Nor Iron Bars A Cage (37 page)

We traveled lightly the first day, covering far less ground than I thought I could have managed. But when Tobin said he wanted me to have lots of energy that night, I’d found his logic compelling. We stopped early, in a sheltered spot away from the trail. He set me enthroned on a boulder and made me stir dinner in a pot while he took care of all else. After dinner we lay together, with the stars overhead, and talked in foolish whispers, and kissed. His arms were around me, his body hot against mine. We moved together, softly at first and then urgently. And came, just like that, with his mouth eagerly swallowing my cries. I’d slept for a while, afterward. And found through that night, and the ones that followed, that waking in the dark could be put to very good use.

I sighed, and moved away from the window. That was another thing. The damned nightmares hadn’t gone away with getting the token out of my arm. They’d just multiplied and mutated. My favorite now seemed to be one where I perched, unmoving, high and safe on a cliff, while below me a R’gin soldier hacked Tobin to bloody bits. In that dream, Xan cursed me and then the wraith crept in and told me how much it relished watching… I woke crying from that one.

Tobin had begun to learn the sounds I made when demons stalked my dreams and he was getting good at waking me early. But sometimes he failed. Sometimes, in fear, I hit at him, and although he laughed at the idea I’d ever really hurt him, there had been a few days when he wore a bruise on his cheek from my fist. And more than one night, early on, when our nearest neighbors down the hall came pounding on our door in alarm at my cries. So damned embarrassing. If Tobin would have let me, I’d have been tempted to wear a gag to bed.

What I really needed was my own space. A place alone, where I couldn’t hurt anyone or alarm them or rob them of sleep. Every day I vowed to tell him that, and every day he brought me delicacies from the palace kitchen and led me through evening-quiet corridors to some new museum room or library.

The first time I’d picked up an unfamiliar old book, I’d been unable to open it. I stared at the cover. Cutting out the token from my wrist, banishing the wraith, hadn’t cured the nightmares. But what if it had taken my skill with languages from me? What if they in fact had been lingering whispers of the wraith?

I set the book on a table, and stared blankly at the shelves. Picked it up again. The title on the binding was still clear, in
kanshishel— Native Fauna of the Mountains.
I opened it, flipping through with half-glazed eyes, not trying to see more than the drawings. There was a picture of a woolly goat, high on a crag. I paused. The text read,
“The mountain goat, or sheergoat, is known for its unusual skill in navigating the high places of…”
I read no more, as my eyes blurred with tears. The words came easy and clear. I hadn’t lost that skill. Good sign or bad, I didn’t know. But it had been my solace so long, I’d have desperately mourned the loss.

In the evenings, once I regained confidence, I came into my own, finding treasures to show Tobin. I’d even located two pictures of elephants wearing structures on their backs not unlike little houses. After a scurry of delightful research, we decided that my favorite travelogue was less fantasy than I’d thought. Tobin and I discussed what would be involved in making a trip to the Southlands, and regretfully discarded the idea. But I found a translation of another traveler’s journals, and read it to him that night while he lay with his head on my shoulder. And once more, I said nothing about leaving.

We went riding out into the palace park, and saw the herd of white roe deer that the king raised there. We even took a boat on the river. Tobin rejected the boatman’s help and poled us along upstream himself. We anchored by the bank, and ate early strawberries and soft cheese and new bread. I showed Tobin a pair of shy willowlarks, flitting branch to branch. He’d never seen one and I twitted him that the noise soldiers made would scare wild things from miles away. And then we floated back down on the current, lazily fending off the bank when needed. That, I’d even been able to do one handed, and Tobin had napped for a while in the stern, a hat pulled down over his eyes, while I kept us safe in the channel. And every night we went to bed, together.

How could I leave? Nights with Tobin were a revelation. He hadn’t been joking about wanting to show me things. Despite my lingering fears, I’d at least had my mouth on every part of him by now, and discovered the flame-hot pleasure of his skilled tongue on me, most places. I was past the worst of choking and spitting— able to have him come in my mouth and to find it a pleasure I hadn’t imagined. There was more that he promised me, when I got up the nerve to try. And then there were the long, soft hours, in velvet darkness, folded into his arms.

