black magic bits. round two.

[maderr]

He returned to the field again a few days later, convinced that he had drifted to sleep beneath the oak and imagined the entire encounter.

Rakken reclined beneath the oak, looking for all the world as though he had every right to be there. He stirred as Ambrose drew close. “Ah, the young Paladin returns. Have you resolved to kill me after all?”

“I thought I had imagined you,” Ambrose blurted, too startled to curb his tongue.

Laughing softly, Rakken sat up and gave Ambrose an amused look. “You are the oddest Paladin I have ever encountered. I am amazed my brother demons have not managed to kill you. If I wanted, Paladin, you would be nothing but a corpse by now.”

“I am not so easily defeated as that,” Ambrose retorted, anger flaring. He dismounted and moved closer, making certain that his sword would draw easily.

Rakken chuckled and stood up as he approached. “Unless there are rocks in the area. Such as the one to your left.”

Ambrose flushed but did not back down from the eyes locked with his. “I would know why you act so strangely, demon.”

“I would like to know myself,” Rakken replied, sounding as though they were discussing the weather or some vaguely amusing anecdote. He ran a clawed hand delicately over the nasty scar that ran down the center of his head. “I have not been myself since your High Paladin nearly killed me some months ago. I am certain he thinks me long dead; certainly my brothers do.”

He had come here hoping to clear his mind. Instead everything was only growing more confusing.

Suddenly Rakken was close – too close, and Ambrose cursed himself for yet again dropping his guard around the confounding demon. He struggled helplessly in the demon’s grasp, but Rakken’s strength surpassed his own, hands like steel bands around his wrists. Then Ambrose was slammed against the oak tree and found himself suddenly far too close to those unsettling dark blue eyes. “Demon,” he said, still struggling futilely in Rakken’s grasp.

“I have told you that is not my name, Paladin Ambrose.” The tone was deceptively casual, almost conversational. Ambrose wondered how much longer he had to live, and why the Goddess had thought him fit to know Her will and wield Her power. “So young, you are. Is the Goddess so desperate for killers that she hires men who are barely more than children?”

“I am two and twenty summers, demon,” Ambrose replied, temper flaring. Why must everyone mock his youth?

Rakken chuckled. “Little more than a child, though I could tell that by your scent. The tang of blood has not yet conquered your innocence.” The soft laughter in Ambrose’s ear made him shiver. “I wonder how innocent you still are, little Paladin.”

As suddenly as he’d been pinned, Ambrose found himself free – so abruptly he nearly lost his balance. His cheeks burned as Rakken laughed.

“Run along, Paladin. You are in over your head here.”

His cheeks burned hotter at being told to ‘run along’ like a kid sent outdoors when the grown ups wanted to speak in private. “Confound you, demon, I am not some boy!”

As quickly as that he was pinned again, the demon’s body surprisingly warm where it pressed against his, clawed hand tight but not painful as it pinned his arms over his head against the tree. “You are very much a boy, little Ambrose. Death you are acquainted with, and suffering, but there is much on you that yet reeks of innocence.”

One claw traced over his bottom lip, leaving a thin cut. Blood welled up and Ambrose tasted copper as he licked it away. “I should have killed you,” he said quietly.

“Yes, you should have. You did not, and now I find myself reluctant to let you.” Rakken released him again, expression inscrutable as he shoved Ambrose back toward his horse. “Go, Paladin, before I do something we will both regret. Do not bother me again.”

Not knowing what else to do, Ambrose hesitated a moment longer then simply mounted his horse and rode away, desperate to leave the field that had once been his retreat and the demon that had taken it over.

Though he tried not to, Ambrose looked back – and was startled to see that this time, the demon was watching him. Hastily he looked away, and urged his horse to a gallop.



Koray shivered in his robes, huddled on the hard floor of the mausoleum, miserable and angry.

Miserable because he could not stop thinking about the bed he sorely missed.

Angry because he missed the owner of that bed more.

Stupid.

He should have known better. Sorin had been nice to him, but that didn't mean the initial, fundamental belief had changed. Necromancers were just a step away from demons; that had always been the belief. Blood drinkers, black magic adherents…dark creatures.

Part of him tried to say that wasn't what Sorin had meant…but only five weeks ago he'd treated Koray like he was all but a demon. Hadn't even bothered to learn his name, at first. Now he said dark creatures couldn’t love, couldn't be loved.

Koray curled up in his robes and willed his mind to shut up. Why did he care? It didn't matter. After this odd mystery was solved, he would be back to his wanderings. What did the opinion of one stupid Paladin matter to him?

It didn't.

Yet here he was, hiding in the graveyard, back in his crypt, because he couldn’t bear to look at Sorin, who thought it impossible that dark creatures could love or be loved.

Over and over again, the words were a knife. No matter how many times he thought them. He knew Sorin hadn't meant…but not so long ago he had…and what if this entire time he was just doing as the Goddess bid and hadn't once meant….

"It doesn't matter," he told himself, voice a harsh whisper in the dark crypt, echoing and strange. He shivered and hugged himself tighter, struggling to remember all the ways he'd survived previous, sternly reminding himself this was the norm, this was the way it would always be.

That warm bed…warm figure…were only a passing dream. It had never been meant to last; he was astonished Sorin had permitted him to stay night after night.

He choked on a rough sound as memories of their dinners together tortured him. Not many, for Sorin was often called away to tend various problems, but it was always…pleasant when they dined together, just the two of them, at the table beside the fireplace in Sorin's room.

Harder still were the memories of the nights. Shame flooded him, to think how easily he'd let himself fall to his own stupidity. Five weeks now he'd been at the castle, and save for the very first he'd spent every night in Sorin's bed.

