Poison (7 page)

"I admit you've gotten prettier since I last saw you," Ailill said, smiling. He closed the parlor door and strode across the room, holding up the calling card. "When did you become a duke?"

Rolling his eyes, Ivan replied, "When I handed over the Minister of Magic. His majesty decided that throwing me into nobility was more appropriate than throwing me into a prison cell. Thankfully he did not also try to make me a Minister. That position was retired." He hesitated, then said, "You are looking well, Ailill. Much better than when last I saw you."

"When last you saw me I was flopping about like a boy after his first binge," Ailill drawled, fighting an idiotic grin, unable to say exactly why he was so happy to see Ivan. He knew he had missed him, and definitely missed sleeping with him, but the joy keeping his heart thudding rapidly in his chest ...

Well, he would figure that out later. Smirking, Ailill asked, "So are we done being polite, Vanya? Or are you too proper now that you're a duke to kiss me?"

Ivan made that growly sort of noise that Ailill had always loved and grabbed his wrist, pulling him slowly closer. Sinking his fingers into the hair at Ailill's nape, he tilted Ailill's head and said, "No title is going to make me that proper."

Ailill laughed, but it was immediately cut off by Ivan's mouth, as rough and hot as Ailill remembered. He had always liked that best about Ivan:  he did not hesitate about what he wanted. He enjoyed it and was not impeded by things like titles.

Groaning, Ailill wrapped his arms around Ivan's waist, took the kiss deeper, and pressed as close against Ivan as he could get. He was ravenous, desperate, aching to have what he had so sorely missed for the past two years. Drawing back, gulping in breaths, loving the way his lips throbbed, Ailill said, "Here I worried you would not remember me."

Ivan laughed softly and dragged his tongue across Ailill's lips, goatee scraping where it touched skin. "Now how could I forget you? If anyone was likely to be forgotten, your grace, it was a lowly merc."

"A lowly merc who is now a lofty duke," Ailill said, amused, and then he went right back to kissing him, hating it when reality could no longer be ignored. Drawing back reluctantly, he said, "I want nothing more than to invite you upstairs to my bedroom and keep you there for a long time, Vanya."

Raising his brows in silent query, Ivan replied, "Why can't you?" He smirked. "Somebody else in it? I can throw them out, I think."

Ailill laughed. "Don't be absurd. No, I have been ordered to handle a very delicate matter by the Triad. I must leave immediately to carry those orders out. I nearly had my butler throw you out until I actually read the calling card."

"I see," Ivan said, and he slowly let Ailill go. "I suppose I shall wait for you to return then, unless you would like assistance? If you can have assistance?"

"Oh—I hadn't thought about it. It's ... well, it's not as if you haven't dealt with similar matters before. And they appointed me precisely to gain an outside perspective. If you really want to spend part of your trip here investigating a murder with me, by all means."

Ivan smiled slow and hot, gray eyes burning. "As long as it's only part of visit. I have very firm plans for the other parts of my plan."

"I should hope so," Ailill said, and was not certain who initiated the next kiss, but did not particularly care. He cared for nothing save the way Ivan's mouth burned and consumed, the hot hands that slid over his body as if they had never forgotten the shape of it.

They needed to be going. There was work to do. But Ailill could not make those thoughts take hold, could not do anything except hold tightly and keep kissing Ivan. Only the burning need to do more, to strip them both and go until they collapsed from exhaustion, finally forced him back. "Come on," he said, drawing a ragged breath and clearing his throat. "I need to pack. We're going to be gone several days."

"If you have a footman to spare, I'll send him to collect my things from my lodgings. I have not yet unpacked, so it should be quick enough. By the time he returns, we'll likely be ready to go."

Ailill nodded. "I'll send the footman to you." He fled the room before they wound up fucking on the floor and caught Gautier in the hallway. "Find someone to fetch his grace's belongings; his grace will tell you where."

"Yes, your grace," Gautier replied. Ailill smiled in thanks, then raced up the stairs and down the hall to his bedroom. Only that morning he had been wondering why he would need such a large room, or such a large bed. Looking at the bed in question, he had ideas aplenty. Filthy, exhausting, utterly marvelous ideas that did not help his cock go down.

