Shadows Return - Lynn Flewelling [97]
“It was that or the fate of the two bowls, wasn’t it? Tell me, how did you escape execution?”
“Teth’sag was declared against me, but the rhui’auros spoke for me and they exiled me instead. It might have been the same for you. You weren’t the one who committed the murder.”
“No, but your father and sister had their eye on me all summer and would have accused me as your seducer.”
Seregil forced himself to stay gentle as he worked his fingers over the delicate sinews and bones of Ilar’s ankle. “You did seduce me—Master,” he murmured.
“Perhaps, at first,” Ilar replied, suddenly wistful. “But I told you before, I began to love you, too.”
Seregil paused and took a deep breath, but he couldn’t hold back any longer. “So much that you sent me to that tent that night, knowing what had to happen?” he asked, fighting to keep his voice low. “Even if I hadn’t killed that man, I’d have been ruined anyway. That was what the Virésse were paying you for, right?” He broke off and rubbed oil carefully over Ilar’s long toes again, as if that could smooth his outburst.
“I never meant for you to kill anyone,” Ilar murmured, resting his head against the back of the chair, more relaxed than Seregil had ever seen him. “I thought you’d get a beating, nothing more.”
Seregil found that hard to believe. It had been an unforgivable breach of hospitality and one that reflected on his entire clan.
“I would have taken you with me, if I could have,” Ilar added quietly. “We would have been happy together. If not for Ulan í Sathil, I’d have been your talimenios.”
Seregil could tell that whatever the truth had been at the time, the man believed his own story now, and thought he meant what he’d just said. But then, they’d both had four decades to dwell on the events of that summer. Did either of them remember anything more than they really wanted to?
Ilar sighed. “You don’t believe me, do you, Haba?”
“What does it matter, Master?” Seregil replied, fighting down the sudden rush of doubt.
Ilar leaned down suddenly, caught him by the collar, and pulled him into a hard kiss. The oil flask fell again, and the scent of roses engulfed them. Seregil made no effort to resist or participate, and he was gratified to see the hint of disappointment in the other man’s eyes as he pulled back. He stayed very still as Ilar cupped his face in both hands and looked into his eyes. After a moment he laughed softly and released Seregil. “Even after all these years, and all that’s befallen me, I’m still tempted. You should be flattered.”
“I suppose I am, Master.” Seregil forced the lie out, shaping it with a grudging sincerity. Let Ilar think he’d been moved by something other than disgust.
Perhaps the act rang true. Ilar grabbed him by the arms and pulled Seregil into his lap as if he were still the green young boy he’d been that long-ago summer. Seregil kept himself pliant and unresisting as Ilar ran greedy hands over his face, shoulders, and chest, then pulled him close to breathe in the scent of his hair.
And for one brief, traitorous moment, Seregil’s body remembered that touch.
Suddenly Ilar pushed Seregil from his lap. He landed on his ass and the bastard gave him a push with one oiled foot, sending Seregil onto his back.
“Feh! It’s like handling a corpse. Do you think you’ll win me over like that?” Ilar barked an order and one of the men outside came in and handed him the whip.
Seregil cowered on the rug, one hand on the wet patch of carpet where the oil had spilled, as Ilar rained blows down on his bowed back and shoulders. “Forgive me, Master! I didn’t dare presume. Do you want—?” Forgive me, Alec. “Do you want me tonight?”
With a bitter laugh, Ilar threw the whip down and pulled up the hem of his robe, letting Seregil see the ruin there. “What use would I have for you, like this?”
Seregil couldn’t suppress a shudder of sympathy; everything had been taken from Ilar. He had nothing left between his legs but scars.
“Oh, Master!” Still not ready to give up the game, he carefully placed a hand on the man’s thigh,