Ginn Hale - Lord of the White Hell Book One

"Put some force into it," Javier instructed. "You're not brushing a kitten, you know."

Kiram scowled at Javier's back. He had wanted Javier to like his touch, not mock his ignorance. Kiram shoved the bristles of the scrub-brush hard against Javier's skin leaving a red track. Javier pulled back from him.

"Touchy, aren't you?"

"I'm just ensuring that you will be clean." Kiram could hear the petulance in his own voice.

"Ensuring that I won't have skin is more like it. Haven't you ever done this before?"

"No," Kiram admitted.

"Let me show you, then." Javier's voice never lost hint of mockery but it did seem to soften a little.

He turned and caught Kiram's hand in his own. Facing Javier, Kiram felt suddenly awkward and shy. His grip on the scrub brush seemed unsteady as if the heat of Javier's fingers were drawing all the strength from him.

Javier pulled Kiram's hand to his chest, guiding the scrub brush over his sharp ribs and down along his flat stomach.

"Like that, you see? Firm but gentle."

Kiram couldn't reply. He could hardly think. Javier's closeness, the heat and scent of him, the sensation of his skin against Kiram's own, it all overwhelmed his senses. Anticipation and confusion rolled through him.

If he had been standing like this with Musni, or any other Haldiim youth, he would have known what to think and what to do. He would have known that this was a seduction.

But the Cadeleonians were not like the Haldiim, and Kiram knew that their laws forbade even the thoughts that raced through Kiram's head.

Kiram's breath felt ragged. He couldn't pull his gaze away from Javier's face, his dark eyes, his sharply curved lips. Kiram almost leaned into Javier, almost laid his lips against the graceful curve of Javier's neck. But then he saw the slight quirk of Javier's mouth.

It was that terrible smile of his. He was simply toying with Kiram, making a joke of his confusion and desire.

Angry humiliation surged through him. He jerked back from Javier's grip and hurled the scrub brush. It struck Javier hard across the cheek.

"You can do it well enough yourself," Kiram growled. "Don't think that because I'm Haldiim I'll play the part of your bathhouse whore." Then he turned and left the bathing room, slamming the door closed behind him.

Kiram strode to his bed and briefly he considered just taking his trunk and returning to the carriage to be driven back home.

But his pride as both a Haldiim and a scholar rebelled at the thought. That was just what Javier and the other students at the academy wanted, wasn't it? That was most likely what all this arcane gibberish on the floor and the taunting exchange in the bathroom had been about. They didn't want a Haldiim outshining them in their own precious academy.

They could all burn in their stupid hells. He was going to stay. More that that, he was going to rub their faces in his accomplishments.

The rant running through Kiram's mind was so engaging that he almost missed the polite knock at the door. Kiram forced himself to swallow back a filthy Haldiim insult. Instead he pulled the door open.

Several serving men in gray uniforms stood in the hall. One was loaded with the bedding that Scholar Blasio had promised. The others had brought up furniture. None of them met Kiram's gaze or spoke to him. He didn't bother to greet them either.

They scurried into the room like skittish mice, awkwardly sidestepping the symbols on the floor. More than one of them made Cadeleonian prayer signs as they moved through the room. Kiram purposely stepped on several of the symbols, making his disdain as clear as he could.

In moments Kiram's bed was made with fresh sheets and blue blankets as well as two pillows. A tall dresser stood at the foot of his bed. A writing table and a chair were deposited near the dresser.

Amidst all the moving in, Javier appeared from the bathroom. He wore a towel wrapped tightly around his narrow waist. A bright red mark stood out on his left cheek. His mere presence seemed to panic the servants. One man drew back so quickly that he tripped over Kiram's trunk. He scrambled to his feet and made a quick blessing sign over his own chest. The servants fled from the room, more than taking their leave.

Kiram found it pleasing to slam the door closed behind them with unnecessary force.

Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Javier taking a fresh pair of pants from his dresser. Then Kiram turned purposefully to his trunk. While Javier dressed, Kiram finished unpacking. He hid the satchel of taffy among his clothes and tucked it away in his dresser.

His books went on his table, as did his Silver Leaf medal.

"Dinner bell will be soon," Javier said from behind him. "You should get into your uniform."

Kiram gave no response. He placed his inkwells and sheaves of parchment on his writing table and then needlessly straightened them.

"Look," Javier began quietly, "you can't just-"

Kiram rounded on him.

"I have nothing to say to you and no desire to hear anything you might say to me." It pleased him to see the surprise in Javier's expression. No doubt he was used to scaring everyone around him and having his own way in everything. Well, Kiram had no intention of being bullied or toyed with. "I have to live here, but that does not mean that I want anything to do with you, do you understand me?"

Kiram had the momentary gratification of seeing something like hurt break through Javier's smug countenance. The expression instantly twisted into that smirk that Kiram already hated.

"As you please, Underclassman Kiram." Javier offered him a sarcastic bow, then departed.

As the door fell closed the dinner bell rang out, but Kiram found that he had lost his appetite for Cadeleonian food.

For the first week, Kiram's anger inspired relentless study and defiant perfectionism. However, as the days passed, his energy faded. He found himself fluctuating between delighted discovery and lethargic melancholy. The classes he attended greatly affected his mood.

During Scholar Donamillo's natural science demonstrations Kiram reveled in the new world of understanding that opened up to him. Brushed amber gave off sparks and dead insects twitched their limbs when shocked by those tiny lights. Leaning close to one of the scholar's mechanisms, Kiram could feel his hair standing up on end; he wasn't sure if it was from excitement or the currents flowing through copper wires. More than once the class had become a conversation between himself and Scholar Donamillo, while the other students scribbled confused notes.

He excelled in his mathematics classes as well. While his meaty classmates slumped in their seats, counting on their fingers, Kiram would simply hand his solution to Scholar Blasio. Often, as the scholar read Kiram's work he took on a blissful expression, as if he were listening to a piece of music he loved.

After the first week, the little formality that had stood between them gave way to fellowship. Scholar Blasio delighted in Kiram's quick solutions and would often grin and address him as 'young Scholar Kiram', as if he were a colleague.

He never received such a compliment from the lanky, scarred instructor of the war arts, Master Ignacio. The first time Kiram had attempted to wield a Cadeleonian long sword he had lost his grip of the hilt and sent the blade flying towards the master.

Fortunately, Master Ignacio's reflexes were much faster than his gray hair and weathered face had led Kiram to expect.

Kiram had apologized and explained that he'd never used a sword before. The Haldiim were archers, not swordsmen. The first impression lasted, though, and now Master Ignacio only provided Kiram with a wooden blade and eyed him as if he were a reckless menace.