Page 14 of The Mage’s Rake (Catkin Trilogy #2)

Hugh

T he more I thought about the admission that I had made to Corrin and Landis, the more I realized the truth of what I had said.

Alan was indeed growing on me. Alan was, for all intents and purposes, like mold…

or moss. Before, I had hardly given him a moment’s thought beyond the minor twinges of annoyance I felt whenever I realized that he was glaring at me.

He was a catkin loyal to Landis and a willing helper who worked for Gareth on occasion.

Beyond that, I hadn’t paid him much attention.

Not anymore, however. Now that I was spending more time with Alan, I was starting to see all of the facets that made him unique, setting him apart from the other catkin at the king’s court.

After our trip to the outskirts of Rimefrost, I began to realize that Alan was a rebel.

He had a hidden adventurous spirit, a heart of valor, and also a soft spot for those in less fortunate circumstances.

Our eventful evening at Lady Saffron’s soiree made me realize how courageous and quick-thinking Alan truly was.

And outrageous. For the good of Sumarene, he had tossed precaution and social mores to the wind.

The Alan I thought I knew would have looked down on appearing disheveled or debauched, but this Alan emerged from our hiding spot with elan, as though he didn’t care about what people said.

It was incredibly intriguing and attractive.

Upon rising, I hurried to his laboratory for our usual morning meeting.

Every morning, I now required a spot of healing from Alan’s magical fingers.

I had gotten quite used to stripping down to my waist and allowing him to run his hands all over my chest. I wondered whether he felt the same comfort from our lingering touches.

I suddenly wanted to ask him. My pace picked up.

When I knocked, however, there was no answer.

Frowning, I stopped, looked about, and then poked my head in.

Judging by the smells of new potions slowly brewing over the carefully tended embers on the hearth, the new stack of books on the center table, and the open tome on the podium, Alan had already been here. At some point, however, he had left.

As I hesitated in the doorway, a quiet voice startled me out of my musings. I jerked back and blundered into a hard mass of cloaks and coats and robes. Beneath a very thick winter wool cap, two steamed-up panes of glass glittered dully in my direction. Alan.

“Alan,” I said breathlessly. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I called out,” Alan replied, staring at me curiously.

Worry crossed his face. Setting his spectacles aside, Alan jerked off his thick gloves and touched the back of his hand to my cheek. He squinted at me with suspicion blunted by the short-sighted lack of focus behind his violet eyes.

“Are you well, Hugh? Do you feel anything?”

“Just the usual cold numbness in my chest and the faint tingling from before.”

“Hm.”

Alan gently nudged me into his laboratory.

“Strip,” he said tersely. “Let me have a look. It’s not like you to wander about so dazed. Perhaps it is taking hold—“

“That’s not what is taking hold of me,” I said seriously, even as I stripped down to my waist, baring my chest.

While Alan bustled about, pouring a small vial of potion, I laid down on the narrow cot in the corner of the room.

It took a second for Alan to truly register what I had said.

He drew closer, held out a cup with a draught for me to drink, and then inspected me critically.

Within a minute, Alan had a white sigil hovering over my chest as he carefully infused my chest with waves of his white magic.

“You have the ague?” asked Alan. “I wouldn’t be surprised considering the company we’ve been keeping. Perhaps another elixir to stave off any other illness. The last thing I wish to tell King—Landis—is that his favored knight died of the common cold.”

“No.” I chuckled. “That is not what I meant.”

As his spell slowly faded, replacing the numbness within my chest with warmth, my hand rose to cover his.

I gazed up at him. The surprise at my sudden movement was slowly replaced with thoughtfulness.

Beneath my roughened palm, his long fingers trembled slightly, and Alan blushed a little.

He tried to tug his hand away, but I clung onto him, enjoying every last bit of warmth.

“I was just caught up in my thoughts,” I finally said. “Thoughts about a certain someone.”

“About a someone?” Alan’s white ears perked up a little and his tail swished a bit faster.

“About a certain short-sighted, white-haired, violet-eyed High Mage from the White Tower. Don’t know if you’ve heard of him.

A tom with many secrets and layers—especially layers of clothing, which always get in the damn way—and intricacies…

It might take me a lifetime to figure him out. Have you heard of him?”

