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Page 36 of A Suitable Stray (The Suitable ‘Verse #4)

Tiiran was on his way to check the supplies for making ink when several assistants came skittering toward him with familiar flustered, flattered expressions on their faces. He directed them back to their work and muttered to himself as he accepted that the ink supplies would have to wait.

Annoying. He had scheduled time for the task. Well, Nikoly had scheduled it for him, but at Tiiran’s request. While the Great Library had many assistants these days, there were still not enough Master Keepers to keep a watchful eye on the newer ones. Messes were frequently made, usually when a newer assistant made a mistake and then tried unsuccessfully to clean it up.

The matter of the low number of Master Keepers would take years to solve according to Po, who had received the title almost against her will. Except for two aged figures, the previous Keepers had retired or not been welcomed back during the early days of the reign of the Traitor King, and one could not simply raise any assistant to the role. They had to have knowledge and experience.

At least the palace being run properly meant that some of the burden had been taken from the shoulders of the Great Library’s few Keepers of the Records. And the rising number of assistants kept the Master Keepers from spending too much time on simple tasks like cleaning or copying reports. There were so many assistants, in fact, that some saw it as a sign that the palace and the country might at last be recovering from the decades of warring. The reign of the Traitor King—as some called Arden of the Canamorra, if never to his face—had mostly been one of peace, the incident half a year ago notwithstanding.

More than an incident. But it had been squashed within hours, and Mattin had survived, and the peace had held, so Tiiran tried not to think of it. He was supposed to be beyond dreams and irrational worries. It had been years since his own incident , and he was tired of his mind tormenting him with the odd nightmare. Unfortunately, beat-of-fours trying to take the throne for no good reason except wounded pride had set them off again, and not only for Tiiran.

So the entire palace but especially the library had every reason to be grateful for the calm that had followed Arden of the Canamorra sitting his backside on the throne. But that didn’t mean the assistants should have to deal with his presence in the library so often.

No ruler had entered the library in decades, probably in centuries. Yet Arden of the cursed Canamorra popped in at the strangest moments, and though Tiiran knew why, he didn’t have to like it.

The assistants turned into butterflies, for one thing. Probably for seeing a legend in the flesh but possibly because the king and his husband, having once been outguards, were naturally going to attract library assistants.

Tiiran put his accounting book under his arm and his pencil behind his ear into the weave of one his braids, then marched out into the main section of the library.

The sight of Nikoly seated on the stool at the front desk, working on his knitting as if the king and his entourage on the other side of the desk did not exist, calmed Tiiran only a little. He was mostly concerned with why the king would be waiting at the desk and not already in Mattin’s office with Mattin as he usually would have been.

The answer was likely that Mattin was not in his office. If not there, then Mattin was usually with the king and his husband, his betrotheds. If he wasn’t with them, then he would be found at a council meeting to represent the library as was tradition, or in the library… somewhere.

That last part had been Mattin’s habit for years and of no concern of anyone until The Tyrabalith had tried to kill Mattin to get to the king and his husband. Now, Mattin wasn’t supposed to disappear without at least telling someone where he was going. Even Tiiran had gone as far as to instruct the assistants to make a note of wherever Mattin had holed up.

He didn’t tell them to inform the guards assigned to protect Mattin, however. Tiiran didn’t care if the new Captain of the Palace Guard was the king’s husband and also in love with Mattin and soon to be Mattin’s husband. Library business was not Palace Guard business unless the Head of the Library decided it was.

Those in the group around the king as well as the king himself, turned almost as one to watch Tiiran approach the desk. Tiiran narrowed his eyes at Mil Wulfa, the king’s commoner husband and Mattin’s other betrothed, who grinned at Tiiran when he noticed he had Tiiran’s attention. Mil was the only person in the group of roughly the same size as Orin. But he was no bear. His grin was wolfish.

Seeing Orin with Mil was a surprise. Orin, like Mil, was in the plain clothes of an outguard, although Orin didn’t wear nearly as much armor as Mil did. But then, Orin had less reason to, at least, when within the palace. He had assured Tiiran that when he was on assignments, he was better protected and took precautions, but also insisted that he wanted to look as he did. As if he were an ordinary outguard, and not someone to be treated with wariness or suspicion.

