Playing With Fire (12 page)

At length, he grew tired of killing them, and his stomach began to growl loudly, so he headed down to the kitchens, knowing it would be as good a place as any to start assembling the staff for the clean-up.

He tried not to think about Zujan too much because it confused him and made him angry. The hard part was supposed to have been winning the war and getting into the castle in the first place. Once that feat was accomplished, he would torture Zujan in the same manner he had been treated to during his stay.

Which wasn’t how it had worked out at all.

The battle had been quick and far easier than anyone expected. And Zujan… Well, Zujan was not the man Wintras had escaped. Wintras didn’t feel right treating the bewildered and obviously not whole boy as if he were the monster sorcerer Zujan. But what if it was all an act?

It made his head hurt, and he resolved to concentrate on the matter of bringing the castle to rights first. He reached the kitchen, stomach growling loudly at the scent of breakfast cooking.

Mata looked over, eyes going wide. “My Lord! Furn said you were in the tower. I was trying to figure out how to get your food to you.”

“No, I have taken Zujan’s old rooms. You may have my things, my meals sent there if I do not come for them myself.” He stole a sausage from the plate she was fixing. “I need a replacement for Lavan, he took leave of his post last night.”

“No one survives those rooms, sir. They’re haunted, have been since the Great Lady passed away and left wee Zujan behind in them.”

“Don’t tell me he has you believing that claptrap nonsense as well, Mata!” He shook his head. “I’ve had not one problem in those rooms, though Zujan himself is quite off his head at the moment, I believe that has more to do with those awful firefaeries of his than any ‘haunting’.”

“‘Tis not nonsense! Every person who has attempted to enter those rooms has been repelled.”

“I’ve just spent the night there, Mata. Unless you’re calling me a liar.”

Her eyes went wide, Mata pale, but she shook her head. “No. No, my Lord. Of course not.”

“Good. There’s been quite enough of lying. I know the master is alive. He is in my rooms and won’t come out for fear of those stupid firefaeries. Have one of the boys bring up more food and mead later today. If he insists on continuing this fiction that he cannot go in the room, he can leave the tray by the door, and I’ll bring it in with me.” He took the plate Mata fixed him and sat at the table, eating heartily. “Any thoughts on who would make a good butler, Mata?”

Mata shook her head. “I…I… Most of the guards are gone. Most of the valets left long ago.

“What about Furn?” The boy had been more than helpful last night, taking the initiative even. And he knew Furn was loyal.

“Furn? The harem boy?”

He chuckled. “He’s a smart lad.”

“The castle is yours, my Lord.” Mata shrugged, smiled at him, eyes tearing. “Things are so complicated.”

“Not really. I am master now instead of Zujan. You are paid servants instead of slaves. We’ll have the place set to rights quicker than we did when Zujan set it on fire.”

“You’ll need to refill the stores, my Lord. The armies burned the wheat, the grain, set the cattle free.”

He rolled his eyes. Idiots. He would speak to his father, barter some of their share of the treasure for food. “How long before we run out of food, Mata?”

“A moon, perhaps two, depending on whether you hold a mid-winter ball and how many people leave.”

“Oh, we don’t need a mid-winter ball. I don’t need the sycophants Zujan had.” He made a face. He’d definitely talk to his father. Perhaps make it a condition on Blethin’s piece of the treasure getting to him. After all, it had been Dumas and Blethin’s soldiers who’d burned the stores. “It’ll be fine, Mata. You don’t need to worry.”

She nodded. “Thank you, my Lord. We’ve been so lost without Zujan’s help.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t all take off while you had your chance, make good on your freedom.” He polished up his plate, patting his belly as he drank what he assumed was the last of the milk. “Get the farmers to go searching for the cows. They’ll not have gone far, I’ll wager.”

“We were never slaves, my Lord. We were well cared for.”

“Yes, yes, I know. Zujan the wonderful.” He rolled his eyes and got up. He didn’t really want to hear more of how wonderful Zujan was right now. Not when he was already so confused about his feelings for the sorcerer.

Mata chuckled. “That wasn’t what we called him, my Lord.”

“No?”

She winked, “We called him the Ice Flame.”

“To his face?” he asked. He couldn’t believe they would have, not and survived unsinged.

“Of course not!” The woman looked horrified.

