NOTES:
Warnings: 1+2, 3+4, 5+13, AU, fantasy, lime.

Dragonfell
by Becca Abbott

The thunder of iron-shod hooves rang on the cobbles, echoing off the brick and stone of the row houses that lined the street. Two riders galloped out of the dark, hooded and cloaked in spite of the evening's thundery warmth. Behind them came other horsemen, rough-clad, their faces half-covered by scarves. Up and down the deserted street, lights came on behind draperies and shutters as the inhabitants were roused from their beds by the clamor.

It was clear the two riders in front had been running for some time. Their horses were lathered in sweat and the taller of the two was bent awkwardly forward, one gloved hand pressed against his thigh. Ahead, the towers of Sanc Castle were just barely visible above the roofs of the buildings.

The masked riders were gaining. Two surged ahead. Between them was a tangle of cords that resolved itself into a net. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, the taller of the hooded figures suddenly wheeled his horse around. "Ride!" he shouted, motioning frantically for his companion to go on.

Tossing his cloak over his shoulder, he drew his pistol, exposing as he did a rough, bloody bandage around his thigh. His companion wasted no breath in reply but bent low over his animal's head and thundered past. With deliberate calm, the tall man aimed his gun and fired.

One of the net-bearers pitched forward, but his fellow galloped up behind, scooped up the net. The gunman swore, whirling about, and rode desperately after his companion.

The pursuing horsemen gained ground on the two, pulling up within reach of the wounded man. Tossing away his spent pistol, he drew his sword and his blade met that of a masked assailant. Looking back, the other hooded rider cried out in dismay, reining in his animal and turning around, drawing his own sword. With triumphant shouts, the remaining masked riders swept around the two.

Suddenly, new players entered the stage. From the shadowy street ahead came more riders, but these were soldiers wearing the black and silver of the Royal Guard. The sight caused immediate consternation among the masked men who shouted to each other in alarm. At once, they turned their horses about, milling a moment in confusion, then galloped back the way they had come.

"Come!" shouted the taller of the two front riders, sheathing his blade, no less alarmed it seemed than their enemies. The smaller man nodded, pulling his hood further forward and together, the two dashed madly for a nearby alley and were quickly swallowed up by the night.

Chapter 1

"Duo! DUO! Damn it! Where is that boy?"

The voice drifted down the cellar stairs and Duo, huffing under the weight of the cask, swore. "Coming!" he shouted. "Sheez!"

"Move it!" retorted the unseen Lacy. "His lordship'll be here tomorrow and the bedrooms ain't even made up!"

Then you make 'em up, you drunken cow, thought the young slave irritably. Damn, the cask was heavy. There were only two of the blue-blooded bastards coming, weren't there? Were they really going to drink this much wine or was Lacy thinking that everyone drank like she did?

He reached the top of the crumbling concrete steps, sweating, legs trembling. His knees buckled and he set the cask heavily on the floor next to the cellar door. Lacy was across the kitchen in several long strides. Duo adroitly dodged a swing of her rolling pin.

"Which bedrooms?" he panted, a wary eye on her flour-covered right hand.

"Brat. The south rooms on the second floor, of course. There are heaters there. Better make sure the new master is warm. I hear he ain't as forgivin' as Lord Maxwell."

Duo nodded and hurried off, no more eager to annoy his new owner than was Lacy. Of course, Lacy was a servant, a free-woman. She needed her job, but in the end, she could walk away if the new earl was too heavy-handed in his displeasure. Duo could not. He was a shinigami, Onii-blood, marked as such by the black thrallstone around his neck. If Lord Maxwell's unknown heir took offense, Duo hadn't any choice but to put up with the consequences. Being an imaginative youth, he could well imagine what those might be.

Shinigami were only half-human, descended from the demons whose cruel tyranny had oppressed humanity for thousands of years. They were bound by blood and magic to the mysterious castles that, like themselves, were all that remained of the ancient overlords. If a castle's shinigami died out, the legends claimed, so too would the bloodline of the humans who had claimed it.

Duo had asked Lord Maxwell about the truth of the legend once and the earl had laughed. "Sanc Castle was Onii-built," his lordship had reminded him, "and the last of its shinigami died when Milliardo's grandfather was a boy. Milliardo and Relena seem healthy enough to me."

Lord Maxwell, Earl of Wyrmhold, had been a kind man, indulgent, forgetful and undemanding, his main interest in life revolving around the castle's magnificent library. His death had come to a shock to the youth who even now, two months later, missed him terribly.

Duo stopped at the linen cupboard and searched until he found sheets that were not too badly darned. His bare feet made no sound as he took the narrow corner stairs to the second floor. The corridor was deep in gloom, but he'd been up and down these passages all his life. He didn't need light to find the two largest bedrooms midway to the end.

Opening the door to the first, he gave the spacious chamber a quick, assessing look. The floor needed sweeping and the rugs would have to be beaten. He probably should shake out the threadbare velvet bed-curtains, too. With a sigh, he dumped the linens on the bed and went to the window, pushing open the casements. A strong breeze blew in, heavy with the scent of the sea. He leaned out, breathing deep, looking over the glittering expanse of water. Dragonfell was built atop a high cliff and Duo could see for miles. Far away, against the horizon, he glimpsed the white speck of a sail.

Duo could not leave the county. The thrallstone didn't permit it. Still, Wyrmhold encompassed not only the village, but a mile or so of surrounding hills and coastline. He struggled to let it be enough.

All shinigami wore thrallstones, each attuned to the property to which he or she was bound. Each stone had a Finder. Shinigami were technically under the jurisdiction of the Church, so Duo's was kept in the Abbey on nearby Cinnamon Mountain. It would sound the alarm at once if Duo trespassed his approved borders.

Once, long ago, he had done so, completely from ignorance. The priests had found him and what they had done to him still lived in his nightmares. Lord Maxwell had been furious when he'd arrived to retrieve the boy, but Duo had learned his lesson well. Now he watched the world from the edges of the estate or read of it in books. At least he had that. Lord Maxwell had taught his bright, inquisitive little shinigami to read. Duo knew such a privilege was rare and he treasured the skill above all others.

Would the new earl let him read? Duo straightened and closed the windows. From the rumors he'd heard, the new earl was a powerful military officer who stood high in the favor of the king. According to talk in the village, Lord Yuy had also inherited a magnificent mansion in l'Sanjil and country homes in Raseane and Leander. This enormous castle was more likely to be a liability than anything else. With luck, the new earl would come, look over the will, then hightail it back to civilization as fast as his thoroughbred horse could carry him.

Duo went back to the kitchen. Martin had arrived and was regaling Lacy with some gossip from the village. Martin had been the handyman as long as Duo could remember, but he was old now and Duo had taken over almost all of his work. The elderly man spent most of his time by the fire, easing his arthritic limbs, or sitting in the sun outside the Gull, drinking ale and exchanging tall tales with his cronies. Now that the earl was dead, he was gradually moving his things to the village where he intended to live henceforth with his niece. Duo would miss him, too.

"There ye are, lad," Martin called cheerfully. "Ye busy?"

Duo rolled his eyes.

"That musician down in Bay Cottage is returned from his trip. He says the roof is leakin'. D'ya think ye could run down there n' have a look? I'm thinkin' it'll rain agin t'night."

"He's got the crystal to polish," Lacy snapped, "and the stables to clear out. His lordship is bringin' a friend and they've got fine horses."

"I'll go," Duo said promptly, meeting the cook's fulminating glare. "C'mon, Lacy. I can do that stuff later. His lordship ain't comin' until tomorrow, right?"

She scowled, but he looked back with his best puppy-dog eyes. She sighed heavily and, with a scowl not altogether convincing, she gave in. "But you be back soon, mind you!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

He left her grousing to Martin and ran from the castle. Outside the walls he slowed, leaving the road for the footpath that ran along the top of the cliffs. A stiff wind lifted the ragged line of bangs from his eyes and sent his long braid flying. The wildness of it filled him with exhilaration and he started running again.

What if he could keep running? What if he could run and run, past the borders of the estate south to Dragora? In his imagination, Duo saw Dragora's tall, golden-roofed minarets, its houses with their brightly painted walls built one against the other across that country's low hills. Or maybe he'd go north to distant Hebronda, a cold land ruled by fierce and passionate warriors. According to Lord Maxwell's books, a man wasn't a man there until he'd killed one of the great snow bears that roamed the frozen steppes. Could he kill a snow bear?