With Sorin. So warm he was nearly too hot, and his most secret, guilty pleasure had been those nights when he'd woken in the darkest hours to find that somehow or another they'd moved toward each other. Sorin's arm a solid, somehow reassuring weight around his waist, soft snores in his ear somehow not grating, surrounded by all the wonderful heat, both spiritual and not.

He wondered now if Sorin had ever woken that way, and pulled away in disgust at finding himself clinging so to a dark creature.

"It doesn't matter," he repeated, but the words rang painfully hollow. For some stupid reason it did matter and he didn't know what to do about it. He wouldn't be an object of pity to a High Paladin who only cared for a dark creature out of duty.

Goddess, now how was he supposed to face the man every day? He'd rather liked not having always to be on edge. Against his will, he reached up to touch his cheeks, remembering the way it had felt when Sorin had kissed them. Snarling, he snatched his fingers away and buried them in his robes.

He should try to sleep, but the pile of blankets he'd commandeered earlier looked dreary and sad, so unlike the warmth he'd been stupid enough to get used to, come to crave…need.

Disgusted with himself, Koray nevertheless could not bring himself to move, merely huddled even deeper in his robes and whispered a silent plea for morning to arrive quickly.

The muffled sounds of someone cursing – rather more fluidly than he'd ever heard from that particular voice – brought his head up sharply. He stood up and glared as Sorin appeared in the doorway of the crypt. "Go away, High Paladin," he snarled, because if he didn't snarl he'd do or say something stupid and weak. "We dark creatures are trying to get some rest and you are disturbing it."

"Lady's T—" Sorin cut himself off and stalked toward him.

Koray found himself taking a hasty step back – and then another. "Go away," he hissed.

"No," Sorin snapped. "I worked all day on my apology and it's not fair that you don't show up to hear it. Our food is cold, I'm tired – you are coming back to our room, I'm apologizing, and then we're eating and going to bed."

"You can't just—" Koray's words were cut off by a yelp, as Sorin reached out and snatched him up, hefting him up and over one shoulder, then turning and striding from the mausoleum. "Let. Me. Go," Koray hissed.

"No," Sorin replied. "I had it all planned and you messed it up. Suffer."

Koray wanted badly to hit him, but he could feel Sorin's armor, cool through the fabric of his robes and against his fingers. The rest though…already Koray could feel his chills fading, his body warming, his spirit replenishing. His face burned with the humiliation of being carried through the halls of the castle. "You will pay for this, High Paladin."

"Cease with the nonsense," Sorin said sharply, hand tightening in warning. "You have been using my name and will continue to do so."

It was entirely unfair that Sorin was wearing armor. Koray settled for delivering an awkward kick, only slightly mollified when Sorin gave a slight grunt of pain. "Let me down," he said, "or they'll be speaking of you in the past tense."

"When we get to our room," Sorin retorted, and squeezed him again in warning.

Koray settled for glaring at anyone who dared to look at them as they passed through the halls and thinking up all the lovely curses he would shortly be casting on Sorin for this abject humiliation.

He was most certainly not dwelling on the fact that twice now Sorin had said 'our' room. Once could have easily been a mistake…what did twice mean?

Furiously he reminded himself it didn't matter, because very shortly the North was going to be minus one High Paladin.

Finally they reached Sorin's room, and Koray was half-dropped, half-thrown into his seat. He leapt out of it. "How dare you—"

"No," Sorin snapped, glaring at him, angrily shoving back a stray bit of blonde hair as it traitorously slid forward into his face. "How dare you – to yell at me like, then run off and hide without ever giving me a chance to speak. I've waited all day to deliver my apologies, Koray, at the very least you could have given me a fair chance to extend them."

Koray opened his mouth, then closed it with his snap. "You didn't need to carry me," he finally said. "If your idea of apologizing is to humiliate me in such a fashion—"

"Next time don't run away," Sorin interrupted. "It might surprise you what people have to say when you stay long enough to listen to them."

"So speak," Koray said, folding his arms across his chest and forcing himself to keep looking at Sorin, not drop his gaze as he badly wanted.

Sorin rolled his eyes and then suddenly stalked closer, grasping his hands and forcing his arms to unfold, holding them tight. "I'm sorry," he said, blue eyes unflinching as they met Koray's. "My view of demons is a harsh one. In my life I have seen them kill men and women, the elderly and the young. Mere children. Not once have I ever seen anything about a demon to recommend them…so to hear that one of my own, a Paladin, could love such a creature…but I didn't mean to group you with them. It never even crossed my mind. You're not a dark creature, Koray."

"Yet not so long you did not think highly enough of me to even learn my name," Koray said quietly, dropping his eyes, unable to bear what he might see. "Once, you did consider me not much better."

Sorin sighed, the sound weary. "I was wrong, everyone was wrong. For longer than I like to think, we have been wrong." Gentle fingers grasped his chin and forced his head back up. "I concede I was wrong this time as well. It is hard to hear that what you have known your entire life to be true – is not. Twice now you have done that to me, in addition to turning my world upside down in other ways."

"What other ways?" Koray snapped. "You were not the one summoned to the castle knowing that at some point you very likely would be beaten or stoned, possibly to death. You are not the one being given things which will only be taken away again, when your skills are no longer required. Do not talk to me of worlds being turned, Sorin."

"At least you're using my name again," Sorin replied with a brief, faint smile. "Truly, Koray – I am sorry. I believe what you told me, and am sorry my words were so harsh and careless. You are most certainly a person capable of love…and worth loving."

Koray found it suddenly hard to breathe, and turned sharply away, feeling unsteady. He sat down in his seat and stared at the table. "I am sorry I ruined your dinner," he said stiffly.

"I should have fetched you before I had it prepared," Sorin said, a hint of amusement in his voice. He sat down in his seat opposite Koray and took up his wine goblet. "I'm sure it all tastes fine, if you are hungry."

