Page 34

At some point, Tiiran’s stomach ceased to growl and merely hurt. The door didn’t open, even when he waited and watched. He assumed his fate had been decided at last, but when he pushed himself to his feet and shuffled to the door to be sure, the hall outside was silent.

Stretching unsteadily, he peered out of the opening, but all he saw was flickering torchlight. No movement. There was still not a sound.

“Hello?” He had to lick his cracked lips to speak at all, and nearly fell after trying again as loud as he could. “Not a fucking guard to be found?”

The demand echoed back to him, unanswered.

“Seems to be my destiny,” Tiiran rasped to himself, “asking but getting no reply.”

He stepped down, then was pulled forward, his head smacking against the door when the tip of his boot caught in the hem of his robe where his mending had again given way. His hiss of pain didn’t quite drown out the clatter of metal hitting stone, and he looked down reflexively, although he had to crouch to find the source of the sound—Mattin’s broken hair clasp, now mostly twisted wire.

Tiiran turned with it in his hand to stare at the tiny sliver of light coming from the door handle.

From the lock mechanism on the door handle.

Once again, he was going to have to do everything himself.

If he could.

He’d never picked a lock before.

In addition to lock-picking, Tiiran would have to take time from his studies to learn the proper layout of the palace. That was, if he returned to his studies. He had no actual idea if he would be able to, or how to even find his way out of this building, whatever building it was. And if he did, he didn’t know where he would go. But he wasn’t thinking of that now, except for fleeting, dizzy ideas about sneaking to his room for a bath and clean clothes, so he wouldn’t look like someone escaping from being held captive. Beyond that, the only way out of the palace he knew of was the main gate, and he doubted he’d make it through there without being noticed.

Maybe he would stay within the palace and find Piya, and as a final act before he fainted or was killed, Tiiran could tell the king what he truly thought of him.

He walked down the corridor from his tiny cell, closing the door behind him, and considered hiding, but though someone had put torches up to light the hall, no one was there to hide from . The rooms appeared empty.

Tiiran was possibly feverish and dreaming. He kept walking until he found stairs, where he rested and debated directions before deciding on up . It should at least be less damp on the upper floors.

At the landing, he had to rest again, which gave him plenty of opportunity to peer around the corner of the stairwell into a new hall, also lit with torches. The hall was lined with doors, all of which were swinging open. He saw a makeshift table made of a flat plank of wood atop two barrels, with dice as well as an abandoned bottle and three cups, as if bored guards had been playing a game to pass the time but had left in a hurry.

The bottle was tempting. Tiiran ambled toward it, wrinkling his nose at the smell of wine but guzzling it anyway to wet his throat.

Noises cut short his moment of triumph at finally having his thirst somewhat quenched. Some distance away there was a commotion. Shouts.

Tiiran had heard shouts like that within the palace before, and ducked behind and beneath the table, visible to anyone who cared to bend down, which hopefully no one would.

The shouting grew louder.

He would not escape the palace, Tiiran reflected without much feeling. He wouldn’t even get a chance to shove the truth down Piya’s throat, which sparked a small bit of fury in his heart. Maybe the wine had granted him his temper back. It might also have numbed him to fear as the shouts became cries, and pounding footsteps, and then the crash of something heavy through, or onto, something solid.

“You can’t let them get to the lower levels! It’s all we’ve got to—”

Tiiran shut his eyes at the sudden, pained groan that cut off the words, then flinched and opened his eyes at the clash of metal on metal.

One of the noble families must have chosen action. Palace guards against sworn guards, or against nobles themselves who had learned to fight. That was good for everyone except the palace guards, but they had chosen this, so Tiiran chose not to care about them.

“We can bargain!” someone shouted. “We know where…”

“Bargain?” someone interrupted in a voice shaking with fury. “ Bargain ?”

A third speaker did not sound angry and yet Tiiran quailed at the calm, cold rumble that carried down the hall. “You don’t bargain with lives.”

The furious speaker must have agreed, although he only grew angrier. “Tell us where he is and I won’t kill you.”

Tiiran almost didn’t recognize the voice with its softness all afire. He was dreaming, he reminded himself, feverish. Drunk as well, now.

More stumbling and clashing metal shook him from his daze, and he peeked out from around a barrel to the bloody chaos at the end of the hall by the stairs.

Four palace guards—only two currently standing—faced two figures who were dressed like outguards, although outguards with metal armor over the heavy gambesons they wore when traveling. A man as large and broad as a bear on two legs hauled a palace guard into the air before batting her sword from her hand and sending her flying.

