Of the Abyss (15 page)

He could do that. Even if he was getting a little seasick.

 

CHAPTER 18

H
e lost the words of the poem and all other awareness of where he was and what he had been doing until Umber said, “Okay. Take a moment to come back to Kavet.”

“Mm.” Hansa opened his eyes and sat up, shaking his head to clear it. He didn't know when they had separated, but Umber was now sitting back, probably waiting for him to reorient himself for the next step. Hansa wished he could believe they were done, but the cut on his chest was still bleeding, and he had learned enough recently to know that meant the magic wasn't finished. “What next?”

There was still a residue of laughter in Umber's voice when he said, “Your turn, Hansa.”

“No.” He spoke without even processing the entire implications of the statement, and pushed to his feet. Gray fog encroached on the edge of his vision and the ground under his feet seemed to take a sharp tilt to the side. He ended up kneeling on the wool carpet with his head down. “How much blood did you
take
?”

“Not much. What's wrong with you is that you're leaking power.” Umber stood, passed Hansa on his way to the kitchen, and returned with the mug of wine from the table. “Drink, then we'll finish this.”

With the mug on the carpet in front of him, Hansa started to translate just what Umber meant when he said, “Your turn.”

“You don't mean . . . I mean, you can't expect
me
to . . .”

Umber hefted Hansa with one hand on his arm, lifted his wine with the other, and deposited Hansa on the couch before putting the wine in his hand. Then he sat and began to unbutton his own shirt. “Drink your wine if you need it, and then we have to do this before you pass out.”

“You couldn't have
warned
me?”

“Not unless I wanted to argue with you all night.”

Given the circumstances, Hansa thought that was an unfair accusation—­he had argued very little, and even tried to stop asking questions—­but Umber was right that he probably would have objected more if he had been told the entire process up front.

Hansa stared at the wine for only an instant this time, then lifted it to his lips and chugged the foul stuff. Umber was out of his mind. Out of his Abyss-­spawned mind. When Hansa put down the mug and looked back at the spawn, Umber's expression was tight; Hansa suspected he was trying for the sake of his Quin partner-­in-­madness to suppress a grin or a chortle.

“This part might take a little longer,” Umber said, “but once it starts, you'll probably find yourself drifting again. I doubt you'll be aware of much.”

“Thank Numen for small favors,” Hansa whispered, only barely aware that the words would have earned him a censure at work.

“These particular favors come from a lower plane,” Umber pointed out, before leaning back against the sofa's arm again, and lifting the knife. He cut the same spot on his chest that he had on Hansa's.

“What did I ever do to deserve this?” Hansa grumbled as he leaned forward, trying to find a way to do this disgusting thing without actually
touching
the half-­Abyssi.

“As I recall,” Umber answered, “you summoned me by blood and demanded a second boon. You meddled in the affairs of the Abyss.” He locked an arm around Hansa's back, pulling him forward. Hansa recoiled, trying to stop himself from falling against the other man. “Now quit being such a Quin.”

Ayalee,
Hansa thought, as he stared at the wound on Umber's chest. The blood wasn't flowing like normal blood should; it seemed thicker. It was also darker, with an incandescent sheen.

What do you suppose the Tamari would call
that
color?
Umber supplied helpfully.

Well, that ruined
that
song forever.

Shut up,
Hansa snarled back. Umber put a hand on the back of his head, encouraging him.
You're enjoying this far too much.

There are other things I'd enjoy more
.

Just . . . quit talking.

Then quit stalling.

Okay.
Just get it over with,
Hansa told himself. Umber, thankfully, did not reply. He touched his lips to the blood, then had to pull back, suppressing a gag. He licked his lips instinctively and discovered that the half-­demon's blood
tasted
like something you would expect from the Abyss: smoky, dark, and spiced. He still knew what it was, but maybe he could go through with this if he could pretend it was something—­anything—­else.

No choice,
he told himself.
Just do it to get it done.