Nodding, Koray obeyed. Though cold, the food was indeed excellent. He ate quickly, neatly, but with an appetite – after storming off, he'd thought of nothing but getting away. Neither one of them spoke. All things considered Koray suspected it was the wisest course

But as they both finished, and servants appeared to take it all away, Koray found himself faltering. Why did it feel like something was different? Muttering to himself, Koray shoved the strange thought away and stubbornly went about his usual routine. Stripping off his violet robe, he folded it neatly over the back of his chair. Next was his belt, laid over the robe after he checked that everything was properly stowed. He would have to go through and clean everything soon. He'd meant to do it tonight…tomorrow would work just as well. That done, he pulled off his boots and stripped down to just his leggings and undertunic, then swiftly crossed to the bed and burrowed beneath the covers.

Warm. Soft. The scent of fresh linen mingled with a trace of myrrh, a hint of steel. He closed his eyes and savored it, fingers clinging to the blankets, shuddering as the warmth of them sunk into him.

The soft rustle of turning pages caught his attention, and he almost smiled. He wondered if anyone knew the grand High Paladin spent his evening reading musty books. What few evenings he could get, anyway. More often than not, Sorin was called way to solve one problem or another. "What are you reading?" he asked, a yawn slipping in at the end of the question.

"An alchemical text Neikirk lent to me," Sorin replied. "He says it is a beginner's guide, but I'm still having a hard time understanding all of it."

Koray snorted. "I am certain he can answer all your questions." Once Neikirk started talking, it was not hard to keep him going. Which made it all the stranger when he went for long periods without saying more than a word or two, if anything at all.

Sighing at his wandering thoughts, Koray burrowed further into the pillows and dozed as he listened to Sorin read. Ostensibly, reading was a quiet activity – but Sorin did not hold still for long, always shifting, crossing his legs, uncrossing, stretching them out. His glass clinked on the table every time he picked it up and set it down. Once he stood to throw another log on the fire. Pages rustling, fabric shifting, a soft chuckle or sigh here and there…

No, Sorin reading was anything but quiet.

He stirred as the room changed, and realized groggily that Sorin had put the lamp out. Some part of him tried to feel tense about that, but Koray was too groggy to recall why, exactly, and simply sank bank into his heavy doze.

The bed shifted as new weight was added to it, cool air washing over him briefly before the blankets settled. Koray stirred again and slowly opened his eyes, seeing Sorin's face only vaguely in the dim light of the fire on the far side of the room. He dropped his head back into his pillow and closed his eyes.

So tired. He hadn't realized he was this tired until he'd curled up in bed.

He startled suddenly awake as an arm slid around his waist and dragged him forward. Frowning, Koray flattened his hands on Sorin's chest and glared at him. "What are you doing?"

"Go to sleep, Koray," Sorin replied, then followed his own orders by settling down and closing his eyes.

Koray glared until his breathing evened out, soft snores filling the room.

What was going on? Sorin…had been awake…and was holding him…on purpose.

He didn't want to think about it. He was tired of thinking.

The arm around his waist was heavy, a sure and solid weight. Koray doubted he could get out of it without waking Sorin, and he sensed that would only lead to more arguing, somehow.

Giving up for the time being, he cautiously rested his head against Sorin's chest, and fell asleep listening to his heart beat.


Ambrose held tightly to his horse, trusting her to take him where he needed to go, too exhausted and in pain to look up and figure it out for himself. The smell of horse in his nose wasn’t a pleasant one, but it was infinitely preferable to smelling his own blood, mingled with that of the demon that had ambushed him on his way back from Vosnuth. He had killed it, but not as easily as he would have liked. His leg and chest burned something fierce; it had taken all of his remaining strength simply to climb into the saddle.

His horse whinnied and stopped, and Ambrose forced himself to look up and see why she had stopped in the middle of nowhere. Despite the light of the moon, it took him a full minute to realize that she had stopped in the field he had avoided since his last encounter with Rakken.

The demon himself appeared a moment later, as though separating himself from the deep shadows. “Paladin,” he murmured. “You reek of fresh blood. What are you doing here?”

Ambrose started to retort that he obviously needed a new, less stupid, horse, but it came out as a garbled sigh and cry of pain, and then the world went completely black.

When he woke, it was to sunlight on his face and the scent of grass all around him. He sat up slowly, taking in his surroundings – the field. The dreaded, hated field. He'd avoided it since their last encounter. Three long, agonizing months worrying if he should report the demon…if he should go back. So many times he had started on the path to the field, only to turn away at the last. Not once had he ever been completely free of thoughts of Rakken. The demon haunted him.

Now he was back, all because of his stupid horse. Ambrose looked around, seeking out the horse so he could glare at her. His eyes landed instead on the figure that preyed constantly upon his mind. Ambrose licked his lips, feeling nervous – and suddenly realized that he wore nothing but a mended pair of breeches and his boots.

“The Paladin is awake,” Rakken said, rising from where he sat beside the stream and toward the oak Ambrose rested beneath. He loomed over Ambrose. “Klor nearly got the best of you, Paladin Ambrose. He poisons his blades. It is fortunate you reached help before it killed you. Given how close his blade came to your heart…” Rakken abruptly knelt, stroking his claw-tipped fingers along a scar on Ambrose’s chest. The wound ran diagonally across the right side of his chest, slashing over his ribs and just barely along his stomach. Not a deep wound, but certainly it explained why he’d been so completely out of it. Another one ran down his right thigh.

Ambrose flushed with shame. He was a poor Paladin, truly, to be so badly wounded by a trifling demon – and then saved by the most confusing being he’d ever met. Heat pulsed in his chest, a comforting, reassuring warmth. The Goddess did not believe him a failure, and Ambrose took strength from that. “Demon. I did not know my horse carried me here.” He tried to shift away from the hand that remained on his chest, disconcerted as he’d been last time at how warm the demon’s touch was – demons were cold, soulless creatures. They should not be warm. Rakken’s touch should be repugnant. Ambrose didn’t dare think of how it really felt.

