Read Online Playing With Fire by Sean Michael - Free Book Online Page A

a good number of the staff washed the soot away—he insisted they had to or the smell would never go.
    He remained naked, Zujan not having ordered him dressed and none of the slaves willing to risk getting in trouble. It didn’t bother him though, not after the first few hours, and by the time the end of his sixth day came to pass, he was filthy and happy, working with the carpenters to rebuild.
    Humming a drinking song under his breath, he made his way toward the kitchen for his evening meal. The kitchen was bustling, the sounds of eating and talking and bubbling and soft sobs filling the air.
    Sobs?
    He turned to look at the cook, her red cheeks wet with tears, cloth wrung between her fingers. He went and put his arm around her. “What’s the matter, Mata?”
    “O-o-our Lord. H-he’s not e-e-eating.” She sniffled, tears falling fresh. “N-no food. No word from the tower. N-n-nothing!”
    Wintras had been surprised by how much Zujan’s people seemed to genuinely care for him, especially the ones who had been there a long time like Mata. It was not just the boys that made up the harem who seemed to love Zujan, to feel grateful to the man.
    “Oh.” He wasn’t sure what to say. His own ire at Zujan was easy to put aside when he hadn’t seen the man in a week and was no longer living in the dungeons or being raped by Zujan’s rougher people.
    “He’s a sorcerer, Mata, he won’t starve.” Gella, one of the head housekeepers, shook her head. “He’ll come down eventually, all pale and skeletal and fierce and then he’ll be back to scaring the lordlings.”
    “He’s skin and bones at his best!”
    “He’s powerful.”
    “He’s alone.”
    “You spoil him.”
    Wintras rolled his eyes. “Make me up a tray and show me where he is.” Anything to keep Mata and Gella from arguing. Or at least to keep him from having to listen to it.
    “He’s in the Tower.” Gella pointed as Mata turned to make up a plate of delicacies. The lone tower reached far beyond anything else in the castle, old gargoyles guarding the doors.
    “All by himself?” He was starting to get cold feet. Why was he putting himself into Zujan’s sights again?
    Mata handed him a tray, giving him a teary-eyed smile. “He hasn’t touched his food since the fire.”
    “I’m doing this for you,” he told her pointedly. “Patin? Can you show me the way to the tower?”
    “I can.” He got a grin, a nod. “Are you going to see our master?”
    “I am bringing this food to Zujan for Mata, yes.” He would not call that man Master. Even if Zujan wasn’t quite the monster he believed.
    The boy wrapped himself in a cloak and started walking, chattering happily as they moved through older and older parts of the castle, the tapestries here faded and ancient.
    Wintras looked around with interest. He’d never ventured into this part of the castle. It was interesting—he’d have to come back and check things out later. It got colder the deeper in they went, and when they reached the foot of the stairs, it was positively frigid. He shivered.
    “W-w-w-would you l-l-l-like my cl-cl-cloak?”
    “You’re going to get in trouble if you give it to me?”
    “N-no. G-g-gonna g-go back where it’s w-w-warm.” He got a grin, and then he was handed the cloak.
    He wrapped it around himself, thankful it still carried a bit of Patin’s warmth with it, and started up the stairs. He went up. And up. And up. And up.
    The higher he went, the colder it got until even with the cloak he was shivering. The stairs ended at a huge black door, the wood frosted, ice forming on the stone. He put his hand on it, hissing at the cold. He knocked. The sound echoed, the hinges on the door squealing like a boar as the door opened. The room was huge, bare, the windows massive and open, the wind howling through the shutters.
    “Whoa.” He pulled the cloak tighter and stepped in. “Zujan? You really in here?”
    Was the man insane? Or was this some trap to catch him in a