The Sorcerer's Equal (The Telepath and the Sorcerer Book 3) Page 15

  “I’ll have to go to him sometime,” Velsa said. “I have a few bits of skin in need of replacement.”

  Rumir stayed longer than he meant to, so much so that Grau gave him a candle to light his way home.

  “My little marsh toad looks happy tonight,” Grau said, when they went to bed—without a candle, because apparently Grau had given the last one away. It was a moonlit night, and warm, so he opened the window. “Or maybe you’re not my little marsh toad anymore. You’re my rough-legged swamp hawk.”

  “Let’s keep me a toad.” She climbed into bed on her hands and knees and crossed her arms on his chest. “I really do wish I could have seen their faces.”

  “He was a nice fellow. Maybe we should have invited your fellow workers over for dinner sooner.”

  She tucked wayward strands of his hair behind his ears. “I felt a little funny around them. I’d never been around Fanarlem men before. And Horas wanted to marry me.”

  “First I’ve heard of this. Can’t blame him. You’re especially hot when you’re angry so I bet they got an eyeful.”

  She poked him. “Although, the rumor always was that Fanarlem men made the best sexual partners.”

  “Really?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “That’s what the vixens said.”

  “Why tell me that?”

  “Just to keep you on your toes.” She slipped a hand inside his pants and stroked him.

  “It’s not a fair contest. They’re customizable. How could I compete with that?”

  “Oh, I’m sure you can.” She crept down the bed to take his burgeoning hardness into her mouth.

  “To what do I owe this? You’re getting excited thinking about getting the better of Madam Blazar, aren’t you?”

  She snorted. “No-o…”

  “How else do you explain it?”

  “Why don’t you just be quiet and enjoy it?”

  He was probably right. She felt so ashamed leaving work that day, but now it was exciting to think that the other Fanarlem kept buzzing about it, that they stood up to those haughty flesh women. She could just see Eldisa and Meersha taking Blazar’s side, those little sheep with their ribbons and curls.

  She slid her lips and tongue up and down his shaft. He murmured her name somewhat incoherently. She took him so deep that he hit the back of her throat, and then she withdrew again to tease the tip with gentle bites. She was making him squirm a bit. The musky, smoky scent of him was subdued by the cleanliness of the white soap he had purchased the other day.

  She pulled his pants down farther as she kept stroking her tongue over his hardness, until she could put her hands on his strong naked thighs and then along his stomach. Despite how lean he’d gotten, he didn’t look unhealthy. The moonlight wiped away little scars and imperfections that marred his light brown skin and she had decided she rather liked his hair shorter. It flipped sideways around his ears in an endearing way. He was breathing harder, his arms slightly askew as he lounged back, lust in his eyes as he watched her. He looked cavalier and confident in a way that made her want to make him squirm.

  She moved faster; she couldn’t look at him so easily now but she could feel his muscles tensing under her hands.

  “Velsa…Velsa.” He ran his fingers through her hair, urging her.

  As soon as his seed flooded her mouth, vanishing down her throat, he pulled her away from him and kissed her. He started to slide off her clothes.

  “I’m such a mess of patchwork now,” she said, discouraging his hand. She still had the slash on her leg, and now one on her arm, both stitched as best she could, but gashes wrecked the illusion spells that made her skin look real. And the jagged stitches were not very sightly.

  “As if I care about that,” he said. “Beauty is for strangers and acquaintances. Not the people who love you.”

  “So you’re admitting that I look ugly?”

  “No. I mean—the longer I love you, the more it would take to convince me that you’re not beautiful. I don’t see slashed up arms and legs, I just see my Velsa.”

  She gave him a crooked, pleased smile and let him disrobe her, sliding her clothes away from her body, and imperfect as it was, his hands glanced over her stitches and the curves of her waist and hips with reverence before he plunged two fingers deep inside her. She tightened immediately against the feel of his slightly calloused fingers, rough against her skin. His fingers could handle the friction of her cloth skin better than the rest of him, and she craved the slight pain of it.

