Page 5

Tiiran had some idea of what Orin had meant, of course; library assistants were not shy. He could even ask someone about it and they would undoubtedly fill him in on their personal experience—which was precisely why Tiiran didn’t speak a word of it the next day despite how it stayed on his mind.

He’d skipped bringing oranges into the library with the rest of the food, but someone else did it for him: a large serving bowl full of fruit from the palace orchards and orangery that was apparently a gift from one of their lovers. Tiiran ignored the bowl to spare himself the blushes.

He should have been thinking of those banners, or the library’s founding, or what tasks he would need to get done quickly in order to give him time to get to researching. The events of yesterday had demonstrated that Tiiran had been adding to the problems by trying to attend to everything himself, even the tasks he was not particularly suited to. If he would never assign Mattin to dust unless there was no one else available, then he should not have himself speaking with library visitors except in cases of those who would not be reasonable. Tiiran told himself that several times, and then, when he had to go try to save Niksa’s last binding so it wouldn’t have to be redone, asked Nikoly to stand at the desk while he worked on his copies.

Nikoly’s instant acceptance of the task, the dip of his chin and pleased smile, nearly distracted Tiiran from his reply of, “If you wish it, honeybee.” But if Orin was going to go around calling him kitten , then Tiiran supposed honeybee wasn’t too different. At least no one else had tried it, Po and Niksa shooting wide-eyed looks Tiiran’s way when it had happened as if they couldn’t believe Nikoly would dare.

Tiiran thanked Nikoly politely for agreeing to work from the desk, then wound up in the garden in too much sunlight, squinting down at the style guide from the day before. He was nearly done with what he thought was an attempt at a glossary of terms, although none of them were defined, when he was dragged back inside and up the stairs by several agitated assistants to be shown a shelf that had given way.

Tiiran’s thoughts were on the cost of the damage even before he and Po dug out several heavy treatises on the subject of the land management of marshlands and salt-water inlets and carried them off to be inspected somewhere safer.

The shelf, located at the top of a much larger bookcase, looked to have sustained some sort of water damage at some point in its existence, perhaps a leak from a spill on the floor above, or the shelf had once been located somewhere else and gotten wet some other way. Someone had undoubtedly cleaned the water up once it had been noticed, but the wood might have damp for some time first. And in a dark, cool top corner, no sun had reached it to help keep out any rot.

The heavy books had fallen to the shelf below, but it was the broken shelf itself that caused all the peripheral damage—splinters and dust, possibly full of rot or mold, which meant all the books nearby had to be removed to be cleaned and checked.

The missing shelf was, of course, also a problem. Books would have to be reorganized. The rest of the bookcase seemed fine, though a palace builder would say for certain… if they could ever get a palace builder in to look at it. A Master Keeper would have to sign off on that and the cost of the repair, if repair was possible.

Once again, Toak was nowhere to be found. Tiiran swore about it—loudly—because his promise to Orin had been about beat-of-fours, not absentee Record Keepers, and pulled a table from one of the other nooks on that floor so he could stack all the other books on it, leaving the bookcase totally empty for the builder’s inspection, should it ever come. He swore as he swept up afterward too and then as he dusted the nearby shelves to remove any stray debris.

Mattin joined him then, large eyes full of woe as he took in the sight. “The second shelf might need to be replaced as well,” he decided aloud as though he could see up there without a ladder. But he was likely right.

Tiiran swore about that too, and, when he was finally back downstairs, went into that fart-sucker Toak’s office to remove nearly everything waiting on Toak’s desk and hand it to Mattin. The others, Mattin included, watched Tiiran march back and forth with paperwork in his arms and didn’t say a word. Even Niksa seemed too shocked to frown.

Then, his middle swirling with unpleasant feelings, Tiiran sat down at one of the front tables with Mattin’s copying work, writing until his wrist began to ache though he knew better.

Nikoly didn’t even wait for the end of the day to prod Tiiran into eating again. The tangy scent of citrus filled the air and then a small plate of fanned-out tiny orange slices was placed in front of him. A cup of spring tea followed it, rich with cream and honey.

