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6
Pale, rotting hands reached through the dark. They pawed at his face, gripped fistfuls of his hair, and rent his tunic; jagged, black-edged nails scraped over his skin. They were trying to get inside of him; trying to pry open his jaw and climb down his throat and make it back to the world of the living.
Náli twisted and thrashed. He tried to scream, but water filled his lungs, the hands wrapped around his neck, hooked inside his mouth, and he was choking, choking…
“…my lord. Náli. Náli, wake up.”
He woke with a gasp, jolting upright in bed. There were no hands, and no water; he wasn’t drowning. And yet he panted, struggling to catch his breath, heart hammering wildly. He was freezing, he realized, his teeth chattering despite the slick film of sweat on his skin. A droplet trickled down between his shoulder blades, and he shuddered.
It was dark, still, save the glow of coals in the hearth, and the single candle that had been lit over on the desk. Just enough light to illuminate the familiar shape of Mattias perched on the edge of his bed.
“What time is it?” he asked.
Mattias offered a pewter cup: water which he drank gratefully down. “Just before dawn. You were whimpering in your sleep.”
“Hm.” A common occurrence, even if the nightmares had grown more frequent and visceral recently. He was too worn-down; his magic had stretched too thin. An unpleasant truth to think of, even if he could acknowledge it; it was much easier to focus on a more easily remedied disappointment. “You’re still dressed.” And Mattias was, down to his boots.
Mattias took the cup back, hesitating. “I was on night guard duty,” he said, at last, looking toward the fireplace.
“And how is that possible when you were day duty yesterday?”
Mattias shrugged and fiddled with the cup.
“You reprimand me about resting,” Náli said. “And then you don’t rest yourself.”
“It isn’t the same, my lord.”
A wave of shaking weakness washed over him, and Náli chose to grind his teeth rather than lie back down and try to catch a few more hours’ sleep. “Perhaps I’d rest better if you were lying here with me, rather than sitting outside the room.”
Mattias’s head whipped back toward him, and though it wasn’t possible, Náli swore he saw color bloom in his cheeks. How the man could kiss him the way he did, and then blush about it, Náli didn’t understand. He’d thought – hoped – that this last bit of time away from home, without his mother glaring from the high seat through yet another matchmaking ball, that he and Mattias could connect. Physically. Their one chance to truly be together before his responsibilities caught up with him.
“My lord,” Mattias began.
“Matti,” Náli bit back. “Honestly–”
Someone rapped at the door.
Náli frowned, and glanced toward the dark window glass. He’d heard no horns nor bells; and this knock was far too forceful to be one of his Guard.
Mattias surged to his feet, entire demeanor shifting. His hand fell automatically to the hilt of his sword as he moved toward the door.
“The likelihood it’s a cutthroat is slim,” Náli said with a snort.
But Mattias held firm to his sword, and the door, as he cracked it open and peeked out. Words were exchanged, too low for Náli to make out, then Mattias stepped back with an air of reluctance and opened the door wide.
To Náli’s surprise, it was Leif who entered, carrying himself in that new way that would have conjured images of wolves in the minds of even the most skeptical, naïve observer. He smelled of magic now, a crackle in the air like ozone everywhere he went. It left the inside of Náli’s nose tingling.
He drew himself upright in bed, dragging the covers more firmly across his lap and tossing his sleep-rumpled hair over his shoulder. He might be in a nightshirt, hair unbraided, but he could still adopt his usual air.
Mattias lit two more candles, and in the swell of fresh light, Leif looked unimpressed. Náli had never been so glad to have had his advances rejected before. What in the gods’ names would have happened if Leif had welcomed him that drunken night at Long Reach? And then gone and gotten himself turned to a shifter? Shudder the thought.
“This is a surprise,” Náli said. “And not the good kind. Can we help you, your grace?”
Leif’s mouth tugged to the side, a humorless smirk, and he glanced over his shoulder at Mattias, as the door was eased shut.
“Whatever you want to say to me, you can say it in front of Mattias. You’d have to drag him from the room, otherwise.”
Mattias pushed his shoulders back and stood up tall to emphasize the difficulty of that task. Leif could do it, obviously, imbued with unnatural strength, but he only shook his head and refocused on Náli. “I need to talk to you about Ragnar.”