  Her fingers dug into the mattress.

  Oh, take me, take me, she thought, wanting more, but she still worried about his health. And she knew he would do it, if she asked, no matter if he was in pain.

  She bit her lip and reached her arms over her head, grabbing the bed posts, exposing more of herself. He slid a hand under her back, lifting her up into his arms so she felt almost weightless and her pelvis weighed more heavily on the fingers that were now helping to support her at the same time as they stroked her.

  “You perfect little thing,” he said. “You better not be thinking of Fanarlem men.”

  She giggled at the very idea. “Never.”

  “Although if they’re as perfectly formed as you…,” he said. His thumb nudged between her folds, working her clit with strong, firm strokes that seemed to wrench her deep, like he was digging a confession out of her, although that was probably the furthest thing from his mind.

  “Grau, I—I don’t want to run away.”

  “You don’t?”

  “Sorla’s right. We keep running and running, every time we’ve created something good. We might manage Three-Tongues if we plan a bit. I feel like—”

  She said nothing else. He worked his fingers deep until she was panting, raking her nails down his back.

  “His entire band is telepathic. We can use our magic against them, but in the end, it’s the age-old fight between Miralem and Daramons. I need you to fend off their minds. You were already pushed to your limit the other day, I could tell.”

  “Dalaran did kill one of their best telepaths.”

  “Yes, and that’s all the more reason I’m nervous. Dalaran killed one of them. What was once a stolen spell has now become a blood debt, and I’m sure they will expect us to pay it even though Dalaran has gone. But this is the last time we run. I promise you that.”

  She twitched in his arms, her fingernails raking his shoulders as his fingers brought her to a climax. It wasn’t the fireworks he gave her when he was inside her, but more of a warm, slow release. She flopped back into his embrace, his arms around her fully now, supporting her limp form.

  “More?” he asked.

  “Not tonight,” she said.

  He looked at her, and she saw that he was in pain, and that now he understood that she knew. “I’m all right,” he said softly. “Stop worrying.”

  “Just hold me.” She sighed. “Are you sure we shouldn’t tell Dormongara what happened? He might protect us in exchange for the spells you owe him.”

  “I’d feel better if I didn’t have to deal with people.”

  “Sorla wouldn’t have any friends at all if we didn’t deal with people. And—despite some of my misgivings, she really has thrived here.”

  “You know what would really be bad for Sorla, would be if we were murdered by bandits.” Grau put his head down on the pillow like he was done with the discussion.

  “Would it really hurt to tell Dormongara? He did save Kessily.”

  “I don’t trust him.”

  She flopped down into bed too, facing the wall. “Now I know what Preya was talking about when she said you get sick of things and everyone involved. You’ve decided you want to leave and that’s that.”

  “Well, what reason do we really have to stay? I’ve always wanted to live outside the city. We talked about that together.”

  “I know,” she said. “I liked having Rumir over for dinner, I guess. And I liked the party at the Tarsa house. As soon as I start to know and like th
e people around us, we leave them.”

  “You don’t seem very concerned that I got stabbed in the stomach again,” he said. “Dalaran left town already. He didn’t go to Dormongara for help.”

  “I know,” she said, relenting.

  “Try not to worry,” he said. “We’ll find a new place.”

  She stared at the moonlight for a long time.

  In the days leading up to the festival, the entire town was decked in bouquets, ribbons, and banners. Velsa heard the constant sound of sawing as temporary pavilions were constructed in the square. Now the royal party was expected at any moment. Grau went out to buy a few supplies, while Sorla spent the day with her friends, hanging around the square, hoping to catch the first sight of the prince. Velsa and Kessily didn’t mind having Sorla out of the kitchen for a night; she was a good cook but so bossy about everything. She had a mind about how to chop a carrot properly.

  Velsa and Kessily prepared a good stew to match the festive atmosphere of the town and fortify Grau for the road. Kessily stirred the pot, singing one of her trader songs. Tomato ate the tops of the radishes and carrots. Velsa tried not to think about their impending parting; Kessily planned to bring Tomato back to his family before she went her way.