Startled away from his fury, Tiiran blinked several times before sitting up, his back popping as he did.

Nikoly was already at the central desk, hard at work.

“Thank you, Nikoly,” Tiiran told him anyway, some of his unhappiness evaporating when Nikoly bowed his head in acknowledgment. He was prettier than the orange slices, even at a distance.

Po was staring when Tiiran faced forward again. When she saw him looking, she raised her eyebrows. Tiiran huffed to let her know she could get her own tea and then moved his copy work so he wouldn’t get any juice on it as he ate.

Even a small snack seemed to be enough to prompt Tiiran’s body to eat more, as if failing to eat throughout the day made his stomach forget to ask for food, but a bit of fruit roused it to furious hunger. Po chased him out in the early evening, possibly having heard his stomach growling, but even so, he didn’t see why she was so insistent about him leaving.

She didn’t stop him from borrowing a bag to carry some work back to his room with him, only rolled her eyes when he pulled it over his shoulder and telling him, “Out! Out with you!” as if he was one of the mousers who had gotten into a cabinet it shouldn’t have.

But he forgave her the moment he set foot outside of the library’s doors and saw Orin.

The moon had risen, but Orin was visible because one of the braziers near the doors had actually been lit—probably by Orin, since the two palace guards at the middle of the corridor had never bothered during to any of their shifts. Without it, Tiiran might not have noticed Orin at all because Orin was in the dark traveling clothes of the Outguard.

Tiiran was in front of him before he could blink. “You’re going? Tonight?”

He’d had no time to prepare for meeting Orin, so his skin went cold-hot, his stomach flipped, and even though he’d spoken, his thoughts were too fast for him to add anything else.

Orin looked him over and pulled in a long, deep breath. “More oranges?”

“Does that matter?” Tiiran swept another look over him, his attention pausing on the hilt of the sword, then the heavy pack. “You’re leaving.” He was getting repetitive.

“Arriving earlier means leaving later.” Orin bent his head a little, making it easier for Tiiran to stare up. “I’ll be traveling mostly by river.” He said that clearly enough for the two palace guards to hear. Maybe he didn’t want to be suspected of whispering to hide something.

“Far?” The Kilinsean was long enough to nearly bisect the country and no single noble family was allowed to claim it—their docks alongside it, but not the river itself. But plenty of nobles in the past decades had made up excuses to halt river traffic near their lands. That most probably did it for their own protection would have been fine enough, even though it also stopped trade. But a few did not. And some did not let anyone pass they did not trust, which might include outguards. Tiiran was not pleased. “I won’t ask where you’re going. But, Orin…”

“I’ll be careful,” Orin assured him, smiling. In better light, his gaze probably would have made Tiiran want to do something reckless like wrap his arms around him to embrace him before he left.

Tiiran forced his shoulders back, adjusting his bag of books until they reminded him of Po shoving him out the door and how, if not for that, he wouldn’t have seen Orin.

“Why were you out here? Why not come in?” He waved to indicate the giant sword. “That wouldn’t bother anyone.” But he glanced over to the two palace guards after he said it. “I thought… I thought that didn’t matter for outguards.”

“It’s early yet, and I knew you’d be working. I didn’t want to bother you if I couldn’t stay to talk.” Orin said the strangest things, and continued to say them even after Tiiran quickly shook his head to let him know he was never a bother. “But I thought you might be angry if I left without telling you. I was debating it when Po came out for her dinner. She said she’d send you home early, that you looked done in anyway.” Orin hummed thoughtfully. “I thought you were going to take care.”

He clearly thought Tiiran looked done in as well.

“I did!” Tiiran insisted. “You meant with beat-of….” He glanced to the guards again. “I have been. And the rest of it… well, I meant to. But there was a broken shelf, and once again there’s no one to ask to help with it; nobody’s seen Toak the goat-stroker in days.” Orin didn’t care about that. Tiiran drew in a breath that didn’t calm him in the slightest. “How long will you be gone do you think?”

“As long as it takes. But you’ve enough to frown over, so don’t add that to your worries.” Orin lowered his voice, not whispering, but if the two guards wanted to hear every word, they’d have to come closer. “Be happy I’m not being sent to the far coast, or over some mountains that have snow all year round that take ages to cross.”