Rakken laughed softly. “I wonder why she felt here was the best place to go. Perhaps she knew you were quite close to dying.”

That brought up a question he should have already asked. “Why did you save me?”

Those blue eyes were still far too intense as they locked with his. “Klor’s methods always annoyed me, I suppose.” Rakken suddenly smirked. “Plus, it’s not often a Paladin tumbles so prettily into my arms.”

Ambrose could feel his cheeks burn. He jerked away from the hand still on his chest and attempted to stand, ignoring the pain that flared up in his chest and legs despite the healings that had obviously been performed. Healed by demon magic…Goddess, would they be able to tell when he returned to the castle? His stomach twisted. How long was he unconscious?

Rakken laughed at him. “Magic is magic,” he said, as though he could read Ambrose’s mind. “I have no desire for your brothers to come find me and take my head. I am certain you can find a lie to cover up that a demon saved you. You’ve only been asleep the night and morning.”

“Thank you…Rakken, for saving my life.” Nodding stiffly, feeling awkward and embarrassed, Ambrose moved toward his horse and the spare tunic in her saddlebags. He winced as all the movement cost him, and barely caught himself against his horse as his injured leg gave out.

Behind him came an all too familiar chuckle. “You fall an awful lot around me,” Rakken said.

Ambrose struggled to get away as an arm slid around his waist. “Let me go,” he said, pulling away even as he realized he had nowhere to go – and probably would not stay upright even if he did get away.

“If I do that, you’ll fall again,” Rakken said with another laugh. He turned Ambrose around so that they faced each other. “I realize you are eager to run away, but you need a bit more rest.”

“It’s none of your concern,” Ambrose said. He tried to push the demon away, hating himself for being unable to, for always been so weak and stupid around him. “Let me go.”

Rakken laughed again, the sound infuriating, maddening. “Does the Goddess scream that one of her precious weapons is being touched by a foul demon?” His grip only tightened, pulling Ambrose even closer, and he could not help a shiver at the ever-startling warmth.

Nor did it help that, as always when he was near Rakken, the Goddess was calm and quiet within him. As if She waited. “Let me go,” Ambrose repeated, feeling helpless and hating it. He was a Paladin, one of those who felt the will of the Goddess and used Her power to protect Her children. He should not be so weak and pathetic as to allow a demon to hold him, to be flustered by Rakken’s strange behavior.

The laughter abruptly ceased, replaced by a glower as Rakken stared at him. Confusion filled his dark eyes. “What does your Goddess say?”

Ambrose shook his head.

Rakken’s arms tightened to the point of pain and Ambrose bit back a cry. “What does your Goddess say to you?” Rakken repeated, voice sharp, commanding.

“Nothing,” Ambrose said, gasping as Rakken’s grip eased ever so slightly. “She…seems to wait.”

“She’s abandoned her foolish, innocent Paladin?”

Fury sparked, and Ambrose stared at the demon, body tight as he fought the urge to resume his pointless struggles. “The Goddess would never abandon one of Her Chosen. She loves us, and would see us happy. If she is quiet, it is because there is no reason for Her to be alarmed.” Too late he realized what he’d just said.

Rakken’s eyes widened slightly at the words. “No reason to be alarmed?” he repeated softly. “Your Goddess is more foolish than even I believed, and I have long thought the gods most foolish indeed.”

Then Ambrose’s world was tumbling, spinning, and with a startled yelp he found himself on his back staring up at the demon looming over him, the oak overhead shading them from the midday sun. He glared up at Rakken. “What are you about, demon?”

“Back to ‘demon,’ are we?” Rakken chuckled. “No reason to be alarmed, is it? Perhaps I should give you and your Goddess a reason. Foolish, innocent Paladin. I told you not to return here.”

“It was not my choice, demon. I want nothing to do with you.”

Rakken laughed. “Of course you don’t. That is why you cannot take your eyes away from me. That is why you came back a second time. That is why your horse brought you here when the castle was just as close from the place where you fought Klor. How can a Paladin be both knowing and so innocent?” He trailed a hand lightly down Ambrose’s chest, sharp claws catching in the fine sprinkling of bright red hair. They scored gentle marks across the muscles of his abdomen, and Ambrose could not repress a shiver. He struggled to get his wrists free of Rakken’s hold, but the effort was as futile as always.

Goddess, why was he completely helpless and pathetic around this demon? He had killed several in the past months, more than he could count. He had fought one just the other night, had decapitated it and burned the corpse to ash. Yet before Rakken he was little more than a green soldier bested by a hardened knight. He did not like the feeling. “Let me go, demon. Neither of us wants me here.”

“Ah, now that is not true. I very much want you precisely as you are…” A look Ambrose didn’t understand flitted across Rakken’s face. “Perhaps with a few changes.” He again trailed his claws lightly across Ambrose’s bare chest. “If I had faced you in battle, little Paladin, I think killing you would not have been on my mind. It is a testament to the stupidity of the world that no one has seen fit to claim you. Two and twenty summers, Paladin? How have you stayed innocent so long?”

“I’m not little,” Ambrose hissed. “Nor am I the innocent you constantly mock me for.”

“Mock? Oh, no. It intrigues me, little Paladin. I smell blood on you, as well as death. You have seen much death, and are responsible for some of it. In other matters, however…I am amazed my brothers have not had you.” He dropped his head to the hollow of Ambrose’s throat, breath warm against his skin. Then he shifted to speak softly in Ambrose’s ear. “The Dark Lord despises the children of the Goddess, and would see them harmed and defiled in any way that can be imagined. Many a knight has been left shattered and broken, but never have we gotten our hands on a Paladin. Do you still believe your Goddess has not abandoned you?”

