Howl's Moving Castle Fan Fiction ❯ The Kindred Cycle ❯ Chapter 4 ( Chapter 4 )

Nalir's back hit the front door as Markl's cousin's seized him.

Their pink frilly skirts positively filled the landing. To say that his color palette was somber was an understatement indeed. Comparatively he was downing in color; golden curls, blue eyes, periwinkle socks and rosy smiles. Milly and Tilly grabbed his arms as Lily, the littlest, found purchase on the front of his robes. Much to his dismay he found her hands were sticky. With what only the stars knew.

“We heard you were sick!” Tilly squealed as she squeezed his arm.

“Auntie Martha said you got buried in snow!” Milly frowned as she attempted unsuccessfully to smooth out the wrinkles on his shirt.

“You look fine to me!” Lilly yanked on the hem of his robe, trying to pull him down to her height.

“Don't worry; we'll make you feel better.”

“Let's brush your hair!”

“Or you could tell us a story!”

“We love your stories.”

“Oh, yes! Tell us a story!”

“I want to hear about the star twins!”

Abruptly the eldest two turned away from him, rounding on each other. Hands firmly planted on their hips as they scowled furiously, pouting as their platinum curls bounced. And Nalir didn't dare move a muscle beyond breathing for fear of getting pulled into the contest of wills.

“No, we've heard that one already!”

“But I like that one!”

“I want to hear a new story!”

“Why do you always have to get your way!?”

“Because I'm the eldest. That's why!”

“Stop fighting!” Lilly pushed her way between them, stamping her little feet, “You two are such ninnies!”

“We are not, ninnies!” Milly and Tilly shot back in perfect unison.

“Hey!? What's going on down here?!”

Akarshan appeared at the top of the stairs. He looked more and more like Howl with every day. Emeralds glittered at his ears, points of brightness beneath the messy tangle of his black hair. The young wizard had worn the talismans for almost three years now. Three years earlier than any other magi Nalir knew of besides Howl. Akarshan was a prodigy of magic. Like his mother, he'd never set foot in any class at the Academy, but the thirteen year old had mastered spells Nalir couldn't begin to imagine.

Shan's sapphire eyes went wide with shock as they fixed on him.

Silently Nalir pleaded for help.

He most definitely did not want his hair brushed or braided. Invariably that's what ended up happening when he was left at the mercy of Lady Lettie's children. For some reason they liked him. And he couldn't fathom why.

The girls pressed in around him as if squaring off for battle.

“Go away!” Lilly shrilled as she snared his knees.

“We found him first!” Milly almost pulled him over as her arms went around his neck. “He's ours!”

“Oh, yeah?” Shan frowned, hanging from the banister as he crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out at his cousins.

“Yeah!” Lilly answered back, stomping her feet and blowing a vibrant raspberry.

Shan's eyes flashed with magic as the floorboards beneath their feet heaved and rolled, snapping free to crack open like hungry mouths biting around their ankles. The girls screamed and squealed, seizing their skirts as they dropped him and went tearing up the stairs in a rush. Nalir could still hear their tearful wails in the distance.

“You okay?” Shan was still hanging over the banister, frowning at him dubiously.

“Yes.” Nalir smoothed his robes, “Thank you.”

“S'okay.” Instantly he perked up, his eyes lighting on fire with anticipation, “Hey, you'll never believe the size of the cake Auntie Lettie's bringing! You gonna stay for Theresa's birthday party?”

Nalir blanched. “P-party?”

“Yeah, I figured that's why Markl dragged you over here so early. So you can help set up.” Shan leaned over the railing, pointing a finger right into his face, “Wow! Nice shiner! Didja get into a duel or something?”

Nalir missed all of Akarshan's words save party. And his stomach went cold as he took a good look at his state. Sticky rumpled robes. Black eye. Unbathed and unshaven. He was in no position to be attending anything or anyone, least of all at party at the Wallmaker's castle.

“Akarshan!” Lady Sophie's voice thundered from the distance.

“Oh, crap!” The young wizard cringed, shrinking down onto the stairs, and peering over the lip of the landing, “The little brats snitched on me!”

“Akarshan!” The silver sorceress burst from a door at the foot of the stairs, dark eyes stern with displeasure. Although it was hard to find her wholly intimidating since she was absolutely covered in multi-colored confetti.

“What have I told you about using magic to scare your cousins!?”

“But, mom!” He drawled petulantly, pointing back down the stairs, “They were going to enslave Nalir! I had to fight them off somehow!”

The anger went out of her in an instant as she stood on her toes, looking over her son's head to where he stood still lurking on the landing. Shock set her features blank.

“H-hello, Lady Sophie.” He came up the stairs and dropped into the elegant bow that precluded his honest apology, “Do forgive me for intruding.”

She tackled him almost as hard as the triplets had; hugging him so hard he felt his ribs creak. Great good stars, she was strong!

“I'm so pleased to see you awake!” Sophie beamed as she finally drew back, still squeezing his hands, “Have you eaten? Can I get you anything? Tea? Breakfast? Honestly, the girls and I were about to stop to have lunch here as soon as Lettie gets back with the cake. Do you like black forest ham? No? I think I might have some turkey if you prefer it.”

Nalir gaped, shying from her attention. Lady Sophie was so very wholesome, thoroughly motherly and twice as unassuming. It was difficult to remain untouched by the joy she took in sharing whatever she had to offer. It was even more difficult to remember what she had done during the Wars.

“T-thank you. Ham is fine. Please don't trouble yourself on my account.”

“Nonsense!” She exclaimed cheerfully, pulling him to a seat at the table as the kettle flicked over the empty hearth to boil. “The least I can do is feed you after all you've done.”

“Can I have honey in my tea?” Shan climbed onto the bench beside him.

“No tea for you, young man,” Sophie eyes him icily, “Don't think I've forgotten about your mischief. Go apologize to your cousins.”

“Awww…” Shan wilted across the table cloth oh so dramatically, as if he'd been mortally wounded, “Do I have to?”

“March!” Sophie pointed at the archway, and the young wizard sulked all the way into the adjoining room.

“Honestly, that boy's as bad as his father,” She muttered under her breath, pouring steaming water from the kettle into a glazed earth ware tea pot. It was all too familiar to Nalir's eyes, and could only be described as sturdy.

“What a lovely tea pot, Lady Sophie.”

“Theresa makes them. She's quite a potter.” Again she beamed as she sat it in front of him, conjuring from the side board a matching cup and saucer with a crook of her finger. “Sugar and cream?”

“Yes, please.” But Nalir was still frowning at the mug, looking at it in a whole new light. “I had no idea she was an artist.”

“She has many talents. If only Martha'd let go enough to let her put them to good use. The girl's a woman now. I had two sons by the time I was nineteen.” The silver haired woman grimaced, biting her tongue as she sat across from him, “Will you listen to me gossip!”

“I didn't hear a thing, Lady Sophie,” he poured the first of the brew into her cup, “Allow me.”

“Why, thank you. I can only hope some of your good manners will rub off on my sons. Maybe even my husband if I'm lucky.” She winked at him, spooning sugar into her cup.

He waited a moment before circling back to what she'd let slip, posing his words as carefully as possible, “Is lady Martha worried then? About Theresa?”

