Faerie Story:  Chapter Six

“There’s not a lot of call these days for stones as good as these,” the jeweler admitted ruefully. “Normally I’d snatch them out of your hands, because of next week’s festival at Emerald City. It’s the only time of the year when people spend serious money on new jewelry. But with what happened yesterday, I doubt anyone’s prepared to travel so far.”

“What happened?” Skinner asked curiously

At the jeweler's look of surprise, Skinner explained he’d only arrived in the city that day and hadn’t yet heard any news.

“Then it’s a miracle you arrived here at all. We’ve received message birds from three other border cities saying that the Faerie are at large. Not just their usual small raiding parties, but dozens upon dozens of them roaming the hills. They’ve torched every small settlement along their border and are spreading outwards. It seems that anyone found outside a city’s walls is fair game now.”

“That’s always been true,” Skinner pointed out dryly.

“Ah, perhaps so. But that was always people traveling alone or in groups of two or three. Yesterday, the Faerie attacked a group of over fifty people journeying between Hasta and Arindale. They slaughtered them all.”

Skinner paled dramatically. “Fifty people?”

“Fifty well armed people, by all accounts. People who were traveling a good twenty miles away from the border. It’s never happened before. It’s always been safe to travel in a large group, hasn’t it? Particularly so far away from Faerie land. Anyway, that’s why no one will be going to Emerald City for the festival. No one’s going to be traveling *anywhere* until the Faerie calm down again.”

Skinner felt sick. The deaths of those people were surely *his* fault. But all he said was, “So you aren’t interested in buying?”

“I didn’t say *that*,” the jeweler retorted quickly, as Skinner reached to retrieve his gemstones from the counter. “I’m simply saying I’m not prepared to buy *all* of them. I can’t afford to hold on to too much stock when the market’s poor.”

Skinner just shrugged. There were other jewelers, and anyway, he had far more stones than the few he was showing the man.

Most of Alexin’s stones were embedded in intricately beautiful Faerie jewelry. Skinner was too wise to offer any of *that* for sale, but couldn’t bring himself to destroy the jewelry and extract the gemstones until he ran out of loose stones to sell. Quite apart from anything else, although Alexin seemed perfectly content to allow Skinner to trade his unset stones, he clearly had no idea that Skinner might sell his wearable jewelry, too. Several times over the past week, when they had camped for the night, Alexin had entertained himself happily by playing with his various necklaces, bracelets and rings, and it had been clear from the look on his face that he’d been dreaming of the time he might wear them again. Although Skinner would sell the jewelry if he had to, he saw no point in upsetting the boy unnecessarily. Particularly when he had so many of the unset stones to barter with.

In fact, he had so many of the loose gemstones to sell that he had little interest even in bartering with the jeweler for a good price. The only reason he stayed and haggled over money at all was because he couldn’t afford to draw attention to himself. So it took over an hour before the jeweler selected half a dozen of the prettiest stones and agreed a price with him for them.

He left the shop with a substantial pouch of gold coins, which he quickly secreted in his bag. Then he took a fresh handful of stones and repeated the process with another jeweler.

After three hours, and three successful sales, he decided it wouldn’t be safe to offer any more gems for sale in that city. Rumors had a way of spreading, and while he’d gained a substantial amount of more easily useable coin, it wasn’t such a sum that it would bring undue attention to him. It was sufficient, however, to pay for their lodgings, supplies, two good horses *and* enough fripperies to hopefully put a permanent smile onto Alexin’s face.

With that in mind, his next visit was to a drapers. Although he elicited more than a few strange stares on entering the shop still dressed in the garb of a mountain fighting man with so many visible wounds that it was hard to tell whether he looked terrifying because he’d survived such injuries or less dangerous because he’d allowed such injuries to be inflicted upon him, the heavy clink of his pouch soon caused the shopkeeper to abandon her other customers and award Skinner her full attention.

Skinner suffered through the embarrassment of having to admit he didn’t know his ‘wife’s’ actual dress size, but the woman helpfully paraded several of her girls until Skinner saw one who was close to Alexin’s size.

“But my wife is almost as tall as I,” he admitted gruffly, “and her... chest... is far less developed.”

The woman blinked in surprise at the thought of such a tall, flat chested woman, but she merely suggested that Skinner chose any gown he liked and she’d tighten the bodice and add the appropriate length to its skirts with panels of silk or lace. Though she said that Alexin really needed to be wearing the dresses while they were altered to ensure a good fit.

“That isn’t an option,” Skinner told her, a little sharply.

In the end, unable to choose between two gowns that he felt would best suit Alexin’s coloring, Skinner bought both. He also bought a dozen pairs of lacy, delicate panties, though the purchase made him flush with embarrassment.

“Your wife must be very beautiful for you to dress her so finely,” the woman said, looking exhilarated at the size of his purchase.

“Alexin is the most beautiful creature in the whole world,” Skinner agreed.

“With a very pretty name,” the woman said. “Though I confess I’ve never heard such a name before.”

“My wife and I are from the Northern Territories,” Skinner replied smoothly.

“Ah. So that is why you are both so tall?” the woman asked politely. “I know little of the northern people.”

“Well, it does seem to my wife and I that your people are actually exceedingly short,” Skinner laughed.

The woman smiled. “Of course. It must be strange for you here, if the people in your homeland are all as tall as you are.”

Skinner shrugged politely and smiled. If the woman was of the gossipy breed, it wouldn’t hurt for her to spread the rumor that his and Alexin’s physical differences were the norm for northern people. It would reduce the risk of anyone drawing a comparison between their height and that of the Faerie. Although neither of them were anywhere near a Faerie woman’s height, they were still several inches taller than an average human.

He suddenly felt the irresistible urge to take a calculated risk himself.

“My wife is finding it hard here,” he confided. “The people of my land often have eyes in shades other than brown. My wife, for instance, has eyes of purest jade. However, in the Southern Territories, the fact has caused her much grief.”

“Faerie eyes,” the woman whispered superstitiously.

“You see?” Skinner said, with a sad and overly dramatic groan. “Even *you* say such a thing.”

The woman’s eyes flew open and she pressed her hand against her mouth in obvious remorse. “Forgive me,” she said. “I see the problem your poor wife suffers. Even seeing that you are undoubtedly not the kind of disreputable man who would take such a monster to wife, I still react badly to the idea your wife is green-eyed. It must be a great sorrow for you, if she truly is as beautiful as you say.”

“It is a great sorrow for her, too. She is accustomed to being looked at with envy, not horror and disgust. It is, tell the truth, the reason I am here today to choose her clothes, since she will rarely go out in public anymore. I thought... I thought perhaps you might be kind enough to send someone to attend our lodgings to extend the skirts of these gowns if they prove too short even after the alterations.”

“I’d be pleased to,” the woman agreed, “though I wonder...”

“What?”

“Forgive me if I offend you, but have you considered other options?”

“Like what?”

“In Hasta City, where I was born, I remember a boy was born whose eyes were overly sensitive to the sunlight. Although it was clear he’d never grow to be a true hunter and provider, his mother begged that she should be allowed to raise him anyway, and her husband was a rich and indulgent man so he allowed her to do so.

“Anyway, my point is that a local jeweler designed a frame of fine gold in which two small shields of dark glass were cleverly suspended. The frame fitted the boy from ear to ear, over the bridge of his nose, so that the glass concealed his eyes from the worst of the sun’s glare. When he wore the glass, his eyes couldn’t be seen but he could see through the glass adequately enough. You seem to be a wealthy man, Sir. Perhaps you could persuade one of our local jewelers to design you something similar. That way your wife could walk freely without fear of being met with superstitious fear and, should anyone question you, you can say her eyes are simply too sensitive to the sun.”

Skinner could have kissed the woman.

He’d never heard of such a thing, but it *would* solve their problem. Well, as long as he could find a jeweler who could not only design the contraption but who was discrete enough not to comment on having to make a frame which would fit around Alexin’s pointed ears.

He made arrangements for Alexin’s clothes to be altered and delivered the next morning and then he visited several of the jewelers he hadn’t previously visited until he found a small, gnomish but seemingly kind man whom he instinctively felt was the best choice.

He was right. The jeweler was greatly intrigued by the challenge.

“Time is of the essence,” Skinner advised him. “My wife and I are planning to leave the city within days.”

The man was already eagerly sketching out a design. “I really would need to see your wife’s face to ensure a good fit. But if, as you say, she is too sensitive to light to venture out of your rooms, I fear we will have to make do with a generic design since I would need to do the fitting here in my workshop. My main difficulty will be in procuring the perfect glass. Unblemished colored glass of such a shape and thinness will not be cheap. I do know of a man skilled enough to make such a glass. He’s the one who made me my magnifying eyeglass which enables me to see flaws in the smallest of stones, but such skill as his is expensive.” He looked slightly embarrassed. “Forgive me, but I have to ask whether you can prove you have sufficient coin to pay for his work before I commission him.”

Skinner reached into his bag and withdrew two small but perfectly matched diamonds. Each was worth a small fortune, but he was sure they would be particularly valuable if used to form a pair of earrings, so he said, “I’ll give you one of these as a down payment, and the other on completion. I’m sure that will more than cover the cost of the design.”

The jeweler picked up the gems, examined them carefully with his eyeglass and gave a short huff of laughter. “You’re a lucky man,” he stated, with a wryly amused smile on his pleasant, though somewhat ugly, face.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because none of the other fools around here know what they’re looking at. They see only beautiful stones. Me, I see the unmistakable hand of Faerie craftswomen in the fine cutting of these gems.”

Skinner paled.

“So your wife is part Faerie, huh? Can’t be more than part or else she’d crush even a man the size of you in your bed,” the gnome chuckled. “And you have at least a little of the blood yourself, judging by your height. No wonder you need to hide your wife’s eyes from the world. Sensitive to the sun, you say? I rather suspect what she’s ‘sensitive’ to is the reaction of people to the inhuman color of her eyes.”

Skinner’s hand inched instinctively towards his sword.

