Torrin couldn't hide the shock... or the fear.

Darian's gaze was icily triumphant. The alarm bells that Torrin had heard vaguely before were deafening now, but it was far too late.

“I...” Shit! He was so dead.

Darian's eyes were hard, empty of emotion. “I know you know,” he repeated. “You knew what the injury was. You knew what had caused it. And you lied straight to my face.” The fear in Torrin's veins made it impossible to respond. “You couldn't move without pain, but when we had sex you started grabbing me and meeting my every thrust. So what's really going on?”

The shock Darian's revelation gave him momentarily overcame his fears. The prince was right – he could move now. It would have taken a monumental amount of energy for him to be able to move again – an amount that would have taken him weeks to build up. Then he remembered how much energy he's gotten after that first night with the prince. His chest tightened as he came to the only logical conclusion.

But why?

“Tell me!” Darian growled. “You can either say it under your own willpower – or I can make you say it.” The prince smirked. “After all, it seems all I would have to do would be to have sex with you again.”

And because that didn't seem like such a horrible idea, Torrin opened his mouth to speak.

A horn sounded outside the carriage, followed by war-cries and a scream. Torrin froze, his eyes moving to the flap that covered the carriage. Darian cursed.

Darian got off of the bed and began dressing hurriedly. Torrin jumped when the prince threw some of his clothes at Torrin. “Get dressed and run. You have no skills as a fighter.”

Another scream sounded from outside the tent. Torrin could Feel their energies. Three people dead.

Fear skiddered in Torrin's breast. “You can't be serious – you can't go out there!”

Darian turned to him with a sardonic glare. “Are you going to stop me?”

For some reason, the thought of Darian going out on that battlefield terrified him. He absolutely refused to wonder why. “But... but you're the prince. What if you get hurt?”

This time when Darian turned to him, his gaze was thoughtful. “I must fight.”

Torrin shook his head, but paused in his arguing to dress when Darian glared at his clothes. He went without being asked and helped Darian put on his armor. He didn't wonder about that, either.

It was only minutes when Torrin finished. Two more men were dead, and another mortally wounded. Torrin could Feel the last one, just not as strongly. “Something's wrong,” Torrin told Darian. “Don't go out there.”

Darian watched him carefully. “I will not let those men die while I escape.” He moved to the flap. “You, however, will run. We will discuss your little secret later.”

Before Torrin could speak again, Darian had left the carriage.

Torrin felt terror gripping him and found it hard to breathe.

Run? How could he run? He could hardly breathe! Darian had leapt into a battlefield that had six men dead in about five or six minutes. Something was wrong. Something was desperately wrong!

Another death. Four Stravians. How many had joined the prince? He couldn't remember. How many were left? Not many. One? Two? Oh, God.

He had energy. He could fight. He could help.

At what cost? He wondered. If it were found out... but it would be useless the energy to himself. He couldn't fight. He should give the energy to Darian. But if Darian finds out... if...

He should check. He should see if the prince needed his help. If he did, Torrin would give his energy to help him. He wouldn't let Darian die.

He told himself it didn't matter why.

He crawled out front of the carriage to see one of the horses on the ground, injured. Torrin winced at its pain and carefully jumped next to it. He had about twenty percent of his magic – no, twenty-five. He spent a spare couple on easing the horse's pain before running into the trees.

The sounds of battle were all around him. The clang of metal, the moan of the doomed. He heard Darian's voice, a growl. He was cursing. Things were bad, then.

Torrin ducked behind a large oak and carefully stuck his head out from behind it. There were five men in Stravian green. Their faces were covered with mud and sweat. Mud. To hide better.

Torrin also saw Darian, his armor glinting in the sun, and one other Coran soldier. They were desperately trying to fend off the enemies. Darian was good. Even Torrin's untrained eye saw that. He was fighting off three of them at once with apparent ease. He almost seemed to be dancing with his blade.

But he rarely got in an attacking thrust, and those were always blocked. It was a stalemate that would only be decided depending on who tired first. And that was three-to-one odds. Torrin didn't like them.

The other soldier, a man whose face Torrin recognized but couldn't name, was slowing under the onslaught of the other two Stravians. He wasn't as skilled as Darian. He was tiring faster.

Torrin Felt it before his eyes saw the sword penetrating that last soldier's chest – the instant that would mean Darian's defeat. And therefore his...

Torrin didn't know what possessed him, or even why he felt the overpowering need to save a man he knew was his enemy from those who had been his allies. Thought didn't enter the equation. All that mattered was that Darian not die. That was it – nothing else.

