Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/812632.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      Gen, M/M
  Fandom:
      One_Direction_(Band), Tortall_-_Tamora_Pierce
  Relationship:
      Niall_Horan/Zayn_Malik
  Character:
      Niall_Horan, Zayn_Malik, Harry_Styles, Louis_Tomlinson, Liam_Payne, Conal
      of_Mindelan, Original_Characters, Veralidaine_Sarrasri
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Medieval
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-05-22 Completed: 2013-06-02 Chapters: 20/20 Words: 47220
****** #Bring1DtoTortall ******
by seven_(sevenpoints)
Summary
     Summary: A new page named Niall arrives in the palace to begin his
     training to become a knight of the realm. Basically a medieval
     boarding school AU that takes place during The Immortals War quartet
     from Tamora Pierce’s Legends of Tortall.
     Warnings: deals with racism, xenophobia and canon homophobia. Starts
     out gen but later chapters will be explicit.
Notes
     A/N: This may make very little sense if you haven’t read Tamora
     Pierce’s Legends of Tortal, which is a medieval fantasy series for
     young adults. If you have, this starts vaguely around the same time
     as the Immortals Quartet, but I’ve added more conflict in the Great
     Southern Desert, and shifted the focus from Daine and Numair to the
     ordinary pages and knights. The boys are all at the ages they were
     when they started X-Factor (i.e. Niall and Harry begin page training
     at sixteen instead of ten, yes I know I could get around that by
     making them Queen’s Riders BUT KNIGHTS), and the adults are a mish
     mash of real people and characters from the books. I’ve also made
     King Jonathan’s heir (who isn’t Roald) old enough to be a second-year
     page, even though this is still years before the Protector of the
     Small series. It’s a bit of a mess. I know it’s a mess. Pretty please
     play along?
     A/N 2: I have made Zayn half-Bazhir in this story. I needed him to be
     a Tortallan noble so he could be a page with the others, but I
     couldn’t leave it there because native Tortallans are white and
     white-washing is wrong, and I have this vague idea to make the Bazhir
     more central to the Tortall-Carthak conflict so I needed a link. I
     recognize that this is still problematic because the Bazhir are based
     on medieval Bedouins, and Bedouins did/do not have much presence, if
     any, in Pakistan. Medieval Pakistan does not have a perfect parallel
     in the Tortall ‘verse, as far as I know. I considered inventing a
     country, but while I can futz around with ages and names, I’m really
     not smart enough to pull that off. Please know that I mean no
     disrespect, that I know that different Muslim ethnic groups have
     distinct histories and cultures, and that I fretted over this for
     ages. Oh god. I just wanted to make them all pages! No one is going
     to read this! I don’t know why I’m posting it but here we go!
***** Chapter 1 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Niall watched the other new arrivals around him nervously, doing his best not
to fidget. They were lined up in the pages’ wing before supper, waiting for the
training master to come and announce that it was time for their sponsors to be
chosen from among the older boys. Niall didn’t know what would happen when he
did. His family hadn’t had much of a presence at court, or in the capital city
of Corus; his only brother, Gregory, had foregone the knighthood to attend
university, where their father, Lord Robert, taught and conducted research.
With no daughters to present at court, there had been no reason for them to
make the long trip from their home in Mullingar to the capital, which also
meant that Niall didn’t know a soul in the palace and had no one among the
older pages to be his sponsor.
For a moment he brightened, thinking someone was trying to catch his eye, but
the older page was actually winking at the new boy beside Niall, who grinned
back, revealing a dimple that went well with his curly hair. They must’ve been
friends, and Niall scowled inwardly. He had to be the only one there who didn’t
have any friends.
The pages’ whispering fell to a hush as Lord Simon, their training master,
entered the hall. To his right was a tall youth who gave the boys a shy smile,
and those closest to them bowed with a low chorus of, “Your Highness.”
Niall barely had time to process the fact that he was looking at Prince Liam,
heir to the Tortallan throne, before the training master spoke. Sharp eyes
surveyed the assembly from beneath closely cropped slate gray hair. “With the
summer’s harvests in, we turn from our homes to the defense of our kingdom. It
is not a simple life you have chosen. You will work in all weather, when you
are ill, when you are injured, and when you believe that you cannot possibly
work any more. If you make it through you will reside in the pages’ hall for
four years before being chosen by your knight masters as squires. You will have
this evening and tomorrow to familiarize yourselves with the palace and collect
the supplies you’ll need to begin your training the day after, with your
sponsors to guide you.” With that, he turned to the boy at the end furthest
from Niall. “Your name and your family’s holding,” he barked.
Splendid, Niall thought, as one boy after another gave his answer and received
a sponsor in return, I’ll be left after everyone else has chosen, and everyone
will have nothing to do but watch me stand here like an idiot when no one steps
forward. He wished there were a girl among the initiates to draw everyone’s
attention; it was actually possible now that the Lady Alanna had paved the road
for female knights years before. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem as though any
nobles’ daughters wanted their shields this year.
He was so distracted he jumped when the boy beside him spoke. “Harold, of
Cheshire.” His voice was a low drawl and he seemed relaxed in the strange
setting. Niall decided to befriend him if at all possible.
“Who will sponsor Harold of Cheshire?” asked Lord Simon.
Not surprisingly, the winking boy stepped forward. “If you please, my lord, our
families are friends.”
Lord Simon looked as if he did not please, but he nodded. “I trust you will not
be teaching the new boy your bad habits, Doncaster. You may sponsor him. Now.”
He turned to Niall, whose heart sank. “Your name and holding?”
“Niall, my lord, of Mullingar.”
“And who will sponsor Niall of Mullingar?”
Silence greeted him, stretching long enough for the older pages to glance at
each other. Niall felt himself blush from his crown to his toes, and cursed his
fair skin.
Lord Simon studied him. “Your family has not been much at court, has it? I’m
not sure I recall ever meeting your father.”
If possible, his blush deepened. “No, my lord. He and my brother spend most of
their time at the university.”
“A valuable service to the crown, to be sure,” Lord Simon replied. “One so
unfamiliar with the capital will need guidance.” The silence held, and Niall
did his best to sink through the flagstones and disappear. “Very well. Zayn of
Bradford, I believe you have yet to serve as sponsor. It is a valuable
experience.”
Niall was almost afraid to look as the page in question stepped forward and
nodded. “Yes, my lord.” He glanced over at Niall, who tried to will his face
into something like a smile. His sponsor studied him, his sharply handsome face
intense but unreadable, before turning back to the training master without a
single friendly gesture.
Niall wondered if it wasn’t too late to run home and beg to be sent to
university instead.
“That’s settled then.” Lord Simon turned on his heel, clearly expecting the
boys to follow. “Supper.”
The pages broke ranks. Harold and Louis gripped each other’s arms in greeting
and hurried along to the mess hall before Niall could try to say hello, and he
was left with the sullen-faced Zayn. “Um, hello,” he tried. “Thank you for
agreeing to sponsor me. I don’t know anyone else here.”
Zayn smirked. Niall had a feeling the only smiles he’d be seeing would be
mocking ones. “I noticed. Everyone noticed. Doesn’t your family ever leave
their fief?”
Niall gave up. “No,” he answered flatly, walking after the other pages. He
needed Zayn to show him around the palace the next day, and their classes the
day after that. If the boy was going to be this unpleasant the entire time,
Niall would sooner tag along after his peers by himself than waste time trying
to win him over.
“Wait.” Zayn shifted, clearly uneasy. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be an ass.”
He still wasn’t smiling, but he did look sincere. “Lord Simon probably put me
with you because I could stand to practice being nicer to people.”
Niall still wasn’t sure he wanted to be sponsored by someone who needed to
practice being nice, but he was willing to let his first impression go. He
needed all the help he could get, even if some of it was unwilling. “All right.
Hello.” He stuck out his hand. “Niall of Mullingar.”
The hand that gripped it was strong and callused from weapons practice. “Zayn
Javadd Malik of Bradford.”
The full name fit with Zayn’s olive skin to jog Niall’s memory. “Your father’s
one of the delegates to the southern tribes, isn’t he?”
“Yes.” They hurried down the hall, having fallen far behind the others. There
was an expectant air about Zayn, and Niall thought carefully before speaking
again. Ever since King Jonathan became the Voice of the Tribes, Tortall had an
uneasy peace with the nomadic Bazhir, who lived in the Great Southern Desert.
They were currently going through many complicated conflicts among themselves
as they decided whether or not to form a centralized government that would send
dignitaries to the capital. There was also the question of whether or not to
establish public schools throughout the desert, which would conflict with the
nomadic nature of the tribes. The crown sent delegates to moderate negotiations
among the different leaders, hoping to settle things without the situation
escalating to war. Many of the leaders did not appreciate the interference, and
many Tortallans were in favor of striking out first, hoping to subjugate all
the southern tribes and build a Tortallan empire to rival the Carthaki empire
across the inland sea. Niall had learned of the different schools of thought
from his father and brother, and knew that the debates were frequently
complicated by an undercurrent of ugly hostility.
“He must be away from home a lot,” he said, lamely. Zayn’s face darkened.
“Yes,” he replied shortly. That was the last thing he said until he’d guided
Niall through the mess. The two of them took their trays to a table near the
entrance. Niall guessed that Zayn made a habit of sitting there; there were
empty spaces to their side, and the boys seated at a distance did not greet
them.
Niall lifted his fork, but Zayn nudged his foot under the table. When he looked
up, he realized that the hall had fallen silent. Some of the pages had their
palms pressed together, while others merely bowed their heads. At some
invisible cue, they all looked up, and started eating.
Famished, Niall fell to, but couldn’t help asking around a mouthful of
potatoes, “What was that?”
“Prayer,” Zayn replied, visibly pulling himself out of his gloom. He was
clearly sensitive, and Niall resolved to be patient. “It used to be that the
training master would lead the hall in prayer before meals. Then the kingdom
started welcoming immigrants from neighboring realms, who had their own gods.
The prayers got so long from trying to include everyone that they finally
changed the custom, so everyone can pray as they choose and we don’t have to
sit through a dozen invocations.”
“Brave new world,” was all Niall could say in response. He didn’t have to
glance around to see that not everyone was embracing the kingdom’s diversity.
The empty seats beside him made that painfully obvious. He cast about for a
subject that wouldn’t add more tension to the air. “Um, do you think we could
look around the palace a bit before they send us to bed? We have a few hours,
right?”
Zayn nodded, thinking. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll show you the library.” Niall
struggled with conflicting reactions; he did love books, but with a scholarly
family there were times when he’d had more of them than anyone could want. Zayn
glanced up at him and offered a small smile. “You’ll need it for your afternoon
classes, and people about the palace are always sending pages to fetch them
particular scrolls or books, so you’ll want to know how to find what you need
quickly.” He was spearing vegetables with his fork, finishing his meal quickly,
and Niall hurried to keep up.
He had a feeling he’d be doing a lot of hurrying over the next four years.
***
Niall enjoyed the library more than he thought he would, barely noticing the
bells ringing every passing hour. They had it to themselves for the most part;
since classes hadn’t yet begun, the only other people there were palace mages
buried in their own studies. They did manage to pull their noses out of their
books once they realized the boys were there, and Niall quickly learned that no
one in the palace was going to fetch or carry anything as long as there were
pages around to do it for them. He would have been hopeless at finding anything
among the endless shelves without Zayn, but the older boy seemed to know the
library like the back of his hand. He even relaxed without a crowd of pages
edging away from him, telling Niall about the years of work King Jonathan and
his predecessors had put into collecting the library’s resources, attracting
scholars from all over the world to contribute to the crown’s knowledge. The
only nation underrepresented was Carthak. It seemed as though Emperor Ozorne
was loathe to share anything with his royal cousins in the north.
The more Niall heard, the more questions he had, and the more he asked, the
more Zayn seemed to loosen up, giving answers when he had them and suggesting
authors and teachers to consult when he didn’t. The hours passed so quickly
that he was surprised when Zayn told him the last evening bell had rung,
calling them back to the pages’ wing to sleep. He chanced a friendly clap on
Zayn’s shoulder when they parted, making him jump, but when Niall’s grin didn’t
falter he just shook his head, bemused. “Good night. I’ll meet you in the mess
at breakfast.”
Niall went to bed happily. He had a friend. His friend was taciturn,
standoffish and came with a three foot span of personal space, but he hadn’t
thumped Niall for entering it, so Niall was determined to be optimistic. There
were still more boys to meet, and many more things to learn. His mind raced
with what he’d learned already, and his dreams were full of distant lands of
sand and sun, unlike anything he’d known among the vivid green hills and
mountains of Mullingar.
Chapter End Notes
     Thanks for reading! I'll be posting update links on Tumblr under the
     tag #Bring1DtoTortall if you want to track the fic but don't have an
     AO3 account.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Niall didn’t let the empty seats beside them at breakfast discourage him,
having decided the night before that it was time to stop playing the shy
newcomer. He greeted Zayn brightly and didn’t mind the grunt he got in
response; he’d always been a morning person while his brother was not, and he
found Zayn much less intimidating after their evening in the library. He kept
up a cheerful one-sided conversation going while the older boy nodded absently
over his porridge, gradually waking up enough to catch the train of Niall’s
chatter.
“Have you been telling me about your imaginary friend Michael this whole time?”
“Yes,” Niall replied, beaming at Zayn’s scowl. “Thanks for being such a good
listener.”
“You’re welcome.” Zayn stared at him, moving the honey pot from the middle of
the table to far out of Niall’s reach. “No more sweet things for you in the
mornings.”
His porridge was already full of honey, so he didn’t mind, spooning it up and
wondering what they’d be doing for the rest of the day.
“So did Michael come to court with you, or is he managing your affairs back at
home?”
He’d been ready to count the morning as a win if he managed to get Zayn to say
anything at all, so he was delighted to hear the other boy actually make a
joke. “Oh, he followed along. It’s good we’re able to leave so much space for
him to sit.” He gestured at the empty seats beside them, sparking a flurry of
movement as the boys nearest to them snapped their eyes away, pretending they
hadn’t been listening while Niall pretended he hadn’t noticed them leaning
closer.
Zayn smirked, and Niall grinned.
His good mood lasted the rest of the day. They met Louis and Harold at the
palace tailors when Zayn took him there to collect the uniforms he’d wear as a
page in the crown’s service. He was happy to find that Harold was quite
friendly, insisting that they call him Harry. Their sponsors eyed each other
warily, but Louis at least was soon drawn in by Niall’s determined cheerfulness
and Harry’s answering friendliness. Harry and Louis both had sisters at court,
and their families had townhomes in Corus, the city surrounding the palace.
They’d been friends ever since Louis arrived to begin training two years ago.
The tailors loaded their arms with shirts, tunics, breeches, leggings and hose,
and if some of Niall’s things got mixed in with Harry’s it was a simple enough
matter to dump the whole mess on Niall’s bed when they got back to their wing,
sorting it out at their leisure while they kept talking.
Eager questions kept Harry rambling about the beloved pony he’d left at home,
so that when the bell rang for the noon meal they’d all entered the mess and
sat down at Zayn and Niall’s usual spot without thinking. The kitchens had
prepared a thick stew that burned their tongues before they realized they
needed to stop talking and blow on it so they could eat.
Niall eyed Zayn, who looked a little stunned; Niall guessed that he’d had more
conversation that morning than in his entire first year in the pages’ wing. His
friend raised an elegant brow and shook his head wonderingly at Niall. Beside
them, Louis had called to the other boys seated at the table, making
introductions. Names and fiefdoms ran through Niall’s mind like water. There
was another first-year named Sigan who was accompanied by his burly third-year
sponsor, Cador of Goldenlake, brother to the famous Raoul of Goldenlake, Knight
Commander of the King’s Own. A lanky third-year with blond hair was Leofard,
called Leo, of Nond, and the fourth-year sitting across from him introduced
himself as Conal of Mindelan.
Conal’s hazel eyes settled on Zayn with an unpleasant smile. “Of course, some
of us shouldn’t need introductions, but then again, there’s no need to recall
anyone’s name when you have no friends.”
Niall’s hackles rose, but Zayn responded before he could say something foolish.
“I remember who you are, Mindelan,” he said evenly, “and I’ll remember this
tomorrow, on the practice courts.”
That shut Conal up, and produced a lull in which Niall viewed his sponsor in a
new light. Zayn was only a second year page, and not a particularly large one
at that. It was strange that Conal backed down so quickly despite having two
years of training and growth on him. Harry’s eyes were flicking between Zayn
and Conal, then at Niall, obviously wondering the same thing. They shared a
shrug before Harry turned to ask Louis if they were ever allowed to dine in the
main hall with their families.
Zayn didn’t look up for the rest of the meal, finishing quickly. He got up
without a word to Niall, who looked wistfully at the food still on his tray
before nodding goodbye to Harry and following on Zayn’s heels.
He was jogging to catch up in the hall when Zayn whirled on him.
“Look, you don’t have to--” He broke off when Niall nearly crashed into him.
His tone was low and angry, but the hands he put on Niall’s shoulders to steady
him were gentle. “You don’t have to follow me around or make your friends like
me, all right? I’ll show you the ropes, if you need me to, but you should go
back there and stick with Harry.” He released Niall’s shoulders to step back,
and Niall barely resisted closing the distance between them again.
“Why should I?” he asked instead. “What’s wrong with being friends with you?”
“Are you going to make me say it? You know who my father is.” More pages
started drifting out of the mess hall, and Zayn pressed his lips together
before turning on his heel and heading for his room. Niall didn’t hesitate to
follow.
“Yes, I know who your father is,” he snapped as soon as the door shut behind
him. “Baron Yaser of Bradford, formerly of the Bazhir.” Zayn sat at his desk,
looking away, but Niall stayed on his feet, pacing. “There’s all kinds of
rumors about him, saying he’s a spy for the southern tribes, but the crown
honored him with a barony for his contributions to the Bazhir negotiations.
It’s because of him that they’re letting us build ports on the southern coast.”
He came to a halt beside Zayn’s desk, waiting for the other boy to finally look
at him. “I’m sure he’s a very nice man, but as I don’t know him I don’t
particularly care. I just know you, right? And it’s a bit early to be giving up
on you.”
Zayn’s expression softened. “You’ll change your mind after classes tomorrow.
They’re not all like Harry and Louis. Most of them are like Conal. It was a bad
idea to let him see you’re on my side.”
Niall snorted. “I know a bully when I see one, and I’m not sorry.” He clapped
Zayn on the shoulder, and was gratified to see that he didn’t flinch this time.
“What I don’t know is where the armory is in this blasted castle, so maybe you
could stop being a horrible sponsor and show me.”
Zayn’s lips twitched before he spread them in a full smile, and Niall nearly
toppled over at how it transformed his face, crinkling around his eyes until he
looked like a normal boy instead of a marble statue. “You’re either going to be
the best knight the realm’s ever seen, or the worst.”
Niall grinned and followed Zayn out the door. “Won’t find out until I start
training.”
***
He was going to be the worst knight the realm had ever seen.
The men-at-arms at Mullingar had given him some training with a staff and bow,
but they were commoners and he was a noble’s son; their training hadn’t
involved tossing him to the ground over and over to teach him the proper way to
fall. Their instructor, an enormous Scanran named Iorek Balstad, was the Shang
Bear. Shang fighters began their training as children and were unmatched in
hand-to-hand combat. The Bear favored a style that was similar to the
straightforward boxing Niall had learned at home, but they wouldn’t learn a
single strike until they could catch themselves and roll properly when they
fell.
He could feel bruises forming by the time they moved on to staff practice. He
was also beginning to get a sunburn; while most of the boys were tanned after
the hot summer, his skin remained stubbornly pale. Harry limped beside him;
he’d turned an ankle in one of his falls, but the Bear only took him aside to
wrap the joint before sending him back onto the court.
“My mother and sister tried so hard to make me get my mage’s robes instead of a
shield,” he muttered. “I could be learning to conjure fire in a nice quiet
classroom right now but no, I wanted Fief Cheshire to have a knight resident
again.”
“You have the Gift?” Niall looked his dusty, battered friend up and down; he
had none of the air of power that most mages carried.
“It’s not much,” Harry admitted. “I can conjure light and do some healing, but
I couldn’t learn more at home.” Niall nodded; King Jonathan’s generation had
been the first to receive formal training in magical arts, and the rest of the
realm was slow to adopt the capital’s ever-changing customs. “I’ll be taking
classes here, though.”
Niall nodded, a little envious; the Gift was one thing you couldn’t get out of
books or training. People either had it or they didn’t, and as far as Niall
knew there was no history of it in his family. “First, though, we get to whack
each other with sticks while the arms masters call us names.”
The Shang Bear only taught them unarmed combat. For staffs, bows and riding,
they had Sergeant Valdeo of the palace guard. His trilling accent suggested
that he was from one of the western port towns. He walked with the controlled
grace of a skilled swordsman, and observed the pages down the length of an
impressively arched nose.
“You should have begun staff training well before you arrived at the palace,”
he said by way of greeting. “Therefore I don’t intend to start you off slow.
Form ranks. First years, pair up.”
Niall felt better with a staff in his hand. Harry, in spite of his complaints,
was an excellent partner, and the two of them fell into an easy rhythm of
strikes and blows, shifting fluidly when Sergeant Valdeo called out new
patterns. The men-at-arms at home had put Niall through similar drills, and the
movements were natural enough that he allowed his attention to wander.
Zayn was in a row just ahead of him and to the right. His staff partner was an
enormous fourth-year, but Zayn matched him easily, his staff whirling almost
too fast to see. Sergeant Valdeo was walking among the pages, correcting grips
and stances, but he only nodded approvingly at Zayn before moving on.
Niall smirked, returning his focus to his own training. No wonder Conal had
backed off so quickly.
“Change partners!” Valdeo ordered. “Older pages with the first-years! High
strike, first-years blocking!”
Niall looked for Zayn again, but when the flurry of movement stopped he found
himself facing Conal instead. He glanced around nervously, finally spotting
Zayn where he was picking himself up out of a patch of mud and glaring
murderously at the pages who must have shoved him.
Conal raised his staff, and Niall barely got his in place to block the blow.
“Time to learn the error of your ways, Mullingar,” the fourth-year growled.
“There’s a price to pay for consorting with Bazhir spies.” His blows were heavy
and irregular, keeping Niall from relaxing into a rhythm. Each block jarred his
body from hands to feet, and it seemed that every time he blinked Conal had
inched closer, crowding his guard.
“He’s not a spy, and you’re a sneak,” he hissed back, holding his ground.
Sergeant Valdeo was approaching, so he only had to hold out until the arms
master corrected Conal. Unfortunately, at that moment there was a cry; one of
the other first-years had taken a glancing blow on the shoulder and staggered
out of the line, cradling the injured arm. Sergeant Valdeo moved to examine
him, and Conal seized the opportunity, feinting high before twisting his staff
low to strike at Niall’s unprotected legs.
There was a horrible shifting grind, then pain exploded through his knee.
Chapter End Notes
     So, in Song of the Lioness things are really tense between the Bazhir
     and the northerners, they're not featured much in The Immortals War,
     and then in Protector of the Small Zahir is walking around like a
     prince and the most conservative asshole in the palace is his best
     friend? This fic is partly me filling in the gap and imagining what
     it would have been like for the first Bazhir to live in Corus. I
     imagine they weren't exactly welcomed with open arms.
     Fun fact: I named Iorek Balstad for Iorek Byrnisson, the armored bear
     from His Dark Materials, and his bear style of Shang fighting is
     based on the bear style in Seven Animal Fist kung fu.
***** Chapter 3 *****
“I’m going to murder him.”
Niall bit his lip against the pain and didn’t reply. Sergeant Valdeo had called
servants to carry Niall into the nearest building, which happened to be a
stable full of donkeys, while Zayn had run for the healer who examined Niall’s
knee now.
“I’m going to murder him,” Zayn repeated. “Slowly. With a blunt sword.”
The healer tsked. “Belay that, boy, and hold him down. His kneecap’s been
displaced, and resetting it’s going to be nasty business.”
Zayn quickly complied, bracing one strong arm across Niall’s chest, pinning his
arms to his sides, and the other across the tops of his thighs. Niall stared up
at him, cold with fear, and the older boy did his best to smile reassuringly.
The healer placed her hands on Niall’s knee and he set his teeth.
It hurt worse than Conal’s blow; his knee was already swollen and sore, and
every nerve screamed as the kneecap slid back into place. Niall may have
screamed too, but it was over quickly, the healer pouring her Gift into him,
reducing the swelling and repairing the damaged tissues. When Niall could think
clearly again he was surprised to find Zayn’s face ducked close to his own.
“I’m sorry,” he was saying, over and over. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
Niall tried to speak, but croaked; apparently he really had screamed. Zayn left
to get him water without another word, while the healer helped him sit up and
then stand, testing the joint.
To his surprise, it held. He grinned at the healer, who ordered him to sit so
she could wrap it in a brace, and Zayn returned with a dipper full of water.
“Thanks,” he gasped when he’d drained it. “And thank you,” he added, to the
healer. “My nurse at home had the Gift, but she never could have put on a
healing like that.”
She tweaked his ear, and Niall felt the blood drain from his face when he
realized she had brilliant violet eyes shining beneath her coppery fringe.
“Thank you for coming, Lioness,” Zayn said, extending a hand to help Sir Alanna
of Pirate’s Swoop and Olau, Baroness, First Lady Knight and the King’s Champion
to her feet. “I’m sorry I was a bit...”
“Frantic?” Alanna supplied, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Panicked?
Distraught?”
Zayn blushed hotly enough for it to show through his tan. “...Yes.” He gulped.
“I really am sorry. You were the first healer I saw, but I should have--”
“--Done exactly what you did,” she finished for him. She ruffled his hair, to
Niall’s great delight. Zayn caught him grinning and thumped him gently on the
shoulder, hiding a smile. “As for you, boy, your friend tells me you were
practicing high blocks when your partner swung at your knees.”
Niall nodded. The Lioness hesitated.
“Will you tell me who did it?”
Niall opened his mouth to reply, but felt Zayn’s heavy gaze on him. When he
glanced at his friend, he caught the smallest hint of his head shaking.
“I’m--not sure,” he said instead. “I only got here the day before yesterday.”
The second part, at least, wasn’t a lie.
She nodded, her expressing rueful but approving. “You’ll do well.” She tapped
his knee, and Niall was relieved to find that there was no lingering pain.
“You’re not tired? Most people sleep for a day after a healing.”
Niall flexed the knee experimentally, then stretched his arms and twisted to
loosen his back. Aside from the expected soreness from his training, his body
made no complaints. “No, my lady. I feel fine.”
“He’s one of those disgusting energetic types who bounce out of bed in the
morning,” Zayn explained, unguarded in his relief.
Alanna laughed. “I expect they’ve moved onto bows now.” She made Niall do a few
squats to test his knee before nodding. “You should manage.”
“Thank you again, Lady Knight.” He bowed deeply with Zayn, and Alanna winked at
them both before striding out of the stable.
Zayn started to follow, but Niall stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. He
had questions, and there was no knowing when they’d have a moment alone again.
“Why’d you stop me from telling her about Conal?”
Zayn shook his head. “If you did, and he was punished for hitting you instead
of just for breaking the drill, you’d get a reputation for telling tales, and
none of the boys would trust you.”
“All right,” Niall said. “But what if I need a healer again?”
Zayn’s eyes flashed, but he controlled himself. Niall was tempted to give him a
pat for good behavior. “It won’t happen again, but if it does, Lord Simon will
be the one to decide if you need a healer. When he asks, just say you fell
down.”
Niall snorted. “And he’ll believe me?”
“No, he won’t. He’ll give you punishment work, and you’ll do it. That’s how it
works.”
Niall didn’t much like the sound of that, but he had a more pressing question.
“Also, sorry for what?” When Zayn’s expression shuttered he shook his head,
seizing Zayn’s other shoulder to make him face him. “You sounded like you meant
it, so what did you mean?”
Zayn didn’t pull away, but didn’t meet his eyes either. “I’m sorry it happened.
It’s my fault and I should have stopped it.”
Niall shook his head again. “I’ll sort Conal out on my own.”
“You mean he’ll hurt you again, maybe even worse next time.”
Niall pushed him away. “I’m not completely helpless! And anyway, being my
sponsor doesn’t mean you have to fight my battles for me.”
He wasn’t expecting Zayn’s eyes to flash with temper. “So I’m just your sponsor
again, am I? I knew you’d change your mind.” He shook Niall off. “I trust you
can find your way to the practice courts now, so you won’t be needing my help
again.”
He stormed out before Niall could respond, and Niall was left among the donkeys
in the stable, feeling rather like an ass himself. Growing up among scholars
had put him in the habit of processing information slowly and carefully, but
Zayn reacted to everything so quickly he couldn’t keep up.
He walked out briskly, heading back for the courts. He’d sort out Zayn at the
noon meal. For now, he still had his first day of training to finish.
Conal looked furious when Niall rejoined the pages at the archery courts, and
Harry whispered that Sergeant Valdeo said he’d have to tell Lord Simon about
him breaking drill and injuring someone. Niall wished the Sergeant had left
well enough alone, but he met Conal’s glare steadily. He was far from
discouraged. If anything, he was more determined than ever to earn his shield,
just to show Conal that he didn’t scare so easily.
