Lord of the White Hell book Two

Chapter Five

Scholar Casade, their art instructor, was a pragmatic elderly gentleman whose wispy white hair reminded Kiram a little of his own father. According to Nestor, he'd once been the royal portrait painter before a scandal had driven him from the court at Cieloalta.

Not one to waste his energy on lost causes, the scholar had long since abandoned any attempt at improving Kiram's minimal artistic abilities. He doted on Nestor, however. Kiram suspected that, though the scholar knew Kiram spent most of the class period completing Nestor's history and mathematics assignments, he tolerated it for Nestor's sake.

Not that Kiram didn't pay attention during class. In fact, Scholar Casade's lecture on line weight and form had aided Kiram greatly in forging Nestor's square script. He could sign Nestor's name nearly as well as his own now.

An hour later, Holy Father Habalan accepted the paper from Nestor without comment. When Kiram turned his own essay in the holy father studied it, frowning, then said, "In light of your harrowing night I had expected that you wouldn't have a paper to hand in, Underclassman Kiram. I suppose your bear wasn't so terrible as all that, then."

Kiram bowed his head. Just looking into the holy father's face made him almost too angry to think. How dare the bastard taunt him about last night? Was he so sadistic that he needed to see Kiram's fear even now?

Then another thought came to Kiram. The groom Victaro had been murdered for knowing Habalan controlled the curse. Now, Kiram realized, the holy father might be watching for a response to determine Kiram's knowledge. He had to meet Habalan's gaze and seem genuine in his belief that a beast had attacked him. He couldn't allow the holy father to see either his fear or his anger.

"I'm only able to turn the paper in because I completed it the day before, sir." Kiram forced himself to lift his head and meet those cow brown eyes imbedded in that plump, plain face. "I saw very little of the creature, but from the damage it did, it must have been very large. I wouldn't want to meet with another."

"Yes, well, let's hope not." The holy father gazed intently at Kiram for a long moment, which seemed to stretch endlessly while Kiram maintained his expression of earnest indifference. Then the holy father moved on to the next student. After that the rest of the history lecture floated past Kiram. He tried to focus on the Treaty of Crown Hill but memories of that creeping darkness invaded his thoughts. He had to fight to keep from staring at the holy father's shadow as it moved across the classroom floor.

Once the class was over Kiram bolted from his seat only to be called back. Habalan took Kiram aside while the rest of the students filed out of the lecture room. His calf began to ache in hard pulses, echoing the tempo of his speeding heart. His palms felt clammy.

"I understand that you have been working quite hard on a project for the Crown Challenge." Holy Father Habalan's expression wasn't sympathetic, though he clearly intended it to appear that way.

"Yes, I have, sir. I want to make the academy proud."

"I'm sure you do. But with things the way they are, you would do well to refocus your time and energy on your work for this class and let the Crown Challenge wait until next year." Holy Father Habalan hefted the stack of papers in his pudgy arms and gave Kiram a limpid gaze. "Considering your recent setback and the winter conditions, I feel that it would be wholly unwise and most likely unhealthy were you to return directly to your mechanist work in that drafty shed."

Dull malevolence showed beneath the holy father's bland expression.

"Yes, sir. I've locked the shed up and I don't think I'll be returning to work there anytime soon." Kiram's mouth felt dry and his words came out in a kind of rasp.

The holy father smiled and excused him.

Kiram rushed from the lecture room. Nestor raced after him with a concerned expression. Kiram didn't slow down until he reached the library. There he laid his books and papers down on one of the heavy wooden desks and flopped into a worn chair. Nestor sat down across from him.

"So, what did he say?" Nestor asked.

"He wants me to take some time off from the Crown Challenge to focus on my history papers"

Nestor rolled his eyes. "If he thinks you're not focused enough the man doesn't know what the word means. You usually have your papers and mine written days before they're due."

"I'm not taking him seriously," Kiram replied, though the threat of the curse coming for him once more chilled his bravado. "He's just an old bigot."

"You're probably right. He's certainly not fair to you," Nestor said. "All the papers you've written for me he's given higher marks than the ones you've handed in for yourself, but they're all your papers."

Kiram simply nodded. He could vaguely remember a time, early in the summer, when nothing could have worried him more than receiving low marks on his history papers. But now it seemed trivial.

Nestor began sketching, as he always did when Kiram was quiet. Kiram himself picked up a book but couldn't bring himself to read any of it.