She landed not far from Tiiran, moaning pitifully. Several of her bones had to be broken.

One of palace guards already on the ground was trying to rise. The bear turned to him while reaching for the sword on his back. Before it was fully drawn, the figure behind him leapt forward, a slender sword in either hand. Both swords were bloodied.

Tiiran again ducked behind the safety of the barrels. The barrels did not shield him from the quick, efficient sounds of someone being disarmed, and then, he assumed, run through or otherwise dispatched.

“Rather useless armor they choose,” the bear rumbled. “Appearances more than practicality.” One large boot, a knife tucked into the top, appeared in Tiiran’s line of sight as the fallen palace guard was scooped up. “The others are already being freed.” Orin’s measured, coaxing tones were terrifying in this space. “You have one chance left, and that only if he’s alive. At least—” the guard was dangled in the air. Orin’s voice did not change “—that’s with me. I can’t speak for the pup.”

Orin tossed the whimpering guard to the ground. His boot disappeared from Tiiran’s view. Tiiran slipped out from under the table on his knees to follow, only to freeze as two palace guards came charging out of the stairwell and ran straight into Nikoly.

Nikoly, who darted neatly out of their way with nearly no sound, then dashed forward to slash and stab and withdraw again. Palace Guard armor was as useless as Orin had deemed it. But the palace guards’ weapons weren’t. Those were very real.

Tiiran caught a glimpse of shining, wet red and then one of the palace guards laughed in almost shocked surprise. Before Tiiran could determine why, Orin had pulled Nikoly back by the scruff of his neck with one hand and moved to take his place. Then he unsheathed his sword. He only carried the one but it was massive; Tiiran wouldn’t have been able to lift it.

The laughing guard and the one with him fled before the sight. Tiiran didn’t blame them, although he also didn’t feel sorry for them as he listened to their frantic scurry up into the stairwell and then their startled screams before they tumbled back down again, possibly dead or dying. Two other figures, also dressed as outguard, followed them down.

“All right here?” one of the newcomers asked Orin—but while staring at Nikoly.

Orin stared at Nikoly too, bleeding and starkly beautiful, but waved his friends off with a soft snarl. “We’ll check this level. Go on.”

Then he had a hand at Nikoly’s throat and Nikoly pushed to the wall, as if Orin didn’t care that Nikoly held a sword in each hand and apparently knew how to wield them.

“That was reckless.” Orin did not relax his grip or so much as glance to the two palace guards still to be dealt with in the corridor with them. Although neither of the guards seemed to be moving except to breathe.

Nikoly stared back at Orin, eyes narrowed, jaw tight, a line across one cheek spilling blood that dripped onto Orin’s wrist. Orin didn’t let go.

“I have to find him,” Nikoly spoke through his teeth. “They have him. I know it.”

“ Reckless ,” Orin said again, hauling Nikoly in just to shove him back against the wall. “You will take care or I will make you take care.” He pushed Nikoly to the wall again, and when Nikoly objected with a low, animal sound, Orin leaned in. He was breathing hard. “And if you are dead?”

Nikoly looked to the side, then back at him. “If he…”

“He wouldn’t want you hurt, pup.” Orin’s tone softened and he released Nikoly’s throat to let his hand hover over Nikoly’s bloodied cheek. “Neither do I.”

Nikoly stared at him for a beat longer, then dropped his head. “I’m sorry.”

That was likely meant only for Orin to hear, but Tiiran knew Nikoly and could hear it even when he only saw Nikoly’s lips shape the words. Then Nikoly brought his gaze back up and Orin’s hand returned his throat.

They were close enough to share breath. Tiiran watched, mouth open, breathing with them.

“Fighting gets the blood up,” Orin said out of nowhere, to whom, Tiiran didn’t know, but it had the sound of an apology. As if it was the time to offer explanations, and the two of them did not stand amid a hall full of fallen guards. Orin stepped back. “You’re good, as I knew you would be. But if you act like that again, I’ll tell him.”

“You can’t,” Nikoly insisted urgently, head up, out of breath as he hadn’t been before. “Orin, please. You can’t. This isn’t who he thinks I am. He’ll be…”

“Worried, pup.” Orin lowered his arm and made a fist. “He’ll be worried.”

“That’s worse than furious,” Nikoly continued, but settled his face into the fierce mask he’d worn when he had first rushed in.

Then he spotted Tiiran.