“I will not be happy.” Tiiran didn’t bother to lower his voice. “What about this would make me happy? We were supposed to talk.”

“Yet, I think you could use rest more than staying late to chat with me.” Orin once again ignored Tiiran shaking his head to deny his nonsense. “You do look tired. Moreso than yesterday. Restless night?”

Tiiran looked away so Orin wouldn’t identify the frustrated, bewildered, confusing longing that had kept him awake for hours and distracted him all morning. It was already too much being near Orin without any warning.

“Not even the pretense of a snarl?” Orin murmured when Tiiran didn’t speak, bringing Tiiran’s gaze back to him. Orin was very serious. “I’m afraid I am going to have to take you in hand, kitten. Come on.” He turned toward the rest of the corridor, regarding Tiiran’s frozen face with so much interest that Tiiran nearly ran back into the library. But then Orin moved a few steps and Tiiran followed him without hesitation, merely glancing up in question once they’d passed the two palace guards. “I will walk with you to the kitchens,” Orin explained. “You can eat whatever they have left. And if you like, you can tell me some of what’s upsetting you while we walk.”

“You have time for that?” Tiiran glanced up again, vaguely aware that Orin had to slow his pace for the much-shorter Tiiran to stay alongside him.

The look he received made him feel like a brand-new assistant again, struggling to catch up to where everyone else already was. That look said Orin would make the time, though it might mean him running to meet his boat.

“ Oh .” Tiiran lowered his head, walking wherever Orin went without checking his path. He wouldn’t waste more of Orin’s time then. “I’ve had things on my mind,” he admitted.

“Palace things?” Orin wondered quietly.

“No.” Tiiran tossed his head. “Well, not entirely that.” He adjusted the bag again, then felt it lifted from him. He sighed but let it go. The weight was likely nothing to Orin, at least not for the short time he’d carry it. “Orin,” he began slowly, only to force the rest out in a rush, “if I asked you something that you might find strange, you wouldn’t laugh, would you? You’d do your best to answer?”

“I would.” Orin’s answer was spoken roughly, but just as quietly. “It took some time, but I like to think I’ve earned your trust. Or am starting to, at least. Your shoulders aren’t tensed up around your ears anymore in my presence.” Tiiran scoffed because that had to be Orin teasing him. “You can sit and talk with me, sometimes without snapping, for an hour or two at a time. I’m quite proud of that.”

Definitely teasing.

Tiiran looked up and over, allowing Orin to tug his sleeve so he didn’t bump into a corner. “That took time… so you must have wanted to do that?”

“Did you think I was forced to sit and talk with you?” He couldn’t gauge if Orin was teasing. Nothing in Orin’s tone had changed to explain why Tiiran got that impression. “Like teaching a horse not to spook so easily, it’s challenge and reward, and a privilege to be trusted.”

Even a bee was a better comparison than a horse, though horses were large and often considered beautiful. “You’re not going to slip a bridle on me,” Tiiran muttered, unsure if the thoughtful hum from Orin was a joke or if Orin was trying not to laugh at the image Tiiran had handed him. “I’m more of a pony anyway,” Tiiran added in a grumble, pleased when Orin did laugh. Though he still didn’t like Orin thinking of him as spooked . He attempted a correction. “Like feeding a stray?”

Orin coughed to be rid of his laughter. “You said that almost on a sigh. Heard that before, have you?”

He noticed too much.

“The old Master Keepers used to say it, usually when Lanth,” Tiiran took a steadying breath, “would take extra time to teach me something, or would call me away before I’d snap and set me down to study somewhere quiet. It helps, being somewhere quiet by myself. Or with someone who isn’t…. I don’t know a word for people who aren’t difficult. People I understand or who don’t expect me to be like them. I can be around them without my shoulders doing what you apparently think they do. Or snapping. Or snarling.”

“Then I am even more pleased I took the time to sit with you.” Orin gave him a look that was impossible to read by moonlight. “But you aren’t a stray anymore, Tiiran. Maybe you should think about that.”

