Black Magic by Megan Derr Read Free Book Online

those black-hearted paladins, Koray had been forced to go down to the battlefield and purify it alone. That battle had been even worse than the one just past. His powers had not been at full strength then, either. The battle had lasted two days and killed hundreds. Purifying that battlefield alone had put a strip of white in his hair far more vivid than the dark and light grays that threaded it.
    He reached up to comb through his hair, feeling a pang at all the gray, that lurid band of white. His life of ghosts and going hungry and suffering beatings, of sleeping on the ground and scrounging for everything he owned, had left him with little in the way of vanities. But he had always been foolishly proud of his black hair and wore it long no matter it was a frivolous and difficult indulgence.
    Shoving it back, Koray sighed and looked at Sorin again, remembering that second encounter, the way Sorin's men had driven out the other necromancers, the way Sorin had never paid it the slightest bit of attention. The inaction did not seem to fit with the man who had brought him to the royal castle, had ordered he be left to his work on the battlefield … and ordered Koray to share his bed and get some rest.
    Koray's hand went reflexively to his shoulder, the worst of his demon-bestowed scars. He, like everyone else, had thought all the men and demons on the field were dead. As it was too dark to clear them when the battle finally ended, they'd been left for the morning. Koray had slipped onto the field in the dead of night to do his work … and found himself assaulted by a demon. The demon had been badly wounded, and that was likely the only reason Koray had survived.
    The paladins, of course, had made camp well away from the battlefield and so no one had come to his rescue. Not that they would have anyway. It had been Koray's first encounter with a demon, but far from his last. He had scars all over his body—from demons, villagers, soldiers, and the elements themselves. There was good reason his only vanity was his hair. A blind man would find him repulsive, even if he wasn't a necromancer.
    Shoving the old, bitter musings aside, Koray let his eyes linger on the shadowed face not even an arm's span away. So many time Koray would have given anything to have someone like Sorin at his side—someone who could fight, was meant to fight, who had no fear of battle.
    Koray reached out and gently touched the tips of his fingers to Sorin's bare arm, sighing softly at the unbelievable warmth of the man. He seemed near to bursting with heat. Koray's fingers tingled as they absorbed Sorin's warmth, and he could have wept as it spread through his entire body, warming him in ways that no fire ever could. He was so tired of being cold all the time, tired of always being so drained, because he—and every necromancer—fought a battle they had never been meant to fight alone.
    He withdrew reluctantly after a couple of minutes, unable to ignore feelings of guilt. Though it seemed Sorin had warmth to spare, it was not right simply to take it. But just the thought of asking churned his empty stomach. He could all too easily imagine how the High Paladin, or any paladin, would react if Koray asked them to share their heat.
    Sorin shifted, snorted, and murmured something nonsensical in his sleep. Koray tensed, but after another few seconds of shifting restlessly, Sorin settled down again. Shaking his head, Koray slowly climbed out of bed, too unsettles to remain in it a moment longer.
    He retrieved his discarded clothes and pulled them back, grimacing as he noticed new tears in the hose and the mud and grass stains left by his tumble down the hill. He had just managed to wash the thing, and there was no telling when next he would get the chance. His gaze went to the discarded clothes on the floor near the fireplace, and he tried to ignore the pangs of envy and longing. Fine linen and the best wool, left on the floor as though they were fit only for the