Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Ch. 15 Pt. 1

 Notes: Moving right along on this new year's day! Love you guys, let's hope we have a year that looks up instead of down this time.

Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Ch. 15 Pt. 1 

***

Chapter Fifteen, Part One

 

Preparations

 

Avery was right; Tilda had done an excellent job of making Hiram’s excuses for him, and he was accepted back into the fold with little more than a ripple. “Sick on the road, eh?” Jon had said sympathetically when Hiram took Tilda to the Yew Brew for lunch the day after he got home, as a thank you for seeing to his affairs and taking Mule back from Narion. “That’s a rough go, Hiram. You should never travel while you’re sick if you can help it, it sets your recovery back something terrible.”

“I found that out, unfortunately,” Hiram replied with a good-natured laugh at himself.

“You need soup,” Jon went on, muttering to himself as he headed back toward the kitchen. “With herb dumplings, none of the venison, that’ll be too rich. And tea with honey…” Hiram was tempted to ask if he had lemonmint, but Tilda drew his attention with a quirk of one eyebrow.

“What?”

“It’s amusing to me how everyone who comes across you wants to dote on you,” she said with a smile.

If only you knew. “I hardly need doting,” Hiram said. “I’m very capable of taking care of myself.”

“Mm, of course you are. That’s why you spent so much time with Master Surrus recently.” She looked at him archly. “Do you know how many people he’s invited into his home these past five years? Two. You, and Master Spindlestep. That’s all.”

“That you’re aware of,” Hiram pointed out, because it was a rather unjustified assumption. Why should everyone presume that they were welcome to stick their noses into Avery’s business?

Tilda, to her credit, nodded. “Nevertheless, his interest in you is notable,” she went on. “And you can’t pretend it’s not doting when I saw him bring you to town on the back of his horse, while he himself walked.”

Hiram opened his mouth to argue, then gave it up for a lost cause. It didn’t help that he wasn’t really inclined to argue against it. The thought that he was worthy of special attention was…well. Rather nice, honestly. But that wasn’t something he wanted to delve into right now, so he switched directions. “What have you heard about the Thread?”

“They’re anticipated sometime within the next two weeks. Not on a Market Day,” she added. “That would make for absolute havoc.” Hiram could see that.

She went on. “I don’t know about the last time you saw the Thread come through, but their system for testing is rather relaxed, not at all like the temples’ formal assessments. If you have a child who’s inclined toward music and singing and there’s a bard, then they’ll sing a song together. If your child has an affinity for nature, a druid might let them interact with their animal familiar. The food and drink carts set up as well; it’s very merry, honestly.”

Hiram considered that. “How many children do they usually take?”

“Oh, it’s varied from year to year,” she said. “Half of the time, I’d say none. It’s a large investment of time and money to take a child all the way to the capitol for training, you know, and by the time they reach Lollop their means are often stretched. Last year they took one, a boy who was a clear fit for ranger training. The most they’ve ever taken at one time is three, and that was over a decade ago, when the program was better funded by the emperor.” She sighed. “Things have gotten tougher since he started pouring money back into conquering. We had such a nice stretch of peace there, for a while…”

Hiram remembered it well. After finishing the wars that coalesced his power over the empire, Andurion had been tired of battle. He’d married then, had Misha, and settled into ruling well. And for a time, he really had done well. It had been a solid decade and a half of improved roads, funds for universities and learning, and magical development of all types. And then…

The assassination attempt had seemed to come out of nowhere. It had almost overwhelmed all their defenses, and it was only thanks to a huge expenditure of magic that Xerome had managed to save Andurion’s life. Investigations into the effort quickly uncovered an extensive conspiracy, and that had been the moment Andy’s trust in the people he ruled had irreparably broken.

“You told me they would love me!” he’d raged at Xerome more than once. “That improving their lives would make them appreciate all the empire has to offer! And what did I get in return? A group so emboldened by my passivity that they stoked hundreds, thousands to the brink of rebellion!”

Nothing Xerome said was enough to quell Andy’s fire. He remilitarized, punished the entire provinces the conspirators had come from, and from there set about reminding the rest of the empire that he’d brought them together in their current incarnation by force and wasn’t afraid to do it again. Xerome had watched as the cusp of a new golden age was snatched away, and the urge to flee became stronger and stronger.

And now here he was, trying to help a girl flee her own personal despot. It felt so similar he took a second to pinch himself.

“What is Letty’s spark in?” Tilda asked, and Hiram gratefully turned back to her.