“Calm down,” the man chuckled. “Why do you think I know so much about the Faerie and their gemstones? I have the blood myself.”

At Skinner’s visible startle, the little man gave a bitter laugh. “I know,” he said. “It’s hard to believe, isn’t it? That a man as short and ugly as I could be of the Faerie. Full-blood too, though you’ll no doubt laugh that I claim as much.”

“I don’t understand how you *can* be Faerie,” Skinner admitted awkwardly. “It’s not just your looks but you’re... well, you’re just like a *real* man in nature.”

The little man laughed uproariously.

“I see you know even more about my people than I suspected. Faerie males aren’t what most humans believe them to be, are they? Faerie boys are as beautiful, perfect and harmless as these jewels in my hand. And as rare. Few boys are born. Fewer still survive. Most die of the blood sickness but a few, an unfortunate few, are instead gnarled and twisted in the wombs of their mothers and are born dark, ugly and deformed like myself. Boys such as I are of no use nor interest to the Faerie women. They cannot bring themselves to actually kill us, for males are so very rare, but neither do they want us.”

“If that’s true, how did you come to be living as a human?” Skinner demanded suspiciously.

“I am what is known in legend as a changeling. On the day I was born, I was taken out of the Faerie land and substituted for the stillborn child of a human woman. My mother, my *human* mother that is, knew full well that I wasn’t her own blood. But she didn’t care. One moment her baby was dead. The next she had another baby to suckle. She was so grateful that she cared not that I was less than beautiful.”

“How do you know so much about the Faerie if you were given away at birth?” Skinner challenged. Although he was starting to believe the man – for who would claim the curse of Faerie blood if it weren’t the truth? - he still was struggling with the concept of a small, dark, *ugly* Faerie male.

“I entered their land, when I was a young and foolish man. I had this stupid idea that they might welcome me like a long lost son. They were... well, let’s just say they were less than kind to me. They called me a freak. A hideous dwarf. They toyed with me as though I were their plaything. They even... well, let us just say I was pleased to find myself too ugly for them to do more than humiliate me. They were too terrified I might impregnate them for them to use me in *that* way. And when they eventually tired of taunting me, they let me go. Apparently most of them find the idea of killing a male who hasn’t produced a male heir completely reprehensible. Even a male too ugly to be *allowed* to create an heir. Is that not the strangest thing?”

“I find it strange that the Faerie find *any* action reprehensible,” Skinner spat.

The little man’s eyes widened with sudden understanding. “Your burns and your welts, they were at the hands of the Faerie, weren’t they?”

Skinner nodded.

“But they let *you* go, too,” the little man said. “So perhaps they cannot bring themselves to kill even part-blood males.”

Skinner decided not to correct the man’s assumption that the Faerie had let him leave of their own accord.

“Will you help us?” he demanded bluntly.

“Of course,” the jeweler agreed. “Though I really should see your wife for myself to fit the frame for the pieces of glass. The design is a delicate one and must be properly made to fit your wife’s face if we are to ensure her eyes cannot be seen. And, would I be right in assuming that her ears might be a little strange of shape?”

“Her ears are full Faerie,” Skinner admitted nervously.

The little man snickered. “As I said, you’re a lucky man that you chose *my* shop. A miracle even, perhaps. If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect the hand of Faerie magic in our meeting. No matter. I’ll purchase the glass tonight and cast the basic frame. Bring your wife to see me tomorrow and I’ll hopefully be able to finish the job while you wait.”

Skinner shivered a little. Although the little man had dismissed the comment about the magic with a shrug, he was certain the gimlet eyes were laughing at him. As though... as though the man was already suspecting that Skinner’s wife was no ‘wife’.

And yet he *still* felt nothing from the man except the sense that he meant them no harm. Perhaps it *was* the magic working in him. What were the odds that he should meet a woman who knew of the glasses for the eyes and so go looking for a jeweler to design the contraption - who then just happened to be a Faerie?

Though he struggled to accept he was being guided by Alexin’s magic, Skinner wasn’t a great believer in coincidence either. Somehow, he felt that he’d been *meant* to meet the little, gnomish man.

“What’s your name?”

The little man smiled. “My friends call me Frohike. I think, perhaps, you may call me that, too.”

“I thank you for your help then, Frohike. I am Skinner, and would be glad to consider you a friend. You risked much in telling me of your blood, and I’m grateful for your aid in helping to conceal that of my wife.”

Frohike smiled. “I enjoy such subterfuge. I think I have a natural bent towards a little subversion,” he laughed. “It’s the Faerie in me, perhaps.”

“No,” Skinner corrected quietly. “The Faerie in you is proven by your kindness. *That*, I believe, is the true trait of a Faerie male. Your form may not be of the norm for a Faerie, but I *do* believe you a Faerie because of your beauty.”

“My beauty?” Frohike choked, his face twisting with both confusion and anger at what he no doubt considered a cruel jest. “You speak of my *beauty*?”

His face crumpled slightly, as though he was struggling not to cry.

Skinner had never considered himself a sensitive man, but either his short time with Alexin or the magic, or perhaps both, had taught him that a Faerie male *needed* to feel beautiful. He’d thought previously that it was Alexin’s upbringing that had caused the boy’s oddly endearing vanity, but meeting this strange, gnomish, ugly Faerie man and seeing the deep core of unhappiness in his eyes, Skinner had the sudden realization that the need to be admired was as much a natural trait of a male Faerie as their gentle spirits were.

“Your beauty shines from within,” Skinner told him, his tone solemn. “So yes, with all sincerity, I call you beautiful, Frohike.”

And, just for a moment, a tiny flash of luminosity sparked in the little man’s dark eyes as though his Faerie blood had leapt with ecstasy at the kind words.

With a sad smile, Skinner left the shop, leaving Frohike to ponder thoughtfully over what he had said.

He called into two more shops on his way back to the inn.

The first was a male clothing shop, where he replaced his short leather fighting skirt with thick suede breeches. Although the garment would be less practical in a hot, sweaty sword fight, it both covered his scarred legs and gave them a level of protection, should he ever be beset by wolves or suchlike again. The breeches would also keep his legs far warmer at night when he and Alexin were back on the road again.

He then purchased a well made leather jerkin to cover his chest, intricately stitched protective armbands for his lower arms and good, thick, comfortable boots.

Then he looked at his reflection and sighed with relief. He’d never been a vain man, preferring to dress practically rather than for appearance, but he actually looked ‘respectable’ again. More like the displaced Chieftain he truly was, rather than a much battered mercenary fighter. More to the point, he now looked like he *deserved* to have a beauty like Alexin at his side.

In that same shop he purchased a pair of soft doeskin slippers. Though they were impractical for daily use, they were perfect for a boy with raw blistered heels to wear for a few days until his skin healed.

He’d take Alexin shopping for *real* boots after Frohike had fitted him with the ‘glasses’, but at least Alexin would find it easier to walk to the marketplace the next day if he was wearing the slippers.

The second shop he visited was one that sold female fripperies.

Highly embarrassed and uncertain of what to buy – except that he wasn’t prepared to return to the inn empty handed save for the slippers - Skinner found himself totally at the mercy of the enthusiastic shopkeeper who, somehow, convinced him that a beautiful ‘wife’ required not only a hairbrush, but a fine comb carved from bone, a myriad of pretty hair ornaments, a pouch of rouge and kohl, sweet smelling bath oils and various creams to soften her face and hands.

“Speaking of creams,” Skinner said, his face flaming, “do you have the ointment that gives a woman ‘ease’?”

The shopkeeper looked a little bemused for a moment but then flushed a little herself and nodded. “I have just the thing,” she said. “Though, to be honest, most husbands pretend to be unaware that women sometimes need a little ‘help’. Your wife is truly a lucky woman to have such a thoughtful, gentle husband.”

Skinner’s blush deepened. If the woman saw the state of Alexin’s buttocks, she’d quickly disabuse herself of the notion that he was either thoughtful or gentle when making love. But he said nothing and simply nodded his agreement to the most expensive of two vials of clear, unperfumed oil after she’d assured him that the higher priced oil contained the medicant that prevented infection of the flesh.

When he returned to the inn and unlocked the door to their room, he found Alexin fast asleep in bed.

The sight was so sweet that he put aside his initial disappointment at having to wait to hear Alexin’s undoubted squeals of delighted excitement at his ‘presents’. Instead, he poured himself another cup of ale, seated himself in a chair next to the bed and spent several hours simply drinking in the sight of his slumbering beauty.

There was never a time he’d considered Alexin less than exquisite. Even dirty, tangled and dressed in a ripped gown as they’d fled through the forest, Skinner had always found him beautiful. But seeing him lying in the bed, with his long dark hair spread out beneath him like a fan, and his pale, almost luminous skin glowing against the white sheets, he nearly took Skinner’s breath away.

In sleep, his already sweet face softened to pure innocence, his dark lashes so long that they lay against his cheekbones, his bow shaped lips cherubic, the slight flaring of his nostrils the only true indication that he was breathing at all. If not for that slight movement, Skinner could have believed him to be a statue carved by a master craftsman of how beauty *should* look if only the world was kind enough to create beings of true perfection.

The thought that Alexin was *his* was overwhelming, almost shattering, and a single tear broke free of his eyes and trickled down his cheek, as though attempting to ease a little of the pressure building inside him.

“It isn’t the magic,” he whispered. “It *is* you. How could anyone *not* love you, you sweet, beautiful boy?”

Although his voice was so low to be barely audible, it still seemed to break through Alexin’s slumber because the boy sighed, stretched, yawned and then his eyes fluttered open. For just a moment, he seemed merely startled to find himself looking into Skinner’s eyes, but then his eyes darkened a little and his mouth stretched into a smile.

“What?” Skinner laughed, as the boy stared at him with a strange, almost puzzled look on his face.

“You look...”

“I look like what?”

“I... don’t know what word to use,” Alexin whispered. “I know you dislike it when I call you ‘womanly’.”

