, or even a few days longer, Alcor could see the extended stay was beginning to take its toll on Rohese. He hated it, but it was there all the same.
"The snow looks as though it has mostly cleared," Rohese said quietly, hesitantly, turning to stare out the window again, not quite able to look at Alcor.
Alcor slowly forced his hand to unclench where it was hidden by a throw. "You need not feel guilty about wanting to return home. I have enjoyed having you here, but you are no prisoner. I think it too late to leave now, but tomorrow morning you should head out. Certainly your family must be worried sick about you."
Rohese nodded and let the curtain fall closed, returning to his own seat by the fire. "I know, and I miss them sorely, but I hate to leave you, my lord."
"Then simply promise you will return to visit me again," Alcor said, striving to sound idle and not as depressed and hopeful as he already felt. "If your father ever lets you out of his sight again; I am certain he must feel you were consumed by the beast."
"Indeed," Rohese said with an amused snort. He picked his book up again and settled his lap blanket. "If you are not tired of my company, my lord, then shall I come see you again in a week? That will give me plenty of time to assure my family all is well and take care of whatever healings have fallen by the wayside because of the snow and my absence."
Alcor could not help but smile and hoped his eagerness did not show. "I will depend upon it."
Rohese nodded, and they both returned to reading. Alcor made dinner, but found he could not sleep even a little bit once Rohese had gone to bed. So, he wandered through the house, pausing only briefly to look in on Rohese. Then outside to wander aimlessly through the snow that had, bit by bit, eased off until travel was quite manageable. Eight whole days he'd had Rohese to himself; he should not be greedy for more.
On the bright side, however, the clearing of the snow meant that Thomas would be coming to him, and that meant he could see to those things he had been forced to set aside. It also meant, he realized with a faint wince, that it would be time to hear just how atrocious Roger considered his book.
He wandered until he grew too tired, then retreated to his study to read until dawn.
It came all too soon, and he made breakfast slowly, as if he stood a chance of forestalling the inevitable that way.
"Good morning, my lord," Rohese greeted, hair still mussed and clearly still half asleep, but obviously eager to be gone, for he was packed with his the bag slung over one shoulder. He sat down hard in his chair, more falling into it than sitting down properly, and gulped tea. "I will never know how you are able to wake so early and look so awake."
Alcor laughed, but did not explain the trick was never going to sleep in the first place. Mutt came wandering in with a yawn of his own, and Alcor set out scraps for him, petting absently as Mutt rubbed against his legs.
He set out the tea and porridge, trying not to stare as Rohese ate. "I have a gift for you," he said at last, when there was no more food to be eaten and no more reason to delay.
Rohese frowned. "My lord, I could not accept a gift, not after all you have done for me. You have been more generous than I can express."
"Only selfish," Alcor said. "I assure you, this old beast appreciates the beauty of your presence."
"You are too kind," Rohese said, flushing a becoming rose. "I will return in a week, my lord." He rose and turned to go.
Alcor laughed. "You forgot your gift."
"Oh," Rohese said, laughing at himself. Moving around the table, Alcor held out the Mirror of Seeing. Rohese's eyes widened. "That—is that what I think it is?"
"Ah, so you recognize it," Alcor said. "I wondered if you would, knowing as much as you do about magic."
"It's a Mirror of Seeing," Rohese said in wonder, taking it without thinking, turning it over and over in wonder. "I never thought to see one in my time. There were only ten ever made, and only three are supposed to be in human possession. All of them royal property—" He looked at Alcor, eyes wide. "Who are you?"
"Only a beast," Alcor told him. "It came to me after I killed the man who murdered my friend. There is the tiniest sliver of royal blood in my veins, just enough to let me use it. However, I have neither the need nor the desire for such things. As a healer, I sense you would find it quite useful. Only royalty can use them, they say, but I know enough about magic now to say that if I gift it to you, and say that you may use it, then you shall be able to. So I gift it and bid you use it as you see fit and ask only that from time to time you recall the beast from whom you received it."
