Lord of the White Hell Book 2

by Ginn Hale

  “Yes, well, let’s hope not.” The holy father gazed intently at Kiram for a long moment, which seemed to stretch endlessly while Kiram maintained his expression of earnest indifference. Then the holy father moved on to the next student. After that the rest of the history lecture floated past Kiram. He tried to focus on the Treaty of Crown Hill but memories of that creeping darkness invaded his thoughts. He had to fight to keep from staring at the holy father’s shadow as it moved across the classroom floor.

  Once the class was over Kiram bolted from his seat only to be called back. Habalan took Kiram aside while the rest of the students filed out of the lecture room. His calf began to ache in hard pulses, echoing the tempo of his speeding heart. His palms felt clammy.

  “I understand that you have been working quite hard on a project for the Crown Challenge.” Holy Father Habalan’s expression wasn’t sympathetic, though he clearly intended it to appear that way.

  “Yes, I have, sir. I want to make the academy proud.”

  “I’m sure you do. But with things the way they are, you would do well to refocus your time and energy on your work for this class and let the Crown Challenge wait until next year.” Holy Father Habalan hefted the stack of papers in his pudgy arms and gave Kiram a limpid gaze. “Considering your recent setback and the winter conditions, I feel that it would be wholly unwise and most likely unhealthy were you to return directly to your mechanist work in that drafty shed.”

  Dull malevolence showed beneath the holy father’s bland expression.

  “Yes, sir. I’ve locked the shed up and I don’t think I’ll be returning to work there anytime soon.” Kiram’s mouth felt dry and his words came out in a kind of rasp.

  The holy father smiled and excused him.

  Kiram rushed from the lecture room. Nestor raced after him with a concerned expression. Kiram didn’t slow down until he reached the library. There he laid his books and papers down on one of the heavy wooden desks and flopped into a worn chair. Nestor sat down across from him.

  “So, what did he say?” Nestor asked.

  “He wants me to take some time off from the Crown Challenge to focus on my history papers.”

  Nestor rolled his eyes. “If he thinks you’re not focused enough the man doesn’t know what the word means. You usually have your papers and mine written days before they’re due.”

  “I’m not taking him seriously,” Kiram replied, though the threat of the curse coming for him once more chilled his bravado. “He’s just an old bigot.”

  “You’re probably right. He’s certainly not fair to you,” Nestor said. “All the papers you’ve written for me he’s given higher marks than the ones you’ve handed in for yourself, but they’re all your papers.”

  Kiram simply nodded. He could vaguely remember a time, early in the summer, when nothing could have worried him more than receiving low marks on his history papers. But now it seemed trivial.

  Nestor began sketching, as he always did when Kiram was quiet. Kiram himself picked up a book but couldn’t bring himself to read any of it.

  Instead he thought of the threat that Holy Father Habalan had made. Men like the holy father had once brought King Nazario’s edicts down against the Haldiim here and throughout the kingdom, even as far as Anacleto. Facing terrible danger many Haldiim had fled with the Irabiim into the Mirogoth forests or sailed south to the Salt Islands. But Kiram’s ancestors had remained, despite their fear—and Kiram now had a sense of how terrible and real that fear must have been. The thought of them made him proud.

  He couldn’t do less than they had. He couldn’t give up on his engine. But he wasn’t going to be a fool about it either. No great wall or battalions of archers stood between him and the shadow curse. He would have to keep his work in the infirmary secret.

  Briefly Kiram wondered if he should warn Scholar Donamillo about Holy Father Habalan, but he decided against it. If the scholar had not been attacked for the work he had already done, then it was unlikely that he would be. Telling him now would only make him a threat to the holy father and put him in danger.

  From somewhere in the back of Kiram’s mind came the thought that he hadn’t heard the soft scratching of Nestor’s pen in a while. Kiram glanced to Nestor and discovered that he was absorbed with reading a sheaf of papers. When he turned a sheet over Kiram caught a glimpse of violet ink and fine script. A light floral fragrance wafted off them.

  “Did you get a letter?” Kiram asked.

  Nestor glanced up, startled. “This afternoon. It’s from Riossa.”