How could I go? But how could I stay?

King Faro had finally come home two days ago. They’d fought to victory on the coast, although with significant losses. A first surrender had been signed by the R’gin commander, and prisoners were already set to work at repairs. A treaty with the Prince Regent would be a far slower thing.

We’d heard the king had decided to keep the tunnel in the hills open, although guarded. According to R’gin prisoners, it took only four long days of march to pass through it. The other end was somewhere deep in their own foothills, many miles from the nearest city. Still, compared to the sea route or the high mountain passes, it was a very fast path from our land to theirs.

Tobin said the king hoped to someday open it as a trade route. But we needed that treaty first. And maybe a less rabid leader for the R’gin.

I hadn’t seen King Faro recently, other than a brief moment two days ago, as we lined the road to the palace to cheer him and his soldiers home. He’d seen Tobin beside me in the crowd near the gate and reined back. His eyes had tracked to me, and he’d given me a little salute, fingers flicking his forehead. I bowed low, and before I straightened he’d ridden on. Since then, Tobin had met with him twice but I hadn’t. I’d sent him a note, though…

There was a quick triple tap on our door in Tobin’s rhythm, and then he came inside. We’d instituted that signal the third time he’d seen me leaping to a corner at an unexpected servant’s knock on the door behind me. He was so good at finding practical solutions to my problems. Sometimes I wanted to cry at his patience. Sometimes I wanted to hit him really hard, for his unwavering faith that it all could be surmounted.

For now, I smiled and did neither. “Hey, he let you go early?”

“Yes. Meeting’s done. He’s having a formal court tonight, and we have to attend, on pain of pissing off our monarch. But he said if you wish, you may sit up on one of the balconies pretty much by yourself. I told him you would rather be boiled in oil than mingle with the crowd on the floor.”

“Not quite that bad.”

“Anyway, I’ll show you where. But I have to be down there. Apparently he’s awarding me something, in full public view. I couldn’t get him to tell me what it is, or call it off.”

I hoped I knew the what. And that it would make him happy. “Well, you’ll find out, I guess.”

“Mm. I hope it’s not some badge or ring or something. I’ve no fondness for jewels.”

“If it is, you can still sell it, and put the money towards your stable someday.”

“Selling a gift you were given by the king is frowned upon, but yes, I would. For a stone house first. Then the stud.”

I shrugged. We’d looked at houses nearby, just a few times. Neither of us had the kind of money that a solid stone place close to the palace would command. In any case, all of them had cellars, and I’d realized I could no more live over a cellar than I could live in a house built of lathe and wood. Not yet anyway. I’d have to retreat to my little cottage and try to either earn a boatload of money, or become less cowardly.

“Maybe he’ll find you a better reward than some jewel.”

“I can hope. He has the most gods-awful taste. Look at the Voice badges.”

I hid a smile. “I’d heard that about him. Although some ancestor is responsible for the badges.”

“Hereditary bad taste. Whereas you…” He took my shoulders between his hands and pulled me close. “You taste good.”

I kissed him thoroughly. I was getting practiced at this. Then I looked over his shoulder. “You maniac, close the door first.”

“I’m not hiding how I feel about you.” But he went and did it, and then came back to me. “I missed you.”

“In the whole two hours you were gone.”

“Longer than that. Did you find the book you were looking for?”

“Yes. That old librarian in the antiquities room was very helpful.” It had been peaceful there, and the old man had wanted to talk about really ancient history and books. I’d actually managed a nice long conversation. But after that there’d been crowded hallways to navigate, to get back here. Spending time there at night would be far more pleasant, even if the librarian would be gone to his bed.

“Good, I’m glad he did well for you. King Faro said he’d given instructions that all the libraries were open to you.”

“That was kind of him,” I said, and meant it.

“You can thank me for it.” Tobin smirked. “I suggested it. I can suggest ways to express your gratitude.”

“To the king?” I teased, lowering my voice.

“To me,” he growled.

“Oh, yes?” I moved closer to him and took his jaw in my hand. A hint of beard rasped my fingers, already regrowing from his morning shave. I kissed him there, feeling the slight roughness catch my lips. I touched my tongue to the sensitive skin below his jawbone, to hear him catch his breath. Then I kissed his mouth, probing with my tongue. He opened for me on a sigh. I knew how this went now, how much he loved to have me cup the back of his head with my hand, and take his mouth.