The path forked, one going straight on to the village, the other descending through low grassy hills to the shore. Duo saw Bay Cottage nestled among there, sheltered from the sea winds by the curve of the bay.

Bay Cottage was part of the earl's estate. It was technically a dower house, but Lord Maxwell's mother had died before Duo was born and the earl had taken to renting it out. In Duo's memory, the cottage had been home to three tenants, an artist come to paint the magnificent scenery, a sickly young lady sent to convalesce in the healthy sea-air and, most recently, a young musician from New Port City.

The path gave out on the hilltop overlooking the cottage and he slowed to a walk, coming down the slope through the tall pea-grass that rippled like the ocean before the steady breeze. Reaching the low, crumbling wall, he jumped onto it, walking along the top for a ways.

The house was not large -- three bedrooms, a parlor, kitchen, dining room and a study. It was roofed in gray slate and the walls were of a pale, mellow limestone. When the sickly young lady had stayed here, she'd kept a rose garden, vibrant with crimsons, pinks and golds. The new tenant was not so inclined, so the bushes had been allowed to grow as they would, running up over the walls and across the windows like ivy. There were still a few fading blooms on them, but autumn approached and soon they, too, would be gone.

Duo jumped from the wall and made his way across the overgrown yard to the front door. He knocked and the door opened. A tall, slender young man looked back at him. The man had light brown hair, cut short except in front where a long sweep partially hid one green eye. His white shirt was open at the neck and his loose cotton trousers were casual, but of good quality. "Hello, Duo."

"Hullo, sir. Havin' some trouble with the roof?"

"So it would seem. Come on inside. The leak is in the kitchen."

Duo nodded, following the musician into the small, dark foyer. To the left was an archway opening into the parlor, a charming room with large, mullioned windows. He had a brief glimpse of a music stand and Mr. Pierrot's flute lying on a stool. Then he was past, hurrying after the young man down a brief corridor to the kitchen.

The musician must have just finished lunch. A half-loaf of bread and chunk of cheese sat on the wooden table. Duo's mouth watered and his stomach growled. Resolutely he turned his eyes from it.

"There," Pierrot was saying, pointing to the ceiling by the chimney. "It rained last night and there was water everywhere this morning."

"Probably lost some slates," agreed Duo, frowning at the damp blotch in the plaster. "That was one hell of a storm."

"Can you fix it?"

"Heh." The young slave grinned cheerfully. "'Just leave it to me, sir."

Pierrot nodded. "Thanks, Duo."

Duo left Pierrot, letting himself out the back door and headed for the shed behind the cottage. Once armed with fresh slates and a small pot of pitch, he scrambled nimbly up onto the roof and set about repairing the storm's damage.

As he sat fitting the new tiles in place, he heard music -- Master Pierrot's flute. The sound drifted, sweet and melodious, through an open window somewhere below him. Then another instrument joined the flute -- the cottage's old piano! The musician had a guest. Duo's busy hands slowed, then stilled, caught by the music's spell. It was at once wild and gentle, weaving around him with silver strands. He listened, staring across the roof and hills to the bay, watching as the sun glittered on the choppy water.

The song ended at last and, after a moment, another started. This was a peasant's reel, lively and mischievous. Overcome with curiosity, Duo hastily pressed the last piece of tile into the pitch. Trying to make no noise, he scrambled down the roof and dropped to the soft, loamy earth below. Stealthily, he made his way through the bushes toward the open parlor window. The music grew louder, infecting him with the urge to tap his feet and bob his head to its beat.

Reaching the window, he dropped to a crouch and peered over the sill. Pierrot stood with his back to Duo, flute to his lips. Beside him, seated at the piano was another young man, fair-haired and even more handsome than Pierrot. He swayed gently as his hands moved over the keys, coaxing the lively tune from the old instrument.

With a flourish, the song ended. Pierrot and his guest laughed and then, eyes going wide, Duo saw Pierrot lean down and kiss the golden-haired boy.

Duo knew he should leave. The roof was fixed. He should put away his things and go back to the castle. He had too much work to do to be lingering and he had no business here now. But he could not take his eyes from the tableau in the parlor. Pierrot set aside his flute and pulled the stranger up and into his arms. Duo's heart began to beat faster

Their kiss was long and passionate. Pierrot's slender hands stroked down the smaller youth's back, curving around a tight, shapely bottom. Duo ran his tongue over suddenly dry lips as the golden youth pressed his slim form tightly into Pierrot's, his arms coming up to wind around the flutist's neck. Pierrot kissed him with an intensity that Dou found both frightening and seductive.

The boy's head fell back. Pierrot pressed his kisses to the throat so willingly offered. Duo's breath quickened. Then disaster struck! Maybe he made some small sound, or maybe Master Pierrot possessed a sixth sense, but suddenly the musician looked up and that green eye was staring over Golden-Hair's shoulder and straight at Duo.

For a fateful second, Duo was paralyzed. Then he jumped up and spun about. With Pierrot's angry shout ringing in his ears, he bolted. Pierrot leapt through the window after him.

Alas, in Duo's haste and alarm, his bare toes caught in a tangle of roots and he went down with a resounding thud. Desperately, he scrambled to his hands and knees, but a savage blow sent him back to the ground and was held there by the angry musician's weight.

"Damned spy!" raged Pierrot.

"Nggg!" Face pressed into the earth, Duo could neither speak nor breathe. He struggled frantically. A second later, everything exploded in pain and confusion. Reason wavered.

"Trowa! Trowa, stop!"

Duo regained his senses lying on his back, mouth filled with dirt and blood, eyes filled with tears. Something was drawn tight around his neck, cutting off his breath. A fist came at him and he tried to turn his head, but his body responded only sluggishly. Everything got dicey again.

"TROWA!"

"He saw you!" Pierrot's voice shook. Fear, Duo thought dimly. He's afraid.

"Yes. And so? You'll kill him?"

Terrified, Duo lay, waiting for the musician's response.

"Why not?" he heard. "Smash his head with a rock and throw him into the sea. It'll look like an accident. He's shinigami! Who will care?"

"No! Oh, gods, Trowa! Listen to yourself!"

Duo's vision was clearing. He made out the stranger's heart-shaped face, pale in the shade of the garden.

"Won'-- won't tell," he tried to say, scared to death. "Please..."

"Trowa?"

The hand holding the collar of Duo's ragged shirt suddenly opened, releasing him. Duo rolled over, gagging, spitting out mud, shaking like a leaf. Somehow he managed to get to his knees, but no further. It seemed that all his strength had fled. Desperately, he dragged in great lungfuls of air and tried not to be sick. He was dimly aware that the two men were talking, their voices low and angry. After a moment, he ventured a look up. They stood several feet away, deep in urgent conversation. If he could just creep away...

No such luck. Even as he tried to crawl toward a nearby bush, Pierrot moved, grabbing him and hauling him back.

"Trowa!" Golden Hair snapped, voice sharp. Pierrot released Duo again.

Wondering if he was about to die, Duo knelt at their feet, arms wrapped around himself. Golden Hair said something low to Pierrot who swore, but nodded. Then the stranger dropped to a crouch beside Duo. Duo gazed back at him and was surprised to see a look of gentle concern.

"I'm sorry that Trowa hurt you," the boy said, "but he and I..."

"Shouldn't be together?" Duo guessed when the other youth hesitated. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He'd read of such things in novels. In spite of his fear, the situation sparked his irrepressible curiosity again.

"Y-yes," replied Golden Hair, startled. There was a strangled sound from Pierrot. Golden-Hair's eyes narrowed. "Do you know who I am?"

Duo blinked. "Should I?"

Pierrot snorted, but Golden Hair's gaze was thoughtful. "You're shinigami to Dragonfell, aren't you?"

Duo nodded.

"Have you ever been out of Wyrmhold?"

"No, sir."

Thoughtfully, Golden Hair reached out and touched the chain around Duo's neck and the black stone that hung on the end of it. He seemed to be thinking hard and, instinctively, Duo knew his life depended on whatever this beautiful youth decided.

"I won't tell," he said earnestly. "It's no one's business anyway, is it? I mean, if your families disapprove, that's their problem, right?"

This time, Pierrot laughed, although it was not a happy sound. Golden Hair's mouth curved into a wry smile. "One would think," he agreed finally. "Even so..."

"On my honor," Duo swore. "I won't say a word about what I've seen. No one will know from me that you're even here!"

"Honor?" sneered Pierrot. "What does a shinigami know about honor?"

