Page 14
Chapter 14
The Oak Tree
Fenric
F enric was still on the bench when Rory came out from the branches of the oak and saw him waiting. Rory gave him a soft smile and approached, stopping a few strides away.
“Fenric.”
“Rory.”
Rory took him in from head to toe, and then nodded, though what he was thinking was anyone’s guess. Fenric waited a moment, then asked. “Is he alright?”
Rory gestured with an elegant hand back over his shoulder toward the tree. “Go see him for yourself, my friend.”
Fenric stood and wiped his hands on his pants, nervous suddenly. He was fine when teasing or flirting but a meaningful conversation was fraught with danger to his heart. He feared rejection.
Rory came to him and to his pleased surprise, pulled him into a brief hug. He returned it happily. Rory was a kindhearted person. And manipulative as fuck when he wanted to be—not that Fenric was complaining. Fenric found himself gently guided toward the tree and with a soft pat on his shoulder, was left to wander into the grotto, heading for Cian.
The massive tree swallowed almost all light but for a few beams of golden sun breaking through the crown of the tree high overhead. The thick trunk had to be several yards around in circumference, a light steel-gray bark that offset Cian’s moss green hair in a lovely manner that drew his eye and held it.
Cian sat on his rear on the grassy moss, back to the trunk of the tree, cross-legged with his hands on his knees. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was even and steady. He was meditating? Fenric wasn’t sure, but he didn’t want to disturb the sidhe, so he transformed into his cat form and slinked silently across the mossy grotto.
He paused beside Cian, sniffing the air, but aside from a faint hint of stress that was quickly fading, there were no signs of unhappiness or upset.
“I’m alright,” Cian said out of the blue, making Fenric jolt a bit in surprise. His tail poofed out and then he licked at his shoulder to hide his embarrassment. Cian relaxed, his posture loose and what little tension Fenric had noticed was gone.
Cian opened his eyes and turned to look at Fenric. “Are you alright? Angel wasn’t too rough with you?”
“The necromancer was worried, but not about me,” Fenric replied, and he took the chance to not-so-subtly climb into Cian’s lap and curl up for a snuggle. He draped his front paws over Cian’s knee and yawned, sinking into the warmth of Cian’s lap.
“Worried about me, was he?” Cian asked, hands finding their way to Fenric’s thick black fur and stroking along his back and sides. He purred, content, his tail thwapping against Cian’s other leg. “He worries I might return to my violent days. My bout with the abyss harmed many people, regrettably so, and that worry will remain in the minds of those who know me. Justifiably so.”
“Not me,” Fenric purred, eyes nearly shut to slits in contentment at having Cian’s hands and attention on him. “And I know you.”
“I know you, too.” Cian paused, hands a reassuring weight on Fenric’s back. “May I hold the sidhe, my kitten?”
Without speaking he transformed, turning as he did to remain seated in Cian’s lap, facing Cian, lifting an arm to wrap around the other sidhe’s neck and leaning in.
“Your kitten?” Fenric whispered, staring up into stormy eyes. Those hands found his hip and lower leg, holding him firmly. He put his free hand over Cian’s chest, feeling the solid thump of his heart beating.
“My kitten, if you’ll allow me the honor,” Cian said, soft hair falling over one shoulder as he shifted their weight, getting more comfortable.
“I would love to be your kitten.”
Cian had not called him that in centuries, not since that first meeting on the ship across the sea.
Cian smiled.
“Can I kiss you?” Cian asked, and Fenric nodded, leaning in.
Cian
The kiss that came was slow and sweet. The taste of Fenric’s lips was intoxicating, a languid flow of pleasure, his lips soft and inviting. He tasted like honey at the height of summer.
Cian ran a hand from Fenric’s calf up his leg, along his side and chest, feeling firm, supple muscles, up a smooth neck to cup Fenric’s jaw, tipping back his head just enough to deepen the kiss.
