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Tiiran must have fallen asleep there in the garden, proving his point that he would be fine no matter where he ended up. He woke up cold and wet with dew, the dark before dawn made even darker and more forbidding by the garden’s high walls.

He was alone, or felt he was. No one laughed at him, which was about the sole mercy he might expect from the closest thing he had to family. They weren’t interested in him either, but that was hardly new.

He moved stiffly, feeling the cold in his feet and legs in particular, his stomach cramping from lack of food, his hands shaking. His sleep must not have been easy, but he got himself up and shuffled out of the garden only to come face to face with a palace guard who must have thought Tiiran was a real fae come to torment him, because he jumped.

Tiiran scrubbed his stinging eyes and didn’t bother to explain himself. Maybe the guard had jumped for another reason, such as Tiiran’s appearance, because Tiiran had no doubt he was a wreck. He paused, swaying, at the juncture of two paths, debating whether he should go to his room to clean and change his clothes beneath his robe, or just open the library as usual and then return to his room.

It would be easy. Head to the kitchens, cross back to the library, straighten the rest area, be ignored by two cats, go through whatever remained at the main desk from yesterday, wait anxiously for the arrival of any responses from the Master Keepers he’d boldly told to come in to the library to work or resign, and then once Nikoly arrived, ask him to stay at the desk so Tiiran could leave.

Nikoly would comment on Tiiran’s appearance. So would Po, but Tiiran didn’t care if Po pitied him or thought he was ridiculous. She probably already did. Nikoly was the one who would look at Tiiran and know that Tiiran hadn’t been able to handle one little heartbreak and had fallen asleep on a frozen, dirty bench under the amused attention of the fae and woken up in rumpled clothes, freezing cold and sick to his stomach.

Nikoly would say, “Honeybee,” in his worried voice. That was the name of a song, according to Orin. Tiiran didn’t want to imagine the lyrics.

Nikoly would tell Orin. Or Orin would come into the library and see for himself. He’d said he’d be around. Then he’d want to make Tiiran talk about it. Tiiran had no right to be upset but that didn’t mean he wanted to spill every last secret to Orin now either.

He’d go to his room. Several of the other assistants had keys. The library might function slower without Tiiran and with Niksa possibly out sick, but no one in the palace was likely to notice one day of problems. Tiiran reasoned it all out calmly, or so he hoped, wiggling his toes to get feeling back into them, stumbling when he was too sleepy to rub his hands together and walk at the same time.

Amie opened the door to her room with Po, her eyes heavy with sleep, although she was half dressed, so Tiiran hadn’t woken her. She got a good look at him, pursed her lips, then quietly called for Po.

Tiiran had somehow not gone to his room, though he’d definitely intended to.

Po appeared behind Amie, wiping her face with a wet cloth, shivering although there was a fading fire in their fireplace. Tiiran had always thought they were slow to wake, but perhaps they were just slow to move in the mornings.

“Sorry,” he began, his voice rough, “I didn’t bring tea or anything. I was wondering if you might…”

He was dragged inside before he could manage anything else.

“You look like shit,” Amie observed. Tiiran was in a chair by their small fireplace in a blink, then covered in a blanket. The blanket was riddled with cat hair from Pearl, the library’s aged mouser, now retired and spending her final years with Po and Amie. Pearl blinked at Tiiran from the bed but then returned to sleep without any further interest.

Po bent down to study Tiiran critically while now wiping under her armpits. “Did you drown yourself in wine to feel better?” She sniffed around him. “No. What in the name of the fae did you do last night? Bee, did you even feed yourself? Are you ill? You aren’t yelling about the fae right now even though I mentioned them.”

“Fuck ‘em,” Tiiran insisted immediately, but weakly, shivering endlessly beneath the blanket. “I’m going to my room,” he finally remembered to say. “Can you do the library today?”

That wasn’t quite what he’d meant to ask, but Po understood.

