Page 24 of Zel (The GriMM Tales #2)

Nine

ZEL

T he trip was instant and jarring with the change in scenery, going from the walls of the tower to a claustrophobic alleyway that Zel assumed Ulrich had chosen because it was unlikely to have anyone down it.

The smells of the city hit Zel just as suddenly, some pleasant like desserts baking for after the evening meal, some rank like rotting garbage and excrement in the deeper slums of the back streets. Either way, he was home.

As he and Ulrich ventured onto a more heavily traveled thoroughfare, Zel got his bearings and turned them in the direction toward the tavern.

It wasn’t far from where they’d arrived, a familiar area to Zel, though thankfully far enough from any Thieves Guild entrances that he hoped to not see anyone he knew.

The goal of the evening, however, was worth the risk.

Most shops were closing and street vendors heading home, but as they passed a flower seller, Ulrich stopped her.

“My good lady, might I purchase the remainder of your stock?”

“You want the lot?” She tilted her basket. “They’re not the freshest, mind you, but I can give you a discount.”

“They’re suitable enough,” Ulrich said. “Whatever you think is fair for them is fine.”

He made the exchange with the seller, a mere pittance of coin for Ulrich, and then, in the shadows of another side street, he removed the glove from his right hand so he could trim the stems with his claws.

Zel hadn’t noticed the glove until now, and Ulrich only wore the one.

It seemed that even in disguise, he couldn’t hide his blackened arm with magic, but had to wear a glove to hide it.

Zel had noticed as much all those days ago during their stroll through the wood, but since Ulrich hadn't worn a glove then, he hadn't taken note of the importance.

Here there was a much greater chance of curious eyes and questions.

Whatever Ulrich did to the flowers next, they came out bound together into a perfect miniature bouquet and seemed rejuvenated where their petals had previously looked brown and brittle. They were cornflowers, now a lovely shade of indigo, as if untouched by the Great Famine.

“It’s temporary but should last the night.” Ulrich tucked the flowers into Zel’s bodice as a nosegay. All the unpleasant smells of the city faded with its presence.

“Thank you, my lord. And here I thought someone who had never known love might not know romance either.”

Ulrich fitted his glove back over his cursed hand. “I’ve been keeping up on my reading.”

Zel chuckled.

“One other thing.” Ulrich reached inside Zel’s cloak so suddenly that he gasped, and tension filled his body, though it was different from the tension that had once made him recoil from the sorcerer. Zel felt overheated, even in the autumn chill, growing colder as the sun set.

But all Ulrich did was pull Zel’s hair from out of hiding beneath his cloak and perform a little extra magic.

Cornflowers like the ones in Zel’s bodice bloomed from his braids, adorning the length as well as parts he couldn’t see but could feel, like at the crown of his head.

“Now, you are even lovelier,” Ulrich said.

Zel instinctively stroked the braids, careful around the blossoms. It was his little gesture of comfort, yet with Ulrich, the flutter of nerves he felt was its own contentment.

No one, save perhaps Rudy, had ever done something for Zel so spontaneously sweet. But not the flower pendant when Zel and Rudy first became friends nor the gold and emerald version as a token of Rudy’s feelings evoked in Zel what he felt receiving this gift from Ulrich.

He needed to remember who was meant to be doing the seducing here.

“Lead on.” Ulrich let Zel’s braids fall back behind his shoulders and took his arm.

It was strange having lived here all of his life but having been away for weeks. It felt the same and yet foreign to Zel too. He had known a taste of freedom, even while on a mission.

Passing more and more people heading home or out to various taverns, Zel realized that Ulrich’s hold on him tightened the longer they walked.

“If you worry I might wander off or flee from you—” he began, but Ulrich hushed his concerns.

“I believe if you wanted to do either, you would have done so already.”

True. Ulrich had never locked Zel away or barred him from going where he pleased. But he still kept tightening his hold the more people they passed.

People they passed who cast appraising glances at Zel.

Ulrich was jealous. Possessive. Which was what Zel needed. He needed Ulrich to want him, but he also needed to stop being pleased about that for any reasons other than for the sake of the mission.

When they reached Hessen House, it proved rowdy indeed, even at this early hour.

It was one of only a handful of establishments that always had enough food and drink for its patrons—for the right price—no doubt from some deal with the Queen to help combat the pitfalls of the Great Famine.