“They both are. Markl's as bad as my sister.” A line formed between her pale brows, revealing the many others that gathered at the corners of her eyes and mouth, which slowly pulled into a frown by the trouble that showed heavily in her eyes. “I only hope that all this doesn't make them get carried away. They can't keep her locked away forever. She's too clever for that. And they'll only doom themselves to heartache if they try.”

All this… That was putting it mildly.

Nalir bent over his cup of tea, brooding.

“You look about the same as I feel.” Sophie's eyes were fixed on him consideringly, “Please tell me you didn't sneak out of the Healer's Ward.”

 

“I assure you I left with Lady Martha's approval,” Nalir's eyes went to the empty hearth as a surge of heat flowed into his cheeks. He cleared his throat awkwardly, “Where is Calcifer?”

“In the workshop with Howl.” She was still regarding him intently, making him thoroughly nervous, reminding him all too much of Martha. They were, of course, half sisters.

“Do you think he would object to an interruption? I must confess, it is the reason I came. I had no idea about the party; otherwise I would not have come unannounced.”

“Nonsense!” She said again, putting her hand on his, her smile more than genuine. “Our home is your home. Howl and I wouldn't have it any other way.”

The flush in his cheek intensified until it felt like he could have set the kettle on fire, “You honor me…”

Her smiled softened as her voice lowered, becoming just for him, as if what she shared was some kind of secret, “I do adore your good manners, Nalir, but at some point you're going to have to get used to being part of this family.”

She stood briskly, shaking out her apron as a knock sounded on the front door. With a wave of her hand it burst open, letting through a constant stream of uniformed attendants bearing an entire feast in pieces. Like magic, tables, chairs, chandeliers, stacks of red linens, and platters upon platters of delicious and mouthwatering dishes scrambled their way up the stairs and through the living room through the archway that seemed to grow or stretch depending on what needed to make its way through. And at the rear of the armada of food came the commandant herself.

Lettie flounced up the stairs wrapped in a white fur coat, a fresh dusting of snow on the grand sweep of her red velvet hat. She paused to watch as the rear guard hurry past, pointing and shouting orders like a Queen.

“Mind that the meat doesn't go cold! And keep those cherries iced! The cake is on its way so make room on the main table! And I want lots of holly! Lots and lots of holly.”

For some reason Nalir found himself on his feet standing at attention, as if awaiting orders. Lettie had that effect on

“Nalir, dear!” She came at him like her daughters, seizing his face to plant a wet kiss on his cheek, only then drawing back to frown at his eye, “Goodness! Wherever did you get that!?” Patting his cheek, she turned to Sophie, “Is he staying for the party? Do say yes.”

“Of course he's staying for the party.” She was gathering up their dishes, the secret smile still curling her lips, “Go on up to the workshop, Nalir. We'll come get you later.”

Wordlessly he retreated up the stairs, following the narrow corridor as it wound higher and higher. The hallway was never the same. Every time he'd visited his teacher here doors appeared and disappeared. Entire floors would come into being for a summer function only to cease to exist the next morning. But no matter how the innards of the castle changed, Nalir eventually found his way to the workshop. The triangular room perched atop the castle, glass windows offering a spectacular view of the Wastes. After the Daemon Wars the wandering castle became somewhat sedentary. Calcifer's presence was required more and more frequently at Tri-Council meetings. So like a wandering bit of dandelion fluff finally coming to rest, the great rattling bulk settled itself on the shores of Star Lake. Nalir could see the glimmers of the water through the tiny window atop the stairs as he paused to catch his breath at the only door the hallway offered.

He knocked, still gasping.

And knocked again when after a moment no one answered.

Someone scuffled with a series of bolts and latches behind the metal hatch. And finally Howl threw it open. Nalir threw himself backwards, anything to escape proximity to the black expression on the Wallmaker's face. Lady Sophie had guessed her husband's mood wrong. Wizard Howl was most definitely not in the mood for visitors.

“A-apologies Master Howl! I didn't mean to intrude!”

Unceremoniously, his second master yanked him inside by the front of his robes, storming wordlessly back to into an empty space cleared in the middle of the wedge shaped room. The settings of curling tubes and bubbling beakers were gone along with the sextants, globes, and cantilevers that held balanced bits of stone and crystal. All the chimes were silenced. And the books and charts usually strewn across the tables had been shelved and stowed.

All to make room for the charred piece of wood.

A shielded circle etched into the floor, circumscribing the blistered remains of half a blackened table. It tipped on one leg rickety. But trapped on its surface, clinging like dew on a spider's web, were the shards of Suliman's Glass. Nalir's heart nearly stopped as he looked at the broken pieces. And he only tore his gaze away as an eerie prickle danced across his skin.

Beyond the table, stretched out in a chair like an old man tired of standing, was Heen. The Late Sorceress Suliman's errand dog looked at him with a heavy gaze neither friendly nor hostile. Dog or daemon, daemon or dog, he had yet to decide. Whatever the creature was, he gave Nalir the creeps. Although his tail thumped a time or two as the fire daemon started up from the blackened trivet on the chair's arm.

“Hey, kid. Good to see you alive.”

Calcifer's comment did not improve the Wallmaker's mood. Smoothing the back of his hair almost obsessively as he began pacing furiously. Nalir didn't really mind. It was a nice change to being squeezed, squished, cried upon, or shaken. Finally Howl threw a hand at the ruined table, pointing at something on the side he couldn't see. Coming around, Nalir stared at the tiny box screwed into the surface below. Looking at made his insides match the icicles and frost covering the deck and railings beyond the windows.

“I was sitting right there.” Nalir whispered, “I didn't even notice it.”

“And why would you?!” Calcifer popped nastily, glowing a ruddy brown, “There's not a stitch of magic in it. Nothing that could've been detected by the anti-curse charms set in the room.”

“Is it still active?”

“Yes.” It was the first thing Howl had spoken aloud since he'd arrived. His master was staring at the bomb with open hatred, “And I can't retrieve the shards of Suliman's Glass for repair until it's been dismantled. Unfortunately, it could go off if I attempt to dismantle it. And I can't risk destroying it because it's our only lead in discovering who did this.”

Nalir's insides went colder still.

“Any ideas as of yet?”

“None!” Howl spat, back to pacing.

But Nalir's mind was coiling, slowly turning, and generating momentum.

“What if we mirror it onto another surface?”

“Huh?” Calcifer let loose a chittering pop.

“Take a picture of it with magic.” He came as close to the barrier boundary as he dared, peering at the tiny box, “All imprints, residues, and impressions should transfer to the ghost. You could pick that apart rather than compromise original. And you could make as many impressions as you like.”

Howl stilled, staring at him instead of the table. “Hadn't thought of that.”

Suliman's dog wheezed, thumping his tail against the dusty chair seat.

“Heen says he thinks that might actually work.” Calcifer sniffed, eyeing the old dog, “I gotta agree with you… He's pretty smart for a human.”

The Wallmaker laughed his foul mood breaking as he clapped the young wizard on the shoulder, “Good work, Nalir!”

“T-thank you, Master Howl…”

But Nalir was back to staring in dismay at the shattered pieces of crystal. It was a selfish thought wholly irrelevant to his current predicament, but without the orb there was no way he would ever be able to do the amount of work Barimus required of him. His magic had returned, as was evident by his use of the sorting charm. But he hadn't attempted mindspeak or scrying. Hadn't dared for fear of what he might find. Because if that was gone he had nothing left to offer his Masters.

