“Yes. She possessed Radre’s body.”
Piers stared at the wall, frown lines forming around his eyes and mouth. “That was my mother. My mother tried to kill me. How is she still alive?” He answered his own question, “Magic,” and fell silent, likely mulling over the implications.
A short time ago, he’d not known of sorcerers, elves, other realms… Now, on top of everything, he discovered a homicidal maniac for a mother. Wycke wouldn’t ask questions, merely be here if Piers needed.
Wycke kept his voice low. “I’m so sorry I dragged you into all this.”
“I’m not. And the way I see it, if you hadn’t found me when you did, the hellhounds would’ve. Where would I be then?”
That thought slammed into Wycke. To never have met Piers. Nyanda returning to power. Piers drained of his magic, gasping out his last breath. Wycke placed his apple aside, cradled Piers’ face in his hands, and tried to pour his tangled emotions into a kiss: desire, fear, confusion, relief, and above all, a sense of hope he’d never had before. Hope for something more in his directionless life.
He’d been as lonely as the memories showed of Piers. Wycke had lain in bed with others and still felt alone.
Not now.
Piers responded tentatively at first, then leaned into Wycke’s palm, twining their tongues together. Perfection, a type of comfort Wycke never knew existed. After a few moments, Piers broke the kiss, resting his forehead against Wycke’s.
They held the pose, neither needing to say anything. Wycke imagined their hearts beating in perfect time.
After a while, Piers pulled back. “You mentioned someone named Aberfrer?” A wrinkle creased his forehead. “Someone I need to worry about?”
“In the tower, did you see an old sorcerer, built like what I believe your kind call a Sherman tank?”
“I saw an old man. I… umm…” Piers glanced away. “I might have dropped a light thingy on him.”
“You made the chandelier fall?” Impressive, though Piers’ aim needed work. Although, Wycke himself might have wanted to drop a chandelier on Aberfrer if he hadn’t agreed to help.
“I aimed for your brother. How is he?”
“My brother or the old guy?” Wycke asked between bites of apple. He offered the fruit bowl to Piers, who shook his head.
The door swung open, revealing Aberfrer’s scowling face. “I heard you!”
Piers clapped a hand dramatically to his chest. “Jeez, man. Ever hear of knocking?”
Aberfrer ignored the question. “You’re both awake now. Excellent. We need to talk.”
This couldn’t be good. Wycke glanced at Piers, who glanced back at Wycke. Under the covers, they clasped hands.
Aberfrer’s scowl deepened, adding additional wrinkles to skin Wycke didn’t think would hold more. “Imagine my surprise when the two of you disappeared from the tower after the battle, and we found you here. You must watch your wild magic. There are reasons those with natural talent are monitored.”
“I don’t know how it happened,” Wycke snapped. Except for wanting to be in a bed. Did this scoldinghaveto wait until Piers woke?
“Which is why it’s called wild magic. You need training.” Aberfrer glared down his rather exceptional nose. “Both of you.”
“I’m surprised no one has tried to take it from me yet.” Wycke met Aberfrer’s glare with a scowl.Yes, sorcerer, I’m talking to you!
Aberfrer gave a short bark of laughter. “Pity any who try. Your magic, joined with your mate’s, is a living thing unto itself. I fear any who attempted harm would find themselves the victim of their own spell, as Radre discovered.”
Radre. Oh. “How is my brother?”
“The same. He’s not awakened. I suppose there is no need to tell you this isn’t a good sign.”
Wycke thought not.
“Since your mate lacks good manners,” Aberfrer said, addressing Piers, “I am Aberfrer, Sorcerer to High King Broen.”
“Umm… hi? I’m Pie—”