"Maybe not as much as you," Duo returned evenly. His hands were still shaking, but he made an attempt to straighten his shirt and brush the mud off his pants. "I've read Assam and Cassidy. I know what it's supposed to be, and it seems to me that a shinigami can have honor just as much as any human."

"You can read?"

"Y-yes, sir."

Golden Hair straightened and faced Pierrot. Pierrot scowled.

"Pretty unusual," mused Golden Hair. "I'd heard the earl was a bit of an eccentric." Turning, he held out his hand. Duo stared at it blankly before realizing it was meant for him. Acutely aware of how dirty and callused his own was, he hesitantly reached up and took it. Golden Hair hoisted him to his feet. Duo swayed a bit, dizzy, swallowed hard, and looked from one man to the next. Was he out of danger?

"My name is Quatre," said the young man finally, "and you're right. My family doesn't approve of Trowa and me. If we were discovered, things would go very badly for us both. We ... we are putting our happiness in your hands, Duo. That is your name, isn't it? Duo?"

"Yes, sir...or, should I call you my lord?"

"Quatre will do, actually," replied the young man with a smile. "Can we rely upon your discretion, Duo?"

Duo looked over at Pierrot, who scowled blackly at him. He returned his gaze to Quatre. Tentatively, he grinned, "I guess so," he replied with a ghost of his old sauciness, "on one condition."

Quatre frowned. "What's that?"

Pierrot growled and took a menacing step toward him.

"Will you let me listen again some time?" Duo asked hastily. "I really liked what I heard. My master was a great scholar, but he wasn't much for music, you see, so I've never really heard it before. Not like you were doing, anyway. Lacy sings when she's drunk, but she has a terrible voice, and sometimes, in town, I hear them playin' the fiddle and singing in the tavern, but..."

"I understand," interrupted Quatre, mouth twitching. Even Pierrot's expression had lightened a little. "Yes, of course. Would you like to hear some more now?"

Duo smiled ruefully. "I would, but I can't, sir ... Quatre. I'm supposed to be back at the castle. So, if you don't mind, sirs, since I'd really rather not get beat up any more today, could I go home?"

Now Quatre was grinning openly and even Pierrot had the shadow of a smile on his somber face.

"By all means," replied the golden-haired youth. "And Duo?"

"Sir?"

"Remember your promise."

"Yes, sir! Absolutely!"

Quatre nodded then and stepped back. He looked at Trowa and, with another smile at Duo, turned and started back for the cottage. Trowa stared at Duo a moment longer, then followed. Alone at last, Duo nearly collapsed, knees weak with relief at his close call. Then, gathering his wits, he ran for home.

Chapter 2

It was wild country, and beautiful, the high hills crowded by evergreen forests and sprinkled with glades. Their road followed the dip and curve of the slopes, growing steeper as they came nearer the coast. It wound in and out of the tall, silent trees, giving the travelers sudden, dramatic glimpses of a sea gone steel-gray with the approaching storm. Yet the new Earl of Wyrmhold was in no mood to appreciate the scenery. With disturbing rumors coming out of Dragora, he would have preferred to be in l'Sanjil with his battalion, ready to move at a moment's notice.

At nineteen, Lord Heero Yuy had already established himself as a military prodigy. He was a colonel, the youngest in the history of the Specials, with a command of five hundred men. Heero had always known what he wanted most from life -- to serve his king to the best of his ability and never to bring shame upon the Royal House of Peacecraft. He had been well on his way to attaining his goals when a distant and hitherto unknown cousin had died, a rather important one, as it turned out. Overnight, plain young Colonel Yuy became His Lordship, Earl of Wyrmhold, heir to a vast fortune, miles of real estate and a very ancient, notorious castle by the sea.

"Your Lordship is looking even grimmer than usual," drawled an amused voice on his left. "Is it boredom or the execrable sandwich we had back at that tavern?"

Heero slanted a dour look at the handsome, red-haired man who sat, straight and relaxed, in the saddle of his big brown warhorse. General Treize Kushrenada, Duke of Oz, first cousin to the king, was watching the earl, amusement tugging on the corners of his chiseled lips.

"I wish you wouldn't call me that." Heero said shortly. "And it's a bad time to leave the city."

Treize regarded Heero from beneath half-lowered eyelashes. He was one of the young colonel's few friends and completely impervious to Heero's abrupt manner. "Do you really fear trouble from Dragora? Relena will marry the Crown Prince and we shall all be one big, happy family."

"Dragora has had six years of drought. They don't need a princess, they need rain and a few decent harvests. Dermail has been building up his military for the past three years. Why do that if he doesn't intend to wage war?"

"Armies always swell in times of want." Treize shook his head. "If you ask me, Yuy, the army is there in case the wedding doesn't go through."

Heero scowled. The stories coming out of Dragora were frightful -- mass starvation, thousands of acres of topsoil blowing across the once fertile plains, entire provinces breaking down into lawlessness. Dermail would soon have no choice but to turn the attention of his increasingly desperate people to the prosperous north.

"And anyway," Treize continued, "His Majesty is not exactly asleep. Why do you think he insisted that you -- no, we -- come out here and inspect your newly acquired ancestral holdings? Look around you. Have you seen anyone else on this road? Dragonfell is what -- fifty miles from the Dragoran border? If Dermail wanted to send spies into Sanc, can you think of a better place?"

"I still don't like it. There was that business near the castle two weeks ago. Whatever you and Millardo say, those men were too well armed and too skilled to be ordinary bandits. Dermail is up to something."

"Your problem, Yuy, is a tendency to see the enemy under every bed and in every windowbox. That was a robbery."

"If that was a robbery, where were the victims?"

Treize shrugged. "Not everyone who is robbed is an innocent. A great deal goes on in the capitol that wouldn't bear the bright light of public attention. Anyway, the king and princess will soon be on their way south, surrounded by half the damn army. They will be safe as houses."

He and Treize rode on in silence. Thunder rumbled through the hills and the air held the peculiar closeness of lightning. The road bent sharply around the curve of a hill, bringing them out of a stand of cedars. In spite of himself, Heero caught his breath.

On his left, the land fell away sharply, a series of steep, tree-covered hills. Directly ahead of them was the Wyrm's Talon, a narrow spur of high, rocky land thrusting out into the sea. Along its summit brooded a monster from another age, one steeped in blood and darkness. Dragonfell Castle. Heero swore and reined in his horse, both awed and unexpectedly uneasy.

Heero Yuy was not a superstitious man. He had no gods and put no stock in the lost magic of the Onii, but he felt the hair on the back of his neck lift at the sight of the great fortress. The high black walls were built of a mysterious kind of a stone impervious to sword, bullet or cannonball. They were of a height to rival the cliffs upon which they stood. Legend claimed that Dragonfell had been built by the dragon kings, greatest of the Onii. Perhaps it was true. One thing was certain, the arts and materials used to construct such an edifice had long been lost to humans.

"Home sweet home," murmured Treize, but the sardonic note was forced. "Damnation. You can almost see the Dragon Warriors flying out of that place, can't you?"

"Folklore," said Heero shortly. "Don't bore me, Treize."

Treize chuckled, unoffended by his companion's rudeness. "Don't forget, my lord earl, many legends have their feet in the truth. I wonder if the tales of the Warriors are true?"

Heero refused to dignify that with a response and nudged his horse forward again.

Their road ran parallel with the shore, winding steadily toward the Wyrm's Talon. The sun was setting as they approached the turn-off to the castle, its lower curve already swallowed by the advancing wall of storm clouds. The wind pushed at them and Heero could smell rain. They were quite high up now, the turbulent sea far below. Cresting the ridge, Heero got his second surprise. The land descended again, but gently this time, to a round, sheltered bay. Heero saw clusters of cottages and fishers huts. Long piers stretched out into the rough water and numerous small boats bobbed about. It seemed that Dragonfell had something to protect after all.

Dragonfell had been the last of the Onii strongholds to fall before the vengeful humans. The legends said a thousand slaves had died here, hostages slaughtered by its Onii overlord when the first king of Sanc broke the Truce of Catalonia. But lives weren't all that had been lost in that terrible war. Vicious even in defeat, the Onii destroyed all their powerful magicks and machines rather than let the humans have them. Five hundred years of ignorance, warfare and want had followed.

The road continued on down toward the distant village, but a path split off to the left, heading out onto the peninsula and the castle. It was very dark now, with the clouds racing in from the sea, fast and low. Lightning stitched along the black horizon. Heero felt a drop of rain hit his nose. Treize swore and they set heel to their horses and were off, thundering up the rough gravel road toward the waiting relic of a lost, ill-omened age.

