Lord of the White Hell Book 2

by Ginn Hale

  The figure burrowed deeper under the bedclothes as if trying to hide. When Genimo peeled the covering back, Fedeles issued a pathetic animal whimper and curled into a ball. Kiram’s fear dissipated in the face of sympathy.

  “Let him alone.” Kiram took the blanket from Genimo and laid it back down over Fedeles. He wasn’t to blame for the curse and he had suffered far more than Kiram because of it.

  Genimo rolled his eyes. “Going to sing him a lullaby too?”

  “Do you have to be an utter ass at all times?” Kiram snapped. Genimo scowled at him but appeared to have no retort.

  Kiram turned his attention back to Fedeles. Despite his leering grin, his face was streaked with tears. When he lifted his hand to wipe at his eyes Kiram caught sight of fresh stitches running along his wrist.

  Kiram gently caught his hand. “When did this happen?”

  “Firaj. Firaj. Run away. I’m bad, bad, bad. I can’t stop it.” Fedeles’ expression contorted and then he began to recite the names of other horses, urging each of them to run away.

  “He cut himself.” Genimo scowled at Fedeles. “Last night with one of my dueling knives. Scholar Donamillo sewed him up quickly enough.”

  “Does Javier know?” Kiram asked. Fedeles had gone quiet, shoving his face down into the mattress.

  “Of course he knows. He told me to keep it in our circle. So don’t go blabbing, all right?”

  “Who would I tell?”

  Genimo shrugged as if to imply that Kiram’s motivations were some incomprehensible mystery, then went to help Scholar Donamillo file away the tomes that Kiram had cleared out from beside the mechanical cures. Part of Kiram wanted to join them, in hopes of getting another chance at Yassin’s notebook, but ogling ancient equations seemed less important than comforting Fedeles right now. He’d have other chances at Scholar Donamillo’s library while he was rebuilding the engine.

  Very gently, Kiram smoothed Fedeles’ hair back from his face. Fedeles looked up at him with an expression of mute sorrow.

  “I know you aren’t to blame,” Kiram quietly told him.

  Fedeles relaxed, leaning into Kiram’s touch in the same way that Firaj did when he wanted reassurance.

  Kiram said, “It’s going to be all right, I promise. I’ll find a way to help you.”

  Fedeles closed his eyes and soon he fell asleep. In rare moments of peace such as this, Kiram could see how closely Fedeles resembled Javier. He wondered what Fedeles had been like before the curse had twisted his mind. Then he wondered what might be left of him if he were ever to be freed of it.

  Kiram caught himself then. It would not be a matter of if Fedeles were freed but when. His engine might have been broken but it would be rebuilt. He also reassured himself that Alizadeh was gleaning precious information through Kiram’s weekly ritual of lighting his lotus medallion. Perhaps last night’s attack had even provided Alizadeh with a vital clue. That thought alone reassured him.

  The bells rang and Kiram pulled the blankets over Fedeles’ exposed shoulder before heading towards the stables for his riding class. Master Ignacio had not excused him from his lessons. Kiram supposed a man would have to be dead to have the war master give him a day off.

  His trip was cut short by Javier, who caught him outside the infirmary.

  “You forgot your riding gloves.” Javier held them up but didn’t proffer them to Kiram. Instead he glanced to the infirmary doors. “Did you see Fedeles?” Javier asked and Kiram heard the second, unasked question in his tone.

  “Yes, I told him what happened wasn’t his fault. I think that helped him. He’s sleeping now.”

  The anxious tension seemed to melt from Javier. “Thank you.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “I know but that’s a hard thing to remember after last night.”

  “Last night wasn’t all bad.” Kiram took his gloves from Javier’s hand. He allowed his fingertips to brush across Javier’s bare palm, which elicited a smooth, sensual smile.

  “Not bad at all,” Javier agreed.

  They walked together to the stables. They didn’t hold hands or even stand too close but Kiram felt warmth and intimacy in Javier’s lingering gaze. They discussed a translation of a Yuan prince’s travel diary that Javier had just discovered in the library and thought Kiram would find amusing.