Rohese smiled, and it was the prettiest smile Alcor had ever seen. It made him ache all over again to lay claim to this man, to make Rohese his, but that would never be, and one day he would have to truly accept that.
"Thank you, my lord. I will return in one week, I promise."
"Then I will wait impatiently for the week to pass. Now go, before the weather decides to make you my prisoner again." He reached out and, despite himself, lightly touched Rohese's cheek, startling when a hand came up briefly to cover his own and squeeze briefly.
Rohese let ago a moment later and, quietly calling another goodbye over his shoulder, departed.
Alcor watched until he was out of sight, sighed softly, then closed the door and went to get started on the plans which had been stewing since they had found the jewels. He was not worth much, and during his spoiled brat life he had acquired precious few skills, but he knew business, and he knew money.
Those jewels could bring in a fortune if sold outright, but they could bring in several fortunes if they were sold and the money was dumped into various investments. Yes, he knew business, and as he had little use for such money himself…
Smiling, he climbed back up into the attic and managed to slowly wrangle the jewels downstairs into his study. There, he spent the day cataloguing them and making all the notes his solicitor in the village would need to sell them for the money Alcor wanted. Then he stopped to make tea and began to lay out what exactly he wanted done with the money. A small portion of it would go to his own investments, simply because it never hurt to keep them flush and another tidy portion he would give to Roger.
Building fortunes, he found, was rather relaxing work. He was yawning as he finished and thought perhaps he might actually go to bed, if only because sleep would pass the hours until he saw Rohese again. Nodding, decided, he put out the fire and the lamps, then whistled to Mutt and went up to bed.
For once, he fell immediately to sleep, and if he dreamed at all, they were the kind that brought smiles to his face.
He woke to a face full of slobber and a tongue eager to distribute more. Grumbling and muttering, he pushed Mutt off and stumbled to his wash basin. A bath was in order; it had been a couple of days since he and Rohese had gone to that much trouble, and hard labor, like sleep, was a good way to pass the time.
Much hard work later, he settled into the tub with a sigh, scrubbing carefully at his raw, ruined skin. If there was one time he was grateful for solitude, it was while bathing. It had been horribly awkward to bathe alone with Rohese about, but he had not been willing to go on smelling another day.
A wet tongue licked his hand as it hung over the side of the tub, and he smiled as he stroked Mutt. "Daft dog," he said, as Mutt leapt up to rest his paws on the edge of the tub. "If you try to come in here, I will turn you into a new rug, understand me?" Mutt woofed and dropped back down to the floor, eventually wandering from the kitchen.
When the water began to cool, Alcor dragged himself out of it and dressed in the clothes he had hung near the kitchen fire to warm. The tub he left for the time being, not willing to try and dump gallons of water where it would only turn to ice. He remained by the fire until his hair was mostly dry, then finally wandered to his study to see what he might do that day.
He went back over everything he had done the day before, ensuring there were no flaws in his plans, adjusting a couple of small d
etails here and there. Finally satisfied with everything, he closed up and sealed the letters to his solicitor, then penned another letter to Roger asking him to take everything to the solicitor and help as he may.
It was on toward evening when he heard the door open and the familiar, quick rush of Thomas' feet. Then the familiar smiling face appeared in his doorway, and Alcor could not help but smile in return. "Hullo, Thomas. You should not be out so late."
"Got held up by a bit of snow that was deeper than it looked. I brought you food stuffs, though, my lord, and a letter from papa. He wanted to come himself, but got waylaid helping out back home."
Alcor nodded and replaced his quill, then stood. "Well, bring it all along to the kitchen, and I shall see you get a proper dinner. You will also stay the night."
"Yes, my lord," Thomas said then vanished to get the aforementioned goods and drag them into the kitchen.
In short order, Alcor had food cooking and was forced to regard the letter Roger had sent along. He had avoided opening it after Thomas had handed it over, mostly because it seemed rather a long letter. The envelope was thick enough it must have held several sheets of paper.