Nikoly took a step forward, only to flinch and stop. His eyes were wide, his lips parted. He drew in a shaky breath before cleaning his swords in long, smooth strokes against his clothes and sheathing them at his back. He swallowed, still staring at Tiiran. Orin turned to see what had his attention.

“Tiiran,” Nikoly’s voice was again soft and familiar, “is that you?”

Tiiran scrambled to stand, bumping into the table and wobbling on his feet. Then he could barely breathe with arms hard around his chest and hands pressed to his shoulders. His feet left the floor, were returned to it, then left it again. His ribs creaked. He shuddered into Nikoly’s warmth and put his face to Orin’s chest, mildly annoyed to find mail and not the fabric of a gambeson, but not enough to move away even if he’d been able to.

Orin’s breath was in his hair and Nikoly was kissing his temple, over and over, and Tiiran thought them both fools, because he was wretched and dirty, but his throat was tight and he wasn’t cold anymore, so if they didn’t have sense, he wasn’t going to remind them.

He croaked when Orin’s hold on him tightened to the point of pain, but it was the cough, then fit of coughs, that followed that had Tiiran suddenly on his feet again and released from Orin’s strong embrace only to have them both stroking, prodding, and poking him. Nikoly gently turned Tiiran’s head toward him, brows knit in concern at whatever he saw, his fingertips ghosting over Tiiran’s eye.

Orin put a hand to Tiiran’s chest. “Breathe in, kitten, and hold it for me, as long as you can.”

“Orin,” Tiiran complained, voice raw and rasping, his protest weakened by another cough.

Then Orin was kissing Tiiran’s temple too, quick, light kisses there, and then at Tiiran’s good eye and even his nose. “Tiiran,” he rumbled, accompanying Nikoly who was doing much the same, as if all they could do was murmur his name and kiss him.

“What are you doing here?” Tiiran didn’t like Orin in metal armor that was harsh to the touch. And Nikoly… Tiiran turned to him. “Why are you dressed as an outguard? Why are you here? You should go.” He pulled them both to him, but before he could burrow between them again, more coughs burst from him.

Orin smoothed Tiiran’s hair from his face until the coughs subsided, tipping Tiiran’s head back so their eyes met.

“I’m filthy,” Tiiran informed him, eyes and face stinging.

“You’re alive,” Nikoly returned bluntly, nestling in with his nose to the side of Tiiran’s face, rubbing the tip gently back and forth over Tiiran’s unbruised cheekbone.

Orin brushed his thumb over the corner of Tiiran’s swollen eye. “What did they do to you? Tell us, and we’ll find them for you.” He angled his head up, just for a moment, to address the guards on the floor around them. “Try it. I dare you.”

“Nothing.” The stinging increased but Tiiran was too thirsty for tears. “They did nothing to me. That was the point. But you shouldn’t be here.” He tried to tug on Orin’s mail, then glanced to Nikoly with a frown. “That was my point. You should be gone. Why are you here?”

Nikoly looked up to Orin, then went back to adoring Tiiran’s cheek. “We’re here for you.” His hands were grasping at Tiiran but he kept his tone gentle. “We wouldn’t leave you, bee. Not ever.”

“A nonnegotiable condition of our involvement.” Orin’s tone was somehow vicious despite his tender touches to the side of Tiiran’s face. He focused on the palace guards again briefly, or so Tiiran assumed when Orin looked away from him and down the hall. He must have noticed the opened doors. “How did you come to be free?”

“They forgot about me, so I picked the lock.” Tiiran shut his eyes. When he reopened them, Nikoly and Orin were exchanging another look. Tiiran shook his head as if that would help them understand. “It was useful to be abandoned, but… but I wasn’t?” He stared at the two of them, his voice rising in his confusion. “You’re here for me ?”

Orin hauled him up into his arms, leaving Tiiran to stand on his boots, but Tiiran collapsed against him and didn’t try to move. It was beyond foolish for them to have come for him but he couldn’t make himself say that. “I named it, Orin.”

The palm at the back of his neck felt like Nikoly, worried and gentle.

“Listen to him,” Nikoly said, that shaken, angry quality returning to change his voice. “He’s not making sense. I want him out of this place.”

Orin hummed in agreement. “Shall you check those cells, or shall I?” Nikoly didn’t answer, but Orin went on, “Fast, but not careless!” so Nikoly must have decided to be the one to check them. Metal clattered and clanged against stone, Nikoly perhaps kicking swords and knives out of reach of the fallen palace guards. Then Orin said, “Leave these ones to the others. Let’s go.”