A gasp against his lips, and Cian tasted Fenric, deeper, closer, fingers slipping into midnight-black silken hair. Eager hands clutched his neck and tiny, soft gasps and whimpers from the man in his lap had him growing warm, heat pooling in his belly.
Cian broke the kiss, gasping, breathing hard. He pressed his forehead to Fenric’s and held him with a firm gentleness, determined to keep him close.
“I’ve never been one for kissing,” Cian breathed out, “But you, sweet kitten, I could kiss forever.”
Fenric purred, pressing a soft kiss to Cian’s lips. “Please do.”
Cian chuckled. “Would you not grow tired of kissing and want more?”
“No, not if you didn’t want it as well,” Fenric denied softly, close enough that all that Cian saw was those intense peridot eyes. “I told you. Enthusiasm is sexy. If you don’t want it, I don’t want it.”
“And if someday I do want more?”
“Show me if that day comes how much you want me, and I’ll follow your lead.” Fenric gasped out as Cian pressed a soft kiss to Fenric’s forehead. Seemed his kitten enjoyed the affection, so he did it again, Fenric all but vibrating in his lap from his purrs.
“Very well,” Cian said with meaning—he would stop doubting Fenric’s patience and he resolved to learn to trust that Fenric meant what he said. Fenric was not as old as Cian, but he was old indeed, and far too grown to play games in matters of the heart and body. He believed that Fenric knew his own mind, and Cian would trust him.
Fenric curled up in his lap, tucking in his long legs and pulling off his boots, sparing Cian’s lap the dirt and discomfort, and he tucked his head under Cian’s chin, fitting perfectly, arms still wrapped around his neck and shoulders. Fenric was the perfect size to hold, an armful of strong muscles, soft skin, and sweetness.
He had claws, too—he was not all soft. A deadly, delightful armful of a sidhe, and Cian sighed heavily, tension leaving his frame, resting his chin on soft, sweet-smelling black hair, enjoying the warmth of another being’s body close to his.
Rhythmic purring filled the grotto under the oak tree.
Cian
He carried a sleeping Fenric through the gardens, the smaller sidhe a warm armful and light enough the weight was negligible. Fenric’s head rested on his shoulder, warm breath on the skin of his neck, body limp in a way that implied deep trust. He held Fenric firmly, but not too tightly, not wanting to wake him.
Rory opened the door of the conservatory for him, Cian stepping inside with Fenric, who didn’t stir a bit. Rory smiled, amused and affectionate, and Cian resigned himself to the teasing sure to come his way from his brothers at his doting upon Fenric.
The archway to the temple proper of the underhill awaited him at its now customary place to the side of the conservatory’s central courtyard, the blackness of the privacy veil peeling back and revealing the well-lit interior of the temple.
Cian nodded to Rory and stepped through the archway, the privacy veil reactivating in his wake, blacking out the view to the conservatory. Inside the temple, it was warm despite the stone environs, and sconces and torches along the walls illuminated the massive space.
Waiting for him was his massive platform bed, the bedding renewed with fresh linens and blankets in a variety of blues and greens. He carefully set Fenric on the bed, and tucked the cat-sidhe under the blankets. Cian flicked his wrist and pulled Fenric’s boots from the ether, setting them on the stone floor beside the bed.
He frowned. Even with the temple magically warmed, the stone floors were going to be chilly—a rug in vibrant blues appeared under the boots alongside the bed, perfect for keeping toes from suffering cold floors.
You spoil him already , Rory thought along their connection, lightly teasing.
He is my kitten , Cian replied haughtily. He deserves to be spoiled.
Rory chuckled within the depths of his mind and gently withdrew, Cian getting a glimpse of Daniel entering the conservatory before he too backed away mentally and allowed his brother privacy.
Fenric stirred and rolled under the blankets, arching into a deep stretch that revealed firm muscles in his arms and shoulders. He yawned, double fangs catching the light, shiny and sharp and pearly white. He was cat-like even in his bipedal form, and Fenric rolled again, burying his face in Cian’s pillow and purring as he burrowed into the bedding.