“What is it?” Howl's hand had gone heavy on his shoulder.

“Do you think you'll be able to repair Suliman's Glass?”

Howl blinked and then smiled carelessly. “Of course. There's nothing broken that can't be fixed somehow.”

Nalir looked away, not so sure if he agreed with his teacher's idealism.

Suddenly Heen alerted, sitting bolt upright before scrambling off the chair to hide under the rug and cushions stacked in the corner.

“Uh-oh…” Calcifer crackled loudly, turning a sickly shade of teal. “The women are coming up the stairs. You're not going to get out of this meal.”

A knock sounded on the door to the workshop door.

“We know you're in there!” Sophie called from the other side, “And you know this door won't stop me.”

Howl sighed, “Apparently its lunch time.”

***

Patiently, as patiently as he could, Nalir held still as Tilly brushed his hair.

They'd cornered him in the party room after lunch. The Wallmakers had added on a huge new chamber off of the kitchen. And it was decorated to the rafters with winter trimmings. He especially liked the illusory icicles encrusting the chandeliers. But the cake was like nothing he'd ever seen. Four tiers of white delicately powdered frosting decorated in swirling patterns with tiny sugar crystals that glistened blue and iridescent colors like droplets of ice. The Hatter sisters had pulled out all the stops for Theresa's birthday party, as was evident by the sumptuous buffet and piles of gifts. Although Nalir's heart couldn't help but sink with dismay as he picked out the shiny new muck boots nestled among the pretty ribbons and papers. He heaved a sigh. But it was better than nothing.

Now it was up to the Herbalist to secure the guest of honor.

Unfortunately, that left him at the mercy of Markl's cousins.

It wasn't all bad.

Having his hair brushed actually felt kind of good.

Behind Tilly stood Milly, who had finished brushing her sister's hair and moved on to braiding her curls into French twists. He'd managed to dissuade Tilly from braiding or tying his hair up in ribbons. Lilly had parked herself in his lap, reading aloud from a book he'd given her last Solstice, turning the pages with her sticky fingers.

“Nally, what's this word?” Lilly patted his chest and then pointed.

“Hold still.” Tilly turned his head forward as his chin dipped.

Markl snickered.

And Nalir bristled.

Glaring from the corners of his eyes as his apprentice brother.

Markl was grinning liked an idiot from across the room where he held aloft loops of yarn that Mrs. Fairfax was slowly winding into a ball. The round little beekeeper was nothing but one big smile. Beside her sat Granny Witch who was humming tunelessly. Heen curled up in her lap, basking in front of the merrily crackling Calcifer. The watery-eyed old woman was putting the finishing touches on longest purple scarf Nalir'd ever seen. It was quite lovely in a chunky rustic kind of way. On another couch in front of the grand fireplace, Sophie sat beside Howl with a laundry basket between her feet. Her needle and thread lifted and dropped as she darned socks and mended shirts by hand. By hand! Not with magic. This absolutely baffled Nalir.

And the Great Wizard Howl?

War hero.

Wallmaker.

His illustrious teacher was snoring, his raven head pillowed on his wife's shoulder. One of his long arms dangled over the back of the couch and one foot propped up on the lip of the hearth. Shan was sprawled on the floor under his legs, reading an enormous book that looked far beyond his cousins. And the little wizard poked his father from time to time whenever his snoring grew too intense. Sophie's step mother, Honey and her second husband Mr. Hausa sat similarly on a settee beside the Wallmakers. The old man's bald pate nodded from time to time as his wife embroidered his handkerchiefs.

Quiet and content, they sat together.

A warm tickle worked its way through Nalir's chest as he looked from the corners of his eyes at the Wallmaker's family.

They were not at all the way the stories made them out to be.

They were real people.

He reveled in that secret knowledge.

Gladness spread through him.

Easing the pain and the worry snarled and knotted at his core.

Because this was the way families were supposed to be.

And he was glad that if only for an evening.

If only as a visitor.

He could be a part.

“Nally!” Lilly pulled on his shirt, eking another snigger from her cousin.

He flicked his eyes down to the page, careful not to move.

“Impetuous.”

She repeated it, and then looked back up at him, “Whatsit mean?”

“Let's ask cousin Markl.”

“Dunno, Nally.” His teeth flashed white, “Whatsit mean?”

The hot reply he held ready died on his lips as Lettie came tearing into the room, followed shortly by her husband Alex. The short spoken baker always seemed to be chasing after his wife.

“She's coming!” She hushed, waving her hands about as she nattered around the room, making sure everything was just right.

They were all on their feet as Martha came striding into the room holding a check list, looking for all the world like she was on business. Nalir scooped up Lilly as she pulled on his tunic, holding her aloft so she could see. And he caught a glimpse of the herbalists face. It was alight with glee.

Theresa came in her wake, looking somber and attentive.

Although she skidded to a halt as they called out in unison.

“SURPSIE!”

Fireworks exploded and confetti popped as magic cascaded across the ceiling, filling the room with music and sweet smells. Theresa's face broke into the most elated of smiles as multi-colored paper rained down on her from above.

Nalir's heart jumped at seeing her.

Squeezed inside his chest until the point of pain.

Although he fell still as Markl came over and put his arm around her shoulder, hugging her sideways, knocking her off kilter. With a wild laugh she threw her arms around his neck and he caught her around the waist. Picking her up. Spinning her in a circle only to set her down and kiss her on the mouth.

Jealousy ignited inside Nalir.

So strong it exceeded him for a moment.

And it took every shred of self control he possessed to snatch it back, shove it down, smother it behind a tight expression of polite enjoyment. Carefully he set Lily on her feet, stepping back from her, stepping back from all of them. Until he stood alone at the rear of the room.

An outsider.

As it should be.

Because very abruptly he realized he should not be here.

Ducking out the doorway to the rear of the room, he pushed out onto one of the roofed walkways that ran the exterior of the Castle. Cold bit through his robes as snow kicked up into his face, falling in swirls from the dark sky. But he welcomed the chill that chased him back through the glass door to the solarium beyond the kitchen archway.

Here he came up short.

Because Martha and Barimus were facing off on the landing.

The Herbalist stood on the top step, looming over her husband, trembling. And he stood a step or two below her, haggard with weariness that spread to his stooped shoulders.

“Where have you been!?” She hissed furiously. Nalir couldn't recall hearing her speak to Barimus with such unbridled anger, “You're late!”

“I… I'm sorry.”

“Sorry! Sorry!? You're missing our daughter's birthday!”

“I know, Martha!” He bit back shortly, “It couldn't be helped!

She sputtered until he threw up his hand, silencing whatever she intended to throw at him.

“Theodrick is dead.”

Nalir felt as if a hold had been punched in his chest. He caught the frame of the archway much the same way that Martha went perfectly still, gripping the banister until all the color drained from her hands. And Barimus continued as words failed his wife.

“Yewin was with him at the end. He did all he could.”

“H-how?” She breathed, bending her head until her shoulders began to shake. Barimus closed the distance between them, collecting her into his arms. And they stood together in the dark as laughter filtered back from the party. But Nalir focused all his attention to the stairs, straining to hear every word.

“A seizure. Yewin said his body just couldn't cope with the damage.”

“S-someone should tell his family.” Martha hushed tearfully.