Then he hefted Tiiran up into his arms with Tiiran’s back supported and his head against Orin’s chest as if Tiiran had fainted. Tiiran wasn’t sure he hadn’t. Still, he glared. “I can walk, Orin.”

“Let me do this. Please.” Orin looked at Tiiran in a way that made Tiiran’s heart race. Tiiran could have argued despite that, but was distracted by Nikoly with his swords out and his ferocious mask on again.

“I don’t understand,” Tiiran murmured instead, his heart thudding against his ribs when Nikoly passed them without meeting Tiiran’s eyes.

“There is still some danger, and one of us must carry you, so one of us must protect you,” Orin explained, already moving to follow Nikoly as he led them out. “He will do that for you even while believing that you hate him, Tiiran. Don’t fail to honor that.”

Before Tiiran could demand to know what that meant, Orin called upward from the foot of stairwell. There was a friendly answer, but Nikoly still went ahead of Orin and Tiiran, weapons ready.

The next level was not as dark, with one window at the end of the corridor that had not been covered, so light and air streamed in. It was day, Tiiran realized with some surprise, and there were palace guards groaning on the ground their hands and ankles tied, and other palace guards also on the ground, unbound, making no sounds.

The doors to all rooms had been opened, and outguards, or possibly those dressed as outguards like Nikoly, were standing over the fallen palace guards. They looked to Orin when Orin appeared, although their attention did briefly dip to Tiiran.

“I don’t know how it’s going elsewhere, but it will help to keep these ones here and therefore unable to add to their numbers.” Orin spoke in the manner of someone in charge, so Tiiran asked him, “Is Captain Pash here?” and Orin and Nikoly went very still. Then Orin turned to one of the outguards and growled, “And find Captain Pash. He answers to me.”

Then Nikoly and Orin were walking again, up more stairs, past more outguards, before emerging into the fresh air and bright, bright sunlight.

Tiiran put his head down and squeezed his eyes shut when the light stabbed inside his skull.

“I have questions,” he croaked, tentatively cracking his eyes open at the sound of many voices and staring in astonishment at outguards and a crowd of well-dressed, if dirtied and dazed-looking, people rushing forward some distance ahead of them.

“I’m sure you do.” Orin pulled him up to nuzzle the top of his head. Tiiran was currently foul and smelly. Orin should know better.

Tiiran squinted but focused on Nikoly, who had one slender sword back in its sheath. His every step was graceful—and lethal, the way that the sworn guards of noble families moved. He hadn’t hidden that either. Tiiran had been oblivious, but told himself no one would have expected someone like that to copy books in the library.

“Hate him?” Tiiran finally remembered and asked about it loud enough to make Nikoly glance over his shoulder. He still did not meet Tiiran’s eye.

“Alidin!” Orin shouted to someone farther ahead of them, an outguard who twisted around to look until she found Orin. “Do you know what’s happening elsewhere with the others?”

Her answer, if she had one, was drowned out by a clap of thunder.

Some of the bedraggled nobles screamed, then looked up as Tiiran did, bewildered to see a clear, gloriously blue sky and not black storm clouds. Wild winds swept along their path, stirring the plants that had grown over the stone walkway.

They were in a section of the palace that must have been abandoned for some time for the paths to be so untended.

Every bird in the capital began to chirp or sing, and far, far away, there was the sound of a great number of voices calling out. Cheering, Tiiran thought, but that wasn’t how palace fighting went as far as he knew. Victorious nobles kept their cheering to themselves, or required it of an audience when officially crowned later. But never during the fighting.

If fighting was indeed happening.

“Orin,” Tiiran said again, whining but unable to stop, “tell me.”

“A group of us went in to find and free any prisoners,” Orin answered, pulling Tiiran tighter to him. “The older sections of the palace were the likely place they’d be, if still alive, and conveniently, also the easiest way to get into the palace without using the main gate. If, say, you grew up here and your parents were part of the old queen’s palace guard and knew about such things, you might use that information. Nikoly and I insisted that we be a part of this group.”

Nikoly glanced back again.

Orin took a deep breath, probably starting to get winded no matter how little Tiiran weighed. “We took the place easily, found many like those you see before you, but not you, Tiiran. Not a trace of you, nor any word from anyone who had seen you. We thought….” He stopped.

“Freed himself,” Nikoly remarked, halting when Orin did even though he hadn’t turned around. “Of course he did.”

