The Mage's Heart

I looked in the direction of the voice without pulling Coryfe to a stop. I could make him out, a tangle of limbs and cloth, strung by a net and suspended in the boughs of a tree, a little off the path. What were the chances, I wondered, of two travellers on this road at night, and one of them being unwise enough to venture off the road and become ensnared by a net? I considered him. “You could be a trap to lure a traveller off the trail,” I told him. He laughed, dryly. “I think I am the trapped traveller.” “How did you get yourself trapped up there?” I asked him, we were drawing equal to his tree. I did not have long to decide what to do, without having to retrace my steps. I could make out details of him within the net now. A sizeable, booted foot hung out between the weave, the boot finely made and tooled with elaborate detail, the sole barely showing wear. The c

Coryfe picked his way through the trees like a child picking their way through a meal. I could not blame him. The floor was thick with undergrowth that hid hazardous roots and dips, and every now and again, an unexpected explosion of brethren folk would be unsettled by our passage. He had almost shied twice now at such an occurrence; once when little sprites that had exploded from a bush he had brushed against, their gossamer dragon-fly wings whipping against us as they passed, and the second time when a scurry of fur-clad beings I did not get a good look at had raced across our path, pursued by a fox that stopped and looked at us with too wise, unafraid blue eyes.   Rivyn was less patient. “Have you never ridden this horse across anything other than a road or field?” He demanded, reaching around to claim the reins from me. I held them out of his reach, and he blew out a frustrated breath.   “He isn’t my horse, he is my father’s,” I replied.

Mages spell components were both odd and slightly disgusting, I decided, as I picked through the inn keeper’s kitchen. It was a large room, used not just for the preparation of food, but for much of the family’s time.   The walls were lined with shelves holding everything from crockery to buckets, and the roof was strung with hocks of meat and drying herbs. Rivyn had to duck to avoid some of the beams, warped and roughly shaped, they seemed to sag in places. The floor was stone, scattered with thresh and debris from the cooking, resulting in a less than savoury scent if it was kicked up underfoot.   A bench was set along one wall, and shelves on the other. The shelves held a fascinating array of jars and items I could not even begin to identify. From the dust that gathered around and on top of most of the items, I imagined the innkeeper’s wife could not identify them either.   In the centre of the room was a large table

“We’ll discuss this further in less formal settings,” the woman announced grandly. The figures on the raised seating rose and began to shuffle out murmuring amongst themselves, as if her words were some pre-arranged signal for them to depart.   The woman stepped off the dais and walked towards us. Her eyebrows and eyelashes were the same white as her hair. Her eyes were cold and speculative, I thought. “You can drop your guard,” she told Rivyn. I felt him relax, and he dropped his arm. “You are a very interesting couple,” she looked at us with interest but not hostility. “Come, we will have something to drink, and discuss why you are here, and where you came from.”   “Siorin?” Rivyn murmured as he took my hand and followed her to the door which the robed audience had used to exit.   I looked up at him, meeting his eyes. There was concerned enquiry in his. He wondered where it was that I had been taken and whether I had e

I began to pin the excess material at the waist and down his thighs, fitting the trousers around his legs to be more pleasing to the eye. By necessity, this fitting meant I was touching him in an overly familiar way, and I knew the colour was rising in my cheeks. He watched me, his eyes smouldering in a way that made my skin feel hot and my body ache.   “You can take them off, now,” I said to him. Our eyes locked. His were a true blue with no shadow of other colours in them, no flecks of brown or gold. I drew in an unsteady breath and released the ties that closed the front.   His hand closed over mine, and he pressed my palm against the hot skin of his stomach, sliding it down, through the crisp hair at his groin, to close over his hardness. His eyes closed and his head rocked back on his neck as he guided my hand along him.   “ -  Siorin,” he moaned, his other arm coming behind my back, drawing me closer.