“He was from Tyrn.” His teacher's voice was thick with emotion, “I plan on leaving as soon as I wish Theresa happy birthday.”

“It's not fair.” She sobbed quietly, still holding him, “It's just not fair.”

Martha was right.

So very right in so many ways.

And Nalir felt himself coming forward out of the dark corner even before he realized what he was doing. Compelled by the emptiness inside him. Desperate to fill it with some kind of purpose.

“I will go, Master Barimus.”

“Great bloody bricks!” The Royal Sorcerer flinched back as Martha started in his arms. They both stared, wide eyed and white, as if he was a ghost.

“I apologize for intruding, but I was just leaving and I couldn't help but overhear.” Slowly, gravely, he bowed to his master, “Let me take word to Guardsman Theodrick's family in your stead. I know it may not mean as much coming from your apprentice, but I do not think Theodrick would have wanted you to part with your family on this occasion for his sake.”

After a long moment Barimus led Martha off the stairs.

Making way for him to leave.

But his master caught his arm as he tried to hurry by.

“Dieoter…” And here he paused, his face crumbling into a mask of pain. And Nalir knew why. It wasn't the first time his Master had slipped in this manner.

“Peoter,” He began again slowly, “Will know what to do. He, Ryden, and Seran will accompany you as an honor guard. Do not argue with me.”

“The thought never crossed my mind, Master,” He bowed again, gently reclaiming his arm. Then he turned to the Herbalist, avoiding her eyes as he produced a waxed paper envelop from his pocket. “Lady Martha, will you give these to her for me?”

She took it, frowning, “What are they?”

“Sunflower seeds.”

He was down the stairs and back in the Royal Sorcerer's dark office before either one of them could say another word.

***

With a weary groan, Ryden plopped down into the nearest chair.

The Guards Hall was empty.

Not surprising considering it was nearing dawn.

Embers still burned in the pit fireplace at the center of the long. Peoter tossed a few logs on the remains of the pyre and poke the flames awake with a few shards of magic. Crouching in front of the licking tongues, he stared wordlessly as they grew longer and longer.

Even Seran looked bedraggled.

The trip to Theodrick's home hadn't taken long. But the time spent with his family seemed to stretch for ages. Ever detail of their suffering still etched on the inside of Ryden's skull. And he wasn't keen on shutting his eyes and having to relive it just yet. All of them were far from sleep. Even Nalir had followed them back to Red Hall instead of taking his leave in the Royal Sorcerer's Office. Like a shadow, he remained standing, pacing the length between Ryden's chair and the fire.

“I need a drink,” Seran grated as he slowly eased himself into the chair across from Ryden's, propping his heavy boots on the table top.

“Whatcha have in mind?” Ryden peeked at the mention of booze.

“I have a bottle of 20 year Tyrnese Scotch.” Peoter spoke up from beside the hearth, “It was Dieter's.”

After they all shared a quiet moment, their captain disappeared only to return with the bottle and four short glasses. Each he filled before pulling up two chairs, sitting in one and practically aiming the other at Nalir.

They'd been surprised when Nalir came back in Barimus' stead. The skinny Mardan proved his weight in gold that evening. Never had Ryden seen someone share and carry a family's grief with such genuine solemnity and quiet strength. But then again he had a lot of practice, which was probably why he always dressed like he was going to a funeral. They'd been more than glad to have him.

And during the trip something shifted between them.

The same something that was present at the table with them even now.

They'd left Kingsbury as soldiers.

But on the return their uniforms and titles didn't seem to matter anymore.

Kindred spirits, so the old wives tale went.

“I don't drink.” Nalir admitted as he finally sat with them.

“No time like the present to start.” Peoter flashed him a weak grin as he held his cup aloft. He had to clear his throat to get the words out straight, “To our fallen brothers and sisters.”

Ryden knocked back his cup in one gulp, feeling the all too pleasant burn work its way down to the pit of his stomach. He'd sleep eventually. Although he was planning on not remembering anything by the time his head hit the hay.

Nalir surfaced from his glass coughing and sputtering, and Seran thumped him on the back with a gloved hand, a thin smile lighting up his flinty eyes.

“Atta-boy. That'll put hair on your chest.”

“By the Wall…” The magi choked, “That stuff's liquid fire!”

“Another!” Peoter grimaced as he slammed down his glass and refilled, holding it up and looking at them expectantly. They followed suit.

“To our brothers and sisters still with us!” Seran grated, and they clinked their glasses, throwing back only to set up another round.

“Whoo!” Nalir breathed, finally loosening up a little as he sat back, running a hand over his face, “I'm beginnin' to see why people like this stuff!”

Peoter grinned one of his now all too rare grins, “Tell me that again in the morning, little brother, when you wake up and see the other side of the coin.”

“'Kay,” he chortled, pouring for them with his graceful girly hands, nudging Ryden beneath the table with his foot, “Your turn.”

“That's easy,” he held his cup aloft, “To women! May I find one sooner in my bed than the bottom of this drink finds me in my bed!”

Seran and Peoter guffawed as they threw back their cups. And Ryden knocked back his, feeling the first curls of giddiness fogging his head. Although he was not nearly so gone that he missed the detachment suddenly withholding Nalir.

“What's this?!” Ryden prodded as he refilled their cups, “Has little Nally gone and got his heart broken?”

“What would you know of love, you letch!” Nalir kicked him hard under the table, going all red in the face.

“Hey! No spilling my drink!” But Ryden reached over and clapped him on the shoulder, “Sorry, broth'r-o-mine! No salt on the wound, eh?”

“S'fine!” He slurred back imperiously, holding his glass up for his toast. Although he sobered a moment before he spoke, “To family. As it is between us here. As it is between us all. May no poli'lical boundary, title, nor meanness of spirit tear tha' from any of us.”

“Here, here!” Seran and Peoter pounded their fists on the table top, once again throwing back their glasses.

Again.

And again.

And again. Until the bottle was empty. And poor Nalir was gripping the edge of the table as if his life depended on it.

“Cun som'un stop the table…” He murmured worriedly, “Aye wanna git off now.”

“Tables no' spinnin', little brother.” Peoter smirked, leaning heavily on his elbows, his green eyes glowing with mirth, “You are.”

“Aye think we've done in Seran.”

Ryden lifted his heavy head to regard the stone man. He was sprawled in his chair. Snoring loudly. As though there was a rock quarry in his gut slowly churning out gravel.

“Shou'd we put `im to bed?” Nalir frowned at the big man as if sizing up how best to move him.

“Look a' you, mother hen!” Ryden sniggered.

“Yor no' gonna leave `im there!?” Nalir was so incensed he nearly fell out of his chair.

“Oh, we've left Seran in worse places.” Peoter tipped back his empty cup, frowning at its empty state. “Who's up fer another bottle?”

“Aye!” Ryden crowed.

“Nay…” Nalir sank his head into his hand.

“Nay and hay are fer horses, Nally-dear.” Ryden thumped him on the back as Peoter stood and teetered off in search of more drink. “Yor ah man now! Yeh gotta drink like one!”

“'Kay…” The red faced Mardan reluctantly surfaced from his hands to blink rapidly at the ceiling.

“Nice to have a bit of fun, eh?” Ryden hooked his arm around his little friend's shoulders, leaning heavily lest he fall over, “Yeh need the come drinkin' wid us more of'en. Git that rod out yer arse and git you loosened up a bit.”