“I see,” Skinner chuckled. “So tell me what ‘womanly’ means to you and I’ll see if I can find you a better word to use.”

Alexin licked his lips nervously. “The way you look makes me...feel strange,” he admitted. “Tingly all over. Like...like I want you to...to touch me.”

Skinner blinked in surprise and looked down at himself. It seemed the boy found him ‘attractive’, dressed as he was. “You like these clothes?”

Alexin nodded. “They make you look... um... beautiful?”

Skinner chuckled. “I definitely don’t think ‘beautiful’ is the right term, Alexin. Though ‘handsome’ would please me greatly.”

“Hand...some? It’s a strange word.”

“It means attractive. Not *beautiful*, but strong and fit and pleasing to the eye. It’s a good term for a warrior whom you find to your liking.”

“Then you look handsome,” Alexin declared, blushing slightly, “because I find I like to look at you dressed thusly.”

“Then,” Skinner announced, with a pleased laugh, “I find that I will endeavor to *always* dress like this for you.”

It was so strange, he mused. Had Shrona ever suggested that he should dress to please her eyes, he would have laughed in her face. Even for their marriage he had worn his usual hunting garb since he had spent the morning catching a large buck for the post wreathing feast. His only effort to look ‘presentable’ had been a swift wash of his face, hands and armpits before the ceremony. Yet for Alexin, he realized, he *wanted* to look handsome. He wanted to see admiration in those vivid green eyes.

“So,” he growled. “I make you feel ‘tingly’, huh?”

Alexin bit his lip but nodded.

“You want to feel how this soft buckskin feels against your flesh?”

Although his cheeks flushed almost scarlet and his eyes widened with a little wariness, Alexin nodded again.

Skinner began to feel more than slightly ‘tingly’ himself.

He removed his swordbelt, jerkin and boots, but left his armbands and breeches in place. Then he placed the vial of oil on the edge of the mattress, and eased the sheets down to reveal Alexin’s naked perfection. He gasped slightly, struck anew by the boy’s beauty, but then whispered, “Open your legs for me, my love.”

The flush spread downwards from Alexin’s face, coloring his pale skin with a light rosy glow, but he obediently opened his legs wide enough that Skinner could lower himself to lie between them.

“How does that feel?” Skinner whispered in his ear, as the material of his breeches rubbed against the inside of Alexin’s thighs.

“Soft,” Alexin breathed. “Strange.”

“And this?” Skinner demanded, pressing his groin against the boy’s and wriggling a little so that the suede covering his member brushed against Alexin’s most sensitive flesh.

“Oh,” Alexin gasped. “OH.”

“Nice?” Skinner purred.

Alexin didn’t answer, but his hips bucked upwards in clear search of more sensation.

Skinner already knew that beneath the fear deliberately instilled during his upbringing, Alexin was a sensuous, naturally sexual creature. He hadn’t, however, understood just how hedonistic Alexin was. In the comfort of a soft bed, Alexin’s senses came to life and his body writhed and pulsated with pleasure at every gentle stroke of fabric against his skin. The only previous similar behavior he’d shown was on the occasion Skinner had combed his hair.

“You love to be stroked, don’t you?” Skinner said. “Your skin *begs* for it.”

Alexin just moaned and arched beneath him, too lost in the sensations to listen to Skinner’s words.

Skinner continued to writhe on top of the boy, until Alexin was whimpering with pleasure, and then, when he could bear his own arousal no more, he reached for the oil, poured an amount onto his fingertips and slipped a hand between Alexin’s legs.

The moment he felt Skinner’s fingers touch his passage, Alexin gave a deep gasp and instinctively raised his buttocks to ease Skinner’s entrance. This time, for the first time, there was no look of fear in the wide green eyes. Just a hot smoldering fire that was begging to be quenched.

With a deep groan of pleasure, Skinner eased his member inside Alexin’s passage until he was fully embedded inside the boy’s silken flesh. Then, filled with desire but free of the lust haze, he began to move with slow luxurious strokes, careful to twist his hips with each thrust to catch the place inside Alexin that made the boy gasp with arousal.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, over and over. “So very beautiful, Alexin.”

And with each assurance, Alexin became softer and more welcoming, his eyes blazing with joy and his body opening to Skinner’s like a flower unfurling its petals to welcome the sun.

*This* was what the boy’s nature truly called out for, Skinner realized. Not the hot hungry greed of lust, but an act of worship by his lover. And, though he would never previously have thought himself capable of sufficient patience or control, Skinner found himself glad to offer such worship.

He wanted Alexin to worship *him*, he realized, and understood that the way to achieve that was with his own slow, reverent veneration of the boy’s beauty.

There had to be balance.

That’s what the trees had tried to teach him.

While he had no power over the dark magic’s call to his loins and would always bring Alexin a certain amount of pain during the times that magic controlled their coupling, he could touch the boy with such gentle reverence at all other times that the moments of darkness were eclipsed by the moments of bliss.

“I love you,” he declared, as his seed finally burst out of his member and flooded the boy’s passage. “I adore you. I *worship* you.”

And though Alexin’s only reply was to smile dreamily, his green eyes flared with an almost triumphant satisfaction as though, deep inside, Alexin’s magic was blazing with delight that Skinner had finally learned how to fully harness its power.

