Page 70 of Seducing the Sorcerer
Five minutes that had been better than whole weeks with other men.
Morgrim said, “Gods. Oh my fucking Gods.”
“Aye. You magicked up again?”
“Fuck yes.”
“Thought you were worried about Jasper?”
“Little sneak. I stopped caring when you put your hand up my robe.”
“Ha. Me and all. And don’t call the boy that. Ain’t nice.”
Morgrim opened his eyes, looked past Fenn, closed them again. “Need to lie down. Everything...jelly.”
“Lie down here? On the floor?”
Morgrim had had a terrible shock and was wet through. Lying on the cold stone floor seemed the great-grand-daddy of bad ideas.
“Anywhere,” Morgrim murmured. “Don’t care. I’d lie on thorns. I’d just...float.”
“Give over. You’ll catch your death.”
Fenn spotted some rolled carpets by a dresser. A carpet was better than a stone floor. He lifted Morgrim off the writing desk, made sure he wasn’t going to fall over, and unrolled a carpet. It was black, with black tassels. Morgrim sank down onto it, holding his trouser leg and boot in one hand. He sighed, stretching as if it was the finest feather bed. Fenn lay next to him, using one of the unrolled carpets as a pillow.
“Alive,” Morgrim said. “We’re still alive. Can you believe it? Although, are we? Doesn’t this feel like heaven? Maybe you didn’t save me after all.”
“There this much dust in heaven?”
Morgrim smiled, that easy unfocused smile that made him look so unfamiliar, and draped an arm and bare leg across Fenn. Fenn shifted to make him more comfortable. Despite his remark about the dust, he knew what Morgrim meant. It was bliss to lie there together and to simply be while the rain rattled against the nearest window and the kitten played with a loose thread at the foot of the old carpet.
But after a while, Fenn remembered that he had questions. And he reckoned he had a right to some answers.
“What were you and Aramella talking about out there?”
“Mm? Nothing.” Morgrim’s voice was a dismissive mumble. He sounded nearly asleep.
“Sounded like there’s something you ought to tell me?”
“Not now, Fenn. Please?”
Fenn drew in his breath to insist, considered the fact that Morgrim had just nearly died, and let it out again, trying to send his frustration with it. Because perhaps peppering Morgrim with questions right now was a bit harsh. Especially when he’d have to get to work on some anti-hex magic any minute. Let the poor bloke take a moment.
The floor became hard. Fenn shifted and a number of aches and pains twinged, especially about the ribs. His clothes were still damp and he was none too warm. Morgrim couldn’t exactly be toasty himself. Fenn glanced down at Morgrim’s hand, which rested on Fenn’s chest. It was cleaner than he’d expected, but was still all cuts and scratches, the fingernails broken and bloody.
“Ought to get you cleaned up,” Fenn said.
“It’s fine. I washed. They brought me water on the bridge.”
“Aye, but you want something on those cuts. Bitter aloes; that’s the stuff.”
“Isn’t that for horses?”
“Works on people too. Used to use it on all the stable hands. And myself.”
“Can we not just lie here?” Morgrim sounded almost plaintive.
“You’ll get poorly. You should change. And then I’m putting something on your hands before you get to work and no nonsense. Got it?”