Ambrose shook his head. “She has not.” He had to believe that. Her presence throbbed in his chest, offering comfort, reassurance. He did not understand, but it was rare for any Paladin to completely comprehend Her will. He must do as he always had – trust. “If She is silent, there must be a reason I am here.”

“She has abandoned you. Gods always abandon those who are too weak.” The words were laced with a bitterness Ambrose had never heard before. His curiosity over Rakken burned anew, but he tamped down on his questions, knowing he would get no answers.

“My Goddess would not desert me,” Ambrose reasserted. “She…waits…”

“Waits for what? To see if you are to be kept or discarded?” An angry look came over Rakken’s face. “So naïve, Paladin. Have you been saving that innocence for someone? Is there a pretty miss who waits for you to lift her skirts? Some noble Paladin who longs to carry you into woods and have you in the dirt and grass, or against a tree?” He shifted, shoved a thigh between Ambrose’s legs, pressing against his groin. Ambrose thrashed uselessly, desperate to get away from the demon and his strange questions. Rakken laughed in that infuriating way. “Perhaps a priest you sneak looks at during mass? Hmm, why so innocent of pleasure and so experienced with death?” Rakken dipped his head and bit down lightly at Ambrose’s throat. Startled, Ambrose jerked his head away, causing the sharp teeth to catch on his skin, tear it just enough he could feel blood.

Then a warm tongue lapped at the drops, the soft, warm words of a spell closing the nicks. “Is there no one who seeks to take this innocence from you?”

“My life is to the Goddess,” Ambrose said tightly. He’d never…there was never time. Other things were more important. All he ever saw was how stupid such things made everyone around him. Nor had he ever really felt anything, not the way his brothers described it.

He felt it now, and closed his eyes as shame at desiring a demon washed over him. Perhaps his Goddess had abandoned him, sensing his traitorous thoughts, his terrible lust. Slowly he opened his eyes, and locked gazes with Rakken. “Let me go,” he whispered. “Such a thing will not end well.” Within him, the Goddess’s power stirred, strengthened. It pulsed steadily, with increasing heat, and Ambrose’s stomach knotted in confusion as he realized that it was reassurance, that she was encouraging this. “I don’t understand.”

“I have felt that way for a long time,” Rakken said, then dipped his head and covered Ambrose’s mouth with his own.

Ambrose had seen hundreds of kisses. Knights kissing one another, men kissing their women, women kissing one another. Everything from gentle affection to passionate embraces that had him running frantically away. Not once, beyond the perfunctory kisses to his cheeks as he was welcomed into the fold of the Goddess, had anyone ever kissed him.

He had not known they could be so devastating. It felt as though the world shattered and fell away, leaving only Rakken’s mouth, hot and flavored with things he did not recognize – spicy, some faint, underlying sweet. Then he tasted blood, and felt a slight sting, and realized that his lip had been cut somewhere in the fervor of the kiss. A moan escaped before he could prevent it, and he shuddered as Rakken returned it.

The demon broke away with a gasp, and his eyes were like sparks of blue fire as he stared down at Ambrose. “You were right, Paladin. I should have let you go.”

Ambrose nodded, but when Rakken released his wrists he only reached up to wrap them around Rakken’s neck. “Too late.”

“Yes,” Rakken agreed.




"So what does all this mean, I wonder," Cerant said tiredly. "Days we have debated this, puzzled over it, and we are no closer to solving the mystery than we were before. I would like to know what the demons are about, why they want the sword so badly – what will happen if they get the jewel which goes with it."

Koray frowned over the jewel in question, and Sorin realized he was starting to feel jealous – ever since his revelation about the demon and Paladin being in love, he had scarcely let it from his sight, taking it out and pondering it whenever he had a moment.

He mentally rolled his eyes at himself, and focused once more on the conversation at hand. "It means we are hapless targets until we finally solve the riddle."

"We should go to the ruins," Koray said abruptly, voice low but firm. "That's where they died…where the sword was made…such a great tragedy would leave ghosts, likely of such power no necromancer would take them unless there was no other choice." He looked up, pale eyes focusing on Sorin's. "Perhaps if we can learn more of what transpired…more about the sword…we will gain an answer, or at least a few clues."

Sorin grunted, displeased at the agreement throbbing sharply in his chest. "The Goddess seems to indicate that is the correct recourse, so it would appear we are going to the ruins. Why did this solution not present itself sooner?"

But he knew the answer, even as he asked the question.

The old castle was only a few days away from the formal borderline between them and the demons. Keeping that border secure had cost more men than Sorin could bear to think about. Ever since the castle had been abandoned, the demons had been attempting to creep in, breach the border slowly…

No one went that far North if it cold possibly be avoided.

"The ruins are some distance from here," Sorin finally said. "To end this matter, however, I would go much further."

"Indeed," Cerant said. "Just shy of two weeks, I should think, if we travel light and move quickly."

"What—"

"Master—"

Sorin cut off his own attempts with a smile, and motioned for Neikirk to continue. Of the two of them, Cerant was much more likely to listen to his alchemist.

"Master, you should not go on such a dangerous journey. It would be the greatest of coups for the demons, should they manage to slay you. Here in the castle, you are protected. Beyond its walls, the danger increases fivefold."

"I know," Cerant said gently, "but a matter this grave and complicated…who but the Goddess can say who or what shall be required? My presence may prove to be of some use, and as King it is my duty to protect my people. In this matter, I feel my role is to accompany the rest of you to the ruins."

Sorin grimaced, but nodded. "Fine, Majesty – but you will do as you're told. We cannot lose you, Cerant. We cannot."

Cerant nodded. "I will obey, Sorin. I give my word." He smiled briefly. "I'm in no hurry to die, I assure you." His eyes flicked briefly to Neikirk, smile softening into deep affection.

