“You know,” he began, voice slightly strained, “we might not spot any strangers if they really want to stay hidden. Although, by autumn, when the bushes and trees stop providing cover for them, theywillbe found if they are still here.”
Tahlen paused while reaching for a pie, then carried on. “You and your grandmother will have to plan for that. Although, hiding that long implies they aren’t here to cause trouble.”
“No, avoiding trouble.” Zelli didn’t like that idea, though he should. It meant the possible strangers were being pursued and he did not know by whom or why. “No one else but a ruler has the right to act in this valley, and that would require alegitimateruler, and they should have informed Grandmother first.”
A ruler’s legitimacy was only partly a matter of being from a line traced back to the original Earls. In actuality, it involved that someone being of such a bloodline—mostly to get the support of the other families and not for any other reason Zelli could find—getting and keeping the throne, and then ruling wisely enough that the other families allowed it. The ruler was supposed to solve disputes between families, not cause them. If another family had sent armed guards here, no matter what the reason, they either believed they had that right as potential rulers—which they did not—or they no longer cared about tradition.
“People do things they would not believe themselves capable of when they’re desperate,” Tahlen said suddenly, as if his thoughts had gone in a different direction. Zelli twisted to look up at him. Tahlen had stopped with an egg in one hand, the shell uncracked. “I imagine, if you wanted to appear stronger and nobler than you really are, then no one could be allowed to know that your sworn guards had fled you. Even if it meant slowing your other plans, you could not leave those guards to run loose and tell the rest of the country how you’ve failed them.”
His voice was soft.
Zelli shivered.
Tahlen focused on him, frowning. “Nothing will happen to you. I won’t let it.”
That wasn’t why Zelli had shivered. But he shook his head. “And I won’t let you sacrifice yourself, so we find ourselves at an impasse, don’t we?”
He got nothing in response to that. Tahlen went back to eating, which Zelli now took for more stubbornness. Tahlen wasn’t going to argue with Zelli over it. He would justactif the time came.With his bodythe oath said,with his life. He would die and leave Zelli to…. He would leave Zelli, and Zelli would feel what Tahlen and his sister must have felt in their first moments of survival.
How very terrible of him.
Zelli curled a hand around the bottom of Tahlen’s leg, fidgeting with his comb with his other hand.
Tahlen turned his head. He wiped his hands on his pants, studied Zelli for another moment, or at least the top of Zelli’s head and the side of his face since Zelli did not look back to meet his gaze. He cleared his throat.
“I can arrange your hair for sleep, if you like.”
He would need to touch Zelli again if Zelli hoped to get any sleep, but Zelli had nearly forgotten the matter of his hair. Or rather, Tahlen’s offer to take care of it for him.
“You wear it almost as you do in the daytime, don’t you?” Tahlen went on when Zelli gave a jerky nod of permission. Tahlen was using his soft voice once again. He gestured for Zelli to move closer, and Zelli did that jerkily as well, scooting over until his back was against Tahlen’s legs.
Zelli sat rigidly for the first moments, sure this was not what Tahlen had meant, but then Tahlen shifted to let Zelli fall back a little, the stone there to support him but Tahlen’s legs on either side of his body.
Zelli stared wide-eyed at the fire and wished, silently, that he would not embarrass himself or Tahlen. Without a word, he held up the comb and the discarded bits of cord for tying the ends of braids. Tahlen began to work almost immediately, gently combing the length down Zelli’s back, fingertips occasionally brushing Zelli’s neck on either side.
Zelli closed his eyes. “Um.” It was more a hum than a word. “No one has ever done my hair for me before.”
The smallest hesitation between strokes of the comb could have meant anything. “Not even your parent before they returned to their life in the capital?”
So Tahlen’s parents had sometimes brushed or combed their children’s hair. It was possible most children experienced that.
Zelli coughed lightly. “No. None of the servants here are trained to do it as they are in the capital, and there was really no need since I never go anywhere. Grandmother was going to call one of the cousins home for a visit before I… before I leave, if I leave, to teach me. Although we did worry my hair would be too difficult to handle.” Tahlen gently parted Zelli’s hair, first into two big sections and then one smaller one near Zelli’s nape. Zelli sucked in a breath. “You have no problems, however.”
Tahlen’s knuckles glanced across Zelli’s skin as he braided, putting a tiny plait behind Zelli’s ear that Zelli wanted to touch but also didn’t want to draw attention to. The tiny braid went into one of the larger ones, which were secure but not tight enough to pull at Zelli’s scalp.
Tahlen fastened the last cord, released a long breath, then handed Zelli his comb.
Zelli took it but didn’t turn for a while, passing his fingertips over each braid, lingering on the braid-within-a-braid. “I’ll hate to mess them up,” he confessed, tipping his head back, pleased when Tahlen leaned forward to make it easier for Zelli to see him. “But I likely will. I was restless last night and might be so again.”
Though he ought to have been bothered by this, Tahlen did not appear to be. He said, “You’ll have to lie near me, then,” in a reasonable voice, before reaching back to tug the end of his braid over his shoulder.
When he untied the cord and began to slowly comb out the braid with his fingers, Zelli felt his lips part. He twisted around to consider that Tahlen’s hair shined in the light of all fires and probably also in the light of the sun, if Zelli was ever fortunate enough to witness that.
Tahlen’s eyes met Zelli’s as he continued to unravel the intricate weave.
Zelli’s throat was quite dry. He realized his hand was on Tahlen’s knee. He snatched it away, then felt foolish and put it back since he had permission to touch Tahlen now.
“You have beautiful hair,” Zelli told him earnestly, only to give a start. “I should…” He stuttered to silence because there was nothing he should do. Nothing he had to do at that moment, anyway.