Not by force, but by capitulation to the spell it had been weaving in Skinner’s heart.

~~~

It was past noon the next day before they made their way to Frohike’s shop.

The delay was for a number of reasons. Firstly, Skinner wanted to give the little man sufficient time to procure the glass shapes and form the basic frame that would hold them. Secondly, he knew that fewer people roamed the marketplace in the hours around mid-day when the sun was at its hottest, so Alexin’s eyes would have less chance of being spotted if the boy gave in to his curiosity and raised his gaze from the floor as they walked.

Thirdly, it took Alexin all morning to get ready to go out.

His new gowns had arrived shortly after dawn, carried to the inn by a red-eyed seamstress who had obviously worked all night on the alterations. She’d offered to wait and see whether the skirts would need further adjustment but, since there was no place in their room for Alexin to change into the gowns without her seeing that he was a boy, Skinner assured her he would call by the shop later if there were any problems with the fitting.

As soon as the woman had left, Alexin had scrambled out of bed with a whoop of excitement and had greedily snatched the gowns out of Skinner’s hands. Both had fitted him almost perfectly and Skinner had soon regretted purchasing *two* gowns since they left Alexin in a quandary of indecision over which of the two he wanted to wear first.

It would have been irritating, had Alexin not spent the entire hour making up his mind prancing in and out of the two dresses while wearing nothing but a pair of the silken, lace-edged panties.

Instead of the sight being vaguely ridiculous, as Skinner had feared, it was so erotic that Skinner’s member spent the whole experience in a state of throbbing arousal. If he’d thought the boy’s nakedness was enticing, he found that to have that nakedness concealed by nothing more than a tiny scrap of pretty lace was pure teasing titillation.

And, of course, even after Alexin had finally made his decision, that was merely the *start* of the process.

Alexin wanted his hair re-dressed, released from the braided ropes and fixed instead by some of the pretty, jeweled hair ornaments Skinner had purchased.

It took almost as long to undo the braids as it had taken to plait them.

The released hair was kinked by its confinement and required a long, vigorous session of brushing before it was transformed into soft waves. A process that, again, proved to be as satisfying for Skinner as it was for the boy. Though, it must be said, Alexin’s purrs of pleasure at the grooming soon caused a further delay as Skinner’s member decided that it had been more than sufficiently patient and demanded to be soothed between the boy’s buttocks.

Again, Skinner mounted the boy without removing his breeches, merely releasing his member through the split in the fabric designed for easy urination, but this time Alexin was also dressed – though only in the flimsy panties. Skinner found it strangely erotic to simply push the material to one side and feel the lace against his flesh as he slid into Alexin’s heat.

Then, when his own urges had been slaked, he licked and sucked Alexin’s member *through* the lacy silk covering the boy’s groin.

Naturally, the panties had ended up wet, stained and somewhat torn, but Skinner decided the expense had been well worth it. He made a mental note to purchase a dozen more of the panties before they left the city, simply for the enjoyment of destroying them in such a fashion.

But they’d both been so hot and sticky as a result that he’d been forced to summon the innkeeper for another tub of bathwater before Alexin could put on a fresh pair of panties and continue dressing.

So it was almost five hours after their initial waking before Skinner and Alexin finally left the inn and headed for the marketplace.

They passed barely a handful of people between their lodgings and Frohike’s shop and, though all they passed made audible comments about their appearance, the remarks were of a flattering, if rude, nature.

Skinner heard one man loudly comment to his companion that ‘all women were the same height lying down anyway’ and another ‘wit’ actually dared to call out to Alexin that ‘she’ should raise her pretty head and see that *he* was a far better catch for such a beauty than Skinner was.

For that comment, Skinner had growled and moved his hand significantly to his sword hilt.

To his relief – because he couldn’t afford the attention a sword fight would draw – the man had taken one look at Skinner’s furious face – and substantial height - and had rapidly backed away, saying that he’d merely been ‘jesting’ and had meant no offence.

Skinner concluded that there was obviously some strange correlation between the city’s occupants' lack of cleanliness and their poor manners. In *his* city, none would ever be so rude – or foolish – as to flirt with a woman in front of her husband. But then neither would any of *his* people voluntarily live in a place with open sewers.

He was pleased they reached Frohike’s shop without further incident, and he lead Alexin inside with a sigh of relief.

Only to curse, stiffen with alarm, shove Alexin protectively behind his back and reach for his sword. He had half drawn the blade before Frohike cried out, “No. Please. He’s a friend. I swear. He means no more harm to you than I do. He’s the man who’s made the glass for you. I promise that you can trust him.”

Skinner just snarled and, though he made no attempt to further unsheathe his blade, neither did he release it.

“It’s true,” the stranger blurted, his eyes clearly terrified. “I’m here only because the glass will need to be trimmed to fit your lover’s eyes and I was worried that Frohike might crack it if he attempts to trim it himself.”

The fact the man called Alexin his ‘lover’, rather than his ‘wife’, only increased Skinner’s sense of alarm.

“Betray us, and I’ll slit your throat from ear to ear,” he growled.

“If I betray you, Frohike will do more than *that* to me,” the willowy man replied, with an almost amused shake of his untidy blond hair. “The last time I really upset him, he locked himself in his storeroom for over a day. By the time he unlocked the door and permitted me to touch him, I was near dead from agony.”

Skinner’s eyes flared with understanding and he released his sword hilt. “You’re the keeper of Frohike’s magic?”

The blond man giggled slightly. “I’d never thought of it in those terms. I more consider myself the ‘slave’ of his magic. Whoever would have guessed one drunken night of pleasure would have kept me trapped in this gods-forsaken border city for life? I curse him regularly for his entrapment of me,” he declared, but the look he cast to his strange gnomish lover was unmistakably fond.

Skinner nodded his understanding and turned his attention to Frohike. “Then you know that Alexin is male,” he stated.

“I guessed,” Frohike admitted. “Between the magic that drew us together, and the fact that he’s beautiful enough to entrap a man such as you, it seemed unlikely that he’d be a mere part-breed girl. Besides, *something* has stirred the Faerie into a fury and, as Langly here pointed out last night, *nothing* would infuriate them more than to lose one of their males.”

“May I... may I look upon him?” Langly asked, a little fearfully. “Frohike has described the normal form of Faerie males to me, but I’ve never truly been able to envisage the picture he’s attempted to draw in my head.”

Skinner struggled between his instinctive desire to deny the request and a deep, perhaps magical, certainty that Langly was as much a ‘friend’ to them as Frohike. Eventually, he sighed and turned to Alexin, who was huddling fearfully behind him. The boy hadn’t understood the conversation, but Skinner’s initial alarm and partial drawing of his weapon had alerted him to danger, so he was trembling and white faced with fear.

“I believe us safe, Alexin,” he murmured soothingly. “These people are friendly. The small man is Faerie, and the blond is his mate.”

Alexin snuck a quick peek around Skinner’s shoulder and gasped in total disbelief. “He is no Faerie,” he declared firmly. “He’s *ugly*. Hideous!”

Skinner was torn between the inappropriate urge to laugh at the expression on Alexin’s face and the feeling he should chastise the boy for being so cruel in his observations. Instead, aware that Frohike could understand the Faerie tongue, he carefully said, “Remember what we discussed before, about inter-breeding sometimes causing children to be born who look a little...strange?”

Alexin nodded.

“Well, poor Frohike is an example of that. The continued re-enforcement of minor flaws within his bloodline all came together in his birthing. Instead of him having the illness that causes the thinning of the blood, he has a different kind of illness which affects his appearance.”

Although Alexin remained clearly horrified by the idea, his expression softened into genuine pity. “How can he live?” he gasped. “How can he bear not to be beautiful?”

“Beauty is more than simply the appearance of the flesh,” Skinner told him, as much for the sake of Frohike’s ears as for Alexin’s education.

“I don’t understand how that can be true,” Alexin admitted, blinking in true confusion. Yet he peered again at Frohike and his expression softened further. Though he was trembling still with fear, he stepped around Skinner’s bulk until he was fully facing the little man.

Langly gave a deep, choking moan of surprise at seeing Alexin’s face for the first time.

Yet the boy ignored the blond man’s obvious admiration and concentrated purely on Frohike.

The little man was cringing slightly, his face flushed deeply with embarrassment and his eyes wary. He was clearly expecting further scorn from the boy and seemed oddly defenseless against it. He was obviously bracing himself for Alexin’s disgust.

Skinner stiffened also, fully expecting Alexin to thoughtlessly blurt more cruel comments. Although he knew the boy was free of deliberate malice, Alexin had never learned to blunt truth with polite kindness, and Frohike’s appearance had clearly shocked the boy to his core. So Skinner was as wary as Frohike and cursing himself for not warning the boy beforehand of what he would encounter.

Yet, when Alexin spoke, his tone wasn’t condescending but full of admiration.

“How brave you are,” he breathed. He absently raised a hand and stroked it against his own perfect cheek and his eyes filled with tears. “I could not bear to look as you do. I know I couldn’t. I think... I think you are wom... um...um... ‘handsome’.”

Although Skinner realized the boy had mistaken his choice of words, obviously wanting to say that Frohike was greatly courageous and picking ‘handsome’ as an alternative to ‘womanly’ simply because he knew the term ‘womanly’ might offend, Frohike had no such understanding and therefore gaped in amazement.

“You...you think me... *handsome*?” he choked.

Alexin nodded solemnly. “To look as you do means that you are ‘handsome’,” he said, though he cast a quick glance in Skinner’s direction and blurted, “Doesn’t it?” in sudden fear he’d used the wrong term after all.

Skinner smiled at him softly, blessing for the first time that Alexin had so little understanding of the human tongue. “Indeed, ‘handsome’ is a good description, my love.”

Alexin smiled blindingly.

“And you are...are even more beautiful than I dreamed a Faerie boy could be,” Frohike murmured, his own eyes brimming. “Although I saw some gorgeous males during my time in your land, none of them bore even a fraction of your perfection, Alexin. You were, I suspect, one of the carefully cloistered males the guards whispered about. A boy raised only for a queen’s eyes, perhaps?”

“I am a prince,” Alexin confirmed happily. “I was raised to be veiled. I...I suppose the males you saw must have been barracks men, if you saw their faces, and so I am naturally far more beautiful than they could possibly have been.”

Both Frohike and Skinner snorted with humor. Although the boy’s words were insufferably vain, he spoke them with such innocent sincerity that it was impossible to take offence.

“You’re being SO rude,” Langly complained. “Not everyone here speaks Faerie, you know.”

“We were merely discussing Alexin’s incredible beauty,” Frohike laughed, a little ruefully. “Now you have seen him for yourself, I’m sure you regret stealing *my* magic. Just think, Langly, if you *had* to be enslaved by Faerie magic, how much more pleasant your imprisonment would have been at Alexin’s hands.”

Langly tossed his head in sudden temper and his eyes blazed as he faced his lover. “The boy is exquisite,” he admitted, “but it’s *you* I love, you ugly little gnome, and don’t ever forget it.”

Skinner’s eyes widened with shock.

Frohike, however, just chuckled softly and his expression relaxed considerably at Langly’s strange declaration of love.

“It’s also obvious now *why* the Faerie are so furious,” he told Skinner. “You’ve stolen an actual *prince*. They’ll never rest until they recapture him, you know?”

Skinner shook his head. “I’ve taken the boy’s magic. What use is he to them now?”

“For one thing, I doubt they even suspect you could have done so. They keep even their ‘barracks men’ so securely apart from each other that they’ve probably forgotten that two males can mate. And they consider humans no more than animals, so even if they *do* suspect you of mounting him, they’d assume the boy’s magic would remain intact. Besides, it’s not merely Alexin’s magic that makes him valuable. Look at him, Skinner. What are the chances of *him* fathering a child like me? Magic or no, he carries good pure seed in his sac. No matter how disgusted they might be to find you have been riding him, they won’t waste his ability to father children. So, as I said, they won’t *ever* cease their pursuit.”

“They have to find us first,” Skinner growled. “So far they’ve shown little success in their hunt. Since they didn’t emerge from their land in search of us until two days ago, it must have taken them two days to even know we’d escaped.”

“You left the Faerie land four days ago?” Langly demanded suddenly.

“Yes. But the first Faerie raids weren’t until the day before yesterday.”

“That would have been mere minutes after you stepped out of their realm. They’ve barely even *begun* their search, Skinner.”

Skinner cursed loudly. “How could I forget how time moves so differently in their land? You’re right. They must have known almost *immediately* that we’d crossed through a ward-gate. And though another two nights have passed here, it’s *still* probably less than an hour past that escape in *their* minds.”

“Even less time than that. Probably no more than five minutes,” Langly said. “You’re thinking you’re safe because you’ve evaded them for four days while they’re looking in completely the wrong direction for your tracks. What you’re forgetting is that they can waste *weeks* of our time in the searching while mere hours pass in their land.”

“Yet the time difference is as much a blessing for you as a curse,” Frohike pointed out. “As long as you keep moving, you can cover huge distances while only minutes pass for those who would pursue you. You can use that to your advantage. Every time the Faerie return to their own land to regroup and decide a new plan to find you, you’ll gain another huge time advantage over them.”

“Yes,” Langly agreed. “For instance, it would be foolish of you to move *now*, when another raid is imminent. But there will always be a couple of ‘safe’ days between the raids because, in Faerie time, the breaks between raiding parties will seem to be brief to the Faerie themselves.”

“Although my mind struggles to fully absorb what you’re saying, I see wisdom in your comments,” Skinner said, shaking his head in both agreement and mild bemusement. “But it’s hard to hold fast in my mind that so little time has passed in the Faerie realm since Alexin and I broke through the ward-gate.”

“Well, the Faerie will struggle to remember the time difference, too,” Frohike assured him, “and that’s your greatest advantage. They are far too self-absorbed to care overmuch about the way time moves for humans. They *know* of the difference, but it still surprises them greatly when they’re actually confronted with its consequences.”

“How do you know?” Skinner demanded.

“Because when, in my eighteenth year, I ventured into the Faerie land, it was less than two weeks since my birth mother had abandoned me. She was most confused that I returned as an adult so little time later. She *knew* such was possible, and yet she still was caught by surprise. As I said, the Faerie are self-absorbed to a fault.”

Skinner paled significantly. “Two weeks? Time moves *so* very differently then? How long have I been gone?”

Frohike and Langly exchanged worried looks.

“How long were you in their land?” Langly asked.

“Perhaps nine days in total.”

“Then perhaps fifteen years have passed in our world,” Langly told him, his expression compassionate.

“Fifteen years?” Skinner repeated incredulously. “I had thought perhaps three, maybe even five, but *fifteen * years?”

“I understand your horror,” Frohike murmured. “I myself remained in the land of the Faerie for over four full changes of the moon. When I was finally released, over two centuries had passed and the settlement I grew up in had long since faded to dust. Fifty years pass here for every full moon in the Faerie land. Perhaps ten human hours for every minute of their time. That’s why Langly said that the four days since your escape represent no more than perhaps five minutes to the Faerie.”

“How could you cope with returning after two hundred years?”

Frohike shrugged. “I had no choice except to cope. Though I traveled for a long time in search of a new home before settling. And, every thirty years or so, I am forced to move on because I age so slowly. In that, at least, my Faerie blood runs true.”

“I know Faerie women are long lived, but Alexin told me Faerie males die young,” Skinner said, frowning with confusion.

