Chapter Twenty-Five
The floorboard creaked, resisting the metal pry bar with all its might until the wood finally cracked and snapped like a broken bone. Penn flinched in sympathy for Valerian’s poor shop. The mage might have abandoned it for the palace, but it didn’t deserve this undignified end.
Niall paused to wipe sweat from his brow, his face mottled from exertion. “Why am I doing all the work?” he demanded, glowering at Penn.
Penn watched the show while sitting atop the sales counter, legs dangling idly. “Would you like me to take over?” he asked, bracing his hands in preparation to hop down and assist.
His readiness to help made Niall suspiciously narrow his eyes and clutch the pry bar jealously to his chest. “And give you a weapon? How stupid do you think I am?”
Very. Penn settled back into a relaxed pose. “If you’re sure.”
Niall’s brow furrowed as he looked between Penn, the pry bar, and the floor, trying to figure out if he’d somehow been tricked.
He started to offer the tool to Penn, then pulled it back toward himself, repeating the action twice more before deciding to keep it.
“You can search the area once I’ve finished,” he grumbled as he pried up another floorboard.
The back door to the shop opened and Valistair walked in.
While Niall and Penn had spent the past two days searching the shop, Valistair had been recovering at the inn.
At least, he was supposed to be recovering.
Exhaustion painted his face with dark purple circles under his eyes and a sallowness to his once golden skin.
Despite sleeping in a warm bed, he looked worse off than both Niall and Penn, who had remained in the shop the whole time and slept on the bare wooden floors.
“Bad dreams?” Penn asked.
The mage glared at him, and a shudder went down Penn’s spine, as if the icy blue eye could actually freeze him. The burning cold hate in the mage’s eyes made him look more like Alistair, like Val was losing his hold on his own face.
Penn shrank away like a dog who’d expected a treat and instead received a swift kick. He cast his eyes downward, and his lower lip trembled once.
Valistair sighed and stepped toward Penn, hand outstretched to soothe his poor pet.
“I’ve almost finished dismantling the floorboards!” Niall exclaimed.
That outstretched hand dropped, and the mage returned his attention to their task.
Once everyone looked away from him, Penn’s wounded expression disappeared. What a waste of my acting skills. Pretending to be pitiful had worked before, and it would have worked again if Niall hadn’t interrupted them.
Niall’s lips smushed into a suppressed smirk as he shot a triumphant look over his master’s shoulder. With more enthusiasm than he’d shown all morning, Niall jabbed the pry bar between the floorboards and yanked the next one up.
A large chunk of wood snapped off and flipped through the air toward Valistair’s face. A few inches away, it smashed into an invisible barrier, breaking into smaller pieces that scattered over the ground. Glittering ice crystals clung to the wood, spreading from the point of contact.
Niall’s triumph dissolved into panic. “Master, I—I’m so sorry!” He leapt forward and brushed his hands over Valistair’s clothes, checking to see if any debris clung to him.
Valistair ignored his efforts and shoved him away. Niall cried out in alarm as he stumbled backwards and fell hard against the wall. The other mage stared at him, stunned, then looked down at his own hand as if he didn’t recognize it.
Most mages cloistered themselves away with their books, investing more in their research than their bodies.
Alistair’s original body perfectly exemplified this—thin, weak, as pale as untouched snow.
Valerian had always been an outlier, valuing his physical strength as much as his magical abilities.
If it’d come down to a fistfight between the two mages, Valerian would have knocked Alistair out in three moves or less.
Now that Alistair was controlling that strength, he didn’t know what to do with it.
Valistair flexed his fingers several times before dropping his hand. He turned away from his subordinate without offering to help him up. Looking down at the floorboards, he demanded, “Why are you tearing the shop apart?”
Niall pushed to his feet, steadying himself with one hand against the wall. “You … you told me to search the place for whatever the mercenary left behind.”
“Did you think he would hide his valuables in such a mundane way?”
“Well, if he wanted to throw someone off his trail …” This time, Niall was on the receiving end of that ice cold glare. His stammering came to an abrupt halt as he snapped his mouth shut.
“Valerian Sommers specialized in illusion and transfiguration magic. He did not need to hide his research under the floorboards or in the attic when he could transform it into anything he wanted.”
Niall looked down at the pry bar in his hands, then hid it behind his back, as if placing it out of sight would help his master forget the blunder. “Yes, of course.” After a few seconds, he asked, “So … where should I look?”
Valistair rubbed his temples, his eyes pinched in pain.
Penn watched each movement carefully. Is Niall just annoying him, or is Valerian fighting back?
“Have you searched the upstairs?” Valistair asked.
“Yes. A few personal effects were left behind—all the furniture, some dirty bed linens, and a used bar of soap. The rest was stripped clean.”
Valistair silently nursed his headache for a few minutes before speaking. “I will take another look.” Then he glanced at Penn and said simply, “Come.”