“Hope my mom's not watchin'…” Nalir smoothed his shirt and hair, although it didn't help in a bit, “She'd be pissed!”

“She spyin' now?” Ryden hunkered down, casting sly glances at the corners of the empty hall.

“Hope she is!” The little fellow lurched to his feet, weaving as he shook at fist at the ceiling, “'M drunk, mother! Whatcha think of tha'!?”

“Hah! That's the spirit, Nally-boy! You show her whose boss!”

“Yeah!” He sat down quickly, missing his seat, sprawling out on his back.

Ryden stared down at him for a stupid moment, then squinted down the hall where the Captain of the Red Guard had disappeared.

“Hey, Nally… I don't think Peoter's comin' back…”

“Nah…” He wheezed from the floor.

“Oh, well… There's always tomorrow night. Although we might have teh save ourselves fer the wake. Tyranese love their wakes.”

“Hey, Ryden?” Nalir pulled on his pant leg.

“Yeah?”

“I can't get up.”

“S'okay… Neither can I.”

Ryden looked up just as Theresa appeared beside the table.

“Hey!” He crowed, jostling at his friend with his foot, “Look, Nally! It's the birthday girl! Sit an' have a drink wid us, `Resa!”

“No… No more drinking…” Nalir moaned weakly from the floor.

She was crossing her arms, “I think you've had enough to drink.”

“Aye'm still `wake. Aye dun wanna be `wake!” He began hotly, his mood shifting abruptly, “`Cause then I'm gonna dream `bout Theodrick's little sister... Stars above, she looked like mine… Dun wanna dream about anythin' `re anyone' least o' all her!” He pointed an accusing finger in her face as an angry catch in his throat set his eye's burning, “So don' look a' me like Martha! Don' you tell me nothing!”

She paled, taking a step back, startled by his words.

“Hey… Hey! Don' point a' her!” Nalir was slapping his leg.

“M'no' pointin' a' nobody.” He pitched to his feet, almost falling over, driven by the welling sadness that was making his chest constrict, “M' gonna go find Pe'or an' carry on gittin' drunk!”

“No. You need to go to bed.” Theresa pulled him to a stop.

“We dancin' now, `Resa?” He giggled, grabbed her hands, yanking her round in a circle, “Wheee! A waltz fer teh birthday girl!”

“Let go, Ryden!” She stumbled as he stepped on her feet. “You're hurting me!”

“Get your hands off her!” Nalir tore him free of the red-head.

Ryden snarled something unintelligible, spinning on his heel to take a swing at his friend. But his fist sailed right over his head. And something cracked him in the side of the head so hard he saw stars. He landed hard on his ass, getting a good jolt of sober as he stared up at Nalir. The little Magi was seething with fury, fists clenched and looking for all the world like he wanted to beat him silly. But Theresa had him around the waist, hauling him back.

“Knock it off, Nalir! It's just Ryden! It's okay!”

“It is not!” He declared imperiously, obviously inebriated, “I will not stand to watch anyone hurt you let alone treat you like some… some common bar trollop!”

Abruptly Nalir's speech on chivalry cut short as he went absolutely green, slapping a hand over his mouth as his stomach let out a curdling groan. Turning aside, he rushed to the cinder bucket beside the fireplace. Unceremoniously, the poor guy puked his guts out. Theresa stumbled to his side, holding back his hair.

“I'm sorry!” Ryden looked between them helplessly, covering his throbbing cheek, “I'm sorry!”

Theresa flashed him a weak smile, “Its okay, I know you didn't mean anything by it. He understand too. He's just being over-protective.”

“Can I help?” He struggled to stand and floundered as the ground tipped.

“No. I've got him.” And she did, collecting Nalir up off the floor, slinging his arm over her shoulders, “Just go to bed, Ryden.”

“Okay…”

Still bewildered, he watched Theresa maneuver the sickly Mardan through the rows of chairs and out into the wee hours. After a second try of standing, Ryden shook Seran's boot until the Stone Man snorted awake.

“Eh?” He grumbled, blinking down at him blearily, “What's wrong with your face, lad?”

“Just pick me up, okay? We need to go find wherever Peoter passed out before the rest of the Guard wakes up to their Captain arse-up in a broom closet.”

***

Nalir burst into his room, stumbling free of her support as he went careening through the suite into the adjoining bath. Very unhappy sounds filtered their way out of the doorway.

And she couldn't help feeling sorry for him.

All the way back from Red Hall all he could mutter was, “I'm sorry… I don't drink…” over and over again. Tyranese scotch was some pretty hard stuff to start with. She'd been in bed all day after doing in a crock of hard cider with Markl one summer solstice. And she gave him a little space, remember how awful it was having Martha and Mrs. Fairfax crammed into the water closet with her.

Although she paused a moment.

Realizing she'd never been in Nalir's room before.

It… It was clean!

Not only that, it didn't smell like a gym locker!

And it looked like anything but an apprentice's room.

The furniture was elegantly arranged, dark wood carved into spindly curves, upholstered in purple velvets and rich cushions of burgundy that picked out the ruddy hues in the Mardan weavings on the walls. Books, of which there were many, were shelved neatly on the stacks that lined the walls. Shelved. Not stacked haphazardly or pushed in willy-nilly. The titles were mostly in Mardan, although there were many languages she did not recognize. It was strange to see shelves actually used for book, not stuffed to the gills with random bits of paper, dirty laundry, and moldy dishes.

There was an entirely separate nook for magical work. The components neatly bottled in racks, cubbies, and pigeon holds as opposed to spilling in piles onto the floor. And it was well away from the writing desk, so none of the parchment quills or ink were scorched or blistered from fire marks.

Furthermore he had plants.

They weren't dead either!

Ferns! Whoever heard of a man who could keep ferns! And she couldn't help but smile at the lacy little hands of green uncurling from prettily glazed pots. She recognized some of the colors from the potter's wing of the Palace.

But what really threw her for a loop was the harp propped in the corner.

It kind of made sense, Nalir did have such slender hands. She had no idea he was a musician. The golden instrument gleamed in the grey light of the early dawn, thin and birdish on its tiny clawed feet. It took every ounce of self control not to pluck one of its strings.

Passing his bedroom, she peeked inside, being more than nosy. And she stopped dead in her tracks. The bed was actually made! And the floor visible! Inside was just as clean and neat as the common spaces. She didn't even bother making her bed! More warm colors here, all of which would have suited his complexion. But he always wore black, black, black! As was evident in the open wardrobe at the foot of his bed. Craning her neck to see inside, not a stitch of color showed.

Then her eyes picked out a small double portrait on the side table.

It took her a second to recognize Merra even though her name was cast into the silver frame. She was smiling. Actually smiling. Young and fresh, her eyes lovingly turned towards the other half of the portrait. But the other side was covered by a black cloth. It was more than rude, but curiosity got the better of her. Lifting the cover, she peered through the dim light at the man who could only be Nalir's father. And her insides stilled. Stars above he was handsome. And Nalir looked just like him; perhaps a little thinner, younger, and not nearly so happy.

Caedir. His father's name was Caedir.

The man in the portrait was looking at Merra the same way she caught Barimus looking at Martha, or Howl looking at Sophie. But it wasn't the same as the way Markl sometimes looked at her sometimes. She couldn't articulate the difference. But she felt its presence keenly.

