Nor Iron Bars A Cage (12 page)

The water had stopped steaming by the time I made myself go back through the archway.

The front room was still empty. The door was still barred. I stripped slowly, my tired fingers fumbling the buttons I had in place of laces on my clothes. Once naked, I scrambled into the water. It was no longer hot, but it was still heavenly. I sank down, letting the water rise to my chin, and closed my eyes. There was soap on a clever rack clipped to one side. I should scrub myself. Eventually.

Water going up my nose woke me with a jolt. I coughed and surged up, soaking the floor, and then sat down fast as I realized I was naked. The room was still empty. Fortunately. I took up the soap and cloth and set about getting five days of road dirt off my hair and body.

It was a decent body, I thought. If you could just ignore the cursed hand, and the way one shoulder had a little less bulk than the other. There was a time when I’d been rail-thin, enough to count every rib, but the last eight or nine years I’d gotten past that, putting effort into eating well and becoming strong. My chest had definition, my stomach was still flat. I ran the soapy cloth over myself slowly. I had very little body hair, and what there was was as blond and fine as the rest. My skin was pale and smooth enough.
How did Tobin like his men? Did he want them small and boyish, or muscled and furred like he himself was? I was neither of those.

As if summoned by my thoughts, there was a rattle of the door handle and then a knock. “Lyon? It’s me.”

I dropped the cloth, knocked the soap into the tub with my elbow, and splashed the floor again.

“Can you let me in? It’s me, Tobin.”

No joke. Like I wouldn’t remember him or something. Unfortunately I was soaking wet and naked, and getting dressed with one hand was not an instant process. I stepped out of the tub, getting the floor even more wet, and grabbed for the towel draped on the handle. It was generous, but I could clutch it around my hips or around my shoulders, not both. I opted for hips, and went to lift the bar.

Tobin raised an eyebrow at me, and the way his eyes trailed down from my wet hair to my face, to my chest and lower, made me shiver.

He said, “I’m sorry. I thought you’d be done.”

I cleared my throat. “It took me a while to get started.”

“I’d offer to come back later, but our time is limited. Can I come in?”

I backed away from the door. “Sure.”

He followed me in and reclosed the door. I hesitated there awkwardly, aware that he was standing close to me. He reached out and snagged another towel from the stack. “You’re dripping.” His voice was soft, and he raised the cloth slowly to my head, rubbing at my hair. After a first startled moment I stood still and let him do it. His hands cradled my head, through the rough absorbent fabric. I could almost feel his fingers, his palms, but not quite. It was touch without being touch. It was wonderful. I closed my eyes.

After a while he moved lower, drying my neck, my back; when he slid the cloth to my chest I stepped back. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure. Truly.” He looked at me steadily. “Too much?”

“No.”

He smiled and tossed the towel over my head. “My turn for the tub anyway.”

“It’s cool and no longer clean. Do you want to ring for fresh water?” I had no real knowledge of castle life, but if they could conjure one bath that fast, they could surely bring up another.

Tobin shook his head. “No time. Anyway I’m filthy enough that second-hand water will be just fine.”

“I was just as filthy as you are,” I protested.

He waggled his eyebrows at me, and began unlacing his shirt.

I turned my back on him, and went to my bag. It was still tied tight, and I couldn’t hold onto the towel and untie it as well. Behind me I heard the water slosh as Tobin got in. He said, “Wait just a minute, and I’ll find you some clothes of mine to wear. We’re summoned to the king right after dinner, and you’ll want to look better than a smallhold farmer.”

“Do we actually get dinner?”

“I asked them to bring up a tray when it’s served. I thought you’d want to avoid the great hall, at least your first night.”

“Oh. Yes. Good idea.”

There were more water sounds, and then he said, from suddenly close behind me, “Are you still doing all right?”

I turned. He was standing naked, toweling his hair with another cloth. His body was different from what I remembered, though there were echoes of the eighteen-year-old in this man. He still had long legs, slim hips, and big feet. His chest was much wider and more muscled, his nipples larger and darker, hiding in a forest of chest hair much thicker than he’d had when we were young. Other things had changed too. I jerked my eyes up to his face, feeling my skin blaze.

He smiled gently. “You can look. I like it.”