Cian rubbed a hand over his chest. It hurt there beneath his sternum, a deep ache that came and went, fleeting but no less painful for its brevity. He doubted he was suffering a malady—he never got sick. No, this was the pain of something else.
A chair conjured itself into being behind him and he sat, sinking slowly into the soft cushions, watching over Fenric as he slept.
Fenric
Fenric slowly opened one eye, used to waking in new places during his travels, and he was pleased to see that moving into the underhill to live with Cian had not been a dream. His reality was much improved, all due to one miraculous sidhe, whom he had a marvelous view of as he slept.
Cian was leaning back in a deep armchair, head tilted a bit to the side, moss-green hair falling over one shoulder down his chest. His bare feet were propped up on the edge of the bed frame, ankles crossed, hands on his lap in a relaxed pose. His face was at ease, making him look impossibly young for one so ancient—he had the appearance of a youth in his mid-twenties, by mortal standards, despite being older than the combined ages of all nations on the planet.
Fenric had no idea what time it was, but he was happy to have slept—it meant he was safe, and he was a great admirer of naps. Aside from killing, napping was his preferred pastime.
He would rather have company in the large, soft bed, but Cian wasn’t to be pushed and Fenric was pleased Cian decided to stay with him while he slept, watching over him even though they were both safe in the underhill. Maybe one day soon Cian would sleep beside him in the bed for longer than a quick nap.
The bed smelled like Cian, the linens fresh and clean, but the entire bed was permeated with Cian’s scent and Fenric breathed in deep, pressing his face into the pillow and sighing happily.
A deep chuckle drew him from the bedding and made him lift his head, peering through black strands over his face to see Cian smiling at him. “Happy?”
Fenric stretched, a whole body tightening and release that made him shake a bit in pleasure, going limp on the soft mattress. He grinned at Cian. “Very.”
“Are you hungry?” Cian asked without moving from the chair, looking just as content as Fenric to remain where he was.
“I could eat,” Fenric replied a bit regretfully, not wanting to move from the bed. “What did you have in mind?”
“I was going to ask you that,” Cian replied with a wry grin. He wiggled his toes and then put his feet on the floor, standing from the chair in one smooth push that showed off his muscular form. Fenric looked, enjoying the view. “Fruit, meat, vegetable?”
“Pears, beef, and asparagus?” Fenric answered with his favorites, curious what Cian would make. Cian left his line of sight and Fenric pushed up on one arm to track the sidhe as he moved around the spacious interior of the temple.
He blinked in surprise and sat up all the way. There was a large iron brazier burning merrily several feet from the bed, a low table and two chairs next to it, and Cian was inspecting stone basins and a large, black iron cauldron that hung from a tripod and chain over the brazier.
“Where the…” Fenric slid from the bed, grateful for the warm carpet under his feet instead of cold stone. He blinked at the setup, and at Cian, who was tossing items into the cauldron from the selection on the table.
“Beef short ribs in a red wine reduction with steamed asparagus, and sliced candied pears for dessert.” Cian informed him with confidence.
“Won’t the ribs take forever?” Fenric asked as he left the bed and padded barefoot to one of the big chairs beside the brazier. It was summer—surely it was too hot to be beside a fire—but the temperature inside the temple was cool, making the heat from the brazier welcome.
Cian tapped the rim of the iron cauldron and Fenric saw carved and molded runes along the iron. He mentally translated the runes as he read, seeing spells for rapid cooking, pressure control, and precautions against fracture or…explosions? “That’s a pressure cooker, isn’t it?”
Fenric sat and curled up in one of the chairs, pulling his feet up under his rear and leaning on the thickly cushioned arm of the chair.