Orin kept his fires banked unless necessary. The only signs about him that he might be more than a simple guard was the quality of his clothing—Nikoly’s doing—and the silver cuffs and pins in his ears. The silver was the work of his family, but the piercings were an entirely Rossick matter. Nikoly had been beside himself when it had been done.

There was something to the look, Tiiran could admit. Such decorations made Nikoly prettier, but shiny things on Orin did not make him a tempting bit of toast and jam. Their dainty loveliness only made Orin seem even larger, or as if Orin was a creation from a forge as well-fashioned and deadly as the sword Mil carried.

But that might have been Tiiran’s frustrated desires coming through. Orin had been gone for several days. He’d said he planned to return from his assignment in the south that morning, and evidently, he had, but Tiiran would have expected him to be resting, not following Arden around. If the king and all guards and friends had not been there, Tiiran would have run to Orin and pounced on him. Instead, Tiiran frowned at him, and at Mil, before fixing more of displeasure on Orin for bringing them here.

Orin raised his eyebrows at Tiiran, amused by his snippiness. It only made Tiiran want to be snippier. If Orin was back and walking the palace, he could have come to see them on his own. Nikoly had missed him.

Tiiran as well, but Orin would see that with a single look. Everyone who knew Tiiran would see that. Nikoly hid it better.

Tiiran turned to Nikoly as he came to a stop next to him. Nikoly gave him an innocent smile, then returned to his knitting. The tips of several of his fingers were purple-red from the pomegranate seeds he’d harvested and put into a bowl in anticipation of Orin’s return. Orin loved pomegranate.

Orin should have come to see them first. There was probably some important reason he hadn’t. Arden had perhaps summoned him the moment he’d entered the palace.

Arden could piss up a rope.

Tiiran continued to ignore him, cooing quietly over Nikoly’s work. Nikoly was excellent at picking up new skills and liked to have something to do when he wasn’t seeing to the details of Tiiran’s schedule or welcoming visitors to the library. He really was suited to being at the desk. Anyway, Nikoly had no desire to be a Master Keeper, and being in the center of the library put him in position to listen and report all gossip to Cael, an arrangement Tiiran did not remark upon or question because if he thought about it, he would worry.

Apparently Tiiran was “a right terror” when he was worried. Mil Wulfa, giant and looming, always wearing armor and a sword into the library, had said so several times. Not that he was remotely afraid of Tiiran. Not that he should be. Mil wasn’t the annoyance here.

Tiiran put his accounting notes down and finally looked up to face the king.

He crossed his arms. “Arden.”

Arden of the Canamorra, king and man clever enough to both adore Mattin and use Orin’s talents as they ought to be used, smiled.

Arden wasn’t beautiful like Nikoly, or obscenely handsome like his fearsome husband, but he was well put together and smart, and the combination was troubling. It was already bad enough that Arden was a beat-of-four who wasn’t a complete lobcock. He had no business being charming.

“Tiiran,” Arden returned Tiiran’s greeting with evident delight at Tiiran’s lack of fawning. He always did. And yet Orin and Nikoly had been so concerned about the king taking offense that they had pulled Tiiran away and clapped a hand over his mouth during Arden’s first visit to the library.

Tiiran stifled a grumble at the memory.

Nikoly, as if sensing it anyway, raised his head. Arden merely gave him a nod, although Tiiran would bet his entire stash of spring tea that Arden knew Nikoly was Cael’s eyes-and-ears. He had probably even seen Nikoly spar with Orin.

To be fair to Arden, even Tiiran would sometimes go out of his way to watch that. The sparring made Nikoly feisty and restless, and even when he won—usually through some incredibly reckless maneuver, it was as if he did it to make Orin chastise him for it later. He liked being chastised nearly as much as he liked being petted.