“I didn’t think anyone would come for me.” Tiiran stared hard at the line of Nikoly’s back. “And I didn’t want you to. I wanted you safe.” He suppressed a cough so he could go on. “I thought you’d gone, Nikoly. When he said…. I hoped you’d gone.”

“When who said?” Nikoly turned at last. “Captain Pash?” Eyes bright, blood across his face, Nikoly worked his jaw and then slid his remaining sword into its place at his back before turning around again. “It’s my place to protect you, Tiiran. I swore to it.”

“Wild-heart,” Orin murmured. “He’ll need a firm hand.”

“You weren’t supposed to swear to me yet,” Tiiran growled at Nikoly, or attempted to, but his coughs would no longer be denied.

“He can’t go much farther like this,” Nikoly said, evidently to Orin, who began to move again, faster than before.

Tiiran groaned and closed his eyes when the fit finally subsided, half a dozen opinions gathered on his tongue that he infuriatingly could not say.

“I think we can rest here for a moment,” Orin remarked, the only calm one among them, although perhaps that was a lie too, and like Nikoly and Tiiran, Orin was a wrathful beast at heart. That must be so, for Orin had fires in his gaze that he revealed only with those he trusted. Nikoly and Orin burned inside and that’s why they were so warm, Tiiran decided, then was startled into opening his eyes when he was carefully placed onto a stone bench.

Water trickled somewhere behind him. The air buzzed and smelled of flowers. The sky remained piercingly blue. Tiiran was warm under the sun and Nikoly was kneeling before him and trying to wipe Tiiran’s face with a small, wet cloth.

“Shush.” Orin put a hand in Tiiran’s hair to tell him to be still, so Tiiran closed his mouth and merely watched Nikoly while Nikoly delicately wiped his face for him and then went to the bubbling fountain not far away to wet the cloth again, not once meeting Tiiran’s gaze.

The fountain had a niche next to it for fae offerings. They were in an ornamental garden, probably one also long overgrown due to royal neglect. Yet the path that had brought them to the center of the garden looked tidy enough, and the water must have been clean or Nikoly wouldn’t have touched it.

Orin pulled the ribbon from Tiiran’s braid with the utmost care, untangling the strands so gently Tiiran barely felt more than a tickle. Then he used the ribbon to secure the mess at the back of Tiiran’s neck, where Nikoly also began to clean him.

Nikoly would not look up. Tiiran finally grabbed his hand.

“You should tend to that.” He’d never heard himself speak so softly, but he didn’t mind. He put his fingertips to the sticky mess of blood on Nikoly’s cheek. Nikoly’s gaze at last met his. “You’re a Rossick.”

Nikoly flinched, but raised his chin before answering. “Yes.”

That was all he said. Tiiran leaned back to look up at Orin.

“I didn’t know,” upside-down Orin answered the unspoken question. “Not then, although I knew it was a possibility. No Astvan would act as he does.”

“Tiiran,” Nikoly said urgently, bringing Tiiran’s attention back to him. “Tiiran, please.”

“You’re an eyes-and-ears?” Tiiran was a bit dizzy. The wine, he supposed, or the heat of the sun after so much time in the cold. Or it was Orin behind him, keeping him upright, and Nikoly taking Tiiran’s hands to wash those as well.

“For my mentor,” Nikoly explained as he worked, darting uncertain glances to Tiiran’s face. “She wanted to know the situation in the palace and the capital. I observed and sent her reports. I didn’t do anything, Tiiran. Rossick do not scheme for the throne. I hid my name because if I was known as Rossick, people wouldn’t be as open and the palace guards might have watched me more closely. And then you .” He scrubbed around Tiiran’s nailbeds, then stopped with his head down. “You don’t like nobles and I wanted to be near you.”

“And endangered him by doing so,” Orin pointed out, but without ire, as if reminding Nikoly of something they’d already discussed.

Tiiran leaned back into Orin’s strength. “You’re friends with a Canamorra, Orin.” He licked his lips, slightly but wonderfully wet from Nikoly’s cleaning efforts. “ The Canamorra, Orin. And the outguards have been watching the situation more closely than you told me.” Tiiran looked up to Orin’s frowning face. “ Close friends with a Canamorra?” he guessed, but accepted Orin’s hands on his shoulders with a sigh. “We were all dangers, apparently. Captain Pash….” Tiiran considered Nikoly again. “I didn’t believe him at first. But it did make sense.”

“Captain Pash, Captain of the Palace Guard?” Orin inquired, deceptively mild, as he often was. “He questioned you himself?”

