Ambris’s strength returned slowly but steadily under Kian’s care. Kian made a point of learning Malik’s schedule, and did his best to avoid the guard captain. While Ambris was recovering, he was careful to keep the door to the prince’s room locked whenever he needed to leave. Ambris told him several times that he was perfectly capable of locking the door after him, but Kian took his responsibility seriously, and insisted on doing it himself. He didn’t trust Malik not to take advantage of Ambris’s still-weakened condition.
A week or so after his arrival, Kian decided Ambris was strong enough for a walk. The weather had been fair enough that the last of the snow had melted and the ground was drying out. Patra was his willing accomplice. She’d offered to pack them a picnic lunch and have a quiet word with Jorin, one of the older guardsmen she said could be trusted. As long as they returned before Malik’s arms practice session was finished, they should be all right.
While Ambris bathed in front of the fire, Kian laid out his clothing. He’d found a pair of leather breeches which had probably once been used for hunting, and a warm vest of soft leather to go over the prince’s shirt. A thick cloak of dark blue wool completed the ensemble, along with a sturdy pair of boots.
When he’d finished his bath, Ambris eyed the clothing with a wistful expression. “Wherever did you find these? I haven’t worn them in ages.”
“Back of the wardrobe,” Kian said. “We’re going outside, and I don’t want you to take a chill.”
“Outside?” Ambris echoed, giving him a dubious look. “Whatever for?”
“It’s a lovely day. A bit on the cool side, but the fresh air and sunshine will do you good. I’d like to see a bit more color in your cheeks.”
“What about Malik?”
“Malik is busy trouncing his men in the courtyard at the moment. Jorin’s on duty round the back, and Patra says he’s a decent fellow. She’s already had a word with him. He’s promised he’ll keep his distance.” And more importantly, as far as Kian was concerned, he’d promised he wouldn’t say anything to Malik.
The prince brightened up at that. “Jorin’s all right,” he said as he and Kian made their way down the attic stairs. “He used to go for walks with me. I stopped asking him after Malik beat one of his guardsmen to death. Malik hates me, and I was afraid if he noticed Jorin being kind to me… well. It didn’t seem fair to put Jorin at risk just so I could go for a walk.”
Kian watched him carefully, ready to help if the stairs proved too difficult. Ambris managed them quite well, though he was a bit out of breath by the time they reached the bottom.
They rested for a few moments on the bottom stair, then stopped again in the kitchen, where Patra had a basket and a water skin waiting for them. “You’re looking well, Your Highness,” she said, dipping in a small curtsy.
“Thank you, Patra. I’m feeling a lot better. Kian has been taking very good care of me.”
Patra pulled Kian aside and handed him the basket. “Keep an eye on the sun,” she warned in a low voice. “Malik’s lot finish practice just before midday. Jorin will be with you, and I trust him to keep his mouth shut, but if you’re discovered, you’ll be for it.”
“I understand, Mistress Patra,” Kian told her. “Don’t worry. I’ll pay attention.”
Jorin was waiting for them just outside the kitchen door. He was a big man who looked to be in his mid-forties, with dark hair and a short, neat beard that was starting to grey.
He greeted them with broad grin. “Good to see you up and about, Your Highness.”
“It’s good to see you, too, Jorin,” Ambris said gravely. “This is Kian. He’s our new healer.”
“Good to make your acquaintance, Master Kian,” Jorin said with a respectful nod.
Kian shook his head. “I’m not Master anything. Just Kian will do.”
Jorin’s grin widened. “Shall we, then? We’ll want to be back before arms practice is over.”
As they started across the gardens, Ambris inhaled deeply and smiled. “I haven’t been outside since before the snow came. I love the smell of spring. All earthy, like everything’s waking up after a long sleep.”
“It is,” Kian said. “There are snowflowers blooming already.” He pointed to a patch of the tiny white and yellow blossoms as they passed them.
At the bottom of the gardens, they went through an old wooden gate, with Jorin keeping a respectful distance. The gate squeaked loudly, and was clearly not in regular use.
As they started down the overgrown path, Ambris smiled again. “I remember this. It leads to a clearing near the stream. Mother and I used to picnic there when I was small…” he trailed off, his smile becoming sad.
“Patra said it might be a good spot,” Kian said. “It’s not such a long walk from the house, and she says there’s a big, flat rock we can sit on next to the stream. But if it makes you unhappy, we can look elsewhere.”
“No… no, it’s all right. It’s a reminder of happier times.”