“I’m not sure,” he confessed. “I think it’s speech-centric though, at least at this point. She managed to talk me into taking Knight with absolutely no warning, all while holding off her aggressive father—from their house to mine, note. He didn’t catch up with her at my front door, she literally talked him out of hauling her back to their house for almost a mile. And she’s the only one who manages to sell rabbits at Market Day, have you noticed? Her father doesn’t do anything for the family other than drive the wagon and drink himself into a stupor while she keeps them afloat.”

“Interesting,” Tilda said, then bit her lip lightly. “Hmm.”

That wasn’t a good “hmm.” “What?”

Tilda sighed. “If what you’re saying is correct, and Letty is the one keeping her family afloat…have you considered what’s going to happen to them once she’s gone? Especially now that the next-oldest child is apprenticed out?”

Hiram hadn’t, in fact, considered that before now. He could see all too clearly the arc that might play out in his mind, though—how the money for food, much less drink, would grow thin once the rabbits weren’t selling as well. How Granth would take his ire out on those closest to him, his poor, silent wife and the next child in line…another girl, Hiram remembered, and still in school. He imagined the look on Avery’s face when that girl was pulled from his class so that she could try and fill in for her missing siblings, and that was where his imaginings ceased, because things started to get messy at that point.

Nevertheless… “Letty deserves to have this opportunity,” Hiram said. “I know she wants the chance to use her spark, it was one of the first things she said to me. She’d hoped to apprentice to me, but...” But he couldn’t admit to his abilities, especially not now. Not with imperials breathing down his neck, scouring the etherium for any trace of his signature.

“But you’re not magical,” Tilda agreed, and Hiram took a moment to thank the gods that he had such an influential woman on his side. He hated lying to her, and yet he appreciated that she’d fallen for his cover entirely. “I know. It’s a hard prospect either way, in truth. Perhaps there’s something the community can do to intervene…Granth is a hard man, but he’s not incapable of seeing reason when he’s sober.” She shook her head. “Anyhow, Letty is who we should be focusing on. Are you thinking she might do well as a bard, then?”

Hiram waggled his hand a bit. “She doesn’t have any musical inclination, from what I can tell. Never hums while she works or plays an instrument, not even a shepherd’s whistle. But a spoken ability is the sort of thing a bardic college could bring out for her. Or…” He closed his eyes for a moment. “There’s edge cases as well,” he said consideringly. “For instance, plenty of diplomats are sparks.”

“She doesn’t have the upbringing for a formal diplomat’s job, though,” Tilda demurred. “Those go to aristocracy only.”

He hated that she was right. “Some other sort of guiding role, then. Someone who needs to be able to talk people around.”

“The only thing that pops into my head at the moment is working as a rogue.”

Yes, Hiram had considered that as well and he didn’t like it any better. Letty was too much of a self-sacrificial soul for rogueing. She wouldn’t last long. “This is still conjecture,” he said after a moment. “The first thing to do is make sure she’s got the spark we think she does. This is too important to make a mistake with.”

Tilda nodded. “Sensible. How do you want to go about it?”

Hiram smiled. “Actually, I was thinking another trip to town might be in order. Supplies, you know. Negotiations for this and that. Only this time, I’m going to have a bit of a recurrence in my chest cold, gods above, my poor throat.” He coughed into his hand. “So Letty will have to do all the talking to get me what I need.” He leaned in. “And if you wouldn’t mind talking to a few people about being a bit more difficult than usual when we come in…”

Tilda laughed. “I’m sure they’d be happy to draw things out. Where are you planning to go, then?”

Jon arrived a moment later, two steaming cups in  hand. “Soup’s on the way,” he said. “With a hearty garlic loaf on the side. Nothing as good for the humours as garlic, you know.” He beamed at them before heading back to the bar.

Hiram took a sip. Echinacea and licorice root. Hmm. It was heavily herbal, but the honey cut the intensity of it nicely. He had a second sip, then set the cup down. “Let me fill you in.”

 

Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards Ch. 14 Pt. 2

 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

 

Photo by Simon Lee

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.

 

Quaint Escapes For Traitorous Bastards: Ch. 14 Pt. 1

 Notes: We've gone hurt, now let's go comfort! Can't forget that this is COZY, DAMN IT!!!

