into a half-empty cup of wine, the only sustenance Eldering had been al owed al day. When he turned back, the
youth was seated on the bed, pressed against the wal , knees drawn up. His shirt had slipped off one shoulder, but he didn’t notice.
His eyes were fixed on the goblet.
“Wil you drink it or must I force it down your throat?”
“W-what is it?”
“It wil ease what comes next,” replied Michael.
The youth only shook his head and tried to press further into the wal . Michael reached for him.
He should have known. He should have remembered the incident in the Great Hal and been ready, but instead, Stefn’s heel
caught Michael squarely on the chin. The force of the blow was just as surprising, turning everything crimson, scattering Michael’s
thoughts like dust. He felt his knees go to water.
Some spark of self-preservation brought the spel to his bloody lips, the words barely intel igible. His head cleared and the
pain disappeared, but Eldering was already off the bed and stumbling for the door.
“ ARKAST! ” Michael barely choked out the Word.
Eldering froze.
Gasping for breath, Michael lay on the bed, too dizzy to move. The wine was now a red stain on the sheet, its scent strong in
his nostrils. His temper in rags, he shoved himself off and, in two long strides, reached Eldering. Taking hold of the boy’s shirt,
Michael ripped it off, letting it tangle around the other man’s bound wrists.
And swore.
Scars! So many of them! An intricate lattice of pain covered every inch of Eldering’s slim back. Some were so deep, Michael
wondered what could have left them. His rage vanished in the cold shock of it.
His spel faded, but Stefn didn’t move. The young earl stood, rigid and shaking under Michael’s hands.
“What the hel happened to you?” Michael had seen scars like these only on h’nara, those poor wretches who’d escaped the
Church’s slave camps.
“Just do what you wil . Get it over with.” Eldering’s voice was low and thick. Michael heard the tears in it. His appetite for this,
never strong to begin with, turned sour in his bel y.
“I have more of the herb,” he said. “It’s harmless. Take it.”
“No.” Softer stil .
Michael’s hands curled into fists. He could walk away now. He could untie the boy, go downstairs and do his best to convince
Severyn they must find another way to deal with the magi. Then, he would have to confront his grandfather.
And tell him what? That you’re throwing away the h’nara’s one chance for survival out of pity? Fool!
Al the fight had gone out of Eldering. He didn’t resist when Michael took him back to the bed and made him lie on his bel y
across it. His hands clenched when Michael seized his left boot. He turned his face into the sheets, but otherwise made no sound.
The boot was heavy, much too heavy for ordinary footwear. After Michael pul ed it off, he saw why: it was lined with steel from
heel to toe! Incredulous, he hefted the thing, feeling its weight, then let it fal . It made a loud thump when it hit the floorboards.
Reluctantly, his gaze dragged to Stefn’s stockinged foot.
And saw… nothing. It wasn’t until he’d pul ed off the stocking that he saw the cramped, misshapen toes and the long ridge of
angry scar running from his little toe to his heel. Eldering had a sixth toe. This was the Mark? This smal infirmity?
Stefn had become utterly stil again, seeming barely to breathe. Michael closed his eyes briefly. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I must
do this.”
There was no answer. Nor was there a sound when Michael took the rest of the earl’s clothing, leaving him naked. The col ar
fit around Stefn’s neck as if it had been made for only him, the soft snick of the lock sounding eerily loud in the room. Against his
pale skin, the jewels flashed rainbow fire.
In the marshes, where mixed blood and lovers of the same sex were matters of little significance, a handsome boy found no
shortage of
youth was seated on the bed, pressed against the wal , knees drawn up. His shirt had slipped off one shoulder, but he didn’t notice.
His eyes were fixed on the goblet.
“Wil you drink it or must I force it down your throat?”
“W-what is it?”
“It wil ease what comes next,” replied Michael.
The youth only shook his head and tried to press further into the wal . Michael reached for him.
He should have known. He should have remembered the incident in the Great Hal and been ready, but instead, Stefn’s heel
caught Michael squarely on the chin. The force of the blow was just as surprising, turning everything crimson, scattering Michael’s
thoughts like dust. He felt his knees go to water.
Some spark of self-preservation brought the spel to his bloody lips, the words barely intel igible. His head cleared and the
pain disappeared, but Eldering was already off the bed and stumbling for the door.
“ ARKAST! ” Michael barely choked out the Word.
Eldering froze.
Gasping for breath, Michael lay on the bed, too dizzy to move. The wine was now a red stain on the sheet, its scent strong in
his nostrils. His temper in rags, he shoved himself off and, in two long strides, reached Eldering. Taking hold of the boy’s shirt,
Michael ripped it off, letting it tangle around the other man’s bound wrists.
And swore.
Scars! So many of them! An intricate lattice of pain covered every inch of Eldering’s slim back. Some were so deep, Michael
wondered what could have left them. His rage vanished in the cold shock of it.
His spel faded, but Stefn didn’t move. The young earl stood, rigid and shaking under Michael’s hands.
“What the hel happened to you?” Michael had seen scars like these only on h’nara, those poor wretches who’d escaped the
Church’s slave camps.
“Just do what you wil . Get it over with.” Eldering’s voice was low and thick. Michael heard the tears in it. His appetite for this,
never strong to begin with, turned sour in his bel y.
“I have more of the herb,” he said. “It’s harmless. Take it.”
“No.” Softer stil .
Michael’s hands curled into fists. He could walk away now. He could untie the boy, go downstairs and do his best to convince
Severyn they must find another way to deal with the magi. Then, he would have to confront his grandfather.
And tell him what? That you’re throwing away the h’nara’s one chance for survival out of pity? Fool!
Al the fight had gone out of Eldering. He didn’t resist when Michael took him back to the bed and made him lie on his bel y
across it. His hands clenched when Michael seized his left boot. He turned his face into the sheets, but otherwise made no sound.
The boot was heavy, much too heavy for ordinary footwear. After Michael pul ed it off, he saw why: it was lined with steel from
heel to toe! Incredulous, he hefted the thing, feeling its weight, then let it fal . It made a loud thump when it hit the floorboards.
Reluctantly, his gaze dragged to Stefn’s stockinged foot.
And saw… nothing. It wasn’t until he’d pul ed off the stocking that he saw the cramped, misshapen toes and the long ridge of
angry scar running from his little toe to his heel. Eldering had a sixth toe. This was the Mark? This smal infirmity?
Stefn had become utterly stil again, seeming barely to breathe. Michael closed his eyes briefly. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I must
do this.”
There was no answer. Nor was there a sound when Michael took the rest of the earl’s clothing, leaving him naked. The col ar
fit around Stefn’s neck as if it had been made for only him, the soft snick of the lock sounding eerily loud in the room. Against his
pale skin, the jewels flashed rainbow fire.
In the marshes, where mixed blood and lovers of the same sex were matters of little significance, a handsome boy found no
shortage of
Similar Books