He closed his eyes and leaned forward again, and this time closed his lips over the wound. Umber offered no encouragement this time, which was helpful, since it meant Hansa could think about anything
but
what he was doing. He could do this. Had to, really, unless he wanted to walk around looking like a mancer to anyone with the sight for the rest of his life.

He made the mistake of taking a breath, which brought with it the smell of flesh, reminding him that he was not at a tavern with a hot mug of some spicy mulled beverage, but rather pressed against another man.

Get over it, Quin,
Umber snarled.

Get over it, indeed. This would have been easier if Hansa didn't suspect, given Umber's many previous flirtatious comments, that the spawn was enjoying it.

To the Abyss with it all. Hansa put a hand on Umber's shoulder in order to brace himself, and then leaned down to the blood one more time. Lips to flesh, he deliberately licked along the length of the cut, drawing fresh blood to the surface. Umber shuddered, and his fingers twined in Hansa's hair, but he didn't speak, thank Numen . . . or Abyss, whoever there was to thank.

The blood filled his mouth, and his throat swallowed, reflex he couldn't have avoided kicking in. He tried to clear his mind of exactly where he was or what he was doing, but couldn't, since he was very awkwardly bent over Umber. His neck hurt.

He could fix that.

Never lifting his lips away from the wound, he reached around Umber's back, lifting him enough to turn him. Umber let out a surprised yelp, but didn't struggle. He let Hansa move him so he was lying full-­length on the couch, shoulders propped up by the sofa's end-­pillow and arm-­rest, with Hansa more comfortably sprawled atop him. That done, Hansa could close his eyes, and go back to what he was doing.

Vaguely, he was aware of a struggle, a
pulling
sensation, not physical but rather somewhere else.

Don't fight it,
Umber said, as he had before, though this time his mental voice sounded a little dazed.

Okay. He didn't want to pay attention to that, anyway.

It was easier now. Thinking, he decided, was overrated. Unnecessary, unhelpful.

Hansa?
Umber's mental voice was wobbly.

Mm?

Why hadn't he noticed before how soft Umber's skin was? It was like fine silk.

That's enough, Hansa,
Umber said.

No, it wasn't.

Yes, it
is
.
Hansa felt a strong hand, still twined in his hair, pulling his head back. He hissed in protest.
You're blood-­drunk, Quin. Intoxicated, though damned if I know how.

Hansa stopped struggling against the hands pulling him away from the wound when he saw the flesh close, sealing the blood away. It didn't matter. There were other coins of this realm, ones he had been offered earlier and refused for some silly reason he couldn't remember now.

He reached a hand under the half-­Abyssi's head, and lifted him just far enough to kiss him. Lips met lips, tongues twined, but one long, deep kiss later, Umber snarled, “
Back off!”

The blow came not physically, but in the form of raw power. It hit Hansa hard enough to knock him back, at which point Umber shoved him from the couch and sprang to his feet.

Hansa lay on the floor, dazed, suddenly aware that his heart was pounding like the hooves of a racehorse. He gasped for breath, body inexplicably heavy. He couldn't even summon the energy to lift his arm to wipe away the sweat he could feel gathering on his brow.

He wasn't sure how long he lay there before Umber crept back, helped him sit up and lean against the couch, and placed a cold cloth across the back of his neck. He offered the mug of chilled wine, which Hansa cradled in trembling hands, sipping carefully, still steadied by Umber's arm.

“That last bit shouldn't have happened,” Umber said as Hansa drank. “Abyssi, spawn and mancers can get intoxicated off blood if they aren't careful, but it shouldn't have happened to someone who has no natural tie to the Abyss.”

The words reached Hansa, but they were next to meaningless. What mattered in that moment was the cold ceramic mug in his hands, and the warm arm across his back.

“I know these words mean nothing to you now,” Umber continued, “but later, I hope you remember that I chose to stop you. I didn't have to.”

Hansa was starting to come back to himself then, enough that his eyes finally focused. He turned to look at Umber, whose deep blue eyes swam with concern. Full lips, slightly reddened with blood, moved as the man continued to speak, but Hansa didn't hear whatever he was saying.

