Champion of Fire & Ice - Megan Derr Page 0,1

was a sour note to the sound. He gestured to the brandy and a second, unused glass next to it. At Davrin's nod, he poured a small measure and took a couple of sips. "Many forget, because I am far more interested in other matters, that I am a knight. I earned my spurs with honor and distinction, and I take the tests every year to keep myself sharp. I know I am not what anyone imagines, but if you still have need of a champion, I would be honored to serve." He drained the brandy in his glass and added softly, "Ballior was my friend, but as a knight I'm forbidden from acting on my own in such fashion. I can only fight on behalf of another."

"I…" Davrin gaped, swallowed, fought an urge to pour more brandy for himself. Tears stung his eyes as he folded his arms on the table and bowed his head. The tears fell to splash on his skin as he said, "The honor would be mine. It is not a debt I could ever repay, asking you to risk your life and health in the name of our dead friend. You know Grayne is a hellhound, yes?" He forced his eyes up, and almost looked away again at the intensity in Cimar's eyes.

Reaching up, Cimar touched the heavy leather collar around his throat that marked him a shifter, one of those rare humans who could turn into a beast. The collar was made of white leather, with a faint silver sheen, and decorated with pearls. What Cimar shifted into, no one knew. Once upon a time it had been law to register such things, but Queen Manna, King Rorlen's grandmother, had changed the law, maintaining that shifters had the right to privacy, especially since they were all too often judged with prejudice on their shifted form.

"I can handle him." Cimar smiled, that sour note returning. "I may be small of frame, but I promise I earned my spurs."

Davrin shook his head. "I do not doubt you. I am sorry I did not realize you were a knight. We met when you were already a scholar in the archives, that's my only feeble excuse. If you are willing to be my champion, then I would have you gladly."

"Then you have me," Cimar said. "I will see you in the field at first bell, my lord."

He stood, and Davrin stood with him, shock and disbelief and cautious hope driving the clouds of alcohol from his brain. He walked Cimar to the door and reached out at the last moment to take his hand and lift it to his lips. "Thank you."

Cimar smiled, and Davrin's breath stopped as he leaned in and up to brush the barest kiss to Davrin's cheek. "Goodnight, my lord."

Then he was gone, leaving only the scent of parchment and ink and beeswax in his wake.

*~*~*

The rain was still there in the morning, an icy drizzle that foretold a miserable winter. Davrin shivered as he hastened to build up the fire before going to his wardrobe to pull out suitable clothes. Winter hose and shirt, and a tunic in vibrant sky blue—not quite Ballior's house color, but very close to it. Overall he settled his winter cloak, dark forest green wool lined in black fur and trimmed with gray fur. He secured it with a broach Ballior had given him: a gold dragon coiled around the great oak that was Davrin's personal crest.

He coiled his hair into a simple knot, too tired to do more with it right then. The most effort he could muster was a gold, bejeweled hairpin. That done, he pulled on his boots, which were lined with fur as well, keeping him warm as he left the relative warmth of the keep and strode across the yard and out the gates, lifting a hand in greeting to the guards.

Across the bridge and a short distance down the road was the tournament field, where every couple of years the royal family hosted a week-long festival and tournament. Ballior had loved to participate—for the challenge, the reward, the attention. He'd had no interest in love, but plenty of interest in sex, and found no lack of like-minded people at such affairs. The only thing that had ever held Ballior back was money, and that Davrin had more of than he would ever need. He'd been more than happy to have Ballior as his champion and dearest friend.

King Rorlen waited, his toady