by Sean Michael
"Of course, sir." A pair of gilt doors was opened, a copper bath being filled with bucket upon bucket of heated water. "I will send someone with your meal."
"Make sure enough is sent so that whoever must bring it is also fed. I want everyone to have a good evening. To be well rested and ready to work together tomorrow." Something still wasn't right, it was niggling at him, but he was too tired to worry it out. He just wanted to be clean and fed and rest his head on a bed instead of in a cold, snow-covered field.
"Yes, sir. I'll send Furn for you, if I remember you were close." Then the old man disappeared, deceptively fast for his age.
He felt suspiciously as if he'd been fobbed off onto Furn and the bath to keep him occupied. He let it go as he stripped his cloak and leggings off and climbed into the tub, moaning. Oh, it felt good. The water worked its magic, relaxing him, easing him. Furn entered in short order with a tray full of bread and roasted game, a huge flagon of ale. "I have your food, my Lord."
"Oh Furn, call me Wintras. Please." He reached out for the boy. "Come and share the tub with me. You look like you could use it."
He got a shy, quiet smile, Furn setting the tray within reach and discarding the familiar tunic and sliding in the water.
"You've changed," he said softly, reaching to cup the still smooth cheek.
"I have, so have you. Have you missed us?" Furn nuzzled into his touch, eyes closing.
"I have thought of you often. Dreamed of this day when I would come and rescue you, give you your freedom."
"I do not understand you, my Lord. I was never a prisoner."
"I know you don't think so, but I never saw how you had any choice." He lay back tired and weary and more than a little upset he couldn't take Zujan prisoner. Make the sorcerer pay for using these sweet boys, for using him.
Those soft hands washed him, caressed him, the sounds of fire and water sweet. He let himself be pampered, told himself that he was different from Zujan because he hadn't asked for it, because Furn wanted to. It was fine hairs he was splitting, but he was tired. Why was it he was always so tired here? Always at war with himself and Zujan...
"Would you like some food, some ale?" Furn's voice was soft, gentle.
"If you'll eat with me, yes." He stroked Furn's cheek again, finding the same peace and ease with the boy he'd found when he'd been held here against his will.
"I will." A chunk of bread was torn off, dipped in the dark, spicy stew and held to his mouth.
He took it, lips sliding along Furn's fingers. It was good, and he nodded for Furn to fed himself as he chewed. Furn ate with him, feeding him the lion's share, holding the mug to his lips. He petted and stroked Furn, feeling his body, now washed and fed, look for the next thing it needed, his cock growing, Furn's soft skin and gentle hands in no way discouraging his need.
"Do you want me, my Lord?" Furn cuddled, hands sliding up along his belly.
"Only if you desire it, too, Furn. I will not have you unwilling. I will not order you to pleasure me." His own hand worked after all, he did not need to force others to bring him pleasure.
"I am not unwilling." The long shaft slid on his thigh.
He moaned softly. "Then yes, Furn, I want you."
He took the thin face in his and looked into the pretty eyes before bringing their mouths together. Furn slid to straddle his thighs, body moving into his, rubbing, something in the water making them slide. He moaned and slid his hands around Furn's waist, setting up a rhythm that made the water slosh around them.
Furn's cock was heavier than he remembered, the heat of it was like a brand along his belly. He shifted them, moaning as their shafts came together. Furn's gentle hands wrapped around both their pricks and Wintras' breathing sped as his hips moved, sliding his shaft within Furn's hands.
It wasn't long at all before Furn's eyes widened, a soft cry filling the air. The prick alongside his throbbed and his own responded, his balls going tight as he came. Panting, he lay back against the side of the brass tub, the sloshing water slowly going still.
"So strong. So warm. Been wanting to be warm..." Furn's arms draped around his neck.
"Don't you boys still keep each other warm?" Wintras asked, hands sliding on Furn's skin as he remembered the piles under the covers in their sleep chamber.
"The master's favorite doesn't sleep in the harem, remember?"
Wintras stilled, the words catching his attention. "Of course. You sleep with the master." Which meant that Zujan was alive. Why hadn't the man come to his own defense? Where was he now?
"Mm-hmm. Does that mean I'll sleep in your bed, my Lord?"
"It means you'll take me to Zujan!" He stood up, reaching for one of the thick cloths left near the tub for drying. Why had they lied?
"My Lord?" Furn looked devastated, lost.
"I wish to see him and I will not be lied to anymore!" He was angry, too angry to reassure and coddle. Not that Furn deserved to be coddled -- he'd participated in this lie. Wintras had come here to free these people and instead they had banded together to protect the man that enslaved them.
"See who, my Lord? Who do you wish to see?"
"Zujan." Now the boy was just stalling.
"No one may see him, the lights took him. He has not fed, not moved." Furn stood, water dripping from him.
"Where is he?" he asked, rewarding Furn for the information by placing the drying cloth around the boy's shoulders.