Archery provided a ready distraction from his personal problems. He was a good
shot, but as soon as the masters realized it they made him trade his ordinary
bow for a longbow as tall as he was. Lord Simon chose that moment to inspect
the pages, taking them to task for their errors. Niall’s grip was all wrong;
the longbow and arrows felt ungainly in his hands, and the long draw was hard
to manage with arms that were sore after being jarred so much in staff
practice. He swallowed his embarrassment, reminding himself that there were
pages who couldn’t even manage the ordinary bows; more than one red-faced page
practiced with blunted arrows, having been deemed too unskilled to be trusted
with anything more dangerous. He spared one longing look at the crossbows,
which could manage a longbow’s range without the difficulty of a long draw,
then made himself focus on what his teachers were telling him. After they made
him practice his draw for nearly an hour, he could manage it without dropping
the arrow or taking his own ear off with the string, and was proud to get off a
few shots that at least hit the target, even though they were nowhere near the
center.
“Bows down,” Sergeant Valdeo bellowed. “Next you’ll choose your mounts. The
first there get first pick, so--”
Niall didn’t hear the rest; he and the other first-years had taken off in a
pack, and he was elated to find that his knee didn’t slow him down a bit. The
war horses were stabled behind the pack animals, further away from the noise
and clatter of the practice courts. For a moment it looked as though Conal was
going to give him trouble, but the fourth-year found his path blocked by Louis
and, to Niall’s surprise, Prince Liam. Louis winked, shoving him toward the
stables when he would have stopped and stammered in gratitude, so he made a
mental note to thank the prince later and raced up the hill.
***** Chapter 4 *****
He burst into the stables along with the main pack of first-years, casting
about wildly. His eyes lighted on a gray that was observing the melee calmly,
but alertly, and he lurched through the crowd, diving into the stall.
Up close, he could see that she was a mare. Her large bones gave her an
ungraceful appearance, but she opened her mouth easily when he tried to check
her teeth. They were good; she was probably under ten years old, enough to be
steady but not so old that she wouldn’t have plenty of life in her.
The mare lipped at his clothes, and Niall regretted not pocketing an apple or
two at breakfast. “Sorry, girl. I’ll remember next time.”
“Here.” Niall turned to find a hostler had stopped at his stall with a basket
of apples, which he offered. Niall thanked him and took the biggest one he
could see, which the mare plucked neatly from his hand almost before he’d
turned back. “Her name’s Rabble.”
“Rabble, huh?” Niall stroked her nose where the hairs grew fine and soft. “She
don’t look like rabble, do you girl?” The mare nosed him as if pleased with the
praise, then gently pushed him aside to reach for the basket of apples. The
hostler glanced around shiftily, then handed over another treat.
“I’m Stefan Groomsman.” The man was relatively short, only as high as Niall’s
eyebrow, with a ruddy complexion. “I’ll be minding the stables for your horses
and the knights’, but that horse is under your care.” He shuffled awkwardly
before continuing. “Mind you do right by her. Else I’ll hear of it, and you
won’t like what happens then.”
Startled, Niall could only nod. He’d heard that the palace employed a wild mage
to look after the warhorses, but he hadn’t expected to meet the man in his
first year. The horses were said to be growing smarter under his influence.
Stefan seemed to be in a private conversation with Rabble, jerking his head at
Niall and raising his brows. Rabble answered by lipping Niall’s hair, then
snorting wetly in his ear, making him burst out laughing before sticking his
tongue out at her and wiping the mess away on his sleeve.
“Saddle up!” Lord Simon bellowed. Niall waved a quick goodbye to Stefan and
jumped to obey. Rabble was much taller than his pony had been at home so it was
work to get the heavy saddle onto her back, and all the tack buckled correctly.
“All right, girl?” he asked. “Not pinching you anywhere, am I?”
Rabble snorted and tossed her mane, drawing his attention to the few hairs he’d
caught under the strap. He fixed it quickly, apologizing, and hauled himself up
into the saddle to follow the line of pages outside.
The older pages practiced mounted combat while the first-years were put through
their paces, showing their instructors that they could walk, trot and canter
their mounts. Rabble was clearly bored with the proceedings, wandering out of
line to observe the other horses or follow the scent of newly harvested grain
drifting from the palace stores. Niall did his best to coax her back into the
formation, promising apples and a salt-lick as soon as he could get them. Ahead
of him, Harry was struggling with a dull-eyed chestnut gelding, begging it to
try something more spirited than a plodding walk.
Beyond him he caught sight of Zayn astride a buckskin that seemed to have some
racing blood, judging by the high arch of its neck. What surprised Niall was
the gleaming sword in his hand. Most of the pages wielded wooden practice
weapons; only the most experienced boys were trusted to carry live steel.
Rabble shifted under him, and Niall offered a quick prayer of thanks for her
large bones that told him when she was gathering herself for mischief. A gentle
tug on the reins kept her from biting Harry’s horse and livening up the
training with a good scuffle.
“None of that,” he murmured. “We need to be good so they’ll let us do the fun
stuff later.”
She twisted her ears, annoyed and fidgety, but behaved. Stefan was in the
stables again when they returned, and he had a quick word with the hostler,
asking if Rabble could be exercised and promising to come back before his
afternoon classes to groom her properly. Stefan approved of the plan, and put
Rabble on a long lead while Niall explained to Sergeant Valdeo. The arms master
approved as well, having noticed Rabble’s high spirits, and allowed Niall to
run up the long slope to the palace while the other lads were still grooming
their mounts so he’d have time to eat, groom Rabble and rid himself of sweat
and dust before heading to their afternoon classes.
He was dashing back out when Zayn arrived, sweaty and clearly heading toward
the baths. There was no time to be polite; he gripped the other boy’s arm and
pulled him into a corner, ignoring his outrage.
“You’re not just my sponsor, you’re my friend, and I’m glad you have my back,”
he said without preamble. “But I really have to sort Conal out on my own, or
else the other lads’ll think I’m a coward.”
Zayn pursed his lips, suppressing his temper. “He’s a fourth-year, and he’s
twice your size.”
“He’s twice your size too, and you’re not afraid of him.” Niall paused. “Then
again, that might be because you’re the best page in the palace. How is it they
let you train like a fourth-year when you’re only second?”
“I work hard,” Zayn replied shortly. He seemed to be calming down. “Are you
going back to the stables now?”
“Yes.” Niall was counting his minutes, not sure he’d have enough time.
“Sergeant Valdeo should be there inspecting our horses. He’ll point you toward
the baths. I’ll meet you there after I eat and bring you around to the
classrooms.”
Niall grinned and gripped Zayn’s arm in thanks before running back down the
hill. Zayn was a good friend, when he wasn’t in a mood.
He arrived just as Stefan was cooling Rabble down and perched on the fence to
catch his breath; he had a stitch in his side from running with a full belly,
and he wasn’t looking forward to marching back up the hill a second time. He
groomed the mare as quickly as he could without missing anything, offering her
the pear he’d smuggled out of the mess and renewing his promise of a salt-lick,
but explaining that first he’d have to do very well in his classes so his
masters would allow him to go down to the city. His wheedling drew laughter
from the stable hands who were there, restocking the supplies of feed, and
Sergeant Valdeo favored him with a rare smile before sending him to the large
communal palace baths.
It wasn’t until he’d stripped and plunged in that he realized he had nothing to
change into afterward. There were cupboards for the pages to store their
clothes and combs, but he hadn’t had time to fetch anything from his room. He
sighed, resigning himself to a brief scrub and another run through the halls,
then cheered when Zayn appeared with a fresh uniform folded neatly on top of
the stack of books they’d need for their classes.
“Thought you might need these,” the older boy smirked. “Can’t have you sitting
through your first day’s classes in a towel.”
He sat by the bath to keep Niall company, dunking him when he flicked water on
his clean uniform, and loaned him his comb so he could sort out his hair, which
was bleached blond from the summer months and would gradually darken to brown
by midwinter.
Their first class was reading and writing, which had Niall nearly nodding off
after his exhausting morning. He’d known how to read since he was six, so the
master set him to memorizing a long epic poem about Lady Alanna’s journey to
bring back the Dominion Jewel that made King Jonathan master of the very earth
that formed his realm. Its sing-song rhythm lulled him until Zayn resorted to
pinching this arm to startle him awake.
After that was mathematics, Niall’s least favorite subject. It had been his
brother Gregory’s favorite, so he did well enough, but the lifeless figures
were even duller than the poem had been, and Niall found himself wishing he
could get back to the archery courts to wrestle with the longbow again.
“All that energy had to run out sometime,” Zayn remarked as they moved to the
next class.
“I’m not tired, I’m bored.” And cranky; the maths instructor had noticed his
inattention and given him five extra problems to do for next time, on top of
the five he’d already been assigned.
Someone jostled his arm and apologized, and Niall turned to meet Prince Liam’s
mild brown eyes. “That’s all right,” he said quickly. “Actually, I wanted to
thank you for earlier, when you stopped Conal.”
The prince smiled shyly. “Oh, that? Just an accident, really. I was trying to
get to the stables.”
Niall understood; as the heir to the throne, Liam couldn’t be seen choosing
sides in a petty quarrel. He waved to the prince, who was walking ahead to meet
the older pages, and turned back to his friend, who was frowning.
“What’s that face?”
Zayn was watching Liam leave, his expression unreadable. “Nothing.”
He took Niall by the elbow to lead him to their next class. Niall was too
startled by the physical contact to protest being escorted about like a maiden
at court, or to press Zayn for an explanation for his behavior; he just let
Zayn nudge him towards a seat and waited to find out what the class was. It
turned out to be etiquette. Niall was surprised that the subject could occupy
an entire hour every day. He soon learned, however, that his life away from
court had left him unprepared for the array of bows, titles and dances that
defined courtly behavior, and was frankly appalled by the time they left.
“I hurt!” he complained to Zayn, who laughed. “No, really, my stomach muscles
are sore. How could anyone get sore from bowing?”
“You have to bow with your legs,” Louis explained, expression perfectly serious
aside from his dancing eyes.
“But my legs hurt too,” said Harry, coming up from behind. “And my arms. And my
arse. Are there any cushions in this palace, or do they make the king sit on
wooden benches as well?”
“Only one class left,” Zayn reminded them.
“Yes, and it’s the best one, so come on!” Louis tugged Harry’s sleeve and led
him on, still grumbling.
“What do we have next?” Niall asked. He couldn’t imagine what was missing at
this point.
“History and the law of the realm.” Zayn actually looked pleased. “You’ll like
Sir Myles, I promise.”
The knight in question didn’t look like anything of the sort, being short,
plump and rather unkempt. The large eyes he used to inspect the pages were
bright, however, and he had a map showing the Great Southern Desert, the Inland
Sea, and the northern edge of Carthak tacked up at the front of the room.
“The fresh start of another year,” he said as they settled, “and a fresh crop
of pages to swell the palace ranks.”
“And be ground under a millstone and turned into something useful,” Louis
called out.
That got him the laugh he wanted, and the pages straightened in their seats
with renewed spirits.
Sir Myles gestured toward the map of Carthak. “Who can tell me the name of the
ruling family of Carthak? Your Highness?”
“The Iliniats,” the prince responded promptly. “The current emperor is Ozorne,
and his nephew Kaddar is his heir.”
“Correct. And what riches do they possess? Leofard?”
The tall blond seemed unprepared. “Spices?” he guessed. “Gold?”
Sir Myles nodded. “And something else, less tangible.”
“Magic.” Zayn’s answer startled Niall; he’d been nearly silent in their other
classes.
“Yes, magic.” Myles perched on a tall stool. He led the class through a
discussion of the empire’s greatest feat to date: the construction of the
Divine Barrier, which trapped the immortal beings who preyed on humans in the
Divine Realms of the gods. Niall found himself leaning forward, eager to catch
every word. He’d never had a lesson where the students spoke as often as the
master.
“And what riches are they lacking?” Myles asked next, after they’d exhausted
the history of the empire’s famed university and the closely guarded secrets of
its libraries.
“Rain,” Harry supplied. He’d been in the thick of the discussion, having spent
the last year accompanying his older sister to society events, where he’d heard
all the latest talk.
Myles nodded gravely. “Yes, rain. Word has spread of droughts throughout the
southern lands, and Emperor Ozorne has indicated that he may be willing to
increase the trade across the Inland Sea.” He paused. “How else might Carthak
feed its people?”
This one Niall could guess. “Conquest.”
His answer provoked a grim silence. The notion of a hungry neighbor that
possessed the largest military in the world, as well as an unknown number of
powerful mages, did not bode well.
***** Chapter 5 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Everyone jumped when the bell rang, heralding the end of their lessons, but not
their discussion. The company at supper was greatly improved by the removal of
Conal and the addition of Liam, who urged the new pages to forget his title,
and the boy he was sponsoring, Eamon haMinch, whose fief bordered on Mullingar.
He grinned at Niall when introduced, but the two hadn’t met before, as Eamon’s
father was one of King Jonathan’s chief advisors and brought his family to live
at court.
Niall sighed inwardly. He vowed that any child of his would be known by the
other noble families of the realm.
“Carthak would have to be mad to attack us from the south,” Louis was saying.
“They’d have to cross the desert to reach us, and while the Bazhir don’t always
accept our interference, they won’t hesitate to fight alongside us to defend
our lands.” He grinned at Zayn’s surprise, and Niall willed his friend to smile
in return.
Zayn’s lips curved, faintly, before he ducked his head over his meal. Niall
sighed to himself, again. It was progress.
“But the Southern Desert is unfortified,” Liam said quietly, “and the Dominion
Jewel is less useful, with so few plants and so many dunes.”
“Sand storms?” Sigan suggested.
Zayn shook his head. “It would be almost impossible to control them with no
valleys to limit their spread,” he explained. “King Jonathan would probably
wipe out our soldiers as well as theirs.” Everyone turned, clearly curious
about more than just Zayn’s opinions on the possibility of war in the south. He
stilled under the attention, but continued. “On the other hand, the Carthaki
military is designed for the siege of coastal cities. All their barges and
catapults won’t do them any good in the desert.”
“But on the other other hand,” Niall added, making them laugh, “their military
is better equipped for the desert. Better adapted, too. If you sent me to fight
there I’d be lobster red in five minutes.”
Harry swallowed a lump of food and tugged his sleeve. “I meant to tell you: the
healers have a balm that will keep you from burning. You’ll just need to rub it
on before you go outside.”
Niall brightened; down the table, Sigan did too. His cheeks were red under his
freckles. “Do you think they’ll let us get it now?” the latter asked. “Or do we
have to buy it in the city?”
“The palace healers could probably be encouraged to give you some,” Harry
replied, raising his eyebrows; he meant a bribe. While all healers had a sacred
duty, it didn’t seem to cover luxury items like the balm Harry described. Niall
was glad his father had supplied him with a purse for such expenses. He turned
to Zayn with a hopeful smile.
The other boy rolled his eyes. “Yes, we can go there after supper.” He leaned
around Niall to find Cador, Sigan’s sponsor. “I can show Sigan as well, if you
like.”
Cador agreed, telling Sigan he’d be doing his classwork in the library. This
prompted everyone to agree to study in the library after supper. Niall stood,
recalling the extra work he had to do, and followed Zayn with Sigan to collect
their belt purses, then on to the healers wing.
The only healer there was bored and irritable, having been left to sit up while
his fellows relaxed for the evening. He was unimpressed by Niall’s most coaxing
grin, telling the boys they’d have to wait until they had leave to visit the
city to buy their balm.
Niall was trading disappointed looks with Sigan and resigning himself to
getting scorched again the next day when Zayn slipped past them.
“That’s an interesting pendant you’re wearing,” he said to the healer, leaning
over with one hand braced on his desk. He extended the other to touch the
carved jade nestled at the healer’s throat. “What did you say your name was
again?”
The healer swallowed, seemingly caught in Zayn’s eyes. “I didn’t. It’s
Desmond.”
“Desmond,” Zayn repeated, his voice low. Intimate, really, and Niall felt
himself coloring further when he realized Zayn was flirting. “I love that
name.” He smiled gently, and it was like a glass wall came down, sealing Zayn
and the healer inside a private world for two.
“Look, Desmond,” Zayn continued, “You’d really be doing yourself a favor if
you’d let these two trade you some silver for a bit of that balm. Otherwise
they’ll be coming in here with burns every day until winter, and even then,
with the snow glare it probably won’t stop.” He leaned just a touch closer,
lowering his voice until it was almost a purr. “I’d hate to think of you
wasting time with sunburns when you could be doing so many more...important
things.”
***
“That was inspiring,” Sigan marveled. They were headed back to their part of
the palace with one jar of balm apiece. The healer had been so flustered by the
end that he’d given one to Zayn as well, even though he’d only asked for two,
and he accepted it, slipping a bit of his own silver across the desk as
payment.
“How did you know that would work?” Niall wanted to know. It wasn’t unheard of
for people in Tortall to prefer the company of their own gender, but it wasn’t
something they did openly either.
“The pendant,” Zayn explained. “It was the Yamani character for ‘forbidden
love.’ The Yamanis don’t make people hide like we do, so people here have
started wearing their tokens as a byword.”
“Yes, but how did you know that?” Niall asked.
“My father learned it from Baron Piers, the Yamani ambassador, at a delegate’s
meeting here in the capital. I heard him telling my mother.”
Sigan whistled. “I’ll bet he never thought you’d put that information to such
use.” They’d arrived at his room in the pages’ wing and stopped. “I need to get
my books. Are you two coming to the library?”
Niall glanced at Zayn. He didn’t decline, but his shoulders were set as if he
were about to wade into battle rather than spend an evening with their friends.
“I think I’ll study in my room actually,” Niall said. “I have to memorize that
poem and I feel foolish reading it in front of people.”
“Do you need help with it?” Zayn asked quickly.
Niall hid a smirk. “Would you? I’ll need someone to keep me awake.”
They said their goodbyes to Sigan and continued down to Niall’s room, stopping
at Zayn’s for his books along the way. Niall groaned as soon as he saw his bed,
rolling onto it and batting weakly when Zayn prodded him. “Just a few minutes.”
“You said you needed me to keep you awake. I have my own work to do so,” Zayn
hauled him onto his feet. “Wake up!”
He made Niall wrestle with his math problems at his desk where he’d have a
harder time nodding off, spreading his own work across the bed. They studied in
companionable silence until Zayn shifted, the heel of his foot hitting
something under the bed with a hollow thunk.
He jumped to his feet when Niall dove for the edge of the bed, carefully
drawing out a large bundle tied up in a canvas. He set it on his desk and
unwrapped it, revealing a guitar with beautifully carved sides.
Zayn whistled. He’d seen similar instruments played by minstrels at court, but
never one so finely made. “I haven’t hurt it, have I?”
“I don’t think so.” Sitting down, Niall cradled it across his thighs, striking
a clear, ringing chord. “Sorry, I just panicked. I think it’s fine.”
“Can you really play it?” Zayn asked. “The etiquette master tried to make me
learn the flute last year, but I was so terrible he let me stop rather than
keep listening.”
Niall gasped in exaggerated shock. “You mean there’s something you can’t do?”
He expected a thump for his cheek, but Zayn ruffled his hair instead.
“Just go on and give us a strum, Mullingar.”
Niall complied happily, privately quelling a wave of homesickness as he played
one of the simple melodies he’d learned as a child. Zayn sank onto the bed as
he listened, his eyes on Niall’s hands pressing and plucking the strings.
After the first verse, Niall stopped with a groan. “I really can’t do this now.
I still have that poem to learn.”
Zayn let out a groan of his own. “I’ve got a report on the history of civil
conflict in Scanra. All the different clan names are swimming together.”
They took a last look at the guitar before Niall wrapped it again, carefully
tucking it out of sight but not out of mind; halfway through his poem, Niall
found himself tapping his foot while Zayn hummed the melody absently.
At length the bells called everyone to bed. Zayn gathered his things to go,
including the extra jar of balm. “Oh, I’ll buy that from you if you like,”
Niall offered.
Zayn tossed the jar in the air before tucking it securely against his chest. “I
think I’ll keep it. You and Sigan will forget I have it, so I’ll get to be your
hero when you run out of yours.”
Niall squirmed; he didn’t like the feeling of being in debt, and resolved to
find a way to return the favor later. “Don’t know why he gave it to you when
you tan so well.”
Zayn cocked his head, smirking. “If you need me to explain that to you, you’re
even younger than you look.”
A blush crept up his neck, reddening the few spots that hadn’t already scorched
under the sun. “Well, I guess, I can imagine why someone would want to...”
Zayn’s smirk deepened, and Niall threw up his hands. “Oh go on, you know what
you look like. He would have handed over anything if you kept fluttering at
him.”
Zayn winced. “I do feel a bit guilty, but he was being a prat about accepting
your nice bribes.” Outside, pages were calling goodnight to one another as they
settled in their rooms for lights out. Zayn opened his mouth to do the same,
but Niall needed to get one last thing off his chest.
“It’s all right, you know,” he blurted. “I mean, if you prefer men too. I’m not
asking you to tell me!” he added quickly. “I know it’s none of my business. I
just wanted you to know that if you do, I--I mean, you’re my friend already,
it’d be foolish to change that over nothing.”
Zayn blinked, and Niall feared he’d misspoken.
“I do, actually,” he replied softly. “So I hope you mean that.”
The door shut behind him just as quietly, and Niall turned the new information
over in his mind as he undressed and cleaned his teeth. So Zayn liked men. Did
Zayn like him? That way? He let himself consider it for a few seconds, then
abandoned the idea; Zayn was handsome, alluring and athletic. Niall was pasty
and scrawny and, while he had no trouble making friends, no one had ever looked
at him with longing the way Desmond had looked at Zayn.
He shook his head. He couldn’t think about things like that; it was
inappropriate for a page to court anyone, so he had until he earned his shield
to sort himself out.
When he crawled into bed, his last thought was that the blanket was still warm
from Zayn’s presence.
Chapter End Notes
     1. The Minchis in the book have Irish names, so in my head haMinch
     and Mullingar have become Northern Ireland and the Republic of
     Ireland.
     2. Wikipedia told me they had guitar-ish things in Medieval Europe so
     I rolled with it.
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Niall nearly fell out of bed the next morning. His legs were stiff and aching
from sprinting up and down the hill to the stables, and his arms, chest and
back were sore from his work with the longbow. Dressing was nearly impossible
when he could hardly move, and he wound up with a stinging eyeful of balm when
he tried to spread it on his face.
Cursing and half-blinded, he stumbled down the hall to knock on Zayn’s door.
“Help!” he pleaded as soon as it opened.
Zayn ushered him in to perch on his desk. He used a drying cloth to gently wipe
the balm out of Niall’s streaming eyes, then rubbed the rest in carefully. “I’m
surprised Michael couldn’t help you with this.”
Niall blanked, trying to remember if that was a page he’d met, then remembered
his inane chatter from the previous morning. “Oh, he went home last night. Said
he thought I’d be well looked-after and he wanted to be about his own
business.”
In return, he held Zayn’s mirror for him while he shaved, sighing with envy and
stroking his own smooth chin.
Zayn laughed at him, then grimaced. “Ugh, it’s contagious.”
“What is?”
Zayn gestured at Niall; with his eyes clear and his body slowly loosening up
the more he moved, he was back to being his usual cheerful self. “That pain-in-
the-arse morning person thing.” He did his best to scowl while Niall snickered,
following him out to the mess.
This time he remembered to pocket some fruit for Rabble, feeling uneasy about
the bulge in his rough training breeches before Zayn told him they were allowed
to take away extra food and he wasn’t actually stealing. They had a brief
scuffle when Zayn tried to keep the honey-pot away from him, aided this time by
Harry, who had glared in response to Niall’s energetic greeting. It disappeared
further down the table, only to be smuggled back by Louis and Sigan. He was
already drizzling it over his porridge before Zayn caught on.
Iorek Balstad snorted when the pages lurched into his training yard, and had
them all run laps to warm up. By the time he finally let them stop, Niall
couldn’t tell if it had made things better or worse; at any rate it certainly
made him better at falling when the Bear tossed him. It was the catching
himself part that was still tricky.
He had to resist the urge to lean on his staff when they moved to the next
practice yard. He wasn’t alone. Most of the pages were exhausted, even the
older ones. It seemed they hadn’t kept up their training over the summer, but
their masters made few allowances. Zayn was one of the few who weren’t dead on
their feet, which boded ill for Conal when they paired up and he found himself
facing the smaller boy’s cold eyes.
Unlike Conal, Zayn didn’t need to break drill to teach someone a lesson. He
stayed perfectly in time with the others, but his blocks shoved Conal off
balance so that his strikes could find Conal’s fingers. When his partner
yelped, the masters corrected Conal’s stance, not Zayn’s technique. Conal tried
to adjust, shifting his hands to avoid the blows, and promptly dropped his
staff, just as Zayn whipped his around to strike at his ribs.
Zayn didn’t even have to pretend it was an accident. He was as surprised as
everyone else when Conal cried out and went down hard, clutching his side.
Sergeant Valdeo ordered a halt.
Niall and Zayn’s eyes met across the yard as the sergeant examined Conal. Niall
didn’t know what to think. Conal was a bully and he needed to be dealt with,
but he’d wanted to do it himself. The arms master sent Conal to the healers,
and Niall caught the words “broken ribs” being whispered throughout the yard.
“Back in formation!” Sergeant Valdeo barked. “Older pages with the new boys!”
This time no one interfered when Zayn headed straight for him. Niall wanted to
ask him what in Mithros’ name he’d been doing but he had to concentrate; Zayn
was an intimidating partner even when he wasn’t out for blood.
They couldn’t talk in the archery range either. The senior pages were quizzed
on the different types of arrows and quarrels, while Niall discovered that he
couldn’t learn a new skill without picking up a new bad habit to go with it. If
his draw was good his stance was wrong, and if he corrected his stance he
caught the soft inside of his wrist with the string when he released. There
were gloves that archers used to protect themselves, but his masters considered
the bruises to be part of his instruction; he wouldn’t be given gloves until he
could demonstrate the correct technique consistently.
By the time he made it to the stables for the last lesson on horseback he was
glad to see a friendly face. Rabble quickly found the fruit he’d brought her
then continued to inspect him roughly, nosing his sides, face and underarms and
making him laugh until his overworked stomach muscles ached anew. She finished
by snorting lightly in his ear again, thankfully this time with blowing a gob
of snot on him, and stood placidly while he saddled her, taking care to not
trap any hairs this time.
That day the new pages steered their mounts through a series of hurdles.
Knights normally rode alone, or in organized columns, but they also needed to
be able to weave their mounts through forests and city crowds, and in the thick
of battle there was no telling what obstacles they might meet. The mounts
learned to receive guidance from the reins and also from their riders’ knees,
so they’d be able to ride while carrying weapons in both hands. More than one
horse stood stock-still with their reins hanging loose about their heads while
the pages rocked and wriggled in the saddle, trying to make them understand
what was wanted.
Spectators had gathered around the edges of the field. Some were full knights,
come to inspect the older pages they might someday take into knight-service as
squires. One was a girl, about Niall’s age or a bit younger, with thick head of
smoky brown curls. Her companion was a woman with the small frame and dark
features of the K’mir. They seemed to be having a good laugh at the pages.
“The K’miri woman is Onua.” Harry guided his mount to stand beside Niall’s
while they waited for another turn at the obstacle course. “She’s with the
Queen’s Riders. I don’t know who the girl is; she must be new.”
“Must be, if you don’t know her.” He was going to say more, but Rabble chose
that moment to jerk out of line and approach the fence, headed straight for the
girl in question. Tugging on the reins was no help, and Niall shut his eyes in
humiliation when he heard Sergeant Valdeo bellowing for him to get back in
line.
“I’m sorry!” the girl said when they reached the fence. To Rabble she added,
“Now you’ve done it. I won’t be able to come back and visit if you do this
everytime I come ‘round.” Rabble lipped at her, but she stood back with her
hands on her hips, staring the mare down until she hung her head and pawed the
ground sheepishly.
Niall whistled. “Even Stefan can’t do that.”
“Daine here’s a wild mage,” the strange woman explained, and Niall gave himself
a mental kick for bad manners.
“Excuse my rudeness,” he said. “I’m Niall of Mullingar. I’d shake your hands
but Sergeant Valdeo said he’d sew my seat to my saddle if he saw air under my
rump today.”
Beside her, the girl had consented to give Rabble the strokes she’d wanted.
“I’m Daine, and this is Onua. I’m sorry if I’ve gotten you in trouble. I don’t
have much control over my magic yet.” She cocked her head at Rabble for a
moment, then smiled. “This girl says you’re very sweet, and she’s sorry too.”
“She should be, with the way she bullies me.” There was the sound of
approaching hooves; turning, he was alarmed to see all the pages’ mounts had
broken away to meet Daine. Some of their riders held weapons carefully overhead
where they wouldn’t hurt anyone, while others had no riders at all, having
dumped them on the field before coming over.
Daine was on the inside of the fence in a flash, quelling the horses and making
red-faced apologies to the furious Sergeant Valdeo, promising to stay away from
the pages’ training from then on. Onua joined her, supporting the girl’s claim
of wild magic.
It was enough to get Niall and the others out of punishment work, particularly
since Sergeant Valdeo hadn’t been able to keep his own destrier from running to
Daine either. Returning to their training soon quieted them, and by the end of
the hour Niall was able to turn Rabble with his knees, though he couldn’t
control her paces yet.
This time when Niall bathed he did so with all of the other pages jostling for
space and doing their best to drown each other. He had a good laugh at Harry:
while most of them had brown faces and arms with pale bodies, Harry was tanned
evenly all over. Louis carried on about Harry’s habit of gallivanting naked
over the hills and dales of Cheshire and Harry insisted that he simply enjoyed
swimming in a sunny stream on his family’s private lands. Louis’ painfully
anatomical description of the dangers of riding in the buff had Niall roaring
with laughter until one of his feet slipped out from under him and sent him
sliding against the boy behind him.