He'd roll his eyes, except all he could feel was envious. If he tried to look at Koray like that, he'd likely get snarled at…and he could not see Koray looking so even to save his own neck. Too many thorns, his necromancer…but he would not be Koray without them, and Sorin realized he could live with that.

A sudden laugh interrupted his thoughts, and he mentally gave himself a sharp slap, focusing once more on the present situation – and frowned as he watched Cerant stand and cross the room to where two boxes rest upon a chest at the foot of the bed.

"It occurs to me," Cerant said as he strode back to the sitting area carrying the boxes, "that this journey will be a perfect opportunity to spread the word of our two new officials. A proper Tour is of course out of the question, but people will take notice as we travel and spread the news faster than any official postings could."

Sorin frowned. "What new officials?"

Cerant smiled and motioned for Neikirk to take the top box, then moved around the table to present the second box to Koray. "If you are willing to accept this, then it is yours with full honor and deepest gratitude."

Koray frowned, immediately distrustful – but he took the box without comment and slowly pulled off the lid.

When he lifted out the contents, all the pieces fell into place, and Sorin could not help but grin.

It was a robe – a deeper violet than that which Koray currently wore, made of softest wool. Unlike priest robes, it parted down the center and had at least a dozen fastenings, to be opened or closed to whatever degree the wearer chose. The hem and sleeves were embroidered in silver and gold thread with a pattern of alternating irises and five-pointed stars – symbols of the Goddess. The hood was deep, wide, embroidered around the edge, lined with deep-gray satin. On the chest, right over his heart, the star of the Goddess, exactly as it was on Sorin's armor.

Neikirk held a tunic at least as fine, similar in design to the green one he currently wore – but rather than the odd symbols of the South, the hem and short sleeves displayed a pattern of the Goddess's star alternating with the royal crest, the same star in the space over his heart.

He wondered how hard the palace seamstresses must have labored to get them done as quickly as he suspected Cerant had asked.

"What is it?" Koray asked. "Besides a robe."

"The official garb, assuming you like and approve it, of the High Necromancer."

Koray dropped the robe as if burned. "What?" His eyes widened briefly in surprise, before he gained control and replaced the shock with a scowl.

Cerant stood before Koray, meeting his eyes, every bit the King. "As I said – if you are willing to accept the post. I sincerely doubt it will ever be an easy one. A great crime – a great cruelty – has long been committed against necromancers. We are going to change that, and the best way to begin is to officially instate necromancers as the true servants of the Goddess you have always been. However, that requires necromancers having a leader, the same as the priests and knights.

"You have more than proven your abilities in the eyes of the throne, and of course I do not doubt She intended this all along, though I'm sure I would never presume to know Her mind. What say you, Koray? Would you accept the title of High Necromancer?"

"He says yes," Sorin said before Koray could speak, knowing he would just launch into protestations or suspicions. He grinned when his audacity earned him a glare.

Cerant looked between them, eyes glittering with amusement. "Koray?"

Koray said nothing, but bent to retrieve the dropped robe. Resuming his seat, he briefly touched his fingers to the embroidery.

"Splendid," Cerant said. "The ceremony to induct you both is tonight. We will leave for the ruins in two days time."

Sorin stood, hearing the unspoken dismissal – as if he needed to hear it with the way Cerant and Neikirk kept sneaking those looks at each other – and waited as Koray caught up with him at the door.

They walked together in silence through the halls. Distantly Sorin thought of all the things he should be doing, needed to be doing…but he was loathe to leave Koray's side. "So what's going to be your first edict as High Necromancer?" he asked lightly. "Every time a Paladin says something stupid to a necromancer, he's to be severely beaten?"

Koray's head jerked up in surprise, and his lips twitched briefly before he looked back down, hair sliding forward to hide it.

He could no more resist the impulse than he could breathing, reaching out and gently pushing the strands of hair back, startling Koray into halting. Gently he tucked the loose strand back behind Koray's ear, letting his hand linger a moment.

It was gratifying, even heady, that Koray did not immediately recoil from his touch. Not so many days ago, he would have. He wanted badly to steal a kiss, but he suspected that somehow it would only result in him having to offer another apology. Somehow, someway, it would undoubtedly work against him to taste that pretty mouth.

Reluctantly he let his hand fall away. "I might have to take issue, on principle, but I concede it would probably be a wise edict. I remember needing more than a few beatings in my youth. No doubt I need them still." He grinned briefly before turning more serious again. "Speaking of such things, you'll probably need to help the scribes pen the official postings to be sent out across the kingdom, pertaining to the new status of necromancers – and maybe you can suggest where said necromancers will be likely to see and read them."

Koray nodded stiffly, and only the fact he was slowly improving in reading Koray allowed Sorin to notice the slight way his grip tightened on the robe he held, the tightening around his eyes and mouth. It was a look of resolve that Koray had when he worked – subverting fear with pure stubbornness.

"Come, if the induction ceremony is tonight – food before hand is a must. Trust me." Sorin winked, and flagged down the first servant they encountered to have food brought to their room.

He left Koray to his thoughts until they were settled at their table with food and wine – always he made certain they brought the dark, sweet red wine of which he noticed Koray was fond. Several thoughts flitted through his mind, things he should say, suggest, but when he opened his mouth he said none of those things he'd intended. "As High Necromancer, you are of course entitled to a chamber of your own. Perhaps in the Church itself, if you wanted…though I have become used to your presence here, Koray, to be honest."

Koray said nothing, but the way his shoulders relaxed every so slightly – he was relieved about something. Sorin dared to hope that perhaps Koray had fretted over how his new title would affect their arrangement. Certainly last night had given him some hope, after he had apologized, the way Koray had settled into bed as was his habit…the way he had not pulled away when Sorin joined him, had tugged him close.