"The last time I was with him, he was in the tower, but they moved him, else the stones froze and cracked during the heat of the summer."
"Do you know where, Furn?" He would have his revenge, he would. Teach Zujan a lesson of his own. Served the man right, having those weird little fire faery things freeze him all up.
Furn shook his head. "You have nothing to fear from him. He does not speak, does not move. Simply stares."
"I am not afraid of him!" Wintras bristled. He had never been afraid of Zujan. Is that what they had thought? How could they? If he had feared Zujan he would have bowed and offered the man his ass from the first and he never had, never without protest and under an oath unwillingly given.
"I will see him, Furn. If I have to search this entire castle from dungeons to tower, I will see him. I am your master now and it is my due." They were so eager to do as their master desired, let it work for him for a change.
"I don't know where he is. I sleep in the big bed, alone. I have since the spring rains." Furn came to him, eyes worried. "Please, my Lord. Come to the bed, warm me?"
"Fetch me Lavan first." He believed the boy didn't know, Furn had never given him a reason to believe the boy was a liar. But he was not ready to let this drop. While the castle and lands were nice, Zujan was his reward for having led this battle and freed the lands from Zujan's control. Furn nodded, hurrying away, fluttering.
It was an eternity before Lavan returned, giving him time to pace and explore. The bathing area was huge, cabinets filled with pile after pile of furs and cloth, oils and unguents.
"There you are at last! You lied to me -- Zujan is not dead and buried! I demand to be taken to him immediately." He would not give Lavan a chance to lie to him again.
"My Master is dead." Lavan's jaw was firm, stubborn. "I will not allow the body to be defiled."
"I am your master now, Lavan. Where is my due?" And Furn had said not dead. Lavan continued to lie to him. Once he had this solved, it would be time to cut Lavan loose. He did not demand that people serve him against their will, he paid his servants and didn't keep slaves, but he expected their loyalty and honesty in return.
Lavan waved his hand. "I am no longer in your employ, my Lord. I will not be a part of Zujan's desecration."
"Then leave. Right now." He strode past Lavan and began to make his way through the castle. He would find Zujan's body himself. The staff scattered before him, seeming to find place after place to hide, to disappear.
He headed for the tower first. That was where Furn had thought Zujan to be and he knew it would make a
good hiding place. He'd never have thought to look if he hadn't already been there once before. As he climbed the stairs the cold grew harsher, making him wish he'd stopped to get clothes. But he strode on, determined.
A wall of pure ice blocked the top of the stairs, a blinding swirl of colored light distorted behind it. Damnit, the man was still up there.
He was going to get rid of the whole lot of them who worked here, send them to their homes or to Dumas or his father for work. He had no loyalty to people who were not loyal to him. He started to hit the ice, searching for a place where it was thinner, where it might be starting to crack.
Furn appeared at his elbow, shivering, shuddering. "My Lord?" The boy had boots, clothing, a cloak. A hammer.
He grinned suddenly at the boy. "I knew there was a reason I liked you, Furn." He put on the clothing and took the hammer from Furn. "If you're too cold you may go back down."
Furn nodded. "I'm scared. I don't want to be up here."
"Go then. Do you know the old wing? Do you know which room is Zujan's?"
"Yes. No one can go there, my Lord. The magic keeps everyone away."
"I've been there. Have blankets and food left at the door, and mead. And make sure the torches near the door are lit so that I can light the fire. Then go to the harem and warm yourself with the other boys. You've done well, Furn, thank you."
"Yes, my Lord. Thank you." His cheek was given a soft kiss, Furn hurrying away.
He watched for a moment, thankful at least one of Zujan's people remembered him fondly. Then he turned to the wall of ice and began to attack it with his hammer.
The lights got brighter, swirling, buzzing. Stupid, nasty faeries. He'd as good as warned Zujan against them when he'd been here last. He worked harder, the ice-wall beginning to crack and fall beneath his blows.
It wasn't until the first hole appeared and the faeries started pouring through that he realized that they had been helping him, fighting to break free. It made him wonder if Zujan really was dead, if they were so eager to abandon him. He batted away any that came too close and worked harder to pull the rest of the ice barrier away, shocked to find the air coming through the hole even colder than the stairwell.
There was nothing left in the room -- just hundreds of flickering and fading lights, groups snarling and huddling here and there. There was a pile of clothing near the iced in window.
He frowned, pulling his cloak more tightly around him. He was doubly glad Furn had brought the clothes, it was freezing, an angry wind howling and trying to pull his cloak from him despite the fact the walls and windows were covered in ice with not a hole anywhere to be seen. Had the faeries... eaten Zujan? The man had said they fed from him, though Wintras had not thought that was literal.
He strode over to the pile of clothes, bending to pick them up, see if they held some clue. A skeletal, ice-blue body fell to the ground, the clothing sagging and huge. The black hair had become streaked with strips of pure silver, eyes open and staring. He might have made a very undignified squeaking noise and jumped about three feet in the air. But there was no one there to see, so perhaps he only shouted upon the Great Halna to preserve him.
