As if he heard what Fen had left unsaid, Lan’s voice became rough again. “But the falcon chooses to return? Fuck. Give me your hand.”
Fen regarded Lan silently but stepped forward and extended his arm, offering the wrist wrapped in the braided leather although Lan hadn’t directly requested it. He shivered for the feel of Lan’s hands pushing his sleeve up to expose his forearm, blue and lightly bruised from a night of pleasure.
Lan ran his fingertips over the leather, slowing to stop after he traced the length and didn’t seem to find what he was looking for. “It’s not tied,” he remarked at last, quiet.
“It never is.” Fen blinked in confusion to find himself being studied intently. “See?” He used his other hand to tuck in the ends to show Lan how he wore it. It did sometimes fall off that way, or loosen, but securing the cord was an absent habit now, and the weight of it as it slid up and down with his movements was reassuring.
“You choose to replace it every day? Many times a day?” Lan tugged on Fen’s arm to bring him in close, and then Lan’s arm was around him and he was tipping Fen’s face up to kiss him hard enough to leave Fen breathless. He pulled away before Fen could do more than raise his hands to Lan’s chest. Then Lan shut his eyes and pressed another, much softer kiss to Fen’s knitted brow.
“I will worry,” Fen answered the question that had not been asked.
Lan nodded slowly. “You’ll have to account for that in your plans too.”
“It will be harder to make plans when I am farther north in what was once The Maben’s territory,” Fen observed.
“Fuck.” It was Lan’s favorite thing to say around Fen. He inched back and opened his eyes to sweep his gaze over Fen’s face several times. “What won’t you demand from me?”
He was out of the tent in the next moment, Fen’s hand in his, keeping Fen with him until he, Heni, Race, and three others reached the line of trees. Then Lan released him to walk into the forest.
Despite what he’d said about wanting Fen near him and always in his sight, he did not look back.
Eighteen
Fen dealt with the laundry while the worry lodged in his chest and rubbed against the tender places. He assisted Peari, who was more than capable of walking but had given in and submitted to Ati’s insistence that they have an escort around the camp in case of problems. He helped take down one of the smaller tents and then was beckoned to sit with Tellan, Maril, and the children as they ate dinner.
Ignoring his bad ankle, Dol walked for a while, seemingly with no direction, before joining them for the meal. He didn’t eat much but also didn’t comment when Fen didn’t either, at least, not until Maril leaned in and said, “Your hunger will not help them with their own worries out there, and they won’t be pleased to return and discover you went without.”
Fen understood the lesson and ate. When he couldn’t sleep, he asked Tellan for help practicing his braiding, and when Tellan had enough of that, he went and sat by the fire until it was very late.
Eventually, because his exhaustion would not help the others with their own worries either, he went into Lan’s tent and sat on the bed and pulled a fur up to his chin. Sleep found him despite himself.
Fen occupied himself the next day by helping Ati ready his patients for travel. It would not be easy for them, although Ati assured him that once they were out of the foothills, he would be able to offer them better pain relief. It was the getting there that would be a trial.
Dol stopped Fen around midday by handing him a cup filled something that burned and didn’t taste good but which almost immediately warmed him. He gave Fen a few sips, and then, when Fen grew dizzy, sat with him in Lan’s tent to pass the cup back and forth.
The only explanation Dol gave for the strange drink was that “they did things with wine” in the South. For all that he said he was unafraid of the fae, he also eventually poured some into the cup and left it on Lan’s table as an offering for them. He didn’t say what he asked for and Fen politely did not pry. He only kept himself from doing the same because it was not his drink to offer and he didn’t think Lan would appreciate direct fae interference.
When the cup was empty, a sudden occurrence that made Fen stare and stare until his eyes were dry although Dol did not seem startled, Dol poured another cup for them to share so they could tell each other tales with their bellies and minds still warm. Dol liked love stories, the great ones that still lived on in songs and legends. Some involved the fae, but Dol spoke boldly of the fae even when they were apparently somewhere near.
He was looking for what to say for Fen’s new story, something that would inspire the bards who heard it. “Lan can’t only be the one who carried you. There have to be words of love. Of destiny. Of rescue and how you felt in his arms…. Howdidyou feel in his arms?”
Racehadsaid Dol was the one to consult about it. Fen had heard many of the old songs too, but never dwelt on the longing the way Dol did.
“Warm,” Fen answered. “Although not like this.”
“You weren’t afraid?” Dol peered at Fen as though fear would have been the proper reaction.
“Not like….” Fen left it unfinished. He’d only even started to say it because his thoughts were slow and his lips were tingling and numb. “He picked me up because I stumbled,” he murmured at last. “I didn’t ask him to. I didn’tdemandanything. Even now, I haven’t. I’ll do as he says. But I….” He would not wish. Not with the fae lurking somewhere, unseen. “I thought I was being a bother and that you all might kill me regardless of any value I would have when negotiating with The Acana. I didn’t think anything when he carried me then except for when he spoke to me. I could see nothing but he offered me concern. He defended me and he was gentle. I understand why you believe I should’ve been afraid but no, I wasn’t.”
Dol flopped onto his back, hanging his legs over the side of the bed. Fen did the same so they both stared up at the same view of the top of the tent.
“You thought we might kill you, but you weren’t afraid.” Dol said it purposefully. “Flower.For a gentle touch and kind words?”
“My mother used to comb my hair and taught me to weave. My cousin tried to show me how to use a bow.” Fen wasn’t irritable but he did want to scowl. “I have known some kindness before.” He put a hand over his ribs, his palm over his heart. “Lan doesn’t think I’ve known enough. And now he will send me away.”
“No greater words of love could he offer you,” Dol remarked without hesitation. “Wanting more kindness for you is not cruelty.”
It was not. But it hurt.