“Did he do this to you?” Nikoly pressed. “He’ll be found.”

Tiiran flapped a hand to dismiss Pash, who was far, far outside the realm of his concerns at the moment.

“I believed him, but I didn’t care.” That was what was important, even if it puzzled Nikoly. “I had to do what I could for you. So it wasn’t an accident.” He looked up. “It wasn’t my temper, Orin. I said what I said on purpose. You were in danger, not me. Both of you. And I wanted you safe.”

“Tiiran.” Orin regarded Tiiran evenly, but his hands were clenching and unclenching in Tiiran’s robe. “I’m sorry. If you were a better liar, I would have told you. But it wasn’t just me, so I couldn’t risk it. And though I guessed something of what Nikoly was up to, that also wasn’t for me to tell you. But reporting palace gossip is a long-held palace tradition, and if it was only that, there was no harm in it. There shouldn’t have been harm in it,” he corrected himself. “But with so many palace guards now taken care of, I imagine it no longer matters.”

Tiiran frowned, not following.

“I didn’t like lying to you,” Nikoly said as if he’d been prompted to, perhaps by something in Orin’s words. “I asked my mentor if I could tell you, but didn’t get an answer before… before you were taken.”

“At least the Rossick are not beat-of-fours,” Tiiran mused, then dropped his weight against Orin because he really was so very tired. “I have no experience with lovers, and I’m not good at lies.” Facts. “But you came for me.” Also a fact. “You came for me?” He sat up, swaying dizzily. “Did Niksa find you?”

“Niksa?” Nikoly shook his head. “Should he have?”

“When you were….” Orin paused, then started again. “Librarians again being arrested was apparently all the rest of the palace staff needed as a sign to flee. Some didn’t even wait to pack their belongings. So many of them left within hours that the Palace Guard ordered the gate closed and barred.”

Tiiran pulled in a breath, shocked despite himself. Staff could not be forced to stay any more than they could be forced to work.

Orin began to smooth his hair down. “Outguard inside were trapped here. Outguard outside were not allowed in. For a whole night and day, the gate was closed and the capital was in an uproar. And when we arrived to see for ourselves, we heard the rumors of an assistant dragged from the library.” He tugged on Tiiran’s hair, not hard but deliberate.

“People had to see that I didn’t go willingly,” Tiiran defended himself.

Orin bit off whatever he might have said and momentarily grew louder. “After I heard that , I found this one prowling around the gate, as close as he could get without them noticing, but obvious to anyone else.”

Nikoly’s expression hardened. “I told him if I was too late, I’d kill Piya myself.”

“Reckless,” Orin said, but fondly, unless Tiiran was imagining it. “Would have gotten himself killed, more like, no matter how good he is—and he is very good. Your pup is a deadly beauty. Trained well, but uncontrolled when upset.”

Nikoly flicked a sullen look up to Orin that quickly shifted to something uncertain, almost vulnerable. “But I did well?”

“Very well.” Orin put so much approval into his voice that Tiiran sank into it and it wasn’t even aimed at him. “You weren’t slowed by borrowed gear or being unable to get to your own swords.”

Tiiran startled to imagine swords and armor hidden in Nikoly’s room.

“I’m glad you didn’t let him get himself killed,” he offered quietly. “Especially for me.” Nikoly’s cheek was tacky with blood. He had the same vulnerable, fretful look in his eyes when Tiiran didn’t let him pull back. “You were reckless.”

Nikoly’s gaze fell. “I may scar.”

“Does that worry you?” Once again, Tiiran didn’t follow, but Orin would explain it to him later. “Others might swoon over your bravery and pretty battle scar, but I won’t forget seeing you bleed.”

“If we are speaking of recklessness, we could have a word about the things you were alleged to have said in all the stories, little spit-fire.” Orin tugged then petted Tiiran’s hair again, nudging Tiiran forward when Tiiran reached for Nikoly to take Nikoly’s face in his hands. The wet cloth was easily stolen from him, and then Tiiran did his best to wipe away what blood he could from his sunflower’s face without dirtying the wound. Orin showered Tiiran with some of his approval for that, nearly as warm as the sunlight even while pondering Tiiran’s crimes and future punishments. “On purpose or accident, whatever your reasons, I would like to hear and know which rumors are true, so I know what to do with you later.” But Orin sighed heavily. “Other things need to be done now, however. I should see if that cheering was what I think it was.”