Strong hands caught him by the arms and he tipped his head back to identify his
rescuer. It was Zayn.
He flailed a little and found his feet, blushing and not really understanding
why. He followed when Zayn climbed out of the bath, although he did his best to
look anywhere but at his friend’s body. The two of them dressed quickly, making
it into the mess before anyone else had left the baths.
“I did that for me as much as for you,” Zayn began quietly. He tugged Niall to
their table before he could get his food, clearly wanting to settle this before
anyone else sat down. “Conal only attacked you to get to me.”
“Yes, and he bloody well knows it worked, doesn’t he?” Niall hissed back. “What
makes you think he’ll stop now?”
“He might not,” Zayn admitted, “but his pride’s hurt now, so maybe he’ll go
after me directly.”
“If he didn’t have the guts to do that before he’s not going to start now that
you’ve broken his ribs!” Niall was having trouble keeping his voice down; he
wanted to jump up and bellow. “He’ll come after me again, and you won’t always
be there, and getting back at him the day after won’t going to undo whatever
he’s already done.”
“Then what am I supposed to do?” Zayn demanded. “Just let him break your legs
every time he decides he needs to put me in my place?”
The other pages were starting to arrive. Niall spoke quickly. “You can let me
sort it out myself. Like I said, I’m not actually helpless, you know.” When
Zayn looked hesitant, he felt his temper kick. “You don’t know. You think I am
helpless!”
“Not helpless, but you don’t have the training yet,” Zayn said. His placating
tone made Niall want to throttle him, but he had to acknowledge the truth of
Zayn’s words. “If you were a fourth-year too I wouldn’t worry, but it’s not a
fair fight.”
“What about you, then?” Niall asked. “You’re only a second-year but you seem to
be ahead of everyone. What do you do that’s so different?”
“I train harder. On the courts, and off of them. In the mornings, before bed,
over holidays. I train with anyone who will teach me.”
Niall nodded. “Then you can teach me.”
Zayn didn’t look convinced, but Louis and Harry sat down at that moment, asking
them why they weren’t eating. They left to collect their trays and stand in
line for lunch, both of them thinking hard.
Conal wasn’t seen for the rest of the day, having gone back to his rooms to
sleep after leaving the healers. Niall tried to be cheered by that; he didn’t
want Zayn fighting his battles for him, but at least he’d done a thorough job
of it. Any satisfaction he felt, however, was dampened by the way all the other
pages were openly wary of Zayn again, doing their best to pretend he wasn’t
sitting right there in class with him. Even their friends, who’d started to get
used to him, were careful to avoid drawing his attention.
Niall was so distracted the Master Yayin had to call his name twice to ask for
his recitation of the history of the Dominion Jewel. For a moment he blanked
entirely, unable to remember a word, but after a deep breath it came back to
him, the cadence helping the words flow easily. His smile at the master’s
praise quickly faded when he was rewarded with an even longer poem, this one in
the style of a courtly ballad. The previous poem, while monotonous, had at
least been exciting with its far-off lands and Lady Alanna’s defiance of the
mountain god that guarded the Jewel. The new poem was just pure sop, listing an
unnamed lady’s charms with no story. It seemed to melt out of his mind even as
he read it.
He kept close to Harry after that, needing the other boy’s calming good spirits
to stir him out of his funk. Mathematics and etiquette passed without trouble,
although he still couldn’t bow to the etiquette master’s exacting standards,
and history was a welcome relief from the tension he’d carried from the
practice courts. The discussion moved from Carthak to the Yamani islands, home
to the kingdom’s most powerful allies and, if treaty negotiations went well,
the future queen of Tortall. Liam tried and failed to hide his blush when the
topic of his betrothal to a Yamani princess arose, and Niall couldn’t resist
joining the others in their gentle teasing of their gentle prince.
Niall was sorry for losing his temper with Zayn by suppertime, and whispered as
much to him after they collected their trays. He also tried to subtly herd Zayn
towards their friends instead of the empty table he’d been aiming for, but
judging by Zayn’s put-upon sigh, he wasn’t fooled.
“All right, all right,” he said. “I’ll go make everyone think I’m nice again.”
“You’re a softie and you know it,” Niall teased.
“No, you’re just too cu--convincing,” Zayn replied, catching himself at the
last moment.
Niall made a mental note to never quarrel with Zayn again. It was far more fun
when they got along. “Oh go on, I’m cute. You can say it. Rabble thinks so
too.”
“So do the stable hands,” Louis chimed in, having heard him as they sat down.
“They were all watching her pick on you this morning.”
Chatter about their horses carried them through supper. Niall wasn’t the only
one to notice Zayn’s unusual mount, and the other boy actually smiled when he
explained that his mare, Alhan, was half-Bazhir like him. She had been the
fastest horse in the pages’ stable the year before and likely would be until
Zayn left. The Bazhir horses were becoming fashionable in northern Tortall
because of their speed and endurance. Having been bred by a nomadic desert
people, they were tireless, and highly sensitive to their riders. Stefan
Groomsman had overseen Alhan’s breeding himself, and was very excited about the
result.
Niall half-hoped Zayn would want to study with the others in the library that
night, but when he asked Zayn shook his head. “Were you serious? About wanting
to train with me?”
He couldn’t let himself hide behind Zayn forever. “Yes.”
“All right,” Zayn replied. “Then we begin tonight.”
Chapter End Notes
     If you haven't read anything by Tamora Pierce, a) YOU NEED TO and b)
     Daine here is the main character in the The Immortals War quartet,
     which begins with the book Wild Mage.
***** Chapter 7 *****
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I’ve seen you with the Bear,” Zayn said flatly. “You don’t get to hit until
you know how to fall.”
Niall wanted to grumble, but now he knew he was cutting into Zayn’s private
training time. His bedroom wasn’t quite large enough for the two of them to
practice, but opening the door into the attached dressing room gave them a
length of floor that they could use. Falling on flagstones would be much more
painful than falling on the packed dirt of the practice courts, but Zayn was
also a more intuitive teacher; being about the same size meant he could give
Niall advice that the large, heavy Iorek Balstad could not. He also showed
Niall how to do the tuck-and-roll maneuver as a dive, removing the elements of
fear and uncertainty that came with being thrown.
“Once you get a feel for the motion, it will come naturally when the Bear
tosses you,” Zayn promised.
Niall nodded briskly, staring at the length of floor and trying to will himself
to dive onto it.
“Here, I’ll spot you.” Zayn crouched along the path he would take if he ever
managed to move. “Just fall forward, and I’ll catch your back.”
After jumping up and down on the spot to warm up a bit, Niall toppled forward,
knowing Zayn’s strong arm would be there to keep him from cracking his head
open on the floor. It wasn’t graceful, and he almost kicked Zayn, but he was
able to catch himself on his forearms and roll like the older pages did so
easily on the practice courts.
He popped back up, elated, but Zayn was all business, making him practice until
he could manage it without being spotted. Then he showed Niall exercises he
could do in his room, including floor press-ups, leg-lifts and a standing lunge
that was similar to what he’d eventually learn in swordfighting, except that
the rear foot faced forward and the rear leg bent to exercise his thighs. In
swordfighting, the rear foot was perpendicular to the direction of the lunge,
and the rear leg was straight at full extension. Zayn insisted that he
demonstrate the difference and work on perfecting both forms, because any bad
habits he learned now would impede this training later on.
Niall was exhausted after half a bell of training, which left him nodding off
over his desk while Zayn dove into his classwork with the same focused
intensity he put into everything. His neat pile of completed assignments grew
steadily while Niall tried to keep the words of his poem from swimming
together.
“Do you really have to be the best at everything?” he asked at length. “It’s
not enough to be the best in training, you have to be the best in all your
classes too?”
To his complete surprise, Zayn’s face fell. Exhaustion aside, Niall was beside
his friend in a moment. “Zayn? I’m sorry. What did I say?”
Zayn glanced away, but didn’t shake off the hand Niall laid hesitantly on his
arm. “I do have to be the best at everything,” he said quietly.
“You’re the only one that thinks that,” Niall insisted. Zayn shook his head.
“You saw how it was your first day. No one would even look at me before you got
here, except to sneer. I spent my whole first year waiting for people like
Conal to catch me somewhere alone, and I was always alone.” He swallowed. “It
wasn’t just the pages, either. There are plenty of nobles who resent my father
for his titles, and who say he and the king forced my mother to marry him, and
all kinds of things to try to drum us out of court.”
Niall had his arm around Zayn’s broad shoulders now. He hated to imagine Zayn
all by himself for an entire year, with no one to make him flash that blinding
smile of his.
“So I have to be the best, because if I prove I deserve my shield they can’t
keep me out. I have to win the crown’s favor because if I don’t, my sisters
will have no marriage prospects.” His fists clenched. “I want to be the best
because if everyone’s going to sneer at me, they can do it from the dirt,
because I’ve beaten them fairly and there’s nothing they can about it.”
Niall couldn’t think of a single thing to say that would be even close to
adequate, so instead he gave Zayn’s shoulders a squeeze and said, “I’ll trounce
anyone who sneers at you now.”
Zayn snorted, then clapped his hand over his mouth, instantly remorseful. Niall
went ahead and laughed. “No, really, if anyone picks on you, come tell me, and
I’ll fall down at them until they say sorry.”
That got Zayn laughing properly, for the first time since Niall met him. “Or if
falling down doesn’t work I could always threaten to tell Rabble on them.”
Zayn flopped over with his hands over his face, creasing some of his classwork
when he landed on it but not appearing to care. Niall just grinned, watching
him. It was so nice to see Zayn relaxed and smiling. He had a feeling he was
the only one in the palace besides Zayn’s family who had.
Their eyes met for a long, happy moment. Niall had to shake himself out of it.
“I still have that poem to do. I’d rather do my math classwork ten times over
than memorize that thing.”
“You like music,” Zayn observed. “Maybe if you make it a song, you’ll remember
it.”
Niall waved a hand to dismiss the idea, then caught himself. “That might
actually work.” He hurried back to his desk, examining the poem in a new light.
“It’s meant to be a ballad anyway. I just need a tune--do you mind if I play my
guitar?”
He barely heard Zayn’s “Not at all.” His mind filled with the rhythms of the
poem, fitting them to a simple melody. An hour or two later, he was singing the
whole poem softly while accompanying himself with plucked chords.
He finished, and nearly dropped his guitar when Zayn started clapping. “That
was really good! You know the whole thing now, too.”
“That was a brilliant idea you had, putting it to music,” Niall replied.
Suddenly he hoped the reading master would give him another poem the next day.
“Watch, I’ll only get history or philosophy to read from now on.”
“That would be a shame.” Zayn was nodding to himself, like he could still hear
Niall playing. “You’ve got a nice voice.”
Niall was about to tell him about growing up in Mullingar and the minstrels
he’d befriended, but Zayn went on to ask, “Will you play it again, please?”
Niall blushed. He didn’t know why he was bashful all of a sudden when he’d been
playing and singing just a moment before, but playing at Zayn’s request made it
different somehow. He also put more effort into his singing, when before he’d
mostly just been humming to himself.
Glancing up at Zayn made his blush deepen and his fingers falter on the
strings. This close to lights out they were both tired, and Zayn looked drowsy
and gentle on his bed. The hand he was propping himself up on slid along the
blanket until he was laid out on his side, a dreamy smile on his lips.
“That was lovely,” he murmured when Niall finished, “but now you’ll have to go
sleep in my room, because I can’t move.”
As if on cue, Lord Simon’s “Lights out!” bellow rang down the hall. Zayn
groaned, stretching like a cat before extending an arm toward Niall and making
a grabbing gesture. Niall understood, rising to haul Zayn upright.
“Think you can put on your sun balm without blinding yourself tomorrow?” Zayn
asked, collecting his things.
“Probably,” Niall replied. “Think you can shave without someone to hold the
mirror?”
Zayn cocked his head, thinking. He still had that smile on his face that made
Niall want to touch him, very lightly, at the corner of his mouth where it
tucked in. “Maybe not. It was nice not having to double over at my washstand.”
Niall chuckled, but he was almost asleep on his feet. “I’ll come ‘round. Now
get out so I can sleep.”
“Mmm.” Zayn touched his shoulder, briefly. “Thanks, by the way.”
“For what?”
He gestured, indicating Niall and the room beyond him. “I don’t know. For
giving me a chance?”
He left, shutting the door quietly behind him, and Niall tumbled into bed,
curling up in the warmth he’d left.
***
Their days settled into an easy rhythm after that, with Niall stopping in
Zayn’s room in the morning before they joined the others for breakfast and
their day’s training and classes. In the evenings, the two of them retreated to
the quiet of Niall’s rooms to train again before doing their classwork. If they
had time, or if Niall had another poem to learn, he would play and sing for
Zayn before they went to bed. Gradually, so softly Niall didn’t even notice at
first, Zayn began singing along. Zayn’s voice, when he got over his shyness,
was stunning; Niall would have happily played for him until his fingers bled,
so long as he kept singing. They were safe from being overheard. Niall’s rooms
were at the end of the hall, with his dressing room separating it from Harry’s,
which was always empty since Harry either studied in the library or attended
the special magic classes along with the other Gifted pages. They didn’t want
or need an audience. It got the point where Niall had trouble sleeping on the
nights when they didn’t have time to sing.
The Shang Bear grunted approvingly at the results of Zayn’s tutelage,
graduating Niall to learning patterns of punches, kicks and blocks. His staff
skills also progressed until he was able to move on to the spear, and he and
Zayn had to begin visiting the indoor practice courts so they’d both have space
to practice their weapons, sometimes in the company of Louis and Harry. The
hated longbow grew familiar until he could hit the target every time, gradually
clustering his shots closer and closer to the center. Lord Simon awarded his
progress with an afternoon off from classes, so he could finally go into the
city to buy the salt-lick and other treats he’d promised Rabble. It was,
however, dull in the city without his friends, and he practically had to sing
and dance a jig to get any of the merchants to notice him.
At times it seemed Conal still harbored a grudge, but neither Niall nor Zayn
were ever alone anymore, and Niall’s easy cheer made him popular with all the
pages so that Conal couldn’t single him out on the practice courts again. Zayn
grew more popular as well, until Niall no longer felt like every instance of
him speaking to someone besides Niall was a monumental event.
One morning Lord Simon broke their routine, calling for silence before
breakfast.
“I won’t mince words,” he began. “Stormwings attacked the Rider barracks early
this morning.”
The news left the entire assembly stunned. Stormwings were immortal monsters
from legend with the heads and chests of humans but talons like birds of prey.
The wings they had in place of arms were covered in razor sharp steel feathers
that could slice a human into pieces in seconds. Formidable as they were, they
rarely attacked the living. Instead, Stormwings fed on the mortal terror
created by war, desecrating the bodies of the dead by defecating on them, then
rolling in their own foulness. They hadn’t been seen in Tortall since mages
from the Carthaki university sealed them in the Divine Realms.
“No one was seriously injured,” Lord Simon continued in the eerie silence.
“King Jonathan, Lady Alanna, Master Numair and the trainees were able to repel
the Stormwings. The palace’s new wildmage, Veralidaine Sarrasri, also called on
the Rider’s ponies and the palace hounds. It seems her magic allowed her to
sense the immortals’ approach and sound the alarm.
“Training will continue normally, but if Daine senses another attack, the
palace guards will sound their horns and all of you are to take cover
immediately and await further orders.” Lord Simon pressed his lips and looked
over the pages, attempting to make eye contact with every boy there. “You will
not engage the Stormwings, or any other attackers, on your own. Do not force me
to tell your parents you were cut to pieces by their filthy wings in a
foolhardy attempt at heroism. When you are knights you may throw your lives
away if you choose. Until then, you will retreat when ordered.”
He sat back down, and the pages released a collective breath.
“Why did it have to be Stormwings?” Cador wanted to know. “I’d rather fight
almost anything else. Hurrocks, griffins, those winged ape things, anything.”
“If we didn’t hear it from Lord Simon I’d never believe it,” Zayn muttered.
“Only the Carthakis would know how to let them out of the Divine Realms, and
even Emperor Ozorne isn’t mad enough to think they could be allies.”
“Could someone else have done it?” Louis directed the question at Harry, the
only one among them with the Gift, since Liam was sitting with another group
that day.
“Master Numair is the only other mage I can think of who might know how,” Harry
mused, “but I don’t believe that he would betray the crown after they took him
in.”
“Took him in from what?” Sigan asked.
“You don’t know? He used to be the best mage in the university of Carthak. He
ran away from there years ago, and King Jonathan and Queen Thayet gave him a
home here. He’s nice, too, actually.” Harry brightened a bit. “He’s going to
start teaching some classes to the pages with the Gift. Not all of them, but
the more advanced theory.”
“You seem to know a lot about him,” Louis said suspiciously.
Harry blushed. “He’s nice,” he said again. “You remember, he was at the
midsummer feast last year, and we caught him doing sleight-of-hand tricks for
the servants’ children when we went to get more cakes from the kitchens. He can
do all kinds of spells that would kill other mages and he’s on familiar terms
with the king and queen, but he was sat on the floor pulling sugar cubes out of
their ears.”
Zayn smiled wryly. “So either there’s no way he could possibly be behind the
Stormwing attack, or he’s so diabolical he’s managed to charm the entire
kingdom into thinking he’s a saint, including Harry.”
The others fell to their favorite pastime of teasing Harry, accusing him of a
crush on Numair. Zayn took the opportunity to nudge Niall. “You’re awfully
quiet.” His brow furrowed with concern. “And you’re even paler than usual.”
Glancing up to make sure the others were distracted, Niall whispered, “I’m
scared. I’ve barely learned anything, and now monsters are attacking the
palace.”
Zayn gave him a reassuring smile, rubbing Niall’s back briskly. “Don’t worry.
You heard Lord Simon. If they come back we’re to hide under our beds until he
says it’s safe to come out.”
Niall tried to smile back. “Yes, but what if he tells us to go out there and
fight them instead?”
“Then you should practice your pole arms,” Zayn said reasonably, getting up to
leave. “They can’t cut you to pieces if you’ve got them on the end of your
spear.”
***** Chapter 8 *****
Niall needn’t have worried. The Stormwings didn’t show themselves near the
palace again, and they enjoyed another quiet week of training before Lord Simon
called their attention at the beginning of lunch.
“We leave for the summer camp ground along the Bonnett River tomorrow after
breakfast,” he announced. “Your classes this afternoon will cover woodcraft,
field medicine and the proper means of calculating and transporting supplies.
You will have the evening free to pack.” When signs of dismay spread among the
page, Lord Simon glowered. “Knights travel light. You’ll have two saddlebags
for your personal effects. The crown will provide pack horses for the rest.”
He sat, and the famished pages fell on their meal. Niall was excited. “My
brother and I used to camp all the time before he married,” he said between
bites. “I haven’t gone in ages.”
“Is this going to be fun, or should we get started on dreading it?” Sigan
wanted to know.
“It was fun last year, until it rained the last week,” Cador replied. “Two
nights with the tents sliding apart in the mud and everything worth hunting
hidden away under shelter. Then all the mosquitoes hatched just in time for us
to be covered in bites as we arrived back at the palace.”
They all made faces at that. There was a lotion that repelled insects, but it
was a luxury like the balm that kept Sigan and Niall from roasting under the
sun. It was standard issue for the King’s Own, the Queen’s Riders and the army,
but Lord Simon seemed invested in the idea that adversity built character.
Pages caught checking the weather instead of focusing on training found
themselves singled out for reprimands. Lord Simon turned an eagle eye on the
new boys, ready to curb the least inattention. He caught Niall and Harry almost
immediately, both of them watching the sky instead of each other as they traded
punches and blocks.
“Mullingar! Cheshire!” he barked, making them jump out of their skins. “Stefan
can always use help around the stables if you’re too busy watching the clouds
to attend to your training.” He raised his voice for all the pages to hear.
“Any page not minding his lessons will be left at the palace while we camp. We
will all rely on each other’s skills in the field, and will have no use for
dead weights.”
They nodded with a chorused “Yes, milord,” and did their best to forget about
the camping trip, which was difficult when the arms masters kept bringing it
up. The first-years’ spear session began with a lecture on spear-fishing, while
in archery the more skilled archers, Niall included, had a lesson on which
arrows to use for different prey, with the warning that they’d be called upon
to demonstrate their knowledge in the field. Niall was excited at the prospect.
He’d hunted at home, and he’d made good progress with the longbow.
The riding lesson revolved around how much weight their mounts could carry, and
for how long a distance at what speed. Warhorses were bred for power, not
endurance, which was why they would also be bringing pack horses to carry
general supplies such as camp food for the first night, and feed for all the
animals.
“Gonna get you out of this stuffy stall,” Niall whispered to Rabble as he
groomed her. He glanced over his shoulder as he did so; Stefan would take it as
a personal insult if he heard anyone call his stables “stuffy.” She flicked an
ear in acknowledgement, and held still while he took extra care going over her
coat, hooves and tack, wanting everything perfect before they headed into the
woods.
Woodcraft made a welcome change from their usual afternoon classes, although
mathematics was an hour-long tangle of tedious arithmetic as they calculated
the cost and weight of supplies for a party of their size. The master made them
check and re-check their figures until at last all the pages agreed, only to
tell them they were incorrect and would have to start all over again. Niall was
sure they’d come to blows before they finally got it right.
Supper was a hurried affair, with pages mumbling through their meals about all
the things they needed to sort out before they left the palace. Harry, Louis
and Liam were particularly pressed, having family affairs to settle in the few
hours before bed.
Zayn was waiting outside his room when he got back, and the two of them stared
at each other blankly for a moment when they realized they had no classwork.
Zayn smacked himself in the forehead and walked back to his room while Niall
laughed at him, then returned after his bags were packed so they could fit in
half a bell of training before settling in to sing.
“I almost wish you could bring your guitar tomorrow,” Zayn said between songs.
He was entering the dreamy state that meant it was nearly time for lights out.
“‘Almost?’”
“Well, it’d be nice to hear you play as we rode, and have all the boys singing
with us.” Zayn paused to yawn. “But I like that no one knows about this.”
Niall nodded, sinking a little lower against the wall. At first he’d sat at the
desk when he played for Zayn, but after a few weeks he joined his friend on the
bed so the two of them could sprawl comfortably. “I always have trouble
sleeping when we don’t sing. I expect I’ll be too tired to keep my eyes open
after riding all day, though.”
Zayn hummed in agreement and slumped a little lower as well, bringing them
shoulder-to-shoulder. “It’ll be different this year,” he murmured. “The
weather’s been cool and dry, and I won’t have to pitch a tent by myself.”
He was looking off into the middle distance with that soft, unguarded smile
that only Niall ever saw, and Niall couldn’t resist reaching over to touch his
smooth cheek bone before stroking down lightly, callused fingertips catching on
his day’s stubble. Zayn turned to him, startled, and for one breathless moment
Niall was frozen with his fingers just grazing Zayn’s lips.
He blinked, and Zayn was on his feet, visibly shaken.
“Wait,” Niall began, but Zayn cut him off.
“We should get to bed,” he said quickly. “Up early, and there’ll be no rest--”
“Please,” Niall added, knowing Zayn was too chivalrous to ignore a plea.
Zayn settled, still staring off into the middle distance. His fists were
clenched, but Niall didn’t think it was in anger. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I
didn’t...that wasn’t...”
“Well, maybe I did,” Niall said, when it seemed Zayn wouldn’t continue. “Maybe
it could have been.”
Zayn shook his head, his hands stretching before clenching up even tighter. “It
was just a strange moment. I shouldn’t have...” He trailed off again, his face
going carefully blank. “You don’t even like men that way. I thought you’d say
something the night I told you I did, but the next day it was like it never
happened, so--”
“I’ve never had anyone,” Niall blurted.
Zayn froze, and Niall felt himself blushing furiously. “I mean, I’ve never, you
know, had anyone, and I’ve also never really courted anyone. I mean, I’ve been
at home, mostly, and it wouldn’t’ve been right, with the villagers. I mean I
had friends, I’m not a snob, but being their lord’s son I couldn’t really...”
Zayn’s eyes darkened dangerously. “Tarnish the Mullingar line?”
“What? No!” Niall was insulted. “I meant that maybe, if I asked, they’d think
they couldn’t say no. You hear tales of nobles taking advantage all the time,
so I couldn’t...and I wanted my shield.” He sat up a bit straighter. “Commoners
aren’t supposed to fear knights. It’s them we’re meant to defend.”
“You’re right, of course,” Zayn said slowly. “But Niall, if you’ve never
courted anyone, and you’ve barely even seen a female since you’ve come to the
palace, you can’t really know who you like.” He tried a smile, but it didn’t
reach his eyes. “You just think you like me because you’ve had to spend so much
time with me.”
Niall shook his head. “I haven’t had to, though. I could have stopped whenever
I wanted, but I haven’t wanted.”
“Yes, but you like everyone.” Zayn was still holding onto his false smile, like
he was willing Niall to laugh it all off, but for once Niall didn’t feel like
laughing.
“I like you,” he said, meeting Zayn’s eyes steadily. “Maybe I don’t really know
what that means, and maybe...no, I definitely don’t know what I’m doing.” He
stood, and stepped as close to Zayn as he could without climbing him like he
was starting to want. “But you’re a good teacher, aren’t you?”
Zayn went very still. “Niall, if this is some kind of fun experiment for
you...”
“Well, it could be fun to experiment,” he couldn’t help saying, smiling
tentatively when Zayn glared at him, “but if that would make you hate me, I’d
rather we just stayed mates.” Zayn bit his lip, brows furrowing uncertainly,
and Niall grimaced. “Except now that I’ve started thinking about being more-
than-mates, this thing you do where you’re unfairly attractive all the time is
going to make that difficult.”
Zayn chuckled. “Yeah, well, that thing where you’re cute and funny and starting
to fill out around the shoulders isn’t really fair either.”
Niall beamed, stepping back to flex his skinny arms. “Am I really? I thought I
might be. It’s a lot easier to draw my long bow, and Harry said my hand-to-hand
and staff work have improved.”
Zayn was smiling at him at last, his real, blinding smile that made Niall want
to throw open the door so everyone could come see how beautiful Zayn was, but
hoard it to himself at the same time. He reached up to touch him again, this
time following the path of his laugh-line down to the corner of his mouth.
“Maybe it’s not really men I like,” he said, watching the shape of Zayn’s mouth
as it relaxed. “Maybe it’s really just you.”
Predictably, Lord Simon’s voice rang through the halls at that moment, ordering
the pages to bed. Niall caught Zayn’s shoulder.
“You’re not going to do anything stupid like ignore me until I sort myself out,
right?” he asked hurriedly. Zayn opened his mouth to reply but Niall second-
guessed himself and cut him off. “But if you need some time after all this then
that’s fine, of course.” He immediately panicked. “Or, I mean, if you already
know you don’t like me--curse it, I shouldn’t have assumed, why would you
really, neither of us even knew I might like men--”
“Niall!” Zayn caught his face, immediately halting his frantic thoughts and
leaving him a bit giddy instead. “I won’t start ignoring you, and,” he licked
his lips, which was downright cruel, “I like you.” His hands slid from Niall’s
face to his neck, cool and rough against Niall’s returning blush. “I might
really like you.”
A muffled thump indicated that Harry had banged his door open against the
adjoining wall, prompting Zayn to step back while Niall made feeble grabbing
gestures at him. “We’ll talk more,” Zayn promised. “If we’re going to do
anything about this,” he gestured between them, “we both need to know what
we’re getting into.”
“Tomorrow,” Niall said. He wasn’t about to waste time.
“Tomorrow,” Zayn agreed. He gave Niall a long look, eyes roving over his face
to rest on his lips. Niall licked them, instinctively, making Zayn groan and
hang his head before looking up at him through his lashes, smiling ruefully.
Niall gathered himself to pounce on him, consequences be damned, but Zayn was
gone before he took a step.
***
Naturally, they barely got to say two words to each other the next day.
Lord Simon had them in the stables immediately after breakfast, inspecting
their tack and sending pages back to their rooms if their saddlebags were too
heavy. Zayn had checked his bags the previous night, so Niall had nothing to
fear, but Harry and Eamon both had to make the long sprint up and down the hill
to return some too-cumbersome belongings to their rooms.
Once they were all mounted Niall eagerly steered Rabble alongside Zayn’s Alhan,
but found he was hard pressed to keep her there. The change in routine had
Rabble’s spirits up, along with nearly every other horse in the procession.
Niall and the other pages spent a distracted morning struggling to keep their
mounts on the Conté Road when they wanted to stray into the woods on either
side, or shed their riders in favor of chasing each other at a gallop. Niall
was tempted to let Rabble run, just to get it out of her system, but they had a
long ride ahead of them. Better to tire himself trying to rein her in than let
her exhaust herself before they’d gone half the distance.
The weather stayed clear, to everyone’s relief, and they reached their first
campsite without incident. Zayn found Niall as soon as they stopped, but he and
the other first-years were immediately called away to set up the tents. Harry
and Niall worked together well and were the first to get theirs standing, but
Lord Simon just sent them to assemble another while their year-mates continued
to struggle.
That night they dined on camp stew after carefully grooming, feeding and
watering their mounts, but Lord Simon warned them that they’d be hunting for
their suppers the next day. There was no chance of having a private word with
all the boys crowding around the campfires, and the options of sleeping four to
a tent or out in the open made it impossible as well. They’d no sooner laid
their bedrolls on soft patch of grass than Harry, Louis, Sigan, Cador, Eamon
and Liam came bounding over, chattering about how they all hated tents and
wasn’t it a mercy that there were no bugs.