“Ah,” Frohike replied, “but they die through ill use, not old age. Males age no faster than females, they simply expire of exhaustion long before they have a chance to even fully mature. Your beautiful Alexin would have been lucky to survive to his mid-thirties even as the husband of a queen. If he’s recaptured and sent to the barracks instead of to the chambers of a queen, I doubt he’ll live more than a year or two.”

“I’d rather kill him with my own hands than let him be so ill used as to become one of the ‘barracks men’,” Skinner said bluntly. “Though I cannot allow him to be recaptured regardless of what fate lies in store for him.”

He began to explain the intended marriage of Alexin to Ariana, and what consequence that would have for humankind.

“I’m *bored*,” Alexin interrupted, with a petulant stamp of his feet. “I understand nothing of your speech. What is taking you so *long* to discuss, Skinner?”

“We’re speaking of your beauty, Alexin,” Skinner lied smoothly. “Such a subject requires a great amount of conversation.”

Alexin blinked for a moment, then smiled happily. “I suppose it does,” he agreed. “I suppose I’m not *that* bored yet. I can sit here a little longer while you finish.”

Frohike coughed to cover a loud snort of laughter.

“What?” Langly asked.

“It clearly isn’t only Faerie *females* who are hopelessly self-absorbed,” Frohike chuckled. “Perhaps we should start fitting the frame to Alexin’s face, so he’s less ‘bored’ as we speak amongst ourselves.”

“I thought him a pampered, vain, almost simple minded creature at first,” Skinner admitted ruefully. “But the truth is that he has a sweet, unspoiled innocence and, besides, it’s hard to argue with his vanity when he *is* truly as beautiful as he knows himself to be.”

“He is,” Langly said, a little wistfully, “and I suspect he’s also far from simple minded. There’s a vast difference between being unintelligent and being merely uneducated.”

“Indeed,” Skinner agreed. “He’s definitely cleverer than he believes himself to be. But still, between his looks and his magic, he has little need of great wisdom so it matters little.”

“I can’t argue over the power of the male magic,” Langly laughed. “But I wish it were of a more practical nature. Frohike and I barely eke out a living in this city. Great sex is all very well and good, but it doesn’t put food on the table and Frohike chose unwisely when he enslaved *me*. I am hardly the strong hunter and provider type such as you, Skinner. If Frohike had less talent as a jeweler, I fear we’d both starve on the little money I make as a glass smith.”

“We manage,” Frohike interrupted softly.

Skinner frowned at them in confusion. “So...so you share no *other* magic?” he asked carefully.

Frohike and Langly just looked bewildered.

Skinner hesitated, not sure whether he should share the information, but then he decided it was far too late not to trust the little Faerie and his human lover.

“All Faerie magic is carried by the males. *All* of it.”

“I know *that*,” Frohike replied, looking slightly offended. “But it can only be used by a female Faerie.”

“You’re wrong,” Skinner told him quietly.

“You’re obviously speaking from experience,” Langly said, “so I won’t argue with you. But I certainly have no magical powers. I have only the compulsion to remain with Frohike and to protect and provide for him.”

“Forgive me for asking this,” Skinner said, “but do you taste his tears?”

Langly blushed so scarlet that he looked like he might explode. “I...I...I...” he stuttered helplessly.

Frohike smiled gently at his mortified lover. “On the night we first met, I was a virgin,” he told Skinner. “Our first mating was a little painful and I cried. Langly here *did* gain a surprising amount of pleasure from those tears. I swear he almost licked the skin right off my face.”

“They tasted so good,” Langly whispered, hanging his head in obvious shame. “I was so disgusted with myself. I brought pain to another and then took delight in that pain. It was an act of perversion. I understood that immediately and never again took pleasure in that way.”

Frohike roared with laughter. “You *wanted* to,” he reminded his lover. “I distinctly remember a night you became a little carried away and tried to make our coupling painful for me.”

Langly blushed even redder and cringed with obvious embarrassment. “Don’t tell him *that*,” he begged.

Frohike just grinned evilly. “I threw him over my lap and spanked his buttocks until he bawled like a baby. He never tried to make *me* cry again.”

“Of course,” Skinner said, finally understanding. “You are physically stronger than Langly. Even though he’s taller than you, you have far more muscle. That’s why your magic doesn’t work properly.”

“I’m not following you,” Frohike admitted.

Langly just looked mortified that Skinner knew he’d been spanked.

“It’s finally occurred to me that for all you know of the Faerie, you don’t know the *important* part,” Skinner explained. “The males you met in the barracks had already been stripped of their magic, so their tears weren’t a required part of their matings.”

“The tears are part of the magic?” Frohike demanded, frowning thoughtfully.

“A *crucial* part of the magic that releases...”

“You mean I’m *not* a pervert?” Langly interrupted, flashing Frohike a reproving glare.

“I don’t know about *that*,” Skinner chuckled. “But your desire for Frohike’s tears was a magical compulsion. The tears are what releases the *useful* magic.”

“Like what?” Frohike demanded, looking less than convinced.

Skinner turned to the brazier where Frohike melted his gold, and he told it to burn. Flames leapt to life in the previously unlit fire, and both Frohike and Langly jumped and cried out in shock.

“I’m definitely bored *now*,” Alexin stated loudly. “If you’re ‘playing’ with magic now, I don’t see that you’re discussing *me* any longer.”

“On the contrary, Alexin. It’s now your *magic* we’re discussing,” Skinner told him. “See how impressed they are by your abilities?”

Alexin looked at the two stunned men and preened slightly. It mattered not to him that it was actually *Skinner’s* ability that had lit the fire, since it was *his* magic being used.

“Can you...can you do more than this?” Langly asked, looking shell shocked.

“I can summon storms and I can use the fire against living creatures such as wolves. More than that, I cannot say. I’m still learning the extent of my powers. But... well, I *suspect* I can do more. It’s as though I’ve captured a well of energy and my ability to use it is only restricted by my own inability to comprehend its function.”

“It could be your Faerie blood that enables you to harness this magic,” Frohike pointed out, with a warning glare at Langly since he didn’t like the suddenly calculating look in the blond’s eyes.

“Perhaps,” Skinner agreed. “I don’t know that a full human like Langly can harness the magic. But then again, I don’t know that he can’t. That’s something you’ll have to decide whether to find out for yourselves.”

Frohike moved to start fitting the frame to Alexin’s head, since the boy was beginning to huff and mutter with annoyance at being ‘ignored’.

“It still seems like magic of little use or purpose,” he said, as he eased the fine gold around Alexin’s ears and over his nose. “I’m certainly not letting Langly drive me to tears simply so I can use him to light my brazier. I have a tinderbox that’s perfectly adequate for the task, thank you very much.”

“I think you’re missing the point,” Langly said. “Female Faerie can’t set fire to living creatures, can they? If they could, they’d hardly waste their time chasing down humans with swords.”

“Exactly,” Skinner agreed. “As far as I can figure out, the females can only harness a tiny amount of male magic, but another male can access its full potential. All I have to do,” he chuckled wryly, “is figure out what that full potential *is*. Alexin says I should have control over all the elements. I know I can move the air, because I’ve already summoned a lightning storm, and I have the ability to set fires. Now I need to work out what I can do with earth and water.”

“Can you trim the glass to this size?” Frohike asked, handing the frame to Langly so he could see the adjustments he’d made after placing the frame on Alexin’s face.

Langly nodded and reached for a glass file. As he set to work, he looked thoughtfully in Skinner’s direction. “Can you make water move?”

“According to Alexin, the Faerie once had the ability to even turn tides and rivers, so I suppose so.”

“I suggest you start with something smaller,” Langly laughed. “Try moving the water in that bucket,” he suggested, nodding at the large water pail that Frohike used to cool metal after he’d heated it.

“I’M BORED!”

Skinner reached absently into his bag, fetched out the pouch of kohl and rouge, and handed it to the boy. “Do you have a mirror for him?” he asked Frohike.

Frohike chuckled, found a small mirror and fixed it where Alexin could see his reflection.

With Alexin happily occupied, Skinner turned his attention to the water.

“Move,” he told it.

The water ignored him.

“MOVE.”

Still the water remained indifferent to his demand.

“Perhaps you need to be more specific?” Langly suggested. “Like tell it where or how to move?”

Skinner shrugged, beginning to feel foolish. The exercise was probably pointless, he decided. Fire and storms *were* the extent of the magic.

“Come to me,” he muttered, his cheeks flushing under Langly’s amused stare.

The water rose out of the pail in a wave, flew through the air and drenched Skinner where he sat.

Alexin burst into a peal of laughter, rocking so much on his chair that he almost dropped his make up. “I like *this* magic play,” he declared. “Do it again!”

Skinner just spluttered slightly. The flying water had caught him by such surprise that he’d swallowed almost as much as was now dripping down his hair and onto his breeches.

“Well, that kind of established you have power over water then,” Frohike snorted.

“I could live without *that* kind of power,” Langly laughed. “I prefer to bathe in *warm* water.”

Despite feeling embarrassed and *wet*, Skinner took the teasing in good spirit. The important thing was, he *had* moved the water. Now he knew he had the ability, he could learn how to control it. “That just leaves earth,” he said.

“Try digging a hole,” Frohike suggested, with a smirk. “I’ve always fancied having a root cellar.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Langly said. “The problem isn’t the hole, it’s what happens to the soil you take out of it. It’s got to go *somewhere*. Knowing our luck, Skinner will wish for a hole and we’ll all get buried alive.”

“Good point,” Skinner agreed.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea worth trying,” Frohike said excitedly. “Can you wish the water back into the pail?”

Skinner looked startled, but told the water to return to the bucket.

Instantly, the water rose off him, leaving his hair and clothes in a cloud of mist, and landed back inside the pail with a loud splash. Perhaps a third of the water had been lost during the two movements but *most* of it was back where it belonged, and he was no longer wet.

“Now *that’s* what I call a useful trick,” Frohike announced firmly.

Skinner nodded his agreement. He could think of many nights he’d spent chilled to the bone because of a late rainburst shortly before sunset.

“Just imagine it,” Langly breathed. “You’re being chased by a party of Faerie raiders. You pass a lake. You pick it up, throw it at them and drown them as they ride. Now that *would* be a useful trick.”

“I think there’s a vast difference between a pail of water and a lake,” Skinner laughed.

“Wasn’t it *you* who said your magic was probably only limited by your own belief?” Langly retorted sweetly.

“Do it again,” Alexin begged. “Please? It was so funny.”

Skinner felt a sudden overwhelming compulsion – not one he could blame on magic, this time - grinned evilly and told the water to drench the boy.

Something he immediately regretted.

Alexin not only *looked* like a woman, but instantly proved he could scream like one, too. Although Skinner instantly ordered the water to return to the pail, leaving Alexin totally dry once more, it still took over ten minutes to calm Alexin down.

“It was a joke,” he said helplessly, as Alexin passionately informed him he was a beast and a brute.

“It wasn’t funny!” Alexin yelled.

“You thought it funny when *I* got wet,” Skinner pointed out.

“You’re not *me*,” Alexin advised him succinctly, his expression saying that was the end of the argument.

Skinner’s temper spiked and he opened his mouth to tell Alexin exactly what he thought about such a selfish attitude.

“I’d stick with apologizing, if I were you,” Langly quickly advised him, with a wink.

Skinner decided to take the man’s advice and was swiftly rewarded with a purring, contented Alexin once more.

“See?” Langly grinned. “If in doubt, *always* apologize.”

“It’s easy for you to smirk,” Skinner grunted. “You’re not the one who’s just called himself the lowest, most beastly, most reprehensible man in the entire Southern Territories.”

“No,” Langly agreed. “But neither am I the one now sitting with a happy Faerie boy on my lap.”

“You want me to sit on your lap?” Frohike demanded. “I’ll sit on your lap.”

“You’d crush me,” Langly retorted rudely. “You’re not only a gnome, you’re a *fat* little gnome.”

“I’m a fat little gnome who’ll be sleeping alone tonight, if you don’t stop making eyes at that spoiled little brat of a boy.”

“Hah! I *knew* you were jealous of him. You *do* love me.”

“Don’t.”

“Do.”

“Don’t.”

“You so do!”

Skinner just blinked in bemusement as the two men bickered in front of him like a pair of children. The oddest thing about the exchange was that *both* men continued to work diligently on the device for Alexin’s eyes as they fought. He began to get the distinct impression that Frohike and Langly argued a lot. Furthermore, it seemed that they did it as a form of showing each other affection.

It seemed a little odd to him. But then, he *had* just thrown half a pail of water over his own lover as a ‘joke’, so he wasn’t really in a position to criticize.

It took over another hour of listening to Frohike and Langly arguing before the device was finished.

“It’s incredible,” Skinner announced. “Exceedingly strange, but incredible.”

Alexin was staring at himself in the mirror as though he’d never seen himself before. “Do I still look beautiful?” he demanded uncertainly.

“Definitely,” both Skinner and Frohike assured him hurriedly.

It wasn’t even a lie. Although it was most peculiar that Alexin’s eyes were now shielded by two small ovals of dark glass, somehow the peculiar device stole nothing of the boy’s looks. If anything, Alexin’s perfect bone structure was oddly enhanced by the shape of the glass ovals, and the fine gold frame hid little of his features. The top of the ovals even followed the natural curve of Alexin’s eyebrows.

“You look a little mysterious and strange, but still perfectly gorgeous,” Skinner said. “And now there’s no need for you to walk with your head bowed.”

He assured Frohike and Langly that he’d meet with them again before he and Alexin left the city and took Alexin to a bootmaker to be fitted for new boots.

Although he’d been content to buy himself a ready made pair, he was determined to get Alexin boots that fitted perfectly. The boy’s skin was too sensitive for ill fitting footwear. The bootmaker *did* react with undisguised fascination to the glasses on Alexin’s face, but was perfectly accepting of Skinner’s explanation for their presence. He was also so fawningly vocal about Alexin’s beauty that Skinner would have called challenge upon him except that the man’s admiration was proving to the boy that the glass shields didn’t detract from his looks.

He ordered two pairs of boots, both lined with soft fur. One pair thick enough to withstand the cold, the other pair light enough not to make the boy too hot when the weather was mild.

“You said you were going to buy me *lots* of pairs of boots,” Alexin reminded him sulkily, after they’d left the shop and couldn’t be overheard.

“I did, and I will,” Skinner agreed easily. “But not while we’re traveling, Alexin. We need to keep our possessions reasonably light. Even horses can only bear just so much weight and we need to carry food and provisions as well as clothes.”

“Oh,” Alexin said, accepting the comment with far more grace than Skinner had expected.

He should have known it was too good to be true.

After a few minutes of thoughtful silence, Alexin said, “But I am so much lighter than you that surely my horse can carry the difference between our weight in extra clothing for me?”

“I think I preferred it when you stuck to ‘simple’ thoughts,” Skinner grumbled. “You’re getting far too clever these days, Alexin.”

Alexin just grinned smugly.

“But two pairs of boots are still sufficient for now,” Skinner said, “as are two gowns.”

Before Alexin could throw a tantrum, Skinner smoothly continued, “But since you’re right that your horse can carry more weight, I suggest we buy you a new cloak. The one you already have is poor quality and barely kept you warm the other night.”

Alexin gave a small squeal of happiness and dropped the subject of the boots.

Since Skinner had been planning to buy the boy a new cloak anyway, he too was happy with the way the conversation had progressed.

He was slightly *less* happy when Alexin bullied him into buying *two* cloaks. Although Alexin obediently remained silent in the shop that sold the cloaks, he was clever enough to open his mouth as though he *would* speak whenever Skinner made a decision he disapproved of.

When it appeared that Skinner was going to purchase a cloak he didn’t like, Alexin stamped his foot and opened his mouth. When Skinner decided a cloak Alexin liked wasn’t suitable, the boy opened his mouth and threatened to speak again.

By the time they eventually returned to the inn, burdened down with two horrifically expensive cloaks, Skinner decided he wasn’t even going to feel guilty about spanking Alexin *that* night.