The gate stood wide open, no guards, and they rode in unchallenged. Nor did anyone come to greet them as, inside the inner gate, also wide open, they dismounted.

"Maybe the servants stole all the silver and fled," Treize remarked lightly. They faced a tall stone building, the battery maybe. Narrow lanes wound to the right and left. The two young men turned right, passing another tall stone building. "Armory," guessed Treize, and on they went, up a steep incline to the keep. The rain came harder, obscuring the world in misty gray.

"There are probably stables somewhere," Heero said, raising his voice against the increasingly noisy wind. It was nearly pitch dark now. Not a light was visible anywhere. The place might have been deserted for all he know.

"Lead on!" shouted Treize. "I'm getting damned cold!"

Head bent against the rain, Heero guided his animal along the seemingly endless wall of the keep, Treize close behind. Sure enough, a low building appeared and it was indeed the stable, dark and deserted. Inside, however, they found a lantern with oil in it, the wick recently trimmed. Lighting it, Heero was further relieved to see that the stalls were clean and fresh hay had been left in two of them.

By the time they had their horses unsaddled, the storm was directly overhead and they could barely hear themselves shout. Thunder crashed and pounded, lightning threw everything into stark relief and the rain sounded like a hail of stones on the roof.

"Maybe we should just stay here!" Treize shouted.

"Do what you want," Heero shouted back. Before Treize could object, he was out the door and gone.

Seeing his way by the frequent flashes of lightning, the earl ran across the slick, wet pavement to the keep. There was a door and he went to it, hauling it open and tumbling inside. Treize came right after him, swearing and laughing.

The thick walls of the ancient structure muffled the howl of the storm, reducing it to a distant murmur. The two young aristocrats stood, gasping and dripping rainwater on the floor of a narrow, low-ceilinged corridor. A single candle guttered in a wall-sconce ahead.

"So where are we?" Treize wondered aloud, peering up and down the passage. "And where's the staff, damn it? Didn't your uncle keep a staff?"

"There's a cook, an old handyman and a shinigami. The late Earl apparently lived in only a few rooms of the castle so he didn't need much."

"I'd heard he was half-mad," agreed Treize. "They say he spent all his time in his library, doing research. I suppose you wouldn't need much if all you ever did was go from your library to your bedroom and back again."

"What sort of research did he do?" asked Heero.

"How should I know? He was your cousin!"

Heero went to the left. In short order he came to a brief set of stairs and, at the bottom, a door. Opening it, he saw a large kitchen. At first, Heero thought it was empty, then he heard a stentorian snore. By the stove, an enormously fat woman sat, multiple chins resting on her ample bosom, sound asleep. She wore a dirty gray dress and stained apron, her frowsy hair escaping from an untidy bun.

"I hope," Treize muttered in Heero's ear, "that she is not the cook."

Heero was rather afraid she was. He looked around uneasily and was relieved to see that, although the kitchen could hardly be called pristine, neither was it as filthy as the creature slumbering by the stove. The floor was swept and the table scrubbed. There didn't seem to be too much dust on the shelves and there were lids on all the barrels, pots and jars within view. Maybe the woman wasn't the slattern she seemed.

A sound from the other side of the room made Heero stiffen. Treize, inspecting a number of jars on a shelf, turned toward it. A moment later, a figure appeared in the doorway there, dragging a large bag of flour. It was a youth in ragged denim trousers and knit cotton shirt, his feet bare. He looked to be the same age as Heero, eighteen or nineteen, with an abundance of chestnut hair, most of which was plaited in a long braid down his back. Red-faced with exertion, muttering under his breath, he did not see the two newcomers. He struggled with his burden into the kitchen, dragging the flour toward a barrel against the nearby wall.

"Well, well," Trieze said, moving swiftly and silently to Heero's side. "Things are looking up."

The youth straightened, spinning around. Heero met a pair of dark violet eyes deep-set in a face that, while a little too thin, was unexpectedly pleasing. Those eyes got very wide and round. He let go of the sack, which fell over in a puff of flour dust. Around his neck was a thick leather collar and, on the collar, a short length of chain with a black chunk of stone on the end. So this was Dragonfell's shinigami.

The sound woke the woman, who sat up, sputtering, and blinked stupidly at the noblemen. "Who be ye?" she demanded gruffly, heaving her considerable bulk from her chair.

"L-Lacy," the youth began, brows drawing sharply together, "Maybe you should..."

"Shaddup, boy," the woman snapped. She picked up a very large rolling pin, fixing Heero and Treize with a threatening glare. "If'n yer thinkin' ye kin just walk in here and help yerself, ye villains, ye better think again!"

Heero and Treize had chosen to travel incognito. Their clothing was leather and jean, plain, serviceable garments that any common young man might wear. Between the day's long ride and being caught in the rain, they were probably not a very impressive sight. Even so, they could hardly be mistaken for bandits. Heero scowled and held his ground as she advanced. Treize, the more prudent of the two, hastily retreated.

"Lacy," the slave said again, louder, "maybe you should get their lordships a drink or somethin'."

She stopped. Her eyes narrowed. Treize chortled. Heero waited, stone-faced.

"Who are ye?" she asked finally.

"Yuy," he said. "Earl of Wyrmhold."

"And I'm General Kushrenada of Oz," Treize said, adding under his breath to Heero, "Honestly, Yuy, have you no manners at all?"

Since Heero had seen no reason whatsoever to introduce Treize to this creature, he didn't reply.

The woman's mouth dropped. There was a choking sound from the shinigami, who quickly bowed when Heero's angry glare darted across the kitchen to him. Slender shoulders shook suspiciously.

"You," Heero said sharply. "Shinigami."

The tawny head lifted. The youth made a desperate attempt at a humble expression.

"Get our bags," grated the earl, "and take them to our rooms."

"My lord," agreed the slave and was out the door with a flash of bare feet.

"The new earl?" she quavered, hand dropping to her side. "Truly?"

Heero walked across the kitchen and opened another door. A stairway led up into darkness. He turned back around. Her red face had gone pale. "Is there any food in this place?" he demanded.

"Y-Yes, my lord! Right away, my lord!"

"And a decent room to eat it in?"

"Yes, milord. There's a small dining chamber just up them stairs and to the right."

"Good. Are there any more servants?"

"Only old Martin, m'lord, but he's already gone home for the day."

Soaked to the skin, Heero was beginning to shiver. "When the shinigami returns, send him to the parlor to light the heater."

"Y-yes, m'lord. M'lord, I'm sorry if..."

But Heero simply snatched up the lamp from the table nearby. He turned on his heel and with Treize at his shoulder, strode from the kitchen, leaving the cook to utter her panicked apologies to empty air.

"How many servants is J bringing?" asked Treize as he followed Heero from the room. "And how soon?

Following the cook's directions, they found a smallish room. Holding the lamp aloft, Heero saw a dining table and chairs. The carpet was faded and threadbare. There was a small coal heater standing against one wall, three tall, narrow windows in another.

On the mantelpiece was a candelabra half-filled with candles. Heero lit them on the lamp's flame. The room didn't improve much under better lighting. He could see cracks and damp spots in the aged plaster. Although none of the windows seemed to be broken, there was a strong, chill draft. Floorboards creaked as he walked toward the heater.

"The village," Treize said faintly. "Is there an inn?"

"Coward."

The slap of bare feet on wood brought Heero's head around. In the doorway, the shinigami appeared. He carried a large, rusty coal bucket. He went at once to the heater and quickly, efficiently, set about lighting it. Treize sauntered over to stand beside him and watch.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Duo, Your Grace."

"That's an odd name."

"So they say, Your Grace, but I like it."

An engaging grin caught Heero by surprise and, unaccountably rattled by it, he thought irritably that the shinigami had very free manners.

"If you please, my lord, I'll see to your bags now."

Heero nodded and watched the young man hurry away. He moved very well, thought the earl inconsequently, with the kind of strength and grace that made a good fighter -- or lover. Treize let out a long, low whistle.

"An Onii castle," he said, "and an Onii prince. I swear, Yuy, I'm almost jealous."

Heero glared.

"But remember," continued Treize, wagging a finger. "The shinigami are said to have the Onii's magical charm. If you're not careful, he'll bewitch you."

"Treize," snorted the earl. "You're an ass."