 Title: Quaint Escapes For Traitorous Bastards: Ch. 14 Pt. 1

***

Chapter Fourteen

 

Quiet and Soft

 

Smell was always the first thing to come back to Hiram after he overextended himself. Not sight; not with his aching eyes. Nor hearing; nothing to shock his already shocked brain. Nothing that required him to think, and nothing that pricked his sensitive skin. Just something that soothed him down to the deepest reaches of his memory, in this case—lemonmint tea.

Lemonmint. It was a ubiquitous herb, hearty enough to grow in the harshest of environments. Even the high mountain villages and the roughest desert climes had periods where native lemonmint grew. It was so pervasive and hard to kill that many people in more benevolent climates ceased to use it at all, considering it a “common” flavor, too mundane to be worth the time to clean, dry, and use in scented sachets or teas, but those who lived at the edge of the extreme knew that lemonmint helped keep your teeth in your head, reduced the duration of seasonal sicknesses, and drove insects away from your food storage jars. Hiram had grown up drinking it every morning and evening, and he always associated it with comfort.

His chest rose and fell deeper than before, unconsciously heightening his experience of the pleasant scent. It drew him out of the darkness of his exhaustion and illness and back to reality. And reality, in this case, was a deliciously dim room with only a bit of light coming from the embers in the fireplace. The windows were dark but uncovered, so it had to be night, and…

Where was he? This wasn’t his home. It wasn’t Tilda’s either; he’d been there often enough to know it now. This seemed new, and yet it wasn’t. There was only one chair where there should be two, for starters.

Wait.

Hiram painstakingly turned his head to the left and saw a man moving in front of a simple black stove, stirring something that Hiram couldn’t make out from his angle. He could only see the man’s back, but after a moment the memory of this place came back, a trickle turned to a flood.

“Avery.”

Avery Surrus turned with a sharp exhale, his eyes wide as he stared at Hiram. He looked rather the worse for wear, with fresh lines of fatigue on his face and stooped shoulders that spoke of fatigue. But his sudden smile was almost blindingly beautiful. “Hiram!” His voice was soft but enthusiastic, and he left the spoon he was holding on the stovetop as he came over to the—cot, it was a cot, Hiram realized. The other chair had been moved to make way for a cot. For him.

Oh, what a mess.

“You’re awake.” Avery pulled the chair over to his bedside and sat down, one hand reaching for Hiram’s forehead as the other took his wrist, fingertips light on his pulse point. “Finally. I was beginning to think I needed to contact a healer after all.”

Ugh. Hiram was grateful that no one from the Temple of Melemor had seen him like this, but there was so much more he needed to know. “How…ah…” How in the etherium had he even gotten here?

“Narion found your mount,” Avery said, correctly interpreting Hiram’s mumbling. “Or rather, it found him, I think. He surmised that something had happened to you along the road, and he asked me to look into it.”

“Just you?” Hiram clarified.

“Mmhm.”

Well, that was good. The fewer people who knew he’d…whatever he’d done, the better. “What then?”

“I found you just where your mount led me,” Avery said. “I tried, but I couldn’t wake you; you were completely unconscious, but you didn’t seem injured in any way, just exhausted. I made a makeshift litter and brought you back here to recover. Narion took your mount to Mistress Tate for safekeeping, I believe.”

All right, so at least one more person knew something was amiss. Damn it. “I’m surprised she’s not banging your door down.”

“Narion was able to forestall her for the time being.” Avery smiled faintly. “They both know how I value my privacy.”

Oh, of course he did. Hiram flexed his toes and fingers searchingly—no unusual levels of pain down either limb. He ought to be able to move. “I can be out of your way in a—”

“No!” Both of them winced at his sudden volume, and Avery made an effort to lower his voice as he continued. “It’s late, and you’ve only just woken up. You might as well stay the night now. We can think about you leaving tomorrow.”

Tomorrow… “How long have I been here?”

“Not even a full day,” Avery assured him. “It took about twelve hours to get home from where I found you. We arrived here early this morning, and you slept through it all. I got you set up in here, made sure you weren’t in dire straits, and…” He shrugged. “I’ve been waiting ever since, making sure you weren’t spiking a fever and getting you to drink a bit of water here and there.”