  That’s why Sorla’s not here, isn’t it? Not just to spend time with her friends, but it must hurt too much to think of goodbyes. Velsa glanced around the room, with the dark, cozy wooden walls and the soft light of the hearth, the table where they had shared so many conversations.

  An urgent knock pounded on the door. Tomato flew to the window and poked his head around the curtain, bobbing his head up and down the way he did when appraising someone.

  Velsa sensed out the knocker. “It’s just Rovi,” she said, but she brushed against tension in the woman’s mind, and hurried to open the door.

  “Good evening,” Rovi said. “Don’t be alarmed, but—Grau collapsed at Dozen’s store just now. They sent for me and I’ve got him at my house.”

  “What?” Velsa felt all their plans disturbed in an instant, and she wondered why she hadn’t felt Grau’s distress. He must have gone unconscious very quickly, for him not to project his emotions to her.

  “His body isn’t fully accepting the organs we gave him. His blood is continuously trying to heal, but he’s been working much too hard and then his injury the other day has clearly exacerbated the problem. Daramons always tend to think they’re invincible, but they are not. I think I’d better keep him for a few days and check on him around the clock until everything is back to normal. If that’s all right with you.”

  “I—I guess it is,” Velsa said. “I mean, that’s very kind of you.”

  “You could stay with him if you really want to, but I’d rather work undisturbed if I’m being honest. Fretting spouses tend to get into my head.” She gave Velsa a kind but pointed smile. Of course Velsa had already interrupted the surgery, so Rovi had a point.

  “I understand, but…we’re worried about the Kalora family returning. I don’t want you to be in danger. To be honest…” Velsa decided to confide in Rovi. She had already done so much to help them and never asked for payment. “We were planning to leave town tomorrow.”

  “I wondered, with Dalaran laying low. But Grau can’t travel.”

  “When can he travel?”

  “I’m not sure yet. Dormongara is in town, down at the inn. I know he isn’t a very pleasant man, but he is the most powerful sorcerer in Dor-Temerna and he won’t want you to be hurt for his own selfish reasons, if nothing else. He’s had run-ins with the bandits himself. Maybe you ought to tell him your concerns.”

  Grau won’t like that. Velsa wondered if the fates were on her side after all.

  Rovi patted Velsa’s arm before leaving. “Come see Grau in the morning.”

  Velsa shut the door and reached for her cloak.

  “I’ll go with you,” Kessily said.

  Chapter 12

  Velsa and Kessily walked to the inn, nudging past crowds of people in the square. Bonfires were lit all around the green although the sun was not quite set. Even in the middle of summer, the air still cooled at sunset at the foot of the northern mountains. The smell of roasting foods, the fluttering banners, the whoops and cheers of young people who were already pretending to chase each other around, all suggested that the festival was already in swing as the whole town waited for the prince. The air of excitement was so palpable that Velsa could almost forget Grau was sick.

  Dormongara was dining at a table in the corner. He noticed them as soon as they entered.

  “Care to join me?” he asked, lifting his cup.

  “We’ll sit,” Velsa said. “We have stew on the fire at home.”

  Dormongara regarded Kessily. “You look well.”

  “I’m surprised to see you here,” she said. “I didn’t think you were the festival-going sort.”

  “Believe me, I’d rather not be,” he said. “I must do my duty and greet the young prince. The House of Laionesse is already rather peeved that I prefer the company of the royalty of Otare.”

  Velsa sat down. “Lord Gara, I’m sorry to bother you again, but…I’m afraid we’re in a tight spot. Dalaran stole the black dust from the Kalora family.”

  “Mmhm. Not surprised. They came for it, I heard?”

  “Yes. And Grau and I got tangled up in it. We injured Three-Tongues Kalora, and Dalaran killed his wife.”

  “Better wife than mistress, from what I’ve heard,” Dormongara said.