Tiiran reached out to stroke the side of Nikoly’s neck without looking away from the king. Arden only seemed more delighted. By which, Tiiran meant his expression was courteous and polite but his eyes were dancing. Arden had brown eyes but if they ever turned fae-black, Tiiran wouldn’t be surprised.

Nikoly’s skin was smooth and soft. He used soap made with honeysuckle but made sure Tiiran’s was scented with roses. He used oils as well, and applied them to himself and to Tiiran after baths, and now whenever Tiiran caught the scent, the tension left his shoulders.

Scheming sunflower had trained him to be calmer.

“I suppose you’re here for a reason.” Tiiran broke the silence. “If so, get to it. I have things to do.”

“Every time. Fuck me,” Mil commented in a low voice that was nonetheless clearly audible. Tiiran looked up sharply. Mil gave him the same hungry grin, then turned to wink at Orin.

Orin studied Tiiran, then, deliberately, pointedly, glanced to Nikoly, telling Tiiran to do the same.

Nikoly raised his chin to offer Tiiran more of his throat, meant as a distraction to “lower the spikes in Tiiran’s fur,” as he put it.

“Nikoly,” Arden greeted Nikoly as if only just noticing him and they hadn’t all been standing in silence until Tiiran had arrived. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen our husband.”

By tradition, Arden, Mil, and Mattin were already married in every way that mattered. But, with continued peace at stake, and their union being one of practicality as well as affection, they were to also have a public hand-fasting ceremony with pomp and celebration in the palace and the capital. Nobles still called them all betrothed. Arden and Mil did not.

Mattin blushed over the subject, gazing at his two hulking betrotheds-and-husbands with his eyes fairly glowing.

Nikoly turned to Tiiran, his bottom lip ever so slightly pushed out. Tiiran gave in and began to pet the side of his throat, dipping his fingers almost all the way down to the stylized roses over the bear-paw ivy around his collarbone. To actually touch the marks would involve pushing part of Nikoly’s shirt aside. Tiiran considered it, but Nikoly was already shivering minutely, and when Tiiran glanced up, he noticed Mil watching them. Tiiran settled his hand on Nikoly’s shoulder instead.

“Mattin?” Tiiran asked as though he’d never heard the name before. The assistants at the copying tables were certainly listening in and probably giggling to themselves, although with the size of Arden, Mil, Orin, and all of the guards around them, Tiiran couldn’t see over them to the tables themselves to be sure.

“Yes,” Arden agreed, suspiciously pleasant. “Things have been more chaotic than usual as the wedding festivities draw near, and he might have forgotten that we scheduled time today to…” Arden paused, frowning a little. “What were we supposed to do again? Cael would know.”

“You are supposed to visit the kitchens to see what they will be making and officially give your approval of the menu,” Nikoly informed him, gaze on his knitting once again.

Nikoly minded Tiiran’s schedule, but he did always seem to know things, especially things Cael knew.

“And thank them for the hard work!” Arden exclaimed at the reminder. “Thank you, Nikoly. Truly, you’re a wonder. We need someone like you for Mattin.”

“We do not,” Tiiran said firmly, blushing to realize he and Mil had said it together. Mil, being nearly as bad as his husband when it came to trying to fluster Tiiran, was startled only for a moment before he grinned again.

Tiiran glanced to Orin, who was openly amused despite the fire in his eyes. Nikoly was too, smiling to himself over his knitting because Tiiran was jealous.

More socks. He thought Tiiran and Orin could never have enough socks. But he had learned to dye the yarn the most clever colors.

“Actually,” Tiiran cleared his throat, “I have been considering assigning Mattin an assistant of his own. With his duties here, and his duties with you,” –this was icy. Arden’s gaze grew warmer in response— “he might need a minder here. But Captain Wulfa will have to approve of my choice.”

For Mattin’s security, Tiiran could agree to the Palace Guard investigating an assistant.

Arden wasn’t hiding his delight from the others anymore. “That sounds thoughtful indeed, Master Keeper Tiiran. Mattin’s increased duties have also been on my mind.”