~~~

The next morning they went to buy horses.

The process should have been straightforward enough. Because of the Faerie, no one was going to the festival at Emerald City. No one was going *anywhere*. So the marketable value of horses had taken a dramatic plunge.

Skinner found himself in the enviable position of having over a dozen good mounts to choose from at a price that was making the dealer almost weep with chagrin. The problem with horses, as opposed to other sellable stock, was the extortionate cost of their food and keep. Unlike the jewelers, the horse dealer couldn’t simply put his stock to one side and wait for demand to grow again.

So Skinner, who’d always appreciated a good, well bred horse, would have thoroughly enjoyed being in the position of being able to take his pick of so many choice animals if it hadn’t been for his mistake of taking Alexin with him.

He knew within minutes of their arrival at the stables that he should have left Alexin at the inn. To make matters worse, no sooner had they begun looking at the animals than an emergency called the dealer away. The man told Skinner to simply keep looking in his absence, so the problem with the man leaving them alone was that Alexin was then able to speak his opinions aloud instead of merely scowling or stamping his foot in temper.

“I don’t like it,” Alexin announced, as Skinner examined the first horse.

“What don’t you like?” Skinner sighed.

“It’s an ugly color. All those funny markings. They make it look like a patchwork quilt.”

“A horse’s color is irrelevant, Alexin. It’s a horse, not a fashion accessory.”

Alexin began to pout.

They moved on to the second horse.

“It’s too big.”

“Big’s good, Alexin. That means it’s strong. It can carry lots of weight.”

He knew that was a bad argument the moment that Alexin’s eyes flashed greedily, as though he was already calculating how many extra pairs of boots a large horse might be able to carry.

Skinner moved swiftly to the third horse.

“It’s got a funny look in its eye.”

“A what?” Skinner demanded incredulously.

“It looks mean,” Alexin announced firmly.

“Exactly how many horses have you seen up close in your life, Alexin?”

Alexin frowned with thought for a moment, then announced, “Three.”

“These three?”

Alexin nodded.

“So what, by the Gods, gives you the idea you know *anything* about how a *mean* horse looks?” Skinner snarled, his eyes rolling with exasperation.

Alexin wrinkled his nose prettily. “Because his eyes look like yours do when *you’re* being mean. Like *now*.”

Skinner began to longingly eye the nearby pails of water.

The fourth horse was ‘too fat’. The fifth was ‘too old’. The sixth was ‘too small’. The seventh was ‘too ugly’.

Skinner had reached the point of contemplating throwing Alexin over his shoulder, carrying him kicking and screaming back to the inn and riding him into exhaustion so he might return and purchase the horses by himself.

But then they reached the eighth stall.

And Alexin fell instantly in love.

“I like *this* horse,” he announced.

By that time Skinner would actually have taken great satisfaction in pointing out a myriad of faults in the horse, such as poor confirmation, or lumps and scars on its legs suggesting old injuries, or even just saying that it had a damned ‘mean’ look in its eyes.

But the horse *was* perfect.

