Tiiran thanked Nikoly politely for agreeing to work from the desk, then wound up in the garden in too much sunlight, squinting down at the style guide from the day before. He was nearly done with what he thought was an attempt at a glossary of terms, although none of them were defined, when he was dragged back inside and up the stairs by several agitated assistants to be shown a shelf that had given way.
Tiiran’s thoughts were on the cost of the damage even before he and Po dug out several heavy treatises on the subject of the land management of marshlands and salt-water inlets and carried them off to be inspected somewhere safer.
The shelf, located at the top of a much larger bookcase, looked to have sustained some sort of water damage at some point in its existence, perhaps a leak from a spill on the floor above, or the shelf had once been located somewhere else and gotten wet some other way. Someone had undoubtedly cleaned the water up once it had been noticed, but the wood might have damp for some time first. And in a dark, cool top corner, no sun had reached it to help keep out any rot.
The heavy books had fallen to the shelf below, but it was the broken shelf itself that caused all the peripheral damage—splinters and dust, possibly full of rot or mold, which meant all the books nearby had to be removed to be cleaned and checked.
The missing shelf was, of course, also a problem. Books would have to be reorganized. The rest of the bookcase seemed fine, though a palace builder would say for certain… if they could ever get a palace builder in to look at it. A Master Keeper would have to sign off on that and the cost of the repair, if repair was possible.
Once again, Toak was nowhere to be found. Tiiran swore about it—loudly—because his promise to Orin had been about beat-of-fours, not absentee Record Keepers, and pulled a table from one of the other nooks on that floor so he could stack all the other books on it, leaving the bookcase totally empty for the builder’s inspection, should it ever come. He swore as he swept up afterward too and then as he dusted the nearby shelves to remove any stray debris.
Mattin joined him then, large eyes full of woe as he took in the sight. “The second shelf might need to be replaced as well,” he decided aloud as though he could see up there without a ladder. But he was likely right.
Tiiran swore about that too, and, when he was finally back downstairs, went into that fart-sucker Toak’s office to remove nearly everything waiting on Toak’s desk and hand it to Mattin. The others, Mattin included, watched Tiiran march back and forth with paperwork in his arms and didn’t say a word. Even Niksa seemed too shocked to frown.
Then, his middle swirling with unpleasant feelings, Tiiran sat down at one of the front tables with Mattin’s copying work, writing until his wrist began to ache though he knew better.
Nikoly didn’t even wait for the end of the day to prod Tiiran into eating again. The tangy scent of citrus filled the air and then a small plate of fanned-out tiny orange slices was placed in front of him. A cup of spring tea followed it, rich with cream and honey.
Startled away from his fury, Tiiran blinked several times before sitting up, his back popping as he did.
Nikoly was already at the central desk, hard at work.
“Thank you, Nikoly,” Tiiran told him anyway, some of his unhappiness evaporating when Nikoly bowed his head in acknowledgment. He was prettier than the orange slices, even at a distance.
Po was staring when Tiiran faced forward again. When she saw him looking, she raised her eyebrows. Tiiran huffed to let her know she could get her own tea and then moved his copy work so he wouldn’t get any juice on it as he ate.
Even a small snack seemed to be enough to prompt Tiiran’s body to eat more, as if failing to eat throughout the day made his stomach forget to ask for food, but a bit of fruit roused it to furious hunger. Po chased him out in the early evening, possibly having heard his stomach growling, but even so, he didn’t see why she was so insistent about him leaving.
She didn’t stop him from borrowing a bag to carry some work back to his room with him, only rolled her eyes when he pulled it over his shoulder and telling him, “Out! Out with you!” as if he was one of the mousers who had gotten into a cabinet it shouldn’t have.
But he forgave her the moment he set foot outside of the library’s doors and saw Orin.
The moon had risen, but Orin was visible because one of the braziers near the doors had actually been lit—probably by Orin, since the two palace guards at the middle of the corridor had never bothered during to any of their shifts. Without it, Tiiran might not have noticed Orin at all because Orin was in the dark traveling clothes of the Outguard.
Tiiran was in front of him before he could blink. “You’re going? Tonight?”
He’d had no time to prepare for meeting Orin, so his skin went cold-hot, his stomach flipped, and even though he’d spoken, his thoughts were too fast for him to add anything else.
Orin looked him over and pulled in a long, deep breath. “More oranges?”
“Does that matter?” Tiiran swept another look over him, his attention pausing on the hilt of the sword, then the heavy pack. “You’re leaving.” He was getting repetitive.
“Arriving earlier means leaving later.” Orin bent his head a little, making it easier for Tiiran to stare up. “I’ll be traveling mostly by river.” He said that clearly enough for the two palace guards to hear. Maybe he didn’t want to be suspected of whispering to hide something.
“Far?” The Kilinsean was long enough to nearly bisect the country and no single noble family was allowed to claim it—their docks alongside it, but not the river itself. But plenty of nobles in the past decades had made up excuses to halt river traffic near their lands. That most probably did it for their own protection would have been fine enough, even though it also stopped trade. But a few did not. And some did not let anyone pass they did not trust, which might include outguards. Tiiran was not pleased. “I won’t ask where you’re going. But, Orin…”
“I’ll be careful,” Orin assured him, smiling. In better light, his gaze probably would have made Tiiran want to do something reckless like wrap his arms around him to embrace him before he left.
Tiiran forced his shoulders back, adjusting his bag of books until they reminded him of Po shoving him out the door and how, if not for that, he wouldn’t have seen Orin.
“Why were you out here? Why not come in?” He waved to indicate the giant sword. “That wouldn’t bother anyone.” But he glanced over to the two palace guards after he said it. “I thought… I thought that didn’t matter for outguards.”
“It’s early yet, and I knew you’d be working. I didn’t want to bother you if I couldn’t stay to talk.” Orin said the strangest things, and continued to say them even after Tiiran quickly shook his head to let him know he was never a bother. “But I thought you might be angry if I left without telling you. I was debating it when Po came out for her dinner. She said she’d send you home early, that you looked done in anyway.” Orin hummed thoughtfully. “I thought you were going to take care.”
He clearly thought Tiiran looked done in as well.
“I did!” Tiiran insisted. “You meant with beat-of….” He glanced to the guards again. “I have been. And the rest of it… well, I meant to. But there was a broken shelf, and once again there’s no one to ask to help with it; nobody’s seen Toak the goat-stroker in days.” Orin didn’t care about that. Tiiran drew in a breath that didn’t calm him in the slightest. “How long will you be gone do you think?”