My Tobin, so strong and yet so soft and pliant when the mood was on him. I wrapped my other arm around his back and walked him toward the bed, not breaking the kiss. He cupped my ass with his hands and drew me tightly against him, proving that both of us were already hard.

At the bed we paused. I stepped back and said, “Strip for me.” I liked taking his clothes off, bit by bit, with kisses to trail over exposed skin. My hand had just enough function now that I could untie laces, given time and a bit of patience. But I also liked watching him undress for me, in the mellow afternoon light.

He smiled, and the sun caught amber lights in his eyes. His hands went to his jacket buttons, popping them free one by one. He slid it off, swung the collar around on one finger and whipped it in the direction of the chair. The jacket landed on it, but in a heap. When I would have shaken it out for him, he said, “No. Leave it.” He tugged his shirt-laces looser, and moved his hands to the hem.

There was no reason to look anywhere but at him. He slid the fabric up slowly, exposing inch after inch of toned stomach, ornamented with dark hair. So strong, so male, and so mine. I reached out and laid my palm flat on that firm, warm flesh. He whispered, “Oh, yes,” and pulled the shirt swiftly over his head. He whipped that to the side too, and I didn’t even bother to see where it fell.

He stood there half clothed, his strong shoulders bare in the daylight. None of us had come away from the foothills unmarked, and there was a new scar on him too, pink and scabbed at one end still, but healing well. It joined the host of others, all marking him as a soldier, a fighter, a man of courage. All adding to his beauty. Being with Tobin was truly teaching me not to worry about outward scars.

I traced his sternum upward with my hand, feeling the soft crinkle of curly hair. Then I slid my touch sideways to cup the hard shape of his chest-muscle in my palm. His nipple was a firm bud under my thumb, and I rubbed it and saw the other side tightening too. I pressed, mounding his flesh, and he took a sharp breath.

When I reached for my own buttons, though, he put his hand on mine to stop me. “Not yet. Wait.”

He finished the show, toeing off boots, stockings, sliding his uniform trews down his strong thighs. When he stood in just his smalls, the linen tented with clear evidence of his desire, he said, “Would you take them off me?”

I touched him through the fabric. His cock jerked into my palm, and a small bead of moisture dampened the cloth. Slowly I traced the length of him, the hot, hard rod under the slip and bunch of his smallclothes. He moaned at my touch, and I kissed his mouth again, leaning forward and keeping his cock gripped in my fingers.

His kiss was hungry, starving. He sucked my tongue deep with needy little whimpers. As I probed the soft, wet space, filling his mouth, I fumbled my hand inside his waistband and pushed his smalls down to his thighs. His hard sex brushed against my wrist, silk and steel and mine to have. I wrapped my fingers around it, cupping and twisting in the way I’d learned he loved. His eyes, blurry inches from my own, closed with the pleasure of it, and he clung tightly to my shoulders. His fingers dug into me. Then he tipped his head back and said, “Wait. Go slower.”

“What? Shall I undress?”

“No. I…” He took a shaky breath and stepped back from me, kicked the smallclothes away, and waited for me to look at him. I happily complied, running my gaze over every part of him. He was flushed, rampantly erect, his chest rising and falling with his breaths. His cock jerked with just the heat of my glance. “Would you take me, really take me this time?”

“You mean…?” I felt hot and then cold with the thought. He’d mentioned this, often enough, and dropped it immediately when I shied away. “You want me to…?”

“Be inside me. Yes.” He came close again and cupped my face in his hands. “I wish you would. You make too much of a big thing out of this. It doesn’t have to be pain. It doesn’t have to be possession. To all the hells with an old man’s talk of mares and stallions too.” He kissed me swiftly. “Do I look like a mare to you?”

I choked a laugh. He was all man, even naked here in my arms. Maybe especially here.

“This can just be pleasure. Just another way to touch and feel and be together. It’s something I love. Top or bottom. Something I’d like to share with you, if you feel able. There’s something special about having someone inside you…”