The clearing wasn’t far, and Kian heard the sound of water gurgling in the little brook as they reached it. He led Ambris to the large, flat stone near the water and spread the cloth Patra had used to cover the contents of the basket.
Ambris clambered up on the stone while Kian laid out the food. Patra had made dainty little sandwiches, and she’d given them a small sack of dried fruit and nuts, as well as some of the shriveled apples left over from last season.
The prince wrinkled his nose at them. “I shall be glad when we’ve fresh fruit and vegetables again. Winter always seems so long, and by spring it’s all parsnips and potatoes.”
“Ai, my mother always has to get creative in the spring,” Kian agreed. “At Castle Altan, my first master, Wytch Master Tevari, had a way with plants. He had a hothouse where he grew all sorts of things out of season. The king had fresh peaches on his table at midwinter and apples in the spring.”
“What happened to him?” Ambris asked. “You mentioned that you’d studied under two different Wytch Masters.”
“He… he died.” In fact, he’d been killed in the fire that had resulted the first time Garrik had attempted to shift, but Kian didn’t want to remind the prince of the queen’s death. Ambris was livelier than Kian had yet seen him; the outdoors clearly agreed with him, and the last thing he wanted was to sour the prince’s mood. “He was getting on. He’d been Wytch Master to Altan forever. I think he came to Altan during Garrik’s grandfather’s rule.”
“Aunt Taretha used to be Wytch Master to Miraen,” Ambris said quietly. “Then she was named Council Speaker, and Wytch Master Rotham came to Mir. He didn’t like me at all, especially when my Wytch power didn’t show up when it was supposed to. He always made me feel like it was my fault, somehow.”
Kian started to reach out to give Ambris’s shoulder a sympathetic pat, but stopped when he recalled that they weren’t alone. Jorin was standing watch just beyond the trees, and although he was far enough away not to hear them, he could certainly see them. He settled for saying, “It wasn’t, you know.”
The prince didn’t answer, concentrating on his food instead. He ate well enough that Kian decided it would do him good to spend some time each day outside. He resolved to speak to Patra about it and see if arrangements could be made with Jorin for Ambris to take a short, daily walk while Malik and his men were otherwise occupied.
Kian kept a careful eye on the sun, and when he judged it was time to return, he began tidying up the leavings of their picnic. Ambris surprised him by helping repack the basket and folding the cloth. When all was packed away, they started back, and Kian was pleased to see a bit more spring in Ambris’s step.
When Kian opened the gate at the bottom of the gardens, he caught sight of a figure standing in the kitchen doorway.
Malik.
The guard captain was watching them, his expression impassive. Kian swallowed hard as he and Ambris started across the yard.
“Been for a little picnic then, have we, Highness?” Malik sneered.
Ambris stiffened, but said nothing. Kian shifted position, placing himself between the prince and the guard captain.
“And if we have?” he inquired.
“You’ll want to be careful, healer. All sorts of harm could come to the prince in the woods.”
“Then he’s just as safe out there as in his bedroom, isn’t he?” Kian retorted.
Malik went still, but he didn’t say anything more as Kian pushed on past him, ushering Ambris quickly into the kitchen.
As Kian closed the door firmly behind them, Ambris said under his breath, “That was stupid. The last thing you want to do is get on Malik’s bad side. He’s killed men for less, you know.”
Kian’s heart was racing, so certain was he that Malik was about to attack him from behind. “I’ve heard,” he said. “I… didn’t think. It just slipped out.”
The prince shook his head, but put on a bright smile for Patra when she asked how their lunch was. Kian escorted Ambris back up to his room and made doubly certain to lock the door when he went off to see to his own laundry.
* * *
It was the same dream as always. He was trapped in the burning hell of an incomplete shift. Ambris struggled and writhed to escape the pain, but it was everywhere. Torn skin, ripped muscle, shattered bone…
He couldn’t go on and complete the shift, but he couldn’t go back, either. All he could do was lie there in a quivering heap and endure the agony until the healer found him.
But no one heard his screams.
No one came.
“Ambris! Ambris, wake up, it’s just a dream.”
Ambris latched on to that voice and clung to it, following it out of the nightmare. He found himself in his own bed, shaking and sweaty, the sheets tangled about him.
Kian stood beside the bed, dressed only in a pair of half-laced breeches. His hair was tousled and hung loose below his shoulders, and his dark eyes looked huge and sleepy in the light of the lamp he carried.
“Sorry,” Ambris muttered, unable to take his eyes off of Kian’s bare chest and arms. Those arms were as big around as Ambris’s thighs, and Kian’s chest was broad and sprinkled with dark hair. Ambris couldn’t stop his eyes from tracing the trail of hair down to the unlaced top of Kian’s breeches.
