Page 15 of Zel (The GriMM Tales #2)

Five

ZEL

Z el had learned so much, and all he had asked to know was how and when Ulrich had been the worst.

He truly had been. He was the Immortal King!

The current Queen had ruled Falchovari for two centuries, but countless centuries before her name had even been uttered, the Immortal King had been written and sung about as a beast from the underworld who’d surfaced to spread malice and cruelty like a plague.

There could be no viler being in all the histories, and Ulrich had not shied from showing Zel how true most of it was.

Not all the old stories were true though.

If they had been, there would be no way to kill him, but Ulrich was no beast. He had simply been an elf once, who self-taught his way to power and sacrificed much for the immortality that he now seemed sick of.

Yet the pain his arm caused him pushed him to devour more and more souls if only to keep the ache at bay.

If all that was true and not merely a convenient lie, would it be a kindness to slay him? Could he be slayed, mortal once but unstoppable now? It all had to do with that cursed arm. That was Zel’s best clue.

Ulrich had been genuinely comforted to have Zel touch it, or to run his shriveled, claw-like fingers down Zel’s braids.

The arm had returned to life in those moments as if blessed by Zel’s magic.

Ulrich had certainly seemed genuine at least, especially in his surprise that any of it was possible.

He hadn’t expected it, and if Zel could continue to surprise him, he had the upper hand, so to speak.

Even if killing Ulrich wasn’t a mercy, surely slaying such a monster was justified.

Ulrich had not sought retribution for his centuries of evil, only seclusion.

And he still killed, horribly so. Only trespassers, thieves and possibly murderers who dared to enter his lands, but hadn't Zel's parents nearly been counted among those slain, and by extension, Zel himself?

Was he, as a thief and murderer, any different?

Zel could not think on it all too much, or he would falter, when it hadn’t even been a full day on this mission. He instead had to focus on one of the most important tenets of the Thieves Guild.

Do not mourn your marks. They are already dead.

They had gone outside into the garden after their visit to the past, enjoying the spring weather that beyond the wall would have been bitter autumn.

Ulrich had shown Zel how he tended to the plants, even how he used the rich red fertilizer that had become of the people he drained.

If Zel had not grown up among assassins, he might have thought it sickening to use the remains of people to garden, while sharing stories and songs with their killer.

As things stood, the morn was quite pleasant in Ulrich’s company. The sharp scrutiny that had been tainting his words and presence had softened.

After the midday meal, Zel asked if he might pen his parents a letter, and Ulrich gave him leave to do so, promising he would ensure the letter reached its destination once ready.

Zel kept the letter simple. He was well, he was optimistic about the future, and they needn’t worry but wait to see him again when the month was over.

He and his parents had worked out a code for him to use to give them hints of his progress without anything seeming suspicious should Ulrich read the letter, which Zel expected he would.

I have continued to eat my daily lettuce, as expected of my betrothed, but being here, I swear that only one leaf would be enough to sustain me.

One leaf, one lead to grow on to ensure the month ended successfully.

Zel had been alone at the desk in the main room, but the moment he finished and blew upon the ink for it to dry, Ulrich appeared to help him send the letter off.

With a wave of his hand, the rest of the ink dried.

With another wave, the parchment lifted from the table, folded upon itself into the shape of a bird, and flew out the window toward the heart of the kingdom.

Some of Ulrich’s magic was terrifying. But some, like what was always said of elves, was beautiful. He was beautiful, and strangely, the darkness in him did not obscure that beauty as much as Zel had expected.

“ I t must have taken your mother hours to tend to these locks.”

“Oh, it did. Thankfully, my hair does not require much washing. It mostly keeps clean on its own. We would only brush it out and re-braid it weekly, unless it got especially tangled or dirty.” Zel suppressed a moan in response to Ulrich’s nails running over his scalp after the last of his previous braids had been unbound, both the normal, though still pointed nails of Ulrich’s ashen hand, and the claws of the one that was usually black.

The skin did not remain black while in contact with Zel’s hair, proven again this morn, as Ulrich prepared to brush out Zel’s locks like they’d discussed.