Chapter 3

Duo hauled the collection of bags up the steep corner stairs, wet, breathless and angry. The earl was a bastard. A man more unlike the noble, scholarly Lord Maxwell would be impossible to find! Lord Yuy's friend seemed pleasant enough, at least. Too bad he wasn't the earl. Reaching the top of the stairs, Duo dropped the bags with a sodden thump and fell against the wall. His throat was tight and his heart thumped.

The new earl didn't like him. Disapproval had been obvious in that dark blue glare. Dread sat in Duo's stomach like a lump. He had no doubt that his life was about to change, and not for the better. Lifting a hand, he fingered his chain. Gods, he'd never expected the new earl to be so young. Or handsome. Neither of the lords had looked like nobility, standing in the kitchen in wet trousers and leather coats dripping rainwater. You couldn't really blame Lacy for mistaking the pair of them for wandering troublemakers.

With a deep sigh, Duo bent and picked up the bags again, trudging down the dark hall to the first prepared bedroom. After lighting the lamps and starting up the heater, he sorted out the earl's luggage and carried it to the next room. He lit the heater there, too, then returned reluctantly to the kitchen.

Lacy was in a foul mood, frightened and knowing she might soon be looking for new employment. He dodged her ill-tempered blows easily, helping her put together a hasty meal for the noblemen. If there was anything that would save her, Duo thought as he carried the fragrant, laden tray up the stairs, it would be her cooking.

Duo heard the low murmur of conversation as he approaching the little dining room. His new master and Lord Kushrenada were already seated at the table. Lord Yuy, legs outstretched, was listening to the duke, a slight frown drawing lines between his slender eyebrows. Again, Duo was broadsided by those breath-taking good looks. The two men fell silent when he came in and set the tray on the sideboard. Opening the sideboard drawer, he took out table linens and cutlery, and began to lay them out. It was very hard not to stare at the dark-haired earl.

"So, Duo," drawled the duke, "tell me. Is the legend true? Is there an Onii treasure hidden somewhere in this castle?"

"I can't say, Your Grace. The books say it's true, but the earls of Wyrmhold have been looking for five centuries and never found anything. I know I've never seen nothin' like a treasure and I bet I know as much about this castle as anyone."

"You've looked?"

"Sure -- along with just about every other person who's come here."

Kushrenada's blue eyes twinkled. "Alas -- another perfectly good legend, debunked. And I was so looking forward to poking around in musty, cobwebby passages. I see I shall have to find something else to occupy my time. What is there to do around here? Any good taverns?"

"Not really, Your Grace. We're kinda far away from everything. The Drunken Gull is decent. They don't water the drinks down too much and the women ain't bad."

Kushrenada's grin widened appreciatively. "Had much experience with the local women, have you?"

Opening his mouth, Duo caught a glimpse of his master from the corner of his eye and closed it again. "N-no," he said, rattled by the inimical glare. Was he talking too much? Lord Maxwell had always called him a chatterbox. In apprehensive silence, he carried over Lacy's hastily assembled meal.

"Yuy, you've terrified him," complained Lord Kushrenada finally. "It's that damned death stare of yours. Duo -- don't pay any attention to it. It only means he's deep in what passes for thought."

"Your Grace," gulped Duo. He set the last of the dinner on the table and a decanter of wine.

Treize's eyebrows shot up. "Well, well, whatever you may say about your cousin's rough habits, I hear he kept a good cellar."

"Shinigami," Lord Yuy said unexpectedly.

Duo, edging toward the door, froze. Swallowing his resentment, he stared at Lord Yuy's mud-spattered boots. He had a name, damn it!

"Besides the villagers, who else lives around here?" The boots disappeared under damp trousers that hugged the earl's long, sinewy legs in a very distracting fashion. Duo said, "There's Lord Tuberov. He owns the hunting lodge in the mountains, but he hardly ever comes here. Mr. Brighton and his family live down the coast about six miles -- you can see his place from the north side of the castle on real clear days. Mrs. Standish and her son live west of the village in Hilltop Cottage. They're really nice. Mrs. Standish used to always bring Lord Maxwell trifle every Summer's Eve Festival. The trifle," he sighed nostalgically, "is great."

Lord Kushrenada coughed into his napkin. "Go on," said Lord Yuy.

"Well, there ain't many more. Mr. Shutt and his family live near the Standish cottage, he's the local squire, and there's the Abbey on Cinnamon Mountain. Mr. Pierrot rents the old dower house, Bay Cottage. There's another house, Seaside Cottage, that's standin' empty at the moment; usually Lord Maxwell rented it out to scholars who came from the universities to use the library."

"What does Standish do?" asked Lord Kushrenada.

"Mostly looks after his mother. He goes to Treppenhar a few times a year to see to investments or something."

"And Pierrot?"

"Musician. A composer."

"How long has he been here?"

"A year."

"Do you ever see strangers?" Kushrenada asked.

Duo thought immediately of Quatre and his promise. "Not very often, my lord." To his relief, the ginger-haired lord didn't press him. "Will there be anything else, my lords?"

"No," replied Lord Yuy. "Go."

Duo's heart was pounding as he left the dining chamber. He'd never been treated like friggin' royalty, true, but neither had he ever been dismissed so -- indifferently. Like he was a thing. He didn't like it.

Lacy was in the kitchen among the ruins of dinner preparation, sobbing noisily into a dish towel. He sighed and went to the table beside her, refilling her mug with beer.

"He'll give me the sack," she wailed. "How was I to know he wasn't just some vagabond, the scrawny little bastard."

Duo darted a nervous look toward the door. "Shhh. Maybe he won't. You're a great cook, Lacy. I'll betcha that he'll be beggin' you to stay after they're done eatin'."

Snuffling, she peered at him with red-rimmed eyes. Then she smiled wanly. "Ah, get on with ye, boy. Leave the mess. I'll take care of it tonight. Ye better get back and stand ready to wait upon milords."

"Huh?"

She looked sad a moment. "Our dear Lord Maxwell, he weren't like ordinary nobs, Duo. He could take care o'himself. Most lords and ladies gotta have ya hold their hands to take a friggin' shit. Those two'll be up there expectin' you to come runnin' when they want their glass refilled or their meat cut up."

"You're joking."

"Heh. Just get back there, boy. Best do what we can to please that sourpuss or I reckon we'll both be sorry."

So Duo returned to the dining chamber and hung around outside the door. For the first time in his life, he thought seriously about running away. If only he could get rid of the thrallstone!

"Duo!" Lord Kushrenada's voice jerked him from his thoughts. He hurried into the room. "That was damned good," said the red-haired man with a smile. "The slattern can cook after all."

Indeed, the plates and serving dishes were empty. Yuy stood up. "Take us to our rooms, then bring up hot water."

"Yes, my lord."

Lamp in hand, Duo led them upstairs, woodenly answering Lord Kushrenada's occasional question. After delivering each to their destination, he turned to leave and was called back by his new master.

"We'll have breakfast at eight," the lord said. "In the meantime, both you and That Woman bathe and make yourself more presentable."

"Yes, my lord." Duo's throat was so tight he could barely force out the words. "Will there be anything else?"

Indigo eyes gleamed. The earl heard the edge in Duo's voice loud and clear. "No," he said. "That will be all."

Lightning threw the small study of Bay Cottage into vivid relief. As it did, a draft whirled through the room, extinguishing the open flame of Trowa's reading lamp. For a moment, he was in complete darkness. Thunder crashed, echoing along the curve of the surrounding hills. Groping across the surface of his cluttered desk, he found the matches and relit the lamp. He got up and went to the window. The casement was shut fast, but the wind coming in over the bay was so strong, it found its way through the cracks anyway. Trowa pulled the heavy drapes shut.

He looked back at his desk. Six new pages of music transcribed. The song was coming along well, but then, he'd expected as much with Quatre here. His lover was his inspiration. Just one glance from those bright eyes, the sight of Quatre standing in the overgrown garden, sunlight making a halo of gold around his fair head -- Trowa smiled. Yes. As dangerous as it was for them to be together, he would not give it up for anything.

Just thinking of Quatre filled Trowa with the irresistible need to see him. Picking up his lamp, the tall youth left the study. He found Quatre in their bedroom, awake and sitting in the chair before the window, looking out into the storm. He must have been recently abed, for he was dressed in his nightshirt. Another flash of lightning showed the thrashing branches of the trees outside and the roiling clouds overhead.

"There's so much water," Quatre said without turning around. "At home the people would be out in the streets, dancing in it and praising the Seven." Trowa glanced at the windows, at the rain sheeting down the small, square panes of glass. He put aside his lamp and came to the chair, setting his hands on Quatre's shoulders. The other man leaned back into them.