Next, he’ll issue commands by crooking his finger or patting his side. Penn smiled through his annoyance and hopped off the counter. As he landed, he tripped over his own feet and grabbed Valistair’s shoulder to catch himself. The mage’s arm wrapped around his waist to steady him.
Niall scowled at the display. “You shouldn’t be alone with him when you’re so weak—” his words choked off and his eyes bulged in shock. His jaw hung open, forced to expand as ice filled his mouth. Drool and ice melt dripped down his chin, and he clawed at his throat, gasping for air.
Cold seeped through Penn’s clothes where Valistair touched him. Penn shivered and instinctively pulled away only for the mage’s muscles to flex and hold him firmly in place.
“Do you still think I’m weak?” Valistair asked, his breath clouding the air.
Niall frantically shook his head. The ice melted in a burst of water, splashing down his front and soaking his shirt.
He stumbled to the side and grabbed the wall to support himself as he vomited more water onto the floor.
Once he’d expelled it all, he wiped his mouth clean on his shoulder and glared at Penn as if he was to blame for the harsh rebuke.
“I may have a new face,” Valistair said, “but never forget who I am.”
“No, master. Of course not.” Niall obediently dropped his gaze. His fist clenched on the pry bar he still held, as if he sorely wished to bash someone’s head in.
Go on. Try it. Penn stared intently at the weapon, watching for the slightest twitch.
The moment Niall attacked him; he would have an excuse to fight back.
It might even convince Valistair that the man was dead weight, not worth the effort it took to discipline him.
Either way, it would remove Niall from the equation, making Penn’s task easier.
Niall’s hand loosened on the pry bar, dropping it to the ground. “Forgive me, Alistair. My head is clouded from long days of travel. Since you have everything covered here, I will return to the inn to rest.” He left the shop without waiting for Valistair’s approval.
The wedge between them widened. A few more careful strikes, and their relationship might break beyond repair. Penn just needed to find the right tool.
“You’re scheming something.”
Penn glanced up at Valistair’s face. He shifted closer, caressing his hand down the mage’s back, fingers splayed wide to touch as much of him as possible. “Being here reminds me of Val,” Penn said, voice soft. “I miss him.”
The mage grabbed Penn’s chin, holding it in place in preparation for a kiss. “I am him.”
“You look like him,” Penn agreed. His hand switched directions, stroking a path up the mage’s spine in a lazy pattern. Desire thickened his next words. “You feel like him.”
“I have his memories,” Valistair whispered against Penn’s lips. “I know everything he does about you.”
“Do you remember how it felt the first time you fucked me?” Penn asked, specifically changing the pronouns, dragging the mage deeper into the fantasy.
He grabbed the mage’s shirt and tugged them both backwards until his ass hit the counter.
“Right here, in this shop, with only a ‘closed’ sign to keep the customers away.”
The mage brushed his lips over Penn’s, then kissed a soft line from his cheek down his neck, leaving Penn’s mouth free to speak. The mage’s hands trailed down Penn’s sides, then grabbed his hips and lifted him up onto the counter.
“Do you want to feel it again?” Penn whispered. From this angle, he couldn’t see the mage’s eyes, only the blond top of his head. He could pretend it was still Val in control.
The mage’s teeth sank into his neck, a sharp mix of pleasure and pain. He sucked the skin slowly, purposefully, intending to leave a dark mark of ownership.
Penn tilted his head back to give him better access and wrapped one leg around Val’s waist, pulling him closer.
The mage’s teeth slowly withdrew from Penn’s neck, his attention wandering to somewhere behind Penn.
No, look at me. He needed to distract Valistair, to delay his search of the shop.
The longer it took him to find whatever he wanted, the more time Val had to fight him.
Penn placed his hand on Valistair’s cheek, trying to gently guide his face back down for a kiss, but the mage resisted him.
He grabbed Penn’s wrist and held it away as he stared at the shelves behind the counter.
They’d once held raw materials and other supplies. Like the rest of the shop, they’d been picked clean when Valerian left. Unlike the other shelves, they lacked the expected layer of dust.
The mage dropped Penn’s hand and walked around the counter, running his fingers over the edge of each shelf.
“What are you looking for?” Penn asked, keeping his tone nonchalant. The more he knew, the easier it would be to guide the mage away from his goals.
Valistair gripped one of the shelves and tugged, pulling out a chunk a few inches long.
He held it firmly in one hand while he stroked the edge with his thumb.
The wood shifted under his hands, parting into pages, splitting open like a book.
The mage’s eyes glimmered with avarice as he looked from the hidden book in his hand to the rest of the shelves.
Dread curdled in Penn’s stomach and soured on his tongue. The mage never responded to his question, but he already knew the answer.
Alistair had found Valerian’s grimoires.