Zujan was dead it seemed. He went to Zujan's body, touched a cheek as cold as any ice. Those eyes shifted, blinking once, making him gasp and stumble backwards. By all that was holy! How could Zujan's staff, who purported to love him so, just leave him like this?
Or perhaps it was their way of breaking free of Zujan's rule, to let the faeries take him and leave him... caught in the cold. It was no wonder the man did not come to the defense of his lands.
Wintras bent and took Zujan into his arms again, hissing at the cold. It hurt, even through the layers of cloth that separated them. Ignoring the pain, he began the long journey back down.
Chapter Seven
The faeries fought Wintras every step of his way down the tower, battering and slamming into him, trying to rip Zujan's body from his arms. He just ignored them though, surprised that their fire didn't burn him; in fact the cold of Zujan's body was far more painful than the faeries who seemed to spark and turn to ashes as they touched his skin.
He was dizzy again by the time he reached the base of the tower, the faeries still working at him, though it was still the warmth sucking cold of Zujan's body that was far more likely to make him drop his burden.
The faeries joined together, tiny sparks buzzing and sliding together, forming a being, a body. "Ssssssssssssssstop."
He did, for a moment. "Why?"
"Oursssssssss. That one issssssssssss oursssssssssssss."
He snorted and ploughed through the undulating shape the faeries had formed. "Oh no he's not. He's mine."
The hissing got louder, closer, his clothes smoldering in spots as his footsteps echoed on the stone. He ignored them, striding down the hall, relying on his memory and then Furn's footprints in the dust to lead him to the right room.
"No." The word was soft at first, then louder and louder. “Nononononononono NONONONONONO!"
"Go away!" He shouted, relieved when he saw the door to Zujan's rooms, blankets and a tray on the floor in front of it. He remembered the faeries couldn't get in there. Of course Zujan had also said no one else could either, but he'd managed well enough last time.
He opened the door and stepped, unmolested, across the threshold. The faeries slammed against some barrier, flames flaring to life, the ones closest dissolving into sparks.
The room hadn't changed at all since the last time he'd been there and he put Zujan in the big chair by the cold fireplace before going and tugging the tray and blankets into the room, closing the door behind him and blocking out the angry buzzing of the faeries.
Evil, disgusting things.
Zujan looked like a marionette, still and watching, pale and painfully small. He remembered the fire and went to grab a torch, pushing through the faeries that tried to bar his way before shutting them out again. He lit the fire, adding some more logs so that it burned hard, warming him through.
There was a creaking, a soft moan, then a clatter as the thin body toppled from the chair, landing in a heap by the hearthstones. With a startled cry, he went to Zujan and picked him up, holding the icy body close. "You need to get warm."
Skin on skin would work best, he knew that, but Zujan's skin was still so cold...
Those eyes met his, only the barest awareness in them, so lost, so agonized. He sighed and put Zujan back in the chair, stripping down to skin, first himself and then Zujan. He told himself that he didn't want Zujan to die because he wanted to take his revenge on the man. The man who was all bones, the skin so pale it seemed translucent, the only hint of color where his own hands had touched. He tugged the chair a little closer to the fire and sat in it, holding Zujan close and tugging the blankets close around them. The painful cold eased slightly, the heat seeming to be drawn from his body.
"I don't understand why you let them do that to you. I know you said that's the price of your magic, but no magic is worth your life." He shuddered at the thought of letting the faeries do that to him. He received no answer, no movement, just the shallow hint of drawn breath.
"Well I suppose I shouldn't complain. We captured your lands you know. Dumas to the west and my father to the north. Banded together and attacked and you were so busy feeding your disgusting little faeries that you couldn't do anything to foist us off." He rubbed his hands along Zujan's arms; there was definitely some warming happening. "This castle is mine now and you are my prisoner. Our fortunes have reversed. I think you will find that I am a far kinder Master."
The tiny sorcerer seemed to shrink even further, the pale eyes closing.
It was hard to be angry and nasty to this small, almost boy-like man in his arms. Without his magic, Zujan seemed innocent and powerless, more like the boys from his harem than the kings and princes and dukes of the surrounding lands. It confused Wintras. It twisted his anger and his desire for revenge.
He tried not to think about it too hard
and just held Zujan close, warming the little sorcerer with his own body.
***
Someone was speaking to him, but he could not bring himself to care, to understand, to answer. There was nothing but the sensation of heat and cold. Heat outside of him, chill within. An endless circle. The sounds continued, on and on, scented with oils and heat.
How he ached, deep within.
Movement and a sudden loss of the warmth jolted him. He opened his eyes, the universe watery and blurred, unfamiliar, almost painfully bright.
"You're awake." The warmth came back, the world shifting once more as he was pulled close to it. "Are you hungry? All this cold is making me starve."
He looked up, trying to focus, to understand. Hungry?