Chaos by Megan Derr Page B

cautiously. All the while, he could not take his eyes away from the boy. He had rough-cut dark hair that fell to just past his ears, as though it were in need of a trim that there had been no time to give.  He had eyes the color of an iris in full bloom with spring sunshine pouring down upon it. The color was all the more vibrant against his dark bronze skin.
    He must have been on the mend if his body could muster the barest stirrings of lust. Sasha ignored them and focused on finishing his tea. "Thank you," he said, handing back the empty cup. "How did you find me?"
    The boy's dusky cheeks darkened. "Um. You're welcome. It was the others that found you, just beyond the village barrier, while they were out checking traps. Is there anything else I can get or do for you, my lord? Um. Would you like some soup? It's still warm."
    "Why do you call me 'my lord'?" Sasha asked and realized by the look on the boy's face that he'd made some error.
    "M-my lord is a sorcerer," the boy said, pretty eyes popping open wide. The direction of his gaze shifted slightly, and Sasha realized the boy was staring at his forehead. He reached up to touch it, and only then remembered the diamond upon it and that he was impersonating the look of the men he had killed high up in the mountains.
    "Ah," he said, wondering how to recover from the gross error he had unwittingly made.
    But then the boy said, "Is the curse affecting my lord's recollections?"
    "Curse?" Sasha asked, before he remembered the spider web on his chest. He reached up with a stiff, heavy arm to awkwardly push away the blankets and touch the mark. It ached, but not unbearably—likely because his stomach was already in more than enough pain to process it, as well. "Yes, I think it has messed with my mind a bit."
    "Yes, my lord," the boy said deferentially. "I promise we will get you to those who can help you."
    Sasha nodded faintly. Hopefully they would do no such thing—a real sorcerer would all but kill him on sight. Hopefully by the time that problem arose, he would be sufficiently healed. Scorch that Sentinel for taking him by surprise. "Would you help me sit up?"
    "Of course, my lord," the boy said, and he set the teacup aside on a small table beside a wash basin before stepping forward to help him. He had a gentle touch, a healer's touch, Sasha noted fleetingly. After a couple of minutes of careful shifting, Sasha was propped up against the pillows, his stomach aching, but it was for the moment a bearable ache. He looked at the boy and said, "Thank you. What is your name?"
    "Um … David, my lord."
    Shaking his head, Sasha said, "You need not call me that. My name is Sasha; that will suffice."
    David frowned, clearly puzzled. "Sasha. Yes, my—Yes, Sasha. As you wish. Do you think you are up to trying the soup?"
    "Soup sounds like a wonderful idea."
    Smiling shyly, David turned away to fetch the soup. After a couple of minutes, he brought Sasha a bowl filled with a dark, creamy broth, thin slices of potato, and small bits of sausage. It was warm, spicy, and Sasha had the sudden thought that he hadn't had anything so homey and good in a very long time. He ate it slowly, mostly sipping at the broth, eating the rest where he was able, and completely ignoring the spoon David had initially offered.
    By the time he was full, he was exhausted and barely had the strength to hand the nearly empty bowl back to David. "Thank you," he murmured before his eyes grew too heavy to keep open.
    When he opened them again, the room was dark and there was a shadowy figure on a pallet before the fire. Sasha felt a wash of guilt that he had driven David from his own bed, but acknowledged that sleeping on the floor would have done him no favors in regard to recovering.
    He tried to remember how he had gotten there and was relieved when the memories came easily. Far too many hours spent wandering the mountain had finally led him to a well-worn path. It had occurred to him too late that he should have