He had to slow his steps more when Tiiran faltered. Tiiran hurried forward to make up the distance. “You mean behaving better even with difficult people.”

“I do think you are capable of it, but that’s not actually what I meant.” Orin stopped although they hadn’t reached the kitchens.

A high-walled garden was to one side of them, blocking some of the light. Tiiran had never been assigned garden work back when he’d been in service, but at the palace, the ornamental gardens were open to anyone. Each garden had been built by rulers past in different styles, with different plants in them. The fae liked flowers and fruits and certain plants, or so it was said. The gardens contained offering places for the fae for that reason.

Tiiran lifted his head and briefly closed his eyes to inhale the heady smell of roses—or what he thought was the smell of roses. When he opened his eyes, Orin was watching him.

“This is what I meant. Something of this.” Orin exhaled, then turned his head. “You no longer have a stray’s worries. It’s time you considered what you want.”

“What I want?” Tiiran studied the side of Orin’s face. He had no problem identifying his immediate wants. “I’m tired. The soles of my boots are starting to give and my feet hurt. I want to rest, and I want my work to be finished.” He took a second to consider, then added more of his current desires. “I need to eat but I don’t want to. And I want—” He shut his mouth with a snap right as Orin turned back to him.

“Those are things for now.” Orin didn’t sound angry, but there was something in his tone that was almost like Po’s impatience. “What about the future. Your future, the library’s future. Either or both. What would you like it to be?”

Tiiran stared up at him, and when he couldn’t think and nothing came out of his mouth, lowered his gaze to Orin’s chest. Then he moved it to Orin’s shoulder when he realized his face was growing hotter again.

“Tiiran,” Orin said his name on a sigh, “if things were calmer. If Master Keepers and more assistants returned to the library. If every day for you was not a battle for resources and you stopped long enough to think of what you want for yourself, what would you…?” Orin went silent there, then bent his head as if looking at Tiiran more closely, so Tiiran met his eyes again. Orin’s eyebrows went up, then down. “Have you never thought of this before?”

“Well….” Tiiran actually felt his shoulders tense and muttered a quick, “Fuck,” under his breath because Orin hadn’t been teasing about that. He did raise his shoulders nearly to his ears. But there was no one around to hear him but Orin, so he made himself speak. “When I first came here, when I was learning things the others already knew, I thought that I’d like—that I want —to show them and my worthless parents by becoming a Master Keeper someday.” He covered his mouth for a moment, breathing hard. “Does that seem childish?”

Orin’s eyebrows positively flew up this time. “No,” he answered readily. “It seems very possible—provided that when the library has Keepers again, you don’t offend them.” Tiiran’s heart was beating quickly but he took a moment to glare at Orin anyway. Orin, unintimidated, carried on with another question. “Is that all you want?”

The roses would not care about Tiiran’s answer. Tiiran hesitated anyway. “What do you want? No outguard serves forever.”

Orin straightened with a glance toward the garden’s entrance, as if he had roses on his mind too.

“True. Many go back to their homes, if they have them. Or to their spouses who do not wander for a living. Some used to join the Palace Guard.” The disdain in Orin’s voice for that option made Tiiran smile a little. “Others swear themselves to a noble family—often for better pay but also often for more danger—or get work as private guards for merchants and traders. None of those seem places that would welcome me.” He didn’t appear to notice Tiiran’s surprise. “I don’t think I’d mind swearing myself to a noble family that I felt wouldn’t waste my blood or my life, but there’s few of those around, and most of them would take me far from the capital. The capital is where I most like to return to, these days.”

“Why wouldn’t they welcome you?” Tiiran demanded, growing sharp. “You’re smart and well read, and you think about things in ways others don’t. And… I know nothing of your sort of fighting or of weaponry, but I have no doubt you are accomplished there too. And you’re kind as many are not, even with me.” Tiiran twisted his mouth but it had to be said. “You should be welcome anywhere.”

Orin tipped his head up, then said, very softly, “The gardeners have left the vines to grow over the garden walls. Without care, flowers will overtake the palace and the palace will be prettier for it. But roses have a tendency to draw blood.”

