Page 24 of Zel
Zel clasped Ulrich’s hand and brought it back in contact with the braids. “My mother used to help me with my hair, since it is difficult to manipulate such volume alone. Its length is not always a blessing since it cannot be cut.”
“It cannot be?” Ulrich had wondered about that.
“Well,Ican cut it, but only me. We did not want others knowing that and thinking of ways to use it against me. I only used the knowledge to manage the hair around my face.” Zel brought Ulrich’s hand up to touch the fringe.
The hair was so wonderfully soft, but especially because Ulrich felt no pain while touching it. “Did you ever wish to cut its length?”
“Yes, but I have grown fond of it. I would gladly keep it this way forever now if I could style it on my own more easily.”
“Perhaps that could be the first magic I teach you.”
Zel’s eyes brightened. “I would like that. But even if you do, would you perhaps like to help me with my hair each day? When you have the time or desire to, of course. It is your brush mymother always used to comb it, and now that brush is mine. The silver one?”
“I remember it. And yes.” Ulrich allowed Zel to move his hand from hair to delicate cheek, while enough strands still brushed it to keep it plump. “I would like to assist you. Tomorrow then. For now, would you like to help me in the garden, Zel?”
“That sounds lovely, my lord.”
Lovely. So lovely.
Perhaps Ulrich had not accounted for everything with his would-be assassin after all.
Five
ZEL
Zel had learned so much, and all he had asked to know was how and when Ulrich had been the worst.
He truly had been. He was the Immortal King! The current Queen had ruled Falchovari for two centuries, but countless centuries before her name had even been uttered, the Immortal King had been written and sung about as a beast from the underworld who’d surfaced to spread malice and cruelty like a plague. There could be no viler being in all the histories, and Ulrich had not shied from showing Zel how true most of it was.
Not all the old stories were true though. If they had been, there would be no way to kill him, but Ulrich was no beast. He had simply been an elf once, who self-taught his way to power andsacrificed much for the immortality that he now seemed sick of. Yet the pain his arm caused him pushed him to devour more and more souls if only to keep the ache at bay.
If allthatwas true and not merely a convenient lie, would it be a kindness to slay him? Could he be slayed, mortal once but unstoppable now? It all had to do with that cursed arm. That was Zel’s best clue.
Ulrich had been genuinely comforted to have Zel touch it, or to run his shriveled, claw-like fingers down Zel’s braids. The arm had returned to life in those moments as if blessed by Zel’s magic. Ulrich had certainly seemed genuine at least, especially in his surprise that any of it was possible. He hadn’t expected it, and if Zel could continue to surprise him, he had the upper hand, so to speak.
Even if killing Ulrich wasn’t a mercy, surely slaying such a monster was justified. Ulrich had not sought retribution for his centuries of evil, only seclusion. And he still killed, horribly so. Only trespassers, thieves and possibly murderers who dared to enter his lands, but hadn't Zel's parents nearly been counted among those slain, and by extension, Zel himself? Was he, as a thief and murderer, any different?
Zel could not think on it all too much, or he would falter, when it hadn’t even been a full day on this mission. He instead had to focus on one of the most important tenets of the Thieves Guild.
Do not mourn your marks. They are already dead.
They had gone outside into the garden after their visit to the past, enjoying the spring weather that beyond the wall would have been bitter autumn. Ulrich had shown Zel how he tended to the plants, even how he used the rich red fertilizer that had become of the people he drained. If Zel had not grown up among assassins, he might have thought it sickening to use the remains of people to garden, while sharing stories and songs with their killer.
As things stood, the morn was quite pleasant in Ulrich’s company. The sharp scrutiny that had been tainting his words and presence had softened.
After the midday meal, Zel asked if he might pen his parents a letter, and Ulrich gave him leave to do so, promising he would ensure the letter reached its destination once ready.
Zel kept the letter simple. He was well, he was optimistic about the future, and they needn’t worry but wait to see him again when the month was over. He and his parents had worked out a code for him to use to give them hints of his progress without anything seeming suspicious should Ulrich read the letter, which Zel expected he would.
I have continued to eat my daily lettuce, as expected of my betrothed, but being here, I swear that only one leaf would be enough to sustain me.
One leaf,one leadto grow on to ensure the month ended successfully.
Zel had been alone at the desk in the main room, but the moment he finished and blew upon the ink for it to dry, Ulrich appeared to help him send the letter off. With a wave of his hand, the rest of the ink dried. With another wave, the parchment lifted from the table, folded upon itself into the shape of a bird, and flew out the window toward the heart of the kingdom.
Some of Ulrich’s magic was terrifying. But some, like what was always said of elves, was beautiful. He was beautiful, and strangely, the darkness in him did not obscure that beauty as much as Zel had expected.
“It must have taken your mother hours to tend to these locks.”
