Tahlen emerged from the bathing room, most of his armor already removed. Zelli inhaled deeply in pleasure, as he always did when Tahlen was down to his woolens.
Tahlen kneeled down to remove his boots, then stood up. He took the message he must have left on the table by the fire and brought it to Zelli at his desk. Zelli had been forced to move the desk into their room several years ago after realizing that in order to get his work done without being interrupted by questions every moment of the day, he had to have a place to hide. It was also convenient for the waning days of his lust-fevers.
“You know the message is for you,” Tahlen said, as he said nearly every time, concerned that Zelli might be doubting himself again. He placed the thick envelope covered in gold ink on Zelli’s desk.
“She is still The Tialttyrin,” Zelli reminded him, as he also did nearly every time, making the words light so Tahlen wouldn’t worry.
Tahlen leaned in, wiping a trace of something, likely ink, from Zelli’s cheek, his braid trailing against Zelli’s shoulder. The ornaments running down the length of the braid were glass. Tahlen would not accept jewels after the other gifts Zelli had given him, but would allow colored glass and some precious metals. The sight of the white clusters of flowers nestled into Tahlen’s rich brown hair warmed Zelli to his toes, diamonds or not. Others might not know what those flowers meant, but Zelli did, and Tahlen wearing them for him was his gift in return.
Tahlen had a smudge on one sleeve, a splash of red that would have alarmed Zelli if he hadn’t known it was a mashed berry. A berry was the kind of sweet that a child of four like Daslin might gobble up at every opportunity. And the opportunities were plentiful, since the berries seemed to appear as if from nowhere.
Zelli’s mouth twisted, pleasure and sadness mixing in equal measure as they always did when he thought how their child would never know loneliness as Zelli had, but wondered anew why he’d had to.
There would be no answers for his questions, even if he voiced them.
Tahlen had stopped in the nursery before coming here, but hadn’t stayed long. He thought the message was important enough to merit giving Zelli time to absorb its contents before dragging Zelli from the room for dinner and to put Daslin to bed. Staying with Daslin to tell him stories as he fell asleep was something parents did, Tahlen had assured Zelli, and Zelli liked the ritual, although he didn’t know nearly the number of stories that Tahlen did.
He wondered idly and not idly if another child would require more stories or the same ones, but had yet to ask Tahlen about it. Tahlen was protective at the best of times and giving him another source of worry might be too much. Then again, if the fae thought Tahlen couldn’t take it, they wouldn’t have sent him here. Besides, if Zelli was thinking it, then Tahlen was likely wishing it, even if he kept his wishes to himself. He would say, “I don’t need another Vallithi. If anything, you need a Tialttyrin.” Or, “You were uncomfortable and in pain last time, and I couldn’t help you.” Or, “You’ve already given me so much, Zelli.”
As if Zelli hadn’t made the fae promise to never let Tahlen be alone. As if Zelli hadn’t promised it to himself as well. As if Daslin didn’t make even Esrin smile.
A bit smug at the thought, Zelli picked up the envelope. He read the front, then unfolded it to read the rest. It was opened. Grandmother had seen it already then. That was good, except…
“It is also addressed to the Mountain Wolf of the Tialttyrin,” Tahlen supplied helpfully as Zelli read those very words.
“That story going around the valley again?” Zelli was absently bothered, but not enough to question it now. The rest of the message was far more interesting.
“The message is not from the valley,” Tahlen said significantly.
Zelli glanced up at him, lost briefly in the brightness of the eyes looking back at him. It did not help when Tahlen pulled his shirt over his head, moving away to set it carefully aside though the berry juice would stain it as it had stained so much of his clothing already.
The impression of Zelli’s teeth at Tahlen’s shoulder blade was just as distracting as Tahlen’s eyes, more so, at the moment, with the light glinting off the flowered clasps in Tahlen’s braid so close to that bite mark.
“What do you think?” Tahlen asked.
It took Zelli a beat too long to remember the message, which was what Tahlen was asking about.
Or possibly not. He did like showing off for Zelli. Zelli should reward him for it.
But he cleared his throat and focused, for the moment, on the message.
Which was very muchnotfrom the valley.
“An invitation to a wedding?” Zelli wondered in amazement, reading it through again more slowly. Letters from family in the capital had said a royal wedding was being planned, a celebration of the peace, really, which the king’s upcoming second marriage was supposed to help secure. The king and his husband were making a public display of their love for a librarian. A beat-of-four and a Master Keeper in the Great Library as well, but still a librarian.
Zelli had been pleased at the gossip, and like many others hoped it meant the times of chaos were over. He hadn’t considered attending the wedding himself.
He wanted to travel, of course, beyond his yearly journey up and down the length of the valley and his one small, carefully planned visit with some of the Rossick. But to the palace…. Even by river, it was not a trip to be taken lightly. He would have to consider which members of the household would accompany him, soothe over hurt feelings for those left behind, assign tasks, prepare Daslin, deal with the guards’ worries, deal withTahlen’sworries…. His family in the capital would be a challenge as well, some perhaps genuinely welcoming, others only out of fear Zelli would cut their funds.
At that thought, Zelli smiled a little, pressing his tongue to one of his fangs.
Then he tried to be serious again. “Probably everyone from every beat-of-four family is invited.”
He had barely said it when a slip of paper fell out from the folds of the first one.
He picked it up, and saw, scribbled in crimson ink:
To Mizel of the Tialttyrin, and, if the songs I hear are true, his husband, Tahlen of the Vallithi. Please accept this invitation to attend my wedding and stay in the palace as my honored guests. The smallest gesture to acknowledge your service to us all.