Niall had to laugh at Zayn, who looked about ready to throttle the lot of them.
He turned his baleful stare on Niall, making him laugh even harder, before
relieving some of his pent-up frustration by shoving a handful of dry leaves
into Louis’ bedroll. That prompted a brisk wrestling match accompanied by a lot
of silent fist-pumping and flailing from the others, who were trying to cheer
on their favorites without attracting Lord Simon’s attention. Liam finally
waded in to pluck them apart and order Zayn to help Louis shake out his bedroll
before making them shake hands. They obeyed, with only a little good-natured
grumbling since quiet Liam almost never pulled rank on anyone.
Niall felt a little disgruntled watching Zayn roughhouse with someone other
than him, but he caught Zayn looking a little startled when he turned away from
Louis. They all crawled into their bedrolls, and there was just enough light
for Niall to see Zayn shake his head and smile at him wonderingly, the way he
had on the second day when he’d found himself surrounded by friendly faces in
the mess.
Any jealousy Niall felt vanished as he smiled back.
***** Chapter 9 *****
The next day they left the road to enter the woods along the northern banks of
the Bonnett River. The ride was more subdued this time with the horses less
spirited over the rougher ground, and the pages wary of scaring off game. There
was no clearing where they stopped for the night, and the trees were so close
that everyone would sleep outside rather than try to find enough space to pitch
tents. The senior pages were sent to hunt for that night’s supper while the
first-years cared for everyone’s mounts, gathered firewood and cleared the
thick leaf litter to dig fire pits.
Leofard’s hunting party was the first to return, having gotten lucky and
surprised an elderly buck. Niall winced when he saw the number of arrows they’d
needed to bring it down; he wished he’d been allowed to hunt. Other groups
returned with smaller game. Skinning, cleaning and cooking their meal took so
long that it was dark before they finally ate, chewing the tough venison
tiredly.
They slept in rows that night with their heads were angled up along the valley
floor. More than one page had the unpleasant experience of one of their fellows
sliding down over the slippery leaves to land on top of them before Eamon had
the brilliant idea of anchoring the bedrolls with the unused tent stakes. After
that they finally slept, strung along like so many stockings on a clothesline.
Everyone was stiff and cross when Lord Simon roused them at dawn, including the
horses who hadn’t enjoyed the slope any more than they had. As they left the
river to head west the land became hilly, but they were able to take a winding
path between the hills and save their mounts the effort of climbing up and down
the slopes.
It was a relief when they reached a clearing where a shallow valley spread into
a level space. There were stables for the horses and a longhouse for the pages.
Lord Simon set them to stabling their mounts and clearing all the leaves and
other debris from the house, which contained two hearths and no furniture, but
was dry and would provide shelter from the coastal winds.
After they finished he sent them out to collect firewood and familiarize
themselves with the surrounding country. “We’ll be here for two months,” he
reminded them, “so get comfortable.”
Niall and Zayn drifted together, but were immediately surrounded by their
friends. Niall despaired of ever getting a moment alone with Zayn before they
broke camp to return to the palace.
“That wasn’t so bad, really,” Sigan said. He elbowed his sponsor. “You got us
all worked up for nothing.”
“I said it rained on the last week,” Cador replied, elbowing him back. “And
that was at the camp on the River Olorun. Here we’ll be lucky to go two months
with only a few storms.”
“Well it’s clear now and we’ve got a chance to fix our bow legs,” Harry put in
sensibly, sparking a laugh; they were all walking a bit funny after two days in
the saddle. “So we’ll deal with the rain when it comes and hope that Lord Simon
doesn’t get any brilliant ideas about making us drag the horses out into it.”
There was no help for it. Niall let himself relax into the usual easy
camaraderie, contenting himself with walking beside Zayn and pretending to
stumble into him at every stone or root until Zayn was eyeing him with a mix of
irritation and amusement.
Meanwhile Harry was flailing around enough to distract everyone else from
Niall’s sudden clumsiness. “Oh come on, tell me, Louis!”
“Tell what?” Sigan asked.
“He knows some secret about the camp or the area or something and he won’t
tell!” Harry cuffed his friend on the back of the head, earning a steely glare
in response. Undiscouraged, Harry switched tactics, pouting at Louis with eyes
that were suddenly the size of dinner plates.
Louis shut his own eyes immediately. “Mithros, no, stop looking at me like
that!” He ran and ducked behind Zayn. “Keep him away from me!”
Zayn spun around, confused, and caught the full effect of Harry’s pout before
clamping his eyes shut too. “Ugh, it’s worse than Niall’s. Here.” Groping
behind himself, he caught Louis by the arm and thrust him towards Harry. “You
can have him.”
“Where’s your chivalry, Bradford?” Louis demanded, feigning outrage.
“Where’s yours?” Harry retorted. “Come on, Louis, tell!”
“All right, fine!” Louis stood on his toes to look around, making sure their
group was the only one within earshot. “I overheard servants in the palace
stores saying the Queen’s Riders would be camping at Pirate’s Swoop this year.”
Zayn asked “So?” just as Niall asked, “Where’s Pirate’s Swoop?”
“There are girls in the Queen’s Riders,” Louis answered. “And Pirate’s Swoop is
only a day’s ride west, along the coast.”
Harry was still pouting. “That’s not much of a secret. Everyone in the palace
knew that.”
The other pages exchanged glances; of them, only Liam was unsurprised. Queen
Thayet was with the Riders and he could generally be trusted to know the
whereabouts of his own mother. Harry sighed. “Everyone who ever talks about
anything other than staff work and horses, at least.”
“I wonder if that wild mage is with them,” Niall said.
“Daine?” Louis asked. “Probably, since she works for them. Why?” He was
sporting a grin that made Niall want to make a run for it. “Made an impression,
did she?”
The others immediately grinned as well. “You were talking to her for ages when
she came to the training grounds,” Harry said.
Niall tried to protest but Sigan talked over him. “Is that why you and Zayn
always study alone?” He nudged Zayn. “Has he been torturing you with odes to
Daine’s curls every night?”
Zayn’s face was completely blank. “No,” he said flatly.
“He has, hasn’t he?” Sigan jeered. “I bet you’ve given him loads of advice on
how to woo people like you did with the healer.”
“What healer?” Eamon asked.
“When Niall and I got our sun balm,” Sigan explained gleefully. “The healer
wouldn’t hand it over, then Zayn started batting his eyes at him and we ended
up with three jars instead of just the two we needed.”
“‘Him?’” Louis was still grinning, but there was a sudden sharpness to his eyes
as he studied Zayn. “You rake. Is no one safe from you?”
“Why were you flirting with a man?” Cador wanted to know.
“Wait, what happened to the extra balm?” Sigan added.
“Zayn,” Liam said, quelling the others. “Are you all right?”
Niall just wanted to grab Zayn and bolt.
“Yes, I’m fine,” Zayn replied. He sounded calm, but he flexed his hand,
stretching and tightening it into a fist before relaxing again. “Niall hasn’t
said anything about Daine, the extra balm is in my room, and I tried flirting
because, well, it always works for me.”
He winked, and Niall breathed out with relief as the others simply laughed. He
hung back a little as they moved on. Zayn lingered with him, looking worried
for at least ten different reasons. Niall only had one thing to say. “I know we
have a lot to talk about,” he whispered, “but I wanted you to know: it really
is just you.”
The grin on Zayn’s face had Niall tripping over a root for real.
***
Horns blared out from camp in lieu of the palace bells, calling them back for a
lunch of cold meat, dried fruit and flat bread. Lord Simon warned them that it
was the last of their meat supplies, and gave the first-years a lesson on
setting improvised hunting traps. After his demonstration, he began calling out
pairs, with first-years to set the traps and older pages to supervise and map
the terrain as they went.
“Mindelan!” he barked. “Take Niall with you to the south.”
Zayn and a few others had already been ordered northwest to hunt; they could
only share worried glances before Zayn had to lead his party away. Niall jumped
when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, but squared himself to meet Conal’s
sneer steadily.
“I’ve been looking forward to this, Mullingar,” Conal muttered.
“So have I,” Niall replied, trying to channel Zayn’s calm lack of concern.
“I’ve been training.”
“Yes, I can see that.” Conal slid his hand down to seize Niall around the arm,
and Niall was suddenly glad Zayn had already left because he’d have broken
Conal’s ribs again if he’d seen. Conal pretended he was just taking him by the
arm to lead him away to the south, but his grip was tight; Niall could
practically feel the bruises forming. “My little sister’s got more muscle on
her and she’s half your age.”
Niall didn’t respond until they’d entered the woods beyond the camp clearing.
Once they were out of everyone’s sight, he planted his feet and twisted hard,
using Conal’s weight to throw him over his hip. The bigger boy caught himself
and rolled, but came up scratched all over from the undergrowth.
He gathered himself to retaliate, but Niall spoke quickly. “Lord Simon will
want your map when we get back,” he said. “And I actually want to learn how to
set these traps. So let’s just finish this and have our fight when we’ve the
time.”
Conal snorted. “You mean when your pet Bazhir is around to help you. I think
now is just fine.” He advanced, forcing Niall to stumble backwards through the
trees to maintain his distance. “I’ll have plenty of time to finish my map once
I finish dealing with you.” He spared a glance north; they were still close
enough that they could hear the others. “But first, let’s make sure we’re
really alone.”
They headed further south. To Niall’s surprise, Conal seemed to take his
mapping assignment seriously, noting every landmark with meticulous attention
to relative distances. He followed Conal’s cue and concentrated on setting his
snares, eyes combing the undergrowth for the narrow trails that hinted at the
regular passage of small game.
He was so focused on the immediate ground that he almost stumbled into a steep
gorge, and that was when Conal struck. Two punches slammed into his back, and
only Conal’s grip on the back of his shirt saved him from pitching forward into
the gorge.
“It would be a shame to break a bone this far from the palace healers,” Conal
said, shaking him a little. “It’d be days before you could get back to them,
and you’d have to ride the whole way.”
Niall panicked. His feet were right on the crumbling edge; he couldn’t get any
leverage to disengage Conal. Groping behind himself was no help. Conal had him
right between his shoulders where he couldn’t reach, and his arm was long
enough that Niall couldn’t lay a finger on the rest of him.
“What would you say to keep me from tossing you, I wonder?” Conal shook him
again, and Niall growled a curse. “Now now. Language like that won’t help you.”
“I’d rather break every bone in my body than grovel for you!” Niall gave up
trying to get free and raised both legs to force Conal to take his full weight,
sending them both lurching forward over the edge. Niall clawed at the earth as
he rolled, searching for any rock or stick that might slow his descent, and
lost track of Conal entirely. He got lucky when the slope took him into a patch
of long grass. He dug his fingers deeply into their roots to drag himself to a
gradual stop, only to have his breath knocked out when Conal crashed into him a
moment later. By some miracle he didn’t lose his grip, holding both of them
until Conal managed to gain purchase.
To his utter shock, the older boy was laughing. “Are you mad?” Conal demanded,
gasping. “You could have killed us both!”
“You didn’t give me much choice.” Niall was craning his neck to look around
them as well as he could. “Why’s this gorge here anyway? The Bonnett’s at least
an hour’s walk west.”
“There were earthquakes along the coast last year,” Conal said. “It could have
opened then, and no one knew because the only towns nearby are coastal.” He
shifted carefully so he could support himself with both hands. “I expect they
don’t travel inland much, when sea passage is so much easier.”
Niall hummed in acknowledgement. It was all a bit mad. Conal had spent the last
month doing little besides glare at Niall meaningfully, and now they were
chatting like nothing was amiss. “Well, however it got here, we need to get out
of it.” He eyed Conal suspiciously. “You’re not going to kick me down as soon
as we start climbing, right?”
“Wouldn’t really be sporting if I did,” Conal mused, starting to climb.
“Surprising you when you should be minding your surroundings is one thing, but
you stopped me falling so I suppose I can let you make it back to solid ground
before giving you the thrashing I owe you.”
“How exactly do you owe me a thrashing?” Niall wanted to know. “You’re the one
who started this, and it looked to me like Zayn was the one who finished it.”
Conal’s face darkened dangerously. “It won’t be finished until he and the spies
that whelped him are back in the desert where they belong.”
“You’re an idiot.” The climb was steep and slippery, and Niall knew he could
say anything with impunity until they reached the top. “Isn’t your own father
an ambassador? What would he say if he heard you now?”
“He’d say those spies have no right to live in the palace!” Conal was uprooting
every plant he touched and kicking deep gouges as he climbed. “He’s done more
for this kingdom than Bradford ever has, but the king gives the Bazhir rooms in
the palace while my parents bleed our treasury renting in town so they can
present my sisters at court.”
They were nearing the top, and Niall knew it was in his best interests to calm
Conal down. “The king keeps Zayn’s father close because they need each other.
King Jonathan can’t use his role as Voice of the Tribes to compel the Bazhir,
and Baron Yaser can’t work with them if half of them refuse to so much as air
their grievances. We have to show them that they’re welcome in our cities, that
they’re part of Tortall, because the control the entire southern half of the
country!”
They’d reached the rim. Niall tried to scramble over first, but Conal beat him
easily. To his surprise, the older page offered him a hand, and pulled him over
the edge and onto stable ground without threatening him, though his face was
still stony. Niall tried another tack. “Your father is important too, and your
family has been in Tortall for much longer.” Niall knew that Conal had two
older brothers who were knights, one of whom had already married well. “Fief
Mindelan is on the rise, without needing special favor, and rumor has it your
parents are distinguishing themselves among the Yamani. The crown gives
Bradford rooms in the palace, but they’re going to make a Yamani princess the
future queen, and that’s your father’s doing.”
Conal was silent for a long moment before turning away. “Come on,” he said
flatly. “I’ve got to map this cursed gorge.” He scanned the trees and pointed
to a large fir. “I’ll be up there. Don’t go out of earshot. I’ll check your
traps on our way back, so you’d better remember where they are.”
Niall supposed he couldn’t expect more from him. “All right. Don’t let me stay
too late; you’ll see the sun going before I do.”
Conal nodded, and they went their separate ways.
***** Chapter 10 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Zayn honed in on him as soon as they set foot in camp. He gave Conal a look
that promised trouble, but the other boy just stepped around them to bring his
map to Lord Simon.
“You’re a mess,” Zayn said, giving him a once-over. He really was: his entire
front was one long smear of dirt, his hair was full of debris, and he was
scratched and scraped all over. “What did he do, drag you around by your
ankle?”
“We fell in a gorge.” Niall doubled over and shook himself like a dog, trying
to dislodge some of the mess.
“You mean he pushed you.” Zayn started finger combing Niall’s hair, doing his
best to pick out the leaves and twigs without taking too much of Niall’s hair
with them. NIall made a mental note to make him do that sometime when he was
clean; it felt nice, especially when Zayn started on the nape of his neck.
“Actually, I kind of pulled him.” He grinned, but he was itchy all over from
the dust in his clothes. “Is there anywhere I can wash? Do I have time?”
“Yes. Some of the others aren’t back yet.” Zayn looked at him closely, then
relaxed. “You really are fine.” Niall nodded, still grinning, and Zayn sighed
with relief. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
They stopped to collect Niall’s spare clothes, which Zayn insisted on carrying
because Niall’s hands were filthy, then headed west to a small freshwater
stream formed by the spring they’d depend on all summer. If it failed, they’d
have to move the entire camp west to the Bonnett River.
Once there, Niall stripped down to his loincloth and dunked his head in the
stream, swirling his fingers through his hair to finish the job Zayn had begun.
When he resurfaced it was with handfuls of grit from the streambed, which he
used to scour his arms while he related the events of the afternoon in more
detail.
He’d gotten as far as his defense of Zayn’s father (and made it rather more
impressive and eloquent in the retelling) when he realized Zayn hadn’t so much
as hummed in response for several minutes. “Are you even listening?”
He turned to look at Zayn, who had a strange smile on his face. “Something
about how Conal is a jealous child, right?” His smirk deepened, and his eyes
were nowhere near Niall’s face. “I’m a little distracted, but by all means,
carry on.”
Niall felt what had to be the worse blush of his life break out on his cheeks
and spread down his neck and chest; it felt like it’d reach his toes. He’d
shared baths with Zayn and the others before, and he still had his loincloth
on, but it was soaked and clinging to him and Zayn was looking at him like he
wanted to eat him alive, or maybe just lick him all over until he lost his
mind.
“Um,” he managed. Then he cursed. “Damn you, Zayn, you can’t doing this to me
here!” He wanted to dress, but he needed to wring out his loincloth, and if he
took it off with Zayn watching he’d give him more of a show than he’d ever
gotten in the baths.
Zayn bit his lip, which was very inconsiderate of him, and his eyes looked
darker than usual. “Sorry,” he said, not sounding it. “I’ll start rinsing your
things.”
He collected Niall’s soiled breeches and shirt, moving further downstream to
wash them out with his back to Niall. Niall took a deep breath, then a few more
for good measure.
Lucky the stream was so cold.
***
Niall spent supper trying to laugh at Harry’s story about how he’d found a bees
nest in the woods and happily raided it for honey while his third-year escort
stood well back and called him ten kinds of idiot, but he kept losing track of
the other boy’s meandering narrative. Zayn was beside him, looking painfully
handsome by firelight, and Niall was noticing all sorts of things, like how
long and slender his fingers were under their calluses, or how his beard had
grown since no one could shave while traveling on horseback. Then he’d laugh at
something someone said and his eyes would catch the light and Niall would have
to look away before he started to make longing cat noises.
Lord Simon let them have their time after supper, with no lessons or other
assignments. Zayn, typically, decided to use the time to practice with his
weapons, and Niall joined him in hopes of tiring himself out so he’d stop
salivating over his friend. This turned out to be an enormous mistake. Zayn was
already stunning when he merely sat near a fire; with a weapon in his hands he
was overwhelming. Niall kept forgetting to breathe as Zayn practiced, every
movement fluidly precise. His balance never faltered, and if he needed to
correct his grip he did it so quickly Niall couldn’t see it. All of it was
combining with the memory of Zayn’s smooth, languorous confidence as he’d
flirted with the healer like he’d known exactly how to play him, leaving Niall
struggling to rein in his imagination.
His own practice was a pathetic attempt to not trip over his own feet or hit
himself in the head with his staff, so it was a relief when Harry and Louis
decided to join them. He could let Zayn partner with Louis and focus on
conducting a proper defense against Harry. As darkness fell they switched to
hand-to-hand practice, gradually winding down until it was time to wash at the
rain barrels designated for that purpose around camp.
They all elected to sleep outside while the weather stayed clear, but hung
canvas canopies over their patch of grass to keep the dew from settling on
them. Niall had every intention of not looking at Zayn as he undressed, but he
was as helpless as he’d been during supper. He caught a dizzying glimpse of
lean stomach muscles and sharp hips, all of it cut as finely as Zayn’s perfect
face, before he dove into his bedroll and pulled the flap over his head so he
could clamp his hands over the frustrated groans threatening to burst past his
lips.
He was hard.
He managed to stick an arm out to flap around in response to the calls of “good
night” from his friends, and heard Zayn say he’d been hurt falling into a gorge
but would be fine in the morning, which wasn’t a lie. They just didn’t need to
know the real reason he couldn’t show his face.
It seemed like hours before everyone settled. He shifted to stretch out on his
side; he couldn’t lie on his back lest his silhouette give him away. Zayn’s
bedroll was only inches away from his face, but so was Harry’s at his back, and
more boys lay at their heads and feet; it seemed like someone sighed or turned
over every time he inched his hand toward satisfaction. Eventually, though,
quiet settled, broken only by Cador’s snores.
Niall counted four minutes, then nearly screamed when Zayn’s arm flopped out
and landed practically in his lap.
There was just enough light from the smouldering campfires to make Zayn’s eyes
glow in the darkness. Niall met them miserably, frustration warring with
complete mortification, but then Zayn patted his hip, silently, and drew his
arm back into his own bedroll, shifting so he was on his side facing Niall.
He seemed to still, but Niall’s straining ears caught the faintest rustling.
Zayn’s eyes flickered like stars, and Niall realized: he was stroking himself.
Niall watched, forgetting to breathe, until Zayn stopped and nodded at him, as
if to say, You too.
He unwrapped his loincloth with painstaking care inside his bedroll and
finally, finally, got his hand around himself. His flesh was hot; his whole
body was burning up, sweating, but he didn’t dare uncover himself. He settled
for pushing the flap a little lower on his shoulder, taking what relief he
could when the cool air touched his neck.
Across from him, Zayn turned his head up slightly, catching more of the low
light, enough that Niall could see him lick his lips.
Niall climaxed immediately. He couldn’t help himself. His whole body clenched,
and he barely swallowed the moan that swelled in his throat. He did his best to
catch his come, but he was sure he’d made a mess, and he had no idea what to do
about that; he didn’t have a washcloth or anything aside from his clothing.
Zayn’s breath caught, drawing his attention away from his own sloppy hand still
cupped around his cock. His friend--lover?--had his head canted back, so that
his face and neck were edged in fire. Niall could see his throat working, like
he was swallowing a few moans of his own, before his lips parted around a long,
quiet sigh.
This was torture, and Niall wasn’t getting any softer. He started stroking
himself again, barely able to keep his hips still when the come let his hand
slide more easily. Zayn was taking slow breaths, trying to calm down, then
realized Niall was starting again and brandished his free fist at him before
burying his face in his bedding. Niall grinned, a little smug; it was very good
to see Zayn lose his composure.
It happened slower this time, with the initial edge off and oversensitivity
forcing him to handle himself gently. Zayn had both of his hands inside his
bedroll this time and Niall mimicked him, cupping his sack, stroking the skin
behind them, wondering just what Zayn was doing to himself, what he’d let Niall
do to him when they got a chance, what he’d do to Niall.
Zayn finished first that time, which was very gratifying, especially when he
slipped his hands free and held one just high enough to catch the light. Niall
climaxed at the sight of come clinging to those long fingers, feeling drunk
with the knowledge that he’d done that, that Zayn wanted him.
They wiped their hands in the strip of grass between them. The sharp tang of it
rose in the air, but that was all right; there was a breeze, and campfire smoke
lingered in everything, deadening smells. Niall got his loincloth more or less
situated again, then fell deeply asleep, sated and happy.
+++
They woke to Lord Simon’s bellow at dawn. Niall and Zayn were all smiles as
they rolled up their bedding, shuffling their feet to subtly erase any tell-
tale traces in the grass. Niall held a mirror so Zayn could shave at last,
happy with the familiarity. He kept waiting for something to be different, for
their friendship to be ruined after the events of the previous night, but the
only change was that it was nearly impossible to hide how much they wanted to
touch each other all the time. Every single thing Zayn did was driving Niall
mad, from the way he blew on his tea to cool it to the way he dripped honey
over his porridge in slow, deliberate swirls.
Niall wanted to lick it off him.
Niall was so doomed.
Training that day was a blur. All his extra practice served him well, helping
him get through the morning arms sessions without really registering them,
though he definitely woke up when everyone trooped to the stream to wash. Niall
despaired of ever getting through it without tackling Zayn, but Louis saved him
by tweaking Harry’s nipple, starting up a chase that almost distracted Niall
from the beads of water clinging to Zayn’s belly. He was mostly useless to the
hunting party Lord Simon put him in for the afternoon, only landing one of the
large seabirds that Eamon flushed for him, but that was all right. He was a
first-year. They were supposed to be useless.
That night they linked their free hands as they stroked themselves, and Zayn
pressed Niall’s fingers to his panting lips as he climaxed.
His hunting party the next day included Liam, Sigan, and two pages he hadn’t
met. Normally he would have started roping them into the merry band he’d
formed, but he was busy trying to decide whether or not he and Zayn could get
their hands into each other’s bedrolls without waking the whole camp.
He was distantly aware of the others arguing over some strange tracks they
found in a clearing, clawed like a hawk’s but large enough to be a bear’s, when
something enormous burst out of the trees and hurtled straight at him.
Training took over. He dropped, rolled and had an arrow on the string without
thinking. He couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing, but still managed to track
its path and fire.
It crashed to the ground and he spun, looking for a new target, when the sun
flashed in his eyes from the wrong angle, blinding him before he felt a jarring
impact. He fell back and blinked wildly, shaking with sudden terror. He heard
more impacts and a horrible scream, followed by a bitter laugh.
When his vision cleared at last all he saw was a wall of soft blue light:
Liam’s magical Gift, shielding him. It faded, and Niall gaped. He thought he
was looking at a man in strange armor, formed of hundreds of small overlapping
plates; they’d reflected the sun to blind him. Then the armor moved and spread,
revealing the shape of wings, enormous ones, with feathers of glinting steel.
His other senses returned, and a horrible stench of rotted feces and blood had
him on his knees, vomiting. Hands seized him and hauled him away so Liam could
examine him, quickly running his hands over Niall’s body checking for injuries.
“I’m sorry!” the Prince said. “I put a shield on you but it was too close so
you still got knocked back. Are you all right?”
Gasping, Niall groped for the water Lord Simon made them all carry and rinsed
his mouth before taking a gulp. “I’m fine,” he said finally. “What was that?”
It was the creature that answered. “Don’t you know, little pig?” it sneered.
“Didn’t the bitch that whelped you teach you to fear us? Or have you mortals
forgotten the ones who prey on you?”
Not it, Niall realized. He. His face and chest were that of a man with long
hair greased back from a high forehead. Blood trickled down his forehead where
he’d struck Liam’s shield. He flapped his wings again, releasing another cloud
of horrible stench, but Niall had control of himself again. “Stormwing,” he
said, his voice level, and nocked another arrow.
He drew, and held the shot ready as the Liam directed the others in tossing
ropes around the immortal, who didn’t fight them. “I am Makur Mortalscourge,
little pig,” he said, “and I will wear your bones in my queen’s court.”
He raised his head, revealing a collar of some kind, but Niall didn’t let his
gaze waver. He had his arrow aimed at Makur’s right eye, and he intended to
keep it there.
“What are you doing in Tortall?” Liam demanded. “How did you escape the Divine
Realms? Russell, the horn,” he added, sparing a glance at one of the strange
pages, who fumbled to blow the horn he carried to call for help.
Makur cocked his head as if considering his answer, then burst into motion. His
wings were razor sharp, cutting through their ropes like butter. Niall loosed
at almost the same moment, but the immortal turned to escape with a grazed
eyebrow, and launched himself into the air, rolling to deflect the volley Niall
sent after him.
The immortal flipped his tail up at and turned for a last look, just as Niall
took a deep, careful breath before firing his last arrow.
It was the longest shot he’d ever taken. He seemed to have long minutes to
watch the arrow’s flight as it rose ever so slightly with the breeze before
slamming through his target: the black hole of the immortal’s mouth, opened to
deliver a parting jeer.
Makur dropped like a stone.
Chapter End Notes
     Of course Liam has the Gift. He wouldn't be a proper Disney prince
     without pretty glowy magic powers.
***** Chapter 11 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Niall felt a little dazed. He was aware that the others were crowded around
him, talking excitedly and clapping him on the back, but his mind was still on
the arrow’s path, his eyes still fixed on the empty sky where his target had
been before it plummeted into the trees.
He came back to himself when Liam stepped in front of him, peering worriedly
into his eyes and shaking him briskly by the shoulders. “You still in there,
Mullingar?”
“Yes.” He shook himself once for good measure. “Sorry. Got a bit caught up, I
guess.”
“I’m not surprised,” his friend replied. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone
shoot like that; it must’ve been over two hundred yards.”
Sigan called to them. He was standing over the first creature Niall had shot,
prodding it with the butt of his spear. “Do you know what this is?” he yelled.
“It’s a hurrok! Niall, you killed a bloody hurrok!”
“That was amazing, actually,” the other stranger said; Niall absently reminded
himself that he must learn everyone’s names. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen
someone move that fast.”
“Got it right through the heart, too,” Sigan added. “Timed it to shoot under
the wing.”
“My ancestors will be proud,” Niall said flatly. “What’s a hurrok?”
“A winged horse,” Liam explained. Niall gave him a look that meant I can see
that, idiot. “An immortal, like the Stormwings. The name is a slur of horse-
hawk, because of the talons. And stop poking it!” He knocked Sigan’s spear away
when he raised it again. “They’re monsters, but we should still respect their
dead.”
Distant horns heralded help from the camp, and Russell blew theirs again so the
others could find them. Soon Lord Simon rode into the clearing, followed by the
other training masters and the pages he’d been able to muster. Everyone goggled
at the dead hurrok, but Lord Simon’s face was grim as he listened to Liam’s
report.
“You two,” he said, pointing at two pages. “Find the Stormwing and get it under
cover. Mind the wings; just cover it if you can’t move it without losing your
fingers. If it’s still alive, sound your horns.”
The pages left, and Lord Simon knelt beside the dead hurrok, carefully touching
the arrow where it was buried deep in its side. His sharp eyes found Niall and
seemed to weigh him to an ounce, taking in his empty quiver and the bow he
still gripped in his right hand.
“You shot this?” Lord Simon asked. Niall nodded. “In close range, while it was
in flight?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And then the Stormwing, at a distance, also while it was in flight?”
Niall gulped; the entire group’s skepticism was nearly palpable. “Yes, my
lord.”
Liam was indignant. “He did, Lord Simon. We all saw it.” Beside him, Sigan
seemed ready to burst in agreement.
Lord Simon only nodded thoughtfully.
“We have to send word to Pirate’s Swoop,” Liam said, finally. “If there are
more of them, that must be their target. My--the Queen’s Riders are there, but
there aren’t enough of them, and they’re all trainees.”
