Page 24 of Sword & Sacrifice

“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.