  “I don’t know,” Velsa said. “Her telepathic powers were fairly strong. Grau was injured, too. He’s recuperating with the healer now. We know they’ll come back for revenge, but since we’re in debt to you, we can’t flee the city as Dalaran has.”

  Dormongara looked thoughtful, not answering right away. He mumbled something uncomplimentary about bandits. “How about this? Tomorrow is the festival dedicated to courtship. If you can find me a bride at the festival, I will absolve you of your debts and you’re free to leave.”

  “Why don’t you find a wife in Otare since you prefer the court there?” Kessily asked. “For that matter, why don’t you live in Otare?”

  “The family castle,” Dormongara said. “Obviously. And no lady of the Crystal Court would want to live in that castle.”

  “Are you going to chase the girls to get the flowers in their hair?” Kessily asked.

  “No, I’m not chasing anyone.”

  “If you don’t chase anyone, I don’t think you get to dance either.”

  “Dance? Who said I would do that?”

  She put her chin in her hand. “And how do you expect to convince anyone to marry you if you won’t dance?”

  “I’m offering to absolve Mr. Thanneau of all of his debts to me. It has to be fairly difficult or I would do it myself.”

  “You don’t know how to dance, do you?”

  “Of course I do,” he said. “I’m still not inclined to do it. I am the Keeper of the Dead. Some young woman would surely be happy to marry me as a good business decision, which is the same reason I will marry her.”

  “This forbidding-sorcerer act isn’t going to help. I don’t expect you to be the life of the festival, but you could spare a wry grin.”

  “It’s not an act,” he said. “I’ve always been this way, even as a child.”

  “All right,” Kessily said. “I guess I can believe that.”

  In the distance came a sound like low, rhythmic thunder. It recalled the battlefield, and Velsa stiffened. No, she realized after a moment. It was the pounding of drums, which must herald the arrival of the royal procession. The sounds of cheering followed shortly, as the crowds in town likely had gotten their first sight of the banners on the road leading to the capital.

  “You’re not going to watch?” Dormongara asked. “I wonder if we’ll see things like this, in years to come. They can’t lie to me about how many people are dying. Prince Seldon is living in a dream, to do a victory lap over this treaty.”

&nb
sp; “Are many people dying?” Velsa asked.

  “In the south, people are dying of illness. Quite unusual, especially in the summer.”

  “South of here? Is that the blood cough people keep mentioning?”

  “I believe it’s a different strain. But these are all cursed sicknesses, intended to destabilize the border and move potions for the merchants,” Dormongara said. He seemed to ease into the conversation, like this was what he really enjoyed talking about: the ways people die. “The merchants of Atlantis will pay sorcerers to make people sick if they think it will drive up the price of goods. War will make them even more money.”

  “What bastards,” Kessily said. “That’s the sort of thing my father was always complaining about. It’s hard to make a square living with all the corruption on the river.”

  “My brother might have been a better Keeper for such an age. He has the stomach for death.”

  “And you don’t?” Kessily asked.

  “It’s the dead I don’t mind,” he said. “Not the dying. I like when people die of old age, safe and sound in their beds. I hardly feel that.”

  “You really sense people dying all the time?”

  “Yes, as long as I wear the robe. It’s tied to the crystal. I do like to have some time with my own thoughts, but you taught me a lesson on that one. My father always told me to sleep in it.”

  “Sweaty,” Kessily remarked.

  “It has a self-cleaning spell.”

  “I think it needs an update so it can stand up to wyvern piss.” She smoothed her hand along Tomato’s neck.

  He looked at her sideways. “You are certainly a sharp-tongued thing.”

  “I’ve always been this way, even as a child,” she said, taking on a hint of his formal, measured tones.

  He smiled faintly.

  “There it is,” she said. “That’s the wry grin I was talking about. Do a little more of that tomorrow and maybe we can work with you.”

  “No promises.” He stood up and put a few coins on the table. “I’ll see you ladies in the morning.”