Of course, reaching Tahlen’s door and actually knocking on Tahlen’s door required different levels of courage, so at the threshold, Zelli faltered.
Tahlen might be asleep, which was a strange thing to realize. Tahlen was a person; obviously he would need to rest like anyone else. Yet Zelli held back from knocking while he imagined Tahlen sleep-soft and relaxed, maybe even grumpy when woken. He might braid his hair differently for sleep. Some did. Not Zelli, but that was because Zelli’s hair slipped out of all braids no matter how tight.
Tahlen would surely take off some of his armor at night. It couldn’t be comfortable to sleep in.
Of course, thinking about Tahlen without armor was not the sort of thing to do in a moment like this, since it generally led to situations that could not be entirely blamed on Zelli’s fae blood and would be extremely unwelcome to Tahlen.
Although Tahlen perhaps did not think so, Zelli reflected, his voice uncertain even in his own mind.
He knocked before he could let thoughts of Tahlen without armor, or clothes, take hold of him again, then twitched when Tahlen called for him to enter.
“Is something wrong?” Tahlen asked before Zelli had pushed open the door, the question trailing at the end as though not even steady, smart Tahlen could fathom the sight of Zelli in his doorway.
This was fair, since Zelli spent several stunned moments blinking at a Tahlen with his hair loose, sitting in a wide, comfortable chair before a fire, a length of cloth across his lap and a sewing needle in one hand.
Before bed, Tahlen apparently unbound his hair and let it fall around him in a shining, smooth curtain of rich brown, marked with the pattern of his braids even now. He wore a white undershirt and the warm, brightly dyed sleep pants worn by villagers who lived in houses without the grand fireplaces and heating systems of buildings like this one. The guards’ rooms had only the fireplaces, which was perhaps why Tahlen had the pants on. Woolen socks hid his feet from view. The shirt, open at the top, revealed hair at his chest.
Zelli had not known Tahlen had such hair and foresaw himself obsessing over the visible patch of brown hair for many nights to come.
“Zelli?” Tahlen was already rising to his feet, although Zelli belatedly thought that he ought to assure Tahlen he didn’t need to stand; Zelli was unexpectedly visiting him in his private quarters, after all. No ceremony should be required.
Tahlen put his sewing on the bed. As the room was not large, he did not have to step away to do so. Zelli watched the action, stared harder to see the striped tabby cat curled up on Tahlen’s bed, then transferred his attention back to Tahlen, who reached for his hair as if he might braid it right then but stopped himself.
The style among the old families in the capital was for braided hair or unbound hair with braids in it and sometimes jewelry as well. A style designed to be annoying for people like Zelli, with hair that was not straight or inclined to fall down his back, and which only reached his shoulder blades. It wasn’t as if seeing Tahlen’s hair was forbidden or an unearned intimacy. But perhaps it felt like one to Tahlen.
Zelli swallowed, then finally moved his gaze to the fire. Some movement in the hall made him inch forward, nearly silent in his pillowy indoor boots. Then, glancing to Tahlen again, he closed the door behind him so this wouldn’t be overheard and cause Tahlen any problems.
“I’m sorry for bothering you.” Zelli could not seem to keep his voice level without effort. That occurred frequently around Tahlen and was even more difficult for him now. Even finding Tahlen in his armor would have been too much, Zelli realized now, with the two of them alone and the hour late. He opened his mouth to try again to sound as reasonable and calm as Tahlen usually did. “I didn’t know you had a cat.”
He winced as he said it.
“I don’t,” Tahlen answered, in the same tone in which he said everything, so controlled that it was nearly emotionless. Apparently, he had recovered from the surprise of Zelli’s visit.
Zelli jerked his head up and gestured to the tabby, which, from what he knew of cats, was probably not asleep and merely pretending to be.
“It’s not my cat,” Tahlen said, but went briefly silent when their eyes met. “It sleeps where it’s warm,” Tahlen explained further, as though he read things in Zelli’s expression even when Zelli said nothing. “It belonged to Reas.”
He didn’t need to add more. Reas had been another sworn guard, with the family for at least two generations, but who had nonetheless chosen to leave, as some had of late. Sworn guards didn’t need to give reasons to leave, only request to be freed from their oath of service, and since no one would keep someone who wished to be free, Grandmother had released anyone who asked. But all in the fortress and the village below could guess the reasons for so many departures. Some guards felt the Tialttyrin family were too weak and not worth the rising risk, or they sought better pay and to be part of the action with a bolder, more aggressive house. In the case of Reas, Zelli suspected the first. With constant warring, any great families seen as vulnerable would eventually find themselves in trouble. The Tialttyrin had never sought guards who enjoyed fighting, had never needed to, and those like Reas certainly had not signed up to give their lives over a war for a crown the Tialttyrin did not even want.
Several times, Zelli had started to ask why a guard as highly regarded as Tahlen had not also left them, but he didn’t even know why Tahlen and his sister had come here four years ago. It was not his place to ask and Tahlen was already dissatisfied with Zelli. But thinking of why that was made Zelli’s insides feel decidedly unsteady.
Zelli glanced to the cat again, frowning. “He left his cat behind? I am at least glad you’re here to care for it. Loyalty should be rewarded, not thrown away. Maybe we are better off without Reas if he behaved so abominably.”
“I don’t…” Tahlen stopped his protest short when Zelli looked up. Tahlen gave a slight shake of his head. “It only sleeps here.”
Zelli smiled even though the knowledge that a tabby slept on Tahlen’s bed was as disconcerting as the unfinished sewing.
Tahlen’s eyes were a deeper brown than his hair. He was several years older than Zelli but not even near thirty, when, in different times, he might have expected to be promoted or to take on more responsibilities. His face was that of a young man of twenty-five or twenty-six, but his eyes were so much older. And he was careful with his smiles. The cat might receive some of them. Zelli never had.
Zelli straightened his shoulders. It was a little pointless since much of his too-bright hair had been pulled free of his twin braids by the winds along the battlement and Zelli’s clothing had no embellishments, but he tried to have dignity.
“I didn’t come here to talk about your cat,” Zelli announced calmly, then ruined the effect somewhat by pushing out his bottom lip as he imagined the cat lying against Tahlen’s side through the night. “What’s its name?”
Tahlen ignored the question and took a small step forward. “Why have you come here, Zelli? What did you have to say that couldn’t be said where others can hear?”
Zelli had to tilt his head back, but he had to do that with everyone and couldn’t really resent it now. He didn’t know what to make of Tahlen’s tone, or lack of one. Tahlen’s questions felt weighted, though with what, Zelli didn’t know.
Tahlen was like the rock in the foothills and mountains around them. Zelli couldn’t be that steady if he tried. Even without reaching for one of the weapons leaning against the wall by the door, Tahlen was ready to leap into action if Zelli gave the word. Zelli would have looked afraid or worried in a moment like that. Tahlen was only so very still, his eyes so very dark.