  Kiram smiled, glad for a chance to escape his own worries for a while. “How is she liking living with your mother?”

  “Better than I’d expected.” Nestor read Kiram brief excerpts from the letter. Riossa expounded upon the vastness of the Grunito house, the astounding number of hunting hounds, lapdogs and rat terriers in residence, and the shock of witnessing Lady Grunito run down a would-be cutpurse so that she could thrash the man. She also wrote of an outing to the Haldiim section of Anacleto. Her descriptions of perfume sellers on the Ammej Bridge and red-dyed doves nesting in garlanded almond trees gave Kiram a pang of homesickness.

  “She says she wanted to send me some Kir-Zaki candies but my father ate them all.” Nestor carefully folded the letter closed.

  “Well, you got some from my mother in any case.”

  “True. But it would be different if they were from Riossa, you know.”

  “I know,” Kiram replied. Then a motion in the doorway caught his attention and he found himself looking up just as Javier strode into the room. Javier glanced across the tall bookshelves and vacant tables as if assessing a battlefield. Only when he seemed sure that no one else looked on did he approach.

  “Knew I’d find you here,” Javier said.

  At the sound of his voice Nestor jumped. Then he quickly regained his composure. “You were quiet as a thief coming in. What’s up?”

  “Bored.” Javier’s eyes lingered on Kiram for just a moment too long before returning to Nestor. “Thought I’d check on bear-bait here to make sure he hadn’t succumbed to his wounds.”

  Nestor laughed and then shot Kiram an apologetic look. Just behind Nestor, Javier watched Kiram with bare longing. Kiram felt his skin flushing.

  “Bear-bait is pretty done in actually,” Kiram said. “I think I might sneak in a nap before dinner.”

  A brief, very pleased smile curved Javier’s lips. “Come on then, I’ll bore you to sleep with readings from Bishop Seferino’s sermon to the body traders.” Javier glanced to Nestor. “You?”

  “I’ll pass on the sermon, thanks. I get enough of those at home,” Nestor responded.

  “See you at dinner, then.” Kiram stood, trying to appear fatigued in his motions. The pulsing excitement that rushed through him as Javier placed a hand against his back made it all the harder.

  “Maybe we’ll get some beef tonight,” Nestor replied but his attention wasn’t on Kiram or Javier. He’d already unfolded Riossa’s letter again.

  Kiram did his best to seem worn out as he traipsed up the stairs after Javier, but once they were in their room he was alive with energy and arousal. He slipped his fingers under Javier’s supple belt and pulled him close.

  “Poor Hashiem Kir-Naham, hmm?” Javier kissed Kiram with hungry force. Kiram all but ripped his shirt off. The two of them tumbled into Javier’s bed, still pulling off each other’s belts and kicking off their boots.

  They devoured each other with hands and mouths, each driving the other towards desperate climax. Kiram’s anxiety and fear dissipated as mounting ecstasy consumed his senses. After that, he lay in a state of spent satisfaction, Javier’s arm draped across his chest. He nuzzled his face against Kiram’s neck, whispering words so softly that Kiram could hardly hear them. Kiram felt sleep take the lingering tension from Javier’s body.

  Kiram drew in a deep breath, smelling their mingled sweat and sex, and then drifted. He knew that his troubles would not be so easily escaped, but fo
r now the even rhythm of Javier’s heartbeat and the warmth of his body lulled him.

  Chapter Six

  During the brief winter days that followed, Kiram spent much of his free time in the infirmary, rebuilding his engine and studying Scholar Donamillo’s mechanical cures. He felt safe there, surrounded by machinery, with the scholar occupied in his own studies but always a near and reassuring presence. Scholar Donamillo seemed to take a quiet interest in Kiram’s activities and assisted him without needing to be asked when Kiram labored with too many parts or too much weight.

  The scholar was not a talkative man but Kiram found his company soothing. From time to time when he noticed Kiram looking on with interest, he would point out a string of soldering instructions engraved in the iron ribs of the mechanical cure or expose the fine wires that made up the harness and allow Kiram to study them. One afternoon he even demonstrated the way the amber and copper plates at the base of a mechanical cure could be brushed to produce arcing white sparks. The sight delighted Kiram and reminded him of Javier’s sparking, hot touch when he opened the white hell. Much to Kiram’s embarrassment, a shiver of remembered pleasure tingled down the nape of his neck.

