Notes: Merry Christmas, darlins! I hope you're all so well and cozy and happy. Have some comforting fantasy, on me ;)
Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards, Ch. 14 Pt. 2
***
Chapter Fourteen, Part Two
Matters That Matter
By the time Hiram was conscious again, he’d slept straight through the night and managed to come out the other side into a decent approximation of waking after a normal night’s sleep. Never mind that he’d been in Avery’s house for two days now and been unconscious for all but a few hours of that; he felt decidedly refreshed, the ache in his throat no more than a whisper now. In fact, he felt well-rested for the first time since setting out from Lollop in the first place…heavens and hells, was it four days ago now? Five?
“Did I miss Market Day?” he asked Avery that morning as they shared tea, a plate of toasted bread straight from tongs over the fire, and a bowl of savory porridge flavored with chicken stock and a hint of butter. The chives on top were the perfect accompaniment, just enough freshness to keep the dish from palling on the tongue. Avery was a better cook with under five ingredients than Hiram on his best day.
I wouldn’t mind sharing more meals with him. That would have to wait until he got his situation back under control. Still, the thought of having Avery over to his home, cooking together, and perhaps showing him around the garden before taking him upstairs to bed…it was tantalizing. More than Hiram could let himself focus on right now, given how the swell of desire heated his chest and made him feel downright reckless.
No recklessness, not anymore. It would be the height of discourtesy to bring someone into his life when he couldn’t even guarantee he’d be here through winter. Not to mention, dangerous…to them, at least. Avery was a lovely man, gentle and kind, with a hint of secrecy that no doubt stemmed from his time as a rogue. He’d clearly left that roguish life behind, and the last thing Hiram wanted to do was pull him back into it under false pretenses.
He almost didn’t hear Avery’s reply, he was so wrapped up in looking at him. “—esterday, I’m afraid.”
“Damn.” Hiram had meant to be back before it became an issue. “That’s sure to cause a bit of a ruckus.”
“From what Narion relayed, Mistress Tate handled questions regarding your wellbeing with grace. You’re likely to have a crowd of well-wishers when you show your face in town again.”
“Mm.” That was sweet, but not what Hiram wanted right now. He wanted the bland blur of anonymity, not the sharp tang of attention. “Well, I’ve plenty to do to get ready for the next one.” He’d probably be fielding visits at his house all week, as well; he could think of a dozen people who would be running low on their teas and possets and remedies. It hurt to say it, but… “I suppose I’ve inconvenienced you for long enough.”
Avery shook his head, blue eyes never looking away from Hiram’s face. “You were no inconvenience at all. I enjoyed your company.”
“I appreciate that, but nevertheless.” Hiram sighed as he leaned against the slightly rough back of the chair. “This is hardly how I’d intended to further my acquaintance with you, being rescued from my own stupidity in the woods. You’ll have to let me make it up to you.”
Avery smiled, and for all that Hiram had thought himself braced against the expression, it still made his heart beat a bit faster. “You were sick, not stupid. I’m glad I managed to find you. I’d have been worried out of my head otherwise. And for all that I’d like you to stay longer, I know your other friends have been worried as well, so I’d best share you with them or risk a string of visitors.”
And he wouldn’t like that, Hiram knew. He understood. “Well, then.” He got to his feet. “Let me clean up my mess, and then I’d be grateful if you’d give me a ride back to town. I’d better start off by properly groveling at Tilda’s feet for not being as careful as she asked me to be.”
“Mm. I have a feeling you won’t need to grovel too hard.” They worked together to fold the blankets, take down the cot, and then Hiram insisted on doing the dishes. By the time they were done he was a bit breathless, but not enough to force him to cough. He checked his rucksack and was pleasantly surprised to find everything he’d hoped in there, even the Lancre silk, and all of it cleaned up or still tucked neatly away in the bags he’d bought it in.
“Are you ready?” Avery asked from the doorway when Hiram was finished repacking his things. He looked perfectly composed, other than the twist where his hand had found the edge of his cloak. His fingers were gripping it so hard that the tops of his knuckles had blanched white, noticeable against the dark brown fabric. This wasn’t the same silky cloak that had poured from his hands when they first met; this was a sturdy but plain wool with just a hint of embroidery around the hood.
Hiram wondered, not for the first time, what Narion planned to do with so much Lancre silk, and how much of it was going to end up on Avery’s body.