Lord Simon nodded. “Back to camp!” he ordered. “We have a serious ride to
make.”
+++
They couldn’t leave as quickly as Lord Simon and Liam would have liked. Half
the pages were still out hunting and checking traps, and it took time for them
all to return so the entire camp could be briefed. What food they had was not
suited to riding; the meat was still fresh, not having had time to dry, and
they’d switched from baking unleavened trail bread to softer camp bread. The
only supply they had in ready abundance was grain for the horses; in that they
were lucky.
The evening was spent in preparing the meat, roasting most of it and packing
what they could in salt. Some still had to be packed up raw, but they readied
it anyway to supplement the supplies at Pirate’s Swoop.
Niall and the others worried about Liam. The Prince was plainly worried, and it
was making him uncharacteristically short with anyone who seemed to be shirking
even slightly.
Louis finally stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Liam, mate, you’ve got
to calm down. Standing over everyone and glaring isn’t going to make the meat
cook any faster.”
“You don’t understand,” Liam snapped, shoving off his hand.
They all stared; Liam never lost his temper. Louis, on the other hand, did, and
was visibly struggling to keep a lid on his. “We might, if you told us. We’re
obviously not supposed to know, but who are we going to tell out here in the
woods?”
“If you can’t do anything about whatever it is you may as well tell us,” Zayn
added. “We’ll help you glare at people if we know you’ve got a good reason for
doing it.”
Liam chewed his lip and glanced around, then up at the sky and surrounding
trees. “Wish I knew if there were any more immortals around,” he muttered.
“Gather in, then.”
He, Niall, Zayn, Louis and Harry formed a small huddle. Niall patted Liam on
the back, hesitantly, then wrapped the arm around Liam’s waist when the prince
didn’t pull away. “Every knows the Queen is at Pirate’s Swoop,” Liam said,
“because we wanted everyone to know that, and think that was the only secret
about this year’s Rider’s camp.”
Louis made a face; he’d clearly been fooled along with the other court gossips.
Harry patted him sympathetically, but keep his gaze intently on Liam. “What’s
the real secret, then?”
“The real secret is that my brothers and sisters are there too,” Liam replied.
“So if Pirate’s Swoop is under attack--”
“--The succession is under attack,” Zayn finished.
“And it’d be civil war after King Jonathan’s own cousin tried to usurp the
throne,” Louis added.
“Right then.” Niall broke the huddle. “Let’s start glaring.”
+++
That night everyone was too tense for Zayn and Niall to risk the slightest
noise, and Zayn, at least, was determined to get every minute of rest possible
before they rode out in the morning. They had to settle for joining hands, with
a brief reassuring squeeze from Zayn before he took a slow breath and dropped
off, leaving Niall to worry himself to sleep.
It seemed like he’d only just closed his eyes when a he was jolted awake by
Liam kicking him in the head. A hand clapped over his mouth before he could cry
out, and he struggled for the moment it took for his wide, panicked eyes to
make out Lord Simon kneeling over him with a finger over his mouth. Behind him,
Liam was sitting up, looking equally startled, and Zayn had woken as well,
carefully slipping his hand out of Niall’s before anyone noticed.
“Wake the others as quietly as you can,” Lord Simon whispered. “We couldn’t
risk announcing our plans when we didn’t know if we were being watched. We
leave tonight. Saddle your mounts, and muffle their hooves.”
He moved on to the next group of pages; quiet shufflings and whispers indicated
that he’d already woken everyone who’d slept in the longhouse. No one dared a
light, but the moon was full enough to let them find their saddlebags, already
packed earlier in the evening. Rabble snuffled when Niall went to her, but even
the horses seemed to realize that silence was needed; the pages were able to
saddle them and tie rags around their hooves to deaden their noise without
trouble.
This time, instead of sending them stumbling through the woods, Lord Simon led
them due south to meet a beaten trail, most likely used for driving livestock
to and from the coast, just wide enough to admit a double column of riders.
Niall expected to have Zayn beside him for the tense journey, but to his
surprise Zayn, Liam and Louis were all clustered around Lord Simon, leaving
their first year friends to worry and wonder about the battle to come. Rabble
was twitchy under her reins and Niall did his best to soothe her, but he knew
he was so tense she had to be picking up on it. Save for the immortals they’d
faced, he’d never really fought someone before. Other boys among the pages had
experience defending their home fiefs, but Mullingar wasn’t an attractive
target for raiders, being small, not particularly wealthy, and sharing a border
with the might of Fief haMinch. He’d never actually aimed a live weapon at
another human being and wasn’t sure he’d be able to start.
+++
Steady riding through the night, with stretches at a gallop when Lord Simon
trusted the dark path, brought them within a mile of their goal. Niall’s nerves
had all his senses on painful high alert, so he was the first to see the owls
that glided out of the woods at Lord Simon’s side. He yelped a warning just in
time for Lord Simon to rein in his mount before it startled.
Niall and Harry could do little besides share bewildered glances as they
watched their training master extend his hand to accept the scroll an owl
carried and read its contents by the soft blue light of Liam’s magical gift. It
was even more bewildering to see him nod curtly to the owls, who hooted softly
in reply and flew a short way into the woods beside the path.
There could be only one explanation for why Lord Simon signaled the pages to
follow the owls. “Daine,” Niall whispered. The pages closest to him breathed in
sudden comprehension and looked slightly less skeptical about following birds
through a dark wood.
Their guides led them to an overgrown gully that became muddier as they rode.
There were no more whispers among the pages; the trees met over their narrow
path, blocking the moon so that they had to rely on the horses’ better senses
to follow the gully’s twists. With the stars hidden it was impossible to tell
how much time had passed or even in which direction they were heading, and
Niall began to feel like the suffocating ride would never end.
It was an enormous relief when the owls led them out of the gully and into dim
predawn light that showed them the edge of the village surrounding Pirate’s
Swoop. Lord Simon barely had time to whisper thanks to their guides before the
owls were gliding away, most likely to find their roosts before the sun truly
rose. He led them on through eerily silent streets; the villagers had already
abandoned their homes to shelter behind the castle’s walls and hadn’t left
behind so much as a cat. All the hours of darkness and silence weighed heavily
on Niall, and the fog that began to drift in around them as the sun rose made
it worse. It seemed to itch, setting the horses twitching. Beside him, Harry
gasped and lurched sideways in the saddle, barely catching himself on the
pommel.
“Harry!” Niall quickly reached out to steady him, bringing Rabble as close as
he could. Other pages around them were in a similar state; a few didn’t manage
to keep their seats.
Instead of answering, Harry held out his hand, palm up. He seemed to
concentrate on it, but nothing happened.
“I think it’s a dampening spell,” he said. The words radiated away from them as
pages whispered it to each other in fear. “It’s blocking my Gift.”
Niall opened his mouth to ask another question, but snapped it shut at the
sound of distant hoofbeats. The enemy was in the village.
“Keep moving!” Lord Simon ordered. “We won’t find any answers until we reach
the castle.”
The time for stealth had passed; they resettled themselves and broke into a
gallop. With the castle gates in view Niall risked a glance back, but saw only
the faces of the pages and horses behind him. The gates swung open to admit
them into the home of Sir Alanna and her husband, Baron George Cooper, where
they had to stop sharply lest they trample the crowd within. The dampening
spells still had everyone on edge, but the courtyard bustled with villagers and
servants erecting corrals for the animals. It was strange to see cows and
chickens standing around waiting patiently, but at the same time Niall was
relieved at a sign that the dampening spells weren’t affecting Daine. He hoped
the king would reward her handsomely; the girl was worth her weight in gold.
Lord Simon had dismounted and was conferring with an enormous black man Niall
had never seen before; the training master barely came up to his chin. The
stranger seemed to take a quick count of their party before nodding and waving
for them to follow him. Dismounting, they all walked their horses through the
busy crowd to a stable that was full of what had to be the Queen’s Riders, who
were all busy settling the horses and ponies who had come in from the village.
One of them directed Niall into a stall while another pressed a brush into his
hand and yet another went stall to stall, filling troughs and mangers. Servants
arrived to trade tea and pastries stuffed with cheese and vegetables for the
supplies they’d brought to share.
The lost sleep seemed to catch up with Niall all at once, leaving his head
spinning. He cast about for Zayn, not too proud to admit that he could use some
reassurance, and caught his eye just in time to see Lord Simon send him back
out with a group of senior pages. The two of them shared one jolting look
before Zayn was gone and reality crashed into the space between them. Liam,
Louis and Cador had left as well, leaving Niall, Harry, Sigan and Eamon staring
at the places where they’d been, stunned at being left alone.
Chapter End Notes
     And so we've rejoined the Immortals War plot! Wikipedia said the
     estimated range of a medieval longbow is 180 to 249 yards which
     sounds BANANAS but okay Wikipedia I trust you.
***** Chapter 12 *****
Chapter Notes
     Here is a map of Tortall that shows you Pirate's Swoop on the coast.
     I couldn't find one that's less blurry, but you can just barely see
     the River Bonnett to give you some bearings.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Harry whipped his head around to find Niall and the boys gravitated toward each
other immediately, but Lord Simon stopped Harry before they could stir two
steps. Niall caught the words “with the healers” before Harry was gone too, and
one of the Riders stepped forward to take over grooming his horse.
A strong hand clapped down on his shoulder and he turned to find Sigan, who
gripped Eamon’s arm on his other side. “If they try to carry one of you off
next I’ll scream. Where are they sending them all?”
“Harry’s gone to the healers, I expect because he’s got the Gift.” Niall chewed
his lip and pulled away to groom Rabble before the others could see his hands
shaking. “I don’t know where the others have gone.”
“What good is the Gift with these dampening spells on us?” Eamon wondered.
“Maybe they’ve got an answer for it,” Sigan mused, clutching at hope. “This is
Lady Alanna’s home, after all.”
“Lady Alanna’s not here,” one of the Riders told them. She had a shock of
ginger hair, cropped to a practical bob, and was grooming Harry’s horse with
practiced ease. “She was called away; something about giants. But we’ve got
Master Numair.” She knelt to start dealing with the mud caking the horse’s
legs. “I’m Edwina. Everyone calls me Win.”
The boys smiled in spite of themselves. “That’s a lucky name on the day of a
battle,” Niall said. “I’m Niall, and this is Eamon and Sigan. Can you tell us
more about what’s going on? We’ve been riding all night and all we know is it’s
something to do with Stormwings.”
She bit her lip. “I don’t know much either. They woke us a few hours before
dawn when the villagers started arriving, and then this blasted fog hit. All
I’ve done is stable horses all morning. I only know about the Stormwings
because they gave Daine trouble on the way here.”
“They’re why we came,” Sigan piped up. Glancing at his friend, Niall was amused
to see he was bright red. Win was very pretty, now that he thought about it.
“One of them attacked our hunting party with a hurrok, but we killed them and
rode here as soon as we could to warn the baron.”
We? Niall thought. Oh well. Let his friend have his boast. Behind Sigan, Eamon
poked his head up so he could meet Niall’s eye over their horses’ backs. They
shared a wink.
Win hadn’t looked up. “It’s lucky you did. Lady Alanna took some men with her,
so it’s us and the castle guards against Stormwings, mages and gods know what
else.”
Their spirits deflated, then a booming roar almost had them levitating out of
their boots. “Gather ‘round!” It was the enormous black man from earlier. Niall
gave Rabble one last stroke and received a sleepy nudge out of the stable to
stand with the other boys--and girls.
“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Sarge, with the Queen’s Riders.” This
close, the man was easily a foot taller than Niall, and his arms and legs
seemed as big around as Niall’s entire body. “We’re facing Carthaki pirates
with war barges, along with Stormwings and mages. Here in the castle we’ve got
eighty guards, the Riders, and the pages. They surrounded us in the night;
we’re lucky the pages made it here, but any other aide will have to fight their
way through enemy camps. We’d never get a company of knights through the same
way, not with all their clank.
“The senior pages will take their orders from Lord Simon; the rest of you will
have tasks, but we have no fighters to spare to command you. You’ll have to
accept your work and do it well.”
He began separating them into parties of varying sizes. Riders who knew the
castle best would run messages . Niall and Eamon were in a party that would
pair off into stretcher teams for carrying the wounded to the healers. Sigan
had a moment to mutter “Guess I jinxed us” before he joined those designated to
distribute ammunition on the curtain wall. All around them, Riders and pages
were shaking hands and wishing each other luck. Sarge watched them for a
moment, then set his shoulders. “Mithros ward us all.”
Then he was gone too.
+++
Niall and Eamon spent the rest of the morning rapidly stitching canvas
stretchers and threading them onto poles while receiving a quick lesson on the
ins and outs of the castle. The healers tents were in the courtyard between the
walls and the castle proper, out of the reach of enemy archers. Niall and Eamon
would be stationed at the corner of the southern and eastern walls, close to
the stairs that led down into the grounds. Tortall spread out reassuringly on
their left; its woods may have been full of the enemy, but it was still better
than the cove to the south. There the Carthaki fleet laid in wait with their
mages and catapults.
Toward midmorning a Stormwing passed overhead to hover in the air over the main
castle deck, where Niall knew the baron and queen had to be. He wished he could
hear what was said, but he couldn’t even watch; everyone on the wall had to
keep their eyes on the enemy in the cove. Around them, the guards hadn’t so
much as flinched at the sight of the immortal, although the armed villagers
spread among their ranks looked anxious.
“It’s all right,” Niall whispered to a man beside him. “We did for one of them
in the woods before we came. They die like anything else if you put an arrow
through them.”
“They underestimate us,” Eamon added when others turned to listen, “but we’ll
show them. They’ll know they can’t just enter our realm and terrorize us after
we’ve thinned their ranks.”
The faces around them brightened, and they received approving nods from some of
the guards. Niall grinned back. In all his worrying he’d forgotten what they
were fighting for.
There were harsh screams at their backs, and before them a glowing gold square
began to form over the Carthaki fleet, rooted by the red robed mages on the
ships. Officers along the wall called for arrows on strings and Niall was
seized with longing to carry a bow instead of a stretcher. I could do it, he
thought fiercely. I’ve done it before. I could fight for the realm now.
He took a fighting stance as the square expanded, only to be knocked off his
feet when its gold fire exploded. Stormwings burst out, saturating them all in
a cloud of pure terror as their magic billowed before them along with their
stench. People cried out in panic as officers bellowed for them to return to
formation and draw their bows. Niall and Eamon levered themselves up with the
stretcher poles and did their best to help the fighters around them, wrestling
the fear that set their hearts racing.
More people cried out as Stormwings swooped at them, raking any unarmored flesh
they could find and causing devastation with every beat of their wings. The
boys were shocked to find that the first person they ran to was already dead;
the man had been decapitated.
“Here!” a guard shouted. Beside him, a village woman passed her bow to someone
else before collapsing, blood soaking her dress from a deep cut across her
back. Her quiver lay on the wall; its strap had been cut.
They loaded her face down on their stretcher and carried her down without a
word. As they did, there was a cheer around them, and the air suddenly filled
with the rainbow glow of magical Gifts. Numair or someone else had lifted the
dampening spells.
“You’ll be all right now, miss,” Eamon was saying. “With their Gifts back the
healers will have you patched in no time.”
Niall gathered his wits to chime in, then stopped; the woman was unconscious.
They carried her into the nearest healers tent and transferred her into a cot.
When Niall looked up, he was startled to meet Harry’s eyes. His friend flashed
a dimpled grin before summoning his Gift, which glowed with a soft, misty
green. A woman behind him instructed him in cleaning the wound even as her own
hands closed a gash on a guard’s scalp.
They couldn’t linger. As they returned to the wall they had to stop and duck as
enemy archers sent a volley over the wall, only to have the Tortallans respond
in kind. Niall expected it to be chaos with the villagers, but was pleasantly
surprised to see that they formed ranks neatly, firing and reloading in turns
to keep up steady fire that sent the enemy behind their shields. Clearly the
nobles of Pirate’s Swoop were wise enough to train their people in their own
defense.
Hours passed. The steep hill to the palace practice courts hadn’t prepared
Niall for the countless trips up and down the steps for the wall, carrying both
the wounded and the dead. The sun overhead was relentless, and Niall hadn’t had
time to apply his sun balm before rushing out. He could feel every hour of
their night ride jarring through bones that ached from the stone steps and the
weight of the stretcher, and his skull seemed to be full of angry wasps.
Eamon didn’t seem to be faring much better. His brow was pinched with what
looked like a fierce headache; Niall could feel something similar creeping up
on him.
On their next trip to the tent, Harry stopped them. “You two look worse than
the people you’re carrying. Drink up.” He thrust two tankards at them that
smelled strongly of tomato. Niall swallowed a mouthful before realizing how
vile it tasted; he and Eamon shared disgusted looks before Harry cleared his
throat loudly, prompting them to throw their heads back and gulp it down as
quickly as possible.
Coolness spread through Niall’s body, soothing the sting of his sunburn and the
aches from his limbs and back. Eamon actually moaned in relief, cradling his
head.
“I could kiss you,” Niall sighed. Harry only stuck out his tongue and handed
them a tray with cups full of the tonic to distribute on the wall, and servants
met them outside the tent with food and water skins to carry up as well. Eamon
took that while Niall hoisted the stretcher over one shoulder so they each had
a hand for the tray. Carrying a burden up the stairs instead of down nearly
brought them to their knees, but the fighters cheered when they saw them. More
Riders and pages joined them with more provisions. Niall envied those who were
asked to take up bows so their owners could eat. He and Eamon had two wounded
to escort back down, and couldn’t stop.
With his head cleared, he had the energy to worry about Zayn and the others.
They would all be exhausted and frightened. They might even be hurt.
“The others will never let us hear the end of this,” Eamon said suddenly. They
helped the fighters onto a bench to await healers and started back, stretching
their tired arms as they went. “They’re all fighting for glory while we’re
carrying tea trays.”
The smile he directed at Niall didn’t reach his eyes; he was worried too. Niall
forced himself to smile back. “I’m sure Louis has already decided he’ll have
won the battle single-handedly. I can already see Zayn rolling his eyes at him
in the mess hall while he tells us.”
He paused a few yards away from the wall and looked up. There were more
stretcher bearers hard at work. Fighters who had rested were returning to
replace them, but their numbers were still dwindling. As he watched, a flock of
birds burst out of the woods to harry the Stormwings, and Niall winced as some
of them dropped out of the sky, cut to pieces, before the rest retreated.
Eamon shook his head and turned so he could walk backwards while squinting up
at the castle deck, where Queen Thayet, Baron George and Master Numair had to
be, along with Daine and their advisors. “Still, I hope they’ve got some kind
of plan, because we’re not winning this fight.”
Troubled, they trudged up the stairs, then nearly dove off them to avoid the
Stormwing that had made it past the archers and arched toward them.
“The pink pig that killed Makur!” she screamed. “We will build his pyre on your
bones!”
Niall panicked. They were unarmed, and the stair provided no cover. They didn’t
even have the stretcher poles since they’d left it on the wall. The Stormwing
wheeled around for a second pass and barreled straight for him, wings and
talons ready to rip him apart.
He was raising his arms in a desperate block just as someone stepped in front
of him and and the immortal immediately veered to the side, gushing blood from
a deep belly cut.
To complete his shock, it was Conal. It took him long moments to understand
that the older page had gutted the monster with the spear he carried. Conal
only paused long enough to smile wryly before running back up to the wall.
Niall shook his head to clear it, then gaped again as an enormous red dragon
appeared out of nowhere over the courtyard and dove for the castle deck. Mage
lights billowed towards it but it seemed to brush away the spells like
dandelion fluff. He stared, then slowly turned to look at Eamon, who was
looking at him.
“What the hell?” Eamon whispered.
Niall shook his head again, and again, but the dragon was still there. “If the
others aren’t seeing this they are never, ever going to believe us.”
Eamon squinted. “Is that Daine, on the castle wall?”
“I think so. Maybe she can talk to it.” At any rate, the dragon wasn’t
attacking any longer. “Come on. We’ve rested enough.”
They scrambled to their feet and returned to their position.
Chapter End Notes
     The millionth or so time that I read these books I realized how
     FUCKING INSANE the siege of Pirate’s Swoop would have been to anyone
     who wasn’t rubbing elbows with the nobles and therefore didn’t know
     what was going on 99% of the time.
***** Chapter 13 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
The siege continued into the afternoon. Niall’s nerves were worn thin. He
wasn’t sure what was worse: carrying the dead, or carrying the wounded who
screamed with terrible injuries. He and Eamon couldn’t do anything for them but
get them to the healers as quickly as possible. With every trip, he looked for
his friends, but didn’t know whether to feel relieved or worried when he didn’t
see them. He would have given anything to know that Zayn was in the healer’s
tents, safe, with some minor wound. He itched to fight, to defend these people,
but the Swoop had no better use for a first-year page who’d never been tested
in battle.
Their enemy hadn’t breached the walls, but neither had they used the catapults
on their war barges that could reduce the entire castle to rubble. Niall had a
horrible feeling that they were content to pick off the defenders one by one,
wearing them down until Queen Thayet had no choice but to surrender herself and
her children over to the enemy. The Stormwings got what they wanted regardless
of what happened. He’d seen them in the open ground outside the walls, fouling
the bodies of the enemy dead. At least he could make sure that their own people
would be buried whole and unspoiled.
“Mullingar!”
He spun around, and was startled to see Lord Simon. “My lord?”
“You’re needed at the rear.” The training master turned him by his shoulder and
spoke rapidly as they made their way down the wall. “The Swoop’s guards tried
to punch a hole through the enemy camps to the north and we need to cover their
retreat, but we can’t spare any archers from the waterfront.”
Once in the open ground of the courtyard they broke into a run. He had no idea
what to expect when he reached his post, but it wasn’t Prince Liam and Princes
Kalasin. The princess carried a long bow and quiver, and Liam was casting a
magical shield over them both, along with a strange woman at their side.
Niall jerked to a halt and bowed. Liam made a face, but Niall had never met any
of the other royal family before and etiquette overruled Liam’s distaste for
formality. “Your Highnesses.” To the princess he added, “Is that for me?”
She nodded, passing it to him along with a quiver. “It’s Daine’s. It’s the only
one no one was using.”
Niall faltered, nearly dropping the quiver. “Is--she’s not--”
“She’s fine,” Kalasin said, smiling. “It was the dragon. It was pregnant and
its baby needed healing, and it pulled the magic from Daine by mistake.”
“Oh.” Niall couldn’t even begin to process that. “Thank you for bringing her
bow.” He bowed again, and turned to look over the open ground between the
castle’s rear wall and the wood. Stormwings circled overhead, jeering. The
guards were moving slowly with their shields held on all sides, but he could
see that they had wounded they were trying to carry, and their archers were out
of arrows; they needed help.
“Liam, can you shield them that far away?”
His friend shook his head. His normally placid face was twisted with
frustration. “I don’t have that much range, and I can’t do more than one shield
at a time. I have to make sure Kally and Maude are safe to heal the guards when
they get back.”
Maude must be the strange woman. Niall nodded and strung the bow. It was even
harder to bend than his bow back at the palace; Daine must be stronger than she
looked. “Let’s make sure they get a chance to do their jobs.”
He practiced drawing the bow a few times. It was shorter than his, but it felt
powerful; he was sure he’d get a good range out of it. “Can I shoot through
your shield?”
“Yes.” Liam seemed to be holding the shield with no effort at all, which was
reassuring. “Here.” The shield’s color bled to the edges, leaving Niall a clear
window.
Niall had an arrow on his string and in the air in an instant. His target was
lagging behind its fellows; they didn’t see it fall. He picked off two more
Stormwings before they realized what was happening.
He was dimly aware of Kalasin and Maude cheering, of Lord Simon taking his
leave, but he didn’t let himself be distracted. The Stormwings were wheeling
towards them, which simply meant they made easier targets. His arrows found
throats and eyes, while Liam’s shield blocked the immortal’s magical fires. On
the ground, the guards were within fifty yards of the gate and closing quickly;
when a Stormwing swooped low to harry them he saw that they had their wounded
on their backs and had broken into a run. He ignored the immortals still
attacking him, trusting Liam’s shield, and focused on swatting any Stormwing
that got within twenty feet of the guards.
It seemed to be over as soon as it began, but when the guards were inside and
he lowered his bow, he realized Liam was sweating, and he was aching miserably
from shooting with arms that were already worn out from stretcher duty. He
stretched, wincing, then felt blessed warmth race through his body, re-knitting
torn muscles and reducing the swelling that had begun.
It was Kalasin. “Mithros,” he murmured, grinning at her. “Thank you, Highness.
You’ll have those guards patched in no time, won’t you?”
Maude laid a hand on her shoulder to guide her down. “Yes, she will. Come along
Kalasin. It’s our turn now.”
Niall stretched again, reveling in his refreshed state. “Eamon’s gonna kill me.
He kept saying he thought his arms were going to pop off his body.”
Liam’s face fell. “Have you been fighting?” he asked.
“Nah, not the first-years. We’re all running errands. Eamon and I are on
stretcher duty.” He tried to keep his smile, but the flush of success was
fading rapidly. “Have you been fighting?”
Liam shook his head, and glared at the castle decks. “They won’t let me. I’ve
been casting shields for the others all morning but they won’t let me go out to
the wall.” He clenched his fist. “These are my people! I should be defending
them, not my mother! She can take care of herself.”
Niall rubbed his back. “I know. I’ve been dying to fight too, but Liam, you’re
the future of the entire realm.” He looked over the courtyard. He could see
their own dead, laid under clean sheets. After that day, he could picture their
friends there far too easily. “We’re all fighting for our future right now. You
can’t expect the people to risk you on the front line, not yet.” He slung an
arm around Liam, who was crumbling with guilt and frustration. “I’m sorry. I
know that didn’t make it better.”
Liam took a deep breath and straightened. “No, you did. You reminded me I’ll
get my chance.” He looked back over the courtyard and the wall beyond. “We just
need to make it through this. The army can’t march, but Lady Alanna and the
King’s Own are on their way.”
“What do you mean, our army can’t march?” Niall waved his arms wildly,
indicating the entire siege. “Isn’t this a war?”
“There aren’t any flags on those barges, and their soldiers aren’t wearing
uniforms. For diplomatic purposes, this is a raid, not an act of war.”
Niall’s entire mind rebelled against that knowledge. “No. I--they can’t just do
that!”
“They can.” Liam smiled wryly. “Aren’t you glad you’ll just be a simple knight?
I’m the one who has to learn all this.”
He reached for the bow, but Niall hugged it to himself. “No. I love this bow.
I’m keeping it. It must have shot nearly three hundred yards!” All right, two
hundred and fifty at best. Small difference. Louis would be telling bigger fibs
than that in the mess.
Liam laughed, to Niall’s relief. “You’ll have to fight Daine for it, and I
don’t like your odds.”
Pouting, he handed it over along with the quiver and began to leave. As he
turned, Liam caught his shoulder. His eyes were troubled. “Niall...be safe out
there.”
He blinked. “I will.” There was an awkward moment, so Niall shrugged it away
and hugged his friend. “You be careful too.”
They clasped arms, then squared their shoulders simultaneously. Laughing at
each other, they parted.
Back on the wall, archers were lowering their bows. The sun was low behind the
Carthaki barges, and the sun was in their eyes. Rather than pressing their
advantage, the raiders were retreating for the day, collecting their fallen as
best they could considering the Stormwings had been at them. Niall was
appalled. Who would fight for rulers who allowed their soldiers to be defiled
by their own allies?
He found Eamon, who was talking to a guardsman, looking uncomfortable. Niall
caught the thread of their conversation. “You’ve done nothing but stand around
all day,” the guard was saying. “While we’ve been doing all the fighting. Why
can’t you take first watch?”
The normally articulate Minchi was struggling for words. “We--I mean, I know,
we’ve just been running errands, it’s just--”
“We haven’t slept,” Niall interrupted. “We rode through the night to get here,
and we’ve not had a proper meal all day. Eamon and I have been up and down
these stairs more times today than you have in a month, carrying more weight.”
The guard looked furious, but Niall stood his ground. “We’ll take first watch
if we have to, but don’t tell us we’ve had an easy day of it.” He softened a
little. “They’re setting up mess tables in the courtyard. If you go now, you’ll
be able to catch your breath for a few minutes before everyone else gets
there.”
The guard sneered and stalked away. Niall let out a breath.
“Thanks,” Eamon said. “I thought he was going to chuck me over the wall.”
“He might have. I can’t blame him.” Eamon arched a brow. “Not because of you,
sorry. Because of...well.” He gestured vaguely. There was no need to be
specific.
They made their way toward the mess tables slowly. Eamon joked that he was half
afraid they’d get sent back to the wall with dinner trays for those who stayed,
and Niall smiled but kept his eyes on the stones under his feet. Eamon nudged
him, then sighed. “It’s all right. I’m afraid to look for them too.”
To Niall’s shame, his throat caught. “They might just be staying on the wall if
they’re not here,” he said quickly. “I know Liam’s fine, at least. I saw him
when Lord Simon pulled me away.”
Eamon’s eyes lit up. Telling the story distracted them both through collecting
food and finding a place to sit; with all the bustle around them, it was almost
like being back in the pages’ mess. With their eyes fixed on their plates it
was easy to pretend that they weren’t straining their ears, desperate for a
familiar voice.
At last, they heard one too loud to ignore. “Did you see me bring down that big
black and grey one? Smashed it, didn’t I?”
“Louis!”
They were out of their seats and tackling their friend in an instant. Louis
laughed and hugged them back, but also looked mildly irritated at having been
interrupted. Beside him, Sigan pouted until Niall spotted him and pulled him
into the tangle.
