Mage Bond, page 21
“But I don’t have another mage to pair with.”
“Don’t you?”
Because, my little mage, now the time is right. Eyes kept closed will now open.
“Peter. You know of Peter.”
“My sect knew of Petran the moment he set foot in E’Skaara, just as we knew about you, Arkenn.”
“Wait. What? You knew about him? About us?”
“Yes, we did.”
Anger caught Martin in an iron grip. “For many seasons, I mourned the death of my friend. You knew he was alive and didn’t tell me?” He grasped the bottom of Dmitri’s hood and yanked him to his feet—and stood with an empty robe in his grasp.
He dropped the robe. Immediately, the robe rose from the ground, forming into Dmitri’s familiar shape.
Martin jumped backward, falling and scrambling away. “What did you do? How did you…”
“You have much to learn, Martin.” Dmitri held out his gloved hand.
Martin stared at the hand for a long moment, heart racing. Dmitri hadn’t simply disappeared, then reappeared somewhere else. Had he?
Dmitri wriggled his fingers. “I’m the same priest who’s protected you all along. Why should seeing another aspect of my powers alarm you so? Don’t you know I’d never use any power against you?”
Slowly, Martin clutched the offered hand and allowed Dmitri to help him up. Would Martin one day manage such a feat as disappearing?
Dmitri continued the conversation as though nothing unusual had happened. “Why do you think the Father prohibits two men or two women together?”
“Mine is not to question your god.” Martin would like to ask a few questions with his fists about why he and Peter were kept apart and how Dmitri knew of them. Although, much more demonstration of holy power might turn Martin into a true believer.
“Mage bond pairs are extremely powerful, especially when they bond young. But, if not guided, they go rogue, use their powers for evil, not good. Which is why mages as a whole were considered dangerous.”
“I don’t understand. It’s the Lady’s people who took my parents.”
“Who do you fear most in this world?”
A few sevendays ago, he’d say he feared nothing or no one. Now… “Someone who could take away all I hold dear.”
Dmitri turned his head in the direction of the Lady’s temple, where a tall spire shot toward the sky. “So does she. And the only thing she holds dear is power.”
“That still doesn’t explain why you kept Petran and me… Peter…apart.”
“Doesn’t it? Could you have held off a novice guard when you were young?”
“Well, no, but…”
“Congratulations, you have found your mage bond. Do you have any idea how rare that is? But if you’d received no training, what would happen if you held a sword on an experienced fighter?”
“He’d likely take my weapon and kill me.”
“Precisely.”
Though Martin couldn’t see Dmitri’s eyes, he felt a hot stare boring into him.
“You needed to mature, for us to see what you would become, how strong you were before we trained you. Why make a man give up the life he knows if he’ll be of no service?”
“And you’ve been watching me all along.” Hadn’t Dmitri said something similar before?
“We gave you the amulet to hide you and keep you safe.”
“What about Peter?”
“One of our trusted servants, a minor practitioner, kept an eye on him until the time came for you to reunite. He was in no danger, and wards prevented any from seeing him as the pirate lad. Even you, until now.”
“Why now?”
“Because you’ll need your bond for the next level of your training.”
“I need to ask one more thing.” A hard thing to ask, but something Martin very much wanted to know. “Is the Father real?”
Dmitri slowly shook his head, tutting. “Do you believe he is real?”
Did he? “I don’t know. I’ve prayed to him in times of trouble.” And hoped the Father protected him from the Lady.
“And did you feel comforted?” Dmitri folded his arms inside the sleeves of his robe.
“Somewhat.”
“At that moment, you believed in him.”
“Yes, I guess I did. But is he really there?”
“Whenever you believe in him, at that moment, he is real to you.”
”Is the Lady real?”
Dmitri remained silent for a few moments, then quietly answered, “Very much so. But she’s not what you think she is. Which is why you must train.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
Martin.
Peter closed his eyes and leaned on the tavern’s hearth, recalling arms around him, lips against lips, the deep thrum of something underneath. A rightness. Tiny sparks igniting when skin touched skin. A missing piece of himself, restored.
