Lord of the White Hell Book 2 Read online

  “And a good kisser,” Kiram added. “If my source is to be trusted.”

  “Yeah, she’s that too.” Nestor grinned.

  “So if your mother thought this was all a trick, how did you end up engaged?”

  “Riossa’s father is an ass. He half lost his mind when he found out about Riossa’s sister. He started screaming at Riossa for allowing her sister to ruin their family name—right in front of everyone. And then he told Riossa that he was sending her to the Inanicia Convent, and when she said she wouldn’t go, he struck her!” Just recounting the event, Nestor flushed with anger. “He knocked her to the floor right in front of me. What was I supposed to do?”

  Kiram wondered what he would have done in such a situation–certainly not get engaged to the girl. He kept his thoughts to himself.

  Nestor continued heatedly, “I told him that if he ever laid a hand on her again that I’d hit him so hard he’d be talking out his crapper.”

  “Did you really say crapper?”

  “I know I should have said asshole, but my mom was right there,” Nestor explained sheepishly. “Then I proposed. I guess marrying me sounded a lot better then being sent to a convent.”

  “So…there’ll be a wedding?” Kiram could not have imagined Nestor’s engagement would be so dramatic. Perhaps having a black-haired, romantic adventurer like Atreau for an upperclassman had affected Nestor more than Kiram had realized.

  “Not until spring, but in the meantime my mom’s taken Riossa into her care. She’s not happy about the marriage but she was proud that I wouldn’t let some bastard treat his daughter so badly.”

  “Not many men would step up like that.” Kiram nodded. “I wouldn’t have.”

  “Well, to be honest, I should have stepped up sooner…you know, right after we first…dallied. But she didn’t say anything about it so I let it alone too.”

  “Dallied?” Kiram didn’t understand the Cadeleonian term at first but then he realized what Nestor meant. “Nestor, you didn’t.”

  “How’d you think I knew so much about kissing her?” Then suddenly Nestor became serious. “You won’t tell any of this to Javier or Elezar or any of the others, will you?”

  “No,” Kiram assured Nestor. “Though they’d hardly have the right to judge.”

  “But they would,” Nestor said. “They’d treat Riossa like she was one of those tarts at the Goldenrod and I couldn’t stand for that.”

  “Don’t worry,” Kiram assured him. “I won’t say a word.”

  As they made their way past the clusters of first-year students lounging on the steps, Nestor whispered a full confession. While he rhapsodized about slipping his hand inside Riossa’s bodice and touching her breasts, Kiram realized that Nestor hadn’t gotten much farther with Riossa than a few furtive gropes in a fair tent—certainly not far enough to make marriage a necessity. Still, his face flushed and his expression grew ecstatic as he described the stolen moments.

  Kiram resisted comparing those brief intimacies to the ones he had shared with Javier. He said, “You’re quite taken with Riossa, aren’t you?”

  “Honestly, I never thought I’d meet a girl who wouldn’t seem a little dull, but when I’m with her, we talk and laugh and I don’t even notice the time passing. She’s not like other girls at all. She tells great jokes and she draws really well and she knows law better than I do.”

  Kiram didn’t tell Nestor that she sounded like any one of a multitude of Haldiim girls he knew. He’d read enough Cadeleonian literature to know that such traits were not encouraged among Cadeleonian women.

  Nestor and he parted ways on the stairs where Nestor saluted him before disappearing into his room to attend his upperclassman’s hangover.

  Kiram continued climbing up to the room he and Javier shared in the east watchtower. As he crossed the threshold, a feeling of deep sadness washed over him. Javier had obviously already been here; a discarded jacket hung on the back of his chair and one of his dusty boots peeked from the shadows beneath his bed.

  Fresh incantations decorated the floor, new dark ink scrawled over faded red symbols.

  Kiram wondered if it would do either of them any good if he went to Javier now. But he didn’t know what he would say and Elezar would be there in any case. And he certainly wasn’t about to get down on his knees and beg as Javier had demanded. The memory of Javier’s pronouncement sent a flare of anger through the melancholy of Kiram’s thoughts.