“I thought not. You’d have been killed if you had. Or sent to his dungeon or laid out between the trees in the orchard to be taken by whoever happened by.” There was bitterness in his voice, his anger stronger now that he was no longer faced with Zujan’s changed personality.

“I’m sure, should you stake him out now, there would be a line to take him.” Mata’s voice was cold, quiet. “He was much wanted.”

He shook his head. “No, he’s mine.” He was surprised at the vehemence in his own voice.

One grey eyebrow rose. “Yours?”

He nodded. “I thought he should discover what it feels like to be taken slave.” That, after all, had been his reason for returning here in the first place. He dared not examine that vehemence.

“Oh.” She blinked.

“I am the master now. I could take you all as slaves if I wanted. But I don’t, I’m not like that. You are free to go if you want. But Zujan held people against their will. It’s his turn now to be the pet.” He would not be guilted into letting Zujan go. Not by the man himself, no matter how innocent he now appeared, and not by Mata or anyone else.

“Yes, my Lord. As you wish.”

It did not make him like Zujan, it did not. He held his head high. “We should start the repairs. Have the staff gather in the main hall, and I will organize them.”

“Yes, sir. Right away.” Mata nodded, bustling off.

He poked his head in the oven, smiling at the site of a cake and several pies. He was appreciating Zujan’s insistence on having the best, that was for sure. Then he wandered toward the hall, ready to lose his worries in good, hard physical labor.

* * * *

Zujan heard the sounds of banging and working all around him. He didn’t pay attention, choosing to curl into his chair with his furs and his book, dozing and reading and relaxing. The door was locked, and he wasn’t ever opening it again.

Of course, there was a hidden door leading to the kitchen, which was good for stealing a pie or a pot of cream and berries.

Mmm…berries.

Someone tried the door. Then they knocked. Then they knocked again, louder this time.

“Zujan! I know you’re in there!”

He wrinkled his nose. Go away.

“If you don’t let me in, I’m breaking down the door, and then all your buzzing friends will go mad trying to get to you.”

The bar’cha couldn’t get in. Still, he liked his door. He pushed his chair over to the door, slowly, the furniture so heavy.

“Zujan. I mean it.” A loud thump hit the door.

Meanie. He put his chair against the door. Maybe the furs, too. And the mattress. There was another thump, and then everything went quiet.

He stopped, listened. Wintras wouldn’t have just given up…

Sure enough, moments later came the sound of an axe on wood. He blinked. “That’s my door.”

“Open it or lose it, Zujan. Either way I’m coming through.”

“No. It’s my door.” He climbed up on the chair and opened the tiny window, peering. “Go away.”

Wintras was standing there, wearing only a pair of short breeches, covered in sweat and dust, woodchips in his hair. “I’ve got Furn coming with bathwater and food. That room is mine now. Unlock the door, Zujan, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I…” He wrinkled his nose a little. “This room is mine.”

“Not anymore. Now, it’s mine, and I let you stay.” Wintras stepped back and hefted the ax again. “If you aren’t going to open it, step back.”

He frowned, shaking his head. Maybe he should run. Maybe he should take the secret tunnels.

“Damn it, Zujan.” Wintras swatted at the bar’cha who’d come near and then let the axe fly, the door splintering. It wouldn’t take too many hits.

He panicked, heart pounding. “Stop!”

Wintras looked up at him. “Open the door.”

He nodded, pulling the chair away. Meanie. Mean man.

The door pushed open as soon as he unlocked it, and Wintras swung the axe again, the lock flying as it was separated from the wood. “No more locking me out of my own room.”

“It’s my room.”

Wintras shook his head. “I’m master here now. It’s my room.”

“No.” He was going to have to move the bed against the door next time. “It was created for me.”

Wintras shrugged. “It was, but now, it’s mine. Ah, here comes Furn and the boys with our bath and supper.”

He wandered back to his furs and his book. The boys couldn’t enter. No one could. Well, no one but Wintras. Meanie. When that proved to be true, Wintras manhandled the tub in himself and filled it up with the water buckets the boys brought. “You could at least let Furn in. He’s always been loyal. And it’s thanks to him I found you and got you out of the tower.”

He looked over, arched an eyebrow and went back to reading. Like he controlled the space.

Wintras glared at him. “Fine, I’ll figure it out myself.” Wintras cleared his throat and spoke in deep tones. “Let Furn in.”

He rolled his eyes, went back to reading about the Battle of Gertan. Mean and silly.

