Tiiran kept his gaze lowered until he realized where he seemed to be staring. His gaze flew back up. “You don’t need to cross the palace twice for me. I can get myself something before the kitchens close.”
“Can, but won’t,” Orin said after a pause. But he finally took his hand from his leg to cross his arms over his chest. “That other one is here with you, yes? Somewhere in this place, there is the beat-of-four version of you also working too hard and not eating?”
“He’s not a beat-of-four,” Tiiran said quickly, thinking of Nikoly, then realizing Orin hadn’t been speaking about him. “Oh, you mean Mattin. I gave him some histories today,” he confessed, the shock he hadn’t let show in front of Nikoly in his voice now. “I gave him Master Keeper duties.” Presumptuous, and a good reason to punish both of them if they’d had any Master Keepers around to care. “He won’t look up from his histories unless forced.” Mattin probably knew how the library had been founded, with his noble’s education. Tiiran frowned briefly at the realization. “Does the founding of the library matter?”
Orin seemed bemused but allowed the question. “I’m surprised Lanth didn’t have you memorize it. When I come back, maybe I’ll tell you what I remember of it unless you’ve researched it on your own by then.” Orin stopped to quietly cluck his tongue. “Or maybe I shouldn’t. If anyone is listening, some noble might object to the story. I can see no reason to, but then, I’m not noble.”
Bysomeone, he meant eyes-and-ears again. Eyes-and-ears was a term for people who collected gossip and passed it on to whichever noble paid them to. From what Tiiran had told, the practice used to purely be about rumors of love affairs and things of that nature. A way for nobles to one up each other at court. Now, gossip could be a matter of survival, and the act of listening was not enough. Some eyes-and-ears were allegedly more active in collecting or even creating rumors.
Tiiran would have said everyone was jumping at shadows, but if Orin was worried, then the world outside the library must be tense indeed.
“You should look it up yourself,” Orin finally decided. “There are probably better versions of it here anyway. You can describe those to me someday, tell me everything you think is wrong with them.”
Someday, Orin said. Meaning he thought they would still talk with each other far in the future.
Tiiran licked his lips and tried not to sit up too eagerly. “I’m not a historian. Not even remotely.” That was a job mostly left to beat-of-fours with time and money.
“No,” Orin agreed, “but you respect the knowledge, and you’re pretty good at cutting to the heart of the matter, which so many old, flowery historical accounts are not.”
Tiiran surprised himself with a small laugh. “I’m not patient like you.”
Orin smiled despite how his eyes seemed to grow darker. “I can be patient, yes.”
Tiiran took one of the last slices and ignored how his hand trembled. “Mattin would say the flowers in the historical accounts are telling us something as well.” He imagined Nikoly’s flower-and-vine-decorated fingers as he’d split open these oranges for Tiiran, and put the slice in his mouth to ease its sudden dryness.
Orin seemed intrigued. “I imagine they are, even if that is only what the author’s politics were at the time. Still, paying attention to politics is perhaps wise, especially for those within the palace walls. Some of those flowers might be riddles about the truth.” That was a warning for Tiiran, who glowered because he disliked riddles. Things should be straightforward.Peopleshould be straightforward.
“I suppose that’s advisable,” he allowed despite his annoyance. “But even in the historical records?”
“The past often affects the present,” Orin answered with a shrug. “How many noble houses have tried for the throne in the past decades because of a claim on it through the long-dead family members?”
Tiiran mirrored Orin by crossing his arms. “Do outguards always think like this?” If the truth had been concealed in flowers and codes in the Outguard journals, he’d failed to see it.
“Not all of them. Not even most of them.” Orin followed that with a funny, shortened sigh, then tossed his head. “It doesn’t mean they aren’t sharp in their own ways. Our job is to notice things and report what we see. Sometimes nobles don’t like what we have to say, so we have to be careful.”
Tiiran obviously had to reread some journals and pay closer attention. “I need to look for what information is on the page and whatisn’t? And how it’s being presented?”
“Clever kitten. Yes, exactly.” Orin praised him and chided him all at once. “Finish your oranges.”
“Hmm.” Tiiran quite deliberately left the last two slices on the plate before meeting Orin’s hungry stare. Popular stories of the Outguard were comical, or lusty, or fanciful tales of adventure, or about one member of the Outguard in particular—but the presence of a beat-of-four in the Outguard would always get attention because it had only happened once and likely never would again. But if the work of outguards was truly that clever and complicated, then it made more sense for a Canamorra to have chosen that life. Tiiran didn’t blame the Canamorra entirely the way some did—but a reputation for being cunning and ruthless didn’t come from nowhere.
“Why do some of the nobles act as if the outguards are purely brawny idiots?” Tiiran asked and then answered his own question. “Ah,becausethey don’t like you telling the truth and it makes it easier to dismiss you. And because some of you pretend to be less than clever?”
“It’s not worth challenging them on it,” Orin answered without admitting that other outguards did any pretending. “Accidents happen on the road.”
A riddle, but Tiiran understood this one. His spine went straight as he pointed at Orin threateningly. “You’ll be careful.”
He did not ask.
“Another snarl,” Orin observed, deceptively mild. “I have no intention of having any accidents anytime soon. I’ve other things I’d much rather do, if I am ever so blessed as to be allowed to.”
“Like what?” Tiiran pressed. Orinhadbeen around capital more often lately. “Wait, is something going on?”
Orin’s fierce frown took him aback. “Don’t be too smart, Tiiran. Librarians can have accidents too. If I learned of you having one, you’d be furious with me for what I’d do.” Orin smiled but once again it did not reach his eyes. “Keep that in mind, if it’s the only thing that will make you tread lightly.”
He broke their stare while Tiiran was floundering, then rose to his feet. “And now, before my exhaustion makes me scare you even more, I should go.”
Tiiran shook his head, more annoyed than scared, but Orin ignored this, gathering his books beneath his arm and pushing a piece of paper across the table toward Tiiran. It would be the list of what he was taking, so the assistants wouldn’t look for them.