  “The man’s supposed to be a worldly authority but just from his descriptions of Anacleto and Rauma you can tell he’s never left Yuan. It’s hilarious.” Javier tossed Kiram his riding gloves in an easy manner. “He says that the Cadeleonian men have a ritual of brotherhood, wherein they take hammers to each other’s poorly protected bodies and after much pounding choose the one man left standing to be the leader of their now nearly crippled group.”

  “So, he met Elezar, then?”

  “Maybe one of his ancestors,” Javier replied. “The thing dates back a hundred years or so.”

  “Does he mention the Haldiim?”

  “Oh yes, he does your people the honor of many an inaccurate and even impossible depiction. Did you know that you are all born as women and only develop into men when fed red meat boiled in goats’ milk?”

  “Really?” Kiram snorted.

  “He includes a recipe.”

  “I have to read this.”

  “I’ll bring it up to our room. We can go through it together tonight,” Javier said, then added, “Good luck riding.”

  Javier left Kiram feeling so giddy at the prospect of being together in their room again that he nearly forgot that he and Firaj needed to arrive at the arena punctually or face Master Ignacio’s wrath.

  Throughout the riding lesson, fellow second-year students who caught Kiram’s eye gave him short approving nods. He heard Ollivar whisper something about facing down a bear to two other boys. Master Ignacio ordered them to silence and glared at Kiram. Oddly the master’s scowling countenance no longer frightened him. Last night he had faced something so truly terrifying that no scholar, no matter how disapproving or stern, could compare. The shadow curse had been like a nightmare come to life, insubstantial and murderous at once: darkness that killed with the ease of a passing shadow.

  Master Ignacio was a man—strong and brutal—but no more than that. His very physicality implied weakness of some kind. He could be exhausted; he could be injured. Studying him now, all his snarls and shouts, Kiram thought that a skilled swordsman would be wise to exploit the war master’s quick temper to draw him out, make him overreach.

  Not that Kiram was a skilled swordsman. Reminding himself of that, he averted his gaze from the war master’s face and concentrated on the lesson. Firaj responded to the commands that Master Ignacio shouted across the arena and Kiram moved with his mount. He felt a certain pleasure at the thought that he was learning nearly as much from his horse as he was from the war master.

  After Kiram had brushed Firaj down and spent a few minutes making much of the old gelding, he followed Nestor out of the stables.

  Flecks of snow drifted lazily from the white afternoon sky.

  Javier waited outside, apparently unperturbed by the cold, a dusting of snowflakes in his dark hair. “You certainly look smug, Kiram.”

  “He does, doesn’t he?” Nestor agreed.

  “I’m just relieved to be able to enjoy the day,” Kiram replied. “And I’m looking forward to this evening.”

  Javier and he shared the briefest smile before Javier slyly averted his eyes.

  “I’m not.” Nestor gave the dormitory a particularly condemning glare. “Have you noticed what’s been coming out of the kitchen lately? There’s been no fresh meat in weeks and now even the sausages are beginning to look like cabbage and oats. It’s going to be nothing but cabbage for the rest of the winter, I know it.”

  “Don’t abandon all hope just yet, young Grunito.” Javier looked more pleased with himself than usual as he spoke. “Supply wagons just arrived, and not only did it look like they were weighted down with sides of beef, but there were mail deliveries as
well. Probably the last of the year.”

  “Anything from my mother?” Kiram asked.

  “As always,” Javier replied. He glanced to Nestor. “Are you game to help haul the damn thing up the stairs?”

  “For more of those marzipan pears I’d haul the crate all the way to Anacleto.” Nestor’s face flushed with a strange excitement that bordered on lust.

  The three of them muscled the creaking, wooden crate up the stairs to the tower room. Despite the dozens of other students gawking at them from the staircase, Nestor strode into Javier’s room as if it were no different from any other room in the dormitory.

  “Are you sure you should let them all see that?” Concern tinged Javier’s voice. “If the holy father finds out you’ve been in here, you could end up spending your whole dinner reciting the prayer of Our Immaculate Father.”

  “If Kiram can face down a bear, then I figure I can manage the holy father,” Nestor replied.

  “I didn’t really face down a bear so much as run away from it,” Kiram corrected.

