Ginn Hale - Lord of the White Hell book Two

"Kiri, Kiri. No, please don't bleed. Don't go!"

Kiram recognized Fedeles' voice, devoid of Donamillo's cold tone, crying from a distance.

But it was Javier who held him. Tears rolled down his face and raw grief broke his voice as he spoke Kiram's name again and again.

"It's good." Kiram could hardly form the words. "I saved you.." He wanted to say more, but Javier was fading from his sight just as the pain drained from his ruined body.

He knew he was dying, but he wasn't scared. He had already crossed the Sorrowlands. Whether it was heaven or a shajdi that awaited him, Kiram didn't know, but a soft light fell across him and seemed to draw him deeper into its purity. It felt so simple and beautiful.

Then something caught him, held him. Pale shadows like the hollows of a skull rose from the light. Long bones wreathed in white flames gripped him as if death itself were embracing him and barring him from its respite.

"I won't let you go." Gentle flames licked Kiram's flesh and he knew the voice was Javier's.

Kiram woke to terrible pain. He felt like he was on fire, like someone had cut him open and filled his intestines with burning coals. He wanted to scream from the hurt. Maybe he did.

Someone forced something down his throat, something bitter and cold. He spat and slurred a string of angry obscenities but then a deep sleep took him. He dreamed of crows' wings fluttering over him and then that Alizadeh's cool hand touched his fevered brow. Darkness closed over him.

After that he drifted in and out of consciousness, waking at odd hours and searching his dim surroundings for a familiar face.

At least twice Nestor leaned over him, his pale skin peppered with faded bruises, and assured him that he was safe. Kiram questioned Nestor, but then couldn't remember most of Nestor's replies. Words burned away in Kiram's fevered mind leaving him with only impressions of the conversations: the lingering assurance that Fedeles was better and that Scholar Donamillo had died days ago in his brother's arms. But above all else Kiram remembered what Nestor would not tell him, which was where Javier was.

In Kiram's dreams Javier often lay beside him, whispering foolish jokes or teasing him. But he could never quite see Javier, could never touch him and it frightened Kiram.

When Nestor gently woke him, he was confused, finding himself alone in the bed. Bright morning light burned at Nestor's pale complexion, but Kiram was relieved to see that the worst of his cuts and scratches had healed.

"I'm sorry, but we have to go," Nestor said quietly.

"Where?" Kiram tried to sit up and Nestor caught him in alarm. "Where are we going?" Kiram asked, even as Nestor gently eased him back into the bedding.

"You don't have to get up," Nestor said. "It's just Elezar and me. We're being sent back to Anacleto."

Anacleto seemed years away.

"You'll finally get to have your honeymoon," Kiram whispered.

Nestor smiled at that, but then concern returned to his countenance. "What should I tell your family?"

A pang of loneliness caught Kiram at the thought of his family, but then he remembered Majdi's approval of his gambit for independence.

"Tell them that I'm fine." Kiram decided. "That I love them and that they shouldn't worry."

Nestor nodded. He started to rise from Kiram's bedside but then stopped and looked back down at Kiram. "You're a hero, you know. All of us would have died if you hadn't…I can't imagine how much it hurt." Nestor's gaze dropped to black stitches and ropy scars that cut across Kiram's stomach and chest. "You nearly died."

Kiram wasn't certain that he hadn't died, but he didn't say as much. Nestor seemed to be on the verge of tears as was.

Finally, Nestor said, "I guess I'm just trying to say that I think-no, I know-that you are the best friend any man could ever hope to have."

Kiram grinned at Nestor, as he remembered telling Nestor much the same thing.

"No point in falling in love with me, though," Kiram responded as cavalierly as he could. "You're a married man."

Nestor laughed and then gave Kiram a knowing look. "I doubt I'd last long against your current suitor, in any case." His cheeks flushed red but he went on in a whisper. "I'm not against it, you know.It was strange-I mean at first I couldn't.But I realized that it's not what all those old priests screech on and on about…You're both brave and strong and.I think I can see it now…It's good. Both of you."

Kiram raised his brows, amazed that Nestor could be so frank, decent and compassionate and that he could move Kiram so deeply with such a string of broken phrases.

"Thank you, Nestor."

Nestor shrugged despite his flushed face. "Yeah, well, don't tell Elezar. He'd be pissed if he knew he wasn't fooling me anymore."

Kiram laughed at that and his stitches hurt, but it still felt good. Then Elezar shouted for Nestor and Nestor left Kiram alone. Kiram returned to his dreams, searching them for Javier.

That afternoon, Scholar Blasio removed Kiram's stitches with a quiet exclamation of wonder. He hadn't thought Kiram would survive and yet somehow his mortal injuries had healed faster than the scratch on Blasio's brow.

"They say God blesses the brave." Scholar Blasio touched Kiram's forehead. His hand felt soft and cool against Kiram's hot skin. "I'm inclined to think you're living proof of that."

Kiram wanted to tell the scholar that he was sorry that he'd lost his brother, but at the same time he couldn't bring himself to regret Donamillo's death, only the pain that it had caused.

"Rest now, Kiram," Scholar Blasio told him. Kiram felt sick of resting. He wanted to see Javier. He wanted to get up and find him, and yet a few moments later Kiram slipped back into the darkness of sleep.

When at last his fever broke and his senses returned, he found red scars criss-crossing his belly and chest. He stank of medicinal herbs, but a fresh breeze floated through the room.

Just from the angles of the walls and the long shafts of afternoon light, he knew at once that he was in his old bed in the tower room. But he was far from alone in the chamber.

Well-dressed courtiers conversed at the windows and lounged around the empty hearth. Servants attended them, offering silver goblets and dishes of olives and roasted nuts.

It seemed utterly wrong that so many strangers had invaded the space that had been a private sanctuary for Javier and himself. A year ago no one casually entered Javier's chambers, much less lingered, spilling wine and dropping olive pits on the floor as if it were a cheap room in a tavern.

A sensation like horror welled in Kiram as he noticed that all traces of Javier's wards had been scoured from the floors.

"No," Kiram whispered.

"Are you awake, then?"

Kiram turned to the voice and suddenly realized that a man had been sitting at his bedside watching him. Kiram didn't know if he should feel honored or terrified.

Dressed in violet and gold raiment, Prince Sevanyo looked out of place seated on a wooden school chair. Behind the prince, armed guards and young pages lounged and whispered among themselves.

Kiram pulled himself a little more upright. He tensed, expecting the motion to hurt, but only the slightest ache arose from his scarred body.

"Do you recognize me this time, young Master Kir-Zaki?"

"Yes, Your Highness." Kiram bowed awkwardly in the bed. Had he failed to recognize the prince previously? He prayed that he hadn't been too rude. Something in the prince's amused smile made Kiram think that he'd been more flattered than insulted. Kiram wondered if he'd called out to Javier.

"Very good." The prince nodded.

"Do you know where Lord Tornesal is?" Kiram asked. He searched the faces of the men loitering in the room but none were Javier.