From the moment he’d been drawn to a badly injured Arkenn on the riverbank, there’d been something about him. So much time apart should have dampened the pull.
Yet time and distance only increased Peter’s want for his foundling.
Only, he’d woken to an empty bed. Would Arkenn… Martin come back? Fate couldn’t have brought them together, only to separate them again.
All those seasons ago, nestled together on Peter’s bunk. First, he’d nursed Martin back to health, then Martin returned the favor. Peter never told a soul his suspicions about Martin’s magery. How had he managed to hide his powers, living in a city where one wrong move meant a death sentence?
He should have run, gotten as far from E’Skaara as possible. Yet, he’d stayed. Why?
Peter would have to ask him, if Martin graced the Stone’s Throw’s door again. The late eve crowd departed, his three lodgers trudging upstairs to their rooms long before closing. Tonight, no squeaking bed ropes chased back the quiet. Not a sound, not even the ticking of the mantel clock. No surprise. He’d liked the workmanship when he’d inherited the place but never got around to having the faulty mechanisms repaired.
He dawdled, sent Addie home, took his time sweeping.
Tick, tick, tick…
Peter spun, facing the hearth. The clock’s pendulum swung back and forth, ticking off the moments. What? How? An accidental fall to the floor broke parts inside, Old Mitta had told him.
Suddenly prickles rose on Peter’s neck, warmth flowing into his belly. He wasn’t alone. Slowly, slowly, he turned to face the street.
There, under a lantern, stood a familiar figure, dressed in black.
They stared at each other for long moments, frozen. The figure crossed the street in a few long strides.
Peter jerked his shoulders back, reanimating and hurrying toward the door. One minute Martin stood outside, looking in on a world where he felt so out of place at times; the next moment, warmth surrounded him when he stepped out of the cold, both physical and proverbial, and into the light.
Peter greeted him with a bashful smile. “What brings you down here to my humble establishment at this hour?”
He didn’t bar the way, ushering Martin farther inside. Martin winked, tightness unfurling inside of him at the welcome. “We’re sharers of secrets, are we not?” Shyness had never been a problem, yet Martin hefted the weight of each word before allowing it to leave his mouth. “Would you believe I have business with the tavernkeeper?” Too much filled his mind, had kept him awake at night. Things Peter might not be ready to hear if the priests had kept him so isolated from the knowledge of who, or what, Peter and Martin were.
Peter whipped his gaze to the floor, the bloom of color on his pale cheeks answering louder than words.
Footsteps overhead had Peter gazing ceilingward. He bustled over to the front door, grasping the cloak and hat hanging from a hook and wrapping himself inside worn wool. “Walk with me?”
“Aren’t you afraid of cutpurses or other evils roaming the streets at night?” Martin asked, even though they’d be as safe outside as in—he’d see to it.
“Not with you.” A gentle smile lifted the corner of Peter’s mouth, etching a dimple into his cheek. “Why do you think no one approaches you? You’re… dangerous.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Besides, anyone who can run down a murderous sailor and return with nary a scratch must be someone to be reckoned with.”
Peter didn’t know half of the matter. Martin raised a brow.
Peter chuckled. “As Aggie says, anyone out on a night like tonight is bound to be a relative of hers. I’ll simply threaten to tell her. No wise man risks her wrath.”
Martin supposed not. He strolled outside, then waited as Peter locked the door and pocketed the key. “Where to?”
Peter nodded toward the end of the road. “There’s a pier that the locals use for fishing. When I can’t sleep, I go there, watch the ships’ lanterns bobbing in the bay.”
Did he miss the sea? The Seabird? His father?
Martin paced beside Peter, breath fogging. Chill fingers of the coming winter caressed Martin’s face and stung his nose, or chill for E’Skaara. The scent of smoke mingled with seawater and the ever-present fishy odor of the harbor district. They left cobblestones for packed earth.