Andre was bustling around the room, gathering and packing far more than Ailill would have thought to include. He paused as he caught sight of Ailill. "Nearly done, your grace. Was there anything in particular you wanted included?"

"I'm sure if I can think of it, you've already packed it," Ailill said. "I've a guest. He is joining me on my journey, but is having his belongings brought here. See they find space with mine here. He's from Pozhar, so see to it that someone procures food and drink he would favor for when we return."

Andre bowed. "Of course, your grace. Is there anything else?"

"No, I don't think so. Thank you for having everything ready so quickly. I would not manage being a duke without you." He smiled briefly, gave the room a last look over, lingering longingly on the bed, and then turned and went back downstairs.

Ivan was waiting in the front hall, looking at the various decorations on the wall. "I'm impressed with all that you managed to acquire in your travels," he said, pointing to a painting of Zhar Ptitsa. "I remember stealing a number of paintings by this artist. They're not cheap. That was back in my early days."

"I see," Ailill said. "I wonder if I bought it from one of the men who paid you to steal it. Have your things been delivered?"

"Yes," Ivan said. "I kept one case and left the rest here."

Ailill nodded. "Did none of your team come with you?"

"No, I left them behind to attend the estate. I told them I was perfectly capable of traveling alone. I'm not sure they believed me, but they listened."

"I'm surprised they did," Ailill said with a laugh. "A pity, I would have liked to see them again. They were good men, your team."

Ivan smiled and reached up to rub his thumb over Ailill's lips, then bent to kiss him again briefly. "They said to tell you hello. Shall we be off then, your grace?"

"If we must," Ailill said with a sigh and led the way outside. The servants finished loading everything onto the back of the carriage, then bowed as Ailill and Ivan approached.

Looking to the coachman, Ailill said, "Take us to the country estate of Lady Elianne Poulx. Do you know it?"

"Yes, your grace. Three day journey, and we'll probably spend an hour just crossing the river."

Ailill grimaced. "Ah, yes, the river. Well, there's nothing for it. I leave us in your capable hands."

"Your grace," the coachmen replied, and then climbed on top of the carriage as Ivan and Ailill climbed inside.

A couple of minutes later they were off, and Ailill settled back in his seat with a sigh, not looking forward to the journey ahead of him. "So how long are you planning to stay, Vanya?"

Ivan shrugged, sprawling in his own seat, seeming to take up the whole of the carriage. Ailill wished it was at all feasible to spread himself across Ivan's lap. "I made no definitive plans. I thought I would arrive and see how everything went."

"That makes good hearing," Ailill said. "The ceremony is three months away, and I fear things will not be very pleasant until it is over—especially now this murder has been placed in my lap."

Cocking his head, Ivan said, "Yes, tell me more of this murder."

"Attempted murder, actually, but the White Eagle is in a coma," Ailill said. "Someone attacked her in her private temple and killed her manservant. She tried to escape down into a secret room, but somehow her attacker poisoned her first, or managed to poison her while she was hidden away. Part of my job, alongside figuring out who did it, is determining how the deed was done. The timing is the worst part."

"You think it has something to do with the ceremony?" Ivan asked.

Ailill shook his head. "Who would stand to benefit by the ceremony failing? No, the people of Verde work too hard and hope too desperately for someone to ensure yet another Tragedy. Who would purposely sacrifice an entire country for one person?"

"The same type of people who would sacrifice an entire country to save one little thief," Ivan replied. "The same type of people who poisoned you two years ago."

"Ah, yes, there is that," Ailill said with a wince. "I have heard Holy Zhar Ptitsa is returned to Pozhar and the country flourishes."

Ivan nodded. "Yes, he has returned. The country prospers—no more excessive snow, the crops grow well again, and people just ... they just seem happier. The ups and downs are not as extreme. Fires, I am a duke instead of dead. I think you must not discount that someone wants the ceremony to fail."

"But who would benefit from that? It seems far more likely that it is a crime of passion, a personal vendetta of some sort."

"Perhaps, but the timing makes me wonder," Ivan said pensively. "I guess we shall see. You make a very pretty duke, but you do not look very happy to be one."

