Notes: The course of true love never did run smooth...*snort*
Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Ch. 19 Pt. 1
***
Chapter Nineteen, Part One
Gratitude
Hiram began to shift back so his unexpected visitor could enter his home, but Master Spindlestep held up an elegant hand. “My piece can be said right here. I must ask two favors of you. The first is permission to borrow your mount for the rest of the evening, and the second is your promise to remain here and wait with an open mind and heart for whatever might come next.”
Oh, this had to be about Avery. “Let me just—”
“Hiram. I beg of you, please.”
The combination of his first name and the humble entreaty halted any objection. Hiram knew—or at least, thought he knew—Master Spindlestep well enough that he had a good reason for the way he did things. Whatever he’d gleaned from Hiram’s handling of his purchase in Garrison, it had earned him some grace. “All right,” Hiram said after a moment. “I’ll just…wait here, then, while you enjoy Mule’s company.”
“I daresay Mule is a better conversationalist than half the people I deal with in Lollop.”
“Mm, there’s true wisdom in silence at times,” Hiram agreed, and a brief smile flashed across Master Spindlestep’s face. “Do you need help harnessing her?”
“I believe I can handle it, thank you.” The elf graciously inclined his head. “I promise to bring her back unharmed.”
“I’d never expect differently from you.”
Master Spindlestep nodded once more, then turned and, slowly but smoothly, made his way down the front steps and around to the lean-to where Mule was settled. Hiram listened as the old elf murmured to her like she could understand every word, asking politely for her to guide him to her bridle and to help him shift the gate before leading her forward a few minutes later. He mounted with ease, no saddle or stirrups necessary, and kept his hands loose on the reins.
“She responds best to a light touch,” Hiram called out.
“Mm, I trust her choose our path tonight,” Master Spindlestep replied. “I’m sure she’ll bring me back in good time.”
But not too good. Hiram needed time to talk to Avery, after all…although why Mule was an impediment to that, he didn’t know. Something to do with the geis, somehow?
Master Spindlestep said no more, simply stroked a hand down Mule’s neck and murmured something unintelligible to her. A second later Mule started walking down the road, away from Lollop. In the light of the moon, the glamour concealing her natural coloring seemed to fade; she shimmered like a star under Narion’s guidance. Hiram watched the two of them until they were gone, then sighed and closed his front door.
Right. Wait. He could do that. Open mind, open heart, he would listen to anything, do anything to understand more about Avery. That had to be who Master Spindlestep was talking about, it had to be. Hiram should—he should—tea, he should get the pot on for tea, except he’d have to haul in some more water to do it and he really didn’t want to strain his arm like that right now.
Clean. Should he clean? He should clean up, put the remnants of his earlier visits aside and make room, but—no, he should light the fire first. It was dark in here, the candle on the side table practically burned down to a nub. He should get another, he should—no, fireplace first, then candle, then—or perhaps—
“I can’t remember the last time I saw you dilly-dally so.”
“I never dilly-dally,” Hiram muttered as he turned to check if the fireplace was already set with logs. It wasn’t, damn it.
“You most certainly do.”
“Wizards aren’t dalliers. We can’t afford to be anything other than decisive.”
“In battle, perhaps. In every other matter, you’re one of the worst dilly-dalliers I’ve ever seen. The amount of time you spend poring over every gift you’ve ever bestowed, wondering if the receiver will like it—”
Oh, that was hardly fair! “Some people are hard to buy for!” Like the ruler of an entire empire who already had everything he ever wanted, the bastard. The amount of time Hiram had put into ensuring he gave his former lover exciting, unique, powerful gifts…and then Misha had wanted next to nothing, preferring gifts for her horse or, when she was small, her bunny instead of something for herself.
The log pile was out back. It wouldn’t be comfortable, carrying them inside, but that was preferable to a heavier load of water right now. He’d set the fire, then get a candle, then…well, then perhaps he’d tackle the tea situation. Hiram spun around and headed for the back door, freshly energized at the thought of having something to do. He reached for the handle—
And the door opened before he could reach it. Hiram stumbled without meaning to, his shaky balance rendered practically useless from startlement, and he gasped as he anticipated the pain of an awkward landing.
Then warm, familiar hands caught him around the waist, steadying him. Hiram was drawn in close to the body of none other than Avery Surrus, who looked just as startled as Hiram felt. “What the—Hiram, what in the name of all the gods happened to you?” he demanded in a low, almost dark tone. He inhaled deeply, his face an inch away from the crook of Hiram’s neck. “You smell like pain.”
