“I wouldn’t know. I don’t pay as much attention to them.”
Maybe the blizzard is affecting him after all. Dizzying him into madness. He swears he hears Leth reply, “That’s good.” He definitely hears Leth’s next words: “I was wrong about you. You aren’t that bad a person.”
An unfamiliar pang of guilt tempers Evain’s reaction. Leth wouldn’t say that if he knew the truth. Cradling his fragile human, Evain says, “You weren’t wrong.” His chin leans more heavily on Leth’s narrow shoulder. “I’m a terrible person.”
***
By the time they reach the ruins, Leth is shivering again, and Evain’s worry reaches a fever pitch. He keeps it to himself, but nudges Daziroth faster past the first few shards of wall.
The ruins aren’t on any map Evain has ever seen. Through a half-arched gateway waits the largest building left standing: a hewn-rock chapel. Snow piles along its walls, and any glass is long since shattered and scattered, but its roof is intact. Evain doesn’t sense any danger at the archway threshold. Glassy gouges mar the carvings around the door and the gateway pillars. The people who last worshiped at this chapel cleaned up their spells before they left.
Evain rides Daziroth up the snow-swept steps, and the wind cuts off as they enter the chapel. The sudden stillness roars in Evain’s ears. He gestures a mote of light into being above them, chasing the darkness away.
Vestibules branch off in each cardinal direction, and the central chamber is circular and plain. No altars or benches. Just a flat black-rock circle slightly raised in the center of the floor. Time and weather have pockmarked the rest of the flagstone floor, but the center circle remains untouched.
Evain doesn’t think it’s a coincidence the rift led them to a Lyrisenian summoning chapel. At least this one has been properly disarmed, and its careful construction likely makes it the safest shelter in the forgotten town.
Reluctantly, Evain unwraps his arms from Leth and dismounts. Leth slides down too, without protesting the supportive hand at his waist. Shivers vibrate through both of them as Evain doesn’t let go, and Leth doesn’t shake him off.
“Let’s move to a smaller chamber,” Evain says. “Easier to keep warm.” And a bit less creepy.
The first chamber is useless, empty except for shards of broken glass and ceramic debris. The second was once a library, and it’s good enough. Nothing remains of the books but dust and scraps of leather gathered in the corners. Tipped-over chairs and tables scatter between tipped-over shelves. The fireplace is the important part.
“These carvings were destroyed by magic, not the elements.” Leth reaches towards a wall but doesn’t quite touch. “No god was worshiped here.”
Evain tugs Leth away by the shoulder. “Exploreafteryou’ve stopped shivering.”
“How are you not cold?” Leth asks.
“I am, though. I’m very, very cold. If only I had someone to warm me up.” Evain pulls Leth to the empty fireplace. “Stay put. I’ll get the firestone from the saddle bags.”
Leth’s face is red from the cold, his hair bedraggled. Evain leaves him reluctantly, reassuring himself that his human probably won’t freeze to death in his absence. He swiftly untacks Daziroth in the central chamber, where the horse’s ears swivel in every direction. Faint scurrying sounds can be heard now and then.
Evain tells his horse, “You can eat the rats, as long as you don’t let Leth see you, all right?”
Daziroth rubs his head against Evain’s chest, then stalks away into the shadows. His hooves are eerily quiet against the broken flagstones.
Back in the library, Leth hasn’t stayed put; he’s feeding pieces of a broken bookshelf into the fireplace. He doesn’t move away when Evain approaches, and their shoulders brush as Evain squats with the firestones. Sending his mote of light up the chimney confirms there’s a clear vent for the smoke. Evain extinguishes it once the fire catches hold.
Pocketing the firestones, Evain is at a loss for what to do next. The urgency of the ride is over. The howling wind has quieted. Leth’s red-rimmed eyes are fixed on him. Instinct draws Evain forward to brush melting snow from Leth’s hair, and he teases on reflex, “We should get you out of those wet clothes.”
Leth’s gaze flicks down. Firelight gilds the tips of his eyelashes. “Youareterrible.” He starts unfastening his gloves.
“Practical,” Evain insists. “My motives are purely practical.” Anticipation swells on a wave of giddy desire.
He watches Leth undress as he strips off his own coat. He likes Leth in any amount of clothing, but less is definitely more. Boots and daggers, gloves and coats pile together by the hearth, until Evain and Leth are only dressed in shirts and trousers. Then it’s the easiest thing in the world to pull Leth to the ground with him.
They sit nested together, facing the fire, Leth’s back against Evain’s chest. Just like sharing a saddle in the storm, except it’s quiet now. There’s no howling wind to distract Evain from Leth’s unsteady pulse. Evain takes Leth’s ice-cold hands in his and intertwines their fingers.
Only then, with Leth’s hands warming against his, does the band of tension ease from Evain’s heart.
Outside, the blizzard still rages, but it can’t touch them here. The fire slowly heats the ancient library, and the pretty human in Evain’s arms has finally stopped shivering. Evain presses his cheek against Leth’s damp hair. A spell bead digs into his skin.
A beautiful man in his arms, a romantic fireside cuddle. Evain’s physical reaction is inevitable. He doesn’t notice his cock hardening, but he notices the moment Leth feels him. Leth goes rigid, and his fingers tighten between Evain’s.
Evain nuzzles his hair. “If you want to stab me, your knife is over there.”
Leth’s muscles unlock, and he melts back against Evain again. “It’s too cold, and you’re too warm. You’re safe until the blizzard is over.”
