Ginn Hale - Lord of the White Hell Book One

Alizadeh gave Javier a pointed look.

Javier seemed to grasp the opening being offered. "You are both welcome to stay here, if you like. I can have rooms prepared."

"We're all family. We can share Kiram's room," Alizadeh said. "We wouldn't want to put you out any further."

"Of course," Javier replied.

Rafie scowled but didn't argue. He grudgingly accepted a mug of mulled wine. Kiram took his from Javier, feeling obvious and foolish for being so aware of Javier's fingers as they brushed his hand. Javier stepped back from him self-consciously and sat down in one of the chairs. Kiram drifted towards the hearth.

"There's white pepper in this, isn't there?" Rafie took another sip of the mulled wine. Kiram knew from his tone that Rafie was trying to recover from his earlier gaffe and make the best of the situation.

"I think so," Javier replied. "It's hot enough, isn't it?"

"It's good." Rafie took another appreciative drink. "You wouldn't believe the things they'll serve a man on the Mirogoth border."

"Oh?" Javier asked and Rafie began to describe the numerous, unctuous drinks that he'd forced down his throat while traveling in the frozen north.

Kiram stole a quizzical glance at Alizadeh, wondering what had softened him towards Javier so suddenly. But Alizadeh had turned back towards the fire, his head slightly raised, studying the ceiling where the firelight flickered and cast deep shadows on the now familiar Tornesal invocations.

Alizadeh waved his hand just slightly and the firelight crackled and spat briefly. Suddenly the shadowy forms of the invocations were gone, and Kiram found himself gazing at a simple pattern of filigree.

"In Yuan," Alizadeh whispered to Kiram, "they have a word for a man who fights a darkness he cannot defeat."

"What is it?" Kiram asked.

"A fool,"Alizadeh replied. He gave Kiram a pitying smile. "Everyone knows that."

The next morning was overcast and the cobblestone streets glistened with rain. Out on the fairgrounds masses of bright yellow straw had been scattered over the paths to stabilize the sinkholes of mud. Under the gold pavilion, fine wood shavings and black grit filled the salt rings of the fencing circles.

The footing was still bad. More than once Kiram slipped as the soil beneath him slid away. Fortunately his opponents had no better luck than he did.

But neither the poor weather nor the filthy streets seemed to dampen the enthusiasm of the crowd. The stands were brimming with onlookers. Shouts and laughter as well as jeers spilled out in a constant cacophony. There were so many bodies and faces that Kiram could almost lose sight of Rafie and Alizadeh. But the glints of golden hair and dark skin always caught his eye. Anytime he looked, they were watching him.

He'd seen almost nothing of Javier this morning. They hadn't spoken more than a few words at breakfast and once they reached the city stables Javier had left him to ride with Elezar.

Kiram stole another quick glance to where Javier stood in the stands. Elezar, Moriso and Atreau lounged next to him. Elezar was repeating some joke, Kiram could tell just from his stance and gestures. Javier smiled but looked tired. He glanced to Kiram and their eyes met.

Kiram felt a breathless flutter in his chest and an ache deep in his stomach. Javier blinked and then looked away. He said something offhandedly and the Hellions gathered around him laughed. For a terrifying instant the fear that Javier and the other Hellions were laughing at him seized Kiram. He didn't know why he thought it, except that Javier had turned away from him so coldly, as if he could hardly stand to look at him.

Kiram wiped a thick mass of mud from his boot. His left forearm hurt badly. The pain had made his motions clumsy during his last fight. He'd won but it hadn't been pretty. Beneath his leather gauntlet, he could feel the wet heat of blood welling up from where his stitches had torn open.

The Hellions were still laughing and Kiram didn't look their way.

He wished that he knew Javier well enough to be sure that he wouldn't brag about his conquest. When the two of them were alone he did feel that he understood Javier well. An easy honesty existed between them. But Javier was different when he was with the Hellions-shocking and almost cruel, and they loved those qualities in him. Kiram wished that he could somehow forget this realization the moment that he'd had it. But it was so obvious, watching Javier smirk at Elezar and roll a coin over his knuckles. With the Hellions Javier completely disresembled the man who had pulled Kiram into his arms and held him desperately the night before.

A new opponent entered Kiram's circle, his fourth today. The Yllar student looked clean assured and well rested and Kiram fought hard because it would have been too humiliating to simply drop his blade and walk away, but he knew he wouldn't win.

When the judge finally raised the Yillar banner that signaled his defeat, Kiram pulled himself up from the mud and staggered back to the stands where the other filthy, beaten students sat. He collapsed down beside Nestor who, despite being defeated in his first round, appeared to be in good spirits. An open sketchbook lay across his lap.

"Don't look so glum, Kiram," Nestor said. "You did your best. Nobody expected you to last one round much less four. You've really improved in the last few months, you know."

Kiram nodded. He wasn't sure if he could speak without sobbing. Beneath the leather gauntlet, his stitches had burst, and his arm hurt so badly, worse than anything he'd ever felt in his life. How did professional soldiers do this day in and day out? How did they go to war or fight blood duels? How did they endure so much pain?

Red rivulets coursed down Kiram's fingers. Nestor squinted at him. "Are you all right?"

"I'll be fine. I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Me either." Nestor stared out at the crowd in the stands opposite them. "I hardly slept at all. I kept thinking about Riossa and then about you having to leave the academy. I spent the whole night just tossing and turning between good and bad."

"Yes, me as well." Kiram was glad to have Nestor beside him right now. "I thought maybe I'd run away and hide in Zancoda."

Nestor cocked his head, considering this latest plan. "Would you still come to classes?"

"I don't see how I could," Kiram replied.

"Maybe I could sneak notes down to you and take your papers back up to the academy," Nestor suggested, a playful expression on his broad, honest face. "Or maybe we could disguise you somehow and enroll you as a foreign prince. We could say you were from the kingdom of Yuan. You'd have to wear a live bird on your head, or something, but it would be a small price to pay."

Kiram laughed out loud at this.

Nestor smiled. "For what it's worth, my mother's agreed to speak with your uncle if you think that will help. I told her that you're the reason that my math scores have been looking so good this year. And Prince Sevanyo invited you into his box. That has to count for something, don't you think?"

"With my uncle?" Kiram asked. He tried very tentatively to flex his left hand into a fist. A deep, ragged ache shot through his forearm.

"Seriously, Kiram, are you all right? You just went white. Which for you is pretty shocking looking."

"My cut broke open again."

"Should you take the gauntlet off?" Nestor leaned closer, peering at the leather laces. "It looks like the blood has soaked into the laces and swollen the knots tight. We'll have to cut it apart, but I've got my penknife."

"Just leave it for now," Kiram said. He leaned back, resting his left arm across his stomach. His muscles felt stringy and limp. The sweat clinging to his skin began to turn cold and Kiram shivered as a breeze washed over him. "I don't know what to do about my uncle."