Page 32 of Zel (The GriMM Tales #2)
Ulrich gave Rudy just long enough to retreat before he swept toward Zel with his previous momentum. “Zel! Are you all right? I heard you cry out.”
“I’m fine.” Zel faced him with a false smile, not betraying his earlier panic. His partially unbound hair pooled on the ground beside the bodies and blood of his victims. “You caught the other one then? Were there more?”
Being close to Zel, with the rising sun’s rays brightening his face, Ulrich noticed the cut on Zel’s cheek.
He reached for it immediately with his blackened hand.
As with the prick on Zel’s finger, contact with Zel’s blood plumped Ulrich’s hand to life, and even without removing his hand right away, Ulrich knew his touch healed the skin beneath—a symbiotic exchange, like two halves of a whole.
Zel nuzzled Ulrich’s palm with a soft smile, but the warmth Ulrich wanted to succumb to was not his to bathe in. He had to accept the cold and drew his hand away, fighting the natural cringe when his skin returned to black and the pulse of his violet veins ached.
“I caught the one,” Ulrich said, “and I do not believe there are others, but does your Thieves Guild grow so impatient?”
A flicker of Zel’s panic returned. “You realized who they were as well? Lothar would not have sent them, so who knows why they would risk something so foolish. But regardless, we will not be giving the Thieves Guild what they want.” Zel sheathed his dagger and took Ulrich’s hands in his, as he had in the bedchamber.
He was lying by omission to protect his friend, which only proved Zel’s inherent virtue and Ulrich’s lack of it.
Zel did not even trust Ulrich enough to believe he could show mercy.
Why would he? Ulrich had never been… good .
“What happened to your hair?” Ulrich asked in regards to the red, unbound strands on the grass.
“My magic,” Zel said. “It unleashed just when I needed it to catch one of my attackers. Quite the handy trick, if I can learn how to wield it purposely. I’m not sure I want to wind this bit back into my braids as it is.
” He lifted the section of hair with a grimace, given the blood already beginning to dry and becoming caked in his locks.
“Allow me. We can leave these bodies to the dirt.” Ulrich waved a hand, and the blood sloughed off and seeped into the ground like ashes crumbling after a bonfire. Then he put his hand on Zel's shoulder and transported them into the washroom.
“Is the key still in your chambers?” Zel asked with a touch of concern.
Ulrich produced it with a thought, for he could always summon the key when needed. Its connection to the tower connected it to him.
Zel laughed, losing more of his heightened tension. “I shouldn't be surprised. You are always wondrous to me, every new thing I learn about you. Yes, even the parts that come with darkness,” he answered as if Ulrich had asked the question.
Perhaps he had with his eyes while undressing Zel without the use of his magic. Why hurry a task that should be savored?
Zel's eyes were certainly easy to read before he said, “I am not yet immortal, but I could be, with but a taste of your magic willingly given when the time comes. Yes?”
“Zel…” Ulrich sighed. “Listen—”
“ No . Do not deny me. It would be a curse to live forever alone, and I am sorry you have had to do so for ages and that those centuries tormented you, but it would be different together.”
“I can teach you how to resist the last draughts of power that would make you immor—”
“I don’t want to resist!” Zel stomped the washroom floor, fists clenching like the fiery youth he was. His hair, so much more a conduit for his magic now, echoed his agitation, like stalks of wheat swishing from the movement of animals walking between its stems.
Too much had transpired this morn, and Zel’s strong facade was cracking once more.
“Please, if you have me kill you and leave me mortal, Lothar will take me for his bride in your stead, and he will not be as forgiving to discover what lies beneath my skirts.” Zel said it just as the last of his clothing and armaments fell from his body and the truth of his radiance was laid bare.
“We had hoped to overthrow him, but that would be impossible without your power.”
The possessiveness Ulrich had felt for Zel many times stirred within him stronger than ever. He had assumed Zel would be rewarded, praised for finishing his mission, but this Lothar meant to take. Who wouldn’t want to claim the loveliest of beauties for their bride?
Part of Ulrich wanted that for himself, but there was no right answer between them that wouldn’t end with one or both of them hurt and regretful.
“Come,” Ulrich said and took Zel’s hand to assist him into the first basin. “I will let no such fate befall you, but for now, relax and let me wash your locks of the morn’s troubles.”
With a final frustrated quiver from Zel's hair, he complied.
Ulrich positioned the basins perpendicular to each other, so while Zel’s body soaked in the first, his hair could be washed in the second.
“We will use our remaining days to plan how to unseat this guild master,” he explained, kneeling at one of the corners where the basins met.
He spilled Zel’s hair into the empty water like a cascade of liquid gold and washed it from roots to ends slowly for them both to enjoy the act.
“I will consider the rest of your request before the month ends.”
“Thank you.” Zel relaxed as directed, sinking deeper into the basin, and tilted his head slightly to meet Ulrich’s gaze, silently beseeching him for the kiss they had been denied when the guild members arrived.
The joy, the color and light that filled Zel’s face when Ulrich gave him what he wanted almost convinced him to not let those words be the lie he intended.
But it was a lie, because if Ulrich did one selfless thing in his long life, it would be to save Zel from the folly of loving him.