The Kwisling [The Isbjørn book 2]

Nineteen

Each bedroom in the palace had a fireplace, one of the many remaining relics of Man's long ago occupation. It served the trio of mankind's occupiers well at the present time of blustery weather.

Daire released John into the arms of a chair and drew off his jacket, leaving to fetch some fresh logs.

Luce pulled off his own thick layers after dropping the bags and the pine crutch by the door. He moved quickly to the fireplace to work some heat into the cool room.

Seeing John collapse, reduced to tears in the middle of a blizzard had been unsettling. It took a great deal to make John cry; only a few tears had been shed while he clutched the body of his mother. But that was shock-- this was something else.

"John," Daire knelt in front of the man, veering away from the distant gaze. "You need to get out of that wet pelt."

He nodded in recognition, moving slowly at the directions but clearly exhausted. Daire was forced to intervene, using his large fingers to undo the delicate buttons.

Luce kept his back to the low voices.

The fireplace had lain in ruin for decades. Thick dust lay over the century old brickwork and made the once black ironwork grey. He popped open the damper and brushed aside the layers of cobweb, just as abandoned as their surroundings. The grate contained semi-charcoaled log, black and grey with settled ash. It was just another sign of mankind, that once in this place there had danced a fire. A time where there had been people to build it, the same human hands that tried to take over Iaran'talamh.

Luce cast the log aside, not unaware of its weight, and built a new teepee of thin logs, sparking a flame at the base and fanning the glow.

Daire hung Jihn's pelt over the mantle, droplets landing on the hearth and touching near the grate with a faint sizzle. He traced back to the man removing the secondary coat, having discovered the sleeves were faintly damp. He draped the coat over the chair's arm.

Luce dusted his hands off on his trousers as he finished his work. "Make sure to take off his shoes and socks too, his feet are probably--" He stopped himself as Daire unlaced the single boot and shucke off the solitary sock. The items landed together on the floor. To anyone with two feet, the project would seem half finished. John's other shoe was somewhere in the bag.

Daire cast a look over his shoulder at the Saevan

"Oh shit-- do you think heard?"

Daire shifted to his weight onto his other knee. "He's out." John's head lulled to one side, chin resting on his shoulder. "And it's only weird when you make it weird."

"Sorry." He moved to cross his arms over his chest, but chose not to resign himself with the uncomfortable gesture. "I'm just--"

"Stop apologizing." Luce was always the jumpiest when it came to discussing John's leg.

Luce took a breath, resetting before his approach. "Alright." He rubbed the back of his neck, pulling at the hairs that had sprouted down his neck. "Do you have everything handled here?"

"You're not staying?"

Luce was momentarily distracted as he saw Daire working off John's trousers. For a moment he thought to object. But of course  they had to be removed. The pants were soaked from John collapsing into the snow. If Luce had intended to stay before, nothing could keep him in the room if the pants were coming off.

"No. I think he'd want to be alone after--" The trousers were sliding down his thighs. It was time to leave. "I'll see you down stairs." His parting words flew with him out the door.