His hands didn’t leave Tiiran. Tiiran shivered, heat finally sinking into his bones after days without it. They had come for him. They shouldn’t have, but they had, unconcerned with the potential costs.

“Treason, Orin?” he asked, even with warmth surging through him. Nikoly’s eyes had closed, but opened for that. “You both risked that for me? Or for whatever noble you helped go after Piya?” The wet cloth fell to the ground. Tiiran blinked several times. “You and all of the Outguard?” Orin had mentioned someone else several times, but there was no family that would attempt something this daring. No, there was one that would. That family was infamous, but didn’t have enough living members. All it did have was the loyalty and friendship of the Outguard. Tiiran gasped. “Are you plotting with the Canamorra ?”

“Who else would know this palace so well that they’d remember another way in? Or care about Jola?” Orin clucked his tongue. “Are you scandalized or upset that you didn’t know? He wanted his sister and his niece. We wanted you. Piya was in our way. The throne is for nobles to bicker over.”

“He will just take it, Orin,” Tiiran said, cross at the implication that he was sulking, even though he might want to later. He was so tired . And he had been lied to. If they hadn’t both committed treason for him, he would be more upset about it all. Maybe he still was, but he didn’t have the energy to yell. “He is Canamorra, and if he killed Piya, the crown is in his possession, and letting go of it risks retaliation. You know that, but are trying to soften it for me. I spent,” Tiiran dizzily tried to track the time he’d lost, then shook his head, “ days with nothing but stone, rats, and empty bowls of porridge. Don’t lie to me again.”

“Fierce kitten.” Orin exhaled, long and sad. “I likely would have been at his side for this if not for you. I wasn’t lying. I was focused on you. But you might need time to trust me again, if you choose to trust me.”

“Lump.” Not Tiiran’s strongest insult, but he was bone-weary and sore. “We commit treason for each other, then.”

“It’s only treason if the ruler was legitimate,” Nikoly murmured against Tiiran’s palm.

“You sound like Tiiran.” Orin also seemed weary. He had looked weary too, now that Tiiran thought about it. Both of them did. They loved to lecture him about eating, and rest, and taking care, and yet they were far worse than Tiiran was.

There was probably a new king. That… did not seem like Tiiran’s business, at the moment. There’d been so many. One more was nothing to get in a state about.

“I’ll leave the fretting to other people,” he decided, his hands falling to his sides, Orin the only thing holding him up.

“Tiiran?” Nikoly leaned over him to peer into his eyes.

Tiiran scowled and tried to move away but Orin wouldn’t let him.

“Your skin is dry and your lips are chapped,” Nikoly observed, louder and noticeably concerned.

“Been a while since the last porridge,” Tiiran informed him. “Stole some wine before I found you.”

It was unsettling how often and easily Orin kept picking him up to move him places. But the water fountain was of sparkling white stone, and the water clear and clean, and Orin continued to hold him steady so he could drink.

“There won’t be food until the kitchen staff settles down,” Nikoly continued to worry aloud. “Some might have left to never return, or might not come back for a day or two. I can go into the capital to get food if things have calmed. Or I can scout ahead, and if things haven’t calmed, we can leave the palace together.”

“We’ll take whatever the kitchen has now,” Orin decreed, pulling Tiiran back after only a few sips. “Patience, love.” He was back to kissing Tiiran’s temple and calling him that , which was a far cry from kitten —or perhaps it was the same in poetry-speak. “Wet your lips and swallow, then let your stomach calm before you have more.”

“I had wine without issue,” Tiiran complained, curling against Orin with a sigh. “Must you be so cautious with me always?”

“Here.” A rose in bloom was thrust before Tiiran’s face.

Tiiran looked beyond it to Nikoly, unable to even form a question.

Nikoly glanced to Orin, seemingly embarrassed. “In those books about the herbs for dyes, there was other information about plants. You can eat roses, although not the white at the bottom of the petals unless you like bitter tastes.”

Tiiran stared at him, and then the rose, before finally noticing that the garden they were in did not appear even slightly neglected. The stone walls, benches, and fountain were scrubbed and clean. The greenery was trimmed back. And the walls themselves were covered in trellises and countless roses in all shades of red, pink, white, yellow, and pale purple, so many that it might as well have been summer and not spring.

“ Oh .” Orin sounded as if he was just noticing as well. “I don’t believe these are ordinary roses.”

They were certainly larger than any Tiiran had ever seen.

“You can eat them?” Tiiran considered the bloom before him. Nikoly had picked one of dark red from directly above the bench.