It still wouldn’t be much or anything like the meals Ulrich provided and meant coming early was the only way to ensure a decent seat along the wall rather than standing at the taller tables in the center.

Zel wondered as they searched for a table if Ulrich might change his mind about the locale with so many patrons about, but the sorcerer seemed more at ease now. Perhaps because a crowd meant most onlookers at Zel were accompanied by their own companions, courters, and wives.

An empty table appeared and in an ideal location, secluded yet not outside the throng of merrymaking, with a clear view of the area reserved for bards and players. Whether by Zel’s luck or Ulrich’s magic, they claimed it quickly.

They dined, with Zel sneaking bites of his rapunzel while eating his stew, and the din of the tavern was never without music.

They even conversed a bit with a neighboring table, which hosted two younger married couples whose children were being looked after by one of their mothers.

The couples were already drunk but in good spirits, so when one of the wives mentioned how much she adored the flowers in Zel’s hair, he plucked one out to tuck it behind her ear.

They also drank. And drank. And drank . Zel did not need to come up with excuses for them to stay, for Ulrich seemed content, enjoying himself as much as Zel was. Honestly.

There was an eventual lull in the music for the bard who had been playing to be replaced by a full band, and the standing tables in the middle were moved closer to the ones along the walls, leaving room for dancing.

They could indulge as much as they wanted with Ulrich’s unlimited coin, and Zel was contemplating their next drinks when Ulrich’s hand slid onto his knee.

Zel looked at Ulrich, feeling the heat in his cheeks from all they had drunk so far flood lower and spread through his loins.

He was supposed to be working, manipulating, but Ulrich was so handsome.

So compelling. Zel wished he looked like he normally would, with starlight hair and a purplish complexion, but the shape of his face was the same, even if he was dimmed from his true radiance.

“Thank you for this,” Ulrich said. “I went too long without partaking in such things.”

“I worried you might not enjoy this as much as I was hoping.”

“I am in good company. And while one can, one should live , should one not?”

While one can…

The desires blossoming in Zel’s gut turned sour.

“Indeed,” he said. “So let us keep living. I will fetch us more drink. It gets difficult to obtain service once the dancing starts.” Zel slipped from their table, out from under Ulrich’s hand on his knee, like a fleeing coward.

He had Ulrich right where he needed him, drunk and compliant enough that it would be easy now to ask him more about the curse and learn what Zel required…

To kill him.

Zel blinked a rush of heat from his eyes. Let it keep to his cheeks from drink, or his loins from Ulrich’s touch. But not tears. He could not afford tears.

He moved for the bar, which was crowded with others trying to secure more drink before the new band of players began. Zel’s beauty commanded a bit of chivalry, however, even from stumbling louts, and several parted to make way for him.

“Yes, please, barkeep, two—”

“Ain’t you a pretty thing?”

Zel’s beauty also commanded unwanted attention from stumbling louts. Such a presence pressed up against him from behind, and hot, ale-tinged breath struck Zel’s cheek. “Thank you, sir, but I—”

“Have a dance with me, will ya? Though I’d rather see more of what’s under that cloak, to be honest. Ain’t you warm enough, pretty?”

“I am quite comfortable, and I’m afraid—”

“Dance with me.” He tugged Zel’s arm, whirling him around to face what was a perfectly unremarkable man, but one well into obnoxiously inebriated. “I ain’t taking no for an answer.”

Every instinct in Zel wanted to flip this man on his ass, but that would call attention. It would signal that he was from the Thieves Guild, and the evening would be ruined. “Sir—”

The man tugged Zel’s arm again, forcing him onto the dancefloor and into his arms. Zel could easily escape, but could he do so without causing a scene?

The music was just starting, and other drunken patrons crowded in around them, drowning Zel in the throng.

He couldn’t see their table anymore, being shorter than most of the other dancers.

Perhaps it was good the crowd rushed in quickly. Surely, Zel could spin out of the man’s grasp and escape amid the other bodies. He had a tight hold around Zel’s waist though, too tight, and was starting to drift his hand lower.

Zel prepared himself to grab hold of that hand and twist it, throwing himself out of reach with the momentum, but he didn’t get the chance.

“I believe you have acquired an already spoken for dance partner.”