My eyes tracked down, willed or no.
Yes, he clearly did like it.
I whirled around.

From behind me, he said, “I’m sorry. I’m pushing you again.”

“No. Don’t be sorry. If I was a normal man, I’d be flattered.”

“A normal fay man. If you were straight, you might punch me.”

“Well, that’s clearly not the problem.” The tent I was creating in my own towel made that quite clear. “But I can’t. Not now.”

“And a good thing too,” he said, in a matter-of-fact voice. “Since we’ll have the kitchen maid knocking on the door with dinner any time now. Come on, let’s find you something to wear.”

My erection flagged fast at the thought of being interrupted by a stranger. I heard him open the wardrobe and turned. He was still unselfconsciously naked, digging around in one of his drawers. He was fine to look at from this angle too, with a broad back only faintly graced with hair, and a smooth, naked ass. I could see the scar on the side of his leg, a deep groove of white, with an arc of rough redness beside it. It was a big scar, but it hardly touched the perfection of his body.

He pulled out a shirt and held it up. “This might fit you. And these.” More clothing. “Trews. Or trousers? I wonder if I have any good ones left. I’ve worn uniforms for far too long.”

He tossed several things on the bed and said, “Get the smalls on and then I’ll give you a hand with the laces.”

I felt better once I had my ass covered. Enough better to watch as he dressed hurriedly in a blue uniform jacket with matching trews. Enough to stand still as he chose a shirt, jacket and trousers for me, and laced me into them. “Sorry,” he muttered as he knotted the shirt lace at my throat, and then began on the jacket buttons. “I thought we’d have time to get you something altered, but the king’s in a tearing hurry.”

“That’s all right.” I kind of liked wearing his clothes. Even if the jacket was falling off my shoulders, it felt like some kind of armor.

He stood back, looked at me, and clearly smothered a laugh. “Well, it’s better than anything you have, so it’ll have to do.”

“Do I look like a boy, dressed in his father’s togs?”

“Actually, more like a lover who grabbed the wrong jacket in the dark.”

I actually growled at him, and he did laugh. The kitchenmaid’s knock on the door distracted us both. “No time to fight. Don’t get soup on my good coat.”

There was no soup, but there was half a roast fowl for each of us, with good bread and carrots, and a dish of stewed apples. Tobin dismissed the maid, carried the tray to the table in the other room and set it down. We ate well, although fast. A boy brought a pitcher of beer and one of water before we were through. Tobin eyed the beer wistfully. “That looks damned good, but I think we want a clear head.” He set it aside. “Maybe after.” We stuck to the water.

A bell rang somewhere below while we were finishing off the apples, and Tobin startled. “Crap. That’s the end of the meal. Evening court will be next. Come on.” He hurried to the door, and I followed automatically.

The castle wasn’t any less confusing in the full dark, even with lamps along every wall. I stuck close behind Tobin. This was a new route, with three flights of stairs and a long portrait gallery I’d have liked to see better. Twice I lagged behind, and each time Tobin noticed immediately and slowed for me to catch up. Despite his leg, he was faster on the stairs than I was. Although it was something besides fatigue that slowed my steps.

We turned a last corner, and came out into a large hall thronged with people. At the end of the hall, two huge inlaid doors led to yet another room. I recognized the place from descriptions. Beyond that portal was our monarch’s throne room. And in front of it was a crowd of strangers, some of whom were even now turning to look at me. My courage deserted me all at once, and I turned and ran.

Tobin caught up with me at the top of the first flight of stairs. He grabbed my arm. “Where are you going? You can’t leave now.”

I broke free of his hold. “Watch me.”

“This isn’t some game!”

“Do I look like I think it’s funny?” My chest heaved as I fought for breath. “I can’t go back there!”

“What’s wrong?”

“All those people.” I put my back to the wall and slid down it, unable to keep my knees from bending. “Tobin, I spent weeks seeing no one at all. Months sometimes. I left money on the doorstep and they left my food. Even now. The boy comes on Naday and Choday. Just twice in a week. Two days of six. He stays for a few minutes, maybe a bit more. Sometimes I manage to chat for half an hour before I have to send him on his way.
I can’t go down there
.” I started sobbing, harsh breaths that racked through my chest. “Please don’t make me. Don’t let the king make me go in there.”