Not the time, old man. “I’m ready,” he said as he picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. They headed outside to where Buttercup was waiting for them, already kitted out. “Poor thing, having to carry both of us and the sack.”
“Not both of us, just you,” Avery said, crouching a bit to offer Hiram a place to push off as he hoisted himself into the saddle. “I’ll walk.”
Hiram frowned. “I’m not going to kick you off your own horse.”
“Too late, you already have,” Avery said with a smirk as he reached for the bridle. “Let’s go, then.” They left the shade of the ring of tall trees that hemmed in the little house to give it a sense of privacy and headed for the trail that led down to the road. Hiram couldn’t help it; he instinctively turned to look at the tower in the distance, tall and imposing and now more dangerous than ever before. He didn’t need to reach out to it with his power to know it had to reek of him. His magical signature was strong enough that it could temporarily overpower even the might of Gemmel, and he had no doubt that imperial wizards would be there before it dissipated.
Imperial wizards…some of them were people he probably knew, perhaps respected. People who knew him in turn; how he thought, how he acted. People who had a potentially deadly amount of insight into him.
“Hiram?”
“Hm?” He turned back to Avery, who was looking at him with a concerned expression. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Nothing, you just…you look as though you’re about to fall out of the saddle.” He frowned. “Do you need to lie down again? You do; it’s too soon. Let’s—”
“No, no.” Hiram shook his head. “I’m fine, I promise. Really. Just easily distracted, I’m afraid.” He forced a smile. “Let’s keep going. Please.”
Avery was quiet for a long moment before he reluctantly nodded his head. “If that’s what you want.”
I want to go back into your cozy little cottage and spend a week there. A month. Perhaps a year. I want to learn everything about you and hide away from the world.
But I can’t. Hiram had responsibility burned into his bones at this point. Speaking of…he idly reached a hand up toward his head and scratched the side of his neck right below his earlobe. Sure enough, Phlox heated up as he came close, just enough to let Hiram know he was in there, listening. Keeping watch.
He owed his old adversary a great deal of thanks for getting him out of the mess he’d been in.
***
Phlox remembered his birth into a world of pure elemental fire. He remembered flowing up through the cracks in the earth, his first taste of air and how frightening and freeing it had been.
He remembered finding others of his own kind, merging with them and falling apart, strengthening and weakening and finally striking out on his own to create a world that held him to the height he always dreamed of.
He remembered his mountain kingdom, so fiery and fierce, the natural lava flows the perfect place for bringing tender young flames into the world. Things had been so bright for a time, with his fierce consorts and his brilliant offspring and always, always more to eat. And then…
Intruders. Invaders. Metal made hot, screams and dark influences, no hope for a truce in the wake of so much death. Water made ice, poured over his children, crackling and shattering them. Not even he, Pyrax, could bring them back.
Vengeance was swift. Satisfaction, however, was fleeting. For that was when Xerome came.
Never had Pyrax been made to feel like such a tiny flame, not even in his earliest memories. His powers were wrenched apart, his entity torn asunder and cast into three separate phylacteries. He had hated, so much. He had thought he always would, but this self had been imbued with all the emotion, all the empathy, that he originally possessed. He saw the pain Xerome felt even as he won, saw his gentleness with his family, saw how mighty he could be—not a king, not an emperor, a god if he took all he was offered and bled enough souls for it—and saw how he wasn’t.
Watching him, being with him, changed Pyrax to Phlox.
Phlox cared for Xerome. Phlox cared for Hiram. And right now, Phlox was wondering how much of what had happened while Hiram was asleep he should reveal. Because while he hadn’t expected the creature that came to catch them up in its brutish arms—arms Phlox had been prepared to burn right off, Hiram’s warnings about power be damned—he knew it was no mistake that those arms cradled Hiram with a tenderness that was impossible to feign. No mindless beast could imitate such tenderness, such possessiveness. And while this was a beast, it had enough of a mind to know where to take them.
And then Phlox watched the beast become Avery Surrus, and laughed inside his gemstone prison.
Oh, this was too good. This was too good. A powerful wizard who pretended to be an herbalist, a rogue and a darkling who pretended to be a schoolteacher, and each of them lying to the other about their true nature despite the way they were drawn together.
There was no chance he was going to give their secrets away; they were far too entertaining. In fact, Phlox couldn’t wait to see what happened next.
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