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Tiiran swallowed a bite of orange so fast it hurt. It didn’t stop him from snapping. “Sorry I was too busy scrubbing kitchen walls as a child to learn a bunch of ancient history.” Or to learn to read and write, or do math, or anything else many more fortunate children learned to do.

Orin lifted his hands in a gesture of innocence. “Mercy, kitten. You know I don’t judge you for that, and I’m sorry anyone here ever said an unkind word about it. They should have been proud of you for learning as fast as you did.” He paused, his voice hardening for one small moment. “You do know that? That they should have been proud of you?”

Tiiran lowered his head, his body half turned away from Orin and oranges and books while they were all too much. He rubbed the back of his neck and then his aching skull where his hair was beginning to pull at the pin, and finally huffed when Orin said, “Kitten?” so tentatively that it made his heart beat faster.

“You can’t just….” But Orin could, and Tiiran even liked it, though he didn’t fully believe it. “Silver-tongue, putting the bards to shame.”

Orin sounded relieved, as if even a weak snarl made him happy. “The fae certainly gifted you with teeth for biting.”

“Fuck the fae.” Tiiran didn’t bother to try to hold it back. Orin twitched at the words but didn’t remark on them. He was used to Tiiran’s attitude about the fae and too focused on stripping Tiiran down to nothing but skin and bones to waste time chiding him for the remark.

“You give so much to this place,” Orin continued. “For her, maybe. And for you. You can complain all you like, and worry that they don’t respect you, but you love the library. I would even say it loves you back. How could it not?” Tiiran pulled in a breath. Orin surely noticed, although he didn’t remark on that either. “But you’re exhausted and tense, and the palace is—never mind that now. You’re too busy to even eat. To rest? To have fun? Too much more of this and I’ll do something about it, Tiiran, and unlike so many others, I am not afraid of your claws.”

“Hmph.” Tiiran would share his thoughts on that when he could control the shivers down his back. Teasing words, he told himself firmly. Orin was worried and that was what he did instead of barking and snapping like Tiiran did. “You’re busier than usual too. Back and forth from wherever to the capital again and again. You’re here sometimes once a fortnight now instead of once a month.”

“Tired of my company?” Orin wondered.

Tiiran had turned sharply to face him before he could form more of a denial than strongly shaking his head. Orin’s obvious pleasure was scorching.

“You have only to say so.” He could speak so mildly while Tiiran struggled to breathe because he must not know what he was doing to Tiiran. A mercy, but Tiiran wasn’t going to thank anyone for it.

“I’m not.” Tiiran shook his head again and ignored the frog in his throat. “I wouldn’t.”

Orin continued to press. “But I’m here too much?”

“No!” Tiiran cringed at his volume and forced himself to act like the person Orin thought he was. “It’s not that it’s… changes.” He waved around them with both hands, then frowned. “Things are strange lately. It’s… it makes me feel….” He tapped his chest as if that would show Orin the tangle behind his ribs.

“Ah.” Orin’s worried, warm expression didn’t change. “Anxious?” he guessed. Tiiran nodded in gratitude. “We all are, these days. Don’t be ashamed of that, or be afraid to talk about it—at least, with those you trust. If that’s me, I’m honored. Tiiran,” he stopped, thick brows drawn together to frown over Tiiran’s head before he refocused on him. “Does no one in the library discuss what happened here?” His tone implied he was choosing his words with care. He frowned again when Tiiran’s breath caught. “If anyone had been through what you and the others have been through, they’d be anxious. Even with a stable ruler, you’d be entitled to some anxiety. Is it the new assistants? They weren’t here so they don’t understand?”

Tiiran shut his eyes, already shaking his head to dispel the memory of palace guards storming in, the shouting, their hands on Lanth’s bent body as they’d led her out, Po and Amie holding Tiiran back with Po’s hand clamped over his mouth, Mattin by himself, shaking.

“Just… Just be careful, Orin.” It escaped him in a whisper. “Please.”

“I’m glad every day Tye is dead.” Orin growled, fearsome even when quiet. “Even if it led to where we are now. Look at me, spit-fire. So I know you’re all right, look at me.”

Tiiran opened his eyes. “They used to call Lanth that when she was younger.”