“Of course. Ams, you mind doing Tiiran’s little kitchen run for everyone while I do his other stuff this morning?”

“‘S fine,” Amie agreed, stepping away while twisting her braids up into a knot on the top of her head. “Shall I stop and get you something too, Tiiran?”

“Yes.” Po answered for him. “So Orin didn’t find you for dinner?” Tiiran twitched too obviously, then tried to get up. Po shoved him back down. “Baby, you can barely move.”

Tiiran had been wrong about her pity as well; he did mind it. “I’m not a baby.” Babies had people to care for them. “I’m just cold. I’ll go to my room once I’ve warmed up.”

“You’ll rest here as long as you need,” Amie sang it. She was as bad as Po beneath the sweet voice and sweeter face.

“Ams will bring you something for breakfast,” Po carried on decisively. “And if you head to your room after that or pass out the way I suspect you will, I’ll have someone bring you a proper meal later on.”

“I’m not a Master Keeper to ask for that.” Tiiran’s growl was feeble.

Po bent down again and put her hand to his cheek, then his forehead, frowning slightly. “Bee. I won’t send him , all right? If you want me to, I’ll keep him far away from you.”

Tiiran had to look away. “Keep him on the desk. He’s best there anyway. If Niksa comes in and is still sick…”

“I know, Tiiran.” Po cut him off. “Your library can handle one short-staffed day, unless the nobles all decide ancient books are a fashionable accessory or something—fae forbid. You get warm and rest.”

“You’re trying to get dressed,” he muttered after several moments, finally meeting her eyes.

“So look away or enjoy the show.” She ruffled his hair and smiled at whatever expression that provoked.

Tiiran turned his head, watching them step easily around each other in their small room and pass things back and forth to each other. His eyelids grew heavy, as heavy as his arms and legs, and then his head. Another blanket was tossed atop him, or so it felt, but opening his eyes was an impossible task.

When he did finally manage it, he saw a fully dressed Amie pushing a cup of tea and a raisin bun into his hands.

He got up to go to his room after that, leaving their blankets folded on their bed and drinking the last of the cold cup of tea as he weaved down several hallways. Then he collapsed onto his bed face-first, sparing only a moment to wonder why his usually chilly room was unusually hot before he was asleep again.

Tiiran woke to his own blankets pulled over him, his boots removed, and his borrowed books on the floor and the two unused beds in his room so that a tray of food and a pitcher of water could fit on his small nightstand. He realized he had Niksa’s snuffles when lifting the pitcher made his arm shake and the light through his bedroom window started to make his eyes sting.

He ate without tasting a bite, drank some water, then debated a bath before changing his clothes. He might feel well enough after that to go to work.

He didn’t even make it to the bath. His night on the bench hadn’t given him the illness, but it hadn’t helped. Not eating had likely not helped either, but Tiiran could chastise himself over it and didn’t need anyone else to, no matter what promises he’d made in a game that no longer mattered.

So he climbed back into his bed to attempt to do some reading and wound up staring at his ceiling as the light faded, not bothering to light a candle.

He was moping, a new experience for him and one he felt too old for despite being a few years past twenty. Assistants did that on the rare occasion their sport turned into affairs with feelings and those feelings became too much for them; they moped. He wasn’t sure how to do it, but from what he’d seen, it mostly involved them running around searching for new lovers. Which he would never do since this whole mess had proved how he wasn’t suited to that. Lanth had been a stronger person than him, smarter about these things.

In the dark, hungry again, sniffling madly, he wondered if Orin had returned today as he’d said he might, and then if he and Nikoly had gone out to the capital together. Maybe they hadn’t left each other the night before. Maybe they had and nothing had happened, and Tiiran was acting foolishly, like the green assistant he had once been.

He’d find out tomorrow unless he stayed in bed another day, half longing for his sneezing fits to grow into a real illness to keep him away. Although he knew he’d show up to the library anyway, snuffles or no snuffles. There was work that needed to be done, and the library was all he had.