Shadows and Light (20 page)

“Does it have to be silver needles?” Rafael asked halfheartedly.

“At first, yes. Steel needles won’t do enough damage, my body will simply push them out. The silver will take the magic away, and make it impossible for me to remove them. Later, there will be other things you can do for me to take my mind off of my difficulties.”

“Like what?”

Xian paused, then smiled. “That’s a topic for another day. When we have time for a demonstration.”

Just the thought of Xian’s hands on him, twisting him and bending him and forcing him into obedience, was enough to make his cock twitch. “You do that on purpose,” he said accusingly.

“What’s the use of having such a beautifully responsive lover if you never get to see him respond?” Xian replied. He leaned in and pressed a brief kiss to Rafael’s lips, hard yet tender in a way that just made Rafael ache more. Then he pulled back and picked up his saddlebag. “Get your horse ready to go.”

“That fucking animal will never be ready to go,” Rafael groused, still reeling a little from the kiss.

“He must get his laziness from his owner. Move quickly, pet, we have miles to go before we make the next village.” He turned a perfectly blank face on his lover. “Unless you’d prefer to sleep outside again.”

“I think the beast gets his sense of humor from you,” Rafael said, giving in and grabbing up the padded saddle. He plopped it firmly on the animal’s back, ignoring the horse’s indignant shimmy.

“You two might get along better if you gave him a name.”

“No, if I name him, then I’m taking responsibility for him,” Rafael replied. “If I do that then I have to keep him, and I have no intention of keeping this bad-tempered pile of bones and hair around any longer than absolutely necessary.”

Xian didn’t reply, and the silence stretched out between them with a strange discomfort. Finally Rafael turned to look at Xian, only to see him mounting up.

“Better hurry,” was all he said. Frowning but not knowing why, Rafael complied.

They did make it to a village before morning arrived, and Rafael paid a surprised, sleepy innkeeper for a tiny room for the two of them. They sunproofed the window, made quick work of the cold, cloudy bathwater left in the tub at the end of the hall, then slept for a while. Rafael woke up around midday and made his way downstairs for some food. It was simple fare, thick dark bread and rabbit stew, but it was hot and filling. He ate and listened to the innkeeper and some of his friends go on about local news until one of them turned to him abruptly and said, “You’re traveling in from the west, eh, lad? Heard anything about Clare? Is it true, about the city sinking into the sea?”

“Clare’s on an island in a lake, not the sea,” another man said derisively.

“Either way, I hear the whole bloody place is underwater right now,” the first man retorted.

“Oh, and where do you get your news, eh? Your widow woman’s son? Jai’s tongue is as twisted as his hair, you can’t trust a word out of his lying mouth.”

“He just got back from the coast, and he says he seen it. Gone, the whole of it. Hardly a spit of rock left to show for the entire island.” He turned back to Rafael. “You seen it, lad? Ever been to Clare?”

“Once,” Rafael said curtly. “But it was still standing when I left.” That was technically true, mostly.

“Ever seen a High One?” the man pressed. “Jai tells me that they’ve left the ruins in droves, all of ‘em that could. Took over Byerton and Carlisle.” He named two of the towns on the shore opposite Clare. “Course, the people who live there haven’t taken very kindly to that. Jai said they were tearing down the houses that the High Ones were shelterin’ in and burning them up in the sun. Then at night it was a massacre, but the other way ‘round, with the soul suckers murderin’ them in droves.”

“Soul suckers.” The skeptic of the group snorted. “High Ones aren’t soul suckers. They’re just wizards, is all.”

“And how’d they get to be wizards?” the first man demanded. “Magic don’t come free. Gotta pay for it somehow, and there’s probably a lot of magic in a man’s soul.”

“Yeah? Why don’t you show us how to do some magic with your soul then, old man?”

“How much for lunch?” Rafael broke in, interested despite himself but not wanting to hear any more.

“Two coppers, lad, I’ll add it to your bill. Anything for your friend?”

“No, he’s feeling a bit unwell.”

“Should stay another full day, then, not go gallivantin’ off in the middle of the night.”

“We’re not going much farther,” Rafael lied glibly. “Do you sell grain cakes?”

“For your horses? Aye. Four coppers apiece, but they’re big’ns and they’ll last you weeks if need be.”