That was fortunate. It struck Hiram that he could, in fact, have died out there in the woods if Mule hadn’t shown such tenacity. He’d been…he’d been…

New memories rushed in, and Hiram groaned and clutched at his head as the influx threatened to overwhelm him. Garrison, the seeking, the obscuration, the wizards…damn it, damn it! His entire existence was threatened because he’d handled those damn gnolls, of all the ridiculous, confounded, useless—

“Breathe,” Avery pleaded, and Hiram realized he was gasping, becoming light-headed. “Breathe, Hiram, it’s all right.” He laid a warm hand on Hiram’s chest. “Steady, steady…in like me.” He modeled a gradually slowing pace, and Hiram was able to gather enough of the tatters of his ability to think back into his mind and mimic his host. Eventually the pain from the memories faded, and he was left feeling no worse for the knowledge. More morose, absolutely, but the headache subsided fast.

“Well, hells,” he managed.

Avery chuckled with relief as he sat back, casually holding one of Hiram’s hands between his own. It felt like wearing a warm, soft mitten. “Are you well?”

“I’ll survive.” As long as I’m careful. Gods, I’m going to have to be so careful now. Maybe he ought to take this as a sign that it was time to go, actually. He’d lasted almost two months in Lollop, not a tenth of what he’d hoped for, but…

“Good.” Avery looked down, and the light was dim but Hiram could still make out the stain of a blush on his cheeks. “I can’t tell you how worried I was for you. It doesn’t, um, paint me in a particularly calm and collected light.”

“I think saving my life paints you in a very good light,” Hiram said honestly.

“You’re generous.” Avery shook his head. “The truth is, I don’t do well in emergencies. I tend to lose my head when things get out of hand. I haven’t slept since I brought you here; I’m surprised I didn’t wake you up earlier with all my pacing.”

That was an enlightening confession in multiple ways. “You could have given me over to Tilda,” Hiram offered. “I’m sure she’d have accepted the burden of caring for me.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Avery closed his eyes and blew out a breath. “If I’d let you out of my sight, it would have been even worse,” he said, quiet and careful and so fearfully truthful it made Hiram’s heart ache in response. In a good way, though. “I—do you—”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now.” Hiram managed a little smile. “Or anyone I’d rather be with.” It was true, he realized; he was comfortable here, happy to be in the company of a person he admired and was beginning to feel…things for. Whether those stirrings would ever amount to love was another story, but he would give Avery what he had. It wasn’t much.

Avery didn’t seem to mind, if the grin that split his handsome face was any indicator. “Good.” They looked at each other in perfect understanding for a moment before he continued, “Would you care for something to eat? Or perhaps some tea?”

Hiram’s mouth watered at just the thought of it. “Tea, please. With—”

“With a little bit of honey,” Avery said. “I remember.” He got up, but only so he could lean forward and help Hiram into a sitting position, scooting him along the cot until his back rested against the wall. The stone should have chilled him, but he was still cozily warm. He glanced down at himself and realized he was wearing a thick woolen sweater that he was positive didn’t belong to him. A deeper sniff told him it belonged to Avery, faintly redolent of cedar and a hint of musk.

He glanced up at Avery and had the delight of watching him blush again. “You were shivering, and all your things were damp,” he muttered. “Let me just—”

Hiram set a hand on the younger man’s shoulder, freezing him in place. “Thank you,” he said. “Truly. You’ve done such a good job taking care of me, I feel very fortunate.”

“Anyone would have,” Avery mumbled, unable to tear his eyes away.

Hiram shook his head. “I think you and I both know that’s not true.” He held Avery’s gaze a moment longer, then let go. “I would love some tea.”

“I—yes, I have tea, let me get it.” He went over to the stovetop and came back with two familiar mugs, one for each of them. The heat of the steeping brew had bled through the ceramic, and it was a delight to hold. The taste was perfection, citrus and mint softened with the delicious floral sweetness of the honey, and he exhaled happily after his first sip.

They took their first few sips in silence, then Avery said, “You won’t believe the news I heard on the road when I was coming to get you.”

I’m afraid I would. But there was no polite way to get out of listening other than falling asleep, and Hiram wanted to at least get through one cup of tea before he did so. “Tell me.”

“Word from Garrison is that a pair of dangerous bandits were remanded to the city in chains, and no one knows who did it.”

“How fortunate for Garrison.”

Their eyes met again, and Hiram steeled himself against the questions he could see in Avery’s face. He couldn’t tell him the truth, he couldn’t, not if he wanted to survive, but…he owed Avery some truth, at least. If he pressed…Hiram would try to answer honestly.

But he surprised Hiram once more. “Fortunate indeed,” was all he said, then sipped his tea like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Oh. Oh, dear. There’s a fearfully good chance I could fall in love with this man. And Hiram wasn’t sure he was strong enough to guard his heart against it.