Page 33 of A Suitable Stray (The Suitable ‘Verse #4)

Thoughts began to slide away from Tiiran even when he tried to grasp them. He hadn’t slept well, too cold, his cough worsening. He should have eaten that morning when Nikoly had wanted him to, however many days ago that was now, and had the tea Nikoly made for him. He should have rested properly after the snuffles because he must not have been fully recovered, and should have told Orin to take him and Nikoly with him on his travels. Tiiran could learn to ride a horse. It couldn’t be that difficult, no matter how tall the beasts were.

No replacement porridge arrived. No water came again. He didn’t feel like stretching onto his toes to peer outside, but he didn’t hear much from where he was, only more muttering, as if the guards holding people captive felt they had a right to complain about their treatment. He slept a little.

He was too weak to not consider how easy he must have been to lie to, or all the times Nikoly had glanced away instead of answering simple questions. How he’d hesitated over giving Tiiran even his false name. His frowns when Tiiran had mentioned beat-of-fours.

All that time, Tiiran had thought Nikoly had been hurt by how Tiiran spoke of nobles, and Nikoly hadn’t just been some wealthy, well-bred thing but a Rossick . All those times he had warned Tiiran about eyes-and-ears, because he knew about them. Because he was one.

Pash was a self-serving liar, but that did not feel like a lie. More like a very good guess.

Nikoly was ideal for the role. Tiiran didn’t know if Nikoly had been meant to gather information and gossip only, or if Nikoly was one of the kind of spies to act as well, but Nikoly, educated, friendly, patient, more than capable of artifice, sitting right there in Tiiran’s library talking to outguards and scholars, was perfect.

He must have made his mentor proud. That would please him at least, keep him content until he could find someone he might really want to swear himself to.

That someone might be Orin. That thought returned as well, and Tiiran was too tired to push it away.

Tiiran didn’t think they’d known each other before, although they could have. But Orin, just as capable of being an eyes-and-ears under the guise of already being one—albeit an outguard and therefore serving the ruler—was everything Tiiran was not. He would have no problems transitioning from Master of Strays to Master of Hounds. The two of them could serve the Rossick, or the new ruler, or only each other once their work was done.

Whatever that work was. The questions remained: was Orin a spy and if so, who was he spying for? The Outguard? Was the ancient institution acting to protect its members? Or were they acting on behalf of a noble family they had decided to favor? Orin had spoken as if he believed in the purpose of the Outguard, but maybe he didn’t feel Piya believed the same.

Or maybe he was only trying to protect his friends. He’d spoken of danger. Was it truly about nobles who wanted to censor Outguard reports, or had the reports held other information?

If that was so, that meant someone in the library knew, and that Tiiran needed to question the assistants who copied the reports or find out who requested information from those reports. Or someone should, in Tiiran’s absence.

If any of that was true, there was even more danger around the library than Tiiran had thought. And yet, Orin and Nikoly had fretted over Tiiran’s big mouth while they had been bringing this risk to his door.

But they had. They had fretted. No spy would need to pretend to fuss over Tiiran in his patched robes in his cold room, or clean ink from his cheek. Or squeeze him tight while begging for him to control his temper. Bring him food without even staying to ensure he ate it. Order him to use a soap that would be kinder to his skin.

The pretty son of an infamous noble family most certainly did not. And Orin… might, if he actually were the kind of eyes-and-ears to act and plot, and he felt the heartbreak of one library assistant was worth the outcome he wanted. But Orin wasn’t the sort to plot. Orin preferred to unravel plots.

If Nikoly had been sent by the Rossick to merely observe and report, then Orin had been sent—or decided on his own—to investigate. Each of them had lied to Tiiran, but he wasn’t part of any scheme. He was a challenging bit of bed sport or perhaps they’d truly fancied him for a while. That wasn’t so bad. It didn’t change what he felt and it didn’t make him regret his choice—although he did want them to know it was a choice and not his temper.

“For the record,” he murmured, “ I was not the danger, Elorin Vahti. You were. You and your—my—pup. You had better think fondly of me in the future. Both of you. Perhaps even be exasperated that I did this.”

He would accept that.