“I’d like six, to take with us this evening.”

“I’ll add it to your bill, lad. Rabbits paid for your room, so it’s not too much. Tastes good in the stew, eh?”

“Very good.” Rafael swung off the stool and left the room, leaving his empty bowl and trencher on the bar counter. He walked upstairs and got to the entrance to their room, then paused for a moment, staring out the window at the end of the hall and absorbing the pale afternoon light as it filtered in through the old, cracked glass, then he opened the door and slipped inside quickly.

He stood silent in the darkness inside their room, letting his eyes adjust, feeling his breathing settle. It disturbed him more than he wanted to admit, thinking about the city being completely gone. That was far worse than either of them had suspected. If Feysal and Mina hadn’t make it clear… But they probably had, of course they had, and they were headed to Tarsam, a big city farther down the coast, so he didn’t have to worry about them being caught up in a battle between dying High Ones and desperate humans in some little town on the lakeshore. Still… There was so much that could have gone wrong.

“Something wrong, pet?”

Rafael shook his head mutely, knowing Xian would see the movement. He didn’t want to discuss it right now, not Clare or Feysal or the fact that the news was finally catching up to them. If one person could bring news of the city’s destruction, then another person might as easily be following them, tracking them, finding them and making all that pain and destruction and darkness be for nothing if they were found. The thought of Myrtea sent a frisson of desperate fear down Rafael’s spine, and he suddenly launched himself onto the bed and into Xian’s embrace.

“Take me,” Rafael said, his voice low and guttural. He needed to be owned right now, to be entirely removed from his sense of self, and Xian intuitively seemed to know it, his grip around Rafael’s waist tightening.

In an instant he was off Xian’s lap and face down on the sagging mattress. The old wool scratched at his nose, but Rafael didn’t have time to consider how he would put up with it because an instant later his arms were yanked up over his head and in another perfect moment he felt the cool, slick slide of the handcuffs settling around his wrists. They bound him to the admittedly rickety headboard, but an experimental tug told Rafael that rickety or not he didn’t have the leverage from his stomach to break free. Under Xian’s hands he wasn’t likely to get that leverage either. It was a comforting thought.

Cool hands tugged his boots off, then his socks and trousers. His shirt was merely pushed up until it bunched around his shoulders, then the whole front half of his body was scraping against the rough wool, and across the back half of his body Xian’s nails scratched deep furrows into his skin.

Rafael couldn’t expect Xian to strike him in any way in an inn—the noise of impact might bring interference, even if Rafael didn’t cry out. This was good too, though good in a different sort of way, less a bright, cathartic pain and more of a slow burning that would last and last, reminding him who he belonged to even when Xian’s hands were removed. Xian’s nails dug lines from the curves of his shoulder blades all the way down his back, lightened maddeningly as they stroked over the smooth skin of his buttocks, then dug in so hard and fast against his thighs and over the backs of his knees that Rafael bit his lip until he tasted blood. He gasped into the pillow, inhaling the scents of ancient dust and straw. Xian lifted his hands away and left the bed, and Rafael whined faintly in the back of his throat, protesting Xian’s leaving as loudly as he dared. A moment later the mattress dipped as Xian returned, one hand running calmingly along Rafael’s side, the other…

The cold, hard surface of a knife made a wavy pattern down Rafael’s spine, outlining each individual vertebra with the barest hint of a scratch. It wasn’t cutting with the edge, just pressing, just enough to let Rafael know how very sharp it was, and when it glided over the raised lines gouged by nails. The threat of it was almost soothing.

Questing fingertips traced every single line on his back, followed closely by the flat of the blade. It only cut him three times, small, straight nicks put in places where the nails hadn’t dug deep enough, but every little slice was delicious agony to Rafael. His arms strained fruitlessly against the cuffs, but with every touch his mind and spirit settled further and further into bliss. Eventually he stopped moving completely, and that was when Xian put the knife away.

Xian touched each cut with his tongue, lapping at them with slow savor until the skin sealed, urged on by the magic that still flowed powerfully through his body. Once the wounds were whole he moved down, running his tongue along heated gouges and the hard knobs of spine and rib until there was no more bone to be had, only flesh. When he coaxed Rafael to his knees and licked a line down his crease, finally stopping to delve into his hole, Rafael whined again, this time with the tension that came from mounting pleasure.

