Chapter Eleven
Niall’s coughing, sniffling, and sneezing provided a constant backdrop for Penn’s drive. It served Niall right for insisting that they drive in the rain, but Penn wished the bastard would at least turn his head to the side or cough into his elbow instead of spraying spittle everywhere.
“Perhaps you should ride in the carriage?” Penn suggested.
There was room now that they’d sold and traded most of Niall’s stolen goods, at a tenth of the price they were worth—according to him.
In the mountain towns, only the lofty lords and ladies cared about such ‘treasures.’ A gold necklace couldn’t feed a family or plow the field, so it wasn’t worth the expense.
The amount they’d received was enough to fund a hundred journeys, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy Niall’s greed.
He was used to a lavish lifestyle at the palace, holding a position of power and reverence.
Penn hoped a rough voyage on the road eventually broke him.
“And allow you to”—cough, cough—“drive us straight into the waiting arms of a constable? Absolutely not.”
“What constable?” Penn asked, gesturing to the open fields around them. “This is all farmlands. There’s not another town for miles.”
“The answer is no,” Niall snarled, then sneezed, ruining any attempt at intimidation. “If you continue insisting, I will—” His threat devolved into coughing, wet and harsh enough to sound like he was dying.
There’s a thought. Maybe he’ll keel over from a simple cold. Penn daydreamed for a moment, imagining Niall’s face shifting from red to purple to blue as he choked on his own air and poor choices.
Unfortunately, the man eventually caught his breath and the coughing subsided. “Why aren’t you sick?” he demanded, rubbing his nose with his sleeve, leaving a long streak of snot behind.
Children have better manners than him. “I’m a seasoned traveler,” Penn replied.
Niall narrowed his eyes. “Is that all? Or do you perhaps have a witch watching from the shadows?”
Penn arched an eyebrow even as his heart pounded as he thought again of Adelaide ignoring his directive not to follow them.
She couldn’t defeat Alistair in a direct battle.
That didn’t mean she would allow him to roam free.
“Do you think she caused the rain and then snuck into the inn to feed me a cold remedy?”
“Yes! That exactly!” Niall declared. He reached forward and snatched the reins from Penn’s hands. The horses turned in the direction he pulled, toward the muddy ditch.
“Watch it!” Penn shoved Niall’s shoulder and grabbed the reins, straightening the carriage. As soon as he did, he thought: why did I do that? It would have been better if we crashed. That would have bought him some time, and Niall would only have himself to blame.
Niall’s eyes bulged in his head. “How dare you?” He shoved Penn back with both hands, putting all his strength behind it.
Penn instinctively gripped the reins then had a better idea.
He let go and braced himself as he tumbled right out of the driver’s seat.
His shoulder slammed into the road, and he exhaled sharply.
The carriage trundled on for a moment until Niall regained control of the horses and slowed it to a stop.
Closing his eyes, Penn sprawled on the ground, pretending a greater injury. His whole arm throbbed but he’d protected his head and didn’t get the wind knocked out of him. He heard Niall cursing as the mage jumped down from the driver’s seat and approached Penn cautiously. “Get up.”
Penn ignored him, breathing shallowly.
Niall prodded him with the toe of his shoe.
Penn could have grabbed his ankle and yanked him down to the ground next to him. Taken the opportunity to injure the already sick man, perhaps even kill him. It would eliminate one threat but could hurt Penn’s plans in the long run.
He had other ideas for this opportunity.
Niall reared his foot back to kick him. The carriage door opened before the blow landed.
“What are you doing?” Valistair demanded.
“Stay back! It’s a trap.”
Valistair ignored him and walked confidently toward Penn, stopping within reach. “Tell me what happened.”
“He was steering us toward the ditch. I had to act before he crashed the whole carriage—”
“Do you think I can’t tell when you’re lying?”
“It isn’t a lie!”
“It isn’t the truth either.”
Niall snapped his mouth shut with an audible click, followed by a sullen sniffle.
Valistair crouched next to Penn and brushed the hair off his brow, probing his head for signs of damage.
Penn fluttered his eyelashes open, allowing his eyes to remain unfocused as he gazed in Valistair’s direction.
The mage frowned in displeasure, then scooped Penn into his arms. Penn’s head lolled against Valistair’s chest, and he added a little hitch to his breath for an extra effect.
“Alistair, you shouldn’t—”
“Are you capable of guiding the carriage to the next town, or do I need to do that as well?” The question silently implied Niall was quickly losing his usefulness.
Valistair had no need for Niall’s paltry potion skills, his own magic being far superior.
Away from the palace, with no noble connections, Niall had little else to offer except the role of a servant.
If he couldn’t even manage that, what use was he?
Niall replied through gritted teeth, “I can drive the carriage.”
Valistair didn’t acknowledge him as he carried Penn to the carriage. There was an odd rhythm to his gait, and he walked slower than usual.
Penn’s brow furrowed as he focused on it.
Valerian had never shown any signs of a limp, and he’d picked Penn up dozens of times—usually to change positions in the middle of sex.