I what?
“You shouldn’t be on your feet, much less falling into doorjambs!”
“The fall was entirely accidental, I promise you,” Hiram said, but Avery was on a roll now.
“You need to sit down.” With fast but careful footsteps, he all but carried Hiram back over to his comfortable chair. “It’s dark as night in here, you must be almost blind. Let me—Gods, where is your firewood? What have you eaten in the last five hours?” He blinked oddly bright, accusatory eyes at Hiram. “Why isn’t someone here to take care of you?”
Hiram smiled despite himself. “I’m really not so bad off,” he promised.
“You’re lying!” The vehemence in his voice took both of them by surprise. Avery immediately turned his gaze to the floor. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll just—give me a moment, please.” He swirled around and stalked out the back door once more, black cloak trailing him like a shadow, and Hiram…
He sat there, feeling rather put in his place and a little hot under the collar because of it. It wasn’t the fussing; he’d had more than enough of fussing over him for one day. But he had always valued expressions of care, no matter how adept—or not—the other person was at showing that care. In the early days, when they’d been more adventurer than aristocrat, Andurion had shown his care by making sure that Hiram had a place for his bedroll that was closest to the fire, that he had the first serving of food at every meal, and that he never had to refill his own canteen.
Avery had nothing in common with Andurion—not his refined looks compared to the other’s blunt features, not his beautiful curls to Andy’s short bristles, not whatever curse was laid upon him versus the many curses the emperor had laid upon others. But the thought of him caring enough to bring wood inside, to cook a meal, perhaps to serve some tea like he’d done before…that would be most welcome.
Hiram wasn’t disappointed. Avery bustled about, muttering under his breath as he hauled wood and water, lit a fire so bright that it chased all the shadows into the corners, then heated water and toasted a piece of bread with the last of Hiram’s Fremont cheese before bringing it over to him.
“Darling,” Hiram tried once Avery had tended to his every need and appeared to be casting about for something else to do. “Won’t you sit with me? I’m all right.”
“You’re not, though,” Avery said unhappily. “What in hells’ dark abyss did that bastard do to you? Why didn’t Mistress Tate bring you to Lollop to get you properly healed?”
Ah, of course. “You heard about Granth, then.”
“I did.” There was a grim undercurrent to Avery’s voice, almost a growl. “I truly hope he’s dead, because if he isn’t I’m going to hunt him down myself and—” He cut himself off and squeezed his eyes shut.
Now they were getting close to the truth. Whatever aspect of Avery’s situation Hiram was missing, it clearly pained the other man desperately. It wasn’t right to let him suffer so, when Hiram was hiding just as much from him. Hiram could out and ask him about the geis and whatever it was that linked him to Marlon so indelibly, but he felt it would be better to offer something of himself up first. Honesty in exchange for honesty; a heart for a heart.
“My darling,” Hiram said, putting all the warmth he felt into his voice. He was exhausted and pained and stricken with a fear of loss that he hadn’t felt since leaving Galenish, but just looking at Avery eased his trepidation. He would strike first, be bold, and give the man he loved every reason to be honest with him in return. “I was never truly in danger from Granth.”
“But he hurt you.”
“I perhaps pushed my sense of cautiousness too far,” Hiram admitted. “I’ve been trying very hard to hold back a truth about myself that…well, it’s dangerous. But I would share it with you, if you want to know it.”
Quick as a flicker, Avery knelt on the soft wool rug before Hiram’s chair. The firelight cast his face into a delicate dance of soft shadow and gentle glow, making him look otherworldly. “I want to know everything about you,” he said. “Tell me, please.”
Hiram closed his eyes for a moment and gathered his strength. “I’m not who you think I am,” he said at last. His heart began to race. “I’m—my name, my profession, everything. It’s a reinvention of the man I once was, someone I want to leave behind, but I can’t, I can’t have you if I’m not honest with you.”
“You can tell me anything,” Avery swore. “Anything. I won’t turn away from you.” His warm hands found Hiram’s, holding them close to his chest.
Hiram’s throat was as dry as sand, his pulse pounding through his ears like galloping hoofbeats. “My true name,” he forced out, opening his eyes to look at the man he loved, “is Xerome Denilzen, but I was always known simply as Xerome.” He smiled weakly. “You may have heard of me.”
Hiram was startled to see tears well up in Avery’s eyes. “Oh gods,” the younger man said, releasing Hiram’s hands to frame his face. He peered into his eyes like he was looking for something. “Granth must have hit you so hard he damaged your brain.”
Wait, what?
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