“You said Aggie’s family,” Martin ventured. “What about your own? You didn’t tell me a lot during our brief time together.”
Peter pulled his hat down more firmly over his ears. “Da was the only member of my family I knew of after my mum died. With him gone, it’s just me. I’ve never felt the need to take a mate, though many have tried to persuade me.” He gave a wry chuckle. “Da told stories of my grandmother. Tough when she had to be, with a kind heart. She never let circumstances get in her way and raised my father alone.”
“She sounds like a good woman.” Those words held a lot of meaning to Martin, who’d met good women who sold their bodies to feed their families and others who’d been called good without the slightest bit of love in their hearts.
Peter barked out a rueful laugh. “It depends on who you ask. The townsfolk saw her as a woman of ill repute, spat on the ground when she passed. Da saw her as a woman who did what she had to in order to raise the son she refused to sell no matter the sum offered her.”
Shock halted Martin’s steps. “Sell?”
Peter continued on, bootheels clicking over the packed dirt. Martin hurried to catch up. “People here think there’s a huge divide between the rich and the poor.” He shook his head. “Where she was from, the rich owned the poor.”
Now came Martin’s turn to gasp. “Surely not. For what purpose?”
Voice even, carrying none of the contempt the subject deserved, Peter replied, “For servants mostly, but many found other uses for a comely young lad.” He spoke so casually.
Breath wouldn’t come. People would have used Peter’s Da? “But don’t your people follow the ways of the Father? Isn’t that forbidden?”
“People have a way of twisting doctrines to suit their own whims. Two men together are forbidden, but if you take an indentured servant, and… Well, they don’t have the same rights in that world and aren’t considered equals. One of Grandmother’s… friends owned a merchant vessel and promised to take care of my da. She kissed Da, saw him safely on the ship, and he never saw her again. When he returned home a few seasons later, someone else lived in the house, and all her things were gone. Sold, most likely. He didn’t realize at the time that, with no one to protect her, she’d fall prey to dishonest neighbors.”
“That’s horrible.” Demons didn’t only live in shadows, apparently.
Peter shrugged. “It’s the way of the world. I’ve seen atrocities committed by pirates. Nothing came close to what’s been done by so-called decent people, in the name of their deity, no less. She was kinder than any of them.”
While Martin grew up working hard for his supper, he’d slept safely in his bed at night. Never would he have dreamed another, especially a mere child, faced such horrors. Yet, he’d seen street children here. Were they at such risk? “Your… your mother died when you were a small child.”
Peter removed his hat, running fingers through dark, cropped hair so different from the gold highlighted brown mass Martin remembered. “My father took me to sea, not trusting our neighbors not to take advantage.”
“They worshipped the Father?”
Peter nodded, lips pulled tight.
Dmitri’s religion allowed such? Wait until Martin saw the priest again. “But you got away.”
“I got away. Some tried to say I’d be better off with a local farming family with too many daughters and no sons. They actually came in the night and demanded Da hand me over.” Peter gave a toothy grin. “My father was a persuasive man, particularly when he held a blade at your neck.”
Martin’s father? Holding a blade at someone’s neck? A scythe, maybe. “So, you lived the life of a pirate.” Envy sank hooks into Martin’s heart. He missed his parents, but Peter had his da for a time. Oh. The envy twisted into guilt. The captain died horribly, leaving Peter as alone as Martin. “You’ve lived on the sea. Saw other lands.”
“Yes.” Peter stepped onto the pier, placing his hands on the railing. He stared out over the dark water. Lanterns hung from ships in the harbor twinkled, tiny stars reflecting off the bay.
“Why settle here, then, if you had the world to choose from? Do you have any connections in E’Skaara? Your mother’s people, perhaps? Didn’t your father meet her here?” Martin regretted his words the moment Peter’s shoulders slumped. He couldn’t recall everything that Peter had said about family.