“Are you all right?” Kian asked.
Ambris lifted his gaze in time to see the healer run a hand through his hair. “I’m fine,” he murmured, and struggled to sit up. Pain lanced through his upper back, and a curse fell from his lips before he could stop it.
“What is it?” Kian asked quickly. “What’s wrong?”
“My back… I must have wrenched it while I was thrashing about.”
Kian set the lamp on the nightstand. “Turn over and lie on your belly.”
Ambris started to turn, but stopped suddenly, wincing as another hot shard of pain pierced his back.
“Carefully,” Kian amended.
Moving slowly, Ambris managed to complete the maneuver with only minimal discomfort. “Are you going to heal me?”
“I doubt that will be necessary. It’s probably just a cramp. I’ll rub your back for you, though. It will help loosen the muscle and ease the pain. We’ll see if I can get you relaxed enough that you fall back to sleep.”
The mattress dipped on either side of him as Kian straddled his hips. Ambris liked the feel of the warm weight of him and wished the covers weren’t between them.
“Tell me where it hurts.” Warm hands began probing his back, pressing gently here and there.
“Ah!” Ambris gasped as Kian’s thumb found a tight knot in his upper back. “That’s it, right there.”
“Sorry. Put your head down and try to relax.”
Ambris tried to do as he was told, but the moment Kian’s hands slid beneath his nightshirt and made contact with his bare skin, there was no chance of relaxing. Every nerve in his body came alive, and he squirmed as his shaft hardened uncomfortably beneath him.
Kian pushed Ambris’s nightshirt out of his way and ran those big, warm hands over his back. Ambris shivered in delight at his touch. How would it feel to have those hands wandering elsewhere? Down his sides… across his chest… stroking his buttocks, perhaps even…
He groaned as Kian pressed hard, kneading the tight muscles to help them relax.
“What did you dream?” Kian asked quietly. “Do you remember?”
“No,” Ambris lied. “I just remember being frightened.” Kian would learn what a miserable failure he was soon enough, and then, Ambris imagined, he would stay as far away as he could, like everyone else did. In the two weeks since he’d arrived, Kian’s presence had brightened the long, lonely days, and Ambris wanted to put off his inevitable withdrawal for as long as possible.
He’d thought Kian would have heard all about him from the staff by now, but Kian was as kind and friendly as he had been those first few days. Ambris did occasionally catch him staring, a puzzled expression drawing his dark brows together, but after that first day, Kian hadn’t asked any more difficult questions, and for that, Ambris was grateful.
It wouldn’t last, of course, but until Kian learned the truth, Ambris could pretend they were friends. It had been a very long time since he’d had anyone he could call a friend.
Kian’s hands moved down, massaging his lower back, and Ambris couldn’t help but squirm. More aroused than he’d ever been, he kept his burning face buried in the pillow so Kian wouldn’t see. He doubted Kian had any interest in men, and even if he did, a man like Kian could have anyone he wanted; he would never look twice at a pale, scrawny thing like Ambris. He closed his eyes and flexed his hips the tiniest bit, pressing his throbbing shaft into the mattress.
His thoughts flew back ten years, to those first fumbling kisses and touches he’d shared with Wes Atherton. It had been during the Harvest Ball at the Fall Council the year before his Wytch power had destroyed his life. They’d slipped away from the crowds into a dark hallway. Wes had dropped to his knees before him, undone his breeches, and licked and kissed him until Ambris was nearly screaming with pleasure…
His need was so great, it was like a hollow, burning ache that swallowed everything else. He wanted Kian’s hands on him, wanted Kian’s mouth on him, too. Wanted Kian to touch him and kiss him and…
Ambris came with a whimper that he quickly choked off. His cheeks felt like they were on fire, and he buried his face deeper into the pillow, mortified. What must Kian think of him?
But Kian didn’t seem to have noticed. The gentle rhythm of the massage never faltered as Ambris burned with shame. He squeezed his eyes shut and struggled to control his ragged breathing in an attempt to feign sleep.
Eventually, Kian’s rhythm slowed and he lifted his hands from Ambris’s skin. Ambris almost whimpered in protest before he remembered his shame. He bit back the sound before it could escape and lay still as Kian carefully eased himself off the bed.
The healer pulled Ambris’s nightshirt back down and the covers back up, then quietly tended the fire. Ambris held his breath, waiting for him to leave, but Kian remained in the room for a long while before finally slipping out the door and locking it behind him.