Suddenly she felt very sorry for Merra.

Understood the bitterness that robbed her face of any happiness.

Here was proof that she'd once been happy.

Only she'd had that happiness taken away.

Anyone would be cold and hateful after that.

Theresa shied from the idea of loosing someone she loved so dearly. Someone who actually loved her back. She'd lost both her parents when she was too young to remember them. So she'd been robbed twice over: lost both them and any memory of them that might have let her grieve for them.

Theresa winced as Nalir heaved and gagged in the distance.

Poor thing couldn't have anything left to throw up.

Still, he was coughing and choking.

Turning away from the portraits, she went to the bathroom threshold and knocked. Poking her head inside, she found Nalir curled up on his side on the bare tile, shivering slightly. His red hair spilled out over the floor, gleaming like blood in the switch light overhead. The bulb hummed softly. And she eyed it dubiously. Electricity gave her the creeps.

Turning on the faucet, she half filled a glass and snatched a towel off the rack, dampening it before kneeling at his side. He started, looking up at her as if surprised.

“Drink this,” She helped him sit up enough to put the glass to his lips.

“I'm drunk…” He confessed solemnly.

And her lips twitched before he choked on the water, swallowing weakly, gargling and spitting into the bowl before dropping his forehead against the white tiles. He looked wretchedly ill. The black eye she'd given him was coming along nicely. Yellows and greens starting to show beneath the raspberry purples.

“Yes you are.” Theresa mopped at his forehead and neck with the towel. “Drinking with the Reds is a very stupid idea.”

“So I'm learning,” His lack of bravado was a change for once. And he closed his eyes as she swept the cloth over the back of his neck, “That feels really good.”

“It's supposed to.”

His eyes cracked open again, peering at her from the corners of his eyes. And her heart squeezed. He looked so utterly pathetic. So completely grateful. Oh, she was really going to let Peoter have it for this one!

“What are you doing up so late?” He croaked, licking his cracked lips. And his fine brows drew up with worry.

“Early.” She corrected, “It's nearly dawn.”

She danced around his question, not wanting to admit she'd noticed him disappear from the party. Didn't want to tell him she'd listened in on Barimus and Martha after they'd gone home. Didn't want to say aloud that she couldn't sleep knowing where he'd gone. Didn't want him to know she'd stayed up all night waiting for him to get back only to fall asleep in Barimus' office closet.

“Really? I didn't realize we were gone so long.”

He closed his eyes, lips drawing into a thin line as sorrow seeped through his features, soaking him through, aging him before her eyes.

“Come here.” She tugged at his sleeves until he rolled over, putting his face in her lap. And she wrapped her arms around him as bits of hot wet soaked through her trousers.

“It's not fair!” He choked hoarsely, trembling violently, breaking her heart with the power of his misery, “He deserved to live! He held on through all that pain. He was so strong... So very strong… He shouldn't have died! None of them should have!”

“Nalir… Nalir it's not your fault.”

“Yes it is!” He bit back morosely, hands closing into fists.

“Look at me! No, you will look at me!” She struggled to turn his face towards hers, smoothing back his tangled red hair, bending her head to find and hold his eyes with her own, “This is not your fault.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

The bottom of her world dropped out as he stared up at her.

Because it was like looking at the face in the painting.

All the same depth of feeling showed in his green eyes.

Only he was looking at her.

Nalir sat up as his eyes went hungry. His lovely hands went right into her hair. Thin lips finding hers. Soft and warm. But ever so powerful. Gods, the intensity of it melted her into him. And she seized a hold of his shirt. Because she was falling. Her head was spinning giddily as her insides went red hot with wanting. She didn't mind in the slightest that he tasted slightly sour and reeked of scotch. But just as suddenly he tore away. And she uttered a disconsolate sound, reaching after him as he clambered to his feet, hugging himself as he hunched, unsteadily pacing the opposite side of the room.

Theresa climbed to her feet, but still he refused to look at her.

“T-tell me to go away!” He insisted desperately, “Tell me to leave!”

She stared at him helplessly, “B-but this is your room.”

“Then tell me you love Markl!” He demanded, clasping the sides of his head, “Tell me it happened just because we thought we were going to die! Tell me it was a fluke! Tell me I'm an arrogant jack-ass whom you cannot stand!”

Theresa stared at him as slowly more and more things were beginning to make sense. “I… I can't.”

Going absolutely pale, he looked at her finally. And she watched, overjoyed and then baffled as the hope that glimmered in his eyes shattered on the shadow of something that stole across his face. Bumping into the doorway, Nalir turned and fled into his bedroom. Resolutely she followed, closing the door behind her, waiting patiently as he stormed around, tripping on the carpet, careening into the wardrobe. The poor thing was still quite drunk.

“If you only knew…” He choked, close to tears again, “Then you wouldn't be standing there…”

Finally, Theresa couldn't stand it any longer. She stood right in his path, grabbing him, shaking him.

“Tell me, Nalir! Whatever it is, tell me before it kills you!”

Terror and anguish twisting his face into a mask of pain, turning him to a stranger, “You'll hate me! You should hate me.”

“No I won't! Bloody bricks, just tell me!”

Theresa went absolutely still as the words bleed from Nalir as though every one was painful, as though he'd stabbed himself and the truth came flowing from his wound.

“The airship crash was no accident. Someone planted bombs without magical components so they wouldn't be detected. Then they destroyed the secondary fail safes.”

“S-sabotage?” Fury boiled in her chest, “Why didn't they tell me!?”

“They didn't tell me either. I figured it out myself.” Nalir suddenly went white as the tiles back in the water closet. “At… At first I thought perhaps it had been my mother's doing.”

“W-what!?” Theresa had to sit down after that one, sinking onto the foot of his bed. She stared at him blankly as he continued, explaining in detail.

“I wasn't supposed to be on that airship. Markl was. There was a bomb right at the head of the table where we were sitting. Where he would have been sitting. And if the bomb had gone off it would have killed you both instantly.”

“But…” Theresa was still struggling, “But why would Merra…”

“She didn't! At first I though she might have…” He tapered off, too horrified to continue, leaving that thought behind, “She knows something about all this. But she not capable of killing so many innocent people. She can't even kill spiders. She loathes spiders! But still she makes me catch them with a glass and carry them out into the garden.”

“W-who?” She demanded, “Who then?”

“Yewin.”

“No.” She refused mulishly, “Not possible! He's a big teddy bear! He gives candy to the apprentices! He's one of the best surgeons we have!”

“I've seen more of him than I care for since he came here from Marda.” Nalir's eyes went bitter and distant, “None of you know the Yewin I know.”

“I still don't understand why!?” Her head just couldn't fathom what he was proposing. It just didn't have room for such horrors, “People are starving to death! W-why would he kill all those people and… and destroy all that food and medicine!?”

“Collateral damage.” The frankness in his curt rebuttal chilled Theresa's heart, “He objective was killing Markl. You were bait to secure his presence.”

“But… But he's a Healer!” She shrilled, “We… We take an oath, Nalir! An oath to preserve every life within our power to keep! Kindred, countryman, and Magi alike!”

Nalir folded his hands behind his back, offering more of his frigid logic. “He was the one that was being troublesome about the aid shipment, was he not?”

“Y-yes.”

“And so the rest of the committee was pressed into offering terms in order to secure his vote.” He continued stoically, “Just what were those terms?”