"Sometimes I think I'm a coward for coming here with you, for being so happy," he sighed.

"You know that's not true."

"If I'd stayed, fought my uncle..."

"And what? You were already a prisoner. He'd even used violence against you..."

Under his hands, Trowa felt the slender shoulders tense. The fair head bowed. "I might have spoken to them, told them the truth..."

"Yes, if you'd been allowed to be with them alone." Leaning over the back of the chair, Trowa kissed Quatre's soft, fine hair. "This is better, Quatre, trust me. In one more month, you'll be twenty and he won't have the power to make you do anything."

"And then being together will become almost impossible," Quatre said softly.

Trowa heard that with a pang. "That's all the more reason to live for the moment," he whispered, mouth against Quatre's ear. "I love you. Tonight there is no one but us in our cottage by the sea. The future is the future. We can do nothing about that except make wonderful memories to carry into it."

Quatre shifted around in the chair. Gods, he was beautiful. For a second, Trowa was frightened by how much he loved the youth.

"You're right," smiled Quatre, lifting his face to be kissed. "Let's make some now."

Chapter 4

Dawn found Duo up and shivering as he complied with his new master's orders. Water for Lacy's bath was heating in the big tank in the granary across from the keep. It would take too long to heat more for him, so Duo, teeth chattering, washed in buckets of icy water drawn straight from the nearby pump. He'd bathed just two days earlier, as it happened, and he found Lord Yuy's order embarrassing and annoying. As for his clothes -- well, if he'd known His High and Mighty Lordship was going to be a day early, he would have put on his only other clothes -- black trousers and a black wool shirt that he wore when Lord Maxwell's professor friends visited.

Clean, covered with gooseflesh, Duo dried himself quickly. He pulled on the shirt, grateful for its warmth, then, toting buckets of hot water, hurried back to the kitchen. After several such trips, the tub was filled. He walked down the corridor to Lacy's room and banged on the door. "Wake up!" he yelled. "Your bath is ready!"

He had to bang and shout a few more times before he heard an answering curse. Grinning, he turned and left for the village.

It was a clear dawn, the sun just halfway above the horizon and casting long shadows as Duo, his empty basket swinging from his hand, strolled along the road. Gulls wheeled and screeched overhead, diving down the rolling hills toward the distant beach, then riding the updraft back into the sky. Puddles were everywhere, and the rocks gleamed wet and black in the new light.

Maxwell Bay was a quaint little place, some of it as ancient as its castle. The oldest part of the village could be seen in the narrow stone houses that crowded its steep inner streets. Their walls, like Dragonfell's were uncommonly tall and straight, as impervious to the coast's frequent storms as the mountains. Built around them like little grey mushrooms were smaller, newer cottages made from weathered cedar and pine and shingled in mountain slate.

Although it was just sunrise, the market at the edge of the village was already bustling. Duo went from one stall to another, picking up produce on the list Lucy had dictated to him the night before. Carrots, celery, potatoes -- this time of year, all were in plentiful supply, brought in from the pocket valleys nestled in the surrounding hills. Everyone wanted to hear about the new earl and his friend. Ordinarily, Duo would have been more than happy to linger and chatter on, but the earl's handsome, scowling face was very much on his mind. He got what he needed, one anxious eye on the sun, and started back.

As he reached the edge of the market, he heard his name called. Turning, he saw an open carriage parked nearby and in it two men. One man he recognized and his heart sank. Lord Tuberov! Accompanying the tall, cadaverous nobleman was a stranger. Strangers were rare enough in Wyrmhold, and this particular stranger had the hint of the exotic about him.. Duo stared, openly curious.

The stranger was not tall, nor was he heavily built, but he held himself in a way that reminded Duo of the earl. His hair was black as midnight, pulled back sharply from a face of fine, regular features. The expression on them was one of cool arrogance.

Tuberov beckoned. Reluctantly, Duo approached the carriage.

"What's this I hear about the new earl? Is it true he's come to Dragonfell?"

"Yes, your lordship." Duo kept well out of arm's reach.

Tuberov had been a frequent visitor to the library, but that did not mean Lord Maxwell liked him. "It's a waste of a good intellect," Lord Maxwell had said once. "Never be alone with him."

"I hear he brought a guest," Tuberov's eyes drifted hotly over Duo.

"Yes, m'lord."

"Who is it, boy?"

Duo drew himself up to his full height. "'Scuse me, sir, but who comes and goes from the castle is his lordship's business, not yours. I'll be happy to take your card up to Dragonfell and tell him you'll be visitin'. Then you can ask him yourself."

"Impertinent whelp!" Unattractive color stained Tuberov's lean cheeks. Picking up his whip, he lashed out, but Duo, holding tight to his basket, danced neatly out of the way. The stranger gave him a dark look and said something to Tuberov in a low voice.

"He's not mine!" returned his lordship petulantly. He jerked hard on the reins, cracking the whip over his horses' heads. Duo jumped quickly to one side as the carriage rattled past. The black-haired youth turned in the seat and continued to stare at Duo until the vehicle rounded a corner and was lost from sight.

Heero woke as he always did, instantly, every sense alert and fully functioning. He stared up into a canopy covered with embroidered golden lions. There was a hole in one corner. Moths.

Watery sunlight spilled across his velvet coverlet. He turned his head and saw blue sky through the tall, dirty windows. Dust motes floated in the still air. After a moment he realized that what he thought was his pulse was the distant, rhythmic crashing of waves against the rocks at the base of Dragonfell's cliffs.

Pushing back his covers, the young colonel got out of the bed and padded on bare feet across a threadbare carpet. In a speckled mirror, he saw himself, dark hair tousled, spare, muscular body pale in the brightening gloom of his bedchamber. The heater had long since gone out and a chill hung in the air. He pulled on his shirt and, tucking it into his pants, threw open his door and looked outside. The corridor was empty, of course. No fire, no hot water.

Lord Heero Yuy was a man of precise habits. In the field, he expected privation, even rather enjoyed it. In his house, however, he expected otherwise. His small, but comfortable home in l'Sanjil ran like a well-sprung clock, thanks primarily to J and the old man's hand-picked staff. J had been with him forever, had practically raised him, and knew exactly what Heero liked. There was always someone within call. The heaters were always lit when the temperature dropped. There were always fresh towels at one's fingertips. Maybe, thought the earl, what he should do was pretend he was in the field.

The night before, Heero had been guided from the dining room by Duo's lamp. He discovered at once that he still needed both lamp and guide. Even though it was past sun-up, the enormous Keep had many interior corridors which, for lack of windows, were pitch black day and night. Most of the others were only dimly lit, their illumination seeming to have no particular source. Taking a wrong turn somewhere, the young earl found himself wandering in confusion, coming unexpectedly upon long galleries filled with old paintings, suites of rooms without so much as a heater, but with walls adorned by odd carvings and murals and sometimes, even text.

Nothing seemed in outright disrepair, he noted. Plaster had been patched where needed, doors hung properly in their frames and windows opened and closed without undo effort. Everything was dusty and damp, however, and the few furnishing he saw were decaying gently toward uselessness.

He found a ballroom that was easily a couple hundred square feet. Glances out the windows as he came upon them showed that he was making his way from one end of the keep to the other, but doubling back only seemed to make matters worse. It would take an army of servants and a royal fortune to completely staff this monstrosity, he thought glumly, neither of which he had. This was not a home, but a house of state, like Sanc Castle, meant to house not only the owner, but a court, as well.

Heero felt momentarily discouraged. The mission was difficult enough. Milliardo was adamant that he take his place as the master of Wyrmhold to maintain a watchful presence here, so close to uneasy Dragora.

"Think of it as a campaign, Yuy," Peacecraft had grinned as he, Treize and Heero had lounged about in the king's private study. "Most of the gentry in Wyrmhold have blood ties in Dragora as well as Sanc. They're probably all loyal, but with conditions in the south worsening by the day, who knows what pressures can be brought to bear?"

Except "taking his place" meant throwing parties. It meant going on endless, stupid social calls where one stood about drinking, flirting with women, and talking about horses and hunting and who had the best tailor. Heero knew how to do none of those things -- except the drinking -- and until fate had dumped the earldom on him, had never needed to. At least he had Treize. Treize knew society's superficial rituals inside and out. J would help, too. His steward would whip this household into shape in no time and Heero could concentrate on hunting out any enemy agents.

The smell of frying bacon finally rescued him. It was faint at first, but as he eagerly followed his nose, it grew stronger, leading him to a corner stair. Going down two steps at a time, he came out into the kitchen.

