“Would you like to try braiding it?” Tahlen offered, still regarding Zelli with his warm, watchful eyes. “For practice,” he tacked on, possibly because Zelli was gaping at him.
Zelli dug his fingernails into his palms at the idea of that hair sliding between his fingers.
“Come up here behind me,” Tahlen instructed when Zelli did not otherwise move, and Zelli found himself scrambling to sit on the stone recently warmed by Tahlen’s backside as Tahlen descended gracefully to the ground.
He had to reach out almost immediately to keep the ends of Tahlen’s long hair from falling into the dirt. Then, of course, he spent several moments letting it trail through his hands. He recalled himself too late and quickly began to comb it, starting at the top.
Tahlen, voice nearly as smooth as his hair, had Zelli start near the bottom instead to catch any knots from the undone braid before Zelli combed the rest. Zelli didn’t know how long he did that, to be honest. He might have combed Tahlen’s hair for hours, but Tahlen didn’t stop Zelli or suggest he should get on with it. Zelli took care around Tahlen’s ears, trying not to touch at first, but then giving in when he remembered Tahlen had touched him there and he shouldn’t shy from it.
“Any braid I can do will be simple,” Zelli warned him, whispering for some reason. He lifted the mass of Tahlen’s hair in one hand, the other slowly collecting any strands he’d missed.
“It’s for tonight only,” Tahlen whispered back. “And only for you to see, if it bothers you that much.”
“I won’t have you looking foolish,” Zelli informed him indignantly, still unable to raise his voice. He petted the shining strands one last time before attempting to part them into sections. “You should wear it loose sometimes, with little braids, like the palace beat-of-fours are said to.”
“It would get in my way.” Tahlen reached back, took Zelli’s hand by the wrist without turning to find it, and directed it down to the side of his neck where a lock of hair had come loose. He was very warm. Zelli was never going to able to fall asleep now.
He gulped, but collected the errant lock and decided he should speak to it as Tahlen had spoken to his hair. “Now, now,” Zelli scolded Tahlen’s hair, “you are much too lovely to be this disobedient. I will not allow you to make our Tahlen look silly. Oh.” His words seemed loud. “That is to say… Tahlen wouldn’t like it, and Esrin certainly wouldn’t either.”
“You’re giving my hair orders?” Tahlen wondered without anger and reached back again to once more guide Zelli’s hand. Zelli didn’t mind, though Tahlen would feel the wild beat of his pulse if he cared to notice it. Zelli had braided ahead of himself and made a small tangle. But that didn’t seem a shameful mistake since Tahlen said nothing when Zelli had to unravel and comb and start again.
Zelli was more careful with his second attempt, deciding not to speak and braid at the same time since his thoughts were distracting him and liable to spill out of his mouth if he didn’t focus. When he was finally finished, he reached for the cord to fasten the braid with a sad sigh that made Tahlen start to turn around.
Tahlen had barely moved before he stopped again, fixing his attention on the open side of the waystation and the thickening fog. He reached for his sword on top of the packs Zelli had taken off the horses and curled his hand around the sword hilt without drawing it.
His words were low and urgent. “Zelli, get back.”
Zelli scrambled backward, nearly falling, then saving himself by tumbling onto the stone next to the one he’d been on.
“See now,” a voice said casually but loudly from within the fog, “I told you we should announce ourselves. These valley people are jumpy.”
Another voice responded to the first. “Can you blame them? These are times to set anyone on edge.” The second voice, which was as deep as the first but of a richer timbre, went on, apparently speaking to Zelli and Tahlen now. “This fog of yours is something. We were debating stopping where we were and hoping daylight wouldn’t reveal we were utterly lost. Then we saw your fire.”
Two figures leading horses emerged from the swirling fog. Twolargefigures, even by the standards of people who were not Zelli.
“A nice fire,” one of them grunted, the first speaker, Zelli thought, who was the larger of the two. “Might we enjoy it with you?”
Asking politely to sit in a Tialttyrin waystation, usually meant for the public to use, would have marked them as people from outside the valley even if their clothing and hair hadn’t immediately made their profession clear.
“Brilliant, these little houses you do here,” said the other one, glancing around the farmer-made waystation with interest. “The Rossick have a few as well, but not nearly so many. More families should take up the idea. Maybe we could have some along the highways, sponsored by the ruler.”
“Be sure to mention that to whoever occupies the palace these days.” The first one practically grunted that too.
“No, thank you, my love,” the other one responded mildly. “I’m fond of my head where it is. But I might suggest it to Ral.”
“Suggest, he says.” A third grunt, this one sarcastic.
They were outguards almost certainly. From their short-cropped hair, the layers of durable wool in dark colors, the oiled cloaks, to the array of weaponry. The last outguards Zelli had laid eyes on, and indeed most of them, had worn swords of different sizes and sometimes a mace or something easily carried. Both of them had swords, one with an additional long knife in a sheath, and both wore armor that looked years-old.
Tahlen turned to Zelli. To deny them would be inhospitable and against the idea behind the waystations, even though this one had not built for the public. Besides that, they were outguards.
Tahlen’s steady gaze acknowledged that, but the choice was still Zelli’s.
Zelli faced the two new arrivals and found them both observing the exchange. He cleared his throat.
“All are welcome in the waystations,” he said, polite, but not the warmest possible greeting.
Tahlen relaxed his grip but did not take his hand far from the sword.