Ambris lay awake far into the night, wondering if Kian had sensed his arousal, and what he must think of him if he had.
* * *
In his own room, Kian tossed and turned, unable to find sleep. He’d been observing Ambris with his healer’s sight while he rubbed his back, so he’d been well aware of the arousal that had lit the prince’s mythe-shadow with the vibrant, pulsing colors of want and need. Truth be told, he found it rather flattering, but he’d already learned that the prince’s pride was a prickly thing. The easiest thing for Kian to do was to feign ignorance, and so he had.
He tried not to dwell upon how much he’d enjoyed the excuse to put his hands on the prince’s body. The little shudders of pleasure rippling through Ambris when he’d found release had Kian biting his own lip and struggling not to break the rhythm of the massage and give himself away.
Ambris was a lovely young man, and if they’d met as equals rather than prince and servant, Kian might well have thought him worth pursuing.
His thoroughly inappropriate fascination with the prince kept him awake far into the night, and the little sleep he managed to get was troubled and broken.
When Kian brought the breakfast tray up to Ambris the next morning, he found Wytch Master Taretha in Ambris’s room. Her eyes narrowed as he walked in, and her thin lips pursed. “There you are.” Her tone was cold and clipped. “Get the prince dressed and be quick about it. He has a lesson this morning. And I’ll have that blood-chain back, if you don’t mind. Be sure to fetch it for me.”
Before Kian could respond, she swept out of the room.
Ambris was sitting up in bed, face pale and drawn. Kian leaned against the door to close it. “Ambris, what’s wrong?”
The prince turned frightened eyes upon him, but pressed his lips together.
Frowning, Kian went to fetch a clean pair of breeches and a shirt from the chest of drawers. “Do you need some help getting dressed?”
Ambris stared at him for a long moment before slowly shaking his head. “N-no. I-I can d-do it. Just… don’t watch. Please.”
Was this about last night? “I’ll just go down and get that blood-chain for Master Taretha, then. Do you want me to come back?”
Ambris caught his lower lip between his teeth. “Please?”
“All right. I’ll be back shortly.” Kian headed down to his own room and found the blood-chain and its key in the back of the cupboard where he’d left it. He plucked it up between thumb and finger to minimize his own contact with it, and made his way back up the stairs. Outside the door, he hesitated, giving the prince time to dress. When he thought Ambris had probably finished, he knocked on the door, calling, “Can I come in now?”
“Yes. I’m ready.”
Kian opened the door to find Ambris standing by the window, fully dressed. “Do you want me to stay for your lesson?”
“She won’t let you. She takes me somewhere else. Through one of her gates.” Ambris’s voice sounded strangely wooden and detached, and he wouldn’t meet Kian’s eyes.
“Ambris…” Kian couldn’t help but notice the fear shivering through the prince’s mythe-shadow. “Can’t you tell me what’s wrong? Where you’re going?”
“I’m going to the Dragon Mother’s coldest hell,” the prince murmured.
“Ambris—”
Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Someone pounded on the door and it swung open to reveal Malik.
Hard, flint-grey eyes raked over Kian. “You’ve got something for Master Taretha, healer?”
Kian handed over the blood-chain silently.
Malik took it and the key and slipped them into the pocket of his cloak, then turned to Ambris with an expression that looked almost like gleeful anticipation. “All ready then, are we, Your Highness?”
“I’m ready,” Ambris said tonelessly.
“Where are you taking him?” Kian asked.
Malik’s hand dropped to the hilt of his sword. “Not your place to be asking questions, is it, healer?”
“Kian, don’t,” Ambris whispered. His hands trembled as he lifted his cloak from its peg and settled it over his shoulders. He turned to give Kian one last frightened look before Malik pushed him out the door.
Kian moved back to the window and peered out. It wasn’t long before Malik and the Wytch Master appeared in the courtyard with Ambris between them. Ambris dragged his feet as they headed for the iron gate through which Master Taretha had brought Kian. Malik gripped his upper arm, practically pulling him along.
Master Taretha stopped just before the gate and lifted the blue jewel from under her cloak. Mythe-light gathered in the archway, swirling thickly like a glowing fog, and then clearing. Through the arched gate, Kian caught a glimpse of an overgrown hedge and a crumbling stone wall.
Ambris twisted around in Malik’s grip and stared up at the window. For one brief moment, his eyes locked with Kian’s in mute appeal, then Malik wrenched him around and shoved him through the gate. Taretha followed, and as soon as she was through, the gate dissolved.
Kian dropped the curtain and turned back to Ambris’s empty room, too many questions crowding through his mind.