Tiiran didn’t understand flowery speech or riddles. “ Orin .”

“Most outguards do not read poetry in their spare time.” Orin didn’t raise his voice. “I’m odd to many of them too. Oh, they get along with me. They like me,” he assured Tiiran, looking at him again at last. “Many people like me in a specific way, at specific times, when they have specific needs. But you’re right, I can’t hang around the guardhouse forever.”

Tiiran’s heart beat quickly again. “Do you want a spouse? Spouses? More than lovers, I mean.” Obviously, Orin had lovers. Other people were not that foolish.

Orin looked down at him for what seemed a long time. “Unlike in my younger days, I rather like the idea of coming home to someone. My family was right about having a home, it was just that theirs is not mine. I’m odd to them as well. Any family I’d have for myself would have to accept that and I don’t know if anyone would, if I may continue being honest with you.”

“‘Coming home,’” Tiiran softly repeated the phrase. “To more than the barracks, then? To a room in the palace? You could work in the library. There’s no rule saying assistants must be younger than the Master Keepers. It’s just tradition, and perhaps because they’re easier to boss around. Or… maybe we’ll get a good ruler at last, and you wouldn’t mind serving them here, if the capital is the place you are most fond of.”

“Trying to keep me close?” Orin pressed gently. “You’ve nothing to worry about there, fire-heart.”

Tiiran had another breath full of roses. “I like seeing you too, Orin. It’s better when you’re near.”

Orin made a sound, an exhale more than a word, then spoke with obvious care. “Elaborate, kitten. Please.”

That would require putting a name to the tangle, which Tiiran certainly would not attempt with Orin right in front of him.

Someone walked out of the garden. From their clothes, a noble. They visibly startled at the sight of Orin, his size or his sword frightening them before they recovered and hurried away. Many nobles were jumpy too. Tiiran really should remember that and try to be more patient with them. But the reminder was irksome, for it also meant that Orin here, at night, armed, would only alarm more people the longer Orin lingered.

Tiiran put his head down. “You don’t need to take me the whole way. It’s a long walk back for you, and the start of a long journey. I’ll get food, I promise.”

“You’re being reasonable,” Orin replied, taking his time to do so. “I’m proud of you, but saddened, for I will miss you while I’m gone.”

He said it easily but Tiiran didn’t actually think it was easy to say. It wouldn’t have been for him, anyway. But Orin was a little braver—a lot braver—and forgiving of Tiiran’s many faults.

Tiiran nodded to himself, running his tongue over the chip in his tooth before looking up again. “What you said earlier… there is something I’ve wanted.”

“Oh?”

Orin must have taken a step, because he was suddenly closer. Or maybe Tiiran had. Tiiran didn’t mind either way, though he had to put his head all the way back to keep Orin’s face in sight.

Tiiran frowned for another moment, then was a ninny and a coward because he had to drop his gaze before he made himself say the words.

“Could I hug you?”

His heartbeat did not cover the sound of what he would swear was tinkling laughter from somewhere beyond the garden wall, or at least a bell decorating some tree the fae loved or left as an offering to encourage the fae to grant a wish.

Orin said nothing for long enough for Tiiran get twitchy.

“I’ve never embraced anyone as the others do when they say goodbye. People hug farewells even after just a tup in the stacks.” Tiiran said that crossly, because a tup in the stacks might have been easier to ask for. There was nothing personal about that. “But I’d like to. I’d like to try that. I want to try that. With you.”

“Come here, kitten.” Permission was granted, Orin’s voice quiet and rough. Tiiran could still feel kitten vibrating through Orin’s chest when Orin took the step first and put his arms around him. Tiiran forgot to open his arms in return, but after a moment of stunned discovery that Orin was indeed solid and warm, shifted to get his arms out from between them. He squeezed the second he could and Orin laughed, but it was choked, so Tiiran didn’t mind. “It’s my honor,” Orin murmured over the top of Tiiran’s head, talking like Nikoly did, though Tiiran didn’t mind that either.

