“It’s still a lot for him.” He crossed his arms again.
Arden studied Tiiran, not looking anything other than a handsome, scarred beat-of-four bothering Tiiran at the desk.
Then, all at once, he was someone with dark, knowing eyes and an edge to his smile. “Well, without Mattin’s assistance, there is so much to do. I might need to ask for more help from Orin, especially with security and investigating any possible new threats. I’m sure you’ll understand.”
As if Orin wasn’t already away from the palace for days or weeks at a time to investigate rumors for him.
Tiiran looked to Orin, who had not a word to say in objection, but who was watching Tiiran with the hunger of several days apart and now some additional admiration.Very good, kitten, that stare said.Though I’d love to see where this is going.
Tiiran pretended he wasn’t flushed when he looked back at Arden. “Someone donated a twenty-six-volume personal recollection of The Conflict of the Pigeon and the Hawk yesterday.” He smiled. “I haven’t assigned it to Mattin, but…”
“Shit,” Mil interrupted. Tiiran liked how little use Mil had for niceties. “He’ll lose himself in that thing and forget to eat for days.”
Tiiran continued to face Arden. Arden stared back at him. He was delighted again. Tiiran didn’t see why.
Arden approached the desk and rested his hands on the top before turning them palm up for Tiiran to see.
Nikoly made a little noise.
Arden spoke gently. “We took the time today, with consequences to our own schedules, to be with him as he attends to these new, unfamiliar tasks. Because he is precious to us. Do you believe I haven’t seen his fears? That it doesn’t pain us to see him fretting? Won’t you help us help him?”
Curse the Canamorra anyway. Arden was a worse schemer than Nikoly.
Arden raised one hand to gesture gracefully. “Is there, perhaps, anything the library is currently in need of and cannot get due to palace funds going elsewhere?”
“More binding equipment,” Tiiran returned immediately. Palace repairs were necessary and long overdue, but their equipment was in need of replacement.
“Done,” Arden agreed decisively, pulling away from the desk. Tiiran blinked several times, having given the answer that was on his mind but without expecting to gain anything. Arden smiled, charming again. “But after the wedding, of course.”
Orin was so amused now and only growing hungrier.
Tiiran dragged his gaze from Orin to turn to Nikoly. “Lyli? Would you go get Mattin please?” Nikoly knew everything. He’d know where Mattin was even while Tiiran would be guessing.
Mil came forward, a hand up to keep Nikoly from moving. “Just tell me where he is. I’ll fetch him.”
Nikoly got up anyway, but only to whisper something to Mil as Mil passed the desk. Whatever it was made Mil stop, glance to Arden, glance back to Nikoly, and then grin when Nikoly nodded.
Mil gave his husband a significant, hot look. “This might take a bit,” he warned, still grinning, then headed up the stairs. “Stay the fuck downstairs,” he snapped to the guards who tried to follow him, and took the stairs faster than Tiiran could have even without the weight of armor.
Tiiran turned to Nikoly, seated again and serenely knitting. He wasverypleased with himself.
So when Arden turned to Tiiran, one eyebrow arched in question, Tiiran sighed before coming in closer and lowering his voice. Arden leaned in to meet him and Tiiran refused to be charmed by it.
“Some of us never got to play around with outguards like the other assistants.” Tiiran made absolutely sure no one heard him but Arden and possibly Nikoly, who knew anyway. “I suspect Mattin always wanted to.”
The smile the broke out on Arden’s face would have left anyone feeling like a flustered new assistant encountering Orin for the first time. Tiiran did his best to frown through it.
Arden hardly seemed to notice. He was halfway around the desk before he suddenly stopped. A moment later, a piece of paper with Tiiran’s name scratched on it in colored ink appeared on the desk. Mattin’s ink.
Tiiran took it, patting Nikoly absently when Nikoly started to rise to intercept it as if a letter was danger.
And yet, perhaps it was. The ink was Mattin’s but the seal was Arden’s.
Tiiran raised his head.
“An invitation to the wedding,” Arden explained, merry and maybe even wickedly so. “The hand-fasting, I mean. Not all the fuss around it, which is open to anyone. The event unfortunately will be full of beat-of-fours and other nobles. I know how that displeases you, Master Keeper Tiiran.”
“The entire palace knows.” Orin said it, sighing fondly.