  Such responses were becoming more and more common. Throughout his days Kiram felt almost haunted by previous nights of intimacy. Javier’s presence suffused Kiram’s consciousness, so that now even in broad daylight, thoughts of Javier’s body—his touch and his taste—floated up through Kiram’s mind, distracting him.

  During combat practice the strong smell of sweat and fevered heat of his own body flooded him with a brief but vivid recollection of deep, musky scents and joyous friction. His face flushed and Nestor easily scored a point on him.

  “Sorry.” Nestor stopped short, looking startled. “I was sure you’d parry that one.”

  “Nope, you got past me.” Kiram couldn’t help but smile at Nestor. He was the only man Kiram could think of who would worry about winning a point. “You should have pressed your advantage.”

  “I was too surprised by the novelty of it,” Nestor admitted, but then he gave Kiram a mischievous smile. “Won’t be next time though. Better be on your toes.”

  Kiram managed to remain focused throughout the lesson but found himself stealing glances at Javier all through lunch. Catching him staring, Javier gave him an arrogant grin, which was both deeply affecting and embarrassingly knowing. Kiram felt relieved when Elezar attempted some wrestling grip and jerked Javier halfway out of his seat. By the time Javier had fought Elezar off Kiram had regained his composure enough to meet his handsome smile with a studied indifference. Even so, Javier retained a smug expression through the rest of the meal and took every opportunity to stretch and slide one of his legs against Kiram’s.

  Kiram loved the sensations and attention of Javier’s reckless desire but he feared exposure as well. Javier’s title and reputation shielded him from suspicion but Kiram possessed neither asset. So he took care never to appear too pleased with Javier’s company. He hoped his frowns and annoyed glances fit the appearance of a long-suffering underclassman who endured as best he could the antics and moods of a man like Javier.

  But even reminding himself to remain cautious, Kiram could not help but lean into Javier’s quick embraces and smile in response to Javier’s light compliments. He accepted every invitation to join Javier riding and twice joined the Hellions hunting.

  While Javier, Elezar and Atreau attempted to flush a boar from snow-laden thickets, Kiram brought down eighteen of the blue jays that constantly followed them. The birds were made into mince pies and Nestor proclaimed Kiram to be the hero of the meal, since the others had returned with nothing more than a few stringy hares. Fedeles nudged Kiram and sang, “Blue jays in white skies. Bad birds make good pies,” like the refrain of a favorite song. Both Morisio and Atreau picked up the tune and hummed it as they too ate. Javier raised his glass to Kiram in a silent toast.

  The winter might have been blissful if only Kiram could have scrubbed Holy Father Habalan’s existence from his mind. But he saw the man every day, if not during class, then at the high table leading the Sacreday prayer. Just a glimpse of the holy father gripped Kiram’s stomach and sent his pulse racing like a rabbit’s. In the holy father’s presence Kiram became aware of how deep the winter shadows grew and how they writhed at the edges of the flickering lamplight like living things.

  For the first time since he was a young child he woke, terrified in the vast darkness of night, and his fear did not dissipate upon waking. It grew stronger. He lay shaking. Beside him, he felt Javier stir; his muscles shuddered, a gasp caught in his throat, and sudden wakeful tension flooded his body. He wrapped an arm around Kiram’s chest, pulling him closer. Kiram knew at once that some terrible dream had woken Javier as well.

  “It’s all right,” Kiram said. “It was just a dream.”

  “Yours or mine?”

  The question didn’t quite make sense, but Kiram answered anyway. “Both.”

  Javier said nothing. His grip on Kiram’s chest relaxed and his breathing slowed. Kiram thought he might have fallen asleep again. The darkness seemed to close in on Kiram in a terrible isolating mass. He could see nothing and yet he was afraid to close his eyes.

  “Why do dogs dance so poorly?” Javier asked quietly.

  “What?” Kiram wasn’t sure he’d understood what Javier had said. He rolled over, squinting through the dark to make out Javier’s expression, but was unable to see more than a silhouette against the pale bedding.