“I know,” Orin said warmly. “There you are, looking much better. Finish your oranges. You have to take care of yourself too, if you and I are exchanging promises. I must insist.”

Tiiran made a noise in his throat, then coughed to banish it and devoured several pieces of orange in a row to give himself something else to focus on that wasn’t the hint of a tease in Orin’s voice.

“What would that mean exactly?” he wondered, failing to speak louder than a whisper. “Eating more?”

Orin nodded. “And staying quiet as much as you can. You never know who is listening, or who might try for the throne next, or who they are related to.”

Orin had noticed the banners. Of course he had. Anyone would except possibly Mattin for at least a few more days. But Orin had thought about what they meant and what Tiiran might feel about them.

“I will avoid dealing with any beat-of-fours as much as I can.” Tiiran made the offer, the promise , slowly. “And, as for the rest, I might… have some help there now.” Two peeled oranges and a note with his name on it should not make his face feel so hot or tighten the tangle inside him. He put a hand to his chest but carried on. “Those banners, Orin.”

“I know.” Soft and sad. “They don’t give the message I think he intends, if that eases your worries any.”

Tiiran didn’t like the sound of that. But if Piya’s reign was in trouble, he didn’t want to think about it now.

“I’m not going to do anything as foolish as Lanth did.” That, Tiiran could promise, although his voice was rough. “It was stupid of her to do what she did. We have copies everywhere. She could have changed the records in one copy to appease one ruler who didn’t know any better and left the rest and waited for the attention to die away. She could have…. Tye’s reign was temporary. All rulers are temporary now. Lanth was an idiot to think the records mattered more than—” He stopped himself there.

“You still miss your friend,” Orin gently, and correctly, interpreted Tiiran’s anger. “She was put in a position to keep to what she believed in or save her life. That’s no easy choice. I see why you admired her so.”

They’d hauled her outside, unconcerned with her years, her title, or her dignity. Unconcerned with her life . Taken her away to force her to the block, and then….

“Fuck off, Orin.” The words stuck in Tiiran’s throat and for a dizzying moment, Tiiran imagined how they would sound if he leapt forward and hid his face against Orin’s shoulder, if Orin would put his arms around him the way others did with friends and family and lovers. “Stupid.” Clearing his throat was a waste of time. “I wouldn’t ever do that.”

“Kitten,” Orin was still gentle, “you’d risk your head over a noble wasting some of the library’s ink.”

“We have to make it ourselves!” Tiiran immediately complained. “The supplies for it cost money! Our budget hasn’t increased in….” He trailed off at Orin’s raised eyebrow. “I don’t lose my temper over everything,” he defended himself, then worked his jaw while he tried not to argue more and prove Orin’s point. “Only some things.”

“I have noticed.” A small smile was Tiiran’s only warning. “I’m a little sad that you don’t lose your temper for me much anymore, but maybe I’ve just gotten better at distracting you.”

Tiiran put his hands to his cheeks, belatedly realizing they were sticky with orange. “Fuck you,” he said, very much afraid he was smiling.

Orin put hand over his knee, curling his fingers into a fist, then sighing and relaxing his hand. “I think Lanth would be proud of you, running the place without much help from anyone. I certainly am. Though perhaps not of how you’ve been treating yourself. Is that going to be your entire dinner?”

“Back on that again?” Tiiran muttered, pleased at the change in subject and how Orin’s attention wouldn’t linger on how Tiiran shifted in his seat and had to look away from the feeling in Orin’s words. “It’s my dinner unless I go to the kitchens. Which I don’t feel like doing right now. I have tasks that need to be done,” he insisted stubbornly. “I do.”

“Hmm.” Orin most likely did not look away. What he found so appealing about Tiiran blushing and squirming, Tiiran would never know. “Did you set those orange slices aside earlier to have tonight, or did you find them somewhere? Peeling oranges and neatly sectioning them is not a Tiiran activity,” he explained when Tiiran scoffed. “Tiiran generally does not take time for himself.”

Talking about Tiiran as though he wasn’t there earned him a sideways glare. Orin was unbothered.