Tiiran met Arden’s stare. “I have perhaps seen Mattin.” He remained a rubbish liar, but the lie didn’t matter. It was the intent behind it, and the responding blaze of feeling in Arden’s eyes, which was different from Orin’s fire. Tiiran didn’t know entirely what it was, but he knew part of it was desperate, constant worry for Mattin. For Mil as well, but especially for Mattin, who was not a warrior, and who was so very soft as Arden and Mil were not.

As Orin had once gently pointed out to Tiiran, Arden was someone who knew exactly where the execution grounds of the palace were. He had also been the one to order that building with its old prison cells taken down, stone by stone. The palace might have other such cells, but if this king used them, it would not be a secret.

“Have you?” Arden leaned slightly closer. “And are you inclined to share that information with me?”

Tiiran didn’t bristle at the implicit order to continue. He caressed Nikoly and then continued. “I could tell you where he is.” The faint growl from Mil was intriguing, but Tiiran pressed on. “But I wonder if Mattin needs the break.”

Tiiran had worked on saying that in that manner—indirect, suggestive—instead of his usual tart bluntness. It was still enough of a surprise to hear that Nikoly gave him a concerned look.

“You’re not going to tell us where our husband is?” Some might have said Arden was carefully, quietly angry—and he was—but Tiiran thought he was amused as well.

Mil seemed to grow taller and broader behind him. Tiiran was used to feeling small but it was still impressive. And vexing.

“Are you trying to bully me, Mil Wulfa?” Tiiran demanded sharply, his attempt at imitating Cael’s composure over. “I am concerned for Mattin and it’s only because I know you are as well that I’m speaking to you now. Search the library all you like. You won’t find him on your own until he chooses to be found.” Or until he woke up and stumbled into the light.

Tiiran turned back to Arden, who was deathly serious now, as he should be.

“He needs a rest, even if he won’t say so.” Tiiran would have poked his finger in the king’s face if he could have reached it. “This is a lot for him. Wooings and assassination attempts are one thing, but now planning this fucking wedding too? He wants to please and worries he will not. You have to pay attention to their worries even if you don’t understand them. I’ve learned that and it’s important.” He rubbed his thumb into Nikoly’s smooth skin. “Mattin will do his duty, because he is better than most beat-of-fours, but it’s not his way to be out among those who don’t burn as he does.” People didn’t immediately notice that Mattin burned, but he did, especially when he loved something.

Arden seemed to settle back on his heels, calm again, although he did not actually move except to let out a breath. “Most of the pomp around ‘this fucking wedding’ was Mattin’s idea.”

Arden did mild the way Orin did. He was also probably correct. Mattin put too much weight on histories… or possibly, wanted the peace to continue more than anyone else in the palace.

Of course he did, Tiiran realized. Histories and tradition were all Mattin had to protect his husbands. He couldn’t fight or scheme, but he could use everything he knew to ensure the wedding was a success, the marriage was popular, and the noble houses were appeased. He would, even though it cost him his peace and his time with his books, and he worried that he wouldn’t be enough.

For that, and because he knew Arden and Mil were worried in return, Tiiran nearly relented.

Nearly.

“It’s still a lot for him.” He crossed his arms again.

Arden studied Tiiran, not looking anything other than a handsome, scarred beat-of-four bothering Tiiran at the desk.

Then, all at once, he was someone with dark, knowing eyes and an edge to his smile. “Well, without Mattin’s assistance, there is so much to do. I might need to ask for more help from Orin, especially with security and investigating any possible new threats. I’m sure you’ll understand.”

As if Orin wasn’t already away from the palace for days or weeks at a time to investigate rumors for him.

Tiiran looked to Orin, who had not a word to say in objection, but who was watching Tiiran with the hunger of several days apart and now some additional admiration. Very good, kitten , that stare said. Though I’d love to see where this is going .

Tiiran pretended he wasn’t flushed when he looked back at Arden. “Someone donated a twenty-six-volume personal recollection of The Conflict of the Pigeon and the Hawk yesterday.” He smiled. “I haven’t assigned it to Mattin, but…”

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