“Get away from me,” he managed to choke out.

Umber frowned. “Well, I guess that's the gratitude I should have expected from you.” He stood, lithe body uncoiling in one smooth moment, and started toward the door.

“Not what I meant.” Hansa coughed. “You just—­” He was
not
going to say that. Umber paused, twisting back, expression still cross. “You still look . . . feel . . . really good.” He closed his eyes after he said it, squeezing them shut as if doing so could block out the truth.

“It'll wear off,” Umber said sadly. “Let me help you to bed. Sleep a few hours, and when you wake, you should be back to normal.”

Hansa let Umber help him to his feet mostly because he couldn't have stood on his own. One arm looped across Umber's shoulders, he couldn't quite resist smoothing his free hand down Umber's chest. After he realized what he had done, he curled that hand into a fist, trying to control himself.

They stumbled at the doorway to the bedroom. Hansa wrapped his arms around Umber's waist and tried very hard to remind himself that he did
not
want to kiss the half-­naked spawn again. Even if he smelled and felt as good as he looked.

Umber chuckled. “I guarantee, as soon as you're back to yourself, you will be cursing my name and blaming me for all of this. A good little Quin like you couldn't
possibly
be interested in anything so untoward.”

The sound of the front door opening caused them both to turn.

“Didn't you lock that?” Umber asked.

Hansa nodded. “Ruby has a key.”

“Ruby . . . your
fiancée
?”

Umber's expression of concern pierced Hansa's mental fog a moment too late. He heard Ruby saying, “Hansa? Are you here? I need to—­”

She broke off as she stepped into the sitting room and saw them.

“Hansa? You should probably step back,” Umber suggested quietly.

Ruby moved further into the room, and her eyes went to the two mugs they had used for wine, then Umber's shirt crumpled on the floor, and then back to Hansa and Umber.

“Back up,” Umber said again.

Hansa took a step backward, and bumped into the opposite side of the doorway.

“Well. This explains a lot,” Ruby said.

“This really isn't what it looks like,” Hansa managed to say. It was perhaps the stupidest defense he could have come up with, but it was so hard to
think.

“You know? It . . . just . . . I don't . . .” Ruby shook her head. “Never mind.” She turned away.

“Ruby, wait!” He managed to step away from Umber and put a hand on Ruby's arm to try to slow her down. “Please, will you
listen
to my explanation?” He would probably tell her the truth if she was willing to hear it, but if she walked away again without even considering there might be an explanation . . .

She shook off his hand and pulled off her ring. “I think you should just keep this. It's clear neither one of us is ready to marry.”

When he refused to take the ring from her, she handed it to Umber instead.

“I won't say anything to the Quinacridone,” she said as she moved away.

She closed the door quietly behind herself.

Umber sighed. Hansa snapped, “Could you have helped
less
?” Surely the spawn could have said something useful while Hansa was trying to find his tongue!

“If you recall, you forbid me from even
speaking
to her,” Umber reminded him. “I can't arbitrarily violate the terms you set on the second boon just because it's convenient. Besides, there are other ways to fix this.”

As soon as Umber made the offer, Hansa's irritation snuffed out. He still felt dazed, but there was one thing he felt sure about. “No.”

“I agreed to help clean up any problems you got into on account of helping me rescue Pearl,” Umber reminded him. “This falls in that category.”

“No,” Hansa said again. “This . . .” It hurt to admit it, but he couldn't avoid the truth any more. “This isn't really a new problem.”

She hadn't been willing to listen to him last time either. Yes, Umber would be able to clean up this mess, manipulate Ruby once again . . . but what did it mean, if his relationship needed that?

“You're sure?” Umber asked.

“Yeah.” He took the ring from Umber, and then stumbled into the bedroom. “I'm going to sleep. Then maybe I'll try to talk to her . . . explain . . . accept whatever comes of it . . .” He collapsed onto the bed. “Sleep first. Thanks,” he added. “But I need to deal with this myself.”