Sorin could not help wondering what it would be like if there were no barriers between them, to stroke and touch the entirety of that fine body before they curled up together. He shifted in his seat and directed his thoughts elsewhere, rolling his eyes at himself.

"I cannot imagine anyone will be pleased," Koray saic.

"Pleased?" Sorin asked, then noted that Koray still held fast to his new robe. "Ah, about a High Necromancer joining the ranks of the Goddess's most blessed. There is not much they can do, when the King, the High Paladin, and the High Priest all support it – and if the Goddess did not approve, you would not be able to enter Her sanctuary. People will recognize Her presence in this, and that will erase more doubts than anything else possibly could."

Koray nodded, but did not look convinced. He slowly took another sip of wine, and then another, obviously lost in thought.

"The ceremony is fairly simple," Sorin said, wondering if that was the source of some of Koray's worry. "I'm sure Cerant will extend it to some degree, to give a speech about necromancers and how they have been wronged, how the Goddess truly regards you – and of course, an explanation of alchemy – but otherwise, it is merely a formal blessing bestowed, and your swearing faith and loyalty to the Goddess before the assembled."

He frowned when Koray said nothing, merely continued to sip his wine. "The High Offices receive no allowance, but that is because the crown covers all our needs. It is recompense for the lifelong duty to which we agree."

Most knights, priests, did not have to serve for life. It was not unusual for men and women to serve in the priesthood for several years to gain an education, experience, other such things, before retiring to return to their families or lands. Knights typically served for a period of five years, though most chose to stay much longer. Only the High Offices, Paladins, and the most advanced ranks of the priesthood served for life. Their numbers were small – one Paladin to every province, three others serving beneath him here, and it was much the same with the priests.

For that, the crown covered their expenses and every need.

Still Koray said nothing, and Sorin's concern deepened into true worry. "Koray, does the appointment trouble you so?"

"I know nothing about such things," Koray whispered, and Sorin knew the admission was hard for him to make. He stared hard at his robe, clutching it tightly in his fingers. "I…I am not you, or Neikirk, or Cerant."

Sorin snorted. "If you were us, a poor necromancer you would make. We all of us have our strengths and weaknesses…mine are suited to being High Paladin. Neikirk makes a fine alchemist. Cerant, though he says otherwise, was always the better candidate for King. Yet our unique strengths would fail beneath the weight of necromancy. Your strength far surpasses our own, I truly believe this." He smiled briefly. "If you fear the more mundane aspects of your office, I assure you that if I and my fool mouth can bungle through it, you will no doubt excel."

That earned him a brief smile, Koray taking a sip of wine to try and hide it.

Grinning in return, Sorin swallowed the last of his own wine and then stood up. "Come, High Necromancer, you should dress for your ceremony. Let us see if they got the measurements right, so that there is still time to fix the robe if necessary."

Frowning at him, Koray nevertheless stood up as Sorin only continued to hover over him. Slowly he pulled off the violet robe which had become his favorite since first accepting the few given to him by the High Priest, setting it neatly across the back of his chair before picking up his new one.

In the weeks he'd been at the castle, Koray had filled out considerably – though Sorin sensed he would always be reed thin. He no longer looked like the skeleton Zaede always accused him of being. The weeks had also given him enough time to order all new clothes made for Koray, though his prickly necromancer had of course at first refused them. But the soft breeches and white shirt were of much better quality than the clothes he'd had before, and getting the High Priest to bless them lent Koray additional warmth.

Koray looked good, and Sorin sternly forced himself not to think how much better he'd look with nothing on at all.

Slowly Koray pulled on the new robe, smoothing it into place, fussing with the sleeves, fastening it down to just above his waist so that his belt was easily reached.

"Hmm…" Sorin said with a faint smile, suddenly thinking of something. "It looks good, but something is missing." He turned sharply on his heel and strode to the chest at the foot of his bed. Kneeling, he threw back the top and rifled through it a moment, looking for…ah, there it was. He had not looked upon it for ages, but had always kept it.

He walked back to Koray. "I do not often wear jewelry of any sort, as I have learned the hard way that it can all too easily be used against me in battle. I also simply do not favor it. This was given to me years ago, as a thank you. I kept it, but never really felt it suited me."

Ignoring Koray's wary looks and the way he stiffened, Sorin reached behind him and slowly fastened the bit of leather in place, unable to resist brushing lightly over soft skin as he pulled away.

Koray reached up to gingerly touch the simple medallion – the Goddess's star done in plain silver.

"It is traditional to give gifts to the newly inducted," Sorin explained. "It suits you, where it did not suit me, and now I would say you look perfectly suited to the role of High Necromancer, though you were always fit for it."

Koray sneered at the words, but did not reply, dropping his gaze and looking more blatantly nervous than Sorin had ever seen him.

He reached up to delicately touch one fine-boned cheek, relieved that it was warm, fiercely, possessively happy that he was the reason Koray was warm these days. Slowly Koray looked up, and it was heartening that he did not pull away from the soft touch. "Koray…" he drifted off, not quite certain what to say… He brushed his thumb over those fine, pale lips, and started to lean down—when a sharp rap at the door interrupted them.

Swearing softly as Koray withdrew, thinking things a High Paladin should not be thinking, Sorin stalked to the door and opened it. "What?"

The servant on the other side looked taken aback by his oddly curt tone, but gamely kept speaking. "High Priest says you should both arrive early, before the crowd does."

"We are coming," Sorin said tersely, then slammed the door in his face.

He turned back to Koray, who stood silently at the table, sipping the last of his wine, carefully avoiding Sorin's gaze.