* * *
Much as he dreaded reaching their destination, Ambris let Malik push him through the gate. He’d learned long ago that fighting only made it worse.
It had taken every shred of will he possessed not to break down at Kian’s feet when the healer had asked him what was wrong. If Kian knew what Ambris’s lessons entailed, Ambris was certain he would protest. All that would earn him was Malik’s wrath, and as frightened as Ambris was, he was not about to drag Kian down into hell with him. The healer had been kind to him, though that wouldn’t last. Today, Kian would learn exactly what his duties at Blackfrost were all about.
Ambris only hoped Kian could be convinced not to challenge Malik on his behalf. Kian might be big and strong, but Ambris had seen Malik best men who were far bigger and stronger. The guard captain didn’t know the meaning of the word mercy, and Ambris would rather Kian didn’t learn that the hard way.
Malik’s hand gripped his shoulder tightly as the captain guided him toward the burned-out shell of a cottage. Around the back of the blackened stone structure was a wooden door covering a dark, gaping hole in the ground. Malik lifted the door and let it fall aside, and Taretha led the way down into the cellar, tossing a glowing ball of mythe-light before her as she descended the stone steps.
Ambris followed, with Malik so close behind him, he could feel the captain’s hot breath upon his neck. Taretha’s mythe-light revealed a bare stone room. Ambris barely noted it; his gaze was already fixed on the set of manacles attached to the far wall. Malik pushed him toward them, and he stumbled forward.
Resistance was useless, and even though he’d made no progress in the five years he’d been enduring Taretha’s lessons, if he didn’t keep trying, he’d never learn to shift. With a resigned sigh, Ambris shrugged out of his cloak and handed it to Malik. He pulled off his shirt and breeches and slipped off the soft, low leather boots he’d worn. Naked, he moved toward the manacles and stood facing the wall, waiting in silence while Malik locked the icy metal cuffs around his wrists.
The air in the cellar was cold, and Ambris’s skin broke out in gooseflesh. Sweat trickled down his neck, and the ends of his hair tickled as they brushed against his upper back. He hadn’t even had time to tie it back this morning before Taretha had arrived.
“All right, then Ambris, you know the pattern you need. I’ll give you a little time to visualize it, and we’ll see if you can control the shift today. If you can’t manage it by yourself, Malik will help you.”
“Yes, Aunt,” Ambris murmured, and dutifully cleared his mind and closed his eyes.
Face the fire…
Determined, he pictured the pattern and sought the core of power at his center. Despite his resolve, the moment he got close enough to see the writhing mass of fire, he heard his mother’s screams, saw the flames covering her arms and her hair, and flinched away.
He drew in a deep, shaking breath and tried again, with no better result. Dimly, he heard the impatient tap of Taretha’s foot behind him as he struggled. Three more times he tried to approach his center, and three more times, visions of the blaze that had killed his mother and consumed most of Blackfrost drove him back.
“I… I can’t do it, Aunt. I’m trying, really, I am.”
“Then I’m afraid Malik will have to help you,” Taretha said coldly.
Ambris swallowed hard and braced himself. The last thing he wanted was Malik’s help, but Taretha said the only way he would ever learn to control himself was to force the shift and keep trying. “Yes, Aunt,” he whispered, eyes burning with tears.
A rough, calloused hand swept his hair aside. Moments later, Ambris heard a swish followed by a loud crack as Malik’s whip kissed the air. Moments later, a line of fire was laid across his back. Ambris jerked against his bonds and cried out.
He’d learned early on that it gave Malik pleasure to hear the sounds of his pain, and at first, he’d tried to hold in his screams. Eventually, he’d given up. It made no difference, and this was only the beginning. Once the shift began, he couldn’t control the noises he made. The pain drove him mad, and he couldn’t control anything.
He tried. Aio knew he tried.
Breathless, he waited. Any moment now…
Once Malik had damaged his body enough, instinct would take over, and the shift would begin without Ambris doing a thing. He struggled to hold the pattern in his mind through the pain.
Malik’s whip hissed through the air again and another line of fire burned his flesh. Then a deeper pain gripped him, sharp and bright, it twisted through the marrow of his bones, and they began to shift and change. Skin stretched and tore, muscle shredded, and the fiery pain engulfed him. He knew the pattern, had memorized it years ago, and now he struggled to hold it in his mind. Controlling the shift was the only way to end his agony and heal his broken body, but every time he got close enough to his center to impose his will on the beast within him, he heard his mother’s screams and could go no further.
The pain consumed him, buried him. A red haze covered his vision, and his own screams rang in his ears.