  “Because they have two left feet,” Javier replied in the same soft tone.

  “Two left…” Then Kiram realized that it was a joke. One of the silly kind that Nestor so loved.

  “Stupid, isn’t it?” Javier asked. He pulled Kiram closer to him. “Do you know any?”

  “No—well, there’s one Nestor told me but it’s not very good.”

  “Let’s hear it,” Javier replied. He laid his head on Kiram’s pillow. His skin felt warm.

  “All right.” Kiram thought for a moment, recollecting Nestor’s words. “One day this messy old bear comes upon a very tidy rabbit. He realizes that this is his chance to improve his own atrocious appearance. So the grubby old bear shyly asks the rabbit if it’s ever troubled by shit sticking to its fur. The rabbit replies that it certainly is not. Wonderful, the bear says and then he picks up the rabbit and uses it to wipe his ass clean.”

  A slight snort escaped Javier. “Ah, Grunito humor.”

  “I told you it wasn’t very good,” Kiram replied but he found himself amused as well. The absurdity of the joke eased his thoughts and broke the grip of fear that had held him.

  Javier told him another joke—this time an appalling pun that Nestor would have relished—and Kiram rolled his eyes.

  “That was just stupid,” Kiram said.

  “I know.” The warmth of Javier’s tone made Kiram think that he was grinning. “The stallion got colt-feet,” Javier repeated the punch line. “It makes me laugh every time, because it’s just so dumb.”

  Kiram sighed and relaxed against Javier. It was strange that he could feel so frightened and then so safe after just exchanging a few bad jokes. But there was a power in humor, especially ridiculous, simple humor. Kiram would never have believed it before this, but now he realized that he couldn’t think about puns or riddles and feel terrified at the same time. Their sheer absurdity undermined the darkness and shadows.

  This had to be something Javier had known for years, since he had been a child facing the shadow curse alone. Now he offered the knowledge to Kiram in the simplest manner and Kiram was thankful.

  Kiram touched Javier’s face and then kissed his lips. Javier kissed him back, sweetly and sleepily. Kiram closed his eyes.

  “How does a willow respond when a Bahiim flirts with her?” Kiram asked, remembering something Musni had told him once.

  “How?” Javier asked softly.

  “Leaves.”

  “Terrible,” Javier said but he laughed.<
br />
  “I know.” Kiram grinned and hugged Javier. His body felt so comfortable. Sleep came easily then.

  As the days passed Kiram grew accustomed to feeling dread and fighting it back. He worked on his engine, collected jokes from Nestor, and exulted in Javier’s intimacy. After every one of Holy Father Habalan’s history lessons Kiram strode into the orchard with his bow and hunted blue jays.

  He brought down so many of the birds that even Master Ignacio offered him a passing compliment for his skill as an archer. Genimo complained that they were going to be served nothing but stringy jays if Kiram wasn’t stopped.

  “At least it’s meat,” Morisio replied. “I don’t think I could have stomached many more of those cabbage stews they were sending out from the kitchen last week.”

  “I’m just wondering if Kiram couldn’t manage to bag something a little fatter.” Genimo chewed on a thin drumstick. “A snow partridge, perhaps. Or a goose.”

  “Why not ask for a peacock and a dozen plump lambs while you’re dreaming?” Javier replied.

  “Lamb. Don’t talk about lamb.” Elezar sighed heavily. “God, I think I’d give up a month of wine for a rack of lamb right now.” He scowled at the breaded jay and heap of turnips on his plate. “If they serve turnips again on the New Year I’m going to break into the kitchen and eat one of the cooks.”

  Javier raised a brow. “A stringy cook when you’ve got a tender underclassman? Really, Elezar, cannibalism is no excuse for low standards.”

  Even a table away Ollivar blanched and the Hellions laughed. The rest of the dinner conversation revolved around which underclassman would make the best meal. Kiram was quickly discounted, as both too skinny and too tricky. Nestor swore that he’d give them all indigestion. Elezar countered that he was more likely to give them all worms.

  Despite the morbidity of the topic, Kiram enjoyed the camaraderie. At such times his sense of being foreign disappeared and he melted into the boisterous energy of the Hellions.