Orin’s body was giving in interesting ways. He’d be comfortable to sit on, Tiiran decided, flushing hotly. He turned his head to rub his cheek over Orin’s gambeson, which was not soft, though Orin’s chest would serve perfectly well as a pillow if the need should ever arise. Orin rubbed circles over Tiiran’s back and that was good too, creating and dispelling shivers. His hands felt huge. Tiiran shuddered a little but didn’t pull away.

“Should I hold tighter?” he wondered, voice muffled by wool.

“Do whatever you like to me.” Orin’s words traveled through him and Tiiran was glad his face was hidden and his mouth crushed against the gambeson so Orin wouldn’t see him blush or hear him moan. He continued to stroke up and down Tiiran’s back. “Whatever you like,” Orin said again. “I promise I won’t mind.”

Tiiran squeezed Orin’s sides because he could, feeling where there was give, and where there was muscle, and where there was give on top of muscle. He listened to Orin’s heart, if that was Orin’s heart and not his own thundering in his ears.

“I’ll miss you,” he said at last, needing to hear the footsteps of a passerby to remind him that he could not hold Orin like this for much longer. “Be careful.”

Orin squeezed him in return. Tiiran briefly could not breathe and didn’t want to. “You do the same so you’re here when I come back.”

Tiiran smiled and looked up to share the smile with Orin. Then his smile slipped and his lips parted, and he still did not breathe and he still did not want to.

Orin’s eyes were dark, or seemed to be with the moonlight behind him. Tiiran curled his fingers into his palms, then slipped his hands down to his sides.

Orin immediately stepped back. “That was a very good first hug.”

If he had any clue what Tiiran had been thinking of doing, he showed no sign.

“Fuck off,” Tiiran told him, but in the same easy tone that Orin had used. Maybe that was why Orin showed no fear as he reached out to pull the dislodged pin from Tiiran’s hair and tuck fallen strands behind Tiiran’s hot ears.

“I think I might keep this.” He held up the pin with a smug air, but handed it over the second Tiiran reached for it. Orin handed over the bag as well, and waited until Tiiran had it settled on his shoulder and the strap in both of his trembling hands before he added, “While I’m gone, consider the future.”

“Always giving me more things to do.” It was too breathless to be much of a complaint.

“You don’t have to do any of them.”

Tiiran didn’t. But he liked to. And Orin liked it when he did.

“I’ll do what I want,” Tiiran told him anyway. “And if what I want is to do what you tell me, then….”

He realized too late he had no idea how to finish that thought.

Orin must have, because he grinned, a knowing, mildly infuriating sort of grin, and said, “Exactly, kitten. Just so, and I wouldn’t have you any other way. Now,” he was abruptly serious again, as though Tiiran couldn’t still feel his body’s warmth all around him, “you have a lot to think about it, and many promises to keep. So you should eat and rest well.”

He paused expectantly.

Tiiran tossed his head. “I already said I would eat.”

Another grin, and somehow more warmth even though Orin hadn’t touched him again. “I think the kitchens will start cleaning up and preparing for morning now, so you should go on.”

“Yes, Orin.” Tiiran made sure to roll his eyes, although he wasn’t sure if Orin saw. He suspected Orin had noticed but didn’t mind. He maybe even liked it.

Tiiran watched Orin walk away, clenching his hands around the strap of the bag when Orin finally disappeared from view. With him gone, Tiiran turned back in the direction of the kitchens but didn’t otherwise move.

The moonlight revealed a vine, probably covered in roses of a red so dark it was black in the moonlight, curling over the top of the garden wall. Tiiran considered the grasping tendril, the moonlight on white stone, and the thick, ripe scent of the flowers, then slowly began to walk.

“ Wouldn’t have you any other way ,” he said aloud, a sentence sure to disturb his sleep if he let it.

So he didn’t. He ate in a corner of the kitchens as the workers cleaned, and took more food back to his room to nibble as he read a dry account from a dry person of dry stories they’d heard about the first ruler to claim dominion over the Earls and the library that had needed to be built to help control his realm. At some point, he stopped reading, trying to imagine what those days had been like, and if things were better or worse now. Then, his hair down, the pin loose in his fist, he fell asleep with his cheek pressed to the open pages of the book.