He pictured Valerian as he was the last time they’d been together—all scars revealed.
Chunks of muscle had been missing from his thigh that should have limited mobility, yet he’d never shown any signs of struggle.
Is Alistair struggling with a body Valerian grew used to over the years? Or did something else help Valerian adjust? The ring on Penn’s finger suddenly felt heavy with awareness. Did the enchantment offer more than a simple illusion?
From experience, Penn knew that Valerian’s glamours were more than ‘simple illusions.’ Penn’s body had felt different after Valerian cast his spell, and both his and Griselda’s voices had changed.
Valistair set Penn on one of the carriage seats, then grabbed the edges of the door to pull himself inside. He sat heavily on the opposite seat, stretching out his left leg. He massaged the thigh muscle with a grimace, allowing his guard to briefly fall.
Niall closed the door. The carriage shifted slightly as he climbed into the driver’s seat, then began moving again.
After a few more seconds of faking his dazed state, Penn groaned and pushed himself up into a sitting position.
Valistair’s lips quirked slightly, implying he didn’t completely believe the performance. “Typically, you wait until someone is ready to catch you before throwing yourself into their arms. I can’t imagine the road was a soft landing.”
Penn rubbed his head even though it was his shoulder that needed soothing. “What can I say”—a pained rasp colored his voice—“I vastly prefer your company to Niall’s.”
“I’m flattered. Since you’re here with me now, I’ll put you to use.”
Penn tensed, unsure what Valistair had in mind.
It wouldn’t be Penn’s first time fucking in a carriage or fucking someone in exchange for something he needed.
His relationship with Valerian had begun as a transaction—Penn’s body in exchange for the mage’s services.
Yet his stomach soured at the idea. It was Valerian’s familiar body but Alistair’s mind.
Intimacy seemed … wrong under those conditions, even though it was Penn’s best bargaining chip.
Valistair pulled something out of a pack and tossed it to Penn.
He caught it, flinching when he accidentally moved his injured arm. Looking down, he realized it was a roll of clean, fresh bandages. Frowning, he looked up at Valistair, noting the red stain on the bandages covering his left hand.
“I admit,” Valistair said, his tone dry, “that when I told Niall to secure this body through any means necessary, I didn’t think through the permanent repercussions.” He held his mutilated hand out to Penn. One-handed, he couldn’t treat his own injuries.
Penn stared at that hand for a moment, thinking of all the times Valerian had caressed, stroked, and held him.
Ruined by one man’s ruthless pursuit of power.
Penn set the clean bandages in his lap and took Valistair’s hand in his, gently unwrapping the old ones.
They stuck in some places, requiring more force to remove.
Valistair remained stoic through the process, his eyes locked on Penn’s face.
“Why both fingers?” Penn asked. “The ring was only on one of them.”
Valistair pursed his lips in displeasure. “Cutting off just the ring finger would have taken more patience and precision.”
Both of which Niall lacks.
“Your grip is ruined,” Penn observed, his heart sinking as he realized the implications for Valerian. Even if he regained control of his body, it would be changed forever. How many scars could one man bear?
At least the wound beneath the bandages looked like it had been cauterized, if poorly. Penn pressed a folded layer of bandages to it and applied pressure.
“I should have kept the witch after all. Perhaps I can find her still.”
Penn’s head jerked up. Does he also think Adelaide is following us? How do I convince him she’s not? “We had a deal.”
“Are you worth it?” Valistair’s good hand traced Penn’s stubbly jaw.
“I’ve cooperated with you. I haven’t tried to escape. Any information you want, you just need to ask.” He squeezed Valistair’s hand a little too hard and immediately eased the pressure, afraid the mage would retaliate.
Valistair barely noticed, his touch still gentle. He gazed at Penn’s face, drinking in every detail. “Desperation looks good on you.” Valistair’s hand tensed, urging Penn closer.
He guessed what the mage wanted and leaned across the gap, kissing him gently. He expected Valistair to deepen the kiss, but he kept it soft, feather-light and shockingly tender.
The carriage jolted over a rock and Penn tumbled forward. He landed in Valistair’s lap, catching himself with one hand pressed against the seat.
Valistair chuckled and wrapped his good arm around Penn. “All right,” he whispered. “If you throw yourself at me, who am I to decline?” Then kissed Penn again, deeper this time, tongue eagerly exploring.
The kiss lasted until Penn finally pulled away to catch his breath.
Panting, he remembered the wound he was in the middle of treating.
Clutching it while they kissed had at least kept the pressure on long enough to stop the bleeding.
“I need to finish bandaging you up,” he said, settling back in his seat.
“You’re not as good as a trained healer,” Valistair said, “but you’re a fair substitute.”
Is that his way of agreeing not to hunt Adelaide? As Penn rewrapped the bandage, he once again felt the weight of the ring on his left hand. If he gave it to Valistair, would it repair his hand? It might be one more bargaining chip to add to his collection in case the mage lost interest in him.
Penn would use any means necessary to keep Valistair’s focus on him.