“It can be, with the right combination of spells activated. I made it many years ago when Rory and I traveled more.” Cian slid several thick cuts of beef ribs into the cauldron, the meat sizzling immediately, the scent of searing meat in the air making Fenric hungry. “I made many things that we no longer use, or that I had no use for when…”
“When he slept.” Fenric finished for him. Cian nodded.
Fenric didn’t want to aggravate recent wounds, so he let that mention of Rory’s centuries-long nap in stasis go no further. “What else did you make?”
“Iron does not bother me, not as it would a younger fae,” Cian said, Fenric nodding. He was Elder fae, too—iron did not bother him either, but many of the younger fae species had adverse reactions to the inherent magical properties of the metal, and it was used to nullify practitioners’ magic as well. “I’ve made many things. Bowls and forks, locks and keys, more braziers and lanterns, metal sconces,” Cian said and he idly gestured to the wall of the temple and the metal sconces on the walls at regular intervals. “I enjoy making things.” He paused, then sent Fenric a quick glance, searching, as if measuring how Fenric was going to react. “I made Rory and Daniel’s wedding rings most recently.”
“I never knew you were crafty,” Fenric said. “I can’t make a thing except for a mess, so I’m thoroughly impressed.”
Cian gave him a crooked smile for the jest. “When last we saw each other, tensions were high and the circumstances were dire for those in our charge. There was no time or place for crafting, for making new things.”
“I got as many of them settled in safety, far from the dangers of the British Army, as I could. You and Rory saved them, gave us all time to escape.” Fenric winced a bit, regretting bringing the past up again. But he had to say the last bit. “I came back, afterwards. You and Rory were gone, and I heard Colm was dead, though there was no word on how. I looked for you, but there was no sign except a funeral pyre for Colm.”
Cian took a deep breath. “I had enough control at the time to give Colm a proper send off, but I was obsessed with saving Rory—I left with the pyre still burning, hunting for hope and a way to save my brother. I am sorry I did not wait for you.”
“I understand, as best as anyone can,” Fenric replied quietly. “It’s okay.”
There was a glimmer on the table, and Cian grabbed an old bottle of red wine, the label rough around the edges, the wax around the cork a deep red. Cian flicked a wrist and pulled a dagger from the ether, using the long edge to cut the wax and twine around the neck of the bottle. Another glimmer, and a bottle opener appeared by Cian’s free hand, and he worked the cork free with a smooth twist. The rich, sweet scent of the wine filled the air.
“Do you want a glass?” Cian asked, previous topic closed.
“Sure, thank you.” Fenric was happy to change the subject.
Two goblets appeared on the table, and Cian poured wine into both glasses, leaving them to breathe, and then he poured the remainder of the wine into the cauldron. More spices and herbs went in after it, and the now-empty bottle disappeared with a shimmer from his hand.
Cian set a heavy black lid on the cauldron and tapped a series of runes, the lid and cauldron glowing a dim reddish hue briefly—it was sealed. He picked up one of the goblets and brought it to Fenric, holding it out. Fenric took the goblet, careful not to spill a drop, and their fingers brushed. A shiver went down his hand and arm, and he looked up and caught stormy eyes watching him.
After a long moment, Cian went to the other chair and sat.
“Where does the food come from?” Fenric asked, deeply curious.
Cian held his goblet under his nose, breathing in the scent of the wine before answering. “Storage rooms. I go shopping, disguised of course,” he waved casually at his distinctive eyes and hair. “I head to delis and gourmet suppliers in town. A few discreet portals and I can stock the underhill in under an hour. I go hunting in the underhill forest to supplement the protein supplies, especially since I began feeding a growing dragon. The local butchers are occasionally not enough for his appetite.”
“You go around Boston pretending to be Rory, just to go grocery shopping?” Fenric burst out, feeling a sense of mild disappointment, slightly aghast.
“Took the mystery right out of the magically appearing food, didn’t it?” Cian said with an amused grin.
Fenric snorted out a laugh and nearly dropped his wine, laughing at himself as he nodded. “Yes, it did!”
Cian’s answering laugh was delightful.