Sighing, knowing his moment lost, Sorin moved to ready himself for the ceremony. Removing his armor, he stripped quickly out of his clothes and exchanged them for cleaner, pulling from his wardrobe a tunic more ornate than those he usually wore – like Koray's robe, it was heavily embroidered with the star and iris pattern. Swiftly he cleaned his armor as best he could, wishing Cerant had given him a tad more warning, then replaced the pieces and strapped on his good sword belt, the leather tooled with the Goddess's symbols. Quickly pulling on his good boots, he combed his hair into some semblance of order and finally pulled on his formal cloak. Dark violet, lined in a slightly lighter shade, the back of it emblazoned with the same starburst crest on his breastplate.

"Ready," he said softly, and stifled another frustrated sigh as he led the way out, Koray trailing behind him.

The halls were empty, odd for this time of day – or any time of day, really – except that he knew all would have departed for the Church already. Cerant had no doubt made quite the announcement, and in these times of strife…something so important as the induction of new High Offices from their new King would at the very least stir much distracting curiosity.

Sorin hoped fervently that they were willing to accept Koray. He cringed to think of his own treatment not so long ago…it was stupid to think that such deeply ingrained thoughts would change over night. Yet hadn't his?

But none of those who would be watching had ever held a an ice-cold necromancer in his arms. They had never seen the pain which a necromancer endured when banishing ghosts. Never had they seen a necromancer's face when he stood within this sanctuary for the first time.

They would accept the necromancers or Sorin would die ensuring it. He reached out unthinkingly and took Koray's hand, tugging him along when Koray's steps slowed as they entered the church. Holding tight, he led them up the aisle, ignoring the looks and whispers of those already gathered – here, in this most holy place, there were no divisions. All were equal in the eyes of the Goddess, and the High Priests never permitted the noble to cast down the poor or anything else. Here, all mingled as one – even if some of them complained about it.

Koray, if he was affected by the looks and whispers, gave no show of it. Sorin could not help but notice that he had not pulled up his hood. In the light of the many candles, the fading light of the setting sun shining through the colored glass, he had the same strange beauty Sorin had first noted in the graveyard.

It seemed ages ago and yet only yesterday.

He slowly let go of Koray's hand, stepping away to take his place to the right of the High Priest. In this place, the High Priest was in command, but the High Paladin was second, the King only third.

Never had it sat well with Rofell. Cerant had always been faithful where his brother had not, however, and Sorin suspected that even if he had been bothered by his reduced status here, he was too busy smiling at Neikirk to remember.

They waited another hour while the church continued to fill, priests running about to make sure all were treated fairly, checking candles and at the last lighting the incense. Finally the Church was as stuffed as it could possibly be, people standing in the back and along the sides when the seats finally ran out. Sorin was amazed – many of these people had to have come from some of the nearby villages, to overflow the Church to this degree.

The High Priest stepped forward, lifting his hands for silence. Immediately everyone obeyed.

Sorin listened distantly to the words, following the rhythm of the speech more than the words – he knew the High Priest knew what to say. It was part of his gift. Instead, Sorin's attention was only for Koray, whose chin was lifted defiantly, pale eyes watching the crowd, beautiful hair spilling over his shoulders.

As the first part of the speech concluded, Neikirk stepped forward, turned, and knelt before the High Priest. Many of the gathered had already seen his eye, proof he was blessed by the Goddess.

When Neikirk stood, the room filled with applause, fading only when the High Priest motioned again for silence.

"Long have we all been guilty of a most terrible crime," he said solemnly, and went on slowly explaining all that they had learned in the past weeks from Koray.

Sorin watched the crowd, the mingled expressions – fear, mistrust, but many were more positive than he could have dared hope. Even those who still remained uncertain could not deny the evidence set so plainly before their eyes. Koray stood in the Church of the Goddess, beside the High Priest, in holy robes.

He continued to skim the room – then stopped short, eyes snapping back to what he just thought he'd just seen, barely containing his astonishment. All the way in the back of the Church, barely in the door… The hair was shorter than Koray's, the face badly scared…but it was unmistakably a necromancer.

Koray moved to kneel, and Sorin's attention was drawn away. His eyes were only for Koray as the High Priest began to intone the blessing, and he could not resist smiling briefly as Koray stood up, forehead still gleaming with the oil used in blessings. He did not received a smile in return, but it was enough that Koray had sought him out.

As the High Priest began to conclude the ceremonies, Sorin shifted his attention back to the necromancer he'd seen before – but the man was gone. He wondered if Koray had seen him, if Koray knew him. Most of all, though, he hoped the necromancer spread word to his brethren.

Comments

[animeartistjo.livejournal.com]

Minor note: Sank bank--sank back.

Forgot to mention how much love the High Priest deserves. Will he get his own love interest? I'd like to see what kind of personality you'd create for a man like the High Priest! And does he have a name besides his title, or did I miss it previously being mentioned?

[graphitesmudges.livejournal.com]

[Ambrose flushed but did not back down from the eyes locked with his. “I would know why you act so strangely, demon.”] - I would like?

[i-hate-reenters.livejournal.com]

Omg! I was thinking the same thing! Holy requires an unholy alliance!

-anin

[unusualmusic.livejournal.com]

"I would know" is alright, actually.

[aqua-eyes.livejournal.com]

I saw a cold instead of could in this fic somehwere... But I was kinda busy reading it to take note. >.>;

It is awesomeness. I loves Ambrose and Rakken to death. I have hope that they will be like Van and Stefan and drove everyone out of their afterlife lovenest, ie: that castle ruins they're all going to visit.

[graphitesmudges.livejournal.com]

Maybe it's just the way I phrase my words. ^^;; Sorry.

[charisstoma.livejournal.com]

Sorin and Koray's relationship is slow and teasing. You're cruel like that. *smile*
Ache for Ambrose and Rakken. Think I understand the meaning of a demon's collar and how Rakken came to be free? and unrepellent to the Goddess.

[maderr.livejournal.com]

You're good <3

[graphitesmudges.livejournal.com]

Purrrr. XD