Rasnake(25)

"I'm not thinking with the token around my neck or the one in my pants, Milton. Shut up, already. You know me better than that."

Milton said nothing, only snatched his mug back and refilled it from the pitcher the servant had brought.

Tallant snagged the extra mug she'd also brought along, and filled it. "So what did I miss, while I had your brother pinned in bed?"

Scowling, Milton kicked him under the table. Mollified for the moment by Tallant's grunt of pain, he said, "They've begun work on the new drawbridge. Cecil's men have done a lot of crazy shit with ropes to begin hacking up the dragon and carting away the pieces. I wanted to look around the chapel last night, but I collapsed not long after you. We found you dead to the world and I got Cecil to cart you off."

"Knowing full well how clingy I got," Tallant added, amused.

"I'm not going to deny it's amusing as hell to fluster him, but I didn't expect you to kiss him so soon." He kicked Tallant under the table again.

Tallant rolled his eyes. "All this protesting is rich coming from a man exiled for twelve years for getting frisky with Her Ladyship."

Milton smirked. "She was the one insisting on riding lessons."

"I rest my case," Tallant said, and opened the first of his six books. "Unless you've need of me elsewhere, I am going to sit here and study. I need to learn more about the wards—and how you know who broke them."

"So he can use magic?" Milton asked. "Because I'm just not clear on that point."

"He can use it about as well as a novice can use a sword—a self-taught novice at that."

Milton winced. "Enough knowledge to know absolutely nothing."

"Basically," Tallant replied.

"Then you read. Just say if you need anything. Tonight, you and I are exploring the chapel. I want an end to all of this, one way or another, and I want it soon."

Tallant smiled briefly. "Yes, my lord."

Rolling his eyes, Milton finished his cider, clapped Tallant on the shoulder, and departed. The great hall fell silent in his wake, but Tallant supposed all available hands were outside working on the drawbridge. Settling into his seat, Tallant began to read.

He did not look up from his reading until the sound of boots, the rattle of weapons, broke his concentration. He looked up to catch Cecil glaring at him, though he did not think it was anger turning those cheeks pink. "Hello, Cecil. Can I help you with something?"

Cecil's cheeks darkened, but he said nothing, only sat down at the farthest end of the table. Only then did Tallant notice the bandages, the way Cecil's left forearm was bleeding. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Cecil said tersely.

Tallant snorted. "You're bleeding, and came all the way in here to deal with it. You are willing to endure me, rather than go somewhere else to tend it, so you must be in pain."

"If I'm bothering you, I am more than happy to go somewhere else," Cecil snapped, and made to stand—but then went white and dropped back into his seat.

Rolling his eyes, Tallant leapt neatly over the table, strode the end of it, and shoved Cecil back down into his seat.

"Let. Me. Go," Cecil hissed, and tried to stand again.

Tallant smiled, and said cheerfully, "Sit down, or I'll knock you to the floor and pick up where we left off this morning."

Cecil glared at him, green eyes sparking fury, face red—but he stayed seated. Releasing his grip on Cecil's shoulders, Tallant sat down next to him and examined what proved to be bloody scratched. "What happened?"

"Just tearing apart the dragon," Cecil said sourly. "I slipped and scraped my arm against a ragged chunk of scale."

Tallant smiled faintly and resisted an urge to rake back the wet, dirty braids and steal a kiss from the pouty mouth. "Slunk in here to avoid fussing?"

Cecil nodded, and tried to withdraw his arm, but Tallant held fast. "Now, now," he chastised, then focused his magic and rested his free hand gently over the wounds. He cast a light healing spell, enough to close the wounds and ease the worse of the pain. When he was certain it had set, he let go of Cecil's arm slowly. "There you go."

Cecil stared at his arm, then slowly looked up at Tallant—but then immediately dropped his gaze, before saying stiffly, "Thank you."

"My pleasure," Tallant said. "Speaking of magic, I have been doing what I can to study the wards all day. Here, you can look over my notes and tell me what you think. Sworn brother though he be, Milton has very little interest in studying the magic he's always making me use."

Cecil snorted, clearly amused, but said nothing. Grinning, Tallant went to fetch his books. Seeing a servant, he signaled for food and drink. Gathering up his books, he rejoined Cecil at the end of the table and presented his notes first. Eying him warily, Cecil slowly took the notes and began to read. Frowning, he read them again, then pulled out one of the books from the stack.

Recognizing a scholar lost, Tallant withdrew slightly. When the servant arrived with food and drink, Tallant thanks her quietly and sipped at his ale while he watched Cecil continue to read and write. Such a contrast, this earnest scholar from the prickly warrior that was all he'd so far seen. Though, Tallant did rather like the hard, rough look of him. Scholar he might be, but Tallant could not picture Cecil with more scholarly looks. The image of Cecil in robes and soft, loose hair just did not work. He liked the leathers, the braids and bangles, the way Cecil could hold his own in any fight.