Cethe (39 page)

“Gloves,” suggested Stefn.

Marin slammed the door, leaving them in darkness. Almost at once, the carriage lurched forward, pitching him onto his seat.

“I can think of a good way to warm up.” In the cab’s gloom, Michael’s voice was deep and teasing.

“Do al h’nara have such beast-like natures, or is it a special quality of the naragi?” But Stefn’s heart sped up and he was glad

of the dark.

“I don’t know. Very little knowledge has survived, even among us. The naragi were said to have many secret rituals and spel s,

but al that’s survived is legend and the handful of high spel s my grandfather gave me.”

“Liar.”

“Do you think I would have gone through the Bonding if I’d known beforehand what would happen?” Witchlight appeared, the

smal glowing orb dancing indignantly above Michael’s shoulder. “It was hardly a pleasure for me, either!”

They glared at each other. Then Michael sighed, col apsing back above the seat. The witchlight winked out, but morning light

filtered in, lightening the gloom. The h’nar turned his head, looking out the window. Stefn wanted to show equal indifference, but he

could not help being acutely aware of the other man. He final y stole another glance, but Michael didn’t look around. Instead, he

seemed to have dropped off into a doze, head fal en to one side. Wrapped in a padded, dark blue quilt, he breathed deeply and

evenly. Abandoning al pretense, Stefn studied him.

What if it was true? What if Michael had meant what he said about their being friends? He seemed to enjoy Stefn’s company,

but would it be true if they had not been thrown together in such a way? Michael Arranz enjoyed the affection and loyalty of men

whose birth and character Stefn had learned to admire. Even the Crown Prince of Tanyrin held Michael in esteem! Who was Stefn,

compared to them? The younger son of barbaric hedge-lord and a sin-catcher, that’s who!

Stefn remembered the look on Prince Severyn’s face the morning he and Michael had ridden out of Shia. He squirmed at the

memory. That had been jealousy! More than friendship had looked out of the prince’s handsome face, maybe even more than the

love of a brother.

Michael stirred, murmuring something. Stefn looked away, not wanting to be caught staring, but Michael was quickly stil

again. His eyelashes were long and darker than one would expect from one with such pale coloring. They fluttered now and then as,

beneath the lids, his eyes chased dreams. Occasional y, his lips moved, but no sound reached Stefn.

It’s possible to love such a man.

The fur slipped from Michael’s shoulder. Stefn got up and tucked it back, only to have Michael wake and, with frightening

speed, seize his wrist in a painful grip.

“Y-your blanket,” stammered Stefn. “I was just… ”

The coachman chose that moment to drive over an especial y large rut and Stefn lost his balance, tumbling into Michael’s

arms. They closed around him tightly. “Careful,” Michael whispered against his cheek. “This vehicle isn’t particularly wel -sprung.”

“So I see.” Stefn tried feebly to extricate himself, but Michael’s embrace only tightened. His lips brushed along the line of

Stefn’s jaw. “Be stil ,” he breathed.

It was too late to resist. Stefn knew it with a sudden, overwhelming rush of heat. Even as he tried to form the words of protest,

he arched his neck, offering more of it to Michael’s caress. Of its own accord, it seemed, his body shifted until he was astride

Michael on the seat. Al thoughts of resistance vanished. The coach jolted again, pushing them closer together.

Michael groaned, pul ing Stefn hard against him. “Do you real y expect me to push you away?” he whispered, mouth against

Stefn’s ear.

Stefn was beyond speech. He met Michael’s kisses eagerly, shifting about until he felt Michael’s strong, warm hand pressed

against his erection. Then nothing else mattered. There were only the two of them, oblivious to the world, mouths seeking each

other’s in a frantic coupling, their hands moving in swift, fevered rhythm.

Afterwards, when Stefn could think again, he tried to summon indignation. “I told you not to do that.”

Michael’s response was a low chuckle. He finished buttoning up his overcoat, which has been opened during their fumbling

romp. In the dim light of the coach, his hair seemed to glow like moonlight. Reaching over, he took hold of Stefn’s lapels and pul ed

him over. Without a by-your-leave, he kissed Stefn’s swol en lips, gently, taking his time. When he released Stefn at last, the earl

was dizzy.

“Bastard,” whispered Stefn, tingling from his lips to his toes. He looked flushed and excited, wanton and needy.

So Michael kissed him again.

Michael and Stefn reached Shia ahead of another demon wind.

“Winter,” Stefn announced with unholy satisfaction as they ran from the carriage into the keep. “I hope you know what you’re

in for. The early storm we had last month was just a taste. These winds wil come more frequently now.”

Michael returned a sour look, peeling off his outer garments and handing them over to a maid. He was chil ed to the bone.

Since leaving Fornsby, the temperature had plunged, turning wet roads icy, the strong northern winds slowing their progress. Even

the abundance of blankets and furs in their carriage hadn’t done much to keep him warm.

Blowing on his numb hands, he went straight for the parlor where, as he’d suspected, a good fire was laid and Auron was

stretched out on the sofa, napping.

“Hard at work, I see,” Michael said, dropping a nearby cushion onto his friend’s face. Auron sat up straight, sputtering. He

blinked at Michael, then at Stefn.

“Nng,” he replied. “It’s about time you got back! I’ve been about out of my mind with boredom.”

Michael caught sight of the decanter beside the couch. “You and Father Barley, I see. Wel , holiday is over.”

“You found some plans?” Auron’s drowsy look vanished.

“We have,” Stefn declared triumphantly.

“And possibly a press,” added Michael.