Xian rimmed him for a long time, still slowly, still savoring. Rafael’s back and legs stung and his wrists ached from pulling, but the pressure in his groin was more distracting than either of those now. Finally, finally Xian pulled away, just long enough to move in tight against Rafael. Then he pressed inside Rafael’s slick hole, finally filling his lover’s body the way he filled his mind and his soul, and all Rafael could do was lean back into Xian and give himself up completely.

The fuck was hard, and slow, and seemed to last forever. Rafael barely even noticed the spike of his own orgasm in the sea of pleasure he already felt, but he captured every nuance of Xian’s, felt the satisfaction of completion and the pride of possession. The possession went two ways, and Rafael felt incredibly smug. This was his, all his. This moment was his, this person was his, and he had more proof of that than any lover since the beginning of time had ever been given by their beloved. He didn’t need the words, he felt them in every inch of his back. Still, he felt moved to say it. “I love you.”

“That’s good, pet,” Xian murmured, leaning over him and kissing both his shoulders before gently unfastening the cuffs. “That’s perfect.”

Chapter Sixteen

They left early that evening, Xian slipping out to get the horses ready and to avoid questions about his appearance. People were always curious, to be sure, but out here they were far more accepting of others’ secrets than back in the city, and the pair of them capitalized on that goodwill by keeping Xian’s reality hidden from their hosts. The last thing they needed was the stigma, or in some cases the drama, of being a High One stalking them from village to village.

Snow began to fall a few days later. It started off flaky and light but it just kept falling and the temperature never rose high enough to melt it. The few days they had to spend outside were terribly hard because it was freezing cold, yet they couldn’t risk lighting a fire beneath the blankets. Traveling at night became even more perilous than it had been before, but Xian wouldn’t let them slacken the pace. His faults and fumbles were more obvious now, and they both knew that the race to get to Xian’s secretive destination was becoming much more urgent.

Xian stopped pretending to sleep. Some part of his body was always moving, always twitching. When he realized it kept Rafael up, he tried making them sleep apart instead of wrapped together, but after half a day of freezing on his side of the dark, icy cave that was their den for the moment, Rafael insisted that he’d rather lie wrapped in Xian’s arms no matter how they twitched than try to keep himself warm by shivering. Xian had chuckled tiredly and given in.

That was another thing. Xian actually looked tired now. Rafael couldn’t see it in the moonlight, but when illuminated by the warm glow of a torch or a fire the skin beneath Xian’s shining eyes was dark and grainy, and his cheekbones were becoming more pronounced. Rafael wondered how long they’d have before Xian had to relearn how to eat actual food. He fervently hoped they made it to their destination before that necessity reared its ugly head. And speaking of that…

“You’ve got to tell me where we’re going,” he said adamantly one morning almost a month after they fled Clare. “We’re running behind schedule, and I won’t be able to help us if you keep me blind and something happens.”

“I should have told you when we first set out,” Xian acknowledged quietly. “I’ve been in the habit of keeping this secret for so long that doing so is second nature to me. I didn’t even think about ramifications of that silence until recently.

“I told you that a pair of High Ones managed to survive the withdrawal once before.” He waited for Rafael’s nod. “One of that pair is my sister, Nailah. She and I ascended at the same time. The other half of the pair was her husband. He hadn’t been a High One for nearly as long as we had, and he still had family in these mountains, family that was keeping a home for him. When the two of them decided to leave Clare, they came here, to his family, and I came with them. They’d already begun the process of withdrawal before they left the city. I helped them through the worst of it but I wasn’t ready to stay myself, and so when it became imperative that I return to Clare, I left them. They both survived the process in the end, and Nailah is still alive the last I knew.”

“What about her husband?” Rafael asked softly.

“He died five years after they got here. His heart gave out.” Xian’s lips thinned as he grimaced. “All of that pain and sacrifice and they had but five years more together, in the end. Anyhow, after Heran died, Nailah chose to stay. She works as a healer, is well known for it, actually. It’s her farmhouse that we’re heading to. She lives in a valley between the two highest peaks in the middle of the mountain range. It’s difficult to reach in the snow but not impossible. I’ve done it before, and there should be some trail broken to mark the way. Nailah prefers to live alone but her neighbors keep her well stocked.”