“A practical use,” Orin remarked, taking the rose from Nikoly and making sure Tiiran held it. “They’re not only pretty. Rather like you.” Flattering schemer. Treasonous bear. Master of Spankings and Roses, with a carefully hidden ferocious heart, the same as the rest of them. Tiiran was so tired. Orin tutted at him. “Eat. We’ll get you something better as soon as we can.”

“I want a bath,” Tiiran decided. “And the library…”

“We’ll check on that too,” Nikoly assured him. “Eat, bee.”

“Doing it again.” Tiiran was no longer complaining. “That’s why I did it.” They seemed confused. Tiiran plucked some petals and put them in his mouth so he could find the strength to explain himself.

It was like having a mouth full of perfume, but also like chewing a soft leaf.

He chewed, very, very slowly, then swallowed. Orin permitted him another drink of water.

Tiiran addressed them both with rose-water on his tongue. “You make me feel loved.” He sighed for their stillness and warm, warm gazes. “It doesn’t matter if you are only fond of me or that you lied. I believed him, but I didn’t care. You made me feel loved. No one has ever done that, not even Lanth. Just the two of you. I had to care for you. I don’t have swords or Canamorra friends. I am not canny. I don’t know how to make things pretty on a plate, or how to care for someone who is ill. I have only a muck-spout of a mouth to declare my feelings. So that is what I used.”

His breath smelled of roses now, and perhaps wine.

“So you decided to die for us?” Nikoly’s voice cracked. “Tiiran.”

“You killed for me.” Tiiran put another petal on his tongue, uncertain if he liked the taste or not. “Both of you. For all his wildness, Nikoly perhaps did it cleaner than you did, Orin, or am I wrong?” He looked up at Orin, who was trying to bank his fires. Tiiran shook his head and held up a petal for him. “And you are not sorry.” If Tiiran felt anything about that, he felt it distantly. “You came for me,” he said again, pleased when Orin ate the petal directly from his hand. “And you helped Nikoly stay alive, and you carried me all this way.”

He dragged his gaze from Orin to Nikoly. “Thank you for understanding him.” Tiiran offered Nikoly a petal as well, sighing when it was accepted. “You came for me, and you also risked dying for me. Do I need to name it for you, or are you pretending that we are not all the same?”

Orin’s hands tightened on his waist.

Nikoly leapt forward and was kissing Tiiran in the next moment, soft and fierce kisses all over his face. “I am yours. I am yours.” He pulled Tiiran’s hand to his throat, rose and all. “I won’t wait for her permission. You are my bee.”

Orin pulled Tiiran to him, encircling Nikoly as well as if perhaps Orin wanted to help Tiiran calm him. But, to Tiiran’s mind, there was no better place to be than in Orin’s embrace, and he suspected Nikoly would agree, even if it would worry Nikoly to admit it. Orin’s arms were a snuggery beyond compare, a shelter of brick and iron, but giving where necessary. Tiiran didn’t even mind the mail anymore.

Orin kissed the top of Tiiran’s head and spoke hoarsely. “I will bathe you myself, little cat, and watch you eat more strictly than even your Lyli would. Shh now.” He was petting Tiiran again, perhaps because Tiiran was trembling. “You did so well on your own. You saved us and got free. Let us do this for you. You’re worn through, and we’re here. Let us have this.”

“Did I do it?” Tiiran asked him without a single objection to being picked up once again. The palace complex was vast and Tiiran wasn’t sure he had the strength to cross it. “Did I make you feel it too?” he went on, when they both still didn’t seem to understand. “Did I make you feel the love I have for you?” he elaborated, slightly vexed, and glanced up to Orin’s stunned face. “I named it as you asked me to.”

“So you did,” Orin agreed after a few humming moments. “Good, kitten. Exactly right. And yes, yes you did. While also scaring me half to death.”

“Then we’re even,” Tiiran huffed at him, distracted a moment later by Nikoly handing him several more roses.

Nikoly drew one of his swords. The blood on his face had hidden how tired he was from Tiiran at first but it was obvious now. Tiiran gave him one rose back.

“Eat,” Tiiran ordered as firmly as he could. “If you are mine, then eat. I love you.”

He took a petal from one of the others and held it up for Orin, who didn’t have his hands free and would need to be fed. Orin bent his head to take it.

“I can be this soft at least,” Tiiran informed him, fingertips lingering on Orin’s lips once the petal was gone.

If the fae had something to say about that, they kept it to themselves.