“So there’s three of you whelps,” Louis said as they broke apart. “Where’s the
rest of our merry band?”
“Harry’s in the healer’s tents,” Eamon said. Louis rolled his eyes and waved as
if to say yes of course I know where Harry is. “Liam’s with the Queen. We
haven’t seen anyone else.”
“That big lout Conal saw you and Eamon earlier,” Sigan added.
“Yeah he, well, actually he saved our lives. From that.” Eamon pointed to where
the dead Stormwing had been pushed against the inner wall and covered with a
tarp. The tips of its wings had slid out and glinted dully in the torchlight.
“I expect now I’ll have to be nice to him until I get a chance to save him from
something too.”
Niall couldn’t keep still. “Has anyone seen Zayn?”
Sigan looked down while Louis looked up at the first stars. Niall’s heart sank.
“Do you know where he was posted? Maybe I could ask around.”
“I’m sorry Niall,” Louis said. “Everything happened so quickly.
“We don’t know where Cador is either,” Sigan muttered. “I tried to go look in
the healer’s tents but they wouldn’t let me in.”
“You don’t want to go in there right now anyway.” That was Harry, who waved at
them all before folding into Louis’ side, obviously exhausted. “Master Numair’s
been lifting the dampener spells all this time so we could work, but he’s
resting now; he must be absolutely wrecked. No magic means no painkillers
except teas.” He glanced back at the tents, then coughed to hide a shudder they
all pretended not to see. “Willow bark’s not doing anyone in there much good.”
They were quiet through the quick dinner. Everyone expected Harry at least to
be back to work afterward, but he shook his head. “They kicked me out.” His
dimple flashed briefly. “Said not to come back until I’d eaten and slept at
least six hours.”
There were chambers below the castle where they could sleep, but Niall
shivered; it would be like sleeping in a tomb. He chose to spread his bedroll
in the stable loft above Rabble instead. She had been anxious all day;
warhorses were not bred to stand quietly in stables while the fight happened
outside, and there was no room in the courtyard to exercise her. Besides, all
the grooms had joined in the fighting, along with every willing and able castle
servant.
The rest of his friends had chosen to stay together while they could, so he was
alone with the horses. He knew the others wanted him close too, but he couldn’t
stand being with them and not know where Zayn was. The stories they were all
telling made it even worse. Sigan had spent an hour fetching javelins for
Sarge, the Riders’ trainer, before a Stormwing nearly crushed him with a
dropped stone. Harry said the best healers were working on him and likely would
be through the night, but Niall couldn’t feel relieved. If a grown man the size
of a bear had fallen, what hope did Zayn have?
Below him, Rabble was stamping and snorting in her stall, and the other horses
were no quieter. He murmured to them, then, when that didn’t work, began to
sing all the poems he’d had to memorize for class.
The animals were all asleep after the first round. He finally slept halfway
through the third.
Chapter End Notes
     Okay so IN ADDITION TO wanting to make Liam a Disney prince, I also
     wanted to, um, make him Captain America. So of course he's a mage
     whose ability is to create shields.
***** Chapter 14 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Niall had woken and mucked half a dozen stalls by the time the stable hands
arrived the next morning, and was reluctant to hand over his pitchfork. When he
walked out the door, he’d be on stretcher duty again. He would have mucked the
entire stable if he could stand to shirk his duty for just a bit longer.
Breakfast was a subdued affair, only mildly improved by Cador’s presence; their
friend had stayed on the wall for first watch while the rest of them were
eating supper the night before. Queen Thayet and Baron George may have been
elsewhere in the castle making rousing speeches, but out in the courtyard only
Louis made an attempt at cheer.
“Come on, lads!” he said. Only the proximity of the healing tents kept him from
bellowing. “It’s a new day, and there’s no telling how this battle will go.
King Jonathan’s had a day and a night to get some help to us. We just have to
last until it gets here.”
“It’s not a question of us lasting,” Cador said. “It’s a question of when the
Carthakis will get tired of waiting and start using their cata--ow!”
He glared at Louis, rubbing his pinched arm. “It’s no use babying them!” Cador
snapped. “You weren’t fooling anyone anyway.”
Louis glared back. “I thought we might pretend long enough to get some
breakfast down.” He nodded toward Sigan, who was pushing his porridge around
silently. Repentant, Cador rubbed Sigan’s back briskly and spoke to him
quietly, urging him to eat.
That left Louis with Harry, Eamon and Niall. Niall tried to smile at Louis’
efforts and forced himself to eat. He wanted his sponsor, damn it. When Zayn
didn’t appear at breakfast, he found his eyes wandering to the rows of the
dead. Varicolored magelights shimmered over the swathed forms, protecting them
until they could be buried. Their presence was proof that Master Numair was
still lifting the dampener spells and possibly had all through the night. Niall
had to wonder how much longer he could hold out.
They all took their positions on the wall as a Stormwing flew overhead and up
to the castle, where Niall could just make out Queen Thayet and her advisors.
He and Eamon eyed each other grimly. It was a no-win scenario. Either Thayet
surrendered and Tortall lost its queen and all the direct heirs to the throne,
or she refused and the Carthakis leveled the castle and took her and her
children anyway.
They had their answer when two of the catapults fired. Luckily, the Carthakis
misjudged the distance and struck only the cliff face below the wall, but it
was still enough to have everyone staggering. Niall dropped to a knee and
pulled Eamon down with him, bracing themselves as another stone ball soared
overhead to smash one of the castle towers.
The next one struck the wall.
Niall fell flat and was dimly aware of Eamon or someone else falling on him.
His ears rang with screams blended with roared orders to retreat, fall back,
get down into the castle, but he couldn’t obey. He’d kept a grip on the
stretcher through it all, and he could hear the cries of the wounded.
Something flashed overhead, shining through the dust choking the air. Still
dazed, Niall vaguely registered that it was a dragon, a gold one, and it was
attacking the ships.
He gave up on trying to comprehend it. He scrambled to his feet and pulled
Eamon up with him. The boys clung to each other as they moved across the
wreckage. Niall kept his head down, on the crumbled stones and the people
trapped beneath them. They weren’t the only ones; many of the guards and
villagers had stayed to help rather than run for the relative safety of the
castle’s lower levels.
It was utter chaos. At one point there was a chorused cry and Niall looked up
in time to see the dragon fall from the sky, crashing through one barge and
sinking it even as others prepared to fire on the castle again. So that was it.
There was no hope for them save trying to survive the destruction.
Niall and Eamon dug until their hands bled, pulling stones off those who could
still run. They gave the stretcher to the first person who reached for it.
There were so many people trapped. The two of them couldn’t bear the
responsibility of deciding who would be carried away and who left behind.
Another chorused scream broke out on the wall, yanking Niall’s attention out
over the water. He froze, staring as enormous tentacles rose out of the waves,
tipping barges and destroying ships. He swayed, and Eamon clutched his
shoulder, nearly fainting. It was too much. A few weeks of history and
etiquette lessons hadn’t prepared them to cope with what was happening right in
front of their eyes.
A broken sob for help called his attention back to his task. He and Eamon stood
again, but they were staggering. They didn’t hear the horns that announced the
arrival of the King’s Own from the north and east, and so didn’t realize that
help had arrived until the men of the Own began moving among them, gently
prying crumbled stone from their hands and sending them away as they took over
the rescue efforts. Niall stumbled into what he thought was a horse but which
turned out to be Sir Raoul, Knight Commander of the King’s Own, who towered
over them almost as tall as Sarge. He smiled at them kindly and nudged them
toward the healers tents, ordering them to sit and wait until someone was free
to tend to them.
Having clear orders was a blessing, especially ones so easily obeyed. They
found a spot in the narrow space between two tents where they could be out of
the way and not see more than they wanted. They didn’t know how long they’d
been there before a healer spotted them propped up against each other with
scabbed-over hands in their laps; long enough that their legs had gone stiff
and they needed help getting up.
The tent they entered contained more benches than beds and the injuries being
treated seemed less severe. The healer who found them healed their hands
quickly, giving them mugs of herbal tea as soon as they could hold them. They
sipped quietly and let healers address their various bumps and bruises at their
discretion, happy to obey when told to stay put and rest.
Niall was aware when someone came and stood in front of him, but he didn’t want
to look up. He was staying put and resting. He’d do something else when the
next order came.
Someone else settled on the bench beside him, close enough that their legs were
touching, and wrapped an arm around him. That was fine; they were warm, and
Niall felt half frozen.
He didn’t move except to catch Eamon’s sleeve when his friend stood up. He
wasn’t ready to be alone, but Eamon smiled and pried his hand off. The person
in front of him turned out to be Harry, who smiled too before leading Eamon
away.
The person beside him twisted to straddle the bench and wrap both arms around
him and he leaned into their chest, all resistance gone. He didn’t realize he
was crying until a rough hand scraped his face, wiping away tears.
“It’s okay,” Zayn said. “I’ve got you.”
Of course it was Zayn. Niall wanted to be happy but instead he fell apart,
pulling his legs up to huddle in a ball against Zayn’s chest and sob. Zayn held
him, stroking his back, his hair, his legs, everything he could reach, and kept
up a steady murmur of reassurance until the storm had passed.
“I looked for you,” Niall finally mumbled into Zayn’s chest. “They had me on
stretchers and every person--all those people lying under their sheets--every
single time, I thought it was you.”
“I’m here,” Zayn said. “Thanks to you.”
Faces and injuries raced through Niall’s mind. He could remember all of them,
from the first woman they’d carried through to the last man he’d dug out of the
ruined wall. “I didn’t. Did I?”
He felt Zayn nod against his hair. “You did. On the north wall.” He shifted,
releasing one arm so Niall could lower his legs and use his ruined shirt to mop
up his face. “I was with the group that attacked the enemy camp.” He lowered
his head to Niall’s shoulder and Niall thought he felt the briefest touch of
Zayn’s lips through his shirt. “Daine’s animals told her one of the neighboring
fiefs were trying to send aide so we hoped to punch through. Stupid probably,
but we were desperate.”
Niall turned then, quickly scooting back on the bench so he could look at Zayn
properly. He looked fine, but his open collar showed the edges of bandages
around his right shoulder. “Are you hurt?”
“I’ll be fine. Healed by no less a person than Her Highness Princess Kalasin.”
He rotated his arm and Niall let out an enormous sigh. “Could probably take the
bandages off, but if I so much as poke them someone comes storming over to pour
tea down my throat and make me lie down.”
He hesitated, then clapped his hand on Niall’s shoulder. “You were amazing, you
know. Up on the wall, clear against the sky, framed by Liam’s shield. Like
something out of legend.”
Niall could only grip his wrist; there were too many people around to throw
himself on top of Zayn the way he wanted. “Mithros, Zayn, if I’d known you were
there I would’ve been useless.”
“No, you would’ve saved me just the same.”
He smiled, and Niall nearly lost it. He thought he knew how handsome Zayn was,
but he’d never looked better than he did at that moment. “Can we get out of
here, do you think? Out of the castle too? Find a quiet haystack somewhere?”
Zayn laughed, and Niall nearly groaned with frustration. “I doubt it. They’re
probably still rounding up the surrendered troops. How did we win, anyway? I’ve
been here since yesterday and no one would tell me anything.”
Niall told him what he could, not bothering to argue with Zayn’s disbelief once
he got to the dragon and the enormous tentacles sinking the Carthaki fleet.
He’d had trouble believing in them when they were right in front of him.
“So I suppose the moral of the story is to stay on Daine’s good side,” he
finished.
Zayn whistled. “No kidding.” He was glancing around them already, sharp eyes
taking note of where they might be of assistance. Niall didn’t want to get up.
If they got up they’d have to help, which wouldn’t be bad, but he’d also have
to stop touching Zayn, which would be horrible.
A healer stopped by with a damp cloth so Niall could wipe his face and hands
properly, then examined them one last time before telling them they could go.
An air of ordered chaos awaited them outside the tent. Villagers were streaming
out of the castle keep to clear rubble and carry food and water while the
King’s Own and the surviving castle guards finished rounding up enemy soldiers
beyond the walls. Niall and Zayn drifted about until they found a man
organizing groups to arm themselves with staffs and check the village for any
hidden nastiness so that the people could return to their homes. They
volunteered at once and wandered away from the others as soon as possible,
dashing into an open stable.
“Wait, wait,” Zayn said breathlessly while Niall did his best to climb him like
a tree. “We have to actually check the place first.”
They darted through the small space, looking in all the stalls and jabbing
their staffs into the hay in the loft. Niall reached his corner and turned to
tell Zayn he was done only to be knocked flat on his back when Zayn dove for
him.
Finally, finally! He had his hands up under Zayn’s shirt in a moment, running
his hands over all the skin he could reach without disturbing his bandages.
Zayn’s breath caught, just like it had at night in their bedrolls, and Niall
was suddenly, blindingly hard, rocking up desperately when Zayn moaned and
ground his hips against Niall’s thigh.
“Let me kiss you,” he pleaded, bracing his hands on either side of Niall’s
head. “Please, can I kiss you?”
Niall laughed. “You can do anything you want to me.” He licked his lips and
panicked for a moment; he still tasted like the horrible tea he’d had in the
healer’s tent.
Zayn’s lips were on him before he could do something foolish, like turn away,
and the next thing he knew several minutes seemed to have passed without him
noticing them at all. Zayn’s lips were as plush as they looked and his kisses
were slow and firm, moving against Niall in waves of pressure that made his
toes curl. He realized at some point he’d gone completely pliant against the
hay, spreading his legs so Zayn could fit between them, and blushed hotly.
Apparently he was a bit of a slut.
Zayn flicked his tongue out to wet Niall’s lip and he made a very embarrassing
mewling sound, but Zayn was pulling away and standing. “What, no, why are you
stopping?”
“We don’t have time,” Zayn said, regret written all over his face. “We still
have this whole street to check, and then they’ll need us for something else.”
He gave Niall a hand up and pulled him close for one last, lingering kiss. “And
when--if I make love to you, we’ll need time.”
Niall held onto Zayn’s shoulders, careful with the side that was still
bandaged. “We will?”
“Mm-hmm.” Zayn nodded, biting his reddened lip so it flushed even darker.
“Hours, maybe days.”
He winked as he turned away, and Niall’s cock twitched futilely. Limping a
little, he followed.
Chapter End Notes
     *laughs nervously* *ducks and runs away*
     Also, reading Wild Mage by Tamora Pierce will tell you what the fresh
     hell was up with the dragon and the tentacles, but only the people
     standing right next to Daine up on the castle deck would have
     understood. I can't get over how completely insane the Immortals War
     would have been for normal people.
***** Chapter 15 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
They slept in the castle that night. With the villagers free to return to their
homes, the rooms weren’t so claustrophobic. It was still somewhat chaotic;
pages and Riders were milling about, searching for friends. It took Niall and
Zayn some time to find Eamon and Sigan, and still more time to find a space for
themselves.
“Wonder how long they’ll keep us here,” Eamon mused. “There’s work to do, but
the villagers are able.”
“I suppose that’s up to Lord Simon,” Niall said.
Sigan flinched. “Lord Simon is dead.”
That produced a stunned silence, then a clamor as the other boys as well as
nearby pages demanded to know more. Sigan waited for them to quiet down. “It
was the same Stormwing that nearly killed Sarge. Lord Simon ran it through but
it still got his throat before it died.” He gulped. “I was right behind him,
bringing Sarge more javelins. I didn’t know for sure until I asked at the tents
today.”
Niall was deeply shaken. Lord Simon was the only adult he’d known among the
nobles of Corus; with his family so far away, it was like being orphaned.
Sergeant Valdeo, Iorek Balstad and the Mithran priests who taught the afternoon
classes barely knew his name.
The others were all busy discussing who might become their new training master
when Louis and Harry found them. They both dove into the discussion eagerly,
naming fiefs that Niall only vaguely recognized. For his part, Niall kept
silent. He didn’t have the first idea who might replace Lord Simon, and he was
exhausted. He forced a smile when Zayn furrowed his brow at him, concerned,
then shuffled into his bedroll and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
+++
The castle’s bells didn’t wake them until mid-morning the next day. When they’d
finished breakfast in the courtyard, Baron George Cooper came out to make an
official announcement of Lord Simon’s passing, and led them for a moment of
silent prayer.
“If you’ll stay and help us with the reconstruction for a few days,” he
continued, “you’ll be able to train with the Queen’s Riders, and accompany them
on the ride back to Corus.”
Helping with the reconstruction turned out to mean hauling away crumbled stone
and returning with roughly quarried stone for the masons who did the actual
building. Their warhorses balked at being hitched up to carts, but the pages
were used to cajoling them by then, and Daine came to help persuade them. It
was exhausting work, but with so many helping it went quickly, leaving time for
equally exhausting afternoon training sessions with Sarge and Rider Commander
Buriram Tourikoum. Niall was grateful. It had been an overwhelming couple of
days, so a chance to shut up and work until he dropped was welcome. By the end
of the day, he was almost tired enough to not mind the fact that he and Zayn
couldn’t get a moment alone together.
The road back to the palace was merry. The Rider’s shaggy mountain ponies were
even more spirited than the warhorses, who towered over them with haughty
disapproval at their antics. The pages could be glad that they only had one
troublesome mount while each Rider had two to manage. He was happy to see that
Win, the girl they’d met on the first day, had survived to ride beside Sigan
and tease him until he was beet red. Sarge and Buri were also a lot less strict
than Lord Simon had been, not enforcing a formation or bellowing for quiet
every hundred yards. Niall hoped their new training master would be similarly
lax, then mentally berated himself for thinking ill of Lord Simon so soon after
his death.
Daine proved to be entertaining company, whether she wanted to be or not. For
one thing, she drove the Rider’s cart with a baby dragon at her side; Niall and
Rabble had nearly walked into a ditch when they saw. The Wildmage had laughed
and invited them closer to meet Skysong, called Kit, who curled into a neat
ball at Daine’s side and chirruped sociably when Rabble stretched over the side
of the cart and blew at her gently. It also wasn’t uncommon for birds or other
animals to hitch rides on the cart, or with the pages and Riders once Daine
explained that they were all very nice and wouldn’t try to pet the animals
(whom she called People) more than they wanted.
The first night they camped Niall turned to Zayn eagerly, but the other boy had
already closed his eyes, seemingly asleep. The same thing happened the
following night. Niall pouted through the mornings, but Zayn only laughed and
whispered, “Wait.”
It was good to arrive back at the palace late on the last afternoon and settle
Rabble in her own familiar stall. It was even better to have a proper bath;
Pirate’s Swoop and its village didn’t have the accommodations for so many
youths, and they’d been washing in cold streams and dressing in dusty shirts
and breeches they could only rinse mostly clean. Fresh clothes and a hot meal
he hadn’t had to go out and shoot for himself made Niall feel like a new man.
There was an expectant murmur in the mess hall as the meal wound down. A
strange man had joined Sergeant Valdeo at the head table, and there could be
only one explanation for his presence. No one was surprised when the mess doors
opened and a servant announced the king.
They all stood to bow, but King Jonathan held his hands up. “Please, keep your
seats. You have done me a great service; the least I can do is let you rest.”
He paused to wait as they resettled themselves, watching with an expression of
mingled remorse and pride. “You have been tested, and you have proven your
immeasurable valor. I cannot even say that you are a credit to your teachers,
for some of you were sent in untrained and unprepared, but proved yourselves
regardless, and defended not only our realm but also my wife and children.
Neither I nor the kingdom will ever be able to thank you enough.
“We suffered. There are empty seats here that mark our losses; even one would
be too costly. In Lord Simon of Cowell the kingdom has lost a noble and loyal
servant who worked tirelessly for many years to lead boys by his excellent
example of chivalry and determination. He will be honored ever after as a hero
of the realm.
“Such a man can never be truly replaced, but your training is too important to
set aside even in mourning. Tortall is blessed with many brave and noble
knights, and I am relieved to announce that one of them has accepted the post
of training master. Lord Wyldon of Cavall will be guiding you with his
excellent expertise and experience, and I have the utmost faith in him.”
At the king’s gesture Lord Wyldon stood. He had grim features accentuated by a
bald pate and thick mustache. Niall got the immediate sense that here was a man
who would drive them hard, and who would be scrupulously just if it killed him.
“I am fortunate enough to begin my tenure with favorable news,” he said. “You
will have a half holiday tomorrow, with no training in the morning. You will,
however, be expected to arrive promptly for your afternoon classes. The day
after tomorrow I will see you bright and early on the practice courts, and will
be taking my measure of you.” His steely gaze ranged over the pages; not a few
of them squirmed under the scrutiny. “With all that has been said of you I
expect to be impressed. May Mithros guide you.”
There was a pause, followed by a ragged “So mote it be” from the pages. It was
the first time anyone had invoked a specific god to a general assembly since
Niall’s arrival. He exchanged a glance with Zayn, and saw Harry and Louis doing
the same. Changes were already afoot, and he wasn’t sure he liked them.
The pages were subdued as they left mess hall, but Harry and Louis perked up
once they were out of the adults’ view, proposing that they spend the evening
with their collected families and the free morning down in the city. The others
accepted readily, eager to meet all the sisters they’d heard so much about.
Niall, however, wasn’t tempted, although he did his best to appear remorseful
as he gave his regrets, saying he wanted to write to his brother and father to
let them know what had happened and that he was all right. Zayn echoed his
regrets, reminding them that he had his own mother and sisters to reassure.
Niall waved to their friends at the turn toward the pages’ hall, only to halt
in dismay when Zayn left with the others. At Niall’s confused pout, he laughed
and doubled back.
“I do actually need to see my family,” he explained, “and you really should
write to yours. I come and find you after, I promise.” Glancing around, he
leaned closer to whisper, “And if you start without me, I’ll make you finish
without me too.”
Niall had no idea what exactly he put in the letter to his family, although he
did look over it several times as he wrote to make sure he hadn’t meandered off
into an ode to Zayn’s eyelashes or worse, the feel of his lean body pressing
Niall’s into the floor.
At that thought he gave up, dashed off some closing lines about how he missed
them and hoped their studies were going well, then signed off and sealed the
letter with unsteady hands. It hadn’t been a long letter, and had probably only
taken him minutes to write. Zayn would spend longer than that with his family.
He needed a distraction.
By the next time the bell rang Niall was pink cheeked and rumpled with the
exertion of practicing his hand to hand fighting. He’d barely finished his last
pattern of blocks and blows before there were hands on his waist and soft lips
on the back of his neck. “You cannot do this,” Zayn groaned. “If you let me
come back and find you like this too much I am never going to live through the
morning practice ever again.”
“That’s probably a problem,” Niall replied, turning half so he could see Zayn
and half just to feel Zayn’s hands slide around his waist. “Since you’re
supposed to help me with my training every evening.”
They kissed, and Niall furrowed his brows in an effort to not lose track of it
as he had at Pirate’s Swoop. He wanted to remember everything, from the way
Zayn’s thumbs stroked along his lowest ribs as he pulled Niall closer to the
way that Zayn’s broad back tapered down to his waist; Niall couldn’t stop
tracing the flare of his shape once he got his hands on him.
Zayn’s kisses were slow and firm, like before, up until Niall went to deepen
the kiss and Zayn just melted, going soft and pliant and letting Niall’s tongue
past his lips to twine with his and Niall lost his mind, kissing harder the
softer Zayn became. He started fumbling with Zayn’s clothes, wanting to get at
all the skin he’d seen when they bathed, but Zayn avoided him, twisting away
from his hands without ever actually pulling away. The motions sent their hips
rocking and brushing against each other and Niall groaned, trying to turn them
to press Zayn against the wall only to get spun and pinned against it himself.
“Zayn, what--oh.” His protests died in his throat as Zayn tugged aside his
shirt to attack the spot where his shoulder met his neck, kissing and tonguing
it gently. Niall breathed Zayn’s name on a long whine, squirming. Zayn released
his wrists when he tugged a little, then caught them again when Niall tried to
remove his own shirt. “Gods, Zayn, don’t make me wait!”
“I’m not, actually. Keep your hands still.” He kissed Niall again before he
could protest, wet lips and tongue making him forget whatever he was going to
say. When one of his legs slid between Niall’s thighs Niall spread them
instinctively, only to try to clamp them together again when Zayn palmed him
through his breeches and loincloth.
Another kiss combined with a long firm stroke distracted him, but only until he
felt his cock jump under Zayn’s hand, rock hard and ready to burst. “Wait,
wait.”
“No,” Zayn replied, speeding up. “I want you to come, Niall.” Niall couldn’t
breathe; he was scrabbling against the wall while his hips rocked with Zayn’s
strokes, rubbing himself against his hand and leg helplessly. “Want to make you
come like this, right away, so I can take my time getting you hard so I can
make you come again.”
Niall didn’t doubt that Zayn could do it; he did doubt that he’d be alive when
he finished. He reached for Zayn, but Zayn caught his wrists in his free hand
and pinned them above his head, watching with a smug little smirk as Niall’s
knees went weak and he sank lower, riding Zayn’s hand and thigh even harder. He
licked his lips and Niall came at the sight just as he had the first night in
the woods, his whole body jerking in Zayn’s grasp.
After that he couldn’t offer so much as a token resistance when Zayn guided him
over to the bed, laying him down and pushing up his shirt to attack his torso.
The warmth of his orgasm coursing through his body had Niall dazed and half
asleep, but he couldn’t pass out with Zayn’s tongue flicking his nipple until
it was perked up sharp and small and shining wet. Zayn nipped it, making Niall
gasp, then shoved his shirt up higher and left him to wrestle it off as he
sucked and tongued his other nipple. Once the shirt was gone he moved up to
Niall’s collarbones, tongue seeking all the sensitive spots that made Niall’s
breath catch. He had to break away to kneel and remove Niall’s shoes and
breeches, but Niall managed to shake away enough of the haze to unwind his own
loincloth, wiping away the mess of his come before balling it up and tossing it
toward his dressing room.
Zayn stood and just looked at him, eyes dark behind lowered lashes as he
slipped out of his own clothes. Niall twitched. “Mithros’ cock, Zayn, you’re
going to kill me.”
Chapter End Notes
     A/N: Next chapter soon aha ;) xx
***** Chapter 16 *****
Zayn seemed to be enjoying himself.
He was slowly working over Niall’s entire body, touching, scratching, kissing,
licking, keeping Niall poised somewhere between screaming and being too blissed
out to mind. Every time he reached the creases angling down over Niall’s hips
he’d linger, following the tantalizing lines, only to stop and move away the
second Niall squirmed.
He did at least stop pinning Niall’s hands so Niall could be free to touch
back, gripping the comforting solidity of Zayn’s arms while Zayn’s legs
bracketed his hips and Zayn’s lips sucked up red marks across his shoulders and
collarbones. “Zayn...Zayn, the baths. Everyone’ll see.”
“Bruise balm,” Zayn murmured, not stopping. “These marks aren’t dark anyway.”
He skimmed his teeth lightly over Niall’s collarbone, making him shudder. “You
bruise so easily. It’s too tempting.”
Niall slid his hands down Zayn’s chest, then gave one of his nipples an
experimental tweak. The groan he got in return was very satisfying. “We could
probably explain one. One dark mark, that I got off a door frame or something.”
“Yeah? Where do you want it?” Zayn ran the tip of his tongue up Niall’s neck,
then murmured in his ear. “Too obvious here.”
His hands were wandering low again, giving Niall several ideas, but at least
one he could use. “Here,” he said, tapping jut of his hipbone. “I bumped into
my desk.”
Zayn shifted lower, and Niall slid his fingers into his hair, tousling the
thick, silky strands so they fell over Zayn’s forehead. His grip tightened the
moment Zayn’s lips touched his skin, pressing a wet kiss to his hip before
sucking hard, and it stung a bit but it felt so good, sharp and clear.
When Zayn finished and reared up to admire his work, Niall couldn’t keep still,
sitting up to reach for him. “Are you--what are we doing?” He stroked Zayn’s
thighs, then, uncertainly, wrapped one hand around Zayn’s cock. “You can fuck
me,” he said, doing his best to keep his voice steady. “You can do anything, I
meant that.”
Zayn rocked into Niall’s grip, then caught his wrist. “Wait, wait, just a
moment.” He got up and went to his clothes, pulling a jar out of his belt
purse.
“What’s that?” Niall asked, lying back when Zayn pushed him gently and swung
his leg over to straddle him again.
“It’s a salve, for keeping your hands soft in the winter.” Zayn looked
embarrassed. “My sisters use it. I didn’t tell them why I needed it, and
luckily they didn’t ask.” He lowered himself until he was kneeling across the
tops of Niall’s thighs, and Niall mentally told his cock to calm down when it
brushed against Zayn’s.
“Keep touching me,” Zayn ordered, lashes low.
Niall gulped and obeyed, setting up a slow rhythm. As he did, Zayn scooped up
some of the salve, coating two fingers, then reached behind himself.
“Don’t stop,” he said. He arched a little and Niall realized he was pressing
his fingers inside himself, getting himself slick for Niall’s cock, and Niall
abruptly felt nervous for a very different reason. He tried to focus on
stroking Zayn but that just led to watching the way Zayn’s foreskin shifted
over the swollen head of his cock and soon he was chewing his lip and looking
up at Zayn pleadingly.
“Gods.” Zayn dove forward suddenly, kissing Niall and pressing their cocks
together and Niall couldn’t breathe. “You look so good and you have no idea, do
you, you think you’re just cute but you make me crazy.” He reached between them
and pulled away the hand that was still clumsily trying to stroke his cock so
he could grind against him.
“You can go crazy,” Niall panted, arching up against him.