  “Kivhash to Javier,” Kiram swore in his native Haldiim. He had other ways to occupy his time and other reasons—better reasons—to be at the Sagrada Academy.

  Kiram swung his tool bag over his shoulder and left. When he reached his shed, he was pleased to discover that the workmen had raised a section of the roof as he had requested. There would now be enough space to test his steam engine without it tearing through the ceiling supports.

  Autumn chill filled the dim interior of the shed. He lit his sweet oil lamp and opened the window shutters, allowing bright afternoon light to pour in. Sunlight and heavy work soon warmed him. The familiar smell of machine oil and the weight of cast iron in his hands soothed him. Steadily, he assembled his secondary steam chamber, taking careful measurements, rechecking his work and making corrections for the pieces he would need forged to create the condensation chamber.

  In his mind he could see it already assembled and he didn’t suppress his satisfied grin. His situation now might be a wreck of frustration, worry and confusion, but this mechanism would not fail him. It would work as nothing else in his life seemed to: precisely as he planned.

  A knock at the shed door interrupted Kiram’s thoughts.

  “It’s unlocked.” Kiram wrote down a final measurement, then looked up to see Scholar Donamillo peering in through the doorway. Kiram offered him a welcoming smile. As Donamillo gazed intently at the half-assembled steam engine, afternoon light struck the side of his face catching the thick streaks of gray in his dull brown hair and etching the deep wrinkles that edged his appreciative expression. Not since Kiram’s father had another man gazed at Kiram’s work with such an expression of delight and curiosity.

  “I wanted to make sure your arm wasn’t hurting you.” Scholar Donamillo didn’t pull his eyes from the towering mechanism. Kiram could see him trying to guess at the purpose of unassembled pipes and valves.

  “My arm only hurts when I think about it.” Kiram pulled back the sleeve of his shirt, allowing Donamillo to see the thick scab that traced his forearm.

  “It looks good. I’m glad.” Scholar Donamillo’s attention returned almost at once to Kiram’s mechanism. Slowly Donamillo circled the engine. He cocked his head in curiosity at the mount where the cooling chamber would rest.

  Kiram couldn’t keep himself from explaining the entire thing to Scholar Donamillo. Months ago, when he had describing his innovations to Javier, he had felt that Javier was humoring him, listening without much understanding or any real concern. Scholar Donamillo smiled in genuine delight when Kiram described the energy the cooling chamber would save and, after examining Kiram’s diagrams, he offered several suggestions to rebuild a troubling valve.

  “In my early work with the mechanical cures I came across a similar problem. The heat of constant friction distorted a number of my base plates. A few even melted.” Scholar Donamillo’s sheepish look at this admission gave Kiram a strong impression what Donamillo must have been like as a young man: both intense and shy. He leaned closer to Kiram and asked quietly, “Do you mind if I take a few measurements of my own? I want to ensure that the crank on Fedeles’ mechanical cure will be compatible with your engine.”

  “Please do.” Pride filled Kiram. He knew that his creation might not just win the Crown Challenge but would also aid Scholar Donamillo’s work to save Fedeles.

  While Scholar Donamillo measured the pistons, Kiram continued his own work, comfortable with the quiet mumbling of another inventor. More than once, as his thoughts drifted, he forgot that he was not once again in his fa
ther’s workshop. Then fourth bell sounded and Scholar Donamillo excused himself.

  Kiram himself had done as much as he could until his new parts were forged. He rewrote his order for the blacksmith in neat, clear print.

  Nestor arrived and invited Kiram to join him for a ride, which Kiram accepted with pleasure. At some point during the months of morning lessons with Javier, riding had transformed from a fearful trial to a source of comfort. Now Kiram stroked Firaj’s neck and felt the tension in his own body relax into the big gelding’s even gait. Nestor and he discussed their upcoming history papers and the new class schedule now that the tournament was over. From time to time Nestor lapsed into some reverie about Riossa. She smelled like flowers; she could burp the entire alphabet. The things that attracted Nestor mystified Kiram.

  Tentatively, Nestor asked about Kiram’s visit to the Goldenrod last night. As Kiram described the gaudy rooms and the numerous naked women, he tried not to let his revulsion carry through. Still, he couldn’t manage any enthusiasm and he guessed that was telling enough.