“I have no one, anywhere. But I also had no desire to dance on the end of a rope, never having known life.” More quietly, he added, “Known love. Da protected me from the crew’s advances. Though I’d have loved to stay at sea, as far as anyone knows, my ill uncle called for me here, I worked for him, and I took over his business when he died. The man in question had no kin and willingly went along with Addie’s plan in exchange for not allowing the magistrate to benefit from his death. Mitta was a good man. I greatly respected him.” Muscles twitched in Peter’s jaw. “What about you? I’ve searched for you for so many seasons, you know. I gave up, figuring you must have left the city.”
Once again, guilt sank in its icy blade. Martin drew fingers through his hair, admitting only part of the truth. “I’ve never fit in with the others here, so keep mostly to myself. I’m a city guard.” How much, if anything, should he say of Dmitri? He cocked his head to the side, facing Peter, and turned the topic away from himself. “And you, who’ve seen not only the city but the world. Don’t you long to see what’s beyond the next voyage?”
“Sometimes. But sometimes you have to sacrifice what you want for survival.” The longing in Peter’s gaze said he’d sacrificed more than just the sea.
Never had Martin seen such hunger turned his way, not from anyone, the women who thought he’d make a fine bond mate, not even the demons starving for his power. He sent his senses out, seeking, seeking. No waking minds were close enough to him or Peter to make out faces or voices.
With slowness bordering on pain, Martin leaned in, inch by inch, until Peter’s ale-scented breath warmed his face.
Peter’s eyes widened, and he sucked in a startled breath before resignation filled his shadowy features. Keeping his eyes open, he held his ground, neither meeting Martin’s mouth nor retreating.
Did he not want this?
Martin pressed his lips to Peter’s, who held rock still. After a moment, he relaxed, his mouth pliant, opening to accept Martin’s tongue. Gently stroking, Martin began a slow dance, not the passionate play of tongue-on-tongue he wanted. If he proceeded too quickly, Peter might run.
If he ran, Martin wouldn’t chase him.
The pull in Martin’s heart couldn’t be denied, and his own loneliness clouded his mind before deserting him to the comfort of Peter’s arms.
“Let’s go home,” Peter said, arm around Martin’s waist.
Martin awoke in Peter’s bed early the following day and dressed quickly, giving Peter a quick kiss on the forehead before hurrying off for his morn meeting with the guards under his command.
Chapter Twenty-nine
What had Peter done? He wiped down the bar for something to do, his nerves jangling on edge. One thing to dream of another man in the privacy of his loft room, another entirely to take one there.
More than once.
He’d escaped others’ advances on the Seabird due to his father’s intervention. But, even after leaving the Seabird, he rarely gave in to the impulse to have another man in an alley or other out-of-the-way place. Get each other off and go their own way, no talking. Definitely no kissing.
Except for a young man he’d once found near death, whose life seemed irrevocably entwined with Peter’s.
Looking back on all the times he’d said no to a potential lover, he’d compared them to a memory and found them lacking. Even the most accomplished lovers couldn’t compete with the fumbling of the right virgin in his cabin.
The mere thought of the man now known as Martin caused Peter’s cock to swell, though he’d not seen Martin in a sevenday. No. Not here. Not now. Not in his tavern, surrounded by customers.
He swiped a hand over the back of his neck. Good crowd tonight, come for plentiful ale and Addie’s fish stew and crusty bread. “Have some more, love!” she encouraged a customer in her loud, booming voice while trading an empty bowl for a full one.
The rooms overhead were all rented for the sevenday, a rare occurrence. All should have been fine.
Still, unease prickled Peter’s spine, the sense of being watched. He turned. Only a group of laughing men by the fireplace, swapping tall tales. A few women kept a polite distance in the corner.
Nothing. All in his head.
He swiped a cloth over a vacated table. An adjacent card player bumped an elbow against Peter, dropping a card on the floor. “Sorry, mate,” the man said in a foreign accent.
“No harm done.” Peter bent to retrieve the card. The black cloud. Even he, with his limited experience, recognized a bad omen. Which certainly didn’t help his already rising disquiet.