It had always felt nice when Zel’s mother did so, but with Ulrich, the act of fingers combing through his hair almost seemed worshipful.

The reverence and peace on Ulrich’s face could be seen plainly in the mirror in front of Zel.

They were in his bedchamber, with Zel seated in front of the mirror and Ulrich behind him. After he roused, Zel had freshened up and changed into another new dress made from the loom, but had waited to do anything with his even more tousled braids until Ulrich came to him.

As long as there were fabrics to manipulate, Zel liked having something new to wear each day.

Today’s dress did have a bodice. He did not miss wearing a corset, but a less constricting bodice over a dress was nice and helped give an extra cinch to his waist that almost made his flat chest present more feminine.

He liked, however, that Ulrich’s attention did not stray directly there but moved freely over all of him, equally captivated by every part of Zel.

Zel was used to being stared at, lusted after, especially by Rudy—and oftentimes Lothar—but this felt different.

The longing from Ulrich was different. But then, Ulrich had been alone for ages, without another’s touch for all that time too.

If Zel had gone centuries without touching or being touched, he would have grown mad with desire.

Pausing finally in what had become a very pleasant massage of Zel’s scalp, Ulrich took up the brush that had once been his.

Zel’s unbraided hair was so long, Ulrich had stretched it out along the floor nearly to the doorway.

Given how long Ulrich’s hair was as well, he clearly knew how to handle such length.

He moved first away from Zel to begin brushing out the golden locks from the ends, and slowly, section by section, worked his way up.

At first, Zel could watch with a turn of his head.

Ulrich had forgone robes today and wore pantaloons that went to his ankles, not the higher breeches and stockings Zel was used to on Falchovarien men, and a tunic-like shirt that was tightly fitted over his chest and open enough to show his collarbone.

It was all very dressed down and becoming on him, and made sense, given he was on his knees to brush out Zel’s hair.

The former Immortal King and fabled sorcerer of the wood was on his knees .

And out of his usual robes, his figure was quite trim despite the broadness of his shoulders.

Zel wanted to run his fingers through Ulrich’s starlight locks with the same reverence that Ulrich was offering Zel’s.

Perhaps so long having daily dallied with Rudy and now going without was making Zel mad.

Once Ulrich came nearer, Zel had to turn forward, and the closer Ulrich returned to Zel’s scalp, the more Zel felt it.

The more he enjoyed it. The brush from Zel’s crown down toward the nape of his neck was the best, but especially when Ulrich’s clawed nails followed in the brush’s wake.

Only when Zel’s hair was glossy from the attention, and all combed through, did Ulrich begin to braid it.

He formed the foundation, setting up the right sections, knots, and tucks near Zel’s scalp.

With him there, so close to Zel, pausing often to merely touch Zel’s hair or alight his long fingers on Zel’s shoulders, a familiar tingle began to travel through Zel, pleasant and hot.

If this had been Rudy, the young pickpocket would have slid his hands into the top of Zel's dress by now.

Zel tilted his head, exposing the length of his pale neck, chest heaving to show his interest, however subtly.

He should not yet be coaxing Ulrich into intimate acts, but he wondered purely for his own sake what it might be like to feel those pointed nails and claws reach down to circle his nipples.

“Zel, do you feel the way the magic rises with heat in your belly?”

“ Yes .” Zel met Ulrich’s violet eyes in the mirror. “But is that… magic, my lord?”

Ulrich grinned. “It can be. Let me shoulder the brunt of the work, but some of this next magic will come from you.” He ran his hands down Zel’s shoulders, down the whole length of his arms to his wrists and took hold of them, spreading them outward.

He manipulated Zel’s hands like someone leading a choir or band of players.

“Now, envision the sections of your hair lifting on their own.”

“That is all?”

“You were born with magic inside you, Zel. The talent is already there.”

Zel tried, focusing first on Ulrich, on his touch, on his motions with Zel’s hands, and how being in contact with him made the heat, the tingle that had already been building within Zel, grow stronger. Then he imagined his hair lifting and starting to twine into more and more braided sections.

“That’s it, Zel. Don’t stop.”