Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Ch. 10, Pt. 2

 Notes: Let's finish our little tea party, hmm?

Title:  Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Ch. 10, Pt. 2

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Chapter Ten, Part Two

 

Delicate Subjects

 

“So,” Hiram said after a moment. “Now that you’ve experienced some of my tragic past, tell me some of yours.”

Avery quirked a smile. “What makes you think I’ve got a tragic past?”

“Oh, I can tell that sort of thing from the first second,” Hiram assured him. “Very insightful, me.”

“Indeed?”

“Absolutely.”

The smile only got broader, and Hiram was delighted to realize he’d found someone who was willing to play a bit—to indulge his silly side, as it were. Phlox had no time for that sort of thing, and Esme often confused silly with simple, which led to numerous her attempting to bat him about the head and “knock some sense into him” with her rather dangerous paws. There was hope for Tilda, but still. He was used to being part of a group of people who could joke with each other, poke and prod and jest without getting too personal about it. He missed his friends. He missed Misha. Hells, he even missed Andy sometimes—no one could quite muster up an “I’m not going to let on how impressed I am” face like his former lover.

Sure enough, Avery arched one eyebrow. “And what does a tragic past look like, exactly?”

Hiram took advantage of the implicit invitation to look the other man up and down in a measuring manner. Avery Surrus had been attractive at first glance—now he was downright captivating.

That said…

“It’s something in the face,” Hiram mused. “A certain twist of the brow, an expression on the edge of either a glower or a good cry, if there’s a sheen to the eyes. You can see it in the posture, too—slightly stooped, like the world is just a bit too heavy for those shoulders. It’s evident in the color palette as well—blacks and grays and dark browns, perhaps the occasional blue if the person is feeling particularly splashy on that day. Just one of these things would be inconclusive, but put them all together and you get…well.” He gestured at Avery. “Yourself.”

“Or you could have simply talked to Mistress Tate.”

“Oh, I absolutely did that as well,” Hiram said, and Avery actually laughed.

“And yet,” Avery said after a moment, “you yourself don’t fit the pattern you just described, and yet you can’t deny that you have something terribly tragic in your past.”

Hiram shrugged. “I live to defy expectation, and don’t think you can change the subject so easily, young man.”

“Avery.” His blue eyes were very bright and very intent on Hiram’s face. “I want you to call me Avery.”

For the first time in a long time, Hiram felt rather…well, enthralled wouldn’t be too strong a word. He’d felt desire for plenty of people, before and even after Andy had become his world, but desire was a fairly cheap commodity. This, now? This was downright intriguing. “Avery.” He took a sip of tea to avoid having to clear his throat. “Go on, then.”

“My story isn’t very exciting,” Avery said after a moment. “I never knew my father, my mother died when I was young, I left town via an apprenticeship and finally fell in with a group who had use for my skills.”

“Mm. Thievery, I assume.”

The teasing light left Avery’s face. “Excuse me?”

Shit. “I don’t mean to accuse you of anything specific,” Hiram said quickly. “Only—I know what children who are experts at shimmying down chimneys often become, in cities at least. And I have no particular animus against thieves or rogues, either; everyone has to make a living, after all, and they tend to target people who have more than enough to live on. So…” He shrugged. “It’s just a guess. Feel free to tell me how wrong I am.”

Avery stared at him in silence before abruptly sighing. “You know, you’re the first person in my experience to just outright say it like that. I think a few others in town have wondered, maybe even suspected over the years, but no one’s ever even implied such a thing before, much less said it straight to my face.”

“Ah.” It was rather rude of Hiram, in that light.

“But you’re not wrong,” Avery went on, the stiffness leaving his back as he relaxed once more. “I did learn the trade of a rogue, for a time.”

Hiram could picture it perfectly. Avery had a certain sinuousness about him, a confidence and steadiness that was both highly attractive and indicative of strenuous training. “I bet you were good at it.”

He smiled. This was different from his earlier smile; there was a challenge in it, a cheeky hint of wickedness that was utterly alluring. “I was,” he said before hiding his smile behind his teacup. “But I eventually decided to give it up and return home. And before you ask, Master Spindlestep is an old friend I originally made during my earliest wanderings, but the fact that he settled here after an accident stole his vision seemed like fate calling me home after I decided to retire.”

“And you went into teaching.” Hiram whistled admiringly. “Not exactly a profession that travels lock-step with the path of the rogue, is it?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Avery demurred. “After all, being able to keep track of dozens of noisy, potentially dangerous individuals at once while maintaining your own internal quietude and focus is certainly shared between them. And I can’t say I’ve never had call to pin a child’s sleeve to the desk using their own quill, but I try not to trot that little trick out unless someone’s really acting up.”

