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They’d had an almighty row about it, of course, but he’d expected that.

Yves’ mother had told him that if he wanted to run off and become a whore, he might as well not spend another night in the house, and Yves had shouted, fine, maybe I don’t want to stay here!

He’d stormed off into the barn and sat there with his sister’s favorite cat, hating the smell, the sounds, and the way the farm seemed to constrict him on all sides.

If he stayed there, he knew that he’d end up just like everyone else, living in the same old house with the same old people for the rest of his life.

His mother had shown up an hour later, with none of the dominance that usually poured off her like water. She’d stared down at Yves with a small, soft look of confusion that had hurt Yves more than any harsh word ever could.

“Come back inside,” she’d said. It was the closest Yves would ever get to an apology.

Now, what felt like a world away from that small barn, Yves still turned into an awkward teenager the moment his mother entered his life.

“She’s leaving most of her thoughts out of this,” Charon said, going over the letter. “Is this usual for her?”

“Not really. Most of her letters are five pages long at least.” Yves hadn’t even considered that. “Why? Do you think something’s wrong? She’d mention it if it was.”

Charon frowned at the letter. “She might be worried. If she reveals too much, it will give you an advantage.”

“You’re making it sound like I’m the one who’s constantly putting her on the defensive,” Yves said.

Charon gave him a blank, level look, and Yves pointed at him.

“Stop that. You only do that stare-down when you’re trying to wait someone out.

I know I’m a brat, but she’s stubborn as a mule.

” Charon raised a brow. “Don’t say that I’m stubborn! ”

Charon didn’t have to say anything to make his opinion clear. Just the way he folded the letter told Yves, you’re so stubborn that it’s not even worth saying it aloud.

“Maybe families like mine are why the Arkoudai put their kids in the barracks,” Yves said. “We’re always talking over each other, getting in each other’s lives, causing trouble…”

“The barracks aren’t better,” Charon said.

He hesitated before continuing. “I grew up there, before I was apprenticed.” He didn’t say where he’d been apprenticed, but Yves had a few educated guesses.

Charon knew too much about people to have been an ordinary soldier, and the books Yves read about Arktos hinted at a robust spy network.

Anyone with sense would have put Charon in charge of making secret codes or reading people’s lips from afar.

“What was it like?” he asked.

Charon’s brows pinched together. “It was regulated. You woke up at the same time every day, went to lessons, trained with weapons. People would watch you in class when you were older, to recruit you. Your friends were usually the people who slept in the bunks nearby.”

Yves wondered if it was easier for Charon to say you instead of I.

“My friends were my neighbors,” Yves said. “I don’t know if my siblings counted. I basically raised half of them.”

Charon looked down at the letter folded in his hands. “You helped raise them, yet your mother still treats you like a child. Is that because she put the most effort into raising you, first?”

“That’s an unsettling thought,” Yves said.

“I guess there wasn’t anyone to get between us when I was growing up.

I usually took the blame if the others made a mistake, because I should have been there to look after them.

Then I took the blame for my own mistakes because I was the first one making them, and everyone else learned from my example.

I guess that isn’t how it works in Arktos. ”

“Not unless you’re an officer,” Charon said. “But there were schools for that.”

“Officer Yves.” Yves grinned at him. “I bet I could manage it.”

“You’d upend the military in a month.”

“I don’t know, give me a week and see what I can do.

” Yves tossed his hair, and Charon gave him the subtle little eyebrow quirk that meant, all right, you’re pretty, I know.

Yves batted his eyelashes for good measure.

Even if anything more was impossible, it was too easy to slip back into the warm, pleasant feeling that filled him in Charon’s company.

“My mother still thinks I’m about to cause an incident, like the whole spring festival debacle when I was sixteen.

The problem is, I still feel like I’m sixteen when I’m around her.

I think I always will, no matter how old I get.

I think there’s a tiny piece of our clueless, chaotic teen years stuck inside all of us, waiting to come out and wreak havoc. ”

Charon’s smile faded slightly. He looked quite pretty when he smiled.

Yves could see how people would mistake him for someone from Katoikos, which favored beauty more than strength.

Even though Charon was a broad, powerful man, he had a hidden elegance that slipped free when he was alone with Yves.

It probably came out with Laurent, too—Yves didn’t think he was special for seeing it—but a part of him wanted it for himself.

“I didn’t know what I wanted when I was young,” Charon said. “I only did what I was told.”

Yves hummed. “I’m not sure about that. You made it here, didn’t you? The Arkoudai weren’t allowed to leave then, I know that much. So you had to want something.”

A shadow flickered over Charon’s face. “I did want something,” he said, after a long silence. “But I lost it in Arktos.”

“Wait, you did?” Yves leaned forward. “Maybe we can find it, or I can get the soldiers at the border to give it back. You know I can be pretty convincing.”

“Pretty stubborn, you mean.”

Yves winked. For a second there, Charon had looked like he was about to slip into a gloom.

Yves knew that whatever Charon had lost probably wasn’t a real, tangible thing.

It must have been a part of him, maybe even the messy childhood he’d never been allowed to have.

Yves pretending otherwise softened the hard set of Charon’s mouth and chased the shadows out of his eyes.

He could wait to find out the rest. Pushing it now could close Charon off again, and Yves was too selfish to lose the friendship they had left.

“That’s what we’ll do,” he said. “The next time you’re in Staria—and you’ll be back, Charon, Laurent won’t let you disappear—we can go to the border and I can work a little magic.”

“You’ll be married by then,” Charon said.

Yves couldn’t imagine meeting Charon again as a married man.

In all honesty, he was more likely to be gloriously divorced by then, but it was probably gauche to admit it.

Traveling through Staria with Charon, though; he could imagine that.

Charon would probably prefer to camp, but Yves was sure he could convince him to stay at enough inns to get a decent bath or three on the way.

If they did happen to pass the Cooper farm, Yves wouldn’t mind introducing him to Sunny or his cousin Harriet before running off.

“It doesn’t matter if I’m married or not,” Yves said at last, and leaned over to pat Charon’s arm. “I’ll always have time for you.”

Charon shifted closer, and Yves’ cheeks went hot as his shadow crossed over the flickering light at the window.

“I should tell you,” Charon said. “Some of your suitors have approached me.”

“Oh.” Yves was so close that he could lean forward and bury his face in Charon’s chest—which he was gamely trying not to imagine. “For hints? I hope they offered to pay you.”

“You shouldn’t hope that,” Charon said. “Anyone who would buy you isn’t trustworthy.”

“Charon.” Yves smiled. The orange light at the window made Charon look as though he were ringed with fire. “I’m a whore. That’s the point.”

Charon raised a hand as though to stroke his cheek, but stopped just before they could touch. Yves felt like he would break apart with the effort of not leaning into his hand. “Not if you want them to love you.”

What if I want you to love me? Yves thought. He raised himself up on his toes, still too short to reach Charon’s lips but determined to try his damnedest anyhow, and he was just about to reach up to grab Charon by the shoulders when the light in the window flickered again.

“Wait,” Yves said. “It’s nighttime.” Charon looked at him with concern, and Yves pointed over his shoulder. Light rippled against the wall of the House of Onyx like a shadow. Bells rang in the street outside, and he heard the bang of a window slamming open above them. “What is that?”

Charon strode to the window. His face glowed in the light from outside, which cast over his skin like waves on the shore.

“It’s the House of Silver,” Charon said. “It’s burning.”