Zayn chuckled against his neck. “I really can’t.” He straightened, and Niall
moaned when he stroked Niall’s cock with a hand slick with salve. “We’d never
be able to hide the evidence.”
Then he rose, and sank down onto Niall’s cock, tight and hot and it didn’t
matter that Niall had come once already; he was already ready to explode again,
but he gritted his teeth and hung on desperately, because this was too good and
he needed to savor it. He needed to see the long arch of Zayn’s neck as he
threw his head back, teeth stark white as they sank into his flushed, swollen
lip, and he needed to see the little mindblowing wriggle that Zayn added as he
rose and fell, hips shifting in a mesmerizing figure eight.
He swore to himself that next time he’d manage to do something besides lie
there and take it, but it just felt so good let Zayn ride him, slow and sinuous
at first, then harder and faster until Niall was stammering an apology and
coming for the second time.
He knew he should do something and may have flailed around a little, but Zayn
just planted one hand in the middle of his chest and used the other to stroke
himself, pumping rapidly while Niall chanted encouragement weakly until he
spattered Niall with his come.
Panting, they stared at each other, and Niall felt an enormous, silly grin
spread over his face, but that was all right, because Zayn was grinning too. He
raised his arms and stretched like a cat with a deeply satisfied groan, and
Niall realized he’d never get tired of realizing just how stunning Zayn was.
“Next time,” Niall said. “‘M gonna...you’ll be...no pinning me down, damn it,
selfish bastard.”
Zayn just kept grinning and shifted his weight, making Niall yelp as he
squeezed his softening cock.
“All right, fine, I’ll be just as useless then, but I swear to you, I will
eventually keep my head straight after you start touching me.”
They managed to lie down together on Niall’s narrow bed after cleaning up with
the first thing Niall touched upon groping along the floor, which happened to
be Zayn’s loincloth. Niall immediately rolled over and burrowed into Zayn’s
chest, wrapping his arms and legs around him. Zayn held him until they’d both
caught their breath, then began pulling away.
Niall clung for a moment longer, then let go. He knew Zayn couldn’t stay
through the night, but he couldn’t help wishing he could. He sat up to watch
Zayn dress and use Niall’s comb to put his hair more or less in order.
Zayn bent to kiss him, then sent Niall’s brain spinning by climbing onto his
lap, deepening the kiss until Niall’s cock was making a desperate attempt to
rise a third time.
“Do you have any questions?” Zayn asked, nuzzling him.
Niall struggled to make his tongue form words. “When can we do that again?”
“Maybe tomorrow night.”
“Maybe?”
Zayn chuckled, standing. “Probably.”
He left, and Niall groaned, grabbing his pillow and breathing deeply for the
scent of Zayn.
+++
The pages woke to pouring rain. Niall, hearing it, groaned and went back to
sleep, not rising until Louis pounded on his door.
“We don’t care if it’s raining! We’re still going into the city!” he yelled.
“Get your lily-white arse out of bed, Mullingar!”
Niall staggered up, washed and dressed absently, then toddled into the mess
where his friends had already gathered, minus Liam, whom Niall assumed was
still with his family. There was a tray for him at the empty place beside Zayn
and he lit up, waking properly.
“Thanks, mate!” He sat down, bumping his knee against Zayn’s and holding it
there in lieu of the greeting he wanted to give him. Zayn returned the
pressure, smiling to himself, and joined the others’ conversation about their
plans for the morning. Niall, realizing he was starving, was content to inhale
his breakfast and struggle not to laugh with his mouth full when Harry
pretended he was capable of doing anything other than exactly what Louis wanted
in the exact order he wanted to do it.
They all stopped back in their rooms for their waterproof things (“Louis, it’s
pouring. I know you’re insane and hate wearing coats at midwinter but put on a
bloody cloak”) and trooped out of the palace, anticipating a smaller crowd in
the market district.
NIall didn’t have much interest in the shops, and there wasn’t much to see in
the rain. He did stop when he saw a woman selling lotions and cosmetics,
letting the others get ahead of him before taking a closer look. He spotted a
few jars of the same salve that they’d used the previous night and his eyes
darted to Zayn, who immediately opened his belt purse and pulled out a few
coins to slip into Niall’s palm, enough so Niall didn’t have to empty his own
purse to buy them.
The woman managing the stall snorted when he brought them to her to pay, then
laughed in his face when he blushed hotly. “Delicate skin, love?” she asked,
eyes twinkling.
“Yes,” he snapped. “Thank you.” He shifted awkwardly while the woman wrapped
the jars into a parcel, and ducked out into the rain as quickly as he could.
They found the others outside a tavern with a sign sporting a spouting whale.
The air inside was heavy with the smell and steam of damp people, but it was
good to sit and have a mug of cold lemonade.
“Northerners, are you?” the barmaid said upon hearing Niall and Eamon’s
accents. “We’ve a black ale that’ll beat anything you’d get up in those
mountains.”
Niall looked longingly at the thick foam topping the dark brew, but Eamon was
already answering for them. “We can’t. We’ve classes yet this afternoon.”
“But we’ll remember,” Niall added. At least, he certainly would.
“What have you got there, anyway?” Harry asked, nodding at Niall’s parcel.
He fought down a blush. “Erm...”
“It’s salves for my sisters,” Zayn answered. He thumped Niall’s shoulder
playfully. “No point being a sponsor if I can’t have him carry my things for
me.”
Harry immediately shot a warning glare at Louis, who was grinning. “Don’t get
any ideas, Doncaster.”
“No promises,” Louis answered, eyes dancing.
Niall gave Zayn his own glare. “Don’t you go getting creative either. There are
limits to what I’ll do.”
Zayn responded with an unholy smirk, and waited for the others to move on to
talking over other purchases before leaning close to whisper, “That’s not what
you said last night.”
That time Niall did blush.
“I’m sorry, what was that about pirates?” Cador was turning to straddle the
bench and lean closer to the table beside them, which was occupied by three
men.
One of the men sniffed. “Aren’t you palace? Didn’t you hear? Carthaki pirates
hit one of the southern ports, going after a shipment of spices and tea.
Happened not a fortnight ago.”
That had all of the pages shifting closer to listen. “We’ve been camping,”
Cador explained. “You’ve heard about the attack at Pirate’s Swoop?” The men all
nodded. “We were there.”
The men all wanted to know about that; it was fresher gossip. Cador told what
he could and the others filled in their perspectives, not bothering to argue
when no one wanted to believe them about the immortals and the tentacled beast.
Corroborating gossip from the palace would spread soon enough.
Finally, Cador managed to coax the men back to the attack on the southern port.
“‘Twere a daft notion, attacking a Tortallan merchant,” one of them said. “They
travel armed, and the scum got nothin’ for their trouble. Anyway.” He stood,
and his friends stood with him. “Back to work, hey.”
They left, and the pages huddled to discuss.
“Zayn, have you got family near the ports?” Eamon asked. “They might want to
move north like your father.”
Zayn shook his head. “There’s not much grazing near the coasts, and anyway, no
Bazhir would give up their holdings to hide from a gang of pirates.” He
furrowed his brow. “My father didn’t say anything about this yesterday; the
Bazhir must not be involved yet, if it all happened at sea.”
“What pirates would be stupid enough to enter waters patrolled by the strongest
navies in the Western Lands anyway?” Niall wondered.
“Ones that don’t have to fear at least one of them,” Cador replied. “And, lad,
I love Tortall as much as you do, but the strongest navies in the Western Lands
belong to Carthak and the Yamani Islands. We might even rate lower than the
Copper Isles.”
“You’re probably right,” Zayn agreed, sighing. “Tortall’s strength is in its
knights, not its sailors.”
“Even the Lioness is useless at sea,” Cador said. The others stared
incredulously. “It’s true! My brother Raoul told me! She was seasick for the
whole trip back with the Dominion Jewel.”
“Speaking of which, I’m not sure the Jewel would be any good either,” Harry
mused. “It works on the earth of Tortall; I don’t know if its powers extend
beyond the coasts.”
“Well, we’d better hope this whole mess really is just a bunch of mangy
pirates,” Louis said, standing; they needed to get back up to the palace for
the noon meal. “Because otherwise we’re facing the Carthaki navy on two
fronts.”
***** Chapter 17 *****
As predicted, the mark on Niall’s hip caught everyone’s attention in the baths.
Unfortunately, no one believed he’d gotten it on the corner of his desk.
“That, young Mullingar, is a love bite,” Louis proclaimed, while the others
grinned delightedly. “Believe me, I’d know.”
“Just because you chomp on Harry whenever you want doesn’t make you an expert,”
Niall retorted. Everyone looked at Harry, or more accurately at the blooming
red mark on his neck.
Harry just shrugged.
Niall thought longingly of a simpler time when he didn’t have any friends.
“It does, actually,” Louis insisted. He rounded on Zayn, who looked utterly
uninterested. Niall wanted to kiss him. “Did you see him last night? Do you
know what time he got back to his room?”
Zayn rolled his eyes. “Look, it’s none of our business what Niall gets up to--”
“It is!”
“--and a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell anyway,” Zayn continued, waving Louis’
protest aside, “so leave the poor lad alone.” He splashed a handful of water in
Louis’ indignant face, leaving him sputtering. “Now may we finish washing? This
will be our first proper meal with Lord Wyldon and I don’t want to be late.”
Louis wiped his eyes clear and tackled him.
Niall made a mental note to thank Zayn very, very sincerely the first chance he
got.
+++
“There’s a stone statue of a knight in full armor with its visor down in one of
the upper galleries,” Eamon whispered, “and it’s got more life in it than Lord
Wyldon does.”
The others all nodded in dismay. The new training master sat at the head table
eating methodically while performing an unsubtle inspection of the gathered
pages. He murmured to Sergeant Valdeo often without taking his eyes off the
boys, and the sergeant murmured back, clearly bringing Lord Wyldon up to speed
on their names and progress. It was impossible to guess what Lord Wyldon was
thinking. His face was the most expressionless that Niall had ever seen.
Those sharp eyes edged closer to their table, and they all were suddenly very
busy inspecting their food.
“When I look at him,” Harry said in a low voice, “all I can see is the practice
court, under heavy sleet and wind.”
Everyone shuddered.
“I don’t like that he’s brought back saying grace,” Louis added. When they’d
assembled, Lord Wyldon has said a long prayer invoking Mithros, asking him to
grant them discipline and steadfastness. It was common practice for knights and
soldiers and such since Mithros was the god of law and war, but Niall hadn’t
liked the way Lord Wyldon seemed to turn the benediction into a reprimand. They
hadn’t given him any reason to doubt them yet.
“I don’t like it either,” Zayn agreed quietly. “The custom changed under King
Jonathan and his progressives. If Lord Wyldon’s openly defying it, who knows
what other old fashioned notions he’ll force on us next?”
“I’ll bet he hates the Gift,” Sigan said, nudging Harry. “He looks like the
sort to stitch up his own wounds and then jump right back into a fight.”
Harry nodded. “There isn’t much gossip about him, but what little there is says
he’s a conservative to the bone.” He frowned. “He’d better not cut the magic
classes. I learned so much at Pirate’s Swoop; it’d be such a waste if all the
mages had to stop now.”
“Could he?” Niall asked. He didn’t know much about the intricacies of court
politics. “Wouldn’t that be in defiance of the King?”
“Duke Roger’s attempt at the crown wasn’t that long ago,” Eamon said. “King
Jonathan’s uncontested now, but he’s been pushing a lot of changes, and the
conservatives are still powerful at court. Lord Wyldon could force his hand.”
He glanced around. “Where’s Liam when we need him? He’d know better than me.”
They didn’t see Liam at lunch, but he was already settled in the room when they
went to their reading and writing class. They swarmed around him, particularly
Eamon, who’d been without a sponsor since Pirate’s Swoop. There wasn’t time to
do much besides muss up his hair before class started, but Niall felt immensely
better. With their group reunited and classes resuming, they could really start
to leave Pirate’s Swoop behind them.
Master Yayin, the Mithran priest teaching them, certainly made no allowances
for their time away. He quizzed them on rules of composition that they’d
learned at the start of the year, hissing when the pages struggled to remember.
Before they left, he assigned Niall some Yamani legends to read, raising an
eyebrow when his face fell. “Problem, Page Niall?”
“No, Master Yayin,” Niall said quickly. “It’s only that I was starting to enjoy
the poetry.”
He returned to his seat under the priest’s bemused smile, and glanced at Zayn,
who shrugged with a small smile of his own.
Mathematics passed as usual, but when they arrived for etiquette they were
surprised to find Master Numair and Daine waiting for them.
“Given the events at Pirate’s Swoop, your masters have requested that we begin
your classes on immortals and magic sooner rather than later,” Numair began.
A few pages looked pale; they’d been looking forward to forgetting about
Stormwings and their ilk. They braced themselves for unpleasant reminders, but
before their teachers could begin there was a whistle, and the classroom door
swung open.
The pages started, gobsmacked, as the tiny dragonet Skysong, called Kit, walked
in and raised herself on her hind paws so Daine could lift her. The hour passed
in delighted wonder as Kit demonstrated her ability to make various stones glow
by whistling different notes. Numair spelled himself invisible and vanished
among the pages, but Kit found him every time, walking up to him and croaking
irritably until he made himself visible again. Daine provided a lecture on her
diet and sleeping habits, and explained that adult dragons were disciplined
scholars and mages with clear language and histories, despite their resemblance
to mortal animals. The class ended with Kit graciously allowing them all to
stroke her soft scales, making colors ripple under their hands.
“You are the loveliest, cleverest darling I’ve ever seen,” Harry murmured,
smitten.
Kit chirruped, preening, and nodded to Daine to indicate that class was over
and she was ready to be carried back to their rooms.
It was lucky that history with the easy-going Sir Myles was their last class,
since the pages were still wonderstruck when they filed in and took their
seats. The topic of the day was naval battles, and the discussion confirmed
much of what Niall’s friends had said in the tavern that morning: that
Tortall’s navy was relatively weak, and likely too reliant on their allies the
Yamanis, who could provide aide in a war but who couldn’t be called upon for
defense against pirates allegedly acting without the support of another nation.
Rested from their morning without practice, the pages were fairly bouncing off
the walls by the time they poured into the mess hall, carrying on their
discussions from history class between tales of how they’d used the rare free
time. Lord Wyldon’s prayer for steadiness and dignity did little to quiet their
chatter; they were all already learning to tune him out, and they hadn’t even
had a proper training session with him.
To Niall’s surprise, Zayn walked right past the empty space at his side to sit
down across from him, between Louis and the prince. The two of them were deep
in conversation with Liam, but Niall didn’t know why Zayn couldn’t talk to them
from the other side of the table.
Niall did his best to shrug it off, joining Harry and Sigan’s conversation
instead, then abruptly choked when he felt a nudge against his crotch.
He coughed, dislodging the bit of carrot that had caught in his throat, and
spilled juice down his chin when he gulped it hurriedly. The pressure on his
crotch stayed there the whole time, rubbing him to hardness in seconds, but
when he wiped his watering eyes Zayn was looking at him with the same confused
concern as all their friends.
“You all right, Niall?” he asked, all innocence.
Niall could have punched him. What blood hadn’t pooled in his groin was
flushing his face and neck bright red. “Fine,” he croaked. “Swallowed wrong.”
Harry hummed sympathetically and rubbed his back, which did absolutely nothing
to distract him from what he realized was Zayn’s foot in the soft leather shoes
they wore indoors, rubbing and nudging his cock until he was ready to moan out
loud. “Just, um.” He gulped down more juice, and mopped up the mess he’d made
spilling it before. “Just need to catch my breath.”
Mentally willing them to stop looking at him, damn it, he slipped his hand
under the table to try to shove Zayn’s foot away. Zayn dropped his foot before
he could touch it, returning to his conversation without missing a beat,
leaving Niall struggling to focus his eyes and remember how words worked.
Zayn tormented him twice more during the meal, rubbing him until his cock was
leaking and he had to worry about a visible wet spot soaking through his loin
cloth and leggings. Standing to return his tray when the meal ended was almost
beyond him, and he thought thankful prayers to every god he could think of for
the evening uniforms with their long tunics that hid his desperate condition.
He was ready to drag Zayn back to his room and maul him, but Zayn grinned at
him, throwing him off yet again.
“Let’s study in the library tonight, yeah?” he said. “I really need to stop
letting you pick up my antisocial habits.”
The others, naturally, thought this was a brilliant idea.
Niall hated every single one of them.
Words swam in front of his eyes as he struggled to work in the library, and no
amount of blinking could set them right. Mathematics were nearly beyond him;
Eamon had to explain the steps to him twice before he could do a single problem
correctly. Zayn paid no attention to him at all, but he was fiddling with his
quill, running it through his fingers and stroking the end over his lips and
his neck until all Niall could think about was kissing him, possibly biting
him, anything to pay him back for the way his cock was throbbing inside his
clothes.
Zayn finally let up after half an hour or so, focusing on his work so Niall
could scrape his thoughts together enough to finish his assignments. Niall
didn’t look up again until he’d finished making notes on the legends Master
Yayin had assigned him, committing the main points to memory for the oral
report he’d have to give the next day. When he did, Zayn caught his eye, his
own assignments collected in a neat stack on top of his books.
“Zayn,” he said, proud of how normal he sounded, “could you watch me for staff
practice? I haven’t touched anything but a bow in days.”
“Sure. I want to practice a little too, actually.” They stood, bidding their
friends good night. Niall’s cock, aching now with denied release, quickened
again as they walked through the halls. Niall had to stop at one point,
checking to make sure no one was around before adjusting himself quickly,
nearly moaning the second he touched his cock.
“Fuck,” Zayn muttered.
Niall glared at him, grabbing his arm and bolting down the last few halls to
his room. He let his classwork drop to the floor and barely gave Zayn time to
set his own on the desk before he was on him, shoving him against the wall and
grinding his erection against Zayn’s thigh.
“I am going to ruin you.”
***** Chapter 18 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
“Thank the gods,” Zayn gasped, pushing Niall away to begin yanking his clothes
off. Niall followed his example. “I almost lost it when they wouldn’t take
their eyes off you in the baths.” Naked, he pulled Niall close again, his
erection pressing into Niall’s hip. Their height difference left Niall rubbing
against Zayn’s thigh, not that he minded. It was a very firm thigh.
“So torturing me at dinner was what, revenge?” Niall bit at Zayn’s collarbone,
then sucked on the same spot, delighted to see that it blushed only for a few
seconds before fading. No need to be gentle, then.
“Not against you--fuck.” Zayn pulled his hips away. “Bed, bed. And where that
bloody salve?”
Niall groped under the bed for where he’d tucked the salve beside his guitar.
When he straightened Zayn had spread himself out, hard and naked and there for
Niall’s taking.
Sweet merciful Goddess, you’ve been so good to me, Niall thought. “Then what
was the point of trying to make me come in the middle of the mess hall?”
Zayn tugged until Niall was stretched out between his thighs. Niall considered
never leaving. “I wanted to remind myself that I could, I guess,” Zayn
murmured. He ran his hands down Niall’s back to his ass, which he squeezed.
“That they can look all they want, but they don’t get to touch.”
Niall groaned, squirming when Zayn’s fingers dipped lower to brush over his
sack. “Selfish bastard. Only son, right? I bet your mother and sisters spoiled
you rotten.”
“Absolutely.” Zayn arched beneath him with a lazy grin. It made Niall want to
bite him so he did, right on the nipple.
“Fuck!” Zayn writhed but Niall held his ground, licking and sucking before
biting again. “Niall...Niall! It’s not a chunk of venison, that hurts.” Niall
pulled away quickly. “No, don’t stop!”
“I want...” Niall licked his lips. He was embarrassed, but he was also hard
enough to hammer nails, and arousal prevailed. “With my mouth, I want...I want
to suck your cock.” That got him Zayn’s rapt attention. He grinned. “Tell me
how?”
Zayn grinned back. “First rule: no bloody biting, you cannibal.” He pushed
himself further up the bed, giving Niall more space to move to back.
“The second rule,” he continued, gesturing grandly at his very eager erection,
“is that anything else you do is going to feel amazing, so don’t be shy.”
Niall cocked his head, considering, then ran his tongue over the crown, slow
and thorough.
Zayn’s entire body twitched and his breath caught. Niall considered the salty
taste, shrugged, and decided to see if he could swallow him all the way.
He couldn’t, but Zayn’s breath caught again so Niall figured it was fine. He
bobbed his head, getting used to the feel, then opened his mouth to lick all
over until Zayn’s entire cock was shining wet.
“How am I doing?” he asked.
Zayn dropped his fist from where he’d been biting his knuckles. “Fantastic,” he
gasped. “Now don’t stop or I’ll molest you at breakfast tomorrow, too.”
Niall sincerely hoped Zayn would find ways to molest him in every room of the
palace.
Sucking hard got him an almost-pained grunt; bobbing his head got a long sigh
of relief. Stopping to flick his tongue in Zayn’s slit between idle musings
about the next day’s training produced growled threats, but repeating the move
after many minutes of eager exploration, including an intermission where he
stroked Zayn all over with both hands while he recovered his breath, produced
high-pitched whimpers.
“Niall, Niall, oh gods, Please.” Niall swiped his tongue over the flushed head
again and Zayn bucked, smearing wetness across Niall’s cheek. “Your hand or
your mouth, I don’t care, I’m close...”
Niall swallowed him again, bobbing as deep and as fast as he could.
Zayn came like a shot and Niall could feel it, the way his cock pulsed hard
between his lips and over his tongue. The bitterness of the come was an
unpleasant surprise, but he swallowed it, more or less, only making a little
bit of a mess when he had to pull away to gasp.
Zayn stroked himself tightly, milking the last waves of his orgasm, his legs
drawing up to squeeze Niall’s sides as he moaned, and Niall had to clench every
muscle in his body to keep from coming right then.
“Please,” was all he said, but Zayn understood, turning over and burying his
face in Niall’s pillow, his hips tilted up in invitation.
Eagerness notwithstanding, Niall had to pause. Zayn’s hole was red, and a bit
puffy. “This looks...painful.” It was a little frightening, actually. “Did I do
this to you?”
“Um. Well.” Zayn held up two fingers, waving them vaguely. “Last night, I woke
up and was thinking of you...and then this morning, again, and I’d left the
salve here.” Niall made a noise somewhere between disbelief and being immensely
smug. Zayn glared over his shoulder. “So yes, you did this to me, you brat.”
Niall licked him in response, right over his swollen hole.
“Niall!”
“Well I can’t fuck you like this.” Zayn was hot under his tongue and tasted a
bit like soap. So considerate of him. “You’ve gone and wanked yourself raw over
me. Just how lonely were you last year?”
“Kick me while I’m down, why don’t you,” Zayn groaned. He fumbled around for
the salve, shoving Niall’s face away blindly before smearing some along his own
cleft. “Rub.”
Confused, Niall stroked him.
“Fuck’s sake, Niall, your cock. Just don’t try to push inside.”
Oh. “Well since you asked so nicely.”
It was awkward at first; he’d never been in this position before in his life,
and Zayn wasn’t saying much besides grunting and humming and sounding like he
was about to melt into Niall’s bed, but the sweet slick curve of his ass was
heaven so Niall just buried his face against Zayn’s neck and rutted, so slowly
he wanted to scream. After a while Zayn realized he was doing his best to draw
it out and did his best to undermine his intent, the bastard.
“Getting comfortable here, are you?” he murmured, flexing his ass under Niall’s
hips and making him whimper. “I bet you’re gonna make me wait for ages the next
time you fuck me.”
Niall shuddered, speeding up in spite of himself.
“That’s it,” Zayn continued. Niall could practically hear his smirk. “Screw me
slow and leave my dick hanging until I’m begging you to touch me.”
“Fuck’s sake, Bradford!” Niall pressed hard, barely aware that he was biting
Zayn’s neck and shoulders as he gave up and just came, all over his back and
the crease of his arse, rutting into it all helplessly until his cock hurt and
he had to stop.
It was a long time before he could do anything besides cling to Zayn and pant.
He made an unhappy sound when Zayn finally began to pull away and look for his
things, but he did have the presence of mind to go and get him a washcloth.
Zayn dressed himself and drew Niall close for a last kiss, slow and tender and
half asleep on his feet, and Niall wanted nothing more than to pull him back
into bed and not let go until morning.
His last coherent thought as he stumbled through cleaning his teeth was that he
was completely, pathetically, in over his head.
+++
The next morning dawned dark and rainy like the one before, as though the gods
were determined to have the pages perform poorly at their first practice
sessions with their new training master. Niall’s cheerful greeting at breakfast
was met with even more grumbles than usual.
He snatched up the honey pot before the others could take it away, then almost
dropped it when Louis spoke.
“So your lover lives here in the palace, then?”
Louis was smirking evilly, and the others all suddenly looked much more awake.
“What are you talking about, Doncaster?”
“Thought I forgot about the lovebite, eh? First that and now look at you.”
Louis gestured at him, inviting the others to examine his rapidly reddening
face. “You’re glowing!”
“I’m always like this in the morning! You lot are always abusing me for it!”
Louis waved this away. “You’re glowing. Usually you’re just a ray of sunshine
but this morning you’re an entire sparkling sky with a rainbow and songbirds.
It’s disgusting. So who is it?”
Zayn sighed. “Louis, you’re an idiot if you think Niall is capable of hiding a
lover without running to me in a panic begging for advice, and he hasn’t. Ergo,
no secret lover. Now stop torturing him.”
Louis narrowed his eyes. “You’re lying for him.” Zayn just stared at him. “All
right, I don’t know that you’re lying because you’re dead inside and impossible
to read, but I think you’re lying for him because little Niall has absolutely,
positively had immensely satisfying sex in the last twenty-four hours.”
Sigan chimed in. “Are you sure you aren’t just frustrated, Louis?” The first-
year grinned when Louis slowly swivelled around to glare daggers at him. Beside
him, Cador placed a large hand on his shoulder, silently reminding Louis that
he was Sigan’s sponsor.
“And what do you mean by that, exactly?”
“Just that you seem a tiny bit obsessed--”
“Look at him!”
“--and that it might possibly be because you’re a tiny bit lonely yourself.”
Louis nearly turned purple before launching into his own defense, giving Niall
time to calm down and start shovelling porridge into his mouth before anyone
else could ask him more questions.
When he glanced up, Zayn winked at him, eyes sparkling.
Niall melted a little.
His life was getting complicated, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world.
+++
Hand-to-hand and staff practice passed without incident, at least not for Niall
and his friends. Lord Wyldon watched them from a distance at first, as though
wanting to get a measure of the pages as a group, then moved through their
ranks, correcting grips and stances as he went. He lingered for some time when
he reached Zayn, watching him go through several rotations of blocks and blows
before moving on without comment. Niall couldn’t help feeling a bit smug. None
of the training masters ever had a criticism for Zayn.
Niall was surprised to find that he was quite happy to take up his old longbow
when he reached the archery courts. Daine’s bow had been easier to draw, but
he’d earned his skill with his bow through weeks of practice. He was proud of
the ways his arrows clustered neatly in the center of his target, up until a
deep voice broke his concentration.
“Page Niall?”
His next shot went wide, sinking just at the outer rim of his target.
“Ugh.” He grimaced, then wiped the look off his face quickly; it had been Lord
Wyldon who spoke. “I’m sorry, milord. I was caught up.”
Lord Wyldon was as impassive up close as he had been at the head table. Niall
couldn’t guess what he wanted. “Sergeant Valdeo told me that you distinguished
yourself in the siege at Pirate’s Swoop.”
“He--I did? It was only a few Stormwings, and Liam--Prince Liam was shielding
me--” Lord Wyldon’s lips were thinning and Niall stopped his stammering and
straightened. “It was kind of Sergeant Valdeo to remember me.”
“Indeed.” Lord Wyldon looked like he was having trouble reconciling the account
with its subject. “Given your skill with a bow, it would be best to advance you
to the moving targets.”
Niall swallowed his disbelief and simply followed Lord Wyldon to the other end
of the range where smaller targets swung on ropes. The only other pages there
were tall enough to be fourth-years; even Zayn didn’t practice here yet.
Lord Wyldon pointed out the simplest target. It was an ordinary circle with the
red dot at the center, but it hung from a frame of wood and was already swaying
in the faint breeze. Lord Wyldon shot it, demonstrating that doing so made the
target swing and twist madly, so it was harder and harder to hit the longer one
practiced. It was very different from shooting a Stormwing or a hurrok. The
immortals were swift, but they were solid; if he aimed true his arrow was sure
to strike. When Niall shot at the target he didn’t get his arrow in at all. It
just knocked the target with a glancing blow and clattered to the ground.
Lord Wyldon nodded, as if that were normal, and went back to watching the
practice, leaving Niall to scowl at the twirling target.
He was still puzzling over how to adjust his technique when the pages left the
courts and probably would have continued to do so through the horseback
practice if they’d gone through the usual drills. When they reached the
stables, however, the first-years found new gear waiting in the stalls. Padded
saddles with high fronts and backs, along with reins, double girths and collars
could mean only one thing: the lance.
“Finally!” Louis ran past him to his own horse, a dappled gelding with big,
heavy bones like Rabble’s. They’d lagged a little on the ride to and from
summer camp, but Niall had a feeling he was about to be impressed.
Stablehands approached the first-years to show them how to handle the new gear.
Niall paid close attention, but had to interrupt when it came to fastening the
girths. Rabble had sucked in a big bellyful of air, making herself bigger than
she really was, and she held it for nearly a minute while Niall coaxed her to
please, please not make him embarrass himself on the first day of jousting.