Instead he thought of the threat that Holy Father Habalan had made. Men like the holy father had once brought King Nazario's edicts down against the Haldiim here and throughout the kingdom, even as far as Anacleto. Facing terrible danger many Haldiim had fled with the Irabiim into the Mirogoth forests or sailed south to the Salt Islands. But Kiram's ancestors had remained, despite their fear-and Kiram now had a sense of how terrible and real that fear must have been. The thought of them made him proud.

He couldn't do less than they had. He couldn't give up on his engine. But he wasn't going to be a fool about it either. No great wall or battalions of archers stood between him and the shadow curse. He would have to keep his work in the infirmary secret.

Briefly Kiram wondered if he should warn Scholar Donamillo about Holy Father Habalan, but he decided against it. If the scholar had not been attacked for the work he had already done, then it was unlikely that he would be. Telling him now would only make him a threat to the holy father and put him in danger.

From somewhere in the back of Kiram's mind came the thought that he hadn't heard the soft scratching of Nestor's pen in a while. Kiram glanced to Nestor and discovered that he was absorbed with reading a sheaf of papers. When he turned a sheet over Kiram caught a glimpse of violet ink and fine script. A light floral fragrance wafted off them.

"Did you get a letter?" Kiram asked.

Nestor glanced up, startled. "This afternoon. It's from Riossa"

Kiram smiled, glad for a chance to escape his own worries for a while. "How is she liking living with your mother?"

"Better than I'd expected" Nestor read Kiram brief excerpts from the letter. Riossa expounded upon the vastness of the Grunito house, the astounding number of hunting hounds, lapdogs and rat terriers in residence, and the shock of witnessing Lady Grunito run down a would-be cutpurse so that she could thrash the man. She also wrote of an outing to the Haldiim section of Anacleto. Her descriptions of perfume sellers on the Ammej Bridge and red-dyed doves nesting in garlanded almond trees gave Kiram a pang of homesickness.

"She says she wanted to send me some Kir-Zaki candies but my father ate them all." Nestor carefully folded the letter closed.

"Well, you got some from my mother in any case."

"True. But it would be different if they were from Riossa, you know."

"I know," Kiram replied. Then a motion in the doorway caught his attention and he found himself looking up just as Javier strode into the room. Javier glanced across the tall bookshelves and vacant tables as if assessing a battlefield. Only when he seemed sure that no one else looked on did he approach.

"Knew I'd find you here," Javier said.

At the sound of his voice Nestor jumped. Then he quickly regained his composure. "You were quiet as a thief coming in. What's up?"

"Bored." Javier's eyes lingered on Kiram for just a moment too long before returning to Nestor. "Thought I'd check on bear-bait here to make sure he hadn't succumbed to his wounds."

Nestor laughed and then shot Kiram an apologetic look. Just behind Nestor, Javier watched Kiram with bare longing. Kiram felt his skin flushing.

"Bear-bait is pretty done in actually," Kiram said. "I think I might sneak in a nap before dinner."

A brief, very pleased smile curved Javier's lips. "Come on then, I'll bore you to sleep with readings from Bishop Seferino's sermon to the body traders." Javier glanced to Nestor. "You?"

"I'll pass on the sermon, thanks. I get enough of those at home," Nestor responded.

"See you at dinner, then" Kiram stood, trying to appear fatigued in his motions. The pulsing excitement that rushed through him as Javier placed a hand against his back made it all the harder.

"Maybe we'll get some beef tonight," Nestor replied but his attention wasn't on Kiram or Javier. He'd already unfolded Riossa's letter again.

Kiram did his best to seem worn out as he traipsed up the stairs after Javier, but once they were in their room he was alive with energy and arousal. He slipped his fingers under Javier's supple belt and pulled him close.

"Poor Hashiem Kir-Naham, hmm?" Javier kissed Kiram with hungry force. Kiram all but ripped his shirt off. The two of them tumbled into Javier's bed, still pulling off each other's belts and kicking off their boots.

They devoured each other with hands and mouths, each driving the other towards desperate climax. Kiram's anxiety and fear dissipated as mounting ecstasy consumed his senses. After that, he lay in a state of spent satisfaction, Javier's arm draped across his chest. He nuzzled his face against Kiram's neck, whispering words so softly that Kiram could hardly hear them. Kiram felt sleep take the lingering tension from Javier's body.

Kiram drew in a deep breath, smelling their mingled sweat and sex, and then drifted. He knew that his troubles would not be so easily escaped, but for now the even rhythm of Javier's heartbeat and the warmth of his body lulled him.