Darian turned at the sound of the dead man's last cry. Torrin knew what he saw – two more enemies, now on the opposite side of him. Legends made the battle specs seem easy. Experience said something else entirely.

Torrin's sudden appearance brought everything to a momentary halt. He thought he saw Darian's eyes widen. Almost believed he saw fear in those eyes. Fear and concern that meant the thought of Torrin being harmed scared him. Torrin felt warm, felt a new wave of courage sweep him. He jumped between Darian and those two men and stood his ground before the Stravians. Stravians he didn't recognize.

Stravians, he thought belatedly, who might very well recognize him.

But their eyes didn't widen, they didn't gasp – they saw only a boy in a Coran shirt and large pants. An enemy.

Torrin saw when they saw that, when their thoughts linked onto the word enemy.

He didn't see Darian, who moved faster than light, faster than air – who grabbed Torrin and pulled him away as the Stravians attacked.

Then he heard Darian grunt... felt Darian's arm go limp around him.

Turned in time to watch him fall.

“Darian!” Torrin cried, horror and a lancing fear piercing his chest. He turned to the prince, not minding the Stravians turning to him.

He quickly found the source of the small people of crimson staining the grass. In between the pieces of armor guarding his thigh and calf, the break had been enough of an opening for one soldier to attack. He had been slowed, though the blood flow suggested it had happened earlier than Torrin's entrance into the battle. Nevertheless, he had been slowed. Even if he stood, he would be slower. Against five enemies...

Fear stole through Torrin's chest. He knew the enemies were at his back, their swords ready. And once he was dead...

Torrin Felt the energy of the Corans around him, the five men that had died for their prince. He Felt the Stravians, three dead. He Felt their energy and felt his raging desire to keep Darian alive.

He knew his body was turning to face those Stravians. He heard, from far away, Darian ordering him to get the hell out of there. He saw his gaze turn with his body. Saw, for one second, the Stravian's faces. Yet he felt no fear.

Then his mind blanked, simply emptied, and he Felt and saw and heard... and knew... nothing.

<*>

He awoke slowly, his head dizzy. His body ached again, as if the healing he'd received after... after the prince and he had... had had... sex... had never happened.

He groaned in pain then. The world seemed to bounce and was unusually warm. Was he sick?

He remembered the Stravians coming after Darian, remembered Darian's injury. He had been about to be killed... Darian...

He fought against the darkness around him, struggling to rise from the fog. He managed to open his eyes and saw the world moving below him. He blinked, trying to focus, then noticed feet. Moving feet.

Fearing capture, he struggled against the warmth around him – arms, he belatedly realized. A body.

“Stop moving,” his captor growled.

Torrin's chest lightened as if taking flight. “Darian,” he breathed, nearly breathless in his relief. The prince was okay.

The memories came back a little faster. Their dire situation – and, again, Darian's injury.

“Wait,” Torrin gasped. “You're injured-”

“I am fine.” Darian's voice, strained and clipped, said otherwise.

“But you were hurt-”

“Silence!” Darian snapped, and finally Torrin heard the tightly reigned fury in Darian's voice.

Before, Torrin would never have done anything to anger the prince. He would have hunkered down and remained silent for fear of angering the man he hardly knew, the man he feared. But, thought Torrin felt fear in his veins, he spoke anyway. “What's wrong?”

The prince made a strangled sound that at best may have been a wolverine spitting. “What is wrong? What is wrong, 'medic'?”

The way Darian said the word medic made Torrin's heart deaden a bit. Whatever had happened, Darian had stopped believing in Torrin being a medic. “Yes,” Torrin said dully.

“What's wrong,” Darian snapped, “Is that I was lied to – several fucking times – and even worse – I fell for it. I believed your bullshit story about that suicide.”

“That was true,” Torrin said quietly, but he wasn't heard.

“I took you in – defended you – against what had been the truth.”

Torrin didn't ask how Darian knew. It didn't matter. “Then kill me.”

Darian snarled. “I would – I would enjoy it.” Torrin winced at the pain the words elicited within him. “I should kill you.” There was a pregnant pause. “But I can't.”

“Why not?” Torrin whispered.

Darian... sighed. “I don't know,” he replied, then finally stopped walking. “But do you not understand? If anyone learns about what you can do...”

Yes, Torrin knew the consequences. He'd already lived them with one army. “Then kill me,” he repeated.

Darian's growl was hopeless-sounding. “I can't,” he snapped. “Do you want to die?”