“Ah gods! Lyon!” Tobin bent over me, his hand hovering above my hair.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know you think I’m strong, but I’m not.” I wrapped my arms around my stomach. The king commanded us, and he wanted me to walk in there and stand before his throne. Probably with a hundred people watching. He might ask me questions. I could no more do that than I could fly. I held myself tighter. The chicken I’d eaten was making a bid for freedom. I clenched my teeth on the bile that filled my mouth. That would be perfect— to puke on the king’s inlaid wooden floor. I swallowed hard. “I’m a disaster.”

Tobin touched my hair, a feather’s brush. “Lyon, don’t say that.”

“I’m sorry but it’s true. I’m useless and he can force me,
you
can force me, but I’ll probably throw up on his shoes and he still won’t get whatever he wants from me. I beg you. Let me go home.” I pressed my face to my knees. “I just want to go home.”

Tobin turned and sat beside me. His shoulder touched mine and I let it. It felt almost like another wall. “Let me see what I can do. All right? He wants something from you. He wouldn’t want to break… to hurt you. At least not without getting it first.”

I choked a tiny laugh at the realism of that.

Tobin leaned closer. “I’ll tell him you can’t abide crowds. I’ll ask him to meet you somewhere quiet. The odds are, whatever he wants isn’t something he’d spread around an open court anyway. The real work usually comes after. This was probably just to get a measure of you.”

“Well, now he’ll know.”

He bent over me. I felt something, like a brush of lips on my hair, and looked up to find a look of helpless tenderness on Tobin’s face.

Or maybe it was just pity. I hid my face again.

“Can you at least do that, lion-boy? If I get him to meet you with just a few advisors around, can you speak with him?”

I shook my head against my knees. “I want to. You know I do. Just like I want to cross bridges and sleep through the night.”
And touch you. Gods, I want to be able to touch you.
“It’s not my choice. I’ll try. But I’d much rather go home.”

“At least try.”

“I said I would.”

Tobin sighed. “Can you find your way back to our room, if I go into the throne room?”

I just raised my head and looked at him.

“Yeah, silly question. Everyone gets lost in here at least seven times, before they get the hang of it.” He glanced around. The corridor was empty, which had been a relief during my display of extreme mewling and panicking. But he frowned. “If I find a page, will you let them show you the way back?”

How could I say no? I wanted to. I would have begged him to come with me, to stay with me. I’d have told him I only felt safe when he was nearby. But he had his duties, and I was trying not to be a baby about this. I nodded.

****

CHAPTER FIVE

I waited in his room, for what felt like hours. His knock on the closed door made me jump. I didn’t move to answer until he said his name, twice, and my name. Then I went and unbolted the door. He came inside saying, “I got him to agree…” and then he stopped, looking around.

There was no chalk in his rooms and no charcoal. Pens write badly on stone. But he had ink in plenty, and I had a working fingertip. I’d sketched the runes of protection and exclusion everywhere I could, dipping over and over in the ink-bottle. I’d used up all his black, and most of the blue. Over the windows first, and then the door. Then every bare wall as high as I could reach. I’d heard that the castle had secret passages and that walls could open with hidden doors. I was taking no chances.

He sighed, just loud enough for me to hear it, and then reached for my hand. I was so wrung out I let him do it. He looked at my finger, and then led me over to the ewer on the sideboard. “Here. Let’s see if we can wash some of that off.” He poured water in the basin and rubbed soap on my indigo fingers, the blue foam rising between his knuckles. He rinsed me, scrubbed, rinsed again. I let him. He raised my hand to inspect it. “You’ve rubbed the tip raw.”

“The stone is rougher than it looks.”

“Oh, thank Bian, there you are.”

“What?”

“You looked so lost. I was worried.”

“Well you said yourself, everyone gets lost in this castle.” That wasn’t what he’d meant and I knew it. But we both pretended it was. It had been a near thing. When the page brought me back, there had been a very strong temptation to burrow under the covers and disappear into my head. But writing the spells, keeping the symbols clean and proportional, and avoiding drips, had kept me grounded. One can’t do sorcery with less than full concentration, not even the spells I knew in my sleep.