Tiiran finally gave in with a noisy sigh. “Someone set them aside for me,” he admitted. “Thinks he knows what’s best for me when he’s barely been here a year,” he added in a low growl. “He’s only five and twenty.” Tiiran continued to grumble when Orin was silent. “Perhaps six and twenty,” Tiiran allowed. “And wealthy, clearly, so he’s never had to do much. Not someone in a position to know that much more than me.” Except for all those visits to the capital, and his journey to the capital from wherever he came from. Perhaps Nikoly was a bit more worldly than Tiiran, but that was hardly important in this matter.

“Yet someone who knows you well.” Orin’s murmur drew Tiiran’s gaze to him. Orin regarded him intently. “I’ll tell you what, hissing library cat, I will go to the kitchens to fetch myself something, and I’ll return here with something for you before I head to the barracks for the night.”

“You’re leaving already?” Tiiran scowled to cover his embarrassment at his obvious disappointment.

Orin’s enormous chest moved as if with another sigh, though Tiiran didn’t hear one.

“I’ve business around the capital yet, so I’ll be in and out of the palace for a while before I’m off again… if that’s what’s worrying you.” Someday, Tiiran was going to ask how Orin could turn his voice into a blanket like that. That same someday when he’d throw himself on top of Orin to find out if Orin felt as warm and solid as he looked. Which was to say: never. “If that is your way of asking if you’ll see me tomorrow,” Orin went on, oblivious to how Tiiran was now imagining himself splayed out on top of Orin with Orin’s arms around him, “you know you can always ask. I won’t make fun of you for it. Not for that, anyway. And only a little for anything else.”

Another shiver went down Tiiran’s back, as though he’d walked into a well-heated room from someplace cold. Orin could have been teasing him, but if he was, it was the Orin sort of teasing. The kind that meant the joke was shared between them. It made Tiiran want to risk another question, something he knew most people wouldn’t have hesitated over.

“I like to see you.” That he could admit to. “But I know if something does happen here, at least you’ll likely be out on an assignment somewhere. So it’s all right when you go.” That’s what he told himself.

“I will, very likely.” Orin curled that hand again, but left his fingers pressed into his broad thigh when he unfurled his fist. It made him look like someone trying to hold on. Hold on to what, was the question. Perhaps he was anxious about it all too. “Has that also worried you, little cat?”

Tiiran kept his gaze lowered until he realized where he seemed to be staring. His gaze flew back up. “You don’t need to cross the palace twice for me. I can get myself something before the kitchens close.”

“Can, but won’t,” Orin said after a pause. But he finally took his hand from his leg to cross his arms over his chest. “That other one is here with you, yes? Somewhere in this place, there is the beat-of-four version of you also working too hard and not eating?”

“He’s not a beat-of-four,” Tiiran said quickly, thinking of Nikoly, then realizing Orin hadn’t been speaking about him. “Oh, you mean Mattin. I gave him some histories today,” he confessed, the shock he hadn’t let show in front of Nikoly in his voice now. “I gave him Master Keeper duties.” Presumptuous, and a good reason to punish both of them if they’d had any Master Keepers around to care. “He won’t look up from his histories unless forced.” Mattin probably knew how the library had been founded, with his noble’s education. Tiiran frowned briefly at the realization. “Does the founding of the library matter?”

Orin seemed bemused but allowed the question. “I’m surprised Lanth didn’t have you memorize it. When I come back, maybe I’ll tell you what I remember of it unless you’ve researched it on your own by then.” Orin stopped to quietly cluck his tongue. “Or maybe I shouldn’t. If anyone is listening, some noble might object to the story. I can see no reason to, but then, I’m not noble.”

By someone , he meant eyes-and-ears again. Eyes-and-ears was a term for people who collected gossip and passed it on to whichever noble paid them to. From what Tiiran had told, the practice used to purely be about rumors of love affairs and things of that nature. A way for nobles to one up each other at court. Now, gossip could be a matter of survival, and the act of listening was not enough. Some eyes-and-ears were allegedly more active in collecting or even creating rumors.

Tiiran would have said everyone was jumping at shadows, but if Orin was worried, then the world outside the library must be tense indeed.

“You should look it up yourself,” Orin finally decided. “There are probably better versions of it here anyway. You can describe those to me someday, tell me everything you think is wrong with them.”

Someday , Orin said. Meaning he thought they would still talk with each other far in the future.