  “Not the place for you?” Nestor casually brushed a yellow leaf from his roan stallion’s mane.

  “No,” Kiram admitted. The pungent, sweet scent of fallen apples drifted on the cool air and Firaj briefly snuffled at the ground to locate an overripe fruit. Kiram indulged him.

  “To be honest,” Nestor said quietly, “it doesn’t sound all that appealing to me either. I mean, who wants to have sex with a bunch of other men in the room—especially my brother?”

  Kiram laughed at that.

  They returned just before the first of the evening bells rang. After brushing down their horses and rinsing themselves in the icy water of the stable troughs, Kiram and Nestor rushed to dinner. Shouldering past the crowds of first and second-year students thronging the lower tables, they took their places at the Hellions’ table. Atreau and Morisio had already claimed their seats and Atreau offered them an offhanded greeting as they dropped down onto the wooden benches. Kiram felt a slight flush spread across his cheeks, meeting Atreau’s gaze and remembering the other man’s drunken rutting. Fortunately Kiram’s dark complexion disguised the worst of his blush and Atreau’s attention quickly shifted as other Hellions arrived for dinner.

  Kiram glanced to the empty space reserved for Javier. His longing to see Javier felt as sharp as hunger but also edged with dread. Javier could turn cruel easily.

  When Elezar arrived a few minutes later, Kiram considered asking him if Javier had seemed to be in a bad mood but resisted. Instead, he peered around as the dining hall filled with students. In the past week, Kiram had almost forgotten the heat and smell of so many young men gathering in one room. When Kiram happened to take a deep breath, he realized that the pungent scent of horses and sweat saturated his jacket and trousers, making him as much of an odorous offender as any of the grubby first-year boys who sat wiping their noses on the backs of their shirtsleeves.

  Javier arrived just before the teachers and Holy Father Habalan. He strode between the rows of tables with a handsome and arrogant expression of assurance. The jacket he wore glinted with silver threads and his black hair gleamed. His trousers were perfectly cut, accentuating the hard muscles of his long legs. Kiram could hardly look away. When he smiled, the warmth of his expression lent an alluring softness to his sharp features, though there remained a wicked gleam in his eyes.

  He knew, Kiram realized. He knew exactly how good he looked and how the sight of him would affect Kiram.

  And suddenly Kiram felt very worried. He had been prepared for Javier’s most biting remarks, even secretly hoped for them, so that he could just hate Javier and be done. Now he had no idea how he could inure himself to Javier’s charms.

  And Javier did not relent throughout the meal. He was unerringly funny and pleasant. He didn’t lavish his attention upon Kiram, rather, he complimented Kiram’s work as his squire in an easy, offhanded manner. He bantered with Morisio and Elezar and very casually allowed one of his long legs to brush against Kiram’s calf. A spark of sharp desire flickered through Kiram’s body at the small contact.

  It required nearly all of Kiram’s attention to ignore Javier’s appealing presence. The food hardly made any impression upon Kiram and more than once he had to ask Nestor to repeat himself.

  “You seem a little distracted this evening, Kiram,” Nestor commented at last.

  Javier gave him a knowing smile. Kiram could feel a flush rising but he refused to acknowledge it.

  “I’ve been thinking about Scholar Donamillo’s mechanical cures,” Kiram replied.

  A vexed expression flickered across Javier’s face.

  “They’re fascinating, aren’t they?” Morisio commented. “I’ve been studying them myself. I even built a few miniatures but powering them is the real trick.”

  Morisio went on and Kiram tried to concentrate on his freckled face, but the light sensation of Javier’s calf against his own obsessed him. He could feel the warmth of Javier’s skin radiating through his stockings and he remembered the weight of Javier’s bare body against his own and the heat of his mouth. Kiram hardly heard Morisio’s continuing ruminations on the key to Scholar Donamillo’s unprecedented success. “I can’t help but wonder if there isn’t something more than pure mechanism behind it.”

  At this Genimo darted a glance to Kiram and Kiram realized that Genimo already knew that Scholar Donamillo used blessings and spells as well as mechanically-generated power for the cure that protected Fedeles. The knowledge that only he and Genimo shared the scholar’s secret lent an uncomfortable sense of fraternity to his normally cold regard of Genimo.