“Wouldn't that make everything easier?” Torrin asked instead, because suddenly he didn't know the answer to that question. When Darian didn't answer, he took it to mean agreement. “So what are you going to do with me?”

Darian shook his head. “I... don't know.”

Torrin looked up, finally, at the tired sound of Darian's voice. There was a line between his eyebrows that spoke of strain, more on his forehead that showed pain and frustration. “You should rest.”

Darian snarled, but it lacked energy. “We have no time. One escaped with your patient. He could be following us.”

“One?” Impressed despite himself, Torrin stared in awe. “You managed to kill so many?” Belatedly, he understood Darian's words. His patient, the man with the silver eyes, was dead. His heart came to life long enough to ache for the loss.

Now it was Darian who looked at him oddly. “Me? Do you not remember?”

Torrin knew things had become fuzzy after realizing Darian was injured, but he didn't see how it was important. “Not well,” he admitted, “but I remember the men about to attack. You were injured already – how did you stop them?”

Darian shook his head. “I didn't. You did.”

Torrin would have laughed if Darian didn't look so serious just then. He did, however, try an encouraging smile. “But that's impossible. You said it yourself – I have no skills as a fighter.”

Darian stared at him for a long time. “How do you know of your powers... when you don't know of your powers?”

Torrin just stared. Concern for Darian was the only thing that made it possible for him to speak. “Are you okay?”

Darian seemed frustrated of a sudden. When he growled, Torrin wasn't afraid – he was worried. “I'm fine, you damn imp,” Darian managed. “And so is my mental state.” Darian glared at him. “You destroyed those Stravians – blew them into ash. You killed them with that power of yours.”

Torrin's eyes widened in horror at Darian's words, spat out with a conviction that meant Darian didn't believe for a moment that he was wrong. But... “that's impossible. I can't do that.”

Darian snorted, but it wasn't the affectionate sound it had become to Torrin. “Oh? And just what is it you do?”

“I...” Did it matter? Darian knows. Darian... wouldn't... He closed his eyes and tensed. “I can take the energy from the dead and transfer it to the living.”

Darian stopped walking. “You... what?” A pause. “That's... what you do?”

Torrin nodded. And now came the censure – the word 'freak'. Right before he was told to use his monstrous ability for whatever the normal person wanted.

“Then you are a Necromancer.”

“No.” This, he decided, had to be cleared up once and for all. “I do not speak to the dead. I don't bring them back to life. I only-”

“That's not the point!” Darian's hands shook. “With that power of yours, you could have killed me and run off without any difficulties. Why didn't you?”

“I can only give energy to things,” Torrin argued. “And all the energy in the world wouldn't give me the skill to beat you.”

Darian only seemed to get angrier the more Torrin spoke. “No, fool!” That power... that immense power you showed... why did you not use that?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Torrin raged.

Darian was silent again for a moment. “You truly don't remember, do you?”

“Remember what?” he demanded.

“Your power.”

“I know my power,” Torrin argued shortly. “I can give energy to people from the dead. I can give greater strength to things as long as they are made from living things. I can use my energy to help a specific part of a person's body. I can-”

“You can discharge a huge amount of magic and do damage to opponents – damage so devastating that you obliterate them.”

Torrin's mouth hung open for a while before he could get his jaw to work again. “I can not!” he argued. He thought his voice sounded sort of petulant.

“You did it to those Stravians – you did it in Levant.”

Torrin saw his parents' bodies in his mind, lying limp on the ground... his sister's corpse, mangled and beaten, her clothes ripped, her skirt raised up.

“How dare you!” Torrin raged. “Your fucking army did that – don't you dare blame that on me!”

Darian said nothing as Torrin fought back his tears. How had Torrin ever thought that this man could be gentle?

“No,” Darian said finally. “You had nothing to do with the death of the townspeople. Survivors were being hunted for when all of the Corans left in the town were destroyed – obliterated.”

Torrin remembered seeing those soldiers as they noticed him, as they advanced on him. And he remembered his memory fuzzing. The next thing he'd known, Morina had been caring for him and the general had already known about his ability.

Torrin shook his head. “No.” He couldn't be the one who killed those Corans. It was the Stravian soldiers – they'd fought the Corans back. Not him. He wasn't a killer.

Was he?

Darian sighed, but he began moving again. “Can you control it?”

Torrin hardly heard him, but he responded anyway. “Control what?”

“Your power.”

Torrin was silent for a small while, trying to figure out what Darian meant as he fought himself – his beliefs, his fears... his denial. “What part?”

Darian made a strange noise. “Any part.”