“T-that I accompany the shipment.” She forced the words out, because slow realization was creeping over her.

“And what did Martha request as a result?”

“That Markl accompany me with the shipment.”

She dashed her hands at the tears she suddenly discovered on her cheeks. Because the whole world had suddenly skewed. Becoming darker than the scorched place in the beyond. That evil was contained, held back by the Wall. But it was with them still even after all this time. It had never left the place where it first began: in the hearts of men.

“Who would ever doubt Yewin?” Nalir's icy sarcasm burned her already bruised sensitivities, yanking her back to the present she so desperately wanted to escape. “How could such a gifted healer possibly murder so many in cold blood? I am surprised by how man people have forgotten that Erin Danna was a Green. But we all remember what she was capable of.”

“But why!?” She almost shrieked, “You still haven't told me why!”

He cringed as though he expected to be struck, “Because of me.”

She had no words for that and simply waited. Waited for him to explain, waited desperately to trying and understand.

“Remember what I told you in the herb closet? Barimus doesn't want me as his apprentice. He wants Markl to be the next Royal Sorcerer. But if Markl dies then he'll have no other choice then but to pick me. That was his aim. That was his goal.” Nalir's emptied of anything but quiet rage. “Who was the one that pushed me as the most likely heir? Who was it that made a deal with King Ferdinand without Barimus' consent to force me into that position? Yewin.”

“Monstrous!” Theresa breathed in consternation.

“At first I thought my mother hated Ingary. I even thought that I hated Ingary. But we don't. Neither of us does. But, Yewin? Yewin despises Ingary.” Nalir's eyes going across the room to the portraits beside his bed. And she had a feeling he wasn't looking at his mother. “You may think that after twelve years the Ingarian War would be forgotten. But it hasn't been forgotten. Not in Marda. Not in Yewin. You will be surprised by man and magi's inability to part with their hatred and their stupid love of war.”

“Have you told Barimus or Howl!?”

He looked away diffidently. “No…”

Then she did hit him. Standing up she slapped him right across the face, grabbing him by the front of his tunic so she could shake him silly, “Why!? Why haven't you told them?!”

Anger flared on his face as a red mark spread across his cheek, but he let her shake him until her knees buckled. She knocked into him, sobbing quietly. Although as he tried to gather her against him, she fought him off, sinking to her knees on the rug. He followed, crouching in front of her.

“Listen to me, Theresa! There's nothing I would like more than to go to my masters and tell them everything. But there's more to this.” His soft voice urgently persistent, pulling her attention back to his wan features, “Yewin knows something that could doom Master Barimus!”

Instantly he had her attention. And as he licked his chapped lips the rubies at his ears glimmered softly, his eyes going luminous in the early light. He was casting magic.

She felt a fey prickle dance up her arms.

Strange.

She'd never once felt magic before.

“I'm strengthening the scry-wards. Just in case. The only reason I'm telling you any of this is because I've spent almost every shred of my spare magic scry-warding this room.” His brilliant eyes returned to her, holding them as hers had his earlier, “Years ago I overhead something that should not have been heard. In a fit of stupidity I told my mother and undoubtedly she told Yewin. They have horded that secret preciously, a bargaining chip to be played in their advantage should anything like this ever require that it be played. If I tell you do you swear to keep it secret?”

“I… I think I already know.”

He came up short, blinking rapidly, “W-what?”

“I was in the room when Markl found out. Only Barimus, Howl, Markl and I know.” She dropped her gaze, picking at a red triangle in the pile of the rug, “We know that Barimus lied to King Ferdinand. Lied and told him he'd already made Markl his apprentice before the agreement with Merra was struck.”

If it possible, Nalir thinned with worry, going practically transparent with the weight of it, “To lie to your King is High Treason. Do you know what the penalty for that is?”

Theresa went perfectly still. Because she did.

“King Ferdinand would never sentence Barimus to death! He loves Barimus! He trusts him implicitly! He'd forgive and pardon him instantly!”

“Yes… King Ferdinand would. But then Master Barimus would have to stand before the Tri-Council. I can tell you for a fact that Yewin's influence is strong among the Magi. They have no hope of touching the Kindred. But their strength can easily extend to persuade County folk.”

Theresa stared at him.

Frozen.

Absolutely frozen with terror.

Because Barimus' life was at stake in the tangled madness that stretched before her like an endless thicket of brambles. Tears stung her eyes again, but she blinked them back, trying to still her insides to a calm, trying to think. But that was proving harder than she imagined. Looking up from the rug, she found Nalir's eyes equally fraught. She'd never realized how much he loved his Master. But there it was, written all over his face.

“What are we going to do?”

He looked away, hardening with concentration as he sat back on his heels and wobbled slightly, putting a hand out to still himself. Goodness. If this was him inebriated, honestly, she'd never really considered just how smart Nalir actually was.

“We have the upper hand at the moment. We know many things that Yewin does not. And if we act carefully we can avoid giving Yewin the chance to call Master Barimus out at trial. Howl will no doubt pick apart the unexploded bomb and only the Stars know just what he'll find.” Nalir caught up her hands, staring into her face with grim intensity, “You must keep this secret, Theresa. You cannot tell anyone. Only when we figure out what to do next can we even consider who to tell.”

Theresa couldn't miss the fact that he kept saying we. It stoked a fire in her chest. Because unlike everyone else, he had enough faith and trust in her to tell her the truth. And she held onto his hands.

“How… How'd you figure all this out!?”

“I… I don't know… It just pops into my head.” His chin dropped, tangled hair invading his face. Hiding him as his hands trembled slightly, tightening on hers, “D-do you hate me? Now that you know?”

How to even begin dissuading him of that idea was beyond her.

Theresa had her fill of words for one sitting

So she yanked him to her, bruising her mouth against his.

And she couldn't help but grin as he went absolutely stock still. She could feel his eyelashes fluttering against her cheek in surprise. Although she kept her lips working, rewarded as his hands ran round her waist, knotting in the small of her back, pulling her towards him. Bending her like a bow. Until she became the perfect curve to fit against his chest. Then they toppled back onto the carpet, the weight of his body crushing her deliciously as she tucked up her knees, feeling the fit of him between her thighs. She scratched at his back, kissing him fiercely, until he broke free, his long beautiful hair pooling to either side of her face.

“May I at least brush my teeth? This cannot be pleasant for you.” He frowned so very seriously it was difficult not to snort. He acted as though it were the most important act in the world,

“Shut up and kiss me!”

Grabbing his face, she pulled him back against her, kissing him again until she saw stars. He nuzzled her ear with his nose, running his mouth along the soft curve of skin beneath her jaw. His breath hot and fast against her bare skin. Nalir's hands wandered down her hips, sliding behind to squeeze and pull her up against him. Such a giddy spiral of desire went through her at the pressing heat between them, shuddering deep in the core of her body. And a hiss of sheer pleasure sucked through her teeth as he hooked one of her legs over his back. She could feel the hard length of him beneath all those robes. Already her hands were scrambling to find the hooks at the front of his shirt.

“I… I'm still not quite sober…” He hummed in her ear, “Is this alright?”

“Yeah,” She murmured back, running her hands up into his hair as he bit the lobe, “Oh! This is more than alright.”