Ailill sighed and slumped, some of the weight sliding from his shoulders as he realized he did not have to pretend in front of Ivan. "I hate it. I give orders, I bow and scrape, I am scheduled to attend all manner of luncheons and dinner parties ... and I hate every moment of it. You seem to be adjusting much better. Being a duke suits you."

Ivan shrugged. "I am a poor noble, really, but I am used to being in charge. Being a duke is not so different than being the leader of a mercenary band, at least in that respect. Thankfully, my men have taken up the challenge with me. They've adjusted remarkably well to being respectable. Luka rules my estate with an iron fist; I think if anyone tried to take it from us they would find the Jagged Mountains less frightening."

"I see," Ailill said with a laugh. "Well, perhaps after the ceremony I can take one last journey. I must settle into my own duties at some point, but I admit I keep putting them off."

"With the ceremony so close, I think you have good reason to focus on that rather than lands that have taken care of themselves well enough without you. I would suspect that the people who need you have not suffered at all."

Ailill shook his head. "No. I am starting to lose track of the number of fights I have broken up since I arrived home. I fear by the time the day of the ceremony arrives people will be too busy fighting in the streets to notice."

"Has it become so bad here?" Ivan asked, surprise.

"Unfortunately," Ailill said with another sigh. "Cats versus dogs, who will band together long enough to pick on snakes, who in turn hate the avian—it's a mess. I've not had much chance to speak with the other Beasts, but my impression is that they are just as exhausted. Lady Elianne returned home to deal with that very sort of problem on her estate. Kundou had its mermaids, Pozhar had its Vessel hunts, Piedre its bloody cults, and we are breaking into groups and feuding."

Ivan shifted, moved, and then was sitting next to him in the carriage. It was crowded, but Ailill did not care in the slightest. He leaned into Ivan, soaking up the smell of him, liking the hint of some spicy cologne mingled with the earthier, smoky scent of Ivan himself.

Calloused fingers combed through his hair, dislodged the ribbon loosely holding it back and tilted his face up to take a brief but firm kiss. "It will work out. If there is one thing I have learned in the past couple of years, it is that it pays to have faith. You were always more faithful than me, faerie child. Do not lose that faith now."

Ailill nodded, but stayed leaning against him, curving one hand lightly over Ivan's thigh, just relishing his warmth and solidity. It unsettled him just how much he really had missed Ivan. They had not known each other long. There were people he'd known longer whose faces he could not recall. He did not think he would ever forget Ivan's. "I'm glad you came to visit me," he said.

"I am glad I finally decided to make the journey," Ivan said quietly. "You're remarkably hard to forget, cat."

"Wait until we stop for the night," Ailill said with a smirk, squeezing Ivan's thigh. "I will be more than happy to demonstrate the more memorable parts of me."

Ivan laughed and brushed back his hair, lips grazing his ear before he nipped it sharply. "Looking forward to it, though that was not the only reason I missed you."

Ailill shivered, but did not reply, content simply to sit there and soak up the warmth of Ivan's presence.

Gael held still while Freddie fussed with his cravat, folding and knotting and driving him utterly mad.

"Hold still," Freddie admonished, swatting his chest and undoing all of her work. Gael heaved a long sigh, but it garnered him no sympathy. "If you would hold still and stop fidgeting like a mouse among cats then I would already be done. Hold. Still." She swatted him again for good measure and resumed working on his cravat.

He forced himself to remain still, but it was hard. He was tired of people being close, tired of the rooms and the way they closed in on him, tired of the tension. Then there was the royal ball, just minutes away. The only thing he dreaded more was the ceremony.

"There, all done," Freddie said. "Honestly, it's a disgrace that at your age you cannot tie any, but the plainest knots."

Gael reached up to lightly touch the elaborate folds of white and silver lace, the gleaming opal pinning all in place. Sliding his gaze to Freddie, he said, "Honestly, it's a disgrace that at your age you cannot put on the simplest gown."

"Roast your mother," Freddie said cheerfully, running her hands over white breeches that had the faintest shimmer of gold to them. "Do not be jealous I wear breeches better than you." She eyed him critically, lingering on his crotch with a smirk. "Though I suppose one might argue it depends on what you like filling your breeches."