  “You still faced it. You just had the good sense to run away right after that.” Nestor shrugged. “In any case Holy Father Habalan wouldn’t miss his own supper just to watch me pray.”

  “True enough,” Javier agreed.

  With the bulk of Kiram’s tools now up in the room with them, they made short work of prying the crate open. As always they discovered bags of candies nestled amongst the packages Kiram’s mother had sent. Javier found a silk satchel of hard toffee tucked between two bright winter scarves. Kiram handed out the foil-gilded almonds he found atop a sheaf of writing papers. Nestor sniffed out the marzipan pears before Kiram even had the small box open. Kiram handed the candies over to Nestor and then lifted out a pair of lined leather gloves. A note from his sister Siamak wished him warmth and thanked him for the Solstice gifts he’d sent, even though she hadn’t been able to resist the temptation to open them early.

  Alizadeh had sent a book of Bahiim texts to Javier and a silver quill pen for Kiram and a short note with a Solstice blessing that mentioned neither his meeting with the Circle of Red Oaks nor replied to any of Kiram’s letters. Rafie had enclosed a variety of powdered medicines in case Kiram or any of his friends fell ill. Like his husband he wrote no letter, just enclosed a packet of instructions.

  Nestor sniffed one of the dry poultices and wrinkled his nose. “I think I’d have to be dying to take that.”

  “The instructions say—” Javier paused, concentrating on Rafie’s looping Haldiim script. “—it’s to be mixed with wine-no, wait not wine. An alcohol that’s stronger than wine.”

  “You can read that?” Nestor gazed at Javier in surprise. Kiram didn’t bother to express his own curiosity anymore. Javier would never tell him just where or how he had developed his grasp of the Haldiim language.

  “I’ve picked a little up from Kiram.” Javier didn’t look up from the paper but went on reading slowly. “Mix with a strong alcohol to produce a plaster. Apply it to a wound to keep it from turning foul.”

  “Smells foul enough on its own.” Nestor returned the bag to the small chest with the other poultices.

  Then came the thick sheaf of papers from Kiram’s mother recounting news of his family and friends. They seemed to all be doing well. His older brother Majdi would be back from sea this spring. Both his sisters were helping his mother keep up with the Solstice candy orders and his father had managed to go another season without setting his workshop on fire.

  Musni and his wife were both in good health; though, Kiram’s mother added with distinct disapproval, Musni had been seen in the company of street snakes more than once in the past few months.

  Hashiem Kir-Naham—Kiram couldn’t help but notice the extra flourishes with which his mother wrote the man’s name—was doing good business at his mother’s pharmacy and had asked after Kiram on three separate occasions. He had even been so thoughtful as to send a Solstice gift along in this very package.

  Kiram sat back on his bed, feeling suddenly fatigued and more aware of the ache in his calf than he had been all day. He tried to imagine what his mother would make of Javier as a prospective suitor for her son. A hell-branded Cadeleonian nobleman with a penchant for sleight of hand and a group of friends who were little more than highborn ruffians. He certainly would never be an obedient pharmacist’s son.

  Noticing Kiram’s attention, Javier asked, “Something wrong?”

  “I’m just feeling a little done in. My leg’s started to hurt some.”

  “Shall we try your uncle’s plaster?” Javier asked.

  “We don’t have any alcohol, do we?”

  “Atreau does. Under his bed,” Nestor offered. “Helps to warm girls up when they sneak up to his room.”

  “Your upperclassman is certainly prepared for all occasions, isn’t he?” Kiram laughed and then shook his head. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine so long as I get off my feet for a little while.”

  “All right, you lie there and Javier and I will open up your boxes for you.”

  Kiram nodded his agreement and the two of them set to work while Kiram lay across his bed on his stomach, watching. Javier’s choice of box yielded two wheels of cheese, a box of dried sugar fish and then three bottles of writing ink. Nestor’s face lit up when he open up a box of candied fruit, all decorated and arranged to look like a lover’s garland. A small card fell from the box and Javier picked it up. He frowned as he read it silently.

  “This is beautiful!” Nestor drew in a deep breath of the fragrant garland. Even from where he lay Kiram could smell the mixture of spiced candy and citrus fruit.

