Page 17 of Sword & Sacrifice

“Obviously not,” Niall replied, sniffing in disdain. “You will sleep in the chair. In fact …” he trailed off as he searched around in his pack. He didn’t seem to find what he was looking for, so he moved on to the pile of wet clothes he’d abandoned in the middle of the floor. “Sit down, put your hands behind your back.”

Penn obeyed, wondering idly: how many times have I been tied up in the past week?

Niall had improved his knot work, tying the cravat tight enough to keep Penn busy for a few hours without threatening his circulation.

The mage returned to the warm bed, wrapped the blankets around himself in a tight bundle, and rested his head on both pillows.

“You won’t even spare a blanket?” Penn asked, not that he’d expected it.

“Be happy I’m not drugging you into oblivion,” Niall grunted.

Penn stopped taunting him and did his best to get comfortable in the chair. He’d slept in worse conditions. He leaned his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes.

In such an uncomfortable position, it took him a long time to fall asleep. Once he did, his dreams were full of someone knocking endlessly at a locked door, trying to get in.

Chapter Nine

Silas absentmindedly reached for the next piece of paper. His hand only touched the wood of the table. He groped around for a moment, brows knit together. With an exasperated sigh he finally looked up from his notes.

The endless stack of papers he’d been poring over had vanished. In their place were a few curls of black hair, trailing up to a pair of strong forearms pillowing a familiar face, relaxed in sleep.

Somehow, Archer had entered Silas’ makeshift office in the backroom of a tavern, moved paperwork around, and made himself comfortable without Silas noticing.

Guilt soured his stomach as he glanced at a clock on the mantel and discovered it was well after midnight. How long had Archer silently waited for him before succumbing to sleep?

Silas leaned forward and rubbed a thumb over Archer’s cheek, scratching his fingers through the wiry beard. Archer’s sooty eyelashes fluttered open, the firelight dancing in his dark eyes, adding to his general air of wildness.

“You should have interrupted my work,” Silas murmured, his hand still resting against Archer’s cheek, wanting to prolong that small connection.

Archer shrugged and leaned against Silas’ palm, his eyes closing again. He looked like he would be happy to sleep in the little dining room as long as Silas kept touching him.

“Let’s go to bed.”

They packed up his papers in silence and carried the box upstairs. The owner of Capital City Brews had graciously offered rooms for those displaced by the fire, and Silas had been assigned the same room he and Archer had spent one blissful night in. Officially, Archer had a room next door, a shallow attempt to obscure their intimate relationship, but it was late enough that they didn’t care about any witnesses.

Archer hesitated in the doorway, his brow furrowed as he took in the chaotic state of the room. Boxes of documents had bred like bunnies and covered every surface except for the bed.

“Set it anywhere,” Silas said, unbuttoning his jacket and sliding it off his shoulders.

Archer placed the box on top of a pile near the door, making sure there was a clear path to the exit.

“Remember when I said I could rule the kingdom from my bedroom?” Silas asked with a rueful smile. “Who knew it would be a prediction.” A lump formed in his throat, adding weight to his attempt at humor.

Archer pulled Silas to him, wrapping him in a tight hug. He rested his chin on Silas’ head and murmured, “You’ve worked hard.” His deep voice rumbled through his chest so Silas could feel the concern as much as hear it.

“So have you,” Silas said, squeezing him tighter. He tilted his head back to look at Archer, admiring his form in the lantern light. Every time they were separated, for weeks or only hours, he always wanted to reacquaint himself with Archer’s strength, his beauty, the heat of his skin.

Before Silas could issue a coy invitation, a thick yawn stretched his jaw wide and shuddered through him.

Still holding tightly onto Silas, Archer sat them both down on the bed. The mattress creaked as it sank beneath them. “When was the last time you slept?”

The last time we were here together. Silas didn’t say the thought out loud, knowing how unhappy it would make Archer. Ever since the palace fire, Silas had been running around trying to put out the flames, literal and metaphorical. Between Varro’s escape, Alistair’s execution, the funeral pyres, and endless meetings with advisers and staff and displaced nobility, Silas barely had time to blink, let alone sleep. “Too long,” he admitted.

“Sleep,” Archer said, rubbing Silas’ back in soothing circles. His deft fingers found a knot near Silas’ shoulder blade and kneaded it to release the muscle’s tension.

“Only if you stay with me,” Silas said, his eyes already half-closed.

Archer’s forehead brushed Silas’ shoulder when he nodded.