That Woman was there, busily grinding coffee. She looked up and bobbed a hasty curtsey at the sight of him. Bacon sizzled on the stove and he now had a strong whiff of baking bread. The earl's irritation ebbed.

Heero noted with satisfaction the cook had a rosy, scrubbed look this morning, her hair scraped back in a bun that was slightly tidier than last night's. Her apron was clean.

"Where's Duo?" he asked, thinking that if the youth had been outside his door like a proper servant, Heero wouldn't now be breathless and covered in dust.

"He went down to the village to fetch the days veggies," she replied, anxious. "Do you be wantin' yer breakfast now? It ain't but half-past seven..."

"Eight," Heero reaffirmed. "At the moment, I'd like hot water and a fire and I'd imagine my guest would, as well."

"Yes, m'lord. I'll send Duo up soon as he comes back."

Gods only knew how long that would be. "Never mind. Where is the water heater?"

The morning was clear as crystal and pleasantly cool. Heero crossed the cobbled lane and ducked into the granary. It was empty of grain, but just inside the door was a large steel tank set over a bulky coal burner. Several buckets were stacked nearby. He grabbed two and filled them at the spigot. He was about to step back outside, when, hearing someone whistling, he stopped in the doorway instead. Hurrying up the narrow alley toward him was Duo. The slave carried a large basket filled with vegetables. There was a spring in his step and his braid swung merrily to and fro.

Heero walked out into the open. Duo stopped so suddenly, he nearly lost his balance. They stared at each other.

"G-good morning, my lord," said Duo finally, eyes going to the buckets in Heero's hands.

"Enjoy your walk?" grated Heero.

Color touched those thin cheeks. Resentment darkened the young man's remarkable eyes. "Yes, my lord," he replied. "Thanks for askin'." He grinned suddenly, recklessly. "Need some help?"

Heero was momentarily breathless at the impudence. The urge to throw the hot water at the slave was so strong he had to physically restrain himself. Instead, he dropped the buckets where he stood. The water ran, steaming, over the cobbles. "Give the food to That Woman. Light a fire in His Grace's room and we'll both want hot water. You'll wait on table at breakfast." Turning on his heel, he stalked back into the keep.

Heero was so angry, he found his bedroom by simply not thinking about it. Once there, his temper cooled a bit and he fell onto his rumpled bed, dismayed. What in the world was wrong with him? What did it matter to him what the slave did? His cousin had obviously spoiled Duo. Indeed, it seemed Maxwell had treated all his servants with a very loose hand, but the issue was ridiculously unimportant. J would be here soon and the responsibility for managing everything would be his.

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in."

As he expected, it was Duo with the coal bucket and kindling. Heero noticed for the first time that the slave wore a clean black shirt tucked into a ragged pair of trousers that might once have been black, but were now faded to an uneven gray. Duo resolutely did not look at the earl, but filled the heater's firebox, lit the coal and fled. He reappeared within the quarter hour carrying hot water and towels. So far, so good.

He was present at breakfast, too, standing sullenly by the door of the informal dining room, staring at his bare toes. He responded in monosyllables to Treize's attempts to draw him out, something that was starting to get under the duke's skin.

"Duo, have you eaten?" Treize asked after his second cup of coffee had been poured.

"Not yet, Your Grace."

"Are you hungry?" Treize's wicked blue eyes sparkled at Heero, who scowled.

Duo gave the duke a startled look. Heero sighed. Treize was determined, it seemed.

"Come here." Treize pulled apart a flaky, fragrant cinnamon bun.

The young man obeyed, all unsuspecting.

"Open wide."

The shinigami's eyes narrowed on the bit of bread in Treize's long, elegant fingers. Heero saw a subtle, but perceptible stiffening. "No thanks. I ain't that hungry," he replied coldly. "Would you like anything else, Your Grace'?"

Treize turned wounded eyes to his friend. "Yuy!"

"Will you ride out with me this morning?" Heero asked him, waving Duo away. The slave was volatile enough without Treize egging him on.

"What will he be doing?"

"He'll be busy."

The door slammed. Duo was gone. Treize sighed, setting down his napkin. "Do you suppose the boy is an innocent?"

"I don't know and I don't care. Milliardo didn't send us here so you could seduce my shinigami. Let's have a look around the village."

"Yuy, you are no fun," complained Treize. "Here we are on the ruggedly beautiful west coast in a haunted castle, being waited upon by an enchanting Onii prince and all you can think of is work!"

"Why do you keep calling him that?"

"He's shinigami isn't he? Besides -- you can tell by those fey eyes of his, and the way he moves. I swear he can disappear and reappear at will. This morning he lit my heater, then hurried off to fetch hot water. I thought of something else I needed and went right after him -- wasn't three steps behind him, I swear! Yet, when I opened the door, the hall was deserted. I'll bet he knows every nook and cranny of Dragonfell."

"That's true," Heero acknowledged reluctantly. "He could be useful."

"Maybe," suggested Trieze, eyes heavy-lidded, "we should invite him to ride with us."

"He has work to do."

A slow, sly smile tugged at the corners of the duke's mouth. "Aha! I see how it is! You want him for yourself, eh, Yuy? Well, I'm tempted to cede the field! The opportunity of seeing the cool, collected Colonel Yuy sniffing after a shinigami slave is far too diverting to pass up."

"It's nothing of the sort." Heero, to his chagrin, felt his face heat. "He's sullen, disobedient, lazy, and a smart-ass."

Treize smirked.

Breakfast done, the duke retired to his bedroom for a shave and to dress for riding. Heero, already so attired, headed down to the kitchen with a list of tasks he'd made up for Duo. That Woman was there, washing dishes. He had intended to give her the sack as soon as possible but last night's dinner and this morning's breakfast convinced him to keep her on for awhile longer.

She wiped her hands off hastily on her apron and bobbed a curtsey. "Was the breakfast to yer likin', yer lordship?"

"It was excellent," he replied and meant it. "Where's Duo?"

"This time o'day, he's likely workin' in the l'bry, m'lord." Heero looked at his list and frowned. "There are several things here I want him to do. Will you remember them all if I read them off?"

"Written down are they?" she asked, peering over the top of the paper. Then she dealt him yet another surprise. "Why not just leave it there on the table? I'll tell 'im it's there."

"Duo can read?"

"The Earl, bless his heart, taught him. Said Duo had a "quicksilver" mind, he did. He tried to teach me, too, but I ain't got the head for all that stuff."

Education, freedom of movement -- no wonder the slave had ideas above his station. Heero set down the paper. "Tell him I expect every one of these tasks to be completed by nightfall."

"Yes, my lord." She looked again at the paper.

Something in her expression made him say, "Does he already have other duties?" He couldn't quite keep the incredulity out of his voice.

"Well, er, yes, m'lord. This is a big place. It keeps 'im busy, it does. And, of course, there's the properties. Seems there's always a roof needin' a patch or a window broke. He said somethin' about the chimney on the east wing needin' to be fixed agin."

"Where's the library?" asked Heero.

Heero wanted no repeat of his early morning wandering. He followed That Woman's convoluted directions scrupulously. Soon, he heard a very faint off-key whistling that grew louder as he rounded a corner, arriving at a pair of double doors. One was ajar. He pushed it open and his mouth dropped. The room beyond was seven stories high, the soaring walls lined with bookshelves filled to capacity. Circling balconies marked each floor level, accessed by spiral staircases.

Skylights poured natural light into the amazing room. There were reading tables of various sizes, all of heavy, expensive woods, carefully polished to a dull sheen. High-backed leather armchairs were set here and there, small tables and lamps beside them. Carpets in better shape than any Heero had yet seen covered the floor. The benign neglect visible everywhere else in the keep was nowhere in evidence here.

Shutting his mouth with a snap, the earl came all the way in, looking around in amazement. He had never seen so many books, not even in the library of Sanc's royal palace! On the far side of the room was another door, open, that revealed glimpses of yet more shelves, more books. Stopping beside a reading table, Heero ran his hand along the smooth, polished teak. Looking up, he stared out through the crystal skylights at the blue arch of sky.

The whistling came from the next room. Heero walked past the thousands of books to stand in the next doorway. Beyond, the ceiling was of normal height and row upon row of shelves filled the room. The whistling came from behind one of them. Heero followed the sound. At the end of a row of shelves, on his hands and knees in front of the wall, was Duo. He had a pot of plaster at his elbow and was patching a hole by the floorboard.