  “What’s the card say?” Nestor asked Javier.

  “Don’t know. I couldn’t read the handwriting,” Javier replied with a shrug. He handed the card to Kiram and Kiram tried not to feel mortified as his eyes fell across the words:

  Most beloved youth, I pray that I do not offend in sending something so simple to someone so much more delectable. I await your return as the tulip longs to penetrate the warm earth of spring.

  Ever your admirer,

  Hashiem Kir-Naham

  Kiram could hardly believe that the polite older man he remembered had written this to him. He wondered what his mother must have told the pharmacist about him.

  “It—it’s from a friend of my mother’s and she hopes that I will share the candied fruit with all my new friends here at the academy.” Kiram crumpled the note quickly.

  “Really? That’s damn sweet of the lady.” Nestor eyed the brilliant red cherries and translucent orange curls of candied tangerine peel in a lascivious manner.

  From behind Nestor, Javier gave the garland an irritated glower. “Sweets from the sweet, no doubt.”

  Kiram forced a laugh. What must Javier have thought, reading that note? The low ring of afternoon bells broke Kiram’s thoughts.

  Nestor straightened reflexively at the sound. “Time for class already.” He glanced to Kiram. “Have you got your paper done for history?”

  Kiram nodded, then asked, “You?”

  “Not so much,” Nestor admitted. “There are a few holes between page one and three. Most of page two really isn’t worked out.”

  “Well, give me what you have and I’ll work on it during art.”

  “Thanks so much, Kiram. You’re my academic salvation.” Nestor bounded to his feet and, with a look of relief, started digging through of his sheaf of drawings. Kiram rose more gingerly. Still, a sharp pang flared through his calf when he placed his weight on it and he flinched. Javier came to him immediately, wrapping his arm around Kiram’s waist to hold him steady.

  “Are you sure you shouldn’t just take the afternoon off and rest?” Javier asked.

  For a moment Kiram allowed himself to enjoy the strength of Javier’s embrace.

  Then Nestor turned back, three crumpled pages of disordered script in hand. “You do look flushed, Kiram. Are you getting a fever?”

  “I’m fine. I just stood up too quickly.” Ki
ram pulled away and Javier released him with a mechanical pat on the back. Kiram limped down the stairs to fine art class.

  Chapter Five

  Scholar Casade, their art instructor, was a pragmatic elderly gentleman whose wispy white hair reminded Kiram a little of his own father. According to Nestor, he’d once been the royal portrait painter before a scandal had driven him from the court at Cieloalta.

  Not one to waste his energy on lost causes, the scholar had long since abandoned any attempt at improving Kiram’s minimal artistic abilities. He doted on Nestor, however. Kiram suspected that, though the scholar knew Kiram spent most of the class period completing Nestor’s history and mathematics assignments, he tolerated it for Nestor’s sake.

  Not that Kiram didn’t pay attention during class. In fact, Scholar Casade’s lecture on line weight and form had aided Kiram greatly in forging Nestor’s square script. He could sign Nestor’s name nearly as well as his own now.

  An hour later, Holy Father Habalan accepted the paper from Nestor without comment. When Kiram turned his own essay in the holy father studied it, frowning, then said, “In light of your harrowing night I had expected that you wouldn’t have a paper to hand in, Underclassman Kiram. I suppose your bear wasn’t so terrible as all that, then.”

  Kiram bowed his head. Just looking into the holy father’s face made him almost too angry to think. How dare the bastard taunt him about last night? Was he so sadistic that he needed to see Kiram’s fear even now?

  Then another thought came to Kiram. The groom Victaro had been murdered for knowing Habalan controlled the curse. Now, Kiram realized, the holy father might be watching for a response to determine Kiram’s knowledge. He had to meet Habalan’s gaze and seem genuine in his belief that a beast had attacked him. He couldn’t allow the holy father to see either his fear or his anger.

  “I’m only able to turn the paper in because I completed it the day before, sir.” Kiram forced himself to lift his head and meet those cow brown eyes imbedded in that plump, plain face. “I saw very little of the creature, but from the damage it did, it must have been very large. I wouldn’t want to meet with another.”