“I thought so,” Torrin whispered, and the words somehow solidified what he'd heard into... truth. “I'd already known I didn't know everything about my... ability... but...” Torrin didn't want to believe... couldn't believe. And yet... it seemed to answer those questions – how did they know? How had he survived? How had Darian, injured and exhausted – because dammit, real battles don't take all that long – been able to defeat so many Stravians without gaining more wounds?

“You joined the Stravian army.” A statement, not a question.

“Like I had a choice,” Torrin said bitterly. “My options were fairly limited at that point. And besides,” he added, though egging on this man was probably a bad idea, “I wanted to get revenge for what your army did to my family.”

“They aren't my army,” Darian hissed.

“You led them,” Torrin countered.

“Not against Levant.”

Torrin wanted to argue, to say that the prince was lying. But... oddly enough... he believed the prince's words. Something about his voice...

“You lied to me.”

“What would you have done if I'd told you the truth?” Torrin asked, but he already knew the answer. He wouldn't have continued to defend Torrin, that was for certain.

“About that man.” Darian seemed to snarl. “The suicide.”

Hadn't Torrin already argued that? “No. That was true.” Torrin could still see him, but the man who committed suicide was now being confused with his patient with the silver eyes.

Darian snorted. “Right.”

“I was put on medical service after the next-to-last battle. That man was one I cared for.” The memories surfaced. Fighting desperately to save the man from infection; Morina caring for him after he collapsed from exhaustion. And now the one person he had any sort of link to hated him. It was almost too much. An unknown pain started to grow in his chest, eclipsing even the faint pain from his sternum. “He had lost an arm in that battle and was bleeding badly. He had an infection growing inside him, too. I didn't have much energy, so I used up most of it up on him, trying to get him to heal. But...” Torrin closed his eyes as he remembered that morning when he'd returned to the tent to find... to find that he knew one's corpse's energy all too well.

Darian was silent for a moment. “That's how you heal them? With your powers? How?”

Torrin grimaced. “I can transfer the energy of the dead to the living's body, but I can take it a step further. I can strengthen the immune system, hasten the recovery cells... give more strength to muscles.”

The prince paused again. “Like making tired muscles strong again.”

Torrin flinched. “Yes.”

Darian growled. “What else have you hidden from me?!”

Torrin couldn't think of anything else, but didn't think it mattered. This was enough. “I couldn't tell you,” Torrin whispered. “You would have let those men take me.” Torrin felt Darian's hands shake. He had a feeling it wasn't from any sort of strain.

But Darian didn't argue.

Why did it hurt so much to realize that? Even though he'd already known, the actual verification of the truth was much harder to bear than Torrin would have thought.

“Is that how you saved that patient?”

Torrin's sorrow only grew at the thought of the man with the silver eyes. “Yes. I strengthened his immune system and his recovery cells. It was hard with him... he was constantly infected, and he was already weak... plus the fact that I didn't have much energy to start with...” Just remembering it made Torrin tired.

“Your power has to do with you getting sick.” It was a statement, not a question. But Torrin thought some clarification was necessary.

“I used the wrong energy.”

“...I'm sorry?”

More clarification. “Humans' bodies still hold to allies and foes. Stravian bodies will fight against helping a Coran. I forgot that while trying to help my patients and ended up with that energy... fighting against me.”

A long silence. Torrin figured the prince was absorbing the information. Darian was often memorizing things or noticing things Torrin wouldn't have thought he could see.

“You need willing corpses?”

Well, said that way, it sounded ridiculous. “I don't know how to explain it other than that,” Torrin said defensively.

“What about animals? Do you need willing pets?”

Torrin frowned. Was Darian making fun of him? “No. Animals see themselves as a part of the food chain. Their energy holds no malice towards anything that kills it.”

“Good.” Torrin was suddenly placed on his feet and left to stand on weak knees. He balanced himself while Darian grabbed something. A cracking noise sounded. Torrin Felt energy surround him.

“Darian,” he gasped, “what-”

Darian turned to Torrin and dropped a dead snake to the grass. “Prove it.”

Torrin gazed at him wide-eyes for a moment before seeing those signs of strain again. Couldn't Darian just ask him?

Torrin channeled the snake's energy and moved to Darian's leg. There was no infection yet, but the wound was still nasty. Torrin's stomach rolled. He didn't have much energy, and snakes had less energy in them than humans.

But he would do everything he could.

He hyped up the immune system just in case and worked on the platelets in Darian's body. Torrin felt guilt swamp him as he worked. Darian had carried him away from that battlefield, injured and exhausted, even though Torrin had betrayed his trust.