A little short and slight, perhaps, for a man of his build, but an ideal mount for someone as slim as Alexin. It had kind, gentle eyes and a soft muzzle that nipped gently at his breeches in search of hidden treats as he carefully examined its legs for splints and sprains. He also noted, as he glanced beneath it, that the horse had been gelded.

So it was a ‘lady’s’ horse, intended to be steady and reliable rather than fierce in a hunt or brave in battle. When he suddenly clapped his hands loudly, the gelding barely startled and then stared at him with mild reproach rather than alarm.

It also happened to be extremely pretty.

A pale dappled grey, shining almost silver, with a long lustrous mane and a tail that swept almost to the ground.

It was obvious to Skinner *why* Alexin liked the horse, but that didn’t detract from the fact it was an absolutely perfect mount for someone who’d never ridden before.

“You want this one?” he asked, his voice surprisingly gentle.

“Oh yes,” Alexin agreed, smiling with acquisitive glee. “I like *this* horse.”

“Alright. Let’s go find one for me.”

Oddly, Alexin had nothing to say about the other horses. He didn’t even make a comment when Skinner reached the end of the stalls and decided the horse Alexin had declared ‘too big’ was the best choice of mount.

Even more oddly, Skinner found himself more amused than irritated when he realized that Alexin didn’t even *care* which horse he chose for himself. All the boy had obviously been concerned with was the choice of his own horse.

“Self-absorbed doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he muttered under his breath, but he decided it would have been more disconcerting if Alexin’s behavior had been out of character.

All Alexin cared about was looking ‘beautiful’, so naturally a horse *was* a fashion accessory to him.

