Page 64 of The Sorcerer's Alpha
Marut eased them both over to lie on their sides, curled together. He laid his hand over Sycamore’s heart and felt Sycamore’s pulse slow. Their breathing synchronized. Sycamore radiated a sense of profound contentment, heavy as a thick layer of furs draped over them both. Marut buried his face in Sycamore’s hair and let himself drift on the warm sea of Sycamore’s emotions.
His knot shrank and slipped out at last. He had thought Sycamore might be asleep, but Sycamore shifted against him and made a soft noise as they separated. Marut kissed his shoulder and said, “I’m glad you called for me.”
“I didn’t realize I had. I didn’t mean to.” Sycamore sighed. “But it’s good to have you here.”
They did sleep for a while, then, until Sycamore’s heat peaked again and he woke Marut to tend to him. Marut had reconciled himself to never having Sycamore in this way again, and this unexpected time together was a blessing but also stirred up the feelings he had spent the past days trying to bury. But he gladly held Sycamore and kissed him and spent inside him and didn’t think of what would come next. In the darkness, he could pretend they were still in their tent on the steppe, where no one could find them.
At last, in the gray light before dawn, Sycamore rolled away from him with a sigh and said, “You should probably go now, before the palace wakes.”
Marut stroked his hand over Sycamore’s hip. “I hate to leave you in this state.”
“The worst of it’s passed. I’ll do well enough on my own.” Sycamore twined his arms around Marut’s neck and kissed him deeply. “I’m leaving Banuri as soon as my heat’s done. Back to the badlands.”
A chill gripped Marut’s guts. Back into the heart of danger, and without Marut there to protect him. He couldn’t bear the thought. But he would have to bear it, wouldn’t he? There was nothing else he could do.
“Please be safe,” he whispered, his arms tight around Sycamore’s waist. “Promise me.”
Sycamore touched his cheek. “Oh, my love. I wish we had met in a different life.”
Marut gave him a final kiss and rose from the bed to get dressed. There was nothing else to be said.
* * *
Sycamore’s heatleft him weak-limbed and shaky, in worse form than he usually was. Even after a full night’s sleep, his head somehow felt both light and heavy when he woke the next morning. He sat on the edge of his bed for several minutes, hoping the sensation would pass. When it didn’t, he rose anyway and rang for a bath. The sorcerers’ council would convene later that morning, and he needed to be in attendance.
He sat at his desk, pretending to read a book but in truth mainly staring out his window at the courtyard garden, as various servants came in and out to change the bed linens, bring food, and fill the tub. The sun was rising above the hills to the east. The day would be mild and lovely, as most spring days were.
He bathed and dressed in his best tunic of yellow silk overlain with gauze and embroidered with seed pearls. His hands trembled as he combed and tied back his hair. But he felt somewhat better after he ate, and this was hardly the first time he had returned to his work while still unsteady in the aftermath of heat. He had long practice at hiding any sign of weakness.
The council convened in a large room on the far side of the courtyard, sunlit with the shutters opened. Sycamore noticed himself clenching his jaw as he came through the door and relaxed it again. The three senior members of the council held court at a broad table facing the chairs where the remaining sorcerers sat. In Sycamore’s time in the palace, there had never been more than fifteen sorcerers in residence at one time; now, with Willow dead, and Chestnut and Maple still in Bhilamala, they numbered fewer than ten.
He sat next to Poplar, who nodded at him in greeting. Sycamore had paid him a brief visit before going into confinement and asked that he spread the word about Sycamore’s return, and it seemed that he had from how no one else in the room reacted with surprise to Sycamore’s presence. In fact, no one reacted at all. Cedar glanced at him before returning to his sheaf of notes. Birch appeared to be asleep, chin on his chest.
A typical council session, in other words.
“I hear you’re back out to the badlands tomorrow,” Poplar said to him.
“Yes, and good luck to me as it seems no one knows anything. Except maybe poor Willow, but if he learned anything, I’ll never know it.”
“We’ll lose the badlands, without a doubt. But the situation on the coast is changing for the better, with aid from the new ships from Setsen. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Tihasoy give up altogether by the end of summer.” His mouth twitched. “With any luck, they’ll turn their attention to Skopa.”
“I didn’t know,” Sycamore said, stunned by this good news, which had been in such short supply for so long. Aditya had given him no indication.
“This time next year, Chedi will be at peace. That’s my wager.”
The door opened and the senior members came shuffling in: Hemlock, who had been ancient even in Sycamore’s childhood and was now truly in his dotage, leaning on Alder’s arm, and followed by Juniper. They sat at the table. Poplar leaned over to prod at Birch’s shoulder until he woke with a snort.
“Sycamore is leaving tomorrow for the badlands,” Juniper began without preamble, “to complete the task Willow couldn’t. Alder, share what you’ve learned.”
Alder opened his file and squinted at his notes. He had ruined his vision deciphering the faded, cramped script of the palace library’s oldest tomes, and now could hardly see, although he insisted his eyesight was as sharp as ever. After a moment, he said, “Willow was able to send a report after he initially examined the creature. The constructs are a form of Skopoy magic we haven’t previously encountered. They’re made from the earth, but infused with an animating spirit.”
Death magic, Sycamore thought, just as Alder said, “I suspect death magic, in the Nirawoy way. Some animal’s spirit trapped in an earthen mass.”
“Fortunately,” Juniper said, “Sycamore is well versed in the lower magics. Speak to the mud, as you do, and tell it to begone. You’ll be back in Banuri in time for the solstice.”
Back in Banuri to take over the protections that Juniper had assumed in his absence and was clearly eager to be unburdened of. Sycamore was careful not to react. Let Juniper say whatever he wanted. His acid tongue had little effect on Sycamore after so many years of constant exposure.
“Sycamore has a gift with the earth,” Cedar said, his mild words as much of a rebuke as anyone ever offered to Juniper, and as much praise as anyone ever offered to Sycamore.