Finally he took a bracing swallow of tea and broke the wax seal. His one good eye went wide as he realized what he was reading. "It sounds like your father has been busy," he said dryly.
Thomas all but burst out of his seat in his eagerness to speak, and Alcor realized only then that he had been dying to share what he knew. "Papa was most excited, my lord! He read your book and promptly spoke with a friend of his in the industry! They cannot wait to publish it; they have been plotting over their brandy for days now. He let me read a chapter, I hope that was all right, I really liked it and I've read a lot, you cannot help it working in that bloody shop—" He stopped, but still was all but vibrating in place. "Are you going to sign the contract, my lord?"
Alcor read over the letter again, unable to believe what he was reading. But Roger's hand was neat, and the words were plain enough. His manuscript was excellent, and someone was waiting to publish it, if he would only sign the papers and set his solicitor to handle the finer points.
"Why not?" he asked, before he could think better of it. "I suppose that is the point when one writes a book."
Thomas cheered—then cheered louder when Alcor set his food in front of him. "Thank you, my lord. I vow you are the best cook in the village, though I dare not tell our own housekeeper that."
Alcor chuckled and shook his head. "Indeed. Eat up, lad, and I will go see about your bed."
When Thomas was at last asleep, he read the letter from Roger over and over again. His story was wonderful. A fitting tribute. Well-written, beautiful language. Alcor wondered if there had been some mix up, for surely it was not his book they had read. He had sent for a publishing agent already! Honestly, Alcor would be offended, were he not so overwhelmed.
He finally set the letter aside and slowly penned a reply. Him, a published writer. What in the world would happen next? When he was finished, he neatly bundled together all the documents and papers that would be going to Roger. Then sat restless, but without an outlet.
Finally he stood and left the study, grabbing his cloak from a hook by the door before going outside, an eager Mutt close on his heels. It was too dark and dangerous to ride, but they could walk well enough. So walk he did, until Mutt was too tired to continue on, and he was himself relatively exhausted. That was two days down, however.
Five more, and he would see Rohese again. Smiling, Alcor went to tidy the kitchen before finally crawling into his own bed.
He had Thomas finally on his way by early afternoon, after packing him a snack for the road and promising that he had, indeed, signed all that needed signed to see his book published. Shaking his head in amusement, he watched until Thomas was out of sight then went upstairs to dress in riding clothes.
His stallion was happy to see him and thrilled at the chance for exercise. Alcor rode until the beast would stay happily in his stall for another day or two then eased his own muscles with a short walk through his gardens, flicking away the snow where he could to reveal the perfect, unaffected roses beneath. At last, he went inside to find work to do, that the days would pass more quickly and bring his beautiful healer back to him.
So the days passed in agonizing slowness. Day three, day four, day five, day six. On the morning of the seventh day, Alcor bent to making suitable food. An attempt at bread failed, but the stew turned out well, as did some dried apple slices he'd thrown together with assorted spices and brandy to make what he could for dessert.
All the while he watched the clock, the sound of it driving him mad, becoming a positive torture as it marked each passing hour and still Rohese did not appear. When the sun finally set, and Rohese did not arrive, Alcor consoled himself with the knowledge that Rohese was a healer. There was no telling what demands were made upon his time.
So he waited through day eight, day nine, and day ten.
By the eleventh, he began to despair. Even the few times he saw Thomas did nothing to ease his growing misery. Several times he thought to ask if Thomas knew anything of the healer, but he dreaded the answer too much to voice the question.
On the thirteenth day, he gave up. Nearly two weeks had passed. Surely, if Rohese had intended to return, he would have sent a note?
Alcor threw his teapot across the room, but instead of being soothed by the sound of its shattering against the study door, he only grew angrier—and more wretched. Stupid. Why would Rohese return to him, when the world at large offered so much more than a mere beast ever could?
He should be happy with what he had—a warm, sturdy house, his beautiful garden, a fine horse, a faithful dog, the loyalty of Roger and Thomas, a good solicitor, and plenty of money. His life now was hundreds of times better than that which he would have lived had he continued down the path he'd been on nearly four years ago now. He was happy—as happy as he could be, anyway.