She finally blew out a long snort, allowing him to cinch the girth securely. He
and the stablehand got everything in order just in time for him to ride out at
the end of the string of pages. A fourth-year that Niall knew in passing to be
Dolf of Masbolle passed lances to the new boys. It felt good in Niall’s hand as
long as he held it upright, but tilting it even a little made him feel its
weight.
Servants had set up a row of quintains for the pages’ practice. Each consisted
of a dummy with an arm that stretched out, holding a target with the familiar
red dot at the center, and a second arm which bore a sandbag. Lord Wyldon rode
at the first quintain, bringing down his lance to strike neatly in the center
of the target, so that the dummy spun just a quarter of the way around.
“Strike anywhere other than that circle and you’ll take a buffet from the
sandbag to correct you,” he told them. He sent the older pages to practice.
Niall, at the end of the line of first-years, had time to see several of his
friends get the breath thumped out of them when they missed their targets. He
was surprised to find that even Zayn missed. Louis, however, did not. His lance
hit perfectly and the quintain snapped in a neat quarter-turn circle as he
thundered by.
When his turn at the quintain came Niall urged Rabble into a fast canter; he’d
seen enough of his year-mates nearly clouted out of the saddle to know better
than to gallop. His lance wobbled madly in his grip anyway and he only just
struck the edge of the target, earning a thump that made him knock Rabble’s
neck with the side of his lance. She jerked with indignation, rearing slightly,
and Niall’s head spun as he tried to catch enough breath to apologize.
“Back in line, Mullingar!”
Niall nodded to Lord Wyldon and finally managed to steer Rabble around to their
place, promising both his mount and himself it wouldn’t happen again.
He did manage to avoid injuring Rabble, though he never did strike the target
circle that afternoon. Later, at lunch, Louis was all happy grins.
“It’s because he’s got lead in his arse,” Harry explained, smacking the arse in
question as Louis walked past with his tray. “He’s like a rock in the saddle,
and he never misses.”
“Unlike some people,” Cador ventured, glancing at Zayn. “I’ve never seen you
screw up anything. You were all right with the lance last year.”
“I got a new one over the summer,” Zayn said quietly. “It’s weighted with a
lead core, and I haven’t got the feel of it yet.” The pages stared at him and
he shrugged. “What? All my other practice weapons are weighted too.”
Niall had the urge to drop something slimy down Zayn’s overachieving back. He
suspected he wasn’t the only one.
Zayn waved a regal hand, tucking into his lunch. “It’s only because you lot are
so manly and heroic. I have to keep finding new ways to make you look bad.”
Chapter End Notes
     Keladry of Mindelan is my favorite heroine and since she's too young
     to be in this fic I am shamelessly lending Zayn some of her traits to
     make up for it. Let's pretend that his weighted lance becomes a
     legend among the pages and that's where Joren gets the idea to give
     Kel a weighted lance a few years later.
     If none of that made sense to you, omg read The Protector of the
     Small series.
     If that did make sense to you, I have one more note: Dolf of
     Masbolle, the page with the lances, is, in my head, a brother of
     Kel's buddy Domitan.
***** Chapter 19 *****
“It’s hot.”
Zayn didn’t look up. It was Sunday, and he was making the most of their free
day by trying to read on his bed while Niall sprawled next to him and whined.
“It’s summer. It’s been hot.”
“But isn’t it supposed to be cooling down for fall soon? It’s hotter than it
was when I got here!”
“Should’ve stayed up in your nice snowy mountains then, Mullingar. Now hush or
go away. I’ve been trying to read this book for weeks.”
“Can’t you read outside? By the swimming hole?”
That finally drew Zayn’s eyes away from the page. “Right. Because I could focus
on anything with you splashing around naked right under my nose.”
Niall grinned, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “And just think, no one will
think anything of it if you want to wrestle me under the water or even pin me
down.”
The book slipped out of Zayn’s hands, forgotten, as he crawled over Niall’s
body, pushing him flat. “Why bother going to the swimming hole when I could do
anything I want to you now?”
Niall swallowed. “It’s hot.” Zayn was unbothered. “I’m all sweaty.” Zayn licked
his lips. “Fuck. Um.” He tried another wheedling smile. “I just really want to
go swim? Please?”
Zayn froze, then buried his face against Niall’s with an exasperated noise.
“All right.” He rose again and treated Niall to a kiss, just long and lingering
enough to leave him a little breathless. “Let’s go.”
He got up, collecting towels and not even bothering to retrieve his book.
“Really?” Niall asked, following him. “Just like that? If I ask nicely will you
scour my practice weapons for me too?”
“Don’t push your luck,” Zayn muttered.
+++
It seemed like every page in the palace had had the same idea; the water was
already full of pink and white bodies when they arrived. Sigan was stripped
down on the bank, rubbing sun balm on his legs while Harry spread it over his
back and told him that he’d need to let it soak in for a few minutes before he
got in the water.
“Hi Niall!” Sigan called, seeing them. “I can do your back as well while I
wait, if you like.”
“Cheers!” Niall said, dropping his towel (well, Zayn’s towel really) and
shucking his shirt. “I forgot mine, actually, so if I can use a bit of yours
it’ll be my shout next time.”
Sigan shrugged and handed the jar over, but Zayn took it before Niall could.
“I’ve got it. And I’ve still got that other jar of sun balm, if either of you
run out.” He started spreading the oily balm over Niall’s back, careful to keep
his touch brisk, and Niall did his best to not dissolve into the ground. It
felt exactly like when Zayn’s hands stroked over him after he’d fingered
himself slick and open and ready to fuck.
This swimming excursion had been a horrible idea.
The hum of arousal didn’t leave him the entire afternoon and the cool water
only barely held him in check. It was lucky that all the pages were rowdy,
wrestling and splashing; no one noticed if Zayn barely took his hands off
Niall. There was a dangerous glint in his eyes when Liam tackled Niall, but he
spent it on wrestling with Louis instead of trying to drown the heir to the
throne.
It was a damp, happy, exhausted lot that made its way back to the palace as the
sun went down. They still had a couple hours before dinner; the days were
shortening even if they hadn’t lost any of their heat. Yawning pages stumbled
into their rooms to nap, too tired to notice that Zayn and Niall barely made it
into Niall’s room before leaping into each other’s arms.
“The bed,” Zayn whispered, almost pleading. “I just want to touch you, come
on.”
Niall ended up stretched out on his belly while Zayn stroked his back, echoing
his touch from earlier. His hands wandered lower and lower until he was
kneading Niall’s ass, thumbs dipping into the cleft to make him shiver.
“Gorgeous, you know that right?” Zayn said softly. “I mean, I think I know
that, but then I see you, out in the sun, and I just want to snug up between
your thighs and never leave.”
Niall hummed with contentment. “Then do it.” He tilted his hips up, wriggling
when Zayn stilled. “Do it. Fuck me.”
“Niall.”
“Come on.” He turned over and immediately melted a little at seeing Zayn’s
concerned face in the golden late afternoon light. “You like it. I bet I’ll
like it too.”
“You don’t--”
“I know I don’t have to.” When Zayn still looked uncertain he sat up to kiss
him, lips sliding cool and damp from the water. “You don’t have to either, but
if you want to, I want it too.”
Zayn pressed his face into Niall’s neck, scraping him with a day’s worth of
stubble. “You have to stop me if it hurts. It probably will, no matter what I
do.” He lifted his head to meet Niall’s eyes squarely. “This isn’t a time when
you have to be brave, okay?”
“I’ll tell you.” He butted his head against Zayn’s, gently. “I trust you.”
They kissed again, warming quickly. Niall’s skin felt bright and tingly from
the sun, like Zayn was striking sparks as he skimmed his hands over Niall’s
arms, back, legs. His tongue moved sweetly against Niall’s, stroking the roof
of his mouth, making him groan.
“We need you to relax, Niall.”
He felt like he was about to float out the window. “I’m relaxed.”
“Not relaxed enough.” Zayn nuzzled his throat until Niall fell back, then
licked and sucked and nibbled his way down his neck and collarbones to tease
his nipples until they were hard and hot to the touch.
“Mithros, Zayn, are you trying to fuck me or kill me?” He felt like he’d been
hard for hours. It hadn’t been easy seeing Zayn out in the sun with his hair
dripping over his eyes and lips and down his body, darkening the trail of hair
leading down his belly to his cock, out in broad daylight for anyone to see.
Niall wanted to fuck him when he was like that, whole body soaked and slippery
soft so it’d be messy, sloppy, frustrating in the best way.
Zayn’s tongue slid over the head of his cock, snapping him back to the present.
First things first.
Light, flicking licks to the edge of the crown had Niall’s toes curling, while
a long, slow lick from top to bottom and back again had his eyes rolling up in
his head. Zayn wasn’t even sucking properly, just tasting him with perfect
leisure.
“Hey,” he gasped. “Y’know, you make me come, I’ll definitely relax.”
“Not yet,” Zayn murmured, not even looking up from where he was turning his
attention to Niall’s balls and treating them to those evil little kitten licks
that made Niall throb.
“I don’t...”
“Mmm?”
The inquisitive hum buzzed through him like lightning. “Fuck! Zayn! I don’t do
this to you every time I fuck you!”
Zayn responded by finally, finally, parting his lips and sucking Niall deep,
swallowing around him just once before sliding off again. “You do though. You
do exactly this to me, without even meaning to.”
Niall gave up, and just did his best to breathe.
The slow, methodical tease continued with Zayn alternating between sucking his
cock only to pull away and run the palm of his hand over the head in smooth
circles, the pleasure white hot but still not enough to make him come. Niall
lost track of how many times Zayn repeated the pattern; he only knew that he
was whimpering, almost crying, getting louder and louder until Zayn pressed his
free hand over his lips, telling him to bite if he wanted Zayn to stop. Niall
barely managed to nod before Zayn started again, sucking him deep, tongue
swirling over every throbbing inch.
Finally Zayn pulled away to lift his legs and Niall was so overwhelmingly
turned on that he bent easily, his whole body pliant and helpless in Zayn’s
hands.
“Zayn, Zayn, Zayn, please--!”
“Shh.” The first finger slipped into him so easily he could barely feel it and
he squirmed for more. “Gods, Niall, you’re so open.” A second finger pressed in
and he felt that a bit more, the tight slickness at his rim. Zayn worked him
carefully, whispered that he was doing so well, he was a natural, he was going
to love getting fucked and Zayn couldn’t wait to give it to him.
“Please, more,” Niall urged. He was becoming aware of a new sensation, a sort
of nudging pressure that seemed to go straight to his balls, almost like he
could feel them growing heavier the longer Zayn stroked him. “Sweet Mother,
Zayn, fuck me.”
“Not yet,” Zayn repeated, and Niall bit back a wail. The fingers inside him
spread, scissoring and twisting. Niall gritted his teeth.
“You’re gonna make me come,” he groaned. He felt so open and so wet; his cock
was leaking across his belly, seeming to pulse in time with the strokes of
Zayn’s fingers inside him, slick and easy.
“Just a little more.” Zayn added another finger, and Niall didn’t know what to
do. If he begged Zayn to stop, he really would stop, entirely, and that was
just unacceptable. He needed to hurry up, and they needed to fuck, because if
Niall didn’t get Zayn’s cock in his arse soon he was going to pop and there was
no way he’d survive a second attempt.
His whole body twisted, riding Zayn’s fingers while he threw an arm over his
face, biting his own wrist to smother a moan, and Zayn finally broke.
“Okay, okay.” Niall nodded frantically, spreading his legs so Zayn could fit
between them and take his own neglected cock in hand, slicking it with salve
and pressing in at last.
Niall threw his head back with a voiceless cry and Zayn froze, dropping kisses
to Niall’s cheek and neck as he apologized, again and again.
“No, gods, Zayn, don’t stop!” It hurt, a sharp ache that hit all at once, but
Niall was blown away by how good it felt, just the right edge to knock him
breathless. He wrapped his legs around Zayn’s hips to pull him closer, deeper,
until Zayn gave in and their efforts merged into a long, smooth drive.
“Sweet Goddess,” Zayn hissed. “You’re tight, but...” He rolled his hips,
fucking Niall slowly. “Gods, you’re tight but you’re so open.”
“It’s good,” Niall replied, not sure why he was surprised; of course Zayn made
it good. The need to come had faded with that first burst of pain, but every
movement of Zayn’s cock was building the urge more and more. “God, Zayn, go
faster.”
The other boy complied, but he still wasn’t going nearly as fast as Niall
wanted. It was slow enough that Niall could scrape his brain together and
notice the way Zayn was furrowing his brow in concentration, lips parted around
measured breaths, so gorgeous and intent he made Niall ache. He yanked him down
for a kiss, thrusting in his tongue as he planted his feet on the bed and
rocked up.
It had the desired effect. Zayn moaned around his tongue and sped up, his cock
pushing deep with every thrust. Niall did his best to meet him but soon gave up
and let his legs fall open. His pliancy seemed to drive Zayn crazy. His hips
snapped sharply against Niall’s and his lips found Niall’s ear, sucking hard on
the lobe.
“Wait,” Niall panted, and Zayn dragged to a halt, breath ragged. Niall kissed
him again, harsh and careless, then turned over so he could go up on his knees.
He stifled a yelp in his pillow when Zayn licked over his open hole (they were
definitely doing that some more next time), then kept his face pressed to it
when Zayn pushed back inside, leaving wet kisses up Niall’s spine as he went.
“Wanna mark you,” he whispered. “Wish I could leave bites all over you and send
you out to the baths so everyone would know what I’ve done to you.”
Niall squirmed just imagining how it would feel to have all those eyes on him,
seeing the marks and knowing he was Zayn’s. “They know it anyway,” he groaned
back. “Louis knows, even if he doesn’t know it’s you.” Zayn slowed again but
seemed to press even deeper, twisting his hips as he drove Niall into the
mattress. “He sees me and he can tell I’ve been fucked proper.” He threw his
head back and writhed, screwing down against Zayn’s cock as best he could.
“He’s gonna know exactly what you’ve done to me this time. ‘M gonna walk funny
for weeks.”
Zayn seemed to take that as a cue to speed up and this time Niall could match
him, rocking back hard and rolling his hips until he he had to sink his teeth
into his pillow, drooling into it while he tried to stifle his moans. He was
making a big wet spot, but he didn’t care. There’d be more than one wet spot in
his bed that night.
Deep groans hummed up and down his spine from where Zayn had his face pressed
between Niall’s shoulders. He reached around for Niall’s cock but held it
loosely, just enough to make Niall writhe for more. The tease was a
counterpoint to the relentless, driving pressure inside him, every stroke of
Zayn’s cock telling him to come, come, come until he was keening, nearly
crying, completely out of his mind with need.
“Not yet,” Zayn bit out, and Niall writhed again, trying to fuck that loose
fist, but Zayn just moved with him. “No.”
“Please?” Niall tried.
“Uh-uh.”
“Please, please, please...”
Zayn actually slowed down at that. Niall nearly choked. Zayn fucked him gently
for a bit longer until Niall was clawing the bedsheets, then sped up and
brought him back to the brink in seconds.
Then he slowed down and did it again. Niall felt like they’d been fucking for
hours. He was a wreck, chewing on the pillow and reduced to voiceless sobs,
when Zayn finally tightened his grip on Niall’s aching cock to stroke him in
earnest.
“Now?” Niall gasped.
“Yeah, come, now,” Zayn groaned back, wrapping his other arm under Niall’s
chest to pull him back onto his cock, fucking him deep.
Niall finally let go, burying a moan in the ruined pillow. It seemed to take
forever to finish coming; pulse after pulse burst out of him, built up from all
of Zayn’s teasing. His knees gave out, dropping his hips and Zayn’s hand right
into the puddle in the sheets, but he just kept going, humping the mess, his
overstimulated cock unable to stop.
He heard Zayn moaning his name and knew he was clenching up tight as he fucked
out the last of his climax, that Zayn had to be flooding his ass with come, but
it was all very distant as he couldn’t seem to feel anything below his neck.
He had a moment to wonder whether Zayn would even make it back to his own room
before he fell straight into dreamless sleep.
***** Chapter 20 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Zayn did not make it back to his own room that night.
Both boys startled awake at the first bell and Niall jerked so hard he crashed
off the bed. Zayn leaped over him a heartbeat later, grabbing a shirt and
breeches of Niall’s and yanking them on, leaving his loincloth as he dressed as
quickly as he could.
Once his head cleared Niall darted into his dressing room to to dunk his comb
in his wash basin so he could quickly smooth Zayn’s hair. They’d have to hope
that no one else was in the hall this early, since Zayn was clearly hadn’t
shaved and Niall didn’t yet need to so he didn’t have a razor. It was just a
mercy that he’d filled out enough that Zayn could wear his spare practice
clothes without splitting the seams.
“You stopped in to give me the extra jar of balm,” Niall said, twitching his
collar straight.
“Yes,” Zayn agreed quickly. He pecked a kiss to Niall’s lips and headed to the
door before spinning on his heel and stopping again, looking Niall over
carefully. “You’re all right?”
“Bit sore, I guess. I honestly didn’t notice until you asked.” Niall went to
the door himself and poked his head out to make sure the hall was empty.
It was not.
“I knew it.”
Louis pushed his way in before Niall could gather his wits to stop him. “I knew
you had a lover, and I knew Zayn was covering for you. You two are always
sneaking off together and when you both missed dinner last night I was sure of
it.”
As if on cue, Niall’s stomach rumbled. He froze. They’d completely forgotten
about the evening meal.
“Gods curse you, Doncaster!” Zayn threw Niall his nightshirt and advanced on
Louis, who stood his ground until they were nose to nose. “All right then, you
caught us. Now what are you going to do about it?”
Niall was shaking as he fumbled with his shirt. He knew he should get between
them, but he could barely breathe. Thankfully, Zayn noticed him panicking and
was at his side a moment later, settling his shirt and taking his hand in a
strong, reassuring grip.
Whatever happened, they’d get through it together.
Louis held up his hands, but he was smirking, and at that moment Niall realized
how little he really knew him. “I’m not going to do anything. Your secret’s
safe with me.”
“I don’t trust you,” Zayn said.
Louis’ smirk deepened. “Guess you’ll have to.”
“If you tell anyone--”
“You’ll what?” Louis waved that away, but Zayn persisted.
“I’ll fucking cripple you, that’s what.” Zayn’s voice was eerily flat and calm,
even as the air seemed to darken around him. “There won’t be a healer in the
world who could undo what I’d done.”
That finally wiped the smirk off Louis’ face. “Mithros, Zayn, I was kidding.”
“I’m not. Niall’s the only good thing that’s happened to me in this thrice
cursed palace. You didn’t even speak to me before he showed up and started
making friends, and if you take him away from me, I won’t have anything left to
lose.”
Louis just stared, but Niall said, “hey,” and pulled Zayn close for a long,
quiet kiss.
When they parted, Louis had an incredibly sappy smile on his face.
“I really won’t tell,” he said, and this time they could see the sincerity in
his expression. “I was only teasing. I was actually expecting some bribes,
which I would have accepted happily, but since Zayn would fucking cripple me--”
“--I’m sorry--”
“--I guess I’ll just have to keep mum. I’m not your problem, though. Lord
Wyldon noted your absence and you’ll have to answer to him.”
Niall thought quickly. “We’ll say I was sick, from too long under the sun.”
Louis nodded, looking mischievous. “That’s why you were so quiet and distracted
and panting at the swimming hole.”
Zayn rolled his eyes while Niall blushed. “And I brought you to my father,
instead of the healers, because he knows all about sun sickness, and he kept us
both for dinner.”
“What if Lord Wyldon approaches him about it?” Louis asked.
“I just need to speak with him,” Zayn replied, confident. “Or actually, I’ll
speak with my mother first, and he’ll agree to anything she asks.”
The second morning bell rang, reminding the palace that they really did need to
get up if they wanted breakfast, and Louis headed out, thumping Zayn on the
shoulder. “Come on. We’ll say our sisters need their brothers to introduce them
to each other this evening, and you can speak to your mother when we go.”
They left, with Zayn still looking a bit wary, and Niall took what felt like
his first proper breath since waking.
+++
To their surprise, Louis really did keep their secret. He never stopped teasing
Niall about the “freshly buggered bloom in his cheeks,” but afterwards he’d
stick his tongue out at Zayn’s smug face when no one else was looking. He and
Zayn did introduce their sisters to each other, giving the young Bradford
ladies a belated, but still needed entrance into court society.
Summer cooled into fall, which rapidly progressed into winter. Lord Wyldon kept
the pages training outdoors even in the coldest weather (“I told you!” Harry
hissed), only bringing them to the indoor practice courts when the ground
became icy and dangerous.Tans faded and Niall’s hair darkened to a muddy brown.
He’d been looking forward to celebrating Midwinter in the palace, but was
disappointed to learn that the pages were expected to serve at banquets instead
of sitting down and eating. For the first few days he worked in the kitchens
with the other first-years, passing trays of tantalizing food to the senior
pages who carried them out to the tables, but on the fourth day Cador slopped
soup over the front of his tunic and the master of ceremonies quickly sent
Niall out in his place. He was so focused on not spilling that he didn’t
realize whom he was serving until he was already offering Zayn’s eldest sister
the soup. He blinked and smiled and tried not to think about the fact that he’d
had Zayn’s cock in his mouth the night before.
Zayn’s youngest sister was too young to be allowed at the banquet, but the two
elder sisters were lovely and shy, a stark contrast to the giggly Doncaster
girls who shared their table. He whispered a Midwinter greeting to them all,
and grinned at Louis and Zayn when they saw him.
Presents were exchanged on the morning after the winter solstice. Servants
delivered them to their rooms, so Niall and Zayn had gotten each other sweets
like everyone else had and waited until evening to exchange their other gifts
in Niall’s room.
“Mine first!” Niall insisted. He’d been at a loss as to what to get Zayn and
was wandering the shops in a near panic when his eyes lit on a horse figurine
made of delicate blown glass with details picked out in gold gilding. Its neck
had the high, fine arch of the Bazhir breed. His father had sent him gifts
already, including a small purse of coins, so Niall happily exchanged some for
the little figure and carried it home cradled in his shirt.
Zayn’s face spread into the wide, crinkly smile that Niall loved best when he
unwrapped it. “It looks like Alhan!” he said, holding it up to the light. “I
can’t believe you found this! Thank you.”
Niall held his cheek out for Zayn’s kiss, but he was already reaching for his
gift. “Come on then, what’d you get me?”
“It’s not much,” Zayn said, suddenly nervous. That only made Niall more
curious. He unwrapped it quickly.
Inside, carefully nestled in tissue paper, was a Yamani pendant that Niall
recognized. He traced the characters gently.
“‘Forbidden love?’”
Zayn nodded, still tense. “You don’t have to wear it. Everyone would ask about
it. I thought you might like to, just, have it.”
In response, Niall lifted the chain over his head. It was long enough that the
pendant would be easy to hide under his shirts, but still. “It might fall off
or break on the practice courts,” he said. “But in the afternoons, I promise,
I’ll always wear it.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.” He moved closer to Zayn and brushed his lips over his ear. “I love
you, too.”
That night, when Zayn slid down onto Niall’s cock, he tangled his fingers in
the chain around Niall’s neck, and hung on.
+++
Training resumed after Midwinter. Lord Wyldon, frustrated with a streak of icy
weather that forced them indoors, brought the pages up onto the curtain wall to
run laps around the entire palace grounds. Niall was soon too out of breath to
appreciate how good Zayn looked with his hair blown back and a bloom in his
cheeks; he, Eamon and Sigan just did their best to keep up. Tall Harry had no
trouble. His long legs sent him skimming over the flagstones with enough breath
left over to laugh at Louis, who was not exactly built for speed. The nights
were bitterly cold, and it grew harder and harder for Zayn to leave the warmth
of Niall’s bed to slip between his own icy sheets, especially when Niall was in
no hurry to let him go.
The spring thaw saw them training on sloppy ground. Any pages unhorsed at
tilting practice wound up coated in mud from top to bottom. Zayn got a handle
on his weighted lance while Louis moved on to tilting at a ring of woven willow
twigs that swung to and fro in the slightest breeze. Niall was still struggling
with the airy targets on the archery courts, so their friends soon tired of
listening to them rant about moving targets in two-part harmony.
Examinations were held in April. Judges, all of them particularly fussy nobles
from the oldest, most conservative families in the kingdom, watched as the
pages were put through their paces on their mounts and with basic weapons.
Niall was nervous until he found out that he’d be shooting at normal stationary
targets, and then he became nervous again since it had been months since he’d
shot at anything that didn’t twirl away from his arrows. He needn’t have
worried. Every page passed the exams, and when it was all over Niall felt silly
for ever having fretted. He, Harry, Eamon and Sigan all became second-year
pages, Liam and Zayn became third-years, and Louis became a fourth-year. Niall
was not sorry to see Conal leave their ranks to become a squire. He and the
Mindelan boy had made their peace, but he still put Zayn on edge.
After the exams it seemed like he blinked and suddenly Zayn was commenting on
how his hair was becoming blond again. Summer was approaching, and with it the
long holiday. Niall realized he didn’t want to leave. Mullingar would be
lonelier than ever now. Even Eamon would only be at Fief haMinch for a few
weeks before returning to Corus. Niall made all of his friends promise to write
and slipped a stablehand enough coins to keep Rabble in apples and salt-licks
until he returned.
Niall entertained a few desperate notions of having Zayn come visit him in
Mullingar. With his father and brother busy at the university they’d have the
run of the estate and, if they bribed enough servants, could almost certainly
bugger each other rotten in every room of the castle. He whispered his plans to
Zayn on the last evening in his room, telling him about how he wanted to
swallow Zayn’s cock in the solarium while the sunrise spilled into the valley
below, until Zayn confessed that he’d be spending the summer with his father in
the Southern Desert.
Niall was crushed. “The whole summer?”
Zayn nodded, regret written all over his handsome face. “We’ll be accompanying
the king for the most part, actually. It’s been over a year since he last
visited the southern tribes.”
Wordless, Niall slipped his hands under Zayn’s shirt to his back, pressing him
close so he could bury his face against his neck. There was nothing he could
say.
They made love slowly that night, with lingering touches. For once they didn’t
have to worry about the pages’ baths so Niall begged Zayn to mark him and Zayn
obeyed, eagerly, sucking love bites all over Niall’s body until he was marked
from chest to thigh with deep bruises that would take days or even weeks to
fade. In return Niall bent Zayn’s legs up over his chest and licked him open
until he was snarling threats, then fingered him for even longer. He wanted to
remember Zayn exactly like this, fierce with desperation, his entire being
focused on Niall and the things he wanted Niall to do to him.
When Niall finally sank into Zayn’s body he tried to go slowly, so slowly,
taking Zayn inch by aching inch. Zayn’s cock lay throbbing against his belly,
dripping precome, and Niall knew he’d be spending many nights with his fingers
buried in his own arse, wishing it were Zayn. As if reading his mind, Zayn
groped for the well-used jar of salve and slicked his fingers so he could reach
behind Niall and press them in, leaving Niall dizzy with the need to fuck back
onto Zayn’s fingers and forward into his arse.
He couldn’t possibly last under the double assault but he tried, desperately,
hips shaking with the effort of keeping a steady pace. He shuddered when Zayn
pulled him close to lick into his mouth for a messy, filthy kiss as his strong
legs wound around Niall’s hips, gripping him for leverage to rock up onto
Nialls thrusts. Niall felt his entire body twist with a whimper, balls drawing
up tight while he clenched around Zayn’s fingers.
Zayn’s free hand found Niall’s where it was dug into the sheets and pulled it
between their bodies to wrap around Zayn’s cock. “Feel how wet I am?” Zayn
whispered. “How hard?” He groaned, rolling his hips. “My cock’s going to be
like a stone the entire time we’re apart. ‘M gonna wank myself raw every night,
thinking of you.”
“Mithros, Zayn.” Niall fucked him faster, loving the way Zayn shuddered when he
got the angle just right.
“I’ll miss you every day and then every night...fuck.” Zayn’s legs gripped him
tighter and the fingers in Niall’s ass worked faster, shoving Niall closer to
the edge. “Every night I’ll be crazy wanting you.”
Niall couldn’t help it: he came, abruptly, gasping an apology as his body
exploded against his will. Zayn was still trying to soothe him, insisting it
was okay, when Niall found himself begging. “Zayn, fuck me.”
“Niall, I’m so close--”
“Please.”
“Oh, gods.” Zayn drew their hands off his cock with a pained moan, and Niall
did his best to shift himself so Zayn could slide out from under him. He
whimpered when his over-sensitive cock was pushed into the bed, but still
spread his legs so Zayn could press inside him, filling him like no one else
could, like no one else ever had. Zayn’s thrusts were shaky and desperate and
Niall mewled when the pressure forced one last burst out of his spent member
and a second later Zayn was coming, panting out his love and his loyalty until
Niall lost the battle against oblivion and fell deeply asleep.
+++
The next day Zayn was waving goodbye to him from the curtain wall while Niall
tried to smile, hoping his brother couldn’t see that he was leaving his heart
inside the palace halls.
Chapter End Notes
     I'm not going home. Not really.
      
      
     So concludes Year One. I would love to finish out Niall's years as a
     page, and also flesh out my intentions for the Southern Desert front
     of the Immortals War, but I have very little time for writing fic so
     I wanted to at least get this posted. Thank you for reading this
     ridiculous fic, which is the longest thing I've ever written and
     just...really self? One Direction/Tortall AU? IDEK, but if you
     enjoyed it I was happy to share it. Thank you so much for the kudos
     and comments! Mithros ward you all.
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