It was decided they would waste no time in hunting down the press parts. After a quick supper, the three young men scattered

to their respective rooms where, at Stefn’s advice, they put on their oldest clothes and donned thick gloves.

Holding lamps with flames turned high, the three gentlemen faced a narrow, creaking staircase descending into darkness. A

strong draft surged up from the depths, icy cold and smel ing of damp and old stone.

“I’l direct the search from here,” Auron announced, eyeing the pit with consternation. “Mold makes me sneeze.”

“Baby,” sneered Michael, starting down the steps. “It’s a damned cel ar.”

Stefn, grinning, fol owed him down. At the bottom, corridors ran off in al directions, low-ceilinged and narrow. An assortment of

rubbish lay about. It was so cold, Michael could see his breath.

Auron was final y persuaded to join them, looking around the dreary place with a pained expression. “Dear God,” he muttered,

then sneezed elaborately. “Is it safe down here?”

“There are rats,” acknowledged Stefn, eyes twinkling. “Very large ones.”

Auron gave him a sharp look. “How large?”

Michael, having already moved toward one of the corridors, stopped suddenly. “Loth save us!” he exclaimed, voice

reverberating with horrified disgust. Auron responded with an undignified yelp and was up the stairs again in a flash.

Michael hooted derisively. He winked at Stefn and, moving his lamp about, asked, “Where did you see these pieces?”

With Auron cal ing down curses, Stefn led Michael through a dank corridor to one of many stout wooden doors. Opening it

revealed a storeroom ful of rotted wooden crates, some split open, their contents strewn on the already debris-covered floor.

It had the look of a garbage-heap, with every manner of unwanted thing carelessly thrown here and forgotten. Heaps of old

clothing lay about. There were moldy, leather-covered trunks, dressmakers’ dummies and broken toys.

“I think it was here,” he said. His grin was gone and he seemed pale, although it might have been an effect of the lamplight.

“But, it was a long time ago and I don’t remember that clearly.”

“Why ever would you come down here?” Michael asked, appal ed. They would be lucky if rats were the worst of what skulked

about.

Stefn opened his mouth, but hesitated. “Just fooling around,” he said final y. “It was over there.”

Locked up, were you?
Michael had the sudden urge to put his arm over Stefn’s tense shoulders. Instead, he approached a

pile of rusting metal.

Auron final y arrived, stolen library book in one hand, lantern in the other. He appeared physical y unable to cross the

threshold, but stood in the doorway while Michael and Stefn poked at the rubbish with their boots, trying to make out individual

pieces in the jumble.

“There!” Stefn bent and picked up several smal objects scattered at his feet. They proved to be type setting pieces. He gave

them to Michael and returned to the pile. This time, he came up with the press handle, a long, curved piece covered by cracked

ceramic. They picked their way careful y back to Auron and consulted the book. Michael’s spirits rose.

“There’s a press here, al right!”

Auron’s eyes lit up.

“Or part of one.” Michael was excited. He, Auron and Stefn returned to the pile and, within the space of an hour, emerged from

the cel ar, filthy but victorious, and lugging several great burlap sacks ful of clanking metal parts. The press-stand remained in the

cel ar, too large and heavy for any single one of them to haul upstairs.

“We’l need to buy ink,” Stefn said later when they were gathered in the laundry, washing off their treasures.

“And lots of paper,” added Auron.

“But not al in one place. We have to be clever about this.” Critical y, Michael examined the type-piece he was cleaning, a large

letter ‘A’. In a low voice, he added, “Once the Church realizes they’re dealing with an unregistered press, they’l start hunting for

other clues.”

As it turned out, several parts were missing, wooden pieces that had probably rotted away long ago. Thankful y, they were

few in number and their shapes could be easily reproduced by unsuspecting local woodworkers.

Within two weeks, they had a functioning press. Late one night, after the servants were abed, the three of them dragged the

heavy press frame to the north wing and set it up in an empty chamber not far from the library. There, on a table before the smal

fireplace, they attempted to set the type, with hilarious results. However, thanks to the instructions in their book and their own

imaginations, they quickly got the hang of it and were soon printing pages of adequate neatness and uniformity.

“Now I know what I’l do should the Chal orys ever go bankrupt,” announced Auron one evening. “I’l start a printing business

and print light reading for gentlemen. The sort of thing one can peruse late at night, should one be unfortunate enough to be alone

in his bed.”

Stefn choked, oversetting his type-case and sending the pieces everywhere.

Michael admitted to himself he should go back to his own room. As much as he had come to enjoy Stefn’s company, and

warmth, in bed, he owed his long-suffering cethe the chance for some privacy.

Stefn greeted his announcement with unexpected ambivalence. “Real y? You’re moving back? Are you sure?”

Michael’s heart lifted slightly. “Are you asking me to stay?”

That was a bit too direct. Stefn looked away. “Do whatever you want,” he replied. “You wil anyway.”

Michael took his things and retreated to his room. It was perfectly al right, he told himself, looking around at the fine

furnishings, the heavy velvet draperies and not one, but two stoves, each occupying one end of the large chamber. Neither was lit,

but he didn’t bother cal ing a servant. Lighting the one nearest his bed, he crawled beneath his covers and fel asleep within sight of

its comforting red glow.

A nightmare woke him in the middle of the night, sweating and terrified. He was out of bed and tying on his dressing gown

before he realized what he was doing. Heart pounding, mouth dry, he struggled to remember the dream, but the details slipped

away. It had been about Stefn; that much he remembered. After a moment of internal argument, he lit a lamp and went downstairs.

Knocking softly at Stefn’s door, he waited, but there was no sound from within. Careful y, he lifted the latch and peeked inside.