  “I can’t help but wonder if you realize that no one cares a pig’s tit about Scholar Donamillo’s mechanisms,” Elezar told Morisio. In response, Morisio just threw a hunk of bread at him. Elezar leaned back and caught it in his mouth.

  “If your fortunes ever fail, no doubt you’ll have a place in some circus,” Javier told Elezar.

  “You’re one to talk.” Elezar tossed a golden plum at Javier. Javier caught the plum and spun it on the tip of his finger. Then he rolled it between his hands. White sparks of light flickered between his fingers and suddenly the plum appeared to vanish. All conversation at the table quieted as the Hellions watched in fascination.

  Javier held out his empty hands, displaying his palms, then with a flourish he reached across the table and caught Kiram’s hand in a gentle grip. A conspirator’s warmth flashed in his smile. As he pulled his hand back, Kiram felt the plum drop from the cuff of Javier’s sleeve into his palm. Hellions hooted and clapped at the seemingly magical reappearance. Students at other tables gawked.

  Kiram couldn’t help but be delighted—not just with Javier’s ingenuity but also at being included in the sleight of hand. He had no doubt that Javier had conceived the gesture hoping that it would charm him but the knowledge did nothing to diminish Kiram’s pleasure.

  Elezar’s demand for another plum brought normalcy back to the table. Atreau needed notes from Holy Father Habalan’s lecture on the conquest of the Labaran Dynasty. Genimo offered his. Elezar complained about Nestor’s engagement and Nestor grumbled responses.

  Kiram ate the sweet, tender plum and wondered with a terrible sinking dread whether his resistance or Javier’s persistence would fail first. He wished he could feel happy at the prospect of either.

  Chapter Two

  As weeks passed, the weather grew colder and the days shorter. After so many months of climbing out of bed early to ride with Javier, Kiram now found himself waking hours before sunrise. He always glanced to Javier’s bed, but more often than not found it empty. Kiram rarely returned to sleep. Instead he lit a lamp and busied himself with schoolwork. Every Primiday he heated his medallion as Alizadeh had instructed, watching the lotus turn luminous white while the golden metal remained strangely cool in his hands.

  He hoped that this small ritual would be of some use to Alizadeh, since he’d been able to glean precious little concerning t
he shadow curse. Being Haldiim, he was banned from the chapel grounds and the few times he’d lingered at the gates Holy Father Habalan had come squawking and flapping at him like an infuriated brown hen.

  He considered enlisting Nestor to aid him but then decided against it as far too dangerous. Nestor was a good friend and brave, but far from practiced in deceit or spying.

  Javier would have been the best man to turn to but Kiram was already finding it nearly impossible not to be moved by the mere presence of Javier’s strong body and knowing smiles. Entangling their relationship further by making Javier his conspirator would only make matters worse. And they were already rather bad.

  On the coldest, darkest mornings he wandered to Javier’s empty bed and pulled the blankets around his shoulders. He imagined that he could still feel the warmth of Javier’s body and smell his skin. From time to time he picked up Calixto Tornesal’s diary and flipped through the strange pages, wondering what it was that Javier read within them.

  He knew that lying in Javier’s bed was not the best way to put his desire behind him, but he couldn’t seem to help himself and as long as Javier didn’t know, he supposed that it wouldn’t matter.

  Already Javier’s flirtations were growing rare. The few times he did steal a caress or even a quick kiss, he withdrew easily, Kiram’s constant rebuffs having worn him down. Kiram wished that he could take some pride in this triumph over Javier, but instead he felt like the lowest kind of liar. And worse, he yearned desperately for Javier, stealing the scent of him, the feel of him from his belongings every morning.

  One such morning Kiram leafed through the diary, studying twisting images, some resembling script and others tangled as tree roots, when he noticed something white fluttering past the window.

  Snow.

  He went to the frost-laced panes and stared out. Huge white flakes tumbled down. There seemed to be so many that the sky itself turned pale. Kiram watched in fascination as the academy grounds transformed from dark shadows to soft white masses.