Tiiran licked his lips and tried not to sit up too eagerly. “I’m not a historian. Not even remotely.” That was a job mostly left to beat-of-fours with time and money.

“No,” Orin agreed, “but you respect the knowledge, and you’re pretty good at cutting to the heart of the matter, which so many old, flowery historical accounts are not.”

Tiiran surprised himself with a small laugh. “I’m not patient like you.”

Orin smiled despite how his eyes seemed to grow darker. “I can be patient, yes.”

Tiiran took one of the last slices and ignored how his hand trembled. “Mattin would say the flowers in the historical accounts are telling us something as well.” He imagined Nikoly’s flower-and-vine-decorated fingers as he’d split open these oranges for Tiiran, and put the slice in his mouth to ease its sudden dryness.

Orin seemed intrigued. “I imagine they are, even if that is only what the author’s politics were at the time. Still, paying attention to politics is perhaps wise, especially for those within the palace walls. Some of those flowers might be riddles about the truth.” That was a warning for Tiiran, who glowered because he disliked riddles. Things should be straightforward. People should be straightforward.

“I suppose that’s advisable,” he allowed despite his annoyance. “But even in the historical records?”

“The past often affects the present,” Orin answered with a shrug. “How many noble houses have tried for the throne in the past decades because of a claim on it through the long-dead family members?”

Tiiran mirrored Orin by crossing his arms. “Do outguards always think like this?” If the truth had been concealed in flowers and codes in the Outguard journals, he’d failed to see it.

“Not all of them. Not even most of them.” Orin followed that with a funny, shortened sigh, then tossed his head. “It doesn’t mean they aren’t sharp in their own ways. Our job is to notice things and report what we see. Sometimes nobles don’t like what we have to say, so we have to be careful.”

Tiiran obviously had to reread some journals and pay closer attention. “I need to look for what information is on the page and what isn’t ? And how it’s being presented?”

“Clever kitten. Yes, exactly.” Orin praised him and chided him all at once. “Finish your oranges.”

“Hmm.” Tiiran quite deliberately left the last two slices on the plate before meeting Orin’s hungry stare. Popular stories of the Outguard were comical, or lusty, or fanciful tales of adventure, or about one member of the Outguard in particular—but the presence of a beat-of-four in the Outguard would always get attention because it had only happened once and likely never would again. But if the work of outguards was truly that clever and complicated, then it made more sense for a Canamorra to have chosen that life. Tiiran didn’t blame the Canamorra entirely the way some did—but a reputation for being cunning and ruthless didn’t come from nowhere.

“Why do some of the nobles act as if the outguards are purely brawny idiots?” Tiiran asked and then answered his own question. “Ah, because they don’t like you telling the truth and it makes it easier to dismiss you. And because some of you pretend to be less than clever?”

“It’s not worth challenging them on it,” Orin answered without admitting that other outguards did any pretending. “Accidents happen on the road.”

A riddle, but Tiiran understood this one. His spine went straight as he pointed at Orin threateningly. “You’ll be careful.”

He did not ask.

“Another snarl,” Orin observed, deceptively mild. “I have no intention of having any accidents anytime soon. I’ve other things I’d much rather do, if I am ever so blessed as to be allowed to.”

“Like what?” Tiiran pressed. Orin had been around capital more often lately. “Wait, is something going on?”

Orin’s fierce frown took him aback. “Don’t be too smart, Tiiran. Librarians can have accidents too. If I learned of you having one, you’d be furious with me for what I’d do.” Orin smiled but once again it did not reach his eyes. “Keep that in mind, if it’s the only thing that will make you tread lightly.”

He broke their stare while Tiiran was floundering, then rose to his feet. “And now, before my exhaustion makes me scare you even more, I should go.”

Tiiran shook his head, more annoyed than scared, but Orin ignored this, gathering his books beneath his arm and pushing a piece of paper across the table toward Tiiran. It would be the list of what he was taking, so the assistants wouldn’t look for them.

“You’re too thoughtful.” Tiiran nearly made it a curse.

Orin smiled with real warmth and waved Tiiran down when he tried to rise. “Rest and enjoy your rest.” As if those were his parting words, he turned toward the way out. But then he didn’t move, only clearing his throat to speak. “You know, some might enjoy having two people fetching meals for them.”