Why would the prince go so far for him?

“I'm sorry,” Torrin said after a time. Darian grunted in surprise. “I've made life very difficult for you, haven't I?”

Darian was silent, but finally Torrin heard him chuckle. “Yes, quite a bit... little medic.”

Torrin looked at the prince's face in shock. Darian knew now that he wasn't a medic. And besides, the name had almost become an endearment. So why...?

Darian had a small smile on his face. “My leg already feels like it's healing.”

Torrin's brow furrowed. “It should. It was a minor wound compared to... that patient's... so it was easier to do. But... I don't have as much magic... and the snake didn't have as much-”

“You are babbling.”

Torrin snapped his mouth shut.

Darian sighed. “I will not harm you, little medic, though I still wish to strangle you. I may need you to return to my country and Coran Castle.”

Torrin's fear tripled. Not for the danger in the forest, not to the thought of helping Darian, not even for being used as a tool for an unknown amount of time. “You... you're going to take me there?” The thought of meeting Corath's king made Torrin shiver in trepidation.

“You are my catamite, aren't you?” Darian bent down to be eye to eye with Torrin. “I will not let you be harmed again.” There was something there in Darian's eyes, something determined and strong and kind. Torrin found himself believing Darian, the enemy prince who was leading him to a Stravian's worst nightmare.

When Darian stood, Torrin stood beside him. He wanted to say that he was only going with this man because he had no other choice. But inside, a part of him he refused to name disagreed. He just knew that he would walk beside the prince. His prince. He would be loyal to this man, his savior and... and his lover.

Best not to question why.

<*>

They walked until dawn, unable to continue over the river as tired as they were. Torrin gathered leaves to make beds while Darian rested his leg, which he grouchily snapped was practically healed.

“Torrin,” Darian began, watching Torrin work, “how exactly does it work? You can use any dead thing's energy?”

Torrin wished Darian would just drop the subject. He despised talking about his ability. “Not exactly,” Torrin said. He kept his eyes strictly on his task. “The death... has to be new. Fresh. After a while, the energy seeps out on its own and joins nature again.”

Darian was silent again. Torrin feared what Darian would do with the knowledge he was gaining. “So during a battle-”

“I can't use energy until a battle has begun,” Torrin interrupted. He spread the leaves out and started making another bed.

“Don't,” Darian ordered. “Make only one.”

Torrin looked at him warily. “But... your leg...”

“Do not concern yourself with such things,” Darian said sternly, then quirked a small grin. “Besides, we both need our rest. But no matter what, you are staying close to me.”

Meaning, 'I still don't trust you.' Torrin took solace in the words “need our rest” and began making one large bed. Once he finished, he went off to find berries and nuts.

“I will find an animal.” Darian stood and left, as well. Torrin knew it wasn't just for food.

Torrin returned with his shirt gently holding bunches of walnuts, raspberries, grapes, and a couple fresh bananas. He found a small fire burning, the embers low as to keep the smoke to a minimum. The prince was alternately turning a stick with animal meat on it and waving at the smoke to disperse it.

Torrin carefully placed down his findings and went to Darian's leg.

“That isn't necessary.”

Torrin looked at Darian in surprise. The wound couldn't have been completely healed yet. Was Darian trying to act strong?

“You do not need to use your magic.” Darian turned for a moment to look into Torrin's eyes. “I will be fine.”

“But this must be causing you pain,” Torrin argued, just as he wondered why he was pitching a fuss.

“You are not a tool.”

Torrin could only stare in shock. Had he just hallucinated? Darian had said... but that wasn't possible, was it? Darian... the cost of saying that... of choosing that...

He trusts me, Torrin thought, and felt his heart lift.

“Then for a friend,” he murmured, and bent back down to work.

What was he doing? Why was he helping Corath's prince? Had he completely lost his mind?

No, he thought. No. Not for Corath. Not for my enemy. For Darian. My savior, my lover... my friend... why can't we be friends?

He felt swamped by hopelessness and fear, hope and confusion. Why did he want to erase this man's pain, no matter what? Why did he want to help Darian with whatever he needed help with? Why? Why?

He was afraid. Not of Darian, but of himself. His emotions were... different. Painful. Thinking of Darian made his chest hurt – not his sternum, but... his heart.

Because they were lovers? Because he needed Darian's help to stay, just as he had always needed Darian's help? Doesn't matter, he told himself, then amended with a quick, can't matter. Reasons didn't matter. He should just... just go with it. Help Darian, stay with Darian. Didn't matter why.

Couldn't matter why.