Except he had thought Rohese would return to him. One week, Rohese had promised. Alcor had thought that promise meant something, and he could not even see the reason it did not, for he had given the mirror away.
Snarling, Alcor shoved away from his desk and made to stalk from the room, but his eye was caught by the decanters and bottles in the bar nestled amongst his bookshelves. He crossed to it, reaching out gingerly to touch the various alcohols on display.
What was the point of trying, of learning, of all that he had suffered when he got nothing but more suffering? He loved Rohese, but Rohese was not coming back because a beast was a beast was a beast.
Pulling out the stopper on the brandy decanter, Alcor filled a snifter near to overflowing and down a third of it in one long swallow. It seared and burned, made his eyes water, made him double over in a coughing fit, and made his stomach feel as though it were filled with hot knives.
He just drank more, until there was no more brandy to drink, and he felt positively ill. Stumbling his way to the kitchen, he indeed tossed back up all that he had just imbibed. When he could retch no more, he dragged himself back to the study and started on the whiskey.
Only when he could no longer think, no longer feel anything but the burning pain throughout his body, the too heavy yet floating feeling in his head, did he finally leave off drinking. He heaved it all up in the kitchen, then dragged himself to the stairs, hoping that he would sleep long enough to leave behind the pain of a promise broken, the heartache of knowing that his love would not be returning and had never intended to.
He made it halfway up the stairs, then caught his foot on a step and fell stumbling back, crashing hard, head cracking with an alarming sound on one of the steps. Then he was spinning and tumbling until he finally landed topsy-turvy with a hard thump at the foot of the stairs.
Alcor moaned and tried to move, but found that simply hurt too much. He thought he might be crying, or perhaps bleeding, for he felt something wet on his face, but could not tell the precise nature of the substanc
e.
Not that he cared.
He stopped moving, not entirely certain what was up and what was down. His entire body throbbed with pain, and he wondered if perhaps he had broken something, but still he could not muster the energy to care.
So he simply lay there, drifting in and out of consciousness, feeling only pain and the growing cold that did not numb it even a little. He wished he could at least die; that would be infinitely preferable to the fact that eventually his damned injuries would heal, and he would be forced to go on living. He passed out again, hazily hoping that he would not dream.
Except he did, of an achingly familiar voice calling his name, the scent of honeysuckle, and warm hands pulling him close and easing the pain. He got his eyes open the barest bit and stared at the figment sent to torment his sleep. "Roh…" It almost looked as though Rohese were close to tears, which could not be right. Why would he be here—and crying?
"My lord, please! You must forgive me—do not die, oh, please my lord—" Rohese bent over him, head buried against Alcor's chest, and Alcor suddenly wondered if he was dreaming after all, because the feel and warmth of him seemed too there and real to be the workings of his worthless mind. "Roh—"
"My lord," Rohese said, looking up, face miserable. "Please, I beg of you, do not die." Alcor saw for the first time that Rohese was smeared with blood. He tried to reach up to wipe away the smear on one cheek, but his arm would not obey him. "You are badly hurt, my lord, but please stay with me. I love you too much to just let you go."
Alcor went still with shock, unable to believe he had heard what he had thought he heard. "Love you."
Then the dark took him again, and he was not strong enough to fight it.
*~*~*
He was staring at the ceiling. The hallway ceiling, Alcor thought hazily, wondering what was wrong with him. His head felt as if it were stuffed with cotton, and why in the hell was he lying on his back in the hallway. Why was he laying in the hallway at all?
Alcor tried to sit up, but realized there was a heavy weight upon his chest. He attempted to lift his head enough to see and realized after a moment that it was an arm. He let his head fall back down and only then realized that whatever he was lying on, it was not the hallway carpet. Turning his head to the side, he saw that Rohese was slumped against the banister, staring at him, his face pale and his eyes filled with shock.