My flirtatious tone brought another deep flush to his high cheekbones. His mouth dropped open a little as he reacted instinctively to the tone of my voice. His pink tongue flicked out nervously across his bottom lip, and he turned his head away, dropping his gaze.

“You are behaving rather strangely, Hugh.” Alan’s voice sounded oddly tight and also amused in a tender kind of way. “Even for you.”

I twined my fingers with his and tugged him closer.

I didn’t want him to run off. Maybe it’s because of more recent events , I thought.

Or perhaps it is seeing Corrin and Landis together.

Or perhaps because I have only a month left.

Everything now that seems important is set in sharp relief, and I now realize what I truly want.

It was an odd realization, even now. After all these years, I was finally facing the truth: I was alone.

There was no other Starr beyond some distant relatives.

I was on my own, and I was facing yet another Wintermas alone.

Yet, it needn’t be that way. There were those I cared about around me—Corrin, Landis, and Gareth. Other friends. And there was Alan.

“Dying tends to get you thinking,” I admitted.

“You weren’t thinking before?” asked Alan, tilting his head. He rolled his eyes, answering his own question, “Right. You weren’t before.”

“I wasn’t, but I am now. More than usual.”

“What are you thinking about?”

Alan couldn’t meet my gaze. He continued to blush and glare furiously at our entwined fingers now lying on my chest.

“This and that,” I said lightly, struggling to find the courage and the words to speak of what had woken from slumber most recently.

I was barely ready to admit the words to myself. I could scarcely share them with Alan, but I didn’t want him to worry about me either.

“I just have a lot on my mind,” I said. “So, I’m not ailing or anything—not more than usual beyond the curse.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Alan hesitated and then continued, “If you do wish to share anything with me… I hope you feel comfortable doing so, Hugh. Whatever it is, you needn’t bear it alone.”

“Thank you, Alan.”

I said it and meant it. He turned even more red, if possible.

His tail flicked back and forth in mild agitation.

I allowed him to steer the conversation to safer topics—to the matter of the poison investigation and other discoveries made about the potion analysis.

According to Alan, he had left early to deliver some medication to a noble’s family who had caught the ague.

It was the same cough and fever that afflicted the young kit in the Lower Rime.

Now returned from his duty, Alan was able to focus on the next stage of analysis.

Feeling better, I left for a short time.

There were duties that I needed to carry out before noon—guards to talk with, schedules to arrange for the holidays, vantage points to inspect along the walls, and other mild repairs to oversee.

I also took the time to compose a short report for Landis and Gareth, mailing the latter off with a trusted courier.

With everything completed, I moseyed about the hallways restlessly until my feet inevitably returned me to Alan’s alchemist laboratory.

I found him sitting on a chair, boots propped up before the fire, elbows on his knees, and chin in the palms of his hands.

His violet eyes were distant and unfocused behind his flame-reflected spectacles.

I sat down in the chair opposite him and waited for him to slowly come out of his ruminations.

When he grimaced at me, I raised an eyebrow.

“Have you ever had an idea and thought it was instantly mad and foolish? But you can’t stop thinking about it?”

“All the time?” I said roguishly. “Like the way I can’t stop thinking about your—“

“Alright there.” Alan raised a hand and flicked his long white braid over his shoulder. “I know where this is going, and no.”

“What crazy idea do you have?”

“Just a thought.”

“Might as well say it. What’s the harm?”

“I’ll sound… idiotic,” Alan said.

“It’s just me. And I don’t think you’re an idiot.”

“Hm.”

After a moment, Alan roused himself. He began to precisely lay before me the results of his analysis.

The potion that had been used as a step toward the curse had been made with a very specific shadowmoss.

An herb that he was now certain was lower quality and undoubtedly circulating the black market.

There was something else, however, that had stood out.

“The other herb you may have heard me mention is perallin,” said Alan.

He spoke slowly and carefully as though picking apart his own words mentally.

“An herb from the east, brought in usually by caravan. A very distinctive herb, but there are… variations and of course quality can impact the efficacy.”

“The east…?”

“Yes. A dark substance imbued with shadow aether, used for things like curses… and poisons.”

Poisons. I raised my head then and fixed my gaze on him.

“The same poison on the assassin’s weapons?” I probed.