He gave Tiiran a glimpse of his face and the gleam in his eyes, and spoke as if the situation was comparable to flirtation, when obviously it wasn’t. Tiiran wasn’t Mattin, who had once had two assistants vying for his attention with sweets and pastries.

“ You’re being nice,” Tiiran complained, too embarrassed to make it forceful. “ He thinks I can’t take care of myself. Barely been here a year, spends half his time in the capital letting everyone fall all over him and his stupid, handsome face, but he thinks I don’t know how to do anything.” He made his points to Orin, then finished with an unhappy scoff. “I could peel myself an orange if I wanted to.”

Orin turned away. “I’ll have to thank him for making sure you’re taken care of.”

Tiiran got to his feet despite Orin wanting him to rest. “I can…”

Orin cut him off by agreeing with him. “You can. But you often don’t.” He twisted to give Tiiran another study. “You’re red in the face despite all your hissing.” Orin’s lips twitched, but it didn’t seem like he fought a smile. “I’ll leave your food at the front if you’re not around. Should I bring enough for your friend?”

“He’s not my friend.” Nikoly would probably be amazed if anyone suggested it.

Orin raised both eyebrows. “For Mattin,” he explained slowly, incidentally showing he’d known the name all along and had been gently teasing Tiiran again. “Not for your handsome not-friend… unless you’d like me to feed him too.”

“Fuck off.” The thought of Orin bringing food for Nikoly, seeing him and undoubtedly finding him as handsome as everyone else did, made Tiiran want to do something. He didn’t know what. But something . He finally took an orange slice but tossed it in his mouth to chew it viciously instead of throwing it at Orin. Orin would have just caught it anyway.

“Snarling again.” Orin was subtly pleased. “I haven’t lost my touch. The front desk,” he reminded Tiiran. “Don’t forget.”

He was two steps away before Tiiran was calling to him. “ Will I see you tomorrow?”

He watched Orin’s great shoulders move; with a sigh or a silent laugh, he couldn’t have said. But Orin turned to give Tiiran a look that banished every worry, untangled his nerves, and made him think, strangely, that instead of lying on top of Orin, Orin could scoop him up and Tiiran wouldn’t even mind how small it would make him feel.

Orin swept a long, long look over him while Tiiran fought not to shiver. Then, at last, Orin said, “I’ll do my best, but it depends on if something comes up.”

Tiiran frowned but understood. “Much like here. But you will take care?”

“When I come back,” Orin said firmly, “we will discuss the library’s founding. So you’d better eat and rest and give yourself time to research it. Say you will, kitten.”

The mousers had fewer nicknames than Tiiran did.

He grew hotter at the thought.

“I have no family and no masters, Elorin Vahti,” he answered sternly, but then nodded. “I will also do my best.”

Orin’s long-suffering sigh and pleased, parting smile carried Tiiran through his walk around the upper levels to make sure lamps and fires were completely out and all tables and chairs were in their proper places.

Then he went downstairs and sat at one of the copying tables with Mattin beside him, both of them reading while eating cooled soup with a whole basket of bread and butter shared between them. After that, he ushered Mattin out and locked up, and went to his room to prepare for sleep at a somewhat reasonable hour.

Alone in his bed with the candle blown out, he let himself be confused and hot and hungry. He wondered how Orin’s hands would feel on his back and if it would feel as good as when Orin was proud of him. If it would be better. If anything could be. And what Orin would do if Tiiran behaved as Orin wanted him to—if Tiiran even could.

He didn’t want to disappoint Orin, but Tiiran wasn’t how Orin thought he was. He wasn’t Mattin with two suitors. He was Tiiran, without even one.

The scent of oranges lingered. Nikoly had removed even the stringy bits from every slice. It made no sense for him to do that when just peeling one was an enormous ask. The scent of oranges would have lingered on Nikoly’s fingers too, Tiiran realized, and then could not let the thought go.

With his eyes closed, it was almost as if someone else touched him. Another’s hands, prettily decorated, but Orin’s voice, One of these days, kitten , over my knee you go , until Tiiran had to clamp his jaw closed tightly to keep from shouting or crying out although he was alone in the room.