Skinner’s primary feeling was relief that the prettiest horse hadn’t turned out to be some dangerous, half broken stallion.

~~~

They ate out that night, at a small tavern just off the main market square.

Alexin’s ‘glasses’ caused a small stir of curiosity, as did ‘her’ height, but again Alexin’s beauty was the main topic of conversation at the surrounding tables.

Skinner vacillated between feeling proud and growling with jealous anger. He felt himself torn between the wish he could hide Alexin’s beauty away and keep it for his eyes alone and a feeling of immense pride that he ‘owned’ a lover that every other man clearly craved.

Obviously, he knew they only wanted Alexin because they thought ‘she’ was a human woman, but he still suspected that most of them would quickly recover from the shock of learning the truth and *still* desire the boy.

The food was surprisingly excellent at the tavern. A thick hearty soup, followed by fresh roasted venison, a heavy, grain filled bread, and then sweet berry filled pastries for desert. Alexin was so clearly enamored of the pastries that Skinner purchased him a second helping.

Of necessity, they ate in silence. But it was a comfortable silence, with Alexin still glowing with pleasure over both the gelding they’d purchased and the fact that Skinner had managed to buy a real side-saddle for him, such as only the most respectable of women used, and so he wouldn’t be forced to wear the strange split skirts that more common womenfolk used when riding horses.

That hadn’t been Skinner’s primary reason for purchasing the side-saddle. Skinner’s concern had been for the comfort of Alexin’s groin. While any saddle would make Alexin’s buttocks ache, a normal saddle also put a certain amount of pressure on a male’s more sensitive anatomy. Skinner could cope with Alexin substituting complaints about a sore bottom for those of blistered ankles, but the idea of having Alexin constantly whining about a bruised sac was more than he wanted to deal with.

He was, he decided, a brute after all.

“We’ve been looking *everywhere* for you.”

Skinner startled and looked up. He’d been so absorbed in his own thoughts that he hadn’t seen Frohike and Langly approach.

“I’m surprised you found us at all,” Skinner replied, but gestured to the empty seats at their table in welcome and signaled for more ale.

“Well, you hadn’t returned to your inn and it was past time for supper, so we decided if we checked all the taverns we’d find you eventually,” Frohike explained.

“Why come looking for us in the first place?” Skinner asked, frowning with concern. He was pretty sure the two men hadn’t come looking for them out of mere ‘friendship’.

“Nothing bad,” Langly quickly assured him. “Well, not *that* kind of bad. No one’s found out about you know who.”

Skinner released a sigh of relief.

“We just thought you ought to know there was another raid this afternoon. Near to Crystal City.”

“Crystal City?” Skinner gasped.

“Exactly,” Frohike said, with a disbelieving shake of his head. “The Faerie have *never* raided the settlements near there. They’ve always been too wary of the city’s army.”

“Army?” Skinner repeated, a little confused.

“Oh yes,” Langly said, “The city has a *real* army. Apparently the Chieftain who started the city had the idea of setting up small roving patrols to keep an eye on the Faerie and protect nearby settlers. Over the years, the patrols have grown into an army of over a hundred horsemen. Their weapons are still all but useless against the Faerie armor, but there are so many of them that it makes no difference. Today’s the first time Faerie have been seen within twenty miles of Crystal City in over a decade.”

“I think people became a little complacent,” Frohike added sadly. “Small towns started to spring up around the city, sure that the army would protect them, and while the city itself is just about impregnable, the towns didn’t have any defenses. Three of them were razed to the ground. Nearly four hundred dead.”

“Gods,” Skinner groaned. “This is all my fault. If I hadn’t run away with Alexin, those people would still be alive.”

“Nonsense,” Langly snapped. “From what you told us, if you hadn’t run away with him, he would have married this Ariana bitch and the alliance would have gone ahead and the Faerie would *still* be attacking. Only they’d be attacking cities as well as towns and far *more* people would be dying.”

“Like you said yourself, this is only the beginning,” Skinner countered. “As far as the Faerie are concerned, it’s still only minutes since we escaped through the ward-gate. At this point the alliance is probably still a definite possibility, as long as they can get Alexin back to seal it.”

“Gods,” Langly breathed, glancing fearfully in Alexin’s direction.

Alexin kicked Skinner’s shin, his eyes wide with alarm and a desperate need to know what was being discussed.

“Let’s get out of here,” Skinner said, rising to his feet. “We’re frightening Alexin and I don’t dare tell him what’s happening where someone could overhear me speaking in his tongue.”

“You can come back to our house,” Frohike offered.

Skinner nodded, threw some money on the table and snatched the still half full skin of ale. He had a feeling they’d need it.

Frohike and Langly lived in a loft over Frohike’s shop. It was surprisingly large, but Frohike explained it ran the full length of three shops and doubled as a workroom for Langly.

“No wonder you managed to procure Alexin’s glasses so swiftly, if all you had to do was walk upstairs and yell out your order,” Skinner chuckled.

Frohike shrugged a little sheepishly. “We can’t afford to rent two shops,” he explained. “So Langly works here and sells his general products, like bottles, from a market stall. I sell anything more intricate for him in my shop.”

“Things like ornamental perfume vials,” Langly explained eagerly. “I make the vials and Frohike decorates them with gold. We don’t sell many of them, but they do reach a good price. Here, let me show them to you.”

“He doesn’t want to see our damned perfume vials,” Frohike snapped impatiently.

Langly’s face fell.

“I’m sure Alexin would *love* to see them,” Skinner suggested. “Just don’t agree to sell him any without talking to me first.”

“That’s a good idea,” Frohike agreed. “It will keep the boy distracted while we talk.”

“Exactly,” Skinner laughed, with a tolerant smile in Alexin’s direction.

A few minutes later, Alexin was happily sorting through a selection of Langly’s best workmanship, cooing with pleasure at the prettiest items and telling Langly with great sincerity what he thought were the best features of each individual bottle. It didn’t seem to bother him that Langly didn’t understand Faerie but then it didn’t seem to bother Langly either, since he was clearly happy to simply bask in Alexin’s obvious adoration of his craftsmanship.

“I think they’re *both* going to be totally distracted for hours,” Frohike chuckled. “Poor Langly is such a talented man but few in this city appreciate the type of work that he does. In somewhere like Crystal City or Emerald City I’m sure they would flock to buy his wares. I often feel guilty about trapping him here in this backwater place.”

“How did he come to be here at all?”

“He apprenticed at Arindale, then, as young men will, he decided to travel for a while before settling down. He moved here and there, doing just enough work to keep a roof over his head, and this city was just one of many he called at during his journeying. He was simply unlucky enough to meet me.”

“And you should be thoroughly ashamed of yourself,” Langly called over. “An ancient old gnome like you, entrapping a youth in the prime of his life and sentencing him to life imprisonment in this sewer filled hole that dares to call itself a city.”

Frohike just chuckled softly.

“How did it come about, if you don’t mind me asking?” Skinner asked.

“Magic,” Frohike grinned. “Though not the type you think. The magical part was that this beautiful, blond youth fell head over heels for this ugly little gnome of a man. I was already in my third century. Third ‘real’ century, I mean. In human terms I was over five hundred years old because of my time in the Faerie land. And I was still a virgin. Even pretending to be human, I am still an unattractive man.”

“You’re not *that* unattractive,” Skinner argued sincerely. “I have oft times seen far less attractive humans who are happily wedded. I can’t believe that in three hundred years you never found someone who would lie with you.”

“Aha,” Frohike said. “You’re right. Even *I* have had my admirers. The problem, my friend, is that my eyes have always sought beauty. Those who offered themselves to me were not to *my* taste. Fickle, am I not? I who have no beauty still wished to win it.”

“I understand that,” Skinner laughed. “Perhaps people would call me an attractive man, but I am well aware that Alexin is far beyond me in looks and breeding. Yet I would settle for none other than he.”

“And so there I was, three hundred and forty two years a virgin, and this boy, this tempter, this demon in the guise of a willowy blond youth, came into the tavern in which I was drinking a quiet ale and minding my own business. He then *threw* himself at me and declared me the man of his dreams.”

“I was drunk out of my head, tripped over my feet and fell on top of you by accident,” Langly called out.

“And declared me the man of your dreams,” Frohike repeated smugly.

“I was so drunk I was seeing double,” Langly retorted. “If I’d fallen on a *dog* I’d have called it the man of my dreams. If you’d had any honor, you’d have simply helped me to my room to sleep it off. Which is what you *said* you were doing, you bastard.”

“As I did. As a man of honor, I merely helped this beautiful young man to his room. Is it any fault of mine that he then fell upon me like a ravenous beast and ravished me?”

“Yeah well, you don’t have to sound so damned smug about it,” Langly complained.

Frohike snorted loudly and poured himself a drink of ale. “To being drunk,” he toasted wickedly.

“I’m uncertain whether I should congratulate you or commiserate with Langly,” Skinner confessed. “Though it seems to me that underneath the grumbling you two are most genuinely in love with each other.”

“It’s not Frohike I object to,” Langly admitted. “It’s living in this damned city. I’ve spent almost twenty years begging him to move somewhere less vile and all he says is that *all* cities are vile in one way or another.”

“They are,” Frohike retorted. “I’ve lived in nearly all of them, so I should know.”

“You’ve never lived in Crystal City,” Langly argued. “We could move *there*.”

“It will be no different than any other city I’ve lived in. Besides, now is hardly the time to speak of moving there, is it?”

“I disagree,” Langly countered. “The fact the Faerie have already attacked in that direction means it’s probably the safest place to approach. At this point the Faerie obviously don’t know which ward-gate Skinner and Alexin escaped through. So they’re going to make a series of raids through every single gate in the hope of finding them in the nearest settlement to that gate. Which means, if you think about it, that any day soon the Faerie are going to be outside the walls of *this* city.”

“They aren’t attacking cities.”

“Only because they’re currently concentrating on settlements within thirty odd miles of their border since they’re expecting to find Skinner and Alexin within that distance. None of which settlements *are* cities. Oh gosh. None except *this* city. Fancy that.”

Frohike blinked rapidly. “He’s probably right,” he whispered worriedly. “Langly is far smarter than he looks, you know.”

“This city is well defended. I highly doubt the Faerie could breach its defenses,” Skinner reassured him.

“They could if they attacked in sufficient numbers,” Langly retorted. “It doesn’t matter how strong the city walls are, the city gate could be breached. No city is fully defensible.”

“And the Faerie probably *will* begin to attack cities when they fail to find you in the smaller settlements,” Frohike mused.

“Crystal City could be fully defensible,” Skinner stated firmly. “The only access into the valley which houses it is through a narrow passage. A large rockfall into that passage would cut the city off completely, and the valley is self-sustaining. The population could live for centuries cut off from the outside world if necessary.”

“I doubt they’d welcome the prospect,” Frohike chuckled.

“How do you know so much about the place?” Langly asked curiously. “Have you been there?”

“You could say that,” Skinner laughed.

“Oh,” Langly sighed. “I wish *I* had been there. It’s a place of legend. Built by people from the Northern Territories, led by a great wise and brave Chieftain who not only led his people from the destruction of their old home but founded a new and wonderful city here in the south.”

“The boy’s addled,” Frohike snorted. “His head’s full of these nonsense legends. I keep telling him the tales of heroes are made up by old men to while away long winter evenings.”

“The legend’s true,” Langly insisted. “I met a man in Hasta once who’d actually met the man who founded Crystal City. He was there the day the Chieftain died, taken and killed most horribly by the Faerie as he rescued yet another settlement from slaughter. Valtere Skinner was a real man.”

“Valtere Skinner still *is* a real man,” Skinner laughed. “Though I’ve never thought of myself as legend material.”

There was sudden silence, save for Alexin’s happy chinking of Langly’s perfume vials.

Langly took a deep breath, swallowed heavily, took another deep breath...

“You’re *that* Skinner?”

“Fifteen years ago I was,” Skinner shrugged. “Now it seems that I’m just a homeless man with a lot of scars.”

“But...but...but... you’re *that* Skinner,” Langly gasped, his expression completely awed.

“So now you see, meeting a legend in the flesh, that Frohike’s right,” Skinner said depreciatingly. “Heroes and legends *are* just made up tales.”

Frohike narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Strangely enough,” he said. “I find myself perhaps revising that opinion. A great Chieftain, captured by the Faerie, certain to meet a terrible death at their hands. But instead, he escapes and emerges from the Faerie land fifteen years later. Not only alive but having stolen a Faerie prince and, furthermore, having gained magical powers over the elements. If that is not the stuff of legend, what is?”

Skinner shuffled uncomfortably under the little man’s scrutiny.

“He’s right,” Langly agreed fervently. “Somehow all this was *meant* to happen. You have gained the magic for a reason, Skinner.”

“For exactly the same reason as you did, Langly,” Skinner retorted. “I ravished a Faerie while I was too out of my head to know what I was doing. There’s nothing more to it than that.”

Langly just shrugged, not wanting to argue the point further but clearly unconvinced.

“So it’s your intention to return to Crystal City?” Frohike asked.

“I was in two minds about it,” Skinner said. “The last thing I wanted to do was lead the Faerie to the city’s doorstep. But on the other hand, it’s the safest, most defensible place and it seems the Faerie may attack it whether I’m there or not. I doubt the current Chieftain will welcome me with open arms, but I think the city will be safer under these circumstances if I am there to help in its protection. And who knows, they *may* welcome me back.”

“You should set off swiftly then,” Langly suggested. “There should be a two day window before the next strike. Two days riding hard on swift horses will get you most of the way there, and the odds are that the next raid will be in this direction anyway.”

“It’s been many years since I’ve ridden a horse,” Frohike said suddenly.

Skinner frowned at the comment in confusion but Langly’s mouth dropped open in total surprise and dawning hope.

“Are you saying... are you saying what I *think* you’re saying?” he gasped.

The little man shrugged. “Like you said, the Faerie are like as not to strike in this direction next.” Then he turned to Skinner. “There’s safety in numbers. The more you have in your party, the more people there will be to help protect Alexin. I’m small, but I’m strong. Langly isn’t strong but he’s brave and wise. I swear you would not find us a burden to you and we may well be of help.”

“But you said you’d never move from here,” Langly blurted.

“What I said was that one city is pretty much the same as the next,” Frohike retorted. “The difference is that *this* city is likely to fall under Faerie assault in the immediate future. But it’s more than that,” he confessed, turning to Skinner again. “The idea of going with you calls to me. Calls to my *magic*. I can’t explain more than that, except to say I feel we were meant to meet, and the purpose of our meeting was that Langly and I should ride with you. What further purpose that will serve, who can say? But if you are willing to take us, and Langly wishes it too, then I would have us leave with you in the morning.”

“I wish it,” Langly declared. “I do SO wish it.”

Skinner shook his head, not in negation but in confusion because he *too* felt a call to his magic, a sense of something falling into place even though he’d been unaware of its absence until the moment it had been offered.

Frohike and Langly were *meant* to travel with them.

He knew that as surely as he knew the sun would rise in the morn.

He just didn’t know how or why he had that knowledge.

Skinner opened his mouth to give consent, then paused, frowned and instead called out to Alexin. “Frohike and Langly want to travel with us when we leave here tomorrow morning. Would that be alright with you?”

Alexin paused his playing with the pretty vials, looked at Skinner, glanced between Langly and Frohike, and then bit his lip in obvious thought.

“If you say no, then they won’t come,” Skinner told him. “I would *like* for them to come and I believe we will be safer traveling as a party of four, but your feelings are important to me. I would not have you upset over this. So it’s your choice.”

He gave Frohike and Langly an apologetic look but they both seemed more approving of his decision to ask Alexin’s permission than disappointed by it.

Alexin looked over at Langly once more, and then his eyes dropped back to the perfume vials.

“I really *like* these little bottles,” he announced, with a calculating smile.

Skinner blinked in disbelief, then turned to Frohike and said, “He’s a monster, isn’t he? He *seems* so sweet, but it’s all an illusion.”

Frohike snickered loudly and told Langly what Alexin had said.

Langly looked more flattered than offended by Alexin’s attempt at blackmail. “Tell him they’re his. A gift from me. Regardless of his decision.”

“This is *not* a good precedent to set,” Skinner grumbled, though he’d been willing victim of Alexin’s childish blackmail enough times himself that he wasn’t sure he was in a good position to pretend moral outrage.

“Langly says that if you like them that much, you may keep them,” Frohike told the boy.

Alexin squealed with happiness and started hurriedly stuffing the little vials into the pockets of his skirts.

“You didn’t answer my question, Alexin. Can Langly and Frohike ride with us tomorrow?” Skinner demanded.

Alexin shrugged carelessly. “I don’t mind either way,” he said. Then he narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “They can’t ride *my* horse though.”

“Gods forbid anyone would *ever* dream they might use something of *yours*, Alexin,” Skinner grunted, rolling his eyes. “See?” he said to Frohike. “A monster.”

Frohike laughed and winked. “But such a beautiful, *desirable* monster, isn’t he?”

Skinner blushed a little as his member leapt to sudden agreement and he chuckled wryly. “Oh yes,” he sighed. “A very desirable monster indeed.”

He rose abruptly to his feet.

“If you’ve quite finished gathering your ill gotten gains, Alexin. I think our bed is calling.”

Alexin flushed prettily, picked up the final vial and leapt to his feet with a look of such heat in his eyes that Skinner completely forgot his irritation over Alexin’s petty blackmail.

“We’ll see you in the morning,” he managed to choke through a suddenly tight throat, grabbed Alexin by the hand and towed him swiftly out of the loft.

“It’s definitely love,” Frohike chuckled.

“It’s damned Faerie magic is what it is,” Langly retorted, with a roll of his eyes. But then he grinned happily. “He *really* liked my vials, didn’t he?”

“I think it’s fair to say he definitely did,” Frohike laughed, enchanted by the look of nervous pride on Langly’s face.

Perhaps Alexin was a spoilt little blackmailing ‘monster’ but at least he had wonderful taste. Frohike was actually ecstatic at the boy’s behavior, since it had been a long time since anyone had shown so much unbridled enthusiasm for Langly’s talent.

“Come on,” he said, taking Langly by the hand. “Let’s make a little magic of our own.”

Back to main index