He could feel Wintras’ gaze on him. “He’s worried about you, you know. Wants to bathe you and feed you himself, to know that you’re really all right.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not leaving.” He really wasn’t too sorry. The bar’cha were out there.

“So let him in.” Wintras looked at him as if it was as simple as that.

“I can’t.”

“Of course, you can. You let me in.”

“No I didn’t. You came in.”

“Then how come Furn can’t?” Wintras sounded very frustrated.

“I don’t know. Why would I know?” Stupid questions. Bah.

“Zujan!” Wintras growled. “Don’t make me take you out of here.”

“What? I don’t know. It’s not my magic. I make fire.” He frowned and set one of Wintras’ shoes aflame. Wintras yelped and stomped out his shoe. Then the man stomped over and threw him over one wide shoulder and carried him out the door.

He closed his eyes, the bar’cha swarming, buzzing, their need ravenous, each touch pure agony. He wouldn’t scream. He wouldn’t. It felt like it lasted forever, but then Wintras brought him back into his room and tossed him onto the bed. “Dammit, Zujan!”

He curled into himself, face buried in his knees, heart breaking. His mother had promised he would be safe here. She had promised. The bed dipped, and Wintras’ hand slid on his back, warm and soothing. Frozen tears slid down his cheeks, his insides aching.

“I’m sorry, Zujan. That was uncalled for. I… You frustrate me.”

He nodded, slowly uncurling and sitting on the edge of the bed, chilled deep inside. “Are you going to take your bath?”

“We are. You haven’t had one in months you know.”

He nodded again, waiting until Wintras moved toward the tub before dashing out, running straight into the hallway, into the bar’cha’s embrace. His mother had deserted him. His home was lost. His memory was lost.

The cold could have him.

Chapter Eight

“Zujan!” Wintras turned at Furn’s shout, seeing the boy trying to get to Zujan through the firefaeries, but Furn was scared, the firefaeries making his clothes smoke and leaving singe marks on his skin.

He strode over, pushing the damned firefaeries away and grabbing Zujan, pulling him back into the room. It wasn’t easy, the firefaeries screamed and seemed to tug against him, trying to keep Zujan to themselves. But he was determined, and they couldn’t hurt him. Furn watched with wide eyes, and as he dragged Zujan back beyond the barrier the firefaeries couldn’t cross, he ordered Furn to come in with the tray of food and close the door.

“But I can’t!”

“You aren’t going to harm Zujan; that seems to be the spell’s trigger. Come in.”

Furn’s eyes filled with tears, the boy shaking violently. “Y-y-y-yes, my Lord.”

Then Furn closed his eye and ran, the barrier in the door seeming to stretch and bow then judging Furn worthy.

Wintras grinned, pleased to have finally figured something out. “Look, Zujan, your room has let Furn in to help us.”

The body in his arms was limp and cold, and he curled up around it on the bed. “Set the food down, and come help me get him warm, Furn.”

Furn stood for a minute, shaking. “I…I’m not dead.”

“No, Furn. You aren’t dead. I told you things were going to be different now.” He petted Zujan, hands sliding along the cold skin. It hadn’t taken any time at all for those nasty firefaeries to pull all the heat from the little sorcerer. “Come to bed, Furn.”

The tray was put down, and Furn pushed under the furs, hissing as he touched Zujan. “So cold.”

“We’ll warm him up, Furn.” Wintras reached out and included Furn in his embrace, holding them altogether. “Try rubbing his skin.”

Furn reached out, petting gently. “Come, my Lord. Come and wake for us.”

“You care about him a great deal, don’t you, Furn?” He was beginning to learn that these people weren’t staying because he’d freed them and started paying them. They were staying because they cared for Zujan, they truly did not feel themselves badly treated. He might have to rethink his opinion of Zujan. Well. That was a given after the events of last night and this morning.

“Of course, I do. He took me in when I was starving. Gave me a family, friends, clothes.”

“It’s more than that though, isn’t it?”

Furn smiled up. “He protected us. Taught us.”

“This whole experience has been very confusing, Furn. I was so sure I knew what I knew.”

“I…” Furn looked around, leaned closer, whispered. “It’s them. They change him. That’s what everyone says. They eat and eat and eat, and he gets bitter and cold. Then he rests and hides away from them and is…himself again. But they call to him, and he was made to feed them.”