Again she groaned, reaching for him as he rolled off. Although it turned to a squeal of surprise as he scooped her up and carried her to the bed, playfully tossing her onto the mattress.

“Oof!” She breathed, lifting up onto her elbows only to sinking back onto the coverlet with a giggle as he yanked her by the feet back towards him.

Propping a boot on the edge of the bed, Nalir rested her ankle on his bent knee, undoing the laces on her shoe, carefully pulling it free along with the stocking. It was such a common act, but somehow he made it incredibly intimate. Caressing her foot. Kissing the inside of her calf as he laid her leg back on the covers. Looking at her smolderingly as his green eyes parted the lengths of his long red hair. Leaving her breathing heavily as he reached for her other foot. She arched up off the blanket as he ran the tip of his finger down its exposed sole.

It didn't tickle. It just felt really, really good.

Instantly she was wet.

And just because he took off her shoes.

Theresa struggled to pull her apron over her head as he kicked off his boots. The bed tipped as he climbed up next to her, sitting back on his heels, watching with an ever widening smile as she became hopelessly entangled in the green smock. She saw the flash of mischief pass through his eyes. And the smile turned to a grin as he tickled his finger beneath the hook of her shoulder.

“No tickling!” She squealed, realizing that was a very bad answer.

With a wholly un-Nalir whoop, he pounced on her, ticking anything and everything he could get his hands on. She shrieked, laughing and crying, struggling and shushing as he laughed with unfettered glee. Nalir's face came alive as she'd never seen it before. His ever so important scowl vanished, leaving his jade eyes light with merriment that went straight to his generous mouth, revealing his perfect white teeth. And he tucked his hair behind his ears as he ceased his torments, grinning down at her wide as a cat as they both gasped for breath. Theresa sat up, pulling off her tangled apron before gently touching his black eye.

“Does it hurt?” She frowned.

“No.” He winced, although his smile never quite went away.

“Liar.” She leaned in and kissed the darkest part, a blotch of purple on his cheek bone, “Although you do look good in purple.”

“Hmm…” He chuckled, “I'll have to remember that.”

He leaned into her touch as she smoothed the hair back from his face. Although she quickly dropped her hands to the ties at his neck, undoing the cords and hooks, pushing his robe and shirt off his shoulders. Letting her hands linger against the smooth muscles of his shoulders. His skin was flawless. So very white he positively glowed in the gray morning.

“You're so pale!”

“Hazards of the trade.” He smirked. “Wizard's don't get much sun.”

Although his eyes went half lidded as she stroked her fingers up and down the hard planes of his stomach. Nalir hummed again as if singing tunelessly, his head drowsing to the side, all that lovely hair cascading over his shoulder. Until she took his hands and put them on her shoulders, closing her eyes to focus on the delicious slowness of his touch as he popped each button on her blouse, parting the gauzy fabric until the air kissed her skin. But the whisper of his hair against her bare chest made her jolt upright as he bent his head, running his mouth over the taut peak of her right breast.

“Oh!” She gasped, as his tongue swirled. Suckling and then nipping before moving on to the other side. And she clasped his shoulders, almost falling backwards. “Oh, Gods!”

“I have another birthday present for you,” He murmured huskily against the hollow of her chest, “Do you trust me?”

“Yeah,” She breathed as he slowly tipped her back against the pillows. And she stared up at the curtains draped over the four posts not seeing them as he kissed his way down her stomach until her insides were throbbing with wanting him. Although his hands paused on the waist band to her trousers.

“May I?” His words brushed just below her navel.

And he waited until she consented to unhook the catches.

His careful hands slipped inside, running beneath her smalls, tracing against her bare skin as he eased her pants down her legs and past her ankles. And she shuddered as the soft sensations, until she was naked on his bed. Looking up at him, somewhat unsure, as he drew his hands back up her calves to rest on her knees.

“It's okay.” He reassured her, “This is going to feel very, very good.”

And her insides tightened with anticipation, because she had an inkling of what was about to happen. A lot of girl talk went on in the Green Wing. They even held classes for newly engaged girls and a few curious wives. It was a little strange to have to help teach about something she'd never experience. But all that was about to change.

“Better than last time?” Propped on an elbow she quirked an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” His eyes sparkled as he bent his head, tucking his hair behind his ear as he kissed one shin. Then the other. “I hope so.”

She lay back, taking a long shuddering breath as his hands slid between her knees, parting them. And she felt the mattress move as he settled between her legs, kissing the silky smooth skin at the inside of her thighs. She shivered as his hot breath washed over the core of her body, tensing involuntarily. Because she'd been quite sore after the last time they'd been together.

“Relax…” He soothed in a mellow voice, caressing the backs of her legs before gently urging them wider, “Squeeze any tighter and I'll pop.”

“S-sorry.” And she sucked in a breath as the warmth of his mouth bent down to meet her. “O-oh!”

It was all she could manage. Instantly she was arching back against the pillows. Because his tongue was circling again. Slowly. So slowly she felt her fingers and toes curling against the bed spread. There was nothing to compare to this. The surges of delicious pleasure he teased from her. They were completely new. Unexpected. Emptiness seemed to open deep inside her belly, but it filled with a coiling tighter that built with each gentle stroke. Until she was humming with it, trembling beneath his hands as they ran over her stomach and hips. Up to her breasts. All the while he never stopped. Until she teetered, panting and moaning as the tide inside tipped over the edge.

Hitting her like a wall of unfathomable stars.

“Nalir!” She screamed as it broke over her as it had before.

Better though. Because there was no pain this time. Only pleasure.

She cried out in dismay as he sat back, stripping off his pants even though she was pulling on him insistently. Then he was back between her knees, gloriously naked as his chest slid against hers, the warmth of his stomach pressed flat over hers. He bent his head into her shoulder, pressing onward with his hips, parting a way between them. And she gasped as he was inside her, stirring up a giddy aftershock trembled its way through her body.

“Was that good?” He whispered against her neck, moving his hips against hers as he wedged his arms behind her back, holding her as he rocked. Slowly.

Slowly!

Oh, it was maddening!

“Yes!” She moaned clutching at his back, pulling him tighter as if that helped somehow.

“Shall we try for another?” His voice deepened with hunger. He was grinning now. She could feel his lips curling against her collar bone. But she didn't care so long as he didn't stop. “Yes…” He nipped her ear again, making her jolt against him, “Another and another and another.”

She couldn't imagine another.

But her body seemed to feel otherwise as he increased the rhythm of his thrusts, shifting his weight to the side as his hand ran between them, finding what his mouth had discovered earlier. Theresa screamed again, but he swallowed the sound with his mouth, piercing her lips with that tongue of his. Until she could feel the waves gathering once more, breaking away as the sensations threw her back, spreading her thin beneath him.

“Look at me, Theresa.” He pleaded, “Look at me!”

She opened her eyes, staring up at him. There was the look again. Burning in him like magic, like the barely restrained need she could feel in his trembling frame. Until he went perfectly still over her. Eyes wide with wonder. And all for her. Only for her. She longed to catch it. Hold it with her somehow. Because everything disappeared except for him when he looked at her like that.

Everything was right.

Everything was good.

How could anything be wrong in the world if something like this existed?

But it passed before she could catch it in anything but memory. And Nalir dropped his head onto her shoulder, gasping for air, shuddering as his arms tightened around her.

“I love you…” He breathed just above her heart, “I love you.”