Suddenly, the shinigami sat up and twisted around, braid swinging. "L-Lord Yuy!"

"What happened to the wall?"

"Um -- mouse hole," Duo replied, instantly wary. He jumped to his feet, looking for all the world like some wild, cornered creature. "Gotta get it right away. The damn rodents can ruin a book in nothin' flat. What can I do for you, m'lord?"

"The duke and I are going to have a look around the village this morning," Heero said. He thrust the crumpled paper at Duo. "Here are some things I want done while we're gone."

Duo took the list. His eyes narrowed on it and his lips tightened. Heero scowled, seeing mutiny in the violet gaze. Still, the slave wasn't stupid. "Yes, m'lord," he said finally, then ruined the attempt at submission with, "I'll see what I can do."

"Hn." Heero turned and walked out.

Chapter 5

"That son of a bitch!" Duo raged. "I'm one fuckin' person! What the hell does he expect? I gotta fix those windows at Seaside House and do a roof check here to see if lightnin' got to the chimneys. There's no way I can get that done and this fuckin' shit, too!"

"Duo!" Lacy looked apprehensively toward the door to the lane.

"He's gone. He and that letch of a duke rode out fifteen minutes ago. I know, 'cause they made me saddle their friggin' horses! Shit!"

"If I were you," the cook said tartly, "I'd get used to it. He's the new earl, boy, and your master."

"It's his property I'm trying to keep up!"

"I guess Lord Yuy has his own way of doin' things," the woman replied, not unkindly, "and it's just gonna take some gettin' used to. He's the one who's responsible for this place now. He'll figure out soon enough that he's gotta get more help."

"Yeah. After he kills me!" muttered Duo angrily. "Shit."

Lacy sighed and turned back to her work. Duo slumped onto a stool. His throat was tight, his fists clenched on his lap. If only the legends were true, he thought miserably. If only he could find the Dragon Warrior. He'd use it to fly far away where no one would be able to bother him!

But dreams were just that. He was a shinigami, marked forever by the stone around his neck and his own cursed blood. He wasn't going anywhere. Swearing again, he got up and went to find the mop bucket.

Heero and Treize caused a small stir when they rode through Maxwell Bay. Children stared and women leaned out their windows to follow the noblemen's progress.

Heero stopped briefly at his solicitor's house, a sizeable cottage along a quiet street overlooking the bay. There he was pleasantly surprised to find that his cousin had left ample funds for Dragonfell's upkeep. Most, Heero suspected, had probably been intended for the library, but he meant to get at least two of the floors in liveable condition. Once he'd signed dozens of papers and looked over dozens more, he and Treize escaped once more into daylight.

Maxwell Bay was unexpectedly charming with its winding, cobbled streets and quaint old buildings. Window-boxes filled with geraniums and mums made bright color against the stone and weathered wood. Fanciful weathervanes adorned every roof, several of which had Treize laughing and pointing with raised eyebrows. There were small parks scattered here and there, gardens bright with autumn's blooms. By midday, they had seen all the village had to offer. At Treize's urging, they stopped at the Drunken Gull where they had a tolerable lunch of oysters, smoked salmon, a salad of rough-greens and mushrooms, all washed down by decent brown ale. Afterwards, Heero called over the innkeeper and asked, "Do you know of anyone looking for work? I'll need some help at the castle for a week or two, mostly light construction -- plastering, painting, that sort of thing. I'll pay well for experience and a good reference."

"I'll ask around, m'lord," The innkeeper looked cheerful. "Although you'll have better luck once the weather turns and the boys on the fishin' boats are lookin' for some spare change."

"Whatever you can do."

The man hurried off.

"A peaceful place," Treize observed, gazing out the window at the few fishing boats still moored at the piers. "I could sit here all day with a glass of ale and my pipe, but I suppose, slave driver that you are, we are off to reconnoiter."

Heero nodded. There were several yachts tied up among the fishing boats. It would be useful to know to whom they belonged. He rose. Treize sighed and followed the earl out.

They stood together on the street. The sun was directly overhead, warming the cobbles. Heero started toward the docks. A soft exclamation from Treize brought him up short. He turned and just managed to keep his surprise from showing.

Standing on the other side of the street, watching them, was a handsome young man. He wore a trim pair of black slacks and well-tailored jacket over a white shirt and black vest. His hair was black as ink and pulled back sharply from his face into a small, neat ponytail. The villagers passing him by gave him curious looks, but it was likely that few of them knew he was Hebrondan. The hair lifted on the back of Heero's neck.

"Now this is unexpected," murmured the Duke. His blue eyes were shining. "He's beautiful."

So was a fire asp. Heero said nothing, taken aback by the sight of a Hunter on the rustic streets of Maxwell Bay. The man looked back without flinching, then turned and strolled away. Treize started after him.

"Treize!"

The duke paused, waggled his eyebrows and said, "I'd say this should be investigated, don't you? I'll see you later, Yuy."

He ambled after the stranger. Shaking his head, Heero continued on down to the docks.

The red-haired nobleman was following him. Annoyed, Wu Fei continued along the street, an eye on the distant castle that frowned down on the village. It was an effort not to quicken his pace, which annoyed him further. Wu Fei disliked being intimidated. He turned a corner and walked in a different direction, just to make sure it was not his imagination. It wasn't. The handsome man kept apace.

Chang Wu Fei was a Hunter of Men and a Fifth Level Master of the Temple of the Mountain Star. To be a Hunter was to be in service to the Dragon, hired out to warlords and princes who wished to remove enemies or rivals. In Hebronda, assassination was a tacit, but accepted method of inheritance, strictly controlled and regulated by the Hunter Guild. More rarely, the Guild hired out its Hunters to foreigners, usually men of great power and influence whose activities were of interest to the Hebrondan Dragon Council. It was such a contract that had brought Chang to soft, degenerate Sanc, miles south of his homeland.

The nobleman continued to follow him, making no particular effort to conceal that he was doing so. Finally, Wu Fei stopped and turned to glare at the stranger. To his surprise, his pursuer kept coming, stopping before him with a big smile and a slight bow.

"Good afternoon. Nice day, eh?"

Decadence was in every elegant line of this man's well-formed body. His hair, a gingery red, was not curly or frizzy as was normal for hair of that color, but straight and gleamed bright as copper. It was swept back from a face that showed strength as well as indolence.

Wu Fei gave back a look of cold inquiry. Instead of quashing the impertinent fellow, however, his obvious annoyance only seemed to amuse the taller man.

"Allow me to introduce myself," continued the redhead, smooth as glass. "Kushrenada of Oz. You're a ways from home, Hunter. What brings you to our fair shores?"

Kushrenada! Wu Fei barely managed to keep the surprise and consternation from his face. The duke was a formidable warrior in his own right. Wu Fei met the direct gaze and saw that, in spite of the wide smile, those blue eyes were cold as ice. Belatedly, he managed a small bow.

"Chang Wu Fei," he replied between tight lips, "of the Mountain Star Temple. I am a guest of the Baron Tuberov."

"And which of our unfortunate citizens may expect a knife in the back?" Kushrenada asked pleasantly.

"I'm not here to assassinate anyone. I am merely a scholar visiting Sanc on a tour of its libraries and other points of intellectual interest. As a matter of fact, I was hoping to visit the famous Dragonfell library."

The duke's eyebrows, distinctive with their dove-tailed ends, drifted up in polite disbelief. It was the truth, at least partly. Wu Fei was not here to kill, although at the moment, he sincerely wished he was, and that his target with this man.

"I thought all Hunters were warriors."

"In my country, Your Grace," retorted Wu Fei before thinking, "we can be both."

"How interesting," purred the duke. "The earl didn't mention we were expecting such -- interesting visitors."

Wu Fei felt his face heat. "I had hoped to visit his lordship later with my card and a letter of introduction. With the death of the former Earl, I did not like to impose myself right away."

"How considerate."

Damn the man! Wu Fei struggled to keep his temper. Those blue eyes moved over him in a way that heated his blood as well as his ire. He tried to remember what else he'd heard of the duke, but the warmth of that gaze was doing odd things to his concentration.

"I'll mention your interest to Yuy." Kushrenada offered unexpectedly.

Taken by surprise, Wu Fei bowed. "I -- thank you, Your Grace."

"My pleasure. I expect we'll meet again, Lord Chang."

Wu Fei stared after Kushrenada's retreating form. Several long, deep breaths and a mantra restored his equilibrium somewhat. Turning, he started back to the inn where the carriage waited to take him back to Tuberov's lodge.