Hiram laughed as he pictured such a thing in his mind. “I daresay they love you.”

Avery’s face softened. “I think some of them do. I certainly didn’t expect to enjoy teaching as much as I do, but it’s…it’s a good fit for me. A path I’m grateful to be able to walk down, given…everything.”

Everything being his tragic past, but Hiram had already concluded that he wasn’t going to get any more details from Avery about that today. It was fine. He’d pushed his luck as far as it could go, and he wouldn’t make his host uncomfortable. “We should all be so lucky.”

“You are, aren’t you?” Avery countered. “No matter what you were doing before—and as long as we’re being honest, Hiram, I don’t believe for a second that you’ve spent decades of your life as a simple herbalist—you’ve settled into this role with great success, I’d say. Almost everyone in town speaks well of you, particularly after last Market Day.”

Hiram scratched his jaw for a moment, needing the distraction as he pictured the absolute scene he’d made in the temple. “We’ll see what they have to say after today’s fiasco,” he muttered.

“Who could speak ill of you after knowing what they now do about your past?”

“To some, pain is nothing more than a doorway to manipulation,” Hiram said.

Avery stared at him steadily. “Indeed,” he agreed. “But you’re clearly already on your guard. You won’t let them corner you any more than I would.”

There was  a vagueness to that phrasing that made Hiram wonder how Avery meant it. He chided himself for his hopeful heart. You’ve had your great love; all your adventures are in the past. You’re meant to live a quiet and peaceful life now, and that doesn’t include brewing up a romance. Especially not with a man like this. A man with secrets. A man who was far more dangerous than he looked.

A man who saw through Hiram like crystal and pushed, ever so gently, against the façade until he was tempted to let it start falling away.

But he couldn’t. This was important, damn it. Hiram needed to lay low if he wanted to survive, if he wanted to be there for Misha someday. He smiled affably. “Thank you for the tea.”

Avery paused, then nodded, as though acknowledging that certain subjects had been taken off the table. “You’re welcome. Would you like me to run you back to town?” Not back to Hiram’s house, but back to town. Hmm, perhaps Avery was just as reticent to allow himself the opportunity for romance as Hiram was. Naturally, that made Hiram want to push.

Stop it. Take the out. “Thank you, I’d appreciate it.”

“Of course.” He took both their cups and set them on the scarred wooden counter by the washbasin, then headed for the door. “It will only take me a moment to saddle Buttercup.”

Hiram grinned. “You named your mare Buttercup?”

“She came with the name,” Avery informed him airily. “And I think it suits her very well. She’s as sweet and delicate as a flower.”

“You’d expect a horse named Buttercup to be yellow, or at least light tan. She’s uniformly brown.”

“I don’t have to sit here and listen to your imprecations about my horse’s name,” Avery said warningly, but he was smiling again. “She’s a perfect Buttercup.”

Hiram held up his hands in an assuaging manner. “Of course she is. I never said otherwise.”

“Nor should you.” Avery stepped outside and Hiram followed, moving away from the door as the other man locked it, then headed for the little stable. It was warmer now that it was later in the morning, and he shed his cloak with a sense of mild relief. The sun soaked through the thin fabric of his shirt, a lovely rich red color that Master Spindlestep had assured him would look well with his complexion, and Hiram closed his eyes and stretched his arms over his head for a moment, then gently rolled his neck from side to side until it cracked satisfyingly.

Thus relieved, he ambled a little farther down the path until he had a clearer look at Gemmel’s Tower. The entire thing, transubstantiated…what a miraculous wonder. What a terrifying horror. Gemmel must have been exceedingly assured of himself, and the fallout must have been exceedingly final for Hiram to have never heard of such a place before. Perhaps he could ask some of the local dwarves about it, dig a bit deeper into the legend. Not that he intended to go to such a place, but it wasn’t impossible that the tower could be a source of illness, and if it were close to a waterway…hmm. He might have to do some further investigation.

He absently smoothed his free hand over the small of his back and down his hip, tapping at the side of his thigh with his fingers in an errant rhythm as he considered his options. Dum-dum-dah-dahdahdahdah-dum-dum-dah—

“Hiram?”

He turned back to Avery, who was holding Buttercup’s lead and looking a bit poleaxed. “Ready to go, then?”

“Um, yes.”

“Wonderful.” He gestured to the horse. “After you, darling.”

Darling? Where did that come from? Better knock it off, he won’t—

Avery recovered his aplomb enough to wink. “Of course, dearest.”

Oh, Gods. This man was dangerous in